the devon boys, a tale of the north shore, by george manville fenn. ________________________________________________________________________ as per the title, the story revolves round the cliffs of the north shore of devon, in south west england. it is . there are three local teenage boys, who are all boarders at the nearby barnstaple grammar school. it is the summer holidays. bob chowne is the son of a local doctor, and is a bit cross in his manner; bigley uggleston is the son of a local fisherman (or smuggler), and is a very pleasant-mannered boy; while sep duncan, the "i" of the story, is the son of arthur john duncan, a naval officer, who has just bought an extensive stretch of the cliffs. the boys decide to move a rock from the top of the cliff, to the bottom. they use explosives, and there is exposed a rich vein of galena, a lead and silver ore, so sep's father begins a mine, which does very well. the boys get up to various daring escapades, which generally end up in near-disaster, from which they are rescued by various turns of fortune, including being rescued from way out at sea by a frenchman, a smuggler of course, who is in league with bigley's father. there is a french attack on the coast, but they were definitely looking for the twenty boxes of silver bullion sep's father has amassed. luckily they don't get away with it. nh ________________________________________________________________________ the devon boys, a tale of the north shore, by george manville fenn. chapter one. self and friends. bigley uggleston always said that it was in , because he vowed that was the hot year when we had gone home for the midsummer holidays from barnstaple grammar-school. bob chowne stuck out, as he always would when he knew he was wrong, that it was in , and when i asked him why he put it then, he held up his left hand with his fingers and thumb spread out, which was always his way, and then pointing with the first finger of his right, he said: "it was in , because that was the year when the french war broke out." then he pushed down his thumb, and went on: "and because that was the year we had a bonfire in june, because doctor stacey was married for the third time, and we burned all the birches." then he pushed down his first finger. "and because that was the year we had an extra week's holiday." down went his second finger. "and because that was the year the spanish galleon was wrecked on jagger rock." down went the third finger. "and because that was the year your father bought the whole of slatey gap." down went the fourth finger, so that his open hand had become a clenched fist held up, and then in his regular old pugnacious way he looked round the room as if he wanted to hit somebody as he snarled out: "now, who says i'm wrong?" i could have said so, but what's the use of quarrelling with a fellow who can't help being obstinate. it was in his nature, and no end of times i've known that when my old school-fellow was snaggy and nasty and quarrelsome with me, he'd have fought like a trojan on my side against half the school. but that fourth finger of bob chowne's settled it as to the time, for it was not in but in , for there's the date on the old parchment, which sets forth how the whole of the gap from the foreshore right up the little river for five hundred yards inland, and the whole of the steep cliff slope and precipice, each side, to the very top, was conveyed to my father, arthur john duncan, of oak cottage, wistabay, lieutenant and commander in the royal navy of his most gracious majesty king george the second. it doesn't matter in the least when it was, only i may as well say when, any more than it does that everybody who knew my father, including doctor chowne of ripplemouth, said he must be mad to go and buy, at the sale of squire allworth's estate, a wild chasm of a place, all slaty rock and limestone crag and rift and hollow, with a patch of scraggy oak-trees here, some furze and heath there, and barely enough grass to feed half a dozen sheep, and that, even if it was cheap, because no one else would buy it, he was throwing good money away. but i didn't think so that hot midsummer afternoon when i was back home, and had set out to explore the place as i had never explored it before. that was not saying much, for i pretty well knew the spot by heart, but it was my father's now--"ours." we three boys had ridden home together the day before, sitting on our boxes in teggley grey's cart, for he was the carrier from ripplemouth to barnstaple. i say we rode, though it wasn't much of a ride, for every now and then the red-faced old boy used to draw the corner of his lips nearly out to his ears, and show us how many yellow stumps of teeth he had left, as he stopped his great bony horse, to say: "i'm sure you young chaps don't want my poor old horse to pull you up a hill like this." of course we jumped down and walked up the hill, and as it was nearly all hill from barnstaple to our homes we were always jumping down, and walked quite half of the twenty miles. old teggley must begin about it too, as he sat with his chin nearly down upon his knees, whisking the flies away from his horse's ears with his whip. "we'm bit puzzled, mas' sep duncan, what your father bought that place for?" "it's all for bounce," said bob chowne, "so as to be bigley uggleston's landlord. look out, big, or sep 'll send you and your father packing, and you'll have to take the lugger somewhere else." "i don't care," said bigley. "it don't matter to me." all in good time we got to the gap valley, where there was our sam waiting with the donkey-cart to take mine and bigley's boxes, and bob chowne went on to ripplemouth, after promising to join us next day for a grand hunt over the new place. the next day came, and with it bob chowne from ripplemouth and bigley uggleston from the gap; and we three boys set off over the cliff path for a regular good roam, with the sun beating down on our backs, the grasshoppers fizzling in amongst the grass and ferns, the gulls squealing below us as they flew from rock to rock, and, far overhead now, a hawk wheeling over the brink of the cliff, or a sea-eagle rising from one of the topmost crags to seek another where there were no boys. now i've got so much to tell you of my old life out there on the wild north devon coast, that i hardly know where to begin; but i think i ought, before i go any farther, just to tell you a little more about who i was, and add a little about my two school-fellows, who, being very near neighbours, were also my companions when i was at home. bob chowne was the son of an old friend of my father--"captain" duncan, as people called him, and lived at ripplemouth, three or four miles away. the people always called him chowne, which they had shortened from champernowne, and we boys at school often substituted chow for bob, because we said he was such a disagreeable chap. i do not see the logic of the change even now, but the nickname was given and it stuck. i must own, though, that he was anything but an amiable fellow, and i used to wonder whether it was because his father, the doctor, gave him too much physic; but it couldn't have been that, for bob always used to say that if he was ill his father would send him out without any breakfast to swallow the sea air upon the cliffs, and that always made him well. bigley uggleston, my other companion, on the contrary, was about the best-tempered fellow that ever lived. he was the son of old jonas uggleston, who lived at the big cottage down in the gap, on one side of the little stream. jonas was supposed to be a fisherman, and he certainly used to fish, but he carried on other business as well with his lugger--business which enabled him to send his son to the grammar-school, where he was one of the best-dressed of the boys, and had about as much pocket-money as bob and i put together, but we always spent it for him and he never seemed to mind. i have said that he was an amiable fellow, and he had this peculiarity, that if you looked at him you always began to laugh, and then his broad face broke up into a smile, as if he was pleased because you laughed at him, and tease, worry, or do what you liked, he never seemed to mind. i never saw another boy like him, and i used to wonder why bob chowne and i should be a couple of ordinary robust boys of fourteen, while he was five feet ten, broad-shouldered, with a good deal of dark downy whisker and moustache, and looked quite a man. sometimes bob and i used to discuss the matter in private, and came to the conclusion that as bigley was six months older than we were, we should be like him in stature when another six months had passed; but we very soon had to give up that idea, and so it remained that our school-fellow had the aspect of a grown man, but what bob called his works were just upon a level with our own, for, except in appearance, he was not manly in the slightest degree. chapter two. our cliffs. i believe the sheep began all the creepy paths in our part of the country--not sheep such as you generally see about farms, or down to market, but our little handsome sheep with curly horns that feed along the sides of the cliffs in all sorts of dangerous places where a false step would send them headlong six or seven hundred feet, perhaps a thousand, down to the sea. for we have cliff slopes in places as high as that, where the edge of the moor seems to have been chopped right off, and if you are up there you can gaze down at the waves foaming over the rocks, and if you looked right out over the sea, there away to the north was taffyland, as we boys called it, with the long rugged welsh coast stretching right and left, sometimes dim and hazy, and sometimes standing out blue and clear with the mountains rising up in the distance fold behind fold. i say i think the sheep used to make the cliff paths to begin with, for they don't feed up or feed down, but always go along sidewise, unless they want to get lower, and then they make a zigzag, so far one way and so far another, backwards and forwards, down the slope till they come to where it goes straight down to the sea with a raw edge at the top, and the cliff-face, which keeps crumbling away, in some places lavender and blue where it is slate, and in others all kinds of tints, as red and grey, where it's limestone or grit. in the course of time the sheep leave a regular lot of tracks like tiny shelves up the side of the sloping cliffs, and the lowest of these gets taken by the people who are going along the coast, and is trampled down more and more, till it grows into a regular footpath, such as we were going along this hot midsummer day. part of our way lay close to the edge of the cliff, where it was about four hundred feet straight down, but a dense wood of oak-trees grew there, and their trunks formed a regular fence and screen between us and the edge, so that the pathway was quite safe, though it would not have troubled us much if it had not been, being used to the place; but in a short time we were through the wood, and out on the open cliff--from shade to sunshine. i ought not to leave that wood, though, without saying something about it, for just there the trees grew very curiously. of course you know what an oak-tree is, and how it grows up tall and rugged and strong, but our oak-trees didn't grow like that. you've seen horses out in a field on a stormy day, i suppose, when the wind blows, and the rain beats. if they have no trees, hedges, or wall to get under, they always turn their backs to the wind, and you can see their tails and manes streaming out and blown all over them. well there's no shelter out there on our coast, only in the caves, and the oak-trees there do just the same as the horses, for they seem to turn their backs to the wind; and their boughs look as if they are being blown close down to the side of the cliff slope and spread out ready to spring up again as soon as the wind has passed. but they don't, for they stop in that way growing close down and all on one side, and they very seldom get at all big. that was a capital path as soon as we were out of the wood, running up and down the slope sometimes four, sometimes six or seven hundred feet above the sea, just as it happened, and with the steep cliff above us jagged with great masses of rock that looked as if they were always ready to fall rolling and crashing till they got to the broken edge, when they would leap right down into the sea. sometimes they did, but only when a thaw came after a severe frost. there was none of that sort of thing though at midsummer, and the overhanging rocks did not trouble us as we scampered along in the bright elastic air, feeling as if we were so happy that we must do something mischievous. the path was no use to us, it was too smooth and plain and safe, so we went down to the very edge of the precipice, and looked over at the beautiful clear sea, hundreds of feet below, and made plans to go prawning in the rock pools, crabbing when the tide was out, and to get bigley's father to lend us the boat and trammel net, to set some calm night and catch all we could. "think he'll lend it to us, bigley?" asked bob. "i don't know. i'm afraid he won't." "why not?" i said. "he did last holidays." "yes," said bigley; "but your father hadn't got the gap then, and made him cross, for he said he was going to buy it, only your father bought it over his head." "but had he got the money?" i said. "oh, yes. he's got lots of money, though he never spends any hardly." "he makes it all smuggling," said bob. "he'll be hung some day, or shot by some of the king's sailors." bigley turned on him quickly, but he did not say a word; and just then a stone-chat's nest took his attention. after that we had to go round the end of a combe, as they call the valleys our way, and there we stopped by the waterfall which came splashing down forming pool after pool in the sunny rocks. it was not to be expected that three boys fresh from school could pass that falling stream without leaping from rock to rock, and penetrating a hundred yards inland, to see if we could find a dipper's nest, for one of the little cock-tailed blackbirds gave us a glimpse of his white collar as he dropped upon a stone, and then walked into a pool, in whose clear depths we could see him scudding about after the insects at the bottom, and seeming to fly through the water as he beat his little rounded wings using them as a fish does fins. the nest was too cleverly hidden for us to find, so, tiring of the little stream, and knowing that there was one waiting for us in the gap where we could capture trout, we went on along the cliff path, gossiping as boys will, till we reached the great buttress of rock that formed one side of the entrance to the little ravine, and there perched ourselves upon the great fragments of rock to look down at where the little stream came rushing and sparkling from the inland hills till it nearly reached the sea at the mouth of the gap, and then came to a sudden end. it looked curious, but it was a familiar object to us, who thought nothing of the way in which the sea had rolled up a bank of boulders and large pebbles right across the little river, forming a broad path when the tide was down, and as the little river reached it the bright clear stream ended, for its waters sank down through the pebbles and passed invisibly for the next thirty or forty yards beneath the beach and into the sea. but when the tide was up this pebble ridge formed a bar, over which there was just room for uggleston's lugger to pass at high-water; and there it was now in the little river, kept from turning down on its side by a couple of props, while the water rippled about its keel. from where we were perched it looked no bigger than a row-boat, and the house that formed our school-fellow's home--a long, low, stone-built place thatched with reeds--seemed as if it had been built for dolls, while the fisherman's cottage on the other side, where an old sailor friend lived, was apparently about as big as a box. the scene was beautiful, but to us boys its beauty lay in what it offered us in the way of amusement. we were not long in deciding upon a ride down one of the clatter streams--a ride that, though it is very bad for the breeches and worse for the boots, while it sometimes interferes with the skin of the knuckles, and may result in injury to the nose, is thoroughly enjoyable and full of excitement while it lasts. you don't know what a clatter stream is? then i'll tell you. every here and there, where the slate cliffs run down in steep slopes to the valleys, you can see from the very top to the bottom, that is to say on a slope of some nine hundred feet, what look like little streams that are perhaps a foot wide at the top and ten or a dozen at the bottom where they open out. these are not streams of water, though in wet weather the water does trickle down through them, and makes them its bed, but streams of flat, rounded-edge pieces of slate and shale that have been split off the face of the rock and fallen, to go slowly gliding down one over the other, perhaps taking years in their journey. some of the pieces are as small as the scraps put in the bottom of a flower-pot, others are as large as house slates and tiles, perhaps larger; but as they go grinding over one another they are tolerably smooth, and form a capital arrangement for a slide. this thing determined upon we each selected a good broad piece big enough to sit or kneel on, and then began the laborious ascent, which, i may at once tell you, is the drawback to the enjoyment, for, though the coming down is delightful, the drag up the steep precipitous slope, with feet frequently slipping, is so toilsome a task that two or three slides down used to be always considered what dr stacey at barnstaple school called _quantum sufficit_. as a matter of course we were soon tired, but we managed three, starting from right up at the top, and close after one another, with the stones beneath us rattling, and sometimes gliding down swiftly, sometimes coming to a standstill; but if it was the foremost, those behind generally started him again. in this case bob went first, i followed, and bigley came last, and though we two stuck more than once, he never did, his weight overcoming the friction of the stones to such an extent that, towards the last, he charged down upon us and we all rolled over together into a heap. we tried again, but the fall had made bob disagreeable. i don't think he was much hurt, but he pretended to be, and said that bigley had done it on purpose. it was of no use for bigley to protest. once bob had made up his mind to a thing he would not give in, so after about half a slide down we stopped short without being driven on again by our companion, and the game was voted a bore. "'tisn't as if there were a couple of sailors at the top with a capstan, to haul you up again when you've slid down," said bob. "ah, i wish there were!" cried bigley, "i get so tired." "no rope would pull you up; you're too heavy," sneered bob. "never mind, sep, let's do something else. the clatter streams ain't half so slippery as they used to be. i s'pose we may do something else here though it is your father's place?" "don't be so disagreeable," i cried. "who's disagreeable?" he retorted. "i didn't make the stones stick and old bigley come down squelch on us, did i?" "oh, if you want to quarrel, bob, we may as well go home," i said. "there, just hark at him, big! quarrel! just as if i wanted to quarrel. there, i shall go." "no, no, don't go, bob," i cried. "no, no, don't go, bob," chimed in big. "it's holidays now, and we can get up a row when we're at school." the force of this, and its being waste of time now the long-expected holidays had come, made an impression on bob, who sat down and began sending rounded pieces of slate skimming through the air towards the little stream. "didn't i tell you i didn't want to quarrel," he grumbled out. "i ain't so fond of--there, you chaps couldn't do that." "ha! ha! couldn't we?" i cried, as a stone he threw went plash into the stream, and i jerked a piece of slate so far that it went right over. this made bob jump up, and, as there was plenty of ammunition, the old contention was forgotten in the new, bigley uggleston joining in and helping us throw stones till we grew tired, when we looked round for something fresh to do. "let's climb right to the top of bogle's beacon," i said, as my eyes lit upon the highest crags at our side of the ravine. "oh, what's the good?" said bigley. "it'll make us so hot." "get out, you great lazy fellow," cried bob, whose lips had been apart to oppose my plan; but as soon as bigley took the other side he was all eagerness to go. "oh, all right then," said bigley. "i don't mind. if you're going i shall come too; but wait a minute." as he spoke he set off at a trot down the slope, and as we two threw ourselves down to watch him, we saw him run on and on till he reached the smuggler's cottage, and go round to the long low slate-roofed shed where his father kept his odds and ends of boat gear, and then he dived in out of sight. "what's he gone for?" said bob. "dunno," i said lazily as i turned over on my chest and kicked the loose slates with my toes. "yes, i do." "no, you don't," said bob sourly. "yes, i do; he's gone to get a bit of rope. don't you remember when we climbed up last year we didn't get quite to the top, and you said that if we'd had a bit of rope to throw over the big stone, one of us might have held the end while the other climbed up?" "no, i don't remember, and don't believe i ever said so." "why, that you did, bob. what's the good of contradicting?" "what's that to you, sep duncan?" he retorted. "you arn't everybody. i shall contradict if i like." "but you did say so." "i didn't." "you did. now, just you wait till old big comes and see if he don't say so too." "yah! he'd say anything. what does he know about it?" "well, here he comes," i said. "let him come; i don't care." "and he has got a coil of rope over his shoulder." "well, what do i care? any fool might get a ring of rope over his shoulder." "yes, but what for?" "oh, i dunno; don't bother!" said bob surlily. meanwhile bigley uggleston was coming along at a lumbering trot, and as soon as he was within hearing i shouted to him: "what are you going to do with that rope?" and now for the first time i noticed that he was carrying a long iron bar balanced in his right hand. big did not answer, but came panting on. "there, i told you so!" cried bob; "didn't i say so?" "i don't care if you did," i retorted; and just then our companion panted up to us and threw himself down, breathless with his exertions. "what did you fetch the rope for?" i cried eagerly. "to"--puff--"throw it over"--puff--"the big stone"--puff--"up atop, same"--puff--"as bob chowne said"--puff--"last year." "there!" i cried triumphantly, turning on bob. i was sorry i had spoken directly after, for bob tightened his lips and half shut his eyes as he rose slowly to his feet, thrust his hands in his pockets, and began to move off. "here, what are you going to do?" i cried. "going home." "what for?" "what for? where's the use o' stopping? you keep on trying to pick a quarrel with a fellow." "why, i don't, bob. i say, don't go. we're just going to have no end of fun." "yes," cried big; "and i've brought one of my father's net bars to drive in the rock and fasten the rope to, and then no one need hold it." "no, i sha'n't stop," grumbled bob sourly. "where's the use o' stopping with chaps as always want to quarrel?" "i don't want to quarrel," i said. "and i'm sure i don't," said big. "i hate it." "more don't i," growled bob. "it's sep duncan; he's always trying to have a row with somebody." "here, come on," cried big. "i've got the rope and the bar." "no," said bob, sticking his hands farther into his pockets and sidling off; "i'm going home." "oh, i say, don't spoil our fun, bob," i cried. "'taint me; it's you," he said. "i sha'n't stay." "oh, if it's me i'm very sorry," i said, "i didn't mean to be disagreeable." "oh, well, if you're sorry and didn't mean to be disagreeable i'll stay," he said. "only don't you do it again." "say you won't," whispered big. "well, i won't do it again," i cried, though i felt all the time as if i wanted to laugh outright. "then i sha'n't say any more about it," said bob, relenting all at once. "i say, big, is that rope strong?" "strong enough to hold all of us," he replied. "here, come along. it'll soon be dinner-time. i'm getting hungry now." "why, you're always hungry, big," cried bob as we began to climb the steep slope diagonally. "yes, i am," he assented. "i do eat such a lot, and then i always feel as if i wanted to eat a lot more." it was a stiff climb over the loose slates and in and out among the rough masses of stone that projected every here and there; but the air grew fresher and cooler as we made our way from sheep-track to sheep-track, where the little brown butterflies kept darting up in our path; and as we stopped again and again, it was to get a wider view of the sail-dotted sea all rippling and sparkling like silver in the sun, while as we climbed higher still we began to get glimpses of the high hills along the coast to the west, and the great moor into which the gap seemed to run like a rugged trough. at last after many halts we reached the piled-up mass of rocks known as the beacon--a huge heap of moss-grown grey fragments that stood on the very crest of the ridge. it was a favourite place with us, and many an expedition had been made here to sit under the shelter of the great lump of rock that crowned the heap, a mass about fifteen feet high, and as many long and broad, the whole forming just such a cube as you find in the sugar basin, and whose sides were so perpendicular that we had never reached the top. but this time, provided with rope, and, by bigley uggleston's forethought, with the iron bar, the ascent seemed easy, and we set about it at once. big soon found a place on the shoulder of our little mountain where blocks of a ton-weight and less lay around, some of them so weakened and overhanging that they looked as if a touch would send them thundering down into the gorge. between two of these big drove in the long iron bar, the rope was thrown right over the rock, one end tied securely to the bar, the other held by bigley on the other side, the great heavy fellow hanging on to it, and the question arose as to whether bob or i was to make the first attempt. i wanted to go, but i felt that if i did, bob would be affronted, so i gave way and let him lead, giving him a hoist or two as he seized the rope, and climbed, and scratched, and kicked, and got up half-way and then slid down again. "here, big," he shouted, "what's the good of bringing such a stupid little thin rope? it's no good." "can't you get up?" cried big. "no, nor anyone else. it's no use. let's get back." "no, no; let me try," i cried eagerly. "don't i tell you it's of no use," he said angrily. "here, i'll go again and show you. hold on tight, big." "yes, i'm holding," came from deep down in bigley's chest, and bob made another attempt, scrambling up over my back and on to my shoulders, and ending in his struggles by giving me so severe a kick on the head that i leaped away, leaving him hanging by his hands, so that when he relaxed his hold he came down in a sitting position, with so hard a bump upon the stones that he seemed to bounce up again in a fit of fury to begin stamping about with rage and pain. "oh--oh--oh!" he gasped. "you did that on purpose." "oh, i say, you do make me laugh," spluttered out bigley, who held on tightly to the rope to keep it strained. "yes, i'll make you laugh," cried bob, flying at him and punching away, while bigley held on by the rope, and the more bob punched the more he laughed. "oh, i say, don't," he panted. "you hurt." "i mean to hurt," cried bob. "you and sep duncan got that up between you, and he did it to make you laugh." "i didn't say you kicked me on the ear on purpose," i grumbled. "oh, i say, bob, your boot-toe is hard." "wish it had been ten times harder," he snarled. "oh, never mind," said bigley, "i'm getting tired of holding the rope. why don't you climb up? make haste!" "i'm going home," grumbled bob. "if i had known you were two such fellows i wouldn't have come." "here, you get up, sep," cried bigley. "i'll stand close up to the rock, and you can climb up me, and then lay hold of the rope." "no, no," i whispered; "it would only make bob savage." "never mind; he'll come round again. he won't go--he's only pretending." i glanced at our school-fellow, who was slowly shuffling away some twenty or thirty yards down the slope, and limping as he went as if one leg was very painful. "here, bob!" i cried, "come and have another try." he did not turn his head, and i shouted to him again. "here, bob, mate, come and have another try." he paid no heed; but while i was speaking bigley placed himself close to the great rock, reaching up as high as he could, and holding on by the rope with outstretched arms. "now, then, are you ready?" he cried. the opportunity was too tempting to be resisted, and making a run and a jump, i sprang upon his broad back, climbed up to his shoulders, got hold of the rope, and steadied myself as i drew myself into a standing position, and then reaching up the rope as high as i could, i managed to get my toes on first one projection, then upon another, and in a few seconds was right at the top. bigley burst into a hoarse cheer, and began to jump about and wave his cap, with the effect of making bob stop short and turn, and then come hurrying back more angry than ever. "there: you are a pair of sneaks," he cried. "what did you go and do that for?" "i helped him," said bigley. "hoo--rayah!" "yes, and i'll pay you for it," he snarled; but bigley was too much excited to notice what he said; and, taking hold of the rope again, he planted himself against the rock to turn his great body into a ladder. "go on up, bob, and then you two chaps can pull me up to you." the temptation was too great for bob, who began to climb directly, and had nearly reached where i stood, when i bent down and held out my hand. "catch hold, bob!" i cried, "and i'll help you." "i can get up by myself, thank you," he cried very haughtily, and he loosed his hold with one hand to strike mine aside. it was a foolish act, for if i had not snatched at him he would have gone backwards, but this time he clung to me tightly, and the next minute was by my side. "oh, it's easy enough," he said, forgetting directly the ugly fall he had escaped. "here, now, you two lay hold of the rope and pull me up!" shouted bigley. "i want to come too." we took hold of the rope and tightened it, and there was a severe course of tugging for a few minutes before we slackened our efforts, and sat down and laughed, for we might as well have tried to drag up any of the ton-weight stones as bigley. "oh, i say," he cried; "you don't half pull. i want to come up." "then you must climb as we pull," i said, and in obedience to my advice he fastened the rope round his waist, and tried to climb as we hauled, with the result that after a few minutes' scuffling and rasping on the rock poor bigley was sitting down rubbing himself softly, and looking up at us with a very doleful expression of countenance. "you can't get up, big; you're too heavy," cried bob, who was now in the best of tempers. "here, let's look round, sep." that did not take long, for there were only a few square feet of surface to traverse. we were up at the top, and could see a long way round; but then so we could fifteen or twenty feet below, and at the end of five minutes we both were of the same way of thinking--that the principal satisfaction in getting up to the summit of a rock or mountain was in being able to say that you had mastered a difficulty. bob thoroughly expressed my feelings when, after amusing himself for a few minutes by throwing dry cushions of moss down at bigley, he exclaimed: "well, what's the good of stopping here? come on down again!" "i'm ready," i said, "only i wish old big had come up too." "i don't," said bob; "what's the good of wishing. i'm not going to make my hands sore with tugging. he had no business to grow so fat." "i should like to come up," cried bigley dolefully. "ah, well, you can't!" shouted back bob. "serves you right pretending to be a man when you're only a boy." "i can't help it," replied bigley with a sigh. "let's have one more try to have him up," i cried. "sha'n't. what's the good? i don't see any fun in trying to do what you can't." "never mind: old big will like it," i said. "come on." bob reluctantly took hold of the rope, and after giving a bit of advice to our companion, he made another desperate struggle while we pulled, but the only result was that we all grew exceedingly hot and sticky, and as bigley stood below, red-faced and panting with his efforts, bob put an end to the project by sliding down the rope to his side, so there was nothing left for me to do but to follow. this i did, but not till i had had a good long look round from my high perch at the deeply-cut ravine with its rugged piled-up masses of cliff, and tiny river, to which it seemed to me i was now the heir. chapter three. a gunpowder plot. we three boys sat down at the edge of the steepest side of the crags after this to rest, and think what we should do next, and to help our plans we amused ourselves by pitching pieces of loose stone down as far as we could. then the rope was dragged over the beacon rock and coiled up, while i tugged and wriggled the iron bar to and fro till i could get it free. "let's go down to the shore now, and see if we can find some crabs," i said. "the tide's getting very low." "what's the good?" said bob picking up the iron bar, and chipping this stone and loosening that. "i say, why don't some of those stones rock? they ought to." he began to wander aimlessly about for a few minutes, and then, finding a piece that must have been about a hundredweight, he began to prise it about using the iron bar as a lever, and to such good effect that he soon had it close to the edge. "look here, lads," he cried, "here's a game! i'm going to send this rolling down." we joined him directly, for there seemed to be a prospect of some amusement in seeing the heavy rugged mass go rolling down here, making a leap down the perpendicular parts there, and coming to an anchor somewhere many hundred feet below where we were perched. for there was not even a sheep in sight, the side of the valley below us being a rugged mass of desolation, only redeemed by patches of whortleberry and purple heath with the taller growing heather. "over with it, bob," cried bigley; "shall i help?" "no, no, you needn't help neither," said bob. "i'm going to do it all myself scientifically, as doctor stacey calls it. this bar's a fulcrum." "no, no," i said; "that isn't right." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed bigley. "then what is it, please, mr clever? doctor stacey said bars were fulcrums, and you put the end under a big stone, and then put a little one down for a lever--just so, and then you pressed down the end of the bar--so, and then--" "oh! look at it," cried bigley. for bob had been suiting the action to the word, and before he realised what he was doing the effect of the lever was to lift the side of the big stone, so that it remained poised for a few moments and then fell over, gliding slowly for a few feet, and then gathering velocity it made a leap right into a heap of _debris_ which it scattered, and then another leap and another, followed by roll, rush, and rumble, till, always gathering velocity, amidst the rush and rattle of stones, it made one final bound of a couple of hundred feet at least, and fell far below us on a projecting mass of rock, to be shivered to atoms, while the sound came echoing up, and then seemed to run away down the valley and out to sea. no one spoke for a few moments, for the feeling upon us was one of awe. "i say, that was fine!" cried bob at last. "let's do another. you don't mind, do you, sep?" "n-no," i said, "i don't think it does any harm." i spoke hesitatingly, as i could not help wondering what my father would have said had he been there. "come along," cried bob, who was intensely excited now, "let's send a big one down." his eagerness was contagious, and we followed him up a little along the edge of the steep cliff to find a bigger piece; but, though we could find plenty of small ones, which we sent bounding down by the help of the iron lever with more or less satisfactory results, the heavy masses all seemed to have portions so wedged or buried in the live rock that our puny efforts were without avail. "i tell you what," said bigley at last, "i know!" "what do you know?" cried bob with a sneer, for somehow, though he could easily have taken us one under each arm, bigley used to be terribly pecked by both. for answer bigley pointed up at the ragged comb-like ridge above us. "well, what are you doing that for?" cried bob. "let's send down the big boulder." we looked up at the great stone which we had long ago dubbed the boulder, because it was so much like one of the well-rolled pieces on the shore, and there it lay a hundred feet beyond us, looking as if a touch would send it thundering down. "hooray!" cried bob. "why, i say, sep, he isn't half such a stupid as you said he was." "i didn't say he was stupid," i cried indignantly. "oh, yes, you did!" said bob with a grin; "but never mind now. come on, lads. i say, it's steeper there, and as soon as it comes down it will make such a rush." "can't hurt anything, can it?" i said dubiously. "yes; it'll hurt you if you stand underneath," said bob grinning. "come along. what can it hurt? why, it wouldn't even hurt a sheep if there was one there. my! wouldn't he scuttle away if he heard it coming." bob was right, there was nothing to harm, and the displacement of a big stone in what was quite a wilderness of rough fragments would not even be noticed. so up we climbed, and in a few minutes were well on the ridge grouped on one side of the big boulder. "now, then," bob cried; "you are strongest, old big, and you shall help her. look here; i'll get the bar under, and sep and i will hoist. then you put your shoulder under this corner and heave, and over she goes." "bravo, skipper!" i said, for he gave his orders so cleverly and concisely that the task seemed quite easy. "wait a moment," he cried. "i haven't got the bar quite right. that's it. my! won't it go!" "_pah_! _tah_! _tah_! _tah_!" rang out over our heads just like a mocking laugh, as a couple of jackdaws flew past, their dark shadows seeming to brush us softly as they swept by. "now, then, big. don't stand gaping after those old powder-pates. now: are you ready?" "yes, i'm ready," cried bigley. "and you, sep? come and catch hold of the bar. now, then, altogether. heave up, big. down with it, sep. altogether. hooray! and over she goes." but over she did not go, for the great mass of stone did not budge an inch. "here, let's shift the bar, lads," cried bob. "i haven't got it quite right." he altered the position of the lever, thrusting in a piece of stone close under the rock so as to form a fulcrum, and then once more being quite ready he moistened his hands. "get your shoulder well under it, big; shove down well, sep, and we shall have such a roarer." "wait a moment," i said. "what for?" "let's make sure there's nobody below." "oh! there's nobody," cried bob; though he joined me in looking carefully down into the gorge; but there was nothing visible but a bird or two below, and a great hawk circling round and round high above us in the sunny air, as if watching to see what we were about. "oh! there's no one below, and not likely to be," cried bob. "now, then, my jolly sailor boys, heave ho. one--two--three, and over she goes." no she didn't. we pressed down at the lever, and bigley heaved and grunted like an old pig grubbing up roots, but the grey mass of stone did not even move. "oh! you are a fellow, big!" cried bob, stopping to wipe his forehead. "you didn't half shove." "that i did!" cried bigley, rising up and straightening himself. "i heaved up till something went crack, and i don't know whether it's buttons, or stitches, or braces. braces," he added, after feeling himself about. "oh! here's a bother, it's torn the buckle right off!" "never mind the buckle, lad. let's send this stone over. i want to see it go; don't you, sep?" "of course i do," i said. "now, then, all together once more. shove the bar in here, bob." "oh, it's of no use to shove it there," he replied. "no; here's the place. ah! now we've got it." "shall i come there and help with the bar?" cried bigley. "no, you sha'n't come there and help with the bar," sneered bob. "there ain't hardly room for us two to work, and you'd want a great bar half a mile long all to yourself. only wish i was as strong as you, an' i'd just pop that stone over in half a minute." "would you?" said big, staring at him sadly. "i can't." "no, because you don't half try." "oh, don't i? now you both heave again, and this time we'll do it." "all right," cried bob excitedly. "now, then, all together, heave ho, my lads, heave ho! and this does it. one--two--three--and--" "oh, look at that!" cried bigley, straightening himself again. "there now, did you ever see such a chap?" cried bob, stamping with rage; "just as she was going over, and it only wanted about half a pound to do it, he leaves off." "well, how would you like your other brace buckle to get torn up by the roots?" said bigley reproachfully. "brace buckles! why, your brace buckles are always coming off," said bob. "i wouldn't be such a great lumbering chap as you are for all devonshire and part o' wales." "i can't help it," said bigley sadly, as he tried to repair damages, and failing that, secured his clothing by tying his braces tightly round his waist. "i didn't want to grow so big all at once. everybody laughs at me for it." "nobody minds your being big," cried bob, "if you would only be useful. your braces are always breaking." "i'm very sorry, bob, old chap." "what's the good of being sorry now?" replied bob. "you've spoiled all the fun. it's no use stopping if you chaps won't help." "why, we did help, bob," i said, "and the stone didn't move a bit. it's too heavy." "it did move, i tell you. if you want to quarrel you'd better say so, and i'll be off home. i don't want to fight." "more do i, bob," i replied; "but it didn't really move. did it, big?" "if you say it didn't, big, i'll give you a crack right in the eye," cried bob fiercely, as he doubled his fist. bigley's mouth was opened to speak, but bob was so energetic and fierce that it remained like a round o, and the great fellow looked so comical that i burst out into a fit of laughter which set bob laughing too, and this made big stare at us both in a puzzled way; but by degrees he caught the mood of the moment and laughed too, and the cloud that overhung our expedition drifted away. "well," said bob at last in a disappointed tone, "i s'pose we may as well go down on the beach crabbing, for we can't move that stone." "i know how we could move it," cried bigley suddenly. "tchah! how?" i said. "same as my father moved the great rock out there in the cove. there was a big lump there that was always dangerous for the lugger when she was coming in." "well, what then?" said bob contemptuously. "why," continued big eagerly, "he waited till the spring tides and the water was terribly low, and then he put a lot of gunpowder in a hole under it and laid a train, and smeared a piece of rag with powder, and nicked the flint and steel till the rag caught fire, and then he ran away." "well?" i said. "well, then the rag sparked and spit fire till the train began to run, and then the train set light to the powder, and there was a big _bom boom_." "a big what?" we both cried. "a big _bom boom_," said bigley. "why, you didn't say anything about a big _bom boom_ being there before," cried bob. "i don't believe there is such a thing." "now, how you do go on!" cried bigley. "you know what i mean--a big bang when the powder went off." "then why don't you call things by their right name?" said bob. "a bang's a bang and nothing else." "well, the powder went bang and knocked the big rock right off the place where it stood." "what! up in the air?" i said. "up in the air? no; over into the deep water, where it sank to the bottom." "well, you don't suppose we're such old stupids as to think it floated, do you?" cried bob. "no, of course not, but that's what it did." "i don't believe it," said bob stubbornly. "you don't believe it?" i said, while poor bigley stood staring at the last speaker. "no. if that had been true old big would have been bouncing about it at school, and told us that story, as he always does everything he knows, nine hundred thousand times, till we were all tired of hearing it." "but i'd forgotten all about it till just now," pleaded bigley. "ah, well," said bob, who was sitting on the big stone swinging his legs to and fro, "i don't believe it, and if i did, what then?" "why, i thought," said bigley eagerly, "if we were to put some powder under that stone, and make a train, and strew some wet powder on a piece of rag--" "and light it, and make it fizzle, and then run away," cried bob, mimicking bigley's speech. "yes," cried the latter eagerly, "it would topple it over right down into the glen." "there's an old stupid for you," said bob, looking at me. then turning to bigley he said sharply, "why, i haven't got my pockets full of powder, have i?" "n-no," stammered bigley, who was taken aback by his fierce way. "and powder don't grow in the furze pops, does it?" "n-no," faltered bigley; "but--" "here, sep duncan," cried bob, "go and see if any of the rabbits have got any in their holes. there, get out! i shall go home. what's the good of fooling about here?" "but father's got lots of gunpowder in the shed," cried bigley. "eh?" said bob starting. "i could go and get a handful. he'd give it me if he was at home, and he wouldn't mind my fetching some." "wouldn't he?" cried bob, whose sour looks changed to eagerness. "hooray, then! cut off and bring your handkerchief full, and we'll send the stone sky-high." "all right," said bigley eagerly. "and bring a flint and steel." "yes: anything else?" "no, that'll do." "but, i say," i ventured to put in, "wouldn't it be dangerous?" "dangerous! ha, ha, ha! hark at him, big. here's miss duncan very much afraid that the powder might go off and pop him. oh, here's a game!" "i'm not afraid," i said; "only i shouldn't like to do anything dangerous." "well, who's going to, stupid?" said bob importantly. "think i don't know what powder is. there, cut off, big, and see how soon you can get back. we'll make a hole for the charge, same as they do in the quarry, and have it ready by the time you come. run." chapter four. the explosion. bigley wanted no further telling, but started off at full speed diagonally down the slope, while bob, who was all animation and good temper again, seized the iron bar, and began to look out for a suitable place for the charge. "hadn't we better wait and see if he can get the powder?" i ventured to say. "not we," said bob. "he'll be sure to get it, and then--oh, i say, sep, it will be a game!" once more i began to feel misgivings as to whether it would be such a game; but i said nothing, only looked on sometimes at bob, who, in imitation of what he had seen at the quarries, or the places where they blasted out shelves in the cliff-side for houses to be built, was busy driving in a hole right under the big rock by means of the bar, and sometimes at where bigley was shuffling and sliding down the side of the gap till he disappeared behind the shed. "if he gets the powder i wouldn't put much in," i said. "why not?" "because it may be dangerous." "there, get out! just as if i didn't know what i'm doing. i've watched the quarry-men lots of times." "will it split the rock?" i asked. "all depends how you put your charge," said bob very sagely. "i'm going to make it lift the rock, and drop it down over the side, and then away it'll go and sweep a lot of those big bits with it, just as if they were skittles, and they'll all go down like a big clatter stream to the bottom." "here's a better place here," i said, crawling down on the opposite side of the rock. "no, it ain't," said bob in his opiniated manner, and without looking. "it ain't half so good. this is the place. now go and look, and see if old big's coming back." i rose up again, and shading my eyes looked down to the cottage, beyond which the sea was glittering in the sun. "no," i said; "not yet. yes, he is: here he comes." "has he got it?" cried bob. "i don't know," i replied, "he's so far-off; but he has got something. he's waving his handkerchief." "here, hi! stop! don't do that!" cried bob, jumping up and throwing his arms about. "you'll spill all the powder. there's an old stupid. he don't take any notice." "why, how can he at all that distance away? you couldn't make him hear if he was only a quarter as far." bob did not reply, but sat down watching, and i did the same, while poor old bigley came panting and toiling up the slope in the hot sun. "oh, isn't he jolly slow," cried bob. "i wish i'd gone myself. it'll take him all day." "you'd have lain down and gone to sleep before you were half-way up the hill," i said maliciously, and bob tightened his lips. "go on," he said sourly. "i know what you want. you want to fall out, but i sha'n't. i hate a fellow who always wants to get up a fight. i came here to-day to see if we couldn't have a bit of fun, so i sha'n't quarrel. oh, i say, what a while he is! he's just like old teggley grey's horse, only he ain't so quick." poor old bigley wasn't quick, certainly, for it was hot, and hard climbing to where we were perched. to have come straight up was next to impossible: the only way was to come sidewise, getting a little higher as you walked along; and toiling industriously at his task, bigley at last reached the foot of the piled-up mass where we were waiting. "oh, i say, come up. be quick. what a while you have been!" said bob. "got it?" "oh, it's all very well to talk," panted bigley wiping his forehead, "sitting down there so quietly. it's hot." "never mind about it's being so hot," cried bob. "have you got it?" "got what?" "did you ever hear such a chap?" cried bob. "the powder." "why, of course i have. didn't i go on purpose to get it?" we both thought that the intention was not always followed by the deed, but we said nothing in our anxiety to get the material for our experiment; and as bigley had come to a halt, we had to go down about a hundred feet to help him climb up the rest of the way, when he drew out a pint tin can full of powder, the flint and steel, and a piece of rag, which he had taken the precaution to damp in the stream and then wring out before starting back. we set to work at once making the damp rag into a fuse by rubbing it well with the coarse-grained gunpowder, and then, it being decided that we could not do better than leave the powder in the tin canister, whose opening answered admirably for the insertion of the rag fuse, bob set to work to enlarge the hole he had made till it was big enough to admit the charge. then with great care the end of the rag was thrust into the powder, and held there with a piece of slaty chip, sufficient length of the rag being left to reach out beyond the side of the stone. next bob took the tin and thrust it into its place far under the rock, and the only remaining thing to do was to light the fuse and get well out of the way. "who's going to nick the steel?" i said. "well," said bob coolly, "as i've done nearly all the rest of the work you may as well do that." i felt a moment's hesitation, nothing more, and taking the flint, steel, and tinder-box, with a brimstone match, i went down on my knees beside the stone, where the piece of rag lay out ready, and after a great deal of nicking i made one of the sparks i struck fall into the tinder-box, and, after the customary amount of blowing, produced enough glow to ignite the tip of the brimstone-dipped match, which by careful shading fluttered and burned with a blue flame nearly invisible in the noontide light. it was an extremely risky proceeding, for we had dropped some of the powder in among the short dry moss and stones, and then, too, the rag was drying fast, and it was quite within the range of possibilities that when i lit one end it might communicate too rapidly with the powder in the canister, and the explosion would take place before i could get out of the way. but bob chowne and bigley were standing only a couple of yards behind me, ready to dodge behind some of the great rocks on the comb of the ridge, and i believe that in those days i possessed so much of the spartan fortitude which pervaded our school, that i would sooner have been blown up than show fear. so i sheltered my match, bending lower and lower, till i could bring it to a level with the powder-smeared rag, which caught at once, and began to sparkle and scintillate, sending up a thin blue flame at the same time. that was enough, and throwing the match away, i began to back towards the lookers-on, but hearing a scuffling noise among the stones, i looked round to see that they were both running. "come on!" shouted bob. "look sharp, sep!" as they had begun to run it seemed to be no shame for me to do the same, so i darted after them, and found them just on the other side of the ridge, lying down behind some of the great rocks. "that's right," cried bob. "creep close; nothing can hurt us here. are you sure you left the thing burning?" "quite," i said. "it must be off directly." i don't know whether bigley was aware of the fact, but he crept close between two rocks and behaved just as an ostrich is said to do, for he stuck his head right in and then seemed to consider that he was quite safe. suddenly, as we were listening impatiently for the explosion, an idea occurred to me. "i say," i said, "what's the good of all this? we sha'n't see the stone go down." bob started up in a sitting position, and gave bigley a tremendous slap which made him follow suit. "why, you are a chap!" he said as the idea came home to him too. "why didn't you say so sooner?" "i didn't think of it," i replied. "oh!" exclaimed big dolefully, "what was the use of me taking all that trouble about the powder. i'm hot yet with climbing." "it's all sep duncan's fault," cried bob. "i never did see such a chap as he is. well, what's to be done now?" "let's go on the top again and see it go," cried big. "oh, no," i said, "it wouldn't be safe till the powder's gone off." "you mean it wouldn't have been safe if i'd done what you wanted," cried bob triumphantly. "i say, big, he wanted me to put the powder under the stone on the other side, so that when it went off it would have blown the stone over this side instead of down into the gap, only i wouldn't." "well, it does seem a pity after taking all that trouble," cried bigley dolefully. "i say, isn't it time it started?" "yes," said bob in his sour way. "i don't believe old sep lighted the rag." "that i'm sure i did, and it was smoking fast when i came away." "ran away, you mean, you coward!" "ho--ho--ho!" laughed bigley. "what are you laughing at, stupid?" said bob. "at you. didn't you say to me, `come on, big, let's run for it now. it's all alight.'" "well, i thought it was then, old clever-shakes. don't you be so precious ready with your tongue." "here, don't make all this bother," i said pettishly. "i did light the rag, and it has gone out again. never mind, i can soon get another light." "let's wait a minute first," said bob cautiously. it was good advice, and we did wait i suppose quite a minute, but to us it seemed more than five, and considering now that it was quite safe, i jumped up and we went back to the ridge, looking eagerly towards the place where the stone hung over the gap, but it was hidden from us by the great blocks we had run round, or else probably we might have seen what we smelt--the thin blue stream of smoke that curled up from beneath the great block. as it was, our noses and not our eyes saved us, for i being in front, and just about to pass on to the open edge of the gap, stopped suddenly and said: "i can smell burning. can't you?" "i can smell the tinder," said bob. "go on and--" he did not finish his speech, for the earth shook beneath our feet, and we saw a flash and a great puff of smoke, and quite a hurricane of bits of slate and stone and earth came flying by our ears, turning us into statues for the moment. then i bounded forward, followed by my companions, to stand beneath a broad canopy of smoke that floated inland, and just in time to see the great stone go rumbling and bounding down the precipitous place like a pebble, gathering force moment by moment, till it seemed to glance from a stone and make one tremendous leap of quite a couple of hundred feet right into a clump of rugged masses of rock half-way down the precipice, and these it scattered and drove before it in one great avalanche of _debris_ down and down and down till the bottom was reached, and what had increased into quite a little landslip settled into its new home with a sullen roar. chapter five. we dine with a smuggler. we three boys stood gazing down at our work with a feeling closely akin to awe, staring at the rushing stone cataract which kept throwing off masses of grey foam which were great pieces of rock bouncing and leaping and bounding down as if delighted at being set free to move after being fixed to the earth since who could say when? no one spoke, no one moved till all was still below, and then, while i was wondering what my father would say, bigley uggleston suddenly made us start by tossing up his cap and shouting "hooray!" this roused bob, who began to smile. "i thought that would move it," he said coolly. "why, what's the matter with you, sep? here, big, look at him; he's quite white. here's a game! he's frightened." "no, i'm not," i said stoutly. "i was only thinking about what my father will say when he sees what we've done." "get out! hark at him. one can't come down to the gap now without old sep duncan dinning it into your ears about his father, and what he'll say, and all to show how proud he is, just because an old chap has bought a bit of land down by the sea. why, what harm have we done?" "torn all that ragged place down the bottom of the cliff," i said dolefully. "it wasn't like that before." "and what of it? who's to know but what the stone tumbled down by itself? nobody heard." we looked guiltily round, but the gap was perfectly solemn and silent, the only thing suggesting life after the two cottages and the lugger being the vessels out at sea between us and the welsh coast. "but it seems such a pity!" i said ruefully. "i didn't think the stone would make so much of a mark coming down." "there he goes again!" sneered bob. "afraid of spoiling his father's estate. oh, arn't we proud of two sides of a hole and a water-gully!" i had some reason for my remarks, for as i looked down there below us, where the great mass had struck so heavily, there appeared to be a smooth grey patch as if the surface had been scraped away. "hi! look, look!" cried bigley. "see the rabbits!" we looked, and could see at least a dozen little fellows that had been scared out of their holes, scuttling about among the stones, their white cottony tails showing quite plainly in the clear air. but these soon disappeared, and the others yielding to my desire to go down and see what mischief had really been done by the fall, we all began to slip and slide and stumble down the precipitous place, keeping as nearly as we could in the course taken by the stone, till we came upon the bare-looking spot. it was just as it had struck me; the great rock we had sent down had started a number more, and they had literally scraped off all the loose surface pieces and earth, and scoured the valley slope for a space of about three yards wide and fifty feet in depth down to the ancient rock. below this the valley grew less steep, and the stone slide had had less force, beginning after a time to leave fragments behind, so that the place seemed little changed, except here half-way up the slope. "tchah!" exclaimed bob; "nobody will notice this, and if they saw it from down below they wouldn't take the trouble to climb up." his words seemed full of truth, for it seemed to me that nothing but the sheep and rabbits was likely to come rambling and climbing up here; so, feeling more at my ease, i began to look about with the eyes of curiosity to see if there was anything to be found. my companions followed my example, and we examined the places that had been scoured bare, to see that they were very much like the cliffs down by the shore, being evidently of the slate common there, a coarse grey slate, stained with markings of lavender and scarlet pink, which, where it was freshly fractured, glistened in the sun like some portions of a wood-pigeon's breast. there was nothing else to see, and my companions went on climbing down, while i lingered for a few minutes picking up a bit of broken stone here and another there, to throw them away again, all but one bit which looked dark and shiny, something like a bit of welsh coal, only it wasn't coal, and that i put in my pocket. "come on!" shouted bob; "we're going down to the shore." i hurried after them, and we went lower and lower till we reached the little river, which ran glistening and rippling over the stones. we had no tackle but our hands, and so the little trout that revelled in the clear water escaped that day; but we were obliged to stop at every swirling pool where the water grew deep and dark, to have a good stare at the little speckled beauties, and lay plots against their happiness. these pauses took up a good deal of time, so that it was about one o'clock when we reached uggleston's cottage, and, as it happened, just as its tenant was coming up from his boat, having just landed from some expedition along the coast. he was not alone, for old binnacle bill, as we called him, was behind, carrying the oars and the mast with the little sail twisted round, so as to put them in uggleston's lean-to shed. as we drew nearer i began to wonder what sort of a reception we were going to receive from old jonas uggleston; and it struck me very forcibly then, how strange it seemed that he should be the father of my school-fellow, who was always well dressed, that is as school-boys are, while he was just like an ordinary fisherman of the coast, with rough flannel trousers rolled up, big fisherman's boots, blue worsted shirt, and an otter-skin cap, from beneath which his grisly hair stuck out in an untended mass, while his beard, that was more grisly still, half covered his dark-brown face. he was a stern, fierce-looking man, with large dark eyes that seemed to ferret out everything one was thinking about, and as he came up he looked at us all searchingly in turn. "hallo, father! been along the coast?" cried bigley, striding up to him; and there was just a faint kind of smile on jonas uggleston's face as his son shook hands and then took his arm in a way that seemed to come like a surprise to me, for it seemed so curious that my school-fellow bigley could like that fierce, common-looking man. "hallo, big!" growled old jonas grimly, "keeping your holidays then. who've you got here? oh! it's you, young chowne, is it? ah! i was coming over to see your father 'bout my foot as i got twisted 'tween two bits o' rock--jumping; but it's got better now. home from school?" "yes, sir; we came home yesterday," said bob, staring hard at old uggleston's mahogany hands. "and who's this, eh? oh, young cap'n duncan, eh?" continued the old fellow, turning to me as if he were not sure. "so you've come home from school, eh?" "yes, sir," i said; "i came with them yesterday." "well, i know that, don't i?" he said sharply. "think folk as don't go to school don't know nothing, eh?" "oh, no, sir," i said apologetically. "'cause they do, you know. and so we must buy the gap, must we, and get to be landlords, must we, and want to turn parties as has lived here twenty or thirty years or more out of their houses and homes, must we? now, look ye here, young gent, what i've got to say is--bah! what a fool i am," he cried, smiting his open left hand with his fist. "what am i talking about? 'tar'n't his fault." i was standing aghast and wishing myself a long way off, when his whole manner changed and he patted me on the shoulder. "'tar'n't your fault, my lad, 'tar'n't your fault. so you've come home for the holidays, eh?" "yes, sir." "hah! bigley, my big babby, often talks about you when he writes to me, lad. you're mates, eh?" "oh, yes," i said, finding his tone roughly kind now. "we sleep in the same room." "hah, yes! well, and what have you chaps been about?" "oh, climbing about, and down by the stream, father," put in bigley quickly. "and you ar'n't hungry a bit, eh, lads? well, i am," he said, without waiting for us to speak. "let's go in and see what mother bonnet has got for us." i was for hanging back, and so was bob, who was jealous of the extra notice taken of me; but old jonas uggleston took hold of us both by the shoulders and marched us before him as if we were prisoners, and regularly pushed us in at the low door and into the low rustic-looking room, with its floor formed of big rough slabs of slate, and its whitewashed walls hung with all kinds of fishing gear and odds and ends, that looked very much as if they had come from different wrecks, so out of keeping were they with the plain, homely room, smelling strangely of sea-weed with a dash of fish. "and i thought there'd be something ready to eat," said old jonas. "that's right, big, put some chairs to the table, and come to an anchor all of you." he smiled grimly as he thrust both bob and me into chairs and then turned to his son. "take the big pitcher, boy, and fill it from the cider barrel. it's in the back place yonder. good cider won't hurt boys. it's only like drinking apples 'stead o' chewing of 'em. i'm going to dip my hands. back directly." he nodded and left the room with his son, leaving bob and me staring at each other across the table. "don't it seem rum," he whispered, "having no table-cloth?" i said it did, but then the table was beautifully clean, and so were the silver table-spoons, and the silver mug at the end where old jonas sat. while, to make the table thoroughly attractive to us hungry boys, who had been walking all the morning, there was a good-sized cold salmon on a big dish; a great piece of cold ham; a large round loaf that looked as if it had been baked in a basin, and a plate of butter and a dish of thick yellow cream. these substantial things had a good effect upon bob chowne, whose face began to look smooth and pleasant, and who showed his satisfaction farther by kicking me under the table, for he was afraid to make any more remarks, because we could hear jonas uggleston, in some place at the back, blowing and splashing as if he were washing himself in a bucket; and of this last there was no doubt, for we heard the handle rattle, then a loud splash, as if he had thrown the dirty water out of the window, and the bucket set down and the handle rattling again. this made bob kick me again painfully, and he grinned and his eyes seemed to say, "no jug and basin, and no washstand." just then bigley came in with a great brown jug of cider, smiling all over his face. "i say, i am glad father has asked you to stop," he said. "we'll get him to let us have the boat after dinner." just then old jonas came in without his otter-skin cap, combing the thick grisly fringe round his head, the top of which was quite bare; and directly after from another door--for there were doors nearly everywhere, because jonas uggleston had built the cottage very small at first and then kept on adding rooms, and kitchens, and wash-house with stores--mother bonnet came in, an elderly plump woman, who always put me in mind of a cider apple when it was ripe. mother bonnet was binnacle bill's wife, and lived at the cottage on the other side of the stream, but she came and "did for" master uggleston, as she called it; that is to say, she cooked and kept the house clean; and she bore in hand a dish of hot new potatoes, which were very scarce things with us and a deal thought of by some people for a treat. she nodded to us all in turn, and was going away again, when jonas shouted "winegar," and mother bonnet hurriedly produced a big black bottle from a corner cupboard, and placed it upon the table. that was about as rough a dinner as bob chowne and i had ever sat down to, but how delicious it was! "'live last night," said jonas, digging great pieces of the salmon off with a silver spoon, and supplying our plates. "you catch him, father?" said bigley. "yes, big. weir." "weir," i thought to myself. "weir? what does he mean by weir?" "eat away, my lads," cried jonas uggleston. "big: have off some bread." "when did you finish the weir, father?" said bigley, with his mouth full, in spite of all dr stacey had said. "seccun april, boy. you can work it a bit, now you're down." bigley looked at us with eager eyes, but we were too busy to pay much attention, though i was anxious to see a weir that would catch salmon, and ready to ask questions as soon as the dinner was done. "pour out the cider, lad. it's a fresh cask, and it's good. i bought some at squire allworth's sale." bigley began to pour out for us, old jonas having pushed his silver mug to my side, while he took a brown one from a shelf for his and bob's use; and i was feeling sorry that he should have given me the silver mug, because bob would not like it, when, just as old jonas mentioned squire allworth's sale, his face changed again, and i saw his scowl as he looked at me. "he's thinking about my father buying the gap," i said to myself; but forgot it all directly, for the fierce look passed away as the old man lifted his cup. "taste it, boys, and it'll make you think of being in the sunshine in an orchard, with the sun ripening the apples. now then: salmon getting bony. who'll have some ham?" we all would, and we were quite ready afterwards to attack and finish off a pot of raspberry jam which mother bonnet brought in with a smile; and the raspberry jam, the beautiful butter and bread, and the cream worked such an effect upon bob chowne that he exclaimed suddenly: "oh, don't i wish dr stacey would give us dinners like this!" old jonas uttered a hoarse harsh laugh, which made me feel uncomfortable, for he did not look as if he were laughing, but as if he were in a very severe and angry fit with somebody. "there," he said, when we had quite done, "be off, boys, now. i'm going to be busy." "yes, father," said big. "may we have the boat and go out for a sail?" old jonas turned sharply round on him, and looked as if he were going to knock his son down, so fierce was his aspect. "no!" he roared. "no, father?" faltered bigley. "no!" said old jonas, not quite so fiercely. "do you think i want to spend all next week on the look-out to find you chaps when you're washed ashore--drowned?" "oh, father! just as if it was likely!" "haw, haw!" laughed old jonas, and it did not seem like a laugh, but as if he were calling his son bad names. "you can manage a boat all of you, can't you, and row and reef and steer? get out. books is in your way, and writin', and sums, not boats." "but father--" "hold your tongue. i don't want to lose my boat, and i don't want to lose you. may be useful some day. doctor wants his boy too, teach him to make physic; and i ar'n't no spite again' young duncan here, so i dunno as i partic'lar wants him throw'd up on the beach with his pockets full o' shrimps; so, no. now be off. go and look at the weir." chapter six. a sea-side weir. "it's of no good," said bigley, as we tramped down over the rough sand and pebbles. "when he says `no' he means it. we could have managed the boat all right. i say, i'll get him some day to let binnacle bill take us, and we'll buy some twisty bristol for him, and make him spin yarns." "but where's the weir?" i said, as we were getting close down to where the sea was breaking, and where the fresh-water of the little river came bubbling up from among the boulders after its dive down below, and was now mingling with the salt water of the sea. "where's the weir?" cried bigley. "why, this is it." "this?" said bob, "why it's only a lot of hurdles." so it appeared at first sight, but it was ingeniously contrived all the same for its purpose; and in accordance with the habits of the salmon and other fish that are fond of coming up with the tide to get into fresh-water, and run up the different rivers and streams. it was a very simple affair, and looked to be exactly what bob had said--a lot of old hurdles. but it was strongly made all the same, and consisted of a couple of rows of stout stakes driven down into the beach, just after the fashion of the figure on the opposite page, with one row towards the sea, and the other running up beside where the stream water bubbled up and towards the shore. in and out of these stakes rough oak boughs were woven so closely, that from the bottom to about four feet up, though the water would run through easily enough, there was no room for a decent-sized fish to go through, while down at the bottom all this was strengthened by being banked up with stones inside and out, and all carefully laid and wedged in together, and cemented with lime. now when the tide was up all these posts and hurdles were covered with water, and as the fish swam up to meet the fresh stream, a great many would sometimes be over the ground inclosed by the weir, searching about for food washed down by the stream, or for the little shrimps and other water creatures that hung about the hurdles, which were a favourite place too with mussels, which cling to such wood-work by thousands. now though they are easily frightened it does not seem as if fish have much brain, for sometimes they stopped swimming about inside these hurdles till the tide had run down as low as the tops of the posts, and then, feeling it was time for them to be off with the tide, they'd start to swim off, but only to find themselves shut in. sometimes it would be a shoal of grey mullet, sometimes a salmon or two that had tried to get up the stream, and could not get by the pebble bar; and there they would be swimming about, not feeling their danger till it was too late. first of all they would try to get through the hurdles, and there they would keep on trying till some wise one amongst them thought that by swimming round the ends at a or b they would reach the open sea. sometimes they would do this and escape. they all follow one another like sheep in a flock; but generally they do not try to get round the ends till it is too late, for while there is still plenty of water at c there is very little at b and none at all at a, and the consequence is that the fish are left splashing when the tide goes out, in a few little shallow pools, where there is nothing to do but scoop them out with a bit of a net. the tide was getting well down, and the hurdles were nearly all bare, but there was too much water for us to see whether there were any fish left, and so we stood on first one big boulder, and then upon another, as they were left dry, every now and then making a bold leap on to a rock, to stand there surrounded by water, and now and then obliged to jump back to avoid a wetting. but at last the hurdles and stones at the sea end of the weir were completely left by the tide, so that we could walk down, and then, as the water shallowed more and more in the triangular inclosure, we looked out eagerly for fish. "there they are--lots of 'em!" cried bob excitedly, for he was too much interested to be disagreeable and say unpleasant things. "oh, those are only little ones," cried bigley, as the little silvery fry kept flashing out of the surface. "they'll all go out through the holes. you'll see none of them will be left." and so it proved; for as the water in the inclosure sank lower and lower the small fry were seen no more, but a swirl here and there showed that one, if not more, good-sized fish were left, and in the anticipation of a good catch we hopped about from stone to stone, and clambered along the hurdles. "hooray!" shouted bob, who was now in a high state of delight, "isn't this better than learning our jolly old _hic_--_haec_--_hoc_, eh, sep?" "i should think so." "oh!" there was a shout and a splash and we two roared with laughter, for bigley had just then made a jump to gain a stone standing clear of the falling water, when, not allowing for the slippery sea-weed that grew upon it in a patch, his feet glided over the smooth stone and he came down in a sitting position in the water, which flew out in spray on all sides. "here! hi! net!--net!" shouted bob. "come on, sep, here's such a big one--a bigley big one. it's a shark, i know it is. look at his teeth!" "it's all very well to laugh," said bigley, getting up and standing knee-deep in the water to squeeze the moisture out of the upper part of his clothes, "but how would you like it?" "ever so," cried bob; "i'm as hot as hot. mind how you go near him, sep, he'll bite. oh, don't i wish i had a boat-hook, i'd fetch him out." "i don't care. it's only sea-water. i don't mind," grumbled bigley wading about in the pool. "i say, boys, here's a salmon and a whole lot of mullet." "where, where?" cried bob, and, without a moment's hesitation he jumped in and waded towards bigley. "there! can't you see 'em? there they go!" cried bigley pointing. "no." "why, out yonder! they're lying there quiet now amongst the stones." "oh, won't i give it you for this, old big!" cried bob. "there are no fish there at all. you gammoned me to make me come in and get my legs wet like yours are. never mind, i'll serve you out." "why, there are some fish," cried bigley indignantly. "don't you believe him, sep," said bob. "it's all nonsense." "yes, there are," i said from where i had climbed over the deepest part by clinging to the hurdles, "i can see them." "oh no, you can't, my lad. you'd like me to come splashing through the water there for you to laugh at me, but it won't do. there isn't a single fish in the place, only old bigley--old babby as his father calls him. i say, sep, what a game! did you ever see such a babby?" "don't do that," said bigley sharply. "don't do what?--splash you?" cried bob. "there--and there." he suited the action to the word, and scooping up the water, he sent it flying over our tall schoolmate. "you know what i mean," said bigley, speaking in a low angry tone such as i had never before heard from him. "why, what do you mean?" cried bob offensively. "do you want me to thrash you?" "i want you to leave my father alone, and what he says to me," said bigley sharply. "i don't mind your making fun of me. i don't mind what you call me; but that's his name he has always used since i was a little baby, and you've no business to say it." "ha--ha--ha!" laughed bob, "here's a game. do you hear, sep! he says he was once a little baby. i don't believe it. ha--ha--ha!" bigley did not take any notice, and i did not join in the laugh, so bob made a movement as if he were going to wade out of the pool, and his lips parted to say something disagreeable. i knew as well as could be that he was going to say that he should go home if we were about to turn like that; but his legs were wet, and the walk home was long, and not pleasant to take alone. and then there were the fish in the pool to catch, and in spite of his expressions of unbelief he knew that there must be some. so he altered his mind, and changed his tone. "i didn't want to upset you, big, old matey," he said. "i didn't, did i, sep duncan? here, what's the good of quarrelling when it's holidays? there, i won't call you so any more." bigley's face cleared in a moment, and with a couple of splashes he was at bob's side with one hand extended, and the other upon his school-fellow's shoulder. "it's all right," he said quickly. "shake hands, and let's get the fish. there, i'll go for the prawn net and a basket." he ran splashing out of the water, and up over the boulders towards the cottage, leaving me and bob together. "i wouldn't be as big as he is," said bob, "and i wouldn't have such a nasty temper for thousands of pounds. here, what are you grinning at?" "at you." for there was something so comic in his speech, coming as it did from the most ill-tempered boy in the school--dr stacey had often said so, and bob proved it every day of his life--that i burst into a hearty laugh. bob stood knee-deep in the water staring hard at me. for the first few moments he looked furious; then he seemed to grow sulky, and then in a low surly voice he said: "i say, sep, it isn't true, is it?" "isn't what true?" "about the--about what old stay-sail said?" "about you being disagreeable?" "yes. it isn't true, is it?" i nodded. "i don't believe it," he said impetuously. "i'm as good-tempered a chap as anybody, only people turn disagreeable with me. well, you are a pretty mate to turn against me like that." "i don't turn against you, bob, and i don't mind your being disagreeable," i said; "but you asked me, and i told you the truth." bob stood quite still and thoughtful, as if he were watching the fishes, and he began to whistle softly a very miserable old tune that the shepherds sang out on the moor--one which always suggested winter to me and driving rain and cold bleak winds. "look here!" i said, for the water was draining away fast out of the pool now, the stones that banked up the bottom of the woven hurdle-work being visible here and there. but bob did not move. he stood there with his hands deep in his pockets and the water up to his knees still, the part where he was being deeper, and he kept on whistling softly to himself. "why can't you look, bob?" i said. "you can see the fishes quite plain." "i don't want to see 'em," he replied sulkily. "when are you going home?" "oh, not forever so long; not till tea-time. here comes big!" bob did not look round, but his ears seemed to twitch as the sound of our schoolmates' heavy tread came over the stones, for he lumbered along at a trot with a big maund, as we called the baskets there, in one hand, a great landing-net in the other. but as bigley came to the edge of the pool bob waded out and said in a low quiet voice: "shall i carry the basket?" we both stared, for in an ordinary way bob would have shouted, "here, give us hold of the net," and snatched at it or anything else in his desire to take the lead. "no, no," cried bigley, though. "you two chaps are visitors. you have the first go, bob, and then let sep duncan try. but it's no use yet." he was quite right; there was too much room for the fish to dart about, and so we stood here, and crept there, to watch them as they glided about among the swaying sea-weed, all brown and olive-green, and full of bladder-like pods to hold them up in the water. sometimes there was a rush, and a swirl in the pool. at another time we could catch sight of the silvery side of some fish as it turned over and glided through the shoal. then for a few minutes all would be perfectly still and calm--so still that it was hard to imagine that there was a fish left in the place. and all the time the tide kept on retiring, and the water in the pool lowering, till all at once there was a tremendous rush, a great silvery fish flashed out into the air, and then fell flat upon its side, making the drops fly sparkling in the sun. "salmon," cried bigley, "and a big one." "well, let's catch him, then," cried bob excitedly, the gloomy feeling forgotten now in the excitement of the scene. "go on!" cried bigley, handing him the net, and armed therewith bob began to wade about, hunting the salmon from side to side of the pool, under my directions, for being high up on the dry, i could see the fish far better than those who were wading. but it was all labour in vain. twice over bob touched the salmon, but it was too quick for him, and flung itself over the net splashing him from head to foot, but only encouraging him to make fresh exertions. "here, you come and try!" he cried at last. "you're not tired. do you hear? you come and try, sep duncan. they're the slipperiest fishes i ever saw." i shook my head. i was dry, and meant to keep so now, and said so. "it's of no use to try," said bigley, "not till the water's nearly gone. you can't catch 'em." "why, you knew that all along!" i cried. "to be sure i did; but you wouldn't have believed me if i'd said so. let's wait. in half an hour it will be all right, and we can get the lot." so we waited impatiently, wading and creeping from stone to stone, and trying to count the fish in the weir pool; but not very successfully, for some we counted over and over again, and others were like the little pig in the herd, they would not stand still to be counted. all at once it seemed as if a big retiring wave left room for nearly all the water left to run out, and though another wave came and drove some back, the next one took it away, leaving room for the weir to drain, and with a shout of triumph we charged down now at the luckless fish, which were splashing about in about six inches of water among the sea-weed and stones. i forgot all about not meaning to get wet, for i was in over my boot-tops directly. but what did it matter out there in the warm sunshine and by the sea! it was rare sport for us, though it was death to the fishes. but the weir was contrived to obtain a regular food supply, and we thought of nothing but catching the prisoners and transferring them to the basket. bob was pretty successful with the net, but he only caught the mullet. the honour of capturing the eleven-pound salmon, for such it proved to be, was reserved for bigley and me, as i managed to drive the beautiful silvery creature right up on to the stones, and there bigley pounced upon it, and bore it flapping and beating its tail to the basket. as we worked, the remainder of the water sank away, leaving only a pool of an inch or so deep, and from which bob fished three small mullet, the total caught being eleven, the largest five pounds, and the salmon eleven, the same number of pounds as there were mullet. we bore our capture up to the cottage in triumph, where old jonas presented me and bob with a fine mullet a piece, the salmon and the rest being despatched at once by binnacle bill to ripplemouth for sale. it was now getting so near tea-time that we set off for home, it being understood that bigley was to come with us as far as my home, where we were all to have tea, after which he was to set off one way, and i was to go the other; that is to say, walking part of the way home with bob. this i did; but when we set off i could not help feeling how much pleasanter it would have been to have gone with bigley, for i did not anticipate any very pleasant walk. and i was right; for, whether it was the new bread, or the strength of our milk and water, i don't know--all i do know is, that bob was as sour as he could be, and insisted upon my carrying his mullet, because he said i should have nothing to carry going home. chapter seven. i startle my father. my father was first up next morning, and had been out for an hour before i went down the garden to join him, and found him walking the quarter-deck. you must not think by these words that he was on board a ship. nothing of the kind. he called by that name a flat place at the bottom of the garden just at the edge of the cliff, where there was a low stone wall built to keep anyone from falling over a couple of hundred feet perpendicular to the rocks and beach below. this was my father's favourite place, where he used to spend hours with his spy-glass, and along the edge of the wall, all carefully mounted, were six small brass cannon, which came out of a sloop that was wrecked below in the bay, and which my father bought for the price of old metal when the ship was broken up and sold. i used to think sometimes that he ought to have called the place the battery, but he settled on the quarter-deck, and the quarter-deck it remained. always once a year on his birthday he would load and fire all the cannons, and it was quite a sight; for he used to call himself the crew and load them and prime them, and then send me in for the poker, which had all the time been getting red-hot in the kitchen. then he used to take the poker from me, and i used to stop my ears. but as soon as i stopped my ears, he used to frown and say, "take out the tompions, you young swab!" so i used to take out the tompions--i mean my fingers--and screw up my face and look on while with quite a grand air my father, who was a fine handsome man, with a fresh colour and curly grey hair, used to stand up very erect, give the poker a flourish through the air, and bring the end down upon a touch-hole. then _bang_! there would be a tremendous roar, and the rocks would echo as the white smoke floated upwards. a quarter of a minute more and _bang_ would go another gun, and so on for the whole six, every one of them kicking hard and leaping back some distance on to the shingle. when all were fired, my father used to push them on their little carriages all back into their places; then he used to "bend," as he called it, the white ensign on to the halyards, and run it up to the head of a rigged mast which stood at the corner, and close to the edge of the cliff, and after this shake hands with himself, left hand with right, and wish himself many happy returns of the day. it was not his birthday that one on which i ran down the garden to join him; but there he was by his guns, busy with his spy-glass sweeping, as he called it, the bristol channel and talking to himself about the different craft. "hallo, sep, my boy!" he said; "here's a morning for a holiday landsman--or boy. well, i didn't see much of you yesterday." "no, father," i said; "i was out all day with doctor chowne's boy and young uggleston." "rather a queer companion for you, my boy, eh? uggleston is a sad smuggler, they say; but let's see, his boy goes to your school?" "yes, father, and he's such a good fellow. we went to his house down in the gap, and had dinner, and mr uggleston was very civil to me, all but--" "well, speak out, sep. all but what?" "he spoke once, father, as if he did not like your having bought the gap." "hah! very likely; but then you see, sep, i did not consider myself bound to ask everybody's permission when i was at the sale, much more mr jonas uggleston's, so there's an end of that." "he seemed to think he would have to turn out and go, father," i said, looking at him rather wistfully, for it appeared to me as if it would be a great pity if old uggleston and bigley did have to turn out, because we were such friends. "if mr jonas uggleston will behave, himself like a christian, and pay his rent," said my father, "he'll go on just the same as he did under old squire allworth, so he has nothing to complain about whatever." "may i go and tell him that, father!" i said eagerly. "no: certainly not." "i mean after breakfast, father." "so do i, my boy," he replied. "don't you meddle with such matters as that. so you had a good look round the place, eh?" "yes, father." "see many rabbits?" "yes, father, plenty." "that's right. i want to keep that place for a bit of shooting, and i'm thinking of buying a bigger boat, sep, and i shall keep her there." "oh!" i cried, "a bigger sailing boat?" "yes, a much bigger one, my boy--big enough to take quite a cruise. you must make haste and get finished at school, my lad, and then i can take you afloat, and make a sailor of you, the same as your grandfather and great-grandfather used to be." "yes, i should like to be a sailor, father," i said. "ah, well, we shall see," he replied; "but that is not the business to see to now. the first thing is to take in rations, so come along and have breakfast." i was quite willing, and in a few minutes we were seated in the snug cottage parlour with the window open, and the scent of the roses brought in by the breeze off the sea. "why, sep," said my father, after i had been disposing of bacon and eggs and milk for some time, "how quiet you are! isn't the breakfast so good as you get at school?" "heaps better, father;" for schools were very different places in those days to what they are now. "then what makes you so quiet?" "i was thinking how nice it would be if it was always holidays." "with the sun shining warmly like it is now, and the sky blue, and the sea quite calm, eh?" "yes, father." "you young goose--i mean gander," he said laughing. "pleasure that has not been earned by hard work of some kind is poor tasteless stuff, of which everybody would soon tire; and as to its being always hot and sunshiny, why, my dear boy, i've been out in the tropics when the sky has been for weeks without a cloud, the seams oozing pitch, and the rails and bolts and bell all so hot you could not touch them, and we would have given anything for a thick mist or a heavy rain, or a good puff of cool wind. no, no, my dear boy, england and its climate are best as they are. in all my travels i never found a better or more healthy place; and as to the holidays--bah! life was not made for play. kittens are the most playful things i know, but they soon give it up, and take to work." "yes, father," i said with a sigh, "but school exercises are so hard." "the better lad you when you've mastered them. it's hard work to learn to be a sailor, but the more credit to the young man who masters navigation, and gets to know how to thoroughly handle a ship; better still how to manage his men, for a crew is a very mixed-up set of fellows, sep." "yes, father, i suppose so. but i am trying very hard at school." "i know you are, sep. have another egg--and that bit of brown. you've got room, i know. make muscle." he helped me to what i was by no means unwilling to take, and then continued: "of course you are trying hard, and i know it. otherwise i shouldn't have been so glad to see you home for the holidays you've earned, and be ready to say to you, `never mind about holiday lessons, i don't approve of them, my lad; put them aside and i'll make excuses for you to the doctor. work as hard as you can when you are at school, and now you are at home, play as hard as you can.' we must have a bit of fishing. i've got some new lines, and a trammel net to set, and we'll do a good deal of boating. you sha'n't stand still for want of something to do. what's that?" "only a stone, father," i replied, for in pulling out my handkerchief, the piece that i had put in my pocket on the previous day flew out, and fell with a crash in the fireplace. "what do you want with stones in your pocket?" he said rather crossly, as he rose and picked up the piece to throw it out of the window; but, as soon as he had it in his hand, its appearance took his attention. he turned it over, weighed it in his hand, and then held it more to the light. i went on eating my breakfast and watching him closely, for i did not want to lose that piece of stone, and i was afraid that he would ask me more questions about it, sooner than bear which i was ready to see him throw the piece of rock out of the window, when, if he threw it far enough, the chances were that it would go over the cliff and fall upon the beach. just as i feared, the questions came as he put on his glasses and examined the fragment more closely. "where did you get this, sep?" he said--"on the beach?" "no, father, up on this side of the gap." "whereabouts?" "about three hundred yards from uggleston's cottage, and half-way up the slope, where the rocks stand up so big on the top." "hah! yes, i know the place. it was lying on the slope, i suppose?" "well, ye-es, father." "humph, strange!" he muttered. "there can't be any metals there. somebody must have dropped it." i hesitated. i wanted to speak out, but i was afraid, for i did not know what he would say if he heard that we had blown up one of the rocks with gunpowder, and sent all those stones hurtling down the side of the cliff. "yes," continued my father, "somebody must have dropped it. a good specimen--a very good specimen indeed." just then he raised his eyes, and caught me gazing at him wistfully. "hallo!" he said, "what does that mean? why are you looking so serious and strange?" "was i, father?" "yes, sir: of course you were. no nonsense. speak out like a man, and a gentleman. not quite the same thing, sep, for a gentleman is not always a thorough man; but a thorough man is always a gentleman. now, what is it?" i did not answer. "come, sep," he said sharply, "you're getting a great fellow now, and i want you, the bigger you grow, the more frank and open. i don't want you to grow into one of those men who look upon their father as someone to be cheated and blinded in every way, instead of as their truest and firmest friend and adviser. now, sir, you have something on your mind." "yes, father," i said slowly. "hah! i thought as much. in mischief yesterday?" "i'm afraid so, father." "well, out with it. you know my old saying, `the truth can be blamed, but can never be shamed.'" "yes, father." "well, i'm sure my boy could not bear to be shamed." "oh, no, father." "of course not," he said quietly. "and i'm sure you've got manly feeling enough not to be afraid of being blamed; so out with it, sir, and take your punishment, whatever it is, as the son of a sailor should." "yes, father," i exclaimed with a sort of gasp, and then i told him what we had done with the powder. "humph! nice fellows!" he exclaimed as i ended. "why, you might have blown each other to pieces. powder wants using only by an experienced man, and young chowne, who seems to have played first fiddle, seems to know more about his father's powders than that out of a keg. humph! so you blew down one of the lumps of stone?" "yes, father." "well, why didn't you say so at once?" he continued tartly, "and not shuffle and shirk. it was a foolish, monkeyish trick, but i suppose no great harm's done. what did you do it for?" "to see the stones rush down, sir," i said. "humph! well, don't do so any more." "i will not, father," i said hastily. "that's well. now we will not say any more about it. many stones come down?" "yes, father, they swept a bare place down the side of the cliff right to the old rock." "here, sep," said my father excitedly, holding out the lump of mineral, "did you pick this up before or after?" "after, father; where the rock was swept bare." my father looked at me quite excitedly. "done breakfast?" he said sharply. "yes, father." "put on your hat and come with me to the gap. stop a moment. did your school-fellows notice that piece of rock--did you show it to them?" "no, father. i was alone when i found it." "so much the better. then, look here, sep; don't say anything to them about it, nor about what you see to-day." "no, father; but--" "don't ask any questions, boy. i am not sure but you may have made a very important discovery in the gap. i had no idea of there being any metals there." "and are there, father?" "we are going to see, my boy. so now, keep your counsel. put on your cap and we will walk over to the gap at once, when you can show me the exact spot where you found this piece." i grew as excited as my father seemed to be, but with this difference, namely, that as i grew warmer he grew more cool and business-like. after i had given him some better idea of the place where the specimen had been found, he decided that we would not go round by the cliff path, and past jonas uggleston's cottage, but take a short cut over the high moorland ground at the back of the bay, and so on to the gap, where we could descend just where we lads had blown down the rock. it was not a long walk that way, though a hilly one, and before half an hour had passed we were close to the edge of the ravine, and directly after on the spot from whence the stone had been dislodged. here for the first time i noticed the handle of a hammer in my father's pocket as he stooped down and examined the place where the rock lay, and then shook his head. "no, not here," he said. "go on first." i led the way and he followed, noting where the rock had bounded off, and then descending to where it had charged the other pieces and rushed on down, baring a portion of the side of the ravine, as i have said, to the very rock. "hah!" ejaculated my father suddenly, as he seemed to pounce upon a fragment of stone something like the first i held. "here's another, and another, and another," i said. "yes, plenty," he replied rather hoarsely, as he picked up a couple more pieces. "place them in your pocket, boy." as he spoke he looked about him up and down, and ended by uttering another sharp exclamation, for in one place there was a rugged patch of rock just like the fragments we held, and seeming as if the cliff-side there was one solid mass. "look here, sep," he said quietly; "be smart, and gather up all the rough pieces of common grey slate you can find and throw them about here i'll help." i set to work and he aided me vigorously, with the result that in a short time we had hidden the bright metallic-looking patch, and then he laid his hand upon my arm. "that will do," he said. "now, keep a silent tongue in your head. i'll talk more to you afterwards. let's go home now. stop," he cried, starting; "don't seem to look, but turn your head slightly towards the sea. your eyes are better than mine. who's that standing on the piece of rock over yonder. can you see?" "no, father, not yet." "look more to the north, boy. just over the big rock that stands out of the cliff-side. there's a man watching us." "yes, i see, father," i cried. "who is it?" he whispered, as he led the way along by the steep slope so that we might descend and go up the gap by the stream side and reach the shore. "yes, i know, i'm sure now," i cried. "it's old jonas uggleston." "humph! of all men in the world," said my father. "well, the place is my own now, and no one has a right to interfere." he walked on silently for a few minutes, and then said softly: "i would rather no one had known yet." then aloud to me: "come, sep, let's get home and see what these rocks are made of. i'm beginning to think that you have made a great find." chapter eight. the doctor and i build a furnace. my father was very silent as we walked swiftly back home, where he locked up the specimens we had obtained, and then after a few minutes' thought he signed to me to follow him and started for ripplemouth. about half-way there we met doctor chowne on his grey pony with bob walking beside him, and directly after the doctor and my father were deep in conversation, leaving us boys together. "what's the matter!" said bob. "your father ill?" "no," i replied; "i think it's about business." how well i can recollect doctor chowne! a little fierce-looking stoutish man, in drab breeches and top-boots, and a very old-fashioned cocked hat that looked terribly the worse for wear. he used to have a light brown coat and waistcoat, with very large pockets that i always believed to be full of powders, and draughts, and pills on one side; and on the other of tooth-pincers, and knives, and saws for cutting off people's legs and arms. then, too, he wore a pigtail, his hair being drawn back and twisted up, and bound, and tied at the end with a greasy bit of ribbon. but it was not like anybody else's pigtail, for, instead of hanging down decently over his coat collar, it cocked up so that it formed a regular curve, and looked as if it was a hook or a handle belonging to his cocked hat. before my father and he had been talking many minutes, the doctor turned sharply round in his saddle, with one hand resting on the pony's back. he was going to speak, but his hand tickled the pony, which began to kick, whereupon doctor chowne, who looked rather red-faced and excited, stuck his spurs into the pony's ribs, and this made him rear and back towards the cliff edge, till the doctor dragged his head round so that he could see the sea, when he directly ran backwards and stood with his tail in the bank. "quiet, will you?" cried the doctor, and, as the pony was not being tickled, he consented to stand still. "here, bob!" said the doctor then. "yes, father." "go home." "go home, father! mayn't i go along with sep duncan?" "i said go home, sir," said the doctor sternly; and bob turned short upon his heel, and i saw him go along the road cutting viciously at the ferns and knapweeds at every step. "come along, sep," said my father, and i followed them as they walked slowly back towards our cottage, my father holding on by the pony's mane as he talked quickly to the doctor. for my father and doctor chowne were great friends, having once served for a long time in the same ship together; and so it was that, when my father left the service and settled down to his quiet life at the little bay, doctor chowne bought the practice off the last doctor's widow, and settled himself, with his boy, at ripplemouth. as i say, the doctor and my father were very great friends, such great friends that when one day my father felt himself to be dangerously ill, and sent over in great haste for doctor chowne, that gentleman galloped over and examined him carefully, and then began to bully him and call him names. he told him there was nothing the matter with him but fancy, and made him get up and go out for a walk, and told him afterwards that if they had not been such great friends he--the doctor--would have run him up a twenty-pound bill for attendance instead of nothing at all. and there before me were those two, one walking and the other riding, with their heads close together, talking in a low eager tone, while i was thinking about how hard it was for bob chowne that he should be sent away, and began to wish that i had not found that piece of stone. we reached home, and our sam, who kept the garden in order, and cleaned the boots and knives, and washed the boat, was called to take the doctor's pony, after which doctor chowne whispered something to my father. "oh, no," my father said. "he found it, and we can trust him." doctor chowne whispered something else, and it set me wondering how my father could be such good friends with a man who made himself so very disagreeable and unpleasant to every one he met; but all at once it seemed to strike me that i was always good friends with bob chowne, who was the most disagreeable boy in our school, and that though he could be so unpleasant, there was something about him i always liked; for though he bullied and hectored, he was not, like most bullying and hectoring boys, a coward, for he had taken my part many a time against bigger and stronger fellows, and at all times we had found him thoroughly staunch. as soon as sam had gone off with the pony, my father called kicksey, our maid, a great, brawny woman of forty, who was quite mistress at our place, my father being, like doctor chowne and jonas uggleston, a widower. kicksey came in a great hurry, with her muslin mob-cap flopping and her eyes staring, to know what was the matter. "light the back kitchen fire," said my father. "no," said doctor chowne, "put some wood and charcoal ready, and fetch a dozen bricks out of the yard." "is master sep ill?" cried kicksey. "oh, no: there he is. i was quite--" "there, be quick," said my father; "and if anybody comes, go to the gate and say i'm busy." kicksey stared at us all, with her eyes seeming to stand out of her head like a lobster's, she was so astounded at this curious proceeding, but she said nothing and hurried out. and here i ought to say that her name was ellen levan, only, when i was a tiny little fellow after my mother died, she used to nurse me, and in my childish prattle i somehow got in the habit of calling her kicksey, and the name became so fixed that my father never spoke of her as ellen; while our sam, who was an amphibious being, half fisherman, half gardener, with a mortal hatred of jonas uggleston's bill binnacle, and the doctor's man, always called her missers kicksey and nothing else. "now, then, duncan, are we to do this together, or is--" he made a sign towards me. "let him stop and help," said my father. "i can trust sep when i've told him not to speak. but can you stop? i understood you to say that you were going to see a couple of patients." "only old mrs ransom at the hall, and farmer dikeby's wife. the old woman's got nothing the matter but ninety-one, and as for mistress dikeby, she has had too much physic as it is, and if i go she won't be happy till i give her some more, which she will be far better without. no: i am going to stay and see this through." "i shall be very glad." "and so shall i, duncan. i said you were an idiot to buy that gap, and i told you so; but no one will be better pleased than i shall if it turns out well." he held out his hand and my father took it without a word. "now, then," said the doctor, "let's see the stuff." my father opened the corner cupboard and took out the pieces of rock, and doctor chowne put on his glasses and examined them carefully, frowning severely all the time and without a word. "do you think it _is_ tin?" said my father at last. "no, sir, i don't," said doctor chowne, throwing down one of the pieces in an ill-humoured way. "i'll take my oath it isn't." "oh!" ejaculated my father in a disappointed tone; "but are you sure?" "sure, sir? yes. i'm not clever, and i'm better at gunshot wounds and amputations than at medical practice, but i do know a bit about metals and mining. why, didn't we touch at banca in ' and see the tin mining there?" "yes," said my father; "but i took no interest in it then." "well, i did, my lad. tin? no. tin would either be stream-tin, looking like so much grey stone, or else tin in quartz, all little blackish grains." "then this is--" "like the yellow iron you showed me once, and wanted to make me believe was gold--a mare's nest?" my father looked at him with his brow all wrinkled up. "no," said the doctor quickly, "it is not tin, duncan, but very fine galena--" "galena?" said my father; and i stared at the glittering blackish ore like metallic coal. "yes, sir, galena-lead ore, and i shall be very much surprised if we do not find in it a large proportion of silver." "silver!" cried my father excitedly. "then it is a great find." "great find, my boy? a very great find. now get a hammer and let's powder some of this up, and see whether we can melt it. got a pair of bellows?" "oh yes, big ones." "hah! that's right," said the doctor. "now the way would be to take our powdered specimens to the blacksmith's forge, and melt them there, but that would be like letting the whole country-side know about it, and we've no occasion to do that. i suppose no one knows as yet?" "no--i'm not sure," said my father; and he mentioned how jonas uggleston seemed to be watching him. "that's bad. but never mind; the place is yours. have you got your deeds?" "no," said my father, "lawyer markley said they would be ready in a day or two. that was last week." "take the pony and ride over to barnstaple at once, and get them. don't come back without them, or, mark my words, there'll be some quibble or hindrance thrown in the way. make quite sure of the place at once i say." "but to-morrow, when we've tested these stones," said my father. "my dear duncan," cried the doctor, "i'm a disagreeable crotchety fellow, but you know you can trust me. now, take my advice, and go directly. if i saw a patient in a bad way, should i put off my remedies till to-morrow; and if you saw that you were getting your ship land-bound on a lee shore, would you wait till to-morrow before you altered your course?" "no," said my father smiling. "there, i'll go." he started directly, and as soon as we heard the pony's hoofs on the road the doctor turned to me. "come along, sep," he said, "and let's see if we can't make your father's fortune." he was quite at home in our house, and i followed him into the back kitchen, where he set me at work powdering up the specimens with a hammer on a block of stone, while he built up in the broad open fireplace quite a little furnace with bricks, into which he fitted a small deep earthen pot, one that he chose as being likely to stand the fire, which he set with wood and charcoal, after mixing the broken and powdered ore with a lot of little bits of charcoal, and half filling the earthen pot. this he covered with more charcoal, shut in the little furnace with some slate slabs, and then, when he considered everything ready, started the fire, which it became my duty to blow. this did not prove necessary after the fire was well alight, for the doctor had managed his furnace so well that it soon began to roar and glow, getting hotter and hotter, while, as the charcoal sunk, more and more was heaped on, till the little fire burned furiously, and the bricks began to crack, and turn first of a dull red, then brighter, and at last some of them looked almost transparent. all this took a long time, and our task was a very hot one, for from between the places where the bricks joined, the fire sent out a tremendous heat, where it could be seen glowing and almost white in its intensity. but hot as it was on a midsummer day, the whole business had a great fascination for me, and i would not have left it on any account. the doctor, too, seemed wonderfully interested. kicksey came about two o'clock to say that the dinner was ready, but the doctor would not leave the furnace; neither would i, and each of us, armed with a pair of tongs from the kitchen and parlour, stood as close as we could, ready to put on fresh pieces of charcoal as the fire began to sink. "how long will it take cooking, sir?" i said, after the furnace had been glowing for a long time. "hah!" he said, "that's what i can't tell you, sep. you see we have not got a regular furnace and blast, and this heat may not be great enough to turn the ore into metal, so we must keep on as long as we can to make sure. it is of no use to be sanguine over experiments, for all this may turn out to be a failure. even with the best of tools we make blunders, my lad, and with a such a set out as this, why, of course, anything may happen." "anything happen, sir?" i said. "to be sure. that ore ought to have been put in a proper fire-clay crucible." "what's a crucible, sir?" i said. "a pot made of a particular material that will bear any amount of heat. now perhaps while we are patiently waiting here that pot in the furnace may have cracked and fallen to pieces, or perhaps melted away instead of the ore inside." "oh, but a pot would not melt, sir, would it?" i said. "melt? to be sure it would, if you make the fire hot enough. did you ever see a brick-kiln?" "yes, sir." "and did you never see how sometimes, when the fire has been too hot, the bricks have all run together?" "and formed clinkers, sir? oh yes, often." "well, then, there you have seen how a mixture of sand and powdered stone and clay will melt, so, why should not that earthen pot?" "then if that pot melts or breaks all our trouble will have been for nothing, sir?" "yes, sep, and we must begin again." "but shouldn't we find the stuff melted down at the bottom of the fire?" "perhaps; perhaps not; we might find it run into a lump, but we should most likely find it not melted at all, and then, as i said, we should have to begin over again." "that would be tiresome," i said. "but never mind, we should succeed next time, perhaps." "we should try till we did succeed, sep, my lad. there, that's the last of the charcoal." "shall i fetch some more?" i cried. "no, my lad, perhaps what has been burned may have melted it, so we'll wait and see." "and take out the pot?" "no, we couldn't do that. we must wait till it cools down. maybe by and by i can take out a brick, and we shall be able to see whether the ore has melted." i waited impatiently for this to be done, and about an hour later the doctor took the top brick from the glowing furnace with the tongs, and touched the charcoal embers, which fell at once down to a level with the top of the pot, the interior having burned away, so as to leave quite a glowing basket or cage of fire. chapter nine. the result of the smelting. but there was nothing to see yet, and the brick was replaced, the fire roared once more, and for what must have been quite another quarter of an hour we waited before the doctor took out the brick again. it was now possible to make out what seemed to be a regular ring red-hot in the midst of so much glowing ember with which the pot was filled; and into this the doctor thrust the poker, to find that it passed through what was light as feathers. "i must be gentle," he said quietly, as he thrust the poker lower, till he could gently tap the bottom of the pot. "it's quite sound," he said, as he gave the poker a stirring motion and ended by withdrawing it. "i think we may let out the fire," he said; and we proceeded to bear away the slates we had used for screens, and then to take down the glowing bricks one by one, and toss them into the yard. this done, i proposed throwing a bucket of water over the heap of embers, in the midst of which stood the pot. "no, thank you, young wisdom," said doctor chowne. "i should like to have some result to show your father when he comes back. if you did what you say, the pot would fly all to pieces, and where would our work be then?" "i say, doctor chowne," i said, looking at him rather wistfully, "i wish i knew as much as you do." "learn then," he said. "i did not know so much once upon a time." as he spoke, he slowly and carefully drew the ashes down from about the pot, and as they were spread about the brilliant glow began to give place to a pale grey feathery ash, which flushed red, and then yellow, whenever the air was disturbed, while the earthen pot that had been red-hot changed slowly to a dull drab. "there, sep," said the doctor, "that pot will take pretty well an hour to get thoroughly cool, so we may as well go and have some dinner. what do you say?" "i was thinking, sir," i said, "that if there is any metal in that pot now, it would be something like the lead when we are casting sinkers for fishing. why couldn't we lift the pot with the tongs, and pour out what's at the bottom and run it into a mould." "have you got a mould, sep?" he said. "yes, sir; three different sizes--up here on the shelf." i went to a corner of the back kitchen, and reached down three dusty clay moulds, one of which the doctor took and set upon the floor. "you are right," he cried. "there, take your tongs, and we'll catch hold of the pot together, and set it out here. then, both together, mind, we'll pour out what there is into the mould." it was easy enough. we each got a good hold of the pot, lifted it out with its glowing feathery charcoal ashes half filling it, and then, after setting it down to get a more suitable hold, we tilted it sidewise, and then more and more and more, but nothing came out save some glowing ashes, which fell beyond the mould in a tiny heap. "higher still, sep, higher, higher," the doctor kept on saying; and we tilted it more and more; but still nothing came till, just as we were about to turn it upside down, there was a flash of something bright and silvery, and a tiny drop of fluid metal ran out on to the mould, and down the side. "that's it. up with it, sep. a little more this side. now then." up went the bottom of the pot higher still, and out came a little rush of glowing charcoal, and directly after a bit of heavy clinker, and that was all. "oh, i say, doctor," i cried, "what a pity!" "pity, my lad! i don't think so. here, let me do it." he lifted up the piece of hard clinker and set it upon the slate slabs by itself, and then taking hold of the mould with the tongs, he raised it and gave it a tap or two on the floor, to get rid of the feather ash, and i could see that there was what seemed to be a piece of thin lead beginning in a sort of splash running to the edge in a thread, then down the side of the mould, to finish off in a little round fat button of metal. "hah! i don't think we've done so badly after all, sep," he said, as he placed the mould upon the table; "but first of all, brush those embers lightly aside, and let's see if there is anything left." i took a wisp of birch and did as i was told, but there was nothing to be seen, and when the doctor took the pot out into the yard, and carefully examined it, he found nothing there, and brought the little clay vessel back. "you must take care of that pot, sep," he said. "it is nothing to look at, but a thing which will stand fire in that way may prove valuable. now, then, my lad, bring that bit of refuse, and we will go in and have some dinner. these things will be quite cool by the time we have done." we carried our treasures into the parlour, and, to kicksey's great delight, had a wash and our dinner, while she obtained leave to clear away what she was pleased to call our "mess." but the doctor did not let the dinner pass without carefully examining the rugged piece of metal and the button, and then the piece of refuse, the remains of the broken-up specimen. for my part i was not at all dazzled by the result of our experiment, and at last, with my mouth full of jam and bread and cream, i said: "but that's only a shabby little bit to get out of all those bits i broke up, isn't it, sir?" "do you think so, sep?" he replied smiling. "yes, sir!" "well, i think quite differently. we put in rough stony uncleansed ore, and we have got out this piece. if there's plenty of it in the sides of the gap, my boy, and it is properly worked, your father will be a rich man from the produce of the lead alone; and i feel pretty sure," he continued, as he examined the scrap of metal through his glass, "that there is a great deal of silver in this as well. here, what are you doing?" he cried. "i was looking to see if father was coming," i cried, as i turned back at the door. "you need not look," he said quietly, "for it will be three hours at the least before he can get back. the pony must have a rest at the town." i came back slowly, for i felt that what the doctor said was true, and it seemed to be all so curious that our bit of mischief should turn out so strangely that i did what was a very unusual thing for me in those days, sat down and thought. the piece of metal was lying before me, and i took it up and examined it, turning it over and over in my hands, while i could not keep a strong feeling of doubt from creeping in. "perhaps the doctor is wrong," i said to myself, and this may be worth nothing at all; and as i thought in this fashion, i longed for my father to come back, so as to hear what he had to say about the value of the metal. for in those days i had a very frank loyal feeling towards my father, and a belief in his being about the best man anywhere in the neighbourhood, and that he knew better than anybody else. the silence in the room was broken by the entrance of kicksey to take away; and as she did so she took the opportunity of informing us that she had cleared everything away, and that the kitchen was as clean once more as a new pin. as i have before said, the doctor, as my father's old friend and companion, was quite at home in our house, and, after refreshing himself with a pinch of snuff, he proceeded to have some tobacco in another form, for he went to the corner cupboard and got out the jar and a long pipe, which he filled and lit, and then sat there in silence, watching the piece of rugged metal. as he sat watching the metal and surrounding himself with smoke, i sat and watched him, till it became so tiresome and dull that i rose quietly at last, and stole out into the garden and had a look at the sea, all aglow now with the evening sunshine, and looking curiously like the burning charcoal when it had been spread out on the kitchen floor. it was very beautiful, but i had watched that too often, so i crossed the garden and went out into the lane to see if i could find anything amusing there. for it seemed to me that it might be very nice for my father to have found a mine of lead and silver, and that it would be very interesting to see it dug out and melted, as we had melted those pieces that day--of course in a large way; but i did not feel as if i wanted to be rich, and i would a great deal rather then have been wandering out there on the cliff with bob chowne or bigley uggleston, when i heard a shout, and, looking in the direction, there, high up on the cliff path, and coming towards me with long strides, was my last-named school-fellow. "hallo, big!" i shouted, running towards him; "where are you going?" "coming to look after you," he said. "why didn't you come over again?" "because i was wanted at home," i replied. "you might have come over to me." "i couldn't. i didn't like to. father was put out this morning, because he saw you and your father on our grounds." "your grounds!" i said. "oh, come, that is a good one." "well, father always talks about it as if all the gap belonged to him. what were you doing there?" "having a walk," i was obliged to say. "oh, well, you might have stopped." "didn't i tell you my father wanted me," i replied in a pettish way. "i've only just got out again." "i've been waiting at home to see if my father would come back. he started off to walk to barnstaple." "your father has?" i cried involuntarily. "why, that's where my father has gone." "what! to barnstaple, sep?" i nodded. "i say," he said, "i hope they won't meet one another." "why?" i exclaimed. "because they might quarrel. i say, sep, i wish your father and my father were good friends like we are." i shook my head at that, and felt rather lofty. "i don't see how that can ever be," i replied; and then i felt quite uncomfortable as i recalled my father being uneasy about old jonas watching us that morning. i felt, too, that it would be much worse now if jonas got to know that there was a mine upon the estate, and it seemed as if we were going to be at the beginning of a good deal of trouble. "father went up the gap after you had gone," said bigley, "and i saw him go right up to the place where we blew down the big rock, and when i saw him go there i went indoors and got his spy-glass and watched him out of the window." "i say, you oughtn't to watch people," i said sharply. "i know that," replied bigley; "but i was afraid there was going to be a bother, and i wanted to tell you if there was." "well, what did he do?" "why, if he didn't seem to make it all out exactly just where we had been, and he followed down the place where the stone fell, and then went on down till he came to the rough part where the rock was all bared, and stooped and looked it all over and over. oh, he has got eyes, my father has. i could see as plain as could be through the spy-glass that he picked up bits of the stone, and once he knelt down and i think he smelt the stones." "smelt them!" i exclaimed. "yes, to find out about the gunpowder. he has found it all out, i'm sure." "so am i," i said sadly, but without telling bigley i meant something else. "and then he went right down slowly just where the big rock slipped along, and down to the stream, and washed his hands and came home." "and did he speak to you about it?" "no," replied bigley. "i expected him to say a lot. i didn't mind, for i should have told him all about it, and i don't think he would have been very cross with me; but he didn't say a single word about it, though i saw him shake his fist several times when he was talking to himself, and soon after he set off to walk in to barnstaple, and, as i told you, he hasn't got back." just then there was the clattering of hoofs, and i looked up and saw my father coming down the zigzag road. "i must go now," i said. "don't think me unkind, big, old chap. or you stop and i'll come out to you again." "yes, do," he said. "i'll go and sit down on the rocks till you come. only, mind you do." i promised that i would and we parted, one going down towards the sea, the other along the lane, where i met my father looking very hot and tired; but he seemed in good spirits, so i supposed that he had not met old jonas. "well, sep," he cried, "how about the experiment? what luck?" "oh, we melted the stones, father, and got out of them a little bit of lead." "it was lead, then?" he said eagerly, as we reached the cottage. "yes, father, and doctor chowne says he thinks there's silver in it as well." "you young dog!" cried the doctor, coming out pipe in mouth. "why, you are telling all the news, and there'll be nothing left for me to do." "only show the stuff," i said. "ah, yes; show the result," said the doctor. "but come in, duncan, the tea's waiting, and i want a cup myself." "and i am regularly tired out," cried my father. "here, sam, feed the pony well, for he has worked hard." sam, who had heard the pony coming, took the rein and led it off to the stable, while i followed my father into the little parlour, where the doctor caught him by the arm. "here's the specimen, father," i said; but he did not turn his head, for the doctor was speaking to him. "did you get the deeds?" he said. "chowne, you're as good as a witch," cried my father. "why?" "as i came out of the lawyer's office, who should i see but old jonas uggleston coming along the street, and as i went into the hotel i saw him turn in where i had been." "but did you get the deeds?" cried the doctor. "specimen, sep?" said my father. "oh, that's it, is it? well, it doesn't look worth all this trouble." "duncan, what a man you are!" said doctor chowne pettishly. "i've said twice over, did you get the deeds?" "i beg your pardon, chowne. yes, of course. he wanted to put me off, said i'd better let them stop with him, and that there was no hurry, and that a little endorsing was wanted." "oh, of course!" said the doctor. "but when he saw that i was in earnest, and that i meant to wait for them, he set to work and got the business done--that is, all that was wanted. in fact, it was a mere nothing." "and he wanted to keep them in his charge unsigned, with the chance of making more of the estate to somebody else if that somebody else turned up." "jonas uggleston to wit?" said my father. "exactly. duncan, old fellow, you see that you were just in time." "that's what i felt, chowne; but there the deeds are safe and sound; the gap is thoroughly mine--my freehold." "and you may congratulate yourself on being the owner of a valuable lead and silver mine." "then you feel sure of that, chowne?" said my father, who seemed quite overcome. "i am certain of it; but of course i can't say what is the quantity." "silver?" "probably. lead, certain." "then, sep, my boy--" cried my father excitedly, catching me by the shoulder. "yes, father," i said. i believe now that my father was going to say something about my growing up to be a rich man; but he checked himself, and only said quietly: "come and sit down to tea." chapter ten. we bale the rock pool. now there was very little done during the rest of our holidays; all i remember was, that instead of old jonas uggleston being very disagreeable, and making himself my father's enemy, he grew very civil and pleasant, and nodded to my father when they met, and called him "captain." he was wonderfully kind to me too, asking me into the house, and seeming very pleased whenever he knew that bigley had come over to see me. the news that there was lead and silver in the gap soon spread, and a great many people came to see my father, and wanted to buy the little estate; but he said no, that he should work it himself, for he wanted some occupation; and he and the doctor planned it all out, how to begin in a small way; and men were set to work to wall in the part where the mine was to be opened, and to build sheds and pumping-house. but after a few days this became monotonous to us boys, who had plenty of things to tempt us about the cliffs and the shore, and i'm going to put down one or two of our bits of adventure which we had about this time. our little bay or cove was one of three or four little bays within one big bay, formed by norman's head at the west and barn's nose in the east, and all round from point to point there was one tremendous wall or cliff of reddish or bluish rock, nowhere less than a couple of hundred feet high; and the only places where you could get down to the sea were at the heads of the coves, or where one of the little streams from the moor made its way down to the beach. here and there when the tide was low lay patches of blackish sand, but the foot of the cliffs nearly all the way was one jumble of great rocks, beginning with lumps, say as big as a chest of drawers, and running up to rugged masses as large as cottages. they did not look so big when you were up on the cliff path, six or seven hundred feet above them; but when the tide went down, and we boys went for a ramble over and among them, it was to find the smaller blocks nearly as high as our heads, while the big ones made the most magnificent climbing any lad could wish for who was an enemy to the knees of his breeches and the toes of his boots. of course we could have gone east or west along the cliff path as peaceably as the sheep; but what was a walk like that to wandering in and out among the sea-weed-hung masses, full of corners and ways as a maze; with rock pools amongst them, and chasms and rifts, and rock arches and hollows, and caves without end? some of these blocks were of a sort of limestone or grit, and they were rugged and rounded at the corner, and lumpy, but the slaty rocks were generally flat-sided, and split off regularly, forming smooth flat forms that often rose one above another in rough steps, so that you could easily climb to the tops, or, where they had fallen and split away from the cliff, and lay resting against one another, you could walk under what seemed to be like great stone lean-to sheds, whose floors were as often as not water as pure and clear as crystal. it was a wonderful place, and never ceased to attract us, for there was always something to find when the tide had gone down leaving the rocks bare. all the things that lived or grew upon them had been seen by us hundreds of times, but after some months at school they always seemed new again, and we got our little pawn nets and baskets, and went prawning with as great zest as ever. there are plenty of ways to go prawning, i daresay, but i'll tell you how we managed. we each used to have a small ring net, fixed at the end of a six-foot stick that answered two or three purposes, and, with our little baskets slung at our backs, set off along the shore. i remember one morning very well. it was about three weeks after finding the lead vein that bob chowne and bigley came over to the bay, and we started, our sam saying that it was going to be a very low tide. off we went down by the little waterfall which came along by the back of our house, and down to the beach, getting as close to the sea as the rocks would let us, and looking out for the first pool where the sea had left a few prisoners. we were not long in seeing one, and then the thing was to approach as quietly as possible and look in. these pools were generally fringed with sea-weed, great greenish-brown fronds in one place, dark streaks of laver in another, and lower down the bottom would be all pink with the fine corallite, while all about the sea-anemones would dot every crack and hole, like round knobs of dark red jelly, where the water had left them high and dry, spread out like painted daisy flowers, where they were down in the pool. no matter how cautiously we approached, something would take fright. perhaps it would be a little shore crab that betrayed itself by scuffling down amongst the corallite or sea-weed, perhaps a little fierce-looking bristly fish, which shot under a ledge of the rock all amongst the limpets, acorn barnacles, or the thousands of yellow and brown and striped snaily fellows that crawled about in company with the periwinkles and pelican's feet. those were not what we wanted, but the prawns, which would be balancing themselves in the clear water, and then dart backwards with a flip of their tails right under the sea-weed or ledges. i remember that day so well because it was marked by a big black stone, of which more by and by; and everything connected with our doings that morning seems to stand out quite clear, as the welsh coast did under the clear blue sky. we reached our first pool, and bob chowne shouted, "there's one!" while i was certain i saw two more. then bob and bigley softly thrust in their nets, and it became my duty to poke about among the sea-weed and under the ledges where we had seen the prawns take shelter. at about the second stirring of the overhanging weed on one side, out darted a big prawn. "i've got him!" cried bob, and we all shouted "hooray!" but when the net was raised, dripping pearls in the bright sunshine, the prawn was not there, for, preferring open water to nets, it had shot between the two and taken shelter under the ledges on the other side. but there he was, for there was no way out to where the sea sucked and gurgled among the rocks three or four yards away, and we continued our hunt, not to dislodge this one, but three more, one being larger, and two much less. for a good ten minutes they dodged us about, hiding in all manner of out-of-the-way corners, till all at once it seemed as if they must have gone. the water, that had been brilliantly clear when we started, was now thick with sand and broken sea-weed, and bigley lifted out his net to clear it and to let the water settle a little before we started again. "i don't know where they've got to," said bob sourly. "prawns are not half so easy to catch as they used to be." "hallo! why, here's one," cried bigley just then, as he found one of the biggest kicking about among the sea-weed that he had turned out of the bottom of his net. this first capture was soon transferred to the basket, and the fact of one being taken so encouraged bob that he set to with renewed energy, and the result was that we caught two more out of that pool, the biggest of all--at least bob chowne said it was--having to be left behind in the inaccessible crack where he had hidden himself. another pool and another was visited with excellent luck, for the tide was down lower than usual, and prawns seemed plentiful, there having been plenty of time for them to collect since they were last disturbed, for we boys were the only hunters on that deserted shore. so on we went, one poking about among the weeds till the prawn darted backwards into the nets held ready, and we had soon been able to muster over a dozen. then, all at once, we came upon quite a little pool right under a large mass of rock with a smaller and deeper pool joined to it by a narrow channel between two blocks of stone, and farther from the sea. we caught sight of several prawns darting under cover as we came in sight, but, to our disgust, found that we could not attack them, the pool being so sheltered by overhanging rocks that the only possible way seemed to be by undressing and going into what was quite a grotto. travellers tell us how the natives of some far-off islands dive into the sea and do battle with sharks; but no boy ever lived who could dive into a pool and catch a prawn in his native element--at least i never knew one who could, and we were going to give it up after a few frantic thrusts with our nets, when an idea occurred to me. "here, i know!" i cried. "let's bale out the little low hole, and that will empty the big one." "to be sure," cried bob. "go it! but we've got nothing to bale with." "big's shoes," i cried as i caught sight of them hanging from his neck, tied together by their thongs, and each with a knitted worsted stocking plugging up the toes. big made not the slightest objection, but laughed as he pulled out his stockings and thrust them into his breeches' pockets. the next minute he and i were scooping out the water at a tremendous rate, making quite a stream flow down from the upper part under the rock, and it soon became evident that in less than an hour both would be dry. we worked away till i was tired and gave place to bob chowne, bigley all the while working away and sending out great shoefuls over the lower edge of the rocks. i sat down to rest, and as i watched where the water fell i suddenly made a dart at something thrown out, but it only proved to be a prickly weaver. five minutes later, though, big threw out a prawn which had come down with the current, and this encouraged him to work harder, but bob began to be tired, and he showed it by sending a shoeful of water at me, making me shout, "leave off!" then he sent one flying over bigley, who only laughed and worked on for a few moments till bob was not looking, and then sent a shower back. bob jumped out of the hole like a shot and turned upon bigley angrily: "you just see if i'm going to stop down there and be smothered with water. yah! get out, you ugly old smuggler." as he spoke he flung bigley's great shoe with a good aim down by his feet, and splashed him completely all over. some lads would have jumped out and pursued bob in a fury, but bigley only brushed the water out of his eyes and began to laugh as if he rather enjoyed it. "come on, sep," he cried to me; "you and i will finish, and if he comes near we'll give him such a dowsing." i went to his help, and we worked so well that no less than six more prawns came down to our pool, and were scooped out; and at last the upper one was completely emptied, but it was nearly an hour's work. "now then, i'll go in," said bob, and he crept in through the rift between the two pools, and under the overhanging rocks. "oh!" he cried as soon as he was in, "what a jolly place! and--ugh! here's a conger." "no!" we cried together. "yes there is, long as my arm, and he's squirming about. here, give me a landing-net. i'll poke him, and make him come out to you chaps." we handed him the net, and he began banging and thrusting at the rock for some time without result. "well, isn't he coming?" i cried. "no; he gets up in a corner here so that i can only feel his slippery tail with the stick, and he won't come out." "take hold of it with your hand and pull," said bigley. "oh yes, i daresay. just as if i didn't know there's only one place where you can hold on." "where's that?" said bigley. "with your hand in his mouth. you come and put yours in." of course bigley did not respond to the invitation, and the banging and rattling went on for a few minutes longer. "why don't you chaps stand away from the light? i can't see," cried bob. "that's better: now i can tell. look out, boys, look out! here he comes." "catch him in the net, bob," i shouted. "yah! don't talk stuff," was the answer. "look out! is he coming your way?" "no!" we both shouted, and then "yes!" for there was a quick movement in the channel between the two pools, and the next instant a large eel was splashing and writhing in the water and sea-weed of the pool which we had baled. "here he is, bob!" we shouted; and, as we finished the struggle which resulted in our getting the eel into one of the nets, and then out on the open rocks, and in a position to make it cease its writhings, bob chowne backed out to look on and help us gloat over our capture, which proved to be a plump young conger of a yard long. "well, that's something," said bob. "now i'm going after the prawns. no, you go, sep," he said. "i don't see why i should do all the work." i went into the dripping grotto nothing loth, and by careful search among the wet weed i found first one prawn and then another, till i had thrown out six, the work being tolerably easy, for the little horny-coated fellows made known their presence by their movements, flipping their tails sharply and making a noise that betrayed their hiding-places. the grotto-like place, shut in by some rocks overshadowed by others, was so gloomy that it was hard to make out everything, but twice over i noted a bit of a rift on my left all fringed with sea-weed and slippery with anemones, where it was not rough with limpets and barnacles. "was it down here, bob, down on the left, that you found the conger?" "no," he shouted, "on the right." i looked round, and found the crack where the conger must have been, and then came a summons from without. "well, can't you find any more?" "no," i said; "but there's a big hole here. perhaps there's another conger." "put your hand in and pull him out, then," cried bob with a sneer. i did not answer, for i felt now very plainly how much easier it is to give orders than to obey them. but a little consideration taught me that there was nothing to fear, for if there was a conger in the hole the chances were that he would have thrust his head into the farthest corner, and that it would be his tail that i should touch. "now, then," cried bob. "ar'n't you going to find any more prawns?" "i don't know," i said, as i carefully introduced my hand and arm, going down on one knee so as to get closer, and so by degrees hand, arm, and shoulder had nearly disappeared, as i touched the far end of the cleft. "nothing," i said to myself, as i felt about with my cheek touching the wet slippery sea-weed. then i uttered a loud "ugh!" and started away. "what's the matter?" cried my companions. "i don't know," i cried. "here's something alive in a hole here." "well, why don't you pull it out?" cried bob. "i--i don't know," i said. but i'm afraid i did know. the feeling, though, that my companions were laughing at me was too much, and with a sudden burst of energy i thrust my hand right into the rift again, felt down cautiously till my hand touched, not the slimy serpentine form of an eel, but the hard back of a shell-fish, and as i touched it, there was a curious scuffling down beneath my fingers that told me it was a crab. "hooray, boys!" i shouted. "crab!" "have him out, sep! mind he don't nip you!" they shouted; and after a minute's hesitation i plunged my hand into the hole again, knowing that i must feel for a safe place to get hold of the claw-armed creature, so that i should not have to suffer a severe pinch or two, from its nippers. i was pretty quick, but the crab was quicker, and as i caught it the left claw seized tight hold, but only of my sleeve. my natural instinct was to start back, and this had the effect of dragging the crab out of its lurking place, and i ran to the opening holding out my arm, just as the crab dropped with quite a crash into the little channel, and then began running sidewise back towards me and the darkness. i stopped my prisoner with my foot, and he scuffled back and into the little empty pool, where he tried hard to hide himself under the sea-weed fronds, but bigley worked him out, and by clever management avoided the pincers, which were held up threateningly, and popped him into one of the baskets. "it's my turn now," said bigley. "think there's anything else?" "i don't know," i said. "try." "what's the good of saying that?" said bob laughing. "he couldn't get in." "oh, couldn't i?" cried bigley. "you'll see. mind that eel don't slip out. now you'll see." he rolled up his sleeves nearly to the shoulder, and picking out the widest spot began to crawl in, dragging himself slowly through, and at last drawing his legs in after him, and standing in a bent position right under the rock. "there!" he cried triumphantly. "who can't get in? now then, where are these cracks?" "right up at the other end," i cried; and he groped on into the narrower part, bob and i looking into the slippery grotto-like place enjoying his slow cumbersome manner, and paying no heed to the fact that the tide had turned, and that already a little water had run into the little pool where we had baled. "found anything, big!" we shouted, though he was only a couple of yards away. "n-no. nothing here. i'm going to try this other hole. oh, i say, isn't it deep?" "mind! mind!" shrieked bob, and bigley scuffled back. "what--what is it?" he panted. "ha-ha-ha-ha!" roared bob. "did he bite you?" "what a shame!" grumbled bigley in his gruff voice. "i didn't try to scare you. i don't care though. you won't frighten me again." he crept back, and we could hear him grunting and panting. "i say, it is deep," he said. "i've got my arm in right to the shoulder and there's nothing here. stop a minute; here's a crack round this corner where i can get my hand. it's quite a big opening with water in it, and slippery things in the rock, and--ugh!--oh!--ah!" chapter eleven. a terrible danger. bigley dragged his arm out of the crack and came scuffling back to us, and as soon as he reached the opening we could see that he looked quite pale. "why, big, what is it?" i cried eagerly. "don't frighten him. he has seen the ghost of an old cock shark," cried bob chowne grinning. "oh, i don't know," he panted. "something soft, and cold, and alive." "why, it was a jelly-fish," we said together. "did it sting?" "no. you wouldn't find jelly-fishes in a hole like that. it felt like a tremendously great polly-squiggle with a big parrot's beak, and my hand nearly went in." "get out!" said bob, "there are no big ones." "how do you know?" retorted bigley. "that felt just like a large one." "did he take hold of you with his suckers?" i said. "no, i didn't give him time." "if it had been a polly-squiggle it would have got you fast directly with its suckers," i said oracularly. "never mind what it was, old big. go in and fetch it out again." "no; one of you two go, i don't like," said bigley. "you can't see where you're putting your hand; and suppose he bites it off?" "why, then, you could have a wooden peg," said bob sneeringly. "here, come out, my poor little man, and let me go in. i'll soon fetch out my gentleman, you see if i don't. here, come out." bob chowne never meant to go in. his face said as much as he looked round at me; but his words had the effect he intended, for bigley grunted and went back as far as the narrow crack in the grotto would allow, and boldly thrust in his hand. "mind, big," i said seriously, "be ready to snatch away your fist." he did not answer, but we heard him draw his breath hard; then there came a splashing noise, and directly after our school-fellow backed towards us. "i've got him," he shouted, his voice sounding hollow and strange. "what is it?" "i dunno," he cried, and then, wrenching himself round, he dropped something soft down upon the rock. "why, it's a crab!" i cried. "a soft one," shouted bob. "he can't nip now." as he spoke he poked the curious-looking object with his finger, making it wince and threaten with its claws, but they were perfectly soft, and it was evident that the creature had only just crept out of its old shell, and was hiding away in the dark hole waiting for the new armour to form. "well, he is a rum one," said bob, growing bolder. "why, he's just like a counterfeit is when you pull his tail out of a whelk shell." "not quite so soft," i said, gaining confidence and handling the crab in turn, for it was not so fleshy feeling as the back part of hermit crabs, which we called counterfeits in our part of the world. "what shall we do with if?" said big. "it isn't good to eat now." "kill the nasty, bloaty thing, and throw it in for bait for the fishes." "no, no," i said, "put it down and let it creep back. it will grow into a fine crab, and we know its hole and can come and get it some day when the tide's down." "that's it," said big; and taking the pulpy, soft crab, which pinched at his hands without the slightest effect, he crept back and thrust it into its hiding-place once again. we two were looking in after him when--_thud_!--_plash_!--came a wave, breaking just below us and drenching us from head to foot, while a quantity of the water rushed into our baled-out hole, filled it, and began running swiftly up the channel, so swiftly that we saw at a glance it would only take another or two to fill the upper pool. "here, come out, big. quick!" i cried. "tide's coming in. now, bob, get the baskets and nets." i ran down a few yards, and was only just in time to snatch mine up before a wave washed right over the spot where they had lain. for the tide was coming in rapidly, and, as i have shown, we were on a part of the shore that was only bare about once a month. "all right," cried bob. "i've got mine and old big's." "where are big's shoes?" i said. "down by the pool. come on, big, old chap," shouted bob. "i'll get them," i said, and i ran to the bottom pool and had to fish them out of the bottom where they had been left. as i took them out i felt ready to drop them, but i did not, for i flung them and my net and basket as far up the shore as i could, and held out my hands to bigley, who was looking out at me from the grotto-like place. "why don't you come out?" i cried. "can't you see the tide's coming in?" "yes--yes," he said in a curious hollow voice, "i can see, but i can't move. i'm stuck fast. help!" i felt a chill of horror, and in those moments saw the tide rising higher and higher till it had filled the little cavern and drowned my poor school-fellow, we his companions being unable to drag him out. those thoughts only occupied moments, but they made an impression that i have never forgotten, and i don't think i ever shall have the memories weakened. i saw it all plainly enough. poor fellow! he had been startled by the incoming tide and tried to creep out, but not in about the only part that would permit of his passing, but in the first that offered, and he had become fixed, and, as in a few words he explained, the harder he tried to free himself the tighter prisoner he became. "here, bob! bob!" i shouted in such a tone of anguish that he came running from the back of the rocks to where i was standing knee-deep in water. "get out!" he shouted as soon as he saw me. "you can come. look here, if you play me a trick like--" "no, no, don't go," i shouted. "bob: he's fast!" bob dashed down to me now as quickly as the rough place would let him. he had thrown down his load at my first appeal for help, and as he came splashing through the water he looked horribly pale. he saw the position in an instant, and stood by me too much horrified to act; and, as he told me afterwards, his thoughts were just like mine. how long would it take to go to the gap and bring bigley's father with a boat? "can't you get any farther?" i cried at last as a fresh wave came rushing in, and nearly swept me off my legs. "no; i'm fast; i can't move," said bigley in a hoarse whisper. "run for help." "no, no," shouted bob. "don't go, sep. we must get him out." the curious dreamy feeling of helplessness had left us both now; and, taking hold of our companion's hands, we set our feet against the rock and dragged with all our might, while poor bigley struggled and strained, but all in vain. he had by his unaided efforts got to a certain distance and then stopped. our united power did not move him an inch. we stopped at last panting, and all looking horror-stricken in each other's faces. it was a calm enough day, but down there among the rocks the tide rushed in with such fierce power and so rapidly that we were being deluged by every wave which broke, while at intervals the greater waves threatened to be soon big enough to sweep us away. "don't stop looking," cried bob chowne frantically. "sep, sep! pull, pull!" he dashed at poor bigley again, and we dragged with all our might; but the efforts were vain, and again we stared at each other in despair. "try again!" i cried breathlessly, and with a horrible feeling coming over me as i once more seized my school-fellow's hand. bob followed my example, and again we dragged and hauled at the poor fellow, whose great eyes stared at us in a wildly appealing way that seemed to chill me. it was of no use. we could not stir him, and we stopped again panting, as a bigger wave struck us and drove us against the rocks, and ran gurgling up into the grotto where poor bigley was fixed. "shall i run for help?" groaned bob, who was crying and sobbing all the time. i shook my head, for i knew it was of no use, and then dashed at poor bigley again, to catch hold of his hand, not to drag at it, but to hold it in both mine. i don't know why i did it, unless it was from the natural feeling that it might encourage and comfort him to have someone gripping his hand in such a terrible time. i tried not to think of the horror as the water splashed and hissed about us, and gurgled horribly in the grotto; but something seemed to be singing in my ears, and i heard again the shrieking of a poor boy who was drowned years before by getting one leg fixed in a rift among the rocks when mussel gathering and overtaken by the tide. he, poor fellow, was drowned, for they could not drag him out, and it seemed to me that our poor schoolmate must lose his life in the same way unless we could devise some means to rescue him. we looked round despairingly, and for a moment i tried to hope that the tide might not, upon this occasion, rise so high; but a glance at the top of the rocks showed them to be covered with limpets and weed, indicating that they were immersed at every tide, as i well enough knew, and i could not suppress a groan. "sep," said poor bigley, drawing me closer to him, with his great strong hand, and gazing at me with a terribly pathetic look in his eyes. "sep, tell poor father not to take on about it. we couldn't help it. an accident. tell him it was an accident, will you?" i could not answer him, and i turned to bob chowne, who was standing with his fingers now thrust into his ears. "bob!" i cried. "bob, let's try again!" he sprang to poor bigley's other hand, and we dragged and tugged with slow steady strain and sharp snatch, but without any effect; and every now and then, as we pulled, the waves came right up, and drove us against the rock. "it's of no use, boys," said bigley at last. "i'm fast." "help!" yelled bob chowne with all his might; but in that great solitude his voice had no more effect than the wail of a sea-bird. there was not a soul in sight either on cliff path or the shore. out to sea there were sails enough, small craft and goodly ships going and coming from bristol and cardiff; but no signals on our part were likely to be seen. and besides, if they had been understood, it would have been an hour's row to shore from the nearest, and before a quarter of that time had elapsed the rocks where we stood would be under water. "big, big!" i cried piteously in my despair and wonder to see him now so pale and calm; "what shall we do?" "nothing," he said in a low whisper. "only be quiet now; i'm going to say my prayers." i dropped down on my knees by him and hid my face, and how long i knelt there i don't know; but it was till i was lifted by the tide and driven heavily against the rocks. "it's of no use," said bigley then, after a tremendous struggle. "i can't get out. you must go." "for help?" i said. "no; run both of you, or you'll be drowned." as he spoke a wave came in, broke and deluged us, and i don't know what my words would have been if bob chowne had not wailed out: "nobody sha'n't say i didn't stick to my mate. i sha'n't go. i won't go. sep duncan may if he likes, but i shall stop." he caught frantically at poor bigley's collar as he spoke, set his teeth, and then closed his eyes. "no, no! run, bob; run, sep!" panted bigley, as if he was being suffocated; "the water will be over us directly, and you must go and tell poor father where i am." "i sha'n't go and leave you two," i said sullenly; and i also caught hold of him, set my teeth, and swung round as a bigger wave than ever came rolling smoothly in, and regularly seemed to leap at us as it broke upon the rocks, and after deluging us, rushed up, and came down again in a rain of spray. what followed seems wild and confused, for the sea was rising fast, and we were deluged by every wave, while the greater ones that came every now and then threatened to snatch us away; but everything was as if it occurred in a dream. somebody said to me once that bob chowne and i behaved in a very heroic manner, standing by our school-fellow as we did; but i don't think there was much heroism in it. we couldn't go and leave him to drown. i wanted to run away, and bob chowne afterwards said that he longed to go, but, as he put it, poor fellow, it seemed so mean to leave him to drown all alone. at all events we stayed, and, as i say, what followed appears to me now to have been dreamy and strange. the water came splashing over us always, but every now and then a great solid wave drove us together, lifting us to strike against the rocks, and then letting us fall heavily, but only to leap in again, and snatch us up as they beat, and swirled, and hissed, and dragged at us like wild creatures, and if we had not held on so tightly to poor bigley, we must have been washed outwards from the shore. as i say i don't know how long this lasted, only that we were getting more and more helpless and confused, when a tremendous wave came rolling in and struck full in the grotto-like opening where poor bigley was wedged. i felt as if my arms had been suddenly wrenched from their sockets, and then i was being carried out by the retiring wave. it was so natural to us sea-side boys that i involuntarily struck out, tossing my head so as to get the water out of my eyes, and then i saw that bob chowne was swimming too, a short distance from me. my next glance was in the direction of the little cave now some ten yards away, about whose mouth the water was rising and falling; and as i looked, there was nothing but water; then bigley seemed to crawl out quickly into the next rising wave, and then he too seemed to be swimming towards the shore. it appeared to be so impossible that i could not believe it, or do anything but swim in amongst the rocks where the long slimy sea-tangle was washing to and fro; but there was no fancy about it, as i found, for bigley was standing knee-deep in the water, and ready to give us each a hand as we staggered in. "why, big," i exclaimed, "how did you manage to get out?" he could not answer me, nor yet bob chowne, when he repeated the question, but walked slowly and heavily up towards the cliff, and sat down upon a dry stone, to rest his head upon his hands, while we respected his silence. it was some time before he could speak, and when he did, it was in a dull half-stupefied way, to explain what was simple enough, namely, that when that last big wave came, it struck him violently and buried him deep, the blow, and the natural effort to escape from the water, making him shrink backwards into the hole, a task he achieved without much difficulty; while, when, as the wave retired, he made another effort to pass out, he involuntarily tried where the rocks were a little farther apart, or placed his body in a different position, for he glided out over the slimy rock with ease. his explanations were, however, like our questions, confused; and we had only one thought now, which was to get home and obtain dry clothes, so we parted as we reached the nearest combe, bigley going one way bare-footed, and we the other, bob chowne afterwards going home in a suit of mine. chapter twelve. we make another slip. i'm afraid that we thought very little about bigley's escape from a horrible death, for by nine o'clock the next morning he was over at the bay, and while we were talking outside, bob chowne came trotting up, holding on to the mane of his father's pony, for the doctor had ridden over to see my father. half an hour later we were down on the beach to look for our baskets and nets which had been covered by the tide, and which we were too much exhausted to hunt for after our escape. for a long time we had no success, for, until the tide ran lower, we were not quite sure of the spot; but we hung about hour after hour till the cluster of rocks were uncovered, and as soon as the water was low enough we were down at the place, and, but for the labour necessary to bale out the lower pool, we should, i am sure, have crawled in again to try how it was bigley was held. it did not take much examination to show that, however, for it was plain enough now to see how one part of the opening was a good deal narrower than the other; and here it was that bigley had become fast, never once striving in his horror to get back, but always forward like an animal in a trap. as i stood there looking, the whole scene appeared to come back again, and i shuddered as i seemed to see my school-fellow's agonised face gazing appealingly in ours, and for the moment the bright sunny day looked overcast. "come away," i said nervously; "let's look for the nets." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed bob, who had quite recovered his spirits and took up his usual manner; "look at old sep! he's frightened, and thinks it's his turn to be stuck in the rock." "never mind; let's look for the nets," said bigley, who seemed to be more in sympathy with me, and we set to work, finding one before long, buried all but a scrap of the net in the beach sand and shingle. this encouraged us, and we hunted with more vigour, finding another wedged in between some blocks of rock, and soon after we discovered something that we had certainly expected would have been swept out to sea, namely, one of the baskets. it was the one which contained the crab, and it had been driven into a rock pool surrounded by masses of stone, which had held it as the tide retired. to our great satisfaction the crab was still inside alive and uninjured; but we found no more relics of our expedition. the other baskets were gone with the eel and prawns, and the third net was wanting. i must except, though, one of bigley's shoes, which had been cast up four hundred yards from the rock pool, and lay at high-water mark in a heap of sea-weed, battered wreck-wood and shells. i am not going to enumerate all our adventures during those holidays; but i must refer to one or two more before passing on for a time to the more serious matters in connection with the silver mine in the gap, where, while we were enjoying ourselves on the shore or up one of the narrow glens baling out holes to catch the trout, business matters were progressing fast. our mishap was soon forgotten, and we determined to have another prawning trip, for, as bob chowne said, there was no risk over it, if we didn't go and stick ourselves between two stones ready for the tide to come in and drown us. "but it was an accident," said bigley gravely. "oh, no, it wasn't," cried bob; "an accident's where you can't help it--where a boat upsets, or a horse falls down, or a wheel falls off, or you slip over the edge of the cliff." "well, that was an accident too," i said; "wasn't he nearly drowned?" "no," cried bob, "not nearly; and how could it be an accident when he crept into the hole, and turned round and stuck fast when he tried to get out?" it was of no use to argue with bob that morning, as we three ran down to the shore after finding that old uggleston's lugger was at sea, crushing the weed under our feet, and enjoying the curious salt smell that ascended to our nostrils. we had another net, and a big basket, borrowed of our sam. it was not so handy as our old ones, for two of us had to carry it; but as i said it would hold plenty, and we could lay a bit of old net over the prawns to keep them from flicking themselves out. "i don't believe we shall catch any to-day," said bob, who was in one of his hedgehog fits, as bigley used to call them. but he was wrong, for after walking about a mile along the shore, so as to go right away from the cottages, the first pool we stopped at gave us three fine fat fellows. in another we were more successful, and as we roamed: farther and farther away the better became our sport. this time we went on past the gap, and under the tremendous cliffs that kept the sun from shining down upon the shore in winter. then on and on with our numbers always increasing, for we passed very few pools that did not contain one prawn at least. "i tell you what," said bob, as we stopped to rest, net in hand; "we'll go to old big's this afternoon, and get mother bonnet to boil the prawns, and then have a thorough good feast. you'll find us some bread and butter, won't you, big?" "of course," he replied; "but we haven't got them home yet." "no," said bob, "we haven't got them home; but you're not going to get stuck in a hole this time, are you?" bigley shook his head, and the remarks were forgotten, as we discovered, just washed in by the tide, a good-sized cuttlefish, that was quite dead, however, having been killed i suppose by being bruised against the rocks, so we were not favoured with a shower of ink. a little farther on we came to a bare smooth patch of dark sand, over which the sea ran gently, sweeping before it a rim of foam which sparkled and displayed iridescent colours like a soap-bubble. here we found our first jelly-fish, a beautifully clear disc of transparency about the size of a penny bun, and from which, when we plunged it in the first rock pool, hung down quite a lovely fringe of the most delicate hues. perhaps it was too nearly dead from being washed ashore, for it did not sting, as some of these creatures do slightly, when encountered while bathing. we thought the jelly-fish curious, but it was not good to eat, so it was left in the little rock pool with a few tiny shrimps, to get well or die, and we went on kicking over the little shells, getting our feet wet, and finding more prawn-haunted pools, as we made for one big rock which lay close to the water's edge, a quarter of a mile farther on, where it stood up in the midst of a clump of smaller ones, the beach around being tolerably level for some distance. "that's where old binnacle always goes when he wants to find a lobster," said bigley; "and i shouldn't wonder if we get one, for he hasn't been there lately." "how do you know?" i said. "because he hasn't sold one, nor given us one, nor had one himself." "there, hark at him!" cried bob. "how can you tell?" "easy enough." "but how?" "haven't lobsters got shells?" "yes." "and aren't they red?" "why, of course they are." "well, don't they always throw the shells out on the heap by the pig-sty?" cried bigley. "and there hasn't been one there since i came home. old bill has been too busy making a new net to go lobstering." "i say, what a day for a bathe!" cried bob suddenly, as we approached the big rock which formed out here a point, from which a series of smaller rocks ran right to sea, for the heads of some were level with the surface, and others only appeared at times. "why, you couldn't bathe here," said big; "you ought to know that." "why not?" cried bob. "because the tide hits against those rocks, and then runs right out to sea like the river runs down the gap after a storm." "oh, i don't believe all these old stories," cried bob contemptuously; "and suppose it did run out, couldn't i swim out of the stream and come ashore?" "no." "oh, couldn't i? precious soon let you see." "hi! look there," cried bigley, "there's father's boat." "where?" i said. "out yonder. he has been with binnacle bill to swincombe, and that's them coming back." "why, you can't see anything but a bit of sail," cried bob scoffingly, as he shaded his eyes and looked far-off into the west. "no, but i know the shape of it," cried bigley. "there isn't another boat hereabouts with a sail like that." "i don't believe you know it," cried bob. "it's a frenchman, or a dutchman, or a welsh boat." "well, you'll see," said bigley decisively, and the matter dropped, for we were close up to the big rock now, a mass that stood about a dozen feet above the beach, and to our great delight there were several little pools about, all of which seemed to be well occupied by the toothsome delicacies we sought. the baskets were set down and we were soon hard at work catching prawn after prawn; but, though we peered into every crack, and routed about as far as we could reach, there was no sign of a lobster large or small. "never mind," said bob sourly, "they're rather out of season if you do catch them now. i don't mind." for another half hour or so, with the tide coming whispering and lapping in, we went on prawning, getting a dozen fine ones. then bob insisted upon bathing, and it was only by an effort we stopped him from going into the water at so dangerous a spot. it was big who took off his attention at last, by telling him that he could not scale the big rock and get on the top. "tchah!" cried bob sneeringly; "why, i could almost hop on it." we laughed at him, and he began to peer about for one of the surrounding pieces to form a step to help him part of the way, but all were too distant, the great stone lying quite isolated. there was one spot, though, where the big stone was split, as if some gigantic wedge had been driven in to open it a little way, and here, as it was encrusted with limpets, there seemed to be a good prospect for us to climb up the roughened sides. as it proved it was like many tasks in life, it looked more difficult than it really was, and by the exercise of a little agility and some mutual help we contrived to get to the top, where there was a large depression like a caldron, scooped out by the action of the sea upon a heavy boulder lying therein, and which looked as if, when the waves beat, it must be driven round and round and to and fro. we all sat down with our legs in the hole, following bigley's example as he set himself to watch the coming of his father's boat, which was growing plainer now every minute, and trying, by spreading all the sail she could, to reach the gap. "i wonder how long she'll be?" said bob, sitting there with his chin upon his hands. "about an hour," replied bigley. "what! coming that little way? why, she's close here." "it isn't close here, and the boat's a good six miles away, i know," replied bigley. "distances are deceiving by the sea-side." "hark at the doctor," cried bob; "he's going to give us a lecture. i say, this isn't school." it was very pleasant seated there on that smooth, warm platform of rock in the glowing sunshine, and with the soft sea-breeze fanning our cheeks. there was plenty of room, and before long we were all lying down in various attitudes. bob turned himself into a spread-eagle by lying upon his back, and tilting his cap over his nose as he announced that he was going to sleep. we both laughed and did not believe him, as we each took up the position most agreeable to him, bigley stretching himself upon his breast, folding his arms and placing his chin upon them, so as to gaze at his father's boat with undivided attention. as for me, i lay on my side to stare at the great wall of cliff that ran along the land, and curved over and over into great hills and mounds. it was very beautiful to watch the many tints in the distance, and the bright colours of the broken rock. the upper parts were of a velvety green; then in the hollows where the oak-trees flourished there were endless tints, against which the soft grey of the gulls, as they floated along, seemed to stand out bright and clear. we three lads had been walking and climbing and exerting ourselves for hours now, and the strange restful sensation of stretching one's self on that warm, smooth mass of rock was delicious. to make it more agreeable, the soft wind fanned our faces, and the sea seemed to be whispering in a curious lulling way that was delightful. i remember raising myself a little to look at bob chowne in his lazy attitude. then i stared at bigley, who had doubled back his long legs, as he watched the boat, whose sails seemed to be coming nearer now, and then i sank back in my former attitude, to gaze at the cliffs and the soft blue sky flecked with silvery gauzy clouds. then one of the big grey gulls fixed my attention, and i lay staring at it hard, and watching its movements, as i wondered why it was that it should keep flying to and fro, for nothing apparently, turning itself so easily by a movement of the tail, and curving round and round without an effort. that gull completely fascinated me. sometimes it floated softly so near that i could plainly see its clear ringed eye and the colour of its beak, the soft white of its head and under parts, the delicate grey of its back, and the black tips of its wings, which formed soft bends that sustained the great bird with the slightest exertion. for now and then it beat the air a little, then the wings remained motionless a minute at a time, and the secret of flying seemed to me to be to float about in that clear transparent air, just as a fish did in the sea. it was very wonderful to watch it, feeling so dreamy and restful the while. the gull seemed to have fixed its eyes on me, and to know that i was noting all its graceful evolutions, and i felt that it was flying and floating and gliding to and fro, and round and round, now up, now down, on purpose to show off its powers to me, for it never occurred to me that the bird was waiting till my eyes were closed to make a pounce down upon the big basket and help itself to the prawns. no, it all seemed done for my special benefit, and lulled by the lapping of the sea, and with the fanning motion of the gull's wings having a curiously drowsy effect, i lay there watching--watching, till i seemed to be able to float with the gull, and to be gliding onward and onward through space, up and down, up and down, in a soft billowy, heaving movement, with the blue sky above me, the green cliff-side draped with oak and ivy below, and all about me, and pervading me and sustaining me as the sea did when i swam, there was the soft pure air. was i a gull or myself? i did not know, only that i seemed to be floating deliciously on with wide-spread invisible wings, and that there was no such thing as the earth and shore, over which i laboriously plodded, for me. it was one soft dreamy ecstasy, such as comes to the weary sleeping in the summer breeze out in the open air. now and then i seemed to hear the wild softened harshness of the gull's cry, then all was still again, and i was floating on and on, wishing nothing, wanting nothing, only to go on, when all at once a huge roc-like bird seemed to sweep over between me and the sunshine, to grasp me as sindbad was seized, and raise me up. but this roc spoke and cried harshly: "quick! wake up! you have been to sleep." "sleep?" i said, rousing myself. "sleep?" "yes; we've all been to sleep, and--here, bob! wake up! wake up!" he shook bob chowne, who was so sound that it was with difficulty he could be made to sit up, and in that little interval i realised why it was that bigley looked so scared. it was plain enough: tired out with our prawning, we had been thoughtless enough to let our weariness get the better of us, and while we had slept the enemy had not only approached, but surrounded us and cut us off from the shore. in fact, as we stared about us, a wave struck the rock and sent its soft spray right up to where we were standing. "here, what's the matter?" cried bob. "i say, what is it? oh, i say, where are the prawns?" prawns? they and the baskets were far away now, while the nets might be anywhere. between us and the shore the water for a good hundred yards was six feet deep at least, and there was a swim of a hundred and fifty before we could begin to wade, while, if we did not start at once, there would be a swim of nearly half a mile, for the points of the little bay where we were would soon be covered, the rocks were perpendicular, and to stay in the bay was to be drowned. chapter thirteen. a perilous swim. "i say, what shall we do?" cried bob. "we must take off our clothes and swim for it," said bigley. "no, no," i cried, for the idea was appalling. "let's stay here." "what, and be swept off?" said bob. "no; bigley's right. we must swim for it. no, i see! there's your father's lugger, big. let them come and take us off." "they durstn't come in on account of the rocks," said bigley slowly. "then, let them send the boat. let's hail them." "yes, they might send the boat," said bigley thoughtfully, "and they would if we could make them understand." "shout," cried bob. "what's the use when they're nearly two miles away." "'tisn't so far, is it?" i said in an awe-stricken whisper. "almost," he said. "the wind's against them, and they're beating up very slowly, and keeping off so as to run straight in when they get past the point. you see they don't want to go in at the gap till it's high-water and the pebble bar is covered." "but they must hear us," cried bob, "and send a boat to fetch us off. i don't know that i could swim so far as the shore, and we should have to undress and lose all our clothes. here, ahoy! boat--oh! ahoy!" the sound died away in the vast space, but there was no movement aboard of the lugger, and after each had hailed in turn, and we had all shouted together, we looked at each other in despair. "oh," cried bob, "what a set of stupids we are! only just now we went and got into trouble, and lost our nets and baskets, and now we've been and done it again. here, big, it's all your fault, what are we going to do?" bigley looked to sea, and he looked to shore, and then down at the water, that kept lapping round the rock and rising and falling. the small blocks all about us had long been covered, and at its most quiescent times the sea was now within some three feet of the top, while as the waves swayed and heaved, they ran up at times nearly to where we stood. the peril did not seem very great, because we did not quite realise our position; but stood disputing as to which would be the better proceeding--to try and swim ashore, or to wait till we could attract the notice of those on board the boat. several attempts were made to do the latter, for the stripping to swim with the loss of our clothes was not a course to be thought upon with equanimity; and though we shouted and waved handkerchiefs, the lugger pursued its slow way, and it was quite plain that we were not seen. meanwhile the water was steadily rising up the sides of our little island rock, and our position was beginning to wear a more serious aspect. "we shall have to swim ashore, boys," said bigley, speaking in a tone which seemed to indicate that he would rather do anything else. he looked towards the cliff as he spoke, and being so much taller than we, of course he had a much better view. "oh!" he exclaimed, with a look of horror, "the tide is round both points, and we shall have to swim right along ever so far before we can land." "no, no," cried bob, "let's swim straight in." "i tell you," cried bigley, "if we do, we shall be drowned." "what nonsense!" cried bob. "why, we'd climb up the rocks." "there is not a place where you could climb," said bigley gloomily. "i know every yard all along here, and there isn't a single spot where you could get up the cliff." "it's too far to swim," i said gloomily. "i know i can't go so far as that. could you, bob?" he shook his head. "oh, yes, you could," cried bigley excitedly. "it would be swimming with the stream, you know, and it would carry us along--i mean the tide would, and you've only got to think you could do it, and you would." bob chowne shook his head, and i began to feel chilled and oppressed by the task we had before us. "no, i couldn't swim so far," cried bob suddenly. "it would take a strong man who could keep on for hours to do that." "i tell you that you could do it," cried bigley, who seemed to be quite passionate now. "don't talk like that, bob, or you'll frighten sep duncan out of trying." "i'm not going to try," i said gloomily. "it would be no use. i could swim to the shore but not round the point." "what's the good of talking like that?" cried bigley. "you both can swim it, and you must." "why, i don't believe you could, big," cried bob in a whimpering tone. "i do," said the great fellow doggedly, "and i'm going to try, and so are you two fellows." "that we are not," we cried together. "yes, you are, for it's our only chance, unless they see us from the boat. you'll have to try, for the water will be up and over here before long, and what will you do then?" "drown, i s'pose," said bob. "nonsense!" cried bigley, who astonished us by the eager business way he had put on. "who's going to stand still and drown, when he can swim to a safe place? here, let's try and get 'em to see us aboard the lugger," he cried. "all together! let's wave our caps and handkerchiefs." we did all wave our caps and handkerchiefs, together and separately, but the boat went slowly on, as if there was no one in danger, and we turned and looked at each other in despair. "they must be asleep," said bob angrily. "oh, it's too bad." "no," said bigley sadly. "they can't be asleep, because there's someone steering, and someone else attending to the sails when they go about. it's only because they cannot see us. the rocks and cliffs hide us from them." "why, we can see them," said bob bitterly. "yes, because they are against the sky," i said. "we are against the cliff. oh, look at that!" my schoolmates wanted no telling, for they were looking aghast at the way in which the water had washed up, and lapped over the edge of the rock upon which we stood. it fell directly, but it had risen high enough to show that in a few minutes it would sweep right to where we were, and in a few more completely cover the stone. at this bigley began to wave his jacket frantically, but the boat still glided slowly on with its sail lit up by the sunshine, and the sea glittering as far as we could see. "it's of no use; we must swim," cried bigley; but we neither of us stirred, though he began resolutely to take off his big shoes. we saw what he was doing, but our eyes were strained towards the boat, which was much nearer now, making a long reach in towards the land, and it seemed so strange that those on board should be calmly sitting there, while we were in such peril, looking longingly for a sign that we were seen. and still the water slowly rose, threatening several times, and then making a bold leap which carried it right over the stone, though it barely wetted our feet. as it came over, bigley stooped down quickly and caught up his shoes and clothes to keep them dry, and it seemed very ridiculous to me that he should trouble himself about that, when in a few more minutes they must be afloat. another wave and another came over us, and though i kept on waving my handkerchief at times, there seemed to be no hope of help from the lugger. so in a fit of despair, after a glance towards the shore, i began to follow bigley's example and undress, feeling that it was forced upon me, and that i must make an effort and swim for my life. bob chowne stood with his forehead all wrinkled up watching me for a few minutes, and then he began to undress slowly; but a wave came and rose right up to our knees as it swept in, telling us plainly enough that before many minutes had passed we should be unable to stand there, and in frantic haste we tore off our garments, and followed bigley's lead in tying them together in a bundle, in the faint hope of being able to take them in our teeth and carry them ashore. we were ready none too soon, for the tide rose rapidly, and it was evident that the time had come for our plunge. "i'll go first, boys, and you follow," cried bigley. "now, don't hurry, and try and keep together. i won't swim fast. ready?" there was no answer. "are you ready, i say? i want to give the word, and for us all to take the water together." still neither of us answered; and we stood there, bundles in hand, unwilling to quit the firm rock on which we stood knee-deep, for the treacherous sea. "i say, boys! are you ready!" cried bigley again. still there was no answer, and the reluctance to stir would have continued longer, but an unexpected termination was put to our indecision by a larger wave sweeping over us, and making bob chowne slip and stagger. he tried hard to recover himself, and we to catch him, but the wet rock was bad for the feet, or he placed his foot upon a piece of sea-weed. at all events over he went with a splash and disappeared. we two followed, bundles and all, and as bob rose we were one on each side, and started swimming level with the shore so as to round the point between us and the western side of the gap. driven to it as we were, bob chowne and i forgot our dread and began to swim steadily and well; but we had not been in the water five minutes before i found that we had undertaken to do that which was impossible, and that we had quite forgotten all about this being a dangerous spot for bathing. i think we all discovered it about the same moment, but bigley was the first to speak. "be cool, boys, as the doctor says," he called out to us. "this is no use. we're not going with the tide, but fighting against it." "but the tide's coming in," i said. "yes, underneath," cried bigley; "but the top part of the water's running out like a mill-race, and we must go with it now. follow me." there was no help for it. the tide carried us along into a tremendous current, caused by the meeting of two waters at the point formed by the ridge of rocks which ran down into the sea, and to my horror, as i swam steadily on, still holding to my bundle, i found that we were in a line with the cliff about which i had watched the gull flying, but that it was getting farther and farther away. it was all plain enough. we were well in the fierce current that ran off the point, and being carried straight out to sea. my first idea was to shout this to my companions; but i felt that if i did i should frighten them, and i knew well enough that as soon as anyone grew frightened when he was swimming the best half of his power had gone. it was a great thing to recollect, and i held my tongue. it was hard work, and something seemed to keep prompting me to shout the bad news, but somehow i mastered it, and instead of swimming faster made myself take my strokes more slowly, so as to save my breath. bigley told me afterwards, and so did bob chowne, that they felt just the same, and would not shout for fear of frightening me, swimming steadily on, though where we did not know. "i say, how warm the water is!" cried bigley; and we others said it was. then i thought of something to say. we had each tied our clothes up as tightly as we could in our pocket-handkerchiefs, and so it was a long time before they were regularly saturated and heavy. "i say," i cried, "my bundle's just like a cork, and holds me up beautiful. how are yours?" bob chowne panted out that his was better, and to prove hew good and buoyant his was bigley thrust it before him, and swam after it, giving it pushes as he went. all this took up our attention for a little while from the horror of our position, for a horrible position it was indeed. it was a glorious sunny day, and sea and sky were beautiful, but the fierce current that set off from the point was sweeping us rapidly away, and it was only a question of how long we could keep on swimming--a quarter of an hour, half an hour, an hour--and then first one and then another must sink, unless in our efforts to save the first weak one we all went down together, and the glittering sea flowed over our heads with only a few bubbles of air to show where we had been. we must have been swimming twenty minutes when bigley uttered a shout, and looking up, bob and i for the first time caught sight of a little dinghy coming towards us, and far beyond it the lugger lying with her sails flapping in the breeze. the boat was a long way off, but the man in it had evidently seen us, and was coming down to our help, and a thrill of exultation ran through me, as i struck out more vigorously to reach the haven of safety. the minute before we were all swimming steadily and well, but the sight of help coming seemed to have completely unnerved us, and in place of taking slow long regular strokes, and steady inspirations, with the sides of our heads well down in the water, we all quickened our strokes and strained our heads above the surface, while, as if moved by the same thought, we all together shouted "boat!" "ahoy!" came back from what seemed a terrible distance, and the feeling of fear i had begun to experience increased more and more. a couple of minutes earlier i had not thought about the distance i could swim, but had kept on swimming. now i could think of nothing else but was it possible that i could keep on long enough for the boat to reach me; and, instead of steadily trying to decrease the distance, and so help the boatman, i began to make very bad progress indeed. "hooray!" shouted bigley just then. "keep up, boys, and don't lose your bundles. it's father, and he'll soon pick us up." bundles?--bundles? where was my bundle? i dared not turn my head to look, but it was not by me, and i must have let it float away just when most excited by the coming of the boat, but i could say nothing then. "steady!" shouted bigley again, checking his own speed, for he had been getting ahead of us, and he waited till we were abreast of him, both swimming too heavily and fast. "don't do that," he cried. "go steady. go--" he said no more, poor fellow, for the curious dread that unnerves people in the water, and robs them of the power and judgment that are their saving, seemed to have attacked him, and he began to swim in a more and more laboured fashion. his example affected us, and away went all coolness. we were all swimming, and the tide was carrying us along towards the boat, that seemed to be getting farther away instead of nearer to my dimming eyes. then in my rapid splashing i struck up the water, and grew confused; and feeling all at once that i was regularly exhausted, i turned over on my back to float. it was an unlucky movement, for i did it hastily and with the consequence that my head went under. i inhaled a quantity of the stinging briny salt water, and raising my head as i choked and sputtered, i turned back again, struck out two or three times, and then began to beat the surface frantically like a dog which has been thrown into the water for the first time. i can remember no more of what occurred during the next few minutes, only that i was staring up at the sky through dazzling water-drops; then that all was dark, and then light again, and not light as it was before. then it was once more dark, and then i was sitting in a boat half blind, shivering, and helpless, with the boat rocking about tremendously, and bob chowne over the side holding on to the gunwale with one hand, to my wrist with the other. it all seemed very wild and strange; but my senses were coming back fast, and in an indistinct manner i saw someone swimming and plashing the water about twenty yards from the boat. it was a man in a blue woollen shirt, and his head was bald and shining in the sun, as i saw it for a moment, and then, whoever it was, reared himself high as he could in the water, and then struck off and swam away from us out to sea. he did not go far, but stopped suddenly and shouted to us; and as he did so, i saw a gleam of something white, and then that he was holding someone's face above water. devon boys--by george manville fenn chapter fourteen. just in time. "ahoy, lad!" he shouted. "shove a scull over the stern, and scull her this way." this roused me, and i jumped up to seize a scull, but felt giddy and nearly fell, for bob chowne had hold of my wrist. "take hold of the gunwale, bob," i panted, as i tried again, and this time felt better, getting an oar over behind, and sending the boat along, as i had learned to years before. it was slow and awkward work, with bob hanging on to the side with his eyes fixed, and his face white; but i got her along, and before i had been sculling many minutes, a great brown hand was thrown over on the opposite side to where bob clung, and jonas uggleston said hoarsely: "lay in your oar, mate, and lean over, and take hold of bigley here. get your arm well under him. that's right. keep his head out of the water. i'm about beat for a bit." i obeyed him in a dreamy way, getting bigley's arm over into the boat, while i knelt down and put mine round him, and held him close to the side. "can you hold on, youngster?" said old jonas hoarsely. this was to bob chowne, who stared at him wildly, and did not speak. "nice chance for me," growled old jonas. "there, hold fast, my lads. i'm going to get in over the starn." the boat rose and fell and rocked as he came round, passed me hand over hand, to pause by the stern, and i thought he was going to climb in; but he altered his mind, and went on round by where bob chowne clung, held on with one hand, while he thrust his right arm under the water, and the next moment he had hoisted bob right up and rolled him over into the boat, where he lay for a few moments apparently quite helpless. "now, young duncan," said old jonas, "you hold him fast. i'll get in this side. she won't go over." it was done in a moment; he let himself sink down, and turn, gave a spring as i turned my head round to watch him; the gunwale of the boat seemed to go down level with the water, and he was on board, while, before i could realise it, he was bending over me to get his arms under poor big's and drag him into the boat, this time sending the gunwale so low that a quantity of water came in as well. old jonas set his son up in the stern with his back against the rowlock, and it was no easy job, for big was limp, and tremendously heavy; but the bumping about seemed to do him some good, for, just as i was about to ask in a voice full of awe if he was dead, poor bigley uttered a low groan. "hah! he's coming to, then," said old jonas, panting heavily, as he seated himself on the middle thwart. "here, you young doctor, take that pannikin, and bale out some of that water you're lying in. you don't want another bath, do you?" bob chowne got up on to his knees in the bottom of the boat, shivering and blue, and stared wildly at us all in turn. "cold, eh?" growled old jonas. "well, then, i'll bale, and you two row to the lugger." he glanced round at his son, who was showing signs of returning animation; but it evoked no sympathy before us, whatever he might have felt, for he only frowned as, in a shivering mechanical way, we two wretched boys seized an oar apiece, sat down on the wet thwarts and began to row. "now, then," shouted old jonas, "look where you're going. pull, doctor! easy, captain! that's better." between his words he kept sending out pannikins of water rapidly to ease the boat, for it was above our ankles as we sat and pulled. "nice fellows all of you!" grumbled old jonas. "why, you all look blue. fool's trick! who put it up?" "i--i don't know what you mean, mr uggleston," i said. "who proposed to swim off to the lugger? was it bigley?" "n-no, mr uggleston," i panted, half hysterically, as i tugged at the oar, an example followed by bob chowne, who was very silent and very blue. "soon as i get you aboard, i'll give you all a good rope's-ending, and chance what your fathers say," grumbled old uggleston, as he sent the water flashing over the side. "i suppose it was my bigley as set you at it, wasn't it?" "no, sir," i said, as i rapidly grew more composed now. "we were on the rock yonder, and had to swim for it. we wanted to get to shore." "and the current took you out, eh? of course it would. then you weren't swimming for the lugger, eh?" "oh, no, sir," i cried; "we had forgotten all about the boat." "then, where were you going to swim to--swansea?" he cried. "i don't know, sir," i said dolefully. "no more do i," he snarled. "'cross the sea to ireland, eh? and no biscuit and water. ah, you ought to be all rope's-ended. how came you on the rock?" i told him. "lucky i saw you all standing on it white-skinned against the black rocks. i see you all dive in and took my spy-glass, and see you swimming this way, and when i told binnacle bill, he said just what i thought, that you was swimming out to the lugger, and wouldn't do it, and so i took the boat and come to you, and i'm sorry i did now." "sorry, sir?" i said. "ay, sorry. you're a set o' young swabs. what's the good of either of you but to give trouble. here, where are your clothes? under the cliff?" "no, sir," i said dolefully. "we undressed on the big flat rock there, and tied them up in bundles." "bundles? where are they then?" "lost mine," said bob, speaking for the first time. "oh, you're coming round then, are you?" cried old jonas. "you've lost yours then; and has my bigley lost all his kit?" "yes, sir; we've all lost our bundles, unless they get thrown up by the tide." "which they won't," snarled old jonas. "rope's end it is, for if i don't thrash that big ugly cub of mine as soon as i get him aboard, i'll--now then, what are you yawing about that way for? easy, captain! pull, doctor, will you? now, both together. regular stroke. that's better. and so's that," he said, as he scooped out the last few drops of water with the tin pannikin, and finished off by sopping the remaining moisture with a piece of coarse flannel stuff which he wrung out over the side. bob and i did not speak, but tugged at our oars, as absurd-looking a crew as was ever seen upon the devon coast, while we kept looking pityingly at poor bigley. poor fellow! he had placed his arms one on either side, resting upon the gunwale, and appeared to be hard set to keep his head up from his chest. then he had one or two violent fits of coughing, and ended by sitting back in the bottom of the boat with a weary sigh and closing his eyes. "look, sir, look!" i cried in agony, for i thought bigley must be dying. "well, i am looking at him, boy. he's coming round. i can't do anything for him here, can i? pull hard, you young swabs, both of you, and let's get aboard. i don't know what folks want to have boys for." we rowed hard, bending well to our oars, and after a few minutes i ventured to speak again, for bigley looked terribly ill. "do you think he's getting better, sir?" i said. "better, boy? yes," he said, not unkindly, for i suppose my anxiety about his son moved him. "he'll be all right when i've warmed and laced him up with the rope's end. i'm going to make you all skip as soon as i get you aboard and there's room to move." "but he looks so ill, sir," i said, quite ignoring the rope's-ending. "of course he does, my lad. so would you if you had gone down as far as he did, and swallowed as much water. easy. in oars." i did not know we had rowed so far, but just then the boat bumped up against the side of the lugger, and old jonas rose, took the painter as he stepped into the bows, and handed it to binnacle bill, whose grim old face relaxed into a grin as he saw our plight. "what have you got, master uggles'on?" he said. "white seals?" "ay, something o' the sort," grumbled old jonas. "here, boys, on board with you." we needed no second order, but scrambled over the side into the lugger, while, at a word from his master, binnacle bill unbolted the piece of the lugger's bulwarks that answered the purpose of a gangway, and as, by main force, old jonas lifted up bigley, the old sailor leaned down, put his arm round the poor limp fellow, and lifted him on deck, where he lay almost without motion. the next thing was to make fast the little boat astern, after which binnacle bill seized the tiller, the sails filled, and the boat began to glide through the sunny sea, while bob and i picked out the sunniest spot we could find, and watched old jonas as he bent over bigley and poured a few drops of spirit between his teeth from a bottle he had fetched from the little cabin. "rowing's put you two right," said jonas. "ah, i thought that would do him good." certainly it did, for in a few minutes' time bigley was able to sit up in an oil-skin coat of his father's, while we two were accommodated with a couple of jersey shirts, which when worn as the only garment are nice and warm, but anything but becoming. the little lugger tacked and tacked again before we could make the mouth of the gap; and, probably because he was too busy over bigley and the boat, old jonas said no more about the rope's end, but ran us right in over the pebble bar into the little river, when binnacle bill was sent over to our cottage to fetch some clothes for me and bob, he being about my size, and till they came we lay in old jonas's bed. then a tremendous tea was eaten, bigley being well enough to join in, and afterwards in cool of the evening old jonas rowed us round and along the coast to see if we could pick up our bundles; but they had either sunk or gone off to sea, and we returned without. bigley was evidently very poorly, but he wouldn't give up, and started to walk part of the way back with us. i noted one thing as we were going. bob chowne and i held out our hands to say "good-night," and to thank old jonas for saving our lives. "oh, it was nothing," he said, shaking hands very warmly with bob chowne, but taking no notice of mine. "it's all right. good-bye, lads, but don't do it again." we said we would not, and started off home, where we both expected severe scoldings; but before we had gone fifty yards up the cliff path old jonas hailed us with a stentorian, "ahoy!" "what is it, father?" shouted bigley. "bring those boys back," roared old jonas. "i forgot to give 'em the rope's end." i need not tell you we didn't go back. but when we parted from bigley half a mile further on, i said to him: "why wouldn't your father shake hands with me?" "hush! don't take any notice," said bigley in low voice; "he's very angry still about captain duncan buying the gap and finding the silver mine. that's all!" "that's all!" bigley said. but it was not. chapter fifteen. back to school. i tried very hard not to meet doctor chowne when he next came over to our cottage, which was two days after the escape from drowning, for he was very frequently in confab with my father. they went into the little parlour, and so as to be out of the way i went into the cliff garden to watch the sea seated astride of one of the gates; but, as luck would have it, my father and the doctor came out to talk in the garden, and as there was no way of escape without facing them, i had to remain where i was and put on the boldest front i could. "oh, you're there, are you, mr sep?" exclaimed the doctor grimly. "yes, sir," i said. "that's right; i only wanted to ask a favour of you." "what is it, sir?" i said. "oh, wait a minute and i'll tell you," said the doctor in his grimmest way. "it was only this. you see i'm a very busy man, twice as busy as i used to be since your father has taken to consulting me. what i want you to do is this--" he stopped short and stared at me till i grew uncomfortable. "this, my lad," he continued. "to save time, i want you to tell me when you are going to try next to kill my boy." "to kill bob, sir?" "yes, i want to be ready, as i've so little time to spare. i want to order mourning from exeter, and to give orders for the funeral." "i--i don't understand you, sir," i stammered. "not understand me, my lad! why, i spoke plainly enough. you've tried to kill my bob twice; third time never fails." "doctor chowne!" i exclaimed. "your most humble servant, sir," he continued sarcastically. "i only wanted to add, that i should like you to do it as soon as you can, for he is costing me a great deal for clothes and boots." "there, there, chowne," said my father, taking pity upon me, "boys will be boys. i daresay your chap was just as bad as mine, and old uggleston's baby quite their equal." "they lead my bob into all the mischief," cried the doctor sharply. "oh, no doubt, no doubt," said my father in his driest way. "and i should like to know as near as i can when it's to come to an end?" "there, there, never mind," said my father good-humouredly. "give them another chance, and if they spoil these clothes we'll send into bristol for some sail-cloth, and have 'em rigged out in that." "sail-cloth!" cried the doctor, "old carpet you mean. that's the only thing for them." "holidays will soon be over, chowne, and we shall be rid of them." "yes, that's a comfort," said the doctor; and, as he turned away, i looked appealingly at my father, who gave me a dry look, and taking it to mean that i might go, i slipped off and went in to ripplemouth. i soon found bob, sitting in a very ragged old suit, out of which he had grown two years before, and he looked so comical with his arms far through his sleeves, and his legs showing so long beneath his trouser bottoms, than i burst out laughing. "yah! that's just like you," cried bob viciously. "i never saw such a chap. got plenty of clothes, and it don't matter to you; but look at me!" "well, i was looking at you," i said. "what an old guy you are!" "do you want me to hit you on the nose, sep duncan?" he said. "why, of course not," i said. "i came over to play, not fight. where are your sunday clothes?" "where are they?" snarled bob, speaking as if i had touched him on a very sore spot. "why, locked up in the surgery cupboard along with the 'natomy bones and the sticking-plaster roll." "what! has your father locked them up?" "yes, he has locked them up, and says he isn't going to run all over the country seeing patients to find me in clothes to lose--just as if i could help it." "but haven't you been measured for some more?" "yes, but they won't be done yet, and father says i'm to go on wearing these the rest of the time i'm at home." i looked at him from top to toe as he stood before me, and it was of no use to try to keep my countenance. i could not, and the more i tried the more i seemed to be obliged to laugh. as for bob he ground his teeth and clenched his hands, but this only made him look the more comic, and i threw myself in a chair and fairly roared, till he came at me like an angry bull; but as i made no resistance, only laughed, he lowered his fists. "i can't help it, bob; i was obliged to laugh," i cried. "there, you may laugh at me now; but you do look so droll. have you been out?" "been out? in these? of course i haven't. how can i? no: i'm a prisoner, and all the rest of my holiday time is going to be spoiled." "oh, i say, don't talk like that, old boy," i cried. "why didn't you keep the suit i lent you?" "i don't want to be dependent on you for old clothes," he said haughtily. "well, i'd rather wear them than those you have on, bob. oh, i say, you do look rum!" "if you say that again i shall hit you," cried bob fiercely. "oh, very well, i won't say it," i said; "but i say, wouldn't you wear a suit of old big's?" i said it quite seriously, but he regularly glared and seemed as if he were going to fly at me, but he neither moved nor spoke. "never mind about your clothes," i said. "big's sure to be over before long. let's get out on the cliff, or down by the shore, or go hunting up in the moor, or something." "what, like this?" said bob, getting up to turn round before me and show me how tight his clothes were. "well, what does it matter?" i said. "nobody will see us." "it isn't seeing you," he replied, "it's seeing me. no, i sha'n't go out till i get some clothes." bob kept his word, and for the rest of the holidays when i went out it always used to be with bigley uggleston. but we did not neglect poor bob, for we went to see him nearly every day, and played games with him in the garden, and finished the gooseberries, and began the apples, contriving to enjoy ourselves pretty well. as for the doctor, it was his way of dealing with his son, and i suppose he thought he was right; but it was very unpleasant, and kept poor bob out of many a bit of enjoyment, those clothes being locked away. i said that bob would not go out. i ought to have said, by daylight, for he used to go with us after dark down to the end of the tiny pier, where we sat with our legs swinging over the water, each holding a fishing-line and waiting for any fish that might be tempted to take the raw mussel stuck upon our hooks. but somehow that narrow escape of ours seemed to act like a damper upon the rest of our holidays, and i spent a good deal of my time with bigley, watching the preparations made by the masons at the works in the gap. we all declared that we were not sorry when one morning old teggley grey's cart stopped at our gate to take up my box. bob chowne's was already in, and he was sitting upon it, while bigley was half-way up the slope leading over the moor waiting by the road-side with his. i said "good-bye" to my father, who shook my hand warmly. "learn all you can, sep," he said, "and get to be a man, for you have a busy life before you, and before long i shall want you to help me." i climbed in, and old teggley drew out the corners of his lips and grinned as if he was glad that bob chowne was so miserable. for bob did not move, only sat with his hands supporting his face, staring down before him, bent, miserable, and dejected. "what's the matter, bob?" i said, trying to be cheerful. "got the toothache?" "yes," he said sourly, "all over." "get out! what is it? father made you take some physic?" "yes, pills. verbum nasticusis, and bully draught after." "what! has he been scolding you?" "scolding me! he never does anything else. i sha'n't stand it much longer. i shall run off to sea and be a cabin-boy." "hi, hi, hi!" "what are you laughing at?" snapped bob, turning sharply upon old teggley. "at you, mars bob chowne, going for a cabin-boy." _whop_! that last was a severe crack given to admonish the big bony horse old teggley drove; but he was a merciful man to his beast, and always hit on the pad, the collar, or the shafts. "s'pose i like to go for a cabin-boy, 'tain't no business of yours, is it?" cried bob snappishly. "not a bit, my lad, not a bit. i'll take your sea-chest over to barnstaple for you when you go." "no, you won't," grumbled bob viciously, "for i won't have one." "ahoy! bigley," i shouted, looking out from under the tilt. "hooray for school!" "aha! look at him--look at him!" shouted bob, whose whole manner changed as soon as he saw bigley's doleful face. "i say, old grey, here's a little boy crying because he is going back to school." bigley did not say anything, only gave bob a reproachful glance as he handed his box up to the carrier, and then climbed in. "gently, mars uggles'on," cried the old carrier, who seemed to consider that he had a right like other people to joke bigley about his size; "gently, my lad, or you'll break the sharps. i didn't know i was going to have a two-horse load." "look here, old teggley grey!" cried bigley firing up; "if you say another word about my being so large, i'll pitch you out of the back of the cart, and drive into barnstaple without you." "do, bigley, do," cried bob in ecstasy. "here, i'll hold the reins. chuck him out." "don't talk that way, mars bob chowne," whined the old man. "you wouldn't like me to be hurt." "oh, just wouldn't i!" cried bob spitefully. "pitch him overboard, bigley, old boy, and hurt him as much as you can." "no, no, you wouldn't, mars bob chowne. you wouldn't like me to have to be carried home on a wagon, and your father have to tend me for broken bones and such." "i tell you i would," cried bob savagely; "and i hope you'll bite your tongue, and then you won't be so ready to ask questions. there!" "me ask questions!" exclaimed the old carrier in an ill-used tone. "as if i ever did. well, never mind, he'll know better some day." the old man sniffed several times quite severely, and sat bolt upright at the side of the cart, looking out at his horse's ears, and left us to ourselves. bob's fit of melancholy was over, and he was ready to make remarks upon everything he saw; but neither bigley nor i spoke, for we were intent upon something the latter told me. "i don't want to tell tales," he said to me in a low tone, "but father makes me miserable." "but do you think it is so bad as you say?" bigley nodded. "he goes and sits on a stone with his spy-glass where he can see them, but they can't see him, and he stops there watching for hours everything they do, and comes back looking very serious and queer." "well, what does it matter?" i said. "he won't hurt us. he can't, because he is my father's tenant, and if he did he'd have to go." "don't talk like that, sep," whispered bigley. "it's bad enough now, and it would be worse then." "i say, what chaps you two are!" cried bob chowne. "why don't you talk to a fellow?" no one answered, and bob turned sulky and went and sat on the front of the cart, where he began to whistle. "what do you mean by being worse?" i said. bigley shook his head. "i don't know; i can't say," he whispered. "i mean i don't want father to be very cross." "i say, big," i whispered. "your father really is a smuggler, isn't he?" bigley looked sharply round to gaze at old teggley grey and bob chowne, creeping as he did so nearer to the tail-board of the cart, and i followed him. "i oughtn't to tell," he whispered back. "but you'll tell me. i won't say a word to a soul," i said. "well, i don't know. i'm not sure, but--" bigley paused, and looked round again before putting his lips close to my ear and whispering softly: "i think he is." "i'm sure of it," i whispered back; "and i know he goes out in his lugger to meet french boats and dutch boats, and makes no end of money by smuggling." "who told you that?" whispered bigley fiercely. "nobody. it's what everybody says of him. they all say that he'll be caught and hanged some day for it--hung in chains; but of course i hope he won't, big, because of you." "it's all nonsense. it isn't true," said bigley indignantly, "and those who talk that way are far more likely to be hung themselves. but i wish your father hadn't bought the gap." "i don't," i said. "he had a right to buy it if he liked, and i don't see what business it is of your father. why don't he attend to his fishing?" bigley looked up at me sharply, to see if i had any hidden meaning. "he does attend to his fishing," he said angrily; "and if he hadn't been attending to his fishing he wouldn't have been out in his boat that day, and saved you from being drowned." i never liked bigley half so well before as when he spoke up like that in defence of his father; but i was in a sour disappointed mood that day, because the holidays were over and i was going back to school, so i said something that was thoroughly ungenerous, and which i felt sorry for as i spoke. "yes, he saved us all from being drowned, i suppose," i said; "but he hadn't been fishing, for there were no fish in the boat." "just as if anybody could be sure of catching fish every time he went out," cried bigley angrily. "there, you want to quarrel because you are miserable at having to go back to school, but i sha'n't. i hate it. go and fall out with old bob chowne." this made me feel angry and i drew away from him, for it was trying to make out that i was as quarrelsome as bob chowne delighted to be. but i felt so horribly in fault directly after that i went back to my place and sat by him in silence. after a time the old carrier turned to us with a request that we would get out and give the horse a rest up the hill. we all obeyed, two of us jumping out over the tail-board, the other by the front, and leaping off the shaft. it was plain enough that the holidays were over, and that the joyous hearty spirit of the homeward-bound was there no more, for bob chowne took one side of the road in front of the horse, and the old carrier the other, while bigley and i hung back behind and walked slowly after them on opposite sides after the fashion of those in front. then came the stopping of the cart, and mounting again and descending a couple more times, before we reached barnstaple, dull, low-spirited, and ready to find about a score of boys just back, and looking as doleful as we did ourselves. chapter sixteen. our silver mine. school life has been so often narrated, that i am going to skip over mine, and make one stride from our return after midsummer to christmas, when we all went back home in a very different frame of mind. the country looked very different to when we saw it last, but it was a mild balmy winter, with primroses and cuckoo-pints pushing in the valleys, and here and there a celandine pretending that spring had come. the roads were dirty, but we thought little about them, for we knew that the sea-shore was always the same, and, if anything, more interesting in winter than in summer. i was all eagerness to get home and see what had been done in the gap, for my father in his rare letters had said very little about it. bigley was equally eager too. six months had made a good deal of difference in him, for, young as he was, he seemed to be more manly and firm-looking, though to talk to he was just as boyish as ever, and never happier than when he was playing at some game. he, too, was ready enough to talk about the gap, and wonder what had been done. "i hope your father has made friends with mine," he kept on saying as we drew nearer home. "it will be so awkward if they are out when you and i want to be in. because we do, don't we?" "why, of course," i cried. "and it will be so awkward, won't it?" "no," i said stoutly, "it won't make any difference; you and i are not going to fall out, so why should we worry about it? i say, look at bob chowne!" bigley turned, and there he was once more seated upon his box, right up on the big knot of the cord, just as if he liked to make himself uncomfortable. then his elbows were on his knees and his chin was in his hands, as he stared straight before him from out of the tilt of the big cart. "why, what's the matter, bob?" i said. "nothing." "why, there must be something or you wouldn't look like that. what is it?" "oh, i don't know; only that we're going home." "well, aren't you glad?" "glad? no, not i. what is there to be glad about? i haven't forgotten last holidays." "what do you mean?" said bigley and i in a breath. "oh, wasn't i always getting in rows, because you two fellows took me out and got me in trouble. i haven't forgotten about that old suit of clothes." "but i say, bob," i cried, "didn't you do your part of getting into trouble?" "oh, i don't know. don't bother, i'm sick of it. i'm tired of being a boy. i wish i was a man." "nay, don't wish that," cried the old carrier, who had been hearing everything, though he had not spoken before. "man, indeed! why, aren't you all boys with everything you can wish for? how would you like to be a man and have to do nothing else every day but sit in this here cart, and go to and fro, to and fro, from year's end to year's end, and never no change?" as we drew near the bay bob chowne grew more fidgety and despondent, but we tried to cheer him up by making appointments to go fishing and exploring the shore; but my first intent was to run over to the gap, and see what was going on there. as the carrier's cart descended the hill and we came in sight of the cottage, i saw some one at the gate, and leaning out on one side i saw that it was my father and the doctor, but before i could say so there was a jerk which nearly threw me off, and i heard a familiar voice cry: "there you are, then. out with your box, lad. here's binnacle bill come to carry it. how do, young gentlemen! well, young doctor, i've got that rope's-ending saved up for you whenever you like to come." old jonas did not offer to shake hands with either of us, but bigley did after handing out his box. "you'll come on to-morrow," he said quickly. "yes, we'll come," i said, answering for both; and i observed that old jonas smiled grimly, though he did not speak. then bob and i were alone and jogging down the zigzag road, traversing another five hundred yards before we reached our gate, where my father and the doctor were waiting for us. "brought the lads home quite safe, captain," said old teggley grey. "shall i take mars robert's box on to the town, doctor?" the old carrier remained unanswered, for we were both being heartily shaken by the hand, while old sam came up smiling to carry in my box. "yes, take on the other box, grey," cried the doctor. "we shall walk home, bob." "after a good tea," put in my father; and i found that meal awaiting us all, and very hearty and cosy it looked after the formal repasts at school. "why, you've both grown," said the doctor, as we sat down in the snug old room, where every object around seemed to be welcoming me. "yes, that they have," said my father. "your bob has the best of it too." "trifle," said the doctor, "trifle. well, sir, how many suits of clothes shall you want this time? i've never heard any more of the ones you lost." i saw bob turn red and take a vicious bite out of a piece of bread and butter. "they're nearly six months older now," said my father smiling, as he performed the feminine task of pouring out the tea, "and they'll be more careful." "will they?" said the doctor emphatically. "you see if the young varlets are not in trouble before the week's out, sir." "let's hope not," said my father. "come, boys, help yourselves to the ham and eggs." "come, boys, help yourselves to the ham and eggs!" said bob chowne to me, as soon as we were alone. "who's to help himself to ham and eggs when he's having the suit of clothes he lost banged about his unfortunate head? it regularly spoiled my tea." "why, bob," i cried, "you had three big cups, six pieces of bread and butter, two slices of ham, three eggs, a piece of cake, and some cream." "there's a sneak--there's a way to treat a fellow!" he cried, growing spiky all over, and snorting with annoyance. "ask a poor chap to tea, and then count his mouthfuls. well, that is mean." "why, i only said so because you declared you had had a bad tea." "so i did--miserable," he retorted. "i seemed to see myself again sitting at home in those old worn-out clothes, and afraid to go out at any other time but night, when no one was looking." "now, bob: where are you?" cried his father. "i'll take him off at once, duncan, or he'll eat you out of house and home." "hear that?" cried bob, "hear that? pretty way to talk of a fellow, isn't it. i don't wonder everybody hates me. i'm about the most miserable chap that ever was." "not you, bob. come over to-morrow." "what for?" "oh, i don't know. we'll go rabbiting or something." "now, bob!" came from the doctor. "here, i must go. good-bye. i'll come if i can. i wish i was you, or old bigley, or somebody else." "or back at school," i said laughing. "yes, or back at school," he said quite seriously; and then his arm was grasped by his father. "just as if i was a patient," he grumbled to me next day. "father don't like me. he only thinks i am a nuisance, and he's glad when i'm going back to school. i shall run off to bristol some day and go to sea, that's what i shall do." but that was the next day. that evening i stood with my father at the gate till bob and his father were out of sight in the lane, and then we went back into the parlour, where my father lit his pipe and sat smoking and gazing at me. "well, sep," he said after a pause, "don't you want to know how the mine is getting on?" "yes, father," i said; "but i didn't like to ask." "well, i'll tell you without, my boy. i've not got much profit out of it at present, because the expenses of starting have been so great; but it's a very fine thing, my boy." "is it going to make you rich, father?" "i hope so, boy, for your sake. there's plenty of lead, and out of the lead we are able to get about four per cent of silver." "four per cent, father!" i said; "what--interest?" "no, boy, profit. i mean in every hundred pounds of lead there are four pounds of pure silver, but of course it costs a good deal to refine." "and may i go and see it all to-morrow?" i asked. "to be sure; and i hope, after a year or two, you will be of great use to me there." i felt as if i could hardly sleep that night when i went to bed. there had been so much to see about the place, so much talk to have with old sam and kicksey, that it hardly needed the thought of seeing the mine next day to keep me awake. i thought i should never go to sleep, i say; but i awoke at half-past seven the next morning, feeling as if i had had a thoroughly good night's rest, and as soon as breakfast was over i started with my father on a dull soft winter's morning to see the mine. bob and bigley were to come over; but i felt that it would be twelve o'clock before bob came, and that i should meet bigley; so no harm would be done in the way of breaking faith in the appointment. we walked sharply across the hill and descended into the gap, but before we had gone far we met old jonas uggleston. "morning!" he said pleasantly. "morning, squire!" to me. "seen my bigley yet?" "no." "ah! he has gone your way. tell him i want to see him if he comes." we said we would, and old jonas went his way and we ours. "why, father," i said, "how civil he has grown!" "yes," said my father gravely, "he has; but i would almost rather he had kept his distance. don't tell your school-fellow i said that." "of course not, father," i said confidently; and we went on to the mine--the silver mine, and i stood and stared at a part of the valley that had been inclosed with a stone wall. there were some rough stone sheds, a stack of oak props, and a rough-looking pump worked by a large water-wheel, which was set in motion by a trough which brought water from the side of the hill, where a tiny stream trickled down. there was one very large heap of rough stone that looked as if barrows full of broken fragments were always being run along it, and turned over at the end, for the pieces to rattle down the side into the valley; there was a small heap close by, and under a shed there was a man breaking up some dirty wet stuff with a hammer. that was all that was to see except some troughs to carry off dirty water, and the rough framework and trap-doors over what seemed to be a well. "why, sep," said my father laughing, "how blank you look! don't you admire the mine?" "is--is this a silver mine, father?" i faltered. "yes, my lad, silver-lead. doesn't look very attractive, does it?" i shook my head. "but is it going to be worth a great deal of money?" "yes, my boy; only wait and you'll see. but i suppose you expected to see a hole in the earth leading down into quite an enchanted cave--eh?-- a sort of aladdin's palace, with walls sparkling with native silver?" "well, not quite so much as that, father," i replied; "but i did expect to find something different to this." "so do most people when they go to see a mine, sep, and they are horribly disappointed to find that they have not used their common sense. they know that if they dig down into the earth to make a well, in twenty feet or so, perhaps less, they come to water; and it has never occurred to them that if they dig down to form a mine, it must naturally be a wet dark muddy hole just like this one upon which you look with so much disgust. but wait a bit, my boy. we shall soon have furnaces at work and be smelting our ore and converting some of it into silver. there'll be more to see then. you don't care to go down?" he said, leaning his hand upon a windlass over the trap-doors. "is there anything to see, father?" i said rather dolefully. "to see! well, there are the sides of a big well-like hole which you can see from here. look!" he threw open a trap-door, and i gazed into a well-like place with a couple of ropes hanging down it, and i noted that the walls were made of the stone that had been dug and broken out. the place looked dark and damp, and there was the trickling of dripping water. that was all. "well, sep, what do you say?--will you go?" "is it all like this, father?" i said. "yes, precisely, my lad. shall i have you let down?" "no, thank you," i said; "i think i'll stop up." he nodded and smiled, and after staying with him for a time while he examined some of the ore that the man was breaking up he set me free, but not till i had asked him how many men he had at work, and been told that at present there were only six. chapter seventeen. we have a little fishing. i went away to see if i could find bigley, feeling very much put out, and full of hope that bob chowne, when he came, would not ask me to take him to see the mine. for, truth to tell, i had made rather a fuss about that mine, talking about silver-lead in a very important way at school; and, as i recalled my words, i felt quite a shudder of horror as i thought of all the boys in my class coming and standing at the mouth of the mine, and bursting into a roar of laughter at this being the silver cavern in the earth. there was no likelihood of any of them coming save bob chowne; but there was no knowing what he would say when we got back if i offended him and he was in one of his teasing fits. i walked down to the end of the gap, past the cottage, and was just going to ask if bigley had come back, when i saw old jonas and binnacle bill, with another man, putting off in the lugger, which was lying by a buoy about a quarter of a mile from the shore. after five months at school it seemed such a pretty sight to see the red sails hoisted and fill out, and the lugger begin to move slowly over the smooth water, that i sat down on a stone and watched the boat, wishing i were in her, till she gradually grew more distant, and there was a dull thud close beside me. i looked round but saw nothing, and i was turning to watch the lugger again, when i heard a fresh pat on the slate rubbish by me, and soon after a piece of flat, thin shale struck the clatter stream behind me. "some one throwing," i said to myself, and looking up, there, about six hundred feet above me on the cliff path, were bigley and bob chowne. i shouted to them, and they ran to the nearest clatter stream and began to slide down standing. sometimes they came swiftly for a few yards; sometimes they stopped and each had a check, a fall, and a roll over, but they were up again directly, and in less than half the time it would have taken them to walk they were down by my side. "here, where have you been?" cried bob, who was in the highest of glee. "old big says it's such a dark quiet day that the fish are sure to bite, and he's going to ask his father to let us have the boat, and row out." "but mr uggleston isn't at home." "no, that he isn't," said bigley, who had just caught sight of the lugger. "that is tiresome." "but they haven't taken the boat," cried bob, "so it don't matter." "yes, it does," said bigley gravely, "because i shouldn't like to take the boat without leave." "why, of course you wouldn't if your father was at home," said bob quickly; "but i'm quite sure mr uggleston wouldn't like us two to be disappointed when we'd come on purpose to go." "oh, i don't think he'd mind," said bigley. "but i know he would," cried bob, who spoke in the most consequential manner. "your father is rough, but he is very good at bottom." "why, of course he is," cried bigley. "then he wouldn't like us to be cheated out of our treat, so you get the mussels for the bait, and some worms, and let's go." bigley hesitated. he wanted to go, for the sea was as smooth as a mill-pond--a rare thing in winter; and perhaps we should have to wait for some time before another such day arrived. he looked at me and i wanted to go too. that was plain enough, and the chance seemed so tempting that, even if i did not openly abet bob, i said no word to persuade bigley not. "you'd got all the lines and bait ready, hadn't you?" said bob cunningly. "yes, everything's ready, and i meant to ask father as soon as i got back. here, hi! mother bonnet, how long will father be?" "oh, all depends on the wind," said the fresh-looking old lady coming out, smiling and smoothing her hair. "they've gone across to swansea, my dear. it will be a long time 'fore they're back." "there, you see, you can't ask, and it's no use to signal to them in the lugger, because they couldn't understand, so you've got to take the boat, and we shall be back long before they are." "but it would be so horrible if we were to meet with any accident this time," said bigley. "you know how unlucky we were over the prawns. there, we'd better not go!" "there's a molly for you!" cried bob. "just because we got in a muddle twice over in catching prawns and crabs you think we're always going to be in a mess." "no, i don't," said bigley; "but it would be so queer if we got into a scrape the very first time we go out." "get out! oh, i say, you do make me grin, old big. there, go and get your lines, and a gaff, and the basket of bait. let's be off while the sea is so smooth." bigley hesitated, and after a good deal of banter from bob, and an appeal to me, he went off, sorry and yet pleased, to get the lines and bait. "and now he'll be obliged to go, sep. don't let's give him time to think, or he's such an old woman he'll back out." "but--" "get out! don't say but. there, we won't go out far, only to the mouth there by the buoy, and we can catch plenty of fish without any trouble at all." i gave way--i couldn't help it, and we two went on, so that when bigley came with the baskets and lines we were waiting for them, and his scruples were nearly overcome. "think it will matter if we take the boat?" he said dubiously, for he evidently shared our longing to go. i said no, i did not think it would, for we could clean it out after we had done fishing, and we had been boating so often with other people that i for one felt quite equal to the management of the little vessel. but all the time there was a curious sensation of wrong-doing worrying me, and i wished that i had not been so ready to agree. it was as if i felt the impression of trouble that was coming; but i kept the feeling to myself. "well," said bigley, "i did mean to ask for leave." "of course you did," cried bob chowne; "but as your father is off you can't. come along, boys, and let's get a good haul this time." he seized the bait-basket and made the shells of the mussels rattle as he trotted down towards where the little five-pointed anchor or grapnel lay on the beach, and began to haul in the boat. as the light buoyant vessel came gliding over the smooth surface, and grated and bumped against and over the stones, the thoughts of whether we were doing right or wrong grew faint, and then, as the bait-basket was thrown in, and the lines followed, they were forgotten. "in with you, lads!" cried bob, making a spring, and leaping from a dry stone right into the boat; but his feet slipped, and he came down sitting in the basket of mussels with an unpleasant crash. "now, look here!" he cried in a passion, "if you fellows laugh at me i won't go." of course this made us all the more disposed; but we turned our backs and went down upon our knees to begin seeing to the hooks upon one of the reeled-up lines. "there, you are laughing both of you!" cried bob, who was easing the pain he felt, or thought he was, by lifting up and setting down first one leg and then the other. "that we are not!" i cried, and certainly our faces were serious enough, as we hurriedly popped the lines over the bows, when i jumped in, and, catching up the little grapnel, bigley took one big stride with his long legs, and was on the gunwale, which went down nearly to the water with his weight; but as the boat rose again, the impetus of the thrust he gave her in leaping aboard carried her out a couple of lengths. there was no thought now of any wrong-doing, as bob and i seized an oar apiece and began to paddle as the boat rose and fell and glided over the swelling tide. "pull away, sep!" cried bob. "here, old big, you're sitting all on one side and making the boat lop. get in the middle or i'll splash you!" bigley moved good-humouredly, and the boat danced beneath his weight. "heave ho! steady!" shouted bob. "don't sink us, lad. i say, what a weight you are! let's put him ashore, sep. he's too big a big for a boat like this." "make good ballast," said bigley, laughing good-humouredly. "boats are always safer when they are well ballasted." "i daresay they are, but i like 'em best without big lumps in 'em. i say, how far out shall we go?" "oh, about a quarter of a mile, straight out, over the ringlet rocks. you pull, i'll watch the bearings, and drop out the grapnel. pull hard!" we rowed away steadily, while, to save time, bigley took out his pocket-knife and, taking a board from the bait-basket, laid it upon the seat, and began to open the mussels and scrape out the contents of the shells ready for placing them upon the hooks when we reached the fishing ground. for i may tell you that knowing the bottom well has a great deal to do with success in sea-fishing. a stranger to our parts might think that all he had to do was to row out in a little boat a few hundred yards, and begin to fish. if he did that, the chances are that he would not catch anything, while a boat three or four lengths away might be hauling in fish quite fast. the reason is simple. sea fish frequent certain places after the fashion of fresh-water fish, which are found, according to their sorts, on muddy bottoms; half-way down in clear deeps; among piles; in gravelly swims; at the tails of weeds; or under the boughs of trees close in to the side of river or lake. so with the sea fish. if we wanted to catch bass, we threw out in places where the tide ran fast; if we were trying for pollack, it was along close by the stones of the rocky shore; if for conger, in deep dark holes; and if for flat-fish, right out in deep water, where the bottom was all soft oozy sand. upon this occasion we had decided for the latter, and with bigley giving a word now and then to direct us, as he watched certain points on the shore, we rowed away for quite half a mile, but keeping straight out from the gap. "now we're just over the ringlets," cried bigley suddenly. "heave over the anchor then!" i shouted. "no, go on a bit farther, about fifty yards, and then we shall be on the muddy sand. i know." we boys pulled, and then all at once bigley shouted "in oars!" and we ceased rowing as the grapnel went over the side with a splash, and the cord ran across the gunwale, grating and _scrorting_ as bob called it, till the little anchor reached the bottom, and the drifting of the boat was checked. "i say, isn't it deep?" i said. "just about nine fathoms," said bigley. "you'll have plenty of hauling to do." "i say, look!" i cried, as i happened to look shoreward, "you can see right up the gap nearly to the mine." "isn't the sea smooth?" said bob. "it's just like oil. now then, first fish. put us on a good big bait, bigley, old chap." the hooks were all ready with the weights and spreaders, and bigley began calmly enough to hook and twist on a couple of the wet and messy raw mussels for bob, and then did the same for mine, when we two began to fish on opposite sides of the boat, letting the leads go rapidly down what appeared to be a tremendous distance before they touched the ooze. it seemed quite a matter of course that we two were to fish, and bigley wait upon us, opening mussels, rebaiting when necessary, and holding himself ready to take off the fish, should any be caught. i never used to think anything about bigley uggleston in these days, only that he was overgrown and good-tempered, and never ready to quarrel; and it did not seem to strike either of us that he was about the most unselfish, self-denying slave that ever lived. i know now that we were perfect tyrants to him, while he, amiable giant that he was, bore it all with the greatest of equanimity, and the more unreasonable we were, the more patient he seemed to grow. we fished for some few minutes without a sign, and then bob grew weary. "it's no good here, big, they won't bite. let's go on farther." "bait's off, perhaps," suggested bigley. "no, it isn't. i haven't had a touch." "perhaps not, but the flat-fish suck it off gently sometimes. pull up." bob drew in the wet line hand over hand, till the lead sinker hit the side of the boat; and bigley proved to be right, both baits were off his hooks, and as they were being rebaited i hauled in my line to find that it was in the same condition. by the time bob's lead was at the bottom, my hooks were being covered with mussel, and i threw in again. as mine reached the sandy ooze, and i held the line in one hand, there was a slight vibration of the lead, but it passed away again, and i fished, to pull up again at the end of a few minutes and find both baits gone. bob's were the same, and so we fished on till he declared that it was of no use, that it was the tide washed the bait off, and that there wasn't a fish within a hundred yards. "but i'm sure there are lots," said bigley. "why, how can you tell?" cried bob. "you can't see two feet down through the water, it's so muddy." "i know by the baits being taken off," replied bigley decidedly. "there are fish here i'm sure, and--" "i've got him," i shouted, beginning to haul in, for i could feel something heavy at the end of the line which had given several sharp snatches as i hauled. "oh, what a shame!" cried bob. "i don't see why they should come first to old sep. here, i know what it is. only an old bow-wow." "no, it isn't," i exclaimed as i caught a glimpse of something white, looking like a slice of the moon far down below the boat. "it's a flat-fish, and a big one." i proved to be right, as i hauled it flapping over the side, and bigley seized what proved to be a nice plaice, and took the hook from its jaws. as the line, being rebaited, was thrown in again, there was a serious examination of the prize, which was about to be transferred to the basket brought to hold our captures, when bob shouted, "i've got him!" and began to haul in with all his might. we both adjured him to be careful, but in his excitement he paid no heed, only dragged as hard as he could, and hoisted in a long grey fish, at which he gazed with a comical aspect full of disgust. i laughed, and as i laughed he grew more angry, for his prize was what he had previously called a "bow-wow" and attributed to me. for it was a good-sized dog-fish, one which had to be held at head and tail lest in its twining and lashing about it should strike with its spine and do some mischief. "here, let me take him off," cried bob. "no, no; you mind the line isn't tangled," cried bigley; but bob gave him a push, the dog-fish, which was nearly a yard long, was set free, and began to journey about amongst bob's line, while, when he placed his foot upon its head, the fierce creature bent half round, and then let itself go like a spring, with the effect that it struck bob's shoe so smart a blow with one of its spines that the shoe was pierced by the toe, and it required a tug to withdraw the spine. "are you hurt, bob?" we both cried earnestly. "no, not a bit. my toes don't go down as far as that. ah, would you?" this was to the fish, which was lashing about fiercely. "let me do it, bob. i'll kill it in no time, and i know how to manage him." "so do i," said bob independently, as he made another attack upon the dog-fish, which resented it by a fresh stroke with its spine, this time so near to bob's leg that he jumped back and fell over the thwart. "i say, that was near," he cried. "you have a try, big." our school-fellow wanted no second bidding, and taking hold of the line, he drew the fish's head under his right foot, pressed down its tail with his left, took out the hook, and then with his knife inflicted so serious a cut upon the creature that, when he threw it over, it only struggled feebly, as it sank slowly and was carried away. "there's a cruel wretch!" cried bob. "did you see how vicious he was with his knife?" "it isn't cruel to kill fishes like that," retorted bigley. "see what mischief they do hunting the other fish and eating everything. see how they bite the herrings and mackerel out of the nets, only leaving their heads." "he wouldn't have said anything if the dog had spiked him," i said. "why, so he did spike me," cried bob; "and--" "i've got another," i cried, beginning to haul up, and as i hauled bob sent his freshly-baited and disentangled hook down to the bottom. i had caught another flat-fish about the size of the first, and directly after bob caught one. then there was a pause, and i took another dog-fish, and after that we fished, and fished, and fished for about half an hour and caught nothing. it was december, but the air was still, and we did not feel it in the slightest degree cold. i suppose it was the excitement kept us warm, for there was always the expectation of taking something big, even if the great fish never came. just as we were thinking that it was of no use to stay longer the fish began to bite again, and we caught several, but all small, and then all at once, as i was lowering my lead, i cried out: "look here! i can't touch bottom." "nonsense!" said bob, lowering his line, but only to become a convert, and exclaim accordingly. "why, we're drifting," cried bigley, going to the line that held the anchor, to find that it had been dragged out of the muddy sand, and that we had slowly gone with the tide into deeper water, whose bottom there was not length enough of rope for the grapnel to touch. "i'll soon put that right," cried bigley, unfastening the line and letting about three fathoms more run out, but even then the anchor did not reach bottom, and without we were stationary it was of no use to fish. "haul in your lines, lads," cried bigley, setting us an example by dragging away at the cord which held the anchor. "we must row back a bit. we've drifted into the deep channel. i didn't know we were out so far." "oh, i say, look!" cried bob. "it's beginning to rain, and we've no greatcoats." "never mind," said big, getting hold of the anchor as we drew in our leads, and laid them with the hooks carefully placed aside, ready for beginning again. "now, then, who's going to pull along with me!" "you pull, sep," said bob. "i want to count the fish." i took an oar, and just as i was about to pull the boat's head round i looked towards the mouth of the gap, which was nearly three-quarters of a mile away, and though at present the smooth sea was just specked here and there by the falling drops, over shoreward there was what seemed to be a thick mist coming as it were out of the mouth of the gap, and a curious dull roar towards where we were. "going to be a squall," said bigley. "pull away, sep, and let's get ashore." easy enough to say--difficult enough to do, as we very soon found, in spite of trying our very best. chapter eighteen. the following night. i have told you who did not know what our coast was like--one high wall of cliffs and hills from six hundred to a thousand feet high, with breaks where the little rivers ran down into the sea, and these breaks, after the fashion of our gap, narrow valleys that run into the land with often extremely precipitous walls, and a course such as a lightning flash is seen to make in a storm, zigzagging across the sky. if you do not know i may as well at once tell you what is often the effect of rowing or sailing along such a coast as ours: you may be going along in an almost calm sea for hours, perhaps, till, as you row across one of these valleys or combes, the wind suddenly comes rushing out like an enormous blast from some vast pipe. all the time, perhaps, there has been a sharp breeze blowing high up in the air, the great wall of rock preventing its striking where you are, but no sooner are you in front of the opening than you feel its power. beside this, all may be calm elsewhere, while down the steep-sided valley a keen blast rushes, coming from far inland, high up on the moor, where it has perhaps behaved like a whirlwind, and having finished its wild career there, has plunged down into the combe to make its escape out to sea. it was just such a gust as this last which suddenly came upon us, raising the sea into short rough waves, and bearing upon its wings such a tremendous storm of sharp cutting rain and hail, that, after fighting against it for some time and feeling all the while that we were drifting out to sea, we ceased rowing and allowed the boat to go, in the hope that the squall would end in a few minutes as quickly as it had come on. the rush of the wind and the beating and hissing of the rain was terribly confusing. the waves, too, lapped loudly against the sides and threatened to leap in; and while we glanced to right and left in the hope of being blown in under shelter of the land, we found that the boat was rushing through the water, our bodies answering the purpose of sails. we crouched down together, not to diminish the power of the wind, but in that way to afford each other a little shelter from the drenching rain. "it can't last long," shouted bigley, for he was obliged to cry aloud to make himself heard above the shrieking of the storm. but it did last long and kept increasing in violence. the heavens, in place of being of the soft bluish-grey that had been so pleasant when we came out, had grown black, the rain all about us was like a thick mist that shut out the sight of the cliffs, and with it the power of seeing the hissing water descend into the sea for a few yards round, we forming what seemed to be the centre of the mist. and there we were, drive, drive before the wind at what we felt was quite a rapid rate, till all at once the rain passed on, leaving us wet, and cold, and wretched, and ready to huddle more closely still for the sake of warmth. but though the rain had passed on, and it was clear behind us as it was dark ahead, while we could see the mouth of the gap and the lowering cliffs, the wind did not cease, but seemed to be blowing more angrily than ever--with such force, indeed, that we could hardly make each other hear. there was an unpleasant symptom of danger, too, ready to trouble us, in the shape of the waves, which made the boat dance up and down and then pitch, as it still went rapidly on farther out to sea. "ready?" shouted bigley, as i sat with my teeth chattering in the piercing wind. i nodded, for i did not care to open my mouth to speak; and, in obedience to a sign, i held the water while he began to pull round as fast as he could and get the boat's head to the wind. for a minute or so we were in very great danger, for as soon as we were broadside to the wind the waves seemed to leap up and the wind to strive to blow us over; but by sheer hard work bigley got her head round, and then we pulled together, with the boat rising up one wave and plunging down another in a way that was quite startling. bob chowne did not speak, only crouched down in the bottom of the boat and watched us as we tugged hard at the oars, under the impression that we were rowing in. but we soon knew to the contrary. we were only boys, the boat was a heavy one and stood well out of the water, and as we pulled the wind had tremendous power over our oars. in fact all we did was to keep the boat's head straight to the wind, and so diminished the violence of its power over us, while of course this was the best way to meet the waves that seemed to come directly off the shore. "come and pull now, bob," i shouted after tugging at the oar for a long time. my feeling of chilliness had passed away, and i was weary and breathless with my exertions. i kept on pulling while bob came to my side, and as he took the oar i gradually edged away and crept under it to go and take the place where he had crouched. it was a black look-out for us; for it was already growing dim, and we knew that in half an hour it would be quite dark. the wind was still rising and the sea flecked with little patches of foam; while, as i looked towards the gap, i could not help seeing with sinking heart that not only were the high rocks growing dim with the shades of the wintry night, but with the distance too. you know how quickly the change comes on from day to night at the end of december. you can imagine, then, in the midst of that sudden storm, how anxiously i watched the shore, and tried to persuade myself that we were getting nearer when i knew that we were not. if i had had any doubt about it, bigley, who had been used to sea-going from a little child, put an end to it by suddenly shouting: "it's of no good; we are only drifting out. i'm going to try and get under shelter of the cliff." then, shouting to bob to ease a little, he pulled hard at the boat's head to get her a little to the west instead of due south, and then shouted to our companion again to pull with all his might. bob did pull--i could see that he did; but we did not get under the shelter of the cliff, for the change in the position of the boat presented more surface to the wind, and we could feel that we were drifting faster still. we tried not to lose heart; but it was impossible to keep away a certain amount of despondency as we realised that all our pulling was in vain, and as we grew wearied out bigley said that it was of no use to row. all we were to do was to keep the boat's head well to the wind. i crept after a time to bigley's place in answer to a sign from him, for we had grown very silent; and as he resigned his oar to me and i went on pulling, while he crept aft to sit in the stern, it seemed as if it had all at once grown dark above us. the shore died away, all but one spot of light--a tiny spot that shone out like a star, one that we knew to be in the cottage where mother bonnet had no doubt a good hot cup of tea waiting for us, who were perishing with the cold and gradually drifting farther and farther away. we could not talk for the wind. besides, too, it was very hard work to talk and row in such a sea; so i sat and thought of how hard it was to be situated as we were, and to have again got into trouble in what was meant for a pleasant recreation. i thought all this, and i believe my companions had very similar thoughts as we danced up and down on the short cockling sea. then all at once, as the darkness overhead seemed to have grown more intense, and the sea with its foam to give the little light we enjoyed, we were aware of a fresh danger. the wind and the hissing and beating of the sea made a great deal of noise, but that loud washing splash sounded louder to us, and so did the rattle of a tin pot which bigley seized, and lifted the board from over the bit of a well and began to bale. for one of the waves had struck the bows, risen up, and poured three or four gallons of water into the boat. bigley was ready for the emergency, though, directly, and we saw the rise and fall of the tin pan as he swept it up and down and sent the water flying on the wings of the wind. before he had baled the boat out the first time another wave swept in, and he had to work hard to clear that out; but he soon had that done after correcting our rowing, for i was pulling harder than bob, and the consequence was that the boat was not quite head to wind and did not ride so easily as she should. darker and darker, with the faint star in the gap quite gone now, and all around us the hissing waste of waters upon which our frail shell of a boat was tossed! it was so black now that we could hardly see each other's faces, and in a doleful silence we toiled on till all at once there was a sobbing cry from bob chowne, who fell forward over his oar. then the boat fell off and a wave came with a hissing rush over the bows. "back water, sep!" yelled bigley as he dragged bob chowne away, seized his oar, and began pulling, when the boat seemed to be eased again and rose and fell regularly; but a quantity of water kept rushing to and fro about poor bob chowne, who kept receiving it alternately in his back and face. "sit up and bale, bob!" shouted bigley. "do you hear? take the pannikin and bale." bob did not move, and bigley shouted to him again. "take the pannikin and bale. do you hear me? take the pannikin and bale." "i can't," moaned bob. "i can't. let me lie here and die." dark as it was i could just make out bigley's actions, for i was in the fore part of the boat, and he before me. "bale, i say! do you hear? bale!" he shouted in his deep gruff voice. "i can't," moaned bob piteously. "then we shall sink--we shall go to the bottom." "yes; we're going to die," groaned bob. "no, we're not," cried bigley in a fierce angry way that seemed different to anything i had before heard from him. "get up and bale!" "no, no," groaned bob again. "get up and bale!" thundered bigley, and i felt hot and angry against him, as i heard a dull thud, and it did not need bob chowne's cry of pain to tell me that bigley had given him a kick on the ribs. "oh, big!" i cried. "row!" he roared at me; and then to bob: "now, will you bale?" "yes," groaned bob, struggling to his knees, and, holding on with one hand, he began to dip the baler in regularly and slowly, throwing out about a pint of water every time. "faster!" shouted bigley; "faster, i say." "oh!" moaned poor bob; but he obeyed, and it seemed a puzzle to me that our big companion, whom we bantered and teased, and led a sorry life at school, should somehow in this time of peril take the lead over us, and force us to behave in a way that could only have been expected of a crew obeying the captain of a boat. i bent forward to bigley as we kept on with the regular chop chop of the oars, making no effort to get nearer to the shore, only to keep the boat's head level, and i whispered in his ear: "shall we get to shore again!" "yes," he said confidently; "only you two must do what i tell you. i must be skipper now. go on, you, bob chowne!" he roared. "heave out that water. do you want me to kick you again?" bob whimpered, but he worked faster, scooping the water clumsily out and throwing it over, the side, and, after he had done, and been sitting crouched at the bottom, bigley seemed to attack him again unkindly, as if he were going to take advantage of his helplessness, and serve him out for many an old piece of tyranny. "now, then," he shouted--and it seemed to be his father speaking, not our quiet easy-going school-fellow, but the rough seafaring man who had the credit of being a smuggler--"now then, you, bob chowne," he roared, "get up, and come and take sep duncan's oar." "i can't," he groaned piteously, and he let himself fall against the side of the boat. "i'm so cold, i'm half dead." "oh, are you?" shouted bigley. "no you ar'n't, so get up and creep over here." "i can't," cried bob again. "then i'll make you," cried bigley fiercely, and lifting his oar out of the rowlocks he sent it along the gunwale, till he made it tap heavily against the back of bob chowne's head. "oh!" shrieked bob, and i felt my cheeks burn, cold as i was. "now, will you come and work, you sneak?" "i--i can't." "get up, or i'll come and heave you overboard," roared bigley. "i won't have it." "oh--oh!" sobbed poor bob. "let him be, big," i cried. "i'm not very tired." "you hold your tongue," was the response i had in an angry tone. "you be ready to give up your oar when he comes. now, then, up with you, or i'll do it again." bob chowne groaned piteously and crawled forward. "why can't you let a fellow die quietly?" he sobbed out, and then he crept over the seat where bigley was rowing, so as to get to where i still tugged at my oar in hot indignation. "die, eh?" shouted bigley with a forced laugh. "yes, you'd better. leave us to do all the pulling, would you? oh, no, you don't. i'm biggest and i'll make you pull." "oh--oh--oh!" whimpered bob. "why can't you let a poor fellow be?" "be! what for?" shouted bigley to my astonishment, for i could not have believed him guilty of such brutality. "yes, i'll let you be. i'll make you work, that's what i'll do. i wish i'd a rope's end here." "it's too bad, it's too cruel, big," i cried passionately. "how can you behave so brutally to the poor fellow!" "here, you stick to your own work," cried bigley fiercely. "look, you're letting me do all the work. keep her head to the wind, will you?" his orders were so sharp and fierce that i found myself obeying them directly, and went on baling while bob whimpered, and bigley kept on hectoring over us, as i ladled out a little water now and then. the wind blew as fiercely as ever, and we knew that we were rapidly being carried out farther and farther, right away to a certain extent towards the welsh coast, but of course being also in the set of the tide, and going out to sea. the cold was terrible whenever we ceased pulling from utter weariness, but we managed among us to keep the boat's head to wind hour after hour, and danced over and over the waves till by degrees the fury of the wind died out, though we could not believe it at first. soon, though, it become very evident that it was sinking, and i heard bigley utter a sigh of relief. it was quite time that the little gale did pass over, for during the last half hour the water had been coming into the boat more and more, so that it had become necessary for one of us to keep on baling, for the waves seemed to be getting more angry; a sharp rain of spray was dashed from their tops into our necks, and soaking our hair, and every now and again there was a blow, a splash, and a rush of water through the boat. it was quite true, though we at first thought that we must be under shelter of the land; the wind was sinking fast, and the waves lost their fierce foaminess. they rose and fell, and leaped against the boat, but it was with less splash and fury, and then, as the danger died away, so did our remaining strength. bigley and i, who were now rowing, or rather dipping our oars from time to time, slowly threw them in, and the boat lay tossing up and down at the mercy of the waves; but no water dashed in over the gunwale, and bob chowne's hand with the baler rested helplessly by his side. no one spoke out there in the darkness, but we sat in the terrible silence, utterly exhausted, and rapidly growing chilled through and through in our saturated clothes. i remember looking out, and away through the darkness towards the shore as i thought, but i could see nothing till i raised my eyes toward the sky, and then i saw that the clouds had been driven away by the wind, and the stars were out, while straight before me there was the only constellation i knew--the great bear. i was too weary for it to trouble me, but i learned then that the boat must have turned almost completely round since we had left off rowing, for where i had thought the land lay was out to sea, and the welsh coast--in fact i had been looking due north instead of due south. it did not trouble me much, for i was hungry and thirsty, and then i felt sleepy, and then shivering with cold, while a few minutes later i felt as if nothing mattered at all, for i was utterly wearied out. bigley was the first to speak, but it was not in the fierce tone of a short time before. he seemed to have changed back into our big mild school-fellow as he said: "come on over here, sep, and let's all creep together. it won't be so cold then." i noted the change in his tone, but i could not say anything, only obey him. "come, bob," i said, as i climbed over the thwart, and tried to stand steadily in the dancing boat. but bob did not move or speak, and we others crept close to his side, beginning by edging up and leaning against each other, shivering the while, but the improvement was so great at the end of a few minutes, that we thrust our arms under each other's soaked jackets, and held on as closely as we could, to feel bitterly cold outside but comfortably warm on the inner. the stars came out more and more, the wind died away, and the short dancing motion by very slow degrees subsided into a regular cradle-like rock, that, in spite of the cold, had a lulling effect upon us; and at last i seemed to be thinking of the miserable-looking mine in the gap, and my father scolding me for going away without asking leave, and then everything seemed to be nothing, and nothing else. chapter nineteen. a friend in need. i suppose it was an uneasy movement made by bob chowne that awoke me, and as i started away, and looked round at the darkness, and felt the motion of the boat, i trembled, and could not for the time make out where i was, or what all this peculiar sensation of cramped stiffness meant. the stars were shining, and twinkling reflections flashed from the water; the boat rocked to and fro, and the cold was horrible. this feeling of bitter cold or else the stupefied sensation brought on by exhaustion seemed to keep me from thinking, and it was a long time before i quite realised the truth. then i wanted to wake up bigley and bob chowne, to get them to start rowing again, for the sea had gone down, there was hardly a breath of wind; and, though i could see nothing, i felt that the land could not be very far away. i raised my hand to shake bigley; but i did not, for the inclination was stronger to creep close up to him, and try to warm myself; and this i did, clinging closely to him and bob chowne; and then, as i crouched shivering and cramped in the bottom of the boat, i felt as if all the cold and darkness had suddenly sunk away and i was in oblivion. i don't know how long i slept, but i remember starting up again and wondering why the boat was moving so curiously, and then i found that i was being shaken, and a hoarse voice said: "sep! sep! wake up." "what's matter?" i said drowsily. "it's dark and cold, and we'd better begin to row again. the sea has gone down." "has it?" i said sleepily. "never mind. it don't matter." "yes, it does. wake up. i want to talk to you." "no, no. let me go--sleep," i said. "i sha'n't. wake up. let you and me row for a bit, and then we'll make bob. come along." bigley half pushed me over the thwart to that in front, and placed the oar in my hands; then, taking the other, he thrust it in the rowlocks, and asked me if i was ready. "ready? no," i said angrily. "i want to lie down and sleep. i'm so cold. let me lie down." "but you can't," he said. "now, then, let's row. it will warm you." "but where are we to row?" i said dolefully, and with a curious sense of not caring what happened now. "i'll show you. look!" he cried, "you can see the north star." "bother the north star!" i grumbled. "i don't want to see the north star." "but if we keep staring straight up at that as we go, we are sure to reach our shore--somewhere." i yawned and shivered. "must we row, bigley, old fellow?" i said dolefully. "yes. now, then. both together." i let my oar fall in the water with a splash, and then began to pull, feeling dreadfully stiff and cold, and aching so that i could hardly use my arms. "pull away!" cried bigley; and i did pull away, making an angry snatch at the water each time, for i was in pain and misery; but in a short time the stiffness wore off, the aching was not so bad, and, to my great delight, a curious sensation of glow began to run through me, and i was beginning to feel comfortable, when bigley exclaimed: "in oars! i'm going to wake up bob." he leaned forward and shook bob, who resented it by kicking, and then throwing out a fist which struck the side of the boat a sharp rap. "bob! bob chowne! wake up!" cried bigley taking him by both shoulders and shaking him. bob hit out again, striking bigley this time viciously in the chest, and the result was another sharp shake, for bigley seemed disposed to take up his father's tone again. "what is it?" whimpered bob. "i am so precious cold. let me alone, will you?" "just you get on that thwart and row, will you?" cried bigley in a deep fierce growl; and bob slowly, and with many a groan and sigh, took his place, and began to row straight away into the darkness. it was a wise thing to do, for it made us warmer, tired as we grew, and so we kept on change and change about for quite an hour, when i saw something which made me shout. "we're close home; there's the light." bigley looked out in the direction i pointed, and watched for a minute before he spoke. "no," he said; "it's moving. it's a light on board a ship." it was out of our course, but it seemed the wisest thing to do; and with visions of dry warm blankets, and something hot to drink, we tugged away at our oars, but never seemed to get a bit nearer to the light, which kept disappearing and then coming into sight again, looking if anything smaller than before. how long the time seemed, and how bitterly cold it was! by degrees our clothes seemed to be not quite so heavy and wet; but, though i could get my arms and hands warmed, my legs and feet seemed to have lost all their feeling, no matter what i did to bring it back. it was still dark all around, though overhead the sky now sparkled with points of light, one of which that we kept seeing in the distance might very well have been on the shore, only that we felt sure that we saw it move. and so hour after hour we tugged away at the oars, changing about, and the one who was off lying down to go to sleep directly in spite of the wet and cold, for sheer exhaustion was stronger than either. at last the whole affair seemed to grow misty and dreamlike, and i was only in a half-conscious state, when all at once i noted that the sky looked pale and grey behind us, and this showed that we were rowing to the west. but for a long time there was nothing but that pale grey look in the sky to indicate that morning was coming; indeed, once, or twice as it became cloudy, it seemed to be darker. by degrees, though, out of the dull drowsy, weary confusion of that bitter night the day did begin to dawn; and in a hopeless way we tried to make out how far we were from the shore. but for a long time we could distinguish nothing but what seemed to be high hills, having long missed the stars now on account of the clouds. then we thought these must be clouds too, for it seemed impossible that it could be land, and both bigley and i said so to bob. but he was sulky and dejected, and would not take any notice of us, treating us both as if it was all our fault that we had been driven out to sea, though we were quite as miserable as he; and at any moment i felt ready to throw myself down in the bottom of the boat and give up. at last, though, as there comes an end to all dismal nights, this also had its finish, and we made out, as we lay on the cold grey sea of that fine winter morning, that we were about five miles from the welsh coast, and home lay as near as we could tell right beyond the range of our vision, far away to the south-east. "what's to be done?" bob said dolefully. "hadn't we better row ashore here, and ask for something to eat?" big said _no_, decidedly, for he had caught sight of a good-sized vessel some miles away to the south-east. "if we get ashore here we shall be farther away from home," he argued; "and i've heard my father say there's sharp currents about this coast, which would be too much for us, and besides, father is sure to come out to look for us this morning, so let's try and get back." "and some ship is sure to see us, and give us something to eat," i said hopefully. "come, bob, rouse up. we shall get across all right." setting the boat's head as nearly as we could guess toward the opposite shore, we began to row; and, though it was winter time, we were not long before we were pretty warm, and bob chowne unwillingly took his turn. but we made poor progress. miles take a great deal of getting over with a small boat in the open sea at the best of times. so rowed as ours was by three weary hungry boys, as may be supposed, we did not make the best of way. we saw several vessels and tried to signal them, but no one took any notice of us till about midday, when a very large lugger that was beating across from the devon shore began to bear down upon us, and before long, to our great joy, we were able to make out the figures looking over her bulwarks, one of whom waved something in answer to our frantic tossing up of our caps and holding a jacket on the blade of an oar. then we set to work and rowed as hard as we could, making very little progress though, for wind and tide were against us. but the big lugger came rushing on, and we could see now that there were dark foreign-looking men on her deck. it did not matter to us, though, what they were, so long as they would take us on board, for we were starving and faint, and had long ago come to the conclusion that we should not be able to row across before dark, half the day being gone, and the night would come down very early seeing the time of year. bigley and i were in ecstasies, and even bob began to look a little more cheerful as the lugger came closer, and then rounded up with her head to the wind, and lay with her dark red sails flapping. we rowed up to her side, and a man threw us a rope. chapter twenty. the captain of the lugger. "eh ben!" he shouted. "eh ben! eh ben!" while half a dozen yellow-faced little fellows with rings in their ears looked down upon us and grinned. all at once they made way for a quick dark-looking body, with tiny half grey corkscrew ringlets hanging round under his fur cap, not only at the sides but all over his forehead. it was a man evidently, but he looked like an elderly sharp-eyed wrinkled-faced woman, as he pushed a big lad aside, and putting his arms on the bulwark, stared down at us. "vell, lad, vot you vant?" he said. "hungry, sir. blown off the shore, sir," i cried. "we can't row back. can you understand? no parly vous." "bah, stupe, thick, headblock, who ask you parlez-vous? i am england much, and speak him abondomment. how you do thank you, quite vell?" "no, sir; we're starving, and cold and--and--and--tell him big, i can't." i was done for. i could not keep it back, though i had said to myself bob chowne was a weak coward, and, dropping on the thwart, i let my face go down in my hands, and tried to keep back my emotion. "ah, you bigs boys, you speak me," i heard the french skipper say. "how you come from? come, call yourself." "uggleston, of the gap," said bigley, as boldly as he could. "blown off shore, sir, in the squall." "aha! hey, hey? ugglees-tone. ma foi, you monsieur jonas ugglees-tone?" "no, sir; i am his son," said bigley. "what say, sare, you monsieur jonas ugglees-tone, you b'long?" "yes, sir; i belong to him. will you give us something to eat?" "aha! you engleesh boys, big garcon, always hungries. vais; come aboard my sheeps. not like your papa--oh, no. i know him mosh, very mosh. know you papa, votr' pere, mon garcon. come-you-up-you-come." he said it all as if it were one word, so curiously that it seemed to help me to get rid of my weakness, and i was about to stand up in the boat when the french skipper said to bigley: "look you! aha. boy ahoy you. what sheep you fader?" "do you mean what's the name of my father's lugger, sir?" "yes; you fater luggair--chasse maree. i say so. vat you call. heece nem?" "the _saucy lass_, sir." he leaned over and looked at the stern of the boat and nodded his head. "yais, him's olright. ze _saucilass_. come you up--you come, boys. all you. faites." this last was to one of the men, who, as we climbed over the side of the french lugger, descended into our boat, and made her fast by the painter to the stern. the skipper shook hands with us all, and smiled at us and patted our shoulders. "pauvres garcons!" he said. "you been much blow away ce mornings, eh?" "no, sir, last night," said bigley. "how you say? you lass night dites, mon garcon." "we were fishing, sir, and the squall came, and we've been out all night." "brrrr!" ejaculated the french skipper, shrugging his shoulders and making a face, then seizing me he dragged me to a hole away in the stern deck, and pushed me down into quite a snug little cabin with a glowing stove. "come--venez. all you come," he cried, and he thrust the others down and followed quickly. "pauvres garcons! warm you my fire. chauffez vous. good you eat bread? good you drink bran-dee vis vater? not good for boy sometime, mais good now." he kept on chattering to us, half in english, half in french; and as he spoke he cut for us great pieces of bread and devon butter, evidently freshly taken on board that day. next he took a large brown bottle from a locker, and mixed in a heavy, clumsy glass a stiff jorum of brandy with water from a kettle on the stove. into this glass he put plenty of bristol brown sugar, and made us all drink heartily in turn, so as to empty the glass, when he filled it again. "it is--c'est bon--good phee-seek--make you no enrhumee--you no have colds. no. eat, boys. aha! you warm yourselves. hey?" we thanked him, for the glowing stove, the sheltered cabin, the hot brandy and water, and the soft new bread and butter, seemed to give us all new life. the warm blood ran through our veins, and our clothes soon ceased to steam. the french skipper, who had, as we rowed to the side of the lugger, looked about as unpleasant and villainous a being as it was possible to meet, now seemed quite a good genius, and whatever his failings or the nature of his business, he certainly appeared to be deriving real pleasure from his task of restoring the three half-perished lads who had appealed to him for help, and the more we ate, the more he rubbed his hands together and laughed. "how zey feroce like ze volf, eh? how zey are very mosh hunger. eat you, my young vrens. eat you, my young son of ze jonas ugglee-stone. i know you fader. he is mon ami. aha! i drink your helse all of you varey." he poured himself out a little dram of the spirit and tossed it off. for a good half hour he devoted himself to us, making us eat, stoking the little stove, and giving us blankets and rough coats to wear to get us warm again. after that he turned to bigley and laid his arms upon his shoulders, drooping his hands behind, and throwing back his head as he looked him in the face. "you like me make my sheep to you hous, yais?" "take us home, sir. oh, if you please," cried bigley. "good--c'est bon--my frien. i make my sheep take you. lay off, you say, and you land in your leettle boats. my faith, yes! and you tell you fader the capitaine apollo gualtiere--he pronounced his surname as if it was goo-awl-tee-yairrrre--make him present of hees sone, and hees young friens. brave boys. ha, ha!" he nodded to us all in turn, and smiled as he gave us each a friendly rap on the chest with the back of his hand. "now you warm mosh more my stove, and i go on le pont to make my sheep." "but do you know the gap, sir?" said bigley eagerly. "do i know ze gahp? aha! ho, ho! do i not know ze gahp vis him eye shut? peep! eh? aha! and every ozer place chez ze cote. do i evaire make my sheep off ze gahp to de leettl business--des affaires vis monsieur votre pere? aha! oh, no, nod-a-dalls." he gave his nose a great many little taps with his right forefinger as he spoke, and ended by winking both his eyes a great many times, with the effect that the gold rings in his ears danced, and then he went up the little ladder through the hatchway, to stand half out for a few minutes giving orders, while we had a good look at the lower part of his person, which was clothed in what would have been a stiff canvas petticoat, had it not been sewn up between his legs, so as to turn it into the fashion of a pair of trousers, worn over a pair of heavy fishermen's boots. then he went up the rest of the way, and let in more light and air, while the motion of the vessel plainly told us that her course had been altered. "well," said bob chowne, speaking now for the first time, "he's the rummest looking beggar i ever saw. looks as if you might cut him up and make monkeys out of the stuff." "well, of all the ungrateful--" i began a sentence, but bob cut me short. "i'm not ungrateful," he said sharply; "and i'm getting nice and warm now; but what does a man want to wear ear-rings for like a girl, and curl up his hair in little greasy ringlets, that look as if they'd been twisted round pipes, and--i say, boys, did you see his breeches?" i nodded rather grimly. "and his boots, old big; did you see his boots?" "yes, they looked good water-tighters," said bigley quietly, and he seemed now to have settled down into his regular old fashion, while bob chowne was getting saucy. "and then his hands! did you see his hands?" continued bob. "i thought at first i could not eat the bread and butter he had touched. i don't believe he ever washes them." "why, he had quite small brown hands," said bigley. "mine are ever so much larger." "yes, but how dirty they were!" "it was only tar," said bigley. "he has been hauling new ropes. look, some came off on my hand when he had hold of it." "i don't care, i say it was dirt," said bob obstinately. "he's a frenchman, and frenchmen are all alike--nasty, dirty-looking beggars." "well, i thought as he brought us down in the cabin here, and gave us that warm drink and the bread and butter, what a pity it was that french and english should ever fight and kill one another." "yah! hark at him, sep duncan," cried bob. "there's a sentimental, unnatural chap. what do you say?" "oh, i only say what a difference there is between bob chowne now and bob chowne when he lay down in the bottom of the boat last night, and howled when old big made him get up and row." "you want me to hit you, sep duncan?" "no," i said. "because i shall if you talk to me like that. old big didn't make me. i was cold and--" "frightened," i said. "no, i wasn't frightened, sneak." "well, i was, horribly," i said. "i thought we should never get to shore again. weren't you frightened, big?" "never felt so frightened before since i got wedged in the rocks," said bigley coolly. "then you are a pair of cowards," cried bob sharply. "i was so cold and wet and stiff i could hardly move, but i never felt frightened in the least." i looked at bigley, and found that he was looking at me; and then he laid his head against the bulkhead, and shut his eyes and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks, and i laughed too, as the picture of ourselves in the open boat came before me again, with bigley ordering bob to get up and row, and him shivering and sobbing and protesting like a child. "what are you laughing at?" he cried. "you've got out of your trouble now and you want to quarrel, i suppose. but i sha'n't; i don't want to fight. only wait till we get across, you won't laugh when old jony uggleston comes down on you both for taking the boat. i shall say i didn't want you to, but you would. and then you've got my father and your father to talk to you after that." but in spite of these unpleasant visions of trouble, which he conjured up, bigley and i still laughed, for, boy-like, the danger passed, its memory did not trouble us much. we had escaped: we were safe; bob was making himself ridiculously comic by his hectoring brag, and all we wanted to do was to laugh. in the midst of our mirth, and while bob chowne was growing more and more absurd by putting on indignant airs, the hatchway was darkened again by the french skipper's petticoats and boots, and directly after he stood before us smiling and rubbing his hands. "aha, you!" he said. "you better well, mosh better. i make you jolly boys, eh?" "yes, sir, we are much better now," i exclaimed, holding out my hand. "we are so much obliged to you for helping us as you have." "mon garcon, mon ami," he exclaimed; and instead of shaking hands, he folded me in his arms and kissed me on both cheeks. i stepped back as soon as i was free, and stood watching as he served bigley the same, and then took hold of bob, whose face wore such an absurdly comical aspect of horror and disgust, that i stood holding my breath, and not daring to look at bigley for fear i should roar with laughter. "dat is well," exclaimed the skipper. "it is done, my braves. good-- good--good. you tink i speak engleish magnificentment, is it not?" he looked round at us all, and nodded a great many times. "now you are warm dry, come on ze pont and see my sheep. ze belle chasse maree. she sail like de bird. is it not? now come see." we went on deck, and found as he took us about amongst the crew of seven men, all wearing petticoat canvas trousers, that the big lugger was very dirty and untidy, wanting in paint, and with the deck, or pont as the skipper called it, one litter of baskets, packages, and uncoiled ropes. on the other hand she seemed to be very long and well shaped, and her masts, which were thick and short, had large yards and tremendous sails, which in a favourable wind sent her through the water at a very rapid rate. "aha! you lofe my sheep," said the skipper, as he watched our faces. "you tink she run herselfs very fas, eh?" we expressed our pleasure, which was the greater that we could see now that the two bold masses which formed the entrance to the gap were right before us; but even now, as far as we could judge, six or seven miles away. we took a good deal of notice of this, for it showed us how far we had been driven out by the fierce little gale of the previous night; and as i looked over the stern at where our boat was being towed along in the foam, and was thinking that we must have had a narrow escape, the french skipper clapped me on the shoulder, laughed, and said: "you wonder you not go to feed ze fishes at ze bottom? yes, much; et moi aussi. ah, mon brave, you nearly go, and--no boat--no boy--no noting. hah!" i shivered as i realised the truth of what he said, and was musing over what was to come, when bigley came to me, for the skipper had gone to his men. "don't tease bob," he said. "don't say anything to him about being queer last night, nor about me bullying him. he couldn't help it." "oh, i sha'n't say anything," i said. "he couldn't help it," whispered bigley again. "no more could i." we all grew very serious then, for as we neared the shore, there was the question to think over about meeting our fathers, and what they would say. would they be exceedingly angry with us, or talk quietly about our narrow escape? i found that my companions were thinking as i was, for bigley said quietly: "i'm afraid my father will be very cross." "so am i," was my reply, when bob came to where we were gazing over the bulwark shoreward, and said sulkily: "i say, i don't want to be bad friends with you two. my father's sure to give me a big wigging for letting you persuade me to go. well, i don't mean that," he added with a droll twinkle of the eye, as he saw us stare, "what i mean is, hadn't we all better stick together, and share the blame?" "yes, of course, bob," i said; and i felt quite pleased with his frankness, when if he didn't go and spoil it all again by saying: "i thought it would be best, because it would be nicer for you." our conversation was stopped by captain gualtiere coming up, and pointing westward. "look you!" he exclaimed, "see, mes amis, la _saucy lass_." "so it is," cried bigley eagerly, as he shaded his eyes, and gazed at the lugger in full sail about a couple of miles away, and making for the same point as we--"so it is: it's father's lugger." "oui, my young frien," said the french skipper; "and he has been to sweep ze sea to try and find you boys." chapter twenty one. the knife bob wanted. in half an hour the luggers were close together off the gap with their sails flapping, and the french skipper jumped into the boat with us, and rowed to the _saucy lass_, on board of which we had long before descried my father and the doctor along with old jonas uggleston. we leaped up the side eagerly, and yet with fear and trembling, not knowing what our reception might be, and a few words explained all. "humph!" said old jonas, "nice chase we've had after you. well, i suppose i mustn't after all." he picked up a capstan-bar, and balanced it in his hands before throwing it down under the little bulwark with a loud clatter. "mustn't what, father?" said bigley. "knock you down with that, as you've had such a rough time of it. i was in hopes that you were all three drowned." "and he went himself to see and find ze bodies, and sheat ze sharks!" cried the french skipper laughing, and clapping us on the shoulders. "perhaps captain duncan, my landlord, would like to use that bar on his boy!" growled old jonas sourly. "no!" said my father bluffly, "i can preserve discipline, mr uggleston, without treating my boy like a dog. come, sep, my lad, let's get ashore." "the doctor, then?" said old jonas, with his eyes twinkling maliciously. "what, to knock my boy down, uggleston? no, thank you, sir. i've little things at home that will put him to bed for a fortnight and keep him quiet without giving myself a job to mend his broken bones." he looked at bob, and i saw my school-fellow turn yellow and shudder as if he were about to take a dose of some horribly nauseous medicine. just then bob caught my eye, and i suppose he saw that i was amused, for he doubled his fist, and showed his teeth in a snarl just like a disagreeable dog who had been threatened by a stranger with a stick. "my faith, gentlemen," said the french skipper, "ze boys is brave boys and make fine sailor. zey fight zis bad storm. zey vin ze storm, and behold me here ve are!" "captain gualtiere," said my father, holding out his hand, "as an old sailor, sir, to one of the same noble profession, i thank you for your kindness to my son." "mon capitaine, i you embrace with my heart whole!" cried the french skipper. "it is vell, capitaine ugglees-stone. ve vill land ourselves. mon vieux brave--to your home, and trink von 'tit verre of ze bon spee-reete vis ze friens. come." jonas uggleston nodded his head and exchanged a peculiar look with the frenchman. "let's get ashore," he said. "you, bill, i'll come out again by and by. get her fast to the buoy." binnacle bill growled and crept behind us boys to watch his opportunity, and give us each a nod, a wink, and a furtive shake of the hand. then the boat was hauled alongside, we descended, and bigley pulled us ashore, where, almost in silence, and evidently a very uncomfortable party, we walked up to the cottage where mother bonnet was in waiting, and her first act was to rush at bigley, hug him, kiss him soundly on both cheeks, and burst into tears. i was afraid it was coming my way, and drew back; but it was of no use, for the old woman seized me, and i had to be kissed in the same way, while bob chowne submitted to the same operation with a worse grace than mine. "not a wink of sleep--not a wink of sleep--not a wink of sleep all night!" the old woman kept on sobbing over and over again. "master bigley--master bigley, i was afraid i should never see you any more!" "brave vomans? ha, ha! brave vomans!" cried the frenchman. "look here, duncan!" said the doctor. "i don't think we'll trouble mr uggleston any more. we want to get back home." "yes," said my father; "but--" he made a movement with his head towards the french skipper. "oh, come along, captain duncan," growled old jonas surlily. "you must drink a glass with him. i won't poison you this time." "thanks, uggleston," said my father quietly; and, intimate as i was with bigley, school-fellows and companions as we were, i could not help noticing the difference, and how thoroughly my father was the gentleman and jonas uggleston the commonplace seafaring man. "here, mother bonnet!" cried old jonas, "the boys want something. you see to them." the old woman took us into her kitchen, as she called it, and attended to our wants; but i could hear what went on in the other room, and the french skipper's words as they all partook of something together. ten minutes after, my father called me by name, and i found him waiting with the doctor outside, the frenchman beaming on all in turn. "ve are ze old amis, le vieux--ze old jonas and myselfs. sare, i am been glad i receive ze boys on my sheep." "and i thank you, captain," replied my father. "you have saved my boy's life. will you accept this in remembrance? it is old but good." my father drew out his plain gold watch, and i saw the frenchman's eyes glisten as he stretched out a not very clean hand. but he snatched it back directly. "mais non--but no!" he exclaimed. "i not have hims. we are sailors all. some day i am in open boat, and you take me in your sheep, and say `ma foi! pauvre fellow, you cold--you hoongrai--you starve youselfs.' and you give me hot grogs, and varm fires, and someting to eats. i no give you ze gold vatch. mais non--mais non--mais non. voila. i take zat hankshife, blue as ze skies of france, and i wear him roun' my necks. give me hims." my father smiled and then unknotted the bright blue silk neckerchief he wore, and accompanied it with a hearty shake of the hand. "thank you, captain," he said warmly. "and you--merci. we go to war some day. who know i may be prisonaire. i may come to fight against you, and then. eh bien, ve fight, but you take me prisonaire, ma foi. i am vis ze shentleman, and it is good." "and now it's my turn," said the doctor. "will you keep this, captain, from me?" "ma foi. yais, oui," cried the french skipper, whose eyes sparkled with pleasure as the doctor handed him a very bright peculiarly-formed knife. "i keep hims. vat is ze mattaire vis ze young shipwrecked open boatman?" "nothing--nothing at all," said bob chowne hastily; but he had certainly uttered a groan. "as for you, uggleston," cried the doctor, "i sha'n't offer you a present, for you'll want me some day to mend your head, or cut off a leg or a wing. only, recollect i'm in your debt." "as for me, mr uggleston," said my father. "there--there, that will do," cried old jonas surlily. "we ar'n't such very bad friends, are we?" "i hope not," said my father, and we took our leave, being embraced by the french skipper, who said that we should meet again, shaking hands with old jonas, and giving binnacle bill a crown piece, which my father slipped into my hand for him, making the old red-faced fellow's eyes twinkle as he exclaimed: "ba-c-co!" then we started homeward in the lowest of spirits, we two boys expecting the most severe of lectures; but to our intense surprise and delight we were allowed to drop behind, for our elders were deep in conversation about the mine. then it was that, after hanging more and more behind, bob chowne relieved his feelings. "it was a shame--it was too bad!" he kept on grumbling. "what was too bad--what was a shame?" i cried. "why, for father to give old parley vous that knife!" "why?" i said wonderingly. "why? because it was such a good un. i've tried to coax him out of it lots o' times. it was as sharp as sharp, and he used to use it to cut off fingers and toes, and that sort of thing. he never would give it to me, because he said it was good for operating, and now that old frenchee frenchee will use it for toasting frogs over his nasty little stove." "here, you boys, come up here," said the doctor just then. we crept up very unwillingly, for the lecture was evidently going to begin. "i thought we'd tell you," said the doctor in his grimmest fashion, "we're going to find out a school where there are no holidays, and send you there." but they did not, for in due time we went back to barnstaple, and i had the last of my education there. chapter twenty two. "how you have growed, lads; how you have growed!" it seems a long time to look forward to, but when it has gone how everyone finds out what a scrap of our lives three years appear to be. i am going to jump over three years now, and come to an exciting time when we lads were leaving school at midsummer for good. those were exciting times, and we all were as much infected as the rest of english folk, for we were at war with france, and there was drumming, and fifing, and enlisting, and men marching off to join their regiments, and we boys were fully determined to arrange with our respected fathers as soon as we got home to get us all commissions in cavalry regiments, and failing commissions, we meant to petition for leave to enlist to fight for our country. bob chowne and i of course knew better, but in spite of this knowledge we were constantly feeling that there was something wrong with our companion bigley. he was just the same easy-going fellow as of old; ready to submit to any amount of bullying and impertinence from us, except in times of emergency, when he would quietly step to the front in the place bob and i shirked, and do what there was to be done, and as soon as it was over go back patiently into the second rank, leaving us in the front. but as i say, though we knew better, it always seemed to us as if something particular had taken place in bigley, he who used to tower above us, a big fellow with whiskers, a deep voice, and broad shoulders, had now shrunk, so that he was no longer like a man and we both like small boys, for he seemed to have come down so that he was only a trifle taller than we were, and very little broader across the chest. it was the whiskers and the thick down upon his chin which made nearly all the difference. we used to laugh about it together, and bigley would say that it was rum, and only because he had started two years sooner than we did--that was all. of course the fact was that bigley had not shrunk in the least. he had not come down, but bob chowne and i had levelled matters by growing up, so that at seventeen we were as big as devon lads of that age know how to be. while we had changed, old teggley grey had not. he always seemed to have been the same ever since we could remember, and his horse too, but he shook his head at us. "mortal hard work for a horse to carry such big chaps as you. how you have growed, lads; how you have growed!" i looked at him as he spoke, and it seemed to me that it was he who had changed. but it did not matter; we were full of plans for the future. big as we were, we could take plenty of interest in fishing and such other sport as came in our way, and we were talking eagerly about what was to be done first, and how we were to contrive it without having some mishap, when old teggley summoned us to get down and walk. "wouldn't be acting like a christian to ask a horse to drag you three big lads up a hill like this. i did think," he grumbled, "that with all this talk about making good roads, something would have been done to level ourn. mortal bad they be for a horse sewer_ly_." "why, what could you do to the roads?" i said, as i stood on the step looking at the quaint old fellow. "do, lad? why, there's plenty of stuff ar'n't there? cutoff all the tops of the hills, and lay in the bottoms, and there you are, level road all the way." we seemed to have only been away a few days, as, after parting from bigley, bob and i reached the cottage, where, just as of old, were my father and the doctor. i remember thinking that they both looked a little older and greyer, but that was all. but that was soon forgotten in the interest and excitement of what was going on around me, for i had, i found, gradually been growing older, and ready to take an interest in matters more important than hunting prawns and groping for crabs down on the rocky shore. chapter twenty three. old sam is unhappy. seventeen, and grown as big as bigley, with the consequence that i could not help thinking a good deal of what people said to me when i went in to ripplemouth or down to the gap. the salute i generally met was: "why, master sep duncan, you are growing quite a man." i suppose i was in appearance, but, thank goodness, i was still only a boy at heart. plenty to see, plenty to hear. the fishermen and people at the tiny port were always looking out to sea, and shutting their eyes and shaking their heads. "ay, and we need look out, master," they would say. "strange doings now. who knows how soon they frenchies will come down upon us and try to take the town. but we're going to fight 'em to a man." i remember even then laughing to myself as i went home one morning after being disappointed in finding bob chowne, who had gone on a round with his father, for i asked myself what the french, whom the ripplemouth people saw in every passing vessel, would gain by making a descent upon our rock-strewn shore. but when i ventured to hint at their being more likely to attack plymouth or portsmouth, old teggley grey, who was down on the pier loading up with coal that had come over in a sloop from monmouth, shook his head. "ay, it be well for you, lad, with all they big cannon guns in front o' your house ready to sink the frenchy ships; but we ar'n't no guns here, on'y the one in the look-out, and she be rusted through." oddly enough, when i reached home there was no one in the house. my father had gone down to the mine, and i was thinking about going after him, but being hot with my walk, i strolled down first into the garden on the cliff, but only to stop short, for there was a curious hissing sound in the air. "what, a snake!" i said to myself. and then, "no, it's too loud." i stood listening, and i learned directly what caused the hissing, which gave place directly to a peculiar humming, and then after more hissing a familiar raspy voice roared out, its owner imagining he was singing: "for we be sturdy english lads, and this here be our land; and ne'er a furren furreneer shall ever in it stand." then came a great deal of hissing before the strain was taken up again, and accompanied by a good deal of scuffling on the beach-strewn path. "they say they'll have the english soil, these overbearing french; so if they come they'll find it here in six-foot two o' trench." "why, sam," i said, "what are you doing?" "ah, mas' sep: can't you see? washing out the bull-dogs' throats to make 'em bite the peccavis when they come." i laughed as i looked at the old man, who was busy at work with a mop and pail cleaning out the old cannons on my father's sham fort. "why, sam, what's the good of that?" "good, my lad?" he cried, ramming the wet mop down one of the guns and making the water spurt out of the touch-hole like a little fountain, "good! why, we'll blow the frenchy ships out of the water if they come anigh us." "why, there's no powder," i said. "powder! eh, but there is: lots, my lad." "but there are no cannon-balls." old sam stopped short with the mop right in the gun, and loosening one hand, he tilted his old sou'-wester hat that he wore summer and winter with no difference, only that he kept cabbage-leaves in it in summer, and stood scratching his head. "no cannon-balls!" he said. "no cannon-balls!" "not one," i said; "only the big one indoors we use for a door-weight, and that would not go in." "well, now, that be a rum un, master sep, that be a rum un. i never thought o' that. never mind, it don't matter. they frenchies 'll hear the guns go off and see the smoke, and that's enough for them. they'll go back again." "go back again," i said laughing. "why, they'll never come." "get out, lad! you're too young to understand they things. you wait a bit, and you'll see that they will come and find us ready for them too." "with six-foot two of trench, eh, sam?" i said. "eh? what? what do you mean?" "why, weren't you singing something about burying them all. here, sing us the rest." "nay, nay, nay, my lad; i can't sing." "why, i heard you, sam." "ay, but that's all i know; and i must get on with my job afore they come." "before they come, sam! why, they'll never come. go and hoe up your cabbages and potatoes and you'll be doing some good." "nay, lad, this be no time for hoeing up cabbage and 'tater. why, what for?--ready for the french?" "french!" i said with a laugh as i leaned over the low wall and looked down the perpendicular cliff at the piled-up masses of fallen fragments. "no french will ever trouble us." for it looked ridiculous to imagine that a foreign enemy would ever attempt to make a landing anywhere beneath the grand wall of piled-up rock that protected our coast from a far more dangerous enemy than any french fleet, for the sea was ready to attack and sweep away even the land, and this a foreign fleet could never do. i sat on the edge looking down at the ivy, and toad-flax, and saxifrage, and ferns that climbed and clustered all over the steep cliff-face; and as i sat looking and enjoying the sea-breeze and the rest from all school labours, old sam went on cleaning out the guns and expressing in his way the feelings of nearly everybody round the coast. "is my father over at the mine?" i said. "ay, my lad; he's always there. going over?" "yes, sam, when i'm rested. they're very busy now, i suppose." "wonderful, master sep, wonderful. who'd ha' thought it?" he exclaimed, sticking the mop handle on the path and resting his bare brown arms upon the wet woollen rags that formed the top. "who'd have thought what, sam?" "why, as there'd be lead and silver under they slates down at the gap. always looked to be nothin' but clatter, and old massy rock and no soil." "ah, it was a discovery, sam," i said. "discovery, my lad! why, when they said as the captain had bought the old place i went into my tool-shed and sat down on a 'tater heap and 'most cried." "'most cried, sam--you?" "ay, my lad, for i thought the captain had gone off his head and everything would be in rack and ruin." "instead of which my father is making quite a fortune out of it, sam." "ay, i s'pose so, my lad, but fortuns aren't everything. it makes him look worried, it do, and he've give up his garden, as is a bad sign. i don't like to see a man give up his garden. it means weeds." "well, then, why don't you hoe them up, sam?" i said sharply. "hoe 'em up, lad? i can't put a hoe in his mind, can i? that's where the weeds grows, my dear lad. why, he never takes no interest in his guns now, and if i hadn't set to this morning to scour 'em out and give 'em a regular good cleaning, where would they have been when the french come?" chapter twenty four. down the silver mine. i left sam picking out the touch-holes with a piece of wire, walked across the high ground of the wind-swept moor and descended into the gap, a well-beaten track now marking the way. it was too rough for wheels, but filled with the heavy hoof-marks of donkeys, which were used largely for carrying wood, charcoal, and sea-coal to the mine; and as i stood up by the spot where years before bob chowne, bigley, and i had blown up the big stone and set it rolling down into the valley, it was wonderful what a change had taken place. where we had swept the side of the ravine clear with an avalanche of rock, there had now sprung up quite a tiny village built of the rough stones dug from the mine. there was a large water-wheel slowly turning and sending down the water led to it from above, in company with that which it pumped out of the mine, all thick and discoloured, in quite a torrent to the beautiful little stream below, which now ran turbid and in which the trout were all dead. there was a row of stoutly-built sheds, and a big place with a high chimney where the ore was smelted. then there were offices, and a building where the purified metal was passed through another furnace, and in addition a place where the metal was kept. there seemed a total alteration in the place till i directed my eyes towards the sea, where all appeared to be unchanged. there were the two cottages--binnacle bill's, with some newly washed white garments hanging over the rocks; and jonas uggleston's, with its stone sheds and outbuildings bristling with spars and wreck-wood that had been thrown up, and with nets and sails spread out to dry. beyond lay his lugger; and the boat drawn up on the beach, suggesting to my mind the horrors of that night when we were blown off the shore. i stood looking at the scene, with the bare sea beyond and the vast cliff towering up a thousand feet on my left, and then began to descend the rugged slope, making straight for the building which my father used as his counting-house and office. "well, sep," he said, smiling, "i'm glad to see you." i noticed that he looked care-worn and anxious, and his aspect reproached me, for i felt as if it was too bad of me to be making holiday while he was working so hard. "can i help you, father?" i said. "help me! yes, my boy, i hope so--a good deal; but i don't want to be too hard upon you. take a good look round for a few days, so as to rest a little while, and then you shall come and help me here; for, sep, an affair like this is not without plenty of anxiety." "oh, father!" i said, "i shall have plenty of time for amusement; let's see if i can't help you now." he looked more and more pleased as he heard my words. "no," he said, "not yet. you shall have a look round first for a few days, and perhaps you may be able quietly to pick up the cause of something that is troubling me a great deal." "troubling you, father!" i said. "yes, my lad, troubling me, for things are not going as i could wish. 'tis just as if, as fast as i get a few steps forward, someone pulls me back." "but i thought the mine was very prosperous, father?" i said. "so it is, my boy, and i am getting it better and better; but there is always mischief being done, or else some accident occurs, and i can't tell how." "do you suspect anybody?" "well, er--no!" he said emphatically. "but, there--never mind now. i'm busy with some calculations; go and have a look round." i left his office and had "a look round," the place seeming to have far more interest for me than it had before. men were busy wheeling broken ore and taking it from one heap to another; the great pump was hard at work sucking out water; and the wheel was winding up buckets of produce from out of the deep shaft. i went and had a look there and shrank back, it seemed so repulsive and dark; but as i did so i saw one of the men smiling, and this made me turn red. "look here," i said sharply, "can i go down there?" "oh, yes, if you like, master," he replied, staring at me wonderingly now. "then i will," i said. "i'll have a look at the furnace first, and then i'll go down." "ay, do," he said; "and you're just in time. they're going to run off the metal in a few minutes." i recalled our experiment at home with the little built-up furnace, when the ore was first tried, as i walked to the stone-built house, where from out of the centre came a low dull roar; from cracks and chinks and crannies blindingly bright rays of light shot out and seemed to cut the darkness, which, after the sunshine of out of doors, seemed to be black and terrible. now and then there came a peculiar crackling, as if something were snapping and flying to pieces under the great heat, and it was some time before i could see anything but the brilliant pencils of light that cut the gloom. by degrees, though, i made out that a couple of men were moving here and there, and that each of them carried a long black rod of iron. the flames seemed to flutter and burn and to be rushing upward with tremendous force, while i could fancy that i heard the metal bubbling in its bed, where it was seething and throwing off wonderful flames, as i could judge by the gleams i saw. "stand back, young master," said one of the men roughly--"there, right up in the corner here. you won't hurt now. just going to run her off." i backed into the corner he pressed me to, where there was a broad shutter or screen, and i was getting so accustomed to the darkness now that i could see just below, and in front of a place where golden tears seemed to be dropping from a chink at the bottom of the furnace, several long square trenches in the black charcoal floor, and the next minute i made out that these trenches were all connected together by a little channel. "the moulds," i thought to myself, and i looked eagerly now at one of the men, who shouted something by way of warning to his fellow-worker; and then, as the man stepped behind a similar screen of wood-work to that which sheltered me, the one who uttered his words of warning thrust and hammered with his long iron rod at the foot of the furnace. i did not quite see what he did afterwards, but he seemed to dart out of the way, and then a stream of what looked like liquid gold came gushing out, sputtering, snapping, and sending into the air myriads of glorious firework-like sparks of blue and orange and scarlet and gold, and so brilliant that they lit up the whole building and made my eyes ache and my cheeks tingle. where a minute before there were so many black trenches were now so many dazzling ingots, over which played and fluttered many-tinted flames that kept on waving and undulating as if they were liquid, and swayed from side to side, giving forth with the molten metal a glow that scorched my face. for the first few seconds the molten metal had run off quickly and filled the moulds; now what came was sluggish and not half so brilliant; and i noticed that by a quick movement of a long iron rake one of the men drew some of the earth and charcoal which formed the floor on one side, so as to alter the course of the running molten contents of the furnace, and instead of its passing into moulds it seemed to settle down in a patch. this, too, was most brilliant to the eye; and from it endless dazzling coruscations darted up and played about, but for a much shorter period; and in place of the ruddy glow of the metal, which rapidly cooled down to look like silver, this last melting grew sombre and stony, ending by looking of a blackish-grey. i was still watching the fading away of the brilliant display, when there was a familiar voice at the door of the building, and my father stepped in to make inquiries about the running off of the molten ore, and as he examined the result, he expressed his satisfaction. "mind!" he cried to me, as i was about to touch one of the ingots of lead with my toes. "my good boy, these will not be cool enough to touch yet. they retain the heat for a long while." he stopped talking to me for some time, and explained how the men were closing the bottom of the furnace again with fire-clay, and that they would now go on pouring in at the top barrows full of charcoal and broken-up ore. how that dark grey stuff was the molten stones and refuse which remained after the metal had been cleared, and then he laughed at what he called my innocence, as i asked him if the ingots, as he called the square masses which now looked quite white, were silver. "no, my boy," he said; "we are not so rich as that. if those pieces of coarse metal, when melted down again, and submitted to a fresh process, give us three pounds' weight of silver out of every hundred pounds of lead we shall do well. now then, would you like to go down the mine?" he spoke as if he expected to hear me decline; but i had made up my mind to go, and he looked quite pleased when he heard me say that i was ready. "well," he said, as we reached the top of the shaft, "i'll go down first, and you can follow. we can get candles at the bottom." if i had had any ideas of a silver mine being a cavern full of beautiful sights, i was very soon deceived, for as i stood there at the top, i saw my father step on to the top rounds of a rough-looking ladder, and begin to descend slowly till he reached a platform, when he called to me to follow. "hold tight," he said. "but there, i needn't tell you after your cliff climbing." i was just about to descend when a voice behind me made me turn. "going down, sep?" i turned to confront bigley uggleston, who looked at me imploringly. "ask him if i may come down too?" "who's that?" said my father sharply. "oh, i see. yes, he can come." bigley flushed up with pleasure, and i let him go down next, and then followed, to find that a gallery went off on a level with the platform; but my father had already descended to the next platform below, and when we followed him there, it was to find he had reached another. to get to this we passed another gallery, and then stood by where my father was lighting a couple of candles, as he rested upon some wood-work, beneath which we could hear the trickle and splash of falling water, while away from our right, down a long passage propped here and there with pieces of timber, came the dull echoing sound of blows. "well, my lads, what do you think of the enchanted cave?" i looked about me by the light of the dim candles and saw that the shaft was divided by a wood partition, one side being reserved for the ladders, the other for the pump to work and the stout rope to go up and down and draw the buckets, there being openings in the wood-work opposite each of the galleries. "well, you don't say anything," said my father. "it's very dark, sir," replied bigley. "yes," said my father; "and it's darker still farther in. what do you say, will you go on?" "if sep does." "oh, yes," i said, "i shall go;" not that i wanted to go any farther, but i felt that i could not draw back; though i would very gladly have been up in the bright sunshine instead of in the damp gloomy hole, shut in by ladders and wood-work, and with, the falling water seeming as if it was gathering force, and ready to rise as it does in a well. but there was no time for thinking. my father was leading the way along the large square-shaped gallery, the candles casting curious shadows which glided along the walls, as if our company had been joined by some of the spirits of the mine. as we went on, my father stopped from time to time to hold his light against the wall, for us to see where the lead ore glistened, and promised to be thick when he was disposed to work in another direction. we could hear the water trickling still along a channel which had been cut on one side of the gallery, and every here and there great drops gathered on the wood-work that propped the roof, and fell with a plash making bigley whisper to me: "suppose the sea was to break in." he spoke as i say in a whisper, but it was heard by my father, who answered quietly: "we should have to go down much lower before we were on a level with the sea at high-water mark, my lads. if anything were likely to do us any harm, it would be the brook." he stopped soon after, for we had reached the end of the gallery, giving way while a workman wheeled by us a barrowful of ore, similar to a heap which two others were hewing and picking out of the wall. "well, my lads, what's it like?" said my father. "cleaner and richer and better, i should say, master," said one of the men. "it's a wonder, but i'm thinking you'll have to put more power on there to pump. farther we goes, the worse the water gets." "i've been thinking so myself," said my father quietly. "it sha'n't stop you, my lads, i'll see to that." my father picked up a specimen of the ore, and placed it in his pocket; the men resumed their picking and hewing, and we two lads inspected the lode and the walls of the mine, and then, after looking at it up, down, and in every direction, to try and find something more interesting than the square passage with its dripping walls and patches of black mineral that glistened in a dull manner when the light was moved, we ended by staring at my father. "well," he said smiling; "had enough?" "is there no more to see than this?" i said in a disappointed tone. "there is another gallery below here, and two above, but they are just the same. shall we go and see them?" "if bigley likes," i said rather gruffly. "no, i don't think i want to see any more," he replied. my father laughed, and went on in front with one candle while i followed with the other, till we reached the foot of the shaft. "silver mine sounds better than it looks, eh, my lads!" he said. we neither of us answered, for it seemed like damping his enterprise. but he did not heed our silence, for he began to climb slowly up the ladders, and as he reached the first platform, we followed, and then on and on with the water splashing and the pump going, and now and then the creaking sound of the windlass coming down to us as the men over the bucket shaft wound up each heavy load of ore. "there, i'm going back into my office," said my father. "you, lads, have had enough mining for to-day. i shall not want you, sep." "don't the open air look clear and fresh?" i said as soon as we were alone, and i gazed round at the patches of green upon the hills, and the bright sea out at the end of the gap. "yes," said bigley, with a shiver. "i shouldn't like to work in a mine. i say, i suppose your father's getting very rich now, isn't he?" "i suppose so," i said. "that's what the people say. binnacle bill says he has got heaps of silver locked up in the strong place below the office under iron doors. have you seen it?" "no," i said; "and i shouldn't think it's true. hallo! look yonder. why, there's bob chowne!" bob it was, and the mine, the coming of the french, and everything else was forgotten, as we went down to the beach, ready enough for a ramble beneath the rocks, after six months' absence from home. chapter twenty five. friends and enemies. at seventeen one's ideas are very different to what they are at fourteen, and matters that seemed of no account in the earlier period looked important at the more mature. for it used to seem to us quite a matter of course that bigley's father should have a lugger, and if the people said he went over to france or the low countries with the men who came over from dodcombe, and engaged in smuggling, why, he did. it was nothing to us. we never troubled about it, for bigley was our school-fellow, and old jonas was very civil, though he never would let us have the boat again. but now that we were getting of an age to think and take notice of what was said about us, bob chowne began to suggest that he and i ought to make a change. "you see it don't seem respectable for me, the son of the doctor, and you of the captain, who is our mine owner, to be such friends with one whose father is a regular smuggler." "how do you know he is?" i said. "how do i know? oh, everybody says so. let's drop him." "i sha'n't," i said, "unless father tells me to bigley can't help it." "then you'll have to drop--i mean i shall drop you," said bob haughtily. "very well," i said, feeling very much amused at the pompous tone in which he spoke. not that i wanted to be bad friends with bob chowne; but i knew that he was only in one of his "stickly" fits, as we used to call them, and that it would soon be over. "very well, eh?" exclaimed bob. "oh, if you choose to prefer his society to mine, good morning." he walked off with his nose in the air, and, half annoyed, half amused, i went over the hill to the mine, where my father was busily examining some specimens of the lead that had been cut off the corners of some newly-cast ingots. "well, sep," he said. "coming to help?" i replied that i was, somewhat unwillingly, for i had caught sight of bigley coming up the valley, and i wanted to join him, and try and show that i did not intend to give up an old school friend because his father's name was often on people's lips. "who's that you are looking for?" said my father. "only young uggleston, father," i said. i looked at him intently and felt troubled, for he frowned a little, and, before i knew what i was saying, the words slipped: "you don't mind bigley uggleston coming here, do you, father?" "yes--no," he said, sitting up up very stiffly. "i don't like your giving up old companions, sep, or seeming to be proud; but there are beginning to be reasons why you should not be quite so intimate with young uggleston." "oh, father!" i exclaimed dolefully. "why, i thought that you and old uggleston were good friends now." "oh, yes; the best of friends," said my father sarcastically. "he pays his rent regularly, and we always speak civilly to each other when we meet." as he spoke there was a look in his face which seemed to say, "we don't like each other all the same." "look here, sep," continued my father. "you are getting a big fellow now, and i am going to speak very plainly to you; of course, you understand that this is in confidence; it is quite private." "yes, father," i said sadly. "then you must understand that, though jonas uggleston is my tenant here, he is not a very satisfactory one, for there can be no doubt that he carries on rather a risky trade; but, so long as the authorities do not interfere with him, and he behaves himself, i am not going to take upon myself the task of being his judge." "no, father." "at the same time i cannot be intimate with him. i don't like him, and i don't like the companions who come over from stinchcombe to man his lugger, and i'll tell you why. do you know that, now this little mine is developing itself, i very often have blocks of silver here to a considerable amount." "i have often thought you must have, father." "you were quite right, and they are stored below this floor in a strong cellar cut and blasted out of the solid rock. i have good doors and keys, and take every precaution; but at the same time i often feel that it is very unsafe, and of course i send it into town as often as i can." "but you don't think, father--" "that jonas uggleston would steal it? i hope not, my boy; but at the same time i feel as if i ought not to expose myself to risks, and i prefer to keep jonas uggleston at the same distance as he has before stood. we can be civil." "i'm sorry," i said. "sorry?" "yes, father," i replied, "because i like bigley uggleston." "so do i, my boy. i like his quiet modesty under ordinary circumstances, and the sterling manner in which you have told me that he has come to the front in emergencies. but stop: i don't ask you to break with him, for he may be useful to us after all. there, let me finish these figures i am setting down, and i'll talk to you again." i sat down and watched him, and then looked round the bare office, with its high up window close to the ceiling, and ladder leading to the two rooms above. spread over the floor was a large foreign rug that my father had brought from the mediterranean many years before, and this rug was stretched over the middle of the large office as if it had been brought from the cottage to make the place more homelike and comfortable. but it struck me all at once that the rug had been placed there to hide a trap-door. then, as i sat looking about, i noticed that the door was very thick and strong, and that there were bars at the window in which the glass was set. i might have noticed all this before, but it did not seem of any consequence till my father talked of the bars of silver and their value, and as i sat thinking, the place began to look quite romantic, and i thought what a strange affair it would be, and how exciting if robbers or smugglers were to come and attack it, and my father, and sam, and the men from the mine to have to defend it, and there were to be a regular fight. once started thinking in that vein my mind grew busy, and i felt that if i were at the head of affairs i should arrange to have plenty of swords and pistols, and that made me think of old sam and the cannon down the cliff garden. i laughed at that, though, as being absurd, and began to think directly after that my father's sword and pistols that always used to hang over the chimney-piece in the little parlour were not there now. "why, i daresay he has brought them down here," i said to myself; and i looked round, half expecting to see them, but they were not visible, and i came to the conclusion that they must be in the cupboard in the corner. my heart began to beat, and a curious feeling of excitement took possession of me, as my imagination had a big flight. i began to see myself armed with a sword helping my father, who, being a captain, would be a splendid leader. "but we ought to have plenty of swords and guns," i thought, and i determined when my father began to speak to me again, to propose that he should have a little armoury in the cupboard. then i began to think about old jonas, and the possibility of his getting a lot of men and coming and making an attack. there had been a rumour that he and his people had once, many years ago, had a fight with the king's men; but when bob chowne and i talked to him about it, bigley fired up and said it was all nonsense. but it occurred before he was born. it had never occurred to me before that this was a strange declaration. for how could it be all nonsense and yet have occurred before he was born? it seemed now as if it was not all nonsense. one thought brought up another, and i found myself thinking that, if i was helping my father defend the treasure of silver here in the store, and fighting bravely, as i felt sure i should, bigley would be helping his father to make the attack, and i saw myself having a terrific cutlass combat with him somewhere out on the slope. then i should have had a great deal of training from my father, who was an accomplished swordsman, and i should disarm old big and take him prisoner, and then when night came, for the sake of old school-days, i should unfasten his hands and let him escape. my thoughts ran very freely, and i was fully determined to grind the sword that i had not seen, and which perhaps had not yet been made, as sharp as a razor. it would be very easy, i thought, when i got it, to make old sam turn the grindstone at home, while i put on a tremendous edge and tried it on the thin branches of some of the trees. "what an exciting time it would be!" i thought, and i could not help wishing that i should have to wear some kind of uniform, for a bit of gold lace would go so well with a sword. then i stopped short, for in all my planning there was no place for bob chowne, who was regularly left out of the business. "oh, how stupid!" i thought directly after. "he would be the surgeon's--his father's--assistant, and bind up everybody's wounds." i'm afraid i was, like a great many more boys, ready to have my imagination take fire at the idea of a fight, and never for a moment realising what the horrors of bloodshed really were. "poor bob!" i thought to myself. "he wouldn't like that, having to do nothing but tie and sew up wounds." he was so fond of a fight that he would want to be in it; and i concluded that we would let him fight while the fight was going on, and have a sword and pistols, and afterwards i could help him bandage the wounds. then i came back to bigley, and began to think that, after all, it would be very queer for him to be fighting on one side and me on the other, and it did not seem natural, for we two had never had a serious quarrel, though i had had many a set-to with other lads, and had twice over given bob chowne black eyes, the last time when he gave me that terrible punch on the nose, when it bled so long that we all grew frightened, and determined to go to the doctor's, and it suddenly stopped. i don't know how much more nonsense i should have thought if my father had not made a movement as if to get up, and that changed the current of my thoughts. but he went on writing again, and this time i began watching a large chest that stood in one corner of the room, bound with clamps of iron, and it looked so heavy and strong that i concluded that it must be full of ingots of silver ready to send away. i grew tired of looking at that box, and as my fancy did not seem disposed to run again upon fighting and defence, i sat listening to the scratching of my father's pen and the ticking of the clock, and then to the dull roar of the furnace, while mingled with it came the clattering of hammers, the creaking of the great windlass, and the rushing and plashing of falling water. just then there was a tap as of some one's knuckles at the door, and in obedience to a look from my father i got up and opened it, to turn quite red in the face, for there stood my old school-fellow about whom so much had been said--bigley uggleston. chapter twenty six. forearmed as well as forewarned. "who is it?" said my father. "bigley uggleston," i replied, feeling very awkward. "oh, come in, my lad," said my father quietly; and as i held the door back for him to enter, it suddenly struck me what a frank, handsome-looking fellow he had grown. i felt more awkward still, for it seemed to me that i was going to listen to some very unpleasant remarks about our companionship being broken off; but to my surprise my father said quietly: "come after sep?" "yes, sir. i thought if he was not busy--" "well, but he is," said my father smiling. "he was about to unpack that box for me--i was just going to set him the task." bigley drew back, but my father said good-humouredly: "why don't you stop and help him?" "may i, sir? i should like to." "go on, then, my lads. take the lid off carefully, sep. there is a screw-driver in that cupboard." i went eagerly to the cupboard and opened it, to give quite a start, for there, hanging upon nails at the back, were the pistols and sword i had remembered were absent from home. i found the screw-driver in a sort of tool-chest, and as bigley and i took it in turns to draw the screws, my father cleared the table. "be careful," he said. "you can lay the things out here. i shall soon be back." he left us together, and, all eagerness now, i worked away at the screws, which were very tight, and there were four on each side of the lid, and others in the clamps, which had to be removed before the lid could be raised. "i am glad i came, sep," said bigley. "i was wondering why you hadn't been down to me." "were you?" i said, feeling very uncomfortable. "yes. what's in the box?" "i don't know," i said. "i thought it was blocks of metal, packed to send away." i hesitated before i said metal. i was going to say silver; but i felt, after my father's words, as if i ought to be cautious. "i believe i know what's inside," said my companion. "well, what?" i cried, as i tugged at another screw which refused to go round. "new tools for the mine." "why, of course!" i exclaimed. "here: you go on. i can't manage this screw. how stupid of me not to think of it!" "there he goes!" said bigley, giving the screw a good wrench. "how many more are there? i see: these two." he attacked them one after the other, talking the while. "i wonder you don't know what's in the box," he said. "i thought your father told you everything--so different to mine, who never says anything to me." "he does say a great deal to me, but he didn't tell me about the box." "there, then!" cried bigley, taking out the last screw and seating himself suddenly upon the chest. "we've only got to lift the lid and there we are. who has first peep?" "oh, i don't care," i said laughing. "you can." "here goes, then!" cried bigley. "take care of the screws." i swept them into a heap and placed them on the table as bigley threw open the lid, which worked upon two great hinges, and then removing some coarse paper he drew back. "you'd better unpack," he said. "don't make a litter with the shavings." for as the paper was removed the box seemed to be full of very fine brown shavings mixed with fine saw-dust. i swept the shavings away and felt my hands touch a row of long parcels, carefully wrapped in a peculiar-looking paper; and as i took them out, and shook them free of the saw-dust, handing them one by one to bigley to place upon the table, my heart began to beat, and the blood flushed into my cheeks. "why, they're not mining tools!" cried bigley excitedly. "whatever are you going to do? they're swords." "yes," i said huskily; "they're swords--cutlasses." "why, you knew all the time!" cried bigley. "no; i did not," i said. "i had no idea." "but how comical!" he cried. "what are you going to do with them?" i did not answer, for all my thoughts of half an hour before seemed to have rushed back, and i felt that i had been wondering why my father had not done that which he really had; and, though bigley evidently could not realise the object of the weapons being there, it certainly seemed to me that my father felt that there was danger in the air, and that he meant to be prepared. "what are you thinking about?" cried my companion. "why don't you speak?" "i was thinking about the cutlasses," i said. "well, it is a surprise!" cried bigley. "oh, i know. your father's an old sea captain, and they say the french are coming. he's going to arm some men as volunteers." all this time i was handing out the wrapped-up weapons, as we supposed them to be--as we felt they must be--and bigley was arranging them upon the table side by side. "that's the end of those," i said, and bigley counted them. twelve. "twelve swords," he said. "i say, sep, let's ask him to make us volunteers too." but i was unpacking the next things, and felt in no wise surprised by their weight and shape, to which the brown paper lent itself pretty clearly. "pistols!" cried bigley, as i handed the first. "oh, i say, sep, do you think there'll be any uniforms too?" "no," i said, "not in a box like this. here, catch hold!" i handed the first pistol to him, and he laid it beneath the swords. "i know how many there ought to be!" he cried--"twenty-four. a brace of pistols and a cutlass for every man. here, pitch them and i'll catch." there was nothing to prevent my handing them to him; but, boy-like, it seemed pleasant thus to turn work into play, and i began to pitch one by one the little heavy packages as i drew them out of the chest. bigley nearly let one fall, but he saved it, and laughingly placed it in the row he was making, till, counting the while, he exclaimed-- "twenty-three! is that next one the last?" "yes," i said, as i pitched it to him and it was placed in the range upon the table. "you were right." "is there anything else?" "oh, yes," i said; "the box isn't half empty." i dived down and brought out next a long sword, more carefully wrapped, and in superior paper to those which had been previously taken out. then followed a squarish case or box in paper, and for a few moments we were undecided as to what it might be, concluding that it must be a pistol-case with a brace of superior weapons inside. still the chest was far from empty, and on continuing the unpacking i found that i was handing out short carbines, such as artillerymen or horse-soldiers would use. "twelve!" cried bigley, who was growing more and more excited. "what next?" the next thing was a small square box wrapped in something soft, and occupying the bottom corner of the chest, while the rest of the space was occupied by small boxes that were not wrapped in paper, but fastened down with copper nails, and on each was painted the big figures-- . i handed out eight of these little boxes, and they, being pretty heavy, were placed close beside the wall of the office. "that's all," i said, and, concluding that it was the proper thing to do, we replaced the shavings and saw-dust in the chest, shut down the lid, put the loose screws in a piece of paper, and tied them to one of the clamps before pushing the chest aside and making all tidy. this done, we hovered, as it were, about the table with longing eyes and itching fingers, ending by looking at each other. "i say," said bigley; "didn't your father say that we were to unpack the box?" "yes, and we've done it," i replied rather sulkily. "well, oughtn't we to take the things out of the paper, and lay the paper all neatly and save the string?" "think so?" i said longingly. bigley hesitated, took up a packet, turned it over, balanced it in his hand, laid it down again, and rearranged several of the others without speaking, but he heaved a deep sigh. "think we ought to unpack them further?" i said. "no," said bigley unwillingly. "i don't think it would be right. do you?" "no," i said with a sigh; "but i should like to have a look." we two lads went on hovering about the table, peering at first one packet and then at another, feeling them up and down, and quite convincing ourselves that certain ones were a little more ornamental than others. there was no doubt about it, we felt. they were swords, pistols, and carbines. "here, i know," i exclaimed. "know what, sep?" "the boxes, ." "well, what about 'em?" "cartridges," i said. "two hundred and fifty in each." "so they are," cried bigley with his eyes dilating; and, however much we may have been disappointed over the silver mine, the counting-house now seemed to be a perfect treasure cave, such an armoury had it become. "i say, they won't go off, will they?" cried bigley. "pshaw! not they. i say, wouldn't old bob like to be here now?" "ah, wouldn't he?" said bigley. "why, it's like being in a real robbers' cave." "no," i said; "not robbers'," and i recalled the thoughts i had indulged in earlier in the day. "no; of course not," said bigley thoughtfully; "it isn't like a robbers' cave. i say, don't it look as if there were going to be a fight?" i nodded, and wondered whether there would be. "should you like to be in it if there was?" i said in a curious doubting manner. bigley rubbed one ear, and picked up a sword. "i don't know," he said. "sometimes i think i should; but sometimes i feel as if it would be very horrid to give a fellow a chop with a thing like this, just as if he was so much meat. i would, though, if he was going to hurt my father," he cried with his eyes flashing. "i'd cut his arm right off. wouldn't you?" "dunno," i said, and i began wondering whether there would ever be any occasion to use these weapons, and i could not help a shrinking sensation of dread coming over me, for i seemed to see the horror as well as the glory of shooting down human beings, and more than ever it occurred to me that if trouble did come, my old school-fellow might be on one side and i on the other. "i say," said bigley suddenly; "we've only undone one box, oughtn't we to undo the other?" "what, that?" i said, looking at a shorter smaller box on end in the corner behind the door. "yes." "father didn't say i was to." "but that looks as if it came from the same place." "why, big," i cried eagerly, "that must have the uniforms in it." "hurray! yes," he cried. "wonder whether they're scarlet?" "no," i said. "they're sure to be blue, like the sailors'." "oh! i don't know about that," he cried. "marines wear scarlet. i daresay they're red." "should you open the box if you were me?" "well, no," said bigley; "perhaps not. he didn't tell us to. but oh, how i should like to take the paper off one of these pistols!" "so should i," was my reply, with a longing look at the array of quaint-looking parcels; "but we mustn't do that, though i do feel as if i could do it up again just as neatly." "no; don't try," cried bigley. "let 'em be. we can think what's inside. i shouldn't wonder if some of them are mounted with brass, and have lions' heads on the butts." "yes, and the swords too--brass lions' heads, holding the guards in their mouths." "why, we haven't seen any belts." "no; they would be with the uniforms. i say, i wonder whether the cutlasses are very sharp?" "and whether they are bright blue half-way up the blade; you said your father's sword was." "yes," i replied; "and inlaid with gold. it was given to him when he left his ship." "here, come out!" cried bigley, laying hold of my hand. "come out? what for?" i said. "because it's the best way. i always run off when i see anything very tempting that i want to touch, and ought not to." "get out!" i cried. "i do, sep, honour bright, and i feel now as if i should be obliged to undo some of those papers, and try the pistols, and pull the swords out of the sheaths. let's go out." i laughed, for i felt very much in the same way, only it seemed to be so cowardly to go, and bigley came to the same way of thinking, the result being that we kept on picking up the different packages and feasting our imaginations by means of touch, till suddenly the door opened, and my father came in. chapter twenty seven. ready for the french. "well, boys," said my father, "unpacked? that's right, but you might as well have undone them." we each dashed at a package, whipped out our knives, cut the string, and rapidly unrolled the contents, till bigley held a pistol, and i a cutlass, of the regular navy pattern both. my father took the sword from my hand, drew its short broad blade, and made it whiz through the air as he gave a cut, guarding directly, and then giving point. "hah!" he said, as we watched him breathlessly, "i used to have two hundred and fifty stout jack-tars under me, boys, every one of whom handled a cutlass like that." "two hundred and fifty," i said; "just as many as there are cartridges in those boxes." "how did you know that they were cartridges?" he said smiling. "well, we guessed that they were, father," i replied colouring. "it seemed as if there must be cartridges for the pistols." "right, my boy," he replied. "and of course cartridges are not wanted for cutlasses," i continued. "no," he said laughing; "you load your cutlasses with muscles." "but they want belts," i ventured to observe. "to be sure," said my father. "there they are in that box. you shall unpack them when we've undone these. let me look at that pistol, uggleston." bigley handed him the pistol, and my father drew the ramrod, thrust it down the barrel, and gave it two or three taps to make sure that it was not loaded. then replacing the ramrod he cocked it, held it at arm's length, and drew the trigger. there was a little scintillation as the flint struck the cover of the pan, and he cocked and drew the trigger again, we two watching him with intense interest, and longing to try the pistol ourselves, but not liking to ask permission. "there, work away!" he said, "save the string, and lay the brown paper in heaps; it may come in useful." we set to work, while my father took a hammer and some large nails from a drawer, and, standing on a stool, drove the nails in a row along a board at one side of the office, and as we unpacked he took the weapons from us and hung them up, a cutlass between two pistols, arranging the nails so that the arms looked ornamental, while at the same time they were quite ready to hand in case they should be wanted. it took us some little time, but at last the task was done, and the cartridge chests stowed away in a cupboard, but not till each one had been carefully wrenched open, the copper nails taken out, and the lids replaced loose on the top. "there, master bigley," said my father dryly. "that's what i call being ready for action." bigley nodded. "if those boxes were put away unopened, the chances are a hundred to one that on the occasion of their being wanted the chisel and hammer would not be in their places. now, then, we'll undo that other box." i could not help seeing, or thinking i saw, a peculiar meaning in my father's way of saying all this, but bigley did not understand it i felt, and we set to at once over the other chest, dragging it into the middle of the room and prising off the lid, for this one was only nailed. it was not so heavy either, but as we had made up our minds that it contained the uniforms, we were not surprised. the lid was more tightly nailed down than seemed to be necessary; but we had it off at last, and then drew out a dozen parcels, which, on being opened, proved to be white buckskin belts for the waist, with a frog or pouch to hold and support the cutlasses, and a cross belt of a broader kind, to which was attached a cartouche-box, ready to hold the ball-cartridge when required. another row of nails was driven in for the belts, which were hung in pairs, and then we drew out a couple more boxes of cartridges, and that was all. "why, what's the matter, sep?" said my father, smiling at my disappointed countenance. "i was wondering where the uniforms were," i said. "uniforms, boy?" said my father. "when my two hundred and fifty lads attacked the spanish frigate and took her, they wore no uniforms. every man stripped to his shirt and trousers, put a handkerchief round his waist, threw away his hat, rolled up his sleeves, and tucked up his trousers. they fought the spaniard bare-armed, bare-headed, bare-footed; and if we have to fight, we can do the same, and drive off our enemies too." "the french, father?" i said, feeling quite abashed. "ay, my boy, or anyone else. these uniforms look very attractive, but there's a great deal of vanity in them, and we are too busy to give way to that." "yes, father," i said meekly, and as i said it i thought about something else. "there, you lads can go now. thank you for helping to arrange my little armoury." we should both have liked to examine those arms a little more. we should even have liked to try one of the pistols, and shoot at a mark, but this was a regular dismissal, and we went out, going quietly down to the stream, all stained now with the dirty water from the mine, and for some time we preserved silence. "what are you thinking about, sep?" said bigley at last. "i was thinking how nicely those belts would go with a uniform," i said. "were you? how funny!" said bigley. "that's just what i was thinking." "what, about a uniform?" "yes." "blue?" "no, scarlet." i went down to the shore with bigley, and we had a good ramble, after which he fetched the glass, and we climbed up to the place on the rocks where his father used to station himself to look out--for fish, bigley said; but my father often said they were very rum fish--and there we swept the horizon to see if we could make out the lugger, but she was not in sight, and after a time we grew tired of this and lay down in the warm sunshine upon the cliff, where bigley dropped off to sleep. i did not feel sleepy, though, but full of thought. above all, i could not help thinking over my father's behaviour that day. it was evident that he feared attack by making such preparations, and no doubt i should soon see him drilling the work-people he had gathered around him, and i dwelt a good deal, being tolerably observant, upon the fact of his letting bigley see all his preparations. i was asking myself why he had done this, and what reason he had for it, when bigley woke up and said that it was time to go and get something to eat. i did not answer and say it was, but a silent monitor gave me a hint that he was quite correct, and so we went to the cottage, and mother bonnet gave us quite a feast of bread and butter and fried fish, which form no bad refreshment for two hungry boys. chapter twenty eight. drilling our men. my father's armoury was a good deal talked about, but when regular drilling was commenced at the gap it excited no surprise. the grey-beards of ripplemouth talked it over, and said they were glad that captain duncan had woke up and was ready to defend the gap when the french came to our part of the coast, and they said they expected great things of him. "ha, ha, ha!" laughed bob chowne one day, as he came over; "heard the news?" "no," i said; "have the french come?" "no, not yet; but the ripplemouth people are going to ask your father to help them make a fort on the cliff over the harbour, and they're going to get some guns from bristol." "what nonsense!" i said. "here, i'm going over to the gap; will you come?" "no, i don't want to come to the old lead pump and see your father's people make the water muddy. what are you going to do?" "sword drill." "oh! i don't care for sword drill." "bigley's coming too," i said; "and we're going through it all." "it's stupid work standing all in a row swinging your arms about like windmills, chopping nothing, and poking at the air, and pretending that someone's trying to stab you. i wouldn't mind if it was real fighting, but yours is all sham." "then we're going to do some pistol-shooting at a mark with ball-cartridge." "pooh! it's all fudge!" said bob yawning. "i wouldn't mind coming if you were going to do something with real guns." "why, they're real pistols." "pistols! yes--pop-guns. i mean big cannons." "ah, well," i said, "i'm sorry you will not come, but i must go." "that's always the way when a fellow comes away from our old physic-shop and takes the trouble to walk all these miles. you're always either out or going out." "i can't help it, bob," i replied, feeling rather ill-used. "my father expects me. i have to help him now. you know i like a game as well as ever i did." "ah, well, it don't matter. be off." "i'm very sorry," i said, glancing at the old eight-day clock; "but i must go now." "well, didn't i say, be off?" cried bob. "good-bye, then!" i offered him my hand, but he did not take it. "if you'll walk round by the cliff i'll come part of the way with you," he said ill-humouredly. "will you?" i cried. "come along, then." i did not let him see it, but i had felt all the time that master bob meant to come. he had played that game so many times that i knew him by heart. i knew, too, that he was wonderfully fond of the sword practice, in which he had taken part whenever he could, and to get a shot with a pistol or a gun gave him the greatest pleasure. "he won't come away till it's all over," i said to myself; and we walked on round by the high track watching the ships going up to bristol, till all at once, as we rounded the corner leading into the gap, bob exclaimed: "why, there's old jonas's boat coming in!" "where?" i said dubiously. "why, out there, stupid!" cried bob, pointing north-west. "what! that lugger?" i said. "no, that's not his. he went out four days ago, and isn't expected back yet. that's more like the french lugger we rode in--captain gualtiere's." "yah! nonsense!" "well, but it is," i said. "that has three masts; it's a chasse maree. jonas's boat has only two masts--a regular lugger." "you've got sand in your left eye and an old limpet-shell over the other," grumbled bob. "french boat, indeed! why, no french boat like that would dare to come near england now. i s'pose that's a french boat too!" he pointed to another about a mile behind. "no," i said; "that looks like a big yacht or a cutter. i shouldn't wonder if it's a revenue cutter." "well, you are a clever chap," said bob mockingly--"setting up for a sailor, and don't know any more about it than an old cuckoo." "i know what our old sam and my father and binnacle bill have taught me," i said quietly. "no, you don't--you don't know anything only how to be surly and disagreeable to your visitors." "i say, bob," i said, "is it true what people say?" "i don't care what people say." "why, that your father gives you so much physic that it makes you sour?" i repented saying it directly, for bob stopped short. "want me to chuck you off the cliff?" he said fiercely. "no, that i don't," i said, pretending to be horribly frightened. "because, just you look here--" "ahoy--oy!" "ahoy--oy! ahoy--oy!" i shouted back in answer to the faint cry that came from below, where we could see bigley waving his hat. it was easier work for us to go down the precipitous slope than for him to climb up; but he did not seem to study that for he came eagerly towards us, while we slipped and scrambled down, ignoring the path, which was a quarter of a mile away. bob did not speak as we were scrambling down, and the exertion made him forget his ill-temper, so that he was a little more amiable when we came within speaking distance of bigley. "going to the drill?" he shouted; and then without waiting for an answer, "so am i. has your father come back, sep?" "come back!" i said. "what do you mean? he came on here." "yes," said bigley; "and then he got our boat and went off in her--so mother bonnet said. i was not here." "why, where has he gone?" i asked. "i don't know. i thought he had rowed round to the bay." i shook my head and began to wonder what it meant. "father has been round to penzance or plymouth, i think," said bigley. "he'll be back soon, i expect." "what's he gone after?" said bob shortly. "i don't know," said bigley, colouring a little. "fishing or trading or carrying something, i expect." "i don't!" sneered bob. "i know." "that you don't," said bigley quietly; "even i don't." "no!" sneered bob; "you never know anything. people at ripplemouth do. he has gone on a jolly good smuggling trip, i know." i saw bigley's eyes flash, and for a moment i thought that he was going to say something harsh, and that we were going to have a quarrel through bob chowne's propensity for saying disagreeable things; but just then i happened to turn my head and saw a boat coming round the western corner of the entrance to the gap. "why, there's father!" i cried. "where can he have been!" that exclamation changed the conversation from what was a terribly touchy point with bigley, who always felt it acutely if anyone hinted that his father indulged in smuggling. "i know," said bob chowne, changing his attack so that it was directed upon me. "well, if my father was so precious selfish as to get a boat and go out fishing without me, i should kick up a row." "why, you are always making rows without," i said testily. "my father has not been fishing, i'm sure." "there he goes again," cried bob in an ill-used tone. "that's sep duncan all over. i say, big, he was trying to pick a quarrel with me up on the cliff when you came, and i wouldn't. now he's at it again." "well, i sha'n't stop to quarrel now," i replied. "come on down and meet father." we were a good three hundred feet above the shore when i spoke, and starting off the others joined me, and we went down over the crumbling slates and then past the pebble ridge to where the little river bubbled up again through the stones before it reached the sea, and then in and out among the rocks, to stand and wait till my father rowed in. "ah, boys," he cried, as the boat grounded, and we dragged it up over a smooth patch of sand, "you are just in time to help." "been fishing, father?" i said. "no; only on a little bit of investigation along the coast; but i found i had not time as it was drill day. there, make the boat fast to the buoy line, and let's get up to the mine, and we'll all go this afternoon when the drill's over." "this afternoon?" i said eagerly. "yes; the weather's lovely and warm, and you fellows can row me." i felt ready to toss up my hat and cheer, and i saw that bigley was ready to do the same; but we both felt that we were getting too old, so we refrained. "i'm afraid i can't go, captain duncan," said bob in an ill-used way. "my father will be at home expecting me." "no, he will not, bob," said my father smiling; "he will not be back from barnstaple till quite late. come along, my lad, and we'll have some lunch, and then begin drill. had sam started with the basket, sep?" "no, father," i replied; "but i saw kicksey packing it when i came away." "sure to be there," said my father; and he led the way up the gap with bigley, to whom he always made a great point of being kind, partly because he was my old companion, and partly, as i thought, because he wanted to smooth away any ill feeling, and to make up for the break between us that kept threatening to come. this upset bob, who hung back and began to growl about not being sure he could stop to drill, and thought that, as we reached the end of the cliff path, he ought to go now, and altogether he required a great deal of coaxing to get him along, or rather he professed to want a great deal, till we reached the mine, where all was going on just as of old, the wheel turning, the water splashing, furnace roaring, and the pump keeping on its regular thump. old sam was standing at the counting-house door with a big basket, the one he always brought over, filled with provisions for our use, as so much time was spent at the mine; and as my father pulled out a big key, sam took in the basket, cleared the table, and threw over it a white cloth, upon which he spread the provisions. for a few minutes after we had sat down--bob chowne having to be fetched in, after sliding off so that he might be fetched back--we could not eat much for feasting our eyes on the bright swords and pistols; but young appetites would have their way, and we were soon eating heartily till the meat pasty and custard and cream were completely destroyed. "a very bold attack," said my father smiling. "now that ought to make muscle. off with your coats, my lads, and roll up your sleeves." as he spoke he went to the door, and blew an old silver boatswain's whistle, when work was dropped, and the men came running up quickly from furnace, and out of the pit and stone-breaking sheds, till ten stout work-stained fellows stood in a row, showing the effect of the drill and discipline already brought to bear. "like the old days on the quarter-deck," said my father to bob chowne. "now, sep, serve out the arms." i had done this several times before, and rapidly handed to each man his cutlass and belt, which was as quickly buckled on. then one each was given to bob chowne and bigley, and i was left without. "humph, twelve," said my father counting, as he saw me unarmed. "you can take that new sword, sep." i could not help feeling pleased, for this was the officer's sword which had come down with the others; and as i buckled on the lion-headed belt i had hard work to keep from glancing at bob chowne, who, i knew, would feel disgusted. there was no time wasted, for my father at these drills kept up his old sea-going officer ways; and in a few minutes we were formed into two lines before him, opened out, proved distance with our swords, so as to have plenty of room, and not be likely to cut each other; and there for a good hour the sun flashed on the blades, as the sword exercise was gone through, with its cuts, points, and guards, the men taking to it eagerly as a pleasant change from the drudgery of the mine, and showing no little proficiency already. "there," said my father at last, after the final order to sheathe swords had been given. "break off. no pistol practice to-day. your hands will be unsteady." "always the way!" i heard bob chowne grumble. "i stopped on purpose to have a bit of pistol-shooting, and now there's none. see if i'd have stayed if i had known." i had to run to the door of the great stone-built counting-house and receive the swords as the men filed up, and for the next ten minutes i was busy hanging all in their places. when i had finished the men had all gone back to their work, and after a look round, my father said a few words to a big black-looking cornishman, who had lately been selected as foreman from his experience about mines, locked up the counting-house, and turned to us. "now, boys," he said, "we'll go back to the boat." bob chowne's lips parted to say that he could not stop; but he had not the heart to speak the words, and we went back to the beach, to enter upon an adventure that proved rather startling to us all, and had a sequel that was more startling, and perhaps more unpleasant still. chapter twenty nine. we lose our boat. "we're going to take the boat again, mrs bonnet," said my father, as we passed uggleston's cottage. "oh, i'm sure master would say you're welcome, sir," said the rosy-faced old lady. "it's a beautiful afternoon for a row." ten minutes after we were well afloat, and bigley and i were pulling, making the water patter under the prow of the boat, as it rose and fell on the beautiful clear sea. below us were the rocks, which could be seen far enough down, all draped with the brown and golden-looking weed; and we felt as if it was a shame not to have a line over the side for pollack or mackerel on such a lovely afternoon. but there was to be no fishing, for my father evidently had some serious object in hand, telling us how to pull so as to keep regularly along at a certain distance from the mighty wall of rock that was on our left till, about a mile from the gap, where there were a great deal of piled-up stone in huge fragments that had fallen from the cliff, he suddenly told bigley to easy, and me to row. then both together, with the result that we pulled right into a little bay where the cliff not only seemed to go up perpendicularly, but to overhang, while in one place at the bottom a dark patch or two showed where caves ran right in. as we neared the shore he bade us cease rowing, and taking one of the oars he threw it over the stern, and sculled the boat in and out among the rocks that were half covered by the sea, threading his way carefully, and finally beaching her on a soft patch of sand. we all leaped out, and the little anchor was thrown ashore to keep the boat safe while we went away. "for neither of you will care to be boat-keeper," said my father smiling. "what are you going to do?" i asked as we walked up together. "don't ask questions, my boy," he replied quietly. "if i tell you, of course you cannot, without seeming mysterious, refuse to tell your companions, and i do not care to say much at present. it does not matter, but i prefer not to talk." we walked up straight to the caves, which were very beautiful, covered as their mouths were with ivy and ferns, while over each a perfect sheet of dripping rain fell like a screen and threatened to soak anyone who attempted to enter. we did not attempt it, for my father led us away to the west, and soon after, hammer in hand, he was examining the cliff-face and the various blocks of stone that had fallen down in days gone by. we walked on for a time, but it soon became too monotonous, and we took to something to amuse ourselves, to my father's great satisfaction, for he evidently now preferred to be alone. we did not watch him, but to me it seemed evident enough that he was searching for minerals, of which he believed that he had seen some trace. as for us, we rather enjoyed our ramble, for this was a part of the shore that we had not explored for some time, and the number of pools and hollows among the stones were almost countless, while at every turn we had to lament the absence of our baskets and nets. sometimes we climbed on to some difficult-looking pile, at other times we crept in under the cavernous-looking places, where, at high tide, the sea rushed and roared. wearying of this, we explored the edge where high-water left its marks, to examine the curious shells washed up, and the varieties of sea-weed driven right under the perpendicular wall of rock, that towered up above us fully two hundred feet before it began to slope upwards as a hill. then after laughingly saying that if the french came, they would have to bring very long ladders and use them at low tide if they wanted to get into england, we sauntered back towards where we had left my father, but chose our path as nearly as we could close down by the edge of the water. the tide was coming up fast, but this was all the better, as it was likely to bring in objects worthy of notice; but we found nothing, and at last the time had so rapidly glided away that evening was coming in as it were on the tide. we looked about us, and found that we were well inside the little bay where we had first landed, its two arms stretching well out as jagged points on either side, among whose rocks the sea was foaming and plashing, although it was quite calm a little way out. "no getting back, boys, now," said bigley, "if it wasn't for the boat." "yah! nonsense!" cried bob. "if the tide was to catch me in a bay like this, i should make a run and a jump at the cliff, catch hold of the first piece of ivy i could see, and then go up like a squirrel." "without a tail," i added laughing. "hark at clever old sep duncan," sneered bob. "he'd walk up the cliff without touching. it's a strange thing that we can't come out without your saying something disagreeable, sep." "i'm very sorry," i said with mock humility, for i had just caught sight of bigley's face, and he was grinning. "well, don't do it again, then," said bob pompously, and then we listened, for a voice hailed us from somewhere among the wilderness of piled-up rocks. "ahoy, there! ahoy!" "here we are, father!" i shouted, and trudging on we met him coming down from a place where he had evidently been sitting smoking his pipe. "didn't you hear me hail before?" he said as we met. "no, father." "why, i've been shouting at intervals for this last hour, and i should have been uncomfortable if i had not thought you had common sense enough to take care of yourselves." "oh! we minded that, sir," said bob importantly. "we are older now than we used to be." "yes," said my father dryly, "so i supposed. well, let's be off; we've a long row, and then a walk, and it's time to feed the animals, eh, bob chowne?" "yes, sir," said bob; "but i've got ever so much farther to go before i can get anything to eat." "no, you have not," said my father in his driest way. "i should think there will be enough for us all at the bay." "i--i didn't mean," said bob in a stammering way; but he had turned very red in the face, and then he quite broke down and could get no further, being evidently thoroughly ashamed of the way in which he had spoken. my father noticed it, and changed the conversation directly. "found anything very interesting?" he said; "anything good among the rocks?" "no, father," i said; "nothing much." "why, you blind puppy!" cried my father; "nothing? don't you know that every pool and rock hole teems with wonders that you go by without noticing. ah! i shall have to go with you, boys, some day, and show you a few of the grand sights you pass over because they are so small, and which you call nothing. why, how high the tide has risen!" "didn't we leave the boat just beyond those rocks, sir?" said bigley. "yes," said my father. "one of you will be obliged to strip and wade out to it. no, it couldn't have been those rocks." "no, sir," said bob chowne; "it was round on the other side of this heap." he pointed to a mass of rock lying right in the centre of the embayment, a heap which cut off our view on one side. "i suppose you must be right, chowne," said my father; "come along." "i feel sure it was here, father," i said; "just out here." "no it wasn't," cried bob pettishly. "i remember coming round here after we left the boat." bigley and i looked at each other, but we said nothing, only followed my father and bob chowne as they went round to the other side of the pile of rock, and there lay the sea before us with the tide racing in, and sweeping over the rocks, but no boat. "it's very strange," said my father; "we must have left it in one of these places." "perhaps it was behind the other heap, sir," said bob eagerly. "what heap?" said my father. "that one, sir," said bob, pointing towards the west. "impossible!" cried my father, and then he stopped and waited, while bigley, who had, by getting on my back and shoulders, managed to climb up the highest part of the mass which stood like an island out of the stones and sand, shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked all round. it was so still that the lapping of the evening tide sounded quite loud, and the querulous call of a gull that swept by was quite startling. "well," said my father, "can you see the boat? no no, don't look out there, my lad, look in here close." "she isn't in here close," said bigley quietly. "she must be, big," cried bob. "here, let me come." "i see her!" cried bigley just then. "no. yes. there she is, sir!" he said, pointing to the east. "she's broke adrift, and is floating yonder half a mile away towards the gap." "tut, tut, tut!" ejaculated my father. "are you sure?" "yes, sir," said bigley, "i'm quite sure. i was quite sure before that we left her where we looked first, but i didn't like to say so." "here, give me your hand," said my father. "you, sep, let me try and get up over you. bob chowne, you had better stand by him to strengthen him. i'm heavy. reach down, bigley, and give me your hand." my father was active enough, and with our help scrambled up on to the top of the rock, where he gave one glance at the speck bigley pointed out, and then uttered an impatient ejaculation. "come down," he said. "you're quite right, my lad. but how can that boat have got away? the grapnel was good." "i'm afraid i know," said bigley sadly. "i don't think anyone looked to see if the painter was made fast to the ring. i didn't." "and as i'm an old sailor, who ought to have known better, i confess that i did not," said my father. "well, boys, it's of no use to cry over spilt milk. if the boat is not recovered unhurt, mr jonas uggleston will have a new one, and i must apologise for my carelessness. now, then, we must walk home." bigley looked at him in rather a curious way; and as i divined what he meant i glanced at the two points which projected and formed the bay, and saw that they were being swept by the waves to such an extent that it would have been madness to attempt to get round either wading or swimming. "yes," said my father, speaking as if someone had made this remark to him, "it would be impossible to get round there. come along, boys, help me down; i can't jump. let's see for a place to climb the cliff." we helped him down by standing with our heads bent upon our arms, as if we were playing at "_saddle my nag_," then he lowered himself till he could rest his feet upon our shoulders, and the rest was easy. "we mustn't lose time," he said, as he stood on the rough shingle; "the tide is running in very fast." it was quite true, and before long it would certainly completely fill the bay. chapter thirty. a night on the rocks. it was very satisfying in a case of emergency to have with us some one so old and staid and full of authority as my father, who set the example to us lads of hurrying close up to the cliff right at the head where the caverns ran in, and the rain-like water streamed down from the ferns and saxifrages to form a veil that now looked golden in the glow from the west. "hah!" said my father decisively, "no standing here; and it would not be safe to go into the cave, the water rises six or seven feet here right up the cliff." it was so all round, as we plainly saw by the sea-weed that clung in the crevices, and the limpets and barnacles on the smooth places right above the heads of us boys, while every here and there at our feet we could see the common red sea creatures, which look like red jelly when the tide is down, and like daisyfied flowers when it is up. "no stopping down here, boys," cried my father. "now, then, where's the best place to climb the cliff? you two try one way, chowne and i will go the other." we separated, and bigley and i ran right round the steep wall, looking eagerly for a spot where foothold could be obtained, but it was generally overhanging, while elsewhere it rose up perfectly straight, so that a cat could not have run up it. only in one place where there was a great crack did it seem possible to climb up any distance, and that crack seemed to afford the means of getting to a shelf of rock just beneath a tremendous overhanging mass, some fifty feet above where we stood. this was very near the eastern arm of the little bay, where the tide was fretting and splashing and gurgling among the rocks, and threatening every minute to come right up amongst the stones that filled the foot of the crack. "let's look more carefully as we go back," said bigley; and we did, but our only discovery was the entrance to another cave, which seemed to be quite a narrow doorway or slit behind some tall stones piled right above it, and shutting it from the sight of anyone walking by. in fact, we had missed it as we came. "that might be a good place," said bigley; "but it wouldn't be safe to try, for perhaps the sea fills it right up every tide." we went on back, looking eagerly upwards, and stumbling over the stones that strewed our path, till we met my father and bob chowne. "well," said my father, in his short stern way, as if he were addressing his sailors on board ship. "report!" "no way up to the top, sir," said bigley. "no, father, none," i said. "no way?" said my father, and he frowned severely; "and there is no way up whatever at our end. boys, we shall have to venture out, and swim round the point." bob chowne shuddered, and i felt a curious sensation of dread creeping over me which i tried to shake off. "but there seems to be a way up to a shelf of rock, father," i said; "close there by the point." "ah!" he cried. "but no higher." "never mind," he said sharply. "go on first. quick!" it was quite necessary to be quick, for the water was already lapping among the stones at the foot of the chink and mounting fast. "yes, i see," said my father. "there! lose no time. up with you, uggleston. you next, chowne. climb your best, boys, and help one another." the climb was awkward and steep, but possible, and by one giving another a back and then crouching on some ledge and holding down his hand to the others, we got on up and up, till the big ledge was reached, and proved to be some twenty feet long by about nine broad in the middle, but going off to nothing at either end, while it went in right under a tremendous projecting portion of the cliff, that looked as if it would crumble down and crush us at any moment. "hah!" ejaculated my father breathlessly, as he partly dragged himself up, and was partly dragged by us on to the shelf. "what a place! why, we must be at least eighty feet above the shingle." "as much as that, father?" "yes, my boy; so mind all of you. no rolling off. now, then, is there any other way of getting higher, and so on to the slope?" a very few minutes' examination satisfied him that there was none. "no; only a fly could get up there, boys," he said merrily. "well, we are safe and quite comfortable. this will be another adventure for you. why, my lads, i shall never have the heart to scold you for getting into scrapes after leading you into this one. it is easier to get into trouble than out." "shall we have to stay here very long, father?" i said. "only all night, my boys, so we must make ourselves as comfortable as we can. we shall have to divide ourselves into two watches and make the best of it. certainly we shall not be able to climb down till daylight to-morrow morning." "what! do you mean for us to go to sleep in turns?" "or sit up, which you like, my boys," he said quietly. "and no very great hardship either. you have not touched upon our greatest difficulty." "what's that, sir?" said bob. "nothing to eat, my boy, and we are all very hungry." "oh!" groaned bob; and if ever the face of boy suggested that he had just taken medicine, it was bob chowne's then. "worse disasters at sea, my lads; we shall not hurt. the worst is that people at our homes will not know what we know, and be very much troubled about us. if the boat is picked up they will fear the worst. for my part, i hope it will not be found." "but are we safe, sir?" said bob, with tribulation in his voice. "perfectly, my lad, so long as you don't roll off the ledge, which, of course, you will not do. there, boys, let's look on the bright side of it all, and be very thankful that we have reached so comfortable a haven. make the best of it, and think you are on an uninhabited island waiting for rescue to come, with the pleasant knowledge that it won't be long." "oh, i don't mind," i said. "nor i," cried bigley. "i rather like it," said bob, with a very physicky face. "then, choose your places, boys," said my father, "and we'll sit and sing and tell stories, after we have grown tired of watching the glorious sunset; for, my lads, while we are talking see what a magnificent sea and sky are spread before you." we looked out from our niche under the stony canopy, to see that the sky was one blaze of orange, and gold, and fiery red, which in turn seemed to stain the sea, as if it was all liquid topaz, and sapphire, and amethyst, like the old jewels that had belonged to my mother, and which i had sometimes seen in my father's desk. nothing, i suppose, could have been more lovely, nothing more grand. if we looked to the left, the rocky cliff was all glow hero, all dark purple shadow there, and the clustering oaks that ran right up to the top were as if they were golden green. if we looked to the right, the cliffs seemed as if on fire where the rock was bare, and as our eyes fell to where the tide was coming in, the waves, as they curled over, were burnished, and flashed and glowed like liquid fire. it was all grand in the extreme, but somehow i felt, as did bob and bigley, that a well-spread tea-table with some hot fried ham and some eggs, with new bread, would have been worth it all. i am almost ashamed to put this down, but my companions confided their feelings to me afterwards, and it is perfectly true. by degrees the bright colours on the sea and overspreading the sky faded out, and all grew dark, save where there was a glow in the north. the stars had come out bright and clear, and covered the sky like so many points of light looking down at themselves in the mirror-like sea. the tide came up fast, and as the waves heaved and swayed and ran in, it seemed as if they were sweeping before them myriads and myriads of stars, for the water was covered with light, some being the reflections from the sky, others the curious little specks that we used to see in the water in warm weather. we sat and talked and lay close to the edge to watch the waves come sweeping in more and more, till the little bay was covered and the tide rose over the outlying rock, the water sounding wild and strange as it washed, and splashed, and sighed, and sucked in amongst the stones. then, by slow degrees, as we gazed down we found how necessary it had been for us to climb up to our perch, for the tide rose and rose, higher and higher, till it must have been seven or eight feet up the rocks below us; and now it was that we listened with a peculiar creeping sensation to the swell, as it rolled in and evidently right up into the caves which we had seen. "why, those places must go a long way into the cliffs," said my father as we listened. "hark at that." it was a curious creepy sound of hissing and roaring, as if there were strange wild beasts right in amongst the windings of the cave, and they had become angry with the sea for intruding in their domain. "seals!" said bob chowne decisively. "no," said my father, "it is only the imprisoned air escaping from some of the cracks and crevices into which it is driven by the sea. why, boys, those caves must be very large, or at all events they go in a long way. you ought to explore them some day at low water. warm enough?" we all declared that we were, and sat gazing out at the soft transparent darkness overhanging the sea, which was wonderfully smooth now, in spite of the soft western breeze that was blowing; and at last the silence seemed to have become perfectly profound. so silent were we that every one started as my father said suddenly: "look here, boys, suppose i tell you a story." the proposal was received with acclamation, and he lay back against the cliff and related to us one of his old sea-going experiences, to the very great delight of all. chapter thirty one. the smugglers' landing. after my father had finished his story it was arranged that watch should be set, and the arrangement made was that bob chowne and i should take the first spell, and it was to last as long as we liked--that is to say, we were to watch until we were tired, and then call my father and bigley, who would watch for the rest of the night. bigley said he should not sleep, but he followed my father's example and lay down, while in a few minutes his regular breathing told that he had gone off; and before long, as bob chowne and i sat talking in a low tone, we knew that my father was asleep as well. and there we two lads sat on the shelf of rock listening to the sobbing and sighing of the tide, and staring out to sea. sometimes we talked in a low voice about how uncomfortable some people would be about us, and bob said it was like my luck--that i had my father with me, while his and bigley uggleston's would be in a terrible way. "and a nice row there'll be about it," he said dolefully. "there never was such an unlucky chap as i am." "and big?" "oh, big! pooh! his father never takes any notice about him." then we talked about the drilling, and the silver mine and my father's success, and what a fine thing it was for me; and about school-days, and what it would cost to get a new boat for old jonas, and about bob going up to london to be a doctor; and we were prosing on, but this gave him a chance to become a little animated. "i don't want to be a doctor," he said fiercely; "but i'll serve some of 'em out if i'm obliged to be. i'll let them know!" "what stuff!" i said. "why, i should like to be a doctor, and if i was i'd go in for being surgeon on board a ship." "why?" said bob. "so as to go all round the world, and see what there is to see." "ah!" said bob, "i hadn't thought about that; but it isn't half so good as having a mine of your own, as you'll have some day. i wish we could change fathers, but i suppose we couldn't do that." we did not argue out that question, but went on talking in a low prosy tone, as we sat there with our backs supported against the cliff; and i suppose it must have been bob's low muttering voice, mingled with the darkness, the natural hour for sleep, and the murmuring of the waves, that had so curious and lulling an effect upon me, for all at once it seemed that the water was running down from the mine shaft where it was being pumped up, the big pump giving its peculiar beats as it worked, and the splash and rush of the water sounding very soft and clear. then i seemed to be down in the mine, and it was very dark and cold, and i climbed up again and sat down on the ground to listen to the washing of the water, the hurrying of the stream, and the regular beat of the pump; and then i was awake again, staring out into the darkness that hung over the sea. for a few minutes i was so confused that i could not make out where i was. it was cold and i was shivering, and the rushing of the water and the beat of the pump was going on still. no, it was not; for i was up there on the shelf of rock miles away from our mine, and i had been set to keep watch with bob chowne; and here was he, close by me, breathing heavily, fast asleep. i felt miserable and disgraced to think that i should have been so wanting in my sense of duty as to have slept, and bob was no better. "bob! bob!" i whispered, shaking him. "yes," he said with a start; "i know--i wasn't asleep." "hush! listen!" i said. "what's that noise?" we both listened, and my heart throbbed as i heard a regular plash and thud from off the sea. "boat," said bob decidedly. "shall i hail it?" "no," i replied quickly. "why not? it's a boat coming to fetch us." i could not think that it was, and creeping to where my father lay i shook him. "yes. time to watch?" he said quietly. "hush! listen!" i said. he sat up: "boat," he said, "close in." "is it coming to fetch us, father?" i whispered. "no, boy; if it were, those on board would hail." "what shall we do--shout?" i asked him. "certainly not. here, bigley, sit up, my lad! all keep perfectly still and wait. we do not know whose boat it may be." he was our leader, and we neither of us thought of saying a word, but sat and listened to the low plash and roll of the oars of some big boat that seemed to be very close in; and so it proved, for at the end of a few minutes we could distinctly see something large and black looming up out of the darkness, and before long make out that it was quite a large vessel that was being worked with sweeps or large oars till it was close in; and then there was the noise of the oars being laid inboard, and the sound of orders being given in a low firm voice. "keep perfectly still," my father whispered to us; but it was unnecessary, and we sat together there on the rock shelf, the projecting portion making our resting-place quite black, as we watched and listened to what was going on. then for about three hours there was a busy scene below us. men seemed to have dropped down into the water from both sides of the vessel. some went up to the cliff-face away to our left where the caverns lay, and at the end of a minute the light of a couple of lanthorns gleamed out and then disappeared in the cave. hardly a word was spoken save on board the vessel, where those upon deck seemed from time to time to be doing something with poles to keep her from getting aground as the tide fell. it must, i say, have been for nearly three hours that the busy scene lasted, and a large body of men kept on plashing to and fro with loads from the vessel to the cavern and back empty-handed. everything seemed to be done as quietly as if the men were well accustomed to the task. not a word was spoken, except by one who seemed to be leader, and the only sounds we heard were the tramping upon the slate-sprinkled sand and the splashing as they waded in to reach the vessel's side. it was evident enough that they were landing quite a store of something of another from the vessel, and i knew enough of such matters to be sure that it was a smuggler running a cargo. for the first few minutes i felt that it must be the french coming to take us unawares; but the french would have landed men, not packages and little barrels. it was a smuggler sure enough, and hence my father's strict order to be silent, for the smugglers had not a very good character in our parts, and ugly tales were told of how they had not scrupled to kill people who had interfered with them when busy over their dangerous work. i was watching them eagerly, when, all at once, i turned cold and shivered, for it had suddenly struck me that old jonas was away with his lugger, and that this must be it landing its cargo, while all the time, so close to me that i could have stretched out my hand and touched him, there lay my school-fellow--the old smuggler's son. "he must suspect him," i said to myself; and then, "what must he feel?" and all the while there below us was the busy scene--the men coming and going and the cargo being landed, till all at once there was a cessation. those who returned from the cave stayed about the vessel, and seemed, as far as we could make out, to be climbing on board, and as i suddenly seemed to be making out their figures a little more clearly, my father whispered, "lie down, boys, or you will be seen. the day is beginning to dawn." we obeyed him silently, and lay watching, seeing every minute more clearly that the dark-looking vessel, which loomed up very big, was being thrust out with long oars, and beginning to glide slowly away in a thick mist which hung over the sea a hundred yards or so from shore. then as it reached and began to fade, as it were, into the mist, first one then another dark patch rose from the deck. "hoisting sail," i said to myself. "two big lug-sails. it is the _saucy lass_--old jonas's lugger, and it looks big through the fog." just then in the coming grey dawn i saw another patch rise up, following a creaking noise, and i could make out that it was a third sail, when i knew that it could not be the _saucy lass_, but must be a stranger. i was so glad, for bigley's sake, that my heart gave quite a heavy throb; and, unless i was very much deceived, i heard my father draw a long breath like a sigh of relief. as we gazed at the sails and the dark hull in the increasing light, everything looked so strange and indistinct that it seemed impossible for it all to be real. the sails began to fill, and the vessel glided silently away without a voice on board being heard, till it was so far-off that my father said: "i think we may begin to talk, my lads, now." "i say, sir," cried bob excitedly, "weren't those smugglers?" "i cannot say," replied my father coldly. "let's get down now and look," said bob. "i think," said my father, "that we had better leave everything alone, and, as soon as the tide will allow us, get home to breakfast. you, bob chowne, if i were you, i should keep my own counsel about this, and you too, sep." i noticed that he did not say anything to bigley, who was kneeling down gazing after the vessel in the mist which was dying away about the land, and appeared to be going off with the vessel, surrounding it and trying to hide it from those on shore, as with the faint breeze and the swift tide it glided rapidly away. soon after there was a warm glow high up in the east. then hundreds of tiny clouds began to fleck the sky with orange, the sea became glorious with gold and blue, the sun peeped above the edge, and it was day once more, with the vessel a couple of miles away going due west. chapter thirty two. doing one's duty. we did not have to stay very long before we descended. my father said it would be better to stop, and while we were waiting bob chowne asked whether we were going to search the cave and see what was there. "no!" said my father in very decisive tones. "but you said something about us lads exploring it, sir, yesterday--i mean last night." "yes, my lad, i did," replied my father so sternly that bob chowne was quite silenced; "but i have changed my mind." i noticed that he still did not say anything to bigley, and that my old school-fellow was very silent, in fact we were none of us in a conversational frame of mind, but every now and then the idea kept creeping in that old jonas must know about that cave, and the purpose for which it was used; and then i seemed to understand my father's thoughtful manner, for it was as though this discovery was likely to widen the breach between them. in about an hour's time my father proposed that we should climb down, and feeling very stiff and cold we began to descend. i went first, lowering myself from ledge to ledge, with my father lying down and holding my hands, and then following me, though really it was not very difficult, for we boys had been up and down far more dangerous places after gulls' eggs in our earlier days. but, though we could go down in the bay, we could not get out of it as yet, for the tide was some distance up the point we wanted to pass. the eastern one was clear, and we could have gone that way, and, after two miles' walk and scramble along the beach, have found a place where we could climb up, but that was not our object, and we waited about looking at the falling tide, and watching the rapidly disappearing three masts of the lugger. then, too, we noted the tracks on the beach, some of which were quite plain, but they did not show higher up by the cavern, and we knew that they would all disappear with, the next tide. the temptation was very strong to go in and explore the place, but neither bob nor i hinted at it, and bigley was exceedingly quiet and dull. in fact he went away from us after a time and sat down on the top of a rock close to the eastern point, a rock to which he had to leap, for it was still in the water, and there he sat waiting till he could get to another and another, and at last waved his hand to us, when we followed him and got round on to the shore on the other side. it was no easy task even there, for the beach was terribly encumbered with rocks, but by creeping in and out, and by dint of some climbing, we managed to get along, and at last reached the gap just as doctor chowne was about setting off back to get a boat at ripplemouth and come in search of us, after having been up all night waiting for bob's return, and then riding over to the bay to hear from kicksey that we had not been back, and then on to the gap, to find that we had all gone out in jonas uggleston's boat, and not been heard of since. "well," said the doctor, after hearing a part of our adventure, "i suppose i must not thank bob for this job, eh, duncan? it was your fault, you see. my word, sir, you did give me a fright." "i'll take all the blame, chowne," said my father; "but let me tell mrs bonnet that we're all right, poor woman, and then let's walk across to my place to breakfast." there was no need to go and tell mother bonnet, for she had caught sight of us, and came at a heavy trot over the pebbles to display a face and eyes red with weeping, and to burst forth into quite a wail as she flung her arms about bigley, and hugged and kissed him. "oh, my dear child! my dear child!" she cried, "i've been up and down here all night afraid that you was drowned." just then i noticed that bob chowne was backing behind his father, and feeling moved by the same impulse, i backed behind mine, for we were both in a state of alarm for fear that the good-hearted old woman should want to hug and kiss us too. fortunately, however, she did not, for all her attention was taken up by bigley, and we soon after parted, bigley going with mother bonnet towards old jonas's cottage, and we boys following our fathers to reach the cliff path and get home. "you will not come along here on the pony," said my father as the doctor mounted his sturdy little exmoor-bred animal. "indeed but i shall," replied the doctor. "why not?" "it will be so dangerous for a mounted man." "tchah!" exclaimed the doctor, "my pony's too fond of himself to tumble us down the cliff; but there, as you are so nervous about me i will not ride. here, bob, you ride the pony home, and i'll walk." "ride him home along the cliff path, father?" said bob, looking rather white. "yes, of course. captain duncan is afraid of losing his doctor, and you are not so much consequence as i. here, jump up, and ride on first. then we shall see where you fall." bob looked at me wildly. "not afraid, are you?" "n-no, father," cried bob desperately; and setting his teeth, he put his foot in the stirrup, mounted, and rode on along the high path with the rock on one side and the steep slope on the other, which ran down to where the perpendicular cliff edge began, with the sea a couple of hundred feet below. "i don't think i'd do that, chowne," i heard my father say in remonstrance. "bah, sir! give the boy self-reliance. see how bravely he got over his scare. haven't liked him so well for a week. do you think i should have let him get up if there had been any danger?" "but there is danger," said my father. "not a bit, sir. the pony's as sure-footed as a mule. he won't slip." no more was said, and in this fashion we walked home, with bob in front on the pony and me by his side, for i ran on to join him, my father and doctor chowne coming behind. old sam was outside as we came in sight of the cottage, and the old fellow threw his hat in the air as he caught sight of us, and then came to meet us at a trot, after disappearing for a moment in the house. "i said you'd come back all right. i know'd it when they telled me about the boat," he cried to me as he came up. "boat! what about the boat?" i said. "one o' the fishermen picked her up, and as soon as i heered as her oars and hitcher were all right, i said there was no accident. the rope had loosed and she'd drifted away." "but how did you know we had gone off in the boat, sam?" i said eagerly. "how did i know?" he said. "think when you didn't come back a man was going to bed and forget you all?" "well, i hardly thought that, sam," i said. "because i didn't, and i went right over to the mine and asked, and you weren't there, and then i went to uggleston's and heerd you'd gone out in the boat, and that's how i know'd, mast' sep, sir." "here, sam, run back and tell kicksey to hurry on the breakfast," said my father. "hurry on the braxfass, captain," said sam grinning, "why, i told kicksey to put the ham in the pan as soon as i see you a-coming." the result was that we were soon all seated at a capital breakfast and ready to forget the troubles of the night, only that every now and then the recollection of the smuggling scene came in like a cloud, and i could not help seeing that my father was a good deal troubled in his mind. nothing, however, was said, and soon after breakfast the doctor went off with bob chowne. as soon as we were alone my father began to walk up and down the room in a very anxious manner, and once or twice he turned towards me as if about to speak, but he checked himself and went on with his walk. at last the silence became so irksome that i took upon myself to speak first. "are you going over to the mine, father?" i said. "yes, my boy," he replied. "but you had better go and lie down for an hour or two." "oh, no, father," i said. "i'm not tired. let me go with you." he nodded, and then stood thoughtful, and tapping the ground with his foot. all at once he seemed to have made up his mind. "look here, sep," he said; "you are growing a great fellow now. i've been helping you all these years; now you must help me." "tell me how, father, and i will," i said eagerly. "i know you will, my boy," he replied, "and i'm going to treat you now as i would a counsellor. this is a very unfortunate business, my boy." "what, our seeing the smugglers last night?" he nodded. "did you think, then, like i did, that it was jonas uggleston's boat?" "i did, my boy." "but it was not, father." "no, my boy; but--" "you think jonas uggleston knew the boat was coming, and he knows all about that hiding-place, father?" "is that what you have been thinking, sep?" "yes, father." "and so have i, my lad. now, though i am, as i may say, still in the king's service, and i feel it my duty to go and inform the officers of what i have seen, on the other hand there is a horrible feeling of self-interest keeps tugging at me, and saying, `mind your own business. you are bad friends enough with jonas uggleston as it is, so let matters rest for your own sake and for your son's.'" "oh, father!" i exclaimed. "then this feeling hints to me that i am not sure of anything, and that i have no business to interfere, and so on. among other things it seems to whisper to me that old jonas will not know, when all the time he must. now come, sep, as a thoughtful boy, what should you recommend me to do?" "it's very queer, father," i said rather dolefully; "but how often one is obliged to do and say things one way, when it would be so easy and comfortable to do and say things the other way." "yes, sep," he replied, turning away his face; "it is so all through life, and one is always finding that there is an easy way out of a difficulty. what should you do here?" "what's right, father," i said boldly. "what's right." he turned upon me in an instant, and grasped my hand with his eyes flashing, and he gripped me so hard that he hurt me. as we stood looking in each other's eyes, a strange feeling of misery came over me. "what shall you do, father?" i said. "i don't quite know, sep," he replied thoughtfully. "i think i shall wait till jonas uggleston gets home, and then tell him all i have seen." "but it seems so hard on poor bigley," i said dolefully. "ah!" shouted my father. "stamp on it, sep; stamp it down, boy. crush out that feeling, for it is like a temptation. duty, honesty, first; friends later on. it is hard, my boy, but recollect you are an officer's son, and _officer_ and _gentleman_ are two words that must always be bracketed together in the king's service. there's that one word, boy, for you to always keep in your heart, where it must shine like a jewel--duty--duty. it is the compass, my lad, that points always--not to the north, but to the end of a just man's life--duty, sep, duty." chapter thirty three. old uggleston is too sharp for the revenue. we did not go over that afternoon till it was growing late, for my father had a number of letters to write, and when we did go along the cliff, and reached the descent to the gap, to our surprise there lay jonas uggleston's lugger, and we knew he had come home. "hah!" ejaculated my father after drawing a long breath. "i shall have to speak at once. he does not seem to have landed yet." for the lugger was swinging to the buoy that lay about a hundred yards out, and we could see figures on board. there was a brisk breeze blowing down the gap, and the lugger was end-on towards us, rising and falling on the swell, while the sea was all rippled by the wind. "look, father," i said, as we went on down, seeing each moment more and more of the opening to the sea; "there's a boat coming ashore." "man-o'-war's," cried my father excitedly. "look at the way the oars dip, sep. hah, it's a treat to see the lads handle them again. there she is!" he cried. "look! why, it's the revenue cutter." she had just rounded a bend as he spoke, and there, sure enough, was a large cutter with snow-white sails lying off the point that formed the east side of the gap, head to wind, and waiting evidently for the return of the boat that had come ashore. my father walked rapidly on, and we reached the shore nearly at the same time as the boat, from which sprang an officer, and to our surprise jonas uggleston stepped out more slowly. just then bigley appeared, i never knew where from; but i think he must have been watching from among the rocks, and in a quick husky voice he said to my father: "captain duncan, please, pray don't say that you saw that cargo landed last night." "my poor lad!" said my father kindly. "but tell me; have the cutter's men been aboard the lugger?" "yes, sir, searching her, i think; and you see they chased her in, and now they're bringing father ashore a prisoner." he could say no more, for the cutter's officer came up. "you are captain duncan, i think?" he said. "yes," said my father, returning his salute. "whom have i the pleasure of addressing?" "lieutenant melton, his majesty's cutter _flying fish_." they both saluted again, and old jonas, who looked curiously yellow, and with his eyes seeming to search the officer's, drew nearer. "look here, captain duncan, i have been for some time on the look-out for this man." "well, sir, you have caught him," said my father coldly. "yes, sir, i have, and i have overhauled the lugger, but without success." old jonas glanced at me and then at my father, who did not speak, only bowed, and the officer went on. "now, then, captain duncan; you know this man to be a notorious smuggler, do you not?" "i have heard him called so." "and you know it, sir." "i never detected mr uggleston in any act of smuggling," replied my father more coldly, for the officer's hectoring manner offended him, and i felt that if he told what he knew, it would be to someone more in authority. i glanced at old jonas, and his eyes twinkled with satisfaction. "this is prevarication, sir," cried the lieutenant; "but i am not to be put off like this. come, sir, i received information about a very valuable contraband cargo that has been run from dunquerque. it has been landed here successfully during the past night or the night before. now, sir, if you please, where was that cargo landed?" my father was silent, but his face was flushed, and i saw jonas uggleston dart a curious look at him as he screwed up his face, and at the same moment bigley grasped my hand. "i see," said the officer, "i shall have to question the boys. once more, sir, i ask you as an officer and a gentleman, do you not know where that cargo was landed?" "sir," said my father, "your manner is dictatorial and offensive to a man of higher rank than yourself; but you ask me this question as one of his majesty's servants, and i am bound to reply. i do know where a cargo was landed, but it was not from this man's boat." "but he was in the business, captain," said the lieutenant with a laugh. "now, sir, if you please, where was it?" "in the second bay to the westward, sir," said my father coldly; and jonas uggleston gave his foot a stamp, and uttered a fierce oath. "you see, he is in the business," said the lieutenant laughing. "there, uggleston, you have betrayed yourself." i heard bigley utter a piteous sigh, and i looked round at him to see the great drops standing on his forehead. "i am so sorry, big," i whispered; but he did not reply. he went and took hold of his father's arm. old jonas turned round fiercely, but he smiled directly, and whispered something to bigley, who fell back with his head drooping, and in a dejected way. "now, captain duncan, if you please, you will come with us on board the lugger, and we'll run along to the second bay," said the lieutenant; "it will not take long." "sir," said my father, "i have replied to your questions as i was bound, but i am not bound to act as your pilot." "sir," said the lieutenant, "i demand this service of you as his majesty's servant. kindly step on board the boat. now, uggleston." i shall never forget old jonas's fierce scowl as he walked down to the boat, into which he stepped, and remained in the bows, while my father went into the stern-sheets, and was followed by the lieutenant. the bare-legged sailors ran the light gig out, and sprang over the side, seized their oars and backed water, turned her, and began to row with a light springy stroke for the lugger. "big, old mate," i said, "i am so, so sorry." "don't talk to me," he groaned. "i never said anything: but i was always afraid of this." "don't be angry with father," i said appealingly. "he was obliged to speak." "i can't talk to you now--i can't talk to you now," the poor lad groaned more than spoke, as we stood there close to where the waves came running in. the lugger had a good many men on board as she lay out there, quite three hundred yards away, though it had seemed only one from high up in the gap, and the cutter was quite half a mile from where we stood, and more to the east. all at once bigley lifted up both his arms, and stood with them outstretched for quite a minute. "what are you doing that for?" i said. he made no answer but remained in the same position, and kept so while i watched the boat rising and falling on the heaving tide, with every one distinctly visible in the evening sun. as i have said the lugger lay with her bows straight towards the gap; but all of a sudden she began to change her position, the bows swinging slowly round, and i realised that the rope by which she had swung had been cast off, for the buoy was plainly to be seen now several fathoms away. just then i saw old jonas start up in the bows of the boat and clap his hands to his mouth, his voice coming clearly to us over the wave. "you, bill! you're adrift! lower down that foresail, you swab, lower down that foresail! throw her up in the wind!" this sail had begun to fill, but a man ran to the tiller, and the lugger's position changed slowly, the sails flapping and the bows pointing gradually in our direction again. all this while the men in the cutter's gig were pulling with all their might, and rapidly shortened the distance, till the bow man picked up a boat-hook, and stood ready to hold on. it was all so clear against the black side of the lugger, that we missed nothing, and to my surprise, i saw old jonas draw back as if to let the bow man pass him, and then there was a tremendous splash, the bow man was overboard, and old jonas had made a leap driving the light gig away with his feet, catching the side of the lugger, and swinging himself aboard. it was so quickly and deftly done that the cutter's gig was driven yards away, and jonas was aboard before the lieutenant had recovered from his surprise. then the men pulled their hardest, and the distance between lugger and boat diminished fast, but as it did the sails began to fill, and the position altered, for a man had run to the tiller, while half a dozen more stood at the side, one of whom was old jonas. bigley uttered a curious hissing noise as he caught my hand, while we stood straining our eyes, and as we stared wildly there was a cheer, and we saw the boat touch the lugger's side, the sailors and the lieutenant spring up, and they made a dash to leap on board. chapter thirty four. i seem to be an enemy to an old friend. i don't know which of us lads gripped his companion's hand the harder as we saw the struggle begin. "they'll half kill him," groaned bigley; and then he remained panting there with his eyes starting as we saw the men on the lugger, headed by old jonas, make a brave defence of their deck, being armed with capstan-bars and cudgels, while the revenue cutter's men had cutlasses which flashed in the evening sunshine as if they had been made of gold. we could hear the sound of the blows, some sounding sharp, which we knew to be when the bars struck on the sides of the lugger; some dull, when they struck upon the men; while others made a peculiarly strange chopping noise, which was of course when sword encountered cudgel. "it's all over," groaned bigley at last, as the sailors seemed for the moment to have mastered the lugger; but just then i saw old jonas tumble one man over the side into the boat, and another over the bulwark into the water with a great splash, and all the while the sails of the lugger were full, and the little vessel was beginning to move faster and faster through the water. one of the men in the gig was still holding on by the bulwark as the struggle went on, but i suddenly saw old jonas bring down a cudgel smartly upon his head, the blow sounding like a sharp rap, when the man fell back, and my father caught and saved him from going overboard. the next moment there seemed to be a gap between the lugger and the gig, and we could see the heads of three men in the water swimming, and the next minute or two were occupied in dragging them in, two being sailors, and the other the lieutenant, who stood up in the stern-sheets and shook himself. "heave to!" he roared after the lugger; "heave to, or we'll sink you!" "ha, ha, ha, ha!" came in a mocking laugh, that from its hoarse harshness was evidently old jonas's, and the lugger heeled over now and began to skim through the water. "why, they're going to run for it," i cried excitedly. "but the cutter will sink them," panted bigley. "oh, father, father, why didn't you take me too?" "never mind that, big," i cried. "look, they're going to row to the cutter." for the oars were dipping regularly now as the gig was turned towards the cutter, aboard which there was an evident change. her main-sail, which had been shaking in the breeze, gradually filled; we saw the stay-sail run up, and the beautiful boat came gliding towards the gig so as to pick her up with her crew before going in pursuit. "how quickly she sails!" cried bigley. "once they've got their men on board they'll go like the wind." "but they haven't got them on board yet," i said, unable in spite of myself to help feeling a little sympathy for the man who was making such a bold effort to escape. "why, they're taking my father prisoner instead of yours, bigley. i hope they'll bring him back." "look!" cried bigley; "father's getting up a topsail, and that'll help them along wonderfully." "look!" i cried; "the cutter's close up to the gig now." "hurrah!" cried bigley; "there goes the topsail. look how tight they've hauled the sheets, and how the lugger heels over." "the cutter has the gig alongside," i cried as excitedly, for, though i did not want old jonas caught, my father was there. "why, they're running out another spar," cried bigley, "so as to hoist more sail. look at the lugger, how she is spinning along!" "yes," i said; "but look at the cutter now!" bigley drew a long breath as he saw with me that the gig's crew were on board the cutter, and that the boat was being hoisted up, while, at the same time, with the speed to be seen on a man-of-war, even if it be so insignificant a vessel as a revenue cutter, sail was being hoisted, and she was off full chase. first we saw the jib-sail run up and fill. then up went the gaff topsail, and as it filled the cutter seemed to lie over, so that we could not see her deck, while the white water foamed away from her bows, and she left a long streak behind. she was now well opposite to the gap, down which the breeze blew straight. in fact the cutter seemed to have too much sail up, and rushed through the water at a tremendous rate. "she'll soon catch the lugger going like that, big," i said. "look! your father's not going straight away; he's going more off the land." "yes, because he knows what he's doing. he wants to get more out so as to catch the wind. you'll see in a few minutes the cutter won't go half so fast. hah! i was afraid of that." for just then there was a puff of smoke from the cutter, and we could just make out, by the way it dipped, the round shot that went ricochetting over the sea. "that will stop him," i said gloomily. "no, it will not," said bigley angrily. "you don't know my father. he'll keep on as long as the lugger will swim." i shook my head as i strained my eyes at the exciting chase going on before me. bigley was right, for in place of lowering sails in token of submission, the lugger ran out another from her bows, and kept on her rapid flight, altering her course though, so as not to offer so fair a mark to the cutter, and the cutter seemed to spit out viciously another puff of white smoke, and then there was a dull thud and an echo among the rocks. we could not trace the course of the shot, but it evidently did not hit its mark, the first having probably been aimed ahead. "they can't hit her," cried bigley, clapping his hands. "oh, i wish i was aboard." "what, to be shot at?" i said. "let them shoot!" he cried. "i should like to be there. now, then, what did i tell you? the cutter is not going half so fast now." he was quite right, for, as the white-sailed vessel got beyond the entrance to the gap, she was more and more under the shelter of the huge headland and the mighty cliffs that ran on for miles, and instead of lying over so that we half expected to see her keel, she rode more steadily and upright in the water, and her speed was evidently far less. another white puff of smoke, and another shot sent skipping after the lugger, but with what result we could not see. the firing made no difference, though, to the lugger, which continued its course towards the west, and bigley gave me a triumphant look from time to time. the firing had now become regular, and had brought down all the miners from the pit, and mother bonnet, to see the exciting chase. one climbed up the side of the gap here, another there, and then higher and higher, and seeing the advantageous position they occupied i turned quickly to bigley. "run and get the glass, big," i said, "and then we'll climb right up to the top of the head." big shook his head. "father has it in the lugger," he said; "but let's climb up all the same." we knew the ways of the great headland better than the people, and were about to start upon our climb when mother bonnet came up and caught bigley's arm. "think they'll get away, master big?" she whispered with her face mottled with white blotches. "i'm sure of it," he cried triumphantly. "it will soon be dark, too, and father will run in and out among the rocks where the cutter daren't follow." "to be sure he will," said the old woman with a nod and a smile. "they will get away if--if--oh! there goes that horrible gun again!" the poor creature turned white and hurried away from us to get a better view of the chase, while bigley and i climbed right up by degrees to the very highest point of the headland and sat upon the rocks watching the long chase, with the cutter, in spite of her superior rig and sailing powers, seeming to get no nearer to her prey, while the evening shadows were descending, and the two vessels kept growing more distant from the gap. the cutter continued firing at regular intervals, and once we thought that the lugger was hit. but if she was the shot made no difference to her attempts at escape; and though we stayed up there in our windy look-out, fully expecting to see her lying like a wounded bird upon the water with broken wing, no spar came down, and at last the fugitive and the pursuer had become specks in the distance, fading completely from our sight. "it's no use to stay any longer," i said. "let's go down now." bigley strained his eyes westward and seemed unwilling to stir. "it will be so dark directly we shall have a job to get down," i said. "your father's sure to get away." "yes," said bigley; "they'll never catch him now. he'll get right away in the darkness." just then there was a familiar hail from below. "chowne, ahoy!" i responded; and as we reached to about half-way down we encountered bob coming up panting and excited. "you are a nice couple!" he began to grumble. "i do call it mean." "what is mean?" i said. "why, to have all the fun to yourselves and never send for a fellow. if it hadn't been for the firing i shouldn't have known anything about it. i wouldn't have been so shabby to you." "why, i didn't think about you, bob," i said. "that's just like you, sep duncan. but i say, what a game!" "i don't see much game in it," i said sadly. "big's father is in the lugger, and mine--" "in the cutter trying to catch him," cried bob. "oh, i say, what a game!" "look here!" said bigley in a deep husky voice, "come down along with me, sep, and take hold of my arm. i feel as if i wanted to fight." i did as he asked me and we went down, with bob very silent coming behind, evidently feeling that he had said too much. bigley went straight to the cottage, where mother bonnet was waiting for him and ready to catch him by the shoulder. "there now, my dear! it's of no use for you to hang away," said the old woman. "i've got a nice supper ready, and you must eat or else you won't be able to help your poor father if he should come back." "but he won't come back," said bigley. "he will not dare." "i don't know what he may not do when it's quite dark," said the old woman. "there! you come and sit down, and you too, my dears, for you must be famished." bigley yielded, and bob and i were going away, but bigley jumped up and stopped us. "i'm not bad friends, bob," he said, holding out his hand. "you didn't mean what you said, only when a fellow speaks against my father it hurts me, and--" "i'm so sorry, big," exclaimed bob eagerly, and they shook hands. i was glad, but still i was going away. bigley stopped me though. "i sha'n't eat if you don't," he said. "but i can't now after what has happened," i said. "it wasn't your fault," replied bigley gloomily. "your father was obliged to speak. come and sit down." i was so faint and exhausted that i yielded, and we three lads made a tremendous meal, to mother bonnet's great delight. this ended, the inclination was upon us all to go fast asleep after the broken night we had passed; but bigley jumped up and led the way to the door. "come along," he said. "the cutter will be back soon to clear off the cargo, and i want to hear what they say." he walked out and we followed him to the beach, which was quite deserted; and we three lads began to walk up and down, too much excited to feel sleepy now, and kept on gazing out to sea for the returning cutter. chapter thirty five. bigley does not think his father is a dog. we went up to the cottage two or three times, to find mother bonnet keeping up the fire and the table laid for a second supper; and then we went back to the beach. everything was perfectly still. the mine people had long before gone to bed, but we watched on, feeling sure that something was going to happen; and so it was that about half-past twelve we heard oars, and soon after made out a boat which was being pulled by four men, while as soon as we were seen a voice cried from the boat: "ahoy! who's there?" "father!" cried bigley excitedly. "hush! who's there?" said old jonas as we felt quite stunned with surprise. "only bob chowne and sep duncan, father." "no one else?" "no one." "pull, my lads!" cried old jonas; and as the boat grated on the beach he leaped ashore. "i shall not be a quarter of an hour," he said. "keep her afloat. here, bigley." he caught his son's arm and they went up to the cottage together at a trot, and in less than a quarter of an hour they were back again, and old jonas clapped me on the shoulder. "look here, duncan," he said, "i always liked you, my boy, because you and bigley were such mates." "are you going to take big away, sir?" i said. "no, boy, but i'm going to ask you to be a true mate to him still. he's going to stay with mother bonnet." "i will, sir," i said. "that you will, my lad," he cried, shaking hands. "now, bigley, no snivelling--be a man! good-bye! i'll write." he shook hands with his son, seized a bag they had brought down between them, and the next minute he was on board the boat and they disappeared into the darkness. "how came he back again, big?" i whispered as we listened to the beat of the oars which came from out of the gloom. "doubled back along with the french boat _la belle hirondelle_. they saw her about ten miles away." "was it the _hirondelle_ we saw last night!" i said. "yes," said bigley shortly. "be quiet." "i think your father might have said good-bye to me, bigley uggleston," said bob chowne shortly. "i've done nothing to offend him. but it don't matter. never mind." there seemed to be nothing to wait for, but we hung about the beach till daylight, and then went in and had some breakfast, which mother bonnet, who was red-eyed with weeping, had ready for us, and then we went down to the beach again. by this time the mine people were out once more, and they came and had a look, but there was nothing to see, and no one told the sturdy fellows or their families that jonas uggleston had been back. as for me, i only meant to tell my father when he returned. so the mining people went to work, and we lads stood gazing out to sea, till suddenly bob chowne shouted: "i can see the cutter." he was quite right, for it proved to be the cutter, but there was no prize coming slowly behind; and when at last she came close in, the boat was lowered, and we saw my father step in and come ashore with the lieutenant, we were ready to meet them. i wanted to speak to my father about what had happened in the night, but i had no opportunity, and it seemed that he had only been brought ashore so that he could go up to the mine, give some orders, and then return, when he was to show the lieutenant where the cave lay to which the smugglers had taken their cargo of contraband goods. the lieutenant walked up to the mine works with my father, and as he evidently wished me to stop, i remained by the cutter's boat with my companions, and, boy-like, we began to joke the sailors for not catching the lugger. they took it very good-temperedly, and laughed and said no one had been much hurt. "he was too sharp for us," the coxswain said grinning; "and--my! how he did do the skipper over getting away. he's a cunning old fox, and no mistake." "how did you lose the lugger?" i said. "oh, it was too dark to do any more, and she went right in among the rocks about stinchcombe, where we were obliged to lie to and wait for daylight. he's a fine sailor, i will say that of him." "what, your lieutenant?" i said. "oh, he's right enough. i meant smuggler uggleston. he's got away, and it don't matter; we're bound to have a lot o' prize-money out of the cargo we're going to seize." "are you going to seize it this morning?" i asked. "yes, my lad; and here comes the skipper back along o' the old cappen." they were close upon us already, and we boys looked eagerly at the lieutenant, longing to go with them, but not being invited of course. it was too much for bob chowne though, who spoke out. "i say, officer," he cried, "we three saw the cargo landed night before last." "you three boys?" "yes," said bob, "we were all there." "jump in then, all of you," said the lieutenant. we wanted no further asking, and the men pushed off and rowed straight for the little bay, where in due time we arrived in face of the caves. "and a good snug place too," said the lieutenant. "good sandy bottom for running the lugger ashore. nice game must have been carried on here. come, captain duncan," he continued in a jocular tone, "you knew of this place years ago." "i give you my word of honour, sir," replied my father coldly, "that i was quite unaware of even the existence of the caverns till a few days ago; and even then i did not know that they were applied to this purpose." "humph! and you so near!" "you forget, sir, that my house is two miles and a half along the coast, and i have only lately purchased the gap." my father was evidently very much annoyed, but as a brother officer he felt himself bound in duty to put up with his visitor's impertinences, and accordingly he said very little that was resentful. the men rowed on steadily, and as my father grew more reserved in his answers the officer turned to bob chowne. "so you were there when the cargo was landed, were you?" he said. "yes," replied bob coolly. "yes, _sir_," said the lieutenant sharply, "recollect that you are addressing an officer." "doctors don't say _sir_ to everybody they meet," retorted bob quickly. "doctors?" "well, my father's a doctor, and i'm going to be one, so it's all the same. i can make pills." the lieutenant frowned and looked terribly fierce; but his men had burst into a hearty laugh at the idea of bob making pills, so he turned it off with a contemptuous "pooh!" "well," he said, "how came you to be there when the cargo was landed?" "thought you knew," said bob; "we were shut in by the tide. our boat had drifted away." "you three boys?" "yes, and captain duncan," replied bob. "and what did the smuggler say to you?" said the lieutenant, turning sharply on me. "say to us, _sir_?" i replied. "yes, answer quickly, and don't repeat my words." "i didn't know smugglers spoke to people they could not see. hasn't my father told you that we were in hiding?" the lieutenant was about to say something angry; but we were coming alongside of the bay, and my father stood up, very unwillingly as i could see by his manner, and guided the men so that they might avoid the rocks. "i suppose we could almost run the cutter in here, captain duncan, eh?" "oh, yes, i think so," said my father, "on a very calm day. there is deep water all along, and a way could be found with ease." "such as the lugger people knew, of course. steady, my lads, steady; that's it, on that wave." the men followed his instructions, and the boat was beached pretty close to the entrance to one cavern, the water being high, and we all jumped out. "get the lantern!" cried the lieutenant; "and light it now, coxswain." this was done, and two men being left in charge, the officer gave the order, swords were drawn, and he led the way in. as he reached the mouth he placed two men as sentries at the entrance of the other hole where the water rained down, and turned to my father. "you need not enter unless you like, captain. we may have a brush, for some of the scoundrels are perhaps still here. by the way, where's the ledge where you people were hidden?" "up there," said bob promptly, and i saw the officer scan the place. "what, coming?" said the lieutenant. "yes," replied my father; "but i think these lads ought to stand aside in case of danger." "yes," was the short response. "here, boys, you stop here. you are not armed," he added with a sneering laugh. "i only wish we had your father's cutlasses here, sep," whispered bob, "and we'd show them." we stood back as the man went first with the lantern, closely followed by the lieutenant with his drawn sword; and we waited as the last disappeared in the opening, fully expecting to hear shots fired. but all was perfectly still, and bigley was creeping slowly nearer and nearer to the opening when bob chowne made a rush. "here, you chaps get all the fun," he exclaimed. "i shall go in and see." the two sentries laughed, for they were big brown good-tempered looking fellows, and in we all three went, to find ourselves in quite a long rugged passage, running upward and opening into a big hollow at the end, where the lantern was being used to peer in all directions, till it was evident that nothing was there. "we're in the wrong hole," said the officer. "now, my lads, forward!" he went sharply out into the daylight again, to where the two sentries were on guard, and entered quickly, passing through the dripping water closely followed by his men. but there was not room for all, and he backed out directly. "there's nothing here," he cried angrily. "try the other hole," said bob, running to where we had found the narrow opening behind an outlying buttress of rock. bob stepped in first this time, the lieutenant following, and then the man with the lantern. "bravo, boy!" cried the lieutenant; "this is the place. rather awkward, but here we are. come along, my lads." the sailors scrambled in as quickly as they could, and we all followed rather slowly down what was a jagged crack in the rock about two feet wide and sloping, so that one had to walk with the body inclined to the right. this at the end of about twenty feet opened out into quite a large rough place, which contained some old nets and tins, along with about a dozen half rotten lobster-pots, but nothing more. "there must be another place somewhere," cried the lieutenant after convincing himself that there was no inner chamber. "lead on, coxswain, with the light." the man went on, and we were left to the last, hearing one of them whisper to his mate: "this here's a rum game, jemmy; don't look like much prize-money after all." by the time we boys were out the lieutenant had disappeared with the coxswain in the first cavern, and his men followed, leaving my father outside. "sep," he said, as i joined him, "where do you think the men went in?" "that first place," i said decisively. "yes," said bob chowne; "that's the hole." "so i felt certain," said my father; and bigley stood aside looking on, with his forehead full of wrinkles. another minute and the lieutenant was out with his men, the officer furious with rage. "captain duncan, are you in league with these smuggling dogs, or are you not?" "what do you mean, sir?" cried my father haughtily. "well, look here, sir," cried the officer moderating his tone. "you've brought us here on a fool's errand. where's this cargo that you saw landed?" "how can i tell, sir? you appealed to me as an officer to show you where it was landed. it was here. the men were going in and out of that cave for two or three hours." "then there must be an inner place," cried the lieutenant, stamping his foot with rage. "come and search again, my lads." they disappeared for another ten minutes or so, and then came back with the officer fuming with passion. "fooled!" he exclaimed aloud, "fooled! here, back to the boat." everybody embarked again, and the boat was rowed back in silence to the gap, where we landed, and the lieutenant stepped out afterwards leaving his men afloat. "now, then, captain duncan," he said, "before i go let me tell you that i shall report your conduct at headquarters. i consider that i have been fooled, sir, fooled." "i had thought of doing the same by you, sir," retorted my father coldly; "but i do not think it worth while to quarrel with an angry disappointed man, nor yet to take further notice of your hasty words." "what do you mean, sir? what do you mean?" blustered the lieutenant. "ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! i see! here's a game!" roared bob chowne, dancing about in the exuberance of his delight. "what do you mean, sir? how dare you!" roared the officer turning upon bob. "why, i know," cried bob. "what a game! don't you see how it was?" "will you say what you mean, you young idiot?" cried the lieutenant. "oh, i say, it wasn't me who was the idiot," cried bob bluntly. "why, you let smuggler uggleston dodge back in the night. he was here about twelve or one, and he and his men must have been and fetched all the stuff away again, while you and your sailors were miles away in the dark." "sep," cried my father, as the lieutenant stood staring with wrath, "was jonas uggleston back here in the night?" "yes, father," i replied. "and you did not tell me?" "i have had no opportunity, father; and i did not think anything of it. he was here about one." "that's it, then," cried my father. "lieutenant, he has been too sharp for you. i noted that the sand was a good deal trampled. he has been back with his men and cleared out the place in your absence." the lieutenant stood staring as if he could not comprehend it all for a minute or two, and then flushing with rage he stamped about. "the scoundrel! the hound! the thief!" he roared. "i'll have him yet, though, and when i do catch him i'll hang him to the yard-arm, like the dog he is." "dog yourself," cried a fierce voice that we did not recognise, it was so changed; and bigley struck the lieutenant full in the face with the back of his hand. "my father is a better man than you." chapter thirty six. the lugger's return. the lieutenant staggered back from the effects of the blow. but recovering, he whipped out his sword and made at bigley, who hesitated for a moment and then dashed up the cliff-side, dodging in and out among the rocks, and he was twenty yards away before the lieutenant had gone ten, and gaining at every leap. seeing that he could not catch him, the lieutenant drew a pistol from his belt and would have fired, but my father caught his arm. "stop, sir," he cried; "he is but a boy." by this time the coxswain and four men had leaped ashore and run to their leader's side. "up and bring him back," shouted the lieutenant fiercely, and wresting his arm free he fired at bigley, but where the bullet went nobody could say, it certainly did not go very near bigley, who knew every rock and crevice on the side of the headland, and wound his way in and out, and higher and higher, leaving his pursuers far behind. "forward! quick!" roared the lieutenant; but it did not seem to me that the sailors got on very quickly, for they kept on losing ground, and it was so hopeless an affair at last that they were called off, and descended to follow their officer to the boat. he did not come near us where we stood in a group, and we saw him spring into the gig; but all at once he leapt out again and walked swiftly to us. "here," he said authoritatively, as if he had forgotten something, and he pointed to the cottage. "whose house is that?" "mine," said my father promptly. the lieutenant looked disappointed, and turned sharply back again. "it is my house," said my father as soon as the officer was out of hearing, and as if speaking to himself. "if he had said, `who lives there?' it would have been a different thing. he would have burnt and destroyed everything." we stood watching the gig as the lieutenant returned and it was pushed off. it was not long reaching the cutter, whose sails were hoisted rapidly, and, filling as they were sheeted home, the graceful vessel began to glide away from the shore, and soon afterwards was careening over and heading for the west in pursuit of the lugger or luggers, whichever it might be. "there, my lads," said my father, "you may go and look for your companion. he can come down safely now." "will the cutter come back, father?" i said. "i daresay it will, to see if uggleston's lugger returns; but i don't think the lugger will, and certainly uggleston will not dare to return here to live for some time to come." "then what's to become of bigley?" cried bob chowne. "his father must settle that, my lad." "but till he does, father?" i said. "will he stay here?" "certainly, my boy. why not? his father rents the cottage, and his son has a perfect right there." "you will not turn him out, then, because his father is a smuggler?" "i always try to be a just man, sep," replied my father quietly. "ahoy!" came from high up over our heads, and, looking up there, we could see bigley standing on the highest part of the headland waving his cap. "come down!" shouted bob and i in a breath, and he heard us, gave his cap another wave, and disappeared. he was not long in scrambling down to us, my father stopping till he came up looking very much abashed. "well, sir," said my father sternly. "what have you to say for yourself for striking one of his majesty's officers?" bigley's manner changed directly, his face flushed and he set his teeth as he raised his head boldly. "he called my father a dog and a thief," cried bigley fiercely, "and-- and--i don't want to offend you, captain duncan, but i couldn't stand by and hear him without doing something." "and you did do something, my lad," said my father, holding out his hand--"a very risky something. but there, i'm not going to say any more about it. now, tell me; your father has given you some instructions, i suppose?" bigley hesitated a moment. "yes, sir; he said that he should not be able to come back here, but he would write to me." "yes; go on." "and that i was to stay with mother bonnet as long as you would let me, and when you turned us out, we were to take lodgings in ripplemouth." "when i turned you out!" said my father angrily. "pish! ah, well, stop till i turn you out then. there, i must go now, sep; this will be a broken day for you. bring your two friends over to the bay, and we'll have tea and dinner all together." he turned off and left us, but i saw him give bigley a very friendly nod and smile as he went away, and i felt sure that he rather admired what bigley had done, though he kept up the idea of being very fierce and indignant with him for striking an officer of the royal navy. as soon as we were well alone bob chowne threw himself on the ground and began to laugh and wipe his eyes. "oh, what a game!" he cried, as he rolled about. "didn't old big run?" "enough to make anybody run when a bullet was after him," i said. "but how he did go up the rocks. just like a big rabbit. i say, big, you were frightened." "yes, that i was," said bigley frankly; "i don't know when i felt so scared. made sure he would hit me, and then that the sailors would cut me down with their swords." this disappointed bob, who had fully expected to hear a denial of the charge of fear, and he sat up and stared at the speaker, who turned to me then. "why, sep," he said, "they must have worked hard in the night to get all those things away. do you know, i'm sure that must have been the _hirondelle_. i wonder how they managed to get off." "i know," i said suddenly. "yah! not you," cried bob. "hark at old cock solomon, who knows everything." "i don't care what you say," i replied. "i'm sure this is how they've got away." "well, let's hear," said bob, and bigley's eyes flashed with eagerness. "why, they haven't got away at all," i said. "they wouldn't dare to go down channel after getting the cargo out of the cave, for fear of meeting the cutter just at daybreak." "and you think they've gone up towards bristol?" cried bigley excitedly. "yes," i said; "and they are lying up somewhere over yonder on the welsh coast till to-night, when they'll be off again." "that's it," said bigley. "i'm sure that's it." "i don't believe it," said bob sharply. "and if it is true, i'm ashamed of you both. here's sep duncan taking part with the smugglers, and old big hitting the officers in the eye, and bragging about his father. i shall look out for some fresh mates, that's what i shall do." "come and have some tea and dinner first, bob," i said mockingly. "yes, i'll have some food first, for i'm getting hungry. my, what a game, though! how old big did run when the lieutenant was going to give him a pill! ha, ha, ha!" we strolled about the shore, and then went into the cottage for a bit, and that afforded bob another opportunity for a few sneers about this being bigley's home now, addressing him as the master of the house, bantering him about being stingy with his cider, and finally jumping up as he saw my father coming down from the mine, and then we all went over to the bay to our evening meal. that night bigley and i went part of the way home with bob, and then i walked part of the way home with bigley in the calm and solitude of the summer darkness. we walked along the cliff path, and were about half-way to the gap when big caught me by the arm and pointed down below, about a quarter of a mile from the cliff, where, stealing along in the gloom, i caught sight of the sails of a small vessel, and directly after of those of another gliding on close at hand. they were so indistinct at first that i could see but little. then i could make out that they were both luggers by their rig, and that one of them had three masts and the other only two. chapter thirty seven. suspicions of danger. like all bits of excitement the coming of the cutter was followed by a time of calm. bigley seemed to have settled down to a regular life at the cottage, spending part of his days looking out to sea, and the other part up at the mine, where my father seemed now to give him always a very warm welcome. we saw the revenue cutter off the gap now and then, and we had reason to believe that the crew had landed and thoroughly examined the caves again, but we saw nothing of them; it was only from knowing that one evening the little vessel lay off the shore about a mile to the west of the gap, and bigley went along the shore at next low tide, and said afterwards that he thought he could make out footprints, but the tide had washed over everything so much that he was not sure. he heard no news of his father as week after week rolled by, till all at once came a letter from dunquerque, inclosing some money, and telling him that he had got away safely, and was quite well. "he said," bigley told me in confidence, for he did not show me the letter; "he said that if your father behaved badly to me i was to go away at once with mother bonnet and take lodgings at ripplemouth, just as he told me; but i don't think i shall have to do that." i laughed as he told me this, and then asked him if he was going to write back to his father. "no," said bigley; "he says i am not to write, because it might give people a clue to where he is. i don't care, now i know that he is quite well." then the time glided on, with everybody at the mine leading the busiest of busy lives. i was there every day, and the men won the lead, others smelted it and cast it into pigs, then the pigs were remelted and the silver extracted and ingots cast, which were stored up, after being stamped and numbered, down in the strong cellar beneath the counting-house floor. i did a great deal: sometimes i was down in the mine, whose passages began to grow longer; sometimes i was entering the number of pigs of lead that were taken over to ripplemouth, and shipped at the little quay for bristol; sometimes i was watching the careful process by which the silver was obtained from the lead, and learning a good deal about the art, while bigley seemed to be growing more and more one of us, and worked with the greatest of earnestness over the various tasks i had to undertake. "no news of old jonas, father?" i said one day as we were walking along the cliff path to the mine, a lugger in the offing having brought him to my mind. "no, sep," said my father; "but i'm afraid that we shall have a visit from him some day, and a very unpleasant one." "why?" i asked. "because he will never forgive me about that cave business. i saw the look he gave me, my boy. he does not seem to have any very great ideas of the meaning of the word honour, and he evidently could not see then that i was bound to state what i had seen." "but do you think he will owe you a grudge for that, father?" "i am sure of it, my boy. he never forgave me for buying the gap, and now i'm afraid this exposure of his smuggling tricks has made matters ten times worse." "oh, i hope not, father," i said eagerly. "so do i, my boy; but i have very little faith in him, and i always dwell in expectation that some day or other, or some night or another, he will land with a strong party, and come up here to work all the mischief he can--perhaps carry off all our silver." "but, father," i exclaimed, "that would be acting like a pirate." "well, sep, there is not much difference between a pirate and a smuggler. they are both outlaws, and not very particular about what they do." "oh, but i hope we shall have no trouble of that sort, for bigley's sake." "so do i, sep, but i feel this, that we are not safe, for we have made a dangerous enemy--one who can descend upon us at any time, and then get away by sea. what can we do if he makes such an attack?" "fight," i said bluntly. "we have plenty of arms, and the men will do just what they are bid." "yes," said my father; "but i should be deeply grieved for there to be any bloodshed. i've known what it is in my early days, sep, and in spite of all that has been said about honour and glory there is always an unpleasant feeling afterwards, when in cool blood you think about having destroyed your fellow-creatures' lives." "yes, father," i said; "there must be, and we don't want to do it; but if anyone comes breaking into the mine premises to steal, they must take the consequences." "yes, sep," said my father sternly, "they must, for i have enough of the old fighting-man left in me to make me say that i should not give up quietly if i was put to the proof." i thought a good deal about my father's words, but though i regularly made bigley my confidant, and told him pretty well everything, i did not tell him that, for i knew it would make him very uncomfortable, and besides it seemed such a horrible idea for us to have to be fighting against his father--our men against his. the time went on, and we kept on hearing about the french war, but we seemed to be, away there in our quiet devon combe, far from all the noise and turmoil, and very little of the news excited us. we knew when there was a big fight, and when one side got the better of the other; but to read the papers we always appeared to get the victory. but, as i say, it did not seem to concern us much, only when the country traffic was a bit disturbed, and our lead began to accumulate for want of the means of sending it away. "i don't so much mind the lead, sep," my father used to say; "what i mind is the silver." this was when the store beneath the counting-house became charged with too valuable a collection of ingots; and the second time this happened my father suddenly altered his arrangements. "i can't rest satisfied that all is safe," he said, "when i am away at the bay, and this place is only depending upon locks and keys." "what shall you do then, father?" i asked. "have a watchman!" he nodded. "who? old sam?" "no," he said; "ourselves, sep, my lad. it will not be so comfortable, but while the country is so disturbed we will come and live over here." no time was lost, and in two days the upper rooms of the counting-house and store had been filled with furniture, and kicksey came over for the day, and went back at night, after cooking and cleaning for us. as my father said, it was not so comfortable as being at home, but we were ready enough to adapt ourselves to circumstances; and any change was agreeable in those days. bigley was delighted, for it robbed his rather lonely life of its dulness, and he never for a moment realised why the change had been made. but though we were always on the spot, my father relaxed none of his old preparations. every other day there was an hour's drill or sword practice. sometimes an evening was taken for the use of the pistols; and, by degrees, under my father's careful instructions, the little band of about twelve men had grown into a substantial trustworthy guard of sturdy fellows, any one of whom was ready to give a good account of himself should he be put to the test. at first my father had been averse to bigley drilling with us, but he raised no obstacle, for he said to me, "we can let him learn how to use the weapons, sep, but it does not follow that he need fight for us." "and i'm sure he would not fight against us, father," i said laughing. so bigley grew to be as handy with the cutlass as any of the men, and no mean shot with the pistol. as for bob chowne, he came over and drilled sometimes, and he was considered to be our surgeon--that is, by bigley and me--but he was not with us very often, for his father kept him at work studying medicine, meaning him to be a doctor later on; but, as bob expressed it, he was always washing bottles or making pills, though as a fact neither of these tasks ever came to his share. four months--five months--six months had gone by since the adventure with the cutter, and bigley had only had two or three letters sending him money, and saying that his father was quite well, but there was not a word of returning; and it struck me old jonas must have had means of knowing that his son was still in the old cottage, or he would not have gone on sending money without having an answer back. the rumours about the war seemed to affect us less than ever, and i was growing so accustomed to my busy life that i thought little of my old amusements, save when now and then i went out for an evening's fishing with bigley, the old boat having been brought over from ripplemouth, none the worse for its trip. the mine went on growing more productive, and, in spite of the great expenses, it seemed as if my father would become a wealthy man. lead was sent one way, silver another, and when the latter accumulated, as we were on the spot, my father dismissed his anxiety, and we were gradually becoming lulled into a feeling of repose, save when bigley talked about his father, and then once more a little feeling of doubt and insecurity would slip in, as might have been the case in the olden times when the people near shore learned that some saxon or danish ship was hovering about the coast. chapter thirty eight. the landing of the french. it was nine months now since the scene, at the little bay, when one soft spring evening bigley and i were walking slowly back to the gap, after seeing bob chowne part of the way home to ripplemouth. the feeling of coming summer was in the air, the birds were singing in the oak woods their last farewell to the day, and from time to time we startled some thrush and spoiled his song. every now and then a rabbit gave us a glance at his furry coat as he sprang along, but soon it grew so dark that all we saw after each rustle was the speck of white which indicated his cottony tail, and soon even that was invisible. the thin sharp line of the new moon hung low in the west, and the sea had quite a steely gleam in the dying day, while the stars were peeping out and beginning to look at themselves in the glassy surface of the sea. here and there we could see the coasting vessels going up and down the channel, and just beneath the sinking moon there was a larger vessel coming up with the tide, but it was getting too dark to make out what it was. we kept along by the cliff path, and as we came to the descent that led to the cottage bigley and i parted, little thinking what an eventful night it was to prove. "you'll come up by and by," i shouted, when he was about half-way down; and he sent back a cheery reply that he would, as i went on along the gap. i found my father seated before his books entering some statement by the light of a candle, and as i came in he thrust the book from him wearily. "oh, there you are, then," he said good-humouredly. "look here, young fellow, i don't see why i should go on worrying and toiling over this mine just to make you well off. i was happy and comfortable enough without it, and here am i wearing myself out, getting no pleasure and no change, and all for you." "sell it then, father," i said. "i don't want you to work so hard for me. i don't want to be rich. give it up." "no," he said smiling; "no, sep. it gives me a great deal of care and anxiety, but i do not mind. the fact is, sep, i was growing fat and rusty, and loosing my grip on the world. a do-nothing life is a mistake, and only fit for a pet dog, and him it kills. i wanted interesting work, and here it is, and i am making money for you at the same time." "but i don't think i want much money, father," i said. "maybe you will when you grow older." "i wish i could help you better," i said. "help me? why, i am quite satisfied with you, my boy. you help me a great deal. there, put away those books, and let us have some supper. i find we have nearly eight thousand ounces of silver down below here, and it's far too much to have in our charge. we must get it away, sep, as soon as we can." "what would eight thousand ounces be worth?" i said. "somewhere about two thousand pounds, my lad. but there, let's have some supper, and then i should like to have a pipe for half an hour in the soft fresh air." a tray was already waiting upon a side-table, and bringing it to occupy the place where the books had lain, we sat down and ate a hearty meal before we had done, after which i lifted the tray aside, and handed my father the tobacco jar. in a few minutes he began to fill his pipe, and when he had lit it, i sat watching him and noticed how the soft thin smoke began to curl about his face, and float up between me and the row of cutlasses and pistols with the belts that were arranged along the wall. "now, let's have ten minutes' fresh air before we go to bed," he said rising. "you don't want to come, i suppose." "oh, yes, i'll come," i replied, and i stepped out with him into the soft transparent night. "ah, that's delicious!" he exclaimed as we walked a little way down the gap, and then struck up the path leading to the high cliff track. it was very dark, but at the same time clear; and as we paused after a time there were the lights below us in the new cottages, while above the stars shone out brilliantly and twinkled as if it was about to be a frost. "what a calm peace there is over everything!" said my father thoughtfully. "why, sep, my very weariness seems to be a pleasure, it is so full of the promise of rest." "i'm tired too," i said. "i've been walking a good way to-day. how plainly you can hear the sea!" "yes, the wind must be from the north. but how soft, and sweet, and gentle it is! what is that?" "what?" i replied listening, for i had not detected a sound. "that noise of trampling feet. don't you hear?" i listened. "yes, it is as if some people were coming along from the beach." "what people should be coming along from the beach?" exclaimed my father in an excited manner. "or is it the murmur of the waves, father?" i said. "no," he whispered after listening; "there are people coming, and that was a sharp quick order. run down to the cottages and warn the foreman. follow out the regular orders. you know. if it is a false alarm it will not matter, for it will be exercise for getting the men together against real trouble." "right, father," i said, and i was just about to run off to give the alarm to the foreman, who would alarm another man while i went to a fresh house. then there would be four of us to alarm four more, who would run up to the rendezvous while we alarmed four more, and so the gathering would be complete, and the men at the counting-house and armed in a very few minutes. i say i was just about to rush off, when a dark figure made a rush at us, and caught hold of my father's arm. "quick, captain!" he whispered. "the french. landed from a big sloop. coming up the gap." "are you sure?" said my father in a low voice. the answer came upon the soft breeze, and i stopped for no more, but ran down the slope as hard as i could go, dashed into the foreman's cottage, gave the alarm, and he leaped up, his wife catching up her child and following to go along the gap, as already arranged, the woman knowing that the others would follow her so as to get to a place of safety in case of the enemy getting the upper hand. it proved, as my father had trusted, but a matter of very few minutes before four men were running to the counting-house to receive the weapons ready for them, and for eight to follow, while the women and children were being hurried from the cottages and away inland. the foreman and i were in front of the six men we were bringing, and as we ran and neared the dim grey-looking building that was to be our fort, we could hear the coming of what seemed to be quite a large body of men, who were talking together in a low voice, while from time to time a sharp command was uttered. then, all at once, and just as we reached the counting-house, there was a fresh order, and the sounds ceased, not a voice to be heard, and the tramp completely hushed. "what did it mean?" i asked myself, as a curious sensation of excitement came over me, for it seemed that the strangers, whoever they were, perhaps the french, as bigley had said, had halted to fire at us as we rushed to the counting-house door, and i fully expected to see the flashes of their muskets, and hear the reports and the whistling of the bullets. but no, all remained still, and we paused at the door to let the others pass in first, and then, with a wonderful sense of relief, i leaped in, and heard the door closed behind quickly, but with hardly a sound. it was a curious sensation. the moment before i felt in terrible danger. now i felt quite safe, for i was behind strong walls, though in reality i was in greater danger than before. there was no confusion, no hurry. the drilling had been so perfect, and my father had been for so long prepared for just such an emergency as this, that everything was done with a matter-of-fact ease. already as we reached the door the four first comers had been armed; now as the men entered they crossed over to the other side, and cutlass, pistols, and a well-filled cartouche-box were handed to each, and he took them, strapped on his belt, and then fell in, standing at ease. "all armed?" said my father then, as we stood in the dark. there was no answer--a good sign that everyone was supplied. "the women and children gone?" said my father then. no answer again. "load!" said my father. then there was a rustling noise, the clicking of ramrods, a dull thudding, more clicking, and silence. "now," said my father, "no man to fire until i give the word. trust to your cutlasses, and i daresay we can beat them off. ready?" there was a dead silence. "i would light the candles," said my father in a low firm voice, "but it would be helping the enemy, if enemy they are. who's that?" "it is i, sir, bigley," said a familiar voice. "i had forgotten you. what is it?" "i have no weapons, sir." "no, of course not. boy, you cannot fight." "why not, sir?" "because--because--" i was close to them, and they were speaking in a low tone; "because--" said my father again. "because you think i should be fighting against my father," said bigley sharply; "but i'm sure, sir, that it is not so." "how do i know that?" said my father. _rap, rap, rap_, came now at the door, and a voice with a decided french accent, a voice that sounded familiar to me, said: "ees any boady here?" "there, sir, it is the french." "i don't know that," said my father. then: "stand fast, my lads." "ees any boady here?" said the same voice. "yes. who's there?" said my father. "aha, it is good," came from outside. "my friends and bruders have make great meestakes and lose our vays. can you show us to ze ripplemouts towns?" "straight down to the sea and along by the cliff path east," said my father shortly. "open ze doors; i cannot make myselfs to hear." my father repeated his instructions; there was a low murmur outside; and then there was a sharp beating on the door, as if from the hilt of a sword. "what now?" cried my father. "le capitaine dooncane," cried a sharp fierce voice. "well?" said my father. "i am captain duncan." "open this door," said the same voice, speaking in french. "what if i refuse?" said my father in the same tongue. "if you refuse it will be broken down--directly." "is it the war?" said my father mockingly. "it is the war," was the reply. "open, and no harm will be done to you. resist, and there will be no quarter. is it surrender?" "monsieur forgets that he is talking to an english officer," said my father. "stand back, sir; we are well-armed and prepared." there was a low murmur of voices outside, and my father exclaimed: "sep, bigley, upstairs with you and six men. two of you to each window, and beat down with your cutlasses all who try to board. well keep the doors here. now, my lads, tables and chairs against the doors. you'll find the wickets handy. i thought so; they're at the back door already." he darted to the back room, helped place a table against the door, mounted upon it, and as the blows of a crowbar were heard, he placed a pistol to the little wicket in the panel high up, and fired a shot to alarm the attacking party. the blows of the crowbar ceased, and a low suppressed yell from many voices broke out from all round the little stone-built place. "that has quieted them for the moment," said my father; and, applying his eye to an aperture made for the purpose, he inspected the attacking force. "french marines," he said quietly. "well, my lads, they're outside and we are in. if they leave us alone we will not injure them, if they attack they must take the consequences. it is war time; they have landed, and we are fighting for our homes and all belonging to us. will you fight?" there was a low dull growl at this, uttered it seemed by every man present, and as my father's words had been distinctly heard upstairs, the men with bigley and me joined in. "that's good," said my father. "i thought so. now once more trust to your strong aims and cutlasses. a couple of shots and then swords. they don't want loading again. if they break in we must retreat upstairs. if they prove too much for us and force their way up, we must hold out as long as we can, and then retreat by the north window and back up the west side of the valley among the big stones; but no retreat till i give the word. now, my lads, do you want anything to make you fight?" "only the orders, captain," said the foreman, "or the french beggars to come on." "all in good time. what are they doing?" said my father. "one shot can't have scared them off. ah, the cowards! i expected as much." for just then a dull light shone in through the window, and made every bar clear. the dull light became brighter, and the frenchmen set up a cheer. "they've fired the big shed roof, sir," said the foreman. "father," i cried down the stairs, "they have fired sanders's cottage." "curse 'em," growled the foreman. "i'll make pork crackling of somebody's skin for that." "now they've gone on to the next cottage," cried bigley. "they're firing all the cottages," cried another of the men, and now the growl that rose from our little force was furious and fierce, and full of menace against the enemy, who had done this to give them ample light as i suppose. "never mind, my lads, they have forgotten that it will make it easier for us," said my father. "but hold your fire. it will be wanted here." we could see each other plainly now, and it became necessary to look out cautiously, for fear of offering ourselves as targets for the frenchmen's shots. we could see that about a dozen well-armed men were in front, and another group of as many at the back of the house; but they were paying little heed to us for the moment, being engaged in watching their companions, who were running from cottage to cottage, firing them by thrusting torches under the thatch, and shouting and chattering to each other, as if these acts of wanton destruction were so much amusement in which they had delight. over and over again men made their pistols click, and were ready in their rage to send bullets flying amongst the wreckers of their homes; but my father uttered a low warning. "stand fast. not till i say _fire_. never mind your homes, my lads, we'll soon raise better ones, and your wives and children are all safe. wait." there was a low growl as if so many bull-dogs were being held back from their prey, and once more all was silent within. then there was a good deal of chattering and rushing, and the firing parties came back to where their companions were waiting, and we knew by the next order given that our time had come. chapter thirty nine. desperate times. in my heat and excitement i wondered that my father did not order his little company of men to begin firing at a time when every shot would tell, for there was a feeling of rage within me, roused by the wanton destruction of the cottages and every portion of the works that would burn; but i had not learned all my lessons then, and how a just and brave man, whether soldier or sailor, shrinks from destroying life until absolutely obliged. my father came upstairs for a minute about the time when i was thinking this the most, and i could see a peculiarly hard stern look in his eyes as the fire flashed through the window upon his face. "mind: no firing," he said, "until they attack, and i give the word." i felt afterwards how right he was, but then it seemed almost cowardly. i soon altered my opinion, for all at once the french leader came up to the door and struck it with the hilt of his sword, as he exclaimed in french: "now, captain duncan, surrender!" no reply was given. "open this door and pass out the whole of the silver bars you have there," was the next command, and this time my father answered: "come and take them if you can--_si vous osez_," he added in french. there was no more delay. a couple of men were ordered to the front with iron bars, and they began to batter the door heavily, but without any further effect than to chip off splinters and make dints. the men were called off, the rest standing ready to fire at anyone who should show a face at the windows, but we gave them no opportunity, for my father whispered: "they are sixty. we are only just over a dozen. wait, men, wait." "what are they doing, big?" i whispered to my companion, for he was in a better post for observations than myself. "i can't quite see," he whispered back. "they've got a bag of something, and they're bringing it to the door." i looked out quickly. "powder!" i exclaimed, and then i ran to the head of the stairs and called down to my father: "they are going to blow in the door with powder." "good!" said my father coolly, and issuing an order or two he drew all his men together into the back room. "stay where you are, sep," he whispered; "the explosion will not touch you, only, if we are hard pressed afterwards, come down with your men and take the enemy in the rear." i felt my heart swell with pride at being treated like this, and the nervous sensation of dread grew less. "sooner the better, master sep," said one of the workmen. "better keep away from the window, sir." "no," i replied, "i must see what they are doing." i felt that i must, and going to the window i stood upon a chair, and, keeping out of sight, looked down from the upper corner just in time to see a man run back from the door to join his companions, several of whom held rough torches of oakum steeped in tar. "what are they doing, big?" i whispered. "that fellow has just laid a powder-bag by the door. but, sep, you can't see any englishmen there, can you?" "no," i said hastily; "but i'm sure that's the french skipper gualtiere standing to the left of the french captain." "so it is," whispered bigley. "i thought i knew the face. look out!" "what are they going to do?" "the men are being drawn back, all but the fellows with the lights, and one of them is coming forward to light the powder. yes; now all the others are retiring." "i can see," i whispered. "now i can see the man with the torch. i say, will it blow the place up?" "i don't know," said bigley in a low whisper; "but i feel horribly frightened." "so do i," i whispered back; "but don't let's show it, big." "i won't," he said sturdily. just then the man who had approached slowly made a dash in close to the house, and i was thinking that somebody ought to have shot him down when he dashed back again, and his friends received him with a loud shrill cheer. as the cheer died away there was a low hissing noise from outside, and i knew it was the fuse burning, and then we all shrank together to the farthest corner of the room, waiting in the most painful suspense for the explosion, which we knew must follow, but which seemed as if it would never come. it was only a matter of so many seconds, but they seemed to be minutes of terrible suspense, before there was a flash, the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room, and then, in the midst of a terrific roar, the floor was lifted up, and one end then fell, so that we all slid down into the room below in the midst of splinters, plaster, dust, and broken joists, just as the frenchmen uttered a yell, and came dashing towards the open door. what followed was one scene of wild confusion. it seemed that my father and his men came dashing out of the back room, and we were seized and dragged over the heap of broken wood-work and plaster, to be placed behind it, where we struggled to our feet, and then, in the midst of the clouds of blinding dust and choking gunpowder smoke, everybody made a breast-work of the damaged wood, and received the charge of the french sailors with pistol-shots and blows from the cutlasses. this proved so effective that they fell back, running out as fast as they came in, and my father took advantage of the lull to have a few pieces of furniture dragged forward, and laid upon the heap of refuse so as to give us a better breast-work to fight behind. "hurt, sep?" cried my father. "no," i replied, "only shaken." "that's well. keep more back, my boy. now, lads, cutlasses; here they come!" there was a yell and a rush, the clashing of steel, with shouts and groans, and the frenchmen were beaten back again. "time for breathing, my lads," cried my father, as we stood there in the darkness with the light full upon our enemies as they gathered at a short distance from the shattered doorway. "who's hurt?" "no one much, captain," growled the foreman. "a few chops and scratches. here they are!" for just then there was a yell, and the enemy rushed at us, coming in a little column, and this time led by an officer. they could only come in two at a time; but, as they darkened the doorway and made their rush, they spread out as they entered like a fan right and left, and once more the groans, yells, and blows rang out. it was clearer now, for the smoke and dust had floated out, and i could see something of the desperate fight that was going on, with men falling, and others of the frenchmen from behind filling their places, for they kept on thronging in through the open doorway, till the counting-house was densely packed, and those behind literally drove their companions forward, till the rough breast-work was beaten and trampled down, and our little party forced back towards the wall that separated us from the inner room, in which there was a doorway leading into a back place, opening on to the cliff slope. i can't pretend to describe what took place accurately. all i know is, that in the midst of a scene of shouting, yelling, and clashing cutlasses, i found myself crushed against the back wall with my sword above my head, and my ribs seeming to give way, as i was pinned there helplessly, till all at once there was a tremendous crash, and we were all driven backwards in a heap, friends and enemies together. for the wood-work partition, already damaged by the force of the explosion, had given way, and we were precipitated into the back room. what followed i hardly know, for as the men struggled up from the ruin the fight began again, and the result was that i found myself with my father and five men in the little back place of all, where the door opened out into the valley; but of course it was locked and barricaded inside, and the door into the back room was held by my father, the foreman, and two others, who were keeping about a dozen frenchmen at bay, yelling and cutting and thrusting at them. "sep! here! quick!" my father shouted, without turning his head, for the enemy kept him occupied parrying their cuts and points. "i am here, father," i said, getting close behind him. "right. stand firm, my lads!" said my father. "we're beaten, but we must retreat in order. ah, would you?" this last was to a frenchman who dashed in at him, but only to have his thrust parried, and to go down with an upward cut which disabled his sword arm. "sep," he whispered then, "open the back door. be ready. we must now make a dash for the rocks. you lead; i'll keep the rear. mind, my lads," he said to the stanch group about him, "keep together. if you separate you are lost. you'll be cut down or prisoners before you can raise a hand." these words were all said in a jerky way in the midst of plenty of cutting and foining; for, though the frenchmen did not attempt to pass the doorway, they kept on making fierce thrusts at us, though with little result. i crept back and unfastened the door silently, so as not to draw the enemy's attention, and, holding my sword ready, i peered out, the noise going on drowning that i made with the lock and bolts. to my dismay i saw that there were three of the enemy on guard, and, closing the door softly, i took a couple of steps back, and told my father. "only three!" he said coolly. "oh, that's nothing. now, then, to the door! hold it ready. in a few moments you will see us make a dash and drive these fellows back. then we shall turn and follow you. dash out with a good shout, and strike right and left. the men there are sure to run. then all for the rocks, and don't look back; we shall follow." i obeyed him exactly. just as i had the door ready to fling open, my father, the foreman, and the others suddenly sprang forward, as if about to drive the frenchmen out of the counting-house, and they fell back. then open went the door. i saw our fellows turn round, and, sword in hand and feeling as if i was going to my death, i dashed right at the three men guarding the back, shouting "hurrah!" at the top of my voice. i felt sure that they would run me through, but my father was right. one ran to the left, another to the right, and the other straight on up the steep slope, and, as i cut at him desperately, down he went untouched, save by a stone over which he tripped, and we all went over him as we rushed up the valley side to the shelter of the rocks, and with the enemy swarming out and after us. it was rough work, but we knew our way. the enemy were strange, and before we had toiled up a hundred yards they began to tail off. in another hundred we were some way up, and panting behind a clump of rocks that formed quite a little fort, while below us we could see the enemy gathered together in a group, and evidently about to return. chapter forty. after the fight. "let's get breath first," said my father. "sit down, my lads, anywhere. how many are we? only six all told? who's hurt?" "oh, i'm all right, captain," said the foreman; "only a bit of a cut." "only a bit of a cut!" said my father. "here, hold your arm." my father drew out a bandage from his pocket, and tied up the foreman's arm, and he had no sooner done this than another man offered himself to be bandaged. just then a couple of shots were fired in our direction, and we heard the bullets strike the rocks not far away; but while our enemies were below, and in the full glare of the burning cottages, we were above them, and in the darkness of the shadows cast by the rocks. so the shots were allowed to go unheeded, while the bandaging went on, every one having some injury which was borne without a murmur. "are you hurt, sep?" said my father then, anxiously, after he had attended to his men. "i don't think i'm cut anywhere," i said; "but my left arm hurts a good deal, and i can't breathe as i should like to." "breathe?" he said eagerly. "yes; it hurts my side here and catches." "humph!" he said. "can you tie this round my shoulder?" "why, father," i said, "are you wounded too?" "a scratch, my boy; but it bleeds a good deal." he tore open his coat and tried to take it off, but could not, and we had to help him, and then roughly bandage his shoulder, where he had received a horrible cut. i trembled as i helped, and forgot my own pains. he noticed my trembling and laughed. "bah, sep!" he said; "this is nothing. i'm afraid some of our poor fellows there are worse. ah, who's that? be ready, men; we must retreat, we are not in fighting trim." for we could see a dark figure coming up after us, and it seemed to be an enemy; but directly after half a volley was fired at the figure, and we saw it drop and roll over. "down!" said my father with a groan. "oh, if we were only fresh and strong! but they are six to one, my lads, and it would be madness." "look, father!" i cried pointing; "they are going back." that was plain enough, and that they were going rapidly in answer to shouts of recall. so, encouraged by this, we were about to run down and help the man who had been shot, when by the glow of the fire we saw him rise up on his knees, and directly after there were a couple of flashes and reports, as he fired his pistols after the retreating foe, and then began to crawl up towards where we were. "why, it's bigley, father," i said excitedly. "ahoy!" "ahoy!" came back; and i saw my school-fellow get up and begin limping towards us as fast as he could come. i ran to meet him, but stopped before i had gone many yards, for the painful sensation in my side checked me, and i was glad to hold my hand pressed upon the place, and wait till he came up. "oh, i am glad!" he cried, catching my hand. "i thought--no, i won't say what i thought." "but you are hurt," i said. "is it your leg?" "yes, i feel just as if i was a gull, sep, and someone had shot me." "and you are shot?" "yes, but only in the leg. is the captain up there?" "yes," i said, "and three or four of the men. i say, big, what a terrible night!" "yes," he replied, in a curious tone of voice; "but, i'm glad it's the french, and that no one else has done it." my father had come down to where we were seated, and made us follow him to the shelter of the rocks. "they may catch sight of you, my lads," he said, "and turn you into marks." "are you going to stop them now, captain?" said bigley, following. "what are you going to do?" "i'm ready to do anything, my lad," said my father sadly; "but what can half a dozen injured men, whose wounds are getting stiff, do against half a hundred sound?" bigley sighed. "couldn't we sit up here in the rocks and pick them all off with the carbines, sir?" he said suddenly. "yes, my lad, perhaps we could shoot down a few if we had the carbines, which we have not. no: we can do nothing but sit down and wait till we get well, comforting ourselves with the thought that we have done our best." we were watching the french sailors now, not a man showing the slightest inclination to retreat farther, but standing like beaten dogs growling and ready to rush at their assailants if they could get the chance. swords had been sheathed, but only while pistols were recharged; and then, as soon as these weapons were placed ready in belts, the cutlasses were drawn again; and just as they had obeyed the order to retreat, the men would have followed my father back, wounded as they were, to another attack. down below the frenchmen were as busy as bees. we could hear the crackle and snap of wood as they seemed to be tearing it out of the counting-house; and then it was evident what they had been doing, for a torch danced here and there, and stopped in one place and seemed to double in size, to quadruple, and at last there was a leaping flame running up and a pile of wood began to blaze. "there go years of labour!" said my father, speaking unconsciously so that the men could hear. "one night to ruin everything!" "nay, captain, such of us as is left 'll soon build un up again," said the foreman. "women and children's safe, and there's stuff enough in the hillside to pay for all they've done." "ah! so there is, my brave fellow," said my father warmly. "you are teaching me philosophy." "am i, captain?" said the man innocently. "think they'll find the silver?" "i'm watching to see," said my father; "i don't know yet. five minutes will show. i fear they know where to look." bigley was leaning on my shoulder at this time, and he gave me quite a pinch as his hand closed, but he did not speak; and there was no need, for i understood his thoughts, poor fellow! and what he must be feeling. as the fires at the cottages were beginning to sink, the one the frenchmen had lit by the counting-house blazed up more brightly. they kept feeding it with furniture, joists, and broken planks, about a dozen men running to and fro tearing out the broken wood-work and clearing the interior till we could see that everything had been swept away; and then there was a buzz of excitement by the ruined building while the hammer and clangour of crowbars could be heard, followed by the tearing up of more boards; and i knew as well as if i could see that the trap-door leading to the cellar was being demolished. "they know where the silver be, captain," said our foreman; and once more bigley started and i felt him spasmodically grip my shoulder. "yes," said my father between his teeth; "they know where the silver is. a planned thing, my man--a planned thing." "none o' us had anything to do with it, captain, i swear," cried the foreman excitedly. "there wasn't a lad here as would have put 'em up to where it was hid." "hush, man! what are you saying?" cried my father. "as if it were likely that i should suspect any of the brave fellows who have been ready to give their lives in the defence of my works." "but can't we get the rest together, captain, and stop 'em, or cut 'em off, or sink their boats, or something?" "no, my lad, i'm afraid we can do nothing more than see them--ah! they have found it!" said my father as a loud shout of triumph rang out from below. "well, as you say, there's plenty more in the hillside, and we must set to work again, i suppose, and take warning by this and never keep a store here." it was all plain enough. the silver was found, and the little boxes in which the ingots were packed in saw-dust were carried out and stood down by the blazing fire--twenty of them; and just as this was done there was the thud of a cannon away off the mouth of the gap. "signal for recall," said my father. it was quickly obeyed, for the french formed up round twenty of their party who shouldered the boxes. four men with drawn swords went first, as if they were making a showy procession in the blaze of the burning fire; then came the twenty men carrying silver, then six more with drawn swords; then a group of about ten who seemed to be wounded, and four more who were being carried; and lastly some twenty or thirty, with swords flashing in the firelight, to form a rearguard. "_en avant_!" rang out clearly in the night air, and away they went chattering and making plenty of noise, just as a second gun was fired and seemed to make the air throb as the report echoed up the valley. "why, there must be nigh a hundred on 'em. we may have a shot at 'em now, captain, mayn't us?" cried the foreman. "what for, my man?" said my father kindly. "if we could save the silver i would say yes, but it would be only spilling blood unnecessarily. we made a brave defence and were beaten. we could not master them now, even if we could fire volleys every five minutes. it would only mean a fierce fight, and we should be hunted down one by one for nothing. no: they have won. let them go now, but i should like to see them embark. a good-sized french man-of-war must be off the gap." "come on, then, captain, and let's get over the mouth." "no," said my father. "you go with my son and one of the men, but i forbid firing. see all you can. i must stay and look after our poor fellows here, unless they've taken them away as prisoners." "ah! i forgot them," said our man. "come along, master sep. let's go down here and cross, and get on the cliff path." "will you go, big?" i said. "no, i couldn't walk," he replied. "i can hardly get down here." "i'll look after him," said my father. "go on, but take care not to be caught." "we'll mind that, captain," was the reply; and we descended as rapidly as pain would let us, reached the stream, crossed the path the frenchmen had taken, and went on diagonally up the slope, getting higher above the enemy at every step, and talking together in a low tone about the fight, and how the poor fellows were whom we had missed. "i hope and pray," said our foreman, "as no one ar'n't killed; and, my lor', how my arm do hurt!" "so do i. poor fellows!" i said, "how well they all fought!" "ay, they did. but the captain, master sep, he was like a lion all the time. why, lad, what's the matter?" "i--i don't want to make too much fuss," i panted; "but i'm broken somewhere, and it hurts horribly." "sit you down, lad, and wait till we come back," said the foreman kindly. "no," i said, grinding my teeth, "i won't give up;" and i trudged on, knowing as well as could be that one or two of my ribs were broken when i was crushed against the wall, just before it gave way. and all the time below us to the left wound the line of frenchmen. it was so dark that we could not have told that they were there, but for the low babel of sounds that arose of voices and trampling feet, while now and then a sound more painful to us still came up in the form of a groan or a faint cry of pain, and after one of these outbursts the foreman said: "i wonder whether that be one of our lads." "nay, not it," said our companion roughly; "it be a frenchy. one of our lads wouldn't make a noise like that if you cut his head off." i felt sure he was right, and i could not help smiling, but i was in too much pain to speak. and so we trudged on, our paths diverging in a way that took us higher and higher towards where the track curved round the cliff at the east side of the gap, while theirs, of course, kept down by the stream to the beach. it was a weary painful walk, for the excitement was now gone, and my companions' wounds were stiffening, and giving them as much pain as my chest did me; but no one murmured, and we kept on till we were at the mouth of the gap, high up above where four boats were lying, while half a mile away we could see the lights and dimly make out the hull of a large vessel. in spite of our pain we had made most progress, and were waiting some minutes before the head of the column came up, and there, as we seated ourselves hundreds of feet above, we could watch the embarkation of the little force, and see in a dim way the boats run in, hear the plashing of feet in the shallow water, and then the sound of the boxes as they were laid in the bottom of one of the boats, this boat being then rowed out about a dozen yards to wait for the others. "only wish it was a storm instead of a calm smooth time," said our foreman. "everything seems for 'em. i can't see why the ripplemouth people haven't been over to help us. they must have seen the fires." "no," i said, "i don't suppose they would. see how deep down in the valley the cottages are." it was quite dark where we were sitting, but there appeared to be a pale light on the sea which enabled us to make out all that was going on below; and we watched the boats fill, and one by one push off, the wounded men being divided between the four. it was plain enough, and it made me shudder when some poor fellow was lifted moaning in by his comrades, who did not seem to be any too tender in their ways. at last all were on board, and the word was given to start. there was a loud plashing as the oars dropped into the water, and we saw one boat lead off, and then a second follow, then the third and the fourth in single file, and making haste to join the big vessel, upon which signal lights were burning. "why, they don't know the way," i exclaimed, as i saw them bear off at once to the eastward instead of following right out the meandering channel of the little river. "don't know the way?" cried our foreman; "why, it's plain enough. they're at sea." "they're over a lot of dangerous rocks," i said excitedly; "and if there don't happen to be water enough they'll come upon the goat and kids, and perhaps be upset." "no fear," said the foreman; "they'll know better than that." they were now about four hundred yards from the shore, and fading away into the darkness, heading for the lights of the french ship, and far to the east now of the course of the river, where it ran down through the sand and shingle--a course the lugger always followed when going out or coming in. but all seemed to be well with the boats, the regular beat of whose oars we could hear though they were quite out of sight, when all at once there came out of the darkness a tremendous yell, and we all started to our feet in alarm. we could see nothing, but as we listened to the cries for help, and the shouting and splashing of the water, it was evident that an accident had occurred, and it needed very little imagination to picture the men of an overset boat struggling in the water, and being helped into the others. "there's one of them capsized on the goat rock," i said excitedly. "think so, my lad?" said our foreman hoarsely. "i'm sure of it," i cried. "oh! if the day would break and we could only see." as if in response to my wish there was a faint gleam out in the darkness just like a pale star, and then a blue glow which lit up the scene with a curiously sickly glare. it made everything very plain, and by this light we could see that there were three crowded boats out in the blue circle of light, while we could just see the fourth beyond them upside down, the keel just above the water, and three men seated astride. "regular capsize," said our foreman. "hope none of the wounded chaps aren't drowned. don't mind about the rest." the blue light burned out, but not before we had plainly seen that it was burning in the bows of the largest boat, and that the men on that capsized had been dragged into one of the others. then, as we listened, the babble of voices ceased, the plash of oars recommenced, and gradually died away. "well," i said, "we may as well go back and report what we have seen. they've gone now." "yes," growled our foreman, holding his hand to his wound, "and they've left their marks behind." chapter forty one. amongst the wounded. weary as our walk down to the mouth of the gap had been, that back seemed far worse, and we reached the fire by the counting-house, which still burned brightly, being fed with more wood, to find my father anxiously awaiting our news. "gone!" he said. "yes, but they may return. two--no we cannot spare two men, one must go and keep watch to warn us of their return." "i'll go, captain duncan," said bigley, limping up. "i can't walk about much, but i can sit down there on the top rocks and watch." "very good, my lad," said my father, "but take your pistols and fire twice rapidly if boats come in again." as bigley squeezed my hand and started off, my father exclaimed: "now i must have a messenger to go to ripplemouth for doctor chowne. what man is not wounded?" there was a murmur among the group assembled about the fire, a grim blood-smeared powder-blackened set of beings, several of whom had had their hair scorched away by the explosion. there was not a man who was not ready to go, but there was not one who was not wounded. "i hardly know whom to send," said my father. "sep, can you get over there?" "i'll try, father," i replied from where i was sitting down on a piece of rock; but i spoke so faintly that my father came to my side, and caught my cold damp hand, and laid his upon my wet forehead. "madness!" he muttered. "look here, my lads," he cried, "a couple of the women must be found at once." "ahoy! duncan, ahoy!" it was a distant hail from high up on the track. "heaven be praised!" cried my father, and then he shouted, "chowne, ahoy!" there was an answering hail, and in five minutes more doctor chowne came scrambling down the side of the ravine upon his pony, with bob hanging on to its tail. "my dear boy!" exclaimed the doctor, grasping my father's hand. "we heard the guns, and could make out the lights of a big vessel off here. i was afraid that something was wrong, and going up the hill yonder i could see the glow in the sky. that decided me, and we came over together. anybody hurt?" "well, yes, a little," said my father grimly. as he spoke the first grey dawn of morning was beginning to show in the valley and mingle strangely with the glow of the big fire and of the sickly flickering gleam above the burned-out cottages. it was a doleful sight upon which the doctor gazed round as he stripped off his coat. my father, blackened, scorched, and blood-stained, was standing with the foreman, six men were sitting or half reclining on the ground, and four more lay on their backs as if insensible. it was a ghastly answer to the question, "is anybody hurt?" for there was no one without a serious wound. "ah! i see," said the doctor grimly. "well, is anybody killed?" "heaven forbid!" cried my father. "amen," said the doctor. "here, bob, bandages, scissors. fine lesson in surgery for you. now, captain, you first." "no, no--the men," said my father. "here, i've no time to waste," cried the doctor. "now, then, who's worst?" "mas'r sep," cried the foreman loudly; and there was a sort of chorus of "ay, ay!" i tried to protest, but i felt sick, and as if i should faint, and the doctor cried: "hold your tongue, sir. now then, what is it--bullet or sword cut?" "oh!" i shrieked, for he had seized me rather roughly. "there, eh?" said the doctor, "that's it, is it? here, knife, bob." "what is it?" said my father excitedly; "an operation?" "yes," said doctor chowne, "on his coat. only going to rip it off, man. what a fuss you do make about your boy!" "but tell me, chowne," cried my father, "is he badly hurt?" "badly hurt? no. a few ribs broken seemingly. i'll soon bandage him up." he did, and very painful it was; but at the same time it seemed to give me strength and confidence, as he wound the stout bandage round and round and left bob grinning at me as he fastened the ends, while he went to another patient. "been a regular fight, then?" said bob, who kept on questioning me, and making me tell him everything, though i felt as if i could hardly speak. "yes," i said, "terrible." "but old big; where's he?" "wounded, and keeping watch where the frenchmen went." "old big wounded, eh? and a regular fight--french and english too. well, of all the shabby mean beggars that ever lived, you and old bigley are about the two worst." "what do mean?" i cried angrily. "there, don't wriggle that way or i shall stick the needle in you. to go and have a big genuine fight like that and never let me know." "here, bob, quick!" cried the doctor, and my old school-fellow had to go and help bandage another's wound. "he will have his grumble," i said to myself, smiling as well as i could for one in pain. the daylight grew broader, and the blackened counting-house and cottages more desolate-looking, the whole place seeming to be suffering from the effects of some terrible storm, and as i lay there i saw the doctor go on busily bandaging the poor fellows' wounds, every one suffering the pain he was caused without a murmur. the worst cases he temporarily bandaged, leaving the rest till the men were better able to bear it, and at last he came round to my father, who was wounded in two places. "die? no: there are some ugly chops and holes, but i'm not going to let any of the brave fellows die," cried the doctor cheerily. "now the first thing is to get the women back and a roof over that long shed in case it should rain. i'll have a lot of ling cut for beds, but i must have some help. perhaps i had better ride over to the village--no, i'll send my boy. but i say, duncan, i think you ought to have given better account of the frenchmen." "why, they had to get fifteen or sixteen wounded men away," i cried, and then winced. "and serve 'em right," said the doctor. "here, bob!" _bang, bang_! "what's that?" "bigley's signal; and by the way, doctor, the poor lad is wounded too. come along and see." "no, i'll go," said the doctor. "you are not fit." "but i'm going all the same," cried my father; and i saw them go off along the cliff path. "here, mars sep," said our foreman, "i'm going to climb up yonder to see what's going on; will you come?" "i don't think i can do it," i said, "but i'll try;" and with the help of his hand now and then i managed to climb up the west slope of the gap right to the very top, where, in the bright sunny morning, we saw a sight that filled us with horror, for a couple of well-filled boats were rowing towards us from the side of a large sloop of war, from whose port-holes projected a row of guns that seemed to threaten fresh destruction to our coast. but all at once we saw a flag run fluttering up to the peak and then blow out clear, with the result that the boats began to alter their course, turning completely round and rowing back to the man-of-war. as they were going back we could see sail after sail drop down from the yards of the sloop; and as the boats reached her and were hoisted up to the davits, she began to move swiftly towards the west, her canvas growing broader minute by minute till she passed out of our sight. "why, she's gone," said our foreman. "is she coming back?" "i hope not," i cried. "look!" i pointed towards the east over a depression in the gap side through which we could catch a glimpse of the sea, and there in the bright sunlight we could make out a couple of vessels crowding on under all sail; and, little as i knew of such matters, i was able to say that one was a small frigate and the other a man-of-war cutter that looked very much like our old friend. "after the frenchman--eh?" said our foreman, gazing hard, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as his cheeks flushed and he seemed to forget his wounds. "well, then, all i can say is, that i hope they'll be caught." "let's get down," i said. "see, there's the doctor bringing bigley uggleston back on his pony. i wonder how he is." chapter forty two. a fight at sea. we descended slowly and painfully, to get down in time to receive a severe scolding from the doctor, while my father confirmed the news, as bigley was half-lifted off for bob to mount the pony and go off for help. the british ships had had news brought them of the attack, and had started at daybreak in full chase, and an hour afterwards all who could climbed to where we could catch sight of the sea, to find out the meaning of the firing that was going on. it was plain enough. a large three-masted lugger was in full flight with the frigate after her, and sending shot after shot without effect, till one of them went home, cutting the lugger's principal mast in two, and her largest sail fell down like a broken wing, leaving the lugger helpless on the surface. then a boat was lowered, and we saw her going at full speed, pulled as she was by a dashing man-o'-war crew, and we watched anxiously to see if there was going to be a fresh fight. but no; the man-o'-war long-boat pulled alongside and the men leaped aboard to send up the english colours directly, while the frigate went on in full chase of the french sloop, and we soon after saw that the lugger was being steered towards the mouth of the gap. but meantime the doctor had been busy with poor bigley, who had been laid upon a soft bed of heather to form his couch while his wound was examined. "why, you cowardly young scoundrel!" he cried cheerfully, "the bullet is embedded in the muscles of the calf of your leg, and it came in behind. you dog: you were running away." "so would you have run away, doctor," i said warmly, "if half a dozen frenchmen were after you and firing." "never, sir!" cried the doctor fiercely, as he probed the wound; "an englishman never runs. there, i can feel it--that's the fellow." "oh, doctor!" groaned poor bigley. "hurt?" said doctor chowne. "ah, well! i suppose it does. and so you, an englishman, ran away--eh?" "english boy," said bigley grinding his teeth with pain, while i felt the big drops gathering on my forehead, and was wroth with the doctor for being so cool and brutal. "english boy!--eh?" he said. "well, but boys are the stuff of which you make young men. ha, ha, ha! what do you think of that?" "you're half-killing me, doctor!" groaned poor bigley. "not i, my lad. i've got the rascal; come out, sir! there you are--see there! what do you think of that for a nasty piece of french lead to be sticking in your leg? if i hadn't fished it out it would have been there making your leg swell and fester, and we should have had no end of a game." as he spoke he held out the bullet he had extracted at the end of a long narrow pair of forceps; and, as bigley looked at it with failing eyes, he turned away with a shudder and whispered to me, as i supported his head upon my arm: "i'm glad bob chowne isn't here to see what a miserable coward i am, sep. don't tell him--there's a good chap!" i was about to answer, but his eyes closed and he fainted dead away. "poor lad!" said the doctor kindly. "why, he was as brave as a lion. i talked nonsense to keep up his spirits and make him indignant while i hurt him in that cruel way. poor lad! poor lad!" "doctor chowne," i cried with the tears in my eyes, "i felt just now as if i hated you!" "just you say that again!" he cried, laughing grimly. "you forget, you young dog, that i have you by the hip. you are my patient, and i have as tight a hold of you as an old baron in the good old times had of his prisoners. there! he is coming to, and i sha'n't have to hurt him any more to-day." "will he have to lose his leg, doctor?" i whispered. "what! because of that hole? pshaw, boy! the bullet is out, and nature has begun already to pour out her healing stuff to make it grow together. i'll make him as sound as a roach before i have done. now we must see to getting our wounded under cover. i didn't think the gap would ever be turned into such a hospital as this. why, sep, it's quite a treat to get such a morning's practice in surgery. there! i'll go and wash my hands, and i must have some breakfast or i shall starve." breakfast! starve! at such a time as this! i looked at him in horror, and he read my thoughts and laughed. "why, you young goose!" he exclaimed, "do you think i can afford to be miserable and have the horrors because other people suffer? not a bit of it. i'm obliged to be well and hearty and--unfeeling--eh? ah, well, sep! i'm not such an unfeeling brute as i seem; and i'd give fifty pounds now to be able to find those poor fellows breakfast and shelter at once." the doctor was able to supply his patients with refreshments without the expenditure of fifty pounds, for mother bonnet had just come up to announce that she had been back to the cottage to find it untouched, after going away in alarm when the frenchmen landed, and she said that she had the fire lit and coffee and tea on the way for every one who wanted it. "mother bonnet, you're a queen!" cried the doctor; and then turning to me: "rather strange that they should have spared the cottage and old jonas's goods, eh, sep? there's something behind all this." we were not long in finding out what was behind all this. i had my own suspicions without the doctor's, and they were soon confirmed by the coming of the big three-masted lugger, which was brought close in by the man-o'-war's men, who landed with a lieutenant at their head, and came up the gap to see our condition. he was a bright, manly fellow, and my father and he became friends at once, while he was quite humorous in his indignation. "the cowardly scoundrels!" he cried. "oh, if we had only been here! how delighted my jacks would have been to have a go at them!" "do you think so?" said my father smiling. "think so, sir? why, my boys have been half mad with disappointment. poor fellows! just about a dozen of you. well, there's no mistake about your having made a brave defence, captain duncan. not a man unhurt. sir, i'm proud to know you." "my men behaved better than i did, sir," said my father modestly. "oh, of course, sir," cried the lieutenant laughing; "but avast talking. what can we do for you? i'm here ashore with the lugger and prisoners till my ship comes back, so what shall we do? you don't want doctoring, i see?" "we want covering in first of all, sir," said the doctor, pointing to the unroofed shed. "of course you do," cried the lieutenant; "and all your men wounded. here, heave ahead, my lads, and half of you run back to the lugger and bring up all the spare sails and spars you can get hold of. if there are no spars bring the sweeps." "ay, ay, sir," cried the sailors; and half of them went off at the double back along the valley, while the others, under the command of their officer, set to work and shovelled and brushed out all the burnt charcoal and smouldering wood from the long shed, and then from the counting-house, and after that they were busy at work cutting ling and heath with their cutlasses, when the men despatched to the lugger came back loaded with sails and spars. at it they went, and in a very short time had rigged up a roof over the shed for our poor fellows, carried in a quantity of ling, and spread over that more sail-cloth, making quite a comfortable bed with room for a dozen men, and ample space for the doctor to go between. then, with the tenderness of women, the great bronzed fellows lifted the wounded men who could not walk, slipped under them a hammock, and one at each corner carried them in and laid them down. "there you are, messmates," said the biggest of the men; "now, then, a quid apiece for you to keep down the pain. make ready: pockets, 'bacco boxes," he shouted, and his comrades laughingly obeyed. "thank you, my lads, thank you," cried the doctor, going round and shaking hands with all in turn; "why, it would be a pleasure to have to do with such men as you. but there, you're safe and sound." "at present, sir," said the big sailor; "but hark! they're at it yonder." we listened and sure enough there was the distant sound of heavy firing coming from the west. "and we not in it, mates," said the big sailor dolefully. the wounded being cared for and the miners' wives beginning to come back, we left them in the doctor's charge, and, in response to the lieutenant's invitation, went back with him to the lugger. "i'll send your fellows up all i can," he said, "but you two come to the lugger cabin, and i think i can scrape you up a bit of a meal." we were ready enough to go for many reasons, one of them being curiosity; and having shaken hands with bigley, and asked my father to do the same, for the poor fellow was very miserable and despondent, away we went. "the rascals!" said the lieutenant, "they've got all your silver then? how much was it worth?" "nearly two thousand five hundred pounds' worth," said my father. "what a haul!" exclaimed the lieutenant, "and so compact and handy. never mind, captain, hark at our guns talking to them. they'll have to disgorge. but, i say, some one must have told them where to come." "i'm afraid so," said my father. "who was likely to know?--this smuggling rascal that we have got in the french lugger?" "who is he? an englishman?" "no, sir, a frenchman who speaks english pretty well. the officer on the revenue cutter knows him. a captain gualtiere, i believe." "oh!" i exclaimed. "you know him then?" said the officer sharply. "yes," said my father; "he picked up my son and two companions one day after their boat had been blown out to sea." "he seems to have picked up something else beside, sir," cried the officer--"knowledge of where you kept your silver. and you may depend upon it his lugger has been playing leader to the french sloop, and showed the captain where to land. two thousand five hundred pounds in bars of silver! we must have that back." "i'm afraid you are not quite right, sir," said my father sadly. "i think we shall find that the betrayal of my place was due to a smuggler who used to live in yonder cottage, information respecting whose cargo landing i was compelled, as a king's officer, to give to the commander of the cutter. it has been an old sore, and it has doubtless rankled." "oh, father!" i said sadly, "do you think this really is so?" "yes, sep," he replied, "and so do you; but don't be alarmed, i shall not visit it upon his son. the poor lad thinks the same, i am sure, and he is half broken-hearted about it." we reached the beach soon after, where a couple of jacks were in charge of the boat, and soon after we were pulled alongside of the lugger, to find that the men left on board, in charge of a midshipman of about my own age, had been busy repairing damages, _fishing_, as they called it, the broken spar, while the lugger's crew sat forward smoking and looking on, in company with their skipper, who rose smiling, and saluted. "aha! le capitaine dooncaine," he cried; "and m'sieu hees sone. i salute you both." "salute me?" cried my father angrily. "after this night's work?" "this night's work, mon capitaine?" he said lightly. "vy node. i am prisonaire; so is my sheep, and my brave boys. but it ees ze fortune of var." "yes; the fortune of war," said my father bitterly. "i do node gomplaine myself. you angleesh are a grand nation; ve are a grand nation. ve are fighting now. if ze sloop sail vin she vill come for me. if she lose ze capitaine vill be prisonaire, and behold encore ze fortune of war." "sir," said my father, "it is the act of pirates to descend upon a set of peaceful people as your countrymen did last night, thanks to your playing spy." "spy? espion? monsieur insults a french gentleman. i am no spy." "was it not the work of a spy to bring that french sloop here to ravage my place and steal the ore that had been smelted down?" "true, saire, it vas bad; but ze espion was your own countrymen, saire. ze capitaine gualtiere does no do such not you calls dirty vorks as zat." "jonas uggleston! it was he, then?" cried my father. "i felt sure of it; but i believed you to have had a hand in it, captain gualtiere." "a hand in him, sair. ze capitaine ugglee-stone ask me to join him, it there is months ago, sair; but i am a smugglaire, and a shentilhomme, node a pirate." "captain gualtiere," said my father, "you once saved my boy's life, and i have insulted you--a prisoner. sir, i beg your pardon." my father took off his hat, and before he realised what was about to take place, the frenchman had thrown his lithe arms about him and kissed his cheek. "sair," he exclaimed with emotion, "i am a prisonaire, but i look upon ze capitaine dooncaine as a friend." they then shook hands, and my father coloured up as he saw the officer of the frigate look on as if amused. "monsieur," said captain gualtiere; "i am no longer the maitre here; but you vill entaire my cabine, and i pray you to take dejeuner--ze breakezefast vis me." the result was that we had a surprisingly good meal, and very refreshing it proved, though i was in terrible pain all the time, and kept on wondering whether i ought to eat and drink. the lieutenant from the frigate kept getting up and going on deck to listen to the firing, which was very heavy in the distance, though nothing could be seen, and he exclaimed once against the great headland, the ram's nose, which shut off the view. "it's so hard," he said; "here have i been longing for an engagement, and the first one that turns up i am away from my ship, and cannot even see the fun." i saw my father, who was wincing with pain, smile at the lieutenant's idea of fun. "why, you are safer here," he said. "safer!" exclaimed the lieutenant contemptuously. "now, captain duncan, would you have liked it when you were on active service?" "that i certainly should not, sir." "ah, well," said the lieutenant, "i suppose i must be contented with our little prize here. this gualtiere has long been wanted. a most successful smuggler, sir." the conversation was ceasing to interest me, so i went on deck, when the middy came up to me directly from where he was standing listening to the firing. i looked at him with the eyes of admiration, for his uniform, dirk, and pistols gave him a warlike aspect, and besides he was in temporary command of the sturdy jacks who were overawing the smuggler's men. "won't you sit down?" he said, turning up a little keg. i sank upon the seat with a sigh, for i felt weak. "ah! you are a lucky fellow," he said. "why?" i asked. "why? to be in a fight last night and get wounded." "oh!" i exclaimed laughing. "ah, you may laugh!" he said. "i call it first rate. you're only a landsman, and get all that luck. it's of no use to you. why, if it had been me, of course i am too young for promotion, but it would have been remembered by and by. i say, tell us all about it." i told him, and to my surprise i found before long that all the sailors were listening intently. "ah!" exclaimed the middy as i finished; "don't i wish we had all been there." "and don't i wish you had all been there!" i said dolefully; "our place is regularly wrecked." "never mind," cried the middy, shaking my hand. "they ar'n't getting much by it. hark! how our old girl is pounding away at 'em. i'll be bound to say that the spars and planks are flying, and--oh, don't i wish i were there!" chapter forty three. bigley feels his position. during the day, after leaving an adequate guard over the prisoners in the lugger, the lieutenant came up the gap twice, and worked hard with his men to get our poor work-people in a more comfortable state, though now plenty of the ripplemouth folk had been over, and help and necessaries were freely lent, so that the night was made fairly comfortable for the wounded and their families. we slept in the ruins of the counting-house, whose roof was open to the sky, for my father had not the heart to go home and rest there; and when he sent bigley over, and i felt that i should like to go and keep the poor fellow company, i, too, had not the heart to go and leave my father alone. the next morning the lieutenant came to fetch us to breakfast on board the lugger; but we made a very poor meal, our injuries being more painful, and i felt weak and ill; but there was so much to see and hear that i kept forgetting my sufferings in the interest of the time. there were our men to go and see, and sit and talk to where they were too poorly to get up. there was mother bonnet to speak to when she started for the bay to attend on bigley; and i had her to see again when she came back, all ruffled and indignant, after a verbal engagement with our kicksey, who would not let the old woman interfere, because she wanted to nurse bigley herself. then towards afternoon, when the lieutenant had nearly gone mad with suspense about the frigate and at being bound to stop there with the lugger, according to his orders, news came by a fishing boat, that there had been a desperate engagement, and the frigate had been sunk. but on the top of that came news by a man who was riding over from stinchcombe, that it was the french vessel that had been sunk. this stopped the lieutenant just as he was putting off in the lugger, and soon after a fresh news-bearer came in the shape of another fisherman, who announced that the frenchman was taken. there was a regular cheer at this, and i saw captain gualtiere's brow knit; but he passed it off, and sat with the officer straining his eyes to the west in search of the prize to our flag. it was no wonder that he looked as triumphant as our people seemed chap-fallen when towards evening the frigate appeared alone, with every stitch of canvas that she could show spread to the western breeze, but the spy-glasses showed that she was in anything but good trim, for her main-mast was gone by the board, only a short stump rising above the deck, and as she came nearer, her shattered bulwarks told of a desperate fight. there was a signal of recall flying; and at this the lieutenant shook hands warmly, and with the middy bade us good-bye, setting sail directly after with the prisoners in their own vessel, and towing the frigate's boat behind. we learned afterwards that there had been a most desperate engagement, far away to the west, and that the frenchman was becoming hopelessly beaten with half her guns silenced, and that she was on the point of striking her colours, when a lucky shot from one of her big guns cut through the frigate's main-mast, and it toppled over into the sea, whereupon the french sloop made her escape, sinking the cutter which bravely tried to check her, and carrying off her crew as prisoners. we only obtained this information in driblets; but one thing was certain, the french sloop had got right away, and my father frowned as he thought of his lost silver. he bore up famously for a few days, working hard, in spite of doctor chowne's orders, in trying to make his wounded work-people comfortable, and then when by the doctor's orders i was lying at home on a sofa in the same room as bigley, my poor father broke down and took to his bed. "i'm not surprised," doctor chowne said to me shaking his head. "you're all a set of the most obstinate mules that ever kicked. i should have had you all well by now, only young bigley there would walk on his crippled leg and irritate it; you would keep rolling and dancing about and keeping your ribs from mending; and your father has gone on walking about just as if nothing was the matter, when all the time he ought to have been in bed." "but a little rest will soon set him right, will it not, doctor?" i said anxiously. "a little rest? he'll be obliged to take a great deal now, and i'm glad of it. hang him: i'll bring him in a bill by and by!" the doctor was quite right; we had all been very disobedient, and suffered for it; but in spite of the pain, and fever, and weakness, that was a very pleasant time. how we used to lie there listening to the birds! sometimes it was the blackbirds piping softly in the garden. then from high up over the hill we could faintly hear the skylark singing away, and then perhaps mingling with it would come the wild querulous _pee-ew_! _pee-ew_! of the grey and white gulls, as in imagination we saw them gliding here and there about the cliffs. but there was war in our cottage at the bay--desperate war. mother bonnet coming every morning with fish and cream and chickens and fruit for her boy, as she called bigley; and our kicksey snorting and indignant at the intrusion, and telling old sam that it was just as if master was too poor to pay for things. then by degrees my father grew well enough to sit out in the little battery by his guns, and breathe the soft sea-breezes that came in from the west; and here he used to receive our foreman, who came over every morning to report how much lead had been smelted and cast, and how the mine was growing more productive. for as fast as the men grew well enough, they returned to their duties. the cottages were restored as quickly as was possible, and every day the traces of the french attack grew less visible; but still my father did not get quite well. bob chowne was over with us a great deal, and i believe he did both bigley and me a vast deal of good from being so cantankerous. he would do anything for us; fetch, carry, or turn himself into a crutch for bigley to lean upon, as he hopped down the garden to a chair; but he must be allowed to snarl and find fault, and snarl he did horribly. one day when i was beginning to feel quite strong again, and i was able to take a long breath once more without feeling sharp pricking sensations, and afterwards a long dull aching pain, i went down the garden to find bigley standing before my father with his head bent and listening patiently to what seemed to be a scolding. "i've told you before, my lad. ah, sep, you there?" "yes, father," i said. "i beg your pardon. i did not know." "there, stop," cried my father. "it is nothing that you may not hear. bigley uggleston is talking again about going, and i am bullying him for it." "i can't help it, captain duncan," cried poor bigley passionately. "i want to be frank and honest; and it always seems dreadful to me that, after what has taken place and your terrible losses, i should be staying here and receiving favours at your hands." "now, my good lad, listen to me," said my father. "do you think that i am so wanting in gentlemanly feeling that i should wish to visit the sin of another upon your head?" "no, sir; but i am in such a strange position." "you are, my lad; but you see your father has always had the worthy ambition to give his son a good education, and make him something better than he has been himself." "yes, sir, but--" "hear me out, bigley. it has been my misfortune twice over to give him deadly offence, and the last time he visited it upon me by giving information to the french, which led to, as you call it, my serious losses." "yes, sir," cried bigley, "and i am miserable. i feel as if i could not look you in the face." "why not?" said my father kindly. "yours is a good, frank, honest face, my lad, and you have always been my boy's companion and friend. come, come, no more of this nonsense. i have right on my side, and some day your father will awaken to the fact that the information i gave was given in the way of duty, and have a better opinion of me. as to you--" "i must go, sir--i must go," cried bigley, "i cannot stay here any longer." "no, you must not go," said my father firmly. "it is evidently your father's wish that you should stay, or he would say so when he sends you money so regularly. there, come, we'll say that he has done me a great deal of injury, and caused me a very heavy loss." "yes, sir, that is always on my mind." "and that kept you from getting better, my lad. so now i'm going to make a bargain with you. get quite strong again, as i hope to be myself before long, and come and help us at the mine to recover the lost ground again." "may i?" cried bigley eagerly. "of course," said my father; and as i saw quite a cloud disappear from poor bigley's countenance, i tossed up my cap and cried, "hurrah!" chapter forty four. bigley makes a discovery. the time glided on and the war did not trouble us, for we were too busy in the gap, where everything had been restored and even improved, and my father was fighting bravely to recover from the terrible loss the french descent had caused to the property, for the rebuilding of cottages and repairs of machinery, after the store of silver had been taken, left him very much impoverished; but, as he used to say, it was only a question of time to get right. bigley worked regularly with me, living at the smuggler's cottage with mother bonnet for his housekeeper; and he used to hear regularly from his father, who expressed no intention of ever returning, merely saying that he was glad that his son was doing so well, and quite accepting the position. he used to send money, but now bigley had ceased to use it, for he received a regular payment from my father, and this other money used to be sent to a bank. the mine was fairly productive, but i knew that my father had been compelled to borrow a good deal, and this preyed upon his mind so much that one day he said to me: "sep, i think i shall be obliged to sell the gap, with the mine and all it holds. i don't like this life of debt, and the prospect of years of toil before i can clear it off." "but it would be such a pity, father," i exclaimed. "it would, my boy, but i am not so sanguine as i was. that terrible night shook me a great deal, and if it were not for the thought of you i should give up at once." he repeated this to me two or three times, and it made a very unpleasant impression that troubled me a very great deal. bob chowne, who was shortly going up to london to study at one of the hospitals, came over one evening, and we all three, as in the old days, had tea at the smuggler's cottage, mother bonnet beaming upon us, and never looking so pleased as when we wanted more of one of her home-made loaves. then after tea we decided, as the sea was so calm, to have a few hours' fishing, and taking the boat we rowed out as far as the goat and kids, the grapnel was thrown out, and we began to fish. it was a glorious evening, and we took rock-whiting, pout, and small conger at such a rate that i cried, "hold, enough!" "no, no, keep on," said bob chowne. "let's see how many we can catch." "it will be a good feast for the work-people," said bigley, as i hesitated; and knowing how glad they all were of a bit of fish i turned to again, throwing in my baited hooks, and hauling in the fine fellows every minute or two. but at last the darkness forbade further work, so the lines were reeled-up, the fish counted over into the two baskets, and bigley proceeded to haul up the grapnel. the intention was good, but the grapnel refused to be hauled up. the boat's bows were dragged right over it, and bigley stood up and tugged till the boat was perceptibly pulled down, but not an inch would the grapnel budge. "it has got between a couple of rocks, i suppose," said bigley. "here, stand aside!" cried bob chowne, "let the doctor come." he caught hold of the stout line, stood in bigley's place, and hauled till his wrists ached. "here, come and pull, sep," he cried; and i joined him and hauled, but in vain. then we changed the position of the boat, and dragged and jerked in one direction and then in another. every way we could think of did we try, but could not stir the anchor, and as we were giving up in despair bob said: "i know; some big sea-monster has swallowed the hook and he won't move. here, let's get ashore." "but we must not lose a new grapnel," cried bigley. "here, i know what we'll do." he hastily unfastened the rope from the ring-bolt in the bows, and secured it to the boat-hook by a hitch or two, and then cast it overboard. "there!" he said; "that will buoy it, and i'll come out to-morrow and get it up somehow." then taking the oars he rowed us ashore, where a couple of the mine men were smoking their pipes and shining like glowworms as they waited to see what sport we had had. the news spread respecting our exceptionally good fortune; and as soon as the two men had helped to haul the boat right up beyond the reach of the tide, as the grapnel was gone, they ran up to the miners' village and came trooping back with the rest, armed with baskets, dishes, and in some cases only bare-handed, to receive their portions of our big haul. they gave us a cheer, and soon afterwards we parted, bob chowne to sleep at the smuggler's cottage, while i went back to the bay. i woke at daylight next morning, and not feeling disposed to sleep, i dressed and started off for the gap to rouse up bigley and bob and propose a bathe; but as i came in sight of the gap mouth i found bigley already astir and just going down to the boat. i shouted and ran down to him waving my towel, to which he answered by waving another, showing that he had risen with a similar idea to my own. "i thought i would have a bathe, and do some business too," he said; and then, in answer to my inquiring look, "try and get up the grapnel," he added. "oh!" i exclaimed; "but why didn't you rouse up bob?" "rouse up bob!" he said gruffly. "go and try and rouse up that block of stone!" "what! have you tried?" i said. "tried! i've shaken him, and punched him, and done everything i could but drenched him, and that would be a pity. he don't want to get up; so let him lie. here, help me run the boat down." i laid hold of one side, we balanced her on an even keel, and as it was down a steep slope we soon ran her into the water, jumped aboard, and began paddling out down the narrow part that formed the bed of the river on the seaward side of the pebble ridge. the tide was very low, the sun up bright and high, and the water so clear that there was every rock below us so close that it seemed as if we could not go over some of them without touching. "we'll row out to the buoyed grapnel," said bigley; "make fast, and while you have your bathe i shall dive down, follow the rope, and see if i can find out how the grapnel has got fast." "if you can," i said. "well, i'm going to try," replied bigley. "i don't suppose it's above three fathoms deep." "you can't dive down three fathoms?" i said. "can't i?" replied bigley laughing. "i'm going to show you. look here!" he pointed to a big long stone in the bows of the boat weighing some twenty-pounds. to this a thin line was attached, and i saw his meaning at once. "yes," i said, "that will do it, only don't forget to let go." "no fear," he replied; and we paddled on, with the beautiful view of the cliffs opening out as we rowed farther from the shore. we had nearly a quarter of a mile to go before we struck against the floating boat-hook close to the now exposed rocks, when bigley threw in his oar, hoisted the rough buoy aboard, unhitched the rope, ran it through the ring-bolt, and hauled on till he had the boat's stem right over the grapnel, which still refused to come; so we made fast. bigley then began to undress rapidly, while i proceeded to work more slowly, being curious to watch what he was doing. i had not long to wait, for after making fast one end of the thin line to the thwart of the boat he poised the stone on the gunwale, leaped in, and then putting his left arm round the grapnel rope he got well hold of the stone, and drew it over to descend with it rapidly to the bottom. i crept to the bows and looked over to see his white body far below in the clear water, and then he came up again to rub his eyes, pant, and hold on by the side of the boat. "why, what's the matter?" i said; "seen a shark?" "no," he cried, "but i've seen something else. here, haul up the stone." "bother the stone!" i exclaimed, "i came to bathe." "haul it up quickly," he said; and i obeyed, and afterwards lifted it on to the gunwale. he seemed very excited, but he would not speak about what he had seen, only beg me to do what he told me, which was to untie the line from the stone and then make a running noose and put it loosely round. i did all this, wondering at his mysterious way, but only expecting that it was to fasten round the grapnel so as to pull in a fresh direction. as soon as i had done he took hold of the loop that was round the stone, drew a long breath, and asked me to lift it over into the water. this i did, and he went down head-first, while i again watched him below among the waving weeds all indistinct in the troubled sea. he was down for a full minute as i crouched there with my head over the side. he seemed to be so long that i began to grow alarmed lest he had become entangled, and i was about to haul up the line attached to the stone. i looked down anxiously with my face closer to the surface, but only to make him out in a bleared indistinct manner, and then he shot up like a line of light and swam to the side and held on. "thought i shouldn't be able to do it," he said; "but i've got the line round." "well, what next?" i said. "but i say, is a grapnel worth all this trouble?" "a grapnel?" he said with a peculiar smile. "yes." "wait a minute till i am in the boat." he climbed in, and came to my side. "now," he said; "haul up steadily. i think she'll come." i tightened the line, and for a moment or two there was a dead resistance. then something heavy began to stir, and i hauled away steadily, hand over hand. "i've got it," i said as i gazed down. "it was right in amongst some strong weed. here it comes." i pulled away till i had nearly got it to the top, and then bigley came to my help, reached over, and the object i was dragging up bumped against the boat, slipped out of the noose, and went down rapidly just like a mass of stone. "what did you fasten the line to that for?" i said. "what did i do it for, sep?" he panted. "didn't you see what it was?" "no," i said bluntly. "what did it look like?" "box covered with sea-weed," i replied. "well, don't you see now?" "no," i replied. "why, sep, how dull you are this morning!" he cried. "didn't you see that you had hold of one of your father's silver chests?" "_one of my father's what_?" i roared. "one of the silver chests. sep, it was over these rocks, against that one, i suppose," he cried, pointing to a huge block just below the surface, and a favourite haunt of conger, "that the frenchman's boat capsized." "what, the one with the silver?" i cried. "yes, and i believe all the chests are at the bottom there." "and they were coming back to try for them when the frigate came in sight!" i shouted. "yes, yes, yes." "hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" i cried, leaping up in the boat, and waving my arms about like an idiot. "why, bigley, it will set father free of all his troubles. here, i'm half mad. what shall we do? hold hard a moment: i'm going down to see." i had only my breeches on, and tearing these off, i stepped on to the gunwale, leaped up, turned over, and dived down into the clear cold water, trying with all my might to reach the bottom, but only describing a curve, and coming up again about twenty feet from the boat. i swam back to have another try, but bigley stopped me as i was about to dive off. "no, no," he said; "it's of no use. you can't get down there without a killick or some other weight." "but i'm not sure it is the silver," i cried in a despairing tone. "but i am," he said. "the boxes are lying all about. they look like stones if you stare down, because they are all amongst the weed; but when i got down to feel for the grapnel i was right upon them. it's in amongst them somehow. that was why i came up again and tried to fasten the line round one." "but are you quite sure, big?" i said, trembling with eagerness. "quite sure," he said. "there can't be any mistake about it. the frenchman's boat ran on the rock and capsized, and all the chests must have gone to the bottom like a shot." "and my poor father suffering all that worry, when here lay all his silver at the bottom, close to the shore. here, what shall we do, bigley? we must stop and watch it, for fear anybody else should come and find it." "no fear of that," he said, drawing the rope once more through the ring-bolt, and then securing the boat-hook to the end, and throwing it overboard to act as a buoy. "here, let's dress and go and tell him." "yes, yes," i cried, trembling with eagerness, and hurrying on my clothes, as he did his, we rowed ashore, and after hauling the boat back to its safe place, climbed up the slope, and prepared to walk to the bay. "big," i said; "i'm afraid to leave it. suppose while we are gone someone goes and takes it all away." "ah! suppose they do," he said. "but it isn't such an easy task. nobody knows of it but us, sep, and we can keep the secret." "you are right," i said. "come along, and let's make haste and tell him." we strode along the cliff path that morning faster, i think, than we had ever gone before, and when we came in sight of our place i was going to rush in and tell my father, but something struck me that it would be only fair to let bigley go, as he had made the discovery, so i told him to go first. he would not, though, and we went up to the cottage together, to find kicksey kicking up a dust in the parlour with a broom. "is father up yet?" i cried. "yes, my dear, hours ago, and half-way to barnstaple before now." "what!" i cried. "he's going to london, my dear, and here's a letter that sam was to bring over to you if you didn't come back to breakfast." i tore open the letter and read it in a few moments. it was very brief, and merely told me that he had had a letter the past night making so stern a demand upon him for money that he had decided to go up to london at once and sell the mine. "big," i said dolefully; "we've come too late. what shall we do?" i gave him the letter to read, and he wrinkled up his brow. "go after him and catch him," he cried. "yes; but how?" "i don't know," he panted; "let's try." "but the silver?" "is locked up safely where we found it, lad," he cried. "it is a secret. come on." "but how, big? he is riding." "then we must walk. a man can walk down a horse. now, let's see if it can't be done by boys." chapter forty five. trying an impossibility. we two set out to perform an impossibility: for though, starting together on a long journey, a good steady walker might tire out a horse carrying a man, and in a fortnight's work, before we had got half-way to barnstaple, i knew that my father would have arranged to catch the coach, and i remembered that the coach would change horses every ten or twelve miles; and as all this forced itself into my mind, i sat down on a stone by the road-side. "tired?" said bigley, wiping the perspiration from his face. "no, not yet; but i've been thinking, and my thoughts get heavier every moment," i replied. "what do you mean?" cried bigley. "that we cannot do this," i said; "and we should be doing something far more sensible if we go back home, and write a letter to my father. why, it would get to him days before we could." bigley took off his cap and rubbed his ear. "i'm afraid you are right," he said; "but i don't like to go back." "then let's go on to barnstaple, and write to him from there." "to be sure!" cried bigley, jumping at the compromise. "come along." "no, i said; it will not do. i've left his letter behind, and i don't know where to write." "oh, sep!" cried bigley reproachfully. "then, we must go back." we stood looking at each other just as we had made a fresh start, and the weariness we were beginning to feel brought with it a strange low-spirited sensation that was depressing in the extreme. "come along," i said. "let's get back, or we shall lose another day before we can get off a letter." "wait a minute," said bigley; "there's the half-way house not a quarter of a mile away. we'll go on there and have some bread and cheese and cider, then we shall be able to walk back more quickly." it did not take us long to reach the pretty little road-side ale-house, where the first thing i saw was the doctor's pony tied up to the gate by the rough stable or shed. "some one ill?" i said. "shall we tell doctor chowne what we were going to do?" i had hardly spoken these words when my father appeared at the door. "why, sep, uggleston!" he exclaimed; "you here?" "why, father!" i cried, catching him by the arm. "i thought you had gone." "the pony broke down, my boy," said my father, "and i have had to bring him back here--walking all the way; and i was undecided as to whether i should pay someone to take him home, or lead him myself, and make a fresh start to-morrow." "come back," i said with a look full of delight. "he ought to come back, eh, big?" bigley nodded and smiled, and then i eagerly told him all. "it was bigley's doing, father," i exclaimed. "he found it out." "my lad," said my father huskily, "you have saved me, for i could only have sold my property at a terrible loss." "and you will come back with us, father," i said. "come back, my boy? of course. why, bigley, my lad, you have always looked at me as if i felt a grudge against you for being your father's son; now, my boy, i shall always have to look at you as a benefactor, who has saved me from ruin." bigley tried to say something about that dreadful night, and the attack on the mine premises, but my father stopped him. "never mind about all that," he said; "let's get back and see if you are right, and that it is not a solitary chest which the frenchmen have left us." "no fear of that, sir," cried bigley. "i was down long enough to see that there was quite a lot of them." "or of pieces of rock," said my father smiling. "i'm older than you are, my lad, and not so sanguine." "but i feel so sure, sir," cried bigley. "that's right, my lad. i'm glad you do; but you have seen them, i have not." "but sep saw them too." "i saw the box we hauled up," i said; "but i could not be sure about what was at the bottom amongst the rocks and weeds." bigley looked so disappointed that my father smiled. "come," he cried; "you think i am ungrateful, and throwing cold water upon your discovery, when there is plenty over it as it is. so come, let us assume that the treasure is there, and begin to make our plans about how to recover it." at the last moment we had been obliged to leave the pony at the little inn, and we were walking steadily back as this conversation went on. "well, sir, it will be very easy," said bigley eagerly. "not so easy," said my father. "we shall want a couple of men who can dive." "oh no, you will not, sir," replied bigley. "i have thought it all out. all we shall want will be a clear day with the sea smooth." "yes, highly necessary, bigley," said my father. "then we should want a very long smooth pole, and if we could not get one long enough two poles would have to be fished together." "and then you'd fish for the boxes?" i said. "no," said bigley seriously; "you would have to sink the pole just down to where the chests lie, and rig up a block at the top, run a rope through it, hold one end of the rope in the boat to which the pole is made fast, and at the other end have a thick strong bag made of net." "well, what then?" said my father. "why, then you would put a big pig of lead in the bag, let me take hold of the bag, let the rope run slack, and i should go down to the bottom in an instant. then i should lift a box into the net-bag and come up, leaving it there for you in the boat to haul it up." "yes, that sounds very simple," said my father; "but could you do it?" "could i do it!" cried bigley. "why, sir, we did get one up to the top without any proper things. i can dive." "yes, he can dive, father," i said eagerly. "you need not be afraid about that." my father looked at us both, and grew very silent, as we trudged on, to reach the cottage at last utterly tired; and though bigley proposed that we should go on and see whether the buoy we had left was all right, my father said that it might very well wait till morning, and bigley stayed for the night. "i thought your father would have been ever so much more eager and excited about it," said bigley, speaking to me from the inner room where he slept, the door having been left open. "he is excited," i said in a low voice, for across the passage i could hear him walking up and down in his own room; and that kept on till i dropped off asleep, and dreamed that the french had landed with four large boats and a great pole which they lowered down into the sea. then they seemed to have got me fastened to the rope that ran through the wheel-block at the head, and they had fastened a pig of lead on to my chest, which pressed upon me as they hauled me up out of the boat, and then let go. it was all wonderfully real. i felt myself suspended over the water, which looked black as ink instead of lit up by the sun as it was when bigley went down. and as i hung there, the oppression from the pig of lead was terrible, and it seemed to please captain gualtiere, who was there in a boat opposite, giving orders and laughing at my struggles to escape. "now," i heard him say in his frenchy english, "cease to hold ze ropes, and laissez let him go." then there was a dull splash, and with the weight always upon me i seemed to part the waters and go down, down, down, into the deep black depths, which appeared to have no bottom. there was a growing sensation of suffocation; my boots hurt my feet, and the blister i had made upon my heel smarted, and all at once the pony, as it stood at the half-way house door, kicked out at me, just as i was beginning to suffocate; and this broke the rope, and i shot up to the surface. in other words, i started up awake, to find that i had been lying on my back, that i was bathed in perspiration, and that my father was still walking up and down his bed-room. "what stuff to go and dream!" i said to myself, as i felt very much relieved. "that comes of eating cold beef and pickled cucumber for supper." i turned upon my side to settle myself off to sleep again; but i could not doze off; and do what i would, the thought of being sent down into the black water with a pig of our lead upon my chest, and the pony down below ready to kick out at me kept haunting my mind, while across the passage there was my father still keeping up the regular tramp. just then the clock at the bottom of the stairs began to strike, and i thought that it must be a dark morning and about four, but to my astonishment it struck eleven, and i felt sure that it must be wrong. and all this while there was the restless pace up and down my father's room, making the jug in the basin rattle faintly, and after turning over three or four times i made up my mind that it was impossible to sleep, so i would dress, and then go and wake bigley and sit and talk. i had just made up my mind to this, as it seemed to me, when bigley stood in the doorway and said: "now, sep, old fellow, wake up." i started up in bed and stared, for the room was flooded with sunshine, and i knew that i must have been sound asleep, while from across the passage came the regular pace of my father walking up and down, and the jug clattered in the basin. "has he been walking up and down all night?" i said sleepily. "oh, no!" said bigley. "i have only just called him, and heard him get up. but make haste. it's a splendid morning, and the sea's like glass." "and the skin's all off my heel," i said; "and it's as sore as sore, and so is one of my toes." "sep!" shouted my father just then; "make haste down, and tell ellen that we want the breakfast as early as possible." "yes, father," i said; but at the same moment kicksey's voice came up the stairs as she heard what he said, and it was to announce that breakfast would be ready in ten minutes' time. chapter forty six. treasures from the deep. it was a glorious morning. there had been no wind for nearly three weeks beyond pleasant summer breezes, and the water was as clear as crystal, which is not so very often the case on our shore. my father had soon completed his preparations, there being a fine larch in the woody part of the gap; and this was soon felled, stripped, and cleared of branch and bark. bigley soon found a suitable rope and block in his father's store, and a couple of boats were got ready, with a suitable bag of rough canvas, in which several holes were cut out so as to allow the water to pass readily through. all this was got ready in a couple of hours, three pigs of lead were placed in the boat, in case one would be lost, and with the foreman to help, and a couple of men to pull, we set off from the beach with no lookers-on, and in a short time we were fast to the line that marked the spot where the boxes were supposed to lie. bigley gave vent to a sigh of satisfaction, for he had been in a terrible fidget, telling me over and over again that he was sure the boat-hook which served as a buoy had been washed away, and totally forgetting that the cluster of rocks known as the goat and kids were so familiar to the fishermen about that the spot could easily have been found again. however there we were. the line was hauled tightly in over the bows of our boat, the pole thrust down straight to the bottom, but only to keep rising up until one of the pigs of lead was lashed on to the thick end, when it consented to stay. the block with its wheel had already been secured in its place, and the rest of the gear being ready nothing remained but to make the first descent, and for which bigley was eager. "i scarcely like to send you down, bigley," said my father just at the last. "i hardly feel justified in doing so." "why not, sir?" cried bigley. "it's only like diving for fun." "but if anything happened?" "why, nothing can happen, sir. it's as easy as can be." "one moment," said my father; "let's see how the tackle works." he gave the word, the men slackened the rope, and the bag with the pig of lead in it went down with a splash and sank rapidly to the bottom, where it was allowed to stay for a few minutes and then hauled up. "there, sir, that goes right enough, only when it went down it would have taken me with it, and when it came up it would have brought the first chest of silver." "if you have not been mistaken," said my father drily. "well, sir, we shall see," said bigley colouring; and standing up in the boat he made a spring and dived off, curving down and rising again like a seal before swimming back to the side with a mastery over the water that i never could approach, though there was a time when i could swim and dive pretty well. "now, then," cried bigley, taking hold of the bag without waiting for farther orders, "let the rope run quite clear, and don't haul till i come up and tell you." "do you feel sure that you can do it, my lad?" cried my father eagerly. "oh yes, sir!" "then, mind, if there is any difficulty you will give up at once." "i will not do it, captain duncan, if i cannot," said bigley laughing. "now, then, off!" the bag, which with the lead inside had been resting on the gunwale, was lowered into the water; bigley seized it, and in an instant over he turned to go down head-first, with the line running rapidly through the block, and then all at once growing slack. my father and the foreman held the end, but like the rest they leaned over the side of the boat to watch the movements of the white figure they could indistinctly see far below, for the water was of course disturbed, and our movements in the boats kept up a series of ripples which blurred the surface. my heart beat fast, for bigley seemed to be down a long time, though it was only a few seconds before he rose rapidly to the surface and swam to the boat. "well, my lad," cried my father excitedly, "there is nothing, then?" "i couldn't manage it the first time," panted bigley. "i got hold of a box, but it was awkward work getting it into the bag. i could not hold it and get the chest in too. haul up, please." "but are you sure you can do it?" said my father. "i am certain, sir," replied bigley; and the men began to haul up the bag. as bigley was about to give the word to let go once more there came a loud "ahoy!" from the shore; and turning my head i saw that bob chowne had come over and was asking to be fetched. "it is impossible," said my father--"he must wait;" and i knew as well as if i were listening to him that bob was saying something about our always having all the fun. "let go," cried bigley; and away he went again, the weight drawing him down so rapidly that i felt a little envious, and as if i should like to make one of the trips. he was up again more quickly this time. "haul up," he cried; "it's of no use. i can't get the box into the bag. here, i see!" he cried, "make fast that maund to the rope and put the lead in there." he pointed, as he held on by the boat's edge, to a fish-basket in the stern of the boat; and as soon as the bag had been hauled aboard the rope was set free and fastened, scale-fashion, to the basket. bigley's countenance brightened at this, and seizing it directly he gave the word, declaring that he was all right; and away he went once more, and came up again so quickly that we felt there was something wrong. "what's the matter?" i cried. "haul up and see," was his reply; and as the men hauled, everyone held his breath till the basket came up slowly and heavily to the surface. "it's a box or a stone," i cried; and then i gave a shout, in which all the men joined, for there was a square box in the basket and my father lifted it out. "he's right! he's right!" cried my father excitedly. "bigley, my dear lad, i could not believe that it was true!" "over with the basket, sir," cried bigley; "quick!" and he went down again and once more rose. "all ready!" he cried; and so it was, for another box was hauled in-- another unmistakable case of our silver, for there were the marks upon it; and my heart beat with pride and pleasure at our success. "how do you feel?" cried my father. "don't go down more than you can bear." "i feel like this, sir," cried bigley seizing hold of the two handles of the basket and going down once more, to come up again almost as quickly, and another box was hauled up. just then there was a cheer from the shore, and on looking in that direction there was the doctor now beside bob chowne, and they evidently realised what was taking place, for both shouted and waved their hats. they would have come off to us, but there was no boat to be had nearer than ripplemouth; so they watched us while bigley went down again and again till ten boxes had been recovered, when my father refused to let him go down any more, in spite of his prayers and declarations that he was all right and could go down as often as we liked. my father was determined, though, and made him dress himself and help row ashore with us so as to carry the chests up to the cottage; but as soon as they were landed my father sent up to the mine and all the men were fetched to bear the silver up, and it was placed in safety in the restored cellar. the spot had of course been left buoyed, and a couple of men were awarded the task of watching the place till after dinner, when towards four o'clock we all went down again, bigley declaring himself ready to dive. by this time i had come to the conclusion that i was behaving in a very cowardly way in letting him do all the work, and without saying a word i determined to quietly undress ready, and take the next turn. the doctor and bob chowne, who had said just what i anticipated, joined us this time, while everyone occupied in the gap came down to see the astounding fact that the frenchmen had not got the silver after all. we rowed out and made fast as before, and bigley went down; but instead of paying any attention to his dive i let the others watch him, got ready, and then, as a fresh box was recovered, i leaped overboard, crying, "my turn now!" and swam to the basket. "you, sep?" said my father in a hesitating tone. "yes, father," i shouted. "let go." the men obeyed, and almost before i could realise it, i felt a snatch at my arms, and was dragged rapidly down. in spite of my preparation i was so surprised that i almost lost my presence of mind; but, as luck had it, the basket settled down close to a box, and somehow or another i got one hand under it and tilted it over into the basket, to which i was holding on tightly the while. then in a blind confused way, with the water seeming to thunder in my ears, i loosened my hold, and almost directly my head popped out into the fresh air, and i swam to the boat amidst a furious burst of cheering. i felt quite ashamed, and hardly knew what was said to me, for the idea was strong upon me that i had failed. but i had not, for the next minute one of the little chests was hauled up and into the boat, my father leaning over and patting my bare wet shoulder. "bravo, sep!" he exclaimed; and those two words sent a glow through me, cleared away the confusion, and made me think bigley a long while down when he took his turn, i was so impatient to begin again. he was soon up, another hauled in, and this time i did not let the weight drag at my shoulders, but plunged with it, went down, shuffled a chest into the basket more easily, and came up. then bigley obtained another, and suggested that the next dive should be from the stern of the boat. he was quite right, and in the course of about an hour we had gone on turn for turn and obtained nineteen of the chests, so that there was only one more to recover. the doctor had twice over suggested that we had been too long in the water, but everyone was in such a state of excitement, and there was so much cheering as box after box of silver was recovered, that his advice was unheeded, and in the midst of quite a burst of cheers i seized the basket by the handles and took my fifth plunge into what seemed to be a sea of glowing fire, so glorious was the sunshine as the sun sank lower in the west. i knew where the last one lay, just where it had been shot when the boat overturned, and it was on its side in the midst of a number of blocks of stone tangled with weed. the boat had been shifted a little, and i came down right by it, turned it over and over into the basket; but as i did so i slipped, and something dark came over me. my legs passed between a couple of stones, and then as i tried to recover myself and rise the darkness increased, a strange confusion came over me, and then all was blank till i heard someone say: "yes; he'll do now." my head was aching frightfully, and there was a strange confused sensation in my head that puzzled me, and made me wonder why my feet were so hot, and why my father was leaning over me holding my hand. then he appeared to sink down out of sight as a door was shut, and i heard him muttering as i thought to himself, and he seemed to say something about being better that everything should have been lost than that have happened. i couldn't make it out, only that he was in terrible trouble, and his face looked haggard and thin as he rose up again and bent over me to take me in his arms as he looked closely in my face. then, as he held me to his breast, i could feel that he was sobbing, and i heard him say distinctly in a low reverent tone: "thank god--thank god!" chapter forty seven. last memories. i heard all about it afterwards; how they had hauled up quickly as i did not rise to the surface, in the belief that i might be clinging still to the basket; but though the last chest was there, that was all. bigley seized the handles and went down, staying so long that everybody grew cold with horror, and when they hauled up he was helpless, and with one hand holding fast to the side of the basket. it was our foreman who went down next, and managed to get his arm round me, where i was entangled in a tremendous growth of sea-weed, and with one of my legs hooked, as it were, between and round a piece of rock. by great good fortune he was able to drag me out, and rise with me to the surface, but so overcome that he could hardly take a stroke; and as for me, doctor chowne had a long battle before he could bring me back as it were to life. i have little more to tell of my early life there on the north devon coast, for after that time rolled on very peacefully. we had no more visits from the french, not even from captain gualtiere, and we saw no more of old jonas uggleston. he had settled in dunquerque, he told his son in his letters, and these always contained the advice that he was on no account to leave the service of captain duncan, but to do his duty by him as an honest man. and truly bigley uggleston did do his duty by my father and by me, for year by year we grew closer friends, the more so that bob chowne drifted away after his course of training in london, and finally became a ship's surgeon. as for us, we led a very uneventful life, going steadily on with the management of the mine, which never was productive enough to make a huge fortune, but quite sufficient to keep my father fairly wealthy, and give employment and bread to quite a little village which grew up in the gap. for the recovery of the silver was the turning-point in my father's mining career. after that all went well. as i said, jonas uggleston never came back, but one day a bronzed white-headed old sailor was seated at the door of the smuggler's cottage when i went to call on bigley, and this old fellow rose with quite a broad grin on his face. i stared for a moment, he was so foreign-looking with his clipped beard and quaintly cut garb. then i realised who it was: binnacle bill come back to his old wife, mother bonnet. "couldn't leave the master before," he said. "but now i've come, and you'll give me a job now and then, and master bigley, i should like never to go away no more." binnacle bill did not go away any more, for he was at once installed boatman, and bound to have boat, tackle, and baits ready every time bigley and i felt disposed to have an hour or two's fishing in the evening. if bob chowne came down his work grew harder, for bob was as fond of fishing as ever. he used to come to see his father sometimes, for he was devotedly attached to him, and the old doctor's place was full of the presents his son sent him from abroad. but bob always came over to the bay, grumbling and saying that he was sick of ripplemouth; and then he grumbled at old sam and kicksey about the dinner, or the fruit, or the weather, and then he used to grumble at his two old school-fellows as we walked along the cliff path, or went out with him in the boat. "ah, you two always were lucky fellows," he said to us one day, when i told him that i was going to spend my winter evenings setting down my old recollections with bigley uggleston's help. "nothing to do but enjoy yourselves, and idle, and write. but what's the good of doing that? nobody will ever care to read about what such chaps as we've been, did in such an out-of-the-way place as this." "never mind," i said, "i mean to set it all down just as i can recollect; and as to anybody reading it--well, we shall see." "ah, well," said bob, "just as you like; but if i was a grumbling sort of fellow, and given to finding fault, i should say it's just waste of time." this was too much for bigley, who burst into a hearty fit of laughter, in which i joined. bob stared at us both rather sulkily for a moment, and then uttered his favourite ejaculation, which was "yah!" the end. the lost middy, being the secret of the smugglers' gap, by george manville fenn. ________________________________________________________________________ this is yet another tension-packed teenagers' novel from the pen of g. manville fenn. the hero is a sixteen-year-old called aleck, who is an orphan being brought up by his uncle, whose main interest in life is writing a book of history. they live by the sea, and aleck's great pleasure is to take his little sailing boat along the coast, often in the company of a pensioned-off man-o'-war's man, called tom bodger. they get involved with a press-gang raid by one of hm sloops, which is accompanied by a revenue cutter. some of the men of the neighbouring hamlets are taken by the press-gang, but a middy from the sloop is also taken by the local smugglers, and hidden in the very cave where they normally hide their spoils. unfortunately aleck also stumbles on the track of the smugglers, and gets shut up in the same cave. both entrances of the cave are blocked up. there is no possible escape. nh ________________________________________________________________________ the lost middy, or the secret of the smugglers' gap, by george manville fenn. chapter one. there was a loud rattling noise, as if money was being shaken up in a box. a loud crashing bang, as if someone had banged the box down on a table. a rap, as if a knife had been dropped. then somebody, in a petulant voice full of vexation and irritability, roared out: "bother!" and that's exactly how it was, leaving aleck donne, who looked about sixteen or seventeen, scratching vigorously at his crisp hair as he sat back, with his elbows resting upon those of the big wooden arm-chair, staring at the money-box before him. "i call it foolishness," he said, aloud, talking, of course, to himself, for there was no one else in the comfortable room, the window of which opened out upon the most quaint garden ever seen. "it's all right to save up your money in a box and keep on dropping it through a slit; but how about getting it out? here, i'll go and smash the stupid old thing up directly on the block in the wood-shed." but instead of carrying out his threat, he leaned forward, picked up the curved round-ended table-knife he had dashed down, seized the money-box again, shook it with jingling effect, held it upside down above his eyes, and began to operate with the knife-blade through the narrow slit in the centre of the lid. for a good quarter of an hour by the big old eight-day clock in the corner did the boy work away, shaking the box till some coin or another was over the slit, and then operating with the knife-blade, trying and trying to get the piece of money up on edge so that it would drop through; and again and again, as the reward of his indefatigable perseverance, nearly succeeding, but never quite. for so sure as he pushed it up or tilted it down, the coin made a dash and glided away, making the drops of perspiration start out on the boy's forehead, and forcing him into a struggle with his temper which resulted in his gaining the victory again, till that thin old half-crown was coaxed well into sight and forced flat against the knife-blade. the boy then began to manipulate the knife with extreme caution as he kept on making a soft purring noise, _ah-h-h-h-ha_! full of triumphant satisfaction, while a big curled-up tabby tom-cat, which had taken possession of the fellow chair to that occupied by aleck, twitched one ear, opened one eye, and then seeing that the purring sound was only a feeble imitation, went off to sleep again. "got you at last!" muttered the lad. "half a crown; just buy all i want, and--bother!" he yelled, and, raising the box on high with both hands, he dashed it down upon the slate hearth with all his might. temper had won this time. aleck had suffered a disastrous defeat, and he sat there with his forehead puckered up, staring at the cat, which at the crash and its accompanying yell made one bound that carried it on to the sideboard, where with glowing eyes, flattened ears, arched back, and bottle-brush tail, it stood staring at the disturber of its rest. "well, i am a pretty fool," muttered aleck, starting out of his chair and listening for a few moments before stealing across the room to open the door cautiously and thrust out his head. there was no sound to be heard, and the boy re-closed the door and went back to the hearth. "i wonder uncle didn't hear," he muttered, stooping down. "i've done it now, and no mistake." as he spoke he picked the remains of the broken box from inside the fender. "smashed!" he continued. "good job too. shan't have any more of that bother. how much is there? let's see!" there was a small fire burning in the old-fashioned grate, and with a grim look the boy finished the destruction of the money-box by tearing it apart at the dovetailings and placing the pieces on the fire, where they caught at once, blazing up, while the lad hunted out and picked up the coins which lay scattered here and there. "three--four--five--and sixpence," muttered the boy. "i thought there was more than that. hullo! where's that thin old half-crown? haven't thrown it on the fire, have i? oh, there you are!" he cried, ferreting it out of the fleeces of the thick dark-dyed sheepskin hearth-rug at his feet. "eight shillings," he continued, transferring his store to his pocket. "well, i'm not obliged to spend it all. money-box! bother! i'm not a child now. just as if i couldn't take care of my money in my pocket." he gave the place a slap, turned to the window, looked out at the soft fleecy clouds gliding overhead, and once more made for the door, crossed the little hall paved with large black slates, and then bounded up the oak stairs two at a time, to pause on the landing and give a sharp knuckle rap on the door before him; then, without waiting for a "come in," he entered, to stand, door in hand, gazing at the top of a big shaggy grey head, whose owner held it close to the sheets of foolscap paper which he was covering with writing in a bold, clear hand. "want me, uncle?" the head was raised, and a pair of fierce-looking eyes glared at the interrupter of the studies from beneath enormously-produced, thick, white eyebrows, and through a great pair of round tortoise-shell spectacles. "want you, boy?" was the reply, as the speaker held up a large white swan-quill pen on a level with his sun-browned and reddened nose. "no, lick. be off!" "i'm going to run over to rockabie, uncle. back to dinner. want anything brought back?" "no, boy; i've plenty of ink. no.--yes. bring me some more of this paper." the voice sounded very gruff and ill-humoured, and the speaker glared angrily, more than looked, at the boy. "here," he continued, "don't drown yourself." "oh, no, uncle," said the boy, confidently, "i'll take care of that." "by running into the first danger you come across." "nonsense, uncle. i can sail about now as well as any of the fisher lads." "fisher? bah!" growled the old man, fiercely. "scoundrels--rascals, who wear a fisher's frock to hide the fact that they are smugglers--were wreckers. nice sink of iniquity this. look here, lick. take care and don't play that idler's trick of making fast the sheet." "i'll take care, uncle." "how's the wind, boy?" "just a nice soft breeze, uncle. i can run round the point in about an hour--wind right abaft." "and dead ahead coming back, eh?" "yes; but i can tack, uncle--make good long reaches." "to take you out into the race and among the skerries. do you think i want to have you carried out to sea and brought back days hence to be buried, sir?" "of course you don't, uncle; but i shan't hurt. old dumpus says i can manage a boat as well as he can." "he's a wooden-legged, wooden-headed old fool for saying so. look here, aleck; you'd better stop at home to-day." "uncle!" cried the boy, in a voice full of protest. "the weather's going to change. i can feel it in my old wound; and it will not be safe for a boy like you alone to try and run that boat home round the point." "oh, uncle, you treat me as if i were a little boy!" "so you are; and too light-headed." "it's such a beautiful morning for a sail, uncle." "do just as well to watch the sea from the cliffs, and the carrier can bring what you want from rockabie next time he goes." "uncle! i shall be so disappointed," pleaded the boy. "well! what of that? do you good, boy. life's all disappointments. prepare you for what you'll have to endure in the future." "very well, uncle, i won't go if you don't wish it." "of course you won't, sir. there, run round and get one of the eilygugg lads to help you with the boat." "please, uncle, i'd rather not. i don't like them, and they don't like me." "of course you don't like the young scoundrels, sir; but they can manage a boat." "i'd rather not go now, uncle," said the boy, sadly. "and i'd rather you did. there, go at once, while the weather's fine, and make that old man-o'-war's man help you to come back?" "tom bodger, uncle? but how's he to get back?" "i'll give him some shillings, and he can pay one of the smugglers to give him a lift home." "thank you, uncle," cried the boy, in an eager way, which showed plainly enough how well satisfied he was with the arrangement. "don't worry me. be off!" said the old man, bending over his writing again. aleck needed no further orders, and hurried out into the well-kept garden, where everything looked healthy and flourishing, sheltered as it was from the fierce winds of all quarters by the fact that it lay in a depression formed by the sinking of some two or three acres of land, possibly from the undermining of the sea in far distant ages, at the end of a narrow rift or chasm in the cliffs which guarded the shores, the result being that, save in one spot nearest the sea, the grounds possessed a natural cliff-like wall some fifty or sixty feet high, full of rift and shelf, the nesting-place of innumerable birds. here all was wild and beautiful; great curtains of ivy draped the natural walls, oak and sycamore flourished gloriously in the shelter as far as the top of the cliff, and there the trees ceased to grow upward and branched horizontally instead, so that from the level land outside it seemed as if nature had cut all the tops off level, as indeed she had, by means of the sharp cutting winds. aleck followed the garden path without looking back at the vine and creeper-clad house in its shelter, and made for one corner of the garden where the walls overlapped, and, passing round one angle, he was directly after in a zigzag rift, shut in by more lofty, natural walls, but with the path sloping downward, with the consequence that the walls grew higher, till at the end of about three hundred yards from the garden they were fully a couple of hundred feet from base to summit, the base being nearly level with the sea. this latter was hidden till the lad had passed round another angle of cliff, when he obtained a glimpse of the deep blue water, flecked here and there with silvery foam, but hidden again directly as he followed the zigzag rift over a flooring of rough stones which had fallen from the towering perpendicular sides, and which were here only some thirty or forty feet apart, and completely shut out the sunshine and a good deal of the light. another angle of the zigzag rift was passed, and then the rugged stony flooring gave place to dark, deep water, beautifully transparent--so clear that the many-tinted fronds of bladder-wrack and other weeds could be seen swaying to and fro under the influence of the tide which rose and fell. here, in a natural harbour, sheltered from all dangers, lay the boat the boy sought. it was moored in a nook by a rope attached to a great ring; the staple had been sunk in a crack and sealed fast with molten lead, and no matter what storms raged outside, the boat was safely sheltered, and swung in a natural basin at ordinary tides, while at the very lowest it grounded gently in a bed of white sand. it was well afloat upon this occasion, and skirting round it along a laboriously chipped-out ledge about a foot wide, the boy entered a crack in the rock face, for it could hardly be called a cavern. but it was big enough for its purpose, which was to shelter from the rain and rock drippings a quantity of boat gear, mast, sails, ropes, and tackle generally, which leaned or hung snugly enough about the rock, in company with a small seine, a trammel-net, a spare grapnel or two, some lobster-pots, and buoys with corks and lines. aleck was not long about carrying mast, yard, and sail to the boat and shipping them. then, in obedience to an idea, he placed a couple of fishing-lines, a gaff-hook, a landing-net, and some spare hooks aboard; then, taking a little bucket, he half filled it with the crystal water of the pool, and after placing it aboard took hold of a thin line, one end of which was secured to a ring-bolt in a block of wreck lumber, while the other ran down into the pool. a pull at the line brought a large closely-worked, spindle-shaped basket to the surface, when a commotion inside announced that the six-inch-wide square of flat cork, which formed a lid, covered something alive. so it proved; for upon unfastening the lid an opening was laid bare, and upon the "coorge"--as the fishing folk called the basket--being laid across the bucket and turned sidewise, some ten or a dozen silvery eel-shaped fish glided out into the bucket, and began swimming round and round in search of an outlet. "more bait than i shall want," said aleck, covering and letting the basket go back into the pool. then, unfastening the mooring-rope, the boy picked up a boat-hook, and by hooking on to the side rocks here and there he piloted the boat along the devious watery lane, with the mighty walls towering high on either side and whispering or echoing back every sound he produced on his way out to the open sea. it was beautiful--solemn--grand--all in one, that narrow, gloomy, zigzag way between the perpendicular walls; and a naturalist would have spent hours examining the many-tinted sea anemones that opened their rays and awl-shaped tentacles below the water, or lay adhering and quiescent upon the rocks where the tide had fallen, looking some green, some olive, and many more like bosses of gelatinous coagulated blood. but these were too common objects of the seashore for aleck donne to heed; his eyes were for the most part upon the blue and opalescent picture some two hundred yards before him, where the chasm ended, its sharp edges looking black against the sea and sky as he hooked on here, gave a thrust there, and sent the boat along till the rift grew lighter and lighter, and then was left behind, for a final thrust had sent the boat right out into the sunshine, and in full view of three huge skittle-shaped rocks standing up out of the sea, high as the wall-like cliff of which at some time or another they must have been a portion. they were now many yards away and formed the almost secure nesting-places of hundreds upon hundreds of birds, whose necks stood up like so many pegs against the sky, giving the rocks a peculiar bristling appearance. but the sense of security for the young birds was upset by the long flapping wings of a couple of great black-backed gulls which kept on sailing round and round, waiting till the opportunity came to make a hawk-like swoop and carry off some well-fatted, half-feathered young auk. one met its fate, in the midst of a rippling purring cry, just as aleck laid in his boat-hook and proceeded to step the mast, swaying easily the while with the boat, which was now well afloat on the rising and falling sea. chapter two. "my word! how she does go!" cried aleck, a short time later. for he had stepped the mast, hooked on the little rudder, and hoisted the sail, the latter filling at once with the breeze which, coming from the sea, struck the bold perpendicular rock face and glanced off again, to catch the boat right astern. one minute it was racing along almost on an even keel; then, like a young horse, it seemed to take the bit in its teeth as it careened over more and more and made the water foam beneath the bows. away to aleck's left was the dazzling stretch of ocean, to his right the cliffs with the stack rocks and a glimpse of the whitewashed group of cottages locally known as eilygugg, from their overlooking the great isolated, skittle-like, inaccessible stack rocks chosen by those rather rare birds the little auks for their nesting-place year after year. on and on sped the boat past the precipitous cliffs, which, with the promontory-like point ahead, were the destruction of many a brave vessel in the stormy times; and an inexperienced watcher from the shore would often have suffered from that peculiar sensation known as having the heart in the mouth on seeing the boat careen over before some extra strong puff of wind, till it seemed as if the next moment the sail would be flat on the water while the little vessel filled and went down. but many years of teaching by the fishermen and tom bodger, the wooden-legged old man-o'-war's man of rockabie, had made aleck, young though he was, an expert manager of a fore and aft sailing boat, and the boy sat fast, rudder in one hand, sheet in the other, ready at the right moment to ease off the rope and by a dexterous touch at the rudder to lessen the pressure upon the canvas so that the boat rose again and raced onward till the great promontory ahead was passed. in due time the land sheltered the young navigator, and he glided swiftly into the little harbour of the fishing town, whose roughly-formed pier curved round like a crescent moon to protect the little fleet of fishing-boats, whose crews leaned over the cliff rail masticating tobacco and gazing out to sea, as they rested from the past night's labour, and talked in a low monotonous growl about the wind and the prospects of the night to come. rockabie was a prolific place, as far as boys were concerned. there were doubtless girls to balance them, but the girls were busy at home, while the boys swarmed upon the pier, where they led a charmed life; for though one of them was crowded, or scuffled, or pushed off every day into deep water, when quarrelling, playing, or getting into someone's way when the fish were landed, they seemed as if formed of cork or bladder and wind instead of flesh and blood, for they always came up again, to be pulled out by the rope thrown, or hooked out by a hitcher, if they did not swim round to the rough steps or to the shore. not one was ever known to be drowned--that was the fate of the full-grown who went out in smack or lugger to sea. the sight of aleck donne's boat coming round the point caused a rush on the part of the boys down to the pier and drew the attention of the fishermen up on the cliff as well. but these latter did not stir, only growled out something about the cap'n's boat from the den. one man only made the comment that the sail wanted "tannin' agen," and that was all. but the boys were interested and busy as they swarmed to the edge of the unprotected pier, along which they sat and stood as closely as the upright puffins in their white waistcoats standing in rows along the ledges that towered up above the point. for everybody knew everybody there for miles round, and every boat as well. there was a good deal of grinning and chattering going on as the boat neared, especially from one old fisherman who lived inside a huge pair of very stiff trousers, these coming right up to his arm-pits, so that only a very short pair of braces, a scrap of blue shirt, and a woollen night-cap were required to complete his costume. this gentleman smiled, grunted, placed a fresh bit of black tobacco in his cheek, and took notice of the fact that several of the boys had made a rush to the edge of the water by the harbour and come back loaded with decaying fish--scraps of skate, trimmings, especially the tails, heads, and offal--to take their places again, standing behind their sitting companions. someone else saw the action too, and began to descend from the cliff by the long slope whose water end was close to the shore end of the pier. this personage would have been a tall, broad-shouldered man had he been all there; but he was not, for he had left his legs in the west indies, off the coast of martinique, when a big round shot from a french battery came skipping over the water and cut them off, as the ship's surgeon said, almost as cleanly as he could have done with the knife and saw he used on the poor fellow after the action was over, the fort taken, and the frenchmen put to flight. the result was that thomas bodger came back after some months to his native village, quite cured, in the best of health, and wearing a pair of the shortest wooden legs ever worn by crippled man--his pegs, as the boys of rockabie called them, though he dignified them himself by the name of toes. as to his looks, he was a fine-looking man to just below his hips, and there he had been razed, as he called it to aleck donne, while the most peculiar thing about him as he toddled along was what at first sight looked like a prop, which extended from just beneath his head nearly to the ground, as if to enable him to stand, tripod-fashion, steadily on a windy day. but it was nothing of the sort, being only his pigtail carefully bound with ribbon, and the thickest and longest pigtail in the "ryal navee." tom bodger, or--as he was generally known by the rockabie boys--dumpus, trotted down the slope in a wonderful way, for how he managed to keep his balance over the rough cobbles and on the storm-worn granite stones of the pier was a marvel of equilibrium. but keep upright he did, solely by being always in motion; and he was not long in elbowing his way through the crowd of boys, many of whom overtopped him, and planting himself at the top of the pier steps, where from old experience he knew that aleck would land. as soon as he was there he delivered himself of an observation. "look here," he growled, in a deep, angry voice, "i've been marking o' you youngsters with my hye, and i gives you doo warning, the fust one on yer as shies any o' that orfull at young master donne, or inter his little boat, i marks with what isn't my hye, but this here bit of well-tarred rope's-end as i've got hitched inside my jacket; so look out." "yah!" came in a derisive chorus, as the sailor showed the truthfulness of his assertion by drawing out about eighteen inches of stoutish brown rope, drawing it through his left hand and putting it back. "yah!" shouted one of the most daring. "yer can't ketch us. yah!" "not ketch ye, you young swab? not in a starn chase, p'raps, but i've got a good mem'ry and i can heave-to till yer comes within reach, and then--well, i'm sorry for you, my lad. i know yer;--davvy, davvy." the boy looked uncomfortable, and furtively dropped an unpleasant smelling quid which he had picked up as a weapon of offence, and very offensive it was; but another lad appropriated it instantly and sniffed at it, smiling widely afterwards as if approving hugely of the vile odour. probably familiarity had begotten contempt, for none of his companions moved away. meanwhile aleck had run his boat close in and lowered his sail. then, as he rose up, boat-hook in hand, he was greeted with a jeering chorus of shouts, for no other reason than that he was a so-called stranger who did not live there and was well dressed, and belonged to a better class. aleck was accustomed to the reception, and gave the little crowd a contemptuous look, before turning to the squat figure beginning to descend the steps, to where the boy stood ten feet below. "what cheer, tom!" he cried. "what cheer-ho, master aleck!" returned the sailor. "hearty, my lad, hearty." then, turning to the boys, he growled out, "now, then, you heered. so just mind; whether it's fish fresh or fish foul. the one as shies gets my mark." the voices of the boys rose in a curious way, making a highly pitched jeering snarl, while a number of unpleasant missiles that were held ready were fingered and held behind backs, but from a disinclination to become the victim of the sailor's marking, no lad was venturesome enough to start the shower intended to greet the newcomer. it was held in abeyance for the moment, and then became impossible, for peg, peg, peg, peg, tom bodger descended the steps till he was level with the gunwale of aleck's boat, upon which one extremity was carefully planted, and careful aim taken at the first thwart. the sailor was about to swing himself in, when aleck held out his hand-- "catch hold!" he cried. "tchah! i don't want to ketch hold o' nothing," grumbled the man. "stand aside." as he spoke he spun half round as upon a peg, the second wooden leg lightly touched the thwart, and the next moment, when it seemed as if the poor fellow's wooden appendages must go through the frail bottom of the boat, they came down with a light _tip-tap_, and he was standing up looking smilingly in the young navigator's face. "come along tidy quick, my lad?" he said. "yes, the wind was lovely. look here, tom; i'm going shopping--to get some hooks and things. mind that young rabble does not throw anything aboard." "all right, my lad; but i should just like to see one of 'em try." "i shouldn't," cried aleck. "but, look here; uncle says as there'll be a good deal of wind dead ahead, and i shall have to tack back again, you're to come with me." "course i should," said the sailor, gruffly. "wants two a day like this." "and he'll pay you; and you're to get one of the fishermen to pick you up and bring you back." "tchah! i don't want no picking up. it's on'y about six mile across from here to the den, and i can do that easy enough if yer give me time." "do as you like, but uncle will pay for the ride." "and i shall put the money in my pocket and toddle back," said the sailor, chuckling; "do me more good than riding. you look sharp and get back. i'll give her a swab out while you're gone, and we'll take a good reach out to where the bass are playing off the point, and get a few. i see you've brought some sand eels." "so we will, tom. i should like to take home a few bass." "so you shall, my lad," said the sailor, who had stumped forward to the fore-locker to get out a big sponge; and he was rolling up his sleeves over a pair of big, brown, muscular arms ornamented with blue mermaids, initials, a ship in full sail, and a pair of crossed cutlasses surmounted by a crown, as aleck stepped lightly upon the gunwale, sprang thence on to the steps, and went up, to run the gauntlet of the little crowd of boys, who greeted him with something like a tempest of hoots and jeers. but the lads fell back as, with a smile full of the contempt he felt, aleck pressed forward, marched through them with his hands in his pockets, and smiled more broadly as he heard from below a growling shout of warning from the sailor announcing what he would do if the boys didn't mind, the result being that they followed the well-grown lad at a little distance all along the pier, throwing after him not bad fish and fragments, which would, if well-aimed, have sullied the lad's clothes, but what an irishman would have called dirty words, mingled with threats about what they would give him one of these fine days. the feud was high between the rockabie boys and the bright active young lad from the den, for no further reason than has already been stated, and the dislike had increased greatly during the past year, though it had never culminated in any encounter worse than the throwing of foul missiles after the boat when it was pushed off for home. perhaps it was something in the air which made the rockabie boys more pugnacious and their threats more dire. possibly they may have felt more deeply stung by the contempt of aleck, who strode carelessly along the rough stone pier, whistling softly, with his hands in his pockets, till he reached the slope and began to ascend towards where the fishermen leaned in a row over the rail, just as if after a soaking night they had hung themselves out in the sun to dry. and now it was that the boys hung back and aleck felt that he could afford to pay no heed to the young scrubs who followed him, for there were plenty of hearty hails and friendly smiles to greet him from the rough seamen. "morn', master aleck." "morn', sir. how's the cap'n?" from another. then: "like a flat fish to take back with you, master? i've got a nice brill. i'll put him in your boat." and directly after a big broad fellow detached himself from the rail to sidle up with: "say, master aleck, would you mind asking the cap'n to let me have another little bottle o' them iles he gives me for my showther? it's getting bad again." "you shall have it, joney," cried aleck. "thankye, sir. no hurry, sir. just put the bottle in yer pocket nex' time you come over, and that'll do." aleck went on up town, as it was called,--and the men hung themselves a little more over the rail and growled at the boys who were following the visitor, to "be off," and to "get out of that; now," with the result that they still followed the lad and watched him, flattening their noses against the panes of the fishing-tackle shop window, and following him again when he came out to visit one or two other places of business, till all the lad's self-set commissions were executed, and he turned to retrace his steps to the harbour. so far every movement had been followed by cutting remarks expressive of the contempt in which the visitor was held. there had been threats, too, of how he would be served one of these times. remarks were made, too, on his personal appearance and the cut of his clothes, but there was nothing more than petty annoyance till the quarry was on his way back to where he would be under the protection of the redoubtable dumpus, who did not scruple about "letting 'em have it," to use his own words, it being very unpleasant whatever shape it took. but now the pack began to rouse up and show its rage under the calm, careless, defiant contempt with which it was being treated. words, epithets, and allusions grew more malicious, caustic, and insulting, and, these producing no effect by the time the top of the slope was reached, bolder tactics were commenced, the boys closing round and starting a kind of horse-play in which one charged another, to give him a thrust so as to drive him--quite willing--against the retiring visitor. this was delightful; the mirth it excited grew more boisterous, and the covert attacks more general. but aleck was on the alert and avoided several, till a more vigorous one was attempted by the biggest lad present, a great, hulking, stupid, hobbledehoy of a fellow, who drove a companion against aleck's shoulder, making him stagger for a moment, while the aggressor burst out into a hoarse laugh which was chorussed by the little crowd, and then stopped. the spring which set aleck's machinery in motion had been touched, making him wheel round from the boy who had been driven against him, make a spring at the great, grinning, prime aggressor, and bring his coarse laugh to an end by delivering a stinging blow on the ear which drove him sidewise, and made him stand shaking his head and thrusting his finger inside his ear, as if to try and get rid of a peculiar buzzing sound which affected him strangely. there was a roar, and the boy who had been thrust against aleck sprang at him to inflict condign punishment upon the stranger who had dared to strike his companion. the attack was vigorous enough, but the attacker was unlucky, for he met aleck's bony fist on his way before he could use his own. then he clapped his open hands to his nose and stood staring in wonder, and seemed to be trying to find out whether his nose had been flattened on his face. there was an ominous silence then, during which aleck turned and walked on down the slope in a quiet leisurely way, scorning to run, and even slackening his pace to be on his guard as he reached the bottom of the slope, for by that time the boys had recovered from their astonishment, and were in full pursuit. in another minute aleck was surrounded by a roughly-formed crowding-in ring, with the two lads who had tested the force of his blows eager to obtain revenge, incited thereto by a score or two of voices urging them to "give it him," "pay him," "let him have it," and the like. the two biggest lads of the party then came on at aleck at once; but, to be just, it was from no cowardly spirit, but from each being urged by a sheer vindictive desire to be first to obtain revenge for his blow. hence they were mastered by passion and came on recklessly against one who was still perfectly cool and able to avoid the bigger fellow's assault while he gave the other a back-handed blow which sent him reeling away quite satisfied for the present and leaving the odds, so to speak, more even in the continuation of the encounter. aleck was well on the alert, and, feeling that he was utterly out-matched, he aimed at getting as far as the steps, where he would have tom bodger for an ally, and the attack would come to an end; but he was soon aware of the fact that to retire was impossible, hedged in as he was by an excited ring of boys, and there was nothing for him but to fight his way back slowly and cautiously. so he kept his head, coolly resisting the attack of the big fellow with whom he was engaged, guarding himself from blows to the best of his ability, and paying little heed to the torrent of abuse which accompanied the blows the big fisher lad tried to shower upon him, and always backing away a few yards, as he could, nearer to the way down to his boat. by this time the word was passed along the top of the cliff that there was a fight on, and the fishermen began slowly to take themselves off the rail and descend the slope to see the fun, as they called it. they did not hurry themselves in the least, so that there was plenty of time for the encounter to progress, with aleck still calm and cool, warding off the blows struck at him most skilfully, and mastering his desire to retaliate when he could have delivered others with masterly effect. but a change was coming on. enraged by his inability to close with his skilful, active adversary, the big lad made more and more use of his tongue, the torrent of abuse grew more foul, and aleck more cool and contemptuous, till all at once his adversary yelled out something which was received with acclamations by the excited ring who surrounded the pair, while it went through aleck like some poisoned barb. he saw fire for the moment, and his teeth gritted together, as caution and the practice and skill he had displayed were no more, for, to use a schoolboy phrase, his monkey was up and he meant fighting--he meant to use his fists to the best effect in trying to knock the vile slanderous words, uttered against the man he loved and venerated, down the utterer's throat, while his rage against those who crowded around, yelling with delight, took the form of back strokes with his elbow and more than one sharp blow at some intruding head. but it was against the lout who had spoken that the fire of his rage was principally directed, and the fellow realised at once that all that had gone before, on the part of the stranger from the den, was mere sparring and self-defence. aleck meant fighting now, and he fought, showering down such volleys of blows that, at the end of a couple of minutes, in spite of a brave defence and the planting of nasty cracks about his adversary's unguarded face, the big lad was being knocked here and there, up, down, and round about, till the shouts and cries about him lowered into a dull, dead hum. the pier stones reeled and rose and sank and seemed to imitate the waves that floated in, and when at last, in utter despair, he locked aleck in his arms and tried to throw him, he received such a stunning blow between the eyes that he loosened his grasp to shake his head, which the next moment was knocked steady and inert, the big fellow going down all of a heap, and the back of his big bullet skull striking the pier stones with a heavy resounding bump. chapter three. in his excitement it seemed to aleck that the real fight was now about to begin, for the little mob of boys uttered an angry yell upon seeing their champion's downfall, and were crowding in. but he was wrong, for a gruff voice was heard from the fishermen, who had at last bestirred themselves to see more of what they called the fun, and another deep-toned voice, accompanying the pattering of two wooden legs, came from the direction of the steps. "here, that'll do, you dogs!" cried the first voice, and-- "stand fast, master aleck, i'm a-coming," cried the other. the effect on the boys was magical, and they gave way in all directions before the big fisherman who had asked for the "iles" for his shoulders, a medicament he did not seem to require, for his joints worked easily as he threw out his arms with a mowing action, right and left, and with a force that would have laid the inimical lads down in swathes if they had not got out of the way. "well done, young aleck donne," he cried. "licked big jem, have yer? hansum too. do him good. get up--d'yer hear--before i give yer my boot! i see yer leading the lot on arter the young gent, like a school o' dogfish. hullo, tom, you was nigher. why didn't yer come up and help the young gen'leman afore?" "'cause i didn't know what was going on, matey," cried the sailor. "why didn't yer hail me, master aleck?" "because i didn't want to be helped," cried the boy, huskily, his voice quivering with indignation. "a set of cowards!" "so they are, master aleck," cried the sailor, joining in the lad's indignation. "on'y wish i'd knowed. i'd ha' come up with the boat-hook." "never mind; it arn't wanted," said the big fisherman. "young mr donne's given him a pretty good dressing down, and if this here pack arn't off while their shoes are good we'll let him give it to a few more." "i want to know what their fathers is about," growled the sailor. "i never see such a set. they're allus up to some mischief." "ay, ay, that's a true word," cried another fisherman. "that's so," growled the sailor, who, as he spoke, kept on brushing aleck down and using his forearm as a brush to remove the dust and _debris_ from the champion's jacket. "pity he didn't leather another couple of 'em," cried the big fisherman. "ay," growled the sailor. "i don't want to say anything unneighbourly, but it seems a pity that some on 'em don't get swep' up by the next press-gang as lands. a few years aboard a man-o'-war'd be the best physic for some o' them. look at all this here rubbidge about! i see 'em. got it ready to fling at the young gent. i know their games." "nay, nay," said the big fisherman, as a low, angry murmur arose, and ignoring the allusion to the fish _debris_ lying about, "we don't want no press-gangs meddling here." "yes, you do," said the sailor, angrily, as he applied a blue cotton neckerchief he had snatched off and shaken out, alternately to a cut on aleck's forehead and to his swollen nose, which was bleeding freely. "nice game this, arn't it? i know what i'm saying. i was pressed myself when i was twenty, and sarved seven year afore i come home with a pension. it made a man o' me, and never did me no harm." there was a hoarse roar of laughter at this, several of the fishermen stamping about in their mirth, making the sailor cease his ministrations and stand staring, and beginning to mop his hot forehead with the neckerchief. "what are yer grinning at?" he said, angrily, with the result that the laughter grew louder. "have i smudged my face with this here hankychy, master aleck?" said the sailor, turning to the boy, who could not now refrain from smiling in turn. but aleck was saved the necessity of replying to the question by the big fisherman, who spoke out in a grimly good-humoured way, as he cast his eyes up and down the dwarfed man-o'-war's man: "lookye here, tom, mate," he said, good-humouredly, "i don't know so much about never doing you no harm, old chap." "what d'yer mean?" growled the sailor. "what about yer legs, mate?" cried another of the men. the sailor stared round at the group, and then a change came over him, and he bent down and gave his hip a sounding slap. "i'm blest!" he cried, with the angry looks giving place to a broad smile. "i'm blest! i never thought about my legs!" there was another roar of laughter now, in which tom bodger joined. "but lookye here, messmates, what's a leg or two? gone in the sarvice o' the king and country, i says. here am i, two-and-thirty, with ninepence a day as long as i live, as good a man as ever i was--good man and true. who says i arn't?" "nobody here, tom, old mate," cried the big fisherman, giving the sailor a hearty slap on the shoulder. "good mate and true, and as good a neighbour as we've got in rockabie. eh, lads?" "ay, ay!" came in a hearty chorus. "there, tom, so say all of us; but none o' that about no press-gangs, mate," cried the big fisherman. "the king wants men for his ships, but all on us here has our wives and weans. what was all right for a lad o' twenty would be all wrong for such as we." "ay, that's true," said the sailor, "and i oughtn't to ha' said it; but look at master aleck here. them boys--" "yes, yes, boys is boys, and allus was and allus will be, as long as there's land and sea. some on 'em'll get a touch o' rope's-end after this game, i dessay. lookye here, master aleck donne, you come up to my place, and the missus'll find you a tin bowl o' water, a bit o' soap, and a clean towel. you won't hurt after a wash, but be able to go home as proud as a tom rooster. you licked your man, and the captain'll feel proud of you, for big jem was too much of a hard nut for such a chap as you. come on, my lad." "no, no, thank you," said aleck, warmly; "i want to get back home now. i don't want to show mrs joney a face like this." "nay, my lad, she won't mind; and--" "tom bodger's going to sail my boat home," put in the boy, hastily, "and i shall hang over the side and bathe my face as i go. i say, all of you, i'm sorry i got into this bit of trouble, but it wasn't my fault." "course it wasn't," said the fisherman. "we all know that, and you've give some on 'em a lesson, my lad. well, if you won't come, my lad, you won't." "it's only because i want to get back home," said aleck, warmly. "it's very kind of you all the same." a few minutes later the boy was seated in the stern of the boat, while tom bodger stood up, looking as if he, too, were sitting, as he thrust the little craft along by means of the boat-hook and the pier walls, while the fishermen walked along level with them to the end, where half a dozen of the boys had gathered. "give him a cheer, lads," said the big fisherman, and a hearty valediction was given and responded to by aleck, who took off and waved his cap. but just then a hot-blooded and indignant follower of defeated big jem let his zeal outrun his discretion. waiting till the group of fishermen had turned their backs, he ran to the very end of the pier, uttered a savage "yah!" and hurled the very-far-gone head of a pollock after the boat. the next minute he was repenting bitterly, for the big fisherman made four giant strides, caught him by the waistband, and the next moment held him over the edge of the pier and would have dropped him, struggling and yelling for mercy, into the sea, but aleck sprang up and shouted an appeal to his big friend to let the boy go. "very well," growled his captor; "but it's lucky for him, master aleck, as you spoke. warmint!" he growled to the boy, lowering him to the rugged stones. "get home with yer. i'm going on by and by to your father, my lad. be off." the boy yelled as he started and ran off, limping, and with good cause, for the boots the fisherman wore were very loose, and hung down gaping to his ankles, as if to show how beautifully they were silver-spangled with fish scales, but the soles were very thick and terribly hard, especially about the toe. chapter four. "i didn't get my brill after all, tom," said aleck, as the sail filled out and the boat sped along over the little dancing waves. "never mind the flat fish, master aleck; we'll pick up a few bass as we go along through the race, and they'll be fresher than his brill." "no, tom," said aleck, frowning; "no fishing to-day. i want to get back and have a proper wash and change my shirt and collar." "well, you did get a bit knocked about, master aleck. you see, he's a hard sort o' boy; awfully thick-headed chap." "he is, and no mistake," said aleck. "look at my knuckles!" "ay, you have got 'em a bit chipped; but it'll all grow up again. but what was it he said as made you bile over and get a-fighting that how?" "oh, never mind," said the boy, flushing. "it's all over now." "yes," said the sailor, knitting his brow, "it's all over now; but," he added, thoughtfully, as he let the sheet slip through his fingers and tightened it again, giving and taking as the sail tugged in answer to the puffs of wind, "but it don't seem like you to get into action like that, master aleck. you're generally such a quiet sort o' chap, and don't mind the boys yelping about yer heels any more than as if they was dogs." "of course, and i never for a moment thought that anything they could say would put me in such a passion. oh, tom, i felt once as if i could kill him!" "monkey must ha' been up very much indeed, master aleck. i've been a-wondering what he could ha' called you to make you clear the decks and go at him like that. you must have hit out and no mistake." "yes, i hit them as hard as ever i could--both of them." "both? did you have two on 'em at yer at once?" "yes, part of the time." "then i am glad you licked 'em. it was just like a smart frigate licking a couple of two-deckers. what did he call yer?" "oh, never mind, tom; nothing." "but he must have called yer, as i said afore, something very, very bad indeed. yer needn't mind telling me, my lad, for i seem to ha' been a sort of sea-father to yer. i've heered a deal o' bad language at sea in my time, and i should like to hear what it was that made you fly out like that. tell us what it was." "no, no; don't ask me, tom." "not ast yer, my lad? well, i won't if yer say as i arn't to. but it must ha' been something very bad indeed." "it was, tom, horribly bad; but--but he didn't call me anything. it was something he said made me so angry. i wouldn't have fought like that for anything he had called me." "ho!" said the sailor, thoughtfully. "then it was about somebody else?" "yes, tom," said the lad, frowning, and with his eyes flashing with the remains of his anger. "then it must have been something as he called me," said the sailor, naively. "yes, i know he's got his knife into me. so you licked him well for saying what he did, master aleck?" "yes," said the lad, thoughtfully, and with the frown deepening upon his face. "then i says thankye, master aleck, and i won't forget it, for it was very hansum on yer." "what was?" said the lad, starting. "what was? why, you licking that big ugly lout, my lad, for calling me names." "no, no, no," cried aleck, quickly; "it was not for that." "why, you said just now as you did, master aleck," said the sailor, blankly. "oh, no; you misunderstood me, tom. it was not for that." "ho! then what for was it, my lad?" "i can't tell you, tom," cried the boy, passionately. "don't worry me. can't you see i'm all in pain and trouble?" "all right, sir; i don't want to worry yer. it don't matter. i couldn't help wanting to know why you larruped him; but, as i said afore, it don't matter. you did larrup him, and give it him well, and it strikes me as his father'll give him the rope's-end as well, as soon as he sees him for going back home with such a face as he's got on his front. my word, you did paint him up. his old man won't hardly know him." "tom!" cried aleck, excitedly, as these last words impressed him deeply. "ay, ay, sir! tom it is." "look at my face," said the lad, looking up sharply from where he had been leaning over the gunwale scooping up the water in his hand and bathing the injuries he had received in his encounter. "look at me. is my face much knocked about?" the sailor shifted the hands which had held rudder and sheet, afterwards raising that which held the latter and rubbing his mahogany brown nose with the rope. "well, why don't you speak, tom?" said the lad, pettishly. "'cause i was 'specting yer like, my lad--smelling yer over like, so as to think out what to say." "go on, then; only say something." "so i will, sir, if yer really wants to hear." "why, of course i do. does my face show much?" "well, yes, sir," said the sailor, gravely, as he went on rubbing one side of his nose with the rope. "you've got it pretty tidy." "tell me what you can see." the sailor grunted and hesitated. "go on," cried aleck. "here, my bottom lip smarts a good deal. it's cut, isn't it?" "that's right, sir. cut it is, but i should say as it'll soon grow up together again." aleck pressed the kerchief to his lip, and winced with pain. "arn't loosened no teeth, have yer, sir?" aleck shook his head. "go on," he said. "what about my nose? it's swollen, isn't it?" "well, yes, sir, it is a bit swelled like. puffy, as yer might say; but, bless yer 'art, it's nothing to what big jem's is. i shouldn't mind about that a bit now, for it have stopped bleeding. there's nothing like cold sea water for that, though it do make yer tingle a bit. i 'member what a lot o' good it used to do when we'd been in action and the lads had got chopped about in boarding the enemy. the frenchies used to be pretty handy with their cutlasses and boarding-pikes. they used axes too." "oh, i don't want to know about that," cried aleck, pettishly. "there's a scratch or something on my forehead, isn't there?" "it's 'most too big and long to call it a scratch, sir. i should call that a cut." "tut, tut, tut!" ejaculated aleck. "that'll soon be all right, sir," continued the sailor, cheerfully. "bit o' sticking plaster'll soon set that to rights. what i don't like is your eyes." "my eyes?" cried aleck. "yes, they do feel stiff when i wink them. do they look bad, then?" the sailor chuckled softly. "what do you mean by that?" cried the lad, angrily. "are they swollen too? i'm sure there's nothing to laugh at in that." the sailor tried to look very serious, but failed. the laughing crinkles were smoothed out of his face, but his eyes sparkled and danced with merriment as he said: "i didn't mean no harm, master aleck, but you wouldn't say what you did if you could see your eyes. they do look so rum." "why? how?" cried aleck, excitedly. "did yer see benny wiggs's eyes las' year after he took the bee swarm as got all of a lump in huggins's damsel tree?" "no, of course i didn't," cried aleck, impatiently. "ah, that's a pity, sir, because yourn looks just like his'n did. you see, they don't look like eyes!" "then what do they look like?" cried aleck. "well, sir, i'll tell yer: they looks just like the tops o' bread loaves going to the oven." "like what?" "i mean like the holes the missuses makes in the dough with their fingers. finishes off by giving a poke in the top with a finger, and that closes up into a crinkly slit with a swelling around." "bah!" growled aleck. "well, you would ask me, sir." "yes, of course. something like big jem's?" "yes, sir; on'y more squeezed in like. your eyes is allus handsome and bright like, but they arn't now. but, there, don't you mind that, sir. they turn nasty colours like for a bit, but, as i says, don't you mind. big jem's face was a reg'lar picter. i don't know what his father'll say when he sees him." "and i don't know what uncle will say when he sees me," said aleck, despondently. "eh? the captain?" cried the sailor, in a startled tone of voice. "phe-ew!" he whistled. "i forgot all about him. i say, my lad, he won't like to see you this how." "no," said aleck, dismally. "arn't got no aunts or relations as you could go and see for a fortnit, have you?" "no, tom; i have no relatives but uncle donne." "that's a pity, sir. well, i dunno what you'd better do." "face uncle, and tell him the whole truth." "to be sure, sir. of course. that's the way you'd better lay your head--to the wind like. and, look here, sir!" "i can't look, tom; my eyes feel closed up, and i can hardly see a bit." "i mean look here with understanding, sir. i used to be with a skipper who was a downright savage if we got beaten off, and threatened to flog us. but if we won, and boarded a ship and took her, he'd laugh at our hurts and come round and shake hands and call us his brave lads." "but what has that to do with uncle seeing me in this horrible state?" "why, don't you see, sir?" cried the sailor, eagerly. "he's a captain, and a fighting man." aleck frowned, but the sailor did not notice it, and went on: "you ups and tells him that big jem and the pack o' blackguard riff-raff come and 'sulted yer and said what you wouldn't tell me. the captain wouldn't want you to put up with that. i know the captain 'most as well as you do. `hullo!' he says; `what ha' you been doing--how did you get in that condition?' he says--just like that. then you ups and tells him you had it out with big jem and the rest. `what for, sir?' he says-- just like that. `for saying,'--you know what, sir--you says, and tells him right out, though you wouldn't tell me. `and you let that big, ugly, blackguardly warmint thrash you like that?' he says, in his fierce way--just like that. then your turn comes, and you ups and says, 'most as chuff as he does: `no, uncle,' you says, `i give him the orflest leathering he ever had in his life.' `did you, aleck?' he says, rubbing his hands together, joyful like. `well done, my boy,' he says; `i like that. i wish i'd been there to see. brayvo!--now go and wash your face and brush your clothes and 'air.'" "think he would, tom?" "sure on it, sir. i wouldn't ha' answered for him if you'd gone back with your tail between your legs, reg'larly whipped; but seeing how you can go back and cry cock-a-doodle-doo!--" "like a dog, tom?" said aleck, grimly, with a feeling of amusement at the way in which his companion was mixing up his metaphors. "like a dog, sir? tchah! dogs can't crow. you know what i mean. seeing how you can go back with your colours flying, the captain'll feel proud on yer, and if he's the gentleman i take him for he'll cut yer a bit o' sticking plaster himself. what you've got to do is to go straight to his cabin and speak out like a man." "yes, tom, i mean to--but, tom--" continued the lad, in a hesitating way. "ay ay, sir; what is it?" "did you ever hear any of the fishermen say anything against my uncle?" "eh? oh, i've heered them gawsip and talk together when they've been leaning theirselves over the rail in the sun, gawsiping like, as you may say; but i never took no notice. fishermen when they're ashore chatter together like old women over the wash-tubs, but i never takes no heed to what they says. the captain's been a good friend to me, and so i shuts my ears when people say nasty things." "then you know that they do say nasty things about him?" said aleck. "oh, yes, sir, and 'bout everyone else too. they lets out about me sometimes, i've heered, and about my losing my legs; but i don't mind. i say, though, master aleck, sir! haw--haw--haw! think o' me forgetting all about 'em and saying that being at sea never did me no harm! it was a rum 'un!" aleck was silent and thinking about his own troubles, making his companion glance at him uneasily, waiting for the lad to speak; but as he remained silent the sailor turned the state of affairs over in his own mind till he hit upon what he considered to be a very happy thought. "i say, master aleck." "eh? yes, tom." "i've been a-thinking that as a reg'lar thing i'm a bit skeart o' the captain. he's such a fierce, cut-you-off-short sort of a gentleman that i'm always glad to get away when i've been up to the den to do anything for yer--pitching the boat's bottom or mending holes, or overhauling the tackle; but i tell you what--" "well, what, tom?" said aleck, for the sailor stopped short and crossed his two dwarf wooden legs in the bottom of the boat, and then, as if not satisfied, crossed them the other way on. "i was thinking, master aleck, that you and me's been messmates like, ever since i come back from sea." "yes, tom." "i mean in a proper way, sir," cried the man, hurriedly. "i don't mean shoving myself forrard, because well i know you're a young gen'leman and i'm on'y a pensioned-off hulk as has never been anything more than a ab." "i don't know what you're aiming at, tom," said aleck, querulously, as he went on bathing his bruised face again. "of course we've been like messmates many a time out with the boat, but what has that to do with the trouble i'm in?" "well, just this here, sir. messmates is messmates, and ought to help one another when there's rocks ahead." "of course, tom." "well, then, as i've been thinking, suppose i come ashore with yer and follers yer right up to the captain, and lie close by when he begins to sort o' keelhaul yer?" "what good would that do, tom?" "cheer yer up, my lad. i once went ashore with a messmate to help him like when he was going to have a tooth out as had been jigging horrid for two days. he said it did him no end o' good to have me there. so s'pose i come, sir. it strikes me as the captain won't say half so much to yer p'raps with me standing by." "oh, no, no, no, tom," cried aleck, quickly. "it's very good of you, and i'm much obliged, but i'd rather go straight in and face my uncle quite alone. i'm sure he'd think i brought you because i was too cowardly to come alone." "would he, sir?" "i feel sure he would, tom." "well, master aleck, i dessay you knows best, but come i will if you'd like me to, sir." "yes, i know that, tom," cried the boy, warmly, "but it would be better for me to go in alone." "think so, sir?" "yes, i'm sure of it." "well, p'raps you're right, sir. it seems more brave british seaman to face the enemy straightforward like. not as i mean, sir, as the captain's a enemy, but on'y just standing for one till the row's over. d'yer see?" "yes, i see, tom, and i've been thinking, too, that it will be enough for me to go in and face uncle at once, and for you not to wait to be paid for this journey." "oh, i don't want no paying, my lad, for a little job like this. think of the times when you've give me pretty nigh all the fish you've caught!" "but uncle said you were to be paid, tom." "very well, sir. let him pay me then nex' time he sees me. that'll be all right. you'll be sending a rock through the boat's planks afore long, and i shall have to come over and put a bit o' noo planking in. the captain will pay me then. i say, it's time we put her about. we can make a good bit this reach. strikes me that the wind's more abeam than when we started." "is it?" said aleck, drearily, and he felt that it would have been far more satisfactory for it to be dead ahead, or to be blowing so fiercely that they would be compelled to put back to rockabie, and his return home deferred to another day. as it was, it became more and more favourable, and an easy passage was made round the great promontory, while the current that rushed round the point and raced outward was so calmed down by the tide being just at the turn that the boat glided round and into smooth water, the stack rocks soon after coming into sight, and, with what seemed to the lad like horrible rapidity, they ran in under the rocks and passed the regular rookery of sea-birds, whose cries were deafening when they were close in. "say when," cried the sailor, who had given up the tiller to aleck and stepped forward ready to lower the sail. "now!" cried the lad, dismally, a few minutes later; and down came the sail, while in obedience to the rudder the boat glided in between the two walls of perpendicular rock, running in for some little distance before it became necessary for the sailor to help her along by means of the boat-hook and guide her right into her little haven. here tom bodger was quite at home, and as active as the boat's owner, stumping about inside, and then hopping off one of the thwarts on to the rocks, ready to take mast, yard, oars, and boat-hook up into their places, securing the boat's painter to the big ring-bolt, and then taking one side while aleck took the other and swinging her right up on to the rocks. "there we are, then," said the sailor, a few minutes later; "all ship-shape and snug. shall i put them baits back in the coorge?" "no, no, tom," said aleck, dismally; "empty the bucket into the sea, and give them a chance for their lives." "ay, that's right, master aleck, for they begin to look as if they'd been too long in the bucket." this latter was emptied, and then the couple began to ascend the gap towards the opening into the sunk garden. tom stopped after getting over the stones like the rock-hopper penguin. "i'll slip off now, master aleck, case the captain may be out in the garden," whispered the sailor. "yes, you'd better go now, tom. do i look so very bad?" "tidy, sir, tidy; but don't you mind that. go right at him, and let him know as soon as you can that you beat. you'll be all right then. maybe he'll let out at you at first, but all the time he'll be beginning to feel that you leathered a big hulking chap as is the worst warmint in rockabie, and you'll come out all right. day, master aleck!" "good day, tom, and thank you. i'll remind uncle about your shillings if he forgets." "he won't forget, sir; the captain's a gen'leman as never forgets nothing o' that sort. now then, sir, ram your little head down and lay yourself aboard him. nothing like getting it over. head first and out of your misery, same as when i learned you to swim." tom bodger shut one eye, gave the lad a frown and a knowing look, and then away he went up a rugged staircase-like pathway to the top of the cliff, looking every moment, while aleck watched, as if he would slip off, but never slipping once, and finally turning at the top to take off and wave his hat, and then he was gone. chapter five. "oh, dear!" groaned aleck. "how am i to face him?" and he went on till only a few steps divided him from the cultivated garden, where he stopped again. "i wonder where he is. in the study, i suppose--write, write, write, at that great history. can't i leave it and get into my room with a bad headache? it's only true. it aches horribly. i'll send word by jane that i'm too poorly to come down. bah!" muttered the boy. "what nonsense; he'd come up to me directly with something for me to take. i wonder whether he is in his room or out in the garden. he mustn't see me till i've been up into my room and done something to my hair. perhaps he's in the summer-house and i can get in and upstairs without his seeing me. oh, if i only--" "hullo! aleck, lad, what are you doing there? why are you so late? dinner has been ready quite an hour." the captain had suddenly appeared from behind a great clump of waving tamarisk, and stood looking down at the lad. "i was coming to see if you were in sight, and--why, what in the name of wonder is the matter with you? where have you been? why, by all that's wonderful, you've been fighting!" "yes, uncle," said the lad, with a gasp of relief, for it seemed to him as if, instead of taking the bold plunge, swimming fashion, he had been suddenly dragged in. "i thought so," cried the captain, angrily. "here--no, stop; come up to the house, to my room. we can't talk here." "i don't see why not," thought the lad, dismally. "there's plenty of room, and we could get it over more easily, even if he does get into a furious passion with me." but the captain had wheeled round at once and began to stump back along over the shell and crunching spar-gravel path, his chin pressed down upon his chest, and not uttering a word, only coughing slightly now and then, as if to clear his voice for the fierce tirade of angry words that was to come. he did not glance round nor speak, but strode on, evidently growing more and more out of temper, the lad thought, for as he walked he kept on kicking the loose shelly covering of the path over the flower beds, while the silence kept up seemed to aleck ominous in the extreme. "but, never mind," he thought; "it must soon be over now. what a sight i must look, though! he seemed to be astonished." culprit-like, the lad followed close at his uncle's heels till the side entrance was reached, where, with what seemed to be another sign of his angry perturbation, the old officer stopped short, rested one hand upon the door-post to steady himself, and began to very carefully do what was not the slightest degree necessary, to wit: he scraped his shoes most carefully over and over again--for there was not even a scrap of dust to remove. "stand back a moment, sir," cried the captain, suddenly. "jane has heard us, and is carrying in the dinner. don't let her see you in that state." aleck shrank to one side, and then as a door was heard to close, started forward again in obedience to his uncle's order. "now in, quick--into the study." he led the way sharply, and aleck sprang after him, but the ascent of so many steps gave the maid time to re-open the little dining-room door, from which point of vantage she was able to catch a glimpse of the lad's face, which looked so startling that she uttered an involuntary "oh, my!" before letting her jaw drop and pausing, her mouth wide open and a pair of staring eyes. "come in!" roared the captain, angrily, as aleck paused to turn for a moment at the door; and instead of entering, stood shaking his head deprecatingly at the maid, while his lips moved without a sound escaping them as he tried to telegraph to one who took much interest in his appearance: "not hurt much. i couldn't help it!" he started violently then at his uncle's stern command, uttered like an order to a company of men to step into some deadly breach, and the next moment the door was closed and the old man was scowling at him from the chair into which he had thrown himself, sending it back with the legs, giving forth a sound like a harsh snort as they scraped over the bare oaken floor. aleck drew a long deep breath and tried to tighten up his nerves, ready for what he felt was going to be a desperate encounter with the fierce-looking old man whom from long experience he knew to be harsh, stern, and troubled with a terrible temper, which made him morose and strange at times, his fits lasting for days, during which periods he would hardly speak a word to his nephew, leaving him to himself save when he came upon him suddenly to see that he was not wasting time, but going on with one or other of the studies which the old man supervised, or working in the garden. "i want you, though you lead this lonely life with me, aleck," he would say, frowning heavily the while, "to grow up fairly learned in what is necessary for a young man's education, so that some day, when i am dead and gone out of this weary world, you may take your place as a gentleman--not an ornamental gentleman, whose sole aim is to find out how he can best amuse himself, but a quiet, straightforward, honourable gentleman, one whom, if people do not admire because his ways are not the same as theirs, they will find themselves bound to respect." these strange fits of what aleck, perhaps instigated by jane, their one servant, called "master's temper," would be followed by weeks of mental blue sky, when the black clouds rolled away and the sun of a genial disposition shone out, and the old man seemed as if he could not lavish enough affection upon his nephew. the result of all this was that the boy's feelings towards the old man, who had always occupied the position of father to him as well as preceptor, were a strange mingling of fear of his harshness, veneration of his learning and power of instructing him in everything he learned, and love. for there were times when aleck would say, gloomily, to himself, "i'm sure uncle thoroughly hates me and wishes me away," while there were times when he was as happy as the days were long, and ready to feel certain that the old man loved him as much as if he were his own child. "he must," thought the boy, "or he wouldn't have nursed and coddled me up so when i had that fever and the doctor told jane that he had done all he could, and that i should die--go out with the tide next day. that's what i like in uncle," he mused, "when he isn't out of temper-- he's so clever. knew ever so much better than the doctor. what did he say then? `doctors are all very well, aleck, but there are times when the nurse is the better man--that is, when it's a cock nurse and not a hen. you had a cock nurse, boy, and i pulled you through.'" but the love was in abeyance on this particular morning at the den, as the old man had named his out-of-the-way solitary dwelling, and aleck felt that the place was rightly named as he stood ready to face the savage-looking denizen of the place, who, after staring him down with a pair of fiercely glowing eyes, suddenly opened upon him with: "now, then, sir! so you've been fighting?" "yes, uncle," said the boy, meekly. "who with?" "some of the rockabie boys, uncle." "hah! and in the face of all that i have said and taught you about your being different by your birth and education from the young ragamuffin rout of rockabie harbour! cannot you run over there in your boat and do what business you have to carry out without being mixed up in some broil?" "no, uncle." "disgraceful, sir! a gentleman's education should teach him that his weapons are words properly applied, and not tooth and nail, blows and kicks." "i never bit or kicked, uncle," said aleck, sullenly. "of course not, sir; and don't retort upon me in that insolent way. you know perfectly well that i was speaking metaphorically. did you for a moment imagine i thought you used your teeth and claws like a savage dog?" "no, uncle." "then don't reply to me like that. of course i would know you would use your fists. look at your knuckles!" thundered the old man. aleck looked at those parts of his person dismally, and they looked bad. for the skin was damaged in three places, and the nail of his left thumb was split in a painful way. "disgusting," said the old man. "i trusted you to go over there, and you come back a disreputable wreck. all my teaching seems to be thrown away upon a pugnacious untrustworthy boy." "i'm not pugnacious, uncle, if they'd let me alone." "bah! you ought to be above noticing the scum of the place." "i am, uncle, and i don't notice them," pleaded the boy; "it's they who will notice me." "how, pray?" "i can't go into the place without their mobbing me and calling me names." "contemptible! and pray, sir," cried the old man, in harsh, sarcastic tones, "what do they call you?" "all sorts of things," replied the boy, confusedly. "i can't recollect now. yes, i know; sometimes they shout `fox' or `foxy' after me." "and pray why?" "because they say i've just come out of the den." "rubbish." "at other times it's `spider.'" "spider?" "yes, uncle; because i've got such long legs." "worse and worse," cried the old man. "to fight for that! it is childish." "oh, i didn't fight for that, uncle!" "what for, then, pray, sir?" "sometimes they lay wait for me and hide behind a smack or the harbour wall, and pelt me with shells and the nasty offal left about by the fishermen." "disgusting! the insolent young dogs! they deserve to be flogged. so that is why you fought this morning?" "sometimes they throw pebbles and cobble stones, uncle," said the boy, evasively. "and they're so clever with them; they throw so well. i don't like to be hit and hurt, uncle. i suppose i've got a bad temper. i do keep it under so long as they call me names and throw nasty, soft things, but when a stone hits me and hurts, something inside my chest seems to get loose, and i feel hot and burning. i want to hurt whoever threw as much as he hurt me." "what!" cried the old man. "haven't i taught you, sir, that you must be above resenting the attacks of the vulgar herd?" "yes, uncle." "of course. i have always had to bear those assaults, boy. and so the young ruffians threw stones at you?" aleck hesitated. "it was heads and bits of fish to-day, uncle." "the scum! the insolent scum! and some of the offal hit you?" "well, no; nothing hit me, uncle. they followed me about all through the place, and shouted at me every time i came out of a shop." "bah! and because some young ragamuffins were insolent to you, my nephew must lower himself to their level. this is not the first time, sir. you have complained to me before, and you remember what i said to you one day when you came back after engaging in a most degrading scuffle." "yes, uncle." "you promised me that should never occur again, after i had pointed out to you what your conduct ought to be, and how that the more you noticed these young rascals' proceedings the worse it would be." "yes, uncle, but i couldn't remember it to-day. you can't tell how bad it was, and how hard to bear." "i? not tell? not know?" cried the old man, passionately. "i not know what it is to be the butt of a few boys? you talk in your ignorance, sir, like a fool talketh. why, for long years past i have been the mark for the contumely and insult of civilised england. don't make your paltry excuses to me. i say your conduct has been disgraceful. you were trusted to go. i made no objection, sir, save that for your sake and protection you should have an experienced boatman to help manage your boat on the way back, and you come home in this degraded state-- hands and face bruised, your lips cut, and your eyes swollen up ready to turn black with horrible bruises. aleck, it is blackguardly. you make me feel as if i ought to treat you as you deserve--take down that dusty old riding whip and flog you soundly." aleck started violently, and his eyes flashed through the narrow slits of lids. "but i can't treat you, an educated, thoughtful lad, in such a degrading way. the lash is only for those whose nature is low and vile--whose education has never placed them upon a level with such as you. it would be the right punishment for the lads who continually annoy and assault you. but as for you--aleck, i am hurt and disappointed. to come back like this because a few boys pelted you!" "no, uncle, it was not because of that," cried the lad, warmly. "then, why was it, sir?" aleck was silent, and the sailor's advice suddenly came to mind: "tell him you won and thrashed your man." but the words would not come, and while he remained silent captain donne spoke again, very sternly now: "do you hear me, sir?" "yes, uncle," said the boy, desperately. "then answer my question. you say it was not because you were pelted and called names. why, then, did you degrade yourself like this and fight?" "it was because--no, no, uncle," cried the boy, through his teeth, which were compressed tightly as if he was afraid that the simple truth would escape; "i--i can't tell you." "then there is something more?" "yes, uncle." "what is it, then?" cried the old man, whose own temper was rapidly getting the mastery. "speak out, sir, and let me hear whether you have any decent excuse to offer for your conduct. do you hear?" "yes, uncle," faltered the lad. "then speak, sir." "i--i can't, uncle. don't ask me, please." "what! i will and do ask you, sir," cried the old man, furiously: "and what is more, i will be told. i am the proper judge of your conduct. how dare you refuse to speak--how dare you tell me almost to my face that you will not answer my question?" "i don't tell you that, uncle," cried the boy, passionately. "i only say i can't tell you." "you obstinate young scoundrel! how dare you!" roared the old man, now almost beside himself with rage. "tell me this instant. why, then, did you engage in this disgraceful encounter?" aleck darted an imploring look at the old man, which seemed to be begging him piteously not to press for the answer, but in his furious outbreak the old man could not read it aright--could only set it down to stubbornness--and, completely overcome by the passion bubbling up to his brain, he started to his feet and pointed to the door, but only to dash his hand down upon the table the next moment. "no," he cried, "if you forget your duty to me, aleck, i will not forget mine to you. i'll not be angry, but quite cool. now, sir," he cried, with his face looking congested and his heavy grey brows drawn down over his glowing eyes, while his voice sounded hoarse and strange. "aleck, tell me at once. i'll have an answer before you leave this room. why did you engage in that disgraceful fight?" "i can't tell you, uncle," said the boy, in a hoarse whisper. "ha! that means, sir, that you are obstinately determined not to speak?" "it isn't obstinacy, uncle." "don't contradict me, sir. i say it is obstinacy. now, once more, for the last time, will you answer my question?" aleck drew in a long, low, hissing breath and stood fast for a few moments, before saying, in a low tone, his voice quivering the while: "i can't tell you, uncle." there was a dead silence in the room for a few moments then; so dead was the silence, in fact, that if the proverbial pin had dropped it would have sounded loudly on the polished oaken boards. then the old man spoke, in a curiously suppressed tone of voice. "very well," he said, huskily; "it is what was bound to come sooner or later. i see i have made another of the mistakes which have blasted my existence. i must have time to think out what i shall do. one thing is very evident--you have rebelled against my rule, aleck, and are struggling to get away to think and act, sir, for yourself. i have done my best for you, but in my isolation i have doubtless been blind and narrow. it is the natural result of our solitary life here--the young spirit seeking to soar." "oh, no, uncle--" began the boy. "silence, sir!" thundered the old man. "hear me out. i say it is so, and i know. you resent my holding the tether longer, but you are too young yet to fly unheld. i have my duty to do for your mother's sake and for yours. i must have time to think out my plans, but in the meantime prepare yourself to go to some school or institution for a year or two before entering upon your profession." "but, uncle!" "that will do, sir," said the old man, sternly. "you have struck your blow against my authority, and this painful episode in my life must end." "if you'd only let me speak, uncle!" cried the boy, passionately. "i begged of you to speak, sir," said the old man, coldly. "i ordered you to speak; but in each case you refused. well, now then, tell me simply--i ask again on principle--why did you fight those boys?" aleck set his teeth and hung his head. "that will do," said the old man, in deep, husky tones. "go to your room and get rid of as much of the traces of your encounter as you can before going down to your dinner. you need not interrupt me here again till i send for you. there--go." the old man once more raised his hand to point towards the door, and, unable to contain himself longer, aleck rushed out, made for his room, and shut and bolted himself in. chapter six. it was some time before the boy could do anything but sit with elbows upon knees, chin upon hands, gazing straight before him into vacancy. his head throbbed so that he could not think consistently. in his struggle on the pier he had been a good deal shaken, and that alone was enough to produce a feverish kind of excitement. then on the way back his brain had been much troubled, while, worst of all, there had been the scene with his uncle. it was then no wonder that he could not arrange his thoughts so as to sit in judgment upon his acts, especially that last one, in which he had stubbornly, as it seemed, refused or declined to respond to his uncle's question. he tried, and tried hard, with a curious seething desire working in his brain, to decide upon going straight to the old man and speaking out, giving him frankly his reason for refusing to speak. but this always came to the same conclusion: "i can't--i dare not--i can't." at last, wearied out and confused more and more by his throbbing brain, the boy rose and walked slowly to the looking-glass, where he started in dismay at the image reflected there. for a few moments it seemed to be part and parcel of some confused dream, but its truth gradually forced itself upon him, and finally he burst out into a mocking, half hysterical laugh. "i don't wonder at uncle," he cried; "i don't wonder at his being in a rage." with a weary sigh he went to the washstand and half filled the basin. "i'd no idea i looked such a sight," he muttered, as he began to bathe his stiff and swollen features. "the brute!" he said, after a few moments. "i wish i'd told uncle, though, that i beat him well. but, oh, dear! what a muddle it all seems! i wish i'd hit him twice as hard," he said, with angry vehemence, half aloud. "yes?" for there was a gentle tapping at the door. "aren't you coming down to dinner, master aleck?" "no, jane; not to-day." "but it's all over-done, my dear--been ready more than an hour. do, do come, or it'll be spoiled." "go and tell uncle then. i'm not coming down." "but i have been, my dear, and he said i was to come and tell you. he isn't coming down. do make haste and finish and come down." "no, not to-day, jane. i can't come." "but what is the matter, dear? is master in a temper because you fell off the cliff and cut your face?" "i didn't fall off the cliff and cut my face," said aleck. "then, whatever is the matter, my dear?" "well, if you must know, jane, i've been fighting--like a blackguard, i suppose," cried the boy, pettishly. "and is that what made master so cross?" "yes." "did it hurt you very much?" came through the door crack in a whisper. "yes--no," replied aleck. "i don't know what you mean, my dear," sighed jane. "never mind. go away, please, now. i'm bathing my face." "but my dinner's all being spoiled, my dear. you won't come, and master won't come. what am i to do?" "go and sit down and eat it," cried aleck, in a passion now; "only don't bother me." "well, i'm sure!" cried the captain's maid, tartly. "master's temper's bad enough to drive anyone away, and now you're beginning too. i don't know what we're coming to in--" _um--um--murmur--murmur--murmur--bang_! at least that is how it sounded to aleck as he went on with his bathing, the sharp closing of the passage door bringing all to an end and leaving the boy to continue the bathing and drying of his injuries by degrees, after which he sat down by the open window, to rest his aching head upon his hand and let the soft sea air play upon his temples. he was very miserable, and in a good deal of bodily pain, but the trouble seemed to be the worse part, and it was just occurring to him that he felt very sick and faint and that a draught of water would do him good, when there was a sharp tap at the door after the handle had been tried. "uncle!" thought the lad, and the blood flushed painfully to his face. then the tap was repeated. "master aleck, master aleck!" "yes." "i've brought you up some dinner on a tray." "i don't want any--i couldn't eat it," said the boy, bitterly. "don't tell me, my dear. you do want something--you must; and you can eat it if you try. now, do come and open the door, please, or you'll be ill." aleck rose with a sigh and crossed the room, and the maid came in with a covered plate of something hot which emitted an appetising odour. "it's very good of you, jane," began aleck; "but--" "my! you are a sight, master aleck! whatever have you been a-doing to yourself?" "fighting, i tell you," said the boy, smiling in the middle-aged maid's homely face. "who with, my dear?" "oh, some of the fishermen's boys over at the town." "then it didn't ought to be allowed. you _are_ in a state!" "yes; i know without your telling me. what's under that cover?" "roast chicken and bacon, my dear." "oh, i couldn't touch it, jane!" "now, don't say that, my dear. people must eat and drink even if they are in trouble; because if they don't they're ill. i know what i've brought you isn't as nice as it should be, because it's all dried up, and now it's half cold. so be a good boy, same as you used to be years ago when i first knew you. there was no quarrelling with your bread and butter then, and you were always hungry. but, there, i must go. i wouldn't have master catch me here now for all the millions in the bank of england. oh, what a temper he is in, to be sure!" "have--have you seen him lately?" asked aleck, excitedly. "seen him? no, my dear. he's shut himself up, like he does sometimes; but i could hear him in the kitchen, walking all over my head, just like a wild beast in a cage, and now and then he began talking to himself quite out loud. it's all your fault, master aleck, for he was as good-tempered as could be this morning when i went in to ask him what i was to get ready for dinner, and what time." jane closed the door after her with these words and left aleck with the tray. "yes," he said, bitterly, in his pain; "it's all my fault, i suppose, and i'm to go away from everything i like here." he raised the cover over the plate as he spoke, and a pleasant, appetising odour greeted his nostrils; but he lowered the cover again with a gesture of disgust. "i couldn't touch it," he said, with a shudder, "even to do me good. nothing would do me good now. my face feels so stiff, and my eyes are just as if they'd got something dark over them." he went near the window again to look out in the direction of the sea, with some idea of watching the birds, of which so many floated up into sight above the cliffs that shut in the den. but it was an effort to look skyward, and he sat down by the window to think, in a dull, heavy, dreamy way, about his uncle's words. and it seemed to him, knowing how stern and uncompromising the old man was, that it would be a word and a blow. for aught he knew to the contrary letters might have been written by then, making arrangements for him to go to some institution where he would be trained to enter into some pursuit that he might detest. time back there had been talk about his future, the old man having pleasantly asked him what he would like to be. he had replied. "an officer in the army," and then stood startled by the change which came over the old man's face. "no," he had said, scowling, "i could never consent to that, aleck. i might agree to your going into the navy, but as a soldier, emphatically no." "why doesn't he want me to be a soldier?" mused the boy. "he was a soldier himself. i should like to know the whole truth. it can't be what he said." aleck sat wrinkling up his brow and thinking for some little time. not for long; it made his head ache too much, and he changed from soldiering to sailoring. "i don't see why i shouldn't," he said, half drowsily, for a strange sensation of weariness came over him. "i should like to be a sailor. why not go? tom bodger would help me to get a ship; and as uncle is going to send me away, talking as if he had quite done with me, i don't see why i shouldn't go." the drowsy feeling increased, so that the boy to keep it off began to look over his clothes, thinking deeply the while, but in a way that was rather unnatural, for his hurts had not been without the effect of making him a little feverish. and as he thought he began to mutter about what had taken place that afternoon. "uncle can't like me," he said. "he has been kind, but he never talked to me like this before. he wants to get rid of me, to send me away somewhere to some place where i shouldn't like to go. i've no father, no mother, to mind my going, so why shouldn't i? he'll be glad i'm gone, or he wouldn't have talked to me like that." aleck rested his throbbing head upon his crossed arms and sank into a feverish kind of sleep, during which, in a short half-hour, he went through what seemed like an age of trouble, before he started up, and in an excited, spasmodic way, hardly realising what he was doing in his half-waking, half-sleeping state, but under the influence of his troubled thoughts, he roughly selected a few of his under-things for a change and made them up into a bundle, after which he counted over the money he had left after the morning's disbursement, and told himself it would be enough, and that the sooner he was away from the dear old den the better. at last all his preparations were made, even to placing his hat and a favourite old stick given him by his uncle ready upon the chair which held his bundle; and then, with his head throbbing worse than ever, producing a feeling of confusion and unreality that was more than painful, he went once more to the glass to look at his strangely-altered features. "i can't go like that," he said, shrinking back in horror. but like an answer to his words came from far back in his brain, and as if in a faint whisper: "you must now. you've gone too far. you must go now, unless you're too great a coward." "yes," he muttered, confusedly; "i must go now--as soon as it's dark. not wanted here--tom bodger--he'll help me--to a ship." he had sunk heavily into a chair, right back, with his head nodding forward till his chin rested upon his breast, and the next moment he had sunk into a feverish stupor, in which his head was swimming, and in some unaccountable way he seemed to be once more heavily engaged with big jem, whose fists kept up a regular pendulum-like beat upon his head, while in spite of all his efforts he could never get one blow back in return at the malicious, jeering, taunting face, whose lips moved as they kept on saying words which nearly drove him wild with indignation. and what were the words, repeated quite clearly now? "master aleck, don't be so silly! wake up, you're pretending to be asleep. oh, my! what a state your face is in! and your head's as hot as fire." chapter seven. "that you, jane?" "why, of course it is. were you really asleep?" "asleep? no--yes. i don't know, jane. my head's all gone queer, i think." "and no wonder, fighting like that, and never touching a bit of the dinner i brought you up. yes, your head's all in a fever, and your poor swelled-up eyes too. that's better. now, then, you must take this." "what is it?" said the lad, drowsily. "what is it? why, can't you see?" "no; my head's all swimming round and round, and my eyes won't open." "never mind, poor boy, this'll do you good. i've brought you up a big breakfast-cup of nice, fresh, hot tea, and two rounds of buttered toast. they'll do your head good." "i say, jane, where's uncle?" "in his room. he's had some too. i didn't wait to be asked, but took the tea in." "what was he doing?" said aleck. "writing." "his book?" "no, letters; and as busy as could be. come, try and drink your tea." "but isn't it very early for tea--directly after dinner like this?" "directly after dinner? why, bless the boy, it's past seven!" "then i must have been asleep," said the boy, speaking more collectedly now. "i should just think you must, and the best thing for you. hark! there's master's study bell; he wants more tea. i must go; but promise me you'll take yours?" "yes, i'm dreadfully thirsty," said the lad, and as the woman left the room he began to sip the tea and eat pieces of the toast till all was gone, and then, after a weary sigh, he glanced at his bundle and hat upon the chair, reeled towards the bed, held on by the painted post, while he thrust off his boots and then literally rolled upon it, with his face looking scarlet upon the white pillow. the next moment he was breathing heavily in deep, dreamless sleep. that dreamless sleep lasted till the old eight-day clock on the landing had struck eleven, during which time jane, who was growing anxious about him, came in three times--the first to take away the tea and dinner things, the other twice to make sure that he was not going into a high fever, as she termed it, and feeling better satisfied each time. "nothing like so hot," she said to herself. "it was that cup o' tea that did him good. there's nothing like a hot cup o' tea and a good sleep for a bad headache." so jane left and went to bed after a final peep, and, as before said, the sound sleep went on till the clock began to strike, and then he began to dream that his uncle came into the room with a chamber candlestick in his hand, set it down where its light shone full upon his stern, severe old features, and seated himself upon the chair by the bed's head. then he began to question him; and it seemed to the boy that in his dream he answered without moving his head or opening his eyes, which appeared strange, for he fancied he could see the old man's angry face all the time. "not undressed, aleck?" said the old man. "no, uncle." "shoes here ready--hat, bundle, and stick on the chair! does that mean waiting till all is quiet, and then running away from home?" "yes, uncle." "hah! from one who took you to his heart when you were a little orphan child, just when your widowed mother had closed her eyes for ever on this weary world, and swore to treat you as if you were his own!" "yes, uncle." "and why?" "because you are tired of me, uncle, and don't trust me--and are going to send me away." "hah! you are not going to try and be taken as a soldier?" "no, uncle." "hah! what then? going to seek your fortune?" "no, uncle. i'm going to sea." perhaps that _hah_! that ejaculation, was louder than the other words-- perhaps aleck donne had not been dreaming--perhaps it was all real! at any rate the sleeper had awakened and with his eyes able to open a little more, and through the two narrow slits he was gazing at the stern, sorrowful face, lit up by one candle, seated there within a yard of the pillow. "head better, my lad?" "yes, uncle." "seems clearer, eh?" "yes, uncle." "feel feverish?" "no, uncle, i think not. i'm hardly awake yet." "i know, my lad. you got a good deal knocked about, then?" "i don't quite know, uncle. i suppose so. it all seems very dreamy now." "consequence of injury to the head. soldiers are in that condition sometimes after a blow from the butt end of a musket." "are they, uncle?" asked aleck, who was half ready to believe that this was all part of his dream. the captain nodded, and sat silent for a few moments, before glancing at the bundle, hat, and cane. then-- "so you've been making up your mind to run away?" "to go away, uncle; not run." "hah! same thing, my lad." "no, uncle." "what! don't contradict me, sir. do you want to quarrel again?" "no, uncle." "humph! you prepared those things for running away?" "i had some such ideas, uncle, when i tied them up," said the lad, firmly; "but i should not have done that." "indeed! then why did you tie them up?" "to go away, uncle." "well, that's what i said, sir." "that was not quite correct, uncle. if i ran away it would have been without telling you." "of course, and that's what you meant to do." "no, uncle; i feel now that i could not have done that. i should have come to you in the morning to tell you that i felt as if i should be better away, and that i would go to sea at once." "humph! and if you went away, sir, what's to become of me?" "i don't know, uncle, only i feel that you'd be better without such an obstinate, disobedient fellow as i am." "oh, you think so, do you? well, you shouldn't be obstinate then." "i didn't mean to be, uncle." "then, why, in the name of all that's sensible, were you? why didn't you tell me why you fought and got in such a state?" "i felt that i couldn't tell you, uncle." "why not, sir--why not?" aleck was silent once more. "there you are, you see. as stubborn as a mule." "no, i'm not, uncle." "now, look here, aleck; i couldn't go to bed without trying to make peace between us. don't contradict me, sir. i say you are stubborn. there, i'll give you one more chance. now, then, why did you fight those lads?" "don't ask me, uncle, please. i can't tell you." "but i do ask you, and i will know. now, sir, why was it? for i'm sure there was some blackguardly reason. now, then, speak out, or--or--or--i vow i'll never be friends with you again." "don't ask me, uncle." "once more, i will ask you, sir. why was it?" "because--" began aleck, and stopped. "well, sir--because?" raged out the old man. "speak, sir. you are my sister's son. i have behaved to you since she died like a father. i am in the place of your father, and i command you to speak." "well, uncle, it was because they spoke about you," said the lad, at last, desperately. "eh? ah! humph!" said the old man, with his florid face growing clay-coloured. "they spoke ill of me, then?" "yes, uncle." "about my past--past life, eh?" "yes, uncle." "humph! what did they say?" "uncle, pray don't ask me," pleaded aleck. "humph! i know. said i was disgraced and turned out of my regiment, eh? for cowardice?" "yes, uncle." "and you said it wasn't true?" "of course, uncle." "got yourself knocked into a mummy, then, for defending me?" "yes, uncle; but i'm not much hurt." "humph!" ejaculated the old man, frowning, and looking at the lad through his half-closed eyes. "said it was not true, then?" "of course, uncle," cried the boy, flushing indignantly. "humph! thankye, my boy; but, you see, it was true." aleck's eyes glittered as he stared blankly at the fierce-looking old man. for the declaration sounded horrible. his uncle had been one of the bravest of soldiers in the boy's estimation, and time after time he had sat and gloated over the trophy formed by the old officer's sword and pistols, surmounted by the military cap, hanging in the study. many a time, too, he had in secret carefully swept away the dust. more than once, too, in his uncle's absence he had taken down and snapped the pistols at some imaginary foe, and felt a thrill of pleasure as the old flints struck off a tiny shower of brilliant stars from the steel pan cover. at other times, too, he had carefully lifted the sword from its hooks and tugged till the bright blade came slowly out of its leathern scabbard, cut and thrust with it to put enemies to flight, and longed to carry it to the tool-shed to treat it to a good whetting with the rubber the gardener used for his scythe, for the rounded edge held out no promise of cutting off a frenchman's head. and now for the old hero of his belief to tell him calmly and without the slightest hesitation that the charge was true was so staggering, so beyond belief, that the blank look of dismay produced by the assertion gradually gave place to a smile of incredulity, and at last the boy exclaimed: "oh, uncle! you are joking!" the old soldier returned the boy's smile with a cold, stern gaze full of something akin to despair, as he drew a long, deep breath and said, slowly: "you find it hard to believe, then, aleck, my boy?" "hard to believe, uncle? of course i do. nobody could believe such a thing of you." "you are wrong, my boy," said the old man, with a sigh, "for everyone believed it, and the court-martial sentenced me to be disgraced." "uncle! oh, uncle! but it wasn't--it couldn't be true," cried aleck, wildly, as he sat up in bed. "the world said it was true, my boy," replied the old man, whose voice sounded very low and sad. "but you, uncle--you denied the charge?" "of course, my boy." "then the people on the court-martial must have been mad," cried the boy, proudly. "i thought the word of an officer and a gentleman was quite sufficient to set aside such a charge." "then you don't believe it was true, my lad?" "i?" cried the boy, proudly; "what nonsense, uncle! of course not." "but, knowing now what i have told you, suppose you should hear this charge made against me again, what would you do?" aleck's eyes flashed, and, regardless of the pain it gave him, he clenched his injured fists, set his teeth hard, and said, hoarsely: "the same as i did to-day, uncle. nobody shall tell such lies about you while i am there." captain lawrence caught his young champion to his breast and held him tightly for a few moments, before, in a husky, quivering voice, he said: "yes, aleck, boy, for they are lies. but the mud thrown at me stuck in spite of all my efforts to wash it away, and the stains remained." "but, uncle--" "don't talk about it, boy," cried the old man, hoarsely. "you are bringing up the past, aleck, with all its maddening horrors. i can't talk to you and explain. it was at the end of a disastrous day. our badly led men were put to flight through the mismanagement of our chief--one high in position--and someone had to suffer for his sins, there had to be a scapegoat, and i was the unhappy wretch upon whom the commander-in-chief's sins were piled up. they said that the beating back of my company caused the panic which led to the headlong flight of our little army. yes, aleck, they piled up his sins upon my unlucky shoulders, and i was driven out into the wilderness--hounded out of society, a dishonoured, disgraced coward. aleck, boy," he continued, with his voice growing appealing and piteous, "i was engaged to be married to the young and beautiful girl i loved as soon as the war was over, and i was looking forward to happiness on my return. but for me happiness was dead." "oh! but, uncle," cried the boy, excitedly, catching at the old man's arm, "the lady--surely she did not believe it of you?" "i never saw her again, aleck," said the old man, slowly. "six months after my sentence the papers announced her approaching marriage." "oh!" cried the lad, indignantly. "wait, my boy. no; she never believed it of me. she was forced by her relatives to accept this man. i have her dear letter--yellow and time-stained now--written a week before the appointed wedding-day which never dawned for her, my boy. she died two days before, full of faith in my honour." aleck's hands were both resting now upon his uncle's arm, and his eyes looked dim and misty. "there, my boy, i said i could not explain to you, and i have uncovered the old wound, laying it quite bare. now you know what it is that has made me the old cankered, harsh, misanthropic being you know--bitter, soured, evil-tempered, and so harsh; so wanting in love for my kind that even you, my boy, my poor dead sister's child, can't bear to live with me any longer." "uncle!" panted aleck. "i didn't know--" "let's see," continued the old man, with a resumption of his former fierce manner; "you said you would not run away, only go. to sea, eh?" "uncle," cried aleck, "didn't you hear what i said?" "yes, quite plainly," replied the old man, bitterly; "i heard. i don't wonder at a lad of spirit resenting my harsh, saturnine ways. what a life for a lad like you! well, you've made up your mind, and i'll be just to you, my lad. you shall be started well. when would you like to go?" "when you drive me away, uncle," cried the boy, passionately. "oh, uncle, won't you listen to me--won't you believe in me? how can you think me such a coward as to leave you, knowing what i do?" the old man caught him by the shoulders, held him back at arm's length, and stood gazing fiercely in his eyes for a few moments, and then his own began to soften, and he said, gently: "aleck, when i was your age my sister and i were constant companions. you have her voice, boy, and there is a ring in it so like--oh, so like hers! yes, i heard, and i believe in you. i believe, too, that you will respect my prayers to you that all i have said this night shall be held sacred. i do not wish the world to know our secrets. but, there, there," he said, in a totally changed voice, "what a day this has been for us both! you have suffered cruelly, my boy, for my sake, and i in my blindness and bitterness treated you ill." "oh, uncle, pray, pray say no more!" cried the boy, piteously. "i must--just this, aleck: i have suffered too, my boy. another black shadow had come across my darkened life, and in my ignorance i turned against you as i did. aleck, boy, your uncle asks your forgiveness, and--now no more, my boy; it is nearly midnight, and we must try and rest. can you go to sleep again?" "yes, uncle," cried the boy, eagerly, "i feel as if it will be easy now. good-night, uncle." "good-night, my boy," whispered the old man, huskily, and he hurried out, whispering words of thankfulness to himself; but they were words the nephew did not hear. as the door closed aleck sprang off the bed on to his feet, his knuckles smarting as he struck an attitude and tightly clenched his fists, seeing in imagination big jem the slanderer standing before him once again. "you cowardly brute!" he muttered; and then his aspect changed in the dim light shed by the candle, for there was a look of joyous pride in his countenance, disfigured though it was, as he said, hurriedly: "i didn't half tell uncle that i thoroughly whipped him, after all. but old tom bodger--he'll be as pleased as punch." it was rather a distorted smile on aleck's lips, as, after undressing, he fell fast asleep, but it was a very happy one all the same, and so thought captain lawrence as he stole into the room in the grey dawn to see if his nephew was sleeping free from fever and pain, and then stole out again without making a sound. chapter eight. the breakfast the next morning was rather late, consequent upon captain lawrence and his nephew dropping off each into a deep sleep just when it was about time to rise; but it was a very pleasant meal when they did meet, for the removal of a great weight from aleck's mind allowed some other part of his economy to rise rampant with hints that it had missed the previous day's dinner. there was a pleasant odour, too, pervading the house, suggesting that jane had been baking bread cakes and then frying fish. aleck noticed both scents when he threw open his window to let the perfume of the roses come in from the garden; but the kitchen windows and door were open, and the odour of the roses was regularly ousted by that of the food. "my word! it does smell good," said the boy to himself, and his lips parted to be smacked, but gave vent to the interjection "o!" instead, for the movement of the articulations just in front of his ears caused a sharp pain. "that's nice!" muttered aleck. "how's a fellow to eat with his jaw all stiff like that?" this reminder of the previous day's encounter brought with it other memories, which took the lad to the looking-glass, and the reflection he saw there made him grin at himself, and then wince again. "oh, my!" he said, softly. "how it hurts! my face feels stiff all over. i do look a sight. can't go down to breakfast like this, i know; i'll stop here, and jane will bring me some up. one can't stir out like this." grasping the fact that it was late, the boy dressed hurriedly, casting glances from time to time at the birds which sailed over from the sea, and at old dunning, the gardener, who was busy digging a deep trench for celery, and treating the soft earth when he drove in the spade in so slow and tender a way that it seemed as if he was afraid of hurting it. aleck noted this, and grinned and hurt himself again. "poor old 'nesimus," he said, feeling wonderfully light-hearted; "he always works as if he thought it must be cruel to kill weeds." the boy had a good final look at the old man, who wore more the aspect of a rough fisherman than a gardener. in fact he had pursued the former avocation entirely in the past, in company with the speculative growing of fruit and vegetables in his garden patch--not to sell to his neighbours, the fishing folk of the tiny hamlet of eilygugg, but to "swap" them, as he termed it, for fish. then the time came when the den gardener happened to be enjoying himself at rockabie with a dozen more men, smoking, discussing shoals of fish, the durability of nets, and the like, when they suddenly discovered the fact that a party of men had landed on the shore from his majesty's ship conqueror, stolen up to the town in the darkness, and, after surrounding the little inn with a network of men, drawn the said net closer and closer, and ended by trammelling the whole set of guests and carrying them off as pressed men to the big frigate. that was during the last war, and not a man came back to take up his regular avocation. consequently there was a vacancy for a gardener at the den, and it was afterwards filled up by fisherman onesimus dunning, the wrinkled-faced man handling the spade and dealing so tenderly with his mother earth when aleck looked out of the window. "i wonder old jane hasn't been up to see how i am," said aleck, as he handled his comb as gingerly as the gardener did his spade. "i wonder how master aleck is," said jane, just about the same time. "but i won't disturb him. nothing like a good long sleep for hurts." "i know," said aleck to himself; "i can't call down the stairs, because uncle would hear. i daresay he's asleep. i'll tell old ness to go round to the kitchen door and say she is to come up. no, i won't; he'd come close up and see my face, and it would make her cross now she's busy frying fish. how good it smells! i _am_ hungry! wish she'd bring some up at once. how _am_ i to let her know?" he had hardly thought this before he started, for there was a sharp rap at the door, the handle rattled, and the old captain came in. "getting up, aleck, boy?" he said. "ah, that's right--dressed. come along down. you must be hungry." "i am, uncle," replied the boy, returning his uncle's warm and impressive grasp; "but i can't come down like this," and the boy made a deprecating gesture towards his battered face. "well, you don't look your best, aleck, lad," said the old man, smiling; "but you are no invalid. never mind your looks; you'll soon come right." nothing loth, the boy followed his uncle downstairs, jane hurriedly appearing in the little breakfast-room with a hot dish and plates on hearing the steps, and smiling with satisfaction on seeing aleck. "ah, that's right, jane!" said the captain, cheerfully, making the maid beam again on seeing "master" in such an amiable frame of mind. "fried fish?" "yes, sir; brill." "some of your catching, aleck?" "no, sir," put in the maid, eagerly; "that tom bodger was over here with it as soon as it was light. he knocked and woke me up. said master aleck forgot it yes'day." "no wonder," said the captain, smiling at his nephew; "enough to knock anything out of your head, eh, aleck?" "yes, uncle; one of the fishermen said i was to bring it home." "that's right. shows you have friends as well as foes in rockabie." the breakfast went on, and after the first mouthfuls the boy's jaws worked more easily, and he was enjoying his meal thoroughly, when his uncle suddenly exclaimed: "what are you going to do to-day, my boy?" "go on with those problems, uncle, unless you want me to do anything else." "i do," said the old man, smiling. "i want you to leave your books to-day--for a few days, i should say, till your face comes round again-- i mean less round, boy," he added, laughing. "have a rest. go and ramble along the cliffs. take the little glass and watch the birds till evening, and then you can fish." aleck jumped at the proposal, for the thought of books and writing had brought on suggestions of headache and weariness; and soon after breakfast he went up to his uncle's study, to find him sitting looking very thoughtful, and ready to start at the boy's entry. "i've come for the spy-glass, uncle," said aleck. "to be sure, yes. i forgot," said the old man, hastily. "take it down, my boy; and mind what you're about--recollect you are half blind. let's have no walking over the cliff or into one of the gullies." "i'll take care, uncle," said the boy, smiling. "i'll be back to dinner at two." the captain nodded, and aleck was moving towards the door, when the old man rose hastily, overtook him, and grasped his hand for a moment or two. "just to show you that i have not forgotten yesterday, aleck, my boy," he said, gravely, and then he turned away. "who could forget yesterday?" thought the boy, as he slipped out by the side door and took the path leading round by the far edge of the cliff wall, the part which was left wild, that is, to its natural growth. for aleck's intent was to avoid being observed by the old gardener, whom he had last seen at work over the celery trench upon the other side of the house. "he'd only begin asking questions about my face, and grinning at me like one of the great stupid fisher boys," said aleck to himself, as he passed the sling strap of the spy-glass over his shoulder and hurried in and out among the bosky shrubs close under the great cliff wall, till, passing suddenly round a great feathery tuft of tamarisk, he came suddenly upon the very man he was trying to avoid, standing in a very peculiar position, his back bowed inward, head thrown backward, and a square black bottle held upside down, the neck to his lips and the bottom pointing to the sky. aleck stopped short, vexed and wondering, while the old gardener jerked himself upright, spilling some of the liquid over his chin and neck, and making a movement as if to hide the bottle, but, seeing how impossible it was, standing fast, with an imbecile grin on his countenance. "morning, master aleck," he said. "strange hot morning. been diggin'; and it makes me that thusty i'm obliged to keep a bottle o' water here in the shady part o' the rocks." "oh, are you?" said aleck, quietly, and he could not forbear giving a sniff. "ah! nice, arn't it, sir? flowers do smell out here on a morning like this, what with the roses and the errubs and wile thyme and things. it do make the bees busy. but what yer been eating on, sir? or have yer slipped down among the nattles? your face is swelled-up a sight. here, i know--you've been bathing!" "not this morning, ness; i did yesterday." "that's it, then, my lad, and you should mind. i know you've had one o' they jelly-fish float up agen yer face, and they sting dreadful sometimes." "yes, i know," said aleck, beginning to move onward past the man; "but it wasn't a jelly-fish that stung my face." "wasn't it now? yer don't mean it was a bee or wops?" "no, ness; it was a blackguard's fist." "why, yer don't mean to say yer been fighting, do 'ee?" "yes, i do, ness. going to finish the celery trench?" "yes, sir; but the ground's mighty hard. hot wuck, that it is. but where be going wi' the spy-glass?" "over yonder along the cliffs to look at the eilyguggs." "eh?" cried the man, sharply. "'long yonder, past the houses?" "yes." "nay, nay, nay, i wouldn't go that away. go east'ard. it's a deal better and nicer that way, and there's more buds." "i'll go that way another time," said the boy, surlily, and he hurried on. "a nasty old cheat," he muttered; "does he take me for a child? water, indeed! strong water, then. i shouldn't a bit wonder if it was smuggled gin. but, there, i won't tell tales." "ahoy there!" shouted the gardener. "master aleck, there's a sight more eggs yon other way." "yes, i know," cried the boy. "another time." then to himself, "bother his officiousness! wants to be very civil so that i shan't notice about his being there with that bottle." the man shouted something back, and upon aleck looking round he saw to his surprise that he was being followed, the gardener shuffling after him at a pretty good rate. "now, why does he want me to go the other way?" thought the boy. "i didn't mind which cliff i went along, but i do now. i'm not going to be dictated to by him. i know, he wants to come with me, just by way of an excuse to leave off digging for an hour or two and chatter and babble and keep on saying things i don't want to hear, as well as question me about yesterday's fight; and i'm not going to give him the chance." aleck smiled to himself, and winced again, for the swollen face was stiff and the nerves and muscles about his eyes in no condition for smiles. then, keeping on for a few yards till he was hidden from his follower by the thick shrubs, he stooped down, ran off to his right, and reached the path on the other side of the depression, well out of the gardener's sight; and reaching a suitable spot he dropped down upon his knees, having the satisfaction of watching the man hurrying along till he came to where the depression narrowed and the pathway along the chasm began. from here there was a good view downward, and the man stopped short, sheltered his eyes with his right hand to scan the narrow shelf-like declivity for quite a minute, before he took off his hat and began scratching his head, while he looked round and behind before having another scratch and appearing thoroughly puzzled. "wondering how i managed to drop out of sight," laughed aleck to himself. he was quite right, for he saw dunning turn to right and left, after looking forward, ending by staring straight up in the air, and then backward, before giving his leg a sounding rap, and taking off his hat to wipe the perspiration from his forehead. "he doesn't get so hot as that over his work," said aleck to himself, as he crouched lower, laughing heartily; and he had another good laugh when, after one more careful look, the old gardener shook his head disconsolately and turned to walk back. "given it up as a bad job," he said, merrily. "an old stupid! i could have found him. well, i can go now in peace." he waited till the coast was clear, and then, stooping low, set off at a trot, getting well down into the gorge-like rift. striking off gradually to his right, he attacked the great cliff wall in a perfectly familiar fashion, and climbed from ledge to ledge till he reached the top, glanced back to see that the gardener was not in sight, and then strode away over the short, velvety, slippery turf, with the edge of the cliff some fifty yards or so to his left, and the rough, rocky slope that led up to the scattered cottages of the eilygugg fishermen to his right. he soon reached a somewhat similar chasm to that which ended in his own boat harbour; but this was far wider, and upon reaching its edge he could look right down it to the sea, where at its mouth a couple of luggers and about half a dozen rowboats of various sizes were moored. the cottages lay round and about the head of the creek, and partly natural, partly cut and blasted out of the cliff side, ledge after ledge had been formed, giving an easy way down from the cottages to the boats. but there was not a soul in sight, and nothing to indicate that there were people occupying the whitewashed cots, save some patches of white newly-washed clothes which were kept from being blown away by the playful wind by means of big cobble stones--smooth boulders--three or four of which were laid upon the corners of the washing. there was not even one fisherman hanging about the front of the cottages, where all looked quiet and sleepy in the extreme, so, passing on, aleck hurried round the head of the narrow rugged harbour, and was soon after making his way along the piled-up cliffs, keeping well inland so as to avoid the great gashes or splits which ran up into the land and had to be circumvented, where they ended as suddenly as they appeared, in every case being perfectly perpendicular, with the water running right up, looking in some cases black, still, deep and clear, in others floored with foam as the waves rushed in over the black, jagged masses of rock that had in stormy times been torn from the sides. to a stranger nothing could have appeared more terrible than these zigzag jagged gashes or splits in the stern, rocky coast, for they were turfed to the sharp edge, where an unwary step would have resulted in the visitor plunging downward, to drown in the deep, black water, or be mutilated by the rocks amidst which the waters foamed. but "familiarity breeds contempt," says one proverb, "use is second nature" another, and there was nothing that appeared terrible to the boy, who walked quickly along close to the edge, glancing perhaps at its fellow, in some cases only a few yards away, and looking so exactly the counterpart of that on the near side that it seemed as if only another convulsion of nature was needed to compress and join the crack again so that it would be possible to walk where death was now lurking. but there was nothing horrible there to aleck who in every case turned inland to skirt the chasm, gazing down with interest the while at the nesting-places of the sea-birds which covered nearly every ledge, each one being alive with screaming, clamouring, hungry young, straining their necks to meet the swift-winged auks and puffins that darted to and fro with newly-captured fish in their bills. aleck had left the whitewashed cottages behind, along with the last traces of busy human life in the shape of boat, rope, spar, lobster-pot, and net, to reach one of the most rugged and inaccessible parts of the rocky cliffs--a spot all jagged, piled-up rift with the corresponding hollows--and at last selected a place which looked like the beginning of one of the chasms where nature had commenced a huge gaping crack a good hundred feet in depth, though its darkened wedge-shaped bottom was still quite a hundred feet above where the waves swayed in and out at the bottom, of the cliff. the sides here were not perpendicular, but with just sufficient slope to allow an experienced, cool-headed cliff-climber to descend from ledge to ledge and rock to rock till a nook could be reached, where, securely perched, one who loved cliff-scanning and the beauties of the ever-changing sea and shore, could sit and enjoy the wild wonders of the place. the spot was exactly suited to aleck's taste; and as old practice and acquaintance with the coast had made giddiness a trouble he never felt, he was not long in lowering himself down to this coign of vantage. here he perched himself with a sigh of satisfaction, and watched for a time the great white-breasted gulls which floated down to gaze with curious watchful eyes at the intruder upon their wild domain. the puffins kept darting down from the ledges, with beaks pointed, web feet stretched out behind, and short wings fluttering so rapidly that they were almost invisible, while the singular birds looked like so many animated triangles darting down diagonally to the sea, and gliding over it for some distance before touching the water, into which they plunged like arrow-heads, to disappear and continue their flight under water till they emerged far away with some silvery fish in their beaks. some little distance below a few sooty-looking cormorants had taken possession of an out-standing rock upon which the sun beat warmly, and here, their morning fishing over, leaving them absolutely gorged, they sat with wings half open and feathers erect, drying themselves, looking the very images of gluttonous content. birds were everywhere--black, black and white, black and grey, and grey and white, with here and there a few that looked black in the distance, but when inspected through the glass proved to be of a deep bronzy metallic green. but while the air and rocks were alive with objects that delighted the watcher's eye, there was plenty to see beside. close in where the deep water was nearly still, the jelly-fish floated at every depth, shrinking and expanding like so many opening and shutting bubbles of soap and water, glistening with iridescent hues. farther out the smooth, vividly-blue water every now and then turned in patches from sapphire to purple, and a patch--a whole acre perhaps in extent--became of the darkest purple or amethyst, all of a fret and work, while silvery flashes played all over it, reflecting the rays of the burning sun. for plenty of shoals of fish were feeding, over which the birds were rising, falling, darting and splashing, as they banqueted upon their silvery prey. all this was so familiar to aleck that, though still enjoying it, he satisfied himself with a few glances before, carefully focussing the glass he had brought, he began to sweep the coast wherever he could command it from where he sat. the opposite side of the rift seemed to take his attention most, and perhaps he was examining some of the deep cavernous hollows seen here and there high up or low down towards the sea; or maybe his attention was riveted upon some quaint puffin, crouching, solemn and big-beaked, watching patiently for the next visit of main or dad; or, again, maybe the lad was looking at a solitary greatly-blotched egg, big at one end, going off to almost nothing at the other, and wanting in the soft curves of ordinary eggs, while he wondered how it was that such an egg should not blow out of its rocky hollow when the wind came, but spin round as upon a pivot instead. anyhow, aleck was watching the other side of the half-made chasm, the great wedge-shaped depression in the coast-line, looking straight across at a spot about a hundred yards distant in the level, though higher up it was too, and going off to nothing at the bottom, where the place looked like the dried-up bed of a river. all at once he started and nearly dropped the glass, as he wrenched himself right round to gaze back and up, for a gruff voice had suddenly cried: "hullo!" the next moment the boy, was gazing in a fierce pair of very dark eyes belonging to a swarthy, scowling, sea-tanned face, the lower part of which was clothed in a crisp black beard, as black as the short head of hair. this head of hair of course belonged to a man, but no man was to be seen, nothing but the big round bullet head peering down from the edge of one of the ledges, while on both sides, apparently not heeding the head in the least, dozens of wild fowl sat solemnly together, looking stupid and waiting for the next coming of parent birds. "hullo!" cried the head again. "hullo!" retorted aleck, as gruffly as he could, after recovering from his surprise. "that you, eben megg?" "oh! ay, it's me right enough, youngster. what are you doing there?" "now?" said aleck, coolly. "looking up at your black face." "black face, eh, youngster? perhaps other people ha' got black faces too. what ha' you been doing of--tumbling off the rocks? strikes me you're trying it on for another tumble." aleck flushed a little at the allusion to his injured face, feeling guilty too, as it struck him that he had brought the allusion upon himself, a rowland for his oliver, on the principle that those who play at bowls must expect rubbers. "no, i haven't had a tumble, and i'm not going to tumble," he said, testily. "i daresay i can climb as well as you." "p'raps you can, youngster, and p'raps you can't; but, if you do want to break your neck, stop at home and do it, and don't come here." "what!" cried aleck, indignantly. "why not? i've as good a right here as you have, so none of your insolence." "oh, no, you haven't. all along here's our egging-ground, and we don't want our birds disturbed." "your egging-ground--your birds!" cried aleck, indignantly. "why, i do call that cool. you'll be telling me next that the fish in the sea are yours, and that i mustn't whiff or lay a fish-pot or trammel." "ay, unless you want to lose your net or other gear. i hev knowed folk as fished on other people's ground finding a hole knocked in the bottoms of their boats." "what!" cried aleck. "that's as good as saying that if i fish along here you'll sink my boat." "didn't say i would, but it's like enough as some 'un might shove a boat-hook through or drop in a good big boulder stone." "then i tell you what it is, master eben megg. if any damage is done to my seagull you'll have to answer for it before the magistrate." "oh! that's your game, is it, my lad? now, lookye here, don't you get threatening of me or you'll get the worst on it. we folk at eilygugg never interferes with you and the captain and never interferes about your ketching a bit o' fish or taking a few eggs so long as you are civil; but you're on'y foreigners and intruders and don't belong to these parts, and we do." "well, of all the impudence," cried aleck, "when my uncle bought the whole of the den estate right down to the sea! don't you know that you're intruders and trespassers when you come laying your crab-pots under our cliff and shooting your seine on the sandy patch off the little harbour?" "no, youngster, i don't; but i do know as you're getting a deal too sarcy, and that i'm going to stop it, and my mates too." "get out! who are you?" cried the boy, indignantly. "what do you mean?" "i mean that if you want to fish off our shore and wants a man to help with your boat you've got to ask some of us to help, and not get bringing none o' your wooden-legged cripples spying and poking about our ground." "spy? what is there to spy?" said aleck, giving the man a peculiar look. "never you mind about that. you be off home, and don't you come spying about here with none of your glasses." aleck laughed derisively. "ah, you may grin, my lad; but i've been a-watching of yer this morning," said the man, fiercely. "you've been busy with that glass, prying and peering about, and i caught yer at it." aleck laughed again. "oh! that's what you think, is it?" he said. "yes, and it's what i says; so be off home." "i shall do nothing of the kind, eben," said the boy, hotly. "i've a better right here than you have, and i shall come whenever i please. spying, eh?" "ay, spying, youngster; and i won't have it." "then it's all true, eh?" said the boy, mockingly. "what's true?" snarled the man. "you know. what have you got hidden away among the caverns--hollands gin or french brandy? perhaps it's silk or velvet. no, no; i know. but you can't think that. how do you manage to land the great casks?" "i dunno what you're talking about, youngster--do you?" "thoroughly. but aren't the tobacco casks too big and too heavy to haul up the cliffs?" "look here, young fellow," growled the man; "none o' your nonsense. you'd better be off before you get hurt. that's your way back." "is it?" said aleck. "then i'm not going back till i choose. i say, should you talk like this to one of the revenue sloop's men if he came ashore?" "oh, we know how to talk to that sort if he comes our way," said the man, with a chuckling laugh; "and they knows it, too, and don't come." "nor the press-gang either, eh?" said aleck, mockingly. up to that moment the man's fierce face had alone been seen, but at the word press-gang he gave a violent start and rose to his knees, upon which he hobbled close up to the edge of the shelf upon which he had perched himself. "oh, that's it, is it, my lad, eh?" he growled, shaking his fist savagely. "then, look here. if the press-gang--cuss 'em!--ever does come along here we shall know who put 'em up to it, and if they take any of our chaps--mind yer they won't take all, and them behind'll know what to do. i'm not going to threaten, but if someone wasn't sunk in his boat, or had a bit o' rock come tumbling down on him when he was taking up his net under the cliffs, it would be strange to me. d'yer hear that?" "oh, yes, i hear that," retorted aleck. "so you won't threaten, eh? what do you call that?" "never you mind what i call it, youngster; and what i says i means. so now you know." "yes," said aleck, coolly; "now i know that what people say about you and your gang up at eilygugg is quite true." "what do people say?" shouted the man. "what people?" "the rockabie folk." "and what do they say?" "that you're a set of smugglers, and, worse still, wreckers when you get a chance, and don't stop at robbery or murder. one of the fishermen--i won't say his name--said you were a regular gang of pirates." "the rockabie fishermen are a set o' soft-headed fools," snarled the man. "but what do i care for all they say? let 'em prove it; and, look here, if we're as bad as that you folk up at the den aren't safe." "which means that you threaten the captain, my uncle," cried aleck, defiantly. "are you going to tell him what i said?" "perhaps i am," said aleck; "perhaps i'm not. i'm going to do just as i please all along this coast, for it's free to everybody, and my uncle has ten times the rights here that you people at the fishermen's cottages have. you've just been talking insolence to me, so let's have no more of it. this comes of the captain, my uncle, being kind and charitable to you people time after time when someone has been ill." the man growled out something in a muttering way. "ah, you know it, eben megg! it's quite true." "who said it warn't?" growled the man; "but if he'd done ten times as much i'm not going to have you spying and prying about here. what is it you want to know?" "that's my business," said aleck, defiantly. "i say, you haven't made a fortune out of smuggling, have you, and bought the estate?" "you keep your tongue quiet, will yer?" growled the man, fiercely. "what do you know about smuggling?" "just as much as you do, eben megg," cried the boy, laughing. "just as much as everyone else does who lives here. didn't our old maid come in scared one night after a holiday and walking across from rockabie and go into a fit because she had seen, as she said, a whole regiment of ghosts walking over the moor, leading ghostly horses, which came out of the sea fog and crossed the road without making a sound? jane said they were the spirits of the old soldiers who were killed in the big fight and buried by the four stones on black hill, and that as soon as they were across the stony road they were all swallowed up in a mist. she keeps to it till now, and believes it." "well, why shouldn't she?" growled the man. "she arn't the first as has seen a ghost. why shouldn't she?" "because it's so silly, when it was a party of smugglers leading their horses, with kegs slung across their backs and bales on pack saddles." "bah!" cried the man. "horses loaded like that would clatter over the rough stones." "yes," said aleck, "if their hoofs weren't covered over with bits of canvas and a few handfuls of hay." "what!" "i found one that a horse had kicked off on the road one morning, eben," said the boy. "ah! i see now." "see--see what?" said the rough, fisherman-like fellow, sharply. "see why ness dunning was so anxious that i shouldn't come along the cliff this side." "ness dunning?" cried the man, scowling. "what did he say?" "that i'd better go the other way. behaved just like a silly plover which wants to prove to you that it has no nest on the moor, and sets you looking for it." "ness dunning's an old fool," cried the man, fiercely. "yes, he is a thick-headed old noodle, eben; i wouldn't trust him." "then because he did that he made you think there was something hid somewhere and come to hunt for it, did you?" cried the man, angrily. "no, i didn't think anything of the kind till just this minute, but i see now. you're not much wiser than old ness, eben, for you've been trying to throw me off the scent too, and now i know as well as if i could see it that you people have been running a cargo, and you've got it hidden in one of the caves or sunk in one of the holes." "what yer talking about?" "smuggled goods, eben. i could find it if i tried now." the man stepped down from the shelf on which he had been standing, and made a great show of being exceedingly ferocious, evidently thinking that the boy would turn and run away. but aleck stood fast, not even stirring when the man was close up, planting his doubled fists upon his hips and thrusting out his lower jaw in a peculiarly animal-like way. "so you're going to look and see if you can find something hidden, and when you've found it you're going to send word to the revenue cutter men to fetch it, are yer?" "who says i am?" said aleck, sharply. "who says it? why, i do, my lad. so that's what you think you're going to do, is it?" "no," said the lad, coolly enough. "why should i? it's no business of mine." "ho!" growled the man, frowning, and raising one hand to rub his short, crisp, black beard. "no," he said, after a pause, "it arn't no business of yours, is it?" "of course not," said the boy, coolly. "i don't want to know where the run cargo's hidden, and i wasn't looking for it. i only came to watch the birds and get a few eggs if i saw any that i hadn't got." the man made a sudden quick movement and caught aleck's right wrist tightly, leaning forward as if to pierce his eyes with the fierce look he gave. "don't do that--you hurt!" cried aleck, sharply. "yes, i mean to hurt," growled the man. "now, then, look at me! is that true?" "do you hear, eben megg? you hurt me. let go, or i shall hit out." "you'll do what?" cried the big fellow, mockingly, as he tightened his grasp to a painful extent, when _spank_! aleck's left fist flew out, striking the man full on the right cheek, not a heavy blow, but as hard as the boy could deliver, hampered as he was, being dragged close to his assailant's breast. "why, you--" roared the man. he did not say what, but flung the arm he had at liberty round the boy's waist and lifted him, kicking and struggling, from the ground, perfectly helpless, with the great muscular arm acting like a band of iron, to do more than try to deliver some ineffective blows, which his assailant easily avoided. "ah! would you?" he growled, fiercely. "you're a nice young game cock chick, you are. hold still!" he roared, taking a step forward, to stand on the very edge of the shelf. "keep that hand quiet, or i'll hurl you down among the rocks. you'll look worse then than you do now." "do, if you dare," cried the lad, defiantly. "you tell me what i asked," growled the man; "is what you said true?" "i won't tell you while you grip my wrist." "you'd better speak," cried the man. "d'yer see, you're like a feather to me. i could pitch you right out so as you'd go to the bottom yonder." "you could, but you daren't?" cried aleck, grinding his teeth and striving hard to bear the pain he suffered. "oh, i dare--i could if i liked! nobody would see out here. it would kill yer, and nobody would know how it happened; but they'd say when they found you that you'd slipped and fell when you was egging. they would, wouldn't they? that's true, arn't it?" "i suppose so," said the boy, huskily. "and that's what i'm going to do for hitting me, unless you tell me whether that was true what you said. now, then, beg me not to hurl yer down." "i--shan't," ground out the boy through his set teeth, and a grim smile crossed the man's dark face, making it look for the moment open and manly--a smile caused by something akin to admiration. "well, you're a nice-tempered sort of a young fellow," growled the man. "let go of my wrist." "will yer promise not to hit?" aleck nodded. "nor yet kick?" the boy nodded again. "there," said the man, loosening the prisoned wrist. "now, tell me, is it true?" "of course it is," said the boy, haughtily. "i'll believe yer," growled the man. "there," he continued, dropping the boy to his feet. "then you won't look for where the stuff's stowed?" aleck burst into a hoarse laugh. "then there is some stowed?" the man gave himself a wrench, and his face puckered up again with anger. "lookye here," he said, more quietly, "i don't say there is, and i don't say there arn't; but suppose there is, you're going to swear as you won't take no notice." "no, i'm not," said aleck, boldly. "then you do want me to chuck you down yonder?" "you've got to catch me first," cried the boy, making a backward bound which took him ten feet downward before he landed and kept his feet, following up his leap by running along the ledge of stony slate he had reached and then beginning to climb rapidly. the man had followed him at once, leaping boldly, but without aleck's success, for he slipped, through the stones giving way, and went down quite five-and-twenty feet in a rough scramble before he checked himself and took up the pursuit, which he soon found would be useless, for his young adversary was lighter and far more active, and soon showed that he was leaving him behind. "there, hold hard, master aleck," he growled, looking up at the lad. "i won't hurt yer now." "thankye," said the boy, mockingly, as he stopped, holding on by a projecting rock in the stiff slope, and well on his guard to go on climbing if there was the slightest sign of pursuit. "you made me wild by hitting out at me." "serve you right, you great lumbering coward, to serve me like that!" "i didn't mean to hurt you." "yes, you did--brute! you squeezed my wrist as hard as you could." "well, i didn't want to hurt you much. but you did make me wild, you know, hitting me like you did." "look here," cried aleck, fiercely, as the man took a step to continue climbing to where the boy stood, some thirty feet above him, "you come another step, and i'll send this big stone down at you--it is loose." "i don't want to ketch you now, only to talk quiet without having to shout." "i can hear you plainly enough. sit down." the great muscular fellow dropped at once, seating himself upon the slope and digging his heels into the loose screes to keep from sliding down. "there y'are," he growled. "now, then," said aleck, "what do you want to say?" "only about you coming along here to-day. you warn't trying to spy out nowt, was yer?" "no," cried aleck; "of course i wasn't. i've known for long enough that you people at eilygugg do a lot of smuggling. i've stood with the captain, my uncle, of a night and seen you signal with a lanthorn, and then after a bit seen a light shown out at sea." "you've seen that, youngster?" "lots of times; and the boats going and coming and the lights showing up against the cliff. of course we know what goes on, but my uncle doesn't care to interfere, and i've never tried to find out where you hide the smuggled goods; but i shouldn't be long finding out if i tried." "hum!" growled the man, gazing up searchingly. "p'raps you're right, youngster, p'raps you arn't; but there is a deal o' smuggling goes on along this coast." "especially about here," said aleck, with a smile. "well, what's the harm, eh? a man must live, and if one didn't do it another would." "look here; i don't want to know or hear anything about it," cried aleck. "only i shall come along these cliffs, egging or watching the birds, as often as i like." "well, i don't know as anyone'll mind, master aleck, if i speaks to 'em and says as you says as a young gentleman that you'll never take no notice of anything as you sees or hears--" "what! how can a gentleman promise anything of the kind about people breaking the law?" "how? why, by just saying as he won't." "a gentleman can't, i tell you. there, i won't promise anything." the man gave his rough head a vicious scratch, before saying, sharply: "then how's a man to trust yer?" "i don't know," said aleck, carelessly, "but i'll tell you this. if i'd wanted to i could have found out whether you've got a place to hide your stuff, as you call it, long enough ago." "i don't know so much about that," said the man, with a grin. "well, then, i could have told the revenue cutter's men where they had better look." "but you won't, master aleck? we are neighbours, you know." "neighbours!" said aleck, scornfully. "pretty neighbours! there, i'm not going to alter my words. i shall make no promises at all." "well, you are a young gentleman, and i'll trust yer," said the man; "for i s'pose i must. but i don't know what some of our lads'll say." "then i'd better tell my uncle that if anything happens to me he'd better get the revenue cutter's men to hunt out the eilygugg smugglers, because they pushed me off the cliff." "nay, don't you go and do that," said the man, anxiously. "i didn't mean it." "am i to believe that, eben?" said the boy, sharply. the man showed his teeth in a laugh, and put his hands round his neck in a peculiar way. "look here, master aleck," he said; "man who goes to sea has to take his chance o' being drownded." "of course." "and one who tries to dodge the revenue sailors has to take his chance of getting a cut from a bit o' steel or a bullet in him." "i suppose so." "that's quite bad enough, arn't it?" "yes." "bad enough for me, sir, so i'm not going to do what might mean being-- you know what i mean?" "what--" "yes, that's it. a bit o' smuggling's not got much harm in it, but they call it murder when a man kills a man." "by pushing him off a cliff, eben?" said aleck. "yes." chapter nine. it was about a fortnight later when aleck donne went down the garden directly after breakfast with the full intent, after thinking it over a good deal, of charging old onesimus dunning, the gardener, with being leagued with the eilygugg smugglers. "if i told uncle," he argued, "he would be sent away at once; but that would be doing the poor fellow a lot of harm and perhaps make him worse. perhaps, too, it would make him nurse up a feeling of spite against us, and he would set the eilygugg people against us as well. so i won't do that, but i'm not going to have the nasty old imposter smiling at me and pretending to be so innocent. i just want him to understand that i'm not such a child as to be ignorant of his tricks. i'll let him see that i know why he wanted me not to go along yonder by the west cliff." aleck knew exactly where the man was likely to be, for he had been mowing the lawn, sweeping up the fragment result, and wheeling it away. "he'll be stacking it round the cucumber frame," thought aleck, "to keep in the heat. by the way, i wonder what became of the beautiful cuke that lay, at the back under the big leaves--we didn't have it indoors! i'm sure he takes some of them away. uncle never misses anything out of the garden, but i do." the lad went round to the kitchen garden, which sloped round towards the south, so beautifully sheltered that it was a perfect hot-bed of itself in the summer, and there, sure enough, was the heaped-up barrow of fresh green mowings, and one armful had been piled up to half hide a part of the rough wooden frame. but no gardener was visible. "not here," thought aleck. "well, perhaps i was wrong about that cuke." the next minute he had raised the clumsily-glazed sliding sash, with a hot puff of moist air smelling delicious as it reached his nostrils, while he propped up the glass, reached in, and began turning over the prickly leaves, laying bare the rather curly little specimens of the cool, pleasant fruit; but there was no sign of the big, well-grown vegetable. "was i mistaken?" mused the lad. "no, there was one, and there's the remains of the stalk, showing where the cucumber has been cut. what a shame!" he muttered. "i'll tell him of that too. uncle would be angry if he knew." aleck closed the frame again and began to look round. "what a shame!" he said, again. "nice sort of a gardener to have--lazy, a smuggler, and little better than a thief. i'll just give him something to think about when i find him. oh, there he is!" for just then the boy looked up, to see the old gardener standing on the highest part of the sheltering cliff, his back to him, and shading his eyes as he looked out to sea. "ahoy! what are you doing there?" shouted aleck. the man started and looked down. "ships--men-o'-war--going behind the point," shouted the gardener. men-of-war going into rockabie harbour! that news was sufficient to upset all aleck's arrangements. he forgot all about the lesson he was going to give the gardener, and rushed indoors, to hurry upstairs and rap sharply at his uncle's study, and, getting no answer he threw open the door to cross the room and seize the glass from where it hung by its sling. then, dashing out again, he ran downstairs, crossed the garden, mounted the cliff zigzag path, and was soon after focussing the glass upon the men-of-war, which proved to be only a good-sized sloop followed by a trim-looking white-sailed cutter, both vessels with plenty of canvas spread, and gliding steadily over the smooth sunlit sea. "oh, i wish i'd known sooner!" groaned the lad, for he had hardly fixed the leading vessel before her bows began to disappear behind the point, and before ten minutes had elapsed the cutter was out of sight as well. "i don't know that i should much care about going to sea," muttered aleck, closing the glass, "but the ships do look so beautiful with their sails set, gliding along. what a pity! what a pity! i do wish i had known sooner." "what are they going to do there?" thought the boy, as he closed the glass and walked back to the cottage, where upon going upstairs to replace the glass he found his uncle in from his morning walk and about to settle down for a few hours' work. "well, aleck, boy," he said; "been scanning the sea?" "yes, uncle; two vessels came along into rockabie, but i only got a glimpse of them." "too late, eh? well, why not run over in the boat? i want something done in the town." "do you, uncle? oh!" cried the boy, half wild with excitement, as he turned and rushed to the little mirror over the chimney-piece to glance in. "yes," said the old man, smiling. "there, nothing shows now except that little darkness under your eyes. i'm quite run out of paper, my boy. go and get me some. but--er--no fighting this time." "no, uncle," cried the lad, flushing up; and then, quickly: "there's a beautiful soft breeze, dead on to the land, and it will serve going and coming." "off with you, then, while it holds. paper the same as before. get back in good time." aleck wanted no further incitement. the "wigging," as he termed it, that was to be given to dunning would keep, and he avoided the man as he hurried down into the gorge, stepped the mast and hooked on the rudder, guided the little vessel along the narrow, zigzag, canal-like harbour, and without an eye this time for the birds or beauty of the scene, he was soon after lying back steering and holding the sheet, while the well-filled sail tugged impatiently as if resenting being restrained. aleck had fully determined to avoid the boys of rockabie that morning, and he was half disposed to hug himself with the idea that after the thrashing big jem had received they would interfere with him no more. but he was quite wrong, for the port boys were too full of vitality, and always on the look-out for some means of getting rid of the effervescing mischief that bubbled and foamed within them. the distant sight of the king's vessels heading for the port was quite enough to attract them to the pier, and there they were in force, well on the look-out for something to annoy so as to give themselves employment till the sloop and cutter came in. there was the something all ready in the person of tom bodger, who was seated upon a ship's fender, one of those brobdingnagian netted balls covered with a network of tarred rope, used to keep the edge of the stone pier from crushing and splintering the sides of the vessel. this formed a capital cushion, albeit rather sticky in hot weather, and was planted close up to a stone mooring-post, which acted as a back to lean against, while, with his wooden legs stretched straight out, the man employed himself busily in netting, his fingers going rapidly and the meshes seeming to run off the ends of his fingers. intent upon his work, active with hands and arms, but rather helpless as to his legs, tom bodger was a splendid butt for the exercise of the boys' pertinacious tactics, and with mischief sparkling out of the young rascals' eyes they made their plans of approach and began to buzz round him like flies, calling names, asking questions, laughing and jeering too, all of which had but little effect upon the man, who was an adept at what he called giving "tongue." and so the boys found, for they decidedly got the worst of it. soon after, growing bolder, some of the most daring began to make approaches to snatch at the net or the ball of water-cord, but they gained nothing by that. for tom bodger never went out without his stick, a weapon he used for offence as well as defence, and there was not a boy there in rockabie who did not know how hard he could hit. a few little experiences of this sort of thing were quite enough to make the party draw off and take to the hurling of missiles. but they did not confine themselves to heads, tails, and bones of fish, for they were rather scarce, so they took to the stones which were swept up in ridges by the sea right across the harbour. but even this was dangerous, for the sailor could "field" the stones thrown at him and return them with a correctness of aim and activity that would have driven a skilful cricketer half mad with envy. finally, several of the bigger lads held a kind of conference, but not unseen, for though apparently bending intently over his netting, the sailor was watching them with one eye and asking himself what game they--to wit, the boys--were going, as he put it, to start next. old discipline on a man-of-war had made bodger thoroughly alert, and suspecting a rush he took hold of his ball of net twine, unrolled sufficient to make many meshes, and then put it down again, seizing the opportunity to draw the stout oaken cudgel he generally carried well within reach of his hand. then, netting away as skilfully as a woman, he indulged in a hearty laugh, chuckling to himself as he thought of the accuracy and force with which he could send it skimming over the ground, spinning round the while and looking like a star. "that'll give one on 'em a sore leg for a week if i do have to throw it. on'y wish i could do it with a string tied to it so as to haul it back. well, why not?" he added, eagerly, and then under cover of his netting he unwound thirty or forty yards of the twine, cut it off, and tied the end to the middle of his cudgel. "that'll do it," he muttered, and chuckled again with satisfaction. for tom lived in the days when the australian boomerang was an unknown weapon; otherwise he would have cut and carved till he had contrived one, and given himself no rest till he could hurl it with unerring aim and the skill that would bring it back to his hand. the sloop-of-war and the revenue cutter, its companion, had been lying at anchor some hundred yards from the end of the pier, and every now and then the sailor glanced at the trim vessels with their white sails and the sloop's carefully-squared yards--all "ataunto," as he termed it--and more than one sigh escaped his lips as he thought that never again would he tread the white deck that he helped to holy-stone, let alone show that he was one of the smartest of the crew to go up aloft. and as he glanced at the vessels from time to time, he, to use his words, "put that and that together," and noticed that, contrary to custom, there was not a single hearty-looking young fisherman lounging upon the rail that overhung the head of the harbour. "smells a rat," muttered the old sailor. "like as not they've dropped anchor here to see if there are any likely-looking lads waiting to be picked up after dark. why, there's a good dozen that would be worth anything to a skipper, and i could put the press-gang on to their trail as easy as could be; but they're neighbours, and i can't do them such a dirty turn. now, if they'd on'y take a dozen of these young beauties it would be a blessing to the place; but, no, the skipper wouldn't have them at a gift. but that's what they're after. hullo, here comes a boat!" "oh!" he laughed, as he saw the sloop's cutter lowered down with its crew and a couple of officers in the stern-sheets. "the old game. coming ashore for fresh meat and vegetables. i know that little game." bodger went on netting away, watching the boat out of the corner of one eye as it was rowed smartly up to the harbour steps, where the oars were turned up; and leaving the youth with him in charge of the boat's crew, the officer sprang out with one of the men and hurried up the steps, gave a supercilious glance at the crippled sailor, who touched his hat, and then went along towards the town. "yes, that's it," said the sailor to himself. "having a look round. there'll be a gang landed to-night as sure as my name's bodger." the thinker made a few more meshes and then had a glance down on the boat and her crew, his eyes dwelling longest upon the young officer, who had taken out a small glass, through which he began to examine the town. "middy," said bodger. "smart-looking lad too. what's their game now?" he continued, as the boys drew closer together. "they'll be up to some game or another directly. shying old fish at that youngster's uniform, or some game or another. strikes me that if they do they'll find that they've caught a tartar. just what they'd like to do--shy half a dozen old bakes' tails at his blue and white jacket. i might say a word to him and save it, but if i did i should be saving them young monkeys too, and--look at that now!--if that arn't master aleck's boat coming round the pynte! they sees it too--bless 'em! now they'll be arter him, safe. that'll save the middy, but it won't save master aleck. strikes me i'd better put my netting away and clear the decks for action." tom bodger's clearing for action consisted in turning himself aside so that he could drag a neatly-folded duck bag off the fender, and stuffing his partly-made net and twine, with stirrup, mesh, and needle, inside before tying up the neck with a piece of yarn. but his eyes were busy the while, and he watched all that went on, aleck's boat running in fast, the boys whispering together, their leader sending off a couple towards the town end of the pier, and eliciting the mental remark from the sailor: "going arter big jem for twopence. are we going to have another fight? well, if we are he arn't going to tackle two on 'em, for i'm going to see fair with my stick and the crew o' that cutter to look on to form a ring." by the time he had thought out this observation it was time for him to carefully ascend to the top of one of the great mooring-posts, the flattest-topped one by preference. how it was done was a puzzle, and it drew forth the observations of the cutter's crew, while the midshipman in charge shouted "bravo!" but somehow or other, by the use of his hands and a peculiar hop, tom bodger brought himself up perpendicularly upon the top of the post, steadied himself with his stick, and then held his head aloft. that was enough. aleck was near enough in to recognise the figure and comprehend the signal, which in tom's code read: "right and ready, my lad. steer for here." chapter ten. aleck ran his boat close in behind the cutter after lowering the sail so close that it touched the midshipman's dignity. "hi, you, sir!" he shouted. "mind where you're going with that boat." "all right," replied aleck, coolly enough. "i won't sink you." "hang his insolence!" muttered the middy; and as tom lowered himself from the post and then went, rock-hopper fashion, down the steps and boarded the boat, the young officer gave aleck a supercilious stare up and down, taking in his rough every-day clothes and swelling himself out a little in his smart blue well-fitting uniform. aleck felt nettled, drew himself up, and returned the stare before making a similar inspection of the young naval officer. "whose boat's that, boy?" said the latter, haughtily. "mine," was aleck's prompt reply. "what ship's that, middy--i don't mean the cutter, of course?" "well, of all the insolence--" began the lad. "do you know, sir, that you mustn't address one of the king's officers like that?" "no, i didn't know it," said aleck, coolly. "i thought you were only a midshipman. are you the captain?" "why, con--" "look out!" cried aleck, giving the speaker a sharp push which nearly sent him backward but saved him from receiving a wet dockfish full on the cheek, the unpleasantly foul object whizzing between the lads' heads, followed by a roar of laughter from a group of the young ruffians on the pier. "how dare you lay your hands upon a king's officer!" cried the midshipman, furiously. aleck shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "look out!" he cried. "here come two or three more," and he dogged aside, while the middy was compelled, metaphorically, to come down from his dignified perch and duck down nearly double to escape the missiles which flew over him. "do you see now?" said aleck, merrily. "oh! ah! yes! of course! the insolent young scoundrels! here, half a dozen of you jump ashore and catch that big boy with the ragged red cap. i'll have him aboard to be flogged." six of the boat's crew sprang out on to the steps, but there was no prospect of their catching the principal offender, who uttered a derisive yell and started off to run at a rate which would have soon placed him beyond the reach of the sailors; and he knew it, too, as he turned and made a gesture of contempt, which produced a roar of delight from the other boys who stood looking on. "after him!" yelled the middy to his men, as he stood stamping one foot in his excitement; and then turning to aleck: "if the cat don't scratch his back for this my name's not wrighton." the communication was made in quite a friendly, confidential way, which brought a response from aleck: "he'll be too quick for them. the young dogs are as quick as congers." "you wait and you'll see. i'll make an example of him." all this passed quickly enough, while the boy in the red cap, feeling quite confident in his powers of flight, turned again to jeer and shout at the sailors, whom he derided with impudent remarks about their fatness of person, weight of leg, and stupidity generally, till he judged it dangerous to wait any longer, when he went off like a clockwork mouse, skimming over the stones, and from the first strides beginning to leave the sailors behind. "i told you so," said aleck. "there he goes. i can run fast, but i couldn't catch him. ha, ha, ha! bravo, tom!" he cried. "look at that sailor!" for meanwhile tom bodger, stick in hand, had made his way back on to the pier, and just as the boy was going his fastest something followed him faster, in the shape of the wooden-legged sailor's well-aimed cudgel, which spun over the surface of the pier, thrown with all the power of tom's strong arm, and the next instant it seemed to be tangled up with the boy's legs, when down he went, kicking, yelling, and struggling to get up. "hi! oh, my! help, help!" he yelled at his comrades; but they only stood staring, while the foremost sailors passed on so as to block the way of escape, and the next instant the offender was hemmed in by a half circle of pursuers, who formed an arc, the chord being the edge of the pier, beneath which was the deep, clear water. "there," cried the middy, triumphantly. "got him!" then to his men: "bring the young brute here." meanwhile, as the boy lay yelping and howling in a very dog-like fashion, the laughing sailors began to close in, and then suddenly made a dart to seize their quarry, but only to stand gazing down into the harbour. for, in pain before from the contact of the stick and his heavy fall, but in agony now from the dread of being caught, the boy kept up the dog-like character of his actions by going on all fours over two or three yards, and then, as hands were outstretched to seize him, he leaped right off the pier edge, to plunge with a tremendous splash ten feet below, the deep water closing instantly over his head. "he's gone, sir," said one of the sailors, turning to his officer. "well, can't i see he has gone, you stupid, cutter-fingered swab?" cried the middy. "here, back into the boat and round to the other side of the pier. you'll easily catch him then." "not they," said aleck, quietly; "didn't i tell you he was as quick and slippery as a conger?" "look sharp! be smart, men," cried the middy, angrily. "what's the good of tiring the lads for nothing?" said aleck, as the men began to scramble into the cutter. "it will take them nearly ten minutes to get round to where he went off." "would it?" "of course." "but, i say," said the middy, anxiously, "mightn't he be drowned?" "just about as likely as that dogfish he threw at you. come and look!" aleck led the way up the steps, followed by the young officer, and then as they crossed the pier they came in sight directly of the boy, swimming easily, side stroke, for a group of rocks which formed the starting-point of the pier curve, and beyond which were several places where the boy could land. "he'll be ashore before we could get near him," said aleck. "what! shall i have to let him go?" cried the middy. "of course! he got a tremendous crack on the legs from tom bodger's stick--he was nearly frightened to death; and he has had a thorough ducking. isn't that enough?" "well, it will have to be," said the middy, in a disappointed tone. "i meant him to be treed up and flogged." aleck looked at him in rather an amused fashion. "well, what are you staring at?" said the middy, importantly. "i was only wondering whether you would be able to order the boy to be flogged." "well--er--that is," said the midshipman, flushing a little; "i--er-- said i should give him--er--report it to the captain, who would give the orders on my statement. it's the same thing, you know, as if i gave the flogging. `i'll give a man a flogging' doesn't, of course, mean that i, as an officer, should give it with my own hands. see?" "yes, i see," said aleck, quietly. "sit fast there," cried the middy to his men, as he began to descend the steps. "let the young scoundrel go." just then aleck glanced round and saw that the officer who had gone ashore was returning, followed by the man who had accompanied him, and he turned to bodger, who stood waiting for orders, before descending again to the boat. chapter eleven. "i say, tom," said aleck, "that was cleverly aimed, but you had better mind or you'll be breaking one of the boys' legs." "well-aimed, sir? oh, that was nothing tickler. an easy shot that, sir. no fear o' my breaking no legs. i can tell exactly how much powder to fire with. i give it 'em just strong enough to hurt; that's all." just then the officer came back, spoke to the young middy, and went off again with the six men who had been unsuccessful in their chase of the red-capped boy, while aleck and his companion exchanged glances. "there, tom, take away the boat," said aleck; "i must go and get my uncle's paper." "your uncle's paper, sir?" "yes, i've run over to get some for him." "why, you got some on'y t'other week, sir. did he have an axdent and burn it?" "no," said aleck, laughing. "it's all used up for writing." "wond'ful--wond'ful!" muttered the man. "here's me can't write a word, and him allus going at it. well, i suppose he was born that way. i'll take care o' your boat all the same, sir." "what do you mean with your all the same?" asked aleck, looking puzzled at the man's words. "all the same, sir, though i can't write a word." aleck went off, being saluted by a nod from the middy, who lay back in the stern-sheets of the cutter. it was a nod that might have meant anything--condescension, friendliness, or a hint to keep his distance; but it did not trouble the lad, who trudged along the pier to fulfil his mission, and was soon after in the rugged, ill-paved main street, where he in sight of the naval group from the sloop, evidently busy buying and loading up with fresh provisions from the little shops. he passed on, and was nearing the place where, in company with toys, grocery, and sweetmeats, the shopkeeper kept up a small supply of paper, for which the captain was his main customer, when a dark-bearded fisherman-like man suddenly turned out of a public-house, caught him by the arm, and hurried him sharply down a narrow alley which ran by the side of the little inn. the man's sudden action, coupled with the fact that he was the last person in the county he would have expected to see, took away the lad's breath for a moment or two while he gazed up in the fierce searching eyes that seemed to be reading his thoughts. "you, eben?" he said at last. "me it is, youngster. what game do you call this?" "i don't call it a game at all. what are you doing here?" "never you mind what i'm a-doing here. p'raps i'm watching you. i want to know what your game is." "i'm playing at no game," cried the boy, speaking rather indignantly. "let go of my arm." "when you've told me what you're a-doing of with them sailor chaps." "i? i'm doing nothing with them. i've come over in my own boat. i'm not along with them." "i know. i've had my eye on yer, my lad. but let's have the truth. you come over to meet these chaps from the boats lying off there." "not i. if you must know, i've come over to fetch some paper for my uncle." "and what else, my lad?" "nothing else," cried aleck; "but i don't know what right you have to question me." "you soon will, my lad. you say you're not with these folk. why, i saw you talking for ever so long to the chaps in the boat that come ashore to lie there by the harbour wall, and afore it had been there long you come into port and run your boat close alongside." "of course i did, to get up to the steps and land. look here; what are you thinking about?" "well," said the man, fiercely, "if you want to know over again what you knew before, i'm just going to tell you, so as to let you see that i'm not such a fool as you take me for, and also to let you know that i can see right through you, clever as you think yourself." "go on," said aleck. "let's have it all then." "well, here you are, my lad. i s'pose you know that's a man-o'-war sloop?" "yes, i know that, eben." "yes, i s'pose so, my lad, and you know what she's hanging about this coast for?" "i don't for certain," replied aleck, "but i shouldn't be a bit surprised if the captain wanted to press a few likely lads, if he could get hold of them." "oh, you wouldn't, wouldn't you? i s'pose not," said the man, in a sneering tone. "why, anybody would guess that." "p'raps they would and p'raps they wouldn't, my lad; but, of course, you don't know that there's the little revenue cutter that's looking out for any little bit of smuggling going on?" "why, what nonsense you're talking, eben! of course i knew." "yes, of course you did, my lad; and you've got a spy-glass, haven't you!" "no; but i use my uncle's." "that's right; and when them two vessels come into sight 'smorning you got the glass out to see what they were?" "yes; directly." "and then you went down to your boat-hole and ran over here as fast as you could?" "yes; but it wasn't fast, for the wind kept dropping. but how did you know this?" "never you mind how i knowed. you knowed that me and four mates came over here last night." "that i didn't," cried aleck. "what for--to run a cargo?" "never you mind what for, my lad. you knowed we'd come." "that i didn't. i hadn't the least idea you had. but how did you know i got out the glass to have a look at the vessels? bah! you couldn't know if you were over here. no one saw me but old dunning. it's impossible." "is it?" said the man, with a sneer. "then we arn't got a glass at eilygugg, of course, eh, and nobody left behind to look out for squalls and run across to tell us to look out when they see the wind changing? so, you see, clever as you think yourself, you're found out, my lad. now do you see?" "i see that you're on the wrong tack, eben," said the lad, scornfully, "and let me tell you that you've been talking a lot of nonsense. i don't see why i should tell you. it's absurd to accuse me of being a spy and informer. do you suppose we up at the den want to be on bad terms with all the fishermen and--and people about?" "you mean to say you haven't put the boat's crew yonder up to taking me and my mates?" "of course i do. why, i haven't even spoken to the officer, only to the midshipman." "well, it looks very bad," growled the man, gazing at the lad, searchingly. "if you think a press-gang is likely to come ashore to get hold of you and your mates, why don't you slip off into the hills for a bit?" the man stared, and his features relaxed a little and a little more, and he caught aleck by the sleeve. "look here, master aleck," he said; "the captain yonder's a gentleman, though we arn't very good friends, but he never did anything to get any of us took." "of course he didn't." "wouldn't like you to, p'raps." "why, of course he wouldn't. if the fleet want men they'll get them somehow, and the revenue cutter will hunt out the smugglers sooner or later; but for you to think that i'm on the look-out always to do you a bad turn--why, it's downright foolishness, eben." "well, i'm beginning to think it is, my lad," said the man, smiling; "but that's just what they thought at home, and my young brother bill ran across to give us the warning. i put that and that together, and i felt as sure as sure that you'd come over to inform agen us." "but you don't believe it now?" "no, my lad, i don't believe it now," said eben, "and i'm glad on it, because it would be a pity for a smart young chap like you to be in for it." "in for what?" said aleck. "for what? ah, you'd soon know if you did blow upon us, my lad. but, there, i don't believe it a bit now, and i got some'at else to do but stand talking to you, so i'm off. only, you know, my lad, as it's the best thing for a chap like you as wants to live peaceable like with his neighbours to keep his mouth shut--_mum--plop_." the two last words were sounds made by slapping the mouth closely shut and half open with the open hand, after doing which eben megg stepped down the narrow turning and mysteriously disappeared. "bother him and his bullyings and threats," cried aleck. "such insolence! but, there, i must see about my paper and get back." chapter twelve. left alone in the boat, tom bodger sat down on one of the thwarts with his wooden pegs stuck straight out before him. then he brought them close together with a sharp rap and began to rub one over the other gently; but these movements had nothing to do with the thinking, though he more than once told himself that he thought better when he was rubbing his legs together. as he sat there he naturally enough began to watch the man-o'-war boat with her smart young officer and neat, trim-looking crew, while, continuing his inspection, he ran his eyes over the boat and admired its beautiful lines. this brought up memories of the time when career and body had both been cut short by that unlucky cannon ball, leaving him a cripple and a pensioner. "but i dunno," he said to himself, in a way he had of making the best of things, "if i hadn't been hit i might ha' lived on and been drowned, and then there'd ha' been no pension to enj'y as i enj'ys mine; and i don't never have to buy no boots nor shoes, so there arn't much to grumble about, arter all." so tom sat rubbing his wooden legs together, watching the sailors in the boat, thinking of how he'd been coxswain of just such a boat as that, and then beginning to feel an intense longing to compare notes with the men left with the middy in charge; but the young officer kept his men in order, and twice over had them busily at work stowing away the vegetables, fresh meat, bacon, and butter that were brought down from time to time and packed well out of the way fore and aft. consequently there was no opportunity allowed for him to get up a gossip, the young officer looking fiercely important, and the men making no advance. "beautifully clean and smart," said tom. "wonder how long master aleck'll be." then he swept the edge of the pier ten feet above his head in search of inimical boys, letting one hand down by his side to finger his cudgel, and indulging in a chuckle at the skilful way in which he had brought down the young offender a short time before. "pretty well scared him away," said tom to himself; "he won't show himself here again to-day." but as it happened tom was wrong, for the boy, after landing in safety, with the water streaming down inside his ragged breeches and escaping at the bottom of the legs when it did not slip out of the holes it encountered on its way, had made his way up the steep cliff and round to the back of the town so as to get up on the moorland, where the sun came down hotly, when he began to drip and dry rapidly. he could sweep the pier and harbour now easily, looking over the fishing-boats and watching those belonging to the man-o'-war and aleck donne, with tom bodger sitting with his legs sticking straight out. and then he called tom bodger a very seaside salt and wicked name, in addition to making a vow of what he would do to "sarve him out." the boy gave another glance round as if in search of coadjutors, but all his comrades had disappeared; so he stood thinking and drying as he turned his thoughts inland, with the result that he had a happy thought, under whose inspiration he set off at a trot round by the back of the little town till he came within view of a group of patches of sandy land roughly fenced in and divided by posts of wreck-wood and rails covered with pitch--rough fragments that had once been boat planks. he ran a little faster now, and externally did not seem wet, for his hair was cropped so short that no water could find a lodgment, and his worn-old, knitted blue shirt and cloth breeches had ceased to show the moisture they had soaked up. once within hearing of the rough fenced-in gardens he put both hands to his mouth and uttered a frightful yell, with the result that a head suddenly shot up from behind one of the fences, and its owner was seen down to the waist, looking as if he were leaning upon an old musket. but this was only the handle of a hoe, and the holder proved to be big jem, occupied in his father's garden, where he had been hoeing and earthing up potatoes in lazy-boy fashion with a chip-chop and a long think, supplemented by a rest at the end of each row to chew tobacco. a minute later and the boys were lying down side by side, resting upon their elbows and kicking up their heels over their backs, what time the newcomer related what had passed down on the pier, and also what he should like to do. the narrative seemed to afford big jem intense satisfaction, for he uttered a hoarse crowing laugh from time to time and blinked his eyes, squeezing the lids very close and then opening them wide, when sundry signs of black, green and blue bruises became visible. when the newcomer had finished his narration, big jem crowed more hoarsely than ever, and indulged in what looked like an imitation of an expiring fish, for he stretched himself out flat and threw himself over from his face on to his back, beat the ground with his closed legs, and then flopped back again, over and over again, putting ten times the vigour and exertion into his acts that he had bestowed upon the hoeing, and ending by springing up, stooping to secure his hoe, and then tossing it right away to fall and lie hidden in one of the newly-hoed furrows between the potatoes. "do, won't it?" cried the new arrival. "yes," cried big jem, hoarsely. "sarve 'em both out. come on!" no time was lost, the two boys going off at a trot round by the back of the town and aiming for the shore, where by descending a very steep bit of ivy-draped and ragwort-dotted cliff they could get down to a row of black sheds used for fish-drying and the storage of nets, which lay snugly upon a shelf of the cliff. the place was quite deserted as the boys let themselves slide down a water-formed gully, peered about a bit, and then made for one of several boats moored some fifty yards from the sandy shore. more or less salt water was nothing to the rockabie boys, and after a glance along the shore, followed by a sweeping of the pier, which ran out between them and the harbour, they waded a little way out till the water reached their chests, and then began to swim for the outermost boat, into which big jem climbed, to hold out a hand, and the next moment his comrade had followed and leaned over, dripping away, to cast loose the rope attached to the buoy, while big jem put an oar out over the stern and began to scull. "ibney allus leaves one oar in his boat," said jem, sculling away. "but we mustn't go yet." "you hold your mouth," said big jem. "i'll show you. you shall see what you shall see. here, lay hold of the rope and make a hitch round that killick. see?" the other boy evidently did see, for he knelt down and began to edge a big oval boulder stone from where it lay in company with three more for ballast amidship, worked it right forward into the bows, and then lifted it on to the locker, when he took hold of the boat's painter at the end furthest from the ring-bolt, to which it was secured, and fastened the hempen cord round the boulder with a nautical knot. by the time this was done and the boy looked round for orders he caught sight of something moving at the shore end of the pier. "here comes the sailors back to their boat," he said. "they'll see us." "over with the killick, then--easy. don't splash." big jem drew in his oar, with which he had been making the boat progress by means of a fishtail movement, laid it along the thwarts, and then, as the other boy lifted the stone over the bows into the water, which it kissed without disturbance, it was let go and sank with a wavy movement, sending up a long train of glittering bubbles, running the rope out fast till bottom was reached and the boat swung from its stone anchor. "now, then, down with you," said big jem, and the next minute the two boys lay in the bottom, each with a great boulder for pillow, quite out of sight, unless their presence had been suspected, when a bit of coarse blue-covered body might have been seen, but then only to be taken for some idle fisher making up for last night's fishing with a nap. hence it was that when tom bodger swept the pier from where he sat in aleck's boat lying by the steps in the harbour, he saw nothing but the top of the pier, and his eyes fell again upon the sloop's beautifully clean boat, which he again compared with the one he occupied, with such unfavourable effect to the latter that he muttered to himself a little, took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves over his tattooed arms, and went in for a general clean up. tom was as busy as a bee and, to judge from the latter's usually contented hum, just as much satisfied, for his efforts certainly vastly improved the aspect of aleck's boat; and he was still hard at work swabbing and drying and laying ropes in coils, when a remark from one of the sailors in the adjacent boat made the midshipman spring up out of a doze in the hot sunshine and give the order to "be smart!" in other words, to be ready to help their messmates returning with their officer, well laden with fresh stores, which soon after were handed down into the boat and stowed. then the men took their places again, while the officers took theirs, the order was given to cast off, there was a thrust or two given by the coxswain, and the boat glided from the steps, leaving tom bodger watching the movements, smiling, and thinking of the past. he smiled again as the oars were poised for a minute and then at a word dropped to starboard and larboard with a splash before beginning to dip with rhythmic regularity, the midshipman seizing the lines and steering her for her run outward to the sloop. "well," said the midshipman, in a low voice, "what luck?" "pretty good," was the reply. "not all i should like, but i've seen enough to say that we ought to get a dozen smart fellows easily. there's some game or another on i hear from a man i know--a sort of meeting of fellows from along the coast--and brown picked up a hint or two." "a meeting, sir?" "well, call it what you like. brown thinks there's a cargo to be run somewhere and that the men are here to make arrangements for getting it inland." "what, right under our noses?" said the midshipman. "of course; that's a far better way than right under our eyes, my lad. give way, lads. i want to get aboard, mr wrighton, to hear what the captain and the lieutenant of the cutter have to say." the sloop's boat passed out between the two arms of the little harbour before tom bodger recommenced his polishing up in aleck's boat. "a pretty cutter," he said. "there arn't anything better worth looking at afloat than a man-o'-war's launch or cutter well manned by a smart crew. makes me wish i'd got my understandings again and was an ab once more. not as i grumbles--not me. rockabie arn't amiss, and things has to be as they is. here, let's get all ship-shape afore master aleck comes. wish i'd got a bit o' sand here to give them ring-bolts a rub or two. i like to see his boat look a bit smart. "wonder what them two's come in for--they arn't lying off here for nothing! some 'un's been sending 'em word there's a cargo going to be run along the shore, and so they've come in for soft tack and wegetables. haw! haw! haw!" he laughed, as he bent over his work. "it's well i know that game. fresh wegetables for the cook, a look round to find out what's what, and as soon as it's dark a couple o' well-armed boats to beat up the quarters and a dozen or so o' men pressed. i know. well, i s'pose it's right; the king must have men to fight his battles. they ought to volunteer; but some on 'em won't. they don't like going until they're obliged, and then they do, and wouldn't come back on no account. strikes me there's going to be a landing to-night. some un must ha' let 'em know. wonder who could do it, for there's a bit o' fun coming off to-night, i lay my legs. eben megg wouldn't be here for nothing, and there's half a dozen more hanging about. "well," he added, after a pause. "i'm not going to tell tales about either side. don't know much, and what i do know i'm going to keep to myself. smuggling arn't right; no more arn't playing spy and informer-- so i stands upon my wooden pegs and looks on. they won't take me. wouldn't mind, though, if they did. there, that looks quite decent and tidy, that does, and if master aleck don't say a word o' praise, why i say it's a shame. well done; just finished in time. here you are, then, my lad. got a load? why didn't yer let me come and carry it? hold hard a minute, and i'll fetch it aboard." for tom bodger had heard a step on the pier right above him as he stooped and saw the shadow of him who had made the sound cast right down upon the thwart and flooring of the boat, the maker of the shadow being evidently the bearer of some oblong object, which he carried at arm's length above his head. tom was balancing himself upon his wooden legs, and in the attitude of rising from his bent-down position, when he was conscious of a faint sound and an alteration in the shadow cast down, while the next instant there was a tremendous crash. chapter thirteen. a splintering crash as of a heavy mass of stone or metal striking full upon the thwart behind him, while crash again, right upon the first sound, there was a duller and more crushing noise. "here, hi! hullo! here, what in the name o' thunder! ahoy! help!" tom bodger was standing bolt upright as he uttered these last words, fully realising what had happened as he stared down at a rugged hole in the frail planking of the bottom of the boat, up through which the water was rising like a thick, squat, dumpy fountain. "what game d'yer call this, master aleck? eh, not there? i seed his shadder. he must ha' let it fall. went through like a sixty-four-pound shot. master aleck! ahoy! frightened yerself away, my lad? here, quick; come and lend a hand--the boat's going down!" tom bodger talked and shouted, but he did not confine himself to words, for he saw the extent of the emergency. the boat seemed to be filling rapidly from the salt fount in the middle prior to going down. so, acting promptly, he hopped on to the next thwart, down into the water in the bottom, which came above his stumps, and then on to the next thwart forward and the locker. from here he put one peg on to the bows and swung himself on to the lowest step, where he could seize the boat's painter, fastened to a huge rusty ring in the harbour wall. it was not many moments' work to cast the rope loose, and then he began to haul the rope rapidly through the ring, just having time to send the boat's head on to one of the steps under water, and hanging on with all his might, while the water rose and rose aft, till, with the bows still resting on the stone step, the after part of the boat was quite submerged. as a rule there were fishermen hanging over the rail on the top of the cliff a couple of hundred yards or so away, men busy with trawl or seine net on the smacks and luggers, and a score or two of boys playing about somewhere on the pier; but there was, as tom bodger had said, something going on in the town, and as soon as those ashore had done watching the man-o'-war's men and seen them row off, there was a steady human current setting away from the harbour, and not a listening ear to catch the sailor's hails and pass the word on for help, as he hung on to the boat's rope with all his might, feeling assured that if he slacked his efforts she would glide off the slimy stone and go to the bottom. "i arn't got no breath to waste in hollering," he panted. "why, there's a good fathom and a half or two fathom o' water under her keel, and if i slack out down she'll go. wants a couple o' boats to back in, one on each side, and get a rope under her thwarts. they could get her ashore then. oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! for him to leave me in charge, and then come back and find i've sunk her! i warn't asleep, for i was standin' up at work, so i couldn't ha' dreamed i heard him come, and see his shadder cast down. no; it's all true enough. but what could he have had in his hands? i see his shadder plain, with a something held up in his hands. paper, didn't he say, he'd come to fetch? well, paper's heavy when it's all tight up in a lump, and he must ha' pitched it down off the pier to save carrying it and to let it come plop, so as to frighten me, not thinking how heavy it was, and then as soon as he see the mischief he'd done he squirms and runs away like a bad dog with his tail between his legs. why, i wouldn't ha' thought it on him. "oh, dear! what a weight she is! if i could only get a turn o' the rope round anywhere i could hold on easy, but if i move an inch down she'll go. "can't do it!" he groaned; "it's quite impossible. one hitch round the ring or a catch anywhere else'd do it, but i've got enough to do to hold on, and if i try any other manoover i shall make worse on it. it's no good, tommy, my lad, that there's your job; bite yer teeth hard and hold on. bime by it'll be too much for yer, and she'll begin to slide and slither; but don't you mind, it'll be all right--up'll go your hands with the rope, and then in they'll go, fingers first, into the ring. it's big enough to take your pretty little fists as far as yer knuckleses, and then they'll jam and jam more, and the more they jams the tighter they'll hold the rope till some 'un comes. take the skin off? well, let it. sarve it right for not being stuck tighter on to the hones. have to grow again, that's all. i arn't going to let master aleck's boat sink to the bottom if i die for it. but, hub, there! ahoy! is everybody dead yonder up town? why, i'd say bless him now if i could on'y set a hye on the wery wust o' them boys." the poor fellow hung on desperately, but he knew from his symptoms that he could not hold on much longer. the perspiration stood in huge drops all over his face, and they began to run together and trickle down, while now a queer thought flashed across his brain, bringing hope for the moment, but only for his heart to sink lower directly after. "no, no," he groaned, "i couldn't do it. if i could it'd be just fine; but who's to hang on with his hands and double hisself up enough to take aim with both his wooden pegs at once so that they could go right into that ring and stopper the rope like a cable going through a hawse hole? "can't be done, can't be done; but--ahoy there! dozens on yer hanging about if yer warn't wanted, and now not a lubber within hail. ahoy there! ship ahoy! is everyone dead, i say? ship a-a-hoy-y-y-y!" he yelled, in a despairing voice. "ahoy there! what's the matter? that you, tom bodger?" "bodger it is, master aleck. here, quick, or i shall have both my hands off as well as my legs, and you'll have to put me out of my misery then." "why, tom," cried aleck, wildly. "what ever--oh!" the lad wasted no more breath, for he grasped the position as soon as he reached the head of the steps. "can you hold on a minute?" "i can't, sir, but my fists will," groaned the man, and then in a hoarse whisper--"rope!" "i see," cried aleck, and he ran back a dozen yards along the pier to where he could see a coil of small rope for throwing aboard vessels in rough weather to bring back their looped cables and pass them over the posts. he was back again directly, uncoiling it as he came and leaving it trailing, while, end in hand, he reached the top of the steps, went down to where the poor fellow hung on, and shouting out words of encouragement the while, he passed a hand down, got hold of the loose painter below bodger's, and with the quick deft fingers of one used to the sea and the handling of lines he effected a quick firm knotting of the two ropes. this done, he made for the next ring hanging from the harbour wall, passed the fresh rope through, and hauled in all the slack. "now, tom," he cried, "both together--ahoy--ahoy!" he threw all his strength into the hauling, aided by the man-o'-war's man's last remaining force; no little either, for despair gave the poor fellow a spasmodic kind of power, so that the rope passed through the ring and whizzed and quivered, it was so tight. then another stay was found and a hitch taken twice round that before aleck fastened off, and, panting heavily, went up a step or two to the assistance of his humble friend. "you can let go now, tom. i have her fast." "sure, master aleck?" "yes, certain. let go; and mind what you're about, or you'll slip overboard." "it's all right, sir," said the man, in a hoarse whisper. "i've let go now." "nonsense! what are you thinking about? you've got hold tight as ever." "nay, i arn't, master aleck. i let go when you telled me. i'm on'y leaning agen the rope to keep from going down into the water." "why, tom, what's the matter with you?" cried aleck, wonderingly, as he placed his hands on his companion's. "i tell you that you're holding on as tight as ever." "eh?" said the man, feebly. "no, sir, i arn't; 'strue as goodness i arn't." "but you are," cried aleck, angrily, as he now grasped the full misfortune to his boat--not the very full, for he was not aware of the hole in her bottom. "your fingers are clasped tightly round the rope." "are they, sir?" "yes." "'tarn't my doing then, sir. i hoped and prayed as they might hold on to the last, and i s'pose that's how it is. ah-h!" he uttered a low groan, his eyelids dropped, and his fingers suddenly became inert, while it needed all the lad's strength to keep the poor fellow from slipping off the wet steps into the deep water of the harbour. "tom," he shouted; "rouse up, lad. do you hear?" he cried, frantically, as he held the man erect, and then in obedience to a sudden flash of thought forced him back into a sitting position on one of the steps. "hah!" he panted. "i couldn't have held you much longer. hold up, man. can't you hear what i say?" "eh? yes, master aleck, on'y don't talk so far off like, and--and--tell 'em to leave off ringing them bells in my ears." coupled with the loss of the boat, aleck's first thought was that the man had been indulging in a sailor's weakness and was the worse for rum; but a second glance at the ghastly face below him opened the lad's eyes to the simple truth, and he spoke more gently: "feel faint, tom?" "ay, sir, i s'pose it's that. i feel just as i did after that there cannon ball took off my legs. i'm getting better now you've stopped that ringing o' the bells in my ears." "that's right, tom." "but is the boat safe, sir? don't let her go right down." "she's safe enough so long as the rope doesn't part." "then look at her knots, sir. i did teach yer proper. don't say as you've tied one as'll slip." "the rope's all right, tom." "hah!" groaned the man. "then if you wouldn't mind, sir, just help me up the other steps and lie me down flat on my back for a minute. i feel as if that would set me right." "come on, then," said aleck; "but you must help, or we shall both go overboard." "i'm a-going to help, sir," said the man, with his voice beginning to grow stronger. "i think i can keep upright on my pegs again if you'll lend me a hand. no, hold hard a minute like, sir; there's no room for two on these bits o' steps. you've got plenty o' slack line, sir?" "yes." "then pass the end round under my arms and make fast. then you go atop and haul, and you can twist the line round a post so as i can't slip." "of course," cried aleck, and following out the poor fellow's instructions he went up to the pier, passed the rope round the nearest post, and hauled steadily, while without rising to his feet the poor fellow hitched himself, after a way he had learned, in a sitting position by means of his hands, right on to the pier, where once landed he rolled over with a groan, and fainted dead away. chapter fourteen. it was quite a minute before tom bodger opened his eyes again, to lie staring blankly up at the dazzling blue sky. he looked, for a mahogany and red sun-tanned individual, particularly unwholesome and strange with his fixity of expression, and in his anxiety aleck forbore to speak to him, but watched for the complete return of his senses, wondering the while that so sturdy a fellow could be affected in a way which he had always understood was peculiar to women. after staring straight upward for some little time the man began to blink, as if the intense light troubled him. then his eyes began to roll slowly round, taking a wider and wider circle, till at last they included aleck in their field of view and remained fixed, staring at him wonderingly. aleck's lips parted to ask the natural question, "how are you now?" but before he could utter a word tom frowned and said, severely: "what are you up to, my lad?" "it's what are you up to, tom? here, how are you now?" "quite well, thankye, master aleck. how are you? but, here," he cried, changing his manner, "what does it all mean? why, what--when-- wh-wh-what--ah, i know now, master aleck! i say, don't tell me the boat's gone down!" as he spoke he rose quickly into a sitting position and stared down through the opening where the steps began, uttered a sigh of content, and then said: "i was afraid you hadn't made them knots fast." "oh, they're all right. but has your faintness gone off?" "yes, sir, that's gone." "to think of a big sturdy fellow fainting dead away!" "ah, 'tis rum, sir, arn't it? all comes o' having no legs and feet. i never knew what it was till i lost 'em, as i telled yer." "well, you're better now. but, i say, tom, how did you manage to get the boat full of water like this?" "oh, come, master aleck," cried tom, indignantly. "i like that! how come you to chuck that great lump o' paper down and make that great hole in her bottom?" "i do what?" cried aleck. "here, wait a bit and rest. you haven't quite come to yet." "me, sir? i'm right as a trivet," cried tom; and to prove it he turned quickly over on his face propped himself up on his hands, with his elbows well bent, and then gave a sharp downward thrust which threw him up so that he stood well balanced once more upon his stout wooden legs. "that's right," said aleck, after a glance at the half-submerged boat. "now, then, how did you manage it?" "me manage it, sir? oh, that's how i allus gets up when i'm down." "no, no, no," cried aleck, impatiently. "i mean about the boat. did some other boat foul her?" "no-o-o!" cried tom. "you chucked that great lump of paper down and it went through the bottom." "paper? what, the paper i went to fetch?" "ay, sir." the lad went and picked up a small parcel he had dropped on the pier and held it up in the man's sight as he gazed wonderingly at him again, and then said, very severely: "look here, tom, you are mad, or have you been--you know?" aleck turned his hand into a drinking vessel and imitated the act of drinking. "no-o-o-o!" cried tom, indignantly. "haven't had a drop of anything but water for a week." "then how did you get my boat half full of water?" "i didn't, sir. you came and chucked that heavy lump of paper down, and it broke the middle thwart, being a weak 'un, because of the hole through for the boat's mast, and went on down through the bottom." "what! i did nothing of the sort, sir." "oh, master aleck! why, i seed yer shadow come right over me with yer hands up holding the lump o' paper, and afore i could straighten myself up down it come, and went right through the bottom." "you don't mean to tell me that there's a hole right through the bottom of my beautiful seagull?" cried aleck, wildly. "why, how could she have got full o' water if you hadn't chucked that down? i would ha' come up and fetched it, sir. that comes o' your being so rannish." "how dare you!" cried aleck, passionately. "i tell you i did nothing of the sort." "what's the good o' telling an out-an'-outer about it, master aleck, sir, when i see yer quite plain; leastwise, i see yer shadow when yer come to the edge." "you saw nothing of the sort," cried aleck, fiercely. "you scoundrel! you've been sailing her about while i've been up the town, and run her on a rock. i did trust you, tom, and now you try to hoodwink me with a miserable story that wouldn't deceive a child. tell me the truth at once, sir, or never again do you sail with me." "i won't," growled tom, sturdily. "what! you won't tell me the truth?" "i didn't say i wouldn't tell you the truth, master aleck. i mean i won't say as i took her out and run her on a rock." "but you did, sir." "tell yer i didn't, master aleck; she've been tied up ever since you went away, and i've given her a thorough clean up." "and started a plank or two by jumping down upon her with your wooden legs." "nay, i wouldn't be such a fool, sir. of course if i did i should go through." "i'd have forgiven you the accident," said aleck, sternly, "but i can't forgive the lie." tom stared up at his young employer, and took off his hat to give his head a thorough good scratch, before saying, quietly: "say, master aleck, you says to me just now with a sign like as i'd been having a drop o' rum. well, i arn't; but, you'll scuse me, sir, have you happened to call and see anyone as has given you some cake and wine as was rather too strong for a hot sunny day like this?" "no!" roared aleck, in a thorough passion now. "such insolence! say again that i threw a weight of paper and broke a hole through her." "well, sir, i see your shadder." "you did not, for i've not been back till just now." "then it was somebody else's, sir." "somebody else's, sir!" cried aleck, scornfully. "own at once that you had an accident with her." "me say that?" cried tom, waxing angry in turn. "i won't. i'd do a deal for you, master aleck, and if i'd stove in the boat i'd up and say so; but i arn't a-going to tell an out-an'-out wunner like that to screen you when you've had an accident. why, if i did you'd never trust me again." "i never will trust you again, sir. but, there, what's to be done? how am i to get back to the den? would a plug of oakum keep the water out?" "would a plug o' my grandmother keep the water out?" growled tom, scornfully. "why, she couldn't keep it out if we set her in it. i jest got one peep, and then the water hid it, but there's a hole pretty nigh big enough for you to go through." "my poor boat!" cried aleck, in agony. "but, there, it's of no use to cry after spilt milk. what's to be done?" "well, i've thought it out, sir, and seems to me that what's best to be done is to make her fast between two big boats, run her up on to the beach, get two or three of the fisher lads to turn her over, and then see what i can do with a bit o' thin plank. patch her up and pitch up the bit where i claps the plaster on, and i dessay she'll be watertight enough for you to run home in. i can mend her up proper when we get her back in the creek." "how long would it take to put on the patch?" "i can't say till i sees the hole, sir, but i might get it done by to-night." "by to-night? how am i to get back in the dark?" "oh, i dessay we could steer clear o' the rocks, sir." "we? no, thank you, sir. i don't want a man with me whom i can't trust." tom took his hat off and had a good rub before looking wistfully up in his young employer's face. "say, master aleck, arn't you a bit hard on a man?" he said. "no, not half so hard as you deserve. you told me an abominable lie." "nay, sir. i see your shadow just as you were going to throw down that there lump o' paper." "you--did--not, sir!" cried aleck, fiercely. "well, then, it must ha' been somebody else's, sir; that's all i can say." "whose, pray?" cried aleck. "who would dare to do such a thing as that? stop!" he cried, as a sudden idea flashed through his brain. "i saw two lads in a boat sculling away from the pier as hard as they could go." "you see that, master aleck?" "yes, when i came down from high street." "where was they going, sir?" cried the man, staring hard. "towards the curing sheds." "could you see who they was, sir?" "no; they seemed to be two big lads, just about the same as the rest." "where was they going from?" asked tom, excitedly. "from the pier; there was nowhere else they could be coming from. they wouldn't have been fishing at this time of day." "look here, master aleck, you mean it, don't you? it wasn't you as pitched something down?" "look here, tom, do you want to put me in a passion?" "no, sir, course i don't." "then don't ask such idiotic questions. of course i didn't." "then it was one of they chaps, master aleck." "well, it does look like it now, tom. but, nonsense! it must have been very heavy to go through the boat." "it weer, sir." "but why should anyone do that? you don't think that a boy would have been guilty of such a bit of mischief as that?" "what, master aleck?" cried the sailor, bursting into a loud guffaw. "why, there arn't anything they rockabie boys wouldn't do. why, they're himps, sir--reg'lar himps; and mischief arn't half bad enough a word for what they'd do." "oh, but this is too bad. why, the--the--" "stone, i should say it were, sir. bet a halfpenny as it was a ballast cobble as was hev down." "but it might have come down on you and killed you." "shouldn't wonder, sir." "but you have no one with such a spite against you as to make him do that?" "haven't i, master aleck? why, bless your innocence, there's dozens as would! i'd bet another halfpenny as that young beauty as i brought down with my stick this mornin' felt quite sore enough to come and drop a stone on my head. 'sides, they've got a spite agen you, too, my lad, and like as not big jem would try to sarve you out by making a hole through your boat for leathering him as you did a fortnit ago." "tom!" "ah, you may shout `tom!' till you're as hoarse as a bull, master aleck, but that seems to be about the bearings of it; and now i think more on it, that's about the course i means to steer. two on 'em, you says as you saw?" "yes, two biggish lads." "sculling hard?" "yes, the one who stood up in the boat was working the oar as hard as he could." "which means as he was in a hurry, sir." "it did seem like it, tom." "on a hot day like this here, sir. boys, too, as wouldn't work a scull if they warn't obliged. why, they'd been and done it, and was cutting away as hard as they could." "it does look likely, tom." "that's it, sir. we've got the bearings of it now. it were big jem and young redcap, warn't it?" "one of the boys had on a red cap, tom. i remember now." "then don't you wherrit your head no more about it, master aleck. it was them two as did it, and i shall put it down to their account." "but we ought to be sure." "sure, sir? why, we are sure, and they'll have to take it." "take _it_? take what?" "physic, sir. never you mind about it any more; you leave it to me. it's physic as they've got to take when the time comes; and all i've got to say is as i hopes they'll like it." "well, never mind that now, tom. what about my boat?" "oh, i'll see about her at once. i'll stop and take care of her while you go up to the houses on the cliff yonder, and you says as you have had an accident with your boat and you wants joney to come with a couple o' mates to help. they'll come fast enough." "very well. let's have a look first, though." they stepped to the edge of the pier and looked down into the disabled boat, while the water being still and as clear as crystal, they could see through the broken thwart and the splintered jagged hole through the bottom. aleck drew a deep breath like a sigh, and tom nodded his head sagely: "stone as big a killick, master aleck; that's what did that. precious big 'un too. now, then, you be off and get they chaps here while i chews it over a bit about how i'm to manage; but i tell yer this--it's going to be dark afore i gets that done. what d'yer say about walking over to the den to tell the captain what's happened?" "i say no, tom. i'm going to stay here and help you. you won't mind sailing over with me in the dark?" "not me, sir, and you needn't wherrit about what to do wi' me. i shall spread a sail over the boat when we've got her moored back in the creek, and creep under and sleep like a top. you'll give me a mug o' milk and a bit o' bacon in the morning afore i start back?" "of course, of course, tom. there, i'll run off at once." "hold hard a moment, master aleck. mebbe you'll see them two beauties." "i shouldn't wonder, tom." "looking as innercent as a pair o' babbies, sir," said tom, with a knowing wink. "then what you've got to do, sir, is look innercent too. you arn't going to suspeck them for a minute, cause they wouldn't do such a thing. we're a-going to wait till the right time comes." "and we're quite sure, tom?" "that's it, master aleck; and then--physic." aleck laughed, in spite of the trouble he was in, for tom's face was a study of mysterious humour and conspiracy of the most solemn nature. the next minute the lad was going an easy dog-trot along the pier towards the town. chapter fifteen. "hole in her bottom?" said the friendly fisherman who had presented the brill, in answer to aleck's application, "and want her brought ashore? sewerly, my lad, sewerly." his application to the big fisherman who had taken his part over the fight met with a precisely similar reply, when the lad found the men collected with a number of their fellows outside one of the public-houses, where something mysterious in the way of a discussion was going on, and aleck noted that their conversation ceased as soon as he appeared, several of the men nudging each other and indulging in sundry nods and winks. but the lad was too full of his boat trouble to dwell upon the business that seemed to have attracted the men together, and he led the way down to the harbour with his two fishermen acquaintances, finding that all the rest of the party followed them. had he wanted fifty helpers instead of three he could have had willing aid at once. as it was, his friends selected four more to help put off their boats, and the rest trudged slowly down the pier to form an audience and look on, while under tom bodger's direction the damaged boat was lashed by its thwarts to the fresh corners, and then set free and thrust off the step. the rest was easy. in a very short time she was rowed ashore, cast loose again, and half a dozen men waded in knee-deep to run her up a few feet at a time, the water escaping through the broken-out hole, till at last she was high and--not dry, but free from water. then the mast was unstepped and with the other fittings laid aside, while tom bodger had procured a basket of tools and the wood necessary for the repairs, and the little crowd of fishermen formed themselves into a smoking party, sitting upon upturned boats, fish boxes and buckets, to discuss the damage and compare it with that sustained by other boats as far back as they could remember. for tom required no further help then, save such as was given by aleck, preferring to work his own way, the idea being to make a temporary patchwork sufficient for safety in getting the boat home. to this end he measured and cut off, almost as skilfully as a ship's carpenter--consequent upon old experience at home with boats and at sea with the mechanic of a man-o'-war--a piece of board to form a fresh thwart, which was soon nailed tightly on the remains of the old. then the hole in the bottom was covered with this boarding, laid crosswise, the necessary fitting taking a great deal of time, so that the afternoon was spent before help was needed, and plenty of willing hands assisted in turning the boat right over, keel uppermost, ready for the laying on of plenty of well-tarred oakum to cover the fresh inside lining, tom having a kettle of pitch over a wood fire, and paying his work and the caulking liberally as he went on, whistling and chatting away to aleck the while, only pausing now and then to have a big sniff and to inhale much of the smoke cloud his friends were making. "i should like to stop and have a pipe mysen, master aleck," said tom, once. "well, have one; only don't be long, tom." "nay, sir; i'll have it as we sails over, bime by. i won't stop now. it's a long job, and it'll be quite dark afore i've done." he fetched the pitch kettle from the little fire a fisherman had been feeding with chips of wreck-wood and adze cuttings from a lugger on the stacks. "now then," he said, after carefully stuffing the damaged hole with oakum, "this ought to keep the inside dry, on'y the worst on it is that the pitch won't stick well to where the wood's wet." "but you're not going to pour all that in?" "i just am," said tom, with a chuckle. "i arn't going to spyle a ship for the sake of a ha'porth o' tar. there we are," he continued, spreading the melted pitch all over the patch with a thin piece of wood till, as it cooled, it formed a fairly level surface ready for the pieces of planking intended to form the outside skin. tom was a very slow worker, but very sure, and a couple more hours glided by and the sun had long set with the boat still not finished. so slow had the repairing been that at last aleck expressed his dissatisfaction; but tom only grinned. "i know what water is, sir, and how it'll get through holes. i don't want for us to go to the bottom, no more'n i want us both to be allus baling. didn't i say as it would take me till dark?" "you did, tom, but you needn't drive in quite so many nails. this is only temporary work." "tempry or not tempry, i want it to last till we gets home." "of course," said aleck, and to calm his impatience he turned to look at the group of fishermen, who sat and stood about, smoking away, and for the first time the lad noticed that the men had ceased to watch tom bodger but had their eyes fixed intently upon the sloop-of-war and the cutter, which lay at anchor a couple of miles from the harbour, and were now showing their riding lights. "'bout done, arn't yer, tommy?" said the man who was mending the fire. "nay, keep the pitch hot, messmet," said tom. "i'll just pay her over inside as soon as we've got her turned right again." "then that's going to be now, arn't it, matey?" said the big fisherman. "yes," said tom, to aleck's great satisfaction. "lend a hand, some on yer." the words seemed to galvanise the group into action, twice as many men offering to help as were needed, and in another few minutes, to the owner's delight, the boat was turned over, with the iron-plated keel settling down in the fine shingle and the rough inner workmanship showing in the dim twilight. "now," cried tom, "just that drop o' pitch. power it in, messmet. that's your sort. it'll soon cool. now, then, i'll just stick a bit or two of board acrorst there, master aleck, to protect that pitch; and then we'll say done." "and time it was done, tom," said aleck, impatiently. "look, you've tired everybody out!" tom looked round, and laughed softly. "yes," he said, as he noted how to a man the fisher folk had begun to saunter away. "i see. they've been all on the fidget to go for the last half-hour." "and no wonder; but they might have waited a bit longer, to launch her." "she arn't ready to launch yet, my lad, and she'll be all the better for waiting till that pitch is well cooled. besides, in less than an hour the tide'll be up all round her, and we can shove her off oursens." "oh, yes, of course; and as we have to go in the dark i suppose it doesn't matter to an hour." "that's what i've been a-thinking of, master aleck. but, i say, do you know why they wanted to be off?" "hungry, i suppose." "nay! not them. they're suspicious." "what of?" "why, didn't you see how they kep' one eye on the man-o'-war out yonder?" "yes, of course." "well, what does that mean? they've made up their minds as boats'll come in from the sloop arter dark just to see in a friendly way if they can't pick up a few likely lads to sarve the king." "from the smugglers who are hanging about?" said aleck, eagerly, as he recalled what had passed between him and eben megg that afternoon. "smugglers, or fishermen, or anyone else. all's fish that comes into a press-gang's net--'cept us, master aleck. they wouldn't take a young gent like you, and i should be no good to 'em now, sir," continued the poor fellow, with a ring of sadness in his voice, which gave place to a chuckle as he added, "unless they kep' me aboard the man-o'-war to poke my pins down the scupper holes to keep 'em from being choked. these here two bits o' thin board i'll nail in close together, and then we'll let the water come up all round and harden the pitch. just you rake them ashes together, master aleck, so as not to let the fire go quite out. i shan't be above half an hour now, and then i shall want a light for my pipe, and by the time i've done that you'll be back again." "back again? i'm not going away." "oh, yes, you are, master aleck; you're going up to the little shop yonder to get a noo crusty loaf and a quarter of a pound o' cheese." "oh, i can't eat now, tom," said the lad, impatiently. "can't yer, sir?" said tom, with a grin. "well, i can--like fun--and if you'll buy what i says i'll teach you how." "oh, of course, tom. how thoughtless of me! i've been so anxious; but, of course, you must be very hungry! i'll go and get some bread and cheese. and you'd like a mug of beer, wouldn't you?" "well, master aleck, i wouldn't say no to a drop if it was here." "i'll go at once, tom, without you want me to hold the boards while you nail them." "all right, sir. nay, nay, don't make a blaze. just rake the ashes together; any little ember will do to light my pipe. i say, master aleck, we haven't had a single boy nigh us." "no, not one. how strange!" "not it, sir. just shows as they all know about the boat, and whose game it was." aleck hurried off and obtained the simple provisions needed, and returned to find the last nails being driven triumphantly into the boat. "there you are, master aleck," cried tom, "and i warrant she won't leak a spoonful. there's the tide just beginning to lap up round the stern, so we'll get the rudder on again, step the mast, and put all ship-shape ready for a start, and if it's all the same to you i'll just light up my pipe at once, and smoke it as we get the tackle back in its place." "go on, then," said aleck, and, after filling the bowl of his pipe, the sailor went to the glowing embers of the fire, one of which he picked up with his hardened thumb and finger, lit the tobacco, and began smoking away. his first act was to scoop up a little water in the boat's baler and extinguish the fire. "too hot as it is, master aleck. we can feel the way to our mouths, and i'm allus mortal feared of sparks blowing about among boats and sheds." the shipping of the rudder, the stepping of the mast, and fastening of the boat's grapnel to the ring-bolt followed. then oars, boat-hook, and ropes were laid in, and the pair seated themselves in the darkness, to begin discussing their much-needed meal, listening the while to the whispering and lapping of the water, aleck thinking anxiously of how uneasy his uncle would be. "how soon shall we be able to start, tom?" he said. there was a strange sound which made aleck start. "what?" he cried. "what's the matter?" "beg pardon, master aleck; couldn't say it no better. mouth was full o' hard crust." "how long before we start?" "good hour, sir. there's a lot o' shallow yonder." "oh!" cried aleck, impatiently. "let's get some of the fishermen to come and launch us." "i don't think you'd find anyone as would come, sir. they're all lying low somewhere for fear o' the press-gang." "nonsense! here they come, a lot of them, to get us off." "why, so they be," grumbled tom, in a disappointed way. "can't see no faces, but--master aleck," he whispered, sharply, "it's them!" "well, i said so," began aleck, impatiently; but he got no farther, the words being checked by a feeling of astonishment. for a voice suddenly exclaimed: "quick, lads; surround!" and a hand was laid sharply upon the lad's collar, while two men grappled tom. "now, then," he growled, "what is it?" "hold your noise, or you'll have a fist in your mouth," said a sharp voice. "who are you?" "name bodger. ab, king's navee. pensioner for wounds. see?" it was dark, but the shooting out of tom's wooden legs at right angles to his body from where he sat was plain enough to all of the group of well-armed sailors who surrounded the boat. "what are you doing here?" "eating my supper; been mending our boat." "then who is this?" said the same sharp voice. "my young master. we got a hole in the boat's bottom and had to put in for repairs." "that's right enough, sir; here's the oakum and tools. been a fire. here's the little pitch kettle." "o' course it's right, messmets. what's yer game--press-gang?" "hush!" whispered the commanding voice. "you're an old sailor?" "nay, not old, your honour," said tom. "thirty-two, all but the legs i lost. they warn't so old by some years." "a joker, eh? well, look here, my lad. we're on duty, and it's yours as an ex-navy man to help. where are the fishermen? there seem to be none hanging about the cliff." "i d'know, your honour; up at the publics, p'raps, in the town." "there's a party of smugglers here to-night?" "is there, sir? running a cargo?" "you know they are." "that i don't, your honour. i haven't seen one." just at that moment there was the sound of yelling, and a couple of shots were fired. then more shouts arose, and a shrill whistle was heard. "answer that, bo'sun," cried the officer in command of the party, and a shrill chirping sound seemed to cut the night air. "now, my lads, forward!" "one minute," cried aleck. "we want to get afloat. tell your men to give my boat a shove off." "hang your boat!" cried the officer, angrily. "keep together, my lads. yes, all right; we're coming." the party went off after their leader at a run, for another sharp whistle rang out at a distance. "well, he might have been civil," said aleck. "haw! haw! haw! fancy your asking a luff-tenant on duty that, master aleck!" said tom, laughing, and talking with his mouth full, for he had recommenced his unfinished meal. "it wouldn't have hurt him," said aleck. "here, leave off eating, tom, and let's get away from here. i don't want to be mixed up with this horrid business." "'tis horrid, sir, to you, but i got used to it," said the man, rolling off the side to begin swaying the boat, aleck leaping out on the other side. "no good, sir. she's fast for another half-hour. tide rises very slowly round here." "then we shall have to stop here and listen. hark, that's glass breaking. people struggling too. i say, tom, try again; push hard." "hard as you tells me, sir; but it's no good--her deep keel's right down in this here fine shingle. we must wait till the tide lifts her." the sailor stopped short to listen, for the noise which came to them on the still night air increased. hoarse voices ringing out defiance, savage yells and curses, mingled with the shrieks and appeals of angry women, smote upon the listeners' ears, and aleck stamped one foot with impatient rage. "oh, tom," he cried, "i can't bear it. i never heard anything of this kind before." "and don't want to hear it again, sir, o' course. well, it arn't nice. i didn't like it till i got used to it, and then i didn't seem to mind." "how brutal!" said aleck, angrily. "hark at that!" "i hear, sir. that's some o' the fishermen's wives letting go." "yes; and you speak in that cool way. aren't you sorry for them?" "nay, sir; not me. i'm sorry for the poor sailor boys." "what!" cried aleck, angrily. "tom, i didn't think you could be so brutal." "you don't understand, sir. that's the women shouting and screaming as they give it to the press-gang. it's the sailors gets hits and scratches and called all sorts o' names, and they're 'bliged to take it all. but, my word, there's getting to be a shindy to-night and no mistake. let's try again to get the boat off!" they tried; but she was immovable, save that they could rock her from side to side. "we'll do it in another ten minutes, master aleck, and then we'd better row till we're outside the harbour. hark at 'em now! that's not the women now; that's the men. i say, i b'lieve there's a good dozen o' the smuggling lot about the town, master aleck, but i hadn't seen one. did you catch sight o' any on 'em?" "i saw eben megg," said the lad. "and he's about the worst on 'em, master aleck. well, it strikes me his games are up for a bit. he's a wunner to fight, and he'll stick to his mates; but they won't beat the press-gang off, for when they want men and it comes to a fight it's the sailors who win. well, it'd do young megg good. he's too much of a bully and rough 'un for me. fine-looking chap, but thinks too much of hisself. make a noo man of him to be aboard a man-o'-war for a few years." "pst, tom! listen! they're fighting up at the back there." "and no mistake, my lad." for fresh shouts, orders, and another whistle rang out, followed by what was evidently a fierce struggle, accompanied by blows, the sounds as they came out of the darkness being singularly weird and strange. "let's get away, tom," said aleck, huskily; "it's horrible to listen to it." "yes, sir. heave away, both together. now, then, she moves. no, she's as fast as ever." "oh!" groaned aleck, striking both hands down with a loud smack upon the boat's gunwale and then stopping short as if paralysed, for there were quick steps, then a rush, evidently up the nearest narrow way among the sheds. then all was silence, and a sharp voice cried: "halt there! surrender, or i fire." a rush followed the command, and then a pistol shot rang out, aleck seeing the flash; but the shot did not stop the man who received the command. as far as aleck in his excitement could make out he rushed at and closed with him who tried to stop him, when a desperate struggle ensued as of two men wrestling upon the cobble stones, their hoarse panting coming strangely to the listeners' ears. all thought of launching the boat was swept away by the excitement of listening to the struggle, which grew more painful as the voice that had uttered the command rose again in half-stifled tones: "this way, lads; help!" a dull thud followed, as of a heavy blow being delivered, followed by a fall and the rush of footsteps again, but this time over the loose shingle, and the next minute a dimly-seen figure approached, running straight for the water. but instead of the man running into the harbour, he turned sharp to his left on catching sight of the boat and staggered up to it. "who's that?" he said, hoarsely. "you, tom bodger--master aleck? here, quick, sir; for the love of heaven save a poor fellow! it's the press-gang. got five on us. help, sir! shove off with me. i'm too dead beat to swim." "i can't help you, eben. i dare not," cried aleck. "what could i do?" "oh! but, master aleck--hark! there's more coming!" "i tell you i can't. i dare not. they're the king's men, and--" "where are you, your honour?" came out of the darkness, to be answered by a groan and a feeble attempt at a whistle. "this way, lads," rang out, and there was the rush of feet and a deeper groan. "eben, you've killed the officer," whispered aleck, in his horror. "i was on'y fighting for my liberty, master," whispered the man, hoarsely. "master aleck, you don't like me, i know. i'm a bad 'un, i s'pose; but there's my young wife and the little weans yonder waiting for me, and when they know--" the great rough fellow could say no more, but choked. "run for it, then," said aleck; "wrong or right, we'll try and cover you." "it's no good, sir," whispered the man; "there's no end of 'em surrounding us, and i'm as weak now as a rat." he caught aleck's hand, as the lad thought, to cling to it imploringly, but the next moment he held it to his forehead, and it was snatched away in horror, for the man had evidently been cut down and was bleeding profusely. "he's wounded badly, tom," whispered aleck, excitedly. "we must help him now." "ay, ay, sir," said tom, gruffly. "ah, the boat! the boat!" panted the smuggler. "in with you then," said aleck. "nay, nay," whispered tom. "she arn't afloat, eben megg. here, lay yer weight on to her if yer can't shove." "hi! hallo there!" cried a voice from the direction where the struggle had taken place. in response there was the sound of the boat's keel grating on the water-covered shingle, and the smuggler pressed close up to aleck's side. "do you hear there?" came from the same quarter. "in the king's name, stand!" "lay yer backs into it," grunted tom. "shove, my lads, shove!" "come on, my lads! we must have them, whoever they are," came from apparently close at hand. "ah, look sharp! there's a boat." "now for it," whispered tom, and as he grunted hard the boat began to glide from shingle and water into water alone, while as aleck thrust with all his might, knee-deep now, he felt the boat give way, and then it seemed to him that the smuggler sank down beside him, making a feeble clutch at his clothes and uttering a low groan. aleck's left hand acted as it were upon its own responsibility, closing in the darkness upon eben's shirt and holding fast, while the lad's right hand held up the boat's gunwale. the next moment he felt himself drawn off his feet and being dragged through the water, in which the boat was jerking and dancing as if to shake itself free. it was too dark to see, but this is what was taking place. as the party of three were trying their best to get the little yawl afloat the shingle clung fast to its keel and very little progress was made, although tom bodger thrust and jerked at it with all his might, more like a dwarf than ever, for his wooden legs went down in the wet shingle at every movement, right to the socket stumps; but at last, when their efforts began to appear to be in vain, a little soft swell rolled in, just as a rush was being made by the press-gang, the boat lifted astern, and as the water passed under it, literally leaped up forward, shaking itself free of the clinging sand and stones, and, yielding to the three launchers, glided right away. it was none too soon. aleck was holding on upon one side nearly amidships, while tom on the other side let the gunwale glide through his hands till they were close to the bow, and then holding on fast with both hands he made one of his jumps or hops, to add impetus to the boat's way and get his breast over the bow and scramble in. his bound--if it could be so-called--was very successful, for the next moment he was balanced upon his chest across the gunwale, gripping at the edge of the fore-locker, with his legs sticking out behind, and exulting over the sensation of the boat dancing under him, when he felt himself seized by one of the press-gang party, who had dashed in after the boat and made a grab at the first thing that offered in the dark. the sailor was unlucky in his hold, but no wonder, for the darkness gave him no opportunity of making any choice, and as it happened he gripped one of tom's pegs with his right and followed it up by clapping his left hand alongside, trying hard to drag his prisoner out or to stop the boat. as aforesaid he was unlucky, for he was to suffer an entirely new experience. had he grasped an ordinary human leg in the black darkness he would only have had a jerking kick or two, and most probably he would have held on, but here it was something very different. "got 'em!" he cried, loudly. "come on!" and then he was smitten with a strange surprise, and also with something else. for tom bodger, as he lay balanced upon the lower part of his chest, half in and half out of the boat, had got his fingers well under the side of the locker and was holding on with all the strength of his horny fingers. "ah, would yer!" he roared, as he felt himself seized, and, unable to kick for want of yielding joints, he began to work his stumps, to his holder's horror, like a pair of gigantic shears gone mad. the one that was free struck the sailor a sounding rap on the ear and made him release his hold of the prisoned piece of timber for the moment, and when he splashed after the boat, after recovering from his surprise, and made another grab, the second free peg caught him on the arm like a blow from a constable's truncheon. the sailor uttered a yell for help, but it was cut short by a blow on each side of his neck as tom's legs snapped together, and then he fell forward with a splash and was helped out by a couple of his mates, who stood, waist-deep, gazing into the darkness after the boat. "where are yer, my lads?" panted tom, as he progressed over the side like a huge toad. "help! help!" came from his right, and with the boat rocking from side to side he felt about along the gunwale till his hand came in contact with aleck's fingers, clinging desperately to the edge of the boat. "got yer," said tom, gripping the lad's wrist and hanging over the side to speak. "can't yer hold on while i get an oar out and move her a bit furder away?" "no. help me in," said aleck, huskily. "right, sir. here, let me get my hands under yer arms, and i'll heave yer in. i say, wheer's eben megg?" "out here. i've got hold of him." tom bodger whistled softly in his astonishment. "hold tight on him, my lad," he growled; and then putting forth his great strength of arm and back, he raised aleck right over the boat's side, and as eben was drawn close in, loosened the former and got tight hold of the latter. "can yer shift for yourself now, master aleck?" he whispered. "yes; but have you got eben?" "ay, ay! got him fast. out o' my way." the next minute the smuggler lay perfectly inert at the bottom of the boat and aleck was passing an oar over the stern and beginning to scull. "get another oar out, tom," he whispered, "or they'll have us yet." "ay, ay!" was growled, softly. but it was too loud, for a voice close at hand shouted: "now, then, you in the boat, it's of no use. surrender, in the king's name!" the splashing made by the oars ceased, and tom put his lips close to aleck's ear. "you arn't going to surrender, are yer, master aleck?" "no; use your oar as a pole, and get us farther away." "do you hear there?" cried another voice. "heave-to, or i'll fire." "all gammon, master aleck; i know. don't believe they've got any pistols." "there was a shot fired," said aleck. "orficer's, p'raps, sir. here, i can't do no good a-poling; it's getting deeper here." "scull then," said aleck; "and be careful. they've got boats somewhere." just then there was a flapping noise, which gave them a turn. "what's that?" said aleck, sharply. "wind got the sail loose," said tom. "there's a nice breeze coming on. shall i shake out a reef or two of the sail, sir?" "yes, if you think we can see to steer?" "dunno about that, sir. we must go gently, and feel." the next few minutes were devoted to preparations for spreading a portion of the canvas to the light breeze, as they listened to hail after hail from the shore; and then, as they began to glide softly along, one of the hails from the shore bidding them heave-to was answered from round to their right. "ay, ay, sir!" "keep a sharp look out for a boat somewhere off here. three prisoners in her escaping." "my hye!" muttered tom bodger. "that's nice. resisting the law too. strikes me as we're going to be in a mess." chapter sixteen. aleck, in the midst of his excitement in his novel position, had somewhat similar thoughts to those of his rough sailor companion. for what was he doing, he asked himself--resisting the king's men performing a duty--for a duty it was, however objectionable it might be--and helping a man they were trying to impress. worse still, trying to secure the liberty of a well-known smuggler, one of the leading spirits in as determined a gang as existed on the coast. it was that appeal for the sake of the wife and children that had turned the scale in eben's favour, and, as aleck argued now to himself as they glided steadily over the waters of the outer harbour, what was done was done, and to hang back now would mean capture and no mercy, for he would probably find himself bundled aboard the sloop-of-war and no heed paid to his remonstrances. "say, master aleck," was suddenly whispered to him, "i hope eben megg arn't going to die." "die? oh, tom, no. i forgot all about his cut head. we must tie it up." "tied up it is, sir, wi' my hankychy, but he's got a nasty cut on the head. ah, it's bad work resisting the law, for lawful it is, i s'pose, to press men." "don't talk so loud. feel eben's head, and find out whether it has stopped bleeding." "did just now, sir, and it about hev. but, i say, master aleck, i'm all in a squirm about you." "about me? why?" "you see, we don't know hardly which way to turn, and i expects every minute to be running into one o' the man-o'-war boats." "well, if we do we do; but i think we can get right out, and it won't be so dark then." "i b'lieve there's a fog sattling down, sir, and if there is we shall be ketched as sure as eggs is eggs. i'm sorry for you, my lad, and i s'pose i'm sorry for eben megg, though we arn't friends. bit sorry, too, for myself." "oh, they can't hurt you, tom." "can't hurt me, sir? why, they'll hev me up afore the magistrits, and cut me shorter than i am." "nonsense!" said aleck, with a laugh. "they don't behead people now, and even if they did they wouldn't do it for helping a pressed man to escape." "tchah! i don't mean that way, my lad. i mean chop off my pension, and--" "pst!" unwittingly they had been slowly sailing right for one of the sloop's boats, and their whispers had been heard, for from out of the darkness, and apparently a very little way off, came a hail and an order to stop. "shall us stop, sir?" said tom. "stop going that way. helm down, tom," whispered aleck; and the little sail swung over and filled on the other side, the water rippling gently under their bows. otherwise it was so silent that they could hear whispers away to their right, followed by a softly given order, which was followed by the dip, dip, dip, dip of oars, and they glided so closely by the rowers that aleck fancied he could see the man-o'-war's boat. a couple of minutes later they tacked again, and were sailing on, when all at once aleck whispered, as he leaned over his companion: "that must be the low line of the fog bank, tom. look how black it is!" "where, sir?" "over where i'm pointing," replied aleck. "by jinks!" growled tom, excitedly, shifting the rudder and throwing the wind out of the sail, which flapped for a bit and then once more filled on the other tack. "what was it, tom?" "what was it, my lad? why, that warn't no fog bank lying low on the water, but the harbour wall. why, we should ha' gone smash on it in another jiffy, stove in, and sunk, for there's no getting up the place this side." "are you sure it was?" "sartain. we're all right, though, now, and it's done us good, for i know where we are, and i think we can get away now unless the boat's headed us once more." "keep her away a little more then. ah! hark at eben! he sounds as if he's coming to." the smuggler was very far from being dead, for he muttered a few words, and then all at once they heard the backs of his hands strike the boat sharply, while to their horror he yelled out the word "cowards!" tom bodger was active enough, in spite of his misfortune, as he abundantly proved--perhaps never more so than on this occasion--when again, with almost the action of a toad, he leaped right upon the smuggler, driving him back just as he was trying to rise, and covering his face with a broad chest and smothering his next cries. then aleck grew more horrified than ever, for a tremendous struggle began, the smuggler, evidently under the impression that he was in the hands of the press-gang, fighting hard for his liberty, bending himself up and calling to his companions for help. but his voice sounded dull and stifled, and in spite of his strength tom's position gave him so great an advantage that he was able to keep him down. "mind, mind, tom," whispered aleck; "you are smothering him." "and a precious good thing too, master aleck. he'll say thankye when he knows. why, if i let him have his own way he'd--lie still, will yer?-- want to have the press-gang down upon us. lookye here, messmet, if you don't lie quiet i'll make master aleck come and sit on yer too." "but i'm afraid, tom." "so'm i, my lad. pretty sort o' onreasonable beggar. asts us to save him from the king's men, and when we've got him off, kicking up such a fillaloo as this to show 'em where we are. i arn't got patience with him, that i arn't." the man struggled again so violently that he got his hand on one side, making the boat rock and tom bodger grunt in his efforts to keep his prisoner down. "it's no good, master aleck," he whispered, hoarsely; "if i'd got my legs i could twist 'em round him and keep him still; but there's no grip in a pair of wooden pegs. come and sit on his knees and help keep him quiet. lash the helm, sir. she'll run easy enough then." but at this the smuggler suddenly ceased his desperate efforts to get free, and lay perfectly still. "he's turned over a noo leaf, master aleck, and p'raps i shall manage him now. i say, wish i hadn't put them two pieces o' board over the pitch; he's got it just under his back, and it would have helped to hold him still." "who's that?" said the smuggler, hoarsely. "it's me, what there is left on me," growled tom. "great ugly rough 'un. best thing you can do will be smuggle me a noo blue shirt from jarsey." "tom bodger?" "tom bodger it is." "why are you sitting on me? i thought--" "you thought," growled tom, scornfully. "what right's a chap like you to think?" "but i thought the press-gang had got me." "well, i was pressing on yer as hard as i could to keep yer from shouting and flying out of the boat. here's master aleck and me getting oursens into no end o' trouble to keep you out o' the press-gang's hands, and you begins shouting to 'em to come and take you." "i'm very sorry, mate. i s'pose i was off my head a bit--seemed to wake up out of a bad dream about fighting. yes, that's it; i recollect now. where's the gang?" "cruising about trying to find us." "it's so dark. where are we?" "somewheers out beyond the pier head, and it's all as black as the inside of a barrel o' pitch. keep quiet; don't talk so loud." "no, mate," said the smuggler, petulantly; "but i'm not quite myself. i got a crack on the head from something; i've been bleeding a bit. but, tell me, are we safe?" "dunno yet. hope so." "am i lying in master aleck's boat?" "yes, on yer back," growled tom. "are yer comfy? i put in a nice noo bit o' pine board 'sevening for yer to lie on." "no; of course i'm not comf'table with you sitting on me." "course you arn't. think i am with that great brass buckle o' yourn sticking in the bottom o' my chest?" "is master aleck there?" said the smuggler, after a short pause. "yes, i'm here, eben, steering." "ah, i can see you now, sir." "no, yer can't," growled tom, "so none o' your lies. just because you want to be civil to the young master." "i tell you i can see him quite plain. think i've got eyes like a mole?" "look out then, and tell us where we are." "how can i look out with my head down here?" "let him get up, tom," said aleck. "easy, master aleck. let's make sure first as he won't go off his head again." "i shan't go off my head again now i'm safe, stoopid," cried the smuggler, angrily. "master aleck, sir, thankye kindly for helping a poor desprit fellow. i can't say much, but my poor little wife'll say: `gord bless yer for this for the sake of our weans.'" "there, don't talk about it, eben; only let it be a lesson to you not to go smuggling any more. do you bear?" "yes, sir, i hear; but this hadn't nothing to do with running a cargo or two. we was unlucky enough to be in rockabie, and someone has sold us to the press-gang. warn't you, were it, mate?" "get out!" growled tom; "is it likely?" "no. someone did, but i don't believe it was old double dot, master aleck." "and you believe i didn't, now?" "b'lieve yer? yes, sir; and i'll never forget this night." "look here," growled tom, "hadn't you and him better be quiet, master aleck? you're both talking very fine about saving and gettin' free and never forgettin', and all the time there's boats out arter us and they may be clost up for all i can say. it's about the darkest night i was ever out in." "let me get up, mate, and have a look round," said the smuggler. "think he's safe, master aleck?" "oh, yes, of course. let him get up and try if he can make out where we are." "but i can't get him down again if he goes off his head, sir, and tries to turn us out of the boat." the smuggler uttered a low, mocking laugh. "bit too strong for yer, eh, tommy?" "ay; but you wouldn't be if i was all here. there; get up then." tom's legs rattled on the planks of the boat as he rolled himself off and stood up and listened to the smuggler with a low, deep sigh as he sat up, tried to stand, and sat down again in the bottom of the little craft. "bit giddy," he said, apologetically; "things seems to swim round." he had put his hands up to his head as he spoke. then suddenly: "who tied my head up with a hankychy?" "i did," growled tom, surlily, "and just you mind as your missus washes it out and irons it flat for you to give it me agen next time you comes to rockabie." "i will, mate," said the smuggler, quietly. "there," he added, after drawing a long, deep breath, "i'm beginning to come right again. yes, it is a bit dark to-night," he added, after staring about him for a minute or two. then, uttering a sharp ejaculation, "here, quick, put your helm hard up, master aleck. quick, my lad; can't you see where you're going?" "no," said aleck, obeying the order quickly, with the result that the sail began to flap, while, as it filled again and the boat careened in the opposite direction, there was a dull, hissing, washing sound, followed by a slap and a hollow thud, as if a quantity of water had been thrown into a rift. "where are we?" said aleck, who felt startled. "running clear now, sir; but in another moment you'd ha' been right on the east skerries." "what!" cried tom. "don't holler, mate," said the smuggler, drily. "mebbe there's one o' the man-o'-war's boats." "running right on the east skerries! right you are, messmet. that was the tide going into the marmaid's kitchen. here, i feel as if i'd never been to sea and took bearings in my life, master aleck!" "yes; what is it?" "don't you never trust me again." "but do you mean to say that you can't see those rocks just abeam, tom bodger?" "not a rock on 'em, messmet; but i can hear the bladder-wrack washing in and out." "but you, master aleck?" "i can see it looks a little darker there," replied the lad, "and a little lighter lower down." "well, it's amazin', sir. i can see 'em quite plain. i s'pose my eyes must be a little better than yourn through being out so much of a night." "smuggling, eben?" said aleck, quietly. the man laughed softly, and, standing up now, holding on by one of the stays, he shaded his eyes and looked about him for some time. "there's the riding lights of the two king's ships," he said, half aloud, "but i can't see the boats. they'd be giving the rocks about here a wide berth, and you pretty well left 'em behind, master aleck. now, sir, what are you going to do?" "run home, of course," said aleck. "round outside the point, sir?" "of course." "you'd save a good two miles by running close to shore and inside the big island and the point." "but the rocks?" "you could steer clear of them, sir." "but you mean run through the narrows--through the channel?" "of course, sir." "oh, it couldn't be done," said aleck, excitedly. "easy enough at high water, sir; and that's what it'll be in another hour." "have you ever done it, eben?" "often, sir, and in a bigger boat than this." "could you steer us safe through?" the smuggler laughed. "my father taught me to do it, sir, when i was a little boy." "it would save an hour?" "quite, sir." "what do you say, tom? would you go?" "me, sir? i'd go anywhere as eben megg dared to steer." "but it is so dark," said aleck, hesitating. "the breaking water makes it lighter, sir, and the sea brimes to-night out yonder. look, we're getting to where it flashes, where it breaks!" "to be sure; it's beginning, too, where the boat cuts the water. come and take the helm then. but, stop; what about the wind?" "westerly, sir, and blowing astern of us all the way through." "then we will go, tom. why, no man-o'-war boat dare follow us there." "that they won't, sir," said tom, decidedly. "i say, messmet, what do you say to a couple o' reefs in the sail?" "let her be," said the smuggler, taking his seat by aleck, who handed him the little tiller. "there, sir, you may say good-bye to the press-gang boats now. i daresay they'll be hanging about on their way to their ship, but we shall hug the rocks in and out all along." all talking ceased now, and in his new-found confidence in and admiration of the smuggler's knowledge of the intricate ways between the huge rocks that had from time to time become detached from the tremendous cliffs, and stood up forming the stacks and towers frequented by the myriads of sea-birds, the lad sat in silence watching the anchor lights of the men-o'-war, which came into sight and then disappeared again and again. then, as they approached the wall-like cliffs, it seemed to grow lighter low down where the tide rushed and broke in foam, shedding a pale lambent glow, while deep down beneath them tiny points of light were gliding along as if the whole universe of stars had fallen into the sea and were illumining the dark depths below the boat. there was a strange fascination, too, in the ride, as without hesitation the smuggler turned the boat's head into channels where the tide rushed like a mill-race close up to towering masses, and round and in and out, threading the smaller skittle-like pieces, whose lower parts had been fretting away beneath the action of the sea till the bottom was not a third of the distance through near the top. tom, too, sat very silent for a long time, chewing a piece of pigtail tobacco, evidently feeling perfectly comfortable about the smuggler's knowledge of the coast. at last, though, he found his tongue: "i say, messmet, how's that head o' yourn?" "very sore, tommy." "ay, it will be. dessay you lost a lot o' blood." "i believe i did," said the steersman. "well, you're a big, strong fellow, and it'll do you good. but, i say, mind i has that hankychy back!" "i won't forget, mate," said eben, quietly. then to himself, "i shan't forget this night." "i don't like eben megg, and i don't like smugglers in general," tom bodger; "but human natur's human natur', even with old king's pensioned men as oughtn't to; but if eben comes to me with that there hankychy and slips a big wodge of hard hamsterdam 'bacco and a square bottle o' stuff as hasn't paid dooty into my hands in the dark some night, what am i to do? say i can't take it? well, i oughter, but--well, he arn't offered the stuff to me yet." the other occupants of the boat were thinking deeply during the latter part of the sail. aleck was wondering what his uncle would say, and eben megg thinking of his future, and he was startled from his reverie by aleck, who suddenly said: "what about the press-gang, eben--do you think they will know you again?" "hope not, sir; but i'm not very comf'table about it. someone set 'em on--someone as knows me; and, worse luck, they've got some of our chaps." "but they haven't caught you." "not yet, sir, but there's chaps as don't like me, and if they've been pressed they'll be a-saying to-morrow morning as it arn't fair for them to be took and me to get away. see?" "yes; but what difference will that make?" the smuggler laughed aloud. "only that they might put the skipper of the man-o'-war cutter up to where he'd find me." "but you had nothing to do with the cutter's men--that officer was from the sloop?" "ay, sir; but they're all working together, and the cutter's skipper has got a black mark against my name." "oh!" said aleck, thoughtfully. "then i suppose you'll go into hiding?" "that's right, sir; but i shan't feel safe then. eh, tom bodger?" "right, messmet; they'll be ferreting all along the coast arter yer. tell you what i should do if i was you." "what?" said the man, eagerly. "have a good wash up in the morning, and then jump in a boat and go and board the sloop like a man." "what!" "and then, says you, `i want to see the skipper,' you says, and as soon as he comes on deck, `here i am, your honour,' you says. `i warn't going to let your men take me last night as if i were an enemy or a thief; but if the king wants sailors, here i am, and i'll sarve him like a man.'" "well done, tom!" cried aleck. "think so, master aleck?" said the smuggler. "yes, it sounds very nice, i suppose; but it won't do. i'm the wrong sort. can't alter now." "you know your own affairs best, eben," said aleck, quietly; "but i expect they'll catch you, and then you'll be obliged to serve." "i expecks so too, master aleck, but i mean to have a fight for it first. there we are. p'raps you'd better take the tiller now and run your boat into the gap. you know the way better than i do. you, too, tom bodger." the latter went forward, to stand boat-hook in hand, while, after passing the tiller to the lad, eben laid hold of the rope and loosened it from the pin, ready to lower down the yard as soon as aleck passed the word. the next minute the boat had been run into the narrow jaws of the great chasm, the sail had been lowered, and after they had glided some distance along, helped by the boat-hook deftly wielded by tom bodger, the smuggler suddenly sprang out on to a shelf of rock at the side. "what are you doing?" cried aleck. "you can't get up there in the dark." "can't i, sir? you wait, and i'll hail you from the top before you get up to your mooring-rings." the smuggler kept his word, a low farewell shout coming from on high, and echoing in whispers right along the gap. "good-night or good morning!" he cried, and then he was gone. "i couldn't have got up there even in daylight, tom," said aleck. "nor me nayther, sir. might ha' done it once upon a time, but wooden legs arn't the best kind o' gear for rock-climbing, sir, any more than they are for manning the yards aboard ship; and that's why i was pensioned-off." "yes, tom; but what about you to-night?" "me, sir? i'm a-going to kiver mysen up with the sail and snooze away in the bottom of the boat." "very well; and i'll bring you something to eat as soon as i get in." "thankye, sir; that's about the right sort for me, as i didn't make much of a business over that there bread and cheese; and here we are!" "make her fast, tom," cried aleck, springing out. "i want to go and explain to uncle. i wonder what he'll say," the lad continued, to himself, as he hurried up the slope. "he can't be so very cross when he knows all." there was a candle burning in the kitchen window, evidently placed there to light the wanderer on his return up the gloomy depression; and, after glancing up at his uncle's room, to see that all was dark there, the lad made for the kitchen door. this was opened, and in a voluble whisper the housekeeper began: "oh, master aleck, i've been in sech a way about you! i made sure you'd been and drownded yourself, and here have i been sitting hours, fully expecting to see your white ghost coming up the dark path from off the sea." "don't be disappointed," said aleck, merrily; "but, tell me," he whispered, "has uncle gone to bed?" "hours ago, my dear." "was he very angry because i hadn't come back?" "he didn't say so, master aleck." "but he asked if i'd come home?" "nay, he didn't." "he went down into the boat harbour?" "that he didn't, master aleck." "then he went up on the cliff to look out with the glass?" "nay; he's been writing his eyes out of his head almost, master aleck. wouldn't come down to his dinner nor yet to his tea, and i had to take him up something on a tray, or else he wouldn't ha' eat a mossle. i shall be glad when he's writ his book." "then he didn't know i hadn't come?" "no, i don't believe he thought about you a bit." "hah!" sighed aleck. "but what have you been a-doing of, master aleck? not fighting again, have you?" "you don't see any marks, do you?" "nay, i don't see no marks; but whatever did make you so late, master aleck?" "someone broke a hole in the boat, and we had to mend it, that's all. now cut me some bread and ham for tom bodger down at the boat-shelter; he's nearly starved." the provender was willingly out and carried down, and soon after aleck lay dreaming over the adventures of the day. chapter seventeen. the next morning one of the first things that saluted aleck's eyes on making his way up to the look-out on the cliff, was the sloop-of-war about a couple of miles out, sailing very slowly along, followed at a short distance by the revenue cutter, and the lad had not been watching five minutes before he became aware of the fact that ness dunning's work in the garden was at a standstill, that individual being laid flat upon his chest watching the vessels' movements through a piece of pipe. away to the right on the cliffs, dotted about which lay eilygugg, there was a white speck here and a blue speck there, and a little more intent gazing proved to the lad that there was another speck upon the edge of the farthest cliff in view. "women on the look-out to give warning to the smugglers," thought aleck, and he hurried back to see if his uncle was down, and if he were not to return to the cliff-top with the glass. but the captain was just descending, and his first words were: "that's right, my boy; let's have breakfast. by the way, did you get my paper?" this started the lad, who was crammed with his news, which he hurriedly made known. "humph!" said the old man. "rather a lively experience for you, my lad; but you must be careful, for i don't want to have you in trouble over helping smugglers to escape." "no, uncle, of course not," said aleck; "but do you think i did wrong?" "certainly, my boy. this fellow--ill-conditioned fellow megg--was fighting against the law. he was doubtless there on some business connected with smuggling, and nearly got caught by the press-gang--an institution i do not admire, but those in authority consider it a necessity for the supply of the navy. keep away from all these worries, and as much as possible from rockabie and its young ruffians." "yes, uncle; but i really did not seek to be amongst all that business in rockabie yesterday," pleaded aleck. "of course not, my boy, and you need not look so penitent. the law's the law, of course, but i'm afraid if i had been appealed to as you were last night i should have done the same, and given the scoundrel a good talking to as i brought him away. there, have no more to do with it, and keep out of sight if there are boats landed, as there most probably will be, to make a search." "but suppose the officers land and know me again, uncle?" "there, there, i'm just in the midst of a tiresomely intricate chapter of my book, and don't want to have my attention taken off." "no, uncle, of course not; but if the officers and men know me again?" "why, let them, my lad. you were doing no harm, and they can do you none. now let's finish our breakfast." "shall i stay in, uncle?" said aleck. "tom bodger slept down in the boat last night, and i wanted to take him some breakfast." "go and take it then, of course." "and then stay in?" "no, no; nonsense. now don't bother me any more." "i won't get into any trouble," aleck said to himself, as he hurried out, armed with two huge sandwiches and a mug of well-sweetened coffee, with which he got on pretty well going through the garden, hardly spilling a drop, till he was startled by the voice of the gardener, saying, from the other side, in anticipation: "thankye, master aleck. that's very good of yer." that startling made the lad half stop, and about a tablespoonful of the hot preparation flew out on to the path. but aleck paid no attention, not even turning his head, but increasing his pace, with the mug troubling him a good deal in his efforts to preserve the liquid in a state of equilibrium in a rapidly descending and very slippery and uneven rocky path. "i daresay you'd like it," muttered aleck, as he hurried on, followed directly after by: "i'm over here, master aleck." "thank you for the information, ness, but they say none are so deaf as those who will not hear." at the next zigzag of the path he was out of sight and hearing, and a few minutes later close upon the niche devoted to his boat, with the big sandwiches complete, and quite three parts of the coffee in the mug. "sorry to have been so long, tom," he cried, breathlessly, "but here you--" aleck was going to say _are_, but he felt that it would not be correct, for tom was not there, nor anywhere within sight down the narrow waterway in the direction of the sea. he had left tokens of his presence in the shape of tidy touches, for the boat tackle had all been taken out and stowed away in the overhanging cavernous part, and the boat lay ready for any amount of necessary repairs, for, in spite of the sailor's declaration the previous evening, she had been leaking to such an extent during the night since she had been tied up, that she was one quarter full of water. "why, he ought to have stopped to mend the hole properly. seen the men-o'-war coming, i suppose, and gone back to rockabie so as not to be found if the sailors come searching here. but how stupid! what am i to do with this coffee and bacon?" a moment was sufficient for his decision, and he turned and hurried back, made straight for the tool-house, where he placed the mug on the bench, with the sandwiches carefully balanced across. then, carefully keeping out of the gardener's sight till the last minute, he turned down a path which led him near, and then, putting his hands to his lips, he shouted: "ness!" "yes, master aleck," came directly from where the man was making believe to have been busy for hours. "i've put some coffee and something to eat in the tool-shed," bellowed aleck. "let him think what he likes," he muttered, as he ran back indoors, obtained the glass, and was off again to make for the cliff and watch the proceedings of the men-o'-war. their proceedings seemed to be nil, for both vessels were hove to, and after watching them for a few minutes by means of the glass, aleck closed it, and hung about, undecided what to do. a minute later he had made up his mind, for the cave in which the smugglers' boats lay drawn up attracted him, and he was level with the cottages and preparing to descend when it occurred to him that he had better not go, for if eben had been suspicious of his visit and ready to think him guilty of giving information to the press-gang people and revenue men, it was quite possible that others there might be the same, while doubtless the women who had lost son, husband, or father during the past night would be in no pleasant temper to encounter. so instead of descending, aleck went on in the direction of the great gap in the cliff where he had had so exciting an encounter with the smuggler, intending to make for the shelf again so as to sit down and watch the sloop and cutter, but only to find when he reached the place, that the view in that direction was cut off by towering rocks. consequently he climbed back, went round the head of the deep combe, and crept round to the other side, mounted to the top, and then stood looking down into another of the great rifts in the coast-line, one which had perpendicular sides, the haunt of wild fowl, going sheer down to the water, which here came several hundred yards right into the land. there were plenty of capital places here where a strong-headed person could go and perch and excite no more notice than a sea-bird. they were what ordinary inshore folk would have called "terribly dangerous," but such an idea never occurred to aleck, who selected one of the most risky, in a spot where the vast wall where he stood was gashed by a great crack, which allowed of a descent of some thirty feet to a broad ledge littered by the preenings of the sea-birds, which seemed, though none were present, to have made it their home. it was a delightful spot for anyone who could climb to it without growing giddy; but there was no going farther, for the angle of the ledge was quite straight, and when the lad peered over he was looking straight into the gurgling, foaming and fretting water a hundred feet below. "what a boat cove that would have made," he thought, "if there were not so many sharp rocks rising from the bottom! i shouldn't like to try and take my kittiwake in there, big as it is." the gloomy place, with its black shadowy niches and caves at the surface of the water, had a strange fascination for him. in fact, with its solemn twilight and irregular crag, arch and hollow, it looked quite an ideal entrance to some mermaid city such as is described by the poets who deal in fable. but there were the two little men-o'-war to watch, and aleck drew back a step or two from the edge to select a comfortable seat, where the colour of the rock which rose up behind was likely to assimilate with his garments and not throw him up as a plainly-seen watcher if a telescope were directed shoreward from one of the vessels. "i wonder whether the smugglers ever come here," thought aleck, as he looked at the face of the rock in a spot that just suited his purpose; and then he laughed to himself and felt no doubt at all, for there, just level with his face, and about eighteen inches within a crack in the rock, a shabby old horn lanthorn was wedged, and just below it was a tinder-box and a square wide-mouthed bottle, well corked, evidently to protect its contents from the spray which would come rushing up from below in a storm, the contents being so many thin slips of wood, whose sharply-pointed ends had been dipped in molten brimstone. "one of their look-outs," he said to himself, as he turned again to sit down, but only to start and crouch upon his knees in surprise; for close up to the rock wall, half hidden by a tuft of sea-pink and grey sea holly, was a very old ragged black silk neckerchief, folded and creased as if lately torn off, and bearing strange rusty dark stains, dry and unpleasant-looking, and with very little consideration aleck settled in his own mind that, if it were not the kerchief tom had torn from his neck to wind round the smuggler's wound, it was as like it as could be. it did not look a nice thing to take up and handle, but the lad bent lower, before rising up to say, decisively: "it must be, i'm sure, for i almost seem to know the holes. then eben must have been here this morning watching for the press-gang people." another thought flashed across the lad's brain directly: "perhaps he's close by somewhere, watching me." this thought produced a very uncomfortable feeling, and aleck was divided between two forces which pulled different ways. one was to--as tom bodger called it--look out for squalls, the other to sit down quite calm and unconcerned to watch the vessels. "i can't help it if eben does fancy i'm watching his proceedings; he must feel that i should be longing to know what is going on. no, after last night i'm sure he won't think i should make signals to the ships. why should i? there's nothing to signal about." he focussed and re-focussed the glass, and held its larger end towards the sloop and placed one eye at the little orifice; but the left would not close and the right would not look at the sloop, but persisted in rolling about in every direction in search of eben, who, the boy felt certain now, must be crouching back in one of the rugged clefts watching every movement he made. aleck did the best he could to look calm and unconcerned, but anyone who had seen him from near at hand would have pronounced it as being a dismal failure. then all at once he started. down went the glass, and he craned forward towards the edge of the shelf to look down, for all at once there was a hoarse rumbling sound and a tremendous plash and crash as if a mass of rock had fallen from somewhere beneath him right into the rock-strewn gully below. he could not resist the desire to lie down upon his breast and edge himself forward till his face was over the edge and he could look right down into the water, which was all in motion, swaying and eddying, foaming round the half-submerged blocks of weed-hung stone, and behaving generally according to its custom as the tide went and came, for these chasms displayed little change, the water being very deep and never leaving any part of the bottom bare. there was nothing fresh to see, and after a time the lad drew back, to resume his old attitude with the glass to his eye. but he had hardly settled down again before he experienced a slight quivering sensation, as if the cliff had suddenly received a blow, while directly after there was a deep roar as of stones falling along some vast slope. then once more silence, with the water whispering and gurgling far below. "part of the cliff given way," thought aleck, as he called to mind places here and there where masses of the rocky rampart which guarded the western shores had evidently fallen, and about which he had heard traditionary stories. but these falls had taken place in far distant times. no one that he had heard speak of them could go farther back than chronicling the event as something of which "my grandfather heered tell." aleck thought no more of the sounds and went on watching the two vessels, till suddenly they seemed to be doing something in the way of action. a boat was lowered from each, and the lad's glass was powerful enough to enable him to make out the faces of the officers in the stern-sheets, one of whom was the midshipman who had charge of the boat at rockabie pier. aleck watched the boats rowing shoreward and separating after a time, one of the sloop's making for the eilygugg cove, the other rowing in the direction of the gap which led up to the depression in which lay the den. feeling that he would like to be at home if the boat entered their private chasm, as the lad dubbed it, he turned back along the cliff and reached the garden so as to descend to the mooring-place just in time to see the cutter's boat framed in the opening, the dark rocks round and above, and the little craft floating upon a background of opalescent sea and sky. "they can't have come right in," thought aleck, and after a time he made for the cliff again to get near the edge and look down, in time to see that both boats were being rowed back to their respective vessels. an hour after they were slowly gliding away in the direction of rockabie, their examination having been of the most perfunctory kind. chapter eighteen. "no, master aleck, not gone, as you may say, right off," replied tom bodger, a few days later, as he adzed and planed and hammered away at the kittiwake down in front of the natural boat-house. "they're a-dodging of it, strikes me. king's skippers is artful when they wants men. they just got enough of that smuggling lot aboard the sloop to make the cap'n hungry for more, and, you mark my words, he'll keep away so as to make the likely ones think they're safe, and then there'll come a night when they'll find they arn't." "oh, i don't think so, tom," said aleck, opening a fresh packet of glistening golden-hued copper nails. "i don't believe the press-gang will come again." "all right, master aleck, you go on thinking they won't, and i'll go on thinking they will, and let's see who's right." "but what makes you suspicious, tom?" "old sperience, sir," said the man, with a grim smile. "i 'member how we used to pick 'em up aboard the hajax--`our jacks,' as the lads used to call her. that's just how our old skipper used to work it; and if i were eben megg and didn't want to go to sea i should give up smuggling and take to an inland job, where he warn't known, and then he'd be safe. ha! them's the sort," he said, taking the fresh nails. "no rusting about them coppery nails." "no; but uncle says you're to be careful and not use so many, for they're expensive, and you do seem to like to drive in as many as you can." "now, you lookye here, master aleck," said the sailor, solemnly; "a copper nail may mean a man's life. you put in a hiron one and after a bit the sea water eats it all away. soon as the nail's eat away up starts a plank, in goes the water, and before you knows where you are down goes your boat and a man's drowned. copper nail costs a ha'penny, p'raps, and if it's a big 'un, a penny. well, arn't a man's life worth more'n that?" "of course; but how long shall you be before you've done?" "finish this week, sir; and then she'll last for years. you know how it was; soon as i ripped off that patch we found that a lot of her streaks under the pitch was rotten, and there was nothing for it but to cut a lot away and make a good job of it. well, sir, we're making a good job of it, and she'll be like a noo boat when i've done." "of course," said aleck; "and uncle said you were to do it thoroughly." "and thorough it is," said tom. "i've took a lot o' time, but there's been every bit to make good. let's see; this makes a week and three days i've been coming over reg'lar." "yes, tom," said aleck, laughing; "and what do you think ness says?" "dunno, master aleck," said the sailor, passing his hand, as if lovingly, over the well-smoothed sweet-smelling wood he was putting into the boat. "wants some beer?" "oh, of course," said aleck; "but he said he could have mended the boat up in half the time." "ah, he would," said tom, drily. "done it in two days, maybe, and first time she was out in bad weather the sea would undo all his work in quarter the time. won't do, master aleck; boat-building's boat-building, and it's all the same as ship-building--it means men's lives, and them who scamps work like this ought to be flogged. our old chips aboard the hajax, as i worked with as mate, used to say precious ugly things about bad boat-building, and he'd say what he'd do to him as risked men's lives by bad work. he taught me, master aleck, and i feel like him. i'd rather be paid a score o' shillings for doing a fortnight's good work than have it for doing a week's; and i'm going to drive in as many o' these here best copper nails as i thinks'll be good for the boat, and you're going to hold my big hammer agen their heads while i clinch 'em. then i shall feel as the boat's as safe as hands can make it. and, as i said afore, if i was eben megg, i'd drop the smuggling and go inland for a bit. that there sloop'll come into harbour some night when she arn't expected; you see if she don't! they was fine young men the skipper got the other night, and i say he'll try for another haul." "and i say," cried aleck, "that if he does send his men he'll be disappointed, for eben and the other smugglers will be too foxy to let themselves be surrounded as the men were at rockabie the other night." "well, master aleck, so much the better for them." then tom began hammering and clinching the soft copper nails as if he loved his work, and as soon as the sun went down started off to trudge across the moor to rockabie, taking his time over the task and looking as cheerful at the end as he did at the beginning of the long day. aleck had worked pretty hard, too, in the hot sun, and he was so drowsy that night that he was glad enough to see his uncle, wearied out with the writing, which seemed as if it would never come to an end, begin to nod and doze, and suddenly rise up and say: "let's go to bed!" aleck hardly knew how he got undressed, but he did afterwards recall going to the fully-open window and looking out at the dull night, as he drank in the soft cool air, which seemed so welcome after a still, sultry day. then he was asleep, dreaming of nothing, till about midnight, when his brain became active and he fancied that he was back in the darkness by the unlaunched boat at rockabie, growing wildly excited as he listened to the shouting and scuffling up one of the narrow lanes, followed by firing and what seemed to be either an order or a cry for help. the next moment the sleeper was wide awake, listening to what was undoubtedly a shout, and it was followed by another, both far away, but sounding clear on the night air, while from time to time came a dull murmur as of several voices together. "they're landing a cargo," thought aleck, and with his mind full of luggers lying off the coast, with boats going to and fro to fetch kegs, chests and bales, he hurried on his clothes, dropped from his bedroom window, hurried down the garden to the cliff path, and began to climb up the zigzag. the landing-place would no doubt be away to the west and below eilygugg, where the smugglers' fishing-boats lay, and as soon as he was up out of the depression on to the level down, aleck went off at a trot to get right at the edge of the cliff, where, unseen, he calculated upon getting a good view of what was going on by the light of, as he expected, many lanthorns. before he was half way to the edge a thrill ran through him, for a wild shrieking arose, beginning with one voice, and turning to that of several. "oh, it's a wreck!" cried the lad, wildly, and he hurried on, hoping to reach the way down to the boats and be of some use before it was too late. but as he ran on with throbbing heart and his breath growing short it gradually dawned upon him that the shrieks were those of angry women raging and storming, and this was soon confirmed, for there was the gruff burr of men's voices in the distance, followed by a shout or two, which sounded like the orders he had heard in his dream. "why, it's a fight," he cried, half aloud. "tom bodger's right; the press-gang has landed again, but, instead of going to rockabie, they've come here." he was as right as tom bodger, for at last when he made his way to the edge of the cliff it was to look down on the lanthorns carried by three boats, which were close up to the shingly patch of beach from which the fishing craft put off. as far as he could make out in the darkness, badly illumined by the lanthorns, there was a desperate struggle going on in the shallow water lying between the shingle and the boats. for the first few moments it seemed to aleck in his excitement that the press-gang was being beaten off by the smugglers. then he was puzzled, for he could hear hoarse shouts and laughter, mingled with shrieks and what seemed to be loud abuse in women's voices, followed by splashing in the water as of struggles going on again and again. after the last of these encounters the lights began to move outward in obedience to an order given loudly from one of the boats; the regular _dip-dip_ of oars came up, and then there was a rushing sound and a wild passionate chorus of cries from the shore. "i know," panted aleck, with a feeling of angry indignation attacking him. "they've taken and are carrying off some of the men, and the women have been fighting to try and rescue them. poor things, how horrible, but how brave!" he had confirmation of his surmises directly after, for there now rose up to his ears a burst of sobbing cries in a woman's voice, followed by confused eager talk from quite a party, who seemed to be trying to comfort the weeping woman. for a few moments there was a pause, during which in the deep silence there was the regular dip of oars, and the lanthorns gently rose and fell upon the smooth rollers of the tide. then there was a cry which went straight to aleck's heart, so piteous and wailing were its tones: "oh, eben! eben! come back, dear; come back!" it reached him for whom it was intended, and was answered directly from one of the boats in words which reached aleck more clearly perhaps then the listeners below him on the shore. "all right, lass. cheer up!" the order had its effect, for a cheer given heartily in women's voices was the result; but the lad's thoughts were active. "cheer up!" he said to himself. "how can the woman be cheerful with her husband dragged away like that?" the lights in the boats gradually grew more distant, while aleck lay thinking what he had better do, for the low eager murmur of voices down below raised a feeling of commiseration in his breast, which made him feel disposed to go down and try to say a few words of comfort to the bereaved women, who had evidently been trying hard to save their husbands. but he felt that he would only be able to act in a poor bungling way and that the smugglers' people might look upon him as an intruder and a spy. for though the den was so short a distance from eilygugg, there had been very little intercourse, and that merely at times when the help of the captain was sought in connection with some injury or disease. "they would likely enough turn on and begin fiercely at me," he thought. "i can do no good;" and he lay still, wanting to get away, but afraid to stir lest he should be heard. "they'll go soon," he thought; and he waited patiently, watching the lights gradually getting fainter and fainter as their distance from the shore increased. but the poor women seemed to have seated themselves just beyond reach of the lapping waves, which kept on breaking regularly in the little cove, and they, too, were watching the boat-lights till the last gleam had died away and all was darkness as far as they could see. then a low sobbing was heard, half drowned at times by many voices raised in angry protest, and mingled with threats. this went on and on, rising, falling, and quite dying out at times, but only to break out again, having a strange effect upon aleck, who would have given anything to get away unnoticed; but every now and then the silence was so perfect that he felt confident of being heard if he made the slightest movement, and consequently lay still. "they'd be sure to look upon me as an intruder," he muttered, "and be ready to resent my being here." at last though the silence was broken by the trampling of feet amongst the loose shingle, accompanied by a low murmured conversation, which was continued up the gap and died out finally high up towards the cottages, leaving the way for the listener clear. aleck took advantage of this, and, sad at heart, he was going slowly back towards the den, when suddenly became aware of steps coming from the direction of the smugglers' scattered patch of cottages. whoever it was had approached so near and had come upon him so suddenly that he obeyed his first impulse, which was to say, sharply: "who's that?" "eh? that you, master aleck?" "yes, it is i, ness. what are you doing out here at this time of night?" "mornin', arn't it, sir? same as you, i s'pose. who was to stop in bed with press-gangs coming and dragging folkses off to sea?" "then you heard them?" "heerd 'em, yes, sir! i was that feared o' being took myself that i got into hiding." "you were not fighting, then?" "me? fight? not me! i lay low and listened." "the press-gang landed and surprised the smugglers, then?" "yes, sir, and they've nabbed eben megg and six of his mates. did yer hear the women giving it to the sailors?" "i heard something of it." "they was fighting savage like to save their men, and the sailor chaps was glad enough to get back to their boats; but they took eben megg and half a dozen more along with 'em." "you seem to know all about it, ness," said aleck, suspiciously. "me, master aleck? well, you see, being such near neighbours like i can't help hearing a deal. but it's bad work smuggling, and i keep as clear of the folk as i can. going home to bed?" "yes." "that's right, sir. best place, too, of a night. but how did you know the press-gang was coming?" "i didn't know they were coming." "but you were theer?" said the old gardener, suspiciously. "i was there?" said aleck, "because the noise woke me, coming through my open window." "oh!" said the gardener. "i see." the next minute their ways diverged, and aleck soon after climbed up to his bedroom window, to drop off into a sleep disturbed by fights with press-gangs and smugglers all mixed up into a strange confusion, from which he was glad to awaken and find that he had hardly time to get dressed before his uncle would be down. chapter nineteen. captain lawrence listened with knitted brows to his nephew's narration of all that had taken place in the night, and shook his head. "it's miserable work, my boy," he said; "so piteous for the poor women. well, perhaps good will come out of evil, and it may be the breaking up of a notorious smuggling gang." it was just as aleck was finishing his third cup of coffee, which he set down sharply in the saucer, startled by the sudden rush of the gardener to the open window, through which he thrust his head without ceremony. "here's--" he began, excitedly. "oh!" for a big heavy hand appeared upon his shoulder, clutching him hard and snatching him away. "what is the meaning of this, boy?" cried the captain. aleck's head was already out of the window, and he drew it back again to answer: "a lot of sailors, uncle, and their officer." the lad's words were followed by the appearance of jane, whose eyes were wide open and staring, her mouth following suit to some extent, so that she had to close her lips before saying: "plee, sir, orficer, sir. to see you, sir." the captain nodded shortly and rose to go, followed by aleck, out into the little ball, at whose door a naval officer and a boat's crew of men were waiting. "good morning," said the officer, shortly; and then turning upon aleck, "hallo, young man, i've seen you before!" "yes, in rockabie harbour," said the lad, looking at him wonderingly, while his heart began to beat fast as he glanced at the party of sturdy sailors. "ah, to be sure," said the officer; then to the captain again, "you are aware, i suppose, that we made a descent last night upon your nest of smugglers here." "i have just learned, sir, what took place," said the captain, coldly. "of course. well, sir, in the struggle and after trouble with the women, who resented the taking away of the men, the young officer of the second boat was missed." "not the midshipman who was with your boat the other day?" said aleck, eagerly. "eh? yes," cried the officer. "what do you know about him?" "only that we had a few words together." "and you know that he was missed?" "i did not know till you told me," said aleck. "didn't know, i suppose, that there was that struggle over yonder by the cove last night, eh?" "yes," said aleck, frankly; "i saw some of it." "ah! then you were with the smugglers, eh?" "no," replied aleck; and he briefly related his experience, including his being awakened by shots. "ah, to be sure," said the officer; "they're a nice daring set of scoundrels--fired on the king's men; but we got the rascals who did. well, sir, what's become of our officer?" "how should i know?" said aleck, staring. "you must have seen something of what went on after we started back." "no," said aleck. "there seemed to be no one there but the women." "but you saw them and heard what they said? you heard them talking about him?" "no, i did not go near the women." "why?" said the officer, sharply. "because i was afraid they would think i had something to do with the press-gang coming." "well, he must be found. he's here somewhere." "is there any possibility of the poor young fellow having been knocked overboard during the struggle?" "not the slightest," replied the officer, shortly. "he may have been knocked down somewhere on the way between the cottages, where we pounced upon the men, and the landing-place. well, he must be found." "of course," said the captain, quietly. "you will go up, then, and search the smugglers' cottages--fishermen they call themselves?" "we have searched them thoroughly," said the officer, "and we've come across now, sir, to search your place--what do they call it?--the den." aleck glanced at his uncle's face, and could see the blood gathering in his cheeks. "search my house, sir?" he said. "are you so mad as to suppose that i should entrap one of the king's officers?" "possibly, sir," replied the visitor, "on the _quid pro quo_ principle, to hold on ransom. we've got some of your friends; you have snatched at one of ours." "this is the first time, sir, that i've been led to suppose that i was a friend to the smugglers. eh, aleck?" "what nonsense, uncle!" cried the lad, indignantly. "oh, indeed, young gentleman!" said the officer, turning upon him sharply. "no friends of yours neither?" "certainly not," cried aleck. "ho! then, perhaps you will be good enough to explain how it is that the gardener here is the smugglers' chief assistant in signalling, spying, and warning them?" "he isn't," said aleck, sharply. "he is," said the officer. "what is more, i found that cargoes are run down here in a cove or rift upon your coast, where a handy boat is kept." "we've got a boat down the rift," said aleck. "exactly; one that runs to and fro between here and rockabie." "yes," said aleck, mockingly; "to fetch fishing-tackle and grocery--and writing paper; eh, uncle?" the captain nodded, while the young lieutenant went on: "and to take messages from here to rockabie." "no," cried aleck; but the officer went on, quietly: "look here, sir, i am credibly informed that it was your boat that rescued one of the most daring of the smugglers on the night of an encounter we had there--a man whom i was holding with my own hands till i was savagely struck down. it is quite likely that this may be examined into later on, but my business now is to find my messmate. look here, it will save a good deal of trouble, and make things much easier for you, if you put me up to the place where the prisoner is hidden." "perhaps it would," said aleck, firmly now; "but i tell you i know nothing whatever about your young midshipman. if you think he is hidden somewhere here you are quite wrong." "perhaps so," said the officer, sternly, "but we shall see." then, turning to the captain, he said, shortly: "i shall have to search your place, sir," and then rather jeeringly, as if suggesting that it would not matter in the least if the captain objected, he added: "i presume that you will not put difficulties in my way?" "none whatever, sir," said the captain. "and as an old commissioned officer in his majesty's service should feel it my duty to help in any way i could." "eh? oh, thank you," said the officer, changing his manner. "i beg your pardon. i heard the people called you captain, but i supposed that you were captain of some fishing or trading boat." the captain bowed coldly. "aleck," he said, "do you know anything about dunning being intimate with the smugglers?" "yes, uncle; i have been suspecting it lately." "oh, master aleck!" came from outside. "me? how can you say such a word! when did you ever know me smuggle anything? oh, my dear lad, tell the truth; when did you--whenever did you know me smuggle anything?" "often," said aleck, bluntly. "what; tea and sperrits and 'bacco and silk?" "no," said aleck; "but fruit." "oh, fruit!" said the gardener, contemptuously. "what's a bit of fruit?" "perhaps you will have my house and grounds searched at once, sir," said the captain, waving the gardener back. "the house is small, and--" "stop a moment, sir," said the young lieutenant, for such he proved to be; "will you give me your word of honour as an officer and a gentleman that my brother officer is not concealed about your premises?" "certainly," said the captain. "i give you my word of honour that he is not; and i add to it that i have never had any dealings with the smugglers." "that is enough, sir. now, will you tell me where we are to find their hiding-places, for they must have some stowages for the goods they run." "i assure you, sir, that i have not the slightest knowledge of any such places. i have often suspected the existence of a cave or caves. aleck, my boy, do you know of any?" aleck turned sharply to speak, and as he did so he caught the gardener's eyes fixed upon him with a peculiar glare that might have been threatening or imploring, the lad could not tell which; but he spoke out frankly at once: "no, uncle. i've often wondered whether there was a smuggler's cave, but i never found one." "humph! that seems strange," said the officer. "you have a boat?" "yes, i have a boat." "and go coasting and fishing about close in. do you mean to tell me you never found anything of the kind?" "yes." "and you never saw a cargo being landed--i mean a cargo of smuggled goods?" "never," said aleck. "then you must have been very unobservant, young gentleman. i presume that you have seen smugglers about here?" aleck's face lit up, and he once more caught ness's eyes fixed upon him as he spoke. "oh, yes," he said; "several." "and you could direct us to their cottages?" "i could," said aleck, "but i'm not going to." "well done, master aleck!" shouted the gardener. "silence, sir," said the captain, sternly. "go on, aleck." "i've no more to say, uncle," replied the lad, "only that i'm not going to lead people to take and press men by force for sailors. besides, the lieutenant does not need showing--he has been to the men's cottages, and taken some of them." "to be sure," said the officer, good-humouredly; "and i don't want to be hard on you. it is not the thing to ask a gentleman to do. but please understand, sir, that i am not seeking for men to press now, but to find my brother officer who is missing. can you help me in that?" "i'm afraid i can't," said aleck, frankly; "but i will do all i can." "thank you; that's right," said the officer. "come, captain lawrence, we are making some progress after all." "i'm glad of it, sir," replied the captain; "but, tell me, you pressed some men last night?" "yes, we got seven sturdy fellows to the boats, in spite of a vigorous resistance." "seven?" said the captain. "well, surely that must be quite as many as we have living in the little cluster of cliff cottages! of course there are their wives and children!" "yes," said the lieutenant, drily; "we learned to our cost that they had wives, and strapping daughters too." "then how can it be possible that your brother officer can be here? there is no one to keep him a prisoner." "well, it doesn't seem likely," said the officer, in a disappointed tone. "unless," he added, "these viragoes of women are keeping him, out of spite." "there's not the slightest probability of that," said the captain. "i'm afraid, sir, that you will find an accident has befallen him." the lieutenant shook his head, and then turned to aleck. "you have a boat and a wonderfully retired nook where you keep her! where is it--down below here?" "your men came to the mouth of it last time you were here." "what, last night?" "no, no; a fortnight ago." "ah, yes, i remember. you mean that narrow split in the rock; but surely no boat could go in there?" "mine goes in, and out too," said aleck; "and it's nearly as big as yours. but what of that?" "is it likely that my brother officer, finding himself left behind, may have hidden himself there?" "not a bit likely," said aleck; "but, let's go and see!" "by all means," said the captain; and aleck led them off at once through the sunken garden and down to the slope which led into the chasm. "my word, what a place!" said the officer, in his admiration. "wonderful! and this is your boat-house, eh?" he added, when, followed by his boat's crew, they reached sea level and gazed into the great niche in which the kittiwake was securely moored. "not a bad place," said aleck; "and it's easy enough to get in and out when you know how." "one moment," said the officer; "here are plenty of cracks and crevices in the sides of this rift or cave, or whatever you call it, where a fellow might hide. here, my lads, give a good loud hail or two! raven--ahoy!" the hail rang out, the men shouting together, their powerful voices raising up a broadside of echoes as if the shout ran along zigzag to the mouth of the place before the hail passed out to sea, while at the first roar a multitude of sea-birds flung themselves off the shelf and flew up to the surface and away over the cliffs, shrieking and screaming in hundreds to add to the din. the men shouted again, and as soon as the echoes had died out sent forth a louder roar than ever; but there was no answering cry, and the lieutenant turned disappointed away. "he is evidently not here," he said. "forward, my lads, back up to the house. we're on the wrong tack, squire," he continued, speaking to aleck. "look here; i'm going back to our boat in the smugglers' cove to coast along each way as close in as we can get for the rocks. he may have gone off a rock into deep water during one of the scuffles and then swum to some nook or cavern, out of which he can't get on account of deep water." "that seems likely," said aleck. "like me to come and show you some of the caves?" "smugglers' caves?" "oh, no; little places where you couldn't row in, but where anyone might hide." "ah, that's better," said the officer. "you'll do that?" "of course i will," said aleck; and after a short visit to the house aleck led the boat's crew and their leader across the cliff and down the rough descent, feeling greatly relieved on finding that there was not a fisherman's wife in sight, for he was pretty certain that his appearance in company with their enemies might prove to be a very uncomfortable thing. in due time the beach was reached, and the keepers of the sloop's boat backed in to allow the officer and crew to get aboard, after which there was an order or two given, and then they rowed out a short distance and, keeping in as close as possible, visited cave and crevice for about half a mile, landing wherever it was possible, sometimes climbing over weed-hung slimy rocks, sometimes wading, and then returning to continue the search in the opposite direction far past the entrance to the den, before rowing back after an exhaustive search. the officer gave the word to stop as the entrance to aleck's boat haven was reached, and, under guidance, rowed and poled up till he could land. "thank you for all you've done, youngster," said the lieutenant; "it has been a barren search, but i shall give up for to-day. maybe i shall look you up again. meantime i hope you'll keep your ears open, and if you can pick up anything worth having hoist a white tablecloth or sheet on your boat's mast on the top of the cliff, if it's by day, and if it's night, burn one of the blue lights i'll leave with you. neither of these things will be fighting against your neighbours the smugglers, but only helping us to find our midshipman and making more friends than you know. you'll do this for us?" "of course," said aleck, eagerly. "hand out three of those blue lights, coxswain! next time we come, squire, i'll bring you a rocket or two. there; thankye, and good day!" "good day," said aleck; "but can you make your way out?" "my lads will, never fear," said the lieutenant, and aleck stood with the blue lights in his hand, watching the boat till it passed round one of the angles and was out of sight, when he turned round, to find that he was not alone. "you here, tom?" he said to the sailor, who was standing in the shadow of the boat haven, close up to the dark rocks. "me it is, sir." "what is it--any news?" "me, sir? no; on'y what i got when i come across to see what was going on about the press-gang coming here. say, master aleck, i told yer so." "yes, tom, you told me so," replied the lad, warmly. "there, i'm fagged out; let's get up to the house. i want some dinner. you want some too, don't you?" "oh, i dunno, sir! i had my braxfus." "so did i, tom, hours and hours ago. what time is it?" "'bout four, sir." "late as that? come and have some dinner with me. it's a horrible business about that poor midshipman." "ay, 'tis, sir. smart lad as ever i see." "where do you think he can be?" "carried out by the tide, i should say, sir." "oh! horrible! then you don't think the smugglers can have taken him prisoner?" "tchah! what could they do with prisoners, master aleck? may have given him a crack on the head and knocked him into the water. easy done in a scrimmage, and nobody none the wiser." "but mightn't he be hid in the smugglers' cave?" "well, he might be, sir, if there is one. if he is he's shut up tight and they've took away them as knows how to get in." "yes," said aleck, as they reached the garden and caught sight of the gardener watching them. "i say, tom, there must be a big cavern somewhere." "very like, sir." "you don't know where it is?" "not me, sir." "don't look that way, but tell me what you think. isn't old ness likely to know?" "very likely, sir; but if he did know he wouldn't tell." "then you think he is mixed up with the smuggling gang?" "that's so, sir." "then i'll make him tell me," said aleck, between his teeth. "do, sir, for i should like us to find the young gen'leman, he being an officer and me an old navy man. make old ness tell yer. you are good friends with him, arn't yer?" "yes, of course," said aleck. "no, of course not," he cried, angrily, for like a flash came the recollection of the scene that morning, when the gardener had protested against being suspected of having any dealings with such outlawed men. "oh, tom, what an unlucky fellow i am!" "feel like that, sir?" "yes." "that's because you wants yer dinner very bad, master aleck. you get indoors and have your salt beef and biscuit, or whatever your jane has stowed away, and you'll feel like a noo man." chapter twenty. the party from the sloop-of-war came twice, led by the lieutenant, and had long and patient searches with aleck in their boat ready to follow or lead the men into one or other of the openings in the rocks where the waves ran in with a peculiarly hollow echoing rush at low water, but which were covered deeply at half tide. these chasms were examined diligently, for the lieutenant had noted that the tide was very low when the attack was made. but nothing was discovered. aleck noted that the young officer looked very despondent on the second occasion, and the next morning when the lad went down to the smugglers' cove to meet the boat, which he had sighted from his look-out place on the cliff, where with tom's help he had set up a spar ready for signalling, he found another officer in command of a fresh set of men. the lad met them as a matter of course, feeling that his services would be welcome, but encountered a short, sharp rebuff in the shape of an enquiry as to who he was, and, upon explaining, he was told sharply to go about his business. "look here, sir," said the officer, "i don't want any natives to lead me on a false scent." "very well," said aleck, quietly, and he climbed up the cliff again, and after noting which way the boat's head was turned he went off beyond the smugglers' cove and reached the great gap, where he descended to the shelf where he had found the lanthorn and tinder-box. he had just reached it, when a figure started up and began to hurry inland, just giving him a glimpse of her face before she disappeared among the rocks, and he recognised eben megg's wife. "been looking out to sea, poor thing!" thought aleck. "i'm afraid she'll watch for a long time before she sees him coming back." he forgot the woman again directly in the business of watching the boat, which kept on coming into sight far below and disappearing again, drawing forth the mental remark from aleck, "labour in vain," for he felt that all the openings below where he stood had been thoroughly searched. aleck hung about till the afternoon, and saw the boat shoot off from beyond one of the points in the direction of the sloop lying at anchor, and then went home. the next morning, when he went up to his signalling spar to direct the glass at the sloop, she was not there; but the cutter, which had been absent, lay in about the same place, and after a time the lad made out another boat coming towards the smugglers' cove. "a fresh party," he said to himself. "well, i should like to help them find the poor fellow, but if they want help they must come and ask me; i'm not going to be snubbed again." he closed his glass and struck off by the shortest way across the head of the smugglers' cove, making once more for the high ground beyond, for it commanded the coast in two directions. but long before he reached his favourite spot he again caught sight of the fluttering blue petticoat of a woman, and saw her hurrying inland. "poor woman!" thought aleck. "she needn't be afraid of me." he kept an eye upon her till she disappeared, and then went on to the niche in the rock face, settled himself down with his glass, and watched the cutter's boat, which was steadily pulling in. the birds meanwhile kept on flitting down from where they sat in rows along the inaccessible shelves, skimmed over the water, dived, and came up again with small fishes in their beaks, to return to feed the young, which often enough had been carried off by some great gull, one of the many which glided here and there, uttering their peculiarly querulous, mournful cries, so different in tone from the sharp, hearty calls of the larger inland birds. there were a good many sailing about overhead, aleck noted, and they were more noisy than usual, and this, judging from old lore which he had picked up from tom bodger and the fishermen, he attributed to a coming change in the weather, wind perhaps, when the sea, instead of being soft blue and calm, might be lashed by a storm to send the waves thundering in upon the rocks, to break up into cataracts of broken water and send the glittering foam whirling aloft in clouds. "no more hunts then," thought aleck; and then aloud to a great white-breasted gull which floated overhead, watching him curiously, "well, what are you looking at? i've not come egging now." the gull uttered a mournful cry and glided off seaward, to dive down directly after beyond the cliff, its cry sounding distant and faint. the boat came on nearer and nearer till it, too, disappeared, being hidden by the great bluff to his left. then half a dozen more gulls rose up and came skimming along the rugged trough-like depression towards where he sat, with bird-covered ledges to left and right. when they caught sight of him they rose higher with a graceful curve, and began wheeling round, uttering their discordant cries, some of the more daring coming nearer and nearer upon their widespread spotless wings, white almost as snow, till a sway would send one wing down, the other up, giving the looker-on a glimpse of the soft bluish grey of their backs, save in the cases of the larger birds--the great thieves and pirates among the young--which were often black. there was no boat to watch now, so aleck, after sweeping the horizon in search of the sloop-of-war, gradually turned the end of his glass inland over the sweep of down and wild moor, till, just as he was in the act of lowering it, he caught sight, some distance off and directly inland, of some object which looked like a short, pudgy, black and white bird sitting upon a rock. "what's that?" he said, steadying the glass which had given him the glimpse in passing over it; but, try he would, he could not catch the object again. "couldn't have been a rabbit," he muttered. "fancy, perhaps," and he lowered the glass, to begin closing it as he trusted to his unaided vision and looked in the direction of the grey weathered rocks. "why, there it is!" he cried. "it's a black bird with a white breast. it must be some big kind of puffin sitting with its feathers stuck-up to dry." he began to focus the glass once more, and raised it to his eye; but he could not get the object in the field of the glass again, nor yet when he lowered it catch a glimpse of that which he sought with his naked eye. turning away to look down the deep depression, he began to watch the birds again, when he was impressed by the cry of one which seemed to have settled, after passing overhead, somewhere on the open beyond the ridge in which lay the niche containing the old lanthorn. "ahoy-oy-oy!" he cried, softly, trying to imitate, but with very poor success, the gull's querulous cry. "tah! tah! that's a jackdaw," said aleck, half aloud. "plain enough; but that mournful wail! it must be a different kind of gull. black-backed perhaps, with a bad cold through getting wet. i wonder whether a gull could be taught to talk! i don't see why not. let's see, parrots can be taught, of course, and cockatoos learn to say a few words. so do jackdaws and starlings, but very few. oh, yes! then there's the raven. uncle said he knew of one at an old country inn that used to say `coming, sir,' whenever anyone called for the ostler. then there are those indian birds they call mynahs. uncle says that some of them talk beautifully. hallo! there he goes again! it's just like `ahoy-oy-oy-oy!' plain enough to deceive anyone if it came off the sea. i'll wait till i catch sight of the gull that makes that noise, and next nesting-time i'll watch for some of the same kind and get two or three of the young ones to bring up. if they can say what sounds something like `ahoy!' so plainly it ought to be possible to teach one to say more." aleck sat and mused again, running over in his mind such gulls as he knew, and coming to the conclusion that unless it was some unusual specimen, of great vocal powers, it could not be the black-backed nor the lesser black-backed, nor the black-headed herring gull or kittiwake. "i don't know what it is," he said, "but, whatever it may be, it's a good one to talk," and as he listened he heard the peculiar, weird, wailing cry again, sounding something like "ahoy!" "gone now," said aleck, half aloud, as he keenly watched in the direction of the cry, which had now ceased. "it might as well have flown over this way instead of down over the cliff. hooray! there it goes!" he shaded his eyes to follow the steady regular course of a large bronze black bird flying close down the trough-like depression, as close to the bottom as it could keep clear of the rocks, till it reached the end, where it dipped down towards the sea and disappeared. "well, i'm a clever one," cried the lad, with a scornful laugh; "lived ever since i can remember close to the sea, and been told the name of every bird that comes here in the winter and in the summer to nest, and didn't know the cry of an old shag. well, say that cry, for it was very different from the regular croak i know. he had been fishing, having a regular gorge, and ended by swallowing a weevil. the little wretch set up its spines, i suppose, as it was going down and stuck, making the old shag come up there to sit and cough to get rid of it. if ever i'm along with anyone who hears that noise and wants to know what it is i can tell him it's a shag or a cormorant suffering from sore throat." aleck began to use the glass again, for the cutter's boat came into sight for a few minutes, before gliding along close in once more, to be hidden by the perpendicular cliffs. "gone," he said to himself. "well, they will not find the poor fellow, for i don't believe they can search any better than we did. it's very dreadful. nice, good-looking chap; as clever as clever. cocky and stuck-up; but what of that? fellow gets into a uniform and has a cocked hat and a sword, it makes him feel that he is someone of consequence. how horrible, though! comes along with the boat ashore over that press-gang kidnapping business, and the boat goes back without him. i wonder whether he was better off than i am, with a father and mother! they'll have to know soon, and then i wonder what they'll say!" aleck gave another look round, sweeping the sea, and carrying his gaze round to the land, and then starting. "there it is again!" he said, eagerly, as his eyes rested upon the distant black and white object inland. "come, i can get a shot at you this time," he muttered, as, carefully keeping his eyes fixed upon the squat-looking object amongst the rocks, he slowly raised the glass. "i believe it must be a black and white rabbit. there are brown and white ones sometimes, for i've seen them, so i don't see why there shouldn't be black and white. got you at last, my fine fellow. ha, ha, ha," he laughed. "how absurd! why, it's eben megg's wife; just her face with the patch of black hair showing above that bit of rock she's hiding behind. why, she must be watching me. i know; poor thing, she's watching for me to go away so that she can come and look out to sea again for poor eben." aleck closed his glass and rose to make his way back along the cliff and leave the place clear, a feeling of gentlemanly delicacy urging him to go right off and not intrude his presence upon one who must be suffering terribly from anxiety and pain. "it seems so dreadful," he mused, as he went right on without once turning his head in the woman's direction; "but somehow it only seems fair that both sides should suffer. she's all in misery because her husband has been dragged away. yes, he said he'd come back to her, but it's a great chance if she ever sees him again, and it's as great a chance whether that poor young middy's friends ever see him again. i don't like it, and it's a great pity there's so much trouble in the world. look at poor uncle! why, i don't know what real trouble is. i might have gone off to sea all in a huff after what uncle said, and then might have come back as badly off as poor old double dot. well, i'm very, very sorry for poor eben's wife, and--there i go again with my poor eben. why should i talk like that about a man who has the character of being a wrecker as well as a smuggler? he was never friendly to me and i quite hate him. but whether the king wants men or whether he doesn't, i just hate eben so much that if he wanted to escape back to his wife and asked me to help him i'd do it; and just the same, if the smugglers had caught that young middy and were going to ill-use him--kill him perhaps--why, i'd help him too. it's very stupid to be like that perhaps, sort of jack o' both sides, but i suppose it's how i was made, and it isn't my fault. why, i say, it must be near dinner-time. how hungry i do feel!" the coast was clear for eben megg's wife, and as soon as the lad was out of sight she once more made her way towards the cliff. chapter twenty one. aleck went along the cliff the next day to look out for the boat, fully intending to turn back if he caught sight of eben's wife; but as far as he could make out she was nowhere in that direction. still he concluded that she might possibly come to the place she affected, so he determined to keep on his own side of the depression, lowering himself down to the shelf in which was the niche or crack, in the belief that he could get a fair view over the sea from among the scattered masses of rock while being quite out of the woman's sight if she should come after all. he swung himself down till he stood upon the shelf, and gave one hasty look round, to come to the conclusion directly after that if the poor woman sought his favourite look-out spot he could not have chosen a worse place, for he would be in full view, no matter where he crouched. "i know," he said to himself; "i can get over here and lie down in the crack on the other side." he began to climb, after making for the hole where the lanthorn and tinder-box still lay tucked tightly in beyond the reach of the wind; and the next minute, after making his way diagonally upward, he came upon the beginning of a steep narrow gully, going right down more and more deeply, so that forty or fifty yards away he could not see the bottom, the place having the appearance of being a vast crack formed by a sudden subsidence of the rocky cliff. he was now out of sight from the other side of the great depression, and was just congratulating himself upon his selection of a hiding-place and look-out combined, when he recalled the sounds he had heard during a former visit. "why, it must have been caused by something falling down here," he argued, and he looked outward, to see that this was one of the narrowest, deepest and most savage-looking gullies he had seen, the place being giddy to look down and impressing him with the belief that the greatest care was necessary for anyone to move about; and as he dropped down upon his knees it was with a feeling of relief and safety, for accustomed though he was to climbing about upon the cliffs, this one particular spot looked giddy and wild. to his great satisfaction he found that he could follow the crack right down to the sea and obtain a good view without being seen, unless anyone had followed his example and climbed; but what most took his attention was that though he had been climbing about the place often in search of the eggs of rare birds, he had never been there before, or noted the existence of such a deeply-split cavity in the cliffs. "i must have been able to see it from off the sea," he argued, but gave himself up to the thought directly after that ridges and hollows had a completely different aspect when seen from below. "i should know it now directly if i were sailing by and looked up, of course. i fancy i can recollect this steep wall-like bit down below where i'm sitting." he started the next moment, for a great gull had come gliding up from behind and passed so closely over his head that he was startled by the faint whizz of its outspread wings, while the bird itself was so startled that it uttered a hoarse cry of alarm and plunged down head foremost like a stone. "why, that must have been the kind that made that cry like a hail," cried aleck, as the bird disappeared into the depths of the gully, while he had hardly realised the thought before there rose from below a faint, hoarse cry. "i thought so," he said; "those birds have different cries and they sound strange, according to where you are." he did not finish his words, for all at once the peculiar cry arose again, and this time it seemed to come from out of the deep jagged hollow, and certainly from the other side. "how strange!" said the lad, with a feeling akin to dread running through him. "that can't be a bird." he listened again, waiting for some minutes in the midst of the silence of the great wilderness in which he crouched. then "ahoy!" came up, so clearly that there was no room for doubt, and aleck's heart began to beat fast as thought after thought flashed through his brain. "it must be someone calling," he felt and when after a few minutes the cry arose again, the thought struck him that it must come from somewhere beneath his feet, from an opening in the wall of the crack and then strike against the opposite wall, from which it was reflected, so that it seemed to come from that side, and from some distance away. aleck waited till the cry came across again, and then shouted in answer: "hallo there! what is it?" there was no response. then after a pause came "ahoy!" once more. "where are you?" shouted aleck, but there was no reply, and the result was the same when he tried over and over again. "whoever it is, he can't hear me," thought the lad, and growing excited now as he concluded that some fisherman, or perhaps a strange wanderer, had slipped, fallen, and perhaps broken a limb, he began to set about finding him and affording help. coming to the belief more fully that the sound came from beneath him, aleck lay down upon his chest with his head over the brink of the rocky gash, and, holding on tightly, strained out as far as he could to look down. but he could see nothing, and rose up again to look to his left for the dying out in the solid cliff of the top end of the gorge. that meaning a difficult climb, he made up his mind, to lower himself down over the edge, and setting his teeth, he began to lower himself over; but a slip at the outset so upset his nerves that he scrambled back, panting as if he had been running a mile. "nearly went down," he muttered. "that's not the way to help anyone who has just fallen." he paused for a few moments to think about getting help from eilygugg. "there are no smugglers at home now," he said to himself, and his thoughts turned homeward. "uncle couldn't climb up here and handle ropes," he muttered; "and as for ness--bah! he's a stupid muddling old woman. "i must get right round somehow and see where the opening is," said the lad, at last. "but when i have found it, what then? i must get back here again; and then? yes, i must have help and a rope. oh, what a lonely old place this is when you want anything done! bah! what a grumbler you are," he cried, the next moment. "you forgot all about tom. he's sure to be over to-day, and i'll bring him with a rope." this thought heartened the lad up, and he set off cautiously and quickly to get round by the head of the great rocky gash to the other side. the journey was very dangerous and bad, but he was a good climber, and at the end of a dozen yards he was stopped by a great block which lay across his path with the portion to his right overhanging the gulf, forcing him to go round by the other end. this he passed with ease, and he uttered a cry of astonishment the next moment, for he found himself at the narrow head of a transverse gash which stopped further progress in the way he intended, but offered apparently, as it curved round and down, an easy descent to the very part he wished to reach. and so it proved, for proceeding cautiously, he began to descend by a narrow ledge or shelf, with the overhanging wall on his right and a sheer fall of twenty feet on his left. a few yards further it was forty feet, and again a few yards placed him in a position that cut off all view of the bottom. "won't do to be giddy here," he said to himself. "who'd have thought of finding such a place?" he moved along cautiously, holding on by the rock on his right, and found that it was singularly cracked and riven, but it afforded good hold. directly after a short pause and peer forward and downward to try if he could see any signs of the poor fellow who had called for help, he stepped on again slowly and cautiously, anchoring himself, as it were, by thrusting his arm to the elbow in a perpendicular crack, so that he could hang outward and get a better view down. "hullo!" he ejaculated, in wonder. "how strange!" and he began to sniff, as a cool dank puff of air saluted his nostrils and he recognised the peculiar odour of decaying seaweed. "this narrow crack must go right down to the sea somewhere," he said to himself. "well, why not? rocks do split all sorts of ways. there, i'm right," he added, for there was another moist puff of cool air, and in company with it a peculiar far-off whispering sound, one which he well knew, for he had heard it thousands of times, it being the soft rattling of pebbles running back over one another after being cast up by a wave. "this is queer," he muttered, and, withdrawing his arm, he took another step or two along the ledge, which curved more round to his right, so that he could not see above a couple of yards, while upon getting to the end of these he found that he had to pass an angle in the rock face which brought him to where the ledge widened out considerably. "i must be just under where i lay down to look over," he said to himself, and having plenty of room now he turned to look upward, and then stopped short as if turned to stone, for from somewhere just beyond where he stood came the soft hollow rush and hiss of shingle following a retiring wave, and with it a distant hollow-sounding "_ahoy_!" but aleck did not start forward to peer down some deep chasm leading through the huge cliffs to the sea, but, as has been said, stood fast, looking upward, as if turned to stone, his attention having been seized upon by the rattling, rustling sound made by something above his head, and the next moment a pair of feet came into sight so close to him that he could have touched them where they hung on a level with his eyes. they stopped short, with the toes resting for a few moments upon a projecting stone, and then a man dropped lightly upon the broad ledge with a panting ejaculation of relief. chapter twenty two. there was another ejaculation uttered upon that rough ledge of rock, and it was uttered by aleck, in the form of the one word: "eben!" the man gave forth a hoarse cry, sprang upon him, and pinned him by the shoulders against the rock, panting breathlessly the while as if exhausted by previous exertions, while his lips were drawn back from his white teeth and he wore generally the aspect of some savage bunted beast at bay. "don't!" cried aleck, angrily, dragging at the man's wrists as he noted his fierce looks; "you hurt. let go. why, i thought the press-gang had taken you right away?" "did yer?" growled the man, breathlessly, through his set teeth, while his dark eyes seemed to glitter. "then you see they haven't. what are you doing here?" "having the skin rubbed off the back of my head, i think," cried aleck, struggling to get free. "be quiet! are you mad?" "'most," panted the man, tightening his grasp. "but you'll have me off the ledge here if you don't mind." "yes, and then you'll tell no tales," growled the man, in a hoarse whisper, for he was recovering his breath. "what about?" said aleck, uneasily, for the man's manner was terrible in its intensity. "what about?" snarled eben. "yes; i don't understand you. i say, eben, have you escaped?" the man glared at him, and the look which met his--a look full of enquiry and perfectly fearless--seemed to disarm him somewhat. "no," he said, "i won't think it was your doing, my lad." "what?" asked aleck. "putting the gang on to us the other night." "mine? no; i was fast asleep in bed when the shots woke me, and i went up the cliff to see." "ah! i s'pose so," said the smuggler, in a hoarse whisper. "i've escaped for a bit, but they're after me. i s'pose they felt i should come back to the missus. i say," he continued, eagerly, "is she all right, master aleck?" "yes. i've seen her two or three times right up the cliff." "what for?" said the smuggler, sharply, and his eyes glittered fiercely again. "to look and see if you were coming, of course." "yes, of course," said the man, in a peculiar manner, and a curious smile dawned upon his lip. "but how did you manage to escape?" "jumped overboard and swam for it." "from the cutter's boat?" "no, from the sloop's port-hole, my lad. but what about the cutter's boat?" he added, with a sharply questioning look. "she came across to the cove this morning, and i saw her not long ago." "looking for me?" "no; for the young middy who is missing. tell me, eben, did you know anything about him?" "me? hush, don't talk! the cutter's men have been hunting me this last half-hour, and they're out yonder among the gullies now. they see me, i think. so you've found it then?" he said, with a savagely malicious grin. "yes; i never knew there was a way down here." "been often, i s'pose?" "been often? why, i'd just got here when i heard you coming." "ahoy!" came faintly from somewhere in front. "there it is again, eben," cried aleck, forgetting everything else now in the excitement of his discovery. "you heard it?" "yes, i heard it," said the man, grimly. "i heard it yesterday too," continued aleck. "some poor fellow has fallen down the cliff somewhere about here, and i was trying to get down to him." the man looked at him curiously and as if he was trying to read him through and through. "what for?" he said, hoarsely. "what for? don't i tell you i've heard him before, crying for help? he must have broken an arm or a leg, or he would have climbed back." "if he could," said the smuggler, grimly. "here, hold hard a minute. don't you stir, on yer life." "oh, i'm not going to run any risks!" said aleck, coolly. "i know it's dangerous." "very," said the hunted man, in a peculiar tone and with a peculiar look. "you stand fast, my lad." he had for some time released his hold of the lad, and turned to re-mount the rock. "what are you going to do?" said aleck. "hush! don't shout like that, youngster. don't i tell you the cutter's men saw me and are after me?" "oh, yes; of course," said aleck, coolly; "but, look here; you hide a bit, and i'll call them." "what!" gasped the smuggler, in his astonishment. "what for? to take me?" "no, no! they could help to find the poor fellow lying somewhere below there." "no, they couldn't," said the man, fiercely. "you be quiet there, i say." "well, of course you don't want to be taken, and i don't want them to take you, eben." "say that again, lad," cried the man, excitedly. "what for? i say i don't want the press-gang to drag you away, even if you are a smuggler." "why?" cried the man, excitedly. "because it seems so hard on your poor wife." "hah-ah-ah!" ejaculated the man, softly, as he turned away his face and spoke more gently. "you keep quiet here, master aleck, while i go and see what the cutter's men are about. i won't be long, and when they've gone i'll help you to find the poor fellow for saying that." "for saying what?" "your words about my poor lass. master aleck, i'm a bad 'un, but she don't think so, and if i don't get back to her it'll be the death of the poor gal. now, after my saying that soft stuff will you go and split upon me?" "betray you? no, you know i won't." "yes, i know you won't, my lad. you allus was a gentleman, master aleck. there, i'm off. i shan't be long, and when i come back i'll help you to find the poor chap as is hurt." "thank you, eben; but mind the men don't take you." "i'll mind, my lad; but if there's an accident and i don't come back you wait till the cutter's men have rowed me away, and then you go and tell the missus. say she's to help you find the poor chap as is hurt and get him away." "but she couldn't climb about here, eben." "better than you can, my lad." "very well, then. thank you," said aleck, feeling a bit puzzled at the man's words. "in the meantime i'll go on looking for him. he must be somewhere close by." "no, he isn't," said the man, grimly. "how do you know?" "'cause i do," was the reply, and then, actively as a goat, the smuggler sprang up the rocks and was gone. chapter twenty three. eben megg had only just disappeared when the faint, monotonous cry of "ahoy!" rose once more from below, setting the thoughts buzzing and throbbing about in aleck's brain in a most extraordinary way. for the lad felt utterly puzzled--he knew not why. he felt that there was something he ought to know, and yet he did not know it, and he failed to grasp the reason why he could not understand it. there was some mystery that he ought to clear up, he felt; but, all the same, simple as it was, he could not find it out. like the children playing at a nursery game, he was so close that he was burning, and at one moment he was on the point of being as wise as the smuggler, but just then a loud piercing whistle rang out, followed by answering shouts, and he did grasp at once from whence they came, and waited anxiously, fully expecting to hear more shouts, some of a triumphant character, telling that the fugitive was in view or perhaps caught. "i oughtn't to mind, of course," he muttered, as he strained his ears to catch the next sound; "but somehow i do, and, as i said, for that poor woman's sake. ah! they've caught him now. no; it was only an order shouted. why, they're coming right up here--i can hear them plainly!" the lad listened excitedly, for though he could see nothing of the sailors he could follow them by the sounds they made and tell that they had spread out over a good deal of ground in their hunt for the escaped man. nearer and nearer they came till aleck felt that they must have reached the ledge from which he had watched the rippling sea, while directly after they were so near to the hiding-place that he could catch a good deal of what was said, the voices ascending and then seeming to curl over and drop down the steep rockside where he stood. "they haven't caught him yet," thought aleck, after some few minutes' beating of the cliff-top and slopes had taken place. "perhaps they won't catch him, after all, for he must be as cunning as a fox about hiding-places. why, they must be coming here!" he thought, excitedly, as the voices began to come nearer and nearer. "they'll find me, for certain, and then-- "well, what then?" he thought, as he came to a sudden stop. "suppose they do catch me and ask me why i'm here! why, i can tell them i came to try and find someone whom i heard calling for help; and i can't help what eben says, i must let the sailors help me then." he listened, and felt certain that the sailors and their leader came along as far as the great piece of rock he had been obliged to circumvent, and once round that the men were bound to find him. "ahoy!" came faintly again. "ahoy yourself!" said a voice. "who's that so far off? some fellow has wandered right away and lost himself. idiot! why didn't he keep within touch of his messmates? ahoy, there! ahoy! ahoy!" the cry was answered, and in a few minutes aleck was able to detect the fact from the dying-away of the voices that the search party were growing more distant, so that the next mournful "ahoy!" fell upon his ears alone, sounding so despairing that the desire to go in search of the appealer for help was stronger than he could restrain. glancing back and upward then at the spot where eben had disappeared, he went cautiously forward for a few yards, to find to his astonishment that from being fairly broad the rugged shelf along which he was proceeding rapidly narrowed till progress grew risky, while at the end of another dozen feet or so it ceased, and he came to a dead stand, looking in vain for a way forward and a sight of some crack or passage along which he could descend towards the sea. then he listened for a repetition of the call for help as a guide to his next proceedings; but all was still save the querulous cry of a gull. "i can't understand it a bit," he said, looking about him in a more perplexed way than ever. "eben megg spoke as if he knew about someone being in trouble; yes, and that if he did not return i was to go to his wife. why, what nonsense it seems! how could he who has been away for days know anything about--about--oh! was there ever such a dense, wooden-headed idiot as i am!" he raged out. "why, of course! i can see now as clear as clear. it's that young middy--what's his name?--calling for help. they must have trapped him during the struggle, and there is a regular smugglers' cave somewhere, after all. the poor fellow must be shut up in it; and that explains why eben looked so furiously at me when he found me here. he thought i had discovered the secret hiding-place that he was making for. oh, my word, how plain and easy it all is when you know how! yes, that's it," he said aloud, excitedly, "and the cutter's people are gone, so i'm not going to hold myself bound by anything i have said to eben. that poor fellow must have been left to starve in some dark hole, and--no, he hasn't. `go to my wife,' he said. of course! because she knew where the prisoner was hid, and--to be sure, she wasn't going to watch for eben, as i thought, but to take the prisoner something to eat and drink. talk about wiping the dust out of one's eyes! i've got mine clear now, and that poor fellow has to be found, while, what is more, he must be somewhere down below where i stand." aleck's brow ran into lines and puckers as he stood looking about him for a few minutes before hurrying back to the perpendicular crevice he had discovered, and upon reaching it there was the hissing rush of the pebbles and a suggestion of a slapping sound as if water had struck against the rock, but evidently far, far down, while the damp seaweedy odour came cooler and fresher than ever to his nostrils. "i could get down here," he muttered, "if i were no bigger than a rabbit; but of course this isn't the way. there must be just such a place as this, only many times as big, and i've got to find it." "ahoy!" came faintly the next minute, but not up the cavity, and the lad stood puzzled and wondering for a few moments longer, before placing his face as far in as he could, and, breathing in the soft, salt, moist air, he shouted back down the hole, "ahoy!" as loudly as he could. then he stood listening, for "ahoy!" came from quite a different direction, and then there was a reply from somewhere else, closely followed by a shrill whistle. "that's not from the prisoner," said aleck, growing more excited. "the sailors are coming back. are they coming here, after all? well, i'm sorry for eben, but that poor fellow must be rescued, and i shall have to--" aleck did not say what, but hurried along the shelf again, startled by the sound of falling stones, and the next minute he caught sight of the smuggler's descending feet, and then the fierce-looking fellow dropped lightly before him and caught him by the arm. "they saw me," he panted, breathlessly, "and have been hot on my track-- i couldn't dodge them anyhow--quite surrounded. look here, master aleck--you know what it means if they get me--flogging now for escaping! you don't want me to be took?" "no, eben; but--" "don't talk, my lad. i'm hard set. you're a gentleman, and won't betray a poor fellow?" "no, but i won't help to keep that poor young officer a prisoner." "ah, you've found out then--you know where he is?" "then it is true that you've got him shut up somewhere?" "somewhere?" cried the man, sharply, in a hoarse whisper. "then you haven't found the place?" "no," said aleck, frankly, "only guessed that he is somewhere hidden, and keeps calling out." "look here, master aleck, it is true, and if i swear that as soon as all is safe i'll help you to set him free and put him where he can get back to his ship, will you swear, too, that you'll never tell where our stores are?" "i'm not going to swear anything, eben." the man made a fierce gesture, and the lad felt that he was at the fellow's mercy, where a sharp thrust of the hand would send him headlong down, most likely to his death. but he did not shrink. "i promise you i won't betray you, eben," he said, "if you give me your word to set the poor young fellow free." "come on, then--if there's time," said the smuggler, hoarsely. "i can hear 'em coming on fast. now, then, i'm going to show you what all us chaps have sworn on our lives never to let out. quick! i know you've got plenty of game in you, my lad. i'm going to jump down there." he pointed down over the edge of the shelf as he spoke. "are you mad?" said aleck, hoarsely, feeling that the man must be to propose what seemed to be like a leap into the next world. "not me, my lad. look! i trust you to come after me sharp--before the cutter's men see you. come, you won't shrink now?" "he came along this way, i'll swear," came from overhead, quite loudly, and a whistle rang out again. eben megg seized aleck's arm with his left hand, and with his right caught the lad's fingers for a moment in a firm grip. "jump just as i do. i'll be ready to catch you." aleck nodded, and then felt ready to shut his eyes, for the man gave one glance upward where a loud murmur of voices could be heard, and then stepped close to the edge of the shelf, placed his feet close together, drew himself up stiffly, and then made a little jump, just sufficient to let himself drop, as it were, clear of the rock, his back being visible just for a moment, and then there was a slight pat coming from below. aleck stood with his heart seeming to rise to his throat as if to choke him, while he listened intently for the sound of a falling body loosening a little avalanche of stones. but all was still below, while above there was the trampling of feet, and a voice said, loudly: "are you sure he came this way?" "quite, sir. he must have dodged round by that great block of stone." "forward then," cried the first voice, while from below where he stood came a low, hoarse whisper: "now, then, jump!" for a moment aleck felt that it was too much. coward or no coward, he dared not make such a leap in the dark as that. then, setting his teeth, he stepped close to the edge of the shelf, placed his feet exactly as he had seen the smuggler prepare to drop, and then, with his elbows pressed close to his sides and his open hands raised to a level with his chest, he took the little leap, with the opposite side of the rift seeming to rush upward past his staring eyes, while he dropped what seemed, from the time it lasted, to his overstrained nerves and imagination a tremendous depth--in reality about seven feet--before his feet came flat upon the rock and a strong arm caught him across the chest like a living protecting bar. aleck's eyes turned dim, and the rock face in front spun round before him as he felt himself pressed backward--a few feet beneath what seemed to be a rugged stone eave, which protected him and his companion from being seen by anyone who should peer over the edge, while the next moment the smuggler's lips were close to his ear and the breath came hot as the man whispered: "i never knowed a lad before who dared to jump like that. come on, master aleck; i'd trust you with anything now." chapter twenty four. aleck resigned himself to the smuggler's guiding hand, which gripped his arm tightly, and as the giddy sensation began to pass off and he saw more clearly, he grasped the position in which he stood--to wit, that he was upon another ledge of rock, apparently another stratum of the great slowly-built-up masses which formed the mighty cliffs, one, however, which had been eaten away more by the action of time, so that it was much more deeply indented, while the upper stratum from which he had dropped overlapped considerably, save in one place, where this lower shelf projected in a rocky tongue, which resembled a huge bracket, and a cold shiver ran through the lad as he saw now fully the perilous nature of his leap. "haven't found out the way yet," said eben, coolly; "but when they do they won't find out which way we've come. what do you say, sir?" "oh, no!" said aleck, trying to conceal a shiver. "but what a horrible leap!" "nothing when you're used to it, sir. all right if you keep your head, and safe from being found out." "but suppose anyone were on the opposite side?" "no good to suppose that, master. nothing ever comes there but the gulls and mews, with a few sea parrots. nobody could get there without being let down by a line, and the birds never nest there, so it's quite safe. now, then, if you're ready we'll go down." "go down?" "yes, my lad; this is the way down to the shore." "with an opening to the sea?" said aleck, eagerly, for his curiosity was beginning to overcome the tension caused by the shock his nerves had suffered. the smuggler laughed. "well, you're asking a good deal, youngster," he said, "but it's of no use for me to play at hide-and-seek with you now. yes; there's a way open to the sea just for 'bout an hour at some tides. then it's shut up again by the water, and that's what makes it so safe." half a dozen more questions were bubbling up towards his lips, but the smuggler made a movement and aleck felt that the best way to satisfy his curiosity would be to remain silent and use his eyes as much as he could. he was gazing sharply round, to see nothing that suggested a way down to the sea but the great gully beneath his feet, when he became aware of the fact that eben was watching him quietly with a dry, amused look in his eyes. "well," he said, "can you find it now?" aleck shook his head. "come along, then." the smuggler took a few steps along beside the great wall on their right, and aleck followed closely, till his companion stopped short and faced him. "well," he said, "see it now?" "no," said aleck. "look back, then." the lad turned, and found that without noticing it he had passed a spot where a great piece of rock terminated in a sharp edge, which overlapped a portion of the wall, and as he looked in the direction from which he had come there was a wide opening, quite six feet in height, looking as if a portion of the rock had scaled off the main mass, forming an opening some three feet wide, and remained fixed. into this the lad stepped at once, shutting out a portion of the light, and for a few moments it seemed to him that the place ended some seven or eight feet from the entrance; but as he ran his left hand along the wall for safety and guidance, he found that instead of its being solid wall upon his left, he had been touching a mere sheet of stone, which screened another opening leading back to the original direction. upon holding tight and peering round a sharp corner aleck found that he was gazing into black darkness; but a breath of cool, moist air and the peculiar odour told their own tale of what was beyond, and to endorse this came the soft, sighing, whispering rush of waves sweeping over pebbles far enough below. "now you know the way down, my lad," said eben. "yes, i suppose i do." "but even if you'd found it all by yourself i suppose you wouldn't have ventured down." "what, into that horrible cavern?" "'tarn't a horrible cavern, my lad, only a sort of a dark passage going straight down for a bit. had enough, or will you come further?" "i'll come, of course," said the lad, firmly. "all right, then. that's right; there's nothing to be afraid of. you do as i do." it was a faint twilight now where the pair were standing, with a dark forbidding chasm just in front, and aleck was longing for a lanthorn, which he half expected to see the smuggler produce. but instead of doing so he stepped suddenly into the darkness. "now, then," he said, "you'll do as i do. it's nothing to what you did just now in jumping, for there's no danger; only that looked better, for it was in the light. this is in the darkness. that was straight down; this is only a slope, and you'll hear me slide. i'll tell you when to come after me." "i understand," said aleck; and then suddenly, "what's that?" "what's what, my lad?" "it felt as if something soft had come right up in my face." "wind," said the smuggler. "but it's blowing the back of my head now, just as if something touched me," said aleck, in a husky voice. "yes, i know," said the smuggler. "it's just as if little soft snaky fingers were feeling about your head." "yes, just like that," said aleck, in a husky whisper. "i don't think it could be the wind." "yes, it is. that's right; only the wind, my lad. the cave's sucking because the sea keeps on opening and shutting the mouth at this time of the tide, and one minute the air's rushing in here and the next it's rushing out. now do you see?" "yes, i think so," said aleck. "then here goes." through the dim light the boy now saw his companion's face for a few moments, and then the smuggler turned round, took another step, spread out his arms to grasp the rocky sides, and the next minute there was a low rustling sound and a puff of wind struck the lad in the face, followed by silence. "are you there, eben?" said aleck, softly. "right, my lad. now, then, you don't want no more teaching. do as i did, and come down." "how far is it?" said aleck, hesitating. "eight or nine fathom, my lad. never measured it. ready?" "yes," said the lad, and setting his teeth hard he pressed his hands against the wall on either side, felt about with one foot, drew the other up to it, and then let go and began to slide down a steep slope, the passage taking away his breath, so that he was panting hard when his heels met with a sudden check and the smuggler's voice, sounding like a hollow whisper, said: "bottom o' this bit." "what, is there any more?" faltered aleck. "lots," said the man, laughing. "it's only a great ziggery-zag crack running right through the rock from top to bottom. there's nothing to mind, as you'd see if we'd got the lanthorn. they were so close after me that i hadn't time to get the one i left up yonder in the cliffs. now, then, i'm going down again. it's quite dry, and worn smooth with all sorts of things coming up and folk like us going down. just the same as before, my lad. i calls it jacob's ladder. natur' made a good deal on it, and my grandfathers, fathers, and us lot finished it a bit at a time and made it what it is." there was a rushing sound directly after, and the smuggler's voice next time he spoke came from a lower stage. aleck followed again with more confidence that he would not plunge into some horrible well-like hole full of water with he knew not what horrible, eel-like creatures waiting to attack him. this time the slide down felt comparatively easy, while at another angle of the zigzag, as he followed his unseen guide, aleck actually began to think that such a way of progression must be bad for the clothes. "you'll have to ease yourself down this next one," said eben, as he was starting for the next descent; "it's a bit steeper. let your hands run along the wall over your head, just touching it, and that'll be enough. don't shove hard, or you'll be taking the skin off." "i'll mind," said aleck, rather hoarsely. "what's the matter?" said the man. "i've hurt my head a little against the roof." "humph!" grunted the smuggler. "forgot to tell you about that bit. it's the only place where you can touch the top, and you run agen it. hurt yerself much?" "no." "then come on." the rather swift descent was accomplished more easily than aleck anticipated, and he slid down into a pair of hands. "now, then, the next bit's diff'rent," said the smuggler. "you'll sit down on your heels like to slide, but it arn't steep, and every now and then you'll have to give yerself a bit of a shove to help yer down to the next bit, and that's worse still." "worse?" said aleck, trying to suppress a catching of the breath; but the smuggler detected it. "not what you think bad," he said, with a hoarse chuckle, "but what we call bad. you have to walk all the way." "and there are no side places where you might slip into?" "not half o' one, my lad. there was a nasty hole at the bottom of the next but one, that seemed to go right down to the end of the world. p'raps it did, but we brought up big bits o' rock till some on 'em caught and got wedged into niches, and then we kept on till we filled it up level, and you wouldn't know it's there. now, then, let's get down." "stop a moment," said aleck. "i don't feel the wind coming and going now. have we got below where it comes in?" "not us. the tide's up above the mouth now, and there'll be no wind to feel till next tide. here's off." the rustling began, and the two next portions of the strange zigzag series of cleft were passed down easily enough, while, as he descended a couple more, aleck felt how smoothly floor and sides were worn and carved, and began to dwell upon the time that must have elapsed and the industry bestowed upon the curious passage by the smugglers, who had by virtue of their oaths and their interest in the place kept it a secret for generations. "i wonder how many more there are," aleck was thinking as he glided down, when all at once eben said, loudly: "bottom! stand fast, my lad, while i get a light." "that you, you scoundrel?" came in a strange echoing voice from a distance. "ay, ay, this is me," replied the smuggler. "i'll be there soon." there was silence, for, though eager to speak to the prisoner, aleck concluded that he had better wait, and not commence his first meeting with the prisoner in the character of one of his enemies. the next minute there was the rattle of iron or tin, and then a short, sharp, nicking sound began, accompanied by a display of flowery little sparks. at the end of a minute the frowning face of the smuggler was lit up as he blew softly at the tinder, into which a spark had fallen and caught; the light increased, and as a brimstone match was applied to the incandescent tinder, the brimstone melted, bubbled, and began to turn blue. then the splint of wood beneath began to burn, and at last emitted a blaze, which was communicated to the wick of the candle. this, too, began to burn, and then the door of the lanthorn was closed. "there we are," said the smuggler. "now let's go and see our bird." aleck made no reply, for his eyes were wandering over all that the feeble light of the dim horn lanthorn threw up; and very little though this was at a time, it was enough to fill the lad with wonder. for as far as he could make out, they were in a vast cavern, whose floor about where they stood supported stacks of kegs and piles of boxes and bales. there was also a tremendous collection of wood, the most part being evidently the gatherings of wrecks, and in addition there were the fittings of vessel after vessel, so various in fact that aleck hurriedly turned away his eyes, to gaze with something like a shiver at the reflection of the lanthorn in a far-stretching mirror of intense blackness which lay smooth and undisturbed, save in one part away to his left, where it was blurred and dimmed, rising and falling as if moved by some undercurrent. "water," he said, at last, as the smuggler raised up his lanthorn and smiled. "yes, and plenty of it." "but where's the mouth of the cave?" "over yonder," said the man, pointing towards where the surface was in motion. "let's walk towards it with the lanthorn," said aleck. "why, my lad?" "i want to see the daylight again." "but we couldn't get far along there with the tide up, and even if we could you wouldn't see the mouth of the cave." "why not?" asked aleck. "because it's under water." "never mind; hold up the lanthorn, and let me see what i can." "then i'd better hide it or shut it," said eben, and, setting the lanthorn down upon the rocky floor, he slipped off his rough jacket and covered the lanthorn so that not a ray of light could be seen escaping through the panes of thinly-scraped horn. to the lad's wonderment, no sooner was the lanthorn hidden than instead of the place being intensely dark, it was lit up by a soft translucent twilight, which seemed to rise out of the water where it was disturbed. this light, where the water was wreathing and swaying softly, was of a delicious, transparent blue, and by degrees, as he gazed in awe and wonder, a low archway could be made out spanning a considerable space, but beautifully indistinct, festooned as it was by filaments and ribands of seaweed and wrack, all apparently of a jetty black, seen through water of a wondrous blue. but the whole archway was in motion, as it seemed, and constantly changing its shape, while the sea growth swayed and curved and undulated, and at times lay out straight, as if swept by some swift current. "is it always like this?" said aleck, in a whisper, though he could not have explained why he spoke in such awe-stricken tones. "oh, no, my lad; it's a deal darker than that when the tide's high." "tide--high?" said aleck, in a startled voice. "does the water ever fill the cavern? no, no, of course not," he said, hastily. "i can see it never comes up to those stacks of bales and things." "that's right," said the smuggler. "and the tide lays the mouth quite open?" "not very often," said the smuggler. "just at certain tides." "but i must have seen the mouth from outside sometimes." "like enough; my lad, but i don't s'pose you were ever there when a boat could come in." "then a boat could come in?" "yes," said the smuggler, meaningly, "it could come in then. want to know exactly?" he added, with a laugh. "no, i don't know that i do," said aleck, shortly. "now, then, i didn't come to see how beautiful the place looked. i want to see and talk to that poor fellow you've got shut up here." "um!" grunted the smuggler. "i don't know about `poor fellow.' he has been better off, i daresay, than i was while they kept me a prisoner. better fed and all. nothing the matter, only he couldn't get out." "but why did you make a prisoner of him?" "i didn't," said the smuggler, contemptuously; "it was the silly women." "what for?" "they got the silly idea in their heads that they could make the press-gang officer exchange--give the pressed men back--if they held on to the lad." "but you'll set him free at once?" said aleck, quickly. "i don't know, my lad," was the reply. "it's rather a mess, i'm afraid, taking a king's officer like that; and it seems to me it will be a worse one to let him go." "oh, but you must let him go. the punishment will be very serious for keeping him." "so it will for breaking loose and swimming ashore after being pressed for a sailor." "yes," cried aleck; "but--" "yes, sir; but," said the smuggler, with a bitter laugh, "it's all one-sided like. i didn't begin on them--they began on me, to rob a poor fellow of his liberty. now, i know it was a foolish thing for those women to get hold of that boy, half smother him, and shut him up here; and i don't want to keep him." "of course not." "but what am i to do? if i let him go, and say `run for it,' he'll be back before i know where i am with another boat's crew to take me; and of course, being a man, i shall have to stand fire for everybody. 'sides which it'll be making known to the revenue officers where our lair is, and that'll be ruin to everybody." "then you must escape, eben, for that poor fellow must be set free." "don't see it yet, master aleck," said the man, stubbornly. "it wants thinking about. simplest way seems to me to be that i should put him out of his misery." "what! kill him?" "something of that sort, sir." "bah! you're laughing at me," cried aleck. "come, no nonsense--take me to him; and he must be set at liberty directly." "well, don't be in quite such a hurry, master aleck," said the man. "you ought to play fair after what has passed 'twixt us two." "and so i will, eben. i have promised you that i will not tell anyone about this place." "that's right enough, sir. so you say i must let him out?" "of course." "well, don't you think i ought to have my chance to get away?" "certainly." "very well, then, sir, you must wait a bit. you know what it'll be if he's let out now." "no, i don't." "very well, then, i'll tell you, sir. he'll forget all about being treated well and all that sort o' thing, and go and get help to try and catch me. then he'll come directly upon the party who've been hunting me, and i shall be took at once." "then you must have a few hours to escape, and then i will set him free." "i must have two or three days, or i shall be taken again. but you wait a bit; he can't be set loose yet. come and see him now if you like, or would you rather stay away?" "i'd rather go to him, poor fellow; he must be in a horrible state." "not he," said the smuggler, coolly. "he's had plenty to eat and drink, and a lot of canvas for a bed. he hasn't hurt." "you didn't hear his cries for help," said aleck. "no, or i should have come down to quiet him if i'd been near," said the smuggler, gruffly. "come on." he led the way farther in away from the mouth of the cavern, and in and out amongst rocks which lay about the rugged floor, the course being beside the water, which now began to grow of a jetty black, while from time to time aleck caught a gleam of something bright overhead, showing that here and there the roof came lower. he saw, too, that the winding, canal-like channel of water gradually grew narrower, till the lanthorn illumined the place sufficiently for the lad to see that they could easily cross to the other side by stepping from rock to rock, which rose above the shallow water. "we'll go over here," said the smuggler, "but by and by the water will be right over there, and you have to go right to the end and climb along the ledge. can you see where to step?" "yes. go on." "mind how you come; the stones here are slippery with the wet seaweed." "i can manage," said aleck, and he carefully stepped across and stood on the other side. "now, where is he?" "yonder, half way up that side! there's a snug hole there, plenty big enough for him. i've slept there lots of times when we've been busy." aleck did not enquire what the business was, but he surmised as he followed the guide, with the light from the lanthorn enabling him to see where to put his feet. they were now going back towards the submerged mouth of the vast cavern, and aleck felt a strange sensation of relief even at this, for thoughts would keep crowding into his brain about what would be the consequence if a greater tide than usual flooded the place, a thought so horrible that the perspiration stood out upon his forehead, though it might have been caused by the exertion of stepping over the rugged floor and the heat of the place. "isn't he very quiet?" whispered aleck. "yes, but he's watching us," said the man, in a hoarse whisper, while aleck looked in vain for a likely place to be the young officer's prison, "over yonder" being a very vague indication. just then the smuggler began to step up a steep slope of moderate-sized rocks piled one upon the other, to stop short about ten feet above where his companion was standing. he held the lanthorn down low for the lad to see, and as aleck stood beside him he raised the light as high as he could, so that the dim rays fell upon the angry staring eyes of the young officer, who lay upon a thick cushion composed of many folds of sail-cloth, the bolt ropes and reef points in which showed plainly that it had been in use possibly in connection with some unfortunate vessel wrecked upon the rocks of the iron-bound coast. the face was familiar enough to aleck as the midshipman hitched himself up a little higher upon the elbow which supported him, and his new visitor saw that the fierce eyes were not directed at him, but at the smuggler who bore the lanthorn. "then you've come at last?" he said, fiercely. "now, then, no more of this tomfool acting; unlock this iron and take me out into the fresh air, or as sure as you stand there, you great, black-muzzled, piratical-looking scoundrel, i'll say such things about you to the captain that he'll hang you to the yard-arm, and serve you right." "what!" growled the smuggler. "not got tame yet?" "tame, you miserable ruffian! how dare you speak to an officer in his majesty's navy like that? there never was such an outrage before. unfasten these irons, i say, and take me out!" "why, skipper," said the smuggler, mockingly, "your temper gets worse and worse." "my temper, you dog!" cried the midshipman, furiously. "how dare you treat me like this?" "and how dare you come with your gang, knocking honest men on the head and dragging them off to sea?" retorted eben. "you'd think nothing of putting them in irons because they wouldn't take to the sea. how do you like it, my young springold?" "i'm not going to argue with you, you ruffian, about that," cried the midshipman. "now, look here, that woman who brought me the wretched food said she dare not and could not unlock that iron i've got round my ankle, but that when her husband came i was to ask him. now, then, you're the husband, aren't you?" "oh, yes, i'm the husband, safe enough," growled the smuggler. "then i order you in the king's name to take these irons off." "you wait a bit, captain," said the smuggler; "all in good time. here, take it coolly for a bit longer; i've brought you some company." "ah, who's that with you? i thought i saw someone and heard whispering." the smuggler held the lanthorn lower and opened the door, so that the candle light shone full on aleck's face. "you?" cried the midshipman, excitedly. "then i was right; i thought you were one of the smuggling gang." "then you thought wrong," said aleck, shortly. "what do you want here?" cried the prisoner, wildly, for the fit of rage and command into which he had forced himself was fast dying down into misery and despair. "i've come to help you, middy," cried aleck, warmly, and he sank upon one knee and caught the poor fellow's hand. "to--to--to help me?" he gasped. "yes, and to have you out into the daylight again. you, eben megg, take off the chain directly!" cried aleck. "how dare you chain an officer and a gentleman as if he were a thief or a dog?" "oh!" cried the prisoner, and the ejaculation sounded wildly hysterical and passionate as that of a girl. "oh--oh! don't--don't speak to me-- don't! oh, you--i can't bear it! i'm not a coward, but i've been shut up down here in the horrible darkness of this place till i've been half mad at times, and--and i'm half mad now. it's the loneliness--the being alone down here night and day." "of course it is," cried aleck, feeling half choked as he spoke; and holding the lad's hand tightly between his own, he kept pressing it hard, and ended by shaking it more and more warmly as he spoke. "of course, of course it is. it would have driven me quite mad; but you shan't feel the loneliness again, for i'll stop with you till you're out, happen what may." "hah! thank you, thank you!" whispered the prisoner. "i couldn't help breaking down. i did try so very hard. i didn't think that i should behave like a girl." "hush!" whispered aleck, who had interposed between the prisoner and the gaoler with his lanthorn. "hold up; don't let him see. there, it's going to be all right now. there's a boat's crew and an officer from the cutter somewhere above on the cliff, trying to find you." "what!" cried the midshipman, holding on to aleck now with both hands. "is that true, or are you saying it to keep up my spirits?" "it's as true as true," cried aleck. "then i'll hail again. oh, how i have hailed! do you think they could hear me now the water's up?" "perhaps," said aleck. "i heard you, and i've been hunting for long enough to find the way down." "what!" cried the middy, who was beginning to master the emotion from which he had suffered. "then you didn't know the way?" "no, not till just now." "but you knew of this horrible cave?" "no; though it isn't above a mile from where i live." "i--i thought you were mixed up with these smugglers, and--and--i beg your pardon." "there's nothing to beg pardon about," said aleck, cheerfully. "there, i'm going to have you out of this. now, then, eben, bring the light closer. where did these fetters come from?" "out of a king's ship as was wrecked off black point, master aleck. we got dozens out of the sands. they're what they use when they put men in irons." "nonsense." "i tell you they are, sir. you ask tom bodger if they arn't." "yes, they're the regular irons," said the midshipman, huskily; and aleck, who still held his hand, felt that he was all of a tremble. "so, you see, master aleck, it's on'y fair. tit for tat, you know." "that will do, sir," cried the lad, sharply. "don't be a coward as well as cruel to this gentleman. now, then, set down the lanthorn on one of the stones and unlock this fetter, or whatever it is." "can't, sir," said the man, gruffly. "what! i order you to do it." "yes, sir, i hear you, but the chain's locked round his ankle." "well, i know that. unlock it." "well, i would, sir, as it's come to this, but i arn't got the key." "what!" cried aleck, with a chill of despair running through him. "where is it, then?" "my missus or one of the other women's got it." "but you said there were a lot of these irons; there must be more than one key." "i never saw but one, sir, and that we had up at home. it was my old woman's idee to chain him up like this. you see, it's three or four of them irons locked together, and one end's about his ankle and the other's locked to the ring there that we let into the rock and fixed with melted lead so as to fix tackle to when we wanted to haul in casks or moor a boat." "then you must go and find your wife, and get it," said aleck, firmly. "go up on the cliff, young gentleman, and walk right into the hands of the boat's crew hunting for me, eh?" "i don't care; i will have this gentleman set free. you may not meet any of the sailors," cried aleck, and almost at every word of his brave standing up for the prisoner he felt himself rewarded by a warm pressure of the hand. "that's all right enough, master aleck donne, but you know what i've told you 'bout being made prisoner and having to nearly lose my life in swimming for my liberty?" "yes, perfectly well; but i must have him cast free, even if he has to wait a bit before he goes out of the cave." "but you heard, too, what he said, sir, and i shouldn't be a bit surprised if, when they caught me, they did hang me to the yard-arm of one of their ships." "yes, yes, i know," said aleck; "but--" "but you arn't reasonable, master aleck. my life's as much to me as another man's is to him, whether he's a poor fellow or a gentleman. now, look here, you know yourself it arn't safe for me to go out of the cave now, is it?" "well, i'm afraid it is not just yet, eben; but--" "wait a minute, master aleck. give a man a chance. look here; as soon as it's dark i'll go up on to the cliff and try and get to my cottage, and as soon as i can get the key i'll come back and let your orficer here go loose if he'll swear as he won't show his people the way down here." "no," cried the midshipman, firmly; "i can't promise that." "not to get free, squire?" said eben, grimly. "n-no, i can't do that. it's my duty to help clear out this place. i can't; don't ask me. i can't promise that." "look here," said aleck, smiling; "could you lead a party down here?" the midshipman started, and was silent. "how did you come down here?" "come down? i didn't come down. i was half stunned, and then thrown into a boat. i can just recollect feeling myself dragged out again, and then i lay sick and giddy, just as if i was in a horrible dream, till i awoke in the darkness to find that i was chained up here." "then he could not lead a party here, eben," said aleck; "and you could get him out of here so that he would never know how he was taken out." "ah!" said the middy, sharply. "then you two didn't come in a boat?" "never you mind how we came or how we didn't, my lad," said the smuggler, "we're here; and as the game's up, master aleck, and all i want to do is to keep out of the clutches of the press-gang and the law, i'll do as i said, go up by and by and try to get the key, and if i can't get the key i'll bring down a file." "that will do, eben--i'll trust you; and as you're going to do your best now i don't think mr--mr--" "wrighton," said the middy. "mr wrighton will want to be hard on a man who wants to escape from being pressed. how long will it be before it's safe to go up?" "i daren't go till it's midnight, my lad. i've been run too close before, and as it is i'm not sure but what they'll be waiting for me about my home; but anyhow i'll try." "and i must wait till then?" said the middy, with a break in his voice. "yes," said aleck; "but i shall keep my word--i'll stick by you till you're free." "ah!" ejaculated the lad, and his voice sounded more natural, as he added, in a low tone to aleck: "don't think me a coward, please. you don't know what it is to be shut up in a place like this." "no," said aleck; "but if i were i should feel and act just as you have, and i hope be quite as brave." a pressure of the hand conveyed the midshipman's thanks, and directly after the two lads awoke to the fact that the smuggler was doing something which could mean nothing else but the providing of something to eat and drink. for upon raising the lanthorn to look around, he came upon a basket, and beside it a good-sized bottle, both of which he examined. "why, skipper," he said, "you haven't eat your dinner!" "how could i eat at a time like this?" said the midshipman, angrily. "well, i s'pose it didn't give you much hankering arter eating tackle," said the smuggler, grimly. "i took nowt but water when i was aboard your ship; but you ought to eat and drink now you ye got to the end of your troubles, thanks to master aleck here. why, you've got two lots. what's in the bottles?" the speaker screwed out the corks of two bottles, one after the other, and smelt the contents. "ha! water. want anything stronger?" he said, with a grin. "plenty o' right nantes yonder," he added, with a jerk of his thumb over the right shoulder. "no, no, i don't want anything," said the midshipman, impatiently. "well, sir, i do," said eben. "i'm down faint, and if you don't mind-- what do you say, master aleck?" "i never thought of it," replied aleck; "but now you talk about eating and drinking you make me feel ready. let's have something, mr wrighton; it will help to pass away the time." the result was that the contents of the basket were spread between them, and from forcing down a mouthful or two of food the prisoner's appetite began to return, and a good meal was made, aleck and the smuggler naturally playing the most vigorous part. chapter twenty five. aleck ate heartily, for the state of affairs began to look bright, but as he played his part his eyes were busy, and he noted that the beautiful effect of light which came through the transparent water beneath the submerged arch grew less and less striking till the colour had nearly faded out, while the water had evidently risen a good deal in the long canal-like pool, and was still rising, and where the cavern's weird configuration had in one part appeared through a dim shadowy twilight all was black darkness. there had been a little talking during the consumption of the meal, but when it was ended silence had fallen upon the group. the smuggler had proceeded to fill a black pipe which he had lit at the lanthorn, and then drawn back a little, leaving the two youths to themselves; but very little was said, conversation in the man's presence seeming to be impossible. the pipe was smoked to the very last, and then, after tapping out the hot ashes, the smuggler coughed and turned to the others. "look here, gen'lemen," he said; "i think we understand one another a bit now, which means i'm going to trust you two and you're going to trust me?" "yes," said aleck. "that's right, then. of course, all i want to do is to get safe away so as to bring back the key of them irons, or a file, and as soon as we've got them off you're going to give me till to-morrow about this time before you come out?" "we can't stay in this horrible hole all night," cried aleck, impetuously. "don't see as it's much of a horrible hole, master," said the man; "there's plenty to eat and drink, and a good roof over your heads. i've slept here times enough. there arn't nothing to worry you--no old bogies. wust thing i ever see here was a seal, which come in one night, splashing about; and he did scare me a bit till i knowed what it was. but that's the bargain, gentlemen, and there's no running back. there's the lanthorn, and there's a box yonder with plenty of candles, and a tinder-box with flint, steel, and matches, so you never need be in the dark. plenty of bread and bacon, cheese, and butter too, so you'll be all right; so there's no call to say no more about that. now, then, i'm going uppards to try if i can find out what's going on outside. i shall keep coming down to tell you till i think my chance of getting home has come, and then i shall run off and you'll wait till i come back." "very well," said aleck, who found that he had all the talking to do, and after a time the smuggler rose. "there," he said, "i'm going now. say good luck to me." "well," replied aleck, "good luck to you! be as quick as you can. but what are you going to do about a light?" "what for?" said the man, gruffly. "to find your way to the zigzag slopes." the smuggler laughed softly. "i don't want any light to go about this place, squire. there arn't an inch i don't know by heart." "i suppose not," said aleck, thoughtfully. "but, look here; what about that place?" "what about it, sir?" "the getting up. of course it was easy enough to slide down, but how about getting up?" "didn't i tell you? no, of course, i didn't. look here, sir; it's all smooth in the middle, but if you keep close up to the left you'll find nicks cut in the stone just big enough for your toes, and as close together as steps. you'll find it easy enough." "i understand," said aleck, and the next minute they were listening to the faintly-echoing steps, for the moment the man stepped out of the faint yellow glow made by the lanthorn he plunged into intense black darkness. but from what he had so far gleaned of the configuration of the place the lad was pretty well able to trace the smuggler by his footsteps, till all at once there was a faint rustling, and then the gloom around was made more impressive by the silence which endured for a couple of minutes or so, to be succeeded by a faint, peculiar, echoing, scraping sound. "what's that?" asked the midshipman, excitedly. aleck explained that it was evidently the noise made by the scraping of the smuggler's boots against the stone, as he ascended the zigzag crack to the surface. this lasted for about a minute, to be succeeded by a peculiar harsh noise as of stone being drawn upon stone, after which there was another peculiar sound, also in some way connected with stone jarring against stone; but aleck could give no explanation to his companion as to what that might be, feeling puzzled himself. another stone seemed to be moved then, and it struck the listener that it might be somehow connected with the more level of the zigzag passages, though why he should have thought that he could not have explained. probably not more than three minutes were taken up altogether before the last faint sound had died completely away, and then aleck found himself called upon to explain the configuration of the natural staircase by which ascent could be made and exit found. for it never occurred to the lad that he was in any way breaking the confidence placed in him in making the prisoner as familiar with the peculiarities of the cavern as he was himself. the midshipman, his companion in the strange adventure, had asked him about the shape and position of his prison, and he had explained what he knew. that was all. the account took some time, for the prisoner's interest seemed to increase with what he learned, and his questions succeeded one another pretty quickly, with the result that in his explanations aleck had to include a good deal of his own personal life, after which he did not scruple to ask his companion a little about his own on board ship. "i say," said aleck, at last, "isn't it droll?" "droll!" groaned the midshipman. "what, being shut up here?" "no, no; our meeting as we did in rockabie harbour, and what took place with the boys. i never expected to see you again, and now here have i found you out, a prisoner, chained by the leg, and in ever so short a time you and i have grown to be quite friends." "yes," said the midshipman, drawing a deep breath. "i didn't like you the first time we met." "and i didn't like you," said aleck, laughing. "i thought you were stuck-up and consequential. i say, i wish tom bodger were here!" "what, that wooden-legged rase sailor?" "yes." "what good could he do--a cripple like that?" "cripple! oh, i never thought of him as a cripple. he's as clever as clever. there isn't anything he won't try to do. i was thinking that if he were here he'd be scheming some plan or another to get rid of the chain about your leg." "hah!" sighed the midshipman, "but he isn't here. i say!" "well?" "hadn't you better have another candle to light--that one's nearly burned down?" "i've got one quite ready, lying out here on the stone." "hah! that's right," said the prisoner. "it's so horrible to be in the dark." "oh, no; not when you've got company." "but be quite ready. it might go out quickly." "well, if it did, i know where the flint and steel are." "you couldn't find them in the dark." "oh, couldn't i? i kept an eye on everything master eben did." "i say, do you think he will come back?" "yes; he's sure to, unless some of the cutter's men catch him and carry him off." "ah! and you think, then, that he wouldn't speak, out of spite, and leave us here to starve?" cried the middy, excitedly. "no, i don't," said aleck; "i don't think anything of the sort. don't you be ready to take fright." "i've been shut up in this place so long," said the middy, apologetically, "and it has made me as weak and nervous as a girl." "well, try not to be," said aleck. "look here; there's nothing like seeing the worst of things and treating them in a common-sense way. now, suppose such a thing did happen as that eben megg did not come back--what then?" "we should be starved to death." "no, we shouldn't, for i daresay there's a good store here of biscuits and corned beef out of some ship, as well as smuggled goods, that we could eat." "till all was finished," said the middy, sadly. "what of that? we could get out, couldn't we? i know the way." "oh, yes. i had forgotten that. but was there any door to the way down--trap-door?" "door? no," said aleck, laughing. "it's all the natural stone, just chipped a little here and there to make it easier." "that's right," said the midshipman, sadly. "but it is a terrible place to be shut up in. hasn't he been very long?" "oh, no. i daresay he'll be a long time yet. come, cheer up. let's watch the water there. i wish i knew what the time was. can't we tell? when the water looks blackest it ought to be high water. i wonder whether we shall see the arch quite cleared and the light shining through. have you noticed it?" "don't!" said the young sailor, rather piteously. "i know what it means--you are talking like this to keep up my spirits." "well, suppose i am?" "don't try; it only makes me more weak and miserable. you can't think of the horrors i've suffered." "but--" "yes, i know what you're going to say--that i ought to have been firmer, and fought against the dread and horror, and mastered the feelings." "something of the sort," said aleck. "well, i did at first, but i gradually got weaker and weaker, till in the darkness and silence something happened which scared me ten times more than the being here alone." "something happened? what?" said aleck, wonderingly. "i suddenly felt frightened of myself." "i don't understand you." "i was afraid that i was losing my senses." "well, then, don't be afraid like that any more, for you're not going to lose them." "men have lost their wits by being shut up alone," said the middy, piteously. "perhaps. but you're not going to, for you're not alone, and all you've got to do is to lie there patiently and wait. i say, aren't you tired?" "oh, horribly. i couldn't sleep for the horror i felt." "well, you could now. go to sleep, and i'll wake you when eben megg comes back." "no," said the middy; "i couldn't sleep now. suppose i awoke at last and found that you had gone!" "ah, you're going to imagine all sorts of things," said aleck, who felt that he must do something to keep his companion from brooding over his position. "look here; suppose i go up the passage and see if i can make out anything about eben!" before he had finished speaking he became aware of how terribly the poor fellow had been shaken by his confinement. for the lad caught him spasmodically by the arm with both hands. "no, no," he panted. "don't leave me--pray don't leave me." "very well, then, i'll stay," said aleck; "but i do hope the poor fellow will not be caught by the cutter's men." aleck felt sorry as soon as he had said these words, for his companion gave another start. "you feel that he won't come back?" "i feel," said aleck, quietly, "that we seem to be wasting time. have you got a knife?" "yes, of course." "so have i. well, mine has a small blade; has yours?" "yes. why?" "one small blade would not be strong enough, but if two were thrust into the back of those irons together we might be able to open them. i believe all these fetters are opened by a square key, and i'm going to try." "ah, yes; do." "once get you free, we could pass the time climbing up the natural staircase, and get a look out from the top at the fresh green trees and clear sky." aleck's attempt to take his companion's attention was successful, inasmuch as after the production of the knives, and the changing the position of the opened lanthorn so that the dim light should do its best in illuminating the rusty anklet and chain, the midshipman began to take some feeble interest in the proceedings. aleck knew as much about handcuffs and fetters as he did about the binomial theorem, but he was one of those lads who are always ready to "have a try" at anything, and, after examining the square deeply-set holes which secured the anklets, he placed the two pen-blades of the knives together, forced them in as far as they would go, and tried to turn them. the first effort resulted in a sharp clicking sound. "there goes the edge of one blade," said the lad, coolly. "i hope it's your knife, and not mine. hullo! hooray! it turns!" for the blades held fast, jammed as they were into the angles of the orifice, and the operator was able to turn the knives half way, and then all the way round. "now try," said the midshipman, beginning to take deep interest in the attempt. "i have," said aleck, gloomily; "the blades turn the inside, but the thing's as fast as ever." "but you are not doing it right," said the middy. "i suppose not; you try." "no, no; go on. but you haven't turned enough." "it wants the proper key," said aleck. "no, i think those knives will do, after all. i saw a sailor put in irons once for striking his superior officer, and i think that part wants not only turning like a key in a lock, but turning round and round, as if you were taking out a screw." "oh, i see," cried aleck, with renewed eagerness, and he turned and turned till, to his great delight, the anklet fell open like an unclasped bracelet, and then dropped on to the folded sail-cloth which formed the prisoner's couch. "hooray!" shouted aleck again. "hurrah! hurrah!" cried the young officer, with a decision in his voice that brought up their first meeting in the harbour. "there, it's all right," cried aleck, as the young officer caught him by the hands; "nothing like patience and a good try." "i--i can't thank you enough," said the middy, in a half suffocated voice. "well, who wants thanks, sailor?" cried aleck. "don't go on like that. it's all right. i'm as glad as you are. now, then--oh, i say, your being shut up here has pulled you down!" "yes, more than i knew, old fellow," said the middy. "there, i'm better now. you can't tell what an effect it had upon one. there were times in the night when, after dragging and dragging at that miserable iron, i grew half wild and ready to gnaw at my leg to get it free. why, if you know the way out we can escape now." "yes, but let's play fair by eben megg. he has gone to try and get the key to open this thing, and i promised that i would wait till he came back." "but he will not come back, i feel sure. he's only a smuggler, and ready to promise anything." "oh, no," said aleck, "i don't think that. if he is not taken by the men from the boat he'll come back, i feel sure. so let's wait till the morning." "i can't--i tell you i can't," cried the midshipman, half wild with hysterical excitement. "i must get out now at any cost. i couldn't bear another night in this place." "nonsense," cried aleck, good-humouredly. "you bore it when you felt almost hopeless as a prisoner; surely now that you are as good as free you can manage to bear one more night!" "no, i cannot and i will not," cried the young officer. "see to that lanthorn at once, and let's get out of this living tomb." aleck lit a fresh candle and secured it in the sconce, watching the midshipman the while as he sat up rubbing the freshly-freed leg, and then stood up and stamped his foot as if the leg were stiff. then, as if satisfied that he could get along pretty well, he turned to his companion. "it's rather bad," he said, excitedly; "but--i can manage now. jump up and come along." aleck remained silent. "do you hear?" cried the middy. "yes. it's time now that we had something more to eat," said the lad, quietly. "eat? eat? who's going to think of eating now? i want to get out and breathe the cool, soft air. i feel just as if i were coming to life after having been buried. here, pick up the lanthorn and let's start." "if eben megg does not come back by the morning," said aleck, coldly. "what! do you mean to tell me that you are going to stay here all night when the way's open?" "the way is not open," said aleck, coldly. "not open? you told me there was no door or fastening at all." "there is neither, but it's shut up by the promise i gave that man." "you tell me really that you mean to stop here all night waiting for him?" "yes," said aleck; "i was quite ready to stop here all night to keep you company when you were a prisoner chained to that wall." the midshipman stood staring down at his companion as if half stunned, till better thoughts prevailed. "yes," he said, at last, in a quieter way. "so you were; and you would have done it, wouldn't you?" "of course i would," said aleck. "and it wouldn't be fair to break your word, eh?" "that's what i feel," was the reply. "yes, and i suppose it's right, aleck--that's what they call you?" "yes, that's what they call me," said the lad, coldly. "yes--yes," said the middy, slowly. "i say, you're not an officer, but you're a jolly deal more of a gentleman than i am. you see, i've been a prisoner so long, and i want to get out." "of course; it's only natural." "well, then, you're going to show me the way out?" "to-morrow morning, when i feel satisfied that eben megg will not come." "no, no, to-night--if it is to-night yet. come!" "no," said aleck, firmly. "i gave him my word that i'd wait, and i'll stay even if he doesn't come back; but i have no right to try and stop you." "no, that you haven't; but i'm not going to behave worse than you do. now, once more, are you going to show me the way out?" "no," said aleck. to his intense astonishment the midshipman threw himself back upon his rough couch again. "all right," he said; "i know what it means when you're all alone in the stillness here and your brain's at work conjuring up all sorts of horrible things. you've behaved very handsomely to me, old fellow, and i'm not going to be such a miserable beggar as to go and leave you in the lurch. if you stay, i stay too, and there's an end of it. now, then, snuff the candle and hunt out some prog. i've been so that everything i put into my mouth tasted like sawdust, but i feel now as if i could eat like anything. look sharp." "do you mean this?" cried aleck, turning to his companion, excitedly. "of course i do," said the middy, merrily. "think you're the only gentleman in the world?" it was aleck's turn to feel slightly husky in the throat, but he turned away to the rough basket and began to hand out its contents, joining his companion in eating hungrily, both working away in silence for a time. then the ex-prisoner opened the conversation, beginning to talk in a boisterous, careless way. "i say, aleck, we shall have plenty of time before lying down to sleep. let's light two or three candles and have a jolly good rummage of the smugglers' stores." "we will," cried the lad addressed. "i shouldn't wonder if we find all sorts of things. treasure, perhaps, from wrecked vessels. i wouldn't bet that these people hadn't been pirates in their time. that eben, as you call him--i say, it ought to be ebony--he looks a regular blackbeard, skull-and-crossbones sort of a customer. we'll collar anything that seems particularly good. i'm just in the humour to say i've as good a right to what there is as anybody else; but we'll share--fair halves. i say!" "what?" "old blackbeard will stare when he finds that we've opened the irons. my word, i must go and see mrs ebony again. nice woman she is, and no mistake." "did she fasten the iron ring on your ankle?" "well, no; i think it was an ugly old woman of the party; but i couldn't be sure, for they half killed me--smothered me, you know--and when i came the half way back to life the job was done." aleck entered into the spirit of the rummage, as his companion called it, and their search proved interesting enough; but after finding a vast store of spirits, tobacco, and undressed italian silks, the principal things in the cavern were ship's stores--the flotsam and jetsam of wrecks, over which they bent till weariness supervened. "tired out," said aleck, at last. "so am i," was the reply, as they threw themselves side by side on the rough bed, after extinguishing all the candles they had stuck about the rock and confining themselves to a fresh one newly set up in the lanthorn. "shall we let it burn?" said aleck, in deference to his comrade's feelings. "oh, hang it, no!" was the reply. "it might gutter down and set us on fire." "then you don't mind being in the dark?" "not a bit with you here. do you mind?" "i feel the same as you." five minutes later they were both sleeping quietly and enjoying as refreshing a slumber as ever fell to the lot of man or boy. chapter twenty six. aleck woke up wondering, for he felt as if he had had a good night's rest and that it ought to be morning, whereas it was very dark. this was puzzling, and what was more curious was the fact that on moving he found that he had his clothes on. naturally enough he moved, and turned upon his other side, to find that it was not so dark now, for he was looking at what seemed to be a beautifully blue dawn. then someone yawned, and the lad was fully awake to his position. "sailor!" he said, loudly. "eh? my watch? my--my--i'll--here, aleck, that you?" "yes, it's morning; rouse up. i fancy it must be late." "looks to me as if it is dreadfully early. i fancied i was being roused up to go on deck. what are you doing?" "going to get a light." this aleck did after the customary nicking and blowing. the candle in the lanthorn was lit, and the lads, after cautiously testing the depth of the water, indulged in a good bathe, gaining confidence as they swam, and finally dried themselves upon an exceedingly harsh towel formed of a piece of canvas, one of many hanging where they had been thrown over pieces of rock. as they dressed they could see that it was getting lighter inside the arch, which gradually showed more plainly, and as the water grew lower during the time that they partook of the meal which formed their breakfast, the twilight had broadened, so that both became hopeful of seeing the tide sink beneath the crown of the arch so as to give them a glance at the sunlit surface of the sea. "how long are you going to wait for the smuggler?" asked the middy, suddenly. "not long," was the reply. "it is not fair to you. but i should like to give him a little law. what do you say to waiting here till the tide has got to its lowest, and as soon as it turns we'll start?" "very well, i agree," said the midshipman, "for i don't think that we shall have long to wait. i was expecting it to go down so low that i should see the full daylight yesterday, but before i got the slightest peep it began to rise again." "but it came lighter than this?" said aleck. "no; i don't think it was so light as this. i believe it is just about turning now." the sailor proved to be right; and as soon as aleck felt quite sure he turned to his companion and proposed that they should start. "i don't know what my uncle will say," he said. "you'd better come home with me. he will be astonished when he sees that i have found you." "did he know that i was lost?" "of course. your fellow officer came straight to our place to search it, thinking we knew where you were. well, uncle will be very glad. come along. i shall take the lanthorn with us to see our way up the zigzag. i think i could manage in the dark, as i came down and know something of the place, but it would be awkward for you." "oh, yes; let's have all the light we can," said the midshipman. "i'm quite ready. shall we start?" "yes, come on," was the reply, and, holding the lanthorn well down, aleck led the way along by the waterside till the rocks which had acted as stepping-stones were reached, and which were now quite bare. these were passed in safety, but not without two or three slips; and then after a walk back towards the twilight, somewhere about equal to the distance they had come, aleck struck off up a slope and in and out among the blocks that had fallen from the roof to where he easily found the lowest slope of the zigzag, which they prepared to mount, the light from the lanthorn showing the nicks cut in the stone at the side. "it's much harder work climbing up than sliding down," said aleck. "of course," replied the midshipman, who toiled on steadily in the rear; "but it's very glorious to have one's leg free, and to know that before long one will be up in the glorious light of day. i say, are you counting how many of these slopes we have come up?" "no," said aleck, "i lost count; but i think we must be half way up." "bravo! but, i say, these smugglers are no fools. who'd ever expect to find such a place as this? it must have taken them years to make." "they were making it or improving it for years," said aleck; "but they found the crack already made--it was natural." "think so?" "yes; the rock split just like a flash of lightning. mind how you come--the roof is lower down here. let's see, this must be where i hit my head in coming down. no, it can't be, for that was somewhere about the middle of one of the slopes, i think, and this is the end, just where it turns back and forms another slope." aleck ceased speaking and raised the lanthorn so as to examine the rock above and around him more attentively. "nice work this for a fellow's uniform. what with the climbing and sleeping in it i shall be in rags. but why don't you go on?" said the midshipman. "i--i don't quite know," said aleck, hesitating. "it seems different here to what it was when i came down." "but you said you came down in the dark?" "i did, and i suppose that's why it seems different." "well, never mind. go on. it hurts my feet standing so long resting in this nick." aleck was still busy with the lanthorn, and remained silent, making his companion more impatient still. "i say, go on," he said. "why do you stop?" "because it seems to me as if i had come the wrong way, taken a wrong turning that i did not know of--one, i suppose, that i passed in the dark." "but this must be right," said the midshipman; "it goes up. here are all the nicks for one's feet, and the part in the middle is all ground out as if things were dragged up. go on, old chap; you must be right." "so i think," said aleck; "but i can't go on. it seems to me as if the place comes to an end here, and i can get no farther." "that's a nice sort of a story. but you carried the light; have you taken a wrong turning?" "i didn't know that there were any turnings." "have another good look, and make sure." aleck peered in all directions by the aid of the lanthorn--a very short task, seeing how they were shut in--and then carefully felt the stones. "well?" said the midshipman. "i'm regularly puzzled," said aleck. "of course, it's very different coming in the other direction, and by candlelight instead of the darkness." "then you're regularly at fault." "quite." "try back, then. you light me and i'll lead." they slid down to the bottom of the slope and stopped. "i say," cried the midshipman; "you'll have to take me to your place and find me some clothes, for i shan't have a rag on if we're going to do much of this sort of thing." "this must be right," said aleck, without heeding the remark. "i can shut my eyes here and be sure of it by the feel." "then it's of no use to go down any farther?" "not a bit," said aleck, firmly. "look for yourself. here are the foot nicks at the side, and the floor is all worn smooth. we must be right." "then forward once more. you must have missed something." aleck toiled up the slope again, reached the top, where the crack should have run in a fresh direction and at a different inclination, and carefully examined the place with his light, while his heart began to beat faster and faster from the excitement that was growing upon him rapidly. for as he ran his hands over the rock in front, which completely blocked his way, he noted that there were three great pieces--one which ran right into the angle, where the pathway should have made its turn; a second, which lay between it and the smooth wall at the bend; and another smaller piece, which lay over both, jammed tightly in between the two other stones and the roof, and carrying conviction to aleck's mind as he now recalled the peculiar grating sounds he had heard soon after the smuggler left them the previous day. he was brought out of his musings by his companion, who suddenly exclaimed: "i say, look here; i'm not a puffin." "eh? no, of course not. what made you say that?" "because you seemed to think i was, keeping me perched up on a piece of rock like this. now, then, are you going on?" aleck was silent, for he had not the heart to say that which was within. "are you going dumb? if you've lost your way say so, and let's begin again." "it's worse than that," said aleck. "worse? what do you mean?" "look here," said aleck, holding the lanthorn up high with one hand, and pointing with the other. "well, i'm looking, and i can see nothing but stone--rough stone." "neither can i. we can go no farther." "what! you don't mean to say that the roof has fallen in?" "no; it's worse than that." "can't be," cried the middy. "yes, it is, for we could have dug the fallen stones away. sailor, i'm obliged to say it--we're regularly trapped!" "what! who by? oh, nonsense!" "it's true enough, i'm afraid. the smuggler would not do as we did. we trusted him, but he would not trust us." "you don't mean to say he has blocked us in?" "i'm obliged to say so. i heard him forcing down the stones after he'd gone. look for yourself. i can't move one." "no," said the midshipman, quietly, as he reached past aleck and tried to give the top one a shake. "he has been too clever for us. think we can move these lumps? no; their own weight will keep them down. that's it, aleck; the things here are too good to lose, and he has got us safe." to aleck's astonishment he had begun to whistle a dismal old air in a minor key after propping himself across the rough crack so that he could not slip. "what's to be done?" said aleck, at last. "done, eh?" was the reply. "well, i'm afraid if i had been alone and found this out, i should have lain down, let myself slide to the bottom, and then set to and howled; but the old saying goes, `two's company, even if you're going to be hanged,' and you're pretty good company, so let's go back to the cave. we can breathe there. the heat here is awful. this shows that it doesn't do to be too cocksure of anything. come on down." "but we must have a thoroughly good try to move the stones," said aleck, angrily. "not a bit of use. that brute has wedged them in and jumped upon them. why, we may push and heave till we're black in the face and do no good. we're fixed up safe." "and you're going to give up like that?" "not i," said the midshipman, calmly. "show me what i can do, and if it's likely to be any good i'll work as long as you like; but it's of no use to make ourselves more miserable than we are. come on down." the young sailor spoke in so commanding a tone that aleck yielded, and, following his comrade's example, he slid down slope after slope, and finally stood in the great open cavern, breathing in long deep breaths of the fresh soft air. "hah! that's better," said the midshipman. "i felt stifled up in that hole. now i don't bear malice against anybody, but i think i should like to see that smuggling ruffian shut up here for a few days. look here, aleck; all he said was pretence--he never meant us to get out again." "oh, i don't know," said aleck, passionately. "he might, or he might not. now, then, what's to be done--try and find some tools, and then get to work to chip those stones to pieces?" "no, it would only mean try and try in vain." "here, what has come to you?" cried aleck. "you take it all as coolly as if it were of no consequence at all. i don't believe you can understand yet how bad it all is." "oh, yes, i can," said the midshipman, coolly; "but i've got no more miserables left in me. i used 'em all up when i was chained up by myself in the dark. i feel now quite jolly compared to what i was." "nonsense. you can't grasp what a terrible strait we're in." "oh, yes, i can. we're buried alive." "well, isn't that horrible?" said aleck. "pretty tidy, but not half so bad as being buried dead. it would be all over then; but as we're buried alive perhaps we shall be able to unbury ourselves." "you must be half mad," said aleck, angrily, "or you'd never talk so lightly." "lightly? i don't talk lightly. i'm as serious as a judge." "but what are we to do?" "wait a bit and let's think. we can live down here for ever so long; that is, as long as the rations last. then we shall have to try some other way out." "yes; but what way?" the midshipman pointed towards the dimly-seen submerged arch. "can you swim?" he said. "of course. pretty well." "and dive?" "yes." "then my notion is that we take it as coolly as we can till we think it's a suitable time. then we'll strip, make a couple of bundles of our clothes, go in as near to that arch as we can, and then try to dive under and out to the daylight." aleck raised the lanthorn to bring its dim light full upon his companion's face, gazing at him hard as if in doubt of his sanity. for the words were spoken as calmly and coolly as if he had been proposing some ordinary jump into clear water at a bathing-place. but he only saw that the speaker's countenance was perfectly unruffled, and his next words convinced him that he was speaking in all seriousness. "well, don't look so horrified," he said, half laughingly. "you haven't been bragging, have you? don't say you can't swim?" "oh, i can swim easily enough," said aleck, impatiently; "but suppose one rose too soon, right up amongst those rugged rocks, with the sea-wrack hanging down in long strips ready to strangle us?" "i'm not going to suppose anything of the sort," said the midshipman. "why should you suppose such horrors? i might just as well say: suppose a great shark should rush in open-mouthed to swallow me down and then grab you by the leg, throw you over on to his back, and carry you about till he felt hungry again?" "but you don't see the danger?" cried aleck. "and don't want to see it. i daresay it is dangerous, but nearly everything is if you look at it in that way. well, what now? why do you look at me like that?" "because i don't understand you," said aleck. "yesterday you seemed as weak as a girl, while now you are proposing impossible things, and seem to be trying to brag as if to make me feel that you are not so weak as you were then." "perhaps so," said the middy, laughing good-humouredly. "i was as weak as a girl yesterday, but i don't feel so now; and though you are partly right, and i don't want you to think me such a molly, i really am ready to make a dash at it if you will." "i'll do anything that i think is possible," said aleck, gravely, "but i don't want to be rash." "then you think it would be rash to try and dive out under that archway?" "horribly," said aleck, with a shudder; and at that moment the candle, which, unnoticed through the dull horn, had burned down and begun flickering in the socket, suddenly flashed up brightly, flickered for a moment or two, and went out. chapter twenty seven. "ugh!" ejaculated the midshipman. "i don't feel half so brave now, and i don't believe i dare go in here in the darkness, set aside make a dive. where's the tinder-box? for goodness' sake, strike a light and let's have another candle. oh, you oughtn't to have let that out!" "come along," replied aleck. "i think i can find the way to the place again. mind how you come; there are so many stones. i say, why is it that one feels so shrinking in the dark and frightened of all sorts of things that we never dream of in the light?" "i don't know, and don't want to talk about it now. let's have a light first. i say, we must do something before the candles are all burnt out." "mind!" cried aleck, for his companion caught his foot against one of the pieces of projecting rock against which he had been warned, and but for the throwing out of a friendly hand he would have gone head first into the water. "ugh!" he panted, as he clung, trembling now violently. "i wonder how deep the water is just there! how horrible! i say, don't let go of my hand. what are you doing?" "i'm feeling for the lanthorn." "what!" cried the midshipman, aghast. "don't say you've lost that?" "i wasn't going to," said aleck, rather gruffly, as he thought that his companion was about the strangest compound of bravery and cowardice he had ever met. "but didn't you hear it go down crash?" "no, i heard nothing. here, what's this against my foot?" aleck stooped down and found that it was the missing lanthorn. "it's lucky it did not roll into the water. now, then, all right. keep hold of hands, and let's feel our way to where i left the tinder-box. hold up; don't stumble again." "i can't help it," said the middy, with his teeth chattering. "it feels as if all the strength had gone out of my legs. here, aleck, it's of no use to be a sham; hold on tightly by my hand and help me along. i'm afraid that was all brag about making the dive. i suppose i must be a horrible coward, after all." "i'm afraid i am too," said aleck bitterly, as he held the other's hand tightly and tried to progress cautiously in the dark. "i feel horrible, and as if the next step i take will send us both into the water." "ugh! don't say that," whispered the middy, huskily. "i remember what that fellow said about the seals; but it's my belief that a dark piece of water like this must swarm with all kinds of terrible creatures." "and yet you wanted to dive into it for a swim?" "yes, when the candle was alight." "i didn't feel anything attack us when we bathed," said aleck, quietly. "oh, don't talk about it," said the middy, shuddering. "i bathed then, but i don't feel as if, feeling what i do, i could risk another plunge in." aleck felt no disposition whatever to talk about the venture his companion in misfortune had proposed, for he was intent upon getting to the spot where the light-producing implement had been bestowed, and twice over he nearly lost his calmness, for the horrible idea attacked him that he had wandered quite away from the spot in the darkness. it was an ugly thought, bringing up others of a strangely confusing nature, but at last, just when he was ready to confess to this fresh trouble, he came upon candle and tinder-box, over which his trembling fingers played for some minutes before the welcome spark appeared in the tinder and suffered itself to be blown up into a glow instead of dying out. hot and tired, the two lads made for the resting-place, and were thankful to cast themselves down, to lie in silence for close upon an hour before either of them ventured to advert to their position; but at last the midshipman declared that he knew it from the first, and that they were a pair of idiots to trust the word of a smuggler. "i don't see it," said aleck, who felt ready to give the man credit for having met with some mishap. "well, i do. it was a deeply-laid scheme to trap us--shut us up here and leave us to die while he escaped." "nonsense," cried aleck. "why, it would be a horrible murder!" "yes; horrible--diabolical--shocking." "i don't believe eben megg would be such a wretch," said aleck, stoutly. "what, not a smuggler? they're the greatest villains under the sun." "are they?" said aleck, drily. "yes, i know that," cried the middy angrily; "but i'll let the brute see. i'll have him hung at the yard-arm for this. he shall find out he made a mistake." "when we get out," said aleck, smiling in spite of their trouble, for his companion's peppery way of expressing himself was amusing. "yes, when we get out, of course. you don't suppose i'm going to settle myself quietly down here, do you?" "of course not," said aleck; and then an idea occurred to him which made him check his companion just as he was about to burst into a tirade about what he would do. "i say," cried aleck, "it must be easy to get out of this if we wait till the time when the boats can come in." "but do they ever come in?" "of course. how else could the smugglers have landed all this stuff?" "it must be at a spring tide then," said the middy. "to be sure. when's the next?" "i don't know," said the middy. "you do, of course?" "not i. you're a pretty sort of a sailor not to know when the next spring tide is." "and you're a pretty sort of a fellow who lives by the shore and don't know. you seem to know nothing." "bother the spring tides," said aleck, testily. "i know there are spring tides, and that sometimes you can walk dry-shod half way down our gully; but i can't tell the times. tom bodger would know." "what, that wooden-legged sailor?" "yes." "then you'd better go and fetch him here." "i wish i could," said aleck, sadly. "what's the good of wishing? here, i'm hungry. let's have something to eat." "no, we mustn't do that," said aleck. "we had better eat as little as we can so as to make the food last as long as possible." "no, we hadn't," replied the middy, roughly. "we may just as well eat while we can. there's plenty to keep us alive; but if we can't get out we shan't be able to live all the same." "why?" the middy was silent for a few moments before he could master himself sufficiently, the horror that he as a sailor foresaw not having been grasped by his shore-going companion. "you haven't been to sea?" he said, at last, in quite a different tone. "only about in my boat." "in sight of land, when you could put ashore at any time." "yes; but what do you mean?" "i mean, the first thing a sailor, thinks about is his supply of fresh water." "to be sure," said aleck. "i always take a little keg from our spring when i go for a long day's fishing." "pity you didn't bring it here," said the middy, dismally. "eh? what do you mean?" "i want to know what we're going to do for water as soon as those bottles are empty?" it was aleck's turn to be silent now, and in turn he was some moments before he spoke. "i never thought of that," he said, and he felt as if a cold chill was running through him, to give place to a hot feverish sensation, accompanied by thirst. then he recovered his boyish elasticity. "here," he cried, "never say die! i'm not going to give up like this. look here; we've got a spring at home where the water trickles out of a crack in the rock and flows down into a great stone tank like a well. it only comes in drops, but it's always dropping, and so we have enough for our wants." "pity you didn't bring your tank here," said the middy. "what's the good of telling me that?" "because the cliff all along here for miles has places where the water trickles out, and i shouldn't be a bit surprised if we were to find that the smugglers have something in the shape of a tank here in this place. they must have wanted water here, and they would be sure to have saved any that trickled in." "then you'd better find it," said the middy. "come along, then; let's search. this place is very big." "you can if you like. i've had such a dose this morning, just when i felt i was going to get out, that i'm going to lie down and try to forget it." "what! go to sleep?" cried aleck. "yes." "that you're not. you're going to help me search the cavern." "i'm not." "you are," cried aleck, firmly. "look here; do you want to make it a fight?" "no, and you don't either. come on; we'll light another candle and stick it upon a piece of stone or slate. then we'll have a good hunt." "oh, very well," said the middy, rising. "come on, then; but i'm sure we're only going to tire ourselves for nothing." "never mind, it will keep us from thinking." there was no difficulty in picking up a flat piece of slate, and then a fresh candle was cut free from the bunch, its end melted, and stuck on to the stone, and then the lads looked at one another. "look here," said the middy; "i wish i wasn't such an awful beast." aleck laughed. "you don't look one," he said. "no, but i feel one. fellows in trouble ought to be like brothers, and i keep on having fits of the grumps. here, i mean to work with you now." "i know you do," said aleck, frankly, "but it's enough to make anyone feel savage." "now, then, where are we going to look for water?" "right up at the narrowest end of the cave." "why?" "because what there is always seems to make for the sea." "that's right," said the middy; and, taking the lead, he began to pick his way along by the side of the canal-like pool, whose clear waters reflected the lights as if it were a river. "water's higher now," said aleck. "yes, and it looks good enough to drink; but it's salter than the sea, i suppose. i say!" "well?" said aleck. "this place gets narrower. it seems to me that if the roof fell in it would make another of those caves you have all along this coast. i shouldn't wonder if in time all the top of this comes in and opens the mouth so that the waves can rush in and wash it bigger and bigger." "very likely," said aleck. "look here!" he held down the candle to show that they had come to the end of the deep water, which was continued farther in by a series of pools, which were probably only joined into one lane of water at very high tides. the middy said something of the kind, and then pointed out, as they progressed slowly, that the pools grew smaller and smaller till they came to an end, where the cavern had grown very narrow and seemed to be closing in, and where a huge mass of stone blocked the way. "how are we to go now? climb right over that big lump? i don't believe there's room to crawl between that and the roof." "i say," replied aleck, excitedly, "it's wet right up." "all the worse for our clothes," was the reply; "but is it any use to go any farther?" aleck's answer took the shape of action, for he sank upon his knees, set the piece of slate which formed his candlestick upon the rock floor, and going down upon his chest reached out and scooped up some of the water of the pool in his palm and raised it to his lips. "don't swallow it," said his companion; "it will only make you horribly thirsty." "no," cried aleck, exultantly, "it's all right--fresh and sweet. look here; you can see how there's water trickling very slowly down." "so there is," cried the middy. "you were all right about that." "yes," said aleck, "and i believe we shall find ships' stores enough amongst those barrels to last us for months." "let's see!" said the middy. "oh! this is getting too jolly," he added. "let's open some of the boxes too. why, the next thing will be that i shall be finding a new uniform all ready for putting on, but--oh, dear!" he added, dolefully. "well, of all the fellows," cried aleck. "here have we just found out that things aren't half so bad as they seemed, and now you're breaking out again. what is the matter now?" "i was thinking about the uniform, been lying here perhaps for months; it's sure to be too damp to put on." "bah!" cried aleck. "dip it right into the big pool and make it salt. it won't hurt you then." "right," shouted the middy. "now, then, what next? i believe if we keep on we shall find a fresh way out." "like enough. let's try." they tried, but tried in vain. the middy held the light, and aleck climbed up the wet face of the huge mass which blocked the way, and then began to crawl on beneath the roof. "how do you get on?" "splendid. it goes upward, and i could almost stand." "how are you getting on?" said the middy, after listening to the scrambling noise made by the climber. "middling. just room to crawl now." five minutes later the middy shouted again: "look here; hadn't i better come up now?" "yes, if you like." "is there plenty of room?" "no." "then what's the use of my coming?" "only to keep me company. better still, come and give a pull at my heels." "pull at your heels?" "yes, it's like a chimney laid on its side, and i'm quite stuck fast." "oh!" cried the middy; and then, "all right, i'm coming." "no, no, don't!" came to him in smothered tones, as he began to climb; "i've got room again. coming back." there was a good deal of shuffling and scraping, and then aleck's feet came into the light over the top of the block. the next minute he was on his feet beside his companion, hot, panting, and with the front of his clothes wet. "there's a tiny stream comes trickling in there," he said, brushing himself down softly; "but there isn't room for a rat to get any further than i did. my word, it was tight! i felt as if the water had made me swell out, and it didn't seem as if i was going to get back." "phew!" whistled the middy. "we should have been worse off then. i say, aleck, you'd have had to starve for a few days to get thin, and then i could have pulled you out. here, i say, though, old fellow, i'm not going on the grump any more; things might be worse, eh?" "ever so much," said aleck, cheerfully. "let's have a good drink now, and then go and examine some of those barrels. if one of them turns out salt beef or pork we'll go back and finish our stores, for we shall be all right for provisions." "without counting the fish i mean to catch. i'm sure there'll be some come in with the tide." "very foolish of them if they do," said aleck, wiping his mouth after lying down to take a long deep draught, in which action he was imitated by his companion. "now, then, i want to be satisfied about flour and meat." within half an hour he was satisfied, for a little examination proved to the prisoners that some unfortunate vessel had gone to pieces outside and its stores had been run in by the smugglers. "yes," said the middy, as they returned to their resting-place, to begin making a hearty meal, "things do look a bit more rosy, but you mustn't be too chuff over it. i'll bet sixpence, if you like, that the tackle in those tubs is as salt as brine." "i'm afraid so," said aleck, "and all the outside of the flour mouldy." "very likely," said the middy. "but never mind; if the outside's bad we'll eat the in." "look at the crack over yonder now!" cried aleck, after a time, during which the only sounds heard were those of two people eating. "what for?" "it look's so light; just as if the sun was shining upon it outside. i must try if i can't dive down and swim out." "with a rope round your waist," said the middy, eagerly, "so that if you stuck--" "you could pull me back," said aleck. "and if you got through safely--" cried the middy. "you would tie the other end round you," said aleck, "ready for me to haul and help you out in turn." "oh! what's the good of a fellow being grumpy?" cried the middy. "why, we're enjoying ourselves. this is one big adventurous game. i'm getting to be glad those women took me prisoner. i don't believe there ever were two who dropped in for such an adventure as this. but, i say, i don't think we'll try the diving trick to-day. we ought to be rested and fresh." "yes," replied aleck, "and we ought to have another good try up the zigzag first." "yes, it might be as well. i say, just ring for the people to clear away. i want to have a nap now. what time is it?" "oh, i don't know. why?" "because i want to know what to call it. you see, i don't know whether i'm going to have a siesta or a genuine snooze." "have both," said aleck, laughing, "and i'll do the same." "and it doesn't matter, does it, for night and day seem to be about the same? put out that candle, and mind where the tinder-box is." "here, you see where it lies," was the reply, and then there was silence, both lying thinking deeply before once more dropping fast asleep, many hours having been taken up by the hard toil and suffering they had gone through. chapter twenty eight. the next morning, as it seemed from the beautiful limpid appearance of dawn that rose from the surface of the waters, to become diffused in the soft gloom overhead, the lads lit a candle and set off manfully to try as to the possibility of making their way out through the zigzag passage, aleck trying first and dragging and pushing at the stones which blocked his way, till, utterly exhausted and dripping with perspiration, he made way for his comrade to have a try. the latter toiled hard in turn, and did not desist till he found that his fingers were bleeding and growing painful. "it's of no good," he said, gloomily; "that scoundrel has done his work too well. let's get down to where we can breathe. i say, though," he added, cheerily, "i've learned one thing." "what?" asked aleck. "that i was never cut out for a chimney-sweep. this is bad enough; i don't know what it would be if there was the soot." they slid down, and as soon as they were back in the comparatively cheerful cavern, where they could breathe freely, aleck proposed that they should look out amongst the sails and ships' stores for a suitable rope for their purpose. there was coil upon coil of rope, but for the most part they were too thick, and it seemed as if they would be reduced to venturing upon their dive untrammelled, when, raising the lanthorn for another glance round, aleck caught sight of the very piece he required, hanging from a wooden peg driven in between two blocks of stone. "looks old and worn," said the middy, passing the frayed line through his fingers. "let's try it." the means adopted was to tie one end round a projection of the rocky side, run the line out to its full length, and then drag and jerk it together with all their might. satisfied with the effects of this test, the rope was untied, the other end made fast, and the dragging and snatching repeated without the tough fibres of the hemp yielding in the least. "looks very old," said the middy, "but wear has only made it soft. if it stands all that tugging with the weight of both of us on the end it will bear one of us being dragged through the water, where one isn't so heavy. now, then, are we going to try this way?" "certainly," said aleck. "very well; who's to go first?" "i will," said aleck. "i don't know about that," replied the middy. "you're only a shore-going fellow, while i'm a sailor. i think i ought to go first." "it doesn't much matter who goes first, but i spoke first and i'll go." "look here," cried the middy; "if i give way and let you have first try, will you play fair?" "of course. but what do you mean?" "you won't brag and chuck it in my face afterwards that you got us out of the hole?" "do you think i should be such a donkey?" cried aleck. "why, look here, i'm going to try and chance it, but i don't believe i shall get through. never mind about who's to be first. let's do all we can to make sure of escaping. now, then, shall we try now, or wait till the water's at its lowest? it's going down now." "if we wait till the tide's at its lowest it will be slack water, and we shall get no help. it's running out now, and we can see the shape of the arch." "yes, and how rugged and weed-hung it is. i say, i don't like the look of it. you'd better go first." "very well," said the middy, promptly, and he began taking off his jacket. "hold hard," cried aleck, hurriedly stripping off his own. "come along." he led the way to the edge of the water where, though not the nearest, the best leap off seemed to present itself, and then stood perfectly still, gazing down into the softly illuminated water, quivering and wreathing as it ran softly out, and looking dim and blurred through being kept so much in motion by the retiring waves. "then you still mean to go?" said the middy. "of course. but what shall i do--strip, or try in my clothes?" "strip, decidedly," cried the middy. "i shall get scratched and scraped going under the rocks." "you'll get caught by them and hung up if you keep your clothes on. have 'em all off, man; you'll slip through the water then like a seal." "yes," said aleck, calmly, "i suppose it will be best." it did not take him long to prepare, and as soon as he was ready his companion made the rope fast just round beneath the arm-pits with a knot that would neither slip nor tighten. "there!" said the middy, as he finished his preparations by laying out the rope in rings and curves of various shapes, such as would easily run out. "i say, you are perfectly black when i look at you from behind, but in front you seem like a white image on a black ground. now, then, what do you mean to do?" "dive in from here and try to keep right down and swim as deeply as i can for the mouth." "try to swallow the job at one mouthful?" "yes." "won't do," said the middy, authoritatively. "you couldn't do it. you must slip in gently here and swim to that rock that's just out of the water." "what! that one that seems just to the left of the arch?" "that's the one. get out on it, wait a few moments, and then take a long, deep breath and dive." aleck pondered for a few moments. "yes," he said, "i think you're right. i should have had to swim so far first if i started from here." "to be sure you would. the less diving you have the better." "i see," said aleck. "now, then, let the rope run out easily through your fingers till i give it a sharp jerk. that means pull me back as fast as you can." "yes, because you can go no further." "if i pull twice it means i am safe through, and then--" "i shall tie my end of the rope round my chest and come too. you need not pull, only just draw in the line, unless it stops, because that would mean i had got into difficulties. do we both understand? i do." "so do i," said aleck, "so let's get it over. if i wait much longer i shall be afraid to go." "don't believe you," said the middy, bluntly. "now, then--ready?" "yes." the word was no sooner uttered than aleck slipped down into the water and began to swim, with the rope being carefully paid out by his comrade, and in a minute he was fairly started. he was at first invisible, but very soon began to look like a black object making its way over a surface that grew transparent. then all at once the rope ceased to run. "what is it?" cried the middy, anxiously. "got to the rock." "is the water deep?" "very." "well, get up, ready for your dive." "it's all seaweed, and horribly slippery." "never mind; up with you." a peculiar splashing sound arose, and the middy could just make out the dim shape of his companion climbing, or rather dragging, himself on to the slimy rock, whose top was about a foot above the surface of the water. "stop a minute or two first," said the middy, "so as to take--" he was going to say "breath," but before the word could be uttered aleck, who had drawn himself up to stand erect, felt his feet gliding from under him, and it was only by a violent effort that he escaped falling heavily upon the weed-covered rock. as it was he came down with a tremendous splash into the water, going head first in a sharp incline down and down, while, obeying his first impulse, he struck out sharply. the middy was about to obey his first impulse too, and that was not to pay out, but begin to haul his comrade back. his hands tightened round the line, but as he awoke to the fact that it was gliding through his hands in obedience to the regular pulsation of the movements of a swimmer, he felt that all must be right, and waited while, foot by foot, the rope glided on and the transparent water grew more and more agitated and strange to see. once he fancied he could clearly make out aleck's steadily swimming figure, but directly after he knew it was a great, waving, flag-like mass of weed fronds, and he uttered an impatient gasp and turned cold. "he couldn't have got his breath for the dive," he said to himself, "and the current must be taking him helplessly away. half the line must have run out, and perhaps he's insensible. no; that means swimming, for it goes in jerks, and--he has stopped. he must be through. hooray! well done, old--oh, that's the signal to pull him back!" it was surely enough, and the middy began at once to haul in, and then the cold feeling became a chill of horror, for he had drawn the rope quite tight at the second haul, and it was perfectly evident that the swimmer had signalled because in some way he was caught fast. what to do? the middy was energetic enough, and in those perilous moments, full of horror for his companion's sake, he hauled till he dared pull no more for fear that the rope should part, and, obeying now a sudden thought, he relaxed the strain, and the rope seemed to be snatched back towards aleck. "that can't be a signal," he said to himself, in despair; but he began to haul again, recovered the line lost, and to his intense delight he found that the swimmer was once more free, and that he was drawing him rapidly back to where he stood. the lad's action was as rapid now as he could pass hand over hand, and in a very short space of time he had the poor fellow close up to the rock edge, and then, taking hold of the rope where it passed round aleck's chest, he dragged him out, half insensible, upon the rocks. another half minute or so might have been fatal, but aleck had some little energy left, and, after a strangling fit of coughing, he was able to sit up. "take--the rope off!" he panted. this was done, and in a few minutes he was breathing freely and able to talk. "i didn't get a fair start," he said, hoarsely. "i slipped, and went in before i was ready; but i got on all right for a bit till i seemed to be sucked in between two pieces of rock, and felt myself going into black darkness. then i signalled to you." "i hauled directly." "yes, and it seemed to drag me crosswise so that i couldn't pass through between the two rocks again. how did you manage then?" "i did nothing, only let go so as to make a fresh start." "did you?" said aleck, quietly. "ah, i didn't know anything about that. i only knew that it was very horrible, and i thought it was all over. it was very near, wasn't it?" "oh, i don't know," said the middy, coolly. "you say that you didn't have a fair start?" "no; it was that fall. but it's queer work. you can't make out where you are going, and the current grinds your head up against the weedy rock." "but you got nearly through, didn't you?" "i suppose so, but i don't know. it was all one horrible confusion." "yes; but another few yards, i expect, and you would have been safe, and could have pulled me through, or helped me as i swam." "perhaps," said aleck, rather slowly, for he felt confused still. "but what are you doing?" "peeling off my clothes." "what for?" said aleck, speaking now with more animation. "to do my turn, and see how i get on." "no, no, no!" cried aleck, excitedly. "you mustn't try. it's too horrible." "horrible? nonsense. it's only a swim in the dark. i like diving." "i tell you it can't be done, sailor," cried aleck, angrily. "the risk is too great. i should have been drowned if you had not hauled me out." "well, and if i'm going to be drowned you'll haul me out. you're strong enough now, aren't you?" "oh, yes; but you mustn't risk it." "you wait till i get these things off, my lad, and i'll show you. why, you'd have done it splendidly if you had dived off the rock instead of going in flip-flap like a sole out of a basket. i'll show you how to do it." "you'd better take my word for it that it can't be done. let's wait till the tide's low enough, and then swim out in daylight." "you wait till i get out of my uniform," said the middy, stubbornly, "i'll show you, my fine fellow. i've practised diving a good deal. some day, if we get to the right place in the ocean, i mean to have a go down with the sponge divers, and if i'm ever in the south seas i mean to try diving for pearl shell." "well," said aleck, rather sadly, "i've warned you, and i suppose it is of no use for me to say any more?" "not a bit," said the middy, dragging off his second stocking. "you make fast the dry end of the line round my noble chest. not too tight, mind, and a knot that won't slip." the young sailor possessed the greater will power now, for aleck was yet half stunned by what he had gone through. he obeyed every order he received, and carefully knotted on the rope. "now, are you ready?" said the middy. "feel up to hauling me back if i don't get through?" "yes." "and, mind, when i am through i shall not drag you. no, no, don't untie your end of the rope; you'll want that. now, do you understand?" "yes." "very well, then, as soon as i'm through i shall get on a dry rock and signal to you to come. then you'll slip in and swim to the rock again, and take a header off it. don't bungle it this time, and when you feel my touch at the rope, mind it's not meant to haul, only to guide you to where i'm sitting." "but what about our clothes?" said aleck, drearily. "bother our clothes! we want to save our skins and not our clothes. now, then, ready?" "yes, if you will go." "will go? look here!" the lad sprang, feet foremost, into the water, and rose directly from out of the depths, to strike out, and as aleck tried hard to follow his movements, he heard him reach the weedy rock, drag himself out, and the rope was gently drawn more and more through his hands as the middy succeeded in getting erect upon the stone, close to its edge. "see that?" he shouted. "yes." "that's what you ought to have done. now, then, slacken the line well. i'm taking a long, deep breath, ready for you know what. that's it. ready--ho!" the middy sprang into the air, and very dimly aleck saw that he curved himself over, and the next moment his hands divided the water, and he plunged in for his dive almost without a splash, while as the rope ran swiftly through his hands aleck felt a flash of energy run through him, and stood ready for any emergency that might befall. then a feeling akin to jealousy came over him, as he found the rope drawn out vigorously, and it seemed to him that the midshipman was a far better swimmer and diver than he. "but he hasn't come to the difficult part yet," he thought, the next moment. "he'll find that he can't keep down deep, and that while he is trying to beat the tangling wrack to right and left something like a current sucks him upward and forces him against the rocks that form the arch." then, full of eagerness so as to be ready to help the diver when his time of extremity came, aleck held the rope attached to him with both hands gingerly enough to let it pass easily through as wanted, but at the same time, in the most guarded way, ready to let it fall against his right shoulder when, as he intended, he turned sharply to walk swiftly back into the interior of the cavern and draw his companion back to the water's edge. then a curious thought struck him, consequent upon the rope beginning to run out faster and faster. "why, he's getting through," he cried, mentally, with a suggestion of disappointment in his brain at his comrade's better success. "he's getting through, and he'll run out all the line quickly now and draw me in. "well, so much the better," he thought. "if he can pass through i can, and perhaps in a few moments we shall both have escaped. "wish i'd done something about our clothes," he muttered then. "we shall want them, of course. but, i know; we can hide somewhere about the mouth of the cave till it gets dark, and then i can take him up to the den, and--" aleck did not finish the plan he was thinking out, for the rope had seemed to him to be running out to a far greater extent than he had taken it himself; but in reality it had gone away at about the same rate, so that something like the same quantity had been drawn through his hands when it suddenly ceased to glide, and directly after a spasm shot through the lad's brain, for it had stopped, and directly after the signal was given sharply, sending a thrill through him. he responded directly by clutching the rope tightly and beginning to run. it was only a beginning, for he was brought up short on the instant, and so sharply that he was jerked backwards. "just the same as i must have been," he said to himself, excitedly, after bearing hard against the rope and finding it quite fast. "it's like conger fishing," he thought, "and i must give him line." slackening out at once, he waited for a moment or two, and then tightened again, when to his great delight he found that he was no longer dragging at something set hard, but at a yielding body, which he drew easily to the edge of the pool by means of his long coil, before dropping it and running to seize and repeat the middy's performance upon himself. "he's quite insensible," he gasped, as he drew the dripping lad right out on to the driest part. "that i'm not," panted the middy; "but another minute would have done it." he remained silent then, panting hard and struggling to recover his breath, while aleck untied the line and set his chest at liberty to act as it should. then for some minutes nothing was said, the only sound heard being the middy's hoarse breathing as he laboured hard to recover his regular inspirations. at last he spoke in an unpleasantly harsh, ill-humoured way. "well, aren't you going to have another try? it's lovely. only wants plenty of perseverance." "not i," replied aleck. "you don't seem to have got on so very well." "got on as well as you did," snarled the middy. "ugh! it was horrid. just as if, when i felt that i could hold my breath no longer, i was suddenly seized and sucked into a great sink-hole, only the water was running up instead of down." "yes, that's just how i felt," said aleck. "you couldn't have felt so bad as i did," said the lad, irritably and speaking in the most inconsistent way. "i got my head rasped, too, against the stones overhead, and it's bleeding fast. look at it, will you?" aleck examined the place, after opening the door of the lanthorn. "it isn't bleeding," he said. "don't talk nonsense," cried the middy, irritably. "it smarts horribly, and i can feel the blood trickling down the back of my neck." "that's water out of your hair." "are you sure?" "yes, certain. i can't even see a mark on your head." "well, there ought to be," grumbled the lad. "aren't you going to have another try?" "no. are you?" "not if i know it," replied the middy. "once is quite enough for a trip of that kind." "i don't think it's possible to get out by swimming." "well, it doesn't seem like it; but the smugglers get in." "yes, at certain times." "then this is an uncertain time, i suppose!" said the middy, beginning to dress. "hadn't we better get round and have a good rub with a bit of sail?" asked aleck. "no; we can't carry our clothes without getting them wet, and if we don't take them it means coming all the way round here again. let's dress as we are; the salt water will soon dry." "very well," said aleck, and he followed his companion's example with much satisfaction to his feelings, listening the while to the middy's plaints and grumblings, for he had been under water long enough to make him feel something like resuscitated people, exceedingly discontented and ill-humoured. every now and then he burst out with some disagreeable remark. one minute it was against his shirt for sticking to his wet back; another time it was at aleck for getting on so fast with his dressing consequent upon his being drier; and then he began to abuse eben megg. "a beast; that's what he is. it's just as bad as murdering us with a knife or chopper, that it is." they were dressed at something like the same time, aleck having achieved his task quietly, the middy with a sort of accompaniment of grumbles and unpleasant remarks. "there," he said, at last; "that seems to have done me a lot of good. there's nothing like a good growl." "got rid of a lot of ill temper, eh?" said aleck, smiling to himself. "yes, i suppose that's it. but, i say, we're not going to try that way out again! i say it's perfectly impossible." "so do i," said aleck. "we should both have been drowned if it hadn't been for the rope." "that we should, for a certainty," replied aleck. "well, there's nothing to be done but to wait patiently for the coming of that low tide when a boat could come in, as eben megg said, and as it's plain it does, or else all these stores couldn't have been brought in." "and when it does come?" said the middy. "we shall swim or wade out, of course," said aleck. "no, we shan't," grumbled the middy. "you see if it doesn't come in the night, when we're asleep." "we must be too much on the look-out for that," said aleck. "it will not come all at once, but by degrees--lower and lower tides, till we get the one we want; and till then we shall have to be patient." "hark at him!" said the midshipman. "who's to be patient at a time like this? well, i'm beginning to feel warm and dry again; what do you say to getting back and having dinner, or whatever you like to call it? oh, dear! eating and drinking's bad enough on ship board, but it's all feasts and banquets compared to this." "we must try to improve it," said aleck. "i don't see why we shouldn't be able to catch fish." "what? you don't suppose fish would be such scaly idiots as to come into a hole like this?" "perhaps not, but i believe they'd be shelly idiots enough. i shouldn't be a bit surprised, if we had a lobster or crab pot thrown out here, if we caught some fine ones." "set one, then," said the midshipman, sourly. "perhaps there is one." "not likely," replied aleck. "never mind, let's make the best of what we've got and be thankful." "no, that i won't," cried his companion. "i'll make the best of what we've got as much as you like, but i must draw the line somewhere--i won't be thankful." "i will," said aleck, good-temperedly; "thankful enough for both." "come on," said the midshipman, gruffly. "wait a moment till i've coiled up the line loosely. we may want it, and it must be hung up to dry." this was done, and then after noting that the water was growing deeper in the direction of the sea entrance, the pair made their way right round by the head, stopped at the spring to have a hearty drink, and then pressed on, lanthorn in hand, to their resting-place, where, thoroughly upset by his adventure, the midshipman grumbled at everything till aleck burst into a hearty laugh. "hallo!" cried his companion, eagerly; "let's have it. got a bright idea as to how to get out?" "no," said aleck, "i was laughing at the comic way in which you keep on finding fault." "humph! well, i have been going it rather, haven't i?" "doing nothing else but growl." "that's the worst of having a nasty temper. don't do a bit of good either, does it?" "not a bit," said aleck. "makes things still worse." "think so?" aleck nodded. "yes, i suppose you're right. i'll drop it then. now, then, what do you say to having a good long snooze?" "i'm willing," said aleck, "for i'm thoroughly tired out." "put out the light then. my word, what a good thing sleep is!" said the midshipman, after they had lain in silence for a few minutes. "makes you able to forget all your troubles." there was a pause, and then the midshipman began: "i say it makes you able to forget all your troubles, doesn't it?" still silence. "don't you hear what i say?" no answer. "hanged if he isn't asleep! how a fellow can be such a dormouse-headed animal at a time like this i don't know." he ought to have known, a minute later, for he was lying upon his back, fast asleep and breathing hard, dreaming of all kinds of pleasant things, some of which had to do with being feasted after getting free. chapter twenty nine. the next day the two lads could only think of their attempt with a shudder, for their efforts, though they did not quite grasp the narrowness of their escape from death, had resulted in a peculiar shock to their system, one effect of which was to make then disinclined to do anything more than sit and lie in the darkness watching the faint suggestion of dawn in the direction of the submerged archway. then, too, they slept a good deal, while even on the following day they both suffered a good deal from want of energy. towards evening, though, aleck roused up. "look here, sailor," he said, "this will not do. we ought to be doing something." "what?" said the middy, sadly. "try again to drown ourselves?" "oh, no; that was a bit of madness. we mustn't try that again." "what then? it seems to me that we may as well keep going to sleep till we don't wake again." "what!" shouted aleck, his companion's words fully rousing him from his lethargic state. "well, of all the cowardly things for a fellow to say!" "cowardly!" cried the middy, literally galvanised into action by the sound of that word. "you want to quarrel, then, do you? you want to fight, eh? very well, i'm your man. let's light the lanthorn and have it out at once." "oh, very well," cried aleck. "there's a nice soft bit of sand yonder that will just do." the middy snorted like an angry animal and began to breathe hard, while aleck, feeling regularly angry now, felt for the tinder-box and matches, and began to send the sparks flying in showers. the tinder was soon glowing, the match well alight, and a fresh candle stuck in its place, the lanthorn being set upon a flat stone, with the door open, after which the two lads slipped off their jackets and rolled up their sleeves. "shut the lanthorn door, stupid," cried the middy. "what for?" "what for? to keep the candle from tumbling out the first time i knock you up against that stone." "i should like to catch you at it," said aleck. "if i shut the door how am i to see to hit you on the nose?" "you hit me on the nose? ha, ha!" cried the middy. "why, i shall have you calling out that you've had enough long before you get there." "we shall see," said aleck. "don't you think that you're going to frighten me with a lot of bounce. now, then, are you ready?" "yes, i'm ready enough. i'll show you whether i'm a coward or not. here, hold out your hand." "what for?" "to shake hands, of course, and show that we mean fair play." "i never stopped for that when i had a fight with the rockabie boys, but there you are." hands were grasped, and the midshipman was about to withdraw his, but it was held tightly, and somehow or another his own fingers began to respond in a tight clench. and thus they stood for quite a minute, while some subtle fluid like common-sense in a gaseous form seemed to run up their arms through their shoulders, and then divide, for part to feed their brains and the other part to make their hearts beat more calmly. at last aleck spoke. "i say," he said, "aren't we going to make fools of ourselves?" "i don't know," was the reply, "but i'll show you i'm not a coward." "i never thought you were a coward, but you'd say i was one if i told you that i didn't want to fight." "no, i shouldn't," said the middy, "because i can't help feeling that it is stupid, and i don't want to fight either." "then, why should we fight?" "oh," said the middy, "there are times when a gentleman's bound to stand upon his honour. we ought to fight now with pistols; but as we have none why, of course, it has to be fists. besides, i don't suppose you could use a pistol, and it wouldn't be fair for me to shoot you." "i daresay i know as much about pistols as you do," said aleck. "i've shot at a mark with my uncle. but we needn't argue about that." "no, we've got our fists, so let's get it done." but they did not begin, for the idea that they really were about to make fools of themselves grew stronger, and as they dropped their hands to raise them again as fists, neither liked to strike the first blow. suddenly an idea struck aleck as he glanced sidewise to see their shadows stretched out in a horribly grotesque, distorted form upon the dark water, and he smiled to himself as he saw his fists elongated into clubs, while he said, suddenly: "i say, i don't want, you to think me a coward." "very well, then, you had better show you are not by fighting hard to keep me from giving you an awful licking." "you can't do it," said aleck; "but _i_ say i don't want to fight." "perhaps not; but you'll soon find you'll have to, or i shall call you the greatest coward i ever saw." "but it seems so stupid when we are in such trouble to make things worse by knocking one another about." "well, yes, perhaps it does," replied the middy. "suppose, then, i do something brave than fighting you," said aleck. "what could you do?" "put the rope round me again and try to swim out. that would be doing some good." "you daren't do it?" "yes, i dare," cried aleck, "and i will if you'll say that it's as brave as fighting you." "i don't know whether it's as brave," said the middy, "but i'd sooner fight than try the other. ugh! i wouldn't try that again for anything." "very well, then, i will," said aleck, stoutly. "you must own now that it's a braver thing to do than to begin trying to knock you about. there, put down your hands, i'm not going to fight." "you're beaten then." "not a bit of it. i'm going to show you that i'm not a coward." "no, you're not," said the middy, after a few minutes' pause, during which aleck ran to the rock and brought back the now dry rope in its loose coil. to his surprise the middy took a step forward and caught hold of it tightly to try and jerk it away. "what are you going to do?" said aleck, in wonder. "put it back," said the middy. "why?" "because you're trying to make me seem a coward now." "i don't understand you." "do you think i'm going to be such a coward as to let you do what i'm afraid to do myself?" "then you would be afraid to go again?" "yes, of course i should be. so would you." "yes, i can't help feeling horribly afraid; but i'll do it," said aleck. "to show you're not a coward?" "partly that, and partly because i fancy that perhaps i could swim out this time." "and i'm sure you couldn't," said the middy, "and i shan't let you go." "you can't stop me?" "yes, i can; i won't hold the rope." "then i'll go without." "why, there'll be no one to pull you back if you get stuck." "i don't care; i'll go all the same." "then you are a coward," cried the middy, triumphantly. "mind what you're about," said aleck, hotly. "don't you say that again." "yes, i will. you're a coward, for you're going to try and swim out, and leave your comrade, who daren't do it, alone here to die." "didn't think of that," said aleck. "there, i won't try to go now; so don't be frightened." "what!" aleck burst out laughing. "i say," he cried, "what tempers we have both got into! let's go and do something sensible to try and work it off." "but there's nothing we can do," said the middy, despondently. "yes, there is. as the lanthorn's alight, let's go and have a try at the zigzag." the middy followed his companion without a word, and they both climbed up wearily and hopelessly to have another desperate try to dislodge the stones, but only to prove that it was an impossible task. literally wearied out, they descended, after being compelled to desist by the candle gradually failing, while it had gone right out in the socket before they reached the cave. but their utter despondency was a little checked by the sight of the soft pale light which seemed to rise from the water more clearly than ever before; and aleck said so, but the middy was of the opposite opinion. "no," he said. "it only seems so after the horrible darkness of that hole." "i don't know," said aleck; "it certainly looks brighter to me. see how clear the arch looks with the seaweed waving about! i say, sailor, i've a great mind to have another try." "no, you haven't," growled the middy, wearily. "i can't spare you. i'm not going to stop here and die all alone." "you wouldn't, for i should drag you out after me." "couldn't do it after you were drowned." "i shouldn't be drowned," said aleck, slowly and thoughtfully. "be quiet--don't bother--i'm so tired--regularly beat out after all that trying up yonder; and so are you. i say, aleck, i'm beginning to be afraid that we shall never see the sunshine again." aleck said nothing, but lay gazing sadly at the dimly-seen arch in the water, and followed the waving to and fro of the great fronds of sea-wrack, till he shuddered once or twice and seemed to feel them clinging round his head and neck, making it dark, but somehow without causing the horrible, strangling, helpless sensation he had suffered from before. in fact, it seemed to be pleasant and restful, and by degrees produced a sensation of coolness that was most welcome after the stifling heat at the top of the zigzag, which had been made worse by the odour of the burning candle. then aleck ceased to think, but lay in the cool, soft darkness, till all at once he started up sitting and wondering. "why, i've been asleep," he said to himself. "here, sailor." "yes; what was that?" "i don't know. i seemed to hear something." "have you been asleep?" "yes; have you?" "i think so," said the middy. "we must have been. but, i say, it really is much lighter this time." "so i thought," said aleck. "and, i say, i can smell the fresh seaweed. is the arch going to be open at last?" _phee-ew_! came a low, plaintive whistle. "hear that?" cried aleck, wildly. "yes, i heard it in my sleep. the place is getting open then. there it goes again. it must be a gull." "no, no, no!" cried aleck, wildly, his voice sounding cracked and broken from the overpowering joy that seemed to choke him. "don't you know what it is?" "a seagull, i tell you." "no, no, no! it's tom bodger's whistle. you listen now." there was a dead silence in the cavern, save that both lads felt or heard the throbbing in their breasts. "i can't hear anything," said the middy, at last. "what was it?" "nothing," gasped aleck. "i can't--can't whistle now." but he made another effort to control his quivering tips, mastered them into a state of rigidity, and produced a repetition of the same low, plaintive note that had reached their ears. directly after, the whistle was repeated from outside, and, as aleck produced it once more in trembling tones, the lads leaped to their feet, for, coming as it were right along the surface of the water, as if through some invisible opening, there came the welcome sound: "ship ahoy! master aleck--a--" _suck--suck--flop--flop_--a whisper, and then something like a sigh. "it is tom bodger!" cried aleck, in a voice he did not know for his own, and something seemed to clutch him about the throat, and he knelt there muttering something inaudible to himself. chapter thirty. _phee-ew! phee-ew_! the peculiar gull-like whistle once more, to run in a softened series of echoes right up into the farthest part of the cavern. then there came the peculiar sucking, ploshing sound as of water filling up an opening. a minute later "ship ahoy!" from outside. "tom! ahoy!" yelled aleck, wildly. "ahoy, my lad! ahoy!" and something else was cut off by the soft sucking splash of water again, while to make the lads' position more painful in their efforts to reply, twice over they were conscious of the fact that when they replied with a shout their cries did not pass through the orifice, which the water had closed. but the tide was ebbing steadily, and the tiny arc of the rocks which showed the way in was growing more open, so that at the end of a few minutes they heard plainly: "where'bouts are yer, my lad?" "in here!" shouted aleck, but only in face of a dull _plosh_. another minute and the question was repeated, but from whence the lads could hardly tell, for instead of coming from the cavern mouth the words seemed to come from far up the cavern, to be followed by another splash. it was quite half a minute before, taught by experience, aleck shouted: "shut in here! cave!" there was another plosh, but they had proof soon after that the words had been heard, for the hail now came: "are yer 'live, my lad?" "ye-es," cried aleck. "quite!" and then he could in his excitement hardly control a hysterical laugh at the absurdity of the question and answer. "thought yer was dead and gone, my lad," came now, in company with a fainter splashing. "tom bodger!" "hullo!" came quickly. "we're shut in by the water." "who's `we'?" "the cutter's midshipman and i." "wha-a-at! then there arn't nayther on yer dead and drownded, my lad?" "no-o-o-o!" "then i say hooray! hooray! but can't you swim out?" "no. we've tried." "ho!" came back. "wait a bit." "what for? can't you get help for us, tom?" "ay, ay, my lad," came back. "but jest you wait." then there was silence, and the prisoners joined hands, to kneel, waiting and listening. "he has gone for help," said the middy. "yes, and before he gets back that little hole that let his words in will be shut up again." "never mind," said the middy, sagely; "he knows we're here." "oh, but why didn't i think to tell him of the zigzag path? i daresay they could get the stones out from above where they were pushed in." "perhaps he hasn't gone," said the middy. "ahoy there!" there was a peculiar sound as of the water rising up and gurgling along a channel, while a lapping sound at their feet told that the water inside was being put in motion. "why, he has dived down," cried aleck, suddenly, "so as to try and get to us." "tchah! nonsense. that squat little wooden-legged man couldn't swim." but at the end of what seemed to be a long period they heard a louder splash, followed by another, and the illuminated water began to dance and a curious ebullition to be faintly seen. then there was a panting sigh, and a familiar voice cried: "where'bouts are yer?" "here, here!" cried the lads, in a breath, and the next minute they were conscious of something swimming towards them, which took shape more and more till they saw that it was a man swimming on his back. "what cheer-ho!" came now, in the midst of a lot of splashing. "lend us a hand, my lads, for i'm all at sea here. thanky! steady! let's get soundings for my legs. mind bringing that lanthorn a bit forrarder? that's right; now i can see where i go." tom bodger had managed to find a hold for his stumps, and stood shaking himself as well as he could for the fact that he had a lad holding tightly on to each hand. "well, yer don't feel like ghostses, my lads!" cried the sailor. "this here's solid flesh and bone, and it's rayther disappynting like." "disappointing, tom?" "yes, master aleck. yer see, your uncle says: `you find the poor lad's remains, bodger,'--remains, that's what he called it--`and i'll give yer a ten-pound bank o' hengland note,' he says." "oh!" cried aleck, passionately. "and the orficer there from the revenoo cutter, he says: `you find the body o' young mr wrighton of the man-o'-war sloop, and there'll be the same reward for that.'" "humph! i should have thought i was worth more than that," said the midshipman. "ay, ay, sir!" cried tom bodger, who was squeezing his shirt and breeches as he talked. "so says i, sir; but it's disappynting, for i arn't found no corpses, on'y you young gents all as live-ho as fish; and what's to come o' my rewards?" "oh, bother the rewards, tom! how did you get in?" "dove, sir, and swimmed on my back with my flippers going like one o' the seals i've seen come in here." "but we tried to do that, both of us, and we couldn't do it." "dessay not, sir. didn't try on the right tide." "nearly got drowned, both of us, my lad," said the midshipman. "but don't let's lose time. you show the way, and we'll follow you." "no hurry, sir; plenty o' time. be easier bimeby. tide's got another hour o' ebb yet. but how in the name o' oakum did you two gents manage to get in here? i knowed there was a hole here where the seals dove in, and i did mean to come sploring like at some time or other; but it's on'y once in a way as you can row in." aleck told him in a few words, and the man whistled. "well, i'll be blessed!" he said. "i allus knowed that eben megg and his mates must have a store hole somewhere, and p'raps if i'd ha' lay out to sarch for it i might ha' found it out. but i didn't want to go spying about and get a crack o' the head for my pains. the revenoo lads'll find out for theirselves some day; and so you young gents have been the first?" "stop a minute," said aleck. "what about eben megg?" "oh, they cotched him days ago, sir--cutter's men dropped upon him while they was hunting for this young gent's corpus, and he's aboard your ship, sir, i expect, along with the other pressed men." "but haven't they been looking for me any more?" said the middy. "no, sir; they give it up arter they'd caught eben; and, as i telled yer, there was a reward offered for to find yer dead as they couldn't find yer living." "so that's why eben didn't come back, sailor," said aleck, quietly. "yes," said the middy, "but why didn't he tell the cutter's officer that we were shut up here?" "too bitter about his capture, perhaps, or he might not have had a chance to speak while he was ashore." "i don't believe it was that," said the middy. "i believe he wouldn't tell where their storehouse was." "and so this here's the smugglers' cave, is it?" said tom bodger, looking about. "but where's t'other way out, sir?" aleck explained that the smuggler had closed the way up. "well, sir, it's a wery artful sort o' place, i will say that. lot o' good things stored up here, i s'pose?" "plenty." "hah! is there now? well, it means some prize money, mr wrighton, sir, and enough to get a big share." "and i deserve it, my man," said the middy, with something of his old consequential way; "but let's get out into the daylight. i'm afraid-- i'm--that is, i shouldn't like to be shut in again." "no fear, sir. you trust me. lot more time yet. 'sides, the tide'll fall lower to-morrow morning; but i'll get you out as soon as i can, for your poor uncle's quite took to his bed, master aleck." "uncle has?" "yes, sir. chuffy sharp-spoken gent as he always was, blest if he didn't say quite soft to me, with the big tears a-standing in his eyes: `it's all over, bodger, my man,' he says, `and you may have the poor boy's boat, for i know if he could speak now he would say, "give it to poor old tom."'" "poor old uncle!" said aleck, huskily. "then you're cheated again, tom, and have lost your boat?" "and hearty glad on it, too, master aleck, say i. a-mussy me, my lad, what would the den ha' been without you there? the captain wouldn't ha' wanted me. i don't wonder as i couldn't rest, but come over here every morning and stayed till dark, climbing about the rocks and cliffs, with the birds a-shouting at me and thinking all the time that i'd come arter their young 'uns--bubblins, as we calls 'em, 'cause they're so fat." "and so they haven't been looking for me any more?" said the middy, in a disappointed tone. "no, sir; not since they telled me to keep on looking for yer. you see, everybody said as you must ha' gone overboard and been washed out to sea, same as the captain felt that you'd slipped off the cliff somewhere, master aleck, and been drowned. but i kep' on thinking as both on yer might ha' been washed into some crivissy place and stuck there, and that's why i kep' on peeking and peering about, hoping i might come upon one of you if i didn't find both; and sure enough, here you are. i don't know what you gents think on it, but i call it a right-down good morning's work for such a man as me." "but you did not walk over from rockabie this morning, my man?" said the middy. "not walk over, sir? oh, yes, i did." "you must be very tired?" "not me, sir. my legs never get tired; and yet the queerest thing about it is that they allus feel stiff." "don't talk any more, tom," said aleck. "i want to get to business. now, then, don't you think we might get out now?" "well, yes, sir; p'raps we might. it's a good deal lighter, you see, since i come, but she's far from low water yet, and it'll come much easier when tide's right down. but can't i have a bit of a look round, master aleck?" "of course," was the reply, and the sailor grinned and chuckled as he ran his eyes over what he looked upon as a regular treasure house for anyone whose dealings were on the sea with boats. the cavern was lighter now than the two prisoners had ever seen it, so that tom was able to have a good look; and he finished off by trotting down as near to the mouth of the great place as he could, and then turning to aleck. "there," he said, "i think we might venture out now. you can swim out now without having to dive. what do you say, mr wrighton, sir?" "i think we ought to go at once." "come on, then, gen'lemen. you'll get a bit wet, but there's a long climb arterwards up the hot rocks in the sunshine, and you'll be 'most dry 'fore you get home." "oh, never mind the water," cried the middy. "my uniform's spoilt. i'm ready to do anything to get out of here." "will you go first, sir?" cried tom bodger. "no, you found the way in," was the reply, "so lead the way out." "right, sir. ready?" "then come on." the man took three or four of his queer steps, to stand for a moment on the edge of the deep pool, and then went in sidewise to swim like a seal for the low archway, whose weed-hung edges were only a few inches above the surface of the water, and as he reached it to pass under he laid his head sidewise so that the dripping shell-covered weed wiped his cheek. there had been no hesitation on the part of the prisoners. aleck sprang in as soon as their guide was a few feet away, and the middy followed, both finding their task delightfully easy as they swam some fifty yards through a low tunnel, whose roof was for the most part so close to the surface that more than once, as the smooth water heaved, aleck's face just touched the impending smoothly-worn stone. but there were two places, only a few yards in, where the arch was broken into a yawning crack, from which the water dripped in a heavy shower. "look up as you come along here," cried aleck to his companion, and then he shuddered, for his voice raised a peculiar echo, suggesting weird hollows and tunnels, while as he increased his strokes to get past and the middy came under in turn, he shouted again after his leader: "why, tom, that must be where the water snatched us up and nearly drowned us." five minutes later all three were swimming for a rough natural pier, and tom bodger gave his head a sidewise wag towards another low cavernous arch. "'nother way in there," he said. "jynes the one we came out of. you must have seen how the waves dance and splash there in rough weather, master aleck?" "no," was the reply. "i've only seen that it's a terribly rough bit of coast. i never came down here, and of course i was never out in my boat when it was rough." "course not, sir. it is a coarse bit. i had no end of a job to get down, and i spect that it's going to be a bit worse going up agen. what do you say to sitting up yonder in the sunshine on that there shelf? the birds'll soon go. you can make yourselves comf'able and get dry while i go up and get a rope. dessay i can be back in an hour or so." "no," cried the lads, in a breath. "we'll climb it if you can." climb up the dangerous cliff they did by helping one another, and with several halts to look down at the still falling tide; and in one of these intervals aleck exclaimed: "but i still can't see how the smugglers could run a boat up and row into that cavern." "course they couldn't row, sir," replied tom, "on'y shove her in. but don't you see what a beautiful deep cut there is? bound to say that at the right time they'd run a big lugger close in. look yonder! it's just like the way into a dock, and sheltered lovely. ah, they're an artful lot, smugglers! you never know what they're after." it was about an hour later that, without passing a soul on their solitary way, the party reached the cliff path down into the den garden, where no dunning was visible, and a chill came over aleck like a warning of something fresh in the way of disaster that he was to encounter. it came suddenly, but it was as suddenly chased away by his hearing the voice of jane crooning over the words of some doleful old west country ballad, not of a cheering nature certainly, but sufficient to prove that someone was at the house. "wait here," he whispered to his companions. "let me go and see my uncle first." he crept in unheard, glanced round to see that the lower room was empty, and then went softly up the stairs, his well-soaked boots making as little noise as if they had been of indiarubber. the study door yielded to a touch, and he stood gazing at the figure of his uncle, seated in his usual place, but with pen, ink and papers thrust aside so that he could bow his grey head down upon his clasped hands. "asleep, uncle?" said the lad, softly. "aleck, my boy!" cried the old man, springing up to catch the lost one in his arms. "heaven be thanked! i was mourning for you as dead." chapter thirty one. comfortably settled down at the den as aleck's guest and made most welcome, the middy felt not the slightest inclination to stir; but all through life there is to all of us the call of duty, and the lad was ready to recommence his, and eager to report to headquarters his discovery of the notorious smugglers' cave. enquiries at rockabie proved that the sloop and cutter had both sailed, so a letter had to convey some of the information--"a despatch," the young officer called it; and after it was sent he constituted himself guardian of the smugglers' treasure and headed a little expedition, composed of aleck and tom bodger, to examine the land way down into the cave, which they approached by a rope provided by tom, who said he didn't "keer" about jumping down from that there shelf, because his legs were so stiff. then a descent was made by the sloping zigzag paths, till the corner was reached, about half way down, where the way was blocked. "only fancy," said aleck. "how we did fight to get out from below, and it's all as simple as can be from up here." and so it was, for three stones had been drawn down the slope, one partly over the other and the other fitting nicely to either, but only requiring a little effort to pull them back, _after_-- yes, it was after one smaller wedge-shaped piece had been lifted out by tom bodger, this wedge being like a key stone or bolt to hold the others in place so tightly that it was impossible so shift them from below. tom bodger had just removed the last stone into a big recess, which had probably been formed by the smugglers to hold them, when the middy turned round sharply upon a dark figure which had, unseen before, been following them. "hallo!" he cried. "who are you?" "it's me, sir--dunning, sir--the captain's gardener, sir. come to see, sir, if i could be of any help." "no," cried aleck, sharply, "you've come to play the spy, you deceitful old rascal." "oh, master aleck, sir!" whined the man, "how can you say such a thing?" "because i know you by heart. you've been hand and glove with the smugglers all through." "master aleck, sir!" "that will do," cried the lad, indignantly. "i've never told my uncle what i've seen or heard, but i must now, and you know what to expect." "master aleck!" "that's it, is it?" said the middy. "he's one of the gang, and of course i shall make him a prisoner as soon as we get out. here, you, bodger, i order you in the king's name to take that man prisoner." "ay, ay, sir," cried tom, and he made a move towards the gardener. but it was ineffective, for the man suddenly thrust out a foot and hooked one of the pensioner's wooden legs off the stone floor of the slope, giving him a sharp thrust in the chest at the same time. there is a game called skittles, or, more properly, ninepins, in which if you strike one of the pins deftly it carries on the blow to the next, which follows suit, and so on, till the blow given to number one has resulted in all nine being laid low. "jes' like ninepins, master aleck," said tom, "only there's nobbut three on us. i beg your pardon, sir; i couldn't help it." "no, no, no, no, no!" roared aleck, each utterance being a part of a hearty laugh, for the gardener had knocked tom over, tom had upset him, and the blow he carried on to the midshipman had sent the latter rolling down the slope, to come raging up as soon as he could gain his feet and climb back. "what are you laughing at?" he shouted. "it was so comic," panted aleck, wiping his eyes. "shall i go arter him, sir?" said tom. "no, no. he is half way to the top by now." "yes, yes," cried the middy; "and look sharp, or perhaps he'll be trying to shut us up again." "not he," said aleck; "he won't stop till he is safe. i don't believe we shall see the lazy old scoundrel again." aleck's words proved to be true. later on he and his party made their way up to the smugglers' cottages, to find them deserted by everyone save eben megg's wife, with three pretty little dark-eyed children. the woman looked frightened, and burst into tears as she recognised the young officer, who began at her at once. "you're a nice woman, you are," he said. "what have you got to say for yourself for keeping me a prisoner below there?" "i--i only did what i was told, sir," faltered the woman. "were you told to fasten us down there to starve?" cried the middy. "fasten?--to starve? were you left down there, sir, when my eben was knocked down and carried away?" "of course we were." "i didn't know, sir," sobbed the woman. "if i had, though i was in such trouble, i'd have come and brought you all i could, same as i did before, sir. indeed i would." "humph!" grunted the middy. "well, you did feed me as well as you could. so you've lost your husband, then?" the woman tried to answer, but only sobbed more loudly. "there, don't cry," said the middy, more gently. "we shall make an honest man of him." "and what's to become of my poor weans, master aleck? we shall all be turned out of the cottage." "i don't think you will," said aleck. "i daresay uncle won't let anyone interfere with you." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ there were busy days during the next week, with men from the sloop and cutter, brought back by the middy's "despatch," going up and down the zigzag like so many ants, bringing up the principal treasures of the cave, the sailors working with all their might over the greatest haul they had ever made, and chuckling over the amount of prize money they would have to draw. there was a fair amount of work done and much recovering of valuable gear during two days of the next spring tide, when aleck and his companion were rowed in one of the sloop's boats along a narrow channel of deep water right up the cavern. they were poled in, and found so much to interest them that they stayed too long and were nearly shut in once more, for the tide rose fast, and the men had to lie down in the boat and work her out with their hands, and then a wave came in and lifted her, jamming the gunwale against the slimy rock and weeds, threatening a more terrible imprisonment still; but just as matters were very serious and the lives of the party in imminent danger, the water sank a few inches and enabled the men to thrust the boat on into daylight. that was the last time a boat entered that cave, for during a terrific storm in the ensuing winter the waves must have loosened and torn up some of the supporting stones of the archway, letting down hundreds of tons of rock in a land slide, so that where the cave had lain like a secret, the waves played regularly at high water, working more and more at every tide to lay bare the gloomy recesses to the light of day. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ aleck saw no more of willie wrighton, midshipman, for two years, and then he came on a visit to the den. the next morning the two young men went for a stroll along the cliffs to have a look at the rocky chaos which had once formed the cave. as they came near they caught sight of a solitary figure down towards where the archway submerged had lain, and aleck made put that it was a big, well-built man-o'-war's man. "is that one of your fellows, sailor?" said aleck, with the appellation he had used when they were prisoners together. "yes, he came over with me from rockabie. capital fellow he is too. don't you know him again?" "no," said aleck, shading his eyes. "yes, i do. how he is changed! why, eben megg, i hardly knew you again without your beard." "glad to see you, master aleck," said the man, warmly. "mr wrighton here was good enough to bring me along with him to see the old place. i'm coming to make a long stay, sir, as soon as we're paid off, and-- and--there, i arn't good at talking--about them things," continued the man, huskily, "but god bless you and the captain, sir, for all you've done for my poor wife and bairns." "oh, nonsense! don't talk about it, eben," said aleck, huskily; "but, i say, young man, you nearly made an end of us by not coming back after you'd shut us in. what did you do it for--to kill us?" "to kill you both, sir? not me! i on'y wanted to make sure of you for an hour or two till i'd been home and scraped a few things together to take away with me. when i come back the cutter's lads dropped upon me, and i showed fight till a crack on the head knocked all the say out of me for about a fortnit. when i could speak they told me you'd both been found." "ahoy!" cried the middy, excitedly. "here comes your rase chap, old wooden pegs. i'd nearly forgotten him. does he live here?" "oh, yes, he's our gardener and odd man; been with us ever since dunning ran away. capital gardener he makes, sailor--digs a patch and then walks down it, making holes with his wooden legs to drop in the potatoes or cabbage plants, before standing on one leg and covering in the earth with the other. hallo, tom, what is it?" "sarvant, sir," said tom, pulling his forelock, man-o'-war fashion, to the young officer. "been showing eben megg how the cave was busted up, sir, in the storm. i beg pardon, sir; i've been scouring and swabbing out the boat 'smorning in case you and the luff-tenant wanted to go for a sail." "to be sure," cried aleck, eagerly. "here, we'll go for a run to rockabie and back, eben; come and take the helm and show mr wrighton how the smugglers could run a boat close in among the rocks. you know; the same as you did that night." "ay, ay, sir. come along, tom. shall we go round to the den gully and fetch her, sir? we could run in up the channel below here, and pick you up? bodger says the channel's quite clear." "do you think you could find your way in, eben?" said aleck, with a merry look. "find my way in, sir? ay, sir, if it was black as ink, or with my eyes shut." the end. cormorant crag, a tale of the smuggling days, by george manville fenn. _______________________________________________________________________ in this excellent book of smuggling life on the south coast of england, dating about , from some of the passing comments made by the author, we read of the adventures of two boys living on a small off-shore island. one is the son of the local doctor, the other the son of the squire, or owner of the land round about. the boys are friendly with an old fisherman called daygo. it is thought that he is of spanish descent, from the armada, but despite his name and appearance, he denies it. he likes taking the boys out fishing, but feeds then a load of yarns about the safety of a particular part of the cliffs, saying that vessels getting too close to it have been known to disappear. this is actually quite true in a way because there is a huge cave, quite big enough to accommodate a small vessel. the boys borrow daygo's boat, without his leave, and explore the forbidden cave. of course they discover all the recently smuggled goods. but a few days later they are in there, having discovered another way in by land, and are captured by the smugglers, who are french, and kidnapped. after that there are all sorts of exciting and perilous situations, and it looks likely that the boys will not come out of it alive. but they do, of course! a good read. nh _______________________________________________________________________ cormorant crag, a tale of the smuggling days, by george manville fenn. chapter one. a home at sea. "here, you, vince!" cried doctor burnet, pausing in his surgery with a bottle in each hand--one large and the other small, the latter about to be filled for the benefit of a patient who believed himself to be very ill and felt aggrieved when his medical adviser told him that he would be quite well if he did not eat so much. "yes, father." the boy walked up to the surgery door at the end of the long, low granite house. "upon my word!" cried the doctor; "it's lucky we have nobody here to see you. no one would ever take you for a gentleman's son." "why not, father?" "why not, sir! look at your trousers and your boots." vincent burnet looked down, and then up in his father's face. "trousers a bit tight across the knee," he said deprecatingly. "the cloth gave way." "and were your boots too tight at the toes, sir? look at them." "they always wear out there," said vincent; and he once more looked down, beyond the great tear across the right knee of his trousers, to his boots, whose toes seemed each to have developed a wide mouth, within which appeared something which looked like a great grey tongue. "i don't think this pair were very good leather, father," he said apologetically. "good leather, sir! you'd wear them out it they were cast iron.--ah, my dear!" a pleasant, soft face appeared at the door, and looked anxiously from father to son. "is anything the matter, robert?" "matter? look at this fellow's clothes and boots!" "oh, vince, my dear, how you have torn your trousers again!" "torn them again!--the boy's a regular scarecrow!" cried the doctor. "i will not pay for good things for him to go cliff-climbing and wading and burrowing in caves.--here: what are you going to do?" "take him indoors to sew up that slit." "no!" cried the doctor, filling up the bottle; and then, making a small cork squeak as he screwed it in, "take your scissors and cut the legs off four inches above the knees." "robert!" cried mrs burnet, in a tone of protest. "and look here, vince: you can give up wearing shoes and stockings; they are for civilised beings, not for young savages." "my dear robert, you are not in earnest?" "ah, but i am. let him chip and tear his skin: that will grow up again: clothes will not." "all right, father; i shan't mind," said the boy, smiling. "save taking shoes and stockings off for wading." "vincent, my dear!" cried his mother, "how absurd! you would look nice the next time michael ladelle came for you." "he'd do the same, mother. he always imitates me." "yes; you're a nice pair," said the doctor. "i never saw such young savages." "you're too hard upon them, robert," said mrs burnet, laying her arm on her son's shoulder. "it does not matter out in this wild place, where there is no one to see him but the fishing people; and see what a healthy, natural life it is for them." "healthy! natural!" cried the doctor sharply. "so you want to see him grow up into a sort of peter the wild boy, madam?" "no," said mrs burnet, exchanging an affectionate glance with her sun-tanned son. "peter the wild boy did not have a college tutor to teach him the classics, did he, vince?" "no, mother; he must have been a lucky fellow," said the boy, laughing. "for shame, vincent!" cried mrs burnet, shaking her head at the boy reprovingly. "you do not mean that." "i believe he does," said the doctor angrily. "i won't have any more of it. he neglects his studies shamefully." "no, no, indeed, dear," cried mrs burnet. "you don't know how hard he works." "oh yes, i do: at egging, climbing, fishing, and swimming. i'll have no more of it; he shall go over to some big school in germany, where they'll bring him to his senses." "i do everything mr deane sets me to do, father," said the boy; "and i do try hard." "yes--to break your neck or drown yourself. look here, sir, when are you going to pay me my bill?" "your bill, father? i don't know what you mean." "surgical attendance in mending your broken leg. that's been owing two years." "when my ship comes in, father," cried vince, laughing. "but, i say, don't send me to a big school, father. i like being here so much." "yes: to waste the golden moments of boyhood, sir." "but i don't, father," cried vince. "i really do work hard at everything mr deane sets me, and get it all done before i go out. he never finds fault." "bah! you're getting too big to think of going out to play with mike ladelle." "but you said, father, that you liked to see a fellow work hard at play as well as study, and that `all work and no play made jack a dull boy.'" "jack!" cried the doctor, with his face wrinkling up, as he tried to look very severe. "yes jack. but you're not jack: he was some common fisherman's or miner's boy, not the son of a medical man--a gentleman. there, go and dress that wound in his trousers, my dear." "and you won't send me off to school, father? i do like private study at home so much better!" "humph! i don't know whether you're aware of it, sir, but you've got a very foolish, indulgent father, who is spoiling you." "no, he did not know that," said mrs burnet, smiling, as she looked from one to the other proudly. "and it is not true, is it, vince?" "no, mother, not a bit of it," cried the boy. "and i feel sure that father will not send you away if you try hard to master all your lessons with mr deane." "well, it isn't your father who is spoiling you now, vince," said the doctor. "there: i'll give you another six months' trial; and, here-- which way are you going?" "round by the south cliff to look for mike ladelle." "ah, i daresay he's shut up in his father's study hard at work!" "no, father; i've been up to the house, and they said he had gone out." "there, go and get mended; and you may as well leave this medicine for me at james carnach's. it will be ready for you by the time your mother has done." "yes, father--i'll come," cried the boy; and he hurried out of the surgery. "ah!" said the doctor, "you undo all my work by your foolish indulgence." mrs burnet smiled. "i should be very miserable," she said, "if i could feel that all you say is true." "but see what a reckless young rascal he grows." "no, i cannot see that, dear," replied mrs burnet. "he is a thorough, natural boy, and i am glad to find him so fond of outdoor life." "and not of his studies?" "he works very hard at them, dear; and i'm sure you want to see him grow up manly." "of course." "and not a weak, effeminate lad, always reading books over the fire." "no, but--" "let him go on as he is, dear," said mrs burnet gently; "and show him that you take an interest in his sports." "spoil him more still?" "no: encourage him in his love of natural history." "and making the place untidy with his messing about. i say: by the way, have you been at that bottle of acid?" "i? no, dear." "then he has, for some of his sham experiments." "mother!" "coming, my dear," cried mrs burnet, in answer to the call; and she hurried into the house, leaving the doctor to write out the directions upon a label, so that jemmy carnach--fisherman when the sea was calm, and farmer when it was rough--might not make a mistake when he received his bottle of medicine, and take it all at once, though it would not have hurt him if he had. "nice boy!" muttered the doctor, as he made a noose in a piece of twine and carefully tied the label to the bottle; "but i wish the young plague had been a girl." at that moment vince was standing with one foot upon a stool, so that the knee of his trousers was within easy reach of his mother's busy fingers, while the bright needle flashed in and out, and the long slit was gradually being reduced in extent. "mind, mother! don't sew it to the skin," he said laughingly; and then, bending down, he waited his opportunity, and softly kissed the glossy hair close to his lips. "i say, mother," he whispered, "don't have me sent away. father doesn't mean it, does he?" "i don't think so, my dear; but he wants to see you try hard to grow into a manly, sensible lad." "well, that's what i am trying to do." mrs burnet took hold of her son's none too clean hand, turned it over, and held up the knuckles, which seemed to have been cracked across, but were nearly healed. "well, i couldn't help that, mother," protested the boy. "you wouldn't have had me stand still and let young carnach knock mike ladelle about without helping him?" "i don't like fighting, vince," said mrs burnet, with a sigh; "it seems to me brutal." "well, so it is, mother, when it's a big, strong fellow ill-using a small one. but it can't be brutal for a little one to stick up for himself and thrash the big coward, can it?" "that is a question upon which i cannot pretend to decide, vince. you had better ask your father." "oh, no! i shan't say anything about it," replied the boy, giving his short shock-brown hair a rub. "i don't like talking about it. nearly done?" "yes, i am fastening off the thread." there was a snip given directly after by a pair of scissors; vince gave his leg a shake to send the trouser down in its place, and then stooped and kissed the sweet, placid face so close to his. "there," he cried; "don't you tell me i didn't pay you for mending the tear." "ready, vince?" said the doctor, entering with the bottle neatly done up in white paper. "yes, father." "mind, sir! don't break it." "no, father: all right." the next minute vince was trotting sharply down the road towards the rough moorland, which he had to partly traverse before turning down a narrow track to the cliff edge, where, in a gap, half a dozen fishermen's cottages were built, sheltered from the strong south-west wind. "you will not send him away, robert?" said mrs burnet. "humph! well, no," said the doctor, wrinkling up his brow; "it would seem so dull if he were gone." chapter two. "two for a pair." "hullo, cinder!" "hullo, spoon!" "who are you calling cinder?" "who are you calling spoon?" "you. well, ladle then, if you don't like spoon." "and you have it scorcher if you like, old burnet." "burnet's a better name than ladelle." "oh, is it! i don't know so much about that, vincey. and it isn't pronounced as if it was going into a soup tureen. you know that well enough. it's a fine old french name." "of course i know your finicking way of calling it _lah delle_; but, if you're english, it's ladle. ha, ha, ha! ladle for frog soup, frenchy." "you won't be happy till i've punched your head, vince burnet." "shan't i? all right, then: make me happy," said vince to another sun-browned lad whom he had just encountered among the furze and heather--all gold and purple in the sunny islet where they dwelt--and in the most matter-of-fact way he took off his jacket; and then began a more difficult task, which made him appear like some peculiar animal struggling out of its skin: for he proceeded to drag off the tight blue worsted jersey shirt he wore, and, as it was very elastic, it clung to his back and shoulders as he pulled it over his head, and, of course, rendered him for the moment helpless--a fact of which his companion was quite ready to take advantage. "want to fight, do you?" he cried: "you shall have it then," and, grinning with delight, he sprang upon the other's back, nipping him with his knees, and beginning to slap and pummel him heartily. vince burnet made a desperate effort to get free, but the combination of his assailant's knees and the jersey effectively imprisoned him, and, though he heaved and tossed and jerked himself, he could not dislodge the lad, who clung to him like sinbad's old man of the sea, till he fell half exhausted in a thick bed of heather, where he was kept down to suffer a kind of roulade of thumps, delivered very heartily upon his back as if it were a drum. "murder! murder!" cried vince, in smothered tones, with the jersey over his head. "yes, i'll give you murder! i'll give you physic! how do you like that, and that, and that, doctor?" each question was followed by a peculiar double knock on back or ribs. "don't like it at all, mike. oh, i say, do leave off!" "shan't. don't get such a chance every day. i'll roast your ribs for you, my lad." "no, no: i give in. i'm done." "ah! that sounds as if you didn't feel sure. as your father says to me when i'm sick, i must give you another dose." "no, no, don't, please," cried vince: "you hurt." "of course i do. i mean it. how many times have you hurt me?" "but it's cowardly to give it to a fellow smothered up like i am." "'tisn't cowardly: it's the true art of war. get your enemy up in a corner where he can't help himself, and then pound him like that, and that." "oh!--oh!" "yes, it is `oh!' i never felt any one with such hard, bony ribs before; jemmy carnach is soft compared to you." "i say, you're killing me!" "am i? like to be killed?" "no. oh! i say, mike, don't, there's a good fellow! let me get up." "are you licked?" "yes, quite." "will you hit me if i let you get up?" "no, you coward." _bang, bang_. "oh! i say, don't!" "am i a coward, then?" "yes.--oh!" "now am i a coward?" "no, no. you're the bravest, best fellow that ever lived." "then you own you're beaten?" "oh yes, thoroughly. i say, mike, i can hardly breathe. honour bright!" "say, you own you're licked, then." "yes. own i'm licked, and--ah-h-ah!" vince gave a final heave, and with such good effect that his assailant was thrown, and by the time he had recovered himself vince's red face was reappearing from the blue jersey, which the boy had tugged down into its normal position. "oh! won't i serve you out for this some day, mikey!" he cried, as the other stood on his guard, laughing at him. "you said you were beaten." "yes, for to-day; but i can't afford to let you knock me about like this. i say, you did hurt." "nonsense! i could have hit twice as hard as that. pull your jersey over your head again, and i'll show you." "likely! never mind, old chap," said vince, giving himself a shake; "i'll save it up for you. phew! you have made me hot." "do you good," said mike, imitating his companion by throwing himself down at full length upon the elastic heath, to lie gazing at the brilliant blue sea, stretching far away to where a patch of amethyst here and there on the horizon told of other islands, bathed in the glowing sunshine. the land ended a hundred yards from where the two lads lay as suddenly as if it had been cut sharply off, and went down perpendicularly some two hundred and fifty feet to where the transparent waves broke softly, with hardly a sound, amongst the weedy rocks, all golden-brown with fucus, or running quietly over the yellow sand, but which, in a storm, came thundering in, like huge banks of water, to smite the face of the cliff, fall back and fret, and churn up the weed into balls of froth, which flew up, and were carried by the wind right across the island. "where's old deane?" said vince suddenly. "taken a book to go and sit on the rock shelf and read plutarch. i say, what a lot he does know!" "no wonder," said vince, who was parting the heather and peering down beneath: "he's always reading. i wish he was fonder of coming out in a boat and fishing or sailing." "so do i," said mike. "we'd make him do the rowing. makes us work hard enough." "i don't see why he shouldn't help us," continued vince. "father says a man ought to look after his body as well as his brains, so as always to be healthy and strong." "why did he say that?" said mike sharply. "because it was right," said vince. "my father's always right." "no, he isn't. he didn't know what was the matter with my dad." vince laughed. "what are you grinning at?" "what you said. he knew well enough, only he wouldn't say because he did not want to offend your father." "what do you mean?" "that he always sat indoors, and didn't take enough exercise." "pish! the doctor did not know," said mike sharply, and colouring a little; "and i don't believe he wants people to be well." "hi! look here!" cried vince excitedly. "lizard!" a little green reptile, looking like a miniature crocodile, disturbed by the lad's investigating hands, darted out from beneath the heath into the sunshine; and mike snatched off his cap, and dabbed it over the little fugitive with so true an aim that as he held the cap down about three inches of the wiry tail remained outside. "got him!" cried mike triumphantly. "well, don't hurt it." "who's going to hurt it!" "you are. suppose a brobdig-what-you-may-call-him banged a great cap down over you--it would hurt, wouldn't it?" "not if i lay still; and there wouldn't be a bit of tail sticking out if he did," said mike laughing.--"i'm not going to hurt you, old chap, but to take you home and put you in the conservatory to catch and eat the flies and blight. come along." "where are you going to put him?" "in my pocket till i go home. look here: i'll put my finger on his tail and hold him while you lift my cap; then i can catch him with my other hand." "mind he don't bite." "go along! he can't bite to hurt. ready?" "yes," said vince, stretching out his hand. "better let him go." "yes, because you don't want him. i do. now, no games." "all right." "up with the cap, then." vince lifted the cap, and burst out laughing, for it was like some conjuring trick--the lizard was gone. "why, you never caught it!" he said. "yes, i did: you saw its tail. i've got it under my hand now." "you've dropped it," cried vince. "lift up." mike raised his hand, and there, sure enough, was the lizard's tail, writhing like a worm, and apparently as full of life as its late owner, but, not being endowed with feet, unable to escape. "poor little wretch!" said vince; "how horrid! but he has got away." "without his tail!" "yes; but that will soon grow again." "think so?" "why, of course it will: just as a crab's or lobster's claw does." "hullo, young gentlemen!" said a gruff voice, and a thick-set, elderly man stopped short to look down upon them, his grim, deeply-lined brown face twisted up into a smile as he took off an old sealskin cap and began to softly polish his bald head, which was surrounded by a thick hedge of shaggy grey hair, but paused for a moment to give one spot a rub with his great rough, gnarled knuckles. his hands were enormous, and looked as if they had grown into the form most suitable for grasping a pair of oars to tug a boat against a heavy sea. his dress was exceedingly simple, consisting of a coarsely-knitted blue jersey shirt that might have been the great-grandfather of the one vince wore; and a pair of trousers, of a kind of drab drugget, so thick that they would certainly have stood up by themselves, and so cut that they came nearly up to the man's armpits, and covered his back and chest, while the braces he wore were short in the extreme. to finish the description of an individual who played a very important part in the lives of the two island boys, he had on a heavy pair of fisherman's boots, which might have been drawn up over his knees, but now hung clumsily about his ankles, like those of smugglers in a penny picture, as he stood looking down grimly, and slowly resettled his sealskin cap upon his head. "what are you two a-doing of?" he asked. "nothing," said mike shortly. "and what brings you round here?" "i've been taking jemmy carnach a bottle of physic; and we came round," cried vince. "why?" "taking jemmy carnach a bottle of physic," said the old fellow, with a low, curious laugh, which sounded as if an accident had happened to the works of a wooden clock. "he's mighty fond o' making himself doctor's bills. i'd ha' cured him if he'd come to me." "what would you have given him, daygo?" "give him?" said the man, rubbing his great brown eagle-beak nose with a finger that would have grated nutmeg easily: "i'd ha' give him a mug o' water out of a tar tub, and a lotion o' rope's end, and made him dance for half an hour. he'd ha' been `quite well thank ye' to-morrow morning." vince laughed. "ay, that's what's the matter with him, young gentleman. a man who can't ketch lobsters and sell 'em like a christian, but must take 'em home, and byle 'em, and then sit and eat till you can see his eyes standing out of his head like the fish he wolfs, desarves to be ill. well, i must be off and see what luck i've had." "come on, mike," cried vince, springing up--an order which his companion obeyed with alacrity. the old fellow frowned and stared. "and where may you be going?" he asked. "along with you," said vince promptly. "where?" "you said you were going out to look at your lobster-pots and nets, didn't you?" "nay, ne'er a word like it," growled the man. "yes, you did," cried mike. "you said you were going to see what luck you'd had." "ay, so i did; but that might mean masheroons or taters growing, or rabbit in a trap aside the cliff." "yes," said vince, laughing merrily; "or a bit of timber, or a sea chest, or a tub washed up among the rocks, mightn't it, mike? only fancy old joe daygo going mushrooming!" "you're a nice sarcy one as ever i see," said the man, with another of his wooden-wheel laughs. "i like masheroons as well as any man." "yes, but you don't go hunting for them," said vince; "and you never grow potatoes; and as for setting a trap for a rabbit--not you." "you're fine and cunning, youngster," said the man, with a grim look; and his keen, clear eyes gazed searchingly at the lad from under his shaggy brows. "sit on the cliff with your old glass," said vince, "when you're not fishing or selling your lobsters and crabs. he don't eat them himself, does he, mike?" "no. my father says he makes more of his fish than any one, or he wouldn't be the richest man on the island." the old man scowled darkly. "oh! sir francis said that, did he?" "yes, i heard him," cried vince; "and my father said you couldn't help being well off, for your place was your own, and it didn't cost you anything to live, so you couldn't help saving." a great hand came down clap on the lad's shoulder, and it seemed for the moment as if he were wearing an epaulette made out of a crab, while the gripping effect was similar, for the boy winced. "i say, gently, please: my shoulder isn't made of wood." "no, i won't hurt you, boy," growled the old fellow; "but your father's a man as talks sense, and i won't forget it. i'll be took bad some day, and give him a job, just to be neighbourly." "ha, ha!" laughed vince. "what's the matter?" growled the old man, frowning. "you talking of having father if you were ill. why, you'd be obliged to." "nay. if i were bad i dessay i should get better if i curled up and went to sleep." "send for me, joe daygo," cried mike merrily, "and i'll bring vince burnet. we'll give you a mug of water out of a tar-barrel, and make you dance with the rope's end." "nay, nay, nay! don't you try to be funny, young ladle." "_ladelle_!" shouted the boy angrily. "oh, very well, boy. only don't you try to be funny: young doctor here's best at that." all the same, though, the great heavy fellow broke into another fit of wooden chuckling, nodded to both, and turned to go, but back on the track by which he had come. vince gave mike a merry look, and they sprang after him, and the man faced round. "what now?" "we're coming out with you, joe daygo." "nay; i don't want no boys along o' me." "oh yes, you do," said vince. "i say--do take us, and we'll row all the time." "i don't want no one to row me. i've got my sail." "all right, then; we'll manage the sail, and you can steer." "nay; i don't want to be capsized." "who's going to capsize you? i say, do take us." the man scowled at them both, and filed his sharp, aquiline nose with a rough finger as if hesitating; then, swinging himself round, he strode off in his great boots, which crushed down heather and furze like a pair of mine stamps. but he uttered the words which sent a thrill through the boys' hearts--and those words were: "come on!" chapter three. a day at sea. daygo's big boots crushed something beside the heather and little tufts of fine golden gorse; for as they went along a slope the sweet aromatic scent of wild thyme floated to the boys' nostrils; and the bees, startled from their quest for honey, darted to right and left, with a low, humming noise, which was the treble, in nature's music, to the soft, low bass which came in a deep whisper from over the cliff to the right. and as the boys drew in long, deep draughts of the pure, fresh air which bathed their island home, their eyes were full of that happy light which spoke volumes of how they were in the full tide of true enjoyment of life in their brightest days. they could not have expressed what they felt--perhaps they were unconscious of the fact: that knowledge was only to come later on, in the lookings-back of maturity; but they knew that the moor about them seemed beautiful, and there was a keen enjoyment of everything upon which their eyes rested, whether it was the purple and golden-green slope, or the wondrous lights upon the ever-changing sea. "hi! look! there goes a mag," cried mike, as one of the brilliantly plumed birds rose suddenly from among some grey crags, and went off in its peculiar flight, the white of its breast of the purest, and the sun glancing from the purple, gold and green upon its wings and lengthy tail. "hooray!--another--and another--and another!" cried vince, who the next moment passed from the enjoyment of the beautiful in nature to the grotesque; for he covered his lips with one hand to smother a laugh, and pointed with the other to a huge square patch of drugget laboriously stitched upon the back of the solid-looking trousers to strengthen them for sitting upon the thwart of a boat, a rock, or a bush of furze, which, when so guarded against, makes a pleasantly elastic seat. but vince's companion did not find it so easy to control his mirth; for, as he gazed at the gigantic trousers in motion along the slope, their appearance seemed so comic, in conjunction with vince's mirthful face, that he burst into a hearty laugh. vince gave him a heavy punch in the ribs, which was intended to mean: "now you've done it: he won't let us come!" but old daygo did not look round; he only shook his head and shouted: "won't do, young ladle--_ladelle_: you're thinking about the tar water, but you can't be so funny as he." the boys exchanged glances, but did not try to explain; neither speaking till, to their surprise, the man turned suddenly to his right, and made for a huge buttress which ran out some fifty feet from the rugged edge of the cliff and ended in a soft patch of sheep-nibbled, velvet grass, upon which lay, partly buried, a couple of long iron guns, while the remains of a breastwork of stone guarded the edge of the cliff. "i say! where are you going?" cried vince. "eh? here," said the man, sitting down astride of one of the old cannon. "think i was going to pitch you off?" "no," said vince coolly, as he went close to the edge and looked down at the deeply-coloured purple, almost black, water at the foot of the cliff, where there was not an inch of strand. "wouldn't much matter if you did: it's awfully deep there, and no rocks. i could swim." "swim? wheer?" said the man sharply. "no man could swim far there. t'reble currents and deep holes, where the tide runs into and sucks you down if it don't take you out to sea. nobody's safe there." "might go all right in a boat," said vince, still gazing down, attracted by the place, where he had often watched before, and noted how the cormorants, shags, and rock-doves flew in and out, disappearing beneath his feet--for the great buttress overhung the sea, and its face could only be seen by those who sailed by. "nay, nay; no one goes in a boat along here, boy. there, i'm going to fill my pipe and light it, and then we'll go. which o' you's got a sun-glass?" "i have," said vince quickly. "let's have it, then: save me nicking about with my flint and steel." the rough black pipe was filled, and the convex lens held so that the sun's rays were brought to a focus on the tobacco, which dried rapidly, crisped up, and soon began to smoke, when a few draws ignited the whole surface, and the man began to puff slowly and regularly as he handed back the glass. "it's nothing a boy could do," he said, with one of his fierce, grim looks, "so don't you two get a-glowering at a pipe like that." "get out!" said vince quickly. "i wasn't thinking about that. i was wondering who first found out that you could get fire from the sun." "some chap as had a spy-glass," said the old fellow, "and unscrewed the bottom same as i do when i wants a light. might ha' fired one o' these here with a glass if you put a bit o' tinder in the touch-hole." "yes," said vince, "if the french had come." "tchah!" ejaculated the man contemptuously: "all fools who put the guns about the island! no frenchies couldn't ha' come and landed here. wants some one as knows every rock to sail a small boat, let alone a ship o' war. all gone to pieces on the rocks if they'd tried." "same as the old spaniards did with the armada," said vince. "spannles! did they come?" "to be sure they did, and got wrecked and beaten and sunk, and all sorts." "sarve 'em right for being such fools as to come without a man aboard as knowed the rocks and currents and tides. dessay i could ha' showed 'em; on'y there's nowhere for 'em to harbour." "you'd better not try, if ever they want to come again," cried vince, with animation. "father says you are a spaniard." "me?" cried the man, starting. "not me. i'm english, flesh and bone." "no: father says spanish." "your father knows something about salts and senny," growled the old fellow, "but i know more about joe daygo o' the crag than any man going. english right down to my boots." "no: spanish descent, father says," persisted vince. "he says he goes by your face and your name." "what does he mean?" said the man fiercely. "good a face as his'n!" "and principally by your nose. he says it's a regular spanish one." "he don't know what he's talking about," growled the old man, rubbing the feature in question. "how can it be spanish when all the rest of me's english?" "it's the shape," continued vince; while mike lay on his back, listened, and stared up at the grey gulls which went sailing round between him and the vividly blue sky. "he says there isn't another nose in the island a bit like it." "tell him he'd better leave my nose alone. but he is right there: there arn't a nose like it--they're all round or stunted, or turn t'other way up." "then he says your name daygo's only a corruption of diego, which is spanish for james." "yah! it's daygo--joe daygo--and not james at all. he's thinking about jemmy carnach." "and he says he feels sure your people came over with the spanish armada, and you're descended from some sailor, named diego, who was wrecked." "you tell your father to mix his physic," grumbled the man sourly.--"here, are you two going to stop here talking all day?" "no," cried mike, springing up, his example being followed by vince, who was riding on the breech of the other gun. "then come on," growled the man, who made off now at a tremendous rate. away over furze, and up and down over sunny slopes, where the fallow-chats rose, showing their white tail coverts; in and out among bare patches of granite, which rose above the great clumps of gorse; and still on, till all before them was sea. then he began to rapidly descend a gully, where everything that was green was left behind, and they were between two vast walls of rock, almost shut-in by a natural breakwater stretching across, half covered by the sea and sand. below them, in a natural pool, lay a boat which might have been built and launched to sail upon the tiny dock of stone; for there was apparently no communication with the sea, so well was it shut off from where, as the bare and worn masses of grey rock showed, the waves must come thundering in when the west wind blew. old daygo went clumping down in his heavy boots, and the boys followed, soon to reach where stones as big as cheeses lay in a long slope, whither they had been hurled by the storms, and were rolled over till they were smooth and roughly round as the pebbles in a stream. next they had to mount a great barrier, which now hid the boat, and then descended to its side, where it lay in the pool, only about twice as big as itself, but which proved now to be the widening out of a huge crack in the granite rocks, and zigzagged along to the sea, full of clear water at all times, and forming a sheltered canal to the tiny dock. "some on 'em 'd like to have that bit o' harbour," said the man, with a grin which showed his great white teeth; "but it's mine, and always will be. jump in." the boys obeyed, and the man fetched a boat-hook with a very sharp, keen point, from where it hung, in company with some well-tarred ropes, nets, and other fishing-gear, in a sheltered nook amongst the rocks, and then joined them, and began to push the boat along the narrow waterway. at the first wave sent rippling outward by the movement of the boat, there was a rush and splash a dozen yards in front, as a shoal of good-sized fish darted seaward, some in their hurry leaping right out of the water, to fall in again with a plunge, which scared the rest in their flight. the boys sprang up excitedly, and daygo nodded. "ay," he said, "if we'd knowed they was there, we might ha' crep along the rocks and dropped a net acrost, and then caught the lot." "mullet, weren't they?" said vince. "yes: grey ones," said mike, shading his eyes, and following the wave made by the retiring shoal. "ay--grey mullet, come up to see if there was anything to eat. smelt where i'd been cleaning fish and throwing it into the water." the boat went on after the shoal of fish, in and out along the great jagged rift leading seaward, their way seeming to be barred by a towering pyramid of rock partly detached from the main island, while the sides of the fault grew higher and higher till they closed in overhead, forming a roughly-arched tunnel, nearly dark; but as soon as they were well in, the light shining through the end and displaying a framed picture of lustrous sea glittering in the sunlight, of which enough was reflected to show that the sides of the tunnel-like cavern were dotted with limpets, and the soft, knob-shaped, contracted forms of sea anemones that, below the surface, would have displayed tentacles of every tint, studded, as it were, with gems. the roof a few feet above their heads echoed, and every word spoken went whispering along, while the iron point and hook of the implement old daygo used gave forth a loud, hollow, sounding click as it was struck upon side or roof from time to time. "i say," cried vince suddenly, "we never tried for a conger along here, mike." "no good," growled daygo. "why?" said vince, argumentatively. "looks just the place for them: it's dark and deep." "ay, so it is, boy; and i daresay there arn't so many of they mullet gone back to sea as come up the hole." "then there are congers here?" "ay, big uns, too; but the bottom's all covered with rocks, and there's holes all along for the eels to run in, and when you hook 'em they twist in, and you only lose your line." he gave the boat a vigorous shove, and it glided out into the light once more, a hundred yards from the cliff, but with the rugged pyramid of granite through which they had passed towering up behind them, and its many shelves dotted with sea-birds lazily sunning themselves and stretching out their wings to dry. a few flew up, uttering peculiar cries, as the boat darted out of the dark arch beneath them; but, for the most part, they merely looked down and took no further notice--the boat and its little crew being too familiar an object to excite their fear, especially as its occupants did not land, and the egg-time was at an end. "now, then, up with the mast, lads!" said the old man; and cleverly enough the boys stepped the little spar by thrusting its end through a hole in the forward thwart and down into a socket fixed in the inner part of the keel. then the stays were hooked on, hauled taut, and up went the little lug-sail smartly enough, the patch of brown tanned canvas filling at once, and sending the boat gliding gently along over the rocks which showed clearly deep down through the crystal sea. "soon know how to manage a boat yourselves," said the old man grimly, as he thrust an oar over the stern and used it to steer. "manage a boat ourselves!" cried mike. "i should think we could--eh, vince?" "should think you could!" said the old man laughing. "ah! you think you could, but you can't. why, i hardly know how yet, after trying for fifty year. wants some larning, boys, when tide's low, and the rocks are bobbing up and down ready to make holes in the bottom. don't you two be too sure, and don't you never go along here far without me." the boys said nothing; but they felt the truth of the man's words as he steered them in and out among the jagged masses of granite, around which the glassy currents glided, now covering them from sight, now leaving bare their weed-hung, broken-out fangs; while on their left, as they steered north toward a huge projection, which ran right out on the far side of a little bay, the perpendicular cliffs rose up grey and grand, defended by buttresses formed by masses that had fallen, and pierced every here and there by caverns, into which the water ran and rushed with strange, hollow, whispering noises and slaps and gurglings, as if there were peculiar creatures far up in the darkness resenting being disturbed. every now and then the sea, as it heaved and sank, laid bare some rounded mass covered with long, hanging sea-weed, which parted on the top and hung down on either side, giving the stone the appearance of some strange, long-haired sea monster, which had just thrust its head above the surface to gaze at the boat, and once this was so near that mike shrank from it as it peered over the thwart, the boat almost grating against the side. "wasn't that too close?" said vince quickly. "nay," said the old man quietly: "if you didn't go close to that rock, you'd go on the sharp rock to starboard. there's only just room to pass." a minute later, as the two lads, were gazing in at the gloomy portals of a water-floored cave, in and out of which birds were flying, a dexterous turn of the oar sent the boat quickly round, head to wind, the sail flapped over their heads, and vince seized the boat-hook without being told, and, reaching over the side, hooked towards him a couple of good-sized pieces of blackened cork, through which a rope had been passed and knotted to prevent its return. this rope mike seized, hauled upon it, drawing the boat along, till it was right over something heavy, which, on being dragged to the surface, proved to be a great beehive-shaped, cage-like basket, weighted with stones, and provided with a funnel-like entrance at the top. "nothing!" cried mike; and the lobster-pot was allowed to sink back into the deep water among the rocks as soon as it had been examined to see if it contained bait. then there was another short run, and a fresh examination of one of these trap-like creels, with better success; for a good-sized lobster was found to be inside, and, after two or three attempts, vince seized it across the back, and drew it out as it flicked its tail sharply, and vainly sought to take hold of its aggressor with its formidable, pincer-armed claws. old daygo hooked the lobster towards him with the toe of his boot, clapped it between his knees, and cleverly tied its claws with pieces of spun yarn before dropping the captive into a locker in the stern, half full of water, which was admitted through holes in the side. a couple more lobster-pots were tried, without success, as the boat glided along by the side of the great granite cliffs, where the many black cormorants, which made the shelves and points their home, gave ample reason for the solitary island, far out among the rushing waters of the fierce currents, to be named cormorant crag by all who sailed that way, and avoided as the most dangerous rock-bound place off the coast. then came a change, the boat being steered to a channel which ran between a mighty mass of piled-up granite and the cliffs. this gap was about forty yards wide, and the pent-up waters rushed through, eddying and rippling, and taking the boat along at a rapid rate. but daygo steered close enough in to enable him to throw the little grapnel in the bottom of the boat on to the rocks nearest the cliffs. the iron caught at once, the line was checked and fastened, and the boat, swung now in the swift race close to a little keg, from which ran a row of corks, anchored in a calmer place across the tide. "down with the lug!" growled the old man. his crew lowered the sail quickly, and stowed it out of their way, for the chief feature of the little trip was close at hand. old daygo went forward now, shaking his head at the boys' progress of hauling in the trawl-net line themselves. "ay," he said; "you can take out the fish if there be any." and he methodically dragged the net, which had been stretched like so many walls of meshes overnight right across the swift waters of the tide, having been down long enough for the ebb and flow both to pass through it, with the consequence that, if fish had passed that way, they would have been pocketed or become netted among the meshes from either side. but a good deal of the net was dragged into the boat before the glittering scales of a fish were seen. "red mullet!" cried vince, as he pounced upon two small ones, looking as if clothed in mother-o'-pearl, speckled and stained with scarlet. these were taken out and thrown into the locker, with the result that the lobster flipped its tail and splashed about furiously. but by this time there was a golden gleam in the net drawn aboard; taking his turn, mike dragged out a grotesque-looking, big-headed john dory, all golden-green upon its sides, and bearing the two dark marks, as if a giant finger and thumb had been imprinted upon it. this, too, with its great eyes staring, and wide mouth gaping feebly, was thrown into the locker. then old daygo began to growl and mutter: for the meshes showed the heads only of a fine pair of red mullet, the whole of the bodies having been eaten away; and a minute later up came the cause, in the shape of a long, grey, eely-looking fish, which writhed and struggled violently to get free, but only entangled itself the more tightly. "nay, nay! let me come," cried the old man, as he saw the boys whip out their knives. "i don't want my net cut to pieces; i'll do it myself." he threw the portion of the net containing the captive on one side in the bottom of the boat, and hauled in the rest, which contained nothing but a sickly green, mottled-looking wrasse of about a couple of pounds weight. then the lines, cords, and anchors were got on board, and, leaving the boat to drift with the sharp current which carried it onward, the old man drew a long, sharp-pointed knife from its sheath, and cautiously turned over portions of the net. "oh, murder!" said mike. "well, how many poor fish has it murdered?" said vince. "mind it don't pike you, joe!" he shouted. "i'm a-goin' to, my lad; and you mind, too, when you ketches one. they'll drive their pike at times right through a thick leather boot; and the place don't heal kindly afterward. ha! now i've got you," he muttered, as, getting one foot well down over the keen spine with which the fish was armed, and which it was striking to right and left, he held down the head, and, carefully avoiding the threads of the net, stabbed it first right through, and then dexterously divided the backbone just at its junction with the skull, before, with the fish writhing feebly, he gradually shook it clear of the net, and stood looking viciously down at his captive. "won't eat no more mullet right up to the head, will he, lads?" "no; he has had his last meal," replied vince, turning the fish over and displaying its ugly mouth. "now, if it was six feet long instead of four, you'd call it a shark." "nay, i shouldn't; and he would be a dog-fish still. well, he's eat a many in his time. now his time's come, and something'll eat him. hyste the sail." the dog-fish--a very large one of its kind--was thrown overboard, the sail hoisted, and the boat began to glide onward toward the semicircular bay into which they were drifting, with the huge, massive promontory straight ahead. then the oar was pressed down, and the boat began to curve round. "hi! stop! don't go back yet!" cried vince. "eh? why not? no more lobster-pots down." "i want to sail across the bay, and get round by the scraw." "what!" cried the old man, looking at him fiercely. "you want to go there? well!" he turned his eyes upon mike, who encountered the fierce gaze, and said, coolly enough: "well, all right; i want to go too. i've only seen the place at a distance." "ay, and that's all you will ever see on it, 'less you get wings like one o' they shags," said the old man, pointing solemnly at a great black bird sunning itself upon an outlying rock. "they've seen it, p'r'aps; and you may go and lie off, if you're keerful, and see it with a spy-glass." "and climb along to the edge of the cliff, and look over?" said vince. "what!" cried daygo, with a look of horror. "nay, don't you never try to do that, lad; you'd be sure to fall, and down you'd go into the sea, where it's all by ling and whizzing and whirling round. you'd be sucked down at once among the rocks, and never come up again. ah! it's a horful place in there for 'bout quarter of a mile. i've knowed boats-- big uns, too--sailed by people as knowed no better, gone too near, and then it's all over with 'em. they gets sucked in, and away they go. you never hear of 'em again--not so much as a plank ever comes out!" "what becomes of them, then?" said vince, looking at the rugged old fellow curiously. "chawed up," was the laconic reply, as the old fellow shaded his brow, and gazed long and anxiously beyond the headland they were leaving on their left. "but i want to see what it's like," said mike. "ay, and so has lots o' lads, and men, too, afore you, youngster," said the old man solemnly; "and want's had to be their master. it arn't to be done." "well, look here," continued mike, for vince sat very thoughtfully looking from one to the other as if he had something on his mind: "steer as close in as it's safe, and let's have a look, then." "do what?" roared the old man fiercely. "steer as close in as it's safe," repeated mike. "we want to go, don't we, vince?" the lad nodded. "don't i tell you it's not safe nowhere? it's my belief, boys, as there's some'at 'orrid about that there place. i don't say as there is, mind you; but i can't help thinking as there's things below as lays hold o' the keel of a boat and runs it into the curren' as soon as you goes anywhere near--and then it's all over with you, for you never get back. your boat's rooshed round and round as soon as you get clost in, and she's washed up again the rocks all in shivers, and down they goes, just as if you tied a little 'baccy-box at the end of a string, and turned it round and round, and kep' hitting it again the stones." "oh! i don't believe about your things under water doing that," said mike--"only currents and cross currents: do you, cinder?" vince did not answer, but sat gazing beyond the great headland, looking very thoughtful. "ah, my lad! it's all very well for you to talk," said the old man solemnly; "but you don't know what there is in the wast deep, nor i don't neither. i've heerd orful noises come up from out of the scraw when the wind's been blowing ashore, and the roarings and moanings and groanings as come up over the cliffs have been t'reble." "yes, but it isn't blowing now," said mike: "take us in a bit, just round the point." "nay," said the old man, shaking his head; "i won't say i won't, a-cause i could never face your fathers and mothers again, for i should never have the chance. i'm getting an old 'un now, and it wouldn't matter so much about me, though i have made up my mind to live to 'bout a hunderd. i'm a-thinking about you two lads, as is only sixteen or so." "vince is only fifteen," said mike quickly, as if snatching at the chance of proving his seniority. "on'y fifteen!" cried the old man. "think o' that now--on'y fifteen and you sixteen, which means as you've both got 'bout seventy or eighty years more to live if you behave yourselves." "oh, gently!" cried mike; but vince did not speak. "and do you think i'm a-going to cut your young lives short all that much? nay. my name's joe daygo, and i'm english, and i won't do that. if i'd been what you two young fellows said--a spannle--it might be different, but it arn't. there--let's get back; and one on you can have the lobster, and t'other the dory and mullet." "then you won't take us round by the scraw?" "right, my lad; i won't." "then i tell you what: vince burnet and i'll get a boat, and have a look for ourselves. you're not afraid of things catching hold of the keel, are you, cinder?" "no," said the lad quietly, "i don't think i am." "well, i've warned you both; so don't you blame me if you don't come back," growled the old man. "why, how can we if we don't come back?" cried mike merrily. the old man shook his head, and sat gazing straight before him from under his shaggy brows, steering carefully, as the boat now had to make zigzag tacks among the rocks which dotted the surface away from the cliffs. then, in answer to a question from his companion, vince shook off his fit of thoughtfulness, and sat chatting about the various objects they saw, principally about the caves they passed, some of which were low, arched places, excavated by the sea, whose entrances now stood out clear, now were covered by a wave which came back foaming from the compressed air it had shut-in. then the conversation turned upon the birds, familiar enough to them, but always fresh and new. all along the face of these vast cliffs, and upon the outlying rocks, was a grand place for the study of sea-fowl. they were quite unmolested, save at nesting-time, and then interfered with but little. this was one of their strongholds, and, as the boat glided along back, the two lads set themselves to see how many kinds they passed. there were the two kinds of cormorant, both long, blackish-green birds, the one distinctive from the other by the clear white, egg-shaped marks on its sides close to the tail; rows of little sea-parrots, as they are familiarly called--the puffins, with their triangular bills; the terns, with their swallow-like flight; and gulls innumerable--black-headed, black-backed, the common grey, and the beautiful, delicately-plumaged kittiwakes, sailing round and round in the most effortless way, as if all they needed to do were to balance themselves upon widespread wing, and then go onward wherever they willed. there was plenty to see and hear round cormorant crag as the boat sailed on over the crystal water, till the archway was reached in the pyramid of granite, when down went the sail, and the boat was thrust onward by means of the hitcher, the tide having risen so high that in places the boys had to bend down. then once more they were in the long, canal-like zigzag, and soon after in the dock, where they loyally helped the old man carry up and spread the trammel net to dry, and turned to go. "here! stop a minute, youngsters," cried daygo. "what for?" "arn't got your bit o' fish." "oh, i don't want to take it, joe," said vince. "you've had bad luck to-day." "never you mind about that, my lad. i get lots o' fish, and i'm dead on some hammaneggs to-night. i said you two was to have that fish and lobster; so which is it to be? who says lobster?" nobody said lobster, and the boys laughed. "well, if you two won't speak out like men, i must do it myself. am i to divide the take, or are you?" "you give us what you like, joe," said vince, who made up his mind to ask his mother for a pot of jam as a return present, knowing as he did that the old man had a sweet tooth. "right, then; i will," cried daygo, rolling up his jersey sleeve, and thrusting a massive arm into the locker, out of which he drew the fish, the boat's stem having been lifted so that the water had run out. "there, look here: doctor burnet said as lobsters were undo-gestible things, so you'd better take that there one home with you, ladle. you take the fish, squire burnet; your mar likes 'em fresh, as i well know." mike took the lobster; and the old fellow took a little willow creel from where it was wedged in a granite crevice, laid some sea-weed at the bottom, and then packed in the fish. "thankye, daygo," said mike. "shall i pay you for it?" "if you wants to be bad friends, lad," said the old man gruffly. "much obliged, joe," said vince. "my mother will be so pleased!" "ah! and you're a lucky one to have such a mother," growled the great fellow. "wish i had." this brought a roar of laughter from the lads, and daygo looked fiercely from one to the other; then the bearing of his remark began to dawn upon him, and his countenance relaxed into a grim smile. "ah! i didn't see," he grumbled out. "yes, i do look a nice sorter youngster to have a mother to wash my face, don't i? but here, i say," he continued sternly, "you two didn't mean it about getting a boat and trying to see the scraw, did you?" "yes, to be sure," said mike sharply. "then look here!" cried the old man, bringing his great doubled fist down into his left palm, with the result that there was a loud crack as of a mallet falling upon a board; "i've give you both fair warning, and you'd better take it. you don't know what may come to you if you try it. i tell you, once for all, that you can't get to see it from the sea, and you can't get to see it from the shore. nobody never has, and nobody never can, and come back 'llve, as that there johnny dor'." "i don't believe any one's had the pluck to try," said mike stoutly. "ah! you're a unbelievin' young rip," growled daygo fiercely. "but lookye here: you don't want to upset my lady your mother, ladle, and you don't--" "look here, joe daygo, if you call me ladle again i'll kick you!" cried mike hotly. "nay, don't, lad--not yet, till you've practysed a bit on the rocks, 'cause you might hurten your toes. look here, young physic: you don't want to go and break your poor mother's heart, do you?" "of course not," said vince. "then don't you go, my lad--don't you go. there--better be off, both on you. weather's hot, and fish won't keep. tell 'em to put some salt in the pot with that lobster, ladle; and you'd better have your fish cooked to-night, doctor." vince turned round and nodded; but the ladle was sticking in mike's throat, and he stalked on without making a sign. daygo stood watching till the lads had climbed up out of his sight, and then he went and sat down on a block of granite, and began to rasp his nose on both sides with his rough, fishy finger, as if engaged in sharpening the edge of a feature which was sharp enough as it was; and as he rasped, he looked straight before him at the great rugged cliff. but he was not thinking of it in the least; his thoughts were half a mile away, at the most precipitous part of the coast--a spot avoided by shore-goer and seaman alike, from the ill name it bore, and the dangers said to attend those who ventured to go near, either climbing or in a boat. "nay," he said at last; "they won't go now." chapter four. cinder has discovery on the brain. "what are you thinking about, cinder?" said mike one day, when they were out together, after a long, hard morning's work up at the ladelles, over algebra and latin, with the tutor who was resident at the mount, the doctor sharing, however, in the cost. "you seem to have been so moony and stupid lately." "have i?" said vince starting. "yes, always going into brown studies. i know: you can't recollect that problem in euclid." "what, the forty-seventh? why, that's the one i recollect best. guess!" "what you were thinking about?" vince nodded. "give it up," said mike. "the scraw." "what about it? that it's guarded by water goblins and sea serpents and things, as old joe calls them?" "no," said vince quietly: "i've been thinking about it ever since we were out with him that day in the boat." "well, and what do you think?" said mike, who while he talked was trying how far he could jerk the flat pieces of oyster-shell, of which there were plenty near, off the cliff; but with all his skill--and he could throw far--they seemed, in the immensity around, as if they dropped close to the cliff foot. "i think, as i thought that day, that old joe doesn't want us to go there." mike was about to throw another shell, but he faced round at this with his curiosity roused. "why?" "ah! that's what i want to know; and i can't think of any reason why he shouldn't want us to go there. it seems so queer." "yes, it does seem queer," assented mike. "of course the fishermen believe in all kinds of old women's tales about ghosts and goblins, and ill-wishing and that sort of nonsense, just as the women do about old mother remming's being a witch; but old joe always seemed to me to be such a hard, solid old chap, who would laugh at a story about the fairies coming in the night and drying any one's cow." "well, i always thought something of that sort; but what he says must be right about the horrible currents among the rocks." "yes; there are fierce currents, i suppose, at some times of the tide." "well, that means it's dangerous." "of course it is, sometimes; but i'm not going to believe all he said." "nobody's ever been there." "indeed!" "oh yes, that's right," said mike. "i've often heard the men talk about what an awful place it was, and say they wouldn't go on any account." "and did that scare you?" "well, i don't think it did, because i always felt afterwards that i should like to climb somewhere along there till i could look over down to the sea. but of course you couldn't do it." "i don't know," said vince; "i should like to try." "but after what old joe daygo said, you couldn't go there in a boat." "couldn't you?" "no." "then how is it that old joe himself can go?" mike dropped down on the cliff turf beside his companion and stared at him. "he never did go!" "yes, he did, for i was up on the gull cliff one day watching the birds, and i saw joe go creeping round underneath in the boat, and sail across the bay, and then about the great point right in towards the scraw." "you mean it, cinder?" "yes." "it wasn't fancy?" "no; i'm sure." "then there is some reason why he doesn't want us there. i say!" "well?" "let's go and see." "you'd be afraid." "no; i wouldn't if you wouldn't." "i'll go if you will." "then we will. but how? boat?" "no; i say let's have a rope and try if we can't climb round by the cliff. it will be a jolly good adventure, and i keep feeling more and more as if i wanted to know what it all means." "then we will, and i'm ready to begin whenever you are. why, we may find a valley of gold." "or get a bad tumble." "we'll risk that." "then let's set to and make our plans." the boys ceased speaking, and became very thoughtful; and, as if to sharpen their ideas, each took out his knife--a long-hafted jack knife such as a sailor uses, fastened by a lanyard to his waist. there was rather a rivalry between them as to which had the biggest, longest-bladed and sharpest knife--a point that was never decided; and the blades had rather a hard time of it, for they were constantly being opened and whetted so as to maintain a razor edge. but, probably from not being expert, these razor-like edges were not maintained, and this was partly due to the selection of the sharpener upon which they were whetted. the sole of a boot is no doubt suitable, but not when it contains nails, which was the case with those worn by the lads. the rail of a gate is harmless, while a smooth piece of slate makes a moderately good enough soft hone. but when it comes to rubbing a blade upon a piece of gneiss, quartz crystal, or granite, the result is most unsatisfactory, the edge of the knife being prone to look like a very bad imitation of a miniature saw. from force of habit each lad on opening his knife looked round for something upon which to give his knife a whet; but up there on the soft turf of a cliff slope whetstones were scarce. down below on the wave-washed strand boulders and pebbles were plentiful enough, and in addition there was the rock; but from where they were it was a good quarter of a mile to the nearest place where a descent could be safely made. but the next moment mike found an oyster-shell, upon which he began diligently to rub his blade; while, failing this, vince pulled his foot across his knee, vigorously stropped his knife on the sole of his boot, and gave a finishing touch to the edge by passing it to and fro upon the palm of his hand. this done, each looked out for something to cut, where there was for some distance round nothing but grass. this vince began to shave off gently, with mike watching him for a few moments; but the pursuit seemed to him too trivial, and, after wrinkling up his forehead for a few moments as if perplexed, an idea struck him, and he began to score the soft turf in regular lines, as if it were a loin of pork, but with this difference, that when he had made about a dozen strokes he commenced cutting between the marks, and sloping his blade so that he carved out the turf, leaving a series of ridges and furrows as he went on. this was on his part an ingenious enough way of using the blade, out on an island cliff on a glorious sunny day; but at the end of a minute it became as monotonous as it was purposeless, and vince shut his knife with a snap, after carefully wiping the blade; while mike, who had been blunting the point of his by bringing it in contact with the granite, which, where they were, only lay three or four inches beneath the velvet turf, followed suit, after seeing that his knife point would need a good grinding before he could consider it to be in a satisfactory state. "well," said mike, after they had looked at each other for a few moments, "how are we going to make our plans?" "i dunno," replied vince. "yes, i do. you can't make plans here. let's go and see what the place is like." "no; that's wrong," said mike, wrinkling his forehead again. "a general always makes his plans of how he'll attack a country before he starts, and takes what is necessary with him." "yes, but then he has maps of the country, and knows what he will want. we have no maps; but we've got the country, so i say let's go and see first--reconnoitre." "very well," said mike, rising slowly. "don't seem very ready," said vince. "not scared about it, are you?" "no, i don't think so," replied mike thoughtfully; "only doesn't it seem rather--rather queer to go to a place that is strange, and where you don't know what there may be?" "of course it does," said vince frankly; "and i am just a little like that. i suppose it's what the men here all feel, and it keeps them away." "yes, that's it," said mike eagerly. "but then, you know, they believe lots of things that we laugh at. there isn't a man or boy here in crag would go and sit in the churchyard on a dark night." "well, you wouldn't either," said mike. "no, i suppose not," said vince thoughtfully. "i don't think i believe in ghosts--i'm sure i don't; and i know that if i saw anything i should feel it was some one trying to frighten us. but i shouldn't like to go and sit in a churchyard in the dark, because--because--" "you'd be afraid," said mike, with a laugh. "yes, i should be afraid, but not as you mean," said the lad. "i should feel that it was doing a mocking, boasting sort of thing toward the dead people who were all lying asleep there." "dead," interposed mike. "no: father says asleep--quietly asleep, after being in pain and sickness, or being tired out from growing very old." mike looked at him curiously, and they were both silent for a few moments, till mike said quickly:-- "i say, though, don't it seem queer to you that we've been here all our lives, and grown as old as we are, without ever going to the top of the cliff here and looking down into the scraw?" "yes, that's just what i've been thinking ever since old joe talked to us as he did. but i don't know that it is queer." "well, i do," said mike: "it's very queer." "no, it isn't. ever since we can remember everybody has said that you can't get there, because nobody could climb up; and then while we were little we always heard people talk almost in a whisper about it, as if it were something that oughtn't to be named; and so of course we didn't think for ourselves, and took all they said as being right. but you know there may be whirlpools and holes and black caverns and sharp rocks, and i dare say there are regular monsters of congers down in the deep places that have never been disturbed." "and sharks." "no, i don't think there would be sharks. they live out in the open sea more, where it's not so rough." "i say, how big have we ever seen a conger?" "why, that one carnach brought in and said he'd had a terrible fight with: don't you remember?" "yes, i remember; he caught it on a dark thunderstormy day, and said when he hooked it first, baiting with a pilchard, it came so easy that he thought it was a little one, and swam up every time he slackened his line till he got it close to the top. but when he went to hook it in with his gaff he fell back over the thwart, because as soon as it saw him it opened its mouth and came over the gunwale with a rush, and hunted him round the boat till he hit it over the head with his little axe." "yes, i remember," said vince, taking up the narrative; "and then he said they had a terrible fight, for it twisted its tail round his leg and struck at him, getting hold of his tarpaulin coat with its teeth and holding on till he got the blade of the axe into the cut he had made and sawed away till he got through the backbone. oh yes, we heard him tell the story lots of times about how strong it was, and how it bruised his leg where it hit him with its tail, and how he was beginning to feel that, in spite of its head being nearly off, it seemed as if it would finish him, when all at once it dropped down in the bottom of the boat and only just heaved about. i used to believe it all, but he always puts more and more to it whenever he tells the tale. i don't believe it now." "but it was a monster." "yes: two inches short of seven feet long, and as big round as a cod-fish; and i don't see why there mayn't be some twice as big in the scraw. but i'm not going to believe in there being anything else, mike; and we're going to see." "nothing horrid living in the caves?" "bogies and mermen and goblin jacks? no: stuff!" "but up the cliff: you don't think there's anything there that makes it so that you can't go? i mean--" "dragons like father has in that old latin book about switzerland?" "yes; you've got pictures of them,--horrid things with wings, that lived in the mountains and passes." "all gammon!" cried vince. "people used to believe in all kinds of nonsense--magicians, and fiery serpents and dragons, and things that we laugh about now. there, one can't help feeling a bit shrinky, after all we've heard and been frightened with by people ever since we were little bits of chaps; but i mean to go. there's nothing worse about the scraw than there is about other dangerous places." "ah! you say so now because it's broad daylight and the sun shines, but you'd talk differently if it was dark as pitch." "shouldn't go if it was dark as pitch, because we shouldn't know where we were going. i say, you're not going to turn tail?" "no," said mike, "i'll go with you; but one can't help feeling a bit shrinky. i'm ready: come on." "let's seem as if we were not going, then," said vince. "we shan't see anybody if we go round by the dolmen," said mike. "there isn't a cottage after you pass the one on the crusy common." "and nobody lives in that now." "why?" said mike quickly. "think they saw anything? it's nearest to the scraw cliff." "see anything? no. but they used to feel--the wind. why, it's the highest part of crag island! come along." "one minute," said mike. "you said you thought old joe didn't want us to go there." "yes," said vince. "well, wasn't it because in his rough, surly way he likes us, and didn't want us to get hurt?" "perhaps!" said vince laconically. "well, there couldn't be any other reason." "yes, there could. it might be a splendid place for fishing, and for ormers and queens and oysters, and he don't want any one else to find it out." "yes, it might be that," said mike; and he set his teeth and looked as if he were going upon some desperate venture from which he might never return alive. vince looked a little uneasy too, but there was determination plainly written on his countenance as the two lads, after a glance round to see if they were observed, made off together; over the stony cliff. chapter five. while the raven croaked. it was getting well on in the afternoon, but they had hours of daylight before them for their task. to reach the spot would have been a trifle if they had possessed the wings of the grey gull which floated softly overhead as if watching them. a few minutes would have sufficed; for, as the boys had often laughingly said when at home in the centre of the island, where sir francis ladelle's sheltered manor-house stood, near the doctor's long granite cottage among the scattered dwellings of the fisher-farmers of the place, they could not have walked two miles in any direction without tumbling into the sea. but to reach the mighty cliffs overhanging the scraw was not an easy task. the way they chose was along the eastern side of the island, close to the sea, where from north point to south point the place was inaccessible, there being only three places practicable for a landing, and these lying on the west and south. there the mighty storm-waves had battered the granite crags for centuries, undermining them in soft veins till huge masses had fallen again and again, making openings which had been enlarged till there was one long cove; the fissure where they had taken boat with old daygo; and another spot farther to the south. the lads had not gone far before they curved suddenly to their left, and struggled through one of the patches of woodland that beautified the island. this was of oak trees and ilex, dwarfed by their position, tortured into every form of gnarled elbow and crookedness by the sea wind, and seldom visited save by the boys, who knew it as a famous spot for rabbits. it was hard work getting through this dwarf-oak scrub, but they struggled on, descending now into a steep ravine quite in the uninhabited part of the island, and feeling that they might talk and shout as they pleased--for they were not likely to be heard. but they were very quiet, and when hawk or magpie was started, or an old nest seen, they instinctively called each other's attention to it in a whisper. after a time they were clear of the sombre wood, and had to commence another fight in the hollow of the slope they had to climb, for here the brambles and furze grew in their greatest luxuriance, and had woven so sturdy a hedge that it was next to impossible to get through. perseverance, and a brave indifference to thorns, carried them along; and at the end of half an hour they were at the bottom of a gigantic precipice of tumbled-together masses of granite, suggesting that they were at the beginning of the huge promontory which jutted out into the sea, and round which daygo had refused to take them; the beautiful little rounded bay which they had skirted being to their right; and forward toward the north, and lying away to their left, being the situation of the unknown region always spoken of with bated breath, and called the scraw. the lads stopped now, hot, panting and scratched, to stand gazing upward. "tired?" said mike. "yes. no," replied vince. "come on." but mike did not move. he stood looking before him at the rugged masses of granite, grey with lichen and surrounded by brambles, reaching up and up like a gigantic sloping wall that had fallen in ruins. vince had begun to climb, and had mounted a few feet, but not hearing his companion following, he turned back to look. "why don't you come on?" he cried. "i was thinking that we can never get up there." "not if you stand still at the bottom," said vince, laughing; and his cheery way acted upon mike's spirits directly, for he began to follow. it was strange, though, that the laugh which had raised the spirits of one depressed those of the other; for vince felt as if it was wrong to laugh there in that wild solitude, and he started violently as something rushed from beneath his feet and bounded off to their right. "only a rabbit," said mike, recovering from his own start. "but i say, cinder, i never thought that there could be such a wild place as this in the island. oh! what's that?" they were climbing slowly towards a tall ragged pinnacle of granite, which rose up some ten or fifteen feet by itself, when all at once a great black bird hopped into sight, looking gigantic against the sky, gazed down in a one-sided way, and began to utter a series of hoarse croaks, which sounded like the barkings of a dog. "only a raven," said vince quickly. "why, i say, mike, this must be where that pair we have seen build every year! we must find the nest, and get a young one or two to bring up." "doesn't look as if he'd let us," said mike, peering round with his eyes for a stone that he could pick up and hurl at the bird. but, though stone was in plenty, it was in masses that might be calculated by hundredweights and tons. they climbed on slowly, one helping the other over the hardest bits; the faults and rifts between the blocks of granite, which in places were as regular as if they had been built up, afforded them foothold; but their way took them to the left, by the raven, which gave another bark or two, hopped from the stony pinnacle upon which it had remained perched, spread its wings, and, after a few flaps to right and then to left, rose to the broken ridge above their heads, hovered for a moment, and then, half closing its wings, dived down out of sight. "pretty close to the top," cried vince breathlessly; and he paused to wipe his streaming face before making a fresh start, bearing more and more to the left, and finding how solitary a spot they had reached--one so wild that it seemed as if it had never been trodden by the foot of man. they both paused again when not many feet from the summit of the slope, their climb having been made so much longer by its laborious nature; and as they stopped, the action of both was the same: they gazed about them nervously, startled by the utter loneliness and desolation of the spot, which might have been far away in some eastern desert, instead of close to the cliffs and commons about which they had played for years. granite blocks and boulders everywhere, save that in places there was a patch of white heather, ling, or golden starry ragwort; and in spite of their determination the desire was strong upon them to turn and hurry back. but for either to have proposed this would have been equivalent to showing the white feather; and for fear that vince should for a moment fancy that he was ready to shirk the task, mike said roughly, "come on," and continued the climbing, reaching the top first, and stretching out his hand, which was grasped by vince, who pulled himself up and sank down by his companion's side to gaze in wonder from the rugged ridge they had won. it was not like the edge of a cliff, but a thorough ridge, steep as the roof of an old-fashioned house, down to where, some fifty feet below them, the slope ended and the precipice began. it was rugged enough, but as far as they could see to right or left there was no way out: they were hemmed in by huge weathered blocks of granite and the sea. there was the way back, of course; but the desire upon both now was to go forward, for the curiosity which had been growing fast ever since they started was now culminating, and they were eager to penetrate the mystery of the place. "what are we going to do next?" said mike. "see if we can't get down to the shore, of course;" and vince seated himself between two rugged, tempest-worn points of rock, and had a long, searching look beyond the edge of the precipice below him. first he swept the high barrier of detached rock which stretched before him two hundred yards or so distant, and apparently shutting in a nearly circular pool; for he and his companion were at the head of a deep indentation, the stern granite cliffs curving out to right and left, and seeming to touch the rocky barrier, which swarmed with birds on every shelf and ledge, large patches looking perfectly white. "seems like a lake," said mike suddenly, just as vince was thinking the same thing. "yes, but it can't be," said vince. "look down there to the left, how the tide's rushing in. looks as if a boat couldn't live in it a moment." "and if the tide rushes in boiling like that, there must be a way out. think there's a great hole right through under the island?" "no; it looks deep and still there at the other end of the rocks, and-- yes, you can see from here if you stand up. why, ladle, old chap, it is running." vince had risen, taken hold of one of the jagged pieces of rock, stepped on to a point, and was gazing down to his left at the pent-in sea, which was rushing through a narrow opening between two towering rocks, foaming, boiling, and with the waves leaping over each other, as if forced out by some gigantic power, but evidently hidden from the side of the sea by the great barrier stretched before them. "i can't see anything," said mike. "climb up a bit. here--up above me." mike began to climb the rugged granite, and had just reached a position from whence he could stretch over and see the exit of the pent-in currents which glided round the little cove or bay, one strongly resembling the water-filled crater of some extinct volcano, when his left foot slipped from the little projection upon which he stood, and, in spite of the frantic snatch he made to save himself, he fell heavily upon vince, driving him outward, while he himself dropped within the ridge, and for the moment it seemed as if vince was to be sent rolling down the steep slope and over the edge of the precipice. but the boy instinctively threw out his hands to clutch at anything to stop his downward progress, and his right came in contact with mike's leg, gripping the trouser desperately, and the next moment he was hanging at the full extent of his arm upon the slope, his back against the rock, staring outward over the barrier at the sea, while mike was also on his back, but head downward, with his knees bent over the strait ridge upon which they had so lately been standing. for quite a minute they lay motionless, too much unnerved by the shock to attempt to alter their positions; while vince felt that if the cloth by which he held so desperately gave way, nothing could save him, and he must go down headlong to the unseen dangers below. there was another danger, too, for which he waited with his heart beating painfully. at any moment he felt that he might drag his companion over to destruction, and the thought flashed through his brain, ought he to leave go? this idea stirred him to action, and he made a vain effort to find rest for his heels; but they only glided over the rock, try how he would to find one of the little shelf-like openings formed between the blocks, which often lay like huge courses of quarried stone. then, as he hung there breathing heavily, he found his voice: "mike!" he shouted; and the answer came in a smothered tone from the other slope of the steep ridge. "hullo!" "can you help me?" "no: can't move; if i do you'll pull me over." there was a terrible silence for what seemed to be minutes, but they were moments of the briefest, before vince spoke again. "can you hold on?" silence, broken by a peculiar rustling, and then mike said: "i think so. i've got my hand wedged in a crack; but i can't hold on long with my head down like this. look sharp! climb up." "look sharp--climb up!" muttered vince, as, raising his left hand, which had been holding on to a projection in the rock at his side, he reached up, and, trying desperately, he managed to get hold of the doubled-over fold at the bottom of his companion's trouser, cramping his fingers over it, and getting a second good hold. it does not seem much to read, but it took a good deal of his force out of him, and he lay still, panting. "pray look sharp," came from the other side. "yes. hold on," cried vince, as a horrible sensation began creeping through him, which he felt was preparatory to losing his nerve and falling: "i'm going to turn over." "no, no--don't," came faintly. "i can't hold on." "you must!" shouted vince fiercely. "now!" clutching desperately at the frail cloth, he gave himself a violent wrench and rolled himself right over upon his face, searching quickly with his toes for some support, and feeling them glide over the surface again and again, till a peculiar sensation of blindness began to attack him. then a thrill of satisfaction ran through his nerves, for one boot toe glided into the fault between two blocks, and the tension upon his muscles was at once relieved. "i can't help it," came faintly to his ears. "you're dragging me over. help! help!" _croak_! came in a hoarse, barking note, and the great raven floated across them not a dozen feet above their heads. "all right!" cried vince. "i can manage now." and he felt about with his other foot, found a projection, and having now two resting-places for his feet, one higher than the other, he cautiously drew himself up, inch by inch, till his chin was level with his hands, when, taking a deep, long breath, he forced his toe well against the rock, trusting to a slight projection; and, calling to mike to try and hold on, he made a quick snatch with one hand at the lad's leg a foot higher, but failed to get a good grasp, his hand gliding down the leg, and mike uttered a wild cry. for a moment vince felt that he must fall, but in his desperation his teeth closed on the cloth beneath him, checking his downward progress; and as his feet scraped over the rock in his efforts to find fresh hold, he found his cliff-climbing had borne its fruits by hardening the muscles of his arms. how he hardly knew, he managed to get hand over hand upon mike's leg, till he drew himself above the ridge, and in his last effort he fell over, dragging his companion with him, so that they rolled together down the inner slope twenty or thirty feet, till a block checked their progress. just then, as they lay scratched and panting, there was a darkening of the air, the soft whishing of wings, and the raven dropped on the big pinnacle close at hand, to utter its hoarse, barking croak as it gazed wickedly at them with first one and then the other eye. "ha! ha! ha!" laughed mike, in a peculiarly hysterical tone; "wouldn't you like it? but not this time, old fellow. oh, don't i wish i had a stone!" the same memory had come to both, as they lay breathless and exhausted, of seeing this bird or one of its relatives rise from below the cliff edge one day as they approached; and, looking down, they saw upon a ledge, where it had fallen, a dead lamb, upon which the great ill-omened bird had been making a meal. "hurt?" said vince at last, as he sat up and examined his clothes for tears. "hurt! why, of course i am. i gave my head such a whack against one of the stones.--are you?" "no," said vince, making an effort to laugh at the danger from which he had escaped. "i say, though, your trousers are made of better cloth than mine." "trousers!" said mike sourly: "you've nearly torn the flesh off my bones. you did get hold of a bit of skin with your teeth, only i flinched and got it away. i say, though--" "well? what?" said vince; for the other stopped. "that's the way down to the scraw; but you needn't have been in such a hurry to go." vince shuddered in spite of his self-control. "i wonder," he said softly, "whether it's deep water underneath or rocks?" "i don't know that it matters," was the reply. "if it had been water you couldn't have swum in such a whirlpool as it seems to be. so you might just as well have been killed on the rocks. but oh! i say cinder, don't talk about it." the boy's face grew convulsed, and he looked so horrified that vince cried eagerly-- "here, i say, don't take it like that. it was not so bad as we thought. it wouldn't have happened if you'd held tight instead of blundering on to me." "let's talk about something else," said mike, trying to master his feelings. "all right. about that cove. you see the water comes rushing in at one side and goes out at the other, and i daresay when the tide turns it goes the other way. i should like to get right down to it, so as to see the water close to." mike shuddered. "you won't try again, will you?" he said. "try again? yes. why not? why, we might come a million times and never slip again." "yes," said mike, but rather shrinkingly. "shall we go back home now?" "no; not till we've had another good look down at the place. here--hi! you be off, or next time we come we'll bring a gun." _croak_! said the raven, and it took flight--not, however, at the words, but from the cap sent skimming up at it where it perched watching them. "come on," cried vince; and his companion sprang up as if ashamed of his weakness. then together they climbed back to the scene of their adventure, and had a good look down at the shut-in cove, calmly reconnoitring the danger through which one of them had passed; and, after gazing long at the entrance and place of exit of the tides, they climbed along the ridge for some distance to the right, and then back and away to the left, but they could see nothing more--nothing but the rock-bound bay shut-in from the sea, and whose shore, if there was any, remained hidden from their sight by the projecting edge of cliff at the bottom of the slope below them. "there," said vince at last,--"i know how i feel." "so do i," said mike: "that we've had all our trouble for nothing." "no, i don't; i feel as if i shan't be satisfied till i've been right down there and seen what it's like." "but we can't get there. nobody could go in a boat." "perhaps not. we must climb down." mike suppressed a shudder. "can't be done," he said. "how do we know till we've looked right down over the edge?" "must bring a rope, then?" "of course, and one hold it while the other creeps to the edge and looks over." mike nodded, and they began to retrace their steps, talking thoughtfully as they went. "shall you say anything about our--accident?" asked mike at last. "no: only frighten my mother." "nor yet about the scraw, and what we're going to try and do?" "no: what's the good? let's find what there is to see first. i say, cinder, it will be as good as going to a foreign country seeking adventures. who knows what we may find?" "raven's nest, for one thing." "yes, i expect that chap has got his wife and young ones somewhere about here. how about a rope? have you got one at home?" "yes; but so have you." "i'm not very fond of ours," said vince thoughtfully. "it's a long time since it was new, and we don't want to have any accidents. you bring a coil of new rope from your boat-shed: we'll take care of it. and, i tell you what, i'll bring that little crowbar of ours next time, and a big hammer, so as to drive the bar into some crack. it will be better than holding the rope." the talk of their future plans lasted till it was nearly time to part, and they were just arranging for their hour of meeting on the next day when they came suddenly upon old daygo, at the corner of the lane leading down to his comfortable cottage. "art'noon," he said, with a nod, and fixing his eyes upon each of them searchingly. "having a walk?" "yes," said vince carelessly. "when are you going to take us fishing again?" "oh! one o' these fine days, my lads; but you're getting to be quite men now, and must think more about your books. been on the cliffs?" "yes," said vince. "come on, mike: it's tea-time." the boys walked on in silence for some moments, and then vince spoke. "i say, mike, do you think he's watching us?" "no," said mike shortly. "you fancy he is, because you've got some cock-and-bull notion that he don't want us to go to the scraw." "perhaps so," said vince thoughtfully; "but i can't help it. i do think so." "well, suppose he does; he said what was right: it is a horribly dangerous place, and all the people keep away from it because they've got ideas like his." "maybe," said vince, with his brow all in puckers. "but never mind; we'll go and see." chapter six. haunted by the scraw. the weather interfered with the prosecution of the boys' adventure for a week, and during that time, what with wind and rain, they had nothing to tempt them to the cliff but the sight of a large french three-masted lugger or _chasse-maree_, which was driven by the gale and currents dangerously near the crag: so near, in fact, that old daygo and nearly every fisherman in the place hung about the cliffs in full expectation of seeing the unfortunate vessel strike upon one or other of the rocks and go to pieces, when all on board must have inevitably been drowned, the height of the sea making it madness to attempt to launch a boat. but, to the relief of all, the swift vessel was so cleverly managed that she finally crept through an extremely dangerous passage, and then, catching a cross current, was borne right out to where she could weather the northern point of the island, and disappeared into the haze. "there, young gentlemen," said old daygo in a stentorian voice, "that's seamanship! but she'd no business to come so near the crag in weather like this. wouldn't ha' like to be aboard o' she just now, would you?" "no," said vince; "nor you neither?" "hey? why, that's just what i've been a-wishing these two hours past, my lad. i could ha' took her out o' danger long enough before; but them frenchies don't know our island like i do. why, i feel sometimes as if i could smell where the rocks are, and i could steer a boat by touch, like, even if it was black as the inside of a tar-barrel in the middle of the night." it sounded like empty boasting, but the words were seriously received by the rough men around. "ay, ay," said one fat, heavy-looking fellow; "joe daygo knows. i wouldn't ha' been aboard her fer no money." "been thinking you'd eat no more byled lobster--eh, jemmy carnach?" said daygo, with a hoarse laugh; and the man gave him a surly look and sauntered away. "i say," said mike, as soon as the lads were alone; "old joe is really a good sort of fellow after all. he seemed a deal more troubled about that french boat than any one else." "yes; and i suppose he is a clever pilot, and knows all about the currents and the rocks; but i don't quite understand about his being so well off." mike began to whistle, and said nothing for a few moments. "i don't see why he shouldn't be well off," he said; "he's getting old, and he's very mean, and never spends money upon himself." vince nodded, and remained silent. then came a lovely morning after the week's bad weather, and vincent was just starting for sir francis ladelle's rather unwillingly, to join mike for the day's studies, when there was a cheery whistle outside and his fellow-pupil appeared. "i say!" he cried, "father said it was a shame for us to lose such a fine day, and he told mr deane to give us a holiday." "eh? what's that?" cried the doctor. "here, i'm off up to the house to put a stop to that. i'm not going to pay half that tutor's expenses if this sort of idleness is to be encouraged." mike looked aghast. "it's all right," said vince merrily; "father doesn't mean it." "oh, don't i!" cried the doctor, frowning. "no: does he, mother?" mrs burnet smiled and shook her head. "here, you boys, don't get into any mischief." "no, father," said vince, and the next minute they were outside. "scraw?" said vincent; and his companion nodded unwillingly, as the boy thought, but he changed his opinion the next moment. "i've got the hammer and bar ready, and a small rope; but we must have yours." "yes, of course." "well, run back and get it, and meet me out by the dolmen." "brought it," said mike: "tucked it under a furze bush out on the common." vince's face lit up with eagerness, and the pair were about to start when they saw old daygo in the distance, and they turned back, went into the house, and waited till he had gone by. giving the fisherman time to get well out of sight, they sallied forth, and went to where the coil of rope was hidden--a thin, strong line that would have borne a couple of men hanging on its end--and as soon as this was brought out, and a glance round taken to make sure they were not watched, mike cried-- "but what about the hammer and bar?" vince opened his jersey to show the head of the hammer on one side, the crowbar on the other, snugly tucked in the waistband of his trousers. "well done! that's capital!" cried mike. and the two lads went off in the direction of the scraw, but in a zigzag fashion, as if their intentions were entirely different; and this at vince's wish, for he had a strong impression that old daygo was keeping an eye upon their movements, though mike laughed at the idea. "i don't feel nervous about it now, do you?" said vince, as soon as they were well under cover of the rugged ground. "no; but i don't like to think about that ugly slip you had," said mike thoughtfully. "i didn't have an ugly slip: you knocked me over." "oh, well, i couldn't help it, could i? and i did hold on till you got out of it." "never mind that now," said vince; "let's think about what we are going to do. there'll be no danger so long as we are careful--and i mean to be, very, and so i tell you. wonder whether we shall see our black friend? i say, didn't it seem as if it was on the look-out for us to have a bad accident?" "no: seemed as if it was on the look-out to keep us from finding its nest." they chatted away merrily enough till they had nearly reached the chaos of tumbled-together rocks, when, in spite of the bright sunshine and blue sky overhead, the wildness of the place once more impressed them unpleasantly, and, instead of the cheery conversation and banter in which they had indulged, they became quiet, only speaking at intervals, and then in quite a low tone. the bottom of the steep, rough slope was reached, and they paused to consider their plans. they had come out some fifty yards from where they made their former ascent to the ridge, for it was marked by the jagged sugar-loaf upon which the raven had perched. but the sloping wall of granite where they were presented just about the same aspect as that portion where they had struggled up before, and there was no reason for making a detour over very difficult ground, cumbered with huge blocks that must have fallen from above, and tangled in the hollows between with brambles; so they determined to climb from where they stood, and began at once, each selecting his own route, with the understanding that a pyramidal block eighty or ninety feet above their heads should be the meeting-place. "come on, then," cried mike. "first up!" "no, no," said vince. "this must be done steadily. we shall want to be cool and fresh for anything we may have to do. one of us is sure to be obliged to go down by the rope." "very well," said mike; and they commenced the ascent, each feeling the wisdom of the plan adopted, the climb being difficult enough, though there was not the slightest danger. they were glad enough to rest and wipe their brows as they stood by the rough block, and upon which they found they could easily climb; but there was nothing more to see than at their former visit, save that the rocks looked far more rough, both at the torrent-like entrance and the narrow opening on their right, while even from the height at which they stood it was plain to see that the circular cove was in a violent state of ebullition. but here, close in, was the slope which ran down towards the sea--very similar in character to that by which they had ascended, only that it was, as it were, chopped off short. in fact, they seemed to be on the summit of a stony ridge of granite mountains, one side of which had been nearly all gnawed away by the sea. "don't seem much choice of where to go down," said vince, after a long scrutiny to right and left. "shall we try here?" "just as well as anywhere else," said mike. "only what is it we are going to do? if it means creeping down with a rope round one, and then going over the edge to play chicken at the end of a roasting-jack, i feel as if i'd rather not." "it means going carefully down to the edge and looking over first," replied vince. "it may only be a place where we can get down easily enough." "or it may be a place where we can't," said mike. "all right: i'll go, if you like." "no: i'll go first," said vince. and he drew out his hammer and crowbar; but a block of granite close by stood up so much like a thick, blunt post that there seemed to be no need for the crowbar to be driven in; so, making one end fast round the block with a well-tried mooring knot--one which old daygo had taught them might be depended upon for securing a boat--they calculated how much rope would be necessary to well reach the bottom of the broken-off slope, and at the end of this the line was knotted round vince's chest and he prepared to descend. "ease it away gently, so that i'm not checked," said the lad, as mike took hold close to him and knelt down ready to pay the rope out and so as to be able to tighten his grasp at any moment if there was a slip. "right! i'll mind; and you'll be all right: you can't fall." "i know," was the reply; and trusting to his companion, while strengthened by the knowledge that at the very worst he must be brought up short by the granite block, vince gave a sharp look downward, and, selecting a spot at the edge a little to his right for the point to make for, he turned his face to the slope and began to descend, carefully picking hand and foothold and helped by the steady strain upon the rope which was kept up by mike, who watched every movement breathlessly, his eyes fixed upon his companion's head, and ready to respond to every order which was uttered. vince went down as calmly and deliberately as if the level ground were just below him till he was about two-thirds of the way, when he could not help giving a start, for mike suddenly exclaimed: "here's that old raven coming!" "where?" "off to my right--in a hurry. you must be somewhere near the nest." vince hesitated for a few moments, for the thought occurred to him that the bird might make a swoop at him, as he had read of eagles acting under similar circumstances; but the next moment he had thought of what power there would be in the blow of a fist striking a bird in full career, and knowing full well that it must be fatal to the raven, he continued to descend, with the bird flying by some fifty feet overhead and uttering its hoarse croak. "lower away a little more," said vince, as he drew nearer the edge of what might either be a precipice or an easy slope for aught he could tell. "i'll lower," was the reply; "but i want to feel you well." "that's right. i must have rope enough to move quite freely." "yes, that's all very well; but i don't feel as if i could haul you up if you slipped over the edge." "who's going to ask you to?" said vince. "i should try and climb, shouldn't i? if you keep me tight like that i can't get down." "are you all right?" said mike anxiously, for he was by far the more nervous of the two. "right?--yes; but i feel like a cow tethered to a picket, so that i can't reach the bit of grass sward. now then, lower away." mike obeyed, with the palms of his hands growing very moist, as his companion drew closer to the brink. "lower away!" cried vince. "no: that's close enough," said mike decidedly. "look from where you are, and come back. now then, what can you see?" "a bit of moss and a patch of sea-pink just under my nose. don't be so stupid! how am i to look over the edge if you hold me tight up like this? ah!" "what is it?" cried mike, holding on to the rope with all his might, and keeping it resting on the rock, over which it had slowly glided. "only a loose stone gave way under my feet, and went down." he remained silent, waiting to hear the fragment rebound and strike somewhere, but he listened in vain. the fall of the stone, however, had its effect, for a wild chorus of whistling and screaming arose, and an eddy of wings came up as a perfect cloud of white and grey birds rose into sight, and were spread to right and left. "hadn't you better come back now?" said mike anxiously. "if i do it will be to make you come down instead. why, you're worse than i am, mike! now then, lower away! i only want about a fathom more, and then you may hold on tight." "very well, then," said the lad: "i'll give you just six feet, and not a bit more. then you shall come up." "say seven," cried vince merrily. "no: six. that's what you said; so make much of it." "lower away, then!" cried vince; and he carefully descended, after a glance over his left shoulder, creeping cautiously down, and edging to his left till he was just over the block at the edge which he had marked out for his goal. "that's four feet, mind!" cried mike: "only two more." "good little boy!" said vince merrily. "four and two do make six. i'll tell mr deane to-morrow. he was grumbling the other day about the muddle you made over your algebra." "you look after your climbing, and never mind my algebra," said mike huskily. "now, mikey!" cried vince; "hold on--tight as you can." "yes. don't you want the other two feet?" "of course i do; but i'm going to turn over." "no, no, i say--don't!" cried mike. "do think where you are! have a good look, and then come up." "here, i say, you'd better come down instead of me. i can't see out of the back of my head if you can. now, no nonsense. this is what i want to do: i'm going to turn over, with my back to the cliff, and then shuffle down that other two feet, with my legs on each side of that piece of stone." "but it's at the very edge," said mike. "good boy again! how well you can see, ladle! it is just at the edge; and, once i'm there, i can see down either way." "but it isn't safe, cinder. i can't help being anxious. suppose the stone's loose, and gives way?" "why, then it will fall down and frighten more birds. now then, don't fidget. if the stone goes, you'd still hold on by the rope, and i should be left sitting there all the same. i shouldn't do it if i didn't feel that i could. i'm not a bit nervous, so hold on." "very well," said mike breathlessly: "i've got you." "ready?" "yes." vincent burnet did not hesitate, but, with a quick movement, turned himself right over, dragging heavily upon the rope, though, and making his companion draw in his breath through his closed teeth with a hissing sound. "there i am," said vince coolly. "i could slip down into the place if i liked, but i won't try; so just ease the rope, inch by inch, as i shuffle myself lower. that's the way. easy as kiss my hand. a little more, and a little more, and there we are. why, mike, old chap, it's just like sitting in a saddle--only it's so hard." "are your legs right over the side?" "yes, and the wind's blowing up the legs of my trousers like anything. oh! you can't think what a sharp draught there is." "never mind the draught." "no use to," said vince. "oh, i say, do have a good look down, and then come up again. now, then: does the cliff slope from where you are?" "yes, right down to the water." "steeply?" "yes." "could we climb down?" "yes, if we were flies: mike, old chap, it's just awful!" "what!" cried mike breathlessly. "yes: that's it--awful," said vince quietly, as he rested his hands on the block he bestrode, and looked over to his left. "it slopes down; but the wrong way. it goes right in as far as i can see, and--yes, it does just the same on the other side. if i were to go down now i should plump right into black water, that's boiling up and racing along like it does where there's a rocky bottom, i do wish you were here to see." "i don't," whispered mike. "there--that'll do," he continued aloud. "come up." "wait a bit. i must see a little more, now i am here. i say, it's awful!--it's grand! the rocks, as far as i can see, are as smooth as can be, and all sorts of colours, just as if they were often breaking away. some are dark and some are browny and lavender, and there's one great patch, all glittering grey granite, looking as new as new." "yes, it must be very beautiful; but come back." "don't you be in such a hurry," said vince. "you won't catch me sitting here again. i'll let you down if you like, but once is quite enough for me. i want to have a good look, though, so as to tell you all about it before i do come, for, on second thoughts, i shan't lower you down here--it's too horrid. i say: wherever i can see there are thousands of birds, but there are not many places where they can sit. i can see one raven, too--there are two of them sailing about just under me, with their backs shining in the sun. oh, mike: look at the cormorants! i never knew there were so many about the island. big gulls, and puffins, and terns, and--i say, what a cloud of pigeons flying right out from under me: why, there must be a cavern going right in. hold tight! i want to lean out more to try and see." "no!" shrieked out mike. "don't--don't! it's a hundred times worse kneeling here and seeing you than doing it oneself." "but i only want to see if there is a cave." "if the pigeons keep flying out there must be." "well, there they go, and here are some more coming, and they've flown right in somewhere, so i suppose there is. want to hear any more about the place?" "no, no. come up now." "all right, old chap; then i will, after one more look round and down below. the water is wild, though, and the rocks are grand; but old joe is as right as can be: it's a terrible place, and unless any one likes to hang at the end of a three-hundred-feet rope he cannot get to the bottom here nor anywhere else along this cliff. it's just three parts of a round, and goes in all of a hollow below, where i am. there-- that's all; and now i'm coming up." "hah!" ejaculated mike, in a tone full of thankfulness; and as vince shuffled himself a little way--not much, for there was not room--the rope tightened about his chest, giving him so strong a support that he leaned back, pressed his hands down on either side of him to steady himself, and drew up one leg till he could plant his heel on the stone where he had been seated. a steady draw up of the other leg, and it was beside its fellow; then, getting well hold of the nearest projections on either side, he shouted up to his companion to haul hard--shouted, though in the immensity of the place his words, like those which had preceded them, sounded weak and more like whispers. "right!" said mike; and then he uttered a wild cry, for as vince thrust with feet and hands together, straightening himself out, the rope tightened at the same moment, and then the lad hung motionless against the slope. the rain and frost had been hard at work upon the edge of that precipice, as its sharply gnawed-off edge showed and the huge stone which the venturous lad had stridden was only waiting for the sharp thrust which it had received, for with a dull crack it was separated from the side, with an enormous mass beneath it, and went rushing down, leaving a jagged curve, as if the piece had been bitten out, just below the lad's feet. vince did not stir even to feel for a place to plant his hands, but remained motionless for some moments. then there was a dull splash echoed from the barrier rock which shut-in the cove, and the rushing sound of wings, as the startled birds rose in clouds from their resting-places all around. at last the full sense of his perilous position came to the boy, and with it his coolness; and he grasped the rock as well as he could, and called up to his companion. "grip hard, ladle!" he cried. "i'm going to try and turn face to you." there was no reply; but a thrill seemed to come down the fibres of the rope, and the strain upon the boy's chest to increase. it was no easy task, for it was hard to find a resting-place on either side of the gap for his feet; but, full of trust in mike's hold of the rope, and strengthened by the knowledge that it was secured to the granite block as well, vince gave himself a quick writhe, and turned upon his face. then, after a scrambling slip or two, his toes found a ledge, as his hands already had, and he climbed steadily up. that task was not difficult, for the foothold was easy to select, the rope tightening still, and giving him steady help, while the distance, long as it had taken him to descend, was only short. in another minute he was over the ridge, looking down on mike, who, instead of hauling in the rope as he came up, had let himself glide down like a counterpoise, and as soon as he saw his companion in safety, he drew himself in a crouching position and stared up with his lips apart. "it's all right," said vince huskily. "why, your face is white as white, and your hair's all wet." "yes," gasped mike hysterically, "and so's yours. oh, cinder, old chap, i thought you had gone! let's get away from this horrid place. old joe's right: there is something terrible about it after all." "wait a bit," said vince, rather feebly, as he too crouched down upon a piece of rock. "i don't feel as if i could move much for a bit. i am so stiff and weak, and this rope's cut into my chest. yes: old joe's right; there's no getting down there. but it was awfully grand, ladle, and i should have liked you to see it." "and do you want to lower me down?" said mike fiercely. "no!" cried vince sharply. "i wouldn't have you feel what i felt when that stone broke off and left me hanging there for all the riches in the world!" chapter seven. the pangs of cold pudding. "a burnt child fears the fire." so says the old proverb; and therefore it was quite reasonable for a couple of big lads to feel a certain sensation of shrinking when they talked about their adventure while trying to investigate the mysteries surrounding the portion of crag, or cormorant island, as it was called, known as the scraw. for they did talk about it a great deal. then, too, vince had some _very_ unpleasant dreams about hanging over a tremendous gulf. one night in particular he was especially bad. it happened in this way: mike came over to the doctor's cottage one evening after tea--though this was no novelty, for he was always coming over to the cottage after tea, when vince was not going over to sir francis ladelle's quaint, semi-fortified house, which had stood there for hundreds of years, being repaired by its various occupants, but very little altered. in fact, when the little island was for sale, many years before this story commences, and the baronet became the purchaser, he was so pleased with the old place that he determined to keep up the traditions of the past, in spite of low ceilings, dark windows, and what mike described to vince as "the jolly old ghosts," which, being interpreted, meant rats. so mike came over one evening, after vince had eaten a tremendous meal, and the two lads went out for a stroll to the cliff edge, where there was always something to see, returning after dusk by the light of the moon and glowworms, of which there were abundance. then vince had to see mike up to the gates of the old house; and, to make things straight, mike said he would walk back a few yards with him, the few yards being so elastic that they stretched out to five hundred, more or less. at last vince reached home and had his supper, which had been put out for him, and when he had finished, found that the sea air and exercise had made him ravenous. "i must have something else to eat," he said to himself, and he was going into the parlour to speak upon this important subject to mrs burnet; but as he reached the door he could hear her pleasant voice, and he knew what was going on, though he could not see through the panels. for the picture rose plainly before his mind's eye of his father lying back in his easy chair, tired out with his round of the island and gardening, while by the light of a pair of mould candles-- _what_? you don't know what mould candles are? the happier you! people did fifty years ago, and they were largely used by those who could not afford wax or spermaceti; and they did what vince heard the doctor do from time to time--took up the old-fashioned, scissor-like snuffers from their plated tray, snuffed the candles, and laid them back with a sharp click. and let me tell you that there was an art in snuffing a candle which required practice and a steady hand. for if you of the present generation of boys who live in the days of gas, electric lights, spirit lamps, and candles ingeniously made after the analytical experiments of chemists on a material very different from the old-fashioned russian tallow--if you, i say, were to try and snuff an old candle, the chances are that you would either cut the cotton wick too much or too little, if you did not snuff the light out. after a time these sources of light would grow lengthy of black, burnt wick, a curious mushroomy, sooty portion would grow on the top, and the flame of the candle would become dull yellow and smoky. then, if you cut too little off, the light would not be much improved; if you cut too low down, it was worse; if lower still, you put the light out. but the skilful hand every few minutes cut to the happy medium, as the doctor did, and the light burned up fairly white and clear; so that, according to the custom at the cottage, mrs burnet could see well to continue reading aloud to her weary husband, this being his one great enjoyment in the calm life on the island. now, it seems rather hard on vince to keep him waiting hungrily at the door while the writer of this little history of boy life runs away from his narrative to begin prattling in print about candles; but what has preceded these lines on light, and the allusion to chemistry, does ask for a little explanation, for many of you who read will say, what can chemistry have to do with tallow candles? a great deal. i daresay you have read a little chemistry, or heard lectures thereon. many of you may have been bitten by the desire to try a little yourselves, as i was, and tried making hydrogen and oxygen gases, burning phosphorus, watch-spring and sulphur in the latter; and even tried to turn the salts of metals back into the metals themselves. but that by the way. let us return to the candle--such a one as vince had left burning, smoking and smelling unpleasantly, in the flat brass candlestick upon the little hall table, for it was time he was off to bed. now, the chemists took the candle, and pulled it to pieces, just as the candle-makers took the loose, fluffy cotton wick metaphorically to pieces, and constructed another by plaiting the cotton strands together and making a thin, light wick, which, as it burned, had a tendency to curl over to the side of the conical flame where the point of the wick touched the air and burned more freely--so freely, in fact, from getting more oxygen from the air than the other part, as to burn all away, and never need snuffing. that is the kind of wick you use in your candles to-day; and the snuffers have gone into curiosity cases in museums along with the clumsy tinder-boxes of the past. but that is to do with the wick, though i daresay some chemist or student of combustion gave the first hint to the maker about how to contrive the burning away of the unpleasant snuff. let us go back to the candle itself, or rather to the tallow of which it was made. now, your analytical chemist is about the most inquisitive person under the sun. bluebeard's wife was a baby to him. why, your a c would have pulled the blue chamber all to bits, and the key too, so as to see what they were made of. he is always taking something to pieces. for instance, quite lately gas tar was gas tar, and we knew that it was black and sticky, good for palings and horribly bad for our clothes, when, on hot, sunny days, we climbed over the said palings. but, all at once, the a c took gas tar in hand to see what it was made of, and the result is--what? i must not keep vince and you waiting to tell all--in fact, i don't know, but may suggest a little. gas tar now means brilliant aniline dyes, and sweet scents, and flavours that we cannot tell from pears and almonds, and ammonia and carbolic preparations good for the destruction of disease germs. but when the a c attacked the tallow of the candle he astonished us more. for, so to speak, he took the tallow, and he said to himself, now, here's tallow--an unpleasant animal fat: let's see what it is made of. years ago i should have at once told him that it was grease, obtained by melting down the soft parts of an animal. but the a c would have said to me: exactly; but what is the grease made of? then he began making tests and analysing, with the result that out of candle fat he distilled a beautifully clear white, intensely sweet fluid, and made a name for it: glycerine, from the greek for "sweet," for which, as captain cuttle would have said, consult your lexicon. then our friend the chemist tested the glycerine, and tried if it would burn; but it would not burn in the least, and he naturally enough said, well, that stuff is no good for candles, so it may be extracted from the tallow. to make a long dissertation short, that was done at once, and the result was that, instead of the new tallow candles being soft, they were found to be hard, and to burn more clearly. then chemicals were added, and they became harder still, and were called composites. that was the beginning of the improvements, which subject i must carry no further, but return to our hungry lad, who, hearing the reading going on, would not interrupt his mother, but took up his candle and went to the larder to investigate for himself. there was bread and butter, and bread and cheese, and a small piece of mutton--but this last was raw; and vince was about to turn to the bread and cheese when his eyes lighted upon a wedge of cold apple dumpling, which he seized upon as the very thing, bore off to his bedroom, after putting his head in at the parlour door to say good-night, ate with the greatest of gusto, and then, thoroughly drowsy, tumbled into bed. the next minute, as it seemed most vividly to vince, the new rope that mike took with them to the tempest-torn ridge above the scraw was cutting into his chest and compressing it so that he could hardly breathe. but he would not complain, for fear his companion should think it was because he was too cowardly to go on down that steep slope of thirty or forty feet to look over the edge of the precipice. so he went on lower and lower, suffering horribly, but more and more determined to go on; and as he went the rope stretched out, and the slope lengthened, till he seemed to have descended for hours. flocks of ravens came down, flapping their wings about him and making dashes with their great beaks at his eyes; while stones were loosened, rattled down into the gulf and startled clouds upon clouds of birds, which came circling up, their wings beating the air, till there was a noise like thunder. down to the stone at last; and upon this he sat astride, gazing at the vast gulf below, where the cove spread out farther than eye could reach, while the waters rushed by him like many cataracts of niagara rolled into one. at last mike's voice came to him, in imploring tones, sounding distant, strange and familiar, begging him to come up; and he drew himself up once more, and, with the rope tightening, gave that great thrust with his heels which sent the block upon which he had ridden falling down and down, as if for ever, into space, while he hung motionless, with the line compressing his chest so that he could not breathe. he could not struggle, he could not even stir--only hang there suffocating, till his senses were leaving him fast, and a burning light flashed into his eyes. then the rope parted, the terrible tension about his chest was relieved, and he began falling more and more swiftly, with a pleasant feeling of restfulness, till a voice said loudly: "vince, vince! what is it, boy? wake up!" vince not only woke up, but sat up, staring at his father and mother, who were standing in their dressing-gowns on either side of his bed. "he must have something coming on," said mrs burnet anxiously. "coming on!" said the doctor, feeling the boy's temples and then his wrist; next, transferring his hand to where he could feel the pulsation of the heart, "nightmare!" he cried. "what's the matter?" said vince confusedly. "fire?" "any one would have thought so, and that you were being scorched, making all that groaning and outcry. what's the matter with you?" "nothing," said vince, whose dreaming was all hidden now by a mental haze. "is anybody ill, then?" "i'm afraid you are, my dear," said mrs burnet anxiously; and she laid her cool hand upon her son's forehead. "his head is very hot and wet, dear," she added to the doctor. "yes, i know," he said gruffly. "here, vince!" "yes, father." "what did you have for your supper?" "oh! only a couple of slices of bread and butter, with a little jam on," said mrs burnet hastily. "i cut it for him myself." "nothing else?" said the doctor. "no, dear." "yes, i did, mother," said vince, whose head was growing clearer now. "i was so hungry i went into the larder and got that piece of cold pudding." "wurrrh!" roared the doctor, uttering a peculiar growling sound, and, to the astonishment of mother and son, he caught up the pillow and gave vince a bang with it which knocked him back on the bolster. "cold pudding!" he cried. "here! try a shoe-sole to-morrow night, and see if you can digest that. come to bed, my dear. look here, vince: tell mr deane to give you some lessons in natural history, and then you'll learn that you are not an ostrich, but a boy." the next minute vince was in the dark, but not before mrs burnet had managed to bend down and kiss him, accompanying it with one of those tender good-nights which he never forgot to the very last. but vince felt hot and angry with what had passed. "i wish father hadn't hit me," he muttered. "he never did before. i don't like it; and he seemed so cross. i wonder whether he did feel angry." vince lay for some minutes puzzling his not quite clear brain as to whether his father was angry or pretending. there was the dull murmur of voices from the next room, as if a conversation were going on, but he could not tell whether his mother was taking his part or no. then, all at once, there came an unmistakable "ha, ha, ha!" in the doctor's gruff voice, and that settled it. "he couldn't have been cross," thought vince, "or he wouldn't laugh like that. and it was only the pillow after all." two minutes later the boy was asleep, and breathing gently without dreams, and so soundly that he did not hear the handle of the door creak softly, nor a light step on the floor. neither did he hear a voice say: "asleep, vince?" nor feel a hand upon his forehead, nor two soft, warm lips take their place as a gentle voice whispered: "god bless my darling boy!" chapter eight. a random shot. "how about the cold pudding?" "look here, ladle, if you say any more about that it means a fight." "ha, ha! poor old cinder riding the nightmare, and dreaming about the scraw! wish i'd been sleeping at the cottage that night. i'd have woke you up: i'd have given you cold pig!" "lucky for you that you weren't," said vince. "i'd have given you something, my lad. but, i say, ladle, drop it. i wouldn't have told you about that if i'd known you were always going to fire it off at me." "well it does seem so comic for a fellow to go stuffing himself with cold pudding, and then begin dreaming he was hanging at the end of our rope." "look here," said vince sharply, "if you'd felt what i did that day, though i didn't say much, i'll be bound to say you'd have dreamed of it after." "i felt bad enough," said mike, suddenly growing serious, as they walked together over the heathery land, unwittingly taking the direction of the scene of their adventure; "and i don't mind telling you, cinder, that i've woke up four nights since with a start, fancying i was trying to hold the rope, and it kept slipping through my fingers. ugh! it was very horrid." he laid his hand on vince's shoulder, and his companion followed his example, both walking along very silently for a few minutes before vince said quietly: "i say, you won't grin if i tell you something?" "no: honour bright." "well, let's see: it was last thursday week we went, wasn't it?" "yes." "i've been thinking about it ever since." "so have i: not about the rope business, you know, but about that place. it's just as if something was always making me want to go." vince let his hand drop, shook himself free, and faced his companion. "but that's just how i feel," he said. "i keep on thinking about it and wanting to go." "not to try and get down with a rope?" said mike excitedly. "brrrr! no!" exclaimed vince, with a shudder. "i don't say i wouldn't go down with a rope from the cliffs if it was to help some poor chaps who were wrecked and drowning, because that would seem to be right, i suppose, and what one would expect any fellow to do for one if being drowned. why, you'd go down then, ladle." "i d'know. i shouldn't like to; but when one got excited with seeing a wreck, perhaps i should try." "there wouldn't be any perhaps about it, ladle," said vince gravely. "something comes over people then. it's the sort of thing that makes men go out in lifeboats, or swim off through the waves with ropes, or, as i've read, go into burning houses to get people out." mike nodded, and they went on very thoughtful and dreamy over the purple heather and amongst the golden furze till they reached the edge of the scrub oak wood, where they stopped short and looked in each other's eyes again. "what do you say? shall we go and have another look at the place?" "i feel as if i should like to," replied mike; "and at the same time i'm a bit shrinky. you won't do anything risky, will you?" "that i just won't," said vince decisively. "then come on." they plunged into the wood eagerly, and being more accustomed to the way they got along more easily; and decided as they walked that they would go to the southern end of the slope and then try and get up to have a look over the ridge from there, while afterwards they would make their way along the landward side of the jagged serrations of weather-worn granite points right to the northern end if they could get so far, and return at the bottom of the slope. "that'll be more than any one in the crag has ever done," said vince, "and some day we'll bring mr deane, and see what he'll say to it." little more was said, but, being of one mind, they steadily went on fighting their way through the difficulties which beset them on all sides, till, hot, weary and breathless, they neared the slope some considerable distance from the spot where they had approached it first. then, after a short rest, they climbed up, over and among the fallen rocks, with nothing more to startle them than the rush of a rabbit or two, which went scuttling away. half-way up they saw a couple of those fast disappearing birds, the red-legged choughs, and startled a few jackdaws, which went off shouting at them, mike said; and then the top was won, and they had a long survey of the cove from another point of view. but there was nothing fresh to see; all beneath them was entirely hid from view, and though they looked again and again as they continued their course along the ridge their patience and toil were not rewarded, for, save that they were from different standpoints, the views they obtained of the rocks and rushing waters were the same. they continued along the ridge by slow climbing for a considerable distance, and then as if moved by the same spirit they stopped and looked at each other. "i say," said mike, "it don't seem any good to go any farther." "no," was the reply, given in a very decisive tone. "the only way to see that place down below is to get there in a boat." "and old joe daygo says it's not right to go, and we should never get back; so we shall never see it." "i don't believe that," said vince shortly. "well, i don't want to, but it seems as if he's right, and the more one looks the more one believes in him." "i don't," said vince. "the more i look the more i seem to want to go and have a thorough good search, and i can't help thinking he knows why." "shall we try him again?" vince thoughtfully shook his head, as he gazed down once more from between two pieces of granite that the storms of centuries had carved till they seemed to have been set upon edge. "might offer him some money." "i don't believe he'd like it, and you know jemmy carnach once said that, though he always dressed so shabbily and never spent anything, he always was well off." "well, then, what are we to do? i want to see the place worse than ever. it looks so tempting, and as if there's no knowing what we might find." "i don't think we should find anything about it but that it would be a good place for fishing. it must be if no one ever goes there. why, ladle, all the holes among the rocks must swarm with lobsters, and the congers must be as big as serpents." mike nodded. "but how are we to get there to fish for them?" "don't know, unless we try it ourselves with a boat." "would you risk it?" vince did not answer for a few moments, but stood clinging to the rock, gazing down and searchingly examining the opening through which the tide poured. "i'm not sure yet," he said; "but i begin to think i would. that narrow passage would look wider when you were right in it, and the way to do it would be to come in when the tide was high,--there wouldn't be so much rushing and tumbling about of the water then; and the way to get out again would be at high water too." "but that would mean staying till the tide had gone down and come up again--hours and hours." "yes," said vince, "that would be the way; but it would want ever so much thinking about first." "yes," replied mike; "it would want ever so much thinking about first. ready to go back?" "may as well," said vince; and he stepped down, after a farewell look down at the sheltered cove, fully realising the fact that any one passing it a short distance from the shore would take the barrier of rocks which shut it in for the continuation of the cliffs on either side; and as the place had a terrible reputation for dangerous reefs and currents, in addition to the superstitious inventions of the people of the crag, it seemed highly probable that it had never been approached unless by the unfortunate crew of some doomed vessel which had been battered to pieces and sunk unseen and unheard. "shall i go first?" said vince. "yes: you lead." "mean to go along among the bushes at the bottom, or would you like to slope down at once?" "oh, we'll go back the way we said, only we shan't have done as much as we promised ourselves." vince started off down the slope, and upon reaching the trough-like depression at the bottom he began to work his way in and out among the fallen blocks, leaping the hollows wherever there was safe landing on the other side. at times he had to stop to extricate himself from the brambles, but on the whole he got along pretty well till their way was barred by a deeper rift than they had yet encountered, out of which the brambles and ferns grew luxuriantly. the easier plan seemed to be to go round one end or the other; but it only appeared to be the simpler plan, for on trying to put it to the test it soon proved itself to be the harder, promising as it did a long, toilsome climb, whichever end they took. "jump it," said mike: "there's a good landing-place on the other side." "yes, but if i don't reach it i shall get a nice scratching. look at that blackthorn covered with brambles." "oh, never mind a few thorns," said mike, grinning. "i'll pick them all out for you with a packing needle." "thankye," said vince, eyeing the rift he had to clear: "you'll have enough to do to pick out your own thorns, for if i go down i'm sure you will. stand aside and let's have a good start." there was no running, for it was a standing jump from one rugged block to another a little lower; and after taking a good swing with both arms, the lad launched himself forward, drawing his feet well up, clearing the mass of tangled bushes below, and just reaching the other side with his toes. an inch or two more would have been sufficient; as it was, he had not leaped quite far enough, for his boots grated and scratched down the side facing him, the bushes below checked him slightly, and he tried to save himself with his hands and clung to the rough block for a few moments. then, to mike's great amusement, he slipped suddenly lower, right in among the brambles which grew from out of a rift, and looked matted enough together to support him as he hung now by his hands. "scramble up, cinder!" cried mike. "you are a jumper!" "wait till you try it, my lad," was the reply; and then, "must drop and climb out at the end." as vince spoke his hands glided from their hold, and he dropped out of sight among the bushes, and at the same moment, to mike's horror, there was the rushing noise of falling stones, increasing to quite an avalanche, and sounding hollow, echoing, and strange, as if descending to a terrific depth. mike's heart seemed to stand still as he craned forward, gazing at the slight opening in the brambles which his companion had made; and as he listened intently he tried hard to speak, but his mouth felt dry, and not a word would come. it was horrible. they had both imagined that they were about to leap over a hollow between some masses of stone, probably two, perhaps three feet deep; but the bushes and brambles which had rooted in the sides had effectually masked what was evidently a deep chasm, penetrating to some unknown distance in the bowels of the earth. what to do? run for help, or try to get down? before mike could decide, in his fear and excitement, which, he drew his breath heavily, with a gasp of relief, for a voice sounding hollow and strange came up through the bushes and ferns. "mike!" "yes. hullo, are you hurt?" "bit scratched," came up. "how far are you down? tell me what to do. shall i go for a rope?" "steady!" came up: "don't ask so much at once. not down very far. i can see the light, and it's all of a slope here, but awful lower down. did you hear the stones go with a rush?" "yes, yes; but vince, old chap, tell me how i am to help you." "i can't: i don't know. i think i can climb out, only i hardly like to stir for fear of a slip. here goes, though. i can't stay like this." mike stood gazing down at the bushes, trembling with anxiety as he heard a rustling and scraping sound beneath, which made him long to speak and ask questions about how his companion got on, but he feared to do so lest he should take his attention from the work he had on hand. then came the rattle of a falling stone going slowly down, as if there were a good, steady slope; and the boy listened for its plunge into water far beneath, but the falling of the stone ceased to be heard, while the rustling and scraping sound made by the climber increased. then all at once the bushes began to move and a hand appeared at the far end. "take care! pray take care!" cried mike. "don't--pray don't slip back!" "oh, it's all right now," said vince, to the watcher's great relief. "it's all of a slope here, as if it had once been a place where water ran down. wait a moment till i get out my knife." there was a pause, during which mike climbed round to the end where vince was trying to get out; and he was there by the time his companion began hacking at the brambles with his big knife, first his arm appearing and soon after his head, as he chopped away, getting himself free, and seizing the hand extended to him from where mike knelt and reached down. "hah!" cried vince, as he climbed on to one of the rugged blocks, "that wasn't nice. it slopes down from here, so that where i fell through i must have dropped a dozen feet; but i came down standing, and then fell this way on my hands and stopped myself from sliding, when a lot of stones that had been waiting for a touch went down." "but are you hurt?" cried mike anxiously. "not much: bit bruised, i suppose. but i say, isn't it rum? there must have been water running to make a place like that. it must have come all along the bottom, where we've been creeping, and run down here, eating its way, like your father and mine were talking about one evening." "i'd forgotten," said mike. "but if it ran down there, where did it go to?" "down to the sea, of course, and--i say, mike, don't you see?" cried vince excitedly. "see? see what?" said the lad, staring. "what i said." "how could any one see what you said!" cried mike, ready enough to laugh now that his companion was out of danger. "oh, don't be stupid at a time like this!" grumbled vince excitedly. "once water begins to eat away, it goes on eating a channel for itself, like it does at the waterfall over the other side of the island. well, this must have cut itself a way along. it's quite a big, sloping passage, and it must go down to the shore. can't you see now?" "i don't know. do you mean that hole leads down to the shore?" "yes, or into some cavern like the great holes where the stream runs out into the sea." "then it would be a way down into the black scraw?" cried mike excitedly. "of course it would. why, mikey, we've found out what we were looking for!" "you mean you tumbled upon it," said mike, laughing. "tumbled into it," cried vince, whose face was flushed with eagerness. "come on down, and let's have a look if i'm not right." "what, down there?" "yes, of course." "but isn't it dark?" "black enough lower down; but you can see the top part, because the light shines through all these brambles and thorns." "but hadn't we better wait till i've got a lanthorn and the rope?" "why, of course, before we try to explore it; but we might go and look a little way. you're not afraid?" "no, i don't think i'm afraid," said mike. "then come on." without a moment's hesitation vince began to lower himself down where he had so lately emerged, and mike followed; but in a few minutes they had decided that they could do nothing without a light. all they could make out was that there was a rugged slope, very steep and winding, going right away in the direction of the sea. they picked up the loose stones beneath their feet, and threw them into the darkness, and listened to hear them go bounding down, striking the sides and floor; but there seemed to be no precipitous fall, and at last, thoroughly satisfied with their discovery, they climbed back into daylight, and sat down on the stones to rest and think. "i've got it!" said mike suddenly. "it isn't what you think." "what is it, then?" "an old mine, where they bored for lead in the old, old days." "no," said vince stubbornly, "it's what i say--the channel of an old stream; and you'll see." "so will you, my lad, when we bring a lanthorn. i say you'll find the walls sparkling with what-you-may-call-it--you know--that glittering lead ore, same as we've got specimens of in the cabinet at home." "no," said vince; "you'll find that it'll be all smooth, worn granite at the sides, where the water has been running for hundreds of years." "till it all ran away. very well, then: let's go back at once and get a lanthorn and the rope." vince laughed. "we've got to get home first, and by the time we've done that we shan't want to make another journey to-day; but i say to-morrow afternoon, directly after dinner. are you willing?" "of course." "and you'll bring the rope?" "to be sure; and you the crowbar and hammer?" vince promised, and sat there very thoughtful, as he gazed down at the hacked-away brambles. "let's put these away or throw them down," he said. "why?" "because if old daygo came along here, he'd see that some one had found a way down into the scraw." "daygo! what nonsense! i don't believe he ever was along here in his life." "perhaps not; but he may come now, if he sees us spying about. i'm sure he watches us." "and i'm sure you've got a lot of nonsense in your nut about the old chap. now then, shall we go?" "yes; i'm willing. think we can find it again?" "easily," said mike. "look up yonder: we can take those two pieces of rock up on the ridge for our bearings. they stand as two ends of the base a b, as mr deane would say, and if you draw lines from them they will meet here at this point, c. this hole's c, and we can't mistake it." "no. but look here: this is better still. look at that bit of a crag split like a bishop's mitre." "yes: i see." "we've got to get this laid-down rock in a line with it, and there are our bearings; we can't be wrong then." "no," cried mike. "who wouldn't know how to take his bearings when he's out, and wants to mark a spot! now then, is it lay our heads for home?" it was a long while before either of them slept that night for thinking of their discovery, and when they did drop off, the dark, tunnel-like place was reproduced in their dreams. chapter nine. study versus discovery. "dear, dear, dear, dear!" in a tone full of reproach, and then a series of those peculiar sounds made by the tongue, and generally written "tut-tut-tut-tut!" for want of a better way--for it is like trying to express on paper the sound of a bosjesman's _click cluck_ or the crowing of a cock. the speaker was mr humphrey deane--a tall, pale, gentlemanly-looking young university man, who, for reasons connected with his health, had arranged with sir francis ladelle and the doctor to come and stay at the mount, where he was to have a comfortable home and the doctor's attendance, a moderate stipend, and, in exchange, to help on the two lads in their studies every morning, the rest of the day being his own. the plan had worked admirably; for mr deane was an earnest, able man, with a great love of learning, and always ready to display a warm friendship for boy or man who possessed similar tastes. the lads liked him: he was always firm, but kindly; and he possessed that wonderful power of imparting the knowledge he possessed, never seeming at a loss for means to explain some puzzling expression in classic lore, or mathematical problem, so as to impress it strongly upon his pupil's mind. the morning he uttered the words at the beginning of this chapter he was seated with the two boys in the long, low library at the mount, whose heavy windows looked out upon a great, thick, closely-cropped yew hedge, which made the room dark and gloomy, for it completely shut off all view of the western sea, though at the same time it sheltered the house from the tremendous gales which swept over the island from time to time. it was the morning after the discovery in so unpleasant a manner of the hole at the foot of the slope, and their projected visit of investigation in the afternoon so filled the lads' heads that there did not seem to be any room for study; and, in consequence, after patiently bearing the absence of mind and inattention of his pupils for a long time, the tutor began to be fidgety and, in spite of his placid nature, annoyed. the latin reading and rendering went on horribly, and the mathematics worse. vince tried hard; but as soon as he began to write down _a_ + _b_--_c_ = the square root of _x_, his mind wandered away to the rocks over the black scraw. for that root of _x_ was so suggestive: _x_ represented the unknown quantity, and the black scraw was the unknown quantity of which he wanted to get to the root; and, over and over again, when the tutor turned to him, it was to find the boy, pen in hand, but with the ink in it dried up, while he sat gazing straight before him at imaginary grottoes and caverns, lit up by lanthorns which cast the black shadows of two explorers behind them on the water-smoothed granite floor. but this did not apply only to vince, for mike was acting in a similar way; and at the end of an hour mr deane could bear it no longer, for it had happened at a time when he was not so well as usual, and it required a strong effort of will to be patient with the inattentive lads when suffering pain. and so it was that at last he uttered the "dear dears" and "tut tuts," and roused the two boys from their dreams about what they would see in the afternoon. "are you unwell, vincent burnet?" he said. "unwell, sir?--oh no!" said the lad, colouring a little. "you seem so strange in your manner this morning; and michael ladelle here is the same. i hope you are not both sickening for something." "oh, i'm quite well, sir," said mike hurriedly. "perhaps it's the weather." "perhaps it is," said mr deane drily. "now, pray get on with those problems." "yes, of course," cried vince; and he began to work away most industriously, till, as the tutor was resting his head upon his hand and looking down at the paper upon which he was himself working out the problem he had set the boys, so as to be able to show them, step by step, how it was best done, mike scribbled something on a scrap, shut it in a book, and passed it to vince, after glancing across the table and then giving him a nudge. vince glanced across too; but mr deane was apparently intent upon the problem, his delicate right-hand guiding the new quill pen, and forming a long series of beautifully formed characters which were always looked upon by the boys with envy and surprise. vince opened the book at the scrap of paper and read: "i say: let's tell old deane, and make him go with us." vince turned the paper over and wrote: "what for? he'd spoil it all. want to knock all the fun out of our discovery?" the scrap was shut up in the book and pushed back to the sender; the work continued, and then came another nudge and the book once more, with a fresh scrap of paper stuck in. "i say, i can't get on a bit for thinking about the black scraw." vince wrote on the back: "more can i. get on with your work, and don't bother." this was forwarded by library table post, and then there was nothing heard but the scratching of the tutor's pen. but mike's restlessness increased: he fidgeted and shuffled about in his chair, shook the table, and tried all kinds of positions to help him in solving his algebraic problem, but without avail. scrub oaks, ravens and red-legged choughs danced before his eyes; great dark holes opened in the rocks, and the desire to finish work, get out in the bright sunshine, and run and shout, seemed more than he could bear. at last, to relieve his feelings a little, he took a fresh piece of paper, laid it over his pluses and minuses and squares and cubes, and then wrote enigmatically: "lanthorn and rope." this he blotted, glanced at the hard-working student across the table, and then thrust it sidewise to vince, who took it, read it, and, turning it over, wrote: "you be hanged!" he was in the act of blotting it when the pen dropped from mr deane's fingers; he sat up, and extended his hand as he looked sternly across the table. "give me that piece of paper, vincent," he said. vince hesitated; but the tutor's eyes gazed firmly into his, and wrong yielded to right. he passed the paper across to mr deane, and then nearly jumped out of his chair, for mike gave him a violent kick under the table. "to be paid with interest," thought vince. "oh! you jolly sneak, to give it up!" thought mike, as the tutor read the paper on both sides. "i am very sorry," he said, after coughing to clear his voice--"very sorry to have to exercise my authority towards you two, who have been acting this morning like a pair of inattentive, idle schoolboys; but when i undertook to act as your tutor, it was with the full understanding that i was to have complete authority over you, and that you were both to treat me with proper respect." the boys sat silent and feeling horribly guilty. if humphrey deane had been an overbearing, blustering personage, they might have felt ready to resent his words; but the injured tone, the grave, gentle manner of the invalid went right home to both, and they listened, with their eyes upon their scanty display of work, as the tutor went on. "you both know," he said, "that my health will not permit of much strain, but so long as you both work with me and try your best, it is a pleasure to me, and no one could feel more gratification than i do when you get on." "mr deane," began vince. "one moment, and i have done," continued the tutor. "you well know that i try to make your studies pleasant." "yes, sir," said mike. "and that when the morning's work is over i am only too glad to join you in any amusement or excursion. i ask you, then, is it fair, when you see i am unwell, to make my endeavours to help you a painful toil, from your carelessness and inattention?" "no, mr deane," said vince quickly; "it's too bad, and i'm very sorry. there!" "thank you, burnet," said the tutor, smiling. "it's what i expected from your frank, manly nature." "oh, and i'm sorry too," said mike quickly; but he frowned slightly, for the speaker had not called him frank and manly. "i have no more to say," said the tutor, smiling at both in turn; "and i suppose i ought to apologise for insisting upon seeing that paper. i am glad to find that it was not of so trifling a nature as i thought for on michael ladelle's part, though i am sorry that you, burnet, treated the note he passed you in so ribald a way. `you be hanged!' is hardly a gentlemanly way of replying to a historical memorandum or query such as this: `lanthorn and rope.' of course, i see the turn your thoughts had taken, michael." the boys stared at him wonderingly. while they had been suspecting old joe daygo of watching them, had mr deane been quietly observing them unnoticed, and had he divined that they were going to take lanthorn and rope that afternoon? "of course, history is a grand study," continued the tutor, "and i am glad to see that you have a leaning in that direction; but i like to be thorough. when we are having lessons on history let us give our minds to it, but when we are treating of algebra let us try to master that. there--we will say no more. i am glad, though, that you recall our reading; but try, michael, to remember some of the other important parts of french history, and don't let your mind dwell too much upon the horrors of the revolution. it is very terrible, all that about the excesses of the mob and their mad hatred of the nobility and gentry--_a bas les aristocrates_! and their cry, _a la lanterne_! yes: very terrible those ruthless executions with the lanthorn and the rope. but now, please, i have finished that compound equation. pray go on with yours." the two lads bent down now earnestly to their work, and with a little help mastered the puzzle which had seemed hopeless a short time before. then the rest of the morning glided away rapidly, and vince hurried off home to his midday dinner, after a word or two about meeting, which was to be at the side of the dwarf-oak wood, to which each was to make his way so as not to excite attention, and in case, as vince still believed, daygo really was keeping an eye upon their movements. "i thought as much," said vince aloud, as he reached the appointed place, with a good-sized creel in his hand, the hammer and crowbar being in a belt under his jersey, like a pair of hidden weapons. "i'd go by myself if i had the rope." "and lanthorn," said mike, raising his head from where he had been lying hidden in a clump of heather. "hullo, then!" cried vince joyously. "i didn't see you there. but, i say: lanthorn and rope! i felt as if i must burst out laughing." "yes: wasn't it comic?" "i felt that i must tell him--poor old chap!--and as if i was trying to cheat him." "oh no, it wasn't that! we couldn't help him taking the wrong idea. i'd have told him at once, only it seems to spoil the fun of the thing if everybody knows. but come on." "wait a minute," said vince, sitting on a stone. "i want to look all round first without seeming to. perhaps old joe's watching us." "if he is," said mike sagely, "you won't see him, for he'll be squatted down by some block of stone, or in a furze bush. he's a regular old fox. let's go on at once. but where's the lanthorn?" "never you mind about the lanthorn: where's the rope?" "lying on it. now, where's the light?" "in the creel here," was the reply. then without further parley they plunged into the wood, and, profiting by former experiences, made their way more easily through it into the rocky chaos beyond; threaded their way in and out among the blocks, till at last with very little difficulty they found their bearings, and, after one or two misses in a place where the similarity of the stones and tufts of furze and brambles were most confusing, they reached the end of the opening, noted how the old watercourse was completely covered in with bramble and fern, and then stepped down at once, after a glance upward along the slope and ridge, to stand the next minute sheltered from the wind and in the semi-darkness. chapter ten. a venturesome journey. "mind how you go," said mike in a subdued voice, for the darkness and reverberation following the kicking of a loose pebble impressed him. "all right: it's only a stone. it was just down there that i slipped to. ahoy!" he shouted softly, with one hand to his mouth, and his cry seemed to run whispering away from them to echo far beneath their feet. "i say, don't do that," said mike excitedly. "why not? nobody could hear." "no; but it sounds so creepy and queer. let's have a light." it did sound "creepy and queer," for the sounds came from out of the unknown, which is the most startling thing in nature, from the fact that our busy brains are always ready to dress it up in the most weird way, especially if the unknown lies in the dark. but no more was said, for vince was busy opening his basket, out of which he drew an old-fashioned horn lanthorn and gave it to mike to hold, while he took something else out of the creel, which rattled as it was moved. "why, you've only brought half a candle," said mike, who had opened the lanthorn, and held it so that the rays which streamed down through the brambles overhead fell in its interior. "what shall we do when that burns out?" "light one of the pieces i've got in my pockets," said vince coolly, as he sat down on the water-worn granite, and placed a round, flattish tin box between his knees. "didn't bring a cushion with you, did you?" "cushion? no; what for?" "one to sit on: this is precious hard." and then _scratch, scratch_: a rub of a tiny wax match upon the sanded side of a box, and a flash of red, dim light followed by a clear white flame? nothing of the kind: matches of that sort had not been invented fifty or sixty years ago. whoever wanted a light had to go to work as vince prepared to do, after placing a thin slip of wood sharpened at each end and dipped in brimstone ready to hand. taking a piece of steel or iron bent round so as to form a rough handle to be grasped, while the knuckles were guarded by the edge of the steel, this was held over the tin box, which was, on the inner lid or press being removed, half full of burned cotton ash now forming the tinder that was to catch the sparks. vince was pretty handy at the task from old experience, and gripping the box tightly between his knees he made the hollow, cavernous place echo again as he struck the steel in his left hand with a piece of sharp-edged flint held in his right. _nick, nick, nick, nick_--the nearly forgotten sound that used to rise in early morning from the kitchen before a fire could be lit--and _nick, nick, nick, nick_ again, here in the narrow opening, where the rays of sunshine shot down and made the sparks which flew from flint and steel look pale as they shot downward at every stroke the lad gave. mike felt nervous at the idea of penetrating the depths below them, and to hide this nervousness he chattered, and said the first thing that came to his lips in a bantering tone: "here! you are a fellow to get a light. let me have a try." but as he spoke one spark fell upon the tinder and seemed to stay, while as soon as vince saw this he bent down and blew, with the result that it began to glow and increase in size so much that when the brimstoned point of the match was applied to the glowing spot still fanned by the breath the curious yellow mineral began to melt, sputter, and then burst into a soft blue flame, which was gradually communicated to the wood. this burned freely, the candle in the lanthorn was lit, the door shut, and the tinder-box with flint and steel closed and smothered out and returned to the creel. "you'd have done it in half the time, of course," said vince, rising and slinging the creel on his back. "now then, are you going to carry the lanthorn?" "i may as well, as i've got it," said mike. "all right: then you'll have to go first." mike felt disposed to alter the arrangement, but he could not for very shame. "you take the rope, then. but, i say, you needn't carry that creel as well," he said. "i don't want to; but suppose the candle goes out?" "oh, you'd better take it," said mike eagerly. "ready?" "yes, if you are." mike did not feel at all ready, but he held the lanthorn up high and took a step or two forward and downward, which left the sunlit part of the place behind, and then began cautiously to descend a long rugged slope, which was cumbered with stones of all sizes, these having evidently fallen from the roof and sides, the true floor of the tunnel-like grotto being worn smooth by the rushing water which must at one time have swept along, reaching in places nearly to the roof just above the boys' heads. the way was very steep, and winding or rather shooting off here and there, after forming a deep, wonderfully rounded hollow, in which in several cases huge rounded stones lay as they had been left by the torrent, after grinding round and round as if in a mill, smoothing the walls of the hollow, and at the same time making themselves spherical through being kept in constant motion by the water. these pot-holes, as a geologist would call them, are common enough in torrents, where a heavy stone is borne into a whirlpool-like eddy, and goes on grinding itself a deeper and deeper bed, the configuration of the rock-walls where it lies having prevented its being swept down at the first, while every year after it deepens its bed until escape becomes impossible. again and again, as they went on, places of this kind were met with; while twice over they had to pause at spots where the water must have sprung from a shelf ten or a dozen feet down into a basin which it had hollowed for itself in the course of time. upon the first of these sudden drops presenting itself mike stopped with the lanthorn. "here's the end of it," he said. "goes down into a sort of bottomless pit, black as ink. let's go back." vince stepped close to his side and gazed down into the black depths with a feeling of awe, the place looking the more terrible from the fact that the tunnel had narrowed until there was only just room for them to stand between the smooth granite walls. "looks rather horrid," said vince. "worse than a big well. let's see how deep it is." he stepped back and picked up a stone that had fallen from the roof, returning to where mike held up the lanthorn for him to see. down went the block of stone, and they prepared themselves to hear it go bounding and echoing far away in the bowels of the earth; but it stopped instantly with a loud clang, and vince cried,-- "why, it isn't deep at all! i can see it." a ring or two of the rope was cast loose, passed through the handle of the lanthorn, and upon lowering it down block after block presented itself sufficient to enable them to descend into what proved to be quite a hollow, from which the stream must have leapt into another and again into another, each being a fall of only a few feet. after which there was another great pot-hole, like a vast mortar with a handleless pestle of rock remaining therein. beyond this the water had carved out a rugged trough, steep enough to form a slide if they had felt disposed to trust themselves to it, and vince laughingly suggested that they should glide down. "only it wouldn't do," he added. "we can't tell what's at the bottom. might mean a bad fall. had enough of it?" "yes, ever since we started," replied mike. "then you want to go back?" "oh no, i don't," retorted mike. "one can't help feeling that one must keep on and see where it goes to, even if it does make you turn creepy. doesn't it you?" "well, yes, i suppose so," replied vince thoughtfully; "and i wouldn't go on, only it's so easy to climb back, and the air feels fresh and sweet, so that except that it's dark there's nothing to mind." "but suppose the candle went out. how much is there left?" as mike spoke, he opened the door of the lanthorn and looked at the light anxiously, but they had not burned an inch. "we could easily get another light," said vince; "and we must go on now. here, shall i go down first?" "no; i'll keep to it," cried mike. "i'm not going to have you jeering at me afterwards and telling me i was afraid. but look here, cinder: you can't walk down--it really is too steep." "let's try the rope: i'll fasten it, and then you can hold on." "nothing to fasten it to." "soon get over that," said vince; and, taking out the iron bar and the hammer, he found a crack in the rock directly, into which he drove the narrow edge till it was perfectly firm, the roof just overhead echoing the blows of the hammer so rapidly that in a short time it sounded as if a dozen smiths were at work. "stop a moment," cried mike, as he held the light, and vince began to tie the end of the rope to the strong iron peg he had formed. "what for?" "suppose when we get down we want the rope for another place, what should we do if we leave it here?" vince took the lanthorn and held it out before him, so that he could examine the trough-like slope. "i shouldn't like to trust myself to slide down here," he said; "but there's nothing to prevent our climbing up. let's double the rope and hook the middle over the bar; then, when we're down, we can pull one end and get it free." this was done, and, tying the lanthorn to his neck by means of his kerchief, mike secured the doubled rope and let himself down, his companion soon after seeing him standing some thirty feet lower. a minute later vince was by his side, and they looked about them, but there was nothing fresh to see. the roof was only a foot above their heads. the width of the place averaged six or seven feet, and there was this to encourage them--no branches occurred to form puzzling labyrinths. if they had been overtaken by darkness there was nothing to prevent their feeling their way back into the sunshine. so, growing accustomed to the place, familiarity, if it did not breed contempt, made them cooler and more ready to go on descending over similar obstacles to those they had previously encountered, till all at once mike stopped short, and held up the lanthorn beneath which he peered. "what is it?" said vince anxiously. "hark! what's that?" said mike, in a whisper full of awe. a dull rushing sound smote upon their ears, but in a muffled, strange way, that puzzled them to make out what it might be. "i know," said vince at last: "it's water." "think so?" said mike dubiously. "yes. i've been puzzling ever so long to make out how it was that water could have run along here, and for there to be none now, but i see how it is. this was once the channel of the stream, till it ate its way down through the rock to a lower one, and that's it we can hear running somewhere below." "perhaps," said mike; but his words implied doubt, and, after once more examining the candle in the lanthorn, he led on, but very cautiously and slowly now, though the passage was easier, and the slope less broken by step-like faults in the granite, over which the water must once have flowed. at the end of a dozen yards mike stopped again, and vince quite as willingly, for the dull rushing sound continued, and they looked at each other by the light of the lanthorn. "how far down are we, do you think?" said mike. "i dunno. must be a long way below the sea." mike nodded, and vince continued: "i thought it led down into the scraw cove, but we must be lower than that." "yes, ever so much; and it strikes me that we might go on down and down for hours. haven't we done enough for this time?" "well, yes," said vince, in a hesitating tone; "only i should have liked to find out something better than going on and on, just like in one of the caverns on the shore stretched out a tremendous way." "yes, i should have liked to see something more; but this is a curious place. old deane would like to come down here and see those round stones in the holes." "we'll bring him some day," said vince. "well, suppose we'd better go back, for it seems to be all like this." "can't be all like this, because there's water rushing somewhere down below." "well, let's go on till we come to the water, and then turn back." "but if it's very dangerous?" "we won't go into danger. you keep the lanthorn well up, so that you can see where you go, and then you can stop." "suppose you lead now," said mike: "my arm aches awfully with holding up the light." "all right: i'll go first, then." "but i'm not afraid to!" cried mike hastily. "well, i am, ladle," said vince frankly; "and i shall go very slowly and carefully, i can tell you. here, you carry the rope and hammer. stop a minute, though: how's the light?" he opened the lanthorn door now, and was surprised to see how little the candle was burned down, but there was a tremendously long snuff with a fungous top. "i thought it was very dull," he said; and, moistening his fingers, he snuffed the candle.--"now we shall have a better light." but unfortunately he had moistened his fingers too much, and the result was that the shortened wick hissed, sputtered, burned blue, and then without further warning went out. "oh!" cried mike, in tones of horror, as they stood there in profound darkness. "oh!" was echoed along the passage, and prolonged as if in a groan. chapter eleven. the sea palace. for a few moments neither of the boys spoke, but stood listening to the dull roaring sound. then vince started, for he felt himself touched; and he nearly uttered a cry of horror, but checked it by setting his teeth hard as he grasped the fact that the touch came from mike's hand, which he seized and found to be cold and damp. "let's get back--quick, somehow," gasped the lad. "yes: come on. we can feel our way," replied vince. "keep hold of hands. no, that would make it harder. here, give me a piece of the rope, and i'll put it round my waist, then you can hold on by that and follow me. i think i can recollect exactly how it goes." "be quick!" said mike, in an awe-stricken whisper, as he passed several yards of the rope to his companion in misfortune; and this vince fastened round his waist, and then uttered an ejaculation. "what is it?" cried mike: "don't say something else is wrong." "wrong? no," cried vince, whose hands had come in contact with the creel: "i forgot the tinder-box." "ah!" cried mike joyfully; and he pressed close to vince, as the latter sat down, took out the box, and began nicking away with the flint and steel, making the scintillating sparks flash and send their feeble light in all directions. "oh, do make haste!" panted mike; "that dreadful roaring's coming nearer." "i can hear it," muttered vince, as he kept on nicking; but not a spark took hold of the tinder. "here, let me try," cried mike. "no, not yet: i'll do it. the tinder must have got damp." "turn it over, then," cried mike piteously. "oh, do make haste." vince thrust his fingers into the tinder-box to follow out his companion's instructions, and uttered an impatient sound. "what is it now?" "such an idiot!" cried vince. "i never took the tin off the top of the tinder." and so it was that after the disk, which damped out the sparks after a light had been obtained, was removed, the first blow of the flint on the steel sent down a shower, a couple of which caught at once, and were blown into an incandescent state, the match was applied, began to melt, and after a little trouble the sputtering candle once more burned brightly behind the semi-transparent horn, while the roaring sound did not now seem to be so loud. "i say," said vince, with a forced laugh, "isn't it easy to feel scared when you're in the dark?" "scared? it was awful!" "but we're not going to give up till we've seen where the water runs?" mike remained silent. "we must do what we meant to do?" "very well," said mike, drawing a deep breath, which was followed by a gasp. "come on, then, and let's get it over." setting his teeth firmly, vince once more attacked the unknown, and came upon another sharp turn, where the water must have eddied round, and was reflected almost back upon itself, and then turned away, after another rounded hollow, almost at right angles. here the slope became a little more inclined, still not enough to make progress difficult; but as soon as the two windings had been passed, they knew that the goal they had marked out for themselves was at hand, for the noise suddenly became louder, and was unmistakably caused by water rushing over stones. "take care!" cried mike warningly. "you're close to it." "yes," cried vince excitedly; "we are close to it;" and he stopped and held up the lanthorn, so that his hand struck against the roof. "look there!" mike pressed close, and looked at the object which had taken his companion's attention; but for a few moments he realised nothing save that the passage had grown more contracted, and that the roof seemed to be formed by two huge pieces of glistening granite leaning together. then he looked down and saw that the floor, which was smoother than ever, ran down suddenly, while a faint, damp, salt odour of sea-weed struck upon his nostrils as a puff of air was suddenly wafted up. "mind, mind!" he shouted. "ah!" for the lanthorn was once more darkened, but not by the candle being extinct. on the contrary, it was burning brightly still, but hidden by vince drawing his jersey suddenly over the sides. "it's all right," cried vince, for there before him was the shape of the end of the passage marked out by a pale, dawn-like light. "can't you see? we've been fancying we've come down such a tremendous depth, and all the time we were right: the hole has led us to the shore." but vince was not quite right, for, upon his drawing the lanthorn out-- and none too soon, an odour of singed worsted becoming perceptible--they found that the sudden sharp slope of the granite flooring went down some twenty feet, and upon lowering the light by means of the rope the lanthorn came to rest in soft sand. "it isn't very light down there," said vince, whose feelings of nervousness were being rapidly displaced by an intense desire to see more; "but light does come in, and there's the waves running in and out round here. you don't want to go back now, do you?" "no," said mike quickly. "who's to go down first?" "i will, for i found out what it was." "all right," said mike; "but we shall want the rope. how are we to fasten it?" "there's plenty," said vince, "and we'll go back and tie it round that last great stone in the hole." this was done, mike lighting him; and then, upon their returning, the rope coil was thrown down. "here goes!" cried vince. "hold the light high up." mike raised it on high, and leaned forward as far as he could; while, sitting down and grasping the rope, vince let himself glide, and the next moment his feet sank deep in soft sand. "come on!" he shouted back to where mike was anxiously watching from twenty feet or so above him. "it's easy as easy. never mind the lanthorn." he looked round as he spoke, to see that he was in a large cavern, floored with beautifully smooth, soft sand, and lit up by the same soft grey dawn that had greeted him at the end of the passage, but how it entered the place he could not make out, for no opening was visible, and the rushing, roaring sound of the water came from the lofty roof. vince's was only a momentary glance, for mike was coming slowly down the smooth shoot, sliding on his back, but lowering himself foot by foot, as he held on to the rope. "there!" cried vince, as his companion stood beside him, gazing at the rugged walls and lofty roof of the great dry channel; "wasn't this worth coming to see?" "why, it's grand," replied mike, in a subdued voice. "i say, what a place!" "what a place? i should think it is. i say, ladle, we've discovered this, and it's all our own. you and i ought to come and stay here when we like. i say, isn't it a size? why, it must be thirty feet long." he paced across the rugged hollow, tramping through the soft sand. "twelve paces," he cried from the other side. "it's splendid; but i wish it was a bit lighter. there must be somewhere for the light to come in. yes, i see!" vince pointed up at the side farthest from him where he stood, and a little closer investigation showed that the pale soft light appeared to be reflected upward against the roof, coming from behind a screen of rock. crossing to this spot, they found that they could pass round the rocky screen, which reached half-way to the ceiling, and they now stood in a narrow passage lit by a soft green light, which came through a low arch, and on reaching and passing through this the boys uttered a shout of delight, for before them was another cavern of ample dimensions, whose low flattened roof was glorious with a lovely, ever-changing pattern, formed by the reflection of the sunlight from the waves outside. they were fascinated for the time by the appearance of the roof, which seemed to be all in motion--lights and shadows, soft as silken weavings, chasing each other, opening, closing, and interlacing in the most wonderful way, till they grew dazzled. "it's too much to see at one time," whispered mike at last. "i say! look at the arch with ferns hanging all round like lace." "yes, and what a colour the sea is!" "and the anemones and limpets and coral! look at those pools, too, among the rocks." "yes, and outside at the sea-birds. i say, ladle! did you ever see anything like it?" "never thought there was such a beautiful place in the world," replied mike softly. "shall we go any farther?" "go any farther? i should think we will! why, mikey, this is all our own! two beautiful caverns, one opening into the other, and all a secret, only known to ourselves. talk about luck! but come on." they passed under the arch, and stood in a cavern opening by another arch upon the sea, which rippled and played amongst the sand below, the mouth of the place being protected by ridge after ridge of rock just level with the surface, and sufficient to break the force of the wild currents, which boiled as they rushed by a short distance out. this cavern appeared as if, at some distant period, it had been eaten out of soft or half-decayed strata by the waves; and its peculiarity was the great extent of low, fairly level roof, which in places the lads could touch by tiptoeing and extending their fingers. it ran in at least a hundred feet; and apparently, from the state of the sand, was never invaded by the highest tides, which were pretty exactly marked by the living shells and sea-weed at the mouth. everywhere the place was carpeted with soft sand, through which stood up smooth blocks with flattened tops, readily suggesting tables, chairs and couches of the hardest and most durable nature. they were not long in examining every cranny and crevice inward, fully expecting to find some low arch leading into another or a series of caverns; but they found nothing more, and did not spend much time in examining the place, for the great attraction was the mouth, through which, as if it were a frame, they gazed out at the glittering cove and the barrier of rock, dotted with sea-birds, which hid the open sea beyond. making their way, then, to the mouth, and hastily taking off shoe and stocking, they tucked up and began to wade, so as to get outside; but the huge buttresses which supported the rugged arch completely shut them in, running out as they did to where the sea swirled along with tremendous force, and looked so deep and formidable, that the two lads grasped in a moment what the consequences of a slip would be,--no swimmer could have stemmed such a rush. "it's jolly--it's grand--it's splendid!" cried vince at last, after they had been paddling about for some time in the shallow water, and stepping on to the low ridges of rock which barred the entrance; "but it's precious disappointing." "yes," said mike; "for we can't see much now, shut-in like this." it was quite true; for when they had stepped from rock to rock as far as they dared go, they were still in the mouth of the cave, which projected far out over them like a porch, and completely hid the cove on either side and the precipice extending upward to the ridge. "i want to get round there to the left," said vince, after gazing thoughtfully along the foot of one large buttress. "it looks shallow there, for the water's pale green. i can't see from here, but i don't believe it's up to one's knees." "we'll try," said mike, springing on to the rock, flush with the water, upon which vince stood, with none too much room. "mind what you're doing!" "oh my! how sharp the rock is!" shouted mike, who stood on one leg to pet and comfort an injured toe. "i shall go along there," said vince, "and then keep close to the wall." "but you'll mind and not get in the current. it would take you away directly." "just as if it was likely i should risk it, with my clothes on!" said vince scornfully. "do you suppose i want a soaking? i think, you know, that if i get along there i shall be able to hold on and look up at this part of the cliffs. 'tis a pity there isn't a narrow shore, so that you could walk right round." "well, take care," said mike. "mind, i'm not coming in after you, to get wet." vince laughed, and, picking his way, he stepped from stone to stone, till he was only a short distance from the massive wall of the buttress, and not far from where the sun shone upon the water. "why, it's as shallow as shallow!" he cried. "i thought it was, it looked so pale and green. i don't believe it's a foot deep, and it's all sand, just like a garden walk; you can wade right out here, mike, and round by the corner, and i dare say all round the cove like this." "oh, do mind!" cried mike. "of course i'll mind. don't suppose i want to drown myself, do you? what are you afraid of?" "i'm not afraid." "yes, you are. you keep thinking of old joe's nonsense about the place being full of water bogies and things, when all the time there's nothing but some dangerous rocks, and the sharp eddies and currents. why, i haven't even seen a fish!" "well, i have," said mike. "i can see the mullet lying down here in the still black water, so thick that they almost touch one another." "you can? well, i'll come and have a look presently. here goes for a wade." vince gave the bottoms of his trousers an extra roll, so as to get them as high as possible above his knees, and leaning forward from where he stood upon a detached block of stone, he rested his hands upon the side of the great buttress, and lowered one foot into the water over ankle, calf, and knee; and then he uttered a cry, and nearly went headlong, but making a violent effort, he wrenched himself back, thrusting the rock with all his might, and came down in a sitting position upon the great stone. chapter twelve. lost in the darkness. "what was it?" cried mike excitedly: "something get hold of your leg?" "no," replied the boy, with a shiver, as his face turned clayey-looking. "yes." "what was it--crab or a conger?" "something ever so much worse," said vince, with a shiver. "it looks quite hard down there, and all as tempting as can be; but it's loose quicksand, and my foot went down into it just as if it was so much sticky oil. there's no getting along there." "lucky you hadn't let go," said mike sympathetically. "good job we found out as we have. it might have been much worse." "worse? why, i nearly went right in. and then i should have been sucked down. ugh!" vince shuddered; but the colour began to come naturally again into his cheeks, and after a bit he laughed as they waded back into the cavern-- being particularly careful, though, in spite of the roughness, to plant their feet on the pieces of shell-dotted stone beneath the surface. "yes, it's all very well to laugh," said mike, in an ill-used tone; "but you're always running risks and getting into some hobble." "not such a good little boy as you, ladle. you never do wrong, and-- there, see what you've done now!" cried vince, as he stood now in the soft, dry sand, and nestled his feet in it to take the place of a towel. "what have i done now?" "come down and left the candle burning. i know you did; and it will have burned into the socket and melted it. how will you like going back in the dark?" mike stared at him aghast. "you did forget, now, didn't you?" "you never told me to put it out." "i didn't tell you to eat your dinner to-day, did i?" "no; but--" "where's your common sense? now we shall have to go all through that dark hole like a couple of worms." "no, we shan't," cried mike. "i've got common sense enough to know you said you had some bits of candle in your pocket." "humph!" grunted vince, whose eyes were wandering in all directions about the beautiful cave. "what's the good of candles without something to stick them in? that socket's melted off, i know." "soon manage that," said mike, picking up a large whorled shell. "there's a natural candlestick; and if we hadn't found that, our fists would have done, or we could have stuck the candle on to the lanthorn with some of the grease." "my word, he is a clever old ladle!" cried vince jeeringly. "i say, isn't this dry sand jolly for your legs? mine are as right as can be." "capital," said mike, who was pulling on his grey knitted socks. "i say, though, we have found out a place. i vote we come often." "yes," said vince. "after a bit we shall be able to step through that dark hole as easily as can be." "yes, and in half the time. it's all very well to bounce, but it was queer work coming down." "i don't bounce, ladle; i felt squirmy enough. of course you couldn't help feeling creepy when you didn't know where you were going next." "well, i daresay you felt so too." "of course i did," continued vince. "i expected to put my foot in a great crack every minute, and fall right through to botany bay." "yes," said mike seriously. "there's something about being in the dark that is queer." "till you get used to it," said vince, jumping up, with his boots laced. "now, then, look sharp. i want to have another good look round." "ready," said mike. "i say, let's make a fireplace here, and bring wood, and get a frying-pan and a kettle, and cook fish and make tea and enjoy ourselves." vince nodded assent. "yes," he said; "might sleep here if you came to that. sand would make a jolly bed and bed-clothes too. i say, we've found a place that some boys would give their heads to have. why, there's no end to the fun we can have here. we can fish from the mouth." "yes, and i found some oysters--put my foot on them." "and we can bring things by degrees: potatoes and apples and flour. why, ladle, old chap, we can beat old robinson crusoe all to nothing, and smugglers and robbers and those sort of people. but we must keep it a secret. if any one else knew of this place being here it would be spoiled at once. i say, what's that?" "what?" said mike. "that dark bit there?" and vince nodded to a spot in the gloomiest part of the cavern, right up in one corner, where the roof rose highest. "crack in the rock. there's another just beyond." "yes, a regular split. hope it don't mean that the roofs going to tumble in." "not just yet," said mike, gazing up curiously at the fault in the granite stratum. "we might try where it goes to." "want a ladder," said vince; "and you may carry it, for i'm not going to try and bring that sort of thing down here. i say, there's the place to make a fire, just by the mouth, and then the smoke will all go up outside; and we can wash our fish and keep the place clean. those pools will be splendid. there's one deep enough to bathe in." "there, i tell you what," said mike; "we've got about as splendid a place close to home as any fellows could find if they went all over the world. i say, though, how we could laugh at old joe if we brought him down and showed him the scraw has about as beautiful a cave as there is anywhere!" "i say, don't talk about it. i wouldn't have any one know for the world; and do be careful about smuggling things down here." "don't you be afraid of that," said mike. "hi, look! there's a shoal of fish out there. mackerel, i think." "oh, the place teems with fish, i'm sure," said vince, as he watched the shimmering of the surface just in a smooth patch beyond where the sea was troubled. "now, then, shall we go and look at the other place before we go back?" "yes," said mike, but his tone suggesting no. "i feel as if i could sit down in the sand and look out at the sea and the birds on the rocks there opposite for ever." "without getting hungry, i suppose," said vince. "come on. it won't be long before we come down again. i say, ladle, what a place to come to on wet days!" "splendid; and i shan't be satisfied till you and i have sailed round here to see if there isn't a way of getting into the bay with a boat." "we might; but i daresay there isn't. very likely it's such a race and so full of rocks that we should be upset directly. come on." they went down and peered through the low arch into the narrow way between the rocks, and onward into the other chamber, which looked black and dark to them as they entered from the well-lit outer cavern. but in a few minutes their eyes were accustomed to the gloom, and the place seemed filled with a soft, pearly light which impressed mike, who was the poetical lad of the pair. "i say," he said softly, "isn't this one beautiful?" "not half so beautiful as the other," said vince bluntly. "oh yes, it is so soft and grey. it's just as if it was the inside of a great oyster-shell." "and you were a pearl," cried vince, laughing. "never mind; it is very jolly, though, and if ever we slept here this place would do for bedroom, but i don't think that's very likely. well, i suppose we'd better go. we've been here a precious long time, and i shall be late for tea." "never mind: come home and have tea with me. i don't feel in much of a hurry to go up through that black hole." "we shan't mind it if it hasn't tumbled in since we came, and shut us up." "i say, don't!" cried mike, with a look of horror. "that might be true, you know." "yes; but pigs might fly," cried vince, laughing. "i say, what a chap you are to take fright! puzzle a stone place like that to tumble in. a few bits might come off the roof, but even then we could crawl over them, for they must leave a hole where they come from. ready?" "yes," said mike unwillingly, and they walked to the foot of the slide. "i'll go first," cried vince; and, seizing the rope, he held on by it, and, shortening his hold as he went, contrived to walk right up to the top, in spite of the great angle at which it stood. "try that way, mike: it's as easy as easy." the boy tried, and after a slip or two managed to reach the top pretty well. here it was found that the candle had burned right out, but without injuring the socket; and a fresh piece having been set up, a light was soon obtained, and they started back, after deciding to leave the rope where it was, ready for their next visit, as they did not anticipate any difficulty about climbing back up the various step-like falls. there was plenty to have detained them during their return journey, for the passage of the little underground river presented a wonderfully different aspect from the new point of view, and often seemed dimly mysterious by the feeble yellow light of the horn lanthorn; but there were no difficulties that a couple of active lads ready to help each other did not readily surmount; and they went on turning curves and loops and corners, mounting places that were once waterfalls, and steadily progressing, till mike was horrified by one of his companion's remarks. it was just as they had paused breathless before beginning to climb one of the great step-like impediments. "i say, ladle," he cried, "suppose the water was to come back all of a sudden, and begin rushing down here! what should we do?" but mike recovered his balance directly. "pooh!" he cried; "how could it? i don't believe there has been water along here for hundreds of years." he began to climb, and they went on again, till it struck vince seriously that they were a very long time getting out, and he cried, in alarm,-- "i say, we haven't taken a wrong turning, have we?" his words struck a chill through both, and they stood there speechless for some moments, gazing in each other's dimly seen faces. "couldn't," cried mike at last. "we did not pass a single turning." "didn't see a single turning?" said vince. "no, we did not; but we might easily have passed one going sharply off to right or left, and come along it without noticing." "i say, don't say that," whispered mike hoarsely; "it sounds so horrible. why, we may be going right away from the daylight into some horrible maze of a place underground." "seems as if that's what we are doing," said vince sadly, "or we should have got out by now. we must have borne off to right or left, and--here we are." "yes; here we are," chorused mike, rather piteously; "but it's no use to be dumpy, is it? let's go back to the cave and start again, unless we can find out where we turned off as we go." vince did not reply, but opened the lanthorn, and raised his finger and thumb to his lips to moisten them before snuffing the candle, which was long-wicked, and threatened to gutter down. "mind!" cried mike warningly, as he thought of their former fright. "well, i am minding. didn't you see that i wouldn't wet my fingers? there! that's right." he cleverly snuffed the candle, which flashed up brightly directly, and seemed to illumine the boy's brain more clearly, as well as the glittering roof and sides of the water-worn passage, for he spoke out sharply directly after. "look here, ladle," he cried, "i don't believe we can have come wrong." "don't be obstinate," replied mike; "we must have come wrong, or we shouldn't be here now." "i don't know that." "but i do. see what a while we have been climbing back." "yes; because it has all been uphill, and we had so much to think of going that we did not notice how far we went." "but we've been hours coming back." "not we. you were tired, and that's made it seem so long. come on: the way must be right." "no; let's turn back. i'm tired, and don't want to do it, but it's the best way." "but it will take so long," cried vince. "it'll take longer if we're going on walking we don't know where," said mike ominously. "oh, come, i say, don't go on like that," cried vince. "fellows who are mates ought to try and cheer one another up, and you're doing nothing but cheer one down." "i must speak the truth," said mike gloomily. "here! do leave off! why, you're as bad as that old raven out over the scraw--all croak, croak, croak!" "i don't want to croak; i only want for us to find the way out. let's go back and make a fresh start." "i shan't," said vince: "we're right now, i'm sure, only we went wrong just now." "there! i knew it! how far was it back?" "just where we took fright and began to fancy we were wrong. now then, forward." "no," said mike firmly; "we'll go back. you are always so rash, and will not think." "yes, i will; i'm thinking now!" cried vince warmly, "and i think that you're about the most pig-headed fellow that there ever was. now, look here, ladle, don't be stupid. i'm as sure as sure that we are going right after all, and all we've got to do is to go straight on." "and i'm sure that we ought to go back." "i shan't go back!" "and i shan't go forward!" cried mike angrily. "all right, then: i shan't go back. only mind how you go, old chap: those places where we had to creep down are rather awkward, and you may take the skin off your nose." "what do you mean by that?" cried mike. "only that i've got the candle," said vince, laughing. "i'll come and see you to-morrow, and bring you something to eat, for you'll never find your way out again in the dark." "but i'm not going in the dark, old clever!" cried mike, snatching the lanthorn suddenly from his companion. "how now?" "so how!" cried vince, springing at him, and seizing the light structure of tin and horn. then there was a sharp struggle, the two lads swaying here and there in the narrow place, till vince flung his companion heavily against the wall, giving him so violent a jar as he clung to the lanthorn that the candle was jumped out of its socket, fell over against the side, and before the boys could even think of getting the door open, the light flashed upon their startled faces and went out. "you've done it now," cried mike, in a dolorous tone. "oh, come, i like that," said vince. "who snatched the lanthorn away? wait till we get out, and you'll see what i'll give you." "get out the tinder-box quickly," said mike. "what for? suppose i want you to snatch it away? i'm going on in the dark, same as you're going back." "don't be an idiot," cried mike, who was growing desperate. "get out the tinder-box and strike a light." "good-night," replied vince tauntingly; "i'm off. shall i tell them you'll be home to-morrow?" for answer mike sprang at him and grasped him tightly. "no, you don't play me that trick," he cried. "get out that tinder-box at once." "not i," cried vince. "get out that tinder-box at once!" "do you want to make me savage?" growled vince. "i don't care what i make you now," cried mike. "you're going to strike a light, so that we can find our way out." "i'm not going to strike a light and go back to please you, ladle, and so i tell you," said vince, holding his companion at arm's length, with his teeth set, and a strong desire rising in him to double his fists and strike. "give me the flint and steel," cried mike fiercely. for answer vince wrenched himself free, thrust out his hands, and, guiding himself by the wall, backed softly away and stood motionless, listening to mike's movements. then, stooping, he picked up a stone and pitched it over where he supposed mike to be standing, with the result that it clattered down on the floor. his anger had evaporated, and his face relaxed into a grin, for his ruse took effect directly. judging that the noise was made by vince backing from him, and in his horror and confusion mistaking his way, mike thrust out his hands and went in the direction of the sound, while, under cover of the noise made, vince backed still farther, moving as silently as he could. "now then," cried mike, from fully thirty yards away, "it's of no use,-- i have you. no more nonsense: take out that box and strike a light." vince turned aside to smother his laughter, then turned back to listen. "do you hear me?" cried mike, in a hoarse, excited tone. "you'll be sorry for this. see if i come out with you again!" vince remained perfectly still, listening while he heard mike make a short dash or two in the darkness as if to seize him, kicking up the stones on the floor and once more threatening what he would do when he got hold of his companion again. then he shouted louder, his voice echoing along the passage; and at last from far back in the darkness he groaned out: "vince! vince, old chap, don't leave me here all alone!" that appeal went home to vince's heart at once. "who's going to?" he cried rather huskily. "come on. this way, old obstinate. mr deane's quite right: he always said you would have your own way, even if you knew you were wrong." "but i am so sure, cinder--i am indeed," cried the lad, piteously. "it is this way--it is indeed! oh, do strike a light!" "there now! i'm going to show you how wrong you are," said vince triumphantly. "not now: let's get out of this dreadful place." "'tisn't a dreadful place; it's only you scaring yourself about nothing, same as i did. it's this way. come along." "yes, i'll come," said mike meekly; "only don't go far, and then let's get back. but do strike a light." "what for? there's no need. come along, close up to me." mike came, blindly feeling his way, till he touched his companion, and his hands closed tightly upon vince's shoulder and arm. "there!" cried vince, "look straight before you. what can you see?" mike uttered a cry of joy, for right upward, and apparently at a great distance, there was a feeble light, and a minute or two later the two lads were beneath the matted roofing of brambles, through which the bright evening glow was streaming. directly after, they were out upon the surrounding stones, carefully scanning the ridge, to see if they had been observed. but the place was absolutely solitary, and, after hiding the lanthorn down in the rift, the lads started for home in silence, mike feeling annoyed and aggrieved, while vince's breast was full of triumphant satisfaction. "i say," he said, as they reached at last a little opening in among the scrub oak trees, "are we two going to have it out before we go home?" "no," said mike shortly. "oh! all right, then; only you didn't speak or make any apology when you knew you were wrong." "yes," said mike, after an interval, "i know i was wrong. i'm very sorry, vince." "so am i," said the latter, "and something worse." mike looked at him wonderingly. "yes, ever so much: i'm about half-starved." mike made no reply, but walked on in silence for some time, and it was not until they were near home that he turned again and held out his hand. "i'm very sorry, vince," he said. "what about?" cried vince. "that we had such a row." "oh, bother! i'd forgotten all about it. don't make any more fuss about that. i say, what a bit of luck! we must keep it quiet, though, eh?" "quiet? i wouldn't have any one know for the world!" chapter thirteen. a startling discovery. the two lads were such close companions, and so much accustomed to wander off together of an afternoon, fishing, cliff-climbing, and collecting eggs, insects, minerals, or shells, that their long absences were not considered at all extraordinary, though they were noticed by both mrs burnet and lady ladelle, and one evening formed the subject of a few remarks at dinner. the doctor and his wife often dined at the old manor-house, and upon this occasion mike's mother asked her visitors if they did not think they wandered too much. "no," said sir francis, taking the answer out of his guests' mouths laughingly. "mrs burnet doesn't think anything of the kind, so don't you put such ideas in her head." "but they are often so late, my dear." "well, it's summer-time, and cooler of an evening. pleasantest part of the day. if they work well, let them play well. eh, burnet?" "certainly," said the doctor, "so long as they don't get into mischief. but do they work well?" "what do you say, mr deane?" said the baronet. "admirably," replied the tutor; "but i must say that i should like them to have a couple of hours' more study a day--say a couple of hours in the afternoon." "no," said the doctor emphatically. "you work them well with their english and classics and calculations every morning: let them have some of nature's teaching of an afternoon, and strengthen their bodies after you've done strengthening their heads." "i side with you, burnet," said the baronet. "let them go on as they are for a year or two, and then we'll see." the tutor bowed. "i only thought i was not doing enough for them," he said apologetically. "plenty, my dear sir--plenty. i like to see them bringing home plenty of litter, as the servants call it." "yes," said the doctor, "all's education. i see lady ladelle fidgets about her boy, just as my wife does. they'll be all right. they can't go very far from home." "but i always dread some accident," said mrs burnet. "yes, my dear, you are always inventing something, and have been ever since vince broke his leg." "through going into dangerous places," said mrs burnet. "well, yes, that was from a cliff fall; but he might have done it from tumbling off a wall or over a chair." just when this conversation was taking place the boys were slowly trudging home from their "retreat," as they called it--coming by a circuitous way, for the fact was very evident that old daygo did spend a good deal of time in watching the boys' proceedings, and vince was strongly of opinion that he suspected their discovery. but mike was as fully convinced to the contrary. "he has no idea of it, i'm sure; but he is curious to know where we go. the old chap always talks as if the island belonged to him. he'd better not interfere with it if he does find out; but, i say, fancy old daygo scrambling down through that passage. i should like to see him." "i shouldn't," said vince, "especially after all we've done." for a month had glided away, and they had been pretty busy, during their many visits to the place, carrying all kinds of little things which they considered they wanted, with the result that the lanthorn and a supply of candles always stood in a niche a short distance down the passage; short ropes were fastened wherever there was one of the sharp or sloping descents, so that they could run down quickly; and in several places a hammer and cold chisel had been utilised so as to chip out a foothold. in the caverns themselves there was a fireplace, a keg which they kept supplied with water, a small saucepan, a little frying-pan, and a common gridiron, all of which had been bought and brought for them by the skipper of the little smack which touched at the island like a marine carrier's cart once a week. then they had an axe and saw, and stored up driftwood for their fire; fishing lines and a good supply of hooks; a gaff and many other objects, including towels--for the pools in the outer cavern's mouth were now their regular places for bathing. as the time went on the novelty of possessing such a curious secret place did not wear off. on the contrary, the satisfaction it afforded them grew, the more especially that the journey to and fro had become much more simple, for they had picked out the easiest way through the oak wood, knew the smoothest path among the granite blocks, and were always finding better ways of threading the rugged chaos at the bottom of the ridge slope. as far as they could see ahead it seemed to them that there was nothing more to discover, and they might go on keeping the place entirely to themselves till they were grown up. but at sixteen or so we do not know everything. it was the day after the conversation at the old manor-house that, after a long morning with mr deane, the two boys met as usual, and started in the opposite direction to that which they intended to take, for they had not taken many steps before vince kicked out sidewise and struck mike on the boot. "what did you do that for?" said the other angrily. "'cause i liked;" and a tussle ensued, half serious on one side, jocular on the other. "now," whispered vince, "break away and run towards that bay, and i'll chase you." "what for? what's come to you this afternoon?" "don't look round. old daygo's sitting under a stone yonder smoking his pipe." mike obeyed, running off as hard as he could go, chased by vince, till they were well out of sight, and then, by making a _detour_ of a good half-mile, they reached the oak wood a long way north of their customary way of entrance, and began to plod onward towards their goal. "that's what they call throwing dust in any one's eyes, isn't it?" said mike, laughing. "yes," said vince, "and we shall have to make it sand with old joe. he's getting more and more suspicious, though i don't see why it matters to him. you see, we never go near him now to ask him to take us out fishing, or into one of the west bays to shell, and he thinks we have something else on the way." "well, so we have, and--hullo, joe! you there?" "yes, young gentleman, i'm here," said daygo gruffly, as he suddenly came upon them in a little opening in the wood. "i thought you'd gone down to the west bays." "well, we did think of going; but it's cooler and more shady here. the sun does come down so strongly there under the cliffs. seen any rabbits?" "two on 'em," said the man; "but you won't ketch them. dog couldn't do it, let alone you. ounce o' shot's only thing i know that runs fast enough to ketch them." it was an awkward predicament, and both lads had the same feeling that they would like to go off at once in another direction, only that they shrank from leaving the old fisherman, for fear he should find the way down into the caves. they wandered on in his company for a few minutes, and then vince took the initiative and cried,-- "i say, i'm sick of this; it's dreadful. come out on the common somewhere, so that we can get down to the sea." "i don't think you can get down anywhere near here. can you, joe?" asked mike. "oh yes," said the old man; "easy enough. i'll show you a place if you like." "come on, then!" cried vince eagerly. "off here, then," said daygo; "on'y i ought to tell you that you won't enjy yourselves, for it'll take doctor burnet all his time to pull you both together again." the old fellow burst into a fit of chuckling at this, and looked from one to the other, thoroughly enjoying their disgusted looks. "there, i knew he was making fun of us. of course there's no way down," grumbled mike. "come on out of this scrimble-scramble place. what's the good of tiring ourselves for the sake of seeing a rabbit's white cotton tail." vince was about to follow his companion, but turned to shout after daygo. "i say, when are you going to take us fishing again?" "when you two young gents likes to come; on'y you've both been so mortal proud lately. never come anigh to me, and as to wanting a ride in a boat, not you. got one of your own somewheres, i suppose. hev yer?" mike shook his head, and they went on in silence for a few minutes before mike whispered,-- "what shall we do: creep back and watch him?" "no. if we did we should come upon him directly. he's watching us, i'm sure. let's go to the cliff edge somewhere for a bit, and then go to the other side of the island. we shan't get down to the cave to-day." as far as they could tell they were unobserved the next afternoon, and after exercising plenty of caution they reached the mouth of the little river tunnel and dropped down out of sight one after the other in an instant. in fact, so quick was their disappearance that it would have puzzled the keenest searcher as to where they had gone. for one moment they were standing upon a piece of lichen-covered granite, the next they had leaped in among the brambles, which parted for them to pass through and sprang up again, the lads dropping on to the old stream bed, which they had carefully cleared of stones. they left no footmarks there, and they were careful to preserve the thin screen of ferns and bramble, so that a watcher would have credited them with having ducked down and crept away. this ruse, trifling as it may seem, added to their enjoyment of their hiding-place, and as soon as they were in darkness they struck a light and went on down to the caves, had a look round, and mike immediately began to get down the fishing lines which hung from a wooden peg driven into a granite crack. "never mind the fish to-day," said vince, who was busily fixing a fresh piece of candle in the lanthorn. "why? we're not hungry now, but we shall be before we go back. hullo! what are you going to do?" "wait a bit, and you'll see," replied vince, who now took a little coil of rope from where it hung, and then asked his companion's assistance to extricate something which he had placed in the belt he wore under his jersey. "why, whatever have you got here?" "grapnel," was the reply; and vince began to rub the small of his back softly. "i say, how a thing like that hurts! it's worse than carrying a hammer. i'm quite sore." mike laughed, and again more heartily upon seeing vince begin to secure the grapnel with a sea-going knot to the length of rope. "let those laugh that lose," cried vince sententiously; "they are sure to who win." "enough to make any one laugh," cried mike. "what are you going to bait with?" "you, if you like," said vince sharply, "wonder what i should catch?" "here! no nonsense," cried mike: "what are you really going to do?" "what we've been talking about so long. try and get up through that crack up there." mike whistled. "why, of course," he said. "what a good idea! but i don't believe it goes in above a foot or two." "oh yes, it does," said vince decisively. "i thought so a little while ago, but last time we came i found out that it goes ever so far, and so i brought this hook." "and never told me." "telling you now, aren't i?" "but how did you know?" "saw a pigeon fly out." "well, that proves nothing. it only flew in to settle for a bit, and then came out again." "that's what i fancied," said vince, trying his knot by standing upon the grapnel and tugging hard with both hands at the rope; "but i watched while you were lying on your back asleep and saw others go in and come out." "well, that only shows that there are several nests there instead of one. i say, let's bring some paste next time we come and make a pigeon pudding of young ones. i'll get our cook to make us some. i'll tell her what we want it for, and she'll think we are going to make a sort of picnic dinner under a rock somewhere." "wait a bit, and let's try first," said vince. "there, i'm ready now. we did talk about examining that great crack when we came, but i thought it wasn't worth the trouble till yesterday. i fancy it leads into another cave." "hope it does," said mike. "make this place all the more interesting." "couldn't," said vince shortly. "come along and let's see if i can catch a big fish without a bait." they went to the darkest corner of the outer cave, where the roof was highest, and after laying the rope ready, vince took hold of it about two feet from the large triple hook, swung it to and fro several times, and then sent it flying upward towards the roof, where it struck the edge of the jagged crack ten feet or so above their heads and came down with a loud clang. "one," said mike. "three offers out." "all right: you shall have your innings then," said vince, picking up the hook, aiming more truly, and again sending it flying up. this time it passed right up out of sight and fell back, striking the bottom of the crack and glancing off again to the floor, falling silently into the sand. "two," cried mike. "he won't do it." "wait a bit," said vince, and he swung the hook upward. there was a click, and it stayed just within the crack; while the lad laughed. "now," he cried, "can't i do it?" "no!" said mike triumphantly, for at the first jerk of the rope the iron fell back into the sand. "you don't know how to throw a grapnel," said mike, picking up the rope. "there, stand aside and i'll show you." vince drew back, and after a good deal of swinging, mike launched the grapnel upward, so that it passed right into the hole some distance from the length of rope which followed; then came a click, and the rope hung swinging from the sloping roof. "there!" cried mike. "it'll come away as soon as you pull it." mike gave the rope a tug, then a sharp jerk, and another, before, raising his hands and grasping it as high as he could, he took a run, and then, raising his legs, let himself swing to and fro. "bear anything," he cried. "there, you'd better go first." "you fastened it," said vince, "so you've got first go." "no, it was your idea. up with you! but you've scared the pigeons away." vince seized the rope as high as he could reach, twisted it about his leg, pressing the strong strands against his calf with the edge of his shoe-sole, and then began to climb slowly, drawing himself up by the muscular strength of his arms, while the rope began to revolve with him slowly. "meat's burning," cried mike, grinning. "wants basting;" and he picked up handsful of sand to scatter over the climber's back. but vince was too busy to heed his interruption, and by trying hard he soon drew himself right into the narrow crack, and the next minute only his boots were visible, and they were drawn out of sight directly after. "well?" cried mike; "what have you found?" "grapnel," panted vince; for climbing a single thin rope is hard work. "yes, but what else?" "big crack, which goes right in. light the lanthorn and fasten, it to the end of the rope." this was soon done and the light drawn up. "i say, play fair!" cried mike, as the lanthorn disappeared; "don't go and do all the fun yourself." for answer vince threw him down the rope, which he had freed from the lanthorn. "come up," he said shortly; and mike, who began to be deeply interested, his curiosity now being excited, seized the rope and began in turn to climb. he was as active as his companion, and as much accustomed to rope work, the pair having often let themselves down portions of the cliff and climbed again in their search for eggs; so that in another minute he too was in the crack, dimly lit by the lanthorn, which vince had set low down, where the fracture in the rock began to close in towards where it was again solid. "don't seem much of a place," said mike, rising upright, but having to keep himself in that position by resting a foot on either side of the rift. "goes in, though." "yes," said vince, "and i was right, for the pigeons must have flown through." "no," said mike, looking about: "nests somewhere on one of the ledges." "are no ledges here," said vince: "the top goes up to a point. shall we go on?" "of course," said mike; and, taking up the lanthorn, vince began to shuffle himself along the narrow, awkward place, till, at the end of a dozen yards, in darkness which grew thicker as he went, the great crack turned suddenly right off to the right, and again directly after to the left. "why, it looks just the same shape as a flash of lightning," cried mike. "does it get any bigger?" "doesn't seem to," was the reply; "but there's plenty of room to walk along." "walk? i don't call this walking? i'm going along like a lame duck striddling a gutter. i say, think there's ever been water along here?" "sure there hasn't," said vince, holding the light low down. "why, you can see. the rock isn't worn a bit, but looks as sharp as if it had only lately been split." "but what could split it? the lightning?" "no: father says these rocks crack from the water washing the stuff away from beneath them, and then the tremendous weight does the rest. but i don't know. i say, though, i shouldn't wonder if this goes on into another cave. look here." mike pressed forward, and found, as his companion held up the light, that the fault in the rock shot off sharply now to the left, and sloped up at an angle of some forty-five degrees. "looks awkward," said mike. "are we going up there?" "of course. why not? we can climb it." "oh yes, i can get up there; but it isn't very good for the boots." good or bad, vince did not hesitate, but, lanthorn in hand, commenced the ascent by climbing right in the narrow part of the rift, where each foot became wedged between the sides of the opening, and had to be dragged out again as the next foot was brought over and placed in front. "awkward travelling," said vince; "but you can't slip." "begin to feel as if i can," replied mike--"right out of my shoes. i say, it is awkward." the distance they had to traverse here, however, was but short, and the next angle showed that the fault was at a much easier slope, while the opening was wider, so that they got along more pleasantly. but at the end of another twenty yards the walls began to close in, and the place looked so uninviting that mike stopped. "hadn't we better go back?" he said. "what for?" replied vince. "let's see the end of it. we can't make any mistake in going back. there's no roof to fall, and no pits or holes to drop into." "but it may go on for ever so long; and, i say, i don't believe a pigeon ever flew through here." "well, i don't know," said vince. "it seemed to me as if they did, and--hurrah, ladle! i can see light." "light? so there is. look! it must come from round the next corner. that's reflection we can see." and so it proved: for upon passing the next sharp angle vince found himself facing the sea, which was visible through a great arch, far larger and more rugged than that in their own cavern mouth. going on a little farther, he found himself at the end of the singular zigzag passage, which was an opening in the roof of another and larger cavern, and into which they looked down as from a window. it was lighter and loftier than their own, and, like it, beautifully carpeted with sand; but, to the amazement of the lads, instead of this being smooth and wind-swept, as that of their own place when they first discovered it, the floor was covered with footmarks leading from the mouth inward to where the great cave grew dim and obscure. there were sails, too, and ropes. several small yards and spars lay together by the side of the wall, and farther in were sails and three or four oars. but what most took their attention was the fact that, dimly outlined in the higher part of the cave there were little stacks, which looked as if they were built up of packages or bales, side by side with which, carefully stacked in the sand, were dozens upon dozens of small kegs. as their eyes grew more familiar with the gloom at the upper end, they realised that there were a great number of these bales and kegs, the former being of three kinds, varying a good deal in shape and size. they neither of them spoke, not daring even to whisper, for the feeling was strong upon them that the next thing they would see must be the figure of some fierce-looking smuggler in big boots, belted, carrying cutlass and pistols, and crowned with a scarlet cap. then they started back in alarm, for there was the sharp whirring of wings, and half a dozen pigeons darted out of the cavern, seeming to come from far back beyond the stacks of kegs and bales, and rushing out into the bright light beneath the arch. it was nothing to mind; but their nerves were on the strain, and they breathed more freely as soon as the birds were gone. it seemed to signify that no human beings were in the higher part of the cavern, and the solemn silence of the place encouraged them at last to speak, but only in whispers. "wish we'd brought the rope," said vince; "we might have got down." "ugh! it wouldn't be safe. they might come and catch us." "who might?" "the smugglers." "smugglers? there are no smugglers on the crag." "well, those must be smuggled goods, anyhow," said mike. "can't be." "what are they, then? i'll be bound to say that those little kegs have all got `hollands' or french spirits in them, and the packages are silk and velvet, and the other parcels laces and things--perhaps tobacco." "but we never heard of smuggling here. who can it be?" "well, that's what they are, for certain," said mike. "it's just like what one's read about. they must be ever so old--a hundred years, perhaps--and been put here and forgotten." "perhaps so," said vince. "then we'll claim them for ours," said mike decisively. "they can't belong to anybody else now. nobody can be alive who brought them a hundred years ago." "no," said vince; "but i don't see how we can claim them. i say, though, it shows that boats can get into the cove." "or could at one time." "place wouldn't alter much in a hundred years. i do wish, though, we had brought the rope. perhaps as soon as we touch those bales they'll all tumble into dust." "and all the kegs have gone dry," said mike. "and all we can see before us only so much dust and touchwood. i say, mike, we shan't be very rich from our find. i do wish we had brought the rope. let's go back and get it." "let's go back soon," replied mike; "but i don't think we'll come again to-day. my head feels all of a whizz." "yes, it is exciting," said vince thoughtfully. "perhaps you're right: we won't come back to-day." and, contenting themselves with a long, searching inspection from the window-like place they occupied, they soon after returned, and, after placing the grapnel so that it could be jerked out, went down the rope, got the iron hooks loose, and seated themselves to think. that evening they got home early, each so full of the great discovery that, when they went to bed, it was long before they slept, and then their brains were busy with strange dreams, in which one was fighting for his life against a host of well-armed men, the victor taking a vessel with the treasure of valuable silks and spices, and making his parents rich people to the last. but an idea was dominant with both when they woke, soon after sunrise. they must go back to the cavern soon, and probe the mystery to the very end. chapter fourteen. daygo describes horrors. "er-her! going to school! yer!" vince, who had some books under his arm, felt a peculiar twitching in the nerves, as he turned sharply upon the heavy-looking lad who had spoken the above words, with the prologue and epilogue formed of jeering laughs, which sounded something like the combinations placed there to represent them. the speaker was the son of the jemmy carnach who was, as the doctor said, a martyr to indigestion--a refined way of expressing his intense devotion to lobsters, the red armour of which molluscs could be seen scattered in every direction about his cottage door, and at the foot of the cliff beyond. as jemmy carnach had thought proper to keep up family names in old-fashioned style, he had had his son christened james, like his father, grandfather and great-grandfather--which was as far as carnach could trace. the result was a little confusing, the crag island not being big enough for two jemmy carnachs. the fishermen, however, got over the difficulty by always calling the father jemmy and his son young 'un; but this did not suit vince and mike, with whom there had always been a feud, the fisherman's lad having constantly displayed an intense hatred, in his plebeian way, for the young representatives of the patricians on the isle. the manners in which he had shown this, from very early times, were many; and had taken the forms of watching till the companions were below cliffs, and then stealing to the top and dislodging stones, that they might roll down upon their heads; filling his pockets with the thin, sharply ground, flat oyster-shells to be found among the beach pebbles--a peculiarly cutting kind of weapon--and at every opportunity sending them skimming at one or other of the lads; making holes in their boat, when they had one--being strongly suspected of cutting two adrift, so that they were swept away, and never heard of again; and in divers other ways showing his dislike or hatred-- displaying an animus which had become intensified since mike had called in vince's help to put a stop to raids and forays upon the old manor orchard when the apples, pears and plums were getting ripe, the result being a good beating with tough oak saplings. not that this stopped the plundering incursions, for carnach junior told the two lads, and probably believed, as an inhabitant of the island, that he had as good a right to the fruit as they. of course the many assaults and insults dealt out by carnach junior--for he was prolific in unpleasant words and jeers, whenever the companions came within hearing--had results in the shape of reprisals. vince was not going to see mike ladelle's ear bleeding from a cut produced by a forcibly propelled oyster-shell, without making an attack upon the young human catapult; and mike's wrath naturally boiled over upon seeing a piece of rock pushed off the edge of the cliff, and fall within a foot of where vince was lying on the sand at the foot. but the engagements which followed seemed to do no good, for carnach junior was so extremely english that he never seemed to realise that he had been thrashed till he had lain down with his eyes so swollen up that there was hardly room for the tears to squeeze themselves out, and his lips so disfigured that his howls generally escaped through his nose. "i never saw such a fellow," vince used to say: "if you only slap his face, it swells up horribly." "and it's of no use to lick him, it doesn't do any good," added mike. "why, i must have thrashed him a hundred times, and you too." this was a remark which showed that either mr deane's instructions in the art of calculation were faulty, or mike's mental capacity inadequate for acquiring correctness of application. still there must have been some truth in mike's words, for vince, who was a great stickler for truthfulness, merely said: "ah! we have given it to him pretty often." vince and mike did not take to young 'un or youngster, as a sobriquet for carnach junior, and consequently they invented quite a variety of names, which were chosen, not for the purpose of distinguishing the fat, flat-faced, rather pig-eyed youth from other people, but it must be owned for annoyance, and by way of retaliation for endless insults. "you see, we must do something," said mike. "of course," agreed vince; "and i'm tired of making myself hot and knocking my knuckles about against his stupid head; and besides, it seems so blackguardly, as a doctor's son, to be fighting a chap like that." "oh, i don't know," said mike thoughtfully: "i shall be a sir some day, i suppose." "what a game!" chuckled vince--"sir michael ladelle!" "i don't see anything to laugh at," said mike; "but, as i was saying, if we don't lick him every now and then there'll be no bearing it. he'll get worse and worse." so it was to show their contempt for the young lout that they invented names for him--weakly, perhaps, but very boylike--and for a time he was james the second, but the lad seemed rather to approve of that; and it was soon changed for barnacle, which had the opposite effect, and two fights down in a sandy cave resulted, at intervals of a week, one with each of his enemies, after which the barnacle lay down as usual, and cried into the sand, which acted, vince said, like blotting paper. tar-pot, suggested by a begrimed appearance, lasted for months, and was succeeded by doughy, and this again by puffy, consequent upon the lad's head having so peculiar a tendency to what home-made bread makers call "rise," and as there was no baker on cormorant crag the term was familiar enough. a whole string of forgotten names followed, but none of them stuck, for they did not irritate carnach junior; but the right one in the boys' eyes was found at last, upon a very hot day, following one upon which vince and mike had been prawning with stick and net among the rock pools under the cliffs,--and prawning under difficulties. for as they climbed along over, or waded amongst the fallen rocks detached from the towering heights above, carnach junior, who had watched them descend, furnished himself with a creel full of heavy pebbles, and, making his way to the top of the cliffs, kept abreast and carefully out of sight, so as to annoy his natural enemies from time to time by dropping a stone into, or as near as he could manage to the little pool they were about to fish. words, addressed apparently to space, though really to the invisible foe, were vain, and the boys fished on; but they did not take home many prawns for mrs burnet to have cooked for their tea. the very next day, though, they had their revenge, for they came upon the lad toiling homeward, shouldering a couple of heavy oars, a boat mast and yard, and the lug-sail rolled round them, and lashed so as to form a big bundle, as much as he could carry; and, consequent upon his scarlet face, vince saluted him with: "hullo, lobster!" that name went like an arrow to the mark, and pierced right through the armour of dense stupidity in which the boy was clad. lobster! that fitted with his father's weakness and the jeering remarks he had often heard made by neighbours; and ever after the name stuck, and irritated him whenever it was used. it was used on the morning when vince was thinking deeply of the discovery of the previous day, and going over to sir francis ladelle's for his lessons with mike. as we have said, he was saluted with coarse, jeering laughter, and the contemptuous utterance of the words "going to school?" being excited, vince turned sharply upon the great hulking lad, and his eyes began to blaze war, but with a laugh he only fell back on the nickname. "hullo, lobster!" he cried: "that you?" and went on. carnach junior doubled his fists, and looked as if he were going to attack; but vince, strong in the consciousness that he could at any time thrash the great lad, walked on with his books, heedless of the fact that he was followed at a distance, for his head was full of kegs and bales neatly done up in canvas, standing in good-sized stacks. "i wonder how many years it has been there," he kept on saying to himself; and he was still wondering when he reached the old manor gates, went into the study, and there found mike and their tutor waiting. both lads tried very hard to keep their discovery out of their minds that morning, but tried in vain. there it was constantly, and translated itself into latin, conjugated and declined itself, and then became compound algebraic equations, with both. mr deane bore all very patiently, though, and a reproachful word or two about inattention and condensation of thought upon study was all that escaped him. at last, to vince's horror, things came to a kind of climax, for mike suddenly looked across the table at the tutor, and said quickly:-- "i say, mr deane!" the tutor looked up at once. "i want to ask you a question in--in--something--" "mathematics?" suggested the tutor. "n-no," said mike: "i think it must be in law or social economy. i don't know, though, what you would call it." "well: let me hear." "suppose anybody discovered a great store of smuggled goods, hidden in a--some place. whom would it belong to?" "to the people who put it there, of course." vince's eyes almost blazed as he turned them upon the questioner. "yes," continued mike; "but suppose there were no people left who put it there, and they had all died, perhaps a hundred years ago?" "oh, then," said the tutor thoughtfully, "i should think it would belong to the people upon whose ground it was discovered,--or no: i fancy it would be what is called `treasure trove,' and go to the crown." "crown--crown? what, to a public-house?" "no, no, my dear boy: to the king." "oh, i see," said mike thoughtfully. "is that all?" "yes, sir; that's all." "well, then, wasn't it rather a foolish question to ask, just in the middle of our morning's work? there, pray go on: we are losing a great deal of time." the boys tried to get on; but they did not, for mike was conscious of being kicked twice, and vince was making up a tremendous verbal attack upon his fellow-student for letting out the discovery they had made. it came to words as soon as the lessons were over, and mike took his cap to accompany vince part of the way home, and make their plans for the afternoon. "i couldn't help it--'pon my word i couldn't," cried mike. "i felt like that classic chap, who was obliged to whisper secrets to the water, and that i must speak about that stuff there to somebody." "and now he'll go and talk to your father about it, and our secret place will be at an end. why, we might have kept it all quiet for years!" "so we can now. i put it so that old deane shouldn't understand. i say, if he's right we can't claim all that stuff: it'll belong to the king." "i suppose so," said vince. "never mind: we'll keep it till he wants it. hullo! what's old lobster doing there?" vince turned in the direction pointed out; and, sure enough, there was carnach junior sunning himself on a block of granite, which just peeped up through the grass. "got nothing to do, i suppose," said vince. "i saw him when i was coming. but never mind him. and i say, don't, pray don't be so stupid again." "all right. i'll try not to be, if it was stupid," said mike. "well, how about this afternoon?" "i'll come and meet you at the old place, about half-past two." this was agreed to; and, full of anticipations about the examination of the farther cave, they parted, leaving carnach junior apparently fast asleep upon the grey stone. just as vince reached home he came upon daygo, who gave him a nod; and the lad flushed as he thought triumphantly of the discoveries they had made, in the face of the old fisherman's superstitious warnings of terrible dangers. "morn'--or art'noon, young gen'leman," said daygo, by way of salutation. "lookye here: i'm going out 'sart'noon to take up my pots and nets, and if you and young squire likes to come, i'll take you for a sail." "where will you take us?" said vince eagerly. "oh, round and about, and in and out among the rocks." "will you sail right away round by the black scraw?" "no, i just won't," growled the old man fiercely. "what do you want to go round about the scraw for?" "to see what it's like, and find some of the terrible currents and things you talked about, joe." "lookye here, my lad," growled the old fellow, "as i told you boys afore, i want to live as long as i can, and not come to no end, with the boat bottom uppards and me sucked down by things in the horrid whirlypools out there. why, what would your mars and pars say to me if i took you into dangers 'orrible and full o' woe? nay, nay, i arn't a young harem-scarem-brained chap, and i shan't do it: my boat's too good. so look here, if you two likes to come for a bit o' fishing, i'll take the big scrarping spoon with me, and go to a bank i know after we've done, and try and fish you up a basket o' oysters. if you comes you comes, but if you arn't wi' me soon arter dinner, why, i hystes my sail and goes by myself. so what do you say?" "i can't say anything without seeing mike ladelle first. look here: i'm going to him this afternoon, and if he'll come, we'll run over to the little dock where your boat is." "very good, young gen'leman; on'y mind this: if you arn't there punctooal, as folks call it, i'm off without you, and you'll be sorry, for there's a powerful lot o' fish about these last few days." "don't wait if we're not there directly after dinner," said vince. old daygo chuckled. "you needn't be afraid of that, my lad," he said; "and mind this,--if you're late and i've started, i'm not coming back, so mind that. d'reckly you've had your bit o' dinner, or i'm gone." "all right, joe," cried vince; and he hurried in, feeling pulled both ways, for he could not help nursing the idea that, once out a short distance at sea, he might be able to coax the old fisherman into taking them as close as he could safely get to the ridge of rocks which hid the little rounded cove from passers-by. chapter fifteen. a spy on the way. punctual to the time the lads met; and vince, who was full of old daygo's proposal, laid it before his companion. "what!" cried mike; "go with him, when we've got such an adventure before us! you wouldn't do that!" "why not? we can go to the caverns any day, and this will be a chance to sail round and see what the outside of the scraw is like." "did he say he would take us there?" cried mike eagerly. "no; but we'd persuade him." "persuade him!" cried mike, bursting into a mocking laugh. "persuade old joe! why, you do know better than that." vince frowned and said nothing, for he did know better, and felt that he had let his desires get the better of his judgment. "very well," he said. "you'd rather not go?" "well, wouldn't you rather go and have a look at those old things than see a few fish in a net?" "yes, if joe wouldn't sail round where i want to go." "well, he wouldn't, and you know it. why, this is a chance. you felt sure he was watching us; and he'll be off to sea, where he can't." "off, then!" said vince; and, full of anticipations, they made for the oak wood, and were soon at the opening, into which, without pausing to look round, they leaped down quickly; and, after lighting the lanthorn, descended as rapidly as they could to the rope. the place looked as beautiful as ever, as they slid down to the sandy floor of the inner cavern, and more than ever like the interior of some large shell; while the outer cave, with its roof alive, as it were, with the interlacing wavings and quiverings reflected from the sunny surface of the sea, would have made any one pause. but the boys had no eyes for anything that day but the wonders of their new discovery; and, quickly getting to work with the rope and grapnel, mike threw it up. "got a bite!" he cried. "no: he's off." for, after catching, the grapnel gave way again. the second time he missed; but the third he got another hold, and told vince to climb first. this he did, and in a very few seconds he was two-thirds of the way up, when with a scrape the grapnel gave way, and vince came down flat on his back in the sand, with the iron upon him. "hurt?" cried mike. "not much," said vince, rubbing one leg, which the iron had struck. "try again." mike threw once more, got a hold, and, to prove it, began to climb, and reached the opening safely. then the lanthorn was drawn up, vince followed, and this time taking the rope with them, they went along through the peculiar zigzag free from doubts and dread of dangers unknown, so that they could think only of the various difficulties of the climb. upon nearing the open end of the fissure they kept back the lanthorn and advanced to peer down cautiously; but, save a few pigeons flying in and out, there was no sign of life. everything was just as they had seen it before; the footprints all over the trampled sand, which had probably been made ages before, so they thought; the boat mast, sails, and ropes, were at the side, and in the shadowy upper part there were the stacks of bales and the carefully piled-up kegs. "well?" said mike; "shall we go down?" "of course." "but suppose there is any one there?" "we'll soon see," said vince; and, placing his hands to his mouth, he gave vent to a hullo! whose effect was startling; for it echoed and vibrated about the great cave, startling a flock of pigeons, which darted out with a loud whistling of wings. then the sound came back in a peculiar way from the barrier of rocks across the bay, for there was evidently a fluttering there among the sea-birds, some of which darted down into sight just outside the mouth of the cave. "nobody at home," said vince merrily, "and hasn't been lately. now then: may i go first?" "if you like," said mike; and, after securely hooking the grapnel in a crevice, vince threw the rope outward from him into the cavern, where it touched the sand some twenty feet below. "there we are!" he said; "that's easier than throwing it up." "yes, but look sharp down. i want to have a good look." "after me," said vince mockingly; and, taking the rope, he lowered himself out of the crack, twisted his leg round the hemp, and quickly dropped hand over hand to the flooring of the cave. "ever so much bigger than ours, mike," he shouted, and then turned sharply round, for a voice said plainly: "ours, mike." "i say, what an echo!" "echo!" came back. "well, i said so." "said so." "hurrah!" cried mike, as he too reached the floor, and a soft "rah" came from the other side. their hearts beat fast with excitement as they stood in the middle of the cave, looking round, and pretty well taking in at a glance that it was far larger and more commodious than the one they had just quitted, especially for the purpose of a store, having the hinder part raised, as it were, into a dais or platform, upon which the little barrels and packages were stored; while behind these they were able now to see through the transparent gloom that the place ran back for some distance till flooring and roof met. instead, too, of the entrance being barred by ridge after ridge of rocks, there was only one some little distance beyond the mouth to act as a breakwater, leaving ample room for a boat to come round at either end and be beached upon the soft sand, which lay perfectly smooth where the water slightly rose and fell. there was a fine view of the rounded cove from here; and the boys felt that if they were to wade out they would be able to get beyond the archway sufficiently to look up the overhanging face of the cliff; but, with the recollection of the quicksands at the mouth of their own cave, neither of them felt disposed to venture, and they were about to turn back and examine the goods stored behind them, when on their right there was a loud rush and a heavy splash, and mike seized his companion's arm just as a head rose out of the water, and for a moment it seemed as if a boy was watching them, the face being only faintly seen, from the head being turned away from the light. "seal," said vince quietly. "shows how long it is since any one was here, for things like that to be about!" he caught up a couple of handfuls of sand and flung it toward the creature, which dived directly, but rose again to watch them, its curiosity being greatly excited. "won't come ashore and attack us, will it?" said mike. "no fear. i daresay it would bite, though, if we had it in a corner, and it couldn't pass. look! one must have come ashore there." he pointed to a smooth channel in the sand, where one of the curious animals had dragged itself a few feet from the water, going back by another way, and so forming a kind of half-moon. "let it watch us: it don't matter," said mike. "come and have a look at the packages." they walked up to the pile of kegs, and vince took one down, to find that it was peculiar in shape and hooped with wood. "empty," he said; "it's light as can be." "try another," said mike; and vince put the one he held down, and tried one after another--at least a dozen. "the stuff has all run out or evaporated," he said. "hark here!" he tapped the end of one with his knuckles, but, instead of giving forth a hollow sound, the top sounded dead and dull. "they're not empty," he said, giving one a shake: "they must be packed full of something light. and i say, mike, they look as if they couldn't be many years old." "that's because the cavern's so clean and dry. let's look at the packages. i say, smell this one. there's no mistake about it--cloves!" vince nodded, and they tried others, which gave out, some the same unmistakable odour, others those of cinnamon and nutmeg. further examination of some small, heavy, solid packets left little doubt in the lads' minds that they were dealing with closely folded or rolled pieces of silk, and they ended their examination by trying to interpret the brands with which some of the packages were marked. "one can't be sure without opening them," said vince eagerly; "but i feel certain that these are silk, the other packages spice, and the kegs have got gloves and lace in them. there are two kinds." "yes; some are larger than the others. shall we open a few of them, to see if they've been destroyed by time?" "no, not yet," replied vince thoughtfully. "let's go and have a look at that boat sail and the oars. those oars ought to be old and worm-eaten--ready to tumble to pieces--and the sail-cloth like so much tinder!" mike nodded, and followed him rather unwillingly; for the keg nearest to his hand fascinated him, and he longed intensely to force out the head. it was not many steps to where the boat gear stood and lay, and vince began to haul it about after the first glance. "look here, ladle!" he cried; "these things are not so very old. the canvas is as strong as can be, and it can't be so many years since these oars were marked with a hot iron." "oh, nonsense!" said mike, who did not like to give up his cherished ideas; "it's because they're so dry and safe here." "it isn't," said vince impetuously; "and look here, at all these footmarks!" "well, what's to prevent them from being just the same after a hundred years?" "the wind," cried vince. "if those marks were old the sand would have drifted in and covered them over quite smooth, same as the floor was in our cave before we walked about it. mike, all these things are quite new, and haven't been put here long." "nonsense! who could have put them?" "i don't know; but here they are, and if we don't look out some one will come and catch us. this is a smugglers' cave." "but there are no smugglers here. who ever heard of smugglers at the crag!" "i never did; but i'm sure these are smuggled goods." "well, i don't know," said mike. "it seems very queer. the cave can't be so dangerous to come to, if boats can land cargoes. old daygo's all wrong, then?" "of course he is; so are all the people. every one has told us that the black scraw was a terrible place, and looked as if they thought it was haunted by all kinds of sea goblins. let's get away." "think we'd better?" "yes; i keep expecting to see a boat come round the corner into sight. i shouldn't like to be here when they did come." "but it's so disappointing!" cried mike. "i thought we were going to have all this to ourselves." "i don't think i did," said vince thoughtfully. "but i don't believe you're right, cinder. these things can't have been put here in our time, or we must have known of it. see what a little place the crag is." "yes, it's small enough, but the scraw has always been as if it were far away, and people could come here and do what they liked." "but they wouldn't be so stupid as to come here and leave things for nobody," said mike. "is there anybody here who would want them?" "no," replied vince; "but smugglers might make this a sort of storehouse, and some bring the things here from france and holland and others come and fetch them away. there, come on, and let's get up into the crack. i don't feel safe. it has regularly spoiled our place, though, for whoever comes here must know of the other cave." "well," said mike, as they stood by the rope, and he gazed longingly back at the rich store he was about to leave behind, "i'll come; but i don't believe you're right." "you'll soon see that i am, ladle; for before long all these things will be taken away--perhaps by the time we come again." "if it's as you say we shan't be able to come again," replied mike rather dolefully; and then, in obedience to an impatient sign from his companion, he took hold of the rope and climbed slowly up, passing in at the opening, and being followed by vince directly after. then the rope was drawn up and coiled, and both took a long and envious look at the cargo that had been landed there at some time or other, before making their way along the fissure to their own place. "i don't believe any one would do as we've done, and come along there," said mike, as soon as they were safely back. "perhaps, if you're right about that stuff being new, these smuggling people don't, after all, know of this cave." "they must have seen it when they were going and coming in their boat, and would have been sure to land and come in." "land where?" said mike scornfully. "no boat could land here, and nobody could wade in, on account of the quicksands. but i'm right, cinder. these things are awfully old, and they'll be ours after all." "very well: we shall see," said vince. "but i don't feel disposed to stop here now. let's get back home." "yes," said mike, with a sigh, "let's get back home;" and, after setting up a fresh bit of candle, they started for the inner cave, ascended the slope, and made their way along the black passage to the spot where they put out and hid their lanthorn. this done, with the caution taught by the desire to keep their hiding-place secret, vince stepped softly on to the opening, and was about to pass along to the end, but he paused to peer out through the briars to see if all was right, and the next moment he stood there as if turned to stone. mike crept up to him and touched his shoulder, feeling sure from his companion's fixed attitude that something must be wrong. the answer to his touch was the extension of vince's hand, and he pointed upward and toward the side of the deep rift. mike turned his head softly, and gazed in the indicated direction. for some moments he could see nothing for the briars and ferns; but at last he bent a trifle more forward, and his fists clenched, for there, upon one of the stones beside the entrance to their cave, with his hand shading his eyes, and staring upward apparently at the ridge, was carnach junior. "spying after us," said mike to himself; "and he does not know that we are close to his feet." chapter sixteen. some doubts about the discovery. certainly lobster did not know how near the two boys were, and he soon proved it by coming closer, looking down, and then turning to reconnoitre in another direction. vince stared at mike, and their eyes simultaneously said the same thing: "he must have been watching us, and seen us come in this direction." it was evident that he had soon lost the clue in following them, although, judging from circumstances, he must have tracked them close to where they were. they recollected now that they had not exercised their regular caution-- though, even if they had, it is very doubtful whether they would have detected a spy who crawled after them, for the cover was too thick--and a feeling of anger troubled both for allowing themselves to be outwitted by a lout they both held in utter contempt. they stood watching their spy for nearly a quarter of an hour, and were able to judge from his actions that he had seen them disappear somewhere in this direction; and in profound ignorance in this game of hide and seek that he was having, carnach scanned the high slope and the ridge, and the bottom where the stones lay so thickly again and again, ending by ensconcing himself behind one of them, after plucking some fern fronds, and putting them on the top of his cap to act as a kind of screen in case those he sought should come into sight somewhere overhead. the two boys hardly dared stir, but at last, with his eyes fixed upon carnach to see if he heard their movement, vince pointed softly back into the dark passage, and mike crept away without making the slightest sound. then, as soon as he was satisfied of the coast being clear behind him, vince began to back away till he felt it safe to turn, and followed his companion some fifty yards into the darkness, which now seemed to be quite a refuge to them. "where are you?" whispered vince. a low cough told him that he was not yet far enough; and, keeping one hand upon the wall, he followed until he felt himself touched. "i say," he whispered, "this is nice: smugglers at one end and that miserable lobster at the other! what are we to do?" "i don't know," said mike dolefully. "he must have seen us go out of sight, and feels sure that we shall come back again, and he'll wait till we do." "no, no; he'll soon get tired." "not he," said mike; "he's just one of those stupid, heavy chaps who will sit or lie down and wait for us for a week." "but i want to get home. i'm growing hungry." "let's go back and fish, and light a fire and cook it." "what, for him to smell the frying? he would, as sure as could be. no; we must wait." "i say, cinder," whispered mike, "what an unlucky day we are having! everything seems to go wrong." "it'll go worse still if you whisper so loud," said vince; "the sound runs along the walls here, and gets stronger, i believe, as it goes." "well, i can't help it; i feel so wild. i say, couldn't we creep out without being seen, and get home?" "yes, when it's dark; not before." "but that means waiting here for hours, and i feel as if i can't settle to anything now. let's go back down to the cave. the smugglers can't come to-day. it would be too bad." "better wait here and watch till lobster goes," said vince; but, yielding at last to his companion's importunity, he was about to follow him back, when there was a loud rustling, a heavy thud, and then a dismal howl. the lobster had slipped and fallen into the rift while backing so as to get a better view of the ridge. "oh my! oh my! oh, mother! oh, crikey! oh my head--my head! oh, my arm! oh, it's broke! and i'm bleeding! won't nobody come and help me?" the above, uttered in a piteous, dismal wail, was too much for vince's feelings; and, pushing his companion aside, he was about to hurry to the lad's help, but mike seized him by the arm, and at the same moment they heard carnach junior jump up and begin stamping about. "here, who did this?" he roared. "what fool's been digging stone here and left this hole o' purpose for any one to fall in? wish he'd tumbled in himself, and broke his stoopid old head. yah! oh my, how it hurts!" he stamped about in the hollow, and they heard him kick one of the stones with his heavy boots in his rage. "wish them two had tumbled in 'stead o' me. oh dear, oh! here's a mess i'm in! making a great hole like this, and never leaving no stuff outside. might ha' been deep, and killed a chap. it aren't broke through," he grumbled, after a pause. "wonder where they've got to. oh dear! oh dear! what a crack on the head! that comes o' going backwards. yah!" this last ejaculation was accompanied by the rattle of stones, as the great lad evidently kicked another piece that was in his way; and, feeling now that there was nothing serious in the fall, vince gave mike's hand a squeeze as they stood listening and expecting every moment to hear the young fisherman say something in the way of surprise as he saw the dark hole going downward. but they listened in vain,--full of anxiety, though, for it was like a second blow to find that their secret place was becoming very plain, known as it evidently was to people at the sea entrance, and now from the landward side discovered by the greatest enemy they had. vince felt this so strongly that, in spite of the risk of being heard, he put his lips to mike's ear and whispered: "this spoils all." mike responded in the same way: "i say, what's he doing? shall i go and see?" "no, i will," whispered back vince. "take care." vince's answer was a squeeze of the hand. then, going down upon all fours, he crept silently and slowly up the slope till he could see the lad, expecting to find him peering about the mouth of the passage, and trying to see whether they were there. but nothing of the kind. there was the young fisherman seated upon a piece of stone, with the light shining down upon him through the brambles, busily tying his neckerchief round his head, making it into a bandage to cover a cut somewhere on the back, and tying it in front over his forehead. then, picking up his cap, which lay beside him, he drew it on over the handkerchief, having most trouble to cover the knot, but succeeding at last. then he stood up and began to examine his hands, which appeared to be scratched and bleeding; and making vince start and feel that he was seen, for the boy turned in the direction of the dark passage and cried viciously: "all right, doctor: i'll let yer have it next time i ketches yer--and you too, old squire. oh my! how it smarts, though! wonder wherever they got." those last words came like a fillip to vince's spirits, for he felt now that there was nothing to mind, as he could not give the lobster credit for knowing that they were close at hand and acting his part so as to make believe he was in ignorance. just then a light touch told vince that mike had crawled silently up behind him; and they both crouched there now, in the darkness, watching the lad, till he suddenly seemed to become impressed by the fact that the hole went right in underground, and he stood staring in till the two boys felt that he was looking at them and seeing them plainly. "goes right in," he said aloud--"ever so far, p'r'aps. well, let it. i aren't going to get myself all wet and muddy. oh! how it do hurt!" he raised his hand to the back of his head; but he remained staring in, the boys hardly daring to breathe, as each doubled his fists, and prepared for an encounter. "he must see us," thought vince; and when he felt most certain, his heart gave a throb of satisfaction, for a slight movement on the lad's part brought his face more into the light, and vince could see that there was a vague look in the lad's eyes, as if he were thinking; and then he turned slowly round and began to look about for the best way out of the trap into which he had fallen, proceeding to drag at the brambles in one spot where an exit seemed easiest; but a sharp prick or two made him snatch away his hands with an angry ejaculation, and, looking about again, he noticed that there was a simpler way out at the end--that used by the two boys for returning, their entries always now being by a sudden jump down through the pendent green shoots. "i'll let 'em have it for this when i do find 'em," grumbled the lad. "must ha' gone home'ards some other way." and they could hear him muttering and grumbling as the twigs and strands rustled where he passed, till they knew that he was well outside, for they heard him give a stamp on one of the blocks of granite. vince rose silently. "come on," he said,--"the brambles will screen us;" and he crept forward carefully, till he was close to the hole, and then cautiously advanced his head, to peer upward, raising his hand warningly to mike, who was just behind. for the lad had not gone away, but was standing at the edge with his back to them, and his eyes sheltered, gazing upward at the ridge. he remained there watching intently for quite ten minutes without moving, and then went off out of sight, the only guide to the direction he took being the rustling of displaced bushes and the musical clink of a loose block of stone moved by his passing feet. they did not trust themselves to speak for some time after the last faint sound had died out, and then they began to discuss the question whether they could escape unseen. "must chance it," said vince at last. "i'm tired of staying here. come on." mike was evidently quite as weary, for he showed his agreement by following at once. they were both cautious in the extreme, going out on all fours, and then crawling in and out between the blocks of granite--a pleasant enough task so long as the growth between was whortleberry, heath or ferns, but as for the most part it was the long thorny strands of the blackberry, the travelling became more and more painful. at last, after progressing in this way some three hundred yards, a horribly thorny strand hooked vince in the leg of his trousers and skin as well, with the result that he started to his feet angrily. "here, i've had enough of this," he cried. "hang the old cavern! it isn't worth the trouble." "hist!" exclaimed mike, seizing him by the leg and pointing straight away to their right. vince dropped forward, with his arms stretched over the nearest block of grey stone, staring at the object pointed out, and seeing carnach junior right up close to the highest part of the ridge. for a few moments he could not be sure whether the young fisherman was looking in their direction, or away; from them; but a movement on the part of the lad set this at rest directly after, and they saw him go slowly on, helping himself by clutching at the saw-like row of jagged stones which divided one slope from the other; and, satisfied that they had not been seen, they recommenced their crawl, till they reached the cover of a pile of the loose rocks, which were pretty well covered with growth. placing this between them and the lad, now far away upon the ridge, they made for the cover of the stunted oaks, and there breathed freely. mike was the first to speak, and he began just as if his companion had the moment before made his impatient remarks about the adventure not being worth the trouble. "i don't know," he said. "this is the first time we have had any bother, and i don't see why we should give such a jolly place up just because that thick-headed old lobster came watching us." "ah! but that isn't all," said vince. "we can't go down there any more, on account of the smugglers." "but i don't believe you are right. those things looked new, i know; but they must be as old as old, for if any smuggling had been going on here we must have seen or heard of it." "but the sand--the sand! those footprints must be new." "i don't see it," said mike, rather stubbornly. "because the wind blows into one cave and drifts the light sand all over, that's no reason why it should do so in another cave, which may be regularly sheltered." "it's no good to argue with you," said vince sourly, for he was weary and put out. "you can have it your own way, only i tell you this,-- smugglers don't stand any nonsense; they'll shoot at any one who tries to stop them or find out where they land cargoes, and we should look nice if they suddenly came upon us." "people don't come suddenly on you when they've been dead a hundred years," replied mike. "now, just look here: we must do it as if we took no interest in it, but you ask your father to-night, and i'll ask mine, whether they ever heard of there being smugglers in the crag." "well, i will," said vince; "but you must do the same." "of course i shall; and we shall find that it must have been an enormous time ago, and that we've as good a right to those things as anybody, for they were brought there and then forgotten." "well, we shall see," said vince; and that night, at their late tea, he started the subject with-- "have you ever known any smugglers to be here, father?" "smugglers? no, vince," said the doctor, smiling. "there's nothing ever made here that would carry duty, for people to want to get it into england free; and on the other hand, it would not be of any use for smugglers to bring anything here, for there is no one to buy smuggled goods, such as they might bring from holland or france." somewhere about the same time mike approached the question at the old manor house. "smugglers, mike?" said sir francis. "oh no, my boy, we've never had smugglers here. the place is too dangerous, and perfectly useless to such people, for they land contraband goods only where they can find a good market for them. now, if you had said pirates, i could tell you something different." "were there ever pirates, then?" cried mike excitedly. sir francis laughed. "it's strange," he said, "what interest boys always have taken in smugglers, pirates, and brigand stories. why, you're as bad as the rest, boy! but there, i'm running away from your question. yes, i believe there were pirates here at one time; but it is over a hundred years ago, and they were a crew of low, ruffianly scoundrels, who got possession of a vessel and lived for years by plundering the outward and inward bound merchantmen; and being on a fast sailing vessel they always escaped by running for shore, and from their knowledge of the rocks and currents they could sail where strangers dared not follow. but the whole history has been dressed up tremendously, and made romantic. it was said that they brought supernatural aid to bear in navigating their craft, and that they would sail right up to the crag and then become invisible: people would see them one minute and they'd be gone the next." "hah!" ejaculated mike, and his father smiled. "all superstitious nonsense, of course, my boy; but the ignorant people get hold of these traditions and believe in them. mr deane here will soon tell you how in history molehills got stretched up into mountains." "or snowballs grew into historical avalanches," said the tutor. "exactly," said sir francis. "i fancy, mike, that those people may have had a nest here. one of the men--carnach i think it was--told me that they had a cave, and only sailed from it at night." "did he know where it was, father?" "i remember now he said it was `sumwers about,' which is rather vague; but still there are several holes on the west coast which might have been made habitable; though i have never seen such a cave on the island, nor even one that could have been serviceable as a store." mike winced a little, for he fully expected to hear his father say "have you?" but then sir francis went off to another subject, and the boy nursed up his ideas ready for his next meeting with vince, which was on the following day. chapter seventeen. pirates or smugglers? how to prove it. "pirates, cinder!" mike was down at the gate waiting for vince to come with his roll of exercises, ready for the morning's work; and as soon as vince came within earshot he fired off the word that he had been dreaming about all night-- "pirates!" "where?" cried vince, looking sharply round and out to sea. "get out! you know what i mean. it's pirates, not smugglers." vince stared at him for a few moments, and then burst out laughing. "well, you've got it this time," he said, "if you mean the cave." "and i do," said mike quietly. "pirates; and that's some of the plunder and booty they took from a ship over a hundred years ago. so now whose will it be?" "stop a moment," said vince, looking preternaturally serious; "let's be certain who it was. let me see: there was paul jones, and blackbeard, and the buccaneers. what do you say to its having belonged to the buccaneers?" "ah! you may laugh, but my father said last night that he never knew of smugglers being on the island, but that there was a story about pirates having a cave here, and going out in their vessel to plunder the outward and homeward bound merchantmen." "humph!" grunted vince, with a sceptical look. "and look here: he said the people had a superstitious belief that the pirates used to sail towards the crag, and then disappear." "what!" cried vince eagerly. "disappear quite suddenly." "behind that line of rocks when they sailed into the little cove, mike?" "to be sure. now, then, why don't you laugh and sneer?" cried mike. "does it sound so stupid now?" "i don't know," said vince, beginning to be dubious again. "then i do," said mike warmly. "i never knew of such an unbelieving sort of chap as you are. there's the cave, and there's all the plunder in it--just such stuff as the pirates would get out of a ship homeward bound." "yes; but why did they leave it there and not sell it?" "i know," cried mike excitedly: "because one day they went out and attacked a ship so as to plunder her, and found out all at once that it was a man-o'-war; and as soon as the man-o'-war's captain found out that they were pirates he had all the guns double-shotted, and gave the order to fire a broadside, and sank the pirate." "that's the way," said vince, laughing; "and the pirate captain ran up the rigging with a hammer and some tin-tacks, and nailed the colours to the mast." "ah! you may laugh," said mike. "you're disappointed because you didn't find it out first. there it all is, as plain as plain. the people used to think the pirate vessel disappeared, because she sailed out of sight and used to lie in hiding till they wanted to attack another ship. well, i shan't say any more about it if you are going to laugh, but there's the treasure in the cave: we found it; and half's yours and half's mine. now then, what did the doctor say?" "that he never heard of any smugglers ever being here." "there!" cried mike triumphantly. "he said there was no one here to buy smuggled goods, and nothing here to smuggle." "of course not: the other's the idea, and i vote we go down and properly examine our treasure after dinner." "that is curious," said vince, "about the tradition of the pirate ship disappearing, because it proves that there is a channel big enough for a small ship." "oh you're beginning to believe, then, now?" "no, i'm not; for i feel sure those are smuggled goods. but, mike, we must get old joe to lend us his boat, and sail along there ourselves." "he wouldn't lend it to us." "then i know what we'll do--" "now, gentlemen, i'm waiting," said a familiar voice. "all right, mr deane; we're coming," cried mike. "now, cinder, what shall we do?" "go and ask the old chap to lend us his boat, and if he won't we'll come back disappointed." "and what's the good of that?" "slip round another way and borrow her. you and i could manage her, couldn't we?" "why, i could manage her myself." "of course you could. we shouldn't hurt the boat; and we could feel our way in, and see from outside whether it has been a smugglers' place or no." "that's it," said mike; and five minutes after they were working hard with the tutor, as if they had nothing on their minds. that afternoon, with the sun brighter and the sea and sky looking bluer than ever, the two boys were off for their afternoon expedition, making their way along a rough lane that was very beautiful and very bad. it was bad from the point of view that the fisher-farmers of the island looked upon it as a sort of "no man's land," and never favoured it by spreading donkey-cart loads of pebbles or broken granite to fill up the holes trodden in by cows in wet weather, or the tracks made by carts laden with vraick, the sea-weed they collected for manuring their potato and parsnep fields. consequently, in bad seasons vince said it was "squishy," and mike that it was "squashy." but in fine summer weather it was beautiful indeed, for nature seemed to have made up her mind that it was nonsense for a roadway to be made there to act like a scar on the landscape, just to accommodate a few people who wanted to bring up sea-weed, sand and fish from the shore, and harness donkeys to rough carts to do the work when they might more easily have done it themselves by making a rough windlass, such as they had over their wells, and dragging all they wanted directly up the cliff face to the top--a plan which would have done in fifty yards what the donkeys had to go round nearly half a mile to achieve. as to the road being kept up solely because old joe daygo had a cottage down in a notch in the granite walls overlooking the sea, that seemed to be absurd. consequently, nature went to work regularly every year to do away with that road, and she set all her children to help. the gorse bushes hung from the sides, thrusting out their prickly sprays covered with orange and yellow blossom and encroached all they could; the heather sprouted and slowly crept here and there, in company with a lovely fine grass that would have made a lover of smooth lawns frantic with envy. over the heath, ling, and furze the dodder wreathed and wove its delicate tangle, and the thrift raised its lavender heads to nod with satisfaction at the way in which all the plants and wild shrubs were doing their work. but there were two things which left all the rest behind, and did by far the most to bring the crooked lane back to beauty. they laughed at the two brionies, black and white; for though they made a glorious show, with their convolvulus and deeply cut leaves, and sent forth strands of wonderfully rapid growth to run over the sturdy blackthorn, which produced such splendid sloes, and then hung down festoons of glossy leaves into the lane that quite put the more slow-growing ivy to the blush, still these lovely trailing festoons died back in the winter, while their rival growths kept on. these rivals were the brambles and the wild clematis, which grew and grew in friendly emulation, and ended, in spite of many rebuffs from trampling feet, by shaking hands across the road; the clematis, not content with that, going farther and embracing and tangling themselves up till rudely broken apart by the passers-by--notably by old joe daygo, when he went that way home to his solitary cot, instead of walking, out of sheer awkwardness, across somebody's field or patch. "i wish father would buy old joe's cottage," said vince, as the two lads trudged down the lane that afternoon. "we could make it such a lovely place." "yours is right enough," said mike, pausing in whistling an old french air a good deal affected by the people. "oh yes, and i shouldn't like to leave it; but i always like this bit down here; the lane is so jolly. look." "what at?" "two swallow-tail butterflies. let's have them." "shan't. i'm not going to make myself red-hot running after them if we're going out in the boat. besides, we haven't got any of your father's pill boxes to put 'em in. i say, how the things do grow down here! look at that fern and the bracken." "yes, and the old foxgloves. they are a height!" "it's so warm and sheltered. what's that?" they stopped, for there was a quick, rushing sound amongst the herbage. "snake," said vince, after a pause; "and we've no sticks to hunt him out." "down his hole by this time. come along. what a fellow you are! you always want to be off after something. why can't you keep to one purpose at a time, as mr deane says, so as to master it?" "hark at old ladle beginning to lay down the law," cried vince merrily. "you're just as bad. i say, shall we stop about here this afternoon? look at that gull--how it seems to watch us." vince threw back his head to gaze up at the beautiful, white-breasted bird, which was keeping them company, and sailing about here and there some twenty feet overhead, watching them all the time. "bother the gull!" said mike. "let's go on and speak to old joe about the boat." "oh, very well," said vince; "but what's the hurry? i hate racing along when there's so much to see. here, ladle: look--look! my! what a chance for a seine!" they had just reached a turn in the lane where they could look down at an embayed portion of the deep blue sea, in which a wide patch was sparkling and flashing in the most dazzling way, and literally seeming to boil as if some large volcanic fire were at work below. "mackerel," said vince. "pilchards," said mike. "'taint: it's too soon. it's mackerel. what a chance!" "have it your own way," said mike; "but a nice chance! ha! ha! why, if they surrounded them they'd get their nets all torn to pieces. there's sand all round, but the middle there is full of the worst rocks off the coast." "yes i s'pose it would be rocky," said vince thoughtfully. "well, do come on." mike turned upon him to resent the order, feeling that it was nice to be accused of delaying their progress; but the mirthful look on vince's face disarmed him, and after a skirmish and spar to get rid of a little of their effervescing vitality, consequent upon the stimulating effects of the glorious air, they broke into a trot and went past a large patch where a man was busy hoeing away at a grand crop of carrots, destined for winter food for his soft-eyed cow, tethered close at hand; and soon after came in sight of a massive, rough chimney-stack of granite, apparently level with the road. but this latter made a sudden dip down into a steep hollow, and there stood the comfortable-looking cottage inhabited by the old fisherman, with its goodly garden, cow-shed, and many little additions which betokened prosperity. the door was open, and, quite at home, the boys walked into the half parlour, half kitchen-like place, with its walls decorated with fishing-gear and dried fish, with various shells, spars, and minerals, which the old man called his "koorosseties," some native, but many obtained from men who had made long voyages in ocean-going ships. "hi, joe! where are you?" cried vince, hammering on the open door. but there was not a sound to be heard; and they came out, climbed up the rocks at the back till they were above the chimneys, and looked round, expecting to find that he had gone off to the granite-hedged field where he tethered his cows. but the two sleek creatures were browsing away, and no one was in sight but the man, some hundred yards or so distant, hoeing the weeds from his carrots. "how tiresome!" said mike. "all right: he'll know," cried vince; and they trotted to where the man was very slowly freeing his vegetables from intruders. "hi, jemmy carnach!" shouted the lad, "seen joe daygo?" "ay,--hour ago," said the man, straightening himself slowly, and passing one hand behind him to begin softly rubbing his back: "he've gone yonder to do somethin' to his boat." "come on, mike; we'll cut straight across here and catch him. it's much nearer." "going fishing, young sirs?" said the man. "yes, and for a sail." "if you see that boy o' mine--" "what, lobster?" said vince. "eh? lobster?" said the man eagerly. "ay, if you ketch any, you might leave us one as you come back. i arn't seen one for a week." "all right," said mike, after a merry glance at vince; "if we get any we'll leave you one." "ay, do, lad," said the man. "good for them as has to tyle all day. if you see my boy, tell him i want him. i'm not going to do all the work and him nothing." "we'll tell him," said vince. "and if he says he won't come, you lick him, mind. don't you be feared." the boys were pretty well out of hearing when the last words were spoken; and after a sharp trot, along by the side of the cliff where it was possible, they came to the rugged descent leading to old daygo's tiny port. this time they were not disappointed, for they caught sight of the old man's cap as he stood below with his back to them, driving a wooden peg into a crack in the rock with a rounded boulder, ready for hanging up some article of fishing-gear. "you ask him," said mike: "he likes you best." "all right," said vince; and, putting his hands to his lips, he shouted out, "daygo, ahoy!" "ahoy!" cried the old man, without turning his head; and he kept on thumping away till the boys had reached him, when he slowly turned to face them, and threw down the great pebble. vince was too thorough to hesitate, and he opened the business at once, in his outspoken way: "here, joe!" he cried; "we want you to lend us your boat to go for a sail." "to lend you my boat to go for a sail?" said the old man, nodding his head softly. "yes; and we shan't be very long, because we must be back to tea." "and you won't be very long, because you must be back to tea?" "yes; and we won't trouble you. we can get it out ourselves." "and you won't trouble me, because you can get it out yourselves?" "that's right." "oh, that's right, is it, master vince? that's what you thinks," said the old fisherman. "but you'll lend it to us, won't you?" "nay, my lad--i won't." "why?" "why?" said daygo, beginning to rasp his nose, according to custom, with his rough forefinger. "he says why? mebbe you'd lose her." "no, we wouldn't, joe." "mebbe you'd run her on the rocks." "nonsense!--just as if we don't know where the rocks are. know 'em nearly as well as you do." daygo chuckled. "oh, come, joe, don't be disagreeable. we'll take plenty of care of it, and pay you what you like." "your fathers tell you to come to me?" "no." "thought not. nay, my lads, i won't lend you my boat, and there's an end on it. i'm not going to have your two fathers coming to ask me why i sent you both to the bottom." "such stuff!" cried vince angrily. "just as if we could come to harm on a day like this." "ah! you don't know, lad; i do. never can tell when a squall's coming off the land." "well, i do call it disagreeable," said vince. "will you take us out?" "nay, not to-day." "oh, very well. never mind, but i shan't forget it. did think you'd have done that, joe. come on, mike; let's go and get some lines and fish off the rocks." "ay, that's the best game for boys like you," said the old man; and, stooping down, he picked up the boulder and began to knock again at the wooden peg without taking any notice of his visitors. "come on, vince," said mike; and they walked back up the cliff, climbing slowly, but as soon as they were out of the old man's sight starting off quickly to gain a clump of rocks, which they placed between them and the way down. here they began to climb carefully till they had reached a spot from whence they could look down upon the little winding channel leading from the tunnel to daygo's natural dock. they could see the old man, too, moving about far below, evidently fetching something to hang upon the great peg he had finished driving in; and, after disappearing for a few minutes, he came into sight again, and they saw him hang the something up--but what, at that distance, they could not make out. at the end of a few minutes the old man went down to his boat, stayed with it another five minutes or so, and then stood looking about him. "it's no go, cinder," said mike, in a disappointed tone; "we shan't get off to-day, and perhaps it's best. we oughtn't to take his boat." "why not? it's only like borrowing anything of a neighbour. he was sour to-day, or else he'd have lent it." "but suppose he finds out?" "well, then he'll only laugh. you'll see: he'll be off directly." mike shook his head as they lay there upon their breasts, with their heads hidden behind tufts of heather; but vince was right as to the old man soon going, for directly after they saw him begin to climb deliberately up to the level, look cautiously round, and then, bent of back, trudge slowly off in the direction of his home; while, as soon as he was well on his way, the boys crept downward till they were at the foot of the rocks, when vince cried: "now then: lizards!" and began to crawl at a pretty good rate towards the way down to the natural dock, quite out of sight of the old man if he had looked back. the rugged way down was reached, and here they were able to rise erect and begin to descend in the normal way, vince starting off rapidly. "come on!" he cried; "old joe will never know. i say, we have `sarcumwented' him, as he'd call it." "yes, it's all very well," said mike, whose conscience was pricking him, "but it always seems so precious easy to do what you oughtn't to." "pooh!" cried vince; "this is nothing." "some one is sure to say he has seen the boat out." "well, i don't care if he does. joe ought to have lent us the boat; i'm sure we've done things enough for him. there, don't talk; let's get her. he might come back for something, and stop us." chapter eighteen. a risky trip. but the old fisherman did not return, and they took down mast, sail, oars, and boat-hook, cast the little craft loose, jumped in, and skilfully sent her along the channel, without startling any mullet this time. then the tunnel was reached, passed through, a good thrust or two given, and the boat glided out over the transparent waves, mike thrusting an oar from the stern and sculling her along till they were well out from the shelter of the rocks, when he drew in his oar and helped to step the little mast and hoist the sail. in a few minutes more they were gliding swiftly along, with vince cautiously holding the sheet and mike steering. "as if we couldn't manage a boat!" cried vince, laughing. "starboard a little, ladle. rocks." mike knew the sunken rocks, though, as well as he, and carefully gave them a wide berth; while, as they reached out farther from the land and caught the full power of the soft south-westerly breeze, the boat careened over, the water rattled beneath her bows, and away they went, steering so as to clear the point and get well abreast of the scraw before going in to investigate, and try if there was an easy way of reaching the sheltered rounded cove. for some time every rock and point was perfectly familiar; they knew every cavern and rift, and talked and chatted about the days when they had fished here, gone egging there, and climbed up or descended yonder; but after a time the rocks began to look strange. "good job for us that joe's place is on the other side of the island," said vince cheerily. "i say, what a game if he saw the boat going along, and took out his old glass to try and make out what craft it was?" "but he isn't this side," said mike. "i say, think there are any rocks out here?--because i don't know them." "i don't think there can be," said vince. "remember coming out here with your father a year ago?" "yes," said mike; "but we were half a mile farther out, because he said something about the current." "well, of course i don't know," said vince; "but the water looks smooth and deep. we should soon see it working and boiling up if there were any rough rocks at the bottom." "or near the top," said mike thoughtfully. "now, look: oughtn't we to be seeing the ridge over the scraw by this time?" "not yet," replied vince, who was carefully scanning the coast now. "we've only just passed the point; and it must be yonder, farther along." they both scanned the cliffs very carefully, but they all looked much the same--grey, forbidding, and grand, as they towered up from the water, nowhere showing a place where any one could land. "i say," cried vince suddenly, "we're going along at a pretty good rate, aren't we?" "yes, i was thinking so. too fast: take in a bit of canvas." vince did not speak for a few moments, but gazed from the sail to the surface of the smooth sea and back again two or three times. "'tisn't the sail that carries us along so," he said at last; "she only just fills, and hardly pulls at the sheet at all. ladle, old chap, we're in a current that's carding us along at a tremendous rate." mike looked at him in alarm, but vince went on coolly. "there's nothing to mind, so long as we keep a sharp look-out for rocks. the old boat would crush up like an egg if she went on one now. here, ladle, quick! look there!" "what at?" "the rocks. i mean the cliffs. ah! port! port!--quick." mike obeyed, and none too soon, for as vince was calling his attention to the shape of the cliffs ashore, a rough, sharp pinnacle of rock rose some ten feet out of the water just in front, with others to right and left, and the boat just cleared the principal danger by gliding through a narrow opening and then racing on upon the other side. here they found rock after rock standing out, some as much as twenty feet, whitened by the sea-birds, while others were just level with the surface and washed by foam. the way was literally strewn with dangers, and prudence suggested lowering the sail; but prudence was wrong--quick sailing was the only way to safety, so that they might have speed enough to insure good steering in the rapid current. "we must keep on going," said vince, "or we shall be on the rocks, as sure as we live. i say, can you keep an eye on the shore?" "no: i'm obliged to mind the rocks ahead. you look." "i can't," said vince; "it's impossible, with all these shoals about. look out! here's quite a whirlpool. port a little more--port!" the eddy they had to pass was caused by a couple of rocks close to the surface; and in avoiding these they went stern over another, which appeared to rise suddenly out of the clear sea, and was so close that the wonder to them was that they did not touch it. but the little boat drew very little water, and probably they were a few inches above it as they glided on into deep water again. "that was a close shave," cried vince. "i say, it's impossible to try and find the way in there while we have to dodge in and out here." "think there would be less current closer in?" said mike. "no, i don't. look for yourself: it's rushing along, and there are twice as many rocks. i say, ladle, we had better get out of this as soon as we can." mike said nothing, but he evidently agreed, and sat there steering with his oar over the stern, his teeth set and his brow knit, gazing straight ahead for the many dangers by which they had to pass, before, to their great relief, the last seemed to be past, and they had time to turn their attention toward the shore. "it's easy enough now," said vince. "why, that's north point, and the scraw must be half a mile behind!" the current was now setting right in, as if to cross the most northern point of the island; and knowing from old experience that it was possible to get into a return current close beneath the north cliffs, they steered in, and, the breeze freshening a little, they gradually glided out of the swift race which had been bearing them along, and in a few minutes were about a hundred yards from the cliffs, in deep water, and were being carried slowly in the opposite direction--that is, back towards the place they sought to examine. "well, that's right enough," said vince; "it's a regular backwater, and just what we wanted. we shall do it this time." "think there's any danger?" said mike. "not if it keeps like this," replied vince. "we'll go on, won't we?" mike nodded; and making short tacks, helped by the gentle current which was running well inside the rocks, about which they could see the tide surging, they by degrees approached the range of cliffs which they felt must be the outer boundary of the little cove. "this is grand," said vince, as they drew nearer. "why, it's as easy as can be, and any one might have done it if they'd thought of coming here. i say, isn't it deep? this is a regular channel, and i shouldn't be surprised if it takes us straight to the way in, for it's perfectly plain that it can't be out there. no boat could get in--big or little." "yes, this seems to be right," said mike. "see any rocks?" "only outside, and they keep off the tide. i say, mike, there ought to be some good fishing here. i wonder nobody comes." "look!" cried mike; "that is the ridge of rocks we can see across the cove." "how do you know?" "because it's so covered with cormorants and gulls. then there ought to be an opening somewhere a bit farther--" "look out, mike! starboard!--hard, or we shall be on that great snag." as he spoke vince seized the sail and swung it across, so as to send the boat upon another tack, and as he did so there was a jerk which nearly threw them overboard, a strange scraping, jarring sensation, and the boat's head was swung round, and she was borne rapidly along once more by the current which they had experienced before. for the fierce race suddenly swept about the rock they had grazed, catching the boat and treating it as if it had been a cork, leaving the boys to devote all their energies to steering, to avoid the rocks which studded their course. "just the same game over again," said vince, "only we're about a hundred yards nearer in, and the rocks are closer together." their experience of half an hour before was being repeated, but with added perils in the shape of larger rocks, while, to make matters worse, water was rapidly rising in the boat, one of whose planks had been started when they struck. vince was seaman enough to know what to do, and, warning his companion to keep a sharp look-out ahead, he took off his jacket, and then dragged the jersey shirt he wore over his head. kneeling in the bottom of the boat, he proceeded to stuff the worsted garment into a jagged hole, through which the clear water came bubbling up like some spring. mike had glanced at the bubbling water once, and shuddered slightly; but he did not speak then, for there was a great rock right in front, towards which the boat was rushing, with the sail well-filled, and having the leeward gunwale low down by the surface. but mike did not even wince. the current was racing them along, while the wind was fresher now, and as the boy pressed down the blade of the oar he could feel that the boat was fully under his control--that it was like some great fish of which he was the tail, and that he had only to give one good stroke with the oar blade to send the prow to right or left as he willed. and, as vince patted and stuffed the woollen jersey as tightly as he could into the place where the water rushed up, mike sat fast, till with a rush they glided by the dangerous rock, and the boy strained his eyes to catch the next danger. nothing was very near, and he spoke. "will she sink, cinder?" he said; and it seemed a long time, in his terrible anxiety, before his companion spoke. "no. there's a lot of water in, but if you can look out and steer, i can hold the sheet and bale." he handed the sheet to mike, crept forward, opened the locker in the bows, and took out an old tin pot kept for the purpose, crept back and took the sheet again, as he knelt down in the water and began to bale, scooping it up, and sending it flying over the side, but without seeming to make much impression. "another rock," said mike. "all right; you know how to pass it," said vince, without ceasing his work, but sending the water flying to leeward; and for the next quarter of an hour he did not cease--not even turning his head when they went dangerously near rock after rock. it was only when, with a deep, catching sigh, mike said that the current did not seem so strong, that he looked up and saw that the rocky point of the island was nearly a couple of miles away. "which way shall i steer?" said mike; and vince stood up to take in their position. "if we go round the point with the tide we shall have to fight against the wind and the current that sets along the west shore," he said. "that won't do. we must go back the way we came." "what, against that mill race?" cried mike in dismay. "no: couldn't do it. we must stand out more to sea." "out to sea!" cried mike, aghast: "with the boat filling with water?" "well, we can't go the other way. besides, if we did old joe would see us pass by, and there'd be a row." "well, he must know. he'll see the hole in the bottom,--if we get back," mike muttered to himself. "but, vince," he cried, "hadn't we better run ashore somewhere?" "yes: where's it to be?" said the boy, with a curious laugh. "nonsense! we should only sink her at once. there, i must go on baling. it's the only thing we can do, mikey. turn her head to it, and run right across the tide. it's getting slacker here. keep her head well to it. i won't let her sink." mike groaned. "hullo!" cried vince cheerily, "is it hard work?" there was no reply, but the boat careened over as from the fresh pressure of the oar the sail caught the full force of the wind, and they began to run swiftly towards the south-east, right out to sea, but with the intent of running back after reaching well out to south of the island. it seemed like madness, with the boat leaking as she did, but vince was right. it was their only chance; and after a few minutes he said, as if to himself: "i'm going to do a stupid thing. i ought to hold that sheet in my hand, but i want both for baling. be on the look-out, ladle. mind you throw her up in the wind if she goes over too much." as he spoke he made the sheet fast, rolled up his sleeves, and, taking the pot in both hands, began to make the water fly over the side. "i say, ladle," he cried, "when i'm tired you'll have to take a turn; but don't she go along splendidly with all this water ballast in her?" "yes," said mike huskily. "are you getting it down?" "yes, a little. not much; but if you sail her well we shall run in all right." "aren't we going out too far to sea?" "no; just right. now, then, don't talk. i want all my breath for working." setting his teeth, the boy baled away, and by slow degrees lowered the water a good deal; but he could not cease for a moment, for it surged in through the leak, nor did he dare to push the jersey farther, for fear of loosening the plank more and making a bigger hole. this went on for fully half an hour, with the island getting more and more distant, and mike twice over asked if it was not time to make for the shore. but vince shook his head, after a glance back at the south point, and worked away at the baling. "now," he said suddenly, "i want to go on, but i'm getting slow. be ready to jump into my place and scoop it out. i'll catch hold of the oar. ready?" "yes." "now then." the exchange was quickly effected, the water sent flying with more energy, and vince pressed upon the oar as he rested himself, and sent the brave little boat faster through the sea. "you're giving it to her too hard," remonstrated mike, as the gunwale went down dangerously near the surface. "no, i'm not. you hold your tongue and bale," said vince fiercely. "keep it down." mike worked as he had never worked before, but he could not get the water an inch lower than vince had left it. still he never slackened his pace, though he felt sure that it was gaining upon him, and that before long the boat would begin to sink. at last he could contain himself no longer, and with a hoarse gasp he cried: "it's of no use, vince; she's going down." "no, she isn't," said the boy quietly; "and she can't go down if we pitch out those two big pieces of iron ballast. she'll go over on her side, and we shall have to hold on if it comes to the worst; but i think i can send her in, ladle, if you can keep on baling." "yes, i can keep on," said mike faintly. "tell me when you're beat out, and i'll begin again." mike nodded. "but keep on till you're ready to drop, so as to give me all the rest you can, for my arms feel like bits of wood." mike jerked his head again, and the water went on flying out, looking like a shower of gold in the late afternoon sunshine, till vince shouted to his companion, in regular nautical parlance, to stand by with the sail. mike sprang up and loosened the sheet, standing ready to swing the yard over to the other side. vince threw the boat up in the wind, the sail swung over, filled for the other tack, and they both began to breathe freely as they glided now toward the south point of the island, where a jutting-up mass of rock, looking dim in the distance, showed where the archway and tunnel lay which led into old joe's little natural dock. "shall we do it, cinder?" said mike faintly, as he made fast the sheet on the other side. "do it?--yes, of course," cried vince stoutly. "there, my arms are not so numb and full of pins and needles now. come here and steer." "no, i can do a little more," said mike. "no, you can't. obey orders always at sea," cried vince fiercely; and the exchange of position was made; but there was a full two inches more water in the boat, and as vince began to bale he did so from where he could at any time seize the pieces of pig iron and tilt them over. in fact, several times he felt disposed to do so, but shrank from it as being a last resource, and from dread lest the act should in any way interfere with the boat's speed. over went the water in the sunshine; and as the boy baled, from looking golden, it by slow degrees grew of an orange tint, and sparkled gloriously, but a deadly feeling of weakness fixed more and more upon vince's arms, and as he toiled he knew that before long he must give up to his companion once again. but still he kept on, though it was more and more slowly; and the despair that he had kept to himself was not quite so terrible, for the south point gradually grew nearer, and he had the satisfaction of feeling that he could manage a boat at sea, and well too, for the course they were steering was dead for the tunnel rock, and, could he keep the boat afloat for another twenty minutes or half an hour, they would be safe. "come and steer now?" said mike. "no," was grunted out; and vince baled away till the pot dropped from his hands, and he rose and took the oar, pressing it to his chest, and steering by the weight of his body. once more the water flew out faster; but mike was only making a spurt, and his arm moved more and more slowly, till, with a groan, he said feebly: "i can't do it any longer." vince made no reply, but gazed straight before him, seeing the jutting-up rock as if through a mist, while the water bubbled in through the leak, and rose, and rose, without an effort being made to lower it now. would she float till they were close in?--would she float till they were close in?--would she float till they were close in? it was as if some one kept on saying this in vince's ears, as they rushed on, with the rock nearer and nearer, as if coming out of the mist, till it stood out bright in the setting sunlight, and the mental vapour was dispersed by the feeling of exultation which surged through the steersman's breast. for all at once it seemed that safety was within touch; and, turning the boat head to wind, she glided slowly up to the opening in the rock, while the sail flapped and the two boys quickly lowered and furled it, unstepped the mast, and then thrust her in with the boat-hook, reaching the little dock as if in a dream. vince staggered as he stepped out on to the granite stones to make the boat fast, and mike was in little better condition; but by degrees the suffocating sensation which oppressed them grew less painful, and they slowly and laboriously carried oars, spars and sail up to their place of stowage. then vince returned to the boat, thrust down his hand and drew out his jersey, mike taking hold of one end to help him wring it out. they had neither of them spoken for some time; but at last vince said: "we shall have to pay old joe for the mending of the boat." "i say, vince," said mike, in a low, husky tone, "oughtn't we to be thinking about something else? it was very near, wasn't it?" "yes," said vince, with a passionate outburst, "i was thinking of something else;" and he threw himself down upon a huge piece of wave-worn granite and hid his face on his arm. half an hour later, the two lads walked slowly home, feeling as grave and sober as a couple of old men, knowing as they did that, though the evening sunshine had been full in their eyes, the shadow of death had hovered very near. chapter nineteen. having it out with the enemy. the two boys were very quiet the next morning, on meeting, and their tutor rubbed his hands with satisfaction twice in the course of their lesson. "now, that is what i like," he said; "and how much happier you must feel when you have given your minds thoroughly to the work we have in hand!" that was the only time during the study hours that anything approaching a smile appeared on vince's face; but he did cock his eye in a peculiar way at mike, only to receive a frown in return. at last the lessons were over, and the boys went out into the garden, strolled into the small shrubbery and patch of woodland which helped to shelter the house from the western gales, and then, marvellous to relate, instead of running off to get rid of some of their pent-up vitality, they sat down upon a prostrate tree-trunk, which had been left for the purpose, and vince began to rub his shins, bending up and down in a peculiar seesaw fashion. "i am stiff and tired this morning as can be," he said. "oh! i'm worse," said mike. "i feel just as if i were going to be ill. haven't caught horrible colds through kneeling in the water so long, have we?" "oh no; it's only being tired out from what we did. i say, feel disposed to have another try to find the way in?" "no," said mike shortly: "i wouldn't go through what we did yesterday for all the smugglers' caves in the world." "well, i don't think i would!" said vince thoughtfully. "i'm sure i wouldn't. i don't want all the smugglers' caves in the world. but it was risky! every time i went to sleep last night i began dreaming that the boat was sinking from under me, and then i started up, fancying i must have cried out." "i got dreaming about it all, too," said mike, with a shudder. "it was very horrible!" they sat thinking for some time, and then vince tried to rouse himself. "come on," he said. "no; i want to sit still." "but you might walk half-way home with me." "no," said mike; "i feel too tired and dull to stir. besides, if i come half-way with you, i shall have as far to walk back as you have to go. that's doing as much as you do. i'll come with you as far as the corner." "come on, then," said vince; and they started, after groaning as they rose. "i feel stiff all over," sighed vince, "and as if my head wouldn't go." they parted at the corner, with the understanding that they were to meet as usual after dinner, and at the appointed time vince came along the roadside to where mike lay stretched upon the soft turf. but there was not the slightest disposition shown for any fresh adventure, and the only idea which found favour with both was that they should stroll as far as the cliff known to them as brown corner, and sit down to go over the seascape with their eyes, and try and make out their course on the previous afternoon. half an hour later they had reached the edge of the cliff, sat down with their legs dangling over the side, and searched the sea for the rocks they had threaded and for signs of the swift current. but at the end of some minutes vince only uttered a grunt and threw himself backward, to lie with his hands under his head. "i can't make anything of it, ladle," he said impatiently; "and i'm not going to bother. it looked horribly dangerous when we were in it yesterday, but it only seems beautiful to-day." "yes," said mike; "it's because we're so far off, and things are so much bigger than they look. but it was dangerous enough without having the boat leak." "horribly," said vince. "i wonder we ever got back. won't try it again, then?" he added, after awhile. "no, i won't," cried mike, more emphatically than he had spoken that day. "well, i don't think i will, ladle; only i feel as if i had been beaten." "so do i: as sore all over as sore." "tchah! i don't mean that kind of beating: beaten when i meant to win and sail right into the cove in front of the caves. i say, it wasn't worth taking old joe's boat for and making a hole in the bottom." "no; and we haven't said a single word about it yet." "felt too tired. i don't care. he'll kick up a row, and say there's ten times as much damage done to it as there really is, and it's next to nothing. five shillings would more than pay for it. i'll pay part: i've got two-and-fourpence-halfpenny at home; but it's a bother, for i wanted to send and buy some more fishing tackle. mine's getting very old." "well, i'll pay all," said mike. "i've got six shillings saved up." "no, that won't be fair," said vince; "i want to pay as near half as i can." "well, but you want to buy some hooks and lines, and i shall use those as much as i like." "of course," said vince, as mike followed his example and let himself sink back on the soft turf, to lie gazing up at the blue sky overhead; "but it won't be the same. i helped poke the hole in the boat, and i mean to pay half. i tell you what: we'll pay for the damage together, and then you'll have enough left to pay for the fishing lines, and i can use them." "well, won't that be just the same?" "no; of course not," said vince. "the lines will be yours, and you won't be able to bounce about, some day when you're in an ill-temper, and say you were obliged to pay for mending the boat." "very well; have it that way," said mike. "and we ought to go over and see the old man, and tell him what we did." "he doesn't want any telling. he has found it out long enough ago. there was the sail rolled up anyhow, too. i was too much fagged to put it straight. when shall we go and see him?" "i dunno. i don't want to move, and i don't want to have to tell him. he'll be as savage as can be." the boys lay perfectly still now, without speaking or moving; and the gulls came up from below, to see what was the meaning of four legs hanging over the cliff in a row, and then became more puzzled apparently on finding two bodies lying there at the edge; consequently they sailed about to and fro, with their grey backs shining as they wheeled round and gazed inquiringly down, till one, bolder than the rest, alighted about a dozen yards away. "keep your eyes shut, ladle," said vince. "birds are coming to peck 'em out." "they'd better not," said mike. "i say, couldn't we train some gulls, and harness them to a sort of chair, and make them fly with us off the cliff? they could do it if they'd only fly together. i wonder how many it would take." "bother the old gulls! don't talk nonsense. when shall we go and see the old man?" "must do it, i suppose," said vince. "yes, we ought to: it's so mean to sneak out of it, else we might send him the five shillings. i hate having to go and own to it, but we must, ladle. let's take the dose now." "do what?" said mike lazily. "go and take it, just as if it was salts and senna." "ugh!" "best way, and get it over. we've got to do it, and we may as well have it done." "yes." "but i say, when are you going to the cave again? not to-day?" "no." "to-morrow?" "no." "next day?" "well, p'r'aps. see how i feel." "ready?" "what for?" "to go and see old joe daygo." "haven't got the money with me now." "we'll go and fetch it, and then go to him." mike grunted. "there, it's of no use to hang back, ladle; we've got it to do, so let's get it done." "yes; you keep on saying we've got it to do, but you don't jump up to go and do it." "i'm quite ready," said vince; "and i'll jump up if you will. now then, ready?" "don't bother." "but we must go, ladle." "well, i know that; but i haven't got the money, and it's so far to fetch it, and i ache all over, and i don't want to see old joe to-day, and--" "there, you're shirking the job," interrupted vince. "no, i'm not, for i want to get it over." "then don't stop smelling the stuff; hold your nose, tip it up, and you shall have a bit of sugar to eat after it if you're a good boy." "oh, cinder, how i should like to punch your head!" "no, you wouldn't. come on and take your physic." "i won't till i like. so there." "`cowardy, cowardy, custard, ate his father's mustard,'" said vince. "i say, i don't see that there was anything cowardly in eating his father's mustard. it was plucky. see how hot it must have been; but i suppose he had plenty of beef and vegetables with it. he must have had, because, if he hadn't, it would have made him sick." "what, mustard would?" said mike, who was quite ready to discuss anything not relating to the visit to old daygo. "yes; mustard would." "nonsense. how do you know?" "father says so, and he knows all about those sort of things, including salts and senna. so now, then, old ladle, you've got to get up and come and take your dose." "then i shan't take it to-day." "and have old joe come to us! why, it would be disgraceful. you've got to come." "have i?" grumbled mike; "then i shan't." "'day, young gen'lemen!" mike leaped to his feet in horror, and vince pulled himself up in a sitting position, to stare wonderingly at the old fellow, who had come silently up over the yielding turf. "you?" said mike: "you've come?" "nay, i arn't, so don't you two get thinking anything o' the sort. i won't let you have it to go out alone." "you--you won't let us have it to go out alone?" faltered vince. "that's it, my lad," said the old man. "then he hasn't found out yet," thought vince; and he exchanged glances with mike, who looked ready to dash off. "why, yer jumped up as if yer thought i was going to pitch yer off the cliff, master ladelle. been asleep?" "no, of course not," said mike; and he looked at vince, whose lips moved as if he were saying--"i'm going to tell him now." "might just as well have said `yes' to you, though," grumbled daygo. "just as well," assented vince. "nice sort o' condition she's in now. one streak o' board nearly out. cost me a good four or five shilling to get it mended, for i can't do it quite as i should like." four or five shillings! just the amount vince had thought would be enough. "if i'd let you have it," continued the old man, "that wouldn't ha' happened. but i know: they can't cheat me. i'm a-goin' over to jemmy carnach to have it out with him, and first time i meets the young 'un i'm going to make him sore. see this here?" daygo showed his teeth in a very unpleasant grin, and drew a piece of tarry rope, about two feet long, from out of his great trousers, the said piece having had a lodging somewhere about his breast. "do you think lobster--" began vince. "ay, that's it: lobster," said daygo. "lobster it is: jemmy carnach would sell himself for lobster, but he arn't a-going to set his pots in my ground and go out to 'zamine 'em with my boat. i don't wish him no harm, but it would ha' been a good job if she'd sunk with him and his young cub. they're no good to the crag--not a bit. ay, i wish she'd sunk wi' 'em, only the boat's useful, and i should ha' had to get another." old daygo ceased speaking, and after giving the rope a fierce swish through the air, as if he were hitting at lobster's back, he put the end inside the top of his trousers, just beneath his chin, and gradually worked it down out of sight. vince coughed, and he was about to begin, after looking inquiringly at mike, who shook his head, and turned it away. but vince somehow felt as if it would be better to wait till the whole of the rope had disappeared, and daygo had given himself a shake to make it lie comfortably. then his lips parted; but the old man checked him by saying,-- "on'y wait till i meet young jemmy. i've on'y got to slip my hand in here, and it's waiting for him. yes, young gen'lemen, i'm a-going to make that chap sore as sore as sore." "no, you're not, joe," said vince firmly. "what? but i just am, my lad. if i don't lay that there piece on to his back, and make him lie down and holloa, my name arn't daygo." "but you are not going to thrash him, joe," said vince. "who'll stop it?" "i will," said vince. "it wasn't jemmy carnach and his boy." "eh? oh yes, it was. lobstering they were arter. i know." "no, you do not, joe. they didn't take it." "what!" cried the old man. "then who did?" "mike ladelle and i." "you did!" cried the old man, staring. "why, i told you i wouldn't let you have it, and saw you both go home." "but we didn't go home," said vince. "we went and hid in the rocks, and watched till you'd gone away, and then we crept down to the boat and got her out." "you did--you two did?" cried the old man; and his hand went into the top of his trousers. "yes," said vince desperately, "and we had a long sail." "well!" growled the old man,--"well! and i thought it was him!" "we're very sorry we scraped a rock, and made her leak." "made her leak!" roared the old man: "why, she's spyled, and i shall have to get a new boat." "no, she isn't, joe: you said it would cost four or five shillings to mend the hole." "eh? did i?" "yes, you did; and mike and i will give you five shillings to get it done." the old man thrust out his great gnarled hand at once for the money. "we haven't got it here, joe," said vince; "but we'll bring it to you to-night. eh, mike?" "yes; after tea." "honour?" "yes: honour." "honour bright--gen'leman's honour?" "yes," said vince emphatically. "let him say it too," growled daygo. "honour bright, joe," said mike. "oh, very well, then; i s'pose i must say no more about it," grumbled the old man; "but i'm disappynted--that i am. i thought it were they carnachs, and i'd made up my mind to give it the young 'un and make him sore. it's such a pity, too. i cut them two feet o' rope off a ring a-purpose to lay it on to him. i owe him ever so much, and it seemed to be such a chance." "save it for next time, joe," said vince, as mike looked on rather uneasily, for the old man kept on playing with the end of the rope. "eh? save it for next time?" he said thoughtfully. "well, i might do that, for the young 'un's sure to give me a chance, and then it won't be wasted. yes, i'll hang it up over the fireplace at home, ready agen it's wanted. but you two'll bring me that five shilling to-night?" "yes, of course." "ay, course you will," said the old man slowly. "there's one thing i likes in a gen'leman. some chaps says they'll do something, or as they'll pay yer, and they swear it, and then most times they don't; but if a gen'leman says he'll do anything, there yer are, yer knows he'll do it--without a bit of swearing too. but, haw--haw-- haw--haw!" the boys stared, for the old man burst out into a tremendous roar of laughter, and kept on lifting one leg and stamping it down. "why, what are you laughing at?" said mike, gaining courage now that the trouble was so amicably settled. "what am i laughin' at?" roared the old fellow, stamping again: "why, at you two! comes to me and wants to borrow my boat, and boasts and brags and holloas about as to how you knows everything. we can sail her, says you; we knows how to manage a boat as well as you do, and, haw, haw, haw! you helps yourselves and goes out, and brings her back with a hole in her bottom. here! where did you go?" "oh, along where you took us," said vince quickly. "and which rock did you run on?" "oh, i don't know what rock it was, only that it was just under water." "'course not. says to me, says you, that you knows all the rocks as well 's me, and goes and runs her on one on 'em fust time." "well, it was an accident, joe." "ay, my lads, it were an accident; but you've got to think yourselves very lucky as she didn't founder. did you have to bale?" "yes, all the way home, as hard as ever we could go." "ay, you would, with a hole in her like that. well, i arn't got no time to stand a-talking to you two here; but i just tells you both this: that there boat, as soon as she's mended and fresh pitched, 'll be a-wearing a great big padlock at her stem and another at her starn.--i shall be at home all evening waitin' fer that five shilling." he gave them both a peculiar wink, stood for a few moments shading his eyes and looking out to sea, and then, giving his head a solemn shake, he went off without another word. "feel better, mike?" said vince, as soon as the old man was out of hearing. "better? ever so much. i'm glad we've got it over. i say, cinder, nothing like tipping off your dose of physic at once." "but i had to take it," cried vince. "you wouldn't do your share." that evening after tea they kept their word. vince handed mike his two-and-fourpence-halfpenny, and mike gave him the five shillings which he was to pay. they found the old man standing outside his cottage, with his old spy-glass under his arm, waiting for them, and apparently he had been filling up the time by watching three or four vessels out in the offing. "let's have a look, joe," said vince, as soon as the business was over and the money lodged in a pocket, access to which was obtained by the old man throwing himself to the left nearly off his balance, and crooking his arm high up till he could get his fingers into the opening. the telescope was handed rather reluctantly, and vince focussed it to suit his sight as he brought it to bear on one of the vessels. "brig, isn't she, joe?" said vince. "ay, my lad; looks like a collier." "schooner," said vince; and then, running the glass along the horizon, he took a long look at a small, smart-looking vessel in full sail, her canvas being bright in the evening glow. "why, she's a cutter!" said vince, rather excitedly: "revenue cutter." "nay, nay, my lad, only a yawrt." "i don't think she is, joe; i believe it's a king's ship." "tchah! what would she be doing yonder?" "i don't know," said vince. "done with my glass?" growled the old man. "directly," replied vince; and he swept the sea again. "hullo!" he said suddenly: "frenchman." "eh? where?" said daygo quickly. "right away, miles off the north point." the old man took the glass, altered the focus again, and took a long, searching look. "bah!" he exclaimed; "that's not a frenchman, my lads," and he closed the glass with a smart crack. "i say, lookye here." he led the way to the door, grinning tremendously, and pointed in to where, hanging over the fireplace, was the piece of well-tarred rope, hanging by a loop made of fishing line. "ready when wanted--eh?" the boys laughed and went off soon after towards home. "five shillings worse off," said mike, when they parted for the night; "but i'm glad we got out of all that so easily.--i say, cinder!" "well?" "it would have been rather awkward if he'd taken it the other way and been in a rage." "very," said vince, before whose eyes the two feet of rope seemed to loom out of the evening gloom. "and it would have been all your fault." "yes," said vince shortly. "good-night: i want to get home." they parted, and as he walked back vince could not help thinking a good deal about the previous afternoon's experience, and he shook his head more than once before beginning to think of the cavern. chapter twenty. fresh pulls from the magnet. a week elapsed; the weather had been stormy, and a western gale had brought the sea into a furious state, making the waves deluge the huge western cliffs, and sending the churned-up foam flying over the edge and inland like dingy balls of snow. and the boys were kept in by the gale? is it likely? the more fiercely the wind blew, the more heavily the huge atlantic waves thundered against the cliffs and sent the spray flying up in showers, the more they were out on the cliffs searching the dimly seen horizon, watching to see if any ship was in danger. but it was rare for a ship to be seen anywhere near cormorant crag when a sou'-wester blew. its rocks and fierce currents were too well known to the hardy mariner, who shook his head and fought his way outward into deep water if he could not reach a port, sooner than be anywhere near that dangerous rock-strewn shore. vince and mike had long known that when the wind was at its highest, and it was hard work to stand against it, there was little danger in being near the edge of some perpendicular precipice, and that there, with the rock-face fully exposed to the gale, and the huge waves rushing in to leap against the towering masses with a noise like thunder, they could sit down in comparative shelter, and gaze with feelings akin to awe at the tumult below. why? for the simple reason that, after striking against a high, flat surface, the swift current of air must go somewhere. it cannot turn back and meet the winds following it, neither can it dive into the sea. it can only go upward, and sweeps several feet beyond the edge of the cliff before it curves over and continues its furious journey over the land, leaving at the brink a spot that is undisturbed. these places were favoured always by the boys, who would generally be the only living creatures visible, the birds having at the first breaking out of the storm hastened to shelter themselves on the other side of the island. "sea's pretty busy cave-making to-day," said vince, on one of these stormy mornings. "i wonder what it's like in the cave in front of our place." "all smooth, of course," said mike. "it's on the other side, and it's shut-in, so i daresay it doesn't make a bit of difference there. i say, oughtn't we to go there again?" "you want to open some of those packages," said vince, as he reached his head a little way over the side of the cliff to gaze down at an enormous roller that came plunging through the outlying rocks a couple of hundred feet below. "well, what of that?" "phew! my!" cried vince, drawing back breathlessly and wiping the blinding spray from his face. "you can't do that, ladle. i believe you might try to jump down there and find you couldn't. the wind would pitch you up again and throw you over into the fields." "shouldn't like to try it," said mike drily. "but i say, why shouldn't i want to open the bales and kegs and see what's in them?" "because they belong to somebody else, as i told you before." "if they belong to anybody at all they belong to my father, and he wouldn't mind my opening them." "don't know so much about that," said vince stolidly. "i'll ask him." "no, no; don't do that," cried mike, in alarm; "you'll spoil all the fun." "very well, then: you ask him what he thinks, then we should know." "there's plenty of time for that. i never did see such a fellow as you are, cinder. what's the matter with you?" "wet," said vince. "it was just as if some one with an enormous bucket had dashed water into my face." "then you shouldn't have looked over. you might have known how it would be. but look here: never mind the sea." "but i do mind it. hear that? oh, what a tremendous thud that wave came with!" "well, of course it did." "wonder how many years it will be before the sea washes the crag all away." "what nonsense!" "it isn't. i was talking to mr deane about it the other day, and he says it is only a question of time." "what, before the crag's washed away? i should think it would be. i'll tell you the proper answer to that--never." "oh, indeed," said vince: "then how about the caves in under here? haven't they all been hollowed out, and aren't they always getting bigger? that's how those on the other side must have been made. i shouldn't wonder if they are full of water now." "what, with all those things in!" said mike, in alarm. "oh, i don't believe that. when shall we go and see?" "it would be horrible to go across the common on a day like this, and we should be soaked getting through the ferns and brambles." "yes; it wouldn't be nice now. but will you come first fine afternoon?" "well, i don't know." "oh, i say," cried mike reproachfully--"you are getting to be a fellow! you thought the caves grand at first." "so i did, when we could go there and fish, and cook our tea, and eat it, and enjoy ourselves like robinson crusoe; but when it comes to finding the other cave and all that stuff there, it makes one uncomfortable like, and i don't care so much about going." "why?" "i don't know. i can't explain it, but it seems queer, and as if we ought to tell my father or yours. i felt like you do at first, and it seemed as if we'd found a treasure and were going to be very rich." "so we have, and so we are," said mike. "i don't see why you should turn cowardly about it." "i didn't know that it was cowardly to want to be honest," said vince quietly. "only hark at him!" cried mike, as the waves came thundering in, and the wind roared over them. "you are the most obstinate chap that ever was. why won't you see things in the right light? don't those things belong to my father?" "i don't know." "yes, you do. if they were brought and hidden there a hundred years ago, and everybody who brought 'em is dead, as they're on father's land, mustn't they be his?" "or the king's." "the king don't want them, i know. by rights they're my father's, but he won't mind our doing what we like with them, as we were the finders. now then, don't be snobby; will you come first fine afternoon?" vince was silent. "i won't ask you to meddle with anything--only to keep it all quiet." vince picked up a stone and threw it from him, so that it should fall down into the raging billows below, but he made no reply. "i say, why don't you speak?" cried mike. "who's to talk here in this noise, with the wind blowing your words away?" "you could just as easily have said you would come as have said that," shouted mike. "all right, then, i'll come," said vince; and mike gave him a hearty slap on the back. "but look here, mikey," he continued, "don't you ever think about it?" "about what?" "the caves, and all that." "of course i do: i hardly think of anything else." "yes; but i mean about that young carnach watching us and old joe hanging about after us." "thought it rather queer once or twice, but of course it was only because we were so suspicious. if we hadn't had the cave and been afraid of any one knowing our secret, we might have met them a hundred times and never thought they were watching us." "yes, we might," said vince thoughtfully. "i don't know, though: they certainly did watch us." "then, if they did, it was because we looked as if we wanted to hide something." "yes, that sounds right," said vince. "i never looked at it in that way, and it has bothered me a good deal. why, of course that is it! i'm all right now, and i'll go with you whenever you like; only we ought to tell them soon. we have known it all to ourselves for some time now." "very well, then, we'll tell them soon; and i know my father will say that all the treasure there is to be divided between us two." "will he?" said vince, laughing, for he was far from taking so sanguine a view of the case as his companion; and the matter dropped. they stopped watching the roll and impact of the waves till they were tired, and then went home to wait for the fair weather, which was to usher in their next visit to the caves. chapter twenty one. the mystery unrolls. four more days passed before the weather broke, and then two more when they were not at liberty. but at last came one when their tutor announced that they could have the whole day to themselves, and it was not long before each announced at home that he was off out for a good long cliff ramble. this meant taking a supply of provisions, with which each was soon furnished, so as not to break into the holiday by having to come back to dinner. no questions were asked, for it was taken for granted, both at the mount and at the doctor's cottage, that they would be going fishing or collecting; and the boys set off in high glee, meaning to supplement their dinner with freshly cooked fish, and plenty of excitement by climbing about the rocks at the entrance of the caves. everything seemed gloriously fresh and bright after the late rains: the birds were circling overhead, and the sea was of a wonderfully vivid blue. in fact, so bright was the day that vince said,-- "i say, isn't it a shame to go and bury ourselves underground?" "not a bit of it," cried mike; "it's glorious! why, it's a regular treat, after being away so long. have you enough wood for cooking?" "plenty." "and what about water?" "we took a big bottle full last time." "that's right. i say, keep your eyes open. see anything of old joe daygo? don't seem to be looking on purpose." they both kept their eyes well open, but there was no sign of the old fisherman; and before long the reason why was plain, for on their coming a little nearer to the cliff edge, on their way to where they struck off for the oak wood, vince suddenly pointed outward:-- "there he goes." "who?" said mike. "old joe. he has got his boat mended, then." "that can't be his boat." "it is. why, look at that patch on the sail. it's a long way off, but i'm sure it's the boat. he's gone out a long way, seemingly." "yes: going out to the sands, i suppose, to try if he can't get some soles." "well, we shan't have him playing the spy to-day," said vince, who was in capital spirits. "now, if we could see old lobster going too, we should be all right." "i dare say his father's got him hoeing carrots or something. we shan't see him." they did not see jemmy carnach's hopeful son, nor any other living being but a cow, which raised its soft eyes to gaze at them sadly, and remained looking after them till they plunged into the scrub-wood, and, once there, felt safe. then, after their usual laborious work beneath the trees, they reached the granite wilderness, clambered in and out and over the great blocks, keeping an eye as much as they could on the ridge up to their right, in case of the lobster being there, and finally reached the opening, jumped down through the brambles, and at once made for the spot where the lanthorn and tinder-box were stowed. "i say, isn't it jolly?" cried mike eagerly. "just like old times, getting back here again. what a while it seems!" "yes, it does seem a good while," said vince, beginning to strike a light. "i hope nothing has happened since we were here." "eh?" cried mike excitedly. "what can have happened?" "sea washed the place out, and taken all our kitchen and parlour things away." "nonsense!" said mike contemptuously. "oh, it might, you know; there would have been no waves, but there might have been a high tide. there must have been tremendously high tides down there at one time, so as to have washed out those caves." "ah! it's a precious long time since they've been washed out, i know," said mike, laughing. "they don't ever get swept out now." "no, but they're kept neat, with sand on the floor," said vince, snapping to the door of the lanthorn and holding it up for the soft yellow light to shine upon the granite walls. "i say, mike, don't you think we're a pair of old stupids to make all this fuss over a hole in the ground?" "no: why should we be?" "because it doesn't seem any good. here we take all this trouble hiding away and going down the hole like worms, so as to crawl about there in the sand." "and what about the beautiful caves, and the rocks where we sit and watch the sea-birds?" "we could see them just as well off the cliffs." "but the cove with the great walls of rock all round, and the current racing round like a whirlpool?" "plenty of currents and eddies anywhere off the coast." "but the fishing?" "we could fish in easier places," said vince, talking loudly now they were well down in the passage. "why, we've had better luck everywhere than here." "oh, you are a discontented chap!" said mike. "you ought to think yourself wonderfully well off, to be able to come down to such a place. see what jolly feasts we've had down here all alone." "yes, but it seems to me sometimes like nonsense to be cooking potatoes and frying fish down in a cave, when we could sit comfortably at a table at your house or ours, and have no trouble at all." "well, you are a fellow!" cried mike. "you said one day that the fish we cooked down there tasted twice as good as it did at home." "yes, i did one day when we hadn't got it smoky." "we don't often get it smoky," protested mike. "but i say, don't talk like that. you were as eager to make our little secret place there as i was. you don't mean to say you're getting tired of it?" "i don't know," said vince. "yes, i do. no, i'm not getting tired of it yet, for it does seem very jolly, as you say, when we do get down here all alone, and feel as if we were thousands of miles from everywhere. but i shall get tired of it some day. i don't think it's half so good since we found the way into the other cave." "i do," said mike. "it's splendid to have made such a discovery, and to find that once upon a time there were pirates or smugglers here." meanwhile they were slowly descending the bed of the ancient underground rivulet, so familiar with every turn and hollow that they knew exactly where to place their feet when they reached the little falls, and never thinking of stopping to examine the pot-holes, where the great rounded boulders, that had turned and turned by the force of the falling water, still remained. vince's light danced about in the darkness like a large glowworm, and mike followed it, humming a tune, whistling, or making a few remarks from time to time; but he was very thoughtful all the same, as his mind dwelt upon the packages in the far cavern, and he felt the desire to examine them increase, till he was quite in a state of fever. "pretty close, aren't we?" said mike at last, to break the silence of the gloomy tunnel. "yes, we shall be there in five minutes now. but, i say, suppose we find that some one has been since we were here?" "well, whoever it was, couldn't have taken the caves away." "no; but if lobster has found out the way down?--and i dare say he has, after tumbling into the front hall." "'tisn't the front hall," said mike laughingly; "it's the back door. front hall's down by the sea, where the seal cave is." "have it which way you like," said vince, giving the lanthorn a swing, "but it seems to me most like the back attic window. i say, though, if lobster has found it out, he'll have devoured every scrap we left there, and, i daresay, carried off the fishing tackle and pans." "a thief! he'd better not," cried mike. "ha--ha--ha!" laughed vince. "i do call that good." "what? i don't know what you mean." "your calling him a thief for taking away the things he discovered there." "well, so he would be. they're not his." "no," said vince, laughing; "and those things in the far cavern aren't ours, but you want to take them." "that's different," said mike hastily. "we only put our things there a few weeks ago; those bales and barrels have been there perhaps hundreds of years." "say thousands while you're about it, ladle," cried vince cheerily. "hold hard. _puff_!" the candle was blown out through a hole in the lanthorn, and the latter lowered down to the usual niche close to the cavern wall, where they were accustomed to keep it. "down with you!" cried vince; and mike required no second telling, but glided down the slope so sharply that he rolled over in the sand at the bottom. "below!" shouted vince; and he charged down after him, sitting on his heels, and also having his upset. "i say, though, i hope no one has been." they walked across the deep, yielding sand, with the soft pearly light playing on the ceiling; peered through into the outer cave; and then mike, who was first, darted back, for there was a loud splash and the sound as of some one wallowing through the water at the cave mouth. "only a seal," cried vince. "there goes another." he ran forward over the sand in time to see a third pass out of a low, dark archway at the right of the place where the clear water was all in motion from the powerful creatures swimming through. "i say, mike, why don't we take the light some day and wade in there to see how far it goes?" said vince, as he looked curiously at the doorway of what was evidently a regular seal's lurking-place. "because it's wet and dark; and how do we know that we could wade in there?" "because you can see the rock bottom. it's shallow as shallow." "and how do you know that it doesn't go down like a wall as soon as you get in?" "we could feel our way with a stick, step by step; or, i know, we'd get the rope--bring a good long one--and i'd fasten it round your waist and stand at the door and send you in. of course i'd soon pull you out if you went down." "thank you," cried mike, "you are kind. my mother said you were such a nice boy, cinder, and she was glad i had you for a companion, as the crag was so lonely. you are a very nice boy, 'pon my word." "yes; i wouldn't let you drown," said vince. "thank ye. i say, cinder, when you catch me going into a place like that, just you tell me of it, there's a good fellow." vince laughed. "why, who knows what's in there?" said mike, with a shiver. "ah! who knows?" said vince merrily. "i tell you what it is, ladle: that must be the place where the things live that old joe talked about." "what things?" "those that take hold of a boat under water, and pull it along till it can't come back and is never heard of again." "ah, you may grin, cinder," said mike seriously; "but, do you know, i thought all that when we were out yonder in the boat. it felt just as if some great fish had seized it and was racing it along as hard as it could, and more than once i fancied we should never get back." "did you?" said vince quietly. "yes, you needn't sneer. you're such a wooden-headed, solid chap, nothing ever shakes you; but it was a very awful sensation." "i wasn't sneering," said vince, "because i felt just the same." "you did?" "yes, that i did, and though i wanted to laugh at it because it was absurd, i couldn't then. but, i say, though, we might try and get to the end of that cave, just to see how far it goes." "ugh! it's bad enough going through a dark hole with a stone floor." "till you're used to it. see how we came down this morning." "yes, but we weren't wading through cold, black water, with all kinds of live things waiting to make a grab at you." "nonsense! if there were any things there they'd soon scuttle out of our way." "ah, you don't know," said mike. "in a place like this they grow big because they're not interfered with. those were the biggest seals i ever saw." "yes, they were tidy ones. the biggest, i think." "yes, and there may be suckers there. ugh! fancy one of those things getting one of his eight legs, all over suckers, round you, and trying to pull you into his hole." "take out your knife and cut the arm off. they're not legs." "i don't know what they are: just as much legs as arms. they walk on 'em. might be lobsters and crabs, too, as big as we are. think of one of them giving you a nip!" "wish he would," said vince, with a grin. "we'd soon have him out and cook him." "couldn't," said mike. "take too big a pot." "then we'd roast him; and, i say, fancy asking jemmy carnach down to dinner!" "yes," cried mike, joining in the laugh. "he'd eat till his eyes would look lobstery too, and your father would have to give him such a dose." "it don't want my father to cure jemmy carnach when he's ill," said vince scornfully. "i could do that easy enough." "and how would you do it, old clever?" "tie him up for two or three days without anything to eat. pst! hear that?" "yes," said mike, in a whisper, as a peculiar hollow plashing sound arose some distance down the low dark passage, and the water at the mouth became disturbed. "shoal of congers, perhaps--monsters." "pooh! it was another seal coming out till it saw or heard us, and then it gave a wallop and turned back. look here, i'll wade in this afternoon if you will." mike spun round on his heels. "no, thank you," he cried. "come on, and let's look round to see if all's right." a few minutes proved that everything was precisely as they had left it; and as soon as they had come to this conclusion, they found themselves opposite the fissure which led into the other cavern. mike glanced at the rope and grapnel, and then back inquiringly at his companion. "no!" said vince, answering the unspoken question that he could plainly read in mike's eyes; "we can have a good afternoon without going there." "how? what are we going to do?" "fish," said vince shortly. "but i should like to go and see if everything is there just the same as it was." "if it has been there for a hundred years, as you say, it's there all right still. come on." "but i should just like to have a peep in one or two of the packages, cinder." "yes, i know you would; but you promised not to want to meddle, or i wouldn't have come. now didn't you?" "all right," said mike sulkily; "but i did think you were a fellow who had more stuff in you. there, you won't do anything adventurous." "yes, i will," cried vince quickly: "i'll get the lanthorn and go and explore the seal's hole, if you'll come." "and get bitten to death by the brutes. no, thankye." "bitten to death! just as if we couldn't settle any number of seals with sticks or conger clubs!" "ah, well, you go and settle 'em, and call me when you've done." "no need to. you wouldn't let me go alone. now then, we'll get some fish, and have a good fry." vince ran to the wall, where their lines hung upon a peg; and now they noticed, for the first time, that there had been a high tide during the late storm, for the sand had been driven up in a ridge at one side of the cave mouth, but had only come in some twenty or thirty feet. their baits, in a box pierced with holes to let the water in and out, were quite well and lively; and putting some of these in a tray, they went cautiously out from rock to rock in the wide archway till there was deep water just beyond for quite another twenty feet; then rocks again, and beyond them the gurgling rush and hurry of the swift currents, while the pool before them, though in motion, looked smooth and still, save that a close inspection showed that the surface was marked with the lines of a gentle current, which apparently rose from below the rocks on the right. it was an ideal place for sea-fishing, for the great deep pool was free from rocks save those which surrounded it, and not a thread of weed or wrack to be seen ready to entangle their lines or catch their hooks; while they knew from old experience that it was the sheltered home of large shoals, which sought it as a sanctuary from the seals or large fish which preyed upon them. in addition, the place they stood upon was a dry, rocky platform, shut off from the cave by a low ridge, against which they could lean their backs, whilst another much lower ridge was just in front, as if on purpose to hide them from the fish in the crystal water of the great pool. partly behind them and away to their right was the entrance to the seals' hole, from which came a hollow splashing from time to time, as something moved; every sound making mike turn his head quickly in that direction, and bringing a smile to vince's lips. "ah! it's all very well," said mike sourly, "but everybody isn't so brave as you are." "might as well have lit our fire before we came here," said vince, ignoring the remark. "what's the good of lighting the fire till we know whether we shall get any fish?" said mike. "we didn't catch one last time, though you could see hundreds." "to boil the kettle and make some tea," replied vince; and he rose to get hold of the bait, pausing to look back over the ridge which shut him off from the cave, and hesitating. "i think i'll go back and light the fire," he said, as he fixed his eyes on the dark spot which they made their fireplace, it looking almost black from the bright spot they occupied, which was as far as they could get out towards the open cove. "no, no; sit down," said mike impatiently. "we didn't catch any last time because you would keep dancing about on the rocks here, and showing the fish that you were come on purpose to hook them. we can get a good fire in a few minutes. there's plenty of wood, and we're in no hurry." "you mean you kept dancing about," retorted vince. "very well," he added, seating himself, "it shan't be me, ladle: i won't stir. but it's the wrong time for them. if we were to come here just before daylight, or to stop till it was dark, we should be hauling them out as fast as we could throw in our--our"--_splash_--"lines." for as vince spoke he had resumed his seat, deftly placed a lug-worm on his hook and thrown the lead into the water, where it sank rapidly, drawing after it the line over the low ridge of rock. "there," said vince, as his companion followed his example, "i won't move, and i won't make a sound." "don't," said mike: "i do want to catch something this time." "all right: i won't speak if you don't." "first who speaks pays sixpence," said mike. "agreed. silence!" the fishing began, but fishing did not mean catching, and the time went on with nothing to take their attention but an unusual clamouring on the part of the sea-birds, which, instead of sitting about preening and drying their plumage, or with their feathers almost on end, till they looked like balls as they sat asleep in the sun, kept on rising in flights, making a loud fluttering whistling as they swept round and round the cove, constantly passing out of sight before swooping down again upon the great rocks which shut out the view of the open sea. lines were drawn up, rebaited, and thrown in again, with the faint splashes made by the leads, and they tried close in to the side, to the other side, to right and left; but all in vain,--the baits were eaten off, and they felt that something was at their hooks, but whether they struck directly, or gave plenty of time, it was always the same, nothing was taken and the hours passed away. they were performing, though, what was for them quite a feat, for each boy had fully made up his mind that he would not have to pay that sixpence. they looked at each other, and laughingly grimaced, and moved their lips rapidly, as if forming words, and abused the fish silently for not caring to be caught, but not a word was spoken; till all at once, after a tremendous display of patience, vince suddenly struck and cried: "got him at last!" "sixpence!" said mike. "all right!" said vince quietly: "i was ready to pay ninepence so as to say something. i've got him, though, and he's a big one too." "be steady, then. don't lose him, for i'm sick of trying, and i did want for us to have something for tea." "oh, i've hooked him right enough; but he don't stir." "bah! caught in the bottom." "oh no, i'm not. he was walking right away with the bait, and when i struck i felt him give a regular good wallop." "then it's a conger, and it's got its tail round a rock." "may be," said vince. "well, congers aren't bad eating." "b-r-r-ur!" shuddered mike. "i hate hooking them. line gets twisted into such a knot. you may cut it up: i shan't." "yes, i'll cut him in chunks and fry him when i get him," said vince. "he's coming, but it isn't a conger. comes up like a flat fish, only there can't be any here." "oh, i don't know," said mike. "i daresay there's plenty of sand down below." "well, it is a flat fish, and a heavy one too," said vince, as he hauled in cautiously, full of excitement, drawing in foot after foot of his line; and then he cried, with a laugh, "why, it's a big crab!" "then you'll lose it, for certain. 'tisn't hooked." "shall i lose him!" said vince, with another laugh, as he lifted out his prize for it to come on to the rock with a bang. "why, he has got the line twisted all round his claw, and--ah! would you bite! i've got him safe this time, mike." safe enough; for, after the huge claws of the monstrous crab had been carefully tied with a couple of bits of fishing line, it was quite a task to disentangle the creature, which, in its eagerness to seize the bait, had passed the line round and under its curious armoured joints, and in its struggles to escape, made matters worse. "this is about the finest we've seen, mike," said vince. "well, i'm sorry for him, and we'll try and kill him first; but his fate is to be cooked in his own shell, and delicious he'll be." "i should like to take him home," said mike, as he wound up his line. "so should i; but if either of us did we should be bothered with questions as to where we got it, and we couldn't say. we shall have to cook it and eat it ourselves, ladle. come on; we don't want any more fish to-day." they stepped back over the rocks, and while mike hung up the lines vince thrust his prize into the big creel they had close to the place they used for their fire, and then hurried towards the inner cave to fetch the tinder-box and a portion of the wood they had stored up there for firing, as well as the extra provisions they had brought with them that day. "it strikes me, mikey, that we're going to have a regular feast," said vince. "lucky i caught that fellow!--if i hadn't we should have come short off." "hark at him bragging! i say, why didn't you catch a lobster instead?" _phew_! came a soft whistle from the opening into the passage--a whistle softened by its journey through the subterranean place; but sounding pretty loudly in their ears, and as if it had been given by some one half-way through. "lobster!" ejaculated vince excitedly. "why, there he is coming down." "oh, vince!" cried mike, "that spoils all. i felt sure he would, after falling in as he did. he saw the hole, and he is searching it." "yes, and he'll come right on, feeling sure we're here." "what shall we do? i know: frighten him." "frighten him? how?" "go up and stand at the bottom of one of the steep bits, and when he comes up, throw stones at him and groan." "bah!" ejaculated vince contemptuously; "that wouldn't frighten him. he'd know it was us. i say, it's all over with the place now." "yes, for he'll tell everybody, and they'll come and find the outer cave with all the treasure in it." "yes, that won't do, ladle. there's no help for it now; there'll be no secret caves. you must tell your father to-night, and he'll take proper possession of the place. if he don't, every one in the island will come and plunder." "yes, that's right," said mike; "but it's a horrible pity. i am sorry. but what shall we do now?" "there's only one thing i can think of now--yes, two things," whispered vince: "either go up and stop him, fight for it and not let him come; or hide." "hide?" said mike dubiously. "yes, down here in the sand. it's dark enough. we could cover ourselves." "or go and hide in the other cave," said mike. "yes, we'll get the rope and grapnel, and get up into the great crack, pull the rope up, and we can watch from there." "that's it," said vince. "we only want to gain time till sir francis knows." "and your father," said mike. "fair play's a jewel, cinder. look sharp! come on!" they listened in the gloom of the inner cave for a few moments, and then mike led the way to the opening between the two caves, passing behind the rock, and as he did so he turned to whisper to his companion-- "perhaps he won't find this way through." then he stepped on over the deep, soft sand, and was about to pass through into the outer cavern, when he saw something which made him dart back, to come heavily in collision with vince; but not until the latter had seen that which startled mike. for there, standing in the sand, gazing up at the fissure, was a heavy, thick-set, foreign-looking man, with short black hair, a very brown skin, and wearing glistening gold earrings, each as far across as a half-crown piece. the glance taken by the boys was short enough, but they saw more than that, for they caught sight of a rope hanging down and a man's legs just appearing. "_vite! vite_!" cried the foreign-looking fellow. "_depechez_; make you haste, you slow swab you." there was a growl from above, and something was said, but the boys did not hear what. they heard the beating of their hearts, though, and a choking sensation rose to their throats as they stood in the narrow way between the two caverns, asking themselves the same question--what to do? for they were between two fires. the caves were in foreign occupation, that was plain enough; and the whistle had not come from young carnach, but from some one else. there could be no doubt about it: these were not strangers, but the smuggling crew come to life again after being dead a hundred years, if mike was right; a crew of the present day, come to see about their stores, if vince's was the right version. whichever it was, they seemed to be quite at home, for a second whistle came chirruping out of the long passage, as the boys hurried into the gloomy inner cave for safety, and this was answered by the frenchman, who roared: "ah, tousan tonderres! make you cease if i come;" but all the same an answering whistle came from the outer cave. what to do? where to hide? they were hemmed in; and it was evident that either the party in the long passage was coming down, and might even now be close to the slope, or the frenchman and the others were going to him. it took little time to grasp all this, and almost as little to decide what to do. the boys had but the two courses open to them--to face it out with the foreign-looking man, who seemed to be leader, and his followers; or to hide. they felt that they dared not do the former then, and on the impulse of the moment, and as if one spirit moved them both, they decided to hide-- if they could! the inner cavern was gloomy enough, and they could only dimly make out the top of the opening above the slope; all below was deep in shadow, for the faint pearly light only bathed the roof. but still they felt sure that if they entered from the upper entrance or from below they must be seen, unless they did one thing--and that was, carried out the idea suggested for hiding from young carnach. they had no time for hesitation; and any hope of its being still possible to escape by the upper passage was extinguished by a clinking noise, as of a big hammer upon stone, coming echoing out of the opening, suggestive of some novel kind of work going on up there; so, dashing to the darkest part of the cave--that close down by where the slope came from above--the boys thrust the lanthorn and tinder-box on one side and began to scoop away at the deep, loose sand near the wall. then, shuffling themselves down something after the fashion of a crab upon the shore, they cast the sand back over their legs and then over their breasts and faces, closing their eyes tightly, and finally shuffling down their arms and hands. anywhere else the manoeuvre would have been absurd to a degree; but there, in the gloom of that cavern, there was just a faint chance of any one passing up or down the slope without noticing that they were hiding, while all they could hope for now was that the heavy, dull throb, throb, of their hearts might not be heard. vince had covered his face with sand, but a few laboured breathings cleared his nostrils, and one of his ears was fully exposed; and as he lay he longed to do something more to conceal both himself and his companion; but he dared not stir, for the people in the outer cave were moving about, and their leader could be heard in broken english cursing angrily whoever it was that had dared to come down into his cave. they heard enough to make them lie breathlessly, almost, waiting, while the moments seemed to be terribly prolonged; and at last vince found himself longing for the time to come when they would be discovered, for he felt that if this terrible suspense were drawn out much longer he must spring up and shout aloud. possibly the two lads did not lie there much more than two minutes, but they were to vince like an hour, before he heard the rough, domineering voice in the outer cavern cry out-- "now, _mes enfans_, forvard march!" and there was a dull sound following, as of men's heavily booted feet shuffling and ploughing up the sand. chapter twenty two. two boys in a hobble. five men, headed by the heavy fellow who spoke in broken english, passed silently before the boys through the soft sand, their figures looking black against the beautiful light which seemed to play on the ceiling of the place. then the leader stopped, and he gazed sharply round for a few minutes, his eyes seeming to rest for some time upon the sand which the boys had strewed over themselves and burrowed into as far as they could get. vince shivered a little, for he felt that it was all over and that they must be seen; but just as he had come to the conclusion that the best thing he could do would be for them to jump up and throw themselves upon the man's mercy, the great broad-shouldered fellow spoke. "dere sall not be any mans here. let us go up and see vat they do--how they get on." apparently quite at home in the place, he walked to the foot of the slope, and for the first time saw the rope, and was told that it was not theirs. "aha!" he cried, "it vas time to come here and look. _en avant_!" he seized the rope, and in spite of his size and weight he went up skilfully enough, the others following as actively as the boys would have mounted; and while vince and mike lay perspiring beneath the sand, they heard the next order come from the opening on high. "light ze lanthorn," said the frenchman sharply; and, trembling now lest the light should betray their hiding-place, the boys lay and listened to the nicking of the flint and steel, heard the blowing on the tinder, saw the faint blue gleam of the match, and then the gradually increasing light, as the wood ignited and the candle began to burn; but throwing the rays through into the cavern, they passed over the corner where the boys lay, making it intensely dark by contrast, and they breathed more freely as the dull sound of the closing lanthorn was heard and the frenchman growled out-- "_vite! vite_! i have to lose no time." people seemed to be doing something more, far in the passage, which evoked the sharply spoken words of their leader; but what it was the boys could not make out, though they heard a strange clinking, as of pieces of iron being struck together, and then there was a loud clang, as if a crowbar or marlinspike had fallen upon the stony floor. "_ah, bete_ with the head of an _anglais cochon_--pig! you always have ze finger butter. now, _en avant_, go on--_depechez_, make haste." there was the sound of footsteps, the shuffling over stones, as if the men were not accustomed to the way; and then the light rapidly grew more feeble, and finally died out. "phew!" sighed vince, expiring loudly and blowing away the sand which had trickled about his lips, but not without first more firmly closing his eyes. "hist!" whispered mike; and then he sputtered a little and whispered the one word "sand." there was no need to say more; the one word expressed his position, and vince knew all he suffered, for the sand was trickling inside his jersey round the neck, and if he had not raised his head a little it would have been in his eyes, of which he naturally had a horror. the two boys lay perfectly still in their corner, listening with every sense upon the strain; and for some little time the movements of the men could be heard very plainly, every step, every stone that was dislodged sending its echo whispering along the narrow passage as a voice runs through a speaking tube. at last all seemed so still that they took heart to whisper to each other. "what shall we do, cinder?" said mike. "i don't know, unless we go through into the other cave." "what's the good of that?--they'll come back soon and find us." "unless we can hide somewhere among the bales, or right up in the back, where it's dark." "that might do," said mike. "but, i say, what have they gone after?" "to try and find us." "but they don't know us." "well, the people who are using this cave, and they must know of the way up to the top. ah! that's it." "yes; what?" cried mike excitedly. "hist! don't speak so loudly. they've gone up there to loosen some of the stones and block the way, so as to put an end to any one coming down; or else to lay wait and trap us." mike drew a long, deep breath; and it sounded like a groan. "oh dear!" he said; "whatever shall we do? perhaps we had better get through into the other cavern. they'll search this thoroughly, perhaps, when they come back; but they mayn't search that." "that's what i thought," said vince. "yes, it's the only thing for us to do, unless we go into the seals' cave and try and hide there." "ugh!" said mike, with a shudder. "why, it may be horribly deep, and we should have to swim in ever so far in the darkness before we touched bottom; and who knows what a seal would do if it was driven to bay?" "better have to fight seals than be caught by these men, ladle," said vince. "but we ought to have something to fight the seals with. there's the big stick in the other cavern, and your knife." "and yours." "yes; there's mine," said vince thoughtfully. "ah! of course there's the conger club with the gaff hook at the end." "to be sure. but, oh no, we couldn't do that. it would be horrible to wade or swim into that hole without a light." "we'd take a light," said vince. "yes, but we'd better try the other cave," said mike hurriedly. "i feel sure we could hide in the upper part. draw a sail over us, perhaps: they'd never think we should hide in an open place like that, where they landed." "very well, then: come on. here's the lanthorn and the tinder-box." vince secured these from where they lay half buried in the sand; and then, rising quickly out of their irritating beds, and scattering the loose fine dry grit back, they hurried into the outer cave, seized the rope and grapnel, and mike was swinging it to throw up into the opening, when his arm dropped to his side, and he stood as if paralysed, looking wildly at his companion. for that had occurred upon which they had not for a moment counted. they had seen the party of men pass them, and it never struck either that this was not all, till they stood beneath the opening in the act of throwing the grapnel. then, plainly heard, came a boisterous laugh, followed by the murmur of voices. they looked at each other aghast, as they saw that their escape in that direction was cut off. there was no seeking refuge among the bales, and in despair the grapnel was thrown down in its place; while, in full expectation of seeing more of the smuggler crew come through the fissure, they were hurrying back to the inner cave, when vince turned and caught up the conger club and the heavy oaken cudgel, holding both out to mike to take one, and the latter seized the club. enemies behind them and enemies in front, they felt almost paralysed by their despair and dread, half expecting to find the party that had ascended already back. but on reaching the dark cave all was perfectly still for a few moments, during which they stood listening. "think we could find a better place to hide in here?" said mike, in a husky whisper. "no; they had that lanthorn with them." "but if we shuffle down in the sand again?" "it's of no use to try it," said vince sharply. "once was enough. we must try the seal cave." "then why did you come in here?" whispered mike petulantly. "because you were afraid to go into that black hole in the dark." "and so were you," said mike angrily. "that's right, ladle--so i am," whispered vince coolly; "and that's why i came in here for the moment, to think whether we could possibly hide." "hist! i can hear them coming." vince stood listening to the murmur of voices coming out of the opening above them. "ever so far back yet," he whispered; and he dropped upon his knees and opened the tinder-box and the lanthorn, which he had placed before him on the sand. "no, no; don't do that," protested mike, who was half wild with alarm. "can't help it: we must have a light," said vince; and the cavern began to echo strangely with the nicking of the flint and steel. "then come in the other cavern," said mike, as he stood holding the club and cudgel. "don't bother me. other fellows would hear me there, and the wind blows in." and all the time he was nicking away, and in his hurry failing to get a spark to drop in the tinder. "oh! it's all over," said mike. "they're close here." "no, they're not. ah! that's it at last." for a spark had settled on the charred linen, and was soon blown into a glow which ignited the brimstone match; but, quick as vince was in getting it to burn and light the candle, it seemed to both an interminable length of time before he could close the door of the lanthorn and shut the half-burned match in the tinder-box. this last he was about to hide in a hole he began to scratch in the sand; but on second thoughts he thrust the flat box, with its rattling contents, under his jersey, and caught up the lanthorn, which now feebly lit the cavern. "yes," said vince; "they're pretty close now, for the voices sound very distinct. come on." he turned into the narrow passage to enter the outer cave, and they stopped short in horror as they stood in the full light there, for a loud chirruping whistle came suddenly from the fissure before them and up to the left; and it had hardly ceased echoing when it was answered from the inner cave behind them, and was followed by a shout, which sounded as if the men were sliding down the rope and close at hand. "not much time to spare," said vince, in a hurried whisper. "come on, ladle." and, lanthorn in hand, the light invisible as he hurried to the mouth of the cave, he stepped into the water, and, wading to the low arch on their right, stooped low and went in, closely followed by mike; and, as they passed on, with the lanthorn light showing them the dripping walls and root of the place, covered with strange-looking zoophytes, there was a loud flopping, rushing, and splashing, which sent a wave above their knees, and made mike stop short and seize his companion. "only a seal. come on," said vince; and he pressed forward, with the water getting deeper instead of more shallow, and a doubt rising in his mind as to whether they would be able to get in far enough to be safe. "hist! quiet!" he whispered, for the sound of voices came to where they stood, and vince felt that if sound was conveyed in one direction it certainly would be in the other. "mustn't say a word, or they'll hear us and be in and fetch us out in no time. come on, or they'll see the reflection of the light." "can't," whispered back mike faintly. "i've got my boot down a crack, wedged in." vince seized him sharply by the shoulder, and mike nearly fell back into the water; but this acted like a lever, and the boot was wrenched free, just as another whistle was heard and its answer, both sounding strangely near. quite certain that if they did not get in farther the reflection from the lanthorn must be seen, vince waded on, with the water rising from his knees to his thighs, and then, feeling terribly cold, nearly to his waist. "we mustn't go any farther," said mike in an excited whisper, "or we shall have to swim." "very well, then, we must swim," said vince, holding the light well up above the water, and looking anxiously along the dark channel ahead, the roof not being two feet above their caps. deeper still--the water above their waists--but the cavern went nearly straight on, and vince was about to open the door and blow out the light, when mike caught his arm. "don't do that," he whispered: "it would be horrible here, with those beasts about. there, you can hear one swimming, and we don't know what else there may be." "but they'll see the light." "well, let them," said mike desperately. "i'd rather wade out." "i'll risk it, then," said vince; and then he drew a breath of relief, for at the end of a couple of yards the depression along which they had passed was changing to a gradual rise of the cavern floor, and the water fell lower and lower, till it was considerably below their waists, and soon after shallow in the extreme. they went on with mingled feelings, satisfied that they were getting where they would not be discovered, and also into shallow water, that promised soon to rise to dry land; but, on the other hand, they kept having hints that they were driving back living creatures, which made known their presence by wallowing splashes, that echoed strangely along the roof, and made the boys grasp club and cudgel with desperate energy. to their great joy, now, on looking back they found that they could not see the daylight shining in from the mouth upon the water, and as, in consequence, any one gazing into the cave was not likely to see the dim rays of their lanthorn, the boys paused knee-deep, glad to find that they need go no farther along the narrow channel--one formed, no doubt, by the gradual washing away of some vein of soft felspar or steatite. "pretty safe now," whispered vince. _plash_! "ugh!" ejaculated mike. "what's that?" "seal or some big fish," said vince: "something we've driven in before us." "i don't want to be a coward, cinder," whispered mike; "but if it's a great conger, i don't know what i should do." "hit at it," replied vince. "i should, even if i felt in a regular squirm. but we needn't mind. the things we've driven up before us are sure to be in a horrible flurry, and all they'll think about will be of trying to get away." "think so?" "why, of course. you don't suppose there are any of the things that old joe talked about, do you?" "no, of course that's nonsense; but the congers may be very big and fierce, and isn't this the sort of place they would run up?" "i dunno. s'pose so," said vince. "they get in holes of the rocks, of course; but i don't know whether they'd get up such a big, long cave as this. wonder how far it goes in? pst!" vince grasped his companion's arm tightly, for they were having a proof of the wonderful way in which sound was carried along the surface of the water, especially in a narrow passage such as that in which they had taken refuge. for all at once the murmur of voices sounded as if it were approaching them, and their hearts seemed to stand still, as they believed that they were being pursued. but the next minute they knew that the speakers were only standing at the mouth of the cave and looking in, one of the men apparently whispering close to them, and with perfect distinctness:-- "seals," he said. "i came and listened last time i was here, and you could hear 'em splashing and walloping about in the water. like to go on in?" "no," said another voice. "get 'em up in a corner and they'll show fight as savage as can be; and they can bite too." "good polt on the head with a club settles them, though, soon enough." "ay, but who's to get to hit at 'em, shut up in a hole where you haven't room to swing your arm? 'sides, they're as quick as lightning, and they'll come right at you." "what, attack?" "nay, i don't say that: p'r'aps it's on'y trying to get away; but if one of they slippery things comes between your legs down you must go." "think there's any in now?" "bound to say there are. they comes and goes, though. listen: p'r'aps you'll hear one." as it happened, just then there was a peculiar splashing and wallowing sound from some distance farther in, and it ended with an echoing report, as if one of the animals had given the surface of the water a heavy blow with its tail. "no mistake--eh?" said one of the voices. "let's get the lanthorn and go in," said one eagerly. "nay, you stop wheer you are. old jarks is wild enough as it is about some one being here. if he finds any of us larking about, he'll get hitting out or shootin', p'r'aps." "i say," said another voice--all sounding curiously near, and as if whispering for the two fugitives to hear--"think anybody's been splitting about the place?" "i d'know. mebbe. wonder it arn't been found out before. my hye! i never did see old jarks in such a wax before. makes him sputter finely what he does blaze up. i don't b'lieve as he knows then whether he's speaking french or english." "well, don't seem as if we're going to ketch whoever it is." "what! don't you be in a hurry about that. if old jarks makes up his mind to do a thing, he'll do it." "think he'll stop?" "stop? ay, for a month, but what he'll ketch whoever it is. bound to say they've been walking off with the silk and lace at a pretty tidy rate." "they'll be too artful to come again, p'r'aps." "ah! that's what some one said about the mice, but they walked into the trap at last." "what'll he do if he does ketch 'em?" "well, there, you know what old jarks is. he never do stand any nonsense. i should say he'd have a haxiden' with 'em, same as he did with that french _douane_ chap. pistol might go off, or he might take 'em aboard and drop 'em--" _murmur, murmur, murmur_--and then silence. the speakers had evidently turned away from the mouth of the seal hole, and the boys did not hear the end of the sentence. "oh!" groaned mike faintly. "i say, ladle, if you make a noise like that they'll hear you, and come and fetch us out." "i couldn't help it. how horrid it sounds!" "yes," said vince very softly, "but he has got to catch us yet. who's old jarks? here, i know: they mean the frenchman: jacks--jacques, don't you see?" "yes, i see," said mike dismally. "he's the skipper, of course. french skipper with an english crew. they must be a nice set. i say, do you feel cold?" "cold? i don't feel as if i had any feet at all." "we must have some exercise," said vince grimly; and he uttered a faint chuckling sound. "i say, though, mike don't be down about it. he's only a frenchman, and we're english. we're not going to let him catch us, are we?" "it's horrible," said mike. "why, he'll kill us!" "he hasn't caught us yet, i tell you, lad. look here: we know everything about the caves now, and we can go anywhere in the dark, can't we?" "yes, i suppose so," said mike dismally. "very well, then; we must wait till it's dark, and then creep out and make for the way out." "is no way out now: it's either stopped up or watched." "well, then, we'll get out by the mouth of the smugglers' cave, and creep up on to the cliffs somewhere." "current would wash us away; and if we could get to the cliffs you know we shouldn't be able to climb up. we're not flies." "who said we were? well, you are a cheerful sort of fellow to be with!" "i don't want to be miserable, cinder, old chap, but it does seem as if we're in a hole now." "seem? why we are in a hole, and a good long one too," said vince, laughing softly. "ah, i can't see anything to joke about. it's awful--awful! cinder, we shall never see home again." "bah! a deal you know about it, ladle. that french chap daren't shoot us or drown us. he knows he'd be hung if he did." "and what good would it do us after he had killed us, if he was hung? i shouldn't mind." "well, you are a cheerful old ladle!" said vince. "why don't you cheer up and make it pleasanter for me?" "pleasanter?" said mike. "oh!" "be quiet, and don't be stupid," said vince. "look here: don't forget all you've read about chaps playing the hero when they are in great difficulties." "who's going to play the hero when he's up to his knees in cold water?" cried mike bitterly. "well, he has a better chance than if he was up to his neck; same as that fellow would have a better chance than one who was out of his depth." "i say," cried mike excitedly, "does the tide run up here and fill the cave?" "no. it was high water when we came in, wasn't it? we never saw it more than half-way up the arch. now look here, ladle: we're in a mess." "as if i didn't know!" "and we've got to get ourselves out of it, because nobody knows anything about this place or our having come here. think lobster will say he has seen us come this way once? he's sure to hear we're missing and that they're looking for us." "i don't suppose he will," said mike dismally. "if they came this way they wouldn't find the hole. they'll think we've gone off the cliff and been drowned. what will they say! what will they say!" these words touched vince home, and for a few minutes a peculiar feeling overcame him; but the boy had too much good british stuff in him to give way to despair, and he turned angrily upon his companion: "look here, ladle," he said: "if you go on like this i'll punch your head. no nonsense--i will. i don't believe that french skipper dare hurt us, but we won't give him the chance to. we can't see a way out of the hobble yet, but that's nothing. it's a problem, as mr deane would say, and we've got to solve it." "who can solve problems standing in cold water? my legs are swelling already, same as jemmy carnach's did when he was swept out in his boat and nearly swamped, and didn't get back for three days." "you're right," said vince. "i can't think with my feet so cold. let's get into a dry place." "what, go out?" "no," said vince; "we'll go in." chapter twenty three. a strange night's lodging. mike shrank from attempting to penetrate farther into the narrow hole; but vince's determination was contagious, and, in obedience to a jog of the elbow, he followed his companion, as, with the lanthorn held high enough for him to look under, the cudgel in his right-hand, he began to wade on, finding that the passage twisted about a little, very much as the tunnel formed by the stream did--of course following the vein of mineral which had once existed, and had gradually decayed away. to their great delight, the water, at the end of fifty yards or so, was decidedly shallower; the walls, which had been almost covered with sea anemones, dotted like lumps of reddish green and drab jelly, only showed here, in company with live shells, a few inches above the water, which now, as they waded on, kept for a little distance of the same depth, and then suddenly widened out. vince stopped there, and held up the lanthorn, to see the darkness spread all around and the light gleaming from the water, which had spread into a good-sized pool. "mind!" cried mike excitedly: "there's something coming." he turned to hurry back, but vince stood firm, with his cudgel raised; and the force of example acted upon mike, who turned towards him, grasping the conger bat firmly, as the light showed some large creature swimming, attracted by the light. but the boys did not read it in that way. their interpretation was that the creature was coming to attack them; and, waiting till it was within reach, vince suddenly leaned forward and struck at it with all his might. the blow only fell upon the water, making a sharp splash; for the lad's movement threw the lanthorn forward, and the sudden dart towards the animal of a glaring object was enough. the creature made the water surge and eddy as it struck it with its powerful tail, and went off with a tremendous rush, raising a wave as it went, and sending a great ring around to the sides of the expanded cavern, the noise of the water lapping against the walls being plainly heard. this incident startled, but at the same time encouraged the lads, for it gave them a feeling of confidence in their own power; but as soon as they recommenced their advance, there was another shock,--something struck against vince's leg, and in spite of his effort at self-command he uttered a cry. there was no real cause for alarm, though; and they grasped the fact that the blow was struck by one of a shoal of large fish, or congers, making a rush to escape the enemies who had invaded their solitude, and in the flurry one of them had struck against the first object in its way. "i'm sure they were congers," whispered mike. "i felt one of them seem to twist round me." "never mind: they're gone," replied vince. "come on. i fancy there must be a rocky shore farther on, as it's so shallow here, and it's all sand under foot." "not all: i've put my feet on rock several times," whispered mike. "well, that doesn't matter. there's plenty of sand. look out!" there was a tremendous splashing in front, and the water came surging by them, while they noticed now that the sides of the place were once more closing in as they advanced. "shall we go back?" said vince; for the sudden disturbance in front, evidently the action of large animals, or fish, had acted as a check to him as well as his companion. mike was silent for a few moments. then he said hoarsely: "i'll stick to you, cinder, and do what you do." "then come on," said the boy, who felt a little ashamed of his feeling of dread. "can't be sharks, can it?" whispered mike, as, in addition to the lapping and sucking noises made by the water, there was a peculiar rustling and panting. "sharks, in a cave like this? no. they're seals, i'm sure, four or five of them, and they've backed away from us till they've got to the end. hark! don't you hear? there is a sort of shore there, and they are crawling about." he waded forward two or three steps, holding up the light as high as he could; but the feeble rays, half quenched by the thin, dull horn, did not penetrate the gloom, and at last, as the strange noises went on, the boy lowered the lanthorn, opened the door, and turned the light in the direction just before them. they saw something then, for pairs of eyes gleamed at them out of the darkness, seen vividly for a moment or two, and disappearing, to gleam again, like fiery spots, somewhere else. mike wanted to ask if they really were seals; but in spite of a brave effort to be firm, his voice failed him, the surroundings were so strange, and, standing there in the water, he felt so helpless. every word about the horrors of the black scraw told to them by old daygo came to him with vivid force, and his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and there was a sensation as of something moving the roots of his hair. then he started, for vince closed the lanthorn with a snap and said hoarsely:-- "hit hard, mike. they must go or we must, and i'm growing desperate." "go on?" faltered mike. "yes, and hit at the first one you can reach. they're lying about there, on the dry sand." his companion's order nerved mike once more; and, drawing a deep breath, he whispered "all right," though he felt all wrong. "don't swing the club, or you may hit me," said vince. "strike down, and i'll do the same. now then, both together, and i'll keep the lanthorn between us. begin." they made a rush together through the water, which, after a few steps, grew rapidly shallow; and then they were out upon soft sand, striking at the dim-looking objects just revealed to them by the light; and twice over vince felt that he had struck something soft, but whether it was seal or sand he could not tell. violent strokes had resounded from the roof of the echoing cavern, as mike exerted himself to the utmost, hitting about him wildly in despair, while every few moments there was a loud splashing. then mike fell violently forward on to his face, for one of the frightened creatures made a dash for the water. the panting, scuffling, splashing, and wallowing ceased, and vince held up the light. "where are you?" he cried, forgetting the necessity for being silent. "here," said mike, rising into a sitting position on a little bank of coarse sand, which was composed entirely of broken shells. "hurt?" "yes;--no. i came down very heavily, though." "fall over one of the seals?" "no, it went between my legs, and i couldn't save myself. well, we've won, and i'm glad we know now they were only seals. it was very stupid, but i got fancying they were goodness knows what horrible creatures." "so did i," said vince, with a faint laugh. "old joe's water bogies seemed to be all there, with fiery eyes, and i hit at them in a desperate way like. i say, you can't help feeling frightened at a time like this, specially when one of them fastens on you like a dog." "what!" "yes," said vince quietly, and without a tinge of boasting in his utterances. "i was whacking about at random, when one came at me, and made a sort of snip-snap and got hold, and for a bit it wouldn't leave go; but i whacked away at it as hard as i could, and then it fell gliding down my leg, and the next moment made another grab at me, but its head was too far forward, and it only knocked me sidewise. such a bang on the thigh: i nearly went down." "but where are you bitten?" cried mike excitedly. "here," said vince, laughing, and holding the lanthorn to his side. "only my jacket, luckily. look, it tore a piece right out. what strength they've got! i felt it worrying at it, wagging its head like a dog. i say, mike!" "yes." "i was in a stew. i wasn't sorry when the brute dropped down." "it's horrible," said mike. "oh, i don't know. i don't feel a bit scared now. i tell you what, though: it has warmed me up. i'm not cold now. how are you?" "hot." "then let's have a look round." raising the lanthorn, the two prisoners cautiously advanced for about twenty feet, and then were stopped by solid rock, forming a sharp angle, where the two walls of the cave met. their way had been up a slope of deep, shelly sand, which crushed and crunched beneath their feet, these sinking deeply at every step. then the light was held higher, with the door open; and by degrees they made out that the pool was about fifty or sixty feet broad, and touched the rock-walls everywhere but out by this triangular patch of sand, which was wet enough where the seals crawled out, the hollows here and there showing where one had lain; but up towards the angle it was quite dry, and the walls were perfectly free from zoophyte or weed--ample proof that the water never rose to where they stood. "well," said vince, setting down the lanthorn close to the wall, "we've won the day, the enemy is turned out of its castle, and the next thing, i say, is to get off our wet, cold things." "i can't take matters so coolly as you do," said mike bitterly. "i was only thinking of getting away out of this awful place." "oh, it isn't so awful now you know the worst of it," said vince coolly, though a listener might have thought that there was a little peculiarity in his tone. "one couldn't help fancying all sorts of horrors, but when you find there is nothing worse than seals--" "and horrible congers: i felt them." "so did i," said vince; "but i've been thinking since. the congers wouldn't live in a place where seals were. there'd be fights, and perhaps the seals would get the best of them." "but don't i tell you i felt one swim up against me and lash its great body half round my leg?" "i believe those were young seals, swimming for their lives to get out to sea. there, take off your wet things and wring them out. i'm going to fill my boots with fine sand. it's not cold in here, and i dare say the things will dry a bit." "but suppose the seals come back." "they won't come back while we're here, ladle--i know that. they're full of curiosity, but as shy as can be. they can see in the dark, and--" "dark!" cried mike. "to be sure. we mustn't go on burning that candle." "but--" "look here, old chap," said vince quietly: "there are only about two inches of it left. that wouldn't last long, and i'm sure it's better to put it out and save it for some particular occasion than to burn it now." "but there's just enough to light us to the mouth of this terrible hole." "and give ourselves up to old jarks, as that fellow called him, whose pistol might go off by accident, or who might take us on board his vessel and let us fall overboard." "that was only what the man said," argued mike petulantly. "if we go boldly up to this smuggler captain and tell him that we only found out the caves by accident, and that we haven't touched any of the smuggled goods--" "pirates!" "smuggled." "you stuck out it was pirates." "but i didn't believe it then. well, if we go to him and say that we have always kept the place a secret, and that we'll go on doing so, and swear to it if he likes, he will let us go." "go out boldly to him, eh?" said vince. "yes, of course." "ah, well, i can't. i don't feel at all bold now. it all went out of me over the fight with the seals. that one which fastened on my jacket finished my courage." "now you're talking nonsense," said mike angrily. "very well, then, i'll talk sense. if that captain was an englishman perhaps we would do as you say; but as he's a frenchman of bad character, as he must be, i feel as if we can't trust him. no, ladle, old chap, i mean for us to escape, and the only thing we can do now is to wait till it's dark and then try. we mustn't run any risks of what mr jarks might do. now then, you do as i've done before i put out the light." "you're not going to put out the light." "yes, i am." "i won't have it. it shall burn as long as i like. besides, you couldn't light it again." "oh yes, i could. i've got the tinder-box, and it has always been too high up to get wet." "i don't care," said mike desperately; "it's too horrible to be here in the dark." "not half so horrible as to be in the dark not knowing that you could get a light if you wanted to. we could if i put it out. we couldn't if it was all burned." "i don't care, i say once more--i say it must not be put out." "and i say," replied vince, speaking quite good-humouredly, while his companion's voice sounded husky, and as if he were in a rage--"and i say that if you make any more fuss about it i'll put it out now." as vince spoke he made a sudden movement, snatched the lanthorn from where it stood by the wall, and tore open the door. "now," he cried, catching up a handful of sand, "you come a step nearer, and i'll smother the light with this." mike had made a dart to seize the lanthorn, but he paused now. "you coward!" he cried. "all right: so i am. i've been in a terrible stew to-day several times, but i'm not such a coward that i'm afraid to put out the light." mike turned his back and began to imitate his companion in stripping off his wet lower garments, wringing them thoroughly, and spreading them on the dry sand, with which he, too, filled his saturated boots. meanwhile vince was setting him another example--that of raking out a hole in the softest sand, snuggling down into it and drawing it over him all round till he was covered. "not half such nice sand as it is in our cave, ladle," he said. there was no answer. "i say, ladle, don't i look like a cock bird sitting on the nest while the hen goes out for a walk?" still there was no reply, and mike finished his task with his wet garments. "sand's best and softest up here," said vince, taking out the tinder-box from the breast of his jersey and placing it by the lanthorn. mike said nothing, but went to the spot vince had pointed out, scraped himself a hollow, sat down in it quietly, and dragged the sand round. "feels drying, like a cool towel, doesn't it?" said vince, as if there had been no words between them. "you can put out the light," said mike, for answer. "hah, yes," replied vince, taking the lanthorn; "seems a pity, too. but we shan't hurt here. old jarks won't think we're in so snug a spot." out went the light, vince closed and fastened the door, and then, settling himself in his sandy nest, he said quietly,-- "now we shall have to wait for hours before we can start. what shall we do--tell stories?" mike made no reply. "well, he needn't be so jolly sulky," thought vince. "i'm sure it's the best thing to do.--yes, what's that?" it was a hand stretched out of the darkness, and feeling for his till it could close over it in a tight, firm grip. "i'm so sorry, cinder, old chap," came in a low, husky voice. "all this has made me feel half mad." there was silence then for a few minutes, as the boys sat there in total darkness, hand clasped in hand. then vince spoke. "i know," he said, in a voice which mike hardly recognised: "i've been feeling something like it, only i managed to stamp it down. but you cheer up, ladle. you and i ought to be a match for _one_ frenchman. we're not beaten. we must wait." "and starve," said mike bitterly. "that we won't. we'll try to get right away, but if we can't we must get something to eat and drink." "but how?" "find where those fellows keep theirs, and go after it when it's dark. they won't starve themselves, you may be sure." mike tried to withdraw his hand, for fear that vince should think he was afraid to be in the dark; but his companion's grasp tightened upon it, and he said softly,-- "don't take your fist away, ladle; it feels like company, and it's almost as good as a light. i say, don't go to sleep." "no." mike meant to sit and watch and listen for the fancied splash that indicated the return of the seals. but he was tired by exertion and excitement, the cavern was warm and dry, the sand was become pleasantly soft, and all at once he was back in the great garden of the fine old manor-house amongst the flowers and fruit, unconscious of everything else till he suddenly opened his eyes to gaze wonderingly at the thick darkness which closed him in. vince had fared the same. had any one told him that he could sleep under such circumstances, in the darkness of that water den, the dwelling-place of animals which had proved to him that they could upon occasion be desperate and fierce, he would have laughed in his face; but about the same time as his companion he had lurched over sidewise and fallen fast asleep. chapter twenty four. getting deeper in the hole. for some moments mike sat up, gazing straight before him, dazed, confused, not knowing where he was. time, space, his life, all seemed to be gone; and all he could grasp was the fact that he was there. at last, as his brain would not work to help him, he began to try with his ringers, feeling for the information he somehow seemed to crave. he touched the sand, then a hand, and started from it in horror, for he could not understand why it was there. by degrees the impression began to dawn upon him that he had been awakened by some noise, but by what sound he could not tell. he could only feel that it was a noise of which he ought to be afraid, till suddenly there was something or somebody splashing or wallowing in the water. that was enough. the whole tide of thought rushed through him in an instant, and, snatching at the hand, he tugged at it and whispered excitedly,-- "cinder--vince!--wake up. they've come back." "eh? what's the matter? come back? what, the smugglers? don't speak so loud." "no, no--the seals. light the lanthorn. where did you put the club and stick?" "stop a moment. what's the matter with you? i've only just dropped asleep. did you say the seals had come back?" "yes: there, don't you hear them?" "no," said vince, after a few moments' pause, "i can't hear anything. can you?" "i can't now," said mike, in a hoarse whisper; "but they woke me by splashing, and then i roused you." "been dreaming, perhaps," said vince. "i suppose we must have both dropped asleep for a few minutes. never mind, we can keep awake better now, and--hullo!" "what is it?" "here: look out, mike--look out!" there was no time to look out, no means of doing so in the darkness, and after all no need. vince had placed his hand upon something hairy and moist, and let it stay there, as he wondered what it was, till that which he had felt grasped the fact that the touch was an unaccustomed one, and a monstrous seal started up, threw out its head and began to shuffle rapidly away from where it had been asleep. the alarm was taken by half a dozen more, and by the time the two boys were afoot and had seized their weapons--_splash, splash, splash_!--the heavy creatures had plunged back into the pool from which they had crawled to sleep, and by the whispering and lapping of the water on the walled sides of the cave the boys knew that the curious beasts were swimming rapidly away towards the mouth. "nice damp sort of bedfellows," said vince, laughing merrily. "i say, mike, i'm all right. i don't know, though--i can't feel my legs very well. yes, they're all right." "what do you mean?" said mike. "i meant they haven't eaten any part of you, have they?" "don't talk stuff," said mike, rather pettishly. "how could we be so foolish as to go to sleep?" "no foolishness about it," said vince quietly. "we were tired, and it was dark, and we dropped off. i say, i'm hungry. think we've been to sleep long?" "i don't know. perhaps. there's only one way to find out: go to the mouth of the hole." "yes--that's the only way," said vince; "and now the use of the candle comes in. i don't know, though: it seems a pity to light the last bit. shall we go and see?" mike suppressed a shiver of dread, and said firmly,--"yes." another point arose, and that was as to whether they should put on their clothes again. it seemed a pity to do so and again get them wet; but both felt repugnant to attempting to wade back without them, and they began to feel about, half in dread lest the seals which had visited them in the night should have chosen their clothes for a sleeping place. they were, however, just as they had been left, and, to the astonishment of both, they were nearly dry. "why, mike," cried vince, "we must have slept for hours and hours." "we can't. the cave's warm, i suppose, and that accounts for it. how are your trousers getting on?" "oh, right enough, only they're very gritty. glad to get into them, though." in a very short time they were dressed, and it being decided that they would not return here if it were possible to avoid it, the lanthorn and tinder-box were taken, and they made up their minds to make the venture of wading back in the dark. mike was rather disposed to fight against it, but he yielded to his companion's reasoning when he pointed out that before long they would be able to see the light, and their lanthorn would be superfluous. vince rose, and starting with the cudgel outstretched before him, he stepped down into the water and began to wade. his first shot for the opening in front proved a failure, for he touched the wall across the pool, but finding which way it trended he was not long in reaching the place where it gradually narrowed like a funnel-- their voices helping, for as they spoke in whispers the echoes came back from closer and closer, the water deepened a little, and then vince was able to extend the cudgel and touch the wall on either side. once only did he feel that they must have entered some side passage, and he stopped short with the old feeling of horror coming over him as the thought suggested the possibility of their wandering away utterly and hopelessly lost in some fearful labyrinth, where they would struggle vainly until they dropped down, worn out by their exertions, to perish in the water through which they waded. "what's the matter?" said mike, in a quick, sharp whisper; and vince remained silent, not daring to speak, for fear that his companion should detect his thoughts by the tremor he felt sure that there would be in his voice. "do you hear? why don't you speak?" said mike. "don't play tricks here in the dark." "i'm not playing tricks," replied vince roughly, after making an effort to overcome his emotion. "i'm leading, and i must think. are we going right?" "you ought to know. i trusted to you," said mike anxiously, "and you wouldn't light the candle." "yes, it is all right," said vince; and, mastering the feeling of scare that had come over him, he passed his hand along the wall, feeling the slimy cold sea anemones and the peculiar clinging touch of their tentacles. then he pressed steadily on, till all at once there was a faint dawning of light. they turned one of the bends, and the dawn, became bright rays, which rapidly increased as they softly waded along, being careful now to speak to each other in whispers, and to disturb the water as little as possible; till at last there in the front was the low arch of the cave, framing a patch of sunny rock dotted with grey gulls, and an exultant sensation filled vince's breast, making him ready to shout aloud. the sensation of delight was checked by feeling mike's hand suddenly upon his shoulder tugging him back, and at the same moment he saw the reason. for there, in the opening, evidently standing up to his shoulders in water, was some one gazing straight into the narrow cavern, and vince felt that they must have been heard and a sentry placed there to watch for their coming out. "but it is impossible for him to see us," thought vince; and he stood there pondering on what it would be best to do, while a feeling of hope cheered him with the idea that perhaps after all they had not been heard, and that it was by mere accident that the man was gazing in. the next moment he felt again ready to utter an exultant cry, for there was a sudden movement of the watching head, a dive down, and the water rose and fell, distinctly seen against the light. "bother those old seals!" he said: "they're always doing something to scare us. i really thought it was a man." "looked just like it," said mike, making a panting sound, as if he had been holding his breath till he had been nearly suffocated. "that chap must have been able to see us though we are in the dark. what wonderful eyes they have!" "perhaps the light shines on us a little," replied mike. "very likely; but it's curious what animals can do. i wonder at their coming and lying down so near us." "that was because we lay so still, i suppose. but we oughtn't to talk." "no; come along: but what are we going to do? we shan't be able to stand in the water very long." they waded very slowly on, hardly disturbing the surface, and straining their ears to catch the slightest sound; but the faint roar of the currents playing among the rocks, and the screams and querulous cries of the sea-birds which flew to and fro across the mouth of the cavern were all they could hear. they were pretty close to the entrance now, but they hesitated to go farther, and remained very silent and watchful, till a thought suddenly struck vince, who placed his lips close to mike's ear. "i say," he said, "oughtn't it to be this evening?" "of course." "then it isn't. it's to-morrow morning." "nonsense!" "well, i mean it's morning, and we've slept all night." "vince!" "it is, lad. look--the sun can't have been up very long; and oh, mike, what a state they must have been in at home about us!" mike uttered a faint groan. "it's horrid!" continued vince passionately. "what shall we do?" mike was silent for a few minutes, and then said sadly,--"they won't have slept all night." "no," said vince wildly; "and they've been wandering about the place with people searching for us. mike, it's of no use, we mustn't try to hide any longer. that jarks daren't hurt us, and we had better go out boldly." "think so?" "yes. you see, we can't stay here standing in the water, and if we go back to the sand in there--" mike shuddered. "i can't go back there," he said. "that's just how i feel," said vince, speaking in a low, excited tone. "i didn't say much, but i couldn't help being horribly frightened." "it was enough to scare anybody there in the dark, not knowing what might happen to us next," sighed mike. "we can't go back. if we do we should soon starve. think we could go to the mouth here and wade out, and then swim to that opening we saw?" "no," said vince decidedly, as he recalled the aspect of the turbulent cove from where he sat astride the stone; "no man could swim there, and i don't believe that a small boat could live in those boiling waters." "then we must go boldly out," said mike. "who's this fellow? he has no right to come here. why, my father would punish him severely for daring to do it!" "if he could catch him, ladle, old fellow. but the man knows it, and that's what frightens me--i mean, makes me fidgety about it. but we must go." "there is one chance, though," said mike eagerly: "he may have taken fright and gone with all his smuggled stuff." "of course he may," said vince eagerly. "why, here are we fidgeting ourselves about nothing. while we've been sleeping in this seal cavern, he has had his men working away to carry off all that stuff to his ship. poor old ladle! he won't even get enough silk to make his mother a dress. well, are you ready?" he continued, with forced gaiety. "i'm hungry and thirsty, and my poor feet feel like ice." mike hesitated. "we must go," said vince, changing his tone again. "mike, old chap, it's too horrid to think of them at home. come on." mike did not speak, but gave a sharp nod; and, summoning all their resolution, and trying hard to force themselves to believe that the smugglers had gone, they waded carefully on, now breathing more freely as they reached the mouth, with the bright light of morning shining full in to where they were, and sending a thrill of hope through every fibre and vein. they paused, but only for a few minutes; and then, after a sign to mike, vince took another step or two, and leaned forward till he could peer round the side of the low arch and scan the interior of the outer cave. then, slowly drawing back, after a couple of minutes' searching examination, he spoke to mike in a whisper. "there isn't a sign of anybody," he said; "and i can't hear a sound. come on, and let's risk it." their pulses beat high as, bracing themselves together, they stepped right from the low archway, moving very cautiously, so as to gaze out as far as they could command at the cove. they fully expected to see some good-sized vessel lying there, or at least a large boat; but there were the sea-birds and the hurrying waters--nothing more. "they must have gone," whispered vince. "unless they are where we can't see--round by their cave." "i believe they've gone," said vince; and they stepped in on to the soft, loose sand, to find everything belonging to them untouched. then, gaining confidence, mike stepped boldly inward, right up to the right-hand corner beneath the fissure, and stood listening, but there was not a sound. "right," he whispered, as he stepped back: "they have gone." but the boy's heart beat faster as he led the way now to the entrance of the inner cave; for there was the possibility of the passage being blocked, and, another thing, it was early morning, and the smugglers might be sleeping still in the soft sand. vince whispered his fears, and then, going first, he passed into the narrow passage without a sound, and stole cautiously along it till he could crane his head round and look. for some moments he could see nothing, but by degrees his eyes grew accustomed to the soft gloom, and the walls and roof and sandy floor gradually stood out before his eyes, and the next minute, to his great joy, he could see the rope running up into the dark archway and disappearing there. nothing more: no sound of heavy breathing but his own--no trace of danger whatever. he drew back again and placed his lips to his companion's ear. "it's all right," he whispered; "they must have gone. shall we step back and go to the far cave and see?" "no," said mike decisively. "home." "yes: home!" said vince. "come on." leading once more, he stepped into the cavern, whose interior now grew plainer and plainer to their accustomed eyes, and, crossing at once to the bottom of the slope, he seized the rope and gave it a sharp tug. "will you go first?" he whispered. "i don't mind," replied mike. "no,--you;" and vince tightened the rope again, feeling that in a very short time they would be able to set the anxieties of all at rest. "father won't be so angry when he knows," thought the boy; and, hanging there to the rope, he was about half-way up when he let go and dropped to the sand, for a figure suddenly appeared in the dark opening over his head, and before he could recover from his astonishment a piercingly shrill whistle rang through the inner cave. chapter twenty five. trapped birds. "quick back to the seal hole!" whispered vince; and the boys darted to the dark passage leading to the outer cave, and then stopped short, for the way was blocked by a man with a drawn cutlass, and two others were running up, while another was in the act of sliding down a rope from the fissure. directly after, _thud, thud, thud_ came the sound of men dropping down into the inner cave, and in another moment there was a rude thrust from behind which drove mike against vince, and the two boys were forced onward through the opening to the outer cave, the man with the cutlass giving way sufficiently to let them enter, but presenting the point at vince's chest, while one of his comrades performed the same menacing act for mike, the other two taking up a position to right and left, and effectually cutting off escape. the next instant the figure of the big, broad-chested leader came out into the light, and upon the boys facing round to him his features were pretty well fixed upon their brains as they noted his smooth, deeply-lined brown face, black curly hair streaked with grey, dark, piercing eyes and the pair of large gold earrings in his well-formed ears. "aha!" he cried, showing his white teeth, "_bonjour_, _mes amis_. good-a-morning, my young friends. i hope you sal have sleep vairy vell in my hotel. come along vis me: ze brearkfas is all vaiting." this address, in a merry, bantering tone, so different from the fierce burst of abuse which he anticipated, rather took vince aback; and he was the more staggered when the man held out his hand naturally enough, which vince gripped, mike doing precisely the same. "dat is good, vairy good," said the man, while his followers looked on. "you vill boze introduce yourself. you are--?" he looked hard at mike. "michael ladelle," said the owner of the name. "and you sall be--?" "vincent burnet." "aha, yaas. i introduce myself--capitaine jacques lebrun, at your sairvice, and ze brearkfas vait. you are vairy moshe ready?" "yes," said vince boldly; "i want my breakfast very badly." "aha, yaas; and _votre ami_, he vill vant his. you do not runs avay?" "not till after breakfast," said vince, smiling. "no? dat is good. you are von brave. zen ve vill put avay ze carving knife and not have out ze pistol. _en avant_! you know ze vay to ze _salle-a-manger_. you talk ze francais, bose of you. aha?" "i can understand that," said vince. "so can he. _n'est-ce pas_, mike?" a short nod was given in response, and the french captain clapped them both on the shoulders, gripping them firmly and urging them along. "it is good," he said. "i am so _bien aise_ to see my younger friend. up vis you!" "come along, mike," said vince, in a low voice; "it's all right." mike did not seem to think so, but he followed vince up the rope into the fissure, after one of the armed men; the captain came next, and he kept on talking in his bantering tone as they crept along the awkward rift. "vairy clever; vairy good!" he cried. "i see you know ze vay. it is _magnifique_. you see, i find i have visitor, and zey do not know ven ze _dejeuner_ is _pret_, so i am oblige to make one leetle--vat you call it--trap-springe, and catch ze leetle bird." a rope was ready at the other end of the fissure, and as vince dropped down it was into the presence of half a dozen more men, while in the rapid glance that he cast round, the boy saw that a boat was drawn up on the sand and a fire of wood was burning close down to the water's edge. vince noticed, too, that one of the men who followed stopped back by the rope, with his drawn cutlass carried military fashion; and his action gave a pretty good proof that everything had been carefully planned beforehand in connection with the "trap-springe," as the frenchman called it. preparations had already been made for breakfast, one of the men acting as cook; and in a short time kegs were stood on end round a beautifully clean white tablecloth spread upon the soft sand; excellent coffee, good bread-and-butter, and fried mackerel were placed before them, and the french captain presided. the boys felt exceedingly nervous and uncomfortable, for they could see plainly enough that their captor was playing with them, and acting a part. they knew, too, that they were prisoners, and shivers of remorse ran through them as the thought of the anxious ones at home kept troubling them; but there was a masterfulness about their fierce young appetites, sharpened to a maddening desire by long fasting, which, after the first choking mouthful or two, would not be gainsaid; and they soon set to work voraciously, while the captain ate as heartily, and his men, all but the sentry, gathered together by themselves to make their breakfast alone. "brava!" cried the captain, helping them liberally to the capital breakfast before them: "i can you not tell how vairy glad i am to see my young _amis_. my table has not been so honour before." at last the meal was at end, and the captain clapped his hands for the things to be cleared away, a couple of the men leaping up and performing this task with quite military alacrity. the boys exchanged glances, and, without communicating one with the other, rose together; while the captain raised his eyebrows. "aha!" he said: "you vant somesings else?" "only to say thank you for our good breakfast, and to tell you that we are now going home." "going home?" said the captain grimly. "aha, you sink so. yaas, perhaps you are right. you _anglais_ call it going home--_a la mort_-- to die." "no, we don't," said vince sharply. "we mean going home. we have been out all night." "aha, yaas; and the _bon_ papa and mamma know vere you have come?" "no," replied vince quickly; "no one knows of this but us." "_vraiment_?" said the captain, and he looked searchingly at mike. "no one knows but my young friend?" "no," said mike. "we found the cave by accident; we fell into the way that leads down, and kept it a secret." "good boy; but you can keep secret?" "yes," said mike; "of course." "aha! so can i," said the captain, laughing boisterously. "suppose i send you home my vay, eh? no one know ze vay to ze cavern." "i don't understand you," said mike sturdily. "_ma foi_! vy should you understand? i send you home, and nobody know nosings. _les gens_--ze peoples--look for you; they do not find you, and zey say--aha, _pauvres garcons_, zey go and make a falls off ze cliff, and ve nevaire see them any more!" mike turned pale; vince laughed. "he does not mean it, mike," said the boy. "we know better than that, captain jacques." "aha, you are so clever a boy. you vill explain how you know all ze better zan me, le capitaine lebrun." "there's nothing to explain," said vince sturdily. "you don't suppose we believe you would kill us because we came down here,--here, where we have business to come, but you have not?" "_aha! c'est comme ca_--it is like zat, my friend? you may come here, and i must not?" "of course," said vince. "this land belongs to his father, and you have no right to put smuggled things here." "aha! you sink it ees like zat, eh, _mon ami_? ve sall see. you vill put yourselves down to sit." "no, thank you," said vince. "we must go now." "to fetch ze peoples to come and fight and be killed?" "no," said vince; "we will not say a word about where we have been." "but we must, vince," said mike. "they will ask us; and what are we to say?" "to be certain, my friend--of course," said the captain, showing his teeth. "you see it is so. zey vill ask vere you go all night, and you vill say to see le capitaine lebrun and his cargo of silk and lace and glove and scent bottaile and ze spice; and vat zen?" vince had no answer ready. "you do not speak, my friend. zen i vill. i cannot spare you to go and speak like zat. nobodies must know that i have my leetle place to hide here. no, i cannot spare you. you will not go back _chez vous_--to your place vere you live. you understand?" vince looked at the man very hard, and he nodded, and went on: "i am glad to see you bose. i make myself very glad of vat you call you compagnie. but i do not ask you to come; and so i say you go back nevaire more." "you don't mean that!" said vince, with a laugh that was very artificial. "aha! i do not mean? you vill see i mean. i sall see you vill sit down." "no," said vince firmly. "i am not frightened, and i insist upon going now." "it is so? how you go?" "out by the passage yonder." "faith of a good man, no. i say to myselfs, `people have come down zere, and it muss not be,' so ze place is stop up vis big stone--so big you nevaire move zem. but zere's ze ozaire vay." "well, we will go the other way," said vince firmly. "ready, mike?" "yes, i'm ready," said mike, pressing to his side. "you know ze ozaire vay, my young friend?" said the captain. "no: how do you go?" "you take a boat, and a good pilot. you have ze good boat and pilot?" "no," said vince, who had hard work to be calm, with a great fear coming over him like a cloud; "but you will set us ashore, please." the captain laughed in a peculiar way, and he was about to speak, when one of his men came up and said something. "aha!" he cried, "but it is good. you go, my young friends, and stay behind my cargo zere. you vill not come till i say you sall." he pointed to the upper part of the cavern, but vince said firmly: "we cannot stay any longer, sir. we must go now." the captain turned upon him savagely, and the next moment a couple of the men had seized the boys and run them up behind the pile of bales, and then stood on either side, with drawn cutlasses, to act as guards. "what are we to do, vince?" said mike. "i don't know. it seems like nonsense, and playing with us; but we are prisoners, and--who's that?" they both listened in wonder, for they heard their names mentioned angrily by the captain, who was speaking threateningly to some one who replied in a tone that they recognised directly. "aha! you lie to me. ve sall see. here, you two boy, come here, _vite_--_vite_!" the guards made way for them, and followed just behind, as they marched back to where the captain was seated, with old daygo standing before him. the old man gave each of them a peculiar look, and then turned to the captain again. "now zen," cried that individual, "you 'ave seen zis man. him you know?" "yes," said vince; "of course we do." "aha! ze old friend. and he tell you of ze cavern and ze smuggling, and how you find ze vay here?" "no, not a word," said vince stoutly. "but i can see now why you wouldn't bring us round by the black scraw, joe." "aha! ze vairy old friend. it is joe!" said the captain fiercely. "well, why not?" said vince quickly. "old joe has taken us in his boat scores of times fishing and sailing." "and told you of ze goods here in my cavern?" "not a word," said vince. "i do not believe," said the captain. "'course i never told 'em," growled daygo. "i dunno how they come here. i watched 'em times enough, and when i couldn't watch i set a boy to see wheer they went. i couldn't do no more, capen." the frenchman looked at them all in turn fiercely, and then he fixed his eyes on old daygo again. "and ze peoples up above, zey are look for zem--ze boy?" "i dunno," said daygo. "i didn't know they were here, and i dunno how they come. dropt down with a rope, young gen'lemen?" "no, zay come anozaire vay, my friend. it is good luck for you i do not find zey know how of you. but sink no one on ze island know?" "i dunno," said daygo. "they don't know from me." "you can go," said the captain sharply, and the old fisherman thrust his hands very deeply down in the pockets of his huge trousers and was turning slowly away when mike cried: "stop!" daygo turned slowly back, and the captain watched the boy with his dark eyes glittering as he sat facing the light. "are you going back home?" cried mike. "ay, m'lad, when the skipper's done with me." "then never mind what he says: you go straight to the mount and tell my father everything, and that we are kept here like prisoners." "nay, young gen'leman," said daygo, rolling his head slowly from side to side, "i warnt you both agen it over and over agen, when you 'most downed on your knees, a-beggin' and a-prayin' of me to bring you round by the scraw; but i never would, now would i, master vince?" "no, you old scoundrel!" cried vince hotly. "i can see now: because you're a smuggler too." old daygo chuckled. "didn't i tell you both never to think about it, because there was awful currents and things as dragged boats under, and that it was as dangerous as it could be? now speak up like a man, master vince, and let capen jarks hear the truth." "truth!" said vince scornfully; "do you call that truth, telling us both a pack of lies, when you must have been coming here often yourself?" "eh? well, s'pose i did, young gen'leman: it was on my lorful business, and you fun out fer yourselves as it's no place for boys like you." "look here," said vince fiercely: "you've got to do what michael ladelle says, and to tell my father too." "nay, my lad; that arn't no lorful business of mine." "do you mean to say that you will not tell?" "ay, my lad: i'm sorry for you both, proper lads as you are; but you would come, and it's no fault o' mine." "you joe," cried vince angrily: "if you do not warn them above where we are, you'll never be able to live on the island again, and you'll be severely punished." "who's to tell agen me?" said the old man sharply. "why, i shall, and mike here, of course." "when?" said daygo, in a peculiar tone of voice. "as soon as ever we get back; and you'll be punished. i suppose captain jacques here will have sailed away." "soon as you get back, eh, young gen'lemen? did capen jarks say as he was going to send you home?" "no," said vince; "but he will have to soon." "i'm sorry for you, my lads--sorry for you," growled daygo; and a chill ran through both the boys, as they saw the frenchman looking at them in a very peculiar way. "sorry--yes, lads, but i did my best fer you, and so good-bye." "no, no," cried mike excitedly; "don't go and leave us, joe. tell the captain here that if we say we'll promise not to speak to any one about the place we'll keep our words." daygo shook his head. "it's o' no use for me to say nothin', master mike: he's master here, and does what he likes. you hadn't no business to come a-shovin' yourself into his place." "it is not his place," cried mike indignantly; "it is my father's property." "i arn't got no time to argufy about that, my lad. he says it's his, and all this here stuff as you sees is his too. here, i must be off, or i shall lose this high tide and be shut-in." "no, no, joe--stop!" cried mike. "i'll--" "hold your tongue, ladle," whispered vince. "don't do that; they'll think we're regular cowards. here you, joe daygo, if you go away and don't give notice to sir francis or my father about our being kept here by this man--" "say the capen or the skipper, my lad," growled daygo. "makes him orkard if he hears people speak dis-speckful of him." "pooh!" exclaimed vince hotly. "i say, you know what the consequences will be." "yes, my lad; they won't never know what become of you." vince winced, in spite of his determination to be firm, on hearing the cold-blooded way in which the old fisherman talked, but he spoke out boldly. "do you mean to say he will dare to keep us here?" "yes, my lad, or take you away with him, or get rid of you somehow. you see he's capen and got his crew, and can do just what he likes." "no, he can't," said vince; "the law will not let him." "bless your 'art, master vince, he don't take no notice o' no law. but i hope he won't drownd you both, 'cause you see we've been friendly like. p'r'aps he'll on'y ship you off to bottonny bay, or one o' they tother-end-o'-the-world places, where you can't never come back to tell no tales." "i don't believe it: he dare not. don't take any notice, mike; he's only saying this to scare us, and we're not going to be scared." "now, _mon ami_," cried the captain, "you vill not get out if you do not depart zis minute. i cannot spare to have you drowned. i sall sail to-night, and you vill be here ready?" "ay, ay, i'll be here," growled daygo. "then you are coming back?" said vince quickly. "that's so, master vince. how's he going to get the _belle-marie_ out without me to pilot him? yes, i'm comin' back to-night, my lad; and i hope i shall see you agen." he said these last words in a whisper, which sent a chill through the lads, for that he was serious there could be no doubt. by this time two men were down by the boat, that was now half in the water, which had risen till she was rocking sidewise to and fro; and smartly enough the old fisherman turned and trotted over the sand to join in thrusting the boat out, and then sprang in. this was too much for mike, who made a sudden dash after him. "come on, vince," he cried; and the boy followed, but only to catch hold of his companion as he clung to the bows of the boat. "don't i don't do that, mike," cried vince; "you couldn't get away." three men who had rushed after them, and were about to seize the prisoners, refrained as soon as they saw vince's action; and the boat with old daygo on board glided out among the rocks, and then passed off out of sight, round the left buttress of the cavern mouth. this was enough: mike turned furiously upon vince and struck him, sending him staggering backward over the thick sand; and, unable to keep his balance, the lad came down in a sitting position. "you coward!" cried mike: "if it hadn't been for you we might have got away." "coward, am i?" cried vince, as he sprang up and dashed at his assailant, with fists clenched and everything forgotten now but the blow. he did not strike out, though, in return, for an arm was thrown across his chest and a gruff voice growled out,-- "are we to let 'em have it out, capen jarks?" "no; _mais_ i sink zey might have von leetle rights. _non, non, non_! you do not vant to fight now, _mes enfans_; you have somesings else to sink. you feel like a big coward?" "no, i don't," said vince, to whom the words were addressed: "i'll let him see if you'll make this man let go." "_non, non, non_!" said the captain, raising his hand to tug at one of the rings in his ears. "you do not vant to fight. let me see." he began to feel the muscles of vince's arms, and nodded as if with satisfaction. "it seem a pity to finish off a boy like you. i sink you vould make a good sailor and a fine smugglaire on my sheep. perhaps i sall not kill you." "bah!" cried vince, looking him full in the face. "do you think i'm such a little child as to be frightened by what you say?" "leetle schile? _non, non. vous etes un brave garcon_--a big, brave boy. zere, you sall not fight like you _anglais_ bouledogues, and vat you call ze game coq. you _comprends, mon enfant_." "then you'd better take him away," cried vince, who was effervescing with wrath against his companion. "aha, yaas," said the frenchman, grinning. "you sink i better tie you up like ze dogue. but, faith of a man, you fly at von and anozaire i sall--" he drew a small pistol out of his breast, and, giving both lads a significant look,-- "zere," he continued, "i sall not chain you bose up. you can run about and help vis ze crew. i only say to you ze passage is block up vis big stone, ze hole vere ze seal live is no good--ze rock hang over ze wrong vay. you try to climb, and you are not ze leetler _mouche_--fly. you fall and die; and if you essay to svim, ze sharp tide take you avay to drown. go and svim if you like: i sall not have ze pain to drown you. but, my faith! vy do i tell you all zis? you bose know zat you cannot get avay now ze passage is stop up vis stone, and i stop him vis a man who has sword and pistol as vell. go and help ze men." he walked away, leaving the boys together, carefully avoiding each other's eyes, as they felt that they were prisoners indeed, and wondered what was to be their fate. vince took a few turns up and down upon the sand with his hands deep in his pockets. mike seated himself upon the keg he had occupied over his breakfast, for in their frame of mind they both resented being ordered to go and help the men; but at that time the worst pang of all seemed to be caused by the fact that, just at the moment when they wanted each other's help and counsel, with the strength of mind given by the feeling that they were together, they were separated by the unfortunate conduct of one. chapter twenty six. the pirate captain of their dreams. the walk did vince good, for the action given to his muscles carried off the sensation which made his fists clench from time to time in his pockets and itch to be delivering blows wherever he could make them light on his companion's person. he did not notice that he was ploughing a rut in the sand by going regularly to and fro, for he was thinking deeply about their position; and as he thought, the dread that the captain's words had inspired, endorsed as they were by daygo's, began to fade away, till he found himself half contemptuously saying to himself that he should like to catch the skipper at it--it meaning something indefinite that might mean something worse, but in all probability keeping them prisoners till he had got away all his stores of smuggled goods. then, as the rut in the sand grew deeper from the regular tramp up and down, vince's thoughts flitted from the trouble felt by his mother, who must be terribly anxious, to his companion, whose back was towards him, and who with elbows on knees had bent down to rest his chin upon his hands. vince was a little surprised at himself, and rather disposed to think that he was weak; for somehow all the hot blood had gone out of his arms and fists, which were now perfectly cool, and felt no longer any desire to fly about as if charged with pugno-electricity, which required discharging by being brought into contact with mike's chest or head. "poor old ladle!" he found himself thinking: "what a temper he was in! but it was too bad to hit out like that, when what i did was to help him. but there, he didn't know." vince was pretty close to his fellow-prisoner now; but he had to turn sharply round and walk away. "glad i didn't hit him again, because if i had we should have had a big fight and i should have knocked him about horribly and beaten him well, and i don't want to. i'm such a stupid when i get fighting: i never feel hurt--only as if i must keep on hitting; and then all those sailor fellows would have been looking on and grinning at us. glad we didn't fight." then vince began to think again of their position, which he told himself was very horrible, but not half so bad as that of the people at both their homes, where, only a mile or two away from where they were, the greatest trouble and agony must reign. "and us all the time with nothing the matter with us, and sitting down as we did and eating such a breakfast! seems so unfeeling; only i felt half-starved, and when i began i could think of nothing else.--such nonsense! he's not going to kill us, or he wouldn't have given us anything to eat. here, i can't go on like this." vince stopped his walk to and fro at the end of the beaten-out track in the sand, and turned off to stand behind mike, who must have heard him come, but did not make the slightest movement. then there was silence, broken by the voice of the french captain giving his orders to his men, who were evidently rearranging the stores ready for removal. "i say, mike," said vince at last. no answer. "michael." still no movement. "mr michael ladelle." vince might have been speaking to the tub upon which his fellow-prisoner was seated, for all the movement made. "michael ladelle, esquire, of the mount," said vince; and there was a good-humoured look in his eyes, which twinkled merrily; but the other did not stir. "ladle, then," cried vince; but without effect,--mike was still gazing at the sand before him. "i say, don't be such a sulky old punch. why don't you speak? i want to talk to you about getting away. mike--ladle--i say, you did hurt when you hit out at me. i shall have to pay you that back!" no answer. "look here: aren't you going to say you're sorry for it and shake hands?" vince waited for a while and then burst out impatiently,-- "look here, if you don't speak i'll kick the tub over and let you down." all in vain: mike did not move, and vince began to grow impatient. "here, i say," he cried, "i know i'm a bit of a beast sometimes, but you can't say i'm sulky. i did nothing; and if it was i, you know i'd have owned i was in the wrong and held out my fist--open; not like you did, to knock a fellow down." another pause, and vince exclaimed,-- "well, i _am_--" he did not say what, but stood with extended arm. "i say, mikey," he said softly, "i know you haven't got any eyes in the back of your head, so i may as well tell you. i'm holding out my hand for a shake, and my arm's beginning to ache." "don't--don't!" said mike now, in a low voice, full of the misery the lad felt. "i feel as if you were jumping on me for what i did." "do you? well, i'm not going to jump on you. come, i have got you to speak at last, and there's an end of it. i say, ladle, it's too stupid for us two to be out now, when we want to talk about how we're stuck here." "i feel as if i can't speak to you," said mike huskily. "more stupid you. didn't i tell you it's all over now? you were in a passion, and so was i. now you're not in a passion, no more am i; so that's all over. you heard what the pirate captain said about us?" "yes," said mike dolefully. "well, he and old joe--here, ladle: i'm going to kick old joe. i don't care about his being old and grey. a wicked old sneak!--i'll kick him, first chance i get, for leaving us in the lurch; but that isn't what i was going to say. here, why don't you turn round and sit up? don't let those beggars think we're afraid of them. i won't be,--see if i am." mike slowly changed his position, turning round and sitting up. "now, then, that's better," said vince. "what was i going to say? oh! i know. the pirate captain and old joe wanted to make us believe that we were to be taken out to sea, to walk the plank or be hung or shot or something." "joe said something about botany bay and sending us there." "no, he didn't; he said bottonny, and there is no such place. he couldn't do it, and he couldn't keep us prisoners here." "he might kill us." "no, he mightn't. bah! what a silly old ladle you are! he couldn't. people don't do such things now, only in stories. i tell you what i believe." "what?" said mike, for vince paused as if to think. "well, i believe he feels that his old smuggler's cave is done for now we've found out the way down to it, so he's going to clear it out and start another somewhere else. he means to keep us prisoners till the last keg's on board, and as soon as this is done he'll go to his boat and take his hat off to us and tell us we may have the caverns all to ourselves." "think so?" said mike, looking up at his companion for the first time. "yes, i believe that's it, ladle; and if it wasn't for knowing how miserable they must be over yonder i should rather like all this--that is, if you're going to play fair and not get hitting out when we ought to be the best of friends." "don't--don't, cinder: i can't bear it," groaned mike, letting his head drop in his hands. "i hurt myself a hundred times more than i hurt you." "oh, did you! ha! ha!" cried vince. "come, i like that: why, i shall have a bruise as big as the top of my hat! oh, i say, ladle, old chap, don't--don't talk like that! it's all right. you thought i was fighting against you. sit up. some of the beggars will see." mike sat up with his face twitching, and kept his back to the upper part of the cavern. "that's better. well, i say i should really like it if it wasn't for them at home. i call it a really good, jolly adventure, such as you read of in books. now, what we've got to do is to wait till they're asleep, cut off all their heads with their own cutlasses, seize the boat, row off to the lugger, wait till old joe comes back, and then spike him with the points of cutlasses till he pilots us out safely. then we've got to sail home as prize crew of the lugger, which would be ours. stop! there's something we haven't done." mike stared. "old joe. as soon as we're out of the dangerous passages we've got to batten him down in the hold, and that's the end of the adventure." "how can you go on like that?" said mike piteously. "making fun of it all, when we're so miserable." "that's why: just to cheer us up a bit, and set us thinking about what's next to do." "i can't think," said mike. "it's a pity we didn't stop in the seal hole." "stop there? we should have felt nice by now. why, our legs would be all swollen, and we should be so hungry that--here, i say, ladle, you wouldn't have been safe. i wonder how you'd taste?" "i say, do be serious, cinder. it's too horrible to laugh at it." "well, so it is, old chap, but i am thinking hard all the time, yet i can't see any way out of it. i know we could swim almost like seals; but look at the water out there,--we couldn't do anything in it." "no, we should be sucked down in five minutes." "yes. the old pirate knows it, too, and that's why he leaves us alone. i say, he does look like a pirate, though, doesn't he? with that pistol, and the rings in his ears." "oh! i never saw a pirate, only on those pictures we tried to paint. but what about the cliffs?" "no good. they're either straight up and down or overhanging. we couldn't do it." "we might get over the other side and make signals." "yes; there is something in that. but don't you think we might get away by the passage? the sentry may go to sleep." "no good," said mike bitterly. "those fellows daren't." "s'pose not," said vince thoughtfully. "old jarks is the sort of chap to wake 'em up with his pistol. it's of no use yet, ladle; the idea hasn't come. yes, it has! why can't we wait our chance and seize the boat and get it off? we could manage." "hush!" whispered mike. the warning was needed, for the captain came from the back of the stack of packages, and marched down towards where they were. chapter twenty seven. what will he do with us? "aha!" he cried. "so you sall not try to escape any more?" "no," said vince coolly, looking the speaker full in the face. "i say, what time do you have dinner?" the frenchman stared at him for a few moments fiercely, and then burst into a boisterous fit of laughter. "you are a _drole de garcon_" he said. "you are again hungry?" "i shall be by the time it's ready. but, i say, captain, how much longer are you going to keep us here?" "aha!" he said, with a shrug of the shoulders and a peculiar gesticulation with his hand, as if he were throwing something away, while he looked at them both sidewise through his half-closed eyes: "you are fatigue so soon? you vant to go somevere else?" "we want to go home." "good leetler boy: he vant to go home. but not yet, _mes amis_. you give the good capitain all zis pains to move his cargo, and you vill not help." "oh, i'm ready enough to help," said vince. "so's he; but they will be very anxious about us at home." "ta ta ta ta ta!" cried the captain. "vy, you sink so mosh of your selfs. ze _bon papa_ vill say to _la maman_, `ah! _ma chere_, dose boy go and tomble zem selfs off ze cliff;' and ze _maman_ sall wipe her eye and say, `_pauvre garcon_--poor boy, it is vat i expect.'" "and instead of that," said vince, "you are going to send us home, and then they will not be fidgeting any more." "aha! you sink so. vell, ve sall see. so i go to be vairy busy, and it is better zat you two do not fight any more. so come vis me." "where?" said vince suspiciously. "vere? oh! you sall see, _mon brave_, vairy soon." the boys exchanged glances, but feeling that it was hopeless to resist, they followed the captain down to where the boat was lying, just as she had returned a few minutes before, without daygo. the men in her were just keeping her afloat, but they ran her stern on to the sand as they saw the captain coming, and one of them leaped out to hold her steady. "in vis you!" said the captain sharply. "all right, mike," whispered vince. "come on, and don't seem to mind." he set the example by putting one foot on the gunwale and springing in lightly. mike followed, and then the captain; while the man standing ankle-deep in the water waited till they were seated, and then, giving the boat a good thrust out, sprang on the stern, and climbed in as they glided over the transparent water, stepping forward quickly to seize an oar, and pulling sharply with his companion. the boys gazed eagerly upward as soon as they were clear of the great overhanging archway, and saw the impossibility of escape by any cliff-climbing; for the mighty rocks were at least twenty feet out of the perpendicular, leaning over towards the little bay, whose waters were running, eddying and boiling like a whirlpool as they raced along, seizing the boat's head and seeming about to drag her right along towards a jagged cluster of rocks, standing just above the surface, and amidst which the current raged and foamed furiously. but the men knew their work. one pulled hard, the other backed water, and by their united efforts the boat was forced into an eddy close under the cliff; and to their amazement the boys found that they were being carried in the opposite direction to that in which the main body of the water was racing along. "you vill escape and climb ze cliff? no, _mes enfans_," said the captain: "you cannot climb. you vill take my boat to go avay? aha! you sink so? no, it is not for you to manage ze boat. she vill capsize herself if you try." vince said nothing, but eagerly looked around; but it was everywhere the same--the roaring waters tearing wildly along in the crater-like cove, and from their seat in the boat no entrance, no exit, was visible. "now i take you bose and drop you ovaire-board: you sink, you go home?" said the captain, showing his teeth. "yaas, you go home, but not to see ze _bon papa_, ze _belle maman_. it is not possible. von of my men say von day he have sick of me, and he vill go. he shump ovaire-board to svim, and he svim vis his arm and leg von, two, twenty stroke, and zen he trow _les mains_ out of ze vater, and he cry for ze boat; but zere vas no boat, and he turn round upon himself two time, and go down a hole in ze vater. i stand and look at him, but he came up again nevaire. he vas a good man--_bon matelot_--but he go. you like to shump in and svim? _eh bien_, you shake ze hand, shump in. _au revoir_, but ve shall meet again nevaire. you go? _non? eh bien_! i make you ze offaire." the boys felt that it was all true, and marvelled where they were going, for the eddy was taking them along by the mighty rocks, which were overhanging them again; and, as far as they could make out, the cliffs under which they passed and the ridge away facing the cavern mouth, which they had imagined to be an island, were all one. the captain seemed to be paying little heed to them, sitting with his eyes half-closed; but he was watching them all the time closely, and noted their astonishment as the men suddenly began to tug at their oars with all their might, apparently to avoid a rock, round one side of which the water was rushing with tremendous force, just as if the eddy stream along which they had been riding suddenly curved round it. the men were making for the other end, and as they drew nearer the water roared and splashed up, and it appeared to both that they must be carried right upon it by some undertow. but every foot of the place, and all its difficulties, were perfectly familiar to the captain's crew, and by making use of the many cross streams and eddies, they were able to guide the boat into safety, as in this case; for just as mike seized the gunwale with one hand, to be prepared for the shock, and vince clenched his fists and gave a glance to the left, the boat's prow passed the end of the detached rock, they glided into an opening like a gash cut down through the massive rock-wall, and the next minute were swept into a comparatively calm pool, surrounded by towering cliffs, which seemed to overlap on their right; and there, right before them, rode by a couple of hawsers attached to great rings fixed in the rock-face behind, a long, low three-masted lugger of the kind known as a _chasse-maree_. vince looked sharply round for the channel by which this vessel must come and go--for it seemed certain that such a way must exist, since so large a boat could not by any means have entered the circular cove facing the cavern; and he was not long in seeing that, some twenty or thirty feet beyond her bow, the water was coming swiftly in round the cliff, which lapped over another to its right, but so calmly did the tide run that at the first its motion was unperceived. vince had hardly grasped this fact, when the boat was run up alongside, one of the men sprang into the lugger with the boat's painter and made it fast, while the boat seemed to tug to get away, and the captain turned to his prisoners. "aboard!" he said sharply; and as there was nothing for it but to obey, vince made a virtue of necessity, and going forward, climbed up and over the bulwark, to stand upon a beautifully white deck, and see that rigging, sails and spars were all in the highest state of order. six or eight men were waiting, and they came aft at once, to stand as if waiting for orders, while mike and the captain stepped on board. "back at once!" said the frenchman to a stern-looking, red-faced man, who appeared to be the mate. "all ze boats; and work hard to get all on board." this order was given in a low tone, but vince's ears were sharpened by his position, and he divined its full meaning. the men hurried to the side, and rapidly began to lower one of the boats hanging to the davits; while in his close scrutiny vince grasped the fact that they were upon no peaceful vessel: there being a couple of longish guns forward, and another pair aft, all evidently in the best of trim, and ready for use at a very short notice. while the men were busy the captain came to where the boys were standing together aft, and laying his hands upon their shoulders, he led them forward to where one of the stout hawsers ran over the side to the great ring secured in the rock. "you see zat hawser, _mon ami_?" he said. "yes," said vince wonderingly. "look you zen at ze ozaire." "yes, i see it," said vince. "vat you make of zem?" "they look strained too much, and as if they would part." "good boy! you vould make a good sailor. zey vill not part, for zey are new, and _tres fort_--strong. now you look here, _mon ami_." as he spoke he picked up a heavy dwarf bucket, with its rope attached, raised it above his head, and hurled it some twenty feet into the smooth water between the lugger and the high cliff face. the water was like glass, and streaked with fine threads apparently; and the next minute the lads grasped the reason why, for the bucket had hardly touched the water when it began to be borne towards the lugger's side, striking it directly after sharply, and then diving down out of sight. vince ran across the deck instantly to see it rise; and mike followed, the captain joining them to lay his hands upon their shoulders once more. "aha! you see him come up again? no? look _encore_ and _encore_, and you nevaire sall see him. vat you say to zat?" "there must be a tremendous current," said vince. "yais,--now," said the captain. "_apres_, some time he run all ze ozaire vay and grind ze sheep close up right to ze rock. vat you sink now? you shump ovaire, and svim avay? you creep along ze hawser and try to climb up ze cliff? no, i sink not now. you stay here on ze deck and vait till i vant you-- ven ze boat come back. dat is vy i show you how go avay ze bucket. look now again." one of the boats was ready, and two men in her. the rope that held her to the side was cast off, and in an instant she glided away across the pool, towards an opening that had been unnoticed before, was deftly steered, and passed out of sight. "why, she must come out where we saw the water rushing at the other end of the rock!" thought vince; and he stood watching while the other boats left the side of the lugger, to be cleverly guided to the same spot, and glide out of sight directly. a feeling of helplessness came over the boys as they saw all this, and realised that now they were, beside the captain and a man who kept going in and out of a low, hutch-like place forward, the only occupants of the vessel; and that if their captor had any particular designs upon them, this would be the likely time for their happening. but they now had proof that this was not going to be the case, for the frenchman took no further heed to them. he went to the cabin-hatch and descended, leaving them with the deck to themselves. "what do you think of it now?" asked mike dolefully. "i don't know," said vince, gazing up at the towering rocks, dotted with yellow ragwort and sea-pink, by which they were surrounded; "but it's a change. i wouldn't care if they only knew at home about our being safe. i say, isn't it likely that some one may come along the cliffs and be searching for us, and then we can signal to him?" "who ever came along the cliffs and looked down here?" said mike. "we've been about as much as any one, but we never looked down into this pool." "no," said vince thoughtfully: "it puzzles me. i hardly make out whereabouts we are. i say, though, look forward: that's the galley, and the chap we saw is the cook." "of course," said mike; "there's the chimney, and the smoke coming out." "let's go and see what there is for dinner." mike's forehead wrinkled up, and he felt disposed to say something reproachful; but he was silent, and followed his companion to the galley door, where the man they had seen looked up at them grimly, and as if resenting their presence. "what's for dinner, old chap?" said vince coolly. the sour look on the man's face passed away. vince's countenance, and his free-and-easy way, seemed to find favour, and he said gruffly,-- "lobscouse." "what, for the skipper?" said vince, who had a lively memory of the captain's breakfast. "men," said the man laconically. "and for the skipper?" the man smiled grimly, and took the lid off a pot, which arose an agreeable steam, that was appetising and suggested good soup. then, without a word, he pointed to a dish upon which lay a pair of thick soles, and to another, on which, ready egged and crumbed, were about a dozen neatly prepared veal cutlets. "got any potatoes," said vince. the man raised a lid and showed the familiar vegetable, bubbling away on the little stove, which was roaring loudly, and put the saucepan down again. "well, we shan't starve," said vince, as they each gave the cook a nod and walked as far forward as they could. "captain hasn't a bad notion about eating and drinking." "and smuggling and kidnapping," said mike bitterly. "kidnapping!" said vince cheerily. "ah, to be sure, that's the very word: i thought something had been done to us that there's a proper word for. that's it, ladle--kidnapped. yes, we've been kidnapped.--i say!" "well?" "look here: are we two chaps worth anything?" "i don't feel to be now," said mike; "i'm too miserable." "well, so am i miserable enough, but i suppose we must be worth something, and that's why the skipper's going to feed us well." "what nonsense have you got in your head now?" "nonsense? i call it some sense. for that's it, ladle, as sure as you stand there; he has kidnapped us, and he's going to take us right away somewhere. ladle, old chap, i feel as sure of it as if he'd told us. it is all nonsense about making an end of us. i was sure it only meant trying to frighten us; but we're two big, strong, healthy lads, and he's going to take us right away." "do you mean it? what for?" vince looked sadly at his companion in misfortune for a few moments, and then he said huskily,-- "to sell!" chapter twenty eight. prisoners, but not of war. michael ladelle was a good-looking lad, as people judge good looks; but at that moment, as he stood with his hand resting on the bulwarks of _la belle-marie_, he was decidedly plain, so blank and semi-idiotic did he seem, with his eyes dilated, his jaw dropped and his brains evidently gone wool-gathering, as people say, so utterly unable was he to comprehend his companion's announcement. still it was only a matter of moments before he shut his mouth, and then nearly closed his eyes, wrinkled up his face, and burst into a fit of laughter, which, however, was of so hysterical a nature that for a time he could not check it. at last, though, he mastered it sufficiently to say,-- "to do what with us?" "to sell," said vince again, as he gazed sadly in his companion's face. "to sell!" cried mike, growing more calm now; and his voice had a ring of contempt in it as he said,-- "why, any one would think this was africa, and we were blacks. what nonsense!" "it isn't nonsense," said vince. "that man will do anything sooner than have it known where his hiding-place is; and he won't kill us--he dares not on account of his men; but he'll get us out of the way so that we shan't be able to tell." "oh, i won't believe it!" cried mike angrily. "such a thing couldn't be done." "but it has been done over and over again," said vince: "i've read of it. they used to sell men and boys to sea-captains to take out to the plantations; and once they were there, they had no chance given them of getting back for years and years." "i don't believe it," said mike sharply. "it might have been in the past, but it couldn't be done now." "that's what i've been trying to think," said vince sadly; "but this wouldn't be done in england. this is a frenchman, and the french have colonies abroad, the same as we have. how do we know where he'll take us?" mike started at this, and looked more disturbed. "i say," he said at last, "you don't really think that, do you, vince?" "i wish i didn't," replied the boy sadly; "but it's what has seemed to come to me, since we've been on board here. i don't know where this man comes from, but he's a regular smuggler, and there's no knowing where he'll take us." "but my father--your father--you don't suppose they'll stand still and let us be taken off without trying to stop it. father's just like a magistrate in the island." "of course they wouldn't stand still and allow it to be done; but how will they know?" mike was silent, and his face now began to look haggard as he stared at his companion. "whoever knew that this captain jacques had a place in the island where he stored rich cargoes of foreign things? why, he may have been doing it for years, and your father, though he is like a magistrate, hasn't known anything about it." "no, nor your father either," said mike sadly. "i don't think anything of that," continued vince; "what i do think a great deal of is that neither you nor i, who've always been climbing about the cliffs and boating shouldn't have found it out before." "but surely now we're missing they'll find it out," cried mike, who was ready to snatch at any straw of hope. "i don't see how," said vince. "they're sure to think that one of us met with an accident, and that the other was drowned in trying to save him." mike was silent for some moments, during which he stood gazing wistfully at his fellow-prisoner. "that would be very nice of them to think that of us," he said at last, slowly. "but do you think they would believe us likely to be so brave?" "oh yes, they'd think so," said vince quickly--"i'm sure they would; but i don't know about it's being brave. it's only what two fellows would do one for the other. it's what english chaps always do, of course, but it's like making a lot of fuss about it to call it brave. i should say it's what a fellow should do, that's all." "and no one knows--no one saw us go to the hole," said mike bitterly. "oh, i say, vince, we have made a mess of it to keep it a secret." "yes, we have, and no mistake." "and no one knows," repeated mike thoughtfully. "don't you think lobster might know, and tell them?" "no, i'm sure he can't. of course old joe knows; but he won't speak, because if he did, and told the truth, the captain here would be ready to shoot him." "and my father would have him locked up, and tried for what he has done." "yes," said vince, nodding his head; "joe won't speak--you may depend upon that. why, mike, while we were fishing for that crab, and were so still, some one must have come across the cave behind us and never known we were there." "yes, and then we were caught as fast as the crab was and--" "_eh bien, mes enfans_, my good boy, are you hungry for your dinner?" "not very," said vince, turning sharply as the skipper came silently up behind them. "we feel as if we should like to dine at home." "aha! you not mean zat, my _bon garcon_. not ven i ask you to have dine vis me. let us go and demand vat ze cook man--ze _chef_--have to give us, for it is long time since ze _dejeuner_ and ve have much to do after. come, sheer up, as ze sailor _anglais_ say. you like ze sea?" "yes," said vince; "both of us do." "and you can reef and furl ze sail?" "yes, we've often been in a boat." "brava! it is good; and, aha! ze brave cook go to prepare ze cabin for ze dinnaire. you sall bose be my compagnie _cet_--to-day." just then vince caught sight of one of the lugger's boats, and noticed that it was particularly broad and punt-like in make, evidently so that it should carry a big load and at the same time draw little water--a shape that would save it from many dangers in passing over rocks, and also be very convenient for running in and landing upon the sands. this boat was very heavily laden with bales, carefully ranged and stacked, while the boat's gunwale was so close to the surface that a lurch would have caused the water to flow in. but the men who managed her seemed to be quite accustomed to their task; and after a sharp look directed at them by the skipper, he paid no more attention, but walked away. it was different, though, with the boys; who, having ideas of their own connected with escaping from their position, watched the approach of the boat with intense curiosity, wondering how it could be rowed so easily against a current which ran with such tremendous force. "i can't make it out," said vince, as the boat came closer, and apparently with very little effort on the part of the men after they had passed out by the opening by which the prisoners had been brought on board. "how is it, then?" said mike. "i suppose it's because they know all the currents so well. it's very hard to see; but i think that, as the water rushes round this cove and goes right across, most of it passes through the openings into our bay and makes all that swirling there." "of course it does," replied mike. "i can see that." "well, you might let me finish," said vince. "all this water flows right across." "you said that before." "and then," continued vince, without noticing the interruption, "part of it which there isn't room for at the openings strikes against the rocks, and can't get any farther." "of course it can't." "well, it must go somewhere: water can't be piled-up in a heap and stay like that; so it's reflected--no, you can't call it reflected--it's turned back, and forms another stream, which flows back this way." "it couldn't be," said mike shortly. "well, that's the only way i can see, and that boat has come as easily as can be. yes, i'm sure that's it, ladle; and you may depend upon it that three or four feet down the water's rushing one way, while on the surface it's flowing in the other direction." "ah, well, it doesn't matter to us," said mike bitterly, as the boat was brought up alongside cleverly, made fast, and her crew began to rapidly pass the bales over on to the deck, all being of one size, and, as vince noticed, of a convenient size and weight for one man to handle. "but it does matter to us, mike," whispered vince eagerly. "why?" "because you and i couldn't manage one of those big boats unless the currents helped us; but if we knew how these men managed them--" "we could slip into one of them in the dark and get away." vince nodded, and mike drew a deep breath. "don't look like that," whispered vince; "here's jacques coming to ask us why we don't help." but they were wrong, for the captain took them each by the shoulder, his hands tightening with a heavy grip, which seemed to suggest that he could hold them much harder if he liked; and in this way he marched them before him to the cabin-hatch. "down vis you!" he said. "to-day you sall be vis me; to-morrow vis ze crew." "aren't you going to let us go back to-morrow?" said vince quickly. "_non_! go down." that first word was french, but any one would have understood what it meant--the tone was sufficient. the boys gave a sharp look round the little cabin, which was plain enough, with its lockers for seats, and narrow table, which just afforded room for the three who entered the place. "sit," said the captain shortly; and, directly after, "_mangez_--eat. you do not understand--_comprends_--ze _francais_?" "we do--a little," said mike. "aha! zat is good," said the captain, with a peculiar laugh. "zen ve sall be _bons amis_--good friend, eh? now eat. you like soup, fish, eh?" "we don't like to be taken off like this, sir," said vince, who turned away from the food, good as it was, with disgust, wondering the while how he could have eaten so hearty a meal with the captain before. "we want to know what you are going to do with us." "ah, truly you vant to know," said the captain, partaking of his soup the while. "but ze ship boys do not ask question of ze _capitaine_." "but we're not ship's boys," said mike haughtily. "we are gentlemen's sons, and we want to know by what right you drag us away from home." "aha! yes; you eat your soup, _mon_ brave boy, vile he is hot. perhaps ze storms come to-morrow, and you are vere you get no soups no more, eh?" "look here, sir," said mike, flushing in his excitement, "will you set us ashore somewhere if we promise not to tell?" "_non_," said the captain shortly. "ve talk about all zat before! eat your soup." for answer mike dropped his spoon upon the table, and the captain glared at him viciously, but passed his anger off with an unpleasant laugh. "aha," he said, "you vill not eat. i know. ze _souris_--ze mouse, you know, valk himselfs into ze trap and spoil ze appetite. ze toast cheese is not taste good, eh?" vince had his own ideas, and he ate a few spoonfuls of the soup and took some bread; but it seemed to choke him, and he soon put down his spoon, and the man, who seemed to act as cook and steward, took away the tureen and brought in the fish--the soles they had seen--well cooked and appetising; but the boys could not eat, in spite of the easy banter with which the captain kept on addressing them, and the fish gave way to cutlets and vegetables. "ah, i see," said their captor at last: "you vill not eat, and i know ze reason. _ma foi_, and it is too late to make ze _amende_ you call him. you bose mean to eat ze grand krebs you 'ave catch and 'ave give him to ze men. _helas_! it is, as you say, a pity. now you forget him, and eat ze cotelette. to-morrow you not like ze dinner vis ze crew, and," he added, with a grin, "you may bose be vairy sick--_malade-de-mer_, eh?" he helped them both liberally, but they could not eat; and soon after they followed their host on deck, to find that the hatches were off, and the bales all carefully stacked below, while the emptied boat had disappeared and another was on the way, vince paying great heed to the manner in which she glided up to the lugger just about amidships. by the time it was dusk five heavy loads had been brought on board, and the hatches were then replaced, the boats all but one being hoisted to the davits, the other left swinging by its painter from a ring-bolt astern; and from the number of men aboard the boys judged that no one was left at the caves. they noticed too that, contrary to custom, no light was hoisted anywhere about the vessel, and that, though there were lanthorns in the men's cabin forward, and in the captain's aft, no gleam shone forth to play upon the water. no one seemed to pay any heed to the prisoners, who went from place to place to gaze now up at the darkening rocks, with the stars above them beginning to twinkle faintly here and there, now down at the black waters, which, as the night deepened, began to reflect the bright points of light from the heavens. but soon after, to take their attention a little from their cares, they began to notice that the dark depths below them were alive with light--little specks, that looked like myriads of stars in motion, rising from below the vessel's keel, coming rapidly towards the surface and then gliding rapidly away. every now and then there was a flash of light, just as if a pale greenish-golden flame had darted through the water from below; and, after noticing this several times, vince said quietly-- "fish feeding." "don't," said mike petulantly. "who's to think about fish feeding, when we're like this? you don't seem to mind it a bit." "don't i?" said vince quietly; "but i do. every time i see one of those little jelly-fish sailing along there, it makes me think of the light in our window at home--the one mother always puts there when i'm up at your place, so that i may see it from ever so far along the road. father always jokes about it, and says it's nonsense, but she puts it there all the same; and it's there now, mike, for she's sure to say i may have been carried out to sea in some boat and be coming back to-night." "oh, don't--don't!" groaned mike: "it seems too horrid to hear." "hush! what's that?" said vince. "only a seabird calling somewhere off the water." "no, it isn't," whispered vince. "one of the men wouldn't have answered a seabird like that. it's a boat coming from somewhere out yonder." "no boat would come through such a dark night, with all these dangerous currents among the rocks." but a minute later a boat did glide out of the darkness, a rope was thrown over the bulwarks, made fast, and as a man climbed over on to the deck the captain came out of his cabin and went forward to where the fresh comer was standing. it was so dark that they could not make out what he was like, but in the stillness every word spoken could be heard; and they recognised the voice directly, as, in answer to a growl from the captain about being late, the man said,--"been here long enough ago, skipper jarks, if it had been any good, but she don't rise to it to-night. i've been hanging about ever so long, but she don't touch what she should. there won't be enough water for you on the rocks to-night by a foot." "_peste_!" ejaculated the captain; "and i vant to go. but after an hour, vat den?" "be just as she is now, skipper. wind's been agen it since sundown, and kep' the water back: you won't get off to-night." "bah!" ejaculated the captain angrily; but he changed his manner directly: "ah, vell, my friend daygo, ve must vait, eh? you vill stay vis me here?" "nay," said the man. "i'll have to go back. i'm cruising about round the island a-looking for them two young shavers." the captain turned his head sharply round and looked aft; but, keen as his sea-going eyes were, the presence of the boys passed unnoticed, and, probably concluding that they were farther aft, the captain said in a lower tone, but still perfectly audible. "dey look for zem?" "look for 'em? the whole island's been at it 'bout the rocks and cliffs, and with every boat out; but do you know, skipper jarks, they arn't fund 'em." the old scoundrel chuckled, and mike heard vince's teeth grate together; and then directly after, he drew a deep breath, like a sigh, for the captain said softly,-- "and zey vill not find zem, eh?" "they've been all day a-looking for their corpusses--for they're dead now." "aha! so soon?" "ay, skipper; they say they've gone off the rocks and been drownded, and when they told me i says i wondered they hadn't been years ago, for they was the owdaciousest pair as ever i see. they'd do anything they took in their heads." "aha! is it so?" said the captain. "ay, skipper jarks, it's so; but i'm 'fraid i shan't find their corpusses to-night. what do you say?" "nosing, _mon ami_: i on'y sink zat ze brave pilot. josef daygo, who know evairy rock and courant about ze island, vill find zem if any ones do. but, my friend, vat you sink? zey find ze vay down to ze cave?" "nay, not they. nobody can climb down they rocks." "and you sink zere is no one who find ze leetler passage?" "sure of it, skipper. if any one had found that there way down do you think he'd ha' kep' it to hisself? nay, i should ha' been sure to ha' heered it, and if i had i'd ha' done some'at as 'd startled him as tried to go down. on'y one man in the crag know'd of that till they two dropped upon it somehow. i dunno how. it's been a wonder to me, though, as nobody never did. well, i must be going back: i've got a rough bit to do 'fore i gets home, and then i've got to go up to the doctor's." "vell, you vill eat and drink somesing," said the captain. "come to ze cabin, and ve sall see." as it happened, he led the way across the deck, and then along the port side aft to the cabin-hatch, from whence came soon after the call for the cook, who went to and fro carrying plates and glasses, while the two boys still stood in their former places, leaning over the bulwarks and apparently watching the phosphorescent creatures in the sea, but seeing none. it was some time before either of them spoke, and then it was vince who broke the silence. "so we're both dead and swept out to sea, are we?" he said. he waited for a few moments, and then, as mike did not speak, he said, in a low whisper: "i say, mike, shouldn't you like to take a piece of rock and drop it through old joe's boat?" "no." "well, i should. of all the old rascals that i ever heard of he seems to be about the worst. why, he's regularly mixed up with this gang. did you hear? it seems that you can only get in and out at certain times of the tide, and nobody knows how to pilot any one in but old joe daygo." "did you understand it to be like that?" said mike eagerly. "yes, he seems to be the regular pilot, and comes to take this french lugger in and to steer it out among the rocks. oh, it's terrible; and we've got old joe to blame for all our troubles. i wish we'd sunk his boat." "shouldn't we have sunk ourselves too?" "well, perhaps. i should like to drop something through its bottom." "i shouldn't," said mike quietly. "why not? it would serve him well right." "because i should like to use it ourselves." "eh? what do you mean?" said vince excitedly. "now, younkers," said a voice behind them, "skipper says i'm to show you two to your bunks." it was a rough, hairy-faced fellow who spoke to them, though in the darkness they did not get a very good view of his features. "to our bunks?" said vince. "yes; come along. you're lucky: you've got a place all to yourselves." he led them aft, to where a small hatchway stood, close to that of the captain's cabin, from whence the sound of voices came so loudly that, regardless of his companions' presence, the man stood and listened. "but i tell you i must go back, skipper," said daygo, "and it's getting late." "_oui_--yais, i know zat, _mon ami_," said the captain; "but i have ze good pilot on board, and it is late and ver' bad for him to go sail among ze rock and courant. i say it is better he sall stay all ze night, and not go run ze risk to drown himselfs. i cannot spare you. i have you, daygo. you are a so much valuable mans. so i sall keep you till i sail." "keep me?" growled daygo. "yais. you sall eat all as mosh as you vish, and drink more as you vish, but you cannot go avay. it is not safe." there was the sound of a heavy fist brought down upon the table, and then the man, who had picked up a lanthorn, turned to them and said,-- "down with you, youngsters!" the boys obeyed, and the man followed. "old daygo don't like having to stay," he said laughingly. "there you are, lads!--just room for you both without touching. shall i leave you the lanthorn?" "please," said vince. "thank you.--i say--" "nay, you don't, lad," said the man, with gruff good humour; "you've nothing to say to me, and i've nothing to say to you. i don't want the skipper to come down on my head with a capstan bar. here, both on you: just a word as i will say--don't you be sarcy to the skipper. he's frenchy, and he's got a temper of his own, so just you mind how you trim your boats. there, good-night." "one moment," said vince, in a quick whisper. _bang_! went the door, and they heard a hasp put over a staple and a padlock rattled in. "here, youngsters!" came through the door. "what is it?" "mind you put out that light when you're in your bunks. good-night!" "good-night," said mike. "bad night," said vince. and then: "oh, ladle, old chap, what shall we do?" chapter twenty nine. longings for liberty. it was easier to ask that question than to answer it, and they cast a brief glance round the bare, cupboard-like place, with its two shelves, which represented the prisoners' beds, each bearing a small horsehair mattress and a french cotton blanket. "put out the light," was all the answer vince received; and, after holding it to the side of the place for a moment or two, he opened the lanthorn door and blew the candle out. "no good to keep that in. only makes the place hot and stuffy. i'm going to open that light." the "light" was a sort of wooden shutter, which took the place of an ordinary cabin window, and as soon as he had drawn it wide open the soft night air entered in a delicious puff. "hah! that's better," sighed vince. "come here and breathe, ladle, old chap. it's of no use to smother ourselves if we are miserable. i say, isn't it a beautiful night?" "who's going to think anything beautiful when one's like this? it's horrible!" "pst!" whispered vince, for the voice of the captain was plainly heard overhead, and the deep growl of old daygo in answer, the way in which the tones grew more subdued suggesting that the speakers had gone right forward. "i should like to pitch that old villain overboard," said mike, in a fierce whisper. "well, if you'd let me tie a rope round him first i'd help you, ladle; but i shouldn't like him to drown till he'd had time to get a little better." "better?" said mike: "he'll never grow any better." "well, never mind him," said vince. "now then, let's look the state of affairs in the face. you won't tell us what to do, so i must see what i can think of." "have you thought of anything?" cried mike eagerly. "if you shout like that, it won't be much good if i have," said vince, in an angry whisper. "i'm very sorry, vince," said mike humbly. "i'll be more careful." "we shan't get away if you're not." "get away? then you see a chance?" cried mike eagerly. "just the tiniest spark of one if you're ready to try." "i'll try anything," whispered mike. "wouldn't mind going into the seal hole again?" "vince, old chap, i'd do anything," said mike, seizing his fellow-prisoner's arm and holding him tightly. "what shall we do?" "i'm afraid it's going to be very risky, for we don't know anything about the rocks and currents, and we may be upset. now do you see?" "i see: you mean escaping in a boat," said mike eagerly; "but how?--what boat?" "don't take much thinking to know that," replied vince; "the only thing that puzzles me is how they could be so stupid as to leave a boat there swinging to a painter." "old joe's boat!" cried mike joyously; and vince clapped a hand over his mouth in anger, for just then they heard the voices of the captain and old daygo as they walked forward again; and as far as the prisoners could make out, the two men were walking up one side of the deck and down the other, talking earnestly, but what was said the boys could not catch. "yes, old joe's boat," said vince in a subdued voice; "but if you're going to shout we may as well go to bed and have a night's rest." "i really will mind, cinder--i will indeed," whispered mike. "i couldn't help that, old chap. but tell me, how are you going to manage it?" "there's only one way," replied vince, with his lips close to his fellow-prisoner's ear; "climb out of the window, and then over the bulwark to get down inside it where it's dark; then creep along till we can feel the painter." "then creep over the bulwark and drop down one after the other." "cut the painter," said vince. "and then we're free." there was a pause, during which mike got tight hold of vince's hand, and the latter felt that it was cold and wet from the boy's excitement. "i don't know so much about being free," whispered vince. "we should be away from this wretched old lugger; but where should we be going then? didn't i warn you about the rocks and currents?" "yes; but we should have old joe's boat, and we can manage that easily enough." "yes, if we're in the open sea, even if she's sinking, ladle; but shut-in here among the rocks i don't know how we should get along. but anything's better than sitting down and not having a try." "yes, anything," said mike, in a low, excited whisper. "yes, anything. we must try for the sake of those at home. i know my father is sure to say to me, `didn't you try to escape?'" "so will mine," said mike. "oh yes, we must have a good try. think we can climb up?" "i'm just going to try," said vince, kneeling down to take off his boots. "if you like to try you can. if not, you've got to go down on all fours under the window, so that i can step on your back and climb out." mike was silent for a few moments, and then he said softly,-- "i'll do which you like, cinder." "then i think i'll try first. if i can't manage it you can." "but stop a moment: suppose there's any one on deck?" "it will be very dark." "but there'll be lanthorns burning and a watch kept." "i feel sure there'll be no lights, because they might be seen from the cliffs; and as they know they're so safe here, i don't believe there'll be any watch kept." "i wish i'd got a head like yours, cinder." "do you? well, we can't change. that's it. my! how tight my boots were! it's getting them wet and letting them dry on one's feet.--pst! slip into your berth." their needs and experience were beginning to make them obey a sharp order without question; and as vince lowered down the shutter mike crawled into the lower bunk silently enough, while, almost without a sound, vince crept into the one above, stretched himself upon his back, and placed his hands together under his head. the reason for this sudden action was that he had seen a gleam of light play for a moment beneath the rough door; and they were hardly in their places when there was the sound of descending steps on the ladder, the shape of the door marked out plainly by the light all round. then came the rattling of a key in the padlock, which was drawn out of the staple, the door was flung open, and the hutch of a place was filled with the dull, soft light of a lanthorn, as a man stepped in. it was hard work to lie there with the lanthorn held close up to them, but the boys both stood the ordeal. mike was lying with his face close to the bulkhead, and of course with his back to their visitor and his features in the shade; but vince's was the harder task, for he had assumed his attitude as being the most sleep-like, and to give better effect to his piece of acting, he had opened his mouth, and went on breathing rather heavily, while the fact of his having his boots off, and one foot sticking out over the bunk side, helped materially over the bit of deception. "i wonder who it is," thought vince; and, as if in answer, a familiar voice said, in a low tone,-- "aha! _vous etes_ not too much frighten to go fast asleep?" vince did not need to open his eyes, for he could see mentally vividly enough the swarthy, brown, deeply-lined face, with the keen dark eyes, and the crafty look about the mouth, drawn into an unpleasant smile, while the big earrings seemed to glisten in the soft light. "you are fast asleep--_hein_?" said the man, rather sharply; but no one stirred, though vince could feel the perspiration standing in a fine dew upon his forehead and by the sides of his nose. "i came to see if you are good boys, and sall put out your light quite safe; for all ze powder is down underneas you, and you muss not blow yourselfs up and spoil my sheep. you hear, big, stupede boy?" vince gave vent to a low, gurgling sound, and made up his mind to babble a few words about the caverns; but his throat was dry, and his tongue refused to act. perhaps it was as well, for in doing so he might have overdone his part, which was perfect. then the light was withdrawn, the captain went out, and the door was carefully fastened, the light fading from round the door while something shook loudly as he ascended the ladder and dropped the trap down with a snap, which was followed by the crash of iron, as if another loop were passed on a staple. "hasn't dropped any sparks, has he, vince?" whispered mike, turning softly in his bunk. "can't see any," was the reply. "oh, i say, ladle, and i blew out our candle and saw them fly!" "but do you think it's true? is the powder here, or did he only say it to frighten us?" "i don't know," whispered vince. "there must be a powder magazine, for he has cannon on deck. but i didn't see any trap door: did you?" "yes--just as you put out the light. you knelt on it when you took off your boots." "oh dear!" sighed vince. "i'm all dripping wet. isn't this place horribly hot?" "hot? i feel as if my things were all soaked." "don't talk. we must lie still now, and wait. i don't think he'll come again." "i do," said mike. "he'll never be such a noodle as to believe we two will stop here without trying to escape." "i don't know," sighed vince. "i'm afraid we're quite safe?" "what, to escape?" "no--to stop in prison; for i expect we shan't be able to get on deck." "but we're going to try?" "yes," said vince through his closely set teeth; "we're going to try." chapter thirty. a bold dash for freedom. as the boys lay perfectly still in their bunks, gradually growing cooler, and feeling that even if they were over the part of the hold used as a powder magazine there was nothing to fear so long as there was no light near, they heard a step twice overhead, then all was perfectly still but the faint rippling of the swift current as it passed under the vessel and glided on across to the rocks. they whispered to each other from time to time; mike being impatient to begin their attempt, but vince always refusing till he felt satisfied that all was still. at last this feeling of satisfaction came, and, passing his legs out of his bunk, he dropped lightly on to the floor to begin feeling about, till his hand touched a rough hinge, and on the other side a ring which lay down in the woodwork of a trap door. but he did not say anything, only rose and pulled open the light again, keeping it in that position by passing the leather strap which formed its handle over a hook in the ceiling, a slit having been cut in the piece of leather. "now, ladle," whispered vince, "come and kneel here, then i can stand on your back." mike obeyed at once, and then whispered quickly,-- "vince, there is a trap door here: i'm right on it." "i know,--i touched it; but there's no candle. ready?" "yes." vince took hold of the opening frame, which was only just big enough for him to pass through, stepped lightly on to his companion as he stiffened himself on all fours, and then began to creep out. for a few moments he hesitated, for there was the black water beneath him, full of sparks, gliding rapidly along, so brightly that he felt that if any one were on deck looking over the bulwark he must be seen; but the thought of freedom and those at home nerved him, and as soon as he was in a sitting position, with his legs inside, he bent down and whispered to his companion, who had risen,-- "take tight hold of my legs till i give a jerk, which means let me loose." mike seized the legs firmly; and, thus secured, vince stretched out his arms and began to feel about overhead, to find that the top of the light was just below the projecting streak, which runs, iron-bound, round the most prominent part of a vessel, from stem to stern, to protect the side from injury when it glides up to wharf, pier, or pile. this stood out about a foot, and vince felt that if he could only climb on this, the rest would be easy. he passed his hands cautiously over it, and, reaching in, found to his great delight a ring-bolt, through which it was possible to pass two or three fingers. jerking his leg, he felt himself free, and rose up, getting first one foot and then the other on the sill of the opening. there was no difficulty in standing like this, and as he did so he felt mike's arms tightly embracing his legs, an act which hindered further progress if he had meant to climb higher. but he was satisfied with what he had done; after peering about a little, and listening for some minutes, he jerked one leg again, felt them freed, and began to descend. to an active boy, whose nerves were firm, this was easy enough; and directly after he stood in the little cabin, breathing hard, but able to find words, and whisper to his anxious fellow-prisoner. "it's as easy as easy," he said: "nothing to getting up a bit of stiff cliff;" and he then described what he had found, and how all seemed as still as could be. "couldn't you hear any watch on deck?" "not a sound of them. i believe every one's below; and i say, mike, we needn't get over on deck at all. there's plenty of room to take hold of the top of the bulwarks and walk along. all we've got to do is to mind the stays when we come to them, and step round carefully." "yes, i understand perfectly," said mike. "come on, and let's get it over." "wait till i've put on my boots. i shall want them." the boy knelt down and hurriedly drew them on, and laced them as well as he could in the dark; then raising himself on to the window-sill without assistance, he drew himself into his old position, and reaching up and over the streak, found the ring-bolt, which rattled faintly, and, passing his fingers through, stood up on the sill, and then drew himself on to the projecting woodwork. here he crouched for a few moments listening, before rising erect, with one hand upon the top of the bulwark, over which he looked; but all was dark, and there was not a sound to be heard save the faint rustling below him made by mike. this was the most nervous part of the business. a certain amount of tremor had troubled the lad as he climbed out, and the thought of having a slip did once bring the perspiration out upon his forehead; but the effort needed dulled the fear, and he soon stood where he was in safety. but to listen to a companion undergoing the same trial in the darkness was another thing; and vince felt ten times the dread as he listened and shivered to hear the ring-bolt seized and his companion slowly drawing himself upward so that he could stand. suppose he lost his nerve--suppose he slipped and tell with a splash into that black, spangled water--what could he do? poor mike would be swept away directly, and his only chance of life would be for him to swim steadily till he reached the rocks, and then try to find one to which he could cling, and draw himself up. but vince did better than think: he tightened his grasp of the bulwark rail by crooking his hand, and softly extended one leg over the streak. this had the effect he desired. the next moment it was struck by a hand feeling about. then the trouser was tugged at, and directly after the bottom was turned over and over, so as to form a good roll to grip. then, with this for a second hand-hold, mike was helped, and his climb on to the shelf-like projection became easier for the aid afforded, and he too rose to stand panting beside vince. they felt that everything depended upon their coolness, and hence they stood there, facing inward, holding on to the bulwark and listening. but all was still; and at last, satisfied that it was time to move, vince whispered "now," and began to edge himself along to the right-- that is, towards the forward part of the boat. mike started at the same moment, taking step for step, their hands touching at every movement. it was an easy enough task this, for there was plenty of hold and standing room--the only danger being that they might be heard by some one on the watch, while there was the chance that they had been heard and this was a new trap to re-catch them. but their hearts rose as they crept slowly and silently along in the silence, and then went down deeply into a sense of despair, for a thought suddenly struck vince which made him stop and place his lips close to his companion's ear, and whisper,-- "suppose, as joe is going to stop, they have hoisted the boat on deck?" mike replied promptly, and with a decision that was admirable under the circumstances,-- "don't make bugbears. go on and try." it was rude enough to have brought forth a sharp retort at any other time; but then vince felt its justice, and he went on again, and his hand touched the shrouds which held the mainmast in place, and a little care had to be exercised to pass round. but this was silently achieved by both; and vince was gliding his right-hand along the top of the bulwarks once more, when it was as if an electric shock had passed through him, for he had suddenly touched something unmistakably like a man's elbow. for a few moments he was ready to doubt this; but the doubt passed away directly, for from close to him a heavy, snoring breath was drawn, and as he gazed with starting eyes he made out dimly the head and shoulders of a man who was evidently the watch, but who conducted his watching by folding his arms upon the bulwarks, laying his head thereon, and going off fast asleep. vince felt that all was over unless they went back some little distance, climbed over and crossed the deck to the other side; and once more placing his lips to mike's ear, he told him of the obstacle in the way, and suggested this plan. then mike's lips were at his ear,-- "take too much time--may tumble over another--go on." the proposal almost took the boy's breath away, but he was strung up by his companion's firmness to do anything now, and, drawing a deep breath, he prepared to advance; but paused again, with his blood running cold, for there was an uneasy movement on the part of the watch and a low, growling muttering. silence once more; and then, nerving himself, vince advanced his left hand till it was close to the sleeping man's elbow, then, edging along a little, he reached out his right-hand till he could grasp the bulwark beyond the other elbow; but the position brought his face down close to the back of the sleeper's head, and he could feel the warmth emanating from it and the man's rising breath, while he trembled as he dreaded lest the man should feel his. then vince felt that he ought to step back and tell mike how to manage-- as he was acting; but, knowing that all this meant delay and that speed was everything, and might mean success instead of failure, he knew that he must trust to his comrade's own common sense. and now, with the feeling upon him that if the man awoke suddenly he would start and fall back into the sea, he tightened his hold of his right-hand, relaxed that of his left, edged along, and was safely past. naturally all these thoughts darted almost instantaneously through his mind, and a few moments only elapsed between mike's words and his being safe upon the other side; while now, as he stood thus, after leaving ample room for his companion, the strain upon his nerves seemed to be greater, for he had to try and see mike's movements, and listen in agony to the faint rustling sound he made. poor mike had a harder test of his courage than that which had fallen to vince's lot; for as by instinct he took the same means of getting by the obstacle as the former, and was standing with arms outstretched, the man made a sudden movement and growled out some tongue-blundered word, at the same time raising his head and striking mike's chin slightly, to make the boy's teeth go together with a sharp click. "it's all over," thought vince. but he was wrong: the man settled his head down again in a more satisfactory position, and uttered a low, grumbling sigh of resting weariness. then mike was alongside of his partner in the flight, and they edged themselves rapidly along to the foremast shrouds--so short a distance, but to them, with their nerves on the strain, so far. now came another heart-compressing question to vince. the boat, when joe daygo arrived, had been made fast a short distance in front of the foremast: was it there now? a strange hesitation came over the lad; he did not like to pass beyond the fore-chains to test this, for he felt that if it had been removed and hoisted on board the disappointment would be so keen as to be almost unbearable, for to let it down unheard would be impossible; but once more mastering himself he passed on, holding by the light shrouds which gave at his touch, and then began to run his hand once more along the bulwark to feel the line, which had been passed over and twisted to and fro over one of the belaying pins. no--no--no. _yes_! there it was, and as he grasped it the boat answered to his touch as it swung alongside and grazed softly against the copper sheathing. "got it?" was whispered. "yes;" and vince's hand went to his pocket for his knife, as his busy, overstrung brain asked why it was that they had not been searched and their knives taken away. but he did not withdraw the knife, for he found that it would be easy enough to cast the rope loose, and he turned to mike. "down with you!" he said. "no: you first." a noise as of a heavy blow. a savage yell, followed by a scuffling sound from where the sleeping man had been standing, and the boys stood holding on there, paralysed for the moment. "curse you if you hit me!" began a rough voice from out of the darkness; but the speech was cut short by a sharp clicking, and the familiar voice of the french captain arose, sharpened by rage and sounding fierce and tigerish in spite of the peculiarity of his broken english, mingled with words in his native tongue. "dog! _canaille! vite_ sleep-head fool! anozaire vord i blow out you brain and you are ovaire-board." the sleeper growled something, which was again cut short by the french skipper. "vat? how you know zat ze boy do not get on deck to take a boat and go tell of my store _cachette_? to-morrow you are flog by all ze crew, and zey sall sare all ze monnaies zat vould come to you." vince drew on the painter, and then pressed mike's shoulder for him to descend, while he began softly to cast off the rope. mike did his best to go down in silence, and vince his to cast off without making a sound; but the boat ground against the side, the belaying pin rattled, and there was a rush from where the captain stood. mike was in the boat as the last turn was cast off from the belaying pin; and then, without a moment's hesitation, vince leaped down, fortunately alighting beyond his companion upon one of the thwarts, and then falling forward upon his hands just as there was a flash of light and a loud report. the thrust given by mike and the impetus of vince's leap sent the boat out to where it was caught by the current; but, instead of its bearing them away from the lugger, it seemed to keep them back for a few moments, but only for the bows to be seized by an eddy just as there was another flash, report, and simultaneously a dull thud, as of something being hit. then the shouting of orders, the appearance of a light, and the hurrying of feet was more distant, as if the lugger had suddenly been snatched away; but the two lads knew that they were in one of the terrible rushing currents, and were being borne along at a tremendous rate. where? in what direction? they could not tell, for the tide had turned. chapter thirty one. the perils of the scraw. in the hurry and confusion the boys crouched in the bottom of the boat for some minutes, gazing at the lugger, and seeing lanthorn after lanthorn dancing about. then one descended like a glowworm apparently on to the surface of the water, and they knew that a boat had been lowered and that there would be pursuit. and all the time they felt that without effort on their part they were being borne rapidly along as fast as any one could chase them; but they were in a boat familiar to them, and furnished with oars and sails if they could only reach the open water. then a despondent feeling came over them as they realised that they were surrounded by towering rocks, and as they crouched lower they fully expected from moment to moment to hear a grinding sound, and feel a sharp check as a plank was ripped out by some sharp granite fang, and then hear once more the rippling of the water as it rushed into the boat. and this in the darkness; for the bright stars above and the phosphorescent atoms with which the black waters were dotted did not relieve the deep gloom produced by the overhanging cliffs. "hurt, vince?" whispered mike at last. "yes, ever so." "oh! want a handkerchief to bind it up?" cried mike, in horror. "well, it does bleed--feels wet--but it don't matter much." "but it does," said mike excitedly. "where did it hit you?" "on the shin; but it didn't hit me--i hit it." "what! the bullet?" "go along! don't joke now. i came down against an oar. oh, i see: you thought he hit me when he fired." "of course." "pooh! he couldn't aim straight in the dark. i'm all right. but i say: there's water in the boat. not much, but i can hear it gurgling in. why, mike," he cried excitedly, after a few moments' search, "here's a little round hole close down by the keel. there, i've stopped it up with a finger; it's where his bullet must have gone through. got your handkerchief?" "yes." "tear off a piece, to make a plug about twice as big as a physic-bottle cork." there was the sound of tearing, and then mike handed the piece of cotton, which was carefully thrust into the clean, round hole, effectually plugging it; after which vince proposed that they should each take an oar. "can't row," said mike shortly. "no, but we may want to fend her off from a rock. hullo! where are the lanthorns now? i can't see either the lugger or the boat." mike looked back, but nothing was visible. "we've come round some rock," said vince. "we shall see them again directly." but the minutes glided on, and they saw no light--all was black around as ever, but the loud, hissing gurgle of the water told that they were being borne along by some furious current; and at last came that which they had been expecting--a heavy bump, as the prow struck against a rock-face so heavily that they were both jerked forward on to their hands, while the boat was jarred from stem to stern. they listened with a feeling of expectant awe for the noise of water rushing in; but none came, and a little feeling about was sufficient test to prove that there was no more than had come in through the bullet hole. but while they were waiting there came another heavy blow, and their state of helplessness added to their misery. "oh, if it was only light!" groaned mike. "yes, we could use the oars or hook to fend her off." bump went the boat again, and they caught at the side to save themselves, conscious now, in the thick darkness, that they were being whirled round and round in some great whirlpool-like eddy, which dealt with the boat as if it were a cork. "don't seem as if we can do anything," said vince at last, as the boat swept along, with the water lapping and gurgling about them just as if it were full of hungry tongues anticipating the feast to come as soon as they were sucked down. "no," said mike, "it doesn't seem as if we can do anything." "'cept one thing, mike," said vince in a low deep tone, which did not sound like his own voice. "what?" "say our prayers--for the last time." and in the midst of that intense darkness, black as ebony on either side, while above and below there were still the bright glittering and softened streaks of light, there was an interval of solemn silence. vince was the first to break that silence, and there was something quite cheerful in his tones now as he said,-- "shake hands, mikey: i'm sorry you and i haven't always been good friends. i have often been a regular beast to you." mike grasped the extended hands in a firm grip with both of his, as he said, in a choking voice,-- "not half so bad as i've been to you, cinder. i've got such a hasty temper sometimes." "get out!" cried vince sharply. "there, i'm better now. i'm afraid we're going to be drowned, ladle, but i feel as if we ought to be doing something to try and save ourselves. it's being so cowardly to sit still here. they wouldn't like it at home." "but what can we do? i'm ready." "so am i; but it's so dark. i say, though, we must be going round and round in a sort of hole." "then we shall be drawn right down somewhere into the earth." "not that! i tell you what, it's like one of those great pot-holes in the big passage, only a hundred times as big; and the water's sweeping the boulders round, and grinding it out and carrying us along with it. look here, we shall be kept on going round and round here, if we don't get smashed, till daylight; and then old jarks'll come and find us, and we shall be worse off than ever. i say, though, don't you think we could do something with the boat-hook?" "what?" "wait till we bump against the rocks again, and then try and hold on." "if you did the water would come over the stern." "i don't know. well, look here: i'll try. if it does i'll let go directly." taking hold of the boat-hook vince knelt down right forward, thrust the iron-armed pole over the bows, and holding it like a lance in rest he waited, but not for long. very soon after the iron point touched against stone, and he was thrown backward, nearly losing the pole, while the boat was sent surging along on one side for a few moments, bumped on the other side, then back again as if she were being sent from side to side, and directly after the keel came upon a rock which seemed to slope up like a great boulder standing in their way. there for a brief moment or two it was balanced, and made a plunge forward like a dive, the water came with a rush over the bows, and surged back to where mike was kneeling, and then they were rushing onward again more swiftly than ever. for a few moments the pair were too breathless to speak, but vince recovered from the confusion caused by the shock and the rapidly following exciting incidents, and he shouted aloud,-- "bale, mike, bale! it's all right: we're out of that whirlpool, and we're going along again." "you've got the baler forward," said mike huskily. "eh? so i have in the locker here. i say, how deep do you make the water? there's hardly any here." "only a few inches." "then we're all right yet; but we may as well have that out." he felt for the locker, and drew out the old tin pot, crept aft to where his companion knelt, and, after lifting the board which covered in the keel depression, he began to toss out the water rapidly, and soon lowered it so that the pot began to scrape on the bottom, while mike listened with a feeling of envy attacking him, for he felt that it must be a relief to be doing something instead of kneeling there listening and wondering whether the pursuing boat was anywhere near. "there!" said vince at last, in a triumphant tone; "that's different to baling when you feel that the water is coming in as fast as you throw it out. i haven't got it all, but as much as i can without making a noise." he replaced the bottom board and then returned the pot to the locker, and mike moved a little forward now to meet him half-way. "think we're going as fast now as ever?" whispered mike. "eh? i don't know. i was too busy to think about it. no, not quite, and--i say, are we going right?" "right?" "well, i mean as we were. we seemed to be going south, as far as i could make out by the stars; and now we're going north." "nonsense! impossible!" "look, then! i'm sure we had our backs to the pole star, and that meant going south, and out to sea; but now we've got our faces due north." "yes," said mike, after a few moments' pause; "that's right: we're going north." "well, that isn't out to sea." "no," replied mike thoughtfully. "and running along at such a rate as we are, we ought to have been ever so far away by this time, instead of rushing along here deep down among the rocks, as if we were in a narrow channel. i can't make it out: can you?" mike remained thoughtful and silent again for a time, and then said wearily,-- "no; i can't understand it. it gives me the headache to think; and being whirled along like this is so confusing. my thoughts go rushing along like the water." "don't talk so loud, mike," said vince, after a pause, "or we shall be heard. but we must have left them a long way behind, or else they've covered over their lanthorn so as to come upon us by surprise." "think they are near us, then?" "must be, because the tide would carry them along as fast as it does us; and they have the advantage of knowing the way. oh! i do wish we could get out in the open sea; and then, once we were clear of the rocks, we'd show them what the boat could do. it would puzzle them to--" he was going to say "catch us then," but he stopped short, gazing upward, out of the black chasm in which they were, at the stars. "what is it? see the light?" whispered mike. "no: i was trying to make out our course. the passage has wound off to the right, and we're going east." "of course it would zigzag and turn about," said mike wearily; "but we're in deeper water here, for we don't seem to go near any small rocks." "no; but we're going by plenty of big ones on the left. the current runs close to them, i'm sure, though it's ever so much wider now. i believe i could almost have touched either side with the boat-hook a bit ago; now i can only touch one side." "it's more ripply, too, now, isn't it?" "ever so much: seems to boil up all about us, and you can't see the bright specks sailing about so fast. the top of the water was as smooth as glass when we were in the great lugger." "that's a sign we are near the sea, then," said mike, with more confidence in his tones. "yes, and i don't like it," said vince thoughtfully. "why?" "because i've been thinking that there must be another way out; and knowing all about it, as they do, they'll be waiting at the mouth of this horrible zigzag place along which we're dodging all this time, and catch us after all." "oh, cinder!" cried mike passionately, "don't say that: it would be too hard. it may be too dark for them to see us if we lie close and don't make a sound. and look," he said joyfully: "we really are close to the sea now, for we're going due south." "due south it is," assented vince, as if he were standing at a wheel steering. "yes, i suppose you're right, for i can hear the sound of surf. listen." "yes, i can hear," replied mike; "but it sounds smothered-like." "rocks between us, perhaps. now then: only whispers, mind!--close to the ear. don't let's lose our chance of getting away by telling them where we are. i say!" "yes." "if there was a boat anywhere near us, could you see it?" mike turned his eyes to right and left before answering: "sure i couldn't on that side, and i don't think i could on this." "that's what i felt, and if we're lucky we'll escape them after all. now then, silence, and let's get the oars across and each take his place on the thwarts, ready to row hard if we are seen." each from long practice felt for the thole-pins and placed them in their proper holes; then, softly taking up their oars, they laid them right across the boat, with handle standing out on one side, blade on the other, and waited in silence, with the boat gliding on. at the end of about a quarter of an hour, during which minute by minute they had expected to be swept out into open water where the great atlantic tide was rolling along by the solitary island, mike whispered,-- "i say, the boat has turned quite round more than once. doesn't that account for the stars seeming different?" "no, because we can tell we are sometimes going forward and sometimes back." "but look! we're going north now." "yes, i know we are," said vince; "and i'm beginning to know how it is." "well, tell me. it's so horrible to be puzzled like this." vince was silent. "why don't you speak?" "because i was thinking. ladle, old chap, we've gone through too much, what with the seals' cave, and being caught and then put down in that stifling hole over the gunpowder. we're both off our heads--in a sort of fever." "i'm not," said mike shortly. "you are, or else you wouldn't talk such stuff." "i talk such stuff, as you call it, because my father's a doctor, and i've heard him tell my mother about what queer fancies people have when their heads are wrong." "two people couldn't be queer in the same way and with the same things. what's the good of talking like that?" "very well: you tell me how it is. i can't understand it, and the more i try the more puzzled i am. it's horrible, that's what it is, and i feel sometimes as if we had been carried away by the tide to nowhere, or the place where the tides come and go in the hollows of the earth." "we shall be out at sea directly, and then we shall be all right." "no, we shan't be out at sea directly, and we shan't be all right; for we've got into some horrible great whirlpool." "what!" cried mike excitedly. "a whirlpool?" "yes, that's it; and we're going round and round, and that's why it is that we are sometimes looking south and sometimes north." "but you don't think--if it is as you say--that at last we shall be sucked down some awful pit in the middle?" "i don't know," said vince. "i can't think properly now. i feel just as if my head was all shut up, and that nothing would come out of it. i say, mike!" there was no reply, for mike was gazing wildly up at the stars, trying to convince himself of the truth or falsity of his companion's words; but he only crouched lower at last, with a feeling of despair creeping over him, and then he turned angrily, as vince began to speak again, in a low, dreamy voice. "that's it," he said: "we are going round and round. i wish we'd had some more of old jarks' dinner, and then gone to sleep quietly in our bunks. we couldn't have been so badly off as we are now." "then why did you propose for us to escape?" "because i thought we ought to try," said vince sharply, as he suddenly changed his tone. "there, it's of no use to talk, mike. we're in for it, and i'm not going to give up like a coward. i don't know where we are, and you don't; but we're in one of those whirls that go round and round when the tide's running up or down, and we can't be any worse off than we are now, for there are no rocks, seemingly." "but the middle--the hole." "they don't have any hole. why, you know, old joe sailed us right across one out yonder by the grosse chaine, and we went into the little one off shag rock. it's one like that we're in, and i daresay if it was daylight we could see how to get out of it by a few tugs at the oars, same as we got out of that one when we went round and round before. oh, we shall be all right." mike did not speak, for the words seemed to give him no comfort. "do you hear, ladle?" continued vince. "if we had been likely to upset, it would have been all over with us long ago; but we go on sailing round as steadily as can be, and i feel sure that we shall get out all right. what do you say to lying down and having a nap?" "lie down? here? go to sleep?" cried mike in horror. "i couldn't." "i could," said vince. "i'm so tired that i don't think i could keep awake, even if i knew old jarks was likely to come and threaten me with a pistol. but, i say, ladle, that wretch shot at us twice. why, he might have hit one of us. won't he have to be punished when we get away and tell all about him?" "yes, i suppose so--if ever we do get away," said mike sadly. then they relapsed into silence, both watching the stars to convince themselves that they were going round and round, making the circuit of some wide place surrounded by the towering rocks, which made the sea look so intensely black. at last, thoroughly convinced, the strain of thinking became too great, the motion of the boat and the constant gliding along in that horrible monotonous whirl began to affect mike as it had affected vince, and, in spite of his energetic struggles to rouse himself from it, was now attacking him more strongly than ever. they were surrounded by dangers, the least of which was that of the pursuing boat with the exasperated captain; for so surely as the boat grazed upon a rock just below the surface she would capsize. but all this was as nothing to the mentally and bodily exhausted lads. nature was all-powerful, and by degrees the head of first one then of the other drooped, and sleep, deep and sudden, fell upon them. but the sleep was not then profound. the mind still acted like the flickering of a candle in its socket, and urged them to start up wakeful and determined once more. and this happened again and again, the sufferers telling themselves that it would be madness to go to sleep. but, madness or no, nature said they must; and almost simultaneously, after seating themselves in the bottom of the boat, so as to prop themselves in the corners between the thwart and side, they glided lower and lower, and at last lay prone in the most profound of slumber, totally unconscious of everything but the great need which would renew with fresh vigour their exhausted frames. chapter thirty two. a strange awakening. the grey gulls were wheeling round and round, dipping down from time to time to pick up some scrap of floating food or tiny fish from out of a shoal; the cormorants and shags were swimming here and there, and diving down swift as the fish themselves, in chase of victim after victim for their ravenous maws, and the fish, crowded together, were playing about the surface, and leaping out at times like bars of silver, to fall back again with a splash, while the sun made the water sparkle as it rippled and played and foamed among the rocks. it was a glorious morning; and the heather, gorse and purple-hued lavender blossomed, sea-pinks glistened and flashed, as the sun played and sent off rays of dazzling iridescent hues from the evanescent gems with which the night mists had bedewed them. everywhere all was life and light, save where a boat went gliding along upon a swift current stem first, stern first, or broadside on, as the various curves and jutting rocks at the foot of the huge cliffs affected the hurrying waters and made them react upon the boat. all at once there was a desperate quarrel and screaming for as a diver rose from its plunge, and was flying towards one of the cliff shelves to enjoy its morning meal in the shape of a large, newly caught fish, it was attacked by a huge pirate of a black-backed gull, which pounced down upon it with open beak, secured the fish, and as it flew off was followed and mobbed by a score of other birds, when such a wild clamour of sharp metallic screams arose, that it startled one of the occupants of the boat, making him spring up, rub his eyes, stare, and then bend down to rouse his companion. "here! hi! mike! ladle! wake up!" the other obeyed, sprang to his feet, and stared wildly at his companion, with that dull, heavy, dreamy look in the eyes, which tells that though the muscular energy of the body may be awake, the mind is still fast plunged in sleep. then both rubbed their eyes, and vince did more: he knelt down, leaned over the side of the boat, and plunging both hands in, scooped up the cool sparkling water, and bathed face and temples till his brain grew clearer, and he stood up again, dabbing his face with his handkerchief. "do as i do. do you hear, mike? i say, you're asleep!" "sleep?" said mike, looking at him vacantly. "yes, asleep. rouse up and look! it's wonderful! here, if you won't, i must. kneel down." he pressed upon the boy's shoulders; and mike, without making the slightest resistance, knelt in the bottom of the boat. he yielded too as vince pressed a hand upon the back of his head, and then splashed some water in his face. the effect was electrical. the next minute mike was bathing his brows, throwing up the water with both hands; and as he felt the refreshing coolness send an invigorating and calming thrill through every nerve, he rose up and stood drying himself and gazing round, wondering whether he was yet awake, or this was part of some strange, wild dream. vince did not speak, but stood there watching him, while the boat glided on, as it had all through the night, with unerring regularity; and there before them was the great watery oval they had gone on traversing, dotted with sea-birds, while now, instead of the mighty cliffs around, looking black, overhanging and forbidding, they were beautiful in the extreme, both in the morning light and their deep empurpled shades. mike looked and looked up at the highest cliffs on his left, over the rapidly gliding water to his right, where the great ridge was dotted with sea-birds, and away to fore and aft, where the lofty overhanging rocks were repeated. "i say," cried mike at last, "am i awake?" "if you're not, i'm fast asleep," said vince. "but how did we get here?" "i don't know. through some narrow passage, i suppose; and then, as soon as we got in, we must have been going on round and round, and round and round, thinking that we were getting out to sea. i say, no wonder it seemed so far!" "then it is true," said mike excitedly. "i don't know that cave, though." "no, we never saw that before," said vince, as they were swept by a low archway, and then onward by a broad opening, which, seen from their fresh point of view, looked beautiful but strange. "is that--" began mike, in a dubious, hesitating way. "yes, of course. look: we don't know it from out here, but there's the seal hole and our fishing place, where we caught the crab. it's all shadowy inside, or we could see our kitchen and fishing tackle." "no, no; it can't be," said mike despairingly: "if it was, we should come directly upon the smugglers' place." "yes, you'll see: we shall be carried by directly." "but there'll be some one there. here, quick: let's row away,"--and mike seized an oar. "you can't row against a current like this," said vince quietly; "and if anybody had been in there they would have been awake and seen us long before this." "then i don't believe this is the cove, and that can't be our cavern," cried mike sharply. "very well; but you soon will. now look: here we go. i say, how smooth the walls of rock are worn by the water!--that accounts for our never having been upset in the night. we shall see the big cave directly. shall we try and land?" "yes; no; i don't know what will be best to do. yes; but let's make sure first." "and land when we come round again?" said vince. "yes, if you like. i don't know what to say." "seems best way," said vince thoughtfully. "and yet i don't know. we might hide, for they've blocked up the passage; but they'd hunt us out, as we couldn't keep hidden very long. and they'd know we were there, because they'd find the boat." "perhaps they'd think we were drowned," said mike; and then, excitedly, "why, it is the big cavern, cinder!" "yes, it's the big cavern, sure enough; and if it wasn't so dark inside we could see the stack of kegs." there was no room for further doubt, as they glided by the mouth of the great opening, with its wonderful beach of soft sand, and directly after began to recognise the piled-up masses of rock. as they went on, they saw the outlying masses round which the waters foamed and bubbled, but became quite bewildered as they tried to make out which was the outlet by which the smuggler crew had taken them and the captain through on the previous day. they passed narrow rifts, but the water always seemed to be flowing swiftly into the great basin in which they were and joining the seething waters in their continuous round. vince pointed to this and then to that gap between the rocks, as the one through which they must have come overnight, but he could never be in the least sure; and as they went on, he had to content himself with looking up at the ridge which faced the caverns, and beyond which they believed the sea to be. everywhere at the foot of the cliffs the water was deep, and so clear that they could see the rocks at the bottom, smooth, and treacherous-looking, apparently rising up to capsize the boat; but they glided over all in safety, the great basin being worn smooth by the constant friction of the currents, and at last began to approach the end opposite to where they had been deftly taken out by the men. here they looked eagerly for another way of getting out--the rift through which the waters must pass back into the sea--but, if it existed, it was shut from their sight by the heaped-up rocks, and the current carried them on and on with unchecked speed. "no wonder i thought we were a long while getting out to sea!" said vince at last: "we can't have gone near the big channel through which the lugger must come and go." "never mind that," said mike impatiently; "there must be another way out from this basin. we saw signs of it from up above, when you sat up there and i held the rope." "yes," said vince gloomily; "but sitting up there's one thing, and sitting down here's another. think we shall find another way out this end? must, mustn't we?" mike nodded as he stood up and searched the rocks for the opening that was hidden from their eyes, from the fact that it was behind one of the barriers of rock and far below the surface current which swept them along. as far as they could judge, they were going on for half an hour, making the complete circuit of the great watery amphitheatre; and then, as they passed the caverns again, they determined to examine the other end more carefully, for the exit used by the smugglers, which must, they knew, be ample and easy if they could master the knack of getting the boat in. for they had some hazy notion of learning how it was done and then hiding till night, when they might manage perhaps to pass out unseen. "but if we did," said mike despondently, "we should perhaps be swept in here again, or be upset and drowned. i say, cinder, did you ever see such an unlucky pair as we are?" "never looked," said vince; "but i tell you what: we shall have to land in the big cave, and get through to ours." "what for?" "breakfast. there's all our food, if they haven't found it." "could you eat now?" said mike, with a look of horror. "eat? i could almost eat you," replied vince. "ugh!" said mike, with a shudder. "i feel so faint and sick and sinking inside, i couldn't touch anything." "shouldn't like to trust you," said vince, whom the bright sunshine and the beauty of the place were influencing in his spirits. "but now, then, let's have a good look this time." they were going round swiftly enough, and noted the entrance to the first low, arched cavern, which was some forty or fifty yards to the westward of the seal hole; then they glided by the others in turn, and tried hard to make out how the men had managed to thrust the big boat through the running waters beyond that great beach and into the eddy which bore them in the other direction. "do you see?" asked mike. "no, not yet; but perhaps i shall when we come round again. but, i say, we can't keep on sailing round like this. we must land." "but jacques and his men, they won't be gone till to-night. you heard what was said by old joe?" "don't mention his name," cried vince passionately. "i should like to see the old wretch flogged." "i should like to do it," said mike grimly. "they'll come back and find us here, for certain, if we don't hide," said vince; "but i don't know that i shall much mind now, for i'm afraid we shan't get away." they glided round again, and in passing the spot where they believed the exit to be, vince fancied he detected an eddy among some rocks, but he could not be sure; and at last they were once more approaching the cavern, with its low arch, when vince, who was watching the far end and trying to fit together the means for getting away, suddenly snatched up the boat-hook, thrust it out, and, leaning over the stern, caught hold of a projecting rock, some two feet above the water. then hauling hard, hand over hand along the ash pole, he checked the progress of the boat and drew it close in. next, quick as lightning, he made another dash with the hook and caught at another projection, missed, and, as the boat was gliding back again, made another--a frantic--dash, and caught the hook in a rift, while mike thrust out an oar against a rock to help. this time he drew the boat right up to the mouth of the new cavern, and whispered sharply to his companion: "now--quick! help me run her in. mind! duck down!" mike obeyed, and the boat glided in under the low arch, which just cleared their heads as they sat in the bottom of the boat, and passed on out of the bright sunshine into the chill darkness of the cave. "think they saw us?" whispered vince. "they? saw us?" "didn't you see them coming through among the rocks quite quickly?" "no: did you?" "just the tops of their caps: they were behind one of those low rocks where the water rushes round." "are you sure, vince?" "sure?--yes. ah, mind! that oar!" cried the boy. he crept past mike, after seizing the boat-hook, and, reaching over the stern, made a dash at the oar his companion had been using to thrust with against the rocks, and which had been laid-down when they passed right in, so that mike could use his hands. how it had slipped over the gunwale neither could have said; but when vince caught sight of it, the oar was floating just in the entrance, and the sharp dash he made at it resulted in the hook striking the blade so awkwardly that he drove it farther out, where it was caught by the current and drawn swiftly away. "gone!" said mike despairingly. "gone! yes, of course it's gone; and now they'll find out where we are." "no, they're not obliged to," said mike; "that oar may have been washed from anywhere, and they haven't found it yet." "oh no," said vince bitterly--"not yet; but you'll see." mike made no reply, but helped, without a word of objection, to thrust the boat farther in along the passage, which greatly resembled the seal hole, as they called it, but was nearly double the width, and afforded plenty of room for the boat. as soon as they felt that they were far enough in to be hidden by the darkness, they sat watching the entrance, through which the bright morning light poured, and listened intently for some sound to indicate that the smugglers' boat was near. but an hour must have passed, and vince was fidgeting at something which took his attention, when mike suddenly whispered,-- "i say, do you notice anything strange about the way in yonder?" vince was silent. "why don't you speak?" said mike sharply. "you have seen it. why didn't you speak before?" "felt as if i couldn't," said vince hoarsely. "then it is so," said mike. "the tide is rising, and the hole's getting smaller. come on: we must get out at once." "too late," replied vince gloomily. "the water's too high now. if we tried we should be wedged in." "but--oh! we must try, vince, or we shall be drowned! why didn't you speak before?" "i wasn't sure till it began to run up so quickly; and what could we do? if we had gone out we should have been seen directly. perhaps it won't rise any higher now. it never covered the seal cave." "that was twice as high," groaned mike. "look at the limpets and mussels on the roof: this must be shut right in at every tide." chapter thirty three. re-trapped. misfortunes, they say, never come singly, and these words had hardly been uttered when voices were heard, and directly after a familiar voice said loudly, the words coming in through the low passage and quite plainly to the boys' ears,-- "made the oar myself, skipper jarks, and i ought to know it again. what i say is as they must ha' managed somehow to ha' got in here." the boat darkened the entrance for a few moments, and then glided by; while the cavern kept closing like some monstrous eye whose lid was pressed up from below, opening again fairly widely, enough almost to suggest the possibility of their passing under; but closing again as the tide rose and sank in slow, regular pulsations. but as they watched they could make out that the soft wave rose higher and higher and sank perceptibly less, while the prisoners' eyesight became so preternaturally sharp that they could detect the gradual opening of the sea anemones, as they spread out their starry crowns of tentacles after the first kiss of the water had moistened them. the many limpets, too, which had been tight up against the smooth rock, like bosses or excrescences, were visibly raising their shells and standing up, partly detached. then a new horror attracted the boys, and made them almost frantic for the moment; for, as they crouched there in the bottom of the boat, watching the slowly diminishing amount of light which came in through the archway, the water softly and quickly, welled up, nearly shut the entry, and a wave ran up the passage and passed under the boat, which was heaved up so high that the gunwale grated against the roof, and they had to bend themselves down to avoid being pressed against the rock. then, as they lay there, they heard the wave run on and on, whispering and waking up the echoes far inside, till the whole of the interior seemed to be alive with lapping, hissing sounds, which slowly died away as the boat sank to nearly its old level, and the light flashed in once more. "that's a hint to do something," said vince, as he rose up, finding that his head nearly touched the shell-encrusted roof. "yes; to force our way out," said mike excitedly. "we must before it's too late." "it is too late, as i told you before," said vince sharply. "look for yourself. can't you see that the arch is too small for the sides of the boat to get through? and at any moment another of those waves may come in. it's all right, ladle, if you'll only be firm." "i'll be as firm as you are," said the boy angrily. "then help me push her along." mike pressed his hands against the roof, vince did the same; and they both thrust hard, but in spite of all the boat did not stir. "why, you're pushing to send it in," said mike. "and you to drive it out! what nonsense! this place is sure to get bigger inside, where the water has washed it out. we must get right in, beyond where the water rises." mike shuddered; for the silence and darkness of the place would, he felt, be horrible, and all the time he knew that the water would be gradually chasing them, like some terribly fierce creature, bent on suffocating them in its awful embrace. vince's was the stronger will; and his companion yielded, changing his tactics, and forcing the boat along for some distance before there was any change in the roof, which crushed down upon them as low as ever, and mike began once more to protest. "it's of no use," he said: "we may as well be smothered where we can see as here, where it is so dark. let's go back as far as we can." "no; i'm sure this place will open out more if we go farther in." at that moment there was a loud, plashing noise far inward, and this raised such loud reverberations that mike was fain to confess that the roof must be far higher. vince took advantage of this to urge his companion on; and a minute later they could not touch the rock above them with their hands, while a little farther on it could not be reached with an oar. "yes, it's bigger," granted mike; "but we shall be suffocated all the same. there can't be enough air to last us till the tide goes down." "we shall see," said vince; and then, quite cheerily: "i say, this is better than wading, the same as we did in the seal hole." "yes, but there are seals here. i heard them." "yes, so did i, but what of that? we mustn't interfere with them, and they won't with us. besides, we're in a boat now, recollect." mike recollected it well enough, but it did not comfort him much; however, he kept his thoughts to himself, and proposed that they should keep as near the light as they could. "better keep where the roof's highest," suggested vince. "we shall be able to breathe more freely then." after that they were both very silent, for they suffered horribly from the dread that as soon as the entrance was entirely closed up by the tide, they would be rapidly exhausting all the pure breathable air shut-in; and so deeply did this impress them, that before long a peculiar sensation of compression at the chest assailed them both, with the result that they began to breathe more hurriedly, and to feel as if they had been running uphill, till, as it is called, they were out of breath. neither spoke, but suffered in silence, their brains busy with calculations of how long it would be before it was high water, and then how long it would take before the tide sank low enough for the mouth of the cave to be open once more. vince probably suffered the more keenly after the light was shut out entirely; but his sufferings were the briefer, for just when his breath was shortest, and he was feeling that he must breathe more rapidly if he wished to keep alive, he heard a loud plashing and wallowing some distance farther in. that it was a party of seals playing about he was certain, and in imagination he saw them crawling up on to some piece of rock by means of their flappers and plunging down again. once he heard a pair of them swimming in chase one of the other, blowing and uttering loud, sighing noises as they came near, and then appeared to turn and swim back, to climb up on the rock again, with the effect of dislodging others, which sprang heavily into the water, sending little waves along big enough to make the boat rock perceptibly. this was just when vince felt at his worst, and mike was lying back in the boat breathing hard and in the most hurried way. it was singular that just then the recollection of a story he had once read in a work belonging to his father came to vince's mind. true or false, it had been recorded that some french surgeons had been discussing the effect of the imagination upon the human mind, and to test for themselves whether its effects could be so strong as some writers and experimentalists had declared, they obtained permission to apply a test to a condemned convict. their test was as follows: it had been announced to the man that he was to die, and that his execution was to be the merciful one of being bled to death. so at the appointed time the culprit was bound and blindfolded in the presence of the surgeons, who then proceeded to lance his arm and allowed a tiny jet of warm water to trickle over the place and down to the wrist. it is said that, though the man had not lost a drop of blood, he began, as soon as he had felt the lancet prick and the trickling of the warm water, to grow faint, and after a time sank and sank, till he actually died from imagination. "and that's what we're doing," thought vince, as he drew slowly a long, deep breath, and then another and another. the first was very catchy and strange, the second caused him acute suffering, and the third was deep, strong, and life-inspiring. "that's it," said vince to himself--"it is imagination; for if the seals, which are things that have to come up to the surface to breathe, can live in here, why can't i?" vince again took a deep breath, and another, and another, and so great a feeling of vigour ran through him that he laughed aloud, and mike started up. "what is it?" he said. "listen," cried vince; and he loudly drew breath, and expressed it as loudly, then, "do that," he cried. "i--i can hardly get mine. this place is stifling." "try," said vince. "that's right. again! better. now take a long pull. how are you now?" "oh, better--better," said mike eagerly. "breathe again." "yes, yes; i am breathing better and better. then the air is coming now?" "yes," said vince drily; "the air is coming fast, and the light can't be very long. there--it's all right, ladle; we shan't hurt now. but i don't know how we're going to manage when the tide falls, for we shan't dare to go out." "no," said mike, whose spirits sank again at these words, "we shan't dare to go out. do you know, i wish, as you did, that we had stopped on board." "and not taken all this trouble for nothing. how long should you say it would be before the light comes again?" "hours," said mike; "but i don't mind it so much now that we can breathe better." "no; it is better," said vince drily. "i say, i wonder what they are doing at home?" vince wished the next moment that he had not said those words, for they had the effect of sinking his companion into a terrible state of depression, while, in spite of his efforts, he was himself nearly as bad. but then it was before breakfast, and they had hardly touched a mouthful since the morning before. at last, after what seemed to be a full day in length of time, there was afar off a faint soft gleam of light on the surface of the water--a ray which sent a flood into the hearts of the watchers--and from that moment the light began to grow broader and higher, while they suddenly woke to the fact that the boat was moving gently towards the entrance of the cavern, drawn by the falling tide. after a while there was a tiny archway; then this began to increase as the water sank and rose, but always rose less and less, leaving the sea anemones and the various shell-fish dotted with drops which gathered together, glittering and trembling in the light, and then fell with a musical drip upon the smooth surface. the little arch increased rapidly after a time, and still the boat drew nearer to the entrance, neither of the boys having the heart to check its progress after their long imprisonment, for the outer world never looked so bright and glorious before. but they had to pay for their pleasure. as the level sank till there was ample room to thrust the boat out, and they were thinking that to be safe they ought to withdraw a little and wait until they could feel sure that the lugger and her crew were gone--a departure they felt must be some time that evening, when the tide was at a certain stage well known to old joe--the entrance was suddenly darkened once more by a boat, whose bows came with the stream from the right, and were cleverly directed in, while her occupants began to thrust her along by pressing against the sides, and a couple of lanthorns were held up. "aha!" cried the voice the boys had grown to hate, "so ve have found a pair of ze seal sitting in a boat vich zey steal avay. you are right, joseph, _mon bon ami_. your boat sall not have gone out of ze pool, and you sall have him back. aha! stop you bose, or i fire, and zis time i vill not miss." "in, in farther, vince," whispered mike wildly. "no: they've seen us, and they could follow us in their boat. it's of no use, mike; we must give up this time." "you hear me?" roared the captain fiercely. "i see quite plain vere you sall be. _venez_. come out." "come and fetch us," said vince shortly. "you have your men." the captain gave his orders, the boat was thrust on, and as its bow approached the boys saw the black silhouette of their old companion in many a fishing trip seated on the forward thwart. this was too much for vince, who began upon him at once, with bitter irony in his words and tone. "you there, joe!" he cried. "good morning. don't you feel very proud of this?" "dunno 'bout proud, young gen'leman; but i'm precious glad to get my boat back." "your boat back!" cried vince, as one of the smuggler crew made fast a rope to the ring-bolt in their stern. "aye. didn't know as young gen'lemen took to stealing boats altogether." "you dare to say we stole the boat, and i'll--" "well, you took it right away, anyhow. that comes o' beginning with borrying and not asking leave." "better than taking to kidnapping people." old joe growled out something, and shuffled himself about in his seat while the boat was drawn out into the sunshine once more, and drifted behind the other rapidly along till she reached the smugglers' cavern. "give zem some biscuit and some vater," said the captain. "you, joseph, take your boat and go on. _allez_!" the old fisherman looked at him rather uneasily, then at the boys, and back at the captain. "you hear vat i sall say?" cried the latter fiercely. he made a menacing gesture; and the boys took each a deep draught of water, and began to nibble the hard sea biscuit that was their fare. chapter thirty four. the tightening of the chains. there was something very grim and suggestive about the captain's behaviour to the two boys later on towards evening, when he came and stood glaring down at them, where they sat in the sand. he had said a few words to one of the men, who went up into the back of the cavern while the other waited; and vince noted that there was a splashing sound round the corner of the buttress which supported one side of the great arch, so that he was not surprised directly after to see the prow of a boat appear, to be run in and beached upon the sand. vince looked up inquiringly when the smuggling captain came and stood before him; but the man did not speak--he only glared down, apparently with the idea that he was frightening the lads horribly. vince did not shrink, for he did not feel frightened, only troubled about home and the despondency there, as the time went by without news of their fate. for it was evident to him that the time had come for them to be taken on board ready for the lugger to sail. the second man came back with some fine line in his hand. "_vite_--tight!" said the captain laconically. "you're not going to tie us?" said vince, flushing. "yais, bose togezaire," said the frenchman, with a grin of satisfaction at seeing the boy moved to indignant protest. "but if we say we will not try to escape?" cried vince. "i vill not believes you. _non, mon ami_, ve have enough of ze _peine_ to _attraper_ you again. two slippery _garcons_. i tie you bose like ze mutton sheep, and zen if von shump to run avays he pull ze ozaire down. _vous comprenez_?" "oh yes, i comprong," cried vince contemptuously. "just like a frenchman. an englishman would not be afraid of a boy." "vat!" cried the captain, showing his teeth, as he raised his hand to strike--when, quick as lightning, the boy threw himself into an attitude of defence; but the men seized him and dragged his arms behind his back. "that's right, coward!" cried vince, half mad now with excitement. at the word coward the captain's face looked black as night, his right-hand was thrust into his breast pocket, and he drew out and cocked a small pistol, while mike darted to his companion's side, laid his hands across vince's breast, and faced the captain; but he was seized by one of the men, who passed the line about his wrists after it had been dexterously fastened round those of his fellow-prisoner. "never mind, mike; but i like that, old chap!" cried vince. "well done! let's show him what english boys are like: he daren't shoot us. do you hear, jacques? _vous n'oses pas_." "aha! you begin by stumble blunder bad french, you _canaille_ boy. i not dare shoot you?" "no," said vince defiantly, as the pistol was presented full at his face. "you dare not, you great coward!" "aha, _encore_? you call me coward, _une insulte! mais bah_! it is only a silly boy. tie zem bose togezaire, my lad, an trow zem in ze boat. silly boy! like two shicken _volatile_ go to be roace for dinnaire. _non, arretez_; stop, my lad. coward! it was _une insulte_. now you apologise me." "i won't," said vince sturdily: "you are a coward to tie up two boys like this." the black wrath in the frenchman's face at these words made mike shiver, and he pressed closer to vince as the pistol was raised once more. "don't--don't," he whispered. "say something: we are so helpless." "aha! i hear vat he say. yais, you apologise me, sare." "i won't," said vince, who, with nerves strung by the agony he felt at his wrists, which were being cut into by the cord, was ready to dare and say anything. "you vill not?" cried the captain, slowly uncocking the pistol, as his face resumed its ordinary aspect. "no, i--will--not!" cried vince. "put it away. you dare not fire." "_non_; it would be a pity. i nevaire like to shoot good stuff. you are a brave boy, and i vill make you a fine man. and you too, _mon garcon_." he laid his hands on the boys' shoulders, and pressed them hard, smiling as he said,-- "_non_, i sink i am not a coward, _mon enfant_, but i tie you bose up vis ze hant behint, so you sall not run avay. aha! eh? you not run avay vis ze hant, _mais_ vis ze foot? _eh bien: n'importe_: it does not mattaire. you ugly boy," he continued, striking vince a sharp rap in the chest with the back of the hand, "i like you. _yais_. you have saucy tongue. you are a bouledogue boy. i vill see you two 'ave a fight some days. now, my lad, take zem bose into ze boat. ah, _yah, bete cochon_--big peegue!" he roared, as he examined the way in which the boys' wrists were tied behind their backs. "i tell you to lash zem fast. i did not say, `cut off ze hant.' cast zem off." the man who had secured vince sulkily obeyed, and the captain looked on till the line was untied, leaving the boys' wrists with white marks round and blackened swellings on either side. "ah, he is a fool," said the captain, taking up first one and then the other hand. "vy you do not squeak and pipe ze eye?" vince frowned, but made no reply. "zere, valk down to ze boat vis me. say you vill not run avay." "no: i mean to escape," said vince. "bah! it is sillee. you cannot, _mon garcon_. come, ze _parole d'honneur_. be a man." vince glanced at mike, who gave him an imploring look, which seemed to say: "pray give it." "yais," said the captain, smiling: "_parole d'honneur_. if you try to run _il faut_ shooter zis time." "_parole d'honneur_ for to-day," said vince. "after to-day i shall try to escape." "it is _bon_--good," said the captain, laughing. "after to-day--yais. zere, valk you down to ze boat. i like you bose. if you had been cry boy, and go down on your knees, and zay, `oh, pray don't,' i kick you. _en avant_!" he clapped his hand upon vince's shoulder, and walked with both to the boat, signing to them to enter and go right forward, where they seated themselves in the bows while he took his place in the stern. "oh, cinder!" whispered mike, with a look of admiration at his friend, "i wish i'd had the heart to speak to him like that." "what?" whispered back vince, "why, i never felt so frightened in my life. i thought he was going to shoot." "i don't believe it," said mike quietly. "i say, now let's see how they manage to get out of this great whirling pool." they were not kept waiting long, for the boat was thrust off, sent into the stream, and away they went, skirting the long, low rock which rose in their way; and then, just as it seemed that they were going to be sunk by the tremendous rush of water passing in between two huge masses, the boat was thrust into another sharply marked current, hung in suspense for a few moments, and then glided along the backwater and out at last into the pool. here the glassy surface streaked with numerous lines told of the rapid currents following their well-marked courses, and the eddies and reflections of the water known to the men and taken advantage of, so that the vessel's side was reached with ease. as they neared the side the captain, who had been keenly watching the boys and reading their thoughts, came slowly past his men, so quietly that vince and mike started on hearing him speak. "you could manage ze boat now and take him vere you vill? _non, mes enfans_. it take long time to find ze vay. i sink you bose drown last night, but you have _bonne fortune_ and escape. but you get avay till i say go? nevaire! shump." he pointed upward, and the lads climbed aboard, looking wistfully to right and left as they recalled their adventures along the side in the dark, and saw old daygo's boat hanging by her painter close under the stern. "took a lot of trouble for nothing, cinder," said mike sadly. "yes: can't always win," replied vince. "never mind: i'm glad we tried." mike had not the heart to say "so am i," though he felt that he ought to have done so; but, catching sight of the old fisherman leaning over the bulwark forward, he said instead,-- "there's that old wretch again! oh, how i should like to--" he did not say what, but turned his back upon him in disgust. "yes--a beauty!" said vince, scowling. "i say, mike, no wonder old joe was always so well off that he never had to work. pst! here's the skipper." "_non, mon ami_--ze capitaine. _eh bien_--ah, vell! you are on board again. i sall lock you down upon ze powdaire again and keep you prisonaire? my faith, no! it is vord of honnaire to-day, and to-day last _vingt-quatre heures_--till zis time to-morrow: you understand?" "yes," said vince; and then, frankly, "i beg your pardon, skip--" "eh?" "captain," said vince quickly: "i beg your pardon, captain, for calling you a coward." the frenchman looked at him searchingly, and then clapped down both hands on the boy's shoulders and held him firmly. "_bon_!" he said; "_bon_! zat is all gone now. i sall not call you out and say vill you have ze pistol or ze arm _blanc_--ze sword. you bose come dine vis me _ce soir_--zis evening, and you not make fool of ze comestible, as ve call him, eh? now go valk about ze deck. you like to see ze vay out? no; ve leave all zat to my good _ami_, joseph daygo. he take ze _belle-marie_ out to sea vile ve dine. it is ze secret know only to joseph. i could not do him myselfs." this only increased vince's desire to discover by what means the lugger was piloted out from its moorings beneath the towering rocks, where it was completely shut-in, though it seemed that there was a channel behind the rock which spread out in front. sunset was drawing near, and it became evident that the time was approaching for a start to be made, for the boat in which they came from the cave had been hoisted up to the davits, and the men were busy preparing for hoisting sails. the hatches were in their places, and the vessel looked wonderfully orderly, being very different in aspect from those of its class. in fact, from stem to stern she was nearly as neat as a king's ship. meanwhile joe daygo kept close to the bulwark, turning from time to time to note how the men were progressing, and then leaning over the bulwark again to gaze at the perpendicular wall of rock before him, which towered up to a great height and went apparently straight down into the sea. "i know," said vince at last, in a whisper. "know what?" "joe daygo is watching that streak of white paint on the rock over yonder." "i see no streak of white paint," said mike. "yes, i do. but what of that?" "it's his mark," said vince. "he's going to wait till the tide touches that, and then going to cast off." "think so?" "sure of it." but vince had no opportunity for waiting to see. the glassy current was still a couple of inches below the dimly seen white mark, when there was a peculiar odour which came from a tureen that the cook carried along the deck towards the cabin; and almost at the same moment a hand was laid upon the boy's shoulder. "come," said the captain; "it is time for ze dinnaire. you are bose hungry?--yais, i know." vince would have liked to decline, so strong was his desire to study the key to the entrance of the secret little port; but to refuse to go down was impossible, and he preceded his host through the cabin-hatch, where a swinging lamp was burning and the deadlights were closed so that not a gleam could escape. the tureen steamed on the table, they were in no danger, and healthy young appetite prevailed, for the soup was good even if the biscuits were flinty and hard. as for the captain, it seemed absurd to associate him with smuggling or pistols, for he played the host in the most amiable manner when fish succeeded the soup; but as it was being discussed there were hurried sounds on deck. men were running to and fro; then came the peculiar dull, rasping sound of cables being hauled in through hawser holes, and a slight motion told that they were starting. vince ceased eating, and his eyes were involuntarily turned to the side, when the captain said laughingly,-- "it is nozing, my younger _ami_, and ze bulkhead side is not glass: you cannot see nozing. you vant to know? vell, my sheep is in ze sharge of ze pilot, and ze men cast off. if he take her out quite vell, sank you, ve sall soon be at sea. if he make ze grand error he put my sheep on ze rock, vich make ze hole and you sall hear ze vater run in. you bose can svim? yais? good, but you need not try: you stay down here vis me and not take trouble, but go to ze bottom like ze brave _homme_, for ze big tide on'y take you avay and knock you against ze rock. now eat you feesh." it was not a pleasant addition to the boys' dinner, but they went on listening in the intervals of the captain's many speeches, and picturing to themselves how the great lugger was being carefully piloted along a sharp current and steered here and there, apparently doubling upon her course more than once. but by the time the boiled fowl was nearly eaten there was a steady heeling over, following the sound of the hoisting of a sail. then the vessel heeled over a little more, and seemed to dance for a minute in rough water, as if she were passing over some awkward place. the captain smiled. "my sheep she is lively," he said. "she sink it vas time not to be tied by ze head and tail, so she commence to dance. zat is a vairy bad place, but joseph is a grand pilot; he know vat to do, and i am nevaire in his way." just then there was a dull thud, as if a mass of water had struck the side, and the vessel heeled over more than ever, righted herself, and then rose and rode over a wave, plunging down and again gliding along upon a level keel. "eat, eat, _mes amis_," said the captain. "you do not mean that you have _le mal-de-mer_?" "oh no," said vince quickly, as if ashamed to be suspected of such a weakness. "we don't mind the sea; besides, it isn't rough. we're not going over a bar of sand?" "_non_: a bar of rocks, vere joseph can take us safely. anozaire man? _non, non_." they could not grasp much, as the dinner drew now to an end, and no doubt their imaginations played them false to a great extent; but they thoroughly realised that for a few minutes the great lugger was being slowly navigated through a most intricate channel, where the current ran furiously; after that more sail was made, and the regular motion of the vessel told them that they were getting out into the open sea. all at once the door was opened, and old daygo appeared. "aha! you are finish, _mon ami_?" daygo nodded his head and uttered a low grunt. "good. i come on deck." old joe turned and went up the ladder, followed by the captain; and then mike dashed after them. "what are you going to do?" cried vince. but mike made no reply; and the other followed on deck, anxious to see what was going to take place, for that mike had some project was very evident. as vince reached the deck he saw that mike was at the leeward side, where a couple of men stood by the rope which held the pilot's boat, while the captain and the old fisherman were walking right forward, talking earnestly. the lugger was sailing gently along half a mile from the shore in the direction of the south point; and vince's heart leaped and then sank as he faintly made out one of the familiar landmarks on the highest part of the island, but he had no time for indulging in emotion just then, for the captain turned suddenly and old joe made for his boat. "mike isn't going to jump in and try to go with him, is he?" thought vince; and a pang shot through him at the very thought of such a cowardly desertion. "no," he added to himself; "he wouldn't do that." vince was right, for all he did was to rush at daygo, catch him by the shoulder and whisper something. the old fisherman turned, stared, and mike repeated as far as vince could make out his former question, while the captain stood a little way back and looked on. just then daygo growled out "no!" angrily, and thrust mike away so roughly that the boy staggered back and nearly fell; but before the old man could reach the bulwark, mike had recovered himself, leaped at him, and delivered such a kick, that the pilot plunged forward half over the bulwark, and then turned savagely to take revenge upon his assailant. but the captain had advanced, and he said something sharply, which made daygo hurry over the bulwark and drop down into his boat. one of the men cast off the rope and threw it after him, and the next moment she was astern, with the old man standing upright, his hands to each side of his mouth; and he bellowed out,-- "yah! good luck to you both! you'll never see this crag agen." then the darkness began to swallow up his small boat, and the great three-masted lugger glided onward--where? mike turned sharply, expecting to be seized by the captain; but the latter had his back to him, and went forward to give orders for another sail to be hoisted, while the boys went involuntarily to the side to gaze at the crag. "what was it you asked joe?" said vince. "not what you thought," replied mike rather bitterly. "why, what did i think?" "that i was begging him to take me in the boat." "no, i didn't," said vince sharply. "i thought at first that you'd run up to jump in, but directly after i said to myself that you wouldn't be such a sneak. what did you say to him?" "i told him my father would give him a hundred pounds, and that he should never say anything to joe, if he'd go and tell them directly where we are." "and he wouldn't. well, i'm glad you kicked him, for shoving you away like that." "i should be," replied mike, "if he wasn't such an old man." "he isn't an old man," said vince hotly: "he's an old wretch, without a bit of manliness in him." "all right, then; i'm glad i kicked him. but never mind joe daygo, vince. it's getting darker, and the old crag is seeming to die away. oh, cinder, old chap, is it all true? are we being taken away like this?" vince could not trust himself to speak, but leaned over the bulwark, resting his chin upon his thumbs, and shading the sides of his face-- partly to conceal its workings, which was not necessary in the darkness, partly to shut off the side-light and see the island more easily. and neither was this necessary, for there were no sidelights, and the crag was now so dim that had he not known it was there it would have been invisible; but he preserved it all mentally, and thought of the pleasant home, with the saddened faces there, of the happy days he had spent, and now for the first time fully realised what a joyous boyhood he had passed in the rocky wildly picturesque old place, with no greater trouble to disturb his peaceful life than some puzzling problem or a trivial fit of illness. all so bright, so joyous, so happy,--and now gone, perhaps, for ever; and some strange, wild life to come, but what kind of existence he could not grasp. naturally enough, mike's thoughts ran in the same channel, but he gave them utterance; and vince, as he stood there, heard him saying piteously,-- "good-bye, dear old home! i never knew before what you really were. good-bye--good-bye!" and then, passionately--"oh, vince, vince! what have we done to deserve all this? where are we going now?" "to bed, _mes amis_," said the captain, slapping them both on the shoulders and rudely interrupting their thoughts. "come: i take you myself. not over ze powdaire now. i vill not tempt you to _faire sauter_--make jump ze _chasse-maree_--blow up ze sheep, eh? my faith, no! but you take ze good counsel, _mes_ boys. you go to your bunk like ze good shile, and have long sleep. you get out of the deadlight vis ze sheep in full sail. you go ovaire-board bose of you, and i am vair sorry for ze _bonnes_ mammas." "doesn't seem like it," said vince stoutly, "taking us off prisoners like this." "prisonaires! faith of a good man! you sink i treat you like prisonaires, and have you to dinnaire and talk to you vis _bonnes conseilles_ like ze papa?" "you are taking us away, and making every one who cares for us think we are dead." "_c'est dommage_--it is a great pitee, my young friend; but, you see, i have a large propertee at ze caverne. it is vort tousand of pounds, and ze place is vair useful to me and ze _confrere_ who come to take it somevere else." "what, are there more of you?" blurted out vince. "eh? you nevaire mind. but i cannot part vis my store, and i vant ze place to go to ven i bring a cargo." "but we'll promise you on our words that we will not betray it to any one, if you set us ashore." "aha! not to have anozaire kick at _notre bon_ joseph, eh?" "no, not even to serve joe daygo out," said vince. "an old wretch! but he deserves it." "and faith of a gentlemans, on your word of _honneur_, you vould not tell vere ze contraband is kept?" "on our honour, as gentlemen, we would not: would we, mike?" "no," was the eager reply. "i believe you bose," said the captain. "but you could not keep your vort. it is impossible." "but we would," said vince. "you vould try, _mon garcon_, but you vould be _oblige_ to tell. listen--von vort for all. i have faith in you bose, but no, it cannot be. you cannot go back, so you must act like ze man now." "then you are going to take us away?" cried vince. "i 'ave take you avay, my boy, and i sall not let you go back till i no longer vant ze cavern store, and ze safe place to hide. zen you may go back--if you like." "what do you mean by that?" said vince quickly. "vat i say: if you like. i sink by zat time you bose say to me, `_non_, monsieur jacques, ve do not vant to go.' now i talk no more. down vis you!" "only tell us one thing," said vince: "where are you going to take us?" "i tell you ven i can," said the captain. "what do you mean by that?" cried mike excitedly. "vat i say. i do not know." he pressed them towards the hatchway, and they descended, feeling that they could do nothing else, while the captain followed and opened a door opposite to that of the cabin. "zere," he said. "you can sleep in zose bunk. i keep zat for my friend, and i give zem to mine _ennemi_, you see. i vill not lock ze door, but you listen, bose of you. i am ze capitaine, and i am _le roi_--ze king here. if a man say he vill not, i knock him down. if he get up and pull out ze knife, i take ze pistol and shoot: i am _dangereux_. if i hear ze strange noise, i shoot. don't you make ze strange noise in ze night, _mes amis_, but go sleep, as you _anglais_ say, like ze sound of two top hummin. you understand. _bon soir_! you come to ze _dejeuner_--breakfast in ze morning." he shut them in, and the two boys were left in the darkness to their thoughts. but they were too weary to think much, and soon felt their way into their bunks, one above the other. an hour later the door was softly opened, and a lanthorn was thrust in, the captain following to look at each face in turn. there was no sham this time. utterly worn out by the excitement of the past hours, vince and mike were both off--fast in the heavy, dreamless, restful slumber of sixteen--the sleep in which nature winds up a boy's mainspring terse and tight, and makes him ready to go on, rested and fresh, for the work of another day. chapter thirty five. how some folk turn smugglers. the sea was up before the boys next morning, and in its own special way was making the _chasse-maree_ pitch and toss, now rising up one side of a wave, now gliding down the other; for the wind had risen towards morning, and was now blowing so hard that quite half the sail hoisted overnight had had to be taken down, leaving the swift vessel staggering along beneath the rest. vince turned out feeling a bit puzzled and confused, for he did not quite grasp his position; but the full swing of thought came, with all its depressing accompaniments, and he roused up mike to bear his part and help to condole as well. mike, on the contrary, turned out of his bunk fully awake to their position, and began to murmur at once bitterly as he went on dressing, till at last vince turned upon him. "i say," he said, "it's of no use to make worse of it." "no one can," cried mike. "oh, can't they? why, you're doing your part." "i'm only saying that it's abominable and outrageous, and that i wish the old lugger may be wrecked. here, i say, what have you been doing with my clothes?" "haven't touched 'em." "but you must have touched them. i folded them up, and put them together, and they're pitched all over the place. where are my boots?" "servant girl's fetched 'em out to clean, perhaps," said vince quietly. "eh? think so? well, they did want it.--get out! i don't see any need for jeering at our position here. just as if i didn't know better! here, you must have got them on." "not i! even if i wanted to, one of your great ugly boots would be big enough for both of my feet." "do you want to quarrel, cinder?" said mike roughly. "not here. isn't room enough. there are your boots, one on each side of the door in the corners of the cabin." "then you must have kicked them there, and--" mike did not finish, for the lugger gave such a lurch that the boy went in a rush against the opposite bulkhead with a heavy bang. "didn't kick you there, at all events," said vince, who was fastening his last buttons. "why, the sea's getting up," said mike. "has it been blowing up above?" "haven't been on deck, but it has been alarming down here. i had a horrible job to find my things. they were all over the place." "how horrid! and what a miserable place to dress in!" "better than a sandbank in a seal's hole." "oh! don't talk about it." "why not? it's over. deal better off than we have been lately, for we have got an invitation to breakfast." "i wish you wouldn't do that, cinder," said mike querulously. "do what? i didn't do anything." "now you're at it again, trying to cut jokes and making the best of things at a time like this." "all right: i'm silent, then," said vince. "shall i go on deck?" "go? what for?" "leave you more room to dress." "it will be very shabby if you do go before i'm dressed. if ever two fellows were bound to stick together it's us now. oh dear, how awkward everything is! i say, there's no danger, is there?" cried mike, as the lugger gave a tremendous plunge and then seemed to wallow down among the waves. "no, i don't see what danger there can be. seems a beautifully built boat, and i daresay jacques is a capital sailor." "a scoundrel!" said mike bitterly. "now, _mes enfans_, get up," cried the skipper's voice; and this was followed by a smart banging at the door, which was opened and a head thrust in. "if you sall bose be ill you can stay in bed to-day; but you vill be better up. vell, do you feel vairy seek?" "no, we're all right," said vince; and soon after the two boys climbed on deck and had to shelter themselves from the spray, which was flying across the deck in a sharp shower. it was a black-looking morning, and the gloom of the clouds tinged the surface of the sea, whose foaming waves looked sooty and dingy to a degree, while the boys found now how much more severe the storm was than they had supposed when below. the men were all in their oilskins, very little canvas was spread, and they were right out in a heavy, chopping sea, with no sign of land on any hand. they had to stagger to the lee bulwarks and hold on, for the lugger every now and then indulged in a kick and plunge, while from time to time a wave came over the bows, deluging the deck from end to end. but before long the slight feeling of scare which had attacked the boys passed off, as they saw the matter-of-fact, composed manner in which the men stood at their various stations, while the captain was standing now beside the helmsman, and appeared to be giving him fresh directions as to the course he was to steer, with the result that, as the lugger's head paid off a trifle, the motion became less violent, while her speed increased. "aha!" shouted the captain, as he found them--"not seek yet? vait till ve have ze _dejeuner_, and zen ve sall see." "oh, we've been to sea before," said vince rather contemptuously. "and you like ze sea, _n'est-ce pas_--is it not so?" "oh yes; we like the sea," said vince. "it is good," said the captain, clapping him on the shoulder. "zen you sall help me. you say no at ze beginning, but bah! a boy--two boy like you brave _garcons_--vill not cry to go home to ze muzzer. it is a fine sing to have a luggar of tree mast like zis, and you sall bose make you fortune ven i have done." he nodded and turned away, leaving the boys to stand looking at each other aghast, and forgetting all about the state of the sea, till a big wave came over the bows and made them seek for shelter. they saw but little of the captain that day, except at meal-times, when he was good-humoured and jocose with them in spite of the fact that the weather did not mend in the least. then the next day passed, and the next, with the wind not so violent, but the sea continued rough, and the constant misty rain kept them for the most part below. the crew were civil enough, and chatted with them when they did not ask questions; but failing to obtain any information from them as to their destination, vince agreed with mike that one of them should ask the captain where they were going to first. so that evening, when they were sailing slowly in a north-easterly direction, after being driven here and there by contrary winds, they waited their opportunity, and upon the captain coming up to them vince began at once with,-- "where are we going to first, captain?" "eh? you vant to know?" he said. "vell, you sall. in zere." the boys looked sharply in the direction pointed out but could see nothing for the misty rain which drifted slowly across the sea. "where's in there?" said mike. "you are not good sailore yet, _mon ami_, or you vould have study our course. i vill tell you. you look over ze most left, and you vill see ze land of ze fat, heavy dutchmans." "what, holland?" cried vince eagerly. "yais: you know ze name of ze river and ports?" "yes; amsterdam, rotterdam," began vince. "are we going to one of those places?" "aha! ve sall see. you no ask questions. some day, if you are good boy and can be trust, you vill know everysings. perhaps ve go into ze scheldt, perhaps ve make for ze texel and ze zuyder zee, perhaps ve go noveres. now you know." he gave them a peculiar look and left them, and as the rain came on in a drifting drizzle the boys made this an excuse for going below. "mike," said vince, as soon as they were alone, "got a pencil?" "no." "and there is neither pen nor ink." "nor yet paper." "then we're floored there," said vince impatiently. "what did you want to do?" "want to do? why, write home of course, telling them where we were. we surely could post a letter at the port." "no: he'll never give us a chance." "perhaps not; but we might bribe some one to take the letter." "what with? i haven't a penny, and i don't believe you have." vince doubled his fists and rested his head upon them. "i tell you what, then: we only gave our word for one day. we must wait till we are in port, and then swim ashore. some one would help us." "if we could speak dutch." "oh dear," said vince, "how hard it is! but never mind, let's get away. we might find an english ship there." mike shook his head, and vince set to work inventing other ways of escaping; but they finally decided that the best way would be to wait till they were in the river or port, and then to try and get off each with an oar to help support them in what might prove to be a longer swim than they could manage. that evening the weather lifted, and after a couple of hours' sail they found themselves off a dreary, low-lying shore, upon which a cluster or two of houses was visible, and several windmills--one showing up very large and prominent at the mouth of what seemed to be a good-sized river, whose farther shore they could faintly discern in the failing evening light. "we're going up there," said vince--"that's certain." but just as it began to grow dark there was a loud rattling, and down went an anchor, the lugger swung round, and the boys were just able to make out that they were about a couple of miles from the big windmill. "too many sandbanks to venture in," said vince. "no; we're waiting for a pilot." "i believe," said vince, "he'll wait for daylight and then sail up the river; and if we don't escape somehow before we're twenty-four hours older my name isn't burnet." mike said nothing, but he did not seem hopeful; and soon after they were summoned to the cabin to dinner, where the captain was very friendly. "aha! now you see holland. it is beautiful, is it not? flat as ze dutchman face. not like your cormorant crag, eh? but nevaire mind. it vas time, and soon ve get butter, bread and milk, ze sheecan, ze potate, for you hungry boy have eat so much ve get to ze bottom of ze store." they asked no questions, for they felt that it did not matter. any land would do, and if they could escape it would go hard if they did not avoid recapture. they were too much excited to sleep for some time that night, lying listening for the coming of the pilot or for the hoisting of the anchor; for there was, after all, the possibility of their having anchored till the tide rose sufficiently for them to cross some bar at the mouth of the river. but sleep overcame them at last, and they lay insensible to the fact that about midnight a light was hoisted at the mast-head, which was answered about an hour after by the appearance of another light in the mouth of the river--a light which gradually crept nearer and nearer till about an hour before dawn, when the boys were awakened by a soft bumping against the lugger's side, followed by a dull creaking, and then came the hurrying to and fro of feet on the deck overhead. "quick, mike!" cried vince--"into your clothes. she's sinking!" as they hurried on a few things, the passing to and fro of men grew louder; they heard the captain's voice giving orders, evidently for the lowering of a boat, and the boys tried to fling open the door and rush on deck. tried--but that was all. "mike, we're locked in!" cried vince frantically; and he began to kick at the door, shouting with mike for help. their appeal was so vigorous that they did not have to wait for long. there was the sound of the captain's heavy boots as he blundered down the ladder, and he gave a tremendous kick at the door. "yah!" he roared: "vat for you make zat row?" "the lugger! she's sinking," cried the boys together. "i com in and sink you," roared the captain. "go to sleep, bose of you." "but the door's locked." "yais, i lock him myself. _silence_!" then the lugger was not sinking; but the faint creaking and grinding went on after the captain had gone back on deck, and the boys stood listening to the orders given and the hurrying to and fro of men. "she must be on a rock, cinder," said mike, in a half-stifled voice. "no rocks here. on a sandbank, and they're trying to get her off." then there was a rattling and banging noise, which came through the bulkhead. "why, they're taking up the hatches over the hold." "yes," said vince bitterly; "they're thinking more of saving the bales than of us." "down vis you, and pass 'em up," cried the captain; and, for what seemed to be quite a couple of hours, they could hear the crew through the bulkhead busy in the hold fetching out and passing up the bales on to the deck in the most orderly way, and without a bit of excitement. "can't be much danger," said vince at last, "or they wouldn't go on so quietly as this." "i don't know," said mike bitterly; "it must be bad, and they will forget us at last, and we shall be drowned, shut up here." "don't make much difference," said vince, with a laugh. "better off here. fishes won't be able to get at us and eat us afterwards." "ugh! how can you talk in that horrid way at a time like this!" "to keep up our spirits," said vince. "perhaps it isn't so bad. she's on a bank, i'm sure, and perhaps--yes, that's it--they're trying to lighten her and make her float." "they're not," said mike excitedly. "why, they're bringing other things down. you listen here." vince clapped his ear to the bulkhead and listened, and made out plainly enough that for every bale passed up a box seemed to be handed down, and these were being stacked up against the partition which separated them from the hold. "i say, what does it mean?" whispered mike at last. "i don't know," replied vince; "but for certain they're bringing in things as well as taking them away. then we must be in port, and they're landing and loading up again." "oh, cinder! and we can't get ashore and run for it." "no; he's too artful for us this time. that's why he has locked us up. never mind; our turn will come. he can't always have his eyes open." "is there any way of getting out?" "not now," said vince thoughtfully; "but we might get one of those boards out ready for another time. they're wide enough to let us through." the soft creaking and grinding sounds went on, but were attributed to the lugger being close up to some pier or wharf, and the boys stood with their ears close to the bulkhead, trying to pick up a word now and then, as the men who were below, stowing the fresh cargo, went on talking together. but it was weary work, and led to nothing definite. they knew that the loading was going on--nothing more. "well, we are clever ones," said vince at last; and he laid hold of the wooden shutter which let in light and air to the narrow place, but only let his arm fall to his side again, for it was firmly secured. "never mind," he added; "we'll make it all straight yet." hours had gone by, and from the bright streaks of light which stole in beneath and over the door they knew that it was a fine morning; and, as the dread had all passed away, they finished dressing, and sat in an awkward position against the edge of the bottom bunk, listening to the bustle on deck, till all at once it ceased and the men began to clap on the hatches once again. then, as they listened, there came the sound of ropes being cast off, the creaking and grinding ceased, the captain shouted something, and was answered from a distance, and again from a greater distance, just as the lugger heeled over a little, and there came the rattle and clanging of the capstan, with the heave-ho singing of the men. "we're under way again, mike," said vince; "and there's no chance of a run for the shore this time." he had hardly spoken when the heavy tread of the captain was heard once more, and he stopped at the door to shoot a couple of bolts. "_bon jour, mes amis_. you feel youselfs ready for ze brearkfas?" vince did not reply, and the captain did not seem to expect it, for he walked into the cabin, while the boys went on deck, to find that the men were hoisting sail, while a three-masted lugger, of about the same build as the one they were on, was a short distance off, making for the mouth of the muddy river astern. they were about in the same place as they were in when anchor was cast overnight, and it became evident to the boys that the noise and grinding they had heard must have been caused by the two vessels having been made fast one to the other while an exchange of cargo took place. "where next?" thought vince, as their sails filled in the light, pleasant breeze of the sunny morning. he was not long in doubt, for upon walking round by the steersman the compass answered the question--their course was due south. "aha! you take a lesson in box ze compais," said a voice behind them. "good: now come and take one, and eat and drink. it is brearkfas time." chapter thirty six. "to vistle for ze vind." four days passed in the quiet, uneventful way familiar on board a small vessel, with the prisoners sinking into that state of apathy known as accepting the inevitable. they were weary of condoling with one another, and telling themselves that sooner or later their chance for escape would come. they bore their position good-temperedly enough, chatted with the sailors, took a turn or two at steering under the guidance of the man at the helm, and received a nod of approbation from the captain when he saw what they were doing. "aha, yais," he said, showing his teeth. "you vill be my first and second officer before long, and zen ve sall all be ze grand contrabandiste." "oh, shall we?" said vince, as soon as they were alone. "we shall see about that." the captain had been amiable enough to them, and had the boys only felt that those they loved were well and possessing the knowledge that they were safe, the life would have been pleasant enough; but the trouble at home hung like a black cloud over them, and whenever they met each other's eyes they could read the care they expressed, and the feeling of misery deepened for awhile. they went to bed as usual that fourth night, but towards morning vince somehow felt uneasy; and at last, being troubled by thirst, he determined to go up on deck and get a pannikin of water from the cask lashed by the mainmast. he half expected to find the door fastened, but it yielded to a touch; and, after listening at the cabin for a few moments to try and find whether the captain was asleep, he crept up on deck in the cool grey of the coming morning, and, looking back, saw the man at the helm, and forward two more at the look-out. he had not many steps to go, and there was the pannikin standing ready, and the cover of the cask had only to be moved for him to dip out a tinful of the cool, fresh water, which tasted delicious; and, being refreshed by the draught, he was about to descend, when the beauty of the sea took his attention. the moon was sinking in the west and the dawn was brightening in the east, so that the waves were lit up in a peculiar way. on the side of the moon they glistened as though formed of liquid copper, while on the side facing the east they were of a lovely, pearly, silvery, ever-changing grey. so beautiful were the tints and lights and shades that vince remained watching the surface of the sea for some minutes, and then the chill wind suggested that he should go down; when, making a sweep round, he felt as if his breath had been taken away, for there, away to the south, and looming up of huge height and size in the morning mist, was unmistakably the crag, and they were once more close to home. here, then, was the answer to the question they had asked one another-- where are we sailing to now? yes: there was the crag, with its familiar outline; and his heart beat fast as he felt that if mike's father were on the look-out with his glass he would be able to see the lugger's sails. "no, he must be in bed and asleep," thought vince. "but i'll fetch mike up to see. why, old jacques must be taking us home. no; he is going to fetch another load!" "yais, zat is ze crag," said a voice behind him, and there stood the captain with a glass under his arm. "now you vill go down and stop vis ze ozaire boy till i tell you to come up. but zis time you can stay in ze cabin. mind," he said impressively, "you vill stay. you _comprenez_?" "oh yes," said vince; "but you will let us go as soon as you've got the cargo all on board." "aha, you sink so?" "yes." "but you are not so stupede as to sink i can take all avay at von trip. _non, mon ami_, it vill take four or five time more. now go down, and tell ze ozaire to obey, and not make feel zat i can shoot." "may i bring him up to see the crag?" said vince. "no," replied the captain abruptly. "he sleep. let him rest. better you sleep too." vince glanced in at the cabin, to find that the deadlights were up and the place very dimly lit by the tiny skylight. then, closing the door as he entered the cupboard-like place in which they passed their nights, he found mike still sleeping; and fearing that he would get into trouble if he tried to watch their approach, he lay down too, and was awakened apparently in a few minutes by mike shaking him. "i say, it's awfully late, and we've anchored again." "dressed?" said vince in wonder. "yes, and i was going on deck, but the skipper pushed me back and banged down the hatch. i say, i haven't the least idea where we are." "i have," said vince. "well, where?" "back at the cavern." "nonsense." "you'll see." mike did see, and before long, for half an hour later the captain came down in the cabin, breakfast was eaten, and then the boys were allowed to go on deck, to find themselves in their old berth, with the rocks towering up and shutting them in, while the lugger was safely moored head and stern to the wall-like rock. vince involuntarily looked round for the rugged face of old joe daygo, and one of the men noticed it. "looking for the pilot, youngster?" "yes." "oh, he came and run us in while you two were asleep, and you don't look as if your eyes were unbuttoned yet." "it's of no use, cinder," said mike, as they turned away: "jacques don't want us to see how it's all done; but only wait till we get away, and we'll find out somehow." that was a busy day for every one but the boys; who, quite feeling their helplessness about escaping, quietly settled down to think of their strange position: as the crow flew not above a mile from home, but powerless to make their presence known. the captain never left the deck, and the boats were going to and fro constantly; but they took nothing ashore, and it was evident that the smuggler meant to clear out the cavern, whose stores were far greater than the boys could have believed. the boats came back loaded down almost to the gunwale; but they were managed with wonderful dexterity, and as soon as they were made fast alongside, the men sprang aboard and their cargoes were rapidly transferred to the hold, which seemed to swallow up an enormous quantity of the contraband goods. so well shaped were the packages and so deftly packed below that they fitted into their places like great bricks in a building, so that by night the lugger was well laden, and it seemed evident that they would sail again when the tide suited. it was just after dark; all the boats were hanging from the davits, and the tired men busy over a meal the cook had prepared, while the captain was walking thoughtfully up and down the deck, his dark eyes watchful over everything, and the boys, as they leaned over the bulwarks, talking softly together about how well the various little currents were made to work for the smugglers, knew that every motion they made was watched. "it's of no use, ladle," vince said cheerily. "this isn't the place to try and get away. we've tried it, and we know. if it was, i'd say, jump in and swim for it!" "pst! a boat," whispered mike. vince turned sharply round, to see that a small boat had suddenly glided out of the darkness, to be borne by the current up against the lugger's side; and the next minute daygo climbed in, painter in hand, the captain going up to him at once, and then returning to where the boys were standing together. dark as it was, they could see a mocking smile upon the man's face, but before he could speak vince forestalled him. "all right," he said: "you want us to go below and stay till the lugger is worked out." "yais, zat is it," said the captain. "some day you sall help me, visout ze pilot, eh? go below, and stop youselfs. shut ze cabin door. you vill find somesings to eat." the boys went down without a word, and they had proof that the captain followed them, for a sharp click told that a bolt outside had been shot. "eat!" said vince scornfully; "he thinks that boys are always wanting to eat!" "never mind, cinder," said mike, sitting down before the table, upon which some fresh provisions stood. "let him think what he likes; let you and me eat while we have a chance; we may be escaping, and not get an opportunity for hours and hours." vince saw the force of the argument, and followed his companion's example, both listening the while and hearing the men hurry on deck. soon after they felt the lugger begin to move, and they sat eating and comparing notes as they recalled what they had heard the last time. but they could only build up imaginary ideas about the currents, channels and rocks which the vessel had to thread. "i give it up," said vince; "we can't understand it all without eyes." just then the captain came down and seated himself to make a hearty supper, and by the time he had done it was evident that they were out to sea once more, for the vessel swayed softly from side to side, but there was little motion otherwise. "you vill not be sea-seek to-night, _mes amis_," said the captain; "zere is hardly no vind at all. you must go on deck soon and vistle for it to come." but he did not let them go up till he had himself been there for some time, and when they ascended eagerly, it was to see that the sky was brilliantly studded with stars, a very faint wind blowing from the west, and the crag looming out of the darkness about a mile away, but joe daygo's boat had disappeared. the lugger was gliding along very gently, on a north-easterly course, with all sail set; and the boys came to the conclusion that the last manoeuvre was to be repeated, but unless the wind sprang up the trip promised to be long and tedious. but one never knows what is going to happen at sea. they had been sailing for about a couple of hours, with the captain walking up and down with a long spy-glass under his arm; and from time to time he stopped to rest it on the rail and carefully sweep the offing, as if in search of something, but apparently always in vain, till all at once he closed the glass with a snap, and walking forward, gave a sharp order, whereupon two of the men hurried below, to return directly with a couple of lanthorns, which were rigged on to a chopstick kind of arrangement, which held them level and apart as they were attached to the halliards and sent gliding up to the mast-head. "signal," whispered vince; "but we can't be near the shore." they searched the soft, transparent darkness for some time, gazing in the direction in which they had seen the captain use his glass, but it was all in vain; till vince suddenly started, and pressed his companion's arm. then pointed to where, about a mile away, two dull stars close together seemed to be rising slowly out of the sea to a little distance above the horizon, to stand nearly stationary for a while, and then slowly sink down and disappear. "another smuggler," whispered vince; and then turned to look up at the mast-head of their own vessel, but their signal had been lowered. "depend upon it," whispered mike, "that boat will come up close, like the other did, and they'll make fast together and begin to shift cargo." "think so?" said vince thoughtfully, as it began to dawn upon his mind that possibly captain jacques with his fast lugger ran across channel to various smuggling ports, and brought cargoes over to deposit in the cavern ready for the contraband goods to be fetched by other vessels and landed here and there upon the english coast. he did not know then that he had made a very shrewd guess, and hit the truth of how the captain had for years gone on enriching himself and others by his ingenious way of avoiding the revenue cutters, whose commanders had always looked upon the crag as a dangerous place, that every one would avoid, but who would have given chase directly had they seen jacques' long low swift vessel approaching any part of the english coast to land a cargo. vince did not ripen his thoughts then--that happened afterwards, for he was interrupted by a hand laid upon his shoulder, mike feeling another upon his. "you sink you vill keep ze middle vatch?" said the captain: "_ma foi_, no! go down and sleep, and grow to big man." he gave them a gentle push in the direction of the hatch. "_bon soir_," he said mockingly, and the boys went down. "you'll hear the bolts shot directly," said vince grimly, as he seated himself on the edge of the bunk. _click_--_clack_! came instantaneously, and then they heard an ascending step. "don't mean us to see much of what is going on," said mike. "oh, it isn't that," replied vince. "he fancies we should do something while they're busy--get a boat down, slip on board the other lugger or whatever it is." "he needn't fancy that," said mike. "frying-pan's bad enough; i'm not going to jump into the fire and try that!" "nor i either. well, shall we turn in?" "may as well: i don't want to stop up and listen to a gang of smugglers loading and unloading their stupid cargo." "nor i, ladle. i say, what a shame it is of old jacques to be living now, instead of a hundred years ago! poor old chap, you won't get any plunder after all!" "i don't see that it's right to be trying to make fun of our trouble," said mike bitterly; "there's the poor old crag only a few miles away, and we're shut up here!" "don't take any notice," said vince: "i say all sorts of things i don't mean. no chance of getting away to-night, is there?" "no--not even to drown ourselves by trying to swim away," said mike, with a sigh; and they hardly spoke again. chapter thirty seven. the king's cutter speaks out. "ladle!" "hullo!" "wake up!" "what's the good? we can't go on deck. may as well lie here and rest." "nonsense! get up, or i'll pull you out by one leg!" "you touch me, and i'll send you flying against the bulkhead." "go it!" cried vince, who was standing on the rough floor, in his trousers; and, quick as thought, he seized mike's leg and pulled him half out. "now kick, and i'll let you down bang." "oh! i say, cinder, let go! don't, there's a good fellow." "then will you get up?" "yes: all right. does it rain?" "no--lovely morning; you can see it is through that bit of skylight." mike slipped out and began to dress. "wonder what they've been doing in the night?" "don't know--don't care," said vince, yawning. "oh, how horrid it is to be boxed up here like a rabbit! can hardly breathe, and perhaps he won't let us out for hours. here, jacques, come and unfasten this door," he said in a low, angry growl; and, seizing the handle, he was about to give the door a rough shake, when to the surprise of both it flew open. "hurrah!" cried vince; and they were not long finishing dressing and hurrying on deck, to find that, whatever might have been done, the hatches were in their places, while a good-sized schooner was lying close by with her sails flapping, as were those of the lugger; for the sea was very smooth, save where the currents showed, and during the night they had been carried by one of these well back towards the island, whose north-east point lay about a couple of miles on their port bow. "that's an english schooner, for certain," said vince. "what is she?" "_the shark_" read mike from her stern. "looks as if she could sail better than the _belle-marie_." "not she," said vince, with the tone of authority; "these long three-masted luggers can race through the water." "aha! _mes enfans_--my good shildren," said the captain, in his irritating way of giving bad interpretations of his french which annoyed the boys, "i vant you vairy bad. you go and vistle for ze vind, eh? we shall go soon upon ze rock." "wind's coming soon," said vince; "it's on the other side of the island now. look: you can see the ripple off the point. looks dark. we don't get it because the crag shelters us." "good boy! i see you sall make a grand sailor some day, and be my first lieutenant; i give you command of a schooner like ze _shark_." he waved his hand towards the vessel, and then looked eagerly in the direction of the rippled water, which indicated the coming wind. "is that boat yours?" said vince. "yais! vy you ask? ah-h-h-ah--ze wind--vill he nevaire com?" at that moment the schooner hoisted a small flag very rapidly, and, simple as the action was, it completely changed the aspect of affairs. orders were given sharply; and, to the boys' wonder, they were startled by seeing the men begin rapidly to cast loose the four small long guns, while others were busy fetching up powder and shot from below, passing down the little hatchway which had led to the boys' first place of confinement. the captain walked sharply here and there, giving his instructions, and in an incredibly short space of time every stitch of sail possible was crowded upon the lugger, while a similar course was pursued by the captain of the schooner. a thrill of excitement ran through the boys as they saw an arm chest hoisted up from the cabin, placed amidships, and the lid thrown open; but nothing was taken out, and after watching their opportunity, so that the captain should not observe their action, the boys walked by where the chest had been placed, and saw that it was divided longitudinally, and on one side, neatly arranged, were brass-bound pistols, on the other, cutlasses. they had hardly seen this, when a glance forward showed them the captain superintending the loading of the two bow guns, and as soon as this was done he began to walk aft, while the boys discreetly walked forward along the other side, so as to be out of the fierce-looking fellow's way. "i say, ladle," whispered vince, "this is like what we have often read of. how do you feel? there's going to be a fight. look! they're loading the guns aft." "oh, i feel all right yet,--just a little shivery like. but what makes you say there's going to be a fight?" "didn't you see the schooner hoist a flag?" "of course i did, but i thought she was a friend. why are they going to fight? oh, i know: it's only a sham fight, for practice." "i don't believe it is sham; the skipper looked too serious. i saw him showing his teeth, and the men all look in earnest. they've been doing something old jacques don't like, and he's going to bring them to their senses. here, i say, you're not getting those ready for breakfast?" they were opposite the galley as vince spoke, and he had suddenly caught sight of the cook, who was hurrying on his fire, and heating about half a dozen rods of iron between the bars of the stove. "oh yes, i am," said the man, with a grin--"for somebody's breakfast. i say, youngsters, i'd go down below if i was you; it may mean warm work if the wind don't come soon." "what has the wind to do with it?" said vince. "to do with it! everything, my lad. if the wind comes, we shall run, of course. we don't want to fight." "but why are we going to fight the schooner?" "the schooner!" said the man, staring. "nonsense! she belongs to jarks, and trades to the south coast. didn't you see her signal?" "yes." "well, that means one of king billy's cutters is in sight from there, and she'll be nearing before long." "but what are those rods for?" said mike eagerly. "don't be such a blockhead, ladle!" cried vince excitedly. "why did we make the poker red-hot when we wanted to fire the old ship gun on your lawn?" "look--look!" cried mike. there was no need, for vince had seen the white flying jib of a cutter coming into sight round the end of the crag, with plenty of wind urging her on, while, by the time she was clear, a faint puff of light air made the schooner's sails shiver, but only for a few moments, then it was calm again, while the cutter, now quite clear of the point, was careening over and gliding rapidly along, with a pleasant breeze astern. just then the captain came forward, looking black as thunder, taking no notice of the boys, but giving a few sharp orders to the men to stand by ready to take advantage of the first puff of wind. "we're not going below, are we?" whispered mike. "no; i want to see what's done," said vince. "then you like fighting before breakfast better than i do," said the cook. "look, there goes her colours, and she'll send a shot across the _shark's_ bows directly. we shall get it next." he had hardly spoken before there was a white puff of smoke from the cutter, and before the report came echoing from the towering rocks of the crag the boys saw the water splash up twice from somewhere near the schooner's bows, while within half a minute another shot was fired across the lugger's course, as she glided slowly along with the swift current, which was drawing them nearer the crag. "bad job for us as old daygo arn't here," said the cook. "why?" asked vince. the man laughed. "why, if he were aboard and the wind came up, he'd run the _marie_ in among the rocks." "and into the pool?" said vince eagerly. "not likely, my lad. no, he'd manoeuvre her right in, and lead the revenoos after us, till the cutter was stuck on one of the fang rocks, and leave her there, perhaps for good. bound to say the skipper wishes master daygo was here." vince looked round, and thought of the fierce currents and sunken rocks, which a sailing boat might pass over in safety, but which would be fatal to a vessel of the cutter's size. just then the cook laughed, and the boys looked at him inquiringly. "they think we are lying to on account o' their guns," said the man; "but only wait till we ketch the wind." "do you think they know these vessels are--" "smugglers?" said the cook, for vince had not finished the sentence. "ay, they know fast enough, and they think they're in luck, and have dropped upon a strong dose of prize money; but they don't know old jarks." "will he fight?" said mike excitedly. "is these pokers getting red-hot?" said the man, grinning. "ay, he'll fight. he's a frenchy, but he's got the fighting stuff in him. 'course he'll run. he don't want to fight, but if that cutter makes him, he will. my! i wish the wind would come." but though the cutter came merrily along, hardly a puff reached the smugglers, and the cutter was now not more than a mile away. "look! look!" cried mike suddenly. "there's old joe daygo coming." "so it is," said vince. "no mistaking the cut of that sail;" and he gazed excitedly at the little boat, which was coming rapidly on from the other end of the island. "ay, that's he sure enough," said the cook. "he's seen the cutter and come to give us warning, but we can see her ourselves now." still no wind, and the captain stamped up and down the deck, enraged beyond measure to see two vessels in totally opposite directions sailing merrily on, while the towering crag diverted the breeze and left him and his companion in a complete calm. nearer and nearer came the cutter, and the boys' hearts beat hard with excitement as they saw the flash of arms beneath the white sails, and began to feel that before long they would be on board, and that meant freedom. mike said something of the kind, but vince made an allusion to the old proverb about not counting chickens until they were hatched. "get out!" cried mike: "you always make the worst of things. i say, look how beautifully she comes along." "yes, and she'll be on one of they rocks if she don't mind," said the cook. "i say, my lads, there'll be no breakfast till all this business is over, but if you step in here i'll give you both some coffee and biscuit." "oh, who could eat and drink now?" said vince. "i can't." "i can," said the man; "and as my pokers are all hot, i mean to have a snack." the boys' great dread was that they would be sent below, and consequently they kept out of the captain's way, and saw all that was going on, till the cutter was within a few hundred yards; and then, all at once, the wind failed her, and she lay as motionless as the two smugglers. the same fate had befallen daygo in his boat, he being a mile away; but they saw that he had put out his oars, and was rowing. "going to board us," said the cook, with a sigh. "now the fun's going to begin." for two boats dropped from the cutter's sides, and the boys saw an officer in uniform in each, with a couple of red-coated marines, whose pieces glistened in the morning sunshine, as did the arms of the sailors. but they saw something else as well. at a word from the captain, a dozen of the men went on hands and knees to the arm chest, each sailor in turn taking a cutlass, pistols, and cartridge pouch, and crawling back under the shelter of the bulwarks to load. vince drew a deep sigh, and his face was flushed, while mike looked of a sallow white. "then there'll be a fight?" said the latter. "ay, there'll be a fight," said the cook. "we're in for it now; but unless it's done with the big guns they won't take the _marie_." "why?" said vince. "jacques daren't resist the king's men." the cook chuckled. "you wait and see," he said. "look at him." the boys did look, and saw jacques standing by the steersman, with a drawn sword in one hand and pistols in his belt, hardly seeming to notice the boats, which had separated, one making for the schooner and the other for the _belle-marie_. "pilot sees mischief," said the cook. "he's going back. so would i if i could. i say, young 'uns, you'd better go below, hadn't you?" "no," said vince sharply. "you won't, will you, ladle?" "no: i want to see," replied mike; and they stood and watched the rapidly approaching boat, with the smartly uniformed officer in the stern sheets, and the sailors making the water sparkle as they sent the trim craft rapidly nearer. "ha, ha!" laughed the cook softly; and the boys were about to turn and ask him what he meant, when a movement on the part of the captain caught their attention, while a wave of his hand made his men spring to their feet. the cutter's boat was still fifty yards away, when a sudden puff of wind struck the lugger, her heavy canvas filled out, and she began instantly to yield to the pressure, gliding softly through the water, and putting fifty yards more between her and the boat. then the wind dropped again, and the officer in the boat stood up and shouted to jacques to lower sail, while his men pulled with all their might, getting nearer and nearer. "do you hear?" yelled the officer: "let go everything, you scoundrel!" but jacques gave no order, and when the boat was within twenty yards he was about to make a sign to his men to seize their arms, when the breeze struck the lugger, and away she went, showing her magnificent sailing qualities, for in a few minutes the boat was far behind, when there was a put from the cutter's side, but not to send a ball across their bows, for before the report reached the boys' ears a peculiar sound came overhead, and there was a hole through the mainsail. "now we're in for it," said the cook; and another report rang out, but this shot was at the schooner, which was gliding rapidly away, taking a different course from that of the lugger, but paying no heed to the gun. both boats gave up now, for the wind had caught the cutter once more, and she was gliding up to them. there was a short delay as she got both her boats on board, but she was paying attentions to lugger and schooner all the time, sending steadily shot after shot at each, till the schooner tacked out to get round the southern point of the island; and then, as the cutter crowded on all sail, her bow guns were both trimmed to bear upon the lugger, and shot after shot came whistling overhead. it was nervous work at first, but after the first few shots the excitement took away all sense of fear, and the two boys watched the effect of the balls, as now and then one tore through the rigging. the schooner was going at a tremendous rate, and her escape seemed certain; so the lieutenant in command of the cutter devoted all his attention to the lugger, which sailed rapidly on, first overtaking joe daygo's boat, which lay half a mile away, and rapidly leaving the cutter behind. twice over the frenchman had the after guns turned ready for a shot at his pursuer; but the lugger was going so swiftly that there was no need to use them to try and cripple the cutter's sails, and so make the offence deadly by firing upon his majesty's ship. hence the hot irons remained in the fire ready for an emergency, one which was not long in coming, but which proved too great, even for so reckless a man as jacques. for, as they sailed steadily along, gliding rapidly by the island, and edging off so that they would soon be leaving it behind, the commander of the cutter, enraged at the apparently certain escape of the expected prize, and disappointed by the trifling damage done by the firing upon the lugger's rigging, suddenly changed his tactics, and a shot struck the starboard bulwark, splintering it for a dozen feet along, and sending the pieces flying. this roused the captain's wrath, and, giving a sharp order, he went to one of the guns, pointing it himself, while one of the men ran up to the galley where the boys were standing. "now, cookie," he cried--"reg'lar hot 'un!" and he whisked a white-hot bar from the stove. "here, youngsters, skipper says you're to go below." he ran aft with the bar, scintillating faintly in the sunlight, and handed it to the captain, who bent down once more to take aim, when--_crash_!--a shot struck the stern between wind and water, after ricocheting along the surface. the next instant they saw a brilliant flash, heard a roar as of thunder; and as a dense cloud of smoke arose there was a great gap in the deck on the starboard side close to the cabin-hatch, and the boys grasped the fact instantly that the lugger's little powder magazine had been blown up, while, as they stared aghast at the mischief, and the men making for the boats, the mizen-mast with its heavy sail slowly dropped over the side and lay upon the water, with the effect that it acted like a rudder, and drew the unfortunate vessel round, head to wind. the disorder among the crew only lasted a few minutes; their discipline was to the front again, jacques giving his orders and the men obeying promptly. "she is not going down, my lads," he cried; "ze fire all come upvard. you need not take to ze boats, for ze cutter vould follow and take you. zere: ze game is up. ve could fight, but vat good? you see _la belle-marie_ can do no more. vat you say? shall ve fight?" "if you like, skipper," said the mate quietly; "but if we do the cutter will only stand off a bit and sink us. we couldn't get away." "_non_" said jacques: "luck is against us zis time. i sank you, my brave lads, and i like you too vell to go lose your life for nossing. ve must strike." the men gave him a faint cheer, and crowded round to hold out their hands. "but we will fight if you like, skipper," cried one who made himself spokesman. "i know, my lad," said jacques. "good boys all. ve nevaire had a coward on board ze _belle-marie_." meanwhile the cutter was coming up fast, and a few minutes after two boats boarded them full of sailors and marines, when the first thing done was to send a boat-load of prisoners, which included the captain, vince and mike, on board the cutter. chapter thirty eight. what the boys thought. as the boat glided alongside, the master's mate in command ordered the prisoners to go up; but vince was already half-way over the side, followed by mike, the lieutenant in command ordering them sternly forward. "quick, mr johnson!" he cried to the mate, "then back for the rest as smartly as you can. tell mr hudson to make any leakage sound. carpenter, there: go back with this boat." "ay, ay, sir." "there's no fear of her sinking, sir," said vince. "what? how dare--!" "it's all right, sir," cried vince. "i know. we were prisoners on board the smuggler." "you were what?" "it is right, sare," said jacques quietly. "i took ze boys avay and kept them as prisonaire." "absurd!" said the lieutenant haughtily. "now then: away with that boat. smart there, my lads!" the boat was rowed rapidly back to fetch the rest of the prisoners, and the lieutenant came forward to where his first batch was ranged, to inspect them previous to sending them below. "you're not going to send us down with them, are you?" said mike indignantly. "what?" roared the lieutenant in a rage: "why, you insolent, ruffianly young thief of a smuggler!" "no, he isn't," cried vince fiercely; "he's as much a gentleman as you are." "indeed!" said the lieutenant sarcastically: "perhaps he's a nobleman, sir?" "i don't mean that," said vince sharply; "but he's sir francis ladelle's son." "what, of the crag?" "yes. we found out the smugglers' cave by accident, and they came and caught us, and have kept us ever since." "phew!" whistled the officer, quite changing his manner. "then pray who are you?" "i'm doctor burnet's son." "oh, then of course that alters the case, my lad; but you see you were caught amongst the jackdaws, so you must not wonder that i wanted to wring your neck too." "oh, it's all right if you believe me," said vince; "only, after being prisoners so long, it seemed precious hard to be treated as prisoners when we expected to be free to get home." "then this scoundrel took you both, and has brutally ill-used you ever since?" vince looked round sharply, found the captain's piercing eyes fixed on his, and hesitated. "oh no," he said; "he caught us, and wouldn't let us go for fear we should tell where his stores of smuggled goods are, but he has behaved very well to us ever since." "like a gentleman," put in mike. "indeed! well, then we mustn't be so hard on him. so then, young gentlemen, you two know where the smugglers' depot is?" vince nodded. "and you could show us the way?" vince nodded again. "well, then, you'll have the pleasure of being our guide there as soon as we've taken that confounded schooner." "no, i shall not," said vince, looking hard at jacques. "i don't feel as if it would be fair." "but you'll have to, my lad, in the king's name." "yais, you can promise to show zem every sing, _mon ami_" said jacques, smiling. "my smuggling days are ovaire, and i have been expecting zis every day zese ten years." "very well, then," said vince: "i'll promise to show you by land. i can't by sea, for it's a regular puzzle." "by land, then. where is it?" "over yonder, on our island." "what, at the crag?" cried the lieutenant. "yes." the officer gave vent to a long, low whistle. "thank you, my lad," he said; "this is good news indeed! we have been baffled for years, stopped by this hiding-place which no one knew of. then, when i have taken the schooner i'll land you with a party, and you shall show us the place." "no," said vince; "i want to be paid for doing it." "indeed!" said the officer, curling his lip: "how much?" "oh, i don't mean money. our fathers and mothers think we're dead, and you must land us to go home at once." "impossible, my boy," said the lieutenant, clapping him on the shoulder in a friendly way. "quite right; but english men--and boys--have to think first of their duty to the king. i must chase that schooner first, and--ahoy, there! look sharp with that boat.--look: directly i have taken her i'll land you." "no, sir; land us now," cried mike. "you have only to make that little sailing boat come alongside and order him to take us." "yes, yes," cried vince. "he comes from our island." "what, that fishing boat yonder?" said the lieutenant. "well, that is in my way. yes, i'll do that. now then, alongside there! tumble up, you fellows! marines, take charge, and see them into the hold." "_au revoir, mes enfans_," said jacques--"_au revoir_, if zey do not hang me. good boys, bose of you, but von vord. old daygo he is a rascaille, an old scamp; but he serve me vairy true, and it vas i tempt him vis _monnaie_ to keep my secrete after he show me ze cavern. you vill not tell of him. he is so old, if you send him to ze prisone he soon die." "oh, very well; we won't tell tales of him--eh, mike?" "i should like to knock his old head off; but you've been so civil to us, captain jacques, we will not." the captain smiled and nodded, and then followed his crew into the hold, where they were shut up with a couple of marines on guard. by this time the cutter was in full sail, in chase of the schooner, which had reached out for a long distance, to get clear of the long reefs of dangerous rocks, running far away from the northern shore of the island. she was evidently, in fact, obliged, as she had taken that course, to tack at last, and then run straight almost back again; but it would lead her along by the north coast and probably mean escape. "schooner captain doesn't know his way through the narrows, then," said vince thoughtfully, as they stood watching the now distant schooner. "i suppose not. why, he could easily have got round and saved all that." "i say," cried vince, "never mind about old jacques: smugglers are blackguards, and ought to be caught." "yes, of course." "well, then, let's tell the cutter captain how to get through the narrows and cut the schooner off." "i couldn't. i should send him on the rocks. could you?" "oh, i could," said vince. "here he comes. you'll hail the boat as soon as you're near enough, sir?" "eh?--the boat to set you ashore? i'd almost forgotten. well, i suppose i must. mr johnson! bah, i forgot: he's prize-master aboard the lugger. by the way, you think there's no fear of that craft sinking, my lad?" "i feel sure, sir. the powder all exploded upward." "good. here, mr roberts, hoist a flag for a pilot: that may bring yon fellow." the little flag was hoisted; old joe took no heed, however, but went on in his boat, and the lieutenant grew impatient. "do you think that man understands the signal?" "i'm sure of it, sir, for he's the best pilot we have, and knows every rock." "then it's obstinacy. by george, i'll sink the scoundrel if he doesn't heave to;" and, giving the order, a shot was sent skipping along just in front of old daygo's boat, when the sail was lowered directly, hoisted again, and the boat's head turned to run towards the cutter. "understands that, my lads," said the lieutenant; "but you must jump down quickly--i am losing a deal of time." "never mind, sir," said vince; "i've been sailing all about here ever since i was quite a little fellow, and i know the rocks too. the schooner must tack round in half an hour's time, and then run east." "yes, i know that." "well, sir, you can run from here right across, and save miles." the officer looked at him keenly. "the passage is called the narrows, and it's all deep water. you see the big gull rock away yonder--the one with the white top?" "well!" "make straight for that, and go within half a cable's length. then tack, keep the south point right over the windmill for your bearings, and sail due east too. then you can cut the smuggler off." "hah! yes; it's down on the chart, but i did not dare to try it. thank you, my lad; that is grand. ah! here's the boat." the boys shrank back, so that old daygo should not see them, while the lieutenant stepped up to the side and bullied the old man, who protested humbly that he did not understand the signal. "well, quick! here are two passengers to take ashore. now, my lads-- sharp!" vince and mike shook hands with the officer, while a sailor at the gangway held on to the painter of daygo's boat, which was gliding pretty fast through the water, the course of the cutter not having been quite stopped; then the lads jumped lightly in, the painter was thrown after them, there was a slight touch of the helm, and the cutter heeled over and dashed away, leaving vince and mike looking the old man full in the face, while he stared back with his jaw dropped down almost to his chest. "then you arn't dead, young gen'lemen?" "no, we're not dead," said vince sharply. "now then, hoist that sail and run us home." the boys sat there watching the cutter, the lugger and the schooner all sailing rapidly away. then suddenly it occurred to both the lads that the old man was very slow over the business of hoisting that sail; that he was then the greatest enemy they had, and that it would be very awkward for them if he were to suddenly take it into his head to do them some mischief. "he's a big, strong man," thought vince; "he knows that we can ruin him if we like to speak, and--i wonder what ladle is thinking about?" "ladle" was thinking the same. chapter thirty nine. daygo meets his match. it seemed to take a long time to hoist that sail, but at last it was well up, the yard creaking against the mast; and standing on their dignity now, and keeping the old man at a distance, the boys made no offer to take the sheet or steer, but let daygo pass them as they sat amidships, one on each side, and he seated himself, hauled in the sheet, and thrust an oar over the stern to steer. there was a nice breeze now, they were only about a mile from the shore, and as the boat danced merrily through the little waves a feeling of joy and exultation, to which the boys had long been strangers, filled their breasts. they took long, hungry looks at the shore, and then at the cutter racing along towards the great gull rock, at the schooner careening over as she ran on under all the canvas she could bear; and then back at the lugger, which by comparison seemed to limp along, with a scrub of a spar hoisted as a jury mast, far astern, in place of the fallen mizen, so as to steady her steering. then they looked at each other again, those two, as they sat face to face, neither speaking, and carefully avoiding even a glance at daygo, feeling as they did the awkwardness of their position, and averse to meeting the old scoundrel's eye. not that they would have met it, for daygo was as full of discomfort as they, and with his eyes screwed up face one maze of wrinkles, he stared through between them as if looking at the prow, but really at the big patch of canvas in his sail. for, as daygo put it to himself, he was on the awkwardest bit of lee shore that he had ever sailed by in his life. he had, as was surmised by the cook, caught sight of the revenue cutter sailing by the north side of the crag, and hurried down to his boat to warn jacques or his companion; but, upon finding himself too late, he was making for home again, thinking that, as jacques was taken and his lugger a prize to the cutter--which looked determined to follow up the schooner, probably to take her too--there would be no owner for the contraband goods still left in the cavern, unless that owner proved to be himself. there were two others, he mused--two who knew of the place and its treasure; but captain jacques was, according to the old fisherman's theory, not the kind of man to stick at trifles when such great interests were at stake; and he felt quite satisfied that the two boys would never be seen at cormorant crag again. some accident would happen to them--what accident was no business of his, he argued. they had got themselves into a terrible mess through their poking and prying about, and they must put up with the consequences. they might have fallen off the cliff when getting sea-birds' eggs, or they might have been carried away by one of the currents when bathing, or they might have been capsized and drowned while they stole his boat--he called it "stole"--in any one of which cases, he said to himself, they'd never have come back to the crag again, and it wouldn't have been any business of his, so he wasn't going to worry his brains. old jarks had grabbed 'em, and when he grabbed anything he didn't let it go again. joe daygo was a slow thinker, and all this took him a long time to hammer out; and he had just settled it comfortably, on his way home, when he caught sight of the pilot flag flying, and paid no heed. "don't ketch me showing 'em the way through the narrers to ketch the _shark_!" he growled; and he kept on his way till the imperative mood present tense was tried, and then he made for the side of the cutter, to receive what was to him a regular knock-down blow, or, as he put it, a wind taking him on a very dangerous lee shore. so the old fisherman did not look at his passengers, but began thinking hard again. he couldn't take those two home, he said to himself, for, if he did, at their first words he'd be seized by some one or every one, for they all hated him for being so well off, and monopolising so much of the lobster catching, especially jemmy carnach. then sir francis ladelle and the doctor would come; he'd be locked up, sent by the smack over to england, and be tried, and all his savings perhaps be seized. just, too, when he had a chance of doubling them by taking the contents of the cave. he had arrived at this point with great difficulty when the strange silence on board the boat, which had so far only been broken by the lapping of the water and the creaking of the yard, was broken by vince, who cried excitedly, as he stood up in the boat: "look, look, mike! nearly everybody's yonder on the cliff. they've heard the firing and the explosion, and they're watching the cutter chase the schooner." mike rose too, and with beating hearts the two boys stood trying to make out who was on the look-out; but the distance was too great to distinguish faces. still they stood, steadying each other by clapping hands on shoulders, quite unconscious of the fact that the old man was now gazing at them with a very peculiar expression of countenance, that foreboded anything but good. all at once, they both lurched and nearly fell, for daygo's mind was made up, and he thrust his oar deep down, changing the boat's course suddenly, and making the sail flap. "here, what are you doing?" cried vince, forced by this to speak to the old man at last. "think i want to run my boat into that curran' an' get on the rocks? sit down, will you, and keep outer the way of the sheet." for answer the boys went forward, quite out of his way, and the boat rushed on again for some ten minutes before they spoke again, though they had been looking about with gathering uneasiness, for they were growing suspicious, but ashamed to speak because the idea seemed to be absurd. at last vince said-- "he's making a precious long tack, mike, and i don't know of any big current here." mike was silent, and they saw now that without doubt they were sailing right away from the island, and were in the full race of the tide. still they felt that the old man must know best how to make for his tiny port, and they sat in silence for fully twenty minutes, waiting for him to make another tack and run back. but soon the suspicions both felt had grown into a certainty, and mike said in a whisper, as calmly as he could,-- "cinder, he has got the conger bat out of the locker. what does he mean?" "he means that he won't take us ashore," said vince huskily: "he's going to sail right away with us for fear we should tell about him, and the conger bat's to frighten us and keep us quiet." there was a strange look of agony in mike ladelle's eyes, as he gazed in his companion's, to read there a horror quite as deep. then neither of them spoke, but sat there listening to the lapping of the water, which spread to right and left in two lines of foam as the little boat sped on. it was vince who broke the silence at last, after drawing a deep breath. "ladle, old chap," he said, in a low voice, "they're at home yonder, and it means perhaps never seeing them again. what shall we do?" mike tried to speak, but his voice was too husky to be heard for a few moments. "i'll do what you do," he said at last. "you'll stand by me, whatever comes?" "yes." vince glanced sidewise, to find that they were pretty well hidden by the sail; so he thrust out his hand, which was gripped fast, and the two boys sat there with throbbing hearts, trying to nerve themselves for anything that might happen now. then, without a word, vince rose, and, steadying himself by the mast, he stepped over the thwart in which it was stepped, and then on to the next, close to where the old man sat steering right astern, and holding the sheet of the well-filled sail as well. "this is not the way to the crag," said vince, with his voice trembling slightly; and the old man grunted. "where are you making for?" said vince, firmly now. "didn't i tell yer i didn't want to get run on the rocks?" roared the old man, unnecessarily loudly, after a glance back at the shore, where all was growing distant and dim. "yes, you told me so; but it isn't true," said vince, in a voice he did not know for his own. "what?" roared daygo fiercely. "you heard what i said. run her up in the wind at once, and go back." "you go and sit down," growled the old man savagely. "you change her course," said vince firmly. "you go and sit down while you're safe," growled the old man, with his face twitching. "you had orders from the commander of the cutter to take us ashore. change the boat's course directly." "will you go and sit down, both of you?" cried the old man again, more fiercely, but his voice was lower and deeper. "no," said mike; "and if you won't steer for the crag, i will." "this here's my boat, and i'll steer how i like, and nobody else shan't touch her." "your orders from the king's officer were to take us home. will you do it?" "no!" roared the old man. "go and sit down, 'fore i do you a mischief." vince did not even look behind to see if he was going to be supported, for he felt full of that desperate courage which comes to an anglo-saxon-descended lad in an emergency like that. he saw the savagely murderous look in the old man's eyes, and that he had quickly seized the conger bat with one hand, after passing the sheet into that which held the oar. with one spring vince was upon him, seizing the heavy wooden club, which he strove to tear from his grasp, just as the old man too sprang up, and mike snatched the sheet from his hand with a jerk which sent the oar, loose now in the old man's grasp, gliding overboard. mike made a dash to save it, but was flung down into the bottom of the boat as the old man thrust a foot forward and seized vince in his tremendous grip. the boy struggled bravely, but his fresh young muscles were as nothing to the gnarled, time-hardened flesh and sinew of the old savage, who lifted him by main force, after a short struggle which made the boat rock as if it would go over, and vince realised what was to follow. "mike! do something," he cried in his agony to the boy, who was struggling up, half stunned, from where he lay between the thwarts; and in his desperation mike did do something, for, as daygo put out all his strength, tore vince's clinging hands from his jersey, and hurled him right out from the boat, mike seized the old man fiercely by one leg. it was not much to do, but it did much, for it threw daygo off his balance in the rocking boat; and vince had hardly plunged down into the clear water before his enemy followed, with a tremendous splash, thrusting the boat away, and going head first deeply down. vince was the first to rise, shake his head, and begin to swim for the boat. but daygo rose too directly and looked round, and then he, too, swam for the boat, whose uncurbed sail flapped wildly about; while mike picked up the other oar to try and steer back to help his companion. he changed the position of the boat, and that was all. it did this, though,--it gave vince the chance of making for the side opposite to that for which daygo aimed, and he swam with all his might to be there first. but vince had the greater distance to go, and mike saw that, unless he helped, daygo would be too much for them yet. quick as thought, he drew in the oar which he had thrust over the stern, turned it in his grasp as he stood up in the rocking boat, and, as the old man came up and stretched out his hands to grasp the gunwale, mike drove the hand-hold of the oar, lance-fashion, down into his chest. "i've killed him," groaned the boy, as his enemy fell back and went under again. then he nearly followed him, for the boat was jerked from the other side, and he turned to find vince had seized the gunwale and was climbing in. a sharp drag helped him, and vince's first act was to seize the conger bat, which lay beneath the after-thwart. he was only just in time, for, as he turned, daygo had risen, and swam up again to seize the gunwale with one great gnarled hand. crash came down the heavy club, the hand relaxed, and daygo went down again. "vince! vince! you've killed him," cried mike, in horror. "no, no-- don't: don't do that!" he shrieked, as vince thrust his right-hand into his dripping pocket and tore out his big sharp long-bladed knife. "you take the bat," cried vince; and, as the boy obeyed trembling, he shouted, so that the old man could hear as he swam after them, "hit him over the hands again if he touches the boat." it did not seem likely that he would overtake them by swimming, for the wind acted upon the flapping sail and drove them slowly along. taking advantage of this, vince went forward and cut off the long rope from the ring-bolt in the stem, and returned with it to where, wild-eyed and scared, mike knelt with the conger bat upraised, ready to strike if the old man came near. "now," said vince firmly, "you hold that conger club with both hands, mike, and if he does anything, or tries to do anything, bring it down on his head with all your might. do you hear?" "yes," said mike faintly. "now, then, you come and take hold of the gunwale with both hands, and let me tie your wrists," cried vince. "look out, mike!" the old man swam up and put his hands together. "you arn't going to murder me?" he groaned. "you wait and see--ah!" yelled vince, for the treacherous old ruffian had seized him by the chest and was dragging him out of the boat. but mike was ready: the bat came down with tremendous force, and the old man loosened his grasp and sank, remaining beneath the surface so long that the boys gazed at each other aghast. "quick! there he is," cried mike; and vince seized the oar and sculled to where the old man had come slowly up, feebly moving his hands, and apparently insensible. "we must haul him in, mike," said vince. "he's not likely to hurt us now." "if he is," said mike, "we must do it all the same;" and, leaning over, they each got a good grip, and, heaving together, somehow rolled daygo into the bottom of the boat, where they dragged his head beneath the centre thwart, and then firmly bound him hand and foot, using some strong fishing line as well as the painter and the rope belonging to the little grapnel. chapter forty. "huzza! we're homeward bound." by the time they had done the old man began to revive, but the boat was skimming along over the waves toward cormorant crag before he was able to speak coherently. "where are you going?" he groaned at last. "what's that to you? home!" said vince sharply. "nay, nay; don't take me there, master vince--don't! i give in. you two have 'most killed me, but i forgive you; only don't take me there." "you hold your tongue, you old ruffian," cried vince, who was steering and holding the sheet too, while mike kept guard with the conger bat. "mind, mike. don't take your eyes off him for a moment, and if he tries to untie a knot, hit him again." "nay, i'm beat," said the old man, with a groan. "my head! my head!" "serve you right," cried mike. "i believe you meant mischief to us." "oh!" groaned daygo; and he turned up his eyes till only the whites, or rather the yellows, could be seen, and then lay perfectly still; while the boat bounded onward now towards the island, as if eager to bear the boys to their home. vince looked hard at the big, heavy figure in the bottom of the boat, as he attended to the sailing and steering; and now that the heat of battle was over, and he sat there in his saturated clothes, he began to wonder at their success in winning the day. then, as daygo lay quite still, he began to think that they had gone too far, and his opinion was endorsed by his companion, who suddenly leaned back to look at him, with a face full of horror. "cinder," he said, "i didn't mean to, but i hit him too hard." "put the bat down, and come and take the oar and sheet," whispered back vince, whose nervous feeling increased as the change was made. vince was no doctor, but he had not been about with his father for years, and dipped into his books, without picking up some few scraps of medical and surgical lore. so, bringing these to bear, he leaned over their prisoner and listened to his breathing, studied his countenance a little, and then placed a couple of fingers upon the man's massive wrist and then at his throat and temples. after this he drew back to where, trembling and ghastly-looking, mike was watching him, and now whispered, with catching breath,-- "is he--" mike wanted to say "dead," but the word would not come. "yes," said vince, in the same low tone; "he's shamming. go back and keep guard." "no, no--you," said mike; "i'll steer." vince nodded, and seated himself on the thwart over the prisoner, with the heavy piece of wood close at hand. the boat bounded on, and he glanced at the distant vessels, wondering whether the cutter would capture the schooner and the lugger get safely to port. he thought, too, a good deal about the man in the bottom of the boat, and felt more and more sure that he was right in his ideas; for every now and then there was a twitching of the muscles about the corners of his eyes, which at last opened in a natural way, and looked piteously in the boy's face. "how far are we from the shore?" he said. "'bout a mile," said vince coolly. "why, mike ladelle thought you were dead?" "so i am nearly," groaned daygo. "oh, my head, my head!" "yes, you did get a pretty good crack," said vince; "and you'll get another if you don't lie still." "but you've tied me so tight, master vince: line's a-cutting into my wristies." "of course it is," said vince coolly. "i tied it as tightly as i could. you ought to be pretty well satisfied that we didn't leave you to drown." "ah!" groaned daygo, "don't say that, master vince. i've been a good friend to you and him." "yes, and we're going to be good friends to you, joe. you're such a wicked old rascal that it will do you good to be sent to prison." "no, no; don't do that, my lad. mebbe they'd hang me." "what, for a pirate and smuggler? well, perhaps they will," said vince coolly. "but you wouldn't like that, my lad. untie me, and let me set you ashore, and then i'll sail away and never come near the crag again." "well, but you won't come near the crag again if i take you ashore. sir francis will have you put in prison, of course. won't he, mike?" "there's no doubt about that," replied mike. daygo groaned. "oh, master vince--don't, don't!" he cried. "i'm an old man now, and it would be so horrible." "so it was for our poor people at home; and i know you've been pretending you hadn't seen us." "ay, i've been a bad 'un--'orrid bad 'un, sir, but i'm a-repenting now, and going to lead a new life." "in prison, joe." "no, no, no, sir," yelled the miserable wretch. "it 'd kill me. do be a good gen'leman, and forgive me as you ought to, bad as i've been. you untie me and let me run you ashore, and then i raally will sail away." "what do you say, mike?" "well, i think we might trust him now. he has been pretty well punished." "then you'd trust him?" said vince. mike nodded. "then i wouldn't. he'd jump up, strong as ever, and pitch us overboard, or take us over to france, or do something. i'm not going to untie a knot." "oh, master vince," groaned the old fellow; "and after all the fish i've give you, and the things i've done!" "including trying to drown me," said vince. "oh, master mike, you have got a 'art in yer," groaned daygo. "you try an' persuade him, sir. don't take me ashore and give me up." "look, mike," said vince excitedly, as a white puff of smoke suddenly appeared from the bows of the cutter, followed shortly by another, showing that they had got within range of the schooner, and the firing was kept up steadily as the boat sailed on, fast nearing the shore now, where the cliff was dotted with the people attracted by the engagement. but the firing did not interest daygo, who kept on pleading and protesting and begging to be forgiven to one who seemed to have thoroughly hardened his heart. then the old man made an effort to wriggle himself into a sitting position, but a light tap with the conger bat sent him down. "don't you move again," said vince sternly; "and don't you say another word, or you'll make your case worse than ever." daygo groaned, and vince watched the shore, which they were fast nearing. then, springing up, he began to wave his hands frantically. "look, mike! that's my father. yes; and yours. ah! they see us, and they're waving their hats. ahoy! ashore there! hurrah! we're all right, father." mike sprang up too, forgetting his steering; and the boat would have begun to alter her course, but vince seized the oar and set her right. "now then, jump up," he cried, "and show yourself. they see us. father's coming nearer down. mike, we shall be ashore in five minutes." "oh--oh--oh!" groaned daygo. "marcy, young gents, marcy! i know they'll hang me." vince turned upon him fiercely, and took out his long spanish knife, which he opened and whetted upon the gunwale, while the old man's eyes opened so that he showed a ring around the iris. "what are you going to do, cinder?" cried mike, catching him by the arm. "i'll show you directly," said vince firmly. just then the doctor and sir francis began shouting to the boys; and the people near, among whom were jemmy carnach and the lobster, took off and waved their caps, and cheered. "look here, ladle," whispered vince: "will you do as i tell you--i mean, do as i do?" "yes; anything." "i'm soaked. do you mind being the same?" "not a bit," cried mike excitedly. "right, then: follow me. it's only fifty or sixty yards now to the tunnel, and we can wade through. starboard a little more. that's it." he pressed the oar his companion held, and the boat glided behind the towering rock, hiding the group on shore from their sight; and now vince bent forward over their prisoner. "in with the oar, mike," he said loudly, "and do as i do." he bent over the old fisherman, whose eyes, were nearly starting out of his head with horror, and with one clean thrust beneath the cord, divided it and set daygo's wrists free, and then did the same by his ankles. then vince started up. "there," he cried; "there's our revenge on you, you old ruffian! you've got your boat: sail away, and never let us see you at the crag again. now, mike, over!" he set the example; and, as the old man sat up, the two boys dived into the deep clear water together, rose and swam for the tunnel, into which they passed, and were soon able to wade on towards the little dock. a minute later each was clasped in his father's arms. wet as he was? well, it was only sea water. need i write about what took place at the doctor's cottage and at the old manor? i think not. there is surely no boy who reads this and thinks of his mother's tears who cannot imagine the scene far more vividly than i can describe it. for the long mourned ones had returned, as if by a miracle, and all was happiness once more. that night it was announced that the cutter had gone east, with the schooner close astern; and three days later she was off the crag, vince and mike being ready to meet the lieutenant when he landed and to act as guides. the officer of the cutter was for making them show the way into the caverns by sea; but on hearing more he had his men furnished with all the picks and bars that could be provided, and then, with an ample supply of lanthorns, the entrance to the dark passage was sought, sir francis and the doctor being quite as eager to see the place as the sailors. half-way through it was found to be blocked; but a pound of powder well placed and provided with a slow match was left to explode, and as soon as the foul air had cleared away the place was found practicable, and the party descended to find enough cargo left to well lade the cutter. but the men did not hurry themselves, nor the officers neither; for they found the hospitality at the mount or at the doctor's very agreeable. at last, though, the cutter sailed, but not before an attempt had been made to enter the smugglers' dock; only it was given up as being too risky for his majesty's revenue cutter. previous to going, the lieutenant, who had become a great friend of the boys, said a few words which afterwards bore fruit. they were these:-- "i say, my lads, why don't you two chaps go to sea? you'd make splendid middies." they did; but it was not till a year after the announcement which came to the crag that the two boys' names were down as sharers in the prize money distributed to the officers and men of the cutter. "and it does seem rum, ladle," said vince, as they lay on the thyme-scented grass, looking out to sea, and occasionally letting their eyes wander towards the great bluff which hid away the scraw. "what seems rum?" said mike wonderingly. "that we should get a share in poor old jacques' treasures after all. i wonder what has become of him." they heard at last that, by the help of one of his men, who had acted as cook on board the lugger, he had escaped to france; and two years later, when they were growing men, they caught sight of old daygo in plymouth town, but the old man managed to avoid them, and, for reasons which the reader can easily understand, neither of the young men felt disposed to hunt him out and ask how he came there. had they done so, they would have found that joe daygo had been saving money for many years, and he was living outside the port, where he could see the sea, as "a retired gentleman." these are his own words. and the caverns down by the scraw? sixty years' workings of time and tide have made strange alterations there. huge masses have fallen in, rocks have been washed away, and pleasant slopes have taken the place of precipice and dangerous rift; but the sea gulls wheel round the rugged cliffs and rear their young in safety, and upon sunny days, when the fierce currents are running strong, the dark olive-green birds may be seen swimming and diving to bring up their silvery prey to gorge, and afterwards fly off to dry their plumage on shelves and slopes of their home--dangerous surf-girt cormorant crag. the end. cutlass and cudgel, by george manville fenn. ________________________________________________________________________ in some ways this book is reminiscent of "the lost middy", by the same author, but i suppose that with a similar theme, a nosey midshipman taken prisoner by a gang of smugglers, there are bound to be other points of similarity. anyway, it is a good fast-moving story, with lots of well-drawn human interest. it starts off with a comic scene, where the excise patrol vessel is cruising near an area suspected of being heavily involved with smuggling. suddenly a large object is seen swimming in the water, and it turns out to be a cow. then there's all the business of milking the cow on the deck of a sailing-vessel. pretty soon, however it gets serious, and we meet various characters living nearby. soon the inquisitive midshipman is taken prisoner, and it falls to another teenager, the son of one of the chief rogues, to bring him food. both boys become friendly with each other, but the midshipman can only express it by appearing to hate the farm-fisher boy, whom he considers to be socially far beneath him. the farm-boy tries so hard to be kind to the midshipman, who is so rude in return. eventually the midshipman escapes, the smugglers are caught, and the farm-boy becomes a seaman on the excise vessel. nh _______________________________________________________________________ cutlass and cudgel, by george manville fenn. chapter one. "heigh-ho-ha-hum! oh dear me!" "what's matter, sir?" "matter, dirty dick? nothing; only, heigh-ho-ha! oh dear me, how sleepy i am!" "well, sir, i wouldn't open my mouth like that 'ere, 'fore the sun's up." "why not?" "no knowing what you might swallow off this here nasty, cold, foggy, stony coast." "there you go again, dick; not so good as lincolnshire coast, i suppose?" "as good, sir? why, how can it be?" said the broad, sturdy sailor addressed. "nothin' but great high stony rocks, full o' beds of great flat periwinkles and whelks; nowhere to land, nothin' to see. i am surprised at you, sir. why, there arn't a morsel o' sand." "for not praising your nasty old flat sandy shore, with its marsh beyond, and its ague and bogs and fens." "wish i was 'mong 'em now, sir. wild ducks there, as is fit to eat, not iley fishy things like these here." "oh, bother! wish i could have had another hour or two's sleep. i say, dirty dick, are you sure the watch wasn't called too soon?" "nay, sir, not a bit; and, beggin' your pardon, sir, if you wouldn't mind easin' off the dirty--dick's much easier to say." "oh, very well, dick. don't be so thin-skinned about a nickname." "that's it, sir. i arn't a bit thin-skinned. why, my skin's as thick as one of our beasts. i can't help it lookin' brown. washes myself deal more than some o' my mates as calls me dirty. strange and curious how a name o' that kind sticks." "oh, i say, don't talk so," said the lad by the rough sailor's side; and after another yawn he began to stride up and down the deck of his majesty's cutter _white hawk_, lying about a mile from the freestone coast of wessex. it was soon after daybreak, the sea was perfectly calm and a thick grey mist hung around, making the deck and cordage wet and the air chilly, while the coast, with its vast walls of perpendicular rocks, looked weird and distant where a peep could be obtained amongst the wreaths of vapour. "don't know when i felt so hungry," muttered the lad, as he thrust his hands into his breeches pockets, and stopped near the sailor, who smiled in the lad's frank-looking, handsome face. "ah, you always were a one to yeat, sir, ever since you first came aboard." "you're a noodle, dick. who wouldn't be hungry, fetched out of his cot at this time of the morning to take the watch. hang the watch! bother the watch! go and get me a biscuit, dick, there's a good fellow." the sailor showed his white teeth, and took out a brass box. "can't get no biscuit yet, sir. have a bit o' this. keeps off the gnawin's wonderful." "yah! who's going to chew tobacco!" cried the lad with a look of disgust, as he buttoned up his uniform jacket. "oh, hang it all, i wish the sun would come out!" "won't be long, sir; and then all this sea-haar will go." "why don't you say mist?" cried the lad contemptuously. "'acause it's sea-haar, and you can't make nowt else on it, sir!" "they haven't seen anything of them in the night, i suppose?" "no, sir; nowt. it scars me sometimes, the way they dodges us, and gets away. don't think theer's anything queer about 'em, do you?" "queer? yes, of course. they're smugglers, and as artful as can be." "nay, sir, bad, i mean--you know, sir." "no, i don't, dick," cried the young officer pettishly. "how can i know? speak out." "nay, i wean't say a word, sir; i don't want to get more scarred than i am sometimes now." "get out! what do you mean? that old bogey helps them to run their cargoes?" "nay, sir, i wean't say a word. it's all werry well for you to laugh, now it's daylight, and the sun coming out. it's when it's all black as pitch, as it takes howd on you worst." "you're a great baby, dick," cried the midshipman, as he went to the side of the cutter and looked over the low bulwark toward the east. "hah! here comes the sun." his eyes brightened as he welcomed the coming of the bright orb, invisible yet from where he stood; but the cold grey mist that hung around was becoming here and there, in patches, shot with a soft delicious rosy hue, which made the grey around turn opalescent rapidly, beginning to flash out pale yellow, which, as the middy watched, deepened into orange and gold. "lovely!" he said aloud, as he forgot in the glory of the scene the discomfort he had felt. "tidy, sir, pooty tidy," said the sailor, who had come slowly up to where he stood. "and you should see the morning come over our coast, sir. call this lovely? why, if you'd sin the sun rise there, it would mak' you stand on your head." "rather see this on my feet, dick," cried the lad. "look at that! hurrah! up she comes!" up "she"--otherwise the sun--did come, rolling slowly above the mist-covered sea, red, swollen, huge, and sending blood-tinted rays through and through the haze to glorify the hull, sails, and rigging of the smart cutter, and make the faces of the man at the helm and the other watchers glow as with new health. the effect was magical. just before all was cold and grey, and the clinging mist sent a shiver through those on deck; now, their eyes brightened with pleasure, as the very sight of the glowing orb seemed to have a warming--as it certainly had an enlivening--effect. the great wreaths of mist yielded rapidly as the sun rose higher, the rays shooting through and through, making clear roads which flashed with light, and, as the clouds rolled away like the grey smoke of the sun's fire, the distant cliffs, which towered up steep and straight, like some titanic wall, came peering out now in patches bright with green and golden grey. archibald raystoke--midshipman aboard his majesty the king's cutter, stationed off the freestone coast, to put a stop to the doings of a smuggler whose career the government had thought it high time to notice--drew in a long breath, and forgot all about hunger and cold in the promise of a glorious day. it was impossible to think of such trifling things in the full burst of so much beauty, for, as the sun rose higher, the sea, which had been blood-red and golden, began to turn of a vivid blue deeper than the clear sky overhead; the mist wreaths grew thinner and more transparent, and the pearly glistening foam, which followed the breaking of each wave at the foot of the mighty cliffs, added fresh beauty to the glorious scene. "look here, dirty dick," began the middy, who burst out into a hearty fit of laughter as he saw the broad-shouldered sailor give his face a rub with the back of his hands, and look at them one after the other. "does it come off, dick?" he said. "nay, sir; nothin' comes off," said the man dolefully. "'tis my natur too, but it seems werry hard to be called dirty, when you arn't." "there, i beg pardon, dick, and i will not call you so any more." "thankye, sir; i s'pose you mean it, but you'll let it out again soon as you forget." "no, i will not, dick. but, i say, look here: you are a cheat, though, are you not?" "me, sir? no!" cried the man excitedly. "i mean about the lincolnshire coast. confess it isn't half so beautiful as this." "oh, yes it is, sir. it's so much flatter. why, you can't hardly find a place to land here, without getting your boat stove in." "if all's true, the smugglers know how to land things," said archibald, as he gazed thoughtfully at the cliffs. "oh, them! o' course, sir, they can go up the cliffs, and over 'em like flies in sugar basins. they get a spar over the edge, with a reg'lar pulley, and lets down over the boats, and then up the kegs and bales comes." "ah, well, we must catch them at it some day, dick, and then there'll be lots o' prize-money for you all." "and for you too, sir; officers comes first. but we arn't got the prize yet, and it's my belief as we shan't get it." "why?" "because it seems to me as there's something not all right about these here craft." "of course there is, they are smugglers." "yes, sir, and worse too. if they was all right, we shouldn't ha' been cruising 'bout here seven weeks, and never got a sight o' one of 'em, when we know they've been here all the time." "i don't understand you, dick," said the middy, as he watched the going and coming of the rock pigeons which flew straight for the cliff, seemed to pass right in, and then dashed out. "well, sir, i can't explain it. them there's things as you can't explain, nor nobody else can't." he wrinkled up his face and shook his head, as if there were a great deal more behind. "now, what are you talking about, dick?" cried the lad. "you don't mean that the smuggler's a sort of ghost, and his lugger's all fancy?" "well, not exactly, sir, because if they was, they couldn't carry real cargoes, which wouldn't be like the smuggler and his lugger, sir, and, of course, then the kegs and lace wouldn't be no good. but there's a bit something wrong about these here people, and all the men thinks so too." "more shame for them!" said the middy quickly. "hi! look there, dick; what's that?" he seized the sailor by the shoulder, and pointed where, some five hundred yards away, close under the cliff, but on the rise of the line of breakers, there was something swimming slowly along. dick shaded his eyes, for no reason whatever, the sun being at his back, and gazed at the object in the water. "'tarnt a porpus," he said thoughtfully. "as if i didn't know that," cried the lad; and, running aft, he descended into the cabin, and returned with a glass, which he focussed and gazed through at the object rising steadily and falling with the heave of the sea. "see her, sir?" "yes," answered the middy, with his glass at his eye. "it's a bullock or a cow." "werry like, sir. there is sea-cows, i've heared." "oh, but this isn't one of them. i believe it's a real cow, dick." "not she, sir. real cows lives in lincolnshire, and feeds on grass. i never see 'em go in the sea, only halfway up their legs in ponds, and stand a-waggin' their tails to keep off the flies. this here's a sea-cow, sir, sartin." "it's a cow, dick; and it has tumbled off the cliff, and is swimming for its life," said the lad, closing the glass. the sailor chuckled. "what are you laughing at?" "at you, sir, beggin' your pardon. but you don't think as how a cow would be such a fool as to tumble off a cliff. humans might, but cows is too cunning." "i don't believe you would be," cried the lad smartly. "put you up there in such a fog as we've had, and where would you be?" "fast asleep in the first snug corner i could find," said the sailor, as the midshipman ran aft, and descended into the cabin, to go to the end and tap on a door. there was no answer, and he tapped again. "hullo!" "beg pardon, sir," began the midshipman. "granted! be off, and don't bother me again." there was a rustling sound, and a deep-toned breathing, that some rude people would have called a snore. the midshipman looked puzzled, hesitated, and then knocked again. there came a smothered roar, like that of an angry beast. "beg pardon, sir." "who's that?" "raystoke, sir." "what do you want? am i never to have a night's rest again?" all this in smothered tones, as if the speaker was shut up in a cupboard with a blanket over his head. "wouldn't have troubled you, sir, but--" "smugglers in sight?" "no, sir; it's a cow." "a what?" "cow, sir, overboard." "quite right. milk and water," came in muffled tones. "beg pardon, sir, what shall i do?" "go and milk her, and don't bother me." "but she's swimming under the cliff, sir." "go and ask her on board, then. be off!" archy raystoke knew his commanding officer's ways, and after waiting a few moments, he said softly, after giving a tap or two on the panel-- "shall i take the boat and get her aboard?" there was a loud rustle; a bang as if some one had struck the bulkhead with his elbow, and then a voice roared-- "look here, sir, if you don't be off and let me finish my sleep, i'll let go at you through the door. you're in charge of the deck. go and do what's right, and don't bother me." _bang_! another blow on the bulkhead, and rustling noise, and, as well as if he had seen it all, archy knew that his officer had snuggled down under the clothes, and gone to sleep. but he had the permission, and calling to a couple of the crew, he soon had the small boat in the water, with dick and another man pulling towards where the cow was slowly swimming here and there, with its wet nose and two horns a very short distance above the surface. "now, then, dick, is it a sea-cow?" cried archy, as they drew nearer. "well, sir, what else can it be?" "ah, you obstinate!" cried the lad. "now, then, what are we going to do? we can't land her," he continued, looking up at the towering cliff, "and, of course, we can't take her in the boat." "i'll soon manage that," said dick, leaving his rowing to take up a coil of rope he had thrown into the boat, and make a running noose. "yes, but--" "it's all right, sir. get this over her horns, and we can tow her alongside, and hyste her on deck in no time." the cow proved that she was accustomed to man, for, as the boat approached, she swam slowly to meet it, raising her nose a little to utter a loud bellow, as if glad to welcome the help. so quiet and gentle was the poor creature, that there was no difficulty in passing the noose over her horns, making the line fast to a ring-bolt, so as to keep her head well above the surface, and then dick resumed his oar; and after a glance round to make sure that there was no place where the poor beast could be landed, archie gave the order for them to row back to where the cutter lay in the bright sunshine, five hundred yards from the shore. he looked in vain, for at the lowest part the green edge of the cliff was a couple of hundred feet above the level of the sea, and right and left of him the mighty walls of rock rose up, four, five, and even six hundred feet, and for the most part with a sheer descent to the water which washed their feet. the cow took to her journey very kindly, helping the progress by swimming till they were alongside the cutter, where the men on deck were looking over the low side, and grinning with amusement. "pull her horns off, sir!" said dick, in answer to a question, as he proceeded to pass the rope through a block, "not it." "but hadn't we better have a line round her?" "if you want to cut her 'most in two, sir. we'll soon have her on board." dick was as good as his word, for the task was easy with a vessel so low in the water as the cutter; and in a few minutes the unfortunate cow was standing dripping on deck. chapter two. "can any one of you men milk?" said lieutenant brough, a little plump-looking man, of about five and thirty, as he stood in naval uniform staring at the new addition to his majesty's cutter _white hawk_, a well-fed dun cow, which stood steadily swinging her long tail to and fro, where she was tethered to the bulwarks, after vainly trying to make a meal off the well holystoned deck. there was no reply, the men grinning one at the other, on hearing so novel a question. "do you men mean to say that not one amongst you can milk?" cried the lieutenant. no one had spoken; but now, in a half-shrinking foolish way, dick pulled his forelock, and made a kick out behind. "you can?" cried the lieutenant, "that's right; get a bucket and milk her. i'll have some for breakfast." "didn't say as i could milk, sir," said dick. "seen 'em milk, though, down in linkyshire, and know how it's done." "then, of course, you can do it," said the lieutenant shortly; "look sharp!" the men grinned, and dirty dick by no means looked sharp, but exceedingly blunt and foolish as he shuffled along the deck, provided himself with a bucket, and then approached the cow, which had suddenly began chewing the cud. "look at her, mate," said one of the sailors. "what for?" said the man addressed. "some one's been giving her a quid o' bacca." "go on." "but some one has. look at her chewing." "why, so she is!" said the sailor, scratching his head, as he watched the regular actions of the cow's jaw, as she stood blinking her eyes, and swinging her tail to and fro, apparently quite content; the more so, that the sun was shining upon her warmly, and the sea water rapidly quitting her skin for the deck, where it made a rivulet into one of the scuppers. jack the sailor is easily pleased, for the simple reason that anything is a relief from the tedium of life on ship-board; consequently the coming of the cow was like a half-holiday to them at the wrong end of the day, and they stood about nudging each other, as dirty dick trotted up with his bucket, archy looking on as much amused as the men. the cow blinked her eyes, and turned her head to smell at the bucket which dick set down on the deck, and stood scratching his head. "well, sir, go on," said the lieutenant--"seems to me, now, mr raystoke, that we ought to have cream and fresh butter. capital prize you've taken.--do you hear, sir? go on." "yes, sir. beg pardon, sir, but you see i wants something to sit on. 'nother bucket." "you, sir, fetch another bucket," said the lieutenant sharply; and another was brought, turned upside down, and, taking the first bucket, amidst the titterings of the men, dick seated himself, leaned his head against the cow's side, placed the vessel between his legs, and began to operate in true dairyman style upon the cow. _whack_! _bang_! _clatter_! there was a tremendous roar of laughter from every one on board except from dirty dick, who was down on his back a couple of yards away, staring at the cow as if wondering how she could have gone off as she did. for the quiet-looking, inoffensive beast was standing perfectly still again, blinking her eyes and chewing her cud, but writhing and twisting her tail about as if it were an eel, after, at dick's first touch, raising one of her hind legs and sending the pail flying across the deck and the would-be milker backwards. "come, come," said the lieutenant, wiping his eyes and trying to look very important and stern, "that's not the right way, my man. try again." dick rose unwillingly, planted the upturned bucket once more in its place, and took the milking bucket from one of the men who had picked it up. then, sitting down again rather nervously, he once more placed the vessel between his legs, stuck his head against the cow's side, and prepared to milk. _whack_! the bucket flew along the deck again, and dick bounded away, saving himself from falling this time as he was prepared, and made a sudden leap backwards to stand wiping the perspiration from his forehead. there was another roar of laughter, and the lieutenant bade dick try again. the man gave his officer an appealing look which seemed to say, "tell me to board the enemy, sir, and i'll go, but don't ask me to do this." "come; be smart!" dick turned, glanced wistfully at archy, shaking his head at him reproachfully, sighed, and, taking the bucket again, he looked into it with his rugged brown face full of despair. "it's quite empty, dick," said the middy, laughing. "yes, sir; there's nowt in it, and," he added to himself, "not like to be." again he settled himself into his place in as businesslike a way as a farm lad would who was accustomed to the cow-shed, but the moment he began the cow gave her tail a swing, lifted her leg, and planted it in the bucket, holding it down on the deck. "pail's full," cried archy; and the men yelled with delight, their officer vainly trying to control his own mirth as dick began to pat and apostrophise the cow. "coom, coom! coosh, cow, then," he said soothingly. "tak' thy leg oot o' the boocket, my bairn;" and to the astonishment of all present the cow lifted her leg and set it down again on deck. "well done, my lad," cried the lieutenant. "now, then, look sharp with the milk." dick sighed, wiped his hands down the sides of his breeches, and began once more, but at the first touch of the big strong hands accustomed to handle capstan-bars and haul ropes, the cow gave a more vigorous kick than ever; away flew the bucket, and over went dick on his back. he sprung up angrily now in the midst of the laughter, and touched his forehead to his commanding officer. "it arn't no good, sir; she's a beef cow, and not a milker." "you don't know your business, my lad," said the lieutenant. "but she's such a savage one, sir. don't go anigh her, sir." "nonsense!" said the lieutenant, going up to the cow, patting her and handling her ears and horns; to all of which attentions the animal submitted calmly enough, blinking her eyes, and gently swinging her tail. "i think i could milk her, sir," said archy. "think so, raystoke?" said the lieutenant. "i was just thinking i should have liked some new milk." "so was i, sir. shall i try?" "yes," said the lieutenant. "i believe i could do it myself. it always looks so easy. but no; won't do," he said firmly, as he drew himself up and tried to look stern and tall and big, an impossibility with a man of five feet two inches in height, and whose physique had always been against his advance in the profession. for as a short energetic little man he might have gained promotion; as a little fat rosy fellow the lords of the admiralty thought not; and so, after endless disappointments regarding better things, he had been appointed commander of the little _white hawk_, and sent to cruise off the south coast and about the channel, to catch the smugglers who were always too clever to be caught. "no," he said shortly, as he drew himself up; "won't do, raystoke, though you and i are condemned to live in this miserable little cutter, and on a contemptible kind of duty, we must not forget that we are officers and gentlemen in his majesty's service. milking cows won't do. no; we must draw the line at milking cows. but i should have liked a drop for my breakfast." "ahoy!" cried one of the men loudly. "ahoy yourself!" cried a voice from off the sea on the shore side, and all turned to see a boat approaching rowed by a rough-looking fisherman, and with a lad of about sixteen sitting astern, who now rose up to answer the man who shouted. "where did he come from?" said the lieutenant. "anybody see him put off?" "no, sir! no, sir!" came from all directions; and the lieutenant raised his glass to sweep the coast. "what do you want?" cried the man at the side as the boat came on, and the lieutenant bade the man ask. "want?" shouted the lad, a sturdy-looking fellow with keen grey eyes and fair close curly hair all about his sunburned forehead. "i've come after our cow!" chapter three. "how do, sir risdon?" the speaker was a curious-looking man of fifty, rough, sunburned, and evidently as keen as a well-worn knife. he was dressed like a farmer who had taken to fishing or like a fisherman who had taken to farming, and his nautical appearance seemed strange to a man who was leading a very meditative grey horse attached to a heavy cart, made more weighty by the greatcoat of caked mud the vehicle wore. he had been leading the horse along what was called in freestone a road, though its only pretensions to being a road was that it led from shackle's farm to the fields which bordered the cliff, and consisted of two deep channels made by the farm tumbril wheels, and a shallow track formed by horses' hoofs, the said channels being more often full of water than of mud, and boasting the quality of never even in the hottest weather being dry. the person blenheim shackle--farmer and fisher, in his canvas sailor's breeches, big boots, striped shirt, and red tassel cap--had accosted, was a tall, thin, aristocratic-looking gentleman, in a broad-skirted, shabby brown velvet coat, who was daintily picking his way, cane in hand, over the soft turf of the field, evidently deep in thought, but sufficiently awake to what was around to make him stoop from time to time to pick up a glistening white-topped mushroom, and transfer it to one of his pockets with a satisfied smile. "ah, master shackle," he said, starting slightly on being addressed. "well, thank you. a lovely morning, indeed." "ay, the morning's right enough, sir risdon. picking a few mushrooms, sir?" "i--er--yes, master shackle. i have picked a few," said the tall thin gentleman, colouring slightly. "i--beg your pardon, master shackle, for doing so. i ought to have asked your leave." "bah! not a bit," said the fisher-farmer, with a chuckle. "you're welcome, squire." "i thank you, master shackle--i thank you warmly. you see her ladyship is very fond of the taste of a fresh gathered mushroom, and if i see a few i like to take them to the hoze." "ay, to be sure," said shackle, as he thought to himself "and precious glad to get them, you two poor half-starved creatures, with your show and sham, and titles and keep up appearances." "i--er--i have not got many, master shackle. would you like to see?" continued the tall thin gentleman, raising the flap of one of his salt-box pockets. "i don't want to see," growled the other, as he stood patting the neck of his old grey horse. "been to the cliff edge?" "i--yes, master shackle." "see the cutter?" "i think i saw a small vessel lying some distance off, with white sails." "that's the _white hawk_, luff brough. and i wanted to speak to you, sir risdon." the gentleman started. "not about--about that--" he stammered. "tchah! yes. it was about that, man," said the other. "don't shy at it like a horse at a blue bogey in a windy lane." "but i told you, man, last time, that i would have no more to do with that wretched smuggling." "don't call things by ugly names." "my good man, it is terrible. it is dishonourable, and the act is a breaking of the laws of our country." "tchah! not it, sir risdon," cried the other so sharply, that the grey horse started forward, and had to be checked. "not the king's laws, but the laws of that dutchman who has come and stuck himself on the throne. why, sir, you ought to take a pleasure in breaking his laws, after the way he has robbed you, and turned you from a real gentleman, into a poor, hard-pressed country squire, who--" "hush! hush, master shackle!" said the tall gentleman huskily. "don't rake up my misfortunes." "not i, sir risdon. i'm full o' sorrow and respect for a noble gentleman, who has suffered for the cause of the real king, who, when he comes, will set us all right." "ah, master shackle, i'm losing heart." "nay, don't do that, sir risdon; and as to a few mushrooms, why, you're welcome enough; and i'd often be sending a chicken or a few eggs, or a kit o' butter, or drop o' milk, all to the hoze, only we're feared her ladyship might think it rude." "it's--it's very good of you, master shackle, and i shall never be able to repay you." "tchah! who wants repaying, sir risdon? we have plenty at the farm, and it was on'y day 'fore yes'day as i was out in my little lugger, and we'd took a lot o' mackrel! `ram,' i says to my boy ramillies, `think sir risdon would mind if i sent him a few fish up to the hoze?' "`ay, father,' he says, `they don't want us to send them fish. my lady's too proud!'" sir risdon sighed, and the man watched him narrowly. "it's a pity too," the latter continued, "specially as we often have so much fish we puts it on the land." "er--if you would be good enough to send a little fish--of course very fresh, master shackle, and a few eggs, and a little butter to the hoze, and let me have your bill by and by, i should be gratified." "on'y too glad, sir risdon, i will.--think any one's been telling tales?" "tales?" "'bout us, sir risdon." "about _us_!" "you see the revenue cutter's hanging about here a deal, and it looks bad." "surely no one would betray you, master shackle?" "hope not, sir risdon; but it's okkard. there's a three-masted lugger coming over from ushant, and she may be in to-night. there's some nice thick fogs about now, and it's a quiet sea. your cellars are quite empty, i s'pose?" the last remark came so quickly, that the hearer started, and made no reply. "you see, sir risdon, we might run the cargo, and stow it all up at my place, for we've plenty o' room; but if they got an idea of it aboard the cutter, she'd land some men somehow, and come and search me, but they wouldn't dare to come and search you. i've got a bad character, but you haven't." "no, no, master shackle; i cannot; i will not." "the lads could run it up the valley, and down into your cellar, sir risdon," whispered the man, as if afraid that the old grey horse would hear; "nobody would be a bit the wiser, and you'd be doing a neighbour a good turn." "i--i cannot, master shackle; it is against the law." "dutchman's law, not the laws of bonnie prince charlie. you will, sir risdon?" "no--no, i dare not." "and it gives a neighbour a chance to beg your acceptance of a little drop o' real cognac, sir risdon--so good in case o' sickness. and a bit of prime tay, such as would please her ladyship. then think how pleasant a pipe is, sir risdon; i've got a bit o' lovely tobacco at my place, and a length or two of french silk." "master shackle! master shackle!" cried the tall thin baronet piteously, "how can you tempt a poor suffering gentleman like this?" "because i want to do you a bit of good, sir risdon, and myself too. i tell you it's safe enough. you've only to leave your side door open, and go to bed; that's all." "but i shall be as guilty as you." "guilty?" the man laughed. "i never could see a bit o' harm in doing what i do. never feel shamed to look my boy ramillies in the face. if a bit o' smuggling was wrong, sir risdon, think i'd do it? no, sir; i think o' them as was before me. my father was in marlborough's wars, and he called me blenheim, in honour of the battle he was in; and i called my boy ramillies, and if ever he gets married, and has a son, he's to be malplackey. i arn't ashamed to look him in the face." "but i shall be afraid to look in the face of my dear child." "mistress denise, sir risdon? tchah! bless her! i don' believe she'd like her father to miss getting a lot of things that would be good for him, and your madam. there, sir risdon; don't say another word about it. leave the door open, and go to bed. you shan't hear anybody come or go away, and you're not obliged to look in the cellars for a few days." "but, my child--the old servant--suppose they hear?" "what? the rats? tell 'em to take no notice, sir risdon. good day, sir risdon. that's settled, then?" "ye-es--i suppose so. this once only, master shackle." "thank ye, sir risdon," said the man. "jee, dutchman!" the horse tugged at the tumbril, and sir risdon went thoughtfully along the field, toward a clump of trees lying in a hollow, while master shackle went on chuckling to himself. "couldn't say me nay, poor fellow. half-starved they are sometimes. wonder he don't give up the old place, and go away. hope he won't. them cellars are too vallyble. hallo! what now?" this to the fair curly-headed lad, who came trotting up across the short turf. "been looking at the cutter, father?" "oh, she don't want no looking at. who brought those cows down here?" "jemmy dadd." "he's a fool. we shall be having some of 'em going over the cliff. go home and tell mother to put a clean napkin in a basket, and take two rolls of butter, a bit of honey, and a couple of chickens up to the hoze." "yes, father." "and see if there's any eggs to take too." "yes, father. but--" "well?" "think the lugger will come to-night?" "no, i don't think anything, and don't you. will you keep that rattle tongue of yours quiet? never know me go chattering about luggers, do you?" "no, father." "then set your teeth hard, or you'll never be a man worth your salt. want to grow into a jemmy dadd?" "no, father." "then be off." the boy went off at a run, and the fisher-farmer led his horse along the two rutted tracks till he came down into the valley, and then went on and on, towards where a couple of men were at work in a field, doing nothing with all their might. chapter four. ramillies--commonly known by his father's men as ram--shackle trotted up over the hill, stopping once to flop down on the grass to gaze at the cutter, lying a mile out now from the shore, and thinking how different she was with her trim rigging and white sails to the rough lugger of his father, and the dirty three-masted vessels that ran to and fro across the channel, and upon which he had more than once taken a trip. he rose with a sigh, and continued his journey down into the hollow, and along a regular trough among the hills, to the low, white-washed stone building, roofed with thin pieces of the same material, and gaily dotted and splashed with lichen and moss. he was met by a comfortable-looking, ruddy-faced woman, who shouted,--"what is it, ram?" when he was fifty yards away. the boy stated his errand. "father says you were to take all that?" "yes." "then there's a cargo coming ashore to-night, ram." "yes, mother, and the cutter's lying a mile out." "oh, dear, dear, dear!" cried the woman; "i hope there won't be no trouble, boy." she stood wiping her dry hands upon her apron, and gazed thoughtfully with wrinkled brow straight before her for a minute, as if conjuring up old scenes; then, taking down a basket as she moved inside, she began to pack up the various things in the dairy, while ram looked on. "father didn't say anything about a bottle of cream, mother," said the boy, grinning. "then hear, see, and say nothing, my lad," cried his mother. "and i don't think he said you was to send that piece of pickled pork, mother." "he said chickens, didn't he?" "said a chickun." "chicken means chickens," cried mrs shackle, "and you can't eat chicken without pork or bacon. 'tisn't natural." "father said two rolls of butter." "yes, and i've put three. there, these are all the eggs i've got, and you mind you don't break 'em!" "oh, i say, mother," cried ram, "aren't it heavy!" "nonsense! i could carry it on my finger; there, run along like a good boy, and you must ask for her ladyship, and be very respectful, and say, mother's humble duty to you, my lady, and hopes you won't mind her sending a bit o' farm fare." "but she ought to be thankful to us, mother?" "and so she will be, ram?" "but you make me speak as though we were to be much obliged to her for taking all these good things." "you take the basket, and hold your tongue. father's right, you chatter a deal too much." ram took the basket, grunted because it was so heavy, and then set off up the hill-slope towards where the patch of thick woodland capped one side of the deep valley, and at last came in sight of a grim-looking stone house, with its windows for the most part covered by their drawn-down blinds. under other circumstances, with fairly kept gardens and trim borders, the old-fashioned building, dating from the days of henry the seventh, would have been attractive enough, with its background of trees, and fine view along the valley out to the far-stretching blue sea; but poverty seemed to have set its mark upon the place, and the boy was so impressed by the gloomy aspect of the house, that he ceased whistling as he went across the front, outside the low wall, and round to the back, where his progress was stopped by the scampering of feet, and a dog came up, barking loudly. "get out, or i'll jump on you--d'ye hear?" said ram fiercely. "down, grip, down!" cried a pleasant voice, and a girl of fifteen came running out, looking bright and animated with her flushed cheeks and long hair. "don't be afraid of him, ram; he will not bite." "i'm not afraid of him, miss celia; if he'd tried to bite me, i'd have kicked him into the back-garden." "you would not dare to," cried the girl indignantly. "oh yes, i would," said ram, showing his white teeth. "wouldn't do for me to be 'fraid of no dogs." the girl half turned away, but her eye caught the basket. "what's that you came to sell?" she said. "sell? i don't come to sell. father and mother sent this here. it's butter, and chickuns, and pork, and cream, and eggs." "oh!" cried the girl joyously, "my mother will be so--" she stopped short, remembering sundry lessons she had received, and the tears came up into her eyes as she felt that she must be proud and not show her delight at the receipt of homely delicacies to which they were strangers. "take your basket to the side door, and deliver your message to keziah," she said distantly. "yes, miss," said ram, beginning to whistle, as he strode along with his basket, but he turned back directly and followed the girl. "i say, miss celia," he cried. "yes, ram." "you like grip, don't you?" "yes, of course." "then i won't never kick him, miss. only i arn't fond on him. here, mate," he continued, dropping on one knee, "give us your paw." the dog, a sturdy-looking deerhound, growled, and closed up to his mistress. "d'ye hear? give's your paw. what yer growling about?" the dog didn't say, but growled more fiercely. "grip, down! give him your paw," cried the girl. the dog turned his muzzle up to his mistress, and uttered a low whine. "says he don't like to shake hands with a lad like me," said ram, laughing. "but i say he is to, sir," cried the girl haughtily. "give him your paw, grip." she took the dog by the ear and led him unwillingly toward the boy, whose eyes sparkled with delight while the hound whimpered and whined and protested, as if he had an unconquerable dislike to the act he was called upon to perform. "now," cried the girl, "directly, sir. give him your paw." what followed seemed ludicrous in the extreme to the boy, for, in obedience to his mistress's orders, the dog lifted his left paw and turned his head away to gaze up at his mistress. "the wrong paw, sir," she cried. "now, again." "_pow how_!" howled the dog, raising his paw now to have it seized by the boy, squeezed and then loosened, a termination which seemed to give the animal the most profound satisfaction. for now it was over, he barked madly and rushed round and round the boy in the most friendly way. "there, miss," said ram with a grin; "we shall be friends now. nex' rats we ketch down home, i'll bring up here for him to kill. hey, grip! rats! rats!" the dog bounded up to the boy, rose on his hind legs and placed his forepaws on the lad's chest, barking loudly. "good dog, then. good-bye, miss; i must get back." "oh!" "you call, miss?" cried the boy, turning as he went whistling away. "yes, yes, ram," said the girl hesitatingly, and glancing behind her, then up at the house where all was perfectly still. "do you remember coming up and bringing a basket about a month ago?" "yes, miss, i r'member. that all, miss?" "no," said the girl, still hesitating. "ram, are the men coming up to the house in the middle of the night?" "dunno what you mean, miss." "you do, sir, for you were with them. i saw you and ever so many more come up with little barrels slung over their shoulders." ram's face was a study in the comic line as he shook his head. "yes you were, sir, and it was wicked smuggling. i order you to tell me directly. are they coming up to-night?" "mustn't tell," said the boy slowly. "then they are," cried the girl, with her handsome young face puckering up with the trouble which oppressed her, and after standing looking thoughtful and anxious for a few moments, she went away toward the front of the house, while ram went round to the side and delivered his basket. "course we are," he said to himself, as he went down the hill again. "but i warn't going to blab. what a fuss people do make about a bit o' smuggling! how pretty she looks!" and he stopped short to admire her-- the _she_ being the _white hawk_, which lay motionless on the calm sea. "wish i could sail aboard a boat like that, and be dressed like that young chap with his sword. i would like to wear a sword. i told father so, and he said i was a fool." he threw himself down on the short turf, which was dotted with black and grey, as the rooks, jackdaws, and gulls marched about feeding together in the most friendly way, where the tiny striped snails hung upon the strands of grass by millions. "it'll be a fog again to-night," he said thoughtfully, "and she's sure to come. ha, ha, ha!" he laughed, as he made a derisive gesture towards the cutter; "watch away. you may wear your gold lace and cocked hats and swords, but you won't catch us, my lads; we're too sharp for that." chapter five. shackle was quite right; the fog did begin to gather over the sea soon after sundown, and the depressing weather seemed to have a curious effect on farmer shackle, who kept getting up from his supper to go and look out through the open door, and come back smiling and rubbing his hands. mrs shackle was very quiet and grave-looking and silent for a time, but at last she ventured a question. "did you see her at sundown?" "ay, my lass. 'bout eight mile out." "but the cutter?" "well, what about the cutter?" "will it be safe?" "safe? tchah! i know what i'm 'bout." that being so, mrs shackle made no remark, but went on cutting chunks of bread and butter for her son, to which the boy added pieces of cold salt pork, and then turned himself into a mill which went on slowly grinding up material for the making of a man, this raw material being duly manipulated by nature, and apportioned by her for the future making of the human mill. "now, ram," said his father, "ready?" "yes, father," said the boy, after getting his mouth into talking trim. "lanthorns! off with you." "lanthorns won't be no good in the fog." "don't you be so mighty clever," growled shackle. "how do you know that the fog reaches up far?" "did you signal s'afternoon, father?" "lanthorns! and look sharp, sir." the boy went into the back kitchen, took down from a shelf three horn-lanthorns, which had the peculiarity of being painted black save in one narrow part. into these he glanced to see that they were all fitted with thick candles before passing a piece of rope through the rings at the top. this done he took down a much smaller lanthorn, painted black all round, lit the candle within, and, taking this one in his hand, he hung the others over his shoulder, and prepared to start. "mind and don't you slip over the cliff, ram," said his mother. "tchah! don't scare the boy with that nonsense," said the farmer angrily; "why should he want to slip over the cliff? put 'em well back, boy. stop 'bout half an hour, and then come down." ram nodded and went off whistling down along the hollow for some hundred yards toward the sea, and then, turning short off to the right, he began to climb a zigzag path which led higher and higher and more and more away to his left till it skirted the cliff, and he was climbing slowly up through the fog. the lad's task was robbed of the appearance of peril by the darkness; but the danger never occurred to ram, who had been up these cliff-paths too often for his pleasure to heed the breakneck nature of the rough sheep-track up and up the face of the cliff, leading to where it became a steep slope, which ran in and on some four hundred feet, forming one of the highest points in the neighbourhood. "it's plaguey dark," said ram to himself. "wonder what they're going to bring to-night?" he whistled softly as he climbed slowly on. "fog's thicker than it was last night. they won't see no lanthorns, i know." "dunno, though," he muttered a little higher up. "not quite so thick up here. how old grip growled! but he had to do it. aren't afraid of a dog like him. look at that!" he had climbed up the zigzag track another fifty feet, and stopped short to gaze away at the bright stars of the clear night with the great layer of fog all below him now. "father was right, but i dunno whether they'll be able to see from the lugger. don't matter. they know the way, and they'd see the signal s'afternoon." he whistled softly as he went on higher, laughing all at once at an idea which struck him. "suppose they were to row right on to the cutter! wouldn't it 'stonish them all? i know what i should do. shove off directly into the fog. they wouldn't be able to see, and i wouldn't use the sweeps till i was out of hearing, and then--oh, here we are up atop!" for the sheep-track had come to an end upon what was really the dangerous part of the journey. the zigzag and the cliff-path had been bad, but a fall there would not have been hopeless, for the unfortunate who lost his footing would go down to the next path, or the next, a dozen places perhaps offering the means of checking the downward course, but up where the boy now stood was a slope of short turf with long dry strands which made the grass terribly slippery, and once any one had fallen here, and was in motion, the slope was at so dangerous an elevation that he would rapidly gather impetus, and shoot right off into space to fall six hundred feet below on to the shore. this danger did not check ram's cheery whistle, and he climbed on, sticking his toes well into the short grass, and rising higher and higher till he reached some ragged shale with the grass, now very thin, and about a hundred feet back from the sea, in a spot which he felt would be well out of the sight of the cutter if those on board could see above the fog. he set down his lanthorns, two about five feet apart, lit them all, and held the third on the top of his head as he stood between the others, so that from seaward the lights would have appeared like a triangle. it seemed all done in such a matter of course way that it was evident that ram was accustomed to the task, and supporting the lanthorn on his head, first with one and then with the other hand, he went on whistling softly an old west country air, thinking the while about sir risdon and lady graeme, and about how poor they were, and how much better it was to live at a farmhouse where there was always plenty to eat, and where his father could go fishing in the lugger when he liked, and how he could farm and smuggle, and generally enjoy life. "that's good half an hour," said ram, lowering his lanthorn, opening the door, and puffing out the candle, afterwards serving the others the same. _whew_--_whew_--_whew_--_whew_! a peculiar whishing of wings from far overhead, as a flock of birds flew on through the darkness of the night, following the wonderful instinct which made them take flight to other lands. "wasn't geese; and i don't think it was ducks," said the lad to himself, as he slung his darkened lanthorns together, and began to descend as coolly as if he had been provided by nature with wings to guard him against a fall down the cliff. "wonder whether they saw the lights," he said to himself. "not much good showing them, if they were in the fog." he went on, gradually approaching the mist which lay below him, and at last was descending the zigzag path with the stars blotted out, and the tiny drops of moisture gathering on his eyelashes, finding his way more by instinct than sight. "come in with the tide 'bout 'leven," said ram, as he still descended the face of the cliff, then the path, and at last was well down in the little valley, whose mouth seemed to have been filled up in some convulsion of nature by a huge wall of cliff, under which the streamlet which ran from the hills had mined its way. as soon as he was down on level ground, the boy started for home at a trot, gave the lanthorns into his mother's hands, and, after a brief inquiry as to his father's whereabouts, he started off once more. the part of the cliff for which he made was exactly opposite sir risdon's old house, and to a stranger about the last place where it would be deemed possible for a smuggler to land his cargo. hence the successful landing of many a boat-load, which had been scattered the country through. for there, at the foot of the cliff, lay a natural platform or pier, almost as level as if it had been formed for a landing stage. the deep water came right up to its edge, and here, at a chosen time of tide, a lugger could lie close in, and her busy crew and their helpmates land keg and bale upon the huge ledge,--a floor of intensely hard stone, full of great ammonites, many a couple of feet across, monsters of shell-fish, which had gradually settled down and died, when the stone in which they lay had been soft mud. revenue boats had of course, from time to time, as they explored the coast, noted this natural landing-place, but as there was only a broad step twenty feet above this to form another platform, and then the cliffs ran straight up two hundred feet slightly inclined over toward the sea, and the existence of even a moderate surf would have meant wreck, it was never even deemed likely that there was danger here, and consequently it was left unwatched. the smugglers had a different opinion of the place, and on ram reaching the spot he was in nowise surprised to find a group of about thirty men on the cliff, clustered about the end of a spar, whose butt was run down into a hole in the rock, which lay a foot beneath the turf, and at whose end, as it rose at an angle, was a pulley block and rope run through ready for use should the lugger come. "where's father?" whispered ram to one of the men, who looked curiously indistinct amid the fog. "here, boy," was whispered close to his ear. "going down to help?" "may i, father?" shackle grunted; and, after speaking to one of the men, ram took hold of the loop at the end of the rope, thrust a leg through, held on tightly, and, after the word was given, swung himself off into the fog. the well-oiled wheel ran fast, and it was a strange experience that of gliding rapidly down and steadily turning round and round with the thick darkness all around, and nothing to show that he who descended was not stationary. the peril of such a run down would have appeared the greater, could he who descended have seen how the rope was allowed to run. for no careful hands held it to allow it to glide through fingers, which could at any moment clutch the line tightly and act as a check. the rope lay simply on the turf, and the man who watched over the descent, merely placed his boot over it, the hollow between sole and heel affording room for the rope to run, and a little extra pressure stopping its way. thus it was that ram was allowed to glide rapidly down, till by experience the man knew that he was nearly at the bottom when the rope began to run more slowly, and then was checked exactly as the boy's feet touched the stone shelf, and he stepped from the loop on to the ammonite-studded rock. dimly seen about him was a group of a dozen men, whose faces looked mysterious and strange, and this was added to by the silence, for only one spoke, and he when he was addressed, for the first few minutes after ram's arrival among them, every one there being listening attentively for the distant beat of oars. "think she'll come to-night, young ram?" said the man close by him. "dunno." "been to show the lights?" "yes." "was there any fog up there?" "no; clear as could be." "then she may come. pst!" hardly a breath could be heard then as ears were strained, and after a good deal of doubt had been felt, a kind of thrill ran through the men who had taken hold of a line fastened to a stanchion and lowered themselves down to the broad ledge. the low, regular, slow beat of great sweeps became now audible, but though ram strained his eyes seaward, nothing was visible for quite another ten minutes, when, as the boy stood at the brink of the upper ledge he dimly saw something darker than the mist coming into view. soon there came a faint crunching noise as of a fender being crushed against the rock, followed by the sound of ropes drawn over the bulwark, and ram hesitated no longer, but ran to the loop, placed his leg through it, gave the signal by shaking the rope, and in an instant he was snatched from his feet, run up, the rope drawn in, and he was landed on the turf. a small bag of stones was then attached to the loop, the wheel spun round, and the bag went whizzing down, while the group of men stood waiting and waiting, for they could see nothing below, hardly see each other, so dense was the mist now. sundry familiar sounds arose from time to time, and more than once the farmer uttered an ejaculation full of impatience at the length of time taken up in bringing the vessel below and taking precautions to keep her from grinding and bumping against the edge of the shelf, for though the sea was calm, there was the swell to contend with. at last. there was a murmur from below which those two hundred feet above knew well, and as two stood ready, another man by them took hold of the rope, and suddenly started off at a run, disappearing at once in the fog, while a peculiar whizzing sound was heard, as the little wheel in the block now ran round till all at once a couple of kegs and the bag of stones appeared level with the top of the cliff. these were seized, unhitched, and as the bag ran down, a man knelt, fitted a short rope about the kegs and hoisted them on his shoulder, just as the man who held the rope trotted up out of the fog into which the other with the kegs disappeared. there was a faint hiss, and away ran the man again bringing the next two kegs up rapidly, to be set at liberty, slung, and hoisted on another man's back as the hauler came back out of the fog. and so the unloading went on with marvellous rapidity, the hauler rushing off into the fog, a couple of kegs coming up into sight, being taken out of the loops, slung and hoisted just as the hauler came back and the bearer disappeared, till quite a line of men were trudging slowly up the hill, down into the valley, and up again toward sir risdon graeme's old house, the hoze, till all the bearers were gone, and the kegs still kept coming up out of the fog. the silence was astonishing, considering the amount of work being done and the rapidity with which all went on. away to left and right sentries were placed, from among the haulers who, as they grew tired by their exertions in running up the kegs, were placed there to rest and listen for danger from seaward; but hour after hour went on, the carriers, augmented by a dozen more, came and went in two bands now, so that part were returning as the others were going. but still they were not in sufficient force, for the hoze was some distance away, and the number of kegs kept increasing on the turf at the top of the cliff. about half the cargo was landed when shackle whispered an order to ram, who at once stooped to pick up a keg. "no, no; run without, and see that they store them all up well." ram was used to the business, and he went off at a trot, breasted the hill, dived down into the hollow, and then passing men going and coming, made for the hoze, entered by the side door, made his way along a stone passage, and then down into a huge vault with groined roof lit by a couple of lanthorns hanging from hooks. here for the next three hours he worked hard, helping to stack the little brandy kegs at first, and afterwards the small tightly packed bales and chests which were brought more quickly now--a dozen of swarthy, dirty-looking men, with earrings and short loose canvass trousers which looked like petticoats, helping to bring up the cargo, and showed by their presence that all had been landed from the lugger-- that which was now being brought up consisting of the accumulation on the ledges and at the top of the cliff. "much more?" ram kept asking as he toiled away, wet now with perspiration. "ay, ay, lad, it's a long cargo," he kept hearing; and the lanthorns had to be shifted twice as the stacks of kegs and bales increased, till just as the boy began to think the loads would never end, he realised that the french sailors had not been up lately, and one of their own men suddenly said-- "last!" ram drew a breath full of relief as the men came out silently, and he stopped behind with one lanthorn only alight to lock the door of the great vault, and then stood in the stone passage, thinking how quiet and still the house seemed. he went out, closing the door after him, and stood in the garden. "wonder whether miss celia heard us," he said; "never thought of it before; they must have tied up old grip." he glanced up at the windows as he went out, then they seemed to disappear in the mist as he made for the track and went downwards, to hear low voices, and directly after he encountered his father. "got 'em all right, boy?" "yes, father," said ram, handing the key. "lugger gone?" "hour and a half ago, lad; just got her empty as the tide turned. best run we've had." he burst into a low fit of chuckling. "what are you laughing at, father?" "i was thinking how artful revenue cutters are, boy. i don't believe that _white hawk's_ more than half a mile away." "but then see what a fog it was, father?" "tchah! to me it's just the same as a moonshiny night, boy. there, come on home and get to bed. must be up early; lots to do to-day." seeing that it could not be long before morning, ram asked himself what was the use of his going to bed; but he said nothing, only hurried to keep pace with his father; and soon after, feeling fagged out, he was fast asleep, and dreaming that whenever he piled the kegs up they kept on rolling down about him, and that the midshipman from the _white hawk_ stood looking on, and laughing at him for being clumsy, and then he awoke fancying he was called. it was quite right, for farmer shackle was shouting-- "now you, ramillies, are you going to sleep there all day?" chapter six. ram had thrown himself down, dressed as he was, so that an interview with a bucket of water at the back door, and a good rub with the jack towel, were sufficient to brighten him up for the breakfast waiting, and the boy was not long before he was partaking heartily of the bowl of bread and milk his mother placed before him, his father muttering and grumbling the while to himself. "i'm sure you needn't be so cross this morning, master," said mrs shackle reproachfully. "if you had as much to fret you as i do, wife, you'd be cross." "why, you told me this morning that you carried your crop of sea hay without a drop of water on it." farmer shackle shut one eye, tightened up his mouth, and looked with his other eye at his wife, which was his idea of laughing. "well, then," she said, "what makes you so cross?" "cross! enough to make any man cross. i shall be ruined--such a set of careless people about me. those cows left out on the cliff field all last night, and tally must have gone over, for i can't see her anywhere." "oh, poor tally! my kindest cow," cried mrs shackle. "yes, i shall set that down to you ramillies. that's a flogging for you if she isn't found." "no, no, master; don't be so hard. the poor boy was out all night looking after signals and--" bang! down came the farmer's fist on the table making the plates and basins jump. "hay, woman, hay!" he roared. "mind what you're talking about!" "don't do that, blenheim!" cried mrs shackle. "you quite frightened me." "yes, i'll frighten the whole lot of you. ten golden pounds gone over the cliff through that boy's neglect." "well, never mind, dear. you made ever so much more than that last night, i'll be bound!" "will you hold your tongue?" roared the farmer. "there, make haste and finish that food, boy. take jemmy dadd and the boat and find her. skin's worth a few shillings. i must have that." "did you look over the cliff, father?" asked ram. "i looked over? of course, but how could i see in that fog?" ram was soon out and away, to hunt up jemmy dadd, whom he found at last with his eyes half-closed, yawning prodigiously. they went down to the boat, launched her, and rowed out along under the tremendous cliffs, and were about to give up in despair, convinced that the unfortunate cow had been swept right out to sea, when ram exclaimed-- "look yonder, jem?" "what for?" grumbled the man; "i'm half asleep, now." "never mind that! look at the cutter." "shan't! i've seen un times enough." "yes, yes; but look on her deck." "what for?" said jemmy, who was steadily pulling homeward. "oh, what an obstinate chap you are, jemmy! look there; tally's on deck." "ck!" ejaculated the man, this being meant for a derisive laugh. "why don't you say she's having a ride in the saxham coach." "i tell you she is. they've got her there, and the sailors are trying to milk her." "then i wish 'em luck," said jemmy. "there's only one man as can milk tally, and that's me." "turn the boat's head, and let's go for her." "ck!" ejaculated jemmy again. "what a one you are to joke, ram shackle; but it won't do this mornin'. i'm burst up with sleep." "open your stupid eyes, and look for once. i tell you they've got tally on the deck of the cutter." "and i tell you, you young ram shackle, i'm too sleepy to see fun anywhere. won't do, my lad--won't do." ram jumped up, stepped over the thwart, seized the man's head, and screwed it round toward the cutter, where the scene previously described was plain in the sunshine. "well!" ejaculated jemmy, "so she be." "why couldn't you believe me before, when i told you?" "thought you was gammoning me, my lad!" "there, row away!" cried ram; and as soon as they were well within hearing he answered the hail, and next shouted-- "i've come after our cow." "very undignified proceeding, mr raystoke," said the lieutenant, busily walking up and down as the boat with ram in it was being rowed alongside. "it all comes of being appointed to a wretched, little cobble boat like this, and sent on smuggling duty. if i--if we had been aboard a frigate, or even a sloop-of-war, we shouldn't have had such an affair as this. why, confound that boy's impudence, he has jumped on board. go and speak to him; order him off; pitch him overboard; anything. how dare he!" archy drew himself up, laid one hand upon his dirk, and strutted up to ram, looking "as big as a small ossifer," as dirty dick said afterwards; and gave him a smart slap on the shoulder as he was going after the cow. "here, you sir!" cried archy, as the boy faced round. "what do you mean by coming aboard one of his majesty's ships like that?" "eh?" "touch your hat, sir, when an officer speaks to you." "touch my hat to you like i do to sir risdon?" "like you do to any gentleman, sir." "oh, very well," said ram giving one of his fair brown curls a tug, and showing his teeth. "that's better. now then, what do you want?" "our tally." "your what?" "our cow, tally." "how do i know it's yours?" "why, it is. she must have walked over the cliff in the fog. was your cutter close under so as she fell on deck?" "of course not, bumpkin," said archy impatiently, as the men burst into a guffaw, and then looked horribly serious as if they had not smiled. "we saw her swimming and fetched her on board." "thank ye," said ram. "i say, how am i to get her home? can you lend us a rope?" "who are you, boy?" said the lieutenant, marching up. ram faced round, stared at the officer's rather shabby uniform, and gave his curl another tug before pulling his red cap over his brow. "ram shackle, sir." "is--is that your name, sir," said the lieutenant pompously, "or are you trying to get a laugh at my expense?" ram stared. "do you hear what i say, sir?" "yes, but i dunno what you mean." "here, my man, what's that boy's name?" cried the lieutenant to jemmy dadd in the boat. "ram shackle," said jemmy gruffly. "christen rammylees!" "and is this your cow?" "no, sir!" "then, you young rascal, how dare you come and claim it," cried the lieutenant wrathfully. "because it's ours. my father's; i didn't mean it was my own." "can you give me some proof that it is yours?" said the lieutenant. "eh!" exclaimed ram, staring. "i say, show me that the cow is yours, and you shall have her." "oh," cried ram, and he ran to the side, unfastened the rope used as a halter for the patient beast, ran right forward, and began to call, "tally, tally! coosh-cow, coosh-cow!" the effect was magical, the cow turned sharply round, stretched out her nose so as to make her windpipe straight, and uttered a low soft lowing, as she walked straight forward to where ram stood, thrust her nose under his arm, and stood swinging her tail to and fro. "mr raystoke!" "ay, ay, sir!" said archy, going aft and saluting. "it seems to be their cow; let them take it ashore." "ay, ay, sir!" "stop. bring the boy here," said the lieutenant. archy marched forward. "come here, boy," he said importantly; and ram followed him to where the little fat officer stood near the helm, frowning. "now, sir," said the lieutenant, "i want you to answer me a few questions. what is your name--no, no, stop, you told me before. where do you live?" "yonder, at the farm." "oh! at the farm. look here, boy, did you ever hear of smugglers?" "what?" "did you ever hear of smugglers?" "yes, lots o' times," said ram glibly. "they're chaps that goes across to france and foreign countries, and brings shipfuls o' things over here." "yes, that's right. ever seen any about here?" "well," said ram, taking off his red cap, and scratching his curly head, "i dessay i have. father says you never know who may be a smuggler: they're all like any one else." "humph! know where they land their cargoes?" "oh, yes; i've heard tell as they land 'em all along the cliff here." "bah! impossible," shouted the lieutenant. "is it, sir?" said ram vacantly. "my father said it was true." "seen any smugglers' craft about during the last few days?" "no, sir; not one," cried the boy with perfect truth. "that will do, boy. mr raystoke let him take his cow and go." "ay, ay, sir!" "then get the gig alongside, and we'll explore round more of the coast close in." "ay, ay, sir! now, boy, this way." ram looked vacantly about him, but there was a very keen twinkle about his eyes, as he followed archy forward to where the cow stood blinking her eyes, and swinging her tail amongst the men. "i say," he said. "did you speak to me, sir?" cried archy, facing round, and frowning. "yes. is that little sword sharp?" "of course." "pull it out, and let's have a look." archy frowned. "take your cow and go," he said. "she is a miserable thing without a drop of milk in her." "what?" cried ram, with his face becoming animated. then he shouted to the man in the boat, "hi! jemmy, he says tally's got no milk in her." "how do he know?" cried jem scornfully. "why, i tried ever so long," said dick, who could not refrain from joining in. "ck!" laughed jemmy. "why, she's our best cow," cried ram. "i say skipper." "here, you mustn't speak to an officer like that," whispered archy. "what does the boy want?" said the plump little lieutenant, marching forward. "on'y want our cow." "then take her, sir, and go!" "have a drop of milk?" "no," said the lieutenant, turning his back. "perhaps mr raystoke here might like a little. can you milk?" "i can't," said ram, shaking his head. "he can. here, jemmy, take hold of the painter and come aboard." "stop!" cried the lieutenant, "you must not speak like that. you must ask leave, sir." "ask who?" said ram, vacantly. "touch your cap, and ask the lieutenant to let you." "why, i have touched it twice. want me to pull my hair off? i say, skipper, if you'll let him come aboard--oh! he is aboard now,"--for jemmy was already making the boat fast--"here, give me a clean pail." the little commander of the cutter tried to look important, and archy more so, but they forgot everything disciplinarian the next moment, in the interest of the proceedings, as jemmy dadd took the bucket handed to him, turned another up beside the side of the cow, and as he was sitting down, dirty dick dug his elbows into his messmates' ribs right and left, whispered "look out! and over he goes." then he drew in a long breath, ready for a roar of laughter when the bucket went flying, and stood staring waiting to explode. but, to dick's great disappointment, tally uttered a soft low, and began to swing her tail gently round, so as to give jemmy a pat on the back. at regular intervals there was a whishing noise, then another whishing noise half a tone lower, then _whish_--_whosh_--_whish_--_whosh_, two streams of rich new milk began to pour into the bucket, whose bottom was soon covered, and a white froth began to appear on the top. "i say!" cried dick eagerly, "shall i lash her legs?" "what for?" growled jemmy. "'cause she'll kick it over directly." "not she. you wouldn't kick it over, would you, tally, old cow?" the cow waved her tail and whisked it about the man's neck as the milking went on, to the delight of the men, who began to see biscuit and milk in prospect, while the two officers, who were none the less eager for a draught as a change from their miserable ordinary fare, veiled their expectations under a severe aspect of importance. "here you are," said jemmy, drawing back at last--while dick seemed to be watching, in a state of agony, lest a kick should upset the soft white contents of the bucket--"more'n a gallon this time. how much are we to leave aboard?" "all of it," said ram generously; "they deserve it for saving the cow. i say, you," he continued, turning to archy, "what do you say to her now?" "thank you," replied archy. "here, dick, take that bucket aft, and you, my lads, open the side there, and help them to get the cow overboard." "thank ye, sir," said ram, smiling. "i say, jemmy, she'd stand in the boat, wouldn't she? or would she put her feet through?" "let's try," was the laconic reply, and taking hold of the rope that had been used as a halter, the man stepped down into the boat, the cow, after a little coaxing, following, without putting her feet through, and showing great activity for so clumsy-looking a beast. ram followed, and took one of the oars, settled down behind jemmy, and the next minute, with the whole crew of the cutter standing grinning at the side, they began to row shoreward. "how about the tide, jemmy?" said ram, when they had been rowing a few minutes, with the cow standing placidly in the boat. "too high, can't do it," said the man. "let's row to the ledge then, and land there till the tide goes down." "right," said jemmy, and they bore off a little to the east, made straight for the shelf of rock, which was just awash; and as they rowed, they saw the lieutenant and the midshipman enter the light gig, four men dropped their oars in the water, and with the drops flashing from the blades, the gig came swiftly after them. "why, they're coming here too, jemmy," said ram, as they reached the ledge, and leaped on to the ammonite-studded stone, over which the water glided and then ran back. "well, let 'em," said jemmy, following suit with the painter, the cow standing contentedly with her eyes half-closed. "don't matter to us, lad, so long as they didn't come last night." they made fast the hawser to an iron stanchion, one of several dotted about and pretty well hidden by the water, climbed up on the rock, and sat down in the warm sunshine to wait for the turn of the tide, while after a pull in one direction, the gig's course was altered, and they saw its course changed again. "i liked that chap," said ram, as he gazed across a few hundred yards of smooth water, at where archy sat in his uniform, steering. "what are they up to?" said jemmy, shading his eyes. then quite excitedly, "say, lad, lookye yonder," he whispered. "i was looking," cried ram excitedly; "they've picked up a brandy keg." there was no denying the fact; and as the dripping little barrel was placed by one of the men in the fore part of the gig, the others gave way, and the light vessel came rapidly now toward the ledge. archy was shading his eyes just then, and pointing out something to the lieutenant a little to the left of where ram and his companion were seated, and the boy's eyes, trained by his nefarious habits, gazed sharply in search of danger or criminating evidence, in the direction the midshipman pointed. a chill of horror ran through him, for there, with the wash of the tide half covering and then leaving them bare, were two more brandy kegs, which had been missed the previous night during the fog. "ah!" ejaculated ram, as in imagination he saw the well-filled vault, and the crew of the cutter being marched up to make a seizure, and arrest his father perhaps. if he could but get away and give the alarm! chapter seven. "get away, and give the alarm?" how could we? there was no rope and pulley up on the cliff now, and the boat was occupied by the cow; while, even if it had been empty, it would have meant a six mile row to reach a landing-place at that time of the tide, and an eight miles' walk back. and here was the cutter's gig close to them, and the lieutenant ready to ask him the meaning of the smuggled spirits being there. for there was no mistaking the fact that the kegs were full of smuggled spirit. the one the king's men had dragged dripping from the sea, bore certain unmistakable markings, and it was evidently brother to those on the rock. ram and jemmy had no time for thinking; the gig was run quickly up alongside of the ledge, and dick tossed in his oar, sprang out, sending the clear water splashing with his bare feet, as he crossed up to the kegs, and, taking one under each arm, went more slowly and cautiously back to the boat, where his messmates took them carefully, with many a chuckle and grin, to deposit them beside the others. "now, my lad, run her alongside of the cow--i mean of the other boat," cried the lieutenant. this was quickly done, and the little officer turned sharply to where ram and jemmy dadd were seated on the rock, looking on as stolidly as if nothing whatever was coming. "hi! you, sir; come here!" cried the lieutenant. "me, or him?" replied ram coolly. "you, sir." ram got up, whistled softly, and went down to the boat. "want some more milk?" he said, with a grin. "silence, sir! do you see those?" "what, them tubs?" "yes, sir." "not till you got 'em. wish i had!" "i dare say you do, sir. now, then: how did they come there?" "why, your chaps put 'em there. i see 'em just now." "no, no; i mean in the sea and on that rock." "come there?" said ram, with a vacant look. "yes, sir! how did they come there? now, no trifling; out with it at once." "been a wreck, p'r'aps, and they're washed up." "bah!" cried the lieutenant. "ah, you may say `bah!' but they might. why, there was a big ship's boat and a jib-boom washed up here one day; warn't there, jem?" "yes," growled the rough-looking fellow, half-fisherman half farm-labourer. "and don't you 'member the big tub o' sugar, as was all soaked with water, till she was like treacle?" "ay, and the--" "that will do--that will do!" cried the lieutenant. "washed up, eh? what's in those kegs?" "i know," cried ram, showing his teeth, and looking at archy. "full o' hoysters! give us one!" "come, sir; this won't do for me. you know as well as i do what's in those kegs. where are the rest?" "rest?" said ram, looking round. "are there any more of 'em?" "yes, i'll be bound there are. now, then, out with it, if you want to save your skin." "skin? that's what father said this morning about the cow; but she wasn't drowned." "look here, boy. all this sham innocency won't do for me. now, then, if you will tell me where the other kegs are, you shall have a reward; if you don't, you'll go to prison as sure as you're there. jump ashore, two of you, and arrest them before they run." ram turned, and stared at jemmy dadd with an ill-used countenance. "what does he mean, jemmy?" the man shook his head. "do you know where the other little barrels are?" "wish i did," grumbled jemmy. "say, master, what would you give a man if he showed you where they were?" "ten guineas; perhaps twenty," said the lieutenant eagerly. "ten guineas! twenty pounds!" said jemmy, taking off his red worsted cap, and rubbing his head. "my! was they your'n? did you lose 'em?" "no," roared the lieutenant; "it's plain enough, and you know. a cargo has been run here on this ledge. now, then; it's no use to try and hide it. you know where it is; so will you gain a reward by giving evidence, or will you go to prison?" jemmy shook his head, and gave ram a puzzled look. "we came after our cow, sir, please," said the latter, looking up at the sailor, who stood with a hand upon his arm, while jemmy did the same. "here, boy!" cried the lieutenant. "you know what a lot of money ten guineas would be?" "yes," said ram grinning. "why, you could buy yourself a watch and chain, and be doing your duty to the king as well. come, did you see a french boat down here last night?" "no," said ram. "it was so foggy." "you are playing with me, sir. now then, will you answer?" "i did answer," said ram meekly. "didn't i, jemmy?" "jump ashore, you two," said the lieutenant, "and have a good search all among those rocks. the cargo's there for certain. you two others," he continued, "draw cutlasses, and keep guard over the prisoners." his orders were obeyed, and the two men stood by guarding ram, jemmy, and the cow, who blinked her eyes and smelt at the sea water from time to time, raised her head and uttered a soft low, which was answered from the green top of the cliff two hundred feet above them, where another cow stood gazing down. the lieutenant and archy stood up in the boat watching and directing as dick and his companion searched about in all directions along the lower ledge, and then managed to climb up to the one twenty feet above, where the next minute dick gave a shout. "hah!" cried the lieutenant joyfully. "he has found them." ram shut one of his eyes at jemmy, who made a rumbling noise, but his face did not change. "what is it, my lad?" "cave," cried dick. "what's in it?" "lobster-pots and old sail. all wore out." "nothing else?" "no, sir." "you go and look." the second man disappeared, but returned directly. "it's on'y a bit of a hole, sir, and there's nothin' else." the search was continued and ended, for the ledge was shut in by the mighty wall of rock towering above their heads, and the lieutenant was soon convinced that it was impossible for any one to climb that without tackle from above. "come back aboard," he said. "you two stop and guard those prisoners." the sailors stepped back into the boat and resumed their oars, to row steadily east for about half a mile, past several shallow caves, but they could not see one likely to become a hiding-place for smuggled goods, and the rock rose higher and higher above their heads, precluding all ascent. the boat was rowed quickly back past where the prisoners sat contentedly enough; save the cow, which kept making the great rock wall echo with her lowings, while three more of her kind now stood on high, gazing down at her plight. the lieutenant now had himself rowed west for about the same distance, but in this direction they did not pass a crack in the great rock wall, let alone a cave, and once more the gig was rowed back. "get back into your boat," said the little officer sharply. "thank ye, sir," cried ram. "come along, jemmy. find your little barrels?" "come aboard, my lads," continued the lieutenant, without replying to the question. "make fast her painter to the ring-bolt here." this was done, a fresh order given, and, with the rough boat and cow in tow, the gig began to make slowly for the cutter. ram bent his head down in the boat. "hist, jemmy!" he whispered. "hallo!" "shall we jump over and swim ashore?" "nay; what's the good?--they'd come arter us, and there's no getting away." "i say," shouted ram, "what are you going to do?" archy turned to the lieutenant. "take no notice. a day or two aboard will make him speak." "the cow wants turning out to grass," shouted ram; but no heed being paid to his words, "oh, very well," he said, "i don't care. she'll die, and you'll have to pay for her. i wish my father knew." he need not have troubled himself to wish, for farmer shackle was lying down, hidden behind some stones on the top of the cliff, watching what was going on, with his brow rugged. he had heard enough of the conversation, after being attracted to the place by the action of his cows, to know that the kegs had been discovered, and he smiled as he made out that his boy and man were quite staunch, and would not say a word. "won't get anything out o' them," he muttered, as he watched the returning boats. "shall i tell old graeme? no; that would only scare him. they'll land a party, and come and search; but they won't dare to go to the hoze, so i'll leave the stuff there and chance it." having made up his mind to this, he lay behind the stones watching till he had seen ram, jemmy, and the cow on board the cutter and the boats made fast; after which, as he could see that the lieutenant was busy with his glass, he waited his opportunity, got a cow between him and the sea, and then with raised stick began to drive the cattle from the neighbourhood of the precipice, his action seeming perfectly natural, and raising no suspicion in the officer's breast. farmer shackle was quite right, for it was not long before a boat, well-filled with men, under the command of the midshipman and the master, put off from the cutter, and began to row west to the little cove, through whose narrow entrance a boat could pass to lie on the surface of a cup-shaped depression, at whose head a limpid stream of water gurgled over the cleanly-washed shingle below the great chalk cliffs. shackle saw them go, and, guessing their destination, chuckled; for in their ignorance the search party were going to make a journey of twelve or fourteen miles round each way, when any one accustomed to the place would have made the trip in less than two. "well, let 'em go," said shackle; "but if they do find out, i'd better have my two boats out at sea," and he thought of his luggers lying in the little cup-like cove. "nay there's no hurry; people won't be too eager to tell 'em whose boats they are, and i might want to get away." he remained thinking about his son for a few minutes and then his countenance lightened. "tchah!" he said; "they won't eat him, and they can't do anything but keep him. they've found three kegs--that's all. wish i'd been behind the man who forgot 'em! he wouldn't forget that in a hurry." farmer shackle went home, and was saluted by the question-- "found my tally?" "yes, wife." "drowned?" "no; all right." that was sufficient for mrs shackle, who had some butter to make. meanwhile the boat containing archy raystoke and gurr the master, with her crew, was rowed steadily along under the cliffs, the deep water being close up. it was a hot day and hard work, but the men pulled away cheerfully, for a run ashore was a change. the opening into the cove was reached, and the boat run ashore, and one man being left as keeper, the little well-armed party of a dozen men were marched off along the narrow road toward the hoze. archy was in the highest of spirits, and meant to search everywhere in the neighbourhood of the ledge, so as to cover himself with glory in the eyes of his superior officer. old gurr the master, who had been turned over to the cutter for two reasons, that he was a good officer and a man with a bad temper, found no pleasure in the walk whatever. now he grumbled about his corns, and said he never saw such a road; worse than an old sea beach. then he limped with the pain of an old wound; and lastly, he forgot all about his troubles in the solace he found in a huge quid of tobacco, with whose juice he plentifully besprinkled the leaves of the brambles that were spread on either side. the men tramped on, exciting the interest of the people of the little villages that were passed--clusters of white rough stone houses by the roadside, whose occupants looked innocence itself, but there was hardly one among them who could not have told tales about busy work on dark nights, carrying kegs and bales, or packages of tobacco from the cliff, to some hiding-place in barn or cave. old gurr knew that, and he winked solemnly at the young midshipman. "nice chickens, mr raystoke," he said. "where, gurr?" cried archy, who was growing fast, and wanted material to help nature. "let's get some eggs to take back." "eggs!" grumbled the weather-beaten officer; "i didn't mean fowls, i meant people." "oh!" "eggs, indeed! their eggs is kegs o' brandy. right nantes; hollands gin. i know them. they're all in the game. keep on, my lads. step together like the sogers do. this here road's not the cutter's deck." the last order was not needed, for the men marched on cheerfully and well, till they had passed on the inner side of the high cliff where ram had displayed his lanthorns, and following the rough road, came at last to the scattered cottages occupied by shackle's men, and those who had once been servants at the hoze, before it had sunk down in the world, consequent upon its master's having espoused the wrong side, and its servants were reduced to one old woman. as they reached the tiny hamlet, a short conference was held between archy and the master, the latter, in a surly way, giving the lad a few hints as to his proceedings, every suggestion, though, being full of common sense. "we've no right to go searching their places, mr raystoke, but i shall make a mistake. they won't complain. they daren't." "why?" "hands are too dirty; if not with this job, with some other." so they halted the men, posted one at each end of the little place, so as to command a good view of any one attempting to carry off contraband goods, and went from house to house, the people readily submitting to the intrusion and search, which in each case was without result. every one of the cottages being tried, the men were marched down hill after archy, and stood for a few moments gazing out over the cliff, to where the cutter lay at anchor, with the farmer's boat trailing out astern, and the air so clear that he could even see the cow tethered to a belaying pin, just in front of the mast. five minutes after they came upon fisherman-farmer shackle himself, leaning over his gate and smoking a pipe, as he apparently contemplated a pig, and wondered whether he ought to make it fatter than it was. "mornin', gentlemen," he said, as archy and the master came up, and halted their men. "good morning," said archy shortly. "stand aside, please; we must search all your places." "search my places, squire--capt'n, i mean? he aren't here." "who is not here? are not you the master?" "ay, my lad, but i mean him you're searching for. hi! missus!" "yes," came from within, and mrs shackle appeared wiping her hands. "ain't seen a deserter, missus, have you? capt'n here has lost one of his men." "if you'll let me speak, i'll explain," said archy sharply. "a cargo of contraband goods was landed on the rocks below the cliff last night, and--" "you don't say so, master!" said shackle earnestly. "i do say so," cried archy; "and you are suspected of having them concealed here." "me!" cried shackle, bursting into a roar of laughter. "me, mr orficer? do you know what i am?" "no." "why, i'm a farmer. hi, missus, hear him! young gent here thinks i'm a smuggler. that is a good un, and no mistake." archy was taken aback for the moment, but he caught the eye of the master, who was too old over the business to be easily hoodwinked. "the young gentleman's made quite a mistake," said mrs shackle demurely. "p'r'aps he'd like a mug of our mead before he goes, and his men a drop of home-brewed." "ay, to be sure," cried shackle. "put out the bread and cheese, missus, and i'll go and draw a drink or two. you'll take something too, won't you, master?" "yes; don't mind," said gurr, "but i'd rather take a tot o' right nantes or hollands." "ay, so would i," said shackle, with a laugh, as his wife began to bustle about and get knives and plates; "but you've come to the wrong place, master. i have heared o' people getting a drop from 'em, after they've used their horses and carts, but that's never been my luck; has it, missus?" "no, never," said mrs shackle; and to herself,--"that's quite true." "you are very hospitable," said archy shortly; "but i've got my duty to do, sir. it's an unpleasant one, that we must search your place for contraband goods." "sarch? oh, i give you my word, squire, there's nothing here." "we must see about that." "well, this here arn't werry pleasant, mr orficer, seeing as i'm a reg'lar loyal servant of the king. but theer, i don't mind if my missus don't object. you won't mind, old gal, so long as they don't rip open the beds and chuck the furniture all over the place?" "i should like to see any of them doing it, that's all," cried mrs shackle, ruffling up like a great dorking hen who saw a hawk. "nothing about the place shall be injured, madam," said archy politely; "but we must search." "oh, very well then," said mrs shackle; "but i must say it's very rude." "pray, forgive us," said archy, raising his hat; "we are his majesty's servants, and we do it in the king's name." mrs shackle responded with her best curtsey, and a smile came back in her face as the farmer said,-- "it's all right, missus; they're obliged to do it. where will you begin first--what are you sarching for?" "brandy," said archy. "oh, then, down in the cellar's the place," said shackle, laughing, and taking three mugs from where his wife had placed them. "if it had been for silks and laces, i should have said go upstairs." he led the way to a door at the top of some stone steps. "one moment," said archy, and, giving orders to the men to separate, surround the premises, and search the outbuildings, then stationing two more at the doors, and taking one, gurr, to search upstairs, he followed the farmer into a fairly spacious stone cellar, where there was a cider barrel in company with two of ale, and little kegs of elder wine and mead. "sarch away, squire," said shackle bluffly, as he placed the mugs on the floor and turned the wooden spigots. "that's elder wine in the little barrel. say, you haven't seen anything of a boy of mine in your travels? my lad and one of the men have gone after a stray cow. i'm fear'd she's gone over the cliff." "they're all on board the cutter." "what? well, that is good news. full up here. done sarching, sir?" "yes," replied archy, who began to feel more and more ashamed of being suspicious of so frank and bluffly hospitable a man. "come along then. your lads will be as pleased as can be with a mug of my home-brewed." as he led the way to the door the midshipman gave another glance round, seeing nothing in the slightest degree suspicious, and, a few minutes after, the whole party was being refreshed, both officers quite convinced that there was nothing contraband on the premises. "what other houses are there near here?" asked gurr at last. "only one. the hoze." "the hoze?" "yes; sir risdon graeme's. yonder among the trees. going up there?" "yes, of course," said archy shortly. "yes, of course," said the farmer, in assent. "but i'd be a bit easy with him, sir. don't hurt his feelings. gentleman, you see." "don't be alarmed," said the midshipman quietly. "i hope we shall not be rude to any one." he moved towards the door, after saluting mrs shackle, the farmer leading the way, and pointing out the nearest path up the steep slope. "'bout my cow," he said. "i have no doubt that as soon as the lieutenant in command is satisfied that you had nothing to do with the smuggling, your people will be set at liberty." "and the cow?" "and the cow of course." "thank ye, sir; that's good news. i'll go and tell the missus. straight on, sir; you can't miss it." "ah, my fine fellow," he continued, as he walked back, "if it hadn't been for your gang with you, how easily i could have turned the key and kept you down in that cellar, where i wish i had your skipper too." "oh, blenheim!" said his wife, in an excited whisper, "how could you help them to go up to the hoze? they'll find out everything now." "p'r'aps not, missus. i sent 'em, because if i hadn't they'd have found the way. we may get off yet, and if we do--well, it won't be the first time; so, here's to luck." as he spoke he opened a corner cupboard, took out a bottle of spirits which had never paid duty, poured out and drank a glass. "thank you," said a gruff voice. "i think, if you don't mind, farmer, i'll have a little taste of that. i came back to tell you that your cider is rather harsh and hard, not to say sour, and i'm a man accustomed to rum." as he spoke, gurr the master stepped into the room, took the bottle from the farmer's hand, helped himself to a glass, and poured out and smelt the spirit. "i say, farmer," he said, as he tasted, "this is the right sort or the wrong sort, according to which side you are." "only a little drop given me by a friend." "french friend, for any money," said the master, drinking the glass. "yes, that's right nantes. i thought so from the first, farmer, and i know now i was right." he went off again, and shackle stood shaking his fist after him. "and we'd got off so well," he muttered. "i knew that rascal suspected us." "say me, blenheim," retorted mrs shackle. "i've begged you hundreds of times not to meddle with the business, but you would, and i'm your wife and obliged to obey. isn't ram a long time bringing home that cow?" "yes," said shackle drily. "very." chapter eight. archy was some little distance ahead of his men, and he had just stepped into the patch of woodland which surrounded the hoze, when he heard a pleasant little voice singing a snatch of a jacobite song. he stopped short to listen, it sounded so bird-like and sweet, and half-laughingly he sang the last line over aloud, thinking the while how disloyal he was. hardly had he finished, when there was a burst of barking, a rush, and a dog came hurrying toward him, followed by a voice crying-- "grip, grip, come here!" the dog seemed to pay no heed to the call, and at a turn of the track, archy saw him coming open-mouthed. it was not a pleasant sight, and the youth felt disposed to take to his heels, and run for protection to his men. but there were drawbacks to such a proceeding. if he ran it would look cowardly, and he knew for certain that the dog would come after him, and take him at a disadvantage; so, making a virtue of necessity, he whipped out his dirk and ran hard at the dog, who checked his pace, hesitated, stopped, barked more furiously than ever, and then turned round, and was chased by the midshipman, who drew up on finding himself face to face with sir risdon's daughter, out for her daily walk. the girl turned white, and was in the act of turning to run away, when archy's words arrested her. "no, no," he cried, "don't run away." she stopped, and looked from his face to his dirk, and back. "oh, i see," he said, "that alarmed you. there," he continued, sheathing the little weapon, "i only drew it because your dog looked so fierce. does he bite?" "sometimes, i'm afraid. but were you coming to see my father? who are you?" she added uneasily, as she glanced at the lad's uniform. "i am archibald raystoke, of his majesty's cutter _white hawk_." "and you want to see my father?" cried the girl, beginning to tremble. "well, yes, i ought to see him. the fact is, we have landed to search for a quantity of smuggled things, and to make a capture of the smugglers if we can." celia looked at him wildly, and her face grew more and more white. "will you show me the way to the house? the hoze you call it, do you not?" celia gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod, as she recalled how she had lain in her clothes, and listened to the busy coming and going of footsteps, for the greater part of the night. as all this came to her mind, she felt at first as if she must run to warn her father. then a giddy feeling of dread came over her, and she stood staring blankly at the frank-looking boy before her. "i know the great vault is full of smuggled things," she said to herself, "and that they will think my father put them there. what shall i do?" "poor little lassie!" said archy to himself, as he smiled complacently; "she has never seen an officer in uniform before, and i frightened her with my drawn sword." at that moment, gurr came up with the men, and celia seemed as if turned to stone. "this young lady lives at the house, mr gurr," said archy aloud, "and she will show us the way." poor celia felt as if she could neither move nor speak. it seemed horrible to her that she should have the task of guiding the king's men, perhaps to arrest her father. but just then she was brought to herself by the behaviour of the dog, who, on seeing his mistress talking in a friendly way to the stranger who had chased him, had condescended to be quiet, but now that a fresh party of the enemy was approaching, set up his bristles, and began to bark and growl furiously. "down, grip! quiet!" she cried, and feeling bound to act, she went on, with the midshipman keeping close up, and putting in an apologetic word about giving her so much trouble. celia could hardly keep down a hysterical cry, as she caught sight of her father and mother, the latter with her hand upon the former's arm. they had been taking their customary walk in the neglected garden, and sir risdon was about to lead his pale, careworn lady up the steps, when the snarling and subdued barking of grip made him turn his head, and he stopped short with his lips almost white. "what is it?" whispered lady graeme, as she saw the uniforms and weapons of the men. "the end!" said the unhappy man, as he looked wildly at his wife. "the result of my weakness. they are on the scent of the smuggled goods, and i am to be called to account for their possession. better that we had starved!" lady graeme caught his hand, and pressed it hard. "be firm," she whispered; "you will betray yourself." "well," he replied bitterly, "why not? better so than being the slave of that wretched man. i feel that i am worse than he. i do know better, he does not." recalling that he was in the presence of a gentleman, archy raised his hat, advanced and said, apologetically, who and what they were. that his was a very unpleasant duty, but that as a gentleman, sir risdon would see that the king's officers had no alternative but to carry out their duty. "of course not, sir," said sir risdon. "i understand, sir, you wish to search. very well, i shall raise no objection. proceed." "shall we close the men all round the house?" said the master, coming up after halting the men. "wait a minute," replied archy. "really, i hardly think it is necessary for us to commit so serious an act of rudeness towards a gentleman. perhaps sir risdon graeme will be good enough to assure me." "no, sir," said the baronet sternly; "i shall make no obstacle. you have your duty to do; pray proceed." the midshipman hesitated, and looked from one to the other, seeing lady graeme standing pale, handsome, and statuesque by her husband's side, while on the other side was celia, holding her father's hand, and resting her forehead against his arm. "i won't do it, i can't," thought archy. "why didn't he say out at once he had no knowledge of the affair, and send us about our business?" at that moment, he felt his sleeve plucked, and turning angrily round, he saw the elderly master, who had been standing hat in hand, greatly impressed by lady graeme's dignity. "we're on the wrong tack, mr raystoke, sir," he whispered. "think so, gurr?" said archy joyfully. "oh, yes! these are not the sort o' folk to do that kind o' thing. apologise, and i'll give the order to march. it goes through me like a knife." archy drew a long breath, and was about to retire his men, when he heard something which made him bound forward, for celia, unable to bear the horror and alarm any longer had suddenly swooned away. the midshipman was too late, for sir risdon had bent down, raised his child, and was about to carry her into the house. he turned fiercely on the young officer. "well, sir," he said sternly, "you have your duty to do; pray go on, and then relieve my wife and child of the presence of your men." "i beg your pardon, sir risdon," said archy quickly. "no one could regret this more than i do. you see i am only a young officer, quite a boy, and was sent on this unpleasant duty." "go on, sir, go on!" "oh, no!" cried the lad; "i am unwilling to search the place. i'm sure if our lieutenant knew he would not wish it for a moment." the baronet gazed at the boy wildly, as he clasped his child to his breast. "you--you are not going to search?" he said hesitatingly. "no, of course not. pray forgive me. i'll lead my men back to the boat at once." he raised his hat to lady graeme, an example followed by the master clumsily, as he backed away to the men, whom he faced round, the order was given, and they began to march back. as they disappeared among the trees, sir risdon stooped down and kissed his child's forehead passionately. "wife," he said, in a deep, husky voice, "i never felt the misery and degradation of my position so cruelly before. take her up to her room." "what are you going to do, risdon?" exclaimed the lady. "follow that poor lad, and let him know the truth. i will not let him fail in his duty, to rescue that old scoundrel down below." "no, no! you must not. it would be too cruel," whispered lady graeme wildly. "think of the consequences." "i do," said sir risdon sternly. "i should have behaved like what i have a right to be called--a gentleman." "and make our fortunes ten times worse. you would be torn from us. what are poverty and disgrace to that?" "you are cruel," said sir risdon bitterly. "i must, woman; i tell you i must. if this poor child should ever know into what a pit i have allowed myself to be led, how can i ever look her in the face again?" "it would kill her for you to be taken away, to be punished, perhaps, for that which you could hardly help." "no, she would soon forget." "and i should soon forget?" said lady graeme reproachfully. sir risdon turned to her wildly, as she laid her head upon his breast. "if you were taken from us, it would kill me too," she said tenderly; and then in silence, they bore their insensible child into the forbidding-looking house. chapter nine. "think we've done right, my lad?" said gurr, after they had half way descended the slope. "yes, of course. how could we search the house of a gentleman like that?" "oh, easy enough." "it was impossible." "but suppose, after all, he has got all the stuff hid away. some men's very artful, as you'll find out some day. oughtn't we to go back?" he paused as he said these words, and then laid his hand firmly on archy's shoulder. "i didn't tell you," he said, "what i saw when i went back to the farm." "no! what?" cried the midshipman eagerly. "that old chap having a glass of real smuggled spirits." "how do you know it was?" "because i tasted it. no mistake about that, i can tell you. then he was very eager to get me to go up yonder, and that looks bad. he knows all about it." "nonsense! if he knew that the smuggled goods were up there he wouldn't send us to find them." "how do you know? that may have been his artfulness, to keep us from searching. if he'd as good as said don't go up there, and tried to stop us, we should have gone at once." "but we can't go back and search, gurr. suppose we did go and ransacked the place, and hurt everybody's feelings, and then found nothing, what should we look like then?" "silly," said the master laconically, and for a time he was silent, marching on behind the men. "all comes of being sent on such dooty," he burst out with. "it isn't right to send gentlemen and officers to do such dirty work. i've been ashamed of myself ever since i've been on the cutter. hallo! here's the farmer again." for they had suddenly come upon shackle driving an old grey horse before him as if going on some farming business, and he started apparently from a fit of musing as he came abreast. "ah, gentlemen," he said; "going back?" "yes," said gurr smartly. "found the stuff?" "no." "i say." "well?" "are you sure there was anything landed there last night?" "of course we are." "oh, i didn't know. good day, gentlemen, good day." he went on after his horse chuckling to himself, while the search party made for the track to get back to the cove and row back. but before they were half way there, archy who had been thinking deeply, suddenly said to gurr-- "i say, though, isn't he right?" "what about, my lad?" "are we sure that a cargo was landed last night?" "didn't you and the skipper find three kegs?" "yes, but they might have been there a month ago." "why, of course, my lad. here, let's go and tell the skipper so. how i do hate being sent upon a wild-goose chase like this!" the rest of the journey to the cove was performed almost in silence; they then embarked, heartily tired with their walk, and ready enough to take the rest of the burden of their journey on their hands and arms by rowing steadily and well, the tide being in their favour. "yes, i do hate these jobs," said the master after a long silence. "see that the people was nodding and winking to one another as we went by their cottages?" "yes, i did see something of the kind once or twice," replied archy. "laughing at us, and knowing we should find out nothing, while they knew all the time." the first thing plainly visible as the boat approached the cutter was the head of tally gazing contemplatively at them over the side, as if anxious to know what news there was from home, and directly after ram and jemmy looked over in a quiet stolid way, as if not troubled in the least by the fact that they were prisoners. "well, mr raystoke," cried the lieutenant, as the young midshipman sprang over the side; "found the cargo and left two men in charge, eh?" "no, sir." "tut--tut--tut! what is the use of having you for my first officer. you ought to have searched everywhere, and found it." "we did search everywhere, sir, nearly, but didn't find it." "oh! what's that? nearly? then where didn't you search?" archy told him and his reasons. "humph! ha! well, i don't know: government has no bowels of compassion, mr raystoke. i'm afraid you ought to have searched the gloves." "hoze, sir, hoze." "oh well, gloves, hose, gloves, all the same; only one's for downstairs, the other up. stupid name for a place." "you think, then, i haven't done my duty, sir." "yes, mr raystoke, as an officer i do; but as a gentleman i'm afraid i think i should have done just the same." "i'm very sorry, sir. i wanted to do what is right." "and you let your amiability step in the way, sir. that cargo must be run to earth." "but is it quite certain, sir, that there was a cargo run?" "my good fellow," cried the little lieutenant impatiently, "if you found a skin lying on the beach, wouldn't you feel sure that it had once had a sheep in it?" "yes, sir, if it was a sheepskin." "bah! don't try to chop logic here; go below and get something to eat, while i make up my mind what i shall do." archy went into the cabin, not at all satisfied with the result of his run ashore, and he did not feel much better after his meal, when he went on deck just in time to find the lieutenant laying down the law to ram and jemmy dadd. "there," he was saying, "take your cow and go ashore. i'm not going to keep you prisoners, but the eye of the law is upon you, and this smuggling will be brought home to you both. be off!" "shan't jemmy milk the cow again before we go?" said ram, with a grin, that might have been friendly or mocking. "no!" thundered the lieutenant. "here, mr gurr, see these smuggling scoundrels off the deck." this was soon done, the cow being easily got into the boat, and just as it was growing dark ram stood up to push from the side. "i say," he cried again, addressing archy, "is that thing sharp?" the midshipman did not condescend to answer, but stood gazing thoughtfully over the side, till the boat gradually seemed to die away in the faint mist of the coming night. "well, raystoke, what are you thinking?" said a voice behind him, and he started round. "i was just thinking of coming to you, sir." "eh, what for?" "it seems to me, sir, that if that cargo was run, and is hidden anywhere near, they'll be moving it to-night." "of course. raystoke, you'll be a great man some day. i shouldn't have thought of that. well, what do you propose?" "to go ashore, and watch." "of course. my dear boy, if you can help me to capture a few of these wretched people, i shall get promoted to a better ship, and you shall come with me. i won't rest till i am post-captain, and as soon as you can pass, you shall be my lieutenant. there, select your crew and be off at once." "no, sir; that will not do. they'll be on the watch, and if they see a boat's crew land, they'll do nothing to-night." "then what do you propose?" "don't laugh at me, sir, and call me stupid; but i've been thinking that if i could be set ashore, dressed as one of the boys, i might go about unnoticed. and if they were moving the cargo, i could see where they took it, and then you could land the men." "oh, you'll be an admiral before i shall, boy. that's it; but will you do it?" "if you'll let me, sir." "let you? here, mr gurr, help mr raystoke, and--stop though; i don't think i can let you go alone, my lad." "if i don't go alone, sir, it's of no use." "you are right. then we'll risk it; but if the smugglers kill you, don't come and blame me. have the boat ready, mr gurr. here, raystoke, come down into the cabin at once." chapter ten. half an hour after, a dirty-looking sailor lad slipped down into the boat, with his worsted cap pulled well down over his eyes, and an uncomfortable feeling about his chest, as he sat back in the stern-sheets by gurr the master. "lay your backs well into it, my lads," said the lieutenant, "and try and land him without being seen." "ay, ay, sir!" came from the men, the boat began to surge through the still water, and the boy tried to shift the lion's head which formed the top of his dirk handle. this he had placed inside the breast of his woollen shirt, ready for use if wanted, but it promised to hurt him more than any enemy, and he wished he had left it on board. "no talking, lads," said the master, "and don't splash." the oars had been muffled, and they glided along through the faint mist, in a ghostly way, well in the shadow of the cliffs, gurr keeping up a whispered conversation with the lad by his side. "it's no use to ask you 'bout where you are going first, sir," whispered the master, "because i suppose it will all be chance. but you'll go up to the farm, eh?" "yes, i shall go there." "and up to that big house?" archy was silent. "ah, well; it's your plan, and you must do what you think's best, only take care of yourself, and if they're after you, don't make for the sea, that's where they'll think you would go. make inland for the woods, and hide there." archy nodded, and no more was said during the dark journey. they were so close to the huge wall of rocks that it seemed as if they were alive with strange marine creatures, which kept on writhing and whispering together, and making gasping and sucking noises, as the tide heaved and sank among the loose rocks and seaweed, while archy could not divest himself of the idea that they were watched by people keeping pace with them higher up on the top of the cliff. "wonder whether those two have landed the cow by this time?" whispered gurr, breaking in upon one of archy's reveries, in which he saw himself following a band of smugglers laden with contraband goods. "i don't know," he replied. "we must take care they do not see us." "not likely on a dark night like this. won't be so foggy, though, as 'twas last." nothing was seen or heard of the late prisoners' boat, and for very good reasons; and at last they found themselves abreast of the opening into the cove, where they lay upon their oars for a time listening. all was still. not a sound to be heard on either of the luggers lying at their buoys, and no light was visible at the cottages at the head of the little bay. "i might venture now," whispered archy. "have me rowed close in to the shingle beach on the right, not close ashore, but so that i can wade in. i shall drop over the side where it's about two feet deep. let them back in and we can try the depth with the boat-hook." the order was whispered, the boat glided in through the broad opening, was turned quickly, and then the men backed water till told to stop, archy, who had the boat-hook over the side, suddenly finding it touch the shingly bottom at the depth of about a foot. "good-bye," he whispered, and, gliding over the side, he softly waded ashore and stood on the beach. it looked light in front, where the limestone rocks had given place to chalk, but to right, left, and seaward, all was black as night, and stepping cautiously along, the lad approached the cottages, listening attentively, but not hearing a sound save the gurgling of water as it trickled under the stones on its way to the sea. as he reached the track leading past the cottages he had a narrow escape from falling over a boat that was drawn up on the stones, but he saved himself with a jerk; and, feeling hot with the sudden start, he turned and crouched down, but there was not a sound to indicate that he had been heard, and drawing a long breath he stepped on to reach the hard earth where his feet were not among the water-worn pebbles, and in a few minutes he was on the road he had traversed twice that day, and walking fast toward the farm. once or twice he hesitated, for the way lay so low down in the valley, with the hills towering up to such a height on either side, that the night seemed as dark as during the fog of the previous night; but he got along over the ground pretty well in spite of its seeming more hilly and rough, till at the end of about an hour and a half he felt that he must be approaching the farm, and he advanced more cautiously, listening for footsteps and voices from time to time. there was a good broad green marge to the lane about here, and he stepped on to it, the turf deadening his footsteps. "but i don't recollect seeing this grass in the morning," he thought; and then he stopped short, for it suddenly occurred to him that he had not come upon the cluster of houses where the people smiled and nodded at one another as they passed. "i can't have trailed off into another road, can i?" he said to himself, as he felt quite startled and turned hot. he looked round, but it was too dark to make out anything, and he was about to start on again, comforting himself with the idea that he must be right, when he heard at a distance the _pat-pat_ of feet on hard ground, and drew back close up to the side to stoop down among some brambles, which told him at once after their fashion what they were. "if i only dared ask whoever this is," thought archy, "i should do." his thoughts took another direction directly, for, apparently about twenty yards away, he heard some one sneeze, and then mutter impatiently, followed by another sneeze. and all the while the regular _pat-pat_ of footsteps came from his right, but not as he had come, for the sound was as if some one was approaching by a road which came at right angles to the one he was in. archy crouched there, breathless and listening, wondering who the man could be who was perfectly silent now, but he had not moved away unless the turf had silenced his footprints. "how lucky it was i stopped!" thought the midshipman. "i should have walked right on to him and been caught." the steps came nearer, and at last it seemed as if they were going to pass on, when a gruff voice from close by said,-- "well, lad?" there was a sudden stoppage, and an exclamation, and-- "made me jump, master." "don't talk foolery," said the first voice in impatient tones, and to archy it was unmistakable. he had heard both voices before. "what have you made out?" "nothing." "no boat landed?" "nor no sign o' one, master. both lads swear as no one has passed along the lane." "wouldn't take the upper lane, would they?" "not likely." "upper lane!" thought archy. had he taken the upper lane in the darkness, and so missed the men on the watch? "didn't hear the sailors say nothing on the cutter, did you?" "not a word." the middy's heart seemed to give a throb. he did know that voice then. it was that of the man who had been detained with the boy, and this other, he was sure, was the voice of the farmer. "going to keep on watching?" "of course. they'll be up to some game to trap us safe. ought to get that stuff away." "no, i wouldn't, master; it's safe enough now." "you're a fool," came back in a savage growl. "anybody but you and that mole-eyed boy would have seen the kegs before them sailors." "did see 'em--when it was too late," grumbled the other. "well, go back; and take off them boots, and hang 'em round your neck. i could hear you a mile away." "right." "go and tell 'em to keep a sharp look-out in the cove, and then to run the moment a boat comes in sight." "no boat won't come in sight to-night. dark." "then the moment you hear one." "they won't come to-night, master." "go and do as i tell you," said the other savagely. "it's the farmer and his man," thought the listener; "and there is something wrong." he wondered what he had better do. should he give notice to them on the cutter? the answer came at once. how could he? he had made no plans for that. "off you go," was said roughly, and the rustling sound seemed to indicate that the man had gone back toward the cove. archy listened patiently for the next movement of the farmer, but he could detect nothing, and he was feeling sure that the man was still watching and listening, when he heard a sneeze at a distance followed by a muttering sound, and knew that he must have moved off. without a moment's hesitation the lad followed, keeping along the grassy marge of the road, and listening intently to make out at last the dull sound of steps, which told that the man who made them was walking barefoot. as far as he could judge now, archy was in the proper road, and as he walked along he tried to understand what was going on, coming at last to the conclusion at which he had at first jumped, that something would be done that night if the farmer and his people were certain that they would not be disturbed. as he thought he walked cautiously on, wondering what he had better do, and seeing at last a bright light in front high up a slope, and another away to his right much higher. a little consideration told him that the first was at the farm; the other high up, facing toward the sea, must be up at the hoze. trusting more to chance than plan, the midshipman went on and on, following farmer shackle; the task becoming easy now, for as he neared the lights the man grew more careless, so that it was easy to trace his movements, which were evidently homeward, till a few minutes later archy saw him pass the glowing window, swing open a door from which came a burst of light, pass in, and the door was closed. archy stood outside with a vague belief that before long the man would come out, and perhaps go to the spot where the cargo was hidden. as he waited he could not help turning his eyes in the direction of the long, solitary house in the patch of woodland, and found himself wondering whether he should ever go up there again. after waiting about a quarter of an hour outside the farm, with his back against one of the roughly piled-up stone walls of the district, archy began to think it was very dull, and his expectations of a discovery or an adventure grew less and less. all was very quiet at the farm, so quiet that he determined at last to go and peer in at the window to see if the farmer was likely to come out again, because if this were not so he was wasting his time. "but they are not likely to do anything without him," he thought. advancing cautiously, he entered the garden, and was just going up to the window, when the door was thrown open, and he dropped down behind a bush as the farmer strode out. "he must see me," thought archy. "what a position for an officer to be in!" "eh?" exclaimed shackle, turning sharply round, as if to answer his wife. "oh yes. ought to have been here by now." this gave the midshipman a moment's breathing time; and he had drawn himself up behind the bush by the time the farmer had closed the door, the sudden change from darkness to light preventing shackle from seeing the spy upon his proceedings. just as he was passing he stopped short, uttering an ejaculation; and feeling that he was seen, the midshipman was about to leap up, jump over the low wall, and run, when he heard steps. he lay still, hoping that this might have drawn forth the exclamation, but for the next few moments he was in agony. then came relief. "that you, ramillies?" "yes, father." "well?" "i think it's all right. carts are coming, and all the lads are down the roads." "all?" "no. two of 'em's down by the cove, but they won't send anybody from the cutter to-night." "not so sure of it, my boy,--not so sure. can't be too careful. 'tain't as if we were obliged to move 'em to-night. landing a cargo's one thing; getting it away another. well, we'll try. you're sure they're keeping good watch at the cove?" "yes, father." "what sort of an officer did he seem on the cutter?" "little, fat, sleepy chap." "and the others?" "don't seem to be no others, only that cocky-hoopy middy, who came ashore with the men. i should like to ketch him ashore some day." one of archy's legs gave a twitch at the first remark about him, and the twitch occurred in his right arm at the second. "don't chatter. not very sharp sort of officer, eh?" "no, father. sort of chap who'd go to sleep all night." archy began wondering. he had thought the boy a dull, stupid-looking bumpkin, and he was finding out how observing he had been. "well, we'll risk it, boy. come along." archy's heart gave a bound. here was news! he had been growing dull and disheartened, thinking that his expedition was foolish and impossible, and here at once he had learned what he wanted. he knew that now all he had to do was to take advantage of every wall and tree, even to creep along the ground if necessary, and he would be able to follow the smugglers to the place where they had hidden the run cargo, watch them bring it out, and then track them to the fresh hiding-place. he would thus learn everything, and be able at daybreak to make his way to the cliff, signal for a boat, and a grand capture would be made. his heart beat high as he thought of the lieutenant's delight, and of the joy there would be amongst the men, for this would mean prize-money, and perhaps the means of deluding the vessel that had brought the cargo into a trap, so that it could be captured, and more prize-money as well as honour be the result. it did not take him long to think all this; and then he rose cautiously and dropped down again, for the door was re-opened, and the light beamed out so that the watcher felt that he must be seen. "that my rammy?" cried mrs shackle. "yes," growled the farmer; "keep that door shut and your mouth too." "but do be careful, master. i don't want him took prisoner again." "it's all right, mother." "come along, boy." archy heard the departing steps, and began to suffer a fresh agony of suspense. he could not stir, for the farmer's wife stood at the open door, and the slightest movement would have caused a discovery; and all the time he could hear the footsteps growing more and more faint. "oh!" he said to himself; "and it's so dark i shan't be able to tell which way they have gone." what should he do? start up and run? if he did the woman was certain to raise an alarm; and, knowing that, he could do nothing but wait till she went in, when he might chance to pick up the clue again. his heart beat so loudly that he felt as if it must be heard, but mrs shackle was too intent upon listening to the departing footsteps, which grew more faint till they died out entirely, and as they passed away the midshipman's heart sank. "had all my trouble for nothing," he thought. "so near success, and yet to fail!" "ah, deary deary me!" said a voice from close at hand, "i'm very sick and tired of it all. i wish he'd be content with his cows and sheep." mrs shackle drew back as she said this, the door closed, and archy sprang up, darted out of the gateway, and hurried along the path as fast as the darkness would allow, stopping from time to time to listen. for a long time he could hear nothing. he was descending the slope toward the road leading to the cove, as far as he could tell, for it seemed to him likely that the farmer and his son had gone in that direction; but as he went on and on, and was unable to detect a sound, he felt that he must be wrong, and stopped short, listening intently. "bother the woman!" he thought; "it's all through her. they'll go and get all the cargo from the hiding-place, and take it somewhere, and i shall know nothing." he bit his lip with disappointment, and gave an angry stamp on the grass. "i'll go back, and try some other way." easy to determine, but hard to carry out in the darkness, and in a place which seemed quite changed at night. there should be a lane or track leading down to the cliff he knew, but where it was he could not say; in fact, at that moment, in his confusion, he could hardly tell for certain that he was on the road leading right away to the cove. "i may just as well be moving," he said at last despondently. "oh, if i could only have followed them up!" his heart gave a bound just then, for plainly on the night air came a dull sound, as of footsteps on grass. then there was a whisper, and directly after he knew that a number of people were coming quickly toward him. a moment or two later he heard a rattling noise, which he recognised as that made by a horse shaking his harness, and once more archy's heart beat high. there had not been time for them--if those people coming were the smugglers--to fetch the cargo, and they must be coming in his direction. "what shall i do?" thought the watcher; "lie down and let them pass, or go on?" he decided on the latter course, and finding that he was in a lane bounded by stone walls, he went on, pausing from time to time to make sure that he was being followed. this proved to be the case, the people getting nearer and nearer, and it was a curious experience to hear the whispering of voices and trampling of feet coming out of the darkness. "walking on the side turf," said archy to himself, as he kept on, to find after a few minutes that the stone wall on his left had ceased, but he could feel that the road went on, and heard the people coming. a minute or two later he realised that he was going up hill; then the slope grew steeper, and he paused again to listen. he was quite right. they were coming on steadily, and he knew that there must be twenty or thirty people; but he could hear no horses now. "they've stopped at the foot of this steep place," he thought, as he went on and on, the people still advancing fast, and all at once, as he went on, a sudden thought ran through him like a stab. for he had guessed at least the direction in which he was going in the black darkness; he was once more ascending the slope toward the patch of woodland high up the hill, and the place of deposit of the smuggled goods must be the hoze. chapter eleven. a feeling of misery that he could not have explained came over archy raystoke as he grasped the position, and he wished that he had never undertaken the task he had in hand. for it seemed so shocking that the noble-looking lady and gentleman he had seen that day should be in league with a gang of smugglers, and have lent their out-of-the-way house to be a depository for the contraband goods. "oh, it's impossible," he said to himself. "they could not. the scoundrels have hidden the things somewhere up in the wood by the house, thinking that nobody would come in there to search." "the artful rascal!" said archy to himself, feeling better now that he had put this interpretation upon the proceedings; and, knowing his way better now, and thinking of the dog the while, he hurried on, and had nearly reached the house, meaning to hide somewhere among the abundant shrubs which surrounded it till the smugglers had passed, when all doubt as to the party being those he was tracking was chased away by his hearing a voice just before him say,-- "all right, father. here they come." archy stopped short, as he felt his position. the farmer and his son had come up here, and were waiting for the men to act as carriers. "what shall i do?" he asked himself, for he was between two parties, and a step might mean discovery. in fact, if the last speaker had taken a step forward, he must have detected the spy's presence. there was no time for thought archy stood for a moment or two as if paralysed; then, as he heard the farmer's gruff voice, he dropped down, and began to crawl among the bushes. "been a long time coming; here, go in and get the lanthorns now." at that moment archy was brought up by a wall, over which he passed his hands, to find that he was directly after touching iron bars close to the ground. it was some building, and then, as he crouched there, he was conscious of a peculiar odour, which told him not only that this was a cellar, but one in which brandy was stored. again he felt a strange sensation of misery. he had accidentally hit upon the place where the cargo had been hidden, and it must be in the cellar of the hoze, and not in the wood. he wished he had not made the discovery now, and felt ready to retreat, for it would be horrible to have to tell the lieutenant, giving him such information as would lead to the arrest of the tall, careworn man who had impressed him so strangely that day. all at once he was conscious of a gleam of light, following a faint noise, and right before him he saw the fluttering blue flame of a brimstone match, which blue began to turn yellow and illumine the face of the boy who had been a prisoner, and two great stacks of kegs and bales, reaching nearly from floor to ceiling of a low vault. the light shone out through the grated window, by which he was on hands and knees, and feeling that he would be at once recognised if his face was seen, he crept on under the wall a few yards, and lay flat listening, as he wished that there was time for him to get down to the cliff, and signal for help, to capture the smugglers and their store. an impossibility, he knew, for the cargo might be all gone long before he could reach the cutter, even if a boat were waiting; beside which, he felt that he did not want to tell all he had seen, for if he did, what would follow with respect to those he had spoken with that day? "now, my lads, in with you," cried a familiar voice. "load up carefully when you get down to the carts, and we shall get all snug before daylight." a murmur of acquiescence followed, and they began to tramp very close to where the midshipman lay, expecting every moment to be seen. he crouched down as low as he could, not daring to raise even his head, and wondering whether the bright hilt of his dirk would show, and he thrust it farther into his breast. then he wondered whether he could back softly away; but that was impossible, for the light came from behind him, through the grated window, while escape forward was impossible, as he was close to a door through which shadowy forms were passing in. there was nothing for it but to lie still, and trust to his not being seen, when the next minutes were made agreeable by a host of recollections regarding the treatment received by those who betrayed smugglers, of the desperate fights there had been, how many had been killed, and a shudder ran through the lad as he recalled the story of a man who had played the spy, somewhere about the south coast, being thrown from a cliff, and literally smashed. "they'll see me, i know they'll see me," thought archy; "but i'm a king's officer, young as i am, and i'll show them that i can fight for my life like a man." as this thought struck him, his hand went involuntarily to his side to get a good grip of and draw his dirk. the movement betrayed him, for, before he could quite realise that his dirk was hidden in his breast, he was seized by two great muscular hands, dragged into a standing position, and he could dimly see a face peering into his, as a voice, which he recognised as the farmer's, growled savagely-- "who's this?" before he could struggle or answer, the man went on fiercely-- "why, you lazy, shuffling, young villain! sit there and skulk, while the others do the work, would you? come on!" before the midshipman could recover from his surprise, he felt himself run forward by the two hands which had been dropped on his shoulders, thrust through the door, the farmer whispering savagely, "work, or i'll break your neck;" and giving him a fierce push and a kick, which drove him along a passage, where on his left was the open doorway into the dimly lit cellar. so great was the impetus given, that but for a desperate effort to keep his feet, and a bound or two, the lad would have gone down upon his face. as it was, the actual first leap took him level with the door of the cellar, the second right on to a flight of steps beyond in the darkness, and as he stood panting there, he realised the meaning of the old smuggler's mistake; for he had forgotten that he was roughly dressed as a sailor boy, and had a red worsted tasselled cap, well drawn-down over his besmirched face. as archy stood there in the darkness, at the foot of the stair which he knew must lead up into the house, he looked back to see a man come out of the cellar, his figure just dimly seen by the light from within and below, and over the man's shoulders were swung a couple of kegs. archy held his breath, and felt that in all probability the farmer had contented himself with driving him in to work, for he made no further movement, and the coming out of this man, and another who followed directly, completely reassured him. it was evident, too, that they did not know of his presence, and with his heart beating with hopes of escape, as he more and more understood that he had been taken for one of the boys of the gang, he backed softly up the steps, more and more into the darkness, till further progress was stayed by a door. here he stopped, panting, and holding his hand upon his throbbing heart. then feeling that he would be seen directly if a lanthorn were brought into the passage, he pressed the lock, it yielded, and he stepped softly up on to a stone floor. here all was blacker than before, but it was a haven of refuge, and he passed in and softly closed the door behind him, to stand listening. all was still as death, and he began to ask himself what he should do next. he dared not stay where he was, for if the smugglers were so much at home at the hoze that they could come like this by night, the farmer or some one else might at any moment come up those steps with a light, and then discovery was certain. but what to do? a closet--a room--a staircase--an open window leading in another direction to that where the men were busy! if he could find any of these he might be safe, and he was about to try and search for some means of concealment or escape when a cold shudder of superstitious dread ran through him, and he began to recall all he had read of haunted houses, for from somewhere in the darkness in front of him, he heard a low, piteous cry. archy was as courageous as most boys of his age, as he was proving by his adventurous acts; but this sound, heard by a lad living in a generation wanting in our modern enlightenment, paralysed him. his blood seemed to run cold, his lips parted, his throat felt dry, and a peculiar shiver ran over his skin, accompanied by a sensation as if tiny fingers, cold as ice, were parting and turning his hair. again the sigh came, to be followed by a cold current of air, which swept across the boy's face, and then there was a low rustling sound, which hovered in front of him, and went up and up and up, and then slowly died away. archy's first impulse, as he recovered himself a little in the silence which followed, was to turn, open the door, and flee. but he hesitated. it would be right into the hands of the enemy. besides, the terribly chilling sounds he had heard had ceased, and he felt less cowardly. "perhaps," he said to himself, "it was fancy, or nothing to be afraid of." a heavy step on the other side of the door alarmed him more, and stretching out his hands, he stepped forward, went cautiously on and on, and at the end of a few yards touched what felt like panelling. the next moment he realised that he had reached a door, which was yielding, and he passed into a room, to scent the cool night air, and hear subdued sounds without and below. he was in a room over the cellar, he was sure, and the window was wide open. he crept to it, guided by the cold air which came in, and had just reached it when he heard rapid footsteps, and some one panted,-- "where's the skipper?" "here. what is it?" whispered shackle, who seemed close to where the midshipman stood. "jemmy dadd--came from the cove. boat's crew landed." "run down and tell them all to come back," said shackle hoarsely. "i did, and they're coming. i met first man." "right! get all back in quick!" as he finished speaking, archy could hear the dull, soft steps of laden men returning, and more and more kept coming, and it was soon evident that they were quickly and silently replacing the kegs they had been carrying down hill to where tumbrils were waiting for a load. the midshipman stood a little way back from the window, seeing nothing, but drinking all this in, and in imagination grasping the whole scene which went on for the next quarter of an hour or so, by which time the last load seemed to have been brought back. as he listened, he wondered what boat's crew it could be that had landed, as no arrangement had been made for any help to be sent till he either signalled from the cliff or went down to the cove at twelve the next day, where a boat would be about half a mile out, with two men in her fishing. he could not understand it; all he could tell for certain was that the smugglers had been alarmed, and that they would not remove the cargo that night, for all at once he heard the sharp snap of a great lock beneath his feet; this was followed by the closing of a door, and directly after there was the shuffling of feet, and shackle's voice was heard in a hoarse whisper,-- "got the lanthorn, boy?" "yes, father." "off you go then--all. scatter!" "you won't try again to-night?" "try? no," said the farmer savagely. "wish i had some of them here!" there were retiring steps then, and archy leaned forward towards the window, to utter a faint cry of pain, for his head had come in contact with something, and as he put up his hand he found that the window was protected by thick iron bars. he stood listening till not a sound could be heard, and then he drew back from the window, thinking about his next course, gazing out into the darkness the while, and wishing he could have stepped out, leaped down, and fled at once. "made our plans badly," he thought to himself. "i can't signal even if i could find my way to the cliff, and i ought to be able to get back here at once to seize all this store, and--" more unpleasant thoughts came back now about how hard it seemed to have to betray these people. "can't help it," he said to himself. "i am a king's officer, and i've got to do my duty." then to keep these thoughts from troubling him, he began to think again about the cutter. they never expected that he would get valuable information so soon. he had been wonderfully fortunate, but what was to be his next course? certainly to get back to the ship as soon as possible, but that was not possible till morning, and he was miles away from the cove. what should he do? two hours would be plenty for the work, and as he guessed it was not much past twelve now. how was he to pass all those weary hours? if he could find some barn or even a haystack he would not have cared, but it seemed to him that he would have to pass the remainder of the night in walking, and watching so that he did not encounter any of the smuggler gang on his way back and so raise their suspicions. better be off at once. perhaps, after all, he thought as by an inspiration, the lieutenant had altered his plans, and was sending men to look after and protect him. "let's see," said archy to himself. "i must go out of this door, and keep turning a little to the right till i feel the door at the top of the stairs." suppose any one should hear him, take him for a thief, and fire at him? suppose that door at the end of the passage had been locked by the smugglers? it seemed so probable, that a nervous feeling attacked the lad. he would be a prisoner, and discovered by the inmates in the morning. he would soon put that to the proof, he told himself; and he was about to step cautiously back toward the door when another thought sent a shudder through him. suppose as soon as he got into the hall, or whatever place it was, he should hear that sigh again and the rustling sound? he shrank back as he recalled how it had affected him. "oh, what a coward i am!" he said softly; and he took a step forward, where very faintly, as if far distant, he heard the rustling sound again. it came nearer and nearer, then there was a low sigh, the door was pushed open, for the rustling came quite plainly now, accompanied by a faint breathing. the door closed with a soft dull sound as archy stood as if turned into stone, his hair again feeling as if moved by hands, and he would have spoken, but no words would come. at last, as he stood there in front of the window, terrified too much to stir, he suddenly heard a faint sound as of catching breath, and a voice said in a hurried, frightened whisper,-- "who's there? is that you, ram?" archy tried to speak but could not. before he could draw a breath of relief, feeling as he did that this was nothing of which he need feel such fear, the voice said again,-- "you are trying to frighten me. i can see you plainly there by the window. how dare you come in here like this, sir? go back home with your horrid men." chapter twelve. "you are making a mistake," said archy softly. "oh!" there was a cry and a quick rustling toward the door. "don't--don't cry out; i did not come to frighten you." "who are you?" "i am from the cutter lying off the coast. you saw me and spoke to me to-day when the dog came at me." there was a low wailing sound which troubled the midshipman, and he said quickly,-- "can you not believe me? i did not come to frighten you; you frightened me." "then, why are you here? how dare you break into our house. oh, i know! i know!" "don't cry," he said. "i was obliged to come. it was by accident i came into this room. i was trying to find out about the smugglers." "and--and--you have not found out anything?" came in quick, frightened tones. archy was silent. "why don't you speak, sir?" "what am i to say? i am on duty. yes, i have found out all i wanted to know." "ah!" came again out of the darkness, in a low wailing tone. "i wish you would believe me, that i am in as great trouble about it as you are." "but your men. they are close here, then, and they frightened these people away." "i suppose so. i don't know," said archy. "don't they know that you are here?" "no." "but you will go and tell all you have found out?" "yes," said archy, slowly as he strained his eyes to try and make out the speaker. "that my father, sir risdon graeme, has smuggled goods here?" "what else can i do?" replied archy sadly. there was a sound of breath being drawn sharply through the teeth, and then the voice seemed changed as the next words came,-- "do you know what this means?" archy was silent. "they will put him in prison, and--and--" there was a low burst of sobbing, and the young midshipman felt his own breast swell. suddenly the sobbing ceased, and the girl said slowly,-- "you shall not tell. it is not my father's doing. he could not help it. he hates the smugglers. you shall not tell. pray, pray, say you will not!" archy was silent. "do you not hear me?" came in imperious tones. "yes, i hear you," he replied; "but it is my duty, and--" "yes--yes--speak!" "i must." "oh!" the interjection came as if it were the outcome of sudden passion. there was a quick, rustling sound, and before the boy could realise what was to come, the door was closed, the lock shot into its socket, and he heard the grinding sound of bolts, top and bottom. then, as archy stood in the dark, literally aghast with astonishment, he heard the faint rustling once more, and again all was silent. "well!" he exclaimed; "and i felt sorry for her as one might for one's sister at home, and hung back from getting her people into trouble. of all the fierce little tartars! oh, it's beyond anything! why, she has locked me up!" he laughed, but it was a curious kind of laugh, full of vexation, injured _amour propre_, as the french call our love of our own dignity, of which archibald raystoke, in the full flush of his young belief in his importance as a british officer, had a pretty good stock. "i never did!" he exclaimed, after standing listening for a few minutes to see if the girl would repent and return. "it all comes of dressing up in this stupid way, like a rough fisher-lad. if i had been in uniform, she would not have dared." cold water came on this idea directly, as he recalled the fact that the darkness was intense, and celia could not have seen him. "and i meant to save them from trouble if i could, out of respect for them all, and did not believe that such people could stoop to be mixed up with rogues and smugglers. but, all right! i've got my duty to do, and i'll do it. i'll soon show them that i am not going to be played with. looked such a nice, lady-like girl, and all the time she's a female smuggler, and must have been sitting up to let them in, and lock up after the rascals had done." rather hard measure, by the way, to deal out to the anxious girl, who could not rest while shackle's gang were busy about the place, and had come stealthily down to open the little corner room window, and watch from time to time until they had gone. "well," said archy, as there was no further sound heard, "i'm not going to put up with this. i'll soon rattle some one up;" and he went sharply to the door, felt for the handle, tried it, and was about to shake it and bang at the panels, when discretion got the better of valour. for it suddenly occurred to him that he was not only a prisoner, but a prisoner in the power of a very reckless set of people, who would stop at nothing. they had a valuable cargo hidden in the cellar beneath where he stood, and themselves to save, and naturally they would not hesitate to deal hardly with him, when quite a young, apparently gentle girl treated him as she had done. "no," he thought to himself, "i don't believe they would kill me, but they would knock me about." on the whole, he decided that it would not be pleasant to be knocked about. the kick he had received was a foretaste of what he might expect, and after a little consideration he came to the conclusion that his duty was to escape, and get back to the cutter as quickly as he could. to do this he must scheme, lie hid till morning, then make for the nearest point, and signal for help, unless a boat's crew were already searching for him. how to escape? the door was, he well knew, fast. the window was barred, but he went to it, and tried the bars one by one, to find them all solidly fitted into the stone sill. perhaps there was another way out, and to prove that he went softly round to feel the oak panelling which covered the walls, to come upon a door directly. his hopes began to rise, but they fell directly, for he found it was a closet. next moment, as he felt his way about, his hand touched an old-fashioned marble mantelpiece. fireplace--chimney! yes, if other ways failed, he could escape up the chimney. no, that was too bad. he could not do that. and if he did, it would only be to reach the roof of the house, and perhaps find no way down. he went on, and found a closet to match the first on the other side of the fireplace. then all round the room. panels everywhere, but no means of escape, and he went again to stand at the window, to bemoan his stupidity for allowing a weak girl to make a prisoner of him in so absurd a way. sympathy and pity for the dwellers in the hoze were completely gone now, and he set his teeth fast, and mentally called himself a weak idiot for ever thinking about such people. for the first few minutes he had felt something uncommonly like alarm, and had dwelt upon the consequences to himself if the smugglers found the spy upon their proceedings; but that dread had passed away in the idea that he had to do his duty, and before he could do that he must escape. a chair or two. then an easy-chair. a narrow table against the wall in two places. an awkwardly-shaped high-backed chair with elbows and cushions. a thick carpet in the centre. nothing else in the room, as far as he could make out in the darkness, and if those wretched bars had only been away, how soon he could have escaped! he went and tried to force his head through, recalling as he did that where a person's head would go the rest of the body would pass. but there was no chance for his body there, the head would not go first. he returned, after listening intently, unable to hear a sound, and put his ear to the key-hole of the door to listen there; but all was still, and the faint hope that the girl might be near and open to an appeal for his liberty died away. again he felt all about the room, to satisfy himself afresh that there was no way out, and he paused by the chimney, half disposed to essay that means of escape, but he shook his head. "a fellow who was shut up in prison for life might do it," he said, "but not in a case like this." then, utterly wearied out, with his long and arduous twenty-four hours' task, beginning with his watch on the cutter's deck, he felt his way to the big chair opposite to the window to rest his legs, and try and think out some plan. "nobody can think well when he's tired," he said; and he began to run over in his mind the whole of the incidents since he landed a few hours earlier. chapter thirteen. "sure you've looked round everywhere, boy?" "yes, father, quite." "nothing left nowhere? sure none of the lads chucked anything aside the path when they ran up?" "yes, father. i looked well both sides." "humph! worse lads than you if you knew where to find 'em." "thank ye, father." "i'm going home to breakfast." "shall i come too, father?" "no. stop here till sir risdon comes down, and tell him i'm very sorry; that we should have cleared out last night, only a born fool saw jerry nandy's lobster-boat coming into the cove, and came running to say it was a party from the cutter." "yes, father." "tell him not to be uneasy; 'tis all right, and i'll have everything clear away to-night." the dull sound of departing steps, and a low whistling sound coming down through the skylight window into the cabin where archy raystoke lay with his heavy eyelids pressed down by sleep. "what a queer dream!" he thought to himself. "no; it couldn't be a dream. he must be awake. but how queer for mr gurr to be talking like that to andrew teal, the boy who helped the cook! and why did andy call mr gurr father?" there was an interval of thinking over this knotty question, during which the low whistling went on. "if mr brough goes on deck and catches that boy whistling, there'll be someone to pay and no pitch hot," thought archy nautically. "but what did mr gurr mean about going home to breakfast? and i'm hungry too. time i was up, i suppose." he gave himself a twist, and was about to turn out of his sleeping place, and then opened his eyes widely, and stared about him, too much overcome still by his heavy sleep to quite comprehend why it was that he was in a gloomy, oak-panelled, poorly furnished room, staring at an iron-barred open window. no: he was not dreaming, for he was looking out on the sea, over which a faint mist hung like wreaths of smoke. it was just before sunrise too, for there were flecks of orange high up in the sky. what did it mean? the answer came like a flash. he recollected it all now, even to his sitting down in the chair, wearied out. he had been fast asleep, and those words had awakened him. what did they say?--false alarm--tell sir risdon they would clear all away to-night--see if anything had been left about--lobster-boat! then no boat had come from the cutter last night, and the lieutenant would wait for him to signal, and here he was a prisoner, with the information--locked up--the very news the lieutenant would give anything to know. he jumped up from the chair feeling horribly stiff, and looked steadily round for a way to escape before it was too late. once out of that room he could ran, and by daylight the smugglers dare not hunt him down. "oh, those bars!" he mentally exclaimed, and he was advancing toward them, when just as he drew near, there was a rustling noise under the window, a couple of hands seized the bars, there was a scratching of boot-toes against stone work, and ram's face appeared to gaze into the room by intention, but into the astonished countenance of the young midshipman instead. ram was the first to recover from his surprise. "hullo!" he said, "who are you? i was wondering why that window was open." "here, quick! go round and open the door. i was shut in last night by mistake." "oh!" said ram looking puzzled. "i saw you last night, and wondered whose boy you was. it was you father kicked for shirking, and--my!-- well: i hardly knowed you." "nonsense! come round and open the door. i've been shut in all night." "won't do," said ram grinning. "think i don't know you, mr orficer? where's your fine clothes and your sword? here, what made you dress up like that?" "you're mistaken," said archy gruffly, as he made a feeble struggle to keep up the character he had assumed. "won't do," said ram quickly. "i know you. been playing the spy, that's what you've been doing. who locked you in?" "will you come round and open the door?" said archy in an angry whisper. "oh, of course," replied the boy grinning; and he dropped down, rushed through the bushes, and disappeared from view. archy stepped back to the door listening, but there was not a sound. "he has gone to give the alarm," thought the prisoner, and he looked excitedly round for a way of escape. nothing but the chimney presented itself. the door was too strong to attack, and he remembered the three fastenings. should he try the chimney? and be stuck there, and dragged out like a rabbit by the hind legs from his hole! "no; i've degraded myself enough," he said angrily, "and there are sure to be bars across. hah!" a happy inspiration had come, and placing one hand upon his breast, he thrust in the other, gave a tug, and drew out his little curved dirk, glanced at the edge, ran to the window and began to cut at one of the bars. labour in vain. he divided the paint, and produced a few squeaks and grating sounds, as he realised that the attempt was madness. turning sharply, he looked about the room; then, after glancing ruefully at the bright little weapon, halfway up the blade of a rich deep blue, in which was figured a pattern in gold, he yielded to necessity, and began to chop at the top bar of the grate, so as to nick the edges of his weapon and make it saw-like. the result was not very satisfactory, but sufficiently so to make him essay the bar of the window once more, producing a grating, ear-assailing sound, as he found that now he did make a little impression,--so little though, that the probability was, if he kept on working well for twenty-four hours, he would not get through. but at the end of five minutes he stopped, and thrust back the dirk into its sheath. he fancied he had heard steps outside the room door, and he ran to it and listened, in the faint hope that the boy might have come to open it and set him free. it was a very faint hope, and one he felt not likely to be realised, and he returned once more to the window, with the intention of resuming his task, when he heard the bushes pressed aside by some one coming, and directly after the bars were seized as before. ram sprang up, found a resting-place for his toes, and looked in, grinning at him. "hullo!" he cried, in a whisper, as if he did not wish to be heard; "here you are still." "yes. come round and open the door." "what'll yer give me?" "anything i can," cried archy eagerly. "well, you give me that little sword o' your'n." "no; i can't part with that." "ha! ha! ha!" laughed the boy jeeringly. "but i'll--yes, i'll give you a guinea, if you will let me out." "guinea?" said the boy. "think i'd do it for a guinea?" "well, then, two. be quick, there's a good fellow. i want to get away at once." "not you," said the boy jeeringly. "it would be a pity. i say, do you know what you look like?" "a fisher-boy." "not you. only a sham. why, your clothes don't fit you, and your cap's put on all skew-rew. don't look a bit like a fisher-lad, and never will." "never mind about that; let me out of this place." "what for?" cried ram. "because i want my liberty." "not you. looks comf'table enough as you are. i say, do you know what you are like now?" "i told you, a fisher-boy!" cried archy impatiently, but trying not to offend his visitor, who possessed the power of conferring freedom, by speaking sharply. "not you. look like a wild beast in a cage. like a monkey." "you insolent--" archy checked himself, and the boy laughed. "it was your turn yesterday, it's mine to-day. what a game! you laughed and fleered at me when i was on the cutter's deck. i can laugh and fleer at you now. i say, you do look a rum 'un. just like a big monkey in a show." "look here, sir!" said archy, losing his temper. "gentlemen don't fight with low, common fellows like you, but if you do not come round and let me out, next time we meet i'll have a bit of rope's-end ready for you." ram showed his white teeth, as he burst out with a long, low fit of laughter. "you rope's-end me!" he said. "why, i could tie you up in a knot, and heave you off the cliff any day. what a game! bit of a middy, fed on salt tack and weevilly biscuit, talk of giving me rope's-end! dressed up with a dirty face and a bit o' canvas! go back aboard, and put on your uniform. ha! ha! ha!" "once more; will you come and let me out?" "no. i'm going to keep you here till the gentlefolks get up, and then i'll bring 'em round to see the monkey in his cage, just like they do in the shows, when you pay a penny. see you for nothing, middy. i say, where's your sword? why don't you draw it, and come out and fight? i'll fight you with a stick." "you insolent young scoundrel!" cried archy, darting his hand through between the bars, overcome now by his rage, and catching ram by the collar. to his astonishment the boy did not flinch, but thrust his own arms through, placing them about the middy's waist, clenching his hands behind, and uttering a sharp whistle. it was a trap, and the midshipman understood it now. the boy had been baiting him to rouse him to attack, and he was doubly a prisoner now, held fast against the bars, so that he could not even wrench round his head as he heard the door behind him opened, while as he opened his mouth to cry for help, a great rough hand was placed over his eyes, pressing his head back, a handkerchief was jammed between his teeth, and as he heard a deep growling voice say, "hold him tight!" a rope was drawn about his chest, pinioning his arms to his sides, and another secured his ankles. "now a handkerchief," said the gruff voice. "fold it wide. be ready!" the midshipman gave his head a jerk, but the effort was vain, for the hand over his eyes gave place to a broad handkerchief, which was tightly tied behind, and then a fierce voice whispered in his ear,-- "keep still, or you'll get your weasand slit. d'ye hear?" but in spite of the threat the lad, frenzied now by rage and excitement, struggled so hard that a fresh rope was wound round him, and he was lifted up by two men, and carried away. by this time there was a strange singing in his ears, a feeling as if the blood was flooding his eyes, a peculiar, hot, suffocating feeling in his breast, and then he seemed to go off into a painful, feverish sleep, for he knew no more. chapter fourteen. angry, but trembling with dread, celia had hurried up to her own room, to try and think what was best to be done. she had secured the door of the room below to gain time, feeling as she did that, as the young midshipman knew of the storing of the smuggled goods, he would, the moment he was free, go back to the cutter, bring help, there would perhaps be a desperate fight, with men killed, and her father would be dragged away to prison. her first thought was to go to her father, but she shrank from doing this as her mother would probably be asleep, and in her delicate state the alarm might seriously affect her. having grown learned in the ways of the smugglers, from their having on several occasions made use of the great vault without asking permission--at times when sir risdon was away from home--celia had sat up to watch that night to see if the men would fetch away the kegs and bales; hence her presence during the scene, and when she had awakened to the fact that the midshipman had played spy and was ready to denounce her father, she felt that all was over. three times over, after listening at the head of the stairs for sounds from below where her prisoner was confined, celia had crept on tiptoe to her father's door, only to shrink away again not daring to speak. for what would he say to her? she thought. she had no right to be downstairs watching the acts of the smugglers, and she dreaded to make a confession of her knowledge of these nocturnal proceedings. at last, bewildered, anxious, and worn-out, she knelt down by her bed, to consider with her head in her hands, ready for kindly nature to bring her comfort, for when she started up again the sun was streaming brightly in at her window. she pressed her hands to her temples, and tried to think about the business of the past night, and by degrees she collected her thoughts, and recalled that the smugglers had come to take up their kegs and bales from the temporary store to carry them further inland, that she had discovered the young midshipman watching, and to save her father she had shut their enemy in the lower corner room. celia stood with her cheeks burning, trembling and anxious, and after bathing her face and arranging her hair, she went out into the broad passage and listened at her father's door. it was too soon for him to be stirring yet, and determining at last to go and declare his innocency, and make an appeal to the frank-looking lad, she crept timidly down the grand old flight of stairs, trying to think out what she would say. there were two flights to descend, and the first took a long time; but she worked out a nice little speech, in which she would tell the cutter's officer that her father had once been rich, but he had espoused the young pretender's cause, and the result had been that he had become so impoverished that there had been a time when they had had hardly enough to keep them and the old maid-servant who still clung to their fallen fortunes. by the time she was at the bottom of the second flight she was ready and quite hopeful, and, with the tears standing in her eyes, she felt sure that the frank, gentlemanly lad would be merciful, forgive her, and save her father from a terrible disgrace. she had, then, her speech all ready, but when she spoke everything was condensed in the one exclamation-- "oh!" for as she reached the hall where her coming and going had so startled the midshipman in the darkness, she found that the door was wide open and the window shut. she looked about bewildered, but there was no sign of the room having been occupied. "did i dream it all?" she said in an awe-stricken whisper. "no: the men came to take away the brandy and silk, and i saw them here." she pressed her hands to her temples, for the surprise had confused her, and in addition her head ached and throbbed. "could i have dreamed it?" she asked herself again. "no, i remember the men coming to fetch away the things and then i found him watching." she stood gazing before her, with her puzzled feeling increasing, till a thought struck her. she saw the men come to fetch the kegs. if she really did see that, the kegs would be gone. the proof was easy. if the brandy and silk were gone, the door of the vault would be open. if the things were not fetched away, it would be locked up; and if she tapped on the door with her knuckles, there would be a dull sound instead of a hollow, echoing noise. she ran quickly down, and the door was locked. she tapped with her knuckles, and the sound indicated that the place was full, for all was dull and heavy and no reverberation in the place. "i must have dreamed it all," she cried joyously. "i have thought so much about it that i have fancied all this, and made myself ill. why, of course he could not have got in there to watch or the men would have seen him come." it is very easy to place faith in that which you wish to believe. chapter fifteen. lieutenant brough was out for a long walk. that is to say, he had his glass tucked under his arm, and was trotting up and down his cleanly holystoned deck, pausing from time to time to raise his glass to his eye, and watch the top of the cliff, ending by gazing in the direction of the cove. the men said he had been putting them through their facings that morning, and he had been finding more fault in two hours than in the previous week, for he was getting fidgety. he had not enjoyed his breakfast, and it was getting on toward the time for his mid-day meal. suddenly he stopped short by the master, who had also been using a glass, and was evidently waiting to be spoken to. "seemed in good spirits last night, mr gurr, eh?" "mr raystoke, sir? oh yes." "i mean liked his job?" "yes, sir; determined on it." "humph! time we had some news of him, eh?" "yes, sir; but he may turn up on the cliff at any moment." "yes. men quite ready?" "yes, sir." "that's right. of course, well-armed?" "yes, sir; you did tell me. soon as the signal comes, we shall push off. awkward bit o' country, sir; six miles' row before you can find a place to land." "very awkward, but they have to find a place to land their spirits, mr gurr, and if we don't soon have something to show we shall be called to account." "very unlucky, sir. seems to me like going eel-fishing with your bare hand." "worse. you might catch one by accident." "so shall we yet, sir. these fellows are very cunning, but we shall be too many for them one of these days." "dear me! dear me!" said the little lieutenant after a few more turns up and down. "i don't like this at all i don't think i ought to have let a boy like that go alone. you don't think, mr gurr, that they would dare to injure him if he was so unlucky as to be caught?" "well, sir," said the master, hesitating, "smugglers are smugglers." "mr gurr," said the little lieutenant, raising himself up on his toes, so as to be as high as possible, "will you have the goodness to talk sense?" "certainly, sir." "smugglers are smugglers, indeed. what did you suppose i thought they were? oysters?" "beg pardon, sir; didn't mean any harm." "getting very late!" said the little officer after another sweep of the top of the cliff, especially above where the french lugger landed the goods. "i shall be obliged to send you on shore, mr gurr. you must go and find him. i'm getting very anxious about mr raystoke." "start at once, sir?" "no, wait another half-hour. very ill-advised thing to do. i cannot think what you were doing, mr gurr, to advise me to do such a thing." "me, sir?" said the master, looking astonished. "yes. a great pity. i ought not to have listened to you; but in my anxiety to leave no stone unturned to capture some of these scoundrels, i was ready to do anything." "very true, sir." "now, my good fellow, what do you mean by that?" "it was only an observation, sir." "then i must request that you will not make it again. `very true?' of course, what i say is very true. do you think i should say a thing that was false?" "beg pardon, sir. 'fraid i picked up some awk'ard expressions aboard the old frigate." "awk-ward, mr gurr, awkward." "yes, sir; of course." "you do not understand the drift of my remarks." "'fraid not, sir," said the master, smiling; "understand drift of the tide much better." "mr gurr!" "yes, sir." "i was trying to teach you to pronounce the king's english correctly, and you turn it off with a ribald remark." "beg pardon, sir. 'nother o' my frigate bad habits." "it is a great privilege, mr gurr, to be one of those who speak the english tongue, so do not abuse it. say awk-ward in future, not awk'ard." "certainly, sir, i'll try," said the master; and then to himself, "starboard, larboard, for'ard, back'ard, awk'ard. why, what does he mean?" by this time the little lieutenant was scanning the cliffs again, and the master took off his hat and wiped his forehead. "talk about thistles and stinging nettles," he muttered, "why there's no bearing him to-day, and all on account of a scamp of a middy such as there's a hundred times too many on in the r'yal navy. dunno though; bit cocky and nose in air when he's in full uniform, and don't know which is head and which is his heels, but he aren't such a very bad sort o' boy. well, what's the matter with you?" dirty dick screwed up his mouth as if to speak, but only stared. "don't turn yourself into a figurehead of an old wreck sir. what do you want?" "leave to go ashore, sir." "well, you're going soon as the skipper orders." "i mean all alone by myself, sir." "what for? there aren't a public-house for ten miles." "didn't mean that." "then what did you mean? speak out, and don't do the double shuffle all over my clean deck." "no, sir." "hopping about like a cat on hot bricks. now, then, why do you want to go ashore?" "try and find mr raystoke, sir. beginning to feel scarred about him." "what's that?" said the lieutenant, who had come back from abaft unheard. "scared about whom?" "beg pardon, didn't mean nowt, sir," said the sailor touching his forelock. "yes, you did, sir. now look here," cried the lieutenant, shaking his glass at the man, "don't you try to deceive me. you meant that you were getting uneasy about mr raystoke's prolonged absence." "yes sir, that's it," said dick eagerly. "then how dare you have the effrontery to tell me that you did not mean `nowt' as you have the confounded north country insolence to call it? for two pins, sir,--women's pins, sir, not belaying pins,--i'd have you put ashore, with orders not to show your dirty face again till you had found mr raystoke." dirty dick passed his hand over his face carefully, and then looked at the palm to see if any of the swarthy tan had come off. "do you hear me, sir?" cried the lieutenant. "yes, sir," said the man humbly. "shall i go at once sir?" "no. wait. keep a sharp look-out on the cliff to see if mr raystoke is making signals for a boat. i daresay he has been there all the time, only you took up my attention with your chatter." he swung round, walked aft and began sweeping the shore again with his glass, while the master and dick exchanged glances which meant a great deal. "he is in a wax," said dick to himself, as he walked to the side, and stood shading his eyes with his hands, looking carefully for the signals which did not come. two hours more passed away, during which it was a dead calm, and the sun beat down so hotly that the seams began to send out little black beads of pitch, and drops formed under some of the ropes ready to come off on the first hand which touched them. at last the little lieutenant could bear the anxiety no longer. "pipe away the men to that boat there," he said; and as the crew sprang in. "now, mr gurr," he said, "i'm only going to say one thing to you in the way of instructions." "yes, sir." "will you have the goodness to wait till i have done speaking, mr gurr, and not compel me to say all i wish over again?" "beg pardon, sir," said the master deprecatingly. "i say, sir, i have only one order to give you. get ashore as soon as you can, and find and bring back mr raystoke." "yes, sir," cried the master, and he walked over the side, glad to get into the boat and push off, muttering the while, "and i always thought him such a quiet, amiable little chap. he's a tartar; that's what he is. making all this fuss about a boy who, as like as not, is having a game with us. don't see me getting out o' temper with everybody, and spitting and swearing like a mad tom-cat. hang the boy! he's on'y a middy.--now, my lads,--now, my lads, put your backs into it, will you?" the boat was already surging through the water faster than it had ever gone before, but the men bent lower and the longer, and the blades of the oars made the water flash and foam as they dipped and rose with the greatest of regularity. for the lieutenant's anxiety about the young officer of the _white hawk_ was growing more and more contagious, and the men gave a cheer as they span the boat along, every smart sailor on board thinking about the frank, straightforward lad who had so bravely gone on the risky expedition. "look ye here, jemmy," said one of the men to his nearest mate, "talk about 'tacking the enemy, if wrong's happened to our young gentleman, all i can say is, as i hopes it's orders to land every night to burn willages and sack everything we can." "and so says all of us," came in a chorus from the rest of the crew. "steady! my lads, steady!" cried the master--"keep stroke;" and then he began to make plans as to his first proceedings on getting ashore. he wasn't long in making these plans, and when the cove was reached, the two fishing luggers and another boat or two lying there were carefully overhauled, gurr gazing at the men on board like a fierce dog, and literally worrying the different fishermen as cleverly as a cross-examining counsel would a witness ashore. chapter sixteen. always the same answer. no, they hadn't seen no sailor lad in a red cap, only their own boys, and they were all at home. had he lost one? yes; a boy had come ashore and not returned. the different men questioned chuckled, and one oracular-looking old fellow spat, wiped his lips on the back of his hand, stared out to sea, and said gruffly,-- "runned away." "ay," said another, "that's it. you won't see him again." "won't i?" muttered gurr between his teeth. "i'll let some of you see about that, my fine fellows." he led his men on, stopping at each cluster of cottages and shabby little farm to ask suspiciously, as if he felt certain the person he questioned was hiding the truth. but he always came out again to his men with an anxious look in his eyes, and generally ranged up alongside of dick. "no, my lad," he would say, "they haven't seen 'im there;" and then with his head bent down, but his eyes eagerly searching the road from side to side, he went on towards shackle's farm. "say, mester gurr," said dick, after one of these searches, "he wouldn't run away?" "what! mr raystoke, sir? don't be a fool." "no, sir," replied dick humbly, and the men tramped on with a couple of open-mouthed, barefooted boys following them to stare at their cutlasses and pistols. "say, mester gurr," ventured dick, after a pause, "none of 'em wouldn't ha' done that, would they?" dick had followed the master's look, as he shaded his eyes and stared over the green slope which led up to the cliffs. "what?" "chucked him off yonder." gurr glanced round to see if the men were looking, and then said rather huskily but kindly,-- "in ord'nary, dick, my lad, no; but when smugglers finds themselves up in corners where they can't get away, they turns and fights like rats, and when they fights they bites." "ah!" ejaculated dick sadly. "you're only a common sailor, dick, and i'm your officer, but though i speak sharp unto you, i respect you, dick, for you like that lad." "say, mester gurr, sir, which thankful i am to you for speaking so; but you don't really think as he has come to harm?" "i hope not, dick; i hope not; but smugglers don't stand at anything sometimes." dick sighed, and then all at once he spat in his fist, rubbed his hands together and clenched them, a hard, fierce aspect coming into his rough dark face, which seemed to promise severe retaliation if anything had happened to the young officer. there was nowhere else to search as far as gurr could see, save the little farm in the hollow, and the black-looking stone house up on the hill among the trees. gurr, who looked wonderfully bull-dog like in aspect, made straight for the farm, where the first person he encountered was mrs shackle, who, innocent enough, poor woman, came to the door to bob a curtsey to the king's men, while jemmy dadd, who was slowly loading a tumbril in whose shafts was the sleepy grey horse, stuck his fork down into the heap of manure from the cow-sheds, rested his hands on the top and his chin upon his hands, to stare and grin at the sailors he recognised. "morning, marm," said gurr; "sorry to trouble you, but--" "oh, sir," interrupted mrs shackle, "surely you are not going to tumble over my house again! i do assure you there's nothing here but what you may see." "if you'd let me finish, you'd know," said gurr gruffly. "one of our boys is missing. seen him up here? boy 'bout seventeen with a red cap." "no, sir; indeed i've not." "don't know as he has been seen about here, do you?" said gurr, looking at her searchingly. "no, sir." "haven't heard any one talking about him, eh? come ashore yesterday." mrs shackle shook her head. "thank ye!--no, dick," continued the master, turning back to where the men were waiting, and unconsciously brushing against the bush behind which the middy had hidden himself, "that woman knows nothing. if she knew evil had come to the poor lad, her face would tell tales like print. hi! you, sir," he said, going towards where jemmy stood grinning. "mornin'," said jemmy; "come arter some more milk?" "no," growled gurr. "don't want to take the cow away agen, do 'ee?" "look here, my lad, one of our boys is missing. came ashore yesterday, lad of seventeen in a red cap." "oh!" said jemmy with a vacant look. "don't mean him as come with you, do you?" "i said a lad 'bout seventeen, in a red cap like yours," said gurr very shortly. "aren't seen no lads with no red caps up here," said the man with a vacant look. "have he runned away?" "are you sure you haven't seen him, my lad?" growled gurr; "because, look here, it may be a serious thing for some of you, if he is not found." the man shook his head, and stared as if he didn't half understand the drift of what was said. gurr turned angrily away, and to find himself facing dick. "well, seen anything suspicious?" "no, sir," said dick, "on'y my fingers is a itchin'." "scratch them then." "nay, you don't understand," grumbled dick. "i mean to have a turn at that chap, master gurr, sir. i feel as if i had him for 'bout quarter hour i could knock something out of him." "nonsense! come along. now, my lads, forward!" jemmy dadd's countenance changed from its vacant aspect to one full of cunning, as the party from the cutter moved off, but it became dull and semi-idiotic again, for gurr turned sharply round. "here, my lad, where's your master?" "eh?" "i say, where's your master?" "aren't in; mebbe he's out in the fields." gurr turned away impatiently again, and signing to his men to follow, they all began to tramp up the steep track leading toward the hoze, with the rabbits scuttling away among the furze, and showing their white cottony tails for a moment as they darted down into their holes. dick followed last, shaking his head, and looking very much dissatisfied, or kept on looking back at jemmy, who stood like a statue, resting his chin upon the shaft of his pitchfork, watching him go away. "i dunno," muttered dick, "and a man can't be sure. there was nowt to see and nowt to hear, and of course one couldn't smell it, but seems to me as that ugly-looking fisherman chap knows where our mr raystoke is. yah, i hates half-bred uns! if a man's a labourer, let him be a labourer; and if he's a fisherman, let him be a fisherman. man can't be two things, and it looks queer." an argument which did not have much force when self-applied, for dick suddenly recollected that he was very skilful with the scissors, and knew that he was the regular barber of the crew, and as this came to his mind he took off his cap and gave his head a vicious scratch. "never mind the rabbits, lads," cried gurr angrily; "we want to find mr raystoke." the men closed up together, and mastered their desire to go hunting, to make a change from the salt beef and pork fare, and soon after they came suddenly upon sir risdon and his lady, the latter, who looked weak and ill, leaning on her husband's arm. gurr saluted, and stated his business, while the baronet, who had turned sallower and more careworn than his lot drew a breath full of relief. "one of your ship boys?" he said. "a lad, looking like a common sailor, and wearing a red cap." "no," said sir risdon. "i have seen no one answering to the description here." "beg pardon, sir, but can you, as a gentleman, assure me that he is not here?" "certainly," said sir risdon. "you have seen no one?" he continued, turning to lady graeme. the lady shook her head. "that's enough, sir; but may i ask you, if you do see or hear anything of such a lad, you will send a messenger off to the cutter?" "it is hardly right to enlist me in the search for one of your deserters," said sir risdon coldly. "yes, sir, but he is not a deserter; and the fact is, we are afraid the lad has run alongside o' the smugglers, and come to grief." "surely!" cried sir risdon excitedly. "no, no,--you must be mistaken. a boyish prank. no one about here would injure a boy." "humph!" ejaculated gurr, looking at the baronet searchingly. "glad you think so well of 'em, sir. but i suppose you'll grant that the people about here would not be above a bit of smuggling?" sir risdon was silent. "and would run a cargo of brandy or silk?" "i suppose there is a good deal of smuggling on the coast," said sir risdon coldly, as he thought of his vault. "yes sir, there is, and it will go hard with the people who are caught having any dealings with the smugglers." lady graeme looked ghastly. "what would you say, sir, if i were to order my men, in the king's name, to search your place?" sir risdon dared not trust himself to speak, but darted an agonised glance at his wife. "however, sir, i'm not on that sort of business now," continued gurr sternly. "want to find that boy. good day. now, my lads." the men marched off, and sir risdon stood watching them. "ah, risdon," and lady graeme, "how could you let yourself be dragged into these dreadful deeds!" "don't blame me," he said sadly. "i loathe the whole business, but when i saw my wife and child suffering almost from want of the very necessaries of life, and the temptation came in the shape of presents from that man, i could not resist--i was too weak. i listened to his insidious persuasion, and tried to make myself believe that i was guiltless, as i owned no fealty to king george. but i am justly punished, and never again will i allow myself to be made an accessory to these lawless deeds." "but tell me," she whispered, "have they any of their goods secreted there now?" "i do not know." "you do not know?" "no. the only way in which i could allow myself to act was to keep myself in complete ignorance of the going and coming of these people. i might suspect, but i would never satisfy myself by watching; and i can say now honestly, i do not know whether they have still goods lying there or have taken them away." "but celia--keep it from her." "of course." "and about the missing boy. surely, risdon, they would not--" lady graeme did not finish, but gave her husband a piercing look. "don't ask me," he said sadly. "many of the men engaged in the smuggling are desperate wretches, and if they feared betrayal they would not scruple, i'm afraid, to strike down any one in the way of their escape." lady graeme shuddered, and they went together into the house, just as celia came across the wood at the back, in company with the dog. chapter seventeen. gurr continued his search till it was quite dark, and then tramped his men back to the cove, where the boat-keeper was summoned, and the boat with her crew, saving dick, were sent back to the cutter, one of the men bearing a message from gurr to say that he was going to stay ashore till he had found mr raystoke, and asking the lieutenant to send the boat back for him if he did not approve. it was a very dark row back to the cutter, but her lights shone out clearly over the smooth sea, forming good beacons for the men to follow till the boat was run alongside. "got them, mr gurr?" came from the deck. "no sir, and mr gurr's stopping at one of the fishermen's cottages ashore to keep on the search." "tut, tut!" ejaculated the lieutenant as he turned away and began to pace the deck. "beg'n' pardon, sir, mr gurr said--" "well, well, well, what did mr gurr say? pity he did not do more and not say so much." "said as his dooty, sir, and would you send the boat for him if you did not think he'd done right." "no, sir! his majesty's boats are wanted for other purposes than running to and fro to fetch him aboard. let him stay where he is till he finds mr raystoke and brings him back aboard." "dear, dear," muttered the lieutenant as he walked to and fro. "to think of the boy being missing like this.--now you, sirs, in with that boat.--where can he be? not the lad to go off on any prank.--there, go below and get something to eat, my lads.--all comes of being sent into a miserable little boat like this to hunt smugglers." "ahoy!" came from forward. "what's that?" cried the lieutenant, and an answer came from out of the blackness ahead. "what boat's that?" shouted the man on the watch. "mine," came in a low growl. "what is it?" "want to see the skipper." there was a little bustle forward, in the midst of which a boat came up alongside, and the man in it was allowed to come on board. he was a big, broad-shouldered, heavy fellow, with rough black beard and dark eyes, which glowered at those around as a lanthorn was held up by one of the men. "where's the skipper?" he growled. "bring the man aft," cried the lieutenant. "this way." "all right, mate; i can find my way; i aren't a baby," said the man as he took three or four strides, lifting up his big fisherman's boots, and setting them heavily down upon the deck as if they were something separate from him which he had brought on board. "now, my man, brought news of him?" cried the lieutenant eagerly. "eh?" and the great fellow seemed to tower over the little commander. "i say, have you brought news of the boy?" "what boy?" "haven't you come to tell me where he is?" "here, what yer talking about?" growled the man. "i aren't come 'bout no boys." "then, pray, why have you come?" "send them away," said the man in a hoarse whisper. he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and the lieutenant was about to give an order but altered his mind, for he suspected the man's mission, not an unusual one in those days. "come into my cabin, sir," he said imperiously, and as he turned and strutted off, making the most of his inches, the giant--for such he was by comparison--stumbled after him, making the deck echo to the sound of his great boots. "now, sir," said the lieutenant haughtily, "what is your business?" the man leaned forward, and there was a leer on his bearded face seen by the dull swinging oil-lamp, as, half covering his mouth, he whispered hoarsely behind his hands-- "like hollands gin, master?" "what do you mean, sir?" cried the lieutenant. "speak out, for i have no time to lose." "oh, i'll speak plainly enough," growled the man; "on'y do you like it?" "do you mean that a foreign vessel is going to land a quantity of hollands to-night?" "never said nothing o' the sort, master orficer. why, if i was to come and say a thing like that, and folks ashore knowed on it, there'd be a haxiden." "what do you mean, sir?" "some un would run up agin me atop o' the cliff, and i should go over, and there'd be an end o' me." "you mean to say that if it was known that you informed, you would be in peril of your life?" "no, i don't mean to say nothing o' the kind, master. i only says to you that there's going to be a drop to be got in a place i knows, and if you care to say to a chap like me--never you mind who he is--show me where this drop of hollands gin is to be got, and i'll give you--for him, you know--fifty pounds, it would be done." "look here, my lad, if you have got any valuable information to give, wouldn't it be better for you to speak out plainly?" "didn't come twenty mile in my boat and get here in the dark, for you to teach me how to ketch fish, master orficer." "twenty miles!" said the lieutenant sharply; "where are you from?" "out o' my boat as is made fast 'longside. is it fifty pound or aren't it?" "fifty pound is a great deal of money, my man. your information may not be worth fifty pence. suppose the boat does not come?" "why, o' course, you wouldn't pay." "oh, now i understand you. if we take the boat with the spirits i am to give you fifty pounds?" "me? think i'm goin' to be fool enough to risk gettin' my neck broke for fifty pound? nay, not me. you'll give it to me to give to him." "and where is he?" "never you mind, master." "oh, well, there then; i'll give you the fifty pounds if i take the boat. dutch?" "p'raps. shake hands on it." "is that necessary?" said the lieutenant, glancing with distaste at the great outstretched palm. "ay, shake hands on it, and you being a gentleman, you'll say, 'pon your honour." "oh, very well. there, upon my honour, we'll pay you if we take the boat." "oh you'll take her, fast enough," said the man with a hoarse chuckle. "yah! there's no fight in them. they'll chatter and jabber a bit, and their skipper'll swear he'll do all sorts o' things, but you stick to the boat as soon as your lads are on board." "trust me for that," said the lieutenant. "now, then, when is the cargo to be run?" "t'night." "and where?" "never you mind wheer. get up your anchor, and make sail; i'll take the helm." "what, do you think i am going to let a strange man pilot my vessel?" "yah!" growled the man; "shan't you be there, and if i come any games, you've got pistols, aren't you? but just as you like." "come on deck," said the lieutenant. "but one minute. i have lost a boy--gone ashore. have you seen one?" "not i; lots o' boys about, soon get another!" the man went clumping on deck, and stepped over the side into his boat. "what are you going to do?" said the lieutenant sharply. "make her fast astarn." "well, you need not have got into her, you could have led her round." "this here's my way," said the man; and as the order was given to slip the anchor, with a small buoy left to mark its place, the informer secured his boat to one of the ringbolts astern, and then drew close in; and mounted over the bulwark to stand beside the man at the helm. "what do you propose doing?" said the lieutenant. "tellin' o' you what i wants done, and then you tells your lads." the lieutenant nodded, and in obedience to the suggestion of the man the stay-sail was hoisted; then up went the mainsail and jib, and the little cutter careened over to the soft land breeze as soon as she got a little way out from under the cliffs, which soon became invisible. "why, you aren't dowsed your lanthorns," whispered the man. "i'd have them down, and next time you have time just have down all your canvas, and get it tanned brown. going about with lanthorns and white canvas is showing everybody where you are." after a time, as they glided on, catching a glimpse of a twinkling light or two on the shore, the man grew a little more communicative, and began to whisper bits of information and advice to the lieutenant. "tells me," he said, "that she's choke full o' hollands gin and lace." "indeed!" said the lieutenant eagerly. "ay, so that chap says. and there's plenty o' time, but after a bit i'd sarve out pistols and cutlasses to the lads; you won't have to use 'em, but it'll keep those dutchies from showing fight." "that will all be done, my man." "going to get out four or five mile, master, and then we can head round, and get clear o' the long race and the skerries. after that i shall run in, and we'll creep along under the land. good deep water for five-and-twenty miles there close under the cliff." "then you are making for clayblack bay?" "ah, you'll see," said the man surlily. "as long as you get to where you can overhaul the boat when she comes in, you won't mind where it is, mister orficer. there's no rocks to get on, unless you run ashore, and 'tarn't so dark as you need do that, eh?" "i can take care of that," said the lieutenant sharply; and the cutter, now well out in the north-east wind then blowing, leaned over, and skimmed rapidly towards the dark sea. the reef that stretched out from a point, and formed the race where the tide struck against the submerged rocks, and then rushed out at right angles to the shore, had been passed, and the cutter was steered on again through the clear dark night, slowly drawing nearer the dark shore line, till she was well in under the cliffs; with the result that the speed was considerably checked, but she was able to glide along at a short distance from the land, and without doubt invisible to any vessel at sea. "there," said the great rough fellow, after three hours' sailing; "we're getting pretty close now. bay opens just beyond that rock." "where i'll lie close in, and wait for her," said the lieutenant. the man laughed softly. "thought i--i mean him--was to get fifty pounds, if you took the boat?" "yes." "well, you must take her. know what would happen if you went round that point into the bay?" "know what would happen?" "i'll tell yer. soon as you got round into the bay, some o' them ashore would see yer. then up would go lights somewhere yonder on the hills, and the boat would go back." "of course. i ought to have known better. wait here then?" "well, i should, if i wanted to take her," said the man coldly. "and i should have both my boats ready for my men to jump in, and cut her off as soon as she gets close in to the beach. she'll come on just as the tide's turning, so as to have no fear of being left aground." "you seem to know a good deal about it, my lad?" said the little lieutenant. "good job for you," was the reply, as the sails were lowered, and the cutter lay close in under the cliff waiting. the boats were down, the men armed, and the guns loaded, ready in case the smuggler vessel should attempt to escape. then followed a long and patient watch, in the most utter silence; for, in the stillness of such a calm night a voice travels far, and the lieutenant knew that a strange sound would be sufficient to alarm those for whom he was waiting, and send the boat away again to sea. he might overtake her, but would more probably lose her in the darkness, and see her at daybreak perhaps well within reach of a port where he dare not follow. it was darker now, for clouds had come like a veil over the bright stars, but the night was singularly clear and transparent, as soon after eight bells the informer crept silently up to where the lieutenant was trying to make out the approach of the expected vessel. the little officer started as the man touched his elbow, so silently had he approached, and on looking down, he dimly made out that the man had divested himself of his heavy boots. "do be quiet, master," whispered the great fellow. "can't 'ford to lose fifty pounds for fear o' getting one's feet cold. see anything?" "no," whispered the lieutenant, after sweeping his glass round. "tide serves, and she can't be long now. but two o' your chaps keep whispering for'ard, and it comes back off the cliff. no, no--don't shout at 'em. we daren't have a sound." "no," replied the lieutenant; and he went softly forward toward where a group of men were leaning over the bulwarks, peering into the darkness and listening to the tide as it gurgled in and out of the rocks, little more than a hundred yards away. "strict silence, my lads, and the moment you get the word, over into your boats and lay ready. are those rowlocks muffled?" "ay, ay, sir!" said the boatswain, who was to be in command of one of the boats. "no bloodshed, my lads. knock any man down who resists. five minutes after you leave the side here ought to make the smuggler ours. hush! keep your cheering till you've taken the boat." a low murmur ran round the side of the cutter, and every eye was strained as the little officer whispered,-- "a crown for the first man who sights her." after a while, the lieutenant mentally said,-- "i wish mr raystoke was here, he and gurr could go in the other boat. i wonder where the lad can be!" he went cautiously aft along the starboard side of his vessel, looking hard at the frowning mass of darkness under which they lay, and thinking how dangerous their position would have been had the wind blown from the opposite quarter. but now they were in complete shelter, with the little cutter rising and falling softly on the gentle swell and drifting slowly with the tide, so that the _white hawk's_ head was pointing seaward. he glanced over the side to see that the boats were in readiness, and then went aft without a sound, till all at once he kicked against something in the darkness beneath the larboard bulwark, to which he had crossed, and nearly fell headlong. "what's--here? who was--oh, it's those confounded boots. hush, there; silence!" he said the last words hastily, for the crew made noise enough to startle any one within range, and the sound: were being followed by the hurried whisper of those who came running aft. "back to your places, every one," he said; and then the men drew off, becoming invisible almost directly, for the darkness was now intense, the lanthorns carefully hidden below, and once more all was still, and the little office rested his glass on the bulwark and carefully swept the sea. "stupid idiot!" he said to himself. "lucky for him he isn't one of the crew. no, not a sign of anything." but knowing that seeing was limited enough, he put his hand to his ear and stood leaning over the side, listening for a full ten minutes, before, with an impatient ejaculation, he turned to speak to the informer, who was not aft but probably forward among the men. he walked forward. "where's that man?" he whispered to the first sailor he encountered, who, like the rest, was eagerly watching seaward. "went aft, sir." the little officer went aft, but the fisherman was not there, and he passed back along the starboard side, going right forward among the crew. "where is the fisherman?" he said. "went aft, sir," came from every one he encountered; and, feeling annoyed at the trouble it gave him, mr brough went aft again, to notice now that there was no man at the helm. he walked forward again. "here!" he cried in an angry whisper, "who was at the helm?" "i, your honour," said a voice. "then why are you here, sir?" "that fisherman chap told me you said i was to go forward, sir, as he'd take a spell now, ready for running her round the head into the bay." "where is that man?" there was no reply, and more quickly than he had moved for months, the lieutenant trotted aft, and looked over the stern for the fisherman's boat. it was gone. chapter eighteen. lieutenant brough went into a fit of passion. not a noisy, sea-going fit of passion, full of loud words, such as are not found in dictionaries, but a rising and falling, swelling and collapsing, silent fit of passion, as moment by moment he realised more and more that he had been victimised, and that he had been sent forward to quiet the men so as to give the big rough fellow an opportunity to creep over into his boat and cut the painter by which it was made fast, and let it glide away on the tide till it was safe to thrust an oar over astern, and, using it like a fish does its tail, paddle softly away close under the rocks to some hole, or perhaps round into the bay. for a moment the lieutenant thought of manning the boats and sending in pursuit, but he knew that such an act would be madness; and, accepting his position, he suddenly gave the order for four men to go into each boat, and begin to tow the cutter, while a few of the crew put out the sweeps to get her a little farther from the cliff to catch the breeze. half an hour later the boats were ordered in, sail was being set, and the cutter was again moving swiftly through the water. but the wind was dead ahead now, and though the _white hawk_ could use her wings well even in such a breeze, and sail very close, it was far different work getting back to coming away. the men were not forbidden to talk, and they were not long in grasping the situation, while their commanding officer went up and down the deck, fuming and taking himself to task more seriously than any captain had done since he first went to sea. "only to think of me, after what i have learned of their shifts and tricks, letting myself be taken in by such a transparent dodge. oh, it's maddening!" he looked up at the sails, and longed to clap on more, but it was useless. the little craft was doing her best, and the water surged under her bow as she took a long stretch seaward, before tacking for the land. "there's not a doubt of it," muttered the lieutenant. "i know it--i'm sure of it. i deserve to lose my rank. how could i have been such a blind, idiotic baby!" he was obliged to confess, though, that the trick, if such it proved to be, had been well planned and executed, and the stipulation of the man that he should be paid fifty pounds if the boat was captured had completely thrown dust into his eyes. more than once, as the cutter rushed on through the darkness, he found himself wondering whether, after all, he was wrong, and that the man had slipped away, so as to avoid being recognised when the smuggling vessel was captured, for, if seen, he would be a marked man. "and, perhaps, in a few minutes, the smuggler would have been coming into the little bay, i should have taken her, redeemed my reputation, been looked upon as a smart officer, my crew would have got a nice bit of prize money, and the fellow would have come stealthily some night for his reward.--i've done wrong. would there be time to go back?" he was on the point of bidding the men "'bout ship," when a firm belief in his having been cheated came over him, and he kept on. then there was another season of doubt--and then of assurance--another of doubt, till the poor little fellow grew half bewildered, and gazed around, longing for the daylight and his old moorings, so that he might send a boat ashore, and carefully examine the ground, to see if he could trace any signs of landing having gone on. at last, just at daybreak, the cutter was about to make a dash, and run right down for her old berth, when one of the men shouted "sail ho!" he raised his glass, and there, hull down, were the three masts of a lugger, a frenchman without a doubt, and his suspicions had their just confirmation. his immediate thought was to give chase, but the swift sailing vessel was well away with a favourable wind, and she would most probably get across the channel before he could overtake her, and even if he were so lucky as to catch up to her, what then? she would not have a keg or bale on board which would give him an excuse for detaining her; and wrinkling up his brow, he went on more satisfied that he had been deluded away, so as to give the _chasse maree_ an opportunity to come in and rapidly run her cargo. he saw it all now. no sooner had he passed round the race, than lights had been shown, and the lugger was run in. he felt as certain as if he had seen everything, and he ground his teeth with vexation. "wait till i get my chance!" he muttered. "i'll sink the first smuggler i meet; and as to that blackavised scoundrel who came and cheated me as he did--oh, if i could only see him hung!" a couple of hours later, after seeing the lugger's masts and sails slowly disappear, the cutter was once more at her old moorings, and leaving the boatswain in charge, the lieutenant had himself rowed ashore, to land upon the ledge, and carefully search the rocks for some sight of a cargo having been landed. but the smugglers and their shore friends had been more careful this time, and search where they would, the cutter's men could find no traces of anything of the kind, and the lieutenant had himself rowed back to the cutter, keeping the boat alongside, ready to send along shore to the cove to seek for tidings of gurr and dick but altering his mind, he had the little vessel unmoored once more to run back the six miles along the coast till the cutter was abreast of the cove,--the first place where it seemed possible for a boat to land,--and here he sent a crew ashore to bring his two men off. chapter nineteen. "how many horses has your father got?" "three." "what colour are they?" "black, white, and grey." "turn round three times, and catch whom you may." that, as everyone knows, is the classical way of beginning the game of blind man's buff; and supposing that the blinded man _pro tem_, is properly bandaged, and cannot get a squint of light up by the side of his nose, and also supposing that he confuses himself by turning round the proper number of times honestly, he will be in profound darkness, and in utter ignorance of the direction of door, window, or the salient objects in the room. take another case. suppose a lad to have eaten a hearty supper of some particularly hard pastry. the probabilities are that he will either have the peculiar form of dream known as nightmare, or some time in the night he will get out of bed, and go wandering about his room in the darkness, to awake at last, cold, confused, and asking himself where he is, without the slightest ability to give a reasonable answer to his question. it has fallen to the lot of some people to be lost in a fog--words, these, which can only be appreciated by those who have passed through a similar experience. the writer has gone through these experiences more than once, and fully realised the peculiar sensation of helplessness, confusion, and brain numbing which follows. dark as pitch is mostly a figure of speech, for the obscurity is generally relieved by something in the form of dull light which does enable a person to see his hand before him; but the blackness around, when archibald raystoke began to come back to his senses, would have left pitch far behind as to depth of tint. his head ached, and there was a feeling in it suggestive of the contents having been turned into brain-fritters in a pan--fritters which had bubbled and turned brown, and then been burned till they were quite black. he opened his eyes, and then put his hands up to feel if they were open. they were undoubtedly, and he hurt them in making the test, for he half fancied, and he had a confused notion, that a great handkerchief had been tied over them. but though they were undoubtedly open he could not see. in fact, when he closed them, strange as it may sound, he felt as if he could see better, for there were a number of little spots of light sailing up and down and round and round, like the tiny sparks seen in tinder before the fire which has consumed is quite extinct. he lay still, not thinking but trying to think, for his mind was in the condition described by the little girl who, suffering from a cold, said, "please, ma, one side of my nose won't go." archy raystoke's mind would not go, and for a long time he lay motionless. his memory began to work again in his back, for he gradually became conscious of feeling something there, and after suffering the inconvenience for a long time, he thrust his hand under his spine and drew out a piece of iron, sharp-edged and round like a hoop. he felt better after that, and fell to wondering why he had brought his little hoop to bed with him, and also how it was that his little hoop, which he used to trundle, had become iron instead of wood. the exertion of moving the hoop made him wince, for his back was sore and his arms felt strained as if he had been beaten. his mind began "to go" a little more, and he had to turn back mentally; but he could not do that, so he made an effort to go forward, and wondered how soon it would be morning, and the window curtains at the foot of the bed would show streaks of sunshine between. time passed on and he still lay perfectly quiet, for he did not feel the slightest inclination to move after his late efforts, which had produced a sensation of the interior of his skull beginning to bubble up with fire or hot lead rolling about. but as that pain declined he felt cold, and after a great deal of hesitation he suddenly stretched out his hands to pull up the clothes. there were none. his natural inference had been, as he was lying there upon his back, that he must be in bed; but now he found that, though there were no bed-clothes, he was wearing his own, only upon feeling about with no little pain they did not seem like his clothes. that was as far as he could get then, but some time after there came a gleam of light in his understanding, and he recalled the mists that hung about the channel. of course he was in one of those thick mists, and he had gone to sleep on--on--what had he gone to sleep on? the light died out, and it was a long time before, like a flash, came the answer. the deck of the cutter! he made a movement to start up in horror, for he knew that he must have gone to steep during his watch, and his pain and stiffness were like a punishment for doing so disgraceful a thing. "what will mr brough say if he knows?" he thought, and then he groaned, for the pain caused by the movement was unbearable. at last his mind began to clear, and he set himself to wonder with more force. this was not the deck, for he could feel that he was lying on what was like an old sail, and where his hand lay was not wood, but cold hard stone, with a big crack full of small scraps. the lad shook his head and then uttered a low moan, for the pain was terrible. it died off though as he lay, still trying hard to think, failing-- trying in a half dreamy way, and finally thrilling all over, for he remembered everything now--the smugglers--the scene in the darkness of the room where he was imprisoned--the coming of that boy who jeered at him till they engaged in a fierce struggle, with the result all plainly pictured, till he was stunned or had swooned away. these thoughts were almost enough to stun him again, and he lay there with a hot sensation of rage against the treacherous young scoundrel who had lured him on to that struggle, and held him so thoroughly fixed against the bars till he was secured and bound. yes, and his eyes were bandaged. he could recall it now. "oh, only wait till i get my chance!" he muttered, and he involuntarily clenched his fists. he lay perfectly quiet again though, for he found that any exertion brought on mental confusion as well as pain, and he wanted to think about his position. it came by degrees more and more, and as he was able to think with greater clearness, he found an explanation of the fancy he had felt, that he must be ill and sea-sick again, and that somebody had been giving him brandy. part was fevered imagination, part was reality, for there could be no doubt about that faint odour of spirits. it was brandy, but brandy in smuggled kegs, and the scoundrels of smugglers had shut him up in the vault with their kegs. "well, they have not killed me," he said to himself with a little laugh. "they dared not try that, and all i have to do now is to escape, if mr brough does not send the lads to fetch me out." he went through the whole time now since his landing; thought of what a disgraceful thing it was for a titled gentleman to mix himself up with smuggling, and what a revelation he would have for the lieutenant and the master who had been so easily deluded by sir risdon's bearing. then he thought of celia, and how bright and innocent she had seemed; putting away all thoughts of her, however, directly as his angry feeling increased against ram and this treacherous girl. he must have been for hours thinking, often in a drowsy, half-confused way, but rousing up from time to time to feel his resentment growing against ram, who seemed to him now to be the personification of the whole smuggling gang. by degrees he grew conscious of a fresh pain, one that was certainly not produced by his late struggles, or by stiffness from lying upon an old sail stretched upon the damp floor of a vault. as he thought this last, he asked himself why he called it the damp floor of a vault. for it was not damp, but perfectly dry, and below the scraps of stone in the seam there was fine dust. but the said pain was increasing, and there was no mistaking it. he was hungry, decidedly hungry; and paradoxically, as he grew better he grew worse, the pain in the head being condensed in a more central region, where nature carries on a kind of factory of bone, muscle, flesh, blood, and generally health and strength. suddenly archy recalled that his legs had been bound, and he sat up to find that they were free now, and if he liked he could rise and go to the grated window and call for help. "if i do, they'll come down and stuff a handkerchief in my mouth again," he thought, "and it is no use to do that. i may as well wait till i hear our men's voices, and then i'll soon let them know where i am." he got on his feet, feeling stiff and uncomfortable, and then tried to make out where the grated window was, but the darkness was absolute, and he stretched out one foot and his hands, as he began to move cautiously along, feeling his way till he kicked against a loose stone. this arrested him, and he tried in another direction for his foot to come in contact with what seemed to be round, and proved to be a spar lying in company with some carefully folded and rope-bound sails. "the old rascal!" thought archy, as he mentally pictured the stern, sad countenance of sir risdon. "why, he must have a lugger of his own, and keep his stores in here." a little feeling about convinced him that the window of the vault could not be behind the pile of boat-gear against which he had stumbled, and he moved slowly of! again, to stop at the end of a yard or two, feeling about with one foot. "why, i'm not shut up!" he cried joyously. "i'm out on the ledge. they must have laid me here to be fetched off by the boat. suppose the tide had risen while i was asleep!" but the joyous feeling went off as he stared about him. it had been dark enough in a dense fog, but it did not feel dark and cold now, as if there was a dense fog. everything seemed dry, and though he listened attentively, he could not hear the washing of the waves among the rocks, nor smell the cool, moist, sea-weedy odour of the coast. instead of that a most unmistakable smell of brandy came into his nostrils. and yet he seemed to be standing on that ledge close down to the water, for as he stooped down now he could trace with his hand one of the huge, curled-up shell-fish turned to the stone in which it was embedded, while, as he felt about, there was another and another larger still. he listened again. no; he was not on the seashore. he must be in the vault beneath sir risdon's house, and though he had not noticed it, the floor must be paved with a layer of stones similar to those found where the little kegs had been left. he went cautiously on with outstretched hands through the intense darkness, and his feet traced the flat curls of stone again and again, but he did not find any wall, and now, as he made up his mind to go back to where he had been when he first awoke, he found that he had not the faintest idea as to which direction he ought to take. as he grew more able to move and act, the sense of confusion which suddenly arrested him was terrible--almost maddening. where was he? what was here on all sides? it could not be the cellar, as he went in one direction or the other toward the walls, and he stood at last resting, in the most utter bewilderment of mind and helplessness of body possible to conceive, while a curious feeling of awe began to steal over him. the smugglers had not dared to kill him or throw him into the sea, as he had heard of them doing on more than one occasion, but as far as he could make out they had cast him down into some terrible place to die. the idea was terrible, and unable to contain himself he took a step or two in one direction, then in another, and stopped short, not daring to stir for fear some awful chasm such as he had seen among the rocks should be yawning at his feet, and he should fall headlong down. he stopped to wipe the cold perspiration away that was gathering on his brow, and then, trying to keep himself cool, he stood thinking, and finally, in utter weariness, sat down. "i wish i wasn't such a coward," said the young midshipman, half aloud. "it's like being a child to be frightened because it's dark. what's that!" he started up. "_that_" was a gleam of light some distance off, shining on the rugged walls of a vast chamber or set of chambers. he could only dimly see this, for the light was but feeble, and the bearer hidden behind the rugged pillars which supported the roof; but it was evidently coming nearer, and as it approached he could see that he was in a vast cavernous, flat-ceiled place, which appeared to have been a quarry, from which masses of stone had been hewn, the floor here and there being littered with refuse of all sorts and sizes. as the light came on, the midshipman made out that quite a store of spars, ropes, and blocks lay at a short distance, and that more dimly seen was a large stack of tubs, from which doubtless emanated the odour of brandy. archy's first idea was to go and meet the bearers of the light, but on second thoughts he decided to stand upon his dignity and let them come to him, and as the thought occurred to him that the visit might be of an inimical nature, his hand stole into his breast in search of his dirk. vainly though: the weapon was gone. all this time, as if the bearers were coming very leisurely, the light slowly approached, and as the midshipman more fully grasped the fact that he must be either in a stone quarry or a mine, he saw that the light was an ordinary horn lanthorn, and from the shadows it cast he could see that there were two people, one of whom was carrying something weighty on his shoulders. this soon resolved itself into four kegs, slung two and two, the bearer panting under their weight, while his companion held the light low down, so that he could see where to plant his feet and avoid the corners of the huge square pillars which supported the roof. neither of the pair seemed to pay any attention to him; in fact, the midshipman was doubtful whether he was seen as he stood back waiting till they had passed him, and then hesitated as to whether he should make for the entrance and escape. through the black darkness, not knowing which way he should go, perhaps to fall down some shaft such as was sure to be in a place like this? no; he could not risk the journey without a light, and he stood waiting and trying to make out the shadowy figures, one of whom looked strangely uncouth beneath his load, while the other was quite short. archy had not long to wait before the pair halted by the stack of kegs, to which the four carried by the man were added, and this done they turned and came toward him. at this moment, after excitedly watching them, the midshipman became convinced. the bearer of the lanthorn was his young enemy--the boy. chapter twenty. raystoke looked round him for a weapon, but the only thing visible was a stone, and not feeling disposed to descend to such a barbarous means of offence or defence, he drew himself up, burning with indignation, but waiting for the others to commence speaking. he had not long to wait. "hullo, sailor!" cried ram; "like some milk?" "you rascal!" burst out archy, taking a step toward the lad, but feeling directly a strong hand upon his arm to hold him back. "what's the matter?" growled the owner of the hand. "the matter will be that you two will be hung at the yardarm some fine morning. how dare you shut me up in this hole?" "hung for shutting you up here?" cried the boy. "we shall have to hang him then, jemmy, after all." "ay, lad," said the man. "when'll we do it; now?" "now!" cried the midshipman. "do you think you are going to frighten me with such talk? show me the way out of this place directly." "ram, lad," said jemmy dadd, with a cackling laugh; "when yer ketches a wild thing, and puts him in a cage, he begins to bang hisself agen the sides, and knocks his head agen the bars, and if he could talk he'd go on just like that 'ere. then you keeps quiet, and don't give him nothing to eat, and after a day or two you can do what you like with him." "then we'd better take back the basket, jemmy, eh?" "ay, lad, that's it. leave him in the dark a bit to cool him down." "you scoundrels!" cried the lad in frenzy. "if you do not show me the way out, i'll shout for help, and when it does come, i'll take care your punishment shall be ten times worse." "ah, do," said ram, laughing. "won't bring the roof down, will it, jemmy?" "nay, not it, lad. come on." "wait a bit," said ram.--"i say, didn't tell me whether you'd like a bottle o' milk?" archy felt as if he would like to fly at the boy, the very mention of the milk exasperating him to such an extent. but at every movement he felt himself more tightly held, and knowing from sad experience that it was waste of energy to contend with the iron-muscled fellow who gripped his arm, he smothered his anger. he did not speak, but as ram held up the light, archy's countenance told tales of the passion struggling in his breast for exit, and the boy grinned. "i say, do have a bottle o' milk," he said; "it's fresh and warm. mother said it would do you good." "nay, lad, don't give him none till he's grow'd civil, and don't talk about hanging on us." "i brought you a bottle o' new milk and some hot bread, on'y it's getting cold now, and some butter and cold ham. do have some." archy ground his teeth: he felt as if he would give anything for some food, and the very mention of the tasty viands made his mouth water, but he only stamped his foot and tried to shake himself free. "i am a king's officer," he shouted, "and order you to let me go!" "hear that, jemmy? hold him tight." "ay! he's tight enough!" cried the man, throwing a sturdy arm about the middy's waist, and holding him back as he tried to get at ram. "no good to give orders here," said the latter, grinning. "you're only a king's officer when you're aboard your little bit of a cutter." "will you let me out of this place?" "if i let you go will you tell your skipper about what you've seen?" "yes," cried archy fiercely. "then what a dumble head you must be to think we'll let you go. won't do, little officer; will it, jemmy?" "do! better chuck him off the cliff." "what!" cried the midshipman fiercely. "chuck you off the cliff. what do you mean by coming interfering here with honest men getting their living? we never did nothing to you." "you scoundrel!" cried archy, "how dare you say that? you know you are breaking the laws by smuggling, and you are doing worse by kidnapping me." "should have kep' away then," growled the man. "don't speak cross to him, jemmy. he's very sorry he came now, and if i let him go he'll promise not to say a word about what he has seen; won't you now, mate?" "no!" roared archy. "oh, well then, jemmy's right. we shall have to tame you down." "show me the way out of this." "come along then," said ram with a sneering laugh. "but you'd better promise." "show me the way out." "won't you have some milk first?" "do you hear me?" "and bread and butter, home-made?" "will you show me the way out." "nor no ham? you must be hungry!" "you scoundrel!" cried archy, who was exasperated almost beyond bearing. "show me the way out." "oh, very well, this way, then. hold him tight, jemmy." "ay, ay, lad!" "this way, my grand officer without your fine clothes," said ram tauntingly, as he held down the lanthorn to show the rough stone floor. "mind how you put your feet, and take care. why don't you come?" archy made a start forward, but he was tightly held. "why don't you come, youngster?" cried ram mockingly, as he held the lanthorn more closely. "there, now then, mind how you come." _whang_! the dull sound was followed by a faint clatter, and all was black darkness again, for raging with hunger and annoyance as the boy was, tightly held, the light down just in front of him, without any warning archy drew back slightly, delivered one quick, sharp kick full at the lanthorn, and it flew right away into the darkness. "well!" ejaculated ram in his first moment of surprise. then he burst into a roar of laughter which echoed from the roof. "you're a nice un," growled jemmy. "let him go, and come on," cried ram. a sudden thought struck the middy. "no, you don't," he muttered, as he wrenched himself round and clung to the man. "if you are going from here, i go too." "got the lanthorn, ram, lad?" cried jemmy. "no; and it's smashed now. come away." "let go, will you?" growled jemmy. for answer the midshipman held on more tightly. "do you hear? come on!" cried ram. "he won't let go. he's holding on legs, wings and teeth. come and help." "get out: you can manage him. put him on his back." no sooner were the words uttered than, as he struggled there in the black darkness, archy felt himself twisted up off his feet. there was a shake, a wrench, and as he clung tightly to the man, his arms were dragged, as it felt to him, half out of their sockets, and he was thrown, to come down fortunately on his hands and knees. for a few moments he felt half stunned by the shake, but recovering himself he leaped up and began to follow the retiring footsteps which were faintly heard. he knew the direction, and went on with outstretched hands to find the way, checked directly by their coming in contact with one of the great pillars of stone. but he felt his way round this, got to the other side, listened, made out which way the footsteps were going, followed on, and caught his feet against something which threw him forward on to a pile of broken stone. he got up again, and felt his way cautiously to the right, for the stones rose like a bank or barrier in his way, and he went many yards without finding a way through. then feeling that he had taken the wrong turning, he retraced his steps as quickly as he could, going on and on without avail and never stopping. he was just in time to save himself from another fall as he heard a dull bang as if a heavy door were closed, followed by a curious rattling sound, as of large pieces of slate falling down and banging against wood. then came a dull echoing, which died off in whispers, and all was perfectly still. "the cowards!" cried archy, as he fully realised that his gaolers had escaped from him. "how brutal to leave a fellow shut up in a hole like this. 'tis horrible; and enough to drive one mad. ugh!" he now cried, "if i only could get out!" he sat down upon the rough stones, feeling weak, and perspiring profusely. it was many hours now since he had tasted food, and in his misery and despair he felt that he should be starved to death before his gaolers came again. "how dare they!" he cried passionately. "a king's officer too! oh, if i could only be once more along with the lads, and with a chance to go at them! i think i should be able to fight." then as he sat on the stones he began to cool down and grow less fierce in his ideas. in other words, he came down from pistols and sharp-edged cutlasses to fists, and felt such an intense longing to get at ram, that his fists involuntarily clenched and his fingers tingled. "wait a bit," he said fiercely,--"wait a bit." "yes, i shall have to wait a bit," he said sadly, as he rose from the stones. "oh, how weak and hungry i am! it's as if i was going to be ill. i wonder whether i could track where they went out." "not now," he said,--"not now;" and with some faint hope of finding the place where he had been lying on the old sail, he began to move slowly and laboriously along, his mind dragged over, as it were, to the words of the boy as he taunted him about milk and bread and butter with ham. it was agonising in his literally starving condition to think of such things, and he tried to keep his mind upon finding the way out, meaning to work desperately after he had lain down for a bit to rest. but it was impossible to control his thoughts, strive how he would. hunger is an overmastering desire, and he crept on step by step with outstretched hands, picturing in the darkness slices of ham, yellow butter, brown crusted loaves, and pure sweet milk, till, as he dragged his feet slowly along, half-fainting now with pain, weariness, and despair, his foot suddenly kicked against something which rolled over and over away from him. "the lanthorn!" he exclaimed eagerly, and planning at once how he could strike a light with a stone and his knife, and perhaps contrive some tinder, he went down on his hands and knees, feeling about in all directions till he touched the object which he had kicked, and uttered a cry of joy and excitement. it was not the lanthorn, but a round cross-handled basket with lid, and he trembled as he recalled ram's words about what his mother had sent. was there truth in them, or were they the utterances of a malicious mind which wished to torture one who was in its power? archy raystoke hardly dared to think, and knelt there for a few minutes, with his trembling hands resting upon the basket, which he was afraid to open lest it should not contain that which he looked for. "out of my misery at all events," he cried; and he tore off the lid. chapter twenty one. "they only want to keep me a prisoner," said the midshipman half an hour after, as he sat with his mouth full, steadily eating away as a boy of seventeen can eat--"a prisoner till they've got all their stuff safe away. they dare not hurt me. i'm not afraid of that, and it's a very strange thing if i can't prove myself as clever as that cunning young scoundrel who trapped me here. at all events, i'll try. they dare not starve me: not they. wait a bit, and i'll show them that i'm not so stupid as they think. shut me up here, would they? well, we'll see!" he went on munching a little longer, then felt for the bottle, took out the tight cork, had a good long draught of the milk it contained, recorked and put it away in the basket with the bread, butter, and ham he had not consumed, shut down the lid, and laughed. there was nothing very cheerful about his prison to make him laugh, but the reaction was so great--he felt so different after his hearty meal-- that he was ready to look any difficulty in the face, and full of wonder at his despondency of a short time before. there's a good deal of magic in food to one who is fasting, and is blessed with health and a good appetite. "now then," he said, rising with the basket in his hand, "the first thing is to find a place to stow you;" and he had no difficulty in finding ledge after ledge that would have held the basket, but he wanted one that would be easily found in the darkness. at last he felt his way to a great mass of rock, upon which, about level with his head, was a projection upon which the basket stood well enough, and trusting to being able to find it again by means of the great block, he turned his attention to the lanthorn. "if i only had that," he said to himself. he stood thinking in the darkness, wondering which way he had better try. "any way," he said at last, "for i will have it; and then if i don't find my way out of this hole, i'm as stupid as that fellow thinks." stretching out his hands to save himself from a blow against any obstacle, he stalked off in as straight a direction as he could go, feeling his way with his feet, and always making sure of firm foothold before he moved the one that was safe, for his one great dread in the vast cavern was lest he should suddenly find himself on the brink of some yawning shaft. he knew little about the district, his ideas of the place being principally confined to what he had seen of the coast-line from the sea, but rugged piles of stone had been pointed out to him here and there as being the refuse of the stone that had been ages before dug and regularly mined by shafts and galleries out of the bowels of the earth; and a little thinking convinced him that he must be shut up in one of those old quarries which had been seized upon by the smugglers as a place to hide their stores. it was a shrewd guess, and he could not help thinking afterwards that it was no wonder that so little success attended the efforts of the revenue cutter's crew to trace cargoes which had been landed when the smugglers had such lurking places as this. as he crept slowly on, step by step, these and similar thoughts came rapidly through the prisoner's brain, and as he slowly mounted what seemed to be a pile of fragments, he began to wonder where his prison could be--whether it was close to the shore or some distance inland. he stopped to listen, hoping to hear the breaking of the waves among the rocks, which would have proved what he wished to know at once; but though he listened again and again, he could not distinguish a sound. the only noises he heard were those he made in stepping on one side of some piece of stone, which gave forth a musical clink as it struck another. he was climbing up now what appeared to be a steep slope, over great fragments of stone heavier than he would have been able to lift, and he seemed to creep up and up till he felt assured that the ceiling was just above him, and raising his hand he touched the roof, his fingers tracing out again the great cast of one of the old-world shell-fish--one of the great nautiluses of the geologist. but fossils were unknown things in archy raystoke's day. he was hunting for a lanthorn, not for specimens. as he stood on the highest part of this pile of stone, he hesitated about going farther, and bore off to his left, feeling that in all probability the object of his search had not come so far. from time to time he paused to listen, and at last thought of trying to find the extent of the place by shouting; but he was satisfied with his first essay, his voice going echoing away apparently for a great distance, and the peculiar, dying, whispering sound was not pleasant to one alone in the darkness. after a while, however, as he felt that he was walking over small fragments of stone, he picked up a piece and threw it, to try if he were near the end of the cavern in this direction, for he was growing tired and longed now to find his way to the sailcloth to lie down and rest. the piece he held was about a pound weight, and, drawing back his hand as far as he could reach, he threw it with all his might, to start back in alarm, for it struck wood with a heavy thud, and dropped down almost at his feet. unknown to himself he had gradually found his way to the pile of kegs, and these he touched the next moment, thinking that, as he stood facing them, the place where he had first come to himself must lie off to his left; and so it proved after a long search, and he sank down so wearied out, that as he chose by preference to lie down, he was before many minutes had elapsed in a deep and dreamless sleep, forgetful of the darkness and any peril that might be ready to assail him next. chapter twenty two. whether it was night or day when archy awoke he could not tell, but he felt rested and refreshed, and ready to try and do something to make his escape. there was a way into his prison, and that way, he vowed, should by some means or other be his way out. the first thing to do was to find that lanthorn, of whose position he seemed to have some vague idea; but, after a little search, he found that all idea of locality had gone, and he had not the slightest idea of the direction to go next. "i must leave it to chance," he said. "i shall find it when i'm not trying;" and, wearying of the search, he set himself now to try and make his way to the place where his visitors had come into the old quarry. here, again, he was utterly at fault, for the cavern was so big and irregular, and he was still so haunted by the thought that he might be at any moment on the brink of some deep hole, half full of water, that he dared not search so energetically as he would have liked. he had many narrow escapes from falls and blows against projecting masses of stone, and he found himself, after hours of wandering, so tired and faint, that he would gladly have found the basket and the resting-place; but the more he searched the more convinced he grew of the ease with which he could lose himself entirely in the darkness, and when he did come upon any spot again which he recognised by touch as one that he had felt before, it seemed to him that he stumbled upon it quite by accident, and the moment he left it he was as helpless as before. wearied out at length, he determined to go in a straight line from where he was to the extremity of the vault; then to curve back, and from this point strike out to the left in search of his resting-place and the basket. it took him just about an hour, and when he had done all this he could find no traces of his food, but he heard a noise close behind him which nailed him to the spot, and he stood motionless, listening. according to his idea, he was at the end of the cave farthest from where his gaolers approached, but unless there were two entrances he was quite wrong, for he had wandered close up to the place whence ram and jemmy had come, and, the noise continuing, he stooped down to let whoever it was pass him, while he made for the entrance and slipped out. directly after there was the soft glow of a lanthorn, which suddenly came into view round a corner, high up by the ceiling, and the bearer began to descend a rough slope. archy saw no more, for he dropped down and hid behind a stone, watching the glare of light, and then, as it passed him going on toward the other end of the cave, he crept from behind the stone and made for the rough slope, which was thoroughly printed on his mind, so that he could almost picture every rock and inequality that might be in his way. the door would be open, he thought; and, if he could, he would have a clever revenge, for he determined to turn the tables on his enemies, shut them in, and he hoped to make them prisoners till he could signal for help from the cutter, and get a boat's crew ashore. as he crept on quietly he glanced over his shoulder once, saw the light disappearing behind the great square, squat pillars, and then with a feeling of triumph that thrilled through him, he went cautiously up the rest of the slope, his arms outstretched, his breath held, and in momentary expectation of hearing an exclamation from the other end of the cave. "they'll think i'm somewhere about," he said to himself, as he crept on, expecting to pass through an opening into daylight the next moment; but it did not turn out as he anticipated, for he stopped short with his nose against some one's throat, his arms on each side of a sturdy body, and the arms belonging to that body gripped him tight. "steady, ram, lad!" came in a gruff whisper. "light out?" archy's heart beat heavily, and he felt that, to escape, he ought to try and imitate the boy's voice, and say "yes." but he could not only stand panting, and the next instant his opportunity, if opportunity it was, had gone. for ram's real voice came from right at the other end, echoing along the roof. "look out, jemmy. he aren't here." "no, he aren't there, lad," said the smuggler with a laugh. "bring your lanthorn, i've ketched a rat or some'at. come and see." archy made a violent struggle to escape, but the man's arms were tight round his waist, he was lifted off the slope, and as he fully realised that, in a wrestling match, no matter how active and strong seventeen may be, it is no match for big, well-set seven-and-thirty. "no good, youngster," growled the smuggler, as he carried the midshipman down the slope, and held him at the bottom. "very good idea, but you see we didn't mean you to get out like that." feeling that he was exhausting himself for nothing, archy ceased his struggling, and was held there motionless, as ram came up with the lanthorn to begin grinning. "bring him along, jemmy," he said. "his dinner's ready." "shall i carry him, lad?" "look here," cried archy haughtily. "you two are, i suppose, quite ignorant of the consequences of keeping me here?" "what's he talking about, jemmy?" said ram. "dunno, lad: something 'bout consequences." "as soon as it is known that you have seized and kept me here, you will both be arrested, and have to suffer a long term of imprisonment, even if you get no worse off." "but suppose no one knows you are here?" said ram. "but it will be known, so i give you both fair warning." "thank ye," said ram mockingly. "and thank ye for me too, my lad." "so now, take my advice, open that door, and set me free. if you do this, i'll promise to intercede for you two, and i daresay i can save you from punishment." "well, that's handsome; isn't it, jemmy?" said ram mockingly. "do you hear me?" cried archy. "oh, i can, quite plain," said jemmy. "so can i," said ram; "but your dinner's ready, mr orficer; so come and have it." "enough of this," cried archy, wrenching himself free. "open that door, and let me go." "better carry him, jemmy." "if you dare!" cried the angry prisoner, beginning the struggle, but jemmy dadd's muscles were like steel, and he whipped the young midshipman off his feet, and carried him, kicking and struggling with all his might, right along the cave, ram going first with the lanthorn; and in spite of its feeble, poor, dulled light, the prisoner was able to get a better idea of the shape and size of the place than he had had before. the captive ceased struggling, and keenly watched the various pillars and heaps they passed, noting too how the cavern seemed to extend in a wide passage right on before them, and seemingly endless gloom. "there you are," said jemmy, as he set his burden down; "quite at home. is he going to ask us to dinner, ram, lad, and send for his skipper to jyne us?" archy paid no heed to the man's jeering words, for he was thinking of the place, and trying to fix it all in his memory, for use when these two had gone. he knew that he must have been over the parts he had seen again and again in the darkness, but beyond the memory of the great pillars he had marked, the place had made no impression; but now he had seen the way out, and the way further in, and throwing himself down, he without apparent reason took up a long narrow piece of stone, handled it for a moment or two, and set it down carelessly, but not with so much indifference that he did not contrive that it should act as a rough pointer, ready to indicate the direction of the door. feeling that it was useless to say more to his gaolers, especially after his attempt to escape, he half lay on the old sail; while, as if the darkness were the same to him as the light, the smuggler said laconically, "going back!" turned on his heel, and disappeared in the black gloom. "brought you some bacon and some fried eggs, this time," said ram, looking at him attentively, but archy made no reply. "no use to rile," continued the boy, "and you can't get out, so take it easy. father'll let you go some day." "where is the cutter?" said archy sharply. "i d'know. gone." "gone?" "yes, she went off somewhere. to look for you, pr'aps," said the boy grinning, "or else they think you're drownded." "look here," said the midshipman suddenly, "you behaved very treacherously to me, but i'll forgive you if you'll let me go." "look here," replied the boy, "you behaved very treacherously to us, dressing up, and spying on us; but i've got you, and won't let you go." "i was doing my duty, sir." "and i'm doing my dooty--what father telled me." "how much will you take to let me go?" "how much will you give?" said ram, grinning, and the midshipman's heart made a bound. "you shall have five pounds, if you'll let me go now, at once." "there's as much as you'll eat till i come agen," said ram abruptly; "and if i don't forget you as i did my rabbits once, and they were starved to death, i'll bring you some more.--i say!" archy looked at him fiercely. "don't try to drink what's in them tubs. it's awful strong, and might kill you." "stop a moment; leave me a light." "what do you want with a light? you kicked the last over, and thought you'd get out in the dark. you may have the one you kicked." "but it is so dark here," said archy, as the boy picked up the empty basket. "course it is when there's no light," said the boy coolly; and swinging the lanthorn as he rose, he continued, "you'll find the road to your mouth, i daresay. i did not bring you a knife, because you're such a savage one." "where is my dirk?" "what d'yer mean? your little sword?" "yes." "father's got it all right; said it was a dangerous thing for a boy!" ram gave his prisoner a nod, and went off whistling, the prisoner following at a distance, and getting pretty close up to the beginning of the slope as the lanthorn disappeared round a corner. then, as he listened, it seemed to him that the boy climbed up somewhere, talking the while to his companion, their voices sounding hollow and rumbling, then there was a pause, the dull thud of a closing door, the drawing of bolts, and soon the rattling of heavy stones, and once more all was silent. chapter twenty three. a strange depressing sensation came over the young prisoner as he stood there once more alone, but he turned sharply round with his teeth set, thought for a few moments about his course back, and then, feeling more determined and firm, walked slowly on, and to his great delight found that it was possible to become educated to do without sight, for, each time that he thought he was near a pillar, he stretched out his hand to find that he touched it, and with very little difficulty he walked straight up to the old sail, felt about, and there was the basket of food, which he attacked at once, and soon after fell asleep. four more visits were paid him by ram, but whether they were at intervals of days or half days, the prisoner could not tell, for any questions he asked were laughingly evaded, and all attempts at persuasion and bribery proved useless. he did learn that the cutter had just returned and gone away again. and it seemed to him that he was forgotten, but he never thoroughly lost heart, and during this time he had accustomed himself to the darkness, and educated his feet wonderfully in the topography of the place. of one thing he had fully satisfied himself, and that was the hopelessness of getting out by the way his visitors came in. they were too cautious ever to leave the door unguarded; hence the prisoner felt that if he knocked down and stunned the frank, good-tempered boy who seemed disposed to be the best of friends in every way but that of helping him to escape, he would be no nearer freedom than before. he had gone up the slope twice, and the last time crept near enough to see that ram was climbing up a well-like shaft by means of rugged projections in the wall, that as he got about twenty feet up he handed the lanthorn to the man, climbed out through a square opening, and then a trap-door was shut down, locked, and bolted, and what sounded to be a number of heavy pieces of stone were drawn over. as far as he could judge, after venturing up and nearly having a severe fall in the darkness, escape was impossible that way, so he returned after each trial to think, and come to the conclusion that if the place had been used for the purpose of digging out stone, of which there could be no doubt, there must be some other way by which the great pieces had been dragged up to daylight. with a lanthorn or torch he might easily have satisfied himself upon this point. to achieve it without was a terribly risky task. still he determined to try, and after a hasty meal, directly his gaolers had paid their last visit, he started off in the opposite direction to that which led to the trap-door, and proceeding cautiously, taking the precaution to keep on throwing pieces of stone before him, to satisfy himself that there was no well or pit in his way, he went on and on. now he threw a piece of stone to his left hand, to his right, and after going many yards at what was but a snail's pace, he discovered that the place had suddenly contracted, and after creeping a little farther, the place was more contracted still, and ascended. so narrowed was it now that a couple of steps in either direction enabled him to touch a wall, while about twenty short paces farther on the ascent grew much more straight, and there was no fear of a pit or shaft in the way, for he found that roughly square blocks of stone were laid like a flight of steps, up which he clambered, and then sunk down, overcome by the feeling of joy which had flooded his brain. he must have come up quite fifty feet after ascending the slope along which he had walked, and here he was at the top of the flight of clumsy stairs on a kind of platform of rugged stones, and straight before him there was a chink so narrow that he could not have thrust a hand through it, but wide enough to allow the passage of a gleam of light; there was a familiar odour, too, of salt air and seaweed, and as he placed his ear to the chink he could hear, as if far below, the wash of water. "why, this must be at the side of the cliff," he said joyously; and if he could enlarge that crack there would be a way out to the face of the rocks, where it would go hard with him indeed if he could not climb up to the grassy fields above, or down to the shore below. "why didn't i try this before?" he cried. "oh, how foolish! not get out, eh? i'll soon show them that;" and he began to feel about carefully all over the face of the stones before him, to satisfy himself before long that there had been a large roughly square opening here, which had been filled in with some pieces of stone, between which he could feel that there was mortar. "now, then, what i want is a good marlinspike or an iron bar. oh, if i had my dirk here i could move them with that." but he had neither bar, marlinspike, nor dirk, nothing but his hands and a small pocket-knife, so a depressing feeling of vexation humbled him for a time. he soon cast that off though, for it was impossible to feel low spirited in the face of such a discovery, and before commencing the task he had in hand he knelt down with his face close to the chink to drink in the delicious sea air. "i wonder how long i shall be a prisoner," he said aloud; and he laughed, for he could see no difficulties now. still they began to appear soon after, and the first one he mentally saw was the coming of ram with his food. he must know the place thoroughly, as he had shown by the care with which he threaded his way among the loose stones and pillars, and if he came with his lanthorn and missed him, he might walk up there and find him at work. "i'll be careful," he said to himself; and taking out his knife forcing himself to believe that it was about twelve o'clock each day that the lad came, and if so, as it was about six hours, as near as he could guess, since the basket was brought, he had about a couple of hours more daylight, then the long night and all the morning, before his gaoler would come again. he bitterly regretted now not having tried to time ram's visits, forgetting that it would have been impossible to do so without light, and, unable to restrain his impatience to the extent of waiting till he came again, and watching for night from then, he went to work to try and loosen a stone by the side of the crevice, and toiled away till at the end of what seemed to be two hours, the light through the crevice paled, grew dull, then dark, and for the first time for many days he knew that it was night. cheered by his calculation being so far right, he worked and scraped out the mortar, satisfied even with getting away the tiniest scraps, feeling as he did that if he could only dislodge one stone he could bring up from below plenty of great and splinter-shaped pieces with which he could hammer, and take out the rest, or enough for his body to pass through. so light-hearted did he feel, as guiding the point of his knife by his fingers, he picked and scraped away, that he began to hum a tune over softly. it was as black now as it was in the deepest part of the ancient quarry, but that did not seem to matter, for it was only the darkness of evening, and if he waited there and kept on working, he would see, first of all, a long pallid ray that would grow brighter, and bring as it were some light and hope, while as soon as he could get out a stone he would be able to see the sea, perhaps even make out the cutter, and signal. no: the boy had said that it was gone. but it would come back, and they would see his signals; a boat would come ashore, he would be fetched out of this miserable black hole; the smugglers would be captured, and he would have such a revenge on that boy ram. it would be glorious. but all depended upon little _ifs_--_if_ he could get out the stone, _if_ the hole happened to be opposite the spot where the cutter was moored, _if_ they could see his signals. it was discouraging to have such thoughts as these, but archy raystoke had been for days condemned to inactivity, and the opportunity of working at something definite which proffered a way of escape made him toil on with all his his might. in fact, he was obliged to check himself, for his task needed care. too much exercise of the strength which had been growing latent might mean breaking his knife, and the destruction of his hopes. so he toiled on well into the night, picking and loosening tiny scraps of mortar, which, hard though it was, had fortunately for him been made of an exceedingly coarse sand, or rather very fine shingle, whose tiny pebbles formed each a point to work upon till it was loosened and fell. archy's first thought was to work right on through the night, but the monotonous task in the darkness, and the fatigue and excitement, combined to produce their customary effect, and he found himself nodding and starting into wakefulness so many times over, that he resolved at last to go back to his starting-place, have a good meal, and then come back. he left his task with reluctance, but nature would not be refused, and without much difficulty he found his way to the basket, ate heartily, sat still to think a few minutes, and thought too much, starting up suddenly and rubbing his eyes. "how stupid of me!" he exclaimed. "i must have just nodded off to sleep. nearly wasted a lot of time." afraid to remain where he was, lest he should yield to the temptation again and fall dead asleep, he eagerly made his way back to the slope and the rough steps, to stand there wondering as he got to the top. for there, straight before him, was a pale ray of light, and the place smelt cool and fresh. surely a star or the moon must be up, he thought, as he knelt down and resumed his task, feeling somehow a good deal rested. the explanation was not long in coming, for to his astonishment the ray of light grew brighter and brighter, and broadened out full of dancing motes when he had been an hour at work, teaching him that he had not dropped off to sleep for a minute or two, but long enough to give him a good night's rest sufficient to prepare him for the toil to come. he felt vexed and called it laziness, working the harder to recover lost time, and as the hours glided by listening intently for the slightest sound from the quarry below that should indicate the coming of ram with his daily portion of food. on previous days he had looked forward to the lad's approach as something that would break the monotony of his captivity, but now he would have given anything to have known that by some accident the lad would be kept away. still archy toiled on, the stone he had attacked as tight as ever, but quite a little heap of rough mortar increasing beneath where he knelt. "it's only getting out the first one," he argued; "the others will come easily enough." and so, full of hope, he kept on, till feeling that it must be near the time for the visit, he reluctantly closed his pocket-knife and went down, gazing back first at the tiny ray of light which pointed the way to liberty. his arms ached and his fingers were sore. there was a blister too in the palm of his hand where the knife had pressed; but these were trifles now, and he seated himself in his old spot ready to receive his visitors, and so full of hope that he could hardly refrain from shouting for joy. he could see it all, now. this was quite an ancient mine, one perhaps from which all the best stone had been worked. where ram came down was the land entrance, and the ray of light marked the opening in the face of the cliff, from which the pieces of stone had been lowered down into boats or ships below. after the smugglers had taken possession it seemed probable that they had filled up the hole in the cliff face, though it struck archy that this would leave them a handy place to get their cargoes ashore if they had tackle to haul it up, and get it into their store at once. the time seemed very long before the rattle and rumble of the stones on the trap-door struck upon archy's listening ear, but at last, after he had convinced himself that he might have worked two or three hours longer, there it was, and then came the rattle of the bolts and the sharp sound of the lock. directly afterwards there was a soft glare, the lanthorn appeared like some creature of light swaying and floating towards him in the darkness till it stopped close by, and ram's now familiar voice exclaimed,-- "hullo there! getting hungry?" "yes," said archy, in a voice he wished to sound surly and obstinate, but which in spite of his wishes had a cheerful ring, which affected ram, who began to laugh and chatter. "nice to be you," he said. "get all the good things, you do. fried fish to-day, and pork pie. i say, midshipman, you have got into good quarters, you have." archy tried to seem sulky. "oh, you needn't talk without you like, but they didn't feed you up aboard ship like you're getting it now, i know; salt beef, then salt pork, and hard biscuits. why, it's like fattening up one of our pigs for christmas. i say, you are quiet. haven't been at one of them little kegs, have you? oh, very well; if you don't like to talk, i can't make you." "are you going to let me out of this place?" said the midshipman, so as to keep up the idea of his longing to be set free, and chase any suspicions of his having discovered a way out. "when i get orders, mr orsifer, and not before. i aren't skipper, no more nor you are." "another piece of insolence," thought the prisoner. "oh, how i will pay him out for this by and by!" "aren't you going to peck?" archy took no notice, and at last there came, in a deep, echoing growl through the place,-- "say, lad, going to be all day?" "coming, jemmy," ram shouted. "want anything else, midshipman?" "yes, you to go and not worry me," replied archy, heartily repenting his words the next moment for fear that they should excite suspicion. but they did not, for ram only laughed and walked away. chapter twenty four. as the prisoner sat listening to the bang of the trap-door and the rattling of the bolts, he could hardly contain himself. but knowing the danger of the boy coming back and finding him gone, he forced himself to stay where he was; and to pass away the time he opened the basket ram had now left in place of the other, and forced himself to eat. but he could hardly swallow the food, which seemed tasteless in the extreme, and he was about to give up and hasten back to his work when his heart leaped, for there was the distant sound of the bolts being drawn, and a minute or two later the soft yellow light came slowly towards him and stopped. "just remembered," said its bearer. "got half way home first, though. mother said i was to be sure and take back that basket. put the stuff out on the sail. hullo, what you been doing to your hands?" archy started guiltily, and looked at them in the light to see that they were covered with blood, from injuries that he had made unconsciously in toiling with his knife against the stones. "tumbled down?" continued ram without waiting for an answer. "well, 'tis dark 'mong these stones. i used to trip over them, but i could go anywhere now in the dark. seem to feel like when they are near. never mind, tear up yer hankychy and wrap round. i'll bring you one o' mine next time i come. there we are. haven't forgot the basket this time. i say?" "well?" the lad was ten yards away now, holding the lanthorn above his head. "you lost a chance." "what do you mean?" "jemmy dadd isn't up by the door. you might have given me a topper with a stone, and run away; too late now." he ran off laughing, and holding the lanthorn down low to make sure of his way. but archy did not start up in pursuit. he saw a better way out now, and waiting till he felt convinced that the boy must be well on his way home, he jumped up, felt his way to the crevice, and was soon after hard at work picking the mortar from between the stones. now and then, as he grew faint and weary, it seemed to him that he had made no progress, but the little heap of mortar told different tales, and once more taking heart he toiled away. it seemed a very easy thing to do, to loosen one stone in a rugged wall, draw it out, and then remove the other, but in practice it appeared almost impossible, and again going back into the quarry to partake of the food that was absolutely necessary, archy returned to his task, and after working away again for about half an hour he fell fast asleep. how long he slept he did not know, but he started awake again to find that it was quite dark, and he kept on like one in a dream. the stone seemed as fast as ever, and his progress was getting very slow now, for he had cleared away the mortar as fast as he could reach in; but at last, seizing the stone and getting his fingers well in the joint, he gave it a vigorous shove, and then uttered a shout of triumph, for to his delight there came a sharp crack, and after giving a vigorous shove, the stone, which was about twenty inches long, was drawn out, and became the instrument for dislodging its fellows. this was comparatively easy now, and in the course of the next two days the prisoner had loosened and drawn out stones till he had made a way through a rough piece of wall six feet thick, and had enlarged the hole so that there was room to creep into the opening he had made and look out. here came disappointment the first. the wall he had worked through did not face out to sea, but was one side of a chasm, and he gazed at the opposite side. soon after he learned that this had not been the place where the stones were carried out for landing in boats, but the hole through which all the refuse was discharged, to fall in a crumbling heap a tremendous distance below, to be washed away by the waves which curved over and over against the foot and rolled up into the chasm. still he worked on, enlarging the hole and sending the broken pieces and mortar, rattling down the face of the cliff into the sea, till there was nothing to hinder his crawling out at any time, and either getting to the top of the cliff or down below to the shore. he decided for the former as the more easy and the less likely to suggest peril, and he spent the next few hours after cleansing himself as much as possible, so as not to excite the attention of his young gaoler, and in his efforts to do this he made use of a piece of sailcloth, and an end of a coil of rope which lay with some sea-going tackle hard by where he slept. the day had come at last when the way was open, and he had but to creep out into the fresh bright sunshine and run for his liberty. he could hardly refrain from doing so at once, but his long and arduous labour, which had taken the skin from his fingers and left his whole hands so tender that he hardly dared to touch anything, had taught him some wisdom, especially not to throw away the opportunity for which he had worked so hard. and now he sat there in the darkness, wafting, so exultant that his seat might have been a throne, instead of a worn-out sail stretched over a mass of stone. he hugged the knees upon which his chin rested, and gazed straight before him into the blackness, watching for the first glow of ram's lanthorn, and seeing as he watched the glorious sky, the blue sea all a-ripple; the shimmer and play of a passing shoal of fish; gulls floating without effort, now high up, now low down, their breasts of purest white, their backs of delicate grey, and their wondering eyes gazing at the rough-looking fisher-lad who crept out of a hole in the face of the cliff, made his way from shelf to shelf, ever up and up till he was on the grass at the top, where he lay down to wait till night for fear of being seen and dragged back. the black darkness of the great cavern quarry was all alight now with the pictures his mind painted, and, in his delight and satisfaction, he laughed aloud as he thought of ram's disappointment on coming one day and finding his prisoner flown. it was hard work to keep from starting at once, but the midshipman felt that if he did, his escape would be discovered at any moment, and if it were, it was only a question of time before he would have the whole smuggling gang after him, and he would be hunted down to a lot ten times more bitter from the fact of his having failure to contemplate, and form his mental food. the rattle at last. the door dragged up, and ram was not alone, for his voice could be heard in conversation with jemmy dadd. the boy was in capital spirits, and he was whistling merrily, his shrill notes echoing from the flat roof as he came on swinging his lanthorn in one hand, the basket in the other. "sleep?" he said, as he saw archy's attitude. "there you are," he continued. "i know you weren't asleep, and if you don't like to talk it aren't my fault. want anything else?" no reply; archy dare not speak. "oh, very well," he said, "you can do as you like. where's t'other basket?" a shiver ran through the prisoner as he recollected that which he had forgotten in his excitement: the basket which he had taken with some of the food therein, ready for his use as he worked, was standing by the opening at the top of the steps, and he cast an anxious glance sidewise in the direction of the passage, in dread lest the boy should detect the light shining down. he need not have been alarmed, for there was not a ray visible, and even if there had been, the light cast by the opened lanthorn would have hidden it; but he sat there trembling all the same, and with a curious sensation of suffocation rising in his throat, as he softly altered his position and loosened his hands, ready to make a spring at his enemy if it should become necessary. "well, i do call that grumpy. keeps on bringing you nuts, and you're so snarky that you won't so much as give one back the shells. now, then, where's that basket?" archy felt that he must speak, or else the boy would go in search of it. "i haven't done with it." "but i want it to take back." "it has some of the dinner in it." "well, then, let's empty it out." "no," said archy, sitting up angrily; "you can't have it now." "oh," said ram, "that's it, is it? suppose i say i will have it?" "if you don't take yourself off," cried archy, "i'll break your head with one of these pieces of stone." "two can play at that game." "be off." "i shan't. i want our basket. mother said i was to bring it back." "tell her you haven't got it." "now, look here," cried ram, "if you don't give me that basket back, i won't bring you what i was going to bring to-morrow. where is it?" "where i put it. you contemptible young smuggling thief! how dare you come worrying a gentleman about a dirty old basket!" "wasn't dirty, for mother scrubbed it out before she'd send it to you. where is it?" desperate now in his fix, and feeling that his only resource to keep ram from searching for the basket with his lanthorn was to keep up this show of anger, archy made a snatch at a long splinter of stone, and started up menacingly. "oh, that's it, is it?" cried ram, who stood upon his guard, but did not appear in the least bit alarmed. "fed you too well, have i? had too many oats, and you're beginning to kick up your heels and squeak and snort. never mind, i'll soon make you civil again. going to give me that basket?" "no." "then you shan't have this. there!" cried ram, and snatching up the one he had brought, he walked straight away, swinging his lanthorn after he had shut it with a snap. "going to give it to me?" he cried, as he stopped about half way to the trap-door. "no." "you'll want all this, and i've got some good tack inside." "be off, fellow, and don't bother me." "yah! who want's to?" cried ram; and he went off whistling merrily till he was at the opening, when he shouted back,-- "no oats to-day, pony. good-bye." archy leaped up and stood listening with his heart beating fast, and his head bent in the direction taken by the boy. "how unfortunate!" he said. "but i could not help it. will he come back?" he listened and listened and hesitated, but there was no sound, and still he hesitated, till quite a couple of hours must have passed, when he uttered a loud exultant cry, determined now to make one bold dash for liberty, and made straight through the darkness for the open way. chapter twenty five. the midshipman drew in a long breath of the salt air, as he stood at the opening in the cliff face. he tightened his belt, drew his red cap down on his head, wished that his hands were not so sore, and muttered the words, "now for liberty!" he began to creep through the hole till his head was well out, and he could look round for enemies. there was not one. the only thing that he could see was a gull sailing round and round between him and the sea, down to his right. and now, for the first time, it struck him that the gull looked very small, and from that by degrees he began to realise that the hole out of which he had thrust his head was fully four hundred feet above where the waves broke, and that it must be two hundred more to the top of the cliff. it looked more perilous too than it had seemed before, but the lad was in nowise daunted. the way was open to him to climb up or lower himself down apparently, but he chose the former way of escape, knowing as he did how very little at the base of the cliffs was left bare even in the lowest tides, and that if he got down he would either have to swim or to sit perched upon a shelf of rock till some boat came and picked him off. there was no cutter in view, but he did not trouble about that. he stopped only to gaze down at the dazzling blue sea, and thought that if it came to the worst he could leap right off into deep water, and then he drew himself right out on to a rugged ledge, a few inches in width, and stood holding on by the stones round the opening, looking upward for the best way to get up. "don't seem easy," he said cheerily, "but every foot climbed will be one less to get up. so, here goes." as he ceased speaking he drew a deep breath, and then feeling that safety depended upon his being firm, cool, and deliberate, he made his way from the mouth of the hole along the ledge upon which he stood, till he found a spot where he could ascend higher. it was necessary that he should find such a spot, for the ledge had grown narrower and in another yard died completely away. so, raising his hands to their full extent, he found a place for one foot, then for the other, repeated the experiment, and was just going to draw himself up to a ledge similar to that which he had just left, when one foot slipped from the stone upon which it rested, and had the lad lost his nerve he must have fallen headlong. but he held on tightly, waited a minute to let the jarring sensation pass away, depending upon his hands and one foot. then calmly searching about he found firm foothold, raised himself, and the next moment he was on the green ledge. "wouldn't have done to tumble," he said with a hall laugh. "fall's one thing, a dive another. i suppose the water's pretty deep down there." the ledge he was now on was fully a foot wide, and the refuse and fish bones with which it was strewn told plainly enough that in the spring time it was the resting--perhaps nesting--place of the sea-birds which swarmed along the coast. as he stood facing the rock he found directly that he could not get any farther to his right, and a little search proved that from this ledge he could get no higher, not even had he been provided with a ladder. even if a rope had been lowered down to him from the top of the cliff, it would have been of no avail, for he realised now that which he could not see from the hole by which he had escaped, to wit, that the cliff projected above the opening, and a lowered down rope would have hung several feet right away clear. "get farther along," he said coolly; and he edged himself slowly along, taking hold of every prominence he found to steady himself, and passing cautiously along the rough ledge over the hole, and then onward for forty or fifty feet, where a rift ran upward, and, by cautious climbing, he mounted slowly till he was on a fresh ledge, a few feet above which was another rift, and he climbed again, to come to a depression or niche, where he stopped to rest. "no occasion to hurry," he said to himself, and as there was plenty of room he sat down and gazed out to sea, noting a sail far away to the right, but the vessel was a schooner--it was not that which he sought. he was apparently cool enough, but his pulses beat more rapidly than was consistent with the exertion through which he had gone, and being after a few minutes eager now to get his task at an end, he tried to the left, to find no way up there, to the right, but everywhere the rock was perpendicular, and offered no foothold; or else sloped outward, and concealed what was above. he tried again and again, hoping against hope, but without result. "must be a way up," he said, evidently considering that there must be because he wanted it, and he took tightly hold of a rough corner and leaned out a little to gaze upward, to find, in whichever direction he looked, right or left, there was nothing but rugged limestone, which had been splintered and moulded by time till there was not a spot where the most venturesome climber could obtain foothold; in fact, above him he could not see a spot where even the sea-birds had been in the habit of finding a resting-place. it was for liberty, and naturally enough the midshipman made no superficial search. his next plan was to lie flat down in the niche he had made his temporary resting-place, lean over, and try and map out a course by which he could descend a little way and then pass along for a distance, and resume his climb upward with better chances of success. but no; he could see no sign to help him, and, as a keen sense of disappointment assailed him that he should have got so near liberty and have to give up, he decided that the way to freedom was downward. and now, as he looked over the edge of the shelf on which he lay, it struck him for the first time that it was a very terrible descent, and, turning his eyes away, he looked up again for a way there. all in vain. he was fully a hundred and twenty feet from the top of the huge cliff, and, half afraid now that he should be quite afraid, he determined to lose no time, and, going to the spot where he had crept on to the niche floor, he began to lower himself slowly down. "be a good thing," he said to himself, as he searched with his feet and made sure of his footing, "if one could leave all one's thoughts behind at a time like this, or only keep enough to think where to put one's feet." "glad i haven't got on my uniform," he said a few moments later, as his breast scraped over the rough rock. soon after,-- "oh, how sore my hands are! that's better." he was back in safety on the ledge over the hole, and, passing along, he had soon descended to the one beneath the exit. "now then," he said, as he paused for a few minutes before commencing his descent; "this will be easier." somehow he did not feel in any hurry to begin, and he sat down with his legs hanging over the ledge, to give his nerves time to calm down, for there was a strong tendency to throb about his pulses, and he was not sufficiently conversant with the house he lived in, to know that confinement, worry, want of fresh air, and excessive work during the past few days had not given him what the doctors call "tone." so he sat there with his back to the rock, gazing out to sea again, and then watching the graceful curves made by a gull, which had risen higher and higher, and came nearer and nearer, till it was on a level with him, and watching him curiously. "wonder whether you think i am going to fall and let you have a pick at me," said archy, with a forced laugh; "because i am not going to tumble, so you can be off." all the same, though, he shuddered, and he had to exercise a little force to make his new start downward. "best way after all," he said, as he began to descend. "if you go up, it gets more dangerous every minute, because you have farther to fall. if you go down, it gets safer, because you have less." he found the way now comparatively easy, for the rock sloped a little out, and he had even got down some sixty feet when he had a check. "i don't know, though," he said, as he put a bleeding knuckle to his lips. "don't make much difference, i should think, whether you fall one hundred feet or five. bother! i wish i did not keep on thinking about tumbling." he forced himself to study the next part of his descent, which was nearly perpendicular, but well broken up with ledges and cracks which offered good holding, and terminated a hundred feet below, upon a shelf, which naturally offered itself as his next resting-place, but beyond which it was impossible to see. "don't matter," he said more cheerfully. "let's take difficulties a bit at a time. i'm free, and i can laugh at them now. i could jump into deep water and swim, if there were no way down from below there." his spirits rose now, for, though a false step or slip of the foot would have sent him headlong down to the broad ledge, from which he would in all probability have bounded into the sea, the climbing was good, and, panting with the exertion, he got from projection to ledge, now straight down, now diagonally, and often along first one tiny ledge or cornice and then another, zig-zagging, till, at about twenty feet from the place he was making for, a slaty piece of the limestone rock by which he was holding parted, frost-loosened, from the parent rock, and he went down with a rush. but it was only a slide. he alighted on his feet, and, scratched and startled a bit, stood panting and trying to recover his composure. "no harm done," he said, as he looked up to where the hole from which he had escaped was beginning to look quite small. "might have been worse. quite bad enough, though. shakes one so. now for a rest, and then down again." he stepped to the edge and looked over in the middle, next to the left, then to the right, and always with the same result. he was now on a regular sea-birds' sanctuary, for the rock below him was not perpendicular; but sloped right under, and, try as he would, he could devise no plan for getting down lower, save by taking a header into the sea, where the water looked black and deep to his right, while to his left there was the chasm upon which, twenty feet or so out of the perpendicular line, was the hole from which he had come. heights of sea-cliffs are very deceptive, and slopes which look to the inexperienced eye only a hundred feet or so to the top, are often more than double. it was so here, for, in spite of the distance he had come down, the midshipman found that he must be fully two hundred feet above the sea. "oh, how vexatious!" he cried, as he ground his teeth. "after all that work, after being so sure, to be out here on this wretched shelf like an old cormorant, but without any wings." "i don't care," he said aloud, after again and again convincing himself that there was no possible means of farther descent. "i won't go back to prison; i'll sit here and starve first. not i," he added, after a few moments' thought; "the cutter will be sure to sail by, and they could see me if i made signals from just here." rather doubtful, as he knew, for he was only at the corner of the chasm or tiny gulf into which the sea rushed, and the chances were that unless he had something big and white to wave, he was not likely to get his signal seen. for one moment only the recollection of the food he had left behind tempted him to return. "i might get it, and bring the basket down," he said. "no, i won't try it again; it's too dangerous. i don't want another slip. besides, there must be a way down farther, if i could find it. of course! i knew it!" he cried, as he gazed over once more, farther in toward the head of the little chasm, which looked as though the rock had been split from top to bottom. he rubbed his hands, for some thirty feet below there was certainly a narrow possible place, and from there perhaps another might be found. "if one could get down," he said to himself; but it did not look possible; the rock was out even of the perpendicular, and no sane person would attempt to drop from the edge so great a distance as that. at that moment a piece of slaty rock came sliding down from on high, to fall with a crash and splinter on the rock at his feet. "must have loosened that," he said; "good job i didn't get it on my head. oh!" it was a cry of rage as much as of alarm, for there, following his track exactly, was ram, who had returned repentant, alone, with his basket, to miss his prisoner, search, find the opening, and without hesitation to come down the cliff in pursuit. chapter twenty six. for the moment archy raystoke was puzzled--completely taken aback. this was something upon which he had not counted; and he stood there looking up, as he saw the boy descending with a far greater show of activity than he could have displayed. naturally, the first thought was of further flight, but he had already convinced himself that he was again a prisoner, and as, after another glance down at the ledge below to his left, he looked up at ram, he set his teeth, and laughed in a way that did not promise well for his pursuer. "what is he coming down for?" he said to himself, as his teeth began to set fast and his hands involuntarily to clench. "does he think he is going to drag me up there again? he had better not try." meanwhile ram was descending rapidly, and sending little ambassadors down before him in the shape of pieces of rock and shale, all of which arrived at the ledge in a very inimical way, bounding off, scattering in fragments, or falling with a heavy thud. from time to time ram looked down at his escaped prisoner, and then devoted himself to the places where he should never plant his feet, achieving the whole in the most fearless manner, and finishing with a leap which landed him near where archy stood gazing at him, regularly at bay. ram did not hesitate an instant, but dashed at the midshipman to seize him by the jacket, but archy was on his mettle, and he struck out sharply, a blow in the chest and another in the right shoulder, sending the young smuggler staggering back. "oh, that's it, is it?" cried ram furiously. "i give you one more chance, though--will you give in, and come back quietly?" "if you attempt to come near me, you dog," said archy slowly through his clenched teeth, "i'll knock you off here into the sea." "will you?" cried ram, dashing at his late prisoner again, dodging the blow struck at him, closing with his adversary; and then began a struggle which would have made the blood of an onlooker curdle, so terribly narrow and dangerous was the place where the encounter took place. of the pair, archy raystoke was a little the bigger, but the smuggler's son fully made up for any deficiency by his activity, and the hardening his muscles had undergone for years. no blows were struck, the efforts of ram being apparently directed to throwing the midshipman down, when he meant to sit upon him till he had reduced him to obedience. archy's tactics were, of course, to prevent this, and rid himself of his adversary, as he felt all the time how horribly risky it was to struggle and wrestle there, for the ledge was six feet wide at the outside, and not much more than twice the length. but in a few minutes, as the encounter grew more hot, and they held on to each other, and swayed here and there, all thought of the position they occupied was forgotten. one minute ram, by entwining his leg within those of his adversary, nearly threw him; then, by a dexterous effort, archy shook himself fairly free. then they clasped again, swayed here and there, archy getting far the worse of the encounter from weakness, but, with a final call upon himself, he strove desperately to recover lost ground, and made so fierce an effort to throw ram in turn, that he succeeded. his effort was not sufficiently well sustained, though, for success to have attended it, but for one fact. they had struggled to the extreme edge of the inward part of the shelf, and as the midshipman was at the end of his strength, and ram realised it, the boy smiled, thrust back his right leg to give impetus to his next thrust, and his foot went down over the rock. there was a cry, a jerk, and the midshipman was down on his chest, as he had fallen, clinging to the edge, for the young smuggler seemed to have been snatched from his arms, and was now lying thirty feet below on the edge of a sloping rock, part of his body without support, and apparently about to glide off into the waves below. chapter twenty seven. archy shuddered, his eyes grew fixed, and his whole body seemed to be frozen. the minute before he had been burning with rage, and struggling to gain the mastery over his enemy; now he would have given anything to have undone the past. "ram!" he cried excitedly,--"ram, my lad, turn over quickly, and lay hold, or you will be off." there was no reply. ram's face looked ghastly, and his eyes were closed. "i've killed him! i know i have!" cried archy excitedly; and he strained himself more over the edge of the rock, to gaze wildly about for a means of descent, but there was only one: if he wished to get down to where the boy lay, apparently about to slip off into the sea, there was only one way, and that was to jump. thirty feet! and if he did jump, he could not do so without coming down in contact with the boy, perhaps right on him, when it seemed as if a touch of a finger would send him headlong into the sea. "what shall i do?" thought the midshipman. "it is horrible. ram!" he shouted. "rouse up! for goodness' sake, speak! try to creep farther on to the rock. oh, help i help!" he shouted this frantically, but a wild and mournful cry from a gull was the only response, and his voice seemed to be utterly lost in the vast space around. "i shall have murdered the poor fellow," groaned archy; and he stared about wildly again, in search of some means of getting to his adversary. none--none whatever. it would have been madness to jump, and he knew it--death--certain death to both. no one could have leaped down that distance on to a shelf of rock without serious injury, and then it would have been impossible to save himself from the rebound which must have sent him headlong into the sea below. this even if the shelf had not already been occupied; and ram lay there, evidently stunned, if not killed. what did mr brough and old gurr always say? "_be cool in danger_--_never lose your nerve_!" "yes, that was it!" he said, as he recalled lessons that he had received again and again. but what could he do? even as he gazed down, he momentarily expected to see ram glide slowly off, and, with brow covered with great drops of perspiration and his hands wet and cold, the midshipman rose panting to his feet, looked round, and sent up shout after shout for help. again his voice seemed utterly lost in the air, and a peculiar, querulous cry from the gull, which came slowly sailing round, was all the response he got. "ram!" he cried at last. "ram! don't play tricks, lad. speak to me. i want to help you. tell me what to do--to get help. can't you speak?" there was no mistaking the state of affairs; the boy was either dead or completely stunned by his fall. archy put his hands to his temples, and stood looking down wildly for a few moments, to assure himself that he could not reach his late adversary; and then, perfectly satisfied of the impossibility of the task, he began resolutely to climb up the face of the cliff where he had come down, and, setting his teeth hard, went from crack to crevice and ledge, on and on, seeing nothing but the white face below him on the shelf, and praying the while that the poor lad might not fall before he came back with help. the work was more dangerous than he had anticipated, and twice he slipped, once so badly that he was holding on merely by the sharp edge of a projecting piece of stone, but he found foothold again, drew himself up, and went on climbing again, till, with face streaming with perspiration and his fingers wet with blood, of which he left traces on the stone as he went on, he at last reached the opening he had fought so hard to make, climbed in, turned and leaned out as far as he could, to try and get a glimpse of ram, and be sure that he had not glided into the sea. he could see nothing; ram was far below under the projecting rock; and, drawing back once more, the midshipman began to hurry down the steps and then the slope, into the black quarry that he had fancied he had quitted for ever. to his great delight, there, right away before him, was ram's lanthorn, burning brightly with the door open, and shining upon the old sails and shipping gear, stores, and remains of wrecks saved from the sea. but he did not stay. he caught up the lanthorn, closed the door lest a puff again should extinguish the candle, and then hesitated a moment or two as a thought struck him. "no," he said aloud, "i must get help;" and, hurrying toward the opening, he kicked against the basket of provisions the lad had brought back. he made his way to the top of the other slope and shouted,-- "hi, jemmy!--smuggler! quick! come down!" there was no response, for, good-heartedly enough, ram had, as before-said, repented, and come back alone. what should he do? climb out, and run for help? no, he did not know where to find it; and by the time he had discovered some of ram's people, it would be too late; so, with the way of escape open to him, and freedom ready to welcome him once again, he hurried back, lanthorn in hand, selected a coil of rope from the pile of stores, threw it over his shoulder, passing his left arm through, and, leaving the lanthorn where he had found it, he hurried back to the narrow passage, climbed the slope and the steps up to the opening; and, with the rope hanging like a sword-belt from his shoulder, impeding his movements, and getting caught in the projections over and over again, he once more began to descend. how he got down he hardly knew, but long before he reached the great shelf, he was so incommoded by the rope that he contrived, spread-eagled as he was against the rock face, to get it over his head, and then carefully let it drop, uttering a cry of anguish as he saw it fall, catching against a piece of rock which diverted its course, so that it rested nearly half over the edge, and he clung there, gazing down wildly, expecting to see it disappear, in which case he would have had to climb again for another coil. fortunately it lodged, and in a few minutes he was down beside it, and close at the end of the great ledge, gazing over wonderingly, and with his eyes half blinded by a mist, expecting to see the narrow shelf below bare. but no; ram had not moved, and there was yet time. seizing the coil of rope, he shook it open, and selecting one of the biggest blocks of stone, which had at some time fallen from above, he made one end of the rope fast, tried it to make sure, lowered the other over the edge, and carefully slid down, swinging to and fro, and turning slowly round, to hang for a few moments, trying to plant his foot on the ledge without touching ram, for he felt more than ever convinced he would glide off at the slightest shock. it was impossible. the only way was to draw up his legs, give himself an impetus by kicking against the rock, swinging to and fro, and then letting himself, at a certain moment when he was well beyond the boy, drop on to the shelf. he tried the experiment, and swung past ram again and again, but dared not leave go for fear of missing the rock with his feet. at last he ventured: swung well past the prostrate figure, loosened his grasp, alighted on the narrow ledge quite clear, but could not preserve his balance, and fell back, uttering a low cry, as he tightened his grasp upon the rope again, but not till he had slipped rapidly down a good twenty feet, where he began swinging to and fro again. for a few moments it seemed all over; there was the sea at a terrible depth below him, and all that distance to climb up with his hands bleeding and giving him intense pain, while his arms felt half jerked out of their sockets. but he had had plenty of experience in climbing ropes, and, muttering, "don't lose your nerve," he got the line well twisted round his legs, and climbed up again sufficiently high to repeat his former experiment, this time with success, and he stood upon the ledge and loosely knotted the rope about his waist, to guard against letting the end go, before kneeling down tremulously, and getting one hand well in under the collar of the boy's rough coat. for some minutes he felt giddy; there was a mist before his eyes, and he involuntarily pressed himself close to the rock, expecting to fall, and in a curious, dreamy way he saw himself hanging far below, swinging at the end of the rope. but all this passed off, and, exerting his strength as far as he could in the terribly dangerous, crippled position in which he was, he gave three or four sharp jerks, and succeeded in drawing ram well on to the shelf, when, in the revulsion of feeling, the dizziness came back, and he felt that he must faint. "leave off, will yer?" came roughly to his ears, and roused him, telling him that the boy was not dead. "d'yer hear, jemmy dadd? great coward! father know'd you'd hit me like that, he'd half kill you." there was a pause, and a sob of relief struggled from archy's breast. then ram began to mutter again. "oh, my head!" he groaned. "oh, my head! oh, my--" he opened his eyes, and began to stare wildly; then he seemed to recollect himself, and started up to gaze up, then over the side at the sea far below, and lastly at his companion in misfortune. "i reck'lect now," he said. "we was fighting, and i put my foot over the side, and come down here, hitting my head on the stones, and then i turned sick, and i knew i was falling over, and then i went to sleep. i was half off, wasn't i, with my legs down?" "yes. in a horrible position." "yes, it wasn't nice. oh, my head! but who--why, you didn't go and get the rope and come down and pull me on?" archy nodded. "is jemmy here?" "no." "but did you climb up and get a rope, and come down again and haul me on here?" "yes," said the midshipman. ram stared at him, holding his hand to the back of his head the while, and a couple of minutes must have elapsed before he said,-- "well, you are a rum chap!" archy grew red. curious gratitude this seemed for saving the lad's life. "didn't you know the door was open?" "yes." "why didn't yer run away?" "how could i, and leave you to fall off that place?" "dunno. wouldn't ha' been nice. where did you get the rope?" "from close to where i slept." "yes, there was a lot there. 'tain't cut," he said, looking at the hand he drew from the back of his head. "what a whop it did come down on the rock!" "don't talk about it," said archy, with a shiver. "why not? father allus said i'd got the thickest head he ever see. i say, though, you--did you--course you did. you climbed up again, and went into the cave, got the rope come down again, and then got down here to help me?" "yes." "when you might have run away?" "of course." "thank ye. shake hands!" chapter twenty eight. ram sat there holding out his hand to the midshipman, but it was not taken, and for a space they gazed into each other's eyes. the silence was broken by ram. "well," he said at last, "won't you shake hands?" "an officer and a gentleman cannot shake hands with one like you," replied archy coldly. "oh, can't he?" said ram quietly. "you're a gentleman. was it being a gentleman made you come down and pull me on here." "i don't know whether being a gentleman made me do it," said archy coldly. "i saw you would lose your life if i did not get a rope and come to you, and so i did it." "yes; that's being a gentleman made you do that," said ram thoughtfully. "none of our fellows would have done that." "i suppose not." "i know i wouldn't." "yes, you would." ram looked the midshipman hard in the face again. "you mean, if i'd seen you lying down here like i was, i should have gone and fetched the rope and pulled you up?" "yes; i am sure you would." ram sat in his old position, with his hand to the back of his aching head. "but it's being a gentleman made you do it." "no; anybody who saw a person in danger would try and save his life; and you would have tried to save mine." "but i might have slipped and gone over the cliff." "you wouldn't have thought about that," said archy quietly. "you did not think about the danger when you saw me trying to escape." "no, i didn't, did i?" said ram thoughtfully. "i knew how savage father would be if you got away and fetched the sailors; and he told me i was to see you didn't get out, so i come down after you." "and you would have done as i said." "well, praps i should," said ram, laughing; "but, as we didn't neither of us go over, it's no use to talk about it. my! how it does ache!" he turned himself a little, so as to plant his back against the rock, and let his legs hang down over the edge. "that's more comf'table. bit of a rest. hard work getting down here and wrastling." archy was in so cramped and awkward a position, half kneeling, that he followed his companion's example, shuddering slightly, though, as he let his legs go down, and put his hands beside him to press his back firmly against the rock. "frightened?" said ram, who was watching him. "i don't know about being frightened. it would be a terrible fall." "oh, i don't know," said ram, leaning forward and gazing down into the void. "water's precious deep here. such lots of great conger eels, six foot long, 'bout the holes in the bottom. jemmy dadd and me's caught 'em before now. most strong enough to pull you out of the boat. dessay, if you went down, you'd come up again, but you couldn't get ashore." "why? a good swimmer could get round the point there, and make for the ledge where i saw you and that man land." "no, you couldn't," said ram; "it's hard work to get round there with a boat. you do have to pull. that's where the race is, and it would carry you out to--oh?" the boy was looking down between his legs as he spoke; and the midshipman just had time to dart forward his hand, catch him by the shoulder, and drag him back, or he would have gone off the rock. ram lurched over sidewise, his sun-browned face mottled and strange-looking, as his head dropped slowly over on to the midshipman's shoulder, where it lay for a good ten minutes, archy passing his arm round the boy, and supporting him as he lay there, breathing heavily, with his eyes half-closed. it was a terrible position; and a cold, damp perspiration bedewed the midshipman's face, as he felt how near they both were to a terrible end. the deep water after that awful fall, the fierce current which would carry him out to sea--and then came shuddering thoughts of the great, long, serpent-like congers, of whose doings horrible stories were current among the sailors. at last, to his great relief, ram uttered a deep sigh, and sat up, smiling at his companion. "i've felt like that before," he said. "come over all at once sick and giddy, like you do if you lean down too much in the sun. i should have gone over, shouldn't i, if you hadn't ketched me?" "don't talk about it." "oh, very well; it was hitting my head such a crack, i suppose. i say, though, you never thought you could get away down here, did you?" "meant to try," said archy laconically. "yah! what was the good, i knowed you wouldn't; but i meant to fetch you back. me and jemmy dadd come down here once after birds' eggs, before father had the place up there quite blocked up. it used to be a hole just big enough to creep through. jemmy stopped up on that patch where you and me wrastled, and let me down with a rope. there's no getting no farther than this." "not with a rope?" "well, with a very long one you might slide down to the water, but what's the good, without there was a boat waiting? you hadn't got the boat, and you didn't bring no rope. no use to try to get away." the words seemed more and more the words of truth as the midshipman listened, and he was compelled to own in his own mind that he had failed in his attempt; but a question seemed to leap from his lips next moment, and he said sharply,-- "perhaps there's no getting down, but any one might climb up right to the top of the cliff." "fly might, or a beedle," said the boy, laughing. "why, a rabbit couldn't, and i've seen them do some rum things, cutting up the rocks where they've been straight up like a wall. why, it comes right over up nigh the top. no, father's right; place is safe enough from the seaside, and so it is from the land. now, then, let's go back." "you can go," said archy coldly. "i'm going to stop here." "that you won't," said ram sharply. "you're a-coming up with me. yah! what's the good o' being obstinate? we don't want to have another fight. don't you see you can't get away?" "i will get away," said archy sternly. "well, you won't get off this way, till your wings grow," said ram, laughing. "come on, mate, let's get back." archy hesitated, but was obliged to come to the conclusion that he was beaten this time, and he turned slowly to his companion and said,-- "can you climb that rope?" "can i climb that rope? i should think i can!" "but dare you venture now?" ram put his hand to his head, and gazed up thoughtfully. "well, it would be stoopid if i was to turn dizzy again. s'pose you untie the rope from round you, and let me tie it round my waist. then you go up first, and when i come, you'll be ready to lend me a hand." "yes, that will be best," said archy. "without you want to leave me?" said the boy, laughing. the midshipman made no reply. there was an arduous task before him, and his nerves were unstrung. after he had unfastened the end of the rope and passed it to ram, who did not secure the end about him, but the middle, after he had nearly drawn it tight, so that, if he did slip, the fall would not be so long. then reluctantly, but feeling that it must be done, archy climbed the thirty feet of rope between him and the great ledge, slowly and surely, glad to lie down and close his eyes as soon as he was in safety so far. he tried to, but he dared not look over when the rope began to quiver again. he contented himself with taking hold near the edge, and crouched there, picturing the boy turning dizzy once more from his injury, letting go, and dropping with a terrible jerk to the extent of the rope where it was tied. then, as he felt the strong hemp quiver in his hands, he found himself wondering if the strands would snap one by one with the terrible strain of the jerk, and whether the boy would drop down into the sea. what should he do then? what should he do if the rope did not part? he did not think he would have strength to draw the boy up, and, if he did, he was so unnerved now, that he did not believe he would be able to drag him over the edge on to the rock platform. there! ram must be turning giddy, he was so long; and, unable to bear the pressure longer, archy opened his eyes and crept nearer to the edge, to face the horror of seeing the boy's wild upturned eyes. but he saw nothing of the kind, save in the workings of his own disordered imagination. what he did see was ram's frank-looking rustic face close up, and a hand was reached over the edge. "you may get hold of me anywhere if you like," said the boy, "and give a hand. that's your style, orficer! pull away, and up she comes. that's it!" he said, as he crept over the edge. "thank'ee. i aren't smuggled." they both sat down for a few minutes, while ram untied the rope from his waist and from round the big block of stone, before beginning to coil it up. "i say," he said, as he formed ring after ring of rope, "that rock isn't very safe. if i'd slipped, and the rope hadn't snapped, that big stone would have come down atop of me, and what a mess you'd have been in, if father had said you pitched me off!" "let's get back," said the midshipman, who felt sick at heart; and he moved toward the place where he had been down and up three times. "wait a moment," said ram, securing the end of the rope, and throwing the coil over his shoulder. "that's right. i'll go first. know the way?" "because you don't trust me," said archy angrily. "that's it," said ram. "door's open, and you might get out." archy's teeth grated together, but he said nothing, only began to climb, following the boy patiently till they were nearing the opening, when he started so violently that he nearly lost his hold. for a voice came from above his head,-- "got him, ram?" "yes, father; here he is." for the moment the midshipman felt disposed to descend again, but he kept on, and a minute later he looked up, to see ram's frank face looking out of the hole, and the boy stretched out his hand. "want any help? oh, all right then!" "did you think you'd get out that way, youngster?" said shackle, as the midshipman stood erect at the top of the rough stairs. "i thought i'd try," said the lad stiffly. "took a lot o' trouble for nothing, boy," said the smuggler. "i come to see what was amiss, ram, boy, you was so long. don't come again without jemmy dadd or some one." "no, father." "so you thought you'd get away, did you?" said the smuggler, with an ugly smile. "ought to have known better, boy. you wouldn't be kept here, if there was a way for you to escape." archy felt too much depressed to make any sharp reply, and the smuggler turned to his son. "what's the matter with you?" "bit of a tumble, father, that's all," said the boy cheerfully, as he placed his hand to the back of his head. "you should take care, then; rocks are harder than heads. hi! you jemmy dadd!" "hullo!" came out of the darkness. "get tom to help you to-morrow. bring a bushel or two o' lime stuff, and stop up this hole, all but a bit big enough for a pigeon to go in and out. it'll give him a taste o' light and air. now, youngster, on with you. show the lanthorn, jemmy." the man came forward, and archy was made to follow him, the smuggler and his son coming on behind; and ten minutes later the prisoner was seated in his old place in the darkness, with ram's basket of provisions for consolation. as he sat there, listening to the departing footsteps, and feeling more and more that it was quite true,--escape must be impossible down the cliff, or else they would not have left him with the opening unguarded,--there was the dull, heavy report of the closing trap-door, and the rattle and snap of bolts, and that followed by the rumbling down of the pieces of stone. he had pretty well thought out the correct theory of this noise, that it was on purpose to hide the trap-door from any prying eyes which might pass, and prying eyes must be few, he felt, or else the smugglers would not have had recourse to so clumsy a contrivance. he thought all this over again, as he sat there wearied out and despondent, for in the morning his task had seemed as good as achieved, and now he was face to face with the fact, after all that labour, that it had been in vain, and he was more a prisoner than ever. "not quite so badly off as some, though," he thought, as, moved thereto by the terrible hunger he felt, he stretched out his hand for the basket. not bread and water, but good tasty provisions, and--"what's this in the bottle?" he asked himself, as he removed the cork. it was good wholesome cider, and being seventeen, and growing fast, archy forgot everything for the next half-hour in the enjoyment of a hearty meal. an hour later, just as he was thinking of going to the opening to sit there and look out at the evening sky, he dropped off fast asleep, and was wakened by the coming of two of the smugglers, who busied themselves in the repairs of the broken wall. chapter twenty nine. that day jemmy dadd brought him his food, and the next day, and the next. "what did it mean?" he asked himself. he could understand this man being the bearer while he was employed at the mason work; but when that was over, he felt puzzled at ram not coming. then he began to wonder whether the boy was ill in consequence of his fall, and he longed to ask, but, as everything he said to dadd was received in gloomy silence, he felt indisposed to question the man, and waited, patiently or impatiently, till there should be a change. the change did come, ram appearing the next day with the basket; but his father and several other men entered the quarry, and something was brought in--what he did not see. ram came up to him with his basket, but, just as he began speaking, shackle called him away, and once more the prisoner was left alone. he partook of his meal, feeling more dull and dispirited than ever, and a walk afterwards to the little opening, just big enough to allow of his arm being thrust in, afforded no relief. for he wanted, to talk to ram about their adventures, and to try whether he could not win over the boy to help him to escape. the next day arrived, and, as of old, ram came, with jemmy dadd left at the door. "he's grumbling," said the boy, "about having to help watch over you." "then why not put an end to it?" cried archy, eagerly dashing into the question next his heart, for his confinement now grew unbearable. "how?" "help me to escape." the boy laughed. "aren't you going to ask me how i am?" "no; why should i?" "'cause you made me have that fall, and my head's been trebble. i've been in bed three days." "i am sorry for you," said archy; "but i can only think of one thing-- how to get away." "no good to think about that. father won't let you go; i asked him." "you did, ram?" "yes, i asked him--though you wouldn't be friends and shake hands." "what did he say?" cried archy, ignoring the latter part of his gaoler's remarks. "said i was a young fool, and he'd rope's-end me if i talked any more such stuff." the midshipman did not notice it, but there was a quiet and softened air in ram's behaviour toward him, and the boy seemed reluctant to go, but, in the midshipman's natural desire to get away, he could think of nothing else but self. "it would not be the act of a fool to set one of the officers of the royal navy at liberty." "he says it would, for it would be the end of us all here. the sailors would come and pretty well turn us out of house and home. no; he won't let you go." "how long is he going to keep me here?" "don't know. long as he likes." that last sentence seemed to drive the prisoner into a fit of anger, which lasted till the boy's next coming. the prisoner had been listening anxiously for the sound which betokened the visit of his young gaoler, and he was longing to have speech with him; but, telling himself that the boy was an enemy, he punished himself, as soon as the lanthorn came swaying through the darkness, by throwing himself down and turning away his head. ram came up and held the lanthorn over him. "morning. how are you?" archy made no reply. "'sleep?" still no answer. "you aren't asleep. come, look up. i've brought you four plum puffs, and a cream-cheese mother made." "hang your plum duffs and cream-cheeses!" cried archy, starting up in a rage. "didn't say plum duff; said plum puffs." "take 'em away then. bread and water's the proper thing for prisoners." "oh, i say, you wouldn't get fat on that." "will you let me out?" "no." "then i warn you fairly. one of these days, or nights, or whatever they are, i'll lie wait for you, and break your head with a stone, and then get away." ram laughed. "what?" cried the prisoner fiercely. "i was only larfin'." "what at?" "you. think i don't know better than that? you wouldn't be such a coward." "oh, wouldn't i?" "not you," said ram, sitting down quietly, and making the lid of his basket squeak. "you know i can't help it." "yes, you can. you could let me out." "father would kill me if i did. why, if i let you out, you'd come with a lot o' men, and there'd be a big fight, and some of our chaps wounded and some killed, and if we didn't whop you, our place would be all smashed up, and father and all of 'em in prison." "and serve 'em right!" "ah, but we don't think so. that's what you'd do, isn't it?" "of course it is." "well, then, i can't let you go. 'sides, if i said i would, there's always jemmy dadd, or big tom dunley, or father waiting outside, and they'd be sure to nab you." "but you might come by night and get me out." "no," said the boy sturdily, "i couldn't." "then you're a beast. get out of my sight before i half kill you!" "have a puff." "take them away, you thieving scoundrel!" cried archy, who was half mad with disappointment. "you come here professing to be civil, and yet you won't help me." "can't." "you can, sir." "and you wouldn't like me if i did." "yes, i should, and i never could be grateful enough." "no, you wouldn't. you'd know i was a sneak and a traitor, as you call it, to father and all our chaps, and you'd never like me." "like you! i tell you i should consider you my best friend." "not you. i know better than that. have a puff." "will you take your miserable stuff away?" "have some cream-cheese and new bread." archy made a blow at him, but ram only drew back slightly. "don't be a coward," he said. "you're an officer and a gentleman, you told me one day, and you keep on trying to coax me into doing what you know would be making me a regular sneak. what should i say when you were gone?" "nothing," cried the prisoner. "escape with me. come on board, and the lieutenant will listen to what i say, and take you, and we'll make you a regular man-o'-war's-man." "and set me to fight agen my father, and all my old mates?" "no; you should not do that." "and you'd call me a miserable sneak." "i shouldn't." "then you'd think i was, and i should know it, so it would be all the same." "then you will not help me?" "can't." "you will not, you mean," said archy bitterly. "you'd sooner keep me here to rot in the darkness." "no, i wouldn't, and i'd let you out if i could," cried ram, with animation. "i like you, that i do, because you're such a brave chap, and not afraid of any of us. s'pose i was a prisoner in your boat, would you let me out?" "that's a different thing," said archy proudly. "i am a king's officer, and you are only a smuggler's boy." "i can't help that," said ram warmly. "you wouldn't let me go because you couldn't, and i won't let you go because i can't." "then get out of this place, and let me be." "shan't. it's horrid dull and dark here, and lonesome. i shouldn't like it, and that's why i get mother to give me all sorts o' good things to bring for you, and save 'em up. father would make a row if he knew. i do like you." "get out!" "ah, you may say that, but i'd do anything for you now." "then let me go." "'cept that." "knock me on the head, then, and put me out of my misery." "and 'cept that too. i say, don't be snarky with me. you must stop here as long as father likes, but why shouldn't you and me be friends? i've brought you a jew's harp to learn to play when you're alone." archy uttered an ejaculation full of contempt, and snatched the proffered toy and hurled it as far as he could. "it was a sixpenny one, and i walked all the way to dunmouth and back to get it for you--twenty miles. it aren't much of a thing for an orficer and a gentleman, though, i know. but, i say, look here, would you like to learn to play the fiddle?" "will you take your chattering tongue somewhere else?" "'cause," continued ram, without heeding the midshipman's petulant words, "i could borrow big tom dunley's old fiddle. he'd lend it to me, and i'd smuggle it here." "smuggle, of course," sneered archy. "in its green baize bag. i could teach you how to play one toon." archy remained silent, as he sat on a stone, listening contemptuously to the lad's words. "i thought i could often come here, and sit and talk to you, and bring a light, and i brought these." he opened the door of the horn lanthorn, and produced from his pocket a very dirty old pack of cards, at which archy stared with profound disgust. "you and me could play a game sometimes, and then you wouldn't feel half so dull. i say, have a puff now!" there was no reply. "shall i bring you some apples?" archy threw himself down, and lay on his side, with his head resting upon his hand, gazing into the darkness. "we've got lots o' fox-whelps as we make cider of, and some red-cheeks which are ever so much better. i'll bring you some." "don't," replied archy coldly. "bring me my liberty. i don't want anything else." "won't you have the jew's harp, if i go and find it?" "no." "nor yet the fiddle, if i borrow it?" "no." "i say, don't be so snarky with me. i can't help it. i was obliged to do what i did, same as you'd have been if it had been t'other way on. look here; let you and me be friends, and i could come often and sit with you. i'll stay now if you like. let's have a game at cards." archy made no reply, and ram sighed. "i'm very sorry," he said sadly; "and i'd leave you the lanthorn if you like to ask me." "i'm not going to ask favours of such a set of thieves and scoundrels," cried the midshipman passionately; "and once more i warn you that, if you come pestering me with your proposals, i shall knock you down with a stone, and then escape." "not you," replied ram, with a quiet laugh. "not escape?" "i meant couldn't knock me down with a stone." "and pray why?" "'cause i tell you agen you couldn't be such a coward. i'm going now." no notice was taken of the remark. "like another blanket?" no answer. "i'm going to leave the basket and the puffs and cheese. anything else i can get you?" archy was moved by the lad's friendly advances, but he felt as if he would rather die than show it, and he turned impatiently away from the light shed by the lanthorn. "i'll bring you some apples next time i come, and p'r'aps then you'll have a game at cards." there was no reply, so ram slowly shut the door of the lanthorn, turning the bright light to a soft yellowish glow, and rising to his knees. "do let me stop and have a game." "let me stop and talk to you, then." there was no reply to either proposal, and just then there came a hoarse-- "ram ahoy!" "a-hoy!" cried the lad. "i must go now. that's jemmy dadd shouting for me." archy made no reply, and the boy rose, set down the basket beside where he had been kneeling, and stood gazing down at the prisoner. "like some 'bacco to chew?" he said. then, as there was no answer, he went slowly away, with the prisoner watching the dull glow of the lanthorn till it disappeared behind the great pillars, there was a faint suggestion of light farther on, then darkness again, the dull echoing bang of the heavy trap-door and rattle of the thin slabs of stone which seemed to be thrown over it to act as a cover or screen, and then once again the silence and utter darkness which sat upon the prisoner like lead. he uttered a low groan. "am i never to see the bright sun and the sparkling sea again?" he said sadly. "i never used to think they were half so beautiful as they are, till i was shut up in this horrible hole. oh, if i could only get away!" he started up now, and began to walk up and down over a space clear of loose stones, which he seemed to know now by instinct, but he stopped short directly. "if that young ruffian saw me, he'd say i was like a wild beast in a cage. he'd call me a monkey again, as he did before. oh, i wish i had him here!" the intention was for the administration of punishment, but just then archy kicked against the basket, and that completely changed the current of his thoughts. "the beggar wants to be civil," he said. "he is civil. it was kind of him to bring the things to amuse me, and better food. wants to be friends! but who's going to be friends with a scoundrel like that? i don't want his rubbish--only to be able to keep strong and well, so as to escape first chance." "likes me, does he?" muttered the midshipman, after a pause. "i should think he does. such impudence! friends indeed! oh, it's insufferable!" archy's words were very bitter, but, somehow, all the time he kept thinking about their adventure, and the lad's bravery, and then about his having saved him. "i suppose he liked that," said archy, after a time, talking aloud, for it was pleasant to hear a voice in the solemn darkness, even if it was only his own. he grew a little more softened in his feelings, and, after resisting the temptation for three hours, and vowing that he would keep to bread and water and starve himself before he would let them think he received their gifts, he found himself thinking more and more of the friendly feeling of the boy and his show of gratitude. then he recalled all that had passed about the proposal to escape--to set him at liberty--to be his companion; and he was obliged to own that ram had behaved very well. "for him," he said contemptuously, and then such a peculiarly strong suggestion of its being dinner-time reminded him that he ought to partake of food, that he opened the basket, and the temptation was resisted no longer. pride is all very well in places, but there is a strength in cold roast chicken, plum puffs, and cream-cheese, that will, or did in this case, sweep everything before it; and, after making a very hearty meal, the midshipman almost wished that he had ram there to talk to as a humble companion in that weary solitude. "he's a miserable, contemptible beggar," said archy at last, "but i need not have been quite so rough with him as i was." chapter thirty. matters grew no better. there was a leaning toward the rough lad, who seemed never weary of trying to perform little acts of kindness for his father's prisoner; but there was only one thing which the midshipman desired, and, as that could not be accorded, the friendly feeling between the two lads stayed where it was. in fact, it seemed to be turning into positive dislike on one side, archy fiercely rating his gaoler over and over again, and ram bearing it all in the meekest way. the gloom was so familiar to archy now that he could go almost anywhere about the great place, without stumbling over the loose fragments of stone, or being in danger of running up against the great pillars. and, as he roved about the quarry, his busy fingers touched packages and bales; he knew which parcels contained tobacco; he handled bales which he felt sure were silk, and avoided the piled-up kegs of brandy, whose sickly odour would always remind him of being ill at sea. all these things occupied his mind a little, and when he was extra dull, he would go and lie down by the hole which admitted the salt sea air, or else make his way right under the trap-door, and climb up to it, and sit and listen for the coming of ram. one morning he was there, wondering whether it was near the boy's hour, and he was listening most intently, so as to get full warning and insure time enough to go back to his place and wait, when he fancied he heard the bark of a dog. it was not repeated, and he was beginning to think that it was fancy, when the sound came again nearer, then nearer still, till there was a prolonged volley of canine-words, let us call them, for they evidently meant something from their being so persistent. "why--hurrah! he has found me!" cried the prisoner excitedly; and he heard quite plainly, as he clung to the rough steps and pressed his ear against the trap-door, the eager scratching made by a dog, and the snuffling noise as it tried to thrust its nose down amongst the stones. "hi! good dog then!" he shouted, and there was a furious burst of barking. then there was a sharp sound as if a heavy stone had fallen upon a heap, and he heard it rattle down to the side. then there was a fierce growl, a bark, and directly after silence. the midshipman's heart, which had been throbbing with excitement a few minutes before, sank down now like lead, as he waited to hear the sounds again, but waited in vain. if ever the loud baying of a dog sounded like music in his ear, it was during those brief moments, and as he sat there, longing to know what it meant, and whether his conjecture was right that the dog had scented him out, he faintly heard the gruff tones of a voice, and, hastily descending, he went down the slope and made for his usual place. "that's what it was," said archy to himself. "the dog scented me out, and was scratching there till that great brute of a smuggler saw him, and threw a stone and drove him away. there they are." he was right, the rough pieces of stone were being removed, and a few minutes later he saw the swinging lamp coming through the gloom. the prisoner was, as he said, quite right, for that day celia graeme had wandered down towards the edge of the huge line of cliffs in a different direction to that which it was her wont to take. it was not often that she stirred far from the gloomy fir-wood at the back of the house, for her life had not been that of most young people of her age. her father's disappointed and impoverished life, consequent upon his political opinions, and her mother's illness and depression, had made the hoze always a mournful home, and naturally this had affected her, making her a serious, contemplative girl, older than her years, and one who found her pleasure in sitting on a fallen trunk in the sheltering woods, listening to the roar of the wind in the pine boughs, watching the birds and squirrels, and having for companion her dog grip, who, when she took him for her walks, generally ran mad for the first hour, scampering round and round her, making charges at her feet, and pretending to worry her shoes or dress; running off to hide and dash out upon her in a mock savage way; bounding into furze bushes, chasing the rabbits into their holes; and then, as if apologising for this wild getting rid of a superabundance of animal spirits kept low in the mournful old house, he would come as soon as she sat quietly down, crouch close up to her, and lay his head on her knee, to gaze up in her face, blinking his eyes, and not moving again perhaps for an hour. celia seldom went seaward. the distance was short, but she was content to watch the beautiful changes on the far-spreading waste from high up on the hills. there had been wrecks on the freestone shore, which made her shudder as she recalled how the wild cries of the hapless mariners in their appeals for help had reached the shore; she had seen the huge waves come tumbling in, to send columns of spray high in the air, to be borne over the land in a salt rain, and, as a rule, the sea repelled her, and she shrank, too, from the great folds of the cliff, with their mysterious-looking grass-grown ledges and cracks, up which came the whispering and gurgling of water, and at times fierce hissings as if sea monsters lived below, and were threatening those who looked down and did not pause to think that these sounds must be caused by air compressed by the inrushing tide. then, too, there was something oppressing in the poorly protected shafts with their sloping descents, once, perhaps hundreds of years back, the busy spots where old hewers of stone worked their way down below the thinner and poorer strata to where the freestone was clean and solid. these spots attracted and yet repelled her, as she peered cautiously down, to see that they were half hidden by long strands of bramble, with tufts of pink-headed hemp agrimony, and lower down the sides and archway infringed with the loveliest of ferns. there was something very mysterious-looking in these ancient quarries where foot of man never trod now, and she shivered as she passed funnel-shaped holes which she knew were produced by the falling in of the surface to fill up passages and chambers in the stone whose roofs had given way far below. she often thought, when tempted by grip in the direction of these weird old places, how horrible it would be if some day the earth suddenly sank beneath her, and she should be buried alive. at such times her hands grew wet, and she retraced her steps, fancying the while that the earth sounded hollow beneath her tread. upon this particular morning grip had vanquished her. he was always tempting her in this direction by making rushes and looking back as if asking her to come, for the dark holes tempted him. the rabbit burrows were all very well, but he could never get in them beyond his shoulders, while in these holes he could penetrate as far as he liked in search of imaginary wild creatures which were never found. then, too, there were the edges of the cliffs where he could stand and bark at the waves far below, and sometimes, where they were not perpendicular, descend from shelf to shelf. the morning was glorious, and the sea of a lovely amethyst blue, as celia wandered on and on toward the highest of the hills away west of the hoze. grip was frantic with delight, his tail stood straight out, and his ears literally rattled as he charged over the short turf after some rabbit, which dodged through the bushes, reached its hole, displayed a scrap of white cotton, and disappeared. and still, smiling at the dog's antics, the girl wandered on, nearer and nearer to where the land suddenly ended and the cliff went sharply down to the sea. as she went on, stopping to admire the beautiful purple thistles, which sent up one each a massive head on its small stalk, or admired the patches of dyer's rocket and the golden tufts of ragwort, the old fancies about the ancient quarries were forgotten for the time, and she seated herself at last upon a projecting piece of stone, away there in the solitude, to watch the grey gulls and listen to the faint beat of the waves hundreds of feet below. there were a few sheep here and there, but the hoze was hidden beyond a fold of the mighty hills, and shackle's farm and the labourer's cottage were all down in one of the valleys. it was very beautiful, but extremely lonely, and to right and left there were the great masses of cliff, which seemed like huge hills suddenly chopped off by the sea, and before her the wide-stretching amethystine plain, with a sail or two far away. celia sat watching a little snake which was wriggling rapidly along past her, a little creature whose scales looked like oxidised silver in the afternoon sunshine, and she was about to rise and try to capture the burnished reptile, knowing from old experience that it was harmless, when at one and the same moment she became aware that grip was missing, and that ram shackle and the big labourer from the farm, jemmy dadd, were coming up a hollow away to the right, one by which they could reach the down-like fields that spread along the edge of the cliffs from the farm. she saw them, and hardly realising that they did not see her, she went on watching the reptile as it glided with easy serpentine motion through the grass. "ram is going to gather blackberries," she said to herself, as she glanced at his basket; "and dadd is going to count the sheep. i ought to have brought a basket for some blackberries." she felt full of self-reproach, as she recalled how plentifully they grew there, and how useful they would be at home. "and i might get some mushrooms, too," she thought, "instead of coming out for nothing." just then she heard grip again barking very faintly. "stupid dog!" she said to herself, with a little laugh. "he has followed a rabbit to its hole. if he would only catch a few more, how useful they would be!" then she moved a little to follow the slow-worm, which was making for a patch of heath, and she was still watching it when, some time after, grip came running up quickly, snarling and growling, and pausing from time to time to look back. "oh, you coward!" she said, sitting down and pulling his ears, as he thrust his head into her lap. "afraid of a fox! was it a fox's hole, then, and not a rabbit's, grip?" the dog growled and barked. "poor old fellow, then. where is it, then?" the dog leaped up, barked, and ran a few yards, to stop, look back at her, and bark again. "no, no, grip; i don't want to see," she said; and she began idly to pick up scraps of wild thyme and toss at the dog, who vainly kept on making rushes toward the slope of the great cliff. "no, sir," she said, shaking her finger at him. "i am not going to be led to one of your discoveries, to see nothing for my pains." the dog barked again, angrily, and not until she spoke sharply did he obey, and followed her unwillingly up the slope and then down into a hollow that looked as if at one time it might have been the bed of some great glacier. the dog tried again to lead her away toward the sea, but she was inexorable; and so he followed her along unwillingly, till, low down in the hollow, as she turned suddenly by a pile of great blocks of weather-worn and lichened stone, she came suddenly upon dadd and ram, the former flat on his back, with his hat drawn-down over his eyes, the latter busy with his knife cutting a rough stick smooth. "how do, miss celia?" said ram, showing his white teeth. "quite well, ram. how is your head now?" "oh, it's all right agen now, miss. on'y a bit sore." "you tumbled off the cliff, didn't you?" "off a bit of it," said ram, grinning. "not far." "but how foolish of you! mrs shackle said you might have been killed." "yes, miss, but i wasn't." "what were you doing in such a dangerous place?" "eh?" said ram, changing colour; "what was i doing?" "yes, to run such a risk." "i was--i was--" ram was completely taken aback, and sat staring, with his mouth open. "lookin' after a lost sheep," came in a deep growl from under jemmy dadd's hat. "oh! and did you find it?" "yes; he fun' it," said the man, "but it were in a very dangerous place. it's all dangerous 'long here; and master shackle wouldn't let young ram here go along these here clift slopes without me to take care on him." ram grinned. "and you take my advice, miss, don't you come 'bout here. we lost four sheep last year, and come nigh losing the missuses best cow not long ago. didn't you hear?" "yes; old mary told me, and mrs shackle mentioned it too." "ay," continued jemmy, without removing his hat, "she fell slip-slap into the sea." "poor thing." "ay, little missus; and, if i were you, i wouldn't come along top o' they clifts at all. grass is so short and slithery that, 'fore you knows where you are, your feet goes from under you, and you can't stop yourself, and over you goes. and that aren't the worst on it; most like you're never found." "yes, 'tis very slippy, miss celia," said ram, beginning to hack again at his stick. "i do not come here very often, ram," she said, quietly. "it is a long time since i came." "ay, and i wouldn't come no more, little missus," continued jemmy, from under his hat, "for if you did not go off, that there dog--" grip had been looking on uneasily, and turning his head from one to the other, as each spoke in turn; but the minute he heard himself mentioned, he showed his teeth, and began to growl fiercely at the man. "look ye here," cried jemmy, sitting up quickly and snatching away his hat, "if you comes at me--see the heel o' that there boot?" he held up the great heavy object named, ready to kick out, and grip bared his teeth for an attack. "down, grip! come here, sir. how dare you?" but grip did dare, and he would have dashed at the labourer if celia had not caught him by the loose skin of his neck, when he began to shake his head and whine in a way that sounded like protesting. "and me giving a bit of advice too," said jemmy in an ill-used tone. grip barked fiercely. "be quiet, sir!" "and going to say, little missus, that if that there dog comes hanging about here, he'll go over them there cliffs as sure as buttons, and never be seen no more." "come away, grip. thank you, mr dadd," said celia, hurrying the dog away, and giving him a run down along the hollow; while jemmy dadd threw himself back, rolled over on to his face, and laughed hoarsely. "i say, young ram," he cried, "what a game!" "what's a game?" said the boy sharply. "that there dog; he won't forget that whack i give him on the ribs for long enough." "needn't have thrown so hard." "why not?" "don't like to see dogs hurt," said ram, who was dealing with an awkward knot. "oh, don't you! why, if your father had been along here with that rusty old gun of hisn, that he shoots rabbits with, and seen that dog scratching among them stones, know what he'd have done?" "no." "well, then, i do. he'd have shot him. and if i ketches him ferretin' about there again, i'll drop a big flat stone down on him, and then chuck him off the cliff." "if you do, i'll chuck you down after him," said ram. "what?" cried the man, bursting into a fresh roar of laughter. "oh, come, i likes that. why, you pup! that's what you are--a pup." this was uttered with what was meant to be a most contemptuous intonation of the voice. "pups can bite hard sometimes, jemmy," said ram slowly; "and i shan't have miss celia's dog touched." "ho! then he's to come here when he likes, and show everybody the way into our store, is he? well, we shall see." "yes; and you'd better go and see if they've gone." "ah, yes, lad, i'll go and see if they've gone; and we needn't quarrel 'bout it, for it strikes me as little missus won't come down here no more, i scared her too much." jemmy burst into another hoarse fit of laughing, and went lumping off in his big sea-boots to see if celia and her dog were well out of sight, before rejoining ram to take the prisoner his repast. chapter thirty one. three days passed, and the idea of losing her companion was so startling to celia, that she made no further journey toward the cliffs, in spite of several efforts made by grip to coax her in that direction. but on the fourth day there was so mean and unsatisfactory a dinner at the hoze, of the paltry little rock fish caught by the labouring men, that, as celia watched her mother partaking of the unsatisfactory fare, and thought how easily it might have been supplemented by a dish of mushrooms and a blackberry pudding, she made up her mind that the next day she would go. "i could be very careful, and not go near any of the slopes running down to the cliff, and i could make grip keep with me. yes, i will go," she said. the next morning she partook of her breakfast quite early--a simple enough meal, consisting of barley bread and a cup of fresh milk from the shackles' farm, and, taking a basket, she called grip, who came bounding about her in a state of the most exuberant delight. the dog's satisfaction was a little damped as his mistress took her way toward the fir-wood, and he kept making rushes by another path. but it was of no use; celia had made her own plans, and, as the dog could not coax her his way, and would not go alone, he had to follow her. there was a reason for this route being chosen, for celia did not care to be seen by ram, or any of the men who might be pretending to work hard on shackle's farm, which was ill tended, and consisted for the most part of cliff grazing land; but somehow seemed to need quite a large staff of labourers to keep it in such bad order. by passing through the fir-wood, celia meant to get out of sight of the cottages, and she went on, with the dog following sulkily behind, but reviving a little upon being given the basket to carry. she trudged on for about a mile over the thin stony pastures, found a fair number of small, sweet, pink-gilled mushrooms where the turf was finest and richest, and gradually adding to her store of glistening bramble-berries till her finger-tips were purple with the stains. the course she chose was down in the hollows between the hills, till at last she struck the one along which she had passed after leaving ram and his companion, and turned down here, believing that, if the boy selected it, there would be good reason for his so doing. she walked steadily on, finding a button mushroom here and a bunch of blackberries there. for one minute she paused, struck by the peculiar sweet and sickly odour of a large-leaved herb which she had crushed, and admired its beautifully veined blossoms, in happy ignorance of the fact that it was the deadly poisonous henbane, and then all at once she missed grip. "oh, how tiresome!" she cried excitedly; and she called him loudly, but there was no reply. a gull or two floated about and uttered their querulous calls, otherwise the silence was profound, and, though she swept the great curved sides of the hollow, whose end seemed filled up by the towering hill, all soft green slope toward her, but sheer scarped and projecting cliff toward the sea, there was not so much as a sheep in sight. with a great horror coming upon her, she hurried along towards the cliff, thinking of what dadd had said, and picturing in her mind's eye poor grip racing along some seaward slope in chase of a rabbit, and going right over the cliff, she went on almost at a run, pausing, though, to call from time to time. it was intensely hot in that hollow, for the sea breeze was completely shut off, but she did not pause, and rapidly neared the cliff now, her dread increasing, as she wondered whether ram would be good enough to get a boat, and row along under the cliff to find the poor dog's body, so that she might bury it up in the fir-wood behind the house, in a particular spot close to where she had so often sat. no sign of grip: no sound. she called again, but there was no cheery bark in response, and with her despondent feeling on the increase, she began to climb the side of the hollow, passing unnoticed great clusters of blackberries, whose roots were fast in the stones, and the fruit looking like bunches of black grapes; past glistening white mushrooms, better than any she had yet seen, but they did not attract her; and at last she had climbed so high that she could see the blue waves spreading up and up to the horizon, and about a couple of miles out the white-sailed cutter, which was creeping slowly along the shore. "i wonder where that midshipman is," she thought, forgetting the dog for the moment. "how strange that all was! could it really have been a dream?" "yes, it must have been, or else he would have gone and told his captain, and they would have come and searched the cellar, and there would have been sad trouble." she turned her eyes from the sea, and began to search the green slopes around, and then all at once she uttered a cry of joy as she could sight, on the highest slope right at the end of the valley, a white speck which suddenly appeared out of the earth, and then stood out clear on the green turf, and seemed to be looking about before turning and plunging down again. it was quite half a mile away, and her call was in vain, and she began to descend diagonally into the hollow, the tears in her eyes, but a smile of content on her lips. "oh, you bad dog," she cried merrily, "how i will punish you!" and she stooped and picked a couple of mushrooms, quite happy again, and even sang a scrap of a country ditty in a pretty bird-like voice as she came to a bramble clump, and went on staining her fingers. by degrees she passed the end of the hollow, leaving all the blackberries behind, and now, only pausing to pick a mushroom here and there, she began to ascend the slope toward where she had seen the dog. "it is getting nearer the edge of the cliff," she said; "but it slopes up, and not down. ah, i see you, sir. come here directly! grip! grip!" the dog had suddenly made his appearance about fifty yards in front, right as it were out of the grassy slope, to stand barking loudly for a few moments before turning tail and plunging down again. "oh, how tiresome!" she cried. "grip! grip!" but, as the dog would not come to her, she went on, knowing perfectly well that he had gone down one of the old stone pits, and quite prepared to stand at last gazing into a hole which inclined rapidly into the hillside, but was as usual provided with rough stones placed step-wise, and leading the way into darkness beneath a fern-fringed arch, while the whole place was almost entirely choked-up with the luxuriantly growing brambles. "he has found a rabbit," she thought to herself, as her eyes wandered about the sides of the pit, and brightened at the sight of the abundant clusters of blackberries, finer and riper than any she had yet secured. "i wish i was not so frightened of these places," she said to herself. "why, i could fill a basket here, and there can't be anything to mind, i know; it is only where they used to dig out the stone." a sudden burst of barking took her attention to the dog, who came bounding up the rugged steps right to her feet, looked at her with his great intelligent eyes, and, before she could stop him, rushed down again, where she could hear him scratching, and there was a sound which she knew was caused by his moving a piece of stone such as she could see lying at the side in broken fragments, and of the kind dug in thin layers, and used in the neighbourhood instead of tiles. "oh, grip, grip! and you know you can't get at him. come here." "ahoy!" celia was leaning over the rugged steps, gazing down into the darkness beneath the ferns, when, in a faint, smothered, distant way, there came this hail, making her nearly drop her basket as she started away from the pit. the hail was followed by a sharp burst of barking, and the dog came bounding up again, to stand looking after her, barking again before once more descending. slowly, and with her eyes dilated and strained, the girl crept back step by step, as she withstood her desire to run away, for all at once the thought had come that perhaps some shepherd or labourer had fallen down to the bottom, and was perhaps lying here with a broken leg. she had heard of such things, and it would be very terrible, but she must know now, and then go for help. in this spirit she once more reached the entrance to the old quarry, and peered down, listening to the worrying sound made by the dog, who kept rattling one piece of stone over another, every now and then giving a short, snapping bark. "ahoy!" came again, as if from a distance, and a thrill ran through the girl, bringing with it a glow of courage. "it is some poor fellow fallen down;" and, placing her basket by the side, she began to descend cautiously, with grip rushing to meet her, barking now joyously, and uttering whine after whine. the descent was not difficult, and after the first few steps the feeling of timidity began to wear off, and celia descended more quickly till, about fifty feet from the top, some distance under where the fringe of ferns hung, and where it had seemed quite dark from above, but was really a pleasant greenish twilight, she found beneath her feet a few loose flat stones, part of a quantity lying before her in the archway that seemed to lead straight on into the quarry. but here, right at her feet, the dog began to scratch, tossing one thin piece of stone over the others upon which it lay. celia looked before her wonderingly, for she had expected to see a fallen man at once, probably some one of the men whom she knew by sight; but, in spite of the dog's scratching, she could not imagine anything was there, and she was bending forward, gazing into the half choked-up level passage before her, when there came from under her feet the same smothered,-- "ahoy!" she started away, clinging to the side for support, and ready in her fear to rush back to the surface. but the dog's action brought her to herself, as he began again to bark furiously, and tore at the stones. "hush! quiet, grip!" she said in an awe-stricken whisper, as she went down on her knees and listened, her heart beating wildly, and a horrible idea, all confused, of some one having been buried alive, making her face turn ashy pale. "ahoy! any one there?" came in the same faint tones. "yes--yes," panted the girl. "what is it?" "help!" and then, more loudly,-- "let me out, pray." "oh," moaned the girl, "what does it mean?" "ahoy there!" came more plainly now. "whoever you are, get a boat, and go off to the cutter _white hawk_. can you hear?" "yes, yes," said the girl huskily, as a horrible suspicion ran through her mind. "tell lieutenant brough that mr raystoke is a prisoner, kept by the smugglers, and then show his men the way here." there was a pause, for celia could make no reply; she knew who mr raystoke was, and it seemed horrible to her that the frank, good-looking young midshipman should be kept a prisoner in such a tomb-like place as that. "don't, don't say you will not go!" came up in the smothered tones. "you shall have a reward." "as if i wanted a reward!" panted celia. "what shall i do? what shall i do?" "help--pray help!" came from below; and grip joined in. "yes, i will help you," cried celia, placing her face close down to the stones. "what!" came up. "i know you--the young--yes, miss graeme." "yes," she cried hastily. "pray help me." "i want to," she said; "but--but you will go and--and tell--about what you have seen." there was a pause, and then came faintly the words,-- "i--don't--want to; but--i must." "but i cannot--i cannot help you if you are going to fetch the sailors here, perhaps to seize--oh, what shall i do?" there was a pause before the prisoner spoke again. "look here," he said; "i don't want to tell about your father being mixed up with the smugglers." "you must not--you dare not!" cried celia. there was another pause, and then the prisoner's voice came again reproachfully. "you ought to know it's my duty, and that i was sent ashore to find this out.--i say." "yes." "did you know i was shut up like this by those beasts?" "oh, no, no, no!" "your father did. he had me sent here, so that he should not get into trouble." "indeed no! he would not do so wicked a thing." "but he is a smuggler." "it is not true!" cried celia passionately; "and if you dare to say such things of my dear, good, suffering father, i'll go away and never help you." "i can't help saying it," said archy sturdily. "i'd give anything to get out of this dreadful dark place; but i must speak." "not of him." "i don't want to speak of him," said archy, "but what can i do? i must tell about all those smuggled things there in the cellar that night when you found me in that room--out of uniform." "ah!" ejaculated celia. "i know it's hard on you, but i've been here a prisoner ever since, and it's enough to break one's heart." the poor fellow's voice changed a little as he spoke, and he would have given way if he had seen celia's head bowed down, and that she was crying bitterly. "you will send for help?" "i cannot," sobbed the girl, "unless you will promise not to tell." there was a pause again. "i can't promise," came up huskily, in faint smothered tones. "i say, is the door locked as well as bolted?" "i cannot tell; it is covered with stones. pray, pray promise me that you will not tell. i do want to help you to get away." "i can't promise," said archy at last, after a bitter struggle with self. "i must go straight to my officer and tell him as soon as i get out." at that moment there was a sharp barking from the dog, who rushed up the steps to stand at the top for a few moments before coming down again. "won't you help me?" "to send my poor innocent father to prison," said celia in a low voice. "i can't hear you," came from below. "and i can't tell you," said celia to herself. "what shall i do--what shall i do?" she stole softly up the rugged steps, with her fingers in her ears, in dread lest she should be called upon to listen to the prisoner's piteous appeals for help; and, as soon as she reached the top, she set off running as hard as she could go, to find her father, tell him all, and appeal to him to try and save the poor fellow from the cruel trials he was called upon to bear. celia could hardly see the direction in which she was going, for her eyes were blinded with tears, and so it was that, when down in the lowest part of the hollow, as she hurried blindly along, she tripped over one of the many loose stones, fell heavily, striking her temple against a block projecting from the steep side of the little valley; and fell, to lie insensible for a time; and when she did come to her senses, it was to find grip lying by her, with his head upon her chest, and his eyes looking inquiringly into hers, as if to ask what it all meant. her head ached, and she felt half stunned still, but she strove to rise to her feet, and sank back with a moan of pain. for a worse trouble had discovered itself: her ankle was badly wrenched, so that she could not stand, and in the solitary place in which she had fallen, it was possible that she might lie for days and not be found, unless special search was made. a sudden thought came--to tie her handkerchief about grip's neck, and send him home. the first was easily done, the latter impossible. grip was an intelligent dog in his way, but nothing would make him leave his mistress there; and the poor girl lay all day in the hot sun, and at last saw that night was coming on, and that there was no help. chapter thirty two. celia graeme took sundry precautions to avoid being seen, but she was not so successful as she imagined. jemmy dadd was an old servant of farmer shackle, one who always made a point of doing as little as was possible about the farm. he did not mind loading a cart, if he were allowed as much time as he liked, or feeding the pigs, because it afforded him an opportunity to lean over the sty and watch the pretty creatures eat, while their grunting and squeaking was sweet music in his ear. he generally fed the horses, too, and watched them graze. calling up the cows from the cliff pastures he did not mind, because cows walked slowly; and he did the milking because he could sit down and rest his head; but to thump a churn and make butter was out of his line. mrs shackle complained bitterly to her lord and master about different lots of cream being spoiled, but farmer shackle snubbed her. "can't expect a man to work night and day too," he grunted. "set one of the women to churn." in fact, the farmer never found any fault with jemmy, for the simple reason that he was his best worker on dark nights, and as handy a sailor as could be found. jemmy knew it, felt that he was licensed, and laughed to himself as he followed his own bent, and spent a good deal of time every day in what he called seeing the crops grow. when there were no crops growing, he went to see how the grass was getting on, and to do this properly, he put a piece of hard black tobacco in his cheek, and went and lay down on one of the hill-slopes. he was seeing how the grass got on that particular morning with his eyes shut, when, happening to open them, he caught sight of celia going along, a mile away, with her basket and dog. he knew her by the dog, though even at that distance, as she moved almost imperceptibly over the short turf of the treeless expanse along by the sea, he would have been sure that it was sir risdon's child. "what's the good of telling on her?" he growled to himself, as he lay back with his hands under his head; and in that attitude he rested for nearly three hours. then, moved by the cogitations in which he had been indulging, he slowly and deliberately rose, something after the fashion of a cow, and began to go slowly in the direction taken by celia hours before. jemmy dadd seemed to be going nowhere, and as he slouched along, lifting up one heavy sea boot and putting it down before the other, he never turned his head in either direction. so stiff was he in his movements, that any one who watched him would have concluded that he was looking straight forward, and that was all. a great mistake; for jemmy, by long practice, had made his eyes work like a lobster's, and, as he went on, they were rolling slowly round and round, taking in everything, keeping a look-out to sea, and watching the revenue cutter, sweeping the offing, running over the fields and downs and hollows, missing nothing, in short, as he steadily trudged along, not even the few mushrooms that the pleasant showers had brought up, and placing them in his hat. slow as his pace was, the distance between the prints of the big boots was great, and the mushroom hunting took him, before very long, up the cliff beyond the entrance to the old quarry, then down below it, and then close up alongside, where he stooped over, and then went down a few steps out of sight. he did not turn his head, for his lobster eyes had convinced him that no one was in sight, and, as he disappeared in the deep hole, he pounced upon the basket, and then went softly and quickly down to where the loose tile stones lay. a rapid examination satisfied him that they had not been moved, and he went softly up again, basket in hand, stood still and rolled his eyes, but saw no sign of the basket's owner, and then, thrusting his arm through the handle, he went steadily back to the farm, where he thrust his head in at the door, stared at farmer shackle, who was innocently mending a net, and backed out and went into the rough stable. shackle followed him, net in one hand, wooden netting-needle in the other. "hullo!" he said. jemmy held out the basket. "well, i see brambrys and masheroons. what of 'em?" "little missus's basket. fun' it." "take it home. no--i'll send ramillies. ladyship don't like to see you." "fun' it in number one!" "what!" "see her going along there with that dog. she must ha' smelled him out." "place been opened?" "no." farmer shackle scratched his nose on both sides with the netting-needle; then he poked his red worsted cap a little on one side with the same implement, and scratched the top of his head, and carefully arranged the red cap again. "mayn't have seen or heard anything, lad." "must, or wouldn't have left the basket." "right. have big tom dunley, badstock and two more, and be yonder at dark. ramillies know?" "not yet." "don't tell him. he's waiting yonder for you. here he comes. go on just as usual, and don't tell him nothing. i'll meet you soon as it's dark." "pistols?" "no. sticks." "jemmy there, father? ah, there you are! come on. i've been waiting such a time." ram looked sharply from one to the other, and knew there was something particular on the way, but he said nothing. "get it out of jemmy," he said to himself. "i'm ready, lad; i'm ready." "look sharp, boy," said the farmer. "yes, father," said ram. "i'll go and get the basket." "ay, do, boy. and look here--never mind more to-day; but take double 'lowance to-morrow, so as not to go every day." "very well, father. look sharp, jemmy!" the boy ran back to the house, followed by his father, who went on netting, and a minute later jemmy and ram were off over the bare pastures in the direction from which the man had come. "find that basket you give to father, jemmy?" "ay, lad, half full o' brambrys and masheroons. wondered whose it was. gaffer says it's little missus's, and you're to take it up." "oh," thought ram, "that's what they were talking about;" and he began whistling, quite content, as they went wandering about mushrooming, till, apparently tired, they sat down close to the mouth of the quarry, where jemmy's eyes rolled round for a good ten minutes before he said, "_now_." then the pair rolled over to left and right, down into the hole, and descended quickly to the bottom, where the man crept right on along the half choked passage, took a lanthorn from a great crevice; there was the nicking of flint and steel, a faint blue light, and the snap of the closing lanthorn as the dark passage showed a yellow glow. meanwhile ram had been busy removing the pieces of stone, laying bare a trap-door upon which were a big wooden lock and a couple of bolts. these he unfastened, threw open the door, and descended with his basket; while, after handing down the lanthorn into the black well-like hole, jemmy climbed up again to the surface and stood with his eyes just above the level, sheltered by blackberry strands and other growth, and slowly made his eyes revolve; till, at the end of half an hour, ram reappeared, when the business of closing and bolting the door went on, while jemmy blew out the light, closed the lanthorn, through whose crevices came forth an unpleasant odour, bore it back to its hiding-place; and then the pair departed as cautiously as they came. "what did he say?" growled jemmy. "oh, not much. seemed all grumpy, and wouldn't answer a civil question." "should ha' kicked him," said jemmy. very little more was said till they reached home, and ram busied himself about the farm till after supper, wishing that he could help the midshipman to escape without getting his father into trouble. he was thinking how horribly dark and miserable the old quarry must be, for the first time. the thought had not occurred to him before, through every hole and corner being so familiar, from the fact that scores of times he had held the lanthorn while his father's men carried in smuggled goods landed at the ledge, if there was plenty of time; for, if the landing had been hurried, and the danger near, the things were often carried up to the hoze for temporary deposit till carts came to bear the things into the interior. "i do wish he'd be friends," thought ram, when his musings were interrupted by his father saying,-- "ah, there's that basket jemmy found's mornin'. go and take it up to the hoze." "he needn't go to-night, need he?" said mrs shackle. "you mind your own business," said the farmer fiercely. "be off, boy." ram put on his red cap, took the basket, and trotted off toward the hoze, while mrs shackle sighed, for she knew that something particular must be on the way, or ram would not have been sent off, and her husband have prepared to go out directly after. "oh dear me, dear me, dear me!" said the plump, comfortable-looking woman, as the door closed on her husband's back. "if he would only keep to his cows and sheep!" "here," said the farmer, reopening the door, "be off to bed. ramillies need not know that i'm gone out." "no, dear. but do take care of yourself." "yah!" bang went the door, and mrs shackle, after putting a few things straight, went off obediently to bed, troubling in no wise about the door being left on the latch. chapter thirty three. archy raystoke was fast asleep, dreaming about being once more on board the cutter, with the sun shining full in his eyes, because he was lying on the deck, right in everybody's road, and gurr the master was scolding him for it in a way which was very disrespectful to an officer and a gentleman, while the men grouped around grinned. he was not surprised, for somehow mr brough was not there, and gurr had assumed the command of the cutter, and was playing the part of smuggler and pirate, and insulting him, whom he addressed again: "get up!" archy leaped to his feet, and saw at a glance that it was not the sun, but the light of a lanthorn shining in his eyes, while, before he could do more than realise that several men were standing close to him, half of a sack was drawn-down over his head and shoulders, and a thin rope was twisted round and round his arms, fastening him securely, and only leaving his hands free. "what are you going to do?" he shouted, after a vain struggle to free himself, and his voice sounded muffled and thick through the heavy sack. "pitch you off the cliff if you make so much as a sound," said a gruff voice by his car. "keep quiet, and you won't be hurt." the lad's heart beat heavily, and he felt hot and half suffocated. "do you want to smother me?" he said. "can't breathe." "slit the back of the sack, lad," said the same gruff voice, and there was a sharp cutting noise heard, as a breathing-hole was cut right up behind his head. "now, then, bring him along." his hand was grasped, and, as he felt himself led over ground that was quite familiar now, he knew that he was on the way to the entrance. were they going to take him out, and set him free? no; if they had been going to do that, they would not have blindfolded his eyes. yes, they would, for, if they were going to set him free, they would do so in a way that would place it beyond his power to betray their secret store. quick immatured thoughts which shot through him as he was led along, and he knew directly after that it was only fancy. of course. he could show the lieutenant where the opening was in the cliff, and by knowing that it would be easy to track out the land entrance. "no," said the midshipman to himself sadly; "they are going to take me and imprison me somewhere else, for they must now know that i was holding communications with that girl." "now then, steady!" said a voice, as he felt that the cool air was coming down on to his head, and he breathed it through the thick sacking. "make a rope fast round him." "i must be at the foot of the way in," thought archy, as he felt a rope passed round him, and the next minute it tightened, he was raised from his feet, and the rope cut into him painfully as he felt himself hauled up. then hands seized him, and he was thrown down on the grass, while the last rope was cast off. as he lay there being untied, though his eyes were blinded, his ears were busy, and he listened to the smothered sounds of the trap being fastened and the stones being drawn over it again. "trap-door--door into a trap," he thought. "where am i going now? surely they would not kill me." a cold chill shot through him, but he mastered the feeling of terror as he felt himself dragged to his feet. "now, then, keep step," the same gruff voice said; and, with apparently half a dozen men close by him, as far as he could judge by their mutterings and the dull sound of their feet over the grass, he was marched on for over an hour--hearing nothing, seeing nothing, but all the while with his ears strained, waiting for an opportunity to appeal for help, in spite of the threats he had heard, as soon as he could tell by the voices that he was near people who were not of the smugglers' gang. but no help seemed to be at hand, and, as far as he could judge, he was being taken along the fields and rough ground near the edge of the wild cliffs, now near the sea, now far away. at one time he could hear the dull thud and dash of waves, for a good brisk breeze was blowing, and he fancied that he had a glint of a star through the thick covering, but he was not sure. then the sound of the waves on the shore was completely hushed, and he felt that they must either be down in a hollow, or going farther and farther away inland. twice this happened, and the third time, as all was still, and he could feel a hard road beneath his feet, he became sure. there was an echoing sound from their footsteps, dull to him, but still plain, and it seemed as if they were down in some narrow cutting or rift, when all at once! just in front, after the men about him had been talking more loudly, as if clear of danger, there rang out a stern-- "halt--stand!" there was a hasty exclamation. then came in the loud, gruff voice,-- "back, lads, quick!" he was seized, and retreat had begun, when again rang out:-- "halt--stand!" the smugglers were between two fires. the midshipman was conscious of a familiar voice crying,-- "no shots, lads. cutlashes!" there was a rush; the sound of blows, men swayed and struggled about wildly, and the lad, bound, blindfolded, and helpless, was thrust here and there. then he received a sharp blow from a cudgel, which sent him staggering forward, and directly after a dull cut from a steel weapon, which, fortunately for him, fell upon and across the rope which bound his arms to his sides. there were oaths, fierce cries, and the struggling grew hotter, till all at once there was a rush, archy went down like a skittle, men seemed to perform a triumphal war-dance upon his body, and then they passed on with the fight, evidently consisting of a retreat and pursuit, till the sounds nearly died away. a minute later, as archy lay there perfectly helpless, the noises increased again. men were evidently laughing and talking loudly, and the sounds seemed to come round a corner, to become plainer all at once. "pity we didn't go on after them? nonsense, my lad! they know every hole and corner about here, and there's no knowing where they'd have led us," said a familiar voice. "well, it is precious dark," said another. "too dark to see what we are about. but i take you all to witness, my lads, they 'tacked us first." "ay, ay: they began it," came in chorus. "and if it happens that they are not smugglers, and there's trouble about it, you know what to say." archy heard all this, and it seemed to him that the party were about to pass him, when a voice he well knew growled out,-- "hit me an awful whack with a stick." "ay, i got one too, my lad; and i didn't like to use my cutlash." "wish we'd took a prisoner, or knocked one or two down. why, here is one." there was a buzz of voices, and archy felt himself hoisted up. "can you stand? not wounded, are you? who cut him down?" "well, i'm 'fraid it was me," said one of the familiar voices. "why, he is a prisoner ready made." "what? here, cut him loose, lads. hullo, my lad, who are you?" "take this off," panted archy in a stifled voice; and then, as the sack was dragged over his head, he uttered a sigh, and staggered, and would have fallen, had not one of the men caught him. "hold up, lad. not hurt, are you?" "no," said archy hoarsely. "who are you? what were they going to do with you?" "don't you know me, mr gurr?" "mr raystoke!" the rest of his speech, if he said anything, was drowned in a hearty cheer as the men pressed round. "well, i am glad!" cried the master. "we've been ashore a dozen times, my lad, and searched everywhere, till the skipper thought you must have run away." "run away!" cried archy huskily. "i've been a prisoner." "those were smugglers, then?" "yes," cried archy; "but they shall smart for all this. i know where all their hiding-places are, and we'll hunt them down." "hooray!" shouted the men. "were you looking for me?" "well, not to-night, my lad. making a bit of a patrol," said gurr. "the skipper thought that perhaps we might run against something or another, and we have and no mistake. but what's the matter? not hurt, are you?" "no, not much. i got a blow on the shoulder, and then some one gave me a chop with a cutlass." "that was you, dirty dick! i did see that," cried one of the men. "well, i don't say it warn't me. how was i to know it was a orsifer in the dark, and smothered up like that?" "are you wounded, then?" cried the master excitedly. "no; it felt more like a blow, but people kept trampling on me after i was down." "that's bad," said gurr, giving vent to a low whistle. "here, lads, let's carry him to the boat." "no, no!" cried the midshipman. "i think i can walk. i could hardly breathe." "well, go steady, then. it's on'y 'bout half a mile to the cove. where did they mean to take you, lad?" "i don't know. perhaps on board some ship to get me out of the way;" and he briefly explained his late position, as they walked steadily on, the men listening eagerly the while. "then you can take me right to the place, mr raystoke?" said gurr. archy hesitated. "i can point it out from the sea, but it will be all guess-work from the shore." "never mind; we'll find it. but you can't think about where they were taking you to-night?" "i have no idea. of course they blindfolded me, so that i should not see the way out of the place i left, nor the way into the other." "ah, well, come on, and the skipper will talk to you. he has been fine and mad about it, and i 'most think he's turned a bit thinner, eh, dick?" "ay, that he have," said the latter. "leastwise you might think so." "one day he's been all in a fret, saying you've run away, and that you'd be dismissed the service, and it was what he quite expected; and then, so as not to put him out, when you agreed with him, he flew out at you, and called you a fool, and said he was sure the smugglers had murdered his officer, or else tumbled him off the cliff." archy was too weary with excitement to care to talk much, and he tramped on with the men, hardly able to realise the truth of his escape, and half expecting to wake up in the darkness and find it all a dream. but he was reminded that it was no dream, from time to time, by feeling a hand laid deprecatingly upon his bruised arm, and starting round to see in the darkness that it was dirty dick, who patted his injury gently, and then uttered a satisfied "hah!" "pleased to see me back," thought the midshipman, "but i wish he wouldn't pat me as if i were a dog." "hullo!" exclaimed the master just then, as they came opposite a depression in the cliff which gave them a view out to sea. "what's going on? forrard, my lads. smart!" the pace was increased, for away in the darkness there hung out a bright signal which all knew meant recall, and the midshipman's heart throbbed as he felt that before long he would be in a boat dancing over the waves, and soon after treading the deck of the smart little cutter. "no," he said to himself, as after a hail a boat came out of the darkness, its keel grating on the pebbly shore, and he uttered a sigh of content on sinking back in the stern-sheets; "it isn't a dream." chapter thirty four. archy raystoke's sense of weariness rapidly passed off, as the oars splashed, and the boat glided softly out of the waters of the cove, between the two huge corners of rock which guarded the entrance, and then began to dance up and down as she reached out into the tideway. after the darkness of the old quarry, with its faint odour of spirits, the night seemed comparatively like noonday, and the pure, brisk air that fanned his cheek delicious. he seemed to drink it in, drawing down great draughts which made his bosom swell, his heart beat, and there were moments when, like a schoolboy upon whom has suddenly come the joys of an unexpected half-holiday, he felt ready to jump up, toss his cap in the air, and shout for joy. "but it would be undignified in an officer," he felt; and he sat still, feeling the boat live almost in the water as she throbbed from end to end with the powerful strokes, and glide up the waves, hang for a moment, and slide down. "tidy swell on, mr raystoke," said gurr. "oh, it's glorious!" replied the lad in a low voice. "glorious?" "yes. you don't know what it means to have been shut up in a place like a cellar, always black, and longing to see the blue sky and sunshine." "well, there aren't none now, my lad." "no, gurr, there is no blue sky and sunshine, but--but--this is delightful;" and he said to himself, with his breast swelling, "i feel stupid, and as if i could cry like a child." they were nearing the cutter fast, her lights growing plainer, and the lad leaned forward with feelings that were almost ecstatic as he tried to scan her lines, and thought of leaping on her deck, and feeling the easy, yielding motion as she rose and fell to her cable where she lay at anchor. he even thought of how glorious it would be for there to come a storm, with the spray beating on his cheeks and then, as he involuntarily raised his hand to his face, a thought occurred to him which made him start. "oh!" he mentally ejaculated, as he thought of his long sojourn in the cave, and a feeling of satisfaction came over him that it was dark; "what a horribly dirty wretch i must look!" a hail came from the cutter at last, and was answered from the boat, archy's heart beating fast as he dimly saw the figures on board, and thought of the joy of being once more in his own cabin. "gurr," he whispered, "don't say a word to mr brough; let me tell him i have come on board." "right, my lad; but you'll say we found you, and all that. you see, i must make my report." "of course." just then the oars were thrown up and laid alongside, and, as the lieutenant came to the gangway, archy sprang on to the cutter so sharply that he came rather roughly in contact with his commanding officer. "how dare you! why, you clumsy young--" before he could say more, the midshipman touched his red cap. "come aboard, sir," he said. "why? what? mr ray--oh, my dear boy!" there was not a bit of official dignity in the greeting, for the plump little lieutenant, in his surprise and delight, caught archy by the arms, then by the shoulders; stared in his face; seized his hands, shook them both, and was about to hug him, but, suddenly recollecting himself, he drew back. "in with that boat," he cried sharply. then, giving the orders to slip the cable, and prepare to make sail, he turned to gurr. "i'll take your report directly, mr gurr," he said. then, very stiffly, "take charge of the deck. mr raystoke, follow me, sir, to my cabin." "going to wig me," said the midshipman, as he followed his officer down into the cabin and shut the door. "now, sir," cried the lieutenant, turning upon him sharply, "have the goodness to explain your conduct. stop--not a word yet. i entrusted you with an important commission. i dealt with you as if you were a man, an officer and a gentleman; and, instead of doing your duty, you went off like a contemptible cabin-boy on a shore-going game, sir-- dissipation, sir--behaved like a blackguard till all your money was spent; and then you come sneaking back on board, insult me by blundering up against me, and all you've got to say for yourself is, `come aboard, sir.' now, then, what else have you to say?" "well, sir!--" "stop. let me tell you that, knowing as i did what a young scamp you were, i refrained from reporting your conduct at portsmouth, to get you dismissed his majesty's service; and knowing, too, that it would break your father's and mother's heart, i did not write and tell them. for i said to myself, `he'll come back and ask forgiveness to-morrow, and i'll punish him and forgive him,' for i did not want to blast your career. but to-morrow has always been coming, and you haven't come till to-night. and now, what have you to say before--before i treat you-- yes, i've a good mind to--like some mutinous scoundrel, and--what's that, sir, what's that? how dare you sit down in my presence, when--" "i'm so done up, sir, and hungry and faint." "and serve you right, you insolent young dog. i knew it, and--" "oh, i say, mr brough, you don't think i could have been such a beast." "what?" "i found out all about the smugglers, but they caught me, and i've been a prisoner ever since. do give me something to eat and drink, and don't scold me any more, till i've got on my uniform and had a good wash." "my dear boy! my dear archy raystoke!" cried the lieutenant, seizing his hands and pumping them up and down. "of course i didn't think it! knew you were too much of a gentleman, but i was stuffed full of thoughts like that, and they would come out. here," he cried, "drink that, and here's some cake sent from poole, and--tip it up, and eat away. i am glad to see you again. god bless you, my dear boy! i'm your officer, but you don't know how miserable i've been." "yes, i do, sir. i know you always liked me," cried the midshipman, between the mouthfuls he was taking. "but never mind the being prisoner, sir. i know all the scoundrels' secrets now, and you can capture them, and make some good hauls. you must send a strong party ashore as soon as it's day." "but--but--" archy answered those buts to such an extent that gurr's report was needless, and the master was terribly disappointed. by that time the cutter was slowly gliding away seaward, with every eye on the watch, for, as the lieutenant explained, after telling his recovered officer how he had searched in all directions, he had that night seen lights shown far up on one of the cliffs--lights which might mean a warning to some vessel to keep off, or just as likely might have the other intention, and be an invite to some lugger to land her cargo. in any case the lieutenant meant to be on the alert, and hence the sailing of the cutter. the lieutenant had hesitated a little at first after hearing his midshipman's report, but he now decided how to act. "no," he said; "not to-night, my lad. i'm inclined to think the signal was a warning to keep off. they may hide the cargo they leave ashore, and if we don't capture it, so much the worse, but our work is to crush up the gang more than to capture a few barrels and bales. we'll look out to-night, and, as soon as it is daylight, you shall make sure of the bearings of your prison, then we'll land a strong boat's crew, and go along the top of the cliff to the place, and put an end to that game. you shall make a good meal, and then have a sleep, ready for to-morrow's work. hah!" cried the little lieutenant; "that ought to mean a good day's business, mr raystoke, and promotion to better jobs than this." "i hope so, sir," said archy, with his mouth full. "no use to hope," said the lieutenant dismally. "i'm like poor old gurr; they don't consider me fit for service in a crack ship; and when i make my report, and send in my despatches, and ask for an appointment, i shall be told i do my work too well on this important service, and that they cannot spare so valuable an officer from the station. gammon, mr raystoke, gammon! it's all because i'm so little and so fat." archy was silent, for he knew it was the truth, and that such a quaint little fellow did not somehow quite command the men's respect. half an hour after, he was sleeping heavily, with the delightful sensation of being undressed and between blankets, to wake up with a start in the morning, by hearing ram coming to the trap-door. no, it was a noise on deck; and he sprang up and rapidly washed and dressed, to hurry up to see what was going on. chapter thirty five. as the midshipman reached the deck, it was to find that there was a light mist on the water, and that the lieutenant was at the side with gurr, where they were watching a boat coming in from seaward. the cutter was back not far from her old moorings, and the great cliffs of the shore were dimly visible. "lobster-boat, sir," said gurr, as archy came behind them. "never mind! i'll overhaul her. i'm going to be suspicious of everything now. take the boat, and--ah, to be sure. mr raystoke, take the boat, and see what those fellows mean. they're making straight for the ledge, and there is no one to buy lobsters there." "ay, ay, sir!" that familiar sea-going reply seemed to ring out of the lad's throat, and afforded him a pure feeling of delight. no more groping about in the darkness, biting his nails, and feeling heart-sick with despondency, but the full delight of freedom and an active life. no lad ever sprang to his work with more alacrity, and, as he leaped into the boat, and the men dropped their oars, there was a hearty look of welcome in each smiling face. "she has just gone into the mist there, mr raystoke," said the lieutenant; "but she's making straight for that ledge, and you can't miss her. one moment. if the men seem all right and honest as to what they are going to do, see if you can get any information, but be on your guard, as they'll send you, perhaps, on some fool's errand." "ay, ay, sir!" cried archy again, as he took the handle of the tiller. "now, my lads, give way!" the mist was patchy, thin here and thick there, but it seemed an easy task to overtake the boat, which had glided into the fog, going slowly, with her little sail set, and with only a man and boy for crew. she was about a mile away from the cutter, and about a quarter of that distance from the land when she passed out of sight, and the possibility of not overtaking her never entered the midshipman's head. all the same, though, he was well enough trained in his duties to make him keep a sharp look-out on either side, as they crept in, to make sure that the boat did not slip away under the cliffs to right or left unseen. the mist grew more dense as they neared the towering cliffs. then it seemed to become thinner, and, just as the midshipman was thinking to himself how glorious it would be if the man and boy in the boat should prove to be his old friends ram and jemmy dadd, there came a peculiar squeaking sound from somewhere ahead. "lowering sail, sir," said dirty dick, who was pulling first oar. "then we have not missed them," thought archy, as the men pulled steadily on, with the rushing, plunging noise of the waves beginning to be heard as they washed the foot of the cliffs. "i'll be bound to say it is ram and that big scoundrel. oh, what a chance to get them aboard in irons and under hatches, for them to have a taste of what they gave me!" it seemed perfectly reasonable that those two should have been off somewhere in a boat, and were now returning. who more likely to be making for the ledge, which, as far as he could judge, was a point or two off to the right. all at once, after a few minutes' pulling, the boat glided right out of the bank of mist which hung between them like a soft grey veil, while in front, lit up by the first beams of the morning sun, was the great wall of cliff, the ledge over which the waves washed gently, the green pasture high up, and the ledges dotted with grey and white gulls. the picture was lovely in the extreme, but it wanted two things in archy's eyes to make it perfect; and those two things were a background formed by the great cliff, down which he had crept, and the feature which would have given it life and interest--to wit, the fishing-boat containing ram and jemmy dadd. "hold hard, my lads!" cried the midshipman, and the men ceased rowing, holding their oars balanced, with the diamond-like drops falling sparkling from their blades into the clear sea, while the boat glided slowly on towards the ledge, which was just in front. "why, where's the boat?" cried archy excitedly, as he swept the face of the cliff with his eyes. "she aren't here, sir," said dick. "well, i can see that, my man. can she have slipped aside and let us pass?" "no," said one of the other men. "'sides, sir, she was just afore us ten minutes ago, and we heard her lowering down her mast and sail." "could that have been a gull?" "what, make a squeal like a wheel in a block? no, sir, not it." "then they have run her up on the ledge and dragged her into one of the holes. give way!" the men pulled in quickly, and at the end of a few minutes they were as close to the side of the ledge as it was safe to go, for, as the waves ran in, the larger ones leaped right over the broad level space, washing it from end to end. but there was no sign of the boat, and the midshipman hesitated about believing that the man and boy could have taken advantage of a good wave and run her right on. "it's strange," said archy aloud, as he sat there thinking that, if he chose his time right, he might make his men pull the boat in upon a wave, let them jump out and drag her up the rocks. but he shook his head, for he knew that if everything was not done to the moment, the boat would be stove in. "hullo! what are you shaking your head about?" he said sharply to dick. "nothing sir, only you said it was strange." "well, isn't it strange?" "ay, sir; so's the _flying dutchman_!" "what? why, you do not think any of that superstitious nonsense about the boat, do you?" "well, sir, i dunno. i only says, where's the boat now? she couldn't have got away." "no," said another of the men. "she couldn't have landed there." "nonsense!" cried archy angrily. "absurd! who ever heard of a phantom lobster-boat?" dick shook his head, and then sat playing with the handle of his oar. "you dick," cried archy, "you're a goose! there, it will not be safe to land, my lads. here, you two jump ashore as we back in. mind, just as the sea's off the ledge; and run up and have a good look round." the boat was turned, backed in, and, seizing the right moment, the men jumped on to the rock just as the water was only ankle-deep, had a good search round, and came back, to be picked up again safely, though the boat was within an ace of being capsized. but they had seen nothing. there was no boat, and they searched along some distance east, turned back to the ledge and went west, still without elucidation of the mystery; then they went as close under the cliffs as they dared go, in the hope of finding some cavern or passage through the rocks that escaped notice from outside. all in vain, and, obeying the signal now flying on the cutter, the boat was rowed back. "well, mr raystoke, where's the boat?" "don't know, sir. we never got sight of her." "then you must have been asleep," cried the lieutenant angrily. "there, breakfast, my lads, and be smart." after the meal, gurr was left in the charge of the cutter, while the lieutenant accompanied archy to search for the high cliff which contained the old quarry, and they rowed east for a couple of miles in vain. but, after pulling back to the starting-point, and making for the other direction, they had not gone four hundred yards under the cliff before the midshipman exclaimed excitedly,-- "there; that's the place: there!" "then why didn't you say so when we were on deck? you could have seen it there." "i could not tell without seeing it close in, sir; and besides it looks so different from right out yonder." "but are you sure this is right?" "oh yes, sir. look, that's the place--where there is that narrow rift, and if you look high up there is a hole. there, i can see it plainly." "humph! can you? well, i cannot!" "but you can see that broad ledge, sir, about two hundred feet up. that's where i climbed down to, and we had the struggle--that boy and i." "no, i can't see any ledges, mr raystoke. there may be one there, but if you had not been upon it, i don't believe you would know that there was one." archy looked up at the towering pile of rock, and was obliged to own that he was right. he shivered slightly as he swept the face of the cliff for the various points that had helped him in his descent, and, as he gazed out there in cold blood, it seemed to have been an extremely mad idea to have attempted the descent. "well, it is impossible to land here," continued the lieutenant. "you are certain that this is the place?" "certain, sir." "good. then we'll go back to the cutter, and this evening a strong party shall land. i'll lead them myself, and we'll try and surprise them. it's quite likely that the signals i saw last night may mean business for to-night. if so, we shall be on the spot." "won't you go at once?" archy ventured to observe. "no, certainly not; what would be the good? we would be watched, of course, and the scoundrels would signal from hill to hill, and our every step would be known. this evening, my lad, at dusk. now, my lads, give way." the boat was rowed rapidly from under the shadow of the mighty cliff, and the midshipman could not repress a shudder as he noticed how swiftly the current ran right out to sea, and fully realised what would have been the consequences to any one who had tried to swim along the coast if he had managed to descend in safety to the cliff foot. back on board the cutter there was a fair amount of bustle and excitement among the men, for, after months of unfruitful hanging about the coast, chasing luggers which proved to be empty, following false leads to get them off the scent or out of the way when contraband goods were to be landed, here was genuine information at last, the smugglers having, after such long immunity, placed themselves in the hands of the king's men. consequently cutlasses were being filed up, pistols carefully examined as to their flints and nicked off to see that they threw a good shower of sparks into the pans, and the men sat and talked together as eagerly as if they were about proceeding upon a pleasant jaunt, instead of upon a risky expedition which might result in death to several, and certainly would in serious injury. "yes," the lieutenant said, "rats will run away as long as they can, but when driven to the end of their holes they will fight." "but will they dare, do you think, sir?" said archy. "dare! yes, my lad. you had a bit of a taste of it the other night when they were surprised in the lane. they will be more savage in their holes, and therefore, as you are so young, i should like you to go with the men, show them the way, and then leave them to do the work." archy stared at him. "yes: i mean it. of course as an officer you cannot shrink from your duty, but, as you are a mere boy, it is not your duty to go and fight against strong men who are sure to get the better of you." "but they are not all men there, sir," said the midshipman, with a look of disappointment getting heavier in his face. "there's a boy there-- that young rascal who came after the cow. i owe him such a thrashing that i must have a turn at him." "ah, that's different," said the lieutenant; "and it will keep up appearances. but take care to confine yourself to fighting with him. and--er--i would not use my pistol, raystoke." "not shoot, sir?" "well--no. i want to destroy this wasps' nest, but in as merciful a way as possible. i have given orders to the men, and i wish you to mind too--i don't want to kill the wasps, but to make them prisoners." "yes, sir, i see." "they are not french wasps, or dutch wasps, but english. you understand?" "quite, sir." "that's right. another hour and you may be off. you think you can find the place?" "i do not feel a doubt about it, sir." "well, it's going to be a dark night, and you and mr gurr will have to be careful over your men. you had better keep as close to the cliff as you can, for, of course, the entrance must be somewhere near. i have given mr gurr full instructions. you are to search and find the place, and if found hold it, but if you do not find it you will be back on board by daybreak, and another expedition must be made by day. if we can surprise them by night, when they think all is safe, it may save bloodshed. if we are obliged to go by day, they will have good warning, and be prepared to receive us, though they may be now. i wish i was going with you, but that cannot be." chapter thirty six. everything was arranged on board, so that no watcher armed with a glass who scanned the ship should suspect that an expedition was on hand; but as soon as it was dark the men were ordered into two boats, one commanded by gurr, with whom was archy, the other by the boatswain, only leaving a very small crew on board with the lieutenant. then they pushed off, rowing with muffled oars, and keeping right away from the cliffs, so that any watcher there should have no indication of their passing. the quiet little cove was still a couple of miles away, when archy suddenly touched the master's arm as he sat there holding his cutlass. "yes; what is it?" for answer the midshipman leaned forward, and pointed to where, far back and apparently opposite to the cutter, a couple of faint lights could be seen high up and away from the cliff. "humph! lights," said gurr; "but they may be up at some cottage. what do you think?" "i thought they might be signals." "well, my lad, if they be, it's to bring the smugglers ashore, where we may have the luck to be in waiting for 'em. but before that the skipper may have seen them, and, though he's short-handed, they could manage to shake out a sail or two, and manage a gun." "you would not put back, then, after seeing these lights?" "not likely, with the orders we've got, sir," said the master; and the men rowed on, and in due time reached the cove, where all was perfectly quiet, the tide falling, and as they landed quite a noisy tramp had to be made over the fine pebbles, in which the men's feet sank. a couple of men were left in charge of the boats, the others were formed up, and, after passing the cottages of the few fishermen of the place, the party struck off for the top of the cliffs, to follow the rugged, faint track which was more often lost, and the arduous tramp was continued hour after hour, till, partly from the schooner's lights, partly from his idea of the run of the coast, the late prisoner began to calculate that they must be approaching the land side of the large cliff. it had been a terrible walk in the darkness, for the cliff tops were as if a gigantic storm had taken place when that part of the coast was formed, and a series of mountainous--really mountainous--waves had run along and became suddenly congealed, leaving sharp-crested hill and deeply grooved valley, which had to be climbed and descended in turn, till the men vowed that the distance was double what it would have been by road, and they certainly were not exaggerating much. it was only here and there that the party had been able to follow the edge of the cliff. for the most part prudence forced them to keep well in, but at times they had some arduous climbs, and walked along the sides of slopes of thin short grass, covered with tiny snails, whose shells crushed beneath their feet with a peculiar crisp sound; and had it been daylight, the probabilities were that they would have given these risky spots a wider berth. "call a halt, gurr," whispered archy at last; and it was done. then, giving the master his ideas, the men were allowed a few minutes' breathing space before being formed in a line, with a space of a few yards between the men, one end of the line being close to the edge of the cliff, the other some distance inland. in this way the men were instructed to walk slowly on, scanning every depression and clump of bared stone carefully, and at a word uttered by the man who felt that he had found any place likely to prove to be an entrance to a cave or quarry, all were to halt, the word was to be passed along, and the officers were to examine the place before the line went on again. the plan was good, and the long line swept slowly along, the halt being called soon after they had started, but the stoppage was in vain, the midshipman and gurr finding before them only a rough piled-up collection of stones from which the earth had in the course of ages crumbled or been washed away. on again in the darkness, the officers pacing along portions of the line to urge on the men to be careful, and warning those near the cliff edge. the advice was needed, for all at once, just as archy was leaving the edge, there was a faint cry; the halt was called, and the young officer, closely followed by dick, went quickly to the spot from whence the cry had come. "it's bob harris, sir," said the last man they reached. "i see him a moment ago, and heard him cry out, and then he was gone." with his blood seeming to chill, archy crept in the darkness close to the cliff edge, to find that it sloped down where he stood. "give me your hand, dick," he whispered. "lie down, my lad, and i'll go down too," said the sailor in a husky voice, which told of the horror he felt. it was good advice, and the midshipman was putting it in force just as gurr came tearing up. "what is it?" he panted. "bob harris gone over, sir," whispered dick. "and no rope with us!" exclaimed the master. "see anything, my lad?" "yes; he is just below here on a ledge. hi! are you hurt?" "no, sir," came up faintly; "but i durstn't move, or i should go over." "lie still, then, till we pull you up. mr gurr, i can almost touch him. i could, if some one lowered me a little more." "no, no, my lad, no, no!" whispered the master. "here, dick, and you," he said in short, quick, decisive tones, as he lay down and looked over. "now, then, four more men here. now, who'll volunteer to lean over and get a good grip of him, while we hold by your legs?" "i will," said dick. "'spose i'm as strong as any on 'em. but who's going to hold my legs?" "two men, my lad, and there'll be others to hold them." "right," said dick shortly; and the men lay down, forming themselves into a human chain, the end of which dick was lowered slowly down the slope and over the edge. "look here, my man," said archy, as he lay with his head and chest over the edge of the awful precipice, listening to the faint beat of the waves, and involuntarily thinking of his adventure with ram, "as soon as dick grips you, get tight hold of him too." "ay," came up in a hoarse whisper. "please be quick. i feel as if i was going." "now," said the master, "ready, lads? steady! you, dick, give the word yourself to lower away." "ay, ay, sir; lower away." then again, "lower away! lower away!" the suspense in the darkness seemed strained to breaking point, and archy lay with his heart beating painfully, watching till it seemed as if the case was hopeless, and that if dick, now nearly off the cliff, could grip hold of the fallen man, they would never be able to get him and his burden back. "'nother inch," came up out of the void. "touched him. 'nother inch!" at each order, given in a hoarse, smothered way, the men shuffled themselves forward a little, and lowered dick down. "just a shade more, my lads," came up. "can't!" said one of the men who held one of dick's legs. "right. got him," came up, as a thrill of horror ran along the chain at that word _can't_. "haul away!" how that hauling up was managed the midshipman hardly knew, but he had some consciousness of having joined in the efforts made, by seizing one man of the human chain, and dimly seeing gurr and two other men of the group now gathered about them lend their aid. then there was a scuffling and dragging, a loud panting, and, with a few adjurations to "hold on," and "haul," and "keep tight," dick and the man he had been lowered down to save were dragged into safety. "phew!" panted dick. "look here, bob harris--never no more, my lad, never no more!" "bravely done, dick," whispered gurr. "thank ye, sir. but, never no more. i want to be a good mate to everybody, but this here's a shade too much." "and i'd take it kindly, master raystoke, sir," said the man the midshipman had gripped, "if nex' time, sir, you wouldn't mind grappling my clothes only. you're tidy strong now, and i can't `answer for my flesh', if you take hold like that." "hush! no talking," said the master. "dick, take the outside now, and be careful. form your line again. bob harris, take the far left." "well, master raystoke, sir," grumbled dick, "i call that giving a fellow a prize. saves that chap, and here am i." "post of honour, dick. go slowly, and not too near." "not too nigh it is, sir," said dick, with a sigh; and a minute later the word was given, and they went on once more. one hundred, two hundred, three hundred yards, but no sign. then a discovery was made, and by the midshipman. they had come to the descent on the far side of the vast hill by whose top they had been searching. there was a stiff slope beyond, and another mass of cliff loomed up, rising dimly against the sky, in a way that made archy feel certain that, though so far their search had been in vain, they had now before them the huge cliff which held the smugglers' store. the midshipman felt so assured of this, that he whispered his belief freely to gurr, as he encountered him from time to time perambulating the line of men, but the old master received the communication rather surlily. "all guess-work, my lad," he said. "we're working wrong way on. these great places would puzzle a monkey, and we shan't find the hole unless we come by daylight, and leave a boat off-shore to signal to us till we get over the spot." "what's that?" cried archy excitedly, as one of the men on his left uttered a sharp, "look out!" "sheep, i think, sir." "no, it was a dog," said another. "hi! stop him!" cried a third. "boy!" there was a rush here and there in the darkness, the line being completely broken, and the men who composed it caught sight from time to time of a shadowy figure to which they gave chase as it dodged in and out of the bushes, doubling round masses of weather-worn stone, plunging into hollows, being lost in one place and found in another, but always proving too active for its pursuers, who stumbled about among the rough ground and dangerous slopes. here for a moment it was lost in a damp hollow full of a high growth of mares-tail (_equisetum_), that curious whorled relic of ancient days; driven from that by a regular course of beating the ground, it led its pursuers upward among rough tumbled stones where the brambles tripped them, and here they lost it for a time. but, growing hotter in the chase, and delighted with the sport, which came like a relief from their monotonous toil, the jacks put their quarry up again, to get a dim view of it, and follow it in full cry, like a pack of hounds, over the rounded top of the hill, down the other side into a damp hollow full of tall reeds, through which the men had to beat again, panting and regaining their breath, but too excited by the chase to notice the direction in which they had gone, and beyond hearing of the recall shouted by their officers. the midshipman joined as eagerly in the chase as any of the men, forgetting at the moment all about discipline, formation, and matters of that kind, for in one glimpse which he had of the figure, he made certain that it was ram, whom they had surprised just leaving the entrance to the cave; and it was not until he had been joined in the hunt for about a quarter of an hour, that he felt that the men ought instantly to have been stopped, and the place around thoroughly searched. "how vexatious!" he cried to himself, as he panted on alone, always in dread of coming suddenly upon the edge of the cliff, and trembling lest in their excitement the men might go over. all regrets were vain now, and he kept on following the cries he heard, first in one direction and then in another, till at last, after a weary struggle through a great patch of brambles and stones, he found himself quite alone and left behind. but his vanity would not accept this last. "i've quite out-run them," he said, half aloud, as he peered round through the gloom, listening intently the while, but not a sound could be heard, and in his angry impatience he stamped his foot upon the short dry grass. "what an idiot i am for an officer!" he cried. "leading men and letting them bolt off in all directions like this. suppose the smugglers should turn upon us now!" "they would not have any one to turn upon," he added, after a pause. "well, it's all over with anything like a surprise," he continued, after a time, "and we must get back to the place where we started from, if we can find it." "i'll swear that was ram," he said, as he trudged on up a steep hillside; "and if they have caught him, we'll make him show us the way. stubborn brute! he was too much for me in the quarry, but out here with the men about, i'll make him sing a different tune." "where can they be?" he cried, after wandering about for quite half an hour. "why! ah!" he ejaculated. "i can see it all now. it was ram, and he was playing peewit. the cunning rascal! oh, if i only get hold of him! "yes; there's no doubt about it, and he has been too clever for us. he was watching by the entrance, and just as the men got up, and would have found it, he jumped up and dodged about, letting the men nearly catch him, and then running away and leading them farther and farther on." "never mind. i'll get the men together, and we'll go back to the place and soon find it. oh, how vexatious! which way does the sea lie?" there was not a star to be seen, and the night was darker than ever. he listened, but the night was too calm for the waves to be heard at the foot of the cliffs, and, gaze which way he would, there was nothing but dimly seen rugged ground with occasional slopes of smooth, short grass. "ahoy!" he cried at last, and "ahoy!" came back faintly. "hurrah!" he said, after answering again, and walking in the direction from which the cry came, downward in one of the combe-like hollows of the district. "no one need be lost for long, if he has a voice. don't hear any of the others though." he shouted again and again, getting answers, and gradually diminishing the distance, till he saw dimly the figure of a stoutly built man, and the next minute he was saluted with,-- "oh, it's you, is it, mr raystoke? pretty run you've led me. pray what sort of a game do you call this?" "game, sir!" said archy ruefully; "it's horribly hard work!" "hard work! to you, sir--a mere boy! then what do you suppose it is to me? i have hardly a breath left in me." "but where are the men mr gurr?" "the men, mr raystoke, sir? that's what i was going to ask you. now just have the goodness to tell me what you mean by forgetting all the discipline you have been taught, and leading these poor chaps off on such a wild-goose chase." "i, mr gurr?" said archy in astonishment. "yes, sir, you, sir. what am i to say to mr brough when we get back? i am in command of this expedition, and you lead the men away like a pack of mad march hares, and now i find you here without them. where are they?" "i don't know, sir." "you don't know!" "i thought they were with you." "and you took them away and left them?" "i didn't take them away!" cried the midshipman angrily. "then where are they, sir?" "i don't know. you were close by me when they rushed off after that boy." "sheep, sir." "no, no, mr gurr; boy--ram." "well, i said sheep, mr raystoke." "no, no, boy; that's his name--ram." "nonsense, sir; it was a sheep, and if it was not, it was a dog." "i tell you, sir, it was the smuggler's boy, ram,--the one who came aboard after the cow." "hang the cow, sir! i want my men. do you think i can go back on board without them. why, it's high treason for a naval officer to let one man slip away, and here you have let two boats' crews go. i say once more, how am i to face mr brough?" "i don't know, mr gurr," said archy, who was growing vexed now at the blame being thrown on his shoulders. "you were in command of the expedition, and the bosun was in charge of the second boat's crew. i don't see how i am to blame." "but you led the men away, sir." "not i, mr gurr. i joined in the chase, and i tried to get the boys together, but they scattered everywhere." "but it really is awkward, mr raystoke, isn't it?" "horribly, sir. got anything to eat?" "to eat? no, my lad. but--tut--tut--tut! i can't hear them anywhere." "nor i, sir." "well, we must not stand here. but what did you say?--i did not see what it was; they went off after a boy?" the master spoke so civilly now that archy forgot his anger, and entered into the trouble warmly. "yes," he said; "and it was a plan. that boy is as cunning as can be. we must have been close up to the way into the cave when he started out and led us all away from it." "eh?" "i say he jumped up and dodged about, knowing the place by heart, and kept hiding and running off again, to get us right away from the entrance." "that's it--that's it, mr raystoke. don't try any more, sir. you've hit it right in the bull's eye." "you think so?" "no, sir; i'm sure of it. a young fox. now as soon as we've taken him prisoner, i'll put the matter before mr brough in such a way that the young scamp will be tied up, and get four dozen on the bare back." "hadn't we better catch him first, mr gurr?" "right, mr raystoke. come on then; and the first thing is to get the men together. we shall catch him, never you fear that. these cunning ones generally get caught first. now then, sir, let's listen." they listened, but there was not a sound. "'pon my word! this is a pretty state of affairs!" cried the master. "what do you propose next?" "let's get right up to the top of this place and hail." "that's good advice, mr raystoke, sir: so come on." they started at once, and at the end of ten minutes they were at the top of a hill, but upon gazing round they could only dimly see other hills similar to the one on which they stood,--regular earth-waves of the great convulsion which had thrown the strata of the freestone shore into a state of chaos,--but nothing more. "i'll hail," said archy; and he shouted, but there was no reply. "the scoundrels!" cried the master angrily. "they're all together in some public-house drinking, and glad to get away from us. eh? what are you laughing at?" "there are no public-houses out in this wild place, mr gurr." "eh? well, no, i suppose not. i'll hail. ahoy?" a faint echo in reply. that was all. "which way shall we go?" "i don't know, mr gurr." "can't make out which is the north, can you?" "no, sir, nor the south neither." "humph! i think i could find the south if you told me which was the north," said the master drily. "well, we must do the best we can. let's strike along here. i seem to feel that this is the right direction." archy felt that it was the wrong direction, but, at he could not point out the right, he followed his leader for about a quarter of a mile, both pausing to shout and listen from time to time. all at once gurr came to a dead stop. "i feel as if we're going wrong," he said. "you choose this time." "let's try this way," said archy, selecting the route because it was down hill; but a quarter of an hour of this did not satisfy him, and he too stopped dead short. "i feel just as much lost as i did in the dark in that cave, mr gurr," he said. "never mind, my lad," said the master good-humouredly. "it's all an accident, and nobody's fault. wish i had my pipe." "ahoy!" shouted archy, but there was no reply. "i'd sit down and wait for morning, only conscience won't let me." "well, let's try this way," suggested archy. "seems to me, my lad, that it don't matter which way we take, we only go wandering in and out among the stones and brambles and winding all sorts of ways. never mind; we must keep moving, so come on." they trudged on for how long they could not tell, but both were getting exceedingly weary, and as ignorant now ever as to their whereabouts; for, whether the direction they followed was east, west, south, or north, there was no indication in the sky; and they kept on, always cautiously, in dread and yet in hope that they might come upon the edge of the cliff, which would solve their difficulty at once, if they could see the cutter's lights. "though that aren't likely, mr raystoke. strikes me that he'll lie there, and not show a light, on the chance of a smuggling lugger coming along, though that's hardly our luck." "i don't know," said archy bitterly. "seems just the time for her to come when the skipper's so short-handed that he can't attack." "yes, we are an unlucky craft and no mistake, and i 'most wish sometimes i'd never sailed in her. look here, for instance, here's a chance for us." "hist! listen!" whispered archy. "what is it?" "a hail right in the distance." "no such luck, my lad. i don't know how i'm going to face mr brough. hark!" "yes; there it is again, away to the left. yes; there it goes. ahoy!" they stopped and listened after the midshipman had hailed as loudly as he could; and, to the intense delight of both, the hail was responded to. hurriedly changing their direction, they went on as rapidly as the rough ground would allow, getting an answering hail every time they shouted, and each time louder, as if those who called were also coming toward them. ten minutes later they heard voices, by degrees these became a murmur, and they knew that there must be several of the men together. in another ten minutes they came upon a group steadily approaching. mutual inquiries took place. no, the men had not captured the fugitive, but they were sure it was a boy; dirty dick was ready to take an oath to that effect, but he was not asked. then came the important question--where were they? the boatswain gave it as his opinion that they had been going westward, but he could give no reason why; and it was decided to continue in that direction, after gurr had satisfied himself that the men were all present, though they learned that there had been a good deal of hailing before all were collected. they trudged on almost in silence, for the whole party were wearied out, till an announcement galvanised them all, for suddenly dick put an end to the question of their journeying west by suddenly shouting,-- "south ho!" "eh? what do you mean?" cried the master. "i know yon hill," said dick, pointing to an eminence dimly seen away before him. "that's just close to the cove, and if we keep straight on, we shall be in the road in less than half an hour, and at the boats ten minutes later." "no, no, my lad," said the master; "i don't think that's right.--yes, it is, my lad; i'm 'most sure of it now." right it was, as was proved a quarter of an hour later, by their striking the rough road at right angles, and there a halt was called. "don't seem any good to go searching along again in the dark, mr raystoke," said the master; and the boatswain shook his head decisively. "all 'bout done up," he growled. "we could do no good now," said archy, "for of course i am not sure where the entrance is." "must be getting toward morning too, and time to be aboard, mr raystoke. there, sir, sometimes we win and many more times we lose. we've lost this time, so let's go back aboard, according to orders. forward right, my lads, and let's make the best of it." "never mind, mr gurr," said archy in a low voice. "i was regularly in despair as i was being taken from one prison to be shut up in another, when i ran up against you. perhaps we may run up against the smugglers after all." "wish we might," said the master. "oh, how i could fight!" but they ran up against no smugglers on their way to the boats, which they hailed from the strand, where the water was very low; and soon after they were passing in the lowest of low spirits, out of the cove to the open channel, when once more every one was thrilled with excitement, for right away in the offing they heard a gun. chapter thirty seven. "can't be, sir," said gurr, as he tried to pierce the darkness, "because the skipper must be lying at anchor where we left him." "hah! see that?" cried archy, as the men bent to their oars and made the now phosphorescent water flash. "only the oars, lad. water brimes." _thud_! came the report of a heavy gun. "you're right, lad! 'twas the flash from a gun. some one's pursuing of something. pull away, my lads, let's get aboard, and the skipper may join in. bah! what's the good o' shore-going? man's sure to get wrong there." the men forgot their weariness in the excitement, as they realised that some vessel was in chase of a smuggler, but they murmured among themselves at their ill luck at being away from the cutter; for if they had been aboard at the first shot, the anchor would have been weighed or slipped, and the _white hawk_ gone to see what was going on, probably to help capture a heavily laden smuggler craft. "and we should have took our share, lads," said dick in a whisper. "hey, boot we are out o' luck." "don't sit muttering and grumbling there, my lad, but pull hard, and let's get aboard," cried the master, and the oars dipped away in the dark sea, seeming to splash up so much pale lambent fire at every stroke. but this was no novelty to the men, and the boats sped on, one in the other's wake, with the crew straining their heads over their left shoulders to catch a glimpse of the next flash which preceded the gun. "good six mile away from where we are now," said gurr. "oh, my lad, my lad, i wish we were aboard." but it was a long pull from the cove to where the cutter lay, nearly a mile and a half from the shore, and, though the master and archy kept straining their eyes to catch sight of their little vessel, she was invisible. as they rowed on, they kept on increasing their distance from the shore, steering so as to pass along one side of a right-angled triangle, instead of along by the cliff and then straight off; but, as the cutter showed no lights, this was all guess-work, and made the task rather anxious. the firing kept on, the dull thud of the gun being preceded by the flash, and at each notification of a shot the men gave such a tug at the stout ash blades that they bent, and the boat leaped through the water. "hurrah! morning," cried archy, and the men answered his remark with a cheer, for there was a grey light coming fast now in the east, but, to the utter astonishment of all, the cutter did not become visible. they gazed round excitedly as the light broadened, but there was no cutter where they expected she would be, but ten minutes later, dimly seen as yet, they made her out miles away under full sail, in chase of a long, low, three-masted lugger, at which she was keeping up a slow and steady fire. the men cheered as the direction of the boats' heads was changed. "pull, my lads, pull!" cried master and boatswain. the men responded with another cheer, and the water rattled under their bows. "it's a long pull," cried the master; "but as soon as she sees us, she'll run down and pick us up." "hurrah!" shouted the men. "well done, mr brough, well done!" cried gurr excitedly. "think of him, with hardly a man to help him, sailing the cutter, and keeping up a steady fire like that. oh, mr raystoke, why aren't we aboard?" "ah, why indeed? there she goes again. i say, mr gurr, won't she be able to knock some of her spars overboard." "i wish i was aboard the lugger with an axe," growled gurr, shading his eyes; and then, placing his foot against the stroke oar, he gave a regular thrust with the man's pull, a plan imitated by the boatswain on board the other boat. the light increased rapidly now, and the soft grey sky gave promise of a glorious day, but this did not take the attention of those on board the boats, who could see nothing but the lugger trying to escape, and gradually growing more distant, while the cutter kept on slowly, sending a shot in her wake, evidently in the hope of bringing down one of her masts. "what boat's that, mr gurr?" said archy at last, drawing the master's attention to one in full sail in the opposite direction to that in which they were going. "dunno, my lad. never mind her. lobster, i should say." "looks fast and smart for a lobster-boat," thought archy, as he kept glancing at the craft, whose aspect seemed to have a strange attraction for him alone. in fact, every eye was fixed upon the two vessels in the offing, while it seemed to archy that the boat, which was sailing rapidly, had changed her course on seeing them, and was trying to get close up under the cliffs, apparently to reach the cove from which they had come. there was nothing suspicious in a sailing-boat making for the cove, but, as the middy looked at it, the boat heeled over in a puff of wind, and he fancied that he caught sight of a familiar figure behind the sail. it was only a momentary glance, and directly after he told himself it was nonsense, for the figure which had started up in the night, away on the cliff was ram shackle, and he could not be in two places at once. "we shall never do it, my lads," said the master suddenly. "easy--easy. it's of no use to break your backs, and your hearts too. she's sailing two knots to our one. easy in that boat," he shouted. "we can't do it." a low murmur arose from both crews. "silence there!" shouted gurr. then, more gently, "i don't want to give it up, but you can see for yourself, bo's'n, we can't do it." "no," came back abruptly. "it would only be hindering her too. no, mr raystoke, it's only our old bad luck, and common sense says it's of no use to fight again it." "mr gurr," said archy excitedly, speaking with his eyes fixed on the sailing-boat. "yes, my lad, what is it?" "do you think it possible that yonder boat has had anything to do with the lugger?" "eh? what?" cried the master sharply. "haven't got a glass. i dunno. they're such a set of foxes about here that she might." he shaded his eyes with his hand, and took a long look at her, and once more a puff of wind caught her sail and heeled her over, so that he could get a good look over her side. she was about a mile away, and well in toward the shore, keeping far enough from the cliffs to catch the land breeze, and now, as the task of catching up the cutter was given up as impossible, the boat took the attention of all. "why, she's got a lot of men in her," cried gurr excitedly; "nine or ten lying down in her bottom." "yes," cried archy; "and it doesn't take ten men to catch a lobster." "ahoy, bo's'n!" cried gurr; "pull off to the west'ard sharp, and cut off that boat if she makes for that way. try and head her in under the cliff where there's no wind, if she tries to pass you. look out! she has a lot of men on board." the direction of the second boat was altered at once, the men began to pull hard; and just as a dull thud from seaward told that the _white hawk_ was still well on the heels of her quarry, the first boat turned smartly and began to chase. "i hope you're right, mr raystoke," said the master. "i should like to have one little bit o' fun before we go back aboard. ah, look at her! she don't mean us to overhaul her. be smart, my lads. don't cheer, but seem to be taking it coolly. you're right, mr raystoke," he added a minute later; "there's something wrong with that boat, or she would not want to run away." for the direction of the little yawl they were making for was suddenly changed, and it was evident that, seeing how the second boat, commanded by the boatswain, was going to head her off from the west, she was being put on the other course, so as to run east. but the first boat was going rapidly through the water now, and a turn of the helm changed her course, so that it would be easy to cut the yawl off from going in the new direction, while an attempt to pass between the boats and head straight for sea was also met by the steersmen of the pursuers. "why, what's she going to do?" said gurr. "ah, my lad, it's all a flam. only a lobster-boat after all. she's going to run in under the cliffs where there's no wind, and of course it's to take up her lobster-pots." "if she was only going to take up lobster-pots she wouldn't have tried to run," said archy sharply. "i'd overhaul her, mr gurr." "going to, my lad. don't you be scared about that. i'll overhaul her, if it's only to get some fresh lobsters for breakfast. there, i told you so," he continued, after a few minutes' interval, during which the boat was sailing straight in for the cliffs, about five hundred yards away from the landing ledge, away to the west; and as the master spoke the mainsail was rapidly lowered, the jib dropped, and those in the _white hawk's_ leading boat saw that there was a good deal of busy work on board; and before they had recovered from their surprise, several men rose up, oars were thrust over now that the wind had failed, and, with eight men pulling, they were going straight for the cliff. "smugglers!" shouted gurr excitedly. "jump up, mr raystoke, and signal the bo's'n to come on. we shall have a prize after all, though it's only a little one. pull my lads, pull?" the smugglers' boat was now about half a mile away, the men in her pulling with all their might, but the king's boat was the more swift, though after a few minutes' chase it was evident that the start was in the smugglers' favour. "hang them! they're going to run ashore. they've got a nook there, i'll be bound, and as soon as they're landed they'll be scuffling up the side of the cliff. pull, my lads, and as we reach the rock, out with you and chase them; you can climb as well as they can. if they're getting away, cover them with your pistols, and tell 'em they shall have it if they don't surrender." the excitement was now tremendous: the cutter's boat was going fast, and the second boat was closing up, so that it would be impossible for the smugglers to escape by sea. and now, as they drew nearer, archy saw that his first surmise was right: ram was in the boat, and right forward, his red cap showing out plainly in the morning light. jemmy dadd was there too, and shackle, beside the big dark fellow who had tricked the lieutenant, while the rest of the crew were strong-looking fellows of the fisherman type. "now then there!" shouted gurr, rising up, but retaining his hold of the tiller with one hand. "it's of no use. surrender!" a yell of derision came from the boat, and ram jumped up and waved his red cap, with the effect that it seemed as if some of the dye had been transferred to archy's face, which a minute sooner had been rather pale with excitement. "pull, my lads, pull, and you'll have them before they land!" cried the master, stamping his foot. "here, take the tiller, mr raystoke;" and he shifted his position, passed the tiller to archy, and stood up and drew his sword. "starboard a little--starboard!" he said. "run her right alongside, my lad; and you, my men, never mind your oars, the others'll pick them up. the moment we touch, up with you, out with your cutlashes, and down with any man who does not surrender." "ay, ay, sir!" cheered the men. "now, then," shouted gurr, "do you surrender?" a derisive laugh came from the smugglers, who pulled their hardest, pretty closely followed by the king's boat, when, just as they seemed to be coming stem on to the rocks at the foot of the cliff, the four men on the starboard side suddenly plunged their oars down deep, backing water, while the men on the larboard pulled furiously, the result being that the head of the boat swung round, and she glided right out of sight behind a tall rock, which seemed part of the main cliff from a few yards out. a fierce cry of rage came from the master, but he was quick at giving directions, checking the course of his boat, and then proceeding cautiously; and having no difficulty in following under a low archway for some twenty yards,--a passage evidently only possible at extreme low water,--and directly after they were out again in broad daylight, and at the bottom of a huge funnel-like hollow, from which the rocky cliffs rose up some three hundred feet. it was a marvellously beautiful spot, but the occupants of the _white hawk's_ boat had only eyes then for the smugglers, who had run their boat into a nook just across the bottom of the pool, and they had had time to leap on to the rock, and were rapidly climbing a rough zigzag path. "and us never to have been along here at the right time of the tide to find this hole!" thought archy, as, in obedience to a sign, he steered the boat across the beautiful transparent pool, and laid her alongside the smugglers boat. then oars were thrown down, the men sprang across the smugglers' craft, and, headed by archy and gurr, began to climb rapidly after their enemies. "it's of no use to call upon them to surrender," said gurr rather breathlessly, as they toiled up the zigzag. "we'll make them do it later on," cried archy, whose youth and activity helped him to get on first. "steady, my lad, steady!" "but i want to see which way they go." "right, but keep out of danger, my lad. if they show fight, keep back." archy heard, but made no reply, and toiled on up the rugged ascent, straining every nerve as he saw the last smuggler disappear over the top, and, at the next turn he made in the zigzag, he caught a glimpse of the ascent from top to bottom, with the sailors climbing up, and just then there was a fresh cheer, which made him turn swiftly again, to look round and see the second boat gliding through the rocky arch into the pool. it was rather risky, for he was on a narrow slippery place at one of the turns of the _zigzag_, and nearly lost his footing, but, darting out a hand, he caught at the rock, recovered himself, and climbed on, to reach the top just in time to see ram's red cap disappearing some four hundred yards away over a rounded eminence due west of where he stood. he glanced down again, and then, breathless as he was, ran on over the down-like hillside till he reached the spot where he had seen ram's red cap disappear, and here he stopped, to make sure of mr gurr seeing the direction he had taken, standing well up with his sword raised above his head in the bright sunshine. there was nothing visible but soft green rolling cliff top, and he looked vainly for some sign of the enemy, eager to go on, but taught caution, and not knowing but what ram might have taken one direction to lure the pursuers away, while the men were in hiding in another. but, as he waited and scanned the place around, he suddenly caught sight of what seemed to be a rift against the sky in the edge of a cliff which rose up rapidly, and his heart gave a great throb. "let ram play what tricks he likes," he said, "i know where i am now." "well, my lad, well!" panted gurr, running up, followed by the men. "don't say they've got away!" "no," cried archy excitedly. "i think i can lead you to the foxes' hole. this way." and, as he spoke, there came in rapid succession a couple of dull thuds from seaward, and a cheer from the crew behind, as, led by archy raystoke, the men now went over the undulating cliff top at a trot. chapter thirty eight. the discovery of the way through the cliff made clear to archy several matters connected with the appearance and disappearance of ram and his companion with the boat, for upon more than one occasion it had seemed impossible that they could have rowed six miles to the cove and come back again. and, excited as the midshipman was, these ideas occurred to him while running along over the top of the down-like cliff. on looking back beyond the first boat's crew, the head of the second crew could be seen as they reached the top of the zigzag path, where the boatswain waited till the last man was up, and then gave the word for them to double after their fellows. seeing that he was so well supported, the master felt that he was ready for any force the smugglers might have to back them up, and, turning to archy, he suggested that the midshipman should point out the way into the smugglers' cave, and then leave them to do the work. "it will be time enough to talk about that, mr gurr," said archy rather breathlessly, "when we have found the place." "but i thought you had found it, my lad!" "after the tricks played us, i shall not be certain until i see you all right in the cave." "but you think it's close here?" "yes; unless i am quite wrong, the old quarry is in that great cliff where the grass runs right up to the edge." "then if it's there, and those fellows have gone in, we'll find the way, and go in too." "oh!" ejaculated archy, stopping short. "what's the matter, lad?--hurt?" "no. the place is dark as pitch, and we have no lights." "then we'll strike some with our pistol locks, and set fire to some wood. never mind the lights. if it's light enough for them, it will be light enough for us, lad. let's find the way in, and that will be enough. they won't show fight. let's get on, and we shall be marching them all out tied two and two before they're much older." the party kept on along the rugged undulating top of the cliffs, till, after a careful inspection in all directions, archy declared that they must now be over the cavern. the second boat's crew had overtaken them now, and, upon receiving this information, the master spread his men out a few yards apart, to sweep the ground after the fashion observed on the previous night. "you must find it now, my lads," he said. "i should say what you've got to look for is a hole pretty well grown over with green stuff right up at the end of a bit of a gully, and looking as if no one had been there for a hundred years." "yes, something like the mouths of the old quarries we have seen," added archy. "then there's something of the sort down yonder," cried dick, pointing to a spot where the ground seemed to have sunk down. "yes," cried archy eagerly; "and that's the place. look here, mr gurr." "what at, my lad?" "the grass." "well, we want to find smugglers, not grass, my lad." "yes, but don't you see that some one has gone over here lately. the dew is all brushed off, and you can see the footmarks." "i can't, my lad. perhaps you can with your young eyes." "oh, it's all right," growled the boatswain. "keep a sharp look-out, then, and mind no one gets by." the little force advanced, with the men spread out to right and left, the officers in the centre, following the trail which led right to the gully-like depression, once doubtless a well-worn track, but now completely smoothed over and grass-grown; and there, sure enough, as discovered only a short time before by celia, was the scooped-out hollow filled with fern, bramble, and wild clematis, and the rough steps down, and the archway dimly seen beyond the loose stones. "halt!" cried the master; and, after a careful inspection had shown that the footprints in the dewy grass had gone no farther than the entrance, the men were called up, and stood round the pit. there it all was, exactly as archy had pictured it in his own mind: the loose stones at the bottom of the hole covering, he was sure, the trap-door he had so often heard opened and shut; but, as he went down a few steps in his eagerness, and scanned the place, he was puzzled and disappointed; for the trap-door, if that was the spot where it lay, was covered, and therefore the men could not be in the cave. "bad job we've got no lanthorns," said gurr, who was looking over archy's shoulder at the low-browed arch of the passage leading right in; "and it looks bad travelling, but in we've got to go if they won't surrender. let me go first, my lad." for answer the midshipman went down to the bottom of the rough steps, and stood over the trap-door on the loose stones. "no, no, my lad," said gurr kindly, as he joined him. "too rough a job for you. i'll lead, and, hang it! i shall have to crawl. not very good work for one's clothes. come along, my lads. you, mr raystoke, and four men stop back, and form the reserve, to take prisoner any one who tries to escape." the men descended till every step was occupied, the little force extending from top to bottom. "stop a minute, mr gurr. let the bo's'n guard the entry here; i must go with you to act as guide." "it aren't all passage, then, like this?" "no; it's a great open place supported by pillars, big enough to lose yourselves in. but stop; that can't be the way, sir." "oh, hang it all, my lad!" cried the master in disappointed tones. "don't say that." "but i do," cried archy. "there ought to be a trap-door covered with stones leading down a place like a well." "yes; that's what we've come down." "no, no, another. i think it was down here." he stamped his foot on the loose stones, and then uttered a cry of joy, for there was a curious hollow sound, and on stooping down he pulled away some of the great shaley fragments, and laid bare a rough plank with a bolt partly visible. "right! got 'em at last," cried gurr. "clear off more stones, my lads. no; stop!" he said. "yes, i know what you are thinking, mr gurr," said archy. "the men couldn't have shut themselves in there." "course not, my lad. but you are right, that's the way down to their curiosity shop, and they're hiding in this hole here." then, thrusting in his head, and holding on by the rugged stones, he shouted into the hollow passage,-- "now then, my lads, out you come!" a pause. "d'yer hear? the game's up, and if you don't come out quietly, we shall have to fetch you out on the rough." still no reply. "come, come, my lads, no nonsense! surrender. i don't want to use pistols and cutlashes to englishmen. you know the game's up. surrender." still no reply. "i don't think that hole goes in far, mr raystoke," whispered the master. "there's no echo like, and it sounds smothered." then aloud,-- "now, then, is it surrender? oh, very well; i've got some nice little round messengers to send in after you." he drew a pistol from his belt and cocked it, winking at archy as he did so. "now, then, once--twice--fire!" he pointed the mouth of the pistol downward, and drew the trigger, and in the semi-darkness below the overhanging brambles and clematis there was a dull flash, the report sounded smothered, and the place was filled with the dank, heavy-scented smoke. "there's precious little room in there," whispered the master. "if there'd been much of it, we should have heard the sound go rolling along instead of coming back like a slap in the face. here, one of you, reload that. you, dick, follow me. if they show fight, you come on next, bo's'n, with the whole of your boat's crew." "ay, ay, sir." "hi! in there. do you surrender?" there was not a sound, and, after a momentary pause, the master spat in his fist, gripped his cutlass, went down on all fours, after driving his hat on tightly, and crawled into the hole, followed by dick. "keep a cheery heart on it, lad," said one of the men just before to dick. "we'll fetch you out and bury you at sea." dick drove his elbow into the man's chest for an answer, grinned as he felt the point of his cutlass, and dived into the hole, while the boatswain and his men stood waiting eagerly, ready to plunge forward at the first sound of a scuffle. archy peered in at the dark passage, his heart beating as he listened to the noise made by the two men crawling in, and the last of the two had hardly disappeared when there was a shout, a scuffle, and the boatswain plunged in. "all right!" they heard gurr say. "i've got him. hold still, you varmint, or i'll cut your ears off. here, dick, get by me, and go forrard if you can." there was more scuffling, and the rattle of a stone or two, as the listeners pictured in their own minds the man squeezing past the master and his prisoner, and then dick's voice came out in a half smothered way: "can't get no farther. all choked-up." "all right, then, but make sure." "oh, i'm sure enough," said dick. "it's all a stopper here." "then out you come, my lad," said the master; and the next minute his legs were seed as he backed out, dragging evidently some one after him who was resisting. "here, dick," came in smothered tones. "ay, ay, sir." "says he won't come. if he gives me any more of his nonsense, touch him up behind with the pynte of your cutlash." "ay, ay, sir." "yah! cowards!" came in angry tones. "ram!" exclaimed archy, as the boy, looking hot and fierce, was dragged out by the master, to stand looking round him as fiercely as a wild cat. "hullo!" cried archy. "it's my turn now, ram;" but he repented his words directly, as he saw the reproachful look the boy darted at him. then he forgot all directly, as he exclaimed,-- "i see, mr gurr, i see! the smugglers are down here after all, and they left this boy behind to fasten the door, and cover it over with stones." unable to contain himself, ram thoroughly endorsed the midshipman's words by giving an angry stamp upon the bottom of the hole. "that's it!" cried gurr. "here, chuck these stones into the passage, my lads;" and the rough trap-door was laid bare, the two bolts by which it was secured were seen to be unfastened, and the lock unshot. "no way out, mr raystoke, is there?" "no." "then we've got 'em trapped safe this time," said gurr, as the door was thrown open. "bad job we've no lanthorns; but never mind, my lads. if they won't surrender, you must feel your way with the pyntes of your toothpicks." there was a murmur of excitement among the men, and then gurr leaned down over the hole, put his hand to his mouth, and shouted,-- "below there! in the king's name--surrender!" his words went rolling and echoing through the place, but there was no reply. "once more, my lads, to save bloodshed, will you surrender?" no reply. "very well. it's your fault, my lads, and very onsensible. bo's'n, it's a big place, and i shall want all my men. you're all right here; with one you ought to be able to hold this." "and the prisoner?" "no; we'll take him with us. here, lash his hands behind him, and tie his legs together. we'll lay him down to have a nap somewhere yonder down below. that's right," he continued, as a man produced a piece of line, and firmly secured the boy, who was lowered down to one of the men who had descended, laid on the stones in a corner at the bottom; and then, after giving the word to be ready, gurr braced himself up. "you'll stop aside me, mr raystoke, and try and guide." "yes, sir." "you understand, bo's'n, down with the first who tries to escape up the hole here." "ay, ay." "then, now, forward!" cried gurr; and, closely followed by archy and his men, he descended into the old quarry, and then stood listening at the top of the slope, before preparing to advance into the enemy-peopled darkness right ahead. chapter thirty nine. archy felt his heart throb as he led the way down the slope, every step of which seemed so familiar that he advanced without hesitation, the knowledge of how many sturdy men he had at his back keeping away the natural shrinking which under other circumstances he might have felt. "halt!" said the master suddenly, and then in a whisper to his guide, "strikes me as they'll have the best of it if they should fight, my lad." "not much," replied archy; "it's as dark for them as it is for us, so that they can't take us at a disadvantage. call on them to surrender again." "ay, to be sure," cried the master; and once more he summoned the smugglers to give in. there was not a sound to suggest that his orders were heard. "don't know what to do, my lad," whispered the master again. "if we go forward, we're leaving the way open for the enemy to attack the watch at the entrance, and we don't want that. are you sure they're here?" "i feel certain of it," said archy in the same low tone. "they must be, but they're hiding, so as to try to escape, or else to take us at a disadvantage." "well," said gurr, "let them. so long as they come out and fight fair, i don't care what they do. here, four of you stop here; dick, take command. we'll go forward and turn the enemy, and try to take them in the rear. stand fast if they come at you; no pistols, but use your cutlasses. we shall come up to you at the least sound, to help." the men uttered a low, "ay, ay, sir," speaking as if they were oppressed by the darkness, and the master whispered. "now, my lad," he said, "try and give us the shape of the place like." archy obeyed, and explained where the smugglers' stores lay, and the pile of little kegs, if they had not been moved, the place where he had slept, and the positions of the huge pillars and heaps of broken stones. "and you was shut up here all that time, and didn't go mad!" said gurr. "well, you are a wonder! tell you what, my lad, i should just like to make sure that those brandy kegs are still here, and then i think we'll be off, and come back with lights. there's no one here but ourselves. place isn't big enough for any one to be hiding without our hearing them?" "plenty, mr gurr," said archy firmly; "and i am sure they are here; but it is impossible to search without lights. they may be hiding behind the pillars or piles of stone. have lights got as soon as possible, and then we can come and make them prisoners." all this was said in a hurried whisper, as the two stood together in front of their men, and in absolute darkness, for they had advanced into the place far enough for the faint light which filtered down from the trap-door to be completely lost. "yes; but i'd like to be able to tell the skipper that we have got something in the way of a prize for the men. can you lead us to it, my lad?" "but you couldn't take it away." "well, we might carry one keg aboard, as a sample. now then, where will it be from here?" "give me your hand, and i'll lead you right to it." "there you are. take care how you go. can you keep close behind us, my lads? better join hands. now then, are you ready?" "ay, ay," came in a low murmur; and, grasping the master's hand, archy led on, fully believing that the smugglers were still there, but feeling that they would keep in hiding, and try to escape when they were gone. "say, my lad," whispered the master, "i pity you--i do from my soul. think of you being shut up all alone in a place like this! hah! look out!" the order was needless, for the smugglers gave every one warning to do that. one moment the king's men were advancing cautiously through the darkness, the next, without a sound to warn them, there was a rush; blows fell thick and fast, cudgel striking head, cutlass, shoulder, anything that opposed the advance; and in less time than it takes to describe the encounter, the sailors were beaten down or aside, and the party of four, who were warned of what to expect by the noise in their front, advanced to the help of their friends, but only to be beaten down or aside by the gang which rushed at them. "stop them, dick. down with them!" shouted the master, as soon as he could get on his feet. "hi, dick! pass the word to the bo's'n to look out. here, mr raystoke! hi, bo's'n, down with that trap and make it fast. mr raystoke, i say, where are you? which way is it? who's this?" "no, no, sir," cried one of them; "it's on'y me." "mr gurr! here!" cried archy. "where are you?" "at last. where were you, then?" "on the stones, half stunned," cried archy. "here, all get together and follow me." "what are you going to do?" "make for the trap-door--sharp! they're fighting there." "oh, dear, who'd have thought it was this way!" grumbled the master. "talk about blind man's buff! sure you're going right, lad? shall i fire a pistol to make a flash?" "no; i know." "hah!" cried gurr, as an echoing bang ran through the great cavern. "bravo, bo's'n!" the bang was followed by a heavy rattling sound perfectly familiar to archy, as he hurried the master along to the foot of the slope. "are you all there?" cried archy. "yes,"--"no,"--"no," came from different directions. "then keep up this way, and be ready for another rush." "ay," cried the master loudly; "and i warn you fellows now, i'd have treated you easy; but if you will have it, the word's war, and a volley of bullets next time you come on." "no, no, don't fire! you'll hit our own men," whispered archy, as he reached the top of the slope. "ah! who's this?" he cried, as he nearly fell over a prostrate figure. "steady, my lad, steady!" "steady it is," said another voice. "what, bo's'n?" "yes, sir, and me too. oh, my head! how it bleeds!" "why, what are you doing here?" "they came at us, sir, like mad bulls, and 'fore i knew where i was they had me. pair o' hands pops up out of the hole, takes hold of my legs, and i was pulled down, had a crack of the head, was danced on, and here i am, sir." "and me too, sir," said the other voice. "but, i'm much worse than him." "but the smugglers?" "all seemed to come over us, sir; banged the door down, and they've been rattling big stones on it. there, you can hear 'em now." in corroboration of the boatswain's words, there was a dull thunderous sound overhead, as of great stones being thrown down over the trap-door, and all listened in silence for a time till the noise ceased. the silence was broken by gurr, who suddenly roared out, as if he had only just grasped the position,-- "why, they've got away!" "every man jack of 'em, sir, and they all walked over me." "and they've shut us in!" "yes, mr gurr," said archy sadly; "they've shut us in." "but if they were here," cried the master; "that's what i wanted to do to them. i say, mr raystoke, you've done it now." half angry, half amused, but all the while smarting with the pain caused by a blow he had received, archy remained silent, listening to the heavy breathing and muttering of his companions in misfortune. the sounds above ground had ceased, and it was evident that the smugglers had made good their escape. again the silence was broken by the master, who raging with pain and mortification, exclaimed,-- "well, mr raystoke, sir, you know all about this place; which is the way out?" "up above here, mr gurr, close to where we stand." "very well, sir; then why don't you lead on?" "because they have shut and fastened the trap, and heaped about a ton of stone upon it." "well, then, we must hack through the door with our cutlashes, and let the stone down." "what's that?" cried archy excitedly,--"a light!" for there was a dull report and a flash of blue like lightning; and, running down the slope, the midshipman beheld that which sent a thrill of terror through him. for, away toward the far end of the cave, there was a great pool of flickering blue light; and, as it lit up the ceiling and the huge square stone supports of the place, he saw that which explained the meaning of what had seemed to be a wonderful phenomenon. there, beyond the flickering pool of blue and yellow flame, which was rapidly spreading in every direction, he could dimly see quite a wall of piled-up kegs, one of which lay right in the edge of the pool of fire, and suddenly exploded with a dull report, which blew the tongues of fire in all directions, half extinguishing them for the moment, but instantaneously flashing out again in a volume of fire, which quadrupled the size of the pool, and began to lick the sides of the kegs. "the wretches! they fired the spirits before they escaped," cried archy, who realised to the full what had been done; and, for the sake of our common humanity, let us say it must have been an act of vindictive spite, aimed only at the destruction of the proof spirit, so that it might not fall into the sailors' hands--not intended to condemn them to a hideous death. "back quick to the entrance! we must hack down that door," roared archy. "ay, ay," shouted the men, who the moment before were mad with terror, but who leaped at the command as if their safety were assured. "no, no!" shouted the midshipman, as a fresh keg exploded; and in the flash of flame which followed, the place glowed with a ghastly light. "yes, sir, yes!" shouted the men. "i tell you no," cried archy; "we should be burned or suffocated long before we could get that open." and, as in imagination he saw the men fighting and striving with one another to get to the trap-door, which remained obstinately closed, he clapped his hand on mr gurr's shoulder. "i know another way," he cried. "follow me." "hurrah!" yelled the men, and the lad had taken a dozen steps toward the pool of fire, when a wild shout came from near the entrance. "all! who's that?" cried archy, as he mentally saw a wounded man being left behind. "don't leave a poor fellow to be burnt to death, mr raystoke," cried a familiar voice. "ram!" cried archy, running back to where the boy lay bound behind a pile of stones, forgotten for the time, and unheeded by his companions. "yes, it's me," said the boy excitedly. "quick! get up. can you walk?" said archy, cutting him free. "yes," cried the lad. "then come on!" "for the top passage," whispered ram. "that's the only way now." "yes. follow me." the midshipman had hardly given the command when there was another explosion, a fresh flash of fire, which nearly reached them, and he saw beyond the dancing tongues of flame the black opening he sought. but this fresh explosion--one of which he knew scores must now rapidly follow--checked him for the moment, and he saw that ram had disappeared. "it's our only chance, my lads," cried archy. "are you all ready?" "ay, ay." "hold your breath, then, as you get to the fire, and follow me." "through that blaze, my lad?" whispered the master. "yes. don't stop to talk. now, then," roared archy, "come on!" "hurrah!" cried the men wildly; and archy dashed forward, but was thrown back, and had to retreat, as a fresh keg exploded and added to the size of the pool, now almost a river of fire many yards wide. "it's now or never!" cried archy frantically, and he rushed into the blue flames, which leaped about his feet and up as if to lick his face. a dozen strides, splashing up blue fire at every step, and he was through it, and where a faint current of cold air seemed to be meeting him. almost as he reached the farther side, the men came leaping and yelling after him, to stand beating the tongues of fire from their feet and legs. _bang_--_bang_--a couple more explosions, and the men crowded up to archy, the master included, as if to ask what next. "are you all here?" "ay, ay, sir." "and that boy?" "i'm here," cried ram. "quick, before they all go off." "yes," said archy. "forward!" he led the way into the darkness once more, but into an atmosphere which he could breathe. then up the familiar way, with its rugged steps, and on to the newly mortared wall, with its loophole, through which the glorious light of day streamed. "now, my lads, cutlasses here. that wall's new. four of you work, and loosen the stones, the others take them and throw them back below." the men cheered, and, headed by mr gurr and dick, worked as they had never worked before. the stones were hard to move at first, but it was child's play compared to the toil through which the young midshipman had gone when he attacked the wall. first one yielded, then another, and, as they were dragged out, the men cheered, and passed them back to those down the rough steps. with every stone removed, hope strengthened the little party; but as the explosions followed fast, and the flames began to flicker and play up the passage in which they were penned, archy closed his eyes for a few moments to mutter a prayer, for his thoughts were getting wild. just then, he knew that some one else thought as he did, for a hand touched his arm, and a voice whispered,-- "it wasn't my fault. it must have been jemmy dadd. i say--case they can't make a way out in time--shake hands once, mate. i do like you." something like a hysterical sob burst from the young midshipman's breast at this; and, facing death as he was just then,--a horrible death which might follow at any moment,--the lad's hand grasped that of his young gaoler--officer and smuggler, but both boys of one blood, who had fought each according to his lights. "hah!" sighed ram, as he gripped hard, and then let go. "now, then, tell 'em to shove the stones, sharp, and let 'em fall out. quick! before the powder ketches." "powder?" said archy in an awe-stricken whisper. "yes; there's a lot not far from the kegs." the men cheered, as the fresh order was given, and a new set took the places of those who were growing weary, sending the stones out rapidly, till there was room for a man to creep through. "here, ram, you through first, and show them how to climb on the shelf." "no, no, you lead, mr raystoke," cried the master. "silence, sir! i know what i'm doing," yelled archy. "out with you, ram." the boy went through like a rabbit, passing something dark before him, and then rapidly one by one the men followed, with the flames roaring horribly now below, and explosion after explosion following quickly, the cave rapidly becoming a reservoir of fire. "hurrah! that's all," cried mr gurr. "now, mr raystoke." "no, sir, you." "i say you." "and i--" archy yielded to his superior in the expedition, crept out, and the master was following, and got stuck, but a fierce tug from a couple of the men set him free, and he had only just joined the two boats' crews standing side by side on the shelf of rock, when the whole cliff seemed to shake; and, as if the passage they had left were some vast cannon, the artificial wall left was blown right out by an awful burst of flame, the stones hurtling down as if the end of the cliffs had come, and falling with a mighty splash into the chasm. the men stood white and awe-stricken, expecting the cliff to crumble away beneath them, but save that a stream of fire roared out of the opening, all was now still. then, in the midst of the awe-inspiring silence, ram spoke,-- "i thought it wouldn't be long before the powder caught;" and then, before any one could reply, the lad said quietly, "i didn't want to be burnt to death. better go to prison for smuggling. i say, i got this rope. hadn't we better make it fast somewhere, and then you can all get down to the big shelf? i'll come last, and unfasten it." "and then how will you get down?" said the master suspiciously. "oh," said ram, laughing, "i can climb down; can't i, orficer?" "yes," said archy quietly. "he can get down. you will not try to escape, will you, ram?" "no; not i. what's the good?" said ram sadly. "it's all over now." the rope was made fast, and by its help the men easily reached the great ledge, ram coming down soon after with the coiled-up rope about his shoulder and under one arm. "couldn't have got away if i wanted to," he said, laughing frankly in archy's face. "i say, i am hungry! aren't you? don't i wish i'd got one of mother's baskets full of good stuff!" "where's your mother?" asked archy. "up at the farm." "and your father?" "oh, he went off in the lugger this morning, after they'd tried to run a cargo. your cutter was too quick for them though. we tried to get out to her, but the skipper sent a shot at us, and we came back here, only you saw us, and run us down." "where do you suppose your men are now?" asked archy. "don't know, and if i did, i wouldn't tell," said the boy bluntly. "i say," he added, after a pause, "i give you a pretty good run last night, didn't i?" "you young dog!" growled the master. "well, if i hadn't, you'd have found the way in yonder, and i wasn't going to let you if i could help it." "ah, you'll be hung, sir." "get out!" cried ram. "your skipper wouldn't hang a boy like me. think the cutter will be long?" said the boy after a pause, during which all had been watching the flame which seemed to flow out of the opening far overhead. "i don't know; why?" replied archy. "because she'll have to come and take us off. this rope's long enough, and we shall have to slide down into a boat." but the cutter was long. for the lugger had escaped to holland consequent upon the _white hawk_ being so short-handed, and it was toward evening that she came close in to search for the crews, and all the party descended in safety to the boat, which rowed under in answer to the signals made by firing pistols. as to the boats that passed under the archway, they were prisoned till the next low water. "satisfied?" said the lieutenant, after all were on board, and he had heard the report. "more than satisfied. i was horribly disappointed at losing the lugger, and i made a hard fight for it, but your news--my dear boy--my dear mr gurr, this is splendid! what a despatch i can write!" "it will be the breaking up of the gang, will it not, sir?" asked archy. "yes, my dear boy; and an end to this wretched work. they must promote me now, and draft you, too, into a good ship. if we can be together, mr raystoke, i shall be delighted." that same night, as he was thinking about ram shackle, archy went up to the lieutenant, who was walking up and down rubbing his hands. "beg pardon, sir, but may i ask a favour?" "a dozen if you like, raystoke, and i'll grant them if i can. want a run ashore?" "no, sir. i want you to be easy with that boy. he was very kind to me when i was a prisoner." "hum! hah! well, i don't know what to say to that. here, my man, fetch that boy on deck." ram came up, whistling softly, and looking sharply from one to the other. "now, sir, take off your cap," said the lieutenant sternly. ram did not look a bit afraid, but he doffed his red cap. "i suppose you know, sir, that you'll be sent to gaol?" "yes.--i knew you wouldn't hang me." "and pray what have you to say for yourself?" "nothing that i knows on," said ram. "yes, i have. i say father's gone, and i dessay he won't come back for ever so long, and i don't want to go among the dutchmen. may i stop here 'long of him? there won't be no more smuggling to do." "you mean you want to volunteer for his majesty's service?" "yes, that's it," said ram cheerfully. "may i?" "yes," said lieutenant brough shortly. "there; you can go below." ram waved his red cap, tossed it in the air, and turned to archy. "i say, orficer," he said, "i know where your little sword is. you send one of your chaps to-morrow to mother, and tell her i'm aboard and going to be a sailor, and she's to give him your little sword as father put in the top drawer." archy's eyes sparkled, for the loss of his dirk was a bitter memory. "humph!" said the lieutenant, as ram went below; "not a bad sort of boy. well, mr raystoke, will that do?" archy shook the hand held out, and went aft to gaze at the cliff, feeling that somehow he liked ram shackle. then he turned, rather despondent, for he knew that the next day there would be an expedition ashore, when visits would be paid to the farm and to the hoze, and he felt uncomfortable about the graemes. chapter forty. "hullo, young fellow!" "hullo, orficer!" "you must not speak like that," said archy, as he encountered ram on deck next morning, whistling softly as he neatly coiled down a rope. "and you must touch your cap." "that way?" said ram. "yes; that will do, but you must say `sir,' or `ay, ay sir.'" "ay, ay, sir." "well, you seem to be settling down very soon." "oh, yes, i'm all right. what's the good of making a fuss. going ashore?" "yes. do you want to go?" ram shook his head. "no; i should only see some of our chaps, and it would look as if i'd been splitting on them; and i didn't, did i?" "no; you behaved very bravely and well, ram." "mean it--_sir_?" "yes, i do, indeed." "thank ye--sir," said ram. "no, don't let the skipper send me ashore; and--i say--" "yes?" "tell mother i'm all right, and that i shan't have to go to prison, and that i'll get some one to tell her how i'm getting on now and then. she's a good one is mother, that she is." "i'll tell her you have given up all smuggling, and that you are going to be a good sailor now." "yes, do, please--sir. she hates the smuggling, and used to beg father not, but he would do it. and i say, are you going up to the hoze?" "yes; we shall search the farm and the hoze too." "won't find nothing at the farm. father never had nothing there, not even a keg. and you won't find nothing at the hoze." "not in the cellar?" "no," said ram frankly. "how long has that sir risdon graeme been a smuggler?" "him? never was one, poor old chap, only father good as made him lend us his cellar, because it was nice and handy, and nobody would think of going and searching there. ha, ha, ha!" laughed ram, showing his white teeth; "you people went up there one day and touched your hats to sir risdon, and were afraid to go close up to the house, when all the time the cellar was choke full." "i remember," said the midshipman; "and i found it out. but look here, ram, how could your father make sir risdon, who is a gentleman, lend him the cellar?" "'cause father and mother used to pretty well keep 'em. i had to be always going without father knowing, and taking 'em bread and butter and bacon and eggs. they just are poor. mother used to send me, and she often used to tell me that they was 'most starved to death." "then sir risdon didn't get anything by the smuggling?" "him!" cried ram. "why, father sent me up one day with a keg of brandy for him, and a piece of silk for her ladyship; i did get hot that day carrying of 'em up the hill. it was last summer." "yes; and what did sir risdon say?" "say? he 'most shied 'em at me, and i had to carry 'em back. my! that was a hot day and no mistake." somehow archy felt relieved about the graemes, and, after a little consideration, he went and reported all he had heard to the lieutenant, who nodded his head, looked severe, and ordered the two boats to be manned. the midshipman took the order on deck, and ram stared. "i say," he said, "what's the good of going now? you'll have to row all the way to the cove and walk all the way along by the cliffs. if you wait till the tide's right out, you can get in through grabley's hole." archy reported this, and in due time gurr was left in charge of the cutter, the lieutenant went off in one boat, and the other was in archy's charge. it all seemed very matter of fact now, as they rowed in through the opening, left the boats in the little pool, climbed the zigzag; and a halt was called, during which the little lieutenant wiped his streaming face, and recovered his breath. then the party marched for the farm, where, red-eyed, and her florid face mottled and troubled-looking, mrs shackle met them. "well, woman," said the lieutenant severely; "i have to search this place." "if you please, sir," said the woman humbly. "one moment. answer me honestly. is there any contraband article stored about the farm?" "no, sir, and never was." "humph! that's what your son said." "my son? oh, pray, pray tell me, gentlemen, is he safe? i heard that he was burned to death." "your son is quite well, aboard my ship." "thank god! oh, thank god!" cried the poor woman, sinking upon her knees to cover her face with her hands, sobbing violently, and rocking herself to and fro. "there!" she cried, jumping up quickly, and wiping her eyes; "i've no cause to fret now." "he has volunteered for the navy," continued the lieutenant; "and if he is a good lad, we shall make a man of him." "then you will, sir; for a better boy never stepped." "for a smuggler, eh?" said the lieutenant drily. "well, sir, he was my husband's boy, and he did what his father told him." "and your husband?" "the men came and told me, sir, that he escaped in the lugger." "and the men--where are they?" "they got away yesterday, sir, those who were left. they felt that they must leave these parts for good." "yes, for _good_!" said the lieutenant emphatically. "now, mr raystoke, have you anything to say?" "only to deliver my message. mrs shackle, ram told me to tell you he was all right." "thank heaven!" said the woman, wiping away a tear; "and you won't punish him, sir, and you'll keep him away from the smuggling?" "never fear," cried the lieutenant, laughing. "you were to give me my dirk, mrs shackle." "oh, _yes_, sir!" cried the woman, crossing to an old bureau, and taking out the little weapon. "and i suppose, sir, all the old home will be taken and destroyed?" "oh, i don't know. we shall see. but, look here, my good woman; do you want to sail right or wrong now?" "oh, right, sir, please." "then tell me honestly where there are any more goods stored?" "everything left, sir, was put in the old quarry." "nothing up at that house on the hill?" "no, sir, i think not. it's all over now, and my husband has gone, so i may as well speak out." "of course. it will be best for you--and for your son." "they only stored cargoes up at sir risdon's because it was handy, sir, and then took them on afterwards to the big store in the old quarry that was burned last night. but pray tell me, sir, was any one hurt?" "no, but we have no thanks to give your people. now, mr raystoke." he marched out, and archy was following, but mrs shackle arrested him. "god bless you, my dear!" she whispered. "i knew about you being there, but we couldn't help it, and ram used to tell me all about it, and how he liked you; and we sent you everything we could to make you comfortable. be kind now to my son." "if ram turns out a good lad, mrs shackle, he shall never want a--" archy was going to say friend, but he could not, for mrs shackle had thrown her arms about his neck in a big, motherly hug, from which the young officer escaped red-faced and vexed. "i wish she hadn't kissed me," he said to himself, after making sure that no one had seen. "and she has made my face all wet with her crying." they were on the march now to the hoze, with the lieutenant in the highest of glee, and chatting merrily to archy as a brother officer and a friend. "if i could only have got the lugger too, raystoke," he cried, "it would have been glorious! but i couldn't do impossibilities, could i?" "i am sure you did wonders, mr brough," said archy. "well, never mind what i did, sir. you and gurr acted so that i'm proud of you both, and of the lads. completely burned out the wasps' nest, eh? it--will be a glorious despatch, raystoke. by the way, we must go straight down there and see if the place is cool enough to search. there may be a little of the wasps' comb left, eh?" "i'm afraid the whole of the stores would be destroyed." "ah, well, we shall see, and--who are these?" "sir risdon and lady graeme and their daughter," whispered archy, who coloured as he saw celia looking at him defiantly. they were outside the house, and lieutenant brough halted his men, marched forward with the midshipman, and raised his hat, his salute being formally returned. "i regret to have to come in this unceremonious way, sir," said the lieutenant. "excuse me," interrupted the baronet. "i expected you, sir, and, while congratulating you and your men upon their success, i wish to humbly own that my place has unwillingly on my part, been made one of the stores for their nefarious transactions." the lieutenant moved away with sir risdon, leaving archy alone with celia and her mother. "oh," cried the girl, taking a step nearer to the midshipman, "how i hate you!" "miss graeme!" "i thought you a nice frank boy, and that you would be our friend." "celia, my child," whispered lady graeme reproachfully. "i can't help it, mamma. i wanted to help him, but he would keep saying that he must tell of papa because it was his duty." "yes," said archy bluntly; "and so it was." "yes," said lady graeme, "it was." "oh, mamma dear, pray don't say that. and now he has come with his hateful men to take papa to prison, and--" "oh, yes, yes, yes, sir risdon, of course, i must write my despatch. but you have given me your word of honour as a gentleman that you never engaged in these contraband practices." these words reached the little group, and also sir risdon's reply: "i swear it, sir; and it was only--" "yes, yes. never mind that. word of honour's enough between gentlemen. oh, no, i shall not search, sir. i am satisfied." "oh!" ejaculated celia. "hah!" ejaculated archy in a sigh of relief. "now, mr raystoke, midshipman," said the lieutenant merrily. "my chief officer, ladies! come, we have a great deal to do. good morning. if you will pay us a visit on the cutter, we shall be only too proud to see you." a friendly salute was interchanged, and archy emphasised his by holding out his hand to celia. "good-bye," he said. "don't hate me, please. i only did my duty." "i don't hate you," she replied, giving him her hand. only a boy and girl; but archy looked back several times, as they marched downward to the cliff, and then up its steep, grassy slope, to see at a turn a white handkerchief being waved to him. "why--hullo, mr raystoke!" cried the lieutenant merrily. "oh, i see. well, wait till you become a post-captain, and i hope i shall be an admiral by then, and that you will ask me to honour the wedding." "hush, pray, sir!" said archy. "some of the men will hear." but the men did not hear, for they were quietly trudging along over the short grass, chewing their quids, and discussing the fire in the cave; those who had escaped relating again to those who were on the cutter their terrible experiences before the powder caught. in due time they reached the entrance to the quarry, and found that everything was as they had anticipated, the smugglers having piled quite a ton of stones over the trap-door. these were removed at length, and the door was thrown open, when a peculiar dim bluish mist slowly rose, and disappeared in the broad sunshine. "keep back, my lads," said the lieutenant. "the powder smells badly, and it would be very risky to go down now." "fire seems to be out," said archy, as he held his hand in the bluish smoke, which was dank and cold. "not much to burn," said the lieutenant; and, giving the word, the men bivouacked on the short turf to eat the provender they had brought, quite alone, for not a soul from the cottages between the farm and the cave appeared. so strong a current of air set through the old quarry, that by the time they had ended the air was good; but now another difficulty arose. there were no lights, and a couple of men had to be despatched to the farm, from whence they returned with four lanthorns which had often been used for signals. armed with these, the party descended, and explored the place, to find that, where the powder had exploded, the walls were blackened and grisly, and that scores of little barrel staves were lying about shattered in all directions and pretty well burned away. on the other hand, the staves of the brandy kegs were for the most part hardly scorched, and the stone floor showed no traces of fire having passed. the spirits had burned vividly till the explosion took place, when the force of the powder seemed to have scattered everything, but it had been saving as well as destructive, separating the brandy kegs, some of which burst and added fuel to the flames, but many remained untouched. in fact, to the great delight of all, it was found that, though a great deal of destruction had been done, there was an ample supply of the smugglers' stores left to well load the cutter twice; and, jubilant with the discovery, the men returned on board, dreaming of prize-money, but not until a strong guard had been left over the place, in case any of the wasps should return. but they did not come back. the nest had been burned out, and the smuggling in that part of the freestone shore had received so heavy a blow, that only one or two of the men cared to return, and then only for a temporary stay. lieutenant brough's despatch had of course been sent in, and he obtained praise and prize-money. "but no promotion, mr raystoke," he cried; "and of course you can have none until you have passed. they have not even appointed you to another ship." "well, if you are going to stay in the _white hawk_, sir, i don't know that i want to change. i'm very comfortable here." "that's very good of you, raystoke, very good," said the lieutenant. "and then it's of no use to complain. i shall never get my promotion. i'm too little and too fat." "no, that's not it," said archy boldly; "they think you do the work so well that they will not remove you from the station." "no," said the lieutenant sadly; "it's because i am so stout. i shall never be lifted now." mr brough was wrong, for two years later he was appointed to a frigate, and his first efforts were directed to getting archy raystoke and ram berths in the same ship, where a long and successful career awaited them. but with that we have at present nought to do. this is the chronicle of the expedition of the _white hawk_ to crush the smuggling on the freestone shore, the most famous place for the doings of those who set the king's laws at defiance. it was some ten years later, when one of his majesty king george's smartest frigates was homeward bound from the east indies, where her captain had distinguished himself by many a gallant act, that, as she was making for portsmouth, with the tall white cliffs of the isle just in sight, a tall handsome young officer went to the side, where a sun-browned seaman was standing gazing shoreward, shading his eyes with his hand. "why, ram," said the officer; "looking out for the scene of some of your old villainies?" "no, sir," said the man, touching his cap. "i was wondering whether my old mother was down on the cliff yonder, looking after the cows." "the cows!" cried the young lieutenant. "ah, to be sure. remember the cow falling off the cliff, ram?" "ay, sir, that i do. but look yonder, sir. you could make out the shelf on the big cliff if you had your glass. remember our tussle there?" "to be sure i do," said lieutenant raystoke, sheltering his eyes in a very deceptive fashion, for he was trying to make out the old grove of trees amidst which stood the hoze. "mr raystoke!" "captain calling you, sir," said a rugged-looking sailor, with a very swarthy face, that looked as if it would be all the better for a wash, but only seemed. "all right, dick, my man," said the young officer; and he hurried to where a plump, rosy little man stood in full post-captain's uniform. "ah, there you are, mr raystoke," said the captain, handing the lieutenant his glass. "i've been sweeping the shore, and it brought back old days. look there; you can easily make out the range of cliffs. that highest one is where you and mr gurr were at the burning out of the smugglers ten years ago. how time slips by!" "yes, sir," said lieutenant archy raystoke, returning the glass; "that's where the wasps' nest was destroyed." then to himself,-- "i wonder whether celia will be glad to see me." she was: very glad indeed. transcriber's note: extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed. [illustration: map of smugglers' reef and vicinity] a rick brant science-adventure story smugglers' reef by john blaine grosset & dunlap publishers new york, n. y. copyright, , by grosset & dunlap, inc. * * * * * contents chapter page i night assignment ii cap'n mike iii the redheaded kelsos iv a warning v the mysterious phone call vi the _albatross_ vii search for a clue viii the old tower ix night watch x captured xi the hearing xii the missing fisherman xiii the tracker xiv captain killian xv plimsoll marks xvi night flight xvii enter the police xviii brendan's marsh xix the fight at creek house xx read all about it! * * * * * smugglers' reef chapter i night assignment "adventure," rick brant said, "is kind of hard to define, because what may be adventure to one person may be commonplace to another." he took a bite of cake and stretched his long legs comfortably. "now, you take flying with scotty. that's the most adventurous thing i do." mr. and mrs. brant and jerry webster looked at don scott, the object of rick's jibe, and waited for his reply. verbal warfare between the two boys was a usual feature of the evening discussions on the big front porch of the brant home on spindrift island. scotty, a husky, dark-haired boy, grinned lazily. "you've proved your own point," he returned. "flying with me is adventure to you but safe travel to anyone else. i'd say the most adventurous thing you do is drive a car." mrs. brant, an attractive, motherly woman, poured another cup of coffee for jerry webster. the young reporter had started the discussion by stating wistfully that he wished he could share in some of the brant adventures. "why do you call rick's driving adventurous?" she asked. "the dictionary says so," scotty replied. "one definition of adventure is 'a remarkable experience.'" hartson brant, rick's scientist father, grinned companionably at his son. "i agree with scotty. not only is rick's driving a remarkable experience, but it fits the rest of the definition: 'the encountering of risks; hazardous enterprise.'" jerry webster rose to rick's defense. "oh, i don't know. rick always gets there." "sure he does," scotty agreed. "of course his passengers always have nervous breakdowns, but he gets there." rick just grinned. he felt wonderful tonight. when you came right down to it, there was nothing that matched being at home with the family in the big house on spindrift island. the famous island off the new jersey coast was home for the scientific foundation that his father headed, and for the scientist members. it was home for scotty, too, and had been since the day he had rescued rick from danger, as told in _the rocket's shadow_. as junior members of the foundation, rick and scotty had been included in a number of experiments and expeditions. rick wouldn't have missed a one of them, and if opportunity offered he would go again with just as much eagerness. but it was nice to return to familiar surroundings between trips. more than once, during lonely nights in far places, his thoughts had turned to evenings just like this one with the family and perhaps a close friend like jerry gathered on the porch after dinner. rick, scotty, and barbara brant had only recently returned from the south pacific where they had vacationed aboard the trawler _tarpon_ and had solved the mystery of _the phantom shark_. barby had gone off to summer boarding school in connecticut a few days later. chahda, the hindu boy who had been with the brants since the tibetan radar relay expedition described in _the lost city_, had said good-bye to the group at new caledonia and had returned to india. the scientists, zircon, weiss, and gordon, were away doing research. suddenly rick chuckled. "speaking of adventure, i'll bet the biggest adventure barby had on our whole trip to the pacific was eating _rosette sauté_ at the governor's in noumea." "what's that?" jerry asked. "bat," scotty replied. "a very large kind of fruit bat. barby thought it was wonderful until she found out what it was." "i should think so!" mrs. brant exclaimed. "it tasted good," rick said. "something like chicken livers." he grinned. "anyway, i sympathized with barby. i felt kind of funny myself when i found out what it was." hartson brant, an older edition of his athletic son, looked at the boy reflectively. he knocked ashes from his pipe. "seems to me you've been pretty quiet since you got back, rick. lost your taste for excitement? or are you working on something?" "working," rick said. "we scientists must never rest. we must labor always to push back the frontiers of ignorance." he put a hand on his heart and bowed with proper dramatic modesty. "i am working on an invention that will startle the civilized world." "we will now bow our heads in reverent silence while the master tells all," scotty intoned. "i know," jerry guessed. "you're working on a radar-controlled lawn mower so you can cut the grass while you sit on the porch." "that's too trivial for a junior genius like rick," scotty objected. "he's probably working on a self-energizing hot dog that lathers itself with mustard, climbs into a bun, and then holds a napkin under your chin while you eat it." "not a bad idea," rick said soberly. "but that isn't it." "of course not," hartson brant put in. "you see, i happen to know what it is, due to a little invention of my own--an electronic mind reader." scotty gulped. "you didn't tell mom what happened to those two pieces of butterscotch pie, did you? i wanted her to blame it on rick." rick asked unbelievingly, "an electronic mind reader? all right, dad, what am i working on?" "a device to penetrate the darkness." rick stared. his father had scored a hit. he demanded, "how did you know?" "my new invention," hartson brant said seriously. "oh, and one other clue. yesterday morning the mail brought me a bill for a thousand feet of -millimeter infrared motion-picture film." so that was it. rick grinned. "i hope your new invention told you i asked the film company to send the bill to me and not to you." "it did. the bill actually was addressed to the spindrift foundation, attention mr. brant. since i didn't know which mr. brant was meant, i opened it. don't worry, rick. i'll let you pay it." "thanks, dad," rick said. "but don't make any sacrifices. you can pay it if you want to." "don't want to," hartson brant replied. "i haven't the slightest use for motion-picture film." "because rick has the only motion-picture camera on the island," scotty finished. he frowned at his friend. "keeping secrets, huh?" "i'm not sure it will work," rick explained. he hated to brag about an idea and then have it turn out to be a dud. consequently, he seldom mentioned that he was working on anything until he knew it would be successful. "what does the film have to do with penetrating the darkness?" jerry webster inquired. rick caught the look of interest on his father's face. "ask dad," he said. "the electronic mind reader probably has told him all about it." "of course." the scientist chuckled. "rick is planning to take movies at night without lights." jerry looked skeptical. "how?" rick stood up. "long as we've started talking about it, i may as well show you." the others rose, too. as they did so, a shaggy little dog crawled from under rick's chair where he had been napping. "dismal and i will put the cake away," mrs. brant said. at the sound of his name the pup rolled over on his back and played dead, his only trick. rick bent and scratched his ribs in the way the pup liked best. "go with mom," he commanded. "come on, the rest of you. maybe i can get some free advice from the director of the spindrift foundation." hartson brant smiled. "if you're looking for a technical consultant, rick, my price is very reasonable." "it would have to be," rick admitted ruefully. "i've spent my entire fortune on this thing." "the whole dollar," scotty added. the boys' rooms were on the second floor in the north wing of the big house. but where scotty's was usually neat as a barracks squad room, the result of his service in the marines, rick's was usually a clutter of apparatus. living on spindrift island with the example of his father and the other scientists to follow, it was natural that he should be interested in science. he was more fortunate than most boys with such an interest, because he was permitted to use the laboratory apparatus freely and his part-time work as a junior technician gave him spending money with which to buy equipment. another source of revenue was his little two-seater plane. he was the island's fast ferry service to the mainland. his room was neater than usual at the moment because he had not bothered to connect most of his apparatus after returning from the south pacific. the induction heater that he used for midnight snacks was in a closet. his automatic window opener was not in use, nor was his amateur radio transmitter. he opened a workbench built into one wall and brought out a motion-picture camera. it was a popular make with a type of lens mount that permitted fast switching of lenses. it used one-hundred-foot rolls of -millimeter film. he put the camera on the table, then from a cupboard he brought out what appeared to be a searchlight mounted on top of a small telescope. "that's a sniperscope!" scotty exclaimed. rick nodded. "no reason why it shouldn't work very well, rick," hartson brant said. jerry webster sighed. "excuse my ignorance. what's a sniperscope?" "they were used during the last war," scotty explained. he picked up the unit and pointed to the light, which was about the size and shape of a bicycle head lamp. "this searchlight throws a beam of black light. rick would call it infrared. anyway, it's invisible. the telescope is actually a special telescopic rifle sight which will pick up infrared. you can use the thing in total darkness. mount it on a rifle and then go looking for the enemy. since he can't see the infrared, he thinks he's safe. but you can see him through the 'scope just as though he had a beam of white light on him." "i see," jerry said. "where are the batteries?" rick brought out a canvas-covered case that looked like a knapsack. it had a crank on one side and a pair of electrical connections. "it's not a battery," he explained. "it's a small, spring-driven dynamo." jerry nodded. "i get it now. you rig this thing on the camera, which is loaded with infrared film. the film registers whatever the infrared searchlight illuminates. right?" "that's the idea," hartson brant agreed. "but it isn't as simple as that, is it, rick?" "far from it. i have to determine the effective range, then i have to run a couple of tests to find out what exposure i have to use, and then i have to find the field of vision of the telescope as compared with the field of the lens. a lot depends on the speed of the film emulsion. that will limit the range. the searchlight is effective at eight hundred yards, but i'll be lucky if i can get a picture at a quarter of that." "where did you get the sniperscope?" scotty wanted to know. "by mail. i read an ad in a magazine that advertised a lot of surplus war equipment, including this." "you might have said something about it," scotty reproached. rick grinned. "you were too busy working on the motorboats. i knew you couldn't have two things on your mind at once." since the boys returned from vacation, scotty had been overhauling the engines on the two motorboats which were used, along with rick's plane, for communication with whiteside, the nearest town on the mainland. "i have a book downstairs that you'll find useful, rick," hartson brant said. "it gives the comparative data on lenses. it may save you some figuring." "thanks, dad," rick replied. "i may have to ask your help in working out the mathematics, too. anyway...." he stopped as the phone rang. in a moment mrs. brant called. "jerry, it's your paper." "something must have popped!" jerry ran for the door. rick hurried after him, scotty and the scientist following. the whiteside _morning record_, for which jerry worked, must have had something important come up to phone jerry on his night off. in the library, jerry picked up the phone. "webster. oh, hello, duke. where? well, why can't one of the other guys cover it? okay, i'll be on my way in a minute. how about a photographer? hold the phone. i'll ask him." he turned to rick. "duke wants to know if you can take your camera and cover a story with me. a trawler went ashore down at seaford." rick nodded quick assent. the little daily paper had only one photographer, who evidently wasn't available. it wouldn't be the first time he had taken pictures for duke barrows, the paper's editor. "he'll do it. we're on our way." jerry hung up. "have to work fast," he said. "we start printing the paper at midnight." "it's nine now," scotty said. rick ran upstairs and opened the case containing his speed graphic, checking to be sure he had film packs and bulbs, then he snapped the case shut and hurried downstairs with it. jerry and scotty were waiting at the door. "don't stay out too late," mrs. brant admonished. dismal whined to be taken along. "sorry, boy." rick patted the pup. "we'll be home early, mom. want to come along, dad?" "not tonight, thanks," the scientist replied. "i'll take advantage of the quiet to catch up on my reading." in a moment the three boys were hurrying toward the hook-shaped cove in which the motorboats were tied up. although spindrift island was connected to the mainland at low tide by a rocky tidal flat, there was no way for a car to cross. the cove was reached by a flight of stairs leading down from the north side of the island. elsewhere, the island dropped away in cliffs of varying heights and steepness to the atlantic. they ran down the stairs and got into the fastest of the two boats, a slim speedboat built for eight passengers. rick handed scotty his camera case and slid in behind the wheel. while jerry cast off, he started the engine and warmed it for a moment. then as jerry pushed the craft away from the pier, he backed out expertly, spun the boat around, and roared off in the direction of the whiteside landing. "let's have the story," scotty shouted above the engine's roar. "a fishing trawler from seaford ran aground," jerry shouted in reply. "duke figures it's an unusual story because those skippers have been going out of seaford for a hundred years without an accident. there's no reason why one of them should run onto well-charted ground in clear weather." scotty squinted at the sky. "it's not exactly clear weather. there's a moon just coming up, but it's kind of hazy out." "yes, but you couldn't call it bad weather, either," jerry pointed out. "not from a seaman's viewpoint, anyway." "where did this trawler run aground?" rick asked. "arm of land that extends out into the sea above seaford," jerry replied. "it's called smugglers' reef." chapter ii cap'n mike jerry's car was an old sedan that had seen better days, but it could still cover ground at a good speed. the macadam highway unrolled before the bright head lamps at a steady rate while the beams illumined alternate patches of woods and small settlements. there were no major towns between whiteside and seaford, but there were a number of summer beach colonies, most of them in an area about halfway between the two towns. the highway was little used. most tourists and all through traffic preferred the main trunk highway leading southward from newark. they saw only two other cars during the short drive. many months had passed since rick's last visit to seaford. he had gone there on a sunday afternoon to try his hand at surf casting off million dollar row, a stretch of beach noted for its huge, abandoned hotels. it was a good place to cast for striped bass during the right season. "smugglers' reef," he said aloud. "funny that a seaford trawler should go ashore there. it's the best-known reef on the coast." "maybe the skipper was a greenhorn," scotty remarked. "not likely," jerry said. "in seaford the custom is to pass fishing ships down from father to son. there hasn't been a new fishing family there for the past half century." "you seem to know a lot about the place," rick remarked. "i go down pretty often. fish makes news in this part of the country." scotty pointed to a sign as they sped over a wooden bridge. "salt creek." rick remembered. salt creek emptied into the sea on the north side of smugglers' reef. it was called salt creek because the tide backed up into it beyond the bridge they had just crossed. he had caught crabs just above the bridge. but between the road and the sea there was over a quarter mile of tidal swamp, filled with rushes and salt-marsh grasses through which the creek ran. at the edge of the swamp where salt creek met smugglers' reef stood the old creek house, once a leading hotel, now an abandoned relic. a short distance farther on, a road turned off to the left. a weathered sign pointed toward seaford. in a few moments the first houses came into view. they were small, and well kept for the most part. then the sedan rolled into the town itself, down the single business street which led to the fish piers. a crowd waited in front of the red-brick town hall. jerry swung into the curb. "let's see what's going on." rick got his camera from the case, inserted a film pack, and stuffed a few flash bulbs into his pocket. then he hurried up the steps of city hall after jerry and scotty. men, a number of them with the weathered faces of professional fishermen, were talking in low tones. a few looked at the boys with curiosity. an old man with white hair and a strong, lined face was seated by the door, whittling on an elm twig. jerry spoke to him. "excuse me, sir. can you tell me what's going on?" keen eyes took in the three boys. "i can. any reason why i should?" the old man's voice held the twang peculiar to that part of the new jersey coast. "i'm a reporter," jerry said. "whiteside _morning record_." the old man spat into the shrubbery. "going to put in your paper that tom tyler ran aground on smugglers' reef, hey? well, you can put it in, boy, because it's true. but don't make the mistake of calling tom tyler a fool, a drunkard, or a poor seaman, because he ain't any of those things." "how did it happen?" jerry asked. "reckon you better ask tom tyler." "i will," jerry said. "where will i find him?" "inside. surrounded by fools." jerry pushed through the door, rick and scotty following. rick's quick glance took in the people waiting in the corridor, then shifted to a young woman and a little girl. the woman's face was strained and white, and she stared straight ahead with unseeing eyes. the little girl, a tiny blonde perhaps four years old, held tightly to her mother's hand. rick had a hunch. he stopped as jerry and scotty hurried down the corridor to where voices were loud through an open door. "mrs. tyler?" he asked. the woman's head lifted sharply. her eyes went dark with fear. "i can't tell you anything," she said in a rush. "i don't know anything." she dropped her head again and her hand tightened convulsively on the little girl's. "sorry," rick said gently. he moved along the corridor, very thoughtful, and saw that jerry and scotty were turning into the room from which voices came. mrs. tyler might have been angry, upset, tearful, despondent, or defiant over the loss of her husband's trawler. instead, she had been afraid in a situation that did not appear to call for fear. he turned into the room. there were about a dozen men in it. two were coast guardsmen, one a lieutenant and the other a chief petty officer. two others were state highway patrolmen. another, in a blue uniform, was evidently the local policeman. the rest were in civilian clothes. all of them were watching a lean, youthful man who sat ramrod straight in a chair. a stocky man in a brown suit said impatiently, "there's more to it than that, tom. man, you've spent thirty years off smugglers'. you'd no more crack up on it than i'd fall over my own front porch." "i told you how it was," the fisherman said tonelessly. rick searched his face and liked it. tom tyler was perhaps forty, but he looked ten years younger. his face was burned from wind and sun, but it was not yet heavily lined. his eyes, gray in color, were clear and direct as he faced his questioners. he was a tall man; that was apparent even when he was seated. he had a lean, trim look that reminded rick of a clean, seaworthy schooner. the boy lifted his camera and took a picture. the group turned briefly as the flash bulb went off. they glared, then turned back to the fisherman again. the town policeman spoke. "you know what this means, tom? you not only lost your ship, but you're apt to lose your license, too. and you'll be lucky if the insurance company doesn't charge you with barratry." "i've told you how it was," captain tyler repeated. the man in the brown suit exploded. "stop being a dadblasted fool, tom! you expect us to swallow a yarn like that? we know you don't drink. how can you expect us to believe you ran the _sea belle_ ashore while drunk?" "i got no more to say," tyler replied woodenly. jerry turned to rick and scotty and motioned toward the door. rick led the way back into the corridor. "getting anything out of this?" he asked. "a little," jerry said. "let's go out and talk to that old man." "lead on," scotty said. "i've always wanted to see a real news hound in action." rick dropped the used flash bulb into a convenient ash tray, replaced it with a new one, and reset the camera. at least he had one good picture. tom tyler, framed by his questioners, had looked somehow like a thoroughbred animal at bay. outside the door, the old man was still whittling. "get a real scoop, sonny?" he asked jerry. "sure did," jerry returned. he leaned against the doorjamb. "i didn't get your name." "didn't give it." "will you?" "sure. i ain't ashamed. i'm captain michael aloysius kevin o'shannon. call me cap'n mike." "all right, cap'n mike. is it true captain tyler stands to lose his master's license and may be even charged with deliberately wrecking the ship?" "it's true. "he says he was drunk." "he wasn't." "how do you know?" "i know tom tyler." "then how did it happen?" cap'n mike rose and clicked his jackknife shut. he tossed away the elm twig. "you got a car?" "yes." "let's take a ride. you'll want to see the wreck, and i do, too. we can talk on the way." the boys accepted with alacrity. rick and scotty sat in the back seat; the captain rode up front with jerry. at the old man's direction, jerry drove to the water front and then turned left. "i'll start at the beginning," cap'n mike said. "i've had experience with reporters in my day. best to tell 'em everything, otherwise they start leaping at conclusions and get everything backwards. can't credit a reporter with too many brains." "you're right there," jerry said amiably. rick grinned. he had seen jerry in operation before. the young reporter didn't mind any kind of insult if there were a story in the offing. rick guessed the newspaper trade wasn't a place for thin skins. "well, here're the facts," the captain continued. "tom tyler, master and owner of the _sea belle_, was coming back from a day's run. he'd had a good day. the trawler was practically awash with a load of menhaden. in case you don't know, menhaden are fish. not eating fish, but commercial. they get oil and chicken and cattle feed from 'em, and the trawlers out of this port collect 'em by the millions of tons every year." "we know," jerry said. "uhuh. as i said, the trawler was full up with menhaden. tom was at the wheel himself. the rest of the crew, five of them, was making snug. there was a little weather making up, but not much, and not enough to interfere with tom seeing the light at the tip of smugglers' reef. he saw it clear. admits it. now! all you need do is give the light a few fathoms clearance to starboard. but tom tyler didn't. and what happened?" "he ran smack onto the reef," scotty put in. "he surely did. the crew, all of 'em being aft, didn't see a thing. first they knew they were flying through the air like a bunch of hooked mackerel and banging into the net gear. one broken arm and a lot of cuts and bruises among 'em. the trawler tore her bottom out and rested high and dry, scattering fish like a fertilizer spreader. tom tyler said he took one drink and it went to his head." the old man snorted. "bilge! sheer bilge! he said hitting the reef sobered him up." "maybe it did," jerry ventured. "hogwash. there wasn't a mite of drink on his breath. and what did he drink? there ain't nothing could make an old hand like tom forget where a light was supposed to be. no, the whole thing is fishy as a bin of herring." the boys were silent for a moment after the recital, then rick blurted out the question in his mind. "what's his wife afraid of?" the captain stiffened. "who says she's afraid?" "i do," rick returned positively. "i saw her." "you did? well, i reckon you saw right." "maybe she's afraid of tyler's losing his way of making a living," scotty guessed. rick shook his head. "it wasn't that kind of fear." the sedan had left the town proper and was rolling along the sea front on a wide highway. this was million dollar row. in a moment rick saw the first of the huge hotels that had given the road its name. it was called sandy shores. once it had been landscaped, and probably beautiful. now, he saw in the dim moonlight, the windows were shuttered and the grounds had gone back to bunch grass. the paint had peeled in the salt air and there was an air of decay and loneliness around the dark old place. extending up the drive were the sea girt, the atlantic view, shore mansions, and finally, the creek house. all were in similar condition. these hotels had been built in the booming twenties when the traditional sleepiness of seaford had been disturbed by a rush of tourists. then had come the business depression of the thirties and the tourists had stopped coming. they had never started again. the hotels, too expensive to operate and useless as anything but hotels, had been left to rot. briefly, during world war ii, they had served as barracks for a coast guard shore patrol base, but that activity was long past now, and they had been left to decay once more. there were a number of cars on the road, going both ways. captain mike remarked on the fact. "they're curious about the wreck. usually not a car moves on this road." as they approached smugglers' reef, the cars got thicker. then rick saw lights in the massive creek house. it was one of the biggest of the hotels, and it had been the most exclusive. it had its own dock on salt creek, and it was protected from prying eyes by a high board fence. two rooms on the second floor were lit up. "it's occupied," cap'n mike affirmed. "family name of kelso is renting it. claim they need the salt air and water for their boy. he's ailing." "must be a big family," scotty said. "oh, they don't use all of it. just a couple of bedrooms and the kitchen. no one knows much about 'em and they don't seem to work at anything. city folks. keep to themselves." rick guessed from the note of irritation in cap'n mike's voice that he resented the kelsos' evident desire for privacy. probably he had tried to satisfy his curiosity about them and had been rebuffed. jerry pulled up in front of the hotel and stopped the car. the boys piled out, anxious for a glimpse of the trawler. rick crossed the road and looked out to sea. smugglers' reef was a gradually narrowing arm of land that extended over a quarter mile out into the sea. in front of the hotel it was perhaps two hundred yards wide. then it narrowed gradually until it was little more than a wall of piled boulders. on its north side, salt creek emptied into the sea. beyond the creek was the marsh with its high grasses. at the far tip of the reef, a light blinked intermittently. that was the light tyler had failed to keep on his starboard beam. a few hundred feet this side of it was a moving cluster of flashlights. it was too dark to make out details, but rick guessed the lights were at the wrecked trawler. "got your camera?" jerry asked. rick held it up. "then let's go. time is getting short and i have to get the story back." with cap'n mike leading the way, surprisingly light on his feet for his age, the boys made their way out along the reef. a short distance before they reached the wreck they passed a rusted steel framework. "used to be a light tower," cap'n mike explained briefly. "they put up the new light on the point a few years back and put in an automatic system. this light had to be tended." at the wreck they found almost two dozen people. flashlights picked out the trawler. it had driven with force right up on the reef, ripping out the bottom and dumping thousands of dead menhaden into the water. they lay in clusters around the wreck, floating on the water in silvery shoals. the air was heavy with the reek of fish and spilled diesel fuel. there was little conversation among those who had come to visit the wreck. when they did talk, it was in low tones. rick thought that was strange, because anything like this was usually a field day for self-appointed experts who discussed it in loud tones and offered opinions to all who would listen. then, as he lifted his camera for a picture, he saw the men look up, startled at the flash. he saw them turn their backs quickly so their faces would not be seen if he were to take another picture. he sensed tension in the air, and his lively curiosity quickened. this was no ordinary wreck. something about it had brought fear. or was it that the fear had brought the wreck? "let's go," jerry said. "got a deadline to make." * * * * * rick lay awake and stared through the window at the darkness. jerry had the pictures and story and there seemed to be nothing else to do except to cover the hearing that would follow. the results were a foregone conclusion. trawler skipper admits he ran ship aground while drunk. case closed. again rick saw the fear written on mrs. tyler's face. again he sensed the tension among the men who gathered at the wreck. and he believed cap'n mike had left some things unsaid in spite of his apparent frankness. "scotty?" he whispered. scotty's voice came low through the connecting door. "i'm asleep." "same here. let's go fishing tomorrow." "okay. i know where the blackfish will be running." "do you? where?" rick grinned sleepily as scotty's whisper came back. "off smugglers' reef." chapter iii the redheaded kelsos the spindrift motor launch rolled gently in the offshore swell as the new jersey coast slid by off the starboard beam. behind the wheel, rick steered easily, following the shore line. in the aft cockpit, scotty prepared hand lines for the fishing they planned to do to keep up appearances. their decision to revisit smugglers' reef had been made on the spur of the moment. the case of the wrecked trawler was none of their business, and rick had learned in the past that it was a good idea to keep his nose out of things that didn't concern him. but he could no more resist a mystery than he could resist a piece of mrs. brant's best chocolate cake. he watched the shore line as the launch sped along and tried to assure himself that a little look around wasn't really sticking his nose into the case. after all, it wouldn't hurt to satisfy his curiosity, would it? scotty came forward and joined him. "all set. we ought to find some fish right off the tip of the reef. if you intend to do any fishing, that is." "of course we'll fish," rick said. "what else did we come here for?" "nothing," scotty agreed. "this is a fishing expedition in the truest sense of the word." rick looked at his pal suspiciously. "what was behind that remark?" scotty chuckled. "are you fooling yourself? or are you trying to fool me?" rick had to laugh, too. "okay. let's admit it. we're so used to excitement that we have to go fishing for it if none comes our way. but seriously, scotty, this is none of our business. the local officials can handle it without any help from us. so let's not get too involved." scotty leaned back against the seat and grinned lazily. "think you can take your own advice?" "i think so," rick said, with his fingers crossed. scotty pointed to a low line ahead. "there's the reef. see the light on the tip?" "couldn't very well miss it," rick said. the light was painted with red and white stripes and it stood out sharply against the sky. he gave scotty a side glance. "what did you make out of all that talk last night? think captain tyler ran on the reef purposely?" scotty shook his head. "he didn't strike me as a thief, and that's what he'd have to be to wreck his trawler on purpose." "i liked his looks, too. then cap'n mike said he didn't drink, so his statement that he was under the influence of liquor wouldn't hold water, either. what's the answer?" "if we knew, would we be here?" scotty waved at the shore. "how far does this stuff extend?" the water ended in an almost solid wall of rushes and salt-marsh growth that would be far above even a tall man's head if he stood at sea level. now and then a small inlet appeared where the water flowed too rapidly for plant life to grow. "there's about a mile of the stuff," rick said. "it stops at the reef. i'm not sure how wide it is, but i'd guess it averages a quarter of a mile. it's called brendan's marsh, after an old man who got lost in it once. it was over a week before he was found." they were approaching the reef at a good clip. "what do we do first?" scotty asked. rick shrugged. he had no plan of action. "guess we just sort of wander around and wait for a bright idea to hit us." "lot of other people with the same idea, i guess." scotty nodded toward the reef. rick saw a number of figures moving around the wreck of the trawler. "wonder who they are?" "probably a lot of folks who are just curious--like two in this boat. and i wouldn't be surprised if the law was doing a little looking around by daylight, too." "we'll soon see." rick turned the launch inshore as they approached the reef. "let's tie up at the creek house dock. then we can walk down the reef and join the rest." "suits me." rick rounded the corner of the salt marsh and steered the launch into the creek, reducing speed as he did so. on their right, the marsh stretched inland along the sluggish creek bank. on their left, the high old bulk of the creek house rose from a yard that was strewn with rubble and years' accumulation of weeds and litter. a hundred yards up the creek was the gray, rickety piling of the hotel dock. "that's it," rick said. scotty went up to the bow and took the bow line, ready to drop it over a piling. rick started a wide turn that would bring him into the dock, then cut the engine. the launch slowed as it lost momentum and drifted into place perfectly. "hey! get out of there!" both boys looked up. coming from the hotel's side door on a dead run was a stocky youth of about their own age. he was between rick and scotty in height, and he had hair the color of a ripe carrot. swinging from one hand was a rifle. "is that hair real or has he got a wig on?" scotty asked. "it's real," rick returned. his forehead creased. the dock had never been considered private property--at least not since the hotel was abandoned. he waited to see what the redhead wanted. the boy ran down the loose wooden surface toward them, his face red and angry. "get that boat out of here!" rick looked into a pair of furious eyes the color of seaweed, set above a wide nose and thin mouth. "why?" he asked. "this is private property. cast off." "where's your sign?" scotty asked. the boy grinned unpleasantly. "don't need a sign." he patted the stock of his rifle. "got this." "plan to use it?" scotty asked calmly. "if i have to. now cast off those lines and get out." rick's temper began to fray a little. "you're using the wrong tone of voice," he said gently. "you should say 'i'm terribly sorry, fellows, but this is private property. do you mind tying up somewhere else?' ask us nicely like that and we'll do it." the redhead half lifted the rifle. "wise guy, huh? i warned you. now cast off those lines and get out." he dropped his hand to the lever of the rifle as though to pump a cartridge into place. scotty tensed. he said softly, "get gay with that rifle and i'll climb up there and feed it to you breech first." rick saw the color rise to the boy's face and the muscles in his throat tighten. "easy, scotty," he said warningly. he knew, as scotty did, that no normal person would wave a rifle at anyone for mere daytime accidental trespassing, but he had a hunch the young carrot-top would not react normally. "jimmy!" the three of them looked to the hotel as the hail came. a big man with red hair several shades darker than the boy's was waving from the side door of the creek house. he walked toward them rapidly. "okay, pop," carrottop called. "i told 'em to get out." as the man approached, rick saw that there was a strong resemblance between the man and the boy. evidently they were father and son. the man had the same thin lips, the same seaweed-green eyes. his face was almost square. it was a tough face, rick thought. the newcomer looked at his son and jerked his thumb toward the hotel. "okay, jimmy, get into the house." the boy turned and walked off without a word. the man surveyed rick and scotty briefly. "don't mind jimmy. he was probably rude, and i'm sorry for it. but this is private property and i can't allow you to tie up here." he motioned to the high board fence along the front of the hotel. the fence ran down to the edge of the creek. "anywhere this side of the fence is private." rick nodded. "it didn't use to be. that's why we tied up here. i'm sorry, mr...." "kelso. i rented the place a few weeks ago. haven't had time to get signs up yet." "we'll shove off right away, mr. kelso. sorry we intruded." "okay." rick started the engine, threw the launch into reverse, and backed out. scotty sat down beside him. "how about that?" "funny," rick said. "didn't cap'n mike say a family named kelso had taken the hotel because their little boy was sick and needed fresh air?" "that's what he said," scotty affirmed. "do you suppose that was the sick little boy?" "if he's sick," rick said grimly, "it's trigger fever. i think he'd like to take a shot at someone." "it would sure be an effective way of discouraging trespassers. why do you suppose they crave privacy so much?" "beats me," rick said. "we'll have to ask cap'n mike." the launch passed the edge of the creek house fence and came to a strip of sandy beach. the road ended a few feet from the beach. a number of cars were parked in the area, and along smugglers' reef were the occupants, most of them standing around the wreck. "i'll run the launch in as far as i can," risk directed, "then you jump ashore with the anchor." "okay." scotty went forward and took the small anchor from its lashings, making sure he had plenty of line. as rick pushed the bow of the launch into shallow water until it grated on the sand, scotty jumped across the six feet of open water to the beach. rick took the keys from the ignition and joined him. together they pulled the launch in a foot or two more, then dug the anchor into the sand. it would hold until the tide changed. "let's go look at the wreck," scotty said. rick nodded. "afterward, i think we'd better go look up cap'n mike. i have some questions i want to ask him." "about what?" "something he said last night. and about the kelsos." they reached the old light tower and paused to examine it. salt air had etched the steel of the frame badly. the tower was almost forty feet high, about twice as tall as the present light. at its top had been a wooden platform where the lightkeeper had once stood to care for the light. a rusty metal ladder led up one side of the tower to where the platform had been. rick wondered why the authorities had abandoned the tower in favor of the smaller light at the very tip of the reef and decided it probably was because having the warning signal at the very point was more practical. that way, a ship needed only to clear the light without worrying about how far away from the light it had to pass. "let's go," scotty said. "nothing interesting about this relic." they joined the group of men at the wreck of the _sea belle_ and saw that the wreck was being inspected, probably by the insurance people. a question to one of the watchers affirmed the guess. rick asked, "what do they expect to find?" "search me." scotty nudged rick. "we won't have to look far for cap'n mike. there he is." the old man was seated on a rock, whittling at a twig. seemingly, he paid no attention to anything going on. now and then he looked out to sea, but mostly he paid attention to his whittling. rick walked over, scotty behind him. "good morning, cap'n mike." "'morning, boys." "remember us?" "sure do. where's the reporter?" "he's not with us. we came down to do a little fishing." bright eyes twinkled at them. "fishing, eh? what kind?" "we thought we might get some blackfish at the end of the reef," scotty replied. "you might at that," cap'n mike said. "you might gets crabs off the end of the creek house pier, too, if red kelso would let you try. did you ask him?" rick grinned. cap'n mike might not seem to be paying attention, but evidently he didn't miss much. "we didn't ask him," he said. "maybe we didn't even see him." he knew cap'n mike could have seen the boat vanish upcreek and return, but he wouldn't have been able to see past the fence. "maybe you didn't," the old captain conceded. "but you sure saw somebody, and it had to be kelso or that boy of his." "why do they want so much privacy?" scotty demanded. cap'n mike ignored the question. "you really got any fishing gear in that launch?" "hand lines," rick said. "that's good as anything. now, i always say a man can't think proper in a mob like this. too distracting. so let's go fishing and do some thinking. what say?" rick's glance met scotty's. cap'n mike had his own way of doing things. they had nothing to lose by humoring him. "let's go," scotty said. as they passed the wreck, rick stopped for a moment to look at it again. the air was even heavier than the night before with the reek of dead fish. they were scattered along the reef in shoals ten feet wide. by daylight he could see that the trawler was finished. she had broken her back and torn out a good part of her bottom. she must have been really making knots to hit like that. "cap'n, exactly what was the weather like when tom tyler hit?" rick asked. "not bad. visibility might have been less than real perfect, but it wouldn't have interfered with him seeing the light." "would it have interfered with him seeing the reef if the light had been out?" "i reckon it would. until he was right on it, anyway." rick turned the information over in his mind. "were any other trawlers out last night?" "plenty. the _sea belle_ was first in, but the rest were right behind. the light was burning, all right. i thought of that, too, son." "my name is rick brant. this is don scott. we call him scotty." "knew you both," cap'n mike said. "i subscribe to the paper your friend writes for. seen your pictures couple of times. didn't you just get back from somewhere?" "the south pacific," scotty said. "used to sail those waters. reckon things have changed some." "the war changed the islands," scotty told him. "especially...." he stopped suddenly and took rick's arm. "look." the elder kelso was standing in front of the launch. "what do you suppose he's after?" rick asked. before scotty or cap'n mike could think up an answer, kelso turned and walked back along the beach. there was a foot or two of space between the water of the creek and the hotel fence. the redheaded man slipped through it and vanished from sight. "i'll bet he came out just to look the boat over," scotty guessed, "and there's only one reason i can think of why he'd do that. he wanted to see if he could find out more about us." "unless he admired the launch and wanted a closer look at it," rick added. cap'n mike snorted. "red kelso's got no eye for beauty, in boats, anyway." "then my guess must have been right," scotty said. "right or wrong," cap'n mike retorted, "i can't say's i like it. i wish you boys had talked to me before you decided to invade salt creek!" chapter iv a warning cap'n mike tested his line, then gave a sharp tug. he hauled rapidly and lifted a three-pound blackfish into the boat. "practically a minnow," he said. "did we come out here to fish or to talk?" rick asked. they were anchored a few hundred yards off the reef tip and had been for almost an hour. in that time cap'n mike had made a good haul of four blacks, one flounder and a porgy. rick and scotty had caught two blacks apiece. there was a definite twinkle in cap'n mike's eyes. "came to talk," he said. "but the fish are biting too good. better fish while the fishing's good. time enough to talk later." "time enough for fishing later, you mean," rick retorted. "hauling in blackfish isn't going to find out why the _sea belle_ was wrecked." "got the answer to that already," cap'n mike said. rick and scotty stared. "you have?" rick asked incredulously. "stands to reason. didn't you tell me you knew mrs. tyler was scared?" "yes, but what...." "well, tom is scared, too. he wasn't, until the _sea belle_ was wrecked, but he sure is now. that's why he's sticking to that story of his instead of telling the truth." "what is the truth?" scotty demanded. "don't know that. yet. reckon i'll find out, though. only i'll need some help." keen eyes surveyed the two boys. rick worked his hand line absently. "you mean you want us to help?" "seems i've read about you boys solving a mystery or two, haven't i?" "we've had a couple of lucky breaks," scotty said. "we're not real detectives." cap'n mike tried his line and muttered, "feels like a cunner is stealing my bait. well, boys, i wouldn't be surprised none if a little luck like yours is what we need. can't pretend, though, that you might not be walking right into something you wouldn't like. anything that scares tom tyler is something anyone with sense would be afraid of." rick hauled in his line and saw that his bait was gone. he rebaited, his mind on what he already knew of the case. "i've been wanting to ask you," he said. "that answer you gave to jerry when he asked where tom tyler was. you said 'inside. surrounded by fools.' what did you mean?" cap'n mike sniffed. "just what i said. if the constable and the rest hadn't been fools they would have known that tom tyler was afraid to talk. just like plenty of others are afraid." rick picked up his ears. "others? cap'n, i think you know a few things you haven't told us." the old seaman hauled in his line and grunted when he saw that his bait had been stolen. "reckon we got too many bait stealers down below now. either of you boys hungry?" "i am," scotty said promptly. "i could eat," rick admitted. he looked at his watch. it was almost noon. "then let's haul anchor and get out of here." in a moment the hand lines were wound on driers and the anchor stowed. at cap'n mike's direction, rick pointed the launch to the south, toward the town. the old man took out his pocketknife, whetted it briefly on the sole of his shoe, and commenced to clean and fillet the fish they had caught. scotty slipped into the seat beside rick. "what do you think about trying to solve this one?" rick shrugged. there was nothing he enjoyed as much as a mystery, but he wanted more information from captain michael o'shannon before he agreed to anything. he had suspected that the old seaman knew more than he was saying. "we'll wait and see what develops," he said. "okay with you?" "suits me," scotty agreed. the launch sped past million dollar row, leaving behind a string of fishy waste as cap'n mike went on with his cleaning. by the time they were even with the town he had a handsome stack of white boneless fillets all ready for the pan. he brought them forward and took a seat next to scotty. "guess these'll taste mighty good. got a little fresh bread and plenty of butter to go with 'em." rick pointed to a large barnlike structure on the biggest pier in front of the town. "what's that?" "fish market. that's where most of the trawlers load and unload. it's quiet now, because the fleet is out, but after dark when they come in, and early in the morning before they leave--that's the busiest place in these parts. i'll take you down there one of these times. might be we'll find a couple of answers there." he pointed to an old windmill on the shore just below the town. "steer for that." "do you live there?" scotty asked. "i live in a shack behind it. but there's a place to tie up. you'll see it in a minute." as the captain had said, there was a small dock in front of the windmill. rick headed the launch for it and in a short time they were tied up. behind the mill, which was an old ruin that had been used a half century before for grinding meal, was the road leading south from seaford. across the road was a weather-beaten fisherman's shack. cap'n mike pushed the door open. "it ain't no palace," he said, "but it's home and i'm proud to welcome you. come on in." inside, rick stared around him with appreciative surprise. the little shanty was as neat and efficient as a ship's cabin. on one side was a tiny galley with everything neatly stowed. on the other was a built-in bunk. the walls had been papered with old charts, and he saw that most of them were of the new york-new jersey area. a ship's lantern, wired for electricity, hung so low that it almost brushed scotty's head. ship models lined the mantel. cap'n mike was already at work in the galley. with no waste motion he produced a coffeepot, filled it with water, dumped in a handful of coffee and put it on the stove. he whisked a match across the seat of his pants and lit the kerosene. then he produced a paper bag, shook in flour, salt and pepper, dumped in the fish and closed the bag, shaking it violently a few times with one hand while he produced a frying pan with the other. in a moment the pan was full of frying fish. a breadbox yielded a loaf of homemade bread. before rick and scotty quite realized that lunch was ready, he had them seated at a table that folded down from the wall, with a smoking platter of fillets in front of them. "eat," he commanded. rick was no fish fancier, but he had to admit that this was delicious. and the coffee, in spite of the apparent carelessness with which it had been made, was the best ever. when the last drop had been consumed, cap'n mike pushed back his chair. "let's get down to brass tacks," he said. "do you go along with me or not?" rick dropped into the idiom of the sea. "i like to know the course before i haul anchor." cap'n mike chuckled. "didn't expect caution or wisdom from you." scotty grinned. "don't worry. he's neither cautious nor wise. he can't wait to get started and neither can i. but rick's right. we have to know the whole story." "right. well, there isn't much. something's been going on in seaford. don't ask me what, because i don't know. i think tom tyler does, and i think his finding out is what led to the wreck of the _sea belle_." he held up his hand as rick's lips framed a question. "you're going to ask me how i know that. well, i don't know it. i just suspect it. i was a mite too positive when i said i knew. all i know is tom tyler told me one day that he had an idea that something strange was going on at the creek house, and that he intended to find out what it was. now! he must have had a good idea that whatever was going on was crooked, because tom isn't the kind of man to pry into folks' business without a good purpose." "do you think he found out?" rick asked. "i do. i think he found out four nights ago. i was sitting in my dory jigging for eels a little distance down from the creek house fence right at the mouth of salt creek. i saw tom. he didn't know i saw him. he came around the corner of the fence and for a minute he was silhouetted against a light. i didn't see his face, but i'm sure. known him since he was a shaver. next morning i bumped into him at the pier, getting ready to go out on the _sea belle_. he said to see him at his house that night, because he had something to talk to me about. well, i saw him that night, but not at his house. he was sitting at a corner table in sam's lobster house, and can you guess who was with him?" "red kelso?" cap'n mike nodded at rick. "it was kelso. he was doing the talking, too, and from the expression on tom's face, he wasn't saying anything tom liked a whole lot. after a while he left, and i went over to tom. i asked casual-like what it was he wanted to talk with me about and he froze up like a clam. he was scared, at first. then he seemed to get sort of mad, too, because he said, 'i'm going to call his bluff. wait and see.'" "meaning kelso," scotty said. "i reckon, but tom wouldn't talk. he said it was better that i didn't know what he was talking about. he got up and left and i didn't see him again until last night at city hall after he wrecked the _sea belle_." rick thought it over. the logical deduction was that tom tyler had somehow gotten suspicious of the kelsos and what they were doing at creek house and had gone spying. kelso had found out tyler had spied on him and had warned him, although rick couldn't imagine what club he had held over tyler's head. tyler had ignored the warning and somehow kelso had contrived to wreck the trawler. but how? "was the regular crew aboard the _sea belle_?" he asked. "yes. just the regulars. all good men who've sailed with tom tyler for more'n ten years." "you said mrs. tyler was afraid, too," scotty remembered. cap'n mike shrugged. "probably tom talked the whole thing over with her." there had been an air of tension at the wreck last night, rick thought. maybe other fishermen were in it, too. he put the question to cap'n mike. "i don't think so," the old man said. "the whole town knows something's up. they know tom tyler doesn't wince at shadows. if he's afraid, and they know he is, he's got reasons. that makes 'em all uneasy. but there is one gang that i'm sure is mixed up in this, and that's the bunch on the _albatross_. she's a fishing craft just like tom's, only her skipper isn't much like tom. name's brad marbek." rick stretched his legs. "why do you think he and his crew are mixed up in it?" "eel fishing is a good business for them as wants information," cap'n mike said. rick hid a smile. the old seaman was bursting with curiosity about the creek house and its new inhabitants. he had a picture of him sitting patiently at the mouth of salt creek, ostensibly fishing but actually watching to see what he could find out. "i've seen the _albatross_ tied up at salt creek pier three times," the captain went on. "now! why would a trawler, loaded to the gunwales with menhaden, stop at the hotel before coming in to the fish wharves to unload?" "not for social purposes, that's certain," rick said. "find out why and we're a lot closer to the solution," cap'n mike stated. rick had the germ of an idea. "how far out do the trawlers go?" "few miles. fishing grounds start a couple of miles out. why?" "just an idea." scotty's eyes met rick's. "thinking about going to take a look?" "could be. what time do they leave here, and what time do they get back?" "they leave about four in the morning at this time of year. mostly they don't get back until around nine. they like to get to the grounds by daylight and fish until dark. if they get a full load before dark, of course they come in earlier." rick grinned at scotty. "ever wanted to be a reporter?" "nope. my spelling isn't that good." "well, you're going to be one. let's get home. i want to make a call to the whiteside _morning record_." cap'n mike's eyes brightened. "so you'll work along with me, hey? knew you would. what happens now?" "first thing is to interview captain tyler and his crew," rick said. cap'n mike shook his head. "you'd be wasting time. i've already tried. tom's not saying a word, even to his old friends, and the crew has orders from him not to talk. they're loyal. you'll get nothing out of 'em." "all right," rick said, disappointed. if the fishermen wouldn't talk to cap'n mike they certainly wouldn't talk to him and scotty. "then we'll go back to spindrift and do a couple of chores. we'll come back to seaford tonight. i'd like to get a look at the _albatross_, if you can fix it." "easy." cap'n mike rubbed his hands together gleefully. "i'm betting we can get tom tyler out of this." rick scratched his head thoughtfully. "don't get your hopes too high, cap'n mike. we're only a couple of amateurs, remember." "some amateurs are better than some professionals, no matter what the business. i'm not worried any more." cap'n mike walked down to the boat landing in front of the old windmill with them. "how will you come down tonight?" "i'll try to borrow a car," rick said. "think jerry will lend us his, scotty?" "if he isn't using it. if he is, maybe we can borrow gus's." scotty walked to the stern of the launch and untied the line that held it to the pier. rick loosed the bow line, then jumped into the pilot's seat. as he did so, he sat on a sheet of paper. he had left no paper on the seat. he rescued it and turned it over. there was a message on the back, printed in pencil in huge block letters. its content sent a sudden shiver through him. he beckoned to scotty and handed it to him. "looks like someone can read enough to get our home port off the stern of the launch." scotty scanned it rapidly, then whistled softly. for cap'n mike's benefit, he read it aloud. _keep out of this. keep out of seaford and stay away from shannon. stay at spindrift where you belong. you'll get hurt if you don't._ scotty's face took on an injured expression. "to read that," he complained, "you'd think we weren't wanted here!" chapter v the mysterious phone call rick hung up the phone in the spindrift library and turned to scotty. "jerry is using his car tonight. but duke says okay. he'll make out a reporter's identity card for you and a photographer's card for me. only if anything interesting turns up, we have to give him a story." "good thing papers have rewrite men," scotty said, grinning. "it's all i can do to write a readable letter. a news story would be way beyond me." rick picked up the phone again. "i'll see if gus is using his car." gus, owner, chief mechanic, and general factotum of the whiteside airport, had loaned his car to rick on several occasions. his hope, he explained every time, was that rick would drive it to pieces so he could collect the insurance and get a better one. in a moment gus answered. "it's gus." "rick here, gus. that ancient clunk of yours still running?" gus's voice assumed wounded dignity. "are you speaking of my airplane or my automobile?" "your limousine. using it tonight?" "nope. don't drive it any more than i have to. when do you want it?" "about eight, if that's all right." "okay. i'll drop it off at the dock. don't bother bringing it back. just let me know where it is so i can tell the insurance company." "i'm a safe driver, gus," rick said with a grin. "if i believed that i wouldn't lend you the car. leave it in my back yard when you get through, huh?" "thanks a million, gus. i'll take good care of it." "don't. you'll spoil it." rick rang off. "what time is it?" "about half past three," scotty said. "why?" "let's take the cub up for a little spin." scotty chuckled. "you're never as happy as when you're trying to unravel a mystery. any mystery." "you don't like it," rick scoffed. "you like a peaceful, quiet life. a book and a hammock. that's for you. why don't you go get one of your oat operas to read and leave the mystery to me?" "got to keep you out of trouble," scotty said amiably. "it isn't because i'm interested." they walked from the house into the orchard that separated the low, gray stone laboratory buildings from the house and headed toward the air strip. the strip was grass-covered and just big enough for a small plane like rick's. it ran along the seaward side of the island, with the orchard on one side and the sea cliff on the other. "just thought," scotty said suddenly. "we'd better have some binoculars if we're going out to take a look at the fleet." "i'll warm up while you get them," rick agreed. he started the engine and warmed the plane until scotty arrived with a pair of ten-power binoculars. scotty untied the parking ropes and pulled out the wheel chocks, then got into his seat. "let's go," he said. rick nodded and advanced the throttle. in a moment the cub lifted easily from the grass. rick settled down to the business of flying. he looked at the sea below and estimated the wind force. mentally he figured his probable drift, then decided on south-southeast as his compass heading, and swung the little plane on course. "checked the equipment recently?" scotty asked. he referred to the two-man life raft and signaling pistol rick had purchased from navy surplus for just such overwater flights as this. "went through it saturday," rick said. "but don't worry. we won't get your feet wet." "you hadn't better," scotty retorted. "these are new shoes i have on." he paused. "what do you think about that warning?" they had discussed it thoroughly on the way home from seaford, examining all possibilities. "i haven't changed my mind," rick said. "i think it was carrots kelso." he reasoned that red kelso, the boy's father, had too much sense to try warning them away. the only purpose the warning would serve would be to arouse their curiosity even more--which it had certainly done. "that carrots is a queer one," scotty said. he had to raise his voice slightly because of the engine's drone. "did you notice the rifle he carried?" "and how! it looked like a . - ." "it wasn't." rick looked at scotty in surprise. "no?" "nope. it looked like one because of the lever. sport carbines have those to lever cartridges into the chamber. but this one had a lever for pumping air. i've only seen one like it before, and a professional hunter in australia had that one. he used it for collecting specimens when he didn't want to make noise. sometimes he found several wallabies or tasmanian wolves together and he could get two or three before they knew what was up." "you mean an air gun has enough power to use for hunting?" rick knew modern air guns had high penetrating power, but he had never heard of one powerful enough to use on animals as big as wolves. "this model has," scotty told him. "it was made by the breda gun company in czechoslovakia before the war. the slug is about . caliber, but heavier than the kind we have in america." "wonder where he got it," rick mused. "hard to tell. they're expensive guns, believe me." the cub had been flying only a few hundred feet above the water. behind them, the new jersey coast was still in sight. rick climbed to a thousand feet and told scotty to start looking for the fishing fleet. "how many shots can you get out of that air rifle?" rick asked. "just one. it's automatic loading, but it has to be pumped up each time. that's not as hard as it sounds, though, because the pump is made so that two strokes will give it a full air charge. it's about as fast firing as a single-shot . rifle." rick's eyes scanned the horizon. "how do you suppose carrots tracked us to cap'n mike's shack?" "easy enough. he could hike along the shore and keep us in sight." "he was risking being seen when he put that warning on the seat. suppose one of us had looked out the window?" "then he would have pretended to be just hiking, or looking at the boat or something. it wasn't really much of a risk." "i suppose not," rick agreed. small specks on the horizon caught his eye suddenly and he pointed. "there's the fleet!" scotty held the binoculars to his eyes. "sure enough. about eight trawlers so far, pretty well scattered." in a few moments they could see clouds of gulls and petrels around the boats, a sure sign of plenty of fish. then they made out the details of the big nets used by the fishermen for catching the menhaden. "see if you can spot the _albatross_," rick said. "you'll have to go down and pass each boat, then. i couldn't make out the names from this height." "okay. here we go." on each of the craft, fishermen waved as the cub sped past. scotty read the names aloud. none of the trawlers was the _albatross_. rick put the cub into a climb. "there must be other trawlers around. let's go up and take a look." scotty shook his head. "i have a better idea. we'll see the _albatross_ tonight, anyway. why not go into shore and fly over creek house? sometimes you can see things from the air you can't see from the ground." rick considered. flying out to the fleet had been only an impulse anyway; he hadn't expected to see anything. he was quite sure the _albatross_ would look and act just like the rest of the seaford fleet. "good idea," he said finally, and banked the cub around. he pointed the little plane south of west to compensate for the wind, then settled back. rick kept an eye out for landmarks as the coast approached and presently he made out the steel towers of an antenna field. that would be the loran radio range south of seaford. he had compensated a little too much for drift. he banked north and in a few moments scotty spotted seaford. rick dropped down, but kept out to sea so that he wouldn't violate the law about flying too low over towns. he saw the windmill and cap'n mike's shack behind it. "go past smugglers' reef and then turn and come back over creek house," scotty suggested. rick nodded. dead ahead he could see the curving arm of the reef and the wreck of tyler's trawler. he saw that the fishing craft had piled up just about midway between the navigation light on the reef's tip and the old tower where the light formerly had been. men were working about the trawler. then, as the cub flashed overhead, he saw a large truck that had backed down the reef toward the wreck as far as it was safe to go. scotty had been watching through the glasses. as rick swung wide out to sea and banked around to go south again, he said, "know what they're doing down there? they're stripping the wreck." "that makes sense," rick said. "probably the insurance company wants to salvage what it can. they'd have to act fast before sea water ruined the engines." he banked sharply over brendan's marsh. to the right was the highway leading from whiteside to seaford. between the highway and the sea was the marsh. although the marsh looked like solid growth from the ground, it could be seen that it was cut up by narrow waterways, most of which wandered aimlessly through the rushes and then vanished. salt creek was sharply defined, however, indicating that it was much deeper than the surrounding water. the creek house was fenced in on only two sides, he saw. the high boards separated it from the next hotel on the south, and from the road on the sea front. but inland, a continuation of the marsh served as a dividing line. salt creek made the fourth side. the old mansion was set in the middle of the square with a big combination garage and boathouse behind it, almost against the marsh on the creek side. the doors were open and he could make out a black car, probably a coupé or two-door model, in one of the stalls. "see anyone?" scotty asked. "not a soul." evidently the kelsos were indoors. rick climbed as the cub passed over seaford, then turned out to sea and went northward again. scotty kept the glasses on smugglers' reef. as they flashed past, he swiveled sharply. "rick, make another run, right over the wreck." "you won't be able to see it if i go right over it," rick objected. "i don't want to see the wreck, i want a closer look at the old tower." rick shot a glance at his pal. "see something?" "i'm not sure." "i'll throttle down so you can get a better look." he made a slow bank, lined up the wreck and throttled down, dropping the nose to a shallow glide in order to maintain flying speed. as the cub passed the old tower, he looked curiously. he couldn't imagine what had attracted scotty's interest. the thing was only a steel framework, red with rust. not even the top platform was left. off seaford, he banked out to sea again. "see enough?" scotty dropped the binoculars to his lap. "i saw bright metal on the lowest cross girder. i couldn't tell much, but it looked like a deep scratch. and some of the rust had been flaked off around the spot, too. i could tell because it was a redder color than the rest." rick thought it over. "i can't make anything out of that," he said finally. "what's your guess?" scotty shrugged. "i don't have one. but it's a cinch someone has been up there, and within the past couple of days, too. raw metal rusts fast right over the sea like that, and this spot was bright enough to attract my attention. maybe we'd better have a closer look from the ground." "it wouldn't hurt," rick agreed. "well, what now?" "might as well go home," scotty said. "we can take it easy until after dinner, and then go to whiteside, pick up those cards from duke and get the car from gus." they had been flying steadily north. a moment later spindrift loomed on the horizon. rick saw the gray lab building and, to its left, pirate's field where the rocket launcher had once stood. he waited until the cub was abreast of the old oak on the mainland that he used as a landmark, then cut the throttle. the plane lost altitude rapidly, passed a few feet over the radar antenna on the lab building and settled to the grass strip. rick gunned the tail around and rolled to the parking place. they staked down the cub and walked through the orchard to the house. in the kitchen, mrs. brant was rolling out piecrust. she smiled at the boys. "been riding?" "we went out to watch the fishing fleet," rick said, "then swung down over seaford for another look at that wrecked trawler. what kind of pie, mom?" "butterscotch." scotty smacked his lips. "we should have waited a little while, then we could have had a sample when we got in." "no samples," mrs. brant said. "it would spoil your supper." "not mine," scotty replied. "nothing spoils my supper. got any doughnuts handy, mom?" mrs. brant sighed. "in the stone crock. and there's milk in the refrigerator. but only one doughnut!" "only one," scotty agreed. "how about you, rick?" "i'm not hungry. i think i'll go up and work on the camera for a while." he would have over an hour to work on it before it was time to eat. he started for the stairs, then paused as the telephone rang. hartson brant, who was working in the library, answered it and called, "rick? it's for you." "i'll take it upstairs, dad." he hurried to the top of the stairs and picked up the hall phone. "hello?" "rick brant?" rick stiffened. it was a man's voice, but obviously disguised as though the man spoke through a handkerchief held over the mouthpiece. "yes. who is it?" "a friend," the disguised voice answered. "you're a nice kid and i don't like to see you getting into trouble. keep out of seaford. remember that! keep out of seaford and stop flying over in your airplane or you're going to get hurt. you won't be warned again. next time, you'll wake up in a hospital!" there was a click as the speaker hung up. chapter vi the "albatross" "know what i like about you?" scotty said. "my charm," rick answered. "or is it that i like food as much as you do?" "neither. what i like about you is your caution. the very soul of prudence, that's what you are. your instinct for self-preservation is exceeded by only one thing." "my," rick said. "that's almost poetic. what's the one thing?" "your instinct for getting into trouble," scotty stated. "you get a warning to stay away from seaford, so what happens next?" he waved at the scenery as they sped past in gus's old car. "naturally we head for seaford at ninety miles an hour, not even stopping to pick up our press cards." rick laughed. "be accurate. this old heap can't go ninety miles an hour. besides, it's only my never-ending search for the truth that leads me to seaford. i want to find out if the warning is true." scotty sighed. "whoever it was that phoned should know you as i do. if we needed anything to sharpen the famous brant nose for trouble, it was that phone call. i suppose now we'll spend all our waking hours commuting back and forth to seaford." "not all," rick corrected. "some of the time we'll be in seaford." "any idea who it was that phoned?" "it could have been anyone. but i don't think it was carrots kelso. the voice was an older man's. maybe it was his father, but i didn't hear enough of his voice to recognize it." "why should anyone worry about us looking into things?" "respect," rick said, wincing as the car bounced across salt creek bridge. "respect for the genius of spindrift's two leading detectives. can't think of any other reason." "unless whatever is going on would be so obvious to anyone who took the trouble to investigate that the party concerned doesn't even want two simple-minded souls like us poking around." "such modesty," rick clucked. "okay, hawkshaw," scotty said resignedly. "on to seaford. we'll probably find the answer just as the villain lowers the boom on us." rick swung into the seaford turnoff and slowed for the main street. he went straight ahead to the water front and then turned right. in a few moments the car drew up in front of cap'n mike's shack. the captain opened the door and peered out. "be with you in a minute." in much less than a minute he was out again, clad in a jacket and officer's cap. "howdy," he greeted them. "see much from your airplane?" "how did you know it was our airplane?" rick asked curiously. "pshaw! you don't give people credit for knowing much, do you? i'll bet everyone in seaford knows about your airplane. everyone who reads the whiteside _morning record_, anyway." "but all cubs look alike," rick protested, "and most of them are painted yellow." cap'n mike snorted. "what of it? no other yellow planes in this area, and you been seen on the ground in seaford twice already. what would anyone think? especially when you're on a direct bearing for spindrift when you leave?" "he's got something there," scotty said. "it's a logical conclusion." rick had to agree. "well, you're the guide, cap'n. where to?" "the pier." cap'n mike looked at the fast-fading light in the west. "it's time for the trawlers to be coming in. reckon we'll talk to a couple of folks and get a look at the _albatross_ and her crew." rick turned the car around and headed for town. "why don't you tell us all you know about the _albatross_ visiting creek house?" "i intended to. first off, the _albatross_ has been there three times that i know of. and each time she has put in on her way back from the fishing grounds. now, that's mighty strange. first thing a captain thinks of is getting his fish into port. but not brad marbek. instead, he lays at the creek house pier until nigh onto midnight. then he puts into the wharf and unloads his fish. what do you make out of that?" rick could make nothing out of it. the _albatross_ certainly wouldn't be calling at creek house just to be sociable. "were these calls made at regular intervals?" he asked. "nope. one was two weeks ago, one was four nights ago, and the last time was night before last." "wasn't four nights ago the night you saw tom tyler at creek house?" scotty recalled. "it was. that's one reason why i'm sure the _albatross_ is tied up with the wreck of the _sea belle_." rick searched for possible reasons why the trawler should tie up at creek house and rejected all but one. he had the beginnings of an idea, but he needed to think about it a little more before he broached it. "cap'n, you've been keeping an eye on the kelsos for quite a while, sounds like," rick said. "do they ever have any visitors?" "haven't seen any." "no trucks?" rick asked. "haven't seen any." they were approaching the big, shedlike fish pier. it was brilliantly lighted. at cap'n mike's direction, rick pulled off the street and parked. "what happens to the menhaden after they're unloaded?" scotty wanted to know. "ever notice that one-story building next to the pier? well, they go into that on conveyer belts. then the oil is cooked out of them and what's left is turned into feed or fertilizer. you'd know if you'd ever been here while the plant was processing and the wind was inshore. dangdest smell you ever smelled. like to ruin your nose." rick sniffed the fishy air. "i believe it," he said. cap'n mike had been leading the way toward the big pier. now he turned onto the pier itself. some trawlers already were tied up and were being unloaded by bucket cranes. the reek of fish was strong enough to make rick wish for a gas mask. he saw scotty's nose wrinkle and knew his pal wasn't enjoying it, either. the captain stopped at the first trawler and hailed the bridge. a big man in an officer's cap answered the hail. "let's go aboard," cap'n mike said. "this here is the _jennie lake_. we'll talk with bill lake for a minute." bill lake was the skipper, and the man they had seen directing the unloading from the bridge. he greeted cap'n mike cordially. the captain introduced the two boys and lake shook hands without taking his eyes from the unloading operation. rick saw a scoop drop into the hold and come up with a slippery half-ton of menhaden. then it sped along a beam track into the big shed, paused over a wide conveyer belt, lowered to within a few feet of the belt and dumped its load. a clerk just inside the door marked the load on a board. rick looked for the winch operator and found him opposite the clerk. the scoop came back rapidly, sped out the track extension above the hold, and paused. bill lake signaled and the big bucket dropped slowly. at a further signal, it opened its jaws and plunged into the mass of fish, then slowly crunched closed and lifted again. there was certainly no waste motion here, rick thought. cap'n mike asked, too casually, "what'd you think of tom tyler running on smugglers' reef, bill?" bill's cordiality seemed to freeze up. "none of my business," he said shortly. "can't pass judgment on a fellow skipper." cap'n mike nodded. "reckon that's right. bill, how did you find visibility last night?" "none too good. there was a heavy current running, too." "that's interesting. how'd you know that?" "patch of mist drifted in. anyway, i lost the light for a bit. when the mist cleared, the current had set us two points off course." captain lake's forehead wrinkled as he watched the scoop return for another load. "mighty funny, too. usually there's no current to speak of off brendan's marsh. but i've said for quite a while that the currents hereabouts are changing and it looks like this proves it." "was captain tyler directly ahead of you, sir?" rick asked. "not directly. he was three ahead, the way i figure. brad marbek was right behind him, then came jim killian." "how far apart were you?" rick inquired. "quite a ways. jim was pretty close in front of me, but brad was almost out of my sight. don't know how close he followed tom." cap'n mike spat over the side. "sad business, anyway," he said. "well, bill, i'm taking these lads on a little tour of the pier. reckon we'll be pushing along. looks like you'll be busy unloading for an hour or so." the boys shook hands with captain lake again, then followed their guide to the pier once more. cap'n mike waited until a scoopful of menhaden had passed overhead then led the way down the pier. "i wonder if captain killian got set off course by that current," rick mused. "i'd like to talk to him." cap'n mike shot a glance at him. "might be interesting at that. you thinking the same as i am?" "we all are," scotty replied. "that business about losing the light and having the current set him off course sounded kind of strange." "is he a good guy?" rick queried. "best there is. if he says it, it happened. but it's mighty funny just the same. reckon we'll have to find jim killian." they passed three trawlers, all unloading, and rick recognized names that scotty had read aloud during their brief flight over the fleet. many of the men they passed hailed cap'n mike. evidently he was well known to the fisherman and pier workers. suddenly the old man stopped. "there's brad marbek's craft." the next trawler in line was the _albatross_. rick looked it over critically. it was indistinguishable from the others. there was the same cabin, set well forward, the same large working space aft, the same net booms. it was no dirtier nor cleaner than the others. evidently it was filled with fish, because only the top plimsoll number was showing. but the skipper was far from average. brad marbek, as rick saw him on the deck overhead, was a bull of a man. he was about six feet tall, but his width made him look shorter. his shoulder span would have done credit to a percheron horse, and from his shoulders his torso dropped in almost a straight line. his waist lacked only an inch or two of being as wide as his shoulders. his legs were short and thick and planted wide on the deck. his head was massive and set squarely on his shoulders with hardly any neck. he was hatless and his coarse black hair, cropped short, stood straight up like a vegetable brush. his face was weathered to a dark mahogany color. "not very pretty, is he?" scotty whispered. that, rick thought, was a masterpiece of understatement. he started to tell scotty that compared with brad marbek a hereford bull was downright winsome, but at that moment cap'n mike hailed the _albatross_. "howdy, brad. how's fish?" the skipper's reply was cordial enough. "howdy, cap'n mike. took another good haul today. just startin' to unload." marbek's black eyes surveyed the two boys briefly, then evidently dismissed them as of no importance. "come on aboard." "thanks. we will." cap'n mike motioned to the two boys and led the way up the gangplank just as a scoop full of menhaden rose from the hold and passed overhead. on deck, the captain introduced the boys to marbek. rick found his hand imprisoned in a horny mass that appeared to be controlled by steel cables instead of tendons. he tried not to wince. "best season i've seen in years," marbek told cap'n mike. his voice was ridiculously high and soft, out of keeping with his physique. "that's what everyone's saying," cap'n mike acknowledged. "why, only two days ago, i heard ..." scotty nudged rick with a sharp elbow. he was looking at the pier. rick turned and followed his pal's glance, then as he saw what scotty was looking at, he inhaled sharply. carrots kelso was leaning against a pillar, watching them. "wonder what's on his mind?" rick asked. brad marbek saw the direction of their glance. "you kids know jimmy? he's my nephew." the pause before cap'n mike spoke was proof of his surprise. "you don't say!" he changed the subject abruptly. "say, brad, i've been meaning to ask you. did you notice any peculiar current offshore last night?" "current? can't say i did. why?" "bill lake claims a strong current set him off course just as he picked up smugglers' light, about the time tom tyler ran aground." rick thought that brad marbek hesitated slightly and searched for the right answer. "now that you mention it, i did notice a little shift." a scoop whirred out of the hold, crossed the pier, dumped its load and started the return. "let me know if you find out any more about it," marbek said. "right now i guess i better attend to my unloadin'." "sure, brad," cap'n mike said. "we'll be getting on. by the way, happen to know where jim killian is tied up?" "i think he's on the other side of the pier. cross over and duck under the belts. he should be right abeam of us." "thanks. let's go, boys." cap'n mike led the way down the gangplank with rick and scotty following. rick felt brad marbek's eyes on them. he had sensed tension under the fisherman's surface cordiality, and he was interested in the quick way marbek had remembered the strange current when cap'n mike quoted bill lake. at the foot of the gangplank, cap'n mike paused. "let's find jim. i'm getting real curious about that current bill mentioned. what say?" "we're right with you," scotty replied. rick watched the big scoop vanish into the _albatross'_ hold, then looked for carrots kelso. he was no longer in sight. "wonder where carrots went to?" he said to scotty. "probably running to tell his father we're prowling around the pier." cap'n mike led the way into the pier shed. he turned to look over his shoulder at the boys. "what'd you think of marbek claiming young kelso as a nephew?" "don't you think he really is?" rick asked. he had to raise his voice above the noise of the scoop as it lifted from the trawler's hold. "surprise to me. i've known marbek fifteen years and never heard of any family. why--" "look out!" on the heels of scotty's cry, rick caught a glimpse of his pal hurling cap'n mike headlong. he jumped forward, glancing up, just as the great fish scoop opened over his head. he put all of his energy in a forward leap to safety, but too late! cascading thousands of menhaden crushed him violently to the floor. chapter vii search for a clue as rick fell to the floor, he twisted sideways and managed to bring up one arm to protect his head. in an instant he was buried in a great, heavy, slippery mass of fish. his nostrils filled with the oily stench, and when he opened his mouth to breathe, he closed it again on a fish tail. he spat it out, and then, furious, he struggled against the slimy weight, got his hands and feet under him and heaved. fish cascaded from his arched back and he broke clear just as scotty reached for him. "you all right?" scotty gasped. "yes." cap'n mike, hurled clear by scotty's rush, was getting to his feet. scotty departed on a dead run. rick collected his thoughts and yelled, "hey! wait! where're you going?" "after kelso," scotty called back over his shoulder. rick didn't know what had happened, but evidently scotty did and was doing something about it. he ran after his friend, brushing off dirt from his clothes as he did so. he heard cap'n mike call, "wait for me!" but he didn't pause. at the entrance to the pier, rick caught up with scotty who was looking up and down the street, his face flushed with anger. "he's gone. no use looking for him because he could hide anywhere around here. but we'll catch up with him one of these days, and when we do ..." "what's it all about?" rick demanded. "carrots tripped that scoop on us. i don't know how, but i know he did it." cap'n mike came up behind them in time to hear scotty. "he's the one, all right. there's an emergency trip on those scoops, set in the wall. it's in case the operator loses control. then the scoop can be dumped without having all that weight smash against the end of the track and break things. young kelso must have punched the trip." "he sure did." rick sniffed angrily. "and i smell like ten days in a bait pail. scotty, we've got to get home and get out of these clothes. i can't stand myself." "check," scotty replied. "well, i guess that wraps up the investigation for the night, cap'n." cap'n mike nodded. "i want to be around when you boys meet up with young kelso. that was as fishy a trick as i ever saw pulled." rick looked at the old sea captain suspiciously. cap'n mike was having a hard time to keep from laughing. then rick had to grin himself. "don't laugh too loud," he reminded. "if scotty hadn't pushed you, you'd be smelling like a week-old herring yourself." "i know," cap'n mike said. "thanks." he threw back his head and roared. rick laughed, too, but when cap'n mike doubled up with mirth, he began to grow a little irritated. "it isn't that funny," he said, a little tartly. scotty chuckled. "maybe this is what amuses him." he reached over and plucked a small menhaden from the breast pocket of rick's jacket. "dangdest place to carry fresh fish i ever saw," cap'n mike said, and went off into gales of laughter again. rick took out his handkerchief and mopped his face. "well," he said, grinning, "i'm sure glad those menhaden weren't whales." they drove home to whiteside with all windows wide open and newspapers on the seat to protect the car, but even so, the stench of oily fish made rick feel a little queasy. "we can't go to spindrift like this," he complained. "tell you what, i'll take the wood road that goes down by the tidal flats. then one of us can cross over, get clean clothes for both of us and some soap and towels. we can go to walton's pond, take a swim, scrub off the fish, and change." "good idea," scotty agreed. "but these coats and pants will have to be dry cleaned." "that's easy. there's a night service door at the cleaners where we can just push them through." scotty chuckled. "you won't get any thanks for that. the whole dry cleaning place will smell like a fish market before morning." "we'll wrap them up good in plenty of newspapers." "where do we get the papers?" "from the _morning record_. i want to go there, anyway." scotty gave him a sideways glance. "got an idea?" "just a glimmer." rick's lips tightened. "and i'll tell you something else. until now, this case was just sort of interesting for itself, but now i have a personal interest. i think the kelsos are at the bottom of it." "and we owe them a debt," scotty finished. "carrots, anyway. what do you suppose he dumped the scoop on us for?" rick shrugged. "sheer poison meanness. and weren't we warned not to go to seaford?" an hour later, when they had cleaned up, the boys returned the car to gus, apologized for the faint but definite aroma of dead menhaden, and walked to the _morning record_ office. duke barrows, a veteran newspaperman but young in years, greeted them cordially. "hello, rick, scotty. here are those cards you asked for." he swiveled his chair around and regarded them with interested eyes. "getting anywhere on that seaford yarn?" "we're still feeling around," rick replied. "but there's a good story in it if we can find the lead." "keep working then," duke said. "i'll pay you space rates if it hits page one." "how much is that?" scotty wanted to know. "twenty-five cents a column inch on this sheet. you didn't expect to get rich, did you?" rick returned duke's grin. "if this story is as good as i think it is, we'll just about get rich. you'll want to cover the whole front page with it." "can't be that good," duke returned. rick looked around the office. "where's jerry?" "in the composing room. he'll be back in a minute. got anything on your mind?" "just an idea. do you keep a file of new york papers?" "over there. on the shelf. help yourself." rick nodded his thanks. "let's go give my idea a try, scotty." scotty tucked his press card into his wallet. "i could probably help if i knew what the idea was." rick explained briefly. he wanted to check the shipping sections for the dates when the _albatross_ had been seen at creek house. he particularly wanted to know what ships had arrived at new york at noon or before on those dates. he was interested in ships arriving from southern ports in the caribbean, or from southern europe. that, he figured, would give them only the ships that might have been standing off seaford in the early hours before dawn on the critical dates. he had a vague idea that he might find some sort of similarity in the ships that had been off seaford on the critical dates. the registry might be the same, or the ownership. but when the compilation was complete, there were no similarities at all. in fact, so far as he could determine, no ship had been off seaford during the time he had chosen as having the best possibilities. as they walked toward the whiteside boat landing after saying good night to duke and jerry, rick rapidly reviewed all they knew about the wreck of tom tyler's trawler and the events at seaford. "i sure thought i had the connecting link," he said. "i still think so, even if there wasn't any evidence in the papers. it's the only answer that makes any sense." scotty nodded. "keep talking." "okay. the kelsos suddenly arrive at seaford and move into creek house. then the _albatross_ starts making visits at a time when no fisherman in his right mind would pay calls. so brad marbek must be going to creek house on his way back from the fishing grounds for a good business reason. right?" "it figures. go ahead." "tom tyler spied on creek house, and he found out something. red kelso warned him, and tyler refused to take the warning. result: his ship was wrecked. we don't know how yet, but we'll find out. another thing: mrs. tyler was frightened, and tom tyler is afraid to talk. what's your guess on that?" scotty kicked a pebble out of the path. "kelso again. when tyler didn't take the first warning, his trawler was wrecked and he was told that next time something would happen to his family. that's the only threat they could make stick with a man like tyler. if they threatened him, he'd laugh at them. but if they threatened his wife and little girl ..." "that's the way i see it, too. now, what kind of business requires a boat, a house on a secluded part of the beach, and a guard with a rifle?" "smuggling," scotty said flatly. smuggling. it was the answer that fitted. rick didn't know yet what kind of smuggling, but he intended to find out. "if you were the kelsos, and if you were bringing contraband into creek house, how would you get it out of seaford?" he asked. scotty thought it over. "not trucks," he said. "cap'n mike said he hadn't seen any trucks calling at creek house. how about taking it somewhere in a small boat?" in his mind's eye rick saw the countryside surrounding creek house as he had seen it from the air. "right up salt creek," he said excitedly. "how about that? if they unloaded at the pier when the _albatross_ came in and then reloaded into a motor dory or some other kind of small boat, they could take it right up salt creek to the bridge. then all they would need would be a truck waiting there. and if they did it late at night, there wouldn't be any traffic to worry about." "that must be it!" scotty exclaimed. then he sobered. "but how are we going to find out if that's the answer?" there was only one way. "i guess we're just going to have to see for ourselves," rick said. as they passed the dry cleaning establishment, he took the bundle of newspaper-wrapped clothes he had been carrying and dropped them into the night-service opening. a whiff of departed menhaden smote his nose forcefully and he added grimly, "believe me, it'll be a pleasure!" chapter viii the old tower rick tightened the last screw that held the searchlight-telescope unit to his camera and looked at it with satisfaction. "i _should_ get a picture," he murmured. there were still quite a few unknown factors. he knew the theoretical power of the infrared searchlight, but only an actual test would tell whether it gave enough light for the rather slow infrared film emulsion. he was sure that it wouldn't give enough light at its extreme range of eight hundred yards. in all probability, he would not get an image on the film at a distance greater than two hundred. it was a little strange to think in terms of light. true, infrared was light. but it was not visible to the human eye. the searchlight would cast no beam that could be seen, although anyone close to it would be able to see dimly the hot filament of the bulb. another unknown was the ability of the film emulsion to register the reflected infrared rays of his particular searchlight. the emulsion had been designed originally for infrared flash bulbs. the motion-picture film had been made at his special order. it was not a stock item. he wished professor gordon were at spindrift. gordon could have measured the wave length of the searchlight on the lab equipment. rick wasn't skilled enough to use the delicate spectroscopic wave analyzer as yet and hartson brant was busy with a problem in the library and couldn't be disturbed. he hoped he would have a chance to ask his father before he tested the camera. he rechecked the data that had come with the film and started to do some figuring. scotty came in just as the phone rang downstairs. both boys waited expectantly, and in a moment mrs. brant called. "it's an out-of-town call, for either one of you." "we'll take it up here, mom," rick called back. he and scotty raced for the landing. scotty reached the phone first. "hello?" he nodded at rick. "it's cap'n mike." something had told rick that the call would have to do with the seaford case. he glanced at his watch. it was almost noon. scotty held his hand over the mouthpiece. "he wants to know if we're coming down today. says he has something to talk over with us." rick said quickly, "we'll be down by boat right after lunch." scotty relayed the information and hung up. "he didn't say what it was, but he sounded worried. wanted to know why we didn't come down this morning." "afraid of getting smacked with a fresh tuna." rick grinned. "by the way, did you call jerry while i was working on the camera?" "i sure did. he got all excited. i had to calm him down a little before he went and looked up the answer." scotty had phoned at rick's suggestion to find out from jerry's newspaper sources what action to take in case they found evidence of smuggling at seaford. "he said to report it to the nearest federal authorities, either the coast guard or fbi in this area. but he said to be sure we had something more than suspicion to go on." "a good idea," rick agreed. "it wouldn't do to get the government all steamed up over nothing. besides, unless we could prove it, we'd be laying ourselves open to a charge of slander. well, let's go see if mom can scrape up a sandwich, and then get going for seaford." it was not yet two o'clock when cap'n mike greeted the boys as they tied up at the old windmill pier. "mighty glad you're here. boys, we've got to really buckle down to business." "what happened?" rick asked. he and scotty fell in step with the old captain and walked toward his shack. "tom tyler's hearing has been set for saturday morning." scotty frowned. "today is wednesday. that doesn't give us much time." "i know it don't. but unless we find some answers right fast, tom will lose his license sure as shooting. and that's not all. he'll find himself charged by the insurance company with deliberately running the _sea belle_ on the reef." rick found a comfortable seat in the captain's shack and stretched out his legs. "let's hold a council of war. if we're going to do anything, we'd better have a plan of action." he told cap'n mike of their suspicion that the kelsos and brad marbek might be engaged in smuggling and waited for the old man's reaction. cap'n mike rubbed his chin reflectively. "now! it could be that you boys have something there. it could just be!" "but what would they be smuggling?" scotty demanded. "shucks. i could make you a list a mile long. most people think it's only worth while to smuggle things like drugs or aliens, but i tell you many a tidy sum has been made by smuggling things just to escape paying duty on them." "suppose they _are_ smuggling," rick pointed out. "how do we prove it?" "catch 'em red-handed," scotty said. "red-handed instead of redheaded." rick and cap'n mike groaned in unison. it was the decision they had reached the night before, and rick had given some thought to it before going to sleep. "there are a couple of ways we might do that," he said. "first of all, we know they have to get rid of the stuff somehow. we could keep watch on creek house until it's moved. the only trouble is, they may be letting it pile up in the hotel. that would mean sticking on the job all day and all night." "not practical," scotty objected. "mom would object to our staying out all night for maybe a week. besides, we want to find the answer before the hearing saturday morning." "then how about this," rick continued. "we move in on them when the _albatross_ pulls up at creek house to unload." scotty stretched out on cap'n mike's bed. "that's fine. but how do we know when the _albatross_ is going to visit the kelsos?" "cap'n mike tells us. cap'n, according to what you said when we were here before, the _albatross_ sometimes stays at creek house until almost midnight. that means that it takes them awhile to unload whatever they're smuggling." scotty had an objection. "if they were doing any unloading, wouldn't you have seen them, cap'n mike?" the old seaman shook his head. "nope. i didn't dare get close enough to see what was going on. besides, my eyes ain't what they were at night. i just sat off the end of salt creek, letting the reeds hide me, and saw what i could, which wasn't much. if i'd gone up the creek any distance, they'd have spotted me against the sea." rick finished, "so you see, if cap'n mike could keep an eye on the creek, he'd know when the _albatross_ arrived. if he phoned us right away, we could be here within an hour, or even a half-hour, if we took the fast boat." "sounds sensible," scotty admitted. "any other plans?" "just one, which isn't very practical. we could get someone to fly out over the fleet during the most likely hours and wait for the _albatross_ to make contact with the supply ship. i wish we could fly at night, but we can't. the contact has to be during the darkness, and i think before dawn is the best time. if brad marbek made contact after he got through fishing, some of the other trawlers might see the ship coming. then they might get curious and hang around to see why brad was hanging back. maybe that's what tom tyler did." "but if he left and made contact before dawn, the others might think nothing of it. i don't suppose they all leave at once, do they?" scotty asked the captain. "nope. they don't all leave at once, but they usually come back at the same time. and brad has been coming back as far as salt creek with the rest. so i guess rick guessed right." cap'n mike did some figuring. "tell you what. i can sit on the beach at the edge of town with a pair of night glasses. i'll borrow some. i can tell if a ship turns up salt creek by its running lights. afterwards, i'll have to go a block and use the phone at fetty's drug store. we'll start tonight." scotty got up and yawned. "that's settled. now i'd like to look into something. we can't overlook any possible lead. rick, remember the tower?" "yes." rick got to his feet, too. "and i remember something else. that business about the shifting current and the light. cap'n, have you talked to captain killian?" "not yet, but i surely will today. that may be worth something." he walked with them toward the pier. "but what's this tower business?" rick explained briefly. "we'll stop there on the way back to spindrift." "phone us if captain killian has anything interesting to say," scotty requested. "i will. now you boys be careful. keep a weather eye out, and don't forget those warnings." "we're not likely to," rick assured him. as they sped past the seaford water front toward smugglers' reef, rick plotted a plan of action. first, if they were to spy on creek house, they needed to know a little more about the area. he assumed that they would hurry from spindrift by boat, since it would take too long to go to whiteside and try to get a car. the cub was out; there was no place to land at seaford. the best way of finding a good hide-out from which to watch the kelsos would be to take a photograph from the air. he could do that this very afternoon and develop it at home. an enlargement, which the photo lab at spindrift was equipped to make, would be better than a map. he felt better now that they had an objective. but! "suppose the _albatross_ doesn't do any smuggling before saturday?" he asked scotty. "tough luck. captain tyler will just have to suffer a while longer. besides, this is only a hearing. if he's tried, it won't be until later." "guess that's right," rick agreed. he swung the launch around the tip of smugglers' reef, past the light and the wreck of the _sea belle_. for the first time since the fatal night, there was no one at the trawler or on the reef. he put the launch close in shore at the sandy strip near the creek house fence, and scotty jumped to the beach with the anchor as before. rick joined him on the sand. "now for a look at the tower. where did you see the marks?" scotty pointed to the rusted structure. there were four upright girders slanting inward from the base to where the top platform had been. horizontal girders held the structure together one-third and two-thirds of the way up. "the marks are on the first row of cross-pieces," he said. "on this side." the steel climbing ladder was on the seaford, or opposite side, of the tower halfway between the uprights. rick looked at it dubiously. "it's pretty rusty. think it will bear our weight?" "maybe only one of us had better go," scotty conceded. "i'll try it." rick looked at his friend's solid frame and shook his head. "i'm the lightest. i'd better do it." "you're not that much lighter," scotty objected. "tell you what, let's flip for it." "okay." rick produced a coin, tossed it in the air, and called, "tails." it was. scotty picked up the coin and turned it over, as though making sure it wasn't tails on both sides, then handed it to rick with a grin. "can you always call your shots like that?" "only on wednesdays." he gestured toward the high board fence that cut them off from creek house. "look, just to be on the safe side, you keep an eye open for the kelsos. if you see them coming, give me a yell. i don't think they'd dare try anything in broad daylight, but you can never tell." "all right. i'll stick near the boat." as scotty walked back to the launch, rick went to the base of the tower and looked up. the frame seemed secure enough in spite of the rust. he jumped for the first rung of the ladder and hauled himself up. in a moment he was on the horizontal girder. the scratches scotty had seen from the air were clearly visible. to reach them, he had to work around the girders to the opposite side. he stood up and found his balance, then walked easily to the corner girder, rounded it and crossed to the other side. the marks were only a few feet away. the upper stories of creek house were on and above his level now. he could look right into the windows of the second floor--except that the windows were so dirty that he couldn't see much. suddenly he froze. one of the second-floor windows was being raised. he saw a vague figure behind it, but it was dark in the room and he couldn't see clearly. there was no reason to be disturbed about it, yet he felt a quick wave of apprehension. he had better look over the scratches and get out. holding on to the corner girder, he crouched and leaned outward toward the marks. there were two bright scratches about a foot apart. between them the entire rust surface had been disturbed. something had rested there, or, more likely, it had been clamped. he swung back a little to look at the inner side of the girder and saw continuations of the scratches that terminated in round spots. when he leaned forward to look at the outer side, the marks were there, but so slight that they wouldn't be noticeable unless one were looking for them. his brows creased. he couldn't think of anything that would make marks just like those. he wished he had brought a camera. a photo would have given them something to study later. then, as he turned and started back, something whistled over his head and slapped sharply into the upright girder. his first thought was that scotty had thrown a pebble or something to attract his attention, but when he looked, scotty was facing the other way. the whistle and slap came again. this time he looked up, and the strength drained from his knees. a few inches over his head were silvery splashes against the rusty surface, and they were the silvery marks of splattered lead! he was being shot at! rick reacted like a suddenly released spring. he dropped to his knees, his hands reaching for a hold on the girder. they hooked over the inner edge and he rolled free on the opposite side. for an instant he dangled in space, then he dropped, his knees flexing to take the shock of landing. it wasn't much of a drop, a little over fourteen feet. and as he dropped he yelled scotty's name. scotty started for him on a dead run, but rick's yell stopped him. "start the boat and cast off!" then rick's legs flew as he ran for the launch. for the moment, both of them were cut off from creek house by the high board fence. but to get clear they would have to come out of the fence shelter and into the view of the second-floor sniper once more. he planned as he ran, and as he jumped across the water to the launch, he gasped, "stay close to the reef and pick up speed. get going." the launch was already in motion. rick dropped into the seat next to scotty and his pal pushed the gas pedal all the way. the nose lifted and the stern dug in. rick turned to watch, and as the second floor of creek house came into view, he said, "give it all you've got. cut sharply across salt creek and the rushes will cover us." "hang on!" scotty snapped. he threw the wheel hard over and the launch rocked up like a banking plane, then he leveled off and the boat shot across the creek's mouth to safety. only then did he turn to rick. "what happened?" "someone took two shots at me," rick replied shakily. "and dollars to dill pickles it was our pal carrots, because i didn't hear the shots." "that air rifle," scotty said. his mouth tightened. "i can't wait to get my hands on that little playmate. did he miss you by much?" "about six inches. both shots hit the same place, within an inch of each other." scotty frowned thoughtfully. "then my guess is that he wasn't trying to hit you. if he's good enough to place two shots like that, he wouldn't have any trouble picking you off. did you see him?" "no. i saw a window open just before i got down to look at the marks." "anything to them?" "i don't know," rick said. he was still a little shaken. "listen, what about reporting this to the police?" scotty shook his head. "no proof. no witnesses. it would be your word against his, because he could claim he was just target practicing and that you weren't on the tower when he fired. he could even claim he didn't fire the shots, because the slugs would be so spattered that the police couldn't make anything of them." "i can see him laughing his head off," rick said bitterly. "first, because of dumping the fish scoop, and now because he sent us hightailing out of there like a couple of frightened jack rabbits." "it would have been stupid to stay and get shot at," scotty pointed out. "even if he is a good shot, he might accidentally clip you." rick had to admit the truth of that. "just the same," he said, "we're going back and build a fire under mister carrots. wait and see!" chapter ix night watch less than a half-hour after arriving at spindrift, rick and scotty were back at smugglers' reef. but this time they were in the cub. with scotty operating rick's speed graphic camera, they took several photos of creek house, salt creek, and brendan's marsh from varying altitudes. then rick swung in a wide circle, losing altitude, and leveled off only a hundred feet over the marsh. he was headed straight for creek house. scotty paused in putting the camera in its case and looked at him. rick winked. "going to see if the kelsos are home." the cub flashed across salt creek and rick pulled the control wheel back into his lap. the small plane shot upward in a zoom that just cleared the hotel, then at the top of the zoom rick did a fast wing over and started back. "i know you can fly," scotty said calmly, "but don't try to roll your wheels on the roof." rick shot across the hotel within five feet of the chimney and dropped so low that his prop wash flattened the reeds in the marsh. then, climbing again, he swung wide and went over seaford at a legal altitude. he was, even the critical gus admitted, a safe-and-sane flier, but the temptation to get back at carrots kelso a little was too much. high over the town, he turned to scotty. "i didn't see anyone. now, if you were in the house and a crazy pilot buzzed you twice, what would you do?" "run out and look," scotty said promptly. "uhuh." rick was enjoying himself. whether his scheme worked or not, he liked it. "and if the plane was out of sight, what would you do then?" "i'd go far away from the house, so it wouldn't block my view, and look for it." "the farthest you can get away from creek house, without running into the fence, is at the end of the pier." scotty broke into laughter. "i hope i never have you for an enemy. what'll you bet carrots doesn't go to the end of the pier?" "no bets. but i'm hoping." rick turned inland. when he was out of sight of the town, he lost altitude in a tight spiral over salt creek. at five hundred feet, he banked around and followed the creek, his throttle wide open. as the cub flashed over salt creek bridge, he put the plane in a shallow dive. creek house loomed and he let out a yell of triumph. carrots kelso was standing on the end of the pier, looking at the sky! rick pointed the nose of the cub directly at him and held it there. he saw carrots turn at the noise of the plane, saw his mouth open to yell and his eyes pop. rick hauled the stick back into his lap and kicked left rudder. as the cub spun around he banged scotty with his free hand and chortled with glee. carrots, afraid for his life, had gone headlong into the creek. "that pays him back for shooting at you," scotty said with satisfaction. "bet he was more scared than you were. but we still owe him for those fish." * * * * * two of the photos proved excellent for their purposes. scotty, who had taken an interest in developing and printing, made a by -inch enlargement of each. they spent most of thursday studying them, talking over their various clues endlessly, and waiting for cap'n mike's call. shortly after supper on thursday night he did call, but only to say he had nothing to report and that he hadn't been able to talk to jim killian. the fisherman was taking a few days off to visit his mother in pennsylvania. "a fine time for him to go vacationing," rick said, "when he might be able to supply some essential information. i've got an idea, cap'n," he added. "can you find out what source the automatic light uses for electricity? see if it has its own power plant or whether there's a cable that runs along the reef. if there is, see if there's a junction box or a switch or anything." cap'n mike promised to have the information next time he called. they were too restless to sit still and read. rick had thought about asking his father to help him check the infrared spotlight in the lab, but hartson brant was preoccupied with a scientific analysis problem, so rick decided to check his new invention by actual use. dismal was the subject. the boys took him for a walk to the backside of the island where there was no light at all except for dim moonlight. scotty carried the power supply on a strap over his shoulder while rick carried the camera and its attachments. the thing was uncanny, even when its operation was understood. to the naked eye, dismal was just a vague blur under the trees. but with the infrared searchlight on him, rick could see him through the telescope as though it were white light. he shot a few feet of film, then took it to the photo lab. he could develop short lengths by dipping them into bottles of solution, although full lengths would have to go to a new york lab for processing. projecting the test length cleared up his questions. the camera worked beautifully at distances up to three hundred yards. beyond that, although things still could be seen, the lighting was poor and definition hazy. he spent more time in the darkroom winding the infrared film on hundred-foot rolls and placing them in light-tight cans, then he reloaded the camera with a full spool. that done, there was nothing to do but wait and try to read. on friday night, scotty glanced up from the leather chair in rick's room. "what time is it?" rick was lying on the bed, studying the ceiling and working on the problem of the tower scratches and the shifting current. he looked at his watch. "ten of nine. why?" "almost time for the trawlers to be getting back to seaford." "as though i didn't know it! unless we get a call within the next half-hour, we might as well forget it for tonight, too." scotty went back to his book. rick resumed staring at the ceiling. it had occurred to him that there was an old wrecker's trick, well used in the days of sailing ships. the trick was to extinguish a navigation light so ships would run aground and be easy prey for the wreckers. and sometimes the wreckers helped out by raising false lights. now if the automatic light at the tip of the reef could be cut off, and if a false light were raised on the old tower . . . they just had to talk with captain killian! bill lake thought a shift of current and a patch of mist had been responsible for him losing the light and putting him off course. but what if smugglers' light had been cut off and a false light lighted on the old tower? rick snapped his fingers. "i've got it!" scotty looked up. "got what?" just then the phone rang. the boys almost fell over each other in their haste. rick got to it first and said a breathless hello. "cap'n mike speaking. rick?" "yes!" "brad just turned up salt creek. i'll be in my shack waiting to hear about it, boy. and say, the automatic light works by a cable. cable comes down the pole in front of the creek house fence and goes into a metal box. from there it goes underground to the light." "thanks a million," rick said exultantly. "we'll see you sometime tonight, cap'n." he hung up and turned to scotty. "let's go!" they ran down the stairs and almost barged into mrs. brant. "got to hurry, mom." "where to, rick?" "seaford," he said. "we'll take the boat. don't worry, i don't think we'll be out too late." mrs. brant's eyes were troubled. the boys had told the brants something about events at seaford. "be careful, you two," she said. "we will," scotty assured her. they had every intention of being extremely careful. hartson brant, who had been on expeditions with the boys, had every confidence in their ability to look out for themselves. but mrs. brant, like all mothers, had some reservations. as they ran down the stairs to the landing, scotty asked, "what was it you said you had just before the phone rang?" "tell you when we get underway," rick returned, and as they sped through the water at over thirty miles an hour toward seaford, he did so. "i think i know how the _sea belle_ was wrecked. but if i'm right, the kelsos were taking a terrific chance." "they're the kind who take chances." scotty peered through the windshield at the dark sea. behind them, their wake was white and turbulent. "well, here's how i figure. the kelsos knew there was no sea traffic off smugglers' reef except for the seaford fleet, because the coastal traffic moves pretty far offshore. they also knew that no one goes down the old road past the hotels at night because there's nothing there. and anyway, if a car came, they could see its lights." rick paused. "there's a hole in this theory. in fact, there are a couple of them. i'm guessing that tom tyler was the first skipper to get into port a good percentage of the time. if he was, and if they knew it, they could arrange with brad marbek to stick close behind him and give them some sort of signal. if they had glasses on the ships, they could see even a flashlight, couldn't they?" "i suppose so." "and if they were at the very top of creek house, in the attic room, they could see the lights of the ships coming in before the ships saw smugglers' light!" "what are you driving at?" scotty demanded. "smugglers' light is small. it's strictly for local navigation. now suppose one of them was in the attic with glasses, waiting for the ships. tom tyler comes over the horizon first, brad marbek right behind him. brad makes a signal. maybe he blinks his masthead light. by that, they know the next ships are pretty far behind and tom tyler is in front. the man in the attic signals. they turn off smugglers' light from the junction box in front of the hotel and light up their own light on the crossbeam of the old tower. when captain tyler comes over the horizon far enough to see the light, what he sees is the kelsos' light. but he doesn't know that. he gives it leeway as usual; he's used to passing it close because there's plenty of water. then, when he's within a short distance of it, the light goes off. he keeps on course, thinking something has happened to the light, and piles on the reef." "and as he piles up, the real light is put back on!" scotty exclaimed. "yes," rick said excitedly. "and the man with the light in the tower just removes it, gets down, and runs for creek house before the men on the _sea belle_ have even picked themselves up!" "it makes sense," scotty agreed. "and how! of course tom tyler knows he's been tricked the minute he hits, and he knows why. so does brad marbek, but he's in on it. bill lake, who's pretty far behind, thinks the shift in the light is due to a patch of mist and a strong current. but how about captain killian? he was closer to the light." "that's why it's important to get his story," rick said. his eyes had been scanning the dark coast line ceaselessly. now, picking up the start of brendan's marsh, he turned the wheel and swung out to sea. their study of the photographs had convinced them that the best way to approach creek house was from the rear. to do that, they had to pass far enough out at sea so their engine noise would not be too noticeable and attract the attention of the kelsos. rick took a quick look around and saw no other boat lights. he leaned forward and snapped off their own. in a few moments they saw the lights of creek house and smugglers' light. when they were well past it, rick turned inshore, throttled down to make as little noise as possible. there was a short dock in front of the abandoned sandy shores hotel. he gauged distance carefully in the dim light and let his momentum carry him to it. scotty jumped out and made the bow fast while rick cut the engine completely and hurried to secure the stern. in a moment they were on the dock together looking toward the creek house. "let's go," rick whispered. they made their way as noiselessly as possible behind the old hotel, then picked a careful path through accumulated junk past the rears of the sea girt, the atlantic view, and the shore mansions. twice they had to climb rusted fences and rick was grateful that they had put on old clothes. presently they were against the creek house fence. he touched scotty's arm and gestured. then he led the way toward the place where the fence stopped at the marsh. they had planned the adventure up to the end of the fence. after that they would have to take advantage of whatever offered. they hadn't seen in the photograph that the fence extended into the marsh for a short distance. rick's first inkling of the fact came when one foot sank into muck above the shoe top. he let out a soft exclamation, and when he pulled the foot free it made a sighing sound. the boys held a whispered consultation and decided there was nothing for it but to continue. rick stepped forward, searching with his foot for firmer ground. now and then he found a hummock, but there were times when he sank to the knee in clinging goo. fortunately, there were only a few feet of swamp to navigate. he reached the end of the fence and stopped, peering around it. there were lights on the pier, and the _albatross_ was tied up to it, but the lights were too dim to illuminate anything over a few yards away. he crouched and moved over a little, making room for scotty. together they surveyed the terrain. "we can't see much from here," scotty said, lips against rick's ear. "we'll have to get closer." rick nodded. he motioned along the fence, indicating that they should follow it, then he took the lead again. in a dozen muddy steps they were out of the marshland and on dry ground again, but rick had to exercise utmost care because there was a litter of dry junk that crackled underfoot. he picked his way carefully, hardly daring to breathe loudly. once he froze and felt scotty tense behind him. brad marbek and red kelso walked from the hotel to the pier and stood looking upstream. their backs were to the boys. rick started moving again. there were no lights in the hotel on the fence side. he wanted to reach the safe darkness of that area before planning their next move. as he went, he wondered where carrots was, and what had happened to brad's crew. they reached the dark space between the hotel and the fence without incident and rick straightened up with a little breath of relief. now what? he reviewed the photograph of the hotel grounds in his mind. scotty tugged his sleeve and pointed. rick looked up and saw that a window was open on the first floor. the room behind it was dark. for a second he was tempted, then he shook his head. going into the hotel was dangerous, even though they probably could make their way to an upper floor and have an unobstructed view from a window. if they were trapped inside ... he didn't like the thought. at least their retreat was open while they were out of doors. the top of the fence was within reach if they jumped. they could swing over it and run. once outside the fence, the kelsos would have a hard time catching up with them. he remembered that the front of the hotel and part of the area on the creek side contained shrubs, relics of its original landscaping. the shrubs would give them cover. he touched scotty and motioned. then he started around the front of the hotel, crossing the driveway, which led into the grounds through a gate, closed now and looking like part of the fence. the front of the hotel was dark. swiftly he went past the porch, moving through the shrubbery with extreme caution. he gained the corner nearest the creek safely, scotty behind him. when he peered around, he had a good view of the dock. red kelso and brad marbek were still talking. no one else was in sight. somewhere inside, a door banged. rick stiffened. that must be carrots, or one of the crew. he moved forward, spotting a hedge that had marked the edge of the garden. if they crouched behind that, they would have an unobstructed view. he dodged a shrub and reached the hedge; it was just waist-high. he sank to his knees and parted the twigs, searching for a good view through them. beside him, scotty knelt and did the same. he put his mouth close to scotty's ear. "this is a good place," he whispered. "it's a fine place," a loud voice said. "get up, both of you!" rick whirled, his heart stopping. he looked straight across the front sight of a rifle into the grinning face of carrots kelso! chapter x captured "i figured it was time for another look around," carrots said, "so i came out the side door and went around the back and up the side by the fence, then crossed over by the front. and just as i got to the corner, who did i see but our two wise-guy pals!" he poked the rifle in rick's back by way of emphasis. red kelso and brad marbek looked at the two boys and then at each other. marbek looked up the creek nervously. "better get 'em inside under cover," he said in his high voice. "jimmy, take 'em into the cabin." rick was seething inwardly, but he gave no sign. he was angry with himself. he should have known that there would be a guard. he walked down the pier, scotty at his side, the others following. at carrots' direction he climbed over the side of the trawler and went into the small cabin aft of the wheelhouse. red kelso gestured toward a built-in bunk. "sit down, both of you." he went to the single window and slid the curtains shut. carrots took up a position in the corner from which he could cover the two boys. brad marbek pushed into the cabin and closed the door behind him. for a dozen heartbeats there was silence. red kelso broke it. "what now?" he asked heavily. "we've got 'em. what do we do with 'em?" rick spoke up with much more boldness than he felt. "nothing. half a dozen people know we came here." marbek and kelso exchanged glances. "we can't just let 'em go," carrots said. his glance at rick was vindictive. "this is the smart joker that dove at me in his airplane. i owe him somethin' for that." "be quiet, jimmy," red kelso said. "we've got to think about this." there was a hail from outside. marbek started. "red! come outside. jimmy, watch these two." carrots lifted the rifle a little. the two older men went out and closed the door. rick, listening carefully, thought he could hear oars. scotty spoke up. "you're a good shot with that thing, rick says. you put two shots right together over his head." "i should have picked him off," carrots snarled. "i ought to put a shot in his head right now for makin' me jump off the dock." "that evened us up," rick said quietly. "you dumped the fish on us." carrots grinned his satisfaction. "you're tootin' i did! and that ain't all i'm goin' to do to you, either." "don't be too sure," scotty said. carrots' thin lips tightened. "you got warned. twice. what happens to you is on your own head." the door banged open and red kelso and brad marbek came in again. for some reason they seemed in better spirits. marbek was grinning. kelso stood before the two boys, his seaweed-green eyes surveying them coldly. "all right. talk. what did you want in here?" rick and scotty remained quiet. "don't make me beat it out of you," kelso warned. rick thought quickly. he jerked his thumb at carrots. "you can blame him. first he dumped half a ton of menhaden on us and then he took a shot at me while i was climbing the old tower." "why were you climbin' the tower?" marbek demanded quickly. rick shrugged, nonchalantly, he hoped. "why does anyone climb a tower? just for the fun of it." carrots snorted. "nuts! then why didn't you go all the way to the top?" red kelso's eyes swiveled from his son to the boys. "let's cut the comedy," he snapped. "jimmy had nothin' to do with your comin' here. now give us a straight story or you'll suffer for it!" rick's mind was working at top speed. he couldn't tell them everything, but he might be able to stall. "you warned us," he said. "twice. anyway, we thought it was you, then your son just admitted it." he grinned at kelso. "we had to find out why you were warning us, didn't we?" red looked at carrots and then at brad. "i told you it was a mistake to try to warn 'em off," he grated. "all right. did you find out why we warned you?" "we didn't have time," scotty pointed out. "we had just arrived when we got caught." brad marbek's high voice was cold. "do you think my coming here is funny?" scotty's reply was equally cold. "you're not trying to kid anyone that you tie up at this pier before unloading your fish just because you want to be sociable, are you?" marbek took a step forward. red kelso's hand on his shoulder restrained him. rick held his breath, wondering if scotty had said too much. "okay, you snoopers," red said. "you're goin' to take a nice long look around, see? you're goin' to do exactly what we say, and you're goin' to find out for yourselves just what's goin' on here. now how do you like that?" "fine," rick said feebly. there didn't seem to be anything else to say. "start at the house," brad growled. "get goin'." on deck, rick took a quick look around. nothing had changed, nor was anyone in sight. with carrots' rifle at their backs, he and scotty marched to the side door of the hotel. inside red kelso pointed at another door. "open it and go downstairs. step on it, we haven't all night." rick caught his breath. why were they forcing them into the cellar? a little fearfully, he went down the stairs as red snapped on lights. at the bottom of the steps, the three faced them. "start lookin'," brad commanded. "go on. stick your noses in every corner. get busy!" he gave scotty a shove that sent him staggering in the direction of the coal cellars. then red kelso gave rick a hard push that landed him on his knees. the boy stood up again and looked around him uncertainly. "what do you want us to do?" "look," red snapped. "that's what you came for. look in every blasted corner until you're satisfied there's nothin' more to look for. now get goin'!" and rick and scotty looked. even though they knew now nothing would be found in the old house, they had no choice. with the three hovering over them they searched in corners, under stairs, in bins. they sounded walls and rapped floors. as they passed through the kitchen, four men were playing cards, evidently members of brad's crew. they inspected the butler's pantry and even the refrigerator, then they were pushed on through the other first-floor rooms and up the stairs. rick was tired of the whole affair, but every time he hesitated, brad or red gave him a headlong shove that kept him moving, and always carrots was behind with the rifle. when there were no bulbs in the rooms a flashlight red produced provided illumination. room by tiresome room they worked their way to the attic. from the attic they were run down the stairs again and out into the grounds and forced to cover every inch of land. then they were taken to the garage-boathouse and made to work their way through what had been the servants' quarters. downstairs, they inspected the only car, and rick automatically made a mental note of the make and the new york license number. then they looked under the seats and into the rope locker of a motor whaleboat that was the only craft in the boathouse, and they were forced to crawl under the boathouse where it rested on piles. "now," brad marbek said grimly, "let's take a look at the trawler." "do we have to?" scotty said wearily. "we know you wouldn't make us look if there was anything to be seen." brad's big hand landed in the middle of his back, smashing him toward the dock. "march!" he commanded. the tiresome routine started again. through wheelhouse and cabin and galley and enginehouse and rope and gear lockers they hunted, picking up accumulated layers of dirt and grease on the way, until finally only the huge fish holds were left. rick looked into the forward one and thought, "oh, no!" he started to protest, but brad's open hand caught him on the side of the face. "dig!" the skipper commanded. "you asked for it. dig!" and dig they did, through tons of stinking menhaden and cold ice until they choked and their mouths felt full of scales. once or twice they protested, but there was always big brad marbek ready to strike out and carrots and red kelso backing him up. an eternity later they clawed their way up the pile of fish in the last hold. rick took a deep breath of clean air. "anything else?" he asked. carrots stepped forward. "you poor jokers got dirty," he said with false concern. "you need a bath." he pointed to the end of the dock. "go on, jump in." his rifle lifted menacingly. that, at least, was no hardship. rick walked to the end of the dock and dropped into the water, savoring is cool cleanliness. scotty was right beside him. overhead, the three waited, and carrots' rifle was still on them. "back to the bank," he commanded. rick and scotty swam, clambered up on shore, and stood waiting. "hike." they were herded like two sheep to the front gate. red kelso produced a key and the gate swung open. "you had your look," he said. "you came to spy and we helped you out. now you know there's nothin' wrong here. we warned you because we didn't like you, see? and that's all. now get goin' and don't ever come back, or we'll work you over so you'll never be the same again. now git!" they were shoved violently forward and landed sprawling on the hard macadam road. behind them the gate slammed shut, and as they got to their feet and looked at each other ruefully, the sound of carrots' raucous laughter was like salt on raw flesh. chapter xi the hearing "you two have certainly got your nerve, going back to seaford after that," jerry webster said. "we'll stay away from the kelsos and brad marbek. don't worry about that," rick assured him. "but we're not giving up, are we, scotty?" "not on your life," scotty replied flatly. jerry's car bounced over salt creek bridge and sped toward the seaford turnoff. the boys had phoned him early in the morning and found that he had learned about tom tyler's hearing during his routine phone calls to the seaford authorities, and that he was going down to cover it. they had met him at the whiteside dock, and on the way down had brought him up to date on their part of the case, including their humiliating experience of the night before. "so your theory about smuggling must be wrong," jerry said. "otherwise, you'd have found something." "i'm not convinced," rick argued. "it's still the only answer that fits." "then where were the smuggled goods?" "we could have gotten there too late," scotty reminded. "if it was a small shipment, it could have been unloaded and disposed of before we showed up." "disposed of? how?" jerry wanted to know. rick recalled that he had heard the sound of oars while in the cabin. red and brad had rushed out right away, too, after hearing a hail. "they might have taken the stuff up the creek," he mused. "they might even have had a truck waiting at the bridge. there's not much traffic, so it wouldn't be too great a risk. and even if a car came, they could pretend the truck was changing a tire or something until it passed." "that's reasonable," jerry admitted. "did you talk it over with cap'n mike?" rick grinned ruefully at the memory of the two soaked, bedraggled, filthy specimens who had knocked on cap'n mike's door last night. "we were in no mood even to think about it," he said. "but we did find out one thing. cap'n mike said it would be easy for anyone to disconnect smugglers' light and then reconnect it. all he would need would be an insulated screw driver." "and that's not all," scotty added. "he said tom tyler was first one back from the fishing grounds eight times out of ten because the _sea belle_ was the fastest boat in the fleet and the best handled." the more rick thought about it, the more he was convinced that his theory of the wrecking of the trawler would hold water. cap'n mike had plugged up another hole, too. rick had wondered about the backside of the light. he had noticed that there was a red sector on the townside, a common method of construction on lights of that sort. on cap'n mike's chart, shaded areas showed how the light worked. it was visible from the seaside in an arc of degrees. it was dark in the quadrant toward the marsh and red in the quadrant toward the town. but warehouses and pier sheds blocked off the light from almost all of the town except million dollar row, and since the red portion would be out for only a short time, it was long odds against anyone noticing it or investigating if they did. "it's pretty sound," rick said. "only i wonder if we'll ever prove it?" "not in time for this morning's hearing, that's for sure," scotty commented. "maybe captain killian will have something to say. if he ever gets back." cap'n mike had tried unsuccessfully last night to see jim killian. he was still visiting his mother. jerry's car rolled down the main street of seaford toward the town hall. rick could see that an unusual number of cars was lined up along the curbs. the hearing was attracting a great deal of interest, as could have been expected. he wondered if the kelsos would be there. jerry pulled into a convenient parking space. as they got out, he asked rick, "got your camera?" rick held it up. "we've got our press cards, too. that makes us legal spectators for a change." "for a change is right," scotty said. "lead the way, jerry." the hearing room was on the second floor. jerry pushed his way through the crowd in the corridor with rick and scotty following, and found the entrance. a police officer stopped them at the door, then permitted them to enter when they showed their press cards. rick wondered if the hearing would be closed to the public, but when he got inside he saw that every seat was taken. he recognized a face here and there, including that of bill lake. the others he recognized were fishermen he had seen during their trip to the pier with cap'n mike. evidently some of them were taking the day off because of the hearing. the room was actually a small courtroom. like most courtrooms, it had a low fence dividing the spectators from the participants. at a table inside the fence, tom tyler was seated with four other men. rick guessed from their appearance that they must be the members of his crew. one had an arm in a sling and he remembered cap'n mike had said the wreck had caused one broken arm. jerry spoke to a man who seemed to be someone of authority, and they were directed to seats in the front row. across the aisle rick saw mrs. tyler and the little girl who had been with her on that first night. the captain's wife looked pale, but she seemed composed. then he switched his glance to the captain himself. tom tyler seemed thinner in the few days since the wreck of his ship. he stared at the table before him, seemingly oblivious to the murmur of voices in the room. rick felt compassion for him. if the theory proved correct, tom tyler was the victim of unscrupulous men who had wrecked his ship deliberately, just to remove danger from their path. he speculated about what might have caused the actual decision to wreck the _sea belle_. there was only one sensible conclusion. captain tyler must have used the trawler to spy on brad marbek. wrecking the ship would serve a double purpose: it would remove the possibility of further spying on brad and it would warn tyler that the smugglers meant business. after that, simply telling him that his family would suffer if he kept on would strike home. until the wreck, he probably had been inclined to treat kelso's warning lightly. a door to the left of the judge's rostrum opened and three men came out. one was a coast guard commander. the other two were civilians. a whisper from jerry informed rick that they were officers of the united states maritime commission. rick turned to see if the kelsos or brad marbek were in the room. he was curious about cap'n mike, too. while he was searching the rows of faces, the procedure started. a clerk got up and announced something about the hearing being held before the duly authorized board of inquiry in the case of the wrecking on smugglers' reef of the motor vessel _sea belle_, of so many tons, and such and such a registry number, thomas lee tyler, master, holding licenses numbers so and so. jerry nudged rick and pointed to the camera. rick nodded and inserted a flash bulb. he caught the clerk's eye and held up the camera. the clerk frowned, then motioned him to come inside the rail. rick did so and snapped a picture of the tribunal. then he turned and got a photo of tom tyler and the men at his table, with the audience in the background. he looked at jerry. the young reporter nodded, indicating that two pictures would be enough. rick resumed his seat. the middle man on the platform leaned over and asked, "who is representing captain tyler?" tom tyler stood up. "no one, sir." a murmur ran through the courtroom. "captain," the man asked, "do you mean you have come into this hearing without counsel?" "sir, i'm pleading guilty to whatever the charge is. i don't need a lawyer for that." tyler sat down again. there was whispered consultation among the three on the bench. then the spokesman leaned forward again. "captain, as i understand the facts presented by the officers who investigated, if you plead guilty you will, in effect, state that you deliberately wrecked your ship. if you so state, your insurance company will have no recourse but to ask your arrest on a charge of barratry. do you understand that?" tyler's shoulders straightened. "if that's the way it is, sir, i guess that's the way it is. i'm pleading guilty." the murmur in the court rose. rick leaned over to jerry. "he's scared stiff. he must be, to take this lying down." but if the kelsos had threatened mrs. tyler and their little girl, there wasn't much else he could do. wrecking the trawler had shown him they were capable of carrying out any threat. rick was glad he had had presence of mind the night before to say that other people knew he and scotty were going to creek house. he was sure that had the kelsos and brad thought that no one else knew, their fate would have been much different. a hand fell on his shoulder. he looked up into the face of the officer who had been at the door. "you rick brant?" he nodded. "cap'n mike is outside. says it's urgent. he wants you and don scott." "we'll come right away," rick said. he leaned over and explained to jerry. "we'll meet you outside. come on, scotty." as quietly as possible he and scotty left the room just as the spokesman for the board declared that the hearing would proceed. cap'n mike was on the steps in front of the town hall. his weathered face lit up at the sight of the boys and he greeted them with a note of worry in his voice. "come on down to the sidewalk out of earshot of these folks," he said in a low tone. they followed him to a place where the crowd thinned out, then rick asked, "what's the matter, cap'n? anything important come up?" "important? i'll say it's important!" cap'n mike leaned forward. "jim killian has disappeared!" chapter xii the missing fisherman captain jim killian, the fisherman who had been closest to brad marbek and tom tyler, and who might have been able to say finally whether rick's theory was true or not, was missing! "cap'n, are you sure?" rick asked. cap'n mike nodded soberly. "sure as i can be. that's why i had to talk to you boys." "when did you discover he had disappeared?" scotty queried. "you said he had been visiting his mother." "that's just it. took me all this time to remember." cap'n mike shook his white head. "reckon i'm getting old. his mate said he'd gone to visit his mother, so i thought no more about it. until this morning. then i remembered. jim killian never knew his mother. he was brought up by an uncle and aunt, both of them dead ten years now. struck me all of a sudden. it had sort of been nagging at the back of my head that something was fishy about that mate's story anyway, so this morning i went to his house and i collared him." "did you get anything out of him?" rick asked eagerly. "not much. jim killian showed up at his trawler the morning after tom tyler wrecked the _sea belle_. he just told the mate to shove off without him, and said if anyone asked, he was visiting his mother, who was sick. and i'm sure that's all the mate knows, except that he knew jim killian didn't have a mother." rick pursed his lips thoughtfully. "he showed up himself? then he must have left of his own free will. at least he wasn't kidnapped. but why would he run away?" his eyes met scotty's and he knew his pal was thinking the same thing. "he was threatened," scotty said. "looks like it. suppose he had let a word drop that night about something being a little off the beam about smugglers' light?" it sounded reasonable to rick. "the kelsos would have paid him a visit for sure." cap'n mike wagged his head sadly. "i sure pinned a lot of hope on jim killian. after you explained what might have happened to tom, i was sure jim might have something real useful to add. but it looks mighty bad now." "mighty bad," rick agreed. their effort to catch the kelsos red-handed had boomeranged on them and now what might be proof of their theory had vanished. "we'd better find him," scotty said. "how?" cap'n mike asked hopelessly. "we can't go to the police, 'cause jim went off of his own will, which he has a perfect right to do." for a moment rick was about to suggest that they could have the police hunt him as a material witness, then he rejected the idea. witness to what? tom tyler had admitted running the _sea belle_ on the reef purposely, or next thing to it. no, the only solution was to find captain killian. but where to begin? "put yourself in his place," he suggested to cap'n mike. "you've known him a long time. if you were hiding out, where would you go?" "i've thought about it," the old seaman said. "don't do no good. this is the first time jim killian has left town in twenty years, except to go into newark or new york for a day's shopping." "where did he live?" scotty asked. "little cape cod cottage over near tom tyler. lived by himself." "we might start there," rick said. "good a place as any," cap'n mike agreed. "let's get going." rick shook his head. "we have to wait for jerry. let's sit in the car. i don't think the hearing will last very long. tom tyler is pleading guilty." they walked to jerry's car and settled down to wait. through the windshield rick watched the townfolk clustered around the courthouse steps and noted that they weren't talking much. he guessed everyone in town knew there was something extraordinary about the wreck of the _sea belle_ and he wondered if anyone suspected smuggling activities at creek house. he said aloud, "if the kelsos and brad marbek took the stuff up to salt creek bridge before we got there, what boat did they use? the boat we saw in the boathouse was dry, and the boats on the _albatross_ were hanging on the davits. maybe we're all wet on that, too." "maybe," scotty agreed glumly. "i've never seen a deal with so many dead ends." cap'n mike sounded alarmed. "you're not giving up, are you, boys?" "not a chance. we'll get to the bottom of this sooner or later." scotty spoke for both of them. cap'n mike pointed. "the crowd's coming out." evidently the hearing was over, because those who had waited inside the building and those lucky enough to get seats were coming out. presently jerry webster came out, too, tucking his notes into his jacket pocket. he joined them in the car and greeted cap'n mike. "you look like three mourners," he told them. "what's the matter?" rick explained briefly, then asked, "got any bright ideas?" "afraid not," jerry replied. "finding someone is a tough job even for the police with all their facilities. i don't know how you'd even start." "we thought of looking his house over," rick said. "i wouldn't do that," jerry replied quickly. "why not?" "you said he left of his own accord, didn't you? you can bet he locked his house up tight. if you try to get in, you'll be guilty of breaking and entering. and even if he left a door open, you've no right to go in. you can bet the neighbors will be on the phone to the constable's office if they see anyone fooling around the house." "you're right," rick agreed gloomily. "there goes his mate now," cap'n mike said. "must have been at the hearing." he pointed to a slender man in a cap and lumberjack's shirt who was crossing the street in front of town hall. "think he told you all he knows?" rick asked. cap'n mike rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "don't know. maybe he did, and again maybe not. chick's a quiet one. never says much and there's no way of telling what goes on inside his head." "let's follow him," scotty suggested. jerry looked at him. "what for?" "for lack of anything else to do," scotty said. "can't tell. we've nothing to lose, anyway." rick watched the mate reach the opposite sidewalk, then stand uncertainly for a moment, looking back across the street. then, evidently satisfied, he started off at a brisk walk. it was almost as though he had looked to see if anyone were coming after him, rick thought. "scotty's right," he said quickly. "let's go after him." jerry started the car and pulled away from the curb. he grinned at rick. "good thing it's saturday. no paper until monday morning, so i've plenty of time. but tell me what to do. i'm green at this business." "go slow," rick said. "watch him." the mate reached a corner, looked behind him, then turned down the side street. "go after him," rick directed. "go right on by him and don't anyone look at him. cap'n, better crouch down. he knows you, but he doesn't know the rest of us." jerry swung into the side street and picked up speed. from the corner of his eye rick saw the mate walking rapidly. he told jerry to turn right at the next corner and to slow down. the blocks were short; the mate would pass the corner in a moment. "do you know where he lives?" rick asked the captain. "not on this side of town. he lives out in the district toward the main road." "any guesses about where he might be heading?" "maybe jake's grill. it's this way and i've seen him there." rick directed jerry to go on to the next corner and wait. then he turned and watched the corner they had just passed. if the mate kept straight on the side street, they would go around the block. if he turned down the street they had taken, they would simply round the corner again. the mate turned and came after them. "around the corner," rick directed. "cap'n, where is this jake's grill?" "if you'd turned left instead of right just then," cap'n mike replied as jerry finished the turn, "you'd have been about at it. it's halfway down the block." rick made a quick decision. "okay, here's where we split up. i'll get out and go to jake's. the rest of you keep trailing him. if he goes into jake's, turn around and park at the next corner where you can see the entrance. if he doesn't, follow him and pick me up later." as they nodded assent, he got out of the car and waved jerry on, then he walked swiftly in the opposite direction. he crossed the street from which they had just turned, and caught a glimpse of the mate from the corner of his eye. the man was still walking rapidly. rick paid no attention to him. he walked at a moderate pace down the street, pausing once to look in a shop-window. a side glance showed him the mate, still coming. rick resumed walking and came to jake's grill, a shabby sort of place with only a half dozen customers. he walked in without hesitation and took a seat at the counter. the counterman came up and wiped the counter clean in front of him with a rag that might have been white once upon a time. "what'll it be?" "coffee," rick said. he was in a good position, because the back of the counter was lined with a flyspecked mirror through which he could see the whole restaurant. the mate pushed the door open and paused at the entrance. he reached in his pocket and brought out a crumpled handful of bills and some change. he counted the change, then searched the pocket for more. there was none. he started for the counter. he must need more change. for what? rick's quick survey of the place showed him a phone booth in one corner. quickly, as the mate approached, he fished out a dollar and thrust it at the counterman. "got any change? i have to make a phone call." the counterman took the bill and walked to the cash register. the mate cast a quick glance at rick, then called, "sam, i need some change, too. give me some nickles and dimes for this half-buck." he tossed a fifty-cent piece on the counter. rick relaxed. perhaps some of the townfolk had seen his and scotty's pictures in the paper, but evidently the mate wasn't one of them. there had been no recognition in the man's eyes. the counterman handed rick a dollar in change and gave the mate some smaller change. he winked. "gotta call yer girl, chick?" "sure have," the mate answered. he had an odd voice, as though his nasal passages were completely blocked with a bad cold. he looked at rick. "go ahead, kid, make your call." "after you, sir," rick said politely. "i'm in no hurry." "thanks." the mate walked to the booth and shut himself in. rick got up and wandered casually in that direction, his ears cocked for the mate's words. unfortunately, the booth was tight. he could hear only a faint murmur. he went back to the counter and started sipping his coffee, keeping his eyes on the booth. he heard the dim tone of bells and his pulse quickened. those were coins dropping into the slots. the mate was making an out-of-town call! if only he could hear! the hot coffee was almost scalding, but he scarcely noticed. his mind was racing, searching for some way to overhear that conversation. there just wasn't any way. if he walked over and put his ear to the booth, the men sitting at the tables and farther up the counter would see. no, he was sunk this time. within four minutes the mate was out of the booth. he came over and took a seat at the counter a few stools up and nodded at rick. "thanks, boy." "that's all right," rick said. he had to make a pretense of phoning now. well, he could call spindrift and tell his mother they would be home for lunch. he hadn't been sure how long the hearing would take when they left. he went into the booth and closed the door. the phone had no dial. evidently seaford, like whiteside, had no dial system. he started to pick up the receiver and inspiration struck him. if he could imitate the mate . . . he tried to imitate chick's nasal tone and thought he did pretty well. he tried again, and it sounded a little better. anyway, he thought, there was nothing to lose by trying. if seaford had more than one operator on the town switchboard, which was unlikely because of the size of the town, it wouldn't work, anyway. or, if there were two and he got the wrong one it wouldn't work. his hand shook slightly as he lifted the receiver and dropped in his nickel. "number, please?" the operator said sweetly. rick struggled to imitate the mate's voice. "say, i have to talk to that number again. something i forgot to say." "what number was that, sir?" the operator asked. rick took a chance, based on the number of bells he had heard. "that new york number," he said. "forget now what it is. ain't you got it written down there?" "i'll have to have the number, sir," the operator said with firm sweetness. rick grew desperate. "shucks, lady," he whined nasally. "you ain't goin' t'make me go through that business with that information gal again, are you?" there was a subdued tinkle of laughter. "all right. i'll find it." there was a brief pause. "that number is cornish - . better write it down this time." "i sure will," rick said. he almost forgot and lapsed back into his own voice. but he didn't have to write it down. he wasn't forgetting it. "what is your number, please?" he gave it, then waited anxiously. in a moment a voice said, "garden view hotel." the operator spoke. "one moment, please. please deposit thirty cents." rick did so, and the bells clanged in his ear. when the ringing stopped, he said briskly, "mr. james killian, please." "just a minute." then, "no one registered here by that name." "isn't this the garden arms apartments?" rick asked. "no. this is the garden view hotel. you have the wrong number." "oops, sorry," rick said jubilantly, and hung up. he walked to the counter and gulped his coffee, put a dime on the counter and then hurried to the door. the mate was eating a piece of pie. on the street, rick looked for jerry's car and spotted it at a corner two blocks away. he walked rapidly toward it, waving as he did so. the car pulled away from the curb and sped toward him, and he motioned to jerry to turn the next corner. he hurried and got there just as the car did. "any luck?" scotty asked. "luck? touch me, somebody. listen to this: captain killian is at the garden view hotel in new york, registered under a phony name!" he told them quickly what had happened in the grill and finished, "i'll bet the mate had orders to phone right after the hearing and let killian know what had happened to tyler." "he was handed over to the constable after the insurance company issued a complaint," jerry said. "forgot to tell you that. well, we know where this missing captain is. now what?" "now what! what do you think?" rick asked indignantly. "let's go to new york!" chapter xiii the tracker "we can drop your pictures off at the office, then i'll drive you in to new york, if that's okay," jerry remarked, as the car sped up the road to whiteside. "that will be fine," rick said. "i'll phone spindrift, too, and let mom know we won't be home for lunch. we can pick up a hamburger at a roadstand on the way in." jerry slowed down to a more moderate pace and rick looked at him, surprised. "thought we were in a hurry." "trying something," jerry said. his eyes were on the rearview mirror. after a moment he spoke. "the car behind us slowed down, too. i think he's following us." cap'n mike started to look back, but scotty said warningly, "don't! if they're really following, we don't want to let them know they've been spotted." "there's a curve up ahead, jerry," rick said. "keep your eyes on that car as we round the curve and let me know when they're out of sight." "okay." the curve loomed. jerry took it smoothly, then glanced up at the mirror. "now," he said. rick reached up and readjusted the mirror so he could see, then settled back. in a few seconds the other car was in sight, too far back for him to see the figures on the license plate, but not so far that he couldn't see clearly that the plate was from new york, or that the car was the same make and model as the one they had seen in kelso's garage. reflection of light on the windshield made the occupant hazy, but rick had a good idea who it was. "looks like kelso's car," he told the others. "listen, jerry, don't go to the paper. drop us in front of dean's department store, then go around the block. go slowly to give us time to find out who this bird is. no, i've got a better idea. park the car. he'll have to park his if he intends to follow us." jerry nodded agreement. "there's a parking lot next to the store. i'll swing in there." cap'n mike was grinning from ear to ear. "i'll be dadblamed if this ain't just like something i read once," he said. "i knew if i got you two interested we'd have some excitement!" jerry chuckled. "what do you think i want to take them into new york for? i usually go swimming on saturday afternoon." they were at the outskirts of whiteside now. jerry slowed speed again, and three minutes later he swung into the parking lot next to dean's, in the busiest part of the town. through the rearview mirror rick saw the other car go by, heading for a vacant space at the curb, probably. he had noticed one a half block down. the four got out of the car and jerry took the parking check from the attendant. "now what?" he asked. "we walk down the street," rick directed, "and if we haven't spotted him by the time we get to mark's supermarket, turn into the store. it has two entrances." "if we split up, he'd get confused and we'd lose him easy," jerry suggested. "then we could meet somewhere." "amateur," scotty scoffed. "we don't want to lose him. we want to find out who he is." rick and scotty led the way, cap'n mike and jerry following. as they passed the parked car, rick saw the license plate clearly. it was the one he had noticed at kelso's. probably carrots or red, he thought. maybe both. without seeming to look around, he noted every possible hiding place where the tracker might wait for them, and decided on the doorway of an office building. there were a half dozen pillars the tracker could use for cover. he waited until they were a half block down from the building, then he turned suddenly as though to speak to the two behind him. scotty, whose mind worked much the some way, turned at about the same time. rick got a quick glimpse of a stocky youth with carrot hair dodging into a doorway. he stopped and said, "don't look back. i've got him spotted. let's go into mark's and we'll figure out how to get rid of him." "carrots," scotty said gleefully. "we'll have to think of something really cute for that little friend." "fiend," rick corrected. they turned into the supermarket and mingled with the shoppers. rick led the way behind a counter stacked high with cereals where they couldn't be seen. "the meeting is open to suggestions," he said. "we can shake him with no trouble, but that's too good for him. any ideas?" "lead him on a wild-goose chase," jerry offered. scotty had a grin on his face that boded ill for carrots kelso. "i've got one. i saw it pulled once. jerry, do you suppose mildred is at the office?" mildred clark, the older sister of one of barby brant's closest friends, was the newspaper's bookkeeper. she had been a visitor at spindrift several times, accompanying jerry to picnics or swimming parties. jerry looked at his watch. "it's saturday afternoon, and she usually doesn't work, but we're getting out our monthly statements, so she's probably there." "swell. now how well do you know the cop on this beat?" "we're good friends. i gave him a plug in the paper once. he deserved it, but he thinks i did it out of the goodness of my heart." scotty's grin widened. he lowered his voice and rapidly sketched the part each was to play. as he talked, rick, too, began to grin. when scotty had finished, rick and cap'n mike sauntered to the front of the store. rick glanced through the big plate-glass windows, but he saw no sign of carrots. that meant nothing, because carrots would be a complete cabbagehead to let himself be seen. rick was sure he was watching. he and cap'n mike stood talking for a moment, then scotty appeared beside them, and said, "well, here goes--jerry's on the phone now," and faded into the crowd again. rick let five minutes elapse while he and the captain stood in plain sight, then he glanced at his watch and motioned to the old seaman. the two of them went out the front of the store. long before this, scotty and jerry had gone through the side entrance that opened on another street. rick waited in front of the store, glancing in now and then, and trying to act impatient. then he and the captain started up main street at a slow walk. if everything was working out, carrots would have chosen to follow them rather than to wait at the store for scotty and jerry. that was what rick would have done in his place. he had a hunch carrots had picked them up in seaford and had followed them largely because of cap'n mike's presence. it was entirely possible that the kelsos were equally anxious to know of captain killian's whereabouts. or perhaps they were just interested in seeing if cap'n mike knew where he was. as they passed dean's department store, rick glanced into the doorway and saw mildred clark. he breathed a little easier. the others had made it on time. and coming down the street toward him was the policeman who always patrolled this beat. although he knew rick well, he made no sign. they neared the entrance of the parking lot and jerry motioned from behind a car. he was peering down the street behind them. "watch this!" he said gleefully, and stepped into plain view. rick whirled just as carrots kelso came abreast of dean's doorway. mildred stepped out ahead of him. she was a slender, attractive girl, and a good actress, as it proved. she was pulling on gloves, and as is usually the case while so doing, she had her purse tucked under her arm. she and carrots were only a yard apart when scotty appeared from the doorway. he took a long step past carrots, snatched mildred's purse from under her arm, whirled, and handed it to the astonished redhead. carrots' reaction was perfect. he took the purse stupidly and stood there with his mouth open. scotty vanished back into the doorway. mildred screamed. carrots saw immediately that he was being framed. he turned to run, but forgot to let go of the purse. mildred screamed again and carrots sprinted headlong into duke barrows. duke held him for the moment it took for the policeman to arrive. it was too good to miss. rick, jerry, and the captain walked back down the street toward the confusion, trying hard to conceal their mirth. mildred pointed at the purse carrots still clutched. "that," she proclaimed dramatically, "is my purse!" "i didn't take it," carrots yelled. "someone handed it to me!" the officer scowled. "a likely story! unless you had a confederate. where is he?" quite a crowd was gathering now. mildred turned convincingly faint and duke had to prop her up. rick's face was scarlet from choking back laughter, because he was sure carrots would burst from sheer anger at any moment. then carrots saw him. "you!" he screamed and jerked the policeman's arm. "there he is! that's one of them. his friend took my--i mean it was his friend who--" the officer interrupted. "do you know this boy?" he asked rick. rick shook his head, his face solemn. "never saw him before in my life," he said calmly. jerry spoke in a stage whisper that could have been heard a block. "a perfect criminal type if i ever saw one." cap'n mike choked and had to turn away. rick nudged jerry and they turned and walked rapidly back to the parking lot. it was time to get going. scotty was standing by the car, grinning broadly. cap'n mike was weak from laughing. "y'know," he chortled, "i've heard the word 'ham' used for actors, but i never got the full meaning until now. never saw such bad acting in my life, except for the girl. she was almost convincing." "on our way," rick said, and laughter bubbled up as they got into the car. as they pulled out into the traffic, they saw carrots being marched up the street toward the police station, duke and mildred walking behind him and the policeman. "duke phoned the chief from the paper," jerry said. "they'll go through all the motions of booking carrots and taking his picture, then they'll throw him in a cell for a while. when he quiets down, the chief will go in and talk to him like a father and point out that crime doesn't pay, then he'll let him go with a warning." scotty sobered. "it worked like a charm," he said. "but rick, old egg, from now on you and i had better stay away from the front end of carrots' little air gun!" chapter xiv captain killian jerry turned down the cross street and looked around him doubtfully. "i don't know what a fancy hotel would be doing in this neighborhood, rick." "we don't know how fancy it is," rick returned. "it just has a fancy name. but keep going. we should get to it soon. see any numbers?" they had stopped and found the address in a telephone book as soon as they crossed the river into new york through the holland tunnel. as jerry pointed out, it wasn't a likely neighborhood in which to find a hotel. it seemed to be mostly manufacturing plants engaged in making gloves and ladies clothes. "wonder how he happened to choose this location?" scotty asked. "probably just came into the city and walked down this way and went into the first hotel he saw," cap'n mike speculated. "man gets used to a fishing trawler, he's not going to ask for anything fancy by way of a hotel." jerry and rick had been scanning the numbers along the street. "it's on your side," rick said. "watch for it." jerry applied the brakes and the car slowed. "that must be it," he said, pointing across the street. it wasn't what rick had expected. a tiny metal sign announced that this was the garden view hotel. it was set above a dingy doorway through which a flight of stairs could be seen. "where's the garden it's supposed to have a view of?" scotty wanted to know. rick motioned in the general direction of uptown. "probably madison square garden. you could see it from here easily if there weren't about two thousand buildings in the way including the empire state." he was wondering if they had the right place. "this calls for a small change in plans," he said. on the way to new york they had decided it would be easiest to give a bellhop a generous tip and have him locate captain killian for them. bellhops usually knew about every guest in a small hotel, and they suspected the garden view would be small simply because none of them had ever heard of it. "you're right," scotty agreed. "a place like that wouldn't have a bellhop." rick searched for an idea. "you wouldn't know his signature on the register, would you. cap'n?" "never seen him sign his name." "why couldn't one of us be a relative looking for him?" jerry offered. "say, that's an idea!" scotty exclaimed. "we could pretend he's a little cracked and describe him. the clerk would know who we meant, and he'd probably be glad to tell us, because hotels don't like having people who might be a little bit off." "cap'n mike could do it," rick said. "cap'n, couldn't you pretend to be his brother?" "sure i could. well, what are we waiting for? do i go alone?" "i'll go with you," rick offered. "jerry and i had better wait, then," scotty said. "it might look funny if four of us came trooping in like a chowder-and-marching club." jerry spoke up. "that's okay, except don't forget i'm to talk with him if he has anything to say. have to get an interview for the paper." "we'll bring him down," rick promised confidently. "let's go, cap'n." the stairs leading up into the hotel were creaky with age, and the accumulation of dust and dirt showed months without a broom. at the top of the stairs was what had once been quite a nice lobby. but now the rug was worn to strings and the wallpaper had acquired a glaze of dirt that made it look like ancient newspapers. behind the scarred ruin of an oak counter stood a clerk so fat rick wondered how the floor could support him. he was reading a comic book, and he didn't even look up as they came in. cap'n mike addressed him politely. "excuse me, sir. i wonder if you can help me?" tired eyes looked up from the comic book. "what can i do for you?" the words and tone were surprisingly courteous. "i'm looking for my brother," cap'n mike said. "he's a man about my height, five years younger, still a lot of black in his hair. red complexion, pretty well lined. smokes a corncob pipe. his real name is killian, but i don't think you'd know him by that." he touched his head significantly. "mind is going. he thinks he's being persecuted." "what makes you think he might be here?" cap'n mike's expressive face assumed a look of infinite sadness. "once, many years ago, he spent his honeymoon here. lost his wife shortly after in an auto crash, but since his mind went he won't believe she's dead. even though it was nigh onto twenty years ago. poor soul. keeps looking for her. we try to keep him home, so he sneaks off and takes an assumed name. found him here once before." "when?" the tone was suspicious. "i've been here five years myself, and i don't remember anything like that." "oh, it was longer ago than that," cap'n mike added hastily. "must be over eight." he coughed apologetically. "we've had him in an old seaman's home for a few years, but he wasn't happy there." rick looked at cap'n mike with admiration. when it came to spinning a convincing yarn right off the cuff, so to speak, cap'n mike was a master. rick hid a smile. what had the old man said about ham actors a little while back? the clerk was nodding slowly. "old seaman, is he? well, that fits one of our guests." he looked at cap'n mike sharply. "sure it's all right? who is this boy?" cap'n mike put his hand on rick's shoulder. "this? ah, sir, it's this boy's poor mother old jim came here to find." rick bowed his head and looked as sad as possible. he had to bow it anyway, to conceal the grin that was forcing its way to the surface. "what room is he in?" cap'n mike asked tenderly. "poor old soul." "i'll call him." the clerk went to the switchboard and plugged in a line, then pulled the toggle switch a couple of times. he picked up the phones and put them on. "mr. jameson? your brother and son are down here to see you." rick held his breath. the clerk unplugged the line and put the phone down. "he'll be downstairs in a minute." he went back to his comic book. rick and cap'n mike went over to a sofa and sat down. as they did so, a little cloud of dust rose. the minutes ticked away. rick fidgeted. he leaned over close to cap'n mike. "what do you suppose is keeping him?" "don't know," cap'n mike whispered back. "we'd better see." he rose and walked to the desk again. "he's slow in coming, sir. i'm just wondering. remember i said he thought we were persecuting him? he may ... well, sir, i wonder if we could go up?" there was a trace of alarm in the clerk's face. "maybe you better," he agreed. "room . three flights. two floors up." rick and the captain hurried for the stairs, went up them two at a time. to rick's surprise the old man kept pace with him. on the fourth landing they paused and looked up and down the shabby corridor. one door was open. rick ran to it and looked at the number. it was . he rushed into the room, a tiny box with only a bed, a washstand and a closet. it was empty. he flung the closet door open and saw a suitcase. "he's gone," he called, and rushed back into the hall again. cap'n mike already was trying other doors. all of them were locked except the bath, and that was empty. rick ran the other way, to the end of the hall where a window stood open. fire escape! he leaned far out the window and looked down into a maze of back alleys. then his searching eyes saw a figure scurrying through them, heading east. "cap'n," he called. "hurry downstairs! tell jerry to cut around the block. he's heading east, the same way the car is. i'll go after him!" he swung a leg through the window and jumped to the steel fire escape as cap'n mike rushed for the stairs. rick went down the open steel stairs as though he had wings. as he passed the second floor, he saw the clerk's mouth open to call. rick didn't wait to see what he had to say. perhaps he was trying to tell him captain killian had gone down, too. the clerk would have seen him. rick shook his head. the captain must have waited on the fire escape until they started up the stairs in order to avoid being seen through the window. the last flight was counterbalanced. he stepped on the stairs and they swung down with a faint groan. then he was on the ground. he turned east and ran, leaping over fallen trash and barrels. he had a picture of the alleys in his mind, so he took all the right turns but one. that one brought him into a dead end. he backtracked quickly and found the right way out, and in a moment he came out on the avenue. he stopped on the curb and looked both ways, spying jerry's car on the uptown side, cruising along slowly. he started to call, then realized jerry wouldn't hear him. better to wait. if the car hadn't reached the avenue before captain killian, it was a good bet that they had lost him. he scuffed his shoe on the curb disgustedly. jerry swung into the next cross street, apparently with the intention of going completely around the block. and rick saw a figure step out of a doorway the moment the coast was clear! the man fitted the description cap'n mike had given. rick turned his back hurriedly and walked leisurely in the opposite direction. then he turned into an alley between two buildings and peered out. captain killian was walking briskly uptown. rick saw him turn right at the next corner, in the direction opposite from that jerry had taken. once killian was out of sight, rick turned and ran uptown, crossing the avenue. at the corner the seaman had turned, he slowed and looked around cautiously. it was a long block. the captain was about halfway down it. rick debated. jerry, if he had gone around the block, would appear on the avenue in a moment, probably one block farther up, since he wouldn't retrace the street in front of the hotel. rick decided to take the chance. this part of town was almost deserted, because it was late in the afternoon, and few offices were open on saturdays, anyway. they could spot killian easily enough now that he knew which direction he had taken. he ran to the next corner and had to wait only a few seconds before jerry's car appeared across the street. he put fingers to his mouth and gave a piercing whistle. jerry tooted the horn and shot across the avenue to him as the light turned green. "straight ahead," rick said. "with luck, we'll meet him at the corner, unless he turned downtown." the car roared through the narrow street to the next corner and stopped. rick and cap'n mike piled out, and the captain went to meet the man who had stopped short at their sudden appearance. "howdy, jim," he said. captain killian snorted. "so it's you. thought i recognized you through the window. what d'you want? and how did you know where to find me?" cap'n mike smiled. "as to the second, i got some excellent spies working for me now, jim. as to the first, you know right well what i want." "you ain't gonna get it, mike o'shannon. i didn't leave town for my health. i left for a good reason, and i'm going to stay lost. so get back in the car with them kids and get out of here. otherwise, i reckon i'll have to yell for a cop." "you won't do that," cap'n mike said shrewdly. "if you'd wanted a cop, you could have got one in seaford. come on, jim, and stop acting like you were the only one knew anything. we know what you saw the night tom was wrecked. and we know who did it." that stopped captain killian. he gave cap'n mike a penetrating look, then said abruptly, "where can we talk?" "in the car." cap'n mike introduced the boys to killian. "rick and scotty," he explained, "figured out what must have happened to tom tyler. tell him, rick." rick outlined the theory quickly. captain killian sat staring out of the window. "that's about it," he said finally. "it must be. maybe bill lake thought he'd lost the light and current set him over, but i was closer. not close enough to see anything but the light, you understand. but i saw it blink out, and i looked down at the binnacle and held the same compass heading until it came on again, and it was in a different place. "if you'd said that at the hearing this morning, tom tyler might have been free right now," cap'n mike accused. captain killian's back stiffened. "i don't know what you're thinking, mike, but if it weren't for tom, i wouldn't be here." "we'd like to hear about that," cap'n mike said. "may as well tell you. soon as i saw what happened to the _sea belle_, i hurried to find tom. while i was looking for him, i ran into brad marbek and i asked him about the light. i knew he'd been right behind tom. brad acted mighty queer, and when i did see tom, he got all excited. he begged me to leave town, for my own sake and his. i told him he'd have a hard time without my testimony and brad's, and he broke down and told me brad was mixed up in some kind of deal with them kelsos, and he said he wasn't worried about himself, but about celia--that's his wife--and their little girl. he said he didn't dare try and clear himself, though he knew right well what had happened." captain killian shrugged. "what could i do? stay and put celia and their little girl in danger? not likely i'd do that! and i couldn't pretend not to know anything because i'd already talked to brad." the four nodded their understanding. "so i packed up and got out. first i told chick what to say, and told him to tell folks i'd been to the trawler next morning so they wouldn't connect my going with tom's wreck." "was just the shifting of the light all you saw?" rick asked. "that's all. i will say that i knew the second light was the real one. i hadn't known the first one wasn't real, but when smugglers' light came on i could see there was a difference. i'd figured the light was sort of dull because of ground haze. there was some, you know." "there's our evidence," scotty said. "yep." cap'n mike leaned back in the seat. "only trouble is, we can't use it without getting both jim and tom's family in danger. so i guess we're back where we started." "but we can prove to the police the light was changed," jerry began. "if captain killian tells his story ..." he stopped. "no good. because we have no proof the kelsos were mixed up in it, and they'd still be able to carry out their threats." "that's exactly right," captain killian said. "now how about telling me how you found me? did chick give me away?" "not on purpose," cap'n mike assured him. "rick was trailing him when he telephoned you this morning, and he found out the number chick had called. the rest was easy." "i see. and what am i supposed to do now?" "i don't see how you can stay in that hotel," cap'n mike said, a little distastefully. captain killian smiled. "pretty bad, all right. you know, last time i spent a night in new york i stayed there. it was right nice. there was a real pretty garden out in back." "how long ago was that?" rick queried. the fisherman hesitated. "oh, must be all of twenty-five years ago. i was some upset when i saw the place, but i'd already told chick to call me there, so nothing for it but to stay. wish i could stay somewhere else, but it wouldn't be safe to go back to seaford." "whiteside would be all right," rick said. "you could stay there." "i'd rather. but are you sure it'd be safe?" jerry spoke up. "captain, i'm on the whiteside _morning record_. i'll make a deal with you. give us your story exclusively, when the right time comes, and the paper will guarantee your safety." "it sounds good," captain killian admitted. "but when is the right time going to come? maybe never." "sooner than you think," rick said quietly. "look, gang. there's only one way to crack this case. we know now we can't get captain tyler cleared unless the whole outfit is rounded up. so we'll just have to get busy and find the evidence we need. we'll start over again, and this time we won't go wrong because we know what to look for, and where to look." "fighting talk," cap'n mike chuckled happily. scotty laughed. "do we dare put our heads inside the seaford city limits again after what we did to carrots? he'll be waiting for us with a squad of thugs and that little popgun of his." "the popgun maybe, but no thugs," rick corrected. "what will you bet he never even tells his father what happened to him?" "no bet there," jerry said, grinning. "i'll bet the same thing." he put the car in gear. "we may as well head back to whiteside. first, though, we'll have to collect captain killian's baggage." the captain spoke his agreement. "i'll take your offer, son." he shook his head. "you know, i'm real surprised at brad marbek. i knew he wasn't above turning a dishonest dollar, but i thought he had more sense than to go into smuggling. no matter how foolproof you think your setup is, if you start smuggling you're bound to get caught. sooner or later." "in this case," rick added hopefully, "we'll try to make it sooner." chapter xv plimsoll marks duke barrows, editor of the whiteside _morning record_, sipped slowly at his cup of coffee, nodding encouragement at rick every once in a while. the editor, after a few words with jerry, had taken captain killian to his own house for safekeeping. the captain could stay there, duke said, until it was time for him to make a public appearance. but the price duke asked was to be told the complete story. at first rick hesitated. with no proof of anything except for captain killian's testimony, which actually convicted no one, he was a little doubtful about making accusations. but when it came to keeping a tight lip, the editor was probably more experienced than any of them. besides, rick hoped that he might have a suggestion, so, finally, they put cap'n mike on the seaford bus and the three boys and duke retired to a secluded booth in the rear of a restaurant to talk it over. barrows traced circles on the plastic table top for long moments after rick had finished. "you've been pretty thorough," he said finally. "what do you plan to try now?" rick shook his head. "i wish i knew. we could try to get to creek house earlier next time the _albatross_ puts in there, but we know now they guard the place." "how about spotting the _albatross_ from the air while she actually loads at sea?" duke asked. "rick mentioned that," scotty replied. "but how? we can't fly at night in the cub because we don't have landing lights. and even if we did, we could only go out in moonlight because we don't have any night flying instruments." jerry looked at the editor. "duke, you know the coast guard commanding officer in this area. how about getting him to send out one of his planes?" "we could," duke said slowly, "but i'd rather not. this is rick and scotty's case." he grinned. "besides, i'm selfish. if the coast guard gets it, every news agency and paper in the country gets it from official sources. i'd rather have an exclusive we can copyright, then every paper in the country will have to quote us." "it would put whiteside on the map," rick grinned in response. "seriously, duke, i'm afraid that's not very practical. besides, how would we know when the _albatross_ was going to make contact with a supply ship? we know when he's going to creek house, because cap'n mike can see him. but brad has already made contact when that happens." "let's take one thing at a time." the editor drew pencil and paper from his pocket. "what would you need to fly at night?" rick ticked them off on his fingers. "wing landing lights, navigation lights, cockpit instrument light. and if we were supposed to fly in anything but clear weather, we'd need a bank and turn indicator and an artificial horizon. but even then i'd be doubtful. i've never had instrument training. i wouldn't dare take the cub out unless it was a clear, moonlit night, so i'd have a good horizon." scotty approved. "that makes sense. and if we stuck to clear moonlight, the only things we'd need would be landing lights and navigation lights." duke made notes. "all right. i don't think you need to worry much about having moonlight, because the weather is pretty consistent at this time of year. barring a ground haze or a local thunderstorm, you'll have clear weather, and the moon will be full by the early part of next week. now suppose we get gus to install landing lights and navigation lights on a rental basis? the paper would pay for that in exchange for an exclusive story." "all we'd need would be good weather," rick said. he had never flown the cub at night. in fact, he had flown only once at night, and then it was in a much better plane and with an experienced instructor. but with good moonlight and a clear sky, it shouldn't be much different from day flying. duke continued. "now the next point. how can we know when the _albatross_ is going to make contact?" "i think we can find out if cap'n mike will help," scotty answered. "we know it takes time to transfer the smuggled goods, whatever they are. that means brad marbek has to leave port earlier in the morning than usual, unless he wants to call attention to what he's doing. as i see it, he probably leaves pretty early, makes contact with his supply ship and gets his load, then he hurries to the fishing grounds and gets his nets over the side and is fishing when daylight comes and the others see him. if cap'n mike kept watch, he would let us know when brad left real early." "that's good figuring," rick complimented his pal. "the _albatross_ would have to leave between half past two and three in the morning. otherwise, he wouldn't have time to load before daybreak." "it wouldn't take long," scotty pointed out. "they have to do their unloading by hand at creek house, but the ship would have cargo booms. two cargo nets swung to his deck would do it. it wouldn't take any time at all." jerry consulted his watch. "we could go to seaford tonight and make arrangements." rick shook his head. "it's saturday. the fleet doesn't go out on sunday. monday will be soon enough." "i have another idea," duke barrows said. "suppose we take the state police into our confidence?" "but we haven't any evidence to give them," jerry objected. "no need. captain ed douglas is a good friend of mine. i can put it to him as a friend, and not officially." rick rather liked the idea of having the state police on their side. he had a great deal of respect for the young officers, and he knew that they operated with military efficiency, plus fbi criminology training. what's more, captain douglas was a good friend of hartson brant's, and rick knew he would treat their story with confidence. "i'm for it," he said finally. "besides, if the state police sort of co-operated unofficially, they could have their highway patrols watch out for the truck that is getting the stuff from creek house. the patrol car wouldn't even have to go into seaford. they could just keep an eye on salt creek bridge, because that must be the loading point. cap'n mike hasn't seen any trucks on million dollar row." "fine." duke barrows rose. "it's still early. we'll get busy right away. first stop whiteside airport to talk with gus about putting lights on your plane. then we'll drop in on captain douglas." rick felt better. the pattern was clear now, even though there were a lot of "ifs." if cap'n mike notified them, he and scotty could fly over the _albatross_. if they saw it make contact with some offshore ship and load contraband, they could return to spindrift and notify captain douglas. then the state police could be on hand at creek house to catch the kelsos and marbek in the act of unloading. and that would settle the smugglers' hash once and for all! the prospect of flying at night made him a little nervous, but he was sure it would be all right. the only thing was, although he could take off from spindrift at night he couldn't land there, because the tiny strip gave no room for errors in judgment. he would have to land at whiteside. "this is on the _morning record_," duke said as he paid the check. "and while we're working on this, i think i'll try to dig into kelso's record a little, too. never know what might turn up." * * * * * sunday was quiet at spindrift. rick and scotty swam in the light surf below pirate's field, sun-bathed for a while, and then walked back to the house. hartson brant was loafing for the day, too, and rick had an opportunity to talk with him for the first time in several days. hartson brant listened to rick's story and plans, and agreed that any night flying must be done in absolutely clear, bright weather. rick knew the fact that captain douglas was co-operating had swung his father's decision, and he knew that although his mother would be inclined to object, she would accept his father's judgment. it gave rick a comfortable feeling to know that the state police captain was interested. captain douglas had agreed to go along with their plans during a long conference the night before. and gus had promised to get the necessary lights for the cub from newark early monday morning, and to have them installed by monday evening. * * * * * rick and scotty helped with the installation on monday afternoon. the hardest part was feeding the wires through the wings and fuselage. the wires had to be passed from one inspection port to the next, which required a great deal of fishing. but by five in the afternoon, the job was done. the cub now carried a pair of landing lights, like auto headlights, one under each wing, and red and green navigation lights on the wings. there was a tiny white light on the tail, too, which would blink in unison with the colored wing lights. as they landed at spindrift, rick grinned at scotty. "your head set firmly on your neck? it might get jarred off first time i try a night landing." "i should have stayed in the marine corps and lived a quiet, safe life," scotty grumbled. "when do we try these things out?" "want to go down and shine the lights on creek house?" rick joked. "nope. wouldn't be safe. didn't that phone call warn you not to fly over seaford?" the phrase hit home. rick yelled, "that's it! scotty, i knew there was something funny. it was in the back of my head and i couldn't dig it out. but that's it! listen, why would the kelsos object to our flying over seaford during the day? all their dirty work goes on under cover of darkness. they must have some reason for warning us!" "gosh, yes!" scotty started at a run through the orchard. "let's go take another look at those photographs!" they ran through the house and up the stairs to rick's room, and spread out on a table the enlargements scotty had made. "let's see," rick said. "there must be something they don't want us to see. but where? we know there's nothing on the grounds, and we couldn't see anything in the house or garage from the air." "the marsh," scotty suggested. "try the marsh, especially up the creek from the hotel." their heads bent over the best photo of the area and two pairs of eyes scanned the marsh grass. rick pointed to an area on the creek house side of the marsh, a short distance below the bridge. "there's something there, but i can't make it out." scotty straightened up. "got a magnifying glass?" "there's one in the library." rick ran to get it, stopped to explain to his father that they might have an important clue, and ran back upstairs again. it was a powerful glass. he held it over the questionable area and details leaped to meet him. wordlessly he handed the glass to scotty. the boy bent and studied the photo, then he turned to rick with a wide grin on his face. "so that's it! rick, this is their cache. they must park the stuff there until the truck comes!" the marsh grass had been bent cunningly over the area in an effort at camouflage, but the magnifying glass clearly showed some sort of barge piled with wooden boxes! "let's go take a look," scotty said enthusiastically. "maybe it's still there." rick started to agree, then a thought struck him. "we'd better not. they'd see us, and they might notice the lights on the plane. we don't want to tip our hand." then he brightened. "but they don't know gus's plane!" he hurried out into the hall and called whiteside airport. gus answered. "this is rick," he told the airport manager. "gus, how's your plane?" "running like a watch. just like my car. why?" "how's to borrow it for a quick trip south?" "now he wants to imitate birds," gus groaned. "don't you know it's too early to fly south?" "don't want to go that far south," rick said. "come and get it." rick had no hesitation in asking the obliging gus for the loan of equipment because he was always ready to oblige in turn. several times, when gus's plane was out of commission or not available, either because of engine overhaul or because some flier had rented it, rick had taken the cub to whiteside for gus to use in instructing his pupils. furthermore, the island boats were always at gus's disposal and he frequently borrowed one to go on a sunday fishing excursion. the short hop to whiteside took only a few minutes. rick taxied to the hangar and he and scotty climbed out. gus's plane, a light private job of a different make than rick's and painted red, was standing on the apron. it had the name of the airport painted on the side in large letters. gus came out of the office and walked to meet them. he was a short, stocky young man only a few years older than rick, and his slightly sour look hid a keen sense of humor. "i called my lawyer," he announced. "he'll be right here." "lawyer?" rick sometimes had a hard time knowing when gus was pulling his leg. "what for?" gus shrugged. "you're borrowing my plane when your own is in perfect flying condition. it must be for something illegal. you want my plane to be seen instead of yours. you want people to think i did it. so i asked my lawyer to come. i'll have a witness to prove i wasn't in the plane when the dastardly deed was done." "what deed?" scotty asked seriously. gus looked wise. "you don't trap me like that," he said. "if i admitted what i know, that would make me an accessory before the fact. nope, i'm keeping quiet about this." he leered. "but i know!" "accessory!" rick hooted. "you know what that means? something extra and usually unnecessary." gus looked hurt. "i'll remember that next time you come in for an engine check and i'll put emery in your crankcase. go on. get in and i'll whirl the fan for you." rick and scotty climbed into gus's plane, grinning. rick checked the controls rapidly, then called, "ignition off." "off," gus repeated, and pulled the propeller through to prime the engine. "contact," rick called, and gus pulled the prop. the engine caught at once. rick warmed it, watching his gauges, then waved to gus and taxied to the end of the runway. as they were airborne, scotty took the speed graphic he had brought and checked to see that a film pack was in place. rick banked around and headed for seaford. there was no buzzing of creek house this time. rick flew in a straight line, just far enough seaward so that scotty could get a good picture. as they passed the cache area, scotty leaned far out and snapped the shutter. then he turned to rick, grinning. "still there. about ten cases. it looks as if we've got the goods on them." rick flew straight ahead until he was out of sight of seaford, then he swung a few miles inland and returned to whiteside. fifteen minutes later they were landing the cub at spindrift, just in time for dinner. but first rick made a phone call to the _morning record_, reported their findings to duke and arranged with jerry to pick them up at the whiteside dock later for a trip to seaford. they had to see cap'n mike to make arrangements and rick wanted another look at the _albatross_. he had to memorize every detail of its silhouette, otherwise he might find himself following the wrong ship when the time came if another fisherman decided to get an early start. it was dusk when jerry met them. "got a message from duke," he said as they climbed into the car. "he phoned captain douglas to tell him about the wooden cases you saw. the captain is going to keep an eye on the stuff, but he says it isn't enough evidence. the kelsos could always claim they knew nothing about it and we couldn't prove they did. the stuff isn't on their land." "proof," scotty said sourly. "golly, do we have to get pictures of them peddling the stuff to customers?" "just about," rick commented. * * * * * cap'n mike wasn't at home when the boys arrived. they parked in front of his shack and talked and listened to the car radio for over an hour before he finally appeared, then he greeted them tartly. "why weren't you at spindrift when i phoned?" "what for?" rick asked. "what happened?" "brad marbek's at creek house again. that's what happened. i called to tell you, and your mother said you had left. what's the matter? not letting what happened the other night scare you off, are you?" "we sure are," scotty replied. rick laughed at the old seaman's astonished expression. "don't let him fool you, cap'n. we've got another plan." quickly he outlined duke's proposal and explained how they had outfitted the cub. cap'n mike smacked his thigh. "now we're getting down to cases. you just bet i'll keep watch on the pier so i can phone when brad leaves." "there's one more thing, cap'n mike," rick said. "i have to get another look at the _albatross_ tonight. is there any place from which we can see her without being seen?" cap'n mike thought it over. "yep," he said at last. "there is. there's a dredger tied up at the pier just south of the fish wharf, and brad always berths in the same place, south side. i know the skipper of the dredger. we can sort of drop in on him and take a look from there. that suit?" "that will be fine," rick replied. "but we may have a long wait if brad's at creek house." "wouldn't be surprised," cap'n mike nodded. "likely two hours. what say you come into my shack? might be able to scare up a sandwich or two to pass away the time." rick looked at jerry doubtfully. "there's a paper tomorrow morning. don't you have to get back and help get it out?" "not tonight." jerry grinned his pleasure. "duke said to stick with you two and forget everything else. first time i've had an assignment like this. i have to admit i sort of like it." "good," cap'n mike grunted. "then let's go see what we can find to eat. i got so interested in watching for brad marbek that i plumb forgot about food." * * * * * it was after eleven when the four left the shack and climbed into jerry's car for the short ride to the pier. at scotty's suggestion, they parked the car on the edge of town and walked to the dock where the dredger was tied up. they stayed in the shadows, hopeful that they would not be seen, and rick thought they reached the dredge without attracting attention. the dredge was deserted, but cap'n mike made himself at home. he led the boys into the wheelhouse, a small shack on the aft end, and they took places at the windows. they had arrived too early, as it developed. it was a full half-hour before the _albatross_ rounded the fish pier and steamed into her berth. the pier workers were gathered at the berth, obviously waiting impatiently. they had finished unloading the last of the other trawlers a full fifteen minutes before. rick studied the rigging of the ship as it approached and memorized the position of her running lights. the _albatross_ had only one distinctive feature; her crow's-nest, from which a lookout was kept for schools of fish, was basket-shaped instead of being perfectly round. the other trawlers, he had noted, had crow's-nests that looked like barrels. he knew he wouldn't forget the way the nest narrowed toward the bottom. the _albatross_ was low in the water. as she slid into position and threw out her lines, he saw clearly the plimsoll mark on her bow. the plimsoll mark was a series of measurements in feet, running from the maximum depth at which the ship should lie in the water down toward the keel. by looking at it, the skipper could tell at once how much load he had aboard. now, the top figure was barely showing. rick studied it, and his forehead creased. "that's funny," he said. he pointed it out to the others. "she's full up. you'd think she would be lighter after dropping off a load at creek house." "you would for a fact," cap'n mike muttered. "what do you suppose they're smuggling? must be feathers. 'cause if you added a few more pounds to the load she's carrying now, she'd be awash." rick felt a pang of doubt. were they away off the beam on their guesses about the kelsos and the _albatross_? the ship certainly would be higher in the water had they unloaded cargo. "maybe they didn't unload tonight," scotty ventured. "it would be smart of marbek to just visit creek house for nothing once in a while, to throw off any watchers. that way, he could make his story about visiting his relatives seem a little more plausible." cap'n mike had told them that was the story brad was handing out to those who dared question him about his visits to creek house. rick's face cleared. "that must be it," he agreed. "but look, if he visited the kelsos tonight, it doesn't look as though he would make contact with his supply ship for a couple of days." "suits me," scotty stated. "i'm not overly anxious to go tooting off into the wild black yonder in the cub, if you come right down to it. i'd rather brad took his time, to let me get used to the idea." he had stated so neatly what rick was feeling that he had to grin. he had been wishing he had more confidence in his ability to land safely at night. "amen," he said fervently. chapter xvi night flight it seemed to rick that his head scarcely had touched the pillow when the ringing of the phone penetrated his slumber. the luminous dial of his watch showed quarter past three. for an instant he shivered. the ringing could mean only one thing. he heard the creaking of his bedspring and the soft pat of scotty's bare feet as his pal swung to the floor. scotty had the faculty of waking instantly and moving into action. by the time rick reached the hall, he was already lifting the phone from its cradle. "yes?" he said softly. "okay, cap'n mike. how long do you think it will take him to get out past the fishing grounds? all right. give us a call about breakfast time and we'll let you know how we made out." the boys hurried to rick's room. rick snapped on the light and stood blinking in its sudden glare. "what did he say?" "brad just left. he was phoning from jake's grill. i guess that's the only place in seaford that's open all night." "my guess that he wouldn't go out tonight was certainly bum," rick said. "the smuggling business must be good. how long did he figure it would take brad to reach the other side of the fishing grounds?" "about an hour." rick looked at his watch again. "that doesn't give him much time before daybreak. it starts to get light at about half past four at this time of year. well, let's get dressed." rick slipped into slacks and a heavy woolen shirt, because it would be cold before dawn. then he put on woolen socks and moccasins. he was getting his motion-picture camera from the closet when scotty came in, fully dressed. rick tucked an extra reel of infrared film into his shirt pocket and grinned at his pal. "how's your nerve?" "mine doesn't matter," scotty returned cheerfully. "how's yours? that's what counts." "we'll soon know." rick paused as his mother called softly. "yes, mom?" he walked to the door of his parents' bedroom. "be very careful," rick's mother cautioned. and hartson brant added, "don't forget distances look different at night, son, even with landing lights." "i'll be careful," he promised. "we'll be back in a little while." he motioned to scotty and then snapped out the lights and went down the stairs. he left the camera on the porch and they walked to the boat landing, hiking briskly because it was chilly. their plan was to take both boats to the whiteside landing and leave one of them there, to provide a means for getting back to the island after they had landed at the airport. probably it would have been more sensible to have left the plane at the airport, too, but that meant a walk from the boat landing and rick hadn't been sure how much time they would have. in a short while they were back at spindrift. they picked up the camera and walked past the orchard to where the cub was parked, looking a little unfamiliar with the landing lights shining in the moonlight. rick stopped for another look at the sky. he had studied it periodically from the moment they left the house. there was a little fair weather cumulus cloud scattered here and there, but nothing that would interfere with visibility. there was a good moon, between a half and three-quarters full. rick would have preferred the brightest of full moons, but he philosophized that he shouldn't expect maximum conditions. a glance at his watch showed that slightly less than a half-hour had elapsed since the phone call. it would be another half-hour before brad reached the probable contact point beyond the fishing grounds, and it would take the cub only about twelve minutes to reach it. there was no use in starting just yet. he sat down on the grass under the wing of the cub and hurriedly stood up again. the dew already had fallen and the grass was wet. scotty chuckled. "something bite you?" "thought we could sit it out for a little while," rick explained. "but it's too wet." he knew he couldn't sit still, anyway. he wanted to get into the air, to get the feel of things. "crank 'er up," he requested. he slid into the pilot's seat and placed the camera beside him. scotty walked around to the front of the plane and started the engine. then, as rick warmed it, he untied the tie ropes, removed the wheel chocks, and got in. "relax," he advised. "i'm trying to," rick returned. "buckle in. here we go." he fastened his seat belt and scotty did likewise. the grass landing strip stretched ahead for a distance that seemed much shorter in the moonlight. rick glued his eyes to the point where it ended and pushed forward on the throttle. he wouldn't need lights for the takeoff. the plane shuddered and he released the brakes. the tail came up and the cub rolled, picking up speed rapidly, then lifted smoothly from the grass. airborne! the horizon was clearly defined and rick breathed a sigh of relief. no trouble in flying level now. their only bad moment would come in landing. he climbed to almost a thousand feet, then set a course for whiteside. he wanted to get a look at the airport approaches by night. in a short space he saw the field beacon and then the red boundary lights. he throttled back and let the nose drop, crossing the field at less than two hundred feet. it looked easy. the tension left him and he flew easily, automatically. he had been flying the cub for so long that it behaved like part of him, without conscious effort. he climbed steadily in a shallow turn until his altimeter read two thousand feet and he was heading out to sea. far below, spindrift island was a dark extension of the land, almost completely framed by silvery, moonlit water. "pretty," scotty said. rick nodded. he knew his mother and father were listening to the plane's drone down there. they wouldn't sleep much until he was back. they had spent ten minutes making the long sweep over whiteside. rick glanced at his watch, then banked around on the predetermined course. he put the cub in a slow climb. "we'll arrive a little north of the grounds," he said. "watch for ship lights. we may see the supply ship before we see brad marbek." "maybe they've already met," scotty remarked. rick shook his head. "they can't have met yet. brad would have to go pretty far out. otherwise, the trawlers going to fish would be able to see him and his supply ship on the horizon." scotty shivered. "it's getting cold." they were climbing steadily. the altimeter read slightly less than four thousand feet. at that height, the men on the ships below wouldn't know what kind of plane was overhead. they flew in silence for several minutes, then rick warned, "we're getting there." "i'm watching." scotty had taken the binoculars from behind the seat where they had been left. suddenly he grabbed rick's arm. "there. dead ahead." rick banked the plane a little so he could see from the side window. far ahead and below, red lights and white lights twinkled against the sheen of the sea. some distance separated the lights and he knew he was seeing both vessels. they had not yet met. his pulse began to pound a little. he pulled back slightly on the control wheel and let the cub climb. "we'll continue straight on," he told scotty. "then we'll turn and come back at a lower altitude." "okay." scotty leaned out into the slip stream and put the binoculars on the lights. when the ships were behind, he pulled his head in again and rubbed his cold face. "that other ship is a freighter, but not very big. i'd say less than four thousand tons. it's probably a coaster." rick wondered, if it was a coastal vessel, why he hadn't found anything in the new york paper at the _morning record_. it was probable, he decided, that the ship was heading for some other port, maybe boston. "funny," scotty said. "the other ship is heading south." "south? no wonder we didn't find anything in the shipping news. listen, scotty, what if that's just an american coaster? you know what that would mean? that ship would have to rendezvous with some ocean-going freighter, or maybe several of them." his voice hushed. "what if we've run into something that's only a small part of a really big smuggling ring?" his ready imagination pictured the coastal vessel sailing regularly between baltimore and portland, maine, meeting ocean-going smugglers and in turn supplying small contraband runners like brad marbek and the kelsos all the way up and down the coast. "i expected some big ocean freighter," scotty remarked. they had been flying steadily out to sea. now rick banked around so scotty could look through the glasses once more. "i can see them on the horizon," scotty said, glasses to his eyes. "they've met. the lights are almost together. hey! the lights just went out!" "probably turned out so as not to attract the attention of any passing ships," rick guessed. "they can't see, as we can, that they're the only ships around. we'll stall for a while before going back. give them time to get rigged for passing cargo." he lifted the camera to his lap, then trimmed the cub so it would fly by itself. scotty took the power pack on his own lap and checked again to see that the dynamo-driven spring was wound tight. rick had connected the infrared attachment so that a switch was handy under his thumb when his left hand held the camera in position. the camera itself, run by its own spring, was operated by his right hand. he pressed the infrared switch and heard the dynamo whine softly. scotty immediately wound it another half turn to bring the spring up to full tension again. "wish i had enough hours to do the flying," he said regretfully. "then you could photograph without worrying about the plane." scotty had his license, but he had not yet accumulated the experience that would fit him for an adventure like tonight's. or rather this morning's. rick twisted the lens barrel, making sure it was full open, then he twisted the focusing ring until it stopped. now the camera was focused on infinity. all he needed to do was aim and shoot. he looked at scotty. his friend's face was a white blur in the dimness inside the plane. "think we've given them enough time?" "i think so. they wouldn't need much. the supply ship would have cargo booms all rigged and the first load in the cargo net. better turn back." rick banked, letting the cub slip as he did so. they lost altitude rapidly and he watched the silvery sheen of the ocean resolve itself into waves. there was not enough wind to make foam or whitecaps. the two ships would have no trouble coming alongside and moving cargo. he leveled off at five hundred feet on a course that would take them directly over the vessels. both boys strained to see ahead, and both saw the blurred outline on the horizon at the same time. gradually the outline became clearer until finally they flashed directly over the two ships. "here we go," rick said, and the calmness of his voice surprised him. he rocked the cub up in a tight bank that would take them in a narrow circle with the ships at the center. his hands made delicate adjustments in the plane's balance so that it would practically fly itself. his feet were light on the rudder pedals. he lifted his hand from the wheel and the cub held course without a waver. "now," he said. he took the camera and pressed it to his cheek, gripping it firmly. his eye found the telescope and he pressed the infrared switch. scotty's hand was poised, ready to grab the control wheel if the plane started to slip. the power pack was held tightly between his knees, and his right hand was on the winding handle. the scene lighted up for rick. he saw four men on the trawler's deck, looking up at him. he saw the cargo net suspended almost over their heads, and he saw men on the deck of the freighter. his right index finger pressed and the camera started to roll. the cub held its tight circle and rick kept his finger down. then he felt the camera stop and knew it had to be wound. swiftly he shifted balance and turned the winding handle until the spring was at full tension again. but his shifting of weight had disturbed the plane's delicate balance. he had to put the camera down and work the tab controls that trimmed the plane with his left hand while his right kept it steady. it took a few moments. meanwhile, scotty had wound the dynamo tight once more. when rick looked out, the cargo net was no longer in sight. the men on the freighter's deck were bent over another cargo net, working at cases that evidently were heavy. rick kept the camera on them, shooting steadily, rewinding when necessary. then he shifted his view to the trawler. the men were standing over a gaping fish hatch. evidently they were stowing the first load while the men on the freighter prepared the second. "i have enough," rick said finally. there was nothing more to be seen, unless they wanted to wait for the second load to change ships. "how much footage did you get?" scotty asked. "about fifty feet, maybe a little less." "that ought to be enough. let's go home." rick swung the cub in a circle until they were facing the direction of the mainland according to compass reading, then he leveled off. "i wonder what they thought about the plane overhead," he said. "it probably scared them stiff," scotty replied. "chances are brad marbek had a good idea who it was." the one thing they had overlooked in their plan was brad's possible reaction to seeing the plane, rick realized suddenly. great grinning goldfish! what if he really got scared? they might have defeated their own purpose by making him jettison his contraband! then he reasoned that brad wouldn't dump his cargo if he could help it. anything worth smuggling was too valuable to be dumped just because two kids saw it transferred. but still . . . "if i were brad," he said, "i'd get up a full head of steam for creek house and unload that stuff. how about you?" "because you'd be afraid those two wild men in the airplane would report it to the police? maybe you're right, rick. we'd better get captain douglas and his men on the job right away!" the street lights of whiteside were in sight now. rick took a bearing from them and swung slightly northward to pick up the airport. then he saw the beacon. he had not bothered to climb after leaving the ships, so he passed over spindrift at an altitude of five hundred feet. he knew his parents would hear the cub and know he had returned this far safely. his palms were moist with perspiration and he had to swallow to clear his throat. now that the moment of landing was here, his nervousness was returning. he leaned forward, watching for the airport marker lights and saw them directly ahead. the airport wasn't big or important enough to rate runway lights or a lighted wind sock, but those wouldn't have helped much anyway. he knew from watching the sea that the wind was negligible. and anywhere he landed on the field would be all right. he throttled down and the nose automatically dropped to the correct glide position. then, as he saw the red marker lights rushing to meet him, he threw on the landing lights. white swaths of light picked out trees and the boundary fence. the cub flashed across into the open, dropping steadily. the ground seemed to come up appallingly fast, but rick kept his nerve. it was only an illusion, he knew. the cub was at the correct approach angle. but the illusion made it hard to tell when to level off. he waited a second too long, and his wheels touched and the cub bounced. he threw power into the engine and the little plane lifted into the air once more. "tricky," he muttered when scotty looked at him. scotty sat up a little straighter. "you're telling me?" rick went around the airport again and banked around tightly into the approach. his jaw was set firmly and he watched the field so closely that his eyes watered. he'd make it this time! he cut the gun and the nose dropped. he waited as the runway came up, trying to gauge his height by the grass that showed clearly in the landing lights. slowly he eased the control wheel back and the plane leveled off. slowly and more slowly. they were eating up runway rapidly. scotty shot him an anxious look. then, with feather lightness, the wheels touched. the tail settled gracefully and they were on the ground. rick applied the brakes and the cub slowed to a stop. he wiped his forehead. scotty leaned over and solemnly shook hands. rick gave the plane the gun again and taxied rapidly to the hangar, switching out his lights as he went. made it, he thought jubilantly. first night flight, safely over. and that's not all. we got what we went after! chapter xvii enter the police duke barrows was waiting at the hangar when rick and scotty got out of the cub. "i can see the headlines now," he greeted them with a grin. "young birdmen fly by night. subhead: get up early to catch worms who break law." "speaking of getting up early," rick retorted. he pointed to where growing paleness in the east announced the coming of daylight. "how did you know we'd be landing?" "my house is near here," duke reminded them. "i heard you buzz the field a while ago and i knew you must have gotten the call. so i dressed and came over. i hadn't gone to sleep after getting home, anyway. editors of morning papers are night owls, remember. well, how did it go?" rick reached into the cub and drew out his camera. he held it up triumphantly. "the evidence is in here," he said happily. "we caught 'em in the act, duke." then he sobered. "but we're worried." he told the editor about their misgivings. "hmmmm." barrows gazed at the night sky reflectively. "i agree that marbek probably wouldn't throw the stuff overboard, but he might streak for port. i think we'd better give captain douglas a call. we want state troopers waiting at creek house when the _albatross_ arrives." scotty groaned. "if they go now, that means we won't get any sleep." "you hadn't better plan on going with the troopers," duke said. "they probably prefer to handle things their own way. besides, it might mean waiting all day. i'd say it was more important for you to get that film developed. i don't suppose you saw the name of the ship marbek was getting his stuff from?" "i didn't even think about it," rick confessed. "i planned to, then when the time came it slipped my mind completely. i was too busy flying the plane and taking pictures." duke looked at the camera curiously. rick had described it to him. "it's hard to believe that you actually got pictures at night. i'm anxious to see them." "me, too," scotty agreed. "let's get organized," barrows said. "first of all, how do you plan to get the film developed?" "there's a lab in new york that gives -hour service. they can develop infrared, too. i hate to think how much they will charge me." "can individual frames of the film be blown up and made into decent pictures?" rick nodded. "the result looks a little grainy, but it can be done." "all right. give me exclusive rights to use the pictures and the paper will pay for them. let me have the film and the address of the lab. i'll send jerry to new york with them first thing this morning. then we can have them back tomorrow. is that okay with you?" "swell." "good. now let's hop into my car and take a run over to the state police barracks. we'll get captain douglas out of bed and you can tell him your story. he'll know how to carry the ball from there." scotty got the binoculars from the cub. he and rick staked the plane down, then hurried to the editor's car. the police barracks were just outside of town on the newark turnpike. captain douglas was in bed, but he got up quickly enough when the sergeant on duty gave him the names of the three visitors. rick described their night's work while the officer finished dressing. when he had finished, captain douglas, a strapping man who had been a marine officer before retiring and joining the state force, nodded briskly. "good work, rick. i want to see that film the minute you know whether your camera worked well enough for evidence. now, m'lads, i've got to get to work. instead of barging into creek house with sirens wailing, i just think i'll put a pair of my boys in civilian clothes on the job, one on the water front and the other at the bridge. i have a pair of squad cars without insignia or state license plates that will be useful, and both of them are radio-equipped. the minute this trawler shows up, we'll know about it and we'll move in on them. i'll ask for a search warrant soon as i can get someone on the phone at the main office. how does that strike you?" "it sounds all right," rick said. "but where do we come in?" "you don't," captain douglas retorted. "you go home and go to bed. the only thing you could do would be to hang around here all day waiting, because we couldn't let you go to seaford and perhaps tip off the gang by accident. they must know it was your plane, and they're crazy if they don't assume you'll call the police. if no police show up and you don't either, it may lull their suspicions somewhat. tell you what. i'll phone duke, or have the desk man do it, the minute we hear anything and he can phone you." and with that, the two boys had to be content. rick ran the rest of the film through his camera, unloaded it, and handed the can of film to duke barrows. the editor drove them to the boat landing. "with any luck," he said as they got from the car, "we may let folks read all about it within a couple of days. see you later, fellows." although it was scarcely daylight, mr. and mrs. brant were already up and having an early breakfast. rick knew it was just that they had worried about scotty and him, and he felt a little thrill of pride in them. even though they had worried, they had confidence in him and so they had let him go. he was glad that he and scotty always had played square with them, sharing their adventures and discussing their problems. over breakfast, the boys related the story of their night flight while the brants listened with interest. "it wasn't bad at all," rick finished. "i did have one tough moment when we landed the first time, because i was a little too tense. but the second time was smooth as anything." "i'm glad you went right to ed douglas," hartson brant said approvingly. "these kinds of jobs belong to the law, rick. an amateur can go only so far, and then if he's wise, he calls the police." they had barely finished breakfast when the phone rang. it was cap'n mike. he said that he had been standing on first one leg then the other ever since he first phoned, and would they please tell him what had happened. scotty obliged with a dramatic report and cap'n mike exclaimed his delight so loudly that rick could hear him half the room away. scotty hung up and grinned. "he's going to sort of wander over to that part of town himself, just to keep track of what's going on." "hope he doesn't attract any attention," rick said. "he's too smart for that. well, what now? to bed to catch up on that sleep we missed?" rick couldn't have slept a wink, and he said as much. he was too wound up. "let's go back to whiteside," he suggested. "it's full daylight now and one of us might as well bring the cub back." "i'll do it," scotty offered. "you've been getting all the practice, and you're the one who doesn't need it." on the way over by boat, rick reviewed again the events of the night. "funny that the freighter was heading south," he said. in the cold light of day, his speculation that there might be a whole smuggling ring up and down the coast didn't look too sensible. "of course she may have reached there before brad showed up and circled while she was waiting. we didn't hang around to see if she headed north again after they finished unloading." "that could be it," scotty nodded. "probably is. listen, what happens to the freighter if the police catch brad with the goods?" "can't say. ordinarily, i'd think the police would call for the coast guard to go intercept them. but we're not sure of the identity of the ship." "we missed there," scotty said. "has it occurred to you that we're going to be the star witnesses if this comes to trial?" rick shook his head. "not necessarily. if the state police catch brad and the kelsos with the goods, they won't need us for anything. but if they identify the ship that supplied them, they may need us there." "unless it's a foreign ship." "what do you mean?" "they were outside the twelve-mile limit," scotty pointed out. "that's the high seas. i'm not up on my international law, but i doubt if the united states could do much about something done by a foreign ship on the high seas." "never thought of that," rick admitted. he dropped scotty at the landing, then turned the launch back to spindrift. once in his own room, however, he was too restless to do anything, even to sleep. he walked out to the lab building and sat down on the steps, looking out to sea. it was a beautiful morning. soon as scotty got back he would suggest a swim. in a short time he looked up to see scotty approaching from whiteside. he watched critically as scotty swung wide and banked into the approach over the lab building, then settled smoothly to the grass. he nodded approval. scotty was a natural flier. he excelled at anything requiring a high degree of co-ordination between body and mind. rick walked to meet him. "what kept you?" scotty climbed out and they staked the plane down. "jerry picked me up on the way to the airport. we talked for a while. he had the film and was taking it into new york." both of them walked with less spring in their steps than usual. knowing that nothing was in sight but waiting was a letdown after the activity of the predawn hours. but captain douglas had spoken and that was that. "wonder if we'll ever be able to prove that the kelsos wrecked the _sea belle_?" rick mused. "even if the police catch them cold on a smuggling charge that won't necessarily tie them up with captain tyler." "that's right." scotty bent and plucked a sprig of mint from the patch next to the house and chewed it absently. "but we'll be able to show motive and method once they're in jail and tyler can talk. and with captain killian's evidence, that will clear tyler anyway. why should we worry whether the kelsos get caught for that as long as he's cleared? we'll have them on the smuggling charge." "i guess so." rick felt tired. "how about a quick swim? then we can crawl into bed and take a nap." "good idea. what are we waiting for?" the water was too good to abandon after a few quick dips, however, and they alternately swam and lazed in the sun until lunchtime. only after a good lunch of several sandwiches and almost a quart of milk apiece did they feel like taking a nap. then rick said, "no word. i guess that does it. either brad is ignoring our flying over him or he has dumped his cargo. i'd like to know which. otherwise, he would have put into creek house long ago." "looks that way. but i'm too drowsy to care. go on to bed and let me do likewise. we'll know soon enough what happened." rick undressed, drew his shades and crawled in, luxuriating in the comfort of cool sheets. but it wasn't easy to drop off to sleep. his active mind persisted in going over and over the events at seaford like a record stuck in a groove, but after a while he slept. he didn't even hear the phone when it rang. scotty had to wake him. then, drowsily, he and scotty went down the hall. "it's mr. barrows," mrs. brant called from below. "i'll take it," rick said. he picked up the phone. "this is rick, duke." "bad news," the editor said. "it's all over, and nothing came out of it." rick woke up sharply. "what? but, duke, we saw them load!" "tough luck. brad came in at the usual time and douglas was waiting for him. they went over that ship from stem to stern and didn't turn up a single thing." rick realized that it was dark outside. mother had let them sleep right through dinner. "but the crates in the marsh," he exclaimed. "how about those?" "gone," duke said. "there wasn't a thing but flattened reeds and muddy water." scotty had been holding his ear close to the phone. "brad must have jettisoned his cargo," he said. "we didn't think he would." duke heard him. "was that scotty? well, rick, if the pictures prove out, we'll know he must have thrown the stuff overboard. captain douglas has faith in you. he says not to be discouraged." "thanks," rick said hollowly. "oh, one other item of news. i talked with the agent who rented the creek house to the kelsos. they've given him notice that they're moving out next saturday. what do you think about that?" rick's shoulders slumped. "unless they try to pull something between now and then, we're sunk. duke, do you realize this may have been their last load? we might have scared them off with flying over brad and then having the police raid them." "i'm afraid so, too. but captain douglas says they seemed pretty smug. they may try it again. by the way, jerry says the film will be ready at five tomorrow night. i'll send him into new york early tomorrow and he can do a few errands for me, then pick up the film on his way home." "thanks, duke," rick said. he replaced the receiver and looked at scotty. "did you get all that?" scotty nodded silently. mrs. brant called from downstairs. "i saved dinner for you, boys. want to come get it now?" "right away," rick called. "thanks, mom." he and scotty slipped robes over their pajamas and walked slowly down the stairs. neither of them felt much like eating after the phone call. they had, with undue optimism, written the case off as practically closed. but now everything seemed as far from a solution as ever. chapter xviii brendan's marsh rick stared out the window at the gathering dusk. "i'd like to know what's taking jerry so long with those pictures," he grumbled. "he should have been here an hour ago." scotty had been trying to read a book. he gave it up as a bad job and joined rick at the window. "maybe he stopped for dinner," he said. "i'll put ground glass in his cake next time he comes to dinner if he has," rick threatened. jerry had phoned before leaving for new york earlier in the day. after consultation with duke, they had agreed that jerry would bring the pictures directly to the island, and that rick and scotty would leave the boat at the landing for him to use. the editor was as anxious as any of them to see the pictures, but, as he pointed out, there was no longer any special haste, and he preferred not to have both himself and jerry away from the paper at the same time, especially in the very early or very late evening when the wire service newscasts were coming in. rick had agreed. he planned to project the film, choose the single frames that would be the most useful, rephotograph them, and make enlargements for duke and captain douglas. the rephotographing was done with a special, inexpensive device that could be purchased at any photo supply store. scotty opened the window wider and stuck his head out. "thought i heard something." rick looked at his watch. it was shortly after eight. "let's take the glasses and walk out to the north side," he said. "it won't be completely dark until around nine, and we'll be able to see him coming." "wait a minute." scotty held up his hand. "there. i thought i heard something. he's coming now. i recognize the launch motor." rick started for the door, then he hesitated. "you go meet him. i'll get the projector set up in the library." he ran down the stairs and called, "mother. dad. jerry's coming with the pictures." then he hurried into the library, took his folding screen from the closet and set it up. he got the projector from its case, plugged it in, using his father's desk as a table, and put on the take-up reel. he finished focusing just as scotty and jerry burst into the room. mr. and mrs. brant were right behind them. "got a clogged gas line," jerry explained breathlessly. "i finally got a man to push me to the nearest gas station. we took the gas line off at the carburetor and blew it out with compressed air. i didn't dare take time to find out what had clogged it, because i knew you'd lynch me." "you're forgiven," rick said. he had already taken the film from jerry and was threading it through the projector gate. he inserted the loose end in the take-up reel and motioned to scotty. "here we go." scotty snapped out the light and rick started the projector. white leader ran through the gate, then suddenly, clear as day, there were two ships below, their center sections brightly illuminated and the rest fading out slightly toward what had been the edges of the infrared beam. "excellent, rick," hartson brant said. "good work, son! that's much better than i had hoped." "same here, dad," rick said, eyes on the screen. the ships appeared to be whirling slowly, the result of his having taken the picture while circling in a tight bank. he could see the men on the decks clearly, and even thought he recognized brad marbek. then, as the angle changed, he saw marbek clearly, waving his arm. "what flag is that?" scotty asked suddenly. "there, on the stern of the freighter." the flag was limp because there had been no breeze to speak of, but part of the design was clear. "i have it," hartson brant exclaimed. "that ship is of caribbean registry." he named the country, then said, "look for the name of the ship." but the angle was wrong for that. the name was not within the camera's view, on either stern or bow. the film was running out rapidly now. rick watched the cargo net swing over, full of wooden cases, and drop on the deck of the freighter. for a moment it didn't register, then he yelled. "hey! ohmigolly! did you see that?" he threw the reverse switch and the film ran backward. the net lifted from the deck of the freighter and swung toward the _albatross_. then he ran it forward again and watched the load settle to the freighter's deck. scotty yelled, too. "what a pair of chuckleheads! rick, no wonder we didn't find anything on the _albatross_ and neither did captain douglas! they're smuggling stuff _out!_ not in!" the plimsoll mark! the _albatross_ had been heavily loaded because brad marbek had _taken on the load at creek house he would deliver later to the freighter_. that was why no ships had been listed in the new york paper as being in the right area at the right time. they had looked for arrival times, not sailing times. that was why the cache of cases was no longer in the marsh behind creek house. these pictures were of those cases being loaded on the freighter! the picture ran through and white light flashed on the screen. scotty snapped the lights on. "we've got to get these pictures to captain douglas," rick exclaimed. "i'll hurry and rephotograph them right away. it will only take a moment." he hastily rewound the film while scotty ran ahead to the photo lab. hartson brant said, "ed will be glad to get those, rick. but don't get your hopes too high. the pictures don't show any contraband in those cases, and that's what you'll need." "i know, dad," rick replied. "but at least we know now why we've always been wrong. we were backwards!" he hurriedly excused himself, then he and jerry hurried after scotty. scotty already had loaded the rephotographing camera with film and screwed a photo flood bulb into a convenient receptacle. it took rick only ten minutes to select the frames he wanted to rephotograph and finish the operation. then he gave the rephotographing camera to scotty who wound the film all the way through and took it out. "let's develop it," he said, and reached for the shelf to take down a small developing tank. "wait!" an idea struck rick. "how do we know brad isn't going to load again tonight? remember the kelsos have only a few more days at creek house." jerry snapped his fingers. "that's right! and i'll bet they're gloating over hoodwinking the state police, too. they wouldn't be afraid to ship _out_ another load, particularly since they know they're suspected of smuggling stuff _in_ and it might be their last chance." "we can't risk it," rick said decisively. "we'll take this film to whiteside and have the photographer at the paper develop it. how about that, jerry?" the reporter nodded agreement and he continued, "while it's being developed, we can go through the new york papers again and find out if a ship of caribbean registry is sailing. about midnight would be right for a sailing time." scotty reached for the light. "we'd better hurry." he snapped it out and led the way through the door. he and jerry went directly to the boat landing while rick ran upstairs and picked up his infrared camera, just in case. if the police raided creek house tonight, he intended to be on hand. scotty had chosen the fast speedboat and already had the engine turning over. rick jumped aboard and they roared toward whiteside. at the dock they transferred to jerry's car and sped through the streets to the newspaper office. duke barrows had just finished with the early newscast and, taking advantage of the lull, had gone home for dinner; he would return in about an hour, the photographer said. he was the only man in the office. jerry gave him the roll of film on which rick had rephotographed the critical scenes from the movie and asked for two enlargements of each. "it's urgent," he said. "duke will want to see these when he gets back." "he'll have 'em." the photographer headed for the darkroom. rick and scotty didn't wait any longer. they took the file of new york papers from the rack and hurriedly leafed through them to the proper dates. "here's one!" rick found a pencil and jotted down the name of the ship and its owner. the next date disclosed a ship of the same registry and owner, but with a different name. they worked rapidly and it took only a few minutes now that they knew what to look for, and presently they had the job completed. jerry, who had been phoning duke, joined them and looked over rick's shoulder as he read aloud. "all the same company and registry. it's the compania maritima caribe y atlantica." he stumbled a little over the spanish name. this was good evidence. he looked at his friends, eyes shining. "now for today's paper. got it jerry?" the reporter found it on duke's desk and they spread it out on a table. three heads bent over it. there was no ship of that company and registry listed as sailing tonight. then scotty spotted a separate listing of ships now loading. "got one! but it's scheduled to sail night after tomorrow. and look! it's the same ship that was here two weeks ago!" rick sat down at jerry's desk. he still couldn't escape the feeling of urgency. he had played his hunches before and he did so now. he leaned over and picked up a copy of the new york phone directory. with the others watching curiously, he leafed through it, found the right page and ran his finger down it until he had the number, then he picked up jerry's phone and called it. while the operator made the connection, he held his hand over the mouthpiece. "a hunch. the shipping offices are closed now, but the port director at new york will know." a female voice said, "port of new york authority." "information on ship sailings, please," rick requested. the operator rang an extension and a male voice answered. "i know you don't usually bother with information of this kind," rick said, "but this is the whiteside _morning record_ and we need it for tomorrow's edition. i'd like to know if there is any correction on the sailing date of this ship." he read off the name and company and the pier number. "just a minute, whiteside. i'll be glad to look it up." rick waited tensely. "here it is. that ship was supposed to sail friday night, but the sailing has been moved up. she leaves tonight at midnight." "thanks," rick said. "thanks!" he hung up and turned to his friends. "tonight's the night! i had a hunch something was up. of course brad and the kelsos would have the sailing moved up, because they're frightened. i'll bet tonight will be their last load, then the kelsos will clear out and brad will go back to just fishing." "tonight or never," scotty echoed. "what do we do now?" "call captain douglas." rick picked up the phone again and asked for state police headquarters. there was a little delay while the officer was called to the phone, then rick quickly outlined their findings from the movie film and the new york paper. "if we get down there, we can catch them in the act of loading," he said. "how about it, captain?" captain douglas hesitated. "i hate to stick my neck out again after last night, but this looks like a sure thing. we'll need a search warrant, rick, and it will take a little time to rout out a judge. and i'll have to see the pictures first. we have to show cause when we get a warrant, you know, and the judge will be a little reluctant after last night." "the pictures are being printed now," rick told him. "you can have them in a little while." "right. i'll round up the men i need and bring them with me. and i'll get the judge on the phone and ask him to make out the warrant and promise to show him the evidence when i pick it up." "how long will it take?" rick asked. "we'll be on our way in an hour. i'll get going right now." the captain hung up. rick looked at his watch and then at the rapidly fading light outside. "they won't be in time," he said desperately. "if they rush the loading, they can have the _albatross_ out of there. then what happens? they'll have to get another warrant to search the trawler at the pier, and there won't be any evidence to tie the cargo up with the kelsos!" scotty held up the infrared camera. "unless we get it," he said. rick's eyes widened. go back to creek house? but even as he shuddered at the thought of what would happen to them if they were caught again, he knew there was no other way. "jerry," he said crisply, "we're going on ahead. run us down to the dock and we'll get started. then you come back here and wait for captain douglas and duke. give them the pictures and this dope from the shipping news, and for the love of rick and scotty, tell them to step on it when they start for seaford!" jerry protested halfheartedly as they sped to the dock, but they convinced him it would be better for him to wait and impress on the others the need for speed. he dropped them at the speedboat with a plea to be careful, then headed back to the office. scotty got behind the wheel while rick cast off and they roared out to sea with the throttle wide open. the speedboat climbed to the step and planed along like a racer, leaving a foaming wake. then, as they passed spindrift island and met rougher water, it began to bounce from one wave crest to the next. spray swirled over the windshield and into the boat. scotty started the wipers. rick crouched down under the dashboard and rechecked his camera, trying out the infrared dynamo and the camera motor. just to be on the safe side, he had brought the camera case, which contained the extra film and a tripod. now he got the tripod ready but waited to see what would happen before he placed the camera on it. he sat back in the seat, satisfied that everything was in readiness, and looked around him. suddenly he stiffened. there were ship running lights on the horizon. the trawler fleet was returning to seaford, and brad marbek would be among them! he leaned over and switched out their own running lights. scotty glanced around, saw the masthead lights, and nodded his understanding. "better make a plan," he suggested. "what do we do when we get there?" "stick our heads into the lion's mouth," rick replied unhappily. "i hate to try getting into the creek house grounds again after last time!" "do we have to? how about watching from the boat?" "we couldn't get near enough without being seen. wait! we could at that!" rick struggled to remember details of the photo they had taken showing the marsh opposite creek house. "we could go into the marsh. remember that inlet nearest the creek? that branched off in the right direction. there are emergency oars in this and we could use them as poles and shove our way in. we might get close enough." "and if we don't, we can wade the rest of the way." scotty leaned over and wiped mist from the windshield. "good idea." he laughed, without mirth. "brad and the two redheads would have a fine time chasing us through the swamp. here's one pigeon they'd never catch." "make it two pigeons," rick corrected. they were making good time, even though the slapping of the speedboat over the rough water was giving them a bad jouncing. they roared past the last group of summer cottages before brendan's marsh, leaving a wake that set the boats anchored near the shore to rocking. at rick's suggestion, scotty throttled down as they swept along the edge of the marsh. the noise of the wide-open engine might be heard at creek house and arouse suspicion. then, as smugglers' light neared and they knew they were getting close, scotty throttled down still more. rick unlashed the pair of oars from their position along the gunwale and got them ready. it was fully dark now and difficult to see, although the moon was rising. scotty leaned over and cut the ignition. "don't dare to use the engine any nearer than this," he said, his voice low. rick saw that they were perilously near the creek mouth. he turned to look at the incoming trawlers and saw the nearest one almost abeam of them a quarter mile out. "watch for that inlet," he whispered. "and let's get into the next seat back. the windshield will interfere if we try to paddle from here." he hadn't rigged the oarlocks, knowing they would be unable to row in the narrow inlet. they would have to use the oars as paddles. they climbed over the seat back and each took an oar, kneeling like canoeists. rick was on the inland side, and he saw the inlet mouth first. "here," he whispered, and backed water with his oar. the bow of the boat swung around. rushes and marsh grass scraped past them. the lights of creek house were still invisible. rick strained his eyes to see; it was almost inky black in the tall rushes. then scotty reached out and felt with his oar. "left turn," he whispered. he had found the inlet branch that led toward the hotel. now he backed water, trying not to splash, while rick poled ahead. the boat swung into the narrow channel, reeds touching it on both sides and making a hissing noise as they progressed. "only a few feet of water," rick said softly. "and mud at the bottom." each time he lifted his oar he felt the weight of a ball of muck on the end. the boat slid gently to a stop. both boys put their weight on the oars, but it moved only two feet ahead then stopped once more. they put their heads together and discussed it in a low whisper because they were near the creek. "we're aground," scotty said. "guess we get out and walk," rick returned. "better take our shoes and socks off. it will be muddy." "we'll be lucky if we don't sink in up to our necks." scotty took his arm suddenly. rick started to ask what was the matter, then he heard it, too. the cough of a diesel engine exhaust and the clanking of gear told him that a ship was nearing. a shiver ran through him. brad marbek, coming in to load! "let's step on it, he whispered. he sat down and removed his shoes and socks, then climbed up on the gunwale and walked forward, brushing against the rushes but trying not to make too much noise. he took his oar and shoved straight down from the bow. there was about a foot of water, then another eighteen inches of mud before the bottom firmed. it would be hard going. he started back, but scotty came to meet him, carrying the camera and power pack. "the tripod," rick requested in a low whisper. "if the ground is so soft i can't get a firm stance, i'll need it." scotty handed him the equipment, then went back and got the tripod. rick screwed the camera into place with a few turns of the tripod nut. scotty disconnected the power cord that led from the power pack to the camera and coiled it up. they could reconnect it when they needed it. meanwhile, it would interfere with their progress. he slung the power pack over his shoulder. rick put the camera and tripod on the deck, then turned his back to the creek and lowered himself. the water was cold and the muck seemed to reach up for him. he felt firmer ground under his toes and let himself go, then held his hands within reach of the boat as he continued to sink. he was up to his thighs when the ground finally held. he reached up and took the camera, holding it high in the air, and started forward. each step was an effort. he had to lift his leg high before each step, and the mud clung. behind him, he heard the sucking, splashing, of scotty's progress. then the ground began to get firmer until at last there was only a thin film of water and about a foot of mud. the lights of creek house could be seen through the rushes now. he held up his hand as a warning to scotty. they were close to the bank. in a moment he parted the reeds and looked through. scotty moved to his side. the _albatross_ was tying up at creek house pier, and brad marbek was just leaping to the dock where the kelsos waited. but the boys were too far down toward the creek mouth. they would have to move along the bank. rick gave scotty a little push in that direction and scotty understood. he went back into the marsh a few feet, then led the way. it was easier going, but still far from pleasant. the muck gave every step a slurping sound, and it clung in gobs. then the vantage point scotty selected was reached, directly opposite the pier. they parted the rushes slightly and looked out. the crew of the _albatross_ was climbing down under the pier. as the boys watched, they poled out a shallow-draft, broad-beamed rowboat about fifteen feet long. it was the barge on which the contraband had waited in the swamp. rick put his lips to scotty's ear. "wonder why captain douglas didn't see that?" "he probably did. it wouldn't mean anything with the cargo gone." sensible, rick thought. there would have been no occasion for the captain to mention it. he searched for a bit of firmer ground on which to rest the camera and found it. he began to worry about the hum of the dynamo. would it be heard when they turned it on? and the filament of the infrared searchlight would be visible, too, against the dark background of the marsh. did they dare try it? the crew of the _albatross_ was in the flatboat--it scarcely could be called a rowboat--already heading upstream. the kelsos and marbek walked toward the house. good! that would give them a chance to try the camera. rick waited impatiently until the boat rounded the turn leading to salt creek bridge, then he sighted in on the _albatross_, checked his settings, and started both the camera and infrared light. the dynamo and camera motor hummed quietly. he breathed a sigh of relief. surely that much sound would blend imperceptibly with the normal night noises. peepers in the fresher water upstream made more noise than that. he walked ahead of the camera and peered into the infrared searchlight. if anyone looked real closely, they might see it. he hoped the men on the opposite shore would be too busy to glance his way. he switched off the mechanism and settled down to wait. his trousers were wet and heavy with mud, and his legs and feet were chilled. mosquitoes whined around his head and little gnats settled down for a meal on his exposed neck and head. he began to wonder if it was worth it. carrots kelso came out of the house, and he had his rifle. the boys watched as he disappeared behind the hotel, taking up his position as guard. each minute had lead in its shoes. why didn't the boat return? and then, suddenly, it was rounding the bend! rick moved behind the camera and loosened the pan-head. he swung the lens upstream. scotty parted the rushes for him and he began to shoot. infrared illuminated the boat clearly. he saw the faces of the crew, saw the cases stacked from stem to stem and even read their labels. hummer sewing machines. he didn't believe for a moment that there were really sewing machines in them, but he couldn't guess their actual content. he stopped shooting and rewound the camera while scotty cranked the dynamo spring, then he took another brief sequence, stopped, and waited. no more now until they actually reached the dock and started to transfer the stuff. red kelso and brad marbek came out of the hotel and he started shooting again, then he switched to a telephoto lens and took a close-up of their faces as they watched the boat draw near. carrots appeared around the front of the hotel and rick got him, too, before he vanished again, patrolling the grounds. the boat touched the dock. a crewman leaped to the place where kelso and marbek stood. there was conversation with much gesturing and pointing into the boat. then the crewman jumped down again and motioned to one of his fellows. rick started shooting. clearly, as though it were day, he saw the two bend over something in the bow. they heaved upright and a chill shot through him. a man, bound and gagged! then they turned the man over to hand him up to the dock and rick's teeth clamped on his lip so hard that he groaned. it was jerry webster! chapter xix the fight at creek house rick and scotty watched helplessly as jerry was carried into the hotel, then they looked at each other wordlessly. in a moment the seamen who had carried him returned, but brad and red didn't. the one who had first reported to brad, probably the mate or bosun, stood on the dock and called to the men in the boat. the boys could hear him clearly. "let's get busy. we've got to load this stuff fast." one of the men in the boat asked, "what they going to do with the kid?" "find out what he knows, then knock him on the head and shove him under the fish until we're out where we can dump him." rick and scotty grabbed for each other at the same time. they knew without speaking what they had to do. rick snatched up the camera, hauling it out of the muck recklessly. he pulled the power plug and scotty reeled it in. they plowed through the swamp as fast as they could without making too much of a disturbance. scotty led the way, cutting straight through the marsh to the boat, his highly developed direction sense showing him the way. it seemed forever to rick, but it was actually only a few minutes before they were climbing into the boat. "what do we do?" he asked desperately as he stowed the camera. "if we start the boat, they'll hear it, and it would take too long to pole out." "swim," scotty said tersely. "it's faster. get out of your clothes, but tie the laces of your shoes together and hang the shoes around your neck. we'll need 'em." quickly they stripped to their shorts, then draped shoes around their necks and slipped into the mud again. the water deepened rapidly and they began to swim with a noiseless side stroke. rick followed scotty, knowing that his friend was at his best in a situation like this. they reached the edge of the marsh and angled along its edge, swimming strongly. rick was in an agony of fear for jerry. how had he gotten caught? and where? scotty slowed, then stopped. the sudden feel of sluggish current warned rick they were at the creek mouth. "watch the splashes," scotty whispered. "we'll cross to the outside of the fence." for the next few moments they would be vulnerable if carrots kelso happened to walk to the bank and look across. it had to be chanced. scotty started out and rick drew abreast of him. they swam cautiously, making no noise or splash, reached the opposite bank safely and crawled up the beach until they were sure the fence hid them from any watchers at creek house. "got to draw carrots to the back side of the hotel," scotty whispered. "then we can get in through the creek side of the fence. but how?" rick thought quickly. if they could make some sort of noise on the other side ... but it would take too long to go over there and then come back again and it wouldn't be safe to enter near where they made the noise, anyway. he started to put on his shoes, and as his fingers touched the strings, an idea blossomed. "hunt for a piece of rope or wire," he said swiftly, and began running down the reef, eyes searching the dark ground. scotty went to the other side and began to search, too. rick knew they would find what he wanted on the wreck of the trawler but hoped he wouldn't have to go that far. he was in luck. he stumbled over a loop of rusty wire, grabbed it, and heaved. it came free. swiftly his fingers explored it. about eight feet. that was good. probably it had been buried when the part of the reef nearest the hotel had been filled in with trash to make a parking area. he had noticed odds and ends of junk around. he ran over to scotty and told him what else was needed and they both hunted until they found a jagged piece of metal that would suit. it weighed about two pounds, and it had holes along one edge, probably originally drilled for rivets. they unkinked the wire carefully, then rick passed one end through a hole in the steel and made it fast while scotty bent a loop in the other end and wound the wire around itself to make a handhold. "you do it," rick whispered. scotty put a hand through the loop he had made and gripped it tight, then he went as close to the hotel fence as he could without raising the trajectory too high and began to whirl the contraption around his head. faster and faster he whirled it until it began to whine, then with all the momentum of his body he released it. the missile soared away in a long, low arc, past the hotel and on. the boys waited, not breathing, and heard it crunch through the reeds on the far side of the hotel. they ran to the creek end of the fence and looked around. the men at the pier were looking toward the marsh behind the garage. red kelso was walking that way and carrots was running, rifle lifted. scotty and rick rounded the corner and ran silently to the front of the hotel. now to find jerry! rick stepped to the front porch and tried the door. it was unlocked. taking his nerve in both hands, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. it was quiet in the hotel. he knew the layout; they had explored every inch of it. he led the way toward the kitchen, then flattened against the wall of the hallway as he saw the light streaming through. he felt scotty brush against him. rick leaned forward, keeping his face in the shadow, just as brad marbek, his curiosity getting the better of him, walked to the side door and stepped out. rick took a long step into the kitchen. no one in it. then he saw a lighted doorway across the room. it was a good bet. with his eyes on the door through which brad had gone, he trotted swiftly across the floor. scotty was right behind him. rick smothered an exclamation as he saw jerry. the reporter was seated in a chair, tied fast to it. the gag, a bundle of rags, had been stuffed into his mouth. there was a bad bruise over his left eye and another on his left temple. rick was at his side in three long steps. he jerked the gag from jerry's mouth, cautioned him to silence, and started to untie him. scotty went to the window, which fortunately faced the seaford side of the house, and leaned out. rick heard brad call, "find anyone?" then a faint answering call. "no one here." "hurry," scotty whispered. he went to the door and stood to one side of it, looking into the kitchen. rick tugged at a recalcitrant knot, then got it loose. jerry stood up, hands still tied behind him. rick fought with the knot and wished for a knife. there were footsteps in the kitchen. rick's fingers got a hold and he heaved. the footsteps came closer. scotty crouched. brad marbek entered the room and stepped into a terrific roundhouse swing with all of scotty's frantic weight behind it. brad stumbled backward and fell, and he roared. "they're in the house! cover the doors!" he got to his feet and his powerful legs drove him forward. scotty stepped directly into his way. the rope loosened in rick's hand. he unwound jerry, working as fast as he could. he turned just in time to see brad's arms reach for scotty. the fisherman's face was distorted in a snarl and blood trickled from his cut lip. scotty back-pedaled swiftly. he took brad's out-stretched hands, then fell backward, feet lifting, catching brad in the stomach. scotty heaved. the heave and the smuggler's momentum shot him headlong. he smashed into the wall. scotty leaped to his feet. "run!" he yelled. rick propelled jerry into the kitchen, and as they started across the room he saw red kelso at the door. "the front," he called. "hurry, jerry." the reporter was fast getting the use of his limbs back. scotty led the way to the front hall and jerry stumbled after him. as rick passed through the doorway from the kitchen into the wide hallway he spotted a cabinet. he grabbed it and tugged. it came away from the wall and he stepped from under it, letting it crash at an angle across the passageway. that would hold red for a few seconds. they sprinted for the open front door and met carrots head on just inside the entrance. scotty dove at him. his shoulder caught the redhead in the chest and slammed him backward. carrots' arms flew up and the rifle he was carrying sailed from his grasp and slid across the porch to the sidewalk. the boys started to pile out over him, then they stopped short. two of the crew were pounding up the sidewalk, leaping to the steps, and they carried clubs! they were trapped! "up the stairs," rick said hoarsely. scotty bent over the fallen carrots and jerked him to his feet. "you're coming with us," he grated. rick was already halfway to the stairs. red kelso was climbing over the blockade in the hallway, brad marbek behind him. rick stopped. "hurry, scotty!" "hostage," scotty grunted. he took carrots' arm in a japanese wristlock and rushed him across the room. carrots struggled, then let out a yelp. it was either go peacefully or break his own arm. "run," scotty commanded, and carrots ran, up the stairs. jerry followed and rick brought up the rear. their pursuers were gaining! rick's mind raced as he climbed two stairs at a time, reconstructing the plan of the house. he rejected the idea of barricading themselves in a room on the second or third floor; the halls would give their enemies too much room for a battering rush against the door. "the attic," he called ahead to scotty, "and step on it! they're gaining!" they crossed the second-floor landing and went up the stairs to the third. at the top of the third landing was a rusty bucket, full of sand. rick knew, because he had been forced to dig through the sand. it was evidently a relic of coast guard occupancy, placed there to extinguish incendiaries. he pressed hard against jerry's heels, hearing the thud of footsteps on the stairs behind him and the cries of "get 'em" from red kelso. scotty, carrots, and jerry sprinted for the attic stairs. rick paused long enough to scoop up the bucket of sand. he hurled it after him, straight into the faces of the smugglers and found time for a grin at their yells and curses. the attic stairs led straight up, with no landing at the top. the door was ajar. rick's trick had gained a little time. they went through it with seconds to spare, and rick slammed it shut. "find a light," he gasped. "there's one up here." he remembered a tiny bulb, high in the ceiling. "key," scotty snapped. "in the door. outside. it was there last time." rick opened the door and had a quick glimpse of dark figures rushing up the stairs. he fumbled for the key, jerked it loose, and slammed the door. with his shoulder against it he inserted the key on their side and twisted it just as bodies thumped against the other side. jerry found the light switch and turned it on. carrots, lips drawn tight, was bent over in the judo hold scotty had on him. rick found a few old pieces of overstuffed furniture, too disreputable to have been moved or sold, and he and jerry pushed them against the door. "if we can hold out," jerry said between swollen lips, "captain douglas will get here." "if!" rick echoed. red kelso called through the door. "okay, you kids. open up and we'll make things easy on you. but if we have to break the door down, it'll be rugged." the boys looked at each other. carrots grinned. rick didn't like the grin. he yelled back, "try to come through that door and we throw your son out the window!" carrots turned white. "stop talking like a fool and open up," kelso demanded. "we warned you," rick yelled. there was a solid thump as shoulders hit the door. rick cast a desperate look at scotty. the door wouldn't hold long. scotty winked at rick and jerked his chin at carrots' back. "out the window with him," rick growled. he lunged forward and took the boy's legs. jerry, who had caught the wink too, took his shoulders while scotty kept a wristlock clamped tight. they rushed carrots to the window and rick let go long enough to throw up the sash. then they lifted carrots to the sill. "pop!" he screamed. "they're throwing me out!" the thumping at the door ceased. the elder kelso called, "keep your head, jimmy. they don't dare. they know we're comin' in, anyway, and if they throw you out they haven't got a chance." kelso had spoken the exact truth, and the boys knew it. they let carrots slump to the floor. "get close," scotty said. he spoke into carrots' ear. "one peep out of you and i'll break your arm. listen. we've got to have help and quick. who's the fastest runner?" "jerry," rick said promptly. the reporter had been a sprinting champion in school. "are you okay now?" "fine. what's your plan?" a door panel splintered as shoulders crashed against it. good thing there was little space to stand out there. the smugglers couldn't get much leverage. scotty talked fast. "we'll unblock the door and open it suddenly, then, rick, you dive into the mob. they'll be off balance because the stairs are steep. jerry, you'll have to leap for it, over their heads, and try to get away." he was behind carrots and his wink was concealed. "carrots will help us." "i won't," carrots stated. "you will," scotty corrected, "and you'll say 'pop, hold it a minute. they want to talk it over.' just like that." he twisted his hand slightly and carrots yelped. scotty marched him to the door. rick and jerry slid the furniture away. the door was close to giving in now, the hinges starting to pull loose. rick put one hand on the key and the other on the knob, hoping he had interpreted scotty's wink correctly. jerry crouched to one side of the door. scotty held carrots directly in front of it and commanded: "speak your piece." carrots did, willingly, under the pressure of scotty's hand. the thumping stopped. "what do they want to talk over?" kelso demanded. scotty nodded. rick spun the key and jerked the door open. carrots, all of scotty's driving weight behind him, catapulted headlong and smashed into the men on the stairs like a battering ram. they tumbled down under the impact like a row of dominoes, and jerry went out the door as though shot from a crossbow. his flying feet struck backs, legs, and spurned faces. he gained the landing in a mad dive, scrambled to his feet, and was gone. the smugglers clambered to their feet, or tried to. "after him," marbek bellowed. red kelso had fallen backward, and his legs were almost at the door. scotty and rick grabbed simultaneously and heaved, sending the upper men sprawling again. then the boys withdrew and slammed and locked the door. jerry had had the advantage of complete surprise, and his momentum had gotten him past the men on the lower stairs. rick and scotty couldn't have made it after the initial shock. they pushed the furniture against the door again and drew back. unless help was near, they were done for. there was nothing more they could do except wait, and fight once the door gave. rick wrenched the leg from an ancient and broken chair and silently handed it to scotty. then he found one for himself. the banging had renewed almost instantly. scotty went to the window and looked out. rick joined him just in time to see jerry round the corner of the fence. "he made it," rick said with satisfaction. two of the seamen crossed below, but rick knew they would never catch his friend. he turned to face the door. "closer," scotty said. they moved closer and took places, one on each side of the door, and waited. smash. and again, and again. wood dust flew as hinge screws gave with a loud screech. the door was just hanging now. one more smash! it flew inward and red and brad charged, two seamen close behind them. rick met brad marbek with a lightning thrust of his chair leg, and the smuggler doubled up. but his great body could absorb more punishment than rick could give. he drove forward, brushed aside a swing of the chair leg, and his arms locked around the boy. rick groaned as the steely hug drove the air from him; he felt a hand loosen, and kicked frantically for brad's legs, then brad's free hand caught him behind the ear, stunning him. rick slumped to the floor fighting for breath and consciousness. across the room, the seamen had scotty, grabbing for his flailing arms while red kelso stood back and shot punches at him. then the seamen got a firm grip and held him fast. kelso's open hand slapped, back and forth, until scotty's head sagged. carrots crawled into the room, his face contorted, one hand on his ribs. he got to his feet and walked unsteadily over to scotty. he swung a roundhouse right. scotty's head moved an inch. carrots missed, and the force of his swing spun him around and he almost fell. rick laughed gaspingly. carrots' face turned scarlet. he walked over to where rick was struggling for wind and drew his foot back. "i'm goin' to kick your teeth right down your throat," he grated. cap'n mike's voice came from the doorway. "i'd call that mighty impolite!" rick turned on his side and stared unbelievingly. the old sea captain stood rock steady in the door, and at his shoulder was carrots' rifle. he spoke calmly. "only got one shot in here. you could get me before i had time to pump it up again. found it on the porch and took me a few minutes to figure it out. almost put a slug through my foot doing it. but i got it in hand now. got one shot. who wants it?" marbek took a half step forward and the muzzle swung to cover him. cap'n mike's finger tightened. "you, brad?" marbek stepped back. "come toward me, both of you," cap'n mike said. "rick and scotty." rick crawled forward, under the line of fire. scotty, suddenly released, dropped to the floor and did the same. the smugglers stayed where they were, frozen by the calm threat of the old man's voice. "been eel fishing," he said. "saw that young reporter skate around the corner with two men after him. then i noticed scotty and rick looking out, and i thought i better take a hand. didn't know just what to do until i spotted this bb gun in front of the porch." his voice hardened as red kelso shifted position. "but now i know what to do." far down million dollar row, jerry met the state police cars. and as rick grinned up at the captain, he heard the welcome sound of sirens. chapter xx read all about it! jerry webster came out of the pressroom with a bundle of papers under his arm, the roar of the presses providing a background for his chant. "extra! read all about it! spindrifters smear smugglers! seaman shows shootin' savvy! simple sap scampers, saves skin! read all about it!" rick snatched one of the papers. "thanks, i will. hey, gang, listen to this!" he read the headline aloud. "'seaford gunrunners caught.'" scotty took a paper, too, and read the subhead. "'new night movie camera supplies evidence for surprise raid.'" he grinned at jerry and duke barrows. "very restrained. not a purple adjective in the lot." captain douglas let out a bellow. "hey! you don't mention the state police until the second line of the story. call a cop someone, i want these guys pinched." "charge 'em with serving poison coffee," cap'n mike suggested. "never drank such a brew in my life." duke grinned. "that isn't coffee, skipper. it's printer's ink with cream and sugar. go on, rick, or someone. read the rest of it." "byline," rick said, "by jerry webster, and under that it says copyrighted by the _morning record_. how did you copyright it so quickly, duke?" "sent a copy air mail to the copyright office and enclosed a dollar. the letter will go out tonight. it's standard procedure. go on, read. i edited jerry's story so fast i didn't have a chance to enjoy it." rick read on. "'a seaford trawler captain, four members of his crew, and two new yorkers were arrested tonight on gunrunning charges after a surprise raid by state police officers culminated a series of events that included the wrecking of the trawler _sea belle_, the use of a new invention by the two youngest members of the spindrift island foundation to photograph the transfer of arms under cover of darkness on the high seas, the kidnapping and maltreatment of a _morning record_ reporter, and a fight in the attic of the creek house hotel that was ended by the timely intervention of a retired sea captain.'" rick got the last words out with his last bit of breath. scotty looked at jerry with admiration. "he's not only a distance runner, he's a distance writer. that was a hundred-yard sentence." "i cannot tell a lie," jerry said modestly. "i did it with my little dictionary. written by an ancestor who was also famous. noah webster." "'one of the most surprising disclosures,'" rick read on, "'was the reason for the stubborn silence of captain thomas tyler, master of the trawler _sea belle_, which was wrecked on smugglers' reef a week ago. as reported in previous editions, captain tyler maintained an obstinate silence as to the real reason for the wreck of the trawler in the face of pleas from friends and officials. he had maintained that he was solely responsible and that his error in judgment had been caused by liquor. after the arrest of the smugglers, captain tyler willingly told this reporter that he had discovered the smuggling activities of captain bradford marbek and roger and james kelso two weeks before.'" "that was a good guess we made," cap'n mike said soberly. "poor tom. he was in some spot. he knew about the smuggling, but he was like we were. couldn't prove a thing. he could have told the police and asked for protection, but they wouldn't have had grounds for holding brad and the kelsos. they would have been free to carry out their threats against his family inside of twenty-four hours." "that's right," scotty said. "but he didn't know any more than we did what they were smuggling." the axes of police officers had disclosed rifles, submachine guns, and ammunition in the cases innocently labeled as sewing machines, and no one had been more surprised than the boys. "thousands of guns and ammunition must have gone out before we caught on," rick said. "what happens to the people that received them?" "that's not our affair," captain douglas told him. "since they went to ships and nationals of a foreign country, it's up to the department of state to take action, if there's going to be any." "we filed the story with universal press service," jerry explained. "it's all over the country by this time. copyright by the whiteside _morning record_." he grinned. "we're modest, duke and i." "you are, anyway," rick scoffed. "'kidnapping and maltreatment of a _morning record_ reporter.' why didn't you give the reporter's name?" jerry turned a little red, but he said loftily, "we heroes prefer to remain anonymous." "heroes is right," duke said dryly. "you came within an inch of having a bronze plaque erected to your memory as one who fell in line of duty." "what? only bronze?" jerry looked hurt. rick gave him a comradely wink. jerry's act had brought him close to the ranks of heroes at that, if quick thinking and nerve combined with bad luck were any qualification. he glanced through the story quickly, and found what the young reporter had said about his own part. "'while attempting to gather evidence, the _morning record_ reporter who figured in the case was caught by the truckmen who delivered the arms to creek house. after being beaten, bound, and gagged, he was taken to the hotel. his questioning was interrupted by the arrival of brant and scott.'" and that really was modesty. jerry had been returning from the boat landing when he passed a big trailer truck that carried the name of a large manufacturer of industrial castings. he thought quickly, surprised at seeing such a vehicle in whiteside. such trucks always used the shorter main route. to his positive knowledge, there was not a single manufacturing plant on the entire shore road on which whiteside and seaford were located. there was a definite chance, he decided, that the truck might be carrying a load for creek house. he knew the smugglers had made fast changes in their plans, as witness the moving up of the ship sailing. there was a strong possibility they had been forced to ask for immediate shipment of contraband, too. jerry passed the truck and stopped at the newspaper long enough to scrawl a note to duke, explaining what had happened, then he passed the truck again and drove furiously toward seaford. he went by salt creek bridge and parked his car in a pasture, then ran back to the bridge, made his way into the marsh and waited. the trailer truck arrived, stopped, and put out flares, and three men got out. they jacked up the rear wheels of the trailer, then started to unload. by so doing, they had a perfect reason for being there. if a police car came along, they had only to explain that they had broken an axle and were replacing it, and that they had taken out part of their cargo to lighten the load until repairs were completed. the stage was no sooner set than up the river came the flatboat from creek house. it pushed its way into the marsh, toward jerry. not until the actual loading started did he discover his bad luck. he had taken a fairly well-defined path into the marsh. the path was artificial, made by the kelsos. they had carried rocks to make both the path and the stone jetty to which the flatboat had come. the deception had worked, because the path and jetty surfaces, strong enough to carry the weight of men with heavy cases, were under an inch of mud and water! jerry had described the end simply. "they fell over me. i tried to get away, but there were too many of them." but he had gotten in one good blow. his hand closed over one of the rocks of the path and he swung it effectively. the state police, hearing his story, made a routine check of doctors and hospitals along the route the truck probably had taken; they assumed it would not turn around on the narrow shore road. the trucker jerry had felled was in a small clinic two towns below seaford, and an interstate alarm had gone out for the others, giving license numbers and descriptions supplied by the reporter. they wouldn't get far. jerry's luck had been bad, but captain douglas' luck had been good. the accumulated evidence probably would have been enough, but one of brad's seamen had talked, hoping for a lighter sentence. rick was most pleased to find that his theory about smugglers' light had been close to the truth. the marks on the old tower had been made by a powerful light supplied by brad marbek. the light, once used for night purse seine fishing, was powered by a carbon arc. a cable, connected into the same junction box that supplied smugglers' reef light, had furnished the power. the police officers had found signs of tampering in the junction box, but they had called the authorities responsible for the light to make a definite check. the light itself had been stowed in brad marbek's home. one quarter of the cylinder had been blacked out with paint. red cellophane was pasted on to another quarter. there were still no answers to who had phoned the warning to rick, or why carrots had trailed them into whiteside, but those things weren't important, anyway. probably their original guesses had been right. the others had fallen silent, engrossed in reading jerry's story. rick went through it again, more carefully. the young reporter had done well. it was an exciting yarn. then he looked at the "side pieces," other stories dealing with the case, written by both duke and jerry in the feverish rush to make the morning paper. there was a simple statement by captain killian, who long since was asleep in his own bed at seaford. there was a photo of rick and scotty with the infrared camera and a story by duke of its use in the collecting of evidence. the staff photographer had taken that one after they all returned to whiteside, accompanying the police and the prisoners to jail. the entire back page was devoted to pictures, some reproductions from rick's movie and some taken at the jail by the staff photographer. there was one of cap'n mike holding carrots' rifle, and the caption explained how he had rescued the boys. "how much per column inch did you say?" rick asked duke slyly. "too much. this will bankrupt me." scotty folded his paper. "we'd better get back to spindrift, rick." "that's right." rick knew his folks would be waiting to see the paper, too. he had phoned them as soon as they reached the jail. "i'll take you to the landing," jerry offered, "then i'll run cap'n mike down to seaford." "never mind," captain douglas said. "i have a patrol car going down that way in fifteen minutes. it can drop him off." cap'n mike shook hands with both of the boys. "i'll see you tomorrow, i reckon." "in the afternoon," rick said. "we'll sleep in the morning." after the fight at creek house, cap'n mike had rowed them to the spindrift speedboat in his dory. they had gotten their clothes, but left the boat at the hotel. it would be safe; police officers would keep an eye on it while guarding the load of arms. captain douglas shook hands, too. "i should make a speech," he told them with a smile. "you know, about your both being good citizens, aiding the police at risk of life and limb and so on...." rick grinned sheepishly. "i'm afraid we weren't thinking about the citizen part of it, captain. we just...." "i was about to add that." captain douglas laughed. "but thanks, anyway." duke barrows said, "i don't suppose you would accept the coffee we served you as part payment?" scotty snorted. "aren't you the one said it wasn't coffee?" "all right." duke's shoulders slumped. "drive me into debt paying you off. go ahead." "we will," rick retorted, "and don't take the price of these papers you gave us off the amount, either." the editor laughed. "okay. take them home, jerry. they'll have to wait until the first of the month for their money, just like the rest of our creditors. so long, kids, and thanks a million for a swell story." as they drove to the landing, rick glanced quizzically at jerry. "well, you asked for it. remember?" jerry was puzzled. "the night we went to get a story on the wreck," scotty explained. "didn't you say you wished you would get in on an adventure with us?" "i certainly did. i didn't know what i was asking for, believe me." jerry's grin widened. he touched his head tenderly, patting the bruises he had collected. then he laughed. "i was scared silly, but you know, i kind of enjoyed it!" rick and scotty broke into laughter, too. * * * * * rick was figuring out some changes in the infrared camera attachment on the following monday when scotty came into the room. "just got back from whiteside with the paper and the mail," he announced. "and look at this!" he indicated an item on the front page. it was a universal news service dispatch. authorities of a republic in the caribbean had arrested the country's former dictator on a charge of planning a revolution, pointing to a large cache of arms and ammunition found on his estate as evidence. arrested for complicity was the president of the compania maritima caribe y atlantica. warrants were being issued for a number of others. "that settles that," rick said. "looks like we stopped a revolution!" "we're the kids what did it," scotty boasted. he dropped a letter in front of rick. "got this, too. look who it's from." the postmark was bombay. it was from chahda, the first letter since the hindu boy had left them in new caledonia to return to india. "he's fine," scotty said. "i read it at the post office. his brothers and sisters didn't believe some of his stories, but he's convincing them. also, he's going to work. he can't tell us yet what his job will be, because it's a sort of secret." "then he won't come back to america for a while," rick said, disappointed. "we won't see him." he grinned, remembering the first time they had met chahda. "he's probably at crawford market right now, bargaining at the top of his lungs for something." he picked up the letter and started to read, picturing chahda, in his native dress once more, at home in bombay. * * * * * rick's mental image was far from the truth. as he read the letter, chahda was writing to rick and scotty again, but this time he was composing an urgent cable, laboriously working over the cipher that would conceal its content from his strange enemy. the hindu boy was in the hiding place he had chosen deep in the indian quarter of singapore, but he knew it was only a temporary refuge. once he emerged, the shadow would find him again. but if he could succeed in getting to the cable office first, rick and scotty would get his message, and they would come. once the three of them were united again, let the shadow do as it would! chahda finished his composition, folded it and tucked it securely into his turban, then he slipped through a door into the darkness of the singapore night. in his ciphered message was the key to an adventure that would plunge his american friends into both darkness and danger in the fabled, terrifying caves of korse lenken, a story to be related in the next volume, the caverns of fear. * * * * * the rick brant science-adventure stories by john blaine rick brant and his pal, scotty, have the kind of adventures all boys would like to have. they live on an island called spindrift where rick's father heads a group of scientists working in the field of electronics. here and abroad, the boys encounter many thrilling adventures and solve many baffling mysteries. the rocket's shadow the lost city sea gold fathoms under the whispering box mystery the phantom shark smugglers' reef the caves of fear grosset & dunlap _publishers_ new york , n.y. * * * * * the ken holt mystery stories by bruce campbell ken holt, son of a world-famous foreign correspondent, and sandy allen, of the redheaded allen clan, join forces at a time when ken is very much in need of help. they fall into the thick of a mystery as readily as a duck takes to water, and no sooner are they on the scent than the suspense begins to mount and every reader knows he is in for a thrilling time. the secret of skeleton island ken and sandy solve the mystery of the strange goings-on at the exclusive resort on skeleton island. the riddle of the stone elephant in colorado gathering data for ken's dad about an old lawsuit between two ranchmen over water rights, ken and sandy find every move thwarted, every action watched. the black thumb mystery ken and sandy prove the innocence of a banker who has been found guilty of conspiracy in a robbery. the boys track down many clues before they discover the motive behind the sinister plot. the clue of the marked claw vacationing in a fishing village on long island, ken and sandy play an unexpected part in the capture of a dangerous ring of smugglers. grosset & dunlap publishers of words: _the new dictionary_ new york , n. y. * * * * * the hardy boys _mystery stories_ by franklin n. dixon all boys from to who like lively adventure stories, packed with mystery and action, will want to read every one of the exciting hardy boys stories listed below. sons of a famous american detective, the hardy boys help solve many thrilling mysteries after school hours and during vacations, as they follow up the clues they unearth in their quest to bring criminals to justice. _now available:_ . the tower treasure . the house on the cliff . the secret of the old mill . the missing chums . hunting for hidden gold . the shore road mystery . the secret of the caves . the mystery of cabin island . the great airport mystery . what happened at midnight . while the clock ticked . footprints under the window . the mark on the door . the hidden harbor mystery . the sinister sign post . a figure in hiding . the secret warning . the twisted claw . the disappearing floor . the mystery of the flying express . the clue of the broken blade . the flickering torch mystery . the melted coins . the short-wave mystery . the secret panel . the phantom freighter . the secret of skull mountain . sign of the crooked arrow . the secret of the lost tunnel . the wailing siren mystery g r o s s e t & d u n l a p _publishers_ n e w y o r k * * * * * _the_ rick brant science-adventure _stories_ by john blaine the rocket's shadow the lost city sea gold fathoms under the whispering box mystery the phantom shark smugglers' reef the caves of fear * * * * * dick cheveley, his adventures and misadventures, by w.h.g kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ dick is the teenage son of an early nineteenth century vicar in england. the boy has a passionate desire to go to sea, but his family, especially his aunt deb, oppose this. one reason is that if he were to go as a midshipman he would be required to have at least fifty pounds a year to keep appearances up, and that money wasn't available. he forms a friendship with another boy, mark, who gets into trouble for being a poacher. dick peaches on the local smugglers, who imprison him, and he is nearly killed by them. wandering out of curiosity round the decks of a ship that is about to sail he falls through a hatchway, and right down into the lower hold. when he comes to the ship is at sea, and the hold is battened down. it takes him several weeks before he can attract attention. but the captain is a horrible man, and some of the crew are not much better. eventually dick jumps ship by stealing a ship's dinghy, and lands on a tiny rocky islet. the dinghy is lost in a storm. eventually dick is rescued and is taken back to his home town, where he vows never to go to sea again. the story was written as a cautionary tale to advise boys like dick never to go to sea as a stowaway, which is effectually what dick did, and was inspired by a real case, in which the boy was found dying after only thirteen days at sea. ________________________________________________________________________ dick cheveley, his adventures and misadventures, by w.h.g kingston. preface. so extraordinary are the adventures of my hero, master richard cheveley, son of the reverend john cheveley, vicar of the parish of s--, in the county of d---, that it is possible some of my readers may be inclined to consider them incredible, but that they are thoroughly probable the following paragraph which appeared in the evening edition of the _standard_ early in the month of november, , will, i think, amply prove. i have no fear that any sensible boys will be inclined to follow dick's example; but if they will write to him at liverpool, where he resides, and ask his advice, as a young gentleman did mine lately, on the subject of running away to sea, i am very sure that he will earnestly advise them to stay at home; or, at all events, first to consult their fathers or mothers, or guardians, or other relatives or friends before they start, unless they desire to risk sharing the fate of the hapless stowaway here mentioned:-- "a shocking discovery was made on board the national steamer _england_, which arrived in new york from liverpool on the th october. in discharging the cargo in the forehold a stowaway was found in a dying state. he had made the entire passage of thirteen days without food or drink. he was carried to the vessel's deck, where he died." my young correspondent, in perfect honesty, asked me to tell him how he could best manage to run away to sea. i advised him, as mr richard cheveley would have done, and i am happy to say that he wisely followed my advice, for i have since frequently heard from him. when he first wrote he was an entire stranger to me. he has had more to do with this work than he supposes. i have the pleasure of dedicating it to him. william h g kingston. chapter one. some account of my family, including aunt deb--my father receives an offer--a family discussion, in which aunt deb distinguishes herself-- her opinions and mine differ considerably--my desire to go to sea haunts my dreams--my brother ned's counsel--i go a-fishing in leighton park--i meet with an accident--my career nearly cut short--a battle with a swan, in which i get the worst of it--a courageous mother--mark riddle to the rescue--an awkward fix--mark finds a way out of it--old roger's cottage--the riddle family--roger riddle's yarns and their effect on me--mark takes a different view--it's not all gold that glitters--the model--my reception at home. we were all seated round the tea-table, that is to say, my father and mother, my five sisters, and three of my elder brothers, who were at home--two were away--and the same number of young ones, who wore pinafores, and last, but not least, aunt deb, who was my mother's aunt, and lived with us to manage everything and keep everybody in order, for this neither my father nor mother were very well able to do; the latter nearly worn out with nursing numerous babies, while my father was constantly engaged in the duties of the parish of sandgate, of which he was incumbent. aunt deb was never happy unless she was actively engaged in doing something or other. at present she was employed in cutting, buttering, or covering with jam, huge slices of bread, which she served out as soon as they were ready to the juvenile members of the family, while my eldest sister, mary, was presiding at the tea-tray, and passing round the cups as she filled them. when all were served, my father stood up and said grace, and then all fell to with an eagerness which proved that we had good appetites. "i say, aunt deb, tom martin has lent me such a jolly book. please give me another slice before you sit down. it's all about anson's voyage round the world. i don't know whether i shall like it as well as `robinson crusoe' or `captain cook's voyages,' or `gulliver's travels,' or the `life of nelson,' or `paul jones,' but i think i shall from the look i got of it," i exclaimed, as aunt deb was doing what i requested. "i wish, dick, that you would not read those pestiferous works," she answered, as, having given me the slice of bread, she sat down to sip her tea. "they are all written with an evil intent, to make young people go gadding about the world, instead of staying contentedly at home doing their duty in that state of life to which they are called." "but i don't understand why i should not be called to go to sea," i replied; "i have for a long time made up my mind to go, and i intend to try and become as great a man as howe, or nelson, or collingwood, or lord cochrane, or sir sidney smith. i've just to ask you, aunt deb, what england would be without her navy, and what the navy would be unless boys were allowed to go into it?" "stuff and nonsense, you know nothing about the matter, dick. it's very well for boys who have plenty of interest, for sons of peers or members of parliament, or judges or bishops, or of others who possess ample means and influence, but the son of a poor incumbent of an out of the way parish, who knows no one, and whom nobody knows, would remain at the bottom of the tree." "but you forget, aunt deb, that there are ways of getting on besides through interest. i intend to do all sorts of dashing things, and win my promotion, through my bravery. if i can once become a midshipman i shall have no fear about getting on." "stuff and nonsense!" again ejaculated aunt deb, "you know nothing about the matter, boy." "don't i though," i said to myself, for i knew that my father, who felt the importance of finding professions for his sons according to their tastes, had some time before written to sir reginald knowsley, of leighton park,--"the squire," as he used to be called till he was made a baronet, and still was so very frequently, asking him to exert his influence in obtaining an appointment for me on board a man-of-war. this sir reginald had promised to do. aunt deb, however, had made many objections, but for once in a way my father had acted contrary to her sage counsel, and as he considered for the best. still aunt deb had not given in. "you'll do as you think fit, john," she observed to him, "but you will repent it. dick is not able to take care of himself at home, much less will he be so on board a big ship among a number of rough sailors. let him remain at school until he is old enough to go into a counting-house in london or bristol, where he'll make his fortune and become a respectable member of society, as his elder brother means to be, or let him become a master at a school, or follow any course of life rather than that of a soldier or a sailor." i did not venture to interrupt aunt deb, indeed it would have been somewhat dangerous to have done so, while she was arguing a point, but i had secretly begged my father to write to sir reginald as he had promised, assuring him that i had set my heart on following a naval career, and that it would break if i was not allowed to go to sea. this took place, it will be understood, some time before the evening of which i am now speaking. aunt deb suspected that my father was inclined to favour my wishes, and this made her speak still more disparagingly than ever of the navy. tea was nearly over when the post arrived. it only reached us of an evening, and sarah, the maid, brought in a large franked letter. i at once guessed that it was from sir reginald knowsley, who was in london. i gazed anxiously at my father's face as he read it. his countenance did not, however, exhibit any especial satisfaction. "who is it from?" asked my mother, in a languid voice. "from sir reginald," he replied. "it is very kind and complimentary. he says that he has had great pleasure in doing as i requested him. he fortunately, when going down to the admiralty, met his friend captain grummit, who has lately been appointed to the `blaze-away,' man-of-war, and who expressed his willingness to receive on board his ship the son of any friend of his, but--and here comes the rub--captain grummit, he says, has made it a rule to take no midshipmen unless their parents consent to allow them fifty pounds a year, in addition to their pay. this sum, the captain states, is absolutely necessary to enable them to make the appearance he desires all his midshipmen to maintain. fifty pounds a year is a larger sum, i fear, than my purse can supply," observed my father when he had read thus far. "i should think it was, indeed!" exclaimed aunt deb. "fifty pounds a year! why, that's nearly half of my annual income. it would be madness, john, to make any promise of the sort. suppose you were to let him go, and to stint the rest of his brothers and sisters by making him so large an allowance--what will be the result, granting that he is not killed in the first battle he is engaged in, or does not fall overboard and get drowned, or the ship is not wrecked, and he escapes the other hundred and one casualties to which a sailor is liable? why, when he becomes a lieutenant he'll marry to a certainty, and then he'll be killed, and leave you and his mother and me, or his brothers and sisters, to look after his widow and children, supposing they are able to do so." "but i shall have a hundred and twenty pounds full pay, and ninety pounds a year half-pay," i answered; "i know all about it, i can tell you." "ninety pounds a year and a wife and half-a-dozen small brats to support on it," exclaimed aunt deb in an indignant tone. "the wife is sure to be delicate, and know nothing about housekeeping, and she and the children will constantly be requiring the doctor in the house." "but you are going very far ahead, aunt deb, i haven't gone to sea yet, or been made a lieutenant, and if i had, there's no reason why i should marry." "there are a great many reasons why you should not," exclaimed aunt deb. "i was going to say that there are many lieutenants in the navy who have not got wives, and i do not suppose that i shall marry when i become one," i answered. "it seems pretty certain that you will never be a lieutenant or a midshipman either, if it depends upon your having an allowance of fifty pounds a year, for where that fifty pounds is to come from i'm sure i don't know," cried my aunt. "as it is, your poor father finds it a difficult matter to find food and clothing for you all, and to give you a proper education, and unless the bishop should suddenly bestow a rich living on him, he, at all events, could not pay fifty pounds a year, or fifty shillings either, so i would advise you forthwith to give up this mad idea of yours, and stay quietly at school until a profitable employment is found for you." i looked up at my father, feeling that there was a good deal of truth in what aunt deb said, although i did not like the way she said it. "your aunt only states what is the case, dick," said my father. "i should be glad to forward your views, but i could not venture, with my very limited income, to bind myself to supply you with the sum which sir reginald says is necessary." "couldn't you get sir reginald to advance the money?" i inquired, as the bright idea occurred to me; "i will return it to him out of my pay and prize-money." aunt deb fairly burst out laughing. "out of your pay, dick?" she exclaimed. "why fifty pounds is required over and above that pay you talk of, every penny of which you will have to spend, and supposing that you should not be employed for a time, and have to live on shore. do you happen to know what a midshipman's half-pay is? why just nothing at all and find yourself. you talk a good deal of knowing all about the matter, but it's just clear that you know nothing." "i wish, my dear dick, that we could save enough to help you," said my mother, who was always ready to assist us in any of our plans; "but you know how difficult i find it to get even a few shillings to spend." my mother's remark soothed my irritated feelings and disappointment, or i should have said something which might not have been pleasant to aunt deb's ears. we continued talking on the subject, i devising all sorts of plans, and arguing tooth and nail with aunt deb, for i had made up my mind to go to sea, and to go i was determined by hook or by crook; but that fifty pounds a year was, i confess, a damper to my hopes of becoming a midshipman. if i could have set to work and made the fifty pounds, i would have done my best to do so, but i was as little likely to make fifty pounds as i was to make fifty thousand. aunt deb also reminded my father that it was not fifty pounds a year for one year, but fifty pounds for several years, which he might set down as three hundred pounds, at least, of which, through my foolish fancy, i should be depriving him, and my mother, and brothers, and sisters. there was no denying that, so i felt that i was defeated. i had at length to go to bed, feeling as disappointed and miserable as i had ever been in my life. to ned, the brother just above me in age, who slept in the same room, i opened my heart. "i am the most miserable being in the world!" i exclaimed. "i wish that i had never been born. if it had not been for aunt deb father would have given in, but she hates me, i know, and always has hated me, and takes a pleasure in thwarting my wishes. i've a great mind to run off to sea, and enter before the mast just to spite her." ned, who was a quiet, amiable fellow, taking much after our kind mother, endeavoured to tranquillise my irritated feelings. "don't talk in that way, dick," he said in a gentle tone. "you might get tired of the life, even if you were to go into the navy; but, perhaps, means may be found, after all, to enable you to follow the bent of your wishes. all naval captains may not insist on their midshipmen having an allowance of fifty pounds a year; or, perhaps, if they do, some friend may find the necessary funds." "i haven't a friend in the world," i answered. "if my father cannot give me the money i don't know who can. i know that aunt deb would not, even if she could." "cheer up, dick," said ned; "or rather i would advise you to go to sleep. perhaps to-morrow morning some bright idea may occur which we can't think of at present. i've got my lessons to do before breakfast, so i must not stop awake talking, or i shall not be able to arouse myself." i had begun taking off my clothes, and ned waited until he saw me lie down, when he put out the candle, and jumped into bed. i continued talking till a loud snore from his corner of the room showed me that he was fast asleep. i soon followed his example, but my mind was not idle, for i dreamed that i had gone to sea, become a midshipman, and was sailing over the blue ocean with a fair breeze, that the captain was talking to me and telling me what a fine young sailor i had become, and that he had invited me to breakfast with him, and had handed me a plate of buttered toast and a fresh-laid egg; when, looking up, i saw his countenance suddenly change into that of aunt deb. "don't you wish you may get it?" he said. "before you eat that, go on deck and see what weather it is." of course i had to go, when to my astonishment i found the ship rolling and pitching; the foam-covered seas tossing and roaring; the officers shouting and bawling, ordering the men to take in sail. presently there came a crash, the masts went by the board, the seas dashed over the ship, and i found myself tumbling about among the breakers, until it seemed almost in an instant i was thrown on the beach, where i lay unable to crawl out of the way of the angry waters, which threatened every moment to carry me off again. in vain i tried to work my way up the sands with my arms and legs. presently down i came, to find myself sprawling on the floor. "what can have made all that row?" exclaimed ned, starting up, awakened by the noise of my falling out of bed. "i thought i was shipwrecked," i answered. "i'm glad you are not," said ned. "so get into bed again, and if you can go to sleep, dream of something else." feeling somewhat foolish, i did as he advised, but i had first to put my bed-clothes to rights, for i had dragged them off with me to the floor. it was no easy matter, although i was assisted by the pale light of early morning, which came through the chinks of the shutters. in a short time afterwards ned again got up to go to his books, for he, being somewhat delicate, was studying under our father, while i, who had been sent to school, had just come home for the holidays. i had a holiday task, but had no intention of troubling myself about it at present. i was, therefore, somewhat puzzled to know what to do. while i was dressing, it occurred to me that i would go over to leighton park with my rod, to try the ponds, hoping to return with a basket of fish. i might go there and get an hour's fishing, and be back again before breakfast. i tried to persuade ned to accompany me, but he preferred to stick to his books. "much good may they do you," i answered, rather annoyed. "why can't you shut them up for once in a way. it's a beautiful morning, and by going early we are sure to have plenty of sport, and you can learn your lessons just as well after breakfast." "not if i had been out three or four hours fishing, and came home wet and dirty; and i want to get my studies over while the day is young, and the air fresh and pure. i can read twice as well now as i shall be able after breakfast." "well, if you are so unsociable, i must go by myself," i said, getting down my rod from the wall on which it hung with my fishing-tackle and basket. swinging the latter over my shoulder i crept noiselessly out of the room and down stairs. no one was stirring, so i let myself out by a back door which led into the garden. even our old dog "growler" did not bark, for he was, i suppose, taking his morning snooze after having been on the watch all night. before setting off i had to get some bait. i found a spade in the tool-house and proceeded with it to a certain well-known heap in the corner of the kitchen garden, full of vivacious worms of a ruddy hue, for which fish of all descriptions had a decided predilection. even now, whenever i smell a similar odour to that which emanated from the heap, the garden and its surroundings are vividly recalled to my mind. i quickly filled a box, which i kept for the purpose, with wriggling worms. it had a perforated lid, and contained damp moss. "i ought to have thought of getting these fellows yesterday and have given them time to clean themselves," i said to myself. "they'll do, notwithstanding, although they will not prove as tough as they ought." shouldering my rod i made my way out of the garden by a wicket gate, and proceeded across the fields on which it opened towards leighton park. the grass was wet with dew, the air was pure and fresh, almost cold; the birds were singing blithely in the trees. a lark sprang up before me, and rose into the blue air, warbling sweetly to welcome the rising sun, which he could see long before its rays glanced over the ground on which i was walking. i could not help also singing and whistling, the bright air alone being sufficient to raise my spirits. i hurried away, as i was eager to begin fishing, for i wanted the fish in the first place, and i knew in the second that ned would laugh at me if i came back empty handed. the pond to which i was going, although supplied by the same stream which fed the ornamental piece of water in the neighbourhood of the hall, was at a distance from it, and was accessible without having to pass through the grounds. it was surrounded by trees, and one side of the bank was thickly fringed by sedges which extended a considerable way into the water. it served as a preserve for ducks and wild fowl of various descriptions, and was inhabited also by a number of swans, who floated gracefully over its calm surface. as they were accustomed to depend upon their own exertions for a subsistence, they generally kept at a distance from strangers, and i had never been interrupted by them when fishing. i made my way to a spot where i knew that the water was deep, and where i had frequently been successful in fishing. it was a green bank, which jutted out into a point, with bushes on one side, but perfectly free on the other. i quickly got my rod together, and my hook baited with a red wriggling worm. i did not consider that the worm wriggled because it did not like to be put on the hook, but if i had been asked i should have said that it was rather pleased than otherwise at having so important a duty to perform as catching fish for my pleasure. i had a new float, white above and green below, which i thought looked very pretty as i threw my line out on the water. up it popped at once, there being plenty of lead. before long it began to move, gliding slowly over the surface, then faster and faster. i eagerly held my rod ready to strike as soon as it went down; now it moved on one side, now on the other. i knew that there was a fish coquetting with the bait, trying perhaps to suck off the worm without letting the hook run into its jaws. before long down went the float, and i gave my rod a scientific jerk against the direction in which the float was last moving, when to my intense satisfaction i felt that i had hooked a fish, but whether a large or a small one i could not at first tell. i wound up my line until i had got it of a manageable length, then drew it in gradually towards the bank. i soon discovered that i had hooked a fine tench. it was so astonished at finding itself dragged through the water, without any exertion of its fins, that it scarcely struggled at all, and i quickly hauled it up on the bank. it was three-quarters of a pound at least, one of the largest i had ever caught. it was soon unhooked and placed safely in my basket. as i wanted several more i put on a fresh worm, and again threw my line into the water. some people say there is no pleasure in float-fishing, but for me it always had a strange fascination, that would not have been the case, if i could have seen through the water, for i believe the interest depends upon not knowing what size or sort of fish has got hold of the hook, when the float first begins to move, and then glides about as i have described, until it suddenly disappears beneath the surface. i caught four or five fine tench in little more than twice as many minutes. i don't know why they took a fancy to bite so freely that fine bright morning. generally they take the hook best of a dull, muggy day, with a light drizzling rain, provided the weather is warm. after i had caught those four fish, i waited for fully ten minutes more without getting another bite; at last, i came to the conclusion that only those four fish had come to that part of the pond. there was another place a little further on, free of trees and bushes, where i could throw my line without the risk of its being caught in the bushes above my head; i had not, however, generally gone there. tall sedges lined the shore, and water-lilies floated on the greater part of the surface and its immediate neighbourhood. it was also somewhat difficult to get at, owing to the dense brushwood which covered the ground close to it. i waited five minutes more, and then slinging my basket behind my back, i made my way to the spot i have described. after catching my line two or three times in the bushes, and spending some time in clearing it, i reached the bank and unslinging my basket quickly, once more had my float in the water. the ground, which was covered with moss rather than grass, sloped quietly down to the water, and was excessively slippery. as i held my rod, expecting every moment to get a bite, i heard a low whistling sound coming from the bushes close to me. at first i thought it was produced by young frogs, but where they were i could not make out. i observed that several of the swans i have before mentioned were floating on the surface not far off. now one, now another would put down its long neck in search of fish or water insects. presently one of them caught sight of me, and came swimming rapidly towards the extreme point of the bank. in an instant it landed, and half-flying, half-running over the ground, came full at me through the bushes. to retreat was impossible, should it intend to attack me, but i hoped it would not venture to do so. before, however, i had any time for considering the matter, it suddenly spread its powerful wings, with one of which it dealt me such a blow, that before i could recover i was sent down the slippery bank, and plunged head over heels into the water. in my fright i let go my rod, but instinctively held out my hands to grasp whatever i could get hold of. the swan, not content with its first success, came after me, when, by some means or other. i caught hold of it by one of its legs. to this day i don't know how it happened. the water was deep, and i had very little notion of swimming, and having once got hold of something to support myself i was not inclined to let go, while the swan was as much astonished at being seized hold of as i was. i shouted and bawled for help, although, as no one was likely to be at the pond at that early hour, or passing in the neighbourhood, there was little chance of obtaining assistance. away flew the swan, spreading out her broad wings to enable her to rise above the surface. instead of seeking the land, to my horror, she dragged me right out towards the middle of the pond; while the other swans, alarmed at seeing the extraordinary performance of their companion, flew off in all directions. fortunately i was able to keep my head above the surface, but was afraid of getting a kick from the other leg of the swan as she struck the water with it to assist herself in making her onward way, but as i held her captive foot at arm's length, fortunately she did not touch me. i dared not let go with one of my hands, or i should have tried to seize it. whether it was instinct or not which induced her to carry me away from her nest i cannot tell, but that seemed to be her object. i felt as if i was in a horrid dream, compelled to hold on, and yet finding myself dragged forward against my will. the pond was a long and narrow one, but it seemed wider than it had ever done before. the swan, instead of going across to the opposite bank, took a course right down the centre. my shouts and shrieks must have filled her with alarm. on and on she went flapping her huge wings. i knew that my life depended upon being able to hold fast to her foot, but my arms were beginning to ache, and it seemed to me that we were still a long way from the end. when we got there, i could not tell what she might do. perhaps, i thought, she might turn round and attack me with beak and wings, when, exhausted by my struggles, i should be unable to defend myself. still i dared not venture to let go. i heartily wished that i had been a good swimmer, because then, when we got near the end, i might have released her and struck out, either for one side or the other. as it was, my safety depended on being dragged by her to the shore. she frequently struck the water with her wings. showers of spray came flying over my head, which prevented me from seeing how near i was to it. at last i began to fear that i should be unable to hold on long enough. my arms ached, and my hands felt cramped, still the love of life induced me not to give in. i shouted again and again. presently i heard a shout in return. "hold on, young fellow. hold on, you'll be all right." this encouraged me, for i knew that help was at hand. suddenly, as i looked up, i saw the tops of the trees, and presently afterwards i found the swan was trying to make her way up the bank, while my feet touched the muddy bottom. i had no wish to be dragged through the bushes by the swan, so, as i was close to the shore, i let go, but as i did so, i fell utterly exhausted on the bank, and was very nearly slipping again into the water. the swan, finding herself free after going a short distance, closed her wings, and recollecting, i fancy, that i had been the cause of her alarm, came rushing back with out-stretched neck, uttering a strange hissing sound, preparing, as i supposed, to attack me. i was too much exhausted to try and get up and endeavour to escape from her. just as she was within a few feet of me, i saw a boy armed with a thick stick spring out from among the bushes, and run directly towards her. a blow from his stick turned her aside, and instead of making for me, she again plunged into the water, and made her way over the surface in the direction from which we had come. "i am very much obliged to you, my fine fellow, for driving off the swan, or i suppose the savage creature would have mauled me terribly, had she got up to me." "very happy to have done you a service, master; but it didn't give me much trouble to do it. however, i would advise you not to stop here in your wet clothes, for the mornings are pretty fresh, and you'll be catching a bad cold." "thank you," i said, "but i do not feel very well able to walk far just yet." "have you got far to go home?" he asked. i told him. "well, then, you had better come home with me to my father's cottage. it is away down near the sea, and he'll give you some hot spirits, and you can turn into my bed while your clothes are drying." i was very glad to accept his proposal, for i did not at all fancy having to go home all dripping, to be laughed at by my brothers, and to get a scolding from aunt deb into the bargain, for i knew she would say it was all my own fault, and that if i had not been prying into the swan's nest, the bird would not have attacked me. i did not, however, wish to lose my rod and basket of fish, and i thought it very probable that if i left them, somebody else would carry them off. i asked my new friend his name. "mark riddle," he answered. "before i go i must get back my rod and basket of fish; it won't take us long. would you mind coming with me?" "no, master, i don't mind; but i would advise you to be quick about it." mark helped me up, and as i soon got the use of my legs, we ran round outside the trees as fast as we could go. the basket of fish was safe enough on the bank, but the rod was floating away at some distance. "oh dear, oh dear. i shall never be able to get it," i exclaimed. "what! can't you swim, master?" asked mark. i confessed that i was afraid i could not swim far enough to bring it in. "well, never you mind. i'll have it in a jiffy," and stripping off his clothes he plunged into the water and soon brought in the rod. "there's a fish on the hook i've a notion," he said, as he handed me the butt end of the rod. he was right, and as he was dressing, not taking long to rub himself dry with his handkerchief, i landed a fine fat tench. "that belongs to you," i said. "and, indeed, i ought to give you all the fish i have in my basket." "much obliged, master; but i've got a fine lot myself, which i pulled out of the pond this morning, only don't you say a word about it, for the squire, i've a notion, doesn't allow us poor people to come fishing here." i assured mark that i would not inform against him, and having taken my rod to pieces and wound up my line, i said that i was ready to set out. mark by that time was completely dressed. just as we were about to start i saw the swan--i suppose the same one which had dragged me across the pond--come swimming back at a rapid rate towards where we were standing, in the neighbourhood, as i well knew, of her nest. whether or not she fancied we were about to interfere with her young, we could not tell, but we agreed that it was well to beat a retreat. we accordingly set off and ran on until we reached the further end of the pond, when mark, asking me to stop a minute, disappeared among the bushes, and in a few minutes returned with a rough basket full of fine tench, carp, and eels. i had a notion that some night-lines had assisted him to take so many. i did not, however, ask questions just then, and once more we set off running. wet as i was, i was very glad to move quickly, not that i felt particularly cold, for the sun had now risen some way above the trees, and as there was not a breath of air, his rays warmed me and began to dry my outer garments. i must have had a very draggled look, and i had no wish to be seen by any one at home in that condition. in little more than a quarter of an hour we came in sight of a cottage situated below a cliff on the side of a ravine, opening out towards the sea. a stream which flowed from the squire's ponds running through it. "that is my home, and father will be right glad to see you," said mark, pointing to it. a fine old sailor-like man with a straw hat and round jacket came out of the door as we approached, and began to look about him in the fashion seafaring men have the habit of doing when they first turn out in the morning, to ascertain what sort of weather it is likely to be. his eyes soon fell on mark and me as we ran down the ravine. "who have you got with you, my son?" he asked. "the young gentleman from the vicarage. he has had a ducking, and he wants to dry his clothes before he goes home; or maybe he'd call it a swanning, seeing it was one of those big white birds which pulled him in, and towed him along from one end of the pond to the other, eh, master? what's your name?" "richard," i replied, "though i'm generally called dick," not at all offended at my companion's familiarity. "you are welcome, master dick, and if you like to turn into mark's bed, or put on a shirt and pair of trousers of his, we'll get your duds dried before the kitchen fire in a jiffy," said the old sailor. "come in, come in; it doesn't do to stand out in the air when you are wet through with fresh water." i gladly entered the old sailor's cottage, where i found his wife and a young daughter, a year or two older than mark, busy in getting breakfast ready. i thought nancy riddle a nice-looking pleasant-faced girl, and her mother a good-natured buxom dame. as i had no fancy for going to bed i gladly accepted a pair of duck trousers and a blue check shirt belonging to mark, and a pair of low shoes, which were certainly not his. i suspected that they were nancy's best. i quickly took off my wet things in mark's room, and getting into dry ones, made my appearance in the room which served them for parlour, kitchen, and hall, where i found the table spread, with a pot of hot tea, cups and saucers, a bowl of porridge, a loaf of home-made bread, and a pile of buttered toast, to which several of mark's freshly caught fish were quickly added. i offered mine to mrs riddle, but she answered-- "thank you kindly, but you had better take them home to your friends, they'll be glad of them, and we've got a plenty, as you see." i was very thankful to get a cup of scalding tea, for i was beginning to feel somewhat chilly, though mrs riddle made me sit near the fire. a saucer of porridge and milk, followed by some buttered toast and the best part of a tench, with a slice or two of bread soon set me up. nancy, however, now and then got up and gave my clothes a turn to dry them faster--a delicate attention which i duly appreciated. mr riddle, who was evidently fond of spinning yarns, as most old sailors are, narrated a number of his adventures, which greatly interested me, and made me more than ever wish to go to sea. mark had already made a trip in a coaster to the north of england, and i was much surprised to hear him say that he had had enough of it. "it is not all gold that glitters," he remarked. "i fancied that i was to become a sailor all at once, instead of that i was made to clean out the cabin, attend on the skipper, and wash up the pots and the pans for the cook, and be at everybody's beck and call, with a rope's-end for my reward whenever i was not quick enough to please my many masters." "that's what most youngsters have to put up with when they first go to sea," remarked his father. "you should not have minded it, my lad." i found that mark's great ambition was to become the owner of a fishing-boat, when he could live at home and be his own master. he was fonder of fishing than anything else, and when he could not get out to sea he passed much of his time with his rod and lines on the banks of the squire's ponds, or on those of others in the neighbourhood. he did not consider it poaching, as he asserted he had a perfect right to catch fish wherever he could find them, and i suspect that his father was of the same opinion, for he did not in any way find fault with him. when breakfast was over mark exhibited with considerable pride a small model of a vessel which he and his father had cut out of a piece of pine, and rigged in a very perfect manner. i was delighted with her appearance, and said i should like to have a similar craft. "well, master cheveley, i'll cut one out for you as soon as i can get a piece of wood fit for the purpose," said the old sailor; "and when mark and i have rigged her i'll warrant she'll sail faster than any other craft of her size which you can find far or near." "thank you," i answered, "i shall be very pleased to have her; and perhaps we can get up a regatta, and mark must bring his vessel. i feel sure he or i will carry off the prize." as i wanted to get home, dreading the jobation i should get from aunt deb for not making my appearance at prayer-time, i begged my friends to let me put on my own clothes. they were tolerably dry by this time, though the shoes were still wet, but that was of no consequence. "well, master dick, we shall always be glad to see you. whenever you come this way give us a call," said the old sailor, as i was preparing to wish him, his wife and daughter good-bye. i shook hands all round, and mark accompanied me part of the way home. i parted from him as if he had been an old friend, indeed i was really grateful to him for the way in which he had saved my life, as i believed he had done, when he drove off the enraged swan. chapter two. aunt deb's lecture, and what came of it--my desire to go to sea still further increases--my father, to satisfy me, visits leighton hall--our interview with sir reginald knowsley--some description of leighton hall and what we saw there--the magistrate's room--a smuggler in trouble--the evidence against him, and its worth--an ingenious plea-- an awkward witness--the prisoner receives the benefit of the doubt-- sir reginald consults my father, and my father consults sir reginald-- my expectations stand a fair chance of being realised--the proposed crusade against the smugglers--my father decides on taking an active part in it--i resolve to second him. on reaching home, the first person i encountered was aunt deb. "where have you been, master dick?" she exclaimed, in a stern tone, "you've frightened your poor father and mother out of their wits. they have been fancying that you must have met with some accident, or run off to sea." "i have been fishing, aunt," i answered, exhibiting the contents of my basket, "this shows that i am speaking the truth, though you look as if you doubted my word." "ned said you had gone out fishing, but that you promised to be back for breakfast," she replied, "it has been over half an hour or more, and the things have been cleared away, so you must be content with a mug of milk and a piece of bread. the teapot was emptied, and we can't be brewing any more for you." "thank you, aunt. i must, as you say, be content with the mug of milk and piece of bread you offer me," i said, with a demure countenance, glad to escape any questioning. "i shall have a better appetite for dinner, when i hope you will allow these fish to be cooked, and i fancy that you will find them very good, i have seldom caught finer." "well, well, go in and get off your dirty shoes, you look as if you had been wading into the pond, and remember to be home in good time another day. while i manage the household, i must have regularity; the want of it throws everybody out, though your father and mother do not seem to care about the matter." glad to escape so easily, i hurried away. my father had gone out to visit a sick person who had sent for him. my brothers and sisters were engaged in their various studies and occupations, and my mother was still in her room. jane, the maid, by aunt deb's directions, brought me the promised mug of milk and piece of bread, and i, without complaint, ate a small piece of the one, and drank up the contents of the other, and then said i had had enough, and could manage to go on until dinner-time. it did not strike me at the time that i was guilty of any deception, though i really was; but i was afraid if i mentioned my visit to roger riddle's cottage, the rest of my adventures in the morning would come out, and so said nothing about the matter. when my father came home, i told him that i was sorry for being so late, but considering the fine basket of fish i had brought home, it would add considerably to the supply of provisions for the family, and hoped he would not be angry with me. "no, dick, i am not angry," he said, "but aunt deb likes regularity, and we are in duty bound to yield to her wishes." "i wish that aunt deb were at jericho," i muttered to myself, "and i should not have minded saying the same thing aloud to my brothers and some of my sisters, for we most of us were heartily tired of her interference with all family arrangements, and were frequently on the verge of rebellion, but my father paid her so much deference, that we were afraid of openly breaking out." finding that my father was disengaged, i followed him into the study, and again broached the subject of going to sea. "couldn't you take me to squire knowsley, and talk the matter over with him," i said. "you can tell him that pounds a year is a large sum for you to allow me, and perhaps he may induce captain grummit to take me, although i may not have the usual allowance. i promise to be very economical, and i would be ready to make any sacrifice rather than not go afloat." "sir reginald came back yesterday, i find," said my father. "you know, dick, i am always anxious to gratify your wishes, and as i do not see any objection to your proposal, we will set off at once to call on him; perhaps he will do as you desire. if he does not, it will show him how anxious you are to go to sea, and he may assist you in some other way." i was very grateful to my father, and thanked him for agreeing to my proposal. "it won't do, however, for you to go in your present untidy condition," he remarked; "go and put on your best clothes, and by that time i shall be ready to set off." i hurried to my room, and throwing my clothes down on my bed, rigged myself out in the best i possessed. i also, as may be supposed, put on dry socks and shoes. it did not occur to me at the time, that the condition of the clothing i threw off was likely to betray my adventure of the morning. i went down stairs and set off with my father. we had a pleasant walk, although the weather was rather hot, and in the course of about an hour arrived at leighton park. sir reginald, who was at home, desired that we should at once be admitted to his study, or rather justice-room, in which he performed his magisterial duties. it was a large oak room, the walls adorned with stags' horns, foxes' brushes, and other trophies of the chase, with a couple of figures in armour in the corner, holding candelabra in their hands. on the walls were hung also bows and arrows, halberds, swords, and pikes, as well as modern weapons, and they were likewise adorned with several hunting pictures, and some grim portraits of the squire's ancestors. on one side was a bookcase, on the shelves of which were a few standard legal works, with others on sporting subjects, veterinary, falconry, horses and dogs, and other branches of natural history. sir reginald himself, a worthy gentleman, with slightly grizzled hair and a ruddy countenance, was seated at a writing-table covered with a green cloth, on which was a bible and two or three other books, and writing materials. he rose as we entered, and received us very courteously, begging my father and me to take seats near him on the inner side of the table. "you will excuse me, if any cases are brought in, i must attend to them at once. i never allow anything to interfere with my magisterial duties. but do not go away. i'll dispose of them off-hand, and shall be happy to continue the conversation. i want to have a few words with you, mr cheveley, upon a matter of importance, to obtain your advice and assistance. by-the-bye, you wrote to me a short time ago about a son of yours who wishes to enter the naval service. this is, i presume, the young gentleman," he continued, looking at me, "eh! my lad? and so you wish to become a second nelson?" "i wish to enter the navy, sir reginald, but don't know whether i shall ever become an admiral; my ambition is at present to be made a midshipman," i answered boldly. "i am very ready to forward your wishes, although it is not so easy a matter as it was a few years ago during the war time. i spoke to my friend grummit, who has just commissioned the `blaze-away,' and he expressed his willingness to take you. i think i wrote to you, mr cheveley, on the subject." "that is the very matter on which i am anxious to consult you, sir reginald," said my father. "you mentioned that captain grummit insists on all his midshipmen having an allowance from their friends of pounds a year, and although that does not appear to him probably, or to you, sir reginald, a large sum, it is beyond the means of a poor incumbent to furnish, and i am anxious to know whether captain grummit will condescend to take him with a smaller allowance." "i am sorry to say he told me that he made it a rule to receive no midshipman who had not at least that amount of private property to keep up the respectability of his position," answered sir reginald, "and from what i know of him, i should think he is not a man likely to depart from any rule he may think fit to make. however, my dear mr cheveley, i will communicate with him, and let you know what he replies. if he still insists on your son having pounds a year, we must see what else can be done. excuse me for a few minutes, here come some people on business." several persons who had entered the hall, approached the table. one of them, a dapper little gentleman in black, with a bundle of papers in his hand, took a seat at one end, and began busily spreading them out before him. at the same time two men, whom i saw were constables, brought up a prisoner, who was dressed as a seafaring man, handcuffed. "whom have you got here?" asked sir reginald, scrutinising the prisoner. "please, your honour, sir reginald, we took this man last night assisting in running contraband goods, landed, as we have reason to believe, from dick hargreave's boat the `saucy bess,' which had been seen off the coast during the day between milton cove and rock head." "ah, i'm glad you've got one of them at last. we must put a stop to this smuggling which is carried on under our noses to the great detriment of the revenue. what became of the rest of the crew, and the men engaged in landing the cargo?" "please, your worship, the cargo was sprighted away before we could get hold of a single keg or bale, and all the fellows except this one made their escape. the `preventive' men had been put on a wrong scent, and gone off in a different direction, so that we were left to do as best we could, and we only captured this one prisoner with a keg on his shoulders, making off across the downs, and we brought him along with the keg as evidence against him." "half a loaf is better than no bread, and i hope by the punishment he will receive to induce others now engaged in smuggling to abandon so low a pursuit. what is your name, prisoner?" "jack cope, your worship," answered the smuggler, who looked wonderfully unconcerned, and spoke without the slightest hesitation or fear. "well, mr jack cope, what have you to say for yourself to induce me to refrain from making out a warrant to commit you to gaol?" asked the magistrate. "please, your worship, i don't deny that i was captured as the constables describe with a cask on my shoulders, for i had been down to the sea to fill it with salt water to bathe one of my children whose limbs require strengthening, and i was walking quietly along when these men pounced down upon me, declaring that i had been engaged in running the cargo of the `saucy bess,' with which i had no more to do than the babe unborn." "a very likely story, master cope. you were caught with a keg on your shoulders; it's very evident that you were unlawfully employed in assisting to run the cargo of the vessel you spoke of, and i shall forthwith make out the order for your committal to prison." "please, your worship, before you do that, i must beg you to examine the keg i was carrying, for if it contains spirits i am ready to go; but if not, i claim in justice the right to be set at liberty." "have you examined the keg, men," said the squire, "to ascertain if it contains spirits?" "no, your worship, we would not venture to do that, seeing that t'other day when one of the coastguard broached a keg to see whether it had brandy or not he got into trouble for drinking the spirits." "for drinking the spirits! he deserved to be," exclaimed sir reginald. "however, that is not the point. bring the keg here, and if you broach it in my presence you need have no fear of the consequences. there can be little doubt that we shall be able to convict this fellow, and send him to gaol for twelve months. i wish it to be understood that i intend by every means in my power to put a stop to the proceedings of these lawless smugglers, who have so long been carrying on this illegal traffic with impunity in this part of the country." jack cope, who had kept a perfectly calm demeanour from the time he had been brought up to the table, smiled scornfully as sir reginald spoke. he said nothing, however, as he turned his glance towards the door. in a short time a revenue man appeared carrying a keg on his shoulders. "place it on the table," said sir reginald. "can you swear this is the keg you took from the prisoner?" he asked of the constable. "yes, your worship. it has never been out of our custody since we captured it," replied the man. "and _i_, too, can swear that it is the same keg that was taken from me!" exclaimed the bold smuggler in a confident tone. "silence there, prisoner," said sir reginald, "you are not to speak until you are desired. let the cask be broached." a couple of glasses and a gimlet had been sent for. the servant now brought them on a tray. one of the officers immediately set to work and bored a couple of holes in the head and side of the cask. the liquid which flowed out was bright and sparkling. the officer passed it under his nose, but made no remark, though i thought his countenance exhibited an odd expression. "hand it here," said sir reginald. "bah!" he exclaimed, intensely disgusted, "why, it's salt water." "i told you so, your worship," said jack cope, apparently much inclined to burst into a fit of laughter. "you'll believe me another time, i hope, when i said that i had gone down to the seaside to get some salt water for one of my children; and i think you'll allow, your worship, that it is salt water." "you are an impudent rascal!" exclaimed sir reginald, irritated beyond measure at the smuggler's coolness. "i shall not believe you a bit the more. i suspect that you have played the officers a trick to draw them away from your companions, and though you escape conviction this time, you will be caught another, you may depend upon that; and you may expect no leniency from me. set the prisoner at liberty, there is no further evidence against him." "i hope, sir reginald, that i may be allowed to carry my keg of salt water home," said the smuggler demurely. "it is my property, of which i have been illegally deprived by the officers, and i demand to have it given to me back." "let the man have the keg," said sir reginald in a gruff voice. "is there any other case before me?" "no, your worship," replied his clerk. and jack cope carried off his cask of salt water in triumph, followed by the officers and the other persons who had entered the hall. i had observed that jack cope had eyed my father and me as we were seated with the baronet, and it struck me that he had done so with no very pleasant expression of countenance. "these proceedings are abominable in the extreme, mr cheveley," observed the justice to my father. "we must, as i before remarked, put an effectual stop to them. you have a good deal of influence in your parish, and i must trust to you to find honest men who will try and obtain information, and give us due notice when a cargo is to be run." "i fear the people do not look upon smuggling as you and i do, sir reginald," observed my father. "the better class of my parishioners may not probably engage in it, but the _very_ best of them would think it dishonourable to act the part of informers. i do not believe any bribe would induce them to do so." "perhaps not, but you can place the matter before them in its true light. show them that they are acting a patriotic part by aiding the officers of the law in putting a stop to proceedings which are so detrimental to the revenue of the country. if they can be made to understand the injury which smuggling inflicts on the fair trader, they may see it in a different light from that in which they at present regard it. the government requires funds to carry on the affairs of the nation, and duties and taxes must be levied to supply those funds. we should show them that smuggling is a practice which it is the duty of all loyal men to put a stop to." "i understand your wishes, sir reginald, and agree with you that energetic measures are necessary; and you may depend upon my exerting myself to the utmost." "my great object, at present, is to capture the `saucy bess.' the revenue officers afloat will, of course, do their duty; but she has so often eluded them that my only hope is to catch her while she is engaged in running her cargo. i will give a handsome reward to any one who brings reliable information which leads to that desirable result." "i am afraid that, although one or two smugglers may be captured, others will soon take their places; as while the present high duties on spirits, silks, and other produce of france exist, the profit to be made by smuggling will always prove a temptation too strong to be resisted," observed my father. "if the smugglers find that a vigilant watch is kept on this part of the coast they will merely carry on their transactions in another part." "at all events, my dear mr cheveley, we shall have the satisfaction of knowing that we have done our duty in removing what i consider a disgrace to our community," observed sir reginald. "as to lowering the duties, that is what i will never consent to. i shall always oppose any scheme of the sort while i hold my place in parliament. i feel that i am bound to preserve things as they are, and am not to be moved by the brawling cries of demagogues." "of course, sir reginald, you understand these things better than i do. i have never given my mind to politics, and have always been ready to record my vote in your favour, and to induce as many as possible of my parishioners to follow my example." all this time i had been sitting on the tenter-hooks of expectation, wondering if my father would again refer to the subject which had induced him to pay a visit to the baronet. "i must wish you good morning, sir reginald," he said, rising. "you will, i feel sure, not forget your promise regarding my son dick, and if captain grummit cannot take him, i trust that you will find some other captain who does not insist on his midshipmen having so large an allowance." "of course, my dear mr cheveley, of course," said the baronet, rising; "although it did not strike me as anything unreasonable. yet i am aware how you are situated with a numerous family and a comparatively small income; and, believe me, i will not lose an opportunity of forwarding the views of the young gentleman. good morning, my dear mr cheveley, good morning," and nodding to me, he bowed us out of the hall. "i hope sir reginald will get me a berth on board some other ship," i said to my father, as we walked homeward. "he seems wonderfully good-natured and condescending." "i don't feel altogether satisfied as to that point," answered my father, who knew the baronet better than i did. chapter three. the crusade against the smugglers--sir reginald's measures--the "saucy bess"--my father's sermon, and its effects in different quarters--ned and i visit old roger riddle--mr reynell's picnic and how we enjoyed it--roger riddle tells the story of his life--born at sea--the pet of the ship--stormy times--parted from his mother--his first visit to land--loses his parents. day after day went by and nothing was heard from sir reginald knowsley about my appointment as a midshipman. aunt deb took care to remark that she had no doubt he had forgotten all about me. this i shrewdly suspected was the case. if he had forgotten me, however, he had not forgotten the smugglers, for he was taking energetic steps to put a stop to their proceedings, though it was whispered he was not always as successful as he supposed. whenever i went to the village i heard of what he was doing, yet from time to time it was known that cargoes had been run while only occasionally an insignificant capture was made, it being generally, as the saying is, a tub thrown to a whale. the "saucy bess" appeared off the coast, but it was when she had a clean hold and no revenue officer could touch her. she would then come into leighton bay, which was a little distance to the westward of the bar, and drop her anchor, looking as innocent as possible; and her hardy crew would sit with their arms folded, on her deck, smoking their pipes and spinning yarns to each other of their daring deeds, or would pace up and down performing the fisherman's walk, three steps and overboard. on two or three occasions i caught sight of them from the top of a rocky cliff which formed one side of the little bay, and i acknowledge that i had a wonderful longing to go on board and become better acquainted with the sturdy looking outlaws, or rather, breakers of the law. as, however, i could find no boat in the bay to take me alongside, and as i did not like to hail and ask them to allow me to pay them a visit, i had to abandon my design. my father was busy in his way in carrying out the wishes of the baronet. he spoke to a number of his parishioners, urging them to assist in putting a stop to the proceedings of the smugglers, and endeavouring to impress upon them the nefarious character of their occupation. more than once he got into the wrong box when addressing some old sea dog, who would curtly advise him to mind his own business, the man he was speaking to probably being in league with the smugglers. he said and did enough indeed to create a considerable amount of odium against himself. he went so far as one sunday to preach a sermon in which he unmistakably alluded to smuggling as one of the sins certain to bring down condign punishment on those engaged in it. sir reginald knowsley, who had driven over, as he occasionally did, to attend the service, waited for my father in the porch, and complimented him on his sermon. "excellent, mr cheveley, excellent," he exclaimed, "i like to hear clergymen speak out bravely from the pulpit, and condemn the sins of the people. if the smugglers persist in carrying on their nefarious proceedings, they will now do it with their eyes open, and know that they are breaking the laws of god and man. i was delighted to hear you broach the subject. i expect some friends in a few days, and i hope that you will give me the pleasure of your company at dinner. i have some capital old port just suited to your taste, and i will take care to draw your attention to it. good-bye, my dear mr cheveley, good-bye; with your aid i have no doubt smuggling will, in a short time, be a thing of the past;" and the squire walked with a dignified pace to his carriage and drove off, not regarding the frowning looks cast at him by some of his fellow-worshippers. as i afterwards went through the churchyard i passed several knots of persons talking together, who were making remarks of a very different character to those i have spoken of on the sermon they had just heard. they were at no pains to lower their voices even as they saw me. "i never seed smuggling in the ten commandments, an' don't see it now," remarked a sturdy old fisherman, who was looked upon as a very respectable man in the village. "what has come over our parson to talk about it is more than i can tell." "the parson follows where the squire leads, i've a notion," remarked another seafaring man, who was considered an oracle among his mates. "he never said a word about it before the squire took the matter up. many's the time we've had a score of kegs stowed away in his tool-house, and if one was left behind, if he didn't get it i don't know who did." on hearing this i felt very much inclined to stop and declare that my father had never received a keg of spirits, or a bribe of any sort, for i was very sure that he would not condescend to that, though i could not answer for the integrity of john dixon, our old gardener, who had been, on more than one occasion, unable to work for a week together; and although his wife said that he was suffering from rheumatics, the doctor remarked, with a wink, that he had no doubt he would recover without having much physic to take. some of the men were even more severe in their remarks, and swore that if the parson was going to preach in that style, they would not show their noses inside the church. others threatened to go off to the methodists' house in the next village, where the minister never troubled the people with disagreeable remarks. i did not tell my father all i had heard, as i knew it would annoy him. it did not occur to me at the moment that he had introduced the subject for the sake of currying favour with sir reginald, indeed i did not think such an idea had crossed his mind. he was greatly surprised in the afternoon, when the service was generally better attended than in the morning, to find that only half his usual congregation was present. when he returned home, after making some visits in the parish, on the following tuesday, he told us he suspected from the way he had been received that something was wrong, but it did not occur to him that his sermon was the cause of offence. i, in the meantime, was spending my holidays in far from a satisfactory manner. my elder brothers amused themselves without taking pains to find me anything to do, while ned was always at his books, and was only inclined to come out and take a constitutional walk with me now and then. my younger brothers were scarcely out of the nursery, and i was thus left very much to my own resources. i bethought me one day of paying the old sailor roger riddle a visit, and perhaps getting his son mark to come and fish with me. i told ned where i was going, and was just setting off when he called out-- "stop a minute, dick, and i will go with you; i should like to make the acquaintance of the old sailor, who, from your account, must be something above the common." i did not like to refuse, at the same time i confess that i would rather have gone alone, as i knew that ned did not care about fishing, and would probably want to stop and talk to roger riddle. i was waiting for him outside in front of the house, when a carriage drove up full of boys, with a gentleman who asked me if my father was at home. i recognised him as a mr reynell, who lived at springfield grange, some five or six miles inland. two of the boys were his sons, whom i knew; the others, he told me, were their cousins and two friends staying with them. "we are going to have a picnic along the shore, and we want you and your brother to come and join us," said harry reynell, the eldest of the two. ned came out directly afterwards, and said he should be very happy to go. "can't you get any of your friends to go also? the more the merrier." there were two or three other boys whom i knew staying with an aunt in the village, and i offered to run down and ask them. "by all means," said harry, "we have provisions enough, so that they need not stop to get anything; but i'm afraid we cannot stow them all away; if it's not very far off we may go on foot." "it is no distance to the prettiest part of the coast," i replied; "and i know a capital spot where we can pick up shells and collect curiosities of all sorts, if any of you have a fancy for that sort of thing." "that will do," said harry reynell; "go and fetch your friends, and we will walk together." i accordingly ran down the village to mrs parker's, whose nephews were at home. we formed a tolerably numerous party. as my father was unable to go, mr reynell was the only grown-up person among us. the spot i had fixed upon was not far from roger riddle's cottage. as i had been thinking of him, i proposed asking the old sailor and mark to join our party. from the account i gave to mr reynell of roger riddle, he did not object to this. as harry reynell, his brother, and friends were good-natured merry fellows, we had a pleasant time as we walked or ran along, laughing and singing, and playing each other tricks. we soon left mr reynell behind, but he told us not to mind him, as he should soon catch us up. the carriage followed with the prog, but as the road was in many places heavy, it did not move as fast as we did. we at length reached the spot i had proposed, a small sandy bay, with cliffs on either side, out of which bubbled a stream of sparkling cold water, with rocks running out into the sea. "this will do capitally," said harry. "see, the whole beach is covered with beautiful shells, and there may be sea anemones and echini, and star-fish, and all sorts of marine creatures." having surveyed the place, we heard mr reynell shouting out to us to carry down the baskets of pies, tarts, cold ham, and chicken, plates, knives and forks. while the rest of the party were so engaged, i ran on to invite old roger. i found him and mark within. "much obliged to the young gentlemen, but i've had my dinner," he answered; "however, i'll come and have a talk with them, if you think they'll like it. may be, i'll spin them a yarn or two, which will do to pass the time while they are sniffing in the breezes, which they don't get much of while they are away up the country." "you'll come as soon as you can," i answered, "for they will be disappointed if you don't take a tart or two and a glass of wine." "never fear, i'll come before long," said old roger. mark, however, looked as if he would have no objection to taste some of the good things in our hampers, so he very readily agreed to accompany me. we found the cloth spread out on the smooth dry sand, and covered with pies and other dainties, and the plates and the knives and forks. mr reynell was engaged in making a huge salad in a wooden bowl. i introduced mark in due form. "come and sit down," said harry to him in a kind way which soon made him feel quite at home. i don't know whether he had much of a dinner before, but he did ample justice to the good things which our friends had brought. we had nearly finished before old roger made his appearance. "your servant, gentlemen all," he said, making a bow with his tarpaulin; "master dick here has asked me to come, saying it was what you wished, or i would not have intruded on you." "very pleased to see you, mr riddle," said harry, who did the honours of the feast, "sit down, and have some of this cherry pie, you will find it very nice, and, for a wonder, the juice hasn't run out." harry chose the largest plate, and filled it with fully a third of the pie. "thank you, young gentleman; i may take a snack of that sort of thing;" and the old sailor set to work, his share of the pie rapidly disappearing, as he ladled up the cherries with his spoon. "take a glass of cider now, mr riddle," said harry, handing him a large tumbler, which the old sailor tossed off, and had no objection to two or three more. meantime the tide had been rising, and no sooner was dinner over, than we had to pack up and beat a rapid retreat. we soon washed the plates and dishes in the water as it rose, and ned packed them up. the expectations of those of our party who hoped to pick up shells, and collect sea curiosities were thus disappointed. "never mind, lads," said old roger; "master dick here tells me that you would like to hear a yarn or two; the grass here, as much as there is of it, is dry enough," and mr riddle seated himself on the bank, while we all gathered round him. mr reynell placed himself at a little distance, although within earshot, when he took out his sketchbook to make a drawing of the scene. "none of you young gentlemen have ever been to sea, i suppose?" continued the old sailor. "i dare say you fancy it all sunshine and smooth sailing, and think you'd like to go and be sailors, and walk the deck in snowy-white trousers and kid gloves. i have known some who have taken that notion into their heads, and have been not a little disappointed when they got afloat, to find that they had to dip their fists into the tar-bucket, to black down the rigging, and swab up the decks, though some of them made not bad sailors after all. if any of you young gentlemen think of leading a seafaring life, you must be prepared for ups and downs of all sorts, heavy gales, and rough seas, shipwrecks and disasters. you'll be asking how i came to go to sea, perhaps you may think i ran off, as some silly lads have done, but i didn't do that. if i had run, it would have been ashore, seeing as how i was born at sea. it happened in this wise:--my father, bob riddle, was bo'sun's mate of the old `goliath,' of eighty guns, and as in those days two or three women were allowed on board line-of-battle ships to attend to the sick, and to wash and mend clothes, provided the captains did not object; so my mother, nancy riddle, who loved her husband in a way which made her ready to go through fire and water for his sake, got leave to accompany him to sea. she made herself wonderfully useful on board, and won the hearts of all the men and officers too, who held her in great respect, while the midshipmen just simply adored her; indeed, i've heard say that she saved the lives of several who were sick of fever by the careful way in which she nursed them. she had had no children, and i've a notion that if she had known what was going to happen, like a wise woman she would have remained on shore, but as the ship was in the east india station, and she wanted her boy to be british born, for she guessed she was going to have a boy, she had no help for it but to remain on board and take her chance. the `goliath' had just been in action, and beaten off two of the enemy's ships which wanted to take her but couldn't, when she was caught in a regular hurricane, and had to run before it under bare poles. during that time i came into this world of troubles. i can't say that i remember anything about it, but i've been in many a typhoon and hurricane since then, with the big foaming seas roaring, the wind whistling and howling in the rigging, the blocks rattling, the bulkheads creaking and groaning, and the ship rolling and pitching and tumbling about in a way which made it seem wonderful that wood and iron could hold together. it wasn't exactly under such circumstances that the wife even of a boatswain's mate would have chosen to bring a puling infant into the world. the doctor thought that mother would have died, and, as there was no cow on board, that i should have shared her fate, but she got through it and nursed me, and i throve amazingly, so that in six months i was as big as most children of a year or more old. before the ship was ordered home, i could chew bacon and beef, and toddle about the decks. of course i was made much of by officers and crew. mother rigged me out in a regular cut seaman's dress. the midshipmen taught me the cutlass exercise, and to ride a goat the captain bought as much for my use as his own. for'ard my education was equally well attended to, and i don't remember when i couldn't dance a hornpipe--double shuffle and all--or sing a dozen sea songs, some of them sounding rather strange, i've a notion, coming from juvenile lips. all went on smoothly till the ship was paid off, and my early friends were scattered to the four winds of heaven. my father, who felt like a fish out of water when ashore, soon obtained another berth, with the same rating on board the `victorious,' seventy-four, but he had great difficulty in getting leave for my mother to accompany him, and if another woman who was to have gone hadn't fallen ill just in the nick of time, he would have had to sail without her. i was smuggled on board instead of a monkey shipped by the crew, which fell overboard and was drowned. it was some weeks before the captain found out that i wasn't the monkey he had given the men leave to take. when the first lieutenant at length reported to him that i was a human being without a tail, he was very angry, and father was likely to have got into trouble. still as he had done nothing against the articles of war, which don't make mention of taking babies to sea, he couldn't be flogged with his own cat. the captain then swore that he would put mother and me ashore at the first port we touched at; but the men, among whom i had many friends, begged hard that we might be allowed to remain, and when he saw me scuttling about the rigging in a hairy coat and a long tail, laughing heartily, he relented, and as he got a hint that the men would become very discontented if he carried his threat into execution, father was told that he would say nothing more about the matter. soon afterwards the captain fell ill, and mother nursed him in a way no man could have done, so that he had reason to be thankful that he had allowed mother and me to remain on board. the `victorious' became one of the best disciplined and happiest ships in the service, all because she had a real live plaything on board. she fought several bloody actions. during one of them, when we were tackling a french eighty-gun ship, i got away from mother, who was with the other women in the cockpit attending to the wounded, and slipped up on deck, where before long i found father. `here i am,' i said, `come to see the fun. when are you going to finish off the mounseers?' the round shot were flying quickly across the decks, and bullets were rattling on board like hail, for though the french were getting the worst of it, they were, as they always do, dying game. `get below, boy, get below!' shouted father, `what business have you here?' as i didn't go, he seized me by the arm, and dragged me to the hatchway, in spite of my struggles and cries. `i want to see the fight. i want to see the mounseers licked,' i cried out. `let me go, father; let me go!' just then there was a shout from the upper deck, `the enemy has struck--the enemy has struck!' father let me go, and up i ran and cheered, and waved my hat among the men with as hearty good will as any of them. when i saw the men shaking hands with each other, i ran about, and, putting out my tiny fist, shook their hands also, exclaiming, `we've licked the mounseers, haven't we? i knew we would. hoora! hoora!' this amused the men greatly, and they called me a plucky little chap, though i certainly could not boast of having contributed to gain the victory, as i was considerably too young to act the part even of a powder-monkey. we had lost a good many officers and men, some of whom i saw stretched on the deck, and wondered what had come over them, as they did not move or speak. as long as the `victorious' remained in commission, i continued with my father and mother aboard her; but when she was paid off, an order came out, prohibiting women from going to sea on board men-of-war, and mother, greatly to her grief, had to live on shore. it was now a question whether i should accompany my father or stay with my mother and get some book-learning, of which i was as yet utterly ignorant, as i did not even know my letters. i was scarcely old enough to be rated as a ship's boy, though father would have liked to take me with him, but mother said she could not lose us both, and, fortunately for me, father consented to leave me with her. as the `victorious' was paid off at plymouth, mother remained there, and father soon afterwards got his warrant as boatswain to the `emerald' sloop-of-war, ordered out on the west india station. this was the first time i had been on shore, except for a few days when the `goliath' was paid off, during the whole of my life, and i did not find it very easy to get accustomed to the ways of shore-going people. at first i did not at all like them. there was no order or regularity, and i missed more than anything the sound of the bell striking the hours and half-hours day and night. however, i got accustomed to things by degrees. i was sent to school, where i gained a good character for regularity and obedience, just because i had been trained to it, do ye see. i couldn't bear not to be there at the exact time, and i never thought of disobeying the orders of these under whose authority i was placed. i also was diligent, and thus made good progress in my studies. i might have become a scholar had i remained at school, but after i had been there about two years, when i got home one day i found mother leaning back in her chair, in a fit, it seemed to me, and the parson of the parish, who had a letter in his hand, trying to rouse her up. as soon as i came in, he bade me run for the doctor, who lived not far off. he came at once with a woman, a neighbour of ours, and while they were attending to mother, the parson, sitting down, placed me between his knees, and looking kindly in my face, said that he had some bad news to tell me, which he had got in a letter from the west indies. it was that my brave father was dead, carried off by the yellow fever which has killed so many fine fellows on that station. my mother was a strong and hearty woman, and any one would have supposed that it would have taken a great deal to kill her; but, notwithstanding her robust appearance, she had gentle and tender feelings, and though for my sake she wished to live, within a year she died of a broken heart for the loss of my father and i was left an orphan." chapter four. roger riddle continues his story--goes to sea as a man-o'-war's-man-- his voyages--the mediterranean--toulon--chasing the enemy--caught in a trap--a hard fight for it--escape of the frigate--corsica--martello bay--the tower and its gallant defenders--its capture--origin of its name--san fiorenzo--convention redoubt--what british tars can do-- capture of the "minerve"--the taking of bastia--nelson loses an eye--"jackass" frigates--toulon again--more fighting--the advantage of being small--prepare to repel boarders--the colours nailed to the mast--the chase--never despise your enemy--teneriffe--attack on santa cruz--nelson loses his arm--abandonment of the enterprise--what people call glory--the hellespont--the captain steers his own ship--the island of cerigotto--breakers ahead--the ship strikes--the value of discipline--their condition on the rock--the ship goes to pieces-- their chances of escape--the gale--a brave captain--a false hope--the effects of drinking sea-water--water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink--reduced to extremities--they lose their brave captain and first lieutenant--they construct a raft--cowardice of the greek fishermen--the rescue of the survivors--fresh adventures--the dardanelles--fire!--an awful spectacle--destruction of the ship-- reason to be thankful--a father's love--how they took a spanish sloop-o'-war--the ruse and how it succeeded--between two fires--good and bad captains--roger quits the navy--becomes mate of a merchantman and retires on his laurels--his marriage and settlement--our picnic breaks up. "mother had a good many friends, old shipmates of hers and father's, but most of them having families of their own were not able to do much for me. i was now, however, big enough to go to sea, and of course there was no question but that i should be a sailor. england had been at peace for some time, but she and france were once more at loggerheads, and ships were fitting out with all despatch at every port in the kingdom. there was no difficulty therefore in finding a ship for me, and an old messmate of father's, andrew barton, having volunteered on board the `juno' frigate, of thirty-two guns, took me with him. he was rated as captain of the maintop and i as ship's boy, having to do duty as powder-monkey. i quickly found myself at home, and those who didn't know that i had been to sea before, wondered how well i knew my way everywhere about the decks and aloft. i soon took the lead among the other boys, many of them much bigger and older than myself. `why, one would suppose that you had been born at sea,' said tom noakes, a big hulking fellow, who never could tell which was the stem, and which the stern. `and so i was,' i answered. i then told him how many storms and battles i had been in, and all that i remembered about my early life. this made my messmates treat me with wonderful respect, and they never thought of playing me the tricks they did each other. "our frigate was bound out to the mediterranean to join the fleet under lord hood. she was, i should have said, commanded by captain samuel hood, a relation of the admiral's. we knew that we should have plenty of work to do. when we sailed, it was understood that an english force had possession of toulon, which was besieged by the republicans, who had collected a large army round the city, but it was supposed that they would be kept at bay by the english and royalists. we had been cruising off toulon, when we were despatched to malta to bring up supernumeraries for the fleet. we were detained, however, at the island for a considerable time, by foul winds. at length we sailed, and steered direct for toulon. we arrived abreast of the harbour one evening, some time after dark. the captain, anxious to get in, as we had no pilot on board, nor any one acquainted with the dangers of the place, stood on, hoping by some means or other, to find his way. the officers with their night-glasses were on the look-out for our ships, but they were nowhere to be seen. our captain, however, concluded that as a strong easterly wind had been blowing, they had run for shelter into the inner harbour. we accordingly shortened sail, and stood on, under our topsails. as at last several ships could be distinguished, it was supposed that we were close up to the british fleet. we soon afterwards made out a brig, and in order to weather her, the driver and topsail were set. as we were tacking under the brig's stern, some one on board her hailed, but not being able to make out what was said, captain hood shouted, `this is his britannic majesty's frigate "juno."' `viva,' cried the voice from the brig, and after this we heard the people on board her jabbering away among themselves. at last one of them shouted out, `luff, luff.' the captain on this, ordered the helm to be put down, but before the frigate came head to wind, she grounded. the breeze, however, was light, and the water perfectly smooth, and the sails were clewed up and handed. while this was being done, we saw a boat pull away from the brig, towards the town. before the men aloft had left the yards, a sudden flaw of wind drove the ship's head off the bank, when her anchor was let go, and she swung head to wind. her heel, however, was still on the shoal, and the rudder immovable. to get her off, the launch was hoisted out, and the kedge anchor with a hawser, was put into her. while we were engaged in hauling the frigate off the shoal, a boat appeared coming down the harbour, and being hailed some one in her answered `ay, ay.' she quickly came alongside, and the crew, among whom were two persons apparently officers, hurried on deck; one of the latter addressed our captain, and said he came to inform him that according to the regulations of the port, the frigate must go to the other part of the harbour, and perform ten days' quarantine. the frenchmen, who were supposed to be royalists, were jabbering away together, when one of our midshipmen, a sharp young fellow, cried out, `the chaps have national cockades in their hats.' the moon which shone out brightly just then, threw a gleam of light on the frenchmen's hats, and the three colours were distinctly seen. they finding that they were discovered, coolly said in french, so i afterwards heard, `make yourselves easy, the english are good people, we will treat you kindly. the english fleet sailed away some time ago.' "`we are prisoners, caught like rats in a trap!' cried the men from all parts of the ship. the entrance to the harbour is guarded by heavy forts on either side, between which we had run some distance, and their guns pointed down on our decks might sink us before we could get outside again. the officers, on hearing the report, hurried aft, scarcely able to believe that it was true. they found, however, on seeing the frenchmen, that there was no doubt about the matter. just then a flaw of wind came down the harbour, when our third lieutenant, mr webbley, hurrying up to the captain, said, `i believe, sir, if we can get her under sail, we shall be able to fetch out.' `we will try it at all events!' cried the captain; `send the men to their stations, and hand those french gentlemen below.' the mounseers, on finding that they were not yet masters of the ship, began to bluster and draw their sabres, but the marines quickly made them sound another note, and in spite of their `_sacres_!' they were hurried off the deck under a guard. the men flew aloft, and in three minutes every sail was set, and the yards braced up for casting. the frigate was by this time completely afloat, the cable was cut; her head paid off, the sails filled, and away she stood from the shore. the wind freshening, she quickly gathered way. the launch and the french boat were cut adrift, and we had every hope of escape. directly we began to loose sails, we saw lights appear in the batteries, and observed a stir aboard the brig. she soon afterwards opened fire on us, as did the fort on the starboard bow, and in a short time every fort which could bring a gun to bear on us, began to blaze away. we were now, however, going rapidly through the water, but there was a chance of our losing a topmast, as the shot came whistling through our sails, between our rigging. the wind shifting, made it seem impossible that we could get out without making a tack, but our captain was not a man to despair, and i am pretty sure that there was no one on board who would have given in, as long as the frigate was afloat. fortunately the wind again shifted and blew in our favour. blocks and ropes came falling from aloft, we could see the holes made in the canvas, by the shot passing through them. several of the masts and spars were badly wounded, and two thirty-six pound shot came plump aboard, but no one was hurt. as soon as the hands came from aloft, they were ordered to their quarters, and we began firing away in return at the forts, as well as at the impudent little brig, which we at length silenced. as may be supposed, we gave a right hearty cheer when we saw the shot the frenchmen were firing at us fall far astern, and we found that we were well clear of the harbour. we made sail for corsica, where we found a squadron under commodore linzee, engaged in attempting to drive the french from that island. the first expedition in which we took part was to martello bay. it was guarded by a strong round tower, to which the same name had been given. the troops to the number of fourteen hundred, were landed the same evening, and while they took possession of a height, which overlooked the tower, we, and the `fortitude' frigate were ordered to attack it from the sea. the `fortitude' got the worst of it, for the french turned their fire chiefly on her, while for three hours we kept blazing away, without producing any visible effect. some guns had been got up by the troops to the height, and by the use of hot shot they managed to set on fire some bass junk which lined the parapet. at last the gallant little garrison had to give in, when it was found, that they numbered only thirty-three men, and had but one six and two sixteen pounders; yet so well did they work their guns, and so strong was the tower, that they had held it for nearly two days against a large body of troops and our two frigates. during the time the `fortitude' had lost six killed, and fifty-six wounded. three of her lower-deck guns had been dismounted, and she had been set on fire by the red-hot shot discharged at her, besides other damages. the tower, i believe, took its name from the myrtles growing on the shores of the bay. in consequence of the way this little tower had held out, the government had a number of similar towers built on the english coast, which were called after the original, `martello' towers. we next attacked a fortification called the convention redoubt, which was considered the key to the town of san fiorenzo. the redoubt was commanded by a rocky hill, rising to the height of seven hundred feet above the level of the sea. as it was nearly perpendicular at its summit, it was considered inaccessible, but british sailors had to show the frenchmen that where goats could find a foothold they could climb. "looking up at the hill, it certainly did appear as if no human being could reach the summit. not only, however, did our men get up there, but they carried several eighteen-pounders with them. on the right there was a descent of many hundred feet, down which a false step would have sent them headlong, and on the left were beetling rocks, while along the path they had to creep, only one man could pass at a time. the pointed rocks, however, served to make fast the tackle by which the guns were hoisted. to the astonishment of the frenchmen, the eighteen-pounders at length began firing down upon their redoubt, which was then stormed by the troops, and quickly carried. part of the garrison were made prisoners, but a good number managed to scamper off on the opposite side. we, however, took possession of a fine thirty-eight-gun frigate, called the `minerve,' which the frenchmen had sunk, but which we soon raised and carried off with us. she was then added to the british navy, and called the `san fiorenzo,' and was the ship on board which king george the third used often to sail when he was living down at weymouth. she also fought one or more actions when commanded by sir harry neale, one of the best officers in the service. however, young gentlemen, these things took place so long ago that i don't suppose you will care much to hear about them." "oh, yes, we do. please go on!" cried out several voices from among us. "it is very interesting, we could sit here all day and listen to you." "if that is the case, i'll go ahead to please you," said old riddle. "in those days we didn't let grass grow on our ship's bottoms. soon after we left san fiorenzo we took bastia, the seamen employed on shore being commanded by captain nelson, of the `agamemnon.' after we had besieged it for thirty-seven days the garrison capitulated, we having lost a good many officers and seamen killed and wounded. "we next attacked calvi, which we took with the loss of the gallant captain serocold and several seamen killed, and captain nelson and six seamen wounded. it was here captain nelson had his right eye put out. i saw a good deal of service while on board the `juno.' whilst still on the station i was transferred with andrew barton and others, to the `dido,' twenty-eight-gun frigate, commanded by captain towry. these small craft used to be called `jackass' frigates, but the `dido' showed that she was not a `jackass' at all events. soon after i joined her she and the `lowestoff,' thirty-two-gun frigate, were despatched by admiral hotham to reconnoitre the harbour of toulon. we were on our way, when, one evening, we discovered standing towards us two large french frigates. we made the private signal, when, supposing that we were the leading frigates of the fleet, they both wore and stood away. we chased them all night, but in the morning, when they discovered that there were only two frigates, and both much smaller than themselves, they tacked and stood towards us. one of the frenchmen was the `minerve,' of forty guns, and the other the `artemise,' of thirty-six guns. when the `minerve' was about a mile away from us, on the weather bow, and ahead of her consort, she wore, and then hauling up on the larboard tack, to windward, commenced firing at us. i was still, you will understand, only a powder-monkey. my business was to bring the powder up from the magazine in a tub, upon which i had to sit till it was wanted to load the guns. still, i could see a good deal that was going forward through the ports; besides which i heard from the men what was taking place. my old messmate, tom noakes, had joined the `dido.' he was now seated on his tub next to me--the biggest powder-monkey i ever knew. poor tom was not at all happy. he said that we smaller fellows had only half the chance of being killed that he had, as a shot might pass over our heads which would take his off. i tried to console him by reminding him that there were a good many parts of the ship where no shots were likely to pass, and that he had less chance of being hit than the men who had to stand up to their guns all the time. we stood on till the `minerve' was on our weather beam, when we could see her squaring away her yards, and presently the breeze freshening, she bore down upon our little frigate with the evident intention of sinking us. so she might have done with the greatest ease, but having fired our broadside just as her flying jibboom was touching our mainyard, we bore up, and her bow struck our larboard quarter. so great was the shock, that for the moment many thought we were going down, but instead of that our frigate was thrown athwart the `minerve's' hawse, her bowsprit becoming entangled in our mizen rigging. the frenchmen immediately swarmed along their bowsprit, intending to board us. our first lieutenant then shouted for `boarders to repel boarders,' but as the french crew doubled ours, we should have found it a hard matter to do that. fortunately the frenchman's bowsprit broke right off, carrying away our mizen-mast, and with it the greater number of our assailants, who failed to regain their own ship. with our mizen-mast of course went our colours, but that the frenchmen might not suppose that we had given in, harry barling, one of our quarter-masters, getting hold of a union jack, nailed it to the stump of the mizen-mast. all this time, you must understand, we had been blazing away at each other as fast as we could bring our guns to bear. the `minerve' at last ranged ahead clear of us, but we continued firing, till the `lowestoff,' seeing how hard pressed we were, came up to our assistance, and tackled the frenchman. in a few minutes, so actively did she work her guns, that she had knocked away the enemy's foremast and remaining topmast. as the `minerve' could not now possibly escape, we threw out a signal to the `lowestoff' to chase the `artemise,' which instead of coming to the assistance of her consort was making off. she however had the heels of us, and we therefore, returning again, attacked the `minerve,' which, on her mizen-mast being shot away, hauled down her colours. we had our boatswain and five seamen killed, two officers and thirteen men wounded. the `lowestoff' had no one hurt, and so, although she certainly contributed to the capture of the prize, we gained the chief credit for the action, which, considering the difference in size between our frigate and the frenchman, we certainly deserved. but in those days we didn't count odds. we thought that we had only to see the enemy to thrash him. even our best captains, however, sometimes made a mistake. "i afterwards belonged to the `terpsichore' frigate, captain richard bowen, which formed one of a squadron under lord nelson, who was then sir horatio, to attack santa cruz, in the island of teneriffe. the squadron consisted of three seventy-fours and one fifty-gun ship--which afterwards joined us--three frigates, and the `fox' cutter. it was some time before we could get up to the place. at last we managed to embark nearly seven hundred seamen and marines in the boats of the squadron, nearly two hundred on board the `fox' and others, including a detachment of royal artillery, in some captured boats. sir horatio himself took the command. shoving off from the ship some time after midnight, we pulled in for the town. the plan was to make a dash for the mole, and then to fight our way forward along it, we fully believing that the enemy would run as soon as we appeared. when the leading boats, under the command of captains freemantle and bowen, had got within half gunshot of the mole head, the enemy took the alarm, and immediately opened fire on us from forty heavy guns. a hot fire it was, i assure you. the `fox' cutter, crowded with men, was sunk by the heavy shot which struck her, and nearly a hundred of those on board perished. i was in the `terpsichore's' barge with my brave captain, when, just before she reached the mole, a shot struck her, and down she went, drowning seven of my shipmates; but the captain, with the rest of us, managed to get on shore. in spite of the hot fire with which we were met from the mole head, we succeeded in effecting a landing, and drove the enemy before us. having spiked the guns which had done us so much mischief, we advanced along the mole, led by captain bowen, and our first lieutenant, mr thorpe. here we encountered a tremendous fire of musketry from the citadel and houses, so that the greater number of our party were either killed or wounded. our brave leader, captain bowen, was among the first who fell, and soon afterwards lieutenant thorpe was killed. nearly all the rest of the officers were killed or wounded. it being found at last that there was no chance of success, we were ordered to fall back. "we had neither seen nor heard anything of sir horatio who would have been certain, had not something happened to him, to have been ahead. we now learned that just as he was landing and about to draw his sword, he had been struck by a shot on the elbow, and that he had been carried on board his ship by the few men who remained in the boat, the rest having landed. one of them, john lovell, who i knew well, as soon as he saw the admiral wounded, took the shirt from his own back, and tore it into strips, to bandage up his shattered arm. in the meanwhile we were waiting for the arrival of captains trowbridge and waller with another squadron of boats. they however missed the mole head, but though some landed to the southward of it, in consequence of the heavy surf breaking on the shore, others put back. captain trowbridge, not finding the admiral and the other officers he expected to meet there, sent a sergeant to summon the citadel to surrender. the poor fellow did not return, having probably been shot. the scaling-ladders had also been lost in the surf. when morning broke we altogether mustered only men. every street in the place was defended by artillery, and we heard that a large force of men was advancing. the enterprise had therefore to be abandoned. captain trowbridge proposed to the governor that we should re-embark with our arms, and he engaged that the squadron should not further molest any of the places in the canary islands. these terms were agreed to. we obtained also permission to purchase such provisions as we required. the affair was a disastrous one. we gained nothing, for besides men killed or drowned, among whom were several brave officers, we had upwards of wounded, and the admiral lost his right arm. "people call this sort of thing `glory,' but for my part i could not make out what advantage we expected to gain, or what business we had to go there at all." "i say, mr riddle, were you ever shipwrecked?" sang out one of the old sailor's auditors, who was getting rather tired of the long yarn about his battles with which he had been indulging us. "bless you, young gentlemen, that i have, well-nigh a score of times i might say. some time after this i belonged to the `nautilus' sloop of war, commanded by captain farmer. we belonged to the squadron of admiral lewis, then cruising in the hellespont, when we were ordered to england with despatches of the utmost importance. we had a fresh breeze from the north-east as we threaded our way through the numerous islands of that sea. when at length we got off the island of anti milo, the greek pilot we had with us declared he knew nothing of the coast to the westward. as, however, our captain was anxious to make a quick passage for the sake of the despatches, he determined to try and pilot her himself. though the weather looked threatening, we sailed at sunset from anti milo, and shaped a course for cerigotto. as the night grew on the wind increased to a heavy gale, torrents of rain fell, the thunder roared and rattled, the flashes of lightning were as vivid as i ever saw in my life. sometimes it was almost brighter than day, then pitchy dark. the captain had just given orders to close reef the topsails, intending to bring the ship to till daylight, when a bright flash of lightning showed us the island of cerigotto right ahead, about the distance of a mile or so. now, knowing his position, the captain resolved to run on, believing all danger past. the watch below was ordered to turn in. those who remained on deck stowed themselves away under shelter of the hammock nettings. "we of course kept a bright look-out, though it was not supposed that we had anything to fear. except the officer of the watch, the rest had gone below--the captain and master probably to examine the chart--when the look-out on the forecastle shouted out `breakers ahead!' `put the helm a lee!' cried the officer of the watch. almost before the order could be obeyed we felt a shock which lifted us off our feet, and sent those below out of their hammocks. we knew too well that the ship was ashore. in one instant the sea struck the ship, now lifting her up and then dashing her down upon the rocks with tremendous force. it seemed like a fearful dream. almost in a moment the main-deck was burst in, and soon afterwards the lee bulwarks were carried away. the captain and officers did their best to maintain discipline. the first thing to be done was to lower the boats, but before they could be got into the water they were all either stove or washed away, and knocked to pieces on the rocks. only a whale-boat of no great use was launched by the boatswain and nine other hands. as soon as they got clear of the rocks they lay on their oars, but it would have been madness in them to come back, as the boat already contained as many people as she could carry with safety. the captain accordingly ordered her to pull towards the island of pauri, in the hope that assistance might there be obtained for us. the ship continued to strike heavily. every instant i expected that she would go to pieces, when one and all of us would have been lost. about twenty minutes after she struck the mainmast fell over the side towards a rock, which we could distinguish rising above the water, followed by the foremast and mizen-mast. hoping that the rock would afford us more security than the ship herself, i, with others, made my way towards it, though at no little risk of being carried off by the seas. on reaching it we shouted to the rest to come on, as at any moment the ship might go to pieces. the whole crew followed our example. many parts of the rock itself were scarcely above water. it seemed, as far as we could judge, to be about yards long, and half as many wide. here all hands collected, for as yet none had been washed away or lost, but many of the people had no clothing on, or only just their shirts, in which they had turned out of their hammocks. we had not a scrap of food, and we knew that it might be some hours before the whale-boat could bring us assistance. scarcely had we reached the rock when we knew by the crashing, rending sounds, and the loud thundering noise, as the planks and timbers were dashed against it, that our stout little ship had gone to pieces. when day dawned we saw the foaming sea covered on all sides with fragments of the wreck, while several of our shipmates were discovered clinging to spars and planks, they having returned to the ship in the hopes of obtaining either food or clothing. it was known to the captain and officers that we were about twelve miles from the nearest island. there was but little chance of the boat getting back to us during the day. we secured a flag which had been washed up. this we hoisted to the end of a spar, and fixed it in the highest part of the rock. the day was bitterly cold, many of the men were almost perished for want of clothing. the officers made inquiries if any man had a flint. at last one was found. at the same time a small keg of powder which had been floating about was thrown up. the powder, though damp, served instead of tinder. we were able to get a fire alight. it gave us some occupation to collect fuel, though at the risk of being carried away by the seas, as they rolled up on the rock. we got also a quantity of canvas, and with this, and the help of some planks, we put up a tent, which afforded us some shelter. though we had no food to cook, the fire warmed us, and enabled us to dry our clothes. we kept it burning all night in the hope that it would serve as a beacon. another night passed away. in the morning we saw to our joy a boat pulling towards us. she was our own whale-boat, with the boatswain and four hands; but they brought no food nor water, as they found neither one nor the other on the island of pauri. the boatswain tried to persuade our captain to leave the rock, but he refused to desert us; so he ordered the boatswain to take ten men and make the best of his way to cerigotto, and to return as soon as possible with assistance. "we had been badly enough off before. matters now grew worse, the wind again increasing to a heavy gale, which sent the seas washing nearly over the rock. we should have all of us been carried away, if we had not secured ropes round a point which rose higher than the rest. i don't like, even now, to think of that night. the cries and groans of my poor shipmates still ring in my ears. now one man sank down, now another. the cold was terrible, even to those who, having been on watch, were well clothed. in the morning, several of our number were missing, and others lay dead on the rock. we were looking out for the whale-boat, when a sail was seen standing directly down for us. in our eagerness to get off, we began to form rafts of the spars and planks we had collected. as the ship approached, she hove-to and lowered a boat, which came towards us till almost within pistol-shot, when her crew rested on their oars, and looked at us earnestly. who they were we could not tell. the man at the helm waved his hat, and then, seeming suspicious of our character, steered back to the ship. in vain we waved and shouted, the fellows paid no attention to us. to our bitter disappointment, we saw the boat hoisted up, when the ship again made sail. we were now in despair. i'd before felt somewhat hungry and thirsty, but till now never knew what real thirst was. some of the men drank salt water, but that only made them worse. "another day came to an end. fortunately the weather had moderated, and we tried to keep ourselves warm by huddling close together. death was now making rapid progress amongst us. those who had drunk salt water went raving mad, and threw themselves into the sea; others died of exhaustion, among them our captain, and first lieutenant. i never expected to see another day, when, the voice of the boatswain hailed us. the cry was at once raised for `water! water!' but to our bitter disappointment, he told us he had brought none, as he could only get some earthen jars, in which it was impossible to bring it through the surf. he said, however, that a large vessel would arrive the next morning, with provisions and water. the thought of this kept up our spirits. when daylight returned, we eagerly looked out for the expected vessel, but she didn't appear, and all that day we had to wait in vain. more of our people died. it seemed a wonder that any of us should have survived, suffering so terribly from hunger and thirst as we were. some attempted to satisfy their hunger in a way too horrible to describe. all day long we were on the look-out, expecting the boats to appear which the boatswain said would come, but hour after hour passed. i can tell you they were the most dreadful hours i ever remember. to remain longer on the rock seemed impossible. it was agreed therefore next day to build a raft on which we might reach some shore or other. it would be better, we thought, to die afloat than on that horrible spot. as soon as daylight broke we set to work, lashing together all the larger spars we could find, but our strength was not equal to the task. still we contrived to make a raft. at length we launched it, but scarcely was it in the water, when the sea knocked it to pieces. many of our poor fellows rushed in to try and secure the spars, and several of them were swept away by the current. unable to render help, we saw them perish before our eyes. in the afternoon the whale-boat again came to us, but the boatswain told us that he had been unable to get the greek fishermen to put to sea while the gale continued. he brought us neither food nor water, though many of us thought he might have managed to bring off some of the goats and sheep from the island. even if we had eaten them raw, they would have assisted to keep body and soul together. i had hitherto kept up, but at last i lay down, unable to move hands or feet, or to raise my head from the rock. during the night many more of my unhappy shipmates died. i was lying on the rock, just conscious enough to know that the day had returned, when, i heard some one sing out, `the boats are coming! the boats are coming!' i raised my head and tried to get up on my knees. looking out, i saw four fishing vessels with the whale-boat pulling towards us. i can't tell you the joy we felt. many of us who had before been unable to move, sat up, some few even were able to stand on their feet, while we made an attempt to cheer, as the boats drew near. they brought us water and food. our second lieutenant, now commanding officer, would allow only a small portion to be given to each man at a time, and thus saved us from much suffering. when our strength was a little restored, we were carried on board the boats, which at once made sail for cerigotto, where we were landed in the evening. of our complement of one hundred and twenty-two people, only sixty-four remained. when i think of all we went through, it seems surprising that any of us should have lived to reach the shore. we were treated in the kindest way by the people of the island. after staying with them for eleven days, at the end of which time most of us had somewhat recovered our strength, we proceeded to cerigo, and thence sailed for malta. there have, i'll allow, been more terrible shipwrecks. few people, however, have suffered as much as we did during the six days we were on the rock, without food or water. as soon as i was recovered, i was drafted on board the `ajax,' seventy-four, commanded by captain sir henry blackwood. we lay off the mouth of the dardanelles, forming one of the squadron of vice-admiral sir john duckworth. i'm fond of old england, as i hope all of you young gentlemen are, but i must own that the spot where we lay is a very beautiful one. "it had just gone four bells in the first watch, and all hands except those on duty were asleep, when we were roused up by the cry of fire! directly afterwards the drum beat to quarters, and the guns were fired, as signals of distress. a boat was also sent off with one of the lieutenants and a midshipman, to summon assistance from the other ships. we all stood ready to obey the orders we might receive. the captain and one of the officers at once went down to the cockpit, from which clouds of smoke were bursting out. they quickly had to beat a retreat. we then, forming a line, passed the buckets along full of water, to pour down upon the seat of the fire, as far as it could be discovered. so dense was the smoke, that several of the men who were closest and whose duty it was to heave the water, were nearly suffocated. it was soon evident that the flames had the mastery of the ship. the carpenter endeavoured to scuttle the after part, but had to abandon the attempt. in less than fifteen minutes after the alarm had been given, the flames raged with such fury, that it was impossible to hoist out the boats. "the jolly-boat alone had been lowered by the captain's orders, directly he came on deck. the fire was now bursting up through the main hatchway, dividing the fore from the after part of the ship. the captain accordingly ordered all hands forward. there we were nearly six hundred human beings huddled together on the forecastle, bowsprit, and sprit-sail yard, while the after part, from the mainmast to the taffrail, was one mass of fire. smoke in thick columns was now rising from all parts of the ship, while the flames crackled and hissed, then they caught some of the poor fellows who had taken refuge in the tops. some kept silent, but others shrieked aloud for mercy. above the roar of the flames, and the cries of the men, the sound of the guns could be heard when they went off as the fire reached them. captain blackwood retained his composure and cheered us up by reminding us, that the boats of the squadron would soon arrive. they came at last. it was no easy matter to get on board. many of the men jumped into the sea, in their eagerness to reach them. others stood, shouting and shrieking to them to come nearer. i, at last seeing a boat which had not as yet taken many men aboard her, and thinking it was time to save myself, leapt overboard, and was soon picked up. many who had imitated my example were of necessity left swimming or floating, and would have perished had not other boats arrived and saved them. the ship's cable had some time before this been burnt through. all this while she was drifting towards the island of tenedos--now her stern, now her broadside alternately presented to the wind. one of the men in the boat had been hurt. i took his oar. i found that the boat i was aboard of belonged to the `saint george,' and was under the command of lieutenant willoughby. as soon as we fell in with another boat, we put the rest of the people on board her, and rowed back again, to try and save some more. this we succeeded in doing. the third time we returned to our burning ship. just then she rounded-to, and we saw several men hanging by ropes under her head. the brave lieutenant resolved to rescue these poor fellows before she again fell off. straining at our oars, we dashed up to her, and succeeded in taking all of them on board, but before we could get clear of the ship she again fell off, carrying us with her, and as she surged through the water nearly swamping us. at the same time flames reached the shank and stopper, when her remaining bower anchor fell over her sides, very nearly right down upon us. just then, the cable caught our outer gunwale, over which it ran, apparently one sheet of fire. the flames were at the same time raging above our heads, and rushing out from her bow-ports. our destruction seemed certain; we might have left the boat to try and save ourselves by swimming, but we were too much exhausted to try and reach any of the other boats; all we could do was to try and keep the flames from off our own. just as we had given up all expectation of escape, the anchor took the ground, and though the cable was nearly burnt through, it had strength sufficient to check the ship's head, which enabled us to clear ourselves; though we were somewhat scorched, no one was otherwise much hurt. in a short time the wreck drifted on shore on the north side of the island of tenedos, where she blew up with a tremendous explosion, which must have been heard miles away. we who were saved had reason to be thankful, but of the ship's company two hundred and fifty perished that night by fire or water, including several of the officers, together with the greater number of the midshipmen, who, being unable to swim, were drowned before they could reach the boats. there were three women on board, one of whom was saved by following her husband down a rope from the jibboom. the boatswain had two sons on board. when the alarm of fire was given, he had rushed down, and bringing up one of them, had thrown him into the sea, where he was picked up by the jolly-boat. he then descended for the other, but never returned, being, as several of the midshipmen probably were, suffocated by the dense smoke rising from that part of the ship. i could go on into the middle of next year, as the saying is, telling you of my shipwrecks and adventures, but i have a notion that you would get tired of listening before i had brought my yarn to an end." "oh, no! no! go on, mr riddle, go on, go on!" we shouted out. "well, then, young gentlemen, i'll just tell you the way we once took a spanish sloop-of-war. "i belonged at the time to the `niobe' frigate out in the west indies. we had been cruising for some weeks without taking a prize, when we captured a spanish merchant schooner, after a long chase. from some of her crew our captain learnt that a spanish corvette, of twenty guns, lay up a harbour in cuba. he determined to cut her out. he had intended sending the boats away for that service, when our second lieutenant, as gallant an officer as ever stepped, proposed to take in our prize under spanish colours, and running alongside the corvette, to capture her by boarding. having shifted the prisoners to the frigate, the second lieutenant, with three midshipmen and thirty volunteers, i being one of them, went on board the schooner. there were batteries on either side, with heavy guns which would have opened fire upon us had it for a moment been suspected what we really were. the lieutenant and one of the midshipmen blackened their faces, and rigged themselves out in check shirts and handkerchiefs bound round their heads. the rest of the crew wanted to do the same, but the lieutenant would only allow me and another man to rig up as he had done, and regular blackamoors we made of ourselves. we laughed, i can tell you, as we looked at each other and talked the nigger lingo, so that even if a boat had come alongside they would not have discovered who we were. we had besides a real black and mulatto on board belonging to our crew. the rest of the people were sent below, with their cutlasses and pistols ready for the moment they were wanted. everything was prepared by the time we got near the mouth of the harbour. the midshipman, a fine young fellow, taking the helm, the lieutenant sat on the companion-hatch smoking a cigarette, and sutton, the other man, and i, with the mulatto and negro, lolled about the deck with our arms folded. on we stood close under the batteries, which, if we had been discovered, would have sunk us in pretty quick time, but as the schooner was very well-known in the harbour, her real character was not suspected. as soon as we got inside the harbour, we saw the corvette anchored right in the centre. the breeze headed us. that would be all in our favour, we knew, when we had to come out again. we made four or five tacks, taking care not to do things too smartly. the lieutenant turned his eye every now and again on the batteries. i think he expected, as i can tell you i did, that the spaniards would before long smell a rat, and begin blazing away at us. they seemed, however, to have no suspicion, and we were allowed to beat up the harbour without being interfered with. we had got nearly up to the corvette, when we saw two or three boats coming off from the shore towards us. we well knew that if they got alongside they would soon find out that the schooner had changed hands. we could see only a few people on the deck of the corvette, and the rest of her crew we guessed were either below or gone ashore. in the latter case we hoped soon to master her. as the boats drew near us the breeze freshened, and the lieutenant ordering the helm to be put down, we luffed up alongside the corvette, before those on board suspected what we were about to do. no sooner did they discover what we were up to, than they began shouting and shrieking, some running to the guns, others to get hold of muskets and cutlasses, while numbers of the crew came swarming up from below. several officers made their appearance. we didn't give them much time, you may be sure, to defend themselves, before, led by our brave lieutenant, we threw ourselves upon their deck, and were soon slashing away with our cutlasses. but few of them stopped to meet us, so completely did we surprise them, but leaped below faster than they had come up. the officers for a few seconds held out, but they were quickly disarmed and placed under a couple of sentries in the after part of the poop. three or four hands only had been left on board the schooner, and the lieutenant at once ordered her to lead the way down the harbour, while the corvette's cable was cut and the topsails loosed. we had made such quick work of it, that the soldiers in the fort didn't discover what had happened until the corvette was under way, with her topsails and courses set, following the schooner. they then began to open a hot fire on us and the schooner, but the breeze freshening, we made such good way, that they could not get a proper range; their shot, however, came pretty thickly on board, passing through the sails, cutting away a rope now and then, and several times hulling us, but not a man was hurt. as soon as we could get some powder and shot from below, we fired in return, though there was but little use in doing that, you may be sure. we gave three hearty cheers when we at last got clear of the harbour, and sailed away with our prize for jamaica, accompanied by our frigate. our lieutenant and all engaged gained great credit for the way the enterprise had been accomplished. "had i been a wise man, i should have stuck to the navy; but soon after this, i had the misfortune to belong to a ship commanded by a very different sort of officer to any i had before served under. if ever there was a hell afloat she was one. well-nigh a quarter of the crew at a time were on the black list. not a day passed that one or more were not flogged. at last, two other men and i, when off the coast of america, leaped into a boat alongside and made for the shore. if we had been caught, we should have been well-nigh flayed alive. so we took good care to keep in hiding till the ship had sailed. i afterwards shipped on board an american merchantman, but i would not join uncle sam's navy on any account. i can't say that i found myself in a perfect paradise, and i was not sorry, after two or three years, to get on board an english merchant vessel. i became mate of her, and in one way or another saved money enough to buy my cottage here, with a boat and nets, and to settle down with my wife and family. i mustn't keep you any longer, young gentlemen, listening to what befell me in the meantime; but if you'll pleasure me by coming here another day, i'll go on with my yarn." "thank you, my friend," said mr reynell, getting up, "it's time for all of us to be returning home, but i am very sure these young gentlemen will be very much obliged to you, if we can manage to make another excursion here, to listen to some more of your adventures." while some of us gathered round the old sailor, asking him questions, the rest were employed carrying the baskets of provisions to the carriage, which set off on its return, we soon afterwards following on foot. although many of the party declared that they had no wish to go to sea, the accounts i had heard only strengthened my desire to become a sailor, and i determined more resolutely than ever to use every means to accomplish my object. chapter five. i form plans against the smugglers--ned's brotherly advice--i continue to visit old riddle--he presents me with a cutter--my first lessons in sailing--reception of my present at home--aunt deb again gives her opinion--a present in return--sudden disappearance of mark, which leads to a further expression of sentiments on the part of aunt deb--i visit leighton hall--my interview with the squire--i obtain permission to visit mark in prison--"better than doing nothing"--i console old roger--"a prison's a bad place for a boy"--returning homewards, i unexpectedly gain some important information--the barn--the smuggler's conference--rather too near to be pleasant--i contrive to escape--am pursued and captured by the smugglers, but finally released--aunt deb's disapproval of my friendship for mark riddle. i have taken up so much space in describing the adventures of old riddle, that i must be as brief as i can with my own. although i had been inclined to think smugglers very fine fellows, i had lately heard so much against them that i began to consider it would be a very meritorious act if i could gain information which might lead to the capture of some of them; besides which, i flattered myself sir reginald would be so highly pleased at my conduct that he would exert himself more than he at present seemed inclined to do, to obtain me an appointment as midshipman on board a man-of-war. i kept my ideas to myself; i didn't venture to mention them even to the old sailor, as i suspected that if not actually in league with the smugglers, he was friendly to them. i thought it better also to say nothing about it to my father, for although i knew that he would be pleased should i succeed, he might very naturally dread the danger i should have to run in my undertaking. how to set about the matter was the difficulty. i had no intention of acting a treacherous part, or to try to become friendly with the smugglers, for the purpose of betraying them. my plan was to hunt about to try and find out their hiding-places, and where any cargoes were to be run; then to give information to the baronet. the only person to whom i confided my plan was ned, under a promise of secrecy. he tried to dissuade me, pointing out that it was a very doubtful proceeding at the best, and that, should i succeed, the smugglers would be sure to take vengeance on me. "they will either shoot you or carry you off to sea, and drown you, or put you on board some outward-bound ship going to the coast of africa, or round cape horn; and it may be years before you get back, if you ever return at all," said ned. still his arguments didn't prevail with me, and i only undertook to be cautious. had he not given his promise to keep my intentions secret, he would, i suspect, have told our father or aunt deb, and effectual means would have been taken to prevent me from carrying out my plan. a considerable time passed by, and although i was on the watch, i could gain no information regarding the proceedings of the smugglers. during this period i paid several visits to old riddle, who always seemed glad to see me. i was highly delighted one day when he presented me with a cutter, which he had carved out and rigged expressly for me. it was about two feet long and of a proportionable width, fitted with blocks, so that i could lower or hoist up the sails, and set such canvas as the wind would allow. the inside was of a dark salmon colour, the bottom was painted and burnished to look like copper, while the rest was of a jet black. altogether i was highly delighted with the craft--the first i had ever possessed--and i only wished she was large enough to enable me to go aboard her, so that i might sail in her. near old rogers' house was a lagoon of considerable length and breadth, filled by the sea at high tide. it was open to all winds, and was thus a capital place for sailing a model. he and mark at once accompanied me to it, and they having trimmed the sails, and placed the rudder in the proper position, the model vessel went as steadily as if the ship had had a crew on board. when she had finished her voyage across the lagoon, the old sailor, taking her out, showed me how to trim the sails. i then, carrying her back to the place whence she started, set her off myself. i had fancied that i could make her sail directly before the wind; but he explained the impossibility of doing this without a person on board to steer, as she would have a tendency to luff up to the wind. he evidently took a pleasure in teaching me, and i didn't grow weary of learning, so that at the end of the first day i fancied i could manage my little craft to perfection. i called her "the hope." he promised to have the name painted on her stern by the next day i came. i went almost day after day for a week or more. at last old roger declared i could sail "the hope" as well as he could. sometimes mark came with me, but he didn't take as much interest in the amusement as i did, he being more accustomed to practical sailing; besides which he had other employments into which he didn't think fit to initiate me. as i before said, he frequently went fishing on the squire's ponds, and from a light fowling-piece which i saw in his room, together with several nets and other contrivances for catching game, i suspected that he also spent some of his time in the squire's preserves. i didn't like to hint to him that i had any suspicion on the subject. when he saw my eyes directed towards a gun, he observed-- "i sometimes go out wild-duck shooting in the winter. my gun is not large enough for the purpose, so when i can contrive to get up close enough i now and then kill a bird or two." "i should think your gun was more suitable for killing partridges or hares or pheasants," i remarked. "ah, yes, so it may be; but then pheasants and partridges and hares are game, and i should run the risk of being hauled up before the squire if i were to bag any." he laughed in a peculiar way as he spoke. i tried to get information from him about the smugglers; but if he knew anything he held his tongue, evidently considering it wiser not to trust me. at last, as i wanted to show my cutter to ned, my sister, and the rest, i told old roger that i should like to carry it home. to this he raised no objection. "you'll find her rather a heavy load, master dick," he said. "however, you can rest on your way. i advise you to stow the sails first, so that if you meet a breeze they will not press against you." i did as he advised me, lowered the mainsail and stowed it as he had shown me how to do, and lowered the foresail and jib. mark had gone out that morning and had not returned, or he would have helped me, i had no doubt. wishing old roger, mrs roger, and nancy good-bye, i set out. sometimes i carried the cutter on one shoulder, sometimes on the other, and then under my arm; but before i got half way i began to wish that there was a canal between old roger's cottage and the vicarage. my arms and shoulders ached with the load. after resting some time, i once again started and managed at last to get home. "the hope" just as i had expected, met with general admiration from my brothers and sisters. they were much astonished to see me unfurl the sails, and all wished to come and see her sail. i promised to give them that pleasure, provided they would undertake to carry the cutter between them. aunt deb was the only person who turned up her nose at seeing my model. "mr riddle might have thought of some other present to give the boy," she observed; "there was no necessity indeed for his giving a present at all. dick's head is already too much turned towards sea matters, and this will only make him think of them more than ever. i shall advise your father to return the vessel to the old sailor, with the request that he will dispose of it to some one else. in my opinion, it was very wrong of him to make such a present without first asking leave." i thought it better to say nothing, and aunt deb didn't carry out her intentions. my mother, who was always generously inclined, gave me leave to take a few pots of jam in return. a few days afterwards ned and i, and two of my sisters, set out to carry our present. they had been interested in what i had told them about the old sailor and his pretty daughter, and wanted to see them. on our arrival they received us in a friendly way, and mrs riddle and mary hurried to place chairs for my sisters. they thanked us much for the present we had brought. i observed that they all looked graver than usual. i inquired for mark. "he hasn't come home since yesterday evening," answered his father. "i don't fancy that any harm has befallen him; but still i can't help thinking all sorts of things. if he doesn't come back soon, i must set out to look for him." i found that mark had taken his gun, and said that he was going along the shore to get a shot at a gull, but it was not as yet the season for wild fowl to visit the coast. still i could not help fancying that old roger knew more about mark's intended proceedings than he thought fit to tell me. it struck me that perhaps the smugglers had something to do with the matter. had i been alone i should have offered to have accompanied him; but he didn't ask me, and indeed seemed to wish that we should take our departure. telling my sisters, therefore, that it was time to go home, we wished the family good-bye, and set out on our return. at tea that evening my sisters mentioned the disappearance of mark. "depend upon it that boy has got into mischief of some sort," observed aunt deb; "though i never saw him that i know of, i am very sure from the remarks dick has made that he is a wild monkey, and a very unfit companion for a young gentleman." i defended mark, and asserted that it was just as likely that he had met with some accident. "at all events, i intend to go over to-morrow morning, and inquire what has happened to him," i said. "i don't remember making any remarks which would lead you aunt deb, to suppose that he was otherwise than a well-conducted fellow. he seems much attached to his family, and they're evidently very fond of him." "perhaps his father spoils him as other parents are apt to do," remarked aunt deb, glancing at the vicar. "the sooner you break off your intimacy with him the better in my opinion--and now you are aware of my sentiments." the latter was a remark aunt deb usually made at the conclusion of an argument, by which she intended it to be understood that her opinion was not to be disputed. next morning, without waiting for breakfast, taking only a crust of bread and a cup of milk, i set off, anxious to learn what had happened to my friend mark. on nearing the cottage i saw mary at the door. "oh! master dick, i'm so glad you're come," she exclaimed. "father and mother are in a great taking. mark has got into trouble. when he went out yesterday evening he met jack quilter and tom bass, and they persuaded him to go shooting where he ought not to have gone, and all three were caught by sir reginald's keepers. they had a fight for it, and quilter and bass knocked one of the keepers down, and would have treated him worse if mark had not interfered. three other keepers coming up, they were all carried off to the hall, where they have been locked up ever since. father only heard of it yesterday evening after you went. he at once set off to try and see sir reginald, and he only got back late last night, or rather this morning, so he has only just now got up. he said that the squire was very savage with him, and threatened to send mark off to sea. it was with great difficulty that father got leave to see mark, who told him how he had saved the keeper's life, but the squire would not believe it, and said that he had been caught poaching, and must take the consequences." "i'm very sorry to hear this," i said to mary; "but don't despair of your brother getting off. i'll ask my father to plead for him; and if he won't do that, i'll go myself and tell the squire what a capital fellow mark is. it would be a shame to send him to sea against his will, although he might be ready enough to go of his own accord." after i had talked the matter over with mary for some time, i went into the cottage, where i found mrs riddle looking very downcast, and soon afterwards old roger made his appearance. he repeated what mary had said, and added that he intended to engage the services of lawyer roe to defend mark, though the expenses would be greater than he could well bear. i was afraid, however, that lawyer roe could do nothing for mark, taken as he had been with a gun in his hands, in sir reginald's preserves, should the baronet resolve to prosecute. i again offered to go off at once to see sir reginald. i however much doubted that my father would undertake the mission, especially as aunt deb would endeavour to persuade him to have nothing to do with the matter. mrs riddle and mary pressed me to take some breakfast, which they had just prepared, and as by this time i was very hungry, i gladly accepted their invitation. as it was important to get early to the hall, directly breakfast was over i started, resolved to employ every means i could to get mark liberated. it didn't occur to me that probably sir reginald would pay no attention to my request, or that he would consider my interference as a piece of impertinence. i made up my mind to speak boldly and forcibly, and felt very confident that i should gain my object. old roger accompanied me part of the way, but he thought it was better not to be seen near the hall, lest it should be supposed i had been influenced by him. i was but a little fellow, it must be remembered, and without any experience of the world, or my hopes would not have risen so high. "never fear, mr riddle," said i, as i parted from the old sailor. "i'll manage, by hook or by crook, to get mark set free, so tell mrs riddle and mary to keep up their spirits." when i reached the hall, i walked boldly up to the front porch, and gave a sturdy pull at the bell. a powdered footman opened the door. in a firm voice i asked to see sir reginald. "he is at breakfast." "then say mr richard cheveley has called, and begs to see him on an important matter." the footman gave an equivocal smile down at me, and went into the breakfast-room at one side of the hall. i heard a lady's voice say-- "oh! do let him come in." the servant reappearing, showed me into the breakfast-room, in which several ladies were at one end of a well-covered table. lady knowsley was seated, presiding at the tea-urn, with several young ladies on either side, and sir reginald at the foot. i made my bow as i entered. lady knowsley held out her hand without rising, and sir reginald turned partly round in his chair and gave me a nod, then went on eating his breakfast, while the young ladies smiled. the footman placed a chair for me in a vacant place at the table. "you have had a long walk, and must be ready for breakfast," said lady knowles, in a kind tone. "thank you, i took some on my way," i answered, not wishing to loose time by having to repeat an operation i felt that i could not perform in the presence of so many young ladies with my accustomed appetite. "you must have got up another appetite by this time," observed sir reginald. "come youngster! here is an egg and some ham. julia, cut him a slice of bread, and lady knowles will supply you with tea. fall to, now, and let me see what sort of a man you are." thus pressed, i was compelled to eat what was set before me, which i did without any great difficulty. sir reginald was too polite to ask me the object of my visit till i had finished. he pressed me to take more, but i declined, and i then told him that i had heard that mark riddle had been taken poaching with some other lads who had led him astray. "that is your opinion, master cheveley," observed sir reginald, with a laugh; "why the fellow is the most arrant young poacher in the neighbourhood. my people have been aware of it for a long time, but have hitherto been unable to capture him." "i hope that they are mistaken, sir reginald," i observed; "i have seen a good deal of mark riddle, and his father is a very fine old sailor." "he may be that, although i have reason to believe that he is, besides, as determined a smuggler as any on the coast, though he is too cunning to be caught," answered the baronet. "no, no, master cheveley; young mark must be sent to prison unless he is allowed as a favour to go to sea instead." i was determined not to be defeated, notwithstanding what the baronet had said. i still pleaded for mark, and the ladies, who are generally ready to take the weaker side joined with me. "suppose he is guilty. he is very young. if he would promise not to poach again, will it not be kind to let him off?" said lady knowles. "it would be kinder to give him a lesson which he will not forget," said sir reginald; "notwithstanding all his promises, he would be certain to poach again. he might end by killing a keeper, and have to be sent to the gallows, as has been the fate of many. poachers and smugglers must be put down at all costs." in spite of my intention to persevere, i found that i hadn't the slightest chance of moving the feelings of the baronet. i, however, supported by the ladies, got leave to pay mark a visit, and i learned from them that he and the other men were not to be sent off to prison until the following day, when the constables would come to carry them away. i stayed for some time, the young ladies chatting pleasantly with me, till at length thinking that i ought to take my departure, i asked to be allowed to go to sir reginald's study, to obtain an order for me to visit mark. "i'll get it for you," said miss julia; "we all feel compassion for the poor lad, who has evidently been led astray by bad companions." in a short time she returned, with an order to the constable in charge of the prisoners. thanking her very much, and wishing her and her sisters and lady knowles good-bye, i hastened round to the back of the house, where the lock-up room was situated. the constable, on seeing the order, admitted me without hesitation. "well, master dick, this is kind of you to come and see me when i'm in trouble," said mark, immediately stretching out his hand. "from what i hear, it will go hard with me." i asked him if he could not prove that he had been misled by others, and would promise not to go poaching again. "no; that i can't, either one or the other," he answered promptly. "i went of my own free will, and if i was let out, as long as i had a gun and powder and shot, i should go and make use of it. but i don't want to go to prison; and if i'm sent to sea, i should like to choose how and when i am to go." "you must find it very dull work sitting here all day, having nothing to do," i remarked. "would you like to make some blocks? i have got some wood and a sharp knife, with a saw and file, in my pocket. it will be better than doing nothing." mark gave a sharp look in my face, and said-- "yes, that i should. i never like to have my hands idle. you shall have the blocks for your cutter when i have finished them." thinking only of the amusement it would afford mark, i handed him out the necessary tools, and promised to obtain some more wood for him to work on should he be sent to prison. the other two men were lying down, apparently asleep, while i paid my visit to mark. they took no notice of me. after i left, instead of going directly home, i returned to old roger, that i might report the ill-success of my visit to sir reginald. "i feared it would be so from the first," said roger. "a prison is a bad place for a boy, and i'd rather he had been sent off to sea." "i'll ask my father to try what he can do, though i'm afraid he'll not be more successful than i have been." "do, master dick," said mrs riddle. "we should not let any stone remain unturned. i would not have our mark sent to prison for anything. it would be the ruin of the boy." i of course promised to do my best. it was getting late in the day, for i had spent a considerable time at the hall, and a further period had been occupied in getting to old roger's cottage. mrs riddle insisted on my stopping to take tea, and as i had had no dinner i was very glad to accept her invitation. i remained on afterwards for some time, talking to the old sailor, so that it was pretty late when i at length set out to return home. as i had told ned where i was going i knew that they would not be anxious about me, and therefore did not hurry my steps. i had got about half way, when feeling tired i sat myself down to rest, with my back against the side of an old barn, at a spot whence i could obtain a good view of the sea. i sat for some time watching the vessels passing up and down channel, and observing a few boats putting out for their night's fishing from leighton cove. the weather was warm, and i was sheltered from the light breeze which blew off the land. i had been on foot all day since early dawn, and very naturally became drowsy. instead of at once jumping up i sat on, and in consequence fell fast asleep. when i awoke i found that the sun had set, and that the daylight was fast departing. i was just going to get up, when i heard voices proceeding from the inside of the barn. though not intending to play the part of an eavesdropper, i could not help listening to what they said. the men spoke in low voices, so that i didn't catch everything, but i heard enough to convince me that the speakers were smugglers arranging a spot where a cargo was to be run the first night when there would be no moon, and the wind blowing off shore. as far as i could make out, it was to be close to where i then was. below me was a little sandy bay, where the boats could come ashore even should there be a heavy sea running outside. one of the speakers, whom i knew to be ned burden, lived in a cottage hard by, and he was to show a light in his window should the coast be clear. at present the weather was far too favourable for their purpose, but they counted on a change in four or five days. at last i heard them fix on the following wednesday. i was afraid of moving lest the smugglers should hear me, and i knew that if they discovered my whereabout they would look upon me as a spy, especially as everybody was aware of the way my father, had been speaking against smuggling. still they went on talking, and i heard some more of their designs. in order to draw off the revenue-men from the spot, it was proposed to set one or two hayricks on fire at a large farm near sandgate, when it was supposed that they would collect to try and extinguish the flames, so as to prevent the fire communicating with the other surrounding ricks. as this was sure to be no easy work, it was calculated that the smugglers would have time to run the cargo, and carry the goods away into the interior. it was an opportunity i had long been looking for. i could now, by giving the information i possessed, secure the favour of sir reginald, and thus induce him to further my object. i sat on, scarcely daring to breathe, lest i should be heard, and heartily wishing that the men would go away. they had evidently, however, met there for the purpose of discussing various subjects. ned burden probably didn't wish to go far from home, and apparently was unwilling to receive his visitors in his own cottage. he had therefore fixed upon this spot. at last i began to think that they intended to spend the night there. i heard footsteps approaching, and i now feared that i should be discovered; but the new comers followed the path which led to the opposite side of the barn to that where i was sitting. i judged by the voices that there were three of them. they once more went over the matters that the others had before discussed, having apparently no fear of being overheard. they all spoke in their ordinary voices, only occasionally dropping them. "now is the time," i thought, "of making my escape; while they are talking they will not hear me, and i may creep away to a distance without being discovered." i put my plan into execution. the men continued talking on; their voices sounded fainter and fainter as i got farther away from the barn. fancying that i was safe, i at last rose to my feet, intending to run as fast as my legs could carry me. scarcely, however, had i began to move forward, when i heard a shout, followed by the sound of footsteps. i fully expected, should the smugglers fancy that i had overheard them to get a knock on the head if i was overtaken. i had always been tolerably fleet of foot, and as i had no desire to be so treated, i set off running as hard as i could. i hadn't got far, however, before i fancied i heard some one coming. in a short time i was nearly certain of it, but i didn't stop to listen. in daylight i should have had no difficulty in keeping ahead of my pursuers, but the ground was rough, and i had to turn aside to avoid bushes and rocks. still the impediments in my way would also assist to stop them, and i didn't despair of escaping. i had to cross over a ridge, at the top of which i was exposed to view. i had just reached it, when i heard some one shout. "you may shout as loud as you like," thought i, "but i'm not going to stop in consequence." down the hill i rushed, hoping soon to find shelter, so as to be able to turn off to one side or the other, and thus to evade my pursuers. i knew that a little way on was a lane which led directly to the village, and that if i could once get into it i might run on without much chance of being overtaken. i could see before me a thick hedge, through which i should have to get into the lane. i was making my way towards it, when down i came into a deep ditch or watercourse, the existence of which i had forgotten. it was perfectly dry, but i was severely hurt by the fall, and for some seconds i lay unable to move. i soon, however, recovered, and attempted to scramble out on the opposite side. but the bank was steep, and the top was above my reach. i fancied that it would be lower farther down, and ran or rather scrambled on in that direction. it didn't occur to me at the time that it would be wiser to remain perfectly still, when my pursuers, if they were continuing the chase, would have passed me unobserved in the darkness. i at last reached a part where the bank was broken away, and began climbing up, when i heard footsteps close to me; and, as i gained the top, i saw a man coming along at full speed on the opposite side. i determined, however, not to be caught if i could help it; but to my dismay, when i began to run, i found that i had sprained my ankle. this, though it didn't stop me altogether, prevented me from running as fast as before; but if i could get through the hedge i thought that i might keep ahead, or that the smugglers would not venture to follow me. to ascertain how far off they were i gave a glance over my shoulder. this was fatal to my success, for my foot caught in a low bush and down i came. in vain i endeavoured to regain my feet. next instant i found myself in the grasp of two men. "hulloa! youngster; what made you try to get away from us?" asked one of them, in an angry tone. "i am on my way home, and wish to get there as soon as possible," i answered. "who are you?" asked the man. i told him without hesitation. "and your father has joined sir reginald and the other squires about here in persecuting the smugglers." "i don't see what that has to do with my being in a hurry to get home," i replied. "maybe not; but we want to know where you were lying hid just before you took to running," said the other man. "i was not lying hid anywhere," i answered. "i was going along from paying a visit to roger riddle, after seeing his son mark, who was caught by the squire's keepers, and accused of poaching, when being tired i sat down to rest and fell asleep." "whereabouts were you sleeping?" asked the smuggler. "on the ground," i answered. "so i suppose," said the man, with a laugh. "but whereabouts on the ground?" "not far from the old barn, to the best of my recollection; but it was too dark when i started to make out where i had been." this answer seemed to satisfy my interrogator. i was afraid that he would inquire every moment whether i had heard the conversation going on within the building. "well, my lad," he said, "take care you don't shove your nose into places where you're not wanted. if you're a friend of old riddle's, i don't suppose you'll have any ill-feeling against the smugglers. so now, good-night. you would have saved us a long run if you hadn't been in such a hurry to get home." thankful to escape so easily, i told the men i was sorry to have given them so much trouble. they accompanied me to a gate not far off, over which i climbed into the lane. i then, as fast as my sprained ankle would let me, made the best of my way home. i found that my family had been somewhat alarmed at my non-appearance. my father, who always took matters coolly, accepted my excuses, but aunt deb scolded me roundly for having played truant. "what business had you to go to trouble sir reginald about that young scapegrace riddle?" she asked, in her usual stern manner. "he'll consider that you and your friend are alike. he'll not be far wrong either. you have lost all chance, if you ever had one, of interesting sir reginald in your favour. you may as well give up all hope at once of being a midshipman. now i suppose you want some supper, though you don't deserve it. you're always giving trouble to betsy in coming home at irregular hours." "thank you," i said, "i'm not so very hungry. i'll go into the kitchen and get some bread and cheese; that is all i want before i go to bed." so thus i made my escape. i had no opportunity that night of informing my father of what i had heard, but when we went to our room i gave ned an account of my adventures. "i would advise you, dick, not to interfere in the matter," said ned. "it's all very well for our father to preach against smuggling; the smugglers themselves don't mind it a bit; but were he to take any active measures they would very likely burn the house down, or play us some other trick which would not be pleasant." notwithstanding what ned said, i determined to inform sir reginald of what i had heard, still hoping that by so doing i should gain his favour. chapter six. i revisit the baronet--my information and its worth--am somewhat taken aback at my reception--well out of it--mark's escape--old riddle's gratitude--a night of adventure--the run--night attack on kidbrooke farm--the fire--my curiosity overcomes my prudence--the struggle on the beach--the luck of the "saucy bess," and ill-luck of mark--i am again captured by the smugglers--buried in a chest--my struggle for freedom, and its result--a vault in the old mill--my explorations in the vault. the next morning i found my father in his study before breakfast. i told him of my having overheard the smugglers arranging the plans for running a cargo shortly, and asked him whether he wished me to let sir reginald know. "you are in duty bound to do so," he answered. "at the same time you must take care it is not known that you gave the information. he'll certainly be pleased, and will be more inclined than before to assist you. you had better set off directly breakfast is over, and i will write a note for you to deliver, which will be an excuse for your appearance at the hall. do not say anything about the matter to any one else, as things that we fancy are known only to ourselves are apt to get abroad." i followed my father's advice, and said nothing during breakfast. as soon as it was over i set out. aunt deb saw me, and shouted out, asking me where i was going; but pretending not to hear her, i ran on. i suspect i made her very irate. i noted the people i met on my way, and among others i encountered ned burden. he looked hard at me, but said nothing beyond returning my "good morning, mr burden," with "good morning, master dick," and i passed on. i looked back shortly afterwards for a moment, and saw that he had stopped, and was apparently watching me. as soon as i reached the hall i gave my father's note to a servant, saying that i was waiting to see sir reginald. in a short time the man came back and asked me to follow him into the study. "well, master richard cheveley," remarked the baronet, without inviting me to sit down, "i wonder you have the face to show yourself here after what has occurred." "what have i done, sir?" i asked with astonishment. "connived or assisted at the escape of the poachers i had shut up in my strong room yesterday evening, waiting the arrival of the constables to convey them to prison." "i beg your pardon, sir reginald. you must be under a mistake," i exclaimed. "i have in no way assisted any poachers to escape. i merely yesterday, with your permission, visited the boy mark riddle. he had been captured with two persons much older than himself, and he was, i believe, led astray by them." "you, or somebody else, left them some tools--a file and a small saw-- with which they managed to cut away a bar in the strong room and effect their escape. here are the instruments, which they must have dropped as they were getting off. do you recognise them?" as sir reginald was speaking i recollected giving the knife and file and saw to mark, that he might amuse himself by cutting out some blocks. when i saw them i at once acknowledged them as mine, telling the baronet my object in giving them to mark. "it was thoughtless, to say the least of it, and a very suspicious circumstance, young gentleman," remarked sir reginald. "have they not been retaken?" i inquired, anxious to know what had become of my friend mark. "no, there is but little chance of that," he answered, in a tone of vexation. "now, let me know what you have come about. your father gives no reason for your visit." without claiming any merit, i at once gave a clear account of all i had heard on the previous evening. sir reginald appeared much interested, and his manner became more friendly than at first. "i am ready to believe that you had no intention to assist young riddle to escape," he said at last, after taking notes of all i told him. "now return home, and keep your own counsel." i confess that i was secretly very glad mark had made his escape. i hoped that he would return to his father, and keep in hiding till the affair had blown over, and also give up poaching for the future. i wanted as soon as possible to go and see the old sailor, and learn what had become of mark, but i knew that my father would be expecting me; and accordingly, after leaving the hall, went directly home. my father complimented me more than i deserved on the way i had conducted the matter. i didn't tell him just then of my having unintentionally assisted mark and the other poachers to make their escape. "if the smugglers and their cargo are taken, you will deservedly have the credit of the affair, and sir reginald will, i hope, feel bound to assist you as you desire," he observed. i had to wait till the next day to go over and see old roger. i almost expected to find that mark had returned home, and was concealed in the house; but none of his family knew anything about him, except that he had escaped from sir reginald's strong room. they all thanked me warmly for the assistance i had given him, and of which they had heard by some means or other. they would not believe that i had had no intention, when i lent him my knife and other things, of helping him to get out. i took care to return home at an early hour, as i had no wish to encounter ned burden or the other men on the way. i waited somewhat impatiently for the result of the information i had given. i was very sure the baronet would take the necessary steps for capturing the smugglers. the weather, which had for a long time been fine, now completely changed. a strong westerly gale sprung up, the sky was clouded over, and as there was no moon the nights were very dark. the evening on which i had heard the smugglers propose to run the cargo arrived. i should have been wise to have gone to bed at the regular hour, as if i had had nothing to do in the matter. instead of that, as soon as ned was asleep i slipped on my clothes and went out by the back door, which i carefully closed behind me. as soon as i got clear of the village, and could see to a distance, i turned my eyes towards kidbrooke farm, which the smugglers had planned to attack in order to draw off the coastguard-men from the spot where the cargo was to be run. in a few minutes i observed a bright light burst forth from the surrounding darkness, and rapidly increase until it assumed the appearance of a huge bonfire. i then knew that the outlaws had carried out the first part of their plan, as i concluded they would the second. it seemed to me that the whole farm and all the stacks would speedily be in a blaze. eager to see the fire, i ran towards the farm. on getting nearer, the hum of human voices showed me that a number of people had assembled, some of whom were engaged in throwing water over the stacks, others in pulling down the burning one. as i got up to them, i found that they were mostly labourers from leighton, together with those belonging to the farm, with a few of the villagers from sandgate. there were, i remarked, none of the revenue-men present, by which i concluded that they had not been drawn away from the coast, as the smugglers expected they would be. precautions having been taken in time, and there being plenty of hands to extinguish the flames, the fire didn't communicate to the other ricks; and, as far as i could see, even a portion of the first was saved. it would have been better for me had i returned home and gone to bed again; but i was curious to know if the "saucy bess" had succeeded in running her cargo, or whether sir reginald had acted on the information i had given him, and had sent the coastguard-men to watch for the smugglers and capture them. without stopping, therefore, in the neighbourhood of the burning rick, i hurried away towards the spot at which i had heard ned burden and his companions propose to run the cargo. i must have been running on for twenty minutes or so when i heard a pistol-shot fired; it was succeeded by two or three others. this made me more than ever eager to ascertain what was going forward. i doubled my speed. the path was tolerably good, and i knew the way. all the time i had not met a single person. after some time i heard more shouts, sounding much nearer, and cries mingled with the clashing of cutlasses, so it seemed to me. i had no doubt that the coastguard-men and the smugglers were having a desperate fight, the latter endeavouring to defend their property, and the former to capture it. which would succeed in their object seemed doubtful. i pictured the whole scene, though as yet i could see nothing. this i was eager to do, forgetting that bullets flying about were no respecters of persons. at last i reached the top of a cliff overlooking the bay, whence i could see a lugger, which i guessed to be the "saucy bess," with her sails loose, a short distance from the shore, and two or three boats near her; while on the sands were a number of men, who from their movements, and the babel of tongues arising from the spot, were evidently struggling. that the revenue-men had the best of it, i had no doubt. it appeared to me that they had captured part of the cargo, and some of the smugglers, and that others were endeavouring to rescue their comrades. that this was the case i had little doubt, when i saw the lugger's head turned seawards, and presently she disappeared in the gloom of night i was now satisfied that sir reginald had acted on the information i had given him, and that he would find it had been correct. i was at last about to return home, when, just as i reached a lane leading from the cliffs, i heard footsteps close to me, and, turning round, saw three men approaching. whoever they were i thought it better to keep out of their way, and began to run. but they must have seen me, and at once made chase. i could easily have kept ahead, but unfortunately stepping into a deep rut, i stumbled, and before i got under weigh again the men were upon me. "where are you bound for, youngster?" cried one of them, whom i recognised by the voice to be ned burden. "i came to see what was going forward," i answered. "not the first time you have done that, young gentleman," said one, in an angry voice. "we know who you are. somebody gave information about the run which was to be made to-night, and putting two or three things together no one will doubt that it was you. shall we heave him over the cliffs, or what shall we do with him, mates?" "let us take him along with us, at all events," said one of the other men. "if he has spoiled our plans to-night, he deserves to be knocked on the head." "spoilt our plans indeed he has," said burden; and he presently detailed to his companions how he had caught me listening at the old barn, and how, not supposing that i had heard anything of importance, he had let me go. i could not deny this, and i saw that it would be useless to attempt to defend myself. my captors, without more ado, proceeded to tie my arms behind my back, and to bind a handkerchief over my eyes. "remember, youngster," said burden, "if you shout out or utter a word we'll send a bullet through your head." from the fierce way in which he spoke i thought he was very likely to do this. i did not tell him that i knew who he was, as i was sure that this would only make matters worse for me. i did not, however, believe that they really meant to kill me; but what they would do was more than i could guess. two of them taking me one by each arm led me along the road, without wasting another word on me. they walked very fast indeed. had they not supported me i should have fallen several times. every moment i thought they would stop. i tried to ascertain in what direction they were leading me, but very soon lost all means of doing so. at length they made me sit down on what i supposed was a bank. i tried to judge from what quarter the wind was blowing, but the spot was sheltered, and sometimes it blew on one cheek and sometimes on the other. i could hear the roar of the waves, by which i knew that i could be at no great distance from the shore. while one of them held me tightly by the arm, the others withdrew to a distance to consult as to how they should proceed. after a time they came back, and we continued our march at the same rate as before. on and on we went. i was getting very tired, and would gladly have again sat down. when i complained, the men laughed at me. "you'll soon have time enough to rest yourself, youngster," said one of them. "you may consider yourself fortunate that things are no worse with you." finding that it would be useless to say anything more, i held my tongue. i must own that i now bitterly regretted having interfered against the smugglers. they were fully convinced that i had done so, and i could not defend myself. i had heard of the fearful punishment that they had at times inflicted on informers; and even should they spare my life, i thought it too probable that they would ship me off to some distant part of the world, or shut me up in a cavern or some other place from which i could not make my escape. it seemed to me that several hours had passed since i was captured, and that it must now be broad daylight; but the bandage was so tightly secured over my eyes that i could not move it with my eyebrows, nor could i, from my arms being fastened behind my back, get my hands free to do so. again and again i begged my captors to listen to me and loosen my arms, as the ropes hurt me. when i declared that i could go no farther, one of the men answered fiercely:-- "we'll soon see that, youngster." he gave me a prod with the point of a knife or cutlass, i could not tell which. it showed me that they were not likely to treat me very ceremoniously. "i must make the best of a bad matter, i suppose," i thought, and did not attempt to stop. suddenly the men brought up, and then turning sharp round told me to lift my feet, and i found that we were walking up some wooden steps. this i could judge of by the sound made by our feet. then we went along a level floor. presently, after passing through two or three doorways, as i supposed, we descended also by wooden steps, till i felt convinced, by the closeness of the atmosphere, that we had reached a vault. "you may make yourself comfortable here, young gentleman, for the rest of your life," said one of the men, with a hoarse laugh. "i've a notion that you'll not again be inclined to go and inform against poor fellows who are carrying on their business without wishing to do you or any one else harm." "stay; that jacket of his, and his waistcoat, are a great deal too good for him," observed another man. and forthwith, having released my arms, they took off the garments they spoke of. my first impulse, on getting my hands free, was to try and get the bandage from my eyes, but one of the men caught hold of my hands and prevented me from accomplishing my object. i, however, clutched hold of my clothes with the other, unwilling to give them up; but they quickly mastered me, leaving me only my shirt and trousers. i now began to fear that they intended some serious violence. in vain i struggled; i felt myself lifted up by the shoulders and feet, and placed on a rough board. as i now had my hands free, i immediately tore off the bandage. a gleam of light, which came from one side, showed me that i was in what appeared to be a large chest, placed on its side; but before i could turn myself round the lid was shut down, and i heard the men securing it. i was thus imprisoned in, so far as i could tell, a living tomb. i shouted and shrieked, and tried to force open the lid. my captors were holding it on the outside, and it seemed to me were driving in screws. i could hear them talking outside, but what they said i could not make out. could it be possible that they intended to leave me here to perish by hunger? the act would be too diabolical for the worst of wretches to think of, and yet what other reason could they have for shutting me up in such a place? finding that i could not release myself, i thought i would try to move their feelings. "i am very sorry if i have brought you or any others into trouble," i said. "if you'll ask roger riddle, he'll tell you that i have no ill-feeling towards smugglers. i was the means of getting his son mark out of prison. if you keep me here you'll make my father and mother very miserable, for they won't know what has become of me. you can't be so cruel, surely." the men went talking on. i was sure they heard me, though they made no answer. it then occurred to me that perhaps they had shut me up in the chest for the purpose of carrying me on board a vessel, and that i should then be set free and enjoy the light of heaven and the warmth of the sun. then i recollected having read how cruelly boys are treated on board ship, and that if i were sent under such circumstances i should have to lead a dog's life at the best. well, it was some consolation to have reason to hope that i was not to be murdered as i at first feared, or to be kept shut up in this horrible vault for an indefinite period, when i might be forgotten, and possibly be allowed to die of starvation. these thoughts passed rapidly through my mind. as soon as i grew calm, i listened to ascertain what the men were about. as far as i could judge, in a short time they quitted the vault, and i was left alone. i listened and listened. no sound could i hear. a sufficient amount of air came through the chinks in the chest, and enabled me to breathe without difficulty. i had no notion of staying where i was without some endeavour to extricate myself. i knew that after a time i should grow weak from want of food. i was in total darkness, and the chest, for so i supposed it, was large enough to enable me to move about. it struck me, as i was feeling round the sides, that it was perhaps a bunk, such as is fitted on board ship for the men to sleep in. if my captors had not taken away my jacket i should have had my knife, and i might then, i thought, have cut my way out; but they left me without any means of effecting my purpose. the only way of freeing myself was to knock out by main strength either the top or one side of the bunk or chest. i feared that if i at once commenced doing this the noise i should have to make would attract the attention of my jailers. i therefore lay still for some time, listening attentively. not a sound of any description reached my ears. i thought that it must now be day, though no light penetrated into the vault. if it had i should have seen it, i thought, through the chinks of the chest. it was very roughly put together, and this circumstance gave me better hope of being able to force it open. at length i determined to commence operations, and placing myself on my back, with one hand to defend my head, and one foot against the end, i struck out with the other on the part above me. a cracking sound encouraged me to go on. each time i struck out the planks appeared to move slightly. i used so much force that every nerve in my body was jarred, and i was afraid of laming myself. notwithstanding that, i persevered, stopping every now and then to listen, lest my captors should return; but as no one came i was satisfied that they had gone away, and now redoubled my efforts. several loud cracks were the result; and at length, to my intense satisfaction, the planks above me fell off, shattered by my foot. i was thankful for my success. at all events i should not have to die shut up in a chest. but i was very far from being free. getting up on my feet i thrust my head through the hole i had made, and tore back the broken pieces of plank. had i possessed a light i should have seen how next to proceed, but i was still in total darkness. i could not tell what i might find outside the chest. moving carefully i climbed out, moving about with my feet to find the ground, which was lower i thus ascertained than the bottom of the chest, but how much lower i could not tell. i therefore held tight on with my hands while i let myself down, and i then discovered that it had been placed on another chest of about the same size; but i had to move very cautiously, as there might be still some lower depth beneath my feet, though i didn't think that very likely. the ground was dry and hard, without either bricks or flagstones. this i found out by stopping down and touching it with my hand. i now began to move on very carefully, feeling my way from chest to chest. i discovered in my progress not only chests, but casks and bales. i had little doubt, therefore, that i had been conveyed to the smugglers' store, but where it was situated i was totally unable to surmise. that it was some way inland i thought probable, as i could not hear the sound of the surf breaking on the sea shore, which i thought i should have done had i been near the coast. i tried to think if i recollected any building which it was at all probable would be thus used by the smugglers. there were, i at last remembered, two mills not far from the coast, but one was in the possession of too respectable a farmer to allow any lawless proceedings to be carried on in his premises. the other was an old windmill that had been abandoned the last two or three years; two of the arms had fallen down, and the whole building was in a very ruinous and tottering condition. the property i had heard was in chancery, the exact meaning of which i didn't understand, but knew no one was ever seen about the place, and that the villagers from the neighbouring hamlet were unwilling to approach it after dark, there being a report that it was haunted by a headless miller, who had been killed while in a fit of drunkenness by his own machinery. could this be the place, i thought. the idea didn't make me feel more comfortable, not that i had any strong belief in ghosts or other spirits walking the earth in bodily shape; but yet i didn't feel perfectly certain that such beings did not exist, and i confess to having had an indefinite dread of seeing the headless miller appear out of the darkness surrounded by a blue light. i tried to banish the idea, and felt much more at my ease. i suddenly recollected that although i was in darkness it was daylight outside, and that the headless miller was possibly resting quietly in his grave in the churchyard a mile away. one thing i had to do, and that was to get out of my prison as soon as possible. i felt round and round the vault. my great object was to discover the steps by which my captors and i had descended, but to my dismay i could not find them. either they had been drawn up through a trap-door above, or we had come through a door in the side of the vault which had been closed by them when they went out. i searched and searched in vain for such a door, one side consisting of a blank wall partly of stone and partly of perpendicular timbers, which i concluded supported the superstructure. this made me more certain than before that i was in a vault beneath the old mill. i was in hopes by this time that the smugglers had gone away, and that i should thus be able to make my escape without interruption. how to do so was the question. i remembered that we had descended the building by steps to the bottom of the vault. i concluded, therefore, that the roof must be a considerable height above my head. there were numerous boxes, chests, and bales, as far as i could judge, in the vault, and if i had had light i should have found, i thought, little difficulty in piling one upon another, and thus reaching the top; but in the dark this was a difficult and hazardous undertaking. i could scarcely expect to place them with sufficient evenness to make a firm structure, and they might, after i had got up some distance, topple down again with me under them, and perhaps an arm or a leg broken. still i could think of no other way of getting out. i again felt about, and tried to lift some chests and bales, but they were mostly too heavy for my strength; i might, however, discover some which i could tackle. it must be remembered that all this time i was perfectly ignorant of my surroundings. i was, indeed, in the position of a blind man suddenly placed in a position which he had never before visited without any one to give him a description of the scenery. the only knowledge that i had obtained of the vault was from the sense of touch. i now determined to take a further survey, if so i could call it, of my prison, to start from a certain point to feel my way round, and reach as high as i could, to extend my arms, and to grope along the floor from one side to the other. one point i considered was to my advantage. my captors would suppose that i was shut up in the chest, and would therefore not have taken much trouble to secure the outlet to the vault. probably, indeed, they had gone away, as they would certainly avoid being seen in the neighbourhood of the old mill during daylight. i didn't suppose that they intended to murder me, and i therefore expected that they would come back again at night to bring me some food, or perhaps to carry me off and ship me on board some vessel, for such i was convinced was their intention. i must therefore effect my escape before nightfall. the necessity of obtaining food would alone induce me to do this, though as yet i did not feel very hungry. serious as the situation was, i did not give way to despair. i could not believe that i was doomed to die, but how my deliverance was to be effected was more than i could tell. again starting from the chest in which i had been shut up, and which i could distinguish by the short fragments of the top, i continued groping my way round and round the vault. my first object was to try and find the door, which i was persuaded existed, as i thought i had previously missed it. any one who has played at blind man's buff may have a faint idea of my situation. only the objects round me remained stationary, whereas in the game people run away from the blinded person, and he has to try and catch them as they run round him. i had the advantage over the blinded man in the game. i was sure that in time i should gain a knowledge of my locality. time, however, was precious, and it would not do for me to delay my search. i would have given anything for a tinder-box and flint and steel, so that i might light up the vault even for a few seconds; but as that was not to be had, i tried to make use of my other senses. stretching out my arms and feet as i went along, touching one place with my left hand, while i felt about my head as far as i could reach straight out with my right; i then brought my left up to the spot my right had last touched, and so i went on. occasionally my right foot struck against a bale or chest which extended beyond the others above it. had there been an opening in the pile of goods i was sure that i could not have missed it. for the supposed door i searched in vain, and at length came to the conclusion that the only entrance to the vault was from the roof above. it did not occur to me that there might be one above my reach by which my captors might have made their exit with the assistance of a short ladder. though i had moved slowly, what with the exercise i had taken during the night, and the efforts i had made to get out of the chest, i felt very tired; and, discovering a bale of convenient height, i sat down to rest myself, and to consider with such calmness as i could command, what i should next do. chapter seven. a prisoner in the vault--the headless miller--i continue my explorations--my perilous position--my further attempts at escape--the recess--an unexpected shower-bath--a glimpse of light--i escape from the vault, but not from prison--a lower chamber in old grime's mill-- the result of my further endeavours to escape--my signal of distress-- the revenue-men--my rescue--the search for the smugglers' goods--my hunger relieved--on guard--meeting with my father--the last of old grime's mill. strange as it may seem, i fell asleep. how long my eyes had been closed i could not tell. i fancied i heard the voices of people coming down through the roof. a door directly opposite to me opened, through which a pale light streamed, when what was my amazement to see "old grimes" the miller dressed in his short frock, his iron-grey hair streaming over his shoulders, and holding on his head with both hands, proving that it could not retain its position without such assistance. he glared at me with his saucer-eyes; his lips moved, but what he said i could not make out. had he approached i thought i would have spoken to him and asked what he wanted, but he did not advance beyond the doorway. presently he faded from my sight. the light grew dimmer and dimmer. i thought that i got up and tried to make a straight course for the door; but when i reached the wall opposite i could not find it, and so groped my way back to my seat. it was not until fully a minute after i was awake that i became aware that i had been dreaming. i was soon convinced that the vision of old grimes was a mere dream, but i was not quite so well satisfied about the voices i had heard. i listened, expecting to hear them again, but all was silent as before. i now got up, resolving to try and make my way out. though i had not previously experienced any inconvenience from the want of breakfast, i began to feel excessively hungry; and if i had come across a package of hams or tongues, or a cask of salted herrings, i should have eaten them raw with considerable satisfaction. the more hungry i felt the more desperate i became. i at last fixed on a place for commencing operations. there appeared to be more woodwork there than anywhere else, or else the chests were piled upon each other. at all events they would afford me a foothold. that i might have less chance of slipping i had kicked off my boots, supposing that i could easily find them again. i climbed up and up. of course i had to move very cautiously, not leaving go with one hand until i had a firm grasp of some fixed object with the other. i got up a considerable distance, and pressing against a board, it gave way, and a tremendous crash followed, as if a number of boxes filled with bottles had fallen to the ground. putting up my hand, i felt a beam above my head; could it be one of the rafters, or the roof? i was for some time afraid to move, lest i should fall headlong down. i passed my hand along the beam, but could not reach the floor it supported. i now tried to crawl cautiously along on the top of the woodwork or the pile of chests, for i could not determine which they were. every now and then i stopped and stretched out my hand, but could feel nothing above me. i must again beg my readers to try and picture to themselves my unpleasant position. the only wonder to myself is that i kept up my spirits. i did not forget that any moment something might give way below me, and that i might pitch down to the floor of the vault on my head. i had gone on some way, when, stretching out my hand, i discovered nothing beyond me. i was on the very edge of the erection. the only thing i could do was to go back the way i had come, or to descend to the floor. fearing that i should be unable to pass the spot where i had thrown over the cases, i resolved to adopt the latter alternative. i bethought me that if i had had a pole it would have assisted me greatly to discover the trap-door leading to the vault. it was easier to climb up than to climb down, as i could not feel with my feet as i could with my hands. the attempt, however, must be made. having got to the edge of the plank and ascertained that it was secure, i gradually let myself down, when i found myself resting on another plank or the edge of a chest, i could not tell which. let any one try in the dark to do what i was attempting to do, and it will be found no easy matter. could i have stood securely, i might have crouched down till i could have got hold of the plank on which my foot rested, but there was scarcely room for that, and if i let go the plank above me i might tumble over on my back; yet there was no other way of descent, so holding on with my left hand i tried to find something which i might grasp with my right lower down. my satisfaction was considerable when my hand came in contact with the rope-handle of a large chest. it appeared to be secure, and holding it i was able to stoop down and fix my other hand on the ledge on which my feet rested. one stage of my descent was thus accomplished. i now held the ledge tight with both hands, let my legs slip off, and felt about with my feet for another resting-place. for some seconds i was swinging about, holding on by my hands. there might be another ledge not half an inch below my feet. i stretched down my toes to the utmost. i could not discover it. should i let go i might have a serious fall. i worked my way on, hoping to be more fortunate. at last my feet struck against the end of a chest, and after making a little further exertion i found that it was secure, and that i could venture to stand upon it. i was still uncertain how far i was off the ground; all the difficulty i experienced arose from being in darkness. i could probably, i knew, have scrambled over the whole of the building with perfect ease had there been light. i might already be close to the ground, but at the same time i might be many feet above it, and i therefore could not venture to step down without going through the same process as before. leaning on my elbows, i stretched my arms along the top of the chest. i slipped off, and unexpectedly found my feet touch the ground. i was too eager to escape to allow myself time to rest after my exertions. i once more began to search round the vault, hoping to find an oar, a boat's mast or spar, or somewhat that might serve my purpose. i felt about in vain; indeed it was not likely that the smugglers should have placed such things in the vault. i at last reached the part where the boxes or chests, as i supposed they were, rested, and i began to stumble among them. the region in which i had spent the last two or three hours was considerably disarranged. i fancied that i knew every part, and now i was completely thrown out in my calculations. one chest stood up on end on another. i feared, should i move it, that i might bring others down on my head. i should have liked to have put them all back in their places, but that was impossible. by great care i made my way among them; when i at last reached the walls, it was the part i had not before examined. how i could have passed it i could not account for, unless i had been prevented reaching it by the chests piled up in front, and which i had displaced. as i was extending my arms my hands touched what felt like a wooden latch. there was no doubt about it; it was the latch of a door. i lifted it up and pulled it towards me. the door opened, but all was dark within the recess. i felt sure that it must be the entrance to the vault. i was going to step forward when it occurred to me that it might lead to a lower vault and that i should be precipitated into an unknown depth should i move without feeling my way. i knelt down, extending my hands, when they touched the ground as far as i could reach. this satisfied me that my first conjecture was correct. cautiously feeling my way, i stepped forward and explored the recess as i had the larger vault. contrary to my expectation, i could discover no ladder. i was thus no nearer to my deliverance than before. i felt round and round this smaller vault, without being able to decide as to its object. that it was the entrance to the vault i thought very likely. i wished that i could find out the height of the roof, and of what it was composed. it seemed probable that it was lower than that of the larger vault. i thought that i might drag in some of the smaller chests and place one on another against the wall and climb up. i made my way accordingly back to the large vault, in search of some which i could move. in going along my foot struck an object on the ground. it was a long spar--the very thing i was in search of. i supposed it had fallen down with the boxes, having either been placed upon them or assisting to support them. it appeared, as far as i could judge, to be twelve or fourteen feet long, and was thick enough to enable me to swarm up it, and thus to serve the purpose of a ladder. i first tried to reach the roof of the large vault with it, but it was not long enough, though i lifted it as high as i could; and then carrying it in my hands went back to the recess, and, eager to ascertain the height, i struck upwards. it at once met with resistance, not as i supposed, from a beam or vaulted roof, but from some soft object. that soft object must be removed. i poked and poked again and again, now in one part, now in another, when suddenly down came a shower of powder, which, before i could make my escape, covered me from head to foot. i was certain that it was, from the smell and feel, flour, though old and musty. the flour filled my nose, eyes, and mouth, nearly suffocating me. i, however, willingly endured this dry shower-bath, for as it fell a glimpse of light came through a hole which i had burst in the upper part of the sack, which had evidently been drawn across the trap leading to the vault for the purpose of concealing it. i worked away with my pole until i had pretty nearly emptied the sack of flour, and then, with a little more exertion, i brought the whole down, and had a clear view upwards. for a minute or so my eyes, long accustomed to darkness, were so dazzled with the light that i could not make out anything distinctly. they were, besides, so full of flour that it took me some time to clear them. after this i did not delay in endeavouring to get out of the vault. having placed the upper end of the pole against the corner of the trap, i tried to swarm up it. at first my exertions made the pole slip, and i ran the risk of having a disagreeable fall; but descending, i placed the half rotten sack with some of the flour round the foot, and then drew in several pieces of wood, with which i further secured it. i now made another determined effort to climb up it by twining my arms and legs round it. with considerable effort i succeeded in catching hold of the edge or sill of the trap, and then getting up my knees i was out of the vault, but not out of prison. i was, however, far better off than before. instead of darkness, i had light--instead of a close vault, an airy chamber, on the lower floor of which sacks of flour had evidently been kept. there were no regular windows, but only a few slits high up above my head to admit light and air. the door was securely closed. the room was in much better order than i should have supposed from the generally ruinous appearance of the building from the outside. of course, having thus far freed myself, i did not despair of getting out by some means or other. i was in a hurry to do so lest the smugglers should come back, and thrust me back into my prison, or treat me even worse. looking round the room i observed an opening on one side opposite the windows. it struck me that if i could get to it i might make my way into the main part of the building. once there, there could be no difficulty in escaping. in the last few minutes i had forgotten my hunger, but it again came upon me; and as i had no other food, i thought i would try some of the flour, which would stay my appetite, even though eaten raw. i believe that a person eating nothing else for several days would make himself ill, if he did not die. i made a hole in one of several sacks leaning against the wall, and which had been there probably since the occupant's death. it was excessively musty, but hunger prevented me from being particular, and rolling it up into little balls i swallowed several in rapid succession. having eaten on till i had sated my appetite, i hauled up the pole with which i had made my escape from the vault below. i then placed it against the foot of the small door high up in the wall. it was sufficiently long. but then the thought occurred to me, will the door be closed so that i shall be unable to open it? that point must be settled by experiment; so having assured myself that the upper end would not slip, i began to ascend. it was not at all an easy task, and i did not feel satisfied that it would not give way. up and up i went, remembering what my father often used to say, that "fortune favours the brave." i gained the top, and holding on to the sill beneath the door, pressed against it. it moved, and, contrary to my expectation, opened. it was a difficult matter notwithstanding to get in; but i managed at last to get my knee on the sill, and then creeping forward i found myself in a gallery in the main part of the mill, in the centre of which was the shaft and the machinery for working the grindstones beneath. i ran round the gallery till i came to a ladder leading to the floor below, expecting that i should find the main door open. it was firmly closed and locked, so that i could not get out. this was a disappointment. having in vain tried to find any other outlet, i ran up the steps again to the gallery, looked out of one of several windows to ascertain if i could reach the ground by any of the woodwork; but the height was too great to allow me to drop out without danger of breaking my legs. i observed several people in the distance passing along by a path which led by the foot of a hill on which the mill was situated. my first thought was that they were smugglers; but then i recollected that such characters were not likely to be abroad in a body during daylight, and the glitter of the gold lace round the cap of one of them convinced me that they were the revenue-men. i shouted at the top of my voice. hungry and faint as i was, it did not sound as loud as usual. they did not hear me. i was afraid they would go on. again and again i shouted. one of the men turned his head. having no handkerchief, in a moment i stripped off my shirt, and waved it wildly out of the window. the men saw it, and came hurrying up the hill. "who are you, youngster?" shouted one of the men as they came near. "master cheveley, son of the vicar of sandgate," i answered. "why, he looks more like the ghost of a miller," said one of the men. "how did you get up there?" inquired the first speaker a head boatman in charge of the party. "i got up out of a vault where the smugglers put me," i answered. "make haste and come in, for i'm almost starved." "here's a door," cried the head boatman; "but i say, mates, it's locked. is there no other way in?" he shouted. "none that i know of," i answered. "i have been trying to open the door, but could not." "we'll see what we can do," said the man. and he with two others placing their shoulders to it quickly sent it flying inward shattered into fragments, the rotten wood giving way before their sturdy shoves. i ran down to meet them. the head boatman, a strong seamanlike-looking man, at once began to question me as to what had happened. i told him as briefly as i could adding-- "but, i say, i'm desperately hungry, as i've only had some lumps of musty flour to eat for several hours, and thirsty too. i shall faint if i don't have some food." "we'll get you that, youngster; and then you must try and show us the way into the vault," said the speaker. "we may get a better haul than we've had for many a day if it should prove one of the smugglers' hiding-places." he then directed one of the men to run down to the next farmhouse and bring up some bread and cheese, or anything else he could obtain, and a jug of milk, or if that was not to be procured, some water. i thanked him, begging the man to make haste, for now that the excitement was over i could scarcely stand. "do you know you are whitened all over?" he asked. "you look as if you had come out of a flour-bin!" i had for the moment forgotten how i must have looked. the man good-naturedly began to brush the flour off my clothes and hair, and one of them lent me his handkerchief to wipe my face. they inquired what had become of my jacket and waistcoat. i told them how the smugglers had taken them from me. "perhaps the fellows may have hidden them somewhere about here. they wouldn't like to have the things found on them. jenkins and brown, do you go and search all round. maybe we'll come upon another opening into the vault." the two men hurried off to obey the orders they had received, while the others examined the mill; and the chief boatman sat by me fanning my face, for he evidently thought me in a bad way. the time appeared very long since the man had started for the provisions, but i believe he was not absent many minutes. i was thankful when he returned, bringing a basket with some eggs, and ham, and cheese, and some delicious bread, and a bottle of milk. i fell to immediately like a hungry wolf, and felt very much better by the time i had finished. "we'll keep the remainder in case you want any more, my lad. and now we must get you to show us the way into the vault," said the officer. i was quite ready to do this, for i confess that i had a bitter feeling against the smugglers on account of the treatment i had received. we soon reached the trap which had been covered over by the sacks of flour. the men looked down, not quite liking to descend into the darkness. the spar by which i had got up was still in its place. i offered to go down first, but this the chief boatman would not allow, and he and another man at once lowered themselves to the bottom. it was, however, so dark beyond the smaller vault, that they declared they could see nothing, and they had to wait until a man was sent to the farm for a lantern. we then too descended, but as the lantern only dimly lighted up the vault, i could scarcely believe that it was the same place in which i had spent so many hours. i had fancied that it was of immense size and height, and crowded with piles of boxes, and bales, and casks. instead of this there were only a few old packing-cases, in one of which i found i had been shut up. there were besides about a dozen bales, most of them apparently damaged, and what the revenue-men considered of more value, nearly half-a-hundred small casks of spirits, and some boxes of tobacco. these had been covered over with planks. i had not felt them on my exploring expeditions in the dark. the revenue-men were well satisfied with their haul, as they called it, though they had thought that it was possible they might find some articles of value. as i was anxious to return home to relieve the anxiety of my father and mother, i begged the chief boatman to let me do so at once. "we cannot let you go alone; some of these smugglers might meet you and give you a clout on the head for having shown us their hiding-place. wait a bit until i can send one of the men with you. we must first get these casks up. we can't spare a hand at present, as one of the men must go on to the station to give information of our find, and to procure some carts for carrying the things away." in hunting about the men had discovered a coil of rope and some blocks, which had evidently been used for lowering the casks into the vault. the seamen were not long in fitting up a tackle to hoist them out. while one of the men was sent off as proposed, the rest worked away with a will. in a short time the chief contents of the vault were hoisted up and rolled outside. "here's a job for you, my lad," said the chief boatman. "you stay by these things, and give us notice if you see any suspicious characters coming, while we get up the remainder." this task i gladly undertook, for i was heartily sick of the vault where i had spent so many unpleasant hours, and glad to breathe the fresh air outside. i sat down on the cask, nibbling away at some of the contents of the basket, for my appetite had returned. at last a drowsiness stole over me, and slipping off the cask, against which i placed my back, i fell fast asleep. i was awakened by hearing some one shouting, and looking up i saw a person running towards me. i sprang to my feet, when what was my surprise to see my father, who rushed forward, and at the joy of seeing him i leaped into his arms. "why, dick, my boy," he exclaimed, "we have been in fearful anxiety about you. how have you got into this plight? where have you been? what has happened?" i answered him as fast as i could. "i won't find fault with you now, though you had no business to steal out of the house at night. you have had a narrow escape. though the ruffians who carried you off and put you into the vault might not have intended to leave you to starve, they most probably would have been unable to return. several have been captured, and so hot is the hue and cry after the rest that they would have been afraid to come back to the spot to bring you food, or to carry you off, as you fancy they intended to do." the chief boatman now came out of the mill, and was evidently well pleased to hand me over to my father, who thanked him for the attention he had paid me. just as we were setting off the carts arrived with a party of revenue-men, armed to the teeth, to carry off the smugglers' goods, for it was thought likely that a rescue might be attempted. we had got to no great distance, when on looking back i saw a cloud of smoke issuing from the old building. it increased in density, and presently flames burst out. "could they have set the place on fire?" "not intentionally," said my father; "but it is very evident that the mill is burning, and from the nature of the materials of which it is composed there is not the slightest chance of its escaping destruction." tired as i was, i persuaded him to go back to see what had happened. as we got nearer the building we saw that the whole of it was enveloped in flame. the revenue-men were busily engaged in loading the carts. they had soon found that any attempt to save the mill would be useless, and that they would only run the risk of losing their lives. we were at some short distance when a tremendous roar was heard, the ground shook beneath our feet, and the whole building came toppling down, a vast heap of burning ruins; while planks, and beams, and masses of earth, were thrown up into the air, showing that an explosion had taken place in the vault where i had been confined. no one suspected that any casks of powder had been deposited there, but that such was the case there was no doubt. i had now reason to be very thankful that i had not found a tinder-box, for i should certainly have tried to light a fire in the vault, and probably the sparks would have communicated to the powder. how the fire originated no one could tell, but i suspected that one of the men had lit his pipe, and that the ashes had fallen out upon some loose grains of powder. we, as well as the revenue-men, had a narrow escape from being crushed by the ruins which fell close to us. such was the end of old grime's mill. chapter eight. my reception at home--aunt deb again gives her advice--my father and i pay another visit to leighton hall--our guard--interview with sir reginald--a score that was not settled to my satisfaction--my awkward position--my father receives a threatening letter--aunt deb decides on action--preparations for my departure--the journey in the coach--our fellow-travellers--a false alarm--my aunt's character further comes out--our arrival at liverpool--our reception--mr butterfield--i explore liverpool--my first visit to the "emu"--i gain some information--i lose my way--aunt deb's anxiety on my account--a small difficulty well got out of--i pay another visit to the "emu"--my ideas as to officers and seamanship receive a somewhat rude check--i make the acquaintance of gregory growles--i lose my cutter--"thief! thief!"--i speak to mr butterfield as to my going to sea--his opinions on the subject--he makes me a kind offer--matters still unsettled--a reference to aunt deb. my father supported me as we walked home; for, now that the excitement was over, i felt so exhausted that without his assistance i could not have got along. before we had got far, however, we fortunately fell in with some of the people who had been sent by my father to look for me. they, taking me in their arms, saved me from the necessity of making further exertions. as we went on we met several seafaring men, boatmen and others, who i thought scowled at me as i passed. the news of the capture of the goods having got abroad, it had been reported that i had given the information. my mother and sisters received me affectionately. to my satisfaction i found that aunt deb was out in the village. on her return, having heard some account of my adventures, looking at me sternly she said-- "well, master richard; and so you have been continuing your foolish pranks, and throwing us all out of our wits. depend upon it, nephew, you'll come to a bad end if you don't manage to act with more discretion during your future course in life." i felt too tired just then to reply to aunt deb's remarks as i should have liked to do. i merely said-- "i could not help being carried off by the smugglers; and as i have been the means of getting a good many of them captured, and also of enabling the revenue-men to seize their stores, i hope that sir reginald will now feel anxious to reward me by obtaining for me the appointment i have so long wished for." "if it suits sir reginald's convenience he may do so," said my aunt. "we shall see; we shall see." i had to give an account of my adventures to every one in the house, and i was very thankful when i was able to go to bed, feeling no inclination to put myself in the way of going through any fresh adventures. next morning, after breakfast, i asked my father if he would accompany me to leighton park, that i might make another appeal to sir reginald. "you'll only get a flea in your ear, john," remarked aunt deb. "sir reginald will just consider you troublesome. you are much more likely to succeed if you let him alone." my father, however, for a wonder, ventured to differ with aunt deb, and agreed to take me to see the baronet. he had become, i found, very anxious about my safety, being convinced that the smugglers would, if they had the opportunity, punish me severely for having interfered in their affairs. this made him more than ever anxious to get me away from home. not satisfied that even during the walk to leighton park we might not be attacked, he directed old thomas, the gardener, to arm himself with a blunderbuss and a brace of pistols, and to follow, keeping us always in sight. he didn't think it would become him as a minister of the gospel to carry fire-arms through his own parish, and he was afraid to entrust them to me. "remember, thomas, that if you see any smugglers come near, you are to march up and point your blunderbuss at their heads." "you may be sure, sir, as i'll do that," answered thomas. "i have been a man of peace all my life, but i'm ready to fight in your cause, and i believe the lord will forgive me if i kill any one." "i don't think there is much chance of that," said my father. "your appearance with your blunderbuss loaded up to the muzzle will be sufficient to deter any of the ruffians from attacking us." we set out together. thomas gradually dropped behind to the required distance. as we walked along i looked every now and then over my shoulder to be sure that he was following, for i had an uncomfortable feeling that the smugglers would be on the watch for me. we, however, reached the park without any adventure. sir reginald kept us waiting longer than usual before we were admitted into his presence. "well, mr cheveley, we have succeeded at last in giving a blow to the smugglers which will put a stop to their proceedings for some time to come at all events. though the `saucy bess' got off, we captured some of her crew and several of the men assisting them." "i congratulate you, sir reginald," said my father; "and i ventured to call on you to explain that my son richard has rendered considerable service to the cause. it was through him that information of the intended run the other night was obtained, and he also discovered one of the smugglers' hiding-places, `grime's mill,' and was the means of enabling the revenue-men to capture a considerable store of their contraband goods." sir reginald smiled. "i'm glad to hear this," he observed; "for to say the truth, i have had strong doubts as to your son's connexion with the smugglers. he is intimate, i find, with an old sailor, roger riddle, who though too cunning to be caught is known to aid and abet them in their proceedings. by his means young mark riddle, who is both smuggler and poacher, made his escape from my lock-up room only last week. had it not been for my respect for you, i could not have passed the matter over, and i am happy now to be able to set the services you say he has rendered against his former conduct. i am the more willing to do this as young riddle was taken just as he landed from the `saucy bess,' and we shall now get rid of him, as he will be either committed to prison for two years or sent off to sea to serve his majesty for seven years." i was very sorry when i heard this, but of course did not express my feelings to sir reginald. my father looked rather uncomfortable; he was a nervous man, and sir reginald always awed him. he, however, mustered courage to proceed. "i hope, sir reginald, that my son's good conduct will induce you to interest yourself in his favour, and that you will forward his views by exerting yourself to obtain the appointment he so greatly desires. i am very anxious to get him away from the neighbourhood, as i am afraid the smugglers, who are aware that he has been instrumental in the capture of their friends and goods, will revenge themselves on his head. i dare not let him leave the house alone, and even coming here i was obliged to bring an armed attendant for his protection." "i have told you, mr cheveley, that i consider his late conduct is a set-off against his unpardonable proceeding. i will, however, remember his wish; and, should an opportunity occur, will forward his views. i must now wish you good morning, for my time is much occupied with my magisterial and parliamentary duties, and you must excuse me." the baronet prepared to bow us out of the room. he shook hands with my father, who took the hint and backed towards the door, and gave me only a formal nod, without allowing a smile to irradiate his features. we found old thomas waiting at the hall door with his blunderbuss on his shoulder. my father walked on with hurried steps some distance, not uttering a word. at last he said-- "to what did sir reginald allude when he talked of your connexion with young riddle?" i told him how mark had been seized and locked up and how i had unintentionally assisted him to escape. "i believe what you say, richard; but you can't be surprised at the baronet being annoyed, and i'm afraid from his tone that we must not expect much from him." we had got about two-thirds of the way home when we saw three men coming towards us, one of whom i recognised as burden. i had not yet told my father that i believed him to be one of the men who had shut me up in the old mill. he started as he saw me, and then scanned me narrowly, as if uncertain whether it could really be myself. though i knew that old thomas and his blunderbuss were close behind us, i felt very uncomfortable, as i could not tell how the men might be inclined to act. mustering courage at last, i looked burden in the face. my father nodded to him and the other men, as he was accustomed to do to his parishioners. they hesitated for a moment, and then passed on. i looked back and saw them watching old thomas, but they didn't speak to him, and he trudged sturdily after us without paying them any attention. "i wonder what was the matter with burden?" asked my father, as we got to some distance. i then told him it was my belief that he was one of my captors. "we can't prove it, even if he were," said my father. "he deserves punishment, but the law is expensive and uncertain, and i should prefer letting him alone." as far as i could tell the matter was likely to rest here. i lost a jacket and waistcoat, but was not otherwise the worse for my adventure. the next day, however, a letter came by the post addressed to my father, at the top of which was a death's head and cross-bones, very rudely drawn, and beneath it the words:-- "informers must look out for what informers deserve. the young master who got off t'other day must look out for squalls. he has been and dug his own grave, and in it he'll lie before long; so he had better say his prayers. he won't have long to say them. this comes from one who knows him. john grimes." my father turned pale when he read the letter. aunt deb insisted on seeing it, and then my mother wished to read the contents. she almost fainted. "this is terrible," she exclaimed. "yet, surely, the smugglers will not have the barbarity to injure a mere boy like dick." "i'm not so certain of that," said aunt deb. "warnings ought not to be neglected. i have long been contemplating paying a visit to my second cousin, godfrey butterfield, who is now a flourishing merchant at liverpool. i'll write and say that i am coming, and bringing with me one of my nephews. i shall not wait for an answer, but will set off immediately; for i'm certain i shall be welcome." when aunt deb said this i saw a smile on the countenance of my elder sisters and brothers, who had not been so much affected by the threatening letter as the rest of the family. "i'll post the letter at once, and we will set off this evening. what do you say, john?" my father at once agreed to aunt deb's proposal. "thank you!" exclaimed my mother. "i shall be much more at my ease when dick is out of the reach of these terrible men." aunt deb wrote and despatched her letter, and the rest of the morning was employed in making preparations for the journey. ned had to give up one of his jackets and waistcoats, which exactly fitted me, and my other things were quickly packed in a small chest. i also unrigged and did up the cutter which roger riddle had given me, as i fancied i should have an opportunity of sailing it at liverpool. i made ned also promise to go and call on the old man, and to tell him how sorry i was to hear that mark had been sent off to sea, and how much i regretted not being able to wish him good-bye before i went. we had some distance to drive before we reached the town at which the coach stopped. my father at once sent off for a postchaise, and old thomas went on the box, armed as before with a blunderbuss and a couple of horse-pistols. as we drove through the village aunt deb made me sit back, while she leant forward as if there was no one else inside. whether or not this precaution was necessary i don't know; but at all events we reached our destination without being stopped by highwaymen. there were two places vacant in the coach, and although i should have preferred going outside, aunt deb insisted on my remaining with her. the other passengers were fat old women, who eat apples and drank gin-and-water for supper, and then snored, and sneezed, and groaned all night long. i know that i wished myself anywhere but where i was. the old ladies talked of highwaymen, coaches stopped, and passengers murdered, till they talked themselves into a state of nervous fear. one or the other was constantly poking her head out of the window, and declaring that she saw a man galloping after the coach with a blunderbuss over his shoulder. however, as the guard gave no signal, i was very sure that their imaginations had conjured up the robber. "pray, ladies, do sit quiet," at length exclaimed aunt deb, who being a strong-minded woman was not influenced by similar fears. "it will be time enough to cry out if a highwayman does come to demand our purses, and we'll hope that the guard will shoot him dead before he has had time to open the door." "oh! how dreadful!" shrieked out one of the ladies. "i would sooner let him have everything he asked for than see a handsome highwayman shot." "fiddle-de-dee about a handsome highwayman," said aunt deb, in a scornful tone. "they're ugly ruffians, and miserable arrant cowards to boot. if one does venture to stop the coach, i'll not give him any of my property as long as i have hands to defend it." notwithstanding aunt deb's remarks, our fellow-travellers continued in the same state of alarm the greater part of the night, and to comfort themselves took further sips of gin; until, becoming perfectly fuddled, they dropped off to sleep. i almost wished that a highwayman would appear, to see how aunt deb would behave; but morning at length dawned, and i fell asleep, nor did i wake till the coach stopped for breakfast. we travelled on all day with the same unpleasant companions, and i was glad to find that we were to go no farther that night. i remember that i dropped off to sleep before supper was over, and was very unwilling to get up the next morning when aunt deb called me. the fear of offending her, notwithstanding, made me jump out of bed and hurry on my clothes, and i was in time to take my seat in the coach, which came up soon after breakfast. she still refused to let me go outside, and i had to endure another day's misery, shut up with her and a lady and a fat gentleman, who took snuff and snored, and nearly tumbled over me in his sleep, and a young woman with a baby, who at intervals kept up a chorus of squalls, which considerably aggravated my respected aunt; and i really thought that, if she had given way to her feelings, she would have tossed it out of the window. as sublunary troubles always do, the journey came to an end, and the coach deposited us at the door of mr butterfield, aunt deb's cousin. the worthy merchant--a bald-headed, rosy-faced gentleman, of large proportions, who wore brown cloth knee-breeches, large silver buckles, a flowered waistcoat of ample length, with a snowy neckcloth, and a frilled shirt, a coat of the same hue as his unmentionables--received us, as he descended the steps, with a cordiality i little expected. "glad to see you, cousin deb, though times have changed since you and i played hide-and-seek in our great-aunt's garden. you have shot up in one direction and i have grown in the other considerably. and this is john cheveley's boy, is he? you are welcome to liverpool, lad. we'll see what we can make of you here. plant you on a high stool, and set you quill-driving. are you a good hand at figuring? we don't value the latin and greek most lads have crammed into their heads to the exclusion of all other useful knowledge. pounds, shillings, and pence are what we have to do with in our commercial city." thus the old gentleman ran on without even waiting for me to answer. he then conducted us to our bedchambers; and as soon as we had washed our hands we descended to the supper-room, where the board was amply spread. he did not again allude to the high stool and quill-driving, but his remark had made a deep impression on my mind. there was nothing i hated so much as the thought of being shut up in a counting-house. he asked me if i was accustomed to go out alone, and satisfied on that score from what aunt deb and i said, he told me that i might amuse myself the next morning by exploring liverpool, provided i took good note of the way home. this was just what i thought of doing, and to my relief aunt deb said she would be too tired to go out. accordingly the next morning, after breakfast, i got ready to sally forth. mr butterfield had gone to his office, and did not see me. i in reality cared very little for exploring the town, and accordingly inquired my way to the river. instead of the stream i expected to find i saw a broad expanse of water, with vessels of all rigs and sizes in spacious docks, or moored alongside the quays. i was going along the quay when i saw a large ship taking in cargo. making my way on till i got astern of her, i observed that she was called the "emu." i walked up and down admiring her amazingly. "now if i can't go on board a man of war, and wear a cockade and a dirk by my side, i should like to take a voyage in a ship like that. what a magnificent craft! what proud fellows the captain and officers must be to belong to that ship. i wonder whether the captain would like me as a midshipman? the crew--i can fancy how they sit on the forecastle and sing `rule britannia,' `poor tom bowling,' `one night it blew a hurricane.' happy chaps! i should like to belong to her. i think i'll go on board and ask the captain to take me. "mr butterfield evidently intends that i should go into his counting-house. dreadful work to have to set on a high stool, to dot and carry one, and to scribble away all day. i could not stand it. it would kill me. it was bad enough to have to go to school, and then we had a good many play-hours; but in these stuffy, musty, dark offices, i have heard that they have only half-an-hour for dinner, and work away till ten o'clock at night. that sort of life would never suit me. "yes, i'll go and see the captain, and i'll tell him that i was intended for the navy, that i should have become an admiral some day, and that will make him treat me with consideration." such were my cogitations as i stood, with my hands in my pockets, gazing at the "emu." when it came to the point i felt somewhat nervous about going to speak to the captain. perhaps he would not treat me with the respect i should desire. he might not have a vacant berth, and i could scarcely expect a stranger to make a place for me. at last, after walking backwards and forwards very often, i ascended a plank which led me to the gangway in the after part of the ship, and stepped on board. for some time, all the men being occupied in hoisting in cargo, no one took notice of me. i was thinking that i must go and speak to the captain if i were to speak to him at all, when one of the men coming aft asked me what i wanted. "i wish to see the captain of this ship," i said. "he is not on board, and is not likely to be until she sails," he replied. "do you bring any message for him? if you do, you had better see the second mate." "no thank you," i replied; "i want to see the captain," in as important a tone as i could command. "well, then, you may find the captain at the ship-broker's in dale street." this threw me out, for i knew that the second mate would not have power to receive me on board, and i did not like the thought of having to confront the captain in an office full of clerks. i therefore, losing courage, turned round and walked on shore again. still i could not tear myself from the ship, but continued pacing backwards and forwards, now taking a look at her lofty masts and spars, now at her hull freshly painted, now at the men working at the cranes and tackles hoisting in cargo. while i was thus engaged a sailor-like man, who i supposed was an officer, stopped near me. "please, sir," i said, "could you tell me where that ship is going to?" "yes, my lad. she's bound out by cape horn into the pacific, and up the west coast of america, and perhaps to go across to australia, and may be away for two or three years." "thank you, sir," i said. "she's a very fine ship." "as to that there are many finer, but she's a tidy craft in her way," remarked the seaman, turning on his heel. "now that is just the sort of voyage i should like to make. to double great cape horn. what a grand idea! and visit the country of the incas and peruvians, and the wonderful coral islands of the pacific. i am much inclined to ask mr butterfield if he can get me on board her. perhaps she's one of his ships, and i shall then very likely come back as a mate. i might have to remain a long time in the navy before i became a lieutenant, and after all perhaps one might enjoy a much more independent life in the merchant service. "yes, i'll ask the old gentleman; but then i'm afraid aunt deb will interfere. she doesn't want me to go to sea, and she'll say all sorts of things to prevent him doing what i wish. there's nothing like trying, however; and if he agrees, i must get him to obtain aunt deb's consent to my going. i'm sure my father won't make any objection." having arrived at this conclusion, i was now eager to get back to have a talk with mr butterfield. i forgot that he was not likely to leave his office till much later in the day. i had become desperately hungry also, and as i had come out without any money in my pocket, i was unable to buy a bun or a roll to appease my appetite. i set off, fancying that i should have no difficulty in finding my way, but i wandered about for a couple of hours or more before i succeeded in getting back to mr butterfield's house. aunt deb received me with a frown. "now where have you been all this time?" she asked. "i've had luncheon an hour or so, or more. i suppose the servant has cleared the things away, and you can't expect her to bring them up again for your pleasure." "thank you, aunt deb," i answered. "but i'll just run and see." to my infinite satisfaction, on going into the parlour i found the table still covered with roast beef, and pies, tarts, and puddings; for mr butterfield liked the good things of this life, and wished his friends to enjoy them also. didn't i tuck in. i often afterwards thought of that luncheon; it presented itself to me in my dreams; i recollected it with longing affection during my waking hours. i helped myself to two or three glasses of wine to wash down the food. with a sigh of regret i felt that i could eat no more. i then stowed myself away in a comfortable arm-chair in the corner of the room, and very naturally fell fast asleep. i had a dim recollection of seeing aunt deb come into the room to look for me, but as i didn't speak, she left the room supposing that i had gone out of the house to take another walk. when i awoke martha was laying the things for dinner. "why, master cheveley, miss deborah has been asking for you for ever so long," she said. "you had better go and see her, for she's in a dreadful taking, i can assure you." i knew aunt deb too well to venture into her presence under the circumstances if i could avoid it, so i ran into my room, washed my hands, and brushed my hair, so as to present myself in a respectable state before mr butterfield. i watched for him till he went into the drawing-room, and then followed. aunt deb had not yet come down. i was thinking of asking him about my going to sea on board the "emu." he didn't give me the opportunity, but he at once questioned me as to what i had seen in the city. "you think liverpool a very fine place?" he remarked. "yes, sir, a very fine place indeed," i answered boldly. but when he came to inquire where i had been, and what part i admired most, i was nonplussed, and had nothing to say about the matter. my thoughts had been entirely occupied with the docks and the shipping. "ah, yes, liverpool has become an important port; superior to bristol, or hull; and some day we shall be equal to london, we flatter ourselves." i thought this would be a good opportunity of telling him how fond i was of the sea, and that i hoped he would let me go on board one of his ships, when just at that moment aunt deb entered. she began scolding me for having absented myself so long from her, but mr butterfield interfered. "the lad naturally wishes to see a new place, where he may spend some time perhaps. so don't be too hard on him, cousin deborah." we soon went down to dinner, and aunt deb said no more. i ate as many of the good things as i could, but after so large a luncheon i had less room than usual. mr butterfield placed my moderation to the score of my modesty. "come, come, lad, eat away," he said. "these things were given to us for our benefit, and can't fail to do us good." i at last had to give in, letting martha take away my plate with a large portion of its contents untasted. i should have liked to have remained to talk to mr butterfield when aunt deb retired, but she insisted on my coming up, afraid that the old gentleman in his hospitality would be giving me more wine than would be good for me. i had thus no opportunity of talking to him alone. the following morning i begged leave to go out again. mr butterfield willingly consented, though aunt deb observed that i should be better employed at home summing and writing. "he'll have enough of that by-and-by. in the meantime he can learn his way about the city," said the old gentleman. i thanked him very much, and he went away to his office. going into my room, i bethought me that i would take my cutter down to the river and give her a sail. it took me some time, however, to step the mast and set up the rigging. as soon as this was done, not thinking it necessary to see aunt deb first, i started off, carrying the little vessel under my arm. the boys in the streets, i thought, admired her exceedingly. it made me feel that i was a nautical character amid the seafaring population. though i didn't exactly recollect the way, after making various turnings, i found myself at the quay where the "emu" lay. "now," i thought to myself, "i'll go on board, and if i can't see the captain, i'll have a talk with the crew. they'll perceive by my cutter that i'm not a greenhorn, and i can offer to show them what i know by explaining how i sail her." with more confidence than i had felt on the previous day, i walked up the plank. i could nowhere see the captain, nor any other officer, and therefore turned towards the spot where the men were at work taking in the cargo. "well, boy, what do you want?" inquired a rough, surly-looking old seaman, who was handling a large case? "i have come to see the ship; and as i like her, i think of getting the captain to take me as an officer," i answered, with as much confidence as i could assume. "officer!" the old sailor answered, with a hoarse laugh. "you an officer, jackanapes; why we should want a cow on board to give you milk." "what is your name?" i asked, determined not to be put down. "gregory growles," answered the seaman. "well, look, gregory growles, if that's your name, i understand sailing this cutter as well as you do," and i began to explain how i was wont to navigate her according to riddle's instructions. i then announced the names of the ropes and sails. gregory growles, with his arms akimbo, and several of the other seamen, stood listening to me, evidently highly amused. when i had finished, they all laughed in chorus. "you know the abc, maybe, of seamanship; but, look here, just tell us the names of some of the ropes and spars of this ship." i looked about exceedingly puzzled, for i could not give the name of one of them. "i thought so," said growles. "you had better go to school again, and learn a little more before you think of topping the officer over us." "i only want to become a midshipman," i said; "i could soon learn when i got to sea." "we have no midshipmen on board the `emu,'" said growles. "come, youngster, clear out of this, for we have to go on working, and you're in the way." abashed, i retired to the after part of the deck, followed by the derisive laughter of the seamen, who went on, as before, hauling and hoisting in the cargo. i walked about, examining various things on the deck, and looking into the cabin, and thinking what a fine place it was, for it was handsomely furnished, and how i should like to be its occupant. no one took any further notice of me, and at last i unwillingly returned on shore. i looked out for a place to sail my vessel, but the landing-place was crowded with boats, and it struck me that if i let her go i should find it impossible to recover her. i had, therefore, to carry her about all day without any advantage, and my arms ached, though i held her sometimes under one arm and sometimes under another, and occasionally placed her on my shoulder. several boys asked me what i would take for her, and one or two begged that i would let them examine her. at last one biggish fellow snatched her off my shoulder. i tried to recover her, but another tripped me up. getting up, i made chase, but the thief, turning sharp round the corner, disappeared. i shouted in vain for him to come back. my cutter was gone. there was no one to whom i could appeal for help--no watchman, no constable. some persons i met said it was a great shame, but they didn't help me. others only laughed, and observed that such things were very common. i waited about. a number of boys joined me and shouted "thief! thief!" but, as may be supposed, i could not find him, and had to return home very disconsolate at my loss. that evening, much to my satisfaction, aunt deb had a bad headache, and could not make her appearance at dinner. this gave me an opportunity of speaking to mr butterfield. "i should be happy to further your views, my lad, but i have promised your aunt deborah to take you into my counting-house, and i have only been waiting a day or two until a boy has left, whose place i intend you to fill. you'll begin low down, but by perseverance and industry you will, in the course of a few years, rise to a respectable position. many lads fancy they would like to go to sea, and bitterly repent it afterwards. you will have a far more comfortable life on shore, and the position of an english merchant is as honourable a one as a man could desire to follow." these remarks didn't at all suit my taste. i thanked mr butterfield, but told him that my heart had long been set on going to sea, and that i didn't expect to be happy in any other calling. "that's what many lads say, but afterwards find out that they have made a very great mistake," he remarked. "but they don't all do that, or we should have no sailors," i argued. i then told him that i had been on board the "emu," which, i concluded, would sail in a few days, and that i should much like to go in her. "she's not my vessel," he answered, "though i know something of the captain. he is a good sailor, though he is not the man under whom i should wish to place a lad. however, when your aunt is better, i'll talk the matter over with her; and should she consent, then i'll see what can be done." i fancied that i had made some way; and, in spite of the loss of my cutter, i went to bed more contented in my mind than i had been for some time. chapter nine. mr butterfield's office--my future prospects--i again visit the "emu"--aunt deb's good advice--i rebel--all sailors are not beggars-- my next visit to the "emu"--shall i stow myself away?--conflicting ideas--looking over the ship, i meet with an accident--once more a prisoner--the hold of the "emu"--not a stowaway--my possible fate--no bones broken--"the blue above and the blue below"--perseverance conquers all difficulties--on the high seas--sea-sick--on the kelson-- i give way to despair--"help! help!"--the yarn of sam switch's ghost--i feel the pangs of hunger--i review my past life--never say die--water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink--my efforts meet with some success. aunt deb made her appearance at the breakfast-table, but nothing was said about my plans for the future. as soon as i had finished, mr butterfield, looking at his watch, told me to run out for a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, and said that when i came back he would take me down with him to his office. "i shall not keep you there," he remarked; "you will afterwards come back to your aunt, who will probably find something for you to do." i obeyed, and as soon as i got out of the house i ran off in the direction of the country. i wanted to see green fields and hedges and trees. i enjoyed the fresh air and exercise, and was longer away than i intended. on my return i found mr butterfield waiting for me at the door. "punctuality is the soul of business. remember that," he remarked. "you have kept me waiting for ten minutes. come along." i begged pardon, saying that the time had passed faster than i had expected. he walked along with sedate steps, for he was not given to rapid locomotion, his gold-headed cane heavily striking the ground as he went. he had not spoken since we left the house, and i felt that i was passing from the position of a guest to that of a junior clerk. still, not being overwhelmed with bashfulness at any time, and as i was anxious to know what had passed between him and aunt deb regarding my future career, i looked up and asked him. "your aunt will communicate her wishes to you," he answered. "you will see presently the sort of work you will be expected to perform in my office. let me tell you that many lads would consider themselves fortunate if they had the opportunity i am ready to give you." he said no more. his manner, it struck me, was far less cordial than it had been, and i could not help thinking that i was indebted for this to aunt deb, who had probably given him an account of my adventures at home. now i am bound to say that i consider mr butterfield was right; but i did not think so at the time. we at length reached water street, and entered the office of tallow, candlemas, and co. it was a dingy-looking place, consisting of a small outer room, the walls covered over with posters announcing the sailing of ships and other information. in it was an enclosed space, behind which sat on high stools two venerable-looking clerks, busily engaged in writing. speaking a few words to them, mr butterfield passed on to an inner room, where, at a long desk running from one side to the other were arranged eight or ten persons of various ages, all scribbling away as fast as their pens could move. their thin and pallid faces did not prepossess me in favour of the life they were leading. at the farther end, in a darker corner, was a vacant stool. "that will be your place, richard, when you come here to-morrow or next day," said mr butterfield. "you will gradually rise, till one day i may hope to see you one of my head clerks." i looked askance at the dark corner, and i then scanned the faces of the occupants of the other seats. i could say nothing likely to please mr butterfield, and i therefore kept silence. "you will begin work on monday. now go back to your aunt, who wishes to have you with her for the present." i longed to say, "i thought, sir, you were going to talk to my aunt about my going to sea;" but before i could speak, mr butterfield, turning round, walked into his private office and left me standing by myself and looking, i felt, very foolish. as i did not wish to undergo a long inspection from the younger clerks, who were peering at me from over the desks, i passed out, breathing more freely when i found myself in the open street. of course i ought to have returned home; but instead of that i made my way down to the docks to amuse myself as before, by looking at the vessels. i was not long in finding out the "emu." she was now considerably lower in the water, having apparently got most of her cargo on board, although there were still some bales and packages lying alongside ready to be shipped. i had a great longing to go on board and try to see the captain, and to ask him if he would take me. i could see no one, however, whom i could imagine to be the captain; and i therefore, after walking up and down the quay for some time, and looking at a number of other vessels, guessed by my hunger that it must be near luncheon-time, and took my way homewards. on entering the house i met aunt deb, who was coming down into the dining-room, by which i knew that i was not late. "i am glad to find that you are more punctual than usual, dick," she said. "you will soon, i hope, become regular in your habits. follow the example of so excellent a man as my cousin, godfrey butterfield. you are pleased with your excellent prospects in his office, i hope?" to this remark i made no reply, but said, "i thought, aunt deb, that mr butterfield was going to speak to you about my wish to go to sea. he told me that he would do so, and that he would have no difficulty in getting me on board a ship." "fiddle-de-dee about going to sea!" replied aunt deb. "my cousin did speak to me on the subject, and i told him at once that i would never consent to your doing so, and that i felt sure your father would not do so either. what! to throw away the brilliant prospects which through my means have been opened out to you? what! desert your family and me, your affectionate aunt, and the kind friend who so generously consents to become your patron from the regard he has for me? what! go and run all the risks of a turbulent ocean, and perhaps lose your life, and cause sorrow to those who have an affection for you, merely to gratify an insane fancy? no, dick--no! i told my cousin godfrey butterfield, at once, that if he had any regard for me he would never encourage you in so mad a proceeding; and i begged him, as soon as possible, to give you employment in his office, so as to turn your mind away from the silly ideas you have entertained." "i'm not at all obliged to you, aunt deb, for what you have done," i said, my choler rising. "it was no idle fancy in my mind, but my fixed resolution to become a sailor; and a sailor i'll be, notwithstanding your opposition." "hoity-toity!" exclaimed aunt deb, who was not accustomed to be set at defiance. "you will understand, dick, that you were placed in my charge, and must obey my directions; and that i intend you to go into mr butterfield's office, and to work hard there, so that you may do credit to my recommendation some day, and render support to your family. in case of your father's death, what would become of you all? i, who have devoted my life to your family, should have the charge of their maintenance." "sailors are not beggars, and i should very likely make as much money by going to sea as by any other means." "fiddle-de-dee," again exclaimed aunt deb; "eat your luncheon, and don't talk nonsense." as i was very hungry, i obeyed her, but at first i felt as if the food i put in my mouth would choke me. ultimately, however, i was able to get on as well as usual. aunt deb's behaviour to me during the next few days did not contribute to reconcile me to my proposed lot. she kept me working at writing and adding up long columns of figures, not failing to scold me when i made mistakes. i pictured to myself my future dreary life--to have to sit in a dull office all day, and then to have to come home with no other society than that of mr butterfield and aunt deb as long as she remained at liverpool. i knew nobody at liverpool, and did not see how i was to form any acquaintances of my own. after luncheon, on saturday, aunt deb, in consideration, she said, of my diligence, allowed me to go and take a walk by myself, as she felt indisposed to leave the house. i very naturally wandered down to the docks to have a look at the "emu" before she sailed, and to inspect any other vessels that might take my fancy. i much missed my cutter yacht, as i found there existed places where i could have sailed her. i had spent some time in walking about, when i again got back to the quay where the "emu" was moored. as i was pacing to and fro, i thought of the high stool in the dark corner of mr butterfield's office; the dreary, dreary days i was doomed to sit there; the dull, dull evenings in the society of aunt deb and her cousin, and the not more lively sundays, with attendances at three services, for aunt deb was very strict in this respect. hapless fate, with nothing better to expect than a head clerkship. the business i knew i should detest. then i thought of the free life on the ocean, the strange lands i should visit, the curious people i should see, and the liberty i fancied i should enjoy. as i had had a fair education, and knew that i could master navigation, i expected without difficulty to work my way up till i became an officer, and then to have the command of such a fine ship myself, just such a one as the "emu." but how was i to get to sea? mr butterfield positively refused to obtain an appointment for me without the consent of aunt deb and that of my father, and i was confident such would not be given. would the captain take me without further introduction, if i should offer myself? i had sense enough to know that that was very unlikely. suddenly the idea seized me, should i stow myself away on board, and not appear until the ship had sailed out to sea? i had a notion, notwithstanding, that this would not be a wise proceeding. i should certainly not be treated as an officer, and should very probably be sent forward to become a drudge to the crew. still, what other chance had i to get to sea? i thought and thought. well, i'll go on board at all events. the blue peter was flying at the masthead, besides which there was a board announcing that she would sail with the morning's tide. it was the custom, in those days especially, for merchantmen to sail on a sunday. the stages leading on board had been removed, with the exception of a single plank to the gangway. my longing to go on board increasing, i indulged it. none of the crew were moving about aft. the officers, if any were on board, were, i supposed, in their cabins. i looked forward, where i saw a few of the crew, who were preparing for their supper. the cook just then made his appearance from the caboose with a large bowl containing a smoking mess of some sort. i had never been below on board ship. i thought i should like to look round and see what sort of place the hold was. the tackle which had been used for lowering the cargo was not yet unrove, and hung over the main hatchway, which had been left open for stowing some goods which, as it turned out, had not yet arrived. seeing that no one was observing me, i seized the rope, and swung myself down till my head disappeared below the coamings of the hatchway. now at this place space had been left to permit of the lower hold being reached. the rope i grasped was not as long as i thought it was, and suddenly the end slipped through my fingers, and down i fell, hurting myself so much that i was unable to rise. afraid of calling out for assistance, i lay there for some time, till the pain increased so much that i fainted away. when i came to my senses, what was my horror to find myself in total darkness, and on lifting up my hand as high as i could reach i discovered that some planks had been placed across the aperture through which i had fallen, and i was shut in. though i had been doubtful about acting the stowaway, here i was, shut up against my will. had i carried out the idea which occurred to me, i intended to have done it in a very different fashion, as i expected to find some comfortable place where i might obtain air, if not light and access to the store-room and water-casks. i had no notion of running the risk of starving myself, having had sufficient experience of the uncomfortable sensations accompanying inanition when i was shut up in the mill. i had thought myself very badly off then, but i was now in a much worse condition, and suffering great pain, and, as far as it appeared to me, with more than one limb broken. i tried to move, to ascertain whether this was the case. first i moved one arm, and then another. they were sound, though they hurt me. then i tried my right leg, and then my left. they were certainly unfractured. i was doubtful about one of my ankles. it pained me more than any other part of my body. i drew it up and felt it all over. it was tender to the touch, but none of the bones appeared to be out of their places. this examination occupied some time. i did not call out for fear of the consequences. the pain which had hitherto prevented me thinking about what would follow now decreased, and i began to consider the awkward position in which i was placed. i tried to persuade myself that i had not positively intended to act the part of a stowaway. i could not but know that i had thought about it, yet i had only gone below for the sake of seeing the hold of a ship. i could say that when i was discovered, with a tolerably clear conscience, so i fancied. should i be discovered? that was the question. for what i could tell i might be entombed beneath the cargo and be unable to get out till i was starved to death. the thought was too dreadful for contemplation, and i tried to put it from me. i remembered how i had escaped from the old mill and the way i got out without any one to help me. "perseverance conquers all difficulties," i said to myself as i said then. my situation in some respects was very similar, only on that occasion i had expected, on obtaining my freedom, to meet my friends, and now i should find myself confronted by a rough crew and an irate captain, who might send me on shore, and, for what i could tell, have me put into jail if there was time for doing so. i had, at first, no idea of the size of the place in which i was shut up. i only knew that i could touch the boards above my head by extending my hand when sitting upright. i thereby knew that there would not be room for me to stand. i now crawled about and ascertained that i was in a tolerably wide place, extending fore and aft and from side to side. i was, in fact, in the lower hold or bottom of the ship, far, far down beneath a mass of cargo. how long i had been there was also a mystery to me. i might have remained in a fainting state only for a few minutes, or hours might have passed. i knew that i began to feel hungry, though i had had an ample luncheon--for on saturdays mr butterfield dined early--which showed that i could not be very much hurt, and that i must have been some considerable time on board. i had, however, as i intended to stay out till dark, put a couple of buns, which i had bought at a pastrycook's, into my pocket. i refrained, as yet, from eating them, not knowing how long i might have to remain below. i thought that it must now be night, and as i supposed the crew would be asleep forwards and the captain and officers aft, they would not hear me, even if i shouted out at the top of my voice. i therefore concluded that it would be foolish to exhaust myself uselessly. "i'll wait for daylight, when they're moving about, and i shall have a better chance of making myself heard," i thought. the place where i lay was dry and clean, though it smelt horribly of tar and other odours from which the hold of a vessel is seldom free, and was besides disagreeably close. after a considerable period had elapsed, and when the pain had much gone off, a drowsiness stole over me, and having got into a comfortable position, i fell fast asleep. i think i must have awoke at intervals, for i remember hearing a curious rippling sound beneath me. it must have had a lulling effect, for i dropped off again. the next time i woke i heard not only a rippling sound, but a dashing of water against the sides, and presently the ship began to pitch slowly and gently. the idea at once occurred to me that i must be at sea. if so, it was where i had long wished to be, though the circumstances accompanying my entrance into a naval life differed greatly from such as i had intended them to be. could it then be daylight?--if so, i had been much longer below than i had calculated on. the ship, i remembered, was to sail with the morning tide. that might have meant one or two o'clock, for how the tides ran i didn't know. there must have been time, at all events, for her to get away from the wharf, and to descend the mersey. in that case the day must now be well advanced. probably, i thought, the ship has had a fair wind, and with a favourable tide must have got rapidly along. i could not sing:-- "i'm on the sea, i'm on the sea, i am where i would ever be; with the blue above, and the blue below, in silence wheresoe'er i go." silence there certainly was, but instead of the blue above and the blue below, there was pitchy darkness. the long sleep and the perfect rest had taken away all the pain which i had at first felt, except an uncomfortable sensation in one of my ankles. when i was fairly aroused i again began to feel very hungry, so i ate one of my buns. i could have bolted the other, but i was becoming wonderfully prudent, and i knew that if i did so i might have nothing else to eat. all this time i had remained perfectly silent, for the reasons i have before given. i had become accustomed to the atmosphere, and i suppose that some fresh air must have come through some unseen apertures which enabled me to breathe without difficulty. it was sufficiently close, however, to make me feel drowsy, and having eaten the bun, i again dropped off to sleep. i awoke with a horrible nausea, such as i had never before experienced. the sensations i experienced in the old vault were nothing to it. the air there, as i mentioned, was perfectly pure, besides which i was then upon solid ground; now i felt an unpleasant movement, sometimes a sort of plunging forward, then a rise and fall, and then a rolling from side to side, though being close to the keel i didn't experience this so much as if i had been on deck. it was quite sufficient, however, to make me feel terribly sick. oh how wretched i was! didn't i repent of having gone down into the hold. i would ten thousand times sooner have been perched on the highest stool in the darkest corner of mr butterfield's counting-house than have been where i was. i was too miserable to cry out. i only wished that the ship would strike a rock and go down, and thus terminate my misery. i need not describe what happened. for hours i was prostrate; but at length the feeling of sickness wore off, and i again became not only hungry but thirsty in the extreme. i would have given anything for a draught of water; but how was i to obtain it. one thing i felt was, that if i could not i should die. though i was hungry i could not masticate the smallest portion of my bun, but i tried to arouse myself and began once more to move about. as i did so my hand came in contact with what appeared to be a large cask. i felt it all over. yes, i was certain of it. it must be one of the ship's water-casks stowed in the lower tier. i thought i might possibly find some outlet through which i might make my way into the upper part of the ship, but none could i discover. i was, in reality, right down on the kelson, though i didn't know what it was called at the time. it is just above the keel, the object of it being to strengthen the vessel lengthways, and to confine the floors in their proper position. it is placed above the cross-pieces and half-floors, and a bolt is driven right through all into the main keel. the half-floors, it must be understood, are not united in the centre, but longitudinally on either side. of course i was not aware of this at the time. all that i knew was, that i was down in the bottom of the ship in a horrible dark confined space, where i should be starved to death or suffocated could i not find some way out. again and again i made the attempt, but in every direction met with obstructions. stretching out my arms, i found i could touch each side of my prison. resolute as i had hitherto been, i at length gave way to despair, and shrieked and shouted for help. i bawled till my voice was hoarse and my strength exhausted; then i sat down in a state of apathy, resigned to my fate. but the love of life soon returned. i got up and crawled to the further end of my prison-house, where i met with some stout boarding which effectually prevented my further progress. after this i turned round and crawled to the other end along the kelson, but was stopped by a strong bulkhead. once more i stopped to listen, half expecting to hear the sailors making their way down to the hold to ascertain whence my shouts and cries proceeded, but no sound except the creaking of the bulkheads reached my ears. "i won't give in yet," i said to myself; "perhaps the crew are on deck or in the fore part of the ship, and the officers in their cabins, and my voice could not reach them; but somebody must, before long, be coming into the hold, and then, if i shout at the top of my voice, i cannot fail to be heard." the question, however, was, when would any one come down? i had no means of ascertaining, though the steward must be getting up provisions, or the boatswain or carpenter stores from their store-room, and yet no sound might reach me, or perhaps my voice might not penetrate as far as where they were at work. still, there was nothing like trying. placing my hands to my sides, i shouted out, "help, help! i'm shut up below. i shall die if you don't let me out. oh, do come, sailors. don't you hear me? help! help! help!" then i gave way to a loud roar of agony and despair. after this i stopped for a few minutes listening as before, then putting my hands to my mouth, as if by so doing i should increase the loudness of my voice, i shouted with all the strength of my lungs. suddenly the idea occurred to me that the sailors would hear my voice, but not knowing whence it proceeded would fancy the ship was haunted and would be in a dreadful fright. strange as it may seem the thought amused me, and i gave way to an hysterical laugh. "now i'll warrant not one of them will like to come below on account of the supposed ghost. they will be spinning all sorts of yarns to each other about hobgoblins appearing on board." old riddle had spun several such yarns, and they came to my recollection. one was about a boy named sam smitch. sam was the dirtiest fellow on board, and could never understand what cleanliness meant. he was constantly, therefore, being punished. that didn't mend his ways, and he was a nuisance to all the crew, who, of course, gave him a frequent taste of the rope's-end and bullied him in all sorts of ways. at last sam declared that he would jump overboard and end his misery. the men laughed at him, and said that he hadn't the courage to do it. "haven't i?" said sam, "you'll see that i'll do it, and my blood will be upon your heads." still none would believe that sam would do away with himself, till one morning his jacket and hat were found in the head, and when the ship's company was mustered at divisions, sam didn't answer to his name. he was searched for everywhere, but could not be discovered, and at length it became very evident to all that sam must have put his threat into execution and thrown himself overboard during the night. whether any of the men recollected that it was their cruelty that had driven him to this act of desperation i can't say, but probably it didn't much trouble their consciences; they only considered he was a fool for his pains. two or three days passed away, when sam smitch was well-nigh forgotten. one night, however, one of the carpenter's crew was going along the lower-deck, when he saw a figure in white gliding past him in the distance. the figure for a moment turned its head, when, as the light of the lantern fell on it, he recognised the face of sam smitch. it was more than his nerves could stand, and he bolted like a shot up the ladder. night after night some one of the crew had a similar occurrence to relate, till one and all were convinced that the ship was haunted by sam smitch's ghost. at last the men, gallant fellows as they were, were afraid to go below even when sent on duty. many of them swore that even when in their hammocks they had seen sam smitch's ghost gliding noiselessly about the deck. the whole crew were in a very nervous state, and many were actually placed on the sick list by the doctor. at last the circumstance reached the ear of the purser, who happened not to be a believer in ghosts. "whew!" he exclaimed, when he heard it; "that accounts for the mysterious disappearance of some of my stores." he informed the first lieutenant, who placed a watch in the neighbourhood where the ghost had appeared. the next night, in bodily form, the ghost of sam smitch was captured, dirtier than ever, but yet fat and sleek, though rather pallid. not, however, till he was brought on deck, to be well scrubbed under the superintendence of the master at arms, were the crew convinced that the ghost was no ghost at all, but that dirty sam, fool as he was, had been bamboozling them effectually, while he enjoyed his ease and plenty to eat below with nothing to do. it is curious that this yarn should have occurred to me, but i suppose it did so from my case being somewhat similar to that of sam smitch, only he had voluntarily stowed himself away and had plenty to eat, while i was shut up against my will without a particle of food, except the buns i had in my pockets. it served also to draw me for a few minutes from the thoughts of my own misfortunes. the exertion of shouting increased the thirst i had already begun to feel. i was at the same time very hungry, but when i again tried to eat a piece of my remaining bun i could not get down the mouthful. i became rapidly more and more thirsty. the sea-sickness had worn off, but i felt more thoroughly uncomfortable in my inside than i had ever before done in my life. if any of my readers have at any time suffered from thirst, they will understand my sensations better than i can describe them. my mouth and throat felt like a dust-bin, and my tongue like the end of a burnt stick. i moved my mouth about in every possible way to try and produce some saliva, but so dry were my lips that they only cracked in the attempt. i had scarcely hitherto believed that i should die, but now so terrible were my sensations that i didn't expect to live many hours unless i should be released. i thought over my past life. the numberless wrong and foolish things i had done came back to my recollection, while not a single good deed of any sort occurred to me. i thought of how often i had vexed my father and mother, how impudent i had been to aunt deb, how frequently unkind and disagreeable to my brothers and sisters. i tried to be very sorry for everything, but all the time i was conscious that i was not as sorry as i ought to have been. exhausted by my efforts as well as by my hunger and thirst, i lay stretched upon the kelson till i had, i suppose, somewhat recovered. once more i said to myself, "it will not do to give in; out of this i must get." i managed again to get on my feet, feeling about in all directions. as i was doing so my hands touched what appeared to me like the side of a large cask. i was certain of it. i could make out the hoops which went round the cask, and the intervening spaces. suddenly it occurred to me that it was one of the water-casks of the ship stowed in the lower tier. i put my ear to it, and as the ship rolled i could hear the water move about. i felt, however, very much like the fellow i had read about at school, who was placed when dying of thirst in the midst of water which remained up to his chin, but into which he could never get his mouth. here was the water, but how i was to reach it was the question. i felt about in the hope that some moisture might be coming through; even a few drops would help to cool my parched tongue, though i could have drunk a gallon without stopping, but the cask was strong and perfectly dry outside. i considered whether it would be possible to knock a hole in the cask, but i had no instrument for the purpose, and should not have had strength to use it even if i had found it. it was indeed tantalising to hear the water washing to and fro, and yet not be able to obtain a drop. by chance i happened to put my hands in my pockets, which always contained a knife, bits of string, and all sorts of things. suddenly i recollected that i had been making a stand for my cutter before she was stolen, and that i had had a gimlet to bore holes in the wood. to my joy i found that i had fixed a cork on the end of it and had thrust it into my pocket. there it was. i might, by boring a hole in the cask, reach the water. how anxiously i clutched the gimlet. how fearful i was that in attempting to bore a hole i might break it. feeling as far as i could judge for the centre of the cask, i began boring a hole, using the greatest care. at length the gimlet went right through. as i drew it forth i put it to my mouth. it was wet. how deliciously cool it felt. i then applied my mouth to the hole, but bitter was my disappointment when no water came out. i sucked and sucked at the hole, and then i blew into it, but with no satisfactory result. i was again almost driven to despair. i tried the hole with the gimlet. it passed through it, and the iron was again wet. "what a fool!" i exclaimed, just then recollecting that to get liquor out of a cask two holes are necessary, the one to serve as a vent-hole to let in the air and the other to let out the liquid. i accordingly set to work and began boring a hole as high as i could reach above the former one. i soon accomplished my task, and as the air rushed in the water from the lower hole rushed out. i eagerly applied my mouth to it and sucked and sucked away until i was almost choked. still i didn't feel as if i had had enough. how delicious was the sensation as it wetted my lips, moistened my mouth, and flowed down my parched throat. i felt very much like a pitcher being filled at a fountain. the hole was small, so that only a thin stream came out. it was fortunate for me that it was no larger, or i believe that i should have killed myself by over-drinking. not until i had withdrawn my mouth did i recollect that i must find some means of stopping the flow of water. feeling in my pocket, i found some pieces of wood, one of which i thought i could form into a plug. in doing so i nearly cut my fingers. after a time i succeeded, and shutting up my knife, i knocked the plug i had made in with the handle. the vent-hole was not so important to stop, so i let it alone. i was now able to eat my remaining bun, though i recollected that it was the last article of food i possessed. i afterwards took another pull at the water-cask. i had no longer any fear of suffering from thirst, which was some comfort, but i had serious apprehensions about the means of obtaining food, should i fail to make my escape from my prison. i was, however, wonderfully hopeful. i remembered how i had fed myself on the musty flour in the old mill. i kept up my spirits, in the hopes of finding something to eat among the cargo. i was aware that few edibles were exported from england, our teeming population consuming the whole produce of the country, and as much more as they can get. i could not tell all this time whether it was night or day, as i had no means of calculating how long i had been in the ship's hold. had i been told that a week or more had passed, i should not have been surprised, the time appeared to me so long. i now began to feel excessively sleepy, and creeping about until i discovered where the planks, if not soft, were less rough than in other parts, i lay down, and in a few seconds was fast asleep. chapter ten. dreamland--a vision of home--strange proceedings of my brother ned-- roughish weather--i make a slight progress--a ray of light--the cargo--the wooden case--a disappointment--in darkness again--a welcome draught--my bed--my slumbers interrupted by ugly visitors--i determine to catch some rats--my further efforts at escape--my ill-success--my conscience troubles me, but i succeed in quieting it--my visions-- tantalising aunt deb and mr butterfield--the conference of the rats-- their opinion of mankind--their grievances and proposed remedies--a sneeze and its effects. my slumbers were far from tranquil. i think, indeed, that sometimes i must have been half awake, for i was convinced that creatures were running over me; but when i put my hand out they escaped. then i began to dream, and i fancied i was at home again in my own room. how i got there i could not tell. suddenly my brother jumped out of bed, and began scrambling about the room, overturning the chairs and table, and then got behind the chest of drawers, and sent them down with a loud crash to the ground, laughing heartily as he did so. it was very unlike his mode of proceeding, as he was the quietest and best conducted member of the family. when he got tired of this sort of amusement he began pulling the bed about, and lifting it from side to side. naturally i expected to be tumbled out. i begged him to let me alone, as i had gone through a great deal of fatigue, and wished to be quiet. but he would not listen to me, and only shook the bed more violently than before. losing patience, i was going to jump up and seize him, when i awoke. i found that the movement was real, for the ship was rolling and pitching more heavily than she had before done, and i could hear the bulkheads creaking, and the timbers complaining, and the heels of the mast working, and the dull sound of the water dashing against the sides of the ship. there was still less chance than ever of being heard should i again shout out, so i refrained from exhausting my strength by the exercise of my voice. so much did the stout ship tumble about that i could not attempt to make another exploring expedition. i therefore lay still, waiting till the ship would again be quiet. i didn't know then that a storm sometimes lasts for days, and that i might be starved to death before it was over. though the bun and draught of cold water had somewhat satisfied my appetite, i again began to feel hungry, though not so hungry as i might have been without them. having nothing to eat, i went off again to sleep. when i once more roused up i began to think of the astonishment and alarm my disappearance would cause to aunt deb and mr butterfield. would they have any suspicion of what had become of me? perhaps they would fancy that i had fallen off the quay into the river; but then aunt deb would most likely insinuate that such was not to be my case. i confess that any anxiety she might feel didn't trouble me, but i regretted the anxiety my disappearance would cause my parents, and brothers and sisters at home. however i could not help it, so i put the thought from me. hunger at last induced me to make another attempt to escape, in spite of the way the ship was tumbling about. i fancied that one of the bulkheads against which i had come was not so stout and strong as the others. i thought i would try and force my way through, but with only my hands how was that to be done. whilst creeping about i shoved my legs or arms into any opening i came across. in doing so i kicked against some object which moved. i worked my foot on till i came to the end of it, and then contrived to draw from under one of the casks what proved to be a handspike, which had probably on some occasion dropped down into the hold. i can't express the satisfaction the possession of this instrument gave me. i felt it all over, and tried its strength by a blow on the kelson, for at first i was afraid it might be rotten. it proved sound. armed with it i returned to the bulkhead, against which i determined to make my attack. standing as firmly as i could, i dealt blow after blow as high up as i was able to reach. i suspected that had it not been for the noises which were constantly issuing from all parts of the ship the sound of my blows would have been heard. at last, to my joy, i felt something give way. this encouraged me to proceed. on feeling with my hands i found that i was working against a small upright door, which opened, i concluded, into another part of the hold. i redoubled my efforts, and getting in the handspike worked away till the door yielded still more. this further encouraged me to proceed, but the operation took me a long time. occasionally no progress was made, but, like the dropping of water on a hard rock, ultimately prevailed. now one nail was drawn, now another, and i was sure that the door was giving way. a strong man would with one or two wrenches have forced it open. weak as i was for want of food, it now seems surprising to me that my exertions should have produced any effect. i had begun at the top. by working the handspike lower and lower down i by degrees tore away the door, or as i may more properly say the panel, as there were no hinges that i could discover. i was exerting all my strength in another effort when it gave way, and down i fell with my head almost through the aperture i had made. a faint light which came down from an opening far-away revealed the sort of place i was in. had i not been so long accustomed to darkness i don't think that its strength would have been sufficient for me to discover the objects around. i made out several bales, cases, and packages, stowed tightly together; but still i failed to see any outlet. after recovering from my fall, by which i was somewhat hurt, i crept out, endeavouring to move some of the huge packages; but i did so in vain. i tried one and then another, but they did not yield to the utmost efforts i could make. though i could not move the packages, i determined to try if any of them contained something edible. i first felt the packages. i was convinced they were bales of canvas or loose cloth. at last i came upon a wooden case. this i hoped might prove to be full of biscuits or hams. i accordingly got out my knife, expecting by patience to make a hole sufficiently large to admit my hand. as i was completely in the dark i had to be very cautious not to cut myself or break my knife, an accident which i knew was very likely to occur, i cut out, therefore, only a small piece at a time. then i felt with my left hand to ascertain how i had got on. the case was very thick, and it must have taken me a couple of hours or more before i could make a hole an inch square. even then i was not through it. i cut and cut away, till to my satisfaction my knife went through. i now made fast progress, and before long, as i ran in the blade it struck against a hard substance. still i went on, and at last found to my bitter regret that the case contained iron goods of some sort. in spite of all the care i had taken i had much blunted my knife, and i was afraid i might not be able to make a hole in any other case i might find. i was ready to cry with vexation, but it would be of no use to do that, so i shut up my knife until i could discover some promising package to attack. i felt about in vain for another case. by this time the faint light i had observed had faded away, and i thus knew that evening had come on. i had had only two buns all this time. unless i could get some food i fancied that i must die. though i had nothing to eat i had plenty to drink, and to refresh myself i returned to the part of the ship out of which i had clambered. i soon discovered the water-cask, to which, pulling out the plug, i eagerly applied my mouth. the huge draught of water i swallowed greatly refreshed me, and prevented me feeling the pangs of hunger. i now went back once more to that part of the hold to which i had just gained access. feeling about, i came upon a piece of canvas, and i thought to myself that it would somewhat add to my comfort could i make use of it to sleep on. i dragged it out, and found that it was of sufficient size for my purpose. the exertions i had made had greatly exhausted my strength. i should have lain down on the packages, but when i felt about i found that they would not form an easy couch. there was no room to stretch myself, and they were secured by hard ropes. besides this i thought it possible that from the working of the ship some of them might slip out of their places, and come down upon me. i therefore dragged the piece of canvas into the lower part of the hold, and, stretching it under one of the water-casks, lay down to rest, intending before long to be up again and at work. i quickly dropped off to sleep, but was soon awakened by feeling some creatures crawling over me. that they were rats i could have no doubt, from their weight and the loud thud they made as they jumped off and on the kelson. i lay perfectly quiet. now i felt a fellow running up my leg--now scrambling over my body. but the rogues did not venture near my hands, their instinct telling them that they would have their necks wrung if they did so. my object was to catch one or two of them, and, disgusting as the idea would have been at any other time, i determined if i could to get hold of one forthwith to eat him. i had often grumbled at home of having on a monday morning to consume the dry bread which had remained over from the previous week. this system had commenced on the arrival of aunt deb, who would not allow a scrap of food to be lost, and she therefore persuaded my mother to give up the hot rolls which we previously had for breakfast on that day. it was the first of the many reforms introduced by our respected aunt which didn't endear her to us. the rats continued their gambols. now i felt a fellow perched on my leg--now he would run along my arm, and before i could lift up my hand he was off again. i kept my feet covered up in the canvas, for i had no wish to have them nibbling at my toes. somehow or other none of them came near my face, or i should certainly have caught one. at length i jumped up determined to make chase, but the moment i moved they were off in all directions. perhaps they thought they had a hungry enemy to deal with. i felt about everywhere, thinking i might find one of them stowed away under a cask, or in some hole or corner, but they had gone off, like imps of darkness as they were, at sunrise. i wished more than ever for light. i thought that i could then infinitely better have endured my confinement. fortunately for me, the ship must have been well cleaned out before the cargo was taken on board; and as she was as tight as a bottle, there was no bilge-water in her. had there been, i could not have existed so long far down in the depths of her hold. the chase after the rats had aroused me, and i felt less inclination than before to sleep, so i got up, resolved to have another search for food of some sort. i was not very particular. a pound of tallow candles would have been welcome as a meal. i did not stop to consider whether i could have digested them. they would at all events have allayed the gnawing of hunger. i remembered reading of people suffering from hunger when navigating the ocean in open boats, and how much a flying-fish, or a booby, or a lump of rancid grease, had contributed to keep body and soul together. but neither booby nor flying-fish could i possibly obtain. i tried to think of all the various articles with which the ship was likely to be freighted. during my numerous visits to the quay alongside which she had been moored, i had had the curiosity to try and ascertain the contents of the packages about being hoisted on board. i had in some places observed large packages of raisins, dried figs, and hams, and kegs of butter, and dried fish, but they were being landed. i had, however, seen no things of the same description alongside the "emu." still, unless i searched i was sure not to find; so, again crawling through the opening i had made, i once more began to feel my way about, and to try every package i could reach. the cases i felt were all rough and strong. the packages were covered with a stout material, showing the nature of the goods within. again i tried to move some of them so that i might make my way onwards, but i found as before that they were all firmly jammed in their proper positions. it was difficult to divine how the space i had got into had been left vacant. i might have spent two or three hours in the search, for of course i was obliged to move slowly and with the greatest caution to avoid knocking my head against any object, or falling down again and injuring myself. i no longer felt any pain from my sprained ankle. the enforced rest i had given it had contributed to restore it to use. how little those on deck supposed that a human being was creeping about so far down beneath their feet. before i gave in i tried another case, which seemed more promising than any of those i had hitherto discovered. i got out my knife. i carved and cut, feeling each little chip as i got it off; the case was of soft deal, so that i had no great difficulty in cutting it, but i did so without much hope of reaching food after all, and began to feel that i should have to fall back on raw rat for supper. that was if i could manage to catch the said rat. as before, i was disappointed. i got into the case, but could only feel a mass of hay serving to pack china or crockeryware of some sort. i had had hopes of success, and i could not help feeling much disappointed. the desire of sleep, which i had for some time thrown off, returned, and i crept back to the spot which i had selected for my couch. i wrapt myself up in the canvas, taking care to guard my feet, and putting one hand over my nose, and the other under me, so that the rats should not be able to nibble any of my extremities, which i thought it likely they would try to do. i hoped, however, that if they made the attempt i should be more successful in catching one. for some time hunger prevented me from going to sleep. again i thought over my past life--my childhood's days--the time i spent at school--my various companions--my chums and enemies--the tricks i had played--the canings and floggings i had received--for instruction at that period was imparted with a much larger proportion of the _fortiter in re_ than of the _suaviter in modo_. i used then to wish heartily to get away from school, but now i would very gladly have found myself back there again, even with the floggings in prospect, provided i could be sure of an ample breakfast, even though that breakfast might have consisted of larded bread and sugarless tea. though i had often had quarrels with my brothers and sisters, i would willingly have entered into a compact never to quarrel again. i would gladly have endured one of the longest lectures aunt deb had ever given me, repeated ten times over, always provided i was sure of obtaining a lump of bread and cheese after it. i would thankfully have listened to the driest of some of my father's dry sermons, with the expectation of obtaining a cold dinner on my return home from church. but i knew that regrets were unavailing, and that as i had made my bed so i must lie in it. i thought and thought till my thoughts became confused. the sound of voices struck on my ear. people were talking in whispers all round me, but i could not distinguish what they said. then even the consciousness of where i was faded from me, and i was fast asleep. even when i was sleeping i still suffered the painful sensations of hunger. i was tantalised by seeing in my dreams tables spread out, sometimes for breakfast, and at others for dinner or supper. my brothers and sisters were seated round them, laughing and talking merrily, and eating the good things with excellent appetite. once mr butterfield brought me a bowl of turtle-soup, and assuring me of its excellence, ladled it into his mouth before my eyes, and then disappeared with a hop, skip, and a jump. in the same way aunt deb appeared with a plate of crumpets, her favourite dish, and swallowed them one after the other, making eyes at me all the time they vanished down her throat. this done, she went off waltzing round and round the room, till she popped up the chimney. i cannot now remember one-tenth of the sensations which presented themselves to my imagination, showing, as i opine, that the stomach is in intimate connexion with the brain. among others, by-the-bye, i fancied i was wandering about the streets of liverpool, looking into cookshops and eating-houses, where people were engaged devouring food, which they in the most provoking manner held up to me on the ends of their forks, and instead of allowing me to take it, put it down their own throats. again all was a blank. silence reigned around; when suddenly a faint light streamed across the space before me, and i saw armies of rats tripping from all directions and assembling not five feet from my nose. over the casks and bales and packages they streamed in countless numbers, whisking their tails, leaping and tumbling over each other; some making somersaults, others playing at leapfrog. numbers climbed up from beneath the kelson; some came from the fore part of the ship, others from aft. "why, she must be perfectly overrun with the brutes," i thought. "i wonder how any human being can exist on board. it's surprising that they should never molest me." they were merry fellows. i could not help laughing at the curious antics they played. presently i heard a voice shout "silence!" a buck rat had seated himself on the top of a plank, which i had not before observed. much to my surprise he held a note-book in his hand, and opening it began to read. he was too keen-sighted, i suppose, to require spectacles, though how he managed to see in that light i could not tell. "silence!" he again cried; and he then shouted at the top of his voice, which was somewhat squeaky for an orator, "friends, romans, countrymen,--lend me your ears." i thought this a very odd way for a rat to commence an oration. as he spoke, all the rats, cocking up their ears, sat on their tails--some on the tops of the casks, others round and below me. "thank you for the attention you seem inclined to pay me, brother rats," he continued. "i wish to impress on your minds the serious fact that we, as a race, have been maligned, abused, hunted, and ill-treated in all varieties of ways. we have had traps set for us, and although we are not often caught in them, it serves to exhibit the malice of our enemies. adding insult to injury, they have, as i have only lately discovered, designated us in one of their popular dictionaries as troublesome vermin of the mouse kind. why should they not have described us as rodents of graceful form, endowed with wonderful sagacity and activity to which the smaller animal called the mouse is allied? these human beings have also the audacity to malign our character, to insinuate that we are fickle and undependable, besides being fierce and savage. thus, when one of their own race changes sides, they say that the wretched biped has `ratted,' not content with abusing us, they make savage war against our race by every cruel mode they can devise. they chase us with cats and dogs. not that we care much for the cats, who seldom venture into our haunts; but those horrid, keen-scented terriers, are, it must be confessed, justly to be dreaded. still more so are those cunning little ferrets which insinuate themselves into our abodes. the hatred of our enemies is exhibited in their use. nowhere are we safe from them. they make their way through the narrowest crevices, dive down to the lowest depths we can reach, disturb our domestic happiness, watch for us on our hunting expeditions, and rout us out of our securest strongholds. this fearful persecution is originated, aided, and abetted by our malignant persecutors, who, besides the traps i have already spoken of, even attempt our destruction by mixing poison in the food they leave in our way. we have only the melancholy satisfaction of creeping beneath the boardings of their rooms, there to die, and to allow our decaying bodies to fill the air with noxious odours. friends, romans, countrymen," he went on, repeating his former curious style of address, "we have met to devise means to assert our rights among created beings, and to revenge ourselves for the injuries we have for so many centuries of the world's history suffered. we are now decidedly in the majority on board this ship. we hold possession of her chief strongholds. her captain, officers, and crew exist only on sufferance; so then, brother rats and sister rats, young and old, as it is our glorious privilege to belong to a free republic, express your opinions without fear. it is my business to note and record them." directly the speaker ceased, even for a moment, the rats began frisking and whisking about, biting at one another's tails and leaping over one another, till he again shouted "silence!" "has no one any opinion to offer?" he asked. on this a grave-looking rat from the top of a cask answered, "yes, i have an idea, which i'll propound as soon as those frolicsome young fellows at the bottom of the hold will keep quiet." on this the president again cried out, "be quiet, you young rascals, or i'll singe your whiskers. now, brother snout, let us hear what your idea happens to be," he said, turning to the rat on the top of the cask. the last-mentioned rat accordingly spoke, curiously using the same expressions as the former one had done. "friends, romans, countrymen: we are resolved on revenge. revenge is sweet. is it not so?" to which all the rats, in chorus, shouted out "yes, yes." "but the mode in which we shall execute our vengeance is the question. now i have an idea--a bright idea. i propose that we should sharpen our teeth, and having sharpened them, that we should begin to gnaw a hole in the bottom of this ship. we can make our way, as we know by experience, through the stoutest cases. why should we not do so through whole planks? `perseverance conquers all difficulties.' it will undoubtedly take time, but if we all work together and with a will we may bore not only one hole, but a thousand holes, when to a certainty the water will rush in and carry the captain, officers, and crew, our cruel tyrants, to the bottom, and our vengeance will be complete. so, brother rats, is not mine a bright idea, a grand idea, a superb idea? who will second me?" there was silence. when a grey-headed rat from the further end of the platform, lifting himself up, rose in his eagerness not only on his legs but on his tail, and said-- "brethren and sisters. has it not occurred to you that when we have succeeded--should we be so foolish as to make the attempt--in cutting holes through the ship's bottom, we ourselves should be involved in the same catastrophe as the captain, officers, and crew? when the water rushes in, what will become of us? why, we should be whirled round and round, and to a certainty become the first victims, perhaps the only ones, for there are boats on deck by which the captain, officers, and crew may make their escape, if they don't happen to be loaded up with all sorts of lumber so that they can't be cleared in time." "ah, but i have a resource for that. let us first nibble holes in the boats; it will be good practice, and we should succeed in the course of the night in effecting our purpose," exclaimed the previous speaker. "brother snout, with all due deference to your opinion, you are talking nonsense," said the grey-headed orator. "to my certain knowledge there are two dogs on board--one a newfoundland, the other a terrier; i don't much care for the big fellow, but the terrier would be at us, let the night be ever so dark, and a good many of our race would lose the number of their mess. let me observe, in the politest way possible, that your plan is not worth the snuff of a candle." the orator on the top of the cask was thus effectually shut up. "has no one else an opinion to give?" asked the president. "i have," exclaimed a ferocious-looking rat with long whiskers, which he twirled vigorously as he sat upright. "i propose that we marshal our forces, one division to march aft to the captain and officers, and the other to the part where the crew are berthed. that at a given signal we set upon them and let the blood out of their jugulars. we shall thus gain the mastery of the ship, and be able to enjoy unlimited freedom." "general whiskerandos, your remarks savour very much of war, but pardon me remarking, very little of wisdom," remarked the aged orator. "you have omitted to mention several important matters. in the first place, let me observe that the crew of a ship never sleep all at one time. supposing a complete victory were gained over those below, the rest would discover the cause of their death, and would wage ruthless war against us. and what about the terrier? he sleeps at the door of the captain's cabin. he would not be idle, depend on that. he would be delighted to encounter our leading column. it would be rare fun to him, but a disastrous circumstance for us. let me advise you, brother whiskerandos, that your idea is a foolish one. suppose just for one moment that we should succeed, and that we should put to death every human being on board, what would become of the ship? she would float about unless dashed on the rocks by a hurricane till, her timbers and planks rotting, the water would rush in and she would go to the bottom." "that suggestion seems to be disposed of. is it not?" asked the president. "i have a proposal to make," exclaimed an aldermanic old rat, sitting up on the top of a chest. "i suggest a course of proceeding which cannot fail of success, and will, at the same time, be pleasant and agreeable to ourselves. we will sally forth and eat up all the provisions in the ship, cut holes in the water-casks and let out all the water. we will commence at the bottom, working our way upwards, so that we shall not run the risk of having our proceedings discovered. what we can't eat we will destroy, so that those wretched mortals triumphing in their strength and intelligence will be deprived of the means of sustaining life, and must succumb before long to inevitable death; and we whom they have despised and ill-treated will gain possession of the ship and be our own masters, and sail in whatever direction we may please. the kingdom will be our own. we shall be lords of all we survey, and there will be no one to interfere with our proceedings." "what about nero and pincher?" asked a small rat with a squeaky voice. "what will become of them, brother doublechops?" "when provisions run short they will to a certainty be killed and eaten by the bipeds," answered the stout orator. "i shall watch for the result with intense interest, and have made up my mind to have a nibble at their livers and other bits of their insides. it will afford me intense satisfaction to eat a portion of those who have destroyed if not devoured so many of our race." "oh! brother doublechops, oh! brother doublechops you are talking nonsense," said the aged orator, who was evidently one of the most influential rats of the assembly. "if, as i before observed, we were to kill the captain, officers, and crew, what's to become of the ship without any one to navigate her? she can't steer a course for harbour, and would remain tossed by the waves and blown about by the winds till she met the fate i before described, and went down to the bottom, carrying us with her." "has no one a further proposal to make?" inquired the president. nobody answered; even the squeaky voice of the little rat, who looked as if he had no end of suggestions to offer, was silent. a murmur of rattish voices filled the air. "friends, romans, citizens, again i ask you all to lend me your ears," exclaimed the president, at which all the rats put on a look of profound attention. "you have heard the proposals offered as well as the answers made to them. to me, speaking with due deference to the opinion of others, the proposals appear to be the most insane, foolish, and impracticable that could have been devised by rattish brains. here we are, cut off from all connexion with the dry land and the whole race of rats. it is very clear that we can't navigate this ship into harbour by ourselves. if we sink her we ensure our own destruction. if we kill the captain, officers, and crew by any of the means hinted at, we are equally certain ultimately to suffer. here we are, and here inexorable fate dooms us to remain till we once more get alongside the shore and a plank from the ship enables us during the dark hours of night to effect our escape. let us, therefore, like wise rats, in the meantime, be content with our condition, and enjoy at our ease the provisions with which the ship is stored." "granted, mr president, that your remarks are correct," exclaimed whiskerandos, who had before spoken, "i have still an idea which has long been hatching in my brain. i suggest that we wait until the ship reaches port and is moored securely alongside, when we will attack her planks both tooth and nail, and by boring holes in her bottom let in the water and make our escape." loud cheers followed this suggestion. no one waited to hear what the president said. it was sufficiently encouraging to suit the minds of the most fiercely disposed, while the more timid were pleased with it as it indefinitely put off the time of action. i had been an interested listener to all that was said, and was very thankful that the rats had arrived at this conclusion. at first i was afraid that they might decide on attempting to sink the ship, and though i might have tried to prevent them, yet should they have attacked me with overwhelming numbers i might have found it impossible to contend with them. i cared little for their projects of sinking the ship in harbour. i hoped before then to have made my escape. they had hitherto curiously enough not discovered me, and i hoped that i should be able to remain concealed, as i dreaded a conflict with the savage creatures now surrounding me in countless numbers. i remained perfectly quiet, scarcely daring even to breathe. suddenly i was seized with a fit of sneezing. at the first sternutation the rats jumped up and looked about them, evidently considerably alarmed. again i sneezed, when off they scampered, disappearing like greased lightning, as our american cousins say, through countless crevices and holes and other openings i had not before perceived. the light which had during the time pervaded the hold, faded away, and i was left in total darkness. it was sometime before i could persuade myself that what i had seen and heard had been only conjured up by my imagination, though i had no doubt that real rats had been running about in the neighbourhood, and had given rise to my dream. chapter eleven. the hold of the "emu"--further attempts at escape--the storm ceases--a rat hunt--slippery customers--oh, for a trap!--my ingenuity exercised--caught at last--my repugnance to rat's flesh--hunger needs no sauce--my subsequent impressions--cannibal rats--my solitary life-- the rats grow cautious--the crate--i make a welcome discovery--a fresh expedition--as black as a nigger--things might be worse. day and night to me were the same. my dreams having been troubled-- which was very natural considering the circumstances--i did not feel inclined to go to sleep, so i once more got up to try if i could find some food. i first took a draught of water. indeed, had it not been for that, i could not have existed so long. carefully putting in the plug, for i dreaded exhausting my store, i groped my way back to the opening i had lately discovered. i knew my position by feeling for the holes i had made in the cases. as no light reached me, i knew it was either night or that the hatch had been put on. i was puzzled to decide which was the case. i listened for the sound of human voices. none reached my ear. my hunger had become ravenous. food i must have, or i should perish. i felt conscious that i was much weaker. i again tried to make myself heard, shouting and shrieking as loud as i could, but my voice was faint though shrill, more like that of a puny infant than a stout boy. i was becoming desperate. i first crept in one direction, then in another, trying to force my way between the bales and other packages, but to no avail. everywhere i was stopped by some impediment i could not remove. the storm, i concluded, had ceased, as the ship was comparatively quiet, so that i was less afraid than before of being jammed up between the heavy packages and turned into a pancake. i felt about in every crevice for the possibility of finding something to eat. i cared not what it was, provided i could get my teeth into it. i remembered that rats often dragged away bits of food into their holes to devour at leisure, and i would gladly have found such a store. the idea that i might do so encouraged me to proceed. if i could get out of my confined space i knew that i should have a better chance of falling in with food, but how to get out was the question. i crept back for the handspike, and tried to move some of the bales, but all my efforts were unavailing. i then, carrying the handspike with me, went to the bulkhead at the other end of my prison, and endeavoured by repeated blows to knock in a plank. they were all too stout to give way to my apparently feeble efforts. i fancied that the blows must resound through the ship, and that the crew would come below to ascertain what produced the noise, but i waited and waited in vain. at last i went back to my couch, and sat down to consider what was to be done. i knew that as i grew weaker both my strength and wits would decrease, and that i should be less capable of exerting myself. after sitting quiet for some time, i heard the rats again running about. frequently they passed close to me, but when i darted out my hands they slipped by them. once i caught a fellow by the tail, but he wriggled it out of my fingers, and another whose nose i must have touched gave me a sharp nip and then bounded away. at last i thought i would form a trap with my knife. near me was a square case close to which i heard the rats frequently passing. i felt and discovered that there was a small opening between it and the large package. i had some string in my pocket, and my plan was to hang up my knife by the string, the lower end of which i hung close to the hole, while i passed the upper end over my finger. i thus hoped that when a rat should be running in or out of the hole it might be stopped long enough by the string to allow the knife to descend. my first attempt was not successful. down fell the knife, but when i felt about for the rat which i had expected to have been transfixed, it had gone. i tried again, but once more the rat escaped me. i began to fear that the creatures would discover my device, and take some other route when they wished to emerge from their hiding-places. still i knew that perseverance conquers all difficulties. i was convinced that my plan might succeed. why it had before failed i could not tell. perhaps i held the knife too high up, and the rat had got away before it had time to descend. i now held the knife rather lower down. several times i replaced the knife, but always found it exactly before the spot. again it fell, when i heard a loud squeak, and sprang down on my hands and knees in a moment, and caught the handle of the knife, which was moving rapidly along the plank. the blade had entered the side of a fat rat. the creature made an attempt to bite me, but i squeezed it by the neck. it lay dead in my hands. at first even my hunger could not overcome my disgust at the thought of eating the creature. i carried it by the tail to let the blood stream out of the body, and went to the butt, where i took a draught of water, hoping to put off the moment when i should find my teeth in its flesh. but hunger called loudly; i could resist no longer, and having cut off its head, i skinned it as well as i could in the dark. then stripping the flesh from the bones, i put a morsel of it in my mouth. it tasted infinitely better than i could have expected. there was no rankness, no disagreeable flavour. i wondered how i could have had so much objection to eating raw rat. i scraped the bones clean. as there were undoubtedly plenty more in the hold, though not so many as i had seen in my dream, i hoped that i should have been able to supply myself amply with game. i was now sorry that i had thrown away the head and the entrails, as they might have served me for bait to catch more. i therefore hunted about till i discovered the head, on the point, i suspect, of being seized by another rat, for i heard the creature scamper off as i put my hand upon my prize. the entrails must have been devoured, for i could not find them. my success encouraged me to try and catch another rat in the same way as before. i, however, somewhat changed my mode of proceeding. i fastened the head to the end of the string, and hung up the knife directly over it, by a small splinter which i stuck lightly into the crevice of the case. my expectation was that, when the rat pulled at the head of its slaughtered fellow, the knife would fall and transfix it. i had to wait for some time listening to the sound of the rats' footsteps. at length down came the knife, but no squeak followed, and i found it lying where it had fallen. i began to fear that the first rat had been killed by chance, and that my clever device could not be depended on. though the keen edge of my appetite had worn off, i knew that i should very soon be again hungry, and i therefore wanted, before i went to sleep, to catch another rat. i was aware that i must be moderate in my banquets, as i guessed that rat's flesh was not likely to prove very wholesome; but i no longer felt, as i had previously done, that i should be starved to death. i am afraid that i could boast of very few good qualities, but i possessed at all events that of perseverance. perhaps i had gained it during my experience as a fisherman, when i used to sit for hours by the side of a pond waiting for a bite, and seldom failed to get one at last. i therefore again hung up my knife. i can't tell how often it fell, but at last i caught one rat much as i had done the first, though at the expense of a bite on the thumb. by this time i was again hungry, and very soon had the rat's flesh between my teeth. to those who have not suffered as i had, my proceeding must appear very disgusting, but i would only advise any fellow who thinks so to try what he would do after going without food for three or four days. i certainly, during that time, had had nothing but two buns and unlimited draught of cold water. the cold water and the long spells of sleep i had enjoyed. i believe in reality that i was much longer than four days after i had finished the last bun, but i will not be positive, lest people should doubt the fact. the greater part of the time, however, was spent in sleep. my rat-dream, as i call it, might have occupied several hours, for i have not put down half of what i heard said, nor described the curious antics i saw, as i supposed, of the rats' play. i have since recollected that the words with which the president began his speech were those used by mark antony at the commencement of his oration over the dead body of caesar, which i learnt at school. after eating the second rat i felt greatly revived, and resolved to continue my explorations, but a drowsiness came over me before i made my way to the further end of the hold. i returned to my couch and lay down to sleep. it would be a good opportunity of sounding the praises of sleep, and if i were a poet i might indulge my fancy and produce something wonderfully novel; but as i never wrote a line in my life worthy of being called poetry, i will not inflict anything of this sort on my friends. i was becoming wonderfully accustomed to my solitary life. having rolled myself in the old sail, i closed my eyes with as much sense of security as i should have done in my own bed at home. i had ceased to think of my friends there, or of aunt deb and mr butterfield. i could not go on for ever troubling myself with thoughts of the anxiety my disappearance must have caused them. an intensely selfish feeling--for such i knew that it was--possessed me. my only thought was how i could get out of my prison, and if i could not succeed, how i might provide myself with food. i had no longer any fear of the rats. i had become their master. i looked upon them as the owner of an estate does on his hares and rabbits. the hold was my preserve, and i considered that i had a right to as many as i could catch. i must proceed faster in my narrative than i have hitherto been going, and must omit some of my wakings and sleepings and hunts for rats and searches for more palatable food. the rats, after i had killed four or five, had become cautious. they are at all times cunning fellows, and must have discovered my mode of trapping them. the ship all this time was gliding on with tolerable smoothness, and on some occasions, by putting my ear down to the planks, i could hear the rippling of the water. at other times, i guessed by the dashing of the sea against the sides, that there was a strong breeze. i knew also, by the steadiness of the movement, that the ocean was tolerably calm. i should have liked to have known where we had got to. i could only guess that we were bound for south america, and that we were holding a southerly course. i had made several exploring expeditions in search of food, when i discovered close to the bulkhead what seemed to me like a strong crate. by some chance or other i had not before put my hands upon it. i now moved them all over it, and at one place came to a space into which i could thrust my fingers. the board seemed loose. i tugged and tugged away till off it came with a crackling sound, and down i came. i picked myself up, happily not the worse for my tumble, and eagerly inserted my hand into the crate. there appeared to be several articles within, but what they were i could not make out. i had to take off another board before i could get hold of them. this i did, fixing my foot firmly so as not to fall back again, and after exerting myself for some time, the board gave way. the first thing i laid hold of was a small keg. it seemed too heavy to contain biscuits, but i was nearly sure that there was something eatable within. i tried to open it with my knife, but nearly broke the blade in the attempt. that would have been an irreparable misfortune. my hands next came in contact with a thick glass bottle with a large mouth to it. i was too eager to ascertain the contents of the keg and bottle to continue my search. i therefore carried them down to my sleeping-place, where i had left the handspike, and there soon broke in the head of the cask. it contained some small, round, hard and greasy fruit, i eagerly tasted one. they were olives. i knew this because mr butterfield a few days before gave me some at dessert. i then thought them very bitter and nasty, but as i saw him eating them i nibbled at two or three. in the end i liked them rather better than at first, or rather, i didn't dislike them so much. having eaten half-a-dozen, i was very glad that i had found them. they were at all events a change from rat's flesh. i next took the bottle in hand, and with my knife scraped away the sealing-wax with which it was covered. instead of trying to force out the cork i cut into it until i had made a hole big enough to insert my fingers, when i pulled it out. the bottle contained pickles. these, though they would not satisfy hunger would render the food i was doomed to live upon more palatable and wholesome. having put them away in the most secure place i could think of, i returned to the crate. by tearing off another plank i found that i could creep inside. it contained all sorts of things, apparently thrown in before the vessel began to be loaded to be out of the way, and afterwards forgotten. i came across two or three old brooms or scrubbing-brushes, a kettle with the spout broken, several large empty bottles, and other things i cannot enumerate. at last, when i thought i had turned everything over, my hand came against another cask, considerably larger than the first. i dragged it out. it was not so heavy as i should have supposed it would be from its size. it was too big to carry, so i rolled it along before me. from the first i fancied it must contain biscuits, but i was almost afraid to too soon congratulate myself on my good fortune. a few blows with the handspike shattered the top, and eagerly plunging in my hand, to my intense satisfaction i drew forth a captain's biscuit. i ate it at once and thought it deliciously sweet, though it was in reality musty and mouldy. i had now a store of food to last me for days, and even weeks, should i not obtain my liberation, provided i used the strictest economy. all i wanted was fresh air. to obtain that, supposing i could not work my way out or make myself heard, was now my chief object. before setting out on another expedition, i placed my provisions where i hoped the rats would not be able to get at them, after carefully corking down the bottles of pickles and the jar of olives, and closing the keg of biscuits. i thought it very likely that the rats would try to make their way through the latter, but i intended to examine it frequently to ascertain whether they had commenced operations. i had been turning in my mind a better means of catching the rats than the one i had before adopted. i thought and thought over the matter, but could not arrive at any conclusion. being no longer pressed by hunger, i was less in a hurry than i should have been had i only rats' flesh to depend on. i pined for fresh air, but at the same time i was most inconvenienced for want of light. i was, however, already able to find my way about in a wonderful manner. i had pictured in my mind's eye all the objects around, and had the whole of my prison mapped out clearly in my brain, as i supposed it to exist. perhaps it was not exactly according to reality. there were the kelson and the stout ribs of the ship, the planking over them, the water-butts on either side, the stout bulkheads. at one end my bed-place; the opening which i had formed at the other end, the bales, the packing-cases, the casks, and last of all the crate. into this last i intended soon again to return, in the faint hope that i might force my way through it into some upper region. it was, i judged from the ease with which i had torn off the planks, old and rotten, and i could not therefore suppose that any heavy weight had been placed above it. i should have observed that i had reason to congratulate myself the ship was new and well caulked, and that not a leak existed throughout her length, for had any bilge-water been in her the stench would have been insufferable, and would soon either have deprived me of life or produced a serious sickness. as it was, considering what ships' holds generally are, the air was comparatively pure, and i did not suffer much from the confinement. the fact i have mentioned would account for the number of rats in the hold, for being sagacious animals they are said always to desert a ship likely to go down. probably, being inconvenienced by the water in the regions to which they are quickly driven when discovered, they take their departure on the earliest opportunity. i have known ships to founder with rats on board, so that they cannot be said to be a preventative to such a disaster. i now set out on another expedition. as i got through the hole in the bulkhead a brighter light than i had before enjoyed came down into the open space, not directly, however, but through the various crevices among the numerous casks and cases piled up in the hold, so that i was able to distinguish the objects around me more clearly than i had hitherto done. i could not have read a book, but i could see my hands as i held them up before me, and they were as black as those of a negro. probably my face was much in the same condition. i knew that my feet and my clothes also were begrimed with dirt. strange as it may seem, i was so busy in taking a survey of the locality, that i forgot to shout out, for as the light came down my voice would certainly have been heard, as without doubt one of the hatches had been opened. my impulse was to take the opportunity of working my way upwards. i saw the crate close against the bulkhead and the place where i had torn off the plank. i eagerly scrambled in that direction, but could see no way over it. i must get inside, as i first intended. i thought then, if i could force off the top, i might make my way through it to an upper stratum of the cargo. i did as i proposed. in vain i tried with my back and hands to force up the top. i had forgotten to bring the handspike. it occurred to me that with that as a lever i should succeed. i returned for it. the atmosphere i fancied had already become fresher, or at all events the foul air had escaped, and its place had been supplied by purer air through unseen openings. the light, dim as it was, which my eyes had enjoyed for a short period, made the darkness of the hold still darker. my senses were for a few moments confused, and for some time i searched in vain for the handspike. i was sure, however, that i remembered where i had left it. at last my hand touched the instrument, and i dragged it back to the scene of my intended operations. as i reached the spot, what what was my dismay to find all in darkness. the hatch, had been replaced, and i had lost the opportunity of making myself heard. only then did it occur to me that i ought, immediately on seeing the light, to have shouted out. my wits, generally keen enough, were, i suspect, becoming somewhat confused. i had so long been accustomed to do things with the greatest deliberation, that i had lost the impulse to prompt action which was otherwise natural to me. i now shouted, but it was too late, no one heard me. the seamen had gone to their usual occupations at a distance from the hatchway. for some minutes i sat down, vexed with my stupidity and dilatoriness. on recovering myself i resolved never again to lose a similar opportunity. i had for so long worked in the dark, that i was not to be deterred from carrying out my intention. armed with the handspike, i entered the crate. i first felt in each corner, to try and find an opening in which i could insert the end of my implement. not one was to be found. i next drove it against the ends of the planks; they were too firmly nailed down to yield. i next knocked away in the centre, hoping that one of the planks might prove rotten, and that i should be able to force it upwards. again i was disappointed, and at last, tired with the exertions i had made, i was obliged to abandon the attempt; but i did not give it up altogether. i resolved, as soon as i had regained my strength and stretched my limbs, which had become cramped from being so long in a confined position, to set to work once more. i had been employed, i fancy, three or four hours; it may have been longer. at all events, i had become very hungry, and with a store of food near at hand i could not resist the temptation of eating. i accordingly retired to my berth and sat down. i had not contrived to catch a rat, so i had to content myself with a musty biscuit and a dozen olives for dinner, washed down by a copious draught of water. i was thankful for the food, though it could not be called a luxurious banquet. chapter twelve. still in the hold--conscience again troubles me--my new food and its effect on my health--i picture to myself the crew on deck--rather warm--another storm--my sufferings and despair--a cold bath--i lose my stock of provisions--the rats desert me--the storm subsides--my fancy gives itself rein. days, possibly weeks, may have passed by; i had no means of calculating the time. the ordinary sounds from the deck did not reach my ear, or i might have heard the bells strike, or the voice of the boatswain summoning the watch below on deck. i scarcely like to describe this part of my adventures, for fear that they should not be believed. i have since read of similar accounts of young stowaways being shut down in the hold of ships, but whether they were true or not i cannot say. perhaps they were written with the purpose of deterring boys running off to sea. if so, they had a good object in view, for from my own experience i can say that a more mad or foolish act a silly youth cannot commit. a sailor's life is not without its attractions; but to enjoy it he must have a good conscience, and be able to feel that he went to sea with his parents' or friends' consent; and then when disaster occurs, he has not bitterly to repent having acted contrary to their wishes. for my own part i tried to persuade myself that i was an unwilling stowaway, that i had only gone on board to take a look into the hold; but conscience whispered to me over and over again, "you know you thought of hiding yourself, and thus getting away to sea in spite of your aunt deb, and the kind old gentleman who was ready to do what he considered best for your advancement in life." i tried to silence conscience by replying, "i didn't intend it, i should never have actually concealed myself in the hold if i could have helped it. i am simply an unfortunate individual, who is undergoing all this suffering through no fault of his own. though i had no wish to become a merchant, i would, with all the contentment i could muster, have taken my seat in mr butterfield's office, and done my duty to the best of my ability." though i said this to myself over and over again, i found it more convenient to satisfy conscience and to think only of the present. i had plenty to do, much of my time being spent in endeavouring to catch rats. i seldom killed more than one in a day, though occasionally i was more successful. i ate them without the slightest disgust, taking some of the pickles at the same time with a piece of biscuit, my dessert consisting of three or four olives. i was afraid of exhausting my supply, or i could have swallowed many more. the rats' flesh was tolerably tender. i suspect that i generally caught the young ones, for at length i caught one which must have been the father, or grandfather for that matter, of the tribe, as he was so tough that it was only with considerable difficulty i could masticate him. this food, however unattractive according to the usual ideas, must be wholesome, for i kept my health in an extraordinary manner. i was much indebted for this, i believe, to the olives, which prevented my being attacked by that horrible disease, scurvy. i was not aware at the time of its existence, but i have since witnessed its horrible ravages among crews insufficiently supplied with antiscorbutics, or who have neglected the ordinary precautions against it. i every day made excursions to try and effect my liberation. the crate must have had something weighty on the top of it, i thought, or i should have been able to force it open. it had hitherto resisted all my efforts, though i frequently spent an hour within it. the ship all this time was gliding on smoothly, and i supposed was making a prosperous passage. i occasionally pictured to myself what was going on over my head, canvas spread below and aloft, the ship under her courses, topsails, topgallant sails and royals with studdingsails rigged out on either side. the sea glittering in the rays of the sun, the sky bright, the captain and officers walking the deck or reading in their cabins. the crew lolling about with folded arms, smoking their pipes or spinning yarns. i forgot that some of them would be employed in spinning very different sorts of yarns to what i fancied, and that chief mates are not apt to allow man to spend their time with their arms folded, doing nothing. on and on sailed the ship. the atmosphere was becoming sensibly warmer. i supposed that we should soon get into a tropical climate, and that then i might find it disagreeably hot even down below. but i didn't allow myself to think of the future, as i was beginning to abandon all hope of working my way out. my desire now was that the ship might reach a port in safety, and begin to discharge her cargo; when i should have the chance of liberating myself. i did not, however, abandon altogether my efforts, and the exercise i thus took every day contributed to keep me in health. during the time i was sitting down and not sleeping, i employed myself in repeating all the english poetry and latin speeches i had learnt, and sometimes i even attempted to sing the sea songs of which i had been so fond--"cease, rude boreas," "one night it blew a hurricane," "come, all ye jolly sailors bold," "here a sheer hulk lies poor tom bowling," and many others; but my voice was evidently not in singing trim, and i failed to do what orpheus might have accomplished, to charm the rats from their hiding-places. the sea continued calm for some time; at all events i felt no movement to indicate that it was otherwise; but whether the ship was moving fast or slowly i could not tell. i expected that she would continue her steady progress to the end of the voyage. i had gone to sleep, and i now generally slept on for eight or ten hours at a stretch, so i could not say whether it was night or day. all was the same to me. suddenly i was awakened by a fearful uproar, and i found myself jerked off my sleeping-place on to the hard boards. from the noises i heard i fancied the ship must be going to pieces, or that the masts were falling. she heeled over so much on one side it seemed impossible that the water-butts could keep their positions, and i thought every instant i should be crushed to death by the one on the weather side falling upon me. a fearful storm was raging. my ears were deafened by the dashing of the fierce waves, and the howling and whistling of the wind, which reached me even down where i was; and by the incessant creaking of the bulkheads. crash succeeded crash; the whole cargo seemed to be tossed about, now to one side now to the other. i could feel the ship rise to the summit of a sea, and then plunge down again to the depths below. i had hitherto retained my composure, but i now almost gave way to despair. it seemed that the ship, stout as she was, would not be able to survive the fierce contest in which she was engaged with the raging elements. not for a moment was she quiet; now she appeared to be rolling as if she would roll the masts out of her, had they not already gone; now she surged forward and went with a plunge into the sea, which made her quiver from stem to stern. i thought that ribs and planks could not possibly hold together. i expected every moment to be my last. it would have been bad enough to have had to endure this on deck, surrounded by my fellow-creatures--down in the dark hold it was terrible. i now wonder that my senses did not desert me, but matters had not yet come to their worst. i dared not move, for fear of being dashed against the casks. there i lay helpless and almost hopeless, while the violence of the movements increased. i did not feel sick, as before. terror banished all other sensations. suddenly i heard a loud crash close to me, and i found myself nearly overwhelmed by a strong rush of water. the instinct to live made me spring to my feet, for i should have been drowned had i remained where i was. i fully believed that the side of the ship had been forced in, and that before many seconds had passed i and all on board would be carried down to the bottom of the sea. still i endeavoured to escape from the water, which in large masses came rushing against me, though my efforts would have been utterly useless had what i had supposed occurred. i made frantic efforts to escape out of the way of the torrent, and endeavoured to reach the only opening i was aware of by which i might escape if i could find egress to the upper deck. in my hurry, not using the caution i had generally exercised, i ran my head against a cask with so much force that i fell back senseless on the kelson. there i lay unable to rise, and believing that the water would soon cover me up and terminate my sufferings. i was not altogether senseless; i should have been saved much wretchedness and suffering had i been so. i continued to feel the violent motion of the ship; to hear the uproar, the crashing of the cargo, the casks and chests being hurled against each other. i expected that the bulkhead near me, which had hitherto served as my protection, would give way, and that some of the huge cases would be hurled down upon me; but i had no strength to shriek out, and lay silent and motionless. suddenly the rush of water ceased, and i heard only a little washing about beneath me. this surprised me greatly. i began to recollect that it must have been impossible that the side of the ship should have been smashed in, or the water would have continued entering with as much force as at first. this idea made me fancy that matters might not be so bad as i had at first supposed. by slow degrees i recovered my courage. "the ship is not going to sink, i may yet survive," i thought, and i got up to try and ascertain the cause of the rush of water. i was not long in doing this. in groping my way about i came upon one of the huge butts, which, from the large fracture i felt in its side, had evidently burst and let out the whole of its contents. it was fortunately not the water-cask from which i drew my supplies of the necessary element, but i guessed that it would prove ultimately of serious consequence to the crew, who would probably be depending on it when their stock in the other part of the ship had been exhausted. still that at the time did not give me much concern. i was wet through, bruised, and exceedingly uncomfortable. i feared, too, that as one butt had given way, the others might before long follow its example, and that i should then have no water on which to support my life. having made this discovery, i crept back to my sleeping-place. as i had no other means of drying my clothes, i took them off and wrung them out, then wrapped myself in the sail, which being in a higher position had only been slightly wetted by the splash of the water. unpleasant as my life was, this altogether was the most miserable period of my existence in the hold of the "emu." i thought that the storm would never end. hour after hour the ship went plunging and rolling on, every timber shaking and quaking, my heart beating i must confess in sympathy. regrets were useless. my only consolation now was that should the ship in the meantime not founder or be driven on the rocks, this state of things must come to an end. i tried to forget where i was and what was happening and to bring my senses into a state of stupor. i would willingly have gone to sleep, but that seemed impossible. i was mistaken, however. after some time, in spite of the violent movements and the terrific uproar, i began to doze off, and an oblivion of all things, past and present, came over me. it was sent in mercy, for i do not think i could otherwise have endured my sufferings. when i awoke to the present matters had not improved, so i endeavoured, and successfully, to go to sleep again. this occurred several times. at last, in spite of my painful feelings, i found that i had become very hungry, and to my surprise my clothes, which i had hung up against the bulkhead on some nails stuck in the upper part, were very nearly dry. i put them on, unwilling to be without garments should i be discovered. i had no rats in store, so intended to make my meal off biscuits and olives. i put my hand down to where i had stowed them, when what was my dismay not to be able to find either the cask of biscuits or the jars of olives and pickles. i felt about in all directions, hoping that i had made a mistake as to their position. i was at length convinced that they had gone. i then recollected that the chief volume of water out of the butt must have washed them away. still they could not be far off. i lay down on the kelson and felt about with my hand on every side. my search for a moment was in vain. at last i picked up an olive, and then another. my fear was that the jar was broken. what if the pickles and biscuits had shared the same fate? that this was the case was too probable, and if so my stock of provisions, would be spoiled, if not lost altogether. after further search i came upon the jar broken in two. it was especially strong, so that the bottle of pickles would have had no chance of escaping. i had fortunately my handkerchief, and i managed to pick up several olives, which i put into it. creeping along i came at last upon the pickle-bottle, and nearly cut my hand in feeling for it. a few pickles were near it. i drew them out of the water which had escaped from the butt. their flavour i guessed would be gone and all the vinegar which was so cooling and refreshing; but almost spoiled as they were, i was glad to recover them. i found, however, scarcely a fourth of the olives and pickles. the loss of the biscuits was the most serious. they, if long in the water, would be mashed up into a pulp, and perhaps dispersed throughout the bottom of the ship. the sooner i could recover whatever remained the better. i ate three or four olives and a piece of pickle to stay the gnawings of hunger, and went on with my search. the ship, it must be remembered, was all this time rolling to and fro. i searched and searched, my hopes of recovering the biscuits in a form fit to be eaten growing fainter and fainter; still i knew that the keg, either entire or broken, must be somewhere within my prison-house, for so i must call it. i stopped at last to consider in what direction it could have been thrown. perhaps being lighter and of larger bulk than the other things, it might have been jerked farther off, and rolling away got jammed in the casks or cases. my search proved to me that it could not be close beneath the kelson; i therefore felt backwards and forwards everywhere i could get my hand. i tried to recollect whether i had, when last taking a biscuit out, fixed on the head tightly or not. having smashed it in, in order to broach the cask, it was not very easy to do so, and i had an unpleasant feeling that i had put on the top only sufficient to prevent the rats jumping down into the inside. if so, the chance of the biscuits having escaped was small indeed. at length i touched the cask, which had been thrown from one end of the hold to the other. it was on its side. with trembling eagerness i put in my hand. alas! only a few whole biscuits and a few broken ones remained. these i transferred to my pocket-handkerchief with the olives and pickles, for fear of losing them. the remainder must be somewhere on the way. i tried back in a direct line, but could not find even a mashed biscuit. i then recollected that the cask had probably been jerked from side to side before it had found its last resting-place. it was a wonder that any of its contents remained in it. without loss of time, i enlarged the field of my search, and picked up several large pulpy masses which had once been biscuit. they were too precious to be thrown away. i put them into the bottom of the cask. i got back also several bits, which, though wet, had not lost their consistency. i was grateful for them; for though they would not keep, they would assist me to prolong existence for some few days. i ate some of the pulp, and a couple of olives to enable me to digest it. the other pieces of biscuit and the olives and pickles had been, i suppose, washed away out of my reach, for i felt about in every direction, but could lay my hands on nothing more. it may be supposed that the exertions i had made were not very fatiguing, but it must be remembered that the ship was tossing about all this time, and that i had to hold on with one hand while i felt with the other, to prevent myself from being jerked about and battered and bruised. as it was, i slipped and tumbled several times, and hurt myself not a little. i therefore crawled back to my couch, and rolled myself up in the sail, to go to sleep. i had not for some time been annoyed by the rats, who i suspect sat quaking and trembling in their nests as much alarmed as i was, and possibly more so, and i was amused at thinking that they must have heartily regretted having come to sea, and wished themselves safe back on shore in the houses or barns from which they had emigrated. i hoped, however, that when the storm was over they would come forth again, and give me the opportunity of catching them. i expected that it would quickly cease, but in this i was disappointed. there came a lull, and the ship did not toss about as much as before. i was contemplating getting up and making an excursion among the cargo, supposing that i might do so without much risk, when i was again thrown off my couch by a sudden lurch; and from the sounds i heard, and the violent pitching and rolling, i had good reason to suppose that the hurricane was once more raging with redoubled force. with the greatest difficulty i crawled back to my couch, and drawing the canvas round me, tried to retain my position. every minute i imagined that one or the other water-butts would give way, and that i should be either crushed by its falling on me, or half-drowned by its contents. then i thought what would be my fate should the fearful buffeting the ship was receiving cause her to start a plank. the water would rush in, and before i could possibly make my escape to a higher level i should be drowned, even should the ship herself keep above water, and that i thought was not very likely. i had read enough about shipwrecks and disasters at sea to be aware that such a circumstance sometimes occurs. the end of a plank called a butt occasionally starts away from the timber to which it has been secured, and the water pressing its way in, opens the plank more and more, till the sea comes in like a mill-sluice; and unless the damage is at once discovered, and a thrummed sail is got over the spot, there is little chance of a ship escaping from foundering. when a butt starts from the fore end, and she is going rapidly through the water, her destruction is almost certain, as a plank is rapidly ripped off, and no means the crew possess can prevent it. though i had heard crashing noises which had made me fear that the masts had been carried overboard, yet i judged from the movement of the ship that they were standing. she was seldom on an even keel, but when she heeled over it was always on one side. as yet all the strain to which she had been subjected had produced no leaks, as far as i could judge from the small quantity of water in the hold, and that was chiefly what had come out of the butt. had i not put the remnants of the olives and biscuits in my pockets i should have starved. when hunger pressed, i took a small portion, sufficient to stop its gnawings. i suffered chiefly from thirst, as i was afraid of getting up to go to the water-butt, lest i should be thrown over to the opposite side after i had drawn out the spile, before i could catch any water as it spouted out, and that much of it would be lost. i felt the necessity of economising my store, for i so mainly depended on it for existence, as it enabled me to subsist on a much smaller quantity of food than i could have done without it. at length i could bear my tortures no longer, but getting up, cautiously crawled towards the butt, stopping to hold on directly i felt the ship beginning to give a lurch. i must again observe, that close down to the keel as i was, i felt this much less severely than i should have done at a higher level. i went on, until i believed that i was close to the butt, then waiting for another lurch. directly it had taken place, i drew myself carefully up, and searched about for the spile. i found it, and drew it out, and let the water spout out into my mouth. how i enjoyed the draught. it restored my strength and sadly flagging spirits. i stopped to breathe, and then again applied my mouth to the hole. i should have been wiser had i refrained, for before i could drive in the spile i was hove right away to the opposite side of the hold, almost into the opening of the water-butt which had burst. i could hear the water rushing out, and it was some time before i could recover myself sufficiently to crawl back to try and stop it. i was almost wet through before i could accomplish this, though i had to mourn the loss of no small quantity of the precious fluid. my purpose accomplished, i made my way back to my couch. hours passed by. sometimes i would fancy that the storm was never to end. in my disordered imagination, i pictured to myself the ship, officers, and crew under some dreadful doom, destined to be tossed about on the wide atlantic for months and years, then perhaps to be dismasted and lie floating motionless in the middle of the sargasso sea, of which i had read, where the weeds collect, driven by the current thrown off by the gulf-stream, till they attain sufficient thickness for aquatic birds to walk over them. i remembered the description that mr butterfield had given me of the captain of the "emu." i thought, perhaps, that he had committed some dreadful crime, and was being thus punished for it. the only one of the crew whom i remembered, gregory growles, was certainly a bad specimen of humanity. perhaps, though pretending to be honest traders, they were pirates; and even when i had obtained my liberty they would not scruple to make me walk the plank, should my presence be inconvenient. i cannot, however, describe the hundred-and-one gloomy ideas which i conjured up. how far they were from the truth time only was to show. the ship continued her eccentric proceedings with more or less violence. the tempest roared above my head. crashing sounds still rose from the cargo which had shifted, and which it appeared to me must ere long be smashed to atoms. the worst of the matter was, that i had no one to blame but myself. had i been seized and shut up in the hold by a savage captain, i should have felt myself like a martyr, and been able to lay my sufferings on others. when i was able to reflect more calmly on my situation, i remembered that the storm must inevitably some day or other come to an end. i had read of storms lasting a week, or even a fortnight, and sometimes longer, but if i could hold out to its termination, as by means of the biscuits and olives i might do, i hoped that i should at last effect my liberation. i must not, however, take up more time by further describing the incidents of this memorable portion of my existence. chapter thirteen. still in the hold--dreamland again--chicken-pie--return of the rats--i improve my plans for catching them--two rats at one meal--my state of mind--"mercy! mercy!"--while there's life there's hope--i recommence my exertions to get out of the hold with some success--purer air--my weakness returns--i recover my strength--still no outlet--i perform my ablutions--my desire to live at all hazards returns--"where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise"--the yarn of toney lawson--the evil effects of getting drunk--the "viper"--toney obliged to give in-- toney's thoughts of escape--the fate of the "viper" determines the question--toney's wonderful escape. perhaps one of the most painful circumstances connected with my imprisonment was the impossibility of calculating how the time went by. i remember that i suddenly awoke after dreaming that i was at a jolly picnic with old friends near roger riddle's cottage. that the cloth was spread with pies and tarts, a cold sirloin of beef, a dish of fowls, and a tempting ham, and that we were eating and drinking, and laughing and singing, in the merriest way possible. i had just had the breast and wing of a chicken and a slice of ham placed on my plate, and was running over to get the mustard-pot, when to my surprise it became covered with feathers, and off it flew. i was jumping up to catch hold of it, not wishing thus to lose my dinner, but instead found myself in total darkness, and gradually came to the disagreeable consciousness that i was in the hold of the "emu," and that i had only a few small biscuits and three olives remaining of my stock of provisions, independent of the pickles in the corner of my handkerchief. the ship, however, was perfectly quiet. the gale must have ceased some time before, to allow the sea to go down. by putting my ears to the planks i could catch the sound of a gentle ripple as she glided along, but no other noise was to be heard. the bulkheads had ceased to creak, the masts to complain, the cargo to crash, and all was perfectly quiet overhead. my hunger showed me that i must have been a long time asleep, and i could not resist the temptation of eating the remainder of my biscuits and olives. i had thus only the pickles to exist on, unless i could catch some rats with which to eat them. i took a draught of water, and then sat down to consider the plans i had before thought of to trap my game. one occurred to me as the most feasible. though i could not see i could feel, and my idea was to form a bag with a piece of the canvas, and give it a small mouth so contrived that i could close it suddenly with a string. among the articles in my pocket was a stock of string of various thicknesses; i found on measuring it that i had not only sufficient to make the bag, but enough to gather in the mouth with an additional piece to hold in my hand. my gimlet would serve as an awl or sailmaker's needle, though not an efficient substitute. i had been so long accustomed to the darkness that i fancied i could pass the string through the holes i had made without difficulty. my hunger was an incentive to perseverance. with my knife i first of all cut a piece off my canvas of sufficient size for my purpose. i am sure that i could not have done it so well at any time before, had i attempted to perform the operation in the dark. i then turned in the edges, and passing the string through the holes i had made, united the two sides. sometimes i could not get the string through without another boring, at others i succeeded at the first attempt, tying the string at each stitch. it was a slow operation, but the result was beyond my most sanguine expectations. i had a long, thickish piece of hard twine, which i devoted to the mouth of the bag. i had to make the holes for these with great regularity, so as not to leave an opening large enough for a rat to jump out at. i worked on without stopping till my task was accomplished, as i was anxious to ascertain whether it would answer the object i had in view. while i was working i heard the rats running about, and two or three knocked their noses against my feet, showing that they had again come out of their holes, and were either hunting for food or gambolling for their pleasure. i had, however, retained a small piece of biscuit in my pocket, which, although i longed to eat it up, i had sufficient resolution to devote as a bait to the rats. placing myself near the shattered butt, which seemed to be the spot most numerously frequented by them, i put down the bag with my foot at one end of it, holding the string in my hands, and leaving only a very small opening, which i could close of a sudden. i waited eagerly. rats ran about near my feet, leapt over the bag, and skipped and frolicked, uttering squeaks of delight. still none came actually into the bag. at last one more curious than his fellows poked his nose into the opening. i felt him running along inside, having discovered a biscuit within. with a sudden jerk i quickly closed the mouth of the bag. i felt about with my fingers, and soon came upon master rat inside. as i didn't wish to give him the opportunity of biting me, i grasped him tightly by the neck, and squeezed out his life. after drawing him out, i again put down the bag to tempt some more of his kindred, while i held him up by the tail. in a few minutes i felt others approaching, curious to explore the interior of the bag. i again gave a sudden jerk, and found that i had caught no less than three, who, as they felt themselves drawn up, began fighting and biting at each other, and would, i believe, had i not speedily put them out of existence, have been like the kilkenny cats, and left only their tails behind them. i had now ample food, though not of the character most people would have desired, and had also a bag to keep it in. i soon disposed of the first rat, with which i ate some small pieces of pickle as a relish, and i must confess that i enjoyed my meal amazingly. to me it appeared of a peculiarly delicate character. i could have eaten another rat with perfect satisfaction, but i considered it prudent to wait, so as not to give myself a surfeit. before long, however, i was again hungry, and on this occasion i ate two rats with some small pieces of pickle and drank a pint or more of water. i now felt sufficiently strong to recommence my attempt at escape. i was prepared for difficulties of all sorts, as i knew that the cargo had been much displaced during the storm. i have so often described my journeys to and fro, that i am afraid of becoming wearisome, but i must mention what now took place. as i made my way along i tumbled over several things which had not been there before, and had evidently been thrown out of their places by a violent jerk of the ship. at last i got to the bulkhead through which with such infinite pains i had previously made my way. what was my dismay to find it stopped! human hands could certainly not have put the obstacles there that i found. as i was feeling about i discovered a huge case of some sort which had been thrown down from above, and stopped up the way. it was not likely that my strength would be able to remove it. after feeling about to ascertain if there was any opening at the side or top through which i might squeeze myself, and finding none, i returned for my handspike, thinking that i would at all events try to force the case on one side or the other. it was so large, however, that when making the attempt i could not move it in the slightest degree, and after trying in all ways, i had to abandon the enterprise. i had been sensible of the greater closeness of the atmosphere, and i had now no doubt that the case prevented the air which descended from above from circulating through the hold as it before had done. the temperature also, i had no doubt, was increasing as the ship got into more southern latitudes, and i had some fears of being stewed alive. i was already streaming with perspiration from my efforts. i was, indeed, in a weak state, which was but natural, so that i was unable to undergo any exertion without feeling far more exhausted than i had previously done. sick and weary, i returned to my resting-place. i was seriously afraid of falling really ill. if i did so, what hope could i have of escaping? the olives and pickles and biscuits, which had hitherto preserved me in health were exhausted. rats' flesh might serve to keep me alive for a few days, but alone would certainly be very unwholesome. i was already beginning to feel a repugnance to eating it. perhaps this was in consequence of my having devoured two rats at one meal. my chief refreshment was cold water, and that i found a great luxury. i must have swallowed prodigious quantities of it, still the butt held out; though, if my imprisonment lasted much longer, that also must come to an end. i had never heard of hydropathy, but i was heartily willing to sing its praises, and i have ever since been a resolute water-drinker. i lay down to rest after my exertions, but my cogitations were not of an agreeable character. i was in different moods. sometimes i thought that i would abandon all further attempts at escaping, and yield to my fate; then i would shout out as loudly as my weak voice would allow: "help! help! i am dying! help! help! will any one come to take me out of this place? mercy! mercy!" finally a more courageous spirit animated me. "i'll not yield while i have life!" i exclaimed. "i'll cut my way with my knife through case after case, and draw out the contents so that i may make a passage through them." i got up, feeling resolute and bold, taking my knife and my handspike with me. i had no means of sharpening the blade of my knife except on a hard piece of oak, and that was not very effectual. on reaching the place where the opening had been, i felt all over the side of the chest. it didn't feel to be as even and regular as i had expected to find it. i began at once to use my knife, so as to cut a hole into the centre. as i pressed against it, the plank yielded slightly. the operation must inevitably be a long one, so instead of cutting on i took the handspike, and dealt several blows as hard as i could strike. the first blow i struck produced a creaking sound. i renewed my efforts. the plank began to give way. i struck again and again. the side flew inwards. i then struck about so as to knock off the splinters. i crept through the opening thus made, and from the articles i then found i was convinced that it was the old crate through which i had before made my way, and which had fallen down in front of the opening. i was sure of this when i found that i could creep out through the smaller fracture on the opposite side. still i was not free. no light permeated between the bales and packages. i felt about, but could not recognise any of the things with which i was before acquainted. many of the packages appeared so placed that i might, without great care, bring them down on myself. still, being thus far free, i determined to persevere. i thought that if i could once more get near the hatchway, i might be able to shout and make myself heard. i tried in all directions to find an opening. at last i thought that i discovered one at the spot from which the crate had fallen. i clambered up one huge bale, then got on another, and i was then on a higher level than i had been since i first fell into the hold. i was rejoiced at the prospect of liberating myself, when a faintness came over me, and i sank down on the top of the bale. as i thus lay i pictured to myself the crew above me going through their usual avocations. i fancied that i could even hear their footsteps on the deck, as they walked about or hauled at the ropes. i was sensible of a gentle movement of the ship, which instead of tumbling furiously about, was gliding on, rising and falling slowly to the sea. the air was purer than that in the part from which i had made my way, and i could breathe more freely. had my strength been sufficient i should have again shouted, as i felt sure i must have been heard, but when i attempted to raise my voice it failed me altogether. i could scarcely utter an articulate sound. i tried again and again, but in vain. i was conscious that i was becoming weaker and weaker. one thing i was determined on, and that was not to return to the dreadful hold. i looked back at it with horror, and i shuddered to think of the amount of rats' flesh i had eaten. yet in many respects i was not better off than before. i had not found any food. my position might be perilous in the extreme, for i could not tell what was around me. i might, should a sudden breeze come on, be thrown back again to the bottom of the hold. for some time i could not move, or exert my mental or physical powers. i again thought that i was going to die; but i was not really so weak as i supposed, for at length, a desire to live returning, i raised myself and tried once more to work my outward way. i could find no outlet, and as my voice had failed me, i was unable to shout, but i could manage to move about. i was very thirsty, and notwithstanding my previous resolution not to return to the lower part of the hold, i thought the wisest thing i could do was to go down and get a draught of water. i believed that i could easily find my way. i let myself down off one bale and then another, till i came to the crate. i crept through it, and curiously enough i felt as if i had returned home. i walked up to the water-cask as if it had been an old friend, with delight, and took a draught of water. it was cool and refreshing, and revived me greatly. i felt hungry; i had hoped never again to eat another rat, but the keenness of my appetite overcame my scruples, and i took one out of the bag. i even thought of placing the bag ready to catch some more. i, however, only ate one of the creatures, though not without difficulty, in spite of my hunger. i then bathed my face and washed my hands, to look a little more respectable should i ere long make my appearance among the crew. for this purpose i withdrew the spile, and allowed the fresh water to trickle first over my hands, and then over my face. this still further refreshed me, and i wished that i had performed a similar operation oftener. had i not suspected that the water at the bottom of the hold must have been by this time very foul, i should have taken off my clothes and had a bath. i refrained, however, from doing this, and contented myself with the pleasant sensation of feeling cleaner than i had been for a long time. i suspect that had i had a looking-glass placed before me, i should not have known myself. on feeling my arms and legs, they seemed like those of a skeleton; my cheeks were hollow, and my hair long and tangled. the rat which i had last eaten had dulled the sense of hunger. i felt a peculiar sensation afterwards, which convinced me more than ever that i could not long exist on rats' flesh. i fancy that i might have been wrong. it was night when i made my last attempt to get upwards, so i thought that i would take a sleep and renew my efforts in the daytime, when i should have a better chance of attracting notice should i get near the hatchway. i accordingly lay down to rest, hoping that it would be the last time i should have to sleep in the hold. i took only short snatches of sleep. when i awoke i lay for some time without moving, and could not help thinking over and over again of the events which had occurred since i left the quay at liverpool. i knew that the end of my confinement must be approaching in some form or other; i should either die, or be restored to the open air. in spite of the wretched condition to which i had been reduced, i had a strong wish to live. i especially wanted to go back to assure aunt deb that i had not intentionally run away, and also to relieve the minds of my father and mother, and brothers and sisters, of the anxiety i believed they must have felt on my account. suddenly also i remembered with painful distinctness the remarks mr butterfield had made respecting captain longfleet, the commander of the "emu," and his ruffianly crew. certainly their appearance was not in their favour; and old growles, who had received me so surlily, was not a good specimen of british seamen. what if the ship should prove to be a pirate, instead of an honest trader? i had heard of the crews of vessels, fitted out at liverpool, assisting slavers on the coast of africa in carrying out their nefarious trade, some committing all sorts of atrocities. should the "emu" prove to be one of these, even if i were not hove overboard, i might be sold as a slave in the spanish possessions, perhaps to labour in the mines among the hapless indians, who are thus employed by their cruel taskmasters. "where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise," and i should have been much less anxious had i not heard so much about such things. i remembered especially a yarn old riddle told me one day about a messmate of his, toney lawson. i may as well try to give the yarn in his own words, though that may be a hard matter, and i can scarcely hope to do full justice to his narrative. "toney, d'ye see, was once on a time knocking about plymouth, after he had been paid off from the ship he last sailed in, when who should he meet but joe gubbins, who had served with him for many years gone by. joe had always been a wild slip of a fellow when he was a youngster. "said joe to toney, `what are you doing in these 'ere parts, old ship?' "toney told him how he had been paid off and had pretty well emptied his pockets of shiners, and was thinking that before long he must join another craft. "`that's just what i was a thinking of too, so just step in here, mate, and we'll have a talk about the matter over a glass or two,' and he pointed to the door of a public-house which stood temptingly open to entice passers-by. "toney was not one of those chaps to get drunk on every occasion, but he had no objection to good liquor when it came in his way. so, intending to pay for what he had, he went in with joe. joe boasted of a craft he had served aboard--a privateer, he called her. she had taken no end of prizes, and had made every one on board her as rich as jews, only somehow or other they didn't keep their money as well as jews did, `and that's the reason why my pockets ain't lined as well as they were a few weeks ago,' observed joe. toney, who was a steady sort of a man, didn't quite like the account joe gave of the `viper's' cruise joe was talking about. "`why, to my mind, she's no better than a bloodthirsty pirate,' he said. "joe laughed. `you're too particular, mate,' said he. `'tain't no worse than many another crew afloat.' "however, he didn't press the point any longer, but emptying his glass, called upon toney to drink up his, and ordered more and more liquor in, when toney said he would not take another drop. at last toney didn't know what happened except that he found himself slipping off from his seat on to the sandy floor, and could not, for the life of him, get up again. he thought it would be better to go to sleep where he was, so he coiled himself away to have a snooze. when he woke he tried to recollect what had happened. "he remembered that he had been sitting with joe gubbins, and that he somehow or other got down on the floor, so he felt about, thinking he was there still. but all was dark; and instead of a sandy floor and the legs of the tables and chairs, his hand touched only some hard pitchy planks. he stretched out his arm as high as he could, and found that there was a deck close above him. he crawled along, and came right against a bulkhead. he knew then that he must be on board a craft of some sort. he was not a man to make a fuss about nothing; and as he was still only half awake, he thought he might as well turn round and go to sleep again. "when he roused up a second time, he felt the vessel moving to the heave of the sea. he had been too long afloat not to know that she was making good way through the water with a fresh breeze. as he was getting somewhat hungry, he didn't want to be any longer down in the hold. he thought it was time to sing out and let those on board know where he was. having a good pair of lungs of his own, he shouted pretty lustily, but no one came near him, nor hailed him. "`this seems a curious job,' he said to himself; `have they taken me for a bale of goods and hove me down here to stay till they discharge cargo?' "presently he heard the sound of a gun fired overhead; right aft, he judged, for he knew well enough by the movements of the vessel which way she was going. then another, and another followed; then came a cheer, though he heard it but faintly down where he was. the guns again went off. he guessed that the craft he was on board of was being chased, and that the cheer was given because the crew had knocked away some of the enemy's spars. he could hear two or three shots strike the hull of the vessel, so he knew that they were not having the game all to themselves. being fond of fighting, he wished that he was on deck to take his share in it. there was no use wishing without trying to get out, but whichever way he moved he found a strong bulkhead. "though he kicked with all his might he could not start a plank. he tried again and again, till every muscle in his body ached. at last he had to give it up. his temper was not growing very sweet, as may be supposed. he began to think whether it was joe gubbins that had brought him aboard, for he didn't come of his own accord, of that he was certain. he vowed that he would pay joe off whenever he fell in with him. at last the firing ceased. he felt, by the quiver running through every plank and timber that the craft was carrying as much sail as she could bear. there was no more cheering, and he could not tell whether she had got away altogether, or was still trying to escape from a big enemy. he tried to fancy why he was kept down there all this time. he supposed that he had been forgotten by whoever brought him aboard. he could not tell whether the vessel was a king's ship or a privateer, but that she was not a merchantman he was pretty sure. perhaps, if she was a man-of-war, or a privateer, she was being chased by a frenchman, but if she was a pirate she was more likely to be running from an english frigate than any other. still it was not likely that a pirate would venture into plymouth sound. "in either case toney didn't relish the thoughts of being captured. in one there would be a french prison in store for him, and in the other a man-of-war captain would not believe that he had been brought aboard against his will, and would declare that he had stowed himself away to escape. at last he got so hungry that he began to fear he should be starved to death. he tried another shout. his voice didn't reach those on deck. he knew by this time that it must be night. having nothing better to do, he was going off to sleep when he heard a bolt withdrawn from the outside, and a light streamed in to where he lay. "`who are you?' he asked, springing up and knocking his head against the deck above him with a force which sent him backwards. "`i'm coming to see how you're getting on, mate,' answered his visitor. "`badly enough,' said toney, `i'm as hungry as a shark, and don't like being shut up down here. who are you?' "`i've been sent down here to ask if you'll, like a wise man, join this craft. she wants hands, and as you're well-known to be a good seaman, you'll get a good berth aboard.' "`i never join a craft unless i know what sort of a captain and messmates i'm a-going to have,' said toney. "`there are times when a man mustn't be over particular,' said his visitor. `you're a fool if you don't say yes, so just come on deck and sign articles. you'll learn all about this craft afterwards.' "`no, no,' said toney; `i never buy a pig in a poke. tell me what? want to know, then i'll tell you whether i'll join or not.' "`you'll join, whether you like it or not,' said his visitor with a growl. `you've chosen to come aboard, and we don't allow idlers.' "`i didn't choose to come aboard,' said toney. `somebody brought me aboard when i was obfuscated, i suppose, and i'll have a reckoning with that somebody before long.' "`if that's your notion you'll stay where you are,' said his visitor, and he slammed the door and bolted it. "toney was a determined fellow, but there was one thing he couldn't stand, and that was hunger. he got worse and worse. he could not sleep, and he could not shout out. by the time his visitor came again he was as meek as a lamb. "`are you going to join or are you not?' was the question. "`i give in,' said toney. "`come along then,' said his visitor. "toney crawled out and up the ladder of the main hatchway. he found that he was on board a brigantine, a rakish-looking craft, with several officers standing aft by the captain, and a numerous crew, among whom he saw joe gubbins. he couldn't help lifting his fist and shaking it at joe, who stood with a brazen face looking as if the threat could not be intended for him. "`are you hungry, my man?' asked an officer, whom he supposed to be the captain. "`can't say but what i am,' said toney. "`then there'll be plenty of grub for you when you've signed these articles.' "`should like to know what they are, sir,' said toney. "`there's the book; you may read them,' said the captain. `put your name down at the bottom of the page.' "now toney was no great hand at reading or writing. he could just manage to scrawl his name. he tried to make out what the articles were about, but it was more than he could do. "`come, my man, are you ready for your grub?' asked the captain. "toney felt as if he should drop if he didn't get something to eat, and just then a whiff from the galley came across his nose. he took the pen and managed to write his name, in a fashion. "`that'll do, my man,' says the captain. `you're now one of the crew, and under my orders. we've pretty strict discipline aboard here. there's the yard-arm, and there's the sea alongside.' "toney was now allowed to go forward and enjoy a good blow out, which he much needed. he felt more like himself afterwards. he soon showed that there was not a better seaman aboard. "nothing particular occurred to show the character of the vessel. joe kept out of his way until he got into a better temper, and they became very good friends again. they ran to the southward till they were in the latitude of the guinea coast, when they fell in with a craft, into which they discharged part of their cargo in exchange for some bags of gold. they now carried on in a strange way, chasing several vessels, capturing some and taking their cargoes out of them, in spite of what their crews could say, afterwards putting them on board a spanish or a portuguese craft and getting doubloons in exchange. their guns and their numerous crew made resistance impossible. they were wonderfully successful in their proceedings, until one day they fell in with a british frigate and had to up stick and run for it. the african coast had become too hot for them, so they stood away for the caribbean sea and spanish main. here they carried on worse than before. the crews of all vessels which resisted were made to walk the plank, and the vessels, after everything had been taken out worth having, were sent to the bottom. "toney, being an honest man, could not stand this; but he knew that, being tarred with the same brush, if taken he would share the fate of the rest. he determined to cut and run on the first opportunity. a strict watch was kept on him; and joe, who knew his thoughts, hinted that the yard-arm would be his fate if he made the attempt and failed. still he was resolved to try and get off, but the matter was settled for him in a way he little expected. the brigantine, during a heavy gale one night, was struck by lightning and blew up, toney and two others only finding themselves floating among the wreck. joe gubbins was one of these. toney managed to get hold of the mainmast and clambered into the top, where he got his legs out of the water and was trying to help joe gubbins, when joe, with a shriek, disappeared. the other man shared the same fate. toney expected to die, but the next day he was picked up by an english sloop-of-war; and as he took care not to give a very clear account of the craft he had been aboard of, he was allowed to enter as one of her crew. here he met roger riddle, to whom he gave the account of his adventure." i thought to myself perhaps the "emu" is employed in the same sort of trade as the "viper," and if so, i shall be as badly off as toney lawson. chapter fourteen. the hold--my provisions become exhausted--a fresh attempt at escape-- pressed by hunger, i persevere--the spar-deck--not out yet--a ray of light--my prostrate condition--my mind gives way--a curious trio--the main hatchway--fresh difficulties arise--a last effort--i am rescued-- ghost of a ghost--i make a new friend and meet with an old one--the crew of the ship--my new quarters--i receive a piece of advice from my new friend--mark's adventures, and how he came aboard the "emu"--poor jack drage--mark gets into trouble. the recollection of toney lawson's adventure didn't tend to make me feel any more comfortable than before. i could scarcely hope to be as well off as he was, or to have so fortunate an escape. my provisions being exhausted, i was aware that i must soon get out of the hold or perish, yet i didn't anticipate much satisfaction from obtaining my liberty. no time was, however, to be lost, and i therefore nerved myself up for a fresh struggle. feeling that i had my knife about me, and having put on my shoes, i prepared to make a desperate attempt to effect my escape. i crawled on through the crate, and once more attempted to climb up over the packages into the main hold. i tried to do this in several directions, but i found no opening so promising as the one which i had before explored. my weakness prevented me from making the exertions that were required to force my way between the bales. i was in momentary fear of falling down a crevice, and being jammed to death. my situation in some respects was infinitely worse than that of toney lawson, who was bolted in, but then people knew where he was. no one on deck was aware of my deplorable condition. still i crawled on, resolved to succeed. while feeling about, i discovered a space between three or four bales. i crept in very much as a rat does into his hole, only he knows where he is going. i could not tell whether i should get through or have to force my way out again legs first. still the cravings of hunger induced me to venture. on i crept, when on putting up my hand i found that there was nothing above me which i could touch, so that i was able to stand upright, though there might be some depth in front down which i might fall. i moved with the greatest caution. it turned out, however, that they were only bales piled one upon another, and that i was standing in a sort of well. still there were stepping-places, and with the ropes which bound the bales i was able to work my way upwards. higher and higher i got. i could now distinctly hear the footsteps of the men on the deck, which i guessed, therefore, could be no great distance above me. the ship must have been moving calmly along, and i was thus preserved from being jerked off from the place to which i was clinging. i still moved on till i reached a part of the hold filled chiefly, it appeared to me, with large packing-cases and casks. i was almost on a level floor. it might have been the spar-deck. wearied with the fatigue i had undergone, i sat down on a box to rest. i could now distinctly hear not only the tread of the men's feet, but their voices. they were the first human voices which had reached my ears for days, or rather weeks. i tried to shout to attract their attention, but my voice had completely failed me. not a sound could i utter. i felt that i had not strength to move an inch further. twice i made the attempt, and had to sink back again on my seat. i was gazing upward, the only direction from which help could come, when a ray of light streamed right upon me. forgetting my weakness, i started up. it must come, i knew, from the partly open hatchway, or from a fracture in the hatch itself. this i afterwards found to have been the case, the fracture being covered up with a tarpaulin, which had at that instant been removed. again i endeavoured to shout out, but my voice was not under the control of my will. no sounds issued from my mouth. i stretched out my hands in an imploring attitude, fancying that i should be seen. i attempted to make my way directly under the opening, but ere i could reach it i sank down utterly exhausted. i had never before been so completely prostrated. i didn't lose my senses, but all physical power had deserted me. i could scarcely move my hands or feet; still i thought that the hatch must be again opened before long, and that i could not fail to be discovered. i earnestly prayed that help might be sent me. how it was to come i could not tell. notwithstanding what was before me, i still desired to be set free. although i was not sleeping, strange fancies filled my brain. i saw people flit about in the darkness, suddenly coming into the light, and then disappearing. some were people i knew, and others were strangers. aunt deb and mr butterfield came by, tripping it lightly, holding each other's hands, he in a bob wig with a sword by his side, she in high-heeled red shoes and a cap decked with flowers and ribbons. she smiled and ogled, as if about to dance a minuet. i almost laughed as i saw them, they appeared so vivid and real. then captain longfleet came upon the scene as i fancied him, dressed in a cocked-hat and feathers, a long sword buckled to his side, high boots, a red coat, and a waistcoat braided with gold. i fancy that i must have seen some picture of the sort of a pirate captain to cause him thus to be presented to my imagination. he walked about flourishing his sword till he met aunt deb, to whom, instead of cutting her head off, as i thought he was about to do, he made a profound bow, and then vanished. many other figures quite as bizarre and unnatural appeared before me. i mention these trivial circumstances to show the state of my mind. i had been so long by myself that i must be pardoned if i appear egotistical. again all was quiet. i lay for some time, if not unconscious, with very little power of thought. i was afraid that another night would come on, and that i should have to endure my sufferings for some hours longer, if death did not put an end to them. i could still hear the tread of the men's feet, and even the voices of the officers, shouting their orders. how i wished that i could shout also, for then i knew i should be heard. i tried once more to move, and managed to drag myself on till i got directly under the hatchway. although i could not shout, to my surprise i heard myself groaning. there being light sufficient to enable me to observe objects, my eye fell upon a loose piece of wood. i grasped it with all my remaining strength, and began beating away on the top of a cask, which proved to be empty from the sound which emanated from it. i beat on and on, but no notice appeared to be taken of the noise i was making. i was too ill and weak to reason on the subject, but i remembered hearing a loud voice shouting out some orders. presently there came a tramp of feet overhead, backwards and forwards and from side to side they seemed to run. the crew were evidently engaged in shortening or making sail, which it was i was unable to tell. i had sense enough remaining to know that whilst this was going forward on deck it was not likely that notice would be taken of my feeble knocking, for feeble it was, though it sounded loud to me. presently i felt a greater movement than i had experienced for some time, and the ship heeled over on one side. my fear was that the cases on which i lay might be again shifted, and that i might be thrown down to some lower depth of the hold, with bales and casks above me. of course i am describing what i fancied might happen, not what was likely to occur. i now guessed that a number of the crew must have gone aloft to shorten sail, and that even if they had heard the noise they would not have had time to ascertain what had caused it. i now more than ever feared that, before i could be liberated, i should become utterly exhausted, and should fall into a swoon from which i might never recover. i was too weak to pray, or any longer exert myself. still my senses did not altogether desert me. i lay on my back, looking up towards the hatchway. the ship heeled over more and more. to me, who had been accustomed to live so long down near the keel, it appeared at a frightful angle, and i though, she would go over altogether. again i heard voices shouting out orders, and the crew, i supposed, went aloft to take in more sail. i was afraid that another storm was coming on. fearful would be the consequences to me if such should be the case. presently i heard something dragged over the hatchway. the ray of light which had hitherto tended to keep up my waning spirits was obscured. a tarpaulin had been placed over the hatchway. perhaps the crew were about to batten down the hatches. in vain i tried, while this was going forward, to strike the cask. i had not sufficient strength to do it. a fearful faintness was coming over me. perhaps the movement of the ship contributed to this. i think i must have fainted, for i cannot recollect what happened. i had no strength to hold on or to grasp the stick, and might have been thrown helplessly about like a shuttlecock till life was extinct. i fancy that some time must have passed. when i recovered my senses, my first impulse was to feel for the stick. it was close to me. i had power to grasp it. the top of the chest on which i lay was perfectly level, but i expected to find it heeling over as before. instead of that, no movement took place. the ship was apparently gliding forward on an even keel. the storm had ceased, or probably the ship had only been struck by a sudden squall, which had passed over. my first impulse was again to try and strike the cask and to shout out, but i could only utter a few low groans. i managed, however, to give some blows on the cask, which resounded through the hold. the noise was loud enough, i fancy, to be heard on deck, or indeed in every part of the ship. i beat on and on. presently the tarpaulin was drawn off, and i heard some feet moving directly above me. a voice said distinctly, "below! what's that?" almost immediately the hatch was removed, and as i looked up a flood of light burst down upon me. for some seconds i could see nothing. gradually i made out a number of human faces peering down through the hatchway. "why, what can that be?" exclaimed one of the men. "ghost of a ghost," cried another. "it can't be a live thing," said a third. "why, jack, i do believe it's a boy," exclaimed a fourth; "we must get him up whatever he is, but how could he have come there?" presently a ladder was let down. none of the men seemed inclined to descend, evidently having some doubts as to my character, till the last speaker, calling the others cowards, came down. instead of at first reviving me, the effect of the fresh air was to make me faint away. when i recovered i found myself lying on the deck, surrounded by a number of strange faces. a seaman--the one who, i suppose, had brought me up--was supporting me and applying a wet cloth to my head and shoulders, while another, kneeling down, was examining my countenance. "why, youngster, how did you come aboard here? where have you been ever since we sailed from the mersey?" he asked. too weak to answer, i could only stretch out my hand and then point to my lips, to show that i wanted food and water. "if you've been down in the hold all these weeks, no wonder that you want something to eat," he remarked. still he didn't move, or propose to obtain any refreshment for me. as my lack-lustre eyes looked up at him, i recognised gregory growles, the old seaman to whom i had at first spoken with my cutter under my arm. no wonder that he didn't recollect me in my present forlorn and dirt-begrimed condition. at last the seaman against whom i leant told one of his messmates to get me some water. with indifference, if not unwillingness, the man did as requested, and going to the water-butt on deck brought me a mugful, which i greedily drank. "by the feel of his ribs he wants something more substantial than water," observed my friend. "we must get the poor young chap into a berth, and feed him up, or he'll be slipping his cable. there doesn't seem to be much life in him now." "that will be seen." "what business had he to stow himself away, and make us all fancy that a ghost was haunting the ship?" cried growles, in a surly way. "we shall hear what the captain has to say to him. to my notion, as he's made his bed, so he'll have to lie on it." "come, come, mate, it would be hard lines for the poor young chap if he were left to die, without any of us trying to bring him through. i, for one, can't stand by doing nothing, so just one of you lend a hand here, and we'll put him into my berth, and get the cook to make some broth for him," said the kind-hearted seaman. while he was speaking, a person, who was evidently one of the officers, came forward and expressed his surprise at seeing me, and inquired why he hadn't been informed of my having been discovered? the men replied, that i had only just been found and brought on deck, and that they thought i was dying. "it would have saved trouble to have hove him overboard before he came to himself," said the mate, with a careless laugh. "the captain doesn't allow of stowaways, and we don't want any aboard here." he said this, i suppose, to frighten me, indifferent to the consequences. "he's very bad, sir," said my friend, touching his hat, "and, maybe, it won't much matter what is done with him; but if you'll give me leave, i'll take him below to my berth, after we've washed off the dirt that sticks to him. he wants food more than anything else to bring him round, and when he's himself we can make some use of him at all events. we want a boy forward very badly, and he'll be worth his salt, i've a notion." "you may do what you like with him, tom trivett," answered the officer, "only don't let us be bothered with him. we've trouble enough with young riddle, the mutinous young rascal. he'll have to look out for himself, if he don't mind." the officer was the third mate of the ship, who happened just then to have charge of the deck. he made further inquiries about how i had been found, and asked the men whether they had before known of my being on board? trivett replied that they were entirely ignorant as to how i had come into the ship, but that hearing peculiar noises, they lifted the hatch, and that he had gone down and discovered me. "we shall hear by-and-by what he has to say for himself. in the meantime, trivett, take care of him, and i'll let the captain know he's been found. he's the ghost you fellows have been frightened about," said the mate. "we were no more frightened than he was," i heard some of the men utter, "but who could tell where all those strange noises we heard came from when any of us went down into the hold. he's precious ready to call us cowards, but he was more frightened than we were. why, he would never go down unless he had a couple of hands with him." while this was going on, tom trivett continued swabbing my head and neck. when the mate walked aft he called to the cook to bring him a bucket of warm water from the caboose, as well as a lump of soap, a scrubbing-brush, and a piece of canvas. the sun was shining brightly, and the air was warm, so that i did not feel the exposure so much as it might have been felt. tom forthwith set about to scrape me clean, taking his own pocket-comb to disentangle my matted hair after he had washed it. the operation, though somewhat hazardous, greatly refreshed me. before it was concluded, julius caesar, the black cook, who had some tender spot in his heart, brought out a basin of soup, from which trivett fed me as tenderly as a nurse would a young child. this still further revived me. "you shall have some more, boy, when i have done a-cleaning you," said tom. the rest of the crew sat round making remarks, but not even offering to assist their shipmate, evidently perfectly indifferent as to what happened to me, though perhaps curious to see whether i should revive under the treatment to which i was being subjected. judging by the colour of the water after i had been washed in it, i must have been as black as a coal. i rather think julius caesar must have fancied that i was one of his own race, and must have been greatly astonished at seeing a blackamoor washed white. when the operation was concluded, growles again came and had a look at me. "why, i do believe it's none other than the young chap who came aboard us at liverpool," he exclaimed. "i thought as when i saw him so often that he was up to something, but never fancied that he was going to stow himself away, or i should have been on the watch for him. well, he'll have to pay pretty smartly for the trick he has played us." my friend tom took no notice of this and similar remarks made by others of the crew; but after having again fed me, he called to a stout-looking lad who was coming forward from the companion-hatchway to assist in carrying me to his berth under the topgallant forecastle. the lad, without hesitation, did as he was directed, and took up my legs, while tom lifted me by the arms. as i was being carried along, my eyes turned towards the lad who was stepping backwards, when i at once recognised him as mark riddle, though he looked very different to the smart young chap he was when i last saw him, and he evidently did not know me. "can't you find a shirt and a pair of trousers for the poor fellow?" cried tom; "his own want washing terribly." mark ran aft, and in a short time returned with the garments, in which tom clothed me. notwithstanding the food which had been given me, i was still too weak to speak. he and tom lifted me into an upper bunk on the starboard side. as he did so, i stretched out my hand and seized his, which i pressed between my bony fingers. i could just say, "thank you, mark." he looked at me very hard, but still did not seem to have a suspicion who i was. this was not surprising, as he did not even know that i had gone to liverpool. i was so altered, that even my mother would scarcely have recognised me. he, however, asked tom trivett who i was. tom replied that i was a young stowaway, but that he knew no more about me than did the man in the moon. "go and fetch the remainder of the broth," i heard tom say. "a little more will do him good, and then if he gets a sound sleep he'll come round, i have a notion." "if he does, it will only be to lead a dog's life," murmured mark, as he left to get the broth. tom stood by me arranging the blankets, and trying to make me comfortable till mark returned with some soup, with some biscuits and rice floating in it. though i could drink the liquid, it was with difficulty that i could masticate the latter, but i managed to get down a few pieces. "he has eaten enough now," said tom; "but, i say, mark," he whispered, "you keep an eye on him whenever you can, so that none of the fellows play him any tricks. they'd do so, though they knew he was dying, out of devilry." "aye, aye," answered mark. "they shan't hurt the poor young chap if i can help it, though i've enough to do to keep clear of them myself." "well, we shall be three now, and shall be better able to stand up against them," said tom. i heard no more; for after taking the food a drowsiness crept over me, and i fell into a sound sleep. when i awoke i was in the dark, and felt very much more comfortable than i had for a long time. at first i fancied that i was down in the hold, but the loud snoring and groaning of the men in the neighbouring bunks made me remember what had happened. i felt about, and was soon convinced that i was in tom trivett's bunk, in a clean shirt and trousers, and a blanket over me. i heard the watch below turn out, the others shortly afterwards came in, but no one took any notice of me. when the latter were fast asleep i heard some one come into the berth and stop near my bunk. "who's that?" i asked. "glad to see you can speak again, my lad," said the person whom by his voice i knew to be tom trivett. "do you feel better?" "yes, thank you," i answered. "you've saved my life, and i'm very grateful to you." "don't talk o' that, lad," he said, "it's not much good i can do in the world, but i couldn't bear to see you allowed to die from neglect, though i'm afraid there are hard times coming for you. you're among as rough a lot as ever sailed on the salt ocean, and that's saying a good deal. i want to give you a piece of advice; i mayn't have another chance of giving it. don't be in a great hurry to get well, for though the fellows, bad as they are, won't have the cruelty to ill-treat you while you're sick, as soon as you come round they'll be down upon you, and you'll find that they'll give you more kicks than ha'pence. however, you must not mind them. don't attempt to retaliate, for they're too many for you. above all things don't grow sulky as poor mark did, and has ever since well-nigh had his life knocked out of him. now i must go on deck as it's my watch, but remember what i have said." i again thanked tom, and just as he was going i asked him if he could get me any more food. "i'll try and get you something as soon as the cook turns out; but he's asleep in his bunk, and at this hour it would be a difficult job to find any. i'll tell mark, however, to ask him when he wakes, though i'd advise you to go off to sleep again." saying this, tom left the berth, and i once more closed my eyes. i was awakened by the men turning out. the light streamed in at the door, showing me that it was morning. in consequence of the advice i received from tom, i kept quiet and pretended to be asleep. soon afterwards i saw mark riddle standing by my side. "tom told me you're hungry, boy," he said; "so i managed to get something for you from the pantry. i hope it won't be discovered, or the third mate will be giving me a rope's-ending." he had brought me a captain's biscuit and a slice of ham, with a tin mug of water. "i'll bring you a cup of hot coffee," he said, handing me the food. hungry as i was i could not help exclaiming, "what, don't you know me, mark?" he looked at me very hard, still not remembering me. "no, i don't think i ever saw you before," he answered; "but how do you happen to know my name?" "i didn't think i was so changed," i said. "i'm dick cheveley." "dick cheveley!" he cried out, looking at me still harder; "dick cheveley on board this ship! and yet it must be; and are you really dick cheveley?" "i don't believe i'm anybody else, though i have sometimes fancied i must be." "yes, yes, i see you're master cheveley," cried mark, "though i can't say i feel much happier to see you for your own sake, though i'm right glad for mine to have you with me," taking my hand and grasping it. "oh, master cheveley, what did bring you aboard?" i briefly told him while i was discussing the food he brought me. "it's a bad business for you, master dick," he said; "but the only thing now to be done is to make the best of it. they're a precious bad lot, and the captain and officers are no better. i've made up my mind to run as soon as i can, and i'd advise you to do the same." "that i certainly will when i have somewhere to run to, but at present it seems we should have to run overboard," i answered. "we must wait until we get into harbour. we shall have to touch at a good many places, and if we keep our wits about us we shall manage it one way or another." "we'll talk about that by-and-by, but tell me how you happened to be here. i heard that you had been sent on board a man-of-war," i said. "so i was, and i wish i had remained aboard her, too; but as i had been sent against my will, i cut and run on the first chance i got. she was the `beagle' sloop of war. we were ordered to cruise on the irish coast. we were not far off the town of belfast, when a boat's crew to which i belonged pulled ashore under charge of a mid-shipmite. while he went into a house to deliver a message, i ran off as fast as my legs could carry me. i at last reached a cottage in which there was a whiteheaded old fellow, a girl, and two young men. i told them that i had been pressed and ill-treated, and was trying to make my escape from the cruelty of the english. the young men said at once that they would protect me, and would answer that i should not be retaken. the old man warned them that they were playing a dangerous game, and said that he would have nothing to do with the business, advising them to take me back to the boat. the girl, however, pleaded for me, and observed that now i had run, my punishment would be ten times greater, and that it would be cruel and inhospitable to refuse me shelter. she prevailed on her old grandfather. that evening the young men took me down aboard a little `hooker,' which they said was just going to sail for liverpool, and that if i liked i could go in her. her cargo, they said, was timber and fruit, but turned out to be faggots and potatoes. i knew that at liverpool there was no chance of being discovered, and i at once agreed. we reached the mersey in a couple of days. as ill-luck would have it, i landed close to where the `emu' was getting ready for sea. knowing that i could not venture to return home, i went on board and asked if a boy was wanted. the first mate at once said yes, as one of the apprentices had cut and run and could not be found. i thought i was in good luck, but we hadn't been to sea many days before i found that i had fallen out of the frying-pan into the fire. the other apprentice, poor jack drage, told me that he had been kicked and cuffed from the first moment that he had stepped on board, and that if he had had any friends on shore, he'd have taken french leave as the other had done. things had grown worse instead of better, and he was already weary of his life. i advised him not to give in; that in time things must mend; but he was a poor-hearted fellow and only wrung his hands and cried, declaring that he was utterly miserable. i did my best to keep up his spirits, but it was all of no use. one night during a gale we had soon after sailing, he disappeared. whether he had thrown himself overboard into the sea, or been knocked overboard no one could tell. of course it was entered in the log that he had been knocked overboard. in my opinion he sacrificed his life rather than endure his miseries. i told the first mate so, and he knocked me down. the next time he called me a sulky rascal, but i answered that i was not going to do away with myself like jack drage, and that i would make a complaint of him to the british consul whenever we touched at a port. on this he knocked me down again. i know that i was taken with the sulks, and for days afterwards didn't speak to him or any one else; but as i had no wish to be killed, i did what i was ordered to do, and got on somewhat better. ever since that not a day passes that i don't get a kick or have a marline-spike hove at my head by either the officers or men forward. they're all very much alike for that matter, except tom trivett, and he's as good a fellow as ever lived. he has a hard life of it, for the men are always playing him tricks; and the officers spite him, and are constantly making him do dirty jobs which no able seaman should be called on to perform. but, i say, i mustn't stand talking here any longer, or i shall be suspected of being your friend. don't let any one find out that we know each other, and we shall get on all the better. i'll tell tom trivett, and he'll bring you the coffee if i can't manage it; meanwhile you stay quiet in the bunk, even if you feel well enough to get up." "there is no chance of my being able to do that for some days," i answered, "for i don't think i could stand if i were to try." mark now left me, and i fell back nearly exhausted from having talked so long to him. after some time tom appeared with a basin of hot black coffee, with some biscuit floating in it. "can't i have a little milk?" i asked. "we've not any cows on board here," he answered with a laugh; "and there are no dairies in the atlantic, unless daddy neptune happens to keep sea-cows." "you must have thought me very silly to ask for milk," i said, as i ate up the sopped biscuit, and drank the hot coffee, which was well sweetened with sugar. "it shows you are something of a greenhorn, lad," he answered, laughing, "but no wonder your wits aren't of the brightest after having been shut up in the dark so long; you shall have something else by-and-by. remember what i told you; don't be getting well too soon, that's all." chapter fifteen. my convalescence--julius caesar befriends me--we pass the cape de verde islands--our hopes of a change of diet disappear--my turn at last--a severe discipline--captain longfleet--"please, sir, i couldn't help it"--"there goes the baby and his nurse"--caesar's sympathy--how i owed my life to tom trivett--bad food--"it makes me sick to cook it"--the deputation to the captain--the discontent increases among the crew--crossing the line--"what ship is that?"--we receive a visit from daddy neptune and his court--rough play, and what it might have come to. i intended to take the advice of my friend and not get well too soon, but in reality there was no malingering in the case, for i remained too low and weak to get out of my bed. tom trivett all the time, having given up his berth to me, slept in a far more uncomfortable bunk right forward, but never uttered a word of complaint, or tried to induce me to turn out. his was true samaritan charity, and i was grateful to him. he even, i knew, tried to influence the rest of the crew for good, but did not succeed. they let him alone, which was all he could expect of them. the third mate, who knew i was there, never came near me to inquire how i was getting on. mark paid me a visit whenever he could venture to do so, and brought me my food when tom was on duty. the only other man who was kind to me was julius caesar, the black cook, and he frequently sent me wholesome messes which he had concocted for my special benefit; but he had to charge mark and tom not to let the other men see them, lest they should be gobbled up on their way. mark told me this, for julius caesar himself never came to have a look at me. "if i come, den dey say i friend of his--it worse for him." both mark and caesar slept in the larboard berth, so that they had no business in the one i occupied. i should explain that the space under the topgallant forecastle was divided by a bulkhead running fore and aft into parts forming separate cabins, one called the starboard, and the other the larboard berths, with bunks built up on both sides, one above another, or rather, in two stories, to explain myself better. in moderate weather they were tolerably comfortable, but with the sun beating down on the deck they were fearfully hot. in a gale of wind, as the seas dashed against the bows or she pitched into them, the noise and movement were tremendous. however, to that i in time got accustomed. sometimes the decks and upper works leaked, and the water coming in wetted the clothes and bedding. however, in other respects they were better than the forepeak in a flush-decked ship, which is generally close and hot, full of horrible odours, and totally destitute of ventilation, and often wet into the bargain, from unseen leaks which are not of sufficient consequence to trouble the officers, as they do not affect the safety of the ship. at length, one day tom told me that we were within sight of the cape de verde islands, at which he believed the captain intended to call. he was very glad, he said, of this, as he hoped to be able to get me a supply of oranges and limes, which he thought would do me more good than anything else. the very name of fruit made my mouth water, and i thought i would give a great deal just to have one good suck at an orange. great was my disappointment, therefore, when shortly afterwards mark came in, and said that a strong north-easterly wind had sprung up, and that we were standing away from the islands, but that the captain, he believed, intended to put into rio de janeiro. "i must wait patiently till we get there," i said. "i hope it won't take us long." "we have to pass through the horse latitudes, and to cross the line first, and rio is some way to the south of that, so i'm afraid you must suck your fingers instead of oranges," he answered. i was now rapidly getting better, and i began to pine for fresh air and exercise. "you'll be wiser to stay where you are, master dick," said mark. "no one believes that you're a gentleman's son, and if they did i'm very sure it would make very little difference. i should, perhaps, benefit by your getting about, as you would have all the dirty work to do which now falls to my lot. it's only surprising that the captain has allowed you to remain so long in the berth, for he knows that you're aboard, though he takes no notice of you. still i'd advise you, as long as you can, to stay where you are." i had not long the opportunity. two days afterwards the third mate came into the berth with a short, knotted rope in his hand. "come, youngster, you have been long enough malingering here," he exclaimed; "i find the cook has been serving out no end of good grub to you, and you've done nothing for it. we don't want idlers aboard the `emu;' show a leg there pretty smartly." i attempted to rise. tom had washed and dried my clothes. i got hold of my trousers, and slipt my legs into them. when i attempted to stand upright, my knees gave way and down i sank. at the same moment the mate's colt descended on my back. i was taken so completely by surprise that i shrieked out with pain. i tried to lift myself up by the supports of the bunk, and succeeded in getting on my feet. "i thought i'd cure you. do you want another dose of this rope?" "oh! no, sir! no, sir! don't! i'll dress as fast as i can," i called out. the moment i let go i felt that i must slip down again. still the fear of another lash made me exert myself in a way i could not otherwise have done, and i tried very hard to put on my waistcoat and jacket, and to tie my handkerchief, by sitting down on a lower bunk. "now, come along!" said the mate; "the captain wants to speak to you." i attempted to walk, but as i tottered on my knees again failed me, and i should have fallen had not the mate caught me by the shoulders and dragged me along the deck. it was a severe discipline, but it was effective, for the air and the necessity of moving quickly brought back strength to my limbs, and by the time i reached the quarterdeck i was able to keep my feet, though i should have fallen had not the mate still held me. we there found the captain pacing to and fro. on turning he stopped when he saw me. "is this the young stowaway, mr huggins?" he asked, eyeing me very sternly. "what business had you to come aboard, boy, without leave?" "please, sir, i couldn't help it," i said, and i told him that when merely intending to look round the ship i had fallen into the hold. "a likely story, youngster, which i don't intend to believe. you came on board to please yourself, and now you'll learn to please me, and do the work you're set to do." "i'll do my best, sir," i answered, for i saw he was not a man to be trifled with; "but i am not fit for much at present." "you contrived to live down in the hold in an extraordinary manner--how did you manage it?" i told him in a few words. "another likely story," he remarked. "in other words, you stole the ship's provisions as long as you could get at them, or you had an accomplice who kept you fed--he'll be made to smart for it." on hearing this, i began to tremble for the consequences to mark. though the captain didn't mention his name, i guessed that he pointed at him. i was much inclined to say who i was, and to speak of mr butterfield, but shame prevented me, and the captain made no inquiries on the subject. "now go forward," he said; "look out sharp, get back your strength, and make yourself useful." he turned on his heel, not deigning to hold any further conversation with so insignificant a person as he considered me. the mate let me go. i tried to walk, but staggered like a drunken man, and could only just manage to reach the side, and catch hold of a belaying-pin. i remained there until the captain turned round, when, afraid of his looks, i once more set off to make my way along the deck, the mate taking no trouble to help me, while the crew jeered and laughed at me; till tom trivett, who had been at work on the other side, crossing over, took my arm and led me along to the forehatch, where he bade me sit down. "there goes the baby and his nurse," said one of the men. "tom will be getting him some pap presently," said another--at which they laughed in chorus. the third mate, seeing tom standing over me, ordered him back to his work. mark made an attempt to join me, but was sent to perform some task or other, and i was left alone and forlorn to endure the gibes of my hardhearted shipmates. caesar, however, came out of his caboose, and whispered as he passed-- "neber you mind, dick, as long dey only use der tongue." he grinned and pointed with his finger, so that the rest fancied that he was only mocking me as they were. notwithstanding this, the fresh air and the necessity of exerting myself did me good, and after i had taken some food that caesar brought me when the men went into their berth to dinner, i felt quite another creature. at nightfall i was allowed to slink into my bunk, of which tom still refused to deprive me. "i'm very well where i am. i'm accustomed to it, and you are not, dick," he said, when i begged him to let me change places. the next day i was still better, and after this i rapidly recovered my strength, notwithstanding the cuffs and kicks and rope's-endings i frequently received, and the hard work i had to perform. my clothes were soon again as dirty as they were when i came out of the hold, and torn and tattered besides. "never mind, dick," said tom; "i'll rig you out in a suit of mine, which i'll cut down to suit you when we get into colder latitudes. it doesn't much matter about having old clothes now the weather is so hot." mark regretted that he could not help me, as he had only the clothes he stood up in, which would have been almost as bad as my own had they not been of stronger material, and thus held out better. though the rest of the crew ill-treated mark and me, and tom also when they had the chance, the captain and officers tyrannised over them in the most brutal fashion. it was no unusual occurrence for the first mate to heave a handspike at one of the men when he did not go about his work in a way to please him, and both captain and mates swore at the men on all occasions in the most fearful way. at first i was horrified, but in time i got as much accustomed to it as they were, and was only thankful that the oaths were not accompanied by a rope's-ending. all this time the discipline was really very slack, and the men behaved to each other as they pleased, and never failed to neglect their duty whenever the mates' eyes were off them. still they resented, notwithstanding, the treatment they received, growling fiercely, if not loudly, when the quality of their provisions had begun to fall off. at first the food had been pretty good, but it now became worse and worse, and the men swore that they would stand it no longer. at last, when some rancid pork had been served out with musty peas and weevilly biscuits, the men went aft in a body, headed by the boatswain, sass jowler, and growles, who were deputed to be spokesmen, to the quarterdeck, where the captain was walking. "i axes you, captain longfleet, whether you think this ere stuff is fit food for british seamen?" said the boatswain, holding up a piece of the pork at the end of a two-pronged fork. "it makes um sick to cook it," said caesar, who was standing behind the rest. "and i wants to know, in the name of the crew, whether this 'ere biscuit as is all alive with maggots, is the stuff we poor fellows forward should be made to put into our mouths?" cried growles. "what's that you're talking about, you mutinous rascals?" cried the captain; "stop a bit, and i'll answer you." saying this, he sprang back into the cabin, and while the men stood staring at the door without advancing, he reappeared with a pistol in the one hand and a cutlass in the other. i observed that he had a second pistol in his belt. "you know i never miss my aim, you scoundrels. the first man that utters a word on the subject i'll shoot through the head. the food's good enough for better men than you, so be off forward, and let this be the last time i hear any complaint. if not, look out for squalls." the men stood irresolute, and no one liked to run the chance of having a pistol-bullet sent through his head. "are you going, you villains?" thundered the captain, pointing his pistol at the boatswain. he used a good many other stronger expletives, which need not be repeated. the boatswain was a bold fellow, but his courage gave way, and he stepped back. the others, overawed by the determined manner of the captain, imitated the example of their leader, knowing that the pistol might be turned towards any one who stood his ground, and together they retreated forward, tumbling over each other in their endeavour to put as wide a distance as possible between themselves and their now furious commander. for my part, i felt a greater amount of respect for him than i had ever done before. his eye did not for a moment quail, his arm appeared as firm as iron. had he shown the slightest hesitation, the men, in the temper they were in, would have been upon him, and he would have lost his authority. mark and i remained at one side of the deck, where we happened to be at the time. tom trivett had not come aft, having refused to take any part in the affair, whereby he gained still greater ill-will than before from his shipmates. the discontent which had thus shown itself, though kept down for a time, was by no means quelled. we had to eat the food, bad as it was, though perhaps not altogether as bad as the samples exhibited to the captain. the third mate came forward much oftener than before, and tried hard to win back the men into something like good-humour, but his efforts were unavailing. "you see, mr simmons, as how we poor fellows have got to work hard, and except we gets good grub we can't do it," i heard the boatswain remark in an insinuating tone; "it's very hard lines for us to have to eat rancid pork and weevilly bread, when we knows well enough that the captain and mates has good grub in the cabin. share and share alike, and we sha'n't complain. but we must abide by it till the ship gets into harbour, and then we suppose that the captain will be getting good stores aboard and will serve out fresh meat and vegetables." "oh! of course he'll do that," said mr simmons, pleased, as he thought, at having brought the men to reason. "you know captain longfleet is a just man, though he's a determined one, and won't stand nonsense. everything will go well, i hope, by-and-by." i should have observed that our boatswain held a very different position among the crew to that occupied by a warrant officer on board a man-of-war. he was merely one of the men, and was so called from certain duties he had to perform, and was a sort of link between the officers and the crew. we were now in the tropics. when there was a breeze the heat was supportable enough, but when it fell calm we could scarcely bear our clothes on, and went about in shirts and trousers, with bare feet, and were glad to have the opportunity of getting into the shade. the pitch boiled up out of the seams, and old growles declared that he could cook a beefsteak on the capstan-head, if he only had a beefsteak to cook. the heat did not improve the temper of the men, and the ship became to mark and me a regular hell afloat. matters were almost as bad with tom trivett, but he could hold his own better than we could. one day mark came to me. "i say, dick," he exclaimed--a common fate had made us equal, and he had long ago dropped the master--"i've been hearing that to-morrow we're to cross the line. i wonder what sort of place we shall get into on t'other side; as far as i can make out, it's a kind of bar, and those who go over it for the first time have to pay toll to old daddy neptune, who is coming aboard to collect his dues." i was surprised that mark had never heard of the line, and so i tried to explain to him what it was. as to neptune coming on board, i knew that that was all nonsense, and so i told him. during that evening and the next morning some of the men were busily engaged in their berth, into which they allowed no one but themselves to enter. soon after noon the captain, having taken his observations, gave notice that we were about to cross the line. mark and i had been sent aft, when we heard a voice hail as if from under the bows. "what ship is that?" "the `emu,'" answered the captain, who with the officers was standing on the poop. "where did you come from, and for what port are you bound?" asked the voice. "from liverpool, and we're bound to rio and round cape horn," answered the captain. "all right, captain longfleet; with your leave my wife and i will pay you a visit and bring some of our children and attendants, and if you have any youngsters who have not crossed the line before, we shall have a word to say to them." "you're welcome, father neptune, for i suppose no one else would be desirous of giving me a call out in these seas." it was amusing to observe mark's look of astonishment when immediately afterwards a party of grotesque figures appeared clambering over the bows. the first was an old fellow with a long white beard, a gold paper crown on his head, and a sceptre in his hand, and dressed in a flowing robe painted all over with curious devices. with him came a huge woman, also wearing a crown and garments of many colours, a necklace of huge beads and a couple of clasp-knives hanging down from either side of her face to serve as ear-rings; another figure followed them equally curiously dressed, with a basin under one arm, a pair of sailmaker's shears hanging round his neck, and a piece of rusty hoop shaped like a razor in his hand. a fourth person, tall and gaunt, was seen in a cocked-hat, a thick cane in one hand, and a box of pills of large proportions in the other. following them came a party of monsters in green dresses with long tails, and heads covered by oakum wigs. the captain, wishing to humour the men, shouted out-- "glad to see your majesty on board my ship. you're welcome to come aft and look out for any of those whose acquaintance you have not before made." on this the whole gang came tramping aft. mark and i saw that their eyes were fixed upon us. we had no place to fly to but up the mizen rigging. we made the attempt, but were quickly caught by some of the monsters, who managed to climb up in spite of their tails. the barber had in the meantime placed a huge tub on the deck, and a couple of small casks. on these we were compelled to sit down, when he immediately with a paint-brush began to daub our faces over with the contents of a bucket of grease. he then drew out his razor, and scraped us in the most cruel fashion, taking off the skin at every stroke. the doctor in the meanwhile, with mock solemnity, felt our pulses, and then observing that we were terribly sick, crammed one of the boluses out of his box into our mouths, and forced it down with his tarry finger. "a bath would do them good," he growled out. we were seized, and soused head over heels in a tub till we were well-nigh drowned. in vain we struggled and shrieked. every time we opened our mouths the barber shoved his brush into them, and the monsters then ducked our heads under water to wash them out, as they said. more dead than alive we were at last allowed to go, but had scarcely strength left to crawl away. tom trivett was next dragged aft, though he declared that he had often crossed the line. daddy neptune refused, however, to believe him, protesting that he had never seen his face in those parts before. though he fought bravely he was overpowered, and was even worse treated than we had been, the monsters, aided by the doctor and barber and mrs neptune, holding his arms and legs. the captain and officers all the time in no way interfered, but seemed to enjoy the cruel sport. they wished, indeed, to allow the sailors to take their full fling according to their barbarous fancies. mark and i, seeing how our friend was treated, attempted to go to his rescue, but we had better have remained quiet, both for his sake and our own, for we were cuffed and kicked even worse than before, and with difficulty again made our escape. a double allowance of grog was served out, which made the men even more savage than before; and when they were tired of ill-treating us they took to rough play among themselves. daddy neptune's crown was torn off, his sceptre broken in two, his wife was despoiled of her finery; the doctor's hat and spectacles shared the same fate; he was made to swallow his own pills, and the barber had his brush nearly shoved down his throat. they would have come to serious blows had not the captain ordered them to knock off and return to their duty. the mates, with boats' stretchers in their hands, had to rush in among them before they could be induced to desist. not until a breeze sprang up, and they were ordered aloft to make sail, were they brought into anything like order. for days afterwards mark and i limped about the deck, with aching heads and sore faces, and tom trivett could with difficulty get through his duty. this relaxation of discipline had no good effect on the men. they still grumbled and growled as much as ever at every meal over the food served out to them. chapter sixteen. land ho!--cape frio--the sugar-loaf mountain--the castle of santa cruz--the harbour of rio de janeiro--a taste of fruit--we receive some passengers--a gale springs up--man overboard--poor tom trivett-- captain longfleet's inhumanity--mark and i are treated worse--i overhear a conversation--a proposed mutiny--the plot--differences will arise--who's to be captain?--i determine to reveal the plot--i consult with mark--our determination--southern latitudes--the southern cross-- the falkland islands--mark escapes, but i am retaken--highland blood-- mark's probable fate--a battle with an albatross. "land ho!" was shouted from the masthead. in a short time we came off cape frio, a high, barren, almost insular, promontory, which runs into the atlantic to the eastward of rio de janeiro. we stood on, the land appearing to be of a great height behind the beach, till we came in sight of the sugar-loaf mountain; the light land wind preventing us from entering the harbour, we had to stand off and on during the night. "well, i've made up my mind to get a precious good tuck out," i heard old growles say to the boatswain; "i suppose the skipper will order a good store of provisions aboard after the talk we had with him the other day." "not so sure of that, old ship," said the boatswain; "but if he doesn't, he'd better look out for squalls, as he said to us." the other men were rejoicing in the expectation of a hearty meal and wholesome food, and so indeed were mark and i; for we were not better off than the rest, except that mark occasionally got some pickings at the captain's table, and now and then, when he could manage it, brought me some. next morning a sea-breeze setting in, we stood towards the harbour, and as the fog lifted, several small islands near its mouth came into sight, and the sugar-loaf mountain loomed up high on the left, while on the right we saw the battlements of the castle of santa cruz, which stands at the foot of the mountain. as we passed under the guns of the fortress, we were hailed by a stentorian voice, which came out from among the stone-built walls, but the speaker was not seen. "what ship is that? where do you come from? how many days out?" the captain answered the questions through his speaking-trumpet as we glided by. we at length came to an anchor about a mile from the city of rio de janeiro, in one of the most beautiful and picturesque harbours in the world. i can't stop to describe it, or the fine-looking city, or the curiously-shaped boats filled with black, brown, and white people, though the whites were decidedly in the minority; indeed some of them could be only so called by courtesy. to our disappointment no one was allowed to go on shore. the captain and second mate almost immediately took a country boat and pulled for the landing-place. "i suppose they intend to send us off some grub," said old growles, in a voice loud enough for them to hear; but they took no notice, and pulled on. we waited in anxious expectation for the arrival of the provisions, but no boats appeared. it looked very much as if the captain had forgotten our necessities. at last a small one came alongside with fruit and vegetables, which those who had money eagerly purchased. i had a few shillings remaining in my pocket, but mark had nothing, and i insisted on buying enough for him and myself. mark declined taking them from me, saying he could do very well without them; but i pressed him, and we discussed a couple of dozen oranges between us. how delicious they tasted! we both felt like different creatures. those of the crew who had money were put into much better humour, but the rest were more sulky than ever. in the evening the boats brought off some fresh water, but no provisions. when the captain came on board at night we learnt that he had refused to purchase any, on account of their high price. whether this was the case or not i don't know, but it made the men very angry. next day he went on shore again, returning in the afternoon with four gentlemen, whom we heard were going as passengers round to columbia river, in north america. we soon found, from hearing them speak, that they were scotch, and of this i had no doubt when i learned their names, which were mctavish, mcdonald, mckay, and fraser. their vessel had been wrecked off cape frio, and notwithstanding the character borne by captain longfleet, they were glad to have an opportunity of continuing their voyage in the "emu." just before daybreak a small boat came alongside with fruit and vegetables; but they were all for the cabin, and the crew were none the better for them. next morning we sailed at daybreak with a land wind, followed by three or four other vessels, some bound round cape horn, others to cross the atlantic. they were still in sight when it came on to blow very hard. in a short time a sea got up which made the ship tumble about in a way i had not experienced since i had been down in the hold. the captain stood on, wanting to keep ahead of the other vessels. the topmasts bent like willow wands, and every moment looked as if they would go over the sides. we carried on, however, until it was nearly dark, when he ordered the hands aloft to reef sails. i had not as yet been ordered to perform this duty, but mark was as active as any one. he and tom were on the lee fore-topsail yard-arm. two reefs had already been taken in when the sail had to be closely reefed. it was now quite dark. the operation was being performed, when there was a cry from forward of "a man overboard!" to round the ship to might have been hazardous; but the second mate, who was the best of the officers, at once shouted out for volunteers to lower the boat. "hold hard," says the captain; "i'll not have the hands thrown away for a careless, useless lubber who can't hold fast." i had run aft when i heard some one say that the man who had gone was tom trivett. without waiting for orders i hove overboard an oar and a hen-coop, with half-a-dozen cackling hens in it, which not having been properly secured, had fetched away. in my excitement i was proceeding to throw some spars and other articles into the sea, when the captain, catching sight of me, ordered me to desist. "let the fellow drown," he exclaimed; "it's his own fault, and it'll be a lesson to the rest of you." though the men had no love for tom trivett, bad as they were these remarks greatly enraged them. "he cares no more for our lives than he does for that of a dog. it would have been just the same if any of us had gone," exclaimed several of them. the passengers were very indignant at the captain's barbarity. two of them had been ready to go in the boat, and they all declared that the seaman might have been saved if proper efforts had immediately been made. i heard the captain in a peremptory tone tell them to hold their tongues, as they knew nothing about the matter. he was captain of the ship, and would act as he thought fit, and not endanger her safety for the sake of a single man who was not worth his salt. i deeply grieved for tom since i discovered that he had been my firm friend, and i truly believed that i owed my life to him. had it been daylight we might have watched to see whether he had got hold of any of the things thrown overboard, but almost immediately after he fell he was lost to view. the gale lasted only a short time. we made sail again as soon as we could, and quickly lost sight of the other vessels. now that tom trivett had gone, my position became harder than ever, as i had no friend to stand up for me. i had often been protected by him when the others were inclined to bully me, and thus escaped many a cuff and kick. julius caesar was the only person who befriended me, and he didn't dare to do so openly. he often, indeed, appeared to be bullying me worse than the rest. i had been ordered to assist in cleaning his pots and pans, and sweeping out the caboose. whenever the rigging had to be blacked down i was sent to do it, and was called to perform all the dirty jobs. the men, knowing i was a gentleman's son, took pleasure in seeing me thus employed. mark would willingly have helped me, but he was always sent aft to some other work when seen near me. i would gladly have changed places with him, but he told me that he was as badly off as i was forward, for he got as much kicked about by the captain and officers as i was by the men. i had no one to talk to, for i could seldom get the opportunity of saying much to him. i felt that i had not a friend aboard. the men, when they had exhausted a few fresh provisions which they themselves had purchased, again began to grumble at the bad quality of their food. they took care, however, to say nothing when the third mate was forward, but they went about their duty in a manner which it seemed surprising he did not observe. one evening, being my watch below, still feeling the effect of the rough handling i had endured, i had crept into my berth to be out of the way of my persecutors. mark, as usual, was attending to his duties in the cabin. i had fallen asleep, when i was awakened by hearing some men speaking close to me, though it was too dark to see who they were, and even if they had looked into my berth they would not have discovered me; but i recognised the voices of old growles and the boatswain, and two other men, who were the worst of the crew and the leading spirits for bad on board. i was not much alarmed, though i scarcely dared to breathe for fear of attracting their notice. i cannot repeat all they said, for they frequently made allusions which they knew that each other understood; but i heard enough to convince me that they were hatching a plot to overpower the officers and passengers, and to take the vessel into buenos aires, or some other place on the banks of the river plate. one of the men proposed killing them and throwing them overboard. old growles suggested that they should be put into a boat and allowed to shift for themselves, just as their officers were treated by the mutineers of the "bounty." the boatswain said that he thought the best way of treating them would be to put them on shore on some desert island far-away to the southward, seldom visited by ships, so that they could not make their escape. "but they'll die of hunger, if you do that," remarked another man. "they'll die, at all events, so it matters little," answered the boatswain. "our business is to get rid of them, and either to go cruising on our own account, or to sell the ship at a spanish port to the westward, and enjoy ourselves on what we get for her." "dead men tell no tales," muttered the first speaker. "heave them overboard at once, and we shall be done with them." "i'm not for that sort of thing," said old growles. "i shouldn't like to see their white faces as they dropped astern; they'd be haunting us, depend on that." the boatswain and the others laughed. "who's to take the ship round cape horn, if we do away with the officers?" asked one of the men. "i know enough navigation for that," said the boatswain, "it won't be a long job." "then i suppose you intend to turn captain. is that it?" said another man. "we don't want no captain aboard." "if the ship was caught in a squall, you'd soon be calling out for some one to command you. call me what you will, there's no man, except myself, knows how to navigate the ship when the officers are gone." "i sees what you are after, boatswain," said old growles. "we should be just getting rid of one captain, and having another like him in his place. we must all be free and equal aboard, or it'll never do. i propose that one is captain one day, and one another; and that you, if you can, or any one else, shall navigate the ship. otherwise one man's as good as another, to my mind, and knows as well as you how to make or shorten sail." "well, i don't see how that can tell one way or the other," said the boatswain, who evidently didn't like the turn the conversation was taking. to me it seemed that the villains were ready for any mischief, but had not wit enough to carry it out. i lay as quiet as a mouse, scarcely venturing to breathe, for i knew that they would not scruple to put an end to me should they discover me, and fancy that i was awake and had overheard them. i determined, should i be found out, to pretend to be fast asleep. they talked on for some time longer, till all hands were summoned on deck to shorten sail. i was considering, as well as i could, what i had better do. the captain and officers had ill-treated me, but that was no reason i should allow them to be murdered, if i could in any way warn them of the danger, while the guiltless passengers must be saved at all costs. i thought that if i told captain longfleet, he would treat my statement as a cock-and-bull story, and declare i had been dreaming. probably i should be sent off with a kick and a cuff, and the crew would hear that i had informed against them. i thought, however, that i would tell the second mate, who was better disposed, and far more sensible than the rest of the officers. then it occurred to me that i had better consult mark first, and hear what he thought. perhaps he would consider it wiser to speak to one of the passengers, three of whom were determined-looking men. the fourth, mr alexander fraser, was much younger, and i liked his appearance. he had given me a kind nod sometimes when i went aft. their presence prevented the captain and officers from ill-treating mark and me as much as usual. we were therefore inclined to regard them with a friendly spirit. i finally came to the conclusion to tell mr fraser what i had heard, if i could get the opportunity of speaking to him out of hearing of the rest of the crew, though that might be difficult. i knew that, after all, i must be guided by circumstances. the would-be mutineers talked on, and might have talked on for a whole watch, had not all hands been summoned on deck to shorten sail. i waited till they had gone up the rigging, and then crept out. the ship had been struck by a squall. sheets were flying, blocks rattling, officers shouting, and a number of the men on deck pulling and hauling, made a hubbub so that i escaped aft unperceived, and was able to join mark at one of the ropes it was his duty to attend to. as there was no one near, i was able to tell him by snatches what i had heard. "i'm not surprised," he answered. "the villains would murder their own mothers or grandmothers if they could gain anything by it; but i only doubt whether they will venture to attack the captain." "still, we must let one of the officers know, or else their blood will be upon our heads. i propose warning mr fraser, or one of the other gentlemen," i observed. "that will do," said mark. "either you or i may find a chance to speak to one of them; but there's no time to be lost, for we can't say at what moment these ruffians may take it into their heads to carry out their villainous designs. we must be careful, however, that they don't suspect us of giving the information, or they might heave us overboard some dark night without ceremony." some time was occupied in taking in the canvas, but in the course of an hour the squall passed off, and we had again to make sail. while this was being done, mark and i had time to discuss the matter. that night, while it was my watch, i managed to get aft, where i found a person walking the deck, occasionally stopping and gazing at the bright stars overhead, the southern cross and others so different from those of the northern hemisphere. i waited till he had gone right aft out of earshot of the man at the wheel. i knew by his figure that it was mr fraser, so i went boldly up to him. "i have got something to say to you," i whispered. "it's of great consequence. i mustn't speak loud." i then briefly told him that i had heard the men propose to get rid of the officers and passengers in some way or other. "i've already heard something of this from your young messmate, but i'm very incredulous about it," he answered. "pray don't be that, sir," i said. "your life, and the lives of many others besides, depends on your believing the truth of what i say and taking measures to protect yourselves;" and i then told him more circumstantially what i had heard. he now seemed to listen attentively, and evidently considered that there was something in what i had said. "i'm very much obliged to you for the information you have given, and i'll consult my friends on the subject," he answered. "the captain seems to be a man who will know well how to deal with the villains, if what you say is true. we'll tell him what has come to our ears." "indeed what i say is true," i exclaimed with energy. "they may be upon you at any moment, while you are unprepared." "well, laddie, i'll lose no time," said mr fraser; and, afraid that if we remained much longer we might be observed by some of the men, i crept forward under the shadow of the bulwarks. i waited anxiously during the remainder of the watch to see what would occur; but as the men turned in, i was thankful to find that they had no intention of carrying out their project that night, and it was not likely that they would do anything in the daytime, when their movements would be observed by the officers. my only fear was that they might have seen mark and me talking to mr fraser, and might have their suspicions aroused. if so, mark and i would run, i knew, great risk of being knocked on the head as soon as darkness again came on. i therefore kept a sharp look out whilst i was on deck during the night, though i had an uncomfortable feeling that i might possibly be smothered in my sleep, or that mark might be treated in the same way. daylight, however, returned without anything having occurred. on meeting mark, i expressed my fears to him. "do you know, dick, i was thinking of the same thing, and i have made up my mind to cut and run on the first opportunity, and i advise you to do the same thing. indeed, i should not be happy if i left you behind; in truth, i would not run unless you promise to desert also." "that i will, with all my heart, though i don't think that mr fraser and the other gentlemen are likely to allow themselves to be taken by surprise, or to neglect putting the officers on their guard." "they can't protect us; and the men, if they find themselves even suspected, will certainly think that we informed on them." whenever we had the opportunity, mark and i discussed our plans for escaping. as far as we could judge, the officers and passengers were at their ease, and didn't act as if they thought any mutiny would occur. as the weather was now getting cold, the passengers had an excuse for coming on deck in their cloaks; and one day, when mr fraser's blew aside, i observed that he had a brace of pistols in his belt. they also brought their rifles on deck, and amused themselves by firing at passing birds, sometimes at porpoises, sharks, and other monsters of the deep who showed their backs above water. i guessed at last, by the looks of the men, that they saw that the passengers were on their guard. even the third mate didn't come forward as he had been accustomed to do; and at night, what was very unusual, there were two officers on deck at a time. we had now contrary winds and thick weather, which greatly delayed us for several days. no observations were taken. one morning land was discovered on the weather bow, which, the captain said, was the coast of south america, and he carefully kept along shore in order to pass between the falkland islands and the main land; but at noon, when a meridian observation had been obtained, he found that what he had at first supposed to be the main land was in reality the falkland islands. we had for many days been sailing entirely by dead reckoning, while the current had set us out of our course. as we had not taken a full supply of water on board at rio, and, owing to the bursting of the butt, which had frightened me so much, we had less on board than usual, the captain steered for one of the islands, where he knew that it could be obtained. we came to an anchor about half a mile from the shore just at sunset. as it would take the crew the whole day to get water, which had to be rolled down in small casks to the beach and brought on board, the passengers expressed their intention of making a shooting excursion on shore to kill some wild cattle--of which there are numbers in the island--or any other animals or birds they might fall in with. as the captain had no objection to having a supply of beef without cost to himself, he agreed to let them have a boat the next morning to take them on shore. they asked for one or two of the men to carry the meat. the captain said that they could not be spared, but finally told them that they could take mark and me, as we were of little use on board. "now," whispered mark, "is our opportunity. if there are cattle, we shall have some meat to live on; and i propose that we hide ourselves away, so that when the gentlemen return on board we shall be missing." the captain, we were sure, would not take the trouble to look for us. i agreed, provided that from the appearance of the island we should have the chance of obtaining food and shelter; if not, we might die of starvation, and it would be better to endure our miseries, and the danger we ran of our lives, for a short time longer than to do that. "well, as to that we must see about it," answered mark. soon after, our watch being over, we turned into our respective bunks. i didn't feel altogether comfortable, not knowing what the men might do to us. for some time i lay awake, for i wanted to be on the watch, lest any trick should be attempted, but at length dropped off to sleep. as we were in harbour, only an anchor watch was kept, and i was allowed to have my night's rest out, from which i rose fresh and ready for anything some time before daybreak. mark, who had gone aft to call the gentlemen, returned with an order for me to get ready to go in the boat. sufficient provisions for the party were put into the boat; and the gentlemen, taking their rifles and pistols with them, and with their swords at their sides, we shoved off, the boat being partly laden with empty water-casks. as there was not room for mark and me forward, we sat aft with the gentlemen, when mr fraser talked in a friendly way to mark and me. i saw the men eyeing us savagely at this; and i thought to myself at the moment, "those villains suspect that we have had something to do in putting the gentlemen on their guard." i answered mr fraser, however, and he went on talking to me. we landed not far from where the casks were to be filled with water. the gentlemen then, taking their guns, divided the provisions between themselves and us, and we set off towards the interior of the island, where we hoped to meet with the wild cattle. there was nothing attractive in its appearance. here and there were low scrubby woods, and the country generally was covered with thick patches of tussack grass, which, at a distance, gave it the appearance of being green and fertile. between the patches, the soil was dry and sandy, so that it cost us much fatigue to make our way over it. we had seen plenty of wild cattle, but the gentlemen had not yet succeeded in killing any. they winded us on all occasions on our approach, and scampered off beyond the limit of rifle range. at last the gentlemen agreed to separate by going in small parties, and thus hoped to get nearer to the creatures. mr fraser invited mark to go with him, and mr mctavish took me; the other two gentlemen went together. before starting they deposited their provisions inside of a hollow in a high bank, which, from its position, was easily to be found, and they agreed to return to dinner. if any one of the party killed an animal, he was to summon the rest to carry the meat. the object of the gentlemen was to kill as many animals as they could; for, as the weather was cool, it was hoped that the meat would last until we were well round cape horn. the island was of good size, but still there did not appear to be much risk of our losing our way. mr fraser, who was the most active of the party, said that he should go to the further end of the island and work his way back; that he was determined to kill some birds, if he couldn't knock over a cow. "remember," whispered mark to me, "that i shall slip away; and you do the same, and come and join me." to this i agreed. mr mctavish and i went away to the right. we had been looking out for cattle for some time when we heard two shots, and from the top of a hill we saw the two other gentlemen, standing by a couple of cattle they had shot. "come, dick," said mr mctavish; "though we cannot boast of killing a beast ourselves, we must go and help them." i thought that this would be a good opportunity to escape, and while he went down one side of the hill i proposed running down the other. i was just going when he caught sight of me. "hillo, youngster, where are you going to?" he cried out; and he came after me evidently with no intention of letting me escape. on getting up with me, he inquired, "what made you try to run off? come, tell me as we go along." he spoke very kindly. at last i confessed that i had determined to run away from the ship in consequence of the ill-treatment i had received. "you would have been starved to death in the midst of plenty," he said in a kind tone. "had the island been fertile, and you could have supported yourself, i, for one, would never have hindered you, for i have observed the way the officers and men behave to you. but for the future i think we can prevent that. i have a notion that we owe our lives to you and your messmate, and we're grateful to you for it; so come along, and don't again attempt to run away." he spoke so kindly that at last i promised to follow his advice, hoping that mr fraser would also have prevented mark from hiding himself, and would induce him to come back likewise. the gentlemen fired several shots to attract mr fraser's attention, but none were heard in return. they, in the meantime, cut up the animals and loaded themselves with as much as they could stagger under. the rest they covered up closely with the hides so as to keep the flies off, proposing to send some of the men for it. with our loads we returned to the place where we had left our dinner. as we were all very hungry we didn't wait for mr fraser, but set to at once, expecting that he and mark would appear before we had finished. we waited, however, for some time, the gentlemen lighting their pipes to enjoy a smoke. "i'm afraid that young companion of yours has bolted, and that fraser is delayed by looking for him," observed mr mctavish. "we can't delay much longer if we're to save the flesh," said mr mcdonald. "fraser knows what he's about; he will easily make his way down to the beach by the landing-place in the morning, and we must send a boat on shore for him." as the day was advancing the others agreed to this proposal; and, leaving the remainder of our provisions for mr fraser and mark, we set off. it was almost dark as we approached the harbour, and i began to fear that the crew would have taken the opportunity of attacking the officers--perhaps would have got the ship under weigh, and left us to our fate. i didn't, however, mention my fears to any one. i was greatly relieved when i made out through the gloom the ship at anchor, and soon after, the boat close to the beach. old growles answered mr mcdonald's hail. i observed that my companions had examined their pistols and reloaded their rifles, so that they would be on their guard should any treachery be attempted. on arriving on board, the captain received the gentlemen in a somewhat surly way, and inquired why mr fraser had not returned. mr mcdonald replied, that we had waited for him, and that he had not appeared; but they expected that he would turn up on the beach on the following morning; if not, they proposed going in search of him. "there won't be time for that," said captain longfleet. "we have got all the water we require on board to-night. if passengers choose to go on shore and not return at the time they are told to do, they must take the consequences." mr mcdonald's highland blood was up in a moment. "you have made a great mistake if you suppose that we will allow our friend to be deserted. we intend to go on shore to-morrow, and must beg to take two or three of your men with us, to ascertain what has become of fraser and his young companion," he exclaimed. "we shall see who commands this ship," cried the captain, turning on his heel and entering the cabin, outside of which this scene took place. this was nuts to the crew, who must have perceived that if there was division aft they had a good chance of succeeding in their project. next morning, at daybreak, the hands were turned up to get the ship under weigh. directly after, mr mcdonald and the other gentlemen came on deck. "we protest against this proceeding, captain longfleet," he exclaimed. "i told you that if mr fraser chooses to absent himself at the time i was prepared to sail, he must take the consequences. it may delay us a whole day if we send to search for him," answered the captain. "if it delays us a week we must look for him till he's found," exclaimed mr mcdonald, drawing a pistol. "get the ship under weigh at your peril." bold as captain longfleet was, he quailed under the eye of the determined fur trader. "hurrah! there's our friend," cried mr mctavish. "we must send a boat for him, and that will settle this dispute, i hope." "a boat shall not leave the ship," cried captain longfleet. "i can't spare the men." "i say again, get the ship under weigh at your peril," said mr mcdonald, stepping a pace towards the captain. none of the officers or crew attempted to interfere. those of the latter who were near only stood observing the scene and grinning their satisfaction. "are you going to send a boat?" again asked mr mcdonald. just then another shot was fired. "i'll do as you wish," replied the captain; "but i tell you it's more than your friend deserves." "i will go in her," said mr mcdonald. "no, you can't do that. i will send my own men; for what i know, you may delay the boat," answered the captain. "it matters not, provided fraser and the lad return," said mr mctavish, who was inclined to conciliatory measures. the captain now directed three of the hands to go in the smallest boat which was large enough for the purpose, while the rest were ordered to loose sails and heave up the anchor. while these precautions were going forward i observed the gentlemen watching the boat through their telescopes. she reached the shore, and after a short delay was seen returning. i looked out anxiously for mark, hoping that after the account i had received of the island that mr fraser would have brought him back. great was my grief and disappointment when i did not see him in the boat. still i hoped that the passengers would induce the captain to send a party on shore to look for him. i intended to ask mr mctavish to obtain leave for me to go, for i knew that if mark heard my voice shouting for him he would come out of his hiding-place. no sooner had mr fraser stepped on board than the boat was hoisted up. on this i ran off to ask mr mctavish to insist on the ship being delayed to allow of a search for mark. "we'll do what we can, my laddie," he answered; "though the captain doesn't appear to be in the humour to grant any requests." as mr fraser greeted his friends, i heard him say that he had missed mark, and supposed, after searching for him for some time, that he had joined one of our parties; and that at length he had made his way to the beach, having satisfied his hunger with some of the provisions we had left behind. it was night when he had come near the harbour; and as he knew the boat would have returned, he formed himself a nest under a bank with some tussack grass and slept soundly till daylight. when he found that mark had not returned, he was as eager as mr mcdonald to go in search of him, but all they could say would not move captain longfleet. "he is one of my crew, and you have no business to interfere with him," he answered. mr mcdonald replied, that he could not but say that this was the case, but that the lad had accompanied them, and they felt themselves answerable for his safe return. the captain, however, would not listen, but continued shouting out his orders to the men, who obeyed them with more alacrity than usual. i could not help thinking that they rejoiced at having thus easily got rid of mark. for my own part i regretted not having run away also, and shared his fate, whatever that might have been. had the distance not been so great, i should, even now, have jumped overboard and tried to join him. but the attempt would have been equivalent to suicide, and i dared not make it. away stood the ship out of the harbour, leaving my old friend all alone on the desert island. i pictured to myself his horror and disappointment at not seeing me; the miseries and hardships he might endure for want of food and companionship, and his too probable early death. i went about my duty in a disconsolate mood. i had now no friend to talk to. not one of the men appeared to pity me. even julius caesar uttered no word of comfort. we soon lost sight of the falkland islands and shaped a course to round cape horn. the ship was now surrounded by albatrosses, penguins, and pintado birds. several were shot, and others taken with a hook and bait. an enormous albatross was thus hauled in, and being brought on deck fought bravely for some time before it could be killed. chapter seventeen. south sea whaler--i write a letter home, and how far it got on its way there--the earl of lollipop--mr mctavish saves me from a flogging--my prospects somewhat improve--another storm--we lose another man--a struggle for life--tierra del fuego--cape horn--in the pacific--the coast of patagonia, and how we nearly got wrecked--juan fernandez-- robinson crusoe's island--i again determine to run away, but am prevented by an offer i receive--"shark! shark!"--a narrow escape-- valparaiso--callao--paita--the sandwich islands--the king and his court--royal guests--some queer dishes--pooah--am again prevented from deserting--columbia river at last--a glimpse of freedom--a farewell dinner--an untoward incident--once more a prisoner--my captors' fears my only safety--my friends give up the search--at sea again--my release--"dis curious ship." we had left the island for some days, when we fell in with a homeward-bound south sea whaler. as the ocean was calm, and the wind light, her captain came on board and politely offered to convey any message or letters home. "now," i thought, "will be an excellent opportunity of returning home. i'm sick of this life, and shall be glad to go back to mr butterfield's office and the high stool, and listen to aunt deb's lectures." how to accomplish my purpose was the difficulty. i went up to the captain of the whaler. "i'm a gentleman's son," i said; "i came off to sea unintentionally, and i want to go home again." he gave a loud "whew!" as i said this. "i can't take you, my lad, without your captain's leave," he answered. "if he gives it, i shall be happy to do so." captain longfleet just then came out of the cabin. "i don't know how he came on board, but here he is and here he'll remain," he said, as the captain of the whaler spoke to him. "go forward," he said to me, "and think yourself fortunate to escape a flogging for your impudence." however, i persevered, and turning to mr mctavish, asked him kindly to say a word for me. captain longfleet in reply told him that he had no business to interfere. "i've lost one boy through you gentlemen, and i'm not going to lose another," he answered. in vain mr mcdonald and the other gentlemen spoke to him; he replied in his usual rough way. "i'm sorry, my lad, that i can't take you out of the ship without your captain's permission," said the whaling captain; "but if you'll get a letter scribbled off, i'll undertake to post it." i had neither paper, pens, nor ink, but mr mctavish, hearing what was said, instantly brought me some, and i ran off into the berth to write it, hoping that i should be there undisturbed. i had great difficulty in penning the letter; and while i was kneeling down at the chest, old growles came in and mocked at me, and another fellow asked me whether i was sending a love-letter to my dearie, and a third gave me a knock on the elbow, which spattered the ink over the paper and nearly upset the ink-bottle. still i wrote on. "ship `emu,' somewhere off cape horn. "my dear father,--i didn't intend to run away, but tumbled down into the hold and was carried off. when i came to myself i found that i was at sea, and could not get out of my prison. i lived there for i don't know how many days, till, when almost dead, i was released. i have been treated worse than a dog ever since by the captain, officers, and men. he's a terrible tyrant and brute, and if it had not been for mark riddle--whom, wonderful to say, i found on board the ship--he and his mates would have been knocked on the head and hove overboard. "i would much rather be seated on the high stool in mr butterfield's office than where i am. i wanted to return home, but the captain wouldn't let me. i intend, however, to run on the first opportunity, and to get back if i can. i tried to get away in the falkland islands, but was prevented. mark succeeded, and was left behind. whether he'll manage to live there i don't know, but i hope he will, and get back to sandgate one of these days, i have no time to write more; so with love to mother, and my brothers and sisters, and even to aunt deb-- "i remain your affectionate son-- "richard cheveley." "ps--please tell old riddle all about his son." i hurriedly folded this letter, and addressed it to the reverend john cheveley, sandgate, england; and having no wax, i sealed it with a piece of pitch which i hooked out of a seam in the deck. i rushed out, intending to give it into the hands of the captain of the whaler; but what was my dismay to see his boat pulling away from the ship. i shouted and waved my letter, thinking that he would return; but at that moment the third mate snatched the letter out of my hand, and waved to the men in the boat to pull on. i turned round, endeavouring to recover the letter, but instead got a box on the ear. i made another snatch at it. "what's this about, you young rascal?" shouted the captain; "give me the letter, simmons. you'll try next to take it out of my hands, i suppose." in spite of all my efforts to regain it, the mate handed the letter to the captain, who, looking at the superscription, at once tore it open. he glanced at the commencement and end. "so you pretend to be a gentleman's son, you young scapegrace," he exclaimed. "you'll not get me to believe such a tale. why, bless my heart, the last voyage i had a fellow who was always writing to the earl of lollipop, and signing himself his son. the men called him my lord. he was made to black down the rigging, notwithstanding, and polish up the pots and pans. he was found at last to be a chimney-sweeper's son." i was convinced that the captain said this to be heard by the passengers, and to try and throw discredit on me, as they were already inclined to treat me kindly, through seeing that i was at all events a boy of education; and from the service i had already rendered them in giving them warning of the crew's design. i was in hopes that the captain would let me have my letter back, but to my dismay he again looked at it and read it. i saw a thunder-cloud gathering on his brow; his lips quivered with rage; i cannot repeat the terms he applied to me. "and so, you young anatomy, you dare to call me a tyrant and a brute," he shouted out in a hoarse voice; "to write all sorts of lies of me to your friends at home. you see that yard-arm. many a fellow has been run up for a less offence. look out for yourself. if the crew don't finish you off before the voyage is over, i'll make you wish you had never set foot on the deck of the `emu.'" "i wish i never had," i exclaimed. "what! you dare speak to me," roared the captain. "here, mr simmons, take this mutinous young rascal and give him three dozen. we'll keel-haul him next, if that doesn't bring him into order." here the passengers interfered. mr mctavish declared that he would not stand by and let me be unjustly punished. "if it were not for young cheveley, where should we be by this time, captain longfleet?" he asked. "you know as well as we do what was intended. if your mate attempts to touch him, he must take the consequences." the captain was silent for some minutes. perhaps some sense of what was right overcame his ill-feeling. "let him go, simmons," he said, turning to the mate. "it's lucky for you, boy, that this letter was not sent," he said, looking at me. he tore it up and threw the fragments overboard. "remember that the next time you write home, i intend to have a look at your letter. you may let your friends know where you are, but you can't accuse me of carrying you away from home." as the captain turned from me, i thought that the best thing i could do was to go forward. i saw two of the men, who had been within earshot while the captain was speaking, eyeing me with no friendly glances. i looked as innocent as i could; but weary though i was, when it was my watch below i was almost afraid lest i should never awake again in this world. when i was forward the men treated me as badly as ever, but i found the conduct of the captain and officers towards me greatly improved, owing to the influence of the passengers. i had frequently to go into the cabin to assist the steward, who, though he often gave me a slight cuff, never did so in the presence of my friends. knowing that i had those on board interested in me, i bore my sufferings and annoyances with more equanimity than before. i one day, unknown to captain longfleet, had the opportunity of giving my father's address to mr mctavish. he promised to write home from the first place at which we touched. it would be useless for me to attempt writing, as my letter would, i knew, be seen and taken from me. this was some comfort. i can but briefly relate the incidents of the voyage. while still to the southward of cape horn, the appearances of another heavy storm came on. the lighter canvas was instantly handed. almost in an instant a heavy sea got up, into which the ship violently pitched as she forced her way ahead. the flying jib having been carelessly secured, the gaskets, or small ropes which bound it to the jibboom, gave way. two hands were immediately sent out to make it fast. while they were thus employed, a tremendous sea struck the bows. one of the men, old growles, scrambled on to the bowsprit, to which he held on like grim death, but before the other man could follow his example, the jibboom was carried away and he with it. i saw the poor fellow struggling amid the foaming seas. the captain did not on this occasion refuse to try to save him. the ship was hove-to, and pieces of timber, an empty cask, and a hen-coop, were hove overboard to give him the chance of escaping. he failed to reach any of them. mr mctavish and two of the men and i were on the point of jumping into the jolly-boat to go to his rescue, but the captain shouted out in no gentle terms, ordering us to desist, and asked us if we wished to lose our lives also. this, if we had made the attempt, we should certainly have done. the boat could not have lived many moments in such a sea. for fully ten minutes the poor fellow was observed buffeting with the waves, but he at length disappeared. the ship was kept away, and we stood on our course. we soon afterwards perceived the snow-capped mountains of tierra del fuego rearing their majestic heads, and looking down on the raging waters below them. the weather soon after moderated, and as we sighted cape horn the captain ordered the topgallant and royal masts to be got up, and the lighter sails to be set. with a gentle breeze from the eastward we rounded the dreaded cape, and found ourselves in the pacific. i heard some of the men say that they had never passed cape horn in such fine weather. whales, and porpoises in countless numbers, were playing round us, and if we had had harpoons and gear on board we might have captured many of the former and filled up our ship with oil. we were not destined, however, to enjoy the fine weather long. another gale came on and nearly drove us on the western coast of patagonia, carrying away our bulwarks, and doing much other damage. when within about five or six miles of the coast the wind shifted, and we once more stood off the land. we sighted the far-famed island of juan fernandez, the scene of robinson crusoe's adventures, or rather those of the real alexander selkirk. the ship was hove-to when we were about two miles off shore, and the pinnace and jolly-boat were sent to obtain wood and water. the passengers taking the opportunity of going also, i slipped into the boat with mr mctavish, without being perceived by the captain. the second mate, who had charge of the boat, did not inquire whether i had leave. i was not aware till the moment before that the boat was going. there was no time for consideration; but the hope seized me that i might manage to make my escape and remain on the island. if robinson crusoe lived there, so might i. a solitary life would be infinitely better, i thought, than the existence i was doomed to live on board. i said nothing to mr mctavish, for fear he should try to prevent me. we found when approaching the shore that a heavy sea was breaking over it, and that it would be impossible to land. we soon, however, discovered that we had entered the wrong bay, and pulling out again, we got into another, where the landing was less difficult, though not free from danger. while some of the party remained on the beach to fill the water-casks and to draw a seine which had been brought to catch fish, i accompanied mr mctavish and the other gentlemen into the interior. the island appeared to be one vast rock split into various portions. we pushed on up a deep valley. at the bottom ran a stream of fine water, from which the water-casks were filled. the valley, scarcely a hundred yards wide at the entrance, gradually widened. we climbed up the wild rocks, ascending higher and higher, startling a number of goats, which scrambled off leaping from crag to crag; some of them fine-built old fellows with long beards, who looked as if they must have been well acquainted with robinson crusoe himself. we frequently had to turn aside to avoid cascades, which came rushing down the mountain's side. sometimes we were involved in the thickest gloom, and then again we emerged into bright sunlight as we gained a higher elevation. the appearance of the country was picturesque in the extreme, though it didn't tempt me to make it my residence for the remainder of my life; and then again, i considered that there must be other parts of a more gentle character where robinson crusoe must have resided. i had been often looking about, considering how i might accomplish my object, when mr mctavish said, "i know what you are thinking about, cheveley, but for your own sake i do not intend you to succeed; and even if it were otherwise, i am bound to see you safe on board the boat. so come along. you mustn't play me any trick." "well, i did think that i should like to stop here and live as robinson crusoe did. perhaps i might give an account of my adventures when i got home," i answered. "the chances are that you would be starved, or break your neck, or die of some disease, and never get home; so i intend to keep an eye on you, my laddie," said my friend, in a good-natured tone. "besides this, my friends and i propose to induce captain longfleet to set you at liberty when we reach the columbia river, and you can either wait at the fort till you can hear from your father, making yourself useful there as a clerk, or you can turn fur-hunter, and lead a life which i believe would be to your taste." "i'm very much obliged to you, sir," i said, "and accept your offer, and will not attempt to run away." after a tiring excursion we got back to the boats just as they were about to shove off. we after this touched at massafuero, an island mountain rising abruptly from the sea, surrounded by a narrow slip of beach. here we obtained a vast quantity of fish and a few goats. the abundance of food contributed much to tranquillise the minds of the crew, and also, i suspect, to prevent them from carrying their plans into execution. one day when we were becalmed, several of the crew who could swim jumped overboard to take a bathe, and as i was a good swimmer i did the same, and got farther than the rest from the ship. while i was sporting about, i heard the dreadful cry of "shark, shark!" the rest of the men quickly making for the side, clambered on board. i was swimming towards the ship, when i saw a dark fin rising between her and me. i knew what it indicated, for i had seen several sharks before. to gain the ship without encountering the monster seemed impossible. i therefore, instead of swimming on, stopped and trod water, beating the surface with my hands, and shouting out. i saw some of the men leaning over the sides with ropes. presently there was a shout. one of the men had lowered a rope with a bowling knot into the water, when the shark in its course round the ship ran its head and upper fin between it. at this moment it was secured to the cathead, and before the brute could get free it was hoisted on deck. i now darted forward, and seizing a rope which hung over the side hauled myself up. as i saw the monster floundering on deck, i was thankful that he had not caught me in his jaws. "you have had a narrow escape, my laddie," observed mr mctavish. "it will be a lesson to you not to swim about in these latitudes." not many other incidents worth relating occurred for some time. we touched at valparaiso, where we discharged some of our cargo, and afterwards at callao, where we got rid of a still larger quantity. we also put into paita farther north. as goods brought in english vessels were subject to a very high duty, or were altogether prohibited, they were smuggled on shore. had i been so disposed i might on two or three occasions have made good my escape, but i was relying on the promise of mr mctavish. from the coast of peru we steered to the sandwich islands, of which i should like to give a description. we there took on board three of the natives, to supply the place of the men who had been lost. the king and a brace of queens, besides several chiefs and a number of white men, visited the ship. the king and his brown consorts came in a large double canoe, formed by lashing two canoes together separated by bars. each canoe was paddled by twenty or thirty men. on the bars was raised a kind of seat, on which the ladies reposed. raised considerably higher than his consorts was a sort of throne placed on the top of a large arm-chest full of muskets, and on this his sandwich island majesty was seated in regal state. in front of him stood a dark-skinned native, carrying a handsome silver hanger in imitation of the sword-bearers of european monarchs; behind the king sat a boy holding a basin of dark-brown wood, in which his majesty ever and anon spat abundantly. instead of a crown the king's head was covered by an old beaver hat. his coat was of coarse woven cloth of ancient cut, with large metal buttons. his waistcoat was of brown velvet, which had once been black, while a pair of short, tight, and well-worn velveteen pantaloons, worsted stockings, and thick-soled shoes covered his lower extremities. his shirt and cravat had been once probably white, but had attained the hue of his own swarthy skin. on coming on deck he shook hands with every one he met between the gangway and cabin, assuring them of his affection. i had to attend at the dinner, to which the royal party were invited. the ladies, however, had to sit aside, the king taking his place at the table at the right hand of the captain, while the minister, who carried his saliva bowl, squatted behind him. he ate voraciously, and washed down the solids with numerous glasses of madeira. he drank the health of each person present, finishing well-nigh three decanters of his favourite wine. as soon as the king, the captain, passengers, and first mate had risen, the ladies were allowed to approach their dinner, which had been cooked on shore, and was now placed on the table. it consisted of a couple of roast dogs, several dishes of small fish, and a white mixture called pooah, of the consistency of flummery. the steward and i could scarcely keep our countenances as we saw them dipping the two forefingers of the right hand into the pooah, and after turning them round in the mixture until they were covered with three or four coats, by a dexterous twist rapidly transfer the food to their open mouths, when, with one smack of their lips, their fingers were cleared. their dress consisted of a cloth worn over the shoulders--a long piece of cloth wrapped in several folds--round the waist and reaching to their knees. the king spent a part of the afternoon in going over the ship, and measuring her from stem to stern, while the ladies played draughts and beat their antagonists hollow. there were a number of english and other white men settled on the island. two acted as the king's chief counsellors, and took an active part in all the affairs of the country, many of them having become very rich. i may here remark, that the daughter and granddaughter of one of these gentlemen afterwards became queen of the sandwich islands. the country, as far as i could see, appeared to be highly cultivated. the people in their habits and customs presented a curious mixture of savagery and civilisation. as i gazed on the shore on which i was not permitted to set foot, i considered whether i could not manage to get away and offer my services to the king, as i was better educated than most of those about him. i thought that i should probably rise to the highest dignities of the state; perhaps become his prime minister, his commander-in-chief, or admiral of his fleet, but i found that i was too strictly watched by old growles and the boatswain to accomplish my object. had mark been with me, i had little doubt but that we should have managed to escape. i at last asked mr mctavish if he would take me on shore. "no, no, my laddie, i know what is running in your mind," he said. "the natives would be too ready to assist, and i might find it difficult to prevent your being carried off and stowed away till the ship sails. you may fancy that your life would be a very pleasant one, but i know what it is to live among savages. you would, in course of time, have a brown wife given to you, and, unwilling to leave her, you would become a banished man from home and country. follow the plan i at first proposed. if you will remain with us you will in the course of a few years make your fortune, and be able to return home and enjoy it." i felt that the advice given was sound, and i promised mr mctavish not to try and run away while we remained at the sandwich islands. he said that the next day he would take me on shore if the captain would give me leave. shortly after, however, we went out of harbour. we had a quick passage to the entrance of the columbia river. a dangerous bar runs across the mouth of it, so that the captain was unwilling to enter until we had a fair wind and a favourable tide. boats were sent ahead to sound. while thus engaged a canoe, followed by a barge, were seen coming off. the canoe, which was paddled by six naked savages, and steered by an old indian chief, was soon alongside, but as they could not understand a word we said we could gain no information till the barge arrived, when our passengers greeted a number of their friends who had come off in her. the ship now entered the river, and came to an anchor off a fort which had been erected by the fur-traders. i never felt more happy in my life, believing that my sufferings were over, and that i should regain my liberty. i hoped that mr mctavish and his friends would at once go on shore and take me with them; but as it was late in the day, and they heard that the accommodation in the fort was limited, they accepted the captain's pressing invitation to remain with their friends on board till next morning. a more sumptuous repast than i had yet seen was prepared. the captain produced his best wine in abundance. the steward and i had to wait at table. the captain, when giving me my orders, spoke in a far more conciliatory tone than he had ever done before. "i suppose he wishes to make amends to me for his past conduct, and to show my friends that he has no ill-will towards me," i thought. the wine flowed freely, and hilarity and good-humour prevailed for some time, till a remark was made by one of the officers of the ship which offended a gentleman from the shore. his highland blood being up he hove a glass of wine in the face of the mate, telling him that the bottle should follow if he didn't apologise. this the mate did, in a somewhat humble fashion, at the request of the captain, and order was restored. the wine continued to flow freely; songs were sung and speeches made, and every one appeared to be talking at once at the top of their voices. the captain at last ordered me to go on deck with a message to the second mate, who was the officer of the watch, and to come back and let him know how the ship was riding. he said this in a loud voice so that every one might hear. i could not find the mate aft, so, supposing that he had gone forward to examine the cable, i was making my way in that direction when suddenly i found myself seized. a cloth was shoved into my mouth, and another bound over my eyes, so that i was unable to see or cry out, and i was carried down the main hatchway in the strong arms of a man whose voice i had been unable to recognise, though i fancied that he was either growles or the boatswain. in vain i struggled to get free. on reaching, as i supposed, the spar-deck, another man bound my arms and my legs, and i was then carried still farther down into the hold, when i was shoved into some place or other, a door was shut and locked on me, and i found myself alone. i was very nearly suffocated with the cloth in my mouth, but i managed after much exertion to work it out. having done this, i was inclined to shout; but i feared that if i did so old growles would return and put it back, and perhaps ill-treat me into the bargain. i therefore thought it wiser to remain silent, and to try and get the handkerchief off my eyes. i lay quiet for some time to recover my breath. though i could not move to feel about, i was convinced, by the closeness of the atmosphere, that i was in a small place--probably in a compartment of the boatswain's store-room. my next object was to get the handkerchief off my eyes, to ascertain if any light penetrated my place of confinement. it was a difficult matter to do this without hurting myself, but i tried, by turning over and rubbing the knot at the back of my head against the boards on which i lay, to work it upwards, though at the expense of making a sore place, so tightly was it secured. at last i succeeded in getting it off. all was dark, as i had expected. the next task i undertook was to free my arms. this was a far more difficult undertaking. i made up my mind to bite through the ropes if i could get my teeth into them; but that, after many attempts, i found to be impossible. i avoided, as much as i could, drawing them tighter round my wrists. i endeavoured, by making one of my hands as small as i could, to draw it out of the knot, but again and again i was obliged to desist. still i recollected how i had before escaped from the hold, as well as from the mill, and i repeated to myself, "fortune favours the persevering." i had been on foot for a number of hours; and, wearied by the exertions i had lately made, i at last began to feel very sleepy, and shortly dropped off into an uncomfortable slumber. i was awakened by a gruff voice, which i recognised as that of the boatswain. "gregory, i do believe the young rascal is dead," he said. "it may save a world of trouble if he is," answered old growles; "for those passengers are making a precious fuss about him. if he was to get ashore, he'd be telling tales. we can say he died in his sleep, and let them have his body, which will show how it happened." "not if he's black in the face. here, hand the lantern, and let's have a look." all this time i was afraid to open my eyes, or even to breathe; and i thought that, if i could sham being dead, they would carry me on deck, and i would then soon show them the contrary. i guessed that i must have rolled over with my face away from the door, so that they couldn't see it. presently i felt a hand placed on my shoulder to draw me round. i let them move me as they liked, and i knew, from the light which i saw through my eyelids, that the rays of a lantern were cast on me. i flattered myself that i was succeeding very well, till i heard the boatswain remark-- "people don't die with their eyes shut." then a hand was placed on my face, and old growles observed-- "the young chap's as alive as i am; he's quite warm. rouse up, dick, you rascal! but take care you don't sing out, or it'll be the worse for you." still i endeavoured to make them believe i was really dead. it was a satisfaction to find that they were casting off the lashings from my arms and legs; but when one of them lifted up my arm i let it fall down again, like that of a dead person. this seemed to puzzle them, and old growles gave me a cruel pinch on the arm. though i didn't cry out, i had the greatest difficulty not to flinch. he then bent back one of my fingers. it was a wonder he didn't break it. not able to endure the pain, i cried out. "i thought so," he said, with a low laugh. "you can't play your tricks off on us, youngster," said the boatswain, "and you'll gain nothing by it." i said nothing, but looked up at him as if i had just awakened out of a sleep or a trance. "now mind you," he continued, "if you shout out or make any noise, we'll gag you and leave you to starve; but if you keep quiet you shall have some food, and you won't be worse off than when you were shut up before in the hold." "what are you going to do with me?" i asked. "that's not for you to know," answered the boatswain. "we're not going to kill you, for fear you should haunt the ship, not for any love to you. we could have made away with you long ago, if we had thought fit. we're not going to let you go ashore, and let you give a bad name to the ship and us. we know who 'peached to the captain, and you may think yourself fortunate that you were not dropped overboard next night. will you promise to keep quiet?" i knew that i was in the hands of unscrupulous ruffians, whose fears alone prevented them from doing away with me; so there was no use holding out. i therefore said that i would make no noise if they would unlash my arms and legs and bring me some food. i found that i was in the place i had supposed--a big locker which had been cleaned out to make room for me. it smelt horribly of tar and rancid grease, and coils of small rope and balls of twine, mats, cans, pots, and brushes, up in the corners, showed me what was usually stowed in it. "shall we trust the young rascal?" asked the boatswain of his companion. "he daren't break his word," answered growles; "he knows what he'll get if he does." thereupon they unlashed my arms and legs. i considered for a moment whether i could spring past them and gain the deck. perhaps they thought i might make the attempt; and before i had time to do more than think of it, they had shut the door and locked me in. i knew, from the quietness of the ship, that she was still at anchor, and i hoped that my friends might make inquiries about me that might lead to my discovery; and this idea kept me up. as i lay perfectly still i could hear the crew hoisting the remainder of the cargo out of the hold. the noise they made would have drowned my voice, even had i ventured to cry out. i guessed, also, that most of them knew of my imprisonment, and would not assist me. my only solace was the thought that mr mctavish, who had been so friendly to me, would insist on searching the ship, and then i thought it probable a story would be told of my having fallen overboard. they would very likely say that i had got drunk with their wine, and been seen rolling along the deck, or something of that sort. i did not, indeed, altogether despair of making my escape. as i lay in the ill-odorous locker i thought and thought of all sorts of plans. in spite of the smells i was getting hungry, and i wished that the boatswain or growles would return with the food they had promised. if only one came i made up my mind to seize him by the throat, put my fingers into his eyes, spring up past him, and try to gain the deck. it would be hazardous in the extreme; for, if he caught me, he would not let me go, and in the struggle i should certainly be overcome, when he would not fail to punish me severely--perhaps to deprive me of life. still, anything was better than to have again to endure the sufferings i had gone through in the hold. i nerved myself up for the undertaking i proposed. all was again silent in the hold. the crew had, i concluded, knocked off work; whether to go to dinner or for the day i could not calculate. after some time i heard the sound as of some one moving near me, the door opened, and the light of a lantern fell on my face. there were two heads instead of one. it would be madness to attempt to spring past them, so i lay quiet. "here's the food i promised you," said the voice of old growles. "eat it and be thankful; it's more than you deserve." it consisted of biscuit and meat, and a cooked root of some sort. he placed also a can of water by my side. "don't capsize it; for you'll get no more," he said, drawing my attention to it. wishing to soothe him and throw him off his guard, i answered and thanked him. before i could finish the sentence he had shut to the door and left me to discuss my meal in the dark. i heard him and his companion go away. the air which had come in had revived my appetite, and i eagerly ate up the provisions and drank the water, supposing that i should have more in due time. as soon as i had finished my meal i tried to see if i could force open the door, but i could discover no tool of any description. i made up my mind therefore to wait patiently till the opportunity offered of getting out. perhaps the next time old growles or the boatswain would come alone, or they might send some one else; or, should my friends be searching the ship, i might make them hear me. while these thoughts were passing through my mind i again fell asleep. it might be found wearisome were i to describe my thoughts and sensations, my hopes and fears, while i was awake, or to say how often i slept. day after day passed. old growles and the boatswain invariably came together; they seemed to divine that should only one come i might in my desperation attempt to pass him. as far as i could judge the crew were now taking cargo on board, as i could hear the bales descending into the hold. they consisted, i afterwards found, of skins and peltries. how much longer the ship would remain in harbour i could not tell, nor could i conjecture when i was to be set free. they would scarcely keep me a prisoner during the remainder of the voyage, as, shut up, i could do nothing, but if i were at liberty i could make myself useful. drearily the time passed away. fear still prevented me from shouting out; for, from the position i was in, i could certainly have made myself heard by the crew, although my voice would not have reached to the cabin. from the remarks that i had heard from the passengers, when we were approaching the columbia river, i guessed that, having loaded with furs, we should cross the pacific to china, where they would fetch a high price, and thence, as i knew beforehand, with the produce of that country, we should proceed to australia, where we should load with wood for home. if i were kept a prisoner for the whole period i should lose my health, if not my life. how many days or nights i had been kept in confinement i could not calculate, when i heard the sounds of heaving up the anchor; a trampling of feet, as if sail was being made. some time afterwards i was sensible of a movement in the ship, and presently she plunged into a heavy sea, and i could hear much rushing of water against her sides. again she made a more furious plunge, and i guessed that we were crossing the bar. i knew that i was right, as shortly afterwards the ship glided on with a comparatively slight movement. all hope of being rescued by my friends was gone. i knew that we must have crossed the bar while it was light, but i was allowed to remain in prison for another night. at last the door was opened, and old growles and the boatswain appeared. "you may go on deck now, youngster," said old growles; "but remember, as you value your life, that you don't tell the captain or any one else who put you down here. you played the stowaway once, and you must say you did so again, 'cos you didn't want to go ashore and live among the injins. if he believes you or not, it doesn't much matter; only you stick to it, and, mind yer, you'll come to a bad end if you don't." i made no answer, for although i wished to get out of the locker and enjoy the fresh air once more, i could not make up my mind to tell a falsehood, notwithstanding the threats of the old ruffian. neither he nor the boatswain seemed to expect an answer. perhaps they thought it mattered very little whether or not i promised to do as they ordered me, not believing that i would keep my word if it suited my convenience to break it; for, without saying another word, they bound my eyes, and one of them dragged me along among bales and other articles of cargo, which i could feel as i passed by. "stay here," said the boatswain, "till it strikes four bells. you may then find your way on deck as you best can, and spin any yarn you like to account for yourself being there, only mind you don't 'peach on us, or, as i said afore it'll be the worse for you." as he spoke he took the bandage off my eyes, and i heard the men retiring. i was still in total darkness, but i had been so often accustomed to find my way about under such circumstances that i was not very anxious on that account. i thought it prudent, however, to remain seated until i heard four bells strike, when on feeling about i was almost convinced that i was on the spar-deck. i could distinguish the tramp of feet overhead as if sail was being made, and shortly afterwards, the hatchway being lifted up, daylight streamed down upon me. pining for fresh air, and desperately hungry, i lost no time in making my way on deck. there stood the captain and two mates. the ship was under all sail, gliding rapidly before a strong breeze over the ocean, while the blue outline of the land could dimly be seen astern. i stood irresolute whether to go at once up to the captain and get the worst over, or to run forward and ask the cook to give me something to eat. i was about to follow the latter course, when i heard the captain's voice shouting, "halloa, youngster, where on earth do you come from?" "that's more than i can exactly say, sir," i answered. "why, we thought you had gone overboard and been drowned, or had slipped ashore and been carried off by the indians," he continued; "mr mctavish and the other gentlemen were making a great ado about you. you have been playing your old trick again. for my part, i should have supposed you would have been glad enough to get out of the ship, as i understood they wished to take you with them." "please sir, i hope you'll pardon me for what has happened," i said, an idea at that moment striking me. "i want to become a sailor, and i'll promise to try and do my duty, and learn to be one if you'll allow me." the captain, from what i said, at once took it for granted that i had again acted the stowaway, and i flattered myself that i had not spoken an untruth, while i had avoided saying anything which would offend him. i observed that old growles had come aft, and was then within earshot. the captain seemed rather pleased than otherwise that i had not wished to leave the ship. "go forward," he said, "and let me see that you do your duty." he was evidently in better humour than usual, having got a rich freight which he had not expected. touching my cap, i hurried to the caboose. caesar rolled his eyes and opened his mouth with astonishment when he saw me. "where you been all dis time, dick?" he asked. "that's more than i can tell you, caesar. do in mercy give me some grub, for i'm well-nigh starved," i answered. he gave me part of a mess he had been cooking for himself. "dis curious ship," he said, as he remarked the ravenous way in which i devoured the food. "i no ask questions, you no tell lies, dat is it. oh you wise boy." i suspected from this that caesar had observed the visits of old growles and the boatswain to the hold, and shrewdly guessed that i had been a prisoner. i could not understand, however, how the captain didn't make some fuss about it, unless he also was cognisant of the fact; but of that i was left in uncertainty. i had expected from the way he had first treated me that some change for the better would take place in my condition, but in this i was mistaken. i was at the beck and call of every one, having to do all the dirty work in the cabin, and being knocked about and bullied by the men just as much as before. chapter eighteen. my position does not improve--another attempt at escape frustrated-- becalmed off japan--macao--a fresh cargo--extension of the voyage--not dead yet--i gain some important information as to the future fate awaiting me, and i determine to quit the ship--a carouse--my escape, and how i accomplished it--alone on the ocean--i sight land--the rock and my landing-place--my search for food--i meet with an accident--i lose my boat. i must pass rapidly over the voyage across the pacific. whatever better feelings the captain had at one time displayed towards me completely disappeared. i was treated by him and the officers and men as badly as ever. my spirit was not broken, and perhaps i may at times have shown too refractory a disposition to please them. i was compelled, however, to submit to and obey their orders, annoying and vexatious as they often were. i did not show my feelings so much by what i said as by my looks, and i often stopped to consider whether or no i would do as i was told. we fell in with a few ships--most of them whalers--the captains of which sometimes came on board, and i had hoped that i might be able to get off in one of them. i fancied that it would be impossible to change for the worse, but i in vain watched for an opportunity. one evening we were becalmed to the southward of japan, not far off a south sea whaler. the commander, who was an old acquaintance of captain longfleet, came aboard, and spent the evening with him in the cabin. i waited eagerly till it had become dark. the lights of the other ship could be seen in the distance, and i expected every instant that the captain would come on deck ready to take his departure. the boat's crew had come aboard, and were being entertained by our men. i thought if i could manage to slip down i might stow myself away under the foremost thwart, and should not be discovered till i had reached the other ship. i would then tell my story to the commander, who if he would not have compassion on me would probably not think it worth while to send me back that night, and before the morning a breeze might spring up and the ships be separated. i waited concealed under the long-boat stowed amidships till i fancied that there was no one near the side where the whale-boat lay. i then crept out and got into the main chains. i was just about to lower myself down when a huge hand was placed on my shoulder, and i heard a voice which i knew to be that of old growles. "come inboard, you young rascal!" he said; "you're not going to get off as easily as you fancy. it's lucky for you that you didn't get into the boat, for you would have been found to a certainty, and handed over to our skipper, who would have knocked the life out of you." "what's all this about? how did you know i wanted to get into the boat?" i asked, in a tone of assumed astonishment. "'cos i've seen you watching ever since she came alongside," answered growles; "so take that--and that,"--and hauling me inboard, he bestowed several blows with the end of a rope on my back. i ran forward to escape from him, and stowed myself away in my bunk, as it was my watch below. we at last reached macao, where our cargo of furs was discharged, and for which i believe a very high price was obtained. i had no wish, from what i had heard of the chinese, to go and live among them, and i therefore did not attempt to get on shore, although i had reason to believe that i was all the time narrowly watched by old growles and the boatswain. instead of the furs and skins we shipped a cargo of tea in chests, and other chinese produce. part of this was to be landed at sydney, new south wales, and the rest, if no market could be found there for it, was to be carried on to america. this would greatly prolong the voyage, and consequently my miseries. i had hitherto been supported by the expectation of soon reaching home and being emancipated from my bondage. i had no dislike to the sea; and had i been well treated even in my subordinate position i should have been contented to remain where i was, and to try and learn as much as i could; but to be kicked and beaten and knocked down every day of my life--to have the dirtiest of work and the worst of food--to be sworn at and abused at all hours--made me well-nigh weary of my life. i was one night standing just before the windlass, when i said something which offended sam dixon, one of the men. in return he struck me a blow on the head. i must have fallen immediately, and rolled down directly under the windlass. perhaps fancying that he had killed me, dixon walked away, without uttering anything to anybody as to what he had done. i probably lay there for some time in a state of unconsciousness--how long i could not tell. when i came to myself i heard some of my shipmates talking near me. i was about to crawl out when my own name caught my ears. "we have had enough of that youngster at present," said one; "he has 'peached once, and will ferret out what we're about, and 'peach again if he has the chance. i only wish we had dropped him overboard with a shot round his feet long ago." it was the boatswain who spoke. "i didn't think of the shot, as i suppose that would stop him from coming up again, and haunting the ship," remarked old growles; "that's what i was afeered of." "why, gregory, you're always thinking of ghosts and spirits--they wouldn't do harm to you or any of us," remarked another fellow who was looked upon as the chief sceptic of the crew, though it is difficult to say what they did or did not believe, for considering their lives it might be supposed that they were all infidels together. they continued talking in low voices. though i could not make out all they said, i gathered enough to be convinced that they had some plot or other which they intended soon to put into execution, and fearing lest i should get an inkling of it and inform the captain, they intended to do away with me. it was some satisfaction to discover that they had no immediate intention of executing their plans. i might have time to warn the officers or to make my escape. i for some time had had an idea in my head. we carried a small boat astern, generally called a dinghy. she could hold two or three people, and was useful for sending away to the shore, or for lowering at sea in calm weather when anything had to be picked up. if i could lower her into the water during the night when off the coast of some island, i might manage to escape to the shore before i was discovered. what i had heard made me resolve not to delay a moment longer than could be helped. that night nothing could be done, even should i find that the blow had not incapacitated me from exertion. i dare not move from my present uncomfortable position, for should i be discovered the men would not scruple to do away with me. i was thankful that the men at last got up and began to walk about the deck. i was fearful, however, that they might come by the windlass, when i must have been discovered. at last i heard the second mate, who was the officer of the watch, give the order to shorten sail, and they had to run to their stations; and as they did so, i crawled out and succeeded in reaching my bunk, into which i tumbled unperceived. i was far from comfortable, however, fearing that that very night they might smother me--the mode i fancied they would take to put me out of existence. i was not missed, i suppose, as no one called me, and when my watch on deck came round i turned out with the rest. my head ached, and i had a big lump on my forehead. in the morning, when the third mate saw me, he asked how i got that. i replied that it was the way i had got many another, that it was only what i expected, and had made up my mind to bear it. "you're a rum chap, and a bold one--more than i'd do," answered the mate, not troubling himself more about the matter. when i went aft to the cabin at breakfast, i heard one of the mates observe that we should make the coast of australia that day. then i thought to myself, "if i can get off i will." i had no intention of going without provisions. i knew that a good store was kept in the pantry, to which i had access. my intention was to tumble everything i could find into a cloth, to tie it up, and to carry it off, if i could, unperceived to the dinghy. how to lower that without being heard or seen by the watch on deck was the difficulty. the falls were so fitted that a single person might lower her, but then she would make a splash in the water. we made the land about four o'clock in the afternoon, but after standing on for some time till it was nearly dark, the captain ordered the ship's head to be put about, as he was not well acquainted with the coast, and there were dangerous reefs which ran off for a considerable distance. night came on, and a very dark night it was, but the darkness would favour my design. instead of being allowed to turn in when it was my watch below, i was sent aft by the cook with a dish of devilled biscuits to the cabin, where the captain and the first and second mates were taking supper, while the third mate had the watch on deck. i intended it to be the last time i would turn into my bunk. i had not been long in the cabin before i observed that the captain and mates had been drinking, and seemed disposed to continue their debauch. the devilled biscuits which i had placed before them still farther incited their thirst, and the captain ordered another bottle of rum. i noticed that the steward, when i told him, got out two bottles, one of which he kept in the pantry while he took the other into the cabin. "you'll do to attend on the officers, dick," he said to me; "i'm going to enjoy myself." i stood ready to obey any orders i should receive. the conversation i heard was far from edifying, but i was too much engaged in thinking of my own project to attend to it. as i was standing at the far end of the cabin i heard a crash. one of the mates had knocked over a couple of tumblers, and i was sent into the pantry to obtain others. i found the steward fast verging into a state of unconsciousness. he had been pulling away at the rum-bottle at a great rate, for fear he should not have time to finish it. as i got the tumblers i cast my eyes round the pantry to see what articles of food i could most readily carry off. i saw the best part of a cold ham, an ample supply of biscuits and some pots of chinese preserves, with several other things of less consequence. returning to the cabin i placed the tumblers on the table, and retired beyond the reach of the officers, having been taught by experience that they might at any moment think fit to give me a box on the ear or to knock me down. i watched them with intense interest, lest they should knock off before they were completely drunk. the third mate came into the cabin apparently to report something to the captain, but, seeing the state his commander was in, uttering a loud whew! he turned on his heel, and went out again, seeing the importance of keeping sober himself. i confess that i wished he had sat down with the others, and left the ship to take care of herself. soon afterwards, as i knew i should not be missed, i stole out of the cabin, and went into the pantry, where i quickly did up the provisions i intended to take with me. there was a jar of water, evidently quite full, which the steward kept ready for use. i now went on deck to ascertain what chance i had of carrying out my design. i could discover no one excepting the man at the helm, and the third mate had, i concluded, to take a look-out. i hurried back to get the jar and provisions, and unperceived placed them in the dinghy. i felt about in her, and found two oars and a boat-hook. the falls were, as i have said, so fitted that one person could lower the boat, but to do so without capsizing her when the ship was moving through the water was almost an impossible undertaking. the wind had previously been very light, and the vessel had scarcely any steerage way on her. to my intense satisfaction i noticed that it was now almost a stark calm. now or never i must carry out my project. i thought not of the dangers to be encountered; the chances of being chased and overtaken; the savages on shore; the risk of starvation; the want of water; the current that might sweep me along; or the chances of a storm arising before i could gain the land. i had not a moment to lose. the mate remained forward; the man at the helm stood motionless, and, i hoped, was asleep. i slipped into the boat, and passing the slack of the falls under two thwarts, gently lowered myself down. i had, the day before, unobserved, thoroughly greased the blocks. my chief fear now was, that the splash the boat would make on reaching the water would be heard. i therefore eased away with the greatest care, and stood ready in a moment to cast off the aft-most fall. i cleared it in the nick of time, and the boat was towed slowly ahead. i quickly cleared the foremost fall, and was now adrift. i was conscious that a light splash had been made, but i hoped that if the mate heard it he would fancy that it was caused by some monster of the deep rising above the surface. without waiting to ascertain whether this was the case or not, i seized the oars and pulled rapidly away from the stern of the vessel, the light from the cabin window assisting me to keep the course i desired to make towards the land. i congratulated myself at having accomplished my object before it was too late, for i felt a breeze fanning my ears as i pulled on. as i looked up at the tall masts, it seemed to me that the sails bulged out, and that the ship was rapidly increasing her distance from me. i was already a considerable way astern when i heard a loud hail. i recognised the voice of the mate, who had probably just discovered that the boat was gone. my fear was, that another would be lowered and sent in chase of me. this made me pull all the harder. my only idea was, to reach shore and escape from my persecutors. i dared not lose time by stopping even for a moment to listen for the sounds of a boat being lowered. i heard several other voices hail, but the ship stood on and gradually faded away in the gloom of night. i knew that being low in the water i could not be seen. presently i saw the flash of a musket; then another and another; but no shots came near me, and from this i was convinced that the third mate, or some one else, was firing at random. had the captain or the other mates been in their right senses the ship would probably have been hove-to and two boats, at least, have been sent in chase of me. the third mate was, i suspect, afraid of heaving to on account of the reefs. he kept the ship, therefore, before the wind. whatever the cause, i was thankful i was not pursued, and i trusted that the breeze would blow stronger and carry the ship farther and farther away from me. although, through there being no moon, the night was dark, and there was a mist which hung over the waters, yet i could observe overhead several stars, and as the lights from the cabin receded, i marked their position, and was thus able, with tolerable confidence, to continue my way towards the land. i fancied that i should be able to reach it early in the morning or during the next day. i at length began to grow weary, but as long as i could move my arms i determined to row on. the wind being off the land, the sea was perfectly calm. scarcely a ripple disturbed the surface. i was too anxious to feel hunger or thirst. at the same time, the joy at having escaped kept up my spirits. under other circumstances i do not think i could have accomplished what i did. i fancied that i was pulling at the rate of four miles an hour, and that i was nearing the shore. at length, however, my fatigue overcame me, and i felt that i could row no more. the moment i stopped i felt very sleepy, but had sense sufficient to take in my oars and place them by my side. i then lay down in the bottom of the boat, intending to rest for a few minutes, after which, i expected again to be able to pull on. as may be supposed, i was soon again fast asleep. my slumbers were peaceful and pleasant, rendered so, i presume, by the consciousness that i had escaped from the fate intended for me. i was awakened by a bright light flashing in my eyes. opening them, i sprang up and found that the sun had just risen above the horizon. i looked eagerly around, dreading lest i should see the ship near me, but to my infinite relief she was not visible, nor was the land i had expected to see and so soon to reach. my little boat was the only object on the waste of waters. the coast, i knew, was to the westward, and as the rising sun would guide me, i took out my oars and began to row away in that direction. i had not rowed long before i began to feel very hungry. i therefore again laid in my oars and took a hearty meal off the provisions i had brought, washing it down with an ample draught of water. then i once more turned to, but the heat soon became excessive, and i was streaming at every pore. still, as long as my strength lasted i determined not to give in. i occasionally stopped to take a pull at my water-bottle. with very little rest beside, i continued to paddle on till it was again dark. this showed me what had not occurred to me before, that i might have been rowing part of the time along the coast, instead of towards it, and i supposed that the ship had been much farther off than i had previously imagined. i had been in a dreamy state all day, and unable to think much. this was produced by the heat which beat down on my head. i felt somewhat revived as the sun set, but after a time excessive drowsiness came over me, and once more taking in my oars, i lay down to sleep. i must have slept the whole night, for when i again woke, it was already dawn. i stood up and looked about me, when to my surprise i observed some rocks between myself in the boat and the bright light which heralded the rising sun. i must have been carried by a current inside them. i was about to row away to the westward, when as the light increased i saw what i at first thought was the mast of a small vessel or boat near them. seizing my oars, i eagerly pulled towards the object. again looking round i soon discovered it; it was not a mast, but a pole stuck in the rock with a cask or basket fixed on the top of it. this was a sign that some civilised inhabitants must be on the neighbouring shore, and that they had placed that beacon to warn mariners of the dangers of the rock. a number of sea-fowl circled over the rock, occasionally dipping their wings in the clear water. as the sun rose, i made out the land running in a long line to a far distance, as i concluded north and south. it was now time for breakfast. i had no intention of landing on the rock, for this would only cause delay. i took my ham out from the stern sheets, but as i did so, the horrible odour which saluted my nostrils made me certain that it would be impossible to eat it, and, except the dry biscuits, i had no other food. i managed with the aid of some water to masticate a fair quantity, but it might be a long time even now before i could gain the shore, and even then i might be disappointed in obtaining food. it then occurred to me that perhaps the sea-fowl made their nests on the rock, and that i might get some of their eggs, which would give me an ample supply of provisions for some time to come. as i had once upon a time lived upon raw rats, i was not very particular; and even should i not obtain any eggs, i might find some young birds, which, though perhaps fishy in taste, would enable me to support existence. i therefore rowed towards the rock which i saw was of considerable extent, although one part only on which the beacon was placed rose a few feet above the surface. the clearness of the atmosphere had deceived me as to the distance. i rowed on for some time before i reached it. possibly also, there was a current against me, although that such was the case did not occur to me at the time. the sea-fowl shrieked loudly and wildly as i approached, as if to warn me off from their domain. some sat on the rock, others darted off and circled round and round the boat, but i was not to be deterred from landing by their threatening cries and movements. at last i got close to the rock, and found an indentation or little bay, into which i ran my boat. though several birds appeared, i found that they were merely resting on the rock, and that the water was too shallow to allow me to get close enough to step on shore. in many places the seaweed grew so thickly, and was so slimy, that i was afraid to venture on it, lest it offering a treacherous foothold i should slip back into the water. at last i saw a point some distance from the beacon where i thought i could land, and secure the boat's painter round a rough part of the coral rock. i succeeded in stepping on to it and making the rope fast; and confident that she would be secure, made my way along the rock with the assistance of the boat-hook. i found neither eggs nor young birds; indeed, on examining the rock, i knew that it must be covered occasionally, if not at every tide, by the water. still i thought that i should find them at the higher part, near the beacon. i accordingly scrambled on as well as i could, but here and there i came to a lower part of the rock over which the water washed, and i saw that to reach the beacon i must wade through it. i had to proceed very cautiously, for it was full of hollows and slippery in the extreme, and a fall might involve serious consequences. the shriek of the birds, though it sounded rather pleasant at a distance, became almost deafening as i got nearer to them. after going some way, i had to stop and rest, supporting myself on the boat-hook. i now saw, on looking round, that the sky which at sunrise had been bright and clear, was becoming fast covered with clouds. the wind, too, blew with much greater force than before. still, as it came off the land, i hoped that it might not cause such a sea as would prevent me from continuing my voyage. i was too eager, also, to obtain some eggs or young birds to allow the subject to trouble me. i therefore continued scrambling along over the rocks, hoping to find what i was in search of nearer the beacon. i was by this time nearly wet through up to the middle, but that did not matter, as the hot sun soon dried my clothes. having got on some distance without an accident, i perhaps became more careless; for when leaping from one rock to another, my foot slipped and i came down with a force which i thought must have broken my arm. i lay clutching the rock with the other hand, unable to move from the pain, while my boat-hook slipped from my grasp, and gliding into the water was borne away from the rock. i now saw that a rapid current was passing the rock, the influence of which i must have felt when approaching it in the boat. without the boat-hook i should find it still more difficult to get along; but i knew that i must not stay where i was for ever, and as soon therefore as the pain allowed me, i rose to my feet and endeavoured to continue my scramble over the rocks. i forgot that my return journey would be quite as difficult if not more so, as i should have no boat-hook, and at the same time should be loaded, i hoped, with eggs and birds. i went on and on, of course making very slow progress. at length i got close to the beacon, and great was my disappointment to find neither eggs nor young birds. i searched round and round the rock in all directions, and i at last came to the conclusion that if the birds lay their eggs there at all the hatching season must have passed, and the young birds grown strong on the wing, and have flown away. it was a great disappointment. as it was, i had had my difficult and tiring scramble for nothing, and had bruised my arm, though happily i had not broken it. i had also lost my boat-hook. i climbed to the higher part of the rock, and had a look at the land, which i judged was ten or twelve miles off at least. still i hoped to accomplish that distance long before dark, and to find a harbour, as i supposed there was one, or it was not likely that the beacon could have been placed on the rock. i therefore, without further delay, began my return journey. as i went along, i found that some places where i had crossed had become much deeper. at length it occurred to me that the tide was rising. i had regained sight of my boat, which at a distance could not be distinguished from the black rocks, when it suddenly appeared to me that she was moving. i rushed on at the risk of breaking my legs. what was my dismay at seeing that she was already at a considerable distance from the rock where i had left her, and there seemed every probability that i should lose her altogether. in my terror i shouted and shrieked to her to stop. i was on the point of rushing into the water to try and overtake her when i saw a black fin glide by, followed by another, and the wicked eye of a shark glanced up at me, daring me to venture on the undertaking. my despair overcoming me, i sank down on the rock. chapter nineteen. my adventures on the rock--my search for food, and what i found--the storm--despite my perilous position, i marvel at the grandeur of the scene--the storm subsides--my search for clams, and further explorations on the rock--the darkest night must come to an end--a welcome wetting--my only refuge--return of stormy weather--perilous moments--i climb the beacon-post. i had gone through a few misadventures, but this was the most trying of all. after lying on the rock for a few minutes or more, i recovered sufficiently to recollect that the tide was rising, and that unless i could select a higher spot i should be swept off, and become a prey to the monsters i dreaded. i therefore got up, and trying to pull myself together again, endeavoured to reach the beacon, which would at all events afford me temporary shelter. when taking out the biscuits in the morning i had shoved several into my pocket, which would enable me to sustain existence until i could make signals to some passing boat or vessel. having lost my boat-hook i made slower progress than before, and often with the greatest difficulty avoided falling. two or three times i had to wade up to my middle, and i dreaded lest one of the sharks should have shoved his nose through the opening, and might snap me up. still i went on. my anxiety made me forget the pain in my arm. fortunately i was not indeed deprived of its use, and by degrees the pain went off. i was so much engaged, that i did not for some time observe how completely the weather had changed. the beacon on the rock was reached, and i sat down below it to rest myself after my exertions. i now saw that the sea, which had hitherto been so calm, had begun to heave. sudden gusts blew across it, covering its surface with wavelets, which every moment increased in size. dark clouds chased each other across the sky, and gathered in thick masses overhead. to my dismay i saw that a storm was rising. it rapidly came on, while the sea getting up with the same speed, completely swept over the lower part of the rock along which i had made my way. the lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and the seas began to beat with violence against the rock. some of them came sweeping up to where i sat. i sprang to my feet, and stood gazing with awe and terror at the strife of the elements which raged around me. what hope, i thought, could i have of escaping. my boat gone; so far off from land that it was impossible i could be observed, while i could see no boats or vessels sailing over the whole expanse of ocean. indeed had there been any coming from the shore, they would have put back into harbour when they saw the storm coming on. still i was unharmed; i had biscuits enough in my pockets to keep soul and body together for a day or two longer, if i economised them as i intended to do. i might also find some shellfish; they would serve me for food for a much longer time, i therefore did not despair, but i was aware that at any moment the sea might sweep up and carry me off. with more calmness than i had given myself credit for possessing, i continued to survey the scene. i looked out again for my boat, thinking it possible that the current might drive her back to the rock, but she had been carried far beyond my ken. this made my heart sick. knowing, however, that my life depended very much on my keeping up my courage, i endeavoured to muster all i possessed. i thought if i could climb up to the top of the rock and make a signal, it might be observed, should any boat when the storm was over come out from the shore, or should any vessel be passing. i could see no other rocks to the eastward; i supposed, therefore that this was the highest part of the reef, and that vessels acquainted with the coast might pass by within sight of it. i spent several hours, i can scarcely describe how. when my hunger became too ravenous to bear longer, i munched a small quantity of biscuit. at length, as i watched the seas, i observed that they did not approach so close to me, and i was convinced that the tide was again going down. i calculated, indeed, from the time i had been on the rock, that this must be the case, as it was already rising when i first landed, and i now hoped that i should be able to obtain some shellfish by going down to the lee-side, and cutting them off with my knife. the idea having once occurred to me, i lost no time in carrying it out. i had to be excessively cautious, for by a false step i might have slipped into the sea, and not have been able to regain my hold on the rock. after searching about for some time, i caught sight of a few clams, but they were not to be obtained without risk, as the sea surged up and recovered them. i fixed my eye on one, then rushing down, i cut it off and threw it up out of the reach of the water. i obtained two more in the same way; and in attempting to secure a fourth, the waves swept round the rock, almost covering me, and i had to cling on for my life, losing my clam and very nearly my life. this taught me to be more cautious than ever; but i managed notwithstanding to obtain three or four more, and as i could see none others above water, i had to content myself with those i had collected. gathering those i had obtained together, i returned to the higher part of the rock, close under the beacon, where i was sheltered from the wind. i had no means of lighting a fire. there was no fuel on the rock to make one, and so i was compelled to eat the clams raw, with a little biscuit to make them more palatable. the whole day had passed away, and another night was coming on. i dreaded it, for i knew not what might happen during the hours of darkness. the storm had in no way abated, and i feared that when the tide again rose the sea might get still more over the rock. i had little idea, however, how fiercely it was about to do so. i have often spoken of my sleeping and waking, but thus our lives are spent. in spite of the storm raging around me, the seas thundering on the rock, and the wind whistling through the beacon, a drowsiness overpowered me, and i found myself dropping off to sleep. i was still conscious in some degree how i was situated. i felt all the time an overpowering sense of danger. sometimes i was in my little boat, gliding calmly over the ocean; now i was suddenly chased by big waves, which threatened every instant to engulf me. then i found myself cast upon the rock, my boat floating away, and tumbling and tossing till she disappeared. now i was seated all alone, gazing out over the ocean, which rose and fell, and tossed before my eyes just as i had seen it in the daytime, only rising to a far greater height, and descending in a more furious fashion. this sort of confused dream continued while i was asleep. now and then i awoke, only to hear the noises i have before described. the rock itself seemed quaking, as the seas with a thundering roar dashed against it. i could hear, too, the screams of the sea-birds as they swept round and round, disturbed from their usual resting-place, though many of them flew off, i suppose, to the far-away shores, or to other rocks perhaps higher out of the water. the night i had escaped from the "emu" was very dark; but this was unfortunately darker, except when a flash of lightning darted from the sky and illumined the white foam which, lashed by the wind into spray, flew in sheets over the rock. i was soon wet to the skin. i felt chilly in the extreme. even the most terrible night must come to an end. morning broke, but cheerless as could well be. the sky was of one leaden hue, broken here and there by the clouds which hung lower down in the strata. the waves, when not covered by foam, were of the same tint. to sit where i was i found was impossible. i got up and walked about and stretched my legs. to my dismay i found that the rocks, which at the same hour the previous day were high out of the water, were now almost covered by the furious seas which rolled over them. i trembled to think what would be the case at high water. i should have liked to have got some more clams for breakfast, but i could see none, even after searching for them, and there was a great risk of being swept away, so i contented myself with taking one of those i had saved from the previous day, with a biscuit, for breakfast. i was already very thirsty, having had nothing to drink since i had left the boat, and would have welcomed a heavy shower from the dark clouds overhead. i continued to walk, or rather to climb about the rock, as there was but a very small level place on which i could walk. then i sat down again, and with melancholy gaze watched the foaming seas, which i began to dread, as i saw them more and more frequently covering the rock, would prove my grave. at length i had to seek a higher and more exposed level, and as water occasionally surged up to the place where i had spent the night, and might at any moment sweep me off, i tried to nerve myself up to my fate. with difficulty i could restrain myself from drinking the sea-water. i was well aware of the danger of doing so, and resisted the temptation. at last, as i was looking up, i felt a drop fall on my face. it was not the spray of the sea. another and another followed, and down came a copious shower. i opened my mouth, at the same time holding out my cap to the rain, hoping to get a little in it. i got but little, so i placed it on the rock and spread it open. i then took off my jacket, and held it out that it might be well wetted. i hoped also to find some hollow in the rock that might be rilled with fresh water. the rain came down, as it does in the tropics, in a perfect deluge. my jacket was wet through in a minute, and i was able to wring out of it a sufficient amount of fresh water to quench my burning thirst. after this i was able to eat some biscuits. it should be remembered that the tide reaches its height nearly three-quarters of an hour later every day. i watched with intense anxiety its rising this afternoon. now it entirely covered the rocks where i had landed, then those over which i had made my way were concealed from view, and now it reached the base of the beacon-rock itself, against which the seas began to break with a fury surpassing that of the previous day. the spot on which i had been standing one minute was the next covered by the seething waters, when i retired to a higher level. again and again a wave broke over the rock, and striking one of the almost perpendicular sides flew high into the air above my head. every moment my hope of escape was becoming less and less. i cried to heaven for mercy. as i saw death drawing near, the desire to live increased. it seemed so terrible to have to die all alone away from friends and country. at last i was driven to the very foot of the beacon, and i clutched it as if it alone could afford me protection. i knew that i could not for a single moment stand upon the rock with the sea breaking over it, but the beacon itself withstood the furious waves. i had not as yet thought of climbing to it to see how it was fixed, but i now did so with intense anxiety. i found that the staff was of hard oak, and that it had been imbedded in a deep hole formed by art in the rock, and further secured by iron bars driven into it, and fastened round by iron hoops. this gave me some hopes that it would stand the fury of the seas should they rise high enough to strike it. that they would do this seemed every moment more probable. on every side around me they tossed and foamed and roared, as if eager to seize me. i frantically clutched the pole, which, from its size, i could with difficulty embrace. even now, though my chance of escape seemed small indeed, i did not abandon all hope. a small line hung down through the bottom of the cask. i tried its strength. it would enable me, i found, to mount upwards, but i was unwilling to make the attempt, as i could not tell whether the cask was fixed securely enough to bear my weight. there i stood, my arms round the pole, clutching the rope with my hands, and awaiting my fate. that that ere long would come i was fully convinced. though sea after sea broke on the rock, none actually touched me, though my feet occasionally were washed by the foam. to my surprise, and contrary to all my expectations, though the seas raged round me as fiercely as ever, the water sank, and as the sea rolled up it struck a lower level of the rock, and i began to hope once more that i should escape. then i recollected that if the tides had not yet reached their extreme height, or the spring tides had not come on, the next day might prove fatal. though the water had receded, i dare not leave the beacon-post, and kept clinging to it as my only comfort and friend. at length weary i sank down to rest, still grasping it in my arms. thus hours passed away, even now too painful to think of. i ate the remainder of the biscuit, and then fell into a heavy slumber, which must have lasted many hours. i awoke to find that it was night, and that the tide was once more rising, as i knew by hearing the seas breaking on the rocks close to me. already i was covered by the spray, which flew in showers over me. had i slept on much longer i must have been swept away, and awakened only to find myself in the cruel grasp of the relentless waves. i might, however, now never see another sunrise. i prayed as i had never prayed before, and resolved to struggle to the last for life. few have been placed in a more perilous position and escaped. i had the stout beacon to cling to. it had probably stood many a storm, but would it stand fast now? to that i held fast as before, but i feared that my strength would fail me, and that i might be torn away from it. i looked up at the cask above my head, wondering whether that would afford me an asylum i was unwilling, however, to exhaust my strength by attempting to climb the post. with increasing force the waves beat on the rock. again and again it trembled from their blows, though i fancied, and almost expected, to find it washed away beneath my feet. i was wet through, and blinded by the spray. as i cleared my eyes, i could discern through the darkness the seas dancing up level with the rock on which i stood. some appeared, as they rolled on meeting with no impediment, to be much higher. then i saw one coming roaring and hissing along towards me. it broke with fearful force, and rushed over the rock higher than my knees. had i not been firmly grasping the beacon-post, i should have been carried off my legs and washed helplessly away. i shrieked with terror as i saw another coming higher than the last. my cries were echoed by those of the wild sea-birds passing above. the foaming sea broke, and as i drew myself up the post, i found my legs floating behind me. a moment later, and my doom would have been sealed. i got up higher and higher. now, as i looked down, i saw that i was surrounded by a tumultuous ocean, without a particle of rock on which to place the soles of my feet. i knew that all depended on my strength holding out. the beacon might stand fast, but i might be torn away. had it been daylight i might better have endured the horrible position in which i was placed, but at night to be thus all alone, with the hungry waves leaping up and striving to snatch me from my holdfast, was truly dreadful. i wonder my senses did not give way. sometimes i thought that it was only a dream, but i then knew it to be a fearful reality. with arms and legs clinging round the post, and my hands clutching the rope as i had never clutched rope before, i hung on. i was almost afraid to climb higher, lest my muscles failing me for a moment i should lose my grasp, and yet the cask was only a few feet above me. suddenly i recollected that on board whalers casks are placed in the same manner as that was at the masthead, in order that the officers, protected in some degree, may in that position obtain a wide extended view in search of whales, and that they enter by a trap-door in the bottom. should this beacon possess such a trap, i might get through it and obtain shelter and rest. but again a doubt crossed my mind whether i could climb up even thus far, without the risk of sliding down again into the sea. i looked down to see if the tide was once more receding, but the waves seemed still to be rising higher and higher. some of their foam even sometimes now touched my feet as they swept over the rock. they might even cover the beacon itself; and if so, no human power could save me. after remaining quiet for some time, i felt as if i possessed sufficient strength, and resolved to make the attempt. with legs and arms and hands i worked my way up. i would have clung with my teeth to the rope could i have seized it. i was within a foot of the bottom of the cask, when i felt so exhausted that i thought i could get no higher. i looked down on the raging sea and then up at the only place which could afford me shelter. in the darkness i could not see whether or not there was a trap, and if there were one perhaps i might not be able to force it open, and, exhausted by the effort, might drop into the water. i dreaded the risk, but it must be run. nerving myself up to the undertaking, i slowly and carefully began to work my way higher up. my head struck the cask. i put up my hand, the bottom yielded, and now exerting all my remaining strength i seized the edges and drew myself up, holding well on with my hands and feet until i had got my head and shoulders into the interior. throwing myself on my chest, i felt round and discovered some beckets, evidently intended for the purpose of enabling a person situated as i was to draw himself up. i then, grasping the rope which hung from the top of the pole which passed through the cask, dragged myself up and placed my feet at the bottom. i pressed down the trap. i felt more secure than i had been for many hours. had i not still had a post to cling to after the strain my muscles had so long endured, i could not have stood upright. several cross-pieces secured the top of the cask to the post. i shoved my head through them, and could now look down on the wild and raging waters with which i was surrounded. still i dare not quit my hold of the post, fancying that if i pressed on one side of the cask or the other, it might give way. not that there was the slightest chance of that in reality. i did not long contemplate the fearful scene, but overcome by what i had gone through, i sank down to the bottom of the cask, and, wet and cold as i was, fell into a troubled slumber. chapter twenty. in the beacon--the storm continues--the tide turns--i again seek for food--i meet with another accident--brighter weather--a sail in sight--my hopes and fears--my signal--my rescue--a voice from the deep--three old friends meet again--on board the "falcon"--the good captain--sydney harbour, and why i did not go ashore there--the homeward voyage--mark and i learn navigation--my reception at liverpool--sad, sad news--my journey to sandgate--i enter mr butterfield's office, and have had no cause to regret doing so. i awoke to find the storm still raging around me; but as i opened my eyes i was sensible that a faint light came in from the top of the cask. i was cramped with the uncomfortable position in which i had been sleeping. when i looked out over the edge of the cask, though the seas were tossing as wildly as before, i perceived that the rock below me was once more uncovered, owing, as i knew, to the tide having ebbed. at first i thought of descending; then i recollected that the waters might again rise to their former level, and i feared that i might not have strength to regain my sheltering-place. i therefore remained where i was. i shortly began to feel the pangs of hunger and thirst. i eagerly felt in my pocket for some biscuit, forgetting that i had consumed the last the night before. i found a few crumbs, and with difficulty got them down, having no water to moisten my dry mouth. still, the wet state of my clothes prevented me from suffering so much from thirst as i should otherwise have done. the storm, i knew, would not last for ever. should it continue much longer, however, i might succumb before i could possibly be relieved; but having been hitherto so mercifully preserved, i did not despair. feeling weary of standing, i again crouched down at the bottom of the cask. i had reason to bless the persons who had placed it there. as i thus sat, half asleep and half awake, it seemed to me that the wind blew with less violence than it had done before. i got up to ascertain if this was the case. on looking round i felt confident that it was so. it appeared to me, also, that the seas were tumbling about with less violence than they had done on the previous day. if so, they might not again cover the rock. i was well accustomed to notice the tides on our own shore, and i remembered that, after the highest of the spring tides, they were said by the fishermen to "take off"--that is, to rise to a less elevation every subsequent day. thus, even should the storm continue, the rock might not again be covered. this idea brought considerable relief to me. my hunger made me resolve to descend to search for clams. perhaps i should find a fish thrown on the rock. the thought of obtaining some food made me get down at once. i opened the trap, and, grasping the rope, slid down with perfect ease. already the rocks over which i had clambered from the boat were bare, for the tide had fallen rapidly. i knew that it would fall in proportion as it had risen. i went as close to the edge as i could venture without running the risk of being carried off. the rocks, which were washed by the fierce seas, were slippery in the extreme, and i feared that any clams clinging to them must have been washed away. still, hunger urged me on. i made my way along the top of the coral reef. i observed several small pools ahead. there must be creatures of some sort within, which would enable me to satisfy the cravings of hunger. i had gone some little distance, when i slipped, and came down on the rock. in my weak state i felt unable again to rise for some minutes, though i was not seriously hurt. the clouds, some time before this, began to break, and suddenly the sun shone forth, his warm rays cheering me up. as i cast my eyes round, something glittered brightly just for a moment in one of the pools. rising with renewed strength, i scrambled, faster than i had moved before, towards it, and great was my delight to see a good-sized fish floundering in the pool. it attempted to escape me, but i pounced down upon it as a sea-bird would have done, and, giving it a blow on the head, quickly despatched it. i was too hungry to wait even to partially prepare it by hanging it up in the sun, and, taking out my knife, quickly cut some slices from the thickest part of the body. i did not stop to consider whether it was wholesome, but ate it raw as it was. i looked about in the hope of finding another, and was successful; it was of the same species as the first. i could exist now without the clams; and, therefore, thinking it prudent not to run any risk in trying to obtain them, i returned to the beacon. by this time the wind had fallen to a moderate breeze, though the seas still continued rolling on with foaming crests, but far less wildly than before, and were evidently decreasing in height. the atmosphere having cleared, i was able to distinguish the distant shore, which had the appearance of a blue irregular line to the westward. again and again i turned my eyes seaward, in hopes of seeing a passing ship, which might stand near enough to observe me. i was disappointed; not a sail came in sight, and another night approached. the waters covered some of the rocks, but only for a short time, when the tide again ran out. still i was unwilling to sleep upon the cold rock, and, taking my second fish, having consumed the first to the bones, i climbed up again into the tub. having coiled myself away round the bottom, i was soon fast asleep. my slumbers were peaceful and quiet. the gentle wind produced no sound round the cask; the roar of the surf on the rocks had ceased. i slept the whole night through, and not till the sun had risen out of the ocean did i wake. i at once stood up and looked round me. a light breeze from the northward sent the wavelets rippling against the rock. the sea was otherwise perfectly calm, and glowed in the rays of the bright orb of day. i looked landwards, in the expectation of seeing some vessels come out of the harbour, which, i thought, could not be far off, but none appeared. then i gazed anxiously to the northward, and round the horizon in all directions. presently i saw a spot appear of snowy whiteness, glittering in the rays of the sun. it rapidly increased in size. "a sail! a sail!" i shouted, though there was no one to hear me. i soon perceived that she was a large ship. first her topgallant sails, then her topsails, rose out of the water. i was so intently watching her that i forgot for a time to take my meal. as may be supposed, i turned many a look towards the ship. she was standing towards me, running before the wind along the coast. at last her courses, and then her hull, appeared, and i fancied that i could almost see the people moving on her deck. i was congratulating myself that i should have a speedy deliverance, when the thought came to me that she might be the "emu." if i were discovered i should be worse treated than before. i had not so often seen the ship on which i had spent so many dreary months, to be certain about her appearance at a distance. i trembled lest i should be right, though she had been steering in a different direction. as the stranger approached, i became more and more convinced that she was not the "emu." still i felt a feeling of uncertainty on the subject. should i make a signal, and try to attract the attention of those on board? the beacon would certainly be observed; perhaps they were looking out for it. had i possessed a supply of water, i might have hesitated longer; but my perilous position determined me at all risks to make a signal. i watched till the ship came nearly abreast of the beacon, when, stripping off my shirt, i climbed as high as i could, until i reached the cask. i waved the shirt frantically. in my eagerness i shouted also, though i might have known that my puny voice could not be heard. for some time it appeared to me that i was waving in vain; and then, what was my dismay to see the ship's head turned away from the shore. i was deserted. presently the sheets were let fly, the main-topsail was backed against the mast. she hove-to. i almost fell from my post with joy as i saw a boat lowered, which came rapidly pulling towards the rock. putting on my shirt--it was now perfectly dry--i descended from my perch to the rock, and there stood eagerly watching the boat. again a thought occurred to me, that she might, after all, be the "emu," and in another few minutes i might be in the clutches of old growles and the boatswain, and my other persecutors. but as i strained my eyes to discern their countenances. i became aware that none of the "emu's" crew were there. as far as i could make out, they were all perfect strangers. the boat steered for the lee-side of the rock. i hurried down to meet them. "why, my lad, who are you, and how came you here?" exclaimed one of the strangers. "has your ship gone to the bottom?" "that's more than i can say," i answered; "i came in a boat. the boat floated away, and i have been left here." "what ship do you belong to?" asked the stranger. "the `emu,'" i answered, thinking it was as well to acknowledge this much. "the `emu!'" he exclaimed. "why, who are you? let me let me look at you. don't you know me, dick?" and he grasped my hand. i looked at him hard. "why, if i didn't think you were at the bottom of the sea, i should have declared that you were tom trivett." "and so i am," he said, "though i'm not at the bottom of the sea, and right glad i am to find you, dick, out of that dreadful ship. come along, we mustn't stand talking here; we were sent to bring you off, and, judging by your looks, the sooner you're on board the better." "yes, indeed," i answered, "for i find it a hard matter to speak from the dryness in my throat; i haven't tasted water for a couple of days, and if you had not come i don't suppose i should have held out much longer, with the hot sun shining down on my head." "well, i am glad," cried tom, as he, with the aid of another hand, who was the third mate of the ship, helped me into the boat. she immediately shoved off, and pulled towards the ship. "who would have thought of finding you, dick, all alone by yourself out on yonder rock?" said tom, who was pulling stroke oar. "however, wonders never end. there's another old shipmate of yours on board, whom you'll be glad to see, i have a notion; and not a little surprised either, if you thought that he was left to perish on the falkland islands." "what! do you mean mark riddle?" i asked. "yes, mark himself," he said. "he didn't die, or he wouldn't be on board the `falcon.' we found him about ten days after. he had been pretty well worn out, but still with life enough in him to crawl down to the beach when we put in for water." "i am glad, i am glad!" i said, though i could say little more, and was unable to ask tom how he had escaped. the mate put questions to me which i was unable to answer; indeed i was almost fainting before i was lifted up the side of the "falcon." one of the first persons i set eyes on was mark riddle. he was much grown and bronzed. had i not been aware that he was on board, i should not at first have known him; nor did he guess who i was till tom told him, when he sprang to my side, and warmly grasped my hand. he forbore asking questions, as he saw that i was not in a state to reply. the first thing tom did was to bring me a mug of water, which i eagerly drank. after that the captain ordered that i should be carried to a spare berth in the cabin. "we must have him there, that he may be properly looked after. he'll be better off than in the forepeak," he said. from this i guessed that he was a kind-hearted man, very different to captain longfleet. in a short time some broth and a fresh roll baked on board were brought to me, and i was not so far gone that i was prevented from thankfully swallowing the food. it revived me greatly, and when captain mason looked in on me shortly afterwards, i was able to answer all the questions he put to me. i confessed who i was, and how i had come to sea. when he heard that i was the son of a clergyman, and related to mr butterfield, he was even kinder than before; though he did not, i suspect, quite believe my account. "truth should be adhered to, my lad, under all circumstances," he observed. "are you quite sure that you did not run away?" "i thought of doing so, sir; but i was carried off exactly as i have told you, and i was very sorry for it afterwards." "you have been severely punished for it, and i am afraid have caused great anxiety and grief to your friends. you might have lost your life, though you have been preserved in god's good providence, and when you get home i hope you will make amends for your fault. it is all you can do," he observed. the state of the ship contrasted greatly with that of the "emu." after a sound sleep, i was able the next day to get about, though i still remained somewhat sick and weak. tom told me that the "falcon" was the happiest ship he had ever been aboard. the crew were generally orderly and well behaved. mark corroborated what tom said. as soon as i was strong enough, i begged that i might be allowed to do duty on board, so that i might not pass my time idly. to this captain mason willingly agreed. i was separated more than i liked from mark, but he told me that he was not jealous. "but i say, dick," he said, "if you could teach me, when it's my watch below, some of the navigation and other things you're learning, i should be very much obliged." i willingly promised to do this; and, as he came down to the spar-deck, we at once set to work, and every day i imparted to him the knowledge i had obtained. one day the first mate, who was a very kind man, found us thus engaged. he said nothing at the time, but afterwards asked me if riddle was very anxious to learn navigation. i told him that he was. he reported this to the captain, who told mark that he could come into the cabin and study with the rest of us. our studies were interrupted when the ship entered sydney harbour. we lay there for some days, discharging our cargo, and taking on board bales of wool, which was now being produced in considerable quantities in that magnificent country, though the shipments of a whole year were not equal to what was afterwards exported in a month. as i knew that the "emu" was bound for sydney, i anxiously inquired whether she was there. she had not come in; but, as i thought she might possibly make her appearance, i was afraid to go on shore, lest i should encounter captain longfleet or the mates or the men. i felt sure, should they see me, that i should be captured, carried on board, and punished tremendously for stealing the boat. on returning on board, however, one day, tom trivett told me that he had heard a report that the "emu" had been lost in a gale which had occurred some time before, as part of her stern had been picked up with her name upon it. this account having been confirmed, left no doubt on my mind as to her having been wrecked, and, as none of those on board ever appeared, that all had perished. i had thus still greater reason than ever to be thankful that i had made my escape from her when i did. but captain mason blamed me for the way in which i had done so. "you've done many things that were wrong, my lad," he said, "there's no doubt about that; but all i can urge you is to be heartily sorry for them." i confess i found it very difficult to be sorry that i had run away with the boat, since i had saved my life by so doing. then i might afterwards have lost it on the rock; and the matter has been a very puzzling one to me ever since. we sailed with a fair wind, which carried us down the coast of australia. the wind then shifted to the eastward, and we passed through bass's straits, between the mighty continent and van diemen's land, as it was at that time called, the captain intending to go home by the cape of good hope instead of across the pacific and round cape horn, as ships of the present day generally do. i have few incidents to describe during our homeward voyage. i was far happier than i had been on board the "emu." somehow or other i had no longer that affection for a sea life which i fancied i possessed. i dreaded, however, the reception i should meet with, on my return home, from aunt deb and mr butterfield, and from my father and brothers and sisters. the only person who i knew would receive me affectionately was my mother. i was very certain of it. i was half inclined, from fear of the upbraiding that i should get from the rest of my family, to beg captain mason to let me remain on board, and to make another voyage with him, expecting that i should regain my love for the ocean. i at last mentioned the subject. "i would willingly do so, my lad, if your father and friends think it best you should become a sailor, but i cannot consent to act contrary to their wishes. you must at once, on landing, present yourself to mr butterfield; and as i am acquainted with him, i will accompany you and state how i have had the satisfaction of rescuing you from the perilous position in which you were placed." i thanked the captain very much for his offer, as i felt that i should have much more confidence in his presence than if i had gone alone. still, as we ran up the irish channel and sighted the welsh coast, i felt very nervous, and could scarcely attend to my duties. at length we entered the mersey and dropped anchor off liverpool. as soon as the ship had been taken into dock, and the captain was at liberty, he sent for me, and we walked together to mr butterfield's office, where we were at once shown into his private room. the old gentleman did not recognise me, i was so grown and altered. when captain mason said who i was, he started, and, eyeing me keenly, at last took my hand. "i'm thankful to see you again, my boy," he said; "but you have caused your aunt and me much anxiety, and trouble and sorrow to others of your family; but i won't say just now what has happened. your aunt will tell you that, by-and-by. i am unwilling to grieve your heart on first landing on your native shore." i did not then understand what he meant; but as his manner was kind, i congratulated myself on escaping the upbraiding i expected from him, at all events. captain mason having much business to get through, rose to take his leave, when mr butterfield expressed his desire to repay him for the trouble and expense he had been put to on my account. "pray don't speak of it, my kind sir," answered the worthy captain; "i am amply repaid by the satisfaction i feel at restoring the lad to his friends;" and shaking me warmly by the hand, he left the office. as it was late in the day, mr butterfield having signed a few letters, said he was ready to go home, and desired me to accompany him. as we walked along together, he questioned me about my adventures, seeming rather incredulous when i assured him that i had not intentionally run away to sea. "well, well, dick, we'll let by-gones be by-gones. i shall be glad to see you act rightly in future." i inquired if aunt deb was still with him. "she returned to your father soon after you disappeared, and has only lately come back to pay me another visit," he answered. i confess i wished she had stayed at home. however, i had to face her, though i felt very nervous about the interview. "i don't think she will recognise you, and i won't tell her who you are," he said, as i entered the house. we went into the drawing-room, where we found aunt deb seated in a high-backed chair. "here's a young gentleman come from the sea. he's come to dine with us," said mr butterfield. aunt deb rose from her seat, gave me a stiff bow, and sank down again on her seat. "i have no affection for the sea, or generally for those whose profession it is to sail upon it," she said, looking hard at me. "there are exceptions to every rule, and i hope that this young gentleman will show that he doesn't possess the objectionable manners and customs of sailors." "i trust you will not be mistaken in the favourable opinion you form of me, madam," i said, as stiffly as i could. "but i venture to think that you are prejudiced against seafaring men. let me assure you, however, that there are many estimable persons among them, though there are some as bad as any to be found on shore. you once had a nephew who went away to sea. i hope that you don't class him among the bad ones." "i class him among the very worst," she exclaimed. "he ran off without leave, without wishing me, his kind aunt, farewell, or letting us know where he had gone, or what had become of him. he made us all very miserable, and broke his poor mother's heart." "my mother dead!" i exclaimed. "oh, don't say that, don't say that! and i killed her." "who are you?" cried aunt deb, starting up and looking me in the face. "yes; i do believe that you are that graceless young monkey, dick!" "i am indeed your nephew, dick. i am indeed heartily sorry for all i have done, and shall never forgive myself if my conduct was the cause of my mother's death. did i not mistake what you said? oh, aunt deb, do tell me is she really dead?" and i grasped her hands and burst into tears. she was moved as i spoke more than i could have expected; and instead of further upbraiding me, tried to soothe the anguish i felt. i was indeed severely punished for my thoughtless conduct, to say the best of it. mr butterfield spoke to me more kindly than i expected or deserved, and when he again offered me a seat in his counting-house, and assured me that he would endeavour to further my interests and raise me according to my deserts, i thankfully accepted his proposal. before, however, commencing my career as a merchant, he allowed me to go home and see my father, who, i need not say, received me according to the dictates of his affectionate heart, without uttering a word of blame. my brothers and sisters were never tired of hearing of my adventures while i remained with them. on my mother's grave i promised to do my duty to the best of my power in the new situation of life i was about to occupy. after my arrival at home i paid a visit to old roger riddle, and had the satisfaction of telling him that mark had become a steady fellow, and as captain mason had promised to take him the next voyage in the "falcon," and to continue his instructions in navigation, he had every prospect of becoming an officer. tom trivett entered the navy, and having lost a leg, became an out-pensioner of greenwich hospital. he used frequently to come and see me in after years, and nothing pleased him so much as to talk over the adventures of our early days, and to spin long yarns to my children about those he subsequently went through. after a week's stay at sandgate, i returned to liverpool, where i at once set to work in mr butterfield's office, and have every reason to be thankful that i was enabled to take my place on one of the high stools which i had formerly looked upon with such intense disgust. by diligence and perseverance, and strict attention to my duties, i gained my principal's good opinion, and ultimately, on his death, i became the head of the firm. the end. from powder monkey to admiral, a story of naval adventure, by w.h.g. kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ this book was written for "boy's own paper" shortly after that magazine started. the plan was to write a book illustrating how it might be possible for any very ordinary little boy joining the navy in the lowest rating--powder monkey--and ascend to the very highest rank--admiral. it had been done before, in the separate cases of benbow and hopson, and there was no reason why it shouldn't happen again. a powder monkey was so called because his job in manning the guns was to run from time to time to fetch more powder whenever it was needed. since the boys were small they afforded little target for the enemy's shot, so they tended to survive an engagement. just as well, for their job was indispensable. in this book three boys join up in the same batch. they have the usual kingston-style adventures, but only one of them makes it to the quarter deck to become a midshipman. this was probably the hardest step for any of them, but it was his bravery, honesty and good manners that won for him the necessary attention. at the end of the book there is a pathetic scene where we meet again the boy who did least well. this is a good and enjoyable read or listen, taking about twelve and three quarter hours. ________________________________________________________________________ from powder monkey to admiral; a story of naval adventure, by w.h.g. kingston. introduction. a book for boys by w.h.g. kingston needs no introduction. yet a few things may be said about the origin and the purpose of this story. when the _boys' own paper_ was first started, mr kingston, who showed deep interest in the project, undertook to write a story of the sea, during the wars, under the title of "from powder-monkey to admiral." talking the matter over, it was objected that such a story might offend peaceable folk, because it must deal too much with blood and gunpowder. mr kingston, although famed as a narrator of sea-fights, was a lover of peace, and he said that his story would not encourage the war spirit. those who cared chiefly to read about battles might turn to the pages of "british naval history." he chose the period of the great war for his story, because it was a time of stirring events and adventures. the main part of the narrative belongs to the early years of life, in which boys would feel most interest and sympathy. and throughout the tale, not "glory" but "duty" is the object set before the youthful reader. it was further objected that the title of the story set before boys an impossible object of ambition. the french have a saying, that "every soldier carries in his knapsack a marshal's baton," meaning that the way is open for rising to the very highest rank in their army. but who ever heard of a sailor lad rising to be an admiral in the british navy? let us see how history answers this question. there was a great sea captain of other days, whose fame is not eclipsed by the glorious reputations of later wars, admiral benbow. in the reign of queen anne, before the great duke of marlborough had begun his victorious career, benbow had broken the power of france on the sea. rank and routine were powerful in those days, as now; but when a time of peril comes, the best man is wanted, and benbow was promoted out of turn, by royal command, to the rank of vice-admiral, and went after the fleet of admiral ducasse to the west indies. in the little church of saint andrew's, kingston, jamaica, his body lies, and the memorial stone speaks of him as "a true pattern of english courage, who lost his life in defence of queen and country." like his illustrious french contemporary jean bart, john benbow was of humble origin. he entered the merchant service when a boy. he was unknown till he had reached the age of thirty, when he had risen to the command of a merchant vessel. attacked by a powerful salee rover, he gallantly repulsed these moorish pirates, and took his ship safe into cadiz. the heads of thirteen of the pirates he preserved, and delivered them to the magistrates of the town, in presence of the custom-house officers. the tidings of this strange incident reached madrid, and the king of spain, charles the second, sent for the english captain, received him with great honour, and wrote a letter on his behalf to our king james the second, who on his return to england gave him a ship. this was his introduction to the british navy, in which he served with distinction in the reigns of william the third and queen anne. but his obscure origin is the point here under notice, and the following traditional anecdote is preserved in shropshire:--when a boy he was left in charge of the house by his mother, who went out marketing. the desire to go to sea, long cherished, was irresistible. he stole forth, locking the cottage door after him, and hung the key on a hook in a tree in the garden. many years passed before he returned to the old place. though now out of his reach, for the tree had grown faster than he, the key still hung on the hook. he left it there; and there it remained when he came back as rear-admiral of the _white_. he then pointed it out to his friends, and told the story. once more his country required his services, but his fame and the echo of his victories alone came over the wave. the good town of shrewsbury is proud to claim him as a son, and remembers the key, hung by the banks of the severn, near benbow house. whatever basis of truth the story may have, its being told and believed attests the fact of the humble birth and origin of admiral benbow. another sailor boy, hopson, in the early part of last century, rose to be admiral in the british navy. born at bonchurch in the isle of wight, of humblest parentage, he was left an orphan, and apprenticed by the parish to a tailor. while sitting one day alone on the shop-board, he was struck by the sight of the squadron coming round dunnose. instantly quitting his work, he ran to the shore, jumped into a boat, and rowed for the admiral's ship. taken on board, he entered as a volunteer. next morning the english fleet fell in with a french squadron, and a warm action ensued. young hopson obeyed every order with the utmost alacrity; but after two or three hours' fighting he became impatient, and asked what they were fighting for. the sailors explained to him that they must fire away, and the fight go on, till the white rag at the enemy's mast-head was struck. getting this information, his resolution was formed, and he exclaimed, "oh, if that's all, i'll see what i can do." the two ships, with the flags of the commanders on each side, were now engaged at close quarters, yard-arm and yard-arm, and completely enveloped in smoke. this proved favourable to the purpose of the brave youth, who mounted the shrouds through the smoke unobserved, gained the french admiral's main-yard, ascended with agility to the main-topgallant mast-head, and carried off the french flag. it was soon seen that the enemy's colours had disappeared, and the british sailors, thinking they had been hauled down, raised a shout of "victory, victory!" the french were thrown into confusion by this, and first slackened fire, and then ran from their guns. at this juncture the ship was boarded by the english and taken. hopson had by this time descended the shrouds with the french flag wrapped round his arm, which he triumphantly displayed. the sailors received the prize with astonishment and cheers of approval. the admiral being told of the exploit, sent for hopson and thus addressed him, "my lad, i believe you to be a brave youth. from this day i order you to walk the quarter-deck, and if your future conduct is equally meritorious, you shall have my patronage and protection." hopson made every effort to maintain the good opinion of his patron, and by his conduct and attention to duty gained the respect of the officers of the ship. he afterwards went rapidly through the different ranks of the service, till at length he attained that of admiral. we might give not a few instances of more recent date, but the families and friends of those "who have risen" do not always feel the same honest pride as the great men themselves in the story of their life. while it is true that no sailor boy may now hope to become "admiral of the fleet," yet there is room for advancement, in peace as in war, to what is better than mere rank or title or wealth,--a position of honour and usefulness. good character and good conduct, pluck and patience, steadiness and application, will win their way, whether on sea or land, and in every calling. the inventions of modern science and art are producing a great change in all that pertains to life at sea. the revolution is more apparent in war than in peace. there is, and always will be, a large proportion of merchant ships under sail, even in nations like our own where steam is in most general use. in war, a wooden ship without steam and without armour would be a mere floating coffin. the fighting _temeraire_, and the saucy _arethusa_, and nelson's _victory_ itself, would be nothing but targets for deadly fire from active and irresistible foes. the odds would be about the same as the odds of javelins and crossbows against modern fire-arms. steam alone had made a revolution in naval warfare; but when we add to this the armour-plating of vessels, and the terrible artillery of modern times, "the wooden walls of old england" are only fit to be used as store-ships or hospitals for a few years, and then sent to the ship-yards to be broken up for firewood. but though material conditions have changed, the moral forces are the same as ever, and courage, daring, skill, and endurance are the same in ships of oak or of iron:-- "yes, the days of our wooden walls are ended, and the days of our iron ones begun; but who cares by what our land's defended, while the hearts that fought and fight are one? 'twas not the oak that fought each battle, 'twas not the wood that victory won; 'twas the hands that made our broadsides rattle, 'twas the hearts of oak that served each gun." these are words from one of the "songs for sailors," by w.c. bennett, who has written better naval poems for popular use than any one since the days of dibdin. the same idea concludes a rattling ballad on old admiral benbow:-- "well, our walls of oak have become just a joke and in tea-kettles we're to fight; it seems a queer dream, all this iron and steam, but i daresay, my lads, it's right. but whether we float in ship or in boat, in iron or oak, we know for old england's right we've hearts that will fight, as of old did the brave benbow." but, after all, even in war, fighting is only a small part of the sum of any sailor's life, and the british flag floats over ships on every sea, whether under sail or steam, in the peaceful pursuits of commerce. the same qualities of heart and mind will have their play, which mr kingston has described in his stirring story,--a story which will be read with profit by the young, and with pleasure by both young and old. dr. macaulay, founder of "boy's own paper." chapter one. preparing to start. no steamboats ploughed the ocean, nor were railroads thought of, when our young friends jack, tom, and bill lived. they first met each other on board the _foxhound_ frigate, on the deck of which ship a score of other lads and some fifty or sixty men were mustered, who had just come up the side from the _viper_ tender; she having been on a cruise to collect such stray hands as could be found; and a curious lot they were to look at. among them were long-shore fellows in swallow-tails and round hats, fishermen in jerseys and fur-skin caps, smugglers in big boots and flushing coats; and not a few whose whitey-brown faces, and close-cropped hair, made it no difficult matter to guess that their last residence was within the walls of a gaol. there were seamen also, pressed most of them, just come in from a long voyage, many months or perhaps years having passed since they left their native land; that they did not look especially amiable was not to be wondered at, since they had been prevented from going, as they had intended, to visit their friends, or maybe, in the case of the careless ones, from enjoying a long-expected spree on shore. they were all now waiting to be inspected by the first lieutenant, before their names were entered on the ship's books. the rest of the crew were going about their various duties. most of them were old hands, who had served a year or more on board the gallant frigate. during that time she had fought two fierce actions, which, though she had come off victorious, had greatly thinned her ship's company, and the captain was therefore anxious to make up the complement as fast as possible by every means in his power. the seamen took but little notice of the new hands, though some of them had been much of the same description themselves, but were not very fond of acknowledging this, or of talking of their previous histories; they had, however, got worked into shape by degrees: and the newcomers, even those with the "long togs," by the time they had gone through the same process would not be distinguished from the older hands, except, maybe, when they came to splice an eye, or turn in a grummet, when their clumsy work would show what they were; few of them either were likely ever to be the outermost on the yard-arms when sail had suddenly to be shortened on a dark night, while it was blowing great guns and small arms. the frigate lay at spithead. she had been waiting for these hands to put to sea. lighters were alongside, and whips were never-ceasingly hoisting in casks of rum, with bales and cases of all sorts, which it seemed impossible could ever be stowed away. from the first lieutenant to the youngest midshipman, all were bawling at the top of their voices, issuing and repeating orders; but there were two persons who out-roared all the rest, the boatswain and the boatswain's mate. they were proud of those voices of theirs. let the hardest gale be blowing, with the wind howling and whistling through the rigging, the canvas flapping like claps of thunder, and the seas roaring and dashing against the bows, they could make themselves heard above the loudest sounds of the storm. at present the boatswain bawled, or rather roared, because he was so accustomed to roar that he could speak in no gentler voice while carrying on duty on deck; and the boatswain's mate imitated him. the first lieutenant had a good voice of his own, though it was not so rough as that of his inferiors. he made it come out with a quick, sharp sound, which could be heard from the poop to the forecastle, even with the wind ahead. jack, tom, and bill looked at each other, wondering what was next going to happen. they were all three of about the same age, and much of a height, and somehow, as i have said, they found themselves standing close together. they were too much astonished, not to say frightened, to talk just then, though they all three had tongues in their heads, so they listened to the conversation going on around them. "why, mate, where do you come from?" asked a long-shore chap of one of the whitey-brown-faced gentlemen. "oh, i've jist dropped from the clouds; don't know where else i've come from," was the answer. "i suppose you got your hair cropped off as you came down?" was the next query. "yes! it was the wind did it as i came scuttling down," answered the other, who was evidently never at a loss what to say. "and now, mate, just tell me how did you get on board this craft?" he inquired. "i swam off, of course, seized with a fit of patriotism, and determined to fight for the honour and glory of old england," was the answer. it cannot, however, be said that this is a fair specimen of the conversation; indeed, it would benefit no one were what was said to be repeated. jack, tom, and bill felt very much as a person might be supposed to do who had dropped from the moon. everything around them was so strange and bewildering, for not one of them had ever before been on board a ship, and bill had never even seen one. having not been much accustomed to the appearance of trees, he had some idea that the masts grew out of the deck, that the yards were branches, and the blocks curious leaves; not that amid the fearful uproar, and what seemed to him the wildest confusion, he could think of anything clearly. bill rayner had certainly not been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. his father he had never known. his mother lived in a garret and died in a garret, although not before, happily for him, he was able to do something for himself, and, still more happily, not before she had impressed right principles on his mind. as the poor woman lay on her deathbed, taking her boy's hands and looking earnestly into his eyes, she said, "be honest, bill, in the sight of god. never forget that he sees you, and do your best to please him. no fear about the rest. i am not much of a scholar, but i know that's right. if others try to persuade you to do what's wrong, don't listen to them. promise me, bill, that you will do as i tell you." "i promise, mother, that i will," answered bill; and, small lad as he was, meant what he said. poor as she was, being a woman of some education, his mother had taught him to read and write and cipher--not that he was a great adept at any of those arts, but he possessed the groundwork, which was an important matter; and he did his best to keep up his knowledge by reading sign-boards, looking into book-sellers' windows, and studying any stray leaves he could obtain. bill's mother was buried in a rough shell by the parish, and bill went out into the world to seek his fortune. he took to curious ways,-- hunting in dust-heaps for anything worth having; running errands when he could get any one to send him; holding horses for gentlemen, but that was not often; doing duty as a link-boy at houses when grand parties were going forward or during foggy weather; for bill, though he often went supperless to his nest, either under a market-cart, or in a cask by the river side, or in some other out-of-the-way place, generally managed to have a little capital with which to buy a link; but the said capital did not grow much, for bad times coming swallowed it all up. bill, as are many other london boys, was exposed to temptations of all sorts; often when almost starving, without a roof to sleep under, or a friend to whom he could appeal for help, his shoes worn out, his clothing too scanty to keep him warm; but, ever recollecting his mother's last words, he resisted them all. one day, having wandered farther east than he had ever been before, he found himself in the presence of a press-gang, who were carrying off a party of men and boys to the river's edge. one of the man-of-war's men seized upon him, and bill, thinking that matters could not be much worse with him than they were at present, willingly accompanied the party, though he had very little notion where they were going. reaching a boat, they were made to tumble in, some resisting and endeavouring to get away; but a gentle prick from the point of a cutlass, or a clout on the head, made them more reasonable, and most of them sat down resigned to their fate. one of them, however, a stout fellow, when the boat had got some distance from the shore, striking out right and left at the men nearest him, sprang overboard, and before the boat could be pulled round had already got back nearly half-way to the landing-place. one or two of the press-gang, who had muskets, fired, but they were not good shots. the man looking back as he saw them lifting their weapons, by suddenly diving escaped the first volley, and by the time they had again loaded he had gained such a distance that the shot spattered into the water on either side of him. they were afraid of firing again for fear of hitting some of the people on shore, besides which, darkness coming on, the gloom concealed him from view. they knew, however, that he must have landed in safety from the cheers which came from off the quay, uttered by the crowd who had followed the press-gang, hooting them as they embarked with their captives. bill began to think that he could not be going to a very pleasant place, since, in spite of the risk he ran, the man had been so eager to escape; but being himself unable to swim, he could not follow his example, even had he wished it. he judged it wiser, therefore, to stay still, and see what would next happen. the boat pulled down the river for some way, till she got alongside a large cutter, up the side of which bill and his companions were made to climb. from what he heard, he found that she was a man-of-war tender, her business being to collect men, by hook or by crook, for the royal navy. as she was now full--indeed, so crowded that no more men could be stowed on board--she got under way with the first of the ebb, and dropped down the stream, bound for spithead. as bill, with most of the pressed men, was kept below during this his first trip to sea, he gained but little nautical experience. he was, however, very sick, while he arrived at the conclusion that the tender's hold, the dark prison in which he found himself, was a most horrible place. several of his more heartless companions jeered at him in his misery; and, indeed, poor bill, thin and pale, shoeless and hatless, clad in patched garments, looked a truly miserable object. as the wind was fair, the voyage did not last long, and glad enough he was when the cutter got alongside the big frigate, and he with the rest being ordered on board, he could breathe the fresh air which blew across her decks. tom fletcher, who stood next to bill, had considerably the advantage of him in outward appearance. tom was dressed in somewhat nautical fashion, though any sailor would have seen with half an eye that his costume had been got up by a shore-going tailor. tom had a good-natured but not very sensible-looking countenance. he was strongly built, was in good health, and had the making of a sailor in him, though this was the first time that he had even been on board a ship. he had a short time before come off with a party of men returning on the expiration of their leave. telling them that he wished to go to sea, he had been allowed to enter the boat. from the questions some of them had put to him, and the answers he gave, they suspected that he was a runaway, and such in fact was the case. tom was the son of a solicitor in a country town, who had several other boys, he being the fourth, in the family. he had for some time taken to reading the voyages of drake, cavendish, and dampier, and the adventures of celebrated pirates, such as those of captains kidd, lowther, davis, teach, as also the lives of some of england's naval commanders, sir cloudesley shovell, benbow, and admirals hawke, keppel, rodney, and others, whose gallant actions he fully intended some day to imitate. he had made vain endeavours to induce his father to let him go to sea, but mr fletcher, knowing that he was utterly ignorant of a sea life, set his wish down as a mere fancy which it would be folly to indulge. tom, instead of trying to show that he really was in earnest, took french leave one fine morning, and found his way to portsmouth, without being traced. had he waited, he would probably have been sent to sea as a midshipman, and placed on the quarter-deck. he now entered as a ship-boy before the mast. tom, as he had made his bed, had to lie on it, as is the case with many other persons. even now, had he written home, he might have had his position changed, but he thought himself very clever, and had no intention of letting his father know where he had gone. the last of the trio was far more accustomed to salt water than was either of his companions. jack peek was the son of a west country fisherman. he had come to sea because he saw that there was little chance of getting bread to put into his mouth if he remained on shore. jack's father had lost his boats and nets the previous winter, and had shortly afterwards been pressed on board a man-of-war. jack had done his best to support himself without being a burden to his mother, who sold fish in the neighbouring town and country round, and could do very well for herself; so when he proposed going on board a man-of-war, she, having mended his shirts, bought him a new pair of shoes, and gave him her blessing. accordingly, doing up his spare clothes in a bundle, which he carried at the end of a stick, he trudged off with a stout heart, resolved to serve his majesty and fight the battles of old england. jack went on board the first man-of-war tender picking up hands he could find, and had been transferred that day to the _foxhound_. he told tom and bill thus much of his history. the former, however, was not very ready to be communicative as to his; while bill's patched garments said as much about him as he was just then willing to narrate. a boy who had spent all his life in the streets of london was not likely to say more to strangers than was necessary. in the meantime the fresh hands had been called up before the first lieutenant, mr saltwell, and their names entered by the purser in the ship's books, after the ordinary questions had been put to them to ascertain for what rating they were qualified. some few, including the smugglers, were entered as able seamen; others as ordinary seamen; and the larger number, who were unfit to go aloft, or indeed not likely to be of much use in any way for a long time to come, were rated as landsmen, and would have to do all the dirty work about the ship. the boys were next called up, and each of them gave an account of himself. tom dreaded lest he should be asked any questions which he would be puzzled to answer. the first lieutenant glanced at all three, and in spite of his old dress, entered bill first, jack next, and tom, greatly to his surprise, the last. in those days no questions were asked where men or boys came from. at the present time, a boy who should thus appear on board a man-of-war would find himself in the wrong box, and be quickly sent on shore again, and home to his friends. none are allowed to enter the navy until they have gone through a regular course of instruction in a training ship, and none are received on board her unless they can read and write well, and have a formally signed certificate that they have obtained permission from their parents or guardians. chapter two. heaving up the anchor. as soon as the boys' names were entered, they were sent forward, under charge of the ship's corporal, to obtain suits of sailor's clothing from the purser's steward, which clothing was charged to their respective accounts. the ship's corporal made them wash themselves before putting on their fresh gear; and when they appeared in it, with their hair nicely combed out, it was soon seen which of the three was likely to prove the smartest sea boy. bill, who had never had such neat clothing on before, felt himself a different being. tom strutted about and tried to look big. jack was not much changed, except that he had a round hat instead of a cap, clean clothes, and lighter shoes than the thick ones in which he had come on board. as neither tom nor bill knew the stem from the stern of the ship, and even jack felt very strange, they were handed over to the charge of dick brice, the biggest ship's boy, with orders to him to instruct them in their respective duties. dick had great faith in a rope's-end, having found it efficacious in his own case. he was fond of using it pretty frequently to enforce his instructions. jack and bill supposed that it was part of the regular discipline of the ship; but tom had not bargained for such treatment, and informing dick that he would not stand it, in consequence got a double allowance. he dared not venture to complain to his superiors, for he saw the boatswain and the boatswain's mate using their colts with similar freedom, and so he had just to grin and bear it. at night, when the hammocks were piped down, the three went to theirs in the forepart of the ship. bill thought he had never slept in a more comfortable bed in his life. jack did not think much about the matter; but tom, who had always been accustomed to a well-made bed at home, grumbled dreadfully when he tried to get into his, and tumbled out three or four times on the opposite side before he succeeded. had it not been for dick brice, who slung their hammocks for them, they would have had to sleep on the bare deck. the next morning the gruff voice of the boatswain's mate summoned all hands to turn out, and on going on deck they saw "blue peter" flying at the fore, while shortly afterwards the jews and all other visitors were made to go down the side into the boats waiting for them. the captain came on board, the sails were loosed, and while the fife was setting up a merry tune, the seamen tramped round at the capstan bars, and the anchor was hove up. the wind being from the eastward, in the course of a few minutes the gallant frigate, under all sail, was gliding down through the smooth waters of the solent sea towards the needles. tom and bill had something fresh to wonder at every minute. it dawned upon them by degrees that the forepart of the ship went first, and that the wheel, at which two hands were always stationed, had something to do with guiding her, and that the sails played an important part in driving her on. jack had a great advantage over them, as he knew all this, and many other things besides, and being a good-natured fellow, was always ready to impart his knowledge to them. by the time they had been three or four weeks at sea, they had learned a great deal more, and were able to go aloft. bill had caught up to jack, and had left tom far behind. the same talent which had induced him to mend his ragged clothes, made him do, with rapidity and neatness, everything else he undertook, while he showed a peculiar knack of being quick at understanding and executing the orders he received. tom felt rather jealous that he should be surpassed by one he had at first looked down on as little better than a beggar boy. it never entered into jack's head to trouble himself about the matter, and if bill was his superior, that was no business of his. there were a good many other people on board, who looked down on all three of them, considering that they were the youngest boys, and were at everybody's beck and call. as soon as the frigate got to sea the crew were exercised at their guns, and jack, tom, and bill had to perform the duty of powder-monkeys. this consisted in bringing up the powder from the magazine in small tubs, on which they had to sit in a row on deck, to prevent the sparks getting in while the men were working the guns, and to hand out the powder as it was required. "i don't see any fun in firing away when there is no enemy in sight," observed tom, as he sat on his tub at a little distance from bill. "there may not be much fun in it, but it's very necessary," answered bill. "if the men were not to practise at the guns, how could they fire away properly when we get alongside an enemy? see! some of the fresh hands don't seem to know much what they are about, or the lieutenant would not be growling at them in the way he is doing. i am keeping my eye on the old hands to learn how they manage, and before long, i think, if i was big enough, i could stand to my gun as well as they do." tom, who had not before thought of observing the crews of the guns, took the hint, and watched how each man was engaged. by being constantly exercised, the crew in a few weeks were well able to work their guns; but hitherto they had fallen in with no enemy against whom to exhibit their prowess. a bright look-out was kept from the mast-head from sunrise to sunset for a strange sail, and it was not probable that they would have to go long without falling in with one, for england had at that time pretty nearly all the world in arms against her. she had managed to quarrel with the dutch, and was at war with the french and spaniards, while she had lately been engaged in a vain attempt to overcome the american colonies, which had thrown off their allegiance to the british crown. happily for the country, her navy was staunch, and many of the most gallant admirals whose names have been handed down to fame commanded her fleets; the captains, officers, and crews, down to the youngest ship-boys, tried to imitate their example, and enabled her in the unequal struggle to come off victorious. the _foxhound_ had for some days been cruising in the bay of biscay, and was one morning about the latitude of ferrol. the watch was employed in washing down decks, the men and boys paddling about with their trousers tucked up to their knees, some with buckets of water, which they were heaving about in every direction, now and then giving a shipmate, when the first lieutenant's eye was off them, the benefit of a shower-bath: others were wielding huge swabs, slashing them down right and left, with loud thuds, and ill would it have fared with any incautious landsman who might have got within their reach. the men were laughing and joking with each other, and the occupation seemed to afford amusement to all employed. suddenly there came a shout from the look-out at the masthead of "five sail in sight." "where away?" asked lieutenant saltwell, who was on deck superintending the operations going forward. "dead to leeward, sir," was the answer. the wind was at the time blowing from the north-west, and the frigate was standing close hauled, on the starboard tack, to the westward. the mate of the watch instantly went aloft, with his spy-glass hung at his back, to take a look at the strangers, while a midshipman was sent to inform captain waring, who, before many minutes had elapsed, made his appearance, having hurriedly slipped into his clothes. on receiving the report of the young officer, who had returned on deck, he immediately ordered the helm to be put up, and the ship to be kept away in the direction of the strangers. in a short time it was seen that most of them were large ships; one of them very considerably larger than the _foxhound_. the business of washing down the decks had been quickly concluded, and the crew were sent to their breakfasts. many remarks of various sorts were made by the men. some thought that the captain would never dream of engaging so superior a force; while others, who knew him well, declared that whatever the odds, he would fight. as yet no order had been received to beat to quarters, and many were of opinion that the captain would only stand on near enough to ascertain the character of the strangers, and then, should they prove enemies, make all sail away from them. still the frigate stood on, and bill, who was near one of the officers who had a glass in his hand, heard him observe that one was a line-of-battle ship, two at least were frigates, while another was a corvette, and the fifth a large brig-of-war. these were formidable odds, but still their plucky captain showed no inclination to escape from them, but, on the contrary, seemed as if he had made up his mind to bring them to action. the question was ere long decided. the drum beat to quarters, the men went to their guns, powder and shot were handed up from below, giving ample occupation to the powder-monkeys, and the ship was headed towards the nearest of the strangers. she was still some distance off when the crew were summoned aft to hear what the captain had to say to them. "my lads!" he said, "some of you have fought under me before now, and though the odds were against us, we licked the enemy. we have got somewhat greater odds, perhaps, at present, but i want to take two or three of those ships; they are not quite as powerful as they look, and if you will work your guns as i know you can work them, we'll do it before many hours have passed. we have a fine breeze to help us, and will tackle one after the other. you'll support me, i know." three loud cheers were given as a response to this appeal, and the men went back to their guns, where they stood stripped to their waists, with handkerchiefs bound round their heads. notwithstanding the formidable array of the enemy, the frigate kept bearing down under plain sail towards them. our heroes, sitting on their tubs, could see but very little of what was going forward, though now and then they got a glimpse of the enemy through the ports; but they heard the remarks made by the men in their neighbourhood, who were allowed to talk till the time for action had arrived. "our skipper knows what he's about, but that chap ahead of the rest is a monster, and looks big enough to tackle us without the help of the others," observed one of the crew of the gun nearest to which tom was seated. "what's the odds if she carries twice as many teeth as we have! we'll work ours twice as fast, and beat her before the frigates can come up to grin at us," answered ned green, the captain of the gun. tom did not quite like the remarks he heard. there was going to be a sharp fight, of that there could be no doubt, and round shot would soon be coming in through the sides, and taking off men's heads and legs and arms. it struck him that he would have been safer at school. he thought of his father and mother, and brothers and sisters, who, if he was killed, would never know what had become of him; not that tom was a coward, but it was somewhat trying to the courage even of older hands, thus standing on slowly towards the enemy. when the fighting had once begun, tom was likely to prove as brave as anybody else; at all events, he would have no time for thinking, and it is that which tries most people. the captain and most of the officers were on the quarter-deck, keeping their glasses on the enemy. "the leading ship under french colours appears to me to carry sixty-four guns," observed the first lieutenant to the captain; "and the next, also a frenchmen, looks like a thirty-six gun frigate. the brig is american, and so is one of the sloops. the sternmost is french, and is a biggish ship." "whatever they are, we'll fight them, and, i hope, take one or two at least," answered the captain. he looked at his watch. it was just ten o'clock. the next moment the headmost ship opened her fire, and the shot came whizzing between the ship's masts. captain waring watched them as they flew through the air. "i thought so," he observed. "there were not more than fifteen; she's a store-ship, and will be our prize before the day is over. fire, my lads!" he shouted; and the eager crew poured a broadside into the enemy, rapidly running in their guns, and reloading them to be ready for the next opponent. the _foxhound_ was standing along the enemy's line to windward, and as she came abreast of each ship she fired with well-directed aim; and though all the enemy's ships in succession discharged their guns at her, not a shot struck her hull, though their object evidently was to cripple her, so that they might surround her and have her at their mercy. tom, who had read about sea-fights, and had expected to have the shot come rushing across the deck, felt much more comfortable on discovering this, and began to look upon the frenchmen as very bad gunners. the _foxhound's_ guns were all this time thundering away as fast as the crews could run them in and load them, the men warming to their work as they saw the damage they were inflicting on the enemy. having passed the enemy's line to windward, captain waring ordered the ship to be put about, and bore down on the sternmost french ship, which, with one of smaller size carrying the american pennant, was in a short time so severely treated that they both bore up out of the line. the _foxhound_, however, followed, and the other french ships and the american brig coming to the assistance of their consorts, the _foxhound_ had them on both sides of her. this was just what her now thoroughly excited crew desired most, as they could discharge their two broadsides at the same time; and right gallantly did she fight her way through her numerous foes till she got up with the american ship, which had been endeavouring to escape before the wind, and now, to avoid the broadside which the english ship was about to pour into her, she hauled down her colours. on seeing this, the frigate's crew gave three hearty cheers; and as soon as they had ceased, the captain's voice was heard ordering two boats away under the command of the third lieutenant, who was directed to take charge of the prize, and to send her crew on board the ship. not a moment was to be lost, as the rest of the enemy, under all sail, were endeavouring to make their escape. the boats of the prize, which proved to be the _alexander_, carrying twenty-four guns and upwards of a hundred men, were then lowered, and employed in conveying her crew to the ship. the american captain and officers were inclined to grumble at first. "very sorry, gentlemen, to incommode you," said the english lieutenant, as he hurried them down the side; "but necessity has no law; my orders are to send you all on board the frigate, as the captain is in a hurry to go in chase of your friends, of which we hope to have one or two more in our possession before long." the lieutenant altered his tone when the americans began to grumble. "you must go at once, or take the consequences," he exclaimed; and the prisoners saw that it would be wise to obey. they were received very politely on board the ship, captain waring offering to accept their parole if they were ready to give it, and promise not to attempt to interfere with the discipline and regulations of the ship. as soon as the prisoners were transferred to the _foxhound_, she made all sail in chase of the large ship, which captain waring now heard was the sixty-four gun ship _menager_, laden with gunpowder, but now mounting on her maindeck twenty-six long twelve-pounders, and on her quarter-deck four long six-pounders, with a crew of two hundred and twenty men. her force was considerably greater than that of the english frigate, but captain waring did not for a moment hesitate to continue in pursuit of her. a stern chase, however, is a long chase. the day wore on, and still the french ship kept ahead of the _foxhound_. the crew were piped to dinner to obtain fresh strength for renewing the fight. "well, lads," said green, who was a bit of a wag in his way, as he looked at the powder-boys still seated on their tubs, "as you have still got your heads on your shoulders, you may put some food into your mouths. maybe you won't have another opportunity after we get up with the big 'un we are chasing. i told you, mates," he added, turning to the crew of his gun, "the captain knew what he was about, and would make the frenchmen haul down their flags before we hauled down ours. i should not be surprised if we got the whole lot of them." the boys, having returned their powder to the magazine till it was again wanted, were glad enough to stretch their legs, and still more to follow green's advice by swallowing the food which was served out to them. the rest of the enemy's squadron were still in sight, scattered here and there, and considerably ahead of the _menager_; the frigate was, however, gaining on the latter, and if the wind held, would certainly be up with her some time in the afternoon. every stitch of canvas she could carry was set on board the _foxhound_. it was already five o'clock. the crew had returned to their quarters, and the powder-monkeys were seated on their tubs. both the pursuer and pursued were on the larboard tack, going free. "we have her now within range of our guns," cried captain waring. "luff up, master, and we'll give her a broadside." just as he uttered the words a squall struck the frigate. over she heeled, the water rushing in through her lower deck ports, which were unusually low, and washing over the deck. the crews of the lee guns, as they stood up to their knees in water, fully believed that she was going over. in vain they endeavoured to run in their guns. more and more she heeled over, till the water was nearly up to their waists. none flinched, however. the guns must be got in, and the ports shut, or the ship would be lost. "what's going to happen?" cried tom fletcher. "we are going down! we are going down!" chapter three. bill does good service. the _foxhound_ appeared indeed to be in a perilous position. the water washed higher and higher over the deck. "we are going down! we are going down!" again cried tom, wringing his hands. "not if we can help it," said jack. "we must get the ports closed, and stop the water from coming in." "it's no use crying out till we are hurt. we can die but once," said bill. "cheer up, tom; if we do go to the bottom, it's where many have gone before;" though bill did not really think that the ship was sinking. perhaps, had he done so, he would not have been so cool as he now appeared. "that's a very poor consolation," answered tom to his last remark. "oh, dear! oh, dear! i wish that i had stayed on shore." though there was some confusion among the landsmen, a few of whom began to look very white, if they did not actually wring their hands and cry out, the crews of the guns remained at their stations, and hauled away lustily at the tackles to run them in. the captain, though on the quarter-deck, was fully aware of the danger. there was no time to shorten sail. "port the helm!" he shouted; "hard a-port, square away the yards;" and in a few seconds the ship, put before the wind, rose to an even keel, the water, in a wave, rushing across the deck, some escaping through the opposite ports, though a considerable portion made its way below. the starboard ports were now speedily closed, when once more the ship hauled up in chase. the _foxhound_, sailing well, soon got up again with the _menager_, and once more opened her fire, receiving that of the enemy in return. the port of ferrol could now be distinguished about six miles off, and it was thought probable that some spanish men-of-war lying there might come out to the assistance of their friends. it was important to make the chase a prize before that should happen. for some minutes captain waring reserved his fire, having set all the sail the _foxhound_ could carry. "don't fire a shot till i tell you," he shouted to his men. the crews of the starboard guns stood ready for the order to discharge the whole broadside into the enemy. captain waring was on the point of issuing it, the word "fire" was on his lips, when down came the frenchman's flag, and instead of the thunder of their guns the british seamen uttered three joyful cheers. the _foxhound_ was hove-to to windward of the prize, while three of the boats were lowered and pulled towards her. the third lieutenant of the _foxhound_ was sent in command, and the _menager's_ boats being also lowered, her officers and crew were transferred as fast as possible on board their captor. as the _menager_ was a large ship, she required a good many people to man her, thus leaving the _foxhound_ with a greatly diminished crew. it took upwards of an hour before the prisoners with their bags and other personal property were removed to the _foxhound_. captain waring and lieutenant saltwell turned their eyes pretty often towards the harbour. no ships were seen coming out of it. the english frigate and her two prizes consequently steered in the direction the other vessels had gone, the captain hoping to pick up one or more of them during the following morning. her diminished crew had enough to do in attending to their proper duties, and in looking after the prisoners. the commanders of the two ships were received by the captain in his cabin, while the gun-room officers invited those of similar rank to mess with them, the men taking care of the french and american crews. the british seamen treated them rather as guests than prisoners, being ready to attend to their wants and to do them any service in their power. their manner towards the frenchmen showed the compassion they felt, mixed perhaps with a certain amount of contempt. they seemed to consider them indeed somewhat like big babes, and several might have been seen feeding the wounded and nursing them with tender care. during the night neither the watch below nor any of the officers turned in, the greater number remaining on deck in the hopes that they might catch sight of one of the ships which had hitherto escaped them. note: this action and the subsequent events are described exactly as they occurred. the american commander, captain gregory, sat in the cabin, looking somewhat sulky, presenting a great contrast to the behaviour of the frenchman, monsieur saint julien, who, being able to speak a little english, allowed his tongue to wag without cessation, laughing and joking, and trying to raise a smile on the countenance of his brother captive, the american skipper. "why! my friend, it is de fortune of war. why you so sad?" exclaimed the volatile frenchman. "another day we take two english ship, and then make all right. have you never been in england? fine country, but not equal to `la belle france;' too much fog and rain dere." "i don't care for the rain, or the fog, monsieur; but i don't fancy losing my ship, when we five ought to have taken the englishman," replied the american. "ah! it was bad fortune, to be sure," observed monsieur saint julien. "better luck next time, as you say; but what we cannot cure, dat we must endure; is not dat your proverb? cheer up! cheer up! my friend." nothing, however, the light-hearted frenchman could say had the effect of raising the american's spirits. a handsome supper was placed on the table, to which monsieur saint julien did ample justice, but captain gregory touched scarcely anything. at an early hour he excused himself, and retired to a berth which captain waring had courteously appropriated to his use. during the night the wind shifted more to the westward, and then round to the south-west, blowing pretty strong. when morning broke, the look-outs discovered two sail to the south-east, which it was evident were some of the squadron that had escaped on the previous evening. they were, however, standing in towards the land. captain waring, after consultation with his first lieutenant and master, determined to let them escape. he had already three hundred and forty prisoners on board, while his own crew amounted to only one hundred and ninety. should he take another prize, he would have still further to diminish the number of the ship's company, while that of the prisoners would be greatly increased. the french and american captains had come on deck, and were standing apart, watching the distant vessels. "i hope these englishmen will take one of those fellows," observed captain gregory to monsieur saint julien. "why so, my friend?" asked the latter. "they deserve it, in the first place, and then it would be a question who gets command of this ship. we are pretty strong already, and if your people would prove staunch, we might turn the tables on our captors," said the american. "comment!" exclaimed captain saint julien, starting back. "you forget dat we did pledge our honour to behave peaceably, and not to interfere with the discipline of the ship. french officers are not accustomed to break their parole. you insult me by making the proposal, and i hope dat you are not in earnest." "oh, no, my friend, i was only joking," answered the american skipper, perceiving that he had gone too far. officers of the u.s. navy, we may here remark, have as high a sense of honour as any english or french officer, but this ship was only a privateer, with a scratch crew, some of them renegade englishmen, and the captain was on a level with the lot. the frenchman looked at him sternly. "i will be no party to such a proceeding," he observed. "oh, of course not, of course not, my friend," said captain gregory, walking aside. it being finally decided to allow the other french vessels to escape, the _foxhound's_ yards were squared away, and a course shaped for plymouth, with the two prizes in company. soon after noon the wind fell, and the ships made but little progress. the british crew had but a short time to sleep or rest, it being necessary to keep a number of men under arms to watch the prisoners. the frenchmen were placed on the lower deck, where they sat down by themselves; but the americans mixed more freely with the english. as evening approached, however, they also drew off and congregated together. two or three of their officers came among them. just before dusk captain gregory made his appearance, and was seen talking in low whispers to several of the men. among those who observed him was bill rayner. bill's wits were always sharp, and they had been still more sharpened since he came to sea by the new life he was leading. he had his eyes always about him to take in what he saw, and his ears open whenever there was anything worth hearing. it had struck him as a strange thing that so many prisoners should submit quietly to be kept in subjection by a mere handful of englishmen. on seeing the american skipper talking to his men, he crept in unobserved among them. his ears being wide open, he overheard several words which dropped from their lips. "oh, oh!" he thought. "is that the trick you're after? you intend to take our ship, do you? you'll not succeed if i have the power to prevent you." but how young bill was to do that was the question. he had never even spoken to the boatswain or the boatswain's mate. it seemed scarcely possible for him to venture to tell the first lieutenant or the captain; still, if the prisoners' plot was to be defeated, he must inform them of what he had heard, and that without delay. his first difficulty was how to get away from among the prisoners. should they suspect him they would probably knock him on the head or strangle him, and trust to the chance of shoving him through one of the ports unobserved. this was possible in the crowded state of the ship, desperate as the act might seem. bill therefore had to wait till he could make his way on deck without being remarked. pretending to drop asleep, he lay perfectly quiet for some time; then sitting up and rubbing his eyes, he staggered away forward, as if still drowsy, to make it be supposed that he was about to turn into his hammock. finding that he was unobserved, he crept up by the fore-hatchway, where he found dick, who was in the watch off deck. at first he thought of consulting dick, in whom he knew he could trust; but second thoughts, which are generally the best, made him resolve not to say anything to him, but to go at once to either the first lieutenant or the captain. "if i go to mr saltwell, perhaps he will think i was dreaming, and tell me to `turn into my hammock and finish my dreams,'" he thought to himself. "no! i'll go to the captain at once; perhaps the sentry will let me pass, or if not, i'll get him to ask the captain to see me. he cannot eat me, that's one comfort; if he thinks that i am bringing him a cock-and-bull story, he won't punish me; and i shall at all events have done my duty." bill thought this, and a good deal besides, as he made his way aft till he arrived at the door of the captain's cabin, where the sentry was posted. "where are you going, boy?" asked the sentry, as bill in his eagerness was trying to pass him. "i want to see the captain," said bill. "but does the captain want to see you?" asked the sentry. "he has not sent for me; but he will when he hears what i have got to tell him," replied bill. "you must speak to one of the lieutenants, or get the midshipman of the watch to take in your message, if he will do it," said the sentry. "but they may laugh at me, and not believe what i have got to say," urged bill. "do let me pass,--the captain won't blame you, i am sure of that." the sentry declared that it was his duty not to allow any one to pass. while bill was still pleading with him, the door of the inner cabin was opened, and the captain himself came out, prepared to go on deck. "what do you want, boy?" he asked, seeing bill. "please, sir, i have got something to tell you which you ought to know," said bill, pulling off his hat. "let me hear it then," said the captain. "please, sir, it will take some time. you may have some questions to ask," answered bill. on this the captain stepped back a few paces, out of earshot of the sentry. "what is it, boy?" he asked; "you seem to have some matter of importance to communicate." bill then told him how he came to be among the prisoners, and had heard the american captain and his men talking together, and proposing to get the frenchmen to rise with them to overpower the british crew. captain waring's countenance showed that he felt very much disposed to disbelieve what bill had told him, or rather, to fancy that bill was mistaken. "stay there;" he said, and he went to the door of the cabin which he had allowed the american skipper to occupy. the berth was empty! he came back and cross-questioned bill further. re-entering the inner cabin, he found the french captain seated at the table. "monsieur saint julien," he said; "are you cognisant of the intention of the american captain to try and overpower my crew?" "the proposal was made to me, i confess, but i refused to accede to it with indignation; and i did not suppose that captain gregory would make the attempt, or i should have informed you at once," answered saint julien. "he does intend to make it, though," said captain waring, "and i depend on you and your officers to prevent your men from joining him." "i fear that we shall have lost our influence over our men, but we will stand by you should there be any outbreak," said the french captain. "i will trust you," observed captain waring. "go and speak to your officers while i take the steps necessary for our preservation." captain waring on this left the cabin, and going on deck, spoke to the first lieutenant and the midshipmen of the watch, who very speedily communicated the orders they had received to the other officers. the lieutenant of marines quickly turned out his men, while the boatswain roused up the most trustworthy of the seamen. so quickly and silently all was done, that a strong body of officers and men well armed were collected on the quarter-deck before any of the prisoners were aware of what was going forward. they were awaiting the captain's orders, when a loud report was heard. a thick volume of smoke ascended from below, and the next instant, with loud cries and shouts, a number of the prisoners were seen springing up the hatchway ladders. chapter four. the frigate blown up. the americans had been joined by a number of the frenchmen, and some few of the worst characters of the english crew--the jail-birds chiefly, who had been won over with the idea that they would sail away to some beautiful island, of which they might take possession; and live in independence, or else rove over the ocean with freedom from all discipline. they had armed themselves with billets of wood and handspikes; and some had got hold of knives and axes, which they had secreted. they rushed on deck expecting quickly to overpower the watch. great was their dismay to find themselves encountered by a strong body of armed men, who seized them, or knocked them down directly they appeared. so quickly were the first overpowered that they had no time to give the alarm to their confederates below, and thus, as fresh numbers came up, they were treated like the first. in a couple of minutes the whole of the mutineers were overpowered. the frenchmen who had not actually joined them cried out for mercy, declaring that they had no intention of doing so. what might have been the case had the americans been successful was another matter. all those who had taken part in the outbreak having been secured, captain waring sent a party of marines to search for the american captain. he was quickly found, and brought on the quarter-deck. "you have broken your word of honour; you have instigated the crew to mutiny, and i should be justified were i to run you up to the yard-arm!" said captain waring, sternly. "you would have done the same," answered the american captain, boldly. "such acts when successful have always been applauded." "not, sir, if i had given my word of honour, as you did, not to interfere with the discipline of the ship," said captain waring. "you are now under arrest, and, with those who supported you, will remain in irons till we reach england." captain gregory had not a word to say for himself. the french captain, far from pleading for him, expressed his satisfaction that he had been so treated. he and the officers who had joined him were marched off under a guard to have their irons fixed on by the armourer. after this it became necessary to keep a strict watch on all the prisoners, and especially on the americans, a large proportion of whom were found to be english seamen, and some of the _foxhound's_ crew recognised old shipmates among them. captain waring, believing that he could trust to the french captain and his officers, allowed them to remain on their parole, a circumstance which greatly aggravated the feelings of captain gregory. the captain had not forgotten bill, who, by the timely information he had given, had materially contributed to preserve the ship from capture. bill himself did not think that he had done anything wonderful; his chief anxiety was lest the fact of his having given the information should become known. the sentinel might guess at it, but otherwise the captain alone could know anything about it. bill, as soon as he had told his story to the captain, and found that it was credited, stole away forward among the rest of the crew on deck, where he took very good care not to say a word of what had happened; so that not till the trustworthy men received orders to be prepared for an outbreak were they aware of what was likely to occur. he therefore fancied that his secret had been kept, and that it would never be known; he was, consequently, surprised when the following morning the ship's corporal, touching his shoulder, told him that the captain wanted to speak to him. bill went aft, feeling somewhat alarmed at the thoughts of being spoken to by the captain. on the previous evening he had been excited by being impressed with the importance of the matter he was about to communicate, but now he had time to wonder what the captain would say to him. he met tom and jack by the way. "where are you going?" asked tom. bill told him. "i shouldn't wish to be in your shoes," remarked tom. "what have you been about?" bill could not stop to answer, but followed his conductor to the cabin door. the sentry, without inquiry, admitted him. the captain, who was seated at a table in the cabin, near which the first lieutenant was standing, received him with a kind look. "what is your name, boy?" he asked. "william rayner, sir," said bill. "can you read and write pretty well?" "no great hand at either, sir," answered bill. "mother taught me when i was a little chap, but i have not had much chance of learning since then." "should you like to improve yourself?" asked the captain. "yes, sir; but i have not books, or paper, or pens." "we'll see about that," said the captain. "the information you gave me last night was of the greatest importance, and i wish to find some means of rewarding you. when we reach england, i will make known your conduct to the proper authorities, and i should like to communicate with your parents." "please, sir, i have no parents; they are both dead, and i have no relations that i know of; but i am much obliged to you, sir," answered bill, who kept wondering what the captain was driving at. "well, my boy, i will keep an eye on you," said the captain. "mr saltwell, you will see what is best to be done with william rayner," he added, turning to the first lieutenant. "if you wish to learn to read and write, you can come and get instruction every day from my clerk, mr finch. i will give him directions to teach you; but remember you are not forced to do it." "thank you, sir," said bill. "i should like to learn very much." after a few more words, the captain dismissed bill, who felt greatly relieved when the formidable interview was over. as he wisely kept secret the fact of his having given information of the mutiny, his messmates wondered what could have induced the captain so suddenly to take an interest in him. every day he went aft for his lesson, and mr finch, who was a good-natured young man, was very kind. bill, who was remarkably quick, made great progress, and his instructor was much pleased with him. he could soon read easily, and mr finch, by the captain's orders, lent him several books. the master's assistant, calling him one day, told him that he had received orders from the captain to teach him navigation, and, greatly to his surprise, put a quadrant into his hands, and showed him how to use it. bill all this time had not an inkling of what the captain intended for him. it never occurred to him that the captain could have perceived any merits or qualifications sufficient to raise him out of his present position, but he was content to do his duty where he was. tom felt somewhat jealous of the favour bill was receiving, though he pretended to pity him for having to go and learn lessons every day. tom, indeed, knew a good deal more than bill, as he had been at school, and could read very well, though he could not boast much of his writing. jack could neither read nor write, and had no great ambition to learn; but he was glad, as bill seemed to like it, that he had the chance of picking up knowledge. "perhaps the captain intends to make you his clerk, or maybe some day you will become his coxswain," observed jack, whose ambition soared no higher. "i should like to be that, but i suppose that it is not necessary to be able to read, or write, or sum. i never could make any hand at those things, but you seem up to them, and so it's all right that you should learn." notwithstanding the mark of distinction bill was receiving, the three young messmates remained very good friends. bill, however, found himself much better off than he had before been. that the captain patronised him was soon known to all, and few ventured to lay a rope's-end on his back, as formerly, while he was well treated in other respects. bill kept his eyes open and his wits awake on all occasions, and thus rapidly picked up a good knowledge of seamanship, such as few boys of his age who had been so short a time at sea possessed. the _foxhound_ and her prizes were slowly making their way to england. no enemy appeared to rob her of them, though they were detained by contrary winds for some time in the chops of the channel. at length the wind shifted a point or two, and they were able to get some way up it. the weather, however, became cloudy and dark, and no observation could be taken. it was a trying time, for the provisions and water, in consequence of the number of souls on board, had run short. the captain was doubly anxious to get into port; still, do all he could, but little progress was made, till one night the wind again shifted and the sky cleared. the master was aware that the ship was farther over to the french coast than was desirable, but her exact position it was difficult to determine. the first streaks of sunlight had appeared in the eastern sky, when the look-out shouted-- "a ship to the southward, under all sail." as the sun rose, his rays fell on the white canvas of the stranger, which was now seen clearly, standing towards the _foxhound_. captain waring made a signal to the two prizes, which were somewhat to the northward, to make all sail for plymouth, while the _foxhound_, under more moderate canvas, stood off shore. should the stranger prove an enemy, of which there was little doubt, captain waring determined to try and draw her away from the french coast, which could be dimly seen in the distance. he, at the same time, did not wish to make an enemy suppose that he was flying. though ready enough to fight, he would rather first have got rid of his prisoners, but that could not now be done. it was necessary, therefore, to double the sentries over them, and to make them clearly understand that, should any of them attempt in any way to interfere, they would immediately be shot. jack, tom, and bill had seen the stranger in the distance, and they guessed that they should before long be engaged in a fierce fight with her. there was no doubt that she was french. she was coming up rapidly. the captain now ordered the ship to be cleared for action. the men went readily to their guns. they did not ask whether a big or small ship was to be their opponent, but stood prepared to fight as long as the captain and officers ordered them, hoping, at all events, to beat the enemy. the powder-monkeys, as before, having been sent down to bring up the ammunition, took their places on their tubs. of course they could see but little of what was going forward, but through one of the ports they at last caught sight of the enemy, which appeared to be considerably larger than the _foxhound_. "we have been and caught a tartar," bill heard one of the seamen observe. "maybe. but whether turk or tartar, we'll beat him," answered another. an order was passed along the decks that not a gun should be fired till the captain gave the word. the boys had not forgotten their fight a few weeks before, and had an idea that this was to turn out something like that. then the shot of the enemy had passed between the masts and the rigging; but scarcely one had struck the hull, nor had a man been hurt, so they had begun to fancy that fighting was a very bloodless affair. "what shall we do with the prisoners, if we take her, i wonder?" asked tom. "we've got monsieurs enough on board already." "i daresay the captain will know what to do with them," responded bill. "we must not count our chickens before they're hatched," said jack. "howsumdever, we'll do our best." jack's remark, which was heard by some of the crew of the gun near which he was seated, caused a laugh. "what do you call your best, jack?" asked ned green. "sitting on my tub, and handing out the powder as you want it," answered jack. "what more would you have me do, i should like to know?" "well said, jack," observed green. "we'll work our guns as fast as we can, and you'll hand out the powder as we want it." the talking was cut short by the voices of the officers ordering the men to be ready for action. the crews of the guns laid hold of the tackles, while the captains stood with the lanyards in their hands, waiting for the word of command, and ready at a moment's notice to fire. the big ship got nearer and nearer. she could now be seen through the ports on the starboard side. "well, but she's a whopper!" exclaimed ned green, "though i hope we'll whop her, notwithstanding. now, boys, we'll show the monsieurs what we can do." just then came the word along the decks-- "fire!" and the guns on the starboard side, with a loud roar, sent forth their missiles of death. while the crew were running them in to re-load, the enemy fired in return; their shot came crashing against the sides, some sweeping the upper deck, others making their way through the ports. the smoke from the guns curled round in thick eddies, through which objects could be but dimly seen. the boys looked at each other. all of them were seated on their tubs, but they could see several forms stretched on the deck, some convulsively moving their limbs, others stilled in death. this was likely to be a very different affair from the former action. having handed out the powder, jack, tom, and bill returned to their places once more. the _foxhound's_ guns again thundered forth, and directly after there came the crashing sound of shot, rending the stout sides of the ship. for several minutes the roar was incessant. presently a cheer was heard from the deck. one of the frenchman's masts had gone over the side; but before many minutes had elapsed, a crashing sound overhead showed that the _foxhound_ had been equally unfortunate. her foremast had been shot away by the board, carrying with it the bowsprit and maintopmast. she was thus rendered almost unmanageable, but still her brave captain maintained the unequal contest. the guns, as they could be brought to bear, were fired at the enemy with such effect that she was compelled to sheer off to repair damages. on seeing this, the crew of the _foxhound_ gave another hearty cheer; but ere the sound had died away, down came the mainmast, followed by the mizenmast, and the frigate lay an almost helpless hulk on the water. captain waring at once gave the order to clear the wreck, intending to get up jury-masts, so as to be in a condition to renew the combat should the french ship again attack them. all hands were thus busily employed. the powder in the meantime was returned to the magazine, and the guns run in and secured. the ship was in a critical condition. the carpenters, before anything else could be done, had to stop the shot-holes between wind and water, through which the sea was pouring in several places. it was possible that the prisoners might not resist the temptation, while the crew were engaged, to attempt retaking the ship. the captain and officers redoubled their watchfulness. the crew went steadily about their work, as men who knew that their lives depended on their exertions. even the stoutest-hearted, however, looked grave. the weather was changing for the worse, and should the wind come from the northward, they would have a hard matter to escape being wrecked, even could they keep the ship afloat. the enemy, too, was near at hand, and might at any moment bear down upon them, and recommence the action. the first lieutenant, as he was coming along the deck, met bill, who was trying to make himself useful in helping where he was wanted. "rayner," said mr saltwell, "i want you to keep an eye on the prisoners, and report to the captain or me, should you see anything suspicious in their conduct--if they are talking together, or look as if they were waiting for a signal. i know i can trust you, my boy." bill touched his hat. "i will do my best, sir," he answered; and he slipped down to where the prisoners were congregated. they did not suspect that he had before informed the captain of their intended outbreak, or it would have fared but ill with him. whatever might have been their intentions, they seemed aware that they were carefully watched, and showed no inclination to create a disturbance. the greatest efforts were now made to set up the jury-masts. the wind was increasing, and the sea rising every minute. the day also was drawing on, and matters were getting worse and worse; still captain waring and his staunch crew worked away undaunted. if they could once get up the jury-masts, a course might be steered either for the isle of wight or plymouth. sails had been got up from below; the masts were ready to raise, when there came a cry of, "the enemy is standing towards us!" "we must beat her off, and then go to work again," cried the captain. a cheer was the response. the powder-magazine was again opened. the men flew to their guns, and prepared for the expected conflict. the french ship soon began to fire, the english returning their salute with interest. the round shot, as before, whistled across the deck, killing and wounding several of the crew. the sky became still more overcast; the lightning darted from the clouds; the thunder rattled, mocked by the roaring of the guns. bill saw his shipmates knocked over on every side; but, as soon as one of the crew of a gun was killed, another took his place, or the remainder worked the gun with as much rapidity as before. the cockpit was soon full of wounded men. though things were as bad as they could be, the captain had resolved not to yield. the officers went about the decks encouraging the crew, assuring them that they would speedily beat off the enemy. every man, even the idlest, was doing his duty. jack, tom, and bill were doing theirs. suddenly a cry arose from below of "fire! fire!" and the next moment thick wreaths of smoke ascended through the hatchways, increasing every instant in density. the firemen were called away. even at that awful moment the captain and officers maintained their calmness. now was the time to try what the men were made of. the greater number obeyed the orders they received. buckets were handed up and filled with water to dash over the seat of the fire. blankets were saturated and sent down below. the enemy ceased firing, and endeavoured to haul off from the neighbourhood of the ill-fated ship. in spite of all the efforts made, the smoke increased, and flames came rushing up from below. still, the crew laboured on; hope had not entirely abandoned them, when suddenly a loud roar was heard, the decks were torn up, and hundreds of men in one moment were launched into eternity. jack, tom, and bill had before this made their escape to the upper deck. they had been talking together, wondering what was next to happen, when bill lost all consciousness; but in a few moments recovering his senses, found himself in the sea, clinging to a piece of wreck. he heard voices, but could see no one. he called to tom and jack, fancying that they must be near him, but no answer came. he must have been thrown, he knew, to some distance from the ship, for he could see the burning wreck, and the wind appeared to be driving him farther and farther away from it. the guns as they became heated went off, and he could hear the shot splashing in the water around him. "and jack and tom have been lost, poor fellows!" he thought to himself. "i wish they had been sent here. there's room enough for them on this piece of wreck. "we might have held out till to-morrow morning, when some vessel might have seen us and picked us up." curiously enough, he did not think much about himself. though he was thankful to have been saved, he guessed truly that the greater number of his shipmates, and the unfortunate prisoners on board, must have been lost; yet he regretted jack and tom more than all the rest. the flames from the burning ship cast a bright glare far and wide over the ocean, tinging the foam-topped seas. bill kept gazing towards the ship. he could make out the frenchman at some distance off, and fancied that he saw boats pulling across the tossing waters. on the other side he could distinguish another vessel, which was also, he hoped, sending her boats to the relief of the sufferers. the whole ship, however, appeared so completely enveloped in fire, the flames bursting out from all the ports and rising through every hatchway, that he could not suppose it possible any had escaped. he found it a hard matter to cling on to the piece of wreck, for the seas were constantly washing over him. happily it was weighted below, so that it remained tolerably steady. had it rolled over and over he must inevitably have lost his hold and been drowned. though he had had very little of what is called enjoyment in life, and his prospects, as far as he could see, were none of the brightest, he still had no wish to die, and the instinct of self-preservation made him cling to the wreck with might and main. the tide, which was setting towards the shore, had got hold of his raft, which was also driven by the wind in the same direction, and he found himself drifting gradually away from the burning ship, and his chance of being picked up by one of the boats diminishing. he remembered that land had been in sight some time before the action, but how far the ship had been from it when she caught fire he could not tell, and when he turned his eyes to the southward he could see nothing of it. some hours had passed away, so it seemed to him, when, as he turned his eyes towards the ship, the flames appeared to rise up higher than ever. her stout hull was a mass of fire fore and aft--she was burning down to the water's edge. then came the end--the wild waves washed over her, and all was dark. "there goes the old ship," thought bill. "i wonder how many on board her a few hours ago are now alive. shall i reach the shore to-morrow morning? i don't see much chance of it, and if i don't, how shall i ever live through another day?" chapter five. picked up by a fishing-vessel. after a time, bill began to feel very hungry, and then he recollected that at dinner he had clapped a biscuit into his pocket. he felt for it. it was soaked through and through, and nearly turned into paste, but it served to stay his appetite, and to keep up his strength. at length he became somewhat drowsy, but he did his best to keep awake. feeling about, he got hold of a piece of rope, with which he managed to secure himself to the raft. had he found it before, it would have saved him much exertion. the feeling that there was now less risk of being washed away, made him not so anxious as at first to withstand the strong desire which had attacked him, and yielding to it, his eyes closed, and he dropped off to sleep. how long he had been in that state he could not tell, when he was aroused by the sound of human voices. opening his eyes, he found that the sun was shining down upon him, and looking round, he saw a small vessel approaching. he soon made her out to be a fishing craft with five people on board. they hailed him, but he was too weak to answer. he managed, however, to wave one of his hands to show that he was alive. the fishing-vessel came on, and hove-to close to him. the sea had considerably gone down. a boat was launched from her deck, and pulled up to the raft, with two men in her. they said something, but bill could not understand them. one of them, as they got up alongside, sprang on to the raft, and casting off the lashings which held bill to it, the next instant was safe in the boat with him in his arms. the man having placed him in the stern-sheets, the boat quickly returned to the cutter. bill was lifted on board, and the boat was then hauled up again on the cutter's deck. his preservers, though rough-looking men, uttered exclamations in kind tones which assured bill that he had fallen into good hands. one of them then carried him down into the little cabin, and stripping off his wet clothes, placed him between the blankets in a berth on one side. in a few minutes the same man, who appeared to be the captain of the fishing-vessel, returned with a cup of hot coffee and some white bread. stirring the coffee and blowing to cool it, he made signs to bill that he must drink some of it. this bill very gladly did, and he then felt able to eat some of the bread, which seemed very sweet and nice. this greatly restored his strength. he wished, however, that he could answer the questions which the men put to him. he guessed that they were frenchmen, but not a word of french did he know. at last another man came into the cabin. "you english boy?" asked the man. "yes," said bill. "ship burn; blow up?" was the next question put to bill, the speaker showing what he meant by suitable action. "yes," said bill, "and i am afraid all my shipmates are lost. though you are french, you won't send me to prison, i hope?" "have no fear," answered the man, smiling; and turning round to his companions, he explained what bill had said. they smiled, and bill heard them say, "pauvre garcon." "no! no! no! you sleep now, we take care of you," said the interpreter, whose knowledge of english was, however, somewhat limited. bill felt a strong inclination to follow the advice given him. one of the men, bundling up his wet clothes, carried them to dry at the little galley fire forward. the rest went on deck, and bill in another minute fell fast asleep. where the cutter was going bill could not tell. he had known her to be a fishing-vessel by seeing the nets on deck, and he had guessed that she was french by the way in which the people on board had spoken. they had given evidence also that they intended to treat him kindly. some hours must have passed away when bill again awoke, feeling very hungry. it was daylight, and he saw that his clothes were laid at the foot of his berth. finding that his strength had returned, he got up, and began dressing himself. he had just finished when he saw that there was some one in the opposite berth. "perhaps the skipper was up all night, and has turned in," thought bill; but as he looked again, he saw that the head was certainly not that of a man, but the face was turned away from him. his intention was to go on deck, to try and thank the french fishermen, as far as he was able, for saving his life, but before he did so curiosity prompted him to look again into the berth. what was his surprise and joy to recognise the features of his shipmate, jack peek! his face was very pale, but he was breathing, which showed that he was alive. at all events, bill thought that he would not awake him, eager as he was to know how he had been saved. he went up on deck, hoping that the man who had spoken a few words of english might be able to tell him how jack had been picked up. on reaching the deck he found that the vessel was close in with the land. she was towing a shattered gig, which bill recognised as one of those belonging to the _foxhound_. he at once conjectured that jack had managed somehow or other to get into her. as soon as he appeared, the frenchmen began talking to him, forgetting that he was unable to understand them. as he made no reply, they recollected themselves, and began laughing at their own stupidity. one of them shouted down the fore-hatchway, and presently the interpreter, as bill called him, made his appearance. "glad see you. all right now?" he said, in a tone of interrogation. "all right," said bill, "but i want you to tell me how you happened to find my shipmate jack peek;" and bill pointed down into the cabin. "he, friend! not broder! no! we find him in boat, but he not say how he got dere. two oder men, but dey dead, so we heave dem overboard, and take boat in tow," answered the man. jack himself was probably not likely to be able to give any more information than the frenchman had done. suddenly it struck his new friends that bill might be hungry, and the interpreter said to him, "you want manger," pointing to bill's mouth. bill understood him. "yes, indeed i do; i am ready for anything you can give me," he said. the fire was lighted, while a pot was put to boil on it, and, greatly to bill's satisfaction, in a few minutes one of the men, who acted as cook, poured the contents into a huge basin which was placed on the deck, and smaller basins and wooden spoons were handed up from below. one man remaining at the helm, the remainder sat down and ladled the soup into the smaller basins. bill eagerly held out his. the mess, which consisted of fowl and pork and a variety of vegetables, smelt very tempting, and as soon as it was cool enough, bill devoured it with a good appetite. his friends asked him by signs if he would have any more. "thank you," he answered, holding out his basin. "a spoonful or two; but we must not forget jack peek. when he awakes, he will be glad of some;" and he pointed into the cabin. the frenchmen understood him, and made signs that they would keep some for his friend, one of them patting him on the back and calling him "bon garcon." bill, after remaining some time on deck, again felt sleepy, and his head began to nod. the frenchmen, seeing this, told him to go below. he gladly followed their advice, and descending into the cabin, lay down, and was once more fast asleep. the next time he awoke he found that the vessel was at anchor. he got up, and looked into jack's berth. jack at that moment turned round, and opening his eyes, saw his shipmate. "why, bill, is it you!" he exclaimed. "i am main glad to see you; but where are we?--how did i come here? i thought that i was in the captain's gig with tom nokes and dick harbour. what has become of them? they were terribly hurt, poor fellows! though they managed to crawl on board the gig." bill told him what he had learned from the frenchman. "they seem kind sort of fellows, and we have fallen into good hands," he added; "but what they're going to do with us is more than i can tell." just then the captain of the fishing-vessel came below, and seeing that jack was awake, he called out to one of the men to bring a basin of the soup which had been kept for him. while he was swallowing it, a man brought him his clothes, which had been sent forward to dry. the captain then made signs to him to dress, as he intended taking them both on shore with him. bill helped jack, who was somewhat weak, to get on his clothes. they then went on deck. the vessel lay in a small harbour, protected by a reef of rocks from the sea. near the shore were a number of cottages, and on one side of the harbour a line of cliffs running away to the eastward. several other small vessels and open boats lay at anchor around. the captain, with the interpreter, whose name they found was pierre, got into the boat, the latter telling the lads to come with them. they did as they were directed, sitting down in the stern-sheets, while the captain and pierre took the oars and pulled towards the shore. it was now evening, and almost dark. they saw the lights shining in the windows of several of the cottages. pierre was a young man about nineteen or twenty, and, they fancied, must be the captain's son. they were right, they found, in their conjectures. pierre made them understand, in his broken language, that he had some short time before been a prisoner in england, where he had been treated very kindly; but before he had time to learn much english, he had been exchanged. this had made him anxious to show kindness to the young english lads. "come along," said pierre, as they reached the shore. "i show you my house, my mere, and my soeur. they take care of you; but mind! you not go out till dey tell you, or de gendarmes take you to prison perhaps. do not speak now till we get into de house." bill and jack followed their guide while the old man rowed back to the vessel. pierre led them to a cottage a little distance from the shore, which appeared to be somewhat larger than those they had passed. he opened the door, telling them to come in with him, when he immediately again closed it. a middle-aged woman and a young girl, in high white caps with flaps over the shoulders, were seated spinning. they started up on seeing the two young strangers, and began inquiring of pierre who they were. his explanation soon satisfied them, and jumping up, madame turgot and jeannette took their hands, and began pouring out in voluble language their welcomes. "you say `merci! merci!'" said pierre, "which means `thank you! thank you!'" "merci! merci!" said jack and bill. it was the first word of french they learned, and, as jack observed, came in very convenient. what the mother and her daughter said they could not make out, but they understood well enough that the french women intended to be kind. "you hungry?" asked pierre. "very," answered jack. pierre said something to his mother and sister, who at once set about spreading a cloth and placing eatables on the table--bread and cheese, and pickled fish, and some salad. "merci! merci!" said jack and bill, as their hostess made signs to them to fall to. pierre joined them, and in a short time captain turgot himself came in. he was as hospitably inclined as his wife and daughter, and kept pressing the food upon the boys. "merci! merci!" was their answer. at last jeannette began to laugh, as if she thought it a good joke. jack and bill tried hard to understand what was said. pierre observed them listening, and did his best to explain. from him they learned that they must remain quiet in the house, or they might be carried away as prisoners of war. he and his father wished to save them from this, and intended, if they had the opportunity, enabling them to get back to england. "but how will you manage that?" asked bill. pierre looked very knowing, and gave them to understand that smuggling vessels occasionally came into the harbour, and that they might easily get on board one of them, and reach the english coast. "but we do not wish to get rid of you," said pierre. "if you like to remain with us, you shall learn french, and become french boys; and you can then go out and help us fish, and gain your livelihood." pierre did not say this in as many words, but jack and bill agreed that such was his meaning. "he's very kind," observed bill; "but for my part, i should not wish to become a french boy; though i would not mind remaining for a while with the french dame and her daughter, for they're both very kind, and we shall have a happy time of it." this was said a day or two after their arrival. captain turgot had fitted them up a couple of bunks in a small room in which pierre slept, and they were both far more comfortable than they had ever been in their lives. captain turgot's cottage was far superior to that of jack's father; and as for bill, he had never before slept in so soft a bed. they had to remain in the house, however, all day; but captain turgot or pierre took them out in the evening, when they could not be observed, to stretch their legs and get a little fresh air. they tried to make themselves useful by helping madame turgot, and they rapidly picked up from her and her daughter a good amount of french, so that in a short time they were able to converse, though in a curious fashion, it must be owned. they soon got over their bashfulness, and asked the name of everything they saw, which jeannette was always ready to tell them. their attempts at talking french afforded her vast amusement. though kindly treated, they at length got tired of being shut up in the house, and were very well pleased when one day captain turgot brought them each a suit of clothes, and told them that he was going away to fish, and would take them with him. next morning they went on board the cutter, and sail being soon afterwards made, she stood out of the harbour. chapter six. taken prisoners. jack and bill made themselves very useful in hauling the nets, and cleaning the fish when caught. jack was well up to the work, and showed bill how to do it. captain turgot was highly pleased, and called them "bons garcons," and said he hoped that they would remain with him till the war was over, and as much longer as they liked. when the cutter returned into the harbour to land her fish, jack and bill were sent below, so that the authorities might not see them and carry them off. captain turgot was much afraid of losing them. they were getting on famously with their french, and bill could chatter away already at a great rate, though not in very good french, to be sure, for he made a number of blunders, which afforded constant amusement to his companions, but pierre was always ready to set him right. jack made much slower progress. he could not, he said, twist his tongue about sufficiently to get out the words, even when he remembered them. some, he found, were wonderfully like english, and those he recollected the best, though, to be sure, they had different meanings. one day the cutter had stood out farther from the shore than usual, her nets being down, when, at daybreak, a strange sail was seen in the offing. the captain, after taking one look at her, was convinced that she was an enemy. "quick! quick! my sons," he shouted: "we must haul the nets and make sail, or we shall be caught by the english. they are brave people, but i have no wish to see the inside of one of their prisons." all hands worked away as if their lives depended on their exertions. jack and bill lent a hand as usual. they scarcely knew what to wish. should the stranger prove to be an english ship, and come up with them, they would be restored to liberty; but, at the same time, they would feel very sorry that their kind friends should lose their vessel and be made prisoners; still, jack wanted to let his mother know that he was alive, and bill wished to be on board a man-of-war again, fighting for old england, and getting a foot or two up the ratlines. his ambition had been aroused by what the captain had said to him, and the assistant master had observed, though he had spoken in joke, that he might, some day or other, become an admiral. bill had thought the subject over and over, till he began to fancy that, could he get another chance, the road to fame might be open to him. the loss of the ship with the captain and officers seemed, to be sure, to have overthrown all his hopes; but what had happened once might happen again, and by attending to his duty, and keeping his eyes open, and his wits awake, he might have another opportunity of distinguishing himself. no one could possibly have suspected what was passing in bill's mind, as he worked away as energetically as the rest in stowing the nets and making sail. the stranger was now made out to a certainty to be an english frigate, and a fast one, too, by the way she slipped through the water. the wind was from the south-east, and being thus partially off shore, would enable the frigate to stand in closer to the land than she otherwise might have ventured to do. this greatly diminished the chances of the cutter's escape. captain turgot, however, like a brave man, did not tear his hair, or stamp, or swear, as frenchmen are sometimes supposed to do, but, taking the helm, set every sail his craft could carry, and did his best, by careful steering, to keep to windward of the enemy. could he once get into harbour he would be safe, unless the frigate should send her boats in to cut his vessel out. the cutter possessed a couple of long sweeps. should it fall calm, they would be of use; but at present the breeze was too strong to render them necessary. the crew kept looking astern to watch the progress made by their pursuer, which was evidently coming up with them. what chance, indeed, had a little fishing craft with a dashing frigate? an idea occurred to jack which had not struck bill. "suppose we are taken--and it looks to me as if we shall be before long--what will they say on board the frigate when they find us rigged out in fisherman's clothes? they will be thinking we are deserters, and will be hanging us up at the yard-arm." "i hope it won't go so hard as that with us," answered bill. "we can tell them that the frenchmen took away our clothes, and rigged us out in these, and we could not help ourselves." "but will they believe us?" asked jack. on that point bill acknowledged that there was some doubt; either way, he would be very sorry for captain turgot. one thing could be said, that neither their fears nor wishes would prevent the frigate from capturing the cutter. they looked upon that as a settled matter. as long, however, as there was a possibility of escaping, captain turgot resolved to persevere. matters began to look serious, when a flash and wreath of smoke was seen to issue from one of the bow guns of the frigate, and a shot came jumping over the water towards them. it did not reach them, however. "you must get nearer, monsieur, before you hurt us," said the captain, as he watched the shot fall into the water. shortly afterwards another followed. it came close up to the cutter; but a miss is as good as a mile, and the little vessel was none the worse for it. another shot, however, might produce a very different result. "i say, bill, i don't quite like the look of things," observed jack. "our skipper had better give in, or one of those shot will be coming aboard us, and carrying somebody's head off." "he doesn't look as if he had any thoughts of the sort," said bill; "and as long as there is any chance of keeping ahead, he'll stand on." soon after bill had made this remark, another shot was fired from the frigate, and passed alongside the cutter, falling some way ahead. had it been better aimed, the effect might have been somewhat disastrous. still captain turgot kept at the helm. some of the crew, however, began to cry out, and begged him to heave to. he pointed to the shore. "do you want to see your wives and families again?" he asked. "look there! how smooth the water is ahead. the wind is falling, and the frigate will soon be becalmed. she'll not think it worth while to send her boats after us. come! out with the sweeps, and we shall soon draw out of shot of her. look there! now her topsails are already flapping against the masts. be of good courage, my sons!" thus incited, the crew got out the sweeps. jack and bill helped them with as much apparent good-will as if they had had no wish to be on board the frigate. the little vessel felt the effects of the powerful sweeps, and, in spite of the calm, continued to move ahead. again and again the frigate fired at her, but she was a small object, and each shot missed. this encouraged the french crew, whose spirits rose as they saw their chance of escaping increase. farther and farther they got from the frigate, which, with the uncertainty from what quarter the wind would next blow, was afraid of standing closer in shore. by nightfall the cutter, by dint of hard rowing, had got safe into harbour. when dame turgot and jeannette heard what had occurred, they expressed their delight at seeing their young friends back. "we must not let you go to sea again, for it would be a sad thing to hear that you had been captured and shot for being deserters," said jeannette. she had the same idea which had occurred to jack. the english frigates were at this time so frequently seen off the coast, that captain turgot, who had several boats as well as the cutter, thought it prudent to confine his operations to inshore fishing, so as not to run the risk of being captured. jack and bill sometimes went out with him, but, for some reason or other, he more generally left them at home. pierre, who was a good swimmer, induced them to come down and bathe with him in the morning, and gave them instruction in the art. jack could already swim a little. bill took to it at once, and beat him hollow; in a short time being able to perform all sorts of evolutions. he was soon so perfectly at home in the water, that he declared he felt able to swim across the channel, if he could carry some food with him to support himself on the way. jack laughed at the idea, observing that "nobody ever had swum across the channel, and he did not believe that anybody ever would do so." pierre advised bill not to make the attempt. "no fear," said jack. "he'll not go without me, and i am not going to drown myself if i can help it." bill, however, often thought over the matter, and tried to devise some plan by which he and jack might manage to get across. his plans came to nothing; and, indeed, the channel where they were was much too wide to be crossed except in a small vessel or in a large boat. jack was beginning to speak french pretty well, and bill was able to gabble away with considerable fluency, greatly to the delight of jeannette, who was his usual instructress. he tried to teach her a little english in return, but she laughed at her own attempts, and declared that she should never be able to pronounce so break-jaw a language. bill thought that she got on very well, but she seemed more anxious to teach him french than to learn english herself. several weeks more passed by. well treated as they were, still the boys had a longing to return to england, though the opportunity of doing so appeared as far off as ever. they were in the house one afternoon, laughing and joking merrily with jeannette, while dame turgot was away at the neighbouring town to market, when the door opened, and she entered, with a look of alarm on her countenance. "quick, quick, come here!" she said; and seizing them both by the arms, she dragged them into the little inner room. "pull off your clothes and jump into bed!" she exclaimed. "whatever you hear, don't move or speak, but pretend to be fast asleep." they obeyed her; and snatching up their jackets and trousers, she hurried from the room, locking the door behind her. she had just time to tumble their clothes into a chest, when a loud knocking was heard at the door. she opened it, and several soldiers, under the command of a sergeant, entered. the boys guessed who they were by their voices, and the noise they made when grounding their muskets. "well, messieurs," said dame turgot, with perfect composure, "and what do you want here?" "we come in search of prisoners. it is reported that you have some concealed in your house," said the sergeant. "ma foi! that is a good joke! i conceal prisoners indeed!" exclaimed the dame, laughing. "pray who are these notable prisoners?" "that's for you to say. we only know that you have prisoners," answered the sergeant. "then, if you will have it so, one may possibly be a general, and the other an admiral, and the sooner they are lodged in the bastille, the better for the safety of france," answered the dame, laughing. "i am a loyal frenchwoman, and can cry `vive le roi!' `vive la france!' with all my heart." jack and bill, who had quaked at the thoughts of being made prisoners by the soldiers, now began to have better hope of escaping. the sergeant, however, was not to be deceived by dame turgot's manner. "come, come, i must search your house, notwithstanding. for that purpose i was sent, and i must perform my duty," he said; and he hunted round the room. "now let us look into your room;" and the soldiers, entering, began poking about with their bayonets, running them under the bed, and through the bedding, in a way likely to kill anybody concealed. jeannette's little room was visited and treated in the same manner. "and what's this room?" asked the sergeant, pointing to the boys' room. "that? that is a closet," answered the dame; "or if you like it, the general and admiral are both there fast asleep, but i am unwilling to disturb them." she said this in a laughing tone, as if she were joking. "well, open the door," said the sergeant, not expecting to find anybody. "but i tell you the door is locked. who has got the key, i wonder?" said the dame. "come, come, unlock the door, or we must force it open," said the sergeant, making as if he was about to prise it open with his bayonet. on this the dame pulled the key out of her pocket, and opening the door, exclaimed-- "there in one bed you will find the general, and in the other the admiral; or, without joking, they are two poor boys whom my good man picked up at sea, and already they are more french than english." the sergeant, looking into the beds, discovered the boys. "come, get up, mes garcons," he said; "you must come with me, whoever you are, and give an account of yourselves." neither of the boys made any reply, deeming it wiser to keep silence. "come along," he said; and he dragged first one, and then the other, out of bed. "bring the boys' clothes," he added, turning to the dame, who quickly brought their original suits. they soon dressed themselves, hanging their knives round their necks. "i told you the truth. you see who and what they are!" exclaimed the dame. jeannette, too, pleaded eloquently on their behalf, but the sergeant was unmoved. "all you say may be right, but i must take them," he answered. "come-- quick march!" he allowed them, however, to take an affectionate farewell of the dame and jeannette, the latter bursting into tears as she saw them dragged off by the soldiers. chapter seven. shut up in a tower. jack and bill marched along in the middle of the party of soldiers, endeavouring, as well as they could, to keep up their spirits, and to appear unconcerned. where they were going they could not tell. "jack," whispered bill, "don't let these fellows know that we understand french. we may learn something from what they say to each other; and they are not likely to tell us the truth, if we were to ask them questions." "trust me for that," answered jack. "one might suppose, from the way they treat us, that they take us for desperate fellows, who would make nothing of knocking them down right and left, if it were not for their muskets and bayonets." "all right," responded bill; "we'll keep our wits awake, and maybe we shall find an opportunity of getting away." "i am ready for anything you propose," said jack. "we might have found it more easy to make our escape if madame turgot had brought us back our french toggery; but still, for my part, i feel more comfortable-like in my own clothes." "so do i," said bill. "somehow i fancy that i am more up to work dressed as an english sailor than i should be as a french boy. i only hope our friends will not get into any scrape for having concealed us. they are wonderfully kind people, and i shall always be ready to do a good turn to a frenchman for their sakes." "so shall i after i've thrashed him," said jack. "if the french will go to war with us, they must take the consequences." the soldiers did not interfere with the lads, but allowed them to talk on to each other as much as they liked. the road they followed led them to the eastward, as far as they could judge, at no great distance from the shore. after marching about a couple of miles, they reached a small town, or village rather, the houses being scattered along the shores of another bay much larger than the one they had left. a river of some size ran into the bay, and on a point of land near the mouth, on a height, stood an old tower, which had been built, apparently, for the purpose of guarding the entrance. it was in a somewhat dilapidated condition, and seemed now very unfit for its original object, for a few round shot would have speedily knocked it to pieces. it might, however, afford shelter to a small body of infantry, who could fire from the loopholes in its walls down on any boats, attempting to ascend the river. "i wonder if they are going to shut us up there!" said jack, as the sergeant led the party in the direction of the tower. "no doubt about it," replied bill; "but it doesn't seem to be a very terrible place; and, by the look of the walls, i have a notion that i could climb to the top, or make my way down them, without the slightest difficulty." they had time to make their observations before they reached the entrance gate. a small guard of soldiers were stationed in the tower, to whose charge the prisoners were handed over. the officer commanding the party was a gruff old fellow, who seemed to have no feeling of compassion for his young prisoners. after putting various questions to the sergeant who had brought them, he made signs to them to accompany him to the top of the building, and led the way, attended by two soldiers who followed close behind, up a flight of exceedingly rickety stairs, which creaked and groaned as they ascended. on reaching the top the officer opened a door, which led into a small room, the highest apparently in the building; he then signed to the boys to go in, and without saying a word closed the door and locked it. they soon afterwards heard him and his men descending the stairs. "here we are," said jack. "i wonder what's going to happen next!" "why, if they leave us here long enough, the next thing that will happen will be that we'll make our way out again," replied bill. "look at those windows! though they are not very big, they are large enough for us to squeeze through, or it may be more convenient to make our way out by the roof. i can see daylight through one or two places, which shows that the tiles are not very securely fastened on." "and if we do get out, where shall we go?" asked jack. "it won't do to return to the turgots; we might be getting them into trouble. we must make our way down to the sea shore, and then travel on till we can reach some port or other, and when there try to get on board a smuggling lugger, as captain turgot at first proposed we should do," replied bill. "it may be a hard job to do that," said jack; "and i should say it would be easier to run off with a boat or some small craft which we two could handle, and make our way in her across channel. i know where to find the polar star. i have often been out at night when father steered by it, and we should be sure, some time or other, to make the english coast." "i should not like to run away with a poor man's vessel. what would he say in the morning when he found his craft gone?" observed bill. "it would be taking what is not ours to take. i never did and never would do that." jack argued the point. "the french are enemies of the english," he said, "and therefore englishmen have a perfect right to best them either afloat or on shore." bill said he would consider the subject, and in the meantime they made a further survey of their prison. it could not be called luxuriantly furnished, considering that there was only a bench of no great width running along the side of one of the walls, and the remains of a table. one of the legs had gone, and part of the top, and it was propped up by a couple of empty casks. there were neither bedsteads nor bedding of any description, but the bench was of sufficient length to allow both the boys to lie down on it. the sun was on the point of setting when they reached the tower, and darkness soon stole on them. "i wonder whether they intend to give us any supper," said jack, "or do they expect us to live on air?" "i can hold out till to-morrow morning, but i should be thankful if they would bring us up something to-night; and we should be the better able to make our escape, if we have the opportunity," observed bill. "then i propose that we make a tremendous row, and that will bring some one up to sea what's the matter. we can then point to our mouths to show that we are hungry, and perhaps they will take compassion on us," said jack. bill agreeing to jack's proposal, they began jumping and stamping about the room, and singing at the top of their voices, in a way which could scarcely fail to be heard by the men in the guard-room below. they were in a short time convinced that their proceedings had produced the desired effect; for when they ceased to make the noise, they heard the heavy step of a man ascending the creaking stairs. it had not occurred to them that he might possibly come with a thick stick in his hand, to thrash them for making a row. the idea, however, flashed across jack's mind by the time the man was half-way up. "we may get more kicks than ha'pence for what we've been doing," he observed; "however, it cannot be helped; we must put a good face on the matter, and let him fancy that it is the way english boys have of showing when they are hungry. if he does not make out what we mean, we'll say, `manger, manger,' and he'll then know what we want." bill laughed. he was not much afraid of a beating. he reminded jack that he must not say anything more than he proposed, or the frenchmen might find out that they understood their language. the man came slowly up the steps, which creaked and groaned louder and louder. "i'll tell you what," said bill. "if those steps are as rotten as they appear to be, we might pull some of them up, and so prevent the guard from reaching this room, and finding out that we have made our escape." "we should have to get the door open first," observed jack, "and that would be no easy matter." "more easy than you may suppose," said bill. "i'll try and shove something into the catch of the lock while the frenchman is in the room." just then the door opened, and a soldier entered, with a lantern in one hand, and, as jack expected, a stick in the other. it was not, however, a very thick one, and jack thought, as he eyed it, that its blows, though they might hurt, would not break any bones; however, neither he nor bill had any intention of being thrashed if they could help it. the soldier began at once to inquire, in an angry tone, why they had made so much noise. they pretended not to understand him; but as he lifted his stick to strike at them, they ran round the room, jack shouting "manger! manger!" and pointing to his mouth. he could easily manage to keep out of the frenchman's reach, but at last he allowed himself to be caught for a minute at the farther end of the room, thus giving bill time to reach the door. bill made good use of the opportunity, while the frenchman's back was turned, to carry out his intention. "all right," he cried out; and as soon as jack heard him, he skipped out of the frenchman's way, as he had no wish to receive more blows than he could avoid. the soldier, on seeing bill, attacked him next, but he easily evaded most of the blows aimed at him, till the soldier grew weary of the chase. "manger! manger!" cried both the boys at once, in various tones, sometimes imploring, at others expostulating, and then as if they were excited by anger and indignation that they should be so treated. the soldier understood them clearly enough, and probably thought to himself that unless he could bring some food to keep the young prisoners quiet, he might have frequent trips to make to the top of the tower. "ma foi! i suppose that you have had nothing to eat for some hours," he observed, in french. "i'll see what i can get for you; but remember, you must be quiet, or you will be left to starve." they were well pleased to hear this; but still pretending not to understand him, they continued crying out, "manger! manger!" at last the soldier took his departure, locking the door, as he supposed, behind him. as soon as they knew, by the sounds he made descending the steps, that he had got some distance down, the boys ran to the door, and, to their satisfaction, found that they could easily open it, though it appeared to be securely locked. from the remarks the frenchman had made, they had some hopes that he would bring them food; they therefore lay down on the bench to await his return. greatly to their satisfaction, in a short time they again heard a step on the stair, and the soldier who had before paid them a visit entered, carrying a basket with some bread and cheese, dried figs, and some wine in a bottle. he also brought up a piece of candle, and a lump of wood with a spike in it, which served as a candlestick. he placed these on the table with the contents of the basket. "there," he said, "eat away; you may have a long march to-morrow, and if you haven't strength we may have to carry you." the boys pretended not to understand him; but both exclaimed, as they saw the viands, "merci! merci!" and put out their hands to shake that of the soldier, who seemed, while performing a kind action, to be in much better humour than before. "mangez! mes braves garcons," he remarked. "what is over you can have for breakfast to-morrow morning, as maybe you'll get nothing else brought you." "merci! merci!" answered jack and bill, as they escorted the soldier to the door, letting him suppose that these were the only two words they understood. as soon as he had turned the key in the door, they hurried to the table, and eagerly devoured some of the bread and cheese. "it's fortunate we've got so large a stock of food," said bill; "there's enough here, if we are careful of it, for a couple of days." there was in the bottle but a small allowance of wine, which was excessively sour; but it served to quench their thirst, though they agreed that they would much rather have had fresh water. having finished their supper, they divided the remainder of the food into two portions, which they stowed away in their pockets. they then waited till they had reason to suppose, from hearing no noise ascending the stairs, that the soldiers in the guard-room had gone to sleep. having cautiously opened the door, they next examined the steps, and found that they could wrench up those of the upper part of the flight without making much noise. they had to be quick about it, as their candle would soon burn out. first, having closed the door, they got up seven of the steps, beginning at the uppermost one, till they formed a gap which it would be impossible for a man to spring over. the boards they carried down as they descended, when they found themselves in another storey, the whole of which was occupied by one large room without doors, the reason, of course, why it had not been made their prison. their candle had now nearly burned out. having hung their shoes round their necks, they were able to step softly. hunting about, they discovered an empty space under the stairs, in which they stowed the pieces of wood. "perhaps we might get down by the stairs," whispered jack. "the chances are that we should find a door to stop us at the bottom," returned bill. "we must try to get down the outside. the walls are so full of holes that we might manage it, and i am ready to go first and try." the question was, on which side should they attempt to make their descent? on looking through the narrow windows, they observed a gleam of light coming out below them on one side; probably that was from the guard-room, and they accordingly fixed on the opposite side, where all was dark. they ran no little chance of breaking their necks, but about that they did not trouble themselves. if a cat could get up, they believed that they could get down, by clinging with toes and fingers, and teeth, if necessary, to the wall. they, however, made the fullest examination in their power to ascertain the best spot for their descent; they looked out of every window in succession, but at last arrived at the conclusion that the attempt to scramble down a perpendicular wall was too hazardous to be made. they now began to fear that their enterprise must be abandoned, and that they should be compelled to make their way first to a lower storey, which, for what they could tell, might be inhabited; or else that they must descend the creaking stairs, and run a still greater chance of being discovered. "here's another window," said bill; "let's look through that." he climbed up to it, and gazed out. great was his satisfaction to perceive the top of a massive wall a few feet below him. the tower had been a portion of an old castle, and the end of this wall was a mass of ruins, but quite thick enough to enable them to scramble along the top of it, and bill had no doubt that they thence could easily descend to, the level ground. chapter eight. the escape--concealed in a cavern. bill drew his head in from the window, and beckoned to jack, who followed him up; and as there was no time to be lost, he at once dropped down on to the top of the wall. jack came next, fortunately without dislodging any stones, which might have rattled down and betrayed their proceedings. bill leading, they made their way on hands and knees along the top of the wall, which, being fringed in most places with bushes, contributed to conceal them from any passers-by. they had to move cautiously for the reason before given, and also to avoid the risk of falling down any gap in the wall which time might have produced. as bill had expected, the further end of the wall was broken gradually away, forming an easy descent. down this they climbed, feeling their way with their feet, and not letting go of one mass of ruin till they had found a foothold on a lower. thus they at length had the satisfaction of standing on the firm ground outside the walls. they had now to consider in which direction they should direct their flight. the river was on one side of them, and though they might swim across they would run the risk of being discovered while so doing. they finally decided to make for the sea shore, to the westward of the bay, and to lie hid among the rocks till the search for them should be given up. they accordingly stole round the building, keeping on the side away from the guard-room, till they got into a lane which led at the back of the village down towards the shore. if they could once get there they hoped to be safe. few lights in the village were burning, as the inhabitants retired early to bed; but two or three still twinkled from some cottages at the farther end. possibly the owners had gone out fishing, and had only lately returned. they had got some distance from the tower, and no cottage was near, when jack stopped. "i've been thinking that we might get on board one of the fishing-boats, which have just come in, and go off in her," he whispered. "i could not do it," said bill. "i have said before--what would the poor fishermen think in the morning when they found their boat gone, the only means they may have of supporting their wives and families?" jack did not agree with bill in this, but it was not a time to argue the point, so they set off again, and continued running till they reached a gap in the cliff, down which the road led. they then made their way to the left, under the cliffs, in the direction of the village where they had so long resided. the tide was out, and they wisely kept close down to the water, so that the returning sea might obliterate their footsteps. jack proposed returning to captain turgot's, but bill observed that that would not be fair to their friends, who would, of course, be exposed to great danger by again harbouring them, and who yet would not like to deliver them up. "no, no, we must not do that," he said. "the sooner we can find a place to hide in the better. the cliff hereabouts appears to be broken, and full of hollows, and perhaps, if we search for it, we shall discover some spot fit for our purpose." while they were talking the moon rose; and, though on the decrease, afforded a good deal of light, and greatly assisted them in their search. the sea where they were would, they saw, at high tide, completely cover the whole beach, so they must take care to find a place beyond its reach. they anxiously searched about. the night was drawing on, and they must find concealment before daylight, which would expose them to the view of any boats passing near the beach, or to people looking for them from the cliffs above. they climbed up at several places without discovering any hollow sufficiently deep to conceal them effectually; still they persevered, and at last they reached a black rock which projected out from the cliff, and ran some way down the beach. from its appearance they saw that it must be covered at high-water. they made their way round it, as the sides were too smooth to climb over, and then once more reached the foot of the cliff. the tide was now rising rapidly, and they saw that they would be exposed to the danger of being caught by the sea, could they not get some distance up the cliff. they were hurrying on when bill exclaimed-- "there's a cave, and it may perhaps run some way back in the cliff. we shall soon find out by the feel of the rock whether the water fills it up, and if not, we couldn't have a better hiding-place." they climbed up the slippery rock, and found themselves in a cavern with a low arched entrance. this looked promising. they groped their way onwards. as they advanced, their ears caught the gentle sound of a tiny streamlet, which issued from the rock, while the ground beneath their feet was perfectly dry, consisting in some places of hard rock, in others of soft, warm sand. looking back, they could distinguish the ocean, with the moonlight shining on it. "we shall be safe here, i think," said bill. "when daylight comes, we shall be able to find our way farther in, and perhaps discover some nook in which we may remain hidden, even were people to come to the mouth of the cave to look for us." jack agreed that there was no risk of the tide rising to the place where they then were, so they sat down on the dry sand, and being tired from their exertions, very soon fell fast asleep. jack was not much addicted to dreaming. when he went to sleep he did so in right earnest, and might have slept through a general engagement, if he had not been called to take a part in it. bill had a more imaginative mind, which was seldom altogether at rest. he fancied sometimes that he was escaping from the top of the tower, and tumbling head over heels to the bottom; at others that he was running along, with the frenchmen shouting after him to stop. then he fancied that one with a long pair of legs had overtaken him, and was grasping him tightly by the arm. he awoke with a start, and found that jack was trying to arouse him. daylight was streaming through the mouth of the cavern; beyond could be seen the blue sea shining brightly in the rays of the sun, with a chasse-maree, or some other small vessel, gliding swiftly across it, impelled by a smart breeze off shore. jack had taken it into his head that the people on board might see them. "i don't think there's much chance of that," said bill. "even if they happen to turn their glasses this way, depend on it, if we sit quiet, they'll not discover us." the vessel soon disappeared, and they then looked about to examine more carefully the cavern in which they had taken refuge. the tide was still at its highest, and the water washed up to the ledge in front of the cavern. the ground rose considerably above that point to where they sat, and on looking round they saw that it continued to rise behind them for some distance. bill advised that they should at once explore it, observing that though, even at spring-tide, with the wind off shore, the water might not reach to where they sat; yet should a gale blow from the northward, it might drive the waves far up the cavern, and expose them to great danger. "we cannot tell what may happen," he said, "and it's as well to be prepared for the worst. besides, if the soldiers come to look for us, they may find the mouth of the cavern, and make their way some distance in, but if they do not discover us they'll fancy we are not here, and go away again as wise as they came." jack saw the wisdom of this proposal. they accordingly groped their way on, aided by the light, which, though dim, pervaded the part of the cavern they had reached. every now and then they stopped, and, on looking back, could still see the entrance, with the bright sea beyond it. at length they came to a rock, which seemed to stop their further progress; but, feeling about them, found that the cavern made a turn here to the left. they now proceeded with the greatest caution, for fear of coming to some hole down which they might fall. "if we had a torch we might see what sort of a place we have got to," observed jack. "but we haven't got a torch, and no chance of getting one; and so we must find out by making good use of our hands," answered bill. "we must move slowly on, and feel every inch of the way, putting out one hand before we lift up the other." they were groping forward on their hands and knees, and were in total darkness; still, as they looked back, there was a faint glimmer of light, which appeared round the corner of the rock, and this would enable them to find their way back again. hitherto they had met only with smooth rock, gently inclining upwards; possibly it might lead them, if they went on long enough, to the top of the cliff, though they hoped that there was no opening in that direction. here, at all events, they thought that they should be secure, even should their pursuers enter the cavern. as they were getting hungry, they agreed to go back and eat their breakfast in daylight near the spring, which would afford them a draught of cool water. they returned as they had come, feeling their way along the rock. just before they reached the turning in the cavern, they discovered a recess which would hold both of them; and they agreed to make it their hiding-place should the soldiers by any chance come to look for them. without much difficulty they got back to the spot where they had slept, which was close to the stream. here they sat down, and produced the provisions which they had brought from the tower. on examining their stock, they calculated that they had sufficient to last them for a couple of days. "when that's gone, what shall we do?" asked jack. "we must try to pick up some shell-fish from the rocks," answered bill. "the soldiers by that time will have got tired of looking for us, and if any persons from the top of the cliffs see us they won't know who we are, and will fancy we are fisher-boys getting bait. perhaps before that time a smuggling lugger may come off here, and we may manage to hail her before we run short of food; at all events, there's no use being frightened about what may happen." every now and then one or the other went towards the mouth of the cave to look out. as long as the tide remained high there was no danger of their being discovered; but at low water the french soldiers were very likely to come along the sands, and could scarcely fail to see the mouth of the cavern. the tide was now rapidly going down, black rocks appearing one by one above the surface. they accordingly determined to retire to the inner part of the cavern, and to wait there till they calculated that the tide would once more have come in. "we must make up our minds to enjoy six hours of daylight, and to endure six of darkness," observed bill. "i sha'n't care much about that; we can but go to sleep and amuse ourselves the best way we can think of while the tide is in," said jack. "if we had some hooks and lines we might fish," said bill. "we should only catch rock fish, and they are not fit to eat," replied jack. the boys carried out their plan. it was an easy matter to get through the sleeping-time, but they became somewhat weary from having nothing to do during the period that the tide was in. they could do little more, indeed, than sit looking at the sea, and watching the few vessels which appeared in the offing. now and then they got up and walked about to stretch their legs. they were afraid of bathing, lest while swimming about they might be seen from any part of the cliff above. whether the soldiers had come to look for them they could not tell; one thing was certain, they had not been discovered, and there were no signs of any persons having approached the mouth of the cavern. they husbanded their food, but it was rapidly diminishing. at night they therefore, when the tide had gone out, crept down on the sands, and managed to cut off some limpets and other shell-fish with their knives from the rocks. these would have sustained them for some days had they been able to cook them, but they had no means of lighting a fire. though limpets may help to keep body and soul together for a short time, they are not wholesome food, especially when raw. their bread was all gone, but as long as they had some figs and cheese they got down the limpets very well; but both figs and cheese came to an end, and they both felt that they were getting very weak. "if we don't take care we shall starve," said bill. "we must do something or other. i don't see anything but trying to get on board a lugger, as we talked of; but then in searching for her we should run the chance of being made prisoners again." "you must come round to my plan, and run off with a boat of some sort," said jack. "that's just what i cannot do," said bill. "it's either that or starving," said jack. "we should have to get food first, even if we did run off with a boat," observed bill. "it would never do to put to sea without something to eat. i'll tell you what i'll do. i'll try and make my way back to captain turgot's. it cannot be far from this. i'll ask them to give us some food. they are sure to do that, though they might not like hiding us; and perhaps they might tell us of some boat in which we could get off without the owner being the worse for the loss. if you'll stay here, i'll go this very evening as soon as the tide is out. i calculate that i should have time to get there and back before the flood is up; and i'm not afraid of being refused, at all events." jack wanted to go too; but bill urged that one was less likely to be discovered than two, and that it would be better for him to go alone. jack at last agreed to this, and directly the sand appeared below the mouth of the cavern, bill set out. chapter nine. visit to captain turgot's cottage. as it was growing dusk, bill had no fear of being seen as he made his way from the cavern. he felt rather weak, but he had a brave heart, and pushed on. he had some rough rocks to climb over, and others he managed to get round, walking through the water where it was not too deep. sooner than he expected he reached the bay near which the turgots' cottage was situated. to avoid the other cottages and huts he had to make a wide circuit. he cautiously crept up towards the back of his friends' dwelling; then, keeping close to the wall, he looked in through the window of the room in which the family generally sat. jeannette was alone, spinning as usual, but looking somewhat pensive. bill tapped at the window, and jeannette looked up. "may i come in?" he asked in french. jeannette came to the window. "who are you?" she inquired. "what! don't you know me?" said bill. "ah! one of the young englishmen!" she exclaimed; and she opened the window. bill jumped in. "i am so happy to see you!" she cried. "where have you come from? and your friend jack, where is he? have you both escaped from the soldiers? we thought you were in prison long ago;" and jeannette put so many questions that bill had great difficulty in answering them. he, however, soon contrived to let her know all that had happened, and then inquired for her father and mother and brother. "mother is in bed, quite ill," she said; "she was so frightened by the soldiers, expecting to be carried off to prison, that she has not got over it. my father and pierre are out fishing. i expect them home before midnight, but they said that they should be out later than usual." "i should like to stop and see them," said bill; "but in the meantime, can you give me something to eat? i am nearly starved." "of course," cried jeannette; and she quickly placed some food before bill, which he as quickly attacked. "well, you are hungry!" she observed, "but eat away. i wish i had known before how near you were to us, and i would have brought you provisions." "can you bring them to us now?" asked bill. "if we do not manage to get off, we shall soon be hungry again." "of course i will," she answered; "but it would not be safe for me to bring them all the way to the cave. i know, however, a place much nearer this where i could hide them, and you can come and fetch them." "but how am i to know the place?" asked bill. "i will describe it to you," answered jeannette. "you remarked, as you came along, a break in the cliff, with a stream running down the bottom. on the right side of the stream, about ten feet from high-water mark, there is a small hollow just large enough for one person to creep in. i took shelter there once when i was a little girl, having been caught in a storm as i was rambling along the sands so i remember it well." bill thought he could find the place, and would look for it as he went back. jeannette promised to bring a basket every other day, directly the morning tide went down, so that bill would know exactly when to go and fetch the food. he thanked her very much, and promised to follow her directions. he then asked her about a boat, but she could say nothing till her father and pierre returned. they might know of one, but as there was very small chance of her ever being restored to her owner, while the boys were not likely to have the means of paying for her, she was doubtful. "as to that," said bill, "we shall have plenty of prize-money. i hope to pay for her over and over again; and i will promise most faithfully to do so." jeannette smiled, for she thought that there was very little probability of the two young ship-boys ever getting prize-money sufficient to pay for such a boat as they required, to make a voyage across the channel. bill was anxious to get back to poor jack, who he remembered was well-nigh starving. jeannette would have accompanied him part of the way, but she had to remain at home to receive captain turgot and pierre. she had, in the meantime, packed a basket with provisions for jack and himself, that they might be independent for a couple of days. he therefore jumped up, and, begging her to remember him very kindly to the others, he bade her farewell, and, with the basket on his arm, slipped out of the house as cautiously as he had entered. he had noted every object as he came along, so that he had no difficulty in making his way back. he also easily discovered the small cave described by jeannette. it was at a convenient distance from the large cavern, and, as a path led near it, should jeannette be perceived, it might be supposed that she was making her way to the top of the cliff. bill did not stop longer than was necessary to examine the place to be certain of being able to find it again, as he knew that jack would be anxiously waiting for him. he hurried on, therefore, and in a short time reached the beach below the cavern. climbing up, he called out, "all right, jack!" but jack did not answer. he called again, but still there was no reply, and he began to feel very anxious. had the soldiers been there and carried off his companion? or had jack died of starvation? jeannette had thoughtfully put a tinder-box, flint and steel, and a couple of candles into the basket. after feeling his way on for some distance, he stopped and lighted one of the candles. the faint light gave the cavern a wild, strange appearance, so that he could scarcely have known where he was. he looked round on every side, but could nowhere see jack; he became more and more alarmed; still he did not give up all hope of finding him. again and again he called out "jack!" at length a faint voice came from the interior. he hurried on. there lay jack on the ground. "is that you, bill?" he asked, in a low voice. "i was afraid you were caught. i fancied i heard voices, and crept away, intending to get into our hiding-place, when i fell down, and i suppose i must have gone to sleep, for i remember nothing more till i heard you calling to me. have you brought any food?" "yes," said bill; "sit up and eat as much as you can; it will do you good, and you will soon be all to rights." jack did not require a second invitation, but munched away at the bread and cheese, and dried fish and figs, with right good will, showing that he could not have been so very ill after all. he quickly regained his strength and spirits, and listened eagerly to what bill had to tell him. "well, it's a comfort to think that we are not likely to be starved," he observed; "and i will bless miss jeannette as long as i live. i wish we could do something to show her how much obliged we are. and now, bill, what about the boat? is there a chance of our getting one?" "a very poor chance at present, i am afraid," answered bill. "jeannette, however, will let us know if her father and brother can find one to suit our purpose, or if a smuggling lugger comes into the harbour." "we'll have, after all, to do as i proposed, and take one without asking the owner's leave," said jack. "i tell you it will be perfectly fair. the french are at war with us, and we have a right to take any of their property we can find, whether afloat or on shore." "that may be, but i can't get it out of my head that we shall be robbing some poor fellow who may have to depend on his boat for supporting himself and his family," answered bill. they argued the point as before, till bill proposed that they should lie down and go to sleep, as he felt tired after his long walk. they allowed two days to pass, when bill set off as agreed on to obtain the provisions he hoped jeannette would have brought. she had not deceived him; there was an ample supply, and two or three more candles. several more days passed by. jeannette regularly brought them provisions, but she left no note to tell them of any arrangements which her father had made. they were becoming very weary of their life, for they had nothing whatever to do--no books to read, and not even a stick to whittle. the weather had hitherto been fine, the cavern was warm and comfortable, and the dry sand afforded them soft beds. they might certainly have been very much worse off. bill always went to fetch the food from the cave where jeannette left it. he had hitherto not met her, which he was anxious to do, to learn what chance there was of obtaining a boat. she, however, was always before him, the fact being that the path from her house to the cave was practicable before that from the large cavern was open. "i don't quite like the look of the weather," observed bill one day to jack, just before the time jeannette was due at the little cave, and all their provisions were expended. "if it comes on very bad she may be stopped, and we shall be pressed. i'll slip down the moment the water is shallow enough, and try to get along the shore; and if she has not reached the cave, i'll go on and meet her." bill at once put his resolution into practice. he did not mind wetting his feet; but he had here and there a hard job to save himself from being carried off by the sea, which rolled up the beach to the very foot of the cliff. twice he had to cling to a rock, and frequently to wade for some distance, till he began to regret that he had ventured so soon; but having made up his mind to do a thing, he was not to be defeated by the fear of danger; so waiting till the wave had receded, he rushed on to another rock. the sky had become overcast. the leaden seas, foam-crested, came rolling in with increasing force, and had not the tide been on the ebb his position would have been perilous in the extreme. he knew, however, that every minute would make his progress less difficult; so with a brave heart he pushed on. at last he reached the little cave by the side of the gorge. it was empty! he knew, therefore, that jeannette had not been there. according to his previous determination, he went on to meet her, hoping that before this she might have set out. the rain now began to fall, and the wind blew with fitful gusts. he did not care for either himself, but he was sorry that jeannette should be exposed to the storm. he felt nearly sure that she would come, in spite of it. if not, he made up his mind to wait till dark, and then to go on to her cottage. there was no great risk in doing so, as the soldiers would long before this have given up their search for him and jack. he had gone some distance, and the fishing village would soon be in sight, when he saw a figure coming towards him, wrapped in a cloak. hoping that it was jeannette, he hurried forward to meet her. he was not mistaken. bill told her that he had come on that she might be saved from a longer exposure to the rain than was necessary. "thank you," she answered. "i was delayed, or i should have set off earlier, but a party of soldiers came to the village pretending that they wanted to buy fish. i, however, suspected that they came to look for you, and i waited till they had gone away again. we sold them all the fish they asked for, and put on an unconcerned look, as if suspecting nothing, i saw them, however, prying about, and i recognised one of them as the sergeant who came in command of the party which carried you off. i am not at all certain, either, that they will not return, and i should not have ventured out, had i not known that you must be greatly in want of food, and that, perhaps, should the storm which is now beginning increase, many days might pass before i could supply you." the information given by jeannette made bill very glad that he had come on to meet her. he, of course, thanked her warmly, and then asked what chance there was of obtaining a boat. "my father wishes you well, but is afraid to interfere in the matter," she answered. "he does not, perhaps, enter into your feelings about getting back to england, because he thinks france the best country of the two, and sees no reason why you should not become frenchmen. as the detachment of soldiers quartered in the neighbourhood will soon, probably, be removed, you may then come back without fear, and resume the clothes you before wore, and live with us, and help my father and brother; then who knows what may happen? you will not have to fight your own countrymen, and the war may some day come to an end, or perhaps the french may conquer the english, and then we shall all be very good friends again." "never! jeannette; that will never happen," exclaimed bill. "you are very kind to us, and we are very fond of you, and would do anything to serve you, and show our gratitude, but don't say that again." jeannette laughed. "dear me, how fiery you are!" she exclaimed. "however, it's foolish to stop talking here, and i ought to hurry home, in case the soldiers should pay us another visit and suspect something. do not be angry, my dear bill. i did not wish to offend you; only, you know, we each think our own country the best." bill assured jeannette that he was not angry, and again thanked her very much, though he could not help saying that he was sorry her father would not obtain the boat for them. "well, well, you must have patience," she answered. "now go back to your cave as fast as you can, or you will be wet to the skin." "i am that already," answered bill, laughing; "but it's a trifle to which i am well accustomed." once more they shook hands, and exchanging baskets. jeannette, drawing her cloak around her, hurried back to the village, while bill made the best of his way to the cavern. he was now able, in spite of the wind, to get along where he had before found it difficult to pass. in one or two places only did the waves rolling up wash round his feet, but the water was not of sufficient depth to carry him off, and he gained the mouth of the cavern in safety. jack was eagerly looking out for him, and both of them being very sharp set, they lost no time in discussing some of the contents of the basket. as they looked out they saw that the wind had greatly increased. a heavy north-westerly gale was blowing. it rushed into the cavern filled with spray from off the now distant foam-tipped waves. what it would do when the tide was again high was a matter of serious consideration. "we shall have to go as far back as we can," observed bill, "and the sooner we pick out a safe berth the better. i should like, too, to get my wet clothes off, for the wind makes me feel very cold." jack was of the same opinion, and he taking up the basket, they groped their way to the inner cave round the rock, where it turned, as before described, to the left. here they were completely sheltered from the wind, and had it not been for the loud roar of the waves beating on the shore, and the howling of the gale in the outer cavern, they would not have been aware that a storm was raging outside. they had, it should have been said, collected a quantity of drift wood, which jack had thoughtfully employed himself in carrying to the spot where they were now seated. as they could not possibly run any risk of being detected, they agreed to light a fire, which they had hitherto avoided doing. they soon had a cheerful one blazing up, and it made them feel much more comfortable. bill was able to dry his wet clothes, and by its light they could now take a better survey of their abode than they had hitherto done. the cavern was here not more than eight or ten feet in height, but it was nearly thirty broad, and penetrated, so it seemed to them, far away into the interior of the cliff. "i vote we have a look and see where the cave leads to," said bill, taking up a long piece of fir-wood which burnt like a torch. jack provided himself with another of a similar character, and, by waving them about, they found that they could keep them alight. they also took one of their candles and their match-box in case their torches should go out. having raked their fire together, so that it might serve as a beacon to assist them in their return, they set out. the ground rose as they had before supposed when they explored it in the dark, but the roof continued of the same height above it. suddenly jack started. "what is that?" he exclaimed, seizing his companion's arm. "there's a man! or is it a ghost? oh bill!" chapter ten. discovery of the smugglers' treasure. bill waved his torch on one side and peered forward. "it looks like a man, but it doesn't move. it's only a figure, jack," he answered. "i'm not afraid of it. come on! we'll soon see what it is." jack was ashamed of lagging behind, and accompanied him. the object which had frightened jack was soon discovered to be merely a stalactite--a mass of hardened water. similar formations now appeared on both sides of the cavern, some hanging from the roof, others in the form of pillars and arches; indeed, the whole cavern looked like the interior of a gothic building in ruins. other figures still more strange were seen, as if starting out from recesses or doorways on both sides. "well! this is a strange place. i never saw or heard of anything like it," exclaimed jack, when he found how harmless all the ghosts really were. in many places the roof and sides shone and glittered as if covered with precious stones. even bill began to fancy that they had got into some enchanted cavern. the ground was covered in most places with the same substance, and so rough that they could make but slow progress. they were about to turn back for fear of their torches going out when they reached a low archway. curiosity prompted them to enter, which they could do by stooping down. after going a short distance they found themselves in a still larger cavern, almost circular, like a vast hall, the roof and sides ornamented by nature in the same curious fashion, though still more profusely. "it won't do to stop here," said bill, "but we'll come back again and have another look at it with fresh torches. hallo! what's that?" jack started as he had before done, as if he were not altogether comfortable in his mind. he had never heard anything about enchanted caverns, but a strange dread had seized him. he had an idea that the place must be the abode of ghosts or spirits of some sort, and that bill had seen one. bill hurrying forward, the light of his torch fell on a pile composed of bales and chests, and casks, and various other articles. the place had evidently been used as a store-room by persons who must have considered that it was not likely to be discovered. as their torches were by this time nearly burnt out, they could not venture to stop and examine the goods, but had to hurry back as fast as they could. they had managed to get through the narrow passage, and had made some progress in their return, when both of them were obliged to let their torches drop, as they could no longer hold them without burning their hands. they might have lighted their candles, had they been in any difficulty, but their fire enabled them to find their way along, though they stumbled frequently over the inequalities of the ground, and once or twice jack clutched bill's arm, exclaiming, "sure! there's some one! i saw him move! can any of the soldiers have come to look for us?" "not with such a storm as there is now raging outside," answered bill. "it was only one of the marble figures." presently jack again cried out, "there! i saw another moving. i'm sure of it this time. it's a ghost if it isn't a man." "well! if it is a ghost it won't hurt us," answered bill; "but the only ghosts hereabouts are those curious figures, which can't move from their places. for my part, i don't believe there are such things as ghosts at all going about to frighten people. the only one i ever heard tell of was `the cock lane ghost', and that was found out to be a sham long ago." jack regained his courage as they approached the fire, and both being pretty well tired, they were glad to sit down and talk about the wonderful store of goods they had discovered. jack was afraid that the owners might come back to look for their property and discover them, but bill was of opinion that they had been placed there by a party of smugglers, who had gone away and been lost without telling any one where they had stowed their goods. from the appearance of the bales and chests he thought that they had been there for some time. another visit would enable them to ascertain this, and they resolved to make it without delay. they were becoming very sleepy, for they had been many hours on foot and the night was far advanced. before lying down, however, bill said he wished to see how the storm was getting on. it was making a dreadful uproar in the cavern, and he wanted to ascertain what chance there was of the waves washing in. there was not much risk, to be sure, of their reaching as far as they then were, but it was as well to be on the safe side, and if there was a likelihood of it they would move farther up and carry their provisions and store of fuel with them, the only property they possessed. they set out together, jack keeping a little behind bill for though he was as brave as any lad need be in the daylight, or out at sea, he did not somehow, he confessed, feel like himself in that dark cavern, filled with the roaring, howling, shrieking noises caused by the gale. they got on very well till they rounded the rock, when they met a blast, driving a sheet of fine spray in their faces, which well-nigh blinded them, and forced them back. they notwithstanding made their way for some distance, till bill began to think that it would be wise to go no farther. every now and then a bright glare filled the cavern, caused by the flashes of lightning darting from the clouds; while, as each sea rolled in, the whole mouth was filled as it were by a sheet of foaming water, part of which, striking the roof, fell back into the ocean, while a portion rushed up the floor, almost to where they were standing. "it's bad enough now," shouted jack, for they could only make each other hear by speaking at the top of their voices. "what will it be when it's high tide?" "perhaps it won't be much worse than it is now," answered bill. "we shall be safe enough at our hiding-place, and if it gets up much higher it will give us notice of its coming, and allow us to retreat in good time." they accordingly got back to their fire, the embers of which enabled them to dry their clothes. they then lay down, and, in spite of the storm and the hubbub it was creating, were soon fast asleep. had it not been for feeling very hungry, they might have slept on till past noon of the next day. awaking, they found their fire completely gone out. what o'clock it was they could not tell. they were in total darkness, while the tempest roared away as loudly as ever. they, however, lighted a candle, and ate some breakfast. to wash it down they had to get water from the spring, which was so much nearer the entrance of the cavern. they accordingly put out their candle, and groped their way round the rock. on seeing light streaming through the entrance, they knew that at all events it was no longer night. the sea was rising over the ledge at the mouth, tossing and tumbling with foam-topped billows, and rolling up along the floor of the cavern in a seething mass of froth. they saw how high it had come, and had no reason to fear that it would rise farther. they now made their way to the spring, and drank heartily. "we ought to be thankful that we are in so snug a place," observed bill; "but i tell you, we must take care not to eat up all our food in a hurry, or we may find it a hard matter to get more. the wind appears to have driven the sea over on this shore, and i doubt whether we shall be able to make our way along the beach even at low water." jack did not at all like the idea of starving, but he saw that it would be wise to follow bill's advice. they had food enough to last them for three days, as jeannette had put up a double allowance; but the gale might blow much longer than that, and then what should they do? "it's no use troubling ourselves too much about the matter till the time comes," observed bill; "only we must be careful not to eat more than is necessary to keep body and soul together." as they had found a fire very useful and pleasant, they went down as close as they could venture to the water, and employed themselves in collecting all the driftwood and chips they could find. they agreed that they would do the same every day, so as to have a good stock of fuel. they wanted also to secure some pieces which might serve as torches, so that they could examine the smugglers' store as they called it, which they had discovered. they carried their wood and placed it on the soft warm sand, where it would dry more rapidly, for in its present state it would not serve to kindle a fire. they had, however, some dry pieces which would answer that purpose, and they judged rightly that they might place the damp wood on the top of their fire, when it would burn in time. most of the day was employed in this manner. even after the tide went out they found a number of pieces washed up along the sides of the cavern. the seas, however, rolled so far up the beach that they were afraid of descending, or they might have obtained much more. when it grew dark they returned to their camp, lighted the fire, and made themselves comfortable. it was difficult to keep to their resolution of eating only a very little food, and bill had to stop jack before he thought he had had half enough. "i don't want to stint you," he said, "but recollect you will be crying out when our stock comes to an end, and wishing you had not eaten it." as they had had so long a sleep, neither of them was inclined to turn in; and bill proposed that they should examine the smugglers' store. they had several pieces of wood which they thought would burn as the first had done, and each taking three, with a candle to be used in case of emergency, they set out. they found their way easily enough; but jack, as before, did not feel quite comfortable as he saw the strange figures, which seemed to be flitting about the sides of the cavern; sometimes, too, he fancied that he detected faces grinning down upon him from the roof, and more than once he declared positively that he had caught sight of a figure robed in white stealing along in front of them. bill each time answered with a laugh. "never mind. we shall catch it up if it's a ghost, and we'll make it carry a torch and go ahead to light us." as they moved on more rapidly than before, they were able to reach the inner cavern before either of their torches was much more than half burned through. they thought it wiser to keep both alight at a time, in case one should accidentally go out, and they should be unable to light it again with a match. with feelings of intense curiosity they approached the smugglers' store. both agreed, as they examined it, that the goods must have been there for some time; but the place being very dry (probably it was chosen on that account), they did not appear to be much damaged. the goods, as far as they could judge, were english. there were many bales of linen and cloth. one of the cases which they forced open contained cutlery, and another was full of pistols; and from the weight of several which they did not attempt to open, they judged that they also contained firearms. there were two small chests placed on the top of the others. they were strongly secured; but by means of a sharp stone, which served as a chisel, and another as a hammer, they managed to break one of them open. what was their surprise to find the case full of gold pieces! they had little doubt that the other also contained money. they, neither of them, had ever seen so much gold before. "what shall we do with it?" cried jack. "there's enough here to let mother live like a lady till the end of her days, without going to sell fish at the market." "it is not ours, it belongs to somebody," said bill. "that somebody will never come to claim it," answered jack. "depend on it, he's gone to the bottom, or ended his days somehow long ago, or he would have come back before this. these goods have been here for months, or years maybe, by the look of the packages; and depend on it the owners would not have let them stay where they are, if they could have come back to fetch them away." "but gold pieces won't help us to buy food while we are shut up in the cavern. a few dutch cheeses, with a cask of biscuits, would have been of more value," observed bill. "you are right," said jack. "still, i vote that we fill our pockets, so that if we have to hurry away, and have no time to came back here, we may carry some of the gold with us." bill could not make up his mind to do this. the gold was not theirs, of that he felt sure, and jack could not persuade him to overcome the principle he had always stuck to, of not taking, under any circumstances, what was not lawfully his own. if the owners were dead, it belonged to their heirs. jack did not see this so clearly. the money had been lost, and they had found it, and having found it, they had a right to it. they must not, however, lose time by arguing the point. jack put a handful or two of the money into his pocket. bill kept his fingers out of the box; he did not want the money, and he had no right to it. there were several other articles they had not examined, among which were some small casks. jack, finding that his torch was almost burning his fingers, was obliged to let it drop. before he lighted another, however, bill's torch affording sufficient light for the purpose, he managed to knock in the head of one of the small casks, which he found filled with little black grains. he tasted them. "keep away, bill--keep away!" he shouted, in an agitated tone, "this is gunpowder!" had jack held his torch a few seconds longer in his hand, he and bill would have been blown to atoms--the very cavern itself would have been shattered, to the great astonishment of the neighbouring population, who would, however, never have discovered the cause of the explosion, although jeannette turgot might have guessed at it. "it's a mercy we didn't blow ourselves up," said jack. "i was just going to take my torch to look at these casks." he hunted about for all of the same description, and rolled them into a place by themselves. "we must take care what we are about if we come here again with torches," he said. bill agreed with him. after all, of what use to them was the treasure they had discovered. the cloth and linen were much more serviceable, as they could make bedding of them. "i don't see why we should not try to make jackets and trousers for ourselves," observed bill. "this cloth will be fine stuff for the purpose, and as the cold weather is coming on we shall be glad of some warm clothing." "but how are we going to make them?" asked jack. "the linen will serve us for thread, and i must see about making some needles of wood if we can't get anything better," answered bill. "however, we'll think about that by-and-by; it's time to return to our camp, we may be left in the dark." they accordingly loaded themselves with as much of the linen and cloth as they could carry, cutting off pieces with their knives. they could return, they agreed, for more if this was not enough. bill was not quite consistent in taking the cloth when he would not touch the money, but it did not occur to him for a moment that he was wrong in appropriating it, or he would have refused to do so. had he argued the point, he would have found it very difficult to settle. one thing was certain, that the owners were never likely to make any complaint on the subject. they got back to their fire without much difficulty, and having raked it together, and put on fresh wood, they made their beds with the cloth they had brought, said their prayers in a thankful spirit, and slept far more comfortably than they had done since they had taken possession of the cavern. chapter eleven. the wreck. by the roaring sound they heard when they awoke, the lads knew that the storm was still raging. they ate sparingly of their store of food for breakfast; and then calculating that it must be once more daylight, they made their way towards the mouth of the cavern. they were not mistaken as to its being day, but how long the sun had risen they could not tell, as the sky was still thickly overcast with clouds. the sea was washing, as before, heavily into the cavern, throwing up all sorts of articles, among which were a number of oranges, melons, and other fruits of a southern clime. the melons were mostly broken, but they got hold of two unbroken, and very welcome they were. the oranges were mostly green, though a few had turned sufficiently red to be eaten. "i would rather have had more substantial food," observed jack; "but i am glad enough to get these." "what's that?" asked bill, pointing to the opposite side of the cavern, where a creature was seen struggling in a hollow half filled with water. jack dashed across at the risk of being carried off by the receding sea; and, grasping a large fish, held it up as he rushed away to escape from the following wave, which came rolling in with a loud roar. "here's a prize worth having," he shouted. "hurrah! we may spend another week here without fear of starving." he carried his prize well out of the reach of the water, and a knock on the head put an end to its struggles. the lads piled up their various waifs, contemplating them with infinite satisfaction; but it was evident that what was their gain was somebody else's loss. "some unfortunate ship has gone on shore, or else has thrown her cargo overboard," observed bill. he went first to one side of the cavern, and then to the other, so as to obtain as wide a prospect as possible. "see! there's a vessel trying to beat off shore," he exclaimed; and just then a brig with her foretopmast gone came into view, the sail which she was still able to carry heeling her over till her yard-arms seemed almost to touch the foaming summits of the seas. "she'll not do it, i fear," said jack, after they had been watching her for some time. "it's a wonder she doesn't go right over. if the wind doesn't fall, nothing can save her; and even then, unless she brings up and her anchors hold, she's sure to be cast on shore." they watched the vessel for some time. though carrying every stitch of canvas she could set, she appeared to be making little headway, and to be drifting bodily to leeward. the lads uttered a cry of regret, for down came her mainmast, and immediately her head turned towards the shore. in a few minutes she struck, though no rock was visible, and the sea swept over her deck, carrying her remaining mast, boats, caboose, and round-house overboard, with every person who could be seen. in an instant, several human forms were discernible struggling in the seething waters alongside, but they quickly disappeared. "they are all gone," cried jack; "not one that i can see has escaped." "perhaps some were below," observed bill. "if they were, it won't much matter, for in a few minutes she will go to pieces." he was mistaken as to the latter point, for another sea rolling in, lifted the vessel, and driving over the ledge on which she had first struck, carried her between some dark rocks, till she stuck fast on the sandy shore. had the people been able to cling to her till now, some might possibly have been saved, but they had apparently all been on deck when the vessel struck, and been swept away by the first sea which rolled over her. the seas still continued to sweep along her deck, but their force was partly broken by the rocks, and being evidently a stout vessel, she hung together. it was at the time nearly high-water, and the lads longed for the tide to go down, that they might examine her nearer. "even if anybody is alive on board, we cannot help them," observed jack; "so i vote that we take our fish to the camp, and have some dinner. i am very sharp set, seeing that we had no breakfast to speak of." bill, who had no objection to offer, agreed to this; so carrying up their newly-obtained provisions, they soon had a fire lighted, and some of the fish broiling away before it. the fate of the unfortunate vessel formed the subject of their conversation. "i have an idea," cried bill. "it's an ill wind that brings no one good luck. if we can manage to get on board that craft which has come on shore, we might build a boat out of her planking, or at all events a raft; and should the wind come from the southward, we might manage to get across the channel, or be picked up by some vessel or other. we are pretty sure to find provisions on board. perhaps one of her boats may have escaped being knocked to pieces, and we could repair her. at all events, it will be our own fault if that wreck doesn't give us the opportunity of escaping." jack listened to all bill was saying. "i cannot agree with you as to the chance of getting off," he observed. "as soon as the wreck is seen, the frenchmen are sure to be down on the shore, and we shall be caught and carried back to prison instead of getting away. the boats are pretty certain to have been knocked into shreds before this, and as to building a boat, that is what neither you nor i can do, even if we had the tools, and where are they to come from?" "perhaps we shall find them on board," said bill. "the vessel has held together till now, and i don't see why she should not hold together till the storm is over. `where there's a will there's a way,' and i don't see that we have so bad a chance of getting off." "well, i'll help you. you can show me what we had best do," said jack. "i am not going to draw back on account of the risk. all must depend on the weather. if the wind comes off shore, and the sea goes down, i should say that our best chance would be to build a raft. we can do that, if we can only find an axe and a saw, and we might get launched before the frenchmen find out the wreck. the first thing we have to do is to get on board, and when we are there, we must keep a bright look-out to see that none of the natives are coming along the shore to trap us." the lads, having come to this resolution, hurried back to the entrance of the cave. they forgot all about the smugglers' stores, and their intention of making clothes for themselves; indeed, they only thought of getting on board the vessel. they watched eagerly for the tide to go down. the day passed by and the night came on, but the clouds clearing away, a bright moon shed her light over the scene. the wind had also sensibly decreased, and the waves rolled in with far less fury than before. the water, however, seemed to them a long time moving off; still it was evidently going down. rock after rock appeared, and looking over the ledge they could see the sand below them. knowing full well that the water would not again reach the beach it had once left till the return of the tide, they leaped down without hesitation, and began to make their way in the direction of the vessel. they had again to wait, however, for, as they pushed eagerly forward, a sheet of foam from a wave which came rolling up nearly took them off their legs. they retreated a short distance, and in a few minutes were able to pass the spot over the uncovered sand. on and on they pressed, now advancing, now having to retreat, till they stood abreast of the vessel. the water still surrounded her, and was too deep to wade through. they looked round on every side, but not a trace of a boat could be discovered, though fragments of spars and the bulwarks of the vessel strewed the beach. among the spars they found two whole ones, which they secured. "these will help us to get on board if we find no ropes hanging over the side," observed bill; "or they will enable us to withstand the sea should it catch us before we can climb up." they now advanced more boldly. the vessel lay over on her bilge, with her deck partly turned towards the shore, the sea, after she struck, having driven her round. they waded up to her, for their impatience did not permit them to wait till the water had entirely receded. the risk they ran of being carried off was considerable, but, dashing forward, they planted the spars against the side. bill swarmed up first, jack followed, and the deck was gained. scarcely were jack's feet out of the water, when a huge sea came rolling up, which would inevitably have carried him off. they knew that they had no time to lose, for the wreck once seen from the shore, crowds of people were certain to visit it to carry off the cargo. the after-part of the vessel was stove in, and nothing remained in the cabin; but the centre part, though nearly full of water, was unbroken. the water, however, was rushing out like a mill-stream, both at the stern and through some huge holes in the bows. nothing whatever remained on deck. the lads plunged down below, and gained the spar-deck, which was already out of the water. here the first object their eyes alighted on was a chest. it was the carpenter's, and contained axes, and saws, and nails, and tools of all sorts. there were a good many light spars and planks stowed on one side. "here we have materials for a raft at hand!" cried bill. "we must build one; for i agree with you, jack, that there's no use in attempting a boat. it would take too much time, even if we could succeed in making her watertight." "i said so," replied jack. "i wish we had some grub, though; perhaps there's some for'ard. i'll go and find it if i can." jack made his way into the forepeak, while bill was cutting free the lashings, and dragging out the spars. jack returned in a short time with some cold meat, and biscuit, and cheese. "see! we can dine like lords," he exclaimed; "and we shall be better able to work after it." they sat down on the chest, and ate the provisions with good appetites. bill cast a thought on the fate of the poor fellows to whom the food had belonged; their bodies now washing about in the breakers outside. every now and then they alternately jumped up, and looked east and west, and to the top of the cliff, to ascertain if any one was coming. the vessel had been driven on shore out of sight of both the villages, or they would not have been left long alone. it was to be hoped that no one would come along the cliff and look down upon the wreck. their meal over, they set to work to plan their raft. they were obliged to labour on deck, as they could not hoist it up through the hold, or they would have preferred keeping out of sight. it would be a hard job to launch it, but that they hoped to do by fastening tackles at either side leading to the ring bolts on deck. as there were no bulwarks to stop them, they laid the foundation, or, as they called it, the keel, projecting slightly over the side. they would thus have only to shove it forward and tip it up to launch it. their plan was to form an oblong square, then to put on bows at one end; and two pieces crossing each other with a short upright between them, on which to support the steering oar. the interior of the framework they strengthened by two diagonal braces. they lashed and nailed a number of crosspieces close together, and on the top of the whole they nailed down all the planks they could find, which were sufficient to form a good flooring to their raft. they discovered also a number of small brandy casks, which they immediately emptied of their contents, letting the spirits flow without compunction into the water, and then again tightly bunged them down. they fastened ropes around the casks, with which, when the raft was launched, they could secure them to either side, to give it greater buoyancy. they also brought up a couple of sea-chests, which they intended to lash down to the centre, so as to afford them some protection from the sea, and at the same time to hold their provisions. bill was the chief suggester of all these arrangements, though jack ably carried them out. they worked like heroes, with all the energy they could command, for they felt that everything depended on their exertions. the night being bright, they were able to get on as well then as in the daytime. chapter twelve. a raft built--mysterious disappearance of jack peek. not till their raft was complete did the two boys think of again eating. they had been working, it must be remembered, for several hours since the meal they took soon after they got on board. having finished the beef and cheese, they lighted a couple of lanterns which they found hung up in the forepeak, and hunted about for more food. they discovered some casks of salt beef, and another of biscuits, a drum of cheese, and several boxes of dried fruit. they had thus no lack of provisions, but they did not forget the necessity of supplying themselves with a store of water. hunting about, they found two small vessels, which they filled from one of the water-casks. there were several oars below, three of which they took and placed in readiness on deck--one to steer with, and the other two for rowing. they had, lastly, to rig their raft. a fore-royal already bent was found in the sail-room, and a spar served as a mast. how to step it, and to secure it properly, was the difficulty, until bill suggested getting a third chest and boring a hole through the lid, and then, by making another hole through the bottom, the mast would be well stepped, and it was easy to set it up by means of a rope led forward and two shrouds aft. knowing exactly what they wanted to do, they did it very rapidly, and were perfectly satisfied with their performance. the tide must come up again, however, before they could launch their raft. it would not be safe to do that unless the wind was off shore and the water smooth. of this they were thoroughly convinced. some hours must also elapse before the hitherto tumultuous sea would go down; what should they do in the meantime? bill felt very unwilling to go away without wishing their friends the turgots good-bye. he wanted also to tell jeannette of the smugglers' store. the turgots, at all events, would have as good a right to it as any one else, should the proper owners not be in existence. jack did not want him to go. "you may be caught," he observed, "or some one may come down and discover the vessel, and if i am alone, even should the tide be high, i could not put off." "but there is no chance of the tide coming up for the next three hours, and i can go to the village and be back again long before that," answered bill. at last jack gave in. "well, be quick about it," he said; "we ought to be away at daylight, if the wind and the sea will let us; and if we don't, i'm afraid there will be very little chance of our getting off at all." bill promised without fail to return. there was no risk, he was sure, of being discovered, and it would be very ungrateful to the turgots to go away without trying to see them again. he wished that jack could have gone also, but he agreed that it was better for him to remain to do a few more things to the raft. before he started they arranged the tackles for launching it; and they believed that, when once in the water, it would not take them more than ten minutes or a quarter of an hour to haul the empty casks under the bottom and to step and set up the mast. they might then, should the wind be favourable, stand boldly out to sea. this being settled, bill lowered himself down on the sand by a rope, and ran off as fast as he could go. jack quickly finished the work he had undertaken; then putting his hand into his pocket, he felt the gold pieces. "it's a pity we shouldn't have more of these," he said to himself. "i don't agree with bill in that matter. if he does not care about them for himself, i do for him, and he shall have half." as he said this he emptied his pockets into one of the chests. "i shall want a lantern by-the-bye," he said; and springing below, he secured one with a fresh candle in it. having done this, he forthwith lowered himself, as bill had done, down on the sand, and quickly made his way to the cavern. he had left the basket with the tinder-box, and the remnant of their provisions at their camp, which he soon reached. his desire to obtain the gold overcame the fears he had before entertained of ghosts and spirits. having lighted his lantern he took up the basket, which had a cloth in it, and pushed forward. the pale light from his lantern, so different from that of a couple of blazing torches, made the objects around look strange and weird. he began not at all to like the appearance of things, and fancied at last that he must have got into a different part, of the cavern; still he thought, "i must have the gold. it would be so foolish to go away without it. it belongs to us as much as to anybody else, seeing that the owners are dead. their ghosts won't come to look for it, i hope. i wish i hadn't thought of that. i must be going right. it would have been much pleasanter if bill had been with me. why didn't i try to persuade him to stop?" such were the thoughts which passed through jack's mind; but he was a bold fellow, and did not like giving up what he had once determined on. he saw no harm in what he was doing; on the contrary, he was serving his friend bill as well as himself, or rather his mother, for he wanted the gold for her. in the meantime, bill was hurrying on towards the turgots' cottage. he should astonish them, he knew, by waking them up in the middle of the night, or rather so early in the morning; but they would appreciate his desire to wish them good-bye, and would be very much obliged to him for telling them of the treasure in the cavern. it would make their fortunes, and jeannette would be the richest heiress in the neighbourhood; for, of course, he would bargain that she should have a good share. there might be some difficulty in getting the goods away without being discovered, which would be a pity, as they were of as much value as the boxes of gold. however, he was doing what was right in giving them the opportunity of possessing themselves of the treasure, though he considered that he could not take it himself. he got round to the back door, under the room where pierre slept. he knew that he would not be out fishing then, as the weather would have prevented him. he knocked at once. no answer came. the third time, and he heard some one moving, and presently pierre sang out, "who's there?" "it's one you know; let me in," answered bill, in a low voice, for he was afraid of any one who might by chance be in the neighbourhood hearing him. pierre came downstairs and opened the door. bill explained all that had happened, except about the treasure. "you going away!" cried pierre. "it would be madness! you will only float about till another storm arises and you will be lost." "you don't know what we can do," answered bill. "we shall probably be picked up by one of our ships before we reach england; and, if not, we shall get on very well, provided the wind holds from the southward, and after the long course of northerly gales there's every chance of its doing that." "i must consult my father before i let you go," said pierre. "you would not keep us prisoners against our will," said bill, laughing, as if pierre could only be in joke. "come, call your mother and father and jeannette, and let me wish them good-bye. i haven't many minutes to stop, and i've got something to tell them, which i've a notion will be satisfactory." pierre went to his father and mother's and jeannette's rooms, and soon roused them up. they appeared somewhat in _deshabille_, and looked very astonished at being called out of their beds by the young englishman. "what is it all about?" asked captain turgot. "we are going away," replied bill, "but we could not go without again thanking you for all your kindness; and to show you that we are not ungrateful, i have to tell you how you can become a rich man in a few hours, without much trouble." on this bill described how they had found the smuggler's treasure. captain turgot and the dame held up their hands, uttering various exclamations which showed their surprise, mixed with no little doubt as to whether bill had not been dreaming. he assured them that he was stating a fact, and offered, if captain turgot and pierre would accompany him, to show them the place, as he thought that there would be time before daylight, when he and jack had determined to set sail. "i am sure he's speaking the truth," cried jeannette; "and it's very kind and generous of you, bill, to tell us of the treasure, when you might have carried it off yourself. i know of the cave, for i saw it once, when i was very nearly caught by the tide and drowned, though i don't think many people about here are acquainted with it; and very few, if any, have gone into the interior." captain turgot and pierre confessed that they had never seen it, though they had gone up and down the coast so often; but then, on account of the rocks, they had always kept a good distance out. at last bill and jeannette persuaded them that there really was such a cave; but on considering the hour, they came to the conclusion that the tide would come in before they could make their escape from it, and they would prefer going when the tide had again made out. bill, they thought, would only just have time to get on board the vessel, if he was determined to go. "but if you have so much gold, you could purchase a good boat," said captain turgot; "and that would be much better than making your voyage on a raft." bill acknowledged that such might be the case, but he was unwilling to risk any further delay. he trusted to his friends' honour to let him go as he had determined. he had come of his own accord to bid them farewell, and they would not really think of detaining him against his will. the fact, however, was that captain turgot doubted very much the truth of bill's story. had any band of smugglers possessed a hiding-place on that part of the coast, he thought that he should have known it, and he fancied that the young englishman must in some way or other have been deceived. "where is the gold you speak of?" he asked. "you surely must have secured some for yourself." bill replied that jack had, but that he had not wished to touch it. "then you give it to us, my young friend," said captain turgot; "where is the difference?" "no! i only tell you of it, that you may act as you think right. if you find out the owners, i hope you will restore it to them; but, at all events, it's frenchmen's money, and a frenchman has more right to it than i have." captain turgot did not quite understand bill's principles, though perhaps jeannette and pierre did. "well, well, my young friend, if go you must, i will not detain you. you and your companion will run a great risk of losing your lives, and i wish you would remain with us. to-morrow, as soon as the tide is out, pierre and i will visit the cavern, which, i think, from your description, we can find; and we will take lanterns and torches. again i say i wish you would wait, and if there is a prize to be obtained, that you would share it with us." jeannette and pierre also pressed bill to remain, but he was firm in his resolution of rejoining jack, and setting off at once. he was so proud of the raft they had made, that he would have been ready to go round the world on it, if it could be got to sail on a wind, and at all events he had not the slightest doubt about its fitness to carry him and jack across the channel. bill had already delayed longer than he intended, and once more bidding his friends good-bye, he set off for the wreck. he hurried along as fast as he could go, for he felt sure that at daybreak it would be seen, if not from the shore, from the sea, and that people would come and interfere with his and jack's proceedings. as he knew the way thoroughly, he made good progress. on getting abreast of the wreck, he looked out for jack, but could nowhere see him. the water was already coming round the vessel, and in a short time would be too deep to wade through. he thought that jack must have gone below, but he was afraid of giving a loud shout, lest his voice might be heard. he accordingly, without stopping, made his way on board. great was his alarm when he could nowhere discover jack. could he have gone to the cavern? or could he have been carried off? the latter was not probable, for had the stranded vessel been discovered, people would have remained in her. "he must have gone to the cavern, and to save time, i must follow him," he said to himself; and sliding down the rope, he made his way as fast as he could towards its mouth. he quickly climbed up, and hurried on as fast as he dare move in the dark, holding out his hands to avoid running against the sides, or to save himself should he fall. he knew that there were no pitfalls or other serious dangers, or he could not have ventured to move even so fast as he did. he shouted out as he went jack's name. "how foolish i was not to bring a lantern with me," he said. "jack is sure to have taken one if he went to get more gold, and that i suspect is what he has been after; if he has a light, i shall see it, but i don't." "jack! jack!" he again shouted out; but the cavern only echoed with his voice. bill was a fine-tempered fellow, but he felt very much inclined to be angry with jack. all their plans might be upset by his having left the wreck. even should he soon find him, they would have to swim on board, and set off in their wet clothes; but that was of little consequence compared with the delay. at last his hands touched the rock near their camping-place, and he thence groped his way on; for having so often traversed the cavern in the dark, he found it as easily as a blind man would have done. he soon felt his feet treading on the ashes of their former fires, and feeling about, he discovered the things which jack had thrown out of the basket. among them was a candle and the tinder-box. jack having a lighted lantern, had not troubled himself to bring it. the basket was gone! this convinced him that jack had been there. he quickly lighted the candle, and as there was not a breath of air, he was able to walk along with it in his hand. the stalactite formations, which appeared on both sides, looked as weird and strange to him as they had to jack, but he, knowing perfectly well what they were, did not trouble himself about their appearance. he went on, keeping his gaze ahead, in the hopes of meeting jack. he was sorry that he had not made more determined attempts to persuade captain turgot and pierre to accompany him; for if anything should have happened to his companion, they would have assisted him. but what could have happened? that was the question. sometimes he thought that jack might, after all, not have come to the cavern; but, then, who could have carried away the basket? brave as he was, the strange shadows which occasionally seemed to flit by made him feel that he would much rather not have been there all alone. suppose, too, the smugglers should have returned, and, perhaps, caught jack; they would seize him also, and it would be impossible to persuade them that he had not come to rob their store. still, his chief anxiety was for jack. he thought much less about himself, or the dangers he might have to encounter. bill was a hero, though he did not know it, notwithstanding that he had been originally only a london street boy. "i must find jack, whatever comes of it," he said to himself, as he pushed on. at last he reached the low entrance of the smugglers' store-room, as jack and he had called it. he crept on carefully, and as he gained the inner end of the passage, he saw a light burning close to where the goods were piled up, but no voices reached his ear. if the smugglers were there, they would surely be talking. he rose to his feet, holding out the candle before him. seeing no one, he advanced boldly across the cavern. there lay a figure stretched upon the ground! it was jack! chapter thirteen. the raft launched and voyage commenced. could jack be dead? what could have happened to him? bill, hurrying forward, knelt down by his side, and lifted up his head. he still breathed. "that's a comfort," thought bill. "how shall i bring him to? there's not a drop of water here, and i can't carry him as far as the spring." bill rubbed his friend's temples, while he supported his head on his knee. "jack! jack! rouse up, old fellow! what's come over you?" bill held the candle up to jack's eyes. greatly to his joy they opened, and he said, "where am i? is that you, bill! is it gone?" "i am bill, and you are in the cavern; but there is nothing to go that i know of. it's all right. stand up, old fellow, and come along," replied bill, cheeringly. "oh, bill," said jack, drawing a deep sigh, "i saw something." "did you?" said bill; "the something did not knock you down, though." "no; but i thought it would," responded jack. "that comes of wanting to take what isn't your own," said bill. "however, don't let's talk about that. if we are to get off with this tide, we must hurry on board as fast as we can. don't mind the gold; i suppose that's what you came for. our friends the turgots will get it, i hope; and they have more right to it than we have." bill's voice greatly re-assured jack, who, fancying that he saw one of the ghosts he was afraid of, had fallen down in a sort of swoon. how long it would have lasted if bill had not come to him it is impossible to say; perhaps long enough to have allowed his candle to be extinguished. had this happened, he would never have been able to find his way out of the cavern. he, however, with bill by his side, soon felt like himself again. "let me just fill my pockets with these gold pieces," he exclaimed. "i have taken so much trouble that i shouldn't like to go away without them." "perhaps the ghost will come back if you do," bill could not help saying. "let them alone. you have got enough already, and we must not stop another moment here." saying this, he dragged jack on by the arm. "come, if we don't make haste, our candles will go out, and we shall not be able to see our way," bill continued. jack moved on. he was always ready to be led by bill, and began to think that he had better not have come for the gold. bill did not scold him, vexed as he felt at the delay which had occurred. they might still be in time to get on board the wreck and to launch their raft, but it would be broad daylight before they could get to any distance from the shore, and they would then be sure to be seen. bill only hoped that no one would think it worth while to follow them. having two lights, they were able to see their way pretty well, though they could not run fast for fear of extinguishing them. every now and then jack showed an inclination to stop. "i wish i had got the gold," he muttered. bill pulled him on. "the gold, i say, would not do us any good. i don't want it for myself, and you have got enough to make your mother independent for the rest of her days." on they went again. bill was thankful, on reaching the mouth of the cavern, to find that it was still night. it seemed to him a long time since he had quitted the wreck. he did not remember how fast he had gone. they jumped down on the beach, and began to wade towards the wreck, but had to swim some distance. "if we had had our pockets full of gold we could not have done this," observed bill. "we should have had to empty them or be drowned. we are much better without it." they soon reached the side of the vessel, and climbed up on deck. there was plenty of water alongside to launch the raft, and to get the casks under it. the wind, too, if there were any, was off shore, but here it was a perfect calm. they had one advantage through having waited so long; they were beyond the influence of the wave which breaks even on a weather shore, especially after a gale, although the wind may have changed. the tackles having been arranged, they lost no time in launching their raft, which they did very successfully, easing it with handspikes; and in a couple of minutes it floated, to their great satisfaction, safely alongside. their first care was to lash the casks under the bottom. this took some time, but they were well repaid by finding the raft float buoyantly on the very surface of the water. the cargo had, however, to be got on board, consisting of the three chests, which, of course, would bring it down somewhat. they lowered one after the other, and lashed them in the positions they had intended. the foremost chest was secured over all by ropes, as that had not to be opened, and was to serve only as a step for their mast; the other two chests were secured by their handles both fore and aft and athwartships, the lashings contributing to bind the raft still more securely together. daylight had now broken, and they were in a hurry to get on with their work, but this did not prevent them from securing everything effectually. they next had to get their stores into the chests; and lastly they stepped and set up the mast, securing the sail ready for hoisting to the halyards, which had been previously rove. they surveyed their work when completed with no little satisfaction, and considered, not without reason, that they might, in moderate weather, run across channel, provided the wind should remain anywhere in the southward. they well knew that they must run the risk of a northerly wind or a gale. in the first case, though they need not go back, they could make little or no progress; but then there was always the hope of being picked up by an english craft, either a man-of-war or a merchant vessel. they might, to be sure, be fallen in with by a frenchman, but in the event of that happening, they intended to beg hard for their liberty. should a gale arise, as jack observed, they would look blue, but they hoped that their raft would even weather that out. that it would come to pieces they had no fear; and they believed that they could cling on to it till the sea should again go down. they had put on board a sufficient supply of spare rope to lash themselves to the chests. jack climbed up for the last time on deck, and handed down the three sweeps, taking a look round to see that nothing was left behind. "all right," he said; "we may shove off now, bill. you are to be captain, and take the helm, and i'll pull till we get out far enough to find a breeze. it seems to me, by the colour of the sea, that it's blowing in the offing, and we shall then spin merrily along." "all right," said bill; "cast off, jack." jack hauled in the rope which had secured the raft to the wreck, and give a hearty shove against it with his oar, he sent the raft gliding off some way ahead. he then got out the other oar, and standing between the two chests, pulled lustily away. the raft floated even more lightly than they had expected. they had so well noted all the rocks, that they could easily find their way between them, and there was ample space, especially thereabouts where the brig had been driven in. their progress was but slow, though they worked away with all their might; every now and then looking back to ascertain whether they were observed from the shore. no one, however, could be seen on the cliffs above; and people, unless they had discovered the wreck, were not likely at that early hour to come down to the beach. it took them more than half an hour to get clear of the rocks. when once out on the open sea, they began to breathe more freely. they pulled on and on; still, unless they should get the wind, they could not hope to make much progress. the day was advancing. bill wetted his finger and held it up. "there's a breeze," he cried out; "hoist the sail, jack." the sail filled as bill sheeted it home, and the raft began to glide more rapidly over the water. jack took in the oars, for he wanted to rest, and there was but little use rowing, though it might have helped the raft on slightly. he could now look about him, and as the two harbours to the east and west opened out, he turned his eyes anxiously towards them. if they were pursued, it would be from one or the other. he had little fear from that on the west, as there was no one likely to trouble himself about the matter; but there were officials living near the larger harbour, and they might think it their duty to ascertain what the small raft standing off shore under sail could be about. "i wish that we had got away a couple of hours ago," said bill; but he did not remind jack that it was through his fault they had not done so. he blamed himself, indeed, for having gone to see the turgots, much as he would have regretted leaving the country without paying them a visit. the farther the raft got from the shore the more rapidly it glided along, the sea being too smooth in any way to impede its progress. bill's whole attention was taken up in steering, so as to keep the raft right before the wind. presently jack cried out, "there's a boat coming out of the harbour. she's just hoisted her sail, and a whacking big sail it is. she's coming after us. oh! bill! what shall we do?" "try to keep ahead of her," answered bill, glancing round for a moment. "the frenchmen may not think it worth while to chase us far, even if they are in chase of us, and that's not certain. don't let us cry out before we are hurt. get out the oars, they'll help us on a little, and we'll do our best to escape. i don't fancy being shut up again, or perhaps being carried off to a prison, and forced into a dungeon, or maybe shot, for they'll declare that we are escaped prisoners." jack did not, however, require these remarks to make him pull with all his might; still he could not help looking back occasionally. he was standing up, it should be understood, rowing forward, with the oars crossing, the larboard oar held in the right hand, and the starboard in the left. "the boat's coming on three knots to our one," he cried out. "it won't take her long to be up with us." "pull away," again cried bill. "we'll hold on till the frenchmen begin to fire. if their bullets come near us, it will be time to think whether it will be worth running the risk of being shot." jack continued to row with might and main, and the raft went wonderfully fast over the water. it was too evident, however, that the boat was in pursuit of them, and in a few minutes a musket ball splashed into the water a short distance astern of the raft. "that shows that they are in earnest," said jack. "we had better lower the sail, another might come aboard us." "hold all fast, perhaps they are getting tired of chasing us, and may give it up when they see that we are determined to get away," replied bill; not that he had much hope that this was the case, but he stuck to the principle of not giving in as long as there was a chance of escape. jack had plenty of courage, but he did not like being fired at without the means of returning the compliment. another shot from the boat came whistling close to them. "it's of no use," cried jack, "we must lower the sail." "if you're afraid, take in the oars and lie down between the chests; you'll run very little risk of being hit there; but for my part, i'll stand at the helm till the boat gets up with us," said bill. jack would not do this, but pulled away as stoutly as at first. presently another shot struck one of the oars, and so splintered it that the next pull jack gave it broke short off. he was now compelled to take in the other. "the next time the frenchmen fire they may aim better," he said. "come, bill, i'm ready to stand by you, but there's no use being killed if we can help it." "the boat isn't up with us yet," answered bill. "till she gets alongside i'll hold on, and maybe at the very last the frenchmen will give up." "i don't see any hope of that," said jack. "in ten minutes we shall be prisoners. by-the-bye, i turned all my gold into this chest. if the frenchmen find it they'll keep it, so i'll fill my pockets again, and they may not think of looking into them, but they're sure to rummage the chest." saying this, jack opened the chest, and soon found his treasure, which he restored to his pockets. he asked bill to take some, but bill declined on the same ground that he had before refused to appropriate it. bill again advised jack to lie down, and, to induce him to do so, he himself knelt on the raft, as he could in that position steer as well as when standing up. thus they presented the smallest possible mark to the frenchmen. shot after shot was fired at them. their chances of escape were indeed rapidly diminishing. at last the frenchmen ceased firing. they were either struck by the hardihood of the boys, or had expended their ammunition; but the boat came on as rapidly as before, and was now not half a cable's length from them. "we must lower the sail," cried bill, with a sigh, "or the frenchmen maybe will run us down;" and jack let go the halyards. in another minute the boat was up to them. besides her crew, there were five soldiers on board. a volley of questions burst from the people in the boat; and all seemed jabbering and talking together. as she got alongside the raft, two men leaped out, and seizing jack and bill, hauled them into the boat, while another made fast the raft, ready to tow it back to the harbour. jack and bill were at once handed aft to the stern-sheets, where they were made to sit down. immediately the officer in command of the boat put various questions to them, as to who they were, where they had come from, and where they were going. according to their previous agreement they made no reply, so that their captors might not discover that they understood french; still, as far as bill could make out, the frenchmen were not aware that they were the lads who had escaped from the old tower. they had no reason to complain of the way they were spoken of by the frenchmen, who were evidently struck by their hardihood and determination in their persevering efforts to escape. they remarked to each other that their young prisoners were brave boys, and expressed their satisfaction that they were not hurt. when the officer found, as he supposed, that they could not answer him, he forbore to put any further questions. the crew did not appear to be angry at the long pull that had been given them back; indeed, jack and bill suspected, from what they heard, that the seamen, at all events, would not have been sorry if they had escaped altogether. on reaching the landing-place in the harbour, they found a party of soldiers, with an officer, who, from what bill made out, had sent the boat in pursuit of them. as soon as they stepped on shore the officer began to question them, in the same way as the commander of the boat had done. bill shrugged his shoulders and turned to jack, and jack shrugged his and turned to bill, as much as to say, "i wonder what he's talking about?" "the lads do not understand french, that is evident," said the officer to a subordinate standing near him; "i shall get nothing out of them without an interpreter. they do not look stupid either, and they must be bold fellows, or they would not have attempted to made a voyage on that raft. i must have a nearer look at it;" and he ordered the boatmen to bring it in close to the shore, so that he might examine it. he again turned to bill, and said, "what were you going to attempt to cross the channel on that?" bill, as before, shrugged his shoulders, quite in the french fashion, for he had learnt the trick from pierre, who, when he was in doubt about a matter, always did so. "i forgot; the boy doesn't understand french," observed the officer. bill had some little difficulty in refraining from laughing, as he understood perfectly well everything that was said around him, except when the frenchmen talked unusually fast. "let the raft be moored close to the shore, just in its present state," said the officer; "the general may wish to see it. how could the lads have contrived to build such a machine?" the commander of the boat explained that a wreck had occurred on the shore, and that they had evidently built it from the materials they found on board her, but anything further about them he could not say. "well, then, i'll take them up at once to the general, and the interpreter attached to our division will draw from them all we want to know. come, lads! you must follow me," he said. "sergeant, bring the prisoners along with you." on this jack and bill found themselves surrounded by the soldiers; and thinking it possible, should they not move fast enough, that their movements might be expedited by a prick from the bayonets, they marched briskly forward, keeping good pace with the men. chapter fourteen. again shut up. "i say, bill, i wonder what the mounseers are going to do with us," whispered jack, as they marched along. "will they put handcuffs on our wrists and throw us into a dungeon, do you think?" bill acknowledged that he feared such might be the fate prepared for them. they were not, however, ill-treated during their walk. naturally they felt very much disappointed at being recaptured, but they tried as before to put as bold a face as they could on the matter, and talked away to each other in an apparently unconcerned manner. they found from the remarks of the soldiers that they had a march of a couple of miles or more inland to the place where the troops were encamped, and that they were not to be carried to the old tower. on one account they were sorry for this, as, having made their escape once, they thought that they might make it again, though, of course, they would be more strictly guarded if it was discovered who they were. from a height they reached they saw the camp spread out on a wide level space a short distance off. as they got nearer to it they observed a party of officers on horseback riding towards them, one of whom, from the waving plume in his hat, and from his taking the lead, they supposed was the general. they were right in their conjecture. as he approached with his staff, the officer who had charge of them ordered his men to halt and draw on one side. the general reined in his horse and inquired who they were. the captain explained that two foreign lads, supposed to be english, had been discovered, endeavouring to leave the shore on a small raft of curious construction, such as no sane people would have wished to go to sea on; that there was something very suspicious about their movements, as they had persisted in trying to escape, although fired at by the soldiers, and that he had considered it his duty to bring them up for examination, as he could not understand them or make them understand him. "you acted rightly, captain dupont," said the general. "let them be brought to my quarters, and i'll send for colonel o'toole to cross-question them." bill and jack understood every word that was said. "we are in for it," said bill; "but we must put a bold face on the matter, and speak the truth. we can say that we were living in the cavern for some time, and that when the brig was wrecked, we resolved at once to build a raft, and get back to our own country." "it would save a great deal of trouble if we were to say that we were wrecked in the brig, and then it would be but natural that we should try to escape from her," replied jack. "it would not be the truth, and we should not be believed," answered bill. "i would say just what happened--that our ship caught fire and blew up, that we were saved by the fishermen, that some french soldiers got hold of us and carried us off prisoners, and that we made our escape from them. we need not mention the names of our friends, and perhaps the interpreter won't be very particular in making inquiries." bill finally persuaded jack to agree that they should give a true account of themselves, leaving out only such particulars as were not necessary to mention, such as their visit to the turgots, and their discovery of the smugglers' stores. the general, who was making a survey of the country around the camp, rode on with his staff, while captain dupont and his men conducted their two young prisoners to head quarters, there to await his return. the general was residing in an old chateau, with a high-peaked roof, and towers at each of the angles of the building. the party passed through the gateway, and proceeded to a room near the chief entrance, which served as a guard-room. the soldiers remained outside, while the captain, with two men to guard the prisoners, entered. jack and bill had to wait for some time, during which they were allowed to sit on a bench by themselves. jack began to make observations on the people around them. "hush!" whispered bill, "some one here may understand english better than we suppose, and we shall be foolish to let our tongues get us into a worse scrape than we are in already." jack took bill's advice, and when he made any remark it was in a whisper. they saw several of the officers who entered looking at them, and they were evidently the subject of their conversation. jack and bill had reason to consider themselves for a time persons of some importance, though they had no wish to be so. at last an officer in a handsome uniform entered. he was a red-haired man, with queer twinkling eyes, and a cock-up nose, anything but of a roman type. captain dupont spoke to him, when the lads saw him eyeing them, and presently he came up and said, "hurroo! now me boys, just be afther telling me what part of the world you come from!" bill, as agreed on, began his narrative in a very circumstantial manner. "all moighty foine, if thrue," observed colonel o'toole, for he was the officer who had just arrived, having been sent for to act as interpreter. "it's true, sir, every word of it," said bill. "well! we shall see, afther you repeat it all over again to the gineral, and moind you thin don't made any changes," said the colonel. bill wisely did not reply. presently the general with his staff appeared, he and a few officers passing on into an inner room. a few minutes afterwards jack and bill were sent for. they found the general with colonel o'toole and several other persons seated at a table. the general spoke a few words, when the colonel again told the prisoners to give an account of themselves. bill did so exactly in the words he had before used, colonel o'toole interpreting sentence by sentence. "good!" said the general. "and what could induce you, when you were once safe on shore, to venture out to sea on so dangerous a machine?" the colonel interpreting, turned to jack. "i wanted to get home and see my mother, for she must fancy i am lost," answered jack. "well, and a very right motive too," said the colonel; and he explained to the general what jack had said. "and what induced you to attempt the voyage?" asked the colonel, turning to bill. "did you want to get back to see your mother?" "no, sir; i have no mother to see," answered bill. "i wanted to get back to do my duty, and fight the enemies of my country." the general laughed when this was interpreted to him; and observed to the officers around him, "if such is the spirit which animates the boys of england, what must we expect from the men? i must, however, consider whether we shall allow these boys to return home. they are young now, but in a short time they will grow into sturdy fellows." "they've got tongues in their young heads," remarked the colonel. "i'm not altogether certain that they are quite as innocent as they look. maybe they were sent on shore as spies, and perhaps are midshipmen disguised as common seamen." "let them be searched, then, and ascertain whether they have any papers about them which may show their real character," said the general. jack and bill clearly understood these remarks, and began to feel very uncomfortable. bill remembered that jack had got his pockets filled with gold, and jack remembered it too, and wished that he had left it behind in the cavern as bill had advised. the colonel, who was in no wise particular as to what work he performed, at once took hold of bill. "come, young gintleman," he said, "let me see what you have got in your pockets, and next your skin; or, if you will save me the throuble, just hand out your orders or any papers you may have about you." "i have got none, sir," answered bill. "i told you the truth, that we are mere ship-boys, and as to being spies as you seem to think, we had nothing to spy out that i know of." "well, we will soon see all about that," said the colonel, beginning to search bill; but, greatly to his surprise, he found nothing whatever about him, except his knife, the whole of bill's worldly wealth, "i told you so, sir," said bill, when he had finished. "i spoke only the truth about myself and my companion." bill said this, hoping that jack would escape the search; but the colonel was far too knowing, and presently he seized upon jack, who, in spite of his efforts to appear unconcerned, began to quake. the first plunge the colonel made with his hand into one of jack's pockets brought forth a number of gold pieces. "hurroo! now, this is your innocence is it, young gintlemen?" he exclaimed, exhibiting a handful of gold to the general. "let me be afther seeing what your other pocket contains;" and as he spoke he quickly drew forth another handful of gold, some of which, observing that the general and the other officers were examining the first which he had produced, he slipped into his own pocket. "troth! you're an arrant young rogue," he exclaimed. "you either stole these, or they were given you to bribe the people to betray their country." "they were not given me to bribe any one, and i didn't steal them," answered jack, boldly; "i took them out of the chest which was on our raft, and there was no harm in doing that, i should think." bill was somewhat surprised to hear jack say this. it was the truth, and the idea must have at that moment occurred to him. he was thus saved from having to betray the existence of the boxes of gold in the cavern, which the colonel would not have long allowed to remain unvisited, he suspected, from the little incident which has just been described. the colonel translated fairly enough to the general what jack had just said. "it is probably the truth," he remarked; "however, let the boys be detained till we can ascertain more about them. i don't wish to have them ill-treated. there is a room in the western turret where they can be shut up securely till to-morrow. colonel o'toole, see that my orders are carried out; but you can first let them have a view of the army, that they may tell their friends, if they get home, of the mighty force prepared for the conquest of england, and impress on the minds of their countrymen how hopeless is their attempt to resist the armies of france." bill understood every word of these remarks, and they raised his hopes that they might be set at liberty and allowed to return home; still, the irish colonel did not look very amiably at them; perhaps he did not quite like bill's observations. "come along," he said, turning to them; and, bowing to the general and to the other officers, he conducted them from the room, when the two soldiers, who stood ready outside, again took charge of them. they were led along to a terrace, from whence a view extended over the surrounding country. here they saw an almost countless number of white tents pitched, with soldiers in various uniforms moving among them. "can you count those tents?" asked the colonel. "each tent contains eleven or thirteen men, and one spirit animates the whole--that is, the conquest of perfidious albion." "they'll have a tough job, sir, let me tell them," observed bill. "i haven't seen much of english sojers except the guards in london, and our marines on board ship, but i know that one of our guardsmen would lick a whole tentful of the little chaps i see about here; and i would advise the general to stay quietly at home, and not attempt to take our tight little island." "the french have wrongs to revenge, as have my gallant people, and bitterly will they revenge them some day, when your king and his nobles are brought in chains to france." "that won't be just yet, and may be never," answered bill, who was growing bold, and inclined to speak his mind. "i'll not bandy words with you, boy. take care what you are about!" exclaimed the colonel, who did not like bill's boldness, especially when he saw a broad grin on jack's countenance. "if you ever get back to england--and i don't say you ever will get back--remember what you have seen to-day, and tell those wretched slaves your countrymen what they are to expect." "we'll not forget it, sir," answered bill, thinking it wiser to be civil; "and i hope the general won't think it necessary to keep in prison two poor sailor boys who never did any harm to the french, and never wished to do any harm, except to thrash them well in a fair stand-up fight; and you will allow, sir, that that's all right and fair play." "or receive a thrashing from them," answered the colonel; "however, come along. i must see you stowed safely in the tower, where the general has ordered you to be placed, and moind you kape quiet and don't kick up a row, as you midshipmen are apt to do." "we are not midshipmen, sir," said bill, who had not forgotten what the colonel had before said. "we are humble boys serving before the mast. jack, there, is a fisherman's son, and i am a poor boy out of the london streets. i am only telling you the truth, sir." "you are a very sharp boy, then," responded the colonel, looking at bill. "yes, sir," said bill, "the school i went to is a place where boys are apt to get their wits sharpened. they have little else to depend on." the colonel still seemed to doubt whether bill was speaking the truth, and, perhaps fortunately for them, was fully impressed with the idea that he had charge of a couple of midshipmen. possibly bill was a lord's son; and though he railed against english lords, yet, when brought into contact with them, he was inclined to pay them the deepest respect. owing to the colonel's idea, bill and jack were treated with far more attention than they otherwise would have received. the room into which they were put, though small, had a table and chairs in it, and a bed in one corner. "you will remain here for the present," said the colonel, as he saw them into the room; "probably before long the general may wish to examine you again, and i would advise you to take care that you tell him only the truth, and confess your object in coming to the country." bill made no answer; and the colonel, after again surveying the room, took his departure, locking the door behind him. chapter fifteen. the escape. jack and bill heard colonel o'toole descending the stairs, and, listening, were convinced that he had gone away without leaving a sentry at the door. "we are in luck," said bill, as he looked round the room. "this is a better place than the old tower, and i don't see that it will be much more difficult to escape from." they went to the window. it was long and narrow, but there was ample space for them to creep out of it. it was, however, a great height from the ground; three or four storeys up they calculated; and should they attempt to drop down, they would break every bone in their bodies. "it cannot be done, i fear," said jack. "it can be done, and we'll do it before to-morrow morning, too," answered bill. "when the general ordered us to be shut up here, he was thinking that we were just like a couple of french boys, without a notion of going aloft, or of finding their way down again." "but i don't see how we can manage to get down here," said jack, peeping through the window, cautiously though, for fear of being seen. "there is nothing to lay hold of, and the door is locked and bolted. i heard that traitor irishman shoot a bolt before he went away." "look here," replied bill, pointing towards the bed. "why, that's a bed," said jack. "it was very good-natured in the mounseers to give it us to sleep on." "what do you think it's made of?" asked bill. "why, sheets and blankets and ticking," replied jack. "yes," said bill, "you are right; and with those selfsame sheets and blankets, and maybe a fathom or two of rope besides, underneath, i intend that we shall try to lower ourselves down to the ground; and when we are once outside, it will be our own fault if we do not get back to the harbour, and when there, that we do not get on board our raft again. the french captain said it was to be left just as it was for the general to see it to-morrow morning. before that time comes, i hope that we shall be out of sight of land, if we get a fair breeze, or, at all events, out of sight of the people on shore." "i'm always ready for anything you propose, bill," said jack. "i see now well enough how we are to get away. if all goes smoothly, we shall do it. but suppose we are caught?--and there are a good many chances against us, you'll allow." "we can but be shut up again. even if they were to flog us, we could stand it well enough; and as to the pain, that would be nothing, and it would not be like being flogged for breaking the articles of war, or doing anything against the law. i should call it an honourable flogging, and should not mind showing the scars, if any remained," said bill. "i'm your man, and the sooner we set about turning our sheets and blankets into a rope the better," exclaimed jack, enthusiastically. "if we are caught and punished ever so much, we must not mind it." "stop a bit," said bill. "perhaps the red-haired colonel may pay us a visit before nightfall. we must not be caught making preparations for our escape; that would be a green trick." "i hope if they come they'll bring us some supper," said jack. "i am pretty sharp set already; and if the mounseers should have stolen the grub out of our chest, we should have nothing to eat on our voyage." "i have been thinking too much about going away to feel hungry," said bill. "but now you talk of it, i should like some food, and i hope they'll bring enough to last us for a day or two. now, i say, it's getting dark, and we must fix upon the best spot to lower ourselves down to. you listen at the door lest any one should come up suddenly, and i'll examine the windows and settle the best plan." bill, however, first went to the bed, examined the blankets and sheets and mattress, and found, to his satisfaction, that below all were two thick pieces of canvas, drawn together by a rope. the rope, though rather thin, would, he was satisfied, bear their light weights. it might take them half an hour or so to twist the various materials up into a rope, and altogether would give them one of ample length for their purpose. this discovery greatly raised the boys' spirits and hopes of success. bill now went to the window, and found that the grass came close up to the walls of the tower underneath. even should they fall from a considerable height, they might have the chance of not breaking their bones, and that was some satisfaction. an iron bar extended from the top of the window to the bottom in the centre. he felt it, and it was strong as need be. it would do well for securing their rope. as far as he could judge, there was no window under them. this was of consequence, as had there been, they might have been seen by any person within during their descent, rapidly as they might make it. bill considered whether it would be possible to withdraw the rope after they had descended, but he doubted whether they had sufficient materials to enable them to do that. "well, it cannot be helped," bill said to himself. "the frenchmen will see how we escaped, but they won't find it out till daylight, and it won't matter much then." he had finished his survey, and settled his plan, when jack cried out, "hist! there's some one coming!" and they ran back and sat themselves down near the table with their heads on their hands, as if they were feeling very melancholy and disconsolate. "i wish i could squeeze out a tear," said jack; "but i can't for the life of me. i feel so jolly at your idea of getting off." presently the door opened, and an old woman entered with a basket. "i have brought you some food and a bottle of wine, mes garcons," she said, in a kind tone. "the general gave me permission, and i was very glad to bring it, as i knew that you must be hungry. poor boys! i heard of your attempt to get away. you would have been drowned to a certainty if you hadn't been caught, and that would have been sad, for one of you, they say, wanted to get back to see his mother. i have got a son at sea, so i can feel for her. i wish he was safe back again. i don't know what they will do with you, but i hear that you are to be tried to-morrow, and the irish officer here says you are spies, and if so, you will run a great chance of being hung, or, at all events, shut up in a prison till you confess what you have been about. ah! but i forgot. they say you don't speak french, and you may not have understood a word i have said." jack and bill could scarcely refrain from laughing as the old woman ran on, but they restrained themselves, and when she showed them the contents of the basket, they merely said, "bon! bon! merci! merci!" several times, and looked very well pleased, as indeed they were, for there was food enough to last them two or three days, full allowance-- cheese and sausages, bread, figs, raisins, and butter, besides the bottle of wine. they were afraid of drinking much of that, not knowing how weak it was, lest it should get into their heads, for they wanted no dutch courage to do what they intended--they had pluck enough without that. the old woman--not that she was so very old, but she was small and thin, with a high white cap and a brown dress fitting closely, which made her look older than she was--stood by, after she had covered the table with the provisions, that she might have the pleasure of seeing the boys eat. they were very willing to give her that pleasure, and set to with a good appetite. she smiled benignantly, and patted them on their heads, as she watched them stowing away the various things. they were not very particular as to which they took first. "bon! bon!" said jack, every now and then, as he saw that his saying so pleased her. "merci! merci!" she poured them out some wine; it was dreadfully sour, so bill thought, and he made signs to her that he would drink it by-and-by, as he did not like to show her how much he disliked it. jack was not so particular, but he was content with a mouthful or two, and then began again on the sausages and figs. "i hope she is not going to stop till we have done," said bill, "or she may take away the remainder. i'll try and make her understand that we should like a little more by-and-by. i vote we stop now and put the things into the basket. we'll then show her that we do not wish her to take them away." the kind old housekeeper of the chateau--for such she was--seemed to understand the boys' wishes. bill even ventured to say a few words in french, which would show her what they wanted; and at last, wishing them good-night, she took her departure. they heard the door locked and bolted after she went out, as if by some other person; and it made them fear that a sentry was placed there, who might, should they make any noise, look in to see what they were about. it would be necessary, therefore, to be extremely cautious as to their proceedings. "there's no one moving," said bill, who had crept to the door to listen. he, of course, spoke in a low whisper. "i vote we set to work at once and make our rope. it will take some time, and we ought to be off as soon as the people have turned in, as we must try to get a good distance from the shore before daylight." "suppose any one was to come, and find us cutting up our bed-clothes," said jack, "it would be suspected what we were going to do." "we'll keep the coverlid till the last, so as to throw it over the bed should we hear a step on the stair; we must then sit down on the edge, and pretend that we are too sorrowful to think of going to bed," said bill. "that will do," replied jack; "i never was a good hand at piping my eye, but i know that i should be inclined to blubber if i thought there was a chance of being found out." "there's no use talking about that. we must run the risk," observed bill; "so here goes." and he forthwith turned back the coverlid, and began measuring the sheets. they were of strong and tough material, and by dividing each into four lengths, he calculated that a rope formed of them would be of sufficient strength for their purpose, and they were quickly cut through with their knives, and each length was then twisted tightly up. the bed-ticking was treated in the same manner; but that being of less strength, gave them only six much shorter lengths. the sacking and rope at the bottom of the bed would, bill was sure, reach, at all events, to a short distance from the ground. as they twisted and bent one piece to another, they surveyed their work with satisfaction, and were convinced that it would bear their weight, though it would hardly have borne that of a man of moderate size. to try it, they tugged away against each other, and it held perfectly firm. "it will do famously," exclaimed bill, after they had joined all the pieces together. "even if it does not quite reach to the ground, i should not mind dropping a dozen feet or so." "but if we do that, the noise we make in our fall may be heard," said jack. "hadn't we better bend on the coverlid? it's not so strong as the sheets, but we can put it at the lower end." bill agreed to this, and, as it was of considerable width, it formed three lengths. "we have enough almost for a double rope, i expect," said bill, as he coiled it away ready to carry to the window at the opposite side of the room. "oh, no; i don't think we've enough for that," said jack; "even if we had, it won't matter leaving the rope behind. the frenchmen will see by the disappearance of the bed-clothes how we got out. i advise that we make only one rope, and just get down to the ground as quietly as we can manage to do." bill made another trip to the door to listen. "no one is coming," he whispered, as he returned. "now let's carry the rope to the window." they did so, and bill leant out to listen again. no sounds reached his ear, except the occasional barking of a dog. "the people go to bed early in this country," he observed, "and i am very much obliged to them. we may start, jack, without much fear of being stopped." "but don't let us forget our grub," said jack; and they filled their pockets with the provisions the old woman had brought them, tying up the remainder in their handkerchiefs, which they fastened to the lanyards of their knives. "now let's bend on the rope," said bill. they secured it round the iron bar. "i'll go first," said jack; "if the rope bears me, it's certain to bear you." "no; i proposed the plan, and i ought to go first," answered bill. "it's of no use wasting words. don't begin to come down till you feel that i am off the rope. so here goes." bill, on saying this, climbed through the narrow opening between the bar and the side of the window, and then, first grasping the bar with his hands, threw his legs off straight down, and began descending the thin rope. jack stretched out his head to watch him, but bill soon disappeared in the darkness. the rope held, however, though, as he felt it, it appeared stretched to the utmost. he could with difficulty draw a breath, while he waited till, by finding the rope slacken, he should know that bill had safely reached the bottom. at last he ascertained that bill was no longer hanging to the rope, while, from not hearing a sound, he was sure that his companion had performed the feat in safety. as bill had charged him not to lose a moment, he, following his example, commenced his descent. down and down he went, but had he not been thoroughly accustomed to suspend himself on thin ropes, he could not have held on. it seemed to him that he should never reach the bottom; how much further he had to go he could not tell. all at once he felt a hand grasping him by the leg. a sudden fear seized him. could the frenchmen have got hold of bill, and were they about to recapture him? he could with difficulty refrain from crying out; still, as there would be no use in attempting to get up the rope again, he continued to lower himself. the hand was withdrawn, and presently he found that he had reached the ground. "all right," whispered bill in his ear; "i caught hold of your ankle to let you understand that you were close to the bottom. now let's be off! the harbour lies directly under yonder star. i marked its position during daylight, and again just before i began to descend the rope." chapter sixteen. voyage on the raft. bill and jack remained for a few seconds in the dark shade caused by the tall wall of the chateau, listening attentively for any sounds of people moving about. none reached their ears, and only here and there, in the more distant part of the building, were any lights to be seen gleaming from the windows. "we may run for it now without much chance of being seen," said bill. "we must step lightly, though, or we may be heard by some of the sentries. keep your eye on the star, it's the best guide we have for the harbour. now for it! let's start." they set off, treading as lightly as they could on the ground with their bare feet, the soles of which were pretty well hardened. for some distance they had only grass to run over, and a couple of phantoms could scarcely have produced less sound. in a short time, however, they reached a fence. it was somewhat rotten, and as they were climbing over it, a part gave way and came down with a crash. "quick!" said bill, as he was helping over jack, who followed him; "we must run on like the wind; somebody may be coming to find out what's the matter." they did not stop, as may be supposed, to repair the damage they had caused, but soon reaching a road which led in the direction they wished to take, they scampered on at full speed. tall trees grew on either side of the road, which, casting a dark shadow over it, would have effectually concealed them from view, even if anybody had been looking out for them. the darkness, however, also prevented them from seeing any one who might be ahead. sometimes indeed they had a difficulty in keeping in the middle of the road. "i hope we're going in the right direction," said jack; "i can't see the star, and the road seems to me to have twisted about." "we must, at all events, go on," answered bill. "perhaps we shall catch sight of the star again before long, and we must steer our course accordingly. there's no use stopping still." they went on and on. "there it is at last," cried jack. the trees which lined the road were much lower, being indeed mere pollards, and allowed them to see the sky overhead. presently they heard a dog bark; then another and another. could the brutes be barking at them? it was a sign that there were dwellings near, and the inhabitants might be looking out to ascertain what made their dogs bark. "never mind," whispered bill; "the chances are that the dogs are tied up, and if we keep moving the people won't see us." they passed through the village or hamlet. they were still, they knew, some distance from the harbour. here and there only could they see a light twinkling from a window, probably of some sick-chamber. it was pretty evident that most of the people had gone to bed, still some one or other might be up who would give the alarm. they found themselves verging to the right; it was better, however, than keeping to the left side, which might lead them away from the harbour. presently they came to some grassy downs, and the regular road they had been pursuing turned sharp off to the left. "we had better keep straight on," said bill; "we shall be more exposed on the open downs; but then it isn't likely that anybody will be there to see us, so that won't matter." jack, as usual, was ready to do whatever bill proposed. they got quickly over the grass, which was cropped short by sheep feeding on it, and they could manage to see somewhat better than they had done on the road. presently jack, whose eyesight was even keener than bill's, having been well practised at night from his childhood, caught his companion's arm, exclaiming, "hold back; it seems to me that we have got to the edge of the downs." they crept cautiously forward. in another instant they would have leapt down a cliff some hundred feet in height, and been dashed to pieces. they turned away from it, shuddering at the fearful risk they had run, and kept along on somewhat lower ground, still having the star which had before guided them ahead. once more they found themselves approaching buildings, but they were low and scattered; evidently only in the outskirts of the village. "we must be close to the harbour now," said jack. "the greater reason that we should be cautious," observed bill. "this road, i suspect, leads right down to the part of the harbour we want to reach." they ran on, their hope of escape increasing. suddenly they heard the voice of a man shouting out, "who goes there?" bill seized jack's arm, and pulled him down in the shadow of a high wall, near which they happened at that moment to find themselves. some minutes they waited, scarcely daring to draw breath. the shout was not repeated. "we may go on now," whispered jack; and getting up, they crept forward. presently, below them, they caught sight of the harbour, with the stars reflected on its surface. the most difficult part of their undertaking was now to be performed. they had to find out exactly where their raft lay. bill had not failed to observe the shape of the harbour, and to take note of the various objects on shore, as he and jack were brought in prisoners by the french boat; but the partial survey he was then able to make did not enable him to settle positively in what direction they ought to proceed to find their raft. by keeping on as they were then going they believed that they should make the shore of the harbour at no great distance from the mouth. they might then keep along up it until they reached the place where they landed, near which they hoped to find their raft moored. "i am only afraid that we may meet some guards or patrols, or fishermen coming on shore or going off to their vessels," observed jack. "if we do we must try to hide ourselves," answered bill. "we'll keep along as close as we can under the cliffs, or any walls or houses we are passing, so that we may see people before we are seen ourselves." they acted as bill suggested, and pushed boldly onwards. not a sound was heard coming either from the land side or from the harbour. the water was as smooth as glass. they were still going forward when jack seized bill's arm. "that's the place," he whispered. "i can make out the raft, moored outside a boat at the end of a slip." bill, creeping forward, assured himself that jack was right, and, as nothing could be gained by waiting a moment, they hurried on, and in a few seconds were on board their raft. jack plunged his hand into one of the chests, to ascertain that the articles it had contained were still there. they had not been taken away. he could scarcely refrain from shouting out for joy. even the oars had not been removed. they got another from the boat alongside to supply the place of the one which had been splintered. "cut the warps," cried bill. "we'll paddle on till we find the breeze." the raft was quickly cast loose, and, getting out the oars, they began to paddle silently down the harbour. they could not avoid making some slight noise, but they hoped that there was no one on the watch to hear it. very frequently they turned their glances astern to ascertain if they were followed, but they could see nothing moving. there were several vessels lower down the harbour, so they steered a course which would carry them past at some little distance from them. the raft moved easily over the smooth surface, and they made good way. there was only one vessel more which they had to pass before they reached the harbour's mouth. they both earnestly hoped that her crew were fast asleep, and that no watch was kept on deck. they paddled slowly by, and more than half a cable's length from her, moving their oars as gently as possible, and scarcely daring to breathe. the slightest sound might betray them. at length they got outside her, and there was nothing now between them and the open channel. again jack could hardly refrain from shouting. just then a voice came from the vessel. bill looked back. he judged by the distance the vessel was off that the character of the raft could not be discovered. he answered in very good french, "we are going out early this morning, and if we have good luck in fishing, we'll bring you some for breakfast." "thank you, my friend, thank you," answered the man on board the vessel. bill had been paddling on all the time he was speaking. he was certain that the man did not suspect who he and jack were, and in a few minutes they lost sight of the vessel altogether. they now gave way with might and main. they were rowing for life and liberty; for if again caught, they fully believed that they should be shot. how anxiously they wished that a breeze would spring up! for fully an hour they rowed on, till the shore faded from sight. they were steering by the polar star, which both jack and bill knew well. "if there's a breeze from the southward, we ought to feel it by this time," observed jack. "never fear; we shall find it before long," answered bill. "we are not so far away from the cliffs as you suppose, and it would be as well not to speak loud, or our voices may reach any boat passing, or even people on shore." "i hope there will be none there at this hour, though they will come down fast enough in the morning from the chateau, when they find we have taken french leave," said jack. "a very proper thing to take, too, seeing we were in france," remarked bill, with a quiet chuckle. "i hope we shall never set foot on its shores again." "so do i; but i'm afraid we have a great chance of doing so, unless we get a breeze pretty soon. i am inclined to whistle for it," said jack. "it won't come the faster for that," answered bill. "we shall do more good by working our oars. we are sending the raft along at three knots an hour at least, and as it will be three hours or more before daylight, we shall be ten miles or so away from the shore, even if we do not get a breeze, before the frenchmen find out that we have got off." as bill advised, he and jack continued pulling away as lustily as at first. the smoothness of the water was a great advantage to them, for had there been any sea their progress would have been much slower. an hour or more passed away, when bill exclaimed, "here comes the wind, and right aft, too! it's not very strong yet, but it will freshen soon, i hope. stand by, jack, to hoist the sail!" "ay, ay!" answered jack, taking hold of the halyards and feeling that all was clear. "hand me the sheet; and now hoist away," said bill. jack, with right good will, hauled away at the halyards, and the sail was soon set. the raft felt the influence of the breeze and glided on at an increased speed. it was cheery to hear the water rippling against the bows. "we must take care not to capsize the raft if the wind increases much," observed bill. "keep the halyards ready to let go in a moment; the sail is full large for our craft, and it would not take long to capsize it." "trust me for that," said jack; "i have no wish to be drowned, and i feel wonderfully jolly at the thought of having got away. are you steering a right course, bill? it seems to me that the sail must be between you and the polar star." "no; i can see it directly over the yard when i stand up and keep well aft," answered bill. "the wind, too, won't let us go in any other direction." "how about the tide?" asked jack. "why, as it was just on the ebb when we came out of the harbour, and helped us along, it is, i calculate, making to the westward. it won't, however, run much longer in that direction, and it will then carry us to the eastward for a good six hours. we'll be well out of sight of land by that time, and, i hope, may fall in with an english cruiser, though, for my part, i would rather run right across the channel. it would be fine fun to land, and tell the people how we managed it. they would think more of our raft than the frenchmen did, though there are not many boys afloat who would not try to do as we have done." jack was of the same opinion, and as there was no necessity for rowing, while bill steered, jack sat on a chest with his arms folded. suddenly he exclaimed, "i say, bill, i am getting very peckish; i vote we have some supper." "well, we have not far to go for it," observed bill, "seeing we have got enough in our pockets to last us for the whole of to-morrow." as bill could not well manage to steer and tend the sheet and eat his supper, too, he let jack finish his; after which they changed places, and bill fell to with a good appetite on some of the old frenchwoman's provisions. "i hope the kind old creature won't get into any scrape for supplying us," said bill. "i don't see how it will be found out that she gave us so much," said jack. "when she finds that we are gone, she'll keep her own counsel, depend on that." "we must not expend the food too fast, though," remarked bill. "it will take us several days to get across channel; and it won't do to run short of provisions." "you forget those we have in the chest," said jack. "are you certain that the frenchmen allowed them to remain there," asked bill, opening the lid of one of them, and feeling about. "yes! here's a piece of beef or pork and some biscuit. all right, we shall do now. i'll take the helm again if you like; i feel more comfortable when i'm at it, though you steer well enough, i dare say." "as you like," said jack. "i'd just as soon stand by the halyards." they again changed places. bill kept his eye on the polar star, while jack peered under the sail ahead, that they might not, as he said, run down any craft. thus the night passed away. the breeze slightly increased, but bill considered that they might still carry their whole sail with safety. perhaps they did not move along quite so fast as he supposed. he told jack that he thought they were running through the water at five knots an hour; but four, or even three, knots was a good deal for a raft to make, with flat bows, light and well put together as it was. they were too much excited to feel the slightest inclination to sleep, and being both in capital spirits, did not trouble themselves with thinking of the possibility that the weather might change before they could get across to the english coast. a fast lugger would take nearly two days to do the distance. the dawn now broke, and they eagerly looked out on every side for a sail. as the light increased they were greatly disappointed, on gazing astern, to discover the french coast still in sight, though blue and indistinct, like a cloud rising out of the water. no sail, however, was to be seen in that direction. that was a comfort; they were not pursued by any large craft, and could certainly not be seen from the shore. to the northward, however, they caught sight of a sail just rising above the horizon, and soon afterwards another was seen to the eastward, but which way she was standing they could not determine. as the sun rose the wind decreased, and before long it became perfectly calm. "we must lower the sail and take to our oars again," said bill. "it won't do to stop where we are." "i am ready to pull on as long as i have any strength in me," answered jack, as he stowed the sail, and got out his oar. chapter seventeen. a narrow escape--the fugitives picked up by a frigate. the rest jack and bill had obtained while their raft was under sail enabled them to row with as much vigour as at first; and row they did with might and main, knowing that their liberty might depend upon their exertions. the calm was very trying, for they had expected to be wafted quickly across the channel, and row as hard as they could, their progress must be slow. after rowing for a couple of hours or more, they found themselves apparently no nearer the ship ahead than they had been at first. at length hunger compelled them to lay in their oars and take some breakfast. they ate a hearty one, for they had plenty of provisions; but on examining their stock of water they found that they must be very economical, or they might run short of that necessary of life. after a short rest, bill sprang to his feet. "it won't do to be stopping," he observed. "if we only make a couple of miles an hour it will be something, and we shall be so much nearer home, and so much farther away from the french shore." "i'm afraid that when the mounseers find out that we have escaped, they will be sending after us," said jack. "they will be ashamed of being outwitted by a couple of english boys, and will do all they can to bring us back." "i believe you are right, jack," replied bill; "only, as they certainly will not be able to see us from the shore, they won't know in what direction to pull, and may fancy that we are hid away somewhere along the coast." "they'll guess well enough that we should have pulled to the nor'ard, and will be able to calculate by the set of the tide whereabouts to find us," said jack. "we mustn't trust too much to being safe as yet. i wonder what that vessel to the eastward is. she's a ship, for i can see her royals above the horizon, and she's certainly nearer than when we first made her out." "she must be standing to the westward, then, and will, i hope, pass inside of us, should the breeze spring up again from the same quarter," observed bill. "she's probably french, or she would not be so close in with the coast." "as to that, our cruisers stand in close enough at times, and she may be english notwithstanding," answered jack. "unless we are certain that she's english we shall be wiser to avoid her," remarked bill, "so we'll pull away to the nor'ard." "but what do you think of the ship out there?" asked jack, pointing ahead. "i cannot help believing that she's english," said bill. "we must run the chance of being seen by her. we shall have to pull on a good many hours, however, first, and when the breeze springs up, she'll pretty quickly run either to the eastward or westward." the boys, however, after all their remarks, could arrive at no conclusion. they rowed and rowed, but still appeared not to have moved their position with regard either to the shore or the two vessels in sight. the sun rose high above their heads and struck down with considerable force; but they cared little for the heat, though it made them apply more frequently than they otherwise would have done to their water-cask. bill had more than once to warn jack not to drink too much. the day was drawing on, and at last jack proposed that they should have another rest and take some dinner. "there's no use starving ourselves, and the more we eat the better we shall be able to pull," he said. bill was not quite of this opinion. at the same time he agreed to jack's proposal, as his arms were becoming very weary. they had just finished their dinner when jack, getting up on the chest in which the mast was stepped, so that he might have a better look-out, exclaimed, "i see a sail between us and the land. the sun just now glanced on it. there's a breeze in shore, depend on it, and it will reach us before long." bill jumped up to have a look-out also. he could not distinguish the sail, but he thought by the darker colour of the water to the southward that a breeze was playing over it, though it had not as yet got as far as they were. they again took to their oars and pulled on. jack, however, occasionally turned round to look to the southward, for he entertained the uncomfortable idea that they were pursued. they were now, they agreed, nearer the ship to the northward. her lofty sails must have caught a light westerly air, which did not reach close down to the water, and had sent her along two or three knots an hour. they could see half-way down her courses, and jack declared his belief that she was a frigate, but whether english or french he could not determine. unless, however, they were to hoist their sail, they might pass very close to her without being discovered, and the course she was steering would take her somewhat to the eastward of them. they would have to settle the point as to whether she was a friend or foe, and in the former case whether it would be advisable to hoist their sail, and made every signal in their power to attract her attention, or to keep the sail lowered until she was at a distance from them. bill had not been convinced that jack had seen a sail to the southward. "whether or not i saw one before, there's one now," cried jack, "and pretty near, too, and what's worse, it's a boat, so that they have oars, and will be coming up with us in spite of the calm." "they must have had a breeze to get thus far," remarked bill. "yes, but it has failed them now; see, they are lowering down the sail." as jack spoke, a light patch of white like the wing of a wild-fowl was seen for a moment glancing above the water landward. "yes, there's no doubt that was a sail, which must have come from the shore; but it is a question whether the frenchmen will have the pluck to pull on in the hopes of finding us, or will turn back. one thing is certain, that we had better try to keep ahead, when they will have farther to come if they still pursue us." once more the boys got their oars out, and laboured away as energetically as before. they every now and then, however, looked back to ascertain if the boat were coming after them. meantime a light breeze played occasionally over the water, but it was so light that it would not have helped them much, and they thought it wiser not to hoist their sail, as it would betray their position should a french boat really be in pursuit of them. the ship, which they supposed to be a frigate, was in in the meantime drawing nearer to them from the north-east. "i cannot help thinking that the boat is still coming after us," cried jack. "i fancy i caught sight of the gleam of the sun on the men's hats; if i were to swarm up the mast i should be more certain." "you will run the chance of capsizing the raft if you do," observed bill. "i'll just go a little way up," retorted jack; and he jumped on the chest, and hoisted himself three or four feet only up the mast, while bill sat down on the deck to counterbalance his weight. "yes, i was right," said jack, coming down. "i made out a boat, as sure as we are here, and a large one, too, or i should not have seen her so clearly. she's a good way off still, so that it will be some time before she can get up with us. the french fellows in her must take yonder ship to be a countryman, or they would not pull on so boldly." "they may think that they have time to pick us up and be off again before the ship can get near them," said bill; "but whatever they think, we must try to disappoint them, so we'll pull away as long as we can stand, and then we'll row on our knees." the sun was by this time sinking towards the west; and should darkness come on, their chances of escape would be increased. the wind had shifted slightly to the south-west, and should it freshen sufficiently to make it worth while hoisting the sail, they might stand away to the north-east. it still, however, wanted two or three hours before it would be perfectly dark, while the boat would be up to them before that time. after rowing for the greater part of an hour, jack again took a look-out, and reported that he could distinctly see the boat. "so i suspect by this time can the people on board the ship," observed bill, "and probably they can see us also; but the crew of the boat well know that with this light wind they can easily row away from the ship should she prove to be english." in a short time they could both see the boat when only standing up on the raft. they had now too much reason to fear that, in spite of all their efforts, they should be overtaken. still, like brave boys, they pulled on, though their arms and backs were aching with their exertions. the frenchmen, who must by this time have seen the raft, appeared determined to re-take them. presently a report was heard, and a bullet flew skimming over the water, but dropped beneath the surface somewhere astern. another and another followed. "their shot won't hurt us as yet," observed bill. "they fancy that they can frighten us, but we'll show them that they are mistaken;" and he pulled on as steadily as he had before been doing. jack, however, could not resist jumping up once more on the chest, and looking towards the ship. "hurrah! there's a boat coming off from the ship!" he cried out. "if she's english, she'll soon make the frenchmen put about." jack was right as to a boat coming from the ship, but the frenchmen still pulled on. perhaps they did not see the boat, or if they did, thought that she also was french. again and again the pursuers fired, the bullets now falling close to the raft. "a miss is as good as a mile," cried bill, rowing on. but the french boat was evidently getting terribly near. if any tolerable marksman were on board, he could easily pick off the two occupants of the raft. they knew that well enough, but they kept to their resolution of pulling on till the last. they were encouraged, too, by seeing the boat from the stranger making towards them. presently three or four bullets together flew close to their ears, and fell into the water ahead. "pull on! pull on!" cried bill; "the fellows fired to vent their spite. they are going to give up the chase." he looked round as he spoke, and, sure enough, the stern of the boat was seen. the frenchmen were rowing back to the shore. the boat of the stranger, instead of steering, as she had been, towards the raft, was now seen directing her course after the french boat, the crew of which were evidently straining every nerve to escape. "hurrah!" cried jack, standing up and waving his cap, "that's an english frigate." "no doubt about it," exclaimed bill; "i can see her ensign blowing out;" and he could scarcely refrain from throwing up his cap, but remembered that it might chance to fall overboard if he did. directly afterwards a gun was heard, fired by the frigate. it was a signal to recall the boat. she would have had a long pull before she could over take the frenchmen. the signal was not to be disobeyed, and she was seen to pull round and steer for the raft. the boys eagerly watched her approach. she was soon up to them. "hallo, my lads! where do you come from?" asked the officer, who was standing up in the stern-sheets. "we are running away from the frenchmen, sir," answered bill. "a curious craft you have chosen for the purpose," observed the officer. "it was the best we could get, sir," said bill. "we twice have managed to make our escape, and the first time were caught and carried back." "well, we'll hear all about it by-and-by. come, jump on board. i should like to tow your raft to the frigate, but we must not delay for that purpose," exclaimed the officer. jack and bill quickly tumbled into the boat, though, as soon as they were on board, they cast wistful glances at their raft. the officer ordered the men to give way, and steered the boat towards the frigate. he now asked the lads how they came to be in france. bill briefly described how the _foxhound_ had blown up, and the way in which they had been taken on board a french fishing-vessel, and their various adventures on shore. "that's curious enough," observed the lieutenant, "for we have on board the frigate most of those who escaped." the officer, who was the third lieutenant of the frigate, had learned the greater part of their history by the time the boat got up to her. he and most of the crew quickly climbed on board, followed by the boys. the falls were hooked on, and the boat hoisted up. whom should jack and bill see standing on the deck, and issuing his orders to the crew to "brace round the yards," but mr saltwell, the first lieutenant of their former ship. they stood for some minutes by themselves, for everybody was too much engaged to attend to them. the frigate's head was now turned in the direction of the stranger they had seen to the eastward, towards which they observed that the glasses of several of the officers were directed. "though she has not shown her colours, i feel positive that she's french," observed the captain to mr saltwell. "i hope that you are right, sir," was the answer; "but we shall scarcely get up to her before dark." "we shall get near enough to make the private signal," said the captain, "and if she does not answer it we shall know how to treat her when we do get up to her." all the sail the frigate could carry was set, and as the breeze had increased, she ran rapidly through the water. chapter eighteen. the frigate in action--bill shows that he can be of use. the stranger, which had apparently been beating down channel, now put up her helm, and setting studden sails stood to the eastward before the wind. she failed also to answer the private signal; no doubt, therefore, remained that she was french, and wished to avoid an action, though, as she appeared to be as large as the english frigate, if not larger, this was somewhat surprising. "perhaps she has some consorts to the eastward, and wishes to lead us into their midst during the night," observed mr saltwell. "she will find that she's mistaken. we will keep too bright a look-out to be so caught," said the captain. the first lieutenant, as he was walking forward, caught sight of bill and jack. "why, lads, where do you come from?" he asked. as he spoke he recognised bill. "are you not the lad who gave notice of the plot of the american captain to capture our ship?" he asked. bill acknowledged that such was the case. "i am truly glad that you have escaped. i promised our late captain that i would keep an eye on you," he continued, "and i shall now have the opportunity. i thought you, with the rest of our poor fellows, had been lost when our ship blew up." bill briefly described their adventures, and the lieutenant seemed much interested. he said he would have them at once entered on the ship's books, for as they were likely soon to be engaged with the enemy, it might be of importance to them. he accordingly sent for the purser, to whom he gave the proper directions. bill and jack then made their way below. on passing the galley they saw a boy busily employed, assisting the cook's mate in cleaning pots and pans. he looked up at them and started, letting drop the pot at which he was scrubbing. "what! bill! jack! i thought you had gone to davy jones's locker," he exclaimed. "are you really yourselves?" "no doubt about it, tom," answered bill and in a few words they again told their adventures. tom soon recovered from his astonishment. he appeared somewhat ashamed of his present occupation. he had got into a scrape, he acknowledged, and had been ordered to assist the cook's mate. "i wish you would tell him, tom, that we are very hungry, as we have had a long pull, and that if he would give us something to eat we should be very much obliged to him. if he's a good-natured fellow, i daresay he will." tom undertook to plead for them with the cook himself, who just then put his head out of the galley. the cook, without hesitation, on hearing their story, gave them each a basin of broth and a handful of biscuit. while they were eating they asked tom to tell them how he had escaped. "i've no very clear notion about the matter," he answered; "i must have been in the water, for i found myself lying at the bottom of a boat wet to the skin, and more dead than alive. there were a dozen or more of our fellows in her, and mr saltwell, our first lieutenant, who had been picked up, i supposed, as i had been. they thought i was done for, and, as the boat was overloaded, they were about to heave me overboard, when i opened my eyes, and sang out, `don't;' so they let me remain, and after some time pulled alongside a cutter, on board which we were taken and looked after below. shortly afterwards we went in chase of a french craft of the same rig as ours, but she got away, and we then steered for plymouth. we were at first taken on board the guardship, where we remained some time, and then i was transferred with others to this frigate, the _thisbe_, of which, to my great satisfaction, i found that mr saltwell had been appointed first lieutenant. thinking that, as we had shared a common misfortune, he would stand my friend, i went up to him, and telling him that i was a gentleman's son, begged he would have me put on the quarter-deck. he told me that if i did my duty i should have as good a chance as others; but here i am set to scrape potatoes and clean pots and pans. it's a shame, a great shame, and i can't stand it." bill and jack had a tolerably correct notion why tom was not better off, but they did not say so, as they did not wish to hurt his feelings, and were grateful to him for having obtained for them the broth and biscuits. they had scarcely finished their meal when the order came to extinguish the galley fire. a short time afterwards the drum beat to quarters, and every one was employed in getting the ship ready for action. jack and bill expected that they would be employed in their former occupation of powder-monkeys, though, having been awake all the previous night, and in active exertion the whole of the day, notwithstanding the expectation of a battle, they could with difficulty keep their eyes open. they were going with the rest of the boys to the powder-magazine, when they heard their names called out, and the ship's corporal appearing, told them that the first lieutenant had directed that they should turn in below and take some sleep. a couple of hammocks were slung for them forward, and they very gladly obeyed the order. bill made an effort to keep awake, that he might turn out again should the ship go into action, but in less than two minutes drowsiness overtook him, and he went fast asleep. he dreamed, however, that he heard the guns firing, and the crew shouting, and that he got up and found that the frigate had taken the frenchman. meantime, however, the wind falling light, the frigate made but slow progress, though she still kept the enemy in sight. when bill really awoke, the light was streaming down through the fore-hatchway. he roused up jack, as there was no one below to call them, and on going on deck they discovered the crew at their quarters, and the french frigate almost within range of their guns. she was to leeward, for the wind was still in its former quarter, and she had just then hauled up and backed her main-topsail to await their coming. she was now seen to carry four more guns than the _thisbe_, and to be apparently considerably larger, her bright, polished sides showing that she had not been long out of harbour. when a ship goes into action, sail is generally shortened, but captain martin kept all the _thisbe's_ set, and stood on, bearing down directly for the enemy. jack had been sent to join the other boys, who were employed in bringing up the powder as required from the magazine, but the first lieutenant directed bill to remain near him. jack took his seat as a matter of course on his tub, and, as it happened, next to tom. "how are you feeling?" asked tom, who looked rather pale. "much as i generally do, only i am rather peckish," answered jack. "i wish we had had time for breakfast before thrashing the mounseers, but i hope that won't take us very long." "i hope not," said tom; "only they say that the french ship is the bigger of the two." "what's the odds of that, provided we can work our guns twice as fast as they can?" observed jack; "that's the way we licked the frenchmen before, and, of course, we shall lick them again; but i say, tom, what makes you look so melancholy?" "do i? well, if you want to know, i was thinking of home, and wishing i had not run off to sea. i've had a miserable life of it since i came on board this frigate. it was my own fault that i did not go back when i was last on shore. i had the chance, but was ashamed to show my face." "there's no use thinking about that sort of thing now," said jack. "we shall be fighting the frenchmen in a few minutes, and the round and grape shot and bullets will be flying about our ears." "that's what i don't quite like the thoughts of," replied tom. "i hope neither you nor i will be hit, jack." "of course not," said jack; "it wouldn't be pleasant, though we must do our duty, and trust to chance, or rather trust in providence, like the rest." "i don't envy bill up on deck there," remarked tom. "i wonder what the first lieutenant wants with him." "perhaps he intends to turn him into a midshipman," suggested jack. "into a midshipman! a london street boy, who scarcely knows who his father was," ejaculated tom. "i should think he would have made me one before him." "the first lieutenant doesn't care a rap what he or his father was. he remembers only the way bill saved the ship from being taken by the american skipper, and he seemed highly pleased at our having escaped from france. i tell you i shouldn't be at all surprised if bill is placed on the quarter-deck," said jack. tom gave a grunt of dissatisfaction. the conversation had a good effect, as far as he was concerned, as it made him forget the fears he had entertained about his personal safety. in the meantime bill remained on deck watching what was going forward. he heard captain martin tell the first lieutenant that he intended to engage the enemy to leeward, in order to prevent her escape; but as the _thisbe_ approached the french ship, the latter, suspecting his intention, so as to frustrate it, wore round on the starboard tack. after much skilful seamanship on both sides, captain martin, finding that he could not succeed, ranged up to windward of the enemy within pistol shot, both ships being on the larboard tack, two or three points off the wind. they now simultaneously opened their broadsides, the shot of the _thisbe_ telling with considerable effect, while not a few of those of the enemy came on board in return, cutting up her rigging, and laying low three or four of her men. the french ship now passed under the stern of the _thisbe_, firing her larboard broadside with great precision. a second time she attempted to repeat the manoeuvre, but the crew of the _thisbe_, having quickly rove new braces, her sails were thrown aback, and gathering sternway, her starboard quarter took the larboard bow of the french frigate. the french on this made several attempts to board, but the marines, who were drawn up on deck, opened so warm a fire that they were driven back with considerable loss. the _thisbe_ had now her enemy fast to her quarter. in order to keep her there, captain martin and some of his crew endeavoured to lash her bowsprit to his mizenmast; while others were engaged in bringing a gun to bear, out of a port which the carpenters quickly cut through the stern windows and quarter gallery. while they were thus engaged, the enemy kept up a hot fire on them, several men being killed and wounded; but the gun was at length brought into position. "now fire, my lads!" cried the second lieutenant, who was superintending the operation. after the first, discharge, no sooner had the smoke cleared away, than full twenty frenchmen were seen stretched on the deck. bill had been standing near the first lieutenant. a marine had just loaded his musket, but was knocked over before he had time to fire it. bill at that moment saw a french seaman run along the bowsprit with a musket in his hand. bill, springing forward, seized that of the marine, and, as he did so, he observed the frenchman taking aim at the head of mr saltwell, whose eyes were turned in a different direction. there was not a moment for deliberation. without ceremony pushing the lieutenant aside, he fired at the frenchman, who, as he did so, discharged his musket, but immediately fell overboard, the ball tearing away the rim of mr saltwell's hat, but without hurting him. the first lieutenant, turning round, perceived the way by which his life had been saved. "thank you, my lad," he said, "i see how you did it, and i'll not forget the service you have rendered me." there was no time just then for saying more, for a party of frenchmen were attempting to fire a carronade on their forecastle. before they could succeed, the marines had picked off the greater number. others took their places, but every man of them was treated in the same manner. at last the attempt to fire the gun was abandoned. the french ship now getting a breeze, began to forge ahead. this enabled the _thisbe's_ crew to bring their aftermost gun on the starboard side to bear, the first discharge from which cut away the gammoning of the french frigate's bowsprit. the two ships now separated, but were soon again abreast of each other exchanging broadsides; but so rapidly did the english crew work their guns that they managed to fire three to the frenchman's two. a loud cheer burst from their throats as they saw the enemy's maintopmast go over the side. the _thisbe_ now forged ahead clear of her adversary, and the breeze dying away, the firing ceased on both sides. still the frenchmen kept their colours flying. the english crew were busily employed in knotting and splicing the rigging which had been cut away, and repairing other damages. "i hope they've had enough of it, and that the fighting is over," exclaimed tom. "not so sure of that," said jack. "the french take a good deal of drubbing, and don't always know when they are beaten." tom felt, at all events, that he had had enough of it, as he looked along the deck and saw numbers of the men who had been slightly hurt binding up each other's wounds. several lay stiff and stark, whose bodies were dragged on one side, while not a few, severely hurt, had been carried below to the cockpit, where the surgeon and his mates had ample employment. among the killed was the second lieutenant, a master's mate, and two young midshipmen; altogether of the two hundred and fifty men who that morning were in health and strength, forty were either killed outright or were severely wounded. just then, however, the survivors were too much occupied to think about the matter; every man and boy was wanted to get the ship to rights, and all were eagerly looking out for a breeze that they might again attack the enemy. bill was as eager as any one for the fight. he felt that he was somebody, as he could not help reflecting that he had done good service in saving the life of the first lieutenant, though he did not exactly expect any reward in consequence. it seemed to him that he had grown suddenly from a powder monkey into a man. still the calm continued, and the two ships lay with their sails against the masts, the water shining like a polished mirror. the calm was to the advantage of the french, who had thus longer time to repair their damages. the english were soon ready to renew the action. what, however, might not happen in the meantime? both the captain and mr saltwell thought it possible that the french squadron might be to the eastward, and should the firing have been heard, and a breeze spring up from that direction, which it was very likely to do, the frenchmen in overwhelming force might be down upon them. the captain walked the deck, looking anxiously out in every direction for signs of a breeze. occasionally reports were brought to him of the way the wounded men were getting on. the surgeons had as much work as they could get through, cutting off arms and legs, setting broken limbs, and binding up flesh wounds. such are the horrors of war! how many might be added ere long to the number of the killed and wounded! it was nearly noon when the captain exclaimed, "here comes a breeze! trim sails, my lads!" the men flew to the braces. the canvas blew out, and the frigate began slowly to move towards her antagonist. chapter nineteen. the "thisbe" victorious--an enemy's squadron heaves in sight. the crew of the _thisbe_ stood at their guns, ready to open fire at the word of command. several who had, at the commencement of the action, been among them, were missing; and though the survivors mourned their loss, that was not the time either to think or talk about them. not a word, indeed, was spoken fore and aft; not even the usual jokes passed between the men. the frenchman showed no inclination to avoid the combat. he could not have got away even had he wished, for his foretopmast was gone, and he had not fully repaired the other damages he had received aloft. nearer and nearer the _thisbe_ drew to the enemy, still the looked-for word of command did not come. the captain resolved to wait till he got close up to her. the french, also, for some time refrained from firing, though the _thisbe_ was within range of their guns. they were the first to lose patience, or perhaps they thought that they could knock away the spars and rigging of their antagonist, and thus be able to make their escape. the _thisbe_, however, was coming up on their larboard quarter. their guns which they could bring to bear were trained high for the purpose mentioned. the shot came whistling about her masts and rigging; but though some of her sails were shot through, and a few ropes cut away, no material damage was received. the breeze at that instant freshened, and the _thisbe_ glided rapidly on. "give it them, my lads!" cried the captain, as the helm being put to starboard the whole of the _thisbe's_ broadside was brought to bear with terrible effect on the enemy. the frenchman again fired. the _thisbe's_ guns were quickly run in and reloaded. the breeze at that instant blew aside the smoke, and as it did so the enemy's foremast was seen to fall with a crash overboard. loud cheers rang forth from the decks of the _thisbe_. again her broadside was fired, but no return came. the next instant, through the smoke, the frenchman's ensign was seen in the act of being lowered, just in time to save them from another broadside. the british crew had cheered lustily when they saw the foremast fall. they now redoubled their shouts, turning round and shaking each other heartily by the hand; some throwing up their caps, and others, mostly the irishmen of the crew, leaping and dancing with delight. two of the _thisbe's_ boats being uninjured, they were lowered; and the third lieutenant, with a master's mate and a party of seamen, was sent on board to take possession of the prize. as they were about to shove off, mr saltwell inquired whether any one could speak french. "i can, sir," said bill, touching his hat. "then go and assist mr sterling; you will be of much use," said the first lieutenant. bill, who had been longing to visit the prize, obeyed with no small satisfaction. as they reached her deck, an officer advanced with his sword in his hand, and presented it to mr sterling, who, receiving it, handed it to bill. the french officer announced that he was the second lieutenant of the _diana_ frigate, which it was his misfortune now to yield into the possession of her british conquerors. mr sterling bowed in return. "tell him, rayner," he said, "that we acknowledge how bravely he and his countrymen have fought their ship, and that though they have lost her, they have not lost their honour." the french lieutenant looked highly gratified at this remark when bill interpreted it, and desired him to express his obligation to the english lieutenant. the captain and first lieutenant had been killed, as were no less than thirty of the crew, including other officers, while fifty were wounded. the deck, indeed, presented a dreadful scene--strewed in every direction with corpses, while many poor fellows were so fearfully injured that their shipmates had been unwilling to move them. the other officers presented their swords, while the seamen unbuckled their cutlasses, and the marines piled their arms. many wry faces were made, though most of the frenchmen merely shrugged their shoulders, observing that what had happened to them was the fortune of war. bill made himself very useful in communicating with the french officers and crew. one of the _diana's_ boats had escaped injury, and she, being lowered, assisted the other boats in carrying the prisoners on board the _thisbe_. they far outnumbered the english, and much vigilance was required to keep them in order. the prize crew sent on board the _diana_ set to work, under the command of mr sterling, to stop the shot-holes in her sides, and to repair her other more serious damages. a jury-mast was rigged forward, to supply the place of the foremast carried away. in the meantime, a hawser being conveyed on board the _thisbe_, the prize was taken in tow, and sail was made for plymouth. it was of the greatest importance to get away from the french coast without delay, for a northerly wind might spring up and drive the two ships upon it; or if, as captain martin suspected, a french squadron was in the neighbourhood, the sound of the firing might have reached them, and they would very probably come up to ascertain what had taken place, when the prize would be recaptured, and the _thisbe_ herself might find it very difficult to escape. everybody on board had, therefore, ample work to do; besides which the prisoners in both ships had to be watched. several had been allowed to remain on board the prize to assist the surgeons in attending to the wounded men. an eye had also to be kept on them. mr saltwell sent for bill, who had returned to the _thisbe_. "i remember well how you behaved on board the _foxhound_, and i want you to keep a watch on the prisoners, and let me know if you hear or see anything suspicious. they will probably remain quiet enough, as they must know that they would have very little chance of success should they attempt to rise upon us. at the same time it is better to be on the safe side, and not to trust them too much." "they have heard me talking french to the officers, and will be careful what they say when they see me near them," answered bill; "but there's my messmate, jack peek, who was in france with me, and knows their `lingo' as well as i do; and as they have not heard him talking, they'll not suspect him; and if you will allow me, sir, i will tell him to go among them, and he'll soon find out if they have any thoughts of mischief." mr saltwell approved of bill's proposal, and gave him leave to employ jack as he suggested. bill, going below, soon found out his messmate. jack was well pleased at the confidence placed in him, and promised to keep his eyes and ears well open. there was no time for conversation just then, for every man in the ship was busy, and the boys were wanted to assist them. the frigate and her prize had made some way to the northward before night came on. a bright look-out was kept for any enemy which might heave in sight; but when darkness gradually stole over the ocean, none had appeared. during that night none of the english officers or men turned in. the most tired snatched a few moments of sleep at intervals as best they could when off watch. the frenchmen were allowed to lie down on deck between the guns, with sentries placed over them. it was very evident that, had they chosen to rise, they might have overpowered the sentries at the cost of a few of their own lives. fortunately none of them liked to run the risk of being shot, and remained quiet. the wind was light, and the _thisbe_ and her prize made but slow progress. the captain anxiously waited the return of morning. at early dawn look-outs were sent aloft to ascertain if any vessels were in sight. they reported three to the south-east, and one to the westward; but what they were it was impossible at that distance to say, as their loftier sails could but indistinctly be seen rising above the horizon. the _thisbe_ had already as much sail set as she could carry, but lieutenant sterling was making an effort to get up a maintopmast on board the prize. when jack and bill met at breakfast, jack reported that he had been frequently among the prisoners, but had failed to hear anything which showed that they had the slightest thoughts of attempting to regain their liberty. "what would you know about the matter even if they had been talking treason?" observed tom. "i doubt if either of you fellows know much about french." "as to that," said bill, "we managed to talk to frenchmen, and to understand what they said to us. that, at least, shows that we do know something about french; not that i wish to boast, only i think i should do much better if i could get hold of some french books." tom laughed. "oh! i dare say you are going to become a great scholar, and to beat us all," he observed, with a sneer. "jack was even declaring that you were likely to be placed on the quarter-deck. that would be a good joke." "it would be a good reality for me, though i don't think it's what is very likely to happen," answered bill, without getting at all angry. "nor do i," said tom, in the same tone as before. "just fancy a chap like you turned into an officer. you can jabber a few words of french, and may have picked up a smattering of navigation on board the _foxhound_, though i've a notion you must pretty well have forgotten all you knew by this time, and you may be fond of books, but all that won't turn a fellow who has come out of the gutter, as one may say, into a gentleman, as i suppose those on the quarter-deck call themselves." "and what do you call them?" exclaimed jack, not liking to hear such remarks made to bill. "i wonder you dare to speak in that way." "i call myself the son of a gentleman, and i'm thinking when i get into port of writing to my father and asking him to have me placed on the quarter-deck." "i wonder you didn't do that before you ran away from home," said jack. "they'll have forgotten all about you by this time, and maybe, if you do manage to write a letter, your father won't believe that it comes from you." "let him alone, jack," said bill; "i don't mind what he says about me. if his father gets him made a midshipman, i shall be as glad as any one." "thank you," said tom; "i flatter myself i shall know how to strut about the quarter-deck and order the men here and there as well as the rest of them." just then a voice was heard shouting, "tom fletcher, the cook wants you in the galley. be smart, now, you've been long enough at breakfast." tom, bolting his last piece of biscuit, hurried away, as he had no fancy for the rope's-ending which would have been bestowed upon him had he delayed obeying the summons. the mess-tins were stowed away, and the watch hastened on deck. the wind by this time had somewhat freshened, and the frigate and her prize were making better progress than before. the strangers, however, which had appeared in sight in the morning were considerably nearer. a fourth was now seen beyond the three which had been made out to the eastward. the ship to the westward which was considerably farther off than the others, was evidently a large vessel, and the captain declared his belief that she was a line-of-battle ship, but whether english or french, it was impossible to decide. he hoped, as did everybody on board, that she was english, for should she prove to be french, as undoubtedly were the vessels to the eastward, the _thisbe_ would lose her hard-won prize, even though she might manage to escape herself. still, captain martin was not a man to give up hope while there was a chance of escape. the _thisbe_, followed by her prize, kept on her course with every stitch of canvas she could carry set. "i'm afraid if we don't outrun those fellows there, we shall get boxed up again by the frenchmen," observed jack, pointing to the approaching ships. "if we do we must manage to get out somehow or other, as we did before," answered bill; "but even if they do come up with us, that's no reason why we should be taken. we must try and beat them off, and the captain and mr saltwell are the men to do it. they are only four to our two ships, for the lieutenant in charge of the prize will fight his guns as well as we do ours." "but what do you say to that big ship coming up channel out there?" asked tom. "we shall be made mincemeat of if she gets up to us, for i heard the boatswain's mate say that she's a seventy-four at least, and may be an eighty-gun ship, or still larger." "she hasn't come up with us yet," answered bill. "we shall have time to beat off the others and stand away to the northward before she gets us within range of her guns. perhaps, too, the wind will shift to the eastward, and throw her to leeward. we shall then be well in with plymouth by the time she can manage to beat up to us. we are not going to give in while the tight little frigate keeps above water." bill expressed the sentiments of most of the crew. still, the odds were greatly against the _thisbe_ and _diana_. the latter had but forty hands on board to work the guns and manage the sails, while the crew of the _thisbe_ was thus far diminished, besides which they had to look after their prisoners. the two leading ships of the enemy had been made out to be frigates, as it was thought probable were their consorts astern; and even though they might fail to capture the _thisbe_, they might knock away her masts and spars, and so maul her that she would be compelled to succumb to the line-of-battle ship coming up from the westward. not, however, by his manner, or anything he said, did the captain show the least apprehension of such a result. the crew were at their stations, ready to shorten sail should the breeze freshening render it necessary. the men joked and laughed as usual, as ready for action as if they were only expecting one opponent of equal size. the morning wore on, the hands were piped down to dinner, the prospect of hot work not at all damping their appetites, though perhaps they got through their meal rather faster than was their wont; when they again hurried on deck to see how things were going on. the two french frigates were approaching. the headmost in a short time fired a bowchaser, but the shot fell short. it served, however, as a signal to prepare for action. once more the guns were cast loose, and their crews stood ready to fire as soon as they received the looked-for word of command. a few of the french prisoners who had been allowed to remain on deck were now ordered below. they went willingly enough, exhibiting in their countenances the satisfaction they felt at the expectation of being soon restored to liberty. they were, of course, narrowly watched, and well knew that they would be pretty severely dealt with should they show any signs of insubordination. chapter twenty. the "thisbe's" narrow escape--tom hopes to be made a midshipman. half an hour or more passed, when again the leading french frigate fired, the shot falling close to the counter of the _diana_, which by this time, having got up a fresh maintopmast, was able to make more sail. captain martin now ordered lieutenant sterling to cast off the tow rope and to stand on ahead of him, while, to allow the _diana_ to do so, he clewed up the _thisbe's_ topsails. "make the best of your way to plymouth," he shouted, as the _diana_ passed the _thisbe_; "we'll keep these two fellows in play, and shall, i hope, be soon after you." as soon as the prize had got some distance ahead, captain martin, who had been watching the two frigates coming up on the starboard quarter, ordered the _thisbe's_ helm to be put to port; at the same moment, her starboard broadside being fired, the shot raked the two frenchmen fore and aft. the helm was then immediately put over, and the frigate coming up on the other tack, her larboard broadside was poured into her antagonists. the shot told with considerable effect. the foretopmast of the leading frigate was shot away, and the mizenmast of the one following was seen to go by the board. this, however, did not much alter their rate of sailing, as, the wind being aft, all the canvas they required continued set. they also opened their fire, and their shot came crashing on board the _thisbe_, killing and wounding two or three men, but not doing any material damage to her spars or rigging. she having shortened sail, her antagonists were compelled to do the same; and while they poured their broadsides into her, she returned them as rapidly as the crew could run the guns in and out. captain martin's great object was to keep them engaged, and, if possible, to knock away their masts, so as to enable the _diana_ to escape, for although he might hope to get off himself, he could not expect to capture either of the enemy's ships. the _thisbe_ had been several times hulled, and her sails were already completely riddled, while many more of her crew had fallen. "it is going hard with us, i fear," said jack to tom, who was seated next him on his powder tub. "there's well-nigh a score of poor fellows killed or wounded within the last half-hour. it may be the lot of one of us before long." "oh, dear! i hope not," cried tom. "i wish the skipper would try and get away instead of fighting the frenchmen. two to one is fearful odds against us, and we shall have the two other ships blazing away at our heads before long." "we haven't much to fear from them," said jack. "i have just heard they're corvettes, and they won't be up to us until we've given the other two a drubbing, and have made sail again to the northward." the two corvettes were, however, likely to prove no despicable opponents, and captain martin was only watching until he had knocked away the masts or spars of one or both of the frigates, to make sail and escape, for it would have been madness to have continued the fight longer than was necessary to accomplish that object. the frenchmen, however, fought bravely, and evidently did not intend to let him get off if they could help it. each had just fired another broadside into the _thisbe_, when they were seen to haul their wind, the two ships coming up astern doing the same. the reason of this was evident: the line-of-battle ship to the westward, now approaching under a pressure of sail, had hoisted british colours, and any longer delay would have enabled her quickly to capture one or both of them. the brave crew of the _thisbe_ expressed their satisfaction by giving a loud cheer, which was joined in even by many of the wounded. captain martin had accomplished his object; he had secured the safety of his prize, and his crew, now swarming aloft, set to work rapidly to knot and splice the rigging which had been shot away. as soon as this had been accomplished sufficiently to make sail, the _thisbe_, brought to the wind, stood after the flying enemy, firing her bow chasers as she did so; but it was soon seen that she had little chance of coming up with them. still her captain persevered; but, with both masts and spars wounded, it was impossible to carry as much sail as would otherwise have been done. consequently, before long the line-of-battle ship, which made the signal _terrible_, seventy-four, overtook her. a cheer rose from the deck of the big ship, which came gliding slowly by. her captain hailed, "well done, martin!" the pursuit was continued for some time, but night was approaching, and the coast of france was not far off. the seventy-four therefore threw out the signal to bear up and a course was shaped for plymouth. a sharp look-out was kept during the night for the _diana_. soon after sunrise she was seen steering for plymouth, into which harbour captain martin and his gallant crew had the satisfaction of conducting her the following day. although it was a day of triumph to the surviving crew, it was one of mourning to many who had lost relatives and friends. the dead were carried on shore to be buried, the wounded conveyed to hospitals, the frenchmen were landed and marched off under an escort of marines to the prisons prepared for them, and press-gangs were soon busy at work to obtain fresh hands to supply the places of those who had fallen, although many prime seamen volunteered to serve on board a frigate which had already won a name for herself. tom fletcher, as soon as the ship got into harbour, managed to procure a pen and some ink and paper, and indited a letter to his father. it was not over-well written, but he contrived to make it pretty clearly express that he was serving on board h.m.s. _thisbe_, and that having already seen a great deal of service, he felt sure that if his father would apply to the admiralty and make him an allowance of thirty or forty pounds a year, he should be placed on the quarter-deck, and in due course of time become an admiral. "we are sure to make lots of prize-money," he added; "and if i were a midshipman now, i should be receiving a hundred pounds or more, so that you may be sure, father, that i will pay it all back with interest." "father likes interest," he observed to bill, who was sitting by him at the time, and helping him in his somewhat unaccustomed task; "that'll make him more ready to do what i want, though whether he'll ever get the money is neither here nor there." "but if you promise to pay him, you are bound to do so," observed bill. "you need not have made the promise, then you could have waited to know whether he required interest." "well, i've written it, and can't scratch it out now," said tom. "it will come to the same thing in the end." bill had some doubts whether tom's father would make the allowance tom asked for; but if he were a rich man, as tom asserted, he might do so, and therefore he said nothing. the letter, after being folded several times and creased all over, was at length closed, sealed, and addressed, by which time it had assumed a somewhat grimy appearance. tom got the cook's mate, who was going on shore, to post his letter, having told him that he expected to receive a good sum of money by return, and promising him a part of the proceeds. bill and jack looked forward to the reply with almost as much interest as tom himself, neither of them feeling that they should be at all jealous, should it produce the satisfactory result he anticipated. meantime, every possible exertion was made to get the ship ready for sea. mr saltwell was very busy superintending all the operations. bill, however, found that he was not forgotten, from a kind word or two which on several occasions the first lieutenant bestowed upon him. as tom was not aware of this, he amused himself by telling bill that mr saltwell would not trouble himself more about him--that he must be content to remain a powder monkey until he got big enough to be rated as an ordinary seaman. "better than being cook's boy," cried jack, who could never stand hearing bill sneered at. "he's a precious deal more likely to be made a midshipman than you are, even though your father is a rich man and rides in his carriage, as you say." tom retorted, and jack looked as if he was much inclined to knock him over, when the quarrel was cut short by the appearance of the cook's mate, who dragged off tom to help him clean the galley and scrub the pots and pans. day after day went by. the frigate was reported ready for sea, and her complement of men having been filled up, she only waited for her captain to come on board to continue her cruise. still tom had received no reply from his father. "perhaps he or the admiralty may have written to the captain, and when he comes aboard i shall be placed in my proper position," he observed in confidence to bill. "i hope so, but i'm afraid there will be but little time for you to get a proper uniform and an outfit," was the answer. "i'm not much afraid of that; the tailors won't take long in rigging me out," answered tom. soon after this the captain came on board, and tom, greatly to his disappointment, was not sent for. just, however, as the ship was going out into the sound, the mail-bag arrived, and a letter addressed, "thomas fletcher, h.m.s. _thisbe_," was handed him. he eagerly broke the seal. as he was no great hand at reading writing, he was obliged to ask bill to assist him in deciphering the contents. he had, however, to rub his eyes several times before he could make them out, even with his messmate's help. "it's not from father at all," he observed, after looking at the paper all over. "s. fletcher must be my biggest brother, and he always gave me more kicks than ha'pence." the letter began:-- "dear tom,--our father received yours of the third instant, as the first intimation of your being alive since your unaccountable disappearance. you have caused us by your wicked proceeding no end of grief and trouble, and, as far as we can make out by your wretchedly written epistle, you do not seem to be at all ashamed of yourself, or sorry for what you have done; and our father bids me to say, that as you have made your bed, you must lie in it. as to making you an allowance of thirty or forty pounds a year, and getting you placed on the quarter-deck, the notion is too ridiculous to be entertained. i must tell you, too, our father has failed, smashed up completely, won't pay sixpence in the pound. as we find it a hard matter to live, he is not likely to make you an allowance of thirty pounds, or thirty pence a year, or to trouble himself by going to the admiralty with the certainty of being sent away with a flea in his ear; so you see, tom, you must just grin and bear it. if you don't get killed, i would advise you--should you ever wish to come home--to make your appearance with your pockets full of the prize-money you talk of, and you will then perhaps receive a welcome, and be well entertained as long as it lasts by the rest of the family, as also by-- "your affectionate brother-- "s. fletcher. "p.s. until then i would advise you not to show your nose in this neighbourhood." "he always was an ill-natured fellow, was my brother sam," exclaimed tom, not seeming concerned at the news of his father's ruin, while, crumpling up the letter, he thrust it into his pocket. "i feel inclined to hang myself or jump overboard." "don't think of doing anything so bad," said bill. "you are no worse off than you were before. all you've got to do is to attend to your duty, and try to please those above you." "the cook and the cook's mate," growled poor tom. "it isn't a pleasant task to have to scrub saucepans and clean out the galley." "but it is your duty, and while you have to do it it would be best to try and do it as well as you can," observed bill. "neither the cook nor the cook's mate are bad fellows, and you will gain their good-will by showing a pleasant temper, and working as hard as you can." "all very well for you to preach," said tom; "but there's no help for it, i suppose, and so i must make the best of my hard lot." "that's just what i'm advising," said bill; though he did not add, "you must remember you brought it upon yourself by running away from home." the boatswain's pipe summoned all hands on deck to make sail, and the frigate, standing down the sound, at once put to sea. a bright look-out was kept for enemies; all hands, from the captain downwards, being eager to secure another prize, even though they might have to fight a tough battle to win her. the captain's orders were to capture, sink, burn, destroy, or drive on shore any of the enemy's vessels he could come up with. with this object in view the _thisbe_ continued to cruise, now down the channel, now up again, keeping as much as possible in sight of the french coast. she had been some time at sea, however, without having made any prizes; for although she had chased several vessels, they, having espied her in time, had managed to escape by running close in shore, under strong batteries, or getting up harbours where they could not be followed. at last one morning, as the frigate had just made the land, from which she had been standing off during the night, a sail was seen inside of her--that is, between her and the french coast, steering to the eastward, apparently bound down channel. chapter twenty one. a cutting-out expedition--bill discovers an old friend. the wind being very light, every stitch of canvas the _thisbe_ could carry was packed on her, and her course altered so as to cut off the stranger. as the sun rose, and its beams lighted up the white canvas of the latter, she was pronounced to be a full-rigged ship, either a man-of-war or privateer, or a large merchantman, but at the distance she was off it was difficult to determine whether she was a frigate or a flush-decked vessel. captain martin hoped that she would prove to be a frigate, and an antagonist worthy of engaging. she must have seen the _thisbe_ approaching, but either took her for a friend or believed that she was well able to cope with her, as she did not alter her course. captain martin calculated that the _thisbe_ would be up with the stranger before noon. every telescope on board was directed towards her. bill wished that he had one, that he might form an opinion as to what she was. he heard some officers talking, and they declared that she was undoubtedly french, and was either a large man-of-war corvette, or a privateer. if such were the case, and the _thisbe_ could get up to her, she would be captured to a certainty, though she would probably fight, and try to knock away some of the _thisbe's_ spars, so as to effect her escape. the wind, which had hitherto been blowing from the southward and south, suddenly shifted to the east. as soon as the stranger felt it, she was seen to haul her tacks on board, brace up her yards, and stand away towards the land. "she's going to run on shore," exclaimed jack, who had been watching her as eagerly as any one, when his duty would allow him to take a look-out. "more likely she knows of a harbour or battery in there, and is running in for shelter," answered bill. "we shan't be able to take her then," said jack. "i was making sure we should have her as our prize." "i won't say we shan't take her, notwithstanding," observed bill. "perhaps we shall fight the battery and her too, if she brings up under one. or if she runs into a harbour, the boats may be sent in after her to bring her out." as soon as the stranger was seen standing to the southward, the _thisbe_ also hauled up to continue the pursuit, but the chase was still beyond the reach of her guns. "we shan't catch her after all," said jack, who had taken another look at the stranger some time after she had altered her course. "i don't see that we have not still a chance of coming up with her," answered bill. "the captain thinks so, or he would not be keeping after her. perhaps she may be becalmed closer in with the land, or we may draw near enough to knock away her masts. we have gained a mile on her during the last hour. i would always try to succeed while a single chance remains, and i would never knock under to an enemy while i had a stick standing, or a plank beneath my feet." still, notwithstanding bill's sanguine hopes of success, as the day wore on there seemed every probability that the french ship would make good her escape. it was now seen that she was steering for a harbour, the mouth of which could be distinguished from the deck of the _thisbe_, with a battery on one side. "our bow chasers will reach her, mr saltwell," cried the captain, at length. the order to fire was eagerly obeyed. the frigate, however, had to yaw for the purpose. one of the shot was seen to go right through the sails of the chase, but the other fell on one side. the guns were quickly reloaded, and were fired immediately the ship was kept away sufficiently for the purpose. again one of the shot took effect, but what damage was done it was impossible to say, and the chase stood on as before. the manoeuvre was repeated several times, causing the frigate to lose ground; but a fortunate shot would have enabled her quickly to regain it. though several of the _thisbe's_ shot took effect, the chase continued her course, firing in return from a gun run out astern; but none of the shot struck her pursuer. at last, however, the chase ran past the battery, which shortly afterwards opened fire. captain martin returned it with such effect that two of the guns were silenced, when the frigate's head was put off shore, and she stood away to avoid the risk of being becalmed should the wind fall, as was very likely, towards evening. "i say, bill, i really believe that's the very place we got away from on our raft," said jack. "no doubt about it," answered bill. "i remember the look of the land to the eastward, and i feel pretty sure i could find my way up the harbour." bill had scarcely said this when he heard his name called, and he was told to go to the first lieutenant. "do you recollect anything about the harbour up there?" asked mr saltwell. "yes, sir," answered bill. "i remember it was the one from which peek and i got off, and i was thinking i could make my way up it at night, if i had to do so." "you will have an opportunity to-night, i hope, of showing your knowledge. the captain intends to send up the boats to try and cut out the vessel we chased into the harbour. i am to command the expedition, and i will take you with me." "thank you, sir," said bill, touching his hat. "i feel pretty sure that i know my way up to the landing-place, and i do not suppose that a ship the size of the chase could get up higher." "you can go forward now, and be ready to accompany me when you are summoned," said mr saltwell. bill felt highly gratified by the confidence placed in him, and was thankful that he had so thoroughly observed the harbour before he and jack had made their escape. the frigate, meantime, was standing out to sea, so that by the time the sun went down she could not be perceived from the shore. she was then hove-to, and preparations were made for the intended expedition. lieutenant saltwell went in the barge, the third lieutenant in the launch, and the lieutenant of marines, with the senior mate, in the cutter, the oars of all the boats being muffled, so that no sound would betray their approach to the enemy. the frigate then again stood in, taking care to show no lights, when in perfect silence the boats shoved off, carrying among them about fifty officers and men. lieutenant saltwell called bill aft to take a seat by his side. before leaving the frigate, the captain had directed the first lieutenant to return should he find the ship so moored as to render it impossible to bring her out. bill, however, told him that he had observed a vessel at anchor some way below the landing-place, and that he supposed no large craft could get up higher on account of the shallowness of the water. the wind, which had hitherto been east and north-east, again shifting to the southward, blew directly down the harbour, which would enable the ship, should she be captured, to be brought down without difficulty. bill's heart beat quicker than usual as he thought of the work in hand, and recollected that the success of the undertaking might considerably depend upon him. the night was very dark, but as the boats got up to the mouth of the harbour the lights on shore could be distinguished, as well as several on board vessels at anchor. the boats kept clear of the latter, lest any of their people might discover them and give the alarm. the barge led, the launch and cutter following in succession. the success of the undertaking would depend on their being able to take the enemy by surprise. as yet no signs had been perceived that their approach was discovered, and bill advised that they should keep over to the west shore, where there were no vessels at anchor, but where he was sure there was water for the boats, from having seen a good-sized craft keeping that course at low tide. as they got higher up, the sound of voices came off the shore, as if the people were laughing and making merry. this gave mr saltwell hopes that many of the crew were landed, and that those on board would be totally unprepared for an attack. he intended to board on the starboard quarter, and he had given directions to the other officers, one to board on the larboard quarter and the other at the main chains, his object being to overpower the resistance the officer's would make aft, then to sweep the decks until the forecastle was gained. one of the boats was immediately to shove ahead and cut the cable, while certain of the men had been directed to hoist the headsails, so that the prize might, without an instant's delay, be making her way down the harbour before any assistance could come off to her from the land. the moment for action was approaching. the ship was seen at the spot where bill thought she would be found, lying silent and dark, her tall masts and the tracery of her rigging just to be distinguished against the sky. no one was observed moving on her deck. eagerly the boats dashed forward to the posts allotted to them. the bows of the barge had just hooked on when the sentry on the gangway, who had evidently not been attending to his duty, shouted out, and fired his musket. the rest of the watch came rushing aft, but it was to encounter the crew of the barge, who, having climbed up her side, had already gained her deck. their officers at the same moment sprang up the companion-hatch, sword in hand, but were knocked over before they could strike a blow. the crews of the other boats had, in the meantime, gained the deck, but not before the rest of the frenchmen came tumbling up from below armed with cutlasses and pikes, or such weapons as they could lay their hands on. though they made a bold stand, and endeavoured to defend the fore part of the ship, they had to retreat before the desperate charge of the boarders, who, with cutlasses flashing and cutting, soon hewed a way for themselves to the forecastle, leaving the deck on either side covered with dead or wounded men. not a word had been spoken, and scarcely a shout uttered, but the clashing of steel and flashing of pistols must have showed the people on shore what was going forward. the mate, to whom the duty had been assigned, having in the meantime carried his boat under the bows, quickly cut the cable, then allowing her to drift alongside, he sprang on to the forecastle, where he took charge of the party engaged in making sail. the third lieutenant, though he was severely wounded, went aft to the helm, and in less than three minutes from the time the boats got alongside, the prize, under her foresail and foretopsail, was standing down the harbour. bill, having got hold of a pistol, kept close to mr saltwell, that he might be ready to assist him or obey any orders he might receive. a few only of his men were standing round the lieutenant when a party of the french crew, who had already yielded, led by the boatswain, a big, sturdy fellow, whose cutlass had already brought two of the english seamen to the deck, suddenly attacked him, hoping to regain the ship. the sailors had enough to do to defend themselves, and the big boatswain was making a desperate blow at the lieutenant's head, when bill, who thought it a time to use his pistol with effect, fired, and the boatswain fell, his cutlass dropping from his hand. his followers on this sprang back, and, throwing down their weapons, cried for mercy. "i saw you do it, my lad," said the lieutenant. "the second time you have saved my life. i'll not forget it." the english sailors now had work enough to do to prevent the frenchmen from rising. while sail was being made, numerous boats also were seen coming off from the shore full of armed men, evidently with the intention of attempting to board the prize. sail after sail was let drop, and the ship ran faster and faster through the water. she was not, however, as yet entirely won. her crew, though beaten down below, were still very numerous, and might, should they find the boats of their friends coming alongside, at any moment rise and try to regain her. the fort also had to be passed, and the garrison were sure to have heard the uproar and would open fire as soon as she got within range of their guns. notwithstanding this, the british seamen performed their various duties as steadily as if they were on board their own ship. some were aloft, loosing sails; others ran out the guns, ready to give the boats a warm reception, and others kept an eye on the prisoners. the breeze freshened, and the prize in a short time reached the mouth of the harbour. no sooner had she done so than the guns from the fort, as had been expected, opened fire, and their shot, thick as hail, came crashing on board. several men were struck, and the sails shot through and through. none of the yards, however, were carried away, and the canvas stood filled out with the breeze. a number of prisoners had remained on deck, with sentries over them, as the shot struck the ship. several, to avoid it, endeavoured to escape below. some succeeded, not waiting to descend by the ladders, but leaping down, to the no small risk of breaking their arms and legs. there was still more sail to be set, and bill was pulling and hauling, when he saw a shot come plump in among a party of prisoners. three fell; the rest, in spite of the sentries, making a desperate rush, leapt down the main hatchway. bill at that moment saw a young frenchman, who had been struck, struggling on the deck, and a voice crying out which he thought he recognised. he sprang towards the sailor, and lifted him up. he was not mistaken; it was his friend pierre. "are you badly hurt?" he asked in french. "i'm afraid so, in my side," was the answer. "my poor mother, and jeannette, i shall never see them more." "i hope that things are not so bad as that," responded bill. "i will try and get you below. here!" and he called to one of the prisoners who had remained on deck, and who, being very glad to get out of the way of the shot, willingly assisted bill in dragging the wounded man to the companion-hatchway, down which the two together lifted him, and placed him in the gun-room. fortunately the french surgeon had been ill in his berth, but had now got up, prepared to attend to his professional duties. as yet, however, none of the wounded prisoners had been brought aft, and pierre, who had been placed on the gun-room table, was the first man the surgeon took under his care. "he is not badly hurt, i hope," said bill, rather anxiously. "that's more than i can say, my young friend," answered the surgeon, "but i will attend to him. i shall have patients enough on my hands directly, i fear." bill felt that he ought not to remain a moment longer below, though he greatly wished to learn how much pierre had been injured. all he could do, therefore, was to press his friend's hand, and spring up again on deck. the battery was still firing away at the prize, and every now and then a crashing sound, as the shot struck her, showed that she was within range of its guns; but she was rapidly distancing the boats, which could now only be dimly seen astern. the british crew raised a cheer when they found that they had to a certainty secured their prize. still the battery continued firing, but not another shot struck her, and at length the dim outline of the _thisbe_ was seen ahead. shortly afterwards the prize, rounding to under the frigate's quarter, was received with hearty cheers by her crew. chapter twenty two. the powder monkey gets his first step up the ratlines. the british wounded, and the french prisoners captured in the prize, were forthwith taken on board the _thisbe_, when both ships made sail to get a good offing from the coast before daylight. mr saltwell remained in command of the prize with the crew which had so gallantly won her. the wounded frenchmen were also allowed to continue on board under charge of their surgeon, with an english assistant-surgeon to help him, for there were upwards of forty poor fellows who required his care. bill was glad to find that he had not to go back to his own ship, as he wanted to look after pierre, and as soon as his duty would allow him he went below to learn how his young french friend was getting on. when he asked for the man whom he had brought down, the doctor pointed to one of the officer's cabins in the gun-room, observing, "he is somewhat badly hurt, but there are others still more cruelly knocked about who require my care, and i have not been able to attend to him for some time." bill hurried into the cabin. a faint voice replied to him. "_merci, merci_! it is very kind of you to come and see me, but i fear that i shall not get over it," said pierre. "is there no chance of our returning to france? i should like to die under my father's roof, and see my mother and jeannette once more." "there's no chance of your getting back for the present, but i hope you will see your mother and sister notwithstanding," answered bill. "we are running across the channel, and shall be in an english port in a day or two, when you will be landed, and i will ask the captain to let me take care of you. i should like to prove how grateful i am for all your kindness to me and jack peek, and i will tell mr saltwell, the lieutenant who commands this ship, how you and your family treated me. but i don't think you ought to talk; i came to see if i could do anything for you." "my lips are parched; i am very thirsty; i should like something to drink," answered pierre. "i will see what i can find," said bill; and making his way to the steward's pantry outside the captain's cabin, he hunted about until he discovered some lemons. he quickly squeezed out the juice of a couple of them, and mixing it with water, brought the beverage to pierre, who drank it eagerly. it much revived him. "i was very unfortunate to be on board the _atlante_ when you captured her, for i had no wish to fight the english," said pierre. "only ten days ago i was persuaded to come on board to see a friend, and the crew would not let me return on shore. however, i was determined to make the best of it, hoping before long to get back to my family, and be able to assist my father. and now to be cut down by my own countrymen, for it was a shot from the battery on shore which wounded me. it is more than i can bear!" "don't think about it," said bill; "you are safe from further harm, and will be well taken care of; and when you have recovered, and the war is over, you will be able to go back. i must leave you now, but i will come and see you as often as i can. i have placed the jug of lemonade close to your head, where it cannot slip. when that is gone i will get some more; it is the best thing you can take at present." saying this, bill hurried back to attend to his duty on deck, for, young as he was, as the prize was short-handed, he had plenty of work to do. several times he passed mr saltwell, who gave him a kind look or said a word or two of encouragement, but did not allude to the service bill had done him. "he probably has forgotten all about my having shot the french boatswain," thought bill. "i only did my duty, and if anybody else had been in his place i should have done the same." the frigate and her fresh prize were meantime making the best of their way across the channel. as the latter, a fast sailor, was not materially injured, all sail was made on her, and she kept good way with the _thisbe_. at the same time there was still the risk of either one or both being taken by a french ship of superior force, though neither was likely to yield without making every effort to escape. a constant look-out was kept from the mast-head, but as the ships got farther and farther from the french coast, the hope of escaping without having again to fight increased. several sail were seen in the distance, but it was supposed that they were either merchantmen, standing up or down channel, in spite of the enemy's cruisers on the watch to pick them up, or privateers, and, seeing that the _thisbe_ was a frigate, took good care to keep out of her way. at length the entrance to plymouth sound was descried, and the _thisbe_ and her prize stood up it triumphantly with colours flying, creating considerable astonishment at her quick return with another capture. both were soon moored in hamoaze, when the _atlante_, a fine little ship, carrying twenty guns on one deck, was handed over to the prize agents with the full expectation that she would be bought into the service. the prisoners were carried on shore, the wounded men were taken to the hospital, and the prize crew returned on board their own ship. bill had been very anxious to accompany pierre, that he might watch over him with more care than strangers could do, but he had had no opportunity of asking leave of mr saltwell. he had not been long on board the frigate, and was giving an account of the boarding expedition to jack and tom, when he heard his name called along the decks. "boy rayner, the captain has sent for you into the cabin," said the master-at-arms. "what can you be wanted for!" exclaimed tom. "look out for squalls. i shouldn't like to be in your shoes." "no fear of that," said jack. "maybe the first lieutenant has told the captain how bill saved his life. i wish that i had had a chance of doing something of the sort." bill, however, did not stop to hear the remarks of his two friends, but hurried aft, thinking that now would be the time to say something in poor pierre's favour. the sentry, who knew that he had been sent for, allowed him to pass without question, and he soon found himself in the presence of the captain and mr saltwell, who were seated at the table in the main cabin. bill stood, hat in hand, ready to answer any questions which might be put to him. "william rayner," said the captain, "you have, i understand, behaved remarkably well on several occasions, twice especially, by saving mr saltwell's life through your coolness and presence of mind. you are also, i find, a fair french scholar, and the first lieutenant reports favourably of your conduct in your former ship. i wish to reward you. let me know how i can best do so in a way satisfactory to yourself." "i only did my duty without thinking of being rewarded," answered bill; "but i have been wishing since we took the prize that something could be done for a young frenchman who was badly hurt on board her by a shot from the battery which fired at us. he and his father saved jack peek and me from drowning when we were blown up in the _foxhound_, and his family were afterwards very kind to us, and did their utmost to save us from being carried off to prison, and when we were hid away in a cave, his sister, at great risk, brought us food. he will now be amongst strangers, who do not understand his lingo, and the poor fellow will be very sad and solitary; so i think he would like it, if i could get leave to go and stay with him while the frigate remains in harbour. i'll take it as a great favour, sir, since you ask me what reward i should like, if you can let me go and be with him at the hospital, or if that cannot be, if he may be removed to some lodging where he can be well looked after until he recovers and is sent back to his own home." "there may be some difficulty in doing as you propose," replied the captain. "mr saltwell will, however, i have no doubt, try to make a satisfactory arrangement, for a person behaving as the young frenchman has done deserves to be rewarded; but that is not what i meant; i want you to choose some reward for yourself, and wish you to let me know how i can best serve you." "thank you, sir," answered bill. "i cannot think just now of anything i require, though i should be very glad if i could get pierre sent back to his family." "your parents, perhaps, will be able to decide better than you can do, then. your father or mother," observed the captain. "i have neither father nor mother, sir," answered bill. "they are both dead." "your relatives and friends might decide," said the captain. "i have no relatives or friends, nor any one to care for me that i know of," said bill, in a quiet voice. "then mr saltwell and i must settle the matter," said captain martin. "should you like to be placed on the quarter-deck? if you go on as you have begun, and let duty alone guide you on all occasions, you will, if you live, rise in the service and be an honour to it." bill almost gasped for breath as he heard this. he knew that the captain was in earnest, and he looked at him, and then at mr saltwell, but could not speak. "come, say what you wish, my lad," said captain martin, in an encouraging tone. still bill was silent. "you will have opportunities of improving your education, and you need not fear about being well received by the young gentlemen in the midshipmen's berth," observed mr saltwell. "captain martin and i will make arrangements for giving you an outfit and supplying you with such funds as you will require, besides which you will come in for a midshipman's share of prize-money." the kind way in which the captain and first lieutenant spoke greatly assisted bill to find his tongue and to express himself appropriately. "i am grateful, sirs, for your offer, and hope that i always shall be grateful. if you think that i am fit to become a midshipman, i will try to do my duty as such, so i accept your offer with all my heart." bill, overpowered by his feelings, could say no more. "the matter is settled, then," said the captain; and sending for the purser, he at once entered the name of william rayner as a midshipman on the ship's books, the only formality requisite in those days, though his rank would afterwards have to be confirmed at the admiralty. the purser observed that he had a suit of clothes belonging to one of the midshipmen killed in the action with the french frigate, which would, he thought, exactly fit mr rayner. bill felt very curious at hearing himself so spoken of. the purser said that he would debit him with them at a moderate price. the captain approving of this proposal, bill, in the course of a few minutes, found himself dressed in a midshipman's uniform. he could scarcely believe his senses. it seemed to him as if by the power of an enchanter's wand he had been changed into some one else. the first lieutenant then desired him to accompany him, and leading the way down to the berth, in which a number of the young gentlemen were assembled for dinner, he stopped at the door. "i wish, young gentlemen, to present a new messmate to you," he said, looking in. "mr william rayner! he has gained his position by exhibiting those qualities which i am sure you all admire, and you will, i have no doubt, treat him as a friend." the members of the mess who were present rose and cordially put out their hands towards bill, whom the first lieutenant, taking by the aim, drew into the berth. mr saltwell then returned on deck. bill naturally felt very bashful, but his new messmates did their best to set him at ease, and no one alluded to his former position. they spoke only of the late action, and begged him to give a description of the way in which he had saved mr saltwell's life, a vague account of which they had heard. bill complied, modestly, not saying more about himself than was necessary. what he said gained him the applause of his new messmates, and raised him greatly in their estimation; he therefore found himself far more at his ease than he had expected would be possible; no one by word or deed showing that they recollected that he had been just before a ship's boy, but all treated him as an equal. his only regret now was that he could no longer talk with jack and tom as he had been accustomed to do, though he hoped that he should still be able, without doing anything derogatory to his new position, to speak to them in a friendly way. thinking highly of jack as he did, he regretted more than ever that his former messmate could neither read nor write. he felt sure that he would, should he have an opportunity, do something to merit promotion. bill commenced his new duties with a spirit and alacrity which was remarked by his superior officers. he had narrowly observed the way the midshipmen conducted themselves, and was thus able to behave as well as the best of them. he was a little puzzled at first at dinner, but by seeing what others did he soon got over the slight difficulty he had to encounter. next day mr saltwell called him up as he was walking the quarter-deck. "i have been making inquiries as to what can be done for your friend pierre turgot," he said. "as you told me he was not willingly on board the privateer, i was able to state that in his favour, and i have obtained leave for him to be removed to a private house, where he can remain until he has recovered, and he will then, i hope, be allowed to return to france without waiting for an exchange of prisoners. were he to be sent back with others, he would probably at once be compelled to serve afloat, and his great desire is, i understand, to return to his own family, to follow his former occupation of a fisherman." "thank you, sir," exclaimed bill, "i cannot be too grateful to you for your kindness." "don't talk of that, my lad; if it hadn't been for your courage and coolness i should not have been here. i am now going on shore, and wish you to accompany me. i have seen the widow of an old shipmate of mine who is willing to receive pierre into her house, and to attend to him. we will have him removed at once, so that when we sail you will know he is placed under good care." chapter twenty three. william rayner is enabled to show his gratitude to pierre. will at once got ready to attend the first lieutenant. the boat being alongside, they were soon on shore. their first visit was to the hospital, which, being overcrowded, the authorities were glad to get rid of one of their patients. pierre was placed in a litter and conveyed, accompanied by mr saltwell and bill, to the residence of mrs crofton, a neat cottage standing by itself in a small garden. a pretty little girl about thirteen years of age opened the door, and on seeing the strangers summoned her mother, who at once appeared, and led the way to the room she had prepared for pierre's reception. it was on the ground-floor, and contained a dimity-covered bed, and a few other simple articles of furniture, quite sufficient for all the young french sailor's wants. pierre again and again thanked bill for having brought him to so delightful a place. "ah!" he said, "that lady," looking at mrs crofton, "reminds me of my mother, and the little girl is just like jeannette, when she was younger. and they are so kind and gentle! i shall get well very soon, though i think i should have died if i had remained at the hospital, where i was nearly stifled, while day and night i heard the oaths and groans of my wounded compatriots, who abuse the english as the cause of their suffering, regardless of the care that is being taken of them." "i was very sure you would recover sooner in a quiet house by yourself, and therefore i begged my officer to have you removed," said bill. it was not for some time that pierre remarked the new midshipman's uniform. "why, you told me you were a ship's boy, now i see you dressed as an officer!" he exclaimed, in a tone of astonishment. "the gendarmes were right after all." "no, they were wrong," answered bill. "i was then what i told you, but i am now a midshipman." he then gave an account to pierre of how he had been promoted. their conversation was interrupted by the return of mrs crofton and mary with some food for their patient, as the doctor had told mr saltwell that he should be fed often, though with but little at a time. as mrs crofton could speak french, she did not require bill to interpret for her. he was glad to find that pierre would be able to converse with his kind hostess mr saltwell, who had gone into the drawing-room, now told bill that he might stay with pierre until the evening, and that he should have leave to visit him every day while the frigate remained in harbour. the first lieutenant now took his leave, and mrs crofton observing that "pierre would be the better for some sleep, after the excitement of being moved," invited bill into her sitting-room, she naturally wishing to hear more about his adventures in france than mr saltwell had been able to tell her. bill himself was perfectly willing to talk away on the subject as long as she wished, especially when he found so ready a listener in mary. he began with an account of the blowing up of the _foxhound_; and when he had finished, mrs crofton wished to know how it was that he first came to go to sea, and so he had to go back to tell her all about himself, and the death of his mother, and how he had been left penniless in the world. "and now i find you a midshipman with warm friends; in a few years you will be a lieutenant, then a commander, and next a post-captain, i hope, and at length a british admiral, and you will have gained your promotion without the interest of relatives or born friends, simply by your own good conduct and bravery." "i don't know what i may become, ma'am," said bill, inclined to smile at mrs crofton's enthusiasm. "at present i am but a midshipman, but i will try, as i always have, to do my duty." this conversation made bill feel perfectly at home with mrs crofton. indeed, it seemed to him as if he had known her all his life, so that he was willing to confide in her as if she were his mother. he was equally willing to confide in mary. indeed, all the reserve he at first felt quickly wore off, and he talked to her as if she had been his sister. if he did not say to himself that she was a perfect angel, he thought her what most people would consider very much better--a kind, good, honest, open-hearted girl, with clear hazel, truthful eyes, and a sweet smile on her mouth when she smiled, which was very frequently, with a hearty ring in her laughter. she reminded him, as she did pierre, of jeannette, and bill felt very sure that, should she ever have the opportunity of helping any one in distress, she would be ready to take as much trouble and run as many risks as the french girl had in assisting jack and him. "do you know, mr rayner, i like midshipmen very much?" she said, in her artless way. "my brother oliver is a midshipman, and as i am very fond of him, i like all midshipmen for his sake. at first i was inclined to like you because you were a midshipman, but now i like you for yourself." "i am much obliged to you," said bill; "and i like you for yourself, i can tell you. i didn't know before that you had a brother oliver. where is he serving?" "on board the _ariel_ corvette in the west indies," answered mary. "perhaps some day we may fall in with each other," said bill; "and i am very sure, from what you say about him, we shall become good friends, for i shall be inclined to like him for your sake." "then i'm sure he will like you; he could not help doing so. he is only three years older than i am; just about your age i suppose. he went to sea when he was a very little fellow with poor dear papa, who was killed in action. oliver was by his side at the time, and wrote us home an account of the sad, sad event, saying how brokenhearted he was. the people were very kind to him. papa was lieutenant of the ship, and was loved by all the men, as i am sure he would have been, remembering how good and kind and gentle he was with us." the tears came into mary's bright eyes as she spoke of her father. "whenever we hear of a battle out there, poor mamma is very anxious until the particulars come home, and she knows that oliver is safe," said mary. "we are nearly sure to get a letter from him, for he always writes when he can, and i hope that you'll write also when you are away, and tell us all that you are doing; then we shall receive two letters instead of one, and we shall always be so very, very glad to hear from you." bill promised that he would write constantly, saying that he should be pleased to do so, especially as he had not many correspondents; indeed, he might have said that he had none, as he was, in truth, not acquainted with anybody on shore. mary and her mother were the first friends he had ever possessed, so that he very naturally valued them the more. they were of very great service to him in many respects, for mrs crofton was a ladylike and refined person, though her means were small, and she was able to give him instruction in the ways and manners of people of education; though bill was so observant, and anxious to imitate what was right, that he only required the opportunity to fit himself thoroughly for his new station in life. mr saltwell lent him books, and he read during every spare moment, to make amends for his want of early education. when he came on shore, mrs crofton assisted him, and as she knew french very well, helped him to study it with a grammar and dictionary, which he found very easy, as he already understood so much of the language, and he was able to practise speaking with pierre. the young frenchman slowly recovered, but the doctor, who came to visit him from the hospital every day, said that it would be a long time before he would regain strength and be able to return to france. bill had written, at pierre's dictation, to madame turgot, to tell her where he was, what had happened to him, and how well he was treated. it was rather a funny composition, as pierre was no great scholar, and could not say how the words should be spelt, but bill showed it to mrs crofton, who assured him that it would be understood perfectly well, which was the great object required, and that madame turgot would be satisfied, from the tone and expression, that it came from her son. there was no regular post in those days between the two countries. pierre, however, at length got an answer from his mother, directed to the care of mrs crofton, expressing her heartfelt thanks to lieutenant saltwell and bill, and the kind lady who had befriended him. she sent also many messages from captain turgot and jeannette. the letter arrived just as the _thisbe_ was ready for sea. mary could not help bursting into tears when bill took his leave for the last time. "it's just like oliver going away," she said. indeed, it was evident that she looked upon bill as another oliver, and even mrs crofton showed how sincerely sorry she was to part with her young visitor, who had so greatly won on her affections. she promised to write again to madame turgot to let her know how pierre was getting on; but there appeared no probability of his being able to move until the frigate came back, when mr saltwell would be able to make arrangements for his return to france. though sorry to leave his kind friends, bill was very glad to be at sea again, and engaged in the active duties of his profession. his messmates treated him with much kindness, and remarked among themselves the improvement in his manners, while two or three fresh members of the mess, when they heard how he had gained his promotion, looked upon him with evident respect. he did not, however, forget his old friends, and jack was always pleased when he came forward to talk to him, and did not appear at all jealous, which could not be said of tom, who, though he did not venture to show his feelings, was inclined to keep out of his way, and sometimes answered in rather a surly tone when spoken to, always taking care to bring in the "sir" after every sentence, and touching his hat with mock respect, of which bill, though he could not fail to observe, took no notice. the _thisbe_ had been several weeks at sea, and had during that time captured, without firing a shot, three of the enemy's merchantmen, which she had sent into plymouth, the more pugnacious of the crew grumbling at not having encountered an enemy worthy of their prowess, and which would have afforded them a larger amount of prize-money. captain martin was about to return to port to take on board his officers and men when he was joined by the _venus_ frigate. her captain told him that he had just before made out two french frigates to the south-east, and the _thisbe_ bore up with the _venus_ in chase, with every stitch of canvas they could carry set. a stern chase is proverbially a long chase, and the french frigates, which had been seen to the eastward, had a considerable start of their pursuers. still, as they had been under moderate canvas, it was hoped that they would set no more sail, and might thus be overtaken. a sharp look-out was kept, and the officers were continually going aloft with their glasses, and sweeping the horizon from north to south, in the hopes of espying the enemy. "i say, jack, do you think if we come up with those two frenchmen we are chasing they'll turn round and fight us?" asked tom, who thought it much pleasanter to capture unarmed merchant vessels than to have to fight an enemy which sent round shots and bullets on board in return. "no doubt about that, youngster," answered ben twinch, the boatswain's mate, who overheard tom's remark. "what do you think we come to sea for? if we can take a man-of-war of our own size she's worth half a dozen merchant craft, though, to be sure, some of us may lose the number of our mess; but we all know that, and make no count of it. maybe you'll have your head taken off one of these days, and if you do, you'll only share the fate of many another fine fellow." "i hope not!" cried tom, mechanically putting up his hand to his head as if to hold it on, and turning from ben. "never fear!" said jack, wishing to console him; "the chances are that you will escape and live to fight another day." if tom had any fear, it was not the time to show it. he heard all around him speak of fighting as if it were fun, and of death with seeming levity. it is the way of the young and the thoughtless. old sailors and old soldiers seldom talk thus, and think more of duty than of glory. for young or for old the loss of life is not a matter for light talk, as if death were only the end of it. those that cause war will have much to reckon for hereafter. but there is no time for such thoughts in sight of the enemy. so we must go on with our story. the midshipmen aft were universally anxious to come up with the vessels of which they were in chase. it was supposed that they were frigates of the same size as their own and the _venus_; but should they prove much larger, they were equally ready to engage them. still, hour after hour went by, and no enemy appearing, they began to fear that the frenchmen would get into port before they could be overtaken. at length, just before the sun reached the horizon, his rays fell on the royals and topgallantsails of two ships right ahead. as the sun sank lower they were again lost to view, but their appearance revived the hopes of all on board. it was not likely that they would alter their course during the night, and it was hoped, therefore, that before morning they would be overtaken. it was not likely that the _thisbe_ and _venus_, being in the shadow, would have been perceived. "the chances are that we shall be upon them in the dark," said jack to tom; "and we'll surprise them, i've a notion. the captain thinks so, or he wouldn't have given the order to prepare for action." "i would rather fight in daylight," said tom, "and i hope they'll manage to keep ahead till then." jack laughed, for he suspected that tom would rather not fight at all. the watch below were ordered to turn in as usual, but most of the officers kept on deck, too eager for the work to be able to sleep. chapter twenty four. action between the "thisbe" and a french frigate. rayner--for such he ought now to be called--who was in the middle watch, was standing forward on the look-out, and, as may be supposed, he did not allow an eye to wink. several times he thought that he could see two dark objects rising above the horizon, but his imagination might have deceived him, for they, at all events, grew no larger. when his watch was over, he came aft into the midshipmen's berth, where several of his messmates were collected. he might have turned in, for the night was drawing on, but there were still two hours to daylight. he, as well as others, dropped asleep with their heads on the table. they were aroused from their uncomfortable slumbers by the boatswain's call, piping the hammocks up, and on coming on deck the first thing they saw were the two ships they had been chasing all night directly ahead, their topsails just rising above the water. their hopes revived that they would come up with them before the day was many hours older; still the strangers were a long way out of range of their bow chasers. as the sun rose and shone on their own canvas they knew that they must be clearly seen, and it was hoped that the two ships would, if their captains were inclined to fight, heave to and await their coming. such, however, it was evidently the intention of the frenchman not to do, for it was seen that studding-sails were being set below and aloft. "still they may not have the heels of us," observed captain martin to the first lieutenant; "and before they get into cherbourg we may be up to them." it was thought that as the day advanced the wind might increase, but in this captain martin was disappointed. at length, towards evening, cape la hogue and the coast of france, to the westward of cherbourg, appeared in sight. in a few hours it was too probable that the french ships would get safe into port. remarks not over complimentary to the valour of the frenchmen were made by the crews of the english frigates, when they saw that the enemy had escaped them; but as jack observed, "there's no use grumbling; the mounseers have got away from us because they knew the tremendous drubbing we would have given them." "perhaps we may see them again before long," said tom, his courage returning now that all danger of an encounter had passed. "depend on it, our captain will do his best to give them a taste of our quality." tom was right; for although the _thisbe_ and _venus_ had to haul their wind, and stand off shore, a bright look-out was kept, in the hopes that the french frigates might again put to sea. day after day passed, and at length the _venus_ parted company from the _thisbe_. the latter frigate was standing across channel when a lugger was sighted, to which she gave chase. the stranger at first made all sail, as if to escape. she was at length seen to heave to. on coming up with her, it was at first doubtful whether she was english or french, but as the frigate approached she hoisted english colours and lowered a boat, which in a short time came alongside, and a fine, intelligent-looking man stepping upon deck, announced himself as master of the lugger. he had, he said, at first taken the _thisbe_ for a french frigate which was in the habit of coming out of cherbourg every evening, picking up any prizes she could fall in with, and returning next morning with them into port. he had, indeed, narrowly escaped once before. this was valuable information, and captain martin determined to act upon it, in the hopes of capturing the marauder. being engaged in particular service, the master of the lugger was allowed to proceed on his way, and the _thisbe_ stood back towards cherbourg. the day passed, and no enemy appeared. next morning, however, a sail was seen to the northward. captain martin immediately bore up to ascertain her character. as the daylight increased, all felt confident that she was a frigate, and probably french. the stranger was seen to be carrying a press of canvas, and apparently steering for cherbourg. to re-enter that port she must encounter the _thisbe_, on board which preparations were made for the expected engagement. the stranger, too, continuing her course, hauled her wind, and stood down channel, as if anxious to escape. why she did so it was difficult to say, except on the possibility that she had seen another english ship to the northward, and was unwilling to encounter two enemies at once. it was the general opinion that she was a powerful frigate, considerably larger than the _thisbe_; but even if such were the case, captain martin was not the man to be deterred from engaging her. the stranger sailed well, and there appeared every probability that she would distance the _thisbe_, and if she wished it, get back to port without coming to action. in a short time the weather became very thick, and, to the disappointment of all, the stranger was lost sight of. still the _thisbe_ continued her course, and many a sharp pair of eyes were employed in looking out for the frenchman, it being difficult to say, should the fog lift, in what direction she might next be seen. she might tack and run back to cherbourg, or she might, trusting to her superior sailing, stand across the _thisbe's_ bows to the southward. a couple of hours passed. as at any moment the fog might clear away, and the stranger might appear close aboard her, the _thisbe_ prepared for immediate action. the men had been sent below to dinner, and the prospect of a fight did not damp their appetites. the midshipmen had finished theirs, and rayner, who had just relieved one of his messmates on deck, was on the look-out when he espied, away on the larboard bow, a sail through the fog, which had somewhat dispersed in that quarter. a second glance convinced him that she was a large ship. he instantly shouted out the welcome intelligence. every one hoped that she was the vessel they were in search of. the drum beat to quarters, and scarcely were the guns run out than the fog clearing still more discovered a large frigate standing under all sail to the eastward, about half a mile away. if she were the one they had before seen, she had evidently acted as captain martin had supposed might be the case, and having crossed the _thisbe's_ course, had then kept away, hoping to get in shore of her and back to cherbourg. at once the _thisbe_ was put about, and then stood so as to cross the stranger's bows. the latter, on seeing this, hoisting french colours, rapidly shortened sail and hauled up to the northward, the two ships crossing each other on contrary tacks. the _thisbe_ fired her starboard broadside, receiving one in return, and then going about, endeavoured to get to windward of her antagonist. this, however, she was unable to do, and was compelled to continue the engagement to leeward. her crew fought with the usual courage of british seamen, but the enemy's shot were making fearful havoc on her masts and rigging. her three lower masts and bowsprit were in a short time wounded in several places, most of her stays were shot away, and much damage was done to the main rigging. at length her main-topsail yard was shot away in the slings by a double-headed shot, and the yard-arms came down in front of the mainyard, the leech ropes of the mainsail were cut to pieces and the sail riddled. all the time, also, whenever the ships were within musket-range, showers of bullets came rattling on board, and several of the men were laid low. still captain martin did not attempt to escape from his opponent, which was seen to have twenty guns on a side, besides quarter-deck guns, and a number of men armed with muskets. he hoped, by perseverance, to knock away her masts or inflict such other serious injury as might compel her to give in. this was rayner's first action since he had attained his present rank. he endeavoured to maintain his character, and though it was trying work to see his shipmates struck down on either side of him, he did not for a moment think of himself or the risk he ran of meeting the same fate. all the time spars, rigging, and blocks were falling from aloft, shot away by the hot fire of the enemy. he endeavoured to keep himself cool and composed, and to execute the orders he received. jack and tom were employed as powder-monkeys on the maindeck, when rayner was sent by the captain to ascertain what was going on. as he went along it he passed his two friends. jack was as active as ever, handing up the powder required; poor tom looked the picture of misery. "ain't the enemy going to strike yet, mr rayner?" he asked, in a melancholy tone; "we've been a long time about it, and i thought they would have given in long ago." "i hope they soon will have enough of it and give in, and we must blaze away at them until they do," answered the midshipman, hurrying on. just then a shot came crashing in through the side, passing just where rayner had been standing, sending the splinters flying about in all directions. he had not time to look round, but thought he heard a cry as if some one had been hit, and he hurried on to deliver his message to the second lieutenant. on his way back he took a glance to see how it fared with his two friends. tom was seated on his tub, but poor jack lay stretched on deck. rayner, hastening to him, lifted him up. "i'm only hit in the leg," answered jack to his inquiries. "it hurt me very much, and i fell, but i'll try to do my duty." how barbarous is war! rayner, however, saw that this was impossible, as the blood was flowing rapidly from the wounded limb, and calling one of the people appointed to attend those who were hurt, he ordered him to carry jack below. "tell the surgeons he's badly wounded, and get them to attend to him at once," he said. he longed to be able to go himself, but his duty compelled him to return to the upper deck. scarcely had he got there than he saw, to his grief, that the enemy had dropped under the stern, and the next instant, discharging her broadside, she raked the _thisbe_ fore and aft. in vain the latter tried to escape from her critical position; before she could do so she was a second time raked, the gaff being shot away, the mizenmast injured, and the remaining rigging cut through and through. fortunately, the _thisbe_ still answered her helm, and the crew were endeavouring to make sail, when the enemy ranged up on the starboard quarter, her forecastle being covered with men, evidently intending to board. captain martin, on seeing this, sent rayner below with orders to double shot the after-maindeck guns, and to fire them as the enemy came close up. the next he shouted the cry which british seamen are always ready to obey, "boarders, repel boarders;" and every man not engaged at the guns hurried aft, cutlass in hand, ready to drive back the foe as soon as the ships should touch; but ere that moment arrived, an iron shower issued from the guns beneath their feet, crashing through the frenchman's bows and tearing along her decks. instead of coming on, she suddenly threw all her sails aback, and hauled off out of gunshot. on seeing this, the british crew uttered three hearty cheers, and rayner, with others who had hurried from below, fully believed that the enemy had hauled down her flag, but instead of that, under all the sail she could carry, she continued standing away until she had got two miles off. here she hove-to, in order, it was evident, to repair damages. these must have been very severe, for many of her men were seen over the sides engaged in stopping shot-holes, while the water, which issued forth in cascades, showed that the pumps were being worked with might and main to keep her from sinking. the _thisbe_ was in too crippled a condition to follow. several shot had passed between wind and water on both sides. one gun on the quarter-deck and two on the maindeck were dismounted, and almost all the tackles and breachings were cut away. the maindeck before the mainmast was torn up from the waterway to the hatchways, and the bits were shot away, as was the chief part of the gangways. not an officer had been killed, but two midshipmen, the master, and gunner, were wounded. twenty men were wounded and eleven lost the number of their mess. the wind, which had been moderate when the action began, had now greatly increased. not a moment was lost in commencing the repair of damages. the sky indicated the approach of bad weather, and a westerly or south-westerly gale might be expected. before all the shot-holes could be stopped it came on to blow very hard. plymouth being too far to the westward, the nearest shelter the _thisbe_ could reach was portland, towards which she steered. the moon coming forth, she had light sufficient to run in and anchor, protected by the projecting headland from the furious gale now blowing. many a brave man on board besides the captain breathed more freely than they had done for some hours when the anchor was dropped and the torn canvas furled. still the _thisbe_ would be in a critical position should the wind shift more to the southward, as she would be exposed to the seas rolling into the bay. chapter twenty five. the shipwreck. as soon as rayner could obtain a spare moment, he hastened below to visit poor jack. he met tom on the way. "jack's very bad, mr rayner," answered tom to his inquiries. "he didn't know me just now; he's talking about his mother, and fancying she's nursing him." this news made our hero feel very sad, and he hurried on to the lower deck, where the wounded lay in their hammocks, sheltered by a canvas screen. he inquired of one of the attendants where jack peek was, and soon found him, the surgeon being by his side dressing his wound. "i'm much afraid that he will slip through our fingers unless we can manage to quell the fever. he requires constant watching, and that is more than he can well obtain, with so many men laid up, and so much to do," said the doctor as he finished his task. "however, rayner, if you can stay by him, i'll be back in a few minutes to see how he's getting on. in the meantime give him this medicine; if he comes to his senses, a word or two from you may do him good." though rayner himself could scarcely stand from fatigue, he undertook to do as the doctor requested. he waited until he saw, by the light of the lantern hung up from a beam overhead, that jack had come somewhat to himself, when he got him to take the draught he held in his hand. "how do you feel, jack?" he asked in a low tone; but poor jack did not reply. after waiting a little time longer, rayner again spoke. "we've beaten off the enemy, you know, and are safe under shelter of the land. cheer up now, you'll soon get round." "is that you, bill?" asked jack, in a faint voice. "i thought mother was with me, and i was on shore, but i'm glad she's not, for it would grieve her to see me knocked about as i am." "you'll do well now, the doctor said so, as you've come to yourself," observed rayner, much cheered at hearing jack speak. "i'll stay by you while it is my watch below, and then i'll get tom to come. now go to sleep, if the pain will let you." "the pain isn't so very great, and i don't mind it since we have licked the enemy," answered jack; "but i hope you won't be angry at me calling you bill; i quite forgot, mr rayner, that you were a midshipman." "no, i didn't remark that you called me bill," answered rayner; "if i had, i shouldn't have thought about it. i just feel as i did when i was your messmate. however, i must not let you be talking, so now shut your eyes and get some sleep; it will do you more good than the doctor's stuff." rayner was very glad when the doctor came back, accompanied by tom, and having observed that jack was going on as well as he expected, told him to go to his hammock. this he gladly did, leaving tom in charge of their friend. rayner felt that he greatly needed rest; but as he had expended part of his watch below, he could not have three hours' sleep. on coming on deck he found the gale was blowing harder than ever, though the frigate lay sheltered by the land. almost immediately the sound of a distant gun reached his ear. it was followed rapidly by others, and the sound appeared to come down on the gale. "there's a ship in danger on the other side of portland," observed the second lieutenant, who was the officer of the watch. "rayner, go and tell the captain. he desired to be called if anything happened." captain martin, who had only thrown himself down on his bed in his clothes, was on his feet in a moment, and followed rayner on deck. after listening a minute. "it's more than possible she's our late antagonist," he observed. "if the gale caught her unprepared, her masts probably went by the board, and, unable to help herself, she is driving in here. get a couple of boats ready with some coils of rope, and spars, and rockets, and we'll try and save the lives of the poor fellows." rayner was surprised to hear this, supposing that the captain intended to pull out to sea, whereas he had resolved to go overland to the part of the coast which probably the ship in distress was approaching. although where the frigate lay was tolerably smooth water, yet, from the white-crested seas which broke outside, and the roaring of the wind as it swept over the land, it was very evident that no boat could live when once from under its shelter. the captain, accompanied by three gun-room officers, rayner and another midshipman, and twenty men, landed at the nearest spot where the boats could put in, and proceeded overland in the direction from which the sound of the guns had come. again and again they boomed forth through the midnight air. solemnly they struck on the ear, telling of danger and death. scarcely, however, had the party proceeded a quarter of a mile than they ceased. in vain they were listened for. it was too evident that the ship had struck the fatal rocks, and if so, there was not a moment to be lost, or too probably the whole of the hapless crew would be lost. the western shore was reached at last. as they approached the cliffs they saw a number of people moving about, and as they got to the bay and looked down over the foaming ocean, they could see a dark object some fifty fathoms off, from which proceeded piercing shrieks and cries for help. it was the hull of a large ship, hove on her beam-ends, her masts gone, the after-part already shattered and rent by the fierce seas which dashed furiously against her, threatening to sweep off the miserable wretches clinging to the bulwarks and stanchions. to form a communication with her was captain martin's first object. as yet it was evident that no attempt of the sort had been made, most of the people who had collected being more eager apparently to secure the casks, chests, and other things thrown on shore than to assist their perishing fellow-creatures. it was vain to shout and direct the people on the wreck to attach a line to a cask and let it float in towards the beach. the most stentorian voices could not make themselves heard when sent in the teeth of the gale now blowing. on descending the cliffs, captain martin and his party found a narrow strip of beach, on which they could stand out of the power of the seas, which, in quick succession, came foaming and roaring in towards them. he immediately ordered a couple of rockets to be let off, to show the strangers that there were those on shore who were ready to help them. no signal was fired in return, not even a lantern shown, but the crashing, rending sounds which came from the wreck made it too evident that she could not much longer withstand the furious assaults of the raging ocean. captain martin inquired whether any of his crew were sufficiently good swimmers to reach the wreck. rayner longed to say that he would try, but he had never swum in a heavy sea, and felt that it would be madness to make the attempt. "i'll try it, sir," cried ben twinch, the boatswain's mate, one of the most powerful men in the ship. "i'd like, howsomdever, to have a line round my waist. do you stand by, mates, and haul me back if i don't make way; there are some ugly bits of timber floating about, and one of them may give me a lick on the head, and i shan't know what's happening." ben's offer was accepted. while the coil of line was being got ready, a large spar, to which a couple of men were clinging, was seen floating in towards the beach, but it was still at some distance, and there was a fearful probability that before it touched the shore the reflux of the water might drag them off to destruction. "quick, lads, quick, and i'll try to get hold of one or both of them, if i can," cried ben, fastening the rope round his body. his example was followed by another man, who, in the same way, secured a rope round himself, when both plunged in and seized the well-nigh drowning strangers, just as, utterly exhausted, they had let go their hold. they were able, however, to speak, and rayner discovered that they were french. by the captain's directions he inquired the name of the ship. "the _zenobie_ frigate, of forty guns and three hundred and forty men," was the answer. "we had an action yesterday with an english frigate, which made off while we were repairing damages, but truly she so knocked us about that when we were caught by the gale our masts went over the side, and we were driven utterly helpless on this terrible coast." rayner did not tell the _thisbe's_ men, who were trying to assist the hapless strangers, that they were their late antagonists. he merely said, "they are frenchmen, lads; but i'm sure that will make no difference to any of us." "i should think not, whether they're mynheers or mounseers," cried ben. "they're drowning, and want our help; so, whether enemies or friends, we'll try to haul as many of the poor fellows ashore as we can get hold of, and give them dry jackets, and a warm welcome afterwards. slack away, mates!" and he plunged into the foaming billows. his progress was anxiously watched as he rose now on the top of a roaring sea, now concealed as he sank into the hollow to appear again on the side of another, all the time buffeting the foaming breakers, now avoiding a mass of timber, now grasping a spar, and making it support him as he forced his way onward, until he was lost to sight in the gloom. after a considerable time of intense anxiety it was found that the line was taut. ben had, it was supposed, reached the forechains of the frigate. then the question rose, whether he would be able to make himself understood by the frenchmen. one of the men, however, who had been washed on shore said that he believed one or two people on board understood english; but it was doubtful whether they were among those who had already perished. some more minutes passed, and then they felt the line shaken. it was the signal for them to haul in. rapidly pulling away, they at length had the satisfaction of finding the end of a stout hawser, with a smaller line attached to it. the hawser was made fast round a rock, then, knowing the object of the line, they hauled away at it until they saw a cradle coming along with a couple of boys in it. the moment they were taken out the cradle was hauled back, and then a man appeared, and thus, one after another, about sixty of the french crew were dragged on shore. every time the cradle appeared, his shipmates hoped to see ben in it; but rayner learned from one of the persons in it that he had remained on the wreck, assisting those who were too benumbed or bewildered with fear to secure themselves. as the poor frenchmen were landed, they were placed under charge of some of the men appointed for the purpose, while two of the officers supplied the most exhausted with such restoratives as they required. many, they said, had already been washed off the wreck and been lost, while others were too much paralysed by fear even to make their way to where ben was standing, lashed to a stanchion, ready to help them into the cradle. great fears were now entertained lest he should suffer by his noble exertions to save others. the crashing and rending sounds increased in frequency. every instant some huge portion of the wreck was rent away, and the whole intervening mass of seething waters was covered by dark fragments of timber, tossing and rolling as they approached the beach, or were floated out to sea, or cast against the rocks. still the frenchmen kept arriving. now one more daring than the others would crawl along the cable in spite of the risk of being washed off by the hungry breakers into which it was occasionally plunged. rayner, who stood on the rock with a party engaged in assisting the people as they arrived in the cradle, inquired whether there were many more to come. "i think so, monsieur," was the answer; "we mustered nearly four hundred souls, but of those, alas! numbers have already been washed away." again and again those fearful crashings, mingled with despairing shrieks, were heard above the roar of wild breakers. rayner felt serious apprehensions about the safety of brave ben. at any moment the wreck might break up, and then it would be scarcely possible for a human being to exist amidst the masses of timber which would be hurled wildly about. again the cradle was to be hauled in. in came with greater difficulty than before, as if it carried a heavier weight. it seemed as if the cable would not bear the additional strain. the british seamen exerted all their strength, for at any moment, even if the cable did not break, it might be torn from its holdfast on the wreck. as the cradle came in, two men were seen seated in it, one holding another in his arms. rayner heard the words, "vite, vite, mon ami, ou nous sommes perdu." "haul away, lads, haul away!" he shouted out, though his men required no urging. just as the cradle was reaching the rock, a crash, even louder than its predecessors, was heard. several men sprang forward to grasp the occupants of the cradle. the outer end of the rope had given way, and in another instant they would have been too late. again the wild shrieks of despair of the helpless wretches who still remained on the wreck echoed along the cliffs. "poor ben! has he gone?" exclaimed rayner. "no, sir, he's one of those we've just got ashore," answered a quarter-master who, with several others, had rushed down to help the two men taken out of the cradle, and who were now bearing the apparently inanimate body of the boatswain's mate up the rock; "the other's a frenchman by his lingo." rayner hurried to the spot, when what was his surprise, as the light of the lantern fell on the countenance of the frenchman last landed, to see pierre's father, captain turgot! putting out his hand, he warmly shook that of his old friend, who opened his eyes with a look of astonishment, naturally not recognising him. "don't you know me, captain turgot?" said rayner. "i am one of the boys you saved when our frigate was blown up." "what! are you little bill?" exclaimed the honest fisherman. "that is wonderful. then you escaped after all. i am indeed glad." there was no time just then, however, for explanations. rayner thanked his old friend for saving ben's life. "i could do nothing else," was the answer. "he was about to place another man in the cradle who had not the courage to get into it by himself, when a piece of timber surging up struck both of them, the other was swept away, and the brave english sailor would have suffered the same fate had i not got hold of him; and then, though i had made up my mind to remain to the last, i saw that the only way to save him was to bring him myself in the cradle to the shore, and i am thankful that i did so. but my poor countrymen! there are many still remaining who must perish if we cannot get another hawser secured to the wreck." this was what captain martin was now endeavouring to do, but there was no one found willing or able to swim back to the wreck. the danger of making the attempt was, indeed, far greater than at first. ben was regaining his consciousness; but even had he been uninjured, after the exertions he had gone through, he would have been unfit to repeat the dangerous exploit. captain turgot offered to try; but when he saw the intermediate space through which he would have to pass covered with masses of wreck, he acknowledged that it would be impossible to succeed. the final catastrophe came at last. a tremendous wave, higher than its predecessors, rolled in, apparently lifting the wreck, which, coming down again with fearful force upon the rocks, split into a thousand fragments. as the wave, after dashing furiously on the shore, rolled back again, a few shattered timbers could alone be perceived, with not a human being clinging to them. shrieks of despair, heard above the howling tempest, rose from the surging water, but they were speedily hushed, and of the struggling wretches two men alone, almost exhausted, were thrown by a succeeding wave on the shingly beach, together with the bodies of several already numbered among the dead. when captain martin came to muster the shipwrecked men saved by his exertions, he found that upwards of three hundred of the crew of his late antagonist had perished, seventy alone having landed in safety. leaving a party on the beach to watch lest any more should be washed on shore, he and the magistrate led the way up the cliff. the frenchmen followed with downcast hearts, fully believing that they were to be treated as prisoners of war. some of them, aided by the british seamen, carried those who had been too much injured to walk. after they had arrived at a spot where some shelter was found from the fury of the wind, captain martin, calling a halt, sent for rayner, and told him to assure the frenchmen that he did not look upon them as enemies or prisoners of war, but rather as unfortunate strangers who, having been driven on the english coast by the elements, had a right to expect assistance and kind treatment from the inhabitants, and that such it was his wish to afford them. expressions of gratitude rose from the lips of the frenchmen when rayner had translated what captain martin had said. the magistrate then offered to receive as many as his own house could accommodate, as did two gentlemen who had accompanied him, their example being followed by other persons, and before morning the whole of the shipwrecked seamen were housed, including three or four officers, the only ones saved. the poor fellows endeavoured by every way in their power to show how grateful they were for the kindness they were receiving. captain martin's first care was to write an account of the occurrence to the admiralty, stating what he had done, and expressing a hope that the shipwrecked crew would be sent back as soon as possible to france. by return of post, which was not, however, until the end of three or four days, captain martin had the satisfaction of receiving a letter from the king himself, highly approving of his conduct, and directing that the frenchmen should each receive as much clothing and money as they required, and as soon as a cartel could be got ready, sent back to cherbourg or some other french port. news of the battered state of the _thisbe_ having been received at the admiralty, a frigate was ordered round to escort her into port, as she was not in a position to put to sea safely by herself. the frenchmen having been received on board the two frigates, and a light northerly breeze springing up, they sailed together for plymouth. the pumps were kept going on board the _thisbe_ during the whole passage, when the frenchmen, at the instigation of captain turgot, volunteered to work them. rayner had many a talk about pierre with his old friend, who longed to embrace his son, and was profuse in his expressions of gratitude for the kindness he had received. directly he returned on board, rayner went to jack, whom he found going on well. captain turgot, on hearing that jack had been wounded, begged permission to see him, and from that moment spent every instant he could by his side, tending him as if he had been his own son. it was curious to see the way the english sailors treated their french guests who had so lately been engaged with them in a desperate fight. several were suffering from bruises and exposure on the wreck. these were nursed with a tender care, as if they had been women or children, the sailors carrying those about whose legs had been hurt, and feeding two or three, whose hands or arms had been injured, just as if they had been big babies. the rest of the frenchmen who had escaped injury quickly recovered their spirits, and might have been seen toeing and heeling it at night to the sound of bob rosin's fiddle; and bob, a one-legged negro, who performed the double duty of cook's second mate and musician-general of the ship, was never tired of playing as long as he could get any one to dance. the style of performance of the two nationalities was very different, but both received their share of applause from one another. the frenchmen leapt into the air, whirled, bounded and skipped, while the british tars did the double-shuffle and performed the various evolutions of the hornpipe, to the admiration of their gallic rivals. by the time they had reached plymouth they had won each other's hearts, and hands were wrung, and many of the frenchmen burst into tears as they took their leave of their gallant entertainers, all protesting that they should always remember their kindness, and expressing the hope that they should never meet again except as friends. sad it is that men, who would be ever ready to live on friendly terms and advance their mutual interests, should, by the ambition and lust of power of a few, be compelled to slaughter and injure each other, as has unhappily been the case for so many centuries throughout the whole civilised portion of the world. as soon as the anchor was dropped, rayner asked for leave to go on shore with captain turgot, to visit mrs crofton, and learn how pierre was getting on. "you may go, but you must return on board at night, as there is plenty of work to be done," answered the first lieutenant. "thank you, sir," said rayner; and he hurried below to tell captain turgot to get ready. they shoved off by the first boat going on shore. they walked on quickly through the streets of plymouth, rayner anticipating the pleasure of seeing mrs crofton and mary, and of witnessing the meeting between the honest frenchman and his son. "i hope that we shall find pierre recovered; but the doctor said his wound would take long to heal, and you must not be surprised if he is still unable to move," he said to captain turgot. "our friends will take very good care of him, and perhaps you would like to remain behind until he is well." "i would wish to be with him, but i am anxious to relieve the anxiety of madame turgot and jeannette, who, if they do not see me, will suppose that i am lost," answered the captain. "i shall grieve to leave my boy behind, but i know that he will be well cared for, and i cannot tell you, my young friend, how grateful i am. little did i think, when i picked you up out of the water, how amply you would return the service i did you." "i certainly did not expect in any way to be able to repay it," said rayner, "or, to say the truth, to feel the regard for frenchmen which i do for you and your son." rayner found mrs crofton and her daughter seated in the drawing-room. after the first greetings were over, and he had introduced captain turgot, he inquired after pierre, expecting, through not seeing him, that he was still unable to leave his room. "he has gone out for a short walk, as the doctor tells him to be in the fresh air as much as possible, and he is well able to get along with the help of a stick," answered mrs crofton. "i hope his father has not come to take him away, for we shall be very sorry to lose him?" "i don't know whether he will be allowed to go without being exchanged," answered rayner; and he gave an account of the wreck of the _zenobie_ and the arrangement which had been made for sending the survivors of her crew back to france. "that is very kind and generous of our good king. no wonder that his soldiers and sailors are so ready to fight for him," remarked mrs crofton. while they were speaking, pierre entered the house. his joy at seeing his father almost overcame him. they threw themselves into each other's arms and embraced as frenchmen are accustomed to embrace--somewhat, it must be confessed, to mary's amusement. after they had become more tranquil they sat down and talked away at such a rate that even rayner could scarcely understand what they were saying. he meantime had a pleasant conversation with mary and her mother, for he had plenty to tell them, and they evidently liked to listen to him. after some time, during a pause in the conversation, captain turgot desired pierre to tell mrs crofton and her daughter how grateful he felt for their kindness, his own knowledge of english being insufficient to express his wishes. they, hearing him, replied in french, and soon the whole party was talking away in that language, though mary's french, it must be admitted, was not of a very choice description; but she laughed at her own mistakes, and rayner helped her out when she was in want of a word. the afternoon passed pleasantly away, and rayner, looking at his watch, was sorry to find it was time to return. he told pierre that he must report his state to the captain and mr saltwell, who would decide what he was to do. captain turgot went back with him, having nowhere else to go. captain martin lost no time in carrying out the wishes of the kind king. a brig was chartered as a cartel, on board of which the frenchmen were at once sent. rayner was not aware that mr saltwell had obtained permission for pierre to go back with his father, and was much surprised on being directed to go to mrs crofton's, and to escort him on board the brig. pierre seemed scarcely to know whether to laugh or cry at regaining his liberty as he took leave of his kind hostess and her daughter; but his desire to see his mother and sister and la belle france finally overcame his regret at parting from them, and he quickly got ready to set off. "we shall be happy to see you as soon as you can come again, mr rayner," said mrs crofton. "oh yes," added mary, in a sweet voice, with a smile, which made our hero at once promise that he would lose no opportunity of paying them a visit. rayner's first duty was to see captain turgot and pierre on board the cartel. they embraced him with tears in their eyes as they wished him farewell, and many of the grateful frenchmen gathered round him, several expressing their hopes that france and england would soon make up their quarrel. "what it's all about, ma foi, is more than i or any of us can tell," exclaimed a boatswain's mate, wringing rayner's hand, which all were eager to grasp. "we are carried on board ship and told to fight, and so we fight--more fools we! if we were wise, we should navigate our merchant vessels, or go fishing, or stay at home and cultivate our fields and gardens. we all hope that there'll be peace when we next meet, messieurs." many others echoed the sentiment, and cheered rayner, who, after he had sent many kind messages to madame turgot and jeannette, hurried down the side and returned on board the frigate. chapter twenty six. the ship on fire. jack, with the rest of those who had been wounded, had been sent to the hospital. rayner the next day obtained leave to visit him. he was sorry for tom, who was thus left very much to his own resources, and he tried to find an opportunity of speaking a kind word to his former companion; but tom, as before, sulkily kept aloof, so that he was compelled to leave him to himself. he was very sorry, soon after, to see him being led along the deck by the master-at-arms. tom looked dreadfully downcast and frightened. rayner inquired what he had been doing. "attempting to desert, sir," was the answer. "he had got on shore and had dressed himself in a smock-frock and carter's hat, and was making his way out of the town." tom could not deny the accusation, and he was placed in irons, awaiting his punishment, with two other men who had also run from the ship and had been caught. rayner felt a sincere compassion for his old messmate, and obtained leave to pay him a visit, anxious to ascertain if there were any extenuating circumstances by which he might obtain a remission of his punishment. "what made you try to run, fletcher?" he asked, as he found tom and his two companions seated in "durance vile," on the deck. "i wanted to go back to my father and to try and persuade him to get me made a midshipman as you are," answered tom. "it's a shame that a gentleman's son should be treated as i have been, and made a powder monkey of, while you have been placed on the quarter-deck." "i thought that you had applied to your father before, and that he had refused to interfere," said rayner, taking no notice of tom's remark in regard to himself. "i know that, well enough; but it was my brother who answered the letter; and, as my father is a clever man, i daresay by this time he has become rich again, and, for very shame at having a son of his a common ship's boy, would do as i wish. can't you tell the captain that, and perhaps he'll excuse me the flogging? it's very hard to be prevented seeing my family, and to be flogged into the bargain. it's more than i can bear, and i've a great mind to jump overboard and drown myself when i get my wrists out of these irons." "you'll not do that," answered rayner, knowing very well that tom did not dream of putting his threat into execution; "but i'll tell the first lieutenant what you say about your wish to see your family, though i fear it will not influence him in recommending the captain to remit your punishment. i would advise you, whatever happens, to submit, and to try, by doing your duty, to gain a good name for yourself," said rayner, who gave him some other sound advice before he returned on deck. mr saltwell shook his head when he heard what rayner had to say. "the captain won't forgive him, you may depend upon that, rayner," he answered; "desertion must be punished, were it only as a warning to others." rayner, fortunately for himself, was on shore when tom underwent his punishment, so that he was saved the pain of seeing it inflicted. the frigate had been surveyed, but what opinion had been formed about her was not known for some time. at length the captain, who had gone on shore, returned, and, mustering the ship's company, informed them that, according to the surveyor's report, it would take some months to put her in thorough repair, and that in the meantime he had been appointed to the command of the store-ship _bombay castle_, of sixty-four guns, bound for the mediterranean, and he should take his officers and crew with him. "we all of us might wish for more active service, my lads, but we shall not be long absent, and i hope by the time we come back that we shall find our tight little frigate as ready for any duty she may be sent on, as you all, i am sure, will be." a cheer was the reply to this address, and the next day the officers and crew of the _thisbe_ went on board their new ship. they had, however, first to get her ready for sea, and then to receive the stores on board, by which time several of the wounded men, including jack peek, had sufficiently recovered to join her. the _bombay castle_ was rolling her away across the bay of biscay with a northerly breeze. she was a very different craft from the _thisbe_, and though more than twice her size, not nearly so comfortable. captain martin had received orders to avoid an engagement, except attacked, and then to do his best to escape, as the stores she carried were of great value, and were much required by the fleet. though several sail were sighted supposed to be an enemy's squadron, she managed to escape from them, and arrived safe at gibraltar. here she was joined by the _ione_ frigate, and the two ships sailed together, expecting to fall in with the fleet off toulon. the two ships lay almost becalmed in the gulf of lyons. several officers of the _ione_, which was only a short distance off, had come on board, when captain martin advised them, somewhat to their surprise, to get back to the frigate. "i don't quite like the look of the weather," he remarked. "i've seen the masts of a ship whipped out of her, when not five minutes before there was no more wind than we have at present." the frigate's boat left the side and was seen pulling rapidly towards her. suddenly the cry was heard, "all hands on deck to save ship!" those who were below, springing up, found the ship heeling over till her yard-arms almost touched the foaming water, which came rushing over the deck, while the watch were engaged in letting fly tacks and sheets, lowering topsails, clewing up, and hauling down, blocks were rattling, sails shivering, the wind roaring, the sea leaping, hissing, and foaming. the helm was put up, the ship righted, and away she flew before the furious blast, not having suffered any material damage. the _ione_, however, could nowhere be seen. struck by the squall, she might either have been dismasted or have capsized. in the former case it was very probable that she might fall into the hands of the enemy; but, much as the captain desired it, he could not return to her assistance. night came on, and the gale increased, the big ship tumbling and rolling about almost as much as she would have done in the atlantic, so rapidly did the sea get up. it took some time to get everything snug, but as the ship was at a considerable distance from the land, no great anxiety was felt for her safety. in the morning the master reported that by his calculation they were about thirteen leagues south-east of cape saint sebastian, on the spanish coast. the wind had fallen with almost the same rapidity with which it had risen, but there was still a good deal of sea on. it had now shifted. the first lieutenant was officer of the watch, and was superintending the operation of washing decks. rayner, and another midshipman, also with bare feet and trousers tucked up, were paddling about, directing the men in their various duties. our hero had just came aft, and was addressing mr saltwell, when the latter looking forward, suddenly exclaimed, "what can that smoke be? run and see where it comes from!" as rayner hurried forward he observed a thick volume of smoke rising out of the fore-hatchway, and immediately afterwards a similar ominous cloud ascended from the main hatchway. before he had made a step aft to report this he saw mr saltwell hastening forward. the next moment the cry of "fire!" was raised, and the people came rushing up the hatchway in the midst of volumes of smoke ascending from the orlop deck. "rayner, go and inform the captain what has occurred," said mr saltwell, in a calm tone. "let the drum beat to quarters!" he shouted. the rolling sound of the drum was soon heard along the decks, and the men, springing from all parts of the ship, hurried to their respective stations, where they stood, ready for their orders. not a cry was heard. not an expression of alarm escaped from one of the men. scarcely a word was spoken as they stood prepared to do their duty. summoning the gunner and the boatswain, the first lieutenant ordered the former to open the ports, to give light and air below, and the latter to pipe up the hammocks. he then ascended to the orlop deck, made his way first into one tier, then into another, in both of which he found the smoke issuing exceedingly thick from forward. he was now joined by the second lieutenant and rayner. "we'll just go into the sail-room and ascertain if the fire is there," he said. on reaching it, there was no appearance of fire or smoke. it was thus evident that the seat of the fire was farther forward. he and his companions next proceeded to the hold, but the dense smoke compelled them to beat a retreat, as their throats became affected as if from the fumes of hot tar. a second attempt to reach the hold was equally unsuccessful. the entire absence of heat, however, convinced them that the fire could not be in that part of the ship, but that the smoke found its way through the bulkheads. they were returning on deck, when a cry was raised that the fire was down forward. "i alone will go!" said mr saltwell. "not a life must be risked without necessity. remain, and render me any assistance i may require." having descended to the orlop deck, he was attempting to go down into the cockpit, when several men rushed by him, crying out that the fire was increasing. he endeavoured to retreat, but would have fallen before he reached the deck, had not the second lieutenant and rayner, springing forward, assisted him up, and the next moment he sank down, apparently lifeless. it was some minutes before the fresh air revived him. two poor fellows were suffocated by the smoke rolling in dense volumes along the lower deck, and others were rescued half dead by their shipmates. some short time was of necessity lost while the captain and master and the lieutenants were holding a consultation as to what was to be done. in the meantime, rayner, seeing the importance of discovering the seat of the fire, resolved at every risk to make the attempt. without telling any of the officers of his intention, he called on ben twinch and jack and tom, whom he met on his way, to accompany him, and to bring a long rope with him. on reaching the hatchway he fastened the end round his waist. "haul me up if you find it becomes slack," he said. "you'll know then that i am not able to get on." "don't go, sir! don't go!" cried jack. "it won't matter to any one if i get choked, but so many would be sorry if anything happened to you." "i'll tell you what it is, mr rayner," exclaimed ben; "no man who hasn't been down to the bottom of stromboli or down etna will be able to live two minutes in the cockpit, and i cannot help you, sir, to throw your life away. the ship's on fire somewhere forward, and what we've got to do is to pump the water over it, and try and put it out. if we can't do that, we must shut down the hatches, and see if we can't smother it." rayner was not inclined to listen to this well-meant and really judicious advice, but rushing forward, was attempting to make his way down the ladder. scarcely, however, had he descended three or four steps, when the smoke filling his mouth and nostrils, he would have fallen headlong down had not ben and jack hauled him up again, almost in the same condition as mr saltwell had been. "i told you so, sir," said ben, as he carried him out of the way of the hose, which now began to play over the spot, under the direction of mr saltwell. the water, however, seemed to make no impression on the fire, or in any way to lessen the volumes of smoke, which, on the contrary, became thicker and thicker. the men who were directing the hose were compelled to retire. the carpenters had, in the meantime, been engaged in scuttling the orlop deck, so that water might be poured down in great quantities. all their efforts were of no avail, however. in a short time the first lieutenant was heard issuing his orders to cover in the hatchways, and to close the ports, so as to prevent the circulation of air. with a sad heart mr saltwell now went on deck to report to the captain what had been done. he spoke in a low and earnest tone. "i am afraid, captain martin, that we cannot hope to save the ship," he said; "the fire may be kept under for an hour or perhaps two hours, but if it once makes its way through the hatchways and gets to the lower decks, there is nothing to stop it. i would strongly advise that the boats should at once be got ready, so that as many lives as possible may be preserved." "were we to do that, the people would immediately fancy that the destruction of the ship is certain, and abandon themselves to despair," said the captain. "i know our men, and can answer for their doing their duty," replied mr saltwell, with confidence. "if we delay getting out the boats, we may find it impossible to do so at last, and the lives of all on board may be sacrificed. we can trust to the marines, and give them directions to prevent any of the men getting into the boats until you issue the order for them to do so." "you are right, saltwell; send the sergeant of marines here," said the captain. the sergeant quickly appeared and stood bolt upright, with his hand to the peak of his hat, as if on parade, ready to receive any orders which might be given. "call out your men, and understand that they are to load with ball and shoot any of the seamen who get into the boats without orders." the sergeant, saluting, faced about, as if going to perform some ordinary routine of duty, and, quickly mustering his marines, stationed them as directed. the first lieutenant now gave orders to the boatswain to turn the hands up, and as soon as they appeared on deck, he shouted, "out boats! but understand, my lads, that not one of you is to enter them without leave. the marines have received orders to shoot the first man who attempts to do so, though you do not require to be told that." the crew hastened to the tackles and falls, and with the most perfect regularity the boats were lowered into the water when they were veered astern and secured for towing. the helm was now put down, the yards braced up, and the ship's head directed to the north-west, in which direction the land lay, though not visible from the deck. the crew knew by this that the captain and officers considered the ship to be in great danger, and at the same time it encouraged them to persevere in their attempts to keep the fire under. they had some hopes also of falling in with the _ione_ or by firing the guns to attract her attention, should she be within hearing of them. as the boats, however, would not carry the whole ship's company, the captain directed the carpenter and his mates to get the booms overboard for the purpose of constructing a raft large enough to support those whom the boats could not carry. as it was now evident, from the increasing volumes of smoke which ascended through the hatchways, that the fire was working its way aft, although the flames had not yet burst out, it became of the greatest importance to get the powder out of the magazine. for this purpose the second lieutenant descended with a party of men, and succeeded in bringing up a considerable quantity, which was stowed in the stern gallery. all the other hands, not otherwise employed, were engaged under the different officers in heaving water down the hatchways; but the smoke increased to such a degree that they were compelled to desist, several who persevered falling senseless on the deck. the powder which had been got up being hove into the sea, the captain gave the order to drown the magazine. the difficulty of accomplishing this task was, however, very great, and the second lieutenant and gunner, with several of the men, were drawn up, apparently lifeless, after making the attempt. lieutenant saltwell now again descended to the after cockpit, where he found one man alone still persevering in the hazardous duty-- ben twinch, boatswain's mate. "a few more buckets, and we'll do it, sir!" cried ben; but almost immediately afterwards he sank down exhausted. the lieutenant, singing out for a rope, fastened it round him, though feeling that he himself would be overpowered before the gallant seaman could be drawn up. he succeeded, however, and once more returned to the deck above. still, he knew that a large quantity of powder remained dry, and that should the fire reach the magazine, the destruction of all on board would be inevitable. although gasping for breath, he was about again to descend, when a light, active figure, with a rope round his waist, darted passed him, and he recognised rayner. he was about to follow, when he heard the voice of the midshipman shouting, "haul me up, quick!" the next instant rayner was drawn up, too much exhausted to speak. he had succeeded in drowning a portion of the powder; but a quantity remained, sufficient at any moment to blow the ship into the air. although no human being could exist between the decks forward, the after-part of the lower deck remained free from smoke. in the hopes of getting at the magazine, the carpenter was directed to cut scuttles through the ward-room, and gun-room, so as to get down right above it. by keeping all the doors closed, the smoke was prevented from entering, and at length it was found that the powder could be drawn, up and hove overboard out of the gallery windows. several of the officers volunteered for this dangerous duty. rayner, notwithstanding that he had just before escaped suffocation, again twice descended, and was each time drawn up more dead than alive. several hours had now gone by, and the wind providentially holding fair, the ship was nearing the land. meantime, the fire was fast gaining on them, and might at any moment triumph over all the heroic efforts of the crew to subdue it. the heat below was intense. the first lieutenant, going forward, found that the hatches had been blown off, as also the tarpaulins placed over the gratings. as it was of the greatest importance to keep them on, he directed the carpenter, with as many men as could be obtained, to replace them, while he returned once more aft, to superintend the operation of getting up the powder. although hitherto none of the men had attempted to shirk their duty, greatly to his annoyance he saw, on looking out of the ward-room windows, the stern ladders covered with people, who fancied that they would there be more secure, and escape discovery. at once bursting open a window he ordered them all up, and directed rayner to go and see that they made their appearance on deck. among one of the first who came creeping up, our hero discovered his former messmate tom fletcher. "you people have disgraced yourselves. fletcher, i am sorry to have to say the same to you," he exclaimed. it was the first time he had ever openly found fault with his former companion, but his feelings compelled him to utter the words. tom, and the whole of the men who had been on the ladders, sneaked away on either side, ashamed, at all events, of being found out, and still looking with longing eyes at the boats astern. every now and then a seaman was brought aft and placed under the doctor's care, but of the number four were found to be past recovery, and it seemed doubtful whether several others would revive. the greater portion of the crew, under the direction of the officers, were vieing with each other, trying to keep down the flames. the wind shifted a point or two more in their favour. the captain immediately ordered the hands aloft, to set the topgallant sails and royals. seven anxious hours had passed, when while the men were still aloft, the cry arose, "land, land, on the weather bow!" the men on deck cheered at the announcement. in a short time it could be observed through the haze right ahead. the sight, though the land was still five leagues distant, revived the sinking spirits of the crew, and spurred them on to greater exertions. still, notwithstanding all their efforts, the fire rapidly increased. again and again efforts were made to clear the magazine, but the smoke as often drove the men back. by this time the whole of the fore part of the lower deck was on fire, but owing to the ports being closed and all circulation of air prevented, the flames did not rise with the rapidity which would otherwise have been the case. the fear was that, the heels of the masts being consumed by the fire, the masts themselves might fall. still they stood right gallantly, carrying their widespread canvas, and urging on the ship to the wished-for shore. by this time all communication with the fore part of the ship was cut off. the crew were gathered aft, still actively employed in fighting the flames by heaving down water. but foot by foot they were driven towards the stern. at length the devouring element burst through all control, and rushed up the fore-hatchway, rising triumphantly as high as the foreyard. yet the ship kept on her way. the men remained firm to their duty. now, not only from the fore, but from the main hatchway, the flames were seen to ascend, but for some time, the courses having been thoroughly wetted, they stood still urging on the ship towards the land. time went on. the fire had commenced at seven in the morning, it was now several hours past noon. for all that period the crew had been fighting desperately with the fiery element for their lives. anxiously, with straining eyes, they gazed at the land. on either side a dark mass of smoke ascended before them, and blew away to leeward, while the lurid flames rose beneath it, striving furiously for victory over the masts and spars, sails and rigging. it seemed like a miracle that the masts should stand in the midst of the hot furnace which glowed far down the depths of the ship. all were aware that at any moment one of several fearful events might occur. the wind might shift and prevent the ship reaching the land ahead, or a gale might spring up and cast the ship helplessly upon the rocks, or a calm might come on and delay her progress, or the masts, burnt through, might fall and crush those on deck, or, still more dreadful, a spark might reach the magazine, and her immediate destruction must follow. still the officers and crew strove on, though they well knew that no human power could extinguish the raging flames, which with sullen roar came nearer and nearer to where they stood. an alarm was given that the mizenmast was on fire in the captain's cabin, and as rayner looked over the side, he could see the flames burst out of the lee ports. the guns had not been loaded, but there was no necessity to fire signals of distress. the condition of the ship could be seen from far along the shore, and it was hoped that boats would, as she drew near, put off to her assistance. the master, some time before, had brought up a chart on deck, and now pointed out to his brother officers the exact spot towards which the ship was steering. it was the bay of rosas. already the ship was entering between two capes which formed its northern and southern sides. the captain stood in the midst of his officers and men, gathered on deck, for every place below was filled with smoke, and, except in the after-part of the ship, the raging flames had gained full mastery. his wish had been to reach the shore before any one quitted the ship; he now saw that to do this was impossible. "my lads," he said, "i am about to order up the boats. you have hitherto maintained your discipline; let me see that you are ready to obey orders to the last. and now we'll have the raft overboard, which will carry every man who cannot be stowed in the boats, even if the spaniards don't come out to help us. lower away." it was no easy matter to perform this operation, with the fire raging uncontrolled not many feet off, almost scorching the backs of the men standing nearest it. a cheer announced that it had safely reached the water, when the carpenter and his crew, with a few additional hands, were ordered on to it, to secure the booms on either side, so as to increase its power of supporting a heavy weight. scarcely had this been done, and the launch ordered up under the stern, than the ship struck and remained immovable, though nearly a mile from the shore. then the tall masts seemed to sway to and fro as if they were about to fall, though it might only have been fancy. the marines, who had faithfully performed their duty, were stationed on either side, while the sick and several of the wounded were lowered into the launch. the boys and younger midshipmen were next directed to go down the ladder, and the other men were told off. the two yawls and jolly-boat being hauled up, were then loaded with as many as they could carry. "may i stay by you, sir?" asked rayner of mr saltwell. "no, rayner," answered the first lieutenant; "you have done your duty well this day, and i cannot allow you to risk your life by remaining a moment longer than is necessary. we cannot tell when the ship may blow up. it may be before the captain and i quit her. i order you to go." rayner obeyed and descended into one of the yawls. looking towards the shore he saw several boats coming off. he pointed them out to the officer in command of the launch. "tell them to come under the stern of the ship and take off the remainder of the crew," said the lieutenant. while the yawl was pulling towards the spanish boats, he looked round to the ship. already it appeared as if the flames were rushing from every port, while they were rising higher and higher, forming a vast pyramid of fire, as circling round and round the masts they caught hold of the canvas and rigging, and seized the spars in their embrace. he urged the crew to pull with all their strength, that they might the sooner return to the assistance of their friends. the spanish boats were reached, but in vain he endeavoured to persuade their crews to come near the burning ship. they were ready enough to receive on board the people in the yawl, but not to risk their lives by approaching her. one of the officers could speak a little spanish, and rayner tried his french upon them, endeavouring to persuade them, and at length threatening condign punishment if they refused. but nothing that could be said had any effect. time was precious, so, putting the men from the crowded yawl into one of the boats, rayner, who took charge of her, urging the men to pull with all their might steered back for the ship. from the position in which the boat was, between her head and the shore, she appeared already to be one mass of flame. it seemed impossible indeed that any human being could still be alive on board. pulling round, however, so as to approach the stern, rayner saw that the after portion still remained free from flame, though the crew, as if they knew that there was no time to be lost, were not only descending the ladders, but sliding rapidly down the ropes hanging over the taffrail on to the raft. they had good reason for doing so, for he could see the ruddy light even through the stern windows, and from every port, except the extreme after ones, the flames were rushing out. three figures alone stood on the poop; they were those of the captain, the first lieutenant, and master, who had maintained their perilous position until every living man was out of the ship. remembering the remark mr saltwell had made just before he had quitted the ship, rayner again urged on his well-nigh exhausted crew to pull up and rescue their brave officers. the raft was crowded with men. the shout rose, "shove off! shove off!" and with broken spars and pieces of board, those on it were endeavouring to make their way to a distance from the side of the ship. rayner steered his boat under the stern. the master was the first to descend, mr saltwell came next, and the captain was the last to leave her. "pull away, rayner," he said, in a calm voice. "we have reason to be thankful to providence that she has not blown up yet, for at any moment the fire may reach the magazine, and there is still powder enough, i understand, to send the fragments far around." the first yawl having received on board several people from the land, took the raft in tow. in a short time the other boats returned, having placed the people they carried in the spanish boats, several of which also arrived, though they lost not a moment in pulling again towards the shore, as far as they could from the burning ship. the captain directed rayner to keep astern of the other boats. his eye rested on his ship as if he desired to see her as long as she existed. the moment of her destruction came at last. the rest of the crew having landed, the yawl was nearing the shore, when a loud roar was heard as if a whole broadside had been fired. the flames rose high in the air; the masts shot upwards surrounded by burning fragments of planks and timbers; the stout sides, rent asunder, rushed outwards, and in another minute a few blackened fragments of the gallant ship, which had that morning floated trim and proudly on the ocean, were alone visible. captain martin looked sad and grave as he stepped on shore; but he felt that he, as well as his officers, had done their duty, and had made every possible effort to preserve the ship. neither he nor they could discover the cause of the fire. fortunately, england had not then declared war against spain, and the authorities received the british officers and men in a friendly manner, while many of the inhabitants of the neighbouring town vied with each other in rendering them all the service in their power. chapter twenty seven. a narrow escape--home--an action suddenly ended. the morning after the day they landed in spain, rayner had gone down to the beach with mr saltwell, who wanted, he said, to have another look at the remains of the old barkie. the midshipman was examining the black ribs of the wreck appearing above water through the telescope which the lieutenant had lent him, when the latter exclaimed, "do you see a sail away to the south-east?" the sun glanced for a moment on her canvas. "yes, sir," answered rayner. "she's a large craft, too, for i can only just see her royals rising above the horizon. she's standing in this direction." "hand me the glass," said mr saltwell. "you are right, youngster," he continued, looking through it. "i only hope that she may be one of our own cruisers, but it will be some time before that point can be decided." after watching the approaching stranger for some time the lieutenant and midshipman returned with the intelligence to the farm-house where the captain and several of the other officers were quartered. hoping that she might be the _ione_, captain martin ordered the first yawl to be got ready to go off to her. the crew were then mustered. eight did not answer to their names. it was known how five had died, but what had become of the other three? at length it was whispered among the men that they had managed to get drinking the previous night, and had fallen below, stupefied by the smoke. the men having breakfasted, the greater number hurried down to the shore to have a look at the stranger, now approaching under all sail. three cheers were uttered as the flag of england flew out at her peak. the captain immediately ordered mr sterling to pull off to her, and to request that his officers and ship's company might be received on board. "you will make sure before you get near that she is english," he whispered. "the frenchman may have a fancy to take some spaniards prisoners, and would be better pleased to get hold of you." rayner went as midshipman of the boat, which made good way towards the frigate now lying hove-to about three miles from the shore. "what do you think of her, noakes?" asked the lieutenant of the coxswain, as they got nearer. the old seaman took a steady glance at the stranger, surveying her from truck to water-line. "if she doesn't carry a british crew, the frenchmen must have got hold of her since we parted company three days ago, and i don't think that's likely, or there would be not a few shot-holes in her canvas, and a pretty good sprinkling in her hull, too," he answered, in a confident tone. "she's the _ione_, sir, or i don't know a frigate from a dutch dogger." now certain that there was no mistake, mr sterling steered for the frigate. pulling alongside, he and rayner stepped on board. captain dickson, with most of his officers, were on deck. "where is your ship?" was the first question the captain asked of the lieutenant. "there is all that remains of her," answered mr sterling, pointing to the blackened ribs of the ship, which could be distinguished through a telescope near the shore; and he gave an account of what had happened. due regrets at the occurrence having been expressed, captain dickson saying that he had been induced to stand into the bay in consequence of hearing the sound of the explosion, at once ordered out all the boats, and in a few minutes they were pulling for the shore, accompanied by the yawl. the _ione_, meantime, was standing in somewhat nearer, to be ready to receive the crew of the store-ship on board. no time was lost in embarking, and it was with intense satisfaction that captain martin and those under him found themselves again on the deck of an english frigate. sail was at once made for gibraltar, malta not having at that time been taken possession of by the english. as the two ships' companies had to be stowed away below, they were compelled to pack pretty closely, but no one minded that, as they expected a speedy passage to the rock, while the officers and crew of the store-ship hoped immediately to be sent back to england. it is too true a saying that "there's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip." the _ione_ was about midway between the spanish coast and majorca, when, as morning broke, a number of ships were seen standing out from the direction of minorca. at first it was supposed that they were part of the english fleet, but after two of the lieutenants had taken a careful survey of them from aloft, it was decided that they were french. "they have seen us, and guess what we are," observed captain dickson to his brother captain. "see, here come two frigates in chase. turn the hands up and make sail!" he added, addressing the first lieutenant. the crew were quickly aloft, and every stitch of canvas the _ione_ could set was packed upon her. there was no disgrace in running from so superior a force. the _ione_ was considered a good sailer, but the frenchmen showed that they were still faster. captain dickson, however, had no intention of yielding his ship as long as he had a stick standing to escape with. full of men as he now was, he hoped to beat off both his foes, though he could not expect to capture them in sight of an enemy's squadron. as they got nearer, a couple of guns were trained aft to serve as stern chasers, and every preparation was made to fight for life and liberty. another frigate and two line-of-battle ships were seen standing after the first, but they were so far astern, that should the _ione_ keep ahead, without having her masts and spars shot away, there might still be hopes of her escaping. british seamen seldom wish to avoid a fight, but on the present occasion few on board were such fire-eaters as not to hope that they might keep well ahead of their foes. the two frigates were rapidly gaining on the _ione_; another half-hour, or even less, and she would be within range of their guns. to hit her, however, they would have to yaw, and this would enable her to gain on them, while she could fire without altering her course. jack and tom every now and then got a glimpse of the enemy through the ports. "i say, jack, it isn't fair of those two fellows out there to be chasing us after all we have gone through. i was hoping to go home and see my father, and ask him to get me placed on the quarter-deck. i shouldn't like to be killed till i've been made a midshipman--not that i should like it then." "don't you be talking nonsense about being made a midshipman. you've about as much chance as you have of being made port-admiral off-hand," answered jack, with more temper than he generally showed. "of course you don't want to be killed--no more do i; but we must both be ready should it be god's will to call us in the way of duty." at length the drum beat to quarters, by which the men knew that the captain expected before long to be engaged in a fierce fight. rayner was at his station forward, but he could still see what was taking place astern. presently the frigates yawed. two flashes were seen, and the low, booming sound of a couple of guns came across the ocean. "we're not quite within range of the mounseers' popguns yet," observed the boatswain, with a laugh. "they must come closer before they can harm us." "do you think we can beat them off?" asked rayner. "you may be very sure that we'll try pretty hard to do so," answered the boatswain, in a confident tone. "i've heard of your doings aboard the _thisbe_. we'll show you that the crew of the _ione_ are made of the same stuff." as the two frenchmen drew nearer, the desire of the british sailors to fight increased, and it was with a feeling of almost bitter disappointment, just as the _ione_ had fired her stern chasers, that the enemy were seen to haul their tacks aboard, in answer, apparently, to the signals made by the ships astern. the general opinion was that the british fleet had appeared to the eastward. whether or not this was the case it was impossible to say. the _ione_ continued her course, and in a short time ran the enemy out of sight. on her arrival at gibraltar, the first intelligence mr saltwell received was that he had been promoted to the rank of commander. the very next day two ships came in from the fleet with despatches, which the _ione_ was directed to carry immediately to england. as they were both short of hands, much to captain martin's annoyance, a considerable number of his men were drafted on board them. had other ships come in, he would probably have lost many more. the _ione_ sailed immediately with the remainder, and he hoped that they would form the nucleus of a new crew for the _thisbe_. the _ione_ had a quick passage to plymouth. on his arrival there, much to his disappointment, captain martin found that the _thisbe_ was not yet ready for sea. rayner was considering how to dispose of himself during the intermediate time. he did not expect that mrs crofton would offer him a room, but he wished, at all events, to pay her and mary a visit, as they had always shown so friendly a feeling towards him. when, however, she heard how he was situated, she insisted that he should take up his quarters with them. "i do not require any payment, as i have no other lodger at present, and i am only too glad to have you," she said, in a kind tone. rayner thanked her very warmly, and accepted her offer. "i daresay captain saltwell will come and see us as soon as he has time. i was delighted to hear that he had obtained his promotion, and i hope, mr rayner, that you will soon get yours. you have surely served long enough to pass for a mate, and i would advise you to apply at once, that you may be ready for your lieutenancy." "i am afraid that i should have but little chance of passing, but i'll try," said rayner. "i am told the examinations are very stiff. if a midshipman doesn't answer every question put to him, he is turned back immediately." "at all events, go in and try, and take a testimonial from captain saltwell," said mrs crofton, who had heard something of the way examinations were conducted in those days. rayner found, on inquiry, that, fortunately, a board was to sit the very next day, and, meeting captain saltwell, he mentioned his intention. "the very thing i was going to advise," was the answer. "i'll write a letter to captain cranston, and you can take it with you." next morning rayner presented himself on board the flagship, where he found several other midshipmen ready to go up. first one, and then another, was sent for, and came back with smiling faces. at last one, who certainly did not look as if he would set the thames on fire, went in. in a short time he reappeared, grumbling and complaining that it was very hard a fellow who had been at sea six years should be turned back. rayner's turn came next. comparatively but a few questions were asked in navigation. he had no difficulty in answering those put to him in seamanship. at last, captain cranston, knitting his brow, and looking very serious, said-- "now, mr rayner, supposing the ship you are in charge of is caught on a lee shore with a hurricane blowing, and you find yourself embayed; what would you do?" "if there was holding ground, i should let go the best bower, and make all snug aloft." "but suppose the best bower is carried away?" "i should let go the second bower, sir." "but suppose you lose that?" asked the captain, looking still more serious. "i should cut away the masts and bring up with my sheet anchor." "but in the event of losing that, mr rayner, how would you next proceed?" "i should have done all that a man can do, and should look out for the most suitable place for running the ship ashore." "but, suppose you could find no suitable place, mr rayner?" "then, sir, i should let her find one for herself, and make the best preparations time would allow for saving the lives of her people, when she struck." "i have the pleasure to inform you, mr rayner, that you have passed your examination very creditably," said captain cranston, handing him his papers. rayner, thanking the captain, and bowing, made his exit. on afterwards comparing notes with the midshipman who had been turned back, he mentioned the question which had been put to him. "why, that's the very one he asked me," said his companion. "i told him i would club-haul the ship, and try all sorts of manoeuvres to beat out of the bay, and would not on any account let her go ashore." "i'm not surprised that you were turned back, old fellow," observed rayner, with a laugh. on returning on shore he met commander saltwell. "i congratulate you, rayner," he said. "i have just received orders to commission the _lily_ sloop-of-war, and i will apply to have you with me. by-the-bye, where are you going to put up?" "mrs crofton has asked me to go to her house, and as i thought that you would have no objection, i accepted her offer, sir," answered rayner. "i am glad to hear it; the very best thing you could do," said commander saltwell. "though many would prefer the freedom of an inn, i admire your good taste in taking advantage of the opportunity offered you to pass your time in the society of refined, right-minded persons like mrs crofton and her daughter." our hero spent a few happy days with the kind widow and mary, who both evidently took a warm interest in his welfare. it was the first time he had been living on shore, except during his sojourn in france, since he first went to sea. he was introduced to some of the few friends they possessed, and he made several pleasant excursions with them to visit some of the beautiful scenery in the neighbourhood of plymouth. his observation, unknown to himself, enabled him rapidly to adapt himself to the manners of people of education, and no one would have recognised in the gentlemanly young midshipman the powder monkey of a short time back. it was with more regret than he supposed he could possibly have felt that he received a summons to join the _lily_, now fitting out with all despatch for the west indies. though he no longer belonged to the _thisbe_, it was with much sorrow that he heard she was pronounced unfit for sea, and that her crew had been dispersed. he made inquiries for jack and tom. the former, he discovered, had gone to pay his mother a visit; but, though he searched for tom, he could nowhere hear of him. the day after he had joined the _lily_, he was well pleased to see jack come on board. "i found out, sir, that you belonged to the corvette, as i thought you would when i heard that mr saltwell was appointed to command her," said jack; "so, sir, i made up my mind to volunteer for her, if i could escape being pressed before i got back to plymouth." "i am glad to see you, peek," said our hero. "have you heard anything of tom fletcher?" "well, sir, i'm sorry to say i have," answered jack. "he has been knocking about plymouth, hiding away from the press-gangs in all sorts of places, instead of going home to his father, as he said he would. i only found him last night, and tried to persuade him to join the _lily_ with me, but he'd still a shiner or two in his locker, and he couldn't make up his mind to come till the last had gone. i know where to find him, and i'll try again after i have entered on board the _lily_." "do so," said rayner. "he may be better off with a friend like you to look after him than left to himself." rayner had the satisfaction of seeing jack rated as an a.b. several of the _thisbe's_ crew had joined the _lily_, and besides them ben twinch, who, owing to captain martin's recommendation, had been raised to the rank of warrant officer, was appointed to her as boatswain. "very glad to be with you again, mr rayner," said honest ben; "and i hope before the ship is paid off to see you one of her lieutenants. we are likely to have a good ship's company; and i am glad to say my brother warrant officers, mr coles the gunner, and mr jenks the carpenter, are men who can be trusted." rayner's own messmates were all strangers. the first lieutenant, mr horrocks, a red-faced man, with curly whiskers, and as stiff as a poker, had not much the cut of a naval officer; while the second lieutenant, mr lascelles, who was delicate, refined, young, and good-looking, offered a great contrast to him. they were both not only civil but kind to rayner, of whom commander saltwell had spoken highly to them. jack had been twice on shore to look out for tom, and had returned saying that he could not persuade him to come on board. at last, when the ship was almost ready for sea, being still some hands short of her complement, rayner obtained leave for jack, with two other men who could be trusted to try and bring him off, and any others they could pick up. late in the evening a shore boat came off with several men in her, and jack made his appearance on deck, where rayner was doing duty as mate of the watch. "i have brought him, sir, though he does not exactly know where he is coming to," said jack. "i found him with his pockets emptied and the landlady of the house where he was lodging about to turn him out of doors. we managed to bring him along, sir, however, and to-morrow morning, when he comes to his senses, i have no doubt he'll be thankful to enter." "i'm glad to hear you've got him safe at last, and i know you'll look after him," said rayner. next morning tom, not knowing that rayner was on board, or how he himself came there, entered as an ordinary seaman, which placed him in an inferior position to jack peek, who might soon, from his activity and good conduct, be raised to the rank of a petty officer. our hero paid a last visit to mrs crofton and mary, promising, as they asked him to do, to write whenever he could obtain an opportunity. at length the _lily_, a fine corvette, carrying twenty guns on a flush deck and a complement of one hundred and twenty men, was ready for sea. on going down the sound she found the _latona_, which ship she was to assist in convoying a fleet of merchantmen brought up in cawsand bay. as the men-of-war approached, the merchant vessels, to the number of nearly fifty, got under way and stood down channel. it was pretty hard work to keep them together, and the corvette was employed in continually firing signals to urge on the laggers, or to prevent the faster craft from running out of sight. what with shortening and making sail and signalling, together with getting a newly commissioned ship into trim, the time of all on board was pretty well occupied, and rayner had no opportunity of learning anything about tom fletcher. a bright look-out was kept on every side, for an enemy might at any moment appear, especially at night, when it was possible some daring privateer might pounce down and attempt to carry off one of the merchantmen, just as a hawk picks off a hapless chicken from a brood watched over so carefully by the hen. the wind was fair, the sea calm, and the traders bound for jamaica safely reached port royal harbour, the remainder being convoyed to the other islands by the _latona_ and _lily_, which were afterwards to be sent to cruise in search of the enemy's privateers. our hero had not forgotten tom fletcher, but watched in the hopes of doing him a service jack's report of him had not been favourable. he had talked of going home to his father, and had plenty of money in his pocket to do so, but instead of that he had gone to dancing-houses and similar places resorted to by seamen, where his money rapidly disappeared. he might have fallen into the docks, or died in the streets, had not jack found him and brought him on board the _lily_. for some neglect of duty his leave had been stopped, and, fortunately for himself, he was not allowed to go on shore at port royal when the ship put in there. tom, however, still avoided rayner, who had no opportunity, unless he expressly sent to speak to him, to give him a word of advice or encouragement. jack, who was really the best friend he had in the ship, did his utmost to keep him out of mischief. "it's all very fine for you to talk that way," answered tom, when one day jack had been giving him a lecture. "you got rated as an able seaman, and now have been made captain of the mizen-top, too, and will, i suppose, before long, get another step; and here am i sticking where i was. it's no fault of mine, that i can see. i'll cut and run if i have the chance, for i cannot bear to see others placed over my head, as you and bill rayner have been, and to see him walking the quarter-deck in a brand new uniform, and talking to the officers as friendly and easy as if he had been born among them, while i, a gentleman's son, remain a foremast man, with every chance of being one to the end of my days." "there's no use grumbling, tom; all you have to think about is to do your duty with smartness, keep sober, and to avoid doing anything wrong, and with your education, which i wish i had, you are sure to get on." there is an old saying that it is useless to try and make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. it is to be seen whether tom fletcher was like the sow's ear. soon after the _lily_ left jamaica she fell in with the _ariel_. as a calm came on while they were in company, the officers of the two ships paid visits to each other. rayner, recollecting that mary crofton's brother oliver was serving in her, got leave to go on board, for the purpose of making his acquaintance. he was much disappointed, on inquiring for him, to learn that he had been sent away a few days before, in charge of a prize, a brig called the _clerie_, with orders to take her to jamaica. "she ought to have arrived before you left there," observed the midshipman who told him this. "how provoking that i should have missed him, though i do not think any such vessel came in while we were there," answered rayner. "his mother and sister are great friends of mine." "they must be nice people if they are like him, for oliver crofton is a capital fellow. he is as kind-hearted and even-tempered as he is brave and good-looking, and he is a favourite with all on board." "i am glad to hear that, though it makes me the more sorry that we should have missed each other, but i hope before long to fall in with him," observed rayner. a breeze springing up, the officers retired to their respective vessels, and the _lily_ and _ariel_ parted company, the former rejoining the frigate. while off antigua, the wind being from the eastward, the frigate made the signal of three strange sail to the south-west, and directly afterwards to give chase. all the canvas they could carry was set. in a short time one of the strangers was seen to haul up to the northward, and the _lily_ was ordered to go in pursuit of her. she was apparently the smallest of the three, but was still likely to prove no mean antagonist. as the _lily_ appeared to be gaining on her, the commander gave the order to prepare for action. the frigate meantime was standing after the other two vessels. before long her topsails, and finally her royals, disappeared beneath the horizon. "we shall have her all to ourselves, and we'll see how soon we can take her," observed mr horrocks to the second lieutenant. "it is some time since you smelt powder, lascelles." "last time i smelt a good deal of it, when we were beating off a ship twice our size, and should have taken her, too, had she not gone down in the night," answered the second lieutenant, in his usual quiet tone. "i got my promotion in consequence." "and wrote an ode to victory, eh?" said mr horrocks, who was fond of bantering his brother lieutenant on his fondness for poetry. "and it was considered good," responded the young officer. "you will have an opportunity of exercising your poetical talents before long on the same subject, i hope," observed the first lieutenant. "we are gaining fast on the chase." just then the look-out from the mast-head shouted, "sail on the starboard bow!" "go and see what she is like," said the commander to rayner. our hero hurried aloft, his telescope hanging by a strap at his back. he was quickly joined by the second lieutenant. they were of opinion that she was a large craft, and that the object of the chase was to draw the _lily_ away from the frigate, so that the corvette might have two opponents to contend with. "we must manage to take her before she reaches the other, then we shall have time to prepare for a second action," observed mr lascelles. "can she be the _ariel_?" asked rayner. "she's very likely to be cruising hereabouts." mr lascelles took another look at her through his glass. "i think not," he answered. "the chase must have seen her, and must know her to be a friend, or she would not keep on as she is at present standing." the two officers descended to make their report. the _lily_ was a fast craft, and now rapidly gained on the chase, which, as she drew within range, fired a couple of shot. captain saltwell ordered the two foremost guns to be fired in return. the second lieutenant took charge of one and rayner of the other. both, looking along the sights, gave them the proper elevation, and fired at the same moment. the effect of the shot was beyond all expectation. down came the foreyard, shot away in the slings, causing, it was very evident, considerable confusion on board. "bravo, rayner! you did it!" cried mr lascelles. "my shot went through the mainsail." the enemy now opened fire from a broadside of ten guns, but not a shot damaged the _lily_, which, ranging up on the weather side of her opponent, began blazing away as fast as the crews could run in and load their guns. the stranger was a large flush-decked vessel, crowded with men, many of whom, stripped to the waist, were working away desperately at their guns, while others opened a heavy fire of musketry. as rayner, who had charge of the foremost guns, was watching her, he caught sight of a young man in the uniform of a midshipman, who sprang suddenly up through the companion-hatch, and, making his way aft, seemed to be addressing the captain with energetic action. rayner got but a glimpse of him, for the next moment there came a fearful roaring sound. the deck of the enemy's ship rose in the air, rent into a thousand fragments. her masts and yards and sails shot upwards, and her dark hull seemed suddenly to melt away. the _lily_ reeled with the shock, and the crew, astounded by the awful catastrophe, for a moment forgot their discipline. several of the men were knocked down; indeed, it seemed surprising that any should have escaped. rayner remained at his station, and although several pieces of burning plank fell close to him, he was uninjured. the voice of the commander was soon heard recalling the men to their duty, and ordering them to fill the buckets with water, to prevent the blazing fragments which strewed the deck from setting the ship on fire. chapter twenty eight. a rescue. while some of the crew were engaged on deck, others, led by the second lieutenant, the boatswain, and rayner, ascended the rigging with buckets of water to heave over the sails, which in several places had caught fire. it was a work of extreme peril, but it was quickly accomplished, before much damage had been done. the ship all the time was standing on, her starboard tacks aboard. nearly a quarter of an hour had elapsed before any one could look in the direction where their late antagonist had floated. a few dark fragments of wreck could alone be seen in the far distance, but no one supposed that any human beings could have escaped from the fearful catastrophe. the _lily_ was quickly put to rights and stood on in chase of the stranger, which was now seen, under a press of sail, standing away to the north-west. evening was approaching, and it was feared that if she wished to avoid the risk of an engagement, she might manage to escape in the night. during the first part of it the atmosphere was tolerably clear, and the chase could dimly be seen in the distance. she was carrying all sail, evidently doing her best to escape. the _lily_ had all her canvas set, but as at night a squall cannot be seen, as in the daytime, coming across the ocean, all hands were kept on deck, ready to take it in at a moment's notice. "are we gaining on the chase?" asked the commander, when the second lieutenant, who had just before gone forward, returned. "i think so, sir; but unless the breeze freshens, it will be a long time before we can get her within range of our guns." everything that could be thought of was done to make the corvette move through the water. the sails were wetted, the hammocks were piped down, and the watch were ordered to turn in, with a couple of round shot with each, under the idea that as the hammocks swung forward with the surge of the ship, her speed would be increased. the privateers were at that time committing so much havoc among the english merchantmen, that it was of the greatest importance to stop their career. as the night drew on, the crescent moon, which had before been affording some light, sank beneath the horizon, and the darkness increased, a mist gradually filling the atmosphere, and obscuring all objects around. the chase was thus shut out from view. still the _lily_ continued standing in the direction she had last been seen. rayner was on the forecastle near ben twinch, both endeavouring to pierce the veil which surrounded the supposed privateer. "we may at any moment run through this mist, and we shall then, i hope, see the chase again," observed ben. "it won't do for a moment to shut our eyes, for maybe we shall find her much closer than before." "i fancy that i can even now see her, but my imagination may deceive me," said rayner. "can that be her out there?" "i can't see anything," said the boatswain, putting his hands on either side of his eyes. "what is that on the lee bow?" suddenly exclaimed rayner. before the boatswain could turn his eyes in the direction the midshipman was pointing, the latter added, "i must have been mistaken. it has disappeared, for i can see nothing. still i must go aft and report to the commander what i saw, or fancied i saw." "it could only have been fancy," remarked captain saltwell. "the imagination is easily deceived in an atmosphere like this. we'll keep on as we were standing." rayner accordingly went forward. he was not sorry at length to be relieved, as he was growing weary from having had so long to keep a strain on his eyes. at last, awakened by the gruff voice of the boatswain turning up the hands, he went on deck, and found that it was already daylight; but not a sail was in sight, and it was pretty evident that the chase had altered her course. the commander, thinking it likely that she had kept to the westward, steered in that direction. the day wore on, but still no sail appeared, nor did it seem at all likely that the chase would again be sighted. the ship was therefore put about to rejoin the _ione_. soon after noon the wind fell, and the _lily_ lay motionless on the glassy ocean; the sun shining forth with intense heat, making the pitch in the seams of the deck bubble up, and every piece of metal feel as if it had just come out of a furnace. the seamen sought every spot of shade which the sails afforded, and made frequent visits to the water-cask to quench their thirst. a few hours thus passed by, when, away to the south-east, a few clouds could be seen floating across the sky. "the calm can only be partial, for there's wind out there," observed the commander, pointing the clouds out to the first lieutenant. "i hope we shall soon get it." in this he was disappointed. the day went by; the ship still lay motionless on the waste of waters. another night came on. it was not until the sun again rose that the sails were heard to give several loud flaps against the masts; a few cat's-paws were seen playing over the surface of the water, and at length the canvas swelled out to an easterly breeze. the tacks were hauled aboard, and the _lily_ stood in the direction it was supposed the _ione_ would be found, over the course she had just come. the wind was light, and she made but little progress. it freshened, however, in the evening, and during the night the log showed that she was going at a fair rate. rayner was in the morning watch, and was forward when the look-out from the mast-head shouted, "a piece of wreck away on the starboard bow." as the ship would pass close by it, she was kept on her course. rayner was examining the piece of wreck through his glass, when he saw what he supposed was a person moving on it. he went aft, and reported this to the first lieutenant, who was on deck, and the ship was headed up towards it. "i can see four or five men!" exclaimed rayner, "some are lying down. one man is kneeling up and waving." by this time the commander had come on deck, and as the ship drew near, he ordered a boat to be got ready. two of the men were seen to rise on their knees, and wave. "they must have belonged to the crew of the ship which blew up the other day, though how they escaped seems a miracle," observed the commander. "poor fellows, they must have suffered fearfully! put a beaker of water and some food in the boat. they'll want nourishment as soon as possible." the corvette was hove-to. rayner took charge of the boat, the crew pulling eagerly away to the rescue of the hapless men on the raft. as they drew near, rayner observed, to his surprise, as he stood up steering, that one of the persons kneeling on the raft was dressed in the uniform of an english midshipman. "give way, lads--give way!" he shouted. the boat was quickly up to the raft, which was a portion apparently of the poop deck. besides the young englishman, there were five persons dressed as ordinary seamen, dark, swarthy fellows, their countenances haggard, and their whole appearance wretched in the extreme. "water, water! in mercy give us water!" cried the young englishman; while the other men, who were scarcely able to move, pointed to their mouths. one lay stretched on the raft, apparently lifeless, and another seemed almost too far gone to recover. two of the _lily's_ crew leapt on the raft, and, lifting up the english midshipman, carried him to the stern-sheets, where rayner stood with a cup of water ready to give him. he grasped it with both his hands, and eagerly drank the contents. a second mug had in the meantime been filled. one of the frenchmen, in his eagerness to reach it, stretched out his arms, and fell flat on his face. the english seamen lifted him up, and gently poured the water down his throat. he and two more were lifted on board. they then took a cup to the rest, who were too weak to make the slightest exertion. they poured some water down the throat of one; he gave one gasp, and then sank back, apparently lifeless. a sixth person was already beyond human help. on raising his arm, it fell again at his side. "are we to take these two bodies with us?" asked one of the men. "they don't seem to have any life in them." "yes, by all means," answered rayner; "we must let the doctor judge about them--perhaps he may bring them round." the two bodies were placed in the bows, and the crew giving way, rayner steered for the ship. as he looked at the countenance of the english midshipman, he thought he had seen him before. he did not trouble him with questions, however; indeed, although the latter had asked for water, it was very evident that he was unable to answer them. the boat was soon alongside. the young midshipman was the first lifted on board. "why, who can this be?" exclaimed the commander. "how came he among the crew of the privateer?" rayner explained that he had seen him spring on deck the instant before the ship blew up, but more about him he could not say, as he had not spoken a word since he was taken on board the boat. "carry him at once into my cabin," said the commander. "you'll do all you can for him i know, doctor," he added, addressing the surgeon, who, with the aid of the master and another officer, had already lifted up the young stranger. "he wants nourishment more than doctoring," answered the surgeon. while the midshipman was being carried into the cabin, the assistant-surgeon was examining the other men. he ordered some broth to be given to the three who had first been taken into the boat, observing that it was the only thing they required; and he then at once turned his attention to a fourth man, whose pulse he felt with a serious countenance. "there's life in him still," he observed; and ordering his head to be slightly raised, he hurried down to his dispensary, and quickly returned with a stimulant, which he poured down his throat. the effect was wonderful, for scarcely had it been swallowed than the patient gave signs of returning animation. the last poor fellow, after a careful examination, he pronounced beyond human aid. "had we arrived half an hour sooner, his life might have been saved," he observed, "for even now he is scarcely cold." the surgeon soon came up. "we'll try what can be done," he said, "for i never despair in a case of this sort." all his efforts, however, proved vain; and he at last had to acknowledge to the assistant-surgeon that the unfortunate man was beyond recovery. the yards had in the meantime been braced round, and the ship had been standing on her course. rayner was now sent for into the cabin, where he found the midshipman he had saved placed in the commander's cot. "do you see a likeness to any one you know?" asked commander saltwell. "yes," answered rayner, looking at the countenance of the young stranger, who was sleeping calmly; "i thought so from the first; he reminds me of mrs crofton, or, rather, of her daughter." "so he does me. i have little doubt that he is oliver crofton, and i can fully account for his being on board the privateer," said the commander. "she must have captured the prize of which he was in charge. i fear that the rest of the men who were prisoners on board have perished." "i am thankful that he has been saved," said rayner. "it would well-nigh have broken mrs crofton's and her daughter's hearts if they had heard that he had died in so dreadful a manner, though to be sure no one would have known of it unless we had fallen in with the raft." the doctor would not allow any questions to be asked his patient until he had several times taken a small quantity of nourishment, and had passed the intermediate time in sleep; and the commander also kindly directed that he should be allowed to remain in his cot, while he had a hammock slung in his cabin for himself. the surgeon or assistant-surgeon was in constant attendance on him during the night. their unremitting care was rewarded, for soon after the hammocks were piped up the young stranger opened his eyes, and exclaimed in a faint voice, with a tone of astonishment, "where am i? what has happened?" "you are all right, and safe among friends," said the commander, who had just turned out of his hammock, coming to his side. "you shall have some breakfast, and then i must get you to tell me all about yourself. unless i am mistaken, we have met before. are you not oliver crofton?" "yes, sir," answered the midshipman. "how did you know that, sir?" "i made a shrewd guess at it," answered the commander, smiling, "and truly glad i am to have you on board my ship. however, do not exert yourself just now, but go to sleep again if you can till the steward brings you your breakfast, and you shall then, if the doctor thinks you are strong enough, tell me all that has happened." the commander, coming on deck, told rayner that he was right in his conjectures, and invited him to breakfast with him. the surgeon, however, would not allow oliver to get up, but said that he might give an account of his adventures, provided he did not spin too long a yarn. "thank you, sir," said oliver. "i'll try to collect my thoughts; for, to say the truth, i find them somewhat scattered at present. "it must have been nearly ten days ago when the _ariel_, to which i belonged, captured a french brig. captain matson sent me on board to take her to port royal. we were just in sight of the eastern end of jamaica, when a large privateer bore down on us. we did our best to escape, but as she sailed two feet to our one, and carried twenty-two guns, we were compelled to yield, and i and my men were taken on board, while our prize was sent away to one of the french islands. "the privateer continued her cruise in search of our merchantmen, or any prizes our ships might have taken. a more ruffianly set of fellows i never set eyes on. my poor men were robbed of everything they had about them, and i should have had my jacket taken off my back but for the interference of the officers, who allowed me to mess with them, and to go on deck whenever i wished. considering the style of their conversation at table, however, i should have thankfully preferred living by myself. "when they discovered that you were english, the officers took a fearful oath that nothing should compel them to yield. they, however, did their best to escape; but when they found that you had the heels of them, they made up their minds to fight, fully expecting, i believe, to take you. nothing could exceed the savageness of the crew as, stripped to the waist, they went to their guns. several of them, as they cast their eyes on me, vowed that they would shoot me through the head should the day go against them. having no fancy to be so treated, i thought it prudent to go below, knowing very well that, in spite of their boasting, they would soon get the worst of it, and that you, at all events, would fight on until you had compelled them to strike their flag or sent them to the bottom. i felt the awful position in which i was placed. i might be killed by one of your shot, even should i escape the knives and bullets of my captors. "i considered how i could best preserve my life, as i thought it very possible that you would send the privateer to the bottom should she not yield or try to escape. i determined, should i find her sinking, to leap out through one of the stern windows of the captain's cabin. i accordingly made my way there, and was looking out for some instrument with which to force open the window when i saw smoke curling up through an opening in the deck below me. i at once knew that it must arise from a spot at no great distance from the magazine. in the hopes of inducing the commander to send some men down to try and extinguish the fire before it was too late, i sprang on deck. scarcely had i reached it, and was telling the captain of our danger, when i felt a fearful concussion, and found myself lifted into the air, the next instant to be plunged overboard amidst the mangled crew, some few around me shrieking vainly for help, though the greater number had been killed by the explosion and sank immediately. being a strong swimmer, i struck out, narrowly avoiding several who clutched at my legs, and swam towards a large piece of wreck which had been blown to some distance from where the ship went down. i scrambled upon it, and was soon joined by three other men, who had, they told me, been forward, and found themselves uninjured in the water. "i saw soon afterwards two others floating at some distance from the raft. one of them shouted for help saying that he was exhausted, and could no longer support himself. the other, notwithstanding left him to his fate and swam towards us. i could not bear to see the poor fellow perish in our sight with the possibility of saving him, and as there was no time to be lost, i plunged in and made for him, picking up in my way a piece of plank. i placed it under his arms, and telling him to hold on to it, shoved it before me in the direction of the raft. the other fellow had in the meantime got hold of a piece of timber, on which he was resting, but was apparently almost exhausted. as i passed, i told him that if i could i would come to his help, and i at length managed to get back to the raft, on to which the three other men had hauled up their other shipmate. "i was pretty well tired by this time, and had to rest two or three minutes before i could again venture into the water. while i was trying to recover my strength, the man clinging to the log, fancying that no one was coming, again shrieked out for help. once more slipping into the water, at last by shoving the piece of plank before me, i contrived to reach him; then getting him to take hold of it, i made my way back to the raft, when we were both dragged nearly exhausted out of the water. "at first i had hopes that you would discover us and put back to take us off; but when i perceived that you were on fire, i began to fear that we should not be observed, though i did not say so to my companions in misfortune, but endeavoured to keep up their spirits. i told them that if the ship with which they had been engaged should come back, my countrymen would not look upon them as enemies, but would treat them kindly, as people who had suffered a great misfortune. when, however, they saw you standing away, they began to abuse the english, declaring that we were a perfidious nation, never to be trusted; and i had some suspicion that they would wreak their ill-temper on my head. "my position would have been very dreadful even had i been with well-disposed companions. the sun beat down upon our heads with terrific force; we had not a particle of food, nor a drop of water to quench our thirst. i was thankful when, the sun at length having set, the men, accustomed only to think of the present, and not suffering much as yet from the want of food or water, stretched themselves on the raft to sleep. "i sat up, hoping against hope that you might come back to ascertain if any people had escaped, or that some other vessel might pass within hail. we had no means of making a signal, not even a spar on which to hoist our handkerchiefs or shirts. the only article which had by some means or other been thrown on the raft was a blanket. how it had fallen there i cannot tell. i secured it, and doubling it up, it served as a rest to my head. i constantly, however, got up to look about, but no vessel could i see, and at length, overpowered by weariness, i lay down and fell asleep. "at daylight i awoke. the sea was calm. i gazed anxiously around. not a speck was visible in the horizon. the sun rose, and its rays beat down upon us with even greater fury than on the previous day, or, at all events, i suffered more, as did my companions. they now cried out for water and food, and i saw them eye me with savage looks. i pretended not to observe this, and said that i hoped and thought that we might catch some fish or birds. "`it will be better for some of us if we do,' muttered one of the men. "although i saw several coveys of flying-fish leaping out of the water in the distance, none came near us. once i caught sight of the black fin of a shark gliding by; presently the creature turned, and as it passed it eyed us, i thought, with an evil look; but while the water was calm, there was no risk of its getting at us. had the brute been smaller, we might have tried to catch it. i remembered having heard of several people who saved their lives, when nearly starved, by getting hold of a shark. one of the men stuck out his leg, and when the creature tried to grab it, a running bowline was slipped round its head, and it was hauled up. my companions, however, had not the spirits to make the attempt--indeed, we could not find rope sufficient for the purpose on our raft. "the day wore on, and scarcely any of my companions spoke, but lay stretched at full length on the raft. others sat with their arms round their knees, and their heads bent down, groaning and complaining, one or two swearing fearfully at the terrible fate which had overtaken them, regardless of that of their late shipmates, hurried into eternity. in vain i tried to arouse them. now and then one would look at me with an ominous glance, and i confess i began to fear, as night drew on, that i should not be allowed to see another day dawn. i stood up, though it was with difficulty that i could steady myself, for my strength was already failing. anxiously i looked round the horizon. the sky had hitherto been clear; but, as i cast my eye to the eastward, i observed a cloud rising rapidly. another and another followed. they came on directly towards us, discharging heavy drops of rain. my fear was that they would empty themselves before they reached us. the looks of my companions brightened. "`now, my friends,' i said, `we must try and catch some of that rain. here, spread out this blanket, for if a shower falls but for ten minutes we shall have water enough to quench our thirst.' "we got the blanket ready. the first cloud passed by, nearly saturating the blanket. the men wrung it out into one of their hats, two or three sucking at the corners. they seemed inclined to fight for the small quantity they had obtained, but did not even offer to give me any. i got no water, though the blanket was somewhat cleansed, not that i felt inclined to be particular. in a few minutes another shower fell. each of us got an ample supply of water. my spirits rose in a way i could not have expected. for some time i did not suffer from the pangs of hunger; but they presently returned with greater force than before, and i guessed how my companions were feeling. i encouraged them as well as i was able. `god, in his mercy, has sent us water, and he may, i trust, supply us with food.' "some of them stared at my remark, but others replied-- "`yes, yes, perhaps to-morrow we shall have an ample breakfast.' "still i did not trust them completely, and endeavoured to keep awake until they had all dropped off to sleep. "another heavy shower fell during the night, and i roused them up to obtain a further supply of water. we filled all our hats, for we had nothing else to put it in. the next day was but a repetition of the former. the water we had obtained during the night was quickly exhausted. my hopes of catching some fish appeared likely to be disappointed. twice a shark came near us, but the brute was too large to give us a chance of catching it. it was far more likely to have caught us had we made the attempt. we shouted to drive it off. at last, smaller fish of some sort approached--albicores or bonitas. it was extraordinary with what eager looks we eyed the creatures. "while we were watching the fish, trying to devise some means of snatching them, one of the men, who lay stretched on the raft apparently asleep or in a state of stupor, suddenly sat up, uttering an exclamation of delight. we turned our heads, and saw him eagerly gnawing at a flying-fish; but he snarled and growled, eating eagerly all the time, just as a dog does when a person attempts to take a bone from him. he had managed to gulp down the larger portion before the others could snatch the prize from him. the next moment he sank back, and never spoke again. i saw no violence used, except the force they exerted to take the fragments of the fish from his hands. it appeared to me as if one of them had stabbed him, so suddenly did he fall. "the others gave me none of the fish: indeed, my portion would have been so small that i did not miss it, though for the moment i would have been thankful for the merest scrap of food. "i still endeavoured to keep up my spirits, and prayed for strength from above. i am sure it was given me, or i should have sunk. i did not like even to think of the pain i suffered. the frenchmen, too, were growing ravenous, and i heard them talking together, and looking at me as if meditating mischief. "i thought over the means by which i could best preserve my life. i knew that it would not do to show the slightest fear, so arousing myself, i said, `my friends, you are hungry, so am i, but we can endure another day without eating. now i want you to understand that we are more likely to be saved by an english vessel than by one of any other nation, as there are three times as many english cruisers in these seas as there are french, and ten times as many merchantmen. if we are picked up by an english vessel, you are sure to be well treated for my sake, but if any accident were to happen to me--if i were to fall overboard, for instance--there would be no one to say a word in your favour. remember that i was the means of saving the lives of two of you, although, when i plunged into the water and swam to you at the risk of being caught by a shark, or sinking myself from fatigue, i did not expect any return. i suppose that you do not wish to be ungrateful.' "this address seemed to have some effect on the men i had saved. each of them uttered an exclamation of approval, while the two others, who still retained some little strength, turned aside their heads, not daring to look at me. i did not move until night came on, when i crawled from the place i had occupied, and lay down between the two men who seemed most disposed to befriend me. in the middle of the night i awoke, and finding that there was a light breeze. i endeavoured to kneel up and ascertain if providentially any vessel were approaching. "i was raising myself on my elbow when i saw one of the men who had threatened me by their words creeping towards me. i instantly awoke my two friends, for so i will call them, by exclaiming, `there is a breeze. perhaps a vessel is approaching us. we should not be sleeping;' while the man whom i suspected of a design against my life drew back and lay perfectly still. i determined not again to fall asleep, if i could avoid it, until daylight. i believe, however, that i frequently dropped off, but i was preserved. when morning dawned, i discovered that the man who had, as i believed, intended to kill me was utterly unable to move. the other fellow, however, seemed to be the strongest of the party. he got up, and stretching out his arms, exclaimed, addressing his countrymen-- "`food we must have this day at every coast, or we shall perish.' "i also rose, and found, to my surprise, that i could stand on my feet. "`i pray god that we may have food, and that some friendly vessel may bring it,' i exclaimed. "as i spoke i looked round the horizon, when i need not tell you how grateful i felt to heaven at seeing a sail standing, as i judged, directly towards us. i pointed her out to my companions; but as they were sitting down, they could not for some time make her out. i, too, could no longer support myself, and once more sank on the raft. in a short time, however, we could all distinguish her. the frenchmen began to weep. now they expressed their fears that she would pass us; now they tried to shout for joy at the thoughts of being saved. i at times also dreaded lest we should not be observed, but all my doubts vanished when i made you out to be an english sloop-of-war, and saw you haul up towards us." chapter twenty nine. a shipwreck. the _lily_ had been continuing her cruise in the caribbean sea for some days without falling in with the _ariel_, or any other english ship-of-war, nor had she taken a prize. oliver crofton had completely recovered. as one of the midshipmen was ill, he took his duty. our hero and oliver soon became fast friends, and they were well able to appreciate each other's good qualities. commander saltwell, not looking upon the frenchmen he had picked up in the light of prisoners, wished to put them on shore as soon as possible. he resolved, therefore, to stand in towards the coast of san domingo, the western portion of which island belonged to france, and to land them at some settlement where they could obtain assistance. the _lily_ was still off the east end of the island, belonging to spain, when a schooner was sighted running along the shore, apparently endeavouring to escape observation. the wind, however, headed her, and she was compelled to tack off the land. "she's french, to a certainty, or she would have run in and brought up somewhere," observed mr horrocks. the commander agreed with him. the ship was steered so as to cut her off. on seeing this, the schooner wore, and, setting a large square sail, ran off before the wind to the westward. though the stranger evidently possessed a fast pair of heels, the _lily_, making all sail, soon got near enough to send a shot skipping over the water close under her counter. the schooner, notwithstanding, still held on, when another shot almost grazed her side. her object was probably to run on until she could steer for some port where she could obtain shelter and protection. "if she doesn't shorten sail presently, send another shot through her canvas, mr coles," said the commander. the _lily_ carried a long gun which could be run out at either of her bow ports. it was the gunner's favourite. he declared that he could shoot as true with it, and ten times as far, as he could with a tower musket. the gun was loaded and pointed through the larboard bow port. still the chase held on. it was time to bring her to, for the wind gave signs of dropping. "are you ready there, forward, with the gun?" asked the commander. "ay, ay, sir!" was the answer. "port the helm! fire!" he shouted directly afterwards. the gun was well aimed, for the shot went through the schooner's large squaresail. the ship was again kept on her course, when the gun was hauled in and reloaded. "stand by to fire again, and this time pitch it into her. all ready there, forward?" "ay, ay, sir!" again the helm was ported, but before the commander had time to shout "fire!" the schooner was seen to haul down her flag, at the same time to take in her squaresail and clew up her foretopsail. the corvette was soon up, when she was found to be a fine little schooner, such as was employed in the carrying trade between the islands, or in bringing the produce of the plantations to some central depot. "heave to!" cried the commander; "and if you attempt to escape i'll sink you, remember that! tell them in french what i mean," he added, turning to rayner. "oui, oui; je comprende," answered one of the few white men on board-- probably the master--and, the schooner's helm being put down, she came up head to wind, with her foretopsail to the mast. the corvette, which had by this time shot a little way ahead, also hove-to, and the commander directed rayner, with a boat's crew, to go on board the prize and take possession. the master stood, hat in hand, at the gangway, ready to receive him. he was bound, he said, for martinique, in ballast, to obtain a cargo and other stores for leogane, the principal settlement of the french in the island. the crew consisted of a creole mate, two mulattos, and four blacks, one of the former calling himself the boatswain. "then you'll do me the favour of accompanying the master and mate on board the ship," said rayner pointing to the boat. the master seemed very unwilling to obey, but the crew soon tumbled him, with the mate and boatswain, into the boat, which returned to the corvette, while rayner remained with two hands on board. he now ordered the crew to haul round the fore yard, and, keeping the helm up, soon ran within speaking distance of the _lily_. "i intend to send you in to land the people picked up on the raft, with a flag of truce, and as soon as you put them on shore, come back and join me," said the commander. "ay, ay, sir," answered rayner, very well pleased to have a separate command, although it might only last a few hours. he was still more pleased, however, when the boat came back, bringing oliver crofton, the four frenchmen, and jack and tom, to form part of his crew. the blacks and the mulatto were kept on board to assist in working the schooner. the mulatto said he was the steward, and one of the blacks, with a low bow, introduced himself as the cook. "me talkee english, massa, well as french, and me cookee anyting dat buckra officer like to order," he said, with a grimace which made the midshipman laugh. "by-the-bye, before we part company with the corvette, we may as well ascertain what sambo here has got to cook," said oliver. it was fortunate that he had this forethought, for, except a supply of salt-fish, some yams and bananas, and a small cask of flour, with a half-empty case of claret, no other provisions were discovered for officers or men. oliver accordingly returned, and obtained some beef and biscuit, and a few articles from the mess. "and just bring five or six dollars with you, in case we want to purchase any fish or vegetables," said rayner, as he was shoving off. no time was lost in procuring what was necessary, when oliver returned to the _mouche_, for such was the name of the prize. the corvette making sail, she and the schooner ran on in company until they came off the french part of the coast. the commander then ordered rayner to stand in, directing him, should any people be seen on shore, to hoist a white flag, and land the four frenchmen. scarcely, however, had they parted company for a couple of hours, when a dead calm came on, and rayner and oliver believed that there was no chance of being able to land the frenchmen that night. "i am very sorry for it," remarked oliver; "for from the experience i have had of them, i think it more than possible, if they can get the assistance of the black crew, they will try and play us some scurvy trick. i have not hitherto pointed out the fellow who tried to take my life, and who was so nearly dying himself; but i suspect his disposition has not altered for the better. you'll fancy me somewhat suspicious, but i cannot help thinking that should he win over the blacks, they will try and take the schooner from us." "they'll find that rather a tough job with you and me and our four men to oppose them," answered rayner. "however, after your warning, i'll keep an eye on the gentlemen, and i'll tell jack peek to let me know if he sees anything suspicious in their behaviour. he understands french almost as well as i do, and he'll soon find out what they are about." "i do not like to think ill of other people, even though they are foreigners; but i cannot forget what a villain one of those men is," remarked oliver. "forewarned, forearmed," said rayner. "we need not, after all, be anxious about the matter; but it will be wise to keep our pistols in our belts and our swords by our sides, and not to let the frenchmen and the black crew mix together more than is necessary." the steward now came aft, hat in hand, and speaking in a jargon of french and spanish, interlarded with a few words of english, of which he was evidently proud, requested to know what the officers would like for supper. "we shall not find fault, provided that the cook supplies us with the best he can," answered rayner. "one of our men there,"--pointing to jack peek--"will give him the materials, unless he happens to have some ducks or fowls, or a fine fish, for which we will pay him." the steward shrugged his shoulders, regretting that the only fish he had on board were salted; but, notwithstanding, the cook would exercise his skill upon them, and would produce a dish which even an epicure would not disdain. while waiting for the evening meal, the young officers walked the deck, whistling for a breeze, but there seemed no chance of its coming. the land lay blue, but still indistinct, away to the northward, its outline varied by hills of picturesque form, which rose here and there along the coast. rayner called up jack peek, and told him to keep a watch not only on the black crew, but on the frenchmen. "notwithstanding the kind way they have been treated, they may think it a fine opportunity for obtaining a vessel in which they can carry on their former calling," he observed. "they'll be audaciously ungrateful wretches if they do, sir," answered jack. "to my mind they'll deserve to be hove overboard to feed one of those sharks out there;" and he pointed to a black fin which was gliding just above the surface. "i hope that they will not prove treacherous, and it is our business to take care that they have no opportunity of being so," said rayner. "do you and tom keep an eye upon them, that's all." "ay, ay, sir," answered jack. the english seamen kept together. though there were but four of them, they were sturdy fellows, well armed, and it was not likely that either the blacks or frenchmen would venture to attack them. at length the mulatto steward announced supper ready, and rayner and oliver descended to partake of it, leaving tom in charge of the deck. "call me if you see the slightest sign of a breeze," said the former, as he went below. the cabin was not very large nor yet very clean; indeed, cockroaches and centipedes were crawling about in all directions, and every now and then dropped down on the white cloth from the beams above. the table, however, was covered with several dishes, which, from the fragrant odour ascending from them, promised to satisfy the hunger of a couple of midshipmen. it was difficult to make out the materials of which the dishes were composed, but on examination it was found that they consisted chiefly of salt beef and fish dressed in a variety of fashions, fricasseed, stewed, and grilled, and mixed with an abundance of vegetables, with some delicious fruit, such as the west indies can alone produce. "me tinkee better keep on de cobers, massa," observed the steward, "or de cockroaches fall in an' drown demselves." "by all means," said rayner, laughing. indeed, he and oliver had to examine each mouthful before they raised it to their lips, lest they should find one of the nauseous creatures between their teeth. as soon as the midshipmen had finished supper, they returned on deck. the sun had sunk beneath the ocean in a refulgence of glory, its parting rays throwing a ruddy glow over the surface, unbroken by a single ripple. "we must make up our minds to spend the night where we are," observed rayner. "it will be as well for you and me to take watch and watch, and not to trust to any of the men, for although i have every confidence in peek, i cannot say the same for the rest." oliver, of course, agreed to this, and took the first watch. at midnight he aroused rayner, who had stretched himself on one of the lockers, not feeling inclined to turn into either of the doubtful-looking bunks at the side of the vessel. "i suspect that we are going to have a change of weather," said oliver, as he came on deck. "the air feels unusually oppressive for this time of night. there is a mist rising to the southward, though the stars overhead shine as bright as usual." "i don't know what to think of it, having had but little experience in these seas," answered rayner; "i must ask the oldest of the frenchmen, but i don't see any of them on deck." "no, they and the blacks have all turned in," said oliver. "they did not ask my leave, but i thought it useless to rouse them up again, as there seemed no chance of their being wanted." "well, go and lie down and take a caulk, if the centipedes and cockroaches will let you," laughed rayner. "they have been crawling all over me during the time i have been below, but i knew there was no use attempting to keep them off, so i let them crawl, without interfering with their pleasure. if i see any further change in the appearance of the sky, i will rouse you up, and we'll make the black fellows turn out to be ready to shorten sail." rayner for some time walked the deck of the little vessel alone. jack was at the helm, and one of the men forward. the watch was very nearly out, and he determined not to call up oliver until daylight. on looking to the southward he saw that the mist which had before remained only a few feet above the horizon was rapidly covering the sky, while beneath it he distinguished a long line of white foam. "turn out, oliver!" he shouted through the cabin skylight; "i'll take the helm. peek, run forward and rouse up the blacks and frenchmen to shorten sail. not a moment to be lost!" jack as he went forward shouted down the main hatchway, where tom and the other men were sleeping, and then in a stentorian voice called, in french, to shorten sail. the englishmen were on deck in a moment, but the blacks came up stretching their arms and yawning. "lower away with the throat and peak halyards!" shouted rayner. oliver and the two english sailors hastened to obey the order. "brail up the foresail. be smart, lads! aloft with you and furl the foretopsail, or it will be blown out of the bolt-ropes!" the mainsail was quickly got down. the black crew were pulling and hauling at the brails of the headsails, when a fierce blast struck the vessel. she heeled over to it. rayner immediately put up the helm; but before the vessel had answered to it, she heeled over till the water rushed over the deck. then there came a clap like thunder, and the main-topsail, split across, was blown out of the bolt-ropes. "square away the foreyard!" shouted rayner. the vessel, righting, flew off before the fierce gale, the water rushing and foaming round her sides. astern, the whole ocean seemed a mass of tumultuous foam-covered waves. the sky was as black as ink. to bring the vessel to the wind was impossible. all that could be done was to run directly before the gale, and even then it seemed that at any moment the fast rising seas might break over her stern and sweep her decks. the schooner, however, by continuing her course, was running on destruction, unless some port could be found under her lee to afford her shelter; but even then there was a great risk of being captured by the enemy, who would not pay much attention to a flag of truce, or believe that she came for the object of landing the frenchmen. besides which, as the vessel was a prize, it would be thought perfectly right to detain her. dawn broke; for an instant a fiery-red line appeared in the eastern horizon, but was quickly obscured. the increasing light, however, enabled the crew to carry on work which could not otherwise have been performed. rayner and oliver resolved that they must, at all risks, try to heave the schooner to while there was yet sea-room; and, should the weather moderate, beat off shore until the gale was over and a boat could land the people with safety on the beach. the first thing to be done was to strike the maintopmast. peek took the helm, while the rest went aloft. it was no easy matter to get out the fid--the pin which secured the heel of the topmast in the cross-trees--but after considerable exertions, with a fearful risk of being jerked overboard, they succeeded in lowering down the mast. they had next to get fore and main-trysails ready to set, should it be found possible to beat to windward, though at present it was evident that the schooner could not bear even that amount of canvas. the foretopsail had stood, being a new stout sail, and it being closely reefed, rayner hoped that the little vessel would lay to under it. it was a dangerous experiment he was about to try, but he had to choose between two evils--that of being driven on shore, or the risk of having the decks swept by the tremendous seas rolling up from the southward before the schooner could be hove-to. she had already run a considerable distance nearer the land. stationing the men in readiness to brace round the yard, he looked out for a favourable opportunity to put down the helm and bring the vessel up to the wind. that favourable opportunity, however, did not come; every sea that rolled up astern threatened to overwhelm her should he make the attempt. the land appeared closer and closer. if the vessel was to be hove-to it must be done at once, in spite of all risks. "hold on, lads, for your lives!" cried rayner, in english and french, setting the example by clinging to the larboard main rigging. "now starboard the helm. haul away on the larboard headbrace. ease off the starboard." oliver and jack, who were at the helm, as they put it down prepared to lash it to starboard; but as the vessel came up to the wind, a fearful sea struck her, sweeping over her deck, carrying away the caboose and the whole of the bulwarks forward; at the same moment the foretopsail split as the other had done, and the canvas, after fluttering wildly in the blast, was whisked round and round the yard. "up with the helm!" cried rayner. oliver and jack, knowing what was necessary, were already putting it up. before another sea struck the vessel she was again before the gale. her only resource was now to anchor, should no port be discovered into which they could run. the cable was accordingly ranged ready to let go at a moment's notice; but rayner and oliver well knew that there was little hope of the anchor holding, or if it did, of the vessel living through the seas which would break over her as soon as her course was stopped. still, desperate as was the chance, it must be tried. there might be time to set the foresail yet, and she might lay to under it. the order was given to get the sail ready for setting as soon as she could be brought up to the wind. again the helm was put down. "hoist away!" shouted rayner. but scarcely had the sail felt the wind than it was blown away to leeward, and another sea, even heavier than the first, struck the vessel, sweeping fore and aft over her deck. rayner, who was clinging on to the rigging, thought that she would never rise again. a fearful shriek reached his ear, and looking to leeward, he saw two of his people in the embraces of the relentless sea. in vain the poor fellows attempted to regain the schooner, farther and farther they were borne away, until, throwing up their arms, they disappeared beneath the foaming waters. at first he thought they were his own men, but on looking round he saw oliver and jack clinging to the companion-hatch, and the rest holding on to the main rigging. one of the frenchmen had been lost, and the coloured steward. ere long the rest on board might have to share the same fate. still rayner resolved to struggle to the last. another attempt was made. the main-trysail was shifted to the foremast; if that would stand, the vessel might possibly be kept off shore; but scarcely had it been set, than the hurricane came down on the hapless vessel with redoubled fury. the weather rigging gave way, and down came the mast itself, killing one of the blacks, and fearfully crushing another; and, to rayner's dismay striking down jack peek. he sprang forward to drag jack out from beneath the tangled rigging and spars, calling tom fletcher to assist him. they ran a fearful risk of being washed away, but he could not leave jack to perish. "are you much hurt?" he shouted, as he saw jack struggling to free himself. "can't say, sir; but my shoulder and leg don't feel of much use," answered jack. tom, with evident reluctance, had to let go his hold, but could not refuse to run the same risk as his officer. by lifting the spars they got jack out, and dragged him to the after-part of the vessel, where, as he did not seem able to help himself, rayner secured him by a lashing to a stanchion. "i'll stand by you, peek, and, if it becomes necessary, i'll cast you off, so that you may have a chance of saving yourself," he said. as it was now evidently hopeless to attempt heaving the vessel to, she was once more kept before the wind, while rayner and his men, armed with two axes, which they found hanging up in the companion-hatch, and their knives cut away the rigging, and allowed the foremast, which hung over the side, to float clear of the vessel. "we must now cut away the mainmast. we shall have to bring up presently, and it will enable her to ride more easily," cried rayner. the standing rigging was first cut through, then that on the other side, when a few strokes sent the mast overboard. still the schooner ran on before the wind. had she been laden, she must have foundered. the hatches had been got on and battened down. they now, as far as practicable, secured the companion-hatch, for they all well knew that the moment they should bring up, the seas would come rolling on board, and sweep the decks fore and aft. by rayner's advice, each man got lashings ready to secure himself to the stanchions or stumps of the masts. nearer and nearer the vessel drew to the shore. looking ahead, the line of breakers were seen dashing wildly on a reef parallel with the shore, beyond which there appeared to be a narrow lagoon. rayner, observing that the surf did not roll up the beach to any considerable height, looked out for a passage through which the vessel might be steered. the continuous line of breakers ran as far as the eye could reach along the shore. there was only one spot where they seemed to break with less fury. towards it rayner determined to steer the schooner. he and oliver soon came to the conclusion that it would be useless to attempt anchoring. the water, probably, was far too deep outside the reef for their range of cable, and even if it were not, the anchor was not likely to hold. they accordingly steered for the spot they had discovered, the only one which afforded them the slightest hope of escaping instant destruction. on rushed the vessel, now rising on the top of a sea, now plunging into a deep hollow. rayner and oliver held their breaths. "i say, what's going to happen?" asked tom of one of the other men. "shall we get safe on shore? i shouldn't mind if we could, although the frenchmen made us prisoners." "as to that, it seems to me doubtful," was the answer. "maybe, in a few minutes we shall be floating about among those breakers there, with no more life in us than those poor fellows who were washed away just now; or it may be that this little craft will be carried clear over the reef into smooth water." "oh dear, oh dear!" exclaimed tom, "i have often wished that i had stayed at home; i wish it more than ever now." "no use wishing. it won't undo what has been done. but, see, we are getting very close. we shall know all about it presently." the schooner was farther off than rayner had at first supposed; and as they got nearer he saw, to his relief, that the spot for which he was steering was wider than he had fancied. there seemed just a chance that the vessel might be thrown through without striking; at the same time, tossed about as she was, it was impossible to steer her as might be wished. he commended himself and his followers, as every wise men would do, to the care of the almighty, and nerved himself up for whatever might happen. the roar of the breakers sounded louder and louder. on the vessel drove, until there was a crash. she had struck, but, contrary to all expectation, another sea lifted her and flung her completely through the breakers, when, swinging round, she grounded on a sandbank just within them, heeling over with her head to the eastward, and her deck towards the shore. though the sea, which washed over the reef, still beat against her, she might possibly hold together for some time. chapter thirty. rayner proves that he is a true hero. the sea dashing over the reef, though spent of its fury, still broke with great force against the hull of the schooner. her timbers shook and quivered as wave after wave, striking them, rolled on towards the beach, and then came hissing back, covering the surface of the lagoon with a mass of creaming foam. the coast, as far as could be seen through the masses of spray, looked barren and uninviting. the frenchmen and blacks, recovering from the alarm which had well-nigh paralysed them, rushed to the boat stowed amidships, and began casting adrift the lashings, and preparing to launch her. "keep all fast there!" cried rayner, as he saw what they were about. "it will be best to wait till the sea goes down, when we shall be able to get the boat into the water with less risk of her being swamped than at present." they, however, paid no attention to his orders, and continued their preparations for launching the boat. when he found that they persisted in their attempts, he urged them to wait till they had collected a supply of provisions, and obtained some fresh water, as it was probable that they might find neither the one nor the other on shore. calling fletcher aft to attend to peek, he and oliver went into the cabin to collect all the eatables they could find, as also their carpet bags and such other articles as might be useful. "we must get up some water before the boat shoves off," said rayner. "i'll send one of the men to help you, while i go into the hold to search for casks." the boat was still on the deck, and there seemed no probability that the frenchmen and blacks would succeed in launching her. he was some time below, hunting about for the casks of water. he had just found a couple, and was about to return on deck to obtain some slings for hoisting them up, when he heard jack peek shout out, "quick, mr rayner--quick! the fellows are shoving off in the boat." springing on deck, what was his surprise and indignation to see the boat in the water, and all the men in her, including tom fletcher! "what treachery is this?" he exclaimed. "if go you must, wait until we can get our injured shipmate into the boat, and mr crofton will be on deck in a moment." while he was speaking, the man named brown, who had gone with him below, rushing on deck, leapt into the boat, intending to prevent them from shoving off. rayner, for the same object, followed him, with a rope in his hand, which he was in the act of making fast, when one of the frenchmen cut it through, and the boat rapidly drifted away from the side of the vessel. in vain rayner urged the people to pull back, and take off oliver and jack; but, regardless of his entreaties, one of them, seizing the helm, turned the boat's head towards the beach. they pulled rapidly away, endeavouring to keep her from being swamped by the heavy seas which rolled up astern. now she rose, now she sank, as she neared the shore. "oliver will fancy that i have deserted him; but jack peek knows me too well to suppose that i could have acted so basely," thought rayner. "if, however, the boat is knocked to pieces, it will be a hard matter to get back to the wreck. all i can do is to pray to heaven that the schooner may hold together till i can manage to return on board." these thoughts passed through his mind as the boat approached the beach. he saw that it would be utterly useless to try and induce the men to return. indeed, the attempt at present would be dangerous. he again urged the crew to be careful how they beached the boat. "the moment she touches jump out and try to run her up, for should another sea follow quickly on the first, she will be driven broadside on the beach, and before you can get free of her, you may be carried away by the reflux." the frenchmen and blacks, eager to save themselves, paid no attention to what he said. on flew the boat on the summit of a sea, and carried forward, the next instant her keel struck the sand. regardless of his advice, they all at the same moment sprang forward, each man trying to be the first to get out of the boat. he and tom fletcher held on to the thwarts. on came the sea. before the men had got out of its influence, two of them were carried off their legs, and swept back by the boiling surf, while the boat, broaching to, was hove high up on the beach, on which she fell with a loud crash, her side stove in. rayner, fearing that she might be carried off, leaped out on the beach, tom scrambling after him. his first thought was to try and rescue the two men who had been carried off by the receding wave. looking round to see who was missing, he discovered that one of them was a british seaman, the other a frenchman. he sprang back to the boat to secure a coil of rope which had been thrown into her, and calling on his companions to hold on to one end, he fastened the other round his waist, intending to plunge in, and hoping to seize hold of the poor fellows, who could be seen struggling frantically in the hissing foam. the frenchmen and blacks, however, terror-stricken, and thinking only of their own safety, rushed up the beach, as if fancying that the sea might still overtake them. tom and his messmate alone remained, and held on to the rope. rayner swam off towards the frenchman, who was nearest to the shore. grasping him by the shirt, he ordered tom and brown to haul him in, and in a few seconds they succeeded in getting the frenchman on shore. ward, the other seaman, could still be seen floating, apparently lifeless, in the surf--now driven nearer the beach, now carried off again, far beyond the reach of the rope. the moment the frenchman had been deposited on the sands, rayner sprang back again, telling tom and brown to advance as far as possible into the water. rayner, however, did not feel very confident that they would obey his orders, but trusted to his powers as a swimmer to make his way back to the beach. a sea rolled in. he swam on bravely, surmounting its foaming crest. he had got to the end of the rope, and ward was still beyond his reach. still he struggled. perhaps another sea might bring the man to him. he was not disappointed, and grasping the collar of ward's jacket, he shouted to brown and tom to haul away; but the sea which had brought ward in rolled on, and tom, fancying that he should be lifted off his legs, let go the rope and sprang back. happily, brown held on, but his strength was not sufficient to drag in the rope. in vain he called on tom to come back to his assistance. while tugging manfully away, he kept his feet on the ground, although the water rose above his waist. the next instant the sea bore rayner and his now lifeless burden close up to where he stood. rayner himself was almost exhausted, but with the help of brown, and such aid as tom was at length, from very shame, induced to give, they got beyond the influence of the angry seas rayner lost no time in trying to restore the seaman, but with sorrow he found that it was a corpse alone he had brought on shore. the frenchman, jacques le duc, having been less time in the water, quickly recovered, and expressed his gratitude to rayner for having saved him. "mais, ma foi! those poltroons who ran off, afraid that the sea would swallow them up, should be ashamed of themselves," he exclaimed. "you had best show your gratitude, my friend, by getting them to assist us in bringing off my brother officer and the seaman from the wreck," answered rayner. "i fear that she will not hold together many hours, and unless they are soon rescued they may lose their lives." "i will try and persuade them to act like men," answered jacques. "you have twice saved my life, and i feel bound to help you." saying this, jacques, who had been assisted on his legs by tom and brown, staggered after his companions, shouting to them to stop. on seeing him, they only ran the faster. "do you take me for a ghost?" he cried out, "come back, come back, you cowards, and help the brave englishman!" at last they stopped, and jacques was seen talking to them. in a short time he came back, saying that they declared nothing would induce them to return to the wreck; that the boat, they knew, could no longer float, and that there was no other means of getting off; that if they remained on the shore they should be starved, and that they must hurry away in search of food and shelter before night, which was fast approaching. "then we must see what we can do by ourselves," said rayner. "we cannot allow mr crofton and peek to perish while we have any means of going to their assistance. i must first see if we can patch up the boat so as to enable her to keep afloat." on examining her, however, it was discovered that several of the planks on one side were stove in, and that they could not repair her sufficiently to keep out the water. at first rayner thought of making a raft out of the materials of the boat; but he soon came to the conclusion that he should never be able to paddle it against the seas which came rolling in. "it must be done," he said to himself. "i have swum as far in smooth water, with no object in view; but strength will be given me. i trust, when i am making an effort to save my fellow-creatures. crofton might perhaps swim to the shore, but nothing would induce him to leave a shipmate alone to perish." all this time oliver and jack could be seen seated on the deck, holding on to the stanchions to save themselves from being washed away by the seas which, occasionally breaking over her side, poured down upon them. it of course occurred to rayner that if oliver could manage to float a cask, or even a piece of plank secured to the end of a rope, a communication might be established between the wreck and the shore; but as far as he could see, the running rigging and all the ropes had gone overboard with the masts, and the only coil saved was that which had been brought in the boat. "go off again i must," he said; "and i want you, my lads, to promise me, should i perish, that you will use every exertion to save the people on the wreck. fletcher, you know our object in coming on the coast. you must go to the authorities and explain that we had no hostile intentions--that our wish was to land the frenchmen whose lives we had saved; and if you explain this, i hope that you will all be well treated." even tom was struck by his officer's courage and thoughtfulness; and he and his messmate promised to obey his orders. rayner, having now committed himself to the care of heaven, prepared to swim off to the wreck. he knew that oliver would see him coming, and would be ready to help him get on board. waiting until a sea had broken on the beach, he followed it out, and darting through the next which rolled forward, he was soon a long way from the shore. he found he could swim much better than before, now that he had no rope to carry. boldly he struck forward. happily he did not recollect that those seas swarmed with sharks. on and on he went. now and again, as a sea rushed over the reef, he was thrown back, but exerting all his strength, he struggled forward. he was nearing the wreck, and could see that oliver, who was eagerly watching him, had got hold of a short length of rope, with which he stood ready to heave when he should be near enough. but he felt his own strength failing. it seemed almost beyond his power to reach the wreck. still, it was not in his nature to give in, and making a desperate effort, striking out through the surging waters, he clutched the rope which oliver hove-to him, and the next instant was clambering on board. throwing himself down on the deck, he endeavoured to regain his strength, oliver grasping him tightly with one hand, while he held to the stanchion with the other. "i knew you would not desert us, rayner," he said. "but now you have come, how are we to get this poor fellow to the shore? i could not leave him, or i would not have allowed you to risk your life by returning on board. we must try and knock a raft together sufficient to carry peek, and you and i will swim alongside it, if we cannot make it large enough to hold us all three. there's no time to be lost, though." providentially the wind had by this time decreased, and the tide having fallen, the seas struck with less fury against the wreck, and enabled the two midshipmen to work far more effectually than they could otherwise have done. jack begged that he might try and help them, but they insisted on his remaining where he was, lest a sea should carry him off, and he might not have the strength to regain the wreck. fortunately the two axes had been preserved, and going below, they found several lengths of rope, though not of sufficient strength to form a safe communication with the shore. they would serve, however, for lashing the raft together. they quickly cutaway some of the bulkheads. they also discovered below several spars and a grating. by lashing these together they in a short time formed a raft of sufficient size to carry all three. they next made a couple of paddles with which to guide the raft. they were very rough, but they would serve their purpose. it was almost dark by the time the raft was finished. "i say, i feel desperately hungry, and i daresay so do you, rayner, after all you have gone through," said oliver. "i propose that we should have some of the contents of the basket we packed. i left it in the steward's pantry on the weather side." "a very good idea," answered rayner. "pray get it up. some food will do peek good, and enable us all to exert ourselves. i'll finish this lashing in the meantime." they were not long in discussing some of the sausages and bread which oliver produced. "i feel much more hearty, sir," said jack, when he had swallowed the food. "i don't fancy there's so much the matter with me after all, only my leg and back do feel somewhat curious." "come," said rayner, "we must make the attempt, for we cannot tell what sort of weather we shall have during the night." with forethought, they had fixed some lashings to the raft with which to secure both jack and themselves. it floated with sufficient quietness to enable them to place jack upon it. "we must not forget the food, though," said oliver. "do you, peek, hold the basket, and do not let it go if you can help it." they took their seats, and lashing themselves to the raft, cast off the rope which held it to the wreck, and began paddling away with might and main. the seas rolled in with much less force than before, though there was still considerable risk of the raft capsizing. while under the lee of the wreck they proceeded smoothly enough, but the seas which passed her ahead and astern meeting, several times washed over them. as they approached the shores they could see through the gloom three figures standing ready to receive them. "i am glad those fellows have not deserted us, for after the way they before behaved i did not feel quite sure about the matter," said rayner. while he was speaking, a sea higher than the rest came rolling along in, and lifting the raft on its summit, went hissing and roaring forward. "be ready to cast off the lashings, and to spring clear of the raft, or it may be thrown over upon us," cried rayner. he gave the warning not a moment too soon, for the sea, carrying on the raft, almost immediately dashed it on the beach. springing up and seizing jack peek by the arm, he leapt clear of it. they would both have fallen, however, had not tom and brown dashed into the water and assisted them, while le duc rendered the same assistance on the other side to oliver. before the raft could be secured the reflux carried it away, together with the basket of provisions, and it soon disappeared in the darkness. "what shall we do next?" asked oliver. "we cannot stop on the beach all night." wet to the skin as they were, although the wind was not cold, it blew through their thin clothing, and made them feel very chilly. "we must look out for food and shelter," observed rayner. "perhaps we shall fall in with some of the huts of the black people where we can obtain both, though the country did not look very inviting when there was light enough to see it. i, however, don't like to leave the body of that poor fellow on the beach." "fletcher and i will try and bury him, sir," said jack. "i don't see much use in doing that," growled tom. "he can't feel the cold. it will keep us here all the night, seeing we have no spades, nor anything else to dig a grave." "we might do it if we could find some boards," said jack. "how would you like to be left on shore just like a dead dog?" his good intentions, however, were frustrated, as no pieces of board could be found, and they were compelled at length to be satisfied with placing the body on a dry bank out of the reach of the water. this done, they commenced their march in search of some human habitations, tom and brown supporting poor jack, who was unable to walk without help, between them. the country, from the glimpse they had had of it, appeared more inviting to the west, but rayner reflected that by going in that direction they would get farther and farther from the spanish territory, but were they once to reach it, they might claim assistance from the inhabitants. how many miles they were from the border neither rayner nor oliver was certain; it might be a dozen or it might be twenty or thirty. le duc could give them no information. it was difficult to find the way in the darkness; they could indeed only guide themselves by listening to the roar of the breakers, with an occasional glimpse of the dark ocean to the right. the two officers agreed that it would be of great advantage to get into spanish territory before daylight, as they would thus avoid being taken prisoners. though their object in coming on the coast was a peaceable one, it would be difficult to induce the authorities to believe that this was the case. le duc promised that he would bear testimony to the truth of the account they intended to give of themselves; but, he observed, "my word may not be believed, and i myself may be accused of being a deserter. the people hereabouts do not set much value on human life, and they may shoot us all to save themselves the trouble of making further inquiries." these observations, which rayner translated to his companions, made them still more anxious to push on. he and oliver led the way with le duc, whom they desired to answer should they come suddenly on any of the inhabitants. they went on and on, stumbling among rocks, now forcing their way through a wood, now ascending a rugged slope, until they found themselves at what appeared to have been a sugar plantation, but evidently abandoned for the fences were thrown down, though the shrubs and bushes formed an almost impenetrable barrier. they discovered, however, at last, a path. even that was much overgrown, though they managed to force their way through it. when once out of the plantation they found the road less obstructed. reaching a rising ground, they eagerly looked round, hoping to see a light streaming from the windows of some house, where they could obtain the rest and food they so much required. "i think i caught sight of a glimmer among the trees. look there!" said oliver. they took the bearings of the light, and descending the hill, endeavoured to direct their course towards it. at last they reached a road, which they concluded must lead towards the house where the light had been seen. they went on some way farther in darkness. "we are all right," cried oliver. "i caught sight of three lights from as many different windows. that shows that it is a house of some size." "i don't know whether that would be an advantage," observed rayner. "the owner may dislike the english, and refuse to receive us, or send off to the authorities and have us carried away to prison." "but you and le duc and peek, as you speak french, may pass for frenchmen; and a man must be a curmudgeon if he refuses to afford assistance to sailors in distress," observed oliver. "i can't say much for peek's french, or for my own either. i would rather state at once who we are," said rayner. "le duc is an honest fellow, and he will explain why we came on the coast, and will tell them how we saved his life." le duc, being asked, replied that he would gladly undertake whatever the english officers wished, and it was arranged that as soon as they got near the house he should go on and ascertain the disposition of the inhabitants. should they be ill-disposed towards the english he was to return, and they would go on rather than run the risk of being detained and sent to prison. sooner than they had expected they got close up to what was evidently a house of considerable size, as the lights came from windows some distance above the ground. while le duc went forward, the rest of the party remained concealed under shelter of some thick bushes. he had not got far when a loud barking showed that several dogs were on the watch. he advanced, however, boldly, calling to the dogs, and shouting for some one to come and receive him. the animals, though satisfied that he was not a thief, seemed to suspect that there were other persons not far off. "i say, here the brutes come," whispered tom. "they'll be tearing us to pieces. the people in these parts, i have read, have great big bloodhounds to hunt the indians with. if they come near us we must knock them over." "that won't make the people inclined to treat us more kindly," answered jack. "when the dogs find we are quiet, they'll let us alone." just then the voice of some one was heard calling the dogs, who went back to the house. some time passed. at last le duc's voice was heard. it was too dark to see him. "it's all arranged, messieurs," he said. "there's an old lady and two young ladies in the house. i told them all about you, when they said that they were fond of the english, and would be very happy to give you shelter and food, but that you must come quietly so that no one but their old brown maitre d'hotel, and black girls who wait on them, should know that you are in the house. follow me, then, and just have the goodness to tell the men that they must behave themselves or they may be getting into trouble." "i'll tell them what you say," observed rayner; and turning to the three seamen, he said-- "remember that though you are on shore you belong to the _lily_, and are, therefore, as much under discipline as if you were on board." they now proceeded towards the house, led by le duc. the two officers going first, they mounted the steps, and getting inside the house, they saw an old mulatto carrying a couple of wax candles. he beckoned them with his head to follow, and led the way to an inner room, when an old lady advanced to meet them. behind her came two young ladies, whom the midshipmen thought very handsome, with dark flashing eyes and black tresses, their costumes being light and elegant, and suited to that warm clime. the old lady introduced them as her daughters, sophie and virginie. the midshipmen advanced bowing, and rayner, who was spokesman, apologised for appearing in their wet and somewhat torn clothes. "we have received the invitation madame has been so kind as to afford us, and we throw ourselves on her hospitality." he then repeated what he had told le duc to say. "you shall have your necessities supplied, and i will gladly do all i can to protect and help you regain your ship," she said. "i was once with my daughters taken prisoner when on a voyage from france by an english ship-of-war, and we were treated by the english officers as if we had been princesses. ah! they were indeed true gentlemen! they won our hearts;" and she sighed. "i thought two of them would have become husbands of my daughters, but stern duty compelled them to sail away after they had landed us, and we have never heard of them since." "we will gladly convey any message to them, if you will tell us their names, and the ships to which they belonged," said rayner, "should we be fortunate enough to fall in with them." "my daughters will tell you by-and-by," answered the old lady. "you, i see, require to change your dresses, which you can do while supper is preparing. my maitre d'hotel will look to your men with the help of the french sailor whom you sent up with your message." "one of them was hurt on board the wreck, and requires some doctoring, i fear," said rayner; "he managed to drag himself, with the assistance of his shipmates, thus far, but he must be suffering." "be sure that i will attend to him," answered madame la roche. "i have some skill in surgery, and it will be a satisfaction to exercise it on one of your countrymen; but now francois will conduct you to a room, and supply you with such garments as he can collect. your men in the meantime will be attended to." francois on this stepped forward with his candles, and, with an inimitable bow, requested the young officers to follow him. they bowing again to madame and her daughters, followed the maitre d'hotel, who led the way to a large room with two beds in it, as also a couple of cane sofas, several chairs, a table, and, what was of no small consequence, a washhand-stand. "de best ting messieurs can do will be to get into de bed while i bring dem some dry clothes," said francois. rayner and oliver requested, however, that they might be allowed, in the first place, to wash their hands and faces. this done, they jumped into their respective beds, and when once there they agreed that, if they were not so hungry, they would infinitely prefer going to sleep to having to get up again and make themselves agreeable to the ladies. as soon as francois got possession of their clothes he hurried away, but shortly returned, bringing with him a supply of linen and silk stockings, and two antiquated court suits. they were, he said, the only costumes which he considered worthy of the english officers, and he begged that they would put them on without ceremony. though not much inclined for merriment just then, they could not help laughing as they got into the white satin small clothes offered them. they then put on the richly-embroidered waistcoats, which, being very long, came down over their hips. their frilled shirts stuck out in front to a considerable distance, but when they came to the coats, rayner, who had the broadest pair of shoulders, felt considerable fear lest he should split his across, while his hands projected some way beyond the ruffles which adorned the wrists. francois assisted them in the operation of dressing, and after they had tied their neckcloths, he begged, with a low bow, to fasten on their swords. when their costumes were complete he stepped back, and surveyed them with evident satisfaction. oliver could not keep his countenance, but laughed heartily for some time. "it's just as well to get it over, rayner," he said; "for otherwise i could not help bursting out every time i looked at you." the maitre d'hotel, however, did not appear to think there was anything laughable in the appearance of the two englishmen. "oh, messieurs! you are admirable. let me have the honour of conducting you to the saloon." saying this he took up the candles, and with stately step marched before them, until they reached a large room, in the centre of which was a table spread with a handsome repast. madame la roche, coming in, took the head of the table, and the young ladies, sailing like swans into the room, placed themselves by the side of their guests, on the strangeness of whose costumes they made not the slightest remark. rayner and oliver had become somewhat faint from long fasting, but their spirits quickly revived after they had eaten some of the viands placed before them. at first they supposed that the repast was served up solely on their account, but from the way the girls and their mother kept them in countenance, they were satisfied that they had simply come in for the family supper. rayner talked away, now to the old lady, now to the young one at his side, while oliver found that he could converse much more fluently than he had supposed. after a time, however, they found it very difficult to keep their eyes open, and rayner heard the old lady remark to her daughters, in pitying accents, that "les pauvres garcons much required rest, and that it would be cruel to keep them up longer than was necessary." she accordingly summoned francois, who appeared with his huge candlesticks. wishing them good-night, the old lady advised them to follow the maitre d'hotel to their chamber. they bowed as well as they could, and staggered off, more asleep than awake. "we are certainly in clover here," remarked oliver, as they reached their room; "i question whether we shall be as well treated when we reach spanish territory; and i propose, if madame la roche is willing to keep us, that we take up our quarters here until peek is better able to travel than he is now." "certainly," answered rayner, taking off his silk coat and placing his sword on the table. "we'll talk of that to-morrow." they had not placed their heads on their pillows many seconds before they both were fast asleep. chapter thirty one. captured. the shipwrecked midshipmen would probably have slept far into the next day had not francois appeared with their clothes, nicely brushed and carefully mended, so that they were able to make a presentable appearance in their own characters before their hostesses. he had also brought them a cup of cafe-au-lait, informing them that breakfast would be ready as soon as they were dressed in the salle-a-manger. they found an abundant meal spread out, as francois had promised. the old lady and her daughters welcomed them kindly--the latter with wreathed smiles, the elder with a host of questions to which she did not wait for a reply. they were all three thorough frenchwomen, talking, as oliver observed, "thirteen to the dozen." madame la roche told them that she had been attending to the english sailor, who, she hoped, would, under her care, be quite well in a day or two. "i ought to warn you not to go out. people in these parts are not well affected towards the english, and should it be discovered that i am harbouring british officers i may get into trouble," she added. the morning passed very pleasantly. the young ladies produced their guitars, and sang with good voices several french airs. rayner and oliver thought them charming girls, and had they not felt it was their duty to get back to their ship as soon as possible, would gladly have remained in their society for an indefinite period. at last they begged leave to go down to see their men. they were guided to their rooms by sounds of music and uproarious laughter. they found le duc seated on a three-legged stool on the top of a table fiddling away, while old francois, three black women, tom and brown, were dancing in the strangest possible fashion, whirling round and round, kicking up their heels, and joining hands, while jack lay on a bed at the farther end of the room, looking as if he longed to get up and take a part in the dance. on seeing the strangers, francois became as grave as a judge, and hurrying up to them, observed, "i thought it as well, messieurs, just to join in for one minute to set the young people going. the poor sailors needed encouragement, and i like to make people happy." "you succeeded well, monsieur francois," remarked rayner. "i will not interrupt them, but i have a few words to speak to my men." he then told tom and brown that it was the wish of madame la roche that they should remain in the house, and not show themselves by any chance to the people outside. "in course, sir," said brown. "we are as happy as princes here. they feed us with as much as we can eat, and give us a right good welcome too." "take care that you don't indulge too much," said rayner. "we are obliged to you, le duc, for finding us such good quarters, and we shall be still more grateful if you will accompany us to the spanish border. i conclude you will then desire to return home." "i am very much at home where i am," replied le duc, with a grin. "if madame will accept my services, i shall be very happy to remain here. perhaps one of the young ladies will fall in love with me, and i should prefer settling down to knocking about at sea." rayner and oliver were horrified at the frenchman's impudence. "pray do not be troubled at what i say, messieurs," said le duc, with perfect coolness. "such things have happened before, and one frenchman here is as good as another." they saw that it would not do to discuss the matter with the seaman, who, it was evident, from the dishes and glasses standing on the table by the window, had been making himself merry with his companions. the afternoon was spent very much as the morning had been. the young ladies possessed no other accomplishment than that of playing the guitar and dancing. they read when they could get books, but these were mostly french novels, certainly not of an improving character. rayner and oliver could not help comparing them with mary crofton, and the comparison was greatly to her advantage. the next day, francois, who had been out to market returned with a troubled countenance. he hurried in to his mistress, who soon afterwards came into the room where her daughters and the young officers were seated. "i am sorry to say that the authorities have heard of your being in the neighbourhood, and have sent the gendarmes to search for you!" she exclaimed, in an anxious tone. "i did not wish to drive you away, and am willing to try and conceal you. at present, no one knows you are in the house. you may remain in a loft between the ceiling of this room and the roof, where you are not likely to be found; but the place is low, and will, i fear, be hot in the daytime, and far from pleasant. francois might manage to conduct you to a hut in the woods at no great distance from this, to which we could send you food; but there is the risk of the person who goes being seen, and your retreat being discovered." "we are very sorry to cause you so much trouble, madame," said rayner. "it will, i think, be safest to leave this place to-night, and to try and make our way, as we intended, into spanish territory." "ah! but the distance is long--fully twenty leagues," answered madame la roche. "you would be recognised as strangers, and probably detained by the mayor of a large village you must pass through." "but we must take care and not pass through any village," said rayner. "we will try to make our way along bypaths. what we should be most thankful for is a trustworthy guide. perhaps our good friend francois here will find one for us." "that i will try to do," said the old mulatto. "it is not, however, very easy, as few of them know much of the country to the east." "but how was it discovered that these english officers and their men were in the country?" asked mademoiselle sophie, the eldest of the young ladies, turning to francois. "it appears that yesterday morning there was found on the beach the dead body of a seaman, who was supposed from his appearance and dress to be english, while the marks of numerous feet were perceived on the sand, some going to the west, others coming in this direction. those going to the west were traced until a party of french and black sailors were discovered asleep in a wood. they stated that the vessel was french, captured by an english man-of-war; that she had been driven by the hurricane on the reef, and that it was their belief the english officers and crew had escaped as well as themselves, but they could not tell what had become of them. the mayor, on hearing this, had despatched a party of gendarmes in search of the missing people. how soon they may be here it is impossible to say." "but they will not be so barbarous as to carry off to prison english officers who come with a flag of truce, and had no hostile intentions!" exclaimed virginie. "the authorities would be only too glad to get some englishmen to exhibit as prisoners," said francois. "we must not trust them; and i propose that we hide away the officers and men." just as francois had finished giving this account, le duc ran into the room. "oh, madame, oh messieurs!" he exclaimed, "i have seen those gendarmes coming along the road towards the house; they will be here presently." "here, come this way, my friends!" cried madame la roche. "francois, run and get the ladder. there may be time for you all to mount up before the gendarmes appear. call the other sailors. the sick man is strong enough to move, or some one must help him. vite, vite!" the old lady hurried about in a state of great agitation. rayner and oliver had serious fears that she would betray herself. francois soon came with the ladder, which he placed in a dark corner of a passage, and, ascending, opened a trapdoor, and urged the party to mount without delay. oliver went up first. jack was able to get up without assistance. le duc was unwilling to go until the old lady seized him by the arm. "go up, my son, go up," she said. "you will not be worse off than the rest." he at length unwillingly obeyed. as soon as rayner got up, by francois' directions he shut down the trapdoor. there was just light sufficient, through a pane of glass in the roof, to see that the loft extended over a considerable portion of the building. part only was covered with boards, on which, according to the instructions given them, they laid down. francois had charged them on no account to move about, lest they should be heard by the people below. the planks, however, were not placed very close together, and after they had been there a minute or so, rayner discovered a glimmer of light coming through a broadish chink. putting his face near it, he perceived that the old lady and her daughters had seated themselves at a table with their work before them, endeavouring to look as unconcerned as possible. he had not been in this position many minutes, when he heard some heavy steps coming along the passage; they entered the room, and a gruff voice demanded if any englishmen had been, or still were, in the house. the old lady started to her feet with an exclamation of well-feigned astonishment. "what can monsieur mean?" she asked. "englishmen in my house! where can they have come from? my character is well known as a true patriot. the enemies of france are my enemies. pray explain yourself more clearly." on this the sergeant of gendarmes began to apologise in more courteous language than he had at first used, explaining why he had been sent to look for the englishmen who, it had been ascertained, were in that part of the country. "suppose you find them, what would you do with them?" asked madame la roche. "no doubt send them to prison. they are enemies of france, and it would not be wise when we can catch them to allow such to wander at large and commit mischief." "very true, very true, monsieur sergeant," said the old lady. "but that does not excuse you for accusing me of harbouring them, and coming to my house as if i were a traitress." the sergeant, however, was evidently persuaded, notwithstanding madame la roche's evasion, that the fugitives had been at the house, if they were not there still, and he insisted, with due respect to her, that it was his duty to make a thorough search. "as you desire it, pray obey your orders," said madame la roche. "my maitre d'hotel will show you round the house and outbuildings, and wherever you wish to go. you must excuse me on account of my age, as also my daughters from their youth and delicate nerves from accompanying you." the sergeant bowed, and said something with a laugh which rayner did not hear, and the old lady, calling francois, bade him conduct the sergeant and his gendarmes through the house. "and take care that he looks into every corner, under the beds and in them, if he likes, so that he may be thoroughly satisfied," she added. "oui, madame," answered francois with perfect gravity. "come along, monsieur sergeant. if you do not find these englishmen of whom you speak, do not blame me." rayner heard them retire from the room. he now began to breathe more freely, hoping, for the sake especially of madame la roche, that the sergeant would be satisfied when they were not found in the house. the ladies went on working and talking as if nothing were happening, though their countenances betrayed their anxiety. the gendarmes had been absent a sufficient time to make a thorough search through the whole of the building when rayner heard them coming back. suddenly the sergeant stopped, and asked, in a loud voice, "what is the object of this ladder, my friend?" "to reach the roof from the verandah, or to enable the inmates to descend should the house be on fire," answered francois, promptly. "the roof everywhere overlaps the verandah," answered the sergeant, "and no ladder is necessary to get out of these windows to the ground. it appears to me of a length suited to reach the ceiling. come, show me any trapdoor through which i can reach the loft over the rooms. you forgot, my friend, that part of the house." "a trapdoor in the ceiling! what a strange thought of yours!" exclaimed francois. "however, perhaps you will find it, should one exist, that you may be satisfied on that point, and let one of your men take the ladder, for i am old, and it would fatigue me to carry it." one of the gendarmes took up the ladder, and he could be heard knocking at the ceiling in various directions. still rayner hoped that they would not discover the dark corner, which francois evidently had no intention to show them. "it must be found somewhere or other," he heard the sergeant say. "this ladder is exactly suited to reach it." at last he entered the room where the ladies were seated. "will madame have the goodness to tell me whereabouts the trapdoor is that leads to the roof?" he asked. "the trapdoor leading to the roof!" repeated madame la roche. "it is not likely that an old woman, as i am, would have scrambled up there, or my delicate daughters either. surely, monsieur sergeant, you are laughing at me." the sergeant turned away, but presently one of the men exclaimed, "i have found it! i have found it--here, up in this corner!" rayner heard the men ascending, the trap was lifted, but he and his companions lay perfectly still, hoping that in the darkness they might not be perceived. but the gendarme, after waiting a few seconds to accustom his eyes to the dim light, began groping about until he caught hold of tom's leg. tom, dreadfully frightened, cried out in english, "oh, dear; he's got me!" "come down, messieurs, come down!" exclaimed the sergeant. "oh, madame la roche, you would have deceived me." rayner and his companions were compelled to descend. he truly felt more for his kind hostess and her daughters than he did for himself. they might be heavily fined, if not more severely punished. he and his companions had only to look forward to a prison, from which they might escape. with the exception of le duc they were all soon collected in the room below. he had managed by some means to escape detection. they were allowed but a short time to take leave of madame la roche and her daughters. the sergeant having received no orders respecting the ladies, and satisfied at having secured his prisoners, seemed disposed to allow the former to remain unmolested. they looked very melancholy, however. the young ladies, as they shook hands, burst into tears. in vain madame la roche begged that their guests might be allowed to partake of some refreshment before commencing their journey. the sergeant would not hear of it. he had caught the spies, and he intended to keep them. if he allowed them to remain, some trick might be played, and they might make their escape. he at once, therefore, ordered his men to lead his prisoners to the courtyard of the house. "hands off; i won't be manacled by a french jackanapes," cried brown, turning round as one of the men seized his arm. "we are five to seven, mayn't we knock the fellows over, sir? we could do it easily enough, and get off before they came to themselves again." "i'll join you with all my heart," said jack, "though i can't fight as well as i could before my ribs were stove in." "i'll tackle one of the fellows if i may take the smallest," said tom, though he looked rather pale at the thought of the impending struggle. "what do you advise, rayner?" asked oliver. "i can advise no violence," said rayner. "we may succeed in mastering the frenchmen, but if we did, the kind old lady here and her daughters would certainly suffer in consequence. we must submit with a good grace, and we may possibly afterwards have an opportunity of making our escape without fighting." though the frenchmen did not understand what was said, they evidently, from the looks of the seamen, suspected their intentions, and drawing their pistols presented them at the heads of their prisoners. the ladies shrieked, fancying they were about to fire, and tom turned pale. "pray don't be alarmed," said rayner. "we yield to the sergeant, and before we go i wish, in the name of my companions and myself, to express to you the deep gratitude we feel for your kindness. farewell!" he and oliver kissed their hands, and the sergeant made significant signs to them to go through the doorway. "have i the word of you two officers and your men that you will commit no violence?" he asked. "if you refuse it, i shall be under the necessity of binding your arms behind you." "what shall i say, oliver?" asked rayner. "if we give the promise we lose the chance of attempting to make our escape; but then again, if our arms are bound no opportunity can occur." "say then that we will attempt no violence, and submit to any directions he may give us," answered oliver. rayner spoke as oliver advised, and the sergeant appeared satisfied, as he imposed no other promise. chapter thirty two. in prison, and out again. the order to march was given. the two officers went first, followed by brown and tom supporting jack, and the gendarmes marched on either side of them with their bayonets fixed. rayner and oliver took the bearings of the house and remarked the country as they went along. they found that they were proceeding inland, and on inquiring of the sergeant he said that they were going to a place called le trou, where other english prisoners were confined. "are there many of them?" inquired rayner. "yes," answered the frenchman, "some hundreds, i believe; for one of our frigates captured a ship of yours not long ago, and most of the officers and men who escaped death were sent there." rayner in vain endeavoured to ascertain what english ship was spoken of, for he had heard of none taken by the french of late years. the sergeant, however, was positive, though he did not know either the name of the ship or the exact time of the capture. "i suspect he has heard some old story, and he repeats it for the sake of annoying us," observed oliver. "we must not let him suppose that we are cast down. we'll try to learn how far off this le trou is." rayner questioned the sergeant. "he says it is three days' journey. we shall have to stop at different houses on the road. that he must first take us to the mayor, or some official, who may perhaps send us to the governor at leogane, by whom we shall be examined, and if found to be spies, we shall be shot." "then le trou is not our first destination, and much will depend upon the character of the mayor before whom we are taken," observed oliver. as they still continued in a northerly direction, they knew that they were not going to leogane, which lay to the westward, nor were they increasing their distance from the spanish border. towards evening they reached a house of some size built, as are most of those in the country, on one storey, raised on a platform, with a broad veranda and wide projecting eaves. at one end, however, was a circular tower of considerable height. "here we shall stop, and there will be your lodging after you have been examined by monsieur le maire," said the sergeant, pointing to the tower. they conducted them up the steps to a hall, at one end of which was a baize-covered table, with a large chair and several smaller chairs on either side. after some time a little old gentleman in a red nightcap and flowered dressing-gown, with slippered feet, and spectacles on nose, entered the hall, followed by another in black, apparently his clerk. two other persons also came in, and took their seats at the table, while the clerk began to nibble his pen and shuffle his papers. the old gentleman, in a squeaky voice, inquired who were the prisoners now brought before him, and of what crime they were accused. the sergeant at once stepped up to the table, and giving a military salute, informed monsieur le maire how he had heard of spies being in the country, and how he had captured them at the house of madame la roche. "but if they are englishmen, they cannot speak french, and we require an interpreter," said the mayor. "do any of you, my friends, understand the language of those detestable islanders?" no one replied. after the remark of the mayor, it might seem a disgrace even to speak english. rayner, anxious not to prolong the business, on hearing what was said, stepped up to the table, and observed that, as he spoke french, he should be happy to explain how he and his companions came into the country. he then gave a brief account of the circumstances which led to the shipwreck, and what had since occurred. he was sorry anybody present should entertain ill-feelings towards the english, as for his part he liked france, and had a warm regard for many frenchmen. even the mayor was impressed, and a pleased smile came over his weazened features. "i am ready to believe the account you give me, and that you certainly are not spies," he said. "the body of your countryman found on the beach proves that you were shipwrecked. still, as you are in the country, we must consider you as prisoners of war, and treat you as such. for this night you must remain here, and to-morrow i will consider whether i will send you to leogane or le trou, where you will wait with others of your countrymen to be exchanged." after some further remarks the examination terminated, and rayner and oliver, with the three seamen, were marched off under a guard to the tower. it was nearly dark, and they were conducted by the light of a lantern up two flights of steps to a room in an upper storey. as far as they could judge, it was furnished with several pallet beds, a table, some chairs, and stools. "you are to remain here until to-morrow morning, messieurs, when i shall know in what direction to proceed. monsieur le maire has ordered you some food, and you will, i hope, not complain of your treatment," said the sergeant, as he closed the door, which he locked and bolted. they heard him descending. "we are better off than i should have expected," remarked rayner, surveying the room by the light of the lantern which the sergeant had left. "the point is, are we able to escape?" said oliver. "you mind, sir, how we got out of the prison in france, and i don't see why we shouldn't get out of this place," observed jack, going to one of the two narrow windows which the room contained, and looking forth. they were strongly-barred. the night was dark, and he could only see the glimmer of a light here and there in the distance. it was impossible also to ascertain the height of the window from the ground. "we will certainly try to get out," said rayner, joining jack at the window. "though i fear that you with your bruises and battered ribs will be unable to make your way on foot across the country." "don't mind me, sir," answered jack. "i have no pain to speak of. if the worst comes to the worst, i can but remain behind. i shall be content if you and mr crofton and tom and brown make your escape." "no, no, my brave fellow," said rayner, "we will not leave you behind. but before we talk of what we will do, we must try what we can do. these bars seem very strongly fixed into the stone, and may resist our attempts to get them out." "there's nothing like trying, however," observed oliver. "we must get away to-night, for if the mayor decides on sending us either to leogane or le trou we shall have a very poor chance afterwards." they tried the bars, but all of them were deeply imbedded in the stone. "where there's a will there's a way," observed jack. "we may dig out the lead with our knives, and if we can get one bar loose we shall soon wrench off the ends of the others, or bend them back enough to let us creep through. brown wouldn't make much of bending one of these iron bars, would you, sam?" "i'll try what i can do," said the seaman, "especially if it's to get us our liberty." "then, not to lose time, i'll make a beginning, if you'll let me, sir," said jack; and he got out his knife, but just as he had commenced operations, steps were heard ascending the stairs. the door opened, and one of the gendarmes appeared, followed by a negro carrying a basket of provisions. "monsieur le maire does not want to starve you, and so from his bountiful kindness has sent you some supper," said the former. "we are much obliged to monsieur the mayor, but we should be still more so if he would set us at liberty," said rayner. meanwhile the black boy was spreading the table with the contents of the basket. the gendarme laughed. "no, no, we are not apt to let our caged birds fly," he answered. "i hope, messieurs, you will enjoy your suppers, and i would advise you then to take some sleep to be ready to start early in the morning, as soon as it is decided in what direction you are to go." rayner thanked the gendarme, who, followed by the black boy, went out of the room, bolting and barring the door behind him. the men now drew their benches to the table, and rayner and oliver, taking their places, fell to with the rest, there being no necessity, under such circumstances, for keeping up official ceremony. supper was quickly got through, and each man stowed away the remainder of the provisions in his pockets. while they went to work with their knives at the bars, rayner and oliver examined the beds. they were thankful to find that the canvas at the bottom was lashed by pieces of tolerably stout rope. these, with the aid of the ticking cut into strips, would form a line of sufficient length and strength to enable them to descend, should they succeed in getting out the bars. this, however, was not easily to be accomplished. when the officers went to the window, they found that jack and his companions had made little progress. the bars fitted so closely into the holes that there was but a small quantity of lead, and without a hammer and chisel it seemed impossible to make the hole sufficiently large to move the bars so as to allow brown to exert his strength upon them. if the two centre perpendicular bars could be got out, the lowest horizontal bar might be sent up. this would afford ample room for the stoutest of the party to get through. "we've got out of a french prison before, sir, and we'll get out now," said jack, working away. "yes, but we were small boys then, and you, jack, and i, would find it a hard matter to get through the same sized hole now that we could then," observed rayner. "that's just it, sir. if two small boys could get out of a french prison, i am thinking that five well-nigh grown men can manage the job. we'll do it, sir, never fear. if this stone was granite it might puzzle us, but it's softer than that by a long way, and i have already cut out some of it with my knife, though, to be sure, it does blunt it considerably." the progress jack and his companions made was very small, and it was evident that unless they could work faster they would be unable to remove the bar before daylight. rayner and oliver searched round the room for any pieces of iron which might serve the purpose of a chisel. they examined the bedsteads--they were formed entirely of wood. there was, of course, no fireplace, or a poker might have assisted them. they had just returned to the window when their ears caught the sounds of a few low notes from a violin, played almost directly beneath them. "why! i do believe that's the tune le duc was playing to us last evening," exclaimed jack. all was again silent. rayner and oliver tried to look through the bars, but could see nothing; all was still. again the notes were heard. jack whistled a few bars of the same air. a voice from below, in a suppressed tone asked in french, "have you a thin line? let it down." "it is le duc. he has got something for us. maybe just what we want," cried jack. "oui, oui," he answered. "it will quickly be ready." the ticking of one of the mattresses was quickly cut up and formed into a line, which was lowered. rayner, who held it, felt a gentle tug, and as he hauled it up, what was the delight of the party to find two strong files! there could be no doubt that le duc had formed some plan to assist them in escaping, or he would not have come thus furnished. probably they had to thank madame la roche for suggesting it. they did not stop, however, to discuss the matter, but set to work immediately to file away the bars, making as little noise as possible. while two of them were thus employed, the rest walked about the room, and talked and laughed and sang, so as to drown the sound of the files. presently they heard from the other side of the building the loud tones of a fiddle, the player evidently keeping his bow going at a rapid rate. then came the sounds of laughter and the stamping of feet, as if people were dancing. "why, our guards will be kept awake and we shall have no chance of getting off, i fear," said oliver. "if our guards dance they will drink, and sleep afterwards, never fear," answered rayner. "our friend le duc knows what he is about. i'm sure that we can trust him, or he would not have taken the trouble to bring us these files." the fiddle was kept going, and brown and jack kept time to the tunes with the files as they worked, laughing heartily as they did so. "hurrah!" cried jack, "there's one bar through. take a spell here, tom. you've helped the armourer sometimes, and know how to use a file." tom, being as eager to get out as the rest, worked away better than he did on most occasions. jack, however, soon again took the file, and in a short time announced that both the centre bars were cut through at the bottom. they had next to file the upper bars sufficiently to enable brown to bend them back. losing patience, however, he at last seized one of them, when, placing his feet against the window, he bent back with all his strength. he was more successful than he expected, for the iron giving way, down he fell on the floor with a tremendous crash, which would certainly have been heard by the guards below, had not their attention been drawn off by the fiddle of le duc, who was scraping away with more vehemence than ever. rayner and oliver had in the meantime been manufacturing the rope by which they hoped to descend to the ground. they could measure the necessary length by the small line with which the files had been drawn up, and they had the satisfaction of finding that it was amply long enough for their purpose. they now secured it to one of the remaining bars. rayner and oliver agreed that it would be wise to descend while the fiddle was going. "let me go first," said brown. "i am the heaviest, and if it bears me, it will bear any of you." tom said nothing. his modesty or something else prevented him from putting himself forward when any danger was to be encountered. rayner himself had intended to descend first, but the rest of the party begged him to let some one else go, and at last oliver led the way. judging by the still louder scraping of le duc's fiddle, he must have suspected what they were about. oliver could hear the notes coming round from the other side of the building. all, however, below him was silence and darkness. he could not judge, as he looked down, whether he was to alight on hard or soft ground, whether into a ditch or stream, or whether they should have a fence to climb. his chief fear was that some of the dogs allowed to go loose in every country house might discover him and his companions before they could effect their escape. all this passed through his mind as he was letting himself down the rope, to which he clung with arms and feet as a sailor only can cling with security. he soon reached the bottom. the ground appeared to be firm, and was, as far as he could judge, perfectly level. the tower threw a dark shadow, in which he stood listening for any sounds which might indicate danger. it had been agreed, even should one or two of the gendarmes come round, to spring upon them, seize their arms, and gag them. as soon as his feet touched the ground, he pulled out his handkerchief, ready for the latter object. presently another came down. it was brown, the best man to tackle an enemy, as his muscular strength was equal to any two of the rest. no enemy appeared, however, and at length rayner, who came last, reached the bottom in safety. chapter thirty three. travelling under difficulties. they waited and waited. le duc kept fiddling away with as much vehemence as at first. but they could not ascertain whether their guards were still dancing--the scraping of the fiddle-strings drowning all other sounds. at length the music became slower and slower, until only a low, moaning wail reached their ears. it was of a remarkably somniferous character,--the cunning le duc had evidently some object in playing thus. presently the music ceased altogether. not a sound was heard, except the soughing of the wind round the tower. still their patience had to be tried. something was keeping le duc. at last they saw a figure coming towards the tower. perhaps it was not le duc. if a stranger, they must stop his mouth. perhaps they might have to bind him. they could cut off a sufficient length of rope for the purpose. he appeared to be a peasant wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a shirt, with a long stick or ox-goad in his hand. they were so well concealed, crouching down against the wall, that he did not perceive them. rayner and brown were on the point of springing out to seize him, when he said, in a low whisper, "don't you know me, friends? follow me, but bend down as low as you can, that if seen from the house you may be taken for my dogs or sheep. pardon me for saying so." "no necessity for that; lead on, we will follow," said rayner. walking upright, staff in hand, he proceeded at a good rate across the open space at the back of the village. they could see the lights glimmering from several houses on its borders. they soon reached a stream with a long wooden bridge thrown over it. here, as they would be exposed to view, the sooner they could get across it the better. they hurried over, still stooping down, le duc walking erect. at last their backs began to ache from remaining so long in a bent position. they were thankful when they reached the edge of a plantation, and le duc, stopping, said, "you have acted admirably, my friends. come on a little farther to a spot where we shall find some clothes in which you can disguise yourselves. we can get over some leagues before daylight, and the inhabitants we shall then meet with are all blacks, and being very stupid will not discover that you are english, provided those who do not speak french hold their tongues." "a very right precaution," said rayner. after he had thanked le duc for his exertions, he added, "remember, brown and fletcher, neither of you attempt to open your mouths except to put food into them. if you are spoken to, make off, or pretend that you are deaf and dumb." after proceeding another mile or so, they reached a solitary hut, partially in ruins. le duc here produced five bundles from behind a heap of rubbish, covered over with bushes. "these i brought by the desire of madame la roche," he said. "she and her daughters, and their black girls, and old francois, worked away very hard to get them finished. they began the very moment you and the gendarmes left the house. it was mademoiselle sophie's idea, she's a clever young lady. directly the dresses were completed, francois and i started off on horseback, as we knew the road you had taken, i dressed as you see me, and carrying my fiddle in a bag hung round my neck. i was a strolling player once, and belonged to a circus before i became a sailor, so i was at home on horseback, and i was at home also when playing my tricks off on the gendarmes. i have keen wits and strong nerves, messieurs. one without the other is of small value. united, wonders can be worked. how i did bamboozle those stupid fellows! it was fortunate, however, that none of the black crew of the schooner or my late shipmates appeared, or i should have been discovered. now, put on these dresses, they are such as are worn by the planters of this country, and you can pretend you are going to a fair at goave to buy mules, that is what francois advises, and he has got a good head on his shoulders. i wish that he could have come with us, but as soon as he had deposited these clothes he had to ride back as fast as he could to attend to his mistress, and i undertook the rest." "you have indeed done your part well," said rayner. "what shall we do with our own clothes?" "do your jackets and trousers up in bundles, and carry them with you. you must take care, however, not to let them out of your hands," answered le duc. as they were in a solitary place, with no chance of being overheard, the men, as they looked at themselves by the light of a lantern le duc had carried, though he had not until now lit it, indulged in hearty laughter. "you do look like an overseer, brown," said jack, "and i should be precious sorry to be a black slave when you had your whip lifted above my shoulders. you'd hit mighty hard, i've a notion." as rayner and oliver surveyed each other, they expressed strong doubts whether their disguise was sufficient to enable them to pass undetected, and they agreed that it would be necessary to keep as much as possible out of the way of the inhabitants. still, the risk must be run. the consequences of being caught would be very serious to them, yet more so to le duc, who would almost to a certainty be shot for having assisted in their escape. having done up their clothes in the handkerchiefs which had contained the dresses they now had on, they pushed forward. le duc had never before been in that part of the country, but he had received minute directions from francois, which helped greatly to guide them. at length they came to a dense jungle. francois had told le duc of this, and that he would find a path through it. they hunted about for some time in vain. "come this way, messieurs!" exclaimed le duc, at length. "this must be the path francois told me of." he had gone a short distance to the southward, and now led on, feeling the way with his long stick. the others followed. the path was narrow, and the trees met overhead, so that they were in complete darkness. on they went, keeping close behind each other, for there was no room for two to walk abreast. le duc walked at a good pace. the jungle seemed interminable. they must have gone on, they fancied, for two or three miles, when they found their feet splashing in water. "i am afraid we are getting into a swamp, messieurs," said le duc. "it cannot be helped; we must scramble through it somehow or other. if we had daylight it would be an advantage. it won't do to stop here, however." the water grew deeper. the ground had now become very soft, and they were often up to their knees in mud, so that their progress was greatly delayed. "we shall cut but a sorry appearance, messieurs, if we meet any one when morning breaks," observed le duc. "as soon as we get to dry ground we must stop and put ourselves to rights." "perhaps we shall, and it would be as well if we can wash the mud off our legs," said rayner. "but go on, my fine fellow; if this path is in general use it cannot be much worse than it is." rayner was right. in a short time the water became shallower, and soon afterwards they got on to firm ground. to their very great satisfaction they at last found themselves out of the jungle. before them rose a hill, over which they had to climb. at the foot of the hill they came to a clear, broad stream, passing over a shingly bed. le duc, feeling the depth with his staff, walked in. it was sufficiently shallow to enable them to ford it without difficulty; and they took the opportunity of washing off the mud which had stuck to their legs in the swamp. all this time poor jack never once complained, but he was suffering no small amount of pain. his great fear was that he might have to give in and delay the rest. on the other side of the stream the country showed signs of cultivation. they passed outside several plantations, but what they were they could not tell; still, as they could manage to make their way to the eastward they went on. "we must be near the large village francois spoke of," said le duc. "he advised that we should go to the southward of it, as the country on that side is more easily traversed, and we may hope thus to get by without being discovered if we can pass it before daybreak." they accordingly took the direction as advised. after going some way they heard the barking of dogs and saw a light gleaming, they supposed, from the window of a cottage, whose inmates were up early, or, perhaps, where some one lay dying or dead. at length the bright streaks of early dawn appeared in the sky ahead. jack at last had to acknowledge that he could go no farther. "if we could but reach some hut or other where the blacks would take care of me, i would be ready to stop sooner than let you be caught, sir," he said, addressing rayner. "no, i will never allow that," was the answer. "we'll get you along a little farther, until we can find some place to rest in. there's a wood i see ahead, and we must conceal ourselves in it until you are able to go on again. if mr crofton likes to lead on the rest and try to get across the frontier, he may do so, but i'll stick by you, jack. don't be afraid." "thank you, bill, thank you!" said jack, pressing his old messmate's hand, scarcely knowing what he was saying, but thinking somehow that they were again boys together. "you were always a brave, generous chap, and i know you'd never desert a shipmate." poor jack was getting worse every moment. rayner made no reply, but calling brown, they helped him along between them, lifting him over the rough places as they made their way towards the wood. they reached it just as daylight burst on the world, as it does in the tropics, the hot sun rushing up immediately afterwards to blaze away with intense heat. oliver, with le duc and tom, hurried on ahead to look for some place where they might have a chance of effectually concealing themselves. in a short time oliver came back. "we have discovered just the sort of place we want," he said. "the sooner we can stow ourselves away in it the better. let me take your place and help peek along." rayner would not allow this. "i can support him a mile farther if necessary," he answered. in a short time, making their way through the jungle, and crossing a small stream which would afford them water, they saw before them a huge tree, upturned from the roots, forming beneath it a cavern of considerable size, which le duc and tom were engaged in clearing out. there was a risk of being bitten by snakes, which might have made it their abode, but that could not be avoided. le duc was running his stick into every hole he could see to drive out any which might be concealed. in other respects, no better place could be found. rayner and brown lifted in jack and placed him on the ground, and rayner gave him some of the food they had brought from the tower. they had only enough, unfortunately, for one meal. meantime it was better than nothing, and resolved to give jack his share. the rest of the party had collected some branches and brushwood to conceal the entrance. this done, they all crept in. le duc, who had surveyed their place of concealment from the outside, declared that no person not actually searching for them would suspect that any one was there. no sooner had they swallowed their food than they all fell asleep. rayner was the first to awaken. he listened, but could hear no sound except the buzz of insects, and he knew, by the light which came in from the upper part of the entrance, that the sun was shining brightly. jack was still asleep. he was breathing easily, and appeared to be better; but still it was not probable that he would be able to continue the journey. it would be necessary, therefore, at all events, to remain in the cavern all the day, but should he be well enough they might continue their journey at nightfall. their chief difficulty would be to procure food from the neighbouring village without exciting suspicion. rayner was unwilling to arouse his companions. at length, however, oliver awoke; then le duc sat up rubbing his eyes. they consulted as to what was to be done. oliver agreed with rayner that they must remain where they were, but le duc was for pushing on. when, however, rayner reminded him that jack could not possibly move as fast as necessary, if at all, he consented to remain. "but should the gendarmes come in this direction to look for us, we shall probably be discovered," he observed. "we must hope, then, that they will not come in this direction," said oliver. "but what about food, monsieur?" asked le duc. "we must try to go without it for a few hours," answered rayner. "we shall be well rested, and must tie our handkerchiefs tightly round our stomachs. i have got enough for the sick man, who requires it more than we do; but we must not let him know that we have none, or he will probably refuse to touch it." "we can at all events procure some water," said le duc. "give me your hats, gentlemen; they will hold as much as we want." though rayner and oliver would have preferred some other means of obtaining the water, they willingly gave their hats to le duc, who crept out with them, and soon returned with both full to the brim. the thirst of the party being quenched, for a short time they suffered much less than before from the pangs of hunger. tom and brown were ready to do what their officers wished, only tom groaned at having nothing to eat. jack slept on while the rest again lay down. the light which came through the bushes began somewhat to decrease, and rayner saw that the sun was sinking behind the trees in the west. he was watching jack, who at length awoke. the moment he opened his eyes, rayner offered him the food he had kept ready in his pocket. "come, jack, stow this away in your inside as fast as you can, that you may have strength to go on as soon as it is time to start. we don't intend to spend our lives here, like mice in a hole." jack did as he was bid, without asking questions. just as he had finished, tom groaned out, "i shall die soon if i don't get something to eat." "nonsense lad; you can hold out for a few hours longer," replied brown. "i'm just as bad as you are, for that matter." le duc guessed what they were talking about. he himself felt desperately hungry. "i tell you what, messieurs, without food we shall make slow progress. i'll go into the village and try to procure some. i shall easily learn from some person, before i venture to enter, whether the gendarmes are there, and if they are not, we shall be safe for the present. they will, i hope, fancying that you made your way back to the house of madame la roche, have gone off there. we must hope for the best, and i will try and invent some reason for wishing to purchase food. the kind lady supplied me with money, so that i shall have no difficulty on that score." rayner, who in reality suffered more than any one, as he had had less to eat, at last consented to the proposal of le duc, who set off. as soon as he had gone the bushes were drawn close again. the party sat in silence, anxiously waiting his return. they waited and waited. again it became dark. jack declared that he felt strong enough to go on. "yes, you may; but i could not budge an inch until i have had some food," growled tom. "i wish that that frenchman would come back." "shut up there, mate, and don't be grumbling. you're not worse than the rest of us," said brown. time wore on; it was now perfectly dark. they listened eagerly for the sound of le duc's footsteps. rayner had made up his mind to go out and try to ascertain what had become of him, or at all events to obtain some food, for he felt that neither he nor the rest of the party could get through the night when travelling without it. later on it would be still more difficult to obtain, as the inhabitants would be in bed. he thought he should be able to find his way back to their place of concealment; so, desiring the party to keep perfectly silent, he set out. he had not gone far in the wood, when he heard footsteps. he crouched down behind a tree, when, looking out, he saw a man, with something on his back, approaching. he hoped that it was le duc, but it might be a stranger. he kept quiet. the person came nearer, now stopping, now turning on one side, now on the other. it must be le duc, thought rayner. he has lost his way, perhaps that may account for his long absence. stepping from behind the tree, he advanced. "what are you searching for, my friend?" he asked, in french. the man stopped, and seemed inclined to run away. "le duc, what's the matter?" asked rayner, in a suppressed tone. "ah, monsieur! is it you?" cried le duc. "i thought i should never find the place where i left you. i saw it only in daylight. things look so different in the dark. i have had a narrow escape, but i have got some food now. if you follow my advice you will eat and set off immediately. is the cave near?" "no; but i can lead you to it," answered rayner. as they went along, le duc said, "when i got near the village i met an old black, who told me there were no strangers in the place, and that i might easily procure what i wanted. i accordingly went on boldly, until i reached a cottage just in the outskirts. i entered and found the people ready enough to sell me some bread and sausages, charging me three times as much as they were worth. i also procured this straw bag to put them in. while i was there packing them up several persons who had come in were talking, and i heard them say that a party of soldiers had just arrived, on their way from leogane to port saint louis in the bay, and that they were ordered to look out for several english spies, and that some blacks, who knew the englishmen, had accompanied the soldiers to assist in finding them. as soon as i heard this i hastily put some of the things into my bag, not waiting for the remainder, and hurried out of the hut. as i did so, what was my dismay to see three of the soldiers, accompanied by one of the black fellows who had escaped from the wreck! were i to have run away they would have suspected me, so i walked on whistling, as if i had nothing to fear from them. "as mischance would have it, they were proceeding in the same direction, and it is my belief that they were even then going in search of you. thoughtless of the consequence, i happened to whistle an air which i sang that night on board the schooner when we were becalmed. the rogue of a black recognised it, for, turning my head, i saw him coming after me. i was silent directly, and began to walk very fast. fortunately it was almost dusk, and, reaching some thick bushes, i dodged behind them. the black passed me and went on. i lay quiet, and after a time he came back, and i heard him tell the soldiers, who had followed him, that he must have been mistaken; so they then proposed going back to the village. "i waited until they were out of hearing, and then set off to try and find my way to the cave, but i missed it, and have been wandering about ever since." no one troubled le duc with questions. they were too eager to dispose of the contents of his bag. they could not see what they were eating, but they were not inclined to be particular. as soon as they had finished their meal, being told by rayner that soldiers were in the neighbourhood, they begged at once to continue their journey; but rayner was very doubtful whether jack could keep up, though he declared that he was ready. when, however, he crept out of the cave, he was scarcely able to stand, much less to walk any distance. "i must remain, then," said rayner, "and you, oliver, go on with the other two men and le duc, and when he has seen you safely into spanish territory he will, perhaps, come back and assist me and jack peek. if he cannot, we must do our best by ourselves. we have been in a more difficult position together before now, and managed to escape." oliver, however, would not hear of this, and it was finally settled that the whole party should remain in their cave another night and day. jack was very unhappy at being the cause of their detention; but rayner cheered him up by reminding him that it was not his fault, and perhaps, after all, it was the best thing they could do. they accordingly all crept into the cave and went to sleep. in the morning light enough found its way through the bushes to enable them to eat breakfast. they, of course, took care not to speak above a whisper, though listening all the time for the sound of footsteps; but as no one came near them, they hoped that their place of concealment was unknown to any of the villagers, who might otherwise have pointed it out to the soldiers. the day went by. all the food le duc had brought was consumed, except a small portion kept for jack. he offered to go for more, but rayner judged it imprudent to let him return to the village, where he would be recognised as having come on the previous evening. they accordingly had to go supperless to sleep, tom grumbling, as usual, at his hard fate. when daylight streamed into the cavern, le duc declared that he could hold out no longer, and that, both for his own sake and that of others, he must go and get some food. "the soldiers will have gone away by this time," he observed, "and the black people in the village can have no object in detaining me. if they do, i will bribe them to let me off, and they know if they hand me over to the soldiers that they will get nothing." the hunger all were feeling and his arguments prevailed, and he set off, promising to be back as soon as possible, and to take care that no one followed him. rayner felt some misgiving as he disappeared. all they could do in the meantime was to keep close in their hole. all day they waited, but le duc did not return. tom muttered, "the frenchman has deserted us after all." even brown expressed some doubts about his honesty. "you never can trust those mounseers," he said in reply to tom's remark. "be silent there, men," said rayner. "our good friend has probably thought it safer to hide himself, and will manage to get back at night." night came, however, and still le duc did not appear. rayner and oliver became more anxious than ever. "i must not let you fellows starve," said rayner at last. "i'll go out and try and get provisions of some sort. le duc spoke of several cottages on the outskirts of the village, and i'll call at one of them and try to bribe the inhabitants, or to move their compassion; perhaps i may get tidings of our friend." though either oliver or brown would gladly have gone instead, they knew that rayner was the best person to undertake the expedition. "if i do not return before midnight, you must all set out and travel eastward as fast as you can. how do you feel, peek? can you manage to move along." "yes, sir," answered jack. "i could if you were with us, but i am afraid if you were left behind in the grip of soldiers i shouldn't do much." "don't let that idea weigh on your mind. if i am captured and sent to prison, there i must remain until i am exchanged for a french officer, though i don't think there's much chance of my being caught." having given his final directions, rayner set off. he went on till he saw a light streaming through a cottage window. the better sort of people were alone likely to be sitting up at that hour, as the poorer blacks, he knew, went to bed at sundown and rose at daybreak. he went up to the door and knocked. "may i come in?" he asked in french; and without waiting for an answer he lifted the latch. an old mulatto woman was seated spinning. near her sat a young girl of much lighter complexion, with remarkably pretty features, engaged in working on some pieces of female finery. she rose as he entered, and the old woman uttered an exclamation of astonishment. he at once explained his errand. he wanted food, and was ready to pay for it. they would not be so hard-hearted as to refuse it to starving men. the girl looked at the old woman, who was apparently her grandmother. "mon pere will soon be back. will monsieur object to wait?" she asked. "i have no time to wait; here, accept this," said rayner, holding out a dollar which he fortunately had in his pocket. the old woman's eyes glittered. "give monsieur what he wants, but keep enough for your father's supper and breakfast to-morrow. it is strange that he should require food since he is so rich." "i want sufficient for several persons--anything you have got," said rayner. the girl went to a shelf at the other end of the room and got down a couple of loaves of maize bread, some cakes, salt-fish, and fruit. "you can take some of these," she said, placing them on the table; "but how are you to carry them?" he had a silk handkerchief, which he produced, intending to tie up the provisions in. the girl looked at it with admiration. "perhaps you will accept this, and give me a basket, or a matting bag instead?" he said. she quickly produced a bag large enough to hold all the things. "now can you give me any news of anything happening in the village?" "yes, some soldiers have been there, and impudent fellows they were; some of them came to our house, and if my pierre had been present there would have been a fight. i am glad that they have gone. it is said they were in search of deserters or spies, and that they had caught one of them, but could not find the rest. if monsieur dislikes the military as much as i do, he'll keep out of their way." the girl said this in a significant manner. rayner thanked her and the old woman, and advised them to say nothing about his visit. "if we know nothing we can say nothing, eh, monsieur? bon voyage, and keep out of the way of the soldiers," whispered the girl as she let him out. he could not help thinking, as he hurried back towards the cave, that she suspected he was one of the persons the soldiers were in search of. although she wished to befriend him, her father might be in a different mood. there was the danger, too, that if poor le duc was caught, he might be tortured to make him confess where his companions were. rayner considered, therefore, that it would be imprudent to remain longer in the cave, and that it would be safer even to carry jack, should he be unable to walk, than to delay their journey. he got back safely, and the food he brought soon restored the spirits of the party. even jack declared that he was strong enough to walk a dozen miles if necessary. they were in great hopes, therefore, of getting across the border before daybreak. they regretted greatly the loss of le duc, who had served them so faithfully, especially as they feared that he himself was in danger of suffering in consequence of the assistance he had given them. rayner led the way. the stars being as bright as on the previous night, he had no difficulty in directing his course. the country was much of the same character as that they had previously crossed. in some parts they came to plantations, and could distinguish the residences of the proprietors. now they had to make their way by narrow paths through jungles, now to wade through marshes. jack, helped by brown and tom, got on better than might have been expected. rayner intended to halt for a short time at the first convenient spot they could reach. he had for some distance observed no signs of cultivation, when he found that they were passing close to a plantation. then there appeared a house on one side, then another and another. barking dogs came rushing out, and they had some difficulty in keeping them at bay. the brutes followed them, however, joined by others. a voice from a gateway shouted, "who goes there?" "friends!" answered rayner. "advance, friends, and show yourselves, and give the countersign," said a sentry, at the same time calling out the guard. to run would have been useless, besides which it is not a movement british officers and seamen are wont to make, except after an enemy. rayner therefore determined to put a bold face upon the matter, advanced with his companions, and the next instant they found themselves surrounded by a body of french soldiers, whose looks, as they held up a couple of lanterns, were anything but satisfactory. chapter thirty four. recaptured--an unexpected rescue. "whence do you come and where are you going, mes amis?" asked the sergeant of the guard, addressing tom, who was nearest him. "what's that you say, old chap?" said tom, forgetting the strict orders he had received to hold his tongue. "ah, what language is that?" exclaimed the sergeant, holding up his lantern and examining the sailor's countenance. "you are not a frenchman, i'll vow." he turned from one to the other, looking in the faces of each. "why, i believe these are the very men we were ordered to search for. seize them all. take care that none escape. there are five of them, the very number we were told of, and one, the traitor, we have already got. can any of you speak french? though i doubt it." "should you be satisfied, monsieur sergeant, if we do speak french, and better french than many of the people about here?" asked rayner. "if so, will you let us go on our journey? do we look like english sailors?" "i don't know how english sailors generally look," said the sergeant, gruffly, and rather taken aback at being suddenly addressed in his own language. "you certainly have the appearance of overseers, or people of that sort, but your countenances betray you. i am not to be deceived. bring them along into the guard-room." in vain rayner pleaded that he and his companions were in a hurry to proceed on their journey. they were dragged into the building, and a guard with fixed bayonets was placed over them. for the remainder of the night they had to sit on a hard bench, with their backs against the wall, sleeping as well as they could in so uncomfortable a position. at daybreak the next morning sergeant gabot, by whom they had been captured, entering the room, ordered the guard to bring them along into the presence of captain dupuis. the seamen, imitating their officers, quietly followed the sergeant, who led the way to a room in the same building. here captain dupuis, a fierce-looking gentleman wearing a huge pair of moustaches, and a long sword by his side, was found seated at a table with two other officers. he cast his eye over the prisoners and inquired their names. here was a puzzle, for neither rayner nor oliver had thought of assuming french ones. they, therefore, without hesitation, gave their own, as did jack. "please, sir, what does the chap say?" asked brown, when the officer addressed him. "he wishes to know your name," said oliver. captain dupuis, twirling his moustaches, took them down as well as he could. "these names do not sound like those of frenchmen," he said. "and such we do not pretend to be," replied rayner, stepping forward. "we found it necessary to assume these disguises for the sake of escaping from prison. we are not spies, and have no desire to injure france or frenchmen except in open warfare." he then gave an account of their object in approaching the coast and the way in which they had been so unwillingly compelled to land. "i am inclined to believe you, monsieur," said captain dupuis, more politely than at first. "but my duty is to convey you to port louis, where my regiment is stationed, and the colonel will decide on your case. we will march directly." captain dupuis appeared not to be ill-disposed, for he ordered some breakfast to be brought to them in the hall. "thank you for your kindness, monsieur," said rayner. "with your permission we will put on our proper dresses, which are contained in these bundles." "assuredly you have my leave. it will show the people that we have two english officers in captivity, as well as some of their men, and probably the report will be spread that an english frigate and her crew have been taken," observed the captain, laughing. "well, i do feel more like myself now," exclaimed brown, as he put on his shirt and jacket, and tied his black handkerchief in a lover's knot round his throat. rayner and oliver, though they did not say so, felt very much as their men did, thankful to throw off their disguises. as soon as they had finished breakfast, the soldiers fell in, the prisoners being placed in the centre, and with the captain at their head they commenced their march to the southward. it was not until late in the evening that they arrived at their destination. there were three old-fashioned forts, one intended to support the other, commanding the entrance of the bay. rayner and oliver, as they approached, took note of their position, and they remarked that the water appeared to be deep close up to the heights on which the forts were situated. in the largest were several buildings, the residence of the commandant, the barracks, and a small edifice with strongly-barred windows, which they soon discovered to be a prison. they were halted in front of these buildings, while the captain went in to make his report to the commandant. after waiting some time they were marched in between guards with fixed bayonets. their examination was very similar to that which they had before gone through. rayner and oliver, however, hoped that their account of themselves would be believed, and that they would, even at the worst, only be detained as prisoners-of-war. still, they did not quite like the looks of the commandant, who was evidently of a more savage disposition than his subordinate. he glared at the english, and declared they he believed they were capable of the most abominable acts of treachery and deceit. rayner replied calmly, and pointed out how improbable it was that he and his companions should have landed for any sinister object. "if you come not as spies yourselves, you come to land french spies. miscreant traitors to their country!" exclaimed the commandant. "one of them has been caught. death will be the penalty of his crime. bring forward the witnesses." as he spoke the soldiers stepped aside and two black seamen were led forward. rayner recognised them as the most ruffianly of the schooner's crew. first one, and then the other, swore that the vessel had been sent to the coast for the purpose of landing some french spies, that the schooner was to wait for them, and then when they had gained information as to the strength of the forts and vessels in the harbours they were to return to the frigate. in vain rayner explained the truth. the commandant scornfully answered that he could not believe an english officer upon his oath, that he should send a report of their capture to leogane, and that for his part he hoped that he should have orders to shoot them all forthwith. the mock examination terminated, they were marched away to the prison on the other side of the fort. the door being opened, they were unceremoniously thrust in, one after the other, and it was closed behind them. as it was by this time growing dusk, and there were only small, narrow windows close under the roof, they were left in almost perfect obscurity, so that they could not venture to move from the spot where they stood. as, however, their eyes got accustomed to the gloom, they found that they were in a room about twelve or fourteen feet square, the floor and sides being of roughly hewn stone. round it ran a stone bench, just above which they could see several massive iron rings fixed in the walls. "while we have light we had better pick out the cleanest spots we can find," said oliver. "we shall be kept here to-night, at all events, and the surly commandant will not allow us any luxuries." as they moved a few paces forward, they saw three persons chained to the wall at the farther end of the room. "who are you?" "alas! alas!" exclaimed one of them, leaning eagerly forward; and they recognised le duc's voice. "ah, messieurs, you will understand the less said the better as to the past." rayner took the hint, guessing that le duc was unwilling to have anything said in the presence of the two other prisoners which might implicate madame la roche or francois. "you have heard, messieurs, that they have condemned me to death," continued le duc, "and the wonder is that they have not shot me already, but i know that at any moment i may be led out. i should wish to live that i may play the fiddle and make others happy as well as myself." "i am very sorry to hear this. if the commandant would believe us, we can prove your innocence, and, surely, our word ought to be taken instead of that of the two blacks," said rayner. "so it would, according to law, for the evidence of the blacks is worth nothing, and is not received in a court of justice. it proves that the commandant has resolved, at all costs, to wreak his hatred of the english on your heads." rayner and oliver seated themselves on the stone bench near him. the men had drawn together on the opposite corner. le duc narrated how he had been captured just as he was quitting the village. his great fear had been lest he should be compelled to betray them; and he declared to rayner, who believed him, that he would have undergone any torture rather than have done so. le duc whispered that the two other prisoners had been condemned for murder. "pleasant sort of companions," observed oliver. "we may as well let them have their side of the prison to themselves." the men in the meantime had scraped the seat as clean as they could with their knives. tom, as usual, began to grumble. "we must take the rough and the smooth together," observed jack. "i am hungry enough myself, and i hope the mounseers don't intend to starve us, though maybe we shan't get roast beef and plum pudding." "don't talk of it," cried brown; "i could eat half an ox if i had the chance." while they were talking the door opened, and a man appeared, carrying a lantern and a pitcher in one hand, and a basket in the other, which he placed on the bench near them. the pitcher contained water, and the basket some very brown, heavy-looking bread, with a couple of tin mugs. having allowed the other prisoners to drink, and given each of them a piece of bread, he handed the basket with its contents to the englishmen. "you anglais like ros' beef. here you eat this. good enough for you," he said, in a surly tone. they were all too hungry to refuse the bread or the water, which, in spite of its brackish taste, quenched the thirst from which they had long been suffering. their gaoler left them the lantern, in order that they might see how to divide the bread. it assisted them also to select places on which to stretch themselves round the room, and, in spite of the hardness of their couches, in a short time were all asleep. some more bread and water was brought them in the morning, and a similar unpalatable meal was provided in the afternoon. this was evidently to be their only food during their imprisonment. they had no one to complain to, no means of obtaining redress; so, like wise men, they made up their minds to bear it, though tom grumbled and growled all day long at the way in which he was treated. rayner supposed that the commandant was waiting for a reply to the report he had sent to leogane. until that could arrive, no change either for the better or worse was likely to be made in their treatment. le duc was still allowed to live; but, in spite of his high spirits, the feeling that he might at any moment be led out and shot was telling upon him. the two officers and jack did their best to encourage him, and, under the circumstances, it was wonderful how he kept up. in the evening the gaoler appeared with their usual fare. "there will be one less of you to feed to-morrow," he growled out, looking at le duc, "and i can't say but that you five others mayn't have to join him company, for while the firing party are out it is as easy to shoot six as one." le duc made no answer, but bent his head down on his manacled hands. it was the first sign of deep emotion he had exhibited. "i hope the fellow is only trying to alarm you for the purpose of exercising his own bad feelings," said rayner, after the surly gaoler had gone. again left in darkness, they prepared to pass another disagreeable night. rayner felt that their position was critical in the extreme. he and his companions, accused as they were of being spies, might be led out at any moment and shot. he therefore considered it his duty to prepare his companions as best he could for the worst. oliver he knew was as ready to die as he was himself. he spoke earnestly and faithfully to the others, pointing out the unspeakable importance of being prepared to stand in the presence of the judge of all men. he was thankful to hear jack's reply, which expressed the simple hope of the christian--faith in christ as a saviour; but the other two were silent. after rayner and his companions had talked for some time they stretched themselves on the bench to try and obtain some sleep. that was more easily sought for than found, for no sooner were they quiet than countless creatures began to sting, and bite, and crawl over them. tom was continually slapping himself, and moaning and groaning. but, in spite of their hard stone couches and the attacks of the insects, they did manage to drop off occasionally. rayner's eyes had been closed some time when he was awakened by the dull roar of a gun fired from seaward. he started up, as did his companions. "where did that come from?" exclaimed oliver. before rayner could answer, the sound of eight or nine guns, a sloop's whole broadside, was heard, followed by the crash of the shot as they struck the fortification. in an instant the whole fort was in an uproar, the officers shouting their orders to the men, and the men calling to each other, as they rushed from their quarters to the ramparts. they had evidently been found napping, for before a single gun had been discharged from the fort, the shot from another broadside came plunging into it. the game, however, was not to be all on one side. the frenchmen's guns were heard going off as fast as they could get their matches ready. they could easily be distinguished by the far louder noise they made. those from the two other forts at the same time could be heard firing away. cries and shrieks rose from wounded men, and a loud explosion, as if a gun had burst, rent the air. "the vessel attacking is a corvette," cried rayner. "she must have run close in for her shot to strike in the way they are doing. it is a bold enterprise, and i pray she may be successful for her sake as well as ours." "can she be the _ariel_ or _lily_?" asked oliver. "whichever she is, the attempt would not have been made without good hope of success," remarked rayner. "i wish that we were out of this, and aboard her," exclaimed jack. "so do i," cried brown. "i don't like being boxed up here while such work is going on. couldn't we manage to break out?" "we are safe here, and we'd better remain where we are," said tom; "only i hope none of those round shot will find their way into this place." on the impulse of the moment jack and brown made a rush at the door, but it was far too strongly bolted to allow them to break it open. the other prisoners sat with their hands before them, hoping probably, as tom did, that no shot would find its way among them. rayner and oliver looked up at the windows near the roof, but they were strongly-barred and too narrow to enable a grown man to squeeze through them. to sit down quietly seemed impossible. they stood therefore listening, and trying to make out by the sounds which reached their ears how the fight was going. presently some more guns were heard coming from the sea. "there must be another vessel!" exclaimed rayner. "hark! she must be engaging the upper fort. i thought that one would scarcely venture singly to attack the three forts." the roar of the artillery continued. suddenly there burst forth a loud thundering sound. the ground beneath their feet shook, the walls trembled, and the roof seemed about to fall on their heads, while the glare of a vivid flame penetrating through the windows lighted up the whole interior of the building, shrieks, groans, and cries echoing through the fort. the magazine had blown up. it was a wonder that the prison itself had not been hurled to the ground. "thank heaven, we have escaped!" exclaimed oliver. the attacking vessels still continued firing, and after a short interval the fort once more replied, but evidently with fewer guns than before. a crash was heard over their heads, and down fell a mass of timber, plank, and tiles just above the door. looking up, the clear sky could be seen, from out of which a crescent moon shone brightly. no one was injured, for the shot, having torn its way through the roof, had fallen outside. "hurrah! thanks to that shot, we may make our escape out of this, for the frenchmen are too much engaged at the guns to see us!" cried jack. "let us get down to the shore, and when we are once there we may manage to find our way aboard the ship. the chances are we shall find some fishing boat or other on the beach. may we try, sir, what we can do?" "what do you say, oliver? shall we make the attempt jack proposes?" asked rayner. "if we go we must take le duc with us, i wish that we could find something to knock off his chains, and we might set the other poor fellows at liberty." to climb out would be no difficult matter, as brown found that by standing on tom's and jack's shoulders he could reach the lower part of the roof. but rayner positively refused to go without first setting le duc at liberty. he told brown to try and dislodge a piece of stone from the wall with which they might break the prisoners' chains. suddenly tom recollected that he had stowed away one of the files which le duc himself had brought in his pocket. "hand it here," cried rayner; and heat once began filing away. in the meantime brown managed to get hold of one of the upper stones of the wall. it was hard, and had a sharp side. "here it is, sir," he said, clambering down and bringing it to rayner. a few blows on the bench served to sever the link already partly filed through. "oh! set us free, monsieur?" cried the other prisoners. "what does he say?" asked brown. "there won't be time to set you both free, but i'll see what i can do for one of you;" and he began filing away, and with the help of the stone he managed to liberate the arm of one of the men. "here, take the file and see what you can do for your comrade," he said. the rest of the party had in the meantime begun to mount the wall. chapter thirty five. new adventures and successes. as oliver, who went first, had just got to the top, his attention was attracted by loud shouts coming from the rear of the fort. above them quickly rose a hearty british cheer. showers of bullets came flying through the air. the shouts and cries increased. amid the clash of steel, and the sharp crack of pistols, the voices of the officers reached him calling the men to abandon the guns and defend the fort. but it was too late. already a strong party of blue-jackets and marines were inside. the gate in the rear, insufficiently protected, had evidently been taken by a rush. the frenchmen, as they always do, fought bravely, but hurrying up without order, many of them without muskets, they were driven back. even had they been better disciplined, nothing could have withstood the fierce onslaught of the british. numbers of the defenders were seen to fall, their officers being killed or made prisoners. most of the remainder, taking to flight, crept through the embrasures or leapt over the parapet. directly oliver announced what was going on, the rest of the party were more eager than ever to get out. jack was the last drawn up, and they all, with le duc, dropped on the ground. "hullo! here's a firelock, and a bayonet at the end of it," said brown, picking up a musket which the sentry had probably thrown down when making his escape. "hurrah, boys! we'll charge the mounseers, and make them wish they'd never set eyes on us." brown, in his eagerness, would have set off without waiting for his companions. three muskets were found piled close outside of the prison, and a little way off lay the body of an officer who had been shot while making his way to the rear. rayner took possession of his sword. the victorious assailants were now sweeping onwards towards the farther end of the fort, in which direction most of the garrison had fled. at the other end rayner observed a group of men, either undecided how to act or waiting an opportunity to attack the british in the rear, for they could now see by the increasing daylight that it was but a small party which had surprised the fort. brown had seen them also, and, excited at finding himself at liberty, rushed forward with his musket at the charge, without waiting for his companions. they, however, coming out from behind the buildings, were following in the rear. on seeing them approach, a french officer, stepping forward, shouted out that they surrendered. brown, not understanding his object, still charged on, and whisking his sword out of his hand, would have run him through had he not slipped and fallen, while the rest of the party, supposing he had been killed, retreated out of the way of the bold seaman. "get up, old fellow, and defend yourself," cried brown. "i'm not the chap to strike a man when he's down;" and as he spoke he picked up the officer's sword, and, helping him to his feet, presented it to him. all this was done so rapidly that rayner and his companions arrived only just in time to prevent brown, who had stepped back a few paces, from making a lunge with his bayonet at the astonished frenchman, who, now seeing an officer, though he did not recognise rayner, again cried out that he surrendered, and skipping out of brown's way offered his sword. the rest of the garrison, seeing the storming party, who had now swept round, coming towards them, threw down their arms, and cried for quarter, while the officers, amongst whom were captain dupuis and sergeant gabot, presented their swords to rayner and oliver. they, turning round, had the satisfaction of greeting lieutenant horrocks and other officers of the _lily_ and _ariel_. "glad to see you, rayner and crofton. we all thought you were dead. no time to ask how you escaped. we've got to take those two other forts. if you like you can come with us. crofton, you can take charge of the prisoners. i'll leave sergeant maloney and a dozen men with you. the rest follow me." saying this, the first lieutenant of the _lily_ led his men on to the attack of the other fort still engaged with the _ariel_, rushing on, they were up to the rear of it before the garrison were aware of the capture of the larger fort. by a sudden dash it was taken as the former had been, the _british_ not losing a single man, though several of its defenders, attempting to stand their ground, were cut down. a rocket let off the moment they were in was the signal to the _ariel_ to cease firing. the third fort higher up, towards which she had hitherto only occasionally fired a gun, now engaged her entire attention. the increasing light showed the garrison the _british_ flags flying above the ramparts of the two other forts, yet they showed no signs of giving in. though the guns were well placed for defence on the west side, the rear offered a weak point. without halting, lieutenant horrocks led his men towards it. "lads, we must be over those ramparts in five minutes," he said, pointing to them with his sword. "in two, if you please, sir!" shouted the men. rayner, who was among those leading, cheered, and springing forward, leapt into the ditch and began climbing up the bank on the opposite side. the blue-jackets of his own ship eagerly pressed after him. he was the first at the top, and with a dozen others who had followed him closely, leapt down among a number of the garrison who, leaving their guns, had hurriedly collected to oppose them. in vain the defenders attempted to resist the impetuous attack. fresh assailants, among the first of whom was lieutenant horrocks, came on, and inch by inch driven back; and seeing that all further resistance was useless, the frenchmen threw down their arms and cried for quarter. it was now daylight, and there was still much to be done. the prisoners had to be collected, the forts blown up, and the men embarked. lieutenant horrocks gave rayner the satisfactory intelligence that two privateers had been captured at the entrance of the harbour by the boats without firing a shot. the crews, however, had resisted when boarded, and two officers, one of whom was lieutenant lascelles, had been badly wounded. "poor fellow! if he recovers i don't think he will be fit for service for some time," said the first lieutenant. "i shall have to report the gallant way in which you assisted in the capture of the fort." the prisoners being collected from the three forts, and assembled on the beach, captain saltwell came on shore and offered the officers their liberty and permission to carry away any of their private property on condition of their pledging their word of honour not to serve against the english again during the war. this they willingly gave. the men also were to be dismissed, though it was useless to make terms which they would not have it in their power to keep. the wounded were collected, and the garrison were allowed to carry off such materials as could be easily removed for forming huts and tents to shelter them. on going through the fort, rayner and oliver looked into the prison. the two captives had made their escape. le duc had hitherto remained with the english. he naturally feared that he should be considered a traitor should he venture among his own countrymen. "but ah, messieurs, i love france as well as ever; and though i regard the english as brothers after the treatment i have received from them, i would not injure her or her people." rayner therefore proposed that he should come on board the _lily_ and remain at jamaica until he could return home. the last scene had now to be enacted. the marines and parties of seamen had been employed for some hours in digging holes under the fortifications, which were then filled with casks of powder, the whole being connected by carefully laid trains. the men were next embarked. one boat alone remained under each fort, the gunner and boatswain of the _lily_ and a warrant officer of the _ariel_ being ordered to fire the trains. rayner had taken command of one of the _lily's_ boats. the men waited with their oars in their hands, ready to shove off at a moment's notice. mr coles, the gunnel, who was in rayner's boat, ascended the bank match in hand. presently he was seen rushing down again, faster probably than he had ever moved before. "no time to lose, sir," he shouted, as he leapt on board. "the fuse in this hot country burns faster than i calculated on." "give way, lads!" cried rayner. the men bent to their oars. the other boats were seen pulling away at the same time. they had not got twenty fathoms from the shore, when a thundering report was heard, and up rose a portion of the large fort, filling the air with masses of stone and earth, and dust and smoke. in another second or two the other forts followed suit. the whole atmosphere was filled with a dense black cloud and masses of lurid flame beneath, while thundering reports in rapid succession rent the air. a few seconds afterwards down came showers of stone and earth and pieces of burning timber, just astern of the boats. had there been any delay they must have been overwhelmed. fortunately they all escaped injury, and pulled away for their ships, which, with the prizes, had in the meantime got under way and were standing out of the harbour. after a quick run the _ariel_ and _lily_ reached port royal to repair damages. rayner was sent for on board the flagship. "i have great pleasure in handing you your commission as lieutenant," said the admiral. "you have won it by your general meritorious conduct, as also by the gallantry you displayed in the capture of fort louis. i have appointed you as second lieutenant of the _lily_, and shall be very glad in another year or two to hear that you have obtained your commander's rank." these remarks of the admiral were indeed encouraging. rayner, of course, said what was proper in return, and pocketing his commission, bowed and took his departure for the shore, which he had to visit to obtain a new uniform and other articles. lascelles had been removed to the hospital, where he was to remain until he was sufficiently recovered to go home. rayner's only regret was being parted from oliver, the dangers they had gone through together having united them like brothers. while, however, their ships were refitting they were constantly in each other's society. "i wish that i had the chance of getting appointed to your ship," said oliver. "the _ariel_ will soon be going home, but for the sake of being with you i should be glad to remain out another year or two. i am well seasoned by this time, and have no fear of yellow jack." not many days after this the senior mate of the _lily_ was taken very ill while on shore. his shipmates declared that it was in consequence of his chagrin at finding that rayner had obtained his promotion before him. they were heartily sorry at having made so unkind a remark, when in two days news were received on board that the poor fellow had fallen a victim to yellow fever. rayner at once advised oliver to make application for the vacancy. he did so; the admiral appointed him to the _lily_, and captain saltwell was very glad to have him on board. le duc, who had been landed at kingston, came on board one day while the ship was fitting out and begged to speak to the second lieutenant, monsieur rayner. "ah, monsieur, the first thing i did on landing was to purchase a violin, and the next to play it, and i have fiddled with such good effect that i have played my way into the heart of a creole young lady whose father is wonderfully rich, and as i can turn my hand to other things besides fiddling, he has accepted me as his daughter's husband, and we are to be married soon. i propose settling at kingston as professor of music and dancing, teacher of languages, and other polite arts; besides which i can make fiddles, harpsichords, and other instruments; i am also a first-rate cook. indeed, monsieur lieutenant, i should blush were i to speak more of my accomplishments." "i congratulate you heartily," said rayner, "and i sincerely hope that you will be successful in your new condition. you will, i doubt not, be far happier living on shore with a charming young wife, than knocking about at sea with the chance of being shot or drowned." le duc having communicated his good fortune to jack and his other friends, and invited them to pay him a visit whenever they could get on shore, took his leave. chapter thirty six. fresh successes and perils. our hero had now got the first step up the ratlines as an officer. as the _lily's_ repairs were likely to occupy some time, captain saltwell had, by the admiral's permission, fitted out one of the prizes, a fine and fast little schooner, to which the name of the _active_ had been given. he intended to man her from his own and the _ariel's_ crews, and to send her cruising in search of the piratical craft which, under the guise of privateers, in vast numbers infested those seas. the admiral had intended to send a _protege_ of his own in charge of the vessel, but that officer was taken ill, and both lieutenant horrocks and the first lieutenant of the _ariel_ were engaged in attending to their respective ships. rayner was sent for, and the command was offered to him. he accepted it with delight, and begged that crofton might be allowed to accompany him. he took also jack and brown, and though he did not ask for tom fletcher, tom was sent among the men drafted for the purpose. the schooner was furnished with four carronades and two long six-pounders. her crew mustered twenty men. "we can dare and do anything in such a craft as this," he exclaimed, enthusiastically, as he and oliver were walking the deck together, while the schooner, under all sail, was steering a course for san domingo. before long they both dared and did several gallant actions. just as they had sighted the land they fell in with three piratical feluccas, either one of which was a match for the _active_. one, after a desperate resistance, was captured, another was sunk, and the third, while the british crew were securing their first prize, and endeavouring to save the drowning men, effected her escape. she was, however, shortly afterwards taken, and on the return of the _active_ to port royal with her prizes, the thanks of the merchants of jamaica were offered to lieutenant rayner for the service he had rendered to commerce. the admiral the next day sent for rayner, and received him with more cordiality than is generally awarded to junior officers. having listened to his report, and commended him for his gallantry. "how soon will you be ready to sail again?" he asked. "directly our damages have been repaired, and they won't take long, sir," was the answer. "that is right. i have received information that a desperate fellow in command of a craft somewhat larger than the _active_ has been pillaging vessels of all nations, and it will be a feather in your cap if you take her." "i'll do my best, sir," answered rayner. in two days the _active_ was again at sea. within a fortnight, after a long chase, she had fought and driven on shore a large schooner, got her off again, and recaptured two of her prizes, returning in triumph with all three to jamaica. he and oliver were highly complimented on their success. the admiral, who was still in the harbour, invited them to dine on board the flagship. "mr horrocks has just obtained his promotion, and you are thus, mr rayner, first lieutenant of the _lily_; and, mr crofton, i intend to give you an acting order as second lieutenant, and i hope that before long you will be confirmed in your rank." this was good news. with happy hearts the two friends went on board the _lily_, which was now ready for sea. they found lieutenant horrocks packing up, ready to go on board a frigate just sailing for england. "i expect to enjoy a few weeks' hunting before i get a ship, and when i do get one i shall be very glad to have you, rayner, with me, should you be unemployed," he said as they parted. rayner would have preferred retaining the command of the _active_, but an officer older than himself was appointed to her, and he could not complain. once more the _lily_ was at sea. she cruised for some months, during which she captured several prizes, and cut out two others in a very gallant manner under the guns of a strong battery. oliver soon afterwards had the satisfaction of being confirmed in his rank as lieutenant. though commander saltwell made honourable mention of our hero on each occasion, he received no further recognition of his services. "i have no business to complain," he observed. "my position is only that of many others who have done more than i have, but i should like to be wearing an epaulette on my right shoulder when we get home, and obtain a command with you, oliver, as my first lieutenant." with this exception, rayner never alluded to the subject. the _lily's_ cruise was nearly up. she had lately sent away in her prizes her master and several petty officers and seamen, so that out of her establishment she could scarcely muster more than a hundred men. it was night, a light breeze blowing, the island of desirade bearing south-east by south, distant six or seven leagues. the two lieutenants had been talking of home. in a few months they expected to be at plymouth, and rayner's thoughts had been occupied, as they often were, with his brother officer's sweet sister, mary crofton. rayner had just come on deck to relieve oliver, who had the middle watch. he had been pacing the deck, waiting for daylight, to commence the morning operation of washing decks, and was looking to windward, when, as the light slowly increased, at some little distance off he made out the dim outline of a large ship. whether she was a friend or foe he could not determine; if the latter, the position of the _lily_ was critical in the extreme. he instantly sent the midshipman of the watch to arouse the commander, who hurried on deck. after watching the stranger for a few seconds, they both came to the conclusion that she was a frigate, and, as they knew of no english vessel of her class likely to be thereabouts, that she was french. "turn the hands up and make sail," said the commander. "we shall probably have to fight, but when the odds are so decidedly against us, it is my duty to avoid an action if i can." the crew at the boatswain's summons came tumbling up from below. all sail was immediately made, and the _lily's_ head directed to the north-west. she was seen, however, and quickly followed by the frigate, the freshening breeze giving an advantage to the larger vessel, which, having the weather-gauge, and sailing remarkably fast rapidly approached. "we've caught a tartar at last!" exclaimed tom. "the sooner we go below and put on our best clothes he better; we shall be taken aboard her before the day's much older." "how do you dare to say that!" cried jack. "look up there, you see our flag flying aloft, and i for one would sooner have our tight little craft sent to the bottom than be ordered to strike it. our skipper hasn't given in yet, and if he falls our first lieutenant will fight the ship as long as he has a plank to stand on." some of the crew, however, appeared to side with tom, and showed an inclination to desert their guns. rayner and oliver went among them and cheered them up. "lads!" cried the commander, who had observed some of them wavering as they gazed with looks of alarm at their powerful enemy, "most of you have sailed in the _lily_ with me since she was first commissioned. you know that i have never exposed your lives unnecessarily, and that we have always succeeded in whatever we have undertaken. you have gained a name for yourselves and our ship, and i hope you will not sully that name by showing the white feather. although yonder ship is twice as big as we are, still we must try to beat her off, and it will not be my fault if we don't." the men cheered heartily, and went to their guns. every preparation for battle being made--to the surprise of her own crew, and much more so to that of the frenchman--the commandant ordered her to be hove-to. "don't fire a shot until i tell you, lads!" he cried out. many looked at the stranger with anxious eyes; the flag of france was flying from her peak. eighteen guns grinned out from her ports on either side--twice the number of those carried by the _lily_, and of a far heavier calibre. as she got within range she opened fire, her shot flying through the _lily's_ sails, cutting her rigging and injuring several of her spars, but her guns were so elevated that not a man was hit on deck. "steady, lads! we must wait until she gets near enough to make every one of our guns tell!" cried the commander. even when going into action a british seaman often indulges in jokes, but on this occasion every man maintained a grim silence. "now, lads!" shouted the commander, "give it them!" at the short distance the enemy now was from them the broadside told with terrible effect, the shot crashing through her ports and sides, while the shrieks and groans of the wounded were clearly distinguished from the _lily's_ deck. the british crew, working with redoubled energy, hauled their guns in and out, and fired with wonderful rapidity, truly tossing them about as if they had been playthings. the french also fired, but far more slowly, sending hardly one shot to the _lily's_ two. the officers went about the deck encouraging the men and laying hold of the tackles to assist them in their labours. at any moment a well-directed broadside from the frigate might leave the corvette a mere wreck on the ocean, or send her to the bottom. every man on board knew this; but while their officers kept their flag flying at the peak, they were ready to work their guns and struggle to the last. an hour and a half had passed since the french frigate had opened her fire, and still the little sloop held out. commander saltwell's great object was to avoid being run down or boarded. this he managed to do by skilful manoeuvring. at length rayner, through his glass, observed the crew of the frigate running about her deck as if in considerable confusion. once more the _lily_ fired, but what was the astonishment of the british seamen to see her haul her main-tack aboard and begin to make all sail, putting her head to the northward. to follow was impossible, as the _lily_ had every brace and bowline, all her after backstays, several of her lower shrouds, and other parts of her rigging, shot away. her sails were also torn, her mainmast and main-topsail yard and foreyard a good deal injured. yet though she had received these serious damages aloft, strange to say one man alone of her crew had been slightly injured. "we must repair damages, lads, and then go and look after the enemy," cried the commander. the guns being run in and secured, every officer, man, and boy set to work, the commander with the rest. in a wonderfully short time the standing rigging was knotted or spliced, fresh running rigging rove, new sails bent, and the _lily_ was standing in the direction in which her late antagonist had some time before disappeared. not long after, however, the man at the mast-head discovered a large ship on the lee beam in the direction of guadaloupe. the _lily_ at once steered towards the stranger, when in the afternoon she came up with a vessel under french colours, which endeavoured to escape. several shots were fired. the stranger sailed on. "she looks like an english ship," observed the commander. "it will never do to let her get away. see what you can do, crofton." oliver went forward and trained the foremost gun. he fired, and down came the stranger's main-topsail yard. on this she hauled down her colours and hove-to. she proved to be, as the commander had supposed, a large english merchantman, a prize to the french frigate. the prisoners were at once removed, and the second lieutenant sent with a prize crew on board, when the _lily_ took her in tow. the wind was light, but a heavy swell sent the prize several times almost aboard the corvette, which was at length compelled to cast her adrift. the next morning the look-out from the mast-head of the _lily_ announced a sail on the lee bow. in a short time, daylight increasing, she was seen to be a frigate, and no doubt her late antagonist. captain saltwell at once bore down on her, making a signal to the prize to do so likewise, and at the same time running up several signals as if speaking another ship to windward. on this the frigate, making all sail, stood away, and as she had the heels both of the _lily_ and her prize, was soon out of sight. captain saltwell, satisfied, as he had every reason to be, with his achievement, ordered the course to be shared for jamaica. on his arrival he found his commission as post-captain waiting for him. he had won it by constant and hard service. "as i cannot reward you for the gallant way in which you beat off the french frigate and recaptured the merchant ship worth several thousand pounds, i must see what can be done for your first lieutenant," said the admiral. "i will apply for his promotion, and in the meantime will give him an acting order to command the _lily_, and to take her home." captain saltwell, thanking the admiral, expressed his intention to take a passage in his old ship. the news quickly spread fore and aft that the _lily_ was to be sent home. loud cheers rose from many a stout throat, the invalids, of which there were not a few, joining in the chorus from below. one-third of those who had come out had either fallen fighting in the many actions in which she had been engaged, or, struck down by yellow fever, lay in the graveyard of port royal. no time was lost in getting fresh water and provisions on board. never did crew work with more good-will than they did on this occasion. the _lily_ was soon ready for sea, and with a fair breeze ran out of port royal harbour. the war was still raging as furiously as ever, and the officers and crew well knew that before they could reach the shores of old england they might have another battle or two to fight. perhaps, in their heart of hearts, they would have preferred, for once in a way, a peaceful voyage. a look-out, however, was kept, but the atlantic was crossed, and the chops of the channel reached, without meeting a foe. here the _lily_ encountered a strong easterly gale, and in vain for many days endeavoured to beat up to her destination. having sighted scilly, she was standing off the land, from which she was at a considerable distance under close-reefed topsails, when the wind suddenly dropped, and soon afterwards shifted to the southwards. the helm was put down, and the crew flew aloft to shake out the reefs. they were thus engaged when a sail was seen to the south-east. the _lily_, standing on the opposite tack, rapidly neared her. every glass on board was directed towards the stranger. she was a ship apparently of much the same size as the _lily_, but whether an english cruiser or an enemy it was difficult to determine. the _lily_, by keeping away, might have weathered the lizard and avoided her. such an idea did not enter the young commander's head. on the contrary, he kept the ship close to the wind, so that by again going about he might prevent the stranger from passing him. his glass had never been off her. suddenly he exclaimed, "hurrah! she's french. i caught sight of her flag as she luffed up! hands about ship! we'll fight her, captain saltwell?" he added, turning to his former commander. "no doubt about it," said captain saltwell, "i should if i were in your place." the drum beat to quarters, the crew hurried to their stations, and every preparation was made for the expected battle. the stranger, after standing on some way, hauled up, so as to keep the weather-gauge, and, at the same time; to draw the _lily_ farther away from the english coast. once more the latter tacked, and passing under the stranger's stern, poured in a raking broadside. the stranger, coming about, returned the fire; but as the shot flew from her guns down came her mizenmast, and she fell off before the wind. the crew of the _lily_ cheered, and running in their guns, quickly fired a third broadside. the two ships now ran on side by side, rayner having shortened sail so as to avoid shooting ahead of his antagonist. notwithstanding the loss of their mizenmast, the frenchmen fought with spirit for some time, but their fire at length began to slacken, while the british seamen continued to work their guns with the same energy as at first. rayner now ordered the mizen-topsail and spanker to be set, and directed the crews of the starboard guns to refrain from firing until he should give the word; then putting down the helm, he suddenly luffed up, and stood across the bows of his opponent. "fire!" he cried; and gun after gun was fired in succession, the shot telling with fearful effect as they swept the deck of the french ship. the latter put down her helm in a vain attempt to avoid being raked, but her bowsprit catching in the mizen rigging of the _lily_, oliver, calling to jack and several other men, securely lashed it there, in spite of the fire which the marines from the enemy's forecastle opened on him and his companions. the bullets from the frenchmen's muskets came rattling sharply on board. two of the seamen were hit, and just at the same moment their young commander was seen to fall. a midshipman and the purser, who were standing by his side, caught him in their arms. chapter thirty seven. conclusion. "keep at it, my lads, until she strikes!" cried the young commander, as he fell. captain saltwell had meantime, seeing what would occur, ordered two guns to be run out at the after ports. scarcely had they been fired when an officer, springing into the forecastle of the french ship, waved his hat and shouted that they had struck. oliver and jack, on looking round for rayner, and seeing him bleeding on the deck, forgetful of everything else, sprang aft to his side. at that moment the crew raised a cheer of victory; rayner feebly attempted to join in it. he was carried below. with anxious hearts his officers and crew waited to hear the report of the surgeon. it was oliver's duty to go on board and take possession of the prize. unwillingly he left his friend's side. of the _lily's_ crew five had been killed, and many more beside her commander, wounded. but oliver saw, as he stepped on board the prize, how much more severely she had suffered. everywhere lay dead and dying men. how dread and terrible a fact is war! a lieutenant, coming forward, presented his sword. "my captain lies there," he said, pointing to a form covered by a flag. "the second lieutenant is wounded below; three other officers are among the dead. we did not yield while we had a chance of victory." "yours is a brave nation, and i must compliment you on the gallant way in which you fought your ship," answered oliver, in the best french he could command. to lose no time, the prisoners were removed, the prize taken in tow, and all sail made for plymouth. at length the surgeon come on deck. "the commander will do well, i trust," he said; "but i shall be glad to get him on shore as soon as possible. as soon as i had extracted the bullet, he sent me off to look after the other wounded men, saying that they wanted my care as well as he did." the crew on this gave a suppressed cheer. it would have been louder and more prolonged, but they were afraid of disturbing the commander and the other wounded men. all were proud of their achievement as they sailed up plymouth sound with their prize in tow, but no one felt prouder than jack peek. "i knew captain would do something as soon as he had the chance," he had remarked to brown, who greatly shared his feelings. rayner was at once removed to the hospital. as he was unable to hold a pen, captain saltwell wrote the despatches, taking care to give due credit to the active commander of the corvette. a short time afterwards oliver carried to the hospital--to which he had never failed to pay a daily visit--an official-looking letter. "ah! that will do him more good than my doctoring," said the surgeon, to whom he showed it. oliver opened it at rayner's request. it was from the lords of the admiralty, confirming him in his rank, and appointing him to command the _urania_ (the english name given to the prize), which, being a fine new corvette, a hundred tons larger than the _lily_, had been bought into the service. "it will take some time to refit her, and you will, i hope, be about again before she is ready for sea," said oliver. "i have brought a message from my mother, who begs, as soon as you are ready to be removed, that you will come and stay at our house. she is a good nurse, and you will enjoy more country air than you can here." rayner very gladly accepted the invitation. neither oliver nor mrs crofton had thought about the result, but before many weeks were over commander william rayner was engaged to marry mary crofton, who had given him as loving and gentle a heart as ever beat in woman's bosom. he told her how often he had talked about her when away at sea, and how often he had thought of her, although he had scarcely dared to hope that she would marry one who had been a london street boy and powder monkey. "i love you, my dear bill, for what you are, for being noble, true, and brave, and such you were when you were a powder monkey, as you call it, although you might not have discovered those qualities in yourself." he was now well able to marry, for his agents had in their hands several thousand pounds of prize-money, and he might reasonably hope to obtain much more before the war was over. our hero was well enough to assume the command of the _urania_ by the time she was ready for sea. oliver, as his first lieutenant, had been busily engaged in obtaining hands, and had secured many of the _lily's_ former crew. the commander had some time before sent for jack peek, and urged him to prepare himself for obtaining a boatswain's warrant. "thank you, sir," said jack; "but, you see, to get it i must read and write, and that's what i never could tackle. i have tried pothooks and hangers, but my fingers get all cramped up, and the pen splits open, and i have to let it drop, and make a great big splash of ink on the paper; and as for reading, i've tried that too. i know all the letters when i see them, but i can't manage to put them together in the right fashion, and never could get beyond a, b, ab, b, o, bo. i might in time, if i was to stick to it, i know, and i'll try when we are at sea if i can get a messmate to teach me. but while you're afloat i'd rather be your coxswain, if you'll give me that rating; then i can always be with you, and, mayhap, render you some service, which is just the thing i should be proud of doing. now, sir, there's tom fletcher; he's got plenty of learning, and he ought to be a good seaman by this time. if you were to recommend him to be either a gunner or a boatswain, he'd pass fast enough." rayner shook his head. "i should be happy to serve tom fletcher for old acquaintance' sake, but i fear that although he may have the learning, as you say, he has not got the moral qualities necessary to make a good warrant officer. however, send him to me, and i'll have a talk with him on the subject." jack promised to look after tom, whom he had not seen since the _lily_ was paid off. he returned in a few days, saying that he had long searched for him in vain, until at length he had found him in a low house in the lowest of the plymouth slums, his prize-money, to the amount of nearly a hundred pounds, all gone, and he himself so drunk that he could not understand the message jack brought him. "i am truly sorry to hear it," said rayner. "but you must watch him and try to get him on board. if he is cast adrift he must inevitably be lost, but we will try what we can do to reform him." "i will gladly do my best, sir," answered jack. when the _urania_ was nearly ready for sea, jack did contrive to get tom aboard of her, but the commander's good intentions were frustrated, for before the ship sailed he deserted with could not again be discovered. of this rayner was thankful, as he must of necessity have done what would have gone greatly against his feelings--ordered tom a flogging. honest brown, however, who had gone to school as soon as the _lily_ was paid off; received what he well deserved, his warrant as boatswain of the corvette he had helped to win. he had shortly to go to sea in a dashing frigate, and from that he was transferred to a seventy-four, in which he was engaged in several of england's greatest battles. some years passed, when after paying off the _urania_, as rayner was passing along a street in exeter, he heard a stentorian voice singing a verse of a sea ditty. the singer, dressed as a seaman, carried on his head the model of a full-rigged ship, which he rocked to and fro, keeping time to the tune. he had two wooden legs in the shape of mopsticks, and was supporting himself with a crutch, while with the hand at liberty he held out a battered hat to receive the contributions of his audience. occasionally, when numbers gathered round to listen to him, he exchanged his song for a yarn. as rayner approached he was saying, "this is the way our government treats our brave seamen. here was i fighting nobly for my king and country, when a frenchman's shot spoilt both my legs, and i was left to stump off as best i could on these here timber toes without a shiner in my pocket, robbed of all my hard-earned prize-money. but you good people will, i know, be kind to poor jack, and fill this here hat of his with coppers to give him a crust of bread and a sup to comfort his old heart. "`come all ye jolly sailors bold, whose hearts are cast in honour's mould, while england's glory i unfold, huzza to the _arethusa_!'" suddenly he recognised captain rayner, who, from being dressed in plain clothes, he had not at first observed. he started, and then began, with an impudent leer, "now, mates, i'll spin you another yarn about an english captain who now holds his head mighty high, and would not condescend to speak to poor jack if he was to meet him. we was powder-monkeys together, that captain and i. but luck is everything. he went up, and i went down. that's the way at sea. if all men had their deserts i should be where he is, in command of a fine frigate, in a fair way of becoming an admiral. but it's no use complaining, and so i'll sing on-- "`the famed _belle poule_ straight ahead did lie, the _arethusa_ seemed to fly, not a brace, or a tack, or a sheet did we slack on board of the _arethusa_.'" "no, no, mate, you was not aboard the _arethusa_!" cried jack peek, who had followed his captain at a short distance, and looking tom in the face. "you was not aboard the _arethusa_. i'll tell you what kept you down. it was conceit, idleness, drink, and cowardice; and i'll tell you what gave our brave captain his first lift in the service. it was his truthfulness, his good sense, his obedience to the orders of his superiors. it was his soberness, his bravery; and if you, with your learning and advantages, had been like him, you too might have been in command of a dashing frigate, and not stumping about on one wooden leg, with the other tied up to deceive the people. it's hard things i'm saying, i know, but i cannot stand by and hear a fellow who ought to know better running monstrous falsehoods off his reel as you have been doing. you might have borne up for greenwich, and been looked after by a grateful country; or you might have saved money enough to have kept yourself in comfort to the end of your days; but it all went in drink and debauchery, and now you abuse the government for not looking after you. howsumdever, tom fletcher, i'm very sorry for you, and if you'll knock off this sort of vagabond life, which brings disgrace on the name of a british sailor, i'll answer for it our good captain will exert his influence and get you a berth in greenwich or elsewhere, for he has often spoken about you, and wondered where you were a-serving." jack peek had probably never made so long a speech in his life. it was perhaps too long, for it enabled the old sailor to recover his presence of mind, and looking at jack with a brazen countenance, he declared that he had never seen him before, when off he went as fast as he could walk on his wooden stumps, and turning down a by-lane was lost to view. jack had to hurry on to overtake his captain. it was the last time he saw tom fletcher alive; but he afterwards heard that a man answering his description, who had been sent to prison as a rogue and a vagabond, had subsequently been killed in a drunken quarrel with another seaman of the same character. jack had followed his old friend and captain from ship to ship, and at length having overcome the difficulty not only of the alphabet, but of pothooks and hangers, he obtained his warrant, and for several years had charge of one of the ships in which he had fought and bled, now laid up in portsmouth harbour. in the course of years there was found in the list of english admirals the names of sir william rayner, kcb, john saltwell, and oliver crofton. the end. the pirate and the three cutters [illustration: publishers mark] [illustration: _cain._] the pirate and the three cutters by captain marryat with illustrations by edmund j. sullivan and an introduction by david hannay london macmillan and co., limited new york: the macmillan company _all rights reserved_ introduction among the few subjects which are still left at the disposal of the duly-gifted writer of romance is the pirate. not but that many have written of pirates. defoe, after preparing the ground by a pamphlet story on the historic captain avery, wrote _the life, adventures, and piracies of captain singleton_. sir walter scott made use in somewhat the same fashion of the equally historic gow--that is to say, his pirate bears about the same relation to the marauder who was suppressed by james laing, that captain singleton does to captain avery. michael scott had much to say of pirates, and he had heard much of them during his life in the west indies, for they were then making their last fight against law and order. the pirate could not escape the eye of mr. r. l. stevenson, and accordingly we have an episode of pirates in the episode of the _master of ballantrae_. balsac, too, wrote _argow le pirate_ among the stories which belong to the years when he was exhausting all the ways in which a novel ought not to be written. also the pirate is a commonplace in boys' books. yet for as much as he figures in stories for old and young, it may be modestly maintained that nobody has ever yet done him quite right. defoe's captain singleton is a harmless, thrifty, and ever moral pirate, of whom it is impossible to disapprove. sir walter's is a mild gentleman, concerning whom one wonders how he ever came to be in such company. michael scott's pirate is a bloodthirsty ruffian enough, and yet it is difficult to feel that a person who dressed in such a highly picturesque manner, and who was commonly either a don or a scotch gentleman of ancient descent, was quite the real thing. mr. stevenson's pirate is nearer what one knows must have been the life. he is a cowardly, lurking, petty scoundrel. john silver is certainly something very different, but then when mr. stevenson drew the commanding figure in treasure island he was not making a portrait of a pirate, but was only making play with the well-established puppet of boys' books. yet, after all, the pirate, if he was not such an agreeable rascal as john silver, was not always the greedy, spiritless rogue drawn in the _master of ballantrae_. to do him properly and as he was, he ought to be approached with a mixture of humour and morality, and also with a knowledge of the facts concerning him, which to the best of my knowledge have never been combined in any writer. captain johnson, in his valuable _general history of the pirates from their first rise and settlement in the island of providence to the present time_, begins with antiquity. he mounts up the dark backward abyss of time till he meets with the pirates who captured julius caesar, and were suppressed by pompey. this is not necessary. our pirate was a very different fellow from those broken men of the ancient world, the wrecks of states shattered by rome and the victims of the usury of the knights who collected in the creeks of cilicia. it is not quite easy to say what he was, but we know well enough what he was not. he was not for many generations the recognised enemy of the human race. on the contrary, he was often a comparative respectable person, who was disposed to render service to his king and country at a crisis, even if he did not see his advantage in virtuous conduct. to begin with, he was only a seafaring man who carried on the universal practice of the middle ages after they had ceased to be recognised as legitimate. then for a long time a pirate was not thought worthy of hanging until he had shown a hopelessly contumacious disposition by refusing the king's pardon several times. sir william monson, who was admiral to james i., saw no harm in recruiting well-known pirates for his majesty's service. on the coast of ireland he found irish country gentlemen of respectable position, and the agents of london trading firms, engaged in friendly business transactions with these skimmers of the sea. the redoubted captain bartholomew roberts, to skip over a century, went about the world recruiting for a well-organised piratical business, and there were many among his followers who would have been honest men if temptation had not come in their way, and who hastened to leave a life of vice so soon as the neighbourhood of one of his majesty's cruisers made it dangerous. we ought not to speak of these men with harsh contempt. the king's government was largely responsible for their existence, by promising pardon to all who would come in before a given date. they came in and brought their booty with them. captain johnson had the pleasure of the personal acquaintance of several who were living in comfortable retirement at rotherhithe or at limehouse, and in the enjoyment, for aught we know to the contrary, of the respect of their neighbours. they had come in on a proclamation, and there was nothing more to be said against them. in many cases, no doubt, when the booty was spent they drifted back to the old irregular courses, and on that road those of them who did not get shot when boarding a galleon, or go down at sea, or die of starvation among the keys of the west indies, did sooner or later contrive to overtake the gallows. but these men, if they were not quite so moral and orderly as captain singleton, or so romantic as the pirates of michael scott, were not altogether bloodthirsty, merciless scoundrels. many of them had every intention of returning to their country upon the appearance of the next proclamation, and as they saw the prospect of a safe return for themselves they were not under the necessity of acting on the rule that dead men tell no tales. they did not make their prisoners walk the plank. they did not even burn their prizes, but were often content with taking out such provisions and portable property as their immediate occasions made desirable, and then allowing the plundered merchant-ship to continue her voyage. they were by no means so thoroughly hated as they ought to have been, to judge by the more recent opinion held of the pirate. in fact, till towards the end of the pirate's existence he was nearly as much the product of the government's management as of his own sins. during charles ii.'s reign, his governors in jamaica gave what they were pleased to term commissions to all who would plunder the spaniard. the spaniards retaliated by giving commissions to all who would plunder anyone else. the marauder who victimised the spaniard was sure of a market, and a refuge in jamaica. the other marauder who was prepared to feed upon english, dutch, or french, was sure of a welcome in cuba. when governments suddenly took to being virtuous, a sense of wrong inflamed the minds of the men who had hitherto been allowed to live in recognised lawlessness. captain kidd, for example, manifestly thought that lord bellomont and the other gentleman who sent him out to madagascar to cruise against the pirates, were only assuming a decent excuse for a little speculation in piracy on their own account. the freebooters who settled at providence, in the bahamas, were really to be pardoned for not realising that the happy days of governor moddiford at jamaica were over. when they were made to understand that there were to be no more of these cakes and ale, the majority, under the command of captain jennings, promptly came in. captain jennings was the owner of an estate in jamaica, and he brought a comfortable little sum back with him from his piratical adventures. the residue, who probably had no comfortable sum to bring with them, did not come in, and as they were given to understand that they would certainly be hanged if caught, they took in self-defence to giving no quarter. so at the end of the great war, the powers who had encouraged privateering while the fighting lasted, without inquiring too closely how far the privateer confined his operations to the enemy only without plundering the neutral, became suddenly very strict. then the men whom they had allowed to become hardened to a life of pillage took refuge in downright piracy. these men were the _pescadores del puerto escondido_ who enlightened the pages of michael scott. the spaniards tolerated them as the english governors of jamaica had once encouraged the buccaneers. it was not until a combined vigorous effort of the english and the united states navies had driven them off the sea, and till they had begun to support themselves by plundering plantations, that the captains-general of cuba took them in hand. now, in all this life, floating as it did between the honest and the dishonest, there was room for something more human than the be-sashed, velvet-jacketed, crimson-capped, and long-knifed heroes of michael scott, or than the mere rogue and floating footpad we meet in _the master of ballantrae_. there was also room, it must be candidly allowed, for something better than captain cain of the _avenger_. the _pirate_ is not among the books which one most willingly re-reads out of marryat's very respectably lengthy list of stories. yet it is not without gaiety, and, as is ever the case with him, the man-of-war scenes are all alive. captain plumpton, and mr. markital the first lieutenant, and edward templemore the midshipman, are credible. whenever marryat has to introduce us to a man-of-war, he could draw on inexhaustible treasure of reminiscences, or of what is for the story-writer's purpose quite as good, of types and incidents which his imagination had made out of incidents supplied by his memory. the naval parts of the _pirate_ are no doubt variations on what he had recently written in _midshipman easy_, but they are not mere repetitions, and they have the one saving quality of life, which will make even a poorly constructed story readable. it is impossible to say as much for the captain and crew of the _avenger_. cain is not only not a pirate, but he is not a human being. he is a byronic or even a michael scottish hero--an impossible monster, compounded of one virtue and a thousand crimes. there never was any such person, and even on paper he is not tolerable for more than a paragraph or two without the help of verse. the crew of the _avenger_ is an inconceivable ship's complement for any pirate. credulity itself cannot even in early life accept the capture of the portuguese carrack. marryat drew on his recollections of the time when he was a midshipman with cochrane in the _impèrieuse_, for the figure of the old steersman, who sticks to his post under the fire of the _avenger_. he had seen the mate of a spanish trading ship behaving in just that way when attacked by boats from the _impèrieuse_. when he was asked why he did not surrender, though he was mortally wounded and had no chance of escape, he answered that he was an 'old christian.' the term, which by the way only means a pure-blooded spaniard, puzzled marryat and his shipmates. it is not wonderful that he did not understand its meaning, since in spite of campaigning in spain, and many visits to spanish ports, he never learnt to avoid the absurd blunder of putting the title don before a surname. but if the steersman is drawn from life, so are not either the carrack, which is a fragment of the sixteenth century, out of its place, nor 'don' ribiera and his sons, nor the bishop, nor anybody else in that ill-fated ship, nor the stilted, transpontine style of their conversation. francisco and his bible are no more credible than the carrack and the bishop. francisco's brother and his love affairs are not more credible, though they are decidedly more tolerable. the daughters of spanish governors who carry on flirtations on the sea-shore with the captains of english men-of-war, who are carried off by pirates and rescued in the nick of time, whose papas not only consent to their marriage with the heretical object of their affections but send boxes full of gold doubloons, together with their blessing, are so much better than life that we need not quarrel when invited to meet any number of them. the sea adventures in marryat are always good, and so are the fights. the storms and wrecks, the rafts and wonderful escapes, the defences of houses, and the escapes of pirates and smugglers from under the very guns of his majesty's frigates, are as welcome as, and are much more credible than, the lovely daughters of benevolent spanish governors. of them there is no want, and for their sake the _pirate_ can be read; but it is not what marryat might have made it if he had written it in the spirit in which he was to write _snarley-yow_. in _the three cutters_ marryat allowed himself to take a little holiday in company with another kind of sea malefactor whom he knew intimately well. he had already played with the smuggler in _the king's own_. in this little story he reintroduces us to m'elvina, somewhat disguised, and in altered circumstances, but essentially the same. _the three cutters_ may be supposed to have been written to fill out the volume containing _the pirate_ and those twenty engravings from drawings by clarkson stanfield, which still make the first edition a desirable possession. this function, whether it was originally designed or not, is very agreeably fulfilled by the history of the _arrow_, the _active_, and _happy-go-lucky_. although he wrote very few of them, marryat had a happy hand with a short story. _the s. w. and by w. and / w. wind_ and _moonshine_ are very happy examples of the magazine story. _the three cutters_ is somewhat longer than either, but the difference in bulk is due less to any greater amount of pure story there is than to the care with which marryat introduces his three vessels, and sketches their respective starting-places--plymouth, portsmouth, and st. malo. here again it is to be noted that marryat is far more at home in the man-of-war than in the smuggler or the yacht. mr. appleboy, with his forty-five years' service, and the interesting story which remains untold of the something which took place in ' or ' , his seventeen daily tumblers of gin-toddy, his mate and his midshipman, is a part, and not an inferior one, of marryat's inimitable naval gallery. the _happy-go-lucky_ is perhaps rather a smuggler of the pays bleu than of the british channel, but she is sufficiently in place in a story not intended to be too slavishly faithful to life. morrison, the sailing-master, with his augury of the blue pigeon, is real, and nothing can be more consistent with human nature than that he should have cursed the bird when he did finally find himself in prison. as for the adventures, they belong to the region of the fantastic, which does not pretend to be anything else. the idea of a yacht which endeavours the capture of a smuggler, and is herself made prize by him, is of course a motive for farce. the scenes on board the captive yacht are not exactly horse-play. there are too many ladies concerned, and marryat, in spite of occasional lapses of taste, preferred to write like a gentleman. but if there is no horse-play there is a great deal of what i hope it is permissible to describe as 'lark.' the sour old maid miss ossulton, her niece cecilia, who, if she has not much character, is still a very nice girl, the frisky widow mrs. lascelles, make a capital trio. given a gallant dashing smuggler, who is really a gentleman in disguise, in possession of the yacht, and determined to revenge himself on the owner by taking a little harmless amusement, it follows that lively incidents are to be expected. marryat did not work the situation out at any length, probably because he felt that the stuff would not bear much handling. if he cut his story short for this reason he was undoubtedly right. it is so difficult as to be quite impossible for the majority of writers to hang just on the border of the outrageously impossible for more than a few pages. while it lasts it is very good fun. the reformation of pickersgill through the influence of mrs. lascelles is quite in marryat's manner. his heroes, when they need reformation, are commonly brought into the right path by the combined influence of a pretty woman and a round sum of money. mrs. lascelles, too, was unquestionably just the woman to marry pickersgill. having married an old man to please her parents, and having inherited his money, she had decided both to marry again and to please herself in her second husband. experience shows that the mrs. lascelles of real life not uncommonly fall into the hands of a ruffian or an adventurer. marryat was not making a study of real life, and he was too fond of his puppets; and besides that would have been another story, which would have been superfluous, considering that marryat wanted to end this one. so mrs. lascelles had her fine dashing seaman, who stood six feet odd in his stockings, and was also a gentleman in disguise. of course she was happy ever after. one has a haunting suspicion that the story was not only written to fill out the volume, but also to accompany clarkson stanfield's three very pretty plates of plymouth, portsmouth, and st. malo. if so, that only proves that when a man is a born storyteller he can write good stories for very humble business reasons. contents the pirate page chapter i the bay of biscay chapter ii the bachelor chapter iii the gale chapter iv the leak chapter v the old maid chapter vi the midshipman chapter vii sleeper's bay chapter viii the attack chapter ix the capture chapter x the sand-bank chapter xi the escape chapter xii the lieutenant chapter xiii the landing chapter xiv the meeting chapter xv the mistake chapter xvi the caicos chapter xvii the trial chapter xviii conclusion the three cutters page chapter i cutter the first chapter ii cutter the second chapter iii cutter the third chapter iv portland bill chapter v the travestie chapter vi the smuggling yacht chapter vii conclusion list of illustrations the pirate page cain _frontispiece_ 'coco ab ten finger, and take long while suck em all dry' coco shouted to his utmost, and fortunately attracted notice 'that will do, jonathan; i'll ring for coffee presently' oswald bareth gained the helm, which he put hard up 'i'll cleave to the shoulder the first man who attempts to break into the spirit-room' found his green morocco easy-chair already tenanted by william the footman 'antony, for shame! fie, for shame!' he walked with his coat flying open, his thumbs stuck into the arm-holes of his waistcoat a general discharge from a broadside of carronades, and a heavy volley of muskets, was the decided answer 'take that, babbler, for your intelligence; if these men are obstinate, we may have worked for nothing' '_blood for blood!_' cried francisco, as he fired his pistol at cain, who staggered, and fell on the deck before francisco had gained the sand-bank she was hull-down to the northward at last he snatched up the haulyards of his boat's sail, and hastened down to the spot to afford such succour as might be possible the flames increased in violence, mounting up to the masts and catching the sails one after another don felix de maxos de cobas de manilla d'alfarez, too busy with his cigar to pay attention to his daughter francisco fixed the glass against the sill of the window, and examined the vessel some time in silence the ball entered the left shoulder of hawkhurst, and he dropped his hold 'god bless you, boy! god bless you!' said cain; 'but leave me now' 'blood for blood i will have,' continued the mate, holding up his clenched hand, and shaking it almost in the pirate captain's face the pirate captain was seen to raise his body convulsively half out of the water--he floundered, sank, and was seen no more clara sprang into his arms, and was immediately in a state of insensibility the pirates at the bar as soon as she was sufficiently composed, was sworn, and gave her evidence 'blood for blood!' 'captain templemore, i wish you joy!' '_resurgam!_' said the butler the three cutters the ladies the hon. miss cecilia ossulton 'fie! mr. vaughan,' cried cecilia ossulton; 'you know it came from your heart' lieutenant appleboy 'salt water, sir!' cried jem. 'yes, sir,' replied mr. appleboy, tossing the contents of the tumbler in the boy's face the captain of the _happy-go-lucky_, jack pickersgill jeannette held her finger up to corbett, saying, with a smile, '_méchant!_' and then quitted the room the gun was loaded, and not being more than a mile from the smuggler, actually threw the ball almost a quarter of the way 'well, gentlemen, what do you want?' said pickersgill 'pirates!--_bloody, murderous stick-at-nothing_ pirates!' replied the steward 'upon my soul, my lord,' cried maddox, dropping on his knees, 'there is no burgundy on board--ask the ladies' miss ossulton, frightened out of her wits, took his arm; and, with mrs. lascelles on the other, they went up to the hotel 'mrs. lascelles,' said pickersgill, 'before we part, allow me to observe, that it is _you_ who have induced me to give up my profession----' the pirate chapter i the bay of biscay it was in the latter part of the month of june, of the year --, that the angry waves of the bay of biscay were gradually subsiding, after a gale of wind as violent as it was unusual during that period of the year. still they rolled heavily; and, at times, the wind blew up in fitful, angry gusts, as if it would fain renew the elemental combat; but each effort was more feeble, and the dark clouds which had been summoned to the storm now fled in every quarter before the powerful rays of the sun, who burst their masses asunder with a glorious flood of light and heat; and, as he poured down his resplendent beams, piercing deep into the waters of that portion of the atlantic to which we now refer, with the exception of one object, hardly visible, as at creation, there was a vast circumference of water, bounded by the fancied canopy of heaven. we have said, with the exception of one object; for in the centre of this picture, so simple, yet so sublime, composed of the three great elements, there was a remnant of the fourth. we say a remnant, for it was but the hull of a vessel, dismasted, water-logged, its upper works only floating occasionally above the waves, when a transient repose from their still violent undulation permitted it to reassume its buoyancy. but this was seldom; one moment it was deluged by the seas, which broke as they poured over its gunwale; and the next it rose from its submersion, as the water escaped from the portholes at its sides. how many thousands of vessels--how many millions of property--have been abandoned, and eventually consigned to the all-receiving depths of the ocean, through ignorance or through fear! what a mine of wealth must lie buried in its sands! what riches lie entangled amongst its rocks, or remain suspended in its unfathomable gulf, where the compressed fluid is equal in gravity to that which it encircles, there to remain secured in its embedment from corruption and decay, until the destruction of the universe and the return of chaos! yet, immense as the accumulated loss may be, the major part of it has been occasioned from an ignorance of one of the first laws of nature, that of specific gravity. the vessel to which we have referred was, to all appearance, in a situation of as extreme hazard as that of a drowning man clinging to a single rope-yarn; yet, in reality, she was more secure from descending to the abyss below than many gallantly careering on the waters, their occupants dismissing all fear, and only calculating upon a quick arrival into port. the _circassian_ had sailed from new orleans, a gallant and well-appointed ship, with a cargo, the major part of which consisted of cotton. the captain was, in the usual acceptation of the term, a good sailor; the crew were hardy and able seamen. as they crossed the atlantic, they had encountered the gale to which we have referred, were driven down into the bay of biscay, where, as we shall hereafter explain, the vessel was dismasted, and sprang a leak, which baffled all their exertions to keep under. it was now five days since the frightened crew had quitted the vessel in two of her boats, one of which had swamped, and every soul that occupied it had perished; the fate of the other was uncertain. we said that the crew had deserted the vessel, but we did not assert that every existing being had been removed out of her. had such been the case, we should not have taken up the reader's time in describing inanimate matter. it is life that we portray, and life there still was in the shattered hull thus abandoned to the mockery of the ocean. in the _caboose_ of the _circassian_, that is, in the cooking-house secured on deck, and which fortunately had been so well fixed as to resist the force of the breaking waves, remained three beings--a man, a woman, and a child. the two first-mentioned were of that inferior race which have, for so long a period, been procured from the sultry afric coast, to toil, but reap not for themselves; the child which lay at the breast of the female was of european blood, now, indeed, deadly pale, as it attempted in vain to draw sustenance from its exhausted nurse, down whose sable cheeks the tears coursed, as she occasionally pressed the infant to her breast, and turned it round to leeward to screen it from the spray which dashed over them at each returning swell. indifferent to all else, save her little charge, she spoke not, although she shuddered with the cold as the water washed her knees each time that the hull was careened into the wave. cold and terror had produced a change in her complexion, which now wore a yellow, or sort of copper hue. the male, who was her companion, sat opposite to her upon the iron range which once had been the receptacle of light and heat, but was now but a weary seat to a drenched and worn-out wretch. he, too, had not spoken for many hours; with the muscles of his face relaxed, his thick lips pouting far in advance of his collapsed cheeks, his high cheekbones prominent as budding horns, his eyes displaying little but their whites, he appeared to be an object of greater misery than the female, whose thoughts were directed to the infant and not unto herself. yet his feelings were still acute, although his faculties appeared to be deadened by excess of suffering. 'eh, me!' cried the negro woman faintly, after a long silence, her head falling back with extreme exhaustion. her companion made no reply, but, roused at the sound of her voice, bent forward, slid open the door a little, and looked out to windward. the heavy spray dashed into his glassy eyes, and obscured his vision; he groaned, and fell back into his former position. 'what you tink, coco?' inquired the negress, covering up more carefully the child, as she bent her head down upon it. a look of despair, and a shudder from cold and hunger, were the only reply. it was then about eight o'clock in the morning, and the swell of the ocean was fast subsiding. at noon the warmth of the sun was communicated to them through the planks of the _caboose_, while its rays poured a small stream of vivid light through the chinks of the closed panels. the negro appeared gradually to revive; at last he rose, and with some difficulty contrived again to slide open the door. the sea had gradually decreased its violence, and but occasionally broke over the vessel; carefully holding on by the door-jambs, coco gained the outside, that he might survey the horizon. 'what you see, coco?' said the female, observing from the _caboose_ that his eyes were fixed upon a certain quarter. 'so help me god, me tink me see something; but ab so much salt water in um eye, me no see clear,' replied coco, rubbing away the salt which had crystallised on his face during the morning. 'what you tink um like, coco?' 'only one bit cloud,' replied he, entering the _caboose_, and resuming his seat upon the grate with a heavy sigh. 'eh, me!' cried the negress, who had uncovered the child to look at it, and whose powers were sinking fast. 'poor lilly massa eddard, him look very bad indeed--him die very soon, me fear. look, coco, no ab breath.' the child's head fell back upon the breast of its nurse, and life appeared to be extinct. 'judy, you no ab milk for piccaninny; suppose um ab no milk, how can live? eh! stop, judy, me put lilly finger in um mouth; suppose massa eddard no dead, him pull.' coco inserted his finger into the child's mouth, and felt a slight drawing pressure. 'judy,' cried coco, 'massa eddard no dead yet. try now, suppose you ab lilly drop oder side.' poor judy shook her head mournfully, and a tear rolled down her cheek; she was aware that nature was exhausted. 'coco,' said she, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand, 'me give me heart blood for massa eddard; but no ab milk--all gone.' this forcible expression of love for the child, which was used by judy, gave an idea to coco. he drew his knife out of his pocket, and very coolly sawed to the bone of his forefinger. the blood flowed and trickled down to the extremity, which he applied to the mouth of the infant. 'see, judy, massa eddard suck--him not dead,' cried coco, chuckling at the fortunate result of the experiment, and forgetting at the moment their almost hopeless situation. the child, revived by the strange sustenance, gradually recovered its powers, and in a few minutes it pulled at the finger with a certain degree of vigour. [illustration: '_coco ab ten finger, and take long while suck em all dry._'] 'look, judy, how massa eddard take it,' continued coco. 'pull away, massa eddard, pull away. coco ab ten finger, and take long while suck em all dry.' but the child was soon satisfied, and fell asleep in the arms of judy. 'coco, suppose you go see again,' observed judy. the negro again crawled out, and again he scanned the horizon. 'so help me god, dis time me tink, judy--yes, so help me god, me see a ship!' cried coco joyfully. 'eh!' screamed judy faintly, with delight; 'den massa eddard no die.' 'yes, so help me god--he come dis way!' and coco, who appeared to have recovered a portion of his former strength and activity, clambered on the top of the _caboose_, where he sat, cross-legged, waving his yellow handkerchief, with the hope of attracting the attention of those on board; for he knew that it was very possible that an object floating little more than level with the water's surface might escape notice. as it fortunately happened, the frigate, for such she was, continued her course precisely for the wreck, although it had not been perceived by the look-out men at the mast-heads, whose eyes had been directed to the line of the horizon. in less than an hour our little party were threatened with a new danger, that of being run over by the frigate, which was now within a cable's length of them, driving the seas before her in one widely extended foam, as she pursued her rapid and impetuous course. coco shouted to his utmost, and fortunately attracted the notice of the men who were on the bowsprit, stowing away the foretopmast-staysail, which had been hoisted up to dry after the gale. [illustration: _coco shouted to his utmost, and fortunately attracted notice_.] 'starboard, hard!' was roared out. 'starboard it is,' was the reply from the quarter-deck, and the helm was shifted without inquiry, as it always is on board of a man-of-war; although, at the same time, it behoves people to be rather careful how they pass such an order, without being prepared with a subsequent and most satisfactory explanation. the topmast studding-sail flapped and fluttered, the foresail shivered, and the jib filled as the frigate rounded to, narrowly missing the wreck, which was now under the bows, rocking so violently in the white foam of the agitated waters that it was with difficulty that coco could, by clinging to the stump of the mainmast, retain his elevated position. the frigate shortened sail, hove-to, and lowered down a quarter-boat, and in less than five minutes coco, judy, and the infant were rescued from their awful situation. poor judy, who had borne up against all for the sake of the child, placed it in the arms of the officer who relieved them, and then fell back in a state of insensibility, in which condition she was carried on board. coco, as he took his place in the stern-sheets of the boat, gazed wildly round him, and then broke out into peals of extravagant laughter, which continued without intermission, and were the only replies which he could give to the interrogatories of the quarter-deck, until he fell down in a swoon, and was entrusted to the care of the surgeon. chapter ii the bachelor on the evening of the same day on which the child and the two negroes had been saved from the wreck by the fortunate appearance of the frigate, mr. witherington, of finsbury square, was sitting alone in his dining-room, wondering what could have become of the _circassian_, and why he had not received intelligence of her arrival. mr. witherington, as we said before, was alone; he had his port and his sherry before him; and although the weather was rather warm, there was a small fire in the grate, because, as mr. witherington asserted, it looked comfortable. mr. witherington having watched the ceiling of the room for some time, although there was certainly nothing new to be discovered, filled another glass of wine, and then proceeded to make himself more comfortable by unbuttoning three more buttons of his waistcoat, pushing his wig farther off his head, and casting loose all the buttons at the knees of his breeches; he completed his arrangements by dragging towards him two chairs within his reach, putting his legs upon one while he rested his arm upon the other. and why was not mr. witherington to make himself comfortable? he had good health, a good conscience, and eight thousand a year. satisfied with all his little arrangements, mr. witherington sipped his port wine, and putting down his glass again, fell back in his chair, placed his hands on his breast, interwove his fingers; and in this most comfortable position recommenced his speculations as to the non-arrival of the _circassian_. we will leave him to his cogitations while we introduce him more particularly to our readers. the father of mr. witherington was a younger son of one of the oldest and proudest families in the west riding of yorkshire; he had his choice of the four professions allotted to younger sons whose veins are filled with patrician blood--the army, the navy, the law, and the church. the army did not suit him, he said, as marching and counter-marching were not comfortable; the navy did not suit him, as there was little comfort in gales of wind and mouldy biscuit; the law did not suit him, as he was not sure that he would be at ease with his conscience, which would not be comfortable; the church was also rejected, as it was, with him, connected with the idea of a small stipend, hard duty, a wife and eleven children, which were anything but comfortable. much to the horror of his family he eschewed all the liberal professions, and embraced the offer of an old backslider of an uncle, who proposed to him a situation in his banking-house, and a partnership as soon as he deserved it; the consequence was, that his relations bade him an indignant farewell, and then made no further inquiries about him: he was as decidedly cut as one of the female branches of the family would have been had she committed a _faux pas_. nevertheless mr. witherington senior stuck diligently to his business, in a few years was partner, and at the death of the old gentleman, his uncle, found himself in possession of a good property, and every year coining money at his bank. mr. witherington senior then purchased a house in finsbury square, and thought it advisable to look out for a wife. having still much of the family pride in his composition, he resolved not to muddle the blood of the witheringtons by any cross from cateaton street or mincing lane; and after a proper degree of research, he selected the daughter of a scotch earl, who went to london with a bevy of nine in a leith smack to barter blood for wealth. mr. witherington being so unfortunate as to be the first comer, had the pick of the nine ladies by courtesy; his choice was light-haired, blue-eyed, a little freckled, and very tall, by no means bad-looking, and standing on the list in the family bible no. iv. from this union mr. witherington had issue: first, a daughter, christened moggy, whom we shall soon have to introduce to our readers as a spinster of forty-seven; and second, antony alexander witherington, esquire, whom we just now have left in a very comfortable position, and in a very brown study. mr. witherington senior persuaded his son to enter the banking-house, and, as a dutiful son, he entered it every day: but he did nothing more, having made the fortunate discovery that 'his father was born before him'; or, in other words, that his father had plenty of money, and would be necessitated to leave it behind him. as mr. witherington senior had always studied comfort, his son had early imbibed the same idea, and carried his feelings, in that respect, to a much greater excess: he divided things into comfortable and uncomfortable. one fine day lady mary witherington, after paying all the household bills, paid the debt of nature; that is, she died: her husband paid the undertaker's bill, so it is to be presumed that she was buried. mr. witherington senior shortly afterwards had a stroke of apoplexy, which knocked him down. death, who has no feelings of honour, struck him when down. and mr. witherington, after having lain a few days in bed, was by a second stroke laid in the same vault as lady mary witherington; and mr. witherington junior (our mr. witherington), after deducting £ , for his sister's fortune, found himself in possession of a clear £ per annum, and an excellent house in finsbury square. mr. witherington considered this a comfortable income, and he therefore retired altogether from business. during the lifetime of his parents he had been witness to one or two matrimonial scenes, which had induced him to put down matrimony as one of the things not comfortable; therefore he remained a bachelor. his sister moggy also remained unmarried; but whether it was from a very unprepossessing squint which deterred suitors, or from the same dislike to matrimony as her brother had imbibed, it is not in our power to say. mr. witherington was three years younger than his sister; and although he had for some time worn a wig, it was only because he considered it more comfortable. mr. witherington's whole character might be summed up in two words--eccentricity and benevolence; eccentric he certainly was, as most bachelors usually are. man is but a rough pebble without the attrition received from contact with the gentler sex; it is wonderful how the ladies pumice a man down to a smoothness which occasions him to roll over and over with the rest of his species, jostling but not wounding his neighbours, as the waves of circumstances bring him into collision with them. mr. witherington roused himself from his deep reverie and felt for the string, connected with the bell-pull, which it was the butler's duty invariably to attach to the arm of his master's chair previous to his last exit from the dining-room; for, as mr. witherington very truly observed, it was very uncomfortable to be obliged to get up and ring the bell; indeed, more than once mr. witherington had calculated the advantages and disadvantages of having a daughter about eight years old who could ring the bell, air the newspapers, and cut the leaves of a new novel. when, however, he called to mind that she could not always remain at that precise age, he decided that the balance of comfort was against it. mr. witherington having pulled the bell again, fell into a brown study. mr. jonathan, the butler, made his appearance; but observing that his master was occupied, he immediately stopped at the door, erect, motionless, and with a face as melancholy as if he was performing mute at the porch of some departed peer of the realm; for it is an understood thing, that the greater the rank of the defunct the longer must be the face, and, of course, the better must be the pay. now, as mr. witherington is still in profound thought, and mr. jonathan will stand as long as a hackney-coach horse, we will just leave them as they are, while we introduce the brief history of the latter to our readers. jonathan trapp has served as foot-_boy_, which term, we believe, is derived from those who are in that humble capacity receiving a _quantum suff._ of the application of the feet of those above them to increase the energy of their service; then as foot-_man_, which implies that they have been promoted to the more agreeable right of administering instead of receiving the above dishonourable applications; and lastly, for promotion could go no higher in the family, he had been raised to the dignity of butler in the service of mr. witherington senior. jonathan then fell in love, for butlers are guilty of indiscretions as well as their masters: neither he nor his fair flame, who was a lady's-maid in another family, notwithstanding that they had witnessed the consequences of this error in others, would take warning; they gave warning, and they married. like most butlers and ladies'-maids who pair off, they set up a public-house; and it is but justice to the lady's-maid to say that she would have preferred an eating-house, but was overruled by jonathan, who argued, that although people would drink when they were not dry, they never would eat unless they were hungry. now, although there was truth in the observation, this is certain, that business did not prosper: it has been surmised that jonathan's tall, lank, lean figure injured his custom, as people are but too much inclined to judge of the goodness of the ale by the rubicund face and rotundity of the landlord, and therefore inferred that there could be no good beer where mine host was the picture of famine. there certainly is much in appearances in this world; and it appears, that in consequence of jonathan's cadaverous appearance, he very soon appeared in the _gazette_; but what ruined jonathan in one profession procured him immediate employment in another. an appraiser, upholsterer, and undertaker, who was called in to value the fixtures, fixed his eye upon jonathan, and knowing the value of his peculiarly lugubrious appearance, and having a half-brother of equal height, offered him immediate employment as a mute. jonathan soon forgot to mourn his own loss of a few hundreds in his new occupation of mourning the loss of thousands; and his erect, stiff, statue-like carriage, and long melancholy face, as he stood at the portals of those who had entered the portals of the next world, were but too often a sarcasm upon the grief of the inheritors. even grief is worth nothing in this trafficking world unless it is paid for. jonathan buried many, and at last buried his wife. so far all was well; but at last he buried his master, the undertaker, which was not quite so desirable. although jonathan wept not, yet did he express mute sorrow as he marshalled him to his long home, and drank to his memory in a pot of porter as he returned from the funeral, perched, with many others, like carrion crows on the top of the hearse. and now jonathan was thrown out of employment from a reason which most people would have thought the highest recommendation. every undertaker refused to take him, because they could not _match_ him. in this unfortunate dilemma jonathan thought of mr. witherington junior; he had served and he had buried mr. witherington his father, and lady mary his mother; he felt that he had strong claims for such variety of services, and he applied to the bachelor. fortunately for jonathan, mr. witherington's butler-incumbent was just about to commit the same folly as jonathan had done before, and jonathan was again installed, resolving in his own mind to lead his former life, and have nothing more to do with ladies'-maids. but from habit jonathan still carried himself as a mute on all ordinary occasions--never indulging in an approximation to mirth, except when he perceived that his master was in high spirits, and then rather from a sense of duty than from any real hilarity of heart. jonathan was no mean scholar for his station in life, and, during his service with the undertaker, he had acquired the english of all the latin mottoes which are placed upon the hatchments; and these mottoes, when he considered them as apt, he was very apt to quote. we left jonathan standing at the door; he had closed it, and the handle still remained in his hand. 'jonathan,' said mr. witherington, after a long pause, 'i wish to look at the last letter from new york; you will find it on my dressing-table.' jonathan quitted the room without reply, and made his reappearance with the letter. 'it is a long time that i have been expecting this vessel, jonathan,' observed mr. witherington, unfolding the letter. 'yes, sir, a long while; _tempus fugit_,' replied the butler in a low tone, half shutting his eyes. 'i hope to god no accident has happened,' continued mr. witherington; 'my poor little cousin and her twins! e'en now that i speak, they may be all at the bottom of the sea.' 'yes, sir,' replied the butler; 'the sea defrauds many an honest undertaker of his profits.' 'by the blood of the witheringtons! i may be left without an heir, and shall be obliged to marry, which would be very uncomfortable.' 'very little comfort,' echoed jonathan--'my wife is dead. _in coelo quies._' 'well, we must hope for the best; but this suspense is anything but comfortable,' observed mr. witherington, after looking over the contents of the letter for at least the twentieth time. 'that will do, jonathan; i'll ring for coffee presently;' and mr. witherington was again alone and with his eyes fixed upon the ceiling. a cousin of mr. witherington, and a very great favourite (for mr. witherington, having a large fortune, and not having anything to do with business, was courted by his relations), had, to a certain degree, committed herself; that is to say that, notwithstanding the injunctions of her parents, she had fallen in love with a young lieutenant in a marching regiment, whose pedigree was but respectable, and whose fortune was anything but respectable, consisting merely of a subaltern's pay. poor men, unfortunately, always make love better than those who are rich, because, having less to care about, and not being puffed up with their own consequence, they are not so selfish, and think much more of the lady than of themselves. young ladies, also, who fall in love, never consider whether there is sufficient 'to make the pot boil'--probably because young ladies in love lose their appetites, and, not feeling inclined to eat at that time, they imagine that love will always supply the want of food. now, we will appeal to the married ladies whether we are not right in asserting that, although the collation spread for them and their friends on the day of the marriage is looked upon with almost loathing, they do not find their appetites return with interest soon afterwards. this was precisely the case with cecilia witherington, or rather cecilia templemore, for she had changed her name the day before. it was also the case with her husband, who always had a good appetite, even during his days of courtship; and the consequence was that the messman's account, for they lived in barracks, was, in a few weeks, rather alarming. cecilia applied to her family, who very kindly sent her word that she might starve; but, the advice neither suiting her nor her husband, she then wrote to her cousin antony, who sent her word that he would be most happy to receive them at his table, and that they should take up their abode in finsbury square. this was exactly what they wished; but still there was a certain difficulty; lieutenant templemore's regiment was quartered in a town in yorkshire, which was some trifling distance from finsbury square; and to be at mr. witherington's dinner-table at p.m., with the necessity of appearing at parade every morning at a.m., was a dilemma not to be got out of. several letters were interchanged upon this knotty subject; and at last it was agreed that mr. templemore should sell out, and come up to mr. witherington with his pretty wife. he did so, and found that it was much more comfortable to turn out at nine o'clock in the morning to a good breakfast than to a martial parade. but mr. templemore had an honest pride and independence of character which would not permit him to eat the bread of idleness, and after a sojourn of two months in most comfortable quarters, without a messman's bill, he frankly stated his feelings to mr. witherington, and requested his assistance to procure for himself an honourable livelihood. mr. witherington, who had become attached to them both, would have remonstrated, observing that cecilia was his own cousin, and that he was a confirmed bachelor; but, in this instance, mr. templemore was firm, and mr. witherington very unwillingly consented. a mercantile house of the highest respectability required a partner who could superintend their consignments to america. mr. witherington advanced the sum required; and in a few weeks mr. and mrs. templemore sailed for new york. [illustration: '_that will do, jonathan; i'll ring for coffee presently._'] mr. templemore was active and intelligent; their affairs prospered; and in a few years they anticipated a return to their native soil with a competence. but the autumn of the second year after their arrival proved very sickly; the yellow fever raged; and among the thousands who were carried off mr. templemore was a victim, about three weeks after his wife had been brought to bed of twins. mrs. templemore rose from her couch a widow and the mother of two fine boys. the loss of mr. templemore was replaced by the establishment with which he was connected, and mr. witherington offered to his cousin that asylum which, in her mournful and unexpected bereavement, she so much required. in three months her affairs were arranged; and with her little boys hanging at the breasts of two negro nurses--for no others could be procured who would undertake the voyage--mrs. templemore, with coco as male servant, embarked on board of the good ship _circassian_, a i, bound to liverpool. chapter iii the gale those who, standing on the pier, had witnessed the proud bearing of the _circassian_ as she gave her canvas to the winds, little contemplated her fate: still less did those on board; for confidence is the characteristic of seamen, and they have the happy talent of imparting their confidence to whomsoever may be in their company. we shall pass over the voyage, confining ourselves to a description of the catastrophe. it was during a gale from the north-west, which had continued for three days, and by which the _circassian_ had been driven into the bay of biscay, that, at about twelve o'clock at night, a slight lull was perceptible. the captain, who had remained on deck, sent down for the chief mate. 'oswald,' said captain ingram, 'the gale is breaking, and i think before morning we shall have had the worst of it. i shall lie down for an hour or two: call me if there be any change.' oswald bareth, a tall, sinewy-built, and handsome specimen of transatlantic growth, examined the whole circumference of the horizon before he replied. at last his eyes were steadily fixed to leeward: 'i've a notion not, sir,' said he; 'i see no signs of clearing off to leeward: only a lull for relief, and a fresh hand at the bellows, depend upon it.' 'we have now had it three days,' replied captain ingram, 'and that's the life of a summer's gale.' 'yes,' rejoined the mate; 'but always provided that it don't blow black again. i don't like the look of it, sir; and have it back we shall, as sure as there's snakes in virginny.' 'well, so be if so be,' was the safe reply of the captain. 'you must keep a sharp look-out, bareth, and don't leave the deck to call me; send a hand down.' the captain descended to his cabin. oswald looked at the compass in the binnacle--spoke a few words to the man at the helm--gave one or two terrible kicks in the ribs to some of the men who were _caulking_--sounded the pump-well--put a fresh quid of tobacco into his cheek, and then proceeded to examine the heavens above. a cloud, much darker and more descending than the others, which obscured the firmament, spread over the zenith, and based itself upon the horizon to leeward. oswald's eye had been fixed upon it but a few seconds, when he beheld a small lambent gleam of lightning pierce through the most opaque part; then another, and more vivid. of a sudden the wind lulled, and the _circassian_ righted from her careen. again the wind howled, and again the vessel was pressed down to her bearings by its force; again another flash of lightning, which was followed by a distant peal of thunder. 'had the worst of it, did you say, captain? i've a notion that the worst is yet to come,' muttered oswald, still watching the heavens. 'how does she carry her helm, matthew?' inquired oswald, walking aft. 'spoke a-weather.' 'i'll have that trysail off of her, at any rate,' continued the mate. 'aft, there, my lads! and lower down the trysail. keep the sheet fast till it's down, or the flogging will frighten the lady passenger out of her wits. well, if ever i own a craft, i'll have no women on board. dollars shan't tempt me.' the lightning now played in rapid forks; and the loud thunder, which instantaneously followed each flash, proved its near approach. a deluge of slanting rain descended--the wind lulled--roared again--then lulled--shifted a point or two, and the drenched and heavy sails flapped. 'up with the helm, mat!' cried oswald, as a near flash of lightning for a moment blinded, and the accompanying peal of thunder deafened, those on deck. again the wind blew strong--it ceased, and it was a dead calm. the sails hung down from the yards, and the rain descended in perpendicular torrents, while the ship rocked to and fro in the trough of the sea, and the darkness became suddenly intense. 'down, there, one of you! and call the captain,' said oswald. 'by the lord! we shall have it. main braces there, men, and square the yards. be smart! that topsail should have been in,' muttered the mate; 'but i'm not captain. square away the yards, my lads!' continued he; 'quick, quick!--there's no child's play here!' owing to the difficulty of finding and passing the ropes to each other, from the intensity of the darkness, and the deluge of rain which blinded them, the men were not able to execute the order of the mate so soon as it was necessary; and before they could accomplish their task, or captain ingram could gain the deck, the wind suddenly burst upon the devoted vessel from the quarter directly opposite to that from which the gale had blown, taking her all aback, and throwing her on her beam-ends. the man at the helm was hurled over the wheel; while the rest, who were with oswald at the main-bits, with the coils of ropes, and every other article on deck not secured, were rolled into the scuppers, struggling to extricate themselves from the mass of confusion and the water in which they floundered. the sudden revulsion awoke all the men below, who imagined that the ship was foundering; and, from the only hatchway not secured, they poured up in their shirts with their other garments in their hands, to put them on--if fate permitted. oswald bareth was the first who clambered up from to leeward. he gained the helm, which he put hard up. captain ingram and some of the seamen also gained the helm. it is the rendezvous of all good seamen in emergencies of this description; but the howling of the gale--the blinding of the rain and salt spray--the seas checked in their running by the shift of wind, and breaking over the ship in vast masses of water--the tremendous peals of thunder--and the intense darkness which accompanied these horrors, added to the inclined position of the vessel, which obliged them to climb from one part of the deck to another, for some time checked all profitable communication. their only friend, in this conflict of the elements, was the lightning (unhappy, indeed, the situation in which lightning can be welcomed as a friend); but its vivid and forked flames, darting down upon every quarter of the horizon, enabled them to perceive their situation; and, awful as it was, when momentarily presented to their sight, it was not so awful as darkness and uncertainty. to those who have been accustomed to the difficulties and dangers of a seafaring life, there are no lines which speak more forcibly to the imagination, or prove the beauty and power of the greek poet, than those in the noble prayer of ajax:-- lord of earth and air, o king! o father! hear my humble prayer. dispel this cloud, the light of heaven restore; give me to see--and ajax asks no more. if greece must perish--we thy will obey; but _let us perish in the face of day_! [illustration: _oswald bareth gained the helm, which he put hard up._] oswald gave the helm to two of the seamen, and with his knife cut adrift the axes, which were lashed round the mizenmast in painted canvas covers. one he retained for himself--the others he put into the hands of the boatswain and the second mate. to speak so as to be heard was almost impossible, from the tremendous roaring of the wind; but the lamp still burned in the binnacle, and by its feeble light captain ingram could distinguish the signs made by the mate, and could give his consent. it was necessary that the ship should be put before the wind, and the helm had no power over her. in a short time the lanyards of the mizen rigging were severed, and the mizen mast went over the side, almost unperceived by the crew on the other parts of the deck, or even those near, had it not been from blows received by those who were too close to it, from the falling of the topsail sheets and the rigging about the mast. oswald, with his companions, regained the binnacle, and for a little while watched the compass. the ship did not pay off, and appeared to settle down more into the water. again oswald made his signs, and again the captain gave his assent. forward sprang the undaunted mate, clinging to the bulwark and belaying-pins, and followed by his hardy companions, until they had all three gained the main channels. here, their exposure to the force of the breaking waves, and the stoutness of the ropes yielding but slowly to the blows of the axes, which were used almost under water, rendered the service one of extreme difficulty and danger. the boatswain was washed over the bulwark and dashed to leeward, where the lee-rigging only saved him from a watery grave. unsubdued, he again climbed up to windward, rejoined and assisted his companions. the last blow was given by oswald--the lanyards flew through the dead-eyes--and the tall mast disappeared in the foaming seas. oswald and his companions hastened from their dangerous position, and rejoined the captain, who, with many of the crew, still remained near the wheel. the ship now slowly paid off and righted. in a few minutes she was flying before the gale, rolling heavily, and occasionally striking upon the wrecks of the masts, which she towed with her by the lee-rigging. although the wind blew with as much violence as before, still it was not with the same noise, now that the ship was before the wind with her after-masts gone. the next service was to clear the ship of the wrecks of the masts; but, although all now assisted, but little could be effected until the day had dawned, and even then it was a service of danger, as the ship rolled gunwale under. those who performed the duty were slung in ropes, that they might not be washed away; and hardly was it completed, when a heavy roll, assisted by a jerking heave from a sea which struck her on the chesstree, sent the foremast over the starboard cathead. thus was the _circassian_ dismasted in the gale. chapter iv the leak the wreck of the foremast was cleared from the ship; the gale continued; but the sun shone brightly and warmly. the _circassian_ was again brought to the wind. all danger was now considered to be over, and the seamen joked and laughed as they were busied in preparing jury-masts to enable them to reach their destined port. 'i wouldn't have cared so much about this spree,' said the boatswain, 'if it warn't for the mainmast; it was such a beauty. there's not another stick to be found equal to it in the whole length of the mississippi.' 'bah! man,' replied oswald; 'there's as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it, and as good sticks growing as ever were felled; but i guess we'll pay pretty dear for our spars when we get to liverpool--but that concerns the owners.' the wind, which at the time of its sudden change to the southward and eastward had blown with the force of a hurricane, now settled into a regular strong gale, such as sailors are prepared to meet and laugh at. the sky was also bright and clear, and they had not the danger of a lee shore. it was a delightful change after a night of darkness, danger, and confusion; and the men worked that they might get sufficient sail on the ship to steady her, and enable them to shape a course. 'i suppose, now that we have the trysail on her forward, the captain will be for running for it,' observed one who was busy turning in a dead-eye. 'yes,' replied the boatswain; 'and with this wind on our quarter we shan't want much sail, i've a notion.' 'well then, one advantage in losing your mast--you haven't much trouble about the rigging.' 'trouble enough, though, bill, when we get in,' replied another gruffly; 'new lower rigging to parcel and sarve, and every block to turn in afresh.' 'never mind, longer in port--i'll get spliced.' 'why, how often do you mean to get spliced, bill? you've a wife in every state, to my sartin knowledge.' 'i arn't got one at liverpool, jack.' 'well, you may take one there, bill; for you've been sweet upon that nigger girl for these last three weeks.' 'any port in a storm, but she won't do for harbour duty. but the fact is, you're all wrong there, jack: it's the babbies i likes--i likes to see them both together, hanging at the niggers' breasts, i always think of two spider-monkeys nursing two kittens.' 'i knows the women, but i never knows the children. it's just six of one and half-a-dozen of the other; ain't it, bill?' 'yes; like two bright bullets out of the same mould. i say, bill, did any of your wives ever have twins?' 'no; nor i don't intend, until the owners give us double pay.' 'by the bye,' interrupted oswald, who had been standing under the weather bulkhead, listening to the conversation, and watching the work in progress, 'we may just as well see if she has made any water with all this straining and buffeting. by the lord! i never thought of that. carpenter, lay down your adze and sound the well.' the carpenter, who, notwithstanding the uneasiness of the dismasted vessel, was performing his important share of the work, immediately complied with the order. he drew up the rope-yarn, to which an iron rule had been suspended, and lowered down into the pump-well, and perceived that the water was dripping from it. imagining that it must have been wet from the quantity of water shipped over all, the carpenter disengaged the rope-yarn from the rule, drew another from the junk lying on the deck, which the seamen were working up, and then carefully proceeded to plumb the well. he hauled it up, and, looking at it for some moments aghast, exclaimed, '_seven feet_ water in the hold, by g--d!' if the crew of the _circassian_, the whole of which were on deck, had been struck with an electric shock, the sudden change of their countenances could not have been greater than was produced by this appalling intelligence. heap upon sailors every disaster, every danger which can be accumulated from the waves, the wind, the elements, or the enemy, and they will bear up against them with a courage amounting to heroism. all that they demand is, that the one plank 'between them and death' is sound, and they will trust to their own energies, and will be confident in their own skill: but _spring a leak_, and they are half paralysed; and if it gain upon them they are subdued; for when they find that their exertions are futile, they are little better than children. oswald sprang to the pumps when he heard the carpenter's report. 'try again, abel--it cannot be: cut away that line; hand us here a dry rope-yarn.' once more the well was sounded by oswald, and the result was the same. 'we must rig the pumps, my lads,' said the mate, endeavouring to conceal his own fears; 'half this water must have found its way in when she was on her beam-ends.' this idea, so judiciously thrown out, was caught at by the seamen, who hastened to obey the order, while oswald went down to acquaint the captain, who, worn-out with watching and fatigue, had, now that danger was considered to be over, thrown himself into his cot to obtain a few hours' repose. 'do you think, bareth, that we have sprung a leak?' said the captain earnestly. 'she never could have taken in that quantity of water.' 'never, sir,' replied the mate; 'but she has been so strained, that she may have opened her top-sides. i trust it is no worse.' 'what is your opinion, then?' 'i am afraid that the wreck of the masts have injured her; you may recollect how often we struck against them before we could clear ourselves of them; once, particularly, the mainmast appeared to be right under her bottom, i recollect, and she struck very heavy on it.' 'well, it is god's will; let us get on deck as fast as we can.' when they arrived on deck, the carpenter walked up to the captain, and quietly said to him, '_seven feet three, sir._' the pumps were then in full action; the men had divided, by the direction of the boatswain, and, stripped naked to the waist, relieved each other every two minutes. for half an hour they laboured incessantly. this was the half-hour of suspense: the great point to be ascertained was, whether she leaked through the top-sides, and had taken in the water during the second gale; if so, there was every hope of keeping it under. captain ingram and the mate remained in silence near the capstern, the former with his watch in his hand, during the time that the sailors exerted themselves to the utmost. it was ten minutes past seven when the half-hour had expired; the well was sounded and the line carefully measured--_seven feet six inches!_ so that the water had gained upon them, notwithstanding that they had plied the pumps to the utmost of their strength. a mute look of despair was exchanged among the crew, but it was followed up by curses and execrations. captain ingram remained silent, with his lips compressed. 'it's all over with us!' exclaimed one of the men. 'not yet, my lads; we have one more chance,' said oswald. 'i've a notion that the ship's sides have been opened by the infernal straining of last night, and that she is now taking it in at the top-sides generally; if so, we have only to put her before the wind again, and have another good spell at the pumps. when no longer strained, as she is now with her broadside to the sea, she will close all up again.' 'i shouldn't wonder if mr. bareth is not right,' replied the carpenter; 'however, that's my notion, too.' 'and mine,' added captain ingram. 'come, my men! never say die while there's a shot in the locker. let's try her again.' and, to encourage the men, captain ingram threw off his coat and assisted at the first spell, while oswald went to the helm and put the ship before the wind. as the _circassian_ rolled before the gale, the lazy manner in which she righted proved how much water there was in the hold. the seamen exerted themselves for a whole hour without intermission, and the well was again sounded--_eight feet!_ the men did not assert that they would pump no longer; but they too plainly showed their intentions by each resuming in silence his shirt and jacket, which he had taken off at the commencement of his exertions. 'what's to be done, oswald?' said captain ingram, as they walked aft. 'you see the men will pump no longer; nor, indeed, would it be of any use. we are doomed.' 'the _circassian_ is, sir, i am afraid,' replied the mate: 'pumping is of no avail; they could not keep her afloat till daybreak. we must therefore trust to our boats, which i believe to be all sound, and quit her before night.' 'crowded boats in such a sea as this!' replied captain ingram, shaking his head mournfully. 'are bad enough, i grant; but better than the sea itself. all we can do now is to try and keep the men sober, and if we can do so it will be better than to fatigue them uselessly; they'll want all their strength before they put foot again upon dry land--if ever they are so fortunate. shall i speak to them?' 'do, oswald,' replied the captain; 'for myself i care little, god knows; but my wife--my children!' 'my lads,' said oswald, going forward to the men, who had waited in moody silence the result of the conference--'as for pumping any longer it would be only wearing out your strength for no good. we must now look to our boats; and a good boat is better than a bad ship. still this gale and cross-running sea are rather too much for boats at present; we had therefore better stick to the ship as long as we can. let us set to with a will and get the boats ready, with provisions, water, and what else may be needful, and then we must trust to god's mercy and our own endeavours.' 'no boat can stand this sea,' observed one of the men. 'i'm of opinion, as it's to be a short life, it may as well be a merry one. what d'ye say, my lads?' continued he, appealing to the men. several of the crew were of the same opinion; but oswald, stepping forward, seized one of the axes which lay at the main-bits, and going up to the seaman who had spoken, looked him steadfastly in the face-- 'williams,' said the mate, 'a short life it may be to all of us, but not a merry one; the meaning of which i understand very well. sorry i shall be to have your blood, or that of others, on my hands; but as sure as there's a heaven, i'll cleave to the shoulder the first man who attempts to break into the spirit-room. you know i never joke. shame upon you! do you call yourselves men, when, for the sake of a little liquor now, you would lose your only chance of getting drunk every day as soon as we get on shore again? there's a time for all things; and i've a notion this is a time to be sober.' as most of the crew sided with oswald, the weaker party were obliged to submit, and the preparations were commenced. the two boats on the booms were found to be in good condition. one party was employed cutting away the bulwarks that the boats might be launched over the side, as there were no means of hoisting them out. the well was again sounded. nine feet water in the hold, and the ship evidently settling fast. two hours had now passed, and the gale was not so violent; the sea, also, which at the change of wind had been cross, appeared to have recovered its regular run. all was ready; the sailors, once at work again, had, in some measure, recovered their spirits, and were buoyed up with fresh hopes at the slight change in their favour from the decrease of the wind. the two boats were quite large enough to contain the whole of the crew and passengers; but, as the sailors said among themselves (proving the kindness of their hearts), 'what was to become of those two poor babbies, in an open boat for days and nights, perhaps?' captain ingram had gone down to mrs. templemore, to impart to her their melancholy prospects; and the mother's heart, as well as the mother's voice, echoed the words of the seamen, 'what will become of my poor babes?' it was not till nearly six o'clock in the evening that all was ready: the ship was slowly brought to the wind again, and the boats launched over the side. by this time the gale was much abated; but the vessel was full of water, and was expected soon to go down. [illustration: '_i'll cleave to the shoulder the first man who attempts to break into the spirit-room._'] there is no time in which coolness and determination are more required than in a situation like the one in which we have attempted to describe. it is impossible to know the precise moment at which a water-logged vessel, in a heavy sea, may go down; and its occupants are in a state of mental fever, with the idea of their remaining in her so late that she will suddenly submerge, and leave them to struggle in the wave. this feeling actuated many of the crew of the _circassian_, and they had already retreated to the boats. all was arranged; oswald had charge of one boat, and it was agreed that the larger should receive mrs. templemore and her children, under the protection of captain ingram. the number appointed to oswald's boat being completed he shoved off, to make room for the other, and laid-to to leeward, waiting to keep company. mrs. templemore came up with captain ingram, and was assisted by him into the boat. the nurse, with one child, was at last placed by her side; coco was leading judy, the other nurse, with the remaining infant in her arms; and captain ingram, who had been obliged to go into the boat with the first child, was about to return to assist judy with the other, when the ship gave a heavy pitch, and her forecastle was buried in the wave; at the same time the gunwale of the boat was stove by coming in contact with the side of the vessel. 'she's down, by g--d!' exclaimed the alarmed seamen in the boat, shoving off to escape from the vortex. captain ingram, who was standing on the boat's thwarts to assist judy, was thrown back into the bottom of the boat; and before he could extricate himself, the boat was separated from the ship, and had drifted to leeward. 'my child!' screamed the mother; 'my child!' 'pull to again, my lads!' cried captain ingram, seizing the tiller. the men, who had been alarmed at the idea that the ship was going down, now that they saw that she was still afloat, got out the oars and attempted to regain her, but in vain--they could not make head against the sea and wind. further and further did they drift to leeward, notwithstanding their exertions; while the frantic mother extended her arms, imploring and entreating. captain ingram, who had stimulated the sailors to the utmost, perceived that further attempts were useless. 'my child! my child!' screamed mrs. templemore, standing up, and holding out her arms towards the vessel. at a sign from the captain, the head of the boat was veered round. the bereaved mother knew that all hope was gone, and she fell down in a state of insensibility. chapter v the old maid one morning, shortly after the disasters which we have described, mr. witherington descended to his breakfast-room somewhat earlier than usual, and found his green morocco easy-chair already tenanted by no less a personage than william the footman, who, with his feet on the fender, was so attentively reading the newspaper that he did not hear his master's entrance. 'by my ancestor, who fought on his stumps! but i hope you are quite comfortable, mr. william; nay, i beg i may not disturb you, sir.' william, although as impudent as most of his fraternity, was a little taken aback: 'i beg your pardon, sir, but mr. jonathan had not time to look over the paper.' 'nor is it required that he should, that i know of, sir.' 'mr. jonathan says, sir, that it is always right to look over the _deaths_, that news of that kind may not shock you.' 'very considerate, indeed.' 'and there is a story there, sir, about a shipwreck.' 'a shipwreck! where, william? god bless me! where is it?' 'i am afraid it is the same ship you are so anxious about, sir--the----i forget the name, sir.' mr. witherington took the newspaper, and his eye soon caught the paragraph in which the rescue of the two negroes and child from the wreck of the _circassian_ was fully detailed. 'it is indeed!' exclaimed mr. witherington. 'my poor cecilia in an open boat! one of the boats was seen to go down--perhaps she's dead--merciful god! one boy saved. mercy on me! where's jonathan?' [illustration: _found his green morocco easy-chair already tenanted by william the footman._] 'here, sir,' replied jonathan, very solemnly, who had just brought in the eggs, and now stood erect as a mute behind his master's chair, for it was a case of danger, if not of death. 'i must go to portsmouth immediately after breakfast--shan't eat, though--appetite all gone.' 'people seldom do, sir, on these melancholy occasions,' replied jonathan. 'will you take your own carriage, sir, or a mourning coach?' 'a mourning coach at fourteen miles an hour, with two pair of horses! jonathan, you're crazy.' 'will you please to have black silk hatbands and gloves for the coachman and servants who attend you, sir?' 'confound your shop! no; this is a resurrection, not a death: it appears that the negro thinks only one of the boats went down.' '_mors omnia vincit_,' quoth jonathan, casting up his eyes. 'never you mind that; mind your own business. that's the postman's knock--see if there are any letters.' there were several; and amongst the others there was one from captain maxwell, of the _eurydice_, detailing the circumstances already known, and informing mr. witherington that he had despatched the two negroes and the child to his address by that day's coach, and that one of the officers, who was going to town by the same conveyance, would see them safe to his house. captain maxwell was an old acquaintance of mr. witherington--had dined at his house in company with the templemores, and therefore had extracted quite enough information from the negroes to know where to direct them. 'by the blood of my ancestors! they'll be here to-night,' cried mr. witherington; 'and i have saved my journey. what is to be done? better tell mary to get rooms ready: d'ye hear, william; beds for one little boy and two niggers.' 'yes, sir,' replied william; 'but where are the black people to be put?' 'put! i don't care; one may sleep with cook, the other with mary.' 'very well, sir, i'll tell them,' replied william, hastening away, delighted at the row which he anticipated in the kitchen. 'if you please, sir,' observed jonathan, 'one of the negroes is, i believe, a man.' 'well, what then?' 'only, sir, the maids may object to sleep with him.' 'by all the plagues of the witheringtons! this is true; well, you may take him, jonathan--you like that colour.' 'not in the dark, sir,' replied jonathan, with a bow. 'well then, let them sleep together; so that affair is settled.' 'are they man and wife, sir?' said the butler. 'the devil take them both! how should i know? let me have my breakfast, and we'll talk over the matter by and by.' mr. witherington applied to his eggs and muffin, eating his breakfast as fast as he could, without knowing why; but the reason was that he was puzzled and perplexed with the anticipated arrival, and longed to think quietly over the dilemma, for it was a dilemma to an old bachelor. as soon as he had swallowed his second cup of tea he put himself into his easy-chair, in an easy attitude, and was very soon soliloquising as follows:-- 'by the blood of the witheringtons! what am i, an old bachelor, to do with a baby, and a wet-nurse as black as the ace of spades, and another black fellow in the bargain? send him back again! yes, that's best? but the child--woke every morning at five o'clock with its squalling--obliged to kiss it three times a day--pleasant!--and then that nigger of a nurse--thick lips--kissing child all day, and then holding it out to me--ignorant as a cow--if the child has the stomach-ache she'll cram a pepper-pod down its throat--west india fashion--children never without the stomach-ache--my poor, poor cousin!--what has become of her and the other child, too?--wish they may pick her up, poor dear! and then she will come and take care of her own children--don't know what to do--great mind to send for sister moggy--but she's so _fussy_--won't be in a hurry. think again.' here mr. witherington was interrupted by two taps at the door. 'come in,' said he; and the cook, with her face as red as if she had been dressing a dinner for eighteen, made her appearance without the usual clean apron. 'if you please, sir,' said she, curtseying, 'i will thank you to suit yourself with another cook.' 'oh, very well,' replied mr. witherington, angry at the interruption. 'and if you please, sir, i should like to go this very day--indeed, sir, i shall not stay.' 'go to the devil! if you please,' replied mr. witherington angrily; 'but first go out and shut the door after you.' the cook retired, and mr. witherington was again alone. 'confound the old woman--what a huff she is in! won't cook for black people, i suppose--yes, that's it.' here mr. witherington was again interrupted by a second double tap at the door. 'oh! thought better of it, i suppose. come in.' it was not the cook, but mary, the housemaid, that entered. 'if you please, sir,' said she, whimpering, 'i should wish to leave my situation.' 'a conspiracy, by heavens! well, you may go.' 'to-night, sir, if you please,' answered the woman. 'this moment, for all i care!' exclaimed mr. witherington in his wrath. the housemaid retired; and mr. witherington took some time to compose himself. 'servants all going to the devil in this country,' said he at last; 'proud fools--won't clean rooms after black people, i suppose--yes, that's it, confound them all, black and white! here's my whole establishment upset by the arrival of a baby. well, it is very uncomfortable--what shall i do?--send for sister moggy?--no, i'll send for jonathan.' mr. witherington rang the bell, and jonathan made his appearance. 'what is all this, jonathan?' said he; 'cook angry--mary crying--both going away--what's it all about?' 'why, sir, they were told by william that it was your positive order that the two black people were to sleep with them; and i believe he told mary that the man was to sleep with her.' 'confound that fellow! he's always at mischief; you know, jonathan, i never meant that.' 'i thought not, sir, as it is quite contrary to custom,' replied jonathan. 'well then, tell them so, and let's hear no more about it.' mr. witherington then entered into a consultation with his butler, and acceded to the arrangements proposed by him. the parties arrived in due time, and were properly accommodated. master edward was not troubled with the stomach-ache, neither did he wake mr. witherington at five o'clock in the morning; and, after all, it was not very uncomfortable. but, although things were not quite so uncomfortable as mr. witherington had anticipated, still they were not comfortable; and mr. witherington was so annoyed by continual skirmishes with his servants, complaints from judy, in bad english, of the cook, who, it must be owned, had taken a prejudice against her and coco, occasional illness of the child, _et cætera_, that he found his house no longer quiet and peaceable. three months had now nearly passed, and no tidings of the boats had been received; and captain maxwell, who came up to see mr. witherington, gave it as his decided opinion that they must have foundered in the gale. as, therefore, there appeared to be no chance of mrs. templemore coming to take care of her child, mr. witherington at last resolved to write to bath, where his sister resided, and acquaint her with the whole story, requesting her to come and superintend his domestic concerns. a few days afterwards he received the following reply:-- 'bath, _august_. 'my dear brother antony--your letter arrived safe to hand on wednesday last, and i must say that i was not a little surprised at its contents; indeed, i thought so much about it that i revoked at lady betty blabkin's whist-party, and lost four shillings and sixpence. you say that you have a child at your house belonging to your cousin, who married in so indecorous a manner. i hope what you say is true; but, at the same time, i know what bachelors are guilty of; although, as lady betty says, it is better never to talk or even to hint about these improper things. i cannot imagine why men should consider themselves, in an unmarried state, as absolved from that purity which maidens are so careful to preserve; and so says lady betty, with whom i had a little conversation on the subject. as, however, the thing is done, she agrees with me that it is better to hush it up as well as we can. 'i presume that you do not intend to make the child your heir, which i should consider as highly improper; and, indeed, lady betty tells me that the legacy-duty is ten per cent., and that it cannot be avoided. however, i make it a rule never to talk about these sort of things. as for your request that i will come up and superintend your establishment, i have advised with lady betty on the subject, and she agrees with me that, for the honour of the family, it is better that i should come, as it will save appearances. you are in a peck of troubles, as most men are who are free-livers, and are led astray by artful and alluring females. however, as lady betty says, "the least said, the soonest mended." 'i will, therefore, make the necessary arrangements for letting my house, and hope to join you in about ten days; sooner, i cannot, as i find that my engagements extend to that period. many questions have already been put to me on this unpleasant subject; but i always give but one answer, which is, that bachelors will be bachelors! and that, at all events, it is not so bad as if you were a married man: for i make it a rule never to talk about, or even to hint about these sort of things, for, as lady betty says, "men will get into scrapes, and the sooner things are hushed up the better." so no more at present from your affectionate sister, 'margaret witherington. '_p.s._--lady betty and i both agree that you are very right in hiring two black people to bring the child into your house, as it makes the thing look _foreign_ to the neighbours, and we can keep our own secrets. m. w.' 'now, by all the sins of the witheringtons, if this is not enough to drive a man out of his senses! confound the suspicious old maid! i'll not let her come into this house. confound lady betty, and all scandal-loving old tabbies like her! bless me!' continued mr. witherington, throwing the letter on the table, with a deep sigh, 'this is anything but comfortable.' but if mr. witherington found it anything but comfortable at the commencement, he found it unbearable in the sequel. [illustration: '_antony, for shame! fie, for shame!_'] his sister moggy arrived, and installed herself in the house with all the pomp and protecting air of one who was the saviour of her brother's reputation and character. when the child was first brought down to her, instead of perceiving at once its likeness to mr. templemore, which was very strong, she looked at it and at her brother's face with her only eye, and shaking her finger, exclaimed-- 'o antony! antony! and did you expect to deceive me?--the nose--the mouth exact--antony, for shame! fie, for shame!' but we must hurry over the misery that mr. witherington's kindness and benevolence brought upon him. not a day passed--scarcely an hour, without his ears being galled with his sister's insinuations. judy and coco were sent back to america; the servants, who had remained so long in his service, gave warning one by one, and, afterwards, were changed as often almost as there was a change in the moon. she ruled the house and her brother despotically; and all poor mr. witherington's comfort was gone until the time arrived when master edward was to be sent to school. mr. witherington then plucked up courage, and after a few stormy months drove his sister back to bath, and once more found himself comfortable. edward came home during the holidays, and was a great favourite; but the idea had become current that he was the son of the old gentleman, and the remarks made were so unpleasant and grating to him, that he was not sorry, much as he was attached to the boy, when he declared his intention to choose the profession of a sailor. captain maxwell introduced him into the service; and afterwards, when, in consequence of ill-health and exhaustion, he was himself obliged to leave it for a time, he procured for his _protégé_ other ships. we must, therefore, allow some years to pass away, during which time edward templemore pursues his career, mr witherington grows older and more particular, and his sister moggy amuses herself with lady betty's remarks, and her darling game of whist. during all this period no tidings of the boats, or of mrs. templemore and her infant, had been heard; it was therefore naturally conjectured that they had all perished, and they were remembered but as things that had been. chapter vi the midshipman the weather-side of the quarter-deck of h.m. frigate _unicorn_ was occupied by two very great personages: captain plumbton, commanding the ship, who was very great in width if not in height, taking much more than his allowance of the deck, if it were not that he was the proprietor thereof, and entitled to the lion's share. captain p. was not more than four feet ten inches in height; but then he was equal to that in girth: there was quite enough of him, if he had only been _rolled out_. he walked with his coat flying open, his thumbs stuck into the arm-holes of his waistcoat, so as to throw his shoulders back and increase his horizontal dimensions. he also held his head well aft, which threw his chest and stomach well forward. he was the prototype of pomposity and good-nature, and he strutted like an actor in a procession. the other personage was the first lieutenant, whom nature had pleased to fashion in another mould. he was as tall as the captain was short--as thin as his superior was corpulent. his long, lanky legs were nearly up to the captain's shoulders; and he bowed down over the head of his superior, as if he were the crane to hoist up, and the captain the bale of goods to be hoisted. he carried his hands behind his back, with two fingers twisted together; and his chief difficulty appeared to be to reduce his own stride to the parrot march of the captain. his features were sharp and lean as was his body, and wore every appearance of a cross-grained temper. he had been making divers complaints of divers persons, and the captain had hitherto appeared imperturbable. captain plumbton was an even-tempered man, who was satisfied with a good dinner. lieutenant markitall was an odd-tempered man, who would quarrel with his bread and butter. [illustration: _he walked with his coat flying open, his thumbs stuck into the arm-holes of his waistcoat._] 'quite impossible, sir,' continued the first lieutenant, 'to carry on the duty without support.' this oracular observation, which, from the relative forms of the two parties, descended as it were from above, was replied to by the captain with a 'very true.' 'then, sir, i presume you will not object to my putting that man in the report for punishment?' 'i'll think about it, mr. markitall.' this, with captain plumbton, was as much as to say, no. 'the young gentlemen, sir, i am sorry to say, are very troublesome.' 'boys always are,' replied the captain. 'yes, sir; but the duty must be carried on, and i cannot do without them.' 'very true--midshipmen are very useful.' 'but i'm sorry to say, sir, that they are not. now, sir, there's mr. templemore; i can do nothing with him--he does nothing but laugh.' 'laugh!--mr. markitall, does he laugh at you?' 'not exactly, sir; but he laughs at everything. if i send him to the mast-head, he goes up laughing; if i call him down, he comes down laughing; if i find fault with him, he laughs the next minute: in fact, sir, he does nothing but laugh. i should particularly wish, sir, that you would speak to him, and see if any interference on your part----' 'would make him cry--eh? better to laugh than cry in this world. does he never cry, mr. markitall?' 'yes, sir, and very unseasonably. the other day, you may recollect, when you punished wilson the marine, whom i appointed to take care of his chest and hammock, he was crying the whole time; almost tantamount--at least an indirect species of mutiny on his part, as it implied----' 'that the boy was sorry that his servant was punished; i never flog a man but i'm sorry myself, mr. markitall.' 'well, i do not press the question of his crying--that i might look over; but his laughing, sir, i must beg that you will take notice of that. here he is, sir, coming up the hatchway. mr. templemore, the captain wishes to speak to you.' now, the captain did not wish to speak to him, but, forced upon him as it was by the first lieutenant, he could do no less. so mr. templemore touched his hat, and stood before the captain, we regret to say, with such a good-humoured, sly, confiding smirk on his countenance, as at once established the proof of the accusation, and the enormity of the offence. 'so, sir,' said captain plumbton, stopping in his perambulation, and squaring his shoulders still more, 'i find that you laugh at the first lieutenant.' 'i, sir?' replied the boy, the smirk expanding into a broad grin. 'yes; you, sir,' said the first lieutenant, now drawing up to his full height; 'why, you're laughing now, sir.' 'i can't help it, sir--it's not my fault; and i'm sure it's not yours, sir,' added the boy demurely. 'are you aware, edward--mr. templemore, i mean--of the impropriety of disrespect to your superior officer?' 'i never laughed at mr. markitall but once, sir, that i can recollect, and that was when he tumbled over the messenger.' 'and why did you laugh at him then, sir?' 'i always do laugh when any one tumbles down,' replied the lad; 'i can't help it, sir.' 'then, sir, i suppose you would laugh if you saw me rolling in the lee-scuppers?' said the captain. 'oh!' replied the boy, no longer able to contain himself, 'i'm sure i should burst myself with laughing--i think i see you now, sir.' 'do you, indeed! i'm very glad that you do not; though i'm afraid, young gentleman, you stand convicted by your own confession.' 'yes, sir, for laughing, if that is any crime; but it's not in the articles of war.' 'no, sir; but disrespect is. you laugh when you go to the mast-head.' 'but i obey the order, sir, immediately--do i not, mr. markitall?' 'yes, sir, you obey the order; but, at the same time, your laughing proves that you do not mind the punishment.' 'no more i do, sir. i spend half my time at the mast-head, and i'm used to it now.' 'but, mr. templemore, ought you not to feel the disgrace of the punishment?' inquired the captain severely. 'yes, sir, if i felt i deserved it i should. i should not laugh, sir, if _you_ sent me to the mast-head,' replied the boy, assuming a serious countenance. 'you see, mr. markitall, that he can be grave,' observed the captain. 'i've tried all i can to make him so, sir,' replied the first lieutenant; 'but i wish to ask mr. templemore what he means to imply by saying, "when he deserves it." does he mean to say that i have ever punished him unjustly?' 'yes, sir,' replied the boy boldly; 'five times out of six i am mast-headed for nothing--and that's the reason why i do not mind it.' 'for nothing, sir! do you call laughing nothing?' 'i pay every attention that i can to my duty, sir; i always obey your orders; i try all i can to make you pleased with me--but you are always punishing me.' 'yes, sir, for laughing, and, what is worse, making the ship's company laugh.' 'they "haul and hold" just the same, sir--i think they work all the better for being merry.' 'and pray, sir, what business have you to think?' replied the first lieutenant, now very angry. 'captain plumbton, as this young gentleman thinks proper to interfere with me and the discipline of the ship, i beg you will see what effect your punishing may have upon him.' 'mr. templemore,' said the captain, 'you are, in the first place, too free in your speech, and, in the next place, too fond of laughing. there is, mr. templemore, a time for all things--a time to be merry, and a time to be serious. the quarter-deck is not the fit place for mirth.' 'i'm sure the gangway is not,' shrewdly interrupted the boy. 'no--you are right, nor the gangway; but you may laugh on the forecastle, and when below with your messmates.' 'no, sir, we may not; mr. markitall always sends out if he hears us laughing.' 'because, mr. templemore, you're always laughing.' 'i believe i am, sir; and if it's wrong i'm sorry to displease you, but i mean no disrespect. i laugh in my sleep--i laugh when i awake--i laugh when the sun shines--i always feel so happy; but though you do mast-head me, mr. markitall, i should not laugh, but be very sorry, if any misfortune happened to you.' 'i believe you would, boy--i do indeed, mr. markitall,' said the captain. 'well, sir,' replied the first lieutenant, 'as mr. templemore appears to be aware of his error, i do not wish to press my complaint--i have only to request that he will never laugh again.' 'you hear, boy, what the first lieutenant says; it's very reasonable, and i beg i may hear no more complaints. mr. markitall, let me know when the foot of that foretopsail will be repaired--i should like to shift it to-night.' mr. markitall went down under the half-deck to make the inquiry. 'and, edward,' said captain plumbton, as soon as the lieutenant was out of ear-shot, 'i have a good deal more to say to you upon this subject, but i have no time now. so come and dine with me--at my table, you know, i allow laughing in moderation.' the boy touched his hat, and with a grateful, happy countenance, walked away. we have introduced this little scene that the reader may form some idea of the character of edward templemore. he was indeed the soul of mirth, good-humour, and kindly feelings towards others; he even felt kindly towards the first lieutenant, who persecuted him for his risible propensities. we do not say that the boy was right in laughing at all times, or that the first lieutenant was wrong in attempting to check it. as the captain said, there is a time for all things, and edward's laugh was not always seasonable; but it was his nature, and he could not help it. he was joyous as the may morning; and thus he continued for years, laughing at everything--pleased with everybody--almost universally liked--and his bold, free, and happy spirit unchecked by vicissitude or hardship. he served his time--was nearly turned back, when he was passing his examination, for laughing, and then went laughing to sea again--was in command of a boat at the cutting-out of a french corvette, and when on board was so much amused by the little french captain skipping about with his rapier, which proved fatal to many, that at last he received a pink from the little gentleman himself, which laid him on deck. for this affair, and in consideration of his wound, he obtained his promotion to the rank of lieutenant--was appointed to a line-of-battle ship in the west indies--laughed at the yellow fever--was appointed to the tender of that ship, a fine schooner, and was sent to cruise for prize-money for the admiral, and promotion for himself, if he could, by any fortunate encounter, be so lucky as to obtain it. chapter vii sleeper's bay on the western coast of africa there is a small bay, which has received more than one name from its occasional visitors. that by which it was designated by the adventurous portuguese, who first dared to cleave the waves of the southern atlantic, has been forgotten with their lost maritime preeminence; the name allotted to it by the woolly-headed natives of the coast has never, perhaps, been ascertained; it is, however, marked down in some of the old english charts as sleeper's bay. the mainland which, by its curvature, has formed this little dent, on a coast possessing, and certainly at present requiring, few harbours, displays, perhaps, the least inviting of all prospects; offering to the view nothing but a shelving beach of dazzling white sand, backed with a few small hummocks beat up by the occasional fury of the atlantic gales--arid, bare, and without the slightest appearance of vegetable life. the inland prospect is shrouded over by a dense mirage, through which here and there are to be discovered the stems of a few distant palm-trees, so broken and disjoined by refraction that they present to the imagination anything but the idea of foliage or shade. the water in the bay is calm and smooth as the polished mirror; not the smallest ripple is to be heard on the beach, to break through the silence of nature; not a breath of air sweeps over its glassy surface, which is heated with the intense rays of a vertical noonday sun, pouring down a withering flood of light and heat; not a sea-bird is to be discovered wheeling on its flight, or balancing on its wings as it pierces the deep with its searching eye, ready to dart upon its prey. all is silence, solitude, and desolation, save that occasionally may be seen the fin of some huge shark, either sluggishly moving through the heated element, or stationary in the torpor of the mid-day heat. a sight so sterile, so stagnant, so little adapted to human life, cannot well be conceived, unless, by flying to extremes, we were to portray the chilling blast, the transfixing cold, and 'close-ribbed ice' at the frozen poles. at the entrance of this bay, in about three fathoms water, heedless of the spring cable which hung down as a rope which had fallen overboard, there floated, motionless as death, a vessel whose proportions would have challenged the unanimous admiration of those who could appreciate the merits of her build, had she been anchored in the most frequented and busy harbour of the universe. so beautiful were her lines, that you might almost have imagined her a created being that the ocean had been ordered to receive, as if fashioned by the divine architect, to add to the beauty and variety of his works; for, from the huge leviathan to the smallest of the finny tribe--from the towering albatross to the boding petrel of the storm--where could be found, among the winged or finned frequenters of the ocean, a form more appropriate, more fitting, than this specimen of human skill, whose beautiful model and elegant tapering spars were now all that could be discovered to break the meeting lines of the firmament and horizon of the offing. alas! she was fashioned, at the will of avarice, for the aid of cruelty and injustice, and now was even more nefariously employed. she had been a slaver--she was now the far-famed, still more dreaded, pirate schooner, the _avenger_. not a man-of-war which scoured the deep but had her instructions relative to this vessel, which had been so successful in her career of crime--not a trader in any portion of the navigable globe but whose crew shuddered at the mention of her name, and the remembrance of the atrocities which had been practised by her reckless crew. she had been everywhere--in the east, the west, the north, and the south, leaving a track behind her of rapine and of murder. there she lay in motionless beauty, her low sides were painted black, with one small, narrow riband of red--her raking masts were clean scraped--her topmasts, her cross-trees, caps, and even running-blocks, were painted in pure white. awnings were spread fore and aft to protect the crew from the powerful rays of the sun; her ropes were hauled taut; and in every point she wore the appearance of being under the control of seamanship and strict discipline. through the clear smooth water her copper shone brightly; and as you looked over her taffrail down into the calm blue sea, you could plainly discover the sandy bottom beneath her, and the anchor which then lay under her counter. a small boat floated astern, the weight of the rope which attached her appearing, in the perfect calm, to draw her towards the schooner. we must now go on board, and our first cause of surprise will be the deception relative to the tonnage of the schooner, when viewed from a distance. instead of a small vessel of about ninety tons, we discover that she is upwards of two hundred; that her breadth of beam is enormous; and that those spars, which appeared so light and elegant, are of unexpected dimensions. her decks are of narrow fir planks, without the least spring or rise; her ropes are of manilla hemp, neatly secured to copper belaying-pins, and coiled down on the deck, whose whiteness is well contrasted with the bright green paint of her bulwarks: her capstern and binnacles are cased in fluted mahogany, and ornamented with brass; metal stanchions protect the skylights, and the bright muskets are arranged in front of the mainmast, while the boarding-pikes are lashed round the mainboom. in the centre of the vessel, between the fore and main masts, there is a long brass -pounder fixed upon a carriage revolving in a circle, and so arranged that in bad weather it can be lowered down and _housed_; while on each side of her decks are mounted eight brass guns of smaller calibre and of exquisite workmanship. her build proves the skill of the architect; her fitting-out, a judgment in which nought has been sacrificed to, although everything has been directed by, taste; and her neatness and arrangement, that, in the person of her commander, to the strictest discipline there is united the practical knowledge of a thorough seaman. how, indeed, otherwise could she have so long continued her lawless yet successful career? how could it have been possible to unite a crew of miscreants, who feared not god nor man, most of whom had perpetrated foul murders, or had been guilty of even blacker iniquities? it was because he who commanded the vessel was so superior as to find in her no rivalry. superior in talent, in knowledge of his profession, in courage, and, moreover, in physical strength--which in him was almost herculean--unfortunately he was also superior to all in villainy, in cruelty, and contempt of all injunctions, moral and divine. what had been the early life of this person was but imperfectly known. it was undoubted that he had received an excellent education, and it was said that he was of an ancient border family on the banks of the tweed: by what chances he had become a pirate--by what errors he had fallen from his station in society, until he became an outcast, had never been revealed; it was only known that he had been some years employed in the slave-trade previous to his seizing this vessel and commencing his reckless career. the name by which he was known to the crew of the pirate vessel was 'cain,' and well had he chosen this appellation; for, had not his hand for more than three years been against every man's, and every man's hand against his? in person he was about six feet high, with a breadth of shoulders and of chest denoting the utmost of physical force which, perhaps, has ever been allotted to man. his features would have been handsome had they not been scarred with wounds; and, strange to say, his eye was mild and of a soft blue. his mouth was well formed, and his teeth of a pearly white; the hair of his head was crisp and wavy, and his beard, which he wore, as did every person composing the crew of the pirate, covered the lower part of his face in strong, waving, and continued curls. the proportions of his body were perfect; but from their vastness they became almost terrific. his costume was elegant, and well adapted to his form; linen trousers, and untanned yellow leather boots, such as are made at the western isles; a broad-striped cotton shirt; a red cashmere shawl round his waist as a sash; a vest embroidered in gold tissue, with a jacket of dark velvet, and pendent gold buttons, hanging over his left shoulder, after the fashion of the mediterranean seamen; a round turkish skull-cap, handsomely embroidered, a pair of pistols, and a long knife in his sash, completed his attire. the crew consisted in all of men, of almost every nation, but it was to be remarked that all those in authority were either englishmen or from the northern countries; the others were chiefly spaniards and maltese. still there were portuguese, brazilians, negroes, and others, who made up the complement, which at the time we now speak of was increased by twenty-five additional hands. these were kroumen, a race of blacks well known at present, who inhabit the coast near cape palmas, and are often employed by our men-of-war stationed on the coast to relieve the english seamen from duties which would be too severe to those who were not inured to the climate. they are powerful, athletic men, good sailors, of a happy, merry disposition, and, unlike other africans, will work hard. fond of the english, they generally speak the language sufficiently to be understood, and are very glad to receive a baptism when they come on board. the name first given them they usually adhere to as long as they live; and you will now on the coast meet with a blucher, a wellington, a nelson, etc., who will wring swabs, or do any other of the meanest description of work, without feeling that it is discreditable to sponsorials so grand. it is not to be supposed that these men had voluntarily come on board of the pirate; they had been employed in some british vessels trading on the coast, and had been taken out of them when the vessels were burnt, and the europeans of the crews murdered. they had received a promise of reward, if they did their duty; but, not expecting it, they waited for the earliest opportunity to make their escape. the captain of the schooner is abaft with his glass in his hand, occasionally sweeping the offing in the expectation of a vessel heaving in sight; the officers and crew are lying down, or lounging listlessly about the decks, panting with the extreme heat, and impatiently waiting for the sea-breeze to fan their parched foreheads. with their rough beards and exposed chests, and their weather-beaten fierce countenances, they form a group which is terrible even in repose. we must now descend into the cabin of the schooner. the fittings-up of this apartment are simple: on each side is a standing bed-place; against the after bulkhead is a large buffet, originally intended for glass and china, but now loaded with silver and gold vessels of every size and description, collected by the pirate from the different ships which he had plundered; the lamps are also of silver, and evidently had been intended to ornament the shrine of some catholic saint. in this cabin there are two individuals, to whom we shall now direct the reader's attention. the one is a pleasant-countenanced, good-humoured krouman, who had been christened 'pompey the great'; most probably on account of his large proportions. he wears a pair of duck trousers; the rest of his body is naked, and presents a sleek, glossy skin, covering muscles which an anatomist or a sculptor would have viewed with admiration. the other is a youth of eighteen, or thereabouts, with an intelligent, handsome countenance, evidently of european blood. there is, however, a habitually mournful cast upon his features; he is dressed much in the same way as we have described the captain, but the costume hangs more gracefully upon his slender, yet well-formed limbs. he is seated on a sofa, fixed in the fore part of the cabin, with a book in his hand, which occasionally he refers to, and then lifts his eyes from, to watch the motions of the krouman, who is busy, in the office of steward, arranging and cleaning the costly articles in the buffet. 'massa francisco, dis really fine ting,' said pompey, holding up a splendidly embossed tankard, which he had been rubbing. 'yes,' replied francisco gravely; 'it is indeed, pompey.' 'how captain cain come by dis?' francisco shook his head, and pompey put his finger up to his mouth, his eyes, full of meaning, fixed upon francisco. at this moment the personage referred to was heard descending the companion-ladder. pompey recommenced rubbing the silver, and francisco dropped his eyes upon the book. what was the tie which appeared to bind the captain to this lad was not known; but, as the latter had always accompanied, and lived together with him, it was generally supposed that he was the captain's son; and he was as often designated by the crew as young cain as he was by his christian name of francisco. still it was observed that latterly they had frequently been heard in altercation, and that the captain was very suspicious of francisco's movements. 'i beg i may not interrupt your conversation,' said cain, on entering the cabin; 'the information you may obtain from a krouman must be very important.' francisco made no reply, but appeared to be reading his book. cain's eyes passed from one to the other, as if to read their thoughts. 'pray what were you saying, mr. pompey?' 'me say, massa captain? me only tell young massa dis very fine ting; ask where you get him--massa francisco no tell.' 'and what might it be to you, you black scoundrel?' cried the captain, seizing the goblet, and striking the man with it a blow on the head which flattened the vessel, and at the same time felled the krouman, powerful as he was, to the deck. the blood streamed as the man slowly rose, stupefied and trembling from the violent concussion. without saying a word, he staggered out of the cabin, and cain threw himself on one of the lockers in front of the standing bed-place, saying, with a bitter smile, 'so much for your intimates, francisco!' 'rather, so much for your cruelty and injustice towards an unoffending man,' replied francisco, laying his book on the table. 'his question was an innocent one--for he knew not the particulars connected with the obtaining of that flagon.' 'and you, i presume, do not forget them? well, be it so, young man; but i warn you again--as i have warned you often--nothing but the remembrance of your mother has prevented me, long before this, from throwing your body to the sharks.' 'what influence my mother's memory may have over you, i know not; i only regret that, in any way, she had the misfortune to be connected with you.' 'she had the influence,' replied cain, 'which a woman must have over a man when they have for years swung in the same cot; but that is wearing off fast. i tell you so candidly; i will not even allow her memory to check me, if i find you continue your late course. you have shown disaffection before the crew--you have disputed my orders--and i have every reason to believe that you are now plotting against me.' 'can i do otherwise than show my abhorrence,' replied francisco, 'when i witness such acts of horror, of cruelty--cold-blooded cruelty, as lately have been perpetrated? why do you bring me here? and why do you now detain me? all i ask is, that you will allow me to leave the vessel. you are not my father; you have told me so.' 'no, i am not your father; but--you are your mother's son.' 'that gives you no right to have power over me, even if you had been married to my mother; which----' 'i was not.' 'i thank god; for marriage with you would have been even greater disgrace.' 'what!' cried cain, starting up, seizing the young man by the neck, and lifting him off his seat as if he had been a puppet; 'but no--i cannot forget your mother.' cain released francisco, and resumed his seat on the locker. 'as you please,' said francisco, as soon as he had recovered himself; 'it matters little whether i am brained by your own hand, or launched overboard as a meal for the sharks; it will be but one more murder.' 'mad fool! why do you tempt me thus?' replied cain, again starting up, and hastily quitting the cabin. the altercation which we have just described was not unheard on deck, as the doors of the cabin were open, and the skylight removed to admit the air. the face of cain was flushed as he ascended the ladder. he perceived his chief mate standing by the hatchway, and many of the men, who had been slumbering abaft, with their heads raised on their elbows, as if they had been listening to the conversation below. 'it will never do, sir,' said hawkhurst, the mate, shaking his head. 'no,' replied the captain; 'not if he were my own son. but what is to be done?--he knows no fear.' hawkhurst pointed to the entering port. 'when i ask your advice, you may give it,' said the captain, turning gloomily away. in the meantime, francisco paced the cabin in deep thought. young as he was, he was indifferent to death; for he had no tie to render life precious. he remembered his mother, but not her demise; that had been concealed from him. at the age of seven he had sailed with cain in a slaver, and had ever since continued with him. until lately, he had been led to suppose that the captain was his father. during the years that he had been in the slave-trade, cain had devoted much time to his education; it so happened that the only book which could be found on board of the vessel, when cain first commenced teaching, was a bible belonging to francisco's mother. out of this book he learned to read; and, as his education advanced, other books were procured. it may appear strange that the very traffic in which his reputed father was engaged did not corrupt the boy's mind; but, accustomed to it from his infancy, he had considered these negroes as another species--an idea fully warranted by the cruelty of the europeans towards them. there are some dispositions so naturally kind and ingenuous that even example and evil contact cannot debase them: such was the disposition of francisco. as he gained in years and knowledge, he thought more and more for himself, and had already become disgusted with the cruelties practised upon the unfortunate negroes, when the slave vessel was seized upon by cain and converted into a pirate. at first, the enormities committed had not been so great; vessels had been seized and plundered, but life had been spared. in the course of crime, however, the descent is rapid: and as, from information given by those who had been released, the schooner was more than once in danger of being captured, latterly no lives had been spared; and but too often the murders had been attended with deeds even more atrocious. francisco had witnessed scenes of horror until his young blood curdled: he had expostulated to save, but in vain. disgusted with the captain and the crew, and their deeds of cruelty, he had latterly expressed his opinions fearlessly, and defied the captain; for, in the heat of an altercation, cain had acknowledged that francisco was not his son. had any of the crew or officers expressed but a tithe of what had fallen from the bold lips of francisco, they would have long before paid the forfeit of their temerity; but there was a feeling towards francisco which could not be stifled in the breast of cain--it was the feeling of association and habit. the boy had been his companion for years; and from assuetude had become, as it were, a part of himself. there is a principle in our nature which, even when that nature is most debased, will never leave us--that of requiring something to love, something to protect and watch over: it is shown towards a dog, or any other animal, if it cannot be lavished upon one of our own species. such was the feeling which so forcibly held cain towards francisco; such was the feeling which had hitherto saved his life. after having paced up and down for some time, the youth took his seat on the locker which the captain had quitted: his eye soon caught the head of pompey, who looked into the cabin and beckoned with his finger. francisco rose, and, taking up a flagon from the buffet, which contained some spirits, walked to the door, and, without saying a word, handed it to the krouman. 'massa francisco,' whispered pompey, 'pompey say--all kroumen say--suppose they run away, you go too? pompey say--all kroumen say--suppose they try to kill you? nebber kill you while one krouman alive.' the negro then gently pushed francisco back with his hand, as if not wishing to hear his answer, and hastened forward on the berth deck. chapter viii the attack in the meantime, the sea-breeze had risen in the offing, and was sweeping along the surface to where the schooner was at anchor. the captain ordered a man to the cross-trees, directing him to keep a good look-out, while he walked the deck in company with his first mate. 'she may not have sailed until a day or two later,' said the captain, continuing the conversation; 'i have made allowance for that, and depend upon it, as she makes the eastern passage, we must soon fall in with her; if she does not heave in sight this evening by daylight, i shall stretch out in the offing; i know the portuguese well. the sea-breeze has caught our craft; let them run up the inner jib, and see that she does not foul her anchor.' it was now late in the afternoon, and dinner had been sent into the cabin; the captain descended, and took his seat at the table with francisco, who ate in silence. once or twice the captain, whose wrath had subsided, and whose kindly feelings towards francisco, checked for a time, had returned with greater force, tried, but in vain, to rally him into conversation, when '_sail ho!_' was shouted from the mast-head. 'there she is, by g--d!' cried the captain, jumping from, and then, as if checking himself, immediately resuming, his seat. francisco put his hand to his forehead, covering his eyes as his elbow leant upon the table. 'a large ship, sir; we can see down to the second reef of her topsails,' said hawkhurst, looking down the skylight. the captain hastily swallowed some wine from a flagon, cast a look of scorn and anger upon francisco, and rushed on deck. 'be smart, lads!' cried the captain, after a few seconds' survey of the vessel through his glass; 'that's her: furl the awnings, and run the anchor up to the bows: there's more silver in that vessel, my lads, than your chests will hold; and the good saints of the churches at goa will have to wait a little longer for their gold candlesticks.' the crew were immediately on the alert; the awnings were furled, and all the men, stretching aft the spring cable, walked the anchor up to the bows. in two minutes more the _avenger_ was standing out on the starboard tack, shaping her course so as to cut off the ill-fated vessel. the breeze freshened, and the schooner darted through the smooth water with the impetuosity of a dolphin after its prey. in an hour the hull of the ship was plainly to be distinguished; but the sun was near to the horizon, and before they could ascertain what their force might be, daylight had disappeared. whether the schooner had been perceived or not, it was impossible to say; at all events, the course of the ship had not been altered, and if she had seen the schooner, she evidently treated her with contempt. on board the _avenger_, they were not idle; the long gun in the centre had been cleared from the incumbrances which surrounded it, the other guns had been cast loose, shot handed up, and everything prepared for action, with all the energy and discipline of a man-of-war. the chase had not been lost sight of, and the eyes of the pirate captain were fixed upon her through a night-glass. in about an hour more the schooner was within a mile of the ship, and now altered her course so as to range up within a cable's length of her to leeward. cain stood upon the gunwale and hailed. the answer was in portuguese. 'heave to, or i'll sink you!' replied he in the same language. a general discharge from a broadside of carronades, and a heavy volley of muskets from the portuguese, was the decided answer. the broadside, too much elevated to hit the low hull of the schooner, was still not without effect--the foretopmast fell, the jaws of the main-gaff were severed, and a large proportion of the standing as well as the running rigging came rattling down on her decks. the volley of musketry was more fatal: thirteen of the pirates were wounded, some of them severely. [illustration: _a general discharge from a broadside of carronades, and a heavy volley of muskets, was the decided answer._] 'well done, john portuguese!' cried hawkhurst; 'by the holy poker! i never gave you credit for so much pluck.' 'which they shall pay dearly for,' was the cool reply of cain, as he still remained in his exposed situation. 'blood for blood! if i drink it,' observed the second mate, as he looked at the crimson rivulet trickling down the fingers of his left hand from a wound in his arm--'just tie my handkerchief round this, bill.' in the interim, cain had desired his crew to elevate their guns, and the broadside was returned. 'that will do, my lads: starboard; ease off the boomsheet; let her go right round, hawkhurst--we cannot afford to lose our men.' the schooner wore round, and ran astern of her opponent. the portuguese on board the ship, imagining that the schooner, finding she had met with unexpected resistance, had sheered off, gave a loud cheer. 'the last you will ever give, my fine fellows!' observed cain, with a sneer. in a few moments the schooner had run a mile astern of the ship. 'now then, hawkhurst, let her come to and about; man the long gun, and see that every shot is pitched into her, while the rest of them get up a new foretopmast, and knot and splice the rigging.' the schooner's head was again turned towards the ship; her position was right astern, about a mile distant or rather more; the long -pounder gun amidships was now regularly served, every shot passing through the cabin windows, or some other part of the ship's stern, raking her fore and aft. in vain did the ship alter her course, and present her broadside to the schooner; the latter was immediately checked in her speed, so as to keep the prescribed distance at which the carronades of the ship were useless, and the execution from the long gun decisive. the ship was at the mercy of the pirate; and, as may be expected, no mercy was shown. for three hours did this murderous attack continue, when the gun, which, as before observed, was of brass, became so heated that the pirate captain desired his men to discontinue. whether the ship had surrendered or not it was impossible to say, as it was too dark to distinguish: while the long gun was served, the foretopmast and main-gaff had been shifted, and all the standing and running rigging made good; the schooner keeping her distance, and following in the wake of the ship until daylight. we must now repair on board of the ship: she was an indiaman; one of the very few that occasionally are sent out by the portuguese government to a country which once owned their undivided sway, but in which, at present, they hold but a few miles of territory. she was bound to goa, and had on board a small detachment of troops, a new governor and his two sons, a bishop and his niece, with her attendant. the sailing of a vessel with such a freight was a circumstance of rare occurrence, and was, of course, generally bruited about long before her departure. cain had, for some months, received all the necessary intelligence relative to her cargo and destination; but, as usual with the portuguese of the present day, delay upon delay had followed, and it was not until about three weeks previous that he had been assured of her immediate departure. he then ran down the coast to the bay we have mentioned that he might intercept her; and, as the event had proved, showed his usual judgment and decision. the fire of the schooner had been most destructive; many of the indiaman's crew, as well as of the troops, had been mowed down one after another; until at last, finding that all their efforts to defend themselves were useless, most of those who were still unhurt had consulted their safety, and hastened down to the lowest recesses of the hold to avoid the raking and destructive shot. at the time that the schooner had discontinued her fire to allow the gun to cool, there was no one on deck but the portuguese captain and one old weather-beaten seaman who stood at the helm. below, in the orlop-deck, the remainder of the crew and the passengers were huddled together in a small space: some were attending to the wounded, who were numerous; others were invoking the saints to their assistance; the bishop, a tall, dignified person, apparently nearly sixty years of age, was kneeling in the centre of the group, which was dimly lighted by two or three lanterns, at one time in fervent prayer, at another, interrupted, that he might give absolution to those wounded men whose spirits were departing, and who were brought down and laid before him by their comrades. on one side of him knelt his orphan niece, a young girl of about seventeen years of age, watching his countenance as he prayed, or bending down with a look of pity and tearful eyes on her expiring countrymen, whose last moments were gladdened by his holy offices. on the other side of the bishop stood the governor, don philip de ribiera, and his two sons, youths in their prime, and holding commissions in the king's service. there was melancholy on the brow of don ribiera; he was prepared for, and he anticipated, the worst. the eldest son had his eyes fixed upon the sweet countenance of teresa de silva--that very evening, as they walked together on the deck, had they exchanged their vows--that very evening they had luxuriated in the present, and had dwelt with delightful anticipation on the future. but we must leave them and return on deck. the captain of the portuguese ship had walked aft, and now went up to antonio, the old seaman, who was standing at the wheel. 'i still see her with the glass, antonio, and yet she has not fired for nearly two hours; do you think any accident has happened to her long gun? if so, we may have some chance.' antonio shook his head. 'we have but little chance, i am afraid, my captain; i knew by the ring of the gun, when she fired it, that it was brass; indeed, no schooner could carry a long iron gun of that calibre. depend upon it, she only waits for the metal to cool and daylight to return: a long gun or two might have saved us; but now, as she has the advantage of us in heels, we are at her mercy.' 'what can she be--a french privateer?' 'i trust it may be so; and i have promised a silver candlestick to st. antonio that it may prove no worse: we then may have some chance of seeing our homes again; but i fear not.' 'what, then, do you imagine her to be, antonio?' 'the pirate which we have heard so much of.' 'jesu protect us! we must then sell our lives as dearly as we can.' 'so i intend to do, my captain,' replied antonio, shifting the helm a spoke. the day broke, and showed the schooner continuing her pursuit at the same distance astern, without any apparent movement on board. it was not until the sun was some degrees above the horizon that the smoke was again seen to envelop her bows, and the shot crashed through the timbers of the portuguese ship. the reason for this delay was, that the pirate waited till the sun was up to ascertain if there were any other vessels to be seen, previous to his pouncing on his quarry. the portuguese captain went aft and hoisted his ensign, but no flag was shown by the schooner. again whistled the ball, and again did it tear up the decks of the unfortunate ship: many of those who had re-ascended to ascertain what was going on, now hastily sought their former retreat. 'mind the helm, antonio,' said the portuguese captain; 'i must go down and consult with the governor.' 'never fear, my captain; as long as these limbs hold together, i will do my duty,' replied the old man, exhausted as he was by long watching and fatigue. the captain descended to the orlop-deck, where he found the major part of the crew and passengers assembled. 'my lords,' said he, addressing the governor and bishop, 'the schooner has not shown any colours, although our own are hoisted. i am come down to know your pleasure. defence we can make none; and i fear that we are at the mercy of a pirate.' 'a pirate!' ejaculated several, beating their breasts, and calling upon their saints. 'silence, my good people, silence,' quietly observed the bishop; 'as to what it may be best to do,' continued he, turning to the captain, 'i cannot advise; i am a man of peace, and unfit to hold a place in a council of war. don ribiera, i must refer the point to you and your sons. tremble not, my dear teresa; are we not under the protection of the almighty.' 'holy virgin, pity us!' exclaimed teresa. 'come, my sons,' said don ribiera, 'we will go on deck and consult: let not any of the men follow us; it is useless risking lives which may yet be valuable.' don ribiera and his sons followed the captain to the quarter-deck, and with him and antonio they held a consultation. 'we have but one chance,' observed the old man, after a time; 'let us haul down our colours as if in submission; they will then range up alongside, and either board us from the schooner, or from their boats; at all events, we shall find out what she is, and, if a pirate, we must sell our lives as dearly as we can. if, when we haul down the colours, she ranges up alongside, as i expect she will, let all the men be prepared for a desperate struggle.' 'you are right, antonio,' replied the governor; 'go aft, captain, and haul down the colours!--let us see what she does now. down, my boys! and prepare the men to do their duty.' as antonio had predicted, so soon as the colours were hauled down, the schooner ceased firing and made sail. she ranged up on the quarter of the ship, and up to her main peak soared the terrific black flag; her broadside was poured into the indiaman, and before the smoke had cleared away there was a concussion from the meeting sides, and the bearded pirates poured upon her decks. the crew of the portuguese, with the detachment of troops, still formed a considerable body of men. the sight of the black flag had struck ice into every heart, but the feeling was resolved into one of desperation. 'knives, men, knives!' roared antonio, rushing on to the attack, followed by the most brave. 'blood for blood!' cried the second mate, aiming a blow at the old man. 'you have it,' replied antonio, as his knife entered the pirate's heart, while, at the same moment, he fell and was himself a corpse. the struggle was deadly, but the numbers and ferocity of the pirates prevailed. cain rushed forward followed by hawkhurst, bearing down all who opposed them. with one blow from the pirate-captain, the head of don ribiera was severed to the shoulder; a second struck down the eldest son, while the sword of hawkhurst passed through the body of the other. the portuguese captain had already fallen, and the men no longer stood their ground. a general massacre ensued, and the bodies were thrown overboard as fast as the men were slaughtered. in less than five minutes there was not a living portuguese on the bloody decks of the ill-fated ship. chapter ix the capture 'pass the word for not a man to go below, hawkhurst!' said the pirate-captain. 'i have, sir; and sentries are stationed at the hatchways. shall we haul the schooner off?' 'no, let her remain; the breeze is faint already: we shall have a calm in half an hour. have we lost many men?' 'only seven, that i can reckon; but we have lost wallace' (the second mate). 'a little promotion will do no harm,' replied cain; 'take a dozen of our best men and search the ship, there are others alive yet. by the bye, send a watch on board of the schooner; she is left to the mercy of the kroumen, and----' 'one who is better out of her,' replied hawkhurst. 'and those we find below----' continued the mate. 'alive!' 'true; we may else be puzzled where to find that portion of her cargo which suits us,' said hawkhurst, going down the hatchway to collect the men who were plundering on the main deck and in the captain's cabin. 'here, you maltese! up, there! and look well round if there is anything in sight,' said the captain, walking aft. before hawkhurst had collected the men and ordered them on board of the schooner, as usual in those latitudes, it had fallen a perfect calm. where was francisco during this scene of blood? he had remained in the cabin of the schooner. cain had more than once gone down to him, to persuade him to come on deck and assist at the boarding of the portuguese, but in vain--his sole reply to the threats and solicitations of the pirate was-- 'do with me as you please--i have made up my mind--you know i do not fear death--as long as i remain on board of this vessel, i will take no part in your atrocities. if you do respect my mother's memory, suffer her son to seek an honest and honourable livelihood.' the words of francisco were ringing in the ears of cain as he walked up and down on the quarter-deck of the portuguese vessel, and, debased as he was, he could not help thinking that the youth was his equal in animal and his superior in mental courage. he was arguing in his own mind upon the course he should pursue with respect to francisco, when hawkhurst made his appearance on deck, followed by his men, who dragged up six individuals who had escaped the massacre. these were the bishop; his niece; a portuguese girl, her attendant; the supercargo of the vessel; a sacristan; and a servant of the ecclesiastic: they were hauled along the deck and placed in a row before the captain, who cast his eyes upon them in severe scrutiny. the bishop and his niece looked round, the one proudly meeting the eye of cain, although he felt that his hour was come; the other carefully avoiding his gaze, and glancing round to ascertain whether there were any other prisoners, and if so, if her betrothed was amongst them; but her eye discovered not what she sought--it was met only by the bearded faces of the pirate crew, and the blood which bespattered the deck. she covered her face with her hands. 'bring that man forward,' said cain, pointing to the servant. 'who are you?' 'a servant of my lord the bishop.' 'and you?' continued the captain. 'a poor sacristan attending upon my lord the bishop.' 'and you?' cried he to a third. 'the supercargo of this vessel.' 'put him aside, hawkhurst!' 'do you want the others?' inquired hawkhurst significantly. 'no.' hawkhurst gave a signal to some of the pirates, who led away the sacristan and the servant. a stifled shriek and a heavy plunge in the water were heard a few seconds after. during this time the pirate had been questioning the supercargo as to the contents of the vessel and her stowage, when he was suddenly interrupted by one of the pirates, who, in a hurried voice, stated that the ship had received several shot between wind and water and was sinking fast. cain, who was standing on the slide of the carronade with his sword in his hand, raised his arm and struck the pirate a blow on the head with the hilt, which, whether intended or not, fractured his skull, and the man fell upon the deck. 'take that, babbler, for your intelligence; if these men are obstinate, we may have worked for nothing.' the crew, who felt the truth of their captain's remark, did not appear to object to the punishment inflicted, and the body of the man was dragged away. 'what mercy can we expect from those who show no mercy even to each other?' observed the bishop, lifting his eyes to heaven. 'silence!' cried cain, who now interrogated the supercargo as to the contents of the hold--the poor man answered as well as he could--'the plate! the money for the troops--where are they?' 'the money for the troops is in the spirit-room, but of the plate i know nothing; it is in some of the cases belonging to my lord the bishop.' 'hawkhurst! down at once to the spirit-room and see to the money; in the meantime i will ask a few questions of this reverend father.' 'and the supercargo--do you want him any more?' 'no; he may go.' the poor man fell down on his knees in thankfulness at what he considered his escape: he was dragged away by the pirates, and it is scarcely necessary to add that in a minute his body was torn to pieces by the sharks, who, scenting their prey from a distance, were now playing in shoals around the two vessels. the party on the quarter-deck were now (unperceived by the captain) joined by francisco, who, hearing from the krouman, pompey, that there were prisoners still on board, and amongst them two females, had come over to plead the cause of mercy. 'most reverend father,' observed cain, after a short pause, 'you have many articles of value in this vessel?' [illustration: '_take that, babbler, for your intelligence; if these men are obstinate, we may have worked for nothing._'] 'none,' replied the bishop, 'except this poor girl; she is, indeed, beyond price, and will, i trust, soon be an angel in heaven.' 'yet is this world, if what you preach be true, a purgatory which must be passed through previous to arriving there, and that girl may think death a blessing compared to what she may expect if you refuse to tell me what i would know. you have good store of gold and silver ornaments for your churches--where are they?' 'they are among the packages entrusted to my care.' 'how many may you have in all?' 'a hundred, if not more.' 'will you deign to inform me where i may find what i require?' 'the gold and silver are not mine, but are the property of that god to whom they have been dedicated,' replied the bishop. 'answer quickly; no more subterfuge, good sir. where is it to be found?' 'i will not tell, thou blood-stained man; at least, in this instance, there shall be disappointment, and the sea shall swallow up those earthly treasures to obtain which thou hast so deeply imbrued thy hands. pirate! i repeat it, i will not tell.' 'seize that girl, my lads!' cried cain; 'she is yours, do with her as you please.' 'save me! oh, save me!' shrieked teresa, clinging to the bishop's robe. the pirates advanced and laid hold of teresa. francisco bounded from where he stood behind the captain, and dashed away the foremost. 'are you men?' cried he, as the pirates retreated. 'holy sir, i honour you. alas! i cannot save you,' continued francisco mournfully. 'yet will i try. on my knees--by the love you bore my mother--by the affection you once bore me--do not commit this horrid deed. my lads!' continued francisco, appealing to the pirates, 'join with me and entreat your captain; ye are too brave, too manly, to injure the helpless and the innocent--above all, to shed the blood of a holy man, and of this poor trembling maiden.' there was a pause--even the pirates appeared to side with francisco, though none of them dared to speak. the muscles of the captain's face quivered with emotion, but from what source could not be ascertained. at this moment the interest of the scene was heightened. the girl who attended upon teresa, crouched on her knees with terror, had been casting her fearful eyes upon the men which composed the pirate crew; suddenly she uttered a scream of delight as she discovered among them one that she well knew. he was a young man, about twenty-five years of age, with little or no beard. he had been her lover in his more innocent days; and she, for more than a year, had mourned him as dead, for the vessel in which he sailed had never been heard of. it had been taken by the pirate, and, to save his life, he had joined the crew. 'filippo! filippo!' screamed the girl, rushing into his arms. 'mistress! it is filippo; and we are safe.' filippo instantly recognised her; the sight of her brought back to his memory his days of happiness and of innocence; and the lovers were clasped in each other's arms. 'save them! spare them!--by the spirit of my mother! i charge you,' repeated francisco, again appealing to the captain. 'may god bless thee, thou good young man!' said the bishop, advancing and placing his hand upon francisco's head. cain answered not; but his broad expanded chest heaved with emotion--when hawkhurst burst into the group. 'we are too late for the money, captain; the water is already six feet above it. we must now try for the treasure.' this intelligence appeared to check the current of the captain's feelings. now, in one word, sir,' said he to the bishop, 'where is the treasure? trifle not, or, by heaven----' 'name not heaven,' replied the bishop; 'you have had my answer.' the captain turned away, and gave some directions to hawkhurst, who hastened below. 'remove that boy,' said cain to the pirates, pointing to francisco. 'separate those two fools,' continued he, looking towards filippo and the girl, who were sobbing in each other's arms. 'never!' cried filippo. 'throw the girl to the sharks! do you hear? am i to be obeyed?' cried cain, raising his cutlass. filippo started up, disengaged himself from the girl, and drawing his knife, rushed towards the captain to plunge it in his bosom. with the quickness of lightning the captain caught his uplifted hand, and, breaking his wrist, hurled him to the deck. 'indeed!' cried he, with a sneer. 'you shall not separate us,' said filippo, attempting to rise. 'i do not intend it, my good lad,' replied cain. 'lash them both together and launch them overboard.' this order was now obeyed; for the pirates not only quailed before the captain's cool courage, but were indignant that his life had been attempted. there was little occasion to tie the unhappy pair together; they were locked so fast in each other's arms that it would have been impossible almost to separate them. in this state they were carried to the entering port, and cast into the sea. 'monster!' cried the bishop, as he heard the splash, 'thou wilt have a heavy reckoning for this.' 'now bring these forward,' said cain, with a savage voice. the bishop and his niece were led to the gangway. 'what dost thou see, good bishop?' said cain, pointing to the discoloured water, and the rapid motion of the fins of the sharks, eager in the anticipation of a further supply. 'i see ravenous creatures after their kind,' replied the bishop, 'who will, in all probability, soon tear asunder these poor limbs; but i see no monster like thyself. teresa, dearest, fear not; there is a god, an avenging god, as well as a rewarding one.' but teresa's eyes were closed--she could not look upon the scene. 'you have your choice; first torture, and then your body to those sharks for your own portion; and as for the girl, this moment i hand her over to my crew.' 'never!' shrieked teresa, springing from the deck and plunging into the wave. there was a splash of contention, the lashing of tails, until the water was in a foam, and then the dark colour gradually cleared away, and nought was to be seen but the pure blue wave and the still unsatiated monsters of the deep. 'the screws--the screws! quick! we'll have the secret from him,' cried the pirate captain, turning to his crew, who, villains as they were, had been shocked at this last catastrophe. 'seize him!' 'touch him not!' cried francisco, standing on the hammock nettings; 'touch him not! if you are men.' boiling with rage, cain let go the arm of the bishop, drew his pistol, and levelled it at francisco. the bishop threw up the arm of cain as he fired; saw that he had missed his aim, and clasping his hands, raised his eyes to heaven in thankfulness at francisco's escape. in this position he was collared by hawkhurst, whose anger overcame his discretion, and who hurled him through the entering port into the sea. 'officious fool!' muttered cain, when he perceived what the mate had done. then, recollecting himself, he cried, 'seize that boy and bring him here.' one or two of the crew advanced to obey his orders; but pompey and the kroumen, who had been attentive to what was going on, had collected round francisco, and a scuffle ensued. the pirates, not being very determined, nor very anxious to take francisco, allowed him to be hurried away in the centre of the kroumen, who bore him safely to the schooner. in the meantime hawkhurst, and the major part of the men on board of the ship, had been tearing up the hold to obtain the valuables, but without success. the water had now reached above the orlop-deck, and all further attempts were unavailing. the ship was settling fast, and it became necessary to quit her, and haul off the schooner, that she might not be endangered by the vortex of the sinking vessel. cain and hawkhurst, with their disappointed crew, returned on board the schooner, and before they had succeeded in detaching the two vessels a cable's length, the ship went down with all the treasure so coveted. the indignation and rage which were expressed by the captain as he rapidly walked the deck in company with his first mate--his violent gesticulations--proved to the crew that there was mischief brewing. francisco did not return to the cabin; he remained forward with the kroumen, who, although but a small portion of the ship's company, were known to be resolute and not to be despised. it was also observed that all of them had supplied themselves with arms, and were collected forward, huddled together, watching every motion and manoeuvre, and talking rapidly in their own language. the schooner was now steered to the north-westward under all press of sail. the sun again disappeared, but francisco returned not to the cabin--he went below, surrounded by the kroumen, who appeared to have devoted themselves to his protection. once during the night hawkhurst summoned them on deck, but they obeyed not the order; and to the expostulation of the boatswain's mate, who came down, they made no reply. but there were many of the pirates in the schooner who appeared to coincide with the kroumen in their regard for francisco. there are shades of villainy in the most profligate of societies; and among the pirate's crew some were not yet wholly debased. the foul murder of a holy man--the cruel fate of the beautiful teresa--and the barbarous conduct of the captain towards filippo and his mistress, were deeds of an atrocity to which even the most hardened were unaccustomed. francisco's pleadings in behalf of mercy were at least no crime; and yet they considered that francisco was doomed. he was a general favourite; the worst-disposed of the pirates, with the exception of hawkhurst, if they did not love, could not forbear respecting him; although, at the same time, they felt that if francisco remained on board the power even of cain himself would soon be destroyed. for many months hawkhurst, who detested the youth, had been most earnest that he should be sent out of the schooner. now he pressed the captain for his removal in any way, as necessary for their mutual safety, pointing out to cain the conduct of the kroumen, and his fears that a large proportion of the ship's company were equally disaffected. cain felt the truth of hawkhurst's representation, and he went down to his cabin to consider upon what should be done. it was past midnight when cain, worn out with the conflicting passions of the day, fell into an uneasy slumber. his dreams were of francisco's mother--she appeared to him pleading for her son, and cain 'babbled in his sleep.' at this time francisco, with pompey, had softly crawled aft, that they might obtain, if they found the captain asleep, the pistols of francisco, with some ammunition. pompey slipped in first, and started back when he heard the captain's voice. they remained at the cabin door listening, 'no--no,' muttered cain, 'he must die--unless--plead not, woman!--i know i murdered thee--plead not, he dies!' in one of the sockets of the silver lamp there was a lighted wick, the rays of which were sufficient to afford a dim view of the cabin. francisco, overhearing the words of cain, stepped in, and walked up to the side of the bed. 'boy! plead not,' continued cain, lying on his back and breathing heavily--'plead not--woman!--to-morrow he dies.' a pause ensued, as if the sleeping man was listening to a reply. 'yes; as i murdered thee, so will i murder him.' 'wretch!' said francisco, in a low, solemn voice, 'didst thou kill my mother?' 'i did--i did!' responded cain, still sleeping. 'and why?' continued francisco, who, at this acknowledgment on the part of the sleeping captain, was careless of discovery. 'in my mood she vexed me,' answered cain. 'fiend; thou hast then confessed it!' cried francisco in a loud voice, which awoke the captain, who started up; but before his senses were well recovered, or his eyes open so as to distinguish their forms, pompey struck out the light, and all was darkness: he then put his hand to francisco's mouth, and led him out of the cabin. 'who's there?--who's there?' cried cain. the officer in charge of the deck hastened down. 'did you call, sir?' 'call!' repeated the captain. 'i thought there was some one in the cabin. i want a light--that's all,' continued he, recovering himself, as he wiped the cold perspiration from his forehead. in the meantime francisco, with pompey, had gained his former place of refuge with the kroumen. the feelings of the young man changed from agony to revenge; his object in returning to the cabin to recover his weapons had been frustrated, but his determination now was to take the life of the captain if he possibly could. the following morning the kroumen again refused to work or go on deck; and the state of affairs was reported by hawkhurst to his chief. the mate now assumed another tone; for he had sounded not the majority but the most steady and influential men on board, who, like himself, were veterans in crime. 'it must be, sir; or you will no longer command this vessel. i am desired to say so.' 'indeed!' replied cain, with a sneer. 'perhaps you have already chosen my successor?' hawkhurst perceived that he had lost ground, and he changed his manner. 'i speak but for yourself: if you do not command this vessel i shall not remain in her; if you quit her, i quit also; and we must find another.' cain was pacified, and the subject was not renewed. 'turn the hands up,' at last said the captain. the pirate crew assembled aft. 'my lads, i am sorry that our laws oblige me to make an example; but mutiny and disaffection must be punished. i am equally bound as yourselves by the laws which we have laid down for our guidance while we sail together; and you may believe that in doing my duty in this instance i am guided by a sense of justice, and wish to prove to you that i am worthy to command. francisco has been with me since he was a child; he has lived with me, and it is painful to part with him; but i am here to see that our laws are put in force. he has been guilty of repeated mutiny and contempt, and--he must die.' 'death! death!' cried several of the pirates in advance; 'death and justice!' 'no more murder!' said several voices from behind. 'who's that that speaks?' 'too much murder yesterday--no more murder!' shouted several voices at once. 'let the men come forward who speak,' cried cain, with a withering look. no one obeyed this order. 'down, then, my men! and bring up francisco.' the whole of the pirate crew hastened below, but with different intentions; some were determined to seize francisco, and hand him over to death--others to protect him. a confused noise was heard--the shouts of '_down and seize him!_' opposed to those of '_no murder! no murder!_' both parties had snatched up their arms; those who sided with francisco joined the kroumen, whilst the others also hastened below to bring him on deck. a slight scuffle ensued before they separated, and ascertained by the separation the strength of the contending parties. francisco, perceiving that he was joined by a large body, desired his men to follow him, went up the fore-ladder, and took possession of the forecastle. the pirates on his side supplied him with arms, and francisco stood forward in advance. hawkhurst, and those of the crew who sided with him, had retreated to the quarter-deck, and rallied round the captain, who leaned against the capstern. they were then able to estimate their comparative strength. the number, on the whole, preponderated in favour of francisco; but on the captain's side were the older and more athletic of the crew, and, we may add, the more determined. still, the captain and hawkhurst perceived the danger of their situation, and it was thought advisable to parley for the present, and wreak their vengeance hereafter. for a few minutes there was a low consultation between both parties; at last cain advanced. 'my lads,' said he, addressing those who had rallied round francisco, 'i little thought that a firebrand would have been cast in this vessel to set us all at variance. it was my duty, as your captain, to propose that our laws should be enforced. tell me, now, what is it that you wish. i am only here as your captain, and to take the sense of the whole crew. i have no animosity against that lad; i have loved him--i have cherished him; but like a viper, he has stung me in return. instead of being in arms against each other, ought we not to be united? i have, therefore, one proposal to make to you, which is this: let the sentence go by vote, or ballot, if you please; and whatever the sentence may be, i shall be guided by it. can i say more?' 'my lads,' replied francisco, when the captain had done speaking, 'i think it better that you should accept this proposal rather than that blood should be shed. my life is of little consequence; say, then, will you agree to the vote, and submit to those laws, which, as the captain says, have been laid down to regulate the discipline of the vessel?' the pirates on francisco's side looked round among their party, and, perceiving that they were the most numerous, consented to the proposal; but hawkhurst stepped forward and observed: 'of course the kroumen can have no votes, as they do not belong to the vessel.' this objection was important, as they amounted to twenty-five, and, after that number was deducted, in all probability francisco's adherents would have been in the minority. the pirates with francisco objected, and again assumed the attitude of defence. 'one moment,' said francisco, stepping in advance; 'before this point is settled, i wish to take the sense of all of you as to another of your laws. i ask you, hawkhurst, and all who are now opposed to me, whether you have not one law, which is _blood for blood?_' 'yes--yes,' shouted all the pirates. 'then let your captain stand forward, and answer to my charge, if he dares.' cain curled his lip in derision, and walked within two yards of francisco. 'well, boy, i'm here; and what is your charge?' 'first--i ask you, captain cain, who are so anxious that the laws should be enforced, whether you acknowledge that "blood for blood" is a just law?' 'most just: and, when shed, the party who revenges is not amenable.' ''tis well: then, villain that thou art, answer--didst thou not murder my mother?' cain, at this accusation, started. 'answer the truth, or lie like a recreant!' repeated francisco. 'did you not murder my mother?' the captain's lips and the muscles of his face quivered, but he did not reply. '_blood for blood!_' cried francisco, as he fired his pistol at cain, who staggered, and fell on the deck. hawkhurst and several of the pirates hastened to the captain, and raised him. 'she must have told him last night,' said cain, speaking with difficulty, as the blood flowed from the wound. 'he told me so himself,' said francisco, turning round to those who stood by him. cain was taken down into the cabin. on examination, his wound was not mortal, although the loss of blood had been rapid and very great. in a few minutes hawkhurst joined the party on the quarter-deck. he found that the tide had turned more in francisco's favour than he had expected; the law of 'blood for blood' was held most sacred: indeed, it was but the knowledge that it was solemnly recognised, and that, if one pirate wounded another, the other was at liberty to take his life, without punishment, which prevented constant affrays between parties, whose knives would otherwise have been the answer to every affront. it was a more debased law of duelling, which kept such profligate associates on good terms. finding, therefore, that this feeling predominated, even among those who were opposed to francisco on the other question, hawkhurst thought it advisable to parley. [illustration: 'blood for blood!' _cried francisco, as he fired his pistol at cain, who staggered, and fell on the deck._] 'hawkhurst,' said francisco, 'i have but one request to make, which, if complied with, will put an end to this contention; it is, that you will put me on shore at the first land that we make. if you and your party engage to do this, i will desire those who support me to return to their obedience.' 'i grant it,' replied hawkhurst; 'and so will the others. will you not, my men?' 'agreed--agreed upon all sides,' cried the pirates, throwing away their weapons, and mingling with each other as if they had never been opposed. there is an old saying that there is honour amongst thieves; and so it often proves. every man in the vessel knew that this agreement would be strictly adhered to; and francisco now walked the deck with as much composure as if nothing had occurred. hawkhurst, who was aware that he must fulfil his promise, carefully examined the charts when he went down below, came up and altered the course of the schooner two points more to the northward. the next morning he was up at the mast-head nearly half an hour, when he descended and again altered the course. by nine o'clock a low sandy island appeared on the lee bow; when within half a mile of it he ordered the schooner to be hove-to, and lowered down the small boat from the stern. he then turned the hands up. 'my lads, we must keep our promise to put francisco on shore at the first land which we made. there it is!' and a malicious smile played on the miscreant's features as he pointed out to them the barren sand-bank, which promised nothing but starvation and a lingering death. several of the crew murmured; but hawkhurst was supported by his own party, and had, moreover, taken the precaution quietly to remove all the arms, with the exception of those with which his adherents were provided. 'an agreement is an agreement; it is what he requested himself, and we promised to perform. send for francisco.' 'i am here, hawkhurst; and i tell you candidly, that, desolate as is that barren spot, i prefer it to remaining in your company. i will bring my chest up immediately.' 'no--no; that was not a part of the agreement,' cried hawkhurst. 'every man here has a right to his own property. i appeal to the whole of the crew.' 'true--true,' replied the pirates; and hawkhurst found himself again in the minority. 'be it so.' the chest of francisco was handed into the boat. 'is that all?' cried hawkhurst. 'my lads, am i to have no provisions or water?' inquired francisco. 'no,' replied hawkhurst. 'yes--yes,' cried most of the pirates. hawkhurst did not dare put it to the vote; he turned sulkily away. the kroumen brought up two breakers of water, and some pieces of pork. 'here, massa,' said pompey, putting into francisco's hand a fishing-line with hooks. 'thank you, pompey; but i had forgot--that book in the cabin--you know which i mean.' pompey nodded his head, and went below; but it was some time before he returned, during which hawkhurst became impatient. it was a very small boat which had been lowered down; it had a lug-sail and two pair of sculls in it, and was quite full when francisco's chest and the other articles had been put in. 'come! i have no time to wait,' said hawkhurst; 'in the boat!' francisco shook hands with many of the crew, and wished all of them farewell. indeed, now that they beheld the poor lad about to be cast on a desolate island, even those most opposed to him felt some emotions of pity. although they acknowledged that his absence was necessary, yet they knew his determined courage; and with them that quality was always a strong appeal. [illustration: _before francisco had gained the sand-bank she was hull-down to the northward._] 'who will row this lad ashore, and bring the boat off?' 'not i,' replied one; 'it would haunt me ever afterwards.' so they all appeared to think, for no one volunteered. francisco jumped into the boat. 'there is no room for any one but me; and i will row myself on shore,' cried he. 'farewell, my lads! farewell!' 'stop! not so; he must not have the boat--he may escape from the island,' cried hawkhurst. 'and why shouldn't he, poor fellow?' replied the men. 'let him have the boat.' 'yes--yes, let him have the boat;' and hawkhurst was again overruled. 'here, massa francisco--here de book.' 'what's that, sir?' cried hawkhurst, snatching the book out of pompey's hand. 'him, massa, bible.' francisco waited for the book. 'shove off!' cried hawkhurst. 'give me my book, mr. hawkhurst!' 'no!' replied the malignant rascal, tossing the bible over the taffrail; 'he shall not have that. i've heard say that _there is consolation in it for the afflicted_.' francisco shoved off his boat, and seizing his sculls, pushed astern, picked up the book, which still floated, and laid it to dry on the after-thwart of the boat. he then pulled in for the shore. in the meantime the schooner had let draw her foresheet, and had already left him a quarter of a mile astern. before francisco had gained the sand-bank she was hull-down to the northward. chapter x the sand-bank the first half-hour that francisco was on this desolate spot he watched the receding schooner; his thoughts were unconnected and vague. wandering through the various scenes which had passed on the decks of that vessel, and recalling to his memory the different characters of those on board of her, much as he had longed to quit her--disgusted as he had been with those with whom he had been forced to associate--still, as her sails grew fainter and fainter to his view, as she increased her distance, he more than once felt that even remaining on board of her would have been preferable to his present deserted lot. 'no, no!' exclaimed he, after a little further reflection, 'i had rather perish here, than continue to witness the scenes which i have been forced to behold.' he once more fixed his eyes upon her white sails, and then sat down on the loose sands, and remained in deep and melancholy reverie until the scorching heat reminded him of his situation; he afterwards rose and turned his thoughts upon his present situation, and to what would be the measures most advisable to take. he hauled his little boat still farther on the beach, and attached the painter to one of the oars, which he fixed deep in the sand; he then proceeded to survey the bank, and found that but a small portion was uncovered at high water; for, trifling as was the rise of the tide, the bank was so low that the water flowed almost over it. the most elevated part was not more than fifteen feet above high-water mark, and that was a small knoll of about fifty feet in circumference. to this part he resolved to remove his effects; he returned to the boat, and having lifted out his chest, the water, the provisions, with the other articles which he had obtained, he dragged them up, one by one, until they were all collected at the spot he had chosen. he then took out of the boat the oars and little sail, which, fortunately, had remained in her. his last object, to haul the little boat up to the same spot, was one which demanded all his exertion; but, after considerable fatigue, he contrived, by first lifting round her bow, and then her stern, to effect his object. tired and exhausted, he then repaired to one of the breakers of water and refreshed himself. the heat, as the day advanced, had become intolerable; but it stimulated him to fresh exertion. he turned over the boat, and contrived that the bow and stern should rest upon two little hillocks, so as to raise it above the level of the sand beneath it two or three feet; he spread out the sail from the keel above, with the thole-pins as pegs, so as to keep off the rays of the sun. dragging the breakers of water and the provisions underneath the boat, he left his chest outside; and having thus formed for himself a sort of covering which would protect him from the heat of the day and the damp of the night, he crept in to shelter himself until the evening. although francisco had not been on deck, he knew pretty well whereabouts he then was. taking out a chart from his chest, he examined the coast to ascertain the probable distance which he might be from any prospect of succour. he calculated that he was on one of a patch of sand-banks off the coast of loango, and about seven hundred miles from the isle of st. thomas--the nearest place where he might expect to fall in with a european face. from the coast he felt certain that he could not be more than forty or fifty miles at the most; but could he trust himself among the savage natives who inhabited it? he knew how ill they had been treated by europeans; for, at that period, it was quite as common for the slave-trader to land and take away the inhabitants as slaves by force, as to purchase them in the more northern territories: still, he might be fortunate enough to fall in with some trader on the coast, as there were a few who still carried on a barter for gold-dust and ivory. we do not know--we cannot conceive a situation much more deplorable than the one we have just described to have been that of francisco. alone--without a chance of assistance--with only a sufficiency of food for a few days, and cut off from the rest of his fellow-creatures, with only so much _terra firma_ as would prevent his being swallowed up by the vast, unfathomable ocean, into which the horizon fell on every side around him! and his chance of escape how small! hundreds of miles from any from whom he might expect assistance, and the only means of reaching them a small boat--a mere cockle-shell, which the first rough gale would inevitably destroy. such, indeed, were the first thoughts of francisco; but he soon recovered from his despondency. he was young, courageous, and buoyant with hope; and there is a feeling of pride--of trust in our own resources and exertions, which increases and stimulates us in proportion to our danger and difficulty; it is the daring of the soul proving its celestial origin and eternal duration. so intense was the heat that francisco almost panted for sufficient air to support life, as he lay under the shade of the boat during the whole of that day; not a breath of wind disturbed the glassy wave--all nature appeared hushed into one horrible calm. it was not until the shades of night were covering the solitude that francisco ventured forth from his retreat; but he found little relief; there was an unnatural closeness in the air--a suffocation unusual even in those climes. francisco cast his eyes up to the vault of heaven, and was astonished to find that there were no stars visible--a gray mist covered the whole firmament. he directed his view downwards to the horizon, and that, too, was not to be defined; there was a dark bank all around it. he walked to the edge of the sand-bank; there was not even a ripple--the wide ocean appeared to be in a trance, in a state of lethargy or stupor. he parted the hair from his feverish brow, and once more surveying the horrible, lifeless, stagnant waste, his soul sickened, and he cast himself upon the sand. there he lay for many hours in a state bordering upon wild despair. at last he recovered himself, and, rising to his knees, he prayed for strength and submission to the will of heaven. when he was once more upon his feet, and had again scanned the ocean, he perceived that there was a change rapidly approaching. the dark bank on the horizon had now risen higher up; the opaqueness was everywhere more dense; and low murmurs were heard as if there was wind stirring aloft, although the sea was still glassy as a lake. signs of some movement about to take place were evident, and the solitary youth watched and watched. and now the sounds increased, and here and there a wild thread of air--whence coming, who could tell? and as rapidly disappearing--would ruffle, for a second, a portion of the stagnant sea. then came whizzing sounds and moans, and then the rumbling noise of distant thunder--loud and louder yet--still louder--a broad black line is seen sweeping along the expanse of water--fearful in its rapidity it comes!--and the hurricane burst, at once and with all its force, and all its terrific sounds, upon the isolated francisco. the first blast was so powerful and so unexpected that it threw him down, and prudence dictated to him to remain in that position, for the loose sand was swept off and whirled in such force as to blind and prevent his seeing a foot from him; he would have crawled to the boat for security, but he knew not in which direction to proceed. but this did not last; for now the water was borne up upon the strong wings of the hurricane, and the sand was rendered firm by its saturation with the element. francisco felt that he was drenched, and he raised his head. all he could discover was that the firmament was mantled with darkness, horrible from its intensity, and that the sea was in one extended foam--boiling everywhere, and white as milk--but still smooth, as if the power of the wind had compelled it to be so; but the water had encroached, and one half the sand-bank was covered with it, while over the other the foam whirled, each portion chasing the other with wild rapidity. and now the windows of heaven were opened, and the rain, mingled with the spray caught up by the hurricane, was dashed and hurled upon the forlorn youth, who still lay where he had been first thrown down. but of a sudden, a wash of water told him that he could there remain no longer: the sea was rising--rising fast; and before he could gain a few paces on his hands and knees, another wave, as if it chased him in its wrath, repeated the warning of his extreme danger, and he was obliged to rise on his feet and hasten to the high part of the sand-bank, where he had drawn up his boat and his provisions. blinded as he was by the rain and spray, he could distinguish nothing. of a sudden he fell violently; he had stumbled over one of the breakers of water, and his head struck against his sea-chest. where, then, was the boat? it was gone!--it must have been swept away by the fury of the wind. alas, then all chance was over! and if not washed away by the angry waters, he had but to prolong his existence but a few days, and then to die. the effect of the blow he had received on his forehead, with the shock of mind occasioned by the disappearance of the boat, overpowered him, and he remained for some time in a state of insensibility. when francisco recovered, the scene was again changed: the wide expanse was now in a state of wild and fearful commotion, and the waters roared as loud as did the hurricane. the whole sand-bank, with the exception of that part on which he stood, was now covered with tumultuous foam, and his place of refuge was occasionally invaded, when some vast mass, o'erlording the other waves, expended all its fury even to his feet. francisco prepared to die! but gradually the darkness of the heavens disappeared, and there was no longer a bank upon the horizon, and francisco hoped--alas! hoped what?--that he might be saved from the present impending death to be reserved for one still more horrible; to be saved from the fury of the waves, which would swallow him up, and in a few seconds remove him from all pain and suffering, to perish for want of sustenance under a burning sun; to be withered--to be parched to death--calling in his agony for water; and as francisco thought of this he covered his face with his hands, and prayed, 'o god, thy will be done! but in thy mercy, raise, still higher raise the waters!' but the waters did not rise higher. the howling of the wind gradually decreased, and the foaming seas had obeyed the divine injunction--they had gone so far, but no farther! and the day dawned, and the sky cleared; and the first red tints, announcing the return of light and heat, had appeared on the broken horizon, when the eyes of the despairing youth were directed to a black mass on the tumultuous waters. it was a vessel, with but one mast standing, rolling heavily, and running before the gale right on for the sand-bank where he stood; her hull, one moment borne aloft and the next disappearing from his view in the hollow of the agitated waters. 'she will be dashed to pieces!' thought francisco; 'she will be lost!--they cannot see the bank!' and he would have made a signal to her, if he had been able, to warn her of her danger, forgetting at the time his own desolate situation. as francisco watched, the sun rose bright and joyous over this scene of anxiety and pain. on came the vessel flying before the gale, while the seas chased her as if they would fain overwhelm her. it was fearful to see her scud--agonising to know that she was rushing to destruction. at last he could distinguish those on board. he waved his hand, but they perceived him not; he shouted, but his voice was borne away by the gale. on came the vessel, as if doomed. she was within two cables' length of the bank when those on board perceived their danger. it was too late!--they had rounded her to--another, and another wave hurled her towards the sand. she struck!--her only remaining mast fell over the side, and the roaring waves hastened to complete their work of destruction and of death! chapter xi the escape francisco's eyes were fixed upon the vessel, over which the sea now broke with terrific violence. there appeared to be about eight or nine men on her deck, who sheltered themselves under the weather bulwarks. each wave, as it broke against her side and then dashed in foam over her, threw her, with a convulsive jerk, still further on the sand-bank. at last she was so high up that their fury was partly spent before they dashed against her frame. had the vessel been strong and well-built--had she been a collier coasting the english shores--there was a fair chance that she might have withstood the fury of the storm until it had subsided, and that by remaining on board the crew might have survived; but she was of a very different mould, and, as francisco justly surmised, an american brig, built for swift sailing, very sharp, and, moreover, very slightly put together. francisco's eyes, as may easily be supposed, were never removed from the only object which could now interest him--the unexpected appearance and imminent danger of his fellow-creatures at this desolate spot. he perceived that two of the men went to the hatches and slid them over to leeward; they then descended, and although the seas broke over the vessel, and a large quantity of water must have poured into her, the hatches were not put on again by those who remained on deck. but in a few minutes this mystery was solved; one after another, at first, and then by dozens, poured forth, out of the hold, the kidnapped africans who composed her cargo. in a short time the decks were covered with them: the poor creatures had been released by the humanity of two english sailors, that they might have the same chance with themselves of saving their lives. still, no attempt was made to quit the vessel. huddled together, like a flock of sheep, with the wild waves breaking over them, there they all remained, both european and african; and as the heavy blows of the seas upon the sides of the vessel careened and shook her, they were seen to cling, in every direction, with no distinction between the captured and their oppressors. but this scene was soon changed; the frame of the vessel could no longer withstand the violence of the waves, and as francisco watched, of a sudden it was seen to divide amidships, and each portion to turn over. then was the struggle for life; hundreds were floating on the raging element and wrestling for existence, and the white foam of the ocean was dotted by the black heads of the negroes who attempted to gain the bank. it was an awful, terrible scene, to witness so many at one moment tossed and dashed about by the waves--so many fellow-beings threatened with eternity. at one moment they were close to the beach, forced on to it by some tremendous wave; at the next, the receding water and the undertow swept them all back; and of the many who had been swimming one half had disappeared to rise no more. francisco watched with agony as he perceived that the number decreased, and that none had yet gained the shore. at last he snatched up the haulyards of his boat's sail which were near him, and hastened down to the spot to afford such succour as might be possible; nor were his efforts in vain. as the seas washed the apparently inanimate bodies on shore, and would then have again swept them away to return them in mockery, he caught hold of them and dragged them safe on the bank, and thus did he continue his exertions until fifteen of the bodies of the negroes were spread upon the beach. although exhausted and senseless they were not dead, and long before he had dragged up the last of the number, many of those previously saved had, without any other assistance than the heat of the sun, recovered from their insensibility. francisco would have continued his task of humanity, but the parted vessel had now been riven into fragments by the force of the waves, and the whole beach was strewed with her timbers and her stores, which were dashed on shore by the waters, and then swept back again by the return. in a short time the severe blows he received from these fragments disabled him from further exertion, and he sank exhausted on the sand; indeed, all further attempts were useless. all on board the vessel had been launched into the sea at the same moment, and those who were not now on shore were past all succour. francisco walked up to those who had been saved: he found twelve of them were recovered and sitting on their hams; the rest were still in a state of insensibility. he then went up to the knoll where his chest and provisions had been placed, and, throwing himself down by them, surveyed the scene. [illustration: _at last he snatched up the haulyards of his boat's sail, and hastened down to the spot to afford such succour as might be possible._] the wind had lulled, the sun shone brightly, and the sea was much less violent. the waves had subsided, and, no longer hurried on by the force of the hurricane, broke majestically and solemnly, but not with the wildness and force which, but a few hours before, they had displayed. the whole of the beach was strewed with the fragments of the vessel, with spars and water-casks; and at every moment was to be observed the corpse of a negro turning round and round in the froth of the wave, and then disappearing. for an hour did he watch and reflect, and then he walked again to where the men who had been rescued were sitting, not more than thirty yards from him; they were sickly, emaciated forms, but belonging to a tribe who inhabited the coast, and who, having been accustomed from their infancy to be all the day in the water, had supported themselves better than the other slaves, who had been procured from the interior, or the european crew of the vessel, all of whom had perished. the africans appeared to recover fast by the heat of the sun, so oppressive to francisco, and were now exchanging a few words with each other. the whole of them had revived, but those who were most in need of aid were neglected by the others. francisco made signs to them, but they understood him not. he returned to the knoll, and pouring out water into a tin pan from the breaker, brought it down to them. he offered it to one, who seized it eagerly; water was a luxury seldom obtained in the hold of a slave-vessel. the man drank deeply, and would have drained the cup, but francisco prevented him, and held it to the lips of another. he was obliged to refill it three times before they had all been supplied: he then brought them a handful of biscuit and left them, for he reflected that, without some precautions, the whole sustenance would be seized by them and devoured. he buried half a foot deep, and covered over with sand, the breakers of water and the provisions, and by the time he had finished this task, unperceived by the negroes, who still squatted together, the sun had sunk below the horizon. francisco had already matured his plans, which were, to form a raft out of the fragments of the vessel, and with the assistance of the negroes attempt to gain the mainland. he lay down, for the second night, on this eventful spot of desolation, and commending himself to the almighty protection, was soon in a deep slumber. it was not until the powerful rays of the sun blazed on the eyes of the youth that he awoke, so tired had he been with the anxiety and fatigue of the preceding day, and the sleepless harrowing night which had introduced it. he rose and seated himself upon his sea-chest: how different was the scene from that of yesterday! again the ocean slept, the sky was serene, and not a cloud to be distinguished throughout the whole firmament; the horizontal line was clear, even, and well defined: a soft breeze just rippled over the dark blue sea, which now had retired to its former boundary, and left the sand-bank as extended as when first francisco had been put on shore. but here the beauty of the landscape terminated: the foreground was horrible to look upon; the whole of the beach was covered with the timbers of the wreck, with water-casks and other articles, in some parts heaped and thrown up one upon another; and among them lay jammed and mangled the bodies of the many who had perished. in other parts there were corpses thrown up high and dry, or still rolling and turning to the rippling wave; it was a scene of desolation and of death. the negroes who had been saved were all huddled up together, apparently in deep sleep, and francisco quitted his elevated position and walked down to the low beach, to survey the means which the disaster of others afforded him for his own escape. to his great joy he found not only plenty of casks, but many of them full of fresh water, provisions also in sufficiency, and, indeed, everything that could be required to form a raft, as well as the means of support for a considerable time for himself and the negroes who had survived. he then walked up to them and called to them, but they answered not, nor even moved. he pushed them, but in vain; and his heart beat quick, for he was fearful that they were dead from previous exhaustion. he applied his foot to one of them, and it was not until he had used force, which in any other case he would have dispensed with, that the negro awoke from his state of lethargy and looked vacantly about him. francisco had some little knowledge of the language of the kroumen, and he addressed the negro in that tongue. to his great joy he was answered in a language which, if not the same, had so great an affinity to it that communication became easy. with the assistance of the negro, who used still less ceremony with his comrades, the remainder of them were awakened, and a palaver ensued. francisco soon made them understand that they were to make a raft and go back to their own country; explaining to them that if they remained there, the water and provisions would soon be exhausted, and they would all perish. the poor creatures hardly knew whether to consider him a supernatural being or not; they talked among themselves; they remarked at his having brought them fresh water the day before; they knew that he did not belong to the vessel in which they had been wrecked, and they were puzzled. whatever might be their speculations they had one good effect, which was, that they looked upon the youth as a superior and a friend, and most willingly obeyed him. he led them up to the knoll, and, desiring them to scrape away the sand, supplied them again with fresh water and biscuit. perhaps the very supply, and the way in which it was given to them, excited their astonishment as much as anything. francisco ate with them, and, selecting from his sea-chest the few tools in his possession, desired them to follow him. the casks were collected and rolled up; the empty ones arranged for the raft; the spars were hauled up and cleared of the rigging, which was carefully separated for lashings; the one or two sails which had been found rolled up on the spars were spread out to dry; and the provisions and articles of clothing, which might be useful, laid together on one side. the negroes worked willingly and showed much intelligence; before the evening closed everything which might be available was secured, and the waves now only tossed about lifeless forms, and the small fragments of timber which could not be serviceable. it would occupy too much time were we to detail all the proceedings of francisco and the negroes for the space of four days, during which they laboured hard. necessity is truly the mother of invention, and many were the ingenious resources of the party before they could succeed in forming a raft large enough to carry them and their provisions, with a mast and sail well secured. at length it was accomplished; and on the fifth day francisco and his men embarked, and, having pushed clear of the bank with poles, they were at last able to hoist their sail to a fine breeze, and steer for the coast before the wind at the rate of about three miles an hour. but it was not until they had gained half a mile from the bank that they were no longer annoyed by the dreadful smell arising from the putrefaction of so many bodies, for to bury them all would have been a work of too great time. the last two days of their remaining on the island, the effluvia had become so powerful as to be a source of the greatest horror and disgust even to the negroes. but before night, when the raft was about eight leagues from the sand-bank, it fell calm, and continued so for the next day, when a breeze sprang up from the south-east, to which they trimmed their sail with their head to the northward. this wind, and the course steered, sent them off from the land, but there was no help for it; and francisco felt grateful that they had such an ample supply of provisions and water as to enable them to yield to a few days' contrary wind without danger of want. but the breeze continued steady and fresh, and they were now crossing the bight of benin; the weather was fine and the sea smooth; the flying-fish rose in shoals and dropped down into the raft, which still forced its way through the water to the northward. thus did francisco and his negro crew remain for a fortnight floating on the wide ocean, without any object meeting their view. day after day it was the same dreary 'sky and water,' and by the reckoning of francisco they could not be far from the land, when, on the fifteenth day, they perceived two sails to the northward. francisco's heart bounded with joy and gratitude to heaven; he had no telescope to examine them, but he steered directly for them, and, about dark, he made them out to be a ship and a schooner hove-to. as francisco scanned them, surmising what they might be, the sun set behind the two vessels, and after it had sunk below the horizon their forms were, for a few minutes, delineated with remarkable precision and clearness. there could be no mistake. francisco felt convinced that the schooner was the _avenger_; and his first impulse was to run to the sweep with which they were steered, and put the head of the raft again to the northward. a moment's reflection determined him to act otherwise; he lowered down his sail that he might escape observation, and watched the motions of the vessels during the few minutes of light which remained. that the ship bad been captured, and that her capture had been attended with the usual scene of outrage and violence, he had no doubt. he was now about four miles' from them, and just as they were vanishing from his straining eyes he perceived that the schooner had made all sail to the westward. francisco, feeling that he was then secure from being picked up by her, again hoisted his sail with the hope of reaching the ship, which, if not scuttled, he intended to remove on board of, and then make sail for the first port on the coast. but hardly had the raft regained her way when the horizon was lighted up, and he perceived that the pirates had set fire to the vessel. then it was useless to proceed towards her; and francisco again thought of putting the head of the raft to the northward, when the idea struck him, knowing the character and cruelty of the pirates, that there might be some unfortunate people left on board to perish in the flames. he therefore continued his course, watching the burning vessel; the flames increased in violence, mounting up to the masts and catching the sails one after another. the wind blew fresh, and the vessel was kept before the wind--a circumstance that assured francisco that there were people on board. at first she appeared to leave the raft, but as her sails, one after another, were consumed by the element, so did she decrease her speed, and francisco, in about an hour, was close to her and under her counter. [illustration: _the flames increased in violence, mounting up to the masts and catching the sails one after another._] the ship was now one mass of fire from her bows to her mainmast; a volume of flame poured from her main hold, rising higher than her lower masts, and ending in a huge mass of smoke carried by the wind ahead of her; the quarter-deck was still free from fire, but the heat on it was so intense that those on board were all collected at the taffrail; and there they remained, some violent, others in mute despair; for the _avenger's_ people, in their barbarity, had cut away and destroyed all the boats to prevent their escape. from the light thrown round the vessel those on board had perceived the approach of francisco to their rescue, and immediately that it was under the counter, and the sail lowered, almost all of them had descended by ropes, or the stern ladder, and gained a place in her. in a few minutes, without scarcely an exchange of a word, they were all out of the brig, and francisco pushed off just as the flames burst from the cabin windows, darting out in a horizontal line like the tongues of fiery serpents. the raft, now encumbered with twelve more persons, was then steered to the northward; and as soon as those who had been saved had been supplied with some water, which they so much needed, francisco obtained the intelligence which he desired. the ship was from carthagena, south america; had sailed from thence to lisbon with a don cumanos, who had large property up the magdalen river. he had wished to visit a part of his family at lisbon, and from thence had sailed to the canary isles, where he also had property. in their way from lisbon to south america they had been beaten by stress of weather to the southward, and afterwards had been chased by the _avenger_; being a very fast sailer she had run down several degrees before she had been captured. when the pirate took possession, and found that she had little or no cargo of value to them, for her hold was chiefly filled with furniture and other articles for the use of don cumanos, angry at their disappointment, they had first destroyed all their boats and then set fire to the vessel, taking care not to leave her until all chance of the fire being put out was hopeless. and thus had these miscreants left innocent and unfortunate people to perish. francisco heard the narrative of don cumanos, and then informed him in what manner he had left the schooner, and his subsequent adventures. francisco was now very anxious to make the land, or obtain succour from some vessel. the many who were now on board, and the time that he had already been at sea, obliged him to reduce the allowance of water. fortune favoured him after all his trials; on the third day a vessel hove in sight, and they were seen by her. she made sail for them, and took them all on board. it was a schooner trafficking on the coast for gold dust and ivory; but the magnificent offers of don cumanos induced them to give up their voyage and run across the atlantic to carthagena. to francisco it was of little moment where he went, and in don cumanos he had found a sincere friend. 'you have been my preserver,' said the spaniard, 'allow me to return the obligation--come and live with me.' as francisco was equally pleased with don cumanos, he accepted the offer; they all arrived safely at carthagena, and from thence proceeded to his estate on the magdalen river. chapter xii the lieutenant when we last mentioned edward templemore we stated that he was a lieutenant of the admiral's ship on the west india station, commanding the tender. now the name of the tender was the _enterprise_: and it was singular that she was one of two schooners built at baltimore, remarkable for their beauty and good qualities; yet how different were their employments! both had originally been built for the slave-trade; now one hoisted the english pennant, and cruised as the _enterprise_; the other threw out the black flag, and scoured the seas as the _avenger_. the _enterprise_ was fitted much in the same way as we have already described her sister vessel--that is, with one long brass gun amidships, and smaller ones for her broadside. but in the numbers of their crew there was a great disparity; the _enterprise_ not being manned with more than sixty-five english sailors belonging to the admiral's ship. she was employed, as most admiral's tenders usually _were_, sometimes carrying a tender made for a supply of provisions, or a tender of services, if required, from the admiral; or, if not particularly wanted, with the important charge of a tender _billet-doux_ to some fair friend. but this is a tender subject to touch upon. in the meantime it must be understood that she had the same commission to sink, burn, and destroy, as all other of his majesty's vessels, if anything came in her way; but as she usually carried despatches, the real importance of which were, of course, unknown, she was not to go out of her way upon such service. edward templemore did, however, occasionally go a little out of his way, and had lately captured a very fine privateer, after a smart action, for which he anticipated his promotion; but the admiral thought him too young, and therefore gave the next vacancy to his own nephew, who, the admiral quite forgot, was much younger. edward laughed when he heard of it upon his arrival at port royal; and the admiral, who expected that he would make his appearance pouting with disappointment, when he came up to the penn to report himself, was so pleased with his good humour that he made a vow that templemore should have the next vacancy; but this he also quite forgot, because edward happened to be, at the time it occurred, on a long cruise--and 'out of sight out of mind' is a proverb so well established, that it may be urged as an excuse for a person who had so many other things to think of as the admiral entrusted with the command of the west india station. lieutenant templemore had, in consequence, commanded the _enterprise_ for nearly two years, and without grumbling; for he was of a happy disposition, and passed a very happy sort of life. mr. witherington was very indulgent to him, and allowed him to draw liberally; he had plenty of money for himself or for a friend who required it, and he had plenty of amusement. amongst other diversions, he had fallen most desperately in love; for, in one of his trips to the leeward isles (so called from their being to windward) he had succoured a spanish vessel, which had on board the new governor of porto rico, with his family, and had taken upon himself to land them on that island in safety; for which service the english admiral received a handsome letter, concluding with the moderate wish that his excellency might live a thousand years, and edward templemore an invitation to go and see them whenever he might pass that way; which, like most general invitations, was as much a compliment as the wish which wound up the letter to the admiral. it did, however, so happen that the spanish governor had a very beautiful and only daughter, carefully guarded by a duenna, and a monk who was the depositary of all the sins of the governor's establishment; and it was with this daughter that edward templemore fell into the heresy of love. she was, indeed, very beautiful; and, like all her country-women, was ardent in her affections. the few days that she was on board the schooner with her father, during the time that the _enterprise_ convoyed the spanish vessel into port, were quite sufficient to ignite two such inflammable beings as clara d'alfarez and edward templemore. the monk had been left on board of the leaky vessel; there was no accommodation in the schooner for him or the duenna, and don felix de maxos de cobas de manilla d'alfarez was too busy with his cigar to pay attention to his daughter. when they were landed, edward templemore was asked to their residence, which was not in the town, but at a lovely bay on the south side of the island. the town mansion was appropriated to business and the ceremony of the court: it was too hot for a permanent abode, and the governor only went there for a few hours each day. edward templemore remained a short time at the island, and at his departure received the afore-mentioned letter from the father to the english admiral, and an assurance of unalterable fidelity from the daughter to the english lieutenant. on his return he presented the letter, and the admiral was satisfied with his conduct. when ordered out to cruise, which he always was when there was nothing else to do, he submitted to the admiral whether, if he should happen to near porto rico, he could not leave an answer to the spanish governor's letter; and the admiral, who knew the value of keeping up a good understanding with foreign relations, took the hint, and gave him one to deliver, if _convenient_. the second meeting was, as may be supposed, more cordial than the first on the part of the young lady; not so, however, on the part of the duenna and holy friar, who soon found out that their charge was in danger from heretical opinions. caution became necessary; and as secrecy adds a charm to an amour, clara received a long letter and a telescope from edward. the letter informed her that, whenever he could, he would make his appearance in his schooner off the south of the island, and await a signal made by her at a certain window, acknowledging her recognition of his vessel. on the night of that signal he would land in his boat and meet her at an appointed spot. this was all very delightful; and it so happened that edward had four or five times contrived, during the last year, to meet clara without discovery, and again and again to exchange his vows. it was agreed between them that when he quitted the station, she would quit her father and her home, and trust her future happiness to an englishman and a heretic. [illustration: _don felix de maxos de cobas de manilla d'alfarez, too busy with his cigar to pay attention to his daughter._] it may be a matter of surprise to some of our readers that the admiral should not have discovered the frequent visits of the _enterprise_ to porto rico, as edward was obliged to bring his log for examination every time that he returned; but the admiral was satisfied with edward's conduct, and his anxiety to cruise when there was nothing else for him to do. his logs were brought on shore to the admiral's secretary, carefully rolled and sealed up. the admiral's secretary threw the packages on one side, and thought no more of the matter, and edward had always a ready story to tell when he took his seat at the admiral's dinner-table; besides, he is a very unfit person to command a vessel who does not know how to write a log that will bear an investigation. a certain latitude is always allowed in every degree of latitude as well as longitude. the _enterprise_ had been despatched to antigua, and edward thought this an excellent opportunity to pay a visit to clara d'alfarez: he therefore, upon his return, hove-to off the usual headland, and soon perceived the white curtain thrown out of the window. 'there it is, sir,' said one of the midshipmen who was near him--for he had been there so often that the whole crew of the _enterprise_ were aware of his attachment--'she has shown her flag of truce.' 'a truce to your nonsense, mr. warren,' replied edward, laughing; 'how came you to know anything about it?' 'i only judge by cause and effect, sir; and i know that i shall have to go on shore and wait for you to-night.' 'that's not unlikely; but let draw the foresheet; we must now get behind the headland.' the youngster was right: that evening, a little before dark, he attended his commander on shore, the _enterprise_ lying-to with a lantern at her peak. 'once more, dearest clara!' said edward, as he threw off her long veil and pressed her in his arms. 'yes, edward, once more--but i am afraid only once more; for my maid, inez, has been dangerously ill, and has confessed to friar ricardo. i fear much that, in her fright (for she thought that she was dying), she has told all. she is better now.' 'why should you imagine so, clara?' 'oh, you know not what a frightened fool that inez is when she is ill! our religion is not like yours.' 'no, dear, it is not; but i will teach you a better.' 'hush, edward, you must not say that. holy virgin! if friar ricardo should hear you! i think that inez must have told him, for he fixes his dark eyes upon me so earnestly. yesterday he observed to me that i had not confessed.' 'tell him to mind his own business.' 'that is his business, and i was obliged to confess to him last night. i told him a great many things, and then he asked if that was all. his eyes went through me. i trembled as i uttered an untruth, for i said it was.' 'i confess my sins but to my maker, clara! and i confess my love but to you. follow my plan, dearest!' 'i will half obey you, edward. i will not tell my love.' 'and sins you have none, clara; so you will obey me in all.' 'hush, edward, you must not say that. we all have sins; and oh! what a grievous sin they say it is to love you, who are a heretic! holy virgin, pardon me! but i could not help it.' 'if that is your only sin, dearest, i can safely give you absolution.' 'nay, edward, don't joke, but hear me. if inez has confessed, they will look for me here, and we must not meet again--at least not in this place. you know the little bay behind the rock, it is not much farther off, and there is a cave where i can wait: another time it must be there.' 'it shall be there, dearest; but is it not too near the beach? will you not be afraid of the men in the boat, who might see you?' 'but we can leave the beach. it is ricardo alone that i am in dread of, and the donna maria. merciful heaven! should my father know it all, we should be lost--be separated for ever!' and clara laid her forehead on edward's shoulder, as her tears fell fast. 'there is nought to fear, clara. hush! i heard a rustling in those orange-trees. listen!' 'yes! yes!' whispered clara hastily; 'there is some one. away! dear edward, away!' clara sprang from his side, and hastened up the grove. edward made his retreat, and, flying down the rocky and narrow path through the underwood, was soon on the beach and into his boat. the _enterprise_ arrived at headquarters, and edward reported himself to the admiral. 'i have work for you, mr. templemore,' said the admiral; 'you must be ready to proceed on service immediately. we've found your match.' 'i hope i may find her, sir,' replied the lieutenant. 'i hope so, too; for, if you give a good account of her, it will put another swab on your shoulder. the pirate schooner, which has so long infested the atlantic, has been seen and chased off barbadoes by the _amelia_; but it appears that there is not a vessel in the squadron which can come near her, unless it be the _enterprise_. she has since captured two west indiamen, and was seen steering with them towards the coast of guiana. now, i am going to give you thirty additional hands, and send you after her.' 'thank you, sir,' replied edward, his countenance beaming with delight. 'how soon will you be ready?' inquired the admiral. 'to-morrow morning, sir.' 'very good. tell mr. hadley to bring me the order for the men and your sailing orders, and i will sign them; but recollect, mr. templemore, you will have an awkward customer. be prudent--brave i know you to be.' edward templemore promised everything, as most people do in such cases; and before the next evening the _enterprise_ was well in the offing, under a heavy press of sail. chapter xiii the landing the property of don cumanos, to which he had retired with his family, accompanied by francisco, extended from the mouth of, to many miles up, the magdalen river. it was a fine alluvial soil, forming one vast strip of rich meadow, covered with numerous herds of cattle. the house was not a hundred yards from the banks of this magnificent stream, and a small but deep creek ran up to the adjacent buildings; for don cumanos had property even more valuable, being proprietor of a gold mine near the town of jambrano, about eight miles farther up, and which mine had latterly become exceedingly productive. the ore was brought down the river in boats, and smelted in the outhouses near the creek to which we have just referred. it will be necessary to observe that the establishment of the noble spaniard was numerous, consisting of nearly one hundred persons, employed in the smelting-house or attached to the household. for some time francisco remained here happy and contented; he had become the confidential supervisor of don cumanos' household, proved himself worthy of a trust so important, and was considered as one of the family. one morning, as francisco was proceeding down to the smelting-house to open the hatches of the small decked boats which had arrived from jambrano with ore, and which were invariably secured with a padlock by the superintendent above, to which don cumanos had a corresponding key, one of the chief men informed him that a vessel had anchored off the mouth of the river the day before, and weighed again early that morning, and that she was now standing off and on. 'from carthagena, probably, beating up,' replied francisco. 'valga me dios, if i know that, sir,' said diego. 'i should have thought nothing about it; but giacomo and pedro, who went out to fish last night, as usual, instead of coming back before midnight, have not been heard of since.' 'indeed! that is strange. did they ever stay so long before?' 'never, sir; and they have fished together now for seven years.' francisco gave the key to the man, who opened the locks of the hatches, and returned it. 'there she is!' cried the man; the head-sails making their appearance as the vessel opened to their view from the projecting point distant about four miles. francisco directed his eye towards her, and, without further remark, hastened to the house. 'well, francisco,' said don cumanos, who was stirring a small cup of chocolate, 'what's the news this morning?' 'the _nostra senora del carmen_ and the _aguilla_ have arrived, and i have just unlocked the hatches. there is a vessel off the point which requires examination, and i have come for the telescope.' 'requires examination! why, francisco?' 'because giacomo and pedro, who went fishing last night, have not returned, and there are no tidings of them.' 'that is strange! but how is this connected with the vessel?' 'that i will explain as soon as i have had an examination of her,' replied francisco, who had taken up the telescope, and was drawing out the tube. francisco fixed the glass against the sill of the window, and examined the vessel some time in silence. 'yes! by the living god, it is the _avenger_, and no other!' exclaimed he, as he removed the telescope from his eye. 'eh?' cried don cumanos. 'it is the pirate vessel--the _avenger_--i'll forfeit my life upon it! don cumanos, you must be prepared. i know that they have long talked of a visit to this quarter, and anticipate great booty, and they have those on board who know the coast well. the disappearance of your two men convinces me that they sent up their boats last night to reconnoitre, and have captured them. torture will extract the information which the pirates require, and i have little doubt but that the attack will be made when they learn how much bullion there is at present on your premises.' [illustration: _francisco fixed the glass against the sill of the window, and examined the vessel some time in silence._] 'you may be right,' replied don cumanos thoughtfully; 'that is, provided you are sure that it is the pirate vessel.' 'sure, don cumanos! i know every timber and plank in her; there is not a rope nor a block but i can recognise. at the distance of four miles, with such a glass as this, i can discover every little variety in her rigging from other craft. i will swear to her,' repeated francisco, once more looking through the telescope. 'and if they attack, francisco?' 'we must defend ourselves, and, i trust, beat them off. they will come in their boats, and at night. if they were to run in the schooner by daylight and anchor abreast of us, we should have but a poor chance. but they little think that i am here, and that they are recognised. they will attack this night, i rather think.' 'and what do you then propose, francisco?' 'that we should send all the females away to don teodoro's--it is but five miles--and call the men together as soon as possible. we are strong enough to beat them off if we barricade the house. they cannot land more than from ninety to one hundred men, as some must remain in charge of the schooner; and we can muster quite as many. it may be as well to promise our men a reward if they do their duty.' 'that is all right enough; and the bullion we have here?' 'here we had better let it remain; it will take too much time to remove it, and, besides, will weaken our force by the men who must be in charge of it. the outhouses must be abandoned, and everything which is of consequence taken from them. fire them they will, in all probability. at all events we have plenty of time before us, if we begin at once.' 'well, francisco, i shall make you commandant, and leave the arrangements to you, while i go and speak to donna isidora. send for the men and speak to them; promise them rewards, and act as if you were ordering upon your own responsibility.' 'i trust i shall prove myself worthy of your confidence, sir,' replied francisco. 'carambo!' exclaimed the old don, as he left the room; 'but it is fortunate you are here. we might all have been murdered in our beds.' francisco sent for the head men of the establishment, and told them what he was convinced they would have to expect; and he then explained to them his views. the rest were all summoned; and francisco pointed out to them the little mercy they would receive if the pirates were not repulsed, and the rewards which were promised by don cumanos if they did their duty. spaniards are individually brave; and, encouraged by francisco, they agreed that they would defend the property to the last. the house of don cumanos was well suited to resist an attack of this description, in which musketry only was expected to be employed. it was a long parallelogram of stone walls, with a wooden veranda on the first floor,--for it was only one story high. the windows on the first story were more numerous, but at the basement there were but two, and no other opening but the door in the whole line of building. it was of a composite architecture, between the morisco and the spanish. if the lower part of the house, which was of stone, could be secured from entrance, the assailants would, of course, fight under a great disadvantage. the windows below were first secured by piling a heavy mass of stones in the interior of the rooms against them, rising to the ceiling from a base like the segment of a pyramid, extending to the opposite side of the chamber; and every preparation was made for effectually barricading the door before night. ladders were then fixed to ascend to the veranda, which was rendered musket-proof nearly as high as its railings, to protect the men. the donna isidora, and the women of the establishment, were in the afternoon despatched to don teodoro's; and, at the request of francisco, joined to the entreaties of donna isidora, don cumanos was persuaded to accompany them. the don called his men, and telling them that he left francisco in command, expected them to do their duty; and then shaking hands with him, the cavalcade was soon lost in the woods behind the narrow meadows which skirted the river. there was no want of muskets and ammunition. some were employed casting bullets, and others in examining the arms which had long been laid by. before evening all was ready; every man had received his arms and ammunition; the flints had been inspected; and francisco had time to pay more attention to the schooner, which had during the day increased her distance from the land, but was not again standing in for the shore. half an hour before dusk, when within three miles, she wore round and put her head to the offing. 'they'll attack this night,' said francisco, 'i feel almost positive: their yards and stay-tackles are up, all ready for hoisting out the long-boat.' 'let them come, señor; we will give them a warm reception,' replied diego, the second in authority. it was soon too dark to perceive the vessel. francisco and diego ordered every man, but five, into the house; the door was firmly barricaded, and some large pieces of rock, which had been rolled into the passage, piled against it. francisco then posted the five men down the banks of the river, at a hundred yards' distance from each other, to give notice of the approach of the boats. it was about ten o'clock at night when francisco and diego descended the ladder and went to examine their outposts. 'señor,' said diego, as he and francisco stood on the bank of the river, 'at what hour is it your idea that these villains will make their attempt?' 'that is difficult to say. if the same captain commands them who did when i was on board of her, it will not be until after the moon is down, which will not be till midnight; but should it be any other who is in authority, they may not be so prudent.' 'holy virgin! señor, were you ever on board of that vessel?' 'yes, diego, i was, and for a long while too; but not with my own good will. had i not been on board i never should have recognised her.' 'very true, señor; then we may thank the saints that you have once been a pirate.' 'i hope that i never was that, diego,' replied francisco, smiling; 'but i have been a witness to dreadful proceedings on board of that vessel, at the remembrance of which, even now, my blood curdles.' to pass away the time, francisco then detailed many scenes of horror to diego which he had witnessed when on board of the _avenger_; and he was still in the middle of a narrative when a musket was discharged by the farthermost sentinel. 'hark, diego!' another, and another, nearer and nearer to them, gave the signal that the boats were close at hand. in a few minutes the men all came in, announcing that the pirates were pulling up the stream in three boats, and were less than a quarter of a mile from the landing-place. 'diego, go to the house with these men, and see that all is ready,' said francisco. 'i will wait here a little longer; but do not fire till i come to you.' diego and the men departed, and francisco was left on the beach alone. in another minute the sound of the oars was plainly distinguishable, and francisco's ears were directed to catch, if possible, the voices. 'yes,' thought he, 'you come with the intentions of murder and robbery, but you will, through me, be disappointed.' as the boats approached, he heard the voice of hawkhurst. the signal muskets fired had told the pirates that they were discovered, and that in all probability they would meet with resistance; silence was, therefore, no longer of any advantage. 'oars, my lads!--oars!' cried hawkhurst. one boat ceased rowing, and soon afterwards the two others. the whole of them were now plainly seen by francisco, at the distance of about one cable's length from where he stood; and the clear still night carried the sound of their voices along the water. 'here is a creek, sir,' said hawkhurst, 'leading up to those buildings. would it not be better to land there, as, if they are not occupied, they will prove a protection to us if we have a hard fight for it?' 'very true, hawkhurst,' replied a voice, which francisco immediately recognised to be that of cain. 'he is alive, then,' thought francisco, 'and his blood is not yet upon my hands.' 'give way, my lads!' cried hawkhurst. the boats dashed up the creek, and francisco hastened back to the house. 'now, my lads,' said he, as he sprang up the ladder, 'you must be resolute; we have to deal with desperate men. i have heard the voices of the captain and the chief mate; so there is no doubt as to its being the pirate. the boats are up the creek and will land behind the out-buildings. haul up these ladders, and lay them fore and aft on the veranda; and do not fire without taking a good aim. silence! my men--silence! here they come.' the pirates were now seen advancing from the out-buildings in strong force. in the direction in which they came, it was only from the side of the veranda, at which not more than eight or ten men could be placed, that the enemy could be repulsed. francisco therefore gave orders that as soon as some of the men had fired they should retreat and load their muskets, to make room for others. when the pirates had advanced half-way to the house, on the clear space between it and the out-buildings, francisco gave the word to fire. the volley was answered by another, and a shout from the pirates, who, with hawkhurst and cain at their head, now pressed on, but not until they had received a second discharge from the spaniards, and the pirates had fired in return. as the spaniards could not at first fire a volley of more than a dozen muskets at a time, their opponents imagined their force to be much less than it really was. they now made other arrangements. they spread themselves in a semicircle in front of the veranda, and kept up a continued galling fire. this was returned by the party under francisco for nearly a quarter of an hour; and as all the muskets were now called into action, the pirates found out that they had a more formidable enemy to cope with than they had anticipated. it was now quite dark, and not a figure was to be distinguished, except by the momentary flashing of the firearms. cain and hawkhurst, leaving their men to continue the attack, had gained the house, and a position under the veranda. examining the windows and the door, there appeared but little chance of forcing an entrance; but it immediately occurred to them that under the veranda their men would not be exposed, and that they might fire through the wooden floor of it upon those above. hawkhurst hastened away, and returned with about half the men, leaving the others to continue their attack as before. the advantage of this manoeuvre was soon evident. the musket-balls of the pirates pierced the planks, and wounded many of the spaniards severely; and francisco was at last obliged to order his men to retreat into the house, and fire out of the windows. but even this warfare did not continue; for the supporting pillars of the veranda being of wood, and very dry, they were set fire to by the pirates. gradually the flames wound round them, and their forked tongues licked the balustrade. at last the whole of the veranda was in flames. this was a great advantage to the attacking party, who could now distinguish the spaniards without their being so clearly seen themselves. many were killed and wounded. the smoke and heat became so intense in the upper story that the men could no longer remain there; and, by the advice of francisco, they retreated to the basement of the house. 'what shall we do now, señor?' said diego, with a grave face. 'do?' replied francisco; 'they have burnt the veranda, that is all. the house will not take fire; it is of solid stone: the roof indeed may; but still here we are. i do not see that they are more advanced than they were before. as soon as the veranda has burnt down, we must return above, and commence firing again from the windows.' 'hark, sir! they are trying the door.' 'they may try a long while; they should have tried the door while the veranda protected them from our sight. as soon as it is burnt, we shall be able to drive them away from it. i will go up again and see how things are.' 'no, señor; it is of no use. why expose yourself now that the flames are so bright?' 'i must go and see if that is the case, diego. put all the wounded men in the north chamber, it will be the safest, and more out of the way.' francisco ascended the stone staircase, and gained the upper story. the rooms were filled with smoke, and he could distinguish nothing. an occasional bullet whistled past him. he walked towards the windows, and sheltered himself behind the wall between them. the flames were not so violent, and the heat more bearable. in a short time a crash, and then another, told him that the veranda had fallen in. he looked through the window. the mass of lighted embers had fallen down in front of the house, and had, for a time, driven away the assailants. nothing was left of the veranda but the burning ends of the joists fixed in the wall above the windows, and the still glowing remains of the posts which once supported it. but the smoke from below now cleared away, and the discharge of one or two muskets told francisco that he was perceived by the enemy. 'the roof is safe,' thought he, as he withdrew from the window; 'and now i do not know whether the loss of the veranda may not prove a gain to us.' what were the intentions of the pirates it was difficult to ascertain. for a time they had left off firing, and francisco returned to his comrades. the smoke had gradually cleared away, and they were able to resume their positions above; but as the pirates did not fire, they, of course, could do nothing, as it was only by the flashing of the muskets that the enemy was to be distinguished. no further attempts were made at the door or windows below; and francisco in vain puzzled himself as to the intended plans of the assailants. nearly half an hour of suspense passed away. some of the spaniards were of opinion that they had retreated to their boats and gone away, but francisco knew them better. all he could do was to remain above, and occasionally look out to discover their motions. diego, and one or two more, remained with him; the other men were kept below, that they might be out of danger. 'holy francis! but this has been a dreadful night, señor! how many hours until daylight?' said diego. 'two hours at least, i should think,' replied francisco; 'but the affair will be decided before that.' 'the saints protect us! see, señor, are they not coming?' francisco looked through the gloom, in the direction of the out-buildings, and perceived a group of men advancing. a few moments and he could clearly make them out. 'yes, truly, diego; and they have made ladders, which they are carrying. they intend to storm the windows. call them up; and now we must fight hard indeed.' the spaniards hastened up and filled the room above, which had three windows in the front, looking towards the river, and which had been sheltered by the veranda. 'shall we fire now, señor?' 'no--no; do not fire till your muzzles are at their hearts. they cannot mount more than two at a time at each window. recollect, my lads, that you must now fight hard, for your lives will not be spared; they will show no quarter and no mercy.' the ends of the rude ladders now made their appearance above the sill of each window. they had been hastily, yet firmly, constructed; and were nearly as wide as the windows. a loud cheer was followed by a simultaneous mounting of the ladders. francisco was at the centre window, when hawkhurst made his appearance, sabre in hand. he struck aside a musket aimed at him, and the ball whizzed harmless over the broad water of the river. another step, and he would have been in, when francisco fired his pistol; the ball entered the left shoulder of hawkhurst, and he dropped his hold. before he could regain it, a spaniard charged at him with a musket, and threw him back. he fell, bearing down with him one or two of his comrades, who had been following him up the ladder. francisco felt as if the attack at that window was of little consequence after the fall of hawkhurst, whose voice he had recognised; and he hastened to the one on the left, as he had heard cain encouraging his men in that direction. he was not wrong in his conjecture; cain was at the window, attempting to force an entrance, but was opposed by diego and other resolute men. but the belt of the pirate captain was full of pistols, and he had already fired three with effect. diego and the two best men were wounded, and the others who opposed him were alarmed at his giant proportions. francisco rushed to attack him; but what was the force of so young a man against the herculean power of cain? still francisco's left hand was at the throat of the pirate, and the pistol was pointed in his right, when a flash of another pistol, fired by one who followed cain, threw its momentary vivid light upon the features of francisco, as he cried out, 'blood for blood!' it was enough; the pirate captain uttered a yell of terror at the supposed supernatural appearance; and he fell from the ladder in a fit amongst the still burning embers of the veranda. [illustration: _the ball entered the left shoulder of hawkhurst, and he dropped his hold._] the fall of their two chiefs, and the determined resistance of the spaniards, checked the impetuosity of the assailants. they hesitated; and they at last retreated, bearing away with them their wounded. the spaniards cheered, and, led by francisco, followed them down the ladders, and in their turn became the assailants. still the pirates' retreat was orderly: they fired, and retired rank behind rank successively. they kept the spaniards at bay, until they had arrived at the boats, when a charge was made, and a severe conflict ensued. but the pirates had lost too many men, and, without their commander, felt dispirited. hawkhurst was still on his legs, and giving his orders as coolly as ever. he espied francisco, and rushing at him, while the two parties were opposed muzzle to muzzle, seized him by his collar and dragged him in amongst the pirates. 'secure him, at all events!' cried hawkhurst, as they slowly retreated and gained the outhouses. francisco was overpowered and hauled into one of the boats, all of which in a few minutes afterwards were pulling with all their might to escape from the muskets of the spaniards, who followed the pirates by the banks of the river, annoying them in their retreat. chapter xiv the meeting the pirates returned to their vessel discomfited. those on board, who were prepared to hoist in ingots of precious metal, had to receive nought but wounded men, and many of their comrades had remained dead on the shore. their captain was melancholy and downcast. hawkhurst was badly wounded, and obliged to be carried below as soon as he came on board. the only capture which they had made was their former associate francisco, who, by the last words spoken by hawkhurst as he was supported to his cabin, was ordered to be put in irons. the boats were hoisted in without noise, and a general gloom prevailed. all sail was then made upon the schooner, and when day dawned she was seen by the spaniards far away to the northward. the report was soon spread through the schooner that francisco had been the cause of their defeat; and although this was only a surmise, still, as they considered that had he not recognised the vessel the spaniards would not have been prepared, they had good grounds for what had swelled into an assertion. he became, therefore, to many of them, an object of bitter enmity, and they looked forward with pleasure to his destruction, which his present confinement they considered but the precursor of. 'hist! massa francisco,' said a low voice near to where francisco sat on the chest. francisco turned round and beheld the krouman, his old friend. 'ah! pompey, are you all still on board?' said francisco. 'all! no,' replied the man, shaking his head; 'some die--some get away--only four kroumen left. massa francisco, how you come back again? everybody tink you dead. i say no, not dead--ab charm with him--ab book.' 'if that was my charm, i have it still,' replied francisco, taking the bible out of his vest; for, strange to say, francisco himself had a kind of superstition relative to that bible, and had put it into his bosom previous to the attack made by the pirates. 'dat very good, massa francisco; den you quite safe. here come johnson--he very bad man. i go away.' in the meantime cain had retired to his cabin with feelings scarcely to be analysed. he was in a bewilderment. notwithstanding the wound he had received by the hand of francisco, he would never have sanctioned hawkhurst putting him on shore on a spot which promised nothing but a lingering and miserable death. irritated as he had been by the young man's open defiance, he loved him--loved him much more than he was aware of himself; and when he had recovered sufficiently from his wound, and had been informed where francisco had been sent on shore, he quarrelled with hawkhurst, and reproached him bitterly and sternly, in language which hawkhurst never forgot or forgave. the vision of the starving lad haunted cain, and rendered him miserable. his affection for him, now that he was, as he supposed, lost for ever, increased with tenfold force; and since that period cain had never been seen to smile. he became more gloomy, more ferocious than ever, and the men trembled when he appeared on deck. the apparition of francisco after so long an interval, and in such an unexpected quarter of the globe, acted as we have before described upon cain. when he was taken to the boat he was still confused in his ideas, and it was not until they were nearly on board that he perceived that this young man was indeed at his side. he could have fallen on his neck and kissed him; for francisco had become to him a capture more prized than all the wealth of the indies. but one pure, good feeling was unextinguished in the bosom of cain; stained with every crime--with his hands so deeply imbrued in blood--at enmity with all the rest of the world, that one feeling burnt bright and clear, and was not to be quenched. it might have proved a beacon-light to steer him back to repentance and to good works. but there were other feelings which also crowded upon the mind of the pirate captain. he knew francisco's firmness and decision. by some inscrutable means, which cain considered as supernatural, francisco had obtained the knowledge, and had accused him, of his mother's death. would not the affection which he felt for the young man be met with hatred and defiance? he was but too sure that it would. and then his gloomy, cruel disposition would resume its influence, and he thought of revenging the attack upon his life. his astonishment at the reappearance of francisco was equally great, and he trembled at the sight of him, as if he were his accusing and condemning spirit. thus did he wander from one fearful fancy to another, until he at last summoned up resolution to send for him. a morose, dark man, whom francisco had not seen when he was before in the schooner, obeyed the commands of the captain. the irons were unlocked, and francisco was brought down into the cabin. the captain rose and shut the door. 'i little thought to see you here, francisco,' said cain. 'probably not,' replied francisco boldly, 'but you have me again in your power, and may now wreak your vengeance.' 'i feel none, francisco; nor would i have suffered you to have been put on shore as you were, had i known of it. even now that our expedition has failed through your means, i feel no anger towards you, although i shall have some difficulty in preserving you from the enmity of others. indeed, francisco, i am glad to find that you are alive, and i have bitterly mourned your loss;' and cain extended his hand. but francisco folded his arms, and was silent. 'are you then so unforgiving?' said the captain. 'you know that i tell the truth.' 'i believe that you state the truth, captain cain, for you are too bold to lie; and, as far as i am concerned, you have all the forgiveness you may wish: but i cannot take that hand; nor are our accounts yet settled.' 'what would you more? cannot we be friends again? i do not ask you to remain on board. you are free to go where you please. come, francisco, take my hand, and let us forget what is past.' 'the hand that is imbrued with my mother's blood, perhaps!' exclaimed francisco. 'never!' 'not so, by g--d!' exclaimed cain. 'no, no; not quite so bad as that. in my mood i struck your mother; i grant it. i did not intend to injure her, but i did, and she died. i will not lie--that is the fact. and it is also the fact that i wept over her, francisco; for i loved her as i do you.' ('it was a hasty, bitter blow, that,' continued cain, soliloquising, with his hand to his forehead, and unconscious of francisco's presence at the moment. 'it made me what i am, for it made me reckless.') 'francisco,' said cain, raising his head, 'i was bad, but i was no pirate when your mother lived. there is a curse upon me; that which i love most i treat the worst. of all the world, i loved your mother most; yet did she from me receive much injury, and at last i caused her death. next to your mother, whose memory i at once revere and love, and tremble when i think of (and each night does she appear to me), i have loved you, francisco, for you, like her, have an angel's feelings; yet have i treated you as ill. you thwarted me, and you were right. had you been wrong, i had not cared; but you were right, and it maddened me. your appeals by day--your mother's in my dreams----' francisco's heart was softened; if not repentance, there was at least contrition. 'indeed i pity you,' replied francisco. 'you must do more, francisco; you must be friends with me,' said cain, again extending his hand. 'i cannot take that hand, it is too deeply dyed in blood,' replied francisco. 'well, well, so would have said your mother. but hear me, francisco,' said cain, lowering his voice to a whisper, lest he should be overheard; 'i am tired of this life--perhaps sorry for what i have done--i wish to leave it--have wealth in plenty concealed where others know not. tell me, francisco, shall we both quit this vessel, and live together happily and without doing wrong? you shall share all, francisco. say, now, does that please you?' 'yes; it pleases me to hear that you will abandon your lawless life, captain cain: but share your wealth i cannot, for how has it been gained?' 'it cannot be returned, francisco; i will do good with it. i will indeed, francisco. i--will--repent;' and again the hand was extended. francisco hesitated. 'i do, so help me god! i _do_ repent, francisco!' exclaimed the pirate captain. 'and i, as a christian, do forgive you all,' replied francisco, taking the still extended hand. 'may god forgive you too!' 'amen!' replied the pirate solemnly, covering his face up in his hands. in this position he remained some minutes, francisco watching him in silence. at last the face was uncovered, and, to the surprise of francisco, a tear was on the cheek of cain, and his eyes suffused with moisture. francisco no longer waited for the hand to be extended; he walked up to the captain, and taking him by the hand, pressed it warmly. 'god bless you, boy! god bless you!' said cain; 'but leave me now.' francisco returned on deck with a light and grateful heart. his countenance at once told those who were near him that he was not condemned, and many who dared not before take notice of, now saluted him. the man who had taken him out of irons looked round; he was a creature of hawkhurst, and he knew not how to act. francisco observed him, and, with a wave of the hand, ordered him below. that francisco was again in authority was instantly perceived, and the first proof of it was, that the new second mate reported to him that there was a sail on the weather bow. francisco took the glass to examine her. it was a large schooner under all sail. not wishing that any one should enter the cabin but himself, he went down to the cabin door and knocked before he entered, and reported the vessel. 'thank you, francisco; you must take hawkhurst's duty for the present--it shall not be for long; and fear not that i shall make another capture. i swear to you i will not, francisco. but this schooner--i know very well what she is; she has been looking after us some time; and a week ago, francisco, i was anxious to meet her, that i might shed more blood. now i will do all i can to avoid her, and escape. i can do no more, francisco. i must not be taken.' 'there i cannot blame you. to avoid her will be easy, i should think; the _avenger_ outsails everything.' 'except, i believe, the _enterprise_, which is a sister vessel. by heaven! it's a fair match,' continued cain, his feelings of combativeness returning for a moment; 'and it will look like a craven to refuse the fight: but fear not, francisco--i have promised you, and i shall keep my word.' [illustration: _'god bless you, boy! god bless you!' said cain; 'but leave me now.'_] cain went on deck, and surveyed the vessel through the glass. 'yes, it must be her,' said he aloud, so as to be heard by the pirates; 'she has been sent out by the admiral on purpose, full of his best men. what a pity we are so short-handed!' 'there's enough of us, sir,' observed the boatswain. 'yes,' replied cain, 'if there was anything but hard blows to be got; but that is all, and i cannot spare more men. ready about!' continued he, walking aft. the _enterprise_, for she was the vessel in pursuit, was then about five miles distant, steering for the _avenger_, who was on a wind. as soon as the _avenger_ tacked, the _enterprise_ took in her topmast studding-sail, and hauled her wind. this brought the _enterprise_ well on the weather-quarter of the _avenger_, who now made all sail. the pirates, who had had quite enough of fighting, and were not stimulated by the presence of hawkhurst, or the wishes of their captain, now showed as much anxiety to avoid as they usually did to seek a combat. at the first trial of sailing between the two schooners there was no perceptible difference; for half an hour they both continued on a wind, and when edward templemore examined his sextant a second time, he could not perceive that he had gained upon the _avenger_ one cable's length. 'we will keep away half a point,' said edward to his second in command. 'we can afford that, and still hold the weather-gage.' the _enterprise_ was kept away, and increased her speed: they neared the _avenger_ more than a quarter of a mile. 'they are nearing us,' observed francisco; 'we must keep away a point.' away went the _avenger_, and would have recovered her distance, but the _enterprise_ was again steered more off the wind. thus did they continue altering their course until the studding-sails below and aloft were set by both, and the position of the schooners was changed; the _enterprise_ now being on the starboard instead of the larboard quarter of the _avenger_. the relative distance between the two schooners was, however, nearly the same, that is, about three miles and a half from each other; and there was every prospect of a long and weary chase on the part of the _enterprise_, who again kept away a point to near the _avenger_. both vessels were now running to the eastward. it was about an hour before dark that another sail hove in sight right ahead of the _avenger_, and was clearly made out to be a frigate. the pirates were alarmed at this unfortunate circumstance, as there was little doubt but that she would prove a british cruiser; and, if not, they had equally reason to expect that she would assist in their capture. she had evidently perceived the two schooners, and had made all sail, tacking every quarter of an hour so as to keep her relative position. the _enterprise_, who had also made out the frigate, to attract her attention, though not within range of the _avenger_, commenced firing with her long gun. 'this is rather awkward,' observed cain. 'it will be dark in less than an hour,' observed francisco; 'and that is our only chance.' cain reflected a minute. 'get the long gun ready, my lads! we will return her fire, francisco, and hoist american colours; that will puzzle the frigate, at all events, and the night may do the rest.' the long gun of the _avenger_ was ready. 'i would not fire the long gun,' observed francisco; 'it will show our force, and will give no reason for our attempt to escape. now, if we were to fire our broadside guns, the difference of report between them and the one of large calibre fired by the other schooner would induce them to think that we are an american vessel.' 'very true,' replied cain; 'and, as america is at peace with all the world, that our antagonist is a pirate. hold fast the long gun, there, and unship the starboard ports. see that the ensign blows out clear.' the _avenger_ commenced firing an occasional gun from her broadside, the reports of which were hardly to be heard by those on board of the frigate; while the long gun of the _enterprise_ reverberated along the water, and its loud resonance was swept by the wind to the frigate to leeward. such was the state of affairs when the sun sank down in the wave, and darkness obscured the vessels from each other's sight, except with the assistance of the night-telescopes. 'what do you propose to do, captain cain?' said francisco. 'i have made up my mind to do a bold thing. i will run down to the frigate, as if for shelter; tell him that the other vessel is a pirate, and claim his protection. leave me to escape afterwards; the moon will not rise till nearly one o'clock.' 'that will be a bold ruse indeed; but suppose you are once under her broadside, and she suspects you?' 'then i will show her my heels. i should care nothing for her and her broadside if the schooner was not here.' in an hour after dark the _avenger_ was close to the frigate, having steered directly for her. she shortened sail gradually, as if she had few hands on board; and, keeping his men out of sight, cain ran under the stern of the frigate. 'schooner ahoy! what schooner is that?' '_eliza_ of baltimore, from carthagena,' replied cain, rounding to under the lee of the man-of-war, and then continuing: 'that vessel in chase is a pirate. shall i send a boat on board?' 'no; keep company with us.' 'ay, ay, sir,' replied cain. 'hands about ship!' now resounded with the boatswain's whistle on board of the frigate, and in a minute they were on the other tack. the _avenger_ also tacked and kept close under the frigate's counter. in the meantime edward templemore and those on board of the _enterprise_, who, by the course steered, had gradually neared them, perceiving the motions of the two other vessels, were quite puzzled. at one time they thought they had made a mistake, and that it was not the pirate vessel; at another they surmised that the crew had mutinied and surrendered to the frigate. edward hauled his wind, and steered directly for them, to ascertain what the real facts were. the captain of the frigate, who had never lost sight of either vessel, was equally astonished at the boldness of the supposed pirate. 'surely the rascal does not intend to board us?' said he to the first lieutenant. 'there is no saying, sir; you know what a character he has; and some say there are three hundred men on board, which is equal to our ship's company. or perhaps, sir, he will pass to windward of us, and give us a broadside, and be off in the wind's eye again.' 'at all events we will have a broadside ready for him,' replied the captain. 'clear away the starboard guns, and take out the tompions. pipe starboard watch to quarters.' the _enterprise_ closed with the frigate to windward, intending to run round her stern and bring to on the same tack. 'he does not shorten sail yet, sir,' said the first lieutenant, as the schooner appeared skimming along about a cable's length on their weather bow. 'and she is full of men, sir,' said the master, looking at her through the night-glass. 'fire a gun at her!' said the captain. bang! the smoke cleared away, and the schooner's foretopsail, which she was in the act of clewing up, lay over her side. the shot had struck the foremast of the _enterprise_, and cut it in two below the catharpings. the _enterprise_ was, for the time, completely disabled. 'schooner ahoy! what schooner is that?' 'his majesty's schooner _enterprise_.' 'send a boat on board immediately.' 'ay, ay, sir.' 'turn the hands up! shorten sail!' the top-gallant and courses of the frigate were taken in, and the mainsail hove to the mast. 'signalman, whereabouts is that other schooner now?' 'the schooner, sir? on the quarter,' replied the signalman, who, with everybody else on board, was so anxious about the _enterprise_ that they had neglected to watch the motions of the supposed american. the man had replied at random, and he now jumped upon the signal-chests abaft to look for her. but she was not to be seen. cain, who had watched all that passed between the other two vessels, and had been prepared to slip off at a moment's warning, as soon as the gun was fired at the other schooner, had wore round and made all sail on a wind. the night-glass discovered her half a mile astern; and the ruse was immediately perceived. the frigate filled and made sail, leaving edward to return on board--for there was no time to stop for the boat--tacked, and gave chase. but the _avenger_ was soon in the wind's eye of her; and at daylight was no longer to be seen. in the meantime, edward templemore had followed the frigate as soon as he could set sail on his vessel, indignant at his treatment, and vowing that he would demand a court-martial. about noon the frigate rejoined him, when matters were fully explained. annoyed as they all felt at not having captured the pirate, it was unanimously agreed, that by his audacity and coolness he deserved to escape. it was found that the mast of the _enterprise_ could be fished and scarfed, so as to enable her to continue her cruise. the carpenters of the frigate were sent on board; and in two days the injury was repaired, and edward templemore once more went in pursuit of the _avenger_. chapter xv the mistake the _avenger_ stood under a press of sail to the northward. she had left her pursuers far behind; and there was not a speck on the horizon, when, on the second morning, francisco, who had resumed his berth in the captain's cabin, went up on deck. notwithstanding the request of cain, francisco refused to take any part in the command of the schooner, considering himself as a passenger, or prisoner on parole. he had not been on deck but a few minutes, when he observed the two spanish fishermen, belonging to the establishment of don cumanos, conversing together forward. their capture had quite escaped his memory, and he went forward to speak to them. their surprise at seeing him was great, until francisco informed them of what had passed. they then recounted what had occurred to them, and showed their thumbs, which had been put into screws to torture from them the truth. francisco shuddered, but consoled them by promising that they should soon be at liberty, and return to their former master. as francisco returned from forward, he found hawkhurst on the deck. their eyes met and flashed in enmity. hawkhurst was pale from loss of blood, and evidently suffering; but he had been informed of the apparent reconciliation between francisco and the captain, and he could no longer remain in his bed. he knew, also, how the captain had avoided the combat with the _enterprise_; and something told him that there was a revolution of feeling in more than one point. suffering as he was, he resolved to be a spectator of what passed, and to watch narrowly. for both francisco and cain he had imbibed a deadly hatred, and was watching for an opportunity to wreak his revenge. at present they were too powerful; but he felt that the time was coming when he might be triumphant. francisco passed hawkhurst without speaking. 'you are at liberty again, i see,' observed hawkhurst, with a sneer. 'i am not, at all events, indebted to you for it,' replied francisco haughtily; 'nor for my life either.' 'no, indeed; but i believe that i am indebted to you for this bullet in my shoulder,' replied the mate. 'you are,' replied francisco coolly. 'and depend upon it, the debt shall be repaid with usury.' 'i have no doubt of it, if ever it is in your power; but i fear you not.' as francisco made this reply, the captain came up the ladder. hawkhurst turned away and walked forward. 'there is mischief in that man, francisco,' said the captain in an undertone; 'i hardly know whom to trust; but he must be watched. he is tampering with the men, and has been for some time; not that it is of much consequence, if he does but remain quiet for a little while. the command of this vessel he is welcome to very soon; but if he attempts too early----' 'i have those i can trust to,' replied francisco. 'let us go below.' francisco sent for pompey the krouman, and gave him his directions in the presence of the captain. that night, to the surprise of all, hawkhurst kept his watch; and, notwithstanding the fatigue, appeared every day to be rapidly recovering from his wound. nothing occurred for several days, during which the _avenger_ still continued her course. what the captain's intentions were did not transpire; they were known only to francisco. 'we are very short of water, sir,' reported hawkhurst one morning; 'shall we have enough to last us to where we are going?' 'how many days of full allowance have we on board?' 'not above twelve at the most.' 'then we must go on half allowance,' replied cain. 'the ship's company wish to know where we are going, sir.' 'have they deputed you to ask the question?' 'not exactly, sir; but i wish to know myself,' replied hawkhurst, with an insolent air. 'turn the hands up,' replied cain; 'as one of the ship's company under my orders, you will, with the others, receive the information you require.' the crew of the pirate collected aft. 'my lads,' said cain, 'i understand, from the first mate, that you are anxious to know where you are going? in reply, i acquaint you that, having so many wounded men on board, and so much plunder in the hold, i intend to repair to our rendezvous when we were formerly in this part of the world--the _caicos_. is there any other question you may wish to ask of me?' 'yes,' replied hawkhurst; 'we wish to know what your intentions are relative to that young man, francisco. we have lost immense wealth; we have now thirty men wounded in the hammocks, and nine we left dead on the shore; and i have a bullet through my body; all of which has been occasioned by him. we demand justice!' here hawkhurst was supported by several of the pirates; and there were many voices which repeated the cry of 'justice!' 'my men! you demand justice, and you shall have it,' replied cain. 'this lad you all know well; i have brought him up as a child. he has always disliked our mode of life, and has often requested to leave it, but has been refused. he challenged me by our own laws, "blood for blood!" he wounded me; but he was right in his challenge, and therefore i bear no malice. had i been aware that he was to have been sent on shore to die with hunger, i would not have permitted it. what crime had he committed? none; or, if any, it was against me. he was then sentenced to death for no crime, and you yourselves exclaimed against it. is it not true?' 'yes--yes,' replied the majority of the pirates. 'by a miracle he escapes, and is put in charge of another man's property. he is made a prisoner, and now you demand justice. you shall have it. allowing that his life is forfeit for this offence,--you have already sentenced him, and left him to death unjustly, and therefore are bound in justice to give his life in this instance. i ask it, my men, not only as his right, but as a favour to your captain.' 'agreed; it's all fair!' exclaimed the majority of the pirate's crew. 'my men, i thank you,' replied cain; 'and in return, as soon as we arrive at the caicos, my share of the plunder on board shall be divided among you.' this last observation completely turned the tables in favour of the captain; and those who had joined hawkhurst now sided with the captain. hawkhurst looked like a demon. 'let those who choose to be bought off take your money,' replied he; 'but _i will not_. blood for blood i will have; and so i give you warning. that lad's life is mine, and have it i will! prevent me, if you can!' continued the mate, holding up his clenched hand, and shaking it almost in the pirate captain's face. the blood mantled even to the forehead of cain. one moment he raised himself to his utmost height, then seizing a handspike which lay near, he felled hawkhurst to the deck. 'take that for your mutiny!' exclaimed cain, putting his foot on hawkhurst's neck. 'my lads, i appeal to you. is this man worthy to be in command as mate? is he to live?' 'no! no!' cried the pirates. 'death!' francisco stepped forward. 'my men, you have granted your captain one favour; grant me another, which is the life of this man. recollect how often he has led you to conquest, and how brave and faithful he has been until now! recollect that he is suffering under his wound, which has made him irritable. command you he cannot any longer, as he will never have the confidence of your captain; but let him live, and quit the vessel.' 'be it so, if you agree,' replied cain, looking at the men; 'i do not seek his life.' the pirates consented. hawkhurst rose slowly from the deck, and was assisted below to his cabin. the second mate was then appointed as the first, and the choice of the man to fill up the vacancy was left to the pirate crew. [illustration: _'blood for blood i will have,' continued the mate, holding up his clenched hand, and shaking it almost in the pirate captain's face._] for three days after this scene all was quiet and orderly on board of the pirate. cain, now that he had more fully made up his mind how to act, imparted to francisco his plans; and his giving up to the men his share of the booty still on board was, to francisco, an earnest of his good intentions. a cordiality, even, a kind of feeling which never existed before, was created between them; but of francisco's mother, and the former events of his own life, the pirate never spoke. francisco more than once put questions on the subject; the answer was, 'you shall know some of these days, francisco, but not yet; you would hate me too much!' the _avenger_ was now clear of the english isles, and with light winds running down the shores of porto rico. in the evening of the day on which they had made the land, the schooner was becalmed about three miles from the shore, and the new first mate proposed that he should land in the boat and obtain a further supply of water from a fall which they had discovered with the glasses. as this was necessary, cain gave his consent, and the boat quitted the vessel full of breakers. now it happened that the _avenger_ lay becalmed abreast of the country seat of don d'alfarez, the governor of the island. clara had seen the schooner; and, as usual, had thrown out the white curtain as a signal of recognition; for there was no perceptible difference, even to a sailor, at that distance, between the _avenger_ and the _enterprise_. she had hastened down to the beach, and hurried into the cave, awaiting the arrival of edward templemore. the pirate boat landed at the very spot of rendezvous, and the mate leaped out of the boat. clara flew to receive her edward, and was instantly seized by the mate, before she discovered her mistake. 'holy virgin! who and what are you?' cried she, struggling to disengage herself. 'one who is very fond of a pretty girl!' replied the pirate, still detaining her. 'unhand me, wretch!' cried clara. 'are you aware whom you are addressing?' 'not i! nor do i care,' replied the pirate. 'you will perhaps, sir, when you learn that i am the daughter of the governor!' exclaimed clara, pushing him away. 'yes, by heavens! you are right, pretty lady, i do care; for a governor's daughter will fetch a good ransom, at all events. so come, my lads, a little help here; for she is as strong as a young mule. never mind the water, throw the breakers into the boat again; we have a prize worth taking!' clara screamed; but she was gagged with a handkerchief and lifted into the boat, which immediately rowed back to the schooner. when the mate came on board and reported his capture, the pirates were delighted at the prospect of addition to their prize-money. cain could not, of course, raise any objections; it would have been so different from his general practice, that it would have strengthened suspicions already set afloat by hawkhurst, which cain was most anxious just then to remove. he ordered the girl to be taken down into the cabin, hoisted in the boat, and the breeze springing up again, made sail. in the meantime francisco was consoling the unfortunate clara, and assuring her that she need be under no alarm, promising her protection from himself and the captain. the poor girl wept bitterly, and it was not until cain came down into the cabin and corroborated the assurances of francisco that she could assume any degree of composure; but to find friends when she had expected every insult and degradation--for francisco had acknowledged that the vessel was a pirate--was some consolation. the kindness and attention of francisco restored her to comparative tranquillity. the next day she confided to him the reason of her coming to the beach, and her mistake with regard to the two vessels, and francisco and cain promised her that they would themselves pay her ransom, and not wait until she heard from her father. to divert her thoughts francisco talked much about edward templemore, and on that subject clara could always talk. every circumstance attending the amour was soon known to francisco. but the _avenger_ did not gain her rendezvous as soon as she expected. when to the northward of porto rico an english frigate bore down upon her, and the _avenger_ was obliged to run for it. before the wind is always a schooner's worst point of sailing, and the chase was continued for three days before a fresh wind from the southward, until they had passed the bahama isles. the pirates suffered much from want of water, as it was necessary still further to reduce their allowance. the frigate was still in sight, although the _avenger_ had dropped her astern when the wind became light, and at last it subsided into a calm, which lasted two days more. the boats of the frigate were hoisted out on the eve of the second day to attack the schooner, then distant five miles, when a breeze sprang up from the northward, and the schooner being then to windward, left the enemy hull down. it was not until the next day that cain ventured to run again to the southward to procure at one of the keys the water so much required. at last it was obtained, but with difficulty and much loss of time, from the scantiness of the supply, and they again made sail for the caicos. but they were so much impeded by contrary winds and contrary currents that it was not until three weeks after they had been chased from porto rico that they made out the low land of their former rendezvous. we must now return to edward templemore in the _enterprise_, whom we left off the coast of south america in search of the _avenger_, which had so strangely slipped through their fingers. edward had examined the whole coast, ran through the passage and round trinidad, and then started off to the leeward isles in his pursuit. he had spoken every vessel he met with without gaining any information, and had at last arrived off porto rico. this was no time to think of clara; but, as it was not out of his way, he had run down the island, and as it was just before dark when he arrived off that part of the coast where the governor resided, he had hove-to for a little while, and had examined the windows: but the signal of recognition was not made, and after waiting till dark he again made sail, mad with disappointment, and fearing that all had been discovered by the governor; whereas the fact was, that he had only arrived two days after the forcible abduction of clara. once more he directed his attention to the discovery of the pirate, and after a fortnight's examination of the inlets and bays of the island of st. domingo without success, his provisions and water being nearly expended, he returned, in no very happy mood, to port royal. in the meantime the disappearance of clara had created the greatest confusion in porto rico, and upon the examination of her attendant, who was confronted by the friar and the duenna, the amour of her mistress was confessed. the appearance of the _avenger_ off the coast on that evening confirmed their ideas that the donna clara had been carried off by the english lieutenant, and don alfarez immediately despatched a vessel to jamaica, complaining of the outrage, and demanding the restoration of his daughter. this vessel arrived at port royal a few days before the _enterprise_, and the admiral was very much astonished. he returned a very polite answer to don alfarez, promising an investigation immediately upon the arrival of the schooner, and to send a vessel with the result of the said investigation. 'this is a pretty business,' said the admiral to his secretary. 'young madcap! i sent him to look after a pirate, and he goes after the governor's daughter! by the lord harry, mr. templemore, but you and i shall have an account to settle.' 'i can hardly believe it, sir,' replied the secretary; 'and yet it does look suspicious. but on so short an acquaintance----' 'who knows that, mr. hadley? send for his logs, and let us examine them; he may have been keeping up the acquaintance.' the logs of the _enterprise_ were examined, and there were the fatal words--porto rico, porto rico, bearing in every division of the compass, and in every separate cruise, nay, even when the schooner was charged with despatches. 'plain enough,' said the admiral. 'confounded young scamp, to embroil me in this way! not that his marrying the girl is any business of mine; but i will punish him for disobedience of orders, at all events. try him by a court-martial, by heavens!' the secretary made no reply: he knew very well that the admiral would do no such thing. 'the _enterprise_ anchored at daylight, sir,' reported the secretary as the admiral sat down to breakfast. 'and where's mr. templemore?' 'he is outside in the veranda. they have told him below of what he has been accused, and he swears it is false. i believe him, sir, for he appears half mad at the intelligence.' 'stop a moment. have you looked over his log?' 'yes, sir. it appears that he was off porto rico on the th; but the spanish governor's letter says that he was there on the th, and again made his appearance on the th. i mentioned it to him, and he declares upon his honour that he was only there on the th, as stated in his log.' 'well, let him come in and speak for himself.' edward came in, in a state of great agitation. 'well, mr. templemore, you have been playing pretty tricks! what is all this, sir? where is the girl, sir--the governor's daughter?' 'where she is, sir, i cannot pretend to say; but i feel convinced that she has been carried off by the pirates.' 'pirates! poor girl, i pity her!--and i pity you too, edward. come, sit down here, and tell me all that has happened.' edward knew the admiral's character so well, that he immediately disclosed all that had passed between him and clara. he then stated how the _avenger_ had escaped him by deceiving the frigate, and the agreement made with clara to meet for the future on the beach, with his conviction that the pirate schooner, so exactly similar in appearance to the _enterprise_, must have preceded him at porto rico, and have carried off the object of his attachment. although edward might have been severely taken to task, yet the admiral pitied him, and therefore said nothing about his visits to porto rico. when breakfast was over he ordered the signal to be made for a sloop of war to prepare to weigh, and the _enterprise_ to be revictualled by the boats of the squadron. 'now, edward, you and the _comus_ shall sail in company after this rascally pirate, and i trust you will give me a good account of her, and also of the governor's daughter. cheer up, my boy! depend upon it they will try for ransom before they do her any injury.' that evening the _enterprise_ and _comus_ sailed on their expedition, and having run by porto rico and delivered a letter to the governor, they steered to the northward, and early the next morning made the land of the caicos, just as the _avenger_ had skirted the reefs and bore up for the narrow entrance. 'there she is!' exclaimed edward; 'there she is, by heavens!' making the signal for the enemy, which was immediately answered by the _comus_. chapter xvi the caicos the small patch of islands called the caicos, or cayques, is situated about two degrees to the northward of st. domingo, and is nearly the southernmost of a chain which extends up to the bahamas. most of the islands of this chain are uninhabited, but were formerly the resort of piratical vessels,--the reefs and shoals with which they are all surrounded afforded them protection from their larger pursuers, and the passages through this dangerous navigation being known only to the pirates who frequented them, proved an additional security. the largest of the caicos islands forms a curve, like an opened horse-shoe, to the southward, with safe and protected anchorage when once in the bay on the southern side; but, previous to arriving at the anchorage, there are coral reefs, extending upwards of forty miles, through which it is necessary to conduct a vessel. this passage is extremely intricate, but was well known to hawkhurst, who had hitherto been pilot. cain was not so well acquainted with it, and it required the greatest care in taking in the vessel, as, on the present occasion, hawkhurst could not be called upon for this service. the islands themselves--for there were several of them--were composed of coral rock; a few cocoa trees raised their lofty heads where there was sufficient earth for vegetation, and stunted brushwood rose up between the interstices of the rocks. but the chief peculiarity of the islands, and which rendered them suitable to those who frequented them, was the numerous caves with which the rocks were perforated, some above high-water mark, but the majority with the sea-water flowing in and out of them, in some cases merely rushing in, and at high water filling deep pools, which were detached from each other when the tide receded, in others with a sufficient depth of water at all times to allow you to pull in with a large boat. it is hardly necessary to observe how convenient the higher and dry caves were as receptacles for articles which were intended to be concealed until an opportunity occurred for disposing of them. in our last chapter we stated that, just as the _avenger_ had entered the passage through the reefs, the _comus_ and _enterprise_ hove in sight and discovered her; but it will be necessary to explain the positions of the vessels. the _avenger_ had entered the southern channel, with the wind from the southward, and had carefully sounded her way for about four miles, under little or no sail. the _enterprise_ and _comus_ had been examining turk's island, to the eastward of the caicos, and had passed to the northward of it on the larboard tack, standing in for the northern point of the reef, which joined on to the great caicos island. they were, therefore, in a situation to intercept the _avenger_ before she arrived at her anchorage, had it not been for the reefs which barred their passage. the only plan which the english vessels could act upon was to beat to the southward, so as to arrive at the entrance of the passage, when the _enterprise_ would, of course, find sufficient water to follow the _avenger_; for, as the passage was too narrow to beat through, and the wind was from the southward, the _avenger_ could not possibly escape. she was caught in a trap; and all that she had to trust to was the defence which she might be able to make in her stronghold against the force which could be employed in the attack. the breeze was fresh from the southward, and appeared inclined to increase, when the _comus_ and _enterprise_ made all sail, and worked, in short tacks, outside the reef. on board the _avenger_ the enemy and their motions were clearly distinguished, and cain perceived that he was in an awkward dilemma. that they would be attacked he had no doubt; and although, at any other time, he would almost have rejoiced in such an opportunity of discomfiting his assailants, yet now he thought very differently, and would have sacrificed almost everything to have been able to avoid the rencontre, and be permitted quietly to withdraw himself from his associates, without the spilling of more blood. francisco was equally annoyed at this unfortunate collision; but no words were exchanged between him and the pirate captain during the time that they were on deck. it was about nine o'clock, when having safely passed nearly half through the channel, that cain ordered the kedge-anchor to be dropped, and sent down the people to their breakfast. francisco went down into the cabin, and was explaining their situation to clara, when cain entered. he threw himself on the locker, and appeared lost in deep and sombre meditation. 'what do you intend to do?' said francisco. 'i do not know; i will not decide myself, francisco,' replied cain. 'if i were to act upon my own judgment, probably i should allow the schooner to remain where she is. they can only attack in the boats, and, in such a case, i do not fear; whereas, if we run right through, we allow the other schooner to follow us, without defending the passage; and we may be attacked by her in the deep water inside, and overpowered by the number of men the two vessels will be able to bring against us. on the other hand, we certainly may defend the schooner from the shore as well as on board; but we are weak-handed. i shall, however, call up the ship's company and let them decide. god knows, if left to me i would not fight at all.' 'is there no way of escape?' resumed francisco. 'yes, we might abandon the schooner; and this night, when they would not expect it, run with the boats through the channel between the great island and the north cayque: but that i dare not propose, and the men would not listen to it; indeed, i very much doubt if the enemy will allow us the time. i knew this morning, long before we saw those vessels, that my fate would be decided before the sun went down.' 'what do you mean?' 'i mean this, francisco,' said cain; 'that your mother, who always has visited me in my dreams whenever anything (dreadful now to think of!) was about to take place, appeared to me last night; and there was sorrow and pity in her sweet face as she mournfully waved her hand, as if to summon me to follow her. yes, thank god! she no longer looked upon me as for many years she has done.' francisco made no answer; and cain again seemed to be lost in meditation. after a little while cain rose, and taking a small packet from one of the drawers, put it into the hands of francisco. 'preserve that,' said the pirate captain; 'should any accident happen to me it will tell you who was your mother; and it also contains directions for finding treasure which i have buried. i leave everything to you, francisco. it has been unfairly obtained; but you are not the guilty party, and there are none to claim it. do not answer me now. you may find friends, whom you will make after i am gone, of the same opinion as i am. i tell you again, be careful of that packet.' 'i see little chance of it availing me,' replied francisco. 'if i live, shall i not be considered as a pirate?' 'no, no; you can prove the contrary.' 'i have my doubts. but god's will be done!' 'yes, god's will be done!' said cain mournfully. 'i dared not have said that a month ago.' and the pirate captain went on deck, followed by francisco. the crew of the _avenger_ were summoned aft, and called upon to decide as to the measures they considered to be most advisable. they preferred weighing the anchor and running into the bay, where they would be able to defend the schooner, in their opinion, much better than by remaining where they were. the crew of the pirate schooner weighed the anchor, and continued their precarious course; the breeze had freshened, and the water was in strong ripples, so that they could no longer see the danger beneath her bottom. in the meantime, the sloop of war and _enterprise_ continued to turn to windward outside the reef. by noon the wind had considerably increased, and the breakers now turned and broke in wild foam over the coral reefs in every direction. the sail was still more reduced on board the _avenger_, and her difficulties increased from the rapidity of her motion. a storm-jib was set, and the others hauled down; yet even under this small sail she flew before the wind. cain stood at the bowsprit, giving his directions to the helmsman. more than once they had grazed the rocks and were clear again. spars were towed astern, and every means resorted to, to check her way. they had no guide but the breaking of the wild water on each side of them. 'why should not hawkhurst, who knows the passage so well, be made to pilot us?' said the boatswain to those who were near him on the forecastle. 'to be sure! let's have him up!' cried several of the crew; and some of them went down below. in a minute they reappeared with hawkhurst, whom they led forward. he did not make any resistance, and the crew demanded that he should pilot the vessel. 'and suppose i will not?' said hawkhurst coolly. 'then you lose your passage, that's all,' replied the boatswain. 'is it not so, my lads?' continued he, appealing to the crew. 'yes; either take us safe in, or--overboard,' replied several. 'i do not mind that threat, my lads,' replied hawkhurst; 'you have all known me as a good man and true, and it's not likely that i shall desert you now. well, since your captain there cannot save you, i suppose i must; but,' exclaimed he, looking about him, 'how's this? we are out of the passage already. yes--and whether we can get into it again i cannot tell.' 'we are not out of the passage,' said cain; 'you know we are not.' 'well then, if the captain knows better than i, he had better take you through,' rejoined hawkhurst. but the crew thought differently, and insisted that hawkhurst, who well knew the channel, should take charge. cain retired aft, as hawkhurst went out on the bowsprit. 'i will do my best, my lads,' said hawkhurst; 'but recollect, if we strike in trying to get into the right channel, do not blame me. starboard a little--starboard yet--steady, so--there's the true passage, my lads!' cried he, pointing to some smoother water between the breakers; 'port a little--steady.' but hawkhurst, who knew that he was to be put on shore as soon as convenient, had resolved to lose the schooner, even if his own life were forfeited, and he was now running her out of the passage on the rocks. a minute after he had conned her, she struck heavily again and again. the third time she struck, she came broadside to the wind and heeled over; a sharp coral rock found its way through her slight timbers and planking, and the water poured in rapidly. during this there was a dead silence on the part of the marauders. 'my lads,' said hawkhurst, 'i have done my best, and now you may throw me overboard if you please. it was not my fault, but his,' continued he, pointing to the captain. 'it is of little consequence whose fault it was, mr. hawkhurst,' replied cain; 'we will settle that point by and by; at present we have too much on our hands. out boats, men! as fast as you can, and let every man provide himself with arms and ammunition. be cool! the schooner is fixed hard enough, and will not go down; we shall save everything by and by.' the pirates obeyed the orders of the captain. the three boats were hoisted out and lowered down. in the first were placed all the wounded men and clara d'alfarez, who was assisted up by francisco. as soon as the men had provided themselves with arms, francisco, to protect clara, offered to take charge of her, and the boat shoved off. the men-of-war had seen the _avenger_ strike on the rocks, and the preparations of the crew to take to their boats. they immediately hove-to, hoisted out and manned their own boats, with the hopes of cutting them off before they could gain the island and prepare for a vigorous defence; for, although the vessels could not approach the reefs, there was sufficient water in many places for the boats to pass over them. shortly after francisco, in the first boat, had shoved off from the _avenger_, the boats of the men-of-war were darting through the surf to intercept them. the pirates perceived this, and hastened their arrangements; a second boat soon left her, and into that hawkhurst leaped as it was shoving off. cain remained on board, going round the lower decks to ascertain if any of the wounded men were left; he then quitted the schooner in the last boat and followed the others, being about a quarter of a mile astern of the second, in which hawkhurst had secured his place. at the time that cain quitted the schooner, it was difficult to say whether the men-of-war's boats would succeed in intercepting any of the pirates' boats. both parties exerted themselves to their utmost; and when the first boat, with francisco and clara, landed, the headmost of the assailants was not much more than half a mile from them; but shallow water intervening there was a delay, which was favourable to the pirates. hawkhurst landed in his boat as the launch of the _comus_ fired her eighteen-pound carronade. the last boat was yet two hundred yards from the beach, when another shot from the _comus's_ launch, which had been unable hitherto to find a passage through the reef, struck her on the counter, and she filled and went down. 'he is gone!' exclaimed francisco, who had led clara to a cave, and stood at the mouth of it to protect her; 'they have sunk his boat--no, he is swimming to the shore, and will be here now, long before the english seamen can land.' this was true. cain was breasting the water manfully, making for a small cove nearer to where the boat was sunk than the one in which francisco had landed with clara and the wounded men, and divided from the other by a ridge of rocks which separated the sandy beach, and extended some way into the water before they were submerged. francisco could easily distinguish the pirate captain from the other men, who also were swimming for the beach; for cain was far ahead of them, and as he gained nearer to the shore he was shut from francisco's sight by the ridge of rocks. francisco, anxious for his safety, climbed up the rocks and was watching. cain was within a few yards of the beach when there was a report of a musket; the pirate captain was seen to raise his body convulsively half out of the water--he floundered--the clear blue wave was discoloured--he sank, and was seen no more. francisco darted forward from the rocks, and perceived hawkhurst standing beneath them with the musket in his hand, which he was recharging. 'villain!' exclaimed francisco, 'you shall account for this.' hawkhurst had reprimed his musket and shut the pan. 'not to you,' replied hawkhurst, levelling his piece, and taking aim at francisco. the ball struck francisco on the breast; he reeled back from his position, staggered across the sand, gained the cave, and fell at the feet of clara. [illustration: _the pirate captain was seen to raise his body convulsively half out of the water--he floundered, sank, and was seen no more._] 'o god!' exclaimed the poor girl, 'are _you_ hurt? who is there, then, to protect me?' 'i hardly know,' replied francisco faintly; and, at intervals, 'i feel no wound. i feel stronger;' and francisco put his hand to his heart. clara opened his vest, and found that the packet given to francisco by cain, and which he had deposited in his breast, had been struck by the bullet, which had done him no injury further than the violent concussion of the blow--notwithstanding he was faint from the shock, and his head fell upon clara's bosom. but we must relate the proceedings of those who were mixed up in this exciting scene. edward templemore had watched from his vessel, with an eager and painful curiosity, the motions of the schooner--her running on the rocks, and the subsequent actions of the intrepid marauders. the long telescope enabled him to perceive distinctly all that passed, and his feelings were increased into a paroxysm of agony when his straining eyes beheld the white and fluttering habiliments of a female for a moment at the gunwale of the stranded vessel--her descent, as it appeared to him, nothing loth, into the boat--the arms held out to receive, and the extension of hers to meet those offered. could it be clara? where was the reluctance, the unavailing attempts at resistance, which should have characterised her situation? excited by feelings which he dared not analyse, he threw down his glass, and, seizing his sword, sprang into his boat, which was ready manned alongside, desiring the others to follow him. for once, and the only time in his existence when approaching the enemy, did he feel his heart sink within him--a cold tremor ran through his whole frame, and as he called to mind the loose morals and desperate habits of the pirates, horrible thoughts entered his imagination. as he neared the shore, he stood up in the stern-sheets of the boat, pale, haggard, and with trembling lips; and the intensity of his feelings would have been intolerable but for a more violent thirst for revenge. he clenched his sword, while the quick throbs of his heart seemed, at every pulsation, to repeat to him his thoughts of blood! blood! blood! he approached the small bay, and perceived that there was a female at the mouth of the cave--nearer and nearer, and he was certain that it was his clara--her name was on his lips when he heard the two shots fired one after another by hawkhurst--he saw the retreat and fall of francisco--when, madness to behold! he perceived clara rush forward, and there lay the young man supported by her, and with his head upon her bosom. could he believe what he saw? could she really be his betrothed? yes, there she was, supporting the handsome figure of a young man, and that man a pirate--she had even put her hand into his vest, and was now watching over his reviving form. edward could bear no more; he covered his eyes, and now, maddened with jealousy, in a voice of thunder he called out-- 'give way, my lads! for your lives, give way!' the gig was within half a dozen strokes of the oar from the beach, and clara, unconscious of wrong, had just taken the packet of papers from francisco's vest, when hawkhurst made his appearance from behind the rocks which separated the two little sandy coves. francisco had recovered his breath, and, perceiving the approach of hawkhurst, he sprang upon his feet to recover his musket; but, before he could succeed, hawkhurst had closed in with him, and a short and dreadful struggle ensued. it would soon have terminated fatally to francisco, for the superior strength of hawkhurst had enabled him to bear down the body of his opponent with his knee, and he was fast strangling him by twisting his handkerchief round his throat, while clara shrieked, and attempted in vain to tear the pirate from him. as the prostrate francisco was fast blackening into a corpse, and the maiden screamed for pity, and became frantic in her efforts for his rescue, the boat dashed high up on the sand; and, with the bound of a maddened tiger, edward sprang upon hawkhurst, tearing him down on his back, and severing his wrist with his sword-blade until his hold of francisco was relaxed, and he wrestled in his own defence. 'seize him, my lads!' said edward, pointing with his left hand to hawkhurst; as with his sword directed to the body of francisco he bitterly continued, '_this victim is mine!_' but, whatever were his intentions, they were frustrated by clara's recognition, who shrieked out, 'my edward!' sprang into his arms, and was immediately in a state of insensibility. the seamen who had secured hawkhurst looked upon the scene with curious astonishment, while edward waited with mingled feelings of impatience and doubt for clara's recovery; he wished to be assured by her that he was mistaken, and he turned again and again from her face to that of francisco, who was fast recovering. during this painful suspense, hawkhurst was bound and made to sit down. [illustration: _clara sprang into his arms, and was immediately in a state of insensibility._] 'edward! dear edward!' said clara at last, in a faint voice, clinging more closely to him; 'and am i then rescued by thee, dearest!' edward felt the appeal; but his jealousy had not yet subsided. 'who is that, clara?' said he sternly. 'it is francisco. no pirate, edward, but my preserver.' 'ha, ha!' laughed hawkhurst, with a bitter sneer, for he perceived how matters stood. edward templemore turned towards him with an inquiring look. 'ha, ha!' continued hawkhurst; 'why, he is the captain's son! no pirate, eh? well, what will women not swear to, to save those they dote upon!' 'if the captain's son,' said edward, 'why were you contending?' 'because just now i shot his scoundrel father.' 'edward!' said clara solemnly, 'this is no time for explanation; but, as i hope for mercy, what i have said is true; believe not that villain.' 'yes,' said francisco, who was now sitting up, 'believe him when he says that he shot the captain, for that is true; but, sir, if you value your own peace of mind, believe nothing to the prejudice of that young lady.' 'i hardly know what to believe,' muttered edward templemore; 'but, as the lady says, this is no time for explanation. with your permission, madam,' said he to clara, 'my coxswain will see you in safety on board of the schooner, or the other vessel, if you prefer it; my duty will not allow me to accompany you.' clara darted a reproachful yet fond look on edward, as, with swimming eyes, she was led by the coxswain to the boat, which had been joined by the launch of the _comus_, the crew of which were, with their officers, wading to the beach. the men of the gig remained until they had given hawkhurst and francisco in charge of the other seamen, and then shoved off with clara for the schooner. edward templemore gave one look at the gig as it conveyed clara on board, and ordering hawkhurst and francisco to be taken to the launch, and a guard to be kept over them, went up, with the remainder of the men, in pursuit of the pirates. during the scene we have described, the other boats of the men-of-war had landed on the island, and the _avenger's_ crew, deprived of their leaders, and scattered in every direction, were many of them slain or captured. in about two hours it was supposed that the majority of the pirates had been accounted for, and the prisoners being now very numerous, it was decided that the boats should return with them to the _comus_, the captain of which vessel, as commanding officer, would then issue orders as to their future proceedings. the captured pirates, when mustered on the deck of the _comus_, amounted to nearly sixty, out of which number one-half were those who had been sent on shore wounded, and had surrendered without resistance. of killed there were fifteen; and it was conjectured that as many more had been drowned in the boat when she was sunk by the shot from the carronade of the launch. although, by the account given by the captured pirates, the majority were secured, yet there was reason to suppose that some were still left on the island concealed in the caves. as the captain of the _comus_ had orders to return as soon as possible, he decided to sail immediately for port royal with the prisoners, leaving the _enterprise_ to secure the remainder, if there were any, and recover anything of value which might be left in the wreck of the _avenger_, and then to destroy her. with the usual celerity of the service these orders were obeyed. the pirates, among whom francisco was included, were secured, the boats hoisted up, and in half an hour the _comus_ displayed her ensign, and made all sail on a wind, leaving edward templemore, with the _enterprise_, at the back of the reef, to perform the duties entailed upon him; and clara, who was on board of the schooner, to remove the suspicion and jealousy which had arisen in the bosom of her lover. chapter xvii the trial in a week, the _comus_ arrived at port royal, and the captain went up to the penn to inform the admiral of the successful result of the expedition. 'thank god,' said the admiral, 'we have caught these villains at last! a little hanging will do them no harm. the captain, you say, was drowned?' 'so it is reported, sir,' replied captain manly; 'he was in the last boat which left the schooner, and she was sunk by a shot from the launch.' 'i am sorry for that; the death was too good for him. however, we must make an example of the rest; they must be tried by the admiralty court, which has the jurisdiction of the high seas. send them on shore, manly, and we wash our hands of them.' 'very good, sir; but there are still some left on the island, we have reason to believe, and the _enterprise_ is in search of them.' 'by the bye, did templemore find his lady?' 'oh yes, sir; and--all's right, i believe: but i had very little to say to him on the subject.' 'humph!' replied the admiral. 'i am glad to hear it. well, send them on shore, manly, to the proper authorities. if any more be found, they must be hung afterwards when templemore brings them in. i am more pleased at having secured these scoundrels than if we had taken a french frigate.' about three weeks after this conversation, the secretary reported to the admiral that the _enterprise_ had made her number outside; but that she was becalmed, and would not probably be in until the evening. 'that's a pity,' replied the admiral; 'for the pirates are to be tried this morning. he may have more of them on board.' 'very true, sir; but the trial will hardly be over to-day: the judge will not be in court till one o'clock at the soonest.' 'it's of little consequence, certainly; as it is, there are so many that they must be hanged by divisions. however, as he is within signal distance, let them telegraph 'pirates now on trial.' he can pull on shore in his gig, if he pleases.' it was about noon on the same day that the pirates, and among them francisco, escorted by a strong guard, were conducted to the court-house and placed at the bar. the court-house was crowded to excess, for the interest excited was intense. many of them who had been wounded in the attack upon the property of don cumanos, and afterwards captured, had died in their confinement. still forty-five were placed at the bar; and their picturesque costume, their bearded faces, and the atrocities which they had committed, created in those present a sensation of anxiety mingled with horror and indignation. two of the youngest amongst them had been permitted to turn king's evidence. they had been on board of the _avenger_ but a few months; still their testimony as to the murder of the crews of three west india ships, and the attack upon the property of don cumanos, was quite sufficient to condemn the remainder. much time was necessarily expended in going through the forms of the court; in the pirates answering to their various names; and, lastly, in taking down the detailed evidence of the above men. it was late when the evidence was read over to the pirates, and they were asked if they had anything to offer in their defence. the question was repeated by the judge; when hawkhurst was the first to speak. to save himself he could scarcely hope; his only object was to prevent francisco pleading his cause successfully, and escaping the same disgraceful death. [illustration: _the pirates at the bar._] hawkhurst declared that he had been some time on board the _avenger_, but that he had been taken out of a vessel and forced to serve against his will, as could be proved by the captain's son, who stood there (pointing to francisco), who had been in the schooner since her first fitting out: that he had always opposed the captain, who would not part with him, because he was the only one on board who was competent to navigate the schooner: that he had intended to rise against him, and take the vessel, having often stimulated the crew so to do; and that, as the other men, as well as the captain's son, could prove, if they choose, he actually was in confinement for that attempt when the schooner was entering the passage to the caicos; and that he was only released because he was acquainted with the passage, and threatened to be thrown overboard if he did not take her in: that, at every risk, he had run her on the rocks; and aware that the captain would murder him, he had shot cain as he was swimming to the shore, as the captain's son could prove; for he had taxed him with it, and he was actually struggling with him for life, when the officers and boats' crew separated them, and made them both prisoners: that he hardly expected that francisco, the captain's son, would tell the truth to save him, as he was his bitter enemy, and in the business at the magdalen river, which had been long planned (for francisco had been sent on shore under the pretence of being wrecked, but, in fact, to ascertain where the booty was, and to assist the pirates in their attack), francisco had taken the opportunity of putting a bullet through his shoulder, which was well known to the other pirates, and francisco could not venture to deny. he trusted that the court would order the torture to francisco, and then he would probably speak the truth; at all events, let him speak now. when hawkhurst had ceased to address the court, there was an anxious pause for some minutes. the day was fast declining, and most parts of the spacious court-house were already deeply immersed in gloom; while the light, sober, solemn, and almost sad, gleamed upon the savage and reckless countenances of the prisoners at the bar. the sun had sunk down behind a mass of heavy yet gorgeous clouds, fringing their edges with molten gold. hawkhurst had spoken fluently and energetically, and there was an appearance of almost honesty in his coarse and deep-toned voice. even the occasional oaths with which his speech was garnished, but which we have omitted, seemed to be pronounced more in sincerity than in blasphemy, and gave a more forcible impression to his narrative. we have said that when he concluded there was a profound silence; and amid the fast-falling shadows of the evening, those who were present began to feel, for the first time, the awful importance of the drama before them, the number of lives which were trembling upon the verge of existence, depending upon the single word of 'guilty.' this painful silence, this harrowing suspense, was at last broken by a restrained sob from a female; but, owing to the obscurity involving the body of the court, her person could not be distinguished. the wail of woman so unexpected--for who could there be of that sex interested in the fate of these desperate men?--touched the heart of its auditors, and appeared to sow the first seeds of compassionate and humane feeling among those who had hitherto expressed and felt nothing but indignation towards the prisoners. the judge upon the bench, the counsel at the bar, and the jury impannelled in their box, felt the force of the appeal; and it softened down the evil impression created by the address of hawkhurst against the youthful francisco. the eyes of all were now directed towards the one doubly accused--accused not only by the public prosecutor, but even by his associate in crime--and the survey was favourable. they acknowledged that he was one whose personal qualities might indeed challenge the love of woman in his pride, and her lament in his disgrace; and as their regard was directed towards him, the sun, which had been obscured, now pierced through a break in the mass of clouds, and threw a portion of his glorious beams from a window opposite upon him, and him alone, while all the other prisoners who surrounded him were buried more or less in deep shadow. it was at once evident that his associates were bold yet commonplace villains--men who owed their courage, their only virtue perhaps, to their habits, to their physical organisation, or the influence of those around them. they were mere human butchers, with the only adjunct that, now that the trade was to be exercised upon themselves, they could bear it with sullen apathy--a feeling how far removed from true fortitude! even hawkhurst, though more commanding than the rest, with all his daring mien and scowl of defiance, looked nothing more than a distinguished ruffian. with the exception of francisco, the prisoners had wholly neglected their personal appearance; and in them the squalid and sordid look of the mendicant seemed allied with the ferocity of the murderer. francisco was not only an exception, but formed a beautiful contrast to the others; and as the evening beams lighted up his figure, he stood at the bar, if not with all the splendour of a hero of romance, certainly a most picturesque and interesting personage, elegantly if not richly attired. the low sobs at intervals repeated, as if impossible to be checked, seemed to rouse and call him to a sense of the important part which he was called upon to act in the tragedy there and then performing. his face was pale, yet composed; his mien at once proud and sorrowful; his eye was bright, yet his glance was not upon those in court, but far away, fixed, like an eagle's, upon the gorgeous beams of the setting sun, which glowed upon him through the window that was in front of him. at last the voice of francisco was heard, and all in that wide court started at the sound--deep, full, and melodious as the evening chimes. the ears of those present had, in the profound silence, but just recovered from the harsh, deep-toned, and barbarous idiom of hawkhurst's address, when the clear, silvery, yet manly voice of francisco riveted their attention. the jury stretched forth their heads, the counsel and all in court turned anxiously round towards the prisoner, even the judge held up his forefinger to intimate his wish for perfect silence. 'my lord and gentlemen,' commenced francisco, 'when i first found myself in this degrading situation, i had not thought to have spoken or to have uttered one word in my defence. he that has just now accused me has recommended the torture to be applied; he has already had his wish, for what torture can be more agonising than to find myself where i now am? so tortured, indeed, have i been through a short yet wretched life, that i have often felt that anything short of self-destruction which would release me would be a blessing; but within these few minutes i have been made to acknowledge that i have still feelings in unison with my fellow-creatures; that i am not yet fit for death, and all too young, too unprepared to die: for who would not reluctantly leave this world while there is such a beauteous sky to love and look upon, or while there is one female breast who holds him innocent, and has evinced her pity for his misfortunes? yes, my lord! mercy, and pity, and compassion have not yet fled from earth; and therefore do i feel i am too young to die. god forgive me! but i thought they had--for never have they been shown in those with whom by fate i have been connected; and it has been from this conviction that i have so often longed for death. and now may that righteous god who judges us not here, but hereafter, enable me to prove that i do not deserve an ignominious punishment from my fellow-sinners--men! 'my lord, i know not the subtleties of the laws, nor the intricacy of pleadings. first, let me assert that i have never robbed; but i have restored unto the plundered: i have never murdered; but i have stood between the assassin's knife and his victim. for this have i been hated and reviled by my associates, and for this is my life now threatened by those laws against which i never have offended. the man who last addressed you has told you that i am the pirate captain's son; it is the assertion of the only irreclaimable and utterly remorseless villain among those who now stand before you to be judged--the assertion of one whose glory, whose joy, whose solace, has been blood-shedding. 'my lord, i had it from the mouth of the captain himself, previous to his murder by that man, that i was not his son. his son! thank god, not so. connected with him and in his power i was most certainly and most incomprehensibly. before he died, he delivered me a packet that would have told me who i am; but i have lost it, and deeply have i felt the loss. one only fact i gained from him whom they would call my father, which is, that with his own hand he slew--yes, basely slew--my mother.' the address of francisco was here interrupted by a low deep groan of anguish, which startled the whole audience. it was now quite dark, and the judge ordered the court to be lighted previous to the defence being continued. the impatience and anxiety of those present were shown in low murmurs of communication until the lights were brought in. the word 'silence!' from the judge produced an immediate obedience, and the prisoner was ordered to proceed. francisco then continued his address, commencing with the remembrances of his earliest childhood. as he warmed with his subject he became more eloquent; his action became energetical without violence; and the pallid and modest youth gradually grew into the impassioned and inspired orator. he recapitulated rapidly, yet distinctly and with terrible force, all the startling events in his fearful life. there was truth in the tones of his voice, there was conviction in his animated countenance, there was innocence in his open and expressive brow. all who heard believed; and scarcely had he concluded his address, when the jury appeared impatient to rise and give their verdict in his favour. but the judge stood up, and addressing the jury, told them that it was his most painful duty to remind them that as yet they had heard but assertion, beautiful and almost convincing assertion truly; but still it was not proof. 'alas!' observed francisco, 'what evidence can i bring forward, except the evidence of those around me at the bar, which will not be admitted? can i recall the dead from the grave? can i expect those who have been murdered to rise again to assert my innocence? can i expect that don cumanos will appear from distant leagues to give evidence on my behalf? alas! he knows not how i am situated, or he would have flown to my succour. no, no; not even can i expect that the sweet spanish maiden, the last to whom i offered my protection, will appear in such a place as this to meet the bold gaze of hundreds!' 'she is here!' replied a manly voice; and a passage was made through the crowd; and clara, supported by edward templemore, dressed in his uniform, was ushered into the box for the witnesses. the appearance of the fair girl, who looked round her with alarm, created a great sensation. as soon as she was sufficiently composed she was sworn, and gave her evidence as to francisco's behaviour during the time that she was a prisoner on board of the _avenger_. she produced the packet which had saved the life of francisco, and substantiated a great part of his defence. she extolled his kindness and his generosity; and when she had concluded every one asked of himself, 'can this young man be a pirate and a murderer?' the reply was, 'it is impossible.' [illustration: _as soon as she was sufficiently composed, was sworn, and gave her evidence._] 'my lord,' said edward templemore, 'i request permission to ask the prisoner a question. when i was on board of the wreck of the _avenger_, i found this book floating in the cabin. i wish to ask the prisoner whether, as that young lady has informed me, it is his?' and edward templemore produced the bible. 'it is mine,' replied francisco. 'may i ask you by what means it came into your possession?' 'it is the only relic left of one who is now no more. it was the consolation of my murdered mother; it has since been mine. give it to me, sir; i may probably need its support now more than ever.' 'was your mother murdered, say you?' cried edward templemore, with much agitation. 'i have already said so; and i now repeat it.' the judge again rose, and recapitulated the evidence to the jury. evidently friendly to francisco, he was obliged to point out to them, that although the evidence of the young lady had produced much which might be offered in extenuation, and induce him to submit it to his majesty, in hopes of his gracious pardon after condemnation, yet, that many acts in which the prisoner had been involved had endangered his life, and no testimony had been brought forward to prove that he had not, at one time, acted with the pirates, although he might since have repented. they would, of course, remember that the evidence of the mate, hawkhurst, was not of any value, and must dismiss any impression which it might have made against francisco. at the same time he had the unpleasant duty to point out that the evidence of the spanish lady was so far prejudicial, that it pointed out the good terms subsisting between the young man and the pirate captain. much as he was interested in his fate, he must reluctantly remind the jury that the evidence on the whole was not sufficient to clear the prisoner; and he considered it their duty to return a verdict of _guilty against all the prisoners at the bar_. 'my lord,' said edward templemore, a few seconds after the judge had resumed his seat, 'may not the contents of this packet, the seal of which i have not ventured to break, afford some evidence in favour of the prisoner? have you any objection that it should be opened previous to the jury delivering their verdict?' 'none,' replied the judge; 'but what are its supposed contents?' 'the contents, my lord,' replied francisco, 'are in the writing of the pirate captain. he delivered that packet into my hands previous to our quitting the schooner, stating that it would inform me who were my parents. my lord, in my present situation i claim that packet, and refuse that its contents shall be read in court. if i am to die an ignominious death, at least those who are connected with me shall not have to blush at my disgrace, for the secret of my parentage shall die with me.' 'nay--nay; be ruled by me,' replied edward templemore, with much emotion. 'in the narrative, the handwriting of which can be proved by the king's evidence, there may be acknowledgment of all you have stated, and it will be received as evidence; will it not, my lord?' 'if the handwriting is proved, i should think it may,' replied the judge; 'particularly as the lady was present when the packet was delivered, and heard the captain's assertion. will you allow it to be offered as evidence, young man?' 'no, my lord,' replied francisco; 'unless i have permission first to peruse it myself. i will not have its contents divulged, unless i am sure of an honourable acquittal. the jury must deliver their verdict.' the jury turned round to consult, during which edward templemore walked to francisco, accompanied by clara, to entreat him to allow the packet to be opened; but francisco was firm against both their entreaties. at last the foreman of the jury rose to deliver the verdict. a solemn and awful silence prevailed throughout the court; the suspense was painful to a degree. 'my lord,' said the foreman of the jury, 'our verdict is----' 'stop, sir!' said edward templemore, as he clasped one arm round the astonished francisco, and extended the other towards the foreman. 'stop, sir! harm him not! for he is my brother!' 'and my preserver!' cried clara, kneeling on the other side of francisco, and holding up her hands in supplication. the announcement was electrical; the foreman dropped into his seat; the judge and whole court were in mute astonishment. the dead silence was followed by confusion, which, after a time, the judge in vain attempted to put a stop to. edward templemore, clara, and francisco, continued to form the same group; and never was there one more beautiful. and now that they were together, every one in court perceived the strong resemblance between the two young men. francisco's complexion was darker than edward's, from his constant exposure, from infancy, to tropical sun; but the features of the two were the same. it was some time before the judge could obtain silence in the court; and when it had been obtained, he was himself puzzled how to proceed. edward and francisco, who had exchanged a few words, were now standing side by side. 'my lord,' said edward templemore, 'the prisoner consents that the packet shall be opened.' 'i do,' said francisco mournfully; 'although i have but little hope from its contents. alas! now that i have everything to live for--now that i cling to life, i feel as if every chance was gone! the days of miracles have passed; and nothing but the miracle of the reappearance of the pirate captain from the grave can prove my innocence.' 'he reappears from the grave to prove thine innocence, francisco!' said a deep, hollow voice, which startled the whole court, and most of all hawkhurst and the prisoners at the bar. still more did fear and horror distort their countenances when into the witness-box stalked the giant form of cain. but it was no longer the figure which we have described in the commencement of this narrative; his beard had been removed, and he was pale, wan, and emaciated. his sunken eyes, his hollow cheek, and a short cough, which interrupted his speech, proved that his days were nearly at a close. 'my lord,' said cain, addressing the judge, 'i am the pirate cain, and was the captain of the _avenger_! still am i free! i come here voluntarily, that i may attest the innocence of that young man! as yet, my hand has not known the manacle, nor my feet the gyves! i am not a prisoner, nor included in the indictment, and at present my evidence is good. none know me in this court, except those whose testimony, as prisoners, is unavailing; and therefore, to save that boy, and only to save him, i demand that i may be sworn.' the oath was administered with more than usual solemnity. 'my lord, and gentlemen of the jury, i have been in court since the commencement of the trial, and i declare that every word which francisco has uttered in his own defence is true. he is totally innocent of any act of piracy or murder; the packet would, indeed, have proved as much: but in that packet there are secrets which i wished to remain unknown to all but francisco; and, rather than it should be opened, i have come forward myself. how that young officer discovered that francisco is his brother i know not; but if he also is the son of cecilia templemore, it is true. but the packet will explain all. 'and now, my lords, that my evidence is received, i am content; i have done one good deed before i die, and i surrender myself, as a pirate and a foul murderer, to justice. true, my life is nearly closed--thanks to that villain there; but i prefer that i should meet that death i merit, as an expiation of my many deeds of guilt.' cain then turned to hawkhurst, who was close to him, but the mate appeared to be in a state of stupor; he had not recovered from his first terror, and still imagined the appearance of cain to be supernatural. 'villain!' exclaimed cain, putting his mouth close to hawkhurst's ear; 'doubly d--d villain! thou'lt die like a dog, and unrevenged! the boy is safe, and i'm alive!' 'art thou really living?' said hawkhurst, recovering from his fear. 'yes, living--yes, flesh and blood; feel, wretch! feel this arm, and be convinced; thou hast felt the power of it before now,' continued cain sarcastically. 'and now, my lord, i have done; francisco, fare thee well! i loved thee, and have proved my love. hate not then my memory, and forgive me--yes, forgive me when i'm no more,' said cain, who then turned his eyes to the ceiling of the court-house. 'yes, there she is, francisco!--there she is! and see,' cried he, extending both arms above his head, 'she smiles upon--yes, francisco, your sainted mother smiles and pardons----' [illustration: _'blood for blood!'_] the sentence was not finished; for hawkhurst, when cain's arms were upheld, perceived his knife in his girdle, and, with the rapidity of thought, he drew it out, and passed it through the body of the pirate captain. cain fell heavily on the floor, while the court was again in confusion. hawkhurst was secured, and cain raised from the ground. 'i thank thee, hawkhurst!' said cain, in an expiring voice; 'another murder thou hast to answer for; and you have saved me from the disgrace, not of the gallows, but of the gallows in thy company. francisco, boy, farewell!' and cain groaned deeply, and expired. thus perished the renowned pirate captain, who in his life had shed so much blood, and whose death produced another murder. 'blood for blood!' the body was removed; and it now remained but for the jury to give their verdict. all the prisoners were found guilty, with the exception of francisco, who left the dock accompanied by his newly-found brother, and the congratulations of every individual who could gain access to him. chapter xviii conclusion our first object will be to explain to the reader by what means edward templemore was induced to surmise that in francisco, whom he had considered as a rival, he had found a brother; and also to account for the reappearance of the pirate cain. in pursuance of his orders, edward templemore had proceeded on board of the wreck of the _avenger_; and while his men were employed in collecting articles of great value which were on board of her, he had descended into the cabin, which was partly under water. here he had picked up a book floating near the lockers, and on examination found it to be a bible. surprised at seeing such a book on board of a pirate, he had taken it with him when he returned to the _enterprise_, and had shown it to clara, who immediately recognised it as the property of francisco. the book was saturated with the salt water, and as edward mechanically turned over the pages, he referred to the title-page to see if there was any name upon it. there was not; but he observed that the blank or fly-leaf next to the binding had been pasted down, and that there was writing on the other side. in its present state it was easily detached from the cover; and then, to his astonishment, he read the name of cecilia templemore--his own mother. he knew well the history; how he had been saved, and his mother and brother supposed to be lost; and it may readily be imagined how great was his anxiety to ascertain by what means her bible had come into the possession of francisco. he dared not think francisco was his brother--that he was so closely connected with one he still supposed to be a pirate: but the circumstance was possible; and although he had intended to have remained a few days longer, he now listened to the entreaties of clara, whose peculiar position on board was only to be justified by the peculiar position from which she had been rescued, and returning that evening to the wreck he set fire to her, and then made all sail for port royal. fortunately he arrived, as we have stated, on the day of the trial; and as soon as the signal was made by the admiral he immediately manned his gig, and taking clara with him, in case her evidence might be of use, arrived at the court-house when the trial was about half over. in our last chapter but one, we stated that cain had been wounded by hawkhurst, when he was swimming on shore, and had sunk; the ball had entered his chest, and passed through his lungs. the contest between hawkhurst and francisco, and their capture by edward, had taken place on the other side of the ridge of rocks, in the adjacent cove, and although francisco had seen cain disappear, and concluded that he was dead, it was not so; he had again risen above the water, and dropping his feet and finding bottom, he contrived to crawl out, and wade into a cave adjacent, where he lay down to die. but in this cave there was one of the _avenger's_ boats, two of the pirates, mortally wounded, and the four kroumen, who had concealed themselves there with the intention of taking no part in the conflict, and as soon as it became dark of making their escape in the boat, which they had hauled up dry into the cave. cain staggered in, recovered the dry land, and fell. pompey, the krouman, perceiving his condition, went to his assistance and bound up his wound, and the stanching of the blood soon revived the pirate captain. the other pirates died unaided. although the island was searched in every direction, this cave, from the water flowing into it, escaped the vigilance of the british seamen; and when they re-embarked with the majority of the pirates captured, cain and the kroumen were undiscovered. as soon as it was dark cain informed them of his intentions; and although the kroumen would probably have left him to his fate, yet, as they required his services to know how to steer to some other island, he was assisted into the stern-sheets, and the boat was backed out of the cave. by the directions of cain they passed through the passage between the great island and the northern cayque, and before daylight were far away from any chance of capture. cain had now to a certain degree recovered, and knowing that they were in the channel of the small traders, he pointed put to the kroumen that, if supposed to be pirates, they would inevitably be punished, although not guilty, and that they must pass off as the crew of a small coasting-vessel which had been wrecked. he then, with the assistance of pompey, cut off his beard as close as he could, and arranged his dress in a more european style. they had neither water nor provisions, and were exposed to a vertical sun. fortunately for them, and still more fortunately for francisco, on the second day they were picked up by an american brig bound to antigua. cain narrated his fictitious disasters, but said nothing about his wound, the neglect of which would certainly have occasioned his death a very few days after he appeared at the trial, had he not fallen by the malignity of hawkhurst. anxious to find his way to port royal, for he was indifferent as to his own life, and only wished to save francisco, he was overjoyed to meet a small schooner trading between the islands, bound to port royal. in that vessel he obtained a passage for himself and the kroumen, and had arrived three days previous to the trial, and during that time had remained concealed until the day that the admiralty court assembled. it may be as well here to remark that cain's reason for not wishing the packet to be opened was, that among the other papers relative to francisco were directions for the recovery of the treasure which he had concealed, and which, of course, he wished to be communicated to francisco alone. we will leave the reader to imagine what passed between francisco and edward after the discovery of their kindred, and proceed to state the contents of the packet, which the twin-brothers now opened in the presence of clara alone. we must, however, condense the matter, which was very voluminous. it stated that cain, whose real name was charles osborne, had sailed in a fine schooner from bilboa, for the coast of africa, to procure a cargo of slaves; and had been out about twenty-four hours when the crew perceived a boat, apparently with no one in her, floating about a mile ahead of them. the water was then smooth, and the vessel had but little way. as soon as they came up with the boat, they lowered down their skiff to examine her. the men sent in the skiff soon returned, towing the boat alongside. lying at the bottom of the boat were found several men almost dead, and reduced to skeletons, and in the stern-sheets a negro woman, with a child at her breast, and a white female in the last state of exhaustion. osborne was then a gay and unprincipled man, but not a hardened villain and murderer, as he afterwards became; he had compassion and feeling. they were all taken on board the schooner: some recovered, others were too much exhausted. among those restored was cecilia templemore and the infant, who at first had been considered quite dead; but the negro woman, exhausted by the demands of her nursling and her privations, expired as she was being removed from the boat. a goat, that fortunately was on board, proved a substitute for the negress; and before osborne had arrived off the coast, the child had recovered its health and vigour, and the mother her extreme beauty. we must now pass over a considerable portion of the narrative. osborne was impetuous in his passions, and cecilia templemore became his victim. he had, indeed, afterwards quieted her qualms of conscience by a pretended marriage, when he arrived at the brazils with his cargo of human flesh. but that was little alleviation of her sufferings; she who had been indulged in every luxury, who had been educated with the greatest care, was now lost for ever, an outcast from the society to which she could never hope to return, and associating with those she both dreaded and despised. she passed her days and her nights in tears; and had soon more cause for sorrow from the brutal treatment she received from osborne, who had been her destroyer. her child was her only solace; but for him, and the fear of leaving him to the demoralising influence of those about him, she would have laid down and died: but she lived for him--for him attempted to recall osborne from his career of increasing guilt--bore meekly with reproaches and with blows. at last osborne changed his nefarious life for one of deeper guilt: he became a pirate, and still carried with him cecilia and her child. this was the climax of her misery; she now wasted from day to day, and grief would soon have terminated her existence, had it not been hastened by the cruelty of cain, who, upon an expostulation on her part, followed up with a denunciation of the consequences of his guilty career, struck her with such violence that she sank under the blow. she expired with a prayer that her child might be rescued from a life of guilt; and when the then repentant cain promised what he never did perform, she blessed him, too, before she died. such was the substance of the narrative, as far as it related to the unfortunate mother of these two young men, who, when they had concluded, sat hand-in-hand in mournful silence. this, however, was soon broken by the innumerable questions asked by edward of his brother, as to what he could remember of their ill-fated parent, which were followed up by the history of francisco's eventful life. 'and the treasure, edward,' said francisco; 'i cannot take possession of it.' 'no, nor shall you either,' replied edward; 'it belongs to the captors, and must be shared as prize-money. you will never touch one penny of it; but i shall, i trust, pocket a very fair proportion of it! however, keep this paper, as it is addressed to you.' the admiral had been made acquainted with all the particulars of this eventful trial, and had sent a message to edward, requesting that, as soon as he and his brother could make it convenient, he would be happy to see them at the penn, as well as the daughter of the spanish governor, whom he must consider as being under his protection during the time that she remained at port royal. this offer was gladly accepted by clara; and on the second day after the trial they proceeded up to the penn. clara and francisco were introduced, and apartments and suitable attendance provided for the former. 'templemore,' said the admiral, 'i'm afraid i must send you away to porto rico, to assure the governor of his daughter's safety.' 'i would rather you would send some one else, sir, and i'll assure her happiness in the meantime.' 'what! by marrying her? humph! you've a good opinion of yourself! wait till you're a captain, sir.' 'i hope i shall not have to wait long, sir,' replied edward demurely. [illustration: _'captain templemore, i wish you joy!'_] 'by the bye,' said the admiral, 'did you not say you have notice of treasure concealed in those islands?' 'my brother has: i have not.' 'we must send for it. i think we must send you, edward. mr. francisco, you must go with him.' 'with pleasure, sir,' replied francisco, laughing; 'but i think i'd rather wait till edward is a captain! his wife and his fortune ought to come together. i think i shall not deliver up my papers until the day of his marriage!' 'upon my word,' said captain manly, 'i wish, templemore, you had your commission, for there seems so much depending on it--the young lady's happiness, my share of the prize-money, and the admiral's eighth. really, admiral, it becomes a common cause; and i'm sure he deserves it!' 'so do i, manly,' replied the admiral; 'and to prove that i have thought so, here comes mr. hadley with it in his hand: it only wants one little thing to complete it----' 'which is your signature, admiral, i presume,' replied captain manly, taking a pen full of ink, and presenting it to his senior officer. 'exactly,' replied the admiral, scribbling at the bottom of the paper; 'and now--it does not want that. captain templemore, i wish you joy!' edward made a very low obeisance, as his flushed countenance indicated his satisfaction. 'i cannot give commissions, admiral,' said francisco, presenting a paper in return; 'but i can give information--and you will find it not unimportant--for the treasure appears of great value.' 'god bless my soul! manly, you must start at daylight!' exclaimed the admiral; 'why, there is enough to load your sloop! there!--read it!--and then i will write your orders, and enclose a copy of it, for fear of accident.' 'that was to have been my fortune,' said francisco, with a grave smile; 'but i would not touch it.' 'very right, boy!--a fine principle! but we are not quite so particular,' said the admiral. 'now, where's the young lady? let her know that dinner's on the table.' a fortnight after this conversation, captain manly returned with the treasure; and the _enterprise_, commanded by another officer, returned from porto rico, with a letter from the governor in reply to one from the admiral, in which the rescue of his daughter by edward had been communicated. the letter was full of thanks to the admiral, and compliments to edward; and, what was of more importance, it sanctioned the union of the young officer with his daughter, with a dozen boxes of gold doubloons. about six weeks after the above-mentioned important conversation, mr. witherington, who had been reading a voluminous packet of letters in his breakfast-room in finsbury square, pulled his bell so violently that old jonathan thought his master must be out of his senses. this, however, did not induce him to accelerate his solemn and measured pace; and he made his appearance at the door, as usual, without speaking. 'why don't that fellow answer the bell?' cried mr. witherington. 'i am here, sir,' said jonathan solemnly. 'well, so you are! but, confound you! you come like the ghost of a butler! but who do you think is coming here, jonathan?' 'i cannot tell, sir.' 'but i can!--you solemn old----edward's coming here!--coming home directly!' 'is he to sleep in his old room, sir?' replied the imperturbable butler. 'no; the best bedroom! why, jonathan, he is married--he is made a captain--captain templemore!' 'yes--sir.' 'and he has found his brother, jonathan; his twin-brother!' 'yes--sir.' 'his brother francis--that was supposed to be lost! but it's a long story, jonathan!--and a very wonderful one!--his poor mother has long been dead!' '_in coelo quies!_' said jonathan, casting up his eyes. 'but his brother has turned up again.' '_resurgam!_' said the butler. 'they will be here in ten days--so let everything be in readiness, jonathan. god bless my soul!' continued the old gentleman, 'i hardly know what i'm about. it's a spanish girl, jonathan!' [illustration: 'resurgam!' _said the butler._] 'what is, sir?' 'what is, sir!--why, captain templemore's wife; and he was tried as a pirate!' 'who, sir?' 'who, sir? why, francis, his brother! jonathan, you're a stupid old fellow!' 'have you any further commands, sir?' 'no--no!--there--that'll do--go away.' and in three weeks after this conversation, captain and mrs. templemore, and his brother frank, were established in the house, to the great delight of mr. witherington; for he had long been tired of solitude and old jonathan. the twin-brothers were a comfort to him in his old age: they closed his eyes in peace--they divided his blessing and his large fortune--and thus ends our history of the pirate! the three cutters chapter i cutter the first reader, have you ever been at plymouth? if you have, your eye must have dwelt with ecstasy upon the beautiful property of the earl of mount edgcumbe: if you have not been at plymouth, the sooner that you go there the better. at mount edgcumbe you will behold the finest timber in existence, towering up to the summits of the hills, and feathering down to the shingle on the beach. and from this lovely spot you will witness one of the most splendid panoramas in the world. you will see--i hardly know what you will not see--you will see ram head, and cawsand bay; and then you will see the breakwater, and drake's island, and the devil's bridge below you; and the town of plymouth and its fortifications, and the hoe; and then you will come to the devil's point, round which the tide runs devilish strong; and then you will see the new victualling office--about which sir james gordon used to stump all day, and take a pinch of snuff from every man who carried a box, which all were delighted to give, and he was delighted to receive, proving how much pleasure may be communicated merely by a pinch of snuff; and then you will see mount wise and mutton cove; the town of devonport, with its magnificent dockyard and arsenals, north corner, and the way which leads to saltash. and you will see ships building and ships in ordinary; and ships repairing and ships fitting; and hulks and convict ships, and the guardship; ships ready to sail and ships under sail; besides lighters, men-of-war's boats, dockyard-boats, bumboats, and shore-boats. in short, there is a great deal to see at plymouth besides the sea itself: but what i particularly wish now is, that you will stand at the battery of mount edgcumbe and look into barn pool below you, and there you will see, lying at single anchor, a cutter; and you may also see, by her pendant and ensign, that she is a yacht. of all the amusements entered into by the nobility and gentry of our island there is not one so manly, so exciting, so patriotic, or so national as yacht-sailing. it is peculiar to england, not only from our insular position and our fine harbours, but because it requires a certain degree of energy and a certain amount of income rarely to be found elsewhere. it has been wisely fostered by our sovereigns, who have felt that the security of the kingdom is increased by every man being more or less a sailor, or connected with the nautical profession. it is an amusement of the greatest importance to the country, as it has much improved our ship-building and our ship-fitting, while it affords employment to our seamen and shipwrights. but if i were to say all that i could say in praise of yachts, i should never advance with my narrative. i shall therefore drink a bumper to the health of admiral lord yarborough and the yacht club, and proceed. you observe that this yacht is cutter-rigged, and that she sits gracefully on the smooth water. she is just heaving up her anchor; her foresail is loose, all ready to cast her--in a few minutes she will be under way. you see that there are ladies sitting at the taffrail; and there are five haunches of venison hanging over the stern. of all amusements, give me yachting. but we must go on board. the deck, you observe, is of narrow deal planks as white as snow; the guns are of polished brass; the bitts and binnacles of mahogany; she is painted with taste; and all the mouldings are gilded. there is nothing wanting; and yet how clear and unencumbered are her decks! let us go below. this is the ladies' cabin: can anything be more tasteful or elegant? is it not luxurious? and, although so small, does not its very confined space astonish you, when you view so many comforts so beautifully arranged? this is the dining-room, and where the gentlemen repair. what can be more complete or _recherché_? and just peep into their state-rooms and bed-places. here is the steward's room and the beaufet: the steward is squeezing lemons for the punch, and there is the champagne in ice; and by the side of the pail the long corks are ranged up, all ready. now, let us go forwards: here are the men's berths, not confined as in a man-of-war. no; luxury starts from abaft, and is not wholly lost even at the fore-peak. this is the kitchen: is it not admirably arranged? what a _multum in parvo_! and how delightful are the fumes of the turtle-soup! at sea we do meet with rough weather at times; but, for roughing it out, give me a _yacht_. now that i have shown you round the vessel, i must introduce the parties on board. you observe that florid, handsome man, in white trousers and blue jacket, who has a telescope in one hand, and is sipping a glass of brandy and water which he has just taken off the skylight. that is the owner of the vessel, and a member of the yacht club. it is lord b----: he looks like a sailor, and he does not much belie his looks; yet i have seen him in his robes of state at the opening of the house of lords. the one near to him is mr. stewart, a lieutenant in the navy. he holds on by the rigging with one hand, because, having been actively employed all his life, he does not know what to do with hands which have nothing in them. he is a _protégé_ of lord b., and is now on board as sailing-master of the yacht. that handsome, well-built man, who is standing by the binnacle, is a mr. hautaine. he served six years as midshipman in the navy, and did not like it. he then served six years in a cavalry regiment, and did not like it. he then married, and in a much shorter probation found that he did not like that. but he is very fond of yachts and other men's wives, if he does not like his own; and wherever he goes, he is welcome. that young man with an embroidered silk waistcoat and white gloves, bending to talk to one of the ladies, is a mr. vaughan. he is to be seen at almack's, at crockford's, and everywhere else. everybody knows him, and he knows everybody. he is a little in debt, and yachting is convenient. the one who sits by the lady is a relation of lord b.; you see at once what he is. he apes the sailor; he has not shaved, because sailors have no time to shave every day; he has not changed his linen, because sailors cannot change every day. he has a cigar in his mouth, which makes him half sick and annoys his company. he talks of the pleasure of a rough sea, which will drive all the ladies below--and then they will not perceive that he is more sick than themselves. he has the misfortune to be born to a large estate, and to be a _fool_. his name is ossulton. [illustration: _the ladies._] the last of the gentlemen on board whom i have to introduce is mr. seagrove. he is slightly made, with marked features full of intelligence. he has been brought up to the bar; and has every qualification but application. he has never had a brief, nor has he a chance of one. he is the fiddler of the company, and he has locked up his chambers and come, by invitation of his lordship, to play on board of his yacht. i have yet to describe the ladies--perhaps i should have commenced with them--i must excuse myself upon the principle of reserving the best to the last. all puppet-showmen do so; and what is this but the first scene in my puppet-show? we will describe them according to seniority. that tall, thin, cross-looking lady of forty-five is a spinster, and sister to lord b. she had been persuaded, very much against her will, to come on board; but her notions of propriety would not permit her niece to embark under the protection of _only_ her father. she is frightened at everything: if a rope is thrown down on the deck, up she starts, and cries 'oh!' if on the deck, she thinks the water is rushing in below; if down below, and there is a noise, she is convinced there is danger; and if it be perfectly still, she is sure there is something wrong. she fidgets herself and everybody, and is quite a nuisance with her pride and ill-humour; but she has strict notions of propriety, and sacrifices herself as a martyr. she is the hon. miss ossulton. the lady who, when she smiles, shows so many dimples in her pretty oval face, is a young widow, of the name of lascelles. she married an old man to please her father and mother, which was very dutiful on her part. she was rewarded by finding herself a widow with a large fortune. having married the first time to please her parents, she intends now to marry to please herself; but she is very young, and is in no hurry. that young lady with such a sweet expression of countenance is the hon. miss cecilia ossulton. she is lively, witty, and has no fear in her composition; but she is very young yet, not more than seventeen--and nobody knows what she really is--she does not know herself. these are the parties who meet in the cabin of the yacht. the crew consists of ten fine seamen, the steward and the cook. there is also lord b.'s valet, mr. ossulton's gentleman, and the lady's-maid of miss ossulton. there not being accommodation for them, the other servants have been left on shore. [illustration: _the hon. miss cecilia ossulton._] the yacht is now under way, and her sails are all set. she is running between drake's island and the main. dinner has been announced. as the reader has learnt something about the preparations, i leave him to judge whether it be not very pleasant to sit down to dinner in a yacht. the air has given everybody an appetite; and it was not until the cloth was removed that the conversation became general. 'mr. seagrove,' said his lordship, 'you very nearly lost your passage; i expected you last thursday.' 'i am sorry, my lord, that business prevented my sooner attending to your lordship's kind summons.' 'come, seagrove, don't be nonsensical,' said hautaine; 'you told me yourself, the other evening, when you were talkative, that you had never had a brief in your life.' 'and a very fortunate circumstance,' replied seagrove; 'for if i had had a brief i should not have known what to have done with it. it is not my fault; i am fit for nothing but a commissioner. but still i had business, and very important business, too. i was summoned by ponsonby to go with him to tattersall's, to give my opinion about a horse he wishes to purchase, and then to attend him to forest wild to plead his cause with his uncle.' 'it appears, then, that you were retained,' replied lord b.; 'may i ask you whether your friend gained his cause?' 'no, my lord, he lost his cause, but he gained a suit.' 'expound your riddle, sir,' said cecilia ossulton. 'the fact is, that old ponsonby is very anxious that william should marry miss percival, whose estates join on to forest wild. now, my friend william is about as fond of marriage as i am of law, and thereby issue was joined.' 'but why were you to be called in?' inquired mrs. lascelles. 'because, madam, as ponsonby never buys a horse without consulting me----' 'i cannot see the analogy, sir,' observed miss ossulton, senior, bridling up. 'pardon me, madam: the fact is,' continued seagrove, 'that, as i always have to back ponsonby's horses, he thought it right that, in this instance, i should back him: he required special pleading, but his uncle tried him for the capital offence, and he was not allowed counsel. as soon as we arrived, and i had bowed myself into the room, mr. ponsonby bowed me out again--which would have been infinitely more jarring to my feelings, had not the door been left ajar.' 'do anything but pun, seagrove,' interrupted hautaine. 'well then, i will take a glass of wine.' 'do so,' said his lordship; 'but recollect the whole company are impatient for your story.' 'i can assure you, my lord, that it was equal to any scene in a comedy.' now be it observed that mr. seagrove had a great deal of comic talent; he was an excellent mimic, and could alter his voice almost as he pleased. it was a custom of his to act a scene as between other people, and he performed it remarkably well. whenever he said that anything he was going to narrate was 'as good as a comedy,' it was generally understood by those who were acquainted with him that he was to be asked so to do. cecilia ossulton therefore immediately said, 'pray act it, mr. seagrove.' upon which, mr. seagrove--premising that he had not only heard but also seen all that passed--changing his voice, and suiting the action to the word, commenced. 'it may,' said he, 'be called "five thousand acres in a ring-fence"' we shall not describe mr. seagrove's motions; they must be inferred from his words. '"it will then, william," observed mr. ponsonby, stopping, and turning to his nephew, after a rapid walk up and down the room with his hands behind him under his coat, so as to allow the tails to drop their perpendicular about three inches clear of his body, "i may say, without contradiction, be the finest property in the county--five thousand acres in a ring-fence." '"i daresay it will, uncle," replied william, tapping his foot, as he lounged in a green morocco easy-chair; "and so, because you have set your fancy upon having these two estates enclosed together in a ring-fence, you wish that i should be also enclosed in a _ring_-fence." '"and a beautiful property it will be," replied mr. ponsonby. '"which, uncle? the estate or the wife?" '"both, nephew, both; and i expect your consent." '"uncle, i am not avaricious. your present property is sufficient for me. with your permission, instead of doubling the property, and doubling myself, i will remain your sole heir and single." '"observe, william, such an opportunity may not occur again for centuries. we shall restore forest wild to its ancient boundaries. you know it has been divided nearly two hundred years. we now have a glorious, golden opportunity of reuniting the two properties; and when joined, the estate will be exactly what it was when granted to our ancestors by henry viii., at the period of the reformation. this house must be pulled down, and the monastery left standing. then we shall have our own again, and the property without encumbrance." '"without encumbrance, uncle! you forget that there will be a wife." '"and you forget that there will be five thousand acres in a ring-fence." '"indeed, uncle, you ring it too often in my ears that i should forget it. but, much as i should like to be the happy possessor of such a property, i do not feel inclined to be the happy possessor of miss percival; and the more so, as i have never seen the property." '"we will ride over it to-morrow, william." '"ride over miss percival, uncle! that will not be very gallant. i will, however, one of these days ride over the property with you, which, as well as miss percival, i have not as yet seen." '"then i can tell you she is a very pretty property." '"if she were not in a ring-fence." '"in good heart, william. that is, i mean an excellent disposition." '"valuable in matrimony." '"and well tilled--i should say well educated--by her three maiden aunts, who are the patterns of propriety." '"does any one follow the fashion?" "in a high state of cultivation; that is, her mind highly cultivated, and according to the last new system--what is it?" '"a four-course shift, i presume," replied william, laughing; "that is, dancing, singing, music, and drawing." '"and only seventeen! capital soil, promising good crops. what would you have more?" "a very pretty estate, uncle, if it were not the estate of matrimony. i am sorry, very sorry, to disappoint you; but i must decline taking a lease of it for life." '"then, sir, allow me to hint to you that in my testament you are only a tenant-at-will. i consider it a duty that i owe to the family that the estate should be re-united. that can only be done by one of our family marrying miss percival; and as you will not, i shall now write to your cousin james, and if he accept my proposal, shall make _him_ my heir. probably he will more fully appreciate the advantages of five thousand acres in a ring-fence." 'and mr. ponsonby directed his steps towards the door. '"stop, my dear uncle," cried william, rising up from his easy-chair; "we do not quite understand one another. it is very true that i would prefer half the property and remaining single, to the two estates and the estate of marriage; but at the same time i did not tell you that i would prefer beggary to a wife and five thousand acres in a ring-fence. i know you to be a man of your word. i accept your proposal, and you need not put my cousin james to the expense of postage." '"very good, william; i require no more: and as i know you to be a man of your word, i shall consider this match as settled. it was on this account only that i sent for you, and now you may go back again as soon as you please. i will let you know when all is ready." "i must be at tattersall's on monday, uncle; there is a horse i must have for next season. pray, uncle, may i ask when you are likely to want me?" '"let me see--this is may--about july, i should think." "july, uncle! spare me--i cannot marry in the dog-days. no, hang it! not july." '"well, william, perhaps, as you must come down once or twice to see the property--miss percival, i should say--it may be too soon--suppose we put it off till october?" '"october--i shall be down at melton." '"pray, sir, may i then inquire what portion of the year is not, with you, _dog_-days?" '"why, uncle, next april, now--i think that would do." '"next april! eleven months, and a winter between. suppose miss percival was to take a cold and die." '"i should be excessively obliged to her," thought william. '"no, no!" continued mr. ponsonby: "there is nothing certain in this world, william." '"well then, uncle, suppose we arrange it for the first _hard frost_." '"we have had no hard frosts lately, william. we may wait for years. the sooner it is over the better. go back to town, buy your horse, and then come down here, my dear william, to oblige your uncle--never mind the dog-days." '"well, sir, if i am to make a sacrifice, it shall not be done by halves; out of respect for you i will even marry in july, without any regard to the thermometer." '"you are a good boy, william. do you want a cheque?" '"i have had one to-day," thought william, and was almost at fault. "i shall be most thankful, sir--they sell horseflesh by the ounce nowadays." '"and you pay in pounds. there, william." '"thank you, sir, i'm all obedience; and i'll keep my word, even if there should be a comet. i'll go and buy the horse, and then i shall be ready to take the ring-fence as soon as you please." '"yes, and you'll get over it cleverly, i've no doubt. five thousand acres, william, and--a pretty wife!" '"have you any further commands, uncle?" said william, depositing the cheque in his pocket-book. '"none, my dear boy; are you going?" '"yes, sir; i dine at the clarendon." '"well, then, good-bye. make my compliments and excuses to your friend seagrove. you will come on tuesday or wednesday." 'thus was concluded the marriage between william ponsonby and emily percival, and the junction of the two estates, which formed together the great desideratum--_five thousand acres in a ring-fence_.' mr. seagrove finished, and he looked round for approbation. 'very good indeed, seagrove,' said his lordship; 'you must take a glass of wine after that.' 'i would not give much for miss percival's chance of happiness,' observed the elder miss ossulton. 'of two evils choose the least, they say,' observed mr. hautaine. 'poor ponsonby could not help himself.' 'that's a very polite observation of yours, mr. hautaine--i thank you in the name of the sex,' replied cecilia ossulton. 'nay, miss ossulton; would you like to marry a person whom you never saw?' 'most certainly not; but when you mentioned the two evils, mr. hautaine, i appeal to your honour, did you not refer to marriage or beggary?' 'i must confess it, miss ossulton; but it is hardly fair to call on my honour to get me into a scrape.' 'i only wish that the offer had been made to me,' observed vaughan; 'i should not have hesitated as ponsonby did.' 'then i beg you will not think of proposing for me,' said mrs. lascelles, laughing; for mr. vaughan had been excessively attentive. 'it appears to me, vaughan,' observed seagrove, 'that you have slightly committed yourself by that remark.' vaughan, who thought so too, replied, 'mrs. lascelles must be aware that i was only joking.' 'fie! mr. vaughan,' cried cecilia ossulton; 'you know it came from your heart.' 'my dear cecilia,' said the elder miss ossulton, 'you forget yourself--what can you possibly know about gentlemen's hearts?' 'the bible says that they are "deceitful and desperately wicked," aunt.' 'and cannot we also quote the bible against your sex, miss ossulton?' replied seagrove. 'yes, you could, perhaps, if any of you had ever read it,' replied miss ossulton carelessly. 'upon my word, cissy, you are throwing the gauntlet down to the gentlemen,' observed lord b.; 'but i shall throw my warder down, and not permit this combat _à l'outrance_. i perceive you drink no more wine, gentlemen; we will take our coffee on deck.' [illustration: _'fie! mr. vaughan, cried cecilia ossulton; 'you know it came from your heart.'_] 'we were just about to retire, my lord,' observed the elder miss ossulton, with great asperity; 'i have been trying to catch the eye of mrs. lascelles for some time, but----' 'i was looking another way, i presume,' interrupted mrs. lascelles, smiling. 'i am afraid that i am the unfortunate culprit,' said mr. seagrove. 'i was telling a little anecdote to mrs. lascelles----' 'which, of course, from its being communicated in an undertone, was not proper for all the company to hear,' replied the elder miss ossulton; 'but if mrs. lascelles is now ready----' continued she, bridling up, as she rose from her chair. 'at all events, i can hear the remainder of it on deck,' replied mrs. lascelles. the ladies rose and went into the cabin, cecilia and mrs. lascelles exchanging very significant smiles as they followed the precise spinster, who did not choose that mrs. lascelles should take the lead merely because she had once happened to have been married. the gentlemen also broke up, and went on deck. 'we have a nice breeze now, my lord,' observed mr. stewart, who had remained on deck, 'and we lie right up channel.' 'so much the better,' replied his lordship; 'we ought to have been anchored at cowes a week ago. they will all be there before us.' 'tell mr. simpson to bring me a light for my cigar,' said mr. ossulton to one of the men. mr. stewart went down to his dinner; the ladies and the coffee came on deck; the breeze was fine, the weather (it was april) almost warm; and the yacht, whose name was the _arrow_, assisted by the tide, soon left the mewstone far astern. chapter ii cutter the second reader, have you ever been at portsmouth? if you have, you must have been delighted with the view from the saluting battery; and if you have not, you had better go there as soon as you can. from the saluting battery you may look up the harbour, and see much of what i have described at plymouth; the scenery is different, but similar arsenals and dockyards, and an equal portion of our stupendous navy, are to be found there; and you will see gosport on the other side of the harbour, and sallyport close to you; besides a great many other places, which from the saluting battery you cannot see. and then there is southsea beach to your left. before you, spithead, with the men-of-war, and the motherbank crowded with merchant vessels; and there is the buoy where the _royal george_ was wrecked and where she still lies, the fish swimming in and out of her cabin windows; but that is not all; you can also see the isle of wight--ryde with its long-wooden pier, and cowes, where the yachts lie. in fact, there is a great deal to be seen at portsmouth as well as at plymouth; but what i wish you particularly to see just how is a vessel holding fast to the buoy just off the saluting battery. she is a cutter; and you may know that she belongs to the preventive service by the number of gigs and galleys which she has hoisted up all round her. she looks like a vessel that was about to sail with a cargo of boats; two on deck, one astern, one on each side of her. you observe that she is painted black, and all her boats are white. she is not such an elegant vessel as the yacht, and she is much more lumbered up. she has no haunches of venison hanging over the stern, but i think there is a leg of mutton and some cabbages hanging by their stalks. but revenue cutters are not yachts. you will find no turtle or champagne; but, nevertheless, you will, perhaps, find a joint to carve at, a good glass of grog, and a hearty welcome. let us go on board. you observe the guns are iron, and painted black, and her bulwarks are painted red; it is not a very becoming colour, but then it lasts a long while, and the dockyard is not very generous on the score of paint--or lieutenants of the navy troubled with much spare cash. she has plenty of men, and fine men they are; all dressed in red flannel shirts and blue trousers; some of them have not taken off their canvas or tarpaulin petticoats, which are very useful to them, as they are in the boats night and day, and in all weathers. but we will at once go down into the cabin, where we shall find the lieutenant who commands her, a master's mate, and a midshipman. they have each their tumbler before them, and are drinking gin-toddy, hot, with sugar--capital gin, too, 'bove proof; it is from that small anker standing under the table. it was one that they forgot to return to the custom-house when they made their last seizure. we must introduce them. the elderly personage, with grizzly hair and whiskers, a round pale face, and a somewhat red nose (being too much in the wind will make the nose red, and this old officer is very often 'in the wind,' of course, from the very nature of his profession), is a lieutenant appleboy. he has served in every class of vessel in the service, and done the duty of first lieutenant for twenty years; he is now on promotion--that is to say, after he has taken a certain number of tubs of gin, he will be rewarded with his rank as commander. it is a pity that what he takes inside of him does not count, for he takes it morning, noon, and night. he is just filling his fourteenth glass: he always keeps a regular account, as he never exceeds his limited number, which is seventeen; then he is exactly down to his bearings. the master's mate's name is tomkins; he has served his six years three times over, and has now outgrown his ambition; which is fortunate for him, as his chances of promotion are small. he prefers a small vessel to a large one, because he is not obliged to be so particular in his dress--and looks for his lieutenancy whenever there shall be another charity promotion. he is fond of soft bread, for his teeth are all absent without leave; he prefers porter to any other liquor, but he can drink his glass of grog, whether it be based upon rum, brandy, or the liquor now before him. [illustration: _lieutenant appleboy._] mr. smith is the name of that young gentleman whose jacket is so out at the elbows; he has been intending to mend it these last two months, but is too lazy to go to his chest for another. he has been turned out of half the ships in the service for laziness; but he was born so--and therefore it is not his fault. a revenue cutter suits him, she is half her time hove-to; and he has no objection to boat-service, as he sits down always in the stern-sheets, which is not fatiguing. creeping for tubs is his delight, as he gets over so little ground. he is fond of grog, but there is some trouble in carrying the tumbler so often to his mouth; so he looks at it, and lets it stand. he says little because he is too lazy to speak. he has served more than _eight years_; but as for passing--it has never come into his head. such are the three persons who are now sitting in the cabin of the revenue cutter, drinking hot gin-toddy. 'let me see, it was, i think, in ninety-three or ninety-four. before you were in the service, tomkins----' 'maybe, sir; it's so long ago since i entered, that i can't recollect dates--but this i know, that my aunt died three days before.' 'then the question is, when did your aunt die?' 'oh! she died about a year after my uncle.' 'and when did your uncle die?' 'i'll be hanged if i know!' 'then, d'ye see, you've no departure to work from. however, i think you cannot have been in the service at that time. we were not quite so particular about uniform as we are now.' 'then i think the service was all the better for it. nowadays, in your crack ships, a mate has to go down in the hold or spirit-room, and after whipping up fifty empty casks, and breaking out twenty full ones, he is expected to come on quarter-deck as clean as if he was just come out of a bandbox.' 'well, there's plenty of water alongside, as far as the outward man goes, and iron dust is soon brushed off. however, as you say, perhaps a little too much is expected; at least, in five of the ships in which i was first lieutenant, the captain was always hauling me over the coals about the midshipmen not dressing properly, as if i was their dry-nurse. i wonder what captain prigg would have said if he had seen such a turn-out as you, mr. smith, on his quarter-deck.' 'i should have had one turn-out more,' drawled smith. 'with your out-at-elbows jacket, there, eh!' continued mr. appleboy. smith turned up his elbows, looked at one and then at the other; after so fatiguing an operation, he was silent. 'well, where was i? oh! it was about ninety-three or ninety-four, as i said, that it happened--tomkins, fill your glass and hand me the sugar--how do i get on? this is no ,' said appleboy, counting some white lines on the table by him; and taking up a piece of chalk, he marked one more line on his tally. 'i don't think this is so good a tub as the last, tomkins, there's a twang about it--a want of juniper; however, i hope we shall have better luck this time. of course you know we sail to-morrow?' 'i presume so, by the leg of mutton coming on board.' 'true--true; i'm regular--as clockwork. after being twenty years a first lieutenant one gets a little method. i like regularity. now the admiral has never omitted asking me to dinner once, every time i have come into harbour, except this time. i was so certain of it, that i never expected to sail; and i have but two shirts clean in consequence.' 'that's odd, isn't it?--and the more so, because he has had such great people down here, and has been giving large parties every day.' 'and yet i made three seizures, besides sweeping up those thirty-seven tubs.' 'i swept them up,' observed smith. 'that's all the same thing, younker. when you've been a little longer in the service, you'll find out that the commanding officer has the merit of all that is done; but you're _green_ yet. let me see, where was i? oh! it was about ninety-three or ninety-four, as i said. at that time i was in the channel fleet----tomkins, i'll trouble you for the hot water; this water's cold. mr. smith, do me the favour to ring the bell. jem, some more hot water.' 'please, sir,' said jem, who was barefooted as well as bareheaded, touching the lock of hair on his forehead, 'the cook has capsized the kettle--but he has put more on.' 'capsized the kettle! hah!--very well--we'll talk about that to-morrow. mr. tomkins, do me the favour to put him in the report: i may forget it. and pray, sir, how long is it since he has put more on?' 'just this moment, sir, as i came aft.' 'very well, we'll see to that to-morrow. you bring the kettle aft as soon as it is ready. i say, mr. jem, is that fellow sober?' 'yees, sir, he be sober as you be.' 'it's quite astonishing what a propensity the common sailors have to liquor. forty odd years have i been in the service, and i've never found any difference. i only wish i had a guinea for every time that i have given a fellow seven-water grog during my servitude as first lieutenant, i wouldn't call the king my cousin. well, if there's no hot water, we must take lukewarm; it won't do to heave-to. by the lord harry! who would have thought it?--i'm at number sixteen! let me count--yes!--surely i must have made a mistake. a fact, by heaven!' continued mr. appleboy, throwing the chalk down on the table. 'only one more glass after this; that is, if i have counted right--i may have seen double.' 'yes,' drawled smith. 'well, never mind. let's go on with my story. it was either in the year ninety-three or ninety-four that i was in the channel fleet; we were then abreast of torbay----' 'here be the hot water, sir,' cried jem, putting the kettle down on the deck. 'very well, boy. by the bye, has the jar of butter come on board?' 'yes, but it broke all down the middle. i tied him up with a rope-yarn.' 'who broke it, sir?' 'coxswain says as how he didn't.' 'but who did, sir?' 'coxswain handed it up to bill jones, and he says as how he didn't.' 'but who did, sir?' 'bill jones gave it to me, and i'm sure as how i didn't.' 'then who did, sir, i ask you?' 'i think it be bill jones, sir, 'cause he's fond of butter, i know, and there be very little left in the jar.' 'very well, we'll see to that to-morrow morning. mr. tomkins, you'll oblige me by putting the butter-jar down in the report, in case it should slip my memory. bill jones, indeed, looks as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. never mind. well, it was, as i said before--it was in the year ninety-three or ninety-four, when i was in the channel fleet; we were then off torbay, and had just taken two reefs in the topsails. stop--before i go on with my story, i'll take my last glass; i think it's the last--let me count. yes, by heavens! i make out sixteen, well told. never mind, it shall be a stiff one. boy, bring the kettle, and mind you don't pour the hot water into my shoes, as you did the other night. there, that will do. now, tomkins, fill up yours; and you, mr. smith. let us all start fair, and then you shall have my story--and a very curious one it is, i can tell you; i wouldn't have believed it myself, if i hadn't seen it. hilloa! what's this? confound it! what's the matter with the toddy? heh, mr. tomkins?' mr. tomkins tasted; but, like the lieutenant, he had made it very stiff; and, as he had also taken largely before, he was, like him, not quite so clear in his discrimination. 'it has a queer twang, sir; smith, what is it?' smith took up his glass, tasted the contents. '_salt water_,' drawled the midshipman. 'salt water! so it is, by heavens!' cried mr. appleboy. 'salt as lot's wife! by all that's infamous!' cried the master's mate. 'salt water, sir!' cried jem in a fright, expecting a _salt_ eel for supper. 'yes, sir,' replied mr. appleboy, tossing the contents of the tumbler in the boy's face, 'salt water. very well, sir--very well!' 'it warn't me, sir,' replied the boy, making up a piteous look. 'no, sir, but you said the cook was sober.' 'he was not so _very_ much disguised, sir,' replied jem. 'oh! very well--never mind. mr. tomkins, in case i should forget it, do me the favour to put the kettle of salt water down in the report. the scoundrel! i'm very sorry, gentlemen, but there's no means of having any more gin-toddy. but never mind, we'll see to this to-morrow. two can play at this; and if i don't salt-water their grog, and make them drink it too, i have been twenty years a first lieutenant for nothing, that's all. good-night, gentlemen; and,' continued the lieutenant, in a severe tone, 'you'll keep a sharp look-out, mr. smith--do you hear, sir?' [illustration: _'salt water, sir!' cried jem. 'yes, sir,' replied mr. appleboy, tossing the contents of the tumbler in the boy's face._] 'yes,' drawled smith, 'but it's not my watch; it was my first watch; and just now it struck one bell.' 'you'll keep the middle watch, then, mr. smith,' said mr. appleboy, who was not a little put out; 'and, mr. tomkins, let me know as soon as it's daylight. boy, get my bed made. salt water, by all that's blue! however, we'll see to that to-morrow morning.' mr. appleboy then turned in; so did mr. tomkins; and so did mr. smith, who had no idea of keeping the middle watch because the cook was drunk and had filled up the kettle with salt water. as for what happened in ninety-three or ninety-four, i really would inform the reader if i knew; but i am afraid that that most curious story is never to be handed down to posterity. the next morning mr. tomkins, as usual, forgot to report the cook, the jar of butter, and the kettle of salt water; and mr. appleboy's wrath had long been appeased before he remembered them. at daylight, the lieutenant came on deck, having only slept away half of the sixteen, and a taste of the seventeenth salt-water glass of gin-toddy. he rubbed his gray eyes, that he might peer through the gray of the morning; the fresh breeze blew about his grizzly locks, and cooled his rubicund nose. the revenue cutter, whose name was the _active_, cast off from the buoy, and, with a fresh breeze, steered her course for the needles passage. chapter iii cutter the third reader! have you been to st. maloes? if you have, you were glad enough to leave the hole; and if you have not, take my advice, and do not give yourself the trouble to go and see that or any other french port in the channel. there is not one worth looking at. they have made one or two artificial ports, and they are no great things; there is no getting out or getting in. in fact, they have no harbours in the channel, while we have the finest in the world; a peculiar dispensation of providence, because it knew that we should want them, and france would not. in france, what are called ports are all alike--nasty, narrow holes, only to be entered at certain times of tide and certain winds; made up of basins and back-waters, custom-houses and cabarets; just fit for smugglers to run into, and nothing more; and, therefore, they are used for very little else. now, in the dog-hole called st. maloes there is some pretty land, although a great deficiency of marine scenery. but never mind that. stay at home, and don't go abroad to drink sour wine, because they call it bordeaux, and eat villainous trash, so disguised by cooking that you cannot possibly tell which of the birds of the air, or beasts of the field, or fishes of the sea, you are cramming down your throat. 'if all is right, there is no occasion for disguise,' is an old saying; so depend upon it that there is something wrong, and that you are eating offal, under a grand french name. they eat everything in france, and would serve you up the head of a monkey who has died of the smallpox, as _singe au petite vérole_--that is, if you did not understand french; if you did, they would call it _tête d'amour à l'ethiopique_, and then you would be even more puzzled. as for their wine, there is no disguise in that; it's half vinegar. no, no! stay at home; you can live just as cheaply, if you choose; and then you will have good meat, good vegetables, good ale, good beer, and a good glass of grog; and, what is of more importance, you will be in good company. live with your friends, and don't make a fool of yourself. i would not have condescended to have noticed this place, had it not been that i wish you to observe a vessel which is lying along the pier-wharf, with a plank from the shore to her gunwale. it is low water, and she is aground, and the plank dips down at such an angle that it is a work of danger to go either in or out of her. you observe that there is nothing very remarkable in her. she is a cutter, and a good sea-boat, and sails well before the wind. she is short for her breadth of beam, and is not armed. smugglers do not arm now--the service is too dangerous; they effect their purpose by cunning, not by force. nevertheless, it requires that smugglers should be good seamen, smart, active fellows, and keen-witted, or they can do nothing. this vessel has not a large cargo in her, but it is valuable. she has some thousand yards of lace, a few hundred pounds of tea, a few bales of silk, and about forty ankers of brandy--just as much as they can land in one boat. all they ask is a heavy gale or a thick fog, and they trust to themselves for success. there is nobody on board except a boy; the crew are all up at the cabaret, settling their little accounts of every description--for they smuggle both ways, and every man has his own private venture. there they are all, fifteen of them, and fine-looking fellows, too, sitting at that long table. they are very merry, but quite sober, as they are to sail to-night. [illustration: _the captain of the_ happy-go-lucky, _jack pickersgill._] the captain of the vessel (whose name, by the bye, is the _happy-go-lucky_--the captain christened her himself) is that fine-looking young man, with dark whiskers meeting under his throat. his name is jack pickersgill. you perceive at once that he is much above a common sailor in appearance. his manners are good, he is remarkably handsome, very clean, and rather a dandy in his dress. observe how very politely he takes off his hat to that frenchman, with whom he has just settled accounts; he beats johnny crapeau at his own weapons. and then there is an air of command, a feeling of conscious superiority, about jack; see how he treats the landlord, _de haut en bas_, at the same time that he is very civil. the fact is, that jack is of a very good old family, and received a very excellent education; but he was an orphan, his friends were poor, and could do but little for him; he went out to india as a cadet, ran away, and served in a schooner which smuggled opium into china, and then came home. he took a liking to the employment, and is now laying up a very pretty little sum: not that he intends to stop: no, as soon as he has enough to fit out a vessel for himself, he intends to start again for india, and with two cargoes of opium he will return, he trusts, with a handsome fortune, and reassume his family name. such are jack's intentions; and, as he eventually means to reappear as a gentleman, he preserves his gentlemanly habits; he neither drinks, nor chews, nor smokes. he keeps his hands clean, wears rings, and sports a gold snuff-box; notwithstanding which, jack is one of the boldest and best of sailors, and the men know it. he is full of fun, and as keen as a razor. jack has a very heavy venture this time--all the lace is his own speculation, and if he gets it in safe, he will clear some thousands of pounds. a certain fashionable shop in london has already agreed to take the whole off his hands. that short, neatly-made young man is the second in command, and the companion of the captain. he is clever, and always has a remedy to propose when there is a difficulty, which is a great quality in a second in command. his name is corbett. he is always merry--half-sailor, half-tradesman; knows the markets, runs up to london, and does business as well as a chapman--lives for the day and laughs at to-morrow. that little punchy old man, with long gray hair and fat face, with a nose like a note of interrogation, is the next personage of importance. he ought to be called the sailing-master, for, although he goes on shore in france, off the english coast he never quits the vessel. when they leave her with the goods, he remains on board; he is always to be found off any part of the coast where he may be ordered; holding his position in defiance of gales, and tides, and fogs: as for the revenue vessels, they all know him well enough, but they cannot touch a vessel in ballast, if she has no more men on board than allowed by her tonnage. he knows every creek, and hole, and corner of the coast; how the tide runs in--tide, half-tide, eddy, or current. that is his value. his name is morrison. you observe that jack pickersgill has two excellent supporters in corbett and morrison; his other men are good seamen, active and obedient, which is all that he requires. i shall not particularly introduce them. 'now you may call for another litre, my lads, and that must be the last; the tide is flowing fast, and we shall be afloat in half an hour, and we have just the breeze we want. what d'ye think, morrison, shall we have dirt?' 'i've been looking just now, and if it were any other month in the year i should say yes; but there's no trusting april, captain. howsomever, if it does blow off, i'll promise you a fog in three hours afterwards.' 'that will do as well. corbett, have you settled with duval?' 'yes, after more noise and _charivari_ than a panic in the stock exchange would make in england. he fought and squabbled for an hour, and i found that, without some abatement, i never should have settled the affair.' 'what did you let him off?' 'seventeen sous,' replied corbett, laughing. 'and that satisfied him?' inquired pickersgill. 'yes--it was all he could prove to be a _surfaire_: two of the knives were a little rusty. but he will always have something off; he could not be happy without it. i really think he would commit suicide if he had to pay a bill without a deduction.' 'let him live,' replied pickersgill. 'jeannette, a bottle of volnay of , and three glasses.' jeannette, who was the _fille de cabaret_, soon appeared with a bottle of wine, seldom called for, except by the captain of the _happy-go-lucky_. 'you sail to-night?' said she, as she placed the bottle before him. pickersgill nodded his head. 'i had a strange dream,' said jeannette; 'i thought you were all taken by a revenue cutter, and put in a _cachot_. i went to see you, and i did not know one of you again--you were all changed.' 'very likely, jeannette; you would not be the first who did not know their friends again when in misfortune. there was nothing strange in your dream.' '_mais, mon dieu! je ne suis pas comme ça, moi._' 'no, that you are not, jeannette; you are a good girl, and some of these fine days i'll marry you,' said corbett. '_doit être bien beau ce jour là, par exemple_,' replied jeannette, laughing; 'you have promised to marry me every time you have come in these last three years.' 'well, that proves i keep to my promise, anyhow.' 'yes; but you never go any further.' 'i can't spare him, jeannette, that is the real truth,' said the captain; 'but wait a little--in the meantime, here is a five-franc piece to add to your _petite fortune_.' '_merci bien, monsieur le capitaine; bon voyage!_' jeannette held her finger up to corbett, saying, with a smile, '_méchant!_' and then quitted the room. 'come, morrison, help us to empty this bottle, and then we will all go on board.' 'i wish that girl wouldn't come here with her nonsensical dreams,' said morrison, taking his seat; 'i don't like it. when she said that we should be taken by a revenue cutter, i was looking at a blue and a white pigeon sitting on the wall opposite; and i said to myself, now, if that be a warning, i will see: if the _blue_ pigeon flies away first, i shall be in jail in a week; if the _white_, i shall be back here.' 'well?' said pickersgill, laughing. 'it wasn't well,' answered morrison, tossing off his wine, and putting the glass down with a deep sigh; 'for the cursed _blue_ pigeon flew away immediately.' 'why, morrison, you must have a chicken heart to be frightened at a blue pigeon!' said corbett, laughing, and looking out of the window; 'at all events, he has come back again, and there he is sitting by the white one.' 'it's the first time that ever i was called chicken-hearted,' replied morrison in wrath. 'nor do you deserve it, morrison,' replied pickersgill; 'but corbett is only joking.' 'well, at all events, i'll try my luck in the same way, and see whether i am to be in jail: i shall take the blue pigeon as my bad omen, as you did.' [illustration: _jeannette held her finger up to corbett, saying, with a smile,_ 'méchant!' _and then quitted the room_] the sailors and captain pickersgill all rose and went to the window, to ascertain corbett's fortune by this new species of augury. the blue pigeon flapped his wings, and then he sidled up to the white one; at last, the white pigeon flew off the wall and settled on the roof of the adjacent house. 'bravo, white pigeon!' said corbett; 'i shall be here again in a week.' the whole party, laughing, then resumed their seats; and morrison's countenance brightened up. as he took the glass of wine poured out by pickersgill, he said, 'here's your health, corbett; it was all nonsense, after all--for, d'ye see, i can't be put in jail without you are. we all sail in the same boat, and when you leave me you take with you everything that can condemn the vessel--so here's success to our trip.' 'we will all drink that toast, my lads, and then on board,' said the captain; 'here's success to our trip.' the captain rose, as did the mates and men, drank the toast, turned down the drinking vessels on the table, hastened to the wharf, and in half an hour the _happy-go-lucky_ was clear of the port of st. maloes. chapter iv portland bill the _happy-go-lucky_ sailed with a fresh breeze and a flowing sheet from st. maloes the evening before the _arrow_ sailed from barn pool. the _active_ sailed from portsmouth the morning after. the yacht, as we before observed, was bound to cowes, in the isle of wight. the _active_ had orders to cruise wherever she pleased within the limits of the admiral's station; and she ran for west bay, on the other side of the bill of portland. the _happy-go-lucky_ was also bound for that bay to land her cargo. the wind was light, and there was every appearance of fine weather, when the _happy-go-lucky_, at ten o'clock on the tuesday night, made the portland lights; as it was impossible to run her cargo that night, she hove-to. at eleven o'clock the portland lights were made by the revenue cutter _active_. mr. appleboy went up to have a look at them, ordered the cutter to be hove-to, and then went down to finish his allowance of gin-toddy. at twelve o'clock the yacht _arrow_ made the portland lights, and continued her course, hardly stemming the ebb tide. day broke, and the horizon was clear. the first on the look-out were, of course, the smugglers; they, and those on board the revenue cutter, were the only two interested parties--the yacht was neuter. 'there are two cutters in sight, sir,' said corbett, who had the watch; for pickersgill, having been up the whole night, had thrown himself down on the bed with his clothes on. 'what do they look like?' said pickersgill, who was up in a moment. 'one is a yacht, and the other may be; but i rather think, as far as i can judge in the gray, that it is our old friend off here.' 'what! old appleboy?' 'yes, it looks like him; but the day has scarcely broke yet.' 'well, he can do nothing in a light wind like this; and before the wind we can show him our heels; but are you sure the other is a yacht?' said pickersgill, coming on deck. 'yes; the king is more careful of his canvas.' 'you're right,' said pickersgill, 'that is a yacht; and you're right there again in your guess--that is the stupid old _active_ which creeps about creeping for tubs. well, i see nothing to alarm us at present, provided it don't fall a dead calm, and then we must take to our boat as soon as he takes to his; we are four miles from him at least. watch his motions, corbett, and see if he lowers a boat. what does she go now? four knots?--that will soon tire their men.' the positions of the three cutters were as follows:-- the _happy-go-lucky_ was about four miles off portland head, and well into west bay. the revenue cutter was close to the head. the yacht was outside of the smuggler, about two miles to the westward, and about five or six miles from the revenue cutter. 'two vessels in sight, sir,' said mr. smith, coming down into the cabin to mr. appleboy. 'very well,' replied the lieutenant, who was _lying_ down in his _standing_ bed-place. 'the people say one is the _happy-go-lucky_, sir,' drawled smith. 'heh? what! _happy-go-lucky_? yes, i recollect; i've boarded her twenty times--always empty. how's she standing?' 'she stands to the westward now, sir; but she was hove-to, they say, when they first saw her.' 'then she has a cargo in her;' and mr. appleboy shaved himself, dressed, and went on deck. 'yes,' said the lieutenant, rubbing his eyes again and again, and then looking through the glass, 'it is her, sure enough. let draw the foresheet--hands make sail. what vessel's the other?' 'don't know, sir--she's a cutter.' 'a cutter? yes; maybe a yacht, or maybe the new cutter ordered on the station. make all sail, mr. tomkins; hoist our pendant, and fire a gun--they will understand what we mean then; they don't know the _happy-go-lucky_ as well as we do.' in a few minutes the _active_ was under a press of sail; she hoisted her pendant, and fired a gun. the smuggler perceived that the _active_ had recognised her, and she also threw out more canvas, and ran off more to the westward. 'there's a gun, sir,' reported one of the men to mr. stewart, on board of the yacht. 'yes; give me the glass--a revenue cutter; then this vessel inshore running towards us must be a smuggler.' 'she has just now made all sail, sir.' 'yes, there's no doubt of it. i will go down to his lordship, keep her as she goes.' mr. stewart then went down to inform lord b. of the circumstance. not only lord b. but most of the gentlemen came on deck; as did soon afterwards the ladies, who had received the intelligence from lord b., who spoke to them through the door of the cabin. but the smuggler had more wind than the revenue cutter, and increased her distance. 'if we were to wear round, my lord,' observed mr. stewart, 'she is just abreast of us and inshore, we could prevent her escape.' 'round with her, mr. stewart,' said lord b.; 'we must do our duty and protect the laws.' 'that will not be fair, papa,' said cecilia ossulton; 'we have no quarrel with the smugglers: i'm sure the ladies have not, for they bring us beautiful things.' 'miss ossulton,' observed her aunt, 'it is not proper for you to offer an opinion.' the yacht wore round, and, sailing so fast, the smuggler had little chance of escaping her; but to chase is one thing--to capture another. 'let us give her a gun,' said lord b., 'that will frighten her; and he dare not cross our hawse.' the gun was loaded, and not being more than a mile from the smuggler, actually threw the ball almost a quarter of the way. [illustration: _the gun was loaded, and not being more than a mile from the smuggler, actually threw the ball almost a quarter of the way._] the gentlemen, as well as lord b., were equally excited by the ardour of pursuit; but the wind died away, and at last it was nearly calm. the revenue cutter's boats were out, and coming up fast. 'let us get our boat out, stewart,' said his lordship, 'and help them; it is quite calm now.' the boat was soon out: it was a very large one, usually stowed on, and occupied a large portion of, the deck. it pulled six oars; and when it was manned, mr. stewart jumped in, and lord b. followed him. 'but you have no arms,' said mr. hautaine. 'the smugglers never resist now,' observed stewart. 'then you are going on a very gallant expedition indeed,' observed cecilia ossulton; 'i wish you joy.' but lord b. was too much excited to pay attention. they shoved off, and pulled towards the smuggler. at this time the revenue boats were about five miles astern of the _happy-go-lucky_, and the yacht about three-quarters of a mile from her in the offing. pickersgill had, of course, observed the motions of the yacht; had seen her wear on chase, hoist her ensign and pendant, and fire her gun. 'well,' said he, 'this is the blackest ingratitude: to be attacked by the very people whom we smuggle for! i only wish she may come up with us; and, let her attempt to interfere, she shall rue the day. i don't much like this, though.' as we before observed, it fell nearly calm, and the revenue boats were in chase. pickersgill watched them as they came up. 'what shall we do?' said corbett, 'get the boat out?' 'yes,' replied pickersgill, 'we will get the boat out, and have the goods in her all ready; but we can pull faster than they do, in the first place; and, in the next, they will be pretty well tired before they come up to us. we are fresh, and shall soon walk away from them; so i shall not leave the vessel till they are within half a mile. we must sink the ankers, that they may not seize the vessel, for it is not worth while taking them with us. pass them along, ready to run them over the bows, that they may not see us and swear to it. but we have a good half-hour and more.' 'ay, and you may hold all fast if you choose,' said morrison, 'although it's better to be on the right side and get ready; otherwise, before half an hour, i'll swear that we are out of their sight. look there,' said he, pointing to the eastward at a heavy bank, 'it's coming right down upon us, as i said it would.' 'true enough; but still there is no saying which will come first, morrison, the boats or the fog; so we must be prepared.' 'hilloa! what's this? why, there's a boat coming from the yacht!' pickersgill took out his glass. 'yes, and the yacht's own boat, with the name painted on her bows. well, let them come--we will have no ceremony in resisting them; they are not in the act of parliament, and must take the consequences. we have nought to fear. get stretchers, my lads, and handspikes; they row six oars, and are three in the stern-sheets: they must be good men if they take us.' in a few minutes lord b. was close to the smuggler. 'boat ahoy! what do you want?' 'surrender in the king's name.' 'to what, and to whom, and what are we to surrender? we are an english vessel coasting along shore.' 'pull on board, my lads,' cried stewart; 'i am a king's officer: we know her.' the boat darted alongside, and stewart and lord b., followed by the men, jumped on the deck. 'well, gentlemen, what do you want?' said pickersgill. 'we seize you! you are a smuggler--there's no denying it: look at the casks of spirits stretched along the deck.' 'we never said that we were not smugglers,' replied pickersgill; 'but what is that to you? you are not a king's ship, or employed by the revenue.' 'no; but we carry a pendant, and it is our duty to protect the laws.' 'and who are you?' said pickersgill. 'i am lord b.' 'then, my lord, allow me to say that you would do much better to attend to the framing of laws, and leave people of less consequence, like those astern of me, to execute them. "mind your own business" is an old adage. we shall not hurt you, my lord, as you have only employed words, but we shall put it out of your power to hurt us. come aft, my lads. now, my lord, resistance is useless; we are double your numbers, and you have caught a tartar.' [illustration: _'well, gentlemen, what do you want?' said pickersgill._] lord b. and mr. stewart perceived that they were in an awkward predicament. 'you may do what you please,' observed mr. stewart, 'but the revenue boats are coming up, recollect.' 'look you, sir, do you see the revenue cutter?' said pickersgill. stewart looked in that direction, and saw that she was hidden in the fog. 'in five minutes, sir, the boats will be out of sight also, and so will your vessel; we have nothing to fear from them.' 'indeed, my lord, we had better return,' said mr. stewart, who perceived that pickersgill was right. 'i beg your pardon, you will not go on board your yacht so soon as you expect. take the oars out of the boat, my lads, two or three of you, and throw in a couple of our paddles for them to reach the shore with. the rest of you knock down the first man who offers to resist. you are not aware, perhaps, my lord, that you have attempted _piracy_ on the high seas?' stewart looked at lord b. it was true enough. the men of the yacht could offer no resistance; the oars were taken out of the boat and the men put in again. 'my lord,' said pickersgill, 'your boat is manned, do me the favour to step into it; and you, sir, do the same. i should be sorry to lay my hands upon a peer of the realm, or a king's officer even on half-pay.' remonstrance was vain; his lordship was led to the boat by two of the smugglers, and stewart followed. 'i will leave your oars, my lord, at the weymouth custom-house, and i trust this will be a lesson to you in future to "mind your own business."' the boat was shoved off from the sloop by the smugglers, and was soon lost sight of in the fog, which had now covered the revenue boats as well as the yacht, at the same time it brought down a breeze from the eastward. 'haul to the wind, morrison,' said pickersgill, 'we will stand out to get rid of the boats; if they pull on they will take it for granted that we shall run into the bay, as will the revenue cutter.' pickersgill and corbett were in conversation abaft for a short time, when the former desired the course to be altered two points. 'keep silence all of you, my lads, and let me know if you hear a gun or a bell from the yacht,' said pickersgill. 'there is a gun, sir, close to us,' said one of the men; 'the sound was right ahead.' 'that will do, keep her as she goes. aft here, my lads; we cannot run our cargo in the bay, for the cutter has been seen to chase us, and they will all be on the look-out at the preventive stations for us on shore. now, my lads, i have made up my mind that, as these yacht gentlemen have thought proper to interfere, i will take possession of the yacht for a few days. we shall then outsail everything, go where we like unsuspected, and land our cargo with ease. i shall run alongside of her--she can have but few hands on board; and mind, do not hurt anybody, but be civil and obey my orders. morrison, you and your four men and the boy will remain on board as before, and take the vessel to cherbourg, where we will join you.' in a short time another gun was fired from the yacht. those on board, particularly the ladies, were alarmed; the fog was very thick, and they could not distinguish the length of the vessel. they had seen the boat board, but had not seen her turned adrift without oars, as the fog came on just at that time. the yacht was left with only three seamen on board, and should it come on bad weather, they were in an awkward predicament. mr. hautaine had taken the command, and ordered the guns to be fired that the boat might be enabled to find them. the fourth gun was loading, when they perceived the smuggler's cutter close to them looming through the fog. 'here they are,' cried the seamen; 'and they have brought the prize along with them! three cheers for the _arrow_!' 'hilloa! you'll be on board of us!' cried hautaine. 'that's exactly what i intended to be, sir,' replied pickersgill, jumping on the quarter-deck, followed by his men. 'who the devil are you?' 'that's exactly the same question that i asked lord b. when he boarded us,' replied pickersgill, taking off his hat to the ladies. 'well, but what business have you here?' 'exactly the same question which i put to lord b.,' replied pickersgill. 'where is lord b., sir?' said cecilia ossulton, going up to the smuggler; 'is he safe?' 'yes, madam, he is safe; at least he is in his boat with all his men, and unhurt; but you must excuse me if i request you and the other ladies to go down below while i speak to these gentlemen. be under no alarm, miss, you will receive neither insult nor ill-treatment--i have only taken possession of this vessel for the present.' 'take possession,' cried hautaine, 'of a yacht?' 'yes, sir, since the owner of the yacht thought proper to attempt to take possession of me. i always thought that yachts were pleasure vessels, sailing about for amusement, respected themselves, and not interfering with others; but it appears that such is not the case. the owner of this yacht has thought proper to break through the neutrality and commence aggression, and under such circumstances i have now, in retaliation, taken possession of her.' 'and pray what do you mean to do, sir?' 'simply for a few days to make an exchange. i shall send you on board of my vessel as smugglers, while i remain here with the ladies and amuse myself with yachting.' 'why, sir, you cannot mean----' 'i have said, gentlemen, and that is enough; i should be sorry to resort to violence, but i must be obeyed. you have, i perceive, three seamen only left: they are not sufficient to take charge of the vessel, and lord b. and the others you will not meet for several days. my regard for the ladies, even common humanity, points out to me that i cannot leave the vessel in this crippled condition. at the same time, i must have hands on board of my own: you will oblige me by going on board and taking her safely into port. it is the least return you can make for my kindness. in those dresses, gentlemen, you will not be able to do your duty; oblige me by shifting and putting on these.' corbett handed a flannel shirt, a rough jacket and trousers to messrs. hautaine, ossulton, vaughan, and seagrove. after some useless resistance they were stripped, and having put on the smugglers' attire, they were handed on board of the _happy-go-lucky_. the three english seamen were also sent on board and confined below, as well as ossulton's servant, who was also equipped like his master, and confined below with the seamen. corbett and the men then handed up all the smuggled goods into the yacht, dropped the boat, and made it fast astern, and morrison having received his directions, the vessels separated, morrison running for cherbourg, and pickersgill steering the yacht along shore to the westward. about an hour after this exchange had been effected the fog cleared up, and showed the revenue cutter hove-to for her boats, which had pulled back and were close on board of her, and the _happy-go-lucky_ about three miles in the offing; lord b. and his boat's crew were about four miles inshore, paddling and drifting with the tide towards portland. as soon as the boats were on board, the revenue cutter made all sail after the smuggler, paying no attention to the yacht, and either not seeing or not caring about the boat which was drifting about in west bay. chapter v the travestie here we are, corbett, and now i only wish my venture had been double,' observed pickersgill; 'but i shall not allow business to absorb me wholly--we must add a little amusement. it appears to me, corbett, that the gentleman's clothes which lie there will fit you, and those of the good-looking fellow who was spokesman will, i am sure, suit me well. now let us dress ourselves, and then for breakfast.' pickersgill then exchanged his clothes for those of mr. hautaine, and corbett fitted on those of mr. ossulton. the steward was summoned up, and he dared not disobey; he appeared on deck, trembling. 'steward, you will take these clothes below,' said pickersgill, 'and, observe, that i now command this yacht; and during the time that i am on board you will pay me the same respect as you did lord b.; nay, more, you will always address me as lord b. you will prepare dinner and breakfast, and do your duty just as if his lordship was on board, and take care that you feed us well, for i will not allow the ladies to be entertained in a less sumptuous manner than before. you will tell the cook what i say; and now that you have heard me, take care that you obey; if not, recollect that i have my own men here, and if i but point with my finger, _overboard you go_. do you perfectly comprehend me?' 'yes, sir,' stammered the steward. 'yes, _sir!_--what did i tell you, sirrah?--yes, my lord. do you understand me?' 'yes--my lord.' 'pray, steward, whose clothes has this gentleman put on?' 'mr.--mr. ossulton's, i think--sir--my lord, i mean.' 'very well, steward; then recollect in future you always address that gentleman as _mr. ossulton_.' 'yes, my lord,' and the steward went down below, and was obliged to take a couple of glasses of brandy to keep himself from fainting. 'who are they, and what are they, mr. maddox?' cried the lady's-maid, who had been weeping. 'pirates!--_bloody, murderous stick-at-nothing_ pirates!' replied the steward. 'oh!' screamed the lady's-maid, 'what will become of us, poor unprotected females?' and she hastened into the cabin, to impart this dreadful intelligence. the ladies in the cabin were not in a very enviable situation. as for the elder miss ossulton (but, perhaps, it will be better in future to distinguish the two ladies, by calling the elder simply miss ossulton, and her niece, cecilia), she was sitting with her salts to her nose, agonised with a mixture of trepidation and wounded pride. mrs. lascelles was weeping, but weeping gently. cecilia was sad, and her heart was beating with anxiety and suspense, when the maid rushed in. 'oh, madam! oh, miss! oh, mrs. lascelles! i have found it all out!--they are murderous, bloody, do-everything pirates!!!' 'mercy on us!' exclaimed miss ossulton; 'surely they will never dare----' 'oh, ma'am, they dare anything!--they just now were for throwing the steward overboard; and they have rummaged all the portmanteaus, and dressed themselves in the gentlemen's best clothes. the captain of them told the steward that he was lord b., and that if he dared to call him anything else, he would cut his throat from ear to ear; and if the cook don't give them a good dinner, they swear that they'll chop his right hand off, and make him eat it without pepper or salt!' miss ossulton screamed, and went off into hysterics. mrs. lascelles and cecilia went to her assistance; but the latter had not forgotten the very different behaviour of jack pickersgill, and his polite manners, when he boarded the vessel. she did not, therefore, believe what the maid had reported, but still her anxiety and suspense were great, especially about her father. after having restored her aunt she put on her bonnet, which was lying on the sofa. 'where are you going, dear?' said mrs. lascelles. [illustration: '_pirates!_--bloody, murderous stick-at-nothing _pirates!' replied the steward._] 'on deck,' replied cecilia. 'i must and will speak to these men.' 'gracious heaven, miss ossulton! going on deck! have you heard what phoebe says?' 'yes, aunt, i have; but i can wait here no longer.' 'stop her! stop her!--she will be murdered!--she will be--she is mad!' screamed miss ossulton; but no one attempted to stop cecilia, and on deck she went. on her arrival she found jack pickersgill and corbett walking the deck, one of the smugglers at the helm, and the rest forward, and as quiet as the crew of the yacht. as soon as she made her appearance jack took off his hat, and made her a bow. 'i do not know whom i have the honour of addressing, young lady; but i am flattered with this mark of confidence. you feel, and i assure you you feel correctly, that you are not exactly in lawless hands.' cecilia looked with more surprise than fear at pickersgill. mr. hautaine's dress became him; he was a handsome, fine-looking man, and had nothing of the ruffian in his appearance; unless, like byron's corsair, he was _half savage, half soft_. she could not help thinking that she had met many with less pretensions, as far as appearance went, to the claims of a gentleman, at almack's and other fashionable circles. 'i have ventured on deck, sir,' said cecilia, with a little tremulousness in her voice, 'to request, as a favour, that you will inform me what your intentions may be with regard to the vessel and with regard to the ladies!' 'and i feel much obliged to you for so doing, and i assure you i will, as far as i have made up my own mind, answer you candidly: but you tremble--allow me to conduct you to a seat. in few words, then, to remove your present alarm, i intend that the vessel shall be returned to its owner, with every article in it, as religiously respected as if they were church property. with respect to you, and the other ladies on board, i pledge you my honour that you have nothing to fear; that you shall be treated with every respect; your privacy never invaded; and that, in a few days, you will be restored to your friends. young lady, i pledge my hopes of future salvation to the truth of this; but, at the same time, i must make a few conditions, which, however, will not be very severe.' 'but, sir,' replied cecilia, much relieved, for pickersgill had stood by her in the most respectful manner, 'you are, i presume, the captain of the smuggler? pray answer me one question more--what became of the boat with lord b.? he is my father.' 'i left him in his boat, without a hair of his head touched, young lady; but i took away the oars.' 'then he will perish!' cried cecilia, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. 'no, young lady; he is on shore, probably, by this time. although i took away his means of assisting to capture us, i left him the means of gaining the land. it is not every one who would have done that, after his conduct to us.' 'i begged him not to go,' said cecilia; 'i told him that it was not fair, and that he had no quarrel with the smugglers.' 'i thank you even for that,' replied pickersgill. 'and now, miss--i have not the pleasure of recollecting his lordship's family name----' 'ossulton, sir,' said cecilia, looking at pickersgill with surprise. 'then, with your permission, miss ossulton, i will now make you my confidant: excuse my using so free a term, but it is because i wish to relieve your fears. at the same time, i cannot permit you to divulge all my intentions to the whole party on board. i feel that i may trust you, for you have courage, and where there is courage there generally is truth; but you must first tell me whether you will condescend to accept these terms.' cecilia demurred a moment; the idea of being the confidant of a smuggler rather startled her: but still, her knowledge of what his intentions were, if she might not reveal them, might be important; as, perhaps, she might dissuade him. she could be in no worse position than she was now, and she might be in a much better. the conduct of pickersgill had been such, up to the present, as to inspire confidence; and, although he defied the laws, he appeared to regard the courtesies of life. cecilia was a courageous girl, and at length she replied-- 'provided what you desire me to keep secret will not be injurious to any one, or compromise me in my peculiar situation, i consent.' 'i would not hurt a fly, miss ossulton, but in self-defence; and i have too much respect for you, from your conduct during our short meeting, to compromise you. allow me now to be very candid; and then, perhaps, you will acknowledge that in my situation others would do the same, and, perhaps, not show half so much forbearance. your father, without any right whatever, interferes with me and my calling: he attempts to make me a prisoner, to have me thrown in jail, heavily fined, and, perhaps, sent out of the country. i will not enter into any defence of smuggling: it is sufficient to say that there are pains and penalties attached to the infraction of certain laws, and that i choose to risk them. but lord b. was not empowered by government to attack me; it was a gratuitous act; and had i thrown him and all his crew into the sea, i should have been justified: for it was, in short, an act of piracy on their part. now, as your father has thought to turn a yacht into a revenue cutter, you cannot be surprised at my retaliating, in turning her into a smuggler; and as he has mixed up looking after the revenue with yachting, he cannot be surprised if i retaliate by mixing up a little yachting with smuggling. i have dressed your male companions as smugglers, and have sent them in the smuggling vessel to cherbourg, where they will be safely landed; and i have dressed myself, and the only person whom i could join with me in this frolic, as gentlemen, in their places. my object is twofold: one is, to land my cargo, which i have now on board, and which is very valuable; the other is, to retaliate upon your father and his companions for their attempt upon me, by stepping into their shoes, and enjoying, for a day or two, their luxuries. it is my intention to make free with nothing but his lordship's wines and eatables--that you may be assured of; but i shall have no pleasure if the ladies do not sit down to the dinner-table with us, as they did before with your father and his friends.' 'you can hardly expect that, sir,' said cecilia. 'yes, i do; and that will be not only the price of the early release of the yacht and themselves, but it will also be the only means by which they will obtain anything to eat. you observe, miss ossulton, the sins of the fathers are visited on the children. i have now told you what i mean to do, and what i wish. i leave you to think of it, and decide whether it will not be the best for all parties to consent. you have my permission to tell the other ladies that, whatever may be their conduct, they are as secure from ill-treatment or rudeness as if they were in grosvenor square; but i cannot answer that they will not be hungry, if, after such forbearance in every point, they show so little gratitude as not to honour me with their company.' 'then i am to understand that we are to be starved into submission?' 'no, not starved, miss ossulton; but recollect that you will be on bread and water, and detained until you do consent, and your detention will increase the anxiety of your father.' 'you know how to persuade, sir,' said cecilia. 'as far as i am concerned, i trust i shall ever be ready to sacrifice any feelings of pride to spare my father so much uneasiness. with your permission, i will now go down into the cabin and relieve my companions from the worst of their fears. as for obtaining what you wish, i can only say that, as a young person, i am not likely to have much influence with those older than myself, and must inevitably be overruled, as i have not permission to point out to them reasons which might avail. would you so far allow me to be relieved from my promise, as to communicate all you have said to me to the only married woman on board? i think i then might obtain your wishes, which, i must candidly tell you, i shall attempt to effect _only_ because i am most anxious to rejoin my friends.' 'and be relieved of my company,' replied pickersgill, smiling ironically--'of course you are; but i must and will have my petty revenge: and although you may, and probably will, detest me, at all events you shall not have any very formidable charge to make against me. before you go below, miss ossulton, i give you my permission to add the married lady to the number of my confidants; and you must permit me to introduce my friend, mr. ossulton;' and pickersgill waved his hand in the direction of corbett, who took off his hat and made a low obeisance. it was impossible for cecilia ossulton to help smiling. 'and,' continued pickersgill, 'having taken the command of this yacht instead of his lordship, it is absolutely necessary that i also take his lordship's name. while on board i am lord b.; and allow me to introduce myself under that name; i cannot be addressed otherwise. depend upon it, miss ossulton, that i shall have a most paternal solicitude to make you happy and comfortable.' had cecilia ossulton dared to have given vent to her real feelings at that time, she would have burst into a fit of laughter; it was too ludicrous. at the same time, the very burlesque reassured her still more. she went into the cabin with a heavy weight removed from her heart. in the meantime, miss ossulton and mrs. lascelles remained below, in the greatest anxiety at cecilia's prolonged stay; they knew not what to think, and dared not go on deck. mrs. lascelles had once determined at all risks to go up; but miss ossulton and phoebe had screamed and implored her so fervently not to leave them, that she unwillingly consented to remain. cecilia's countenance, when she entered the cabin, reassured mrs. lascelles, but not her aunt, who ran to her crying and sobbing, and clinging to her, saying, 'what have they done to you, my poor, poor cecilia?' 'nothing at all, aunt,' replied cecilia; 'the captain speaks very fairly, and says he shall respect us in every possible way, provided that we obey his orders; but if not----' 'if not--what, cecilia?' said miss ossulton, grasping her niece's arm. 'he will starve us, and not let us go!' 'god have mercy on us!' cried miss ossulton, renewing her sobs. cecilia then went to mrs. lascelles, and communicated to her apart all that had passed. mrs. lascelles agreed with cecilia that they were in no danger of insult; and as they talked over the matter they at last began to laugh; there was a novelty in it, and there was something so ridiculous in all the gentlemen being turned into smugglers. cecilia was glad that she could not tell her aunt, as she wished her to be so frightened as never to have her company on board the yacht again; and mrs. lascelles was too glad to annoy her for many and various insults received. the matter was therefore canvassed over very satisfactorily, and mrs. lascelles felt a natural curiosity to see this new lord b. and the second mr. ossulton. but they had had no breakfast, and were feeling very hungry now that their alarm was over. they desired phoebe to ask the steward for some tea or coffee. the reply was, that 'breakfast was laid in the cabin, and lord b. trusted that the ladies would come to partake of it.' 'no, no,' replied mrs. lascelles, 'i never can, without being introduced to them first.' 'nor will i go,' replied cecilia, 'but i will write a note, and we will have our breakfast here.' cecilia wrote a note in pencil as follows:-- 'miss ossulton's compliments to lord b., and, as the ladies feel rather indisposed after the alarm of this morning, they trust that his lordship will excuse their coming to breakfast; but hope to meet his lordship at dinner, if not before that time on deck.' the answer was propitious, and the steward soon appeared with the breakfast in the ladies' cabin. 'well, maddox,' said cecilia, 'how do you get on with your new master?' the steward looked at the door, to see if it was closed, shook his head, and then said, with a look of despair, 'he has ordered a haunch of venison for dinner, miss, and he has twice threatened to toss me overboard.' 'you must obey him, maddox, or he certainly will. these pirates are dreadful fellows. be attentive, and serve him just as if he was my father.' 'yes, yes, ma'am, i will; but our time may come. it's _burglary_ on the high seas, and i'll go fifty miles to see him hanged.' 'steward!' cried pickersgill, from the cabin. 'o lord! he can't have heard me--d'ye think he did, miss?' 'the partitions are very thin, and you spoke very loud,' said mrs. lascelles; 'at all events, go to him quickly.' 'good-bye, miss; good-bye, ma'am, if i shouldn't see you any more,' said maddox, trembling with fear, as he obeyed the awful summons--which was to demand a toothpick. miss ossulton would not touch the breakfast; not so mrs. lascelles and cecilia, who ate very heartily. 'it's very dull to be shut up in this cabin,' said mrs. lascelles; 'come, cecilia, let's go on deck.' 'and leave me!' cried miss ossulton. 'there is phoebe here, aunt; we are going up to persuade the pirates to put us all on shore.' mrs. lascelles and cecilia put on their bonnets and went up. lord b. took off his hat, and begged the honour of being introduced to the pretty widow. he handed the ladies to a seat, and then commenced conversing upon various subjects, which at the same time possessed great novelty. his lordship talked about france, and described its ports; told now and then a good anecdote; pointed out the different headlands, bays, towns, and villages, which they were passing rapidly, and always had some little story connected with each. before the ladies had been two hours on deck they found themselves, to their infinite surprise, not only interested, but in conversation with the captain of the smuggler, and more than once they laughed outright. but the _soi-disant_ lord b. had inspired them with confidence; they fully believed that what he had told them was true, and that he had taken possession of the yacht to smuggle his goods, to be revenged, and to have a laugh. now none of these three offences are capital in the eyes of the fair sex, and jack was a handsome, fine-looking fellow, of excellent manners and very agreeable conversation; at the same time, neither he nor his friend were in their general deportment and behaviour otherwise than most respectful. 'ladies, as you are not afraid of me, which is a greater happiness than i had reason to expect, i think you may be amused to witness the fear of those who accuse your sex of cowardice. with your permission, i will send for the cook and steward, and inquire about the dinner.' 'i should like to know what there is for dinner,' observed mrs. lascelles demurely; 'wouldn't you, cecilia?' cecilia put her handkerchief to her mouth. 'tell the steward and the cook both to come aft immediately,' cried pickersgill. in a few seconds they both made their appearance. 'steward!' cried pickersgill, with a loud voice. 'yes, my lord,' replied maddox, with his hat in his hand. 'what wines have you put out for dinner?' 'champagne, my lord; and claret, my lord; and madeira and sherry, my lord.' 'no burgundy, sir?' [illustration: _'upon my soul, my lord,' cried maddox, dropping on his knees, 'there is no burgundy on board--ask the ladies.'_] 'no, my lord; there is no burgundy on board.' 'no burgundy, sir! do you dare to tell me that?' 'upon my soul, my lord,' cried maddox, dropping on his knees, 'there is no burgundy on board--ask the ladies.' 'very well, sir, you may go.' 'cook, what have you got for dinner?' 'sir, a haunch of mutt--of venison, my lord,' replied the cook, with his white nightcap in his hand. 'what else, sirrah?' 'a boiled calf's head, my lord.' 'a boiled calf's head! let it be roasted, or i'll roast you, sir!' cried pickersgill, in an angry tone. 'yes, my lord; i'll roast it.' 'and what else, sir?' 'maintenon cutlets, my lord.' 'maintenon cutlets! i hate them--i won't have them, sir. let them be dressed _à l'ombre chinoise_.' 'i don't know what that is, my lord.' 'i don't care for that, sirrah; if you don't find out by dinner-time, you're food for fishes--that's all; you may go.' the cook walked off wringing his hands and his nightcap as well--for he still held it in his right hand--and disappeared down the fore-hatchway. 'i have done this to pay you a deserved compliment, ladies; you have more courage than the other sex.' 'recollect that we have had confidence given to us in consequence of your pledging your word, my lord.' 'you do me, then, the honour of believing me?' 'i did not until i saw you,' replied mrs. lascelles; 'but now i am convinced that you will perform your promise.' 'you do indeed encourage me, madam, to pursue what is right,' said pickersgill, bowing; 'for your approbation i should be most sorry to lose, still more sorry to prove myself unworthy of it.' as the reader will observe, everything was going on remarkably well. chapter vi the smuggling yacht cecilia returned to the cabin, to ascertain whether her aunt was more composed; but mrs. lascelles remained on deck. she was much pleased with pickersgill; and they continued their conversation. pickersgill entered into a defence of his conduct to lord b.; and mrs. lascelles could not but admit the provocation. after a long conversation she hinted at his profession, and how superior he appeared to be to such a lawless life. 'you may be incredulous, madam,' replied pickersgill, 'if i tell you that i have as good a right to quarter my arms as lord b. himself; and that i am not under my real name. smuggling is, at all events, no crime; and i infinitely prefer the wild life i lead at the head of my men to being spurned by society because i am poor. the greatest crime in this country is poverty. i may, if i am fortunate, some day resume my name. you may, perhaps, meet me, and if you please, you may expose me.' 'that i should not be likely to do,' replied the widow; 'but still i regret to see a person, evidently intended for better things, employed in so disreputable a profession.' 'i hardly know, madam, what is and what is not disreputable in this conventional world. it is not considered disreputable to cringe to the vices of a court, or to accept a pension wrung from the industry of the nation, in return for base servility. it is not considered disreputable to take tithes, intended for the service of god, and lavish them away at watering-places or elsewhere, seeking pleasure instead of doing god service. it is not considered disreputable to take fee after fee to uphold injustice, to plead against innocence, to pervert truth, and to aid the devil. it is not considered disreputable to gamble on the stock exchange, or to corrupt the honesty of electors by bribes, for doing which the penalty attached is equal to that decreed to the offence of which i am guilty. all these, and much more, are not considered disreputable; yet by all these are the moral bonds of society loosened, while in mine we cause no guilt in others----' 'but still it is a crime.' 'a violation of the revenue laws, and no more. observe, madam, the english government encourage the smuggling of our manufactures to the continent, at the same time that they take every step to prevent articles being smuggled into this country. now, madam, can that be a _crime_ when the head of the vessel is turned north, which becomes _no crime_ when she steers the opposite way?' 'there is a stigma attached to it, you must allow.' 'that i grant you, madam; and as soon as i can quit the profession i shall. no captive ever sighed more to be released from his chains; but i will not leave it, till i find that i am in a situation not to be spurned and neglected by those with whom i have a right to associate.' at this moment the steward was seen forward making signs to mrs. lascelles, who excused herself, and went to him. 'for the love of god, madam,' said maddox, 'as he appears to be friendly with you, do pray find out how these cutlets are to be dressed; the cook is tearing his hair, and we shall never have any dinner; and then it will all fall upon me, and i--shall be tossed overboard.' mrs. lascelles desired poor maddox to wait there while she obtained the desired information. in a few minutes she returned to him. 'i have found it out. they are first to be boiled in vinegar, then fried in batter, and served up with a sauce of anchovy and malaga raisins!' 'first fried in vinegar, then boiled in batter, and served up with almonds and raisins!' 'no--no!' mrs. lascelles repeated the injunction to the frightened steward, and then returned aft, and re-entered into a conversation with pickersgill, in which for the first time corbett now joined. corbett had sense enough to feel that the less he came forward until his superior had established himself in the good graces of the ladies, the more favourable would be the result. in the meantime cecilia had gone down to her aunt, who still continued to wail and lament. the young lady tried all she could to console her, and to persuade her that if they were civil and obedient they had nothing to fear. 'civil and obedient, indeed!' cried miss ossulton, 'to a fellow who is a smuggler and a pirate! i, the sister of lord b.! never! the presumption of the wretch!' 'that is all very well, aunt; but recollect, we must submit to circumstances. these men insist upon our dining with them; and we must go, or we shall have no dinner.' 'i sit down with a pirate! never! i'll have no dinner--i'll starve--i'll die!' 'but, my dear aunt, it's the only chance we have of obtaining our release; and if you do not do it mrs. lascelles will think that you wish to remain with them.' 'mrs. lascelles judges of other people by herself.' 'the captain is certainly a very well-behaved, handsome man. he looks like a nobleman in disguise. what an odd thing it would be, aunt, if this should be all a hoax!' 'a hoax, child?' replied miss ossulton, sitting up on the sofa. cecilia found that she had hit the right nail, as the saying is; and she brought forward so many arguments to prove that she thought it was a hoax to frighten them, and that the gentleman above was a man of consequence, that her aunt began to listen to reason, and at last consented to join the dinner party. mrs. lascelles now came down below; and when dinner was announced they repaired to the large cabin, where they found pickersgill and corbett waiting for them. miss ossulton did not venture to look up, until she heard pickersgill say to mrs. lascelles, 'perhaps, madam, you will do me the favour to introduce me to that lady, whom i have not had the honour of seeing before?' 'certainly, my lord,' replied mrs. lascelles. 'miss ossulton, the aunt of this young lady.' mrs. lascelles purposely did not introduce _his lordship_ in return, that she might mystify the old spinster. 'i feel highly honoured in finding myself in the company of miss ossulton,' said pickersgill. 'ladies, we wait but for you to sit down. ossulton, take the head of the table and serve the soup. miss ossulton was astonished; she looked at the smugglers, and perceived two well-dressed gentlemanly men, one of whom was apparently a lord, and the other having the same family name. 'it must be all a hoax,' thought she, and she very quietly took to her soup. the dinner passed off very pleasantly; pickersgill was agreeable, corbett funny, and miss ossulton so far recovered herself as to drink wine with his lordship, and to ask corbett what branch of their family he belonged to. 'i presume it's the irish branch?' said mrs. lascelles, prompting him. 'exactly, madam,' replied corbett. 'have you ever been to torquay, ladies?' inquired pickersgill. 'no, my lord,' answered mrs. lascelles. 'we shall anchor there in the course of an hour, and probably remain there till to-morrow. steward, bring coffee. tell the cook these cutlets were remarkably well dressed.' the ladies retired to their cabin. miss ossulton was now convinced that it was all a hoax; 'but,' said she, 'i shall tell lord b. my opinion of their practical jokes when he returns. what is his lordship's name who is on board?' 'he won't tell us,' replied mrs. lascelles; 'but i think i know; it is lord blarney.' 'lord blaney, you mean, i presume,' said miss ossulton; 'however, the thing is carried too far. cecilia, we will go on shore at torquay, and wait till the yacht returns with lord b. i don't like these jokes; they may do very well for widows, and people of no rank.' now mrs. lascelles was sorry to find miss ossulton so much at her ease. she owed her no little spite, and wished for revenge. ladies will go very far to obtain this. how far mrs. lascelles would have gone, i will not pretend to say; but this is certain, that the last innuendo of miss ossulton very much added to her determination. she took her bonnet and went on deck, at once told pickersgill that he could not please her or cecilia more than by frightening miss ossulton, who, under the idea that it was all a hoax, had quite recovered her spirits; talked of her pride and ill-nature, and wished her to receive a useful lesson. thus, to follow up her revenge, did mrs. lascelles commit herself so far as to be confidential with the smuggler in return. 'mrs. lascelles, i shall be able to obey you, and, at the same time, to combine business with pleasure.' after a short conversation, the yacht dropped her anchor at torquay. it was then about two hours before sunset. as soon as the sails were furled, one or two gentlemen, who resided there, came on board to pay their respects to lord b.; and, as pickersgill had found out from cecilia that her father was acquainted with no one there, he received them in person; asked them down into the cabin--called for wine--and desired them to send their boat away, as his own was going on shore. the smugglers took great care that the steward, cook, and lady's-maid should have no communication with the guests; one of them, by corbett's direction, being a sentinel over each individual. the gentlemen remained about half an hour on board, during which corbett and the smugglers had filled the portmanteaus found in the cabin with the lace, and they were put in the boat; corbett then landed the gentlemen in the same boat, and went up to the hotel, the smugglers following him with the portmanteaus, without any suspicion or interruption. as soon as he was there, he ordered post-horses, and set off for a town close by, where he had correspondents; and thus the major part of the cargo was secured. corbett then returned in the night, bringing with him people to receive the goods; and the smugglers landed the silks, teas, etc., with the same good fortune. everything was out of the yacht except a portion of the lace, which the portmanteaus would not hold. pickersgill might easily have sent this on shore; but, to please mrs. lascelles, he arranged otherwise. the next morning, about an hour after breakfast was finished, mrs. lascelles entered the cabin pretending to be in the greatest consternation, and fell on the sofa as if she were going to faint. 'good heavens! what is the matter?' exclaimed cecilia, who knew very well what was coming. 'oh, the wretch! he has made such proposals!' 'proposals! what proposals? what! lord blaney?' cried miss ossulton. 'oh, he's no lord! he's a villain and a smuggler! and he insists that we shall both fill our pockets full of lace, and go on shore with him.' 'mercy on me! then it is no hoax after all; and i've been sitting down to dinner with a smuggler!' 'sitting down, madam!--if it were to be no more than that--but we are to take his arm up to the hotel. oh, dear! cecilia, i am ordered on deck; pray come with me!' miss ossulton rolled on the sofa, and rang for phoebe; she was in a state of great alarm. a knock at the door. 'come in,' said miss ossulton, thinking it was phoebe; when pickersgill made his appearance. 'what do you want, sir? go out, sir! go out directly, or i'll scream!' 'it is no use screaming, madam; recollect that all on board are at my service. you will oblige me by listening to me, miss ossulton. i am, as you know, a smuggler; and i must send this lace on shore. you will oblige me by putting it into your pockets, or about your person, and prepare to go on shore with me. as soon as we arrive at the hotel, you will deliver it to me, and i then shall reconduct you on board of the yacht. you are not the first lady who has gone on shore with contraband articles about her person.' 'me, sir! go on shore in that way? no, sir--never! what will the world say?--the hon. miss ossulton walking with a smuggler! no, sir--never!' 'yes, madam; walking arm-in-arm with a smuggler. i shall have you on one arm, and mrs. lascelles on the other; and i would advise you to take it very quietly; for, in the first place, it will be you who smuggle, as the goods will be found on your person, and you will certainly be put in prison; for at the least appearance of insubordination, we run and inform against you; and further, your niece will remain on board as a hostage for your good behaviour--and if you have any regard for her liberty, you will consent immediately.' pickersgill left the cabin, and shortly afterwards cecilia and mrs. lascelles entered, apparently much distressed. they had been informed of all, and mrs. lascelles declared, that for her part, sooner than leave her poor cecilia to the mercy of such people, she had made up her mind to submit to the smuggler's demands. cecilia also begged so earnestly, that miss ossulton, who had no idea that it was a trick, with much sobbing and blubbering, consented. [illustration: _miss ossulton, frightened out of her wits, took his arm; and, with mrs. lascelles on the other, they went up to the hotel._] when all was ready cecilia left the cabin; pickersgill came down, handed up the two ladies, who had not exchanged a word with each other during cecilia's absence; the boat was ready alongside--they went in, and pulled on shore. everything succeeded to the smuggler's satisfaction. miss ossulton, frightened out of her wits, took his arm; and, with mrs. lascelles on the other, they went up to the hotel, followed by four of his boat's crew. as soon as they were shown into a room, corbett, who was already on shore, asked for lord b., and joined them. the ladies retired to another apartment, divested themselves of their contraband goods, and after calling for some sandwiches and wine, pickersgill waited an hour, and then returned on board. mrs. lascelles was triumphant; and she rewarded her new ally--the smuggler--with one of her sweetest smiles. community of interest will sometimes make strange friendships. chapter vii conclusion we must now return to the other parties who have assisted in the acts of this little drama. lord b., after paddling and paddling, the men relieving each other, in order to make head against the wind, which was off shore, arrived about midnight at a small town in west bay, from whence he took a chaise on to portsmouth, taking it for granted that his yacht would arrive as soon as, if not before himself, little imagining that it was in possession of the smugglers. there he remained three or four days, when, becoming impatient, he applied to one of his friends who had a yacht at cowes, and sailed with him to look after his own. we left the _happy-go-lucky_ chased by the revenue cutter. at first the smuggler had the advantage before the wind; but, by degrees, the wind went round with the sun, and brought the revenue cutter to leeward: it was then a chase on a wind, and the revenue cutter came fast up with her. morrison, perceiving that he had no chance of escape, let run the ankers of brandy that he might not be condemned; but still he was in an awkward situation, as he had more men on board than allowed by act of parliament. he therefore stood on, notwithstanding the shot of the cutter went over and over him, hoping that a fog or night might enable him to escape; but he had no such good fortune; one of the shot carried away the head of his mast, and the _happy-go-lucky's_ luck was all over. he was boarded and taken possession of; he asserted that the extra men were only passengers; but, in the first place, they were dressed in seamen's clothes; and, in the second, as soon as the boat was aboard of her, appleboy had gone down to his gin-toddy, and was not to be disturbed. the gentlemen smugglers therefore passed an uncomfortable night; and the cutter going to portland by daylight, before appleboy was out of bed, they were taken on shore to the magistrate. hautaine explained the whole affair, and they were immediately released and treated with respect; but they were not permitted to depart until they were bound over to appear against the smugglers, and prove the brandy having been on board. they then set off for portsmouth in the seamen's clothes, having had quite enough of yachting for that season, mr. ossulton declaring that he only wanted to get his luggage, and then he would take care how he put himself again in the way of the shot of a revenue cruiser, or of sleeping a night on her decks. in the meantime morrison and his men were locked up in the jail, the old man, as the key was turned on him, exclaiming, as he raised his foot in vexation, 'that cursed blue pigeon.' we will now return to the yacht. about an hour after pickersgill had come on board, corbett had made all his arrangements and followed him. it was not advisable to remain at torquay any longer, through fear of discovery; he therefore weighed the anchor before dinner, and made sail. 'what do you intend to do now, my lord?' said mrs. lascelles. 'i intend to run down to cowes, anchor the yacht in the night, and an hour before daylight have you in my boat with all my men. i will take care that you are in perfect safety, depend upon it, even if i run a risk. i should, indeed, be miserable, if, through my wild freaks, any accident should happen to mrs. lascelles or miss ossulton.' 'i am very anxious about my father,' observed cecilia. 'i trust that you will keep your promise.' 'i always have hitherto, miss ossulton; have i not?' 'ours is but a short and strange acquaintance.' 'i grant it; but it will serve for you to talk about long after. i shall disappear as suddenly as i have come--you will neither of you, in all probability, ever see me again.' the dinner was announced, and they sat down to table as before; but the elderly spinster refused to make her appearance, and mrs. lascelles and cecilia, who thought she had been frightened enough, did not attempt to force her. pickersgill immediately yielded to these remonstrances, and from that time she remained undisturbed in the ladies' cabin, meditating over the indignity of having sat down to table, having drank wine, and been obliged to walk on shore, taking the arm of a smuggler, and appear in such a humiliating situation. the wind was light, and they made but little progress, and were not abreast of portland till the second day, when another yacht appeared in sight, and the two vessels slowly neared, until in the afternoon they were within four miles of each other. it then fell a dead calm: signals were thrown out by the other yacht, but could not be distinguished, and, for the last time, they sat down to dinner. three days' companionship on board of a vessel, cooped up together, and having no one else to converse with, will produce intimacy; and pickersgill was a young man of so much originality and information, that he was listened to with pleasure. he never attempted to advance beyond the line of strict decorum and politeness; and his companion was equally unpresuming. situated as they were, and feeling what must have been the case had they fallen into other hands, both cecilia and mrs. lascelles felt some degree of gratitude towards him; and, although anxious to be relieved from so strange a position, they had gradually acquired a perfect confidence in him; and this had produced a degree of familiarity on their parts, although never ventured upon by the smuggler. as corbett was at the table, one of the men came down and made a sign. corbett shortly after quitted the table and went on deck. 'i wish, my lord, you would come up a moment, and see if you can make this flag out,' said corbett, giving a significant nod to pickersgill. 'excuse me, ladies, one moment,' said pickersgill, who went on deck. 'it is the boat of the yacht coming on board,' said corbett; 'and lord b. is in the stern-sheets with the gentleman who was with him.' 'and how many men in the boat?--let me see--only four. well, let his lordship and his friend come: when they are on the deck, have the men ready in case of accident; but if you can manage to tell the boat's crew that they are to go on board again, and get rid of them that way, so much the better. arrange this with adams, and then come down again--his lordship must see us all at dinner.' pickersgill then descended, and corbett had hardly time to give his directions and to resume his seat, before his lordship and mr. stewart pulled up alongside and jumped on deck. there was no one to receive them but the seamen, and those whom they did not know. they looked round in amazement; at last his lordship said to adams, who stood forward-- 'what men are you?' 'belong to the yacht, ye'r honour.' lord b. heard laughing in the cabin; he would not wait to interrogate the men; he walked aft, followed by mr. stewart, looked down the skylight, and perceived his daughter and mrs. lascelles, with, as he supposed, hautaine and ossulton. pickersgill had heard the boat rub the side, and the sound of the feet on deck, and he talked the more loudly, that the ladies might be caught by lord b. as they were. he heard their feet at the skylight, and knew that they could hear what passed; and at that moment he proposed to the ladies that as this was their last meeting at table they should all take a glass of champagne to drink to 'their happy meeting with lord b.' this was a toast which they did not refuse. maddox poured out the wine, and they were all bowing to each other, when his lordship, who had come down the ladder, walked into the cabin, followed by mr. stewart. cecilia perceived her father; the champagne-glass dropped from her hand--she flew into his arms, and burst into tears. 'who would not be a father, mrs. lascelles?' said pickersgill, quietly seating himself, after having first risen to receive lord b. 'and pray, whom may i have the honour of finding established here?' said lord b., in an angry tone, speaking over his daughter's head, who still lay in his arms. 'by heavens, yes!--stewart, it is the smuggling captain dressed out.' 'even so, my lord,' replied pickersgill. 'you abandoned your yacht to capture me; you left these ladies in a vessel crippled for want of men; they might have been lost. i have returned good for evil by coming on board with my own people, and taking charge of them. this night i expected to have anchored your vessel in cowes, and have left them in safety.' 'by the----' cried stewart. 'stop, sir, if you please!' cried pickersgill; 'recollect you have once already attacked one who never offended. oblige me by refraining from intemperate language; for i tell you i will not put up with it. recollect, sir, that i have refrained from that, and also from taking advantage of you when you were in my power. recollect, sir, also, that the yacht is still in possession of the smugglers, and that you are in no condition to insult with impunity. my lord, allow me to observe, that we men are too hot of temperament to argue or listen coolly. with your permission, your friend, and my friend, and i, will repair on deck, leaving you to hear from your daughter and that lady all that has passed. after that, my lord, i shall be most happy to hear anything which your lordship may please to say.' 'upon my word----' commenced mr. stewart. 'mr. stewart,' interrupted cecilia ossulton, 'i request your silence; nay, more, if ever we are again to sail in the same vessel together, i _insist_ upon it.' 'your lordship will oblige me by enforcing miss ossulton's request,' said mrs. lascelles. mr. stewart was dumbfounded--no wonder--to find the ladies siding with the smuggler. 'i am obliged to you, ladies, for your interference,' said pickersgill; 'for, although i have the means of enforcing conditions, i should be sorry to avail myself of them. i wait for his lordship's reply.' lord. b. was very much surprised. he wished for an explanation; he bowed with _hauteur_. everybody appeared to be in a false position; even he, lord b., somehow or another had bowed to a smuggler. pickersgill and stewart went on deck, walking up and down, crossing each other without speaking, but reminding you of two dogs who are both anxious to fight, but have been restrained by the voice of their masters. corbett followed, and talked in a low tone to pickersgill; stewart went over to leeward to see if the boat was still alongside, but it had long before returned to the yacht. miss ossulton had heard her brother's voice, but did not come out of the after-cabin; she wished to be magnificent, and at the same time she was not sure whether all was right, phoebe having informed her that there was nobody with her brother and mr. stewart, and that the smugglers still had the command of the vessel. after a while, pickersgill and corbett went down forward, and returned dressed in the smuggler's clothes, when they resumed their walk on the deck. in the meantime it was dark; the cutter flew along the coast, and the needles' lights were on the larboard bow. the conversation between mrs. lascelles, cecilia, and her father was long. when all had been detailed, and the conduct of pickersgill duly represented, lord b. acknowledged that, by attacking the smuggler, he had laid himself open to retaliation; that pickersgill had shown a great deal of forbearance in every instance; and after all, had he not gone on board the yacht, she might have been lost, with only three seamen on board. he was amused with the smuggling and the fright of his sister, still more with the gentlemen being sent to cherbourg, and much consoled that he was not the only one to be laughed at. he was also much pleased with pickersgill's intention of leaving the yacht safe in cowes harbour, his respect to the property on board, and his conduct to the ladies. on the whole, he felt grateful to pickersgill, and where there is gratitude there is always goodwill. 'but who can he be?' said mrs. lascelles; 'his name he acknowledges not to be pickersgill, and he told me confidentially that he was of good family.' 'confidentially, my dear mrs. lascelles?' said lord b. 'oh, yes! we are both his confidants. are we not, cecilia?' 'upon my honour, mrs. lascelles, this smuggler appears to have made an impression which many have attempted in vain.' mrs. lascelles did not reply to that remark, but said, 'now, my lord, you must decide--and i trust you will, to oblige us, treat him as he has treated us, with the greatest respect and kindness.' 'why should you suppose otherwise?' replied lord b.; 'it is not only my wish but my interest so to do. he may take us over to france to-night, or anywhere else. has he not possession of the vessel?' 'yes,' replied cecilia; 'but we flatter ourselves that we have _the command_. shall we call him down, papa?' 'ring for maddox. maddox, tell mr. pickersgill, who is on deck, that i wish to speak with him, and shall be obliged by his stepping down into the cabin.' 'who, my lord? what? _him?_' 'yes, _him_,' replied cecilia, laughing. 'must i call him my lord, now, miss?' 'you may do as you please, maddox; but recollect he is still in possession of the vessel,' replied cecilia. 'then, with your lordship's permission, i will; it's the safest way.' the smuggler entered the cabin; the ladies started as he appeared in his rough costume. with his throat open, and his loose black handkerchief, he was the _beau ideal_ of a handsome sailor. 'your lordship wishes to communicate with me?' 'mr. pickersgill, i feel that you have had cause of enmity against me, and that you have behaved with forbearance. i thank you for your considerate treatment of the ladies; and i assure you that i feel no resentment for what has passed.' 'my lord, i am quite satisfied with what you have said; and i only hope that, in future, you will not interfere with a poor smuggler, who may be striving, by a life of danger and privation, to procure subsistence for himself, and, perhaps, his family. i stated to these ladies my intention of anchoring the yacht this night at cowes, and leaving her as soon as she was in safety. your unexpected presence will only make this difference, which is, that i must previously obtain your lordship's assurance that those with you will allow me and my men to quit her without molestation, after we have performed this service.' 'i pledge you my word, mr. pickersgill, and i thank you into the bargain. i trust you will allow me to offer some remuneration.' 'most certainly not, my lord.' 'at all events, mr. pickersgill, if, at any other time, i can be of service, you may command me.' pickersgill made no reply. 'surely, mr. pickersgill----' 'pickersgill! how i hate that name!' said the smuggler, musing. 'i beg your lordship's pardon--if i may require your assistance for any of my unfortunate companions----' 'not for yourself, mr. pickersgill?' said mrs. lascelles. 'madam, i smuggle no more.' 'for the pleasure i feel in hearing that resolution, mr. pickersgill,' said cecilia, 'take my hand and thanks.' 'and mine,' said mrs. lascelles, half crying. 'and mine too,' said lord b., rising up. pickersgill passed the back of his hand across his eyes, turned round, and left the cabin. 'i'm so happy!' said mrs. lascelles, bursting into tears. 'he's a magnificent fellow,' observed lord b. 'come, let us all go on deck.' 'you have not seen my aunt, papa.' 'true; i'll go in to her, and then follow you.' the ladies went up on deck. cecilia entered into conversation with mr. stewart, giving him a narrative of what had happened. mrs. lascelles sat abaft at the taffrail, with her pretty hand supporting her cheek, looking very much _à la juliette_. 'mrs. lascelles,' said pickersgill, 'before we part, allow me to observe, that it is _you_ who have induced me to give up my profession----' 'why me, mr. pickersgill?' 'you said that you did not like it' mrs. lascelles felt the force of the compliment. 'you said just now that you hated the name of pickersgill: why do you call yourself so?' 'it was my smuggling name, mrs. lascelles.' 'and now that you have left off smuggling, pray what may be the name we are to call you by?' 'i cannot resume it till i have not only left this vessel, but shaken hands with, and bid farewell to, my companions; and by that time, mrs. lascelles, i shall be away from you.' 'but i've a great curiosity to know it; and a lady's curiosity must be gratified. you must call upon me some day, and tell it me. here is my address.' pickersgill received the card with a low bow: and lord b. coming on deck, mrs. lascelles hastened to meet him. [illustration: _'mrs. lascelles,' said pickersgill, 'before we part, allow me to observe, that it is you who have induced me to give up my profession----'_] the vessel was now passing the bridge at the needles, and the smuggler piloted her on. as soon as they were clear and well inside, the whole party went down into the cabin, lord b. requesting pickersgill and corbett to join him in aparting glass. mr. stewart, who had received the account of what had passed from cecilia, was very attentive to pickersgill, and took an opportunity of saying that he was sorry that he had said or done anything to annoy him. every one recovered his spirits; and all was good-humour and mirth, because miss ossulton adhered to her resolution of not quitting the cabin till she could quit the yacht. at ten o'clock the yacht was anchored. pickersgill took his leave of the honourable company, and went in his boat with his men; and lord b. was again in possession of his vessel, although he had not a ship's company. maddox recovered his usual tone; and the cook flourished his knife, swearing that he should like to see the smuggler who would again order him to dress cutlets _à l'ombre chinoise_. the yacht had remained three days at cowes, when lord b. received a letter from pickersgill, stating that the men of his vessel had been captured, and would be condemned, in consequence of their having the gentlemen on board, who were bound to appear against them, to prove that they had sunk the brandy. lord b. paid all the recognisances, and the men were liberated for want of evidence. it was about two years after this that cecilia ossulton, who was sitting at her work-table in deep mourning for her aunt, was presented with a letter by the butler. it was from her friend mrs. lascelles, informing her that she was married again to a mr. davenant, and intended to pay her a short visit on her way to the continent. mr. and mrs. davenant arrived the next day; and when the latter introduced her husband, she said to miss ossulton, 'look, cecilia dear, and tell me if you have ever seen davenant before.' cecilia looked earnestly: 'i have, indeed,' cried she at last, extending her hand with warmth; 'and happy am i to meet with him again.' for in mr. davenant she recognised her old acquaintance the captain of the _happy-go-lucky_, jack pickersgill the smuggler. the end _printed by_ r. & r. clark, limited, _edinburgh._ macmillan's three-and-sixpenny library of works by popular authors. in crown vo. cloth extra. price s. d. each. _by rolf boldrewood._ _saturday review._--"mr. boldrewood can tell what he knows with great point and vigour, and there is no better reading than the adventurous parts of his books." _pall mall gazette._--"the volumes are brimful of adventure, in which gold, gold-diggers, prospectors, claim-holders, take an active part." robbery under arms. the squatter's dream. a colonial reformer. the miner's right. a sydney-side saxon. nevermore. a modern buccaneer. _by hugh 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"man-o'-war!" he had said in disgust; "a contemptible little cock-boat. they ought to have called her a boy-o'-war--a little boy-o'-war. i shall walk overboard the first time i try to stretch my legs." but somehow he had soon settled down on board the swift little craft with its very modest crew, and felt no small pride in the importance of his position, feeling quite a first lieutenant in his way, and for the greater part of the time almost entirely commanding the vessel. she was just about the cut of a goodsized modern yacht, and though not so swift, a splendid sailer, carrying immense spars for her tonnage, and spreading canvas enough to have swamped a less deeply built craft. the decks were as white as holystone could make them, the sails and the bell shone in the morning sun like gold, and there was not a speck to be seen on the cabin skylight any more than upon either of the three brass guns, a long and two shorts, as billy waters, who was gunner and gunner's mate all in one, used to call them. upon this bright summer morning hilary leigh was sitting, with his legs dangling over the side and his back against a stay, holding a fishing line, which, with a tiny silvery slip off the tail-end of a mackerel, was trailing behind the cutter, fathoms away, waving and playing about in the vessel's wake, to tempt some ripple-sided mackerel to dart at it, do a little bit of cannibalism, and die in the act. two had already been hauled on board, and lay in a wooden bucket, looking as if they had been carved out of pieces of solid sea at sunrise, so brilliant were the ripple marks and tints of pink and purple and grey and orange and gold--bright enough to make the gayest mother-o'-pearl shell blush for shame. hilary leigh had set his mind upon catching four--two for himself and two for the skipper--and he had congratulated himself upon the fact that he had already caught his two, when there was a sharp snatch, the line began to quiver, and for the next minute it was as though the hook was fast in the barbs of a silver arrow that was darting in all directions through the sea. "here's another, billy!" cried the young man, or boy--for he was on the debatable ground of eighteen, when one may be either boy or man, according to one's acts, deeds, or exploits, as it used to say in carpenter's spelling. hilary leigh, from his appearance, partook more of the man than the boy, for, though his face was as smooth as a new-laid egg, he had well-cut, decisive-looking saxon features, and one of those capital closely-fitting heads of hair that look as if they never needed cutting, but settle round ears and forehead in not too tight clustering curls. "here's another, billy," he cried; and a stoutly built sailor amidships cried, "cheer ho, sir! haul away, sir! will it be a mess o' mick-a-ral for the lads to-day?" "don't know, billy," was the reply, as the beautiful fish was hauled in, unhooked, a fresh lask or tongue of silvery bait put on, and the leaded line thrown over and allowed to run out fathoms astern once again. billy waters, the gunner, went on with his task, rather a peculiar one, which would have been performed below in a larger vessel, but here the men pretty well lived on deck, caring little for the close stuffy quarters that formed the forecastle, where they had, being considered inferior beings, considerably less space than was apportioned to their two officers. billy's work was that of carefully binding or lashing round and round the great mass of hair hanging from the poll of a messmate, so as to form it into the orthodox pigtail of which the sailors of the day were excessively vain. the tail in question was the finest in the cutter, and was exactly two feet six inches long, hanging down between the sailor's shoulders, when duly lashed up and tied, like a long handle used for lifting off the top of his skull. but, alas for the vanity of human nature! tom tully, owner of the longest tail in the cutter, and the envy of all his messmates, was not happy. he was ambitious; and where a man is ambitious there is but little true bliss. he wanted "that 'ere tail" to be half a fathom long, and though it was duly measured every week "that 'ere tail" refused to grow another inch. billy waters had a fine tail, but his was only, to use his own words, "two foot one," but it was "half as thick agen as tom tully's," so he did not mind. in fact the first glance at the gunner's round good-humoured face told that there was neither envy nor ambition there. give him enough to eat, his daily portion of cold water grog, and his 'bacco, and, again to use his own words, he "wouldn't change berths with the king hissen." "easy there, billy messmet," growled tom tully; "avast hauling quite so hard. my tail ain't the cable." "why, you don't call that 'ere hauling, tommy lad, do you?" "'nuff to take a fellow's head off," growled the other, just as the midshipman pulled in another mackerel, and directly after another, and another, for they were sailing through a shoal, and the man at the helm let his stolid face break up into a broad grin as the chance of a mess of mackerel for the men's dinner began to increase. "singing down deny, down deny, down deny down, sing--" "easy, messmet, d'yer hear," growled tom tully, straining his head round to look appealingly at the operator on his tail. "why don't yer leave off singing till you've done?" "just you lay that there nose o' your'n straight amidships," cried billy, using the tail as if it was a tiller, and steering the sailor's head into the proper position. "i can't work without i sing." "for this i can tell, that nought will be well, till the king enjoys his own again." he trolled out these words in a pleasant tenor voice, and was just drawing in breath to continue the rattling cavalier ballad when the young officer swung his right leg in board, and, sitting astride the low bulwark, exclaimed-- "i say, billy, are you mad?" "mad, sir? not that i knows on, why?" "for singing a disloyal song like that. you'll be yard-armed, young fellow, if you don't mind." "what, for singing about the king?" "yes; if you get singing about a king over the water, my lad. that's an old song; but some people would think you meant the pretend--hallo! look there. you look out there forward, why didn't you hail? hi! here fetch me a glass. catch hold of that line, billy. she's running for shoreham, as sure as a gun. no: all right; let go." he threw the line to the gunner just as a mackerel made a snatch at the bait, and before the sailor could catch it, away went the end astern, when the man at the helm made a dash at it just as the slight cord was running over the side. billy waters made a dash at it just at the same moment, and there was a dull thud as the two men's heads came in contact, and they fell back into a sitting position on the deck, while the mackerel darted frightened away to puzzle the whole shoal of its fellows with the novel appendage hanging to its snout. "avast there, you lubber!" exclaimed billy waters angrily. "stand by, my lad, stand by," replied the other, making a dart back at the helm just as the cutter was beginning to fall off. "look ye here, messmet, air you agoin' to make my head shipshape, or air you not?" growled tom tully; and then, before his hairdresser could finish tying the last knot, the lieutenant came on deck. for when hilary leigh ran below, it was to seize a long spyglass out of the slings in the cabin bulkhead, and to give his commanding officer a tremendous shake. "sail on the larboard bow, mr lipscombe, sir. i say, do wake up, sir; i think it is something this time." the officer in question, who was a hollow-cheeked man of about forty, very sallow-looking, and far from prepossessing in his features, opened his eye, but he did not attempt to rise from the bunker upon which he was stretched. "leigh," he said, turning his eye round towards the little oval thick glass window nearest to him, "you're a most painstaking young officer, but you are always mare's-nesting. what is it now?" "one of those three-masted luggers, sir--a frenchman--a _chasse maree_, laden deeply, and running for shoreham." "let her run," said the lieutenant, closing his eye again; the other was permanently closed, having been poked out in boarding a frenchman some years before, and with the extinction of that optic went the prospect of the lieutenant's being made a post-captain, and he was put in command of the _kestrel_ when he grew well. "but it _is_ something this time, sir, i'm sure." "leigh," said the lieutenant, yawning, "i was just in a delicious dream, and thoroughly enjoying myself when you come down and bother me about some confounded fishing-boat. there, be off. no: i'll come this time." he yawned, and showed a set of very yellow teeth; and then, as if by an effort, leaped up and preceded the young officer on deck. "let's have a look at her, leigh," he said, after a glance at a long, low, red-sailed lugger, about a couple of miles ahead, sailing fast in the light breeze. he took the spyglass, and, going forward, looked long and steadily at the lugger before saying a word. "well, sir?" "french lugger, certainly, leigh," he said, quietly; "fresh from the fishing-ground i should say. they wouldn't attempt to run a cargo now." "but you'll overhaul her, sir, won't you?" "it's not worth while, leigh, but as you have roused me up, it will be something to do. here, call the lads up. where's waters? waters!" "ay, ay, sir," replied that worthy in a voice of thunder, though he was close at hand. "load the long gun, and be ready to fire." "ay, ay, sir." there was no beating to quarters, for the little crew were on deck, and every man fell naturally into his place as the lieutenant seemed now to wake up to his work, and glanced at the sails, which were all set, and giving his orders sharply and well, a pull was taken at a sheet here and a pull there, the helm altered, and in spite of the lightness of the breeze the _kestrel_ began to work along with an increase of speed of quite two knots an hour. "now then, leigh, shall we ever have her, or shall we have to throw a shot across her bows to bring her to?" "let them have a shot, sir," cried the young officer, whose cheeks were beginning to flush with excitement, as he watched the quarry of which the little falcon was in chase. "and waste the king's powder and ball, eh? no, leigh, there will be no need. but we may as well put on our swords." meanwhile, billy waters was busy unlashing the tail of long tom, as he called the iron gun forward, and with a pat of affection he opened the ammunition chest, and got out the flannel bag of powder and smiled at a messmate, rammer in hand. "let's give him his breakfast, or else he won't bark," he said, with a grin; and the charge was rammed home, the ball sent after it with a big wad to keep it in its place, and the men waited eagerly for the order to fire. billy waters knew that that would not come for some time, so he sidled up to hilary, and whispered as the young man was buckling on his sword, the lieutenant having gone below to exchange a shabby cap for his cocked hat, "let me have your sword a minute, sir, and i'll make it like a razor." hilary hesitated for a moment, and then drew it, and held it out to the gunner, who went below, and by the time the young officer had had a good inspection of the lugger, billy came back with his left thumb trying the edge of the sword. "i wouldn't be too hard on 'em, sir," he said, with mock respect. "what do you mean, billy?" "don't take off too many frenchies' heads, sir; not as they'd know it, with a blade like that." "are we gaining on her, leigh?" said the lieutenant. "just a little, sir, i think; but she creeps through the water at an awful rate." the lieutenant looked up at the white sails, but nothing more could be done, for the _kestrel_ was flying her best; and the water bubbled and sparkled as she cut her way through, leaving an ever-widening train behind. there was no chance of more wind, and nothing could be done but to hold steadily on, for, at the end of half an hour, it was plain enough that the distance had been slightly reduced. "however do they manage to make those luggers sail so fast?" exclaimed the lieutenant impatiently. "leigh, if this turns out to be another of your mares' nests, you'll be in disgrace." "very well, sir," said the young man quietly. and then to himself: "better make some mistake than let the real thing slip by." the arms were not served out, for that would be but a minute's task; but an arm chest was opened ready, and the men stood at their various stations, but in a far more lax and careless way than would have been observed on board a larger vessel, which in its turn would have been in point of discipline far behind a vessel of the present day. the gulls and kittiwakes rose and fell, uttering their peevish wails; a large shoal of fish fretting the radiant surface of the sea was passed and about a dozen porpoises went right across the cutter's bow, rising and diving down one after the other like so many black water-boys, playing at "follow my leader;" but the eyes of all on board the _kestrel_ were fixed upon the dingy looking _chasse maree_, which apparently still kept on trying hard to escape by its speed. and now the time, according to billy waters' judgment, having come for sending a shot, he stood ready, linstock in hand, watching the lieutenant, whose one eye was gazing intently through the long leather-covered glass. "fire!" he said at last. "well ahead!" the muzzle of the piece was trained a little more to the right, the linstock was applied, there was a puff of white smoke, a heavy deafening roar; and as hilary leigh gazed in the direction of the lugger, he saw the sea splashed a few hundred yards ahead, and then dip, dip, dip, dip, the water was thrown up at intervals as the shot ricochetted, making ducks and drakes right across the bows of the lugger. "curse his impudence!" cried the lieutenant, as the men busily sponged out and began to reload long tom; for the lugger paid not the slightest heed to the summons, but sailed away. "give her another--closer this time," cried the lieutenant; and once more the gun uttered its deep-mouthed roar, and the shot went skipping along the smooth surface of the sea, this time splashing the water a few yards only ahead of the lugger. "i think that will bring him to his senses," cried the lieutenant, using his glass. if the lowering of first one and then another sail meant bringing the lugger to its senses, the lieutenant was right, for first one ruddy brown spread of canvas sank with its spar into the lugger, and then another and another, the long low vessel lying passive upon the water, and in due time the cutter was steered close up, her sails flapped, and her boat which had been held ready was lowered, and leigh with three men jumped in. "here, let me go too," exclaimed the lieutenant; "you don't half understand these fellows' french." hilary flushed, for he fancied he was a bit of a french scholar, but he said nothing; and the lieutenant jumped into the boat. a few strokes took them to the dingy lugger, at whose side were gathered about a dozen dirty-looking men and boys, for the most part in scarlet worsted caps, blue jerseys, and stiff canvas petticoats, sewn between the legs, to make believe they were trousers. "va t'en chien de francais. pourquoi de diable n'arretez vous pas?" shouted the lieutenant to a yellow-looking man with whiskerless face, and thin gold rings in his ears. "hey?" "i say pourquoi n'arretez vous pas?" roared the lieutenant fiercely. "i ar'nt a dutchman. i don't understand. nichts verstand," shouted the man through his hollow hands, as if he were hailing some one a mile away. "you scoundrel, why didn't you say you could speak english?" "you never arkst me," growled the man. "silence, sir. how dare you address an officer of a king's ship like that!" "then what do you go shooting at me for? king george don't tell you to go firin' guns at peaceable fisher folk, as me." "silence, sir, or i'll put you in irons, and take you on board the cutter. why didn't you obey my signals to heave-to?" "signals! i never see no signals." "how dare you, sir! you know i fired." "oh, them! we thought you was practisin', and hauled down till you'd done, for the balls was flying very near." "where are you from?" "from? nowheres. we been out all night fishing." "what's your port?" "shoreham." "and what have you on board? who are those people?" those two people had been seen on the instant by hilary leigh, as they sat below the half-deck of the lugger, shrinking from observation in the semi-darkness. he had noticed that, though wearing rough canvas covering similar to those affected by a crew in stormy weather, they were of a different class; and as the lieutenant was in converse with the skipper of the lugger, he climbed over the lowered sail between, and saw that one of the two whom the other tried to screen was quite a young girl. it was but a momentary glance, for she hastily drew a hood over her face, as she saw that she was noticed. "jacobites for a crown!" said hilary to himself, as he saw a pair of fierce dark eyes fixed upon him. "who are you?" he exclaimed. "hush, for heaven's sake!" was the answer whispered back; "don't you know me, leigh? a word from you and they will shoot me like a dog." at the same moment there was a faint cry, and hilary saw that the young girl had sunk back, fainting. chapter two. a strict search. "sir henry!" ejaculated hilary leigh; and for the moment his heart seemed to stand still, for his duties as a king's officer had brought him face to face with a dear old friend, at whose house he had passed some of his happiest days, and he knew that the disguised figure the jacobite gentleman sought to hide was his only daughter, adela, hilary's old playmate and friend, but so grown and changed that he hardly recognised her in the momentary glance he had of her fair young face. "hush! silence! are you mad?" was the reply, in tones that set the young man's heart beating furiously, for he knew that sir henry norland was proscribed for the part he had take in the attempt of the young pretender, and leigh had thought that he was in france. "who are they, mr leigh?" said the lieutenants striding over the lumber in the bottom of the boat. "seems to be an english gentleman, sir," said leigh, in answer to an agonised appeal from sir henry's eyes. "i am an english gentleman, sir, and this is my daughter. she is very ill." "of course she is," cried the lieutenant testily. "women are sure to be sick if you bring them to sea. but look here, my good fellow, english gentleman or no english gentleman, you can't deceive me. now then, what have you got on board?" "fish, i believe," said sir henry. "yes, of course," sneered the lieutenant; "and brandy, and silk, and velvet, and lace. now then, skipper, you are caught this time. but look here, you scoundrel, what do you mean by pretending to be a frenchman?" "frenchman? frenchman?" said the skipper with a look of extreme stupidity. "you said i was a dutchman." "you lie, you scoundrel. here, come forward and move that sail and those nets. now no nonsense; set your fellows to work." he clapped his hand sharply on the skipper's shoulder, and turned him round, following him forward. "take a man, mr leigh, and search that dog-hole." hilary leigh was astounded, for knowing what he did he expected that the lieutenant would have instantly divined what seemed patent to him--that sir henry norland was trying, for some reason or another, to get back to england, and that although the lugger was commanded by an englishman, she was undoubtedly a french _chasse maree_ from saint malo. but the lieutenant had got it into his head that he had overhauled a smuggling vessel laden with what would turn into prize-money for himself and men, and the thought that she might be bound on a political errand did not cross his mind. "i'll search fully," said leigh; and bidding the sailor with the long pigtail stay where he was, the young officer bent down and crept in under the half-deck just as the fainting girl recovered. as she caught sight of hilary she made a snatch at his hand, and in a choking voice exclaimed: "oh, hilary! don't you know me again? pray, pray save my poor father. oh, you will not give him up?" the young man's heart seemed to stand still as the dilemma in which he was placed forced itself upon him. he was in his majesty's service, and in the king's name he ought to have called upon this gentleman, a well-known jacobite, to surrender, and tell the lieutenant who he was. on the other hand, if he did this unpleasant duty he would be betraying a dear old companion of his father, a man who had watched his own career with interest and helped him through many a little trouble; and, above all, he would be, as the thought flashed upon him, sending adela's father--his own old companion's father--to the scaffold. these thoughts flashed through his mind, and with them recollections of those delightful schoolboy days that he had passed at the old manor house, sir henry's pleasant home, in sussex, when boy and girl he and adela had roamed the woods, boated on the lake, and fished the river hard by. "no," he muttered between his teeth; "i meant to be a faithful officer to my king; but i'd sooner jump overboard than do such dirty work as that." there was an angry look in the young girl's eyes; and as hilary read her thoughts he could not help thinking how bright and beautiful a woman she was growing. he saw that she believed he was hesitating, and there was something scornful in her gaze, an echo, as it were, of that of her grey-haired, careworn father, whose eyebrows even seemed to have turned white, though his dark eyes were fiery as ever. there was no doubt about it; they believed that he would betray them, and there was something almost of loathing in adela norland's face as her hood fell back, and the motion she made to place her hands in her father's brought her head out of the shadow into the bright morning light. "thank ye, ma'am," said hilary in a rough, brisk voice; "i was just going to ask you to move. you'd better come in, tom tully, there's a lot of things to move. p'r'aps this gentleman will stand outside." "ay, ay, sir," growled tom tully, as hilary darted one meaning look at the proscribed man. "look here, sir," continued hilary, as he heard the lieutenant approaching, "you may just as well save us the trouble by declaring what you have hidden. we are sure to find it." "got anything, mr leigh?" said the lieutenant briskly. "nothing yet, sir. have you?" "not a tub, or a package." "if you imagine, sir, that this boat is laden with smuggled goods you may save yourselves a great deal of trouble, for there is nothing contraband on board, i feel sure." "thank you," said the lieutenant politely, and with a satirical laugh; "but you'd hardly believe it, my dear sir, when i tell you that dozens of skippers and passengers in boats have said the very same thing to me, and whenever that has been the case we have generally made a pretty good haul of smuggled goods. go on, my lads; i can't leave a corner unsearched." sir henry gave his shoulders a slight shrug, and turned to draw his daughter's hood over her head. "you'll excuse my child, gentlemen," he said coldly. "she is very weak and ill." "oh! of course," said hilary; "we've searched here, sir; she can lie down again." adela uttered a low sigh of relief, and she longed to dart a grateful look at the young officer, but she dared not; and knowing that in place of looking pale and ill a warm flush of excitement was beaming in her cheeks, she hastily drew her hand closer over her face, and let her father place her upon a rough couch of dry nets. "heaven bless him!" muttered sir henry to himself; "but it was a struggle between friendship and duty, i could see." meanwhile the lugger was ransacked from end to end, three more men being called from the cutter for the purpose. tubs were turned over, spare sails and nets dragged about, planks lifted, bunks and lockers searched, but nothing contraband was found, and all the while the skipper of the lugger and his crew stood staring stupidly at the efforts of the king's men. "labour in vain, leigh," said the lieutenant at last. "into the boat there. confound that scoundrel! i wish he was overboard." the lieutenant did not say what for, but as soon as the men were in the boat he turned to the skipper: "look ye here, my fine fellow, you've had a narrow escape." "yes," said the man stolidly, "i thought you'd have hit us." the lieutenant did not condescend to reply, but climbed over the side into the cutter's boat, and motioned to leigh to follow, which he did, not daring to glance at the passengers. "are you quite done, officer?" growled the skipper. no answer was given, and as the boat reached the side of the cutter the sails of the lugger were being hoisted, and she began to move quickly through the water at once. "lay her head to the eastward," said the lieutenant sourly; "and look here, leigh, don't you rouse me up again for one of your mare's nests, or it will be the--" "worse for you," hilary supposed, but he did not hear the words, for the lieutenant was already down below, and the young officer took the glass and stood watching the lugger rapidly growing distant as the cutter began to feel the breeze. a curious turmoil of thought was harassing the young man's brain, for he felt that he had been a traitor to the king, whose officer he was, and it seemed to him terrible that he should have broken his faith like this. but at the same time he felt that he could not have done otherwise, and he stood watching the lugger, and then started, for yes--no--yes--there could be no mistake about it, a white handkerchief was being held over the side, and it was a signal of amity to him. quite a couple of hours had passed, and the lugger had for some time been out of sight round the headland astern, when all at once the lieutenant came on deck to where his junior was pacing up and down. "why, leigh," he exclaimed, "i did not think of it then; but we ought to have detained that _chasse maree_." "indeed, sir; why?" "ah! of course it would not occur to you, being so young in the service; but depend upon it that fellow was a jacobite, who had persuaded those dirty-looking scoundrels to bring him across from saint malo, or some other french port, and he's going to play spy and work no end of mischief. we've done wrong, leigh, we've done wrong." "think so, sir?" "yes, i'm sure of it. i was so intent on finding smuggled goods that i didn't think of it at the time. but, there: it's too late now." "yes, sir," said leigh quietly, "it's too late now." for he knew that by that time the fugitives must be in shoreham harbour. chapter three. the lieutenant's bargain. three days of cruising up and down on the lookout for suspicious craft, some of which were boarded, but boarded in vain, for, however suspicious they might appear at a distance, there was nothing to warrant their being detained and taken back into port. hilary used to laugh to himself at the impudence of their midge of a cutter firing shots across large merchantmen, bringing them to, and making them wait while the cutter sent a boat on board for their papers to be examined. it gradually fell to his lot to perform this duty, though if it happened to be a very large vessel lieutenant lipscombe would take upon himself to go on board, especially if he fancied that there would be an invitation to a well-kept cabin and a glass of wine, or perhaps a dinner, during which hilary would be in command, and the cutter would sail on in the big ship's wake till the lieutenant thought proper to come on board. the men sang songs and tied one another's pigtails; hilary leigh fished and caught mackerel, bass, pollack, and sometimes a conger eel, and for a bit of excitement a little of his majesty's powder was blazed away and a cannonball sent skipping along the surface of the water, but that was all. hilary used sometimes to own to himself that it was no wonder that mr lipscombe, who was a disappointed man, should spend much time in sleeping, and out of sheer imitation he once or twice took to having a nap himself, but twice settled that. he had too much vitality in his composition to sleep at abnormal times. "hang it all, billy waters," he said one day, after a week's sailing up and down doing nothing more exciting than chasing fishing-luggers and boarding trading brigs and schooners, "i do wish something would turn up." "if something real don't turn up, sir," said the gunner, "i shall be certain to fire across the bows of a ship, from its always being my habit, sir, and never hit a mark when i want it." "here, hi! hail that fishing-boat," he said; "i've fished till i'm tired, and can't catch anything; perhaps we can get something of him." he pointed to a little boat with a tiny sail, steered by its crew of one man by means of an oar. the boat had been hanging about for some time after pulling off from the shore, and its owner was evidently fishing, but with what result the crew of the cutter could not tell. "he don't want no hailing, sir; he's hailing of us," said billy. it was plain enough that the man was manoeuvring his cockleshell about, so as to get the cutter between it and the shore, and with pleasant visions in his mind of a lobster, crab, or some other fish to vary the monotony of the salt beef and pork, of which they had, in hilary's thinking, far too much, he leaned over the side till the man allowed his boat to drift close up. "heave us a rope," he said. "got any fish?" "yes. i want to see the captain." "what for?" "you'll see. i want the captain. are you him?" "no; he's down below." "i want to see him. may i come aboard?" "if you like," said hilary; and the man climbed over the side. he was a lithe, sunburnt fellow, and after looking at him for a few moments with a vague kind of feeling that he had seen him before, hilary sent a message below, and mr lipscombe came up with his hand before his mouth to hide a yawn. "are you the captain?" said the man. "i command this ship, fellow. what is it?" "what'll you give me, captain, if i take you to a cove where they're going to run a cargo to-night?" "wait and see, my man. you take us there and you shall be rewarded." "no, no," said the man laughing; "that won't do, captain. i'm not going to risk my life for a chance of what you'll give. i want a hundred pounds." "rubbish, man! ten shillings," said lipscombe sharply. "i want a hundred pounds," said the man. "that there cargo's going to be worth two thousand pounds, and it's coming in a fast large french schooner from havre. i want a hundred pounds, or i don't say a word." a cargo worth two thousand pounds, and a smart french schooner! that would be a prize indeed, and it made the lieutenant's mouth water; but he still hesitated, for a hundred pounds was a good deal, perhaps more than his share would be. but still if he did not promise it they might miss the schooner altogether, for in spite of his vigilance he knew that cargoes were being run; so he gave way. "very well then, you shall have your hundred pounds." "now, captain?" "not likely. earn your wages first." "and then suppose you say you won't pay me? what shall i do?" "i give you my word of honour as a king's officer, sir." the man shook his head. "write it down," he said with all the low cunning of his class. the lieutenant was about to make an angry reply, but he wanted to take that prize, so he went below and wrote out and signed a memorandum to the effect that if, by the informer's guidance, the french schooner was taken, he should be paid one hundred pounds. lipscombe returned on deck and handed the paper to the fisherman, who took it and held it upside down, studying it attentively. "now you read it," he said to hilary; who took it, and read it aloud. "yes," said the fellow, "that's it. now you sign it." hilary glanced at his superior, who frowned and nodded his head; and the young man went below and added his signature. "that'll do," said the man smiling. "now look here, captain, as soon as i'm gone you sail right off out of sight if you can, and get her lying off the point by about ten o'clock--two bells, or whatever it is. then you wait till a small lugger comes creeping off slowly, as if it was going out for the night with the drift-nets. i and my mates will be aboard that lugger, and they'll drop down alongside and put me aboard, and i'll pilot you just to the place where you can lie in the cove out of sight till the schooner comes in. if i come in my little boat the boys on shore would make signals, and the schooner would keep off, but if they see us go as usual out in our lugger they'll pay no heed. but don't you come in a bit nigher than this. now i'm off!" lieutenant lipscombe stood thinking for a few minutes after the man had gone, stealing over the side of the cutter farthest from the shore, so that when his boat drifted by it was not likely that his visit on board would have been seen. then turning to hilary: "what do you think of it, leigh?" "it may be a ruse to get us away." "yes, it may be, but i don't think it is. 'bout ship, there!" he shouted; and the great boom of the mainsail slowly swung round, and they sailed nearly out of sight of land by sundown, when the helm was once more rammed down hard, the cutter careened round in a half circle, and as the white wings were swelling, they made once more for the coast. it was about nine o'clock of a deliciously soft night, and the moist sweet air that came off the shore was sweetly fragrant of flowers and new-mown hay. the night was cloudy, and very dusky for the time of year, a fact so much in their favour, and with the watch on the alert, for the lieutenant would not call the men to quarters in case the informer did not come, he and hilary leaned over the side, gazing at the scattered lights that twinkled on the shore. an hour and a half had passed away, and the time, which a church clock ashore had struck, ten, seemed to have far exceeded this hour, when, as they all watched the mist which hung between them and the invisible shore, a light was suddenly seen to come as it were out of a bank of fog, and glide slowly towards them, but as if to go astern. the cutter had a small lamp hoisted to the little masthead, and the lieutenant knew that this would be sufficient signal of their whereabouts, and so it proved, for the gliding light came nearer and nearer, and soon after a voice they both recognised hailed them. "cutter ahoy!" "ahoy!" the light came on nearer and nearer, and at last they could dimly make out the half-hoisted sails of a small fishing lugger, which was run cleverly enough close alongside, her occupants holding on by boathooks. "mind what you are doing there," cried the lieutenant sharply; "jump aboard, my man." "all right, captain." "go down and get my sword, leigh," whispered the lieutenant; "and put on your own." it was as if just then an idea had occurred to him that there might be treachery, and the thought seemed to be communicated to hilary, who ran down below, caught up the two swords from the hooks where they hung upon the bulkhead, and was on his way up, when the lieutenant came down upon him with a crash, there was the rattling on of the hatch, the trampling of feet, and a short scuffle, and as hilary leaped over his prostrate officer, and, sword in hand, dashed up at the hatch, it was to find it fastened, for they had been cleverly trapped, and without doubt the cutter was in the smuggler's hands. chapter four. in command. hilary leigh was only a boy, and he acted boyishly at that moment, for in his rage and mortification he first of all struck at the hatch with his fist, and then shouted to the people on deck. "here, hi! you sirs, open this hatch directly." but as he shouted he knew that his order was absurd, and tucking the lieutenant's sword under his arm he buckled on his own before leaping down to where his leader lay. "are you much hurt, sir?" he asked; but there was no answer. "i've got a orfle whack side o' the head, sir," growled tom tully. "so've i, sir," said another man. "serve you right too, for not keeping a good lookout," cried hilary savagely; "here, it's disgraceful! a king's ship taken by a set of smuggling rascals. look alive, there, my lads. here, you marines, be smart. where's billy waters?" "here, sir," cried that worthy. "serve out the arms smart, my man. two of you carry the lieutenant into the cabin. steady there! he isn't dead." for two of the men had been seen, by the dim light of a horn lantern, to seize their commanding officer in the most unceremonious way, to lug him into the cabin. by this time the 'tween decks of the cutter was alive with dimly-seen figures, for in a vessel of this description the space devoted in a peaceful vessel to the storage of cargo was utilised for the convenience of the comparatively large crew. "heave those hammocks out of the way," cried hilary next; and this being done, he stood there with twenty well-armed men awaiting his next orders--orders which he did not give, for the simple reason that he did not know what to do. it was a ticklish position for a lad of his years, to find himself suddenly in command of a score of fighting men, one and all excited and ready for the fray, as, schooled by drill and discipline, they formed themselves into a machine which he was to set in motion; but how, when, and where? there was the rub, and in the midst of a dead silence hilary listened to the trampling of feet overhead. it was a curious scene--the gloomy 'tween decks of the cutter, with the group of eager men standing about awaiting their young officer's orders, their rough, weatherbeaten faces looking fierce in the shadowy twilight, for the lanterns swinging fore and aft only seemed to make darkness visible; and as the trampling went on, evidently that of men wearing heavy fisher-boots, the steps were within a few inches of the heads of the crew. "pair o' pistols, sir," said a low, gruff voice; and hilary started, for the gunner had come up quite silently. "shall i shove 'em in your belt, sir?" "yes," said hilary sharply; and the gunner thrust the barrels of the two heavy, clumsy weapons into the young officer's sword-belt, where they stuck in a most inconvenient way. "both loaded, sir, and cocked," said the gunner quietly. hilary nodded, and stood thinking. it was an awkward time for quiet thought, for he knew that the men were anxiously awaiting some order; but, for the reasons above given, no order came, and the force of his position came with crushing violence upon the young officer's head. he knew that the lieutenant was to blame for not being prepared for an attack, however little it might be anticipated; but at the same time he would have to share the lieutenant's disgrace as second officer--the disgrace of a well manned and armed king's ship falling into the hands of a pack of smugglers. he knew, too, that if he had proposed taking precautions, lieutenant lipscombe would have laughed at him, and refused to take his advice; but he would have felt more at rest if he had made the suggestion. but the mishap had happened, and according to the old proverb it was of no use to cry over spilt milk. what he felt he had to do now was to find a cow and get some more. but how? by the sounds on deck it was evident that the cutter had been seized by quite a strong party, and it was no less certain that they would not have made so desperate a move if they had not some particular venture on the way. what hilary felt then was that he must not only turn the tables on the attacking party, but try and make a valuable capture as well. but again--how? he could not answer the question, but as he tried to solve the difficulty the feeling was strong upon him--could he manage to do this before the lieutenant recovered? the excitement produced by this idea was such that it drove away all thoughts of peril and danger, and he could think of nothing but the dash and daring of such an exploit. as he thought, his hand gripped the hilt of his sword more tightly, and he whispered an order to the men: "close round." the crew eagerly pressed up to him, and he spoke. "we've got to wipe out a disgrace, my lads--hush! don't cheer, let them think we are doing nothing." "ay, ay, sir," came in a low growl. "i say, my lads, we've got to wipe out a disgrace, and the sooner the better. one hour ought to be enough to get on deck and drive these scoundrels either overboard or below. then i think there'll be some prize-money to be earned, for they are sure to be running a cargo to-night. silence! no cheering. now then, to work. waters, how are we to get up the hatch?" "powder, sir," said the gunner laconically. "and blow ourselves to pieces." "no, sir, i think i can build up a pile of hammocks and fire half-a-dozen cartridges atop of it, and blow the hatch off without hurting us much below." "try it," said hilary shortly. "you marines, come aft into the cabin and we'll get the ventilators open; you can fire through there." the four marines and their corporal marched into the cabin, where a couple kneeled upon the little table, and two more stood ready to cover them, when the folly of attempting to blow off the hatch became apparent to hilary; for he saw that he would do more harm to his own men than would warrant the attempt. "get axes," he said. this was done, and the gunner brought out a long iron bar used in shifting the long gun, but he muttered a protest the while that there was nothing like the powder. "silence there," cried hilary. "waters, pass that bar to tully, and you with your men go forward and keep the fore-hatch. if they open it and try to come down to take us in the rear when we begin to break through here, up with you and gain the deck at all costs. you understand?" "ay, ay, sir." "i'll send you help if you get the hatch open. go on!" the gunner and half-a-dozen men went forward and stood ready, while at a sign from the young officer the dimly-seen figure of tom tully took a couple of steps up the cabin-ladder, and there he stood with the bar poised in his bare arms ready to make his first attack upon the wooden cover as soon as the order reached his ears. just then a rattling noise was heard, and the hatch was evidently about to be removed. the next moment it was off, and the light of a lantern flashed down, showing that half-a-dozen musket barrels had been thrust into the opening, while about them flashed the blades of as many swords. there was a dead silence below, for hilary and his men were taken by surprise, and though the hatch was now open there was such a terrible display of weapons in the opening that an attempt to rush up seemed madness. "below there!" cried a harsh voice; "surrender, or we fire." "is hilary leigh there?" cried another voice, one which made the young man start as he recognised that of sir harry norland. "yes, sir, i am here," he said after a moment's pause. "tell your men to surrender quietly, mr leigh, and if they give their word not to attempt rescue or escape they will have two of the cutter's boats given to them, and they can row ashore." "and what about the cutter, sir henry?" said hilary quietly. "she is our lawful prize," was the reply. "and no mistake," said the rough, harsh voice, which hilary recognised now as that of the apparently stupid skipper of the _chasse maree_. "come up first, mr leigh," said sir henry; "but leave your arms below. i give you my word that you shall not be hurt." "i cannot give you my word that you will not be hurt, sir henry, if you do not keep out of danger," cried hilary. "we are all coming on deck, cutlass in one hand, pistol in the other. now, my lads! forward!" madness or no madness he made a dash, and at the same moment tom tully struck upwards with his iron bar, sweeping aside the presented muskets, half of which were fired with the effect that their bullets were buried in the woodwork round the hatch. what took place during those next few moments hilary did not know, only that he made a spring to mount the cabin-ladder and got nearly out at the hatch, but as tom tully and another man sprang forward at the same moment they hindered one another, when there was a few moments' interval of fierce struggling, the sound of oaths and blows, a few shots were fired by the marines through the cabin skylight, and then hilary found himself lying on the lower deck under tom tully, listening to the banging down of the cabin-hatch. "are you much hurt, sir?" said one of the men. "don't know yet," said hilary, as tully was dragged off him. "confound the brutes! i'll serve them out for this. is any one killed?" "i ain't," growled tom tully, with his hand to the back of his head. "but that there slash went half through my tail, and i've got one on the cheek." tom tully's wound on the cheek proved to be quite a slight cut, and the other man was only stunned, but the injury to his pigtail was more than he could bear. "of all the cowardly games as ever i did come acrost," he growled, "this here's 'bout the worst. think o' trying to cut off a sailor's pigtail! it's worse than mutiny!" "hold your tongue, you stupid fellow!" cried hilary, who could not help feeling amused even then. "why, don't you see that your tail has saved your head?" "who wanted his head saved that way?" growled tom tully. "it's cowardly, that's what it is! i don't call it fair fighting to hit a man behind." "silence!" exclaimed hilary; and as the trampling went on overhead he tried to make out what the enemy were doing. he was startled to find sir henry on board, but though he looked upon him as a friend, he felt no compunction now in meeting him as an enemy who must take his chance. betraying him when a fugitive was one thing, dealing with him as one of a party making an attack upon a king's ship another. a chill of dread ran through him for a moment as he thought of the possibility of sir henry's daughter being his companion, but a second thought made him feel assured that she could not be present at a time like this. "and sir henry would only think me a contemptible traitor if i surrendered," he said to himself; and then he began to make fresh plans. he stepped into the cabin for a moment or two, to find that the lieutenant was lying in his bed place, perfectly insensible, while the marines, with their pieces in hand, were waiting fresh orders. the difficulty was to give those orders, and turn which way he would there was a pair of eyes fixed upon him. he had never before understood the responsibility of a commanding officer in a time of emergency, and how great a call there would be upon him for help, guidance, and protection. one thing, however, he kept before his eyes, and that was the idea that he must retake the cutter, and how to do it with the least loss of life was the problem to be solved. in his extremity he called a council of war under the big lantern, with billy waters, the corporal of marines, and the boatswain for counsellors, and took their opinions. "well, sir, if it was me in command i should do as i said afore," said billy waters cheerfully. "a lot o' powder would rift that there cabin-hatch right off; and them as guards it." "yes, and kill the lieutenant and half the men below," said hilary. "what do you say, corporal?" "i think bayonets is the best things, sir," replied the corporal. "yes," exclaimed hilary, "if you've got a chance to use them. what do you say, bo'sun?" "well, your honour, it seems as how we shall get into no end of a pickle if we let these here smugglers capter the _kestrel_, so i think we'd best go below and scuttle her. it wouldn't take long." "well, but, my good fellow, don't you see that we should be scuttling ourselves too?" cried hilary. "oh! no, sir, i don't mean scuttle ourselves. i only mean the cutter. she'd soon fill. we'd go off in the boats." "how?" the boatswain did not seem to have taken this into consideration at all, but stood scratching his head till he scratched out a bright thought. "couldn't we let them on deck know as we're going to scuttle her, sir, and then they'd sheer off, and as soon as they'd sheered off we wouldn't scuttle her, but only go up and take possession." "now, jack brown, how can you be such a fool?" cried hilary, impatiently. "they're sharp smugglers who have seized the _kestrel_, and not a pack of babies. can't you suggest something better than that?" "well, sir, let's scuttle her, and let them know as she's sinking, and as soon as they've sheered off stop the leaks." "oh! you great bullet-head," cried hilary angrily. "how could we?" "very sorry, sir," growled the man humbly; "i don't know, sir. i can trim and bend on sails, and overhaul the rigging as well as most bo'suns, sir, but i never did have no head for figgers." "figures!" cried hilary, impatiently. "there, that'll do. hark! what are they doing on deck?" "seems to me as if they're getting all sail set," growled the boatswain. "and they'll run us over to the coast of france," cried hilary excitedly. "we shall be prisoners indeed." he drew his breath in between his teeth, and stamped on the deck in his impotent rage. "there!" he said, at last, as the crew stood impatiently awaiting the result of their consultation. "it's of no use for me to bully you, my lads, for not giving me ideas, when i can find none myself. you are all right. we'll try all your plans, for the scoundrels must never sail the _kestrel_ into a french port with us on board. waters, we'll blow up the hatchway--but the fore-hatchway, not the cabin. corporal, you and your lads shall give them a charge with bayonets. and lastly, if both these plans fail jack brown and the carpenter shall scuttle the little cutter; we may perhaps save our lives in the confusion." it was a sight to see the satisfied grin that shone out on each of the rough fellows' faces, upon finding that their ideas were taken. it was as if each had grown taller, and they smiled at each other and at the young officer in a most satisfied way. hilary did not know it; but that stroke of involuntary policy on his part had raised him enormously in the estimation of the crew; and the little council being dissolved, it was wonderful with what alacrity they set to work. for the gunner's plan was at once adopted, and in perfect silence a bed of chests was raised up close beneath the fore-hatchway, whose ladder was cautiously removed. on this pile were placed hammocks, and again upon these short planks, so that the flat surface was close up to the square opening that led from the forecastle on deck. "you see, sir, the charge won't leave much room to strike sidewise," said the gunner, as he helped to get all ready, ending by emptying the bags of powder that formed four charges for the long gun. these he rolled up in a handkerchief, tied it pretty tightly, and before putting it in place he made a hole in it, so that some of the powder would trickle out on to the smooth plank. this being done, he laid a train from it to the end of the plank, made a slow-match with some wet powder and a piece of paper, and finished by raising the planks by stuffing blankets under them at hilary's suggestion, till the powder charge was right up in the opening of the hatch, surrounded by the coamings, and the planks rested up against the deck. "if that there don't fetch 'im off, i'm a dutchman," said billy waters. "here, just you keep that there lantern back, will you," he cried to the corporal of marines; "we don't want her fired before her time." "yes, that will do," cried hilary. "there, stand by, my lads, and the moment the charge is fired make a dash for it with the ladder, and up and clear the deck whether i lead you or no." there was something in those words that the men could not then understand, but they did as the gunner declared all to be ready. "hush! silence, my lads," cried hilary. "away aft, and all lie down. now, waters, give me the lantern." "i'll fire the train, sir. i'm gunner," said the man. "no, no," replied hilary, "that is my task." "but, if you please, sir, you might get hit, and then--" "silence, sir! i'll fire the train," cried hilary, sternly. "away aft with the men; and look, mr waters, my good fellow, if i go down i trust to you to retake the cutter." "all right, sir," said the gunner. "well, sir, if you will do it, here's my last words: open your lantern and just touch the end of the paper, then close and run aft. one touch does it; so go on, and good luck to you!" the young officer nodded and took the lantern, while the gunner joined the men as far aft as they could go. there was something very strange and unreal to him as he took a couple of steps or so forward, and listened to the noise of men above, hesitating for the moment as he thought of the life he was about to destroy, and mentally praying that sir harry norland might not be near. then duty reasserted itself, and, not knowing whether he might not be about to destroy the vessel, and with it his own life, he slowly opened the door of the lantern. what was it to be--life and liberty, or death and destruction? he could not say, but feeling that he ought to stick at nothing to try and retake the cutter, he held the flame of the wretched purser's dip in the lantern to the powder-besmeared paper, and there was on the instant an answering burst of tiny sparks. chapter five. a missing enemy. as the slow-match began to sputter hilary drew back, closed the door of the lantern, and walked backwards aft, towards where the men were gathered. the desire was strong upon him to run and rush right into the far corner of the cabin; but he was a king's officer, and the men looked up to him for example, so he told himself that he could not show the white feather. fortunately he was able to keep up his dignity and retreat in safety to where the men were crouching down, and, joining them, he too assumed a reclining position upon the deck, and watched the sparkling of the piece of paper in the darkness of the forepart of the cutter. sparkle, sparkle, sparkle, with plenty of scintillation; like some little firework made for their amusement, but no sign of the train being fired. on deck there was an ominous silence, as if the smugglers had received warning of the coming danger, and they too were watching for the explosion. more sparkling and more bright flashes of light, and yet the train did not catch. never had moments seemed to hilary so long before, and he felt sure that the slow-match had not been connected with the train, as it must have fired before now. then as he waited he wondered what would be the effect of the explosion, and whether it would do more harm than blow off the hatch. he hoped not, for sir henry's sake; and there were moments during that terribly lengthy time of watching when he hoped that after all the plan had failed, for it seemed too terrible, and he would gladly have run forward and dashed the light aside. they were lightning like, these thoughts, for it really was but a question of very few moments before there was a flash, a hissing noise, a bright light, and then it was as though they had all been struck a violent blow with something exceedingly soft and elastic, and at the same moment there was a dull heavy roar. simultaneously the lower deck was filled with the foul dank choking fumes of exploded gunpowder, the thick smoke was blinding, and the men crouched in their places for the moment forgetful of their orders till they heard the voice of hilary leigh shouting to them to come on, and they leaped to their feet and followed. it was a case of blindman's-buff; but the quarters below were narrow, and after a little blundering the two men who had charge of the ladder forced aside some of the heap of chests, hammocks and planks, placed the steps in position, and, sword in one hand, pistol in the other, the young officer sprang up. the gunner followed, and in less than a minute the whole crew were over the shattered coamings of the hatchway and on deck, ready to encounter the enemy. the change from the stifling fumes below to the soft night-air was delightful, and the men leaped along the deck after their young leader, their cutlasses flashing in the faint light cast by the lanterns swung aloft and astern; but no enemy was to be seen. they dashed aft right to the taffrail, and back along the starboard side, and away to the bowsprit; but the deck was without an enemy. "why, they're gone!" cried hilary, in astonishment, as he now realised the meaning of the silence over his head when he was awaiting the explosion. "here, hi! waters, brown, what does this mean? quick! go to the helm, brown!" he shouted; "we're going through the water at an awful pace. quick! quick! down--down hard!" he roared. but it was too late; the wheel was lashed, and before the slightest effort could be made to check the cutter's way, she glided, with heavy sail set, over half a dozen long rollers, and then seemed to leap upon the beach, which she struck with so heavy a thud that the little vessel shuddered from stem to stern, and pretty well the whole crew were thrown upon the deck. the causes of the enemy forsaking the cutter were plain enough now. they did not want her, and if they did it would have been without the crew, who would have been a cause of risk and trouble to them. if they could put her _hors de combat_ it would do just as well, and to this end all the sail had been hoisted and sheeted home, the wheel lashed, and with the unfortunate cutter running dead for the beach the party who had seized her had quietly gone over the side while hilary and his men were plotting their destruction, and knowing full well they had nothing to fear till next tide floated her off--if ever she floated again--they proceeded to carry out their plans. the men struggled to their feet once more as the great sail flapped, while a wave that seemed bent on chasing them struck below the cutter's taffrail, and the spray leaped on board. fortunately for them it was calm and the tide fast falling, or the gallant little _kestrel_ would have flown her last flight. as it was, it was open to doubt whether she would ever spread her long wings again to skim the sea, for the rising tide might bring with it a gale, and before she could be got off her timbers might be torn into matchwood. it was a rapid change from danger to danger. but a few minutes back they risked sinking the vessel by the explosion of gunpowder, believing her to be in the hands of the enemy who had cleverly compassed her defeat, and now they were cast ashore. hilary leigh was seaman enough, however, to know what to do without consulting the boatswain, and giving his orders rapidly he stopped the heeling over and beating of the _kestrel_ upon the sand by relieving her of her sail, in the midst of which he was startled by the voice of mr lipscombe. "good heavens, mr leigh!" he exclaimed, angrily, "what does this mean? i go and lie down for a few minutes, leaving you in charge of the cutter, and i come up and find her ashore. brown, waters! where are you, men? have you been mad, asleep, or drunk? oh, my head! good gracious, why, what's this--blood?" he staggered, and seemed about to fall, but hilary caught his arm. "i am glad to see you better, sir," he cried; "but had you not better lie down?" "better?" he said--"better?" "yes, sir; don't you remember?" "remember? remember?" he said, staring. "yes, sir, the smugglers; they knocked us down and took possession of the ship." "yes, of course, yes," said the lieutenant eagerly. "i remember now. of course, yes, leigh. but--but where are they now?" "that's just what i should like to know, sir," said leigh, sharply; "we've got rid of them, but they ran the little _kestrel_ ashore." chapter six. exploring. fortunately for the little _kestrel_ the morning breeze was soft and the sea as smooth as a mirror, and all the crew had to do was to await the tide to float them off from where they were lying high and dry, with the keel driven so deeply in the sand that the cutter hardly needed a support, and the opportunity served for examining the bottom to see if any injury had been sustained. lieutenant lipscombe appeared with a broad bandage round his head, for his head had been severely cut in his fall, and the pain he suffered did not improve his already sore temper. for though he said nothing, hilary leigh could see plainly enough that his officer was bitterly annoyed at having been mastered in cunning and so nearly losing his ship. he knew that to go into port to repair damages meant so close an investigation that the result might be the loss of his command. so, after an examination of the injuries, which showed that the whole of the coamings of the hatchway were blown off and the deck terribly blackened with powder, the carpenter and his mate were set to work to cut out and piece in as busily as possible. "nothing to go into port for, leigh, nothing at all. the men will soon put that right; but it was very badly managed, leigh, very. half that quantity of powder would have done; the rest was all waste. hang it all! what could you have been thinking about? here am i disabled for a few minutes, and you let a parcel of scoundrels seize the cutter and run her ashore, and then, with the idea of retaking her, you go and blow up half the deck! my good fellow, you will never make a decent officer if you go on like this." "well, that's grateful, certainly," thought hilary; and the desire came upon him strongly to burst out into a hearty laugh, but he suppressed it and said quietly: "very sorry, sir; i tried to do all for the best." "yes; that's what every weak-headed noodle says when he has made a blunder. well, leigh, it is fortunate for you that i was sufficiently recovered to resume the command; but of all the pickles which one of his majesty's ships could be got into, this is about the worst. here we are as helpless as a turned turtle on a florida sandspit." "well, sir, not quite," replied hilary smiling; "we've got our guns, and the crew would give good account of--" "silence, sir! this is no laughing matter," cried the lieutenant angrily. "it may seem very droll to you, but if i embody your conduct of the past night in a despatch your chance of promotion is gone for ever." hilary stared, but he had common sense enough to say nothing, while the lieutenant took a turn up and down the deck, which would have been a very pleasant promenade for a cripple with one leg shorter than the other; but as the cutter was a good deal heeled over, it was so unpleasant for lieutenant lipscombe, already suffering from giddiness, the result of his wound, that he stopped short and stood holding on by a stay. "most extraordinary thing," he said; "my head is always perfectly clear in the roughest seas, but ashore i turn as giddy as can be. but there; don't stand staring about, leigh. take half-a-dozen men and make a bit of search up and down the coast. see if you can find any traces of the smuggling party. if you had had any thought in you such a thing might have been proposed at daybreak. it will be hours before we float." "yes, sir, certainly," exclaimed leigh, rather excitedly, for he was delighted with the idea. "shall i arm the men, sir?" "arm the men, sir! oh, no: of course not. let every man carry a swab, and a spoon stuck in his belt. goodness me, mr leigh, where are your brains? you are going to track out a parcel of desperadoes, and you ask me if you shall take the men armed." "very sorry, sir," said hilary. "i'll try and do better. you see i am so sadly wanting in experience." the lieutenant looked at him sharply, but hilary's face was as calm and unruffled as the sea behind him, and not finding any chance for a reprimand, the lieutenant merely made a sign to him to go, walking forward himself to hurry on the carpenter, and then repassing hilary and going below to his cabin. "skipper's got his legs acrost this mornin', sir," said billy waters, touching his hat. "hope you'll take me with you, sir." "i should like to have you, waters, and tom tully. by the way, how is he this morning? he got hurt." "oh, he's all right, sir," said the gunner grinning. "he got a knock, sir, but he didn't get hurt. nothin' hurts old tom. i don't believe he's got any feeling in him at all." "now, if i propose to take them," thought hilary, "lipscombe will say they sha'n't go. here he comes, though. i shall catch it for not being off." he made a run and dropped down through the damaged hatchway, alighting amidst the carpenter's tools on the lower deck, ran aft to his cabin, obtained sword and pistols, and then mounted to the deck to find the lieutenant angrily addressing waters and tully. for no sooner had hilary disappeared, and the gunner made out that the chief officer was coming on deck, than he turned his back, busied himself about the breeching of one of the guns, and shouting to tom tully: "going to send you ashore, matey?" "no," growled tully; "what's on?" "oh! some wild-goose hunt o' the skipper's. i don't mean to go, and don't you if you can help it. there won't be a place to get a drop o' grog. all searching among the rocks." "gunner!" "yes, your honour." billy waters' pigtail swung round like a pump-handle, as he lumped up and pulled his forelock to his angry officer. "how dare you speak like that, sir, on the deck of his majesty's vessel? how dare you--you mutinous dog, you? go forward, sir, and you, too, tom tully, and the cutter's crew, under the command of mr leigh, and think yourself lucky if you are not put under punishment." "very sorry, sir. humbly beg pardon, sir," stammered the gunner. "silence, sir! forward! serve out cutlasses and pistols to the men, and i'll talk to you afterwards." billy waters chuckled to himself at the success of his scheme, and after a word or two of command, hilary's little party, instead of jumping into the cutter and rowing ashore, dropped down over the side on to the sands, and went off along the coast to the west. "what's going to be done first, sir?" said the gunner. "well, waters, i've just been thinking that we ought first to try and find some traces of the boats." "yes, sir; but how? they're fur enough away by now." "of course; but if we look along the shore here about the level that the tide was last night i daresay we shall find some traces of them in the sands, and that may give us a hint where to search inland, for i'll be bound to say they were landing cargo somewhere." "i'll be bound to say you're right, sir," said waters, slapping his leg. "spread out, my lads, and report the first mark of a boat's keel." they tramped on quite five miles over the sand and shingle, and amidst the loose rocks, without seeing anything to take their attention, when suddenly one of the men some fifty yards ahead gave a hail. "what is it, my lad?" cried hilary, running up. "only this here, sir," said the man, pointing to a long narrow groove in the sand, just such as might have been made by the keel of some large boat, whilst a closer inspection showed that the sand and shingle had been trampled by many feet. "yes, that's a boat, certainly," said hilary, looking shorewards towards the cliffs, which rose like a vast ramp along that portion of the coast. there was nothing to be seen there; neither inlet nor opening in the rock, nor depression in the vast line of cliffs. why, then, should a boat be run ashore there? it looked suspicious. nothing but a fishing lugger would be likely to be about, and no fishing lugger would have any reason for running ashore here. except at certain times of the tide it would be dangerous. "it's the smugglers, billy," cried hilary eagerly; "and there must be some way here up the rock. hallo! what have you got there?" he exclaimed, as the gunner, true to his instinct, dropped upon his knees and scraped the sand away from something against which he had kicked his foot. "pistol, sir," was the reply; and the gunner brushed the sand off the large clumsy weapon, and wiped away the thin film of rust. "and a frenchman," said hilary, examining the make. "frenchman it is, sir, and she ar'n't been many hours lying here." "dropped by some one last night," said hilary. "hurrah! my lads, we've struck the scent." just then tom tully began to sniff very loudly, and turned his head in various directions, his actions somewhat resembling those of a great dog. "what yer up to, matey?" cried waters. "ah! i know, sir. he was always a wunner after his grog, and he's trying to make out whether they've landed and buried any kegs of brandy here." "oh, nonsense!" cried hilary; "they would not do that. come along, my lads. one moment. let's have a good look along the rocks for an opening. can any of you see anything?" "no, sir," was chorused, after a few minutes' inspection. "then now let's make a straight line for the cliff, and all of you keep a bright lookout." they had about a couple of hundred yards to go, for the tide ran down very low at this point, and as they approached the great sandstone cliffs, instead of presenting the appearance of a perpendicular wall, as seen from a distance, all was broken up where the rock had split, and huge masses had come thundering down in avalanches of stone. in fact, in several places it seemed that an active man could climb up to where a thin fringe of green turf rested upon the edge of the cliff; but this did not satisfy hilary, who felt convinced that such a place was not likely to be chosen for the landing of a cargo. no opening in the cliff being visible, he spread his men to search right and left, but there was no sand here; all was rough shingle and broken _debris_ from the cliff with massive weathered blocks standing up in all directions, forming quite a maze, through which they threaded their way. "there might be a regular cavern about somewhere big enough to hold a dozen cargoes," thought hilary, as he searched here and there, and then sat down to rest for a few minutes, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead, when it suddenly occurred to him that they had been hours away from the cutter, and that if he did not soon make some discovery he had better return. "and i don't like to go back without having done something," he thought. "perhaps if we keep on looking we may make a find worth the trouble, and--what's that?" nothing much; only a little bird that kept rising up from a patch of wiry herbage at the foot of the cliff, jerking itself up some twenty or thirty feet and then letting itself down as it twittered out a pleasant little song. only a bird; but as he watched that bird, he did not know why, it suddenly went out of sight some twenty feet or so up the rock, and while he was wondering it came into sight again and fluttered downwards. "why, there must be a way through there," he cried, rising and gazing intently at the face of the rock, but seeing nothing but yellowish sandstone looking jagged and wild. "no, there can't be," he muttered; "but i'll make sure." climbing over three or four large blocks, he lowered himself into a narrow passage which seemed to run parallel with the cliff, but doubled back directly, and in and out, and then stopped short at a perpendicular mass some twenty feet high. "leads nowhere," he said, feeling very hot and tired, and, turning to go back disappointed and panting, he took another look up at the lowering face of the cliff to see now that a large portion was apparently split away, but remained standing overlapping the main portion, and so like it that at a short distance the fracture could not be seen. "there's a way round there for a guinea," thought hilary, "but how to get there? why, of course, one must climb over here." "here" was a rugged piece of rock about fifty feet back from the _cul de sac_ to which he had reached, and placing his right foot in a chink and drawing himself up he was soon on the top with a rugged track before him to the face of the cliff; but as he took a step forward, meaning to investigate a little, and then summon his men, a low chirping noise on his right took his attention, and going cautiously forward he leaned towards a rock to see what animal it was, when something came like a black cloud over his head and he was thrown violently down. chapter seven. hilary leigh finds himself in an undignified position. "that's a boat-cloak, and the brute's sitting on me," said hilary leigh to himself as he vainly struggled to get free and shout for help. he did utter a few inarticulate noises, but they were smothered in the folds of the thick cloak, and he felt as if he were about to be smothered himself. getting free he soon found was out of the question, so was making use of the weapons with which he was armed, for his wrists were wrenched round behind his back and his elbows firmly lashed. so were his ankles, and at the same time he felt the pistols dragged out of his belt and his sword unhooked and taken away. "well, i've discovered the smugglers' place and no mistake," he thought; "but i might just as well have left it alone. oh, this is too bad! only last night in trouble, and now prisoner! i wonder what they are going to do?" he was not long left in doubt, for he suddenly felt himself roughly seized and treated like a sack, for he was hauled on to some one's back and borne along in a very uncomfortable position, his legs being banged against corners of the rock as if he were being carried through a very narrow place. this went on for a few minutes, during which he was, of course, in utter darkness, and panting for breath. then he was allowed to slide down, with a bump, on to the rock. "they're not going to kill me," thought hilary, "or they would not have taken so much trouble. i wish i could make billy waters hear." he tried to shout, but only produced a smothered noise, with the result that some one kicked him in the side. "that's only lent, my friend," thought hilary. "it shall be paid back if ever i get a chance. what now? i am trussed; are they going to roast me?" for just then he felt a rope was passed round him, and a slip-knot drawn tight under his arms. then there was a sudden snatch, and he was raised upon his feet, steadied for a moment by a pair of hands, the rope tightened more and more, and he felt himself being drawn up, rising through the air, and slowly turning round, one elbow rasping gently against the rock from time to time. "well, i'm learning some of their secrets," thought hilary, "even if they are keeping me in the dark. this is either the way up to their place, or else it's the way they get up their cargoes." "yes, cargoes only," he said directly, as he heard indistinctly a gruff voice at his elbow, some one being evidently climbing up at his side. "i hope they won't drop me." in another minute he was dragged sidewise and lowered on to the rock, a change he gladly welcomed, for the rope had hurt him intolerably, and seemed to compress his chest so that he could hardly breathe. "well, this is pleasant," he thought, as he bit his lip with vexation. "the lads will have a good hunt for me, find nothing, and then go back and tell lipscombe. he will lie on and off for an hour or two, and then go and report that i have deserted or gone off for a game, or some other pleasant thing. oh, hang it all! this won't do. i must escape somehow. i wish they'd take off this cloak." that seemed to be about the last thing his captors were disposed to do, for after he had been lying there in a most painfully uncomfortable position for quite an hour, every effort to obtain relief being met with a kick, save one, when he felt the cold ring of a pistol muzzle pressed against his neck under the cloak, he was lifted by the head and heels, some one else put an arm round him, and he was carried over some rugged ground, lifted up higher, and then his heart seemed to stand still, for he felt that he was going to be allowed to fall, and if allowed to fall it would be, he thought, from the top of the cliff. the feeling was terrible, but the fall ridiculous, for it was a distance of a foot on to some straw. then he felt straw thrown over him--a good heap--and directly after there was a jolting sensation, and he knew he was in a cart on a very rugged road. the sound of blows came dull upon his ear, and a faint hoarse "go on!" and in spite of his pain, misery, and the ignorance he was in respecting his fate, hilary leigh began to laugh with all the light-heartedness of a lad, as he mentally said: "oh, this is too absurd! i'm in a donkey-cart, and the fellow who is driving can't make the brute go." chapter eight. lieutenant lipscombe lays down the law. "say, lads, i'm getting tired of this here," said tom tully, bringing himself to an anchor on a patch of sand; "i'm as hot as i am dry. where's our orsifer?" "i d'no," said another. "ahoy! billy waters, ahoy-y-y!" "ahoy!" came from amongst the rocks; and the gunner plodded up wiping his face, and another of the little party came at the same time from the other direction. "where's muster leigh?" said tom tully. "isn't he along of you?" said waters. "no, i ar'n't seen him for ever so long." notes were compared, as the hailing brought the rest of the party together, and it was agreed on all sides that hilary had gone in amongst the rocks close by where they were standing. "i know how it is," growled tom tully, "he's having a caulk under the lee of one of these here stones while we do all the hunting about; and i can't walk half so well as i used, after being shut up aboard that there little cutter." "oh, no, he wouldn't go to sleep," said the gunner. "he's close here somewhere. i hope he's had better luck than we, for i ar'n't found nothing; have you?" "no, no," arose on all sides. "why, there ain't nothin' to find," growled tom tully. "i wish i was aboard. you're chief orsifer when he ar'n't here, billy waters. give the order and let's go back." "what, without mr leigh?" said the gunner; "that's a likely tale, that is. here, come on lads, and let's find him. ahoy!" "ahoy!" came back from the rocks. "there he is," said one of the men. "no, my lads, that's only the ecker," said billy waters. "hark ye-- ahoy!" "ahoy!" came back directly. "hoy--hoy--hoy-y-y!" shouted the gunner again. "hoy--hoy-y-y!" came back. "mis' leigh, ahoy!" roared the gunner. "leigh--hoy!" was the response. "told you so, my lads; he ar'n't about here. let's go further on. now then, tom tully, we must have off some o' that there tail if it's so heavy it keeps you anchored down. get up, will you?" the sailor got up unwillingly, and in obedience to the gunner's orders they began now, in place of searching for traces of the smugglers, to look for their missing officer, scattering along, as fate had it, farther and farther from the spot where he had disappeared, no one seeing a face watching them intently through the thin wiry strands of a tuft of grass growing close up under the cliff. the heat was now intense, for the sun seemed to be reflected back from the face of the rocks, and the men were regularly fagged. they shouted and waited, and shouted again, but the only answer they got was from the echoes; and at last they stood together in a knot, with billy waters scratching his head with all his might, and they were a good half mile now from where hilary had made his discovery and stepped into a trap. "well, this here _is_ a rummy go," exclaimed the gunner, after looking from face to face for the counsel that there was not. "let's see, my lads; it was just about here as he went forrard, warn't it?" "no," growled tom tully; "it were a good two-score fathom more to the east'ard." "nay, nay, lad; it were a couple o' cables' length doo west," said another. "i think it were 'bout here," said tom tully; "but i can't find that there track o' the boat's keel now. what's going to be done?" "let's go aboard again," growled tom tully. "i'm 'bout sick o' this here, mates." "but i tell yer we can't go aboard without our orsifer," cried the gunner. "'taint likely." "he'd go aboard without one of us," growled tom tully, "so where's the difference?" "there's lots o' difference, my lad. we can't go aboard without him. but where is he?" "having a caulk somewhere," said tully gruffly; "and i on'y wish i were doing of that same myself. if we stop here much longer we shall be cooked like herrings. it's as hot as hot." "i tell you he wouldn't desert us and go to sleep," said the gunner stubbornly. "mr leigh's a lad as would stick to his men like pitch to a ball o' oakum." "then why don't he?" growled tom tully in an ill-used tone. "what does he go and sail away from conwoy for?" "he couldn't have got up the cliffs," mused the gunner; "'cause there don't seem to be no way, and he couldn't have gone more to west'ard, 'cause we must have seen him. there ain't been no boats along shore, and he can't have gone back to the cutter. i say, my lads, we've been and gone and got ourselves into a reg'lar mess. what's the skipper going to say when he sees us? you see we can't tell him as the youngster's fell overboard." "no," growled tom tully; "'cause there ar'n't no overboard for him to fall. i'm right, i know; he's having a caulk." "tell yer he ain't," roared waters fiercely; "and if any one says again as my young orsifer's doing such a thing as to leave his men in the lurch and go to sleep on a hot day like this, he'll get my fist in his mouth." "sail ho!" cried one of the men; and looking in the indicated direction, there was the cutter afloat once more, and sailing towards them, quite a couple of miles away, and as they looked there was a little puff of white smoke from her side, and a few seconds after a dull report. "look at that now;" cried billy waters, "there's the skipper got some one meddling with my guns. that's that jack brown, that is; and he knows no more about firing a gun than he do 'bout dutch. there was a dirty sort of a shot." "that's a signal, that is, for us to come aboard," growled tom tully. "well, nobody said it warn't, did they?" cried waters, who was regularly out of temper now. "no," growled tom tully, "on'y wishes i was aboard, i do." "then you ain't going till you've found your orsifer, my lad." "hah!" said tom tully, oracularly. "shouldn't wonder if he ar'n't desarted 'cause the skipper give him such a setting down this morning." "now just hark at this here chap," cried the gunner, appealing to the others. "he'd just go and do such a dirty thing hisself, and so he thinks every one else would do the same. tom tully, i'm 'bout ashamed o' you. i shouldn't ha' thought as a fellow with such a pigtail as you've got to your headpiece would say such a thing of his orsifer." "then what call's he got to go and desart us for like this here, messmet?" growled tom tully. "i don't want to say no hard things o' nobody, but here's the skin off one o' my heels, and my tongue's baked; and what i says is, where is he if he ar'n't gone?" that was a poser; and as after another short search there was a second gun fired from the cutter, and a boat was seen to put off and come towards them, there was nothing for them but to go down to the water and get into the boat, after billy waters had taken bearings, as he called it, of the place where the young officer had left them, setting up stones for marks,--which, however, through the deceptive nature and similarity of the coast in one part to another, were above half a mile from the true spot,--and suffer themselves to be rowed aboard. "the skipper's in a fine temper," said one of the crew. "where's muster leigh?" "ah! that's just what i want to know," said waters, ruefully. "he'll be down upon me for losing on him--just as if i took him ashore like a dog tied to a string. how did you get the cutter off?" "easy as a glove," was the reply. "we just took out the little anchor and dropped it over, and when the tide come up hauled on it a bit, and she rode out as easy as a duck. but he's been going on savage because muster leigh didn't come back. has he desarted?" the gunner turned upon him so fierce a look, and made so menacing a movement, that the man shrank away, and catching what is called a crab upset the rower behind him, the crew for the moment being thrown into confusion, just as the lieutenant had raised his spyglass to his eye and was watching the coming off of the boat. "what call had you got to do that, billy?" cried the man, rubbing his elbows. "there'll be a row about that. here, give way, my lads, and let's get aboard." the men made the stout ashen blades bend as they forced the boat through the water, and at the end of a few minutes the oars were turned up, laid neatly over the thwarts, and the bowman held on with the boathook while the search party tumbled on board, the sides of the cutter being at no great height above the water. the lieutenant was there, with his glass under his arm, his head tied up so that one eye was covered, and his cocked hat was rightly named in a double sense, being cocked almost off his head. "disgraceful, mr leigh!" he exclaimed furiously. "you deserve to be court-martialled, sir! never saw a boat worse manned and rowed, sir. i never saw from the most beggarly crew of a wretched merchantman worse time kept. why, the men were catching crabs, sir, from the moment they left the shore till the moment they came alongside. bless my commission, sir! were you all drunk?" he had one eye shut by the old accident, as we have intimated, and the injury of the previous night had so affected the other that he saw anything but clearly, as he kept stamping up and down the deck. "do you hear, sir? i say were you all drunk?" roared the lieutenant. "please your honour," said the gunner, "we never see a drop of anything except seawater since we went ashore." "silence, sir! how dare you speak?" roared the lieutenant. "insubordination and mutiny. did i speak to you, sir? i say, did i speak to you?" "no, your honour, but--" "if you say another word i'll clap you in irons, you dog!" cried the lieutenant. "a pretty state of affairs, indeed, when men are to answer their officers. do you hear, there, you mutinous dogs! if another man among you dares to speak i'll clap him in irons." the men exchanged glances, and there was a general hitching up of trousers along the little line in which the men were drawn up. "now then, sir. have the goodness to explain why you have been so long, and why all my signals for recall have been disregarded. silence, sir! don't speak till i've done," he continued, as one of the men, who had let a little tobacco juice get too near the swallowing point, gave a sort of snorting cough. there was dead silence on board, save a slight creaking noise made by the crutch of the big boom as it swung gently and rubbed the mast. "i call upon you, mr leigh, sir, for an explanation," continued the lieutenant. "silence, sir! not yet. i sent you ashore to make a search, expecting that your good sense would lead you to make it brief, and to get back in time to assist in hauling off the cutter which you had run ashore. instead of doing this, sir, you race off with the men like a pack of schoolboys, sir, larking about among the rocks, and utterly refusing to notice my signals, sir, though they have been flying, sir, for hours; and here have i been obliged to waste his majesty's powder, sir, and foul his majesty's guns, sir." here, as the lieutenant's back was turned, billy waters shook his great fist at jack brown, the boatswain, going through sundry pantomimic motions to show how he, billy waters, would like to punch jack brown, the boatswain's head. to which, waiting until the lieutenant had turned and had his back to him, jack brown responded by taking his leg in his two hands just above the knee and shaking it in a very decisive manner at the gunner. "and what is more, sir," continued the lieutenant, "you had my gunner with you." billy waters, who had drawn back his fist level with his armpit in the act of striking an imaginary blow at the boatswain, stopped short as he heard himself mentioned, and the lieutenant continued his trot up and down like an angry wild beast in a narrow cage and went on: "and, sir, i had to intrust the firing of that gun to a bungling, thick-headed, stupid idiot of a fellow, who don't know muzzle from vent; and the wonder is that he didn't blow one of his majesty's liege subjects into smithereens." the lieutenant's back was now turned to billy waters, who as he saw jack brown's jaw drop placed his hands to his sides, and lifting up first one leg and then the other, as if in an agony of spasmodic delight, bent over first to starboard and then to larboard, and laughed silently till the tears ran down his cheeks. "i say, sir--i say," continued the lieutenant, pushing up his bandage a little, "that such conduct is disgraceful, sir; and what is more, i say--" the lieutenant did not finish the sentence then, for in him angry excitement he had continued his blind walk, extending it more and more till he had approached close to where the carpenter had sawn out several of the ragged planks torn by the previous night's explosion, and as he lifted his leg for another step it was right over the yawning opening into the men's quarters in the forecastle below. chapter nine. blind proceedings. it would have been an ugly fall for the lieutenant, for according to the wholesome custom observed by most mechanics, the carpenter had turned the damaged hatchway into a very pleasant kind of pitfall, such as the gentle mild hindoo might have dug for his enemy the crafty tiger, with its arrangements for impaling whatever fell. in this case chips had all the ragged and jagged pieces of plank carefully stuck point upwards, with a couple of augers, a chisel or two, and a fair amount of gimlets and iron spike-like nails, so that it would have been impossible for his officer have fallen without receiving one or two ugly wounds. just in the nick of time, however, jack brown, the boatswain, darted forward and gave the lieutenant a tremendous push, which sent him clear of the opening in the deck, but in a sitting position under the bulwark, against which his head went with a goodly rap. "mutiny, by jove!" he roared, in astonished fury. "marines, fix bayonets! run that scoundrel through." "beg your honour's pardon," began jack brown, offering his hand to assist the astonished commander to rise. "it's a lie, sir! how dare you say it was an accident?" cried the lieutenant, struggling up and readjusting the handkerchief tied round his injured head, and his cocked hat over that. "it's mutiny, sir, rank mutiny. you struck your officer, sir, and you'll be shot. corporal, take this man below. in irons, sir, in irons." "but your honour would have gone through the hole squelch on to the lower deck," growled jack brown in an injured tone. "silence, sir," roared the lieutenant. "corporal, do your duty." "all right, corpy, i'm coming," said the boatswain, as the marine laid his hand upon his arm. "but the skipper may fall overboard and drown hisself next time, afore i gives him a helping hand." "mutiny! mutiny!" cried the lieutenant. "do you hear, mr leigh? the ship's crew are in open mutiny, and uttering threats. fetch my pistols, sir," he cried, drawing his sword. "cut down the first man who utters another word. do you hear, mr leigh? quick! my pistols!" "if you please, your honour," began billy waters, pulling his forelock and giving a kick out behind. "si-lence!" roared the lieutenant. "here, marines, come on my side. i'll cut down the next man who dares to speak. have you got the pistols, mr leigh?" of course there was no answer. "i say, have you got my pistols, mr leigh?" cried the lieutenant again. still there was silence, and in his fury the lieutenant thrust the bandage up from over his inflamed eye, and tried to see what was going on. truth to speak, he was as blind as an owl in broad sunshine; but in his irritable frame of mind he would not own it, even to himself, and pushing the bandage higher he tilted off his cocked hat, which fell with a bang on the deck, and in trying to save his hat he struck himself on the jaw with the hilt of his sword, and dropped that in turn, to fall with a ringing noise on the whitened planks. "confusion!" he exclaimed as the corporal picked up hat and sword in turn, and handed them to the irate officer, whose temper was in no wise sweetened by this last upset. "ha! thank you, mr leigh, you are very polite all at once," he cried sarcastically, as he stared at the corporal, who stood before him drawn up stiff as a ramrod, but representing nothing but a blurred figure before the inflamed optic of the lieutenant. "well, sir! now, sir! perhaps you will condescend to give some explanation of your conduct. silence, there! if any man of this crew dares to speak i'll cut him down. now, mr leigh, i call upon you for an explanation." no answer, of course. "do you hear what i say, sir?" the corporal did not stir or move a muscle. "once more, sir, i demand why you do not explain your conduct," cried the lieutenant. the corporal drew himself up a little tighter, and his eyes were fixed upon the bright blade quivering in the lieutenant's hand. "speak, sir. it's mutiny by all the articles of war," roared the lieutenant, taking a step forward, seizing the corporal by the collar, and presenting at his throat the point of the sword. "mind my eyes, your honour," cried the corporal, flinching; "i ain't mr leigh." "where is he then?" cried the astonished lieutenant. "your honour won't cut me down if i speak?" said the corporal. "no, no," said the lieutenant, lowering the point of his sword; "where is mr leigh?" "ain't come aboard, sir." "not come aboard? here, waters!" the gunner trotted forward, pulled his forelock and kicked out his right leg behind. "where is mr leigh?" the gunner pulled his forelock again, kicked out his left leg, and as he bobbed his head, his pigtail went up and came down again flop between his shoulders as if it were a long knocker. "i say, where is mr leigh? you mutinous scoundrel, why don't you speak?" "honour said you'd cut me down if i did." "rubbish! nonsense! tell me, where is mr leigh?" "don't know, your honour." "don't know, sir? what do you mean?" "please your honour, we'd found tracks, as we thought, of the smugglers' lugger, and then mr leigh lost us. no; i mean, your honour, we lost him. no, he lost--i say, tom tully, my lad, which way weer it?" tom tully grunted, gave his trousers a hitch, and looked at the lieutenant's sword. "well, sir, do you hear?" cried the lieutenant; "how was it?" "stow all cuttin's down," grumbled tom tully, putting his hand behind so as to readjust the fall of his pigtail. "will--you--speak--out--you--ras-cal?" cried the lieutenant. "don't know, your honour," growled tom tully; "only as muster leigh went off." "there, i thought as much!" cried the lieutenant. "deserted his men, and gone off." "please your honour, i don't think as--" "silence!" cried the lieutenant, so fiercely that billy waters gave up the young officer's defence, and shut his teeth together with a loud snap like that of a trap. "all hands 'bout ship!" cried the lieutenant. "he'll be coming back presently, and signalling for a boat to fetch him off, but he shall come on to portsmouth and make his report to the admiral." the great mainsail swung over to the other side, and the breeze favouring, the squaresail was set as well, and the _kestrel_, so late helpless on shore, began to skim over the surface of the water at a tremendous rate, while the lieutenant, having given his orders as to which way the cutter's head should be laid, went down to the cabin to bathe his painful eye, having told one of the men to bring him some warm water from the galley. the man he told happened to be tom tully, and as he stood by, ready to fetch more if it should be wanted, the bathing seemed to allay the irritation, so that the commander grew less angry, and condescended to ask a few questions. then he began to think of the _kestrel_ having been ashore, the state of her deck about the fore-hatchway, and the late encounter, all of which he would have to minutely describe to the admiral if he ran into harbour to report hilary leigh's evasion. then, as he grew more comfortable, he began to think that perhaps, after all, the young man had not run off. furthermore, as he owned that he was an indefatigable young officer, he came to the conclusion that perhaps leigh might have discovered further traces of the smugglers, and, if so, it would be wrong to leave him in the lurch, especially as a good capture might be made, and with it a heap of prize-money. "and besides, i'll give fifty pounds to run up against that scoundrel who led me into that trap." a little more bathing made the lieutenant see so much more clearly, mentally as well as optically, that he went on deck and repeated his former orders of "'bout ship," with the result that the _kestrel_ was once more gently gliding along off the cliff-bound stretch of land where hilary leigh had fallen into strange hands. chapter ten. in the dark. hilary's burst of merriment was of very short duration. there is, no doubt, something very amusing to a young naval officer in the fact of his being made a prisoner, and carried off in a donkey-cart; but the pleasure is not of a lasting kind. at the end of a few moments hilary's mirth ceased, and he grew very wrathful. he was exceedingly hot and in no little pain, and in addition his sensations were such that he began to wonder whether he should live to reach his destination, where ever that might be, without being stifled. for the folds of the cloak were very tight about his head, and the straw on which he lay let him settle down into a hole, while that above shook down more closely and kept out the air. for a few minutes a horrible sensation of dread troubled him, and he uttered a hoarse cry; but, making a struggle to master his fear, he grew more calm, and though he was exceedingly hot and the effort was painful, he found he could breathe, and after a final effort to relieve himself of his bonds he lay still, patiently waiting for his release. the road seemed to grow rougher and rougher, and he felt that he must be going along some out-of-the-way by-lane, full of tremendous ruts, for sometimes one wheel would be down low, sometimes the other; and every now and then the cart seemed to stick fast, and then followed the sound of blows. whenever there came this sound of blows the cart began to echo back the noise with a series of tremendous kicks; for it soon became evident that this was no patient, long-suffering donkey, but one with a spirit of its own, and ready to resist. on again, and then another stick-fast. whack! whack! whack! went a stick, and clatter, clatter came the donkey's heels against the front of the cart, in such close proximity to hilary's head that he began to be alarmed for the safety of his skull, and after a good dead of wriggling he managed to screw himself so far round that when the next assault took place with the stick and battering with the donkey's heels the front boards of the cart only jarred against hilary's arm. another term of progress, during which the road seemed better, and they appeared to get along some distance before there was another jerk up and another jerk down, and then a series of jumps as if they were going downhill; and then the cart gave a big bump and stuck fast. the driver shouted and banged the donkey, and the donkey brayed and battered the front of the cart, and once more, in spite of his pain and discomfort, hilary lay under the straw and laughed as he pictured accurately enough the scene that was taking place in that narrow lane. for he was in a rutty, little-used track, in a roughly-made, springless cart, drawn by a big, ragged, powerful jackass, which every time the cart stuck, and his driver used the light ash stick he carried, laid down his ears, bared his teeth, and kicked at the front of the cart, which was rough with indentations and splinters, the result of the prowess of the donkey's heels. on again--stop again--jolt here--jolt there--more blows and kicking, and hilary still lying there half stifled beneath the straw; but his youth and abundant vitality kept him up, so that he lay listening to the battles between the donkey and his driver; then he thought of his men, and wondered whether they had made a good search for him; then he began to think of the lieutenant, and wondered what he would say when the men went back and reported his absence; lastly, he began to wonder whether mr lipscombe would come with the _kestrel_ and try to find him. "not much good to come with the cutter," he thought as drew a long breath; "he would want a troop of light horse if i'm being taken inland, as it seems to me i am." then he began to wonder what would be done with him, whether sir henry norland knew of his capture. perhaps it was by sir henry's orders. "well, if it is," he said, half aloud, "if he don't behave well to me he is no gentleman." he began musing next about adela, and thought of how she had altered since the old days when sir henry was a quiet country gentleman, and had not begun to mix himself up with the political questions of the day. "oh!" said hilary at last, "this is horribly tiresome and very disgusting. i don't know that i should have much minded being made prisoner by a french ship, and then sent ashore, so long as they treated me well; but to be kidnapped like this by a beggarly set of smugglers is too bad." "well," he thought, "i don't see that i shall be very much better off if i make myself miserable about my condition. i can't escape just at present; they are evidently not going to kill me. that's not likely. why should they? so i shall just make the best of things, and old lipscombe must grumble as long as he likes." phew! it was very hot, and he was very weary. the kicking of the donkey and the sound of the blows had ceased to amuse him. he was so sore with the jolting that he told himself he could not get any worse. and still the cart went on, jolt, jolt, till a curious sensation of drowsiness came over him, and before he was aware that such a change was approaching he dropped off fast asleep, to make up for the wakefulness and excitement of the past night, the long and arduous walk of that morning, and the exhaustion produced by the jolting and shaking to which he had been subjected at intervals for the past two hours. during that time he had striven very hard to guess in which direction he was being taken, and wished he had known a little more of the locality inland, his geographical knowledge being confined to the points, bays, cliffs, villages, churches, and ports along the coast. it was no slow dozing off and re-awaking--no softly passing through a pleasant dreamy state into a light sleep, for nature seemed to say, with stern decision, that his body and mind had borne as great a strain as was good for either; and one moment he was awake, feeling rather drowsy; the next he was gone--plunged deep down in one of those heavy, dreamless sleeps in which hours pass away like moments, and the awakened sleeper wonders at the lapse of time. nature is very kind to her children, whether they are old or young; and during those restful times she builds up what the learned folks call tissue, and strengthens mind and muscle, fitting the said children for the wear and tear that is to go on again the next day, and the next. hilary awoke with a start, and so deep had been his sleep that it was some little time before he could recall what had taken place. at first he thought he was in his berth on board the _kestrel_, for it was intensely dark, but on stretching out his hands he could touch nothing, so it could not be there, where his elbows struck the side, and not many inches above his head there was the top. no, it could not be there. where was he then? asleep and dreaming, he believed the next minute; and then all came back with a leap--his capture, the swing off the cliff, the straw in the donkey-cart, and that was where he was now, only the donkey was standing still, for there was no jolting, and it had ceased to kick the front board of the cart. he had either been asleep or insensible, he knew, and-- "hullo! they've untied my arms," he exclaimed; "and it isn't so hot as it was. they must have taken off the cloak." yes; the cloak was gone and his arms were free. so were his legs. no; his legs were securely tied, but the straw over his head had been taken away. he lay perfectly still for a few minutes, thinking, and with his eyes trying in all directions to pierce the thick black darkness by which he was surrounded, but without avail. "i wonder where i am," he thought, as, after forcing his mind to obey his will, he went over in review all the adventures that had befallen him from the time he left the ship till he was jolting along in that donkey-cart, half-suffocated in the boat-cloak and straw. then there came a dead stoppage. he could get no farther. he knew he must have gone to sleep, and the probabilities were that the cart had been backed into some shed, the donkey taken out, and he had been left to finish his sleep. "i wish i knew what time it was," thought hilary. "how dark it is, to be sure. i wonder where the donkey is; and--hullo! where are the sides of the cart?" he felt about, but could touch only straw; and on stretching his hands out farther, it was with no better result. he listened. not a sound. strained his eyes. all was blacker than the blackest night. what should he do? get up? crawl about? shout? he could not answer his own questions; and as he lay there wondering what would be best, that strange feeling of confusion that oppresses the strongest of us in the dark when we are ignorant of where we are, came upon him, and he lay there at last with the perspiration gathering in big drops upon his brow. chapter eleven. an unpleasant awakening. did you ever suffer from that unpleasant bodily disorder--sleep-walking? did you ever wake up and find yourself standing undressed in the cold-- somewhere--you can't tell where, only that you are out of bed and on the floor? you are confused--puzzled--and you want to know what is the matter. you know you ought to be in bed, or rather you have a vague kind of belief that you ought to be in bed, and you want to be back there, but the question directly arises--where is the bed? and for the life of you you cannot tell. you hold out your hands, and they touch nothing. you try in another direction--another, and another, with the same result, and, at last with one hand outstretched to the full extent, you gradually edge along sidewise till you touch something--wall, wardrobe, door, and somehow it feels so strange that you seem never to have touched it before; perhaps you never have, for in daylight one does not go about one's room touching doors and walls. of course the result is that you find your bed at last, and that it is close to you, for you stretched your hands right over it again and again; but all the same it is a very singular experience, and the accompanying confusion most peculiar, and those who have ever had such an awakening can the better understand hilary leigh's feelings as he lay there longing for the light. "well," he exclaimed at last, after vainly endeavouring to pierce the darkness, and to touch something else but straw and the stones upon which it had been heaped, "if any one had told me that i should be such a coward on waking up and finding myself in the dark, i should have hit him, i'm sure i should. but it is unpleasant all the same. oh, i say, how my legs ache!" this took his attention from his position, and he sat up and then drew up his legs. "well, i must be stupid and confused," he muttered impatiently. "why do i sit here and let my legs ache with this rope tied round them when i might take it off?" this was better still; it gave him something to do; and he at once attacked the tight knots, which proved so hard that he pulled out his pocket-knife, which had not been taken away. but the rope might be useful for escape! so he closed his knife, and with all a sailor's deftness of fingers attacked the knots so successfully that he at last set his legs free, and, coiling up the rope, tucked it beneath the straw. "murder!" he muttered, drawing in his breath; for now that his legs were freed they seemed to ache and smart most terribly. they throbbed, and burned, and stung, till he had been rubbing at them for a good half-hour, after which the circulation seemed to be restored to its proper force, and he felt better; but even then, when he tried to stand up they would hardly support his weight, and he was glad to sit down once more and think. the darkness was terrible now that he had no longer to make any effort, and the silence was worse. he might have been buried alive, so solemn and still did all seem. but hilary soon shook off any weak dread that tried to oppress him, and rising at last he found that he could walk with less pain, and cautiously leaving the heap of straw upon which he had been lying, he began to explore. slowly and carefully he thrust out one foot and drew the other to it, feeling with his hands the while, till they came in contact with a wall that was roughly plastered. that was something tangible; and gradually feeling his way along this he came to an angle in the wall, starting off in another direction. this he traced, and at the end of a few paces came to another angle. then again another, and in the next side of what was a stone-floored, nearly square apartment, he felt a door. there was the way out, then. the door was not panelled, but of slant bevelled boards, crossed by strong iron hinges, and--yes--here was the keyhole; but on bending down and looking through, he could feel a cold draught of air, but see no light. "there must be a window," he thought; and to find this he searched the place again as high as he could reach, but without avail; and at last he found his way back to the heap of straw, and threw himself down in disgust. "well, i sha'n't bother," he muttered. "i'm shut up here just as if i was in prison. i've been to sleep, and i've woke up in the dark, because it's night; and that's about the worst of it. i don't see anything to mind. there's no watch to keep, so i sha'n't be roused up by that precious bell; and as every sailor ought to get a good long sleep whenever he can, why here goes." perhaps hilary leigh's thoughts were not quite so doughty as his words; but whatever his thoughts were, he fought them down in the most manful way, stretched himself out upon the straw, and after lying thinking for a few minutes he dropped off fast asleep, breathing as regularly and easily as if he had been on board the _kestrel_, and rocked in the cradle of the deep. chapter twelve. a more pleasant awakening, with a hungry fit. "tchu weet--tchu weet--tchu weet! come to tea, jack! come to tea, jack! come to tea, jack! whips kitty! whips kitty! whips kitty! tcho-tcho-tcho!" hilary leigh lay half awake, listening to the loud song of a thrush, full-throated and joyous, whistling away to his mate sitting close by in her clay cup of a nest upon four pale greenish-blue spotted eggs; and as he heard the notes he seemed to be in the old bedroom at sir henry norland's, where he used to leave his window open to be called by the birds. yes, he was back in the old place, and here was the rich, ruddy, golden light of the sun streaming in at his window, and through on to the opposite wall; and it was such a beautiful morning that he would jump up and take his rod, and go down to the big hole in the river. the tench would bite like fun on a morning like this. there were plenty of big worms, too, in the old watering-pot, tough as worms should be after a good scouring in a heap of wet moss. just another five minutes and he'd get up, and when he met adela at breakfast he could brag about what a good one he was at early rising, and show her all the beautiful tench, and-- "hallo! am i awake?" there was no mistake about it. he was wide awake now, and it was years ago that he used to listen to the birds in his old bedroom at sir henry norland's; and though a thrush was whistling away outside, and the rising sun was streaming in at a window and shining on the opposite wall, where he was now hilary leigh did not know, only that he was seated on a heap of straw, and that he was in what looked like a part of an old-fashioned chapel, with a window high up above his reach. "i feel as if i had been asleep for about a week," muttered hilary, "and i'm so hungry that if they, whoever they are, don't soon bring me some breakfast i shall eat my boots." "why, they must have carried me in here while i was asleep," he thought; and then, "hallo, old fellow!" he cried, laughing, "there you are, are you?" for just then, completely eclipsing the thrush in power, a donkey-- probably, he thought, the one that brought him there--trumpeted forth his own resonant song, the song that made the savage irishman exclaim that it was "a wonderful bird for singing, only it seemed to have a moighty cowld." and if there had been any doubt before what donkey it was, hilary's mind was set at rest, for as the bray ended in a long-drawn minor howl there came two or three sharp raps, just as if the jackass has relieved his feelings with these good kicks, as was the case, up against the boards of the shed in which he was confined. "well, this is a rum set-out," said hilary, getting up, and then bending down to have a rub at his legs, which still suffered from the compression of the cord. "hang it all! what a mess my uniform is in with this chaffy straw!" he set to and brushed off as much as he could, and then began to inspect the place in which he was imprisoned, to find that the ideas he had formed of it in the dark were not far wrong, inasmuch as there was a plastered wall, a stone floor, an ancient-looking door with a big keyhole, through which he could see nothing, and the gothic window with iron bars across, and no glass to keep out the air. "well, if any fellow had told me about this i should have said he was inventing. i suppose i'm a prisoner. i wonder what lipscombe thinks of my not coming back. well, i can't help it; and he must come with some of our men to cut me out." "come to tea, jack! come to tea, jack! whips kitty! whips kitty! whips kitty!" "yes, i'll come to tea," said hilary, as the thrush sang on; "but how am i to come? oh! i say, i am so precious hungry. i could eat the hardest biscuit and the toughest bit of salt beef that ever a fellow put between his teeth. they might bring me some prog." hilary was well rested by his sleep, and felt as active as a young goat now, so running to the door he tried it again, to find it shut fast, and no chance of getting it open. so he turned at once to the window, and looked around for something to enable him to reach it, but looked in vain, for there was nothing to be seen. "never mind; here goes!" he cried; and walking back to the opposite wall he took a run and a jump, and succeeded in getting his hands upon the old stone sill, but only to slip back again. he repeated his efforts several times, but in vain; and at last finding this was hopeless, unless for the time being he had been furnished with the hind-legs of a kangaroo, he took out his pocket-knife, opened it, and began to cut a notch in the wall. it was the soft sandstone of the district, and he was not long in carving a good resting-place for one foot; and this he followed up, cutting another niche about a foot higher. "i'm making a pretty mess," he muttered as he looked down; "serve 'em right for shutting me up." on he went carving away with the big jack-knife, which was an offering made by billy waters, and his perseverance was at last rewarded by his contriving a series of niches in the stone wall by whose means he climbed up sufficiently high to enable him to reach the iron bars, when he easily drew himself up to the broad sill, upon which he could sit, and with one arm through the bars, make himself pretty comfortable and enjoy the view. his first glance, though, was at the iron bars embedded in the stone, and he came to the conclusion that, given enough time, he could pick away the cement and make his escape; but as it would be a matter of time he thought that perhaps it would be better to defer it until he knew where he was. "looking due east," said hilary, as he began taking observations; "then the sea must be to the right, over those hills; and out here to the left--my word, what a pretty place! why, it is like a park!" for gazing to the left, or northward, his eye ranged over the lovely undulating sussex weald, with its park-like, well-wooded hills and valleys, now in the first blush of their summer beauty, the leafage all tender green, and the soft meadowlike pastures gilded with the dazzling yellow of the over-abundant crowfoot. there was a thick dew upon the grass, which sparkled like myriads of diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires in the morning sun. here was a patch of vivid blue where the wild hyacinths were peering out from the edge of a wood which, farther in, was tinted with the delicate french-white of the anemones; the cuckoo-flowers rose with their pale lavender turrets of bloom above the hedgeside herbage, and the rich purple of the spotted orchis was on every side. there was a cottage here, a mossy-roofed barn there, all green and yellow; and a tile roofed and sided farmhouse peered from an apple orchard all pink blossoms farther on; and dotted about were the patches like pinky snow lying thick amongst the trees, telling of golden and ruddy russet apples in the days to come. here and there the land dipped down sharply into woody ravines, from out of whose depths there were reflected back the brilliant flashes of the sun where the little streamlets trickled down towards one that was broader, and opened out into quite a little lake, with a hoary-looking building at one end, where something seemed to be in motion, and, making a telescope of his hands, he could just discern that it was a great wheel, from which the water was falling in splashes that glistened and sparkled in the sun. far away the hills seemed of a pale misty blue, near at hand they were of a golden green, and as he drank in with his eyes the beauty of the scene beneath the brilliant blue sky hilary leigh exclaimed: "oh! how i could enjoy all this, if i were not so jolly hungry!" he forgot his hunger the next moment, for he caught sight of a couple of tiny white tails seeming to run up a sandy bank, their owners, a pair of brown rabbits, making for their holes as if ashamed of having been seen by daylight after eating tender herbage all the night. far above them the bird that gave its name to the cutter was hovering in the air, seemingly motionless at times, as it poised itself over something that tried to hide itself in the grass. the proceedings of the kestrel interested hilary to no small extent as he saw it stoop, rise, hover again, and end by making a dash down like an arrow, and then skim along the ground and fly away without its prey. "like our dash after the smugglers," he said to himself; and then he looked closer home, to see that where he was formed part of a very ancient house, one of whose mossy-roofed, ivy-grown gables he could just make out by pressing his cheek very hard against the iron bars. beside it was an orchard full of very old lichened trees, with patches of green moss about their boles, and beyond this there seemed to be a garden in a very neglected state, while surrounding all was a wide black moat. "i wonder whether there's a bridge," thought hilary, as he looked at the smooth dark water, dotted with the broad leaves of the yellow water-lily, and amidst the herbage of whose banks a sooty-looking water-hen was walking delicately upon its long thin green toes, darting its crimson-shielded head forward and flicking its white black-barred tail at every step. "it's very nice to be growing a man," mused hilary; "but how i could enjoy being a boy again! i'll be bound to say there's heaps of fish in that great moat, for it looks as deep as deep." it was not above twenty yards from him at the nearest end, where it curved round the place that formed his prison, and from his elevated position he could command a good view. "there, i said so!" he exclaimed; "i can see the lily leaves moving. there's a big tench pushing about amongst the stems. smack! that was a great carp." the water moved in a series of rings in the spot whence the loud smacking noise had come, and as hilary excitedly watched the place a faint nibbling noise reached his ear. after looking about he saw what produced the sound, in the shape of a pretty little animal, that seemed to be made of the softest and finest of black velvet. it had crawled a little way up a strand of reed, and was nibbling its way through so rapidly that the reed fell over with a light splash in the water, when the little animal followed, took the cut end in its teeth, and swam across the moat, trailing the reed, and disappearing with it under some overhanging bushes, where it probably had its hole. "i could be as happy as a king here," thought hilary, "if i could go about as i liked. why, there's a snake crawling out in the sun on that patch of sand, and--phew! what a whopper! a ten-pounder, if he's an ounce!" he cried, as, simultaneously with the flashing out of a shoal of little silvery fish from the black surface of the moat there was a rush, a swirl, a tremendous splash, and the green and gold of a large pike was seen as it threw itself out of the water in pursuit of its prey. "i wonder whether they've got any fishing-tackle here," he cried excitedly. "how i could enjoy a week or two at this place! why, there'd be no end of fun, only one would want a companion. birds' nests must swarm, and one might get rabbits and hares, and fish of an evening." he stopped short, for an acute pang drew his attention to an extremely vulgar want. "oh, i say, what a boy i am still!" he said, half aloud. "here i am, half starved for want of food. i'm a king's officer taken prisoner by a pack of dirty smugglers, and i'm keeping up my dignity as a gentleman in the king's service by thinking about chasing water-rats and fishing for carp and pike. 'pon my word i'm about ashamed of myself. what a beautiful magpie, though!" he continued, staring out of the window; "i never saw one with so large a tail. why, there are jays, too calling in the wood. yes, there they go--char, char, char! one might keep 'em aboard ship to make fog-signals in thick weather. my word, how this does bring back all the old times! i feel as boyish and as bright and-- oh! i say, are you going to starve a fellow to death? i can't stand this. ahoy! is there any one here? ahoy! pipe all hands to breakfast, will you? ahoy!" he placed one hand to the side of his face and shouted with all his might, and as he ceased-- "haw-w! hee-haw! hee-haw! hee-haw! hee-haw! haw-haw! haw-haw-wk!" came from a short distance, as if in answer to his hail, followed directly by half a dozen lively kicks. "sweet, intelligent beast!" cried hilary. "what, are you hungry too? surely they have not left us to starve, my gentle friend in misfortune." growing too hungry and impatient to be interested any longer by the beauty of the scene, hilary shouted again several times, but without obtaining an answer. he startled some pigeons, though, from somewhere upon the roof, and they circled round a few times before settling down again, and beginning to sing, "koo-coo-coo-cooo! koo-coo-coo-cooo!" over and over again. he leaped down, went to the door, and hammered and kicked and shouted till his toes were tender and his throat hoarse; but in answer to his kicks came hollow echoes, and to his shouts the donkey's brays, and at last he threw himself sulkily down upon the straw. "i'm not going to stop here and be starved to death," he exclaimed angrily; "there's no one in the place, that's my opinion, and they've stuffed me in here while they get out of the country." he jumped up in a fury and went and kicked at the door again, but the mocking echoes were the only response, and, tired of that, he shouted through the keyhole, ran, jumped, and clambered to the window, as he took out his knife, opened it, and began to dig at the stonework to loosen the bars, when the donkey brayed once more. "be quiet, will you," roared hilary, "or i'll kill you, and eat you afterwards." as he said this he burst out laughing at the ludicrous situation, and this did him good, for he felt that it would be best to be patient. so there he sat, listening for some sound to indicate the presence of a human being, but hearing nothing, longing intensely the while for some breakfast; and just as he was conjuring up visions of a country-house meal, with hot bread, delicious butter, and yellow cream, he detected in the distance the cooking of home-made bacon, and as if to add poignancy to the keen edge of his hunger, a hen began loudly to announce that somewhere or other there was a new-laid egg. chapter thirteen. breakfast under difficulties. "well, this beats everything i've had to do with," said hilary, as the hours glided by, and he began to suffer acutely. visions of delicious country breakfasts, for which he had longed, had now given place to the humblest of desires, for he felt as if he would have given anything for the most mouldy, weevilly biscuit that ever came out of a dirty bag in a purser's locker. he had fasted before now, but never to such an extent as this, and he sat upon his straw heap at last, chewing pieces to try and relieve his pain. he had worked at the iron bars for a time, but had now given it up, finding that he would be knifeless long before he could loosen a single bar; besides, that gnawing hunger mastered everything else, and in place of the active the passive state had set in: with a feeling of obstinate annoyance against his captors he had determined to sit still and starve. the probabilities are that hilary's obstinate determination would have lasted about an hour; but he was not called upon to carry it out, for just about noon, as he guessed, he fancied he heard a voice, and jumping up he ran to the window and listened. yes, there was no mistake about it. some one was singing, and it was in sweet girlish tones. "ahoy! i say there!" shouted hilary at the invisible singer, who seemed to be right away on the other side of the garden; and the singing stopped on the instant. "is any one there?" there was not a sound now, and he was about to cry out once more when he caught a glimpse of a lady's dress, and a little slight figure came cautiously through the trees, looking wonderingly about. "hurrah!" shouted hilary, thrusting out his arm and waving his hand, "addy! addy! here!" the figure came closer, showing the pleasant face and bright wondering eyes of sir henry norland's daughter, who came timidly on towards the building where hilary was confined. "don't you know me, addy?" he cried. "hilary! you here?" "yes, for the present; and i've been kicking and shouting for hours. am i to be starved to death?" "oh, hilary!" she cried. "well, it seems like it. i haven't had a morsel since yesterday morning. get me something, there's a dear girl--bread, meat, tea, coffee, anything, if it's only oats or barley." "wait a minute," cried the girl, turning to go. "you mustn't be longer, or i shall be dead," shouted hilary as she ran off; and then, dropping from the window, the young fellow executed a figure out of the dance of delight invented for such occasions by dame nature to aid young people in getting rid of their exuberance, stopped short, pulled out a pocket-comb, and carefully touched up his hair, relieving it from a number of scraps of straw and chaff in the process. "a nice tom o' bedlam i must have looked," he said to himself. "no wonder she didn't know me." "hil! hil!" "ahoy!" he shouted, scrambling up to the window and slipping down again, to try the next time more carefully and on regaining the window-sill there was the bright, eager-looking girl beneath, with a jug of milk and a great piece of bread. "this was all i could get now, hil," she said, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. "all!" he cried. "new bread and new milk! oh, addy, it's lovely! there's nothing i like better for breakfast, and our cow on board won't milk and our oven won't bake. give us hold: i'm ravenous for the feast." hilary reached one arm down and adela norland reached one arm up, but when they had strained to the utmost a good six feet intervened between hilary's hand and the slice of bread. "oh, i say, how tantalising!" he cried, giving a shake at the bars. "make haste, addy, and do something. isn't there a ladder?" "no," she said, shaking her head. "i'll get a chair." "two chairs wouldn't do it," cried hilary, who, sailor-like, was pretty ready at ideas. "here, i know. get a long stick; put the bread and milk down first." she placed the jug on the ground, and was about to run off. "cover your handkerchief over them first," cried hilary, "or i can't bear to sit and look at them." "i won't be a minute," cried the girl; and she ran off, leaving the young sailor in the position of that mythical gentleman tantalus, waiting her return. the minute had reached two when a peculiar grunting noise was heard, and, to hilary's horror, an exceedingly pendulous, narrow-backed pig came snuffing and rooting into sight, turning over stones with its huge pointed snout, investigating clods of earth, pushing aside pieces of wood, and all the while making an ill-used grunting squeaking noise, as if protesting against the long period that had elapsed since it was fed. "well, of all the ugly, hungry-looking brutes i ever saw," said hilary, as he gazed down at the pig, "you are about the worst. why, you are not fit to cut up and salt for a ship's company, which is saying a deal. umph! indeed! get out you ugly--oh, murder! the brute's coming at my breakfast! addy, addy, quick! yah! pst! get out! ciss! swine! co-chon! boo! bah-h-h! oh, if i'd only got something to throw at the wretch! quick, addy, quick!" his sufferings were bad enough before, but now they were agonising, for, treating the loud objurgations of the prisoner with the greatest contempt, after raising its snout sidewise and gazing up at him with one little eye full of porcine wisdom, and flapping one of its ears the while, the pig came to the conclusion that hilary could only throw words at it such as would not injure its pachydermatous hide, and then with a contemptuous grunt it came on. nearer and nearer to the breakfast came the pig, twiddling its miserable little tail about, investigating here and turning over there; and more frantic grew the prisoner. he abused that unfortunate pig with every sentence, phrase, and term he could remember or invent, but the animal paid not the slightest heed. "au, you thick-skinned beast," he cried; "if i were only down there with a stick!" but he was not down there with a stick, and the pig evidently knew, though as yet he did not know of the breakfast lying on the ground so invitingly close, or it would have disappeared at once. still, there was no doubt that before many minutes had passed it would be gone if adela did not return, and at last hilary pulled off a shoe, and as the animal came now in a straight line for the bread, he took careful aim and hit the intruder on the nose. the pig uttered an angry squeal, and jumped back; but as the shoe lay motionless, it concluded that it was probably something thrown it to eat, and in this belief it approached the foot-guard, turned it over, thrust its nose right inside, and lifted it up, flung it off its snout, and proceeded to taste the leather, when, to hilary's horror, the bread met the ugly little pink eyes. the pig uttered a squeal of pleasure, and dropped the shoe. hilary uttered a yell of horror, and threw the fellow shoe, and the pig made for the bread, just as, armed with a long stick, adela came round the corner, saw the position, and rushed at the intruder, whom a blow from the stick drove grunting away. "oh, i am glad you came," cried hilary. "you were only just in time." "the nasty thing," cried the lady, picking up the bread. "had he touched it?" "no," said hilary pointedly; "_she_ had. but pray make haste." "oh, what fun!" cried adela, sticking the point of the stick into the bread, and then, with the weight at the end making the wand bend like a fishing-rod, she held it up bobbing and bowing about to hilary, who caught at it eagerly, and took a most frightful bite out of one side, leaving a model for the arch of a bridge perfectly visible to the young lady. "what lovely bread!" said hilary, with his mouth full. another model arch made in the bread. "i was so precious hungry." "i can see you were," cried adela laughing. "but i say," said hilary, with his mouth full; "this is just like feeding a wild beast in a cage." "but however did you come to be here?" cried the girl. "can't talk till i've been fed a little more," replied hilary. "i say, addy, dear, how about that milk?" "that's what i was thinking," said the girl; "i can't push that up to you on the stick." "no," said hilary, munching away. "what are we to do?" "i don't know, hil." "i do." he took another tremendous bite, which made the two arches into one by the destruction of the model pier, laid the bread down on the window-sill, and was about to leap down, when he remembered something. "i beg your pardon," he said politely; "would you mind picking up my shoes on the end of that stick, and passing them up?" "oh, hilary!" "i was obliged to shy them at the pig to save my breakfast. thank you," he continued, as she laughingly picked up a shoe on the end of the stick and passed it up. "now the other. thanks," he added, dropping them inside his prison. "now i want that milk." as adela picked up the jug the sailor dropped back after his shoes, put them on, ran to his straw bed, munching away the while, and drew out the cord that had been used to bind his legs. "how useful a bit of line always is!" he muttered as he climbed back to the window-sill, held on with one arm through the bars, and took another tremendous bite from the bread, nodding pleasantly the while at his old friend. "why, hil, how hungry you must have been!" she said. "let me run and get some butter." "how hungry i am, you mean," he said. "addy, dear, i feel now just like what wolves must feel when they eat little children and old women. i'll never speak disrespectfully of a wolf again. why, i could have eaten you." "oh, what nonsense!" "i don't know so much about that," he said; "but never mind about the butter; let me have some of that milk. look here, tie one end of this cord round the handle of the jug, and then i'll haul it up." he lowered down one end of the cord and watched her carefully, munching busily the while, as she cleverly tied the end to the jug handle, and then held the vessel of milk up so that he should not have so far to haul. "steady," said hilary, with his mouth unpleasantly full; and he softly drew the cord tight, but only to find that the want of balance would pull the jug so much on one side that half the milk would be spilled. "that won't do," he said; "and i can't wait for you to tie the cord afresh; besides, i don't think you could do it right. i say, addy, drink some of it, there's a good girl; it would be a pity to spill any." adela hesitated a moment, and then placed the jug to her lips, hilary watching her attentively the while. "steady," he cried excitedly; "steady! don't drink it all." "oh, hilary," said the girl laughing, "what a greedy boy you are! you're just as bad as you used to be over the cider." "can't help it," he said. "there, drink a little more. you don't know how bad i am." "poor fellow!" she said feelingly; and having drunk a little more she again held up the jug, which he drew rapidly to the window, but not without spilling a good deal. "hah!" he exclaimed as he got hold of the vessel. "good health." he drank long and with avidity; and then setting down the jug once more, partook of some bread, looking down the while at his little benefactor, and ending by saying: "why, addy, what a nice girl you have grown!" "have i!" she said laughingly. "and what a great big fellow you have grown; and oh, hilary," she said, with her face becoming serious, "thank you--thank you for being so very, very kind to us the other day." "yes," he said, "and this is the way you show it. now i'm better, and i want to know how you came here." "oh, this is a very old house--a place they call it--where papa and i have been staying for some time. poor papa is obliged to be in hiding." "and who lives here?" "well, hilary, perhaps i ought not to say," she said sadly. "tell me, then, how far are we from the sea?" "about eight miles." "only eight miles? well, how did i come here?" "i don't know. i want to know." "am i a prisoner?" "it seems like it." "but where's everybody? i haven't heard a soul about till you came." "they are not up yet," said adela, glancing over her shoulder. "they have been out all night, hilary." "oh, then, i'm in a regular smuggler's den, i suppose. what place is this i am in?" "the old chapel, hilary. they say it's haunted, and for the moment, when i saw you, i was frightened." "what! are there ghosts here?" said hilary, glancing inside. "yes, they say one walks there sometimes." "i only wish he had walked here last night, and left the door open," said hilary. "but i say, addy, how funny that we should meet again like this." "yes, isn't it, hilary? and yet," said the girl thoughtfully, "it is not funny, but sad, for the days are not so happy now as they were when we played together years ago." "and we've both grown so," said hilary thoughtfully. "but look here," he exclaimed, as a sudden thought struck him. "i want to see somebody. i'm not going to be made a prisoner here in my own country. i'm not cross with you, addy, but i must have this set right. where is sir henry?" as he asked the question a distant voice was heard calling the young girl's name, and she turned, ran, and was out of sight in an instant. chapter fourteen. a tempting offer. hilary sat upon the window-ledge and listened, but he heard no further sound; so, coming to the conclusion that though he was extremely indignant he was also still uncommonly hungry, he drained the jug of milk, and went on steadily until he had finished his bread, after which, feeling better, he let himself down from the ledge, which was anything but a comfortable place, and began walking up and down the little chapel. for a few minutes he was too indignant to do more than think about his position; and he kept on muttering about "a gross case of kidnapping!" "cowardly scoundrels!" "insult to king's officer!" and a few more such expressions; but having partaken of food he felt easier and soon had another good look round the place. it was only a portion of the old chapel, and had evidently been patched and used for different purposes of late years, so that its old religious character was to a great extent gone. "i don't think it would be so very hard to get out," he said to himself, "if a fellow made up his mind to it, and--hallo! here's some one coming at last." his quick ears had detected footsteps, followed by the unlocking of a door; then the steps passed over a boarded floor in some empty echoing room. then he heard voices, and the unlocking of another door, when the voices and steps sounded plainer, and he began to understand how it was that his shouts had not been heard, for the people, whoever they were, now seemed to come down along a stone passage before they stopped at and unlocked the door of his prison. as the heavy old door was thrown open hilary saw two things--one which made him very cross, the other which made him very glad. the sight that roused his anger was sir henry norland, in elegant half-military costume, with high riding boots and spurs; the other was a rough, ill-looking man, carrying a tray, on which was bread, a cold chicken, and what seemed to be a flask of french wine. certainly hilary had just partaken of food, but a draught of milk and some bread seemed only provocatives to fresh eating in the case of a young growing fellow who had been fasting for considerably more than twenty-four hours. "set the tray down, allstone," said sir henry. "don't wait," he continued; "i'll lock the door after me when i come out." "the skipper said i was to keep charge of the young lad," said the man, surlily. "keep charge, then," said sir henry sharply, "but wait outside." the man scowled and withdrew, whereupon sir henry held out his hand. "well, hilary," he said, "you and i seem to meet under strange conditions." "may i ask, sir henry," cried hilary sharply, and without looking at the extended hand, "why i am seized, bound, and kidnapped in this disgraceful way?" "certainly, my dear boy," said sir henry; "but let me tell you at once that i had nothing whatever to do with it." "who had, then?" cried hilary, with the blood flaming in his cheeks. "that i cannot exactly answer; but from what i can learn it seems that you were found prying rather too closely into the affairs of some friends of mine, and they pounced upon you and carried you off." "yes, and i'll pounce upon some of them," cried hilary, "and carry them off." "when you get your liberty," said sir henry with a smile. "yes; when i get my liberty," cried hilary; "and that sha'n't be long first. even now my commander will be searching for me." "very likely, hilary," said sir henry; "but you must be very hungry. i have only just learned of your being here, and that you had not been attended to. the habits of my friends here are somewhat nocturnal, and hence they are irregular by day. come, sit down, man, and eat. we campaigners are not so particular as some people." he seated himself upon the straw as he spoke, and looked up so frankly and with such friendly eyes at the young man, that hilary was slightly softened. "adela is here," he said. "yes, i know; i have seen her this morning, sir henry." "seen her! oh, yes, i see--from the window. but come, fall to." hilary glanced at the chicken and the bread, and felt disposed to resent his rough treatment, especially as just then the donkey brayed loudly, and fired off a salute of kicks against the side of the shed where he was confined; but there was a specially tempting brown side to that chicken, which looked tender and seductive, and hilary argued that he should not be able to stand long upon his dignity if he starved himself, so he seated himself tailor-fashion beside the tray, and began to carve. "you'll take some, sir henry?" he said sulkily. "with pleasure," was the reply; and sir henry allowed himself to be helped, hilary's carving being of a very primitive kind, but he managed to hack off a leg and a wing, and passed them to sir henry, who, in return, cut some bread, and poured out a glass of wine. the chicken came fully up to its looks, and those who discussed it were very busy for some little time. "there is only one glass," said sir henry. "will you drink first, hilary?" "no, sir henry. after you." "but i stand in the place of your host," said sir henry smiling. "however, i will set you the example after the good old custom, so as to show you that the wine is not drugged." "his majesty king charles of england!" said sir henry, drinking a hearty draught before wiping his lips on a french cambric handkerchief. then he refilled the glass and passed it to hilary. "his majesty king george the second of england," said hilary taking the glass, "and down with the pretender!" he said this defiantly, as he gazed full in sir henry's eyes; but the latter only smiled. "you foolish boy," he said lightly; "how little you know what you are saying." "i know that i am speaking like a loyal officer of the king, sir henry, and that if i did my duty i should arrest you at once on a charge of high treason." "and get my head chopped off, eh, hilary? rather comical that would be, my boy, for a prisoner to arrest his visitor, and keep him in prison with him; but how would you manage to give him up to the law?" hilary bit his lip. certainly it did seem laughable for him, a prisoner, to talk in such a way as that, and he felt vexed, and looked uneasily at his visitor; but he brightened up directly as he felt that he had shown his loyalty to the king he served. "so you believe in the dutchman, hilary?" "i don't understand you, sir henry," said the young man. "i say you believe in the dutchman--the man you call george the second-- the pretender." "i do not believe in the pretender," exclaimed hilary quickly. "don't quibble, my boy," said sir henry smiling. "you call my sovereign the pretender, and that is what i call the man you serve. good heavens, boy! how could you devote your frank young life to such a service?" hilary had finished all he wanted of the chicken, and he sat and gazed in the baronet's face. "well," said the latter, "what are you thinking?" "i was thinking, sir henry, how much better it would be if we were both to speak out frankly. now, what do you mean?" "what do i mean?" said sir henry thoughtfully. he stopped and remained thinking. "i'll tell you what you mean, sir henry, if you like," said hilary. "you have come here now, secure in your power, if you like to call it so, and you are going to try and win me over by soft words to join the other cause." "indeed!" exclaimed sir henry, changing his ground. "i did not say anything to make you think such a thing as that." hilary saw that he had made a mistake, and he, too, withdrew his argumentative position. "perhaps i am wrong then," he said. "presumably, hilary. why, my good boy, of what value would you be to us? i said what i did only out of compassion." this nettled hilary, who, boylike, had no little idea of his importance in the world. "oh, no, my dear boy, i only felt a little sorry; and as to being in my power, really i have no power whatever here. i am, as i told you, only a visitor." "on the pretender's business," said hilary sharply. "i did not say so," replied sir henry quietly. "but come, suppose we two enemies, in a political sense, leave off fencing and come, down to the matter of fact. hilary, my boy, i am very grateful to you for your reticence the other day. you saved my life." "i am very glad i served you, sir henry; but i hope i shall never be placed in such a situation again. if i am, sir, i shall be obliged to give you up." "from a stern sense of duty," said sir henry laughing. "well, now i want to serve you in turn, hilary. what can i do for you?" "have me immediately set at liberty, sir henry." "ah! there you ask an impossibility, my boy. you know what you are supposed to have discovered?" "yes." "and if you are set at liberty you will of course bring the _kestrel_ abreast of a certain part of the shore and land your men?" "of course." "then is it likely, my dear boy, that these people here will give you the opportunity? no; i am ready to help you in remembrance of old days; and if you will give your word of honour as a gentleman not to go more than five hundred yards in any direction from this old place i dare say i can get for you that length of tether." "i'm to promise not to escape?" "most decidedly; and if you do i dare say i can manage for your life to pass far more agreeably than in your close quarters on board the cutter, with a peremptory, bullying officer." "lieutenant lipscombe is my officer, and a gentleman, sir henry." "lieutenant lipscombe is your officer, and he is no gentleman, hilary leigh," said sir henry warmly. "but we will not discuss that. as i was saying, i daresay i can manage to make your life pass pretty pleasantly here. adela will be your companion, and you can be boy and girl together again, and spend your time collecting and fishing and boating on the little river. it will be pleasant for both of you. all you will have to do will be to hear, see, and say nothing. better still--don't hear, don't see, and say whatever you like. i will take care that a snug room is provided for you, and you will have your meals with us. now what do you say?" "what is to become of my duty to my ship?" "a prisoner of war has no duties." "but i am not a prisoner of war, sir henry." "indeed, my boy, that you are, most decidedly. you and yours make war on the gentlemen who fetch brandy and lace from the french coast." "and followers of the pretender," said hilary sharply. "i accept your correction, my boy--and followers of his most gracious majesty king charles edward." "stuff!" cried hilary. "every man according to his lights, my boy. but as i was saying, your people make war against these people, and they generally act on the defensive. sometimes they retaliate. this time they have taken a prisoner--you." "yes, hang them!" cried hilary. "no, no," laughed sir henry, "don't do that. no yardarm work, my boy. you see we do not offer to hang you; on the contrary, i offer you a comfortable happy life for a few months on parole." "a few months!" cried hilary. "perhaps a year or two. now what do you say?" "no!" cried hilary quickly. "think, my boy. you will be kept a very close prisoner, and it will be most unpleasant. we want to use you well." "and you nearly smother me; you drag me here in a wretched donkey-cart; and you nearly starve me to death." "on chicken and wine," said sir henry smiling. "come, hilary, your parole." "no, sir henry," cried the young man, "i'll give no parole. i mean to get away from here, and i warn you that as soon as i do i'll bring brimstone and burn out this miserable wasps' nest; so get out of the way." "then i must leave you to think it over, hilary. there," he continued, rising, "think about it. i'll come and see you this evening." "stop, sir henry," cried the young man, leaping up in turn; "this is an outrage on an officer in the navy. in the king's name i order you to set me at liberty." "and in the king's name i refuse, master hilary." "then i shall take it," cried hilary, making for the door, which he reached and flung open, but only to find himself confronted by three rough, sailor-looking fellows. "you see," said sir henry smiling. "allstone, take away that tray. good-bye for the present, hilary. i will see you to-night." he went out of the door, which was slammed to and locked, and sir henry norland said to himself: "i like the lad, and it goes against me to make him break faith; but it must be done. my cause is a greater one than his. once on our side, he could be of immense service. he will have to be won over somehow, poor fellow. let's see what a day or two's caging will do." meanwhile hilary was angrily walking up and down his prison, wroth with sir henry, with himself, and with fate, for placing him in such a position, to ameliorate which he climbed up to the window-sill and gazed out at the sunny meads. chapter fifteen. another cruise ashore. lieutenant lipscombe made up his mind half a dozen times over that he would run into port and send in a despatch detailing hilary leigh's desertion; and each time that he so made up his mind, and had the cutter's head laid in the required direction, his eye became so painful that the cook had to supply hot water from the galley, and the worthy officer went below to bathe the injured optic. each time as the inflammation was relieved the lieutenant unmade his mind, and decided to wait a little longer, going on deck again to superintend the repairs joe smith, the carpenter, familiarly known as "chips," was proceeding with in the damaged deck. there was a great deal to do and the carpenter was doing that great deal well, but at his own pace, for "chips" was not a rapid man. if he had a hole to make with gimlet or augur he did not dash at it and perhaps bore the hole a quarter or half an inch out of place, but took his measurements slowly and methodically, and no matter who or what was waiting he went steadily on. there was enough in the composition of "chips" to make anyone believe that he had descended from a family in the far-off antiquity who were bears; for he was heavy and bearlike in all his actions, especially in going up or coming down a ladder, and his caution was proverbial amongst the crew. so deliberately were the proceedings now going on that lieutenant lipscombe grew hot every time he went on deck, and the hotter the commander became the cooler grew "chips." the lieutenant stormed and bade him make haste. "you are disgracefully slow, sir," he exclaimed. "chips" immediately found that his saw or chisel wanted sharpening, and left off to touch up the teeth of the one with a file, and the edge of the other on a stone well lubricated with oil. the lieutenant grew more angry, and the carpenter looked at him in the calmest possible way, till in despair, seeing that he was doing no good, but only hindering progress, lieutenant lipscombe went aft to his cabin and bathed his eye. "lookye here," said billy waters the day after hilary's disappearance, "i hope, my lads, i'm as straightforrard a chap as a man can be, and as free from mut'nous idees; but what i want to know is this: why don't we go ashore and have another sarch for our young orsifer?" "that's just what i says," exclaimed tom tully. "no, you don't, thomas," cried the gunner sharply. "you did nothing but grumble and growl all the blessed time we was ashore, and say as our young orsifer had cut on some games or another. i put it to you, lads; now didn't he?" "that's a true word," said one of the men, and several others agreed. "yes," growled tom tully; "but that was when i weer hot and wanted to stow some wittles below, and my feet was as sore as if they'd been holystoned or scraped with a rusty nail. i'm ready enough now." "then i think we ought to go. i don't like the idee o' forsakin' of him." "pass the word there for the gunner," cried the corporal of marines. "captain wants him in his cabin." billy waters pulled himself together, straightened his pigtail, and hauling up his slack, as he called it--to wit, giving the waistband of his trousers a rub up with one arm in front and a hitch up with one arm behind, he went off aft, and came back at the end of a quarter of an hour to announce that a fresh search was to be made for mr leigh, and that they were to go ashore as soon as it was dusk. "what's the good o' going then?" said the boatswain. "why not go now?" "that's just what i was a-thinking," said billy waters; "but i s'pose the skipper knows best." preparations were made and arms served round. the boat was to go under command of the gunner, and each man was supplied with a ration of biscuits, to be supplemented by a tot of grog before starting, which was to be just at dark, and the men, being all eager to find their young officer, who was a great favourite, lounged about waiting the order, a most welcome one on account of the grog; but just as the grog was being mixed in its proper proportions the gunner was sent for to the cabin, where the lieutenant was still bathing his eye. "has that grog been served out, waters?" "no, your honour; it's just a-going to be done." "go and stop it." "stop it, your honour? the men's grog?" "go and stop it, i say," cried the lieutenant irascibly. "i shall not send the expedition to-night." billy waters went back and gave the order in the hearing of the assembled crew, from whom a loud murmur arose--truth to tell more on account of the extra tot of grog than the disappointment about searching for hilary; but the latter feeling dominated a few minutes later, and the men lay about grumbling in no very pleasant way. "i say it's a shame, that's what i says it is," growled tom tully, "and it ought to be reported. for half a button i'd desart, and go and look for him myself--that's about what i'd do." just then chips, who had knocked off work for the night, struck in slowly, laughing heartily the while: "why don't you say as you won't go, my lads? he's sure to send you then." "that's a good 'un," said tom tully. "ah! to be sure," said the boatswain. "i'm a officer, and can't do it; but if i was you, seeing as we ought to fetch young mr leigh back aboard, i should just give three rattling good cheers." "what good would that do?" said billy waters dubiously. "why, then the skipper would send for one of us to know what's the matter. `ship's crew mutinous, sir; says they wouldn't have gone ashore if they'd been ordered.'" "well?" said billy waters, "i don't see that that would have been no good neither." "why, don't you see? soon as you says that he claps on his sword, takes his pistols, and orders you all into the boat; and says he, `if you dare to come back without mr leigh i'll string one of you up to the yardarm.'" "that's it," chorussed several of the men. "yes," said billy waters; "but suppose we do come back without him, and he do string us up--how then?" "ah! but he won't," said the boatswain. "men's too scarce." "well, i wouldn't have gone ashore in the boat," said one man. "nor i", "nor i," chorussed half-a-dozen; and then they stopped, for the lieutenant had approached unseen, caught the words, and in a fit of fury he shouted to the boatswain: "here, my sword--from the cabin!" he cried. "no; stop. pipe away the boat's crew. you, waters, head that expedition!" and then, as if moved to repeat the boatswain's words, he continued, "and don't you men dare to come back without mr leigh." the men had got their own way; but though they waited patiently for the rest of the lieutenant's order respecting the extra tot of grog, that order did not come, and they had to set off without it. they were in capital spirits, and bent well to their oars, sending the boat surging through the water, and chattering and laughing like so many boys as soon as they were out of hearing. no wonder, for there is something exceedingly monotonous in being cooped up day after day on board ship, especially if it be a very small one; and there is no wonder at jack's being fond of a run ashore. the evening was coming on very dark, and a thick bank of clouds was rising in the west, gradually blotting out the stars one by one, almost before they had had time to get well alight. "pull steady, my lads," said the gunner. "save a little bit of breath for landing." "all right, matey," said one of the men; and they rowed steadily, each stroke of an oar seeming to splash up so much pale liquid fire, while the boat's stem sent it flashing and sparkling away in an ever-diverging train. "now then, lads, steady," said billy waters, who seemed to have suddenly awakened to the fact that he ought to be more dignified, as became the officer in command. "we don't want to go for to let everybody ashore know we're coming." there was silence then, only broken by the splash of the water from the oars, and a dismal creaking noise of wood upon wood. "shove a bit o' grease agen that there thole-pin o' yours, tom tully. your oar'll rouse all the smugglers along the coast." "ar'n't no grease," growled tom. "then why didn't you get a bit out of a lantern afore you come aboard?" "'cause nobody didn't tell me," growled tom, who ceased rowing and splashed the space between the thole-pins with a few drops of water, when the noise ceased. "steady, my lads, steady!" said billy waters, giving a pull at the rudder, so as to run the boat more west towards where the cliff rose high and black against the darkening sky. "yer see--" began tom tully, and then he stopped. "not werry far," said the man pulling behind him. "well, what do you see, old tommy?" said billy waters. "give it woice." "yer see," began tom tully, "i'm a chap as allus gets bullied as soon as he opens his mouth." "soon as what chap opens his mouth?" said the gunner. "why, ar'n't i a-telling of you?--me," growled tom tully. "well, what's the matter now?" said the gunner. "well, i was a-wondering what we was going for ashore." "now, just hark at this here chap!" said the gunner indignantly. "that's what i says," growled tom tully; "directly i opens my mouth i gets a bullying. i allus gets told i'm a-grumbling." "well, come now," said the gunner, "speak out will you? what's the matter?" "oh, i don't want to speak out unless you like," said tom. "yes, come, out with it, and don't let's have no mutinous, onderhanded ways," cried the gunner importantly. "well, what i want to know is, what we're a-going for ashore?" "now just hark at him," cried the gunner, "grumbling again. why, ar'n't we going to look after our young orsifer?" "then why didn't we come in the daytime, and not wait until it was getting so pitch dark as you can't see your hand afore your eyes?" billy waters scratched his head. "well, it is getting dark, old tommy, sartinly," he said apologetically. "dark as davy jones's locker," growled tom. "i wants to find muster leigh as much as anybody, but you can't look if you can't see." "that's a true word anyhow," said one of the men. "it's my belief as our skipper's pretty nigh mad," continued tom, giving a vicious jerk at his oar, "or else he wouldn't be sending us ashore at this time o' night." "well, it is late, tommy," said the gunner; "but we must make the best on it." "yah! there ar'n't no best on it. all we can do is to get ashore, sit down on the sand, and shout out, `muster leigh, ahoy!'" "there, it ar'n't no use to growl again, tom tully," said billy waters, reassuming his dignified position of commanding officer. "give way, my lads." the men took long, steady strokes, and soon after the boat glided right in over the calm phosphorescent waves, four men leaped out as her bows touched the sand, and as the next wave lifted her, they ran her right up; the others leaped out and lent a hand, and the next minute the boat was high and dry. "now then, my lads," cried the gunner, "what i propose is that we try and find our landmarks, and as soon as we have hit the place where master leigh left us we'll all hail as loud as we can, and then wait for an answer." tom tully growled out something in reply, it was impossible to say what, and leaving one man to act as boatkeeper, they all set off together along the shore. chapter sixteen. attack and defeat. tom tully had marked down a towering portion of the cliff as being over the spot where they had lost sight of their young officer, and, as it happened, that really was pretty close to the place, so, trudging on in silence after giving a glance in the direction where the cutter lay, now seen only as a couple of lights about a mile from the shore, they soon reached the rocks, where the gunner called a halt. "now, my lads," he said, "get all of a row, face inwards, and make ready to hail. we'll give him one good `_kestrel_ ahoy!' and that'll wake him up, wherever he is. hallo! stop that chap! there, he's dodged behind that big stone." the men wanted no further inducement than the sight of some one trying to avoid them. in an instant the quiet stolid row of men were dashing here and there among the rocks in chase of a dark figure, which, from a thorough knowledge of the ground, kept eluding them, darting between the rocks, scrambling over others; and had he had to deal with a couple of pursuers he would have escaped at once, but he had too many on his track, and fortune was rather against him, so that several times over he ran right upon one or other of the party and was nearly taken. the activity of the young man, for such he seemed to be, was something marvellous; and again and again he made a tremendous leap, scrambled over the rocks, and escaped. the last time, however, he dropped down in a narrow place that formed quite a _cul-de-sac_, and right in front of tom tully. "what! have i got you?" cried the great stolid fellow; and he made a dash forward, straddling out his legs as if on board ship, when, to his intense astonishment, his quarry bent down, dashed at him, ducked between his knees, struggling through, and throwing the great sailor headlong flat upon his face. the shout tom tully gave brought up billy waters; and as the stranger recovered his feet to escape in a fresh direction, he ran right into the gunner's arms, to be held with a grip like iron. the man had his arms free, however, and putting his fingers into his mouth he gave vent to a piercing whistle, close to the gunner's ear. "oh, that's it, is it?" said billy waters. "well, my lad, i sha'n't let you go any the more for that. here, lend a hand my lads, and lash his wristies and elbows together. we've got him, and we'll keep him till we get back muster leigh. now then, tom tully, you hold him while i lash his wristies. that's your style. i say, he won't get away once i--look at that!" tom tully had, as he thought, taken a good hold of the prisoner, when the man gave himself a sudden wrench, dived under the gunner's arm, and was gone. "well, of all--" began tom tully. "why didn't you hold him?" cried the gunner. "i thought he was a man and not a slippery eel," cried tom tully. "he's for all the world like one o' them big congers muster leigh caught off hastings." "yes," cried the gunner, "but he did hold 'em when he caught 'em. look out, my lads! he come your way." the men were well on the alert this time, and one of them, in spite of the darkness, saw which way the prisoner had taken, that being none other than the narrow passage between the rocks which hilary had found. he saw him go down here, and then caught sight of him as he climbed over the rock. "this way," shouted the sailor as he scrambled over after the escaping man, got into the chasm on the other side, and then following him, just in time to hear a dull, heavy thud, and his mate staggered back against him half stunned by a heavy blow. just then there was a sharp whiz; and he felt the wind of a blow aimed at him from the rocks above his head, to which he replied by lugging out his hanger and dealing a vigorous blow at his unseen enemy, but without effect. "here, this way," he shouted. "waters! tom tully! here they are." a sturdy "ahoy!" came in response, just as the first man began to scramble to his feet and stood rubbing his head. "where away?" cried billy waters. "here ho!" replied both the men in the narrow pass; and beading the rest of the party, the gunner, after another hail or two, scrambled over and joined the two first men, every one of the party now having his unsheathed cutlass in his hand. "well," cried the gunner excitedly, "where are they?" "close here," said the man who had received the blow. "one of 'em hit me with a handspike." "and some one cut at me from up above on the rocks," cried the other. the gunner held up his hand to command silence, and then listened attentively. "why there ar'n't no one," he cried in tones of disgust. "you joe harris, you run up again a rock; and as for you, jemmy leeson, you've been asleep." the two men indignantly declared that they had spoken the truth; but with an impatient "pish!" the gunner went forward along the narrow way. "here, come along," he said; and as the words left his lips those behind heard a heavy blow, and billy waters came hastily back. "that ain't fancy," said one of the men, "unless billy hit his head again the rocks." "it warn't my head," whispered the gunner drawing in his breath, and trying to suppress the pain. "it caught me right on the left shoulder. i shall be all right directly, my lads, and we'll give it 'em. i'll bet that's how they sarved poor master leigh; and we've dropped right into the proper spot. just wait till i get my breath a bit." "think it's the smugglers?" said tom tully. "sartain," was the reply. "i wish we had a lantern or two. but never mind. if we can't see to hit them, they can't see to hit us; so it's broad as it's long." "we shall want the pistols, shan't we?" said one of the men. "pistols? no," cried the gunner. "stick to your whingers, lads. it's no use to fire a piece without you can take good aim, and you can't do that in the dark--it's only waste of powder. now, then, are you ready?" "ay, ay," was whispered back in the midst of the ominous silence that prevailed. "then look here," cried the gunner, "i shall go in at 'em roosh; and if they downs me, don't you mind, lads, but keep on; go over me at once and board the place." "lookye here," growled tom tully, "i'm 'bout as hard as iron; they won't hurt me. let me go fust, capten." as he spoke the great fellow spat in his hand before taking a tighter grip of his weapon, and making a step forward. "just you keep aft, will yer, tom tully, and obey orders?" said the gunner, seizing the great fellow by the tail and dragging him back. "i'm skipper here, and i'm going to lead. now, lads, are you all ready?" "ay, ay," was the reply. "then i ar'n't," said the gunner. "that crack pretty nigh split my shoulder. now i am. close up, and hit hard. we're all right, my lads; they're smugglers, and they hit us fust." the gunner made a dash forward, and, as they had expected, a concealed enemy struck a tremendous blow at him; but billy waters was a sailor, and accustomed to rapid action. by quickness of movement and ready wit he avoided the blow, which, robbed of a good deal of its force, struck tom tully full in the chest, stopping him for a moment, but only serving to infuriate him, as, recovering himself, he dashed on after the gunner. a sharp fight ensued, for now, as the sailors forced their way on, they found plenty of antagonists. most of them seemed to be armed with stout clubs like capstan-bars, with which they struck blow after blow of the most formidable character from where they kept guard at various turns of the narrow passage, while the sailors could not reach them with their short cutlasses. it was sharp work, and with all their native stubbornness the little party fought their way on, attacking and carrying yard after yard of the passage, forcing the smugglers to retreat from vantage ground to vantage ground, and always higher and higher up the rocks. the attacking party were at a terrible disadvantage, for the place was to them like a maze, while the smugglers kept taking them in the rear, and striking at them from the most unexpected positions, till the sailors were hot with a rage that grew fiercer with every blow. at the end of ten minutes two of the men were down, and the gunner and tom tully panting and breathless with their exertions; but far from feeling beaten they were more eager than ever to come to close quarters with their antagonists, for, in addition to the fighting spirit roused within them, they were inflamed with the idea of the large stores of smuggled goods that they would capture: velvets and laces and silks in endless quantities, with kegs of brandy besides. that they had hit accidentally upon the party who had seized mr leigh they had not a doubt, and so they fought bravely on till they reached a narrower pass amongst the rocks than any they had yet gone through. so narrow was it that they could only approach in single file, and, hemmed in as they were with the rocks to right and left, the attack now resolved itself into a combat of two--to wit, billy waters and a great broad-shouldered fellow who disputed his way. the men who backed up the big smuggler were apparently close behind him; but it was now too dark to see, and, to make matters worse for the gunner, there was no room for him to swing his cutlass; all he could do was to make clumsy stabs with the point, or try to guard himself from the savage thrusts made at him with the capstan bar or club by the smuggler. this went on for some minutes without advantage on either side, till, growing tired, billy waters drew back for a moment. "now, my lads," he whispered, "i'm going to roosh him. keep close up, tom tully, and nail him if i go down." tom tully growled out his assent to the order given to him, and the next moment the gunner made a dash forward into the darkness, striking sharply downwards with his cutlass, so sharply that the sparks flew from the rock, where his weapon struck, while on recovering himself for a second blow he found that it, too, struck the rock, and billy waters uttered a yell as he started back, overcome with superstitious horror on finding himself at the end of the narrow rift, and quite alone. "what's the matter, matey?" growled tom tully; "are you hurt?" "no. go and try yourself," said the gunner, who was for the moment quite unnerved. tom tully squeezed by, and, making a dash forward, he too struck at the rock, and made the sparks fly, after which he poked about with the point of his cutlass, which clinked and jingled against the stones. "why, they ar'n't here!" he cried. "look out!" every one did look out, but in vain. they were in a very narrow passage between two perpendicular pieces of rock, and they had driven the smugglers back step by step into what they expected to find to be a cavern crammed with treasure; but now that the end was reached they could feel nothing in the dark but the flat face of the rock, and this seemed to slope somewhat over their heads, and that was all. billy waters' surprise had now evaporated along with his alarm, and pushing to the front once more he set himself to work to find how the enemy had eluded them. they could not have gone through the rock, he argued, and there was no possible way that he could feel by which they had climbed up. neither was ascent possible by scaling the rock to right or left, unless they had had a ladder, and of that there did not seem to have been any sign. for a few moments the gunner stood as if nonplussed. then an idea occurred to him. taking a pistol from his belt he quickly drew out the bullet and a portion of the powder before flashing off the other over some which he laid loose upon the rock. this lit up the place for the moment, but revealed nothing more than they knew before, and that was that they were walled in on either side by rock, and that a huge mass rose up in front. "it's a rum 'un," growled tom tully; and then again, "it's a rum 'un. i say, billy waters, old mate, what's gone o' them chaps?" the gunner felt ready to believe once more that there was something "no canny" about the affair, but he shook off the feeling, and began searching about once more for some sign or other of his enemies; but he sought in vain, and at last he turned to his companions to ask them what they had better do. such a proceeding would, however, be derogatory to his dignity, he thought, so he proceeded to give his opinion on the best course. "look here, my lads," he said in a whisper; "it seems to me that we ought to have come on this trip by daylight." "that ere's what i said," growled tom tully. "all right, tommy, only don't be so precious proud of it," said the leader. "i says we ought to have come on this trip by daylight." "as i says afore, that's what i did say," growled tom tully again; but this time his superior officer refused to hear him, and continued: "as we didn't come by daylight, my lads, we ought to have had lanterns." "ay, ay," said one of the men. "so i think," said the gunner; "we'd best go back and get the lanterns, so as to have a good search, or else come back and do the job by daylight." "ay, ay," was chorussed by three of the party. "yes, it's all very well to say `ay, ay,' and talk about lanterns and daylight," growled tom tully; "but i don't like going off and leaving one's work half done. i want to have a go at that chap as fetched me a crack with a handspike, and i shan't feel happy till i have; so now then, my lads." "what's the good o' being obst'nit, tommy?" said his leader. "no one wants to stop you from giving it to him as hit you, only just tell me where he is." "that ar'n't my job, billy waters," cried the big fellow; "that's your job. you leads, and i does the fighting. show him to me and i'll make him that sore as he shall wish he'd stopped at home." "come on, then, and let's get the lanterns, and come back then," said the gunner. "it ar'n't no use to be knocking ourselves about here in the dark. come on." he tried to lead the way back as they had come, each man cutlass in hand, and well on the alert in case of attack; but nothing interposed to stop them as they scrambled and clambered over the rocks till they got to the open shore once more, just as, in front of them and out in the pitchy blackness, there was a flash, a report, and then the wall of darkness closed up once more. "oh! ah, we're a-coming," said billy waters, who, now that the excitement was over, began to feel very sore, while his companions got along very slowly, having a couple of sorely-beaten men to help. "anybody make out the ship's lights?" "i can see one on 'em," growled tully. "and where's our boat?" cried the gunner. "jim tanner, ahoy!" "ahoy!" came in a faint voice from a distance. "there he is," said billy waters. "come, my lads, look alive, or we shall have the skipper firing away more o' my powder. i wish him and jack brown would let my guns alone. now then, jim tanner, where away?" "ahoy!" came again in a faint voice, and stumbling on through the darkness, they came at last upon the boatkeeper, tied neck and heels, and lying in the sand. "who done this?" cried the gunner. "i dunno," said the man; "only cast me loose, mates." this was soon done, the man explaining that a couple of figures suddenly jumped upon him out of the darkness, and bound him before he could stand on his defence. "why, you was asleep, that's what you was," cried the gunner angrily. "nice job we've made of it. my! ar'n't it dark? now, then, where's this here boat? bring them two wounded men along. d'yer hear?" "oh, it ar'n't been such a very bad time," growled tom tully; "we did have a bit of a fight!" "fight? ay! and didn't finish it. now, then, tom tully, where's that boat? can you see her?" "yes; here she is," growled the big sailor; "and blest if some one ar'n't took away the oars; and--yes that they have. no getting off to-night, lads; they've shoved a hole in her bottom." "what!" cried billy waters, groping his way to the boat; and then, in a hoarse, angry voice, "and no mistake. she's stove-in!" chapter seventeen. a few ideas on escape. hilary leigh felt very angry at being shut up in his prison, but the good breakfast with which he had been supplied went some way towards mollifying him, and as he sat upon the window-sill he felt that sir henry would much like to win him over to his side. "and he is not going to do it," he said half aloud. it was a lovely day, and as he sat there gazing out at the view, he thought he had never seen anything so beautiful before. it was wonderful, too, how a comfortable meal had improved his appreciation of what he saw. but even then there were drawbacks. a rough and narrow stone seat, upon which you can only sit by holding on tightly to some rusty iron bars, does go against the full enjoyment of a scene, especially if you know that those rusty iron bars prevent you from going any farther. so before long hilary grew weary of his irksome position, and, letting himself down, he had a walk along each side of the old chapel, striding out as fast as he could, till he fancied he heard his old playmate outside, when he pounded up to the window again, but only to be disappointed. this went on hour after hour, but still adela did not come, and as the afternoon wore on he began to think it extremely cruel and unsympathising. "she knows i'm shut up here like a bird in a cage, and yet she does not come to say a single word to cheer me." the side where the window was seemed darkened now, for the sun had got well round to the west, and as he climbed up for another good look out the landscape seemed to wear fresh charms, exciting an intense longing to get out and ramble over the sunshine-flooded hills, or to lie down beneath the shaded trees. he was accustomed to a prison life, as it were, being shut up so much within a little sloop; but that wooden prison was always on the move, and never seemed to oppress him as did the four dull walls of his present abode. "i shall wear out the knees of my breeches in no time, if i'm to be kept in here long," he said, as he was in the act of making a run and a jump for another look out; but he stopped short just in the act, for he fancied he heard the rattle of a key, and directly after he knew he was not deceived, for there was a heavy step, then another, and then a key was placed in the big door. "well, this is being made a prisoner, and no mistake. hallo, handsome!" he cried aloud, as the forbidding-looking man addressed by sir henry as allstone entered the place with another looking little more amiable, and both were bringing something in the shape of food. "what?" said the man surlily. "i said `hallo, handsome!'" cried hilary. "have you come to let me out?" the man uttered a low hoarse chuckle, which sounded like a laugh, but his face did not move a muscle, and he looked as if he were scowling heavily. "we'll carry you out some day, my young buck," he said, "feet foremost. there's a little burying-ground just outside the place here." "thank you," replied hilary. "is that meant for a joke?" "joke? no, i never joke. here i've brought you something to eat, and you won't get any more till to-morrow." he set the rough tray he carried on the floor, and the man who was with him did the same, after which they both stood and stared at the prisoner. "send him away," said hilary suddenly, and he pointed to the fresh man. "what for?" "i want to talk to you." allstone gave his head a jerk and the man went outside. "look here," said hilary, "how long are you going to keep me here?" "till the skipper is tired of you, i suppose, or till sir henry's gone." "and then you'll let me go?" "oh, yes," said the man grimly. "we shall let you go then." there was another hoarse chuckle, which appeared very strange, for it did not seem to come from the man, who scowled at him in the same heavy, morose way. "oh! come! you're not going to frighten me into the belief that you can kill me, my man," cried hilary. "i'm too old for that." "who's to know if we did?" said the fellow. "why, you don't suppose that one of his majesty's officers can be detained without proper search being made. you'll have the crew of my ship over here directly, and they'll burn the place about your ears." "thankye," said the man. "is that all you want to say?" "no. now look here; i'll give you five guineas if you'll let me go some time to-night. you could break through that window, and it would seem as if i had done it myself." for answer the man turned upon his heel and stalked out of the place without a word. "get out, you rude boor!" cried hilary, as the door slammed and the key turned. "kill me and bury me! bah! i should like to see them do it." a faint noise outside made him scale the window once more; but there was no sign of adela, so he returned. "well, they're not going to starve me," he said to himself, as he looked at the plates before him, one containing a good-looking pork pasty, the others a loaf and a big piece of butter, while a large brown jug was half full of milk. there was a couple of knives, too, the larger and stronger of which he took and thrust beneath the straw. "what a piggish way of treating a fellow!" he muttered. "no chair, no table; not so much as a stool. well, i'm not very hungry yet, and as this is to last till to-morrow i may as well wait." he stood thinking for a bit, and then the idea of escaping came more strongly than ever, and he went and examined the door, which seemed strong enough to resist a battering-ram. there was the window as the only other likely weak place, but on climbing up and again testing the mortar with the point of his knife, the result was disheartening, for the cement of the good old times hardened into something far more difficult to deal with than stone. in fact, he soon found that he would be more likely to escape by sawing through the bars or digging through the stone. "well, i mean to get out if lipscombe don't send and fetch me; and i'll let them see that i'm not quite such a tame animal as to settle down to my cage without some effort;" and as he spoke he looked up at the ceiling as being a likely place to attack. he had the satisfaction of seeing that it was evidently weak, and that with the exercise of a little ingenuity there would be no difficulty in cutting a way through. but there was one drawback--it was many feet above his head, and impossible of access without scaffold or ladder. "and i'm not a fly, to hold on with my head downwards," he said, half aloud. he slowly lowered himself from the window-sill, and had another good look at the walls, tapping them here and there where they had been plastered; but though they sounded hollow, they seemed for the most part to be exceedingly thick, and offered no temptation for an assault. he stood there musing, with the place of his confinement gradually growing more gloomy, and the glow in the sky reminding him of how glorious the sea would look upon such an evening. there were a few strands of straw lying about, and he proceeded to kick them together in an idle fashion, his thoughts being far away at the time, when a sudden thought came to him like a flash. the place was paved with slabs of stone, and it had been the chapel of the old mansion; perhaps there were vaults underneath, or maybe cellars. the more he thought, the more likely this seemed. the old builders in that part of england believed in providing cool stores for wine and beer. in many places the dairy was underground, and why might there not be some place below here from which he could make his escape? he stamped with his foot and listened. hollow, without a doubt. he tried in another part, and another; and no matter where, the sound was such as would arise from a place beneath whose floor there was some great vault. "that'll do," he said to himself, with a half-laugh. "i'm satisfied; so now i'll have something to eat." the evening was closing in as he seated himself upon the straw and began his meal, listening the while for some sign of the presence of adela under his prison window, but he listened in vain. there was the evening song of the thrush, and he could hear poultry and the distant grunting of his friend the pig. now and then, too, there came through the window the soft cooing of the pigeons on the roof, but otherwise there was not a sound, and the place might have been deserted by human kind. "so much the better for me," he said, "if i want to escape;" and having at last finished his meal, he placed the remains on one side for use in the morning, and tried to find a likely stone in the floor for loosening, but he had to give up because it was so dark, and climbed up once more to the window to gaze out now at the stars, which moment by moment grew brighter in the east. there was something very soft and beautiful in the calm of the summer night, but it oppressed him with its solitude. in one place he could see a faint ray of light, apparently from some cottage window; but that soon went out, and the scene that had been so bright in the morning was now shrouded in a gloom which almost hid the nearest trees. now and then he could hear a splash in the moat made by fish or water-vole, and once or twice he saw the star-bejewelled surface twinkle and move as if some creature were swimming across; but soon that was all calm again, and the booming, buzzing noise of some great beetle sweeping by on reckless wing sounded quite loud. "it's as lively as keeping the middle watch," said hilary impatiently. "the best thing i can do is to go to sleep." hilary leigh was one not slow to act upon his convictions, and getting down he proceeded to make himself as snug a nest as he could in the straw, lay down, pulled some of it over him, to the great bedusting of his uniform, and in five minutes he was fast asleep. chapter eighteen. billy waters finds it out. "well," said billy waters, "of all the cowardly, sneaking tricks anybody could do, i don't know a worse one than staving in a man's boat. yah! a fellow who would do such a thing ought to be strung up at the yardarm, that he ought!" "every day," growled tom tully. "well, matey, how is we to get aboard?" "what's the good of asking me?" cried billy waters, who was regularly out of temper. "leave that gun alone, will yer?" he roared as there was another flash and a report from the cutter. "it's enough to aggravate a hangel, that it is," he continued. "no sooner have i left the cutter, and my guns that clean you might drink grog out of 'em, than the skipper and that jack brown gets fooling of 'em about and making 'em foul. they neither of 'em know no more about loading a gun than they do about being archbishops; but they will do it, and they'll be a-busting of 'em some day. firing again, just as if we don't know the first was a recall! here, who's got a loaded pistol?" "here you are, matey," said tom tully. "fire away, then, uppards," said the gunner; "and let 'em know that we want help." the flash from the pistol cut the darkness; there was a sharp report, and the gunner fired his own pistols to make three shots. "there," he said, replacing them in his belt. "that'll make him send another boat, and if that there jacky brown's in it i shall give him a bit of my mind." there was a long pause now, during which the weary men sat apart upon the sands, or with their backs propped against the sides of the damaged boat, but at last there came a hail out of the darkness, to which tom tully answered with a stentorian "boat a-hoy-oy!" "who told you to hail, tom tully?" cried the gunner. "i'm chief orsifer here, so just you wait until you are told." tom tully growled, and the gunner walked down to where the waves beat upon the shingle just as the regular plash-plash of the oars told of the coming of the boat from the cutter with the boatswain in command, that worthy leaping ashore, followed by half a dozen men. "what's on?" he cried. "have you found muster leigh?" "no." "what did you signal for?" "boat. ourn's stove-in, and we've got knocked about awful." "what! by the smugglers?" "ay, my lad. they beat us off." "then, now there's reinforcements, let's go and carry all afore us." "it's all very fine for you, coming fresh and ready, to talk," said the gunner; "but it ar'n't no use, my lad--we're reg'lar beat out. they got away somehow, and you want daylight to find 'em." "then you may go up the side of the cutter first, my lad, that's all i've got to say," said the boatswain. "you don't catch me facing the skipper to-night." it was a close pack to get all the men on board, but it was successfully accomplished, the stove-in boat taken in tow, and the side of the cutter reached at last, where, as the boatswain had vaguely hinted, there was a storm. billy waters was threatened with arrest, and he was abused for an hour for his clumsy management of the expedition. "a child would have managed it better, sir," cried the lieutenant; "but never was officer in his majesty's service worse served than i am. not one subordinate have i on whom i can depend; i might just as well get a draught of boys from the guardship, and if it was not for the men and the marines i don't know what i should do. pipe down." the men were piped down, glad enough to get something to eat, and then to crawl to their hammocks, out of which they rolled in the morning seeming little the worse for their engagement, the injured men being bruised pretty severely, though they would not own to their hurts, being too eager, as they put it, to go and pay their debts. for quite early the cutter began to sail in pretty close to the shore, the carpenter busy the while in getting a fresh plank in the bottom of the stove-in boat, having it ready by the time the lieutenant mustered his men and told them off into the boats, leaving the boatswain in command of the cutter and leading the expedition himself. the men fancied once or twice that they could see people on the cliffs watching their movements, but they could not be sure, and as the boats grated on the shingle the rocks looked as desolate and deserted as if there had not been a soul there for years. the men were well-armed, and ready to make up for their misadventure of the previous night, and billy waters being sent to the front to act as guide he was not long in finding out the narrow entrance amongst the rocks, but only to be at fault directly after, on account of places looking so different in broad daylight to what they did when distorted by the shadowy gloom. he had come to the head-scratching business, when a rub is expected to brighten the intellect, and felt ready to appeal to his companions for aid and counsel when he suddenly recollected that they had clambered over a rock here, and this he now did, shouting to his companions to come on, just as the lieutenant was approaching to fulminate in wrath upon his subordinate's ignorance. "here you are," he cried, and one after the other the men tumbled down the rock, following him through each well-remembered turn--spots impressed upon them by the blows they had received, until they were brought to a standstill in a complete _cul-de-sac_, through a passage so narrow that one man could have held it against a dozen if there had been anything to hold. the lieutenant squeezed his way past the men till he stood beside his subordinate. "well, why have you brought us here?" he exclaimed. "this here's the place where we chased 'em to, your honour," said the gunner, "and then they disappeared like." "but you said it was so dark that you could not see any one." "yes, your honour, we couldn't hardly see 'em; but they disappeared all the same." "where? how?" "some'eres here, your honour." "nonsense, man! the rock's thirty feet high here, and they could not go up that." "no, your honour." "then where did they go?" "that's what none of us can't tell, your honour." "look here, waters," said the lieutenant in a rage; "do you mean to tell me that you have let me lead his majesty's force of marines and sailors to the attack of a smugglers' stronghold, and then got nothing more to show than a corner in the rocks?" billy waters scratched his head again and looked up at the face of the rock, then at the sides, and then down at his feet, before once more raising his eyes to his commander. "now, sir!" exclaimed the latter, "what have you to say?" billy waters appealed to the rocks again in mute despair, but they were as stony-faced as ever. "do you hear me, sir?" cried the lieutenant. "the fact of it is that you all came ashore, got scandalously intoxicated, and then began fighting among yourselves." "no, we didn't," growled tom tully from somewhere in the rear. "who was that? what mutinous scoundrel dared to speak like that?" cried the lieutenant; but no one answered, though the question was twice repeated. "very good, then," continued the lieutenant; "i shall investigate this directly i am back on board. waters, consider yourself under arrest." "all right, your honour," said the gunner; "but if i didn't get a crack on the shoulder just about here from some one, i'm a dutchman." "ay, ay," was uttered in chorus; and the members of the previous night's party stared up at the rocks on all sides, in search of some evidence to lay before their doubting commander; but none being forthcoming, they reluctantly followed him back to the open shore, where, as there was nothing to be seen but rocks, sand, and stones, and the towering cliff, they proceeded back to the boats. "fools! idiots! asses!" the lieutenant kept muttering till they embarked, the gunner and tom tully being in one boat, the lieutenant in the other, which was allowed to get well on ahead before the occupants of the second boat ventured to speak, when tom tully became the spokesman, the gunner being too much put out by the rebuff he had met with to do more than utter an occasional growl. "lookye here, my lads," said tully; "arter this here, i'll be blessed." that was all he said; but it was given in so emphatic a tone, and evidently meant so much, that his messmates all nodded their heads in sage acquiescence with his remark. then they looked at each other and bent steadily to their oars, in expectation of what was to take place as soon as they got on board. by the time they were three-quarters of the way billy waters had somewhat recovered himself. "i've got it," he exclaimed. "got what?" said three or four men at once. "why that 'ere. i see it all now. them chaps lives atop o' the cliff when they ar'n't afloat, and they've got tackle rigged up ready, and what do they do but whip one another up the side o' the rock, just as you might whip a lady out of a boat up the side of a three-decker." tom tully opened his mouth and stared at the gunner in open admiration. "why, what a clever chap you are, billy!" he growled. "i shouldn't ha' thought o' that if i'd lived to hundred-and-two." "i see it all now plain enough, mates," continued the gunner. "i was hitting at that chap one minute in the dark, and then he was gone. he'd been keeping me off while his mates was whipped up, and then, when his turn came, up he goes like a bag o' biscuit into a warehouse door at portsmouth, and i'll lay a tot o' grog that's what's become of our young orsifer." "hark at him!" cried tom tully, giving his head a sidewise wag. "that's it for sartain; and if i wouldn't rather sarve under billy waters for skipper than our luff, i ar'n't here." "you'd best tell him, then, as soon as we get on board," said one of the men. "what! and be called a fool and a hidiot!" cried the gunner. "not i, my lads. i says let him find it out for hisself now, for i sha'n't tell nothing till i'm asked." in this spirit the crew of the second boat reached the side of the cutter, went on board, the boats were hoisted up, and billy waters had the pleasure of finding himself placed under arrest, with the great grief upon his mind that his guns were left to the tender mercies of the boatswain, and a minor sorrow in the fact that his supply of grog was stopped. chapter nineteen. in the middle watch. how long hilary had been asleep he did not know, but he was aroused suddenly by something touching his face, and he lay there wide awake on the instant, wondering what it meant. and now for the first time the hardship of his position came with renewed force. he was accustomed to a rough life on board ship, where in those days there were few of the luxuries of civilisation, but there he had a tolerably comfortable bed. here he had straw, and the absence of a coverlet of any description made him terribly cold. the cold chill did not last many seconds after his awaking, for he felt a strange sensation of heat come over him; his hands grew moist, and in a state of intense excitement he lay wondering what it was that had touched his face. he could not be sure, but certainly it felt like a cold, soft hand, and he waited for a renewal of the touch, determined to grasp at it if it came again. he was as brave as most lads of his age, but as he lay there, startled into a sudden wakefulness, it was impossible to help thinking of adela's words spoken that morning and his own light remarks, and for a time he felt in a strange state of perturbation. all was perfectly still, and it was so dark that he could not for some time make out the shape of the window against the night sky; but inside his prison there was a faint light, so faint that it did not make the wall visible, and towards this he strained his eyes, wondering whence it came. "why, what a coward i am!" he said to himself, as he made an effort to master his childish fears. "ghosts, indeed! what nonsense! i'm worse than a child--afraid of being in the dark." he lay listening with the straw rustling at his slightest movement, and then, unable to bear the uncertainty longer, he started up on one elbow. as he did so there was a quick noise to his right, and he turned sharply in that direction. "i might have known it," he muttered--"rats. i daresay they swarm in this old place. how did that fellow get in? i saw no holes." unable to answer the question, he turned his attention to the faint light that seemed to pervade the place, and, after a time, he made out that it struck down through some crack or crevice in the ceiling. as he tried to make out where, it seemed to die away, leaving the place as black as ever; but now, in place of the depressing silence, he could hear that something was going on. there was a dull noise somewhere below him, making his heart beat fast with excitement, for it was an endorsement of his ideas that there was a cellar or vault. then, in the distance, he fancied he could hear the rattle of chains, and the impatient stamp of a horse, with once or twice, but very faintly heard, a quick order or ejaculation. "i wonder whether there are many rats here?" he thought, for he wanted to get up and clamber to the window, and look out to see if he could witness any of the proceedings of his captors. it was an unpleasant thought that about the rats, for, as a matter of course, he began directly afterwards to recall all the old stories about people being attacked by rats, and half devoured by the fierce little animals; and it was some time before he could shake off the horrible idea that if he moved dozens of the little creatures might attack him. making an effort over himself to master his cowardly feelings, he sprang up and stood listening; but there was not so much as a scuffle of the tiny feet, and groping his way to the wall beneath the window, he climbed up and looked out, but could see nothing, only hear voices from the other side of the house. directly after, though, he heard some one apparently coming to his prison; for there were the steps upon the boarded floor, then others upon a stone passage, and a light shone beneath his door. "they sha'n't find me up here," he thought; and he lowered himself down; but, to his surprise, instead of whoever it was coming right to his door, he seemed to go down some steps, with another following him. the light disappeared, and then the footsteps ceased, and he could hear the rumbling mutter of voices below his feet. "i hope they are not getting up a gunpowder plot below," said hilary to himself, for his dread had given place to curiosity. "i'll be bound to say that there's a regular store of good things down there waiting to be turned into prize-money for my lads when i once get back on board. hallo! here they come again." the ascending steps were heard plainly enough, and the light reappeared, shining feebly beneath the door; and, going softly across, hilary looked through the great keyhole, and could see the ill-looking man allstone with a candle in one hand and a little keg that might have contained gunpowder or spirit upon his shoulder. "here," he whispered to his companion, "lay hold while i lock up." it was all in a moment. the keg was being passed from one to the other, when, between them, they let it fall with a crash, knocking the candle out of allstone's hands. hilary saw the flash of the contents of the keg as the candle fell upon the stones; then there was the noise of a dull explosion that rattled the door; and as the prisoner started back from the door a stream of blue fire began to run beneath it, and he heard one of the men yell out: "there's that young officer in there, and he'll be burned to death!" chapter twenty. a fiery trial. it was a terrible position, and for a few moments hilary felt helpless to move. that blue stream of fire came gurgling and fluttering beneath the door, spreading rapidly over the floor, filling the chapel with a ghastly glare; and the prisoner saw that in a few moments it would reach the straw. even in those exciting moments he fully comprehended the affair. he knew, as in a case he had once seen on shipboard, that this was spirit of extraordinary strength, and that the vapour would explode wherever it gathered, even while the surface of the stream was burning. he did not stand still, though, to think, but with all the matter-of-fact, business habitude of one accustomed to a life of emergencies, he proceeded to drag the straw into the corner farthest away from the increasing flame. the next minute he saw that this corner was the one nearest the window, and that if he had to take refuge there, and the flame extended to the straw, there would be a tremendous blaze almost beneath him. setting to work, he dragged it away into another corner, sweeping up the loose pieces as rapidly as he could, and even as he did so the fluttering blue-and-orange flames advanced steadily across the floor, cutting off his access to the window, and rapidly spreading now all over the place, for the passage had a gradual descent to the door, and nearly the whole of the spilt spirit came bubbling and streaming in. it was a beautiful, although an appalling sight, for the surface of the spirit was all dancing tongues of fire--red, blue, and orange, mingled with tiny puffs of smoke and bright sparks as it consumed the fragments of straw that lay upon the stones. it had reached the opposite wall now, and ran as well right up to the window, the floor being now one blaze, except in the corner where hilary stood on guard, as if to keep the flames back from the straw. but now he found that he had another enemy with which to contend, for a peculiarly stifling vapour was arising, producing a sensation of giddiness, against which he could not battle; and as hilary drew back from the approach of the tiny sea of waves of fire, pressing back, as he did so, the straw, he felt that unless he could reach the window he would be overcome. there was no time for pause; help, if it were coming, could not reach him yet. in another instant he knew that the straw would catch fire. even now a little rill of spirit had run to it, along which the flames were travelling, so, nerving himself for the effort, he made a dash to cross to the window. at his first step the burning spirit splashed up in blue flames; at his second, the fire rose above his ankles; then, placing his foot upon a plate that had been left upon the floor, he slipped and fell headlong into the burning tongues that seemed to rise and lick him angrily. the sensation was sharp to his hands, but not too pungent, and, fortunately, he kept his face from contact with the floor, while struggling up he for the moment lost his nerve, and felt ready to rush frantically about the place. fortunately, however, he mastered himself, and dashed at the window, leaped at the sill, and climbed up to breathe the pure cool air that was rushing in, just as the straw caught fire, blazed up furiously, and the place rapidly filled with rolling clouds of smoke. he could not notice it, however, for the flames that fluttered about his garments where they were soaked with the spirit, and for some few minutes he thought of nothing but extinguishing the purply blaze. they burned him but slightly, and in several places went out as the spirit became exhausted; but here and there the woollen material of his garments began to burn with a peculiar odour before he had extinguished the last spark. meanwhile, although the straw blazed furiously, and the smoke filled the place so that respiration would have been impossible, no help came. the spirit fluttered and danced as it burned, and save here and there where it lay in inequalities of the floor, it was nearly consumed, the danger now being from the straw, which still blazed. fortunately for hilary, although he could feel the glow, his foresight in sweeping it to one corner saved him from being incommoded, and the heat caused a current of cool night-air to set in through the window and keep back the blinding and stifling fumes. he listened, and could hear shouts in the distance; but no one came to his help, and he could not avoid feeling that if he had been dependent upon aid from without he must have lost his life. fortunately for him, just at a time when his fate seemed sealed, the flames from the burning straw reached their height, and though they blackened the ceiling they did no worse harm, but exhausted from the want of supply they sank lower and lower. there was not a scrap of furniture in the place, or salient piece of wood to catch fire, and so as the spirit burned out, and the blazing straw settled down into some blackened sparkling ash, hilary's spirits rose, and with the reaction as he clung there by the window came a feeling of indignation. "if i don't be even with some of them for this!" he muttered. "they half starve me, and then try to burn me to death." "yes, that's right," he cried. "bravo, heroes! come, now the danger's over." for as he sat there he could hear hurrying feet, the rattle of a key in the chapel door, and shouts to him to come out. the smoke was so dense that the fresh comers could not possibly see him where he sat in the window, and they cried to him again to come out. "i sha'n't come," said hilary to himself; "you'll only lock me up somewhere else, and now i have found out as much as i have, perhaps i shall be better off where i am." "there'll be a pretty noise about this when sir henry comes back," cried a voice, which hilary recognised as that of the ill-looking fellow allstone. "you clumsy fool, dropping that keg!" "it was as much you as me," cried another. "i sha'n't take all the blame." "the lad's burned to death through your clumsiness," continued allstone. "and a whole keg of the strongest brandy wasted," said another dolefully. "the place nearly burned down too," said another. "here, go in somebody," cried allstone. "perhaps he isn't quite dead, and i suppose we must save him if we can. do you hear? go in some of you." "who's going in?" said another voice. "there's smoke enough to choke you. why don't you go in yourself?" "because i tell you to go," cried allstone savagely. "i'm master here when the skipper's away, and i'll be obeyed. go in, two of you, and fetch the boy out." "he don't want no fetching out," said one of the men, as the current of air that set from the window drove the smoke aside and revealed the dimly-seen figure of hilary seated in the embrasure holding on to the iron bars. "he don't want no help; there he sits." allstone, who had been seized with a fit of coughing and choking from the effects of the blinding, pungent smoke, did not speak for a few moments, during which the smoke went on getting thinner and thinner, though, as the men had no lights, everything was still very obscure. "oh, you're up there, are you?" cried allstone at last. "come down, sir; do you hear?" and he spoke as if he were addressing a disobedient dog; but hilary remained perfectly silent, truth to say, almost speechless from indignation. "what do you mean by pretending to be smothered and burned to death, hey?" cried the fellow again, roughly. "why don't you answer? get down." "out, bully!" cried hilary angrily. "why, you insolent dog, how dare you speak to a king's officer like that? why, you ugly, indecent-looking outrage upon humanity, you set fire to the place through your clumsiness, and then come and insult me for not being burned to death." "haw! haw! haw!" laughed one of the men. "well crowed, young gamecock." "you cowardly lubbers, why didn't you come sooner to help me, instead of leaving me to frizzle here? i might have burned to death a dozen times for aught you cared." "haw! haw! haw!" laughed a couple of the men now, to allstone's great annoyance. "hold your tongue, and come down, boy," he cried. "you can't stop there." "be off and lock the door again, bully," cried hilary. "you great ugly, cowardly hound, if i had you on board the _kestrel_, you should be triced up and have five dozen on your bare back." "haw! haw! haw!" came in a regular chorus this time, for the danger was over. "i'd like to look on while the crew of you were being talked to by the boatswain," cried hilary, angrily--"a set of cowardly loons." "that'll do!" cried allstone, who was hoarse with passion. "go in and fetch him out." no one stirred, and allstone went in himself, but only to be seized with a furious fit of coughing which lasted a couple of minutes or so, and to his companions' intense delight. the fit over, the fellow went in again and stood beneath the window. "come down!" he cried; but as hilary did not condescend to notice him allstone seized the young man by one of his legs, with the result that he clung with both hands to the iron bars, and raising up his knees for a moment, kicked out with as much cleverness as his friend the jackass, catching allstone full in the chest and sending him staggering back for a few steps, where, unable to recover his balance, he went down heavily in a sitting position. there was a roar of laughter from his companions, who stamped about, slapped their legs, and literally danced with delight; while, in spite of his anger and indignation at this scoundrel of a smuggler daring to touch a king's officer, hilary could not help feeling amused. but matters looked tragic directly after instead of comic, for, uttering a fierce oath, the man sprang up, pulled out his cutlass and made at the prisoner. active as a leopard, hilary sprang down to avoid him, when the pieces of the broken plate--the remains of that which had thrown the young officer down into the burning spirit--this time befriended him, for allstone stepped upon a large fragment, slipped, fell sprawling, and the cutlass flew from his hand with a loud jangling noise in the far corner upon the stone floor. quick as lightning, and while the other men were roaring with laughter, hilary dashed at the cutlass, picked it up, and, assuming now the part of aggressor, he turned upon allstone, presenting the point of his weapon, and drove the ruffian before him out of the place, turning the next moment upon his companions, who offered not the slightest resistance, but retreated before him laughing with all their might. hilary was about to seize the opportunity to chase them onward through the passage and try to escape, but allstone was too quick for him. on being driven out the man had taken refuge behind the door, and as the last man of his companions passed he dashed it to, striking hilary full and driving him backwards into the chapel, as it slammed against the post with a heavy echo, and was locked and bolted. "stop there, and starve and rot," the ruffian cried through the keyhole furiously, as hilary stood panting and shaking first one hand and then the other, against which the door, to the saving of his face, had come with tremendous force. "we'll see about that," said hilary to himself, as he gave the cutlass a flourish; and then, as the steps died down the passage and he heard the farther door close, with the steps of the men passing over the empty boarded room, he laughed at the change that had come over the scene during the last quarter of an hour. chapter twenty one. temptation. there was something ludicrous in the struggle that had taken place, especially as hilary had so thoroughly won the day; but at the same time there was a very unpleasant side to his position. it was in the middle of the night and very dark, save in one corner of the stone-floored place where the remains of the heap of straw displayed a few sparks, and sent up a thin thread of smoke, which rose to the ceiling and there spread abroad, the rest having passed away, driven out by the draught caused by the open door. he had not a scrap of furniture; the straw was all burned, and the floor of his prison was stone. still there was one good thing upon his side--one which afforded hilary the most intense satisfaction, and this was the fact that he had secured the cutlass. not that he wanted it for fighting, though it might prove useful in case of need for his defence; but it suggested itself to him as being a splendid implement for raising one of the stones in the floor, with which help he might possibly get into the cellars or vaults below, and so escape. "but i don't like going to sleep on the stones," said hilary to himself, and tucking the cutlass under his arm, he felt the flooring in different places. to his surprise he found it perfectly dry, for the intensely strong spirit had burned itself completely out, leaving not so much as a humid spot; and after climbing up to look out at the dark night, hilary saw that the fire was as good as extinct, and ended by sitting down. the stones were very cold, but he felt weary, and at last so intense a desire to sleep came upon him that he lay down, and in spite of the hardness of his couch and the fact that he had no pillow but his arm, he dropped off into a heavy sleep, from which he did not awaken till the sun was shining in through the window upon the smoke-blackened walls. hilary's first thought was concerning his cutlass, which was safe by his side, and jumping up, he listened. then he went to the door and listened again, but all was perfectly still. what was he to do? he asked himself. he felt sure that allstone would come before long, and others with him, to obtain possession of the weapon, and he was equally determined not to give it up. he might fight for it, but, now that he was cool, he felt a repugnance against shedding blood; and, besides, he knew that he must be overcome by numbers, perhaps wounded, and that would make a very uncomfortable state of things ten times worse. the result was that he determined to hide the cutlass; but where? he looked around the place, and, as far as he could see, there was not a place where he could have hidden away a bodkin, let alone the weapon in his hand. certainly he might have heaped over it the black ashes of the straw and the few unburned scraps; but such a proceeding would have been childish in the extreme. it was terribly tantalising, for there was absolutely no place where he could conceal it; and at last, biting his lips with vexation, he exclaimed, after vainly looking out for a slab that he could raise: "i must either fight for it or throw it out of the window; and i'd sooner do that than he should have it back. hurrah! that will do!" he cried eagerly, as a thought struck him. laying down the cutlass, he leaped up to the window, pressed his face sidewise against the bars, and looked down, to see that the grass and weeds grew long below him. he was down again directly and seated upon the floor, where, after listening for a few moments, he stripped down one of his blue worsted stoutly-knitted stockings, sought for a likely place, cut through a thread, and, pulling steadily, it rapidly came undone. this furnished him with a line of worsted some yards long. leaping up, he rapidly tied one end round the hilt of the cutlass, climbed to the window, and lowered the weapon down outside, till it lay hidden amongst the grass close to the wall. then he tied the slight thread close down in the rusted-away part of one of the bars, descended again, and raked up some ashes, with which he mounted and sprinkled them over the thread, making it invisible from inside; after which he descended, feeling quite hopeful that the plan would not be discovered. this done, he seemed to have more time for a look round at the effects of the fire; but beyond a little blackening of the ceiling and the heap of ashes, there was nothing much to see. the strong spirit had burned itself out without doing more than scorch the bottom of the door; but he had a lively recollection of the strange scene as the little blue tongues of fire seemed to be fluttering and dancing all over the place. just then he noticed the corner where he had placed the remains of his previous night's meal, and there were the empty plates--for not a scrap of the food was left; and this satisfactorily indorsed his ideas respecting the touch that had so startled him into wakefulness. "better be awakened by that than by the blaze of fire," he said half aloud. "oh, won't i give sir henry a bit of my mind about the treatment i meet with here, and--here he is." for just then he heard the tramp of feet over the boarded floor, the flinging open of the first door, then the steps in the passage, and he altered his opinion. "no!" he exclaimed; "it's old allstone coming after his cutlass." he was quite right, for, well-armed, and followed by four men, hilary's jailer entered the place, glanced sharply round, and exclaimed: "i've come for that cutlass." "have you?" said hilary coolly. "hand it over." "i have not got it," said hilary coolly. "don't tell me lies," said the fellow roughly. "here, lay hold." five to one was too much for resistance, so hilary submitted patiently to the search that was made, to see if he had it concealed beneath his clothes. "there's nothing here," said one of the men; and allstone tried himself, flinching sharply as the prisoner made believe to strike at him. then he carefully looked all round the place, which was soon done, and the fellow turned to him menacingly: "now then," he cried, "just you speak out, or it will be the worse for you. where's that cutlass?" hilary looked at him mockingly. "i'll tell you the strict truth," he thought; and he replied, "i dropped it out of the window." "it's a lie," cried the ruffian savagely; "i don't believe you." "i knew you would not," said hilary laughing. "where is it then?" "i swallowed it." "what!" said the fellow staring. "hilt and all if you like. now, do you believe that?" the man stared at him. "because you would not believe the truth, so there's what you asked for--a lie." the fellow stared at him again, seized hold of him, and felt him all over in the roughest way. then, satisfied that the weapon was not concealed about the lad's person, he looked round the place once more, walked to the side of the room so as to get a view of the window-ledge, and then he turned to hilary once more. "when did you drop it out?" he said sharply. "as soon as i awoke this morning," replied hilary. "just before you came." "come along, my lads," said the fellow, who then withdrew with his followers. the door clanged to, was locked, and as hilary listened he heard them all depart, securing the farther door behind them; and, satisfied that they were gone, he nimbly climbed up to the window, raised the cutlass by means of the worsted, and having taking it in he descended once more, unfastened and rolled up the thread for further use, and then thrust the weapon down under his vest and into the left leg of his trousers, feeling pretty sure that they would not search him again. a few minutes later he heard voices, and going beneath the window, and raising himself up till his ear was level with the ledge, he could hear all that was said, and he knew that the men were searching for the sword. "don't seem to be about here," said one of the men. "look well," hilary heard allstone say. "that's just what we are doing. think he did throw it over?" "must have done so," said allstone; "there isn't a place anywhere big enough to hide a knife." "then some one's been by this morning and picked it up," said one of the men, "for it don't seem to be anywhere here." "turn over that long grass," said allstone, "and kick those weeds aside." hilary heard the rustling sounds made by the men as they obeyed their leader; but of course there was no result. "somebody come by and picked it up," said the man again; and, apparently satisfied, the party went away, hilary raising his eyes, saw the smugglers go round the corner of the house below the ivied gable, leaving him wondering whether they would come back. "they may," he thought; "and if they do, they will see that i've got this thing tucked in here." quickly taking out the worsted he secured it to the cutlass, and lowering it once more out of the window, tied the thread to the bar. "it's safest there, i'll be bound," he muttered; and he had hardly made his arrangements for concealment when he heard the steps coming, and began walking up and down as the door was opened, and, staring at him doubtfully, allstone came in with two men bearing some breakfast for the prisoner, while their leader went round hilary again, searchingly noting every fold of his garments before once more withdrawing. "he must have seen it if i had it on," said hilary, as he once more found himself alone, when he eagerly attacked the provisions that had been left. after satisfying his hunger, he was a good deal divided in his mind as to what to do about the weapon, which might prove to be so valuable an implement in his attempt to escape. if left outside and searched for again, the smugglers must find it; but the chances were that they would not go and look again, so he decided to leave it where it was. the morning wore on without a single incident to take his attention, and he spent the time in examining the floor of his prison, giving a tap here and a tap there, and noting where it sounded most hollow. it was a long task, but he had plenty of time upon his hands, and he at last decided that he would make his attack upon a small stone in the corner by the wall which contained the window, that was not only the darkest place, the light seeming to pass over it, but there was a hollower echo when he struck the stone, from which he hoped that the slab was thinner than the rest. he drove the knife in all round and found that it passed in without difficulty; and as he examined the place, he found to his great delight that some time or other there had evidently been a staple let into the slab, probably to hold a great ring for raising the stone, and undoubtedly this was a way down to the vaults below. what he wanted now was a good supply of straw to lay over that part of the floor to conceal any efforts he might make for raising the stone, and meanwhile dusting some of the ashes and half-burned straw-chaff over the spot, he awaited allstone's next appearance with no little anxiety. towards afternoon he heard steps, and evidently his jailer was coming; but to his surprise, instead of allstone being accompanied by two or three men, his companion was sir henry norland, who had evidently just returned from a journey. "ah, my dear hilary," he exclaimed, "i have just been hearing of your narrow escape. my dear boy, i cannot tell you how sorry i am. you are not in the least hurt, i hope?" "no, sir henry, not in body," said the young man distantly; "but you see all my prison furniture has been destroyed. will you give orders that i am to be supplied with a little more straw?" "i gave orders that a mattress and blankets, with a table and chairs, should be brought here before i went out," said sir henry, "with a few other things. good gracious! i had no idea the fire had been so bad. did it burn everything?" "my furniture was what i asked to be replaced--a little straw," said hilary bitterly. "i had nothing else." sir henry turned frowning to the man, and said a few words in a low but commanding tone to him which made him scowl; but he went off growling something to himself in a sulky manner. "my dear hilary," said sir henry, "i did not know you had been so badly treated. i am so much engaged upon his majesty's business that i am afraid i have neglected you sadly." "indeed, sir henry? and now you have come to say that i am at liberty to go free and attend to his majesty's business?" said hilary with a sarcastic ring in his words. "will you?" said sir henry eagerly. "yes, of course," said hilary. "i serve the king, and i am ready to do anything in the king's name." sir henry smiled pityingly. "we misunderstand each other, hilary. but come, my boy, let us waste no words. listen. i come to you armed with powers to make you a great and honoured man. join us, hilary. we know that you are a skilful officer, a clever sailor. you are the merest subordinate now; but throw yourself heart and soul into the stuart cause, help to restore the king to his rights, and you shall rise with him. young as you are, i have a splendid offer to make you. as you are, you serve under a miserable officer, and in time you may rise to a captaincy. join us, and, as i say, young as you are his majesty gives you through me the rank of captain, and knighthood shall follow if you serve him well." "have you nearly done, sir henry?" said hilary coldly. "done, my dear boy, i want to introduce you to a band of truly chivalrous noblemen and gentlemen who will receive you with open arms. i want you to be my friend and fellow patriot--to aid me with your advice and energy. i want you to leave this wretched prison, and to soar above the contemptible task of putting down a few miserable smugglers. i want you to come out of this place with me at once, to become once more the companion of my little adela, who sends her message by me that she is waiting to take you by the hand. come: leave the wretched usurper's chains, and be free if you would be a man. adela says--hark! there she is." as he spoke there came in through the window, bearing with it the memories of bright and happy times, the tones of the girl's sweet young voice, and as hilary listened he closed his eyes and thought of the bright sunny country, the joys of freedom, the high hopes of ambition, and a warm flush came into his cheeks, while sir henry smiled in the satisfaction of his heart as he whispered to himself the one word--"_won_!" chapter twenty two. a surprise for sir henry. it was very tempting. the country looked so bright and beautiful from his prison window; the voice of his old companion brought up such a host of pleasant recollections, and it would have been delightful to renew the old intimacy. then, upon the other hand, what would he give up? a dull monotonous life under a tyrannical superior, with but little chance of promotion, to receive honour, advancement, and no doubt to enjoy no little adventure. it was very tempting, and enough to make one with a stronger mind than hilary leigh waver in his allegiance. as he stood there thinking the song went on, and hilary felt that did he but say yes, and swear fealty to one who believed himself to be the rightful king of england, he would be at liberty to join adela at once. there would be an end to his imprisonment, and no more wretched anxiety. he had done his duty so far, he argued, and he was doing his duty when fortune went against him, and he was made a prisoner, so to a certain extent his changing sides might be considered excusable. he had had little else but rough usage and discomfort since he went to sea, and the offers now made to him by sir henry were full of promise, which he knew the baronet was too true to hold out without perfect honesty. taken altogether--that is in connection with his position, and the probability that he might be kept here a prisoner for any length of time, and that most likely he had already been reported by mr lipscombe as a deserter--there was such a bright prospect held out that hilary felt for the time extremely weak and ready to give up. meanwhile the song went on outside, for all these thoughts ran very quickly through the young man's brain. then adela's voice died away, and hilary opened his eyes to see sir henry standing there, with a smile upon his handsome face, and his hand extended. "well, captain leigh," he said, laughing, "i am to clasp hands with my young brother in the good cause?" "you will shake hands with me, sir henry," said hilary, "for we are very old friends, and i shall never forget my happy days at the old hall," and he laid his hand in that of the baronet. "forget them! no, my dear boy," cried sir henry enthusiastically. "but there will be brighter days yet. come along and join adela; she will be delighted to have you with her again. come along! why do you hang back? why, hil, my boy, you have not grown bashful?" "you love the young pre--i mean charles stuart," said hilary quietly, as he still held his old friend's hand. "love, my boy? yes, heaven bless him! and so will you when you meet him. he will take to you with your frank young sailor face, hilary." "no, sir henry," hilary replied sadly. "i have heard that he is generally frank, and an honourable gentleman." "all that, hilary," cried sir henry enthusiastically. "he is royal in his ways, and i am sure he will like you." "if he is what you say, sir henry," replied the young man, "he would look with coldness and contempt upon a scoundrel and a traitor." "to be sure he would," said sir henry, who in his elation and belief that he had won hilary over to the pretender's cause was thrown off his guard. "then why do you talk of his liking me, if, after signing my adhesion to him whom i look upon as my rightful king, i deserted him at the first touch of difficulty? no, sir henry, i could not accept your offer without looking upon myself afterwards as a traitor and a villain, and i am sure that you would be one of the first men to think of me with contempt." sir henry dropped the hand he held in astonishment, completely taken aback, and a heavy frown came upon his brow. "are you mad, hilary?" he exclaimed. "do you know what you are refusing?" "yes, sir henry, i know what i am refusing; but i hope i am not mad." "honour, advancement, liberty, in place of what you are enduring now." "yes, sir henry, i can see it all." "adela's friendship--my friendship. oh, my dear boy, you have not considered all this." "yes, sir henry, i have considered it all," said hilary firmly; "and though you are angry now, i am sure that the time will come when you will respect me for being faithful to my king, just as you would have learned to despise me if i had broken my word." sir henry did not reply, but turned short upon his heel and walked to the door, rapped loudly till the key was turned, and then without glancing at hilary again he left the place. chapter twenty three. hilary's way of escape. hilary stood in the centre of the old chapel, gazing at the closed door, and listening to the rattle of the bolts. he was full of regrets, for, left early an orphan, he had been in the habit of looking up to sir henry somewhat in the way that a boy would regard a father; and he was grieved to the heart to think that so old and dear a friend should look upon him as an ingrate. but at the same time he felt lighter at heart, and there was the knowledge to support him that he had done his duty at a very trying time. "i should have felt that every right-thinking man had looked down upon me," he said, half aloud, "and little adela would have been ashamed when she knew all, to call me friend." he stood with his eyes still fixed upon the door thinking, and now his thoughts were mingled with bitter feelings, for he was still a prisoner at the mercy of a set of lawless men, sir henry being no doubt merely a visitor here, and possessed of but little authority. "and i know too much for them to let me go and bring a few of our lads to rout out their nest," he said, half aloud. "never mind, they won't dare to kill me, unless it is by accident," he added grimly, and then he ran to the window to see if adela were in sight. practice had made him nimble now, and leaping up, he caught the bars, drew himself into the embrasure, and peered between the bars. "pst! adela!" he cried eagerly, for he could just see her light dress between the trees. she looked up, and came running towards the window, looking bright and happy, and there was an eager light in her eyes. "why, hil!" she cried. "i did not think you would be there now. papa said he thought you would soon be at liberty, and that perhaps you would stay with us a little while before you went away." "and should you like me to stay with you?" he said, gazing down. "oh, yes; so much!" she said naively. "this old place is so dull and lonely, and i am so much alone with an old woman who waits upon us. why don't you come out?" "because i am a prisoner," he said quietly. "but i thought--i hoped--papa said you were going to give your parole not to escape," said adela; "or else that you were going to join our cause and fight for the true king." he shook his head mournfully. "no, addy. i cannot give my word of honour not to escape," he said; "because i hope to get away at the first opportunity." "then join our cause," cried adela. "no," he said, shaking his head, "i cannot join your cause, addy, because i am an officer appointed in the king's name to serve in one of king george's vessels. i should be a traitor if i forsook my colours." "but i want you to come," cried adela, with the wayward tyranny of a child. "it seems so stupid for you to be shut up there like a wild beast in a cage. oh, hil, you must come on our side! do!" "adela! adela!" cried an imperious voice. "yes, papa, i am coming," she cried; and looking up quickly at the prisoner, she nodded and laughed, and the next moment she had disappeared. hilary sat watching as if in the hope that she would come back; but he knew in his heart that she would not, and so it proved at the end of quite a couple of hours. "he has told her that she is to hold no communication with such a fellow," he said to himself. "poor little addy! what a sweet little thing she is growing, and what an impetuous, commanding way she has!" he sat watching the place still, but without hope. now and then the girl's words came to him. "i seem like a wild beast in a cage, do i?" he said laughing. "very good, miss addy; then i must gnaw my way out." as he spoke his eyes fell upon the bit of worsted that was secured to the cutlass, and he was about to draw it up when he heard footsteps approaching from the interior, and he leaped lightly down and began walking about the place as the door was opened, and allstone held it back for some of his men to enter with a couple of trusses of straw, a couple of blankets, a rough three-legged table, and a rougher stool, which were unceremoniously thrown or jerked down, and then, after a suspicious look at his prisoner, allstone motioned to the men to go. "is there anything else your lordship would like?" he said with a sneer. "the best feather-beds are damp, and the carpets have been put away by mistake. what wines would your lordship like for your dinner and would you like silver cups or glass?" "now then, old allstones, or allbones, or nobones, or whatever your name is," cried hilary, putting his arms akimbo, and taking a step nearer to the jailer, "you are a big and precious ugly man of about forty, and i'm only a boy; but look here, if i had you on board my ship i'd have you triced up and flogged." "but you are not on board your ship, my young cockerel," said the man mockingly. "no," cried hilary, "but i'm all here, and if you give me any of your sauce when you come in, i'll show you why some fellows are made officers and some keep common seamen to the end of their days." "and how's that?" said the ruffian with a sneer. "because they know how to deal with bullies and blackguards like you. now then, this is my room, so walk out." he took another step forward and gazed so fiercely in the man's eyes, that, great as was the disparity in their ages and strength, allstone shrank back step by step until he reached the doorway, when, if not afraid of hilary, he was certainly so much taken aback by the young man's manner that he was thoroughly cowed for the moment, and shrank away, slipping through the door and banging it after him, leaving the prisoner to his meditations. "come, i've got a bed," he said, laughing, "and a chair and a table, and--hurrah! the very thing." he then seized the table and turned it upside down to gaze beneath, and then replacing it, ran to the window, pulled up the cutlass, and going to the table once more, turned it over and inserted the point of the weapon between the side and the top, with the result that it stuck there firmly, and upon the table being replaced upon its legs it was quite concealed. "there!" he cried, "that will be handy, and i daresay safe, for they will never think of searching that after bringing it in." this done, he proceeded to roll up his worsted for future use, and placed it in one pocket, the piece of cord with which he had drawn up the milk being in another. "why, i might have used that instead of the worsted," he said, as he remembered it for the first time; but he recollected directly after that it would have been too easily seen. then he inspected the two trusses of straw, and made his bed close beside the opening he hoped to make by raising the slab; and then, having carefully examined the spot, he listened to make sure that he was not heard, and taking out his pocket-knife, went down upon his knees and began to pick out the hard dirt and cement that filled the cracks around the broad, flat stone. it was rough work, but he had the satisfaction of feeling that he was making very fair progress, scraping up the pieces from the place around, and as fast as he secured a handful going to the window and throwing it out with a good jerk, looking out afterwards to see if it showed, and finding it was concealed by the long grass. he was well upon the _qui vive_, having placed the straw close to the place where he was at work, and holding himself in readiness at the slightest alarm to scatter a portion over the slab. but no one came, and he worked steadily on hour after hour till the crack all round was quite clear, and he had no need to do more till he tried to raise the stone by using the cutlass as a lever. to guard against surprise he now scattered about some of the chaff and small scraps that had been shaken out of the two bundles of straw, and after listening attentively, he could not resist the temptation of taking out the heavy sword and trying whether he could lift the slab. the point went in easily, and he was just about to press upon the handle when he snatched the weapon out and hastily thrust it back in its hiding-place, for there was the sound of an opening door, and a minute later allstone walked in with a small loaf and a jug of water, placing them upon the table with a sour and malicious look at the prisoner, who did not even notice his presence, and then left the place. "bread and water, eh!" thought hilary. "well, the greater need for me to get away, for ship living will be better than this." his hearty young appetite, however, was ready to induce him to look with favour upon food of any kind, and he set to at once, munching the bread and refreshing himself with draughts of water. "if this is sir henry's doing," he said, "it is mean; but i'll put it down to the credit of our amiable friend allstone. perhaps i may be able some day to return the compliment. we shall see." at his time of life low spirits do not last long, and he was too full of his idea of escape to trouble himself now about the quality of his food. all being well, he hoped to get down into the cellar, where, among other things it was evident that the smugglers kept their store of spirits; he might, perhaps, find firearms as well. at all events he hoped that the exit might prove easier than from the place where he now was. he was obliged to leave off eating to try to raise the slab with the cutlass, so taking the weapon from its hiding-place, he tried the edge of the stone, inserting the point of the sword with the greatest care, and then pressing down the handle he found, to his great delight, that he could easily prise up the slab, raising it now a couple of inches before he lowered it down. this was excellent, and the success of his project was far greater than he had anticipated; in fact, he had expected double the difficulty in loosening the stone. "they are not much accustomed to having prisoners," he said, with a half-laugh, as he replaced the cutlass beneath the table. "why, any fellow could get out of here." then, thinking that his remark in his self-communing was too conceited, he added: "down into the cellar or vaults; whether one could get out afterwards is another thing." returning to his stool, he worked away at the bread, steadily munching, finding the result quieting to his hungry pains, and also a kind of amusement to pass away the time till he felt that he might set to work in safety, for he did not mean to commence till nearly dusk. as he expected, towards evening allstone came again, not to bring more food, but to glance sharply round at the place and carefully scrutinise his prisoner as if looking for the missing sword. hilary looked straight before him, whistling softly the while in the most nonchalant manner, completely ignoring his visitor's presence, to the man's evident annoyance, his anger finding vent in a heavy bang of the door. hilary did not move for quite half an hour; then, all being perfectly still, and the evening shadows beginning to make his prison very dim, he rose with beating heart, listened, and all being silent as if there was not a soul within hearing, took the cutlass from its hiding-place, and proceeded to put his project in action. bending down, he once more swept aside the straw, and inserted the point of the sword, to find that this time there was more difficulty in his task, for he had to try several times, and in fresh positions, finding the cutlass bend almost to breaking-point, before success crowned his efforts, and he raised the stone sufficiently far to get his fingers beneath, and then the task was easy, for with a steady lift he raised one side and leaned it right up against the wall. he had hardly accomplished this before he fancied he heard a slight noise outside, beneath the window, and the perspiration began to stand in a dew upon his face as he realised the fact that some one had just placed a ladder against the wall and was ascending to look in. if the stone was seen upraised his chance of escape was at an end, and there was not a moment to spare, nor the slightest chance of closing it. he glanced around, and, to his intense delight, noted that it was getting decidedly dark in the corner where he stood; but still detection seemed to be certain; and he had only one chance, that was--to throw himself down and pretend to be asleep. this he did at once, breathing heavily, and lying perfectly motionless, but with his eyes wide open, and his ears strained to catch the slightest sound. he was quite right; some one was ascending a short ladder placed by his window; and as he watched attentively he saw the opening suddenly darkened, and some man's face gazing straight in. it was too dark now for him to distinguish the features, and he hoped that the obscurity would favour him by preventing the intruder from seeing what had been done. it was a time of terrible suspense, probably only of a minute's duration, but it seemed to hilary like an hour; and there he lay, with half-closed eyes, gazing at the head so dimly-seen, wondering whether it was allstone, but unable to make out. just then a thought flashed through his brain. might it not be a friend?--perhaps a party from the _kestrel_ arrived in search of him; and, full of hope, he gazed intently at the head. but his hopes sank as rapidly as they had risen, for he was compelled to own that, if it had been a friend, he would have spoken or whistled, or in some way have endeavoured to catch his attention. at last, wearied with straining his attention, hilary felt that he must speak, when it seemed to him that the window grew a little lighter, and as he gazed there was a faint scratching noise, telling that the ladder had been removed. he could bear it no longer, but, softly rising, he made for the window, climbed up, and gently raising his head above the sill, peered out, to be just able to distinguish a dark figure carrying a short ladder, which brushed against the branches of a tree, and then a low, husky cough, which he at once recognised, told him who his visitor had been. "a contemptible spy!" muttered hilary, as he dropped back into the chapel. "now then, has he seen or has he not?" if he had it was useless to lower down the slab, so hilary let it stay, and waited minute after minute to see if he would come. but all remained perfectly still, and, to all appearance, the people who made the old place their rendezvous were now away. hilary was divided in his mind as to what he should do. to be precipitate might ruin his chance of getting away, while if he left it too long the smugglers might return, and his opportunity would again be gone. he decided, then, on a medium course--to wait, as far as he could judge, for half an hour, and then make his attempt. meantime he began to think of what course he should pursue when he was free, and it seemed that all he could do would be to strike inland at once, for that would be the safest plan. if he tried to reach the coast the chances were that he would encounter one of the gang, or at all events some cottager who would most probably be in their pay. "the half-hour must be up now," he exclaimed; and, after listening at the door, he thrust the cutlass in his belt, and made for the hole formed by the raised flag. "i wonder how far it is down?" he muttered. "seven feet at the outside; and if i lower myself gently i shall be able to touch the floor, or perhaps i shall come down on some barrel or package." as he spoke he lowered himself gently down, with a hand on either side of the aperture, and then, swinging his legs about, one of them kicked the side, showing that the cellar or vault was a little smaller in dimensions than the place above. he lowered himself a little more, and a little more, his sea life having made the muscles of his arms as tough almost as iron, and at last, having a good hold of the stones on either side, he let himself steadily go down till his head was beneath the floor and he hung down at the full length of his hands. "deeper down than i thought for," he muttered, as he swung himself to and fro. "shall i drop, or sha'n't i? it can't be above a foot; but somehow one don't like to let go of a certainty, to drop no one can tell where--perhaps on to bottles, or no one knows what." he still swung in hesitation, for it seemed cowardly to go back, now he was so far down; but somehow the desire to be upon the safe side obtained the mastery, and he determined to go back. easier settled upon than done. his muscles were tough enough, but somehow his position was awkward, and his hold upon the stones so slight that, though he drew himself up twice, he did not get well above the opening till he managed to force one toe into the niche between a couple of the stones of the wall, when, by a sharp effort, he drew himself so far out of the hole that he was able to seat himself upon the edge, with his legs dangling down. "what a lot of trouble i am taking!" he said, laughing lightly, though at the same time he felt discomposed. "i might just as well have dropped, but as i am up here again i may as well take soundings." his plan of taking soundings was to fish out his ball of worsted, and, after a moment's thought, to tie it to the handle of the brown water-jug, and this he lowered softly down the hole. "it's deeper down than i thought for," he said to himself, as he let the jug right down to the extent of the worsted thread, and then knelt down and reached as far as he could, but still without result. "stop a moment," he said, pulling out his piece of line, "it's lucky i didn't leave go. why, that worsted's at least a dozen feet long." as he spoke he tied the end of the worsted to his piece of cord, and let the jug down lower still, to the extent of the cord as well, quite five yards more. "phew!" he whistled, as, with the cord round his finger, he reached down as far as he could; "i should have had a drop! and--hang it, there goes the jug!" for at that moment the string suddenly became light, the worsted having parted; and as he knelt there, peering down into the darkness, the perspiration started once more from his forehead, and a curious sensation, as of a comb with teeth of ice passing through his hair, affected him while he listened moment after moment, moment after moment, till there came up a dull whispering splash from below, at a distance that was perfectly horrifying after the risk that hilary had run. so overcome was he by his discovery that he shrank away from the opening in the floor completely unnerved, and unable for a time to move. he was, in fact, like one who had received a stunning blow, and only after some minutes had elapsed was he able to mutter a few words of thankfulness for his escape, as he now thoroughly realised that he had uncovered an old well of tremendous depth. chapter twenty four. a strange fish in the net. hilary's first act on recovering himself was to creep back cautiously to the side, and lower down the stone over the open well, shivering still as he realised more fully the narrowness of his escape. "old allstone will be wanting to know what i have done with his jug," he said, as he seated himself upon the stool, and began to think what he should do. he was somewhat unnerved by his adventure, but recovering himself fast, and he had the whole night before him for making another attempt. all the same, though, the time wore on without his moving; for the recollection of that horrible whispering plash and the echoes that had smitten his ear were hard to get rid of, try how he would; but at last, feeling that he was wasting time, he began upon hands and knees creeping about the place, and tapping the floor. there were plenty of hollow, echoing sounds in reply as he hammered away with the hilt of the cutlass, and, telling himself that there could not be wells beneath every stone, he made up his mind at last to try one which seemed to present the greatest facilities for his effort--that is, as far as he could tell by feeling the crack between it and the next. it proved a long and a tough job before he could move it. twice over he was about to give it up, for when at last he managed to make it move a little it kept slipping back into its place, and seeming to wedge itself farther in. the perspiration ran down his cheeks, and his arms ached; but he was toiling for liberty, and on the _nil desperandum_ principle he worked away. for, as he thought matters over, he was compelled to own that, however much lieutenant lipscombe might feel disposed to search for him, he had been spirited away so suddenly that it was not likely that success would attend the search. under these circumstances there was nothing for it but that he should depend upon himself, and this he did to such a brave extent that at last he placed the point of the cutlass in so satisfactory a position that on heaving up the stone upon which he was at work it did not slip back, but was so much dislodged that a little farther effort enabled him to pull it aside; and then he sat down panting beside the black square opening in the floor. it was so dark that most of his work had to be done by the sense of touch, and consequently the toil was twice as hard, for he could not see where it was best to apply force. all the same, though, perseverance was rewarded, and he had raised the stone. hilary did not feel in any great hurry to try his fortune this time; for after his experience when he raised the last stone, he did not know what might be here. try to laugh it off as he would, there was a curious, creeping sensation of dread came over him. he knew that this was a chapel, and what more likely than that the vault beneath might be the abiding place of the dead--of those who had occupied this old place in the past; and, mingled with this, adela's words would come back about the place being haunted. "bah!" he exclaimed at last. "what a fool you are, hil!" as he spoke he gave himself a tremendous blow in the chest with his doubled fist, hurting himself a great deal more than he intended, and this roused him once more to action. he was not going to lower himself down this time without trying for bottom; and pulling out his cord, he tied it to the hilt of the cutlass, lowered it into the hole, and began to fish, as he expressed it. clang! jingle! steel upon stone, as far as he could judge, just over six feet below where he was leaning over. he tried again, here, there, and everywhere within his reach, and the result was always the same, and there could be no mistake this time; he might drop down in safety. he could not help hesitation, for the hole was black and forbidding. but it was for liberty, and after pausing for a few moments while he leaned down and felt about as far as he could reach, he prepared to descend. his examination had taught him that the vault below was arched, for, close by him, he could feel the thickness of the floor, while at the other side of the square opening he could not reach down to the edge of the arch, try how he would. in fact, his plan of sounding the floor had answered admirably, and he had raised a stone just in the right place. hesitating no longer he thrust the cutlass into his waistband and proceeded to lower himself down. his acts were very cautiously carried out, for his former experience had taught him care, and holding on tightly by the edge he gradually slid down, till at the full extent of his arms he felt firm footing. still he did not leave hold, but passing himself along first one edge and then another of his hole till he had gone along all four sides, and always with the same result, he let go, and stood in safety upon a stone floor. drawing his cutlass, he felt overhead the opening where the stone had been removed, and wondered what he was to do to find it again in the intense darkness; but he was obliged to own that he could do nothing. a thrust to right touched nothing; a thrust to left had no better result; and then he stood and wiped his brow. "i wonder what i shall find," he said to himself. "cases and tubs, or old coffins." he thrust out the sword once more straight in front of him, and this time it touched wood, and made him shiver. for a few moments he did not care to move and investigate farther; but rousing himself once more, he tried again with his hand, to find that he touched hoops and staves, and that it was a goodly-sized tub. he tried again, cautiously, feeling carefully with one foot before he attempted to move another, for the thought struck him that not very far from him the opening down into that terrible well must be yawning in the floor, and under these circumstances he moved most carefully. he found that he need not have been so cautious, for after a little more of this obscure investigation he learned that he was in a very circumscribed area, surrounded on all sides by a most heterogeneous collection of tubs, full and empty, rough cases, bales, ropes, blocks, and iron tackle, such as might be used in a fishing-boat; and the next thing his hands encountered was a pile of fishing-nets. it was as he had expected: the vault or cellar below the chapel was full of the stores belonging to the smugglers, and his task now was to find his way out. it was of no avail to wish for flint and steel, to try, if only by the light of a few sparks, to dispel this terrible darkness, which seemed to surround and close him in, prisoning his faculties, as it were, and preventing him, now he had got so far, from making his escape. there was always the dread of coming upon that terrible well acting like a bar to further progress. then there was the utter helplessness of his position. which way was he to go? "at all events," he said to himself at last, "i can't go down the well if i'm climbing over tubs;" and he felt his way to the place where he had first touched a cask, and climbing up, he found that he could progress a little way, always getting higher, with many an awkward slip; and then he had to stop, for his head touched the roof. a trial to right and left had no better result, and there was nothing for it but to return and begin elsewhere. this he did, crawling over nets and boxes and packages, whose kind and shape he could not make out, but he always seemed to be stopped, try where he would, and at last, panting and hot with his exertions, he lay down on some fishing-nets close by to rest himself and endeavour to think out what was best to do. suddenly, and without the slightest warning, there was a heavy grating creak; a door was thrown open; and what to his eyes seemed to be a dazzling light shone into the place, revealing a narrow passage not ten feet from where he lay, but which he had passed over in the darkness again and again. "better light two or three more candles," said a gruff voice. "all right," was the reply; and from just on the other side of a pile of merchandise that reached to the ceiling hilary could hear some one blowing at the tindery fluff made by lighting the top of a fresh candle. what was he to do? he could not see the men who had come down, for he was separated from them by the piled-up contents of the cellar; but any attempt to regain the chapel must result in discovery, so he lay motionless, hardly daring to breathe, till he heard more footsteps coming--heavy, shuffling footsteps, as if those who came were loaded; and, waiting till they came nearer and one of the first comers said something aloud, hilary raised himself slightly, and, almost with the rapidity of thought, covered himself with some of the soft, loose fishing-nets, feet and legs first, then shoulders and head, finally throwing a few more folds over his head, and then lying down. "wouldn't be a bad plan to give them a good dose of brimstone," said one of the men. "give who a good dose?" said another. "why, the rats. didn't you hear 'em?" "oh, ay, yes; i did hear a bit of scuffling. let 'em bide; they don't do much mischief." "not much mischief!" said the other as hilary felt his hopes rise as he heard the noise attributed to rats. "why, there's a couple o' hundred fathom o' mack'rel net lying t'other side there gnawed full of holes." "what o' that?" said the other. "why, one such night as this, lad, is worth two months o' mack'rel fishing." "well, yes, so it be. ah! that's better. we shall see now what we're about. i say, it was rather a near one with the cutter to-night. i thought she'd ha' been down upon us." "down upon us? ay! i wish her skipper was boxed up safe along with young cockchafer yonder." "hang his insolence!" thought hilary. "young cockchafer, indeed! he'll find me more of a wasp." "think anyone sent word to the cutter?" "nay, not they. who would? she's hanging about after her boy." "boy, eh? that's i," said hilary again to himself. "well, maybe i shall show 'em i can fight like a man!" "here, i say," said another voice: "why don't you two begin to stow away these kegs?" "never you mind. you bring 'em down from the carts: we know what we're doing." there was a sound of departing footsteps, and hilary listened intently. "ah!" said one of the men, "if i was the skipper i'd send the young tom chicken about his business; but the skipper says he knows too much." "how long's he going to keep him then?" "altogether, i s'pose, unless he likes to join us." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed the other, who was evidently moving something heavy. "well, he might do worse, my lad. anyhow, they ar'n't going to let him go and bring that cutter down upon us." "no, that wouldn't do. lend a hand here. this bag's heavy. what's in it?" "i don't know. feels like lead. p'r'aps it is." "think the cutter will hang about long?" "how should i know? i say, though, how staggered them chaps was when they got up to the rock and found no one to fight!" "i wasn't there." "oh, no--more you wasn't. come along, come along, lads. here we are waiting for stowage, and you talk about us keeping you waiting." "you mind your own job," growled the voice that hilary had heard finding fault before. there was more scuffling of feet, and then the two men went on talking. "the cutter's sailors had come, of course, after the boy, and they stumbled on the way through the rocks, just same as the boy did; and we waited for 'em with a few sticks, and then give 'em as much as were good for 'em, and then retreated, big joey keeping the way till we had all got up the rock, and then up he come in the dark, and you'd have laughed fit to crack your sides to hear them down below whacking at the stones with their cutlashes till they was obliged to believe we was gone, and then they went back with their tails between their legs like a pack of dogs." the other man laughed as hilary drank in all this, and learned how the crew had been after him, and realised most thoroughly how it was that he had been brought there, and also the ingenious plan by which the smugglers and the political party with whom they seemed to be mixed up contrived to throw their enemies off the scent. there was an interval, during which the two men seemed to be very busy stowing away kegs and packages, and then they went on again. "skipper of the cutter come next day--that one-eyed chap we took in so with the lugger--and his chaps brought him up to the rocks, and then, my wig! how he did give it 'em for bringing them a fool's errand, as he called it! it was a fine game, i can tell you." "must have been," said the other, as hilary drank in this information too, and made mental vows about how he would pay the scoundrels out for all this when once he got free. then there was a cessation of the feet coming down the stairs, broken by one step that hilary seemed to recognise. "how are you getting on?" hilary was right; it was allstone. "waiting for more," was the reply. "they'll bring up another cart directly," said allstone in his sulky tone of voice. "sooner the better. i'm 'bout tired out. fine lot o' rats here," said the man. "ah, yes! there's a few," said allstone. "heard 'em scuffling about like fun over the other side," said the man. hilary felt the cold perspiration ooze out of him as he lay there, dimly seeing through the meshes of the net that he was in a low arched vault of considerable extent, the curved roof being of time-blackened stone, and that here and there were rough pillars from which the arches sprang. he hardly dared to move, but, softly turning his head, he saw to his horror that the square opening whence he had taken the stone was full in view, the light that left him in darkness striking straight up through the hole. if they looked up there, he felt that they must see that the stone had been moved, and he shivered as he felt that his efforts to escape had been in vain. "they're a plaguey long time coming," said the man who had been talking so much. "here, just come round here, my lad, and i'll show you what i mean about the nets." "it's all over," said hilary as he took a firm grip of the hilt of his cutlass, meaning as soon as he was discovered to strike out right and left, and try to escape during the surprise his appearance would cause. as he lay there, ready to spring up at the smallest indication of his discovery, he saw the shadows move as the men came round by the heap of packages, and enter the narrow passage where he was. the first, bearing a candle stuck between some nails in a piece of wood, was a fair, fresh-coloured young fellow, and he was closely followed by a burly middle-aged man bearing another candle, allstone coming last. "there," said the younger man, "there's about as nice a mess for a set o' nets to be in as anyone ever saw;" and he laid hold of the pile that hilary had drawn over his face. it was only a matter of moments now, and as he lay there hilary's nerves tingled, and he could hardly contain himself for eagerness to make his spring. "look at that, and that, and that," said the man, picking up folds of the soft brown netting, and seeming about to strip all off hilary, but by a touch of fate helping his concealment the next moment, by throwing fold after fold over him, till the next thing seemed to be that he would be smothered. "tell you what," he said. "they nets are just being spoiled. there's plenty of time before the next cart unloads. lend a hand here, and let's have 'em all out in the pure air. i hate seeing good trade left down here to spoil in a damp--" he laid hold of the nets, and as he gave a drag hilary felt the meshes gliding over his face, and prepared himself to spring up and make a dash for his liberty. chapter twenty five. 'twixt cup and lip. another instant and hilary must have been discovered; but just then the trampling of feet was heard, a shout or two, and allstone said gruffly: "let the nets alone, and come and get the stuff down." the man dropped the nets, and taking up his candle, which he had placed upon a chest, followed allstone back along the narrow passage between the piled-up tubs and packages, and once more hilary was left in comparative darkness, to lie there dripping with perspiration, and hesitating as to what he should do next, for if he stayed where he was, it was probable that the men would come back to remove the nets. if, on the other hand, he attempted to move, the chances were that he would be heard. in short he dare not move, for the slightest rustle would be sure to take their attention. and so he lay there in an extremely uncomfortable position, watching the shadows cast upon the dingy ceiling, as the distorted heads and shoulders of the men were seen moving to and fro. sometimes he could distinguish what they carried, whether it was bale or tub, and upon which shoulder it was carried, till by degrees, as he found that he was not discovered, his thoughts began to turn upon what a grand haul the crew of the _kestrel_ could make in the way of prize-money if he only had the good fortune to escape, and could find his way back to the shore. there must have been at least six carts unloaded by slow degrees, and their contents brought down into that vault before allstone, who was at the head of the steps leading down, suddenly shouted: "that's all. look alive up." "ay, ay, we're coming," was the reply, and hilary heard the men drag a case of some kind a little way along the floor with a loud scratching noise. "i don't like leaving those nets," said the one who had been round. "we don't want 'em now, but the time may come when we shall be glad to go drifting again. what are you doing?" "only got a handful of this 'bacco, my boy. i don't see any fun in buying it where there's hundredweights down here." "bring me a handful too." hilary could resist the temptation no longer, and rising softly, he peered over the piled-up boxes and tubs to get a better view of the place, and make out where the door of exit lay. this he ascertained at a glance, and likewise obtained a pretty good idea of the shape and extent of the vault before the men took up their candles to go. now was the critical moment. would they raise their eyes and see where there was a stone missing in the ceiling? a few moments would decide it, and so excited was hilary now that he could not refrain from watching the men, though the act was excessively dangerous, and if they had turned their heads in his direction they must have seen him. but they did not turn their heads as it happened, but went by within a yard of where the young officer was concealed. then he saw them mount some broad rugged old steps beneath a little archway, whose stones were covered with chisel-marks; there was a rembrandtish effect as they turned round the winding stair, and then there was the clang of a heavy door, and darkness reigned once more in the vault, for hilary was alone. for a few minutes he dared not stir for fear that some one or other of the men might return; but as the time wore on, and he could only hear the sounds of talking in a distant muffled way, he descended from his awkward position, reached the stone floor, and feeling his way along reached the opening through which the men had come, and then stumbling two or three times, and barely saving himself from falling, he found his way to where they had been at work, for his hand came in contact with one of the rough candlesticks thick with grease. sure thus far, he was not long in finding the doorway, where he stood listening to dull sounds from above, and then crept back a little way so as to be able to retreat in case the men were coming back, and touching a keg with his foot he sat down upon it to think. if the door at the top of the stairs was locked he would be no better off than in the chapel, for it was not likely that there would be a window to this place, so that if he meant to escape he felt that it would be better not to leave it to daylight; though, on the other hand, if he did leave it to daybreak, and the door was unfastened, he would have an admirable opportunity of getting away, for by that time the men would have done their night's work, and would probably be fast asleep. "it is of no use for me to play the coward," said hilary to himself at last. "if i am to get away it must be by a bold dash." he burst out into a hearty fit of silent laughter here. "my word, what a game it would be!" he said. "they say the place is haunted. suppose i cover myself with fishing-nets and march straight out." "wouldn't do!" he said, decidedly. "they would not be such noodles as to be frightened, and they would pop at me with their pistols." meanwhile there was a good deal of talking going on up above, and at last, unable to restrain his curiosity longer, hilary returned to the foot of the steps, felt the wall on either side, and began softly to ascend, counting the steps as he went, and calculating that there would be about twelve. he was quite right, and as he wound round and neared the top he found that there were rays of light coming beneath the door and through the keyhole, while the sound of voices came much plainer. going down on hands and knees, he was able to peer under the door, which shut right upon the top step; and after a few seconds he had pretty well ascertained his position. he was looking under a door right at the end of a long stone-paved passage, and there was another door just upon his right, which evidently led into his prison; while straight before him, through an opening he could see into a large stone-paved kitchen where the talking was going on, the back of one man being visible as he seemed to be seated upon a stool, and changed his position from time to time. the next thing to ascertain was whether the door was unfastened; and he was about to rise and try, when the familiar sound of steps upon a boarded floor fell upon his ear, a door that he had not hitherto seen was opened, and allstone, sir henry, and the sharp-looking captain of the lugger passed before him, and, entering the lit-up kitchen, were lost to sight. there was a louder burst of talking just now, and as it seemed a favourable opportunity hilary rose to his feet, passed his hand up the side of the door, and touched the great solid hinges. trying the other side he was more successful, for his hand came in contact with a huge latch which rattled softly at his touch, and set his heart beating heavily. he paused for a few moments before he tried again, when, proceeding more carefully, he found that the latch rose easily enough; and then as he drew the door towards him it yielded slowly from its great weight; but there was the fact--the way was open for escape, and the place before him was clear. there was nothing to do then but wait, and he was in the act of closing the door and lowering the latch when he heard sir henry's voice speaking, and directly after steps in the passage. "allstone has the keys," said a voice hilary recognised as that of sir henry; "will you go and see him now?" "look here, sir henry," was whispered, "you must get him on our side. the boy would be invaluable. with such an ally on board the cutter we need never fear a surprise." "you are thinking of your smuggling ventures," said sir henry contemptuously. "i was thinking as much of your despatches. why, you could have run them across in safety then. come, sir henry, we won't quarrel about that. he'll be useful to both. shall i go and see him? i'll wager i'll soon bully or bribe him into agreement." "you don't know your man," said sir henry. "or boy," laughed the skipper. "give me time and i'll win him," said sir henry. "that's what i can't give you," was the reply. "it isn't safe having prisoners here. suppose the boy escapes. how long should we be before he brings a couple of dozen fellows from the cutter, if they've got so many; and then where shall we be?" "do you think he could hear what we say?" asked sir henry in so low a voice that hilary had hard work to catch the words. "bah! not he. that door's six inches thick," said the skipper. "no, sir henry, there is no time to lose, and we must win him over, unless you'd rather--" hilary could not catch the end of what was said, but he suspected what was meant, as he heard sir henry utter a sharp exclamation full of anger. "leave it till to-morrow, and i think i can bring him to our wishes." "that is what you said last time, sir henry," replied the skipper insolently. "here, allstone, give me the key and i'll soon bring the springald to reason." there was a clink of metal, a step forward, and hilary's heart sank within him, for the discovery of his evasion was a matter of course. chapter twenty six. the way to escape. in a moment hilary mentally saw sir henry and the skipper enter his prison, fancied the shout of alarm, and seemed to see himself, cutlass in hand, making a dash for his liberty; but the struggle was not then to be, for, with an angry voice, sir henry interposed. "martin!" he exclaimed, "let us understand one another once and for all. your duty, sir, is to obey me, and i'll be obeyed. as to that boy, i tell you i'll win him to our side, but it will be at my own good time. sir, i order you to come away from that door." "what!" exclaimed the skipper furiously; "do you know i have a dozen men ready to take my side if i raise my voice?" "i neither know nor care," cried sir henry hoarsely; "but i do know that you have sworn allegiance to king charles edward, sir, and that you are my inferior officer in the cause. disobey me, sir, at your peril." hilary grasped his cutlass, and the fighting blood of the englishman was making his veins tingle. "if it comes to a tussle," he thought, "there'll be one on sir henry's side they don't count upon;" and as he thought this he softly raised the latch, ready to swing open the door and dash out. but martin, the skipper, evidently did not care to quarrel with sir henry, and his next words were quite apologetic. "why, sir henry," he said with a rough laugh, "i believe we two were getting out of temper, and that won't do, you know." "i am not out of temper," said sir henry; "but i'll be obeyed, sir." "and so you shall be, sir henry. it's all right, and i'll say no more about it, only that it's dangerous leaving a young fellow like that shut up. these boys are as active as monkeys, and we might return at any time and find the young rascal gone. but you'll do your best to bring him round?" "i will," replied sir henry, "for more reasons than one. look here, martin, if i spoke too angrily to you just now i beg your pardon, but you touch upon a tender point when you talk of rough measures towards that boy. i told you that he was my child's companion years ago--in fact, i used to look upon him quite as a son. there," he added hastily, "you may trust me to do my best. good-night." "good-night, sir henry, good-night," said the skipper effusively. "i'll trust you. good-night." sir henry's steps were heard to die away, and so silent was everything that hilary concluded that the skipper must have also gone; but just as he had made up his mind that this was the case some one uttered an oath. "give me the keys, allstone," hilary heard the next moment; and once more he concluded that all was over, for there was the jingle of the iron, and it seemed that now he was left to himself martin was about to visit the young prisoner, and try to frighten him into following out his wishes. hilary was in despair, but he made up his mind what to do, and that was to fling open the door and walk swiftly across the place where the men were lying about, as soon as he heard the skipper and allstone go into the old chapel. to his dismay, however, the man came straight to the door where hilary was standing, raised the latch, opened it, and as the young officer drew back the heavy door struck him in the chest, but before he could recover from his surprise there was a sharp bang, with the accompanying rattle of the great latch, and as a dull echo came from below, the key was turned, and the lock shot into the stone cheek. "curse him and his fine airs!" hilary heard the skipper say, hoarsely. "i shall have the young villain bringing the cutter's crew down upon us. i wish his neck was broken." "put him in the top room, then," said allstone; "he'll break his neck trying to get away." "not he," said the skipper; "those middies can climb like cats. he's safe enough now, i suppose." "oh, yes," said allstone, "i went and had a look at the window-bars to-night." "safe enough, yes," muttered hilary, as he heard the departing steps; "they've locked me up safe enough. was anything ever so vexatious?" as he heard the clang of a door he placed his eye to the open keyhole, and through it he could see into the great kitchen, which now seemed to be lit only by the glow from a great wood fire, for the shadows danced on the wall, and when now and then the fire fell together and the flames danced up more brightly he could make out quite definitely a pair of the shadows, which were evidently those of a couple of half-recumbent men. just on one side too he could plainly see part of a man's leg. no shadow this, but a limb of some one who had thrown himself upon the floor; and hilary rightly judged that the crew of the lugger were snatching an hour or two's repose previous to being called up by their leader. the laughing and talking were silenced, and he could hear nothing but the occasional crackle of burning wood. he raised the latch softly, pressing against the door the while; but it was fast locked, and by running his fingers down the side he could feel where the great square bolt of the lock ran into the stone wall. escape that way was cut off, and ready to stamp with mortification hilary stood upon the step at the top of the flight asking himself what he had best do. there was no chance of getting away that night, so he felt that he must give it up, and the sinking despondency that came over him was for the moment terrible; but reaction soon sets in when one is on the buoyant side of twenty, and he recalled the fact that, though he might be obliged to return to his prison, he had found a way of exit; and if he went back, lowered the stone and dusted it over, he might come down another time, night or morning, and find the door open; in fact, he might keep on trying till he did. it was very disheartening, but there seemed to be nothing else to be done, and he stood there thinking of how nearly he had escaped, but at the same he was obliged to own how happily he had avoided detection. then the remembrance of the well came back, and the cold perspiration broke out on his hands and brow at the bare recollection. "bah! what's the good of thinking about that?" he said to himself; and he was about to descend when he fancied he heard a faint rustling noise on the other side of the door, and then whispers. the sounds ceased directly, and he bent down so that his eye was to the keyhole, when, to his surprise, he found that something was between him and the light. just then the whispers began again, and placing his ear this time to the great hole, he plainly heard two men speaking: "i think you can do it without a light," said one. "ay, easy enough. you stop, and if you hear allstone coming, give just one pipe, and i'll be up directly." "all right. get the hollands this time. gently with that key." hilary would have run down, but he was afraid of detection, for just then there was the harsh grating noise of a key being thrust into the big lock, the bolt creaked back, the latch was raised, and the door softly pushed open as he pressed himself back against the wall, and remained there in the darkness, almost afraid to breathe. it was intensely dark now, even when the door was opened, and as hilary stood there behind the door he heard some one descend, while another stood at the top, breathing hard, and evidently listening to the rustling of the man down below. several minutes passed, and then the man at the top of the stairs muttered impatiently, and went down two or three of the degrees. "pst! dick!" he whispered. "ay, ay." "be quick, man!" "i can't find 'em," was the whispered reply. "they've packed the cases atop of 'em." "jolterhead!" muttered the other impatiently. "why, they're just at the back." "come down," was whispered from below, and to hilary's great delight he heard the man on the watch go softly below. now was hilary's opportunity, and gliding softly from behind the door, he stepped out into the stone passage, and saw before him a faint light shining under the bottom of the door which the men had evidently closed when they left the kitchen. he might have locked the two fellows in the vault, but that would have caused needless noise, and perhaps hindered his escape, so without further hesitation he stepped lightly along the passage, and softly pressed against the farther door. it yielded easily, and he found himself looking into a great low-ceiled kitchen, whose ancient black rafters shone in the glow from a huge fireplace, upon whose hearth the remains of a large fire flickered and sent forth a few dying sparks. around it, and stretched in a variety of postures upon the floor, were some eight or ten men fast asleep; and what took hilary's attention more than all was another door at the far corner, which it was now his aim to reach. but to do this he would have to step over two of the men, and there was the possibility that, though they all seemed to be asleep, one or more might be awake and watchful. it needed no little firmness to make the attempt; but if he were to escape, he knew it must be done. "if they wake they will only take me back," thought hilary, "so i may as well try." he hesitated no longer, but stepping on tiptoe he passed on between two of the sleeping men, and was in the act of stepping over another, when a gruff voice from a corner exclaimed:-- "why don't you lie down. you'll be glad of a nap by and by." hilary felt as if his heart had leaped to his mouth, and he thought he was discovered; but the words were spoken in a sleepy tone, and from the sound that followed it was evident that the man had turned over. hilary waited a few minutes, and once more resumed his progress towards the door, making every movement with the greatest caution; and he was already half way to his goal when he heard the grating of the lock at the top of the dark cellar stairs, and a low whispering told him that the men were about to return. there was not a moment to lose, and stepping lightly on, he reached the door, raised the great wooden latch by which it was secured, and passed in, while just as he closed it he saw through the opening the two men who had been below enter the place. the fire was throwing out but little light now, but he could see that they carried what looked like a little spirit keg, which they set down by the fire. the closing door shut out the rest. chapter twenty seven. manhood versus selfishness--and manhood wins. hilary breathed more freely as he silently let fall the latch, and then waited for a few minutes to recover his equanimity before making a farther trial. he had succeeded so far, and he felt that if he were patient and cautious he might regain his freedom; but he thought it better to let the men begin upon the spirits that two of the party had evidently been down to obtain. but as far as he could make out they did not seem to be in any hurry to awaken their companions, and at last after waiting for some minutes for the burst of conversation that he hoped would make his movements pass unheard, he began to feel his way cautiously about, expecting a door of exit to meet his hand, or else to find that he was in some large passage. to his great disappointment he found that he could touch the wall on either side after making a step; and a very little investigation showed him farther that he was only in a stone-paved place that had probably been a dairy, for on one side there was an iron grating of very massive bars let into the stone, and there were stone benches along one side. in fact, if the key of the door had been turned, he would have only exchanged one prison for another. his heart sank within him as he realised his position, and found that there was only one door, upon which he raised his hand ready to return into the great kitchen; but a low creaking noise, suggestive of some one treading on a board, arrested him, and he stood there listening. after a few minutes he grew more confident, and opening the door slightly he once more gazed upon the rembrandtish scene, all light and shadow, with the men stretched about asleep, and two more seated upon a bench busily trickling spirit from the little keg into a small horn, from which they drank in turn with a sigh of satisfaction. the others slept on, one now and then making an uneasy movement; but it was evident that there were to be no more partners in the coming drinking bout, and hilary began to calculate how long it would be before they would have drunk enough to make them sleepy and ready to join their companions upon the floor. he had no means of judging, but he concluded that it must now be nearly three o'clock, and in an hour's time it would be getting light. and yet, near as he was to safety, it seemed that he was to be disappointed, and to wait there till somebody or other came to the place and gave the alarm. by keeping the door just ajar he was able to watch the two men; but a couple of hours had passed before he saw them stretch themselves upon the floor, after carefully hiding away the little keg, and at last hilary felt that he might venture to cross the great kitchen again and endeavour to find another outlet. the day had broken some time before, and the cold grey light that shone in through the iron grating showed him that he was correct in his surmises, and that the place had been a dairy; but the window was too strong for him to break through, and there was nothing for it but to cross the party of sleeping men. he was some little time before he could make up his mind to the effort, and when he did, and began to slowly open the door, he let it glide to once more, for one of the men suddenly uttered a loud yawn, jumped up and stretched himself, before giving a companion a kick in the side. it took several kicks to induce the man to get up; but when he did it was in a morose, angry disposition, and he revenged himself by going round and kicking every other man till the whole party was awake, and hilary saw his chances fade away, while, to add to his misery, the next act of the party was to go to a great cupboard, from which a ham and a couple of loaves were produced, upon which they made a vigorous onslaught, each man opening his jack-knife and hewing off a lump of bread and cutting a great slice of ham. they ate so heartily that a feeling of hunger was excited in the prisoner's breast; but this soon passed off, and he sat there wondering how long it would be before one or other of the party would come into the old dairy, though, upon looking round, there seemed to be nothing to bring them there. hour after hour glided by. the meal had long been ended, and the men were gone outside, but never all at once; always one stayed, sometimes two. then martin kept bustling in and giving orders. once too sir harry came in and entered into a discussion with the skipper, apparently, from the few words that hilary could catch, concerning the advisability of making some excursion; but there seemed to be some hindrance in the way, and hilary's heart beat high with hope as he heard the word "cutter" spoken twice. it was not much to hear; but it was good news for hilary, who concluded that the vessel must still be lying off the coast, and in the smugglers' way. at last, however, the conversation ended, and hilary saw sir henry leave the place just as allstone came in. this made the young man's heart beat again, for either the fellow had come to announce his evasion, or else he was about to take food into the old chapel, when, of course, he would find his prisoner gone. but no: he spoke quite calmly to the skipper, and after a short consultation they went out. just then the noise of wheels and the trampling of horses could be heard outside, facts which pointed to the leaving of one or more of the party. two of the men were still hanging about, but at last they also went, and allstone came in and seated himself thoughtfully upon a bench. by-and-by, though, he cut himself some food, hesitated, and proceeded to cut some more, which he placed in a coarse delf plate. "my breakfast!" said hilary to himself, and he wondered how soon the man would go to the chapel to present it to his prisoner. this would be the signal for hilary's escape, and, anxiously waiting till the man had finished his own repast, the young officer made up his mind to run to the window, climb out, and then trust to his heels for his liberty. the time seemed as if it would never come, but at last the surly-looking fellow, having apparently satisfied his own hunger, rose up slowly, and, taking the plate, went slowly out of the door, rattling his keys the while. he had hardly disappeared before hilary glided out of his hiding-place, darted to the table and seized the remains of the bread, hesitated as to whether he should take the ham bone, but leaving it, climbed on to the window-sill, forced the frame open, and dropped outside amongst the nettles that grew beneath. "free!" he exclaimed. "now which way?" he had not much choice in the first place, for he remembered that there would be the moat to cross, and the probabilities were that there would only be one path. after that he saw his way clearly, and that was towards the sun, for he knew that if he made straight for that point he would be going by midday direct for the sea. that was his goal. once he could reach the cliffs and get down on the shore, he meant to seize the first boat he met with, get afloat, and trust to fortune for the rest. for the first few moments hilary kept close to the house, but, considering that a bold effort was the only one likely to succeed, he walked out straight to the moat, hesitated a moment as to whether he should leap in and swim or wade across, and ended by walking sharply along its brink till it turned off at right angles, and he now saw a sandstone bridge facing the entry of a large, old-fashioned hall, that had evidently gone to ruin, and which, from the outside aspect, seemed to be uninhabited, for a more thorough aspect of desolation it was impossible to imagine. there was not a soul in view as he walked sharply away till he reached the crumbling bridge, which he crossed, and then, finding that the road led along by the far side of the moat, he did not pause to think, but, trusting to the high hedge by which it was bordered and the wilderness of trees that had sprung up between the road and the moat to conceal him, he went right on, his way being a little east of south. "i wonder whether old allstone has given the alarm?" he said half aloud, as he placed the cutlass in his belt. "they'll have to run fast to catch me now. hallo! what's that?" _that_ was a piercing scream, followed by loud cries of "help! papa-- help!" hilary had made his escape, and he had nothing to do now but make straight for the sea; but that cry stopped him on the instant. it evidently came from the moat behind him, and sounded to him as if some one had fallen in; he thought as he ran, for without a moment's hesitation he forced his way through the old hedge, dashed in amongst the clumps of hawthorn and hornbeam scrub, making straight for the moat, where he saw a sight which caused him to increase his pace and make a running dash right to the water, where the next moment he was swimming towards where adela norland was struggling feebly for her life. hilary saw how it was in a moment. the poor girl had apparently been tempted into trying to get at some of the yellow lilies and silvery water crowfoot which were growing abundantly in the centre of the wide moat, and to effect this she had entered a clumsy old boat that was evidently utilised for clearing out the weeds and growth from the stagnant water. that it was a boat was sufficient for her, and she had pushed out into the middle, not heeding that the craft was so rotten and fragile that just as she was out in one of the deepest parts it began to fill rapidly, and sank beneath her weight, leaving her struggling in the water. hilary had some distance to swim, for here, in the front of the house, the moat was double the width of the part by his prison window, and to his horror he saw the beating hands subside beneath the water while he was many yards away. but he was a good swimmer, and redoubling his exertions he forced his way onward, as he saw sir henry, allstone, and three more men come running out to the moat; but only one of them, sir henry himself, attempted to save the drowning girl's life. long before sir henry could reach adela, hilary was at the spot where he had seen her go down, and, rising for a moment and making a dive, he went down, rose, dived again, and once again before he caught hold of the poor girl's dress, and then swam with her for the shore. the moat was deep right up to the grassy edge; and hilary was in the act of placing adela in the hands held down to catch her when a fresh cry for help assailed his ears, and, turning, it was to see that sir henry was a dozen yards away, swimming apparently, but making no progress. hilary suspected the cause as he turned and swam to his old friend's help. for sir henry was heavily dressed, and, in addition, booted and spurred. the consequence had been that his heavy boots, with their appendages, were entangled in the long tough stems of the lilies, and his position was perilous in the extreme. for a moment hilary wondered how he could help his old friend, and as he wondered the thought came. swimming with one hand, he drew the cutlass from his belt, and telling sir henry to be cool, he swam up to him, thrust the cutlass down beneath the water, and after two or three attempts succeeded in dividing the tough stalks, ending by helping the nearly exhausted swimmer towards the shore. the men on the shore, and that little figure kneeling by them with clasped hands, seemed to be growing dim and indistinct, close as they were, and as if they were receding. his arms felt like lead, and he could hardly make his strokes, while somehow sir henry now embarrassed him by being so close that he could not take hold, as it were, of the water. but still he strove on, with the foam bubbling at his lips, then over his lips, then to his dim eyes; and then he felt something strike against his hand, and he clutched at a pole held out by allstone, when sir henry and he were dragged out, to lie panting for the next minute or two upon the bank. "you're not dead, are you, sir henry?" said allstone gruffly; and hilary could not help, even then, feeling annoyed as he raised himself upon one elbow, but only to give place to other thoughts as he saw adela kneeling there in speechless agony, holding her father's head in her lap. poor girl! she was white as ashes, and her beautiful hair hung long and dishevelled about her shoulders; but just then she seemed to have no thought of self, her whole feeling being concentrated upon the pale, motionless face before her, from which the life seemed to have passed away. but after a time sir henry shuddered and opened his eyes, smiling affectionately in his child's face, and, as he realised their position, he said something to her in a low voice. they had all been so long occupied in watching for the recovery of sir henry that hilary had had time to regain breath and some of his strength, and now the knowledge of his own position came back to him. he had escaped from the net, and voluntarily returned to it to save adela. her he had saved, and also her father. now it was time to save himself, and, jumping up, he gave a hasty glance round. "no, you don't!" said a hoarse voice. "you're my prisoner." and allstone seized him by his wet jacket. hilary was weak yet with his struggle in the water, but the dread of being once more a prisoner gave him strength, and, striking up the arm, he made for the bridge to cross once more for liberty; but a couple of men coming from the other direction, having just heard the alarm, cut off his retreat, and, exhausted as he was, he did not hesitate for an instant, but plunged once more into the moat. chapter twenty eight. a race for liberty. it was a question of time. could hilary get across the moat before the men who ran off to stop him reached the bridge, crossed, then ran along the other side? appearances were against hilary, and he saw that they were. in fact, so black was the lookout, that he half thought of finding a shallow place and standing there amongst the waterlilies, laughing at his pursuers. "only it would look so stupid," he muttered; "and i should be obliged to come out at last." he was striking out pretty well, and, but for the fact that his late exertions had told upon him, he felt that he would have got across with ease. "it's too bad, though," he thought; "and sir henry isn't half the fellow i thought him if he allows me to be taken. hullo! hurrah! down they go!" he exclaimed, as, straining his eyes towards the bridge, he saw one man trip and fall out of sight behind the low wall and another go over him. this reanimated him; and, taking long, slow strokes, he was soon pretty close to the farther side, with the determination in him strong to get away. fortunately he had retained the cutlass; and as he reached the bank and scrambled out, dripping like some huge newfoundland dog, allstone came panting up and seized him by the collar. "not this time, my lad," he growled, showing his teeth. "you thought you had done it, didn't you?" "let go!" panted hilary, as the water streamed down and made a pool. "yes, when i've got you in a safer place," was the reply. "here, come along, you two. no; one of you fetch a rope." this was to his followers, one of whom was limping, and the other bleeding from a cut in the face caused by his fall. "will you let go?" cried hilary hoarsely, but fast regaining his breath. "there, it's no use for you to struggle, my boy," said allstone. "murder! here! help!" hilary had glanced round and taken in his position. sir henry was standing holding adela, who had hidden her face in his breast so as not to see the struggle, while her father made no attempt to interfere. the two men were close up; and as allstone held him firmly he felt that he was about to be dragged back to his prison like some drowned rat, and he vowed that he would not give up if he died for it. for hilary's blood was now up, and, wrenching himself round, he got hold of the hilt of the cutlass, where it stuck in his belt, dragged it out, and in doing so struck his captor beneath the chin with the pommel. so sharp was the blow that allstone quitted his hold, uttering hoarse cries, and staggered back two or three yards, while hilary drove him farther by making at him as if about to deliver point. the two injured men, in answer to their leader's call, now made an attempt to seize hilary; but their effort was a faint-hearted one, for on the young officer making a dash at them they gave way, and, waving his hand to sir henry, he dashed across the road and along a winding lane. "a set of cowards!" he muttered. "the cutlass would hardly cut butter, and it would want a hammer to drive in its point. yes; you may shout. you don't suppose i am coming back?" he looked over his shoulder, and saw that allstone and four men were now after him, and that, if he meant to get away, he must use his last remaining strength, for, clumsily as they ran, he was so tired with his recent exertions that they were diminishing the distance fast. "i wonder how many pounds of water i've got to carry?" muttered hilary, as he ran on, with the moisture still streaming from him, and making a most unpleasant noise in his boots. "there's one good thing, though," he said: "it keeps on growing less." it was a lonely, winding lane, with the trees meeting overhead, and the sunshine raining down, as it were, in silvery streams upon the dappled earth. on either side were ancient hazel clumps, with here and there a majestic moss-covered oak or beech. it was, in fact, such a place as a lover of nature would have been loath to quit; and even in his time of need hilary was not insensible to the beauties of the spot, but he could not help feeling that the rutty roadway was atrocious. "well, it's as bad for them as it is for me," he said to himself as he ran at a steady trot--now in full view, now hidden from his pursuers by the windings of the lane. "i wonder whether this is the lane they brought me along with that jackass," he thought; and then, as his clothes grew lighter and stuck less closely to his limbs, he began to wonder how long they would take to dry. "well, that don't matter," he thought; "i shan't be allowed to sit down and rest just yet." he glanced back; and saw that his pursuers were out of sight, and he was just about to take advantage of the fact and spring over into the wood when they came in view again and uttered a shout. "anyone would think i was a hare and they were trying to run me down," he said. "get out, you yelping curs!" hare-like, indeed; for he was looking back and thinking of his pursuers so intently that he did not cast his eyes ahead beyond his steps till another shout roused him, and he saw that his pursuers were calling to a party of men coming with a cart from the other direction, and who had started forward to join in the pursuit. his idea a minute before had been to wait his opportunity, leap into the wood, and hide while the men went by. now he saw that his only course was to dash in amongst the forest trees in full sight of his pursuers, and trust to his speed or the density of the way, for his retreat was cut off, and he had no other chance. there was no time for hesitation, so, catching at a pendent bough, he swung himself up the sandy bank, but slipped and fell back, losing part of the ground he had won by his greater speed; but his next effort was more successful, and pressing in amongst the low undergrowth he forced his way along. hilary's desires went far faster than his legs, for it was very hard work here. the low birch scrub and hazel, interspersed with sapling ash, mingled and were interlaced with the shade-loving woodland bramble, whose spiny strands wove the branches together, clung to his clothes and checked him continually. well might they be called briars, for it was as if a hundred hands were snatching at him. but, keeping his hands well before his face, he struggled on, with the wood growing denser each moment and his pursuers close behind. "ah, if i only had half a dozen of our lads here," he panted, "how i would turn upon these cowardly rascals! twelve against one, and hunting him down. never mind," he cried, making a vicious cut with his weapon at a bramble that met him breast high, "i'd rather be the hunted stag than one of a pack of miserable hounds." at another time the wild untrodden wood must have filled him with delight, so full was it of beauty. the earth was carpeted with brilliant moss, which ran over the old stumps and climbed the boles of the great forest-trees; woodland flowers were crushed beneath his feet, and the sunlight danced amongst the leaves. every here and there a frightened rabbit rushed away, while the long forest arcades echoed with the cries of the startled birds. but hilary was too hot and excited to notice any of the beauties around. his drenching was forgotten, and he was beginning to pant with heat, while the shouts of his pursuers made his eyes flash with rage. he was gaining somewhat, and increasing the distance between them, but not greatly; for so far the men, part of whom were those returning from the cliffs, were still pretty close, and he could hear the crashing of the boughs and twigs as they came on; but he had managed to get out of their sight, and coming now upon a more open part where the trees were bigger, he ran with all his might, dashed into another denser patch, and then feeling that to keep on running was only to grow more and more exhausted, and to make his capture a matter of time, he began to think whether he could not make his brains help his legs. there was no time to lose, for the smugglers had now entered the more open part, and were, as their shouts indicated, coming on fast. what he was to do must be done quickly. hilary crept on cautiously, making as little noise as possible, dividing the branches tenderly so as to leave no broken twigs, and finding that the ground which he had now reached rapidly descended into a deep ravine or gully--one of the many that drain that part of the country--in a few minutes he was down between the fern-hung sandstone rocks. there was a tiny stream at the bottom, now reduced to a mere thread that joined together a few pools, but the well-washed banks high above his head showed that in rainy times it must be a rushing torrent. here was his road, then; for he argued that this stream, even if it did not lead right to the sea, would be sure to run into one that did; and besides, as he needed not rapid travelling, but the cautious creeping that should keep him concealed from his enemies, he could not have met with a better way. leaping down, then, from stone to stone till he reached the bottom, he dived under a number of overhanging brambles, and went slowly on. his pursuers' cries had for the moment ceased, and his spirits rose as he began to feel that they had gone upon the wrong scent; when suddenly, as he was forcing his way cautiously along, he heard a loud halloo just below him, and not fifty yards away. to his horror, as he stopped short, there came an answering shout from above, and another from higher up the gully. "send a couple down into the river bed!" shouted the voice below. "i'll stop him here." hilary ground his teeth, for cunning as he thought himself, it was evident that the same idea had occurred to his pursuers. what was he to do? if he climbed up the banks he was certain to be seen; if he kept on along the bed of the stream he would walk right into an enemy's arms; and the same if he worked upward. he stopped, thinking, but no fresh idea struck him; and setting his teeth and drawing a long breath, he stepped on into a more open place. "i'll make a fight for it," he said sharply, "for i don't mean to be taken back." just then he caught sight of a hollow that had evidently been tunnelled out of the rocks by centuries of floods. there was a perfect curtain of thin stranded holly, ivy, and bramble hanging before it, and creeping cautiously forward he parted the hanging strands, passed in, and they fell back in place, almost shutting out the light of day. the hollow did not even approach the dimensions of a cave, but was the merest hollowing out of the soft sand rock; still, it was sufficient to conceal him from his pursuers, and, cutlass in hand, he crouched down, holding open one little place in the green curtain and listening for the next hint of the coming of his pursuers. a dead silence ensued, during which he could feel the heavy throb, throb of his heart and the hard labouring of his breath, for his exertions had been tremendous. but still no sound reached his ears; not a shout was heard, and he began to grow hopeful. five minutes must have passed, and he had recovered his breath. from out of the tiny opening he had left he saw a robin flit down and perch upon a twig. then came a blackbird to investigate the state of the commissariat department in the gully, turning busily over the leaves; and so calmly did the bird work that hilary felt still more hopeful, for he knew that no one could be near. vain hope! all at once the bird uttered its sharp alarm note and flew like a streak of black velvet up into the dense growth above, but still there was not a sound to be heard. hilary's heart began to beat again, for the excitement was intense. then there came a faint rustle, and another. then silence again, and he felt that the men must have given up the chase. just then there was another faint rustle, and through the screen of leaves hilary saw the head and then the shoulders of a strongly-built man appear, whose eyes were diligently searching every inch of ground till he came nearer, and then, as his gaze lighted on the screen of leaves hilary saw a look of intelligence come upon his stolid features, and stepping forward, he was about to drag the leafage aside, when there came a loud shout from below-- "ahoy! this way. here he is!" the man made a rush down the ravine, and the young officer's heart felt as if released from some tremendous pressure, for he had nerved himself for a tremendous struggle, and the danger had passed. a minute later there was a sudden outburst of voices and a roar of laughter, after which hilary fancied he could hear allstone shouting and angrily abusing the men. then once more came silence, and he lay there and waited. he half expected to see the men come back, but an hour passed and there was not a sound save that of the birds in the distance; and at last, after fighting down the intense desire to be up and doing till he could master himself no longer, hilary parted the leaves and stepped out into the gully to continue his course downwards. he stopped in a stooping position to listen, for he fancied he had heard a rustle. "rabbit," he muttered, directly after; and as he did so a tremendous weight fell upon his back, throwing him forward upon his face, where, as he struggled round and tried to get up, it was to find that the great sturdy fellow he had before seen was sitting upon his chest. chapter twenty nine. back in bonds. "that's the way i do with the rabbuds, shipmet," said the man laughing. "you dog! you scoundrel!" panted hilary, continuing his ineffectual struggle. "better be still, boy," said the man coolly. "you'll only hurt yourself." as he spoke he wrested the cutlass from the young man's hand, after which he coolly took out a tobacco-bag and helped himself to a quid. hilary felt his helplessness, and after another furious effort, during which he partly raised his captor from his position of 'vantage, he lay still and looked in the man's face. "look here!" he said; "what'll you take to let me go?" the man looked at him in an amused fashion, and then laughed. "do you hear?" cried hilary. "come, get off me; you hurt my chest." "yes. i hear," said the man coolly. "then why don't you answer? quick, before the others come! what will you take to let me go?" "what'll you take, youngster, to join us?" "what do you take me for?" cried hilary. "how dare you ask me such a question?" "just by the same law that you ask me," said the man coolly. "do you think everybody is to be bought and sold?" "but look here," cried hilary. "i have been shut up there, and i want to get away; i must get away." "to bring the crew of the cutter to rout us up yonder, eh!" said the man, laughing. "now, come, i suppose you would call yourself a young gentleman; so speak the truth. if i let you go, will you lead the cutter off on a false scent, or will you show the captain the way to our place?" hilary remained silent. "why don't you speak, youngster? which would you do?" "my duty," said hilary sturdily. "and that is, of course, to point us out," said the man, smiling. "well youngster, i don't like you a bit the worse for speaking out like a man. i've got my duty to do as well, and here goes." he blew a shrill chirruping whistle twice over, and it was answered from a distance; while before many minutes had elapsed there was the sound of breaking twigs, voices talking hurriedly, and directly after, looking black and angry, allstone came up with half-a-dozen men. allstone's countenance changed into a look of malignant pleasure as soon as he saw hilary lying amidst the bushes. "you've got him, then?" he cried. "oh, yes," said hilary's captor coolly. "it only wanted time." "i thought we should get him again!" shouted allstone, grinning in the captive's face. "here's that cutlass, too. he's a liar, this fellow. he said he had thrown it out of the window." "so i did, idiot!" cried hilary indignantly. "but i tied a string to it to pull it back when i wanted it." the men burst out into a hearty laugh at the idea, as much as at someone calling allstone, who had bullied them a good deal, an idiot. the man glanced at him savagely, and hilary read in his eye so much promise of a hard time that he determined to make one more effort for his liberty, and this he did. "who's got a bit o' cord?" said allstone. "oh, here, i have. now then, up with him, and hold his hands behind his back." hilary's captor rose, and a couple of men caught him by the arms, jerked him up and held him, dragging back his arms, which allstone came forward to bind; but seeing the young man helpless before him, he could not resist the temptation offered to him. "i'm an idiot, am i?" he shouted. "how do you like that for an idiot's touch?" he struck hilary a brutal back-handed blow across the face as he spoke, and then went backwards into the gully with a crash. for, his hands being secured, the young officer felt no compunction, under the circumstances, in making use of his foot, and with it he gave the bully so tremendous a kick in the chest that he went down breathless; and, wrenching his arms free, hilary made a dash for liberty, but his former captor seized him as he passed. "no, my lad, it won't do," he exclaimed. "it was too much trouble to catch you, so we'll keep you now." allstone struggled up, but hilary's captor interfered as he was about to strike at him with his doubled fist. "no, no, master allstone," he said sharply, "i'm sure the skipper and sir henry wouldn't let you do that." "you stand aside," roared allstone. "who told you to interfere?" "no one," said the man coolly; "but i shall interfere, and if you touch that lad again it'll be through me." "do you hear this, lads?" cried allstone. "he's breaking his oaths. come on my side and we'll deal with him too." "this young fellow was about right when he called you an idiot, jemmy allstone," said the man quietly. "he's going to help him get away," cried allstone, who was mad with passion. "yes, that's it, boys," said the man laughing, "that's why i caught him and kept him till you came up, and that's why i'm going to tie his arms. here, give me the rope." he snatched the cord from allstone's hands, and turned to hilary. "hold up your arms, my lad, and i won't hurt you. come, it's of no use to try and run; we're too many for you. never fight your ship when you know you are beaten; it's only waste of strength. come, hold up." hilary felt that he had done all that was possible, and, won by his captor's frank, manly way, he held up his wrists, to have them so tightly and ingeniously tied that he was a prisoner indeed. as they went back by a short cut through the wood, and one which brought them into a narrow lane, allstone once found an opportunity to maliciously kick his prisoner, as if by accident; but hilary's friend saw the act, and took care that he did not again approach too near; and, after what seemed a weary walk, the little party crossed the moat of the handsome old place. hilary was led into the great kitchen, and then up-stairs, past flight after flight, to a room at the top with a strongly-bound door. into this place he was thrust, and allstone was about to leave him as he was; but the friendly smuggler stepped forward, and began to unfasten the bonds. "never mind that," cried allstone; "let him stay bound." the man paid no heed whatever, but undid the cord, set hilary free, and then retired, the door being banged to, locked loudly, and secured by a heavy bar thrust clanging across. the young officer stood staring at the door for a few minutes, and then stamped his foot upon the floor. "was ever fellow so unlucky!" he exclaimed. "lipscombe might have found me out by this time; and when i do get out, i'm caught and brought back. but never mind; if they think i'm beaten they are wrong, for i'll get out, if only to show sir henry what a mean-spirited fellow he is." he looked round his room, which was a bare old attic, with dormer windows and casements, from which, on flinging one open, he saw that he was far too high from the ground for a descent without a rope; but a second glance showed him that it would be possible to climb upon the roof, and when there he might perhaps manage to get somewhere else. just then he heard a window opened on the floor below, and, looking down, he saw adela, evidently gazing towards the moat. for a few moments he felt too indignant to speak, for he thought sir henry was behaving very ill to him; but a little reflection told him that his old companion was not to blame, and what she might even then be feeling very grateful to him for what he had done. "well, i'll give her a chance to show it," he thought; and, leaning out a little more he said lightly, "well, addy, are you any the worse for your dip?" "oh, hil!" she exclaimed looking up, "are you there?" "yes, and locked up safely. i say, your people are behaving very badly to me." "oh, hil," cried the girl with the tears in her eyes, "i am so sorry. i've been begging papa not to have you caught, and he says he could not help it." "then he ought to help it," replied hilary warmly. "but he says he's bound to keep faith with his friends; and that if you would only give your word not to escape and betray our hiding-place you might come and live with us; and oh, hil dear, it would be like old times, and we could have such walks together. do be a good boy, and promise what papa wishes! i should like you to come and be with us again, for i have no companion now." hilary looked down at the bright little face, and as the thoughts of how pleasantly the time would pass in her company came upon him, as compared with the miseries he had to endure, he felt sorely tempted to give his parole; he might do that, he argued. "do come, hil," she said again, as if she were reading his hesitation. "papa will be so pleased." "and try his best to make me turn traitor," thought hilary. "no," he exclaimed, "i cannot do it, addy; and i'm sure you would not wish me to break faith with those to whom i owe duty. i should like to come, but--ah, sir henry, you there?" he started, for a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and turning, there stood sir henry, holding out his hand. "i have come to thank you, my brave, true lad, for what you have done," he exclaimed warmly. "you saved my darling's life and then mine." "and for which you had me hunted down," said hilary bitterly. "it was no act of mine, my boy," said sir henry sadly. "why will you ignore the fact that i am not master of your position? hilary, my dear boy, once more, will you join us?" "no, sir henry; and even if i did you would only despise me." "no, no. nothing of the kind." "then i should despise myself," cried hilary. "once more, sir henry, i am a king's officer, and refuse your proposals." "then give me your parole not to escape." "i give you my word of honour that i will escape as soon as i possibly can," said hilary smiling. "so take my advice, and take adela away. save yourself, too, for if i find you here i shall be obliged to arrest you." "why, you foolish fellow," said sir henry smiling, "you are a prisoner, and you have found out that you cannot get away." "not so, sir henry. i found that i could not get away this first time; but you don't know me if you think i am going to sit down quietly here without an effort to escape." "but it is impossible here, my good lad," said sir henry. "so your people thought when you locked me up in that old chapel. i tell you, sir henry, i mean to get back to my ship." "then, for the safety of my child, and for my own safety, hilary, you force me to show myself the stern officer of his majesty our rightful king, and i must see that you are kept fast. however, i will try to temper justice with some show of kindness, and i have had dry clothes brought up for your use till the others are right." "oh, they are pretty well right now," said hilary carelessly. "then is it to be war, hilary?" said sir henry with a sad smile. "yes, sir henry, war." "we shall keep you very close and very fast, my boy." "no, sir henry, you will not," cried hilary cheerily, "for before many hours are over i mean to be free." "it is a game of chess, then," said sir henry laughing. "yes, sir henry, and you have moved out your pawns and played your queen;" and he pointed below. "i have," said sir henry smiling. "now what do you mean to do?" "well, sir henry, seeing how i am shut up, suppose we say that i am castled." "very good," laughed sir henry going to the door and passing out. "very good or very bad," muttered hilary, "i mean to be out before many days are passed; and when once i am free the smugglers may look out for squalls." chapter thirty. hilary tries again. soon after sir henry had gone, hilary went to the window, but drew back directly. "no," he said to himself, "if i go there i shall be tempted into giving my parole or joining the pretender's party. sir henry seems to think he can win me over; so let us see." he began to walk up and down his prison. then it struck him that his clothes had pretty well grown dry again, and he went over in his mind the incidents of the day and the past night, thoughts which were interrupted by the coming of allstone, who bore some bread and meat, and a mug of beer, while a man behind him dragged in a table and chair, and afterwards carried in a straw mattress and a pillow, allstone looking grimly on. the man went out, but allstone still waited, and at last the man came back with a bundle of sheets and blankets, which he threw upon the bed. "there," said allstone, "that will do;" and seeing the man out, he darted a surly look at hilary, and then followed and banged the door. "thank you," said hilary, laughing. "perhaps a ladder would have been a little more convenient; but what donkeys people are--give a sailor sheets and blankets, and shut him up in a garret, and think he won't escape! ha! ha! ha!" the sight of the food changed the current of hilary's thoughts, and sitting down he made a very hearty meal, felt that his clothes had grown thoroughly dry, and then did what was not surprising under the circumstances, began to nod, and then went off fast asleep. before an hour had passed he awoke; but he was so drowsy that he threw himself upon the mattress, and falling asleep directly he did not awaken till early the next morning. no escape that day, and as he had to make up his mind to this, he waited until allstone came with a rough breakfast, when he made a peremptory demand for some means of washing and making himself more presentable. "my orders be to bring you something to sleep on and your meals, that's all," growled the fellow. "i had no orders about washing tackle." "get out, you surly ill-conditioned ruffian," cried hilary; and the fellow grinned. "here's something for you," he said, contemptuously jerking a letter on to the floor, which hilary picked up. "look here, master allstone," he cried, shaking a finger at him; "one of these days i shall come here with a dozen or two of our brave boys, and if i don't have you flogged till you beg my pardon for all this, my name is not hilary leigh." "bah!" ejaculated the man; and he went away making as much noise as he could with the lock and bar so as to annoy his prisoner, but without success, for that individual was reading the letter he had received. it was as follows:-- "my dear hilary,--fate has placed us on opposite sides, and though she has now thrown us together, i am compelled to hold aloof until you can say to me, `here is my parole of honour not to betray you or to escape!' or `i see that i am on the side of a usurper, and abjure his service. from henceforth i am heart and soul with you.' when you can send me either of those messages, hilary, adela and i are ready to receive you with open arms. till then we must be estranged; but all the same, my dear boy, accept my gratitude and love for your bravery in saving our lives.--affectionately yours, henry norland." "then we shall have to remain estranged," said hilary as he stood by the open window refolding the letter and thinking of his position. "hil! hil!" came from below. "ahoy!" he answered. "well, little lady?" and he leaned out. "isn't it a beautiful morning, hil," said adela, looking up. "lovely." "why don't you come down and have a run with me in the woods?" "for one reason, because i am locked up," said hilary. "for another, because i have not made my hands and face acquainted with soap and water since i was aboard the cutter; my hair is full of bits of straw and dead leaves, and my clothes are soaked and shrunken, and muddied and torn. altogether, i am not fit to be seen." "well, but hil, dear, why don't you wash yourself?" "because your esteemed friends here do not allow me soap, water, and towel. i say, addy, if i lower down a piece of string, will you send me a jug of water?" "same as i did the milk? oh, of course!" said the girl laughing. "all right," said hilary; "get it, please." he took out his knife, and without hesitation nicked and tore off the hem of one of his sheets, knotted two lengths together, lowered them down, and in turn drew up wash-hand jug, soap, brush and comb, and afterwards a basin, by having it tied up in a towel, and attaching the string to the knots. adela seemed to enjoy it all as fun, but she turned serious directly after as she told her old companion how grateful she felt to him for his bravery on the previous day, remarks which made hilary feel uncomfortable and go away from the window with the excuse that he wanted to attend to his toilet. for the next quarter of an hour hilary was revelling in a good wash, with all the enjoyment of one who has been shut off from the use of soap and towel, with the result that after he had finished off with a brush, he felt more himself, and ready to stare his position more comfortably in the face. he went to the window in spite of his resolutions not to be tempted, and looked down; but adela had gone, so he had a good look round at the country. here he was facing due south, and before him, stretched in the bright sunshine, wave after wave as it were of hilly land, pretty well clothed with forest-trees. in the far distance there was a range of hills with a church and a windmill, both of which he recognised as having seen from the other side when upon the deck of the cutter, and this gave him a good idea of where he was, and how to shape his course when he made his escape. that word set him thinking, and without more ado he proceeded to cut up the sheets, knot together some of the strips, and then to lay them up, sailor fashion, into a serviceable linen rope, for the sheets were coarse and strong. this he did with his ears attent to the coming of footsteps, and a place ready in the bed to throw his work and cover it over should allstone or sir henry be at hand. but he need not have troubled, for he completed about forty feet of good strong line from the pair of sheets, and coiled it up after securing the ends ready for use. his escape now was simplicity itself he thought, and his toil ended and the shreds carefully swept up and blown from the window, he seated himself upon the sill, and enjoyed the warmth of the afternoon sunshine, planning out how he would slip down after securing one end of his cord to the window-frame. sir henry would, he felt sure, provide for the safety of adela and himself as soon as he found that the prisoner had escaped, for he felt that he could not bring peril upon them. there was no cause for fear, though, and he sat thinking of how grand it would be if he could escape the moment it was dark and get down to the shore and find the _kestrel_. that seemed hopeless, though, and too much to expect; for it was not likely that the cutter would be still cruising about and waiting for him. if she was, though, he knew how he could bring a boat's crew well-armed ashore, and that was by making a signal with a light in a particular way. the sun was getting lower, and everything round the old place was still, nothing but a couple of fowls that were pecking about in what had once been a large garden between the old house and the moat, being visible. it had once been a goodly residence, no doubt, but all now was ruin and desolation, except that the warm sunshine made even the neglect and weeds look picturesque. there were massive gables to right and left, and the old tiles were orange and grey with a thick coating of lichen. just between his window and that of adela there were the mouldering remains of a carved shield, with surmounting helmet and crest, and a decayed motto below, while to right and left the ivy had covered the front with its dark-green glossy leaves, among which the cable-like runners could be seen. anywhere, almost, along the front of the venerable place he could have climbed down by the help of the ivy; in his neighbourhood, however, it had been cleared away. he wondered sometimes how it was that he had heard no more of adela, and that everything about the place should be so still, and concluded that sir henry had forbidden her to hold counsel with him, and in this belief he sat on waiting until the sun went down in a flood of orange glory. just then he heard allstone's heavy step upon the stairs, and coming away from the window hilary threw himself upon his bed over the hidden rope. but he need not have feared that it would be seen, for allstone simply placed some food upon the table and went away directly after, locking the door. the repast though rough and plain was substantial, and very welcome. hilary felt somewhat agitated at the attempt he was about to make; but he knew that he needed fortifying with food, and he ate heartily, placing the remains of his meal in his pockets as a reserve for by-and-by. as the sun went down the moon began to make its presence known; but it was early in its first quarter, and in the course of a couple of hours it too had set, leaving the sky to the stars, which twinkled brightly, doing little, though, to dispel the darkness. in fact, by about nine, as he guessed it to be, the night was as suitable as possible for such an enterprise as his, and after listening to some distant sounds of talking in the back of the house, hilary proceeded with beating heart to take out and unroll his light coil of rope. by means of a little management he took one of the leaded panes from the bottom of the casement so as to allow the rope to be securely tied round the stout oak centrepiece of the window, and then, after watching attentively for a few minutes, he lowered down the other end until the full extent was reached, and as nearly as he could judge it touched the ground. even if it did not, there was nothing to fear, for at the utmost he would have had but a few feet to drop, and after a few moments' hesitancy he passed one leg out of the window, took a good grip of the rope, climbed right out, twisted his legs round in turn, and directly after, while swinging gently, he let himself down foot by foot. it was nothing to him. his sailor life made a descent by a rope one of the merest trifles. down lower and lower, past adela's window, and then coming into sight of a broad casement where a light was burning. the upper floors of the old building projected beyond the lower, so that he had not been aware of this lighted room, and as he hung there turning slowly round and round he could plainly see sir henry in a comfortably-furnished place, seated at a table writing, while adela was gazing up into his face as she sat upon a low stool at his feet. for a few moments hilary hung there motionless, feeling that if sir henry raised his eyes, as he was sure to do at the slightest sound, he could not help seeing him gently spinning round and round. recovering himself though, directly, he let himself slide, and reached the ground, but made so much noise that he heard sir henry speak, and he had hardly time to dart aside, drawing with him the white rope, and crouch down close to the house, before the window was opened, and he knew that some one was looking out. "no, papa," said a well-known voice, "i can see nothing." "look again," said sir henry. "stop; i'll come." there was the noise of a moving chair, and then hilary felt that sir henry was looking out of the window, and wondered whether he was seen. he hardly dared to breathe, and it seemed like an hour before he heard a sigh, and sir henry said, softly-- "what a lovely night, my child!" then there was the sound of the casement being closed, steps faintly heard across the room, and, gliding from his place of concealment, hilary made for the bridge, crossed it, and then darted amongst the bushes beside the narrow lane, for there was a buzz of voices behind him, and from the other side of the house he could see the light of a lantern, and then came the tramp of a horse and the sound of wheels. chapter thirty one. signalling the kestrel. hilary knew that if he wished to escape he must achieve it with his brain perhaps as much as his heels. he could pretty well tell which way to go, but his knowledge of the country was very small, and great care was necessary. it was evident that there was a party leaving the old house, and most probably they were going to be present at some landing of goods upon the shore, whence the cart would bring the lading of some lugger back. if he went on now, it would be with this party always ready to overtake him at any moment, for he did not know the road. if, on the other hand, he kept hidden until the cart had gone by, their lantern would be a guide to him, and he could follow silently till he reached the cliffs. after that he must be guided by circumstances. it was a wise idea, and lying _perdu_ for a few minutes, he found that a cart passed him slowly, attended by six men, one of whom bore the lantern. they were all chatting and laughing, and so intent upon their business in hand that hilary was able to follow them at a moderate distance, the lantern acting as his guide. he soon found that fortune had favoured him, for without their guidance the chances were that he would have wandered off into one of the rugged lanes through the woods, if he had not lost the track entirely, for it was hardly worthy of the name of road. he was going cautiously along, keeping the lantern well in sight, when, all at once, a faint glow appeared just in front; and he only stopped short just in time to avoid blundering over one of the party who had hung back to refill and light his pipe with a piece of touchwood, which he was now blowing up into a brisk glow before applying it to the bowl. hilary stopped as if struck by lightning, and held his breath, so close was he to the man, who, fortunately, was too much occupied with the task he had in hand to notice the young officer's proximity; and, after getting his pipe well alight, he started off after his companions. this adventure made hilary, if possible, more cautious, and for the next two hours he kept at a greater distance, wondering the while how much farther it was, when all at once he noticed that the lantern had become stationary. directly after another light approached, and then a broad glare shone out, evidently from an open door. then there was a good deal of talking and the rattle of a cart; then of another; and hilary, finding that he could progress no farther by the track, struck off amongst the bushes and ferns on his left, finding now that the trees were left behind; and as the next minute he found even the bushes had given place to heather and turf, he concluded that he must be nearing the sea. it had grown so dark that he had to proceed with caution or he would have tripped over some patch of furze or fern. but he escaped pretty well; and seeing that the lanterns were once more in motion, he determined to proceed, as well as he could, parallel with the party, watch their proceedings, and learn all he could for future service if he succeeded in getting away. once he thought that he had better devote himself to his escape; but he could do no more until daybreak, and if he could see how the smugglers landed their cargoes such knowledge would be invaluable. going cautiously on, then, he must have proceeded for a couple of hundred yards when he found that the bearers of the lanterns had stopped, and there was a low buzz of talking, and someone seemed to be giving orders. then the noise ceased, and he fancied he could hear footsteps going away, while the lanterns burned close together, apparently on the ground. he was too far-off still, he thought, and in his eager curiosity he bent down and took a few steps forward, felt one foot give way, threw himself back, and lay upon the turf, wet with a cold, chilling perspiration, and clutching the short turf with his fingers driven in as far as he could. as he lay there trembling he heard a familiar sound from far below, and as his vision cleared and he grew calmer he could just make out a faint line of light where the waves were breaking amongst the stones, for he had been within an inch of a terrible death. the little patch of turf upon which he had trod grew right on the verge of the cliff, and but for his spasmodic effort to throw himself back as the earth gave way, he must have pitched headlong on to the rocks a couple of hundred feet below. "what an escape!" he muttered; and then, after a calm feeling of thankfulness had pervaded him for a time, he lay there enjoying the soft salt breeze that blew gently upon his cheeks, and listening with delight to the murmurous plash of the waves. as he gazed out to sea, where all was exceedingly dark, his heart gave a great leap, for not a couple of miles away, as he judged, a vessel was lying, and there was something in the position of the lights that made him feel certain it was the _kestrel_. he would not believe it at first, but told himself it was his fancy--the suggestion of that which he fondly wished; but as he shaded his eyes and watched he became more and more certain that it was his ship, and in his elation it was all he could do not to utter a joyous shout by way of a hail. he checked himself, however, in the mad idea, and lay thinking. there was the old _kestrel_, and the idea of getting back to his stuffy quarters and the ill-temper of lieutenant lipscombe seemed delightful; but he knew that the greatest caution was needed, or he would fail in his attempt. then, again, he thought it impossible that it could be the _kestrel_, for the smugglers would never have the hardihood to run a cargo just under the very nose of a king's ship; but directly afterwards he was obliged to own that it was by these very acts of daring that they were able to carry on with such success; and the more he gazed out at those lights, the more certain he felt that they belonged to his vessel. "yes," he thought, "it's the old lass sure enough, and the lads will be as glad as can be to see me back. i know they will. oh, if i could only signal to them and bring a boat's crew ashore." he lay thinking, and then, with beating heart, began to crawl cautiously along close to the edge of the cliff till he was abreast of the lanterns, which, as he had half suspected, lay in a depression, with a high bank of rush and bushes between them and the sea. there was no one with them, and all was very silent. where were the smugglers, then? that was soon solved; for on crawling a little farther he found his hands go down suddenly where the cliff made a rapid slope, and as he lay upon his chest he could hear the hum of voices, the trampling of feet upon the shingle, and though he could hardly distinguish moving figures, his imagination supplied the rest; and, as plainly as if he could see it all, there, he knew, was a large lugger ashore and a party of men landing her cargo, carrying it up the beach and among the rocks, where it was being drawn up by a rough pulley, and yonder, all the while, lay the king's ship in utter ignorance of what was going on. there it all was, the soft murmur of the sea--he could almost fancy he heard it lap the lugger's sides; and certainly as he gazed more intently down, there was a dark break in the line of foam. that, then, must be the lugger. if it had only been a little lighter he could have seen all--the busy party like so many ants running to and fro with their loads, while others were drawing them up the rocks ready for the loading of the carts. yes, there was the creak of a pulley from a heavier load than usual; and this was the way it was done on these dark fine nights. perhaps in another hour the whole cargo would be drawn up on the cliff, the carts would be loaded at their leisure, and as the tide rose the lugger would push off once more, and all, as he had before said, just under the nose of his majesty's cutter. "no wonder," thought hilary, "that we are so often unsuccessful; but we'll checkmate them now! what can i do?" he lay thus thinking and listening, and then an idea came to him. the men were all busy down below, and they had left their lanterns in that hollow. as the thought occurred to him he began to crawl back cautiously but quickly till he was close up to where the lanterns were hidden. "if there is anyone there," he argued, "i can dash off into the darkness and escape." but he felt sure that there was no one. still he tested the question by saying suddenly in a gruff voice: "now, my lads, you're wanted below." it was a bold stroke, but it satisfied him that all was right, and that all hands were away. now, then, was his time. he could not help the _kestrel's_ men, they must do the work; but if they came ashore they would know why it was, and the possibilities were that they would surprise the lugger--perhaps be in time to capture half her cargo. hilary did not hesitate now, but creeping down into the hollow, he extinguished the candle in one lantern and took off his jacket and wrapped it round the other, completely hiding its light. then, taking the first in his hand, he crept up once more to the higher part of the cliff. here he ould see the lights of the _kestrel_ plain enough, but even when stooping down he could not help seeing the black patch upon the shore. that would not do, so he crept back a few yards, finding the cliff rise in a sharp slope, going to the top of which he found that he could see the light in what was apparently a cottage. descending again, he cautiously chose a spot where he could easily see the cutter's lights but not the shore below the cliff, and then he paused and listened. the dull murmur was fainter now, but he could make out the men at work, and for a few moments he hesitated. suppose he should be surprised and taken back! "never mind," he thought, "i am only doing my duty. they dare not kill me, and, in the king's name, here goes." he uncovered the lantern and placed it upon the turf, where it burned steadily and well; then opening the door, he took the candle from the extinct lantern, lit it, replaced it, and closed it in, put on his jacket, and then, taking a couple of steps to the left, he stood there holding the second lantern breast high, making a signal that he knew would be understood on board if the diagonal lights were seen by anyone of the watch. hilary's heart beat fast. he was concealed by the cliff from the busy party below, and by the rise behind him from those inland, but at any moment some one might come up to where the lanterns had been placed, miss them, and see what he was about. it was risky work, but he did not shrink, although he knew that he was lessening his chances of escape. still, if he could only bring the _kestrel's_ boats down upon the scoundrels it would be so grand a _coup_ that his hesitation was always mastered, and he stood firm, gazing out to sea. how long the minutes seemed, and what a forlorn hope it was! the chances were that the watch might not notice the lights; and even if they were seen, it might not be by anyone of sufficient intelligence to report them to the lieutenant, or to the boatswain or gunner. every now and then he fancied he heard steps. then his imagination created the idea that some one was crawling along the ground to push him over the cliff; but he set his teeth and stood his post, keenly alive, though, to every real sound and such sights as he could see, and ready at any moment to dash down the lanterns and run inland for liberty, if not for life. how dark the lanterns seemed to make it, and how hot the one grew in his hands! would those on board ever see it, and was he to stand there in vain? "ah! if i had only been on board," he muttered, as the time wore on, till what seemed to him a couple of hours had passed, but what was really only about a fourth of that time; "i would have seen it. somebody ought to have seen it." still the lights from the cutter burned out brightly, like a couple of stars, and at last, in a hopeless mood, he began to think that the signal he was displaying was too feeble to be seen so far. "i may as well give it up," he muttered despairingly; "the rascals will be up directly now, and i shall be caught, and the _kestrels_ could never get ashore in time.--yes--no--yes--no--yes," he panted. for, as he stared out at the cutter's lights, all at once they disappeared. he gazed till his eyes seemed starting, but there was no doubt about it; they had been put out or covered; and turning sharply round, he hid the lantern he carried, and turned over the other with his foot prior to stooping and blowing it out. the signal had been seen. chapter thirty two. hilary gets in a queer fix. with his heart throbbing with joy hilary now proceeded to reverse his performance, for, taking off his jacket once more, he enveloped the burning lantern, picked up the other that was emitting an abominable odour, and hastily carried them back to the hollow where he found them. it was so dark that he was doubtful whether he had found the right place, but he kicked against another lantern, and that convinced him. placing the burning one on the ground, he relit the other, his hands trembling so that he hardly knew what he did, and impeded himself to no slight degree. he succeeded, however, and had just set the second lantern down as nearly as he could remember, when he fancied he heard a sound as of some one snoring, and glancing in the direction, he saw to his horror that a man was lying there asleep. for a few moments he felt paralysed, and stood there holding his jacket in his hand unable to move, as he asked himself whether that man had been there when he spoke and took the lights. as he stood there wondering, he heard a voice call "jem!" in a low tone; and this roused hilary, who dropped down and crept away, glancing to seaward as he did so, where the cutter's lights--if it was she--once more brightly burned. he did not dare to go far, but lay flat upon the turf, listening as someone came up; and then there was a dull noise as of a man kicking another. "get up, jem! do you hear! why, what a fellow you are to sleep!" "hullo! oh, all right," said another voice; and now hilary could see two men standing, their figures plainly shown against the lantern's light. "oh, yes; it's all very well to say `hullo!' and `all right!'" grumbled the first voice; "i never see such a fellow to sleep." "have you done?" said the sleepy one yawning. "done? no; nor half done; she's got a heavy cargo. if we get done in three hours we shall have worked well. put out them candles, and come and haul." the lights were extinguished; and hilary, wondering at his escape, felt his heart bound with joy, for by that time the crews of a couple of boats must have been mustered on the _kestrel's_ deck, and in another five minutes they would be pulling, with muffled oars, towards the shore. "ah! if i were only in command of one!" cried hilary to himself; "but as i am not, can i do anything more to help our fellows besides bringing them ashore?" it was a question that puzzled him to answer, and he lay there on the turf wondering what it would be best to do, ending by making up his mind to creep down as cautiously as he could in the direction taken by the two men. "the worst that could happen to me," he thought, "would be that i should be taken; and if i am made prisoner once more, it will only be in the cause of duty--so here goes." the darkness favoured him as far as concealment was concerned, but it had its disadvantages. a little way to his left was the edge of the cliff, and hilary knew that if he were not careful he would reach the shore in a way not only unpleasant to himself, but which would totally spoil him for farther service; so he exercised as much caution for self-preservation as he did to keep himself hidden from his enemies. there was a well-beaten track, and, following this, he found the descent was very rapid into a little valley-like depression, from the bottom of which came the faint creak of a pulley now and then, with mingled sounds of busy men going to and fro with loads, which they seemed to be, as he judged, carrying up to carts somewhere at the head of the ravine. he could see very little, the darkness was so great; but his keen sense of hearing supplied the want of sight; and as he lay beside a clump of what seemed to be furze, he very soon arrived at a tolerably good idea of what was going on. still he was not satisfied. he wanted to realise more thoroughly the whole procedure of the smugglers, so that if the present attempt should prove a failure he might be in a position to circumvent them another time. it was a great risk to go any nearer, and it might result in capture, perhaps in being knocked down; but he determined to go on, especially as it grew darker every minute, the stars being completely blotted out by a curtain of cloud that came sweeping over the sky. he hesitated for a few moments, and then crept on, listening intently the while. the smugglers were still some distance off, down towards the edge of the lower cliff; and he crept nearer and nearer, till to his horror he found that the clearness of the part about him was only due to the cessation of the carrying for a few minutes, and now a party seemed to be coming up from the cliff edge, apparently loaded, while, when he turned to retreat, he found by the sound of voices that another party was coming down. his manifest proceeding then was to get out of the track, but, to his horror, he found that he was down in a rift between two high walls of rock, and his first attempt to climb up resulted in a slip back, scratching his hands, and tearing his clothes. before he could make a second attempt he was seized by a pair of strong arms and forced down upon his knees; and dimly in the gloom he could make out that he was pretty well surrounded by rough-looking men. "caught you, have i?" said a deep voice. hilary remained silent. it was of no avail to struggle, and he reserved his strength for a better opportunity to escape. he thought of shouting aloud to the boats, which he hoped were now well on their way; but he restrained himself, as he felt that the success of their approach depended upon their secrecy, so he merely hung down his head, without offering the slightest resistance. he had his reward. "get up, you lazy, skulking lubber!" cried his captor, "or i'll rope's-end you." this, by the way, was rather cool language, especially after forcing the captive down upon his knees. "here are we to work like plantation niggers at the oars, rowing night and day, and you 'long-shore idlers leave us to do all the work." "why, he takes me for one of their party," thought hilary; and, dark though it was, he felt astonished at the man's stupidity, for it did not occur to him then that he was hatless, that his hair was rough, his face and hands anything but clean, and his old uniform shrunken by his immersion, and so caked with mud and dirt, and withal so torn and ragged, that even by broad daylight anyone would have strongly doubted that he was a king's officer, while in the gloom of that ravine he could easily be taken for a rough-looking carrier belonging to their gang. "come on," said the man hauling him along, "i've got a nice little job for you. i don't care for your sulky looks. go it, my lads. got the lot?" he continued, as a line of loaded men filed past them, they having to stand back against the rock to let the burdened party pass. "all? no; nor yet half," was the reply. "there, get on." "all right. take it easy," was the reply; and, trying hard to make out the surroundings, hilary made no resistance, but let himself be hurried along down the declivity they were in, till he found himself on a platform of trampled earth, where, as far as he could make out against the skyline, a rough kind of shears was rigged up, and, by means of a block, a couple of men were hauling up packages, and another was landing them upon the platform, and unfastening and sending down the empty hooks. "here, one of you carry now," said hilary's captor, "and let this joker haul. i found him trying to miche, and nipped him as he was skulking off. lay hold, you lazy lubber, and haul." one of the men left the rope, and assuming a sulky, injured manner, hilary took his place at the rope, and, upon the signal being given, hauled away with his new companion, who gave a grunt indicative of satisfaction, as he found how well hilary kept time with him, bringing his strength to bear in unison with the other's, so that they worked like one man. "ah, that's better!" he said. "i've been doing all the work." they had brought a keg above the cliff edge, and this being detached, hilary's captor mounted it upon his shoulders, and the man who had been hauling in hilary's place took up a package and they began to move off. "let me know if he don't work," said the rough-voiced man. "i'll soon be back. mind he don't slip off." "all right," said hilary's companion. "haul," said a voice, and they pulled up another keg, while the tramping of men could be plainly heard below, telling hilary of what was going on. "why," he thought, as he worked steadily on, "this is where they hauled me up, the rascals; and now--" he could not help laughing to himself at the strange trick fate had played him in setting him, a naval officer, helping a party of smugglers to land their cargo; but all the same, he gloried in the amount of information he was picking up for some future time. "i don't seem to know you," said the man beside him at last, after they had hauled up several packages and kegs. "did old allstone send you to help?" this was a poser, and hilary paused for a moment or two before saying frankly: "no; he didn't want me to come." "ah! he's a nice 'un," growled the other. "i wish i'd my way; i'd make him work a little harder. he's always skulking up at the old manor." hilary uttered a low grunt, and in the intervals of hauling he strained his eyes to grasp all he could of his surroundings; but there was very little to see. he could make out that he was at the edge of a lower part of the cliff; that the rock-strewn beach was, as far as he could make out by the hauling, some forty feet below; that the platform where he stood was the sea termination of a gully, where probably in wet weather a stream ran down and over the edge in a kind of fall, while on either side the cliff towered up to a great height. there was not much to learn, but it was enough to teach him what he wanted to know, and it quite explained the success of the smugglers in evading capture. hilary had strained his eyes again and again seaward; but, save that the cutter's lights were burning brightly in the darkness, there was no sign of coming help, though, for the matter of that, a fleet of small boats might have landed and been unseen from where he stood. the man's suspicions seemed to have been lulled, and hilary kept on hauling. the men came and went from where they were to the carts that he judged to be waiting, and those below, like dim shadows just seen now and then, toiled on over the rocks, but still no sign of the cutter's boats, and in despair now of my such capture as might have been made, hilary was thinking that when a suitable opportunity occurred he would seize hold of the hook with one hand, retain the hauling rope in the other, and let himself rapidly down, when there was a shrill chirruping whistle from below, the scrambling of feet, and a voice from the beach said sharply: "quick there! luggers ahoy! look out!" chapter thirty three. tom tully acts as guide. lieutenant lipscombe's eye had grown rapidly better, and his temper rapidly worse. he had grumbled at chips for being so long over his task of repairing the deck and hatchway, and chips had responded by leaving off to sharpen his tools, after which he had diligently set traps to catch his superior officer, who never went near the carpenter without running risks of laming himself by treading upon nails half buried in the deck, or being knocked down by pieces of wood delicately poised upon one end so that the slightest touch would send them over with a crash. chips never trod upon the upright nails, cut himself against the tools, or touched the pieces of wood or planks to make them fall. he moved about slowly, like a bear, and somehow seemed to be charmed; but it was different with the lieutenant: he never went near to grumble without putting his foot straight upon the first upright clout-nail, or leaning his arm or hand upon some ticklishly-balanced piece of plank. the consequences were that he was several times a good deal hurt, and then chips seemed exceedingly sorry, and said he was. but the lieutenant forgot his little accidents next day, and went straight to the carpenter, bullied him again, and after bearing it for awhile chips's adze would become so blunt that he was obliged to go off to the grindstone, where he would stop for a couple of hours, a good deal of which time was spent in oiling the spindle before he began. at last, though he was obliged to finish his task, and after waiting for the deck to be done as the time when he would go straight into harbour and report hilary's desertion, as he persisted in calling it, lieutenant lipscombe concluded that he would not go, but give the young officer a chance to come back. meanwhile he had cruised about, chased and boarded vessels without there being the slightest necessity, put in at one or two places where he heard rumours that the young pretender was expected to land off the coast somewhere close at hand, heard the report contradicted at the next place he touched at, and then went cruising up and down once more. one day he chased and boarded a lugger that bore despatches from france to certain emissaries in england; but the lieutenant did not find the despatches, only some dried fish, which he captured and had conveyed on board the cutter. his men grumbled, and said that master leigh ought to be found, and there was some talk of petitioning the lieutenant to form another expedition in search of the missing man; but the lieutenant had no intention of going ashore in the dark to get his men knocked about by invisible foes without the prospect of a grand haul of prize-money at the end; so he turned a deaf ear to all suggestions for such a proceeding, and kept on cruising up and down. "i tell you what it is," said tom tully on the evening of hilary's escape, as the men were all grouped together in the forecastle enjoying a smoke and a yarn or two, "it strikes me as we're doing a wonderful lot o' good upon this here station. what do you say, jack brown?" "wonderful!" said the boatswain, falling into the speaker's sarcastic vein. "ah!" said chips, "we shall never get all our prize-money spent, boys." "no," said the corporal of marines, "never. i say, speaking as a orsifer, oughtn't we to have another one in place of master leigh?" "no," said tom tully. "we couldn't get another like he." "that's a true word, tommy," said billy waters, who did not often agree with the big sailor. "we couldn't get another now he's lost." "but that's all werry well," said chips; "but it won't do. if i lost my adze or caulking-hammer overboard, i must have another, mustn't i?" no one answered, and he continued: "if you lost the rammer of the big gun, billy waters, or the corporal here hadn't got his bayonet, he'd want a new one; so why shouldn't we have a new orsifer?" "don't know," said billy waters gruffly; and as the carpenter looked at each in turn, the men all shook their heads, and then they all smoked in silence. "i wishes as we could find him again," said tom tully; "and as he'd chuck the skipper overboard, or send him afloat in the dinghy, and command the cutter hisself, and i don't kear who tells the luff as i said it." "no one ain't going to tell on you, tommy," said billy waters reprovingly; for the big sailor had looked defiantly round, and ended by staring him defiantly in the face. "we all wishes as the young chap could be found, and that he was back aboard; and i think as it ought to be all reported and another expedition sent." there was a growl of approval at this as there had been before when similar ideas were promulgated; but the lieutenant sat in his cabin, and nothing was done. the lights were burning brightly, and as it was a dead calm the anchor had been let go, so that the cutter should not be swept along the coast by the racing tide. the night had come on very dark since the moon had set, and the watch scanned the surface of the sea in an idle mood, that task being soon done, for there was very little sea visible to scan, and, coming to the conclusion that it was a night when they would be able to watch just as well with their ears, they made themselves comfortable and gazed longingly at the shore. there was nothing to tempt them there but that it _was_ shore, and they would have preferred being there to loitering on shipboard, though there was not so much as a cottage light to be seen from where they lay. a large lugger propelled by a dozen sweeps passed them in the darkness, but so silently that they did not hear so much as the splash of an oar, and a drowsy feeling seemed to pervade the whole crew. "i'll be bound to say if we was to set up a song with a good rattling chorus he'd kick up a row," said billy waters, getting up from where he was seated upon the deck, going to the side, and leaning over. "for my part i'd--hullo! lookye here, jack brown; what do you make of them there lights?" he pointed as he spoke to a couple of dim stars high up on the cliff and placed diagonally. "signal," said the boatswain decidedly. "for us?" said tom tully. "no," said the gunner; "for some smuggling craft. beg pardon, your honour," he continued as the lieutenant came forward, "but what do you make o' them there lights?" the lieutenant had a long look, and then, with a display of energy that was unusual with him, he exclaimed, "it is a signal for boats; there's a landing going on." his words seemed to electrify everyone on board, and the men watched the lights on shore with intense eagerness, seeing prize-money in them, as they did in every boat sent from the cutter; while, to test the lights ashore as to whether they really formed a signal, or were only an accidental arrangement of a shepherd's lanterns, the lieutenant had the two riding lamps suddenly lowered and covered. then there were a few moments of intense excitement, every eye being directed to the dim diagonally-placed stars on the cliff, both of which suddenly disappeared. "right," said the lieutenant. "up with our lights again. that's either mr leigh signalling to be fetched off or else there's going to be a cargo run. man the two boats! gunner, serve out arms! no pipe, boatswain. quietly, every man, and muffle the oars!" the men needed no pipe to call them to their places, for every man was in a state of intense excitement, and ready to execute a kind of war-dance on the deck, till the lieutenant, who had been to fetch his sword and pistols, returned on deck in a dubious state of mind. "i don't know," he said. "perhaps it is only a dodge to get us away. somebody is tricking us; and while we are going one way they'll run a cargo in another direction." the men dared not murmur, but they grumbled in silence. "give up your arms again, my men," said the lieutenant, "and we'll be watchful where we are. i'm tired of being tricked." the men were unwillingly giving up their weapons when, as billy waters put it, the wind veered round again. "serve out the arms, my man! now then, be smart! tumble into the boats!" for fear their commander should change his mind again the men did literally tumble into the boats, and, giving the boatswain charge of the vessel and putting the gunner in charge of the smaller boat, the lieutenant descended into the other, gave orders that not a word should be spoken, and they pushed off into the black night. "when we land," whispered the lieutenant, "two men are to stop in the boats and keep off a dozen or so yards from the shore. no getting them stove-in, or--" he did not finish his sentence, and in its mutilated form it was passed to the other boat, which was close behind. for the first part of the distance they rowed pretty swiftly, but when they were about halfway the lieutenant slackened speed, and, after nearly running into them, the second followed the example, and they went softly on. it seemed to grow darker and darker, and but for the fact that they could hear the wash of the water upon the shore, and see the lights of the cutter, it would have been impossible to tell which way to go. they steered, however, straight for the land, every ear being attent, and the men so anxious to make the present expedition a success that their oars dipped without a sound. all at once, as it seemed to them, they could hear something above the soft wash of the water that made every man's heart beat, and roused the lieutenant to an intense state of excitement. for, plainly enough, there came from out of the pitchy darkness right ahead the tramp of feet hurrying to and fro across the sands, and there could be only one interpretation of such a sound, namely, the fact that a party of men were unloading a boat. the lieutenant ordered his men to wait so that the second boat might come up alongside, and then they advanced together in perfect silence, with the keenest-eyed men in the bows, ready to signal by touch if they saw anything ahead. the sound was still going on upon the beach, and the people were evidently very busy, when, at the same moment, the crews of the two boats caught sight of a large lugger run ashore, and not twenty yards away. the lieutenant's orders to the gunner were short and sharp. "board her on the larboard side; i'll take this! off; give way, my lads! close in; out cutlasses and up and have her!" softly as his whisper was uttered it was heard upon the lugger by the watchful smugglers. a shrill whistle rang out; there was a rush of feet to get back aboard, and men sprang to their arms. but the _kestrels_ were too close in this time. the boats were run one on either side; the crews pulled out their cutlasses and sprang up, racing as to who should be first on board; and after a short sharp struggle the smugglers were beaten down, and the lugger was taken. "now, waters, make sure of the prisoners, and don't trust them below!" cried the lieutenant. "come, my lads. crew of the first boat head for the shore." "would you like lanterns, sir?" said the gunner. "what! to show the rascals where to shoot!" said the lieutenant. "no, sir. we could take the lugger in the dark, and now we'll have the rest of the gang and the cargo. look here, my men," he said, turning to the prisoners, "fifty pounds and a free pardon to the man who will act as guide and show us the way to the place where the lugger's cargo has been placed." there was no answer. "do you hear there, my men? don't be afraid to speak. fifty pounds, liberty, and my protection to the man who will act as guide." still no answer. "a hundred pounds, then," said the lieutenant, eagerly. "come, be quick; there is no time to lose." there was not the slightest notice taken of the offer. "look here," cried the lieutenant, "i promise you that the man who will tell where the cargo is carried shall be amply protected." still no reply. "come, come, come!" cried the lieutenant; "who is going to earn this money? there, time is valuable; i'll give two hundred pounds if we capture the rest of the cargo." "if you'll give me two hundred pounds i'll tell you where it is," said a voice out of the darkness; and a groan and a hiss arose from the prisoners. "bravo! my lad," cried the lieutenant. "i give you my word of honour you shall have the two hundred pounds. now, then; where is it? which way shall we go? quick! where is it?" "where you and your lot won't never find it," said the man; and there was a tremendous roar of laughter. "come, my lads," said the lieutenant angrily, "follow me." as the men followed him down into the boat another shrill chirruping whistle rang out upon the dark night-air, a whistle which the lieutenant knew well enough to be a warning to the men ashore that there was danger. "never mind," he said; "we shall find the bags this time, and with plenty of honey too, my lads. let's see, who was here last and went up among the rocks?" "me, your honour," said tom tully. "i can show you the way." "come to my side, then," said the lieutenant, leaping ashore. tom tully ranged up alongside, and together they hurried over the sand and shingle. there was no doubt about their being upon the right track, for they stumbled first against a keg, directly after upon a package, then upon another and another, just as the smugglers had thrown them down to race back and defend the lugger; and with these for their guides they made right for the rocks, where, after a little hesitation, tom tully led the party through a narrow opening. "i should know the place, sir," he said, "for i got a hawful polt o' the side of the head somewheres about here; and--ah! this here's right, for there's another little keg o' spirits." he had kicked against the little vessel, and, to endorse his opinion, he had come upon a small package, which, with the keg, was placed upon a block of rock ready for their return. but in spite of his recollection of the blows he had received in the struggle amongst the rocks tom tully's guidance was not very good. it was horribly dark, and, but for the scuffling noise they kept hearing in front and beyond the chaos of rocks amongst which they were, the lieutenant would have ordered his men back, and tried some other way, or else, in spite of the risks, have waited while some of his men went back for lights. there was, however, always the noise in front, and partly by climbing and dragging one another up over the rocks they managed to get nearer and nearer without once hitting upon the narrow and comparatively easy but maze-like track that was the regular way, and which was so familiar to the smuggling party that they ran along it and surmounted the various barriers with the greatest ease. "come, come, tully, are you asleep?" cried the lieutenant impatiently; "push on." "that's just what i am a doing of, your honour," said the great fellow; "but they seem to have been a moving the rocks, and altering the place since we was here last, and its so plaguy dark, too, i don't seem to hit it at all." "give way, there, and let another man come to the front," said the lieutenant. tom tully did give way, and another and another tried, but made worse of it, for the big fellow did blunder on somehow, no matter what obstacles presented themselves; and at last, quite in despair, just as the sounds in front were dying right away, almost the last man being up the cliff, the great sailor clambered over a huge block of rock and uttered a shout of joy. "here's the place, your honour, here's the place!" he shouted, and the lieutenant and the men scrambled to his side. "well," cried the lieutenant, "what have you found? where are we?" "we're here, your honour," cried tom tully eagerly. "we're all right. oh lor', look out! what's that 'ere?" for just at that moment there was the whizz made by a running out rope, a rushing sound, a heavy body came plump on tom tully's shoulders, and he was dashed to the ground. chapter thirty four. on board once more. there was an attempt at flight on the part of the _kestrels_, but there was no room to fly, though the general impression was that the smugglers were about to hurl down pieces of rock upon them from above, but their dread was chased away by a well-known voice exclaiming: "all right, my lads: i'm not killed." "but you've 'most killed me," growled tom tully. "never mind, tom. you shall have some grog when we get back aboard. who's in command?" "i am, sir," exclaimed the lieutenant from somewhere at the back; "and i beg to know what is the meaning of this indecorous proceeding." "well, sir," said hilary, "i was in a hurry to rejoin the ship's company, and i was coming down a rope when some one above cast it off." "three cheers for muster leigh!" cried a voice. "silence!" roared the lieutenant. "now, mr leigh, if you are not joined to the band of rascals show us the way to them." "there's no way here, sir, unless we bring a long spar and rig up some tackle. the rock's forty feet high, and as straight as a wall. will you let me speak to you, sir?" the lieutenant grunted, and hilary limped to his side. "now, mr leigh," he said, "i will hear what you have to say; but have the goodness to consider yourself under arrest." "all right, sir," replied hilary; "i'm used to that sort of thing now." "where have you been, sir?" "made prisoner by the smugglers, sir. and now, if you will take my advice, sir, you will draw off the men and secure the lugger. by daylight i can, if we find a way up the cliffs, conduct you to the place they make their rendezvous." "i repeat, mr leigh, that you must consider yourself under arrest," said the lieutenant stiffly. "your plans may be very good, but i have already made my own." hilary said nothing, for he knew his officer of old; and that, while he would profess to ignore everything that had been said, he would follow out the advice to the letter. and so it proved; for, drawing off the men, they were led down to the boats, the lugger was pushed off, and those of her crew left on board made to handle the sweeps till she was secured alongside of the cutter, where the smugglers to the number of eight were made prisoners below. the men were in high glee, for it proved next morning that there was still enough of the cargo on board to give them a fair share of prize-money, and there was the hope of securing more of the cargo at the old hall of which hilary spoke. "i am quite convinced of the existence of that place, mr leigh," said the lieutenant pompously, "and i have been questioning the prisoners about it. if you give your promise not to attempt an escape, i will allow you to accompany the expedition under the command of the gunner, as i shall be obliged to stay on board." to his intense astonishment, hilary, who longed to head the party and try to capture the rest of the smuggling crew, drew himself up. "thank you, sir, no," he replied; "as i am a prisoner, i will wait until i have been before a court-martial. shall i go below, sir?" the lieutenant was speechless for a few moments. "what, sir? go below, sir? and at a time like this when the ship is shorthanded, and we have eight prisoners to guard? this is worse and worse, mr leigh. what am i to think of such conduct?" "what you please, sir," said hilary quietly. "then, sir, in addition to deserting, which you try to hide by professing to have been made a prisoner, you now mutiny against my orders!" "look here, lieutenant lipscombe," cried hilary, who was now in a passion; "if you want me to take command of the expedition, and to lead the men to the smugglers' place, say so like a man. if you do not want me to go, send me below as a prisoner. i'm not going to act under our gunner." "mr leigh," said the lieutenant, "i shall report the whole of your insubordinations in a properly written-out despatch. at present i am compelled to make use of your assistance, so take the gunner and six men." "six will not be enough, sir." "then take seven," said the lieutenant, impatiently. "seven will not be enough, sir," replied hilary. "i must have at least a dozen." "bless my soul, mr leigh! hadn't you better take command of the cutter, and supersede me altogether?" "no, sir; i don't think that would be better," said hilary. "i have eight prisoners on board, and they must be well guarded." "yes, sir, of course." "then i am obliged to have four or five men in the lugger." "yes, sir; so under the circumstances i think it will be best to place the eight prisoners in the lugger's boat, and send them ashore." "what! to join the others?" "no, sir; i should take care to land them after the expedition party were well on the way." "bless me, mr leigh! this is beyond bearing. how dare you dictate to me in this way?" cried the lieutenant. "and," continued hilary, "i would disable them for a few hours by means of the irons. there are five or six sets on board." "ah! yes, yes; but what do you mean?" "i'd let the gunner rivet them on, sir, joining the men two and two. they could not get them off without a blacksmith; and it would disable them for some hours." "well, yes, i had some such an idea as that," replied the lieutenant. "under the circumstances, mr leigh, i will humour you in this." "thank you, sir," said hilary quietly, for he was so much in earnest as to the duty required at this special moment, that he would not let his annoyance keep him back. "perhaps, too, you had better take command of the expedition, mr leigh. duty to the king stands first, you know." "certainly, sir." "and, by the way, mr leigh, i would certainly change my uniform; for, you will excuse my saying so, you look more like a scarecrow than an officer." hilary bowed, and soon after he was inspecting the men detailed for the duty in hand, one and all of whom saluted him with a grin of satisfaction. "well, tom tully," he said, "how is your shoulder?" "feels as if it was shov'd out, sir," growled the big sailor; "but lor' bless your 'art, sir, i don't mind." "tom wishes you'd fell on his head, sir," said billy waters, laughing; "it's so thick, it wouldn't have hurt him a bit." "i'll try to manage better next time," said the young officer; "but i had to look sharp to get away the best fashion i could." "well, sir, the lads say as they're all werry glad to see you again," continued the gunner; "and they hopes you're going to give them some fun." "i hope i am," replied hilary; "but i can't feel sure, for they are slippery fellows we are after, and we may get there to find them gone." meanwhile, in accordance with hilary's advice, which the lieutenant had adopted as his own idea, the cutter was sailing east in search of an opening in the cliff, through which the party could reach the higher ground; and, after going four or five miles, this was found, the party landed, and the cutter then sailed on to get rid of the boatload of prisoners she towed behind, some eight or ten miles farther away. hilary felt himself again, as, after he had said a few words to his men, they started off inland, mounting a rugged pathway, and then journeying due north. it was rather puzzling, and the young officer did not anticipate finding the old hall without some trouble; but he had an idea that it lay to the east of the smugglers' landing-place, as well as some miles inland. hilary's first idea was to get upon one of the ridges, from which he hoped to recognise the hills which he had looked upon from his prison. failing this he meant to search until he did find it, when a happy thought struck him. he remembered the dam he had seen, and the great plashing water-wheel. there was, of course, the little river, and if he could find that he could track it up to the mill, from whence the old hall would be visible. the place seemed singularly uncultivated, and it was some time before they came upon a cottage, where an old woman looked at them curiously. "river? oh, yes, there's the little river runs down in the hollow," she replied, in answer to hilary's questions. it was upon his tongue's end to ask the old woman about the hall; but a moment's reflection told him the cottagers anywhere near the sea would be either favourable to the smugglers, or would hold them in such dread that they would be certain to refuse all information. even then he was not sure that the old woman was not sending them upon a false scent. this did not, however, prove to be the case, for after a walk of about a couple of miles, through patches of woodland and along dells, where the men seemed as happy as a pack of schoolboys, a ridge was reached, from which the little streamlet could be seen; and making their way down to it, hilary found that they were on the wrong side, a fact which necessitated wading, though he went over dry-shod, tom tully insisting upon carrying him upon his back. another couple of miles along the winding course brought them to the mill, where a heavy-looking man stood watching the unwonted appearance of a dozen well-armed sailors; but neither party spoke, and after a bit of a rest for the discussion of a few biscuits, hilary prepared for his advance to the old hall. they were just about to start when the heavy-looking man lounged up. "going by rorley place?" he said. "rorley place?" said hilary; "where's that?" "yon old house," was the reply. "don't go in; she's harnted!" "oh! is she?" said hilary. "ay, that she be," said the man. "she's been empty this hundred year; but you can see the lights shining in the windows of a night, and hear the groans down by the gate and by the little bridge over rorley stream." "thank you," said hilary, "we'll take care. now, my lads, forward. now, tom tully, what's the matter?" "i'm a man as 'll fight any man or any body any day," said the big sailor; "but if we're going again that there place i'm done. i can't abide ghosts and them sort o' things." "stuff!" said hilary. "forward. why, what are you thinking about, man? that's where i was shut up night after night." "and did you see 'em, sir?" "see what?" replied hilary. "them there as yon chap talked about, sir." "i saw a good many very substantial smugglers, and i saw a cellar full of kegs and packages, and those are what we are going to get." tom tully seemed a bit reassured, and tightening his belt a little, he kept step with the others, as hilary led the way right across country, so as to come out of the wood suddenly after a curve, just in front of the entrance to the narrow bridge over the moat. hilary managed well, and his men following him in single file, he led them so that, apparently unseen by the occupants of the old hall, they were at last gathered together in the clump of trees, waiting the order to advance. the moat, as hilary knew, was too deep to think of wading, and there was the old bridge quite clear, temptingly offering itself as a way to the front of the old house; but this tempting appearance rather repelled the young officer. he was no coward, but he was good leader enough to shrink from subjecting his men to unnecessary risk. the smugglers would be, under the present circumstances, as desperate as rats in a corner; and as they would certainly expect an attack through his escape, and the events of the past night, it was not likely that they would have neglected to protect the one entrance to their stronghold. "i say, wot are we awaiting for?" growled tom tully. "hold your noise!" said waters; "don't you see the orsifer as leads you thinks there's a trap?" "wheer? i don't see no trap. wot sorter trap?" growled tom tully. "will yer be quiet, tommy!" whispered the gunner. "what a chap you are!" "yes, ar'n't i?" said the big sailor, taking his messmate's remark as a compliment; and settling himself tailor-fashion upon the ground, he waited until the reconnaissance was over. for hilary was scanning the front of the old house most carefully. there was the room in which he had been imprisoned, with the window still open, and the thin white cord swinging gently in the air. there was adela's room, open-windowed too, and there also was the room where he had seen sir henry busy writing, with his child at his knee. where were they now? he asked himself, and his heart felt a sudden throb as he thought of the possibility of their being still in the house and in danger. but he cast the thought away directly, feeling sure that sir henry, a proscribed political offender, would not, for his own and his child's sake, run the slightest risk of being taken. "but suppose he trusts to me, and thinks that i care too much for them to betray their hiding-place?" his brow turned damp at the thought, and for a moment, as he saw in imagination his old companion adela looking reproachfully at him for having sent her father to the block, he felt that at all costs he must take the men back. then came reaction. "no," he thought, "i gave sir henry fair warning that i must do my duty, and that if we encountered again i should have to arrest him in the king's name. he tried to tempt me to join his party, but i refused, and told him i had my duty to do. he must, i am sure he must, have made his escape, and i shall lead on my men." he hesitated a moment, and then thought that he was come there to capture smugglers, not political offenders, and that after all he would find a way out of his difficulty; but colouring the next moment, he felt that he must do his duty at all hazards; and he turned to waters. "i can see no trace of anything wrong, gunner," he said, "but i feel that those rascals have laid a trap for us. they'll open fire directly we attempt to cross that bridge." "then let me and tom tully and some one else try it first," said the gunner in reply. "no, no, waters; that would never do," said hilary. "if anyone goes first it must be i. look all along the bottom windows. can you see any gun barrels?" "not ne'er a one, sir," replied the gunner; "and i ar'n't seen anything but two or three pigeons and an old lame hen since we've come." "then they must be lying in wait," said hilary. "never mind, it must be done. here, i shall rush over first with tom tully. then, if all's right, you bring the rest of the men. if i go down, why, you must see if you can do anything to take the place; and if you cannot, you must take the men back." "hadn't we better all rush it together, sir?" "no; certainly not." "then hadn't i best go first, sir? i ar'n't so much consequence as you." "no, waters, i must go first. i can't send my men to risks i daren't attempt myself. now then, are you ready, tully?" "ay, ay, sir." "let me go first, sir," pleaded the gunner. "silence, sir," cried hilary. "now, tully--off." cutlass in hand and closely followed by the elephantine seaman, hilary ran from his place of concealment across the open space to the bridge, and then without a moment's hesitation he bounded across it, and on to the rough, ill-tended patch of grass. to his intense surprise and delight he got over in safety, and then pausing he held up his sword, and with a cheer billy waters raced across with the rest of the men. "now, quick, waters, take half the lads and secure the back--no, take four. two of you keep the bridge. we must capture them all to a man." not a shot was fired. there was no answering cheer. all was as silent as if there had never been a soul there for years, and after carefully scanning the window hilary went up to the front door and battered it loudly with his sword-hilt. this knocking he had to repeat twice over before he heard steps, and then a couple of rusty bolts were pushed back, the door was dragged open, and a very venerable old lady stood peering wonderingly in their faces as she screened her eyes with her hand. "ye'd better not come in," she said in a loud, harsh voice. "the place is harnted, and it isn't safe." "where's allstone?" cried hilary as he led his men into the desolate-looking hall. "hey?" "i say where's allstone, the scoundrel?" shouted hilary. "i'm very sorry, but i can't hear a word you say, young man. i've been stone-deaf ever sin' i came to take care o' this house five year ago. it's a terrifying damp place." "where are the men?" shouted hilary with his lips to her ear. "men? no, no; i ar'n't feared o' your men," said the old lady. "they won't hurt a poor old crittur like me." "there, spread out and search the place," said hilary. "she's as deaf as a post. whistle for help whoever finds the rascals." detaining four men hilary made his way to the kitchen, and then to the passage by the vault-door and the chapel, to find all wide open; and upon a light being obtained hilary was about to descend, but, fearing a trap, he left two of his men on guard and went down into the vault, to find it empty. there was some old rubbish and the nets, but that was all. short as had been the time the smugglers had cleared the place. he went into the chapel and to sir henry and adela's rooms, to find the old furniture there, but that was all; and at the end of a good half-hour's search the party of sailors stood together in the hall, with the deaf old woman staring at them and they staring at each other, waiting their officer's commands. "ar'n't there not going to be no fight?" growled tom tully. evidently not; and after another search hilary would have felt ready to declare that there had not been a soul there for months, and that he had dreamed about his escape, if the white cord had not still hung from the window. further investigation proving to be vain, for they could get nothing out of the deaf old woman, and a short excursion in the neighbourhood producing nothing but shakes of the head, hilary had to lead his men back to the shore, where they arrived at last, regularly tired out and their commander dispirited. all the same, though, he could not help feeling glad at heart as he signalled to the cutter for a boat, that sir henry and his daughter were safe from seizure, for had he been bound to take them prisoners he felt as if he could have known no peace. but hilary had no time to give to such thoughts as these, for a boat was coming from the cutter, and in a very short time he knew that he would have to face the lieutenant and give his account of the unsuccessful nature of his quest; and as he thought of this he began to ask himself whether the injuries his commander had received at different times had not something to do with the eccentricity and awkwardness of his behaviour. hilary was still thinking this when he climbed to the deck of the cutter and saluted his officer with the customary "come on board." chapter thirty five. a risky watch. lieutenant lipscombe was so dissatisfied with the result of hilary's expedition that he landed himself the next day with a party of the _kestrels_ and went over and searched the old hall. from thence he followed the lane down to the cliffs, where, as billy waters afterwards told hilary, they found the place where the smugglers had been in the habit of landing their goods, and the cottage he had described. but the people seemed stupid and ignorant, professing to know nothing, and it was not until after a search that the rope was found with the tackle and block lying amongst some stunted bushes; and by means of this tackle the party descended, afterwards signalling to the cutter and getting on board. the next thing was to take the prize into port and report to the superior officer what had been done, when orders were at once received to put out to sea and watch the coast. for the emissaries of the pretender had, it seemed, been busy at work, and there were rumours of risings and landings of men from france. in spite of the watchfulness of the various war-vessels on the coast messengers seemed to come and go with impunity. so angry were the authorities that, instead of the lieutenant receiving praise for what he had done, he only obtained a severe snubbing. he was told that the capture of a lugger with some contraband cargo was nothing to the taking of the political emissaries. these, it seemed, he had allowed to slip through his fingers, and he returned on board with his sailing orders, furious with the treatment he had received. "look here, mr leigh," he said sternly; "out of consideration for your youth i refrained from reporting your late desertion." "i was taken prisoner, sir." "well, there, call it taken prisoner if you like," said the lieutenant impatiently. "i say i did not report it; but i consider that you are to blame for our late ill success." "thank you, sir," said hilary in an undertone. "it seems," continued the lieutenant, "that there is a sir henry norland who comes and goes with fishermen and smugglers, and i am as certain as can be that we had him once on board that fishing lugger when you were stupid enough to let him go; i mean that ill-looking scoundrel with the girl. there, there; it is of no use for you to try and defend yourself. you were in fault, and the only way for you to amend your failing is by placing this man in my hands." "but really, sir--" began hilary. "go to your duty, sir!" exclaimed the lieutenant sternly; and, biting his lips as he felt how awkwardly he was situated, hilary went forward, and soon after the cutter was skimming over the waves with a brisk breeze abeam. time glided on, with the young officer fully determined to do his duty if he should again have an opportunity of arresting the emissary of the would-be king; but somehow it seemed as if the opportunity was never to come. they cruised here and they cruised there, with the usual vicissitudes of storm and sunshine. fishing-boats were rigorously overhauled, great merchant ships bidden to heave-to while a boat was sent on board, but no capture was made. they put into port over and over again, always to hear the same news-- that the young pretender's emissaries were as busy as ever, and that they came and went with impunity, but how no one could say. the lieutenant always returned on board, after going ashore to see the port-admiral, in a furious temper, and his junior and the crew found this to their cost. days and nights of cruising without avail. it seemed as if the _kestrel_ was watched out of sight, and then, with the coast clear, the followers of the young pretender's fortunes landed in england with impunity. hilary heard from time to time that sir henry had grown more daring, and had had two or three narrow escapes from being taken ashore, but he had always been too clever for his pursuers, and had got away. of adela he had heard nothing, and he frequently hoped that she was safe with some of their friends, and not leading a fugitive life with her father. it was on a gloomy night in november that the _kestrel_ was well out in mid-channel on the lookout for a small vessel, of whose coming they had been warned by a message received the day before from the admiral. a bright lookout was being kept, in spite of the feeling that it might be, after all, only a false scent, and that while they were seeking in one direction the enemy might make their way to the shore in another. there was nothing for it but to watch, in the hope that this time they might be right, and all that afternoon and evening the cutter had been as it were disguised. her sails had been allowed to hang loosely, her customary smartness was hidden, and the carpenter had been over the bows with a pot of white paint, and painted big letters and a couple of figures on each side, to give the _kestrel_ the appearance of a fishing-boat. this done, the jollyboat was allowed to swing by her painter behind, and thus they waited for night. as the darkness came on, in place of hoisting the lights they were kept under shelter of the bulwarks, and then, in spite of the preparations, hilary saw and said that their work would be in vain, for the night would be too dark for them to see anything unless it came within a cable's length. it was not likely; and the young officer, as he leaned over the side, after some hours' watching, talking in a low voice to the gunner, who was with him, began to think how pleasant it would be to follow the lieutenant's example and go below and have a good sleep, when he suddenly started. "what's that, billy?" he whispered. "don't hear nothing, sir," said the gunner. "yes, i do. it's a ship of some kind, and not very far-off. i can hear the water under her bows." "far-off?--no. look!" cried hilary, in a hoarse whisper. "down with the helm! hard down!" he cried. "hoist a light!" but as he gave the orders he felt that they were in vain, for they had so well chosen their place to intercept the french vessel they hoped to meet, that it was coming, as it were, out of a bank of darkness not fifty yards away; and in another minute hilary, as he saw the size and the cloud of sail, knew that the _kestrel_ would be either cut down to the water's edge or sunk by the coming craft. chapter thirty six. without lights. in those moments of peril hilary hardly knew how it all happened, but fortunately the men with him were men-of-war's men, and accustomed to prompt obedience. the helm was put down hard as the strange vessel came swiftly on, seeming to the young officer like his fate, and in an instant his instinct of self-preservation suggested to him that he had better run forward, and, as the stranger struck the _kestrel_, leap from the low bulwark and catch at one of the stays. his activity, he knew, would do the rest. then discipline set in and reminded him that he was in charge of the deck, and that his duty was to think of the safety of his men and the cutter--last of all, of himself. the stranger showed no lights, a suspicious fact which hilary afterwards recalled, and she came on as the cutter rapidly answered her helm, seeming at first as if she would go right over the little sloop of war, but when the collision came, so well had the _kestrel_ swerved aside, the stranger's bowsprit went between jib and staysail, and struck the cutter just behind the figurehead. there was a grinding crash, a loud yell from the oncoming vessel; the _kestrel_ went over almost on her beam-ends, and then the stranger scraped on by her bows, carrying away bowsprit, jibboom, and the sails. "chien de fool jean bool, fish, dog!" roared a voice from the side of the large schooner, for such hilary could now see it was. "vat for you no hoist light? i run you down." "hoist your own lights, you french idiot!" shouted back hilary between his hands. "ahoy, there! heave-to!" there was a good deal of shouting and confusion on board the schooner, which went on several hundred yards before her way was stopped; but before this hilary had ordered out the two boats; for there was no need to hail the men below, with "all hands on deck!" the men came tumbling up in the lightest of costumes, one of the foremost being the lieutenant, with his nether garments in one hand, his cocked hat in the other. "quick!" he shouted. "into the boats before she goes down!" "no, no, sir!" cried hilary excitedly. "let's see the mischief first. is she making water, carpenter?" "can't see as she is," replied that worthy. "we've lost the bowsprit and figurehead, and there's some planks started; but i think we shall float." "of course; yes," cried lieutenant lipscombe. "back from those boats, men! i'll blow the brains out of the mutinous dog who dares to enter first. discipline must be maintained. here, waters, let me lean against you." "ay, ay, sir!" said the gunner; and the lieutenant proceeded to insert his legs in the portion of his uniform intended to keep his lower man warm. "now, mr leigh," he shouted, as he stamped upon the deck with his bare feet; "what have you to say to this?" "regular wreck forward, sir," replied hilary, who had been examining the extent of the mischief. "my fate for leaving you in charge," cried the lieutenant. "where was the lookout?" "two boats coming from the schooner, sir," said tom tully. "they've got lanterns, and they're full of men." "then it's the vessel we were looking for," cried hilary. "quick, sir, give orders, or they'll board and take us before we can stir." "mr leigh," said the lieutenant, with dignity, "i command this ship." he walked slowly to the side, and peered at the coming boats, while hilary stood fretting and fuming at his side. there was, however, something so ominous in the look of the boats, dimly-seen though they were through the murky night, that the lieutenant did give orders, and cutlasses and boarding-pikes were seized, the men then clustering about their officers. "she ar'n't making a drop o' water," said the carpenter just then--an announcement which seemed to put heart into the crew, who now watched the coming of the boats. "hey! hoop!" shouted a voice. "what sheeps is that? are you sink?" "may i answer, sir?" whispered hilary. "yes, mr leigh; and be quick." "ahoy! what ship's that?" cried hilary. there was no response, only a buzz of conversation reached their ears, and the boats came rapidly on, the occupants of the _kestrel's_ deck seeing that they separated and changed position, so as to board on each bow, for the cutter now lay with her sail flapping, like a log upon the water. "she's an enemy, sir," whispered hilary; and he did not alter his opinion as the boats neared. "all raight. we come take you off, sailor boy," cried the same voice that had hailed. "you shall be safe before you vill sink you sheep." the lieutenant seemed to have come to himself, and to be a little more matter-of-fact and sane in his actions, for he now ordered waters to load the long gun, and the gunner eagerly slipped away. "there, that will do," cried the lieutenant now. "we are not sinking. what ship's that?" the boats stopped for a moment, and there was again a whispering on board; but the next instant they came on. "stop there, or i'll sink you!" cried the lieutenant. but the boats now dashed on, and it was evidently a case of fighting and beating them off. every man grasped his weapon, and a thrill of excitement ran through hilary as he felt that he was really about to engage in what might be a serious fight. fortunately for the crew of the _kestrel_, both of the boats were not able to board at once, for that on the larboard bow was driven right into the wreck of the jibboom and sail, which, with the attendant cordage, proved to be sufficient to hamper their progress for the time being, while the other boat dashed alongside with a french cheer, and, sword in hand, the crew swarmed over on to the deck. it was bravely done; and, had they met with a less stout resistance, the _kestrel_ would have been captured. but, as it was, they had englishmen to deal with, and hilary and about ten of the crew met them bravely, hilary going down, though, from the first blow--one from a boarding-pike. this, however, so enraged the _kestrels_ that they beat back the attacking party, cutting down several and literally hurling others over into their boat, which hauled off, not liking its reception. meanwhile, after a struggle, the crew of the other boat got itself clear of the tangle, and came on to the attack, to find themselves, after a sharp struggle, repulsed by the lieutenant and his party, the leader fighting bravely and well. it was evident that the commander of the schooner had realised the character of the vessel with which he had been in collision, and had hoped to make an easy capture of her, if she did not prove to be in a sinking state. if she were, motives of humanity had prompted him to take off the crew, if they needed help. the task, however, had proved more severe than he anticipated, and the two boats were now together, with their leaders evidently in consultation. the next minute an order was evidently given, and the boats turned, separated, and began to row back. the schooner could only be made out now by a light she had hoisted; but this was quite sufficient for billy waters, who stood ready by his gun waiting for orders. possibly he might have hit and sunk one of the boats, but the lieutenant did not seem to wish for this, but began giving his orders with unwonted energy, trying to make sail upon the _kestrel_, which lay there upon the water, with one of her wings, as it were, so crippled that he found it would take quite half an hour before she could be cleared. "it's of no use, mr leigh," he cried excitedly. "i wanted to board and take this schooner, and we cannot get alongside. take charge of the gun, sir, and try and bring down one of her spars. let's cripple her too. i'll order out the boats to board her." "ay, ay, sir," said hilary, delighted at the energy shown by his chief. "now, billy waters, send a shot through her mainmast. i'd aim straight at her light." "which on 'em, sir?" said the gunner drily. "why, that one! there's only one," cried hilary sharply. "look alive! and--ah--how provoking, the light's out!" "ay, sir, they've dowsed their light now the boats know where to go, and it would be only waste o' good powder and round shot to go plumping 'em into that there bank o' blackness out yonder." "well, mr leigh, why don't you fire?" shouted the lieutenant. "beg pardon, sir, but there's nothing to fire at," replied hilary. "fire at the schooner's light, sir,--fire at her light," cried the lieutenant indignantly. "bless my soul, mr leigh," he said, bustling up. "here, let me lay the gun, and--eh?--what?--the light out?" "yes, sir." "then why, in the name of common sense, mr leigh, didn't you fire before it went out?" "didn't get no orders," growled billy waters. "silence, sir; how dare you speak!" cried the lieutenant. "but are you sure the light's out, mr leigh?" "there isn't a sign of it, sir." "then--then how are we to manage about the boats?" there was a momentary silence, during which, as the men stood ready to man the two boats that had been lowered, the lieutenant and his junior tried to make out where the schooner lay, but on every side, as the _kestrel_ lay softly rolling in the trough of the sea, a thick bank of darkness seemed to be closing them in, and pursuit of the schooner by boats would have been as mad a venture as could have been set upon by the officer of a ship. chapter thirty seven. repairing damages. during the excitement, the bustle of the attack, the lieutenant had seemed more himself, and he had given his orders in a concise and businesslike way; but now that they were left to themselves all seemed changed, and he reverted to his former childish temper, turning angrily upon hilary as the cause of all his misfortunes. "never in the whole career of the english navy," he cried, stamping his bare foot upon the deck, "was officer plagued with a more helpless, blundering junior than i am. bless my heart! it is very cold, and i've no coat on. mr leigh, fetch my coat and waistcoat." "yes," he continued, as he put on the two garments, "as i said before, never was officer plagued with a more helpless, blundering, mischievous junior." "very sorry, sir. i do my best," said hilary bluntly. "exactly, sir. you do your best," said the lieutenant; "and your best is to lay the _kestrel_--his majesty's ship _kestrel_--right in the track of that french schooner, and but for my fortunate arrival upon deck we should have been sunk." hilary recalled the fact that he had ordered the helm hard down, and saved the vessel himself, but he did not say so. "i'll be bound to say," continued the lieutenant, "that you were sailing slowly along without a light." "yes, sir, we had no light hoisted," said hilary, who, in spite of his annoyance, could not help feeling amused. "exactly. just what i expected," continued the lieutenant. "then pray, sir, why, upon a dark night like this, was there no light?" "my superior officer gave me orders, sir, that we were to keep a sharp lookout for french boats cruising the channel, and burn no light." "hah! yes, i think i did give some such orders, sir, but how was i to know that it would turn out so dark, eh, sir? how was i to know it would turn out so dark?" "it was very dark, sir, certainly," said hilary. "yes, atrociously dark. and i distinctly told you to keep a sharp lookout." "yes, sir, and we did." "it looks like it, mr leigh," said the lieutenant, pointing forward. "bowsprit gone, and all the forward bulwarks, leaving us helpless on the water, and you say you kept a good lookout. mr leigh, sir, you will be turned out of the service." "i hope not, sir. i think i saved the ship." "saved? saved? good gracious me, mr leigh," said the lieutenant, bursting out laughing; "what madness! here, waters--tully--do you hear this?" "ay, ay, your honour." "and what do you think of it?" "as we'd all have gone to the bottom, sir, if it hadn't been for mr leigh here," said waters, pulling his forelock. "oh!" said the lieutenant sharply; "and pray what do you think, tully; and you, bo'sun?" "think just the same as billy waters, your honour," said the boatswain. "and that 'ere's just the same with me," growled tom tully, kicking out a leg behind. "he's a won'ful smart orsifer muster leigh is, your honour; and that's so." "silence, sir! how dare you speak like that?" cried the lieutenant furiously. "now, mr leigh," he added sarcastically, "if you will condescend to assist, there is a good deal to see to, for the forepart of his majesty's ship _kestrel_ is a complete wreck from your neglect. i am going below to finish dressing, but i shall be back directly." hilary returned his officer's sarcastic bow, and then gave a stamp on the deck. "which i don't wonder at it, your honour," said tom tully, in his low deep growl: "i ain't said not nowt to my messmates, but i'll answer for it as they'll all be willing." "willing? willing for what?" cried hilary. "shove the skipper into the dinghy with two days' provision and water, sir, and let him make the shore, if you'll take command of the little _kestrel_." "why, you mutinous rascal," cried hilary. "how dare you make such a proposal to me? hold your tongue, and go forward, tom tully. duty on board is to obey your superiors, and if they happen to be just a little bit unreasonable, you must not complain." "all right, your honour," said tom tully, giving his loose breeches a hitch; "but if the skipper was to talk to me like he do to you--" "well, sir, what?" "i'd--i'd--i'd--" tom tully had taken out his tobacco-box, and opened his jack-knife, with which he viciously cut off a bit of twist, exclaiming: "that i would!" he said no more, but it seemed probable that he meant cut off his commander's head; and he then rolled forward to help the carpenter, and the whole strength of the crew, whom the first rays of a dull grey morning found still at work hauling in the tangle of spar and rope; and soon after, a stay having been secured to the wreck of the cutwater, a staysail was hoisted, and the cutter pretty well answered her helm. hilary felt less disposed to take the lieutenant's words to heart, for he knew that if he were charged with neglect of duty the evidence of the men would be quite sufficient to clear him; so, after turning the matter over and over in his mind, he had cheerily set to work to try and get the cutter in decent trim, and, as the morning broke, crippled as she was in her fair proportions, she sailed well enough to have warranted the lieutenant in making an attack, should the schooner have come in sight. but there was no such good fortune. both the lieutenant and he swept the horizon and the cliff-bound coast with their glasses, and the _kestrel_ was sailed along close inshore in the hope that the enemy might be seen sheltered in some cove, or the mouth of one of the little rivers; but there was no result, and at last, very unwillingly, the cutter's head was laid for portsmouth, and the lieutenant went below to prepare his despatch. "how long shall we be refitting, carpenter?" asked hilary, after a long examination of the damages they had received, and a thorough awakening to the fact that if it had not been for that turn of the helm they must have been struck amidships, and sent to the bottom. "all a month, sir," said the carpenter. "there'll be a deal to do, and if we get out of the shipwright's hands and to sea in five weeks i'll say we've done well." it was galling, for it meant four or five weeks of inaction, just at a time when hilary was getting intensely interested in the political question of the day, and eagerly looking forward for a chance of distinguishing himself in some way. "who knows," he said to himself, "but that schooner may have borne the young pretender and his officers to the english coast. if it did i just lost a chance of taking him." ah! he thought, if he could have taken the young prince with his own hand. it would have been glorious, and he could have shown sir henry that he was on the way to honour and distinction without turning traitor to his king. and so he went on hour after hour building castles in the air, but with little chance of raising up one that would prove solid, till they passed by the eastern end of the isle of wight, went right up the harbour, and the lieutenant had a boat manned and went ashore to make his report to the admiral. to hilary's great disgust he found that he was not to go ashore, but to remain in charge of the cutter during the repairs, for the lieutenant announced his intention of himself remaining in the town. but hilary had one satisfaction--that of finding that the lieutenant had made no report concerning his conduct on the night of the collision. in fact, the lieutenant had forgotten his mad words almost as soon as he had spoken them, for they were only the outcomings of his petty malicious spirit for the time being. chapter thirty eight. off his guard. the carpenter's four weeks extended to five, then to six, and seven had glided away before the cutter was pretty well ready for sea. urgent orders had been given that her repairs were to be hastened, and the crew was kept in readiness to proceed to sea at once, but still the dockyard artificers clung to their job in the most affectionate manner. there was always a bit more caulking to do, a little more paint to put on, new ropes to reeve; and when at last she seemed quite ready, an overlooker declared that she would not be fit to go to sea until there had been a thorough examination of the keel. it was during these last few days that hilary found a chance of going ashore, and gladly availed himself of his liberty, having a good run round portsmouth, a look at the fortifications; and finally, the weather being crisp, sunshiny, and the ground hard with frost, he determined to have a sharp walk inland for a change. "i declare," he cried, as he had a good run in the brisk wintry air, "it does one good after being prisoned in that bit of a cutter." he had been so much on board of late that he experienced a hearty pleasure in being out and away from the town in the free country air. the frost was keen, and it seemed to make his blood tingle in his veins. he set off running again and again, just pausing to take breath, and it was only when he was some miles away from the port and the evening was closing in that he began to think it was time to turn back. as he did so he saw that three sailors who had been for some time past going the same way were still a short distance off, and as he passed them it seemed to him that they had been indulging themselves, as sailors will when ashore for a holiday. "what cheer, messmate!" said one of them in his bluff, frank way. "is this the way to london?" "no, my lad; you're on the wrong road. you must go back three miles or so, and then turn off to the right." "i told you so, joe," the man exclaimed in an injured tone. "what's the good o' trusting to a chap like you? here, come along and let's get back." "i sha'n't go back," said the one addressed; "shall you, jemmy?" "not i," said the other. "can't us get to london this way, captain?" "yes," said hilary laughing; "if you go straight on, but you'll have to go all round the world first." "there!" cried the one addressed as jemmy; "i told you so, matey. come along." "don't be a fool," said the first sailor. "lay holt of his arm, joe, and let's get him back; it'll be dark afore long." hilary could not help feeling amused at the men; but as he trudged on back towards portsmouth he saw that they were trying to make up for lost ground, and were following him pretty quickly. once they made such good use of their legs that they got before him; then hilary walked a little faster and passed them, and so on during the next two miles they passed and repassed each other, the sailors saying a cheery word or two and laughing as they went by. but soon this was at an end; they seemed to grow tired, and during the next mile it had grown dark, and the sailors walked on one side of the road, hilary on the other. at last the sailors seemed to have made up their minds to get right away from him, walking on rapidly, till all at once hilary heard voices talking loudly, and as he came nearer he could distinguish what was said. "come on. come, jem, get up." "i want a glass," growled another voice. "never mind. wait till we get on the london road," cried the man who had been addressed as joe. "i want a glass," growled the man again; and as hilary came close up he saw that one of the men was seated in the path just in front of a roadside cottage, and that his two companions were kicking and shaking him to make him rise. "i say, your honour," said one of the men, crossing to hilary, "you're an officer, ar'n't you?" "yes, my man." "just come and order him to get up, quarterdeck fashion, sir, and i'd be obleeged to you. he won't mind us; but if you, an officer, comes and orders him up, he'll mind what you say. we want to get to the next town to-night." hilary hesitated for a moment, feeling loath to trouble himself about the stupid, drunken sailor, but his good nature prevailed and he crossed the road. "here, my lad," he said sharply, "get up directly." "going to turn in!" said the fellow sleepily. "no, no. nonsense," cried hilary, giving him a touch with his foot. "get up and walk on." "sha'n't," said the man. "going to sleep, i tell you." "lookye here, jemmy," said the sailor who had first spoken, "you'll get your back scratched, you will, if you don't get up when you're told. this here's a officer." "not he," grumbled the man sleepily. "he ar'n't no officer, i know. going to sleep, i tell you." "get up, sir," cried hilary sharply. "i am an officer." "bah! get out. only officer of a merchant ship. you ar'n't no reg'lar officer." "if you don't get up directly, you dog, i'll have the marines sent after you," cried hilary. the man sat up and stared. "i say," he said, "you ar'n't king's officer, are you?" "yes, sir, i am." "what ship?" "the _kestrel_." "oh, that's it, is it?" he grumbled. "beg your honour's pardon. i'll get up. give's your hand." half-laughing and at the same time proud of the power his rank gave him, hilary held out his hands to the man, who took them tightly and was in the act of drawing himself up, when the young officer felt himself seized from behind and held, as it were, in a vice. just at the same moment the door of the cottage was opened, there was a bright light shone out, and before he could realise his position he was forced into the place, and awoke to the fact, as the door was banged to, that he had fallen into a trap. "you scoundrels!" he cried furiously; "do you want to rob me?" and he saw that he was in the presence of half a dozen more men. "silence, sir!" cried an authoritative voice. "stand back, my lads. it was very cleverly done." "cleverly done!" cried hilary. "what do you mean, sir? i desire you let me go. are you aware that i am a king's officer?" "yes, i heard you announce it, and you are the man we have been looking after for days," said the one who seemed to be in authority; and by the light of a bright wood fire hilary could make out that he was a tall, dark man in a long boat-cloak, which he had thrown back from his breast. "then i advise you to set me free directly," said hilary. "yes, we shall do that when we have done," said the leader, from whom all the others stood away in respect; and as the light burned up the speaker took off his cocked hat, and hilary saw that he was a singularly handsome man of about forty. "when you have done!" cried hilary. "what do you mean?" "be silent and answer my questions, my good lad," said the other. "you are the young officer of the _kestrel_, and your name is hilary leigh, i believe?" "yes, that is my name," cried hilary sharply. "by what right do you have me seized?" "the right of might," said the man. "now look here, sir. your vessel is now seaworthy, and to-morrow you will get your sailing orders." "how do you know?" cried hilary. "never mind how i know. i tell you the fact, my good lad. you will be despatched to watch the port of dunquerque, to stop the boat that is supposed to come to land from this coast on the king's business." "i suppose you mean the pretender's business," cried hilary quickly. "i mean his majesty charles edward," said the man, "to whom i wish you to take these papers." and he pulled a packet from his pocket. "i? take papers? what do you suppose i am?" "one who will obey my orders," said the man haughtily, "and who will never be able to play fast and loose with his employers; for if he were false, no matter where he hid himself, he would be punished." "and suppose i refuse to take your papers and become a traitor?" said hilary. "i shall make you," said the stranger. "i tell you that the voyage of your cutter suits our convenience, and that you will have to take these papers, for which service you will be amply rewarded." "then i do refuse," said hilary firmly. "no; don't refuse yet," said the stranger with a peculiar look in his countenance. "the despatches must be taken. think of the proposal, my good lad, and then reply." as he spoke hilary saw him take a pistol from his breast-pocket, and, if physiognomy was any index of the mind, hilary saw plainly enough that if he refused to obey this man's orders he would have no compunction in shooting him like a dog. chapter thirty nine. captain charteris. hilary felt the cold perspiration breaking out on his face, as he thought of the loneliness of the spot where he was, and of his helplessness here in the hands of these desperate men, who were ready to brave all for their cause. he saw now that he had been watched almost from the outset, and that he had been marked as one likely to carry out their designs. perhaps, he thought, sir henry had had something to do with the seizure; but he gave up the idea directly, giving his old friend credit for too much honourable feeling towards him to have him trapped in so cowardly a manner. these thoughts came quickly as he stood watching the leader of the party by whom he was surrounded--men who were ready at the slightest movement to spring upon him, and secure him, should he attempt to escape. "i suppose," said hilary's questioner, "you know what i am?" and he looked at the young officer sternly. "personally, no," replied hilary, boldly; "but your behaviour shows me that you are traitors to the king." "no, sir," cried the other fiercely; "we are faithful followers of the king, and enemies of the german hound." "how dare you speak like that of his majesty!" cried hilary quite as fiercely; and he took a couple of steps forward, but only to find himself seized and dragged back. "hold the young rascal tightly," said the officer. "yes, hold me tightly," cried hilary, "you cowards!" "i am having you held tightly for your own sake," said the officer, taking up and playing with a large pistol he had laid on the table before him. "i should be sorry to have to shoot so distinguished a follower of hanoverian george." hilary bit his lip and remained silent. it was of no use to speak, of less account to struggle, and he stood facing his captors without flinching. "now," continued the leader, "as you have got rid of your little burst of passion, perhaps you will be reasonable. listen to me, young man. your position as second officer on board that despatch cutter will bring you frequently to both sides of the channel, so that you will have ample opportunities for carrying messages for us without risk, and,"--he paused here, watching the young man intently--"greatly to your own profit. do you hear?" "yes," said hilary shortly. "we shall not have merely one despatch for you to take, to be paid for with so many guineas, my lad, but there will be a regular correspondence carried on, and you will make from it a handsome sum, for we recompense liberally; something different to your munificent pay as officer of the _kestrel_." hilary still remained silent, and his tempter pulled a bag of coin from his pocket and threw it heavily upon the table. "of course the task is rather a risky one, and deserves to be paid for generously. that i am ready to do. in fact, you may name your own price, and anything in reason will be granted. at the same time i warn you that we shall put up with no trifling, and i may as well say that it is impossible to escape us. we have emissaries everywhere, whose duty it is to reward or punish as the case may require. come, i see you are growing reasonable." "oh, yes! i am quite reasonable," said hilary smiling. "that's well," said the officer; "cast him loose, my lads, and stand more aside. now, mr hilary leigh," he said, as his orders were obeyed, "i am glad to find so dashing and brave a young fellow as you finds himself ready to join the good cause. i ask you to swear no oaths of fidelity. i shall merely give you this despatch and a handful of gold coin, and you will bring the answer here at your earliest opportunity." "and suppose i refuse?" said hilary. "refuse? oh, you will not refuse," said the officer banteringly. "it would be a pity to rob hanoverian george of so brave and promising a young officer." "what do you mean," said hilary. "oh nothing--nothing," said the other coolly. "we might, perhaps, think it necessary, as you know so much, to shoot you." "shoot me!" cried hilary. "y-e-es; you see you know a good deal, my young friend, but we should bury you decently. you broke up the rendezvous at rorley place, and spoiled the smuggler's landing, did you not?" "i did," said hilary boldly. "yes. and you were kept a prisoner there, were you not?" "i was." "and escaped and made signals with the smuggler's lanterns to bring down the cutter's crew upon the party, did you not?" "i did. it was my duty." "yes, you thought it was, my good lad. let me see, you nearly captured sir henry norland, too, did you not?" "i should have taken him if he had been there," replied hilary; "but i was glad he was not." "why?" "because he was an old friend." "let me see," continued the officer; "sir henry asked you to join us, did he not?" "several times," said hilary quietly. "ah, yes! i suppose he would. came to see you when you were a prisoner, i suppose?" "he did." "but he is not a good diplomat, sir henry norland. by the way, what did he offer you?" "the captaincy of a man-of-war." "young as you were?" "young as i am." "but that was in prospective. hard gold coin is much more satisfactory, mr hilary leigh," said the officer, pouring out some bright golden guineas upon the table. "of course you thought that charles edward might not come to the throne, and that you would never get your--get your--" "traitor's pay," said hilary sharply, finishing the sentence. "don't call things by hard names, young man," said the officer sternly. "and let me tell you that i know for a certainty that your position in hanoverian george's service is a very precarious one. strange things have been told of you." "very likely," said hilary coldly. "i believe your officer has reported upon your conduct." "i can't help that," said hilary coldly. "i have always served his majesty faithfully and well." "even to taking pay from the other side?" said the officer with a mocking smile. "it is a lie," cried hilary angrily; "i never tampered with my duty to the king." "till now," said the officer laughing. "there, there, there, my lad, i'm not going to quarrel with you, and we will not use high-sounding phrases about loyalty, and fealty, and duty, and the like. there, i am glad to welcome you to our side. there are a hundred guineas in that bag. take them, but spend them sensibly, or you will be suspected. if i were you i would save them, and those that are to come. here is your despatch, and you will see the address at dunquerque. be faithful and vigilant and careful. there, take them and go your way. no one will be a bit the wiser for what you have done, and when you return to port bring your answer here, and give it to anyone you see. one word more: do not trust your lieutenant. i don't think he means well by you." "i know that," said hilary scornfully. "never mind," said the officer; "some day, when we are in power, we will find you a brave ship to command for your good services to charles edward. but there, time presses; you must get back to your ship. here!" he held out the bag of gold coin and the despatch, and he smiled meaningly as hilary took them, one in each hand, and stood gazing full in the officer's face. there was a dead silence in the room, and the dancing flames lit up strangely the figures of the tall well-knit man and the slight boyish figure, while, half in shadow, the sailors stood with all the intentness of disciplined men, watching what was going on. "look here, sir," said hilary, speaking firmly, "if i did this thing, even if you came into power--which you never will--you would not find me a captain's commission, but would treat me as such a traitor deserved. there are your dirty guineas," he cried, dashing the bag upon the table, so that the coins flew jingling all over the room; "and there is your traitorous despatch," he continued, tearing it in half, and flinging it in the officer's face. "i am an officer of his majesty. god save the king!" he shouted. "now, shoot me if you dare." he gave one sharp glance round for a way of escape, but there was none. a dozen men stood there like statues, evidently too well disciplined to move till the appointed time. doors and windows were well guarded, and with such odds hilary knew that it would be but a wretched struggle without avail. better, he thought, maintain his dignity. and he did, as he saw the officer pick up the pistol from the table and point it at his head. a momentary sensation of horror appalled hilary, and he felt the blood rush to his heart, but he did not flinch. "i am a king's officer," he thought, "and i have done my duty in the king's name. heaven give me strength, lad as i am, to die like a man!" he looked then straight at the pistol barrel without flinching for a few moments. then his eyes closed, and he who held the weapon saw the young man's lips move softly, as if in prayer, and he dashed the pistol down. "there, my lads!" he cried aloud to the men, "if ever you see a frenchman stand fire like that you may tell me if you will. hilary leigh," he cried, laying his hands smartly on the young man's shoulders, "you make me proud to be an englishman, and in a service that can show such stuff as you. here, give me your hand." "no," cried hilary hoarsely. "stand off, sir; cajolery will not do your work any more than threats." "hang the work, my lad," cried the other. "it was rather dirty work, but we want to know our men in times like these. give me your hand, my boy, i am no traitor, i am captain charteris, of the _ruby_, and i have had to try your faith and loyalty to the king. here, my men, you did your work well. pick up those guineas; there should be a hundred of them. you may keep back five guineas to drink his majesty's health. bo'sun, you can bring the rest on to me." "ay, ay, sir," said a thickset dark man, saluting, man-o'-war fashion. "come, mr leigh, you and i will walk on, and you shall dine to-night with the admiral. i told him i should bring you to dinner, but lieutenant lipscombe has given you so bad a character that the admiral declared you would take the bribe, and have to go to prison and wait your court-martial. here, you need not doubt me. come along." hilary felt giddy. the reaction was almost more than he could bear. he felt hurt and insulted that such a trick should have been played upon him, and he was ready to turn from the captain in an injured way. the latter saw it and smiled. "yes," he said, taking the young man's arm, "it was a dirty trick, but it was a necessity. we have several black sheep in the navy, my lad, and we want to weed them out; but after all, i do not regret what i have done, since it has taught me what stuff we have got in it as well. come, shake hands, my dear boy, you and i must be great friends from now." hilary held out his hand as he drew it from the other's arm, and they stood there gripping each other for some seconds in a cordial grasp. "i don't think i could have stood fire like you did, leigh," said the captain, as they were entering portsmouth, the latter proving to be a man of a genial temperament that rapidly won upon his companion. "i hope you could, far better, sir," said hilary frankly. "why? how so, my lad?" "i felt horribly frightened, sir." "you felt afraid of death?" said the captain sharply. "yes, sir, terribly. it seemed so hard to die when i was so young, but i would not show it." "why, my dear boy," said the captain enthusiastically, as he clapped hilary on the shoulder, "you are a braver fellow even than i thought. it takes a very brave man to confess that he was afraid; but don't you mind this. there was never a man yet in the full burst of health and strength who did not feel afraid to die. but come, we won't talk any more of that, for here is the admiral's dock." chapter forty. at the admiral's. it was with no little trepidation that hilary entered the room where the admiral was waiting captain charteris' return, and as soon as he saw that he came with a young companion, the handsome grey-haired old gentleman came forward and shook hands with hilary warmly. "i'm glad to see you," he said. "if you have passed captain charteris's test i know that we have another officer in the service of whom we may well feel proud. at the same time, mr leigh, i think we ought to beg your pardon." hilary hardly knew whether he was upon his head or his heels that evening, and it was like a revelation to find how genial and pleasant the reputed stern and uncompromising port-admiral could be. there was an excellent dinner, political matters were strictly tabooed, and the two officers talked a good deal aside. no further allusion was made to the _kestrel_ till it was time to go on board, a fact of which hilary reminded the admiral. "to be sure, yes. keep to your time, mr leigh. by the way, before you go will you tell me in a frank gentlemanly spirit what you think of lieutenant lipscombe." "no, sir, i can't," said hilary bluntly. the admiral looked angry on receiving so flat a refusal, but he calmed down directly. then, recollecting himself, hilary exclaimed, "i beg your pardon, sir; i hope you will not ask me. i would rather not say." "quite right, mr leigh; i ought not to have asked you, for you are not the proper person to speak, but you will tell me this, i suppose," he added with a smile. "you will not be sorry to hear that lieutenant lipscombe will be appointed to another vessel." "i am both sorry and glad, sir," replied hilary, "for he is a brave officer, even if he is eccentric." "eccentric!" said captain charteris. "i think he is half mad." "but you do not ask who will be your new commander!" "no, sir," said hilary; "i shall try and do my best whoever he may be." "good!" said the admiral; "but i'll tell you all the same--shall i?" he said laughing. "yes, sir, i should be glad to know," replied hilary. the old admiral stood looking at him attentively for a few moments, and then said quietly: "you." hilary half staggered back in his surprise. "me? me, sir? do you mean that i shall be appointed to the command of the _kestrel_? i have not passed my examination for lieutenant yet." "no, but you will, mr leigh, and i have no doubt with credit. i have been having a chat with my friend the captain here. it is a novelty, i own, but the _kestrel_ is a very small vessel, and for the present you will have with you a brother officer of riper years, who, pending his own appointment to a ship, will, as it were, share your command, and in cases of emergency give you his advice. of course all this is to be if i obtain the sanction of the admiralty, but i think i may tell you this will come." hilary was so overpowered by this announcement that he could only stammer a few words, and captain charteris took his hand. "you see, mr leigh," he said, "we want a dashing, spirited young officer of the greatest fidelity, a man who is brave without doubt; ready-witted, and apt to deal with the smuggling and fishing craft likely to be the bearers of emissaries from the enemy's camp. we want such an officer at once for the _kestrel_, and in the emergency, as we find those qualities in you, the admiral decides to set the question of years aside, while, as his spokesman and one to whom he often refers for counsel--" "and takes it," said the admiral smiling. "i cannot help giving my vote in your favour. mr leigh," he said, speaking very sternly now, "in the king's name i ask you from this time forth to set aside boyish things and to be a man in every sense of the word, for you are entering upon a great responsibility; and lieutenant anderson, who comes with you, will never interfere, according to his instructions, unless he sees that you are about to be guilty of a piece of reckless folly, which in your case is, i am sure, as good as saying that he will never interfere." "the fact is, mr leigh," said the admiral kindly, "lieutenant lipscombe unwittingly advanced your cause, and it was solely on account of what has occurred coming to my ears that you were to-night put to so severe a proof. now, good-night. you will receive your despatches to-morrow morning, and lieutenant anderson will come on board. then make the best of your way to dunkerque, and i need hardly say that i shall be glad to see you whenever you are in port on business or for pleasure." "and i as well, leigh," said captain charteris. "some day let's hope that i shall be an admiral, and when i am i shall wish for no better luck than to have captain leigh in command of my flagship. but that will be some time ahead. now, good-night." hilary said good-night and made his way out into the fresh night-air, wondering if it was all true, and whether he was not suffering from some attack of nightmare; but the streets and the docks all looked very real, and when he reached the cutter and was saluted by the watch he began to think that there was no doubt about it, and he began, as he lay awake, to consider whether he ought not at once to take possession of the lieutenant's cabin. chapter forty one. in command. the memory of that dinner and the words that he had heard filled hilary's dreams that night. he was always waking up with a start, nervous and excited, and then dropping off again to dream of being lieutenant, captain, admiral, in rapid succession. then his dreams changed, and he was helping sir henry and saving adela from some great danger. then he was in great trouble, for it seemed that he had been guilty of some gross blunder over his despatches, and he seemed to hear the voices of captain charteris and the admiral accusing him of neglect and ingratitude after the promotion given him. it was therefore weary and unrefreshed that he arose the next morning, glad to have a walk up and down the deck, which had just been washed; and as he soon began to revive in the cold fresh air, he felt a sensation of just pride in the smart little cutter now just freed from the workpeople and shining in her paint and polish. new sails had been bent and a great deal of rigging had been newly run up. the crew, glad to have the cutter clean once more, had made all shipshape. ropes were coiled down, billy waters' guns shone in the morning sun, and all that was wanted now was the order to start. hilary went below and had his breakfast, which he had hardly finished when the corporal of marines came down with a despatch. "boat from the shore, sir," he said, saluting. hilary took the packet, which was addressed to him, and as he opened it the colour flushed into his face and then he became very pale. the despatch was very short. it ordered him to take the cutter outside instantly and wait for the important despatches he was to take across to dunkerque. above all, he was to sail the moment lieutenant anderson came on board with the papers and stop for nothing, for the papers were most urgent. but with the letter was something else which made his heart throb with joy--what was really his commission as lieutenant, and the despatch was addressed to him as lieutenant leigh. as soon as he could recover himself he rose from the table cool and firm. "is the boat waiting, corporal?" "no, sir. it went back directly." hilary could not help it; he put on his hat with just the slightest cock in the world, went on deck, and gave his orders in the shortest and sharpest way. the men stared at him, but they executed his orders, and in a very short time the cutter was out of the basin, a sail or two was hoisted, and, as if rejoicing in her liberty, the _kestrel_ ran lightly out to a buoy, to which, after what almost seemed like resistance, she was made fast, the sails being lowered, and the cutter rose and fell upon the waves, fretting and impatient to be off. the mainsail was cast loose, jib and staysail ready, and the gaff topsail would not take many minutes to run up in its place. then, as if fearing that the blocks might run stiff and that there would be some delay at starting, hilary gave his orders and the mainsail was run up, a turn or two of the wheel laid the cutter's head to the wind, and there she lay with the canvas flapping and straining and seeming to quiver in her excitement to be off once more. "poor old gal! she feels just as if she was just let out of prison," said the boatswain affectionately. "how well she looks!" "ay, she do," said billy waters. "well, tom tully, my lad, how d'yer feel?" "ready for suthin' to do, matey," said the big sailor. "but when's old lipscombe coming aboard?" "i d'no," said the gunner. "wish he wasn't coming at all. wonder where we're for. i've a good mind to ask master leigh. he'll tell me if he can." "ay, lad, do," said the boatswain. just then hilary came out of the cabin with a red spot in each cheek, and began walking up and down the deck and watching for the coming boat. "is all ready and shipshape, boatswain?" he said. "ay, ay, sir." "your guns well lashed, waters?" "ay, ay, sir, and longing to have a bark. beg pardon, sir, shall i get the fishing-lines out?" "no!" said hilary shortly. "all right, sir. but beg pardon, sir." "what is it, waters?" "is the lieutenant soon coming aboard? his traps ar'n't come yet." "no," said hilary firmly. "he's no longer in command." "then i says three cheers, my lads," cried billy waters excitedly. "leastwise, if i may." "no. stop. no demonstrations now, my lads. we are just off on important business, and i must ask you to be ready and smart as you have never been before." "which, if it's muster leigh as asks us, sir," said billy waters, "i think i may say for the whole crew, from my mates here to the sojers, as there ar'n't one who won't do his best." "it is not master leigh who asks you," said hilary flushing, as the whole of his little crew now stood grouped about the forward part of the deck. "this is no time for speeches, my lads, but i must tell you this, that i ask you as your commander, the newly-appointed officer of the _kestrel_, lieutenant leigh." billy waters bent down and gave his leg a tremendous slap; then, turning short round, he slapped the same hand into that of the boatswain, and the whole crew began shaking hands one with the other; the next moment every cap was flying in the air, and then came three hearty cheers. "which, speaking for the whole crew, as i think i may," said billy waters, glancing round to receive encouragement in a murmur of acquiescence, "i says, sir, with my and our respex, success to the _kestrel_ and her new commander, and--" "hooroar!" cried tom tully. "boat from the shore, sir," cried the man at the side. hilary stepped quickly to the bulwark, to see that a boat well manned by a party of sailors was rapidly approaching, and, what took the young commander's attention, a naval officer seated in the stern sheets. "so that's my companion, is it?" said hilary to himself, and he watched the officer very keenly as the boat came rapidly alongside, the officer sprang on board, waved his hand, and the boat pushed off at once. "your despatches, lieutenant leigh," he said, quietly, as he saluted the young officer, who saluted in return. "you have your orders, sir. you stop for nothing." "for nothing," said hilary, taking the packet from the newcomer's hands. "i presume sir, you are--" "lieutenant anderson, at your service," said the other rather stiffly. then hilary's voice rang out sharp and clear in the keen morning air. up flew the staysail, and away and up ran the jib, bellying out as the rope that held the head of the cutter to the great ring of the buoy was slipped; the _kestrel_ gave a leap, the great mainsail boom swung over to port, the cutter careened over, the water lapped her sides, and began as it were to run astern in foam, and away went the swift little craft, as if rejoicing in her freedom, and making straight for the eastern end of the isle of wight. the newcomer walked up and down, watching the proceedings for a time, glancing occasionally at the receding shore, and hilary rapidly gave order after order, feeling a strange joy and excitement as for the next quarter of an hour he was busy, and kept pretty close to the sailor at the wheel. all at once there was a puff of smoke from one of the forts, and the deep roar of a gun. "hullo!" cried hilary. "what does that mean?" "practice, i should say," replied the newcomer. "nothing that concerns us. you have your orders, sir." "yes," said hilary, "and i'll obey them;" and away sped the _kestrel_, her young commander little thinking that he had been made the victim of a clever plot, and that he was bearing despatches to the enemy such as might set england in a blaze. chapter forty two. a troublesome mentor. "those sound to me like signals of recall," said hilary to his companion, as gun after gun was fired, the last sending a shot skipping before the bows of the _kestrel_. "yes, they must be; but not for us," said lieutenant anderson coolly. "why, there's a signal flying too," said hilary, as he took his glass. "yes, that's a signal of recall too," said the other coolly. "i wonder what ship they are speaking to? the _kestrel_ sails well." "gloriously," said hilary, flushing with pleasure; "and i know how to sail her, too. well, mr anderson, now we're getting towards clear water, and there's time to speak, let's shake hands. i'm very glad to see you, and i hope we shall be the best of friends." "i'm sure we shall," said the newcomer, shaking hands warmly. "ah! that shot fell behind us. we're getting beyond them now." "oh, yes; there's no fear of their hitting us," said hilary laughing, as the _kestrel_ careened over more and more as she caught the full force of the wind. "if we go on at this rate it will almost puzzle a cannonball to catch us. i know there is no vessel in portsmouth harbour that could with this wind." "do you think not?" said the lieutenant. "i'm sure not," said hilary gaily; and they walked the deck chatting as, by degrees, they passed the isle of wight, making the open channel more and more, while lieutenant anderson--the real--was closeted with admiral and captain charteris, all puzzled at the sudden flight of the _kestrel_, which had set sail without her despatches, and also without what the old admiral called ballast for the young commander, namely, lieutenant anderson, who had gone off with his despatches directly after his counterfeit, only to find the cutter gone. signal guns and flags proving vain, there was nothing for it but to send another vessel in chase of the _kestrel_, but it was hours before one could be got off, and meanwhile the swift despatch boat was tearing on towards her destination, with poor hilary happy in the blind belief that he was doing his best. there was something very delightful in feeling that he was chief officer of the _kestrel_, that the duty of the swift little cutter was to be carried out without the wretched cavilling and fault-finding of the late commander. everything seemed to work so smoothly now; the men were all alacrity, and they saluted him constantly with a bright smile, which showed that they shared his pleasure. the breeze was brisk, the sun came out, and lieutenant anderson, the self-styled, proved to be a very pleasant, well informed man, who very soon showed hilary that he had not the slightest intention of interfering in any way with his management of the cutter. "no," said hilary to himself, "i suppose not. as they told me, he is only to interfere in cases of emergency, or when i am doing any foolish thing; and that i don't mean to do if i can help it." towards afternoon the wind fell light, and the great squaresail was spread, but it made little appreciable difference, and as evening came on, to hilary's great disgust the wind dropped almost completely. "did you ever know anything so unfortunate!" cried hilary; "just when i wanted to show the admiral what speed there was in the little _kestrel_ as a despatch boat." "unfortunate!" cried his companion, who had been struggling to maintain his composure, but who now broke out; "it is atrocious, sir. those despatches are of the greatest importance, and here your cursed vessel lies upon the water like a log!" hilary stared. "it is very unfortunate," he said; "but let's hope the wind will spring up soon after sundown." "hope, sir!" cried the other. "don't talk of hope. do something." hilary flushed a little at the other's imperious way. he was not going to prove so pleasant a companion as he had hoped for, and there was that worst of all qualities for a man in command--unreason. "i am to take your advice, sir, in emergencies," said hilary, restraining his annoyance; "what would you suggest for me to do?" "i suggest, lieutenant leigh!" exclaimed the other, stamping up and down the little deck. "i am not in command of the cutter. it is your duty to suggest and to act." "yes, sir, and i will," replied hilary. "it is a question of vital importance--the delivery of these despatches--and every moment lost means more than you can imagine. come, sir, your position is at stake. you command this cutter: do something to get her on." hilary looked up at the flapping sails, which hung motionless; then out to windward in search of cats'-paws upon the water; then at his men, who were lounging about the lee side of the cutter; and then back at his companion. "really, sir," he said at last, "i am quite helpless. you are more experienced than i. what would you advise me to do?" "and you are placed in command of this cutter!" said the other ironically. "why, a child would know better. have out the boats, sir, and let the men tow the cutter." "tow, sir!" cried hilary; "why, it would be exhausting the men for nothing. we could not make head against the current we have here." "it will save something, sir," said the other; "and i order you to do it at once." hilary felt the hot blood flush into his face, and the order was so unreasonable and absurd that he felt ready to refuse, especially as he knew his own power, and that there was not a man on board who would not be at his back. but he recalled his duty, and feeling that this was a case of emergency, where he ought to obey, he ordered out the two boats; lines were made fast, and soon after the men were bending well to their work, while the stout ash blades bent as they dipped in rhythmical motion, and sent the clear water plashing and sparkling back into their wake. the men worked willingly enough, but hilary saw to his annoyance that they glanced at and whispered to one another, and it seemed very hard that he should be forced to inaugurate his first day in command by setting his men to an unreasonable task, for it was mere waste of energy. but even now it was done the officer seemed no better satisfied, but tramped up and down the little deck, uttering the most angry expressions of impatience, and at last abusing the cutter unmercifully. "well," thought hilary, "he has dropped the mask, and no mistake. it is not going to be such smooth sailing as i expected. never mind; one must have some bitters with the sweet, and after all he is only angry from a sense of being unable to do his duty, while i was taking it as cool as could be." for quite five hours the boats were kept out, the men being relieved at intervals; and at the end of those five hours the cutter had not advanced a mile, when hilary seized the speaking-trumpet, and hailed them to come on board. "stop!" cried the officer. "why have you done that, sir, without my permission?" this was too much for hilary, and he spoke out: "because, sir, i am in command here, and there is no occasion for the men to row any longer." "i insist, sir, upon their keeping on with the towing." "and i insist, sir," replied hilary, "on the men returning on board." "i shall report your conduct," cried his officer. "do so, sir," replied hilary, "if you think it your duty. in with you, my lads. let go the halyards there, and down with that squaresail. quick with those boats. there will be a squall upon us directly." he had proved himself on the alert, guided as he had been by the signs of the weather, and the great squaresail had hardly been lowered, the boats made snug, and a reef or two taken in the mainsail, before the wind came with a sharp gust, and the next minute the _kestrel_ was sending the water surging behind her in a long track of foam. "ah! that's better," cried the officer, whose ill-humour seemed to vanish on the instant. "how painful it is, mr leigh, to be lying like a log, and all the time with important despatches to deliver!" "it is, sir," said hilary quietly. "i declare there were times when i felt disposed to jump overboard and to swim on with the despatches." "rather a long swim," said hilary drily; and he thought it rather odd that the other should think of swimming on with the papers that he had locked up in the cabin despatch-box, and that again in a locker for safety. "well, yes," said the other, "it would have been a long swim. but tell me, mr leigh, about what time do you think we shall make dunkerque?" "if this wind holds good, sir, by eight o'clock to-morrow morning." "not till eight o'clock to-morrow morning!" cried the other furiously. "good heavens! how we crawl! there, have the reefs shaken out of that mainsail, and send the cutter along." hilary looked aloft, and then at the way in which the cutter lay over, dipping her bowsprit from time to time in the waves. "i think she has as much canvas upon her as she can bear, sir." "absurd! nonsense! you can get two or three knots more an hour out of a cutter like this." "i could get another knot an hour out of her, sir, by running the risk of losing one of her spars; and that means risking the delivery of the despatches." "look here, mr leigh," said the officer; "you seem to be doing all you can to delay the delivery of these despatches. i order you, sir, to shake out the reefs of that mainsail." hilary took up the speaking-trumpet to give the order, but as he held it to his lips he felt that he would be doing wrong. he knew the cutter's powers intimately. he saw, too, that she was sailing her best, and he asked himself whether he would not be doing wrong by obeying what was, he felt, an insensate command. surely there must be some limit to his obedience, he thought; and more than ever he felt what a peculiar position was that in which he had been placed, and he wondered whether captain charteris could be aware of the peculiar temperament of his companion. hilary lowered the speaking-trumpet, as the cutter rushed on through the darkness. "well, sir," said his companion, "you heard my orders?" "i did, sir," replied hilary. "here, bosun." "ay, ay, sir." "how much more canvas will the cutter bear?" "bear, sir?" said the experienced old salt; "begging your pardon, sir, i was going to ask you if you didn't think it time to take a little off if you don't want the mast to go." "silence, sir!" said the officer. "mr leigh, these despatches must be delivered at all hazards. i order you again, sir, to risk more canvas." hilary stood for a moment undecided, and his thoughts flashed rapidly through his brain. this man was unreasonable. he did not understand the _kestrel's_ powers, for she was already dashing at headlong speed through the sea, and he wanted him to run an unwarrantable risk. at all hazards he would refuse. he knew his duty, he felt that he was a better seaman than his mentor, and he turned to him quietly: "my orders were, sir, to refer to you for advice in times of emergency; but i was not told to run risks that my commonsense forbids. the cutter will bear no more canvas, sir, for the wind is increasing. in half an hour we shall have to take in another reef." "if you dare!" said the officer, laying his hand upon his sword. "i dare do my duty, sir," replied hilary, ignoring the gesture; and the cutter dashed on through the darkness of the night. chapter forty three. delivering despatches. the men had been witnesses of all that took place, and had heard the officer's angry words, respecting which they talked in a low tone, billy waters more than once saying that he didn't like the lookout forrard-- the "forrard" being the future, and not the sea beyond the cutter's bows. as the night wore on the officer had become very friendly. "i was wrong, mr leigh. put it down, please, to my anxiety. i beg your pardon." "granted," said hilary frankly. "i would not oppose you, sir, if i did not feel that i was right." "i am glad i am in the company of so clever a young officer," the other replied. "now about rest. i am too anxious to lie down to sleep. i will take charge of the deck while you go and get a few hours' rest." "thank you, no," said hilary quietly; "i, too, am anxious, and i shall not be able to sleep till we are in port and the despatches are delivered." "but there is no need for both of us to watch, my dear sir," said the other blandly. "then pray go below, sir," said hilary. "you may depend on me." the officer did not reply, but took a turn or two up and down, and as the time glided on he tried again and again to persuade hilary to go below, which, in his capacity of chief officer, holding his first command on a dark night and upon an important mission, he absolutely refused to do. towards morning on two occasions the officer brought him glasses of spirits and water, which hilary refused to take; and at last, fearing to make him suspicious, the officer desisted and stood leaning with his back against the side, wrapped in a cloak, for it was very cold. the light in front of the wheel shone faintly upon him as hilary walked slowly fore and aft, visiting the lookout man at the bows and the man at the wheel; and at last, in the gloomy darkness of the winter's morning, hilary saw the dunkerque lights. "we're in sight of port, mr anderson," he said as he walked aft. "indeed!" said the other starting, and the wind gave his cloak a puff, showing for a moment what hilary saw was the butt of a pistol. "what does he want with pistols?" said hilary to himself; and after a short conversation he again went forward, feeling curiously suspicious, though there seemed to be no pegs upon which his suspicions could hang. but he was not long kept in suspense and doubt. when they were about a couple of miles from the entrance to the port a boat manned by eight rowers came towards them, and hilary noticed it directly. "what does that boat mean?" he said sharply. "don't know. can't say," the officer replied. "perhaps a man-o'-war's boat coming to meet us for the despatches." hilary was not satisfied, but he said nothing. he merely resumed his walk to and fro. "now then, bosun," he said, "have your men up ready. it will be down sails directly." "not yet awhile, mr leigh," said the officer. "the _kestrel_ does not fly--she crawls." "waters," said hilary as he passed out of his companion's sight, "make no sign, but lay a bar or two and some pikes about handy for use if wanted, and give the men a hint to be ready if there's anything wrong. quietly, mind." billy waters nodded, and as hilary walked back to where the officer was standing he became aware that the gunner had taken his hint, but it was all done so quietly that it did not catch the officer's attention. "that boat means to board us," said hilary, as their proximity to the land sheltered them from the wind and their progress became slow. "offer to pilot us, perhaps," said the officer. "no; it is as i said." "ahoy, there! heave-to!" shouted the officer in command of the boat. "what boat's that?" cried hilary. "the _royal mary's_. have you despatches on board?" "my orders were to deliver my despatches myself at a certain address," thought hilary; "this may be a trick." "on special business," cried hilary back. "nonsense, mr leigh!" cried the assumed lieutenant anderson. "heave-to, sir. i order you! hi, my lads there, down with the sails." "no sails don't go down for no orders like that," growled the boatswain; but by skilful management the boat was already alongside and the bowman had caught the bulwark with his hook. "keep back!" cried hilary sharply. "are you mad?" cried the man by his side, now throwing off his cloak, and with it his disguise, for he caught hilary by the collar and presented a pistol at his head. "quick, there, up with you!" hilary struck up the pistol, but the next instant he received a heavy blow on the forehead and staggered back as, to his horror, the crew of the boat, well-armed and headed by sir henry norland, leaped aboard and drove back the two or three of the crew who were near. "at last!" cried sir henry to the false lieutenant. "i thought you would never come, hartland. have you the papers?" "yes, all right," said the gentleman addressed, "and all's right. here." he had thrust his hand into his breast when there was a shout and a cheer as the stout crew of the _kestrel_, headed by the gunner and armed with pikes and capstan-bars, charged down upon them. there was a shot or two. hilary was knocked down by his own men as he had struggled up; the false lieutenant was driven headlong down the companion hatch, and in less than a minute sir henry norland and his men were, with two exceptions, who lay stunned upon the deck, driven over the side, to get to their boat as best they could. then as hilary once more gained his feet the assailing boat was a quarter of a mile astern. "the treacherous scoundrel!" cried hilary. "oh, my lads, my lads, you've saved the cutter. but tell me, did that fellow get away?" "what! him as i hit down the hatchway for hysting your honour?" said tom tully. "he's down below." hilary and a couple of men ran to the hatchway, to find the false lieutenant lying below by the cabin door, with one arm broken, and his head so injured that he lay insensible, with the end of a packet of papers standing out of his breast. hilary seized them at once, and then, as a light broke in upon his breast, he ran to the locker, opened it and the despatch-box, and longed to open the papers he held. but they were close in to the port, and, resolving to deliver the despatches, he left the false lieutenant well guarded, leaped into one of the boats, and was rowed ashore to the consul, to whom he told his tale. "it has been a trick," said that gentleman; "there is no such street in the town as that on the despatch, and no such officer known." "what should you do?" cried hilary. then, without waiting to be answered, he cried, "i know," and, hurrying back to his boat, he was soon on board, and with the sails once more spread he was on his way back to portsmouth with the despatches, and three prisoners in the hold. before he had gone many miles he became aware of a swift schooner sailing across his track; and though, of course, he could not recognise her, he had a strong suspicion that it was the one that had nearly run them down. chapter forty four. a good fight for it. before long he found that it evidently meant to intercept him, and he had the deck cleared for action and the men at quarters. "they want the despatches they tricked me into carrying," cried hilary; "but they go overboard if i am beaten." to secure this he placed them in the despatch-box, in company with a couple of heavy shot, and placed all ready to heave overboard should matters go wrong. he knew what was his duty in such a case, though; and that was to run for portsmouth with the papers, fighting only on the defensive; and this, to the great disappointment of his men, he kept to. the schooner commenced the aggressive by sending a shot in front of the cutter's bows, as an order to heave-to, but the cutter kept on, and the next shot went through her mainsail. "now, billy waters," said hilary, "train the long gun aft, and fire as fast as you can; send every shot, mind, at her masts and yards; she is twice as big as we are, and full of men." "but we'd lick 'em, sir," said the gunner. "let's get alongside and board her." "no," said hilary sternly; "we must make portsmouth before night." then the long gun began to speak, and hilary kept up a steady running fight, hour after hour, but in spite of his efforts to escape, the schooner hung closely at his heels, gradually creeping up, and doing so much mischief that at last the young commander began to feel that before long it would be a case of repelling boarders, and he placed the despatch-box ready to throw over the side. closer and closer came on the schooner, and man after man went down; but still billy waters, aided by the boatswain, kept firing with more or less success from the long gun, till at last the time came when the schooner's crew were firing with small arms as well, and hilary knew that in another minute they would be grappled and the enemy on board. he paused with the despatch-box in his hand, ready to sink it, while billy waters was taking careful aim with the long gun. then there was the puff of smoke, the bellowing roar, and apparently no result, when all at once there was a loud crack, a splash, and the cutter's crew cheered like mad, for the schooner's mainmast went over the side with its press of sail, and the foremast, that had been wounded before, followed, leaving the swift vessel a helpless wreck upon the water. she would have been easy of capture now, but under the circumstances hilary's duty was to risk no severe fight in boarding her, but to continue his course, and this he did, passing a gunboat going in search of him, the despatches he had left behind having gone by another boat. answering the hail, hilary communicated with the commander, who in another hour had captured the schooner, and the next morning she was brought into portsmouth harbour with her crew. meantime hilary had reached portsmouth and been rowed ashore, where he went straight to the admiral's house. captain charteris was with the admiral, and both looked very stern as he told his tale. "a bad beginning, lieutenant leigh," said the admiral, "but it was a clever ruse on the enemy's part. but you are wounded. sit down." "only a scratch or two, sir," said hilary piteously, for he felt very weak and quite overcome as he handed his papers. just then he became aware of the presence of a plainly-dressed gentleman, to whom the admiral, with great deference, handed the captured despatches. he opened them--hilary's first. "yes," he said, "a clear case; all blank. now for the others." as he opened the packet he uttered a cry of joy. "this is news indeed. my young officer, you have done more than you think for in capturing these. captain charteris, instantly--marines and sailors, you can take them all." "yes, young man," continued the stranger, "this is a proud day for you. it is a death-blow to the pretender's cause. you have done great things." "in the king's name--hurrah!" cried hilary feebly, as he waved his hat; then he reeled and fell heavily upon the floor. chapter forty five. meeting old friends. hilary leigh's scratches were two severe wounds which kept him in bed for a couple of months, during which he learned that the despatches he had brought back after turning the tables on the pretender's followers had, as the high official had said, given such information that by their means a death-blow was given to the plots to place charles edward upon the english throne; and when he was once more about, it was to join his little vessel, with his lieutenant's grade endorsed, and in a span new uniform, of which he was deservedly proud. the cutter had been pretty well knocked about in the fight, but she was once more in good trim, and her crew, who had received a capital share of prize-money for their part in the capture of the schooner, received him with three cheers. for years after, the _kestrel_ swept the channel pretty clear of smugglers and enemies, and continued so to do long after hilary had joined captain charteris's ship, taking with him the principal members of his crew, billy waters rapidly becoming gunner of the great man-of-war, and tom tully remaining tom tully still, able seaman and owner of the biggest pigtail amongst five hundred men. five years had elapsed before hilary again saw sir henry norland, and this was one day in a french port, when the greeting was most cordial. "no, hilary, my boy," he said, as he led the lieutenant to a handsome house just outside the town. "i shall not come back to england to live. our cause failed, and i have given up politics now. the english government have left me alone, or forgotten me, and i won't come back and tell them who i am." "and you don't feel any enmity against me, sir henry, for behaving to you as i did?" "enmity, my dear boy!" cried sir henry, laying his hands affectionately upon the young man's shoulders; "i was sorry that we were on opposite sides, but i was more proud of you than i can tell. many's the time i said to myself, i would that you had been my son." just then hilary started, for a graceful woman entered the room, to gaze at him wonderingly for a moment, and then, with a mutual cry of pleasure, they ran forward to catch each other's hands. sir henry uttered a sigh of satisfaction, one that was not heard by the young people, who were too much wrapped up in each other's words, for this was a meeting neither had anticipated, and they had much to say. who is it that needs to be told that hilary saw adela norland as often as he could, and that being high in favour with the government, and soon after made captain of a dashing ship, he should ask for, and obtain permission, for sir henry norland to return? this permit giving him free pardon for the past hilary himself took to the french port, where he behaved very badly, for he told adela norland that he would not give it up unless she made him a certain promise, and this, with many blushes, she did, just as sir henry came into the room. "ah!" he said laughing, "i expected all this. well, hilary, i have no son, and you want to take away my daughter." "no, sir," said hilary; "i only want to find you a son, and to take you, free from all political care, once more home." and this he did, making his name a brighter one still in the annals of his country, for many were the gallant acts done by the brave sailor captain hilary leigh, for his country's good, and in the king's name. proofreading team moonfleet j. meade falkner we thought there was no more behind but such a day tomorrow as today and to be a boy eternal. shakespeare to all mohunes of fleet and moonfleet in agro dorcestrensi living or dead contents in moonfleet village the floods a discovery in the vault the rescue an assault an auction the landing a judgement the escape the sea-cave a funeral an interview the well-house the well the jewel at ymeguen in the bay on the beach says the cap'n to the crew, we have slipped the revenue, i can see the cliffs of dover on the lee: tip the signal to the _swan_, and anchor broadside on, and out with the kegs of eau-de-vie, says the cap'n: out with the kegs of eau-de-vie. says the lander to his men, get your grummets on the pin, there's a blue light burning out at sea. the windward anchors creep, and the gauger's fast asleep, and the kegs are bobbing one, two, three, says the lander: the kegs are bobbing one, two, three. but the bold preventive man primes the powder in his pan and cries to the posse, follow me. we will take this smuggling gang, and those that fight shall hang dingle dangle from the execution tree, says the gauger: dingle dangle with the weary moon to see. chapter in moonfleet village so sleeps the pride of former days--_more_ the village of moonfleet lies half a mile from the sea on the right or west bank of the fleet stream. this rivulet, which is so narrow as it passes the houses that i have known a good jumper clear it without a pole, broadens out into salt marshes below the village, and loses itself at last in a lake of brackish water. the lake is good for nothing except sea-fowl, herons, and oysters, and forms such a place as they call in the indies a lagoon; being shut off from the open channel by a monstrous great beach or dike of pebbles, of which i shall speak more hereafter. when i was a child i thought that this place was called moonfleet, because on a still night, whether in summer, or in winter frosts, the moon shone very brightly on the lagoon; but learned afterwards that 'twas but short for 'mohune-fleet', from the mohunes, a great family who were once lords of all these parts. my name is john trenchard, and i was fifteen years of age when this story begins. my father and mother had both been dead for years, and i boarded with my aunt, miss arnold, who was kind to me in her own fashion, but too strict and precise ever to make me love her. i shall first speak of one evening in the fall of the year . it must have been late in october, though i have forgotten the exact date, and i sat in the little front parlour reading after tea. my aunt had few books; a bible, a common prayer, and some volumes of sermons are all that i can recollect now; but the reverend mr. glennie, who taught us village children, had lent me a story-book, full of interest and adventure, called the _arabian nights entertainment_. at last the light began to fail, and i was nothing loth to leave off reading for several reasons; as, first, the parlour was a chilly room with horse-hair chairs and sofa, and only a coloured-paper screen in the grate, for my aunt did not allow a fire till the first of november; second, there was a rank smell of molten tallow in the house, for my aunt was dipping winter candles on frames in the back kitchen; third, i had reached a part in the _arabian nights_ which tightened my breath and made me wish to leave off reading for very anxiousness of expectation. it was that point in the story of the 'wonderful lamp', where the false uncle lets fall a stone that seals the mouth of the underground chamber; and immures the boy, aladdin, in the darkness, because he would not give up the lamp till he stood safe on the surface again. this scene reminded me of one of those dreadful nightmares, where we dream we are shut in a little room, the walls of which are closing in upon us, and so impressed me that the memory of it served as a warning in an adventure that befell me later on. so i gave up reading and stepped out into the street. it was a poor street at best, though once, no doubt, it had been finer. now, there were not two hundred souls in moonfleet, and yet the houses that held them straggled sadly over half a mile, lying at intervals along either side of the road. nothing was ever made new in the village; if a house wanted repair badly, it was pulled down, and so there were toothless gaps in the street, and overrun gardens with broken-down walls, and many of the houses that yet stood looked as though they could stand but little longer. the sun had set; indeed, it was already so dusk that the lower or sea-end of the street was lost from sight. there was a little fog or smoke-wreath in the air, with an odour of burning weeds, and that first frosty feeling of the autumn that makes us think of glowing fires and the comfort of long winter evenings to come. all was very still, but i could hear the tapping of a hammer farther down the street, and walked to see what was doing, for we had no trades in moonfleet save that of fishing. it was ratsey the sexton at work in a shed which opened on the street, lettering a tombstone with a mallet and graver. he had been mason before he became fisherman, and was handy with his tools; so that if anyone wanted a headstone set up in the churchyard, he went to ratsey to get it done. i lent over the half-door and watched him a minute, chipping away with the graver in a bad light from a lantern; then he looked up, and seeing me, said: 'here, john, if you have nothing to do, come in and hold the lantern for me, 'tis but a half-hour's job to get all finished.' ratsey was always kind to me, and had lent me a chisel many a time to make boats, so i stepped in and held the lantern watching him chink out the bits of portland stone with a graver, and blinking the while when they came too near my eyes. the inscription stood complete, but he was putting the finishing touches to a little sea-piece carved at the top of the stone, which showed a schooner boarding a cutter. i thought it fine work at the time, but know now that it was rough enough; indeed, you may see it for yourself in moonfleet churchyard to this day, and read the inscription too, though it is yellow with lichen, and not so plain as it was that night. this is how it runs: sacred to the memory of david block aged , who was killed by a shot fired from the _elector_ schooner, june . of life bereft (by fell design), i mingle with my fellow clay. on god's protection i recline to save me in the judgement day. there too must you, cruel man, appear, repent ere it be all too late; or else a dreadful sentence fear, for god will sure revenge my fate. the reverend mr. glennie wrote the verses, and i knew them by heart, for he had given me a copy; indeed, the whole village had rung with the tale of david's death, and it was yet in every mouth. he was only child to elzevir block, who kept the why not? inn at the bottom of the village, and was with the contrabandiers, when their ketch was boarded that june night by the government schooner. people said that it was magistrate maskew of moonfleet manor who had put the revenue men on the track, and anyway he was on board the _elector_ as she overhauled the ketch. there was some show of fighting when the vessels first came alongside of one another, and maskew drew a pistol and fired it off in young david's face, with only the two gunwales between them. in the afternoon of midsummer's day the _elector_ brought the ketch into moonfleet, and there was a posse of constables to march the smugglers off to dorchester jail. the prisoners trudged up through the village ironed two and two together, while people stood at their doors or followed them, the men greeting them with a kindly word, for we knew most of them as ringstave and monkbury men, and the women sorrowing for their wives. but they left david's body in the ketch, so the boy paid dear for his night's frolic. 'ay, 'twas a cruel, cruel thing to fire on so young a lad,' ratsey said, as he stepped back a pace to study the effect of a flag that he was chiselling on the revenue schooner, 'and trouble is likely to come to the other poor fellows taken, for lawyer empson says three of them will surely hang at next assize. i recollect', he went on, 'thirty years ago, when there was a bit of a scuffle between the _royal sophy_ and the _marnhull_, they hanged four of the contrabandiers, and my old father caught his death of cold what with going to see the poor chaps turned off at dorchester, and standing up to his knees in the river frome to get a sight of them, for all the countryside was there, and such a press there was no place on land. there, that's enough,' he said, turning again to the gravestone. 'on monday i'll line the ports in black, and get a brush of red to pick out the flag; and now, my son, you've helped with the lantern, so come down to the why not? and there i'll have a word with elzevir, who sadly needs the talk of kindly friends to cheer him, and we'll find you a glass of hollands to keep out autumn chills.' i was but a lad, and thought it a vast honour to be asked to the why not?--for did not such an invitation raise me at once to the dignity of manhood. ah, sweet boyhood, how eager are we as boys to be quit of thee, with what regret do we look back on thee before our man's race is half-way run! yet was not my pleasure without alloy, for i feared even to think of what aunt jane would say if she knew that i had been at the why not?--and beside that, i stood in awe of grim old elzevir block, grimmer and sadder a thousand times since david's death. the why not? was not the real name of the inn; it was properly the mohune arms. the mohunes had once owned, as i have said, the whole of the village; but their fortunes fell, and with them fell the fortunes of moonfleet. the ruins of their mansion showed grey on the hillside above the village; their almshouses stood half-way down the street, with the quadrangle deserted and overgrown; the mohune image and superscription was on everything from the church to the inn, and everything that bore it was stamped also with the superscription of decay. and here it is necessary that i say a few words as to this family badge; for, as you will see, i was to bear it all my life, and shall carry its impress with me to the grave. the mohune shield was plain white or silver, and bore nothing upon it except a great black 'y. i call it a 'y', though the reverend mr. glennie once explained to me that it was not a 'y' at all, but what heralds call a _cross-pall. cross-pall_ or no _cross-pall,_ it looked for all the world like a black 'y', with a broad arm ending in each of the top corners of the shield, and the tail coming down into the bottom. you might see that cognizance carved on the manor, and on the stonework and woodwork of the church, and on a score of houses in the village, and it hung on the signboard over the door of the inn. everyone knew the mohune 'y' for miles around, and a former landlord having called the inn the why not? in jest, the name had stuck to it ever since. more than once on winter evenings, when men were drinking in the why not?, i had stood outside, and listened to them singing 'ducky-stones', or 'kegs bobbing one, two, three', or some of the other tunes that sailors sing in the west. such songs had neither beginning nor ending, and very little sense to catch hold of in the middle. one man would crone the air, and the others would crone a solemn chorus, but there was little hard drinking, for elzevir block never got drunk himself, and did not like his guests to get drunk either. on singing nights the room grew hot, and the steam stood so thick on the glass inside that one could not see in; but at other times, when there was no company, i have peeped through the red curtains and watched elzevir block and ratsey playing backgammon at the trestle-table by the fire. it was on the trestle-table that block had afterwards laid out his son's dead body, and some said they had looked through the window at night and seen the father trying to wash the blood-matting out of the boy's yellow hair, and heard him groaning and talking to the lifeless clay as if it could understand. anyhow, there had been little drinking in the inn since that time, for block grew more and more silent and morose. he had never courted customers, and now he scowled on any that came, so that men looked on the why not? as a blighted spot, and went to drink at the three choughs at ringstave. my heart was in my mouth when ratsey lifted the latch and led me into the inn parlour. it was a low sanded room with no light except a fire of seawood on the hearth, burning clear and lambent with blue salt flames. there were tables at each end of the room, and wooden-seated chairs round the walls, and at the trestle table by the chimney sat elzevir block smoking a long pipe and looking at the fire. he was a man of fifty, with a shock of grizzled hair, a broad but not unkindly face of regular features, bushy eyebrows, and the finest forehead that i ever saw. his frame was thick-set, and still immensely strong; indeed, the countryside was full of tales of his strange prowess or endurance. blocks had been landlords at the why not? father and son for years, but elzevir's mother came from the low countries, and that was how he got his outland name and could speak dutch. few men knew much of him, and folks often wondered how it was he kept the why not? on so little custom as went that way. yet he never seemed to lack for money; and if people loved to tell stories of his strength, they would speak also of widows helped, and sick comforted with unknown gifts, and hint that some of them came from elzevir block for all he was so grim and silent. he turned round and got up as we came in, and my fears led me to think that his face darkened when he saw me. 'what does this boy want?' he said to ratsey sharply. 'he wants the same as i want, and that's a glass of ararat milk to keep out autumn chills,' the sexton answered, drawing another chair up to the trestle-table. 'cows' milk is best for children such as he,' was elzevir's answer, as he took two shining brass candlesticks from the mantel-board, set them on the table, and lit the candles with a burning chip from the hearth. 'john is no child; he is the same age as david, and comes from helping me to finish david's headstone. 'tis finished now, barring the paint upon the ships, and, please god, by monday night we will have it set fair and square in the churchyard, and then the poor lad may rest in peace, knowing he has above him master ratsey's best handiwork, and the parson's verses to set forth how shamefully he came to his end.' i thought that elzevir softened a little as ratsey spoke of his son, and he said, 'ay, david rests in peace. 'tis they that brought him to his end that shall not rest in peace when their time comes. and it may come sooner than they think,' he added, speaking more to himself than to us. i knew that he meant mr. maskew, and recollected that some had warned the magistrate that he had better keep out of elzevir's way, for there was no knowing what a desperate man might do. and yet the two had met since in the village street, and nothing worse come of it than a scowling look from block. 'tush, man!' broke in the sexton, 'it was the foulest deed ever man did; but let not thy mind brood on it, nor think how thou mayest get thyself avenged. leave that to providence; for he whose wisdom lets such things be done, will surely see they meet their due reward. "vengeance is mine; i will repay, saith the lord".' and he took his hat off and hung it on a peg. block did not answer, but set three glasses on the table, and then took out from a cupboard a little round long-necked bottle, from which he poured out a glass for ratsey and himself. then he half-filled the third, and pushed it along the table to me, saying, 'there, take it, lad, if thou wilt; 'twill do thee no good, but may do thee no harm.' ratsey raised his glass almost before it was filled. he sniffed the liquor and smacked his lips. 'o rare milk of ararat!' he said, 'it is sweet and strong, and sets the heart at ease. and now get the backgammon-board, john, and set it for us on the table.' so they fell to the game, and i took a sly sip at the liquor, but nearly choked myself, not being used to strong waters, and finding it heady and burning in the throat. neither man spoke, and there was no sound except the constant rattle of the dice, and the rubbing of the pieces being moved across the board. now and then one of the players stopped to light his pipe, and at the end of a game they scored their totals on the table with a bit of chalk. so i watched them for an hour, knowing the game myself, and being interested at seeing elzevir's backgammon-board, which i had heard talked of before. it had formed part of the furniture of the why not? for generations of landlords, and served perhaps to pass time for cavaliers of the civil wars. all was of oak, black and polished, board, dice-boxes, and men, but round the edge ran a latin inscription inlaid in light wood, which i read on that first evening, but did not understand till mr. glennie translated it to me. i had cause to remember it afterwards, so i shall set it down here in latin for those who know that tongue, _ita in vita ut in lusu alae pessima jactura arte corrigenda est_, and in english as mr. glennie translated it, _as in life, so in a game of hazard, skill will make something of the worst of throws_. at last elzevir looked up and spoke to me, not unkindly, 'lad, it is time for you to go home; men say that blackbeard walks on the first nights of winter, and some have met him face to face betwixt this house and yours.' i saw he wanted to be rid of me, so bade them both good night, and was off home, running all the way thither, though not from any fear of blackbeard, for ratsey had often told me that there was no chance of meeting him unless one passed the churchyard by night. blackbeard was one of the mohunes who had died a century back, and was buried in the vault under the church, with others of his family, but could not rest there, whether, as some said, because he was always looking for a lost treasure, or as others, because of his exceeding wickedness in life. if this last were the true reason, he must have been bad indeed, for mohunes have died before and since his day wicked enough to bear anyone company in their vault or elsewhere. men would have it that on dark winter nights blackbeard might be seen with an old-fashioned lanthorn digging for treasure in the graveyard; and those who professed to know said he was the tallest of men, with full black beard, coppery face, and such evil eyes, that any who once met their gaze must die within a year. however that might be, there were few in moonfleet who would not rather walk ten miles round than go near the churchyard after dark; and once when cracky jones, a poor doited body, was found there one summer morning, lying dead on the grass, it was thought that he had met blackbeard in the night. mr. glennie, who knew more about such things than anyone else, told me that blackbeard was none other than a certain colonel john mohune, deceased about one hundred years ago. he would have it that colonel mohune, in the dreadful wars against king charles the first, had deserted the allegiance of his house and supported the cause of the rebels. so being made governor of carisbrooke castle for the parliament, he became there the king's jailer, but was false to his trust. for the king, carrying constantly hidden about his person a great diamond which had once been given him by his brother king of france, mohune got wind of this jewel, and promised that if it were given him he would wink at his majesty's escape. then this wicked man, having taken the bribe, plays traitor again, comes with a file of soldiers at the hour appointed for the king's flight, finds his majesty escaping through a window, has him away to a stricter ward, and reports to the parliament that the king's escape is only prevented by colonel mohune's watchfulness. but how true, as mr. glennie said, that we should not be envious against the ungodly, against the man that walketh after evil counsels. suspicion fell on colonel mohune; he was removed from his governorship, and came back to his home at moonfleet. there he lived in seclusion, despised by both parties in the state, until he died, about the time of the happy restoration of king charles the second. but even after his death he could not get rest; for men said that he had hid somewhere that treasure given him to permit the king's escape, and that not daring to reclaim it, had let the secret die with him, and so must needs come out of his grave to try to get at it again. mr. glennie would never say whether he believed the tale or not, pointing out that apparitions both of good and evil spirits are related in holy scripture, but that the churchyard was an unlikely spot for colonel mohune to seek his treasure in; for had it been buried there, he would have had a hundred chances to have it up in his lifetime. however this may be, though i was brave as a lion by day, and used indeed to frequent the churchyard, because there was the widest view of the sea to be obtained from it, yet no reward would have taken me thither at night. nor was i myself without some witness to the tale, for having to walk to ringstave for dr. hawkins on the night my aunt broke her leg, i took the path along the down which overlooks the churchyard at a mile off; and thence most certainly saw a light moving to and fro about the church, where no honest man could be at two o'clock in the morning. chapter the floods then banks came down with ruin and rout, then beaten spray flew round about, then all the mighty floods were out, and all the world was in the sea _--jean ingelow_ on the third of november, a few days after this visit to the why not?, the wind, which had been blowing from the south-west, began about four in the afternoon to rise in sudden strong gusts. the rooks had been pitch-falling all the morning, so we knew that bad weather was due; and when we came out from the schooling that mr. glennie gave us in the hall of the old almshouses, there were wisps of thatch, and even stray tiles, flying from the roofs, and the children sang: blow wind, rise storm, ship ashore before morn. it is heathenish rhyme that has come down out of other and worse times; for though i do not say but that a wreck on moonfleet beach was looked upon sometimes as little short of a godsend, yet i hope none of us were so wicked as to _wish_ a vessel to be wrecked that we might share in the plunder. indeed, i have known the men of moonfleet risk their own lives a hundred times to save those of shipwrecked mariners, as when the _darius_, east indiaman, came ashore; nay, even poor nameless corpses washed up were sure of christian burial, or perhaps of one of master ratsey's headstones to set forth sex and date, as may be seen in the churchyard to this day. our village lies near the centre of moonfleet bay, a great bight twenty miles across, and a death-trap to up-channel sailors in a south-westerly gale. for with that wind blowing strong from south, if you cannot double the snout, you must most surely come ashore; and many a good ship failing to round that point has beat up and down the bay all day, but come to beach in the evening. and once on the beach, the sea has little mercy, for the water is deep right in, and the waves curl over full on the pebbles with a weight no timbers can withstand. then if poor fellows try to save themselves, there is a deadly under-tow or rush back of the water, which sucks them off their legs, and carries them again under the thundering waves. it is that back-suck of the pebbles that you may hear for miles inland, even at dorchester, on still nights long after the winds that caused it have sunk, and which makes people turn in their beds, and thank god they are not fighting with the sea on moonfleet beach. but on this third of november there was no wreck, only such a wind as i have never known before, and only once since. all night long the tempest grew fiercer, and i think no one in moonfleet went to bed; for there was such a breaking of tiles and glass, such a banging of doon and rattling of shutters, that no sleep was possible, and we were afraid besides lest the chimneys should fall and crush us. the wind blew fiercest about five in the morning, and then some ran up the street calling out a new danger--that the sea was breaking over the beach, and that all the place was like to be flooded. some of the women were for flitting forthwith and climbing the down; but master ratsey, who was going round with others to comfort people, soon showed us that the upper part of the village stood so high, that if the water was to get thither, there was no knowing if it would not cover ridgedown itself. but what with its being a spring-tide, and the sea breaking clean over the great outer beach of pebbles--a thing that had not happened for fifty years--there was so much water piled up in the lagoon, that it passed its bounds and flooded all the sea meadows, and even the lower end of the street. so when day broke, there was the churchyard flooded, though 'twas on rising ground, and the church itself standing up like a steep little island, and the water over the door-sill of the why not?, though elzevir block would not budge, saying he did not care if the sea swept him away. it was but a nine-hours' wonder, for the wind fell very suddenly; the water began to go back, the sun shone bright, and before noon people came out to the doors to see the floods and talk over the storm. most said that never had been so fierce a wind, but some of the oldest spoke of one in the second year of queen anne, and would have it as bad or worse. but whether worse or not, this storm was a weighty matter enough for me, and turned the course of my life, as you shall hear. i have said that the waters came up so high that the church stood out like an island; but they went back quickly, and mr. glennie was able to hold service on the next sunday morning. few enough folks came to moonfleet church at any time; but fewer still came that morning, for the meadows between the village and the churchyard were wet and miry from the water. there were streamers of seaweed tangled about the very tombstones, and against the outside of the churchyard wall was piled up a great bank of it, from which came a salt rancid smell like a guillemot's egg that is always in the air after a south-westerly gale has strewn the shore with wrack. this church is as large as any other i have seen, and divided into two parts with a stone screen across the middle. perhaps moonfleet was once a large place, and then likely enough there were people to fill such a church, but never since i knew it did anyone worship in that part called the nave. this western portion was quite empty beyond a few old tombs and a royal arms of queen anne; the pavement too was damp and mossy; and there were green patches down the white walls where the rains had got in. so the handful of people that came to church were glad enough to get the other side of the screen in the chancel, where at least the pew floors were boarded over, and the panelling of oak-work kept off the draughts. now this sunday morning there were only three or four, i think, beside mr. glennie and ratsey and the half-dozen of us boys, who crossed the swampy meadows strewn with drowned shrew-mice and moles. even my aunt was not at church, being prevented by a migraine, but a surprise waited those who did go, for there in a pew by himself sat elzevir block. the people stared at him as they came in, for no one had ever known him go to church before; some saying in the village that he was a catholic, and others an infidel. however that may be, there he was this day, wishing perhaps to show a favour to the parson who had written the verses for david's headstone. he took no notice of anyone, nor exchanged greetings with those that came in, as was the fashion in moonfleet church, but kept his eyes fixed on a prayer-book which he held in his hand, though he could not be following the minister, for he never turned the leaf. the church was so damp from the floods, that master ratsey had put a fire in the brazier which stood at the back, but was not commonly lighted till the winter had fairly begun. we boys sat as close to the brazier as we could, for the wet cold struck up from the flags, and besides that, we were so far from the clergyman, and so well screened by the oak backs, that we could bake an apple or roast a chestnut without much fear of being caught. but that morning there was something else to take off our thoughts; for before the service was well begun, we became aware of a strange noise under the church. the first time it came was just as mr. glennie was finishing 'dearly beloved', and we heard it again before the second lesson. it was not a loud noise, but rather like that which a boat makes jostling against another at sea, only there was something deeper and more hollow about it. we boys looked at each other, for we knew what was under the church, and that the sound could only come from the mohune vault. no one at moonfleet had ever seen the inside of that vault; but ratsey was told by his father, who was clerk before him, that it underlay half the chancel, and that there were more than a score of mohunes lying there. it had not been opened for over forty years, since gerald mohune, who burst a blood-vessel drinking at weymouth races, was buried there; but there was a tale that one sunday afternoon, many years back, there had come from the vault so horrible and unearthly a cry, that parson and people got up and fled from the church, and would not worship there for weeks afterwards. we thought of these stories, and huddled up closer to the brazier, being frightened at the noise, and uncertain whether we should not turn tail and run from the church. for it was certain that something was moving in the mohune vault, to which there was no entrance except by a ringed stone in the chancel floor, that had not been lifted for forty years. however, we thought better of it, and did not budge, though i could see when standing up and looking over the tops of the seats that others beside ourselves were ill at ease; for granny tucker gave such starts when she heard the sounds, that twice her spectacles fell off her nose into her lap, and master ratsey seemed to be trying to mask the one noise by making another himself, whether by shuffling with his feet or by thumping down his prayer-book. but the thing that most surprised me was that even elzevir block, who cared, men said, for neither god nor devil, looked unquiet, and gave a quick glance at ratsey every time the sound came. so we sat till mr. glennie was well on with the sermon. his discourse interested me though i was only a boy, for he likened life to the letter 'y', saying that 'in each man's life must come a point where two roads part like the arms of a "y", and that everyone must choose for himself whether he will follow the broad and sloping path on the left or the steep and narrow path on the right. for,' said he, 'if you will look in your books, you will see that the letter "y" is not like the mohunes', with both arms equal, but has the arm on the left broader and more sloping than the arm on the right; hence ancient philosophers hold that this arm on the left represents the easy downward road to destruction, and the arm on the right the narrow upward path of life.' when we heard that we all fell to searching our prayer-books for a capital 'y'; and granny tucker, who knew not a from b, made much ado in fumbling with her book, for she would have people think that she could read. then just at that moment came a noise from below louder than those before, hollow and grating like the cry of an old man in pain. with that up jumps granny tucker, calling out loud in church to mr. glennie-- 'o master, however can'ee bide there preaching when the moons be rising from their graves?' and out from the church. that was too much for the others, and all fled, mrs. vining crying, 'lordsakes, we shall all be throttled like cracky jones.' so in a minute there were none left in the church, save and except mr. glennie, with me, ratsey, and elzevir block. i did not run: first, not wishing to show myself coward before the men; second, because i thought if blackbeard came he would fall on the men rather than on a boy; and third, that if it came to blows, block was strong enough to give account even of a mohune. mr. glennie went on with his sermon, making as though he neither heard any noise nor saw the people leave the church; and when he had finished, elzevir walked out, but i stopped to see what the minister would say to ratsey about the noise in the vault. the sexton helped mr. glennie off with his gown, and then seeing me standing by and listening, said-- 'the lord has sent evil angels among us; 'tis a terrible thing, master glennie, to hear the dead men moving under our feet.' 'tut, tut,' answered the minister, 'it is only their own fears that make such noises terrible to the vulgar. as for blackbeard, i am not here to say whether guilty spirits sometimes cannot rest and are seen wandering by men; but for these noises, they are certainly nature's work as is the noise of waves upon the beach. the floods have filled the vault with water, and so the coffins getting afloat, move in some eddies that we know not of, and jostle one another. then being hollow, they give forth those sounds you hear, and these are your evil angels. 'tis very true the dead do move beneath our feet, but 'tis because they cannot help themselves, being carried hither and thither by the water. fie, ratsey man, you should know better than to fright a boy with silly talk of spirits when the truth is bad enough.' the parson's words had the ring of truth in them to me, and i never doubted that he was right. so this mystery was explained, and yet it was a dreadful thing, and made me shiver, to think of the mohunes all adrift in their coffins, and jostling one another in the dark. i pictured them to myself, the many generations, old men and children, man and maid, all bones now, each afloat in his little box of rotting wood; and blackbeard himself in a great coffin bigger than all the rest, coming crashing into the weaker ones, as a ship in a heavy sea comes crashing down sometimes in the trough, on a small boat that is trying to board her. and then there was the outer darkness of the vault itself to think of, and the close air, and the black putrid water nearly up to the roof on which such sorry ships were sailing. ratsey looked a little crestfallen at what mr. glennie said, but put a good face on it, and answered-- 'well, master, i am but a plain man, and know nothing about floods and these eddies and hidden workings of nature of which you speak; but, saving your presence, i hold it a fond thing to make light of such warnings as are given us. 'tis always said, "when the moons move, then moonfleet mourns"; and i have heard my father tell that the last time they stirred was in queen anne's second year, when the great storm blew men's homes about their heads. and as for frighting children, 'tis well that heady boys should learn to stand in awe, and not pry into what does not concern them--or they may come to harm.' he added the last words with what i felt sure was a nod of warning to myself, though i did not then understand what he meant. so he walked off in a huff with elzevir, who was waiting for him outside, and i went with mr. glennie and carried his gown for him back to his lodging in the village. mr. glennie was always very friendly, making much of me, and talking to me as though i were his equal; which was due, i think, to there being no one of his own knowledge in the neighbourhood, and so he had as lief talk to an ignorant boy as to an ignorant man. after we had passed the churchyard turnstile and were crossing the sludgy meadows, i asked him again what he knew of blackbeard and his lost treasure. 'my son,' he answered, 'all that i have been able to gather is, that this colonel john mohune (foolishly called blackbeard) was the first to impair the family fortunes by his excesses, and even let the almshouses fall to ruin, and turned the poor away. unless report strangely belies him, he was an evil man, and besides numberless lesser crimes, had on his hands the blood of a faithful servant, whom he made away with because chance had brought to the man's ears some guilty secret of the master. then, at the end of his life, being filled with fear and remorse (as must always happen with evil livers at the last), he sent for rector kindersley of dorchester to confess him, though a protestant, and wished to make amends by leaving that treasure so ill-gotten from king charles (which was all that he had to leave) for the repair and support of the almshouses. he made a last will, which i have seen, to this effect, but without describing the treasure further than to call it a diamond, nor saying where it was to be found. doubtless he meant to get it himself, sell it, and afterwards apply the profit to his good purpose, but before he could do so death called him suddenly to his account. so men say that he cannot rest in his grave, not having made even so tardy a reparation, and never will rest unless the treasure is found and spent upon the poor.' i thought much over what mr. glennie had said and fell to wondering where blackbeard could have hid his diamond, and whether i might not find it some day and make myself a rich man. now, as i considered that noise we had heard under the church, and parson glennie's explanation of it, i was more and more perplexed; for the noise had, as i have said, something deep and hollow-booming in it, and how was that to be made by decayed coffins. i had more than once seen ratsey, in digging a grave, turn up pieces of coffins, and sometimes a tarnished name-plate would show that they had not been so very long underground, and yet the wood was quite decayed and rotten. and granting that such were in the earth, and so might more easily perish, yet when the top was taken off old guy's brick grave to put his widow beside him, master ratsey gave me a peep in, and old guy's coffin had cracks and warps in it, and looked as if a sound blow would send it to pieces. yet here were the mohune coffins that had been put away for generations, and must be rotten as tinder, tapping against each other with a sound like a drum, as if they were still sound and air-tight. still, mr. glennie must be right; for if it was not the coffins, what should it be that made the noise? so on the next day after we heard the sounds in church, being the monday, as soon as morning school was over, off i ran down street and across meadows to the churchyard, meaning to listen outside the church if the mohunes were still moving. i say outside the church, for i knew ratsey would not lend me the key to go in after what he had said about boys prying into things that did not concern them; and besides that, i do not know that i should care to have ventured inside alone, even if i had the key. when i reached the church, not a little out of breath, i listened first on the side nearest the village, that is the north side; putting my ear against the wall, and afterwards lying down on the ground, though the grass was long and wet, so that i might the better catch any sound that came. but i could hear nothing, and so concluded that the mohunes had come to rest again, yet thought i would walk round the church and listen too on the south or sea side, for that their worships might have drifted over to that side, and be there rubbing shoulders with one another. so i went round, and was glad to get out of the cold shade into the sun on the south. but here was a surprise; for when i came round a great buttress which juts out from the wall, what should i see but two men, and these two were ratsey and elzevir block. i came upon them unawares, and, lo and behold, there was master ratsey lying also on the ground with his ear to the wall, while elzevir sat back against the inside of the buttress with a spy-glass in his hand, smoking and looking out to sea. now, i had as much right to be in the churchyard as ratsey or elzevir, and yet i felt a sudden shame as if i had been caught in some bad act, and knew the blood was running to my cheeks. at first i had it in my mind to turn tail and make off, but concluded to stand my ground since they had seen me, and so bade them 'good morning'. master ratsey jumped to his feet as nimbly as a cat; and if he had not been a man, i should have thought he was blushing too, for his face was very red, though that came perhaps from lying on the ground. i could see he was a little put about, and out of countenance, though he tried to say 'good morning, john', in an easy tone, as if it was a common thing for him to be lying in the churchyard, with his ear to the wall, on a winter's morning. 'good morning, john,' he said; 'and what might you be doing in the churchyard this fine day?' i answered that i was come to listen if the mohunes were still moving. 'well, that i can't tell you,' returned ratsey, 'not wishing to waste thought on such idle matters, and having to examine this wall whether the floods have not so damaged it as to need under-pinning; so if you have time to gad about of a morning, get you back to my workshop and fetch me a plasterer's hammer which i have left behind, so that i can try this mortar.' i knew that he was making excuses about underpinning, for the wall was sound as a rock, but was glad enough to take him at his word and beat a retreat from where i was not wanted. indeed, i soon saw how he was mocking me, for the men did not even wait for me to come back with the hammer, but i met them returning in the first meadow. master ratsey made another excuse that he did not need the hammer now, as he had found out that all that was wanted was a little pointing with new mortar. 'but if you have such time to waste, john,' he added, 'you can come tomorrow and help me to get new thwarts in the _petrel_, which she badly wants.' so we three came back to the village together; but looking up at elzevir once while master ratsey was making these pretences, i saw his eyes twinkle under their heavy brows, as if he was amused at the other's embarrassment. the next sunday, when we went to church, all was quiet as usual, there was no elzevir, and no more noises, and i never heard the mohunes move again. chapter a discovery some bold adventurers disdain the limits of their little reign, and unknown regions dare descry; still, as they run, they look behind, they hear a voice in every wind and snatch a fearful joy--_gray_ i have said that i used often in the daytime, when not at school, to go to the churchyard, because being on a little rise, there was the best view of the sea to be had from it; and on a fine day you could watch the french privateers creeping along the cliffs under the snout, and lying in wait for an indiaman or up-channel trader. there were at moonfleet few boys of my own age, and none that i cared to make my companion; so i was given to muse alone, and did so for the most part in the open air, all the more because my aunt did not like to see an idle boy, with muddy boots, about her house. for a few weeks, indeed, after the day that i had surprised elzevir and ratsey, i kept away from the church, fearing to meet them there again; but a little later resumed my visits, and saw no more of them. now, my favourite seat in the churchyard was the flat top of a raised stone tomb, which stands on the south-east of the church. i have heard mr. glennie call it an altar-tomb, and in its day it had been a fine monument, being carved round with festoons of fruit and flowers; but had suffered so much from the weather, that i never was able to read the lettering on it, or to find out who had been buried beneath. here i chose most to sit, not only because it had a flat and convenient top, but because it was screened from the wind by a thick clump of yew-trees. these yews had once, i think, completely surrounded it, but had either died or been cut down on the south side, so that anyone sitting on the grave-top was snug from the weather, and yet possessed a fine prospect over the sea. on the other three sides, the yews grew close and thick, embowering the tomb like the high back of a fireside chair; and many times in autumn i have seen the stone slab crimson with the fallen waxy berries, and taken some home to my aunt, who liked to taste them with a glass of sloe-gin after her sunday dinner. others beside me, no doubt, found this tomb a comfortable seat and look-out; for there was quite a path worn to it on the south side, though all the times i had visited it i had never seen anyone there. so it came about that on a certain afternoon in the beginning of february, in the year , i was sitting on this tomb looking out to sea. though it was so early in the year, the air was soft and warm as a may day, and so still that i could hear the drumming of turnips that gaffer george was flinging into a cart on the hillside, near half a mile away. ever since the floods of which i have spoken, the weather had been open, but with high winds, and little or no rain. thus as the land dried after the floods there began to open cracks in the heavy clay soil on which moonfleet is built, such as are usually only seen with us in the height of summer. there were cracks by the side of the path in the sea-meadows between the village and the church, and cracks in the churchyard itself, and one running right up to this very tomb. it must have been past four o'clock in the afternoon, and i was for returning to tea at my aunt's, when underneath the stone on which i sat i heard a rumbling and crumbling, and on jumping off saw that the crack in the ground had still further widened, just where it came up to the tomb, and that the dry earth had so shrunk and settled that there was a hole in the ground a foot or more across. now this hole reached under the big stone that formed one side of the tomb, and falling on my hands and knees and looking down it, i perceived that there was under the monument a larger cavity, into which the hole opened. i believe there never was boy yet who saw a hole in the ground, or a cave in a hill, or much more an underground passage, but longed incontinently to be into it and discover whither it led. so it was with me; and seeing that the earth had fallen enough into the hole to open a way under the stone, i slipped myself in feet foremost, dropped down on to a heap of fallen mould, and found that i could stand upright under the monument itself. now this was what i had expected, for i thought that there had been below this grave a vault, the roof of which had given way and let the earth fall in. but as soon as my eyes were used to the dimmer light, i saw that it was no such thing, but that the hole into which i had crept was only the mouth of a passage, which sloped gently down in the direction of the church. my heart fell to thumping with eagerness and surprise, for i thought i had made a wonderful discovery, and that this hidden way would certainly lead to great things, perhaps even to blackbeard's hoard; for ever since mr. glennie's tale i had constantly before my eyes a vision of the diamond and the wealth it was to bring me. the passage was two paces broad, as high as a tall man, and cut through the soil, without bricks or any other lining; and what surprised me most was that it did not seem deserted nor mouldy and cob-webbed, as one would expect such a place to be, but rather a well-used thoroughfare; for i could see the soft clay floor was trodden with the prints of many boots, and marked with a trail as if some heavy thing had been dragged over it. so i set out down the passage, reaching out my hand before me lest i should run against anything in the dark, and sliding my feet slowly to avoid pitfalls in the floor. but before i had gone half a dozen paces, the darkness grew so black that i was frightened, and so far from going on was glad to turn sharp about, and see the glimmer of light that came in through the hole under the tomb. then a horror of the darkness seized me, and before i well knew what i was about i found myself wriggling my body up under the tombstone on to the churchyard grass, and was once more in the low evening sunlight and the soft sweet air. home i ran to my aunt's, for it was past tea-time, and beside that i knew i must fetch a candle if i were ever to search out the passage; and to search it i had well made up my mind, no matter how much i was scared for this moment. my aunt gave me but a sorry greeting when i came into the kitchen, for i was late and hot. she never said much when displeased, but had a way of saying nothing, which was much worse; and would only reply yes or no, and that after an interval, to anything that was asked of her. so the meal was silent enough, for she had finished before i arrived, and i ate but little myself being too much occupied with the thought of my strange discovery, and finding, beside, the tea lukewarm and the victuals not enticing. you may guess that i said nothing of what i had seen, but made up my mind that as soon as my aunt's back was turned i would get a candle and tinder-box, and return to the churchyard. the sun was down before aunt jane gave thanks for what we had received, and then, turning to me, she said in a cold and measured voice: 'john, i have observed that you are often out and about of nights, sometimes as late as half past seven or eight. now, it is not seemly for young folk to be abroad after dark, and i do not choose that my nephew should be called a gadabout. "what's bred in the bone will come out in the flesh", and 'twas with such loafing that your father began his wild ways, and afterwards led my poor sister such a life as never was, till the mercy of providence took him away.' aunt jane often spoke thus of my father, whom i never remembered, but believe him to have been an honest man and good fellow to boot, if something given to roaming and to the contraband. 'so understand', she went on, 'that i will not have you out again this evening, no, nor any other evening, after dusk. bed is the place for youth when night falls, but if this seem to you too early you can sit with me for an hour in the parlour, and i will read you a discourse of doctor sherlock that will banish vain thoughts, and leave you in a fit frame for quiet sleep.' so she led the way into the parlour, took the book from the shelf, put it on the table within the little circle of light cast by a shaded candle, and began. it was dull enough, though i had borne such tribulations before, and the drone of my aunt's voice would have sent me to sleep, as it had done at other times, even in a straight-backed chair, had i not been so full of my discovery, and chafed at this delay. thus all the time my aunt read of spiritualities and saving grace, i had my mind on diamonds and all kinds of mammon, for i never doubted that blackbeard's treasure would be found at the end of that secret passage. the sermon finished at last, and my aunt closed the book with a stiff 'good night' for me. i was for giving her my formal kiss, but she made as if she did not see me and turned away; so we went upstairs each to our own room, and i never kissed aunt jane again. there was a moon three-quarters full, already in the sky, and on moonlight nights i was allowed no candle to show me to bed. but on that night i needed none, for i never took off my clothes, having resolved to wait till my aunt was asleep, and then, ghosts or no ghosts, to make my way back to the churchyard. i did not dare to put off that visit even till the morning, lest some chance passer-by should light upon the hole, and so forestall me with blackbeard's treasure. thus i lay wide awake on my bed watching the shadow of the tester-post against the whitewashed wall, and noting how it had moved, by degrees, as the moon went farther round. at last, just as it touched the picture of the good shepherd which hung over the mantelpiece, i heard my aunt snoring in her room, and knew that i was free. yet i waited a few minutes so that she might get well on with her first sleep, and then took off my boots, and in stockinged feet slipped past her room and down the stairs. how stair, handrail, and landing creaked that night, and how my feet and body struck noisily against things seen quite well but misjudged in the effort not to misjudge them! and yet there was the note of safety still sounding, for the snoring never ceased, and the sleeper woke not, though her waking then might have changed all my life. so i came safely to the kitchen, and there put in my pocket one of the best winter candles and the tinder-box, and as i crept out of the room heard suddenly how loud the old clock was ticking, and looking up saw the bright brass band marking half past ten on the dial. out in the street i kept in the shadow of the houses as far as i might, though all was silent as the grave; indeed, i think that when the moon is bright a great hush falls always upon nature, as though she was taken up in wondering at her own beauty. everyone was fast asleep in moonfleet and there was no light in any window; only when i came opposite the why not? i saw from the red glow behind the curtains that the bottom room was lit up, so elzevir was not yet gone to bed. it was strange, for the why not? had been shut up early for many a long night past, and i crossed over cautiously to see if i could make out what was going forward. but that was not to be done, for the panes were thickly steamed over; and this surprised me more as showing that there was a good company inside. moreover, as i stood and listened i could hear a mutter of deep voices inside, not as of roisterers, but of sober men talking low. eagerness would not let me wait long, and i was off across the meadows towards the church, though not without sad misgivings as soon as the last house was left well behind me. at the churchyard wall my courage had waned somewhat: it seemed a shameless thing to come to rifle blackbeard's treasure just in the very place and hour that blackbeard loved; and as i passed the turnstile i half-expected that a tall figure, hairy and evil-eyed, would spring out from the shadow on the north side of the church. but nothing stirred, and the frosty grass sounded crisp under my feet as i made across the churchyard, stepping over the graves and keeping always out of the shadows, towards the black clump of yew-trees on the far side. when i got round the yews, there was the tomb standing out white against them, and at the foot of the tomb was the hole like a patch of black velvet spread upon the ground, it was so dark. then, for a moment, i thought that blackbeard might be lying in wait in the bottom of the hole, and i stood uncertain whether to go on or back. i could catch the rustle of the water on the beach--not of any waves, for the bay was smooth as glass, but just a lipper at the fringe; and wishing to put off with any excuse the descent into the passage, though i had quite resolved to make it, i settled with myself that i would count the water wash twenty times, and at the twentieth would let myself down into the hole. only seven wavelets had come in when i forgot to count, for there, right in the middle of the moon's path across the water, lay a lugger moored broadside to the beach. she was about half a mile out, but there was no mistake, for though her sails were lowered her masts and hull stood out black against the moonlight. here was a fresh reason for delay, for surely one must consider what this craft could be, and what had brought her here. she was too small for a privateer, too large for a fishing-smack, and could not be a revenue boat by her low freeboard in the waist; and 'twas a strange thing for a boat to cast anchor in the midst of moonfleet bay even on a night so fine as this. then while i watched i saw a blue flare in the bows, only for a moment, as if a man had lit a squib and flung it overboard, but i knew from it she was a contrabandier, and signalling either to the shore or to a mate in the offing. with that, courage came back, and i resolved to make this flare my signal for getting down into the hole, screwing my heart up with the thought that if blackbeard was really waiting for me there, 'twould be little good to turn tail now, for he would be after me and could certainly run much faster than i. then i took one last look round, and down into the hole forthwith, the same way as i had got down earlier in the day. so on that february night john trenchard found himself standing in the heap of loose fallen mould at the bottom of the hole, with a mixture of courage and cowardice in his heart, but overruling all a great desire to get at blackbeard's diamond. out came tinder-box and candle, and i was glad indeed when the light burned up bright enough to show that no one, at any rate, was standing by my side. but then there was the passage, and who could say what might be lurking there? yet i did not falter, but set out on this adventurous journey, walking very slowly indeed--but that was from fear of pitfalls--and nerving myself with the thought of the great diamond which surely would be found at the end of the passage. what should i not be able to do with such wealth? i would buy a nag for mr. glennie, a new boat for ratsey, and a silk gown for aunt jane, in spite of her being so hard with me as on this night. and thus i would make myself the greatest man in moonfleet, richer even than mr. maskew, and build a stone house in the sea-meadows with a good prospect of the sea, and marry grace maskew and live happily, and fish. i walked on down the passage, reaching out the candle as far as might be in front of me, and whistling to keep myself company, yet saw neither blackbeard nor anyone else. all the way there were footprints on the floor, and the roof was black as with smoke of torches, and this made me fear lest some of those who had been there before might have made away with the diamond. now, though i have spoken of this journey down the passage as though it were a mile long, and though it verily seemed so to me that night, yet i afterwards found it was not more than twenty yards or thereabouts; and then i came upon a stone wall which had once blocked the road, but was now broken through so as to make a ragged doorway into a chamber beyond. there i stood on the rough sill of the door, holding my breath and reaching out my candle arm's-length into the darkness, to see what sort of a place this was before i put foot into it. and before the light had well time to fall on things, i knew that i was underneath the church, and that this chamber was none other than the mohune vault. it was a large room, much larger, i think, than the schoolroom where mr. glennie taught us, but not near so high, being only some nine feet from floor to roof. i say floor, though in reality there was none, but only a bottom of soft wet sand; and when i stepped down on to it my heart beat very fiercely, for i remembered what manner of place i was entering, and the dreadful sounds which had issued from it that sunday morning so short a time before. i satisfied myself that there was nothing evil lurking in the dark corners, or nothing visible at least, and then began to look round and note what was to be seen. walls and roof were stone, and at one end was a staircase closed by a great flat stone at top--that same stone which i had often seen, with a ring in it, in the floor of the church above. all round the sides were stone shelves, with divisions between them like great bookcases, but instead of books there were the coffins of the mohunes. yet these lay only at the sides, and in the middle of the room was something very different, for here were stacked scores of casks, kegs, and runlets, from a storage butt that might hold thirty gallons down to a breaker that held only one. they were marked all of them in white paint on the end with figures and letters, that doubtless set forth the quality to those that understood. here indeed was a discovery, and instead of picking up at the end of the passage a little brass or silver casket, which had only to be opened to show blackbeard's diamond gleaming inside, i had stumbled on the mohunes' vault, and found it to be nothing but a cellar of gentlemen of the contraband, for surely good liquor would never be stored in so shy a place if it ever had paid the excise. as i walked round this stack of casks my foot struck sharply on the edge of a butt, which must have been near empty, and straightway came from it the same hollow, booming sound (only fainter) which had so frightened us in church that sunday morning. so it was the casks, and not the coffins, that had been knocking one against another; and i was pleased with myself, remembering how i had reasoned that coffin-wood could never give that booming sound. it was plain enough that the whole place had been under water: the floor was still muddy, and the green and sweating walls showed the flood-mark within two feet of the roof; there was a wisp or two of fine seaweed that had somehow got in, and a small crab was still alive and scuttled across the corner, yet the coffins were but little disturbed. they lay on the shelves in rows, one above the other, and numbered twenty-three in all: most were in lead, and so could never float, but of those in wood some were turned slantways in their niches, and one had floated right away and been left on the floor upside down in a corner when the waters went back. first i fell to wondering as to whose cellar this was, and how so much liquor could have been brought in with secrecy; and how it was i had never seen anything of the contraband-men, though it was clear that they had made this flat tomb the entrance to their storehouse, as i had made it my seat. and then i remembered how ratsey had tried to scare me with talk of blackbeard; and how elzevir, who had never been seen at church before, was there the sunday of the noises; and how he had looked ill at ease whenever the noise came, though he was bold as a lion; and how i had tripped upon him and ratsey in the churchyard; and how master ratsey lay with his ear to the wall: and putting all these things together and casting them up, i thought that elzevir and ratsey knew as much as any about this hiding-place. these reflections gave me more courage, for i considered that the tales of blackbeard walking or digging among the graves had been set afloat to keep those that were not wanted from the place, and guessed now that when i saw the light moving in the churchyard that night i went to fetch dr. hawkins, it was no corpse-candle, but a lantern of smugglers running a cargo. then, having settled these important matters, i began to turn over in my mind how to get at the treasure; and herein was much cast down, for in this place was neither casket nor diamond, but only coffins and double-hollands. so it was that, having no better plan, i set to work to see whether i could learn anything from the coffins themselves; but with little success, for the lead coffins had no names upon them, and on such of the wooden coffins as bore plates i found the writing to be latin, and so rusted over that i could make nothing of it. soon i wished i had not come at all, considering that the diamond had vanished into air, and it was a sad thing to be cabined with so many dead men. it moved me, too, to see pieces of banners and funeral shields, and even shreds of wreaths that dear hearts had put there a century ago, now all ruined and rotten--some still clinging, water-sodden, to the coffins, and some trampled in the sand of the floor. i had spent some time in this bootless search, and was resolved to give up further inquiry and foot it home, when the clock in the tower struck midnight. surely never was ghostly hour sounded in more ghostly place. moonfleet peal was known over half the county, and the finest part of it was the clock bell. 'twas said that in times past (when, perhaps, the chimes were rung more often than now) the voice of this bell had led safe home boats that were lost in the fog; and this night its clangour, mellow and profound, reached even to the vault. bim-bom it went, bim-bom, twelve heavy thuds that shook the walls, twelve resonant echoes that followed, and then a purring and vibration of the air, so that the ear could not tell when it ended. i was wrought up, perhaps, by the strangeness of the hour and place, and my hearing quicker than at other times, but before the tremor of the bell was quite passed away i knew there was some other sound in the air, and that the awful stillness of the vault was broken. at first i could not tell what this new sound was, nor whence it came, and now it seemed a little noise close by, and now a great noise in the distance. and then it grew nearer and more defined, and in a moment i knew it was the sound of voices talking. they must have been a long way off at first, and for a minute, that seemed as an age, they came no nearer. what a minute was that to me! even now, so many years after, i can recall the anguish of it, and how i stood with ears pricked up, eyes starting, and a clammy sweat upon my face, waiting for those speakers to come. it was the anguish of the rabbit at the end of his burrow, with the ferret's eyes gleaming in the dark, and gun and lurcher waiting at the mouth of the hole. i was caught in a trap, and knew beside that contraband-men had a way of sealing prying eyes and stilling babbling tongues; and i remembered poor cracky jones found dead in the churchyard, and how men _said_ he had met blackbeard in the night. these were but the thoughts of a second, but the voices were nearer, and i heard a dull thud far up the passage, and knew that a man had jumped down from the churchyard into the hole. so i took a last stare round, agonizing to see if there was any way of escape; but the stone walls and roof were solid enough to crush me, and the stack of casks too closely packed to hide more than a rat. there was a man speaking now from the bottom of the hole to others in the churchyard, and then my eyes were led as by a loadstone to a great wooden coffin that lay by itself on the top shelf, a full six feet from the ground. when i saw the coffin i knew that i was respited, for, as i judged, there was space between it and the wall behind enough to contain my little carcass; and in a second i had put out the candle, scrambled up the shelves, half-stunned my senses with dashing my head against the roof, and squeezed my body betwixt wall and coffin. there i lay on one side with a thin and rotten plank between the dead man and me, dazed with the blow to my head, and breathing hard; while the glow of torches as they came down the passage reddened and flickered on the roof above. chapter in the vault let us hob and nob with death--_tennyson_ though nothing of the vault except the roof was visible from where i lay, and so i could not see these visitors, yet i heard every word spoken, and soon made out one voice as being master ratsey's. this discovery gave me no surprise but much solace, for i thought that if the worst happened and i was discovered, i should find one friend with whom i could plead for life. 'it is well the earth gave way', the sexton was saying, 'on a night when we were here to find it. i was in the graveyard myself after midday, and all was snug and tight then. 'twould have been awkward enough to have the hole stand open through the day, for any passer-by to light on.' there were four or five men in the vault already, and i could hear more coming down the passage, and guessed from their heavy footsteps that they were carrying burdens. there was a sound, too, of dumping kegs down on the ground, with a swish of liquor inside them, and then the noise of casks being moved. 'i thought we should have a fall there ere long,' ratsey went on, 'what with this drought parching the ground, and the trampling at the edge when we move out the side stone to get in, but there is no mischief done beyond what can be easily made good. a gravestone or two and a few spades of earth will make all sound again. leave that to me.' 'be careful what you do,' rejoined another man's voice that i did not know, 'lest someone see you digging, and scent us out.' 'make your mind easy,' ratsey said; 'i have dug too often in this graveyard for any to wonder if they see me with a spade.' then the conversation broke off, and there was little more talking, only a noise of men going backwards and forwards, and of putting down of kegs and the hollow gurgle of good liquor being poured from breakers into the casks. by and by fumes of brandy began to fill the air, and climb to where i lay, overcoming the mouldy smell of decayed wood and the dampness of the green walls. it may have been that these fumes mounted to my head, and gave me courage not my own, but so it was that i lost something of the stifling fear that had gripped me, and could listen with more ease to what was going forward. there was a pause in the carrying to and fro; they were talking again now, and someone said-- 'i was in dorchester three days ago, and heard men say it will go hard with the poor chaps who had the brush with the _elector_ last summer. judge barentyne comes on assize next week, and that old fox maskew has driven down to taunton to get at him before and coach him back; making out to him that the law's arm is weak in these parts against the contraband, and must be strengthened by some wholesome hangings.' 'they are a cruel pair,' another put in, 'and we shall have new gibbets on ridgedown for leading lights. once i get even with maskew, the other may go hang, ay, and they may hang me too.' 'the devil send him to meet me one dark night on the down alone,' said someone else, 'and i will give him a pistol's mouth to look down, and spoil his face for him.' 'no, thou wilt not,' said a deep voice, and then i knew that elzevir was there too; 'none shall lay hand on maskew but i. so mark that, lad, that when his day of reckoning comes, 'tis _i_ will reckon with him.' then for a few minutes i did not pay much heed to what was said, being terribly straitened for room, and cramped with pain from lying so long in one place. the thick smoke from the pitch torches too came curling across the roof and down upon me, making me sick and giddy with its evil smell and taste; and though all was very dim, i could see my hands were black with oily smuts. at last i was able to wriggle myself over without making too much noise, and felt a great relief in changing sides, but gave such a start as made the coffin creak again at hearing my own name. 'there is a boy of trenchard's,' said a voice that i thought was parmiter's, who lived at the bottom of the village--'there is a boy of trenchard's that i mistrust; he is for ever wandering in the graveyard, and i have seen him a score of times sitting on this tomb and looking out to sea. this very night, when the wind fell at sundown, and we were hung up with sails flapping, three miles out, and waited for the dark to get the sweeps, i took my glass to scan the coast-line, and lo, here on the tomb-top sits master trenchard. i could not see his face, but knew him by his cut, and fear the boy sits there to play the spy and then tells maskew.' 'you're right,' said greening of ringstave, for i knew his slow drawl; 'and many a time when i have sat in the wood, and watched the manor to see maskew safe at home before we ran a cargo, i have seen this boy too go round about the place with a hangdog look, scanning the house as if his life depended on't.' 'twas very true what greening said; for of a summer evening i would take the path that led up weatherbeech hill, behind the manor; both because 'twas a walk that had a good prospect in itself, and also a sweet charm for me, namely, the hope of seeing grace maskew. and there i often sat upon the stile that ends the path and opens on the down, and watched the old half-ruined house below; and sometimes saw white-frocked gracie walking on the terrace in the evening sun, and sometimes in returning passed her window near enough to wave a greeting. and once, when she had the fever, and dr. hawkins came twice a day to see her, i had no heart for school, but sat on that stile the livelong day, looking at the gabled house where she was lying ill. and mr. glennie never rated me for playing truant, nor told aunt jane, guessing, as i thought afterwards, the cause, and having once been young himself. 'twas but boy's love, yet serious for me; and on the day she lay near death, i made so bold as to stop dr. hawkins on his horse and ask him how she did; and he bearing with me for the eagerness that he read in my face, bent down over his saddle and smiled, and said my playmate would come back to me again. so it was quite true that i had watched the house, but not as a spy, and would not have borne tales to old maskew for anything that could be offered. then ratsey spoke up for me and said--''tis a false scent. the boy is well enough, and simple, and has told me many a time he seeks the churchyard because there is a fine view to be had there of the sea, and 'tis the sea he loves. a month ago, when the high tide set, and this vault was so full of water that we could not get in, i came with elzevir to make out if the floods were going down inside, or what eddy 'twas that set the casks tapping one against another. so as i lay on the ground with my ear glued close against the wall, who should march round the church but john trenchard, esquire, not treading delicately like king agag, or spying, but just come on a voyage of discovery for himself. for in the church on sunday, when we heard the tapping in the vault below, my young gentleman was scared enough; but afterwards, being told by parson glennie--who should know better--that such noises were not made by ghosts, but by the mohunes at sea in their coffins, he plucks up heart, and comes down on the monday to see if they are still afloat. so there he caught me lying like a zany on the ground. you may guess i stood at attention soon enough, but told him i was looking at the founds to see if they wanted underpinning from the floods. and so i set his mind at ease, for 'tis a simple child, and packed him off to get my dubbing hammer. and i think the boy will not be here so often now to frighten honest parmiter, for i have weaved him some pretty tales of blackbeard, and he has a wholesome scare of meeting the colonel. but after dark i pledge my life that neither he nor any other in the town would pass the churchyard wall, no, not for a thousand pounds.' i heard him chuckling to himself, and the others laughed loudly too, when he was telling how he palmed me off; but 'he laughs loudest who laughs last', thought i, and should have chuckled too, were it not for making the coffin creak. and then, to my surprise, elzevir spoke: 'the lad is a brave lad; i would he were my son. he is david's age, and will make a good sailor later on.' they were simple words, yet pleasing to me; for elzevir spoke as if he meant them, and i had got to like him a little in spite of all his grimness; and beside that, was sorry for his grief over his son. i was so moved by what he said, that for a moment i was for jumping up and calling out to him that i lay here and liked him well, but then thought better of it, and so kept still. the carrying was over, and i fancy they were all sitting on the ends of kegs or leaning up against the pile; but could not see, and was still much troubled with the torch smoke, though now and then i caught through it a whiff of tobacco, which showed that some were smoking. then greening, who had a singing voice for all his drawl, struck up with-- says the cap'n to the crew, we have slipt the revenue, but ratsey stopped him with a sharp 'no more of that; the words aren't to our taste tonight, but come as wry as if the parson called _old hundred_ and i tuned up with _veni_.' i knew he meant the last verse with a hanging touch in it; but greening was for going on with the song, until some others broke in too, and he saw that the company would have none of it. 'not but what the labourer is worthy of his hire,' went on master ratsey; 'so spile that little breaker of schiedam, and send a rummer round to keep off midnight chills.' he loved a glass of the good liquor well, and with him 'twas always the same reasoning, namely, to keep off chills; though he chopped the words to suit the season, and now 'twas autumn, now winter, now spring, or summer chills. they must have found glasses, though i could not remember to have seen any in the vault, for a minute later fugleman ratsey spoke again-- 'now, lads, glasses full and bumpers for a toast. and here's to blackbeard, to father blackbeard, who watches over our treasure better than he did over his own; for were it not the fear of him that keeps off idle feet and prying eyes, we should have the gaugers in, and our store ransacked twenty times.' so he spoke, and it seemed there was a little halting at first, as of men not liking to take blackbeard's name in blackbeard's place, or raise the devil by mocking at him. but then some of the bolder shouted 'blackbeard', and so the more timid chimed in, and in a minute there were a score of voices calling 'blackbeard, blackbeard', till the place rang again. then elzevir cried out angrily, 'silence. are you mad, or has the liquor mastered you? are you revenue-men that you dare shout and roister? or contrabandiers with the lugger in the offing, and your life in your hand. you make noise enough to wake folk in moonfleet from their beds.' 'tut, man,' retorted ratsey testily, 'and if they waked, they would but pull the blankets tight about their ears, and say 'twas blackbeard piping his crew of lost mohunes to help him dig for treasure.' yet for all that 'twas plain that block ruled the roost, for there was silence for a minute, and then one said, 'ay, master elzevir is right; let us away, the night is far spent, and we have nothing but the sweeps to take the lugger out of sight by dawn.' so the meeting broke up, and the torchlight grew dimmer, and died away as it had come in a red flicker on the roof, and the footsteps sounded fainter as they went up the passage, until the vault was left to the dead men and me. yet for a very long time--it seemed hours--after all had gone i could hear a murmur of distant voices, and knew that some were talking at the end of the passage, and perhaps considering how the landslip might best be restored. so while i heard them thus conversing i dared not descend from my perch, lest someone might turn back to the vault, though i was glad enough to sit up, and ease my aching back and limbs. yet in the awful blackness of the place even the echo of these human voices seemed a kindly and blessed thing, and a certain shrinking loneliness fell on me when they ceased at last and all was silent. then i resolved i would be off at once, and get back to the moonlight bed that i had left hours ago, having no stomach for more treasure-hunting, and being glad indeed to be still left with the treasure of life. thus, sitting where i was, i lit my candle once more, and then clambered across that great coffin which, for two hours or more, had been a mid-wall of partition between me and danger. but to get out of the niche was harder than to get in; for now that i had a candle to light me, i saw that the coffin, though sound enough to outer view, was wormed through and through, and little better than a rotten shell. so it was that i had some ado to get over it, not daring either to kneel upon it or to bring much weight to bear with my hand, lest it should go through. and now having got safely across, i sat for an instant on that narrow ledge of the stone shelf which projected beyond the coffin on the vault side, and made ready to jump forward on to the floor below. and how it happened i know not, but there i lost my balance, and as i slipped the candle flew out of my grasp. then i clutched at the coffin to save myself, but my hand went clean through it, and so i came to the ground in a cloud of dust and splinters; having only got hold of a wisp of seaweed, or a handful of those draggled funeral trappings which were strewn about this place. the floor of the vault was sandy; and so, though i fell crookedly, i took but little harm beyond a shaking; and soon, pulling myself together, set to strike my flint and blow the match into a flame to search for the fallen candle. yet all the time i kept in my fingers this handful of light stuff; and when the flame burnt up again i held the thing against the light, and saw that it was no wisp of seaweed, but something black and wiry. for a moment, i could not gather what i had hold of, but then gave a start that nearly sent the candle out, and perhaps a cry, and let it drop as if it were red-hot iron, for i knew that it was a man's beard. now when i saw that, i felt a sort of throttling fright, as though one had caught hold of my heartstrings; and so many and such strange thoughts rose in me, that the blood went pounding round and round in my head, as it did once afterwards when i was fighting with the sea and near drowned. surely to have in hand the beard of any dead man in any place was bad enough, but worse a thousand times in such a place as this, and to know on whose face it had grown. for, almost before i fully saw what it was, i knew it was that black beard which had given colonel john mohune his nickname, and this was his great coffin i had hid behind. i had lain, therefore, all that time, cheek by jowl with blackbeard himself, with only a thin shell of tinder wood to keep him from me, and now had thrust my hand into his coffin and plucked away his beard. so that if ever wicked men have power to show themselves after death, and still to work evil, one would guess that he would show himself now and fall upon me. thus a sick dread got hold of me, and had i been a woman or a girl i think i should have swooned; but being only a boy, and not knowing how to swoon, did the next best thing, which was to put myself as far as might be from the beard, and make for the outlet. yet had i scarce set foot in the passage when i stopped, remembering how once already this same evening i had played the coward, and run home scared with my own fears. so i was brought up for very shame, and beside that thought how i had come to this place to look for blackbeard's treasure, and might have gone away without knowing even so much as where he lay, had not chance first led me to be down by his side, and afterwards placed my hand upon his beard. and surely this could not be chance alone, but must rather be the finger of providence guiding me to that which i desired to find. this consideration somewhat restored my courage, and after several feints to return, advances, stoppings, and panics, i was in the vault again, walking carefully round the stack of barrels, and fearing to see the glimmer of the candle fall upon that beard. there it was upon the sand, and holding the candle nearer to it with a certain caution, as though it would spring up and bite me, i saw it was a great full black beard, more than a foot long, but going grey at the tips; and had at the back, keeping it together, a thin tissue of dried skin, like the false parting which aunt jane wore under her cap on sundays. this i could see as it lay before me, for i did not handle or lift it, but only peered into it, with the candle, on all sides, busying myself the while with thoughts of the man of whom it had once been part. in returning to the vault, i had no very sure purpose in mind; only a vague surmise that this finding of blackbeard's coffin would somehow lead to the finding of his treasure. but as i looked at the beard and pondered, i began to see that if anything was to be done, it must be by searching in the coffin itself, and the clearer this became to me, the greater was my dislike to set about such a task. so i put off the evil hour, by feigning to myself that it was necessary to make a careful scrutiny of the beard, and thus wasted at least ten minutes. but at length, seeing that the candle was burning low, and could certainly last little more than half an hour, and considering that it must now be getting near dawn, i buckled to the distasteful work of rummaging the coffin. nor had i any need to climb up on to the top shelf again, but standing on the one beneath, found my head and arms well on a level with the search. and beside that, the task was not so difficult as i had thought; for in my fall i had broken off the head-end of the lid, and brought away the whole of that side that faced the vault. now, any lad of my age, and perhaps some men too, might well have been frightened to set about such a matter as to search in a coffin; and if any had said, a few hours before, that i should ever have courage to do this by night in the mohune vault, i would not have believed him. yet here i was, and had advanced along the path of terror so gradually, and as it were foot by foot in the past night, that when i came to this final step i was not near so scared as when i first felt my way into the vault. it was not the first time either that i had looked on death; but had, indeed, always a leaning to such sights and matters, and had seen corpses washed up from the _darius_ and other wrecks, and besides that had helped ratsey to case some poor bodies that had died in their beds. the coffin was, as i have said, of great length, and the side being removed, i could see the whole outline of the skeleton that lay in it. i say the outline, for the form was wrapped in a woollen or flannel shroud, so that the bones themselves were not visible. the man that lay in it was little short of a giant, measuring, as i guessed, a full six and a half feet, and the flannel having sunk in over the belly, the end of the breast-bone, the hips, knees, and toes were very easy to be made out. the head was swathed in linen bands that had been white, but were now stained and discoloured with damp, but of this i shall not speak more, and beneath the chin-cloth the beard had once escaped. the clutch which i had made to save myself in falling had torn away this chin-band and let the lower jaw drop on the breast; but little else was disturbed, and there was colonel john mohune resting as he had been laid out a century ago. i lifted that portion of the lid which had been left behind, and reached over to see if there was anything hid on the other side of the body; but had scarce let the light fall in the coffin when my heart gave a great bound, and all fear left me in the flush of success, for there i saw what i had come to seek. on the breast of this silent and swathed figure lay a locket, attached to the neck by a thin chain, which passed inside the linen bandages. a whiter portion of the flannel showed how far the beard had extended, but locket and chain were quite black, though i judged that they were made of silver. the shape of this locket was not unlike a crown-piece, only three times as thick, and as soon as i set eyes upon it i never doubted but that inside would be found the diamond. it was then that a great pity came over me for this thin shadow of man; thinking rather what a fine, tall gentleman colonel mohune had once been, and a good soldier no doubt besides, than that he had wasted a noble estate and played traitor to the king. and then i reflected that it was all for the bit of flashing stone, which lay as i hoped within the locket, that he had sold his honour; and wished that the jewel might bring me better fortune than had fallen to him, or at any rate, that it might not lead me into such miry paths. yet such thoughts did not delay my purpose, and i possessed myself of the locket easily enough, finding a hasp in the chain, and so drawing it out from the linen folds. i had expected as i moved the locket to hear the jewel rattle in the inside, but there was no sound, and then i thought that the diamond might cleave to the side with damp, or perhaps be wrapped in wool. scarcely was the locket well in my hand before i had it undone, finding a thumb-nick whereby, after a little persuasion, the back, though rusted, could be opened on a hinge. my breath came very fast, and i shook so that i had a difficulty to keep my thumbnail in the nick, yet hardly was it opened before exalted expectation gave place to deepest disappointment. for there lay all the secret of the locket disclosed, and there was no diamond, no, nor any other jewel, and nothing at all except a little piece of folded paper. then i felt like a man who has played away all his property and stakes his last crown--heavy-hearted, yet hoping against hope that luck may turn, and that with this piece he may win back all his money. so it was with me; for i hoped that this paper might have written on it directions for the finding of the jewel, and that i might yet rise from the table a winner. it was but a frail hope, and quickly dashed; for when i had smoothed the creases and spread out the piece of paper in the candle-light, there was nothing to be seen except a few verses from the psalms of david. the paper was yellow, and showed a lattice of folds where it had been pressed into the locket; but the handwriting, though small, was clear and neat, and there was no mistaking a word of what was there set down. 'twas so short, i could read it at once: the days of our age are threescore years and ten; and though men be so strong that they come to fourscore years, yet is their strength then but labour and sorrow, so soon passeth it away, and we are gone. --psalm , and as for me, my feet are almost gone; my treadings are wellnigh slipped. -- , but let not the waterflood drown me; neither let the deep swallow me up. -- , so, going through the vale of misery, i shall use it for a well, till the pools are filled with water. -- , for thou hast made the north and the south: tabor and hermon shall rejoice in thy name. -- , so here was an end to great hopes, and i was after all to leave the vault no richer than i had entered it. for look at it as i might, i could not see that these verses could ever lead to any diamond; and though i might otherwise have thought of ciphers or secret writing, yet, remembering what mr. glennie had said, that blackbeard after his wicked life desired to make a good end, and sent for a parson to confess him, i guessed that such pious words had been hung round his neck as a charm to keep the spirits of evil away from his tomb. i was disappointed enough, but before i left picked up the beard from the floor, though it sent a shiver through me to touch it, and put it back in its place on the dead man's breast. i restored also such pieces of the coffin as i could get at, but could not make much of it; so left things as they were, trusting that those who came there next would think the wood had fallen to pieces by natural decay. but the locket i kept, and hung about my neck under my shirt; both as being a curious thing in itself, and because i thought that if the good words inside it were strong enough to keep off bad spirits from blackbeard, they would be also strong enough to keep blackbeard from me. when this was done the candle had burnt so low, that i could no longer hold it in my fingers, and was forced to stick it on a piece of the broken wood, and so carry it before me. but, after all, i was not to escape from blackbeard's clutches so easily; for when i came to the end of the passage, and was prepared to climb up into the churchyard, i found that the hole was stopped, and that there was no exit. i understood now how it was that i had heard talking so long after the company had left the vault; for it was clear that ratsey had been as good as his word, and that the falling in of the ground had been repaired before the contraband-men went home that night. at first i made light of the matter, thinking i should soon be able to dislodge this new work, and so find a way out. but when i looked more narrowly into the business, i did not feel so sure; for they had made a sound job of it, putting one very heavy burial slab at the side to pile earth against till the hole was full, and then covering it with another. these were both of slate, and i knew whence they came; for there were a dozen or more of such disused and weather-worn covers laid up against the north side of the church, and every one of them a good burden for four men. yet i hoped by grouting at the earth below it to be able to dislodge the stone at the side; but while i was considering how best to begin, the candle flickered, the wick gave a sudden lurch to one side, and i was left in darkness. thus my plight was evil indeed, for i had nothing now to burn to give me light, and knew that 'twas no use setting to grout till i could see to go about it. moreover, the darkness was of that black kind that is never found beneath the open sky, no, not even on the darkest night, but lurks in close and covered places and strains the eyes in trying to see into it. yet i did not give way, but settled to wait for the dawn, which must, i knew, be now at hand; for then i thought enough light would come through the chinks of the tomb above to show me how to set to work. nor was i even much scared, as one who having been in peril of life from the contraband-men for a spy, and in peril from evil ghosts for rifling blackbeard's tomb, deemed it a light thing to be left in the dark to wait an hour till morning. so i sat down on the floor of the passage, which, if damp, was at least soft, and being tired with what i had gone through, and not used to miss a night's rest, fell straightway asleep. how long i slept i cannot tell, for i had nothing to guide me to the time, but woke at length, and found myself still in darkness. i stood up and stretched my limbs, but did not feel as one refreshed by wholesome sleep, but sick and tired with pains in back, arms, and legs, as if beaten or bruised. i have said i was still in darkness, yet it was not the blackness of the last night; and looking up into the inside of the tomb above, i could see the faintest line of light at one corner, which showed the sun was up. for this line of light was the sunlight, filtering slowly through a crevice at the joining of the stones; but the sides of the tomb had been fitted much closer than i reckoned for, and it was plain there would never be light in the place enough to guide me to my work. all this i considered as i rested on the ground, for i had sat down again, feeling too tired to stand. but as i kept my eye on the narrow streak of light i was much startled, for i looked at the south-west corner of the tomb, and yet was looking towards the sun. this i gathered from the tone of the light; and although there was no direct outlet to the air, and only a glimmer came in, as i have said, yet i knew certainly that the sun was low in the west and falling full upon this stone. here was a surprise, and a sad one for me, for i perceived that i had slept away a day, and that the sun was setting for another night. and yet it mattered little, for night or daytime there was no light to help me in this horrible place; and though my eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom, i could make out nothing to show me where to work. so i took out my tinder-box, meaning to fan the match into a flame, and to get at least one moment's look at the place, and then to set to digging with my hands. but as i lay asleep the top had been pressed off the box, and the tinder got loose in my pocket; and though i picked the tinder out easily enough, and got it in the box again, yet the salt damps of the place had soddened it in the night, and spark by spark fell idle from the flint. and then it was that i first perceived the danger in which i stood; for there was no hope of kindling a light, and i doubted now whether even in the light i could ever have done much to dislodge the great slab of slate. i began also to feel very hungry, as not having eaten for twenty-four hours; and worse than that, there was a parching thirst and dryness in my throat, and nothing with which to quench it. yet there was no time to be lost if i was ever to get out alive, and so i groped with my hands against the side of the grave until i made out the bottom edge of the slab, and then fell to grubbing beneath it with my fingers. but the earth, which the day before had looked light and loamy to the eye, was stiff and hard enough when one came to tackle it with naked hands, and in an hour's time i had done little more than further weary myself and bruise my fingers. then i was forced to rest; and, sitting down on the ground, saw that the glimmering streak of light had faded, and that the awful blackness of the previous night was creeping up again. and now i had no heart to face it, being cowed with hunger, thirst, and weariness; and so flung myself upon my face, that i might not see how dark it was, and groaned for very lowness of spirit. thus i lay for a long time, but afterwards stood up and cried aloud, and shrieked if anyone should haply hear me, calling to mr. glennie and ratsey, and even elzevir, by name, to save me from this awful place. but there came no answer, except the echo of my own voice sounding hollow and far off down in the vault. so in despair i turned back to the earth wall below the slab, and scrabbled at it with my fingers, till my nails were broken and the blood ran out; having all the while a sure knowledge, like a cord twisted round my head, that no effort of mine could ever dislodge the great stone. and thus the hours passed, and i shall not say more here, for the remembrance of that time is still terrible, and besides, no words could ever set forth the anguish i then suffered, yet did slumber come sometimes to my help; for even while i was working at the earth, sheer weariness would overtake me, and i sank on to the ground and fell asleep. and still the hours passed, and at last i knew by the glimmer of light in the tomb above that the sun had risen again, and a maddening thirst had hold of me. and then i thought of all the barrels piled up in the vault and of the liquor that they held; and stuck not because 'twas spirit, for i would scarce have paused to sate that thirst even with molten lead. so i felt my way down the passage back to the vault, and recked not of the darkness, nor of blackbeard and his crew, if only i could lay my lips to liquor. thus i groped about the barrels till near the top of the stack my hand struck on the spile of a keg, and drawing it, i got my mouth to the hold. what the liquor was i do not know, but it was not so strong but that i could swallow it in great gulps and found it less burning than my burning throat. but when i turned to get back to the passage, i could not find the outlet, and fumbled round and round until my brain was dizzy, and i fell senseless to the ground. chapter the rescue shades of the dead, have i not heard your voices rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?--_byron_ when i came to myself i was lying, not in the outer blackness of the mohune vault, not on a floor of sand; but in a bed of sweet clean linen, and in a little whitewashed room, through the window of which the spring sunlight streamed. oh, the blessed sunshine, and how i praised god for the light! at first i thought i was in my own bed at my aunt's house, and had dreamed of the vault and the smugglers, and that my being prisoned in the darkness was but the horror of a nightmare. i was for getting up, but fell back on my pillow in the effort to rise, with a weakness and sick languor which i had never known before. and as i sunk down, i felt something swing about my neck, and putting up my hand, found 'twas colonel john mohune's black locket, and so knew that part at least of this adventure was no dream. then the door opened, and to my wandering thought it seemed that i was back again in the vault, for in came elzevir block. then i held up my hands, and cried-- 'o elzevir, save me, save me; i am not come to spy.' but he, with a kind look on his face, put his hand on my shoulder, and pushed me gently back, saying-- 'lie still, lad, there is none here will hurt thee, and drink this.' he held out to me a bowl of steaming broth, that filled the room with a savour sweeter, ten thousand times, to me than every rose and lily of the world; yet would not let me drink it at a gulp, but made me sip it with a spoon like any baby. thus while i drank, he told me where i was, namely, in an attic at the why not?, but would not say more then, bidding me get to sleep again, and i should know all afterwards. and so it was ten days or more before youth and health had their way, and i was strong again; and all that time elzevir block sat by my bed, and nursed me tenderly as a woman. so piece by piece i learned the story of how they found me. 'twas mr. glennie who first moved to seek me; for when the second day came that i was not at school, he thought that i was ill, and went to my aunt's to ask how i did, as was his wont when any ailed. but aunt jane answered him stiffly that she could not say how i did. 'for,' says she, 'he is run off i know not where, but as he makes his bed, must he lie on't; and if he run away for his pleasure, may stay away for mine. i have been pestered with this lot too long, and only bore with him for poor sister martha's sake; but 'tis after his father that the graceless lad takes, and thus rewards me.' with that she bangs the door in the parson's face and off he goes to ratsey, but can learn nothing there, and so concludes that i have run away to sea, and am seeking ship at poole or weymouth. but that same day came sam tewkesbury to the why not? about nightfall, and begged a glass of rum, being, as he said, 'all of a shake', and telling a tale of how he passed the churchyard wall on his return from work, and in the dusk heard screams and wailing voices, and knew 'twas blackbeard piping his lost mohunes to hunt for treasure. so, though he saw nothing, he turned tail and never stopped running till he stood at the inn door. then, forthwith, elzevir leaves sam to drink at the why not? alone, and himself sets off running up the street to call for master ratsey; and they two make straight across the sea-meadows in the dark. 'for as soon as i heard tewkesbury tell of screams and wailings in the air, and no one to be seen,' said elzevir, 'i guessed that some poor soul had got shut in the vault, and was there crying for his life. and to this i was not guided by mother wit, but by a surer and a sadder token. thou wilt have heard how thirteen years ago a daft body we called cracky jones was found one morning in the churchyard dead. he was gone missing for a week before, and twice within that week i had sat through the night upon the hill behind the church, watching to warn the lugger with a flare she could not put in for the surf upon the beach. and on those nights, the air being still though a heavy swell was running, i heard thrice or more a throttled scream come shivering across the meadows from the graveyard. yet beyond turning my blood cold for a moment, it gave me little trouble, for evil tales have hung about the church; and though i did not set much store by the old yarns of blackbeard piping up his crew, yet i thought strange things might well go on among the graves at night. and so i never budged, nor stirred hand or foot to save a fellow-creature in his agony. 'but when the surf fell enough for the boats to get ashore, and greening held a lantern for me to jump down into the passage, after we had got the side out of the tomb, the first thing the light fell on at the bottom was a white face turned skyward. i have not forgot that, lad, for 'twas cracky jones lay there, with his face thin and shrunk, yet all the doited look gone out of it. we tried to force some brandy in his mouth, but he was stark and dead; with knees drawn up towards his head, so stiff we had to lift him doubled as he was, and lay him by the churchyard wall for some of us to find next day. we never knew how he got there, but guessed that he had hung about the landers some night when they ran a cargo, and slipped in when the watchman's back was turned. thus when sam tewkesbury spoke of screams and wailings, and no one to be seen, i knew what 'twas, but never guessed who might be shut in there, not knowing thou wert gone amissing. so ran to ratsey to get his help to slip the side stone off, for by myself i cannot stir it now, though once i did when i was younger; and from him learned that thou wert lost, and knew whom we should find before we got there.' i shuddered while elzevir talked, for i thought how cracky jones had perhaps hidden behind the self-same coffin that sheltered me, and how narrowly i had escaped his fate. and that old story came back into my mind, how, years ago, there once arose so terrible a cry from the vault at service-time, that parson and people fled from the church; and i doubted not now that some other poor soul had got shut in that awful place, and was then calling for help to those whose fears would not let them listen. 'there we found thee,' elzevir went on, 'stretched out on the sand, senseless and far gone; and there was something in thy face that made me think of david when he lay stretched out in his last sleep. and so i put thee on my shoulder and bare thee back, and here thou art in david's room, and shalt find board and bed with me as long as thou hast mind to.' we spoke much together during the days when i was getting stronger, and i grew to like elzevir well, finding his grimness was but on the outside, and that never was a kinder man. indeed, i think that my being with him did him good; for he felt that there was once more someone to love him, and his heart went out to me as to his son david. never once did he ask me to keep my counsel as to the vault and what i had seen there, knowing, perhaps, he had no need, for i would have died rather than tell the secret to any. only, one day master ratsey, who often came to see me, said-- 'john, there is only elzevir and i who know that you have seen the inside of our bond-cellar; and 'tis well, for if some of the landers guessed, they might have ugly ways to stop all chance of prating. so keep our secret tight, and we'll keep yours, for "he that refraineth his lips is wise".' i wondered how master ratsey could quote scripture so pat, and yet cheat the revenue; though, in truth, 'twas thought little sin at moonfleet to run a cargo; and, perhaps, he guessed what i was thinking, for he added-- 'not that a christian man has aught to be ashamed of in landing a cask of good liquor, for we read that when israel came out of egypt, the chosen people were bid trick their oppressors out of jewels of silver and jewels of gold; and among those cruel taskmasters, some of the worst must certainly have been the tax-gatherers.' * * * * * the first walk i took when i grew stronger and was able to get about was up to aunt jane's, notwithstanding she had never so much as been to ask after me all these days. she knew, indeed, where i was, for ratsey had told her i lay at the why not?, explaining that elzevir had found me one night on the ground famished and half-dead, yet not saying where. but my aunt greeted me with hard words, which i need not repeat here; for, perhaps, she meant them not unkindly, but only to bring me back again to the right way. she did not let me cross the threshold, holding the door ajar in her hand, and saying she would have no tavern-loungers in her house, but that if i liked the why not? so well, i could go back there again for her. i had been for begging her pardon for playing truant; but when i heard such scurvy words, felt the devil rise in my heart, and only laughed, though bitter tears were in my eyes. so i turned my back upon the only home that i had ever known, and sauntered off down the village, feeling very lone, and am not sure i was not crying before i came again to the why not? then elzevir saw that my face was downcast, and asked what ailed me, and so i told him how my aunt had turned me away, and that i had no home to go to. but he seemed pleased rather than sorry, and said that i must come now and live with him, for he had plenty for both; and that since chance had led him to save my life, i should be to him a son in david's place. so i went to keep house with him at the why not? and my aunt sent down my bag of clothes, and would have made over to elzevir the pittance that my father left for my keep, but he said it was not needful, and he would have none of it. chapter an assault surely after all, the noblest answer unto such is perfect stillness when they brawl--_tennyson_ i have more than once brought up the name of mr. maskew; and as i shall have other things to tell of him later on, i may as well relate here what manner of man he was. his stature was but medium, not exceeding five feet four inches, i think; and to make the most of it, he flung his head far back, and gave himself a little strut in walking. he had a thin face with a sharp nose that looked as if it would peck you, and grey eyes that could pierce a millstone if there was a guinea on the far side of it. his hair, for he wore his own, had been red, though it was now grizzled; and the colour of it was set down in moonfleet to his being a scotchman, for we thought all scotchmen were red-headed. he was a lawyer by profession, and having made money in edinburgh, had gone so far south as moonfleet to get quit, as was said, of the memories of rascally deeds. it was about four years since he bought a parcel of the mohune estate, which had been breaking up and selling piecemeal for a generation; and on his land stood the manor house, or so much of it as was left. of the mansion i have spoken before. it was a very long house of two storeys, with a projecting gable and doorway in the middle, and at each end gabled wings running out crosswise. the maskews lived in one of these wings, and that was the only habitable portion of the place; for as to the rest, the glass was out of the windows, and in some places the roofs had fallen in. mr. maskew made no attempt to repair house or grounds, and the bough of the great cedar which the snows had brought down in ' still blocked the drive. the entrance to the house was through the porchway in the middle, but more than one tumble-down corridor had to be threaded before one reached the inhabited wing; while fowls and pigs and squirrels had possession of the terrace lawns in front. it was not for want of money that maskew let things remain thus, for men said that he was rich enough, only that his mood was miserly; and perhaps, also, it was the lack of woman's company that made him think so little of neatness and order. for his wife was dead; and though he had a daughter, she was young, and had not yet weight enough to make her father do things that he did not choose. till maskew came there had been none living in the manor house for a generation, so the village children used the terrace for a playground, and picked primroses in the woods; and the men thought they had a right to snare a rabbit or shoot a pheasant in the chase. but the new owner changed all this, hiding gins and spring-guns in the coverts, and nailing up boards on the trees to say he would have the law of any that trespassed. so he soon made enemies for himself, and before long had everyone's hand against him. yet he preferred his neighbour's enmity to their goodwill, and went about to make it more bitter by getting himself posted for magistrate, and giving out that he would put down the contraband thereabouts. for no one round moonfleet was for the excise; but farmers loved a glass of schnapps that had never been gauged, and their wives a piece of fine lace from france. and then came the affair between the _elector_ and the ketch, with david block's death; and after that they said it was not safe for maskew to walk at large, and that he would be found some day dead on the down; but he gave no heed to it, and went on as if he had been a paid exciseman rather than a magistrate. when i was a little boy the manor woods were my delight, and many a sunny afternoon have i sat on the terrace edge looking down over the village, and munching red quarantines from the ruined fruit gardens. and though this was now forbidden, yet the manor had still a sweeter attraction to me than apples or bird-batting, and that was grace maskew. she was an only child, and about my own age, or little better, at the time of which i am speaking. i knew her, because she went every day to the old almshouses to be taught by the reverend mr. glennie, from whom i also received my schooling. she was tall for her age, and slim, with a thin face and a tumble of tawny hair, which flew about her in a wind or when she ran. her frocks were washed and patched and faded, and showed more of her arms and legs than the dressmaker had ever intended, for she was a growing girl, and had none to look after her clothes. she was a favourite playfellow with all, and an early choice for games of 'prisoner's base', and she could beat most of us boys at speed. thus, though we all hated her father, and had for him many jeering titles among ourselves; yet we never used an evil nickname nor a railing word against him when she was by, because we liked her well. there were a half-dozen of us boys, and as many girls, whom mr. glennie used to teach; and that you may see what sort of man maskew was, i will tell you what happened one day in school between him and the parson. mr. glennie taught us in the almshouses; for though there were now no bedesmen, and the houses themselves were fallen to decay, yet the little hall in which the inmates had once dined was still maintained, and served for our schoolroom. it was a long and lofty room, with a high wainscot all round it, a carved oak screen at one end, and a broad window at the other. a very heavy table, polished by use, and sadly besmirched with ink, ran down the middle of the hall with benches on either side of it for us to use; and a high desk for mr. glennie stood under the window at the end of the room. thus we were sitting one morning with our summing-slates and grammars before us when the door in the screen opens and mr. maskew enters. i have told you already of the verses which mr. glennie wrote for david block's grave; and when the floods had gone down ratsey set up the headstone with the poetry carved on it. but maskew, through not going to church, never saw the stone for weeks, until one morning, walking through the churchyard, he lighted on it, and knew the verses for mr. glennie's. so 'twas to have it out with the parson that he had come to school this day; and though we did not know so much then, yet guessed from his presence that something was in the wind, and could read in his face that he was very angry. now, for all that we hated maskew, yet were we glad enough to see him there, as hoping for something strange to vary the sameness of school, and scenting a disturbance in the air. only grace was ill at ease for fear her father should say something unseemly, and kept her head down with shocks of hair falling over her book, though i could see her blushing between them. so in vapours maskew, and with an angry glance about him makes straight for the desk where our master sits at the top of the room. for a moment mr. glennie, being shortsighted, did not see who 'twas; but as his visitor drew near, rose courteously to greet him. 'good day to you, mister maskew,' says he, holding out his hand. but maskew puts his arms behind his back and bubbles out, 'hold not out your hand to me lest i spit on it. 'tis like your snivelling cant to write sweet psalms for smuggling rogues and try to frighten honest men with your judgements.' at first mr. glennie did not know what the other would be at, and afterwards understanding, turned very pale; but said as a minister he would never be backward in reproving those whom he considered in the wrong, whether from the pulpit or from the gravestone. then maskew flies into a great passion, and pours out many vile and insolent words, saying mr. glennie is in league with the smugglers and fattens on their crimes; that the poetry is a libel; and that he, maskew, will have the law of him for calumny. after that he took grace by the arm, and bade her get hat and cape and come with him. 'for,' says he, 'i will not have thee taught any more by a psalm-singing hypocrite that calls thy father murderer.' and all the while he kept drawing up closer to mr. glennie, until the two stood very near each other. there was a great difference between them; the one short and blustering, with a red face turned up; the other tall and craning down, ill-clad, ill-fed, and pale. maskew had in his left hand a basket, with which he went marketing of mornings, for he made his own purchases, and liked fish, as being cheaper than meat. he had been chaffering with the fishwives this very day, and was bringing back his provend with him when he visited our school. then he said to mr. glennie: 'now, sir parson, the law has given into your fool's hands a power over this churchyard, and 'tis your trade to stop unseemly headlines from being set up within its walls, or once set up, to turn them out forthwith. so i give you a week's grace, and if tomorrow sennight yon stone be not gone, i will have it up and flung in pieces outside the wall.' mr. glennie answered him in a low voice, but quite clear, so that we could hear where we sat: 'i can neither turn the stone out myself, nor stop you from turning it out if you so mind; but if you do this thing, and dishonour the graveyard, there is one stronger than either you or i that must be reckoned with.' i knew afterwards that he meant the almighty, but thought then that 'twas of elzevir he spoke; and so, perhaps, did mr. maskew, for he fell into a worse rage, thrust his hand in the basket, whipped out a great sole he had there, and in a twinkling dashes it in mr. glennie's face, with a 'then, take that for an unmannerly parson, for i would not foul my fist with your mealy chops.' but to see that stirred my choler, for mr. glennie was weak as wax, and would never have held up his hand to stop a blow, even were he strong as goliath. so i was for setting on maskew, and being a stout lad for my age, could have had him on the floor as easy as a baby; but as i rose from my seat, i saw he held grace by the hand, and so hung back for a moment, and before i got my thoughts together he was gone, and i saw the tail of grace's cape whisk round the screen door. a sole is at the best an ugly thing to have in one's face, and this sole was larger than most, for maskew took care to get what he could for his money, so it went with a loud smack on mr. glennie's cheek, and then fell with another smack on the floor. at this we all laughed, as children will, and mr. glennie did not check us, but went back and sat very quiet at his desk; and soon i was sorry i had laughed, for he looked sad, with his face sanded and a great red patch on one side, and beside that the fin had scratched him and made a blood-drop trickle down his cheek. a few minutes later the thin voice of the almshouse clock said twelve, and away walked mr. glennie without his usual 'good day, children', and there was the sole left lying on the dusty floor in front of his desk. it seemed a shame so fine a fish should be wasted, so i picked it up and slipped it in my desk, sending fred burt to get his mother's gridiron that we might grill it on the schoolroom fire. while he was gone i went out to the court to play, and had not been there five minutes when back comes maskew through our playground without grace, and goes into the schoolroom. but in the screen at the end of the room was a chink, against which we used to hold our fingers on bright days for the sun to shine through, and show the blood pink; so up i slipped and fixed my eye to the hole, wanting to know what he was at. he had his basket with him, and i soon saw he had come back for the sole, not having the heart to leave so good a bit of fish. but look where he would, he could not find it, for he never searched my desk, and had to go off with a sour countenance; but fred burt and i cooked the sole, and found it well flavoured, for all it had given so much pain to mr. glennie. after that grace came no more to school, both because her father had said she should not, and because she was herself ashamed to go back after what maskew had done to mr. glennie. and then it was that i took to wandering much in the manor woods, having no fear of man-traps, for i knew their place as soon as they were put down, but often catching sight of grace, and sometimes finding occasion to talk with her. thus time passed, and i lived with elzevir at the why not?, still going to school of mornings, but spending the afternoons in fishing, or in helping him in the garden, or with the boats. as soon as i got to know him well, i begged him to let me help run the cargoes, but he refused, saying i was yet too young, and must not come into mischief. yet, later, yielding to my importunity, he consented; and more than one dark night i was in the landing-boats that unburdened the lugger, though i could never bring myself to enter the mohune vault again, but would stand as sentry at the passage-mouth. and all the while i had round my neck colonel john mohune's locket, and at first wore it next myself, but finding it black the skin, put it between shirt and body-jacket. and there by dint of wear it grew less black, and showed a little of the metal underneath, and at last i took to polishing it at odd times, until it came out quite white and shiny, like the pure silver that it was. elzevir had seen this locket when he put me to bed the first time i came to the why not? and afterwards i told him whence i got it; but though we had it out more than once of an evening, we could never come at any hidden meaning. indeed, we scarce tried to, judging it to be certainly a sacred charm to keep evil spirits from blackbeard's body. chapter an auction what if my house be troubled with a rat, and i be pleased to give ten thousand ducats to have it baned--_shakespeare_ one evening in march, when the days were lengthening fast, there came a messenger from dorchester, and brought printed notices for fixing to the shutters of the why not? and to the church door, which said that in a week's time the bailiff of the duchy of cornwall would visit moonfleet. this bailiff was an important person, and his visits stood as events in village history. once in five years he made a perambulation, or journey, through the whole duchy, inspecting all the royal property, and arranging for new leases. his visits to moonfleet were generally short enough, for owing to the mohunes owning all the land, the only duchy estate there was the why not? and the only duty of the bailiff to renew that five-year lease, under which blocks had held the inn, father and son, for generations. but for all that, the business was not performed without ceremony, for there was a solemn show of putting up the lease of the inn to the highest bidder, though it was well understood that no one except elzevir would make an offer. so one morning, a week later, i went up to the top end of the village to watch for the bailiff's postchaise, and about eleven of the forenoon saw it coming down the hill with four horses and two postillions. presently it came past, and i saw there were two men in it--a clerk sitting with his back to the horses, and in the seat opposite a little man in a periwig, whom i took for the bailiff. then i ran down to my aunt's house, for elzevir had asked me to beg one of her best winter candles for a purpose which i will explain presently. i had not seen aunt jane, except in church, since the day that she dismissed me, but she was no stiffer than usual, and gave me the candle readily enough. 'there,' she said, 'take it, and i wish it may bring light into your dark heart, and show you what a wicked thing it is to leave your own kith and kin and go to dwell in a tavern.' i was for saying that it was kith and kin that left me, and not i them; and as for living in a tavern, it was better to live there than nowhere at all, as she would wish me to do in turning me out of her house; but did not, and only thanked her for the candle, and was off. when i came to the inn, there was the postchaise in front of the door, the horses being led away to bait, and a little group of villagers standing round; for though the auction of the why not? was in itself a trite thing with a foregone conclusion, yet the bailiff's visit always stirred some show of interest. there were a few children with their noses flattened against the windows of the parlour, and inside were mr. bailiff and mr. clerk hard at work on their dinner. mr. bailiff, who was, as i guessed, the little man in the periwig, sat at the top of the table, and mr. clerk sat at the bottom, and on chairs were placed their hats, and travelling-cloaks, and bundles of papers tied together with green tape. you may be sure that elzevir had a good dinner for them, with hot rabbit pie and cold round of brawn, and a piece of blue vinny, which mr. bailiff ate heartily, but his clerk would not touch, saying he had as lief chew soap. there was also a bottle of ararat milk, and a flagon of ale, for we were afraid to set french wines before them, lest they should fall to wondering how they were come by. elzevir took the candle, chiding me a little for being late, and set it in a brass candlestick in the middle of the table. then mr. clerk takes a little rule from his pocket, measures an inch down on the candle, sticks into the grease at that point a scarf-pin with an onyx head that elzevir lent him, and lights the wick. now the reason of this was, that the custom ran in moonfleet when either land or lease was put up to bidding, to stick a pin in a candle; and so long as the pin held firm, it was open to any to make a better offer, but when the flame burnt down and the pin fell out, then land or lease fell to the last bidder. so after dinner was over and the table cleared, mr. clerk takes out a roll of papers and reads a legal description of the why not?, calling it the mohune arms, an excellent messuage or tenement now used as a tavern, and speaking of the convenient paddocks or parcels of grazing land at the back of it, called moons'-lease, amounting to sixteen acres more or less. then he invites the company to make an offer of rent for such a desirable property under a five years' lease, and as elzevir and i are the only company present, the bidding is soon done; for elzevir offers a rent of a year, which has always been the value of the why not? the clerk makes a note of this; but the business is not over yet, for we must wait till the pin drops out of the candle before the lease is finally made out. so the men fell to smoking to pass the time, till there could not have been more than ten minutes' candle to burn, and mr. bailiff, with a glass of ararat milk in his hand, was saying, 'tis a curious and fine tap of hollands you keep here, master block,' when in walked mr. maskew. a thunderbolt would not have astonished me so much as did his appearance, and elzevir's face grew black as night; but the bailiff and clerk showed no surprise, not knowing the terms on which persons in our village stood to one another, and thinking it natural that someone should come in to see the pin drop, and the end of an ancient custom. indeed, maskew seemed to know the bailiff, for he passed the time of day with him, and was then for sitting down at the table without taking any notice of elzevir or me. but just as he began to seat himself, block shouted out, 'you are no welcome visitor in my house, and i would sooner see your back than see your face, but sit at this table you shall not.' i knew what he meant; for on that table they had laid out david's body, and with that he struck his fist upon the board so smart as to make the bailiff jump and nearly bring the pin out of the candle. 'heyday, sirs,' says mr. bailiff, astonished, 'let us have no brawling here, the more so as this worshipful gentleman is a magistrate and something of a friend of mine.' yet maskew refrained from sitting, but stood by the bailiff's chair, turning white, and not red, as he did with mr. glennie; and muttered something, that he had as lief stand as sit, and that it should soon be block's turn to ask sitting-room of _him_. i was wondering what possibly could have brought maskew there, when the bailiff, who was ill at ease, said--'come, mr. clerk, the pin hath but another minute's hold; rehearse what has been done, for i must get this lease delivered and off to bridport, where much business waits.' so the clerk read in a singsong voice that the property of the duchy of cornwall, called the mohune arms, an inn or tavern, with all its land, tenements, and appurtenances, situate in the parish of st. sebastian, moonfleet, having been offered on lease for five years, would be let to elzevir block at a rent of per annum, unless anyone offered a higher rent before the pin fell from the candle. there was no one to make another offer, and the bailiff said to elzevir, 'tell them to have the horses round, the pin will be out in a minute, and 'twill save time.' so elzevir gave the order, and then we all stood round in silence, waiting for the pin to fall. the grease had burnt down to the mark, or almost below it, as it appeared; but just where the pin stuck in there was a little lump of harder tallow that held bravely out, refusing to be melted. the bailiff gave a stamp of impatience with his foot under the table as though he hoped thus to shake out the pin, and then a little dry voice came from maskew, saying-- 'i offer a year for the inn.' this fell upon us with so much surprise, that all looked round, seeking as it were some other speaker, and never thinking that it could be maskew. elzevir was the first, i believe, to fully understand 'twas he; and without turning to look at bailiff or maskew, but having his elbows on the table, his face between his hands, and looking straight out to sea said in a sturdy voice, 'i offer .' the words were scarce out of his mouth when maskew caps them with , and so in less than a minute the rent of the why not? was near doubled. then the bailiff looked from one to the other, not knowing what to make of it all, nor whether 'twas comedy or serious, and said-- 'kind sir, i warn ye not to trifle; i have no time to waste in april fooling, and he who makes offers in sport will have to stand to them in earnest.' but there was no lack of earnest in one at least of the men that he had before him, and the voice with which elzevir said was still sturdy. maskew called and , and elzevir and , and then i looked at the candle, and saw that the head of the pin was no longer level, it had sunk a little--a very little. the clerk awoke from his indifference, and was making notes of the bids with a squeaking quill, the bailiff frowned as being puzzled, and thinking that none had a right to puzzle him. as for me, i could not sit still, but got on my feet, if so i might better bear the suspense; for i understood now that maskew had made up his mind to turn elzevir out, and that elzevir was fighting for his home. _his_ home, and had he not made it my home too, and were we both to be made outcasts to please the spite of this mean little man? there were some more bids, and then i knew that maskew was saying , and saw the head of the pin was lower; the hard lump of tallow in aunt jane's candle was thawing. the bailiff struck in: 'are ye mad, sirs, and you, master block, save your breath, and spare your money; and if this worshipful gentleman must become innkeeper at any price, let him have the place in the devil's name, and i will give thee the mermaid, at bridport, with a snug parlour, and ten times the trade of this.' elzevir seemed not to hear what he said, but only called out , with his face still looking out to sea, and the same sturdiness in his voice. then maskew tried a spring, and went to , and elzevir capped him with , and , , , followed quick. my breath came so fast that i was almost giddy, and i had to clench my hands to remind myself of where i was, and what was going on. the bidders too were breathing hard, elzevir had taken his head from his hands, and the eyes of all were on the pin. the lump of tallow was worn down now; it was hard to say why the pin did not fall. maskew gulped out , and elzevir said , and then the pin gave a lurch, and i thought the why not? was saved, though at the price of ruin. no; the pin had not fallen, there was a film that held it by the point, one second, only one second. elzevir's breath, which was ready to outbid whatever maskew said, caught in his throat with the catching pin, and maskew sighed out , before the pin pattered on the bottom of the brass candlestick. the clerk forgot his master's presence and shut his notebook with a bang, 'congratulate you, sir,' says he, quite pert to maskew; 'you are the landlord of the poorest pothouse in the duchy at a year.' the bailiff paid no heed to what his man did, but took his periwig off and wiped his head. 'well, i'm hanged,' he said; and so the why not? was lost. just as the last bid was given, elzevir half-rose from his chair, and for a moment i expected to see him spring like a wild beast on maskew; but he said nothing, and sat down again with the same stolid look on his face. and, indeed, it was perhaps well that he thus thought better of it, for maskew stuck his hand into his bosom as the other rose; and though he withdrew it again when elzevir got back to his chair, yet the front of his waistcoat was a little bulged, and, looking sideways, i saw the silver-shod butt of a pistol nestling far down against his white shirt. the bailiff was vexed, i think, that he had been betrayed into such strong words; for he tried at once to put on as indifferent an air as might be, saying in dry tones, 'well, gentlemen, there seems to be here some personal matter into which i shall not attempt to spy. two hundred pounds more or less is but a flea-bite to the duchy; and if you, sir,' turning to maskew, 'wish later on to change your mind, and be quit of the bargain, i shall not be the man to stand in your way. in any case, i imagine 'twill be time enough to seal the lease if i send it from london.' i knew he said this, and hinted at delay as wishing to do elzevir a good turn; for his clerk had the lease already made out pat, and it only wanted the name and rent filled in to be sealed and signed. but, 'no,' says maskew, 'business is business, mr. bailiff, and the post uncertain to parts so distant from the capital as these; so i'll thank you to make out the lease to me now, and on may day place me in possession.' 'so be it then,' said the bailiff a little testily, 'but blame me not for driving hard bargains; for the duchy, whose servant i am,' and he raised his hat, 'is no daughter of the horse-leech. fill in the figures, mr. scrutton, and let us away.' so mr. scrutton, for that was mr. clerk's name, scratches a bit with his quill on the parchment sheet to fill in the money, and then maskew scratches his name, and mr. bailiff scratches his name, and mr. clerk scratches again to witness mr. bailiff's name, and then mr. bailiff takes from his mails a little shagreen case, and out from the case comes sealing-wax and the travelling seal of the duchy. there was my aunt's best winter-candle still burning away in the daylight, for no one had taken any thought to put it out; and mr. bailiff melts the wax at it, till a drop of sealing-wax falls into the grease and makes a gutter down one side, and then there is a sweating of the parchment under the hot wax, and at last on goes the seal. 'signed, sealed, and delivered,' says mr. clerk, rolling up the sheet and handing it to maskew; and maskew takes and thrusts it into his bosom underneath his waistcoat front--all cheek by jowl with that silver-hafted pistol, whose butt i had seen before. the postchaise stood before the door, the horses were stamping on the cobble-stones, and the harness jingled. mr. clerk had carried out his mails, but mr. bailiff stopped for a moment as he flung the travelling cloak about his shoulders to say to elzevir, 'tut, man, take things not too hardly. thou shalt have the mermaid at a year, which will be worth ten times as much to thee as this dreary place; and canst send thy son to bryson's school, where they will make a scholar of him, for he is a brave lad'; and he touched my shoulder, and gave me a kindly look as he passed. 'i thank your worship,' said elzevir, 'for all your goodness; but when i quit this place, i shall not set up my staff again at any inn door.' mr. bailiff seemed nettled to see his offer made so little of, and left the room with a stiff, 'then i wish you good day.' maskew had slipped out before him, and the children's noses left the window-pane as the great man walked down the steps. there was a little group to see the start, but it quickly melted; and before the clatter of hoofs died away, the report spread through the village that maskew had turned elzevir out of the why not? for a long time after all had gone, elzevir sat at the table with his head between his hands, and i kept quiet also, both because i was myself sorry that we were to be sent adrift, and because i wished to show elzevir that i felt for him in his troubles. but the young cannot enter fully into their elders' sorrows, however much they may wish to, and after a time the silence palled upon me. it was getting dusk, and the candle which bore itself so bravely through auction and lease-sealing burnt low in the socket. a minute later the light gave some flickering flashes, failings, and sputters, and then the wick tottered, and out popped the flame, leaving us with the chilly grey of a march evening creeping up in the corners of the room. i could bear the gloom no longer, but made up the fire till the light danced ruddy across pewter and porcelain on the dresser. 'come, master block,' i said, 'there is time enough before may day to think what we shall do, so let us take a cup of tea, and after that i will play you a game of backgammon.' but he still remained cast down, and would say nothing; and as chance would have it, though i wished to let him win at backgammon, that so, perhaps, he might get cheered, yet do what i would that night i could not lose. so as his luck grew worse his moodiness increased, and at last he shut the board with a bang, saying, in reference to that motto that ran round its edge, 'life is like a game of hazard, and surely none ever flung worse throws, or made so little of them as i.' chapter the landing let my lamp at midnight hour be seen in some high lonely tower--_milton_ maskew got ugly looks from the men, and sour words from the wives, as he went up through the village that afternoon, for all knew what he had done, and for many days after the auction he durst not show his face abroad. yet damen of ringstave and some others of the landers' men, who made it their business to keep an eye upon him, said that he had been twice to weymouth of evenings, and held converse there with mr. luckham of the excise, and with captain henning, who commanded the troopers then in quarters on the nothe. and by degrees it got about, but how i do not know, that he had persuaded the revenue to strike hard at the smugglers, and that a strong posse was to be held in readiness to take the landers in the act the next time they should try to run a cargo. why maskew should so put himself about to help the revenue i cannot tell, nor did anyone ever certainly find out; but some said 'twas out of sheer wantonness, and a desire to hurt his neighbours; and others, that he saw what an apt place this was for landing cargoes, and wished first to make a brave show of zeal for the excise, and afterwards to get the whole of the contraband trade into his own hands. however that may be, i think he was certainly in league with the revenue men, and more than once i saw him on the manor terrace with a spy glass in his hand, and guessed that he was looking for the lugger in the offing. now, word was mostly given to the lander, by safe hands, of the night on which a cargo should be run, and then in the morning or afternoon, the lugger would come just near enough the land to be made out with glasses, and afterwards lie off again out of sight till nightfall. the nights chosen for such work were without moon, but as still as might be, so long as there was wind enough to fill the sails; and often the lugger could be made out from the beach, but sometimes 'twas necessary to signal with flares, though they were used as little as might be. yet after there had been a long spell of rough weather, and a cargo had to be run at all hazards, i have known the boats come in even on the bright moonlight and take their risk, for 'twas said the excise slept sounder round us than anywhere in all the channel. these tales of maskew's doings failed not to reach elzevir, and for some days he thought best not to move, though there was a cargo on the other side that wanted landing badly. but one evening when he had won at backgammon, and was in an open mood, he took me into confidence, setting down the dice box on the table, and saying-- 'there is word come from the shippers that we must take a cargo, for that they cannot keep the stuff by them longer at st. malo. now with this devil at the manor prowling round, i dare not risk the job on moonfleet beach, nor yet stow the liquor in the vault; so i have told the _bonaventure_ to put her nose into this bay tomorrow afternoon that maskew may see her well, and then to lie out again to sea, as she has done a hundred times before. but instead of waiting in the offing, she will make straight off up channel to a little strip of shingle underneath hoar head.' i nodded to show i knew the place, and he went on--'men used to choose that spot in good old times to beach a cargo before the passage to the vault was dug; and there is a worked-out quarry they called pyegrove's hole, not too far off up the down, and choked with brambles, where we can find shelter for a hundred kegs. so we'll be under hoar head at five tomorrow morn with the pack-horses. i wish we could be earlier, for the sun rises thereabout, but the tide will not serve before.' it was at that moment that i felt a cold touch on my shoulders, as of the fresh air from outside, and thought beside i had a whiff of salt seaweed from the beach. so round i looked to see if door or window stood ajar. the window was tight enough, and shuttered to boot, but the door was not to be seen plainly for a wooden screen, which parted it from the parlour, and was meant to keep off draughts. yet i could just see a top corner of the door above the screen and thought it was not fast. so up i got to shut it, for the nights were cold; but coming round the corner of the screen found that 'twas closed, and yet i could have sworn i saw the latch fall to its place as i walked towards it. then i dashed forward, and in a trice had the door open, and was in the street. but the night was moonless and black, and i neither saw nor heard aught stirring, save the gentle sea-wash on moonfleet beach beyond the salt meadows. elzevir looked at me uneasily as i came back. 'what ails thee, boy?' said he. 'i thought i heard someone at the door,' i answered; 'did you not feel a cold wind as if it was open?' 'it is but the night is sharp, the spring sets in very chill; slip the bolt, and sit down again,' and he flung a fresh log on the fire, that sent a cloud of sparks crackling up the chimney and out into the room. 'elzevir,' i said, 'i think there was one listening at the door, and there may be others in the house, so before we sit again let us take candle and go through the rooms to make sure none are prying on us.' he laughed and said, ''twas but the wind that blew the door open,' but that i might do as i pleased. so i lit another candle, and was for starting on my search; but he cried, 'nay, thou shalt not go alone'; and so we went all round the house together, and found not so much as a mouse stirring. he laughed the more when we came back to the parlour. ''tis the cold has chilled thy heart and made thee timid of that skulking rascal of the manor; fill me a glass of ararat milk, and one for thyself, and let us to bed.' i had learned by this not to be afraid of the good liquor, and while we sat sipping it, elzevir went on-- 'there is a fortnight yet to run, and then you and i shall be cut adrift from our moorings. it is a cruel thing to see the doors of this house closed on me, where i and mine have lived a century or more, but i must see it. yet let us not be too cast down, but try to make something even of this worst of throws.' i was glad enough to hear him speak in this firmer strain, for i had seen what a sore thought it had been for these days past that he must leave the why not?, and how it often made him moody and downcast. 'we will have no more of innkeeping,' he said; 'i have been sick and tired of it this many a day, and care not now to see men abuse good liquor and addle their silly pates to fill my purse. and i have something, boy, put snug away in dorchester town that will give us bread to eat and beer to drink, even if the throws run still deuce-ace. but we must seek a roof to shelter us when the why not? is shut, and 'tis best we leave this moonfleet of ours for a season, till maskew finds a rope's end long enough to hang himself withal. so, when our work is done tomorrow night, we will walk out along the cliff to worth, and take a look at a cottage there that damen spoke about, with a walled orchard at the back, and fuchsia hedge in front--'tis near the lobster inn, and has a fine prospect of the sea; and if we live there, we will leave the vault alone awhile and use this pyegrove's hole for storehouse, till the watch is relaxed.' i did not answer, having my thoughts on other things, and he tossed off his liquor, saying, 'thou'rt tired; so let's to bed, for we shall get little sleep tomorrow night.' it was true that i was tired, and yet i could not get to sleep, but tossed and turned in my bed for thinking of many things, and being vexed that we were to leave moonfleet. yet mine was a selfish sorrow; for i had little thought for elzevir and the pain that it must be to him to quit, the why not?: nor yet was it the grief of leaving moonfleet that so troubled me, although that was the only place i ever had known, and seemed to me then--as now--the only spot on earth fit to be lived in; but the real care and canker was that i was going away from grace maskew. for since she had left school i had grown fonder of her; and now that it was difficult to see her, i took the more pains to accomplish it, and met her sometimes in manor woods, and more than once, when maskew was away, had walked with her on weatherbeech hill. so we bred up a boy-and-girl affection, and must needs pledge ourselves to be true to one another, not knowing what such silly words might mean. and i told grace all my secrets, not even excepting the doings of the contraband, and the mohune vault and blackbeard's locket, for i knew all was as safe with her as with me, and that her father could never rack aught from her. nay, more, her bedroom was at the top of the gabled wing of the manor house, and looked right out to sea; and one clear night, when our boat was coming late from fishing, i saw her candle burning there, and next day told her of it. and then she said that she would set a candle to burn before the panes on winter nights, and be a leading light for boats at sea. and so she did, and others beside me saw and used it, calling it 'maskew's match', and saying that it was the attorney sitting up all night to pore over ledgers and add up his fortune. so this night as i lay awake i vexed and vexed myself for thinking of her, and at last resolved to go up next morning to the manor woods and lie in wait for grace, to tell her what was up, and that we were going away to worth. next day, the th of april--a day i have had cause to remember all my life--i played truant from mr. glennie, and by ten in the forenoon found myself in the woods. there was a little dimple on the hillside above the house, green with burdocks in summer and filled with dry leaves in winter--just big enough to hold one lying flat, and not so deep but that i could look over the lip of it and see the house without being seen. thither i went that day, and lay down in the dry leaves to wait and watch for grace. the morning was bright enough. the chills of the night before had given way to sunlight that seemed warm as summer, and yet had with it the soft freshness of spring. there was scarce a breath moving in the wood, though i could see the clouds of white dust stalking up the road that climbs ridge down, and the trees were green with buds, yet without leafage to keep the sunbeams from lighting up the ground below, which glowed with yellow king-cups. so i lay there for a long, long while; and to make time pass quicker, took from my bosom the silver locket, and opening it, read again the parchment, which i had read times out of mind before, and knew indeed by heart. 'the days of our age are threescore years and ten', and the rest. now, whenever i handled the locket, my thoughts were turned to mohune's treasure; and it was natural that it should be so, for the locket reminded me of my first journey to the vault; and i laughed at myself, remembering how simple i had been, and had hoped to find the place littered with diamonds, and to see the gold lying packed in heaps. and thus for the hundredth time i came to rack my brain to know where the diamond could be hid, and thought at last it must be buried in the churchyard, because of the talk of blackbeard being seen on wild nights digging there for his treasure. but then, i reasoned, that very like it was the contrabandiers whom men had seen with spades when they were digging out the passage from the tomb to the vault, and set them down for ghosts because they wrought at night. and while i was busy with such thoughts, the door opened in the house below me, and out came grace with a hood on her head and a basket for wild flowers in her hand. i watched to see which way she would walk; and as soon as she took the path that leads up weatherbeech, made off through the dry brushwood to meet her, for we had settled she should never go that road except when maskew was away. so there we met and spent an hour together on the hill, though i shall not write here what we said, because it was mostly silly stuff. she spoke much of the auction and of elzevir leaving the why not?, and though she never said a word against her father, let me know what pain his doing gave her. but most she grieved that we were leaving moonfleet, and showed her grief in such pretty ways, as made me almost glad to see her sorry. and from her i learned that maskew was indeed absent from home, having been called away suddenly last night. the evening was so fine, he said (and this surprised me, remembering how dark and cold it was with us), that he must needs walk round the policies; but about nine o'clock came back and told her he had got a sudden call to business, which would take him to weymouth then and there. so to saddle, and off he went on his mare, bidding grace not to look for him for two nights to come. i know not why it was, but what she said of maskew made me thoughtful and silent, and she too must be back home lest the old servant that kept house for them should say she had been too long away, and so we parted. then off i went through the woods and down the village street, but as i passed my old home saw aunt jane standing on the doorstep. i bade her 'good day', and was for running on to the why not?, for i was late enough already, but she called me to her, seeming in a milder mood, and said she had something for me in the house. so left me standing while she went off to get it, and back she came and thrust into my hand a little prayer-book, which i had often seen about the parlour in past days, saying, 'here is a common prayer which i had meant to send thee with thy clothes. it was thy poor mother's, and i pray may some day be as precious a balm to thee as it once was to that godly woman.' with that she gave me the 'good day', and i pocketed the little red leather book, which did indeed afterwards prove precious to me, though not in the way she meant, and ran down street to the why not? * * * * * that same evening elzevir and i left the why not?, went up through the village, climbed the down, and were at the brow by sunset. we had started earlier than we fixed the night before, because word had come to elzevir that morning that the tide called gulder would serve for the beaching of the _bonaventure_ at three instead of five. 'tis a strange thing the gulder, and not even sailors can count closely with it; for on the dorset coast the tide makes four times a day, twice with the common flow, and twice with the gulder, and this last being shifty and uncertain as to time, flings out many a sea-reckoning. it was about seven o'clock when we were at the top of the hill, and there were fifteen good miles to cover to get to hoar head. dusk was upon us before we had walked half an hour; but when the night fell, it was not black as on the last evening, but a deep sort of blue, and the heat of the day did not die with the sun, but left the air still warm and balmy. we trudged on in silence, and were glad enough when we saw by a white stone here and there at the side of the path that we were nearing the cliff; for the preventive men mark all the footpaths on the cliff with whitewashed stones, so that one can pick up the way without risk on a dark night. a few minutes more, and we reached a broad piece of open sward, which i knew for the top of hoar head. hoar head is the highest of that line of cliffs, which stretches twenty miles from weymouth to st. alban's head, and it stands up eighty fathoms or more above the water. the seaward side is a great sheer of chalk, but falls not straight into the sea, for three parts down there is a lower ledge or terrace, called the under-cliff. 'twas to this ledge that we were bound; and though we were now straight above, i knew we had a mile or more to go before we could get down to it. so on we went again, and found the bridle-path that slopes down through a deep dip in the cliff line; and when we reached this under-ledge, i looked up at the sky, the night being clear, and guessed by the stars that 'twas past midnight. i knew the place from having once been there for blackberries; for the brambles on the under-cliff being sheltered every way but south, and open to the sun, grow the finest in all those parts. we were not alone, for i could make out a score of men, some standing in groups, some resting on the ground, and the dark shapes of the pack-horses showing larger in the dimness. there were a few words of greeting muttered in deep voices, and then all was still, so that one heard the browsing horses trying to crop something off the turf. it was not the first cargo i had helped to run, and i knew most of the men, but did not speak with them, being tired, and wishing to rest till i was wanted. so cast myself down on the turf, but had not lain there long when i saw someone coming to me through the brambles, and master ratsey said, 'well, jack, so thou and elzevir are leaving moonfleet, and i fain would flit myself, but then who would be left to lead the old folk to their last homes, for dead do not bury their dead in these days.' i was half-asleep, and took little heed of what he said, putting him off with, 'that need not keep you, master; they will find others to fill your place.' yet he would not let me be, but went on talking for the pleasure of hearing his own voice. 'nay, child, you know not what you say. they may find men to dig a grave, and perhaps to fill it, but who shall toss the mould when parson glennie gives the "earth to earth"; it takes a mort of knowledge to make it rattle kindly on the coffin-lid.' i felt sleep heavy on my eyelids, and was for begging him to let me rest, when there came a whistle from below, and in a moment all were on their feet. the drivers went to the packhorses' heads, and so we walked down to the strand, a silent moving group of men and horses mixed; and before we came to the bottom, heard the first boat's nose grind on the beach, and the feet of the seamen crunching in the pebbles. then all fell to the business of landing, and a strange enough scene it was, what with the medley of men, the lanthorns swinging, and a frothy upper from the sea running up till sometimes it was over our boots; and all the time there was a patter of french and dutch, for most of the _bonaventure's_ men were foreigners. but i shall not speak more of this; for, after all, one landing is very like another, and kegs come ashore in much the same way, whether they are to pay excise or not. it must have been three o'clock before the lugger's boats were off again to sea, and by that time the horses were well laden, and most of the men had a keg or two to carry beside. then elzevir, who was in command, gave the word, and we began to file away from the beach up to the under-cliff. now, what with the cargo being heavy, we were longer than usual in getting away; and though there was no sign of sunrise, yet the night was greyer, and not so blue as it had been. we reached the under-cliff, and were moving across it to address ourselves to the bridle-path, and so wind sideways up the steep, when i saw something moving behind one of the plumbs of brambles with which the place is beset. it was only a glimpse of motion that i had perceived, and could not say whether 'twas man or animal, or even frightened bird behind the bushes. but others had seen it as well; there was some shouting, half a dozen flung down their kegs and started in pursuit. all eyes were turned to the bridle-path, and in a twinkling hunters and hunted were in view. the greyhounds were damen and garrett, with some others, and the hare was an older man, who leapt and bounded forward, faster than i should have thought any but a youth could run; but then he knew what men were after him, and that 'twas a race for life. for though it was but a moment before all were lost in the night, yet this was long enough to show me that the man was none other than maskew, and i knew that his life was not worth ten minutes' purchase. now i hated this man, and had myself suffered something at his hand, besides seeing him put much grievous suffering on others; but i wished then with all my heart he might escape, and had a horrible dread of what was to come. yet i knew all the time escape was impossible; for though maskew ran desperately, the way was steep and stony, and he had behind him some of the fleetest feet along that coast. we had all stopped with one accord, as not wishing to move a step forward till we had seen the issue of the chase; and i was near enough to look into elzevir's face, but saw there neither passion nor bloodthirstiness, but only a calm resolve, as if he had to deal with something well expected. we had not long to wait, for very soon we heard a rolling of stones and trampling of feet coming down the path, and from the darkness issued a group of men, having maskew in the middle of them. they were hustling him along fast, two having hold of him by the arms, and a third by the neck of his shirt behind. the sight gave me a sick qualm, like an overdose of tobacco, for it was the first time i had ever seen a man man-handled, and a fellow-creature abused. his cap was lost, and his thin hair tangled over his forehead, his coat was torn off, so that he stood in his waistcoat alone; he was pale, and gasped terribly, whether from the sharp run, or from violence, or fear, or all combined. there was a babel of voices when they came up of desperate men who had a bitterest enemy in their clutch; and some shouted, 'club him', 'shoot him', 'hang him', while others were for throwing him over the cliff. then someone saw under the flap of his waistcoat that same silver-hafted pistol that lay so lately next the lease of the why not? and snatching it from him, flung it on the grass at block's feet. but elzevir's deep voice mastered their contentions-- 'lads, ye remember how i said when this man's reckoning day should come 'twas i would reckon with him, and had your promise to it. nor is it right that any should lay hand on him but i, for is he not sealed to me with my son's blood? so touch him not, but bind him hand and foot, and leave him here with me and go your ways; there is no time to lose, for the light grows apace.' there was a little muttered murmuring, but elzevir's will overbore them here as it had done in the vault; and they yielded the more easily, because every man knew in his heart that he would never see maskew again alive. so within ten minutes all were winding up the bridle-path, horses and men, all except three; for there were left upon the brambly greensward of the under-cliff maskew and elzevir and i, and the pistol lay at elzevir's feet. chapter a judgement let them fight it out, friend. things have gone too far, god must judge the couple: leave them as they are--_browning_ i made as if i would follow the others, not wishing to see what i must see if i stayed behind, and knowing that i was powerless to bend elzevir from his purpose. but he called me back and bade me wait with him, for that i might be useful by and by. so i waited, but was only able to make a dreadful guess at how i might be of use, and feared the worst. maskew sat on the sward with his hands lashed tight behind his back, and his feet tied in front. they had set him with his shoulders against a great block of weather-worn stone that was half-buried and half-stuck up out of the turf. there he sat keeping his eyes on the ground, and was breathing less painfully than when he was first brought, but still very pale. elzevir stood with the lanthorn in his hand, looking at maskew with a fixed gaze, and we could hear the hoofs of the heavy-laden horses beating up the path, till they turned a corner, and all was still. the silence was broken by maskew: 'unloose me, villain, and let me go. i am a magistrate of the county, and if you do not, i will have you gibbeted on this cliff-top.' they were brave words enough, yet seemed to me but bad play-acting; and brought to my remembrance how, when i was a little fellow, mr. glennie once made me recite a battle-piece of mr. dryden before my betters; and how i could scarce get out the bloody threats for shyness and rising tears. so it was with maskew's words; for he had much ado to gather breath to say them, and they came in a thin voice that had no sting of wrath or passion in it. then elzevir spoke to him, not roughly, but resolved; and yet with melancholy, like a judge sentencing a prisoner: 'talk not to me of gibbets, for thou wilt neither hang nor see men hanged again. a month ago thou satst under my roof, watching the flame burn down till the pin dropped and gave thee right to turn me out from my old home. and now this morning thou shalt watch that flame again, for i will give thee one inch more of candle, and when the pin drops, will put this thine own pistol to thy head, and kill thee with as little thought as i would kill a stoat or other vermin.' then he opened the lanthorn slide, took out from his neckcloth that same pin with the onyx head which he had used in the why not? and fixed it in the tallow a short inch from the top, setting the lanthorn down upon the sward in front of maskew. as for me, i was dismayed beyond telling at these words, and made giddy with the revulsion of feeling; for, whereas, but a few minutes ago, i would have thought nothing too bad for maskew, now i was turned round to wish he might come off with his life, and to look with terror upon elzevir. it had grown much lighter, but not yet with the rosy flush of sunrise; only the stars had faded out, and the deep blue of the night given way to a misty grey. the light was strong enough to let all things be seen, but not to call the due tints back to them. so i could see cliffs and ground, bushes and stones and sea, and all were of one pearly grey colour, or rather they were colourless; but the most colourless and greyest thing of all was maskew's face. his hair had got awry, and his head showed much balder than when it was well trimmed; his face, too, was drawn with heavy lines, and there were rings under his eyes. beside all that, he had got an ugly fall in trying to escape, and one cheek was muddied, and down it trickled a blood-drop where a stone had cut him. he was a sorry sight enough, and looking at him, i remembered that day in the schoolroom when this very man had struck the parson, and how our master had sat patient under it, with a blood-drop trickling down his cheek too. maskew kept his eyes fixed for a long time on the ground, but raised them at last, and looked at me with a vacant yet pity-seeking look. now, till that moment i had never seen a trace of grace in his features, nor of him in hers; and yet as he gazed at me then, there was something of her present in his face, even battered as it was, so that it seemed as if she looked at me behind his eyes. and that made me the sorrier for him, and at last i felt i could not stand by and see him done to death. when elzevir had stuck the pin into the candle he never shut the slide again; and though no wind blew, there was a light breath moving in the morning off the sea, that got inside the lanthorn and set the flame askew. and so the candle guttered down one side till but little tallow was left above the pin; for though the flame grew pale and paler to the view in the growing morning light, yet it burnt freely all the time. so at last there was left, as i judged, but a quarter of an hour to run before the pin should fall, and i saw that maskew knew this as well as i, for his eyes were fixed on the lanthorn. at last he spoke again, but the brave words were gone, and the thin voice was thinner. he had dropped threats, and was begging piteously for his life. 'spare me,' he said; 'spare me, mr. block: i have an only daughter, a young girl with none but me to guard her. would you rob a young girl of her only help and cast her on the world? would you have them find me dead upon the cliff and bring me back to her a bloody corpse?' then elzevir answered: 'and had i not an only son, and was he not brought back to me a bloody corpse? whose pistol was it that flashed in his face and took his life away? do you not know? it was this very same that shall flash in yours. so make what peace you may with god, for you have little time to make it.' with that he took the pistol from the ground where it had lain, and turning his back on maskew, walked slowly to and fro among the bramble-plumps. though maskew's words about his daughter seemed but to feed elzevir's anger, by leading him to think of david, they sank deep in my heart; and if it had seemed a fearful thing before to stand by and see a fellow-creature butchered, it seemed now ten thousand times more fearful. and when i thought of grace, and what such a deed would mean to her, my pulse beat so fierce that i must needs spring to my feet and run to reason with elzevir, and tell him this must not be. he was still walking among the bushes when i found him, and let me say my say till i was out of breath, and bore with me if i talked fast, and if my tongue outran my judgement. 'thou hast a warm heart, lad,' he said, 'and 'tis for that i like thee. and if thou hast a chief place in thy heart for me, i cannot grumble if thou find a little room there even for our enemies. would i could set thy soul at ease, and do all that thou askest. in the first flush of wrath, when he was taken plotting against our lives, it seemed a little thing enough to take his evil life. but now these morning airs have cooled me, and it goes against my will to shoot a cowering hound tied hand and foot, even though he had murdered twenty sons of mine. i have thought if there be any way to spare his life, and leave this hour's agony to read a lesson not to be unlearned until the grave. for such poltroons dread death, and in one hour they die a hundred times. but there is no way out: his life lies in the scale against the lives of all our men, yes, and thy life too. they left him in my hands well knowing i should take account of him; and am i now to play them false and turn him loose again to hang them all? it cannot be.' still i pleaded hard for maskew's life, hanging on elzevir's arm, and using every argument that i could think of to soften his purpose; but he pushed me off; and though i saw that he was loth to do it, i had a terrible conviction that he was not a man to be turned back from his resolve, and would go through with it to the end. we came back together from the brambles to the piece of sward, and there sat maskew where we had left him with his back against the stone. only, while we were away he had managed to wriggle his watch out of the fob, and it lay beside him on the turf, tied to him with a black silk riband. the face of it was turned upwards, and as i passed i saw the hand pointed to five. sunrise was very near; for though the cliff shut out the east from us, the west over portland was all aglow with copper-red and gold, and the candle burnt low. the head of the pin was drooping, though very slightly, but as i saw it droop a month before, and i knew that the final act was not far off. maskew knew it too, for he made his last appeal, using such passionate words as i cannot now relate, and wriggling with his body as if to get his hands from behind his back and hold them up in supplication. he offered money; a thousand, five thousand, ten thousand pounds to be set free; he would give back the why not?; he would leave moonfleet; and all the while the sweat ran down his furrowed face, and at last his voice was choked with sobs, for he was crying for his life in craven fear. he might have spoken to a deaf man for all he moved his judge; and elzevir's answer was to cock the pistol and prime the powder in the pan. then i stuck my fingers in my ears and shut my eyes, that i might neither see nor hear what followed, but in a second changed my mind and opened them again, for i had made a great resolve to stop this matter, come what might. maskew was making a dreadful sound between a moan and strangled cry; it almost seemed as if he thought that there were others by him beside elzevir and me, and was shouting to them for help. the sun had risen, and his first rays blazed on a window far away in the west on top of portland island, and then there was a tinkle in the inside of the lanthorn, and the pin fell. elzevir looked full at maskew, and raised his pistol; but before he had time to take aim, i dashed upon him like a wild cat, springing on his right arm, and crying to him to stop. it was an unequal struggle, a lad, though full-grown and lusty, against one of the powerfullest of men, but indignation nerved my arms, and his were weak, because he doubted of his right. so 'twas with some effort that he shook me off, and in the struggle the pistol was fired into the air. then i let go of him, and stumbled for a moment, tired with that bout, but pleased withal, because i saw what peace even so short a respite had brought to maskew. for at the pistol shot 'twas as if a mask of horror had fallen from his face, and left him his old countenance again; and then i saw he turned his eyes towards the cliff-top, and thought that he was looking up in thankfulness to heaven. but now a new thing happened; for before the echoes of that pistol-shot had died on the keen morning air, i thought i heard a noise of distant shouting, and looked about to see whence it could come. elzevir looked round too, but maskew forgetting to upbraid me for making him miss his aim, still kept his face turned up towards the cliff. then the voices came nearer, and there was a mingled sound as of men shouting to one another, and gathering in from different places. 'twas from the cliff-top that the voices came, and thither elzevir and i looked up, and there too maskew kept his eyes fixed. and in a moment there were a score of men stood on the cliff's edge high above our heads. the sky behind them was pink flushed with the keenest light of the young day, and they stood out against it sharp cut and black as the silhouette of my mother that used to hang up by the parlour chimney. they were soldiers, and i knew the tall mitre-caps of the th, and saw the shafts of light from the sunrise come flashing round their bodies, and glance off the barrels of their matchlocks. i knew it all now; it was the posse who had lain in ambush. elzevir saw it too, and then all shouted at once. 'yield at the king's command: you are our prisoners!' calls the voice of one of those black silhouettes, far up on the cliff-top. 'we are lost,' cries elzevir; 'it is the posse; but if we die, this traitor shall go before us,' and he makes towards maskew to brain him with the pistol. 'shoot, shoot, in the devil's name,' screams maskew, 'or i am a dead man.' then there came a flash of fire along the black line of silhouettes, with a crackle like a near peal of thunder, and a fut, fut, fut, of bullets in the turf. and before elzevir could get at him, maskew had fallen over on the sward with a groan, and with a little red hole in the middle of his forehead. 'run for the cliff-side,' cried elzevir to me; 'get close in, and they cannot touch thee,' and he made for the chalk wall. but i had fallen on my knees like a bullock felled by a pole-axe, and had a scorching pain in my left foot. elzevir looked back. 'what, have they hit thee too?' he said, and ran and picked me up like a child. and then there is another flash and fut, fut, in the turf; but the shots find no billet this time, and we are lying close against the cliff, panting but safe. chapter the escape ... how fearful and dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low! ... i'll look no more lest my brain turn--_shakespeare_ the while chalk was a bulwark between us and the foe; and though one or two of them loosed off their matchlocks, trying to get at us sideways, they could not even see their quarry, and 'twas only shooting at a venture. we were safe. but for how short a time! safe just for so long as it should please the soldiers not to come down to take us, safe with a discharged pistol in our grasp, and a shot man lying at our feet. elzevir was the first to speak: 'can you stand, john? is the bone broken?' 'i cannot stand,' i said; 'there is something gone in my leg, and i feel blood running down into my boot.' he knelt, and rolled down the leg of my stocking; but though he only moved my foot ever so little, it caused me sharp pain, for feeling was coming back after the first numbness of the shot. 'they have broke the leg, though it bleeds little,' elzevir said. 'we have no time to splice it here, but i will put a kerchief round, and while i wrap it, listen to how we lie, and then choose what we shall do.' i nodded, biting my lips hard to conceal the pain he gave me, and he went on: 'we have a quarter of an hour before the posse can get down to us. but come they will, and thou canst judge what chance we have to save liberty or life with that carrion lying by us'--and he jerked his thumb at maskew--'though i am glad 'twas not my hand that sent him to his reckoning, and therefore do not blame thee if thou didst make me waste a charge in air. so one thing we can do is to wait here until they come, and i can account for a few of them before they shoot me down; but thou canst not fight with a broken leg, and they will take thee alive, and then there is a dance on air at dorchester jail.' i felt sick with pain and bitterly cast down to think that i was like to come so soon to such a vile end; so only gave a sigh, wishing heartily that maskew were not dead, and that my leg were not broke, but that i was back again at the why not? or even hearing one of dr. sherlock's sermons in my aunt's parlour. elzevir looked down at me when i sighed, and seeing, i suppose, that i was sorrowful, tried to put a better face on a bad business. 'forgive me, lad,' he said, 'if i have spoke too roughly. there is yet another way that we may try; and if thou hadst but two whole legs, i would have tried it, but now 'tis little short of madness. and yet, if thou fear'st not, i will still try it. just at the end of this flat ledge, farthest from where the bridle-path leads down, but not a hundred yards from where we stand, there is a sheep-track leading up the cliff. it starts where the under-cliff dies back again into the chalk face, and climbs by slants and elbow-turns up to the top. the shepherds call it the zigzag, and even sheep lose their footing on it; and of men i never heard but one had climbed it, and that was lander jordan, when the excise was on his heels, half a century back. but he that tries it stakes all on head and foot, and a wounded bird like thee may not dare that flight. yet, if thou art content to hang thy life upon a hair, i will carry thee some way; and where there is no room to carry, thou must down on hands and knees and trail thy foot.' it was a desperate chance enough, but came as welcome as a patch of blue through lowering skies. 'yes,' i said, 'dear master elzevir, let us get to it quickly; and if we fall, 'tis better far to die upon the rocks below than to wait here for them to hale us off to jail.' and with that i tried to stand, thinking i might go dot and carry even with a broken leg. but 'twas no use, and down i sank with a groan. then elzevir caught me up, holding me in his arms, with my head looking over his back, and made off for the zigzag. and as we slunk along, close to the cliff-side, i saw, between the brambles, maskew lying with his face turned up to the morning sky. and there was the little red hole in the middle of his forehead, and a thread of blood that welled up from it and trickled off on to the sward. it was a sight to stagger any man, and would have made me swoon perhaps, but that there was no time, for we were at the end of the under-cliff, and elzevir set me down for a minute, before he buckled to his task. and 'twas a task that might cow the bravest, and when i looked upon the zigzag, it seemed better to stay where we were and fall into the hands of the posse than set foot on that awful way, and fall upon the rocks below. for the zigzag started off as a fair enough chalk path, but in a few paces narrowed down till it was but a whiter thread against the grey-white cliff-face, and afterwards turned sharply back, crossing a hundred feet direct above our heads. and then i smelt an evil stench, and looking about, saw the blown-out carcass of a rotting sheep lie close at hand. 'faugh,' said elzevir, 'tis a poor beast has lost his foothold.' it was an ill omen enough, and i said as much, beseeching him to make his own way up the zigzag and leave me where i was, for that they might have mercy on a boy. 'tush!' he cried; 'it is thy heart that fails thee, and 'tis too late now to change counsel. we have fifteen minutes yet to win or lose with, and if we gain the cliff-top in that time we shall have an hour's start, or more, for they will take all that to search the under-cliff. and maskew, too, will keep them in check a little, while they try to bring the life back to so good a man. but if we fall, why, we shall fall together, and outwit their cunning. so shut thy eyes, and keep them tight until i bid thee open them.' with that he caught me up again, and i shut my eyes firm, rebuking myself for my faint-heartedness, and not telling him how much my foot hurt me. in a minute i knew from elzevir's steps that he had left the turf and was upon the chalk. now i do not believe that there were half a dozen men beside in england who would have ventured up that path, even free and untrammelled, and not a man in all the world to do it with a full-grown lad in his arms. yet elzevir made no bones of it, nor spoke a single word; only he went very slow, and i felt him scuffle with his foot as he set it forward, to make sure he was putting it down firm. i said nothing, not wishing to distract him from his terrible task, and held my breath, when i could, so that i might lie quieter in his arms. thus he went on for a time that seemed without end, and yet was really but a minute or two; and by degrees i felt the wind, that we could scarce perceive at all on the under-cliff, blow fresher and cold on the cliff-side. and then the path grew steeper and steeper, and elzevir went slower and slower, till at last he spoke: 'john, i am going to stop; but open not thy eyes till i have set thee down and bid thee.' i did as bidden, and he lowered me gently, setting me on all-fours upon the path; and speaking again: 'the path is too narrow here for me to carry thee, and thou must creep round this corner on thy hands and knees. but have a care to keep thy outer hand near to the inner, and the balance of thy body to the cliff, for there is no room to dance hornpipes here. and hold thy eyes fixed on the chalk-wall, looking neither down nor seaward.' 'twas well he told me what to do, and well i did it; for when i opened my eyes, even without moving them from the cliff-side, i saw that the ledge was little more than a foot wide, and that ever so little a lean of the body would dash me on the rocks below. so i crept on, but spent much time that was so precious in travelling those ten yards to take me round the first elbow of the path; for my foot was heavy and gave me fierce pain to drag, though i tried to mask it from elzevir. and he, forgetting what i suffered, cried out, 'quicken thy pace, lad, if thou canst, the time is short.' now so frail is man's temper, that though he was doing more than any ever did to save another's life, and was all i had to trust to in the world; yet because he forgot my pain and bade me quicken, my choler rose, and i nearly gave him back an angry word, but thought better of it and kept it in. then he told me to stop, for that the way grew wider and he would pick me up again. but here was another difficulty, for the path was still so narrow and the cliff-wall so close that he could not take me up in his arms. so i lay flat on my face, and he stepped over me, setting his foot between my shoulders to do it; and then, while he knelt down upon the path, i climbed up from behind upon him, putting my arms round his neck; and so he bore me 'pickaback'. i shut my eyes firm again, and thus we moved along another spell, mounting still and feeling the wind still freshening. at length he said that we were come to the last turn of the path, and he must set me down once more. so down upon his knees and hands he went, and i slid off behind, on to the ledge. both were on all-fours now; elzevir first and i following. but as i crept along, i relaxed care for a moment, and my eyes wandered from the cliff-side and looked down. and far below i saw the blue sea twinkling like a dazzling mirror, and the gulls wheeling about the sheer chalk wall, and then i thought of that bloated carcass of a sheep that had fallen from this very spot perhaps, and in an instant felt a sickening qualm and swimming of the brain, and knew that i was giddy and must fall. then i called out to elzevir, and he, guessing what had come over me, cries to turn upon my side, and press my belly to the cliff. and how he did it in such a narrow strait i know not; but he turned round, and lying down himself, thrust his hand firmly in my back, pressing me closer to the cliff. yet it was none too soon, for if he had not held me tight, i should have flung myself down in sheer despair to get quit of that dreadful sickness. 'keep thine eyes shut, john,' he said, 'and count up numbers loud to me, that i may know thou art not turning faint.' so i gave out, 'one, two, three,' and while i went on counting, heard him repeating to himself, though his words seemed thin and far off: 'we must have taken ten minutes to get here, and in five more they will be on the under-cliff; and if we ever reach the top, who knows but they have left a guard! no, no, they will not leave a guard, for not a man knows of the zigzag; and, if they knew, they would not guess that we should try it. we have but fifty yards to go to win, and now this cursed giddy fit has come upon the child, and he will fall and drag me with him; or they will see us from below, and pick us off like sitting guillemots against the cliff-face.' so he talked to himself, and all the while i would have given a world to pluck up heart and creep on farther; yet could not, for the deadly sweating fear that had hold of me. thus i lay with my face to the cliff, and elzevir pushing firmly in my back; and the thing that frightened me most was that there was nothing at all for the hand to take hold of, for had there been a piece of string, or even a thread of cotton, stretched along to give a semblance of support, i think i could have done it; but there was only the cliff-wall, sheer and white, against that narrowest way, with never cranny to put a finger into. the wind was blowing in fresh puffs, and though i did not open my eyes, i knew that it was moving the little tufts of bent grass, and the chiding cries of the gulls seemed to invite me to be done with fear and pain and broken leg, and fling myself off on to the rocks below. then elzevir spoke. 'john' he said, 'there is no time to play the woman; another minute of this and we are lost. pluck up thy courage, keep thy eyes to the cliff, and forward.' yet i could not, but answered: 'i cannot, i cannot; if i open my eyes, or move hand or foot, i shall fall on the rocks below.' he waited a second, and then said: 'nay, move thou must, and 'tis better to risk falling now, than fall for certain with another bullet in thee later on.' and with that he shifted his hand from my back and fixed it in my coat-collar, moving backwards himself, and setting to drag me after him. now, i was so besotted with fright that i would not budge an inch, fearing to fall over if i opened my eyes. and elzevir, for all he was so strong, could not pull a helpless lump backwards up that path. so he gave it up, leaving go hold on me with a groan, and at that moment there rose from the under-cliff, below a sound of voices and shouting. 'zounds, they are down already!' cried elzevir, 'and have found maskew's body; it is all up; another minute and they will see us.' but so strange is the force of mind on body, and the power of a greater to master a lesser fear, that when i heard those voices from below, all fright of falling left me in a moment, and i could open my eyes without a trace of giddiness. so i began to move forward again on hands and knees. and elzevir, seeing me, thought for a moment i had gone mad, and was dragging myself over the cliff; but then saw how it was, and moved backwards himself before me, saying in a low voice, 'brave lad! once creep round this turn, and i will pick thee up again. there is but fifty yards to go, and we shall foil these devils yet!' then we heard the voices again, but farther off, and not so loud; and knew that our pursuers had left the under-cliff and turned down on to the beach, thinking that we were hiding by the sea. five minutes later elzevir stepped on to the cliff-top, with me upon his back. 'we have made something of this throw,' he said, 'and are safe for another hour, though i thought thy giddy head had ruined us.' then he put me gently upon the springy turf, and lay down himself upon his back, stretching his arms out straight on either side, and breathing hard to recover from the task he had performed. * * * * * the day was still young, and far below us was stretched the moving floor of the channel, with a silver-grey film of night-mists not yet lifted in the offing. a hummocky up-and-down line of cliffs, all projections, dents, bays, and hollows, trended southward till it ended in the great bluff of st. alban's head, ten miles away. the cliff-face was gleaming white, the sea tawny inshore, but purest blue outside, with the straight sunpath across it, spangled and gleaming like a mackerel's back. the relief of being once more on firm ground, and the exultation of an escape from immediate danger, removed my pain and made me forget that my leg was broken. so i lay for a moment basking in the sun; and the wind, which a few minutes before threatened to blow me from that narrow ledge, seemed now but the gentlest of breezes, fresh with the breath of the kindly sea. but this was only for a moment, for the anguish came back and grew apace, and i fell to thinking dismally of the plight we were in. how things had been against us in these last days! first there was losing the why not? and that was bad enough; second, there was the being known by the excise for smugglers, and perhaps for murderers; third and last, there was the breaking of my leg, which made escape so difficult. but, most of all, there came before my eyes that grey face turned up against the morning sun, and i thought of all it meant for grace, and would have given my own life to call back that of our worst enemy. then elzevir sat up, stretching himself like one waking out of sleep, and said: 'we must be gone. they will not be back for some time yet, and, when they come, will not think to search closely for us hereabouts; but that we cannot risk, and must get clear away. this leg of thine will keep us tied for weeks, and we must find some place where we can lie hid, and tend it. now, i know such a hiding-hole in purbeck, which they call joseph's pit, and thither we must go; but it will take all the day to get there, for it is seven miles off, and i am older than i was, and thou too heavy a babe to carry over lightly.' i did not know the pit he spoke of, but was glad to hear of some place, however far off, where i could lie still and get ease from the pain. and so he took me in his arms again and started off across the fields. i need not tell of that weary journey, and indeed could not, if i wished; for the pain went to my head and filled me with such a drowsy anguish that i knew nothing except when some unlooked-for movement gave me a sharper twinge, and made me cry out. at first elzevir walked briskly, but as the day wore on went slower, and was fain more than once to put me down and rest, till at last he could only carry me a hundred yards at a time. it was after noon, for the sun was past the meridian, and very hot for the time of year, when the face of the country began to change; and instead of the short sward of the open down, sprinkled with tiny white snail-shells, the ground was brashy with flat stones, and divided up into tillage fields. it was a bleak wide-bitten place enough, looking as if 'twould never pay for turning, and instead of hedges there were dreary walls built of dry stone without mortar. behind one of these walls, broken down in places, but held together with straggling ivy, and buttressed here and there with a bramble-bush, elzevir put me down at length and said, 'i am beat, and can carry thee no farther for this present, though there is not now much farther to go. we have passed purbeck gates, and these walls will screen us from prying eyes if any chance comer pass along the down. and as for the soldiers, they are not like to come this way so soon, and if they come i cannot help it; for weariness and the sun's heat have made my feet like lead. a score of years ago i would have laughed at such a task, but now 'tis different, and i must take a little sleep and rest till the air is cooler. so sit thee here and lean thy shoulder up against the wall, and thus thou canst look through this broken place and watch both ways. then, if thou see aught moving, wake me up.--i wish i had a thimbleful of powder to make this whistle sound'--and he took maskew's silver-butted pistol again from his bosom, and handled it lovingly,--'tis like my evil luck to carry fire-arms thirty years, and leave them at home at a pinch like this.' with that he flung himself down where there was a narrow shadow close against the bottom of the wall, and in a minute i knew from his heavy breathing that he was asleep. the wind had freshened much, and was blowing strong from the west; and now that i was under the lee of the wall i began to perceive that drowsiness creeping upon me which overtakes a man who has been tousled for an hour or two by the wind, and gets at length into shelter. moreover, though i was not tired by grievous toil like elzevir, i had passed a night without sleep, and felt besides the weariness of pain to lull me to slumber. so it was, that before a quarter of an hour was past, i had much ado to keep awake, for all i knew that i was left on guard. then i sought something to fix my thoughts, and looking on that side of the wall where the sward was, fell to counting the mole-hills that were cast up in numbers thereabout. and when i had exhausted them, and reckoned up thirty little heaps of dry and powdery brown earth, that lay at random on the green turf, i turned my eyes to the tillage field on the other side of the wall, and saw the inch-high blades of corn coming up between the stones. then i fell to counting the blades, feeling glad to have discovered a reckoning that would not be exhausted at thirty, but would go on for millions, and millions, and millions; and before i had reached ten in so heroic a numeration was fast asleep. a sharp noise woke me with a start that set the pain tingling in my leg, and though i could see nothing, i knew that a shot had been fired very near us. i was for waking elzevir, but he was already full awake, and put a finger on his lip to show i should not speak. then he crept a few paces down the wall to where an ivy bush over-topped it, enough for him to look through the leaves without being seen. he dropped down again with a look of relief, and said, ''tis but a lad scaring rooks with a blunderbuss; we will not stir unless he makes this way.' a minute later he said: 'the boy is coming straight for the wall; we shall have to show ourselves'; and while he spoke there was a rattle of falling stones, where the boy was partly climbing and partly pulling down the dry wall, and so elzevir stood up. the boy looked frightened, and made as if he would run off, but elzevir passed him the time of day in a civil voice, and he stopped and gave it back. 'what are you doing here, son?' block asked. 'scaring rooks for farmer topp,' was the answer. 'have you got a charge of powder to spare?' said elzevir, showing his pistol. 'i want to get a rabbit in the gorse for supper, and have dropped my flask. maybe you've seen a flask in walking through the furrows?' he whispered to me to lie still, so that it might not be perceived my leg was broken; and the boy replied: 'no, i have seen no flask; but very like have not come the same way as you, being sent out here from lowermoigne; and as for powder, i have little left, and must save that for the rooks, or shall get a beating for my pains.' 'come,' said elzevir, 'give me a charge or two, and there is half a crown for thee.' and he took the coin out of his pocket and showed it. the boy's eyes twinkled, and so would mine at so valuable a piece, and he took out from his pocket a battered cowskin flask. 'give flask and all,' said elzevir, 'and thou shalt have a crown,' and he showed him the larger coin. no time was wasted in words; elzevir had the flask in his pocket, and the boy was biting the crown. 'what shot have you?' said elzevir. 'what! have you dropped your shot-flask too?' asked the boy. and his voice had something of surprise in it. 'nay, but my shot are over small; if thou hast a slug or two, i would take them.' 'i have a dozen goose-slugs, no. ,' said the boy; 'but thou must pay a shilling for them. my master says i never am to use them, except i see a swan or buzzard, or something fit to cook, come over: i shall get a sound beating for my pains, and to be beat is worth a shilling.' 'if thou art beat, be beat for something more,' says elzevir the tempter. 'give me that firelock that thou carriest, and take a guinea.' 'nay, i know not,' says the boy; 'there are queer tales afloat at lowermoigne, how that a posse met the contraband this morning, and shots were fired, and a gauger got an overdose of lead--maybe of goose slugs no. . the smugglers got off clear, but they say the hue and cry is up already, and that a head-price will be fixed of twenty pound. so if i sell you a fowling-piece, maybe i shall do wrong, and have the government upon me as well as my master.' the surprise in his voice was changed to suspicion, for while he spoke i saw that his eye had fallen on my foot, though i tried to keep it in the shadow; and that he saw the boot clotted with blood, and the kerchief tied round my leg. ''tis for that very reason,' says elzevir, 'that i want the firelock. these smugglers are roaming loose, and a pistol is a poor thing to stop such wicked rascals on a lone hill-side. come, come, _thou_ dost not want a piece to guard thee; they will not hurt a boy.' he had the guinea between his finger and thumb, and the gleam of the gold was too strong to be withstood. so we gained a sorry matchlock, slugs, and powder, and the boy walked off over the furrow, whistling with his hand in his pocket, and a guinea and a crown-piece in his hand. his whistle sounded innocent enough, yet i mistrusted him, having caught his eye when he was looking at my bloody foot; and so i said as much to elzevir, who only laughed, saying the boy was simple and harmless. but from where i sat i could peep out through the brambles in the open gap, and see without being seen--and there was my young gentleman walking carelessly enough, and whistling like any bird so long as elzevir's head was above the wall; but when elzevir sat down, the boy gave a careful look round, and seeing no one watching any more, dropped his whistling and made off as fast as heels would carry him. then i knew that he had guessed who we were, and was off to warn the hue and cry; but before elzevir was on his feet again, the boy was out of sight, over the hill-brow. 'let us move on,' said block; 'tis but a little distance now to go, and the heat is past already. we must have slept three hours or more, for thou art but a sorry watchman, john. 'tis when the sentry sleeps that the enemy laughs, and for thee the posse might have had us both like daylight owls.' with that he took me on his back and made off with a lusty stride, keeping as much as possible under the brow of the hill and in the shelter of the walls. we had slept longer than we thought, for the sun was westering fast, and though the rest had refreshed me, my leg had grown stiff, and hurt the more in dangling when we started again. elzevir was still walking strongly, in spite of the heavy burden he carried, and in less than half an hour i knew, though i had never been there before, we were in the land of the old marble quarries at the back of anvil point. although i knew little of these quarries, and certainly was in evil plight to take note of anything at that time, yet afterwards i learnt much about them. out of such excavations comes that black purbeck marble which you see in old churches in our country, and i am told in other parts of england as well. and the way of making a marble quarry is to sink a tunnel, slanting very steeply down into the earth, like a well turned askew, till you reach fifty, seventy, or perhaps one hundred feet deep. then from the bottom of this shaft there spread out narrow passages or tunnels, mostly six feet high, but sometimes only three or four, and in these the marble is dug. these quarries were made by men centuries ago, some say by the romans themselves; and though some are still worked in other parts of purbeck, those at the back of anvil point have been disused beyond the memory of man. we had left the stony village fields, and the face of the country was covered once more with the closest sward, which was just putting on the brighter green of spring. this turf was not smooth, but hummocky, for under it lay heaps of worthless stone and marble drawn out of the quarries ages ago, which the green vestment had covered for the most part, though it left sometimes a little patch of broken rubble peering out at the top of a mound. there were many tumble-down walls and low gables left of the cottages of the old quarrymen; grass-covered ridges marked out the little garden-folds, and here and there still stood a forlorn gooseberry-bush, or a stunted plum- or apple-tree with its branches all swept eastward by the up-channel gales. as for the quarry shafts themselves, they too were covered round the tips with the green turf, and down them led a narrow flight of steep-cut steps, with a slide of soap-stone at the side, on which the marble blocks were once hauled up by wooden winches. down these steps no feet ever walked now, for not only were suffocating gases said to beset the bottom of the shafts, but men would have it that in the narrow passages below lurked evil spirits and demons. one who ought to know about such things, told me that when st. aldhelm first came to purbeck, he bound the old pagan gods under a ban deep in these passages, but that the worst of all the crew was a certain demon called the mandrive, who watched over the best of the black marble. and that was why such marble might only be used in churches or for graves, for if it were not for this holy purpose, the mandrive would have power to strangle the man that hewed it. it was by the side of one of these old shafts that elzevir laid me down at last. the light was very low, showing all the little unevennesses of the turf; and the sward crept over the edges of the hole, and every crack and crevice in steps and slide was green with ferns. the green ferns shrouded the walls of the hole, and ruddy brown brambles overgrew the steps, till all was lost in the gloom that hung at the bottom of the pit. elzevir drew a deep breath or two of the cool evening air, like a man who has come through a difficult trial. 'there,' he said, 'this is joseph's pit, and here we must lie hid until thy foot is sound again. once get to the bottom safe, and we can laugh at posse, and hue and cry, and at the king's crown itself. they cannot search all the quarries, and are not like to search any of them, for they are cowards at the best, and hang much on tales of the mandrive. ay, and such tales are true enough, for there lurk gases at the bottom of most of the shafts, like devils to strangle any that go down. and if they do come down this joseph's pit, we still have nineteen chances in a score they cannot thread the workings. but last, if they come down, and thread the path, there is this pistol and a rusty matchlock; and before they come to where we lie, we can hold the troop at bay and sell our lives so dear they will not care to buy them.' we waited a few minutes, and then he took me in his arms and began to descend the steps, back first, as one goes down a hatchway. the sun was setting in a heavy bank of clouds just as we began to go down, and i could not help remembering how i had seen it set over peaceful moonfleet only twenty-four hours ago; and how far off we were now, and how long it was likely to be before i saw that dear village and grace again. the stairs were still sharp cut and little worn, but elzevir paid great care to his feet, lest he should slip on the ferns and mosses with which they were overgrown. when we reached the brambles he met them with his back, and though i heard the thorns tearing in his coat, he shoved them aside with his broad shoulders, and screened my dangling leg from getting caught. thus he came safe without stumble to the bottom of the pit. when we got there all was dark, but he stepped off into a narrow opening on the right hand, and walked on as if he knew the way. i could see nothing, but perceived that we were passing through endless galleries cut in the solid rock, high enough, for the most part, to allow of walking upright, but sometimes so low as to force him to bend down and carry me in a very constrained attitude. only twice did he set me down at a turning, while he took out his tinder-box and lit a match; but at length the darkness became less dark, and i saw that we were in a large cave or room, into which the light came through some opening at the far end. at the same time i felt a colder breath and fresh salt smell in the air that told me we were very near the sea. chapter the sea-cave the dull loneness, the black shade, that these hanging vaults have made: the strange music of the waves beating on these hollow caves--_wither_ he set me down in one corner, where was some loose dry silver-sand upon the floor, which others had perhaps used for a resting-place before. 'thou must lie here for a month or two, lad,' he said; 'tis a mean bed, but i have known many worse, and will get straw tomorrow if i can, to better it.' i had eaten nothing all day, nor had elzevir, yet i felt no hunger, only a giddiness and burning thirst like that which came upon me when i was shut in the mohune vault. so 'twas very music to me to hear a pat and splash of water dropping from the roof into a little pool upon the floor, and elzevir made a cup out of my hat and gave a full drink of it that was icy-cool and more delicious than any smuggled wine of france. and after that i knew little that happened for ten days or more, for fever had hold of me, and as i learnt afterwards, i talked wild and could scarce be restrained from jumping up and loosing the bindings that elzevir had put upon my leg. and all that time he nursed me as tenderly as any mother could her child, and never left the cave except when he was forced to seek food. but after the fever passed it left me very thin, as i could see from hands and arms, and weaker than a baby; and i used to lie the whole day, not thinking much, nor troubling about anything, but eating what was given me and drawing a quiet pleasure from the knowledge that strength was gradually returning. elzevir had found a battered sea-chest up on peveril point, and from the side of it made splints to set my leg--using his own shirt for bandages. the sand-bed too was made more soft and easy with some armfuls of straw, and in one corner of the cave was a little pile of driftwood and an iron cooking-pot. and all these things had elzevir got by foraging of nights, using great care that none should see him, and taking only what would not be much missed or thought about; but soon he contrived to give ratsey word of where we were, and after that the sexton fended for us. there were none even of the landers knew what was become of us, save only ratsey; and he never came down the quarry, but would leave what he brought in one of the ruined cottages a half-mile from the shaft. and all the while there was strict search being made for us, and mounted excisemen scouring the country; for though at first the posse took back maskew's dead body and said we must have fallen over the cliff, for there was nothing to be found of us, yet afterwards a farm-boy brought a tale of how he had come suddenly on men lurking under a wall, and how one had a bloody foot and leg, and how the other sprung upon him and after a fierce struggle wrenched his master's rook-piece from his hands, rifled his pocket of a powder-horn, and made off with them like a hare towards corfe. and as to maskew, some of the soldiers said that elzevir had shot him, and others that he died by misadventure, being killed by a stray bullet of one of his own men on the hill-top; but for all that they put a head-price on elzevir of , and for me, so we had reason to lie close. it must have been maskew that listened that night at the door when elzevir told me the hour at which the cargo was to be run; for the posse had been ordered to be at hoar head at four in the morning. so all the gang would have been taken had it not been for the gulder making earlier, and the soldiers being delayed by tippling at the lobster. all this elzevir learnt from ratsey and told me to pass the time, though in truth i had as lief not heard it, for 'tis no pleasant thing to see one's head wrote down so low as . and what i wanted most to know, namely how grace fared and how she took the bad news of her father's death, i could not hear, for elzevir said nothing, and i was shy to ask him. now when i came entirely to myself, and was able to take stock of things, i found that the place in which i lay was a cave some eight yards square and three in height, whose straight-cut walls showed that men had once hewed stone therefrom. on one side was that passage through which we had come in, and on the other opened a sort of door which gave on to a stone ledge eight fathoms above high-water mark. for the cave was cut out just inside that iron cliff-face which lies between st. alban's head and swanage. but the cliffs here are different from those on the other side of the head, being neither so high as hoar head nor of chalk, but standing for the most part only an hundred or an hundred and fifty feet above the sea, and showing towards it a stern face of solid rock. but though they rise not so high above the water, they go down a long way below it; so that there is fifty fathom right up to the cliff, and many a good craft out of reckoning in fog, or on a pitch-dark night, has run full against that frowning wall, and perished, ship and crew, without a soul to hear their cries. yet, though the rock looks hard as adamant, the eternal washing of the wave has worn it out below, and even with the slightest swell there is a dull and distant booming of the surge in those cavernous deeps; and when the wind blows fresh, each roller smites the cliff like a thunder-clap, till even the living rock trembles again. it was on a ledge of that rock-face that our cave opened, and sometimes on a fine day elzevir would carry me out thither, so that i might sun myself and see all the moving channel without myself being seen. for this ledge was carved out something like a balcony, so that when the quarry was in working they could lower the stone by pulleys to boats lying underneath, and perhaps haul up a keg or two by the way of ballast, as might be guessed by the stanchions still rusting in the rock. such was this gallery; and as for the inside of the cave, 'twas a great empty room, with a white floor made up of broken stone-dust trodden hard of old till one would say it was plaster; and dry, without those sweaty damps so often seen in such places--save only in one corner a land-spring dropped from the roof trickling down over spiky rock-icicles, and falling into a little hollow in the floor. this basin had been scooped out of set purpose, with a gutter seaward for the overflow, and round it and on the wet patch of the roof above grew a garden of ferns and other clinging plants. the weeks moved on until we were in the middle of may, when even the nights were no longer cold, as the sun gathered power. and with the warmer days my strength too increased, and though i dared not yet stand, my leg had ceased to pain me, except for some sharp twinges now and then, which elzevir said were caused by the bone setting. and then he would put a poultice made of grass upon the place, and once walked almost as far as chaldron to pluck sorrel for a soothing mash. now though he had gone out and in so many times in safety, yet i was always ill at ease when he was away, lest he might fall into some ambush and never come back. nor was it any thought of what would come to me if he were caught that grieved me, but only care for him; for i had come to lean in everything upon this grim and grizzled giant, and love him like a father. so when he was away i took to reading to beguile my thoughts; but found little choice of matter, having only my aunt's red prayer-book that i thrust into my bosom the afternoon that i left moonfleet, and blackbeard's locket. for that locket hung always round my neck; and i often had the parchment out and read it; not that i did not know it now by heart, but because reading it seemed to bring grace to my thoughts, for the last time i had read it was when i saw her in the manor woods. elzevir and i had often talked over what was to be done when my leg should be sound again, and resolved to take passage to st. malo in the _bonaventure_, and there lie hid till the pursuit against us should have ceased. for though 'twas wartime, french and english were as brothers in the contraband, and the shippers would give us bit and sup, and glad to, as long as we had need of them. but of this i need not say more, because 'twas but a project, which other events came in to overturn. yet 'twas this very errand, namely, to fix with the _bonaventure_'s men the time to take us over to the other side, that elzevir had gone out, on the day of which i shall now speak. he was to go to poole, and left our cave in the afternoon, thinking it safe to keep along the cliff-edge even in the daylight, and to strike across country when dusk came on. the wind had blown fresh all the morning from south-west, and after elzevir had left, strengthened to a gale. my leg was now so strong that i could walk across the cave with the help of a stout blackthorn that elzevir had cut me: and so i went out that afternoon on to the ledge to watch the growing sea. there i sat down, with my back against a protecting rock, in such a place that i could see up-channel and yet shelter from the rushing wind. the sky was overcast, and the long wall of rock showed grey with orange-brown patches and a darker line of sea-weed at the base like the under strake of a boat's belly, for the tide was but beginning to make. there was a mist, half-fog, half-spray, scudding before the wind, and through it i could see the white-backed rollers lifting over peveril point; while all along the cliff-face the sea-birds thronged the ledges, and sat huddled in snowy lines, knowing the mischief that was brewing in the elements. it was a melancholy scene, and bred melancholy in my heart; and about sun-down the wind southed a point or two, setting the sea more against the cliff, so that the spray began to fly even over my ledge and drove me back into the cave. the night came on much sooner than usual, and before long i was lying on my straw bed in perfect darkness. the wind had gone still more to south, and was screaming through the opening of the cave; the caverns down below bellowed and rumbled; every now and then a giant roller struck the rock such a blow as made the cave tremble, and then a second later there would fall, splattering on the ledge outside, the heavy spray that had been lifted by the impact. i have said that i was melancholy; but worse followed, for i grew timid, and fearful of the wild night, and the loneliness, and the darkness. and all sorts of evil tales came to my mind, and i thought much of baleful heathen gods that st. aldhelm had banished to these underground cellars, and of the mandrive who leapt on people in the dark and strangled them. and then fancy played another trick on me, and i seemed to see a man lying on the cave-floor with a drawn white face upturned, and a red hole in the forehead; and at last could bear the dark no longer, but got up with my lame leg and groped round till i found a candle, for we had two or three in store. 'twas only with much ado i got it lit and set up in the corner of the cave, and then i sat down close by trying to screen it with my coat. but do what i would the wind came gusting round the corner, blowing the flame to one side, and making the candle gutter as another candle guttered on that black day at the why not? and so thought whisked round till i saw maskew's face wearing a look of evil triumph, when the pin fell at the auction, and again his face grew deadly pale, and there was the bullet-mark on his brow. surely there were evil spirits in this place to lead my thoughts so much astray, and then there came to my mind that locket on my neck, which men had once hung round blackbeard's to scare evil spirits from his tomb. if it could frighten them from him, might it not rout them now, and make them fly from me? and with that thought i took the parchment out, and opening it before the flickering light, although i knew all, word for word, conned it over again, and read it out aloud. it was a relief to hear a human voice, even though 'twas nothing but my own, and i took to shouting the words, having much ado even so to make them heard for the raging of the storm: 'the days of our age are threescore years and ten; and though men be so strong that they come to fourscore years; yet is their strength then but labour and sorrow; so soon passeth it away, and we are gone. 'and as for me, my feet were almost ...' at the 'almost' i stopped, being brought up suddenly with a fierce beat of blood through my veins, and a jump fit to burst them, for i had heard a scuffling noise in the passage that led to the cave, as if someone had stumbled against a loose stone in the dark. i did not know then, but have learnt since, that where there is a loud noise, such as the roaring of a cascade, the churning of a mill, or, as here, the rage and bluster of a storm--if there arise some different sound, even though it be as slight as the whistle of a bird, 'twill strike the ear clear above the general din. and so it was this night, for i caught that stumbling tread even when the gale blew loudest, and sat motionless and breathless, in my eagerness of listening, and then the gale lulled an instant, and i heard the slow beat of footsteps as of one groping his way down the passage in the dark. i knew it was not elzevir, for first he could not be back from poole for many hours yet, and second, he always whistled in a certain way to show 'twas he coming and gave besides a pass-word; yet, if not elzevir, who could it be? i blew out the light, for i did not want to guide the aim of some unknown marksman shooting at me from the dark; and then i thought of that gaunt strangler that sprang on marbleworkers in the gloom; yet it could not be the mandrive, for surely he would know his own passages better than to stumble in them in the dark. it was more likely to be one of the hue and cry who had smelt us out, and hoped perhaps to be able to reconnoitre without being perceived on so awful a night. whenever elzevir went out foraging, he carried with him that silver-butted pistol which had once been maskew's, but left behind the old rook-piece. we had plenty of powder and slugs now, having obtained a store of both from ratsey, and elzevir had bid me keep the matchlock charged, and use it or not after my own judgement, if any came to the cave; but gave as his counsel that it was better to die fighting than to swing at dorchester, for that we should most certainly do if taken. we had agreed, moreover, on a pass-word, which was _prosper the bonaventure_, so that i might challenge betimes any that i heard coming, and if they gave not back this countersign might know it was not elzevir. so now i reached out for the piece, which lay beside me on the floor, and scrambled to my feet; lifting the deckle in the darkness, and feeling with my fingers in the pan to see 'twas full of powder. the lull in the storm still lasted, and i heard the footsteps advancing, though with uncertain slowness, and once after a heavy stumble i thought i caught a muttereth oath, as if someone had struck his foot against a stone. then i shouted out clear in the darkness a 'who goes there?' that rang again through the stone roofs. the footsteps stopped, but there was no answer. 'who goes there?' i repeated. 'answer, or i fire.' '_prosper the bonaventure_,' came back out of the darkness, and i knew that i was safe. 'the devil take thee for a hot-blooded young bantam to shoot thy best friend with powder and ball, that he was fool enough to give thee'; and by this time i had guessed 'twas master ratsey, and recognized his voice. 'i would have let thee hear soon enough that 'twas i, if i had known i was so near thy lair; but 'tis more than a man's life is worth to creep down moleholes in the dark, and on a night like this. and why i could not get out the gibberish about the _bonaventure_ sooner, was because i matched my shin to break a stone, and lost the wager and my breath together. and when my wind returned 'tis very like that i was trapped into an oath, which is sad enough for me, who am sexton, and so to say in small orders of the church of england as by law established.' by the time i had put down the gun and coaxed the candle again to light, ratsey stepped into the cave. he wore a sou'wester, and was dripping with wet, but seemed glad to see me and shook me by the hand. he was welcome enough to me also, for he banished the dreadful loneliness, and his coming was a bit out of my old pleasant life that lay so far away, and seemed to bring me once more within reach of some that were dearest. chapter a funeral how he lies in his rights of a man! death has done all death can--_browning_ we stood for a moment holding one another's hands; then ratsey spoke. 'john, these two months have changed thee from boy to man. thou wast a child when i turned that morning as we went up hoar head with the pack-horses, and looked back on thee and elzevir below, and maskew lying on the ground. 'twas a sorry business, and has broken up the finest gang that ever ran a cargo, besides driving thee and elzevir to hide in caves and dens of the earth. thou shouldst have come with us that morn; not have stayed behind. the work was too rough for boys: the skipper should have piped the reefing-hands.' it was true enough, or seemed to me true then, for i felt much cast down; but only said, 'nay, master ratsey, where master block stays, there i must stay too, and where he goes i follow.' then i sat down upon the bed in the corner, feeling my leg began to ache; and the storm, which had lulled for a few minutes, came up again all the fiercer with wilder gusts and showers of spray and rain driving into the cave from seaward. so i was scarce sat down when in came a roaring blast, filling even our corner with cold, wet air, that quenched the weakling candle flame. 'god save us, what a night!' ratsey cried. 'god save poor souls at sea,' said i. 'amen to that,' says he, 'and would that every amen i have said had come as truly from my heart. there will be sea enough on moonfleet beach this night to lift a schooner to the top of it, and launch her down into the fields behind. i had as lief be in the mohune vault as in this fearsome place, and liefer too, if half the tales men tell are true of faces that may meet one here. for god's sake let us light a fire, for i caught sight of a store of driftwood before that sickly candle went out.' it was some time before we got a fire alight, and even after the flame had caught well hold, the rush of the wind would every now and again blow the smoke into our eyes, or send a shower of sparks dancing through the cave. but by degrees the logs began to glow clear white, and such a cheerful warmth came out, as was in itself a solace and remedy for man's afflictions. 'ah!' said ratsey, 'i was shrammed with wet and cold, and half-dead with this baffling wind. it is a blessed thing a fire,' and he unbuttoned his pilot-coat, 'and needful now, if ever. my soul is very low, lad, for this place has strange memories for me; and i recollect, forty years ago (when i was just a boy like thee), old lander jordan's gang, and i among them, were in this very cave on such another night. i was new to the trade then, as thou might be, and could not sleep for noise of wind and sea. and in the small hours of an autumn morning, as i lay here, just where we lie now, i heard such wailing cries above the storm, ay, and such shrieks of women, as made my blood run cold and have not yet forgot them. and so i woke the gang who were all deep asleep as seasoned contrabandiers should be; but though we knew that there were fellow-creatures fighting for their lives in the seething flood beneath us, we could not stir hand or foot to save them, for nothing could be seen for rain and spray, and 'twas not till next morning that we learned the _florida_ had foundered just below with every soul on board. ay, 'tis a queer life, and you and block are in a queer strait now, and that is what i came to tell you. see here.' and he took out of his pocket an oblong strip of printed paper: * * * * * g.r. whitehall, may whereas it hath been humbly represented to the king that on friday, the night of the th of april last, thomas maskew, a justice of the peace, was most inhumanly murdered at hoar head, a lone place in the parish of chaldron, in the county of dorset, by one elzevir block and one john trenchard, both of the parish of moonfleet, in the aforesaid county: his majesty, for the better discovering and bringing to justice these persons, is pleased to promise his most gracious pardon to any of the persons concerned therein, except the persons who actually committed the said murder; and, as a further encouragement, a reward of fifty pounds to any person who shall furnish such information as shall lead to the apprehension of the said elzevir block, and a reward of twenty pounds to any person who shall furnish such information as shall lead to the apprehension of the said john trenchard. such information to be given to me, or to the governour of his majesty's gaol in dorchester. holdernesse. * * * * * 'there--that's the bill,' he said; 'and a vastly fine piece it is, and yet i wish that 'twas played with other actors. now, in moonfleet there is none that know your hiding-place, and not a man, nor woman either, that would tell if they knew it ten times over. but fifty pounds for elzevir, and twenty pounds for an empty pumpkin-top like thine, is a fair round sum, and there are vagabonds about this countryside scurvy enough to try to earn it. and some of these have set the excisemen on _my_ track, with tales of how it is i that know where you lie hid, and bring you meat and drink. so it is that i cannot stir abroad now, no, not even to the church o' sundays, without having some rogue lurking at my heels to watch my movements. and that is why i chose such a night to come hither, knowing these knaves like dry skins, but never thinking that the wind would blow like this. i am come to tell block that 'tis not safe for me to be so much in purbeck, and that i dare no longer bring food or what not, or these man-hounds will scent you out. your leg is sound again, and 'tis best to be flitting while you may, and there's the _Ã�peron d'or,_ and chauvelais to give you welcome on the other side.' i told him how elzevir was gone this very night to poole to settle with the _bonaventure_, when she should come to take us off; and at that ratsey seemed pleased. there were many things i wished to learn of him, and especially how grace did, but felt a shyness, and durst not ask him. and he said no more for a minute, seeming low-hearted and crouching over the fire. so we sat huddled in the corner by the glowing logs, the red light flickering on the cave roof, and showing the lines on ratsey's face; while the steam rose from his drying clothes. the gale blew as fiercely as ever, but the tide had fallen, and there was not so much spray coming into the cave. then ratsey spoke again-- 'my heart is very heavy, john, tonight, to think how all the good old times are gone, and how that master block can never again go back to moonfleet. it was as fine a lander's crew as ever stood together, not even excepting captain jordan's, and now must all be broken up; for this mess of maskew's has made the place too hot to hold us, and 'twill be many a long day before another cargo's run on moonfleet beach. but how to get the liquor out of mohune's vault i know not; and that reminds me, i have something in my pouches for elzevir an' thee'; and with that he drew forth either lapel a great wicker-bound flask. he put one to his lips, tilting it and drinking long and deep, and then passed it to me, with a sigh of satisfaction. 'ah, that has the right smack. here, take it, child, and warm thy heart; 'tis the true milk of ararat, and the last thou'lt taste this side the channel.' then i drank too, but lightly, for the good liquor was no stranger to me, though it was only so few months ago that i had tasted it for the first time in the why not? and in a minute it tingled in my fingertips. soon a grateful sense of warmth and comfort stole over me, and our state seemed not so desperate, nor even the night so wild. ratsey, too, wore a more cheerful air, and the lines in his face were not so deeply marked; the golden, sparkling influence of the flask had loosed his tongue, and he was talking now of what i most wanted to hear. 'yes, yes, it is a sad break-up, and what will happen to the old why not? i cannot tell. none have passed the threshold since you left, only the duchy men came and sealed the doors, making it felony to force them. and even these lawyer chaps know not where the right stands, for maskew never paid a rent and died before he took possession; and master block's term is long expired, and now he is in hiding and an outlaw. 'but i am sorriest for maskew's girl, who grows thin and pale as any lily. for when the soldiers brought the body back, the men stood at their doors and cursed the clay, and some of the fishwives spat at it; and old mother veitch, who kept house for him, swore he had never paid her a penny of wages, and that she was afear'd to stop under the same roof with such an evil corpse. so out she goes from the manor house, leaving that poor child alone in it with her dead father; and there were not wanting some to say it was all a judgement; and called to mind how elzevir had been once left alone with his dead son at the why not? but in the village there was not a man that doubted that 'twas block had sent maskew to his account, nor did i doubt it either, till a tale got abroad that he was killed by a stray shot fired by the posse from the cliff. and when they took the hue-and-cry papers to the manor house for his lass, as next of kin, to sign the requisition, she would not set her name to it, saying that block had never lifted his hand against her father when they met at moonfleet or on the road, and that she never would believe he was the man to let his anger sleep so long and then attack an enemy in cold blood. and as for thee, she knew thee for a trusty lad, who would not do such things himself, nor yet stand by whilst others did them.' now what ratsey said was sweeter than any music in my ears, and i felt myself a better man, as anyone must of whom a true woman speaks well, and that i must live uprightly to deserve such praise. then i resolved that come what might i would make my way once more to moonfleet, before we fled from england, and see grace; so that i might tell her all that happened about her father's death, saving only that elzevir had meant himself to put maskew away; for it was no use to tell her this when she had said that he could never think to do such a thing, and besides, for all i knew, he never did mean to shoot, but only to frighten him. though i thus resolved, i said nothing of it to master ratsey, but only nodded, and he went on-- 'well, seeing there was no one save this poor girl to look to putting maskew under ground, i must needs take it in hand myself; roughing together a sound coffin and digging as fair a grave for him as could be made for any lord, except that lords have always vaults to sleep in. then i got mother nutting's fish-cart to carry the body down, for there was not a man in moonfleet would lay hand to the coffin to bear it; and off we started down the street, i leading the wall-eyed pony, and the coffin following on the trolley. there was no mourner to see him home except his daughter, and she without a bit of black upon her, for she had no time to get her crapes; and yet she needed none, having grief writ plain enough upon her face. 'when we got to the churchyard, a crowd was gathered there, men and women and children, not only from moonfleet but from ringstave and monkbury. they were not come to mourn, but to make gibes to show how much they hated him, and many of the children had old pots and pans for rough music. parson glennie was waiting in the church, and there he waited, for the cart could not pass the gate, and we had no bearers to lift the coffin. then i looked round to see if there was any that would help to lift, but when i tried to meet a man's eye he looked away, and all i could see was the bitter scowling faces of the women. and all the while the girl stood by the trolley looking on the ground. she had a little kerchief over her head that let the hair fall about her shoulders, and her face was very white, with eyes red and swollen through weeping. but when she knew that all that crowd was there to mock her father, and that there was not a man would raise hand to lift him, she laid her head upon the coffin, hiding her face in her hands, and sobbed bitterly.' ratsey stopped for a moment and drank again deep at the flask; and as for me, i still said nothing, feeling a great lump in my throat; and reflecting how hatred and passion have power to turn men to brutes. 'i am a rough man,' ratsey resumed, 'but tender-like withal, and when i saw her weep, i ran off to the church to tell the parson how it was, and beg him to come out and try if we two could lift the coffin. so out he came just as he was, with surplice on his back and book in hand. but when the men knew what he was come for, and looked upon that tall, fair girl bowed down over her father's coffin, their hearts were moved, and first tom tewkesbury stepped out with a sheepish air, and then garrett, and then four others. so now we had six fine bearers, and 'twas only women that could still look hard and scowling, and even they said no word, and not a boy beat on his pan. 'then mr. glennie, seeing he was not wanted for bearer, changed to parson, and strikes up with "i am the resurrection and the life". 'tis a great text, john, and though i've heard it scores and scores of times, it never sounded sweeter than on that day. for 'twas a fine afternoon, and what with there being no wind, but the sun bright and the sea still and blue, there was a calm on everything that seemed to say "rest in peace, rest in peace". and was not the spring with us, and the whole land preaching of resurrection, the birds singing, trees and flowers waking from their winter sleep, and cowslips yellow on the very graves? then surely 'tis a fond thing to push our enmities beyond the grave, and perhaps even _he_ was not so bad as we held him, but might have tricked himself into thinking he did right to hunt down the contraband. i know not how it was, but something like this came into my mind, and did perhaps to others, for we got him under without a sign or word from any that stood there. there was not one sound heard inside the church or out, except mr. glennie's reading and my amens, and now and then a sob from the poor child. but when 'twas all over, and the coffin safe lowered, up she walks to tom tewkesbury saying, through her tears, "i thank you, sir, for your kindness," and holds out her hand. so he took it, looking askew, and afterwards the five other bearers; and then she walked away by herself, and no one moved till she had left the churchyard gate, letting her pass out like a queen.' 'and so she is a queen,' i said, not being able to keep from speaking, for very pride to hear how she had borne herself, and because she had always shown kindness to me. 'so she is, and fairer than any queen to boot.' ratsey gave me a questioning look, and i could see a little smile upon his face in the firelight. 'ay, she is fair enough,' said he, as though reflecting to himself, 'but white and thin. mayhap she would make a match for thee--if ye were man and woman, and not boy and girl; if she were not rich, and thou not poor and an outlaw; and--if she would have thee.' it vexed me to hear his banter, and to think how i had let my secret out, so i did not answer, and we sat by the embers for a while without speaking, while the wind still blew through the cave like a funnel. ratsey spoke first. 'john, pass me the flask; i can hear voices mounting the cliff of those poor souls of the _florida_.' with that he took another heavy pull, and flung a log on the fire, till sparks flew about as in a smithy, and the flame that had slumbered woke again and leapt out white, blue, and green from the salt wood. now, as the light danced and flickered i saw a piece of parchment lying at ratsey's feet: and this was none other than the writing out of blackbeard's locket, which i had been reading when i first heard footsteps in the passage, and had dropped in my alarm of hostile visitors. ratsey saw it too, and stretched out his hand to pick it up. i would have concealed it if i could, because i had never told him how i had rifled blackbeard's coffin, and did not want to be questioned as to how i had come by the writing. but to try to stop him getting hold of it would only have spurred his curiosity, and so i said nothing when he took it in his hands. 'what is this, son?' asked he. 'it is only scripture verses,' i answered, 'which i got some time ago. 'tis said they are a spell against spirits of evil, and i was reading them to keep off the loneliness of this place, when you came in and made me drop them.' i was afraid lest he should ask whence i had got them, but he did not, thinking perhaps that my aunt had given them to me. the heat of the flames had curled the parchment a little, and he spread it out on his knee, conning it in the firelight. ''tis well written,' he said, 'and good verses enough, but he who put them together for a spell knew little how to keep off evil spirits, for this would not keep a flea from a black cat. i could do ten times better myself, being not without some little understanding of such things,' and he nodded seriously; 'and though i never yet met any from the other world, they would not take me unprepared if they should come. for i have spent half my life in graveyard or church, and 'twould be as foolish to move about such places and have no words to meet an evil visitor withal, as to bear money on a lonely road without a pistol. so one day, after parson glennie had preached from habakkuk, how that "the vision is for an appointed time, but at the end it shall speak and not lie: though it tarry, wait for it, because it will surely come, it will not tarry", i talked with him on these matters, and got from him three or four rousing texts such as spectres fear more than a burned child does the fire. i will learn them all to thee some day, but for the moment take this latin which i got by heart: "_abite a me in ignem etenum qui paratus est diabolo at angelis ejus."_ englished it means: "depart from me into eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels," but hath at least double that power in latin. so get that after me by heart, and use it freely if thou art led to think that there are evil presences near, and in such lonely places as this cave.' i humoured him by doing as he desired; and that the rather because i hoped his thoughts would thus be turned away from the writing; but as soon as i had the spell by rote he turned back to the parchment, saying, 'he was but a poor divine who wrote this, for beside choosing ill-fitting verses, he cannot even give right numbers to them. for see here, "the days of our age are three-score years and ten; and though men be so strong that they come to four-score years, yet is their strength then but labour and sorrow, so soon passeth it away and we are gone", and he writes psalm , . now i have said that psalm with parson verse and verse about for every sleeper we have laid to rest in churchyard mould for thirty years; and know it hath not twenty verses in it, all told, and this same verse is the clerk's verse and cometh tenth, and yet he calls it twenty-first. i wish i had here a common prayer, and i would prove my words.' he stopped and flung me back the parchment scornfully; but i folded it and slipped it in my pocket, brooding all the while over a strange thought that his last words had brought to me. nor did i tell him that i had by me my aunt's prayer-book, wishing to examine for myself more closely whether he was right, after he should have gone. 'i must be away,' he said at last, 'though loath to leave this good fire and liquor. i would fain wait till elzevir was back, and fainer till this gale was spent, but it may not be; the nights are short, and i must be out of purbeck before sunrise. so tell block what i say, that he and thou must flit; and pass the flask, for i have fifteen miles to walk against the wind, and must keep off these midnight chills.' he drank again, and then rose to his feet, shaking himself like a dog; and walking briskly across the cave twice or thrice to make sure, as i thought, that the ararat milk had not confused his steps. then he shook my hand warmly, and disappeared in the deep shadow of the passage-mouth. the wind was blowing more fitfully than before, and there was some sign of a lull between the gusts. i stood at the opening of the passage, and listened till the echo of ratsey's footsteps died away, and then returning to the corner, flung more wood on the fire, and lit the candle. after that i took out again the parchment, and also my aunt's red prayer-book, and sat down to study them. first i looked out in the book that text about the 'days of our life', and found that it was indeed in the ninetieth psalm, but the tenth verse, just as ratsey said, and not the twenty-first as it was writ on the parchment. and then i took the second text, and here again the psalm was given correct, but the verse was two, and not six, as my scribe had it. it was just the same with the other three--the number of the psalm was right but the verse wrong. so here was a discovery, for all was painfully written smooth and clean without a blot, and yet in every verse an error. but if the second number did not stand for the verse, what else should it mean? i had scarce formed the question to myself before i had the answer, and knew that it must be the number of the word chosen in each text to make a secret meaning. i was in as great a fever and excitement now as when i found the locket in the mohune vault, and could scarce count with trembling fingers as far as twenty-one, in the first verse, for hurry and amaze. it was 'fourscore' that the number fell on in the first text, 'feet' in the second, 'deep' in the third, 'well' in the fourth, 'north' in the fifth. fourscore--feet--deep--well--north. there was the cipher read, and what an easy trick! and yet i had not lighted on it all this while, nor ever should have, but for sexton ratsey and his burial verse. it was a cunning plan of blackbeard; but other folk were quite as cunning as he, and here was all his treasure at our feet. i chuckled over that to myself, rubbing my hands, and read it through again: fourscore--feet--deep--well--north. 'twas all so simple, and the word in the fourth verse 'well' and not 'vale' or 'pool' as i had stuck at so often in trying to unriddle it. how was it i had not guessed as much before? and here was something to tell elzevir when he came back, that the clue was found to the cipher, and the secret out. i would not reveal it all at once, but tease him by making him guess, and at last tell him everything, and we would set to work at once to make ourselves rich men. and then i thought once more of grace, and how the laugh would be on my side now, for all master ratsey's banter about her being rich and me being poor! fourscore--feet--deep--well--north. i read it again, and somehow it was this time a little less clear, and i fell to thinking what it was exactly that i should tell elzevir, and how we were to get to work to find the treasure. 'twas hid in a _well_--that was plain enough, but in what well?--and what did 'north' mean? was it the _north well,_ or to _north of the well_--or, was it fourscore feet _north_ of the _deep well_? i stared at the verses as if the ink would change colour and show some other sense, and then a veil seemed drawn across the writing, and the meaning to slip away, and be as far as ever from my grasp. _fourscore--feet--deep--well--north_: and by degrees exulting gladness gave way to bewilderment and disquiet of spirit, and in the gusts of wind i heard blackbeard himself laughing and mocking me for thinking i had found his treasure. still i read and re-read it, juggling with the words and turning them about to squeeze new meaning from them. 'fourscore feet deep _in the north well_,'--'fourscore feet deep in the well _to north_'--'fourscore feet _north of the deep well_,'--so the words went round and round in my head, till i was tired and giddy, and fell unawares asleep. it was daylight when i awoke, and the wind had fallen, though i could still hear the thunder of the swell against the rock-face down below. the fire was yet burning, and by it sat elzevir, cooking something in the pot. he looked fresh and keen, like a man risen from a long night's sleep, rather than one who had spent the hours of darkness in struggling against a gale, and must afterwards remain watching because, forsooth, the sentinel sleeps. he spoke as soon as he saw that i was awake, laughing and saying: 'how goes the night, watchman? this is the second time that i have caught thee napping, and didst sleep so sound it might have taken a cold pistol's lips against thy forehead to awake thee.' i was too full of my story even to beg his pardon, but began at once to tell him what had happened; and how, by following the hint that ratsey dropped, i had made out, as i thought, a secret meaning in these verses. elzevir heard me patiently, and with more show of interest towards the end; and then took the parchment in his hands, reading it carefully, and checking the errors of numbering by the help of the red prayer-book. 'i believe thou art right,' he said at length; 'for why should the figures all be false if there is no hidden trickery in it? if't had been one or two were wrong, i would have said some priest had copied them in error; for priests are thriftless folk, and had as lief set a thing down wrong as right; but with all wrong there is no room for chance. so if he means it, let us see what 'tis he means. first he says 'tis in a well. but what well? and the depth he gives of fourscore feet is over-deep for any well near moonfleet.' i was for saying it must be the well at the manor house, but before the words left my mouth, remembered there was no well at the manor at all, for the house was watered by a runnel brook that broke out from the woods above, and jumping down from stone to stone ran through the manor gardens, and emptied itself into the fleet below. 'and now i come to think on it,' elzevir went on, ''tis more likely that the well he speaks of was not in these parts at all. for see here, this blackbeard was a spendthrift, squandering all he had, and would most surely have squandered the jewel too, could he have laid his hands on it. and yet 'tis said he did not, therefore i think he must have stowed it safe in some place where afterwards he could not get at it. for if't had been near moonfleet, he would have had it up a hundred times. but thou hast often talked of blackbeard and his end with parson glennie; so speak up, lad, and let us hear all that thou know'st of these tales. maybe 'twill help us to come to some judgement.' so i told him all that mr. glennie had told me, how that colonel john mohune, whom men called blackbeard, was a wastrel from his youth, and squandered all his substance in riotous living. thus being at his last turn, he changed from royalist to rebel, and was set to guard the king in the castle of carisbrooke. but there he stooped to a bribe, and took from his royal prisoner a splendid diamond of the crown to let him go; then, with the jewel in his pocket, turned traitor again, and showed a file of soldiers into the room where the king was stuck between the window bars, escaping. but no one trusted blackbeard after that, and so he lost his post, and came back in his age, a broken man, to moonfleet. there he rusted out his life, but when he neared his end was filled with fear, and sent for a clergyman to give him consolation. and 'twas at the parson's instance that he made a will, and bequeathed the diamond, which was the only thing he had left, to the mohune almshouses at moonfleet. these were the very houses that he had robbed and let go to ruin, and they never benefited by his testament, for when it was opened there was the bequest plain enough, but not a word to say where was the jewel. some said that it was all a mockery, and that blackbeard never had the jewel; others that the jewel was in his hand when he died, but carried off by some that stood by. but most thought, and handed down the tale, that being taken suddenly, he died before he could reveal the safe place of the jewel; and that in his last throes he struggled hard to speak as if he had some secret to unburden. all this i told elzevir, and he listened close as though some of it was new to him. when i was speaking of blackbeard being at carisbrooke, he made a little quick move as though to speak, but did not, waiting till i had finished the tale. then he broke out with: 'john, the diamond is yet at carisbrooke. i wonder i had not thought of carisbrooke before you spoke; and there he can get fourscore feet, and twice and thrice fourscore, if he list, and none to stop him. 'tis carisbrooke. i have heard of that well from childhood, and once saw it when a boy. it is dug in the castle keep, and goes down fifty fathoms or more into the bowels of the chalk below. it is so deep no man can draw the buckets on a winch, but they must have an ass inside a tread-wheel to hoist them up. now, why this colonel john mohune, whom we call blackbeard, should have chosen a well at all to hide his jewel in, i cannot say; but given he chose a well, 'twas odds he would choose carisbrooke. 'tis a known place, and i have heard that people come as far as from london to see the castle and this well.' he spoke quick and with more fire than i had known him use before, and i felt he was right. it seemed indeed natural enough that if blackbeard was to hide the diamond in a well, it would be in the well of that very castle where he had earned it so evilly. 'when he says the "well north",' continued elzevir, ''tis clear he means to take a compass and mark north by needle, and at eighty feet in the well-side below that point will lie the treasure. i fixed yesterday with the _bonaventure's_ men that they should lie underneath this ledge tomorrow sennight, if the sea be smooth, and take us off on the spring-tide. at midnight is their hour, and i said eight days on, to give thy leg a week wherewith to strengthen. i thought to make for st. malo, and leave thee at the _Ã�peron d'or_ with old chauvelais, where thou couldst learn to patter french until these evil times have blown by. but now, if thou art set to hunt this treasure up, and hast a mind to run thy head into a noose; why, i am not so old but that i too can play the fool, and we will let st. malo be, and make for carisbrooke. i know the castle; it is not two miles distant from newport, and at newport we can lie at the bugle, which is an inn addicted to the contraband. the king's writ runs but lamely in the channel isles and wight, and if we wear some other kit than this, maybe we shall find newport as safe as st. malo.' this was just what i wanted, and so we settled there and then that we would get the _bonaventure_ to land us in the isle of wight instead of at st. malo. since man first walked upon this earth, a tale of buried treasure must have had a master-power to stir his blood, and mine was hotly stirred. even elzevir, though he did not show it, was moved, i thought, at heart; and we chafed in our cave prison, and those eight days went wearily enough. yet 'twas not time lost, for every day my leg grew stronger; and like a wolf which i saw once in a cage at dorchester fair, i spent hours in marching round the cave to kill the time and put more vigour in my steps. ratsey did not visit us again, but in spite of what he said, met elzevir more than once, and got money for him from dorchester and many other things he needed. it was after meeting ratsey that elzevir came back one night, bringing a long whip in one hand, and in the other a bundle which held clothes to mask us in the next scene. there was a carter's smock for him, white and quilted over with needlework, such as carters wear on the down farms, and for me a smaller one, and hats and leather leggings all to match. we tried them on, and were for all the world carter and carter's boy; and i laughed long to see elzevir stand there and practise how to crack his whip and cry 'who-ho' as carters do to horses. and for all he was so grave, there was a smile on his face too, and he showed me how to twist a wisp of straw out of the bed to bind above my ankles at the bottom of the leggings. he had cut off his beard, and yet lost nothing of his looks; for his jaw and deep chin showed firm and powerful. and as for me, we made a broth of young walnut leaves and twigs, and tanned my hands and face with it a ruddy brown, so that i looked a different lad. chapter an interview no human creature stirred to go or come, no face looked forth from shut or open casement, no chimney smoked, there was no sign of home from parapet to basement--_hood_ and so the days went on, until there came to be but two nights more before we were to leave our cave. now i have said that the delay chafed us, because we were impatient to get at the treasure; but there was something else that vexed me and made me more unquiet with every day that passed. and this was that i had resolved to see grace before i left these parts, and yet knew not how to tell it to elzevir. but on this evening, seeing the time was grown so short, i knew that i must speak or drop my purpose, and so spoke. we were sitting like the sea-birds on the ledge outside our cave, looking towards st. alban's head and watching the last glow of sunset. the evening vapours began to sweep down channel, and elzevir shrugged his shoulders. 'the night turns chill,' he said, and got up to go back to the cave. so then i thought my time was come, and following him inside said: 'dear master elzevir, you have watched over me all this while and tended me kinder than any father could his son; and 'tis to you i owe my life, and that my leg is strong again. yet i am restless this night, and beg that you will give me leave to climb the shaft and walk abroad. it is two months and more that i have been in the cave and seen nothing but stone walls, and i would gladly tread once more upon the down.' 'say not that i have saved thy life,' elzevir broke in; ''twas i who brought thy life in danger; and but for me thou mightst even now be lying snug abed at moonfleet, instead of hiding in the chambers of these rocks. so speak not of that, but if thou hast a mind to air thyself an hour, i see little harm in it. these wayward fancies fall on men as they get better of sickness; and i must go tonight to that ruined house of which i spoke to thee, to fetch a pocket compass master ratsey was to put there. so thou canst come with me and smell the night air on the down.' he had agreed more readily than i looked for, and so i pushed the matter, saying: 'nay, master, grant me leave to go yet a little farther afield. you know that i was born in moonfleet, and have been bred there all my life, and love the trees and stream and very stones of it. and i have set my heart on seeing it once more before we leave these parts for good and all. so give me leave to walk along the down and look on moonfleet but this once, and in this ploughboy guise i shall be safe enough, and will come back to you tomorrow night' he looked at me a moment without speaking; and all the while i felt he saw me through and through, and yet he was not angry. but i turned red, and cast my eyes upon the ground, and then he spoke: 'lad, i have known men risk their lives for many things: for gold, and love, and hate; but never one would play with death that he might see a tree or stream or stones. and when men say they love a place or town, thou mayst be sure 'tis not the place they love but some that live there; or that they loved some in the past, and so would see the spot again to kindle memory withal. thus when thou speakest of moonfleet, i may guess that thou hast someone there to see--or hope to see. it cannot be thine aunt, for there is no love lost between ye; and besides, no man ever perilled his life to bid adieu to an aunt. so have no secrets from me, john, but tell me straight, and i will judge whether this second treasure that thou seekest is true gold enough to fling thy life into the scale against it.' then i told him all, keeping nothing back, but trying to make him see that there was little danger in my visiting moonfleet, for none would know me in a carter's dress, and that my knowledge of the place would let me use a hedge or wall or wood for cover; and finally, if i were seen, my leg was now sound, and there were few could beat me in a running match upon the down. so i talked on, not so much in the hope of convincing him as to keep saying something; for i durst not look up, and feared to hear an angry word from him when i should stop. but at last i had spoken all i could, and ceased because i had no more. yet he did not break out as i had thought, but there was silence; and after a moment i looked up, and saw by his face that his thoughts were wandering. when he spoke there was no anger in his voice, but only something sad. 'thou art a foolish lad,' he said. 'yet i was young once myself, and my ways have been too dark to make me wish to darken others, or try to chill young blood. now thine own life has got a shadow on't already that i have helped to cast, so take the brightness of it while thou mayst, and get thee gone. but for this girl, i know her for a comely lass and good-hearted, and have wondered often how she came to have _him_ for her father. i am glad now i have not his blood on my hands; and never would have gone to take it then, for all the evil he had brought on me, but that the lives of every mother's son hung on his life. so make thy mind at ease, and get thee gone and see these streams and trees and stones thou talkest of. yet if thou'rt shot upon the down, or taken off to jail, blame thine own folly and not me. and i will walk with thee to purbeck gates tonight, and then come back and wait. but if thou art not here again by midnight tomorrow, i shall believe that thou art taken in some snare, and come out to seek thee.' i took his hand, and thanked him with what words i could that he had let me go, and then got on the smock, putting some bread and meat in my pockets, as i was likely to find little to eat on my journey. it was dark before we left the cave, for there is little dusk with us, and the division between day and night sharper than in more northern parts. elzevir took me by the hand and led me through the darkness of the workings, telling me where i should stoop, and when the way was uneven. thus we came to the bottom of the shaft, and looking up through ferns and brambles, i could see the deep blue of the sky overhead, and a great star gazing down full at us. we climbed the steps with the soap-stone slide at one side, and then walked on briskly over the springy turf through the hillocks of the covered quarry-heaps and the ruins of the deserted cottages. there was a heavy dew which got through my boots before we had gone half a mile, and though there was no moon, the sky was very clear, and i could see the veil of gossamers spread silvery white over the grass. neither of us spoke, partly because it was safer not to speak, for the voice carries far in a still night on the downs; and partly, i think, because the beauty of the starry heaven had taken hold upon us both, ruling our hearts with thoughts too big for words. we soon reached that ruined cottage of which elzevir had spoken, and in what had once been an oven, found the compass safe enough as ratsey had promised. then on again over the solitary hills, not speaking ourselves, and neither seeing light in window nor hearing dog stir, until we reached that strange defile which men call the gates of purbeck. here is a natural road nicking the highest summit of the hill, with walls as sharp as if the hand of man had cut them, through which have walked for ages all the few travellers in this lonely place, shepherds and sailors, soldiers and excisemen. and although, as i suppose, no carts have been through it for centuries, there are ruts in the chalk floor as wide and deep as if the cars of giants used it in past times. so here elzevir stopped, and drawing from his bosom that silver-butted pistol of which i have spoken, thrust it in my hand. 'here, take it, child,' he said, 'but use it not till thou art closely pressed, and then if thou _must_ shoot, shoot low--it flings.' i took it and gripped his hand, and so we parted, he going back to purbeck, and i making along the top of the ridge at the back of hoar head. it must have been near three when i reached a great grass-grown mound called culliford tree, that marks the resting-place of some old warrior of the past. the top is planted with a clump of trees that cut the skyline, and there i sat awhile to rest. but not for long, for looking back towards purbeck, i could see the faint hint of dawn low on the sea-line behind st. alban's head, and so pressed forward knowing i had a full ten miles to cover yet. thus i travelled on, and soon came to the first sign of man, namely a flock of lambs being fed with turnips on a summer fallow. the sun was well up now, and flushed all with a rosy glow, showing the sheep and the roots they eat white against the brown earth. still i saw no shepherd, nor even dog, and about seven o'clock stood safe on weatherbeech hill that looks down over moonfleet. there at my feet lay the manor woods and the old house, and lower down the white road and the straggling cottages, and farther still the why not? and the glassy fleet, and beyond that the open sea. i cannot say how sad, yet sweet, the sight was: it seemed like the mirage of the desert, of which i had been told--so beautiful, but never to be reached again by me. the air was still, and the blue smoke of the morning wood-fires rose straight up, but none from the why not? or manor house. the sun was already very hot, and i dropped at once from the hill-top, digging my heels into the brown-burned turf, and keeping as much as might be among the furze champs. so i was soon in the wood, and made straight for the little dell and lay down there, burying myself in the wild rhubarb and burdocks, yet so that i could see the doorway of the manor house over the lip of the hill. then i reflected what i was to do, or how i should get to speak with grace: and thought i would first wait an hour or two, and see whether she came out, and afterwards, if she did not, would go down boldly and knock at the door. this seemed not very dangerous, for it was likely, from what ratsey had said, that there was no one with her in the house, and if there was it would be but an old woman, to whom i could pass as a stranger in my disguise, and ask my way to some house in the village. so i lay still and munched a piece of bread, and heard the clock in the church tower strike eight and afterwards nine, but saw no one move in the house. the wood was all alive with singing-birds, and with the calling of cuckoo and wood-pigeon. there were deep patches of green shade and lighter patches of yellow sunlight, in which the iris leaves gleamed with a sheeny white, and a shimmering blue sea of ground-ivy spread all through the wood. it struck ten, and as the heat increased the birds sang less and the droning of the bees grew more distinct, and at last i got up, shook myself, smoothed my smock, and making a turn, came out on the road that led to the house. though my disguise was good, i fear i made but an indifferent bad ploughboy when walking, and found a difficulty in dealing with my hands, not knowing how ploughboys are wont to carry them. so i came round in front of the house, and gave a rat-tat on the door, while my pulse beat as loud inside of me as ever did the knocker without. the sound ran round the building, and backwards among the walks, and all was silent as before. i waited a minute, and was for knocking again, thinking there might be no one in the house, and then heard a light footstep coming along the corridor, yet durst not look through the window to see who it was in passing, as i might have done, but kept myself close to the door. the bolts were being drawn, and a girl's voice asked, 'who is there?' i gave a jump to hear that voice, knowing it well for grace's, and had a mind to shout out my name. but then i remembered there might be some in the house with her besides, and that i must remain disguised. moreover, laughing is so mixed with crying in our world, and trifling things with serious, that even in this pass i believe i was secretly pleased to have to play a trick on her, and test whether she would find me out in this dress or not. so i spoke out in our round dorset speech, such as they talk it out in the vale, saying, 'a poor boy who is out of his way.' then she opened one leaf of the door, and asked me whither i would go, looking at me as one might at a stranger and not knowing who it was. i answered that i was a farm lad who had walked from purbeck, and sought an inn called the why not? kept by one master block. when she heard that, she gave a little start, and looked me over again, yet could make nothing of it, but said: 'good lad, if you will step on to this terrace i can show you the why not? inn, but 'tis shut these two months or more, and master block away.' with that she turned towards the terrace, i following, but when we were outside of ear-shot from the door, i spoke in my own voice, quick but low: 'grace, it is i, john trenchard, who am come to say goodbye before i leave these parts, and have much to tell that you would wish to hear. are there any beside in the house with you?' now many girls who had suffered as she had, and were thus surprised, would have screamed, or perhaps swooned, but she did neither, only flushing a little and saying, also quick and low, 'let us go back to the house; i am alone.' so we went back, and after the door was bolted, took both hands and stood up face to face in the passage looking into one another's eyes. i was tired with a long walk and sleepless night, and so full of joy to see her again that my head swam and all seemed a sweet dream. then she squeezed my hands, and i knew 'twas real, and was for kissing her for very love; but she guessed what i would be at, perhaps, and cast my hands loose, drawing back a little, as if to see me better, and saying, 'john, you have grown a man in these two months.' so i did not kiss her. but if it was true that i was grown a man, it was truer still that she was grown a woman, and as tall as i. and these recent sufferings had taken from her something of light and frolic girlhood, and left her with a manner more staid and sober. she was dressed in black, with longer skirts, and her hair caught up behind; and perhaps it was the mourning frock that made her look pale and thin, as ratsey said. so while i looked at her, she looked at me, and could not choose but smile to see my carter's smock; and as for my brown face and hands, thought i had been hiding in some country underneath the sun, until i told her of the walnut-juice. then before we fell to talking, she said it was better we should sit in the garden, for that a woman might come in to help her with the house, and anyway it was safer, so that i might get out at the back in case of need. so she led the way down the corridor and through the living-part of the house, and we passed several rooms, and one little parlour lined with shelves and musty books. the blinds were pulled, but let enough light in to show a high-backed horsehair chair that stood at the table. in front of it lay an open volume, and a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles, that i had often seen on maskew's nose; so i knew it was his study, and that nothing had been moved since last he sat there. even now i trembled to think in whose house i was, and half-expected the old attorney to step in and hale me off to jail; till i remembered how all my trouble had come about, and how i last had seen him with his face turned up against the morning sun. thus we came to the garden, where i had never been before. it was a great square, shut in with a brick wall of twelve or fifteen feet, big enough to suit a palace, but then ill kept and sorely overgrown. i could spend long in speaking of that plot; how the flowers, and fruit-trees, pot-herbs, spice, and simples ran all wild and intermixed. the pink brick walls caught every ray of sun that fell, and that morning there was a hushed, close heat in it, and a warm breath rose from the strawberry beds, for they were then in full bearing. i was glad enough to get out of the sun when grace led the way into a walk of medlar-trees and quinces, where the boughs interlaced and formed an alley to a brick summer-house. this summer-house stands in the angle of the south wall, and by it two fig-trees, whose tops you can see from the outside. they are well known for the biggest and the earliest bearing of all that part, and grace showed me how, if danger threatened, i might climb up their boughs and scale the wall. we sat in the summer-house, and i told her all that had happened at her father's death, only concealing that elzevir had meant to do the deed himself; because it was no use to tell her that, and besides, for all i knew, he never did mean to shoot, but only to frighten. she wept again while i spoke, but afterwards dried her tears, and must needs look at my leg to see the bullet-wound, and if it was all soundly healed. then i told her of the secret sense that master ratsey's words put into the texts written on the parchment. i had showed her the locket before, but we had it out again now; and she read and read again the writing, while i pointed out how the words fell, and told her i was going away to get the diamond and come back the richest man in all the countryside. then she said, 'ah, john! set not your heart too much upon this diamond. if what they say is true, 'twas evilly come by, and will bring evil with it. even this wicked man durst not spend it for himself, but meant to give it to the poor; so, if indeed you ever find it, keep it not for yourself, but set his soul at rest by doing with it what he meant to do, or it will bring a curse upon you.' i only smiled at what she said, taking it to be a girlish fancy, and did not tell her why i wanted so much to be rich--namely, to marry her one day. then, having talked long about my own concerns as selfishly as a man always does, i thought to ask after herself, and what she was going to do. she told me that a month past lawyers had come to moonfleet, and pressed her to leave the place, and they would give her in charge to a lady in london, because, said they, her father had died without a will, and so she must be made a ward of chancery. but she had begged them to let her be, for she could never live anywhere else than in moonfleet, and that the air and commodity of the place suited her well. so they went off, saying that they must take direction of the court to know whether she might stay here or not, and here she yet was. this made me sad, for all i knew of chancery was that whatever it put hand on fell to ruin, as witness the chancery mills at cerne, or the chancery wharf at wareham; and certainly it would take little enough to ruin the manor house, for it was three parts in decay already. thus we talked, and after that she put on a calico bonnet and picked me a dish of strawberries, staying to pull the finest, although the sun was beating down from mid-heaven, and brought me bread and meat from the house. then she rolled up a shawl to make me a pillow, and bade me lie down on the seat that ran round the summer-house and get to sleep, for i had told her that i had walked all night, and must be back again at the cave come midnight she went back to the house, and that was the most sweet and peaceful sleep that ever i knew, for i was very tired, and had this thought to soothe me as i fell asleep--that i had seen grace, and that she was so kind to me. she was sitting beside me when i awoke and knitting a piece of work. the heat of the day was somewhat less, and she told me that it was past five o'clock by the sun-dial; so i knew that i must go. she made me take a packet of victuals and a bottle of milk, and as she put it into my pocket the bottle struck on the butt of maskew's pistol, which i had in my bosom. 'what have you there?' she said; but i did not tell her, fearing to call up bitter memories. we stood hand in hand again, as we had done in the morning, and she said: 'john, you will wander on the sea, and may perhaps put into moonfleet. though you have not been here of late, i have kept a candle burning at the window every night, as in the past. so, if you come to beach on any night you will see that light, and know grace remembers you. and if you see it not, then know that i am dead or gone, for i will think of you every night till you come back again.' i had nothing to say, for my heart was too full with her sweet words and with the sorrow of parting, but only drew her close to me and kissed her; and this time she did not step back, but kissed me again. then i climbed up the fig-tree, thinking it safer so to get out over the wall than to go back to the front of the house, and as i sat on the wall ready to drop the other side, turned to her and said good-bye. 'good-bye,' cried she; 'and have a care how you touch the treasure; it was evilly come by, and will bring a curse with it.' 'good-bye, good-bye,' i said, and dropped on to the soft leafy bottom of the wood. chapter the well-house for those thou mayest not look upon are gathering fast round the yawning stone--_scott_ it wanted yet half an hour of midnight when i found myself at the shaft of the marble quarry, and before i had well set foot on the steps to descend, heard elzevir's voice challenging out of the darkness below. i gave back '_prosper the bonaventure',_ and so came home again to sleep the last time in our cave. the next night was well suited to flight. there was a spring-tide with full moon, and a light breeze setting off the land which left the water smooth under the cliff. we saw the _bonaventure_ cruising in the channel before sundown, and after the darkness fell she lay close in and took us off in her boat. there were several men on board of her that i knew, and they greeted us kindly, and made much of us. i was indeed glad to be among them again, and yet felt a pang at leaving our dear dorset coast, and the old cave that had been hospital and home to me for two months. the wind set us up-channel, and by daybreak they put us ashore at cowes, so we walked to newport and came there before many were stirring. such as we saw in the street paid no heed to us but took us doubtless for some carter and his boy who had brought corn in from the country for the southampton packet, and were about early to lead the team home again. 'tis a little place enough this newport, and we soon found the bugle; but elzevir made so good a carter that the landlord did not know him, though he had his acquaintance before. so they fenced a little with one another. 'have you bed and victuals for a plain country man and his boy?' says elzevir. 'nay, that i have not,' says the landlord, looking him up and down, and not liking to take in strangers who might use their eyes inside, and perhaps get on the trail of the contraband. ''tis near the summer statute and the place over full already. i cannot move my gentlemen, and would bid you try the wheatsheaf, which is a good house, and not so full as this.' 'ay, 'tis a busy time, and 'tis these fairs that make things _prosper_,' and elzevir marked the last word a little as he said it. the man looked harder at him, and asked, 'prosper what?' as if he were hard of hearing. '_prosper the bonaventure_,' was the answer, and then the landlord caught elzevir by the hand, shaking it hard and saying, 'why, you are master block, and i expecting you this morn, and never knew you.' he laughed as he stared at us again, and elzevir smiled too. then the landlord led us in. 'and this is?' he said, looking at me. 'this is a well-licked whelp,' replied elzevir, 'who got a bullet in the leg two months ago in that touch under hoar head; and is worth more than he looks, for they have put twenty golden guineas on his head--so have a care of such a precious top-knot.' so long as we stopped at the bugle we had the best of lodging and the choicest meat and drink, and all the while the landlord treated elzevir as though he were a prince. and so he was indeed a prince among the contrabandiers, and held, as i found out long afterwards, for captain of all landers between start and solent. at first the landlord would take no money of us, saying that he was in our debt, and had received many a good turn from master block in the past, but elzevir had got gold from dorchester before we left the cave and forced him to take payment. i was glad enough to lie between clean sweet sheets at night instead of on a heap of sand, and sit once more knife and fork in hand before a well-filled trencher. 'twas thought best i should show myself as little as possible, so i was content to pass my time in a room at the back of the house whilst elzevir went abroad to make inquiries how we could find entrance to the castle at carisbrooke. nor did the time hang heavy on my hands, for i found some old books in the bugle, and among them several to my taste, especially a _history of corfe castle_, which set forth how there was a secret passage from the ruins to some of the old marble quarries, and perhaps to that very one that sheltered us. elzevir was out most of the day, so that i saw him only at breakfast and supper. he had been several times to carisbrooke, and told me that the castle was used as a jail for persons taken in the wars, and was now full of french prisoners. he had met several of the turnkeys or jailers, drinking with them in the inns there, and making out that he was himself a carter, who waited at newport till a wind-bound ship should bring grindstones from lyme regis. thus he was able at last to enter the castle and to see well-house and well, and spent some days in trying to devise a plan whereby we might get at the well without making the man who had charge of it privy to our full design; but in this did not succeed. there is a slip of garden at the back of the bugle, which runs down to a little stream, and one evening when i was taking the air there after dark, elzevir returned and said the time was come for us to put blackbeard's cipher to the proof. 'i have tried every way,' he said, 'to see if we could work this secretly; but 'tis not to be done without the privity of the man who keeps the well, and even with his help it is not easy. he is a man i do not trust, but have been forced to tell him there is treasure hidden in the well, yet without saying where it lies or how to get it. he promises to let us search the well, taking one-third the value of all we find, for his share; for i said not that thou and i were one at heart, but only that there was a boy who had the key, and claimed an equal third with both of us. tomorrow we must be up betimes, and at the castle gates by six o'clock for him to let us in. and thou shalt not be carter any more, but mason's boy, and i a mason, for i have got coats in the house, brushes and trowels and lime-bucket, and we are going to carisbrooke to plaster up a weak patch in this same well-side.' elzevir had thought carefully over this plan, and when we left the bugle next morning we were better masons in our splashed clothes than ever we had been farm servants. i carried a bucket and a brush, and elzevir a plasterer's hammer and a coil of stout twine over his arm. it was a wet morning, and had been raining all night. the sky was stagnant, and one-coloured without wind, and the heavy drops fell straight down out of a grey veil that covered everything. the air struck cold when we first came out, but trudging over the heavy road soon made us remember that it was july, and we were very hot and soaking wet when we stood at the gateway of carisbrooke castle. here are two flanking towers and a stout gate-house reached by a stone bridge crossing the moat; and when i saw it i remembered that 'twas here colonel mohune had earned the wages of his unrighteousness, and thought how many times he must have passed these gates. elzevir knocked as one that had a right, and we were evidently expected, for a wicket in the heavy door was opened at once. the man who let us in was tall and stout, but had a puffy face, and too much flesh on him to be very strong, though he was not, i think, more than thirty years of age. he gave elzevir a smile, and passed the time of day civilly enough, nodding also to me; but i did not like his oily black hair, and a shifty eye that turned away uneasily when one met it. 'good-morning, master well-wright,' he said to elzevir. 'you have brought ugly weather with you, and are drowning wet; will you take a sup of ale before you get to work?' elzevir thanked him kindly but would not drink, so the man led on and we followed him. we crossed a bailey or outer court where the rain had made the gravel very miry, and came on the other side to a door which led by steps into a large hall. this building had once been a banquet-room, i think, for there was an inscription over it very plain in lead: _he led me into his banquet hall, and his banner over me was love_. i had time to read this while the turnkey unlocked the door with one of a heavy bunch of keys that he carried at his girdle. but when we entered, what a disappointment!--for there were no banquets now, no banners, no love, but the whole place gutted and turned into a barrack for french prisoners. the air was very close, as where men had slept all night, and a thick steam on the windows. most of the prisoners were still asleep, and lay stretched out on straw palliasses round the walls, but some were sitting up and making models of ships out of fish-bones, or building up crucifixes inside bottles, as sailors love to do in their spare time. they paid little heed to us as we passed, though the sleepy guards, who were lounging on their matchlocks, nodded to our conductor, and thus we went right through that evil-smelling white-washed room. we left it at the other end, went down three steps into the open air again, crossed another small court, and so came to a square building of stone with a high roof like the large dovecots that you may see in old stackyards. here our guide took another key, and, while the door was being opened, elzevir whispered to me, 'it is the well-house,' and my pulse beat quick to think we were so near our goal. the building was open to the roof, and the first thing to be seen in it was that tread-wheel of which elzevir had spoken. it was a great open wheel of wood, ten or twelve feet across, and very like a mill-wheel, only the space between the rims was boarded flat, but had treads nailed on it to give foothold to a donkey. the patient beast was lying loose stabled on some straw in a corner of the room, and, as soon as we came in, stood up and stretched himself, knowing that the day's work was to begin. 'he was here long before my time,' the turnkey said, 'and knows the place so well that he goes into the wheel and sets to work by himself.' at the side of the wheel was the well-mouth, a dark, round opening with a low parapet round it, rising two feet from the floor. we were so near our goal. yet, were we near it at all? how did we know mohune had meant to tell the place of hiding for the diamond in those words. they might have meant a dozen things beside. and if it was of the diamond they spoke, then how did we know the well was this one? there were a hundred wells beside. these thoughts came to me, making hope less sure; and perhaps it was the steamy overcast morning and the rain, or a scant breakfast, that beat my spirit down--for i have known men's mood change much with weather and with food; but sure it was that now we stood so near to put it to the touch, i liked our business less and less. as soon as we were entered the turnkey locked the door from the inside, and when he let the key drop to its place, and it jangled with the others on his belt, it seemed to me he had us as his prisoners in a trap. i tried to catch his eye to see if it looked bad or good, but could not, for he kept his shifty face turned always somewhere else; and then it came to my mind that if the treasure was really fraught with evil, this coarse dark-haired man, who could not look one straight, was to become a minister of ruin to bring the curse home to us. but if i was weak and timid elzevir had no misgivings. he had taken the coil of twine off his arm and was undoing it. 'we will let an end of this down the well,' he said, 'and i have made a knot in it at eighty feet. this lad thinks the treasure is in the well wall, eighty feet below us, so when the knot is on well lip we shall know we have the right depth.' i tried again to see what look the turnkey wore when he heard where the treasure was, but could not, and so fell to examining the well. a spindle ran from the axle of the wheel across the well, and on the spindle was a drum to take the rope. there was some clutch or fastening which could be fixed or loosed at will to make the drum turn with the tread-wheel, or let it run free, and a footbreak to lower the bucket fast or slow, or stop it altogether. 'i will get into the bucket,' elzevir said, turning to me, 'and this good man will lower me gently by the break until i reach the string-end down below. then i will shout, and so fix you the wheel and give me time to search.' this was not what i looked for, having thought that it was i should go; and though i liked going down the well little enough, yet somehow now i felt i would rather do that than have master elzevir down the hole, and me left locked alone with this villainous fellow up above. so i said, 'no, master, that cannot be; 'tis my place to go, being smaller and a lighter weight than thou; and thou shalt stop here and help this gentleman to lower me down.' elzevir spoke a few words to try to change my purpose, but soon gave in, knowing it was certainly the better plan, and having only thought to go himself because he doubted if i had the heart to do it. but the turnkey showed much ill-humour at the change, and strove to let the plan stand as it was, and for elzevir to go down the well. things that were settled, he said, should remain settled; he was not one for changes; it was a man's task this and no child's play; a boy would not have his senses about him, and might overlook the place. i fixed my eyes on elzevir to let him know what i thought, and master turnkey's words fell lightly on his ears as water on a duck's back. then this ill-eyed man tried to work upon my fears; saying that the well is deep and the bucket small, i shall get giddy and be overbalanced. i do not say that these forebodings were without effect on me, but i had made up my mind that, bad as it might be to go down, it was yet worse to have master elzevir prisoned in the well, and i remain above. thus the turnkey perceived at last that he was speaking to deaf ears, and turned to the business. yet there was one fear that still held me, for thinking of what i had heard of the quarry shafts in purbeck, how men had gone down to explore, and there been taken with a sudden giddiness, and never lived to tell what they had seen; and so i said to master elzevir, 'art sure the well is clean, and that no deadly gases lurk below?' 'thou mayst be sure i knew the well was sweet before i let thee talk of going down,' he answered. 'for yesterday we lowered a candle to the water, and the flame burned bright and steady; and where the candle lives, there man lives too. but thou art right: these gases change from day to day, and we will try the thing again. so bring the candle, master jailer.' the jailer brought a candle fixed on a wooden triangle, which he was wont to show strangers who came to see the well, and lowered it on a string. it was not till then i knew what a task i had before me, for looking over the parapet, and taking care not to lose my balance, because the parapet was low, and the floor round it green and slippery with water-splashings, i watched the candle sink into that cavernous depth, and from a bright flame turn into a little twinkling star, and then to a mere point of light. at last it rested on the water, and there was a shimmer where the wood frame had set ripples moving. we watched it twinkle for a little while, and the jailer raised the candle from the water, and dropped down a stone from some he kept there for that purpose. this stone struck the wall half-way down, and went from side to side, crashing and whirring till it met the water with a booming plunge; and there rose a groan and moan from the eddies, like those dreadful sounds of the surge that i heard on lonely nights in the sea-caverns underneath our hiding-place in purbeck. the jailer looked at me then for the first time, and his eyes had an ugly meaning, as if he said, 'there--that is how you will sound when you fall from your perch.' but it was no use to frighten, for i had made up my mind. they pulled the candle up forthwith and put it in my hand, and i flung the plasterer's hammer into the bucket, where it hung above the well, and then got in myself. the turnkey stood at the break-wheel, and elzevir leant over the parapet to steady the rope. 'art sure that thou canst do it, lad?' he said, speaking low, and put his hand kindly on my shoulder. 'are head and heart sure? thou art my diamond, and i would rather lose all other diamonds in the world than aught should come to thee. so, if thou doubtest, let me go, or let not any go at all.' 'never doubt, master,' i said, touched by tenderness, and wrung his hand. 'my head is sure; i have no broken leg to turn it silly now'--for i guessed he was thinking of hoar head and how i had gone giddy on the zigzag. chapter the well the grave doth gape and doting death is near--_shakespeare_ the bucket was large, for all that the turnkey had tried to frighten me into think it small, and i could crouch in it low enough to feel safe of not falling out. moreover, such a venture was not entirely new to me, for i had once been over gad cliff in a basket, to get two peregrines' eggs; yet none the less i felt ill at ease and fearful, when the bucket began to sink into that dreadful depth, and the air to grow chilly as i went down. they lowered me gently enough, so that i was able to take stock of the way the wall was made, and found that for the most part it was cut through solid chalk; but here and there, where the chalk failed or was broken away, they had lined the walls with brick, patching them now on this side, now on that, and now all round. by degrees the light, which was dim even overground that rainy day, died out in the well, till all was black as night but for my candle, and far overhead i could see the well-mouth, white and round like a lustreless full-moon. i kept an eye all the time on elzevir's cord that hung down the well-side, and when i saw it was coming to a finish, shouted to them to stop, and they brought the bucket up near level with the end of it, so i knew i was about eighty feet deep. then i raised myself, standing up in the bucket and holding by the rope, and began to look round, knowing not all the while what i looked for, but thinking to see a hole in the wall, or perhaps the diamond itself shining out of a cranny. but i could perceive nothing; and what made it more difficult was, that the walls here were lined completely with small flat bricks, and looked much the same all round. i examined these bricks as closely as i might, and took course by course, looking first at the north side where the plumb-line hung, and afterwards turning round in the bucket till i was afraid of getting giddy; but to little purpose. they could see my candle moving round and round from the well-top, and knew no doubt what i was at, but master turnkey grew impatient, and shouted down, 'what are you doing? have you found nothing? can you see no treasure?' 'no,' i called back, 'i can see nothing,' and then, 'are you sure, master block, that you have measured the plummet true to eighty feet?' i heard them talking together, but could not make out what they said, for the bim-bom and echo in the well, till elzevir shouted again, 'they say this floor has been raised; you must try lower.' then the bucket began to move lower, slowly, and i crouched down in it again, not wishing to look too much into the unfathomable, dark abyss below. and all the while there rose groanings and moanings from eddies in the bottom of the well, as if the spirits that kept watch over the jewel were yammering together that one should be so near it; and clear above them all i heard grace's voice, sweet and grave, 'have a care, have a care how you touch the treasure; it was evilly come by, and will bring a curse with it.' but i had set foot on this way now, and must go through with it, so when the bucket stopped some six feet lower down, i fell again to diligently examining the walls. they were still built of the shallow bricks, and scanning them course by course as before, i could at first see nothing, but as i moved my eyes downward they were brought up by a mark scratched on a brick, close to the hanging plummet-line. now, however lightly a man may glance through a book, yet if his own name, or even only one nice it, should be printed on the page, his eyes will instantly be stopped by it; so too, if his name be mentioned by others in their speech, though it should be whispered never so low, his ears will catch it. thus it was with this mark, for though it was very slight, so that i think not one in a thousand would ever have noticed it at all, yet it stopped my eyes and brought up my thoughts suddenly, because i knew by instinct that it had something to do with me and what i sought. the sides of this well are not moist, green, or clammy, like the sides of some others where damp and noxious exhalations abound, but dry and clean; for it is said that there are below hidden entrances and exits for the water, which keep it always moving. so these bricks were also dry and clean, and this mark as sharp as if made yesterday, though the issue showed that 'twas put there a very long time ago. now the mark was not deeply or regularly graven, but roughly scratched, as i have known boys score their names, or alphabet letters, or a date, on the alabaster figures that lie in moonfleet church. and here, too, was scored a letter of the alphabet, a plain 'y', and would have passed for nothing more perhaps to any not born in moonfleet; but to me it was the _cross-pall,_ or black 'y' of the mohunes, under whose shadow we were all brought up. so as soon as i saw that, i knew i was near what i sought, and that colonel john mohune had put this sign there a century ago, either by his own hands or by those of a servant; and then i thought of mr. glennie's story, that the colonel's conscience was always unquiet, because of a servant whom he had put away, and now i seemed to understand something more of it. my heart throbbed fiercely, as many another's heart has throbbed when he has come near the fulfilment of a great desire, whether lawful or guilty, and i tried to get at the brick. but though by holding on to the rope with my left hand, i could reach over far enough to touch the brick with my right 'twas as much as i could do, and so i shouted up the well that they must bring me nearer in to the side. they understood what i would be at, and slipped a noose over the well-rope and so drew it in to the side, and made it fast till i should give the word to loose again. thus i was brought close to the well-wall, and the marked brick near about the level of my face when i stood up in the bucket. there was nothing to show that this brick had been tampered with, nor did it sound hollow when tapped, though when i came to look closely at the joints, it seemed as though there was more cement than usual about the edges. but i never doubted that what we sought was to be found behind it, and so got to work at once, fixing the wooden frame of the candle in the fastening of the chain, and chipping out the mortar setting with the plasterer's hammer. when they saw above that first i was to be pulled in to the side, and afterwards fell to work on the wall of the well, they guessed, no doubt, how matters were, and i had scarce begun chipping when i heard the turnkey's voice again, sharp and greedy, 'what are you doing? have you found nothing?' it chafed me that this grasping fellow should be always shouting to me while elzevir was content to stay quiet, so i cried back that i had found nothing, and that he should know what i was doing in good time. soon i had the mortar out of the joints, and the brick loose enough to prise it forward, by putting the edge of the hammer in the crack. i lifted it clean out and put it in the bucket, to see later on, in case of need, if there was a hollow for anything to be hidden in; but never had occasion to look at it again, for there, behind the brick, was a little hole in the wall, and in the hole what i sought. i had my fingers in the wall too quick for words, and brought out a little parchment bag, for all the world like those dried fish-eggs cast up on the beach that children call shepherds' purses. now, shepherds' purses are crisp, and crackle to the touch, and sometimes i have known a pebble get inside one and rattle like a pea in a drum; and this little bag that i pulled out was dry too, and crackling, and had something of the size of a small pebble that rattled in the inside of it. only i knew well that this was no pebble, and set to work to get it out. but though the little bag was parched and dry, 'twas not so easily torn, and at last i struck off the corner of it with the sharp edge of my hammer against the bucket. then i shook it carefully, and out into my hand there dropped a pure crystal as big as a walnut. i had never in my life seen a diamond, either large or small--yet even if i had not known that blackbeard had buried a diamond, and if we had not come hither of set purpose to find it, i should not have doubted that what i had in my hand was a diamond, and this of matchless size and brilliance. it was cut into many facets, and though there was little or no light in the well save my candle, there seemed to be in this stone the light of a thousand fires that flashed out, sparkling red and blue and green, as i turned it between my fingers. at first i could think of nothing else, neither how it got there, nor how i had come to find it, but only of it, the diamond, and that with such a prize elzevir and i could live happily ever afterwards, and that i should be a rich man and able to go back to moonfleet. so i crouched down in the bottom of the bucket, being filled entirely with such thoughts, and turned it over and over again, wondering continually more and more to see the fiery light fly out of it. i was, as it were, dazed by its brilliance, and by the possibilities of wealth that it contained, and had, perhaps, a desire to keep it to myself as long as might be; so that i thought nothing of the two who were waiting for me at the well-mouth, till i was suddenly called back by the harsh voice of the turnkey, crying as before-- 'what are you doing? have you found nothing?' 'yes,' i shouted back, 'i have found the treasure; you can pull me up.' the words were scarcely out of my mouth before the bucket began to move, and i went up a great deal faster than i had gone down. yet in that short journey other thoughts came to my mind, and i heard grace's voice again, sweet and grave, 'have a care, have a care how you touch the treasure; it was evilly come by, and will bring a curse with it.' at the same time i remembered how i had been led to the discovery of this jewel--first, by mr. glennie's stories, second, by my finding the locket, and third, by ratsey giving me the hint that the writing was a cipher, and so had come to the hiding-place without a swerve or stumble; and it seemed to me that i could not have reached it so straight without a leading hand, but whether good or evil, who should say? as i neared the top i heard the turnkey urging the donkey to trot faster in the wheel, so that the bucket might rise the quicker, but just before my head was level with the ground he set the break on and fixed me where i was. i was glad to see the light again, and elzevir's face looking kindly on me, but vexed to be brought up thus suddenly just when i was expecting to set foot on _terra firma_. the turnkey had stopped me through his covetous eagerness, so that he might get sooner at the jewel, and now he craned over the low parapet and reached out his hand to me, crying--'where is the treasure? where is the treasure? give me the treasure!' i held the diamond between finger and thumb of my right hand, and waved it for elzevir to see. by stretching out my arm i could have placed it in the turnkey's hand, and was just going to do so, when i caught his eyes for the second time that day, and something in them made me stop. there was a look in his face that brought back to me the memory of an autumn evening, when i sat in my aunt's parlour reading the book called the _arabian nights_; and how, in the story of the _wonderful lamp_, aladdin's wicked uncle stands at the top of the stairs when the boy is coming up out of the underground cavern, and will not let him out, unless he first gives up the treasure. but aladdin refused to give up his lamp until he should stand safe on the ground again, because he guessed that if he did, his uncle would shut him up in the cavern and leave him to die there; and the look in the turnkey's eyes made me refuse to hand him the jewel till i was safe out of the well, for a horrible fear seized me that, as soon as he had taken it from me, he meant to let me fall down and drown below. so when he reached down his hand and said, 'give me the treasure,' i answered, 'pull me up then; i cannot show it you in the bucket.' 'nay, lad,' he said, cozening me, 'tis safer to give it me now, and have both hands free to help you getting out; these stones are wet and greasy, and you may chance to slip, and having no hand to save you, fall back in the well.' but i was not to be cheated, and said again sturdily, 'no, you must pull me up first.' then he took to scowling, and cried in an angry tone, 'give me the treasure, i say, or it will be the worse for you'; but elzevir would not let him speak to me that way, and broke in roughly, 'let the boy up, he is sure-footed and will not slip. 'tis his treasure, and he shall do with it as he likes: only that thou shalt have a third of it when we have sold it.' then he: ''tis not his treasure--no, nor yours either, but mine, for it is in my well, and i have let you get it. yet i will give you a half-share in it; but as for this boy, what has he to do with it? we will give him a golden guinea, and he will be richly paid for his pains.' 'tush,' cries elzevir, 'let us have no more fooling; this boy shall have his share, or i will know the reason why.' 'ay, you shall know the reason, fair enough,' answers the turnkey, 'and 'tis because your name is block, and there is a price of upon your head, and upon this boy's. you thought to outwit me, and are yourself outwitted; and here i have you in a trap, and neither leaves this room, except with hands tied, and bound for the gallows, unless i first have the jewel safe in my purse.' on that i whipped the diamond back quick into the little parchment bag, and thrust both down snug into my breeches-pocket, meaning to have a fight for it, anyway, before i let it go. and looking up again, i saw the turnkey's hand on the butt of his pistol, and cried, 'beware, beware! he draws on you.' but before the words were out of my mouth, the turn-key had his weapon up and levelled full at elzevir. 'surrender,' he cries, 'or i shoot you dead, and the is mine,' and never giving time for answer, fires. elzevir stood on the other side of the well-mouth, and it seemed the other could not miss him at such a distance; but as i blinked my eyes at the flash, i felt the bullet strike the iron chain to which i was holding, and saw that elzevir was safe. the turnkey saw it too, and flinging away his pistol, sprang round the well and was at elzevir's throat before he knew whether he was hit or not. i have said that the turnkey was a tall, strong man, and twenty years the younger of the two; so doubtless when he made for elzevir, he thought he would easily have him broken down and handcuffed, and then turn to me. but he reckoned without his host, for though elzevir was the shorter and older man, he was wonderfully strong, and seasoned as a salted thong. then they hugged one another and began a terrible struggle: for elzevir knew that he was wrestling for life, and i daresay the turnkey guessed that the stakes were much the same for him too. as soon as i saw what they were at, and that the bucket was safe fixed, i laid hold of the well-chain, and climbing up by it swung myself on to the top of the parapet, being eager to help elzevir, and get the turnkey gagged and bound while we made our escape. but before i was well on the firm ground again, i saw that little help of mine was needed, for the turnkey was flagging, and there was a look of anguish and desperate surprise upon his face, to find that the man he had thought to master so lightly was strong as a giant. they were swaying to and fro, and the jailer's grip was slackening, for his muscles were overwrought and tired; but elzevir held him firm as a vice, and i saw from his eyes and the bearing of his body that he was gathering himself up to give his enemy a fall. now i guessed that the fall he would use would be the compton toss, for though i had never seen him give it, yet he was well known for a wrestler in his younger days, and the compton toss for his most certain fall. i shall not explain the method of it, but those who have seen it used will know that 'tis a deadly fall, and he who lets himself get thrown that way even upon grass, is seldom fit to wrestle another bout the same day. still 'tis a difficult fall to use, and perhaps elzevir would never have been able to give it, had not the other at that moment taken one hand off the waist, and tried to make a clutch with it at the throat. but the only way of avoiding that fall, and indeed most others, is to keep both hands firm between hip and shoulder-blade, and the moment elzevir felt one hand off his back, he had the jailer off his feet and gave him compton's toss. i do not know whether elzevir had been so taxed by the fierce struggle that he could not put his fullest force into the throw, or whether the other, being a very strong and heavy man, needed more to fling him; but so it was, that instead of the turnkey going down straight as he should, with the back of his head on the floor (for that is the real damage of the toss), he must needs stagger backwards a pace or two, trying to regain his footing before he went over. it was those few staggering paces that ruined him, for with the last he came upon the stones close to the well-mouth, that had been made wet and slippery by continual spilling there of water. then up flew his heels, and he fell backwards with all his weight. as soon as i saw how near the well-mouth he was got, i shouted out and ran to save him; but elzevir saw it quicker than i, and springing forward seized him by the belt just when he turned over. the parapet wall was very low, and caught the turnkey behind the knee as he staggered, tripping him over into the well-mouth. he gave a bitter cry, and there was a wrench on his face when he knew where he was come, and 'twas then elzevir caught him by the belt. for a moment i thought he was saved, seeing elzevir setting his body low back with heels pressed firm against the parapet wall to stand the strain. then the belt gave way at the fastening, and elzevir fell sprawling on the floor. but the other went backwards down the well. i got to the parapet just as he fell head first into that black abyss. there was a second of silence, then a dreadful noise like a coconut being broken on a pavement--for we once had coconuts in plenty at moonfleet, when the _bataviaman_ came on the beach, then a deep echoing blow, where he rebounded and struck the wall again, and last of all, the thud and thundering splash, when he reached the water at the bottom. i held my breath for sheer horror, and listened to see if he would cry, though i knew at heart he would never cry again, after that first sickening smash; but there was no sound or voice, except the moaning voices of the water eddies that i had heard before. elzevir slung himself into the bucket. 'you can handle the break,' he said to me; 'let me down quick into the well.' i took the break-lever, lowering him as quickly as i durst, till i heard the bucket touch water at the bottom, and then stood by and listened. all was still, and yet i started once, and could not help looking round over my shoulder, for it seemed as if i was not alone in the well-house; and though i could see no one, yet i had a fancy of a tall black-bearded man, with coppery face, chasing another round and round the well-mouth. both vanished from my fancy just as the pursuer had his hand on the pursued; but mr. glennie's story came back again to my mind, how that colonel mohune's conscience was always unquiet because of a servant he had put away, and i guessed now that the turnkey was not the first man these walls had seen go headlong down the well. elzevir had been in the well so long that i began to fear something had happened to him, when he shouted to me to bring him up. so i fixed the clutch, and set the donkey going in the tread-wheel; and the patient drudge started on his round, recking nothing whether it was a bucket of water he brought up, or a live man, or a dead man, while i looked over the parapet, and waited with a cramping suspense to see whether elzevir would be alone, or have something with him. but when the bucket came in sight there was only elzevir in it, so i knew the turnkey had never come to the top of the water again, and, indeed, there was but little chance he should after that first knock. elzevir said nothing to me, till i spoke: 'let us fling the jewel down the well after him, master block; it was evilly come by, and will bring a curse with it.' he hesitated for a moment while i half-hoped yet half-feared he was going to do as i asked, but then said: 'no, no; thou art not fit to keep so precious a thing. give it me. it is thy treasure, and i will never touch penny of it; but fling it down the well thou shalt not; for this man has lost his life for it, and we have risked ours for it--ay, and may lose them for it too, perhaps.' so i gave him the jewel. chapter the jewel all that glisters is not gold--_shakespeare_ there was the turnkey's belt lying on the floor, with the keys and manacles fixed to it, just as it had failed and come off him at the fatal moment. elzevir picked it up, tried the keys till he found the right one, and unlocked the door of the well-house. 'there are other locks to open before we get out,' i said. 'ay,' he answered, 'but it is more than our life is worth to be seen with these keys, so send them down the well, after their master.' i took them back and flung them, belt and keys and handcuffs, clanking down against the sides into the blackness and the hidden water at the bottom. then we took pail and hammer, brush and ropes, and turned our backs upon that hateful place. there was the little court to cross before we came to the doors of the banquet-hall. they were locked, but we knocked until a guard opened them. he knew us for the plasterer-men, who had passed an hour before, and only asked, 'where is ephraim?' meaning the turnkey. 'he is stopping behind in the well-house,' elzevir said, and so we passed on through the hall, where the prisoners were making what breakfast they might of odds and ends, with a savoury smell of cooking and a great patter of french. at the outer gate was another guard to be passed, but they opened for us without question, cursing ephraim under their breath, that he did not take the pains to let his own men out. then the wicket of the great gates swung-to behind us, and we went into the open again. as soon as we were out of sight we quickened our pace, and the weather having much bettered, and a fresh breeze springing up, we came back to the bugle about ten in the forenoon. i believe that neither of us spoke a word during that walk, and though elzevir had not yet seen the diamond, he never even took the pains to draw it out of the little parchment bag, in which it still lay hid in his pocket. yet if i did not speak i thought, and my thoughts were sad enough. for here were we a second time, flying for our lives, and if we had not the full guilt of blood upon our hands, yet blood was surely there. so this flight was very bitter to me, because the scene of death of which i had been witness this morning seemed to take me farther still away from all my old happy life, and to stand like another dreadful obstacle between grace and me. in the family bible lying on the table in my aunt's best parlour was a picture of cain, which i had often looked at with fear on wet sunday afternoons. it showed cain striding along in the midst of a boundless desert, with his sons and their wives striding behind him, and their little children carried slung on poles. there was a quick, swinging motion in the bodies of all, as though they must needs always stride as fast as they might, and never rest, and their faces were set hard, and thin with eternal wandering and disquiet. but the thinnest and most restless-looking and hardest face was cain's, and on the middle of his forehead there was a dark spot, which god had set to show that none might touch him, because he was the first murderer, and cursed for ever. this had always been to me a dreadful picture, though i could not choose but look at it, and was sorry indeed for cain, for all he was so wicked, because it seemed so hard to have to wander up and down the world all his life long, and never be able to come to moorings. and yet this very thing had come upon me now, for here we were, with the blood of two men on our hands, wanderers on the face of the earth, who durst never go home; and if the mark of cain was not on my forehead already, i felt it might come out there at any minute. when we reached the bugle i went upstairs and flung myself upon the bed to try to rest a little and think, but elzevir shut himself in with the landlord, and i could hear them talking earnestly in the room under me. after a while he came up and said that he had considered with the landlord how we could best get away, telling him that we must be off at once, but letting him suppose that we were eager to leave the place because some of the excise had got wind of our whereabouts. he had said nothing to our host about the turnkey, wishing as few persons as possible to know of that matter, but doubted not that we should by all means hasten our departure from the island, for that as soon as the turnkey was missed inquiry would certainly be made for the plasterers with whom he was last seen. yet in this thing at least fortune favoured us, for there was now lying at cowes, and ready to sail that night, a dutch couper that had run a cargo of hollands on the other side of the island, and was going back to scheveningen freighted with wool. our landlord knew the dutch captain well, having often done business for him, and so could give us letters of recommendation which would ensure us a passage to the low countries. thus in the afternoon we were on the road, making our way from newport to cowes in a new disguise, for we had changed our clothes again, and now wore the common sailor dress of blue. the clouds had returned after the rain, and the afternoon was wet, and worse than the morning, so i shall not say anything of another weary and silent walk. we arrived on cowes quay by eight in the evening, and found the couper ready to make sail, and waiting only for the tide to set out. her name was the _gouden droom_, and she was a little larger than the _bonaventure_, but had a smaller crew, and was not near so well found. elzevir exchanged a few words with the captain, and gave him the landlord's letter, and after that they let us come on board, but said nothing to us. we judged that we were best out of the way, so went below; and finding her laden deep, and even the cabin full of bales of wool, flung ourselves on them to rest. i was so tired and heavy with sleep that my eyes closed almost before i was lain down, and never opened till the next morning was well advanced. i shall not say anything about our voyage, nor how we came safe to scheveningen, because it has little to do with this story. elzevir had settled that we should go to holland, not only because the couper was waiting to sail thither for we might doubtless have found other boats before long to take us elsewhere--but also because he had learned at newport that the hague was the first market in the world for diamonds. this he told me after we were safe housed in a little tavern in the town, which was frequented by seamen, but those of the better class, such as mates and skippers of small vessels. here we lay for several days while elzevir made such inquiry as he could without waking suspicion as to who were the best dealers in precious stones, and the most able to pay a good price for a valuable jewel. it was lucky, too, for us that elzevir could speak the dutch language--not well indeed, but enough to make himself understood, and to understand others. when i asked where he had learned it, he told me that he came of dutch blood on his mother's side, and so got his name of elzevir; and that he could once speak in dutch as readily as in english, only that his mother dying when he was yet a boy he lost something of the facility. as the days passed, the memory of that dreadful morning at carisbrooke became dimmer to me, and my mind more cheerful or composed. i got the diamond back from elzevir, and had it out many times, both by day and by night, and every time it seemed more brilliant and wonderful than the last. often of nights, after all the house was gone to rest, i would lock the door of the room, and sit with a candle burning on the table, and turn the diamond over in my hands. it was, as i have said, as big as a pigeon's egg or walnut, delicately cut and faceted all over, perfect and flawless, without speck or stain, and yet, for all it was so clear and colourless, there flew out from the depth of it such flashes and sparkles of red, blue, and green, as made one wonder whence these tints could come. thus while i sat and watched it i would tell elzevir stories from the _arabian nights_, of wondrous jewels, though i believe there never was a stone that the eagles brought up from the valley of diamonds, no, nor any in the caliph's crown itself, that could excel this gem of ours. you may be sure that at such times we talked much of the value that was to be put upon the stone, and what was likely to be got for it, but never could settle, not having any experience of such things. only, i was sure that it must be worth thousands of pounds, and so sat and rubbed my hands, saying that though life was like a game of hazard, and our throws had hitherto been bad enough, yet we had made something of this last. but all the while a strange change was coming over us both, and our parts seemed turned about. for whereas a few days before it was i who wished to fling the diamond away, feeling overwrought and heavy-hearted in that awful well-house, and elzevir who held me from it; now it was he that seemed to set little store by it, and i to whom it was all in all. he seldom cared to look much at the jewel, and one night when i was praising it to him, spoke out: 'set not thy heart too much upon this stone. it is thine, and thine to deal with. never a penny will i touch that we may get for it. yet, were i thou, and reached great wealth with it, and so came back one day to moonfleet, i would not spend it all on my own ends, but put aside a part to build the poor-houses again, as men say blackbeard meant to do with it' i did not know what made him speak like this, and was not willing, even in fancy, to agree to what he counselled; for with that gem before me, lustrous, and all the brighter for lying on a rough deal table, i could only think of the wealth it was to bring to us, and how i would most certainly go back one day to moonfleet and marry grace. so i never answered elzevir, but took the diamond and slipped it back in the silver locket, which still hung round my neck, for that was the safest place for it that we could think of. we spent some days in wandering round the town making inquiries, and learnt that most of the diamond-buyers lived near one another in a certain little street, whose name i have forgotten, but that the richest and best known of them was one krispijn aldobrand. he was a jew by birth, but had lived all his life in the hague, and besides having bought and sold some of the finest stones, was said to ask few questions, and to trouble little whence stones came, so they were but good. thus, after much thought and many changes of purpose, we chose this aldobrand, and settled we would put the matter to the touch with him. we took an evening in late summer for our venture, and came to aldobrand's house about an hour before sundown. i remember the place well, though i have not seen it for so long, and am certainly never like to see it again. it was a low house of two stories standing back a little from the street, with some wooden palings and a grass plot before it, and a stone-flagged path leading up to the door. the front of it was whitewashed, with green shutters, and had a shiny-leaved magnolia trained round about the windows. these jewellers had no shops, though sometimes they set a single necklace or bracelet in a bottom window, but put up notices proclaiming their trade. thus there was over aldobrand's door a board stuck out to say that he bought and sold jewels, and would lend money on diamonds or other valuables. a sturdy serving-man opened the door, and when he heard our business was to sell a jewel, left us in a stone-floored hall or lobby, while he went upstairs to ask whether his master would see us. a few minutes later the stairs creaked, and aldobrand himself came down. he was a little wizened man with yellow skin and deep wrinkles, not less than seventy years old; and i saw he wore shoes of polished leather, silver-buckled, and tilted-heeled to add to his stature. he began speaking to us from the landing, not coming down into the hall, but leaning over the handrail: 'well, my sons, what would you with me? i hear you have a jewel to sell, but you must know i do not purchase sailors' flotsam. so if 'tis a moonstone or catseye, or some pin-head diamonds, keep them to make brooches for your sweethearts, for aldobrand buys no toys like that.' he had a thin and squeaky voice, and spoke to us in our own tongue, guessing no doubt that we were english from our faces. 'twas true he handled the language badly enough, yet i was glad he used it, for so i could follow all that was said. 'no toys like that,' he said again, repeating his last words, and elzevir answered: 'may it please your worship, we are sailors from over sea, and this boy has a diamond that he would sell.' i had the gem in my hand all ready, and when the old man squeaked peevishly, 'out with it then, let's see, let's see,' i reached it out to him. he stretched down over the banisters, and took it; holding out his palm hollowed, as if 'twas some little paltry stone that might otherwise fall and be lost. it nettled me to have him thus underrate our treasure, even though he had never seen it, and so i plumped it down into his hand as if it were as big as a pumpkin. now the hall was a dim place, being lit only by a half-circle of glass over the door, and so i could not see very well; yet in reaching down he brought his head near mine, and i could swear his face changed when he felt the size of the stone in his hand, and turned from impatience and contempt to wonder and delight. he took the jewel quickly from his palm, and held it up between finger and thumb, and when he spoke again, his voice was changed as well as his face, and had lost most of the sharp impatience. 'there is not light enough to see in this dark place--follow me,' and he turned back and went upstairs rapidly, holding the stone in his hand; and we close at his heels, being anxious not to lose sight of him now that he had our diamond, for all he was so rich and well known a man. thus we came to another landing, and there he flung open the door of a room which looked out west, and had the light of the setting sun streaming in full flood through the window. the change from the dimness of the stairs to this level red blaze was so quick that for a minute i could make out nothing, but turning my back to the window saw presently that the room was panelled all through with painted wood, with a bed let into the wall on one side, and shelves round the others, on which were many small coffers and strong-boxes of iron. the jeweller was sitting at a table with his face to the sun, holding the diamond up against the light, and gazing into it closely, so that i could see every working of his face. the hard and cunning look had come back to it, and he turned suddenly upon me and asked quite sharply, 'what is your name, boy? whence do you come?' now i was not used to walk under false names, and he took me unawares, so i must needs blurt out, 'my name is john trenchard, sir, and i come from moonfleet, in dorset.' a second later i could have bitten off my tongue for having said as much, and saw elzevir frowning at me to make me hold my peace. but 'twas too late then, for the merchant was writing down my answer in a parchment ledger. and though it would seem to most but a little thing that he should thus take down my name and birthplace, and only vexed us at the time, because we would not have it known at all whence we came; yet in the overrulings of providence it was ordered that this note in mr. aldobrand's book should hereafter change the issue of my life. 'from moonfleet, in dorset,' he repeated to himself, as he finished writing my answer. 'and how did john trenchard come by this?' and he tapped the diamond as it lay on the table before him. then elzevir broke in quickly, fearing no doubt lest i should be betrayed into saying more: 'nay, sir, we are not come to play at questions and answers, but to know whether your worship will buy this diamond, and at what price. we have no time to tell long histories, and so must only say that we are english sailors, and that the stone is fairly come by.' and he let his fingers play with the diamond on the table, as if he feared it might slip away from him. 'softly, softly,' said the old man; 'all stones are fairly come by; but had you told me whence you got this, i might have spared myself some tedious tests, which now i must crave pardon for making.' he opened a cupboard in the panelling, and took out from it a little pair of scales, some crystals, a black-stone, and a bottle full of a green liquid. then he sat down again, drew the diamond gently from elzevir's fingers, which were loth to part with it, and began using his scales; balancing the diamond carefully, now against a crystal, now against some small brass weights. i stood with my back to the sunset, watching the red light fall upon this old man as he weighed the diamond, rubbed it on the black-stone, or let fall on it a drop of the liquor, and so could see the wonder and emotion fade away from his face, and only hard craftiness left in it. i watched him meddling till i could bear to watch no longer, feeling a fierce feverish suspense as to what he might say, and my pulse beating so quick that i could scarce stand still. for was not the decisive moment very nigh when we should know, from these parched-up lips, the value of the jewel, and whether it was worth risking life for, whether the fabric of our hopes was built on sure foundation or on slippery sand? so i turned my back on the diamond merchant, and looked out of the window, waiting all the while to catch the slightest word that might come from his lips. i have found then and at other times that in such moments, though the mind be occupied entirely by one overwhelming thought, yet the eyes take in, as it were unwittingly, all that lies before them, so that we can afterwards recall a face or landscape of which at the time we took no note. thus it was with me that night, for though i was thinking of nothing but the jewel, yet i noted everything that could be seen through the window, and the recollection was of use to me later on. the window was made in the french style, reaching down to the floor, and opening like a door with two leaves. it led on to a little balcony, and now stood open (for the day was still very hot), and on the wall below was trained a pear-tree, which half-embowered the balcony with its green leaves. the window could be well protected in case of need, having latticed wooden blinds inside, and heavy shutters shod with iron on the outer wall, and there were besides strong bolts and sockets from which ran certain wires whose use i did not know. below the balcony was a square garden-plot, shut in with a brick wall, and kept very neat and trim. there were hollyhocks round the walls, and many-coloured poppies, with many other shrubs and flowers. my eyes fell on one especially, a tall red-blossomed rushy kind of flower, that i had never seen before; and that seemed indeed to be something out of the common, for it stood in the middle of a little earth-plot, and had the whole bed nearly to itself. i was looking at this flower, not thinking of it, but wondering all the while whether mr. aldobrand would say the diamond was worth ten thousand pounds, or fifty, or a hundred thousand, when i heard him speaking, and turned round quick. 'my sons, and you especially, son john,' he said, and turned to me: 'this stone that you have brought me is no stone at all, but glass--or rather paste, for so we call it. not but what it is good paste, and perhaps the best that i have seen, and so i had to try it to make sure. but against high chymic tests no sham can stand; and first it is too light in weight, and second, when rubbed on this basanus or black-stone, traces no line of white, as any diamond must. but, third and last, i have tried it with the hermeneutic proof, and dipped it in this most costly lembic; and the liquor remains pure green and clear, not turbid orange, a diamond leaves it.' as he spoke the room spun round, and i felt the sickness and heart-sinking that comes with the sudden destruction of long-cherished hope. so it was all a sham, a bit of glass, for which we had risked our lives. blackbeard had only mocked us even in his death, and from rich men we were become the poorest outcasts. and all the other bright fancies that had been built on this worthless thing fell down at once, like a house of cards. there was no money now with which to go back rich to moonfleet, no money to cloak past offences, no money to marry grace; and with that i gave a sigh, and my knees failing should have fallen had not elzevir held me. 'nay, son john,' squeaked the old man, seeing i was so put about, 'take it not hardly, for though this is but paste, i say not it is worthless. it is as fine work as ever i have seen, and i will offer you ten silver crowns for it; which is a goodly sum for a sailor-lad to have in hand, and more than all the other buyers in this town would bid you for it.' 'tush, tush,' cried elzevir, and i could hear the bitterness and disappointment in his voice, however much he tried to hide it; 'we are not come to beg for silver crowns, so keep them in your purse. and the devil take this shining sham; we are well quit of it; there is a curse upon the thing!' and with that he caught up the stone and flung it away out of the window in his anger. this brought the diamond-buyer to his feet in a moment. 'you fool, you cursed fool!' he shrieked, 'are you come here to beard me? and when i say the thing is worth ten silver crowns do you fling it to the winds?' i had sprung forward with a half thought of catching elzevir's arm; but it was too late--the stone flew up in the air, caught the low rays of the setting sun for a moment, and then fell among the flowers. i could not see it as it fell, yet followed with my eyes the line in which it should have fallen, and thought i saw a glimmer where it touched the earth. it was only a flash or sparkle for an instant, just at the stem of that same rushy red-flowered plant, and then nothing more to be seen; but as i faced round i saw the little man's eyes turned that way too, and perhaps he saw the flash as well as i. 'there's for your ten crowns!' said elzevir. 'let us be going, lad.' and he took me by the arm and marched me out of the room and down the stairs. 'go, and a blight on you!' says mr. aldobrand, his voice being not so high as when he cried out last, but in his usual squeak; and then he repeated, 'a blight on you,' just for a parting shot as we went through the door. we passed two more waiting-men on the stairs, but they said nothing to us, and so we came to the street. we walked along together for some time without a word, and then elzevir said, 'cheer up, lad, cheer up. thou saidst thyself thou fearedst there was a curse on the thing, so now it is gone, maybe we are well quit of it.' yet i could not say anything, being too much disappointed to find the diamond was a sham, and bitterly cast down at the loss of all our hopes. it was all very well to think there was a curse upon the stone so long as we had it, and to feign that we were ready to part with it; but now it was gone i knew that at heart i never wished to part with it at all, and would have risked any curse to have it back again. there was supper waiting for us when we got back, but i had no stomach for victuals and sat moodily while elzevir ate, and he not much. but when i sat and brooded over what had happened, a new thought came to my mind and i jumped up and cried, 'elzevir, we are fools! the stone is no sham; 'tis a real diamond!' he put down his knife and fork, and looked at me, not saying anything, but waiting for me to say more, and yet did not show so much surprise as i expected. then i reminded him how the old merchant's face was full of wonder and delight when first he saw the stone, which showed he thought it was real then, and how afterwards, though he schooled his voice to bring out long words to deceive us, he was ready enough to spring to his feet and shriek out loud when elzevir threw the stone into the garden. i spoke fast, and in talking to him convinced myself, so when i stopped for want of breath i was quite sure that the stone was indeed a diamond, and that aldobrand had duped us. still elzevir showed little eagerness, and only said-- ''tis like enough that what you say is true, but what would you have us do? the stone is flung away.' 'yes,' i answered; 'but i saw where it fell, and know the very place; let us go back now at once and get it.' 'do you not think that aldobrand saw the place too?' asked elzevir; and then i remembered how, when i turned back to the room after seeing the stone fall, i caught the eyes of the old merchant looking the same way; and how he spoke more quietly after that, and not with the bitter cry he used when elzevir tossed the jewel out of the window. 'i do not know,' i said doubtfully; 'let us go back and see. it fell just by the stem of a red flower that i marked well. what!' i added, seeing him still hesitate and draw back, 'do you doubt? shall we not go and get it?' still he did not answer for a minute, and then spoke slowly, as if weighing his words. 'i cannot tell. i think that all you say is true, and that this stone is real. nay, i was half of that mind when i threw it away, and yet i would not say we are not best without it. 'twas you who first spoke of a curse upon the jewel, and i laughed at that as being a childish tale. but now i cannot tell; for ever since we first scented this treasure luck has run against us, john; yes, run against us very strong; and here we are, flying from home, called outlaws, and with blood upon our hands. not that blood frightens me, for i have stood face to face with men in fair fight, and never felt a death-blow given so weigh on my soul; but these two men came to a tricksy kind of end, and yet i could not help it. 'tis true that all my life i've served the contraband, but no man ever knew me do a foul action; and now i do not like that men should call me felon, and like it less that they should call thee felon too. perhaps there may be after all some curse that hangs about this stone, and leads to ruin those that handle it. i cannot say, for i am not a parson glennie in these things; but blackbeard in an evil mood may have tied the treasure up to be a curse to any that use it for themselves. what do we want with this thing at all? i have got money to be touched at need; we may lie quiet this side the channel, where thou shalt learn an honest trade, and when the mischief has blown over we will go back to moonfleet. so let the jewel be, john; shall we not let the jewel be?' he spoke earnestly, and most earnestly at the end, taking me by the hand and looking me full in the face. but i could not look him back again, and turned my eyes away, for i was wilful, and would not bring myself to let the diamond go. yet all the while i thought that what he said was true, and i remembered that sermon that mr. glennie preached, saying that life was like a 'y', and that to each comes a time when two ways part, and where he must choose whether he will take the broad and sloping road or the steep and narrow path. so now i guessed that long ago i had chosen the broad road, and now was but walking farther down it in seeking after this evil treasure, and still i could not bear to give all up, and persuaded myself that it was a child's folly to madly fling away so fine a stone. so instead of listening to good advice from one so much older than me, i set to work to talk him over, and persuaded him that if we got the diamond again, and ever could sell it, we would give the money to build up the mohune almshouses, knowing well in my heart that i never meant to do any such thing. thus at the last elzevir, who was the stubbornest of men, and never yielded, was overborne by his great love to me, and yielded here. it was ten o'clock before we set out together, to go again to aldobrand's, meaning to climb the garden wall and get the stone. i walked quickly enough, and talked all the time to silence my own misgivings, but elzevir hung back a little and said nothing, for it was sorely against his judgement that he came at all. but as we neared the place i ceased my chatter, and so we went on in silence, each busy with his own thoughts, we did not come in front of aldobrand's house, but turned out of the main street down a side lane which we guessed would skirt the garden wall. there were few people moving even in the streets, and in this little lane there was not a soul to meet as we crept along in the shadow of the high walls. we were not mistaken, for soon we came to what we judged was the outside of aldobrand's garden. here we paused for a minute, and i believe elzevir was for making a last remonstrance, but i gave him no chance, for i had found a place where some bricks were loosened in the wall-face, and set myself to climb. it was easy enough to scale for us, and in a minute we both dropped down in a bed of soft mould on the other side. we pushed through some gooseberry-bushes that caught the clothes, and distinguishing the outline of the house, made that way, till in a few steps we stood on the _pelouse_ or turf, which i had seen from the balcony three hours before. i knew the twirl of the walks, and the pattern of the beds; the rank of hollyhocks that stood up all along the wall, and the poppies breathing out a faint sickly odour in the night. an utter silence held all the garden, and, the night being very clear, there was still enough light to show the colours of the flowers when one looked close at them, though the green of the leaves was turned to grey. we kept in the shadow of the wall, and looked expectantly at the house. but no murmur came from it, it might have been a house of the dead for any noise the living made there; nor was there light in any window, except in one behind the balcony, to which our eyes were turned first. in that room there was someone not yet gone to rest, for we could see a lattice of light where a lamp shone through the open work of the wooden blinds. 'he is up still,' i whispered, 'and the outside shutters are not closed.' elzevir nodded, and then i made straight for the bed where the red flower grew. i had no need of any light to see the bells of that great rushy thing, for it was different from any of the rest, and besides that was planted by itself. i pointed it out to elzevir. 'the stone lies by the stalk of that flower,' i said, 'on the side nearest to the house'; and then i stayed him with my hand upon his arm, that he should stand where he was at the bed's edge, while i stepped on and got the stone. my feet sank in the soft earth as i passed through the fringe of poppies circling the outside of the bed, and so i stood beside the tall rushy flower. the scarlet of its bells was almost black, but there was no mistaking it, and i stooped to pick the diamond up. was it possible? was there nothing for my outstretched hand to finger, except the soft rich loam, and on the darkness of the ground no guiding sparkle? i knelt down to make more sure, and looked all round the plant, and still found nothing, though it was light enough to see a pebble, much more to catch the gleam and flash of the great diamond i knew so well. it was not there, and yet i knew that i had seen it fall beyond all room for doubt. 'it is gone, elzevir; it is gone!' i cried out in my anguish, but only heard a 'hush!' from him to bid me not to speak so loud. then i fell on my knees again, and sifted the mould through my fingers, to make sure the stone had not sunk in and been overlooked. but it was all to no purpose, and at last i stepped back to where elzevir was, and begged him to light a piece of match in the shelter of the hollyhocks; and i would screen it with my hands, so that the light should fall upon the ground, and not be seen from the house, and so search round the flower. he did as i asked, not because he thought that i should find anything, but rather to humour me; and, as he put the lighted match into my hands, said, speaking low, 'let the stone be, lad, let it be; for either thou didst fail to mark the place right, or others have been here before thee. 'tis ruled we should not touch the stone again, and so 'tis best; let be, let be; let us get home.' he put his hand upon my shoulder gently, and spoke with such an earnestness and pleading in his voice that one would have thought it was a woman rather than a great rough giant; and yet i would not hear, and broke away, sheltering the match in my hollowed hands, and making back to the red flower. but this time, just as i stepped upon the mould, coming to the bed from the house side, the light fell on the ground, and there i saw something that brought me up short. it was but a dint or impress on the soft brown loam, and yet, before my eyes were well upon it, i knew it for the print of a sharp heel--a sharp deep heel, having just in front of it the outline of a little foot. there is a story every boy was given to read when i was young, of crusoe wrecked upon a desert isle, who, walking one day on the shore, was staggered by a single footprint in the sand, because he learnt thus that there were savages in that sad place, where he thought he stood alone. yet i believe even that footprint in the sand was never greater blow to him than was this impress in the garden mould to me, for i remembered well the little shoes of polished leather, with their silver buckles and high-tilted heels. he _had_ been here before us. i found another footprint, and another leading towards the middle of the bed; and then i flung the match away, trampling the fire out in the soil. it was no use searching farther now, for i knew well there was no diamond here for us. i stepped back to the lawn, and caught elzevir by the arm. 'aldobrand has been here before us, and stole away the jewel,' i whispered sharp; and looking wildly round in the still night, saw the lattice of lamplight shining through the wooden blinds of the balcony window. 'well, there's an end of it!' said he, 'and we are saved further question. 'tis gone, so let us cry good riddance to it and be off.' so he turned to go back, and there was one more chance for me to choose the better way and go with him; but still i could not give the jewel up, and must go farther on the other path which led to ruin for us both. for i had my eyes fixed on the light coming through the blinds of that window, and saw how thick and strong the boughs of the pear-tree were trained against the wall about the balcony. 'elzevir,' i said, swallowing the bitter disappointment which rose in my throat, 'i cannot go till i have seen what is doing in that room above. i will climb to the balcony and look in through the chinks. perhaps he is not there, perhaps he has left our diamond there and we may get it back again.' so i went straight to the house, not giving him time to raise a word to stop me, for there was something in me driving me on, and i was not to be stopped by anyone from that purpose. there was no need to fear any seeing us, for all the windows except that one, were tight shuttered, and though our footsteps on the soft lawn woke no sound, i knew that elzevir was following me. it was no easy task to climb the pear-tree, for all that the boughs looked so strong, for they lay close against the wall, and gave little hold for hand or foot. twice, or more, an unripe pear was broken off, and fell rustling down through the leaves to earth, and i paused and waited to hear if anyone was disturbed in the room above; but all was deathly still, and at last i got my hand upon the parapet, and so came safe to the balcony. i was panting from the hard climb, yet did not wait to get my breath, but made straight for the window to see what was going on inside. the outer shutters were still flung back, as they had been in the afternoon, and there was no difficulty in looking in, for i found an opening in the lattice-blind just level with my eyes, and could see all the room inside. it was well lit, as for a marriage feast, and i think there were a score of candles or more burning in holders on the table, or in sconces on the wall. at the table, on the farther side of it from me, and facing the window, sat aldobrand, just as he sat when he told us the stone was a sham. his face was turned towards the window, and as i looked full at him it seemed impossible but that he should know that i was there. in front of him, on the table, lay the diamond--our diamond, my diamond; for i knew it was a diamond now, and not false. it was not alone, but had a dozen more cut gems laid beside it on the table, each a little apart from the other; yet there was no mistaking mine, which was thrice as big as any of the rest. and if it surpassed them in size, how much more did it excel in fierceness and sparkle! all the candles in the room were mirrored in it, and as the splendour flashed from every line and facet that i knew so well, it seemed to call to me, 'am i not queen of all diamonds of the world? am i not your diamond? will you not take me to yourself again? will you save me from this sorry trickster?' i had my eyes fixed, but still knew that elzevir was beside me. he would not let me risk myself in any hazard alone without he stood by me himself to help in case of need; and yet his faithfulness but galled me now, and i asked myself with a sneer, am i never to stir hand or foot without this man to dog me? the merchant sat still for a minute as though thinking, and then he took one of the diamonds that lay on the table, and then another, and set them close beside the great stone, pitting them, as it were, with it. yet how could any match with that?--for it outshone them all as the sun outshines the stars in heaven. then the old man took the stone and weighed it in the scales which stood on the table before him, balancing it carefully, and a dozen times, against some little weights of brass; and then he wrote with pen and ink in a sheepskin book, and afterwards on a sheet of paper as though casting up numbers. what would i not have given to see the figures that he wrote? for was he not casting up the value of the jewel, and summing out the profits he would make? after that he took the stone between finger and thumb, holding it up before his eyes, and placing it now this way, now that, so that the light might best fall on it. i could have cursed him for the wondering love of that fair jewel that overspread his face; and cursed him ten times more for the smile upon his lips, because i guessed he laughed to think how he had duped two simple sailors that very afternoon. there was the diamond in his hands--our diamond, my diamond--in his hands, and i but two yards from my own; only a flimsy veil of wood and glass to keep me from the treasure he had basely stolen from us. then i felt elzevir's hand upon my shoulder. 'let us be going,' he said; 'a minute more and he may come to put these shutters to, and find us here. let us be going. diamonds are not for simple folk like us; this is an evil stone, and brings a curse with it. let us be going, john.' but i shook off the kind hand roughly, forgetting how he had saved my life, and nursed me for many weary weeks and stood by me through bad and worse; for just now the man at the table rose and took out a little iron box from a cupboard at the back of the room. i knew that he was going to lock my treasure into it, and that i should see it no more. but the great jewel lying lonely on the table flashed and sparkled in the light of twenty candles, and called to me, 'am i not queen of all diamonds of the world? am i not your diamond? save me from the hands of this scurvy robber.' then i hurled myself forward with all my weight full on the joining of the window frames, and in a second crashed through the glass, and through the wooden blind into the room behind. the noise of splintered wood and glass had not died away before there was a sound as of bells ringing all over the house, and the wires i had seen in the afternoon dangled loose in front of my face. but i cared neither for bells nor wires, for there lay the great jewel flashing before me. the merchant had turned sharp round at the crash, and darted for the diamond, crying 'thieves! thieves! thieves!' he was nearer to it than i, and as i dashed forward our hands met across the table, with his underneath upon the stone. but i gripped him by the wrist, and though he struggled, he was but a weak old man, and in a few seconds i had it twisted from his grasp. in a few seconds--but before they were past the diamond was well in my hand--the door burst open, and in rushed six sturdy serving-men with staves and bludgeons. elzevir had given a little groan when he saw me force the window, but followed me into the room and was now at my side. 'thieves! thieves! thieves!' screamed the merchant, falling back exhausted in his chair and pointing to us, and then the knaves fell on too quick for us to make for the window. two set on me and four on elzevir; and one man, even a giant, cannot fight with four--above all when they carry staves. never had i seen master block overborne or worsted by any odds; and fortune was kind to me, at least in this, that she let me not see the issue then, for a staff caught me so round a knock on the head as made the diamond drop out of my hand, and laid me swooning on the floor. chapter at ymeguen as if a thief should steal a tainted vest, some dead man's spoil, and sicken of his pest--_hood_ 'tis bitterer to me than wormwood the memory of what followed, and i shall tell the story in the fewest words i may. we were cast into prison, and lay there for months in a stone cell with little light, and only foul straw to lie on. at first we were cut and bruised from that tussle and cudgelling in aldobrand's house, and it was long before we were recovered of our wounds, for we had nothing but bread and water to live on, and that so bad as barely to hold body and soul together. afterwards the heavy fetters that were put about our ankles set up sores and galled us so that we scarce could move for pain. and if the iron galled my flesh, my spirit chafed ten times more within those damp and dismal walls; yet all that time elzevir never breathed a word of reproach, though it was my wilfulness had led us into so terrible a strait. at last came our jailer, one morning, and said that we must be brought up that day before the _geregt_, which is their court of assize, to be tried for our crime. so we were marched off to the court-house, in spite of sores and heavy irons, and were glad enough to see the daylight once more, and drink the open air, even though it should be to our death that we were walking; for the jailer said they were like to hang us for what we had done. in the court-house our business was soon over, because there were many to speak against us, but none to plead our cause; and all being done in the dutch language i understood nothing of it, except what elzevir told me afterwards. there was mr. aldobrand in his black gown and buckled shoes with tip-tilted heels, standing at a table and giving evidence: how that one afternoon in august came two evil-looking english sailors to his house under pretence of selling a diamond, which turned out to be but a lump of glass: and that having taken observation of all his dwelling, and more particularly the approaches to his business-room, they went their ways. but later in the same day, or rather night, as he sat matching together certain diamonds for a coronet ordered by the most illustrious the holy roman emperor, these same ill-favoured english sailors burst suddenly through shutters and window, and made forcible entry into his business-room. there they furiously attacked him, wrenched the diamond from his hand, and beat him within an ace of his life. but by the good providence of god, and his own foresight, the window was fitted with a certain alarm, which rang bells in other parts of the house. thus his trusty servants were summoned, and after being themselves attacked and nearly overborne, succeeded at last in mastering these scurvy ruffians and handing them over to the law, from which mr. aldobrand claimed sovereign justice. thus much elzevir explained to me afterwards, but at that time when that pretender spoke of the diamond as being his own, elzevir cut in and said in open court that 'twas a lie, and that this precious stone was none other than the one that we had offered in the afternoon, when aldobrand had said 'twas glass. then the diamond merchant laughed, and took from his purse our great diamond, which seemed to fill the place with light and dazzled half the court. he turned it over in his hand, poising it in his palm like a great flourishing lamp of light, and asked if 'twas likely that two common sailor-men should hawk a stone like that. nay more, that the court might know what daring rogues they had to deal with, he pulled out from his pocket the quittance given him by shalamof the jew of petersburg, for this same jewel, and showed it to the judge. whether 'twas a forged quittance or one for some other stone we knew not, but elzevir spoke again, saying that the stone was ours and we had found it in england. when mr. aldobrand laughed again, and held the jewel up once more: were such pebbles, he asked, found on the shore by every squalid fisherman? and the great diamond flashed as he put it back into his purse, and cried to me, 'am i not queen of all the diamonds of the world? must i house with this base rascal?' but i was powerless now to help. after aldobrand, the serving-men gave witness, telling how they had trapped us in the act, red-handed: and as for this jewel, they had seen their master handle it any time in these six months past. but elzevir was galled to the quick with all their falsehoods, and burst out again, that they were liars and the jewel ours; till a jailer who stood by struck him on the mouth and cut his lip, to silence him. the process was soon finished, and the judge in his red robes stood up and sentenced us to the galleys for life; bidding us admire the mercy of the law to outlanders, for had we been but dutchmen, we should sure have hanged. then they took and marched us out of court, as well as we could walk for fetters, and elzevir with a bleeding mouth. but as we passed the place where aldobrand sat, he bows to me and says in english, 'your servant, mr. trenchard. i wish you a good day, sir john trenchard--of moonfleet, in dorset.' the jailer paused a moment, hearing aldobrand speak to us though not understanding what he said, so i had time to answer him: 'good day, sir aldobrand, liar, and thief; and may the diamond bring you evil in this present life, and damnation in that which is to come.' so we parted from him, and at that same time departed from our liberty and from all joys of life. we were fettered together with other prisoners in droves of six, our wrists manacled to a long bar, but i was put into a different gang from elzevir. thus we marched a ten days' journey into the country to a place called ymeguen, where a royal fortress was building. that was a weary march for me, for 'twas january, with wet and miry roads, and i had little enough clothes upon my back to keep off rain and cold. on either side rode guards on horseback, with loaded flint-locks across the saddlebow, and long whips in their hands with which they let fly at any laggard; though 'twas hard enough for men to walk where the mud was over the horses' fetlocks. i had no chance to speak to elzevir all the journey, and indeed spoke nothing at all, for those to whom i was chained were brute beasts rather than men, and spoke only in dutch to boot. there was but little of the building of the fortress begun when we reached ymeguen, and the task that we were set to was the digging of the trenches and other earthworks. i believe that there were five hundred men employed in this way, and all of them condemned like us to galley-work for life. we were divided into squads of twenty-five, but elzevir was drafted to another squad and a different part of the workings, so i saw him no more except at odd times, now and again, when our gangs met, and we could exchange a word or two in passing. thus i had no solace of any company but my own, and was driven to thinking, and to occupy my mind with the recollection of the past. and at first the life of my boyhood, now lost for ever, was constantly present even in my dreams, and i would wake up thinking that i was at school again under mr. glennie, or talking in the summer-house with grace, or climbing weatherbeech hill with the salt channel breeze singing through the trees. but alas! these things faded when i opened my eyes, and knew the foul-smelling wood-hut and floor of fetid straw where fifty of us lay in fetters every night; i say i dreamt these things at first, but by degrees remembrance grew blunted and the images less clear, and even these sweet, sad visions of the night came to me less often. thus life became a weary round, in which month followed month, season followed season, year followed year, and brought always the same eternal profitless-work. and yet the work was merciful, for it dulled the biting edge of thought, and the unchanging evenness of life gave wings to time. in all the years the locusts ate for me at ymeguen, there is but one thing i need speak of here. i had been there a week when i was loosed one morning from my irons, and taken from work into a little hut apart, where there stood a half-dozen of the guard, and in the midst a stout wooden chair with clamps and bands. a fire burned on the floor, and there was a fume and smoke that filled the air with a smell of burned meat. my heart misgave me when i saw that chair and fire, and smelt that sickly smell, for i guessed this was a torture room, and these the torturers waiting. they forced me into the chair and bound me there with lashings and a cramp about the head; and then one took a red-iron from the fire upon the floor, and tried it a little way from his hand to prove the heat. i had screwed up my heart to bear the pain as best i might, but when i saw that iron sighed for sheer relief, because i knew it for only a branding tool, and not the torture. and so they branded me on the left cheek, setting the iron between the nose and cheek-bone, where 'twas plainest to be seen. i took the pain and scorching light enough, seeing that i had looked for much worse, and should not have made mention of the thing here at all, were it not for the branding mark they used. now this mark was a 'y', being the first letter of ymeguen, and set on all the prisoners that worked there, as i found afterwards; but to me 'twas much more than a mere letter, and nothing less than the black 'y' itself, or _cross-pall_ of the mohunes. thus as a sheep is marked, with his owner's keel and can be claimed wherever he may be, so here was i branded with the keel of the mohunes and marked for theirs in life or death, whithersoever i should wander. 'twas three months after that, and the mark healed and well set, that i saw elzevir again; and as we passed each other in the trench and called a greeting, i saw that he too bore the _cross-pall_ full on his left cheek. thus years went on and i was grown from boy to man, and that no weak one either: for though they gave us but scant food and bad, the air was fresh and strong, because ymeguen was meant for palace as well as fortress, and they chose a healthful site. and by degrees the moats were dug, and ramparts built, and stone by stone the castle rose till 'twas near the finish, and so our labour was not wanted. every day squads of our fellow-prisoners marched away, and my gang was left till nearly last, being engaged in making good a culvert that heavy rains had broken down. it was in the tenth year of our captivity, and in the twenty-sixth of my age, that one morning instead of the guard marching us to work, they handed us over to a party of mounted soldiers, from whose matchlocks and long whips i knew that we were going to leave ymeguen. before we left, another gang joined us, and how my heart went out when i saw elzevir among them! it was two years or more since we had met even to pass a greeting, for i worked outside the fortress and he on the great tower inside, and i took note his hair was whiter and a sadder look upon his face. and as for the _cross-pall_ on his cheek, i never thought of it at all, for we were all so well used to the mark, that if one bore it not stamped upon his face we should have stared at him as on a man born with but one eye. but though his look was sad, yet elzevir had a kind smile and hearty greeting for me as he passed, and on the march, when they served out our food, we got a chance to speak a word or two together. yet how could we find room for much gladness, for even the pleasure of meeting was marred because we were forced thus to take note, as it were, of each other's misery, and to know that the one had nothing for his old age but to break in prison, and the other nothing but the prison to eat away the strength of his prime. before long, all knew whither we were bound, for it leaked out we were to march to the hague and thence to scheveningen, to take ship to the settlements of java, where they use transported felons on the sugar farms. was this the end of young hopes and lofty aims--to live and die a slave in the dutch plantations? hopes of grace, hopes of seeing moonfleet again, were dead long long ago; and now was there to be no hope of liberty, or even wholesome air, this side the grave, but only burning sun and steaming swamps, and the crack of the slave-driver's whip till the end came? could it be so? could it be so? and yet what help was there, or what release? had i not watched ten years for any gleam or loophole of relief, and never found it? if we were shut in cells or dungeons in the deepest rock we might have schemed escape, but here in the open, fettered up in-droves, what could we do? they were bitter thoughts enough that filled my heart as i trudged along the rough roads, fettered by my wrist to the long bar; and seeing elzevir's white hair and bowed shoulders trudging in front of me, remembered when that head had scarce a grizzle on it, and the back was straight as the massive stubborn pillars in old moonfleet church. what was it had brought us to this pitch? and then i called to mind a july evening, years ago, the twilight summer-house and a sweet grave voice that said, 'have a care how you touch the treasure: it was evilly come by and will bring a curse with it.' ay, 'twas the diamond had done it all, and brought a blight upon my life, since that first night i spent in moonfleet vault; and i cursed the stone, and blackbeard and his lost mohunes, and trudged on bearing their cognizance branded on my face. we marched back to the hague, and through that very street where aldobrand dwelt, only the house was shut, and the board that bore his name taken away; so it seemed that he had left the place or else was dead. thus we reached the quays at last, and though i knew that i was leaving europe and leaving all hope behind, yet 'twas a delight to smell the sea again, and fill my nostrils with the keen salt air. chapter in the bay let broad leagues dissever him from yonder foam, o god! to think man ever comes too near his home--_hood_ the ship that was to carry us swung at the buoy a quarter of a mile offshore, and there were row-boats waiting to take us to her. she was a brig of some tons burthen, and as we came under the stern i saw her name was the _aurungzebe_. 'twas with regret unspeakable i took my last look at europe; and casting my eyes round saw the smoke of the town dark against the darkening sky; yet knew that neither smoke nor sky was half as black as was the prospect of my life. they sent us down to the orlop or lowest deck, a foul place where was no air nor light, and shut the hatches down on top of us. there were thirty of us all told, hustled and driven like pigs into this deck, which was to be our pigsty for six months or more. here was just light enough, when they had the hatches off, to show us what sort of place it was, namely, as foul as it smelt, with never table, seat, nor anything, but roughest planks and balks; and there they changed our bonds, taking away the bar, and putting a tight bracelet round one wrist, with a padlocked chain running through a loop on it. thus we were still ironed, six together, but had a greater freedom and more scope to move. and more than this, the man who shifted the chains, whether through caprice, or perhaps because he really wished to show us what pity he might, padlocked me on to the same chain with elzevir, saying, we were english swine and might sink or swim together. then the hatches were put on, and there they left us in the dark to think or sleep or curse the time away. the weariness of ymeguen was bad indeed, and yet it was a heaven to this night of hell, where all we had to look for was twice a day the moving of the hatches, and half an hour's glimmer of a ship's lantern, while they served us out the broken victuals that the dutch crew would not eat. i shall say nothing of the foulness of this place, because 'twas too foul to be written on paper; and if 'twas foul at starting, 'twas ten times worse when we reached open sea, for of all the prisoners only elzevir and i were sailors, and the rest took the motion unkindly. from the first we made bad weather of it, for though we were below and could see nothing, yet 'twas easy enough to tell there was a heavy head-sea running, almost as soon as we were well out of harbour. although elzevir and i had not had any chance of talking freely for so long, and were now able to speak as we liked, being linked so close together, we said but little. and this, not because we did not value very greatly one another's company, but because we had nothing to talk of except memories of the past, and those were too bitter, and came too readily to our minds, to need any to summon them. there was, too, the banishment from europe, from all and everything we loved, and the awful certainty of slavery that lay continuously on us like a weight of lead. thus we said little. we had been out a week, i think--for time is difficult enough to measure where there is neither clock nor sun nor stars--when the weather, which had moderated a little, began to grow much worse. the ship plunged and laboured heavily, and this added much to our discomfort; because there was nothing to hold on by, and unless we lay flat on the filthy deck, we ran a risk of being flung to the side whenever there came a more violent lurch or roll. though we were so deep down, yet the roaring of wind and wave was loud enough to reach us, and there was such a noise when the ship went about, such grinding of ropes, with creaking and groaning of timbers, as would make a landsman fear the brig was going to pieces. and this some of our fellow-prisoners feared indeed, and fell to crying, or kneeling chained together as they were upon the sloping deck, while they tried to remember long-forgotten prayers. for my own part, i wondered why these poor wretches should pray to be delivered from the sea, when all that was before them was lifelong slavery; but i was perhaps able to look more calmly on the matter myself as having been at sea, and not thinking that the vessel was going to founder because of the noise. yet the storm rose till 'twas very plain that we were in a raging sea, and the streams which began to trickle through the joinings of the hatch showed that water had got below. 'i have known better ships go under for less than this,' elzevir said to me; 'and if our skipper hath not a tight craft, and stout hands to work her, there will soon be two score slaves the less to cut the canes in java. i cannot guess where we are now--may be off ushant, may be not so far, for this sea is too short for the bay; but the saints send us sea-room, for we have been wearing these three hours.' 'twas true enough that we had gone to wearing, as one might tell from the heavier roll or wallowing when we went round, instead of the plunging of a tack; but there was no chance of getting at our whereabouts. the only thing we had to reckon time withal, was the taking off of the hatch twice a day for food; and even this poor clock kept not the hour too well, for often there were such gaps and intervals as made our bellies pine, and at this present we had waited so long that i craved even that filthy broken meat they fed us with. so we were glad enough to hear a noise at the hatch just as elzevir had done speaking, and the cover was flung off, letting in a splash of salt water and a little dim and dusky light. but instead of the guard with their muskets and lanterns and the tubs of broken victuals, there was only one man, and that the jailer who had padlocked us into gangs at the beginning of the voyage. he bent down for a moment over the hatch, holding on to the combing to steady himself in the sea-way, and flung a key on a chain down into the orlop, right among us. 'take it,' he shouted in dutch, 'and make the most of it. god helps the brave, and the devil takes the hindmost.' that said, he stayed not one moment, but turned about quick and was gone. for an instant none knew what this play portended, and there was the key lying on the deck, and the hatch left open. then elzevir saw what it all meant, and seized the key. 'john,' cries he, speaking to me in english, 'the ship is foundering, and they are giving us a chance to save our lives, and not drown like rats in a trap.' with that he tried the key on the padlock which held our chain, and it fitted so well that in a trice our gang was free. off fell the chain clanking on the floor, and nothing left of our bonds but an iron bracelet clamped round the left wrist. you may be sure the others were quick enough to make use of the key when they knew what 'twas, but we waited not to see more, but made for the ladder. now elzevir and i, being used to the sea, were first through the hatchway above, and oh, the strength and sweet coolness of the sea air, instead of the warm, fetid reek of the orlop below! there was a good deal of water sousing about on the main deck, but nothing to show the ship was sinking, yet none of the crew was to be seen. we stayed there not a second, but moved to the companion as fast as we could for the heavy pitching of the ship, and so came on deck. the dusk of a winter's evening was setting in, yet with ample light to see near at hand, and the first thing i perceived was that the deck was empty. there was not a living soul but us upon it. the brig was broached to, with her bows against the heaviest sea i ever saw, and the waves swept her fore and aft; so we made for the tail of the deck-house, and there took stock. but before we got there i knew why 'twas the crew were gone, and why they let us loose, for elzevir pointed to something whither we were drifting, and shouted in my ear so that i heard it above all the raging of the tempest--'we are on a lee shore.' we were lying head to sea, and never a bit of canvas left except one storm-staysail. there were tattered ribands fluttering on the yards to show where the sails had been blown away, and every now and then the staysail would flap like a gun going off, to show it wanted to follow them. but for all we lay head to sea, we were moving backwards, and each great wave as it passed carried us on stern first with a leap and swirling lift. 'twas over the stern that elzevir pointed, in the course that we were going, and there was such a mist, what with the wind and rain and spindrift, that one could see but a little way. and yet i saw too far, for in the mist to which we were making a sternboard, i saw a white line like a fringe or valance to the sea; and then i looked to starboard, and there was the same white fringe, and then to larboard, and the white fringe was there too. only those who know the sea know how terrible were elzevir's words uttered in such a place. a moment before i was exalted with the keen salt wind, and with a hope and freedom that had been strangers for long; but now 'twas all dashed, and death, that is so far off to the young, had moved nearer by fifty years--was moving a year nearer every minute. 'we are on a lee shore,' elzevir shouted; and i looked and knew what the white fringe was, and that we should be in the breakers in half an hour. what a whirl of wind and wave and sea, what a whirl of thought and wild conjecture! what was that land to which we were drifting? was it cliff, with deep water and iron face, where a good ship is shattered at a blow, and death comes like a thunder-clap? or was it shelving sand, where there is stranding, and the pound, pound, pound of the waves for howls, before she goes to pieces and all is over? we were in a bay, for there was the long white crescent of surf reaching far away on either side, till it was lost in the dusk, and the brig helpless in the midst of it. elzevir had hold of my arm, and gripped it hard as he looked to larboard. i followed his eyes, and where one horn of the white crescent faded into the mist, caught a dark shadow in the air, and knew it was high land looming behind. and then the murk and driving rain lifted ever so little, and as it were only for that purpose; and we saw a misty bluff slope down into the sea, like the long head of a basking alligator poised upon the water, and stared into each other's eyes, and cried together, 'the snout!' it had vanished almost before it was seen, and yet we knew there was no mistake; it was the snout that was there looming behind the moving rack, and we were in moonfleet bay. oh, what a rush of thought then came, dazing me with its sweet bitterness, to think that after all these weary years of prison and exile we had come back to moonfleet! we were so near to all we loved, so near--only a mile of broken water--and yet so far, for death lay between, and we had come back to moonfleet to die. there was a change came over elzevir's features when he saw the snout; his face had lost its sadness and wore a look of sober happiness. he put his mouth close to my ear and said: 'there is some strange leading hand has brought us home at last, and i had rather drown on moonfleet beach than live in prison any more, and drown we must within an hour. yet we will play the man, and make a fight for life.' and then, as if gathering together all his force: 'we have weathered bad times together, and who knows but we shall weather this?' the other prisoners were on deck now, and had found their way aft. they were wild with fear, being landsmen and never having seen an angry sea, and indeed that sea might have frighted sailors too. so they stumbled along drenched with the waves, and clustered round elzevir, for they looked on him as a leader, because he knew the ways of the sea and was the only one left calm in this dreadful strait. it was plain that when the dutch crew found they were embayed, and that the ship must drift into the breakers, they had taken to the boats, for gig and jolly-boat were gone and only the pinnace left amidships. 'twas too heavy a boat perhaps for them to have got out in such a fearful sea; but there it lay, and it was to that the prisoners turned their eyes. some had hold of elzevir's arms, some fell upon the deck and caught him by the knees, beseeching him to show them how to get the pinnace out. then he spoke out, shouting to make them hear: 'friends, any man that takes to boat is lost. i know this bay and know this beach, and was indeed born hereabouts, but never knew a boat come to land in such a sea, save bottom uppermost. so if you want my counsel, there you have it, namely, to stick by the ship. in half an hour we shall be in the breakers; and i will put the helm up and try to head the brig bows on to the beach; so every man will have a chance to fight for his own life, and god have mercy on those that drown.' i knew what he said was the truth, and there was nothing for it but to stick to the ship, though that was small chance enough; but those poor, fear-demented souls would have nothing of his advice now 'twas given, and must needs go for the boat. then some came up from below who had been in the spirit-room and were full of drink and drink-courage, and heartened on the rest, saying they would have the pinnace out, and every soul should be saved. indeed, fate seemed to point them that road, for a heavier sea than any came on board, and cleared away a great piece of larboard bulwarks that had been working loose, and made, as it were, a clear launching-way for the boat. again did elzevir try to prevail with them to stand by the ship, but they turned away and all made for the pinnace. it lay amidships and was a heavy boat enough, but with so many hands to help they got it to the broken bulwarks. then elzevir, seeing they would have it out at any price, showed them how to take advantage of the sea, and shifted the helm a little till the _aurungzebe_ fell off to larboard, and put the gap in the bulwarks on the lee. so in a few minutes there it lay at a rope's-end on the sheltered side, deep laden with thirty men, who were ill found with oars, and much worse found with skill to use them. there were one or two, before they left, shouted to elzevir and me to try to make us follow them; partly, i think, because they really liked elzevir, and partly that they might have a sailor in the boat to direct them; but the others cast off and left us with a curse, saying that we might go and drown for obstinate englishmen. so we two were left alone on the brig, which kept drifting backwards slowly; but the pinnace was soon lost to sight, though we saw that they were rowing wild as soon as she passed out of the shelter of the ship, and that they had much ado to keep her head to the sea. then elzevir went to the kicking-wheel, and beckoned me to help him, and between us we put the helm hard up. i saw then that he had given up all hope of the wind shifting, and was trying to run her dead for the beach. she was broached-to with her bows in the wind, but gradually paid off as the staysail filled, and so she headed straight for shore. the november night had fallen, and it was very dark, only the white fringe of the breakers could be seen, and grew plainer as we drew closer to it. the wind was blowing fiercer than ever, and the waves broke more fiercely nearer the shore. they had lost their dirty yellow colour when the light died, and were rolling after us like great black mountains, with a combing white top that seemed as if they must overwhelm us every minute. twice they pooped us, and we were up to our waists in icy water, but still held to the wheel for our lives. the white line was nearer to us now, and above all the rage of wind and sea i could hear the awful roar of the under-tow sucking back the pebbles on the beach. the last time i could remember hearing that roar was when i lay, as a boy, one summer's night 'twixt sleep and waking, in the little whitewashed bedroom at my aunt's; and i wondered now if any sat before their inland hearths this night, and hearing that far distant roar, would throw another log on the fire, and thank god they were not fighting for their lives in moonfleet bay. i could picture all that was going on this night on the beach--how ratsey and the landers would have sighted the _aurungzebe,_ perhaps at noon, perhaps before, and knew she was embayed, and nothing could save her but the wind drawing to east. but the wind would hold pinned in the south, and they would see sail after sail blown off her, and watch her wear and wear, and every time come nearer in; and the talk would run through the street that there was a ship could not weather the snout, and must come ashore by sundown. then half the village would be gathered on the beach, with the men ready to risk their lives for ours, and in no wise wishing for the ship to be wrecked; yet anxious not to lose their chance of booty, if providence should rule that wrecked she must be. and i knew ratsey would be there, and damen, tewkesbury, and laver, and like enough parson glennie, and perhaps--and at that perhaps, my thoughts came back to where we were, for i heard elzevir speaking to me: 'look,' he said, 'there's a light!' 'twas but the faintest twinkle, or not even that; only something that told there was a light behind drift and darkness. it grew clearer as we looked at it, and again was lost in the mirk, and then elzevir said, 'maskew's match!' it was a long-forgotten name that came to me from so far off, down such long alleys of the memory, that i had, as it were, to grope and grapple with it to know what it should mean. then it all came back, and i was a boy again on the trawler, creeping shorewards in the light breeze of an august night, and watching that friendly twinkle from the manor woods above the village. had she not promised she would keep that lamp alight to guide all sailors every night till i came back again; was she not waiting still for me, was i not coming back to her now? but what a coming back! no more a boy, not on an august night, but broken, branded convict in the november gale! 'twas well, indeed, there was between us that white fringe of death, that she might never see what i had fallen to. 'twas likely elzevir had something of the same thoughts, for he spoke again, forgetting perhaps that i was man now, and no longer boy, and using a name he had not used for years. 'johnnie,' he said, 'i am cold and sore downhearted. in ten minutes we shall be in the surf. go down to the spirit locker, drink thyself, and bring me up a bottle here. we shall both need a young man's strength, and i have not got it any more.' i did as he bid me, and found the locker though the cabin was all awash, and having drunk myself, took him the bottle back. 'twas good hollands enough, being from the captain's own store, but nothing to the old ararat milk of the why not? elzevir took a pull at it, and then flung the bottle away. 'tis sound liquor,' he laughed, '"and good for autumn chills", as ratsey would have said.' we were very near the white fringe now, and the waves followed us higher and more curling. then there was a sickly wan glow that spread itself through the watery air in front of us, and i knew that they were burning a blue light on the beach. they would all be there waiting for us, though we could not see them, and they did not know that there were only two men that they were signalling to, and those two moonfleet born. they burn that light in moonfleet bay just where a little streak of clay crops out beneath the pebbles, and if a vessel can make that spot she gets a softer bottom. so we put the wheel over a bit, and set her straight for the flare. there was a deafening noise as we came near the shore, the shrieking of the wind in the rigging, the crash of the combing seas, and over all the awful grinding roar of the under-tow sucking down the pebbles. 'it is coming now,' elzevir said; and i could see dim figures moving in the misty glare from the blue light; and then, just as the _aurungzebe_ was making fair for the signal, a monstrous combing sea pooped her and washed us both from the wheel, forward in a swirling flood. we grasped at anything we could, and so brought up bruised and half-drowned in the fore-chains; but as the wheel ran free, another sea struck her and slewed her round. there was a second while the water seemed over, under, and on every side, and then the _aurungzebe_ went broadside on moonfleet beach, with a noise like thunder and a blow that stunned us. i have seen ships come ashore in that same place before and since, and bump on and off with every wave, till the stout balks could stand the pounding no more and parted. but 'twas not so with our poor brig, for after that first fearful shock she never moved again, being flung so firm upon the beach by one great swamping wave that never another had power to uproot her. only she careened over beachwards, turning herself away from the seas, as a child bows his head to escape a cruel master's ferule, and then her masts broke off, first the fore and then the main, with a splitting crash that made itself heard above all. we were on the lee side underneath the shelter of the deckhouse clinging to the shrouds, now up to our knees in water as the wave came on, now left high and dry when it went back. the blue light was still burning, but the ship was beached a little to the right of it, and the dim group of fishermen had moved up along the beach till they were opposite us. thus we were but a hundred feet distant from them, but 'twas the interval of death and life, for between us and the shore was a maddened race of seething water, white foaming waves that leapt up from all sides against our broken bulwarks, or sucked back the pebbles with a grinding roar till they left the beach nearly dry. we stood there for a minute hanging on, and waiting for resolution to come back to us after the shock of grounding. on the weather side the seas struck and curled over the brig with a noise like thunder, and the force of countless tons. they came over the top of the deck-house in a cataract of solid water, and there was a crash, crash, crash of rending wood, as plank after plank gave way before that stern assault. we could feel the deck-house itself quiver, and shake again as we stood with our backs against it, and at last it moved so much that we knew it must soon be washed over on us. the moment had come. 'we must go after the next big wave runs back,' elzevir shouted. 'jump when i give the word, and get as far up the pebbles as you can before the next comes in: they will throw us a rope's-end to catch; so now good-bye, john, and god save us both!' i wrung his hand, and took off my convict clothes, keeping my boots on to meet the pebbles, and was so cold that i almost longed for the surf. then we stood waiting side by side till a great wave came in, turning the space 'twixt ship and shore into a boiling caldron: a minute later 'twas all sucked back again with a roar, and we jumped. i fell on hands and feet where the water was a yard deep under the ship, but got my footing and floundered through the slop, in a desperate struggle to climb as high as might be on the beach before the next wave came in. i saw the string of men lashed together and reaching down as far as man might, to save any that came through the surf, and heard them shout to cheer us, and marked a coil of rope flung out. elzevir was by my side and saw it too, and we both kept our feet and plunged forward through the quivering slack water; but then there came an awful thunder behind, the crash of the sea over the wreck, and we knew that another mountain wave was on our heels. it came in with a swishing roar, a rush and rise of furious water that swept us like corks up the beach, till we were within touch of the rope's-end, and the men shouted again to hearten us as they flung it out. elzevir seized it with his left hand and reached out his right to me. our fingers touched, and in that very moment the wave fell instantly, with an awful suck, and i was swept down the beach again. yet the under-tow took me not back to sea, for amid the floating wreckage floated the shattered maintop, and in the truck of that great spar i caught, and so was left with it upon the beach thirty paces from the men and elzevir. then he left his own assured salvation, namely the rope, and strode down again into the very jaws of death to catch me by the hand and set me on my feet. sight and breath were failing me; i was numb with cold and half-dead from the buffeting of the sea; yet his giant strength was powerful to save me then, as it had saved me before. so when we heard once more the warning crash and thunder of the returning wave we were but a fathom distant from the rope. 'take heart, lad,' he cried; ''tis now or never,' and as the water reached our breasts gave me a fierce shove forward with his hands. there was a roar of water in my ears, with a great shouting of the men upon the beach, and then i caught the rope. chapter on the beach toll for the brave, the grave that are no more; all sunk beneath the wave fast by their native shore--_cowper_ the night was cold, and i had nothing on me save breeches and boots, and those drenched with the sea, and had been wrestling with the surf so long that there was little left in me. yet once i clutched the rope i clung to it for very life, and in a minute found myself in the midst of the beachmen. i heard them shout again, and felt strong hands seize me, but could not see their faces for a mist that swam before my eyes, and could not speak because my throat and tongue were cracked with the salt water, and the voice would not come. there was a crowd about me of men and some women, and i spread out my hands, blindly, to catch hold of them, but my knees failed and let me down upon the beach. and after that i remember only having coats flung over me, and being carried off out of the wind, and laid in warmest blankets before a fire. i was numb with the cold, my hair was matted with the salt, and my flesh white and shrivelled, but they forced liquor into my mouth, and so i lay in drowsy content till utter weariness bound me in sleep. it was a deep and dreamless sleep for hours, and when it left me, gently and as it were inch by inch, i found i was still lying wrapped in blankets by the fire. oh, what a vast and infinite peace was that, to lie there half-asleep, yet wake enough to know that i had slipped my prison and the pains of death, and was a free man here in my native place! at last i shifted myself a little, growing more awake; and opening my eyes saw i was not alone, for two men sat at a table by me with glasses and a bottle before them. 'he is coming-to,' said one, 'and may live yet to tell us who he is, and from what port his craft sailed.' 'there has been many a craft,' the other said, 'has sailed for many a port, and made this beach her last; and many an honest man has landed on it, and never one alive in such a sea. nor would this one be living either, if it had not been for that other brave heart to stand by and save him. brave heart, brave heart,' he said over to himself. 'here, pass me the bottle or i shall get the vapours. 'tis good against these early chills, and i have not been in this place for ten years past, since poor elzevir was cut adrift.' i could not see the speaker's face from where i lay upon the floor, yet seemed to know his voice; and so was fumbling in my weakened mind to put a name to it, when he spoke of elzevir, and sent my thoughts flying elsewhere. 'elzevir,' i said, 'where is elzevir?' and sat up to look round, expecting to see him lying near me, and remembering the wreck more clearly now, and how he had saved me with that last shove forward on the beach. but he was not to be seen, and so i guessed that his great strength had brought him round quicker than had my youth, and that he was gone back to the beach. 'hush,' said one of the men at the table, 'lie down and get to sleep again'; and then he added, speaking to his comrade: 'his brain is wandering yet: do you see how he has caught up my words about elzevir?' 'no,' i struck in, 'my head is clear enough; i am speaking of elzevir block. i pray you tell me where he is. is he well again?' they got up and stared at one another and at me, when i named elzevir block, and then i knew the one that spoke for master ratsey only greyer than he was. 'who are you?' he cried, 'who talk of elzevir block.' 'do you not know me, master ratsey?' and i looked full in his face. 'i am john trenchard, who left you so long ago. i pray you tell me where is master block?' master ratsey looked as if he had seen a ghost, and was struck dumb at first: but then ran up and shook me by the hand so warmly that i fell back again on my pillow, while he poured out questions in a flood. how had i fared, where had i been, whence had i come? until i stopped him, saying: 'softly, kind friend, and i will answer; only tell me first, where is master elzevir?' 'nay, that i cannot say,' he answered, 'for never a soul has set eyes on elzevir since that summer morning we put thee and him ashore at newport.' 'oh, fool me not!' i cried out, chafing at his excuses; 'i am not wandering now. 'twas elzevir that saved me in the surf last night. 'twas he that landed with me.' there was a look of sad amaze that came on ratsey's face when i said that; a look that woke in me an awful surmise. 'what!' cried he, 'was that master elzevir that dragged thee through the surf?' 'ay, 'twas he landed with me, 'twas he landed with me,' i said; trying, as it were, to make true by repeating that which i feared was not the truth. there was a minute's silence, and then ratsey spoke very softly: 'there was none landed with you; there was no soul saved from that ship alive save you.' his words fell, one by one, upon my ear as if they were drops of molten lead. 'it is not true,' i cried; 'he pulled me up the beach himself, and it was he that pushed me forward to the rope.' 'ay, he saved thee, and then the under-tow got hold of him and swept him down under the curl. i could not see his face, but might have known there never was a man, save elzevir, could fight the surf on moonfleet beach like that. yet had we known 'twas he, we could have done no more, for many risked their lives last night to save you both. we could have done no more.' then i gave a great groan for utter anguish, to think that he had given up the safety he had won for himself, and laid down his life, there on the beach, for me; to think that he had died on the threshold of his home; that i should never get a kind look from him again, nor ever hear his kindly voice. it is wearisome to others to talk of deep grief, and beside that no words, even of the wisest man, can ever set it forth, nor even if we were able could our memory bear to tell it. so i shall not speak more of that terrible blow, only to say that sorrow, so far from casting my body down, as one might have expected, gave it strength, and i rose up from the mattress where i had been lying. they tried to stop me, and even to hold me back, but for all i was so weak, i pushed them aside and must needs fling a blanket round me and away back to the beach. the morning was breaking as i left the why not?, for 'twas in no other place but that i lay, and the wind, though still high, had abated. there were light clouds crossing the heaven very swiftly, and between them patches of clear sky where the stars were growing paler before the dawn. the stars were growing paler; but there was another star, that shone out from the manor woods above the village, although i could not see the house, and told me grace, like the wise virgins, kept her lamp alight all night. yet even that light shone without lustre for me then, for my heart was too full to think of anything but of him who had laid down his life for mine, and of the strong kind heart that was stilled for ever. 'twas well i knew the way, so sure of old, from why not? to beach; for i took no heed to path or feet, but plunged along in the morning dusk, blind with sorrow and weariness of spirit. there was a fire of driftwood burning at the back of the beach, and round it crouched a group of men in reefing jackets and sou'westers waiting for morning to save what they might from the wreck; but i gave them a wide berth and so passed in the darkness without a word, and came to the top of the beach. there was light enough to make out what was doing. the sea was running very high, but with the falling wind the waves came in more leisurely and with less of broken water, curling over in a tawny sweep and regular thunderous beat all along the bay for miles. there was no sign left of the hull of the _aurungzebe_, but the beach was strewn with so much wreckage as one would have thought could never come from so small a ship. there were barrels and kegs, gratings and hatch-covers, booms and pieces of masts and trucks; and beside all that, the heaving water in-shore was covered with a floating mask of broken match-wood, and the waves, as they curled over, carried up and dashed down on the pebble planks and beams beyond number. there were a dozen or more of men on the seaward side of the beach, with oilskins to keep the wet out, prowling up and down the pebbles to see what they could lay their hands on; and now and then they would run down almost into the white fringe, risking their lives to save a keg as they had risked them to save their fellows last night--as they had risked their lives to save ours, as elzevir had risked his life to save mine, and lost it there in the white fringe. i sat down at the top of the beach, with elbows on knees, head between hands, and face set out to sea, not knowing well why i was there or what i sought, but only thinking that elzevir was floating somewhere in that floating skin of wreck-wood, and that i must be at hand to meet him when he came ashore. he would surely come in time, for i had seen others come ashore that way. for when the _bataviaman_ went on the beach, i stood as near her as our rescuers had stood to us last night, and there were some aboard who took the fatal leap from off her bows and tried to battle through the surf. i was so near them i could mark their features and read the wild hope in their faces at the first, and then the under-tow took hold of them, and never one that saved his life that day. and yet all came to beach at last, and i knew them by their dead faces for the men i had seen hoping against hope 'twixt ship and shore; some naked and some clothed, some bruised and sorely beaten by the pebbles and the sea, and some sound and untouched--all came to beach at last. so i sat and waited for him to come; and none of the beach-walkers said anything to me, the moonfleet men thinking i came from ringstave, and the langton men that i belonged to moonfleet; and both that i had marked some cask at sea for my own and was waiting till it should come in. only after a while master ratsey joined me, and sitting down by me, begged me to eat bread and meat that he had brought. now i had little heart to eat, but took what he gave me to save myself from his importunities, and having once tasted was led by nature to eat all, and was much benefited thereby. yet i could not talk with ratsey, nor answer any of his questions, though another time i should have put a thousand to him myself; and he seeing 'twas no good sat by me in silence, using a spy-glass now and again to make out the things floating at sea. as the day grew the men left the fire at the back of the beach, and came down to the sea-front where the waves were continually casting up fresh spoil. and there all worked with a will, not each one for his own hand, but all to make a common hoard which should be divided afterwards. among the flotsam moving outside the breakers i could see more than one dark ball, like black buoys, bobbing up and down, and lifting as the wave came by: and knew them for the heads of drowned men. yet though i took ratsey's glass and scanned all carefully enough, i could make nothing of them, but saw the pinnace floating bottom up, and farther out another boat deserted and down to her gunwale in the water. 'twas midday before the first body was cast up, when the sky was breaking a little, and a thin and watery sun trying to get through, and afterwards three other bodies followed. they were part of the pinnace's crew, for all had the iron ring on the left wrist, as ratsey told me, who went down to see them, though he said nothing of the branded 'y', and they were taken up and put under some sheeting at the back of the beach, there to lie till a grave should be made ready for them. then i felt something that told me he was coming and saw a body rolled over in the surf, and knew it for the one i sought. 'twas nearest me he was flung up, and i ran down the beach, caring nothing for the white foam, nor for the under-tow, and laid hold of him: for had he not left the rescue-line last night, and run down into the surf to save my worthless life? ratsey was at my side, and so between us we drew him up out of the running foam, and then i wrung the water from his hair, and wiped his face and, kneeling down there, kissed him. when they saw that we had got a body, others of the men came up, and stared to see me handle him so tenderly. but when they knew, at last, i was a stranger and had the iron ring upon my wrist, and a 'y' burned upon my cheek, they stared the more; until the tale went round that i was he who had come through the surf last night alive, and this poor body was my friend who had laid down his life for me. then i saw ratsey speak with one and another of the group, and knew that he was telling them our names; and some that i had known came up and shook me by the hand, not saying anything because they saw my heart was full; and some bent down and looked in elzevir's face, and touched his hands as if to greet him. sea and stones had been merciful with him, and he showed neither bruise nor wound, but his face wore a look of great peace, and his eyes and mouth were shut. even i, who knew where 'twas, could scarcely see the 'y' mark on his cheek, for the paleness of death had taken out the colour of the scar, and left his face as smooth and mellow-white as the alabaster figures in moonfleet church. his body was naked from the waist up, as he had stripped for jumping from the brig, and we could see the great broad chest and swelling muscles that had pulled him out of many a desperate pass, and only failed him, for the first and last time so few hours ago. they stood for a little while looking in silence at the old lander who had run his last cargo on moonfleet beach, and then they laid his arms down by his side, and slung him in a sail, and carried him away. i walked beside, and as we came down across the sea-meadows, the sun broke out and we met little groups of schoolchildren making their way down to the beach to see what was doing with the wreck. they stood aside to let us go by, the boys pulling their caps and the girls dropping a curtsy, when they knew that it was a poor drowned body passing; and as i saw the children i thought i saw myself among them, and i was no more a man, but just come out from mr. glennie's teaching in the old almshouse hall. thus we came to the why not? and there set him down. the inn had not been let, as i learned afterwards, since maskew died; and they had put a fire in it last night for the first time, knowing that the brig would be wrecked, and thinking that some might come off with their lives and require tending. the door stood open, and they carried him into the parlour, where the fire was still burning, and laid him down on the trestle-table, covering his face and body with the sail. this done they all stood round a little while, awkwardly enough, as not knowing what to do; and then slipped away one by one, because grief is a thing that only women know how to handle, and they wanted to be back on the beach to get what might be from the wreck. last of all went master ratsey, saying, he saw that i would as lief be alone, and that he would come back before dark. so i was left alone with my dead friend, and with a host of bitterest thoughts. the room had not been cleaned; there were spider-webs on the beams, and the dust stood so thick on the window-panes as to shut out half the light. the dust was on everything: on chairs and tables, save on the trestle-table where he lay. 'twas on this very trestle they had laid out david's body; 'twas in this very room that this still form, who would never more know either joy or sorrow, had bowed down and wept over his son. the room was just as we had left it an april evening years ago, and on the dresser lay the great backgammon board, so dusty that one could not read the lettering on it; 'life is like a game of hazard; the skilful player will make something of the worst of throws'; but what unskillful players we had been, how bad our throws, how little we had made of them! 'twas with thoughts like this that i was busy while the short afternoon was spent, and the story went up and down the village, how that elzevir block and john trenchard, who left so long ago, were come back to moonfleet, and that the old lander was drowned saving the young man's life. the dusk was creeping up as i turned back the sail from off his face and took another look at my lost friend, my only friend; for who was there now to care a jot for me? i might go and drown myself on moonfleet beach, for anyone that would grieve over me. what did it profit me to have broken bonds and to be free again? what use was freedom to me now? where was i to go, what was i to do? my friend was gone. so i went back and sat with my head in my hands looking into the fire, when i heard someone step into the room, but did not turn, thinking it was master ratsey come back and treading lightly so as not to disturb me. then i felt a light touch on my shoulder, and looking up saw standing by me a tall and stately woman, girl no longer, but woman in the full strength and beauty of youth. i knew her in a moment, for she had altered little, except her oval face had something more of dignity, and the tawny hair that used to fly about her back was now gathered up. she was looking down at me, and let her hand rest on my shoulder. 'john,' she said, 'have you forgotten me? may i not share your sorrow? did you not think to tell me you were come? did you not see the light, did you not know there was a friend that waited for you?' i said nothing, not being able to speak, but marvelling how she had come just in the point of time to prove me wrong to think i had no friend; and she went on: 'is it well for you to be here? grieve not too sadly, for none could have died nobler than he died; and in these years that you have been away, i have thought much of him and found him good at heart, and if he did aught wrong 'twas because others wronged him more.' and while she spoke i thought how elzevir had gone to shoot her father, and only failed of it by a hair's-breadth, and yet she spoke so well i thought he never really meant to shoot at all, but only to scare the magistrate. and what a whirligig of time was here, that i should have saved elzevir from having that blot on his conscience, and then that he should save my life, and now that maskew's daughter should be the one to praise elzevir when he lay dead! and still i could not speak. and again she said: 'john, have you no word for me? have you forgotten? do you not love me still? have i no part in your sorrow?' then i took her hand in mine and raised it to my lips, and said, 'dear mistress grace, i have forgotten nothing, and honour you above all others: but of love i may not speak more to you--nor you to me, for we are no more boy and girl as in times past, but you a noble lady and i a broken wretch'; and with that i told how i had been ten years a prisoner, and why, and showed her the iron ring upon my wrist, and the brand upon my cheek. at the brand she stared, and said, 'speak not of wealth; 'tis not wealth makes men, and if you have come back no richer than you went, you are come back no poorer, nor poorer, john, in honour. and i am rich and have more wealth than i can rightly use, so speak not of these things; but be glad that you are poor, and were not let to profit by that evil treasure. but for this brand, it is no prison name to me, but the mohunes' badge, to show that you are theirs and must do their bidding. said i not to you, have a care how you touch the treasure, it was evilly come by and will bring a curse with it? but now, i pray you, with a greater earnestness, seeing you bear this mark upon you, touch no penny of that treasure if it should some day come back to you, but put it to such uses as colonel mohune thought would help his sinful soul.' with that she took her hand from mine and bade me 'good night', leaving me in the darkening room with the glow from the fire lighting up the sail and the outline of the body that lay under it. after she was gone i pondered long over what she had said, and what that should mean when she spoke of the treasure one day coming back to me: but wondered much the most to find how constant is the love of woman, and how she could still find a place in her heart for so poor a thing as i. but as to what she said, i was to learn her meaning this very night. master ratsey had come in and gone again, not stopping with me very long, because there was much doing on the beach; but bidding me be of good cheer, and have no fear of the law; for that the ban against me and the head-price had been dead for many a year. 'twas grace had made her lawyers move for this, refusing herself to sign the hue and cry, and saying that the fatal shot was fired by misadventure. and so a dread which was just waking was laid to rest for ever; and when ratsey went i made up the fire, and lay down in the blankets in front of it, for i was dog-tired and longed for sleep. i was already dozing, but not asleep, when there was a knock at the door, and in walked mr. glennie. he was aged, and stooped a little, as i could see by the firelight, but for all that i knew him at once, and sitting up offered him what welcome i could. he looked at me curiously at first, as taking note of the bearded man that had grown out of the boy he remembered, but gave me very kindly greeting, and sat down beside me on a bench. first, he lifted the sail from the dead body, and looked at the sleeping face. then he took out a common prayer reading the commendamus over the dead, and giving me spiritual comfort, and lastly, he fell to talking about the past. from him i learnt something of what had happened while i was away, though for that matter nothing had happened at all, except a few deaths, for that is the only sort of change for which we look in moonfleet. and among those who had passed away was miss arnold, my aunt, so that i was another friend the less, if indeed i should count her a friend: for though she meant me well, she showed her care with too much strictness to let me love her, and so in my great sorrow for elzevir i found no room to grieve for her. whether from the spiritual solace mr. glennie offered me, or whether from his pointing out how much cause for thankfulness i had in being loosed out of prison and saved from imminent death, certain it was i felt some assuagement of grief, and took pleasure in his talk. 'and though i may by some be reprehended,' he said, 'for presuming to refer to profane authors after citing holy scripture, yet i cannot refrain from saying that even the great poet homer counsels moderation in mourning, "for quickly," says he, "cometh satiety of chilly grief".' after this i thought he was going, but he cleared his throat in such a way that i guessed he had something important to say, and he drew a long folded blue paper from his pocket. 'my son,' he said, opening it leisurely and smoothing it out upon his knee, 'we should never revile fortune, and in speaking of fortune i only use that appellation in our poor human sense, and do not imply that there is any chance at all but what is subject to an over-ruling providence; we should never, i say, revile fortune, for just at that moment when she appears to have deserted us, she may be only gone away to seek some richest treasure to bring back with her. and that this is so let what i am about to read to you prove; so light a candle and set it by me, for my eyes cannot follow the writing in this dancing firelight.' i took an end of candle which stood on the mantelpiece and did as he bid me, and he went on: 'i shall read you this letter which i received near eight years ago, and of the weightiness of it you shall yourself judge.' i shall not here set down that letter in full, although i have it by me, but will put it shortly, because it was from a lawyer, tricked with long-winded phrases and spun out as such letters are to afford cover afterwards for a heavier charge. it was addressed to the reverend horace glennie, perpetual curate of moonfleet, in the county of dorset, england, and written in english by heer roosten, attorney and signariat of the hague in the kingdom of holland. it set forth that one krispijn aldobrand, jeweller and dealer in precious stones, at the hague, had sent for heer roosten to draw a will for him. and that the said krispijn aldobrand, being near his end, had deposed to the said heer roosten, that he, aldobrand, was desirous to leave all his goods to one john trenchard, of moonfleet, dorset, in the kingdom of england. and that he was moved to do this, first, by the consideration that he, aldobrand, had no children to whom to leave aught, and second, because he desired to make full and fitting restitution to john trenchard, for that he had once obtained from the said john a diamond without paying the proper price for it. which stone he, aldobrand, had sold and converted into money, and having so done, found afterwards both his fortune and his health decline; so that, although he had great riches before he became possessed of the diamond, these had forthwith melted through unfortunate ventures and speculations, till he had little remaining to him but the money that this same diamond had brought. he therefore left to john trenchard everything of which he should die possessed, and being near death begged his forgiveness if he had wronged him in aught. these were the instructions which heer roosten received from mr. aldobrand, whose health sensibly declined, until three months later he died. it was well, heer roosten added, that the will had been drawn in good time, for as mr. aldobrand grew weaker, he became a prey to delusions, saying that john trenchard had laid a curse upon the diamond, and professing even to relate the words of it, namely, that it should 'bring evil in this life, and damnation in that which is to come.' nor was this all, for he could get no sleep, but woke up with a horrid dream, in which, so he informed heer roosten, he saw continually a tall man with a coppery face and black beard draw the bed-curtains and mock him. thus he came at length to his end, and after his death heer roosten endeavoured to give effect to the provision of the will, by writing to john trenchard, at moonfleet, dorset, to apprise him that he was left sole heir. that address, indeed, was all the indication that aldobrand had given, though he constantly promised his attorney to let him have closer information as to trenchard's whereabouts, in good time. this information was, however, always postponed, perhaps because aldobrand hoped he might get better and so repent of his repentance. so all heer roosten had to do was to write to trenchard at moonfleet, and in due course the letter was returned to him, with the information that trenchard had fled that place to escape the law, and was then nowhere to be found. after that heer roosten was advised to write to the minister of the parish, and so addressed these lines to mr. glennie. this was the gist of the letter which mr. glennie read, and you may easily guess how such news moved me, and how we sat far into the night talking and considering what steps it was best to take, for we feared lest so long an interval as eight years having elapsed, the lawyers might have made some other disposition of the money. it was midnight when mr. glennie left. the candle had long burnt out, but the fire was bright, and he knelt a moment by the trestle-table before he went out. 'he made a good end, john,' he said, rising from his knees, 'and i pray that our end may be in as good cause when it comes. for with the best of us the hour of death is an awful hour, and we may well pray, as every sunday, to be delivered in it. but there is another time which those who wrote this litany thought no less perilous, and bade us pray to be delivered in all time of our wealth. so i pray that if, after all, this wealth comes to your hand you may be led to use it well; for though i do not hold with foolish tales, or think a curse hangs on riches themselves, yet if riches have been set apart for a good purpose, even by evil men, as colonel john mohune set apart this treasure, it cannot be but that we shall do grievous wrong in putting them to other use. so fare you well, and remember that there are other treasures besides this, and that a good woman's love is worth far more than all the gold and jewels of the world--as i once knew.' and with that he left me. i guessed that he had spoken with grace that day, and as i lay dozing in front of the fire, alone in this old room i knew so well, alone with that silent friend who had died to save me, i mourned him none the less, but yet sorrowed not as one without hope. * * * * * what need to tell this tale at any more length, since you may know, by my telling it, that all went well? for what man would sit down to write a history that ended in his own discomfiture? all that great wealth came to my hands, and if i do not say how great it was, 'tis that i may not wake envy, for it was far more than ever i could have thought. and of that money i never touched penny piece, having learnt a bitter lesson in the past, but laid it out in good works, with mr. glennie and grace to help me. first, we rebuilt and enlarged the almshouses beyond all that colonel john mohune could ever think of, and so established them as to be a haven for ever for all worn-out sailors of that coast. next, we sought the guidance of the brethren of the trinity, and built a lighthouse on the snout, to be a channel beacon for sea-going ships, as maskew's match had been a light for our fishing-boats in the past. lastly, we beautified the church, turning out the cumbrous seats of oak, and neatly pewing it with deal and baize, that made it most commodious to sit in of the sabbath. there was also much old glass which we removed, and reglazed all the windows tight against the wind, so that what with a high pulpit, reading-desk, and seat for master clerk and new commandment boards each side of the holy table, there was not a church could vie with ours in the countryside. but that great vault below it, with its memories, was set in order, and then safely walled up, and after that nothing was more ever heard of blackbeard and his lost mohunes. and as for the landers, i cannot say where they went; and if a cargo is still run of a dark night upon the beach, i know nothing of it, being both lord of the manor and justice of the peace. the village, too, renewed itself with the new almshouses and church. there were old houses rebuilt and fresh ones reared, and all are ours, except the why not? which still remains the duchy inn. and that was let again, and men left the choughs at ringstave and came back to their old haunt, and any shipwrecked or travel-worn sailor found board and welcome within its doors. and of the mohune hospital--for that was what the alms-houses were now called--master glennie was first warden, with fair rooms and a full library, and master ratsey head of the bedesmen. there they spent happier days, till they were gathered in the fullness of their years; and sleep on the sunny side of the church, within sound of the sea, by that great buttress where i once found master ratsey listening with his ear to ground. and close beside them lies elzevir block, most faithful and most loved by me, with a text on his tombstone: 'greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friend,' and some of mr. glennie's verses. and of ourselves let me speak last. the manor house is a stately home again, with trim lawns and terraced balustrades, where we can sit and see the thin blue smoke hang above the village on summer evenings. and in the manor woods my wife and i have seen a little grace and a little john and little elzevir, our firstborn, play; and now our daughter is grown up, fair to us as the polished corners of the temple, and our sons are gone out to serve king george on sea and land. but as for us, for grace and me, we never leave this our happy moonfleet, being well content to see the dawn tipping the long cliff-line with gold, and the night walking in dew across the meadows; to watch the spring clothe the beech boughs with green, or the figs ripen on the southern wall: while behind all, is spread as a curtain the eternal sea, ever the same and ever changing. yet i love to see it best when it is lashed to madness in the autumn gale, and to hear the grinding roar and churn of the pebbles like a great organ playing all the night. 'tis then i turn in bed and thank god, more from the heart, perhaps, than, any other living man, that i am not fighting for my life on moonfleet beach. and more than once i have stood rope in hand in that same awful place, and tried to save a struggling wretch; but never saw one come through the surf alive, in such a night as he saved me. the lighthouse, by r.m. ballantyne. chapter one. the rock. early on a summer morning, about the beginning of the nineteenth century, two fishermen of forfarshire wended their way to the shore, launched their boat, and put off to sea. one of the men was tall and ill-favoured, the other, short and well-favoured. both were square-built, powerful fellows, like most men of the class to which they belonged. it was about that calm hour of the morning which precedes sunrise, when most living creatures are still asleep, and inanimate nature wears, more than at other times, the semblance of repose. the sea was like a sheet of undulating glass. a breeze had been expected, but, in defiance of expectation, it had not come, so the boatmen were obliged to use their oars. they used them well, however, insomuch that the land ere long appeared like a blue line on the horizon, then became tremulous and indistinct, and finally vanished in the mists of morning. the men pulled "with a will,"--as seamen pithily express it,--and in silence. only once during the first hour did the big, ill-favoured man venture a remark. referring to the absence of wind, he said, that "it would be a' the better for landin' on the rock." this was said in the broadest vernacular dialect, as, indeed, was everything that dropped from the fishermen's lips. we take the liberty of modifying it a little, believing that strict fidelity here would entail inevitable loss of sense to many of our readers. the remark, such as it was, called forth a rejoinder from the short comrade, who stated his belief that "they would be likely to find somethin' there that day." they then relapsed into silence. under the regular stroke of the oars the boat advanced steadily, straight out to sea. at first the mirror over which they skimmed was grey, and the foam at the cutwater leaden-coloured. by degrees they rowed, as it were, into a brighter region. the sea ahead lightened up, became pale yellow, then warmed into saffron, and, when the sun rose, blazed into liquid gold. the words spoken by the boatmen, though few, were significant. the "rock" alluded to was the celebrated and much dreaded inch cape--more familiarly known as the bell rock--which being at that time unmarked by lighthouse or beacon of any kind, was the terror of mariners who were making for the firths of forth and tay. the "something" that was expected to be found there may be guessed at when we say that one of the fiercest storms that ever swept our eastern shores had just exhausted itself after strewing the coast with wrecks. the breast of ocean, though calm on the surface, as has been said, was still heaving with a mighty swell, from the effects of the recent elemental conflict. "d'ye see the breakers noo, davy?" enquired the ill-favoured man, who pulled the aft oar. "ay, and hear them, too," said davy spink, ceasing to row, and looking over his shoulder towards the seaward horizon. "yer een and lugs are better than mine, then," returned the ill-favoured comrade, who answered, when among his friends, to the name of big swankie, otherwise, and more correctly, jock swankie. "od! i believe ye're right," he added, shading his heavy red brows with his heavier and redder hand, "that _is_ the rock, but a man wad need the een o' an eagle to see onything in the face o' sik a bleezin' sun. pull awa', davy, we'll hae time to catch a bit cod or a haddy afore the rock's bare." influenced by these encouraging hopes, the stout pair urged their boat in the direction of a thin line of snow-white foam that lay apparently many miles away, but which was in reality not very far distant. by degrees the white line expanded in size and became massive, as though a huge breaker were rolling towards them; ever and anon jets of foam flew high into the air from various parts of the mass, like smoke from a cannon's mouth. presently, a low continuous roar became audible above the noise of the oars; as the boat advanced, the swells from the south-east could be seen towering upwards as they neared the foaming spot, gradually changing their broad-backed form, and coming on in majestic walls of green water, which fell with indescribable grandeur into the seething caldron. no rocks were visible, there was no apparent cause for this wild confusion in the midst of the otherwise calm sea. but the fishermen knew that the bell rock was underneath the foam, and that in less than an hour its jagged peaks would be left uncovered by the falling tide. as the swell of the sea came in from the eastward, there was a belt of smooth water on the west side of the rock. here the fishermen cast anchor, and, baiting their hand-lines, began to fish. at first they were unsuccessful, but before half an hour had elapsed, the cod began to nibble, and big swankie ere long hauled up a fish of goodly size. davy spink followed suit, and in a few minutes a dozen fish lay spluttering in the bottom of the boat. "time's up noo," said swankie, coiling away his line. "stop, stop, here's a wallupper," cried davy, who was an excitable man; "we better fish a while langer--bring the cleek, swankie, he's ower big to--noo, lad, cleek him! that's it!--oh-o-o-o!" the prolonged groan with which davy brought his speech to a sudden termination was in consequence of the line breaking and the fish escaping, just as swankie was about to strike the iron hook into its side. "hech! lad, that was a guid ane," said the disappointed man with a sigh; "but he's awa'." "ay," observed swankie, "and we must awa' too, so up anchor, lad. the rock's lookin' oot o' the sea, and time's precious." the anchor was speedily pulled up, and they rowed towards the rock, the ragged edges of which were now visible at intervals in the midst of the foam which they created. at low tide an irregular portion of the bell rock, less than a hundred yards in length, and fifty yards in breadth, is uncovered and left exposed for two or three hours. it does not appear in the form of a single mass or islet, but in a succession of serrated ledges of various heights, between and amongst which the sea flows until the tide has fallen pretty low. at full ebb the rock appears like a dark islet, covered with seaweed, and studded with deep pools of water, most of which are connected with the sea by narrow channels running between the ledges. the highest part of the rock does not rise more than seven feet above the level of the sea at the lowest tide. to enter one of the pools by means of the channels above referred to is generally a matter of difficulty, and often of extreme danger, as the swell of the sea, even in calm weather, bursts over these ledges with such violence as to render the channels at times impassable. the utmost caution, therefore, is necessary. our fishermen, however, were accustomed to land there occasionally in search of the remains of wrecks, and knew their work well. they approached the rock on the lee-side, which was, as has been said, to the westward. to a spectator viewing them from any point but from the boat itself, it would have appeared that the reckless men were sailing into the jaws of certain death, for the breakers burst around them so confusedly in all directions that their instant destruction seemed inevitable. but davy spink, looking over his shoulder as he sat at the bow-oar, saw a narrow lead of comparatively still water in the midst of the foam, along which he guided the boat with consummate skill, giving only a word or two of direction to swankie, who instantly acted in accordance therewith. "pull, pull, lad," said davy. swankie pulled, and the boat swept round with its bow to the east just in time to meet a billow, which, towering high above its fellows, burst completely over the rocks, and appeared to be about to sweep away all before it. for a moment the boat was as if embedded in snow, then it sank once more into the lead among the floating tangle, and the men pulled with might and main in order to escape the next wave. they were just in time. it burst over the same rocks with greater violence than its predecessor, but the boat had gained the shelter of the next ledge, and lay floating securely in the deep, quiet pool within, while the men rested on their oars, and watched the chaos of the water rush harmlessly by. in another moment they had landed and secured the boat to a projecting rock. few words of conversation passed between these practical men. they had gone there on particular business. time and tide proverbially wait for no man, but at the bell rock they wait a much briefer period than elsewhere. between low water and the time when it would be impossible to quit the rock without being capsized, there was only a space of two or three hours--sometimes more, frequently less--so it behoved the men to economise time. rocks covered with wet seaweed and rugged in form are not easy to walk over; a fact which was soon proved by swankie staggering violently once or twice, and by spink falling flat on his back. neither paid attention to his comrade's misfortunes in this way. each scrambled about actively, searching with care among the crevices of the rocks, and from time to time picking up articles which they thrust into their pockets or laid on their shoulders, according as weight and dimensions required. in a short time they returned to their boat pretty well laden. "weel, lad, what luck?" enquired spink, as swankie and he met--the former with a grappling iron on his shoulder, the latter staggering under the weight of a mass of metal. "not much," replied swankie; "nothin' but heavy metal this mornin', only a bit of a cookin' stove an' a cannon shot--that's all." "never mind, try again. there must ha' bin two or three wrecks on the rock this gale," said davy, as he and his friend threw their burdens into the boat, and hastened to resume the search. at first spink was the more successful of the two. he returned to the boat with various articles more than once, while his comrade continued his rambles unsuccessfully. at last, however, big swankie came to a gully or inlet where a large mass of the _debris_ of a wreck was piled up in indescribable confusion, in the midst of which lay the dead body of an old man. swankie's first impulse was to shout to his companion, but he checked himself, and proceeded to examine the pockets of the dead man. raising the corpse with some difficulty he placed it on the ledge of rock. observing a ring on the little finger of the right hand, he removed it and put it hastily in his pocket. then he drew a red morocco case from an inner breast pocket in the dead man's coat. to his surprise and delight he found that it contained a gold watch and several gold rings and brooches, in some of which were beautiful stones. swankie was no judge of jewellery, but he could not avoid the conviction that these things must needs be valuable. he laid the case down on the rock beside him, and eagerly searched the other pockets. in one he found a large clasp-knife and a pencil-case; in another a leather purse, which felt heavy as he drew it out. his eyes sparkled at the first glance he got of the contents, for they were sovereigns! just as he made this discovery, davy spink climbed over the ledge at his back, and swankie hastily thrust the purse underneath the body of the dead man. "hallo! lad, what have ye there? hey! watches and rings--come, we're in luck this mornin'." "_we_!" exclaimed swankie, somewhat sternly, "_you_ didn't find that case." "na, lad, but we've aye divided, an' i dinna see what for we should change our plan noo." "we've nae paction to that effec'--the case o' kickshaws is mine," retorted swankie. "half o't," suggested spink. "weel, weel," cried the other with affected carelessness, "i'd scorn to be sae graspin'. for the matter o' that ye may hae it all to yersel', but i'll hae the next thing we git that's worth muckle a' to _mysel'_." so saying swankie stooped to continue his search of the body, and in a moment or two drew out the purse with an exclamation of surprise. "see, i'm in luck, davy! virtue's aye rewarded, they say. this is mine, and i doot not there'll be some siller intilt." "goold!" cried davy, with dilated eyes, as his comrade emptied the contents into his large hand, and counted over thirty sovereigns. "ay, lad, ye can keep the what-d'ye-ca'-ums, and i'll keep the siller." "i've seen that face before," observed spink, looking intently at the body. "like enough," said swankie, with an air of indifference, as he put the gold into his pocket. "i think i've seed it mysel'. it looks like auld jamie brand, but i didna ken him weel." "it's just him," said spink, with a touch of sadness. "ay, ay, that'll fa' heavy on the auld woman. but, come, it'll no' do to stand haverin' this way. let's see what else is on him." they found nothing more of any value; but a piece of paper was discovered, wrapped up in oilskin, and carefully fastened with red tape, in the vest pocket of the dead man. it contained writing, and had been so securely wrapped up, that it was only a little damped. davy spink, who found it, tried in vain to read the writing; davy's education had been neglected, so he was fain to confess that he could not make it out. "let _me_ see't," said swankie. "what hae we here? `the sloop is hard an--an--'" "`fast,' maybe," suggested spink. "ay, so 'tis. i canna make out the next word, but here's something about the jewel-case." the man paused and gazed earnestly at the paper for a few minutes, with a look of perplexity on his rugged visage. "weel, man, what is't?" enquired davy. "hoot! i canna mak' it oot," said the other, testily, as if annoyed at being unable to read it. he refolded the paper and thrust it into his bosom, saying, "come, we're wastin' time. let's get on wi' our wark." "toss for the jewels and the siller," said spink, suggestively. "very weel," replied the other, producing a copper. "heeds, you win the siller; tails, i win the box;--heeds it is, so the kickshaws is mine. weel, i'm content," he added, as he handed the bag of gold to his comrade, and received the jewel-case in exchange. in another hour the sea began to encroach on the rock, and the fishermen, having collected as much as time would permit of the wrecked materials, returned to their boat. they had secured altogether above two hundredweight of old metal,-- namely, a large piece of a ship's caboose, a hinge, a lock of a door, a ship's marking-iron, a soldier's bayonet, a cannon ball, a shoebuckle, and a small anchor, besides part of the cordage of the wreck, and the money and jewels before mentioned. placing the heavier of these things in the bottom of the boat, they pushed off. "we better take the corp ashore," said spink, suddenly. "what for? they may ask what was in the pockets," objected swankie. "let them ask," rejoined the other, with a grin. swankie made no reply, but gave a stroke with his oar which sent the boat close up to the rocks. they both relanded in silence, and, lifting the dead body of the old man, laid it in the stern-sheets of the boat. once more they pushed off. too much delay had been already made. the surf was breaking over the ledges in all directions, and it was with the utmost difficulty that they succeeded in getting clear out into deep water. a breeze which had sprung up from the east, tended to raise the sea a little, but when they finally got away from the dangerous reef, the breeze befriended them. hoisting the foresail, they quickly left the bell rock far behind them, and, in the course of a couple of hours, sailed into the harbour of arbroath. chapter two. the lovers and the press-gang. about a mile to the eastward of the ancient town of arbroath the shore abruptly changes its character, from a flat beach to a range of, perhaps, the wildest and most picturesque cliffs on the east coast of scotland. inland the country is rather flat, but elevated several hundred feet above the level of the sea, towards which it slopes gently until it reaches the shore, where it terminates in abrupt, perpendicular precipices, varying from a hundred to two hundred feet in height. in many places the cliffs overhang the water, and all along the coast they have been perforated and torn up by the waves, so as to present singularly bold and picturesque outlines, with caverns, inlets, and sequestered "coves" of every form and size. to the top of these cliffs, in the afternoon of the day on which our tale opens, a young girl wended her way,--slowly, as if she had no other object in view than a stroll, and sadly, as if her mind were more engaged with the thoughts within than with the magnificent prospect of land and sea without. the girl was: "fair, fair, with golden hair," and apparently about twenty years of age. she sought out a quiet nook among the rocks at the top of the cliffs; near to a circular chasm, with the name of which (at that time) we are not acquainted, but which was destined ere long to acquire a new name and celebrity from an incident which shall be related in another part of this story. curiously enough, just about the same hour, a young man was seen to wend his way to the same cliffs, and, from no reason whatever with which we happened to be acquainted, sought out the same nook! we say "he was seen," advisedly, for the maid with the golden hair saw him. any ordinary observer would have said that she had scarcely raised her eyes from the ground since sitting down on a niece of flower-studded turf near the edge of the cliff, and that she certainly had not turned her head in the direction of the town. yet she saw him,--however absurd the statement may appear, we affirm it confidently,--and knew that he was coming. other eyes there were that also saw youth--eyes that would have caused him some degree of annoyance had he known they were upon him-- eyes that he would have rejoiced to tinge with the colours black and blue! there were thirteen pair of them, belonging to twelve men and a lieutenant of the navy. in those days the barbarous custom of impressment into the royal navy was in full operation. england was at war with france. men were wanted to fight our battles, and when there was any difficulty in getting men, press-gangs were sent out to force them into the service. the youth whom we now introduce to the reader was a sailor, a strapping, handsome one, too; not, indeed, remarkable for height, being only a little above the average--five feet, ten inches or thereabouts--but noted for great depth of chest, breadth of shoulder, and development of muscle; conspicuous also for the quantity of close, clustering, light-brown curls down his head, and for the laughing glance of his dark-blue eye. not a hero of romance, by any means. no, he was very matter of fact, and rather given to meditation than mischief. the officer in charge of the press-gang had set his heart on this youth (so had another individual, of whom more anon!) but the youth, whose name was ruby brand, happened to have an old mother who was at that time in very bad health, and she had also set her heart, poor body, on the youth, and entreated him to stay at home just for one half-year. ruby willingly consented, and from that time forward led the life of a dog in consequence of the press-gang. now, as we have said, he had been seen leaving the town by the lieutenant, who summoned his men and went after him--cautiously, however, in order to take him by surprise for ruby, besides being strong and active as a lion, was slippery as an eel. going straight as an arrow to the spot where she of the golden hair was seated, the youth presented himself suddenly to her, sat down beside her, and exclaiming "minnie", put his arm round her waist. "oh, ruby, don't," said minnie, blushing. now, reader, the "don't" and the blush had no reference to the arm round the waist, but to the relative position of their noses, mouths, and chins, a position which would have been highly improper and altogether unjustifiable but for the fact that ruby was minnie's accepted lover. "don't, darling, why not?" said ruby in surprise. "you're _so_ rough," said minnie, turning her head away. "true, dear, i forgot to shave this morning." "i don't mean that," interrupted the girl quickly, "i mean rude and-- and--is that a sea-gull?" "no, sweetest of your sex, it's a butterfly; but it's all the same, as my metaphysical uncle ogilvy would undertake to prove to you, thus, a butterfly is white and a gull is white,--therefore, a gull is a butterfly." "don't talk nonsense, ruby." "no more i will, darling, if you will listen to me while i talk sense." "what is it?" said the girl, looking earnestly and somewhat anxiously into her lover's face, for she knew at once by his expression that he had some unpleasant communication to make. "you're not going away?" "well, no--not exactly; you know i promised to stay with mother; but the fact is that i'm so pestered and hunted down by that rascally press-gang, that i don't know what to do. they're sure to nab me at last, too, and then i shall have to go away whether i will or no, so i've made up my mind as a last resource, to--" ruby paused. "well?" said minnie. "well, in fact to do what will take me away for a short time, but--" ruby stopped short, and, turning his head on one side, while a look of fierce anger overspread his face, seemed to listen intently. minnie did not observe this action for a few seconds, but, wondering why he paused, she looked up, and in surprise exclaimed--"ruby! what do you--" "hush! minnie, and don't look round," said he in a low tone of intense anxiety, yet remaining immovably in the position which he had assumed on first sitting down by the girl's side, although the swelled veins of his neck and his flushed forehead told of a fierce conflict of feeling within. "it's the press-gang after me again. i got a glance of one o' them out of the tail of my eye, creeping round the rocks. they think i haven't seen them. darling minnie--one kiss. take care of mother if i don't turn up soon." "but how will you escape?" "hush, dearest girl! i want to have as much of you as i can before i go. don't be afraid. they're honest british tars after all, and won't hurt _you_, minnie." still seated at the girl's side, as if perfectly at his ease, yet speaking in quick earnest tones, and drawing her closely to him, ruby waited until he heard a stealthy tread behind him. then he sprang up with the speed of thought, uttered a laugh of defiance as the sailors rushed towards him, and leaping wildly off the cliff, fell a height of about fifty feet into the sea. minnie uttered a scream of horror, and fell fainting into the arms of the bewildered lieutenant. "down the cliffs--quick! he can't escape if you look alive. stay, one of you, and look after this girl. she'll roll over the edge on recovering, perhaps." it was easy to order the men down the cliffs, but not so easy for them to obey, for the rocks were almost perpendicular at the place, and descended sheer into the water. "surround the spot," shouted the lieutenant. "scatter yourselves--away! there's no beach here." the lieutenant was right. the men extended themselves along the top of the cliffs so as to prevent ruby's escape, in the event of his trying to ascend them, and two sailors stationed themselves in ambush in the narrow pass at the spot where the cliffs terminate in the direction of the town. the leap taken by ruby was a bold one. few men could have ventured it; indeed, the youth himself would have hesitated had he not been driven almost to desperation. but he was a practised swimmer and diver, and knew well the risk he ran. he struck the water with tremendous force and sent up a great mass of foam, but he had entered it perpendicularly, feet foremost, and in a few seconds returned to the surface so close to the cliffs that they overhung him, and thus effectually concealed him from his pursuers. swimming cautiously along for a short distance close to the rocks, he came to the entrance of a cavern which was filled by the sea. the inner end of this cave opened into a small hollow or hole among the cliffs, up the sides of which ruby knew that he could climb, and thus reach the top unperceived, but, after gaining the summit, there still lay before him the difficulty of eluding those who watched there. he felt, however, that nothing could be gained by delay, so he struck at once into the cave, swam to the inner end, and landed. wringing the water out of his clothes, he threw off his jacket and vest in order to be as unencumbered as possible, and then began to climb cautiously. just above the spot where ruby ascended there chanced to be stationed a seaman named dalls. this man had lain down flat on his breast, with his head close to the edge of the cliff, so as to observe narrowly all that went on below, but, being a stout, lethargic man, he soon fell fast asleep! it was just at the spot where this man lay that ruby reached the summit. the ascent was very difficult. at each step the hunted youth had to reach his hand as high above his head as possible, and grasp the edge of a rock or a mass of turf with great care before venturing on another step. had one of these points of rock, or one of these tufts of grass, given way, he would infallibly have fallen down the precipice and been killed. accustomed to this style of climbing from infancy, however, he advanced without a sensation of fear. on reaching the top he peeped over, and, seeing that no one was near, prepared for a rush. there was a mass of brown turf on the bank above him. he grasped it with all his force, and swung himself over the edge of the cliff. in doing so he nearly scalped poor dalls, whose hair was the "turf" which he had seized, and who, uttering a hideous yell, leaped upon ruby and tried to overthrow him. but dalls had met his match. he received a blow on the nose that all but felled him, and instantly after a blow on each eye, that raised a very constellation of stars in his brain, and laid him prone upon the grass. his yell, however, and the noise of the scuffle, were heard by those of the press-gang who were nearest to the scene of conflict. they rushed to the rescue, and reached the spot just as ruby leaped over his prostrate foe and fled towards arbroath. they followed with a cheer, which warned the two men in ambush to be ready. ruby was lithe as a greyhound. he left his pursuers far behind him, and dashed down the gorge leading from the cliffs to the low ground beyond. here he was met by the two sailors, and by the lieutenant, who had joined them. minnie was also there, having been conducted thither by the said lieutenant, who gallantly undertook to see her safe into the town, in order to prevent any risk of her being insulted by his men. on hearing the shout of those who pursued ruby, minnie hurried away, intending to get free from the gang, not feeling that the lieutenant's protection was either desirable or necessary. when ruby reached the middle of the gorge, which we have dignified with the name of "pass", and saw three men ready to dispute his passage, he increased his speed. when he was almost up to them he turned aside and sprang nimbly up the almost perpendicular wall of earth on his right. this act disconcerted the men, who had prepared to receive his charge and seize him, but ruby jumped down on the shoulders of the one nearest, and crushed him to the ground with his weight. his clenched fist caught the lieutenant between the eyes and stretched him on his back--the third man wisely drew aside to let this human thunderbolt pass by! he did pass, and, as the impetuous and quite irresistible locomotive is brought to a sudden pause when the appropriate brakes are applied, so was he brought to a sudden halt by minnie a hundred yards or so farther on. "oh! don't stop," she cried eagerly, and hastily thrusting him away. "they'll catch you!" panting though he was, vehemently, ruby could not restrain a laugh. "catch me! no, darling; but don't be afraid of them. they won't hurt you, minnie, and they can't hurt me--except in the way of cutting short our interview. ha! here they come. goodbye, dearest; i'll see you soon again." at that moment five or six of the men came rushing down the pass with a wild cheer. ruby made no haste to run. he stood in an easy attitude beside minnie; leisurely kissed her little hand, and gently smoothed down her golden hair. just as the foremost pursuer came within fifteen yards or so of them, he said, "farewell, my lassie, i leave you in good hands"; and then, waving his cap in the air, with a cheer of more than half-jocular defiance, he turned and fled towards arbroath as if one of the nor'-east gales, in its wildest fury, were sweeping him over the land. chapter three. our hero obliged to go to sea. when ruby brand reached the outskirts of arbroath, he checked his speed and walked into his native town whistling gently, and with his hands in his pockets, as though he had just returned from an evening walk. he directed his steps to one of the streets near the harbour, in which his mother's cottage was situated. mrs brand was a delicate, little old woman--so little and so old that people sometimes wondered how it was possible that she could be the mother of such a stalwart son. she was one of those kind, gentle, uncomplaining, and unselfish beings, who do not secure much popularity or admiration in this world, but who secure obedient children, also steadfast and loving friends. her favourite book was the bible; her favourite hope in regard to earthly matters, that men should give up fighting and drinking, and live in peace; her favourite theory that the study of _truth_ was the object for which man was created, and her favourite meal--tea. ruby was her only child. minnie was the daughter of a distant relation, and, having been left an orphan, she was adopted by her. mrs brand's husband was a sailor. he commanded a small coasting sloop, of which ruby had been the mate for several years. as we have said, ruby had been prevailed on to remain at home for some months in order to please his mother, whose delicacy of health was such that his refusal would have injured her seriously; at least the doctor said so, therefore ruby agreed to stay. the sloop _penguin_, commanded by ruby's father, was on a voyage to newcastle at that time, and was expected in arbroath every day. but it was fated never more to cast anchor in that port. the great storm, to which reference has been made in a previous chapter, caused many wrecks on the shores of britain. the _penguin_, was one of the many. in those days telegraphs, railroads, and penny papers did not exist. murders were committed then, as now, but little was said, and less was known about them. wrecks occurred then, as now, but few, except the persons immediately concerned, heard of them. "destructive fires", "terrible accidents", and the familiar round of "appalling catastrophes" occurred then, as now, but their influence was limited, and their occurrence soon forgotten. we would not be understood to mean that "now" (as compared with "then"), all is right and well; that telegraphs and railways and daily papers are all-potent and perfect. by no means. we have still much to learn and to do in these improved times; and, especially, there is wanting to a large extent among us a sympathetic telegraphy, so to speak, between the interior of our land and the sea-coast, which, if it existed in full and vigorous play, would go far to improve our condition, and raise us in the esteem of christian nations. nevertheless, as compared with now, the state of things then was lamentably imperfect. the great storm came and went, having swept thousands of souls into eternity, and hundreds of thousands of pounds into nonentity. lifeboats had not been invented. harbours of refuge were almost unknown, and although our coasts bristled with dangerous reefs and headlands, lighthouses were few and far between. the consequence was, that wrecks were numerous; and so also were wreckers,--a class of men, who, in the absence of an efficient coastguard, subsisted to a large extent on what they picked up from the wrecks that were cast in their way, and who did not scruple, sometimes, to _cause_ wrecks, by showing false lights in order to decoy vessels to destruction. we do not say that all wreckers were guilty of such crimes, but many of them were so, and their style of life, at the best, had naturally a demoralising influence upon all of them. the famous bell rock, lying twelve miles off the coast of forfarshire, was a prolific source of destruction to shipping. not only did numbers of vessels get upon it, but many others ran upon the neighbouring coasts in attempting to avoid it. ruby's father knew the navigation well, but, in the confusion and darkness of the furious storm, he miscalculated his position and ran upon the rock, where, as we have seen, his body was afterwards found by the two fishermen. it was conveyed by them to the cottage of mrs brand, and when ruby entered he found his mother on her knees by the bedside, pressing the cold hand of his father to her breast, and gazing with wild, tearless eyes into the dead face. we will not dwell upon the sad scenes that followed. ruby was now under the necessity of leaving home, because his mother being deprived of her husband's support naturally turned in distress to her son. but ruby had no employment, and work could not be easily obtained at that time in the town, so there was no other resource left him but to go to sea. this he did in a small coasting sloop belonging to an old friend, who gave him part of his wages in advance to enable him to leave his mother a small provision, at least for a short time. this, however, was not all that the widow had to depend on. minnie gray was expert with her needle, and for some years past had contributed not a little to the comforts of the household into which she had been adopted. she now set herself to work with redoubled zeal and energy. besides this, mrs brand had a brother, a retired skipper, who obtained the complimentary title of captain from his friends. he was a poor man, it is true, as regarded money, having barely sufficient for his own subsistence, but he was rich in kindliness and sympathy, so that he managed to make his small income perform wonders. on hearing of his brother-in-law's death, captain ogilvy hastened to afford all the consolation in his power to his sorrowing sister. the captain was an eccentric old man, of rugged aspect. he thought that there was not a worse comforter on the face of the earth than himself, because, when he saw others in distress, his heart invariably got into his throat, and absolutely prevented him from saying a single word. he tried to speak to his sister, but all he could do was to take her hand and _weep_. this did the poor widow more good than any words could have done, no matter how eloquently or fitly spoken. it unlocked the fountain of her own heart, and the two wept together. when captain ogilvy accompanied ruby on board the sloop to see him off, and shook hands as he was about to return to the shore, he said--"cheer up, ruby; never say die so long as there's a shot in the looker. that's the advice of an old salt, an' you'll find it sound, the more you ponder of it. w'en a young feller sails away on the sea of life, let him always go by chart and compass, not forgettin' to take soundin's w'en cruisin' off a bad coast. keep a sharp lookout to wind'ard, an' mind yer helm--that's _my_ advice to you lad, as ye go:-- "`a-sailin' down life's troubled stream, all as if it wor a dream.'" the captain had a somewhat poetic fancy (at least he was impressed with the belief that he had), and was in the habit of enforcing his arguments by quotations from memory. when memory failed he supplemented with original composition. "goodbye, lad, an' providence go wi' ye." "goodbye, uncle. i need not remind you to look after mother when i'm away." "no, nephy, you needn't; i'll do it whether or not." "and minnie, poor thing, she'll need a word of advice and comfort now and then, uncle." "and she shall have it, lad," replied the captain with a tremendous wink, which was unfortunately lost on the nephew, in consequence of its being night and unusually dark, "advice and comfort on demand, gratis; for:-- "`woman, in her hours of ease, is most uncommon hard to please;' "but she _must_ be looked arter, ye know, and made of, d'ye see? so ruby, boy, farewell." half-an-hour before midnight was the time chosen for the sailing of the sloop _termagant_, in order that she might get away quietly and escape the press-gang. ruby and his uncle had taken the precaution to go down to the harbour just a few minutes before sailing, and they kept as closely as possible to the darkest and least-frequented streets while passing through the town. captain ogilvy returned by much the same route to his sister's cottage, but did not attempt to conceal his movements. on the contrary, knowing that the sloop must have got clear of the harbour by that time, he went along the streets whistling cheerfully. he had been a noted, not to say noisy, whistler when a boy, and the habit had not forsaken him in his old age. on turning sharp round a corner, he ran against two men, one of whom swore at him, but the other cried-- "hallo! messmate, yer musical the night. hey, captain ogilvy, surely i seed you an' ruby slinkin' down the dark side o' the market-gate half an 'oor ago?" "mayhap ye did, an' mayhap ye didn't," retorted the captain, as he walked on; "but as it's none o' your business to know, i'll not tell ye." "ay, ay? o but ye're a cross auld chap. pleasant dreams t'ye." this kindly remark, which was expressed by our friend davy spink, was lost on the captain, in consequence of his having resumed his musical recreation with redoubled energy, as he went rolling back to the cottage to console mrs brand, and to afford "advice and comfort gratis" to minnie gray. chapter four. the burglary. on the night in question, big swankie and a likeminded companion, who went among his comrades by the name of the badger, had planned to commit a burglary in the town, and it chanced that the former was about that business when captain ogilvy unexpectedly ran against him and davy spink. spink, although a smuggler, and by no means a particularly respectable man, had not yet sunk so low in the scale of life as to be willing to commit burglary. swankie and the badger suspected this, and, although they required his assistance much, they were afraid to ask him to join, lest he should not only refuse, but turn against them. in order to get over the difficulty, swankie had arranged to suggest to him the robbery of a store containing gin, which belonged to a smuggler, and, if he agreed to that, to proceed further and suggest the more important matter in hand. but he found spink proof against the first attack. "i tell 'ee, i'll hae naething to do wi't," said he, when the proposal was made. "but," urged swankie, "he's a smuggler, and a cross-grained hound besides. it's no' like robbin' an honest man." "an' what are _we_ but smugglers?" retorted spink; "an' as to bein' cross-grained, you've naethin' to boast o' in that way. na, na, swankie, ye may do't yersel, i'll hae nae hand in't. i'll no objec' to tak a bit keg o' auchmithie water [smuggled spirits] noo and then, or to pick up what comes to me by the wund and sea, but i'll steal frae nae man." "ay, man, but ye've turned awfu' honest all of a suddent," said the other with a sneer. "i wonder the thretty sovereigns i gied ye the other day, when we tossed for them and the case o' kickshaws, havena' brunt yer pooches." davy spink looked a little confused. "aweel," said he, "it's o' nae use greetin' ower spilt milk, the thing's done and past noo, and i canna help it. sae guidnight to 'ee." swankie, seeing that it was useless to attempt to gain over his comrade, and knowing that the badger was waiting impatiently for him near the appointed house, hurried away without another word, and davy spink strolled towards his home, which was an extremely dirty little hut, near the harbour. at the time of which we write, the town of arbroath was neither so well lighted nor so well guarded as it now is. the two burglars found nothing to interfere with their deeds of darkness, except a few bolts and bars, which did not stand long before their expert hands. nevertheless, they met with a check from an unexpected quarter. the house they had resolved to break into was inhabited by a widow lady, who was said to be wealthy, and who was known to possess a considerable quantity of plate and jewels. she lived alone, having only one old servant and a little girl to attend upon her. the house stood on a piece of ground not far from the ruins of the stately abbey which originated and gave celebrity to the ancient town of aberbrothoc. mrs stewart's house was full of eastern curiosities, some of them of great value, which had been sent to her by her son, then a major in the east india company's service. now, it chanced that major stewart had arrived from india that very day, on leave of absence, all unknown to the burglars, who, had they been aware of the fact, would undoubtedly have postponed their visit to a more convenient season. as it was, supposing they had to deal only with the old lady and her two servants, they began their work between twelve and one that night, with considerable confidence, and in great hopes of a rich booty. a small garden surrounded the old house. it was guarded by a wall about eight feet high, the top of which bristled with bottle-glass. the old lady and her domestics regarded this terrible-looking defence with much satisfaction, believing in their innocence that no human creature could succeed in getting over it. boys, however, were their only dread, and fruit their only care, when they looked complacently at the bottle-glass on the wall, and, so far, they were right in their feeling of security, for boys found the labour, risk, and danger to be greater than the worth of the apples and pears. but it was otherwise with men. swankie and the badger threw a piece of thick matting on the wall; the former bent down, the latter stepped upon his back, and thence upon the mat; then he hauled his comrade up, and both leaped into the garden. advancing stealthily to the door, they tried it and found it locked. the windows were all carefully bolted, and the shutters barred. this they expected, but thought it as well to try each possible point of entrance, in the hope of finding an unguarded spot before having recourse to their tools. such a point was soon found, in the shape of a small window, opening into a sort of scullery at the back of the house. it had been left open by accident. an entrance was easily effected by the badger, who was a small man, and who went through the house with the silence of a cat, towards the front door. there were two lobbies, an inner and an outer, separated from each other by a glass door. cautiously opening both doors, the badger admitted his comrade, and then they set to work. a lantern, which could be uncovered or concealed in a moment, enabled them to see their way. "that's the dinin'-room door," whispered the badger. "hist! haud yer jaw," muttered swankie; "i ken that as weel as you." opening the door, they entered and found the plate-chest under the sideboard. it was open, and a grin of triumph crossed the sweet countenances of the friends as they exchanged glances, and began to put silver forks and spoons by the dozen into a bag which they had brought for the purpose. when they had emptied the plate-chest, they carried the bag into the garden, and, climbing over the wall, deposited it outside. then they returned for more. now, old mrs stewart was an invalid, and was in the habit of taking a little weak wine and water before retiring to rest at night. it chanced that the bottle containing the port wine had been left on the sideboard, a fact which was soon discovered by swankie, who put the bottle to his mouth, and took a long pull. "what is't?" enquired the badger, in a low tone. "prime!" replied swankie, handing over the bottle, and wiping his mouth with the cuff of his coat. the badger put the bottle to his mouth, but unfortunately for him, part of the liquid went down the "wrong throat". the result was that the poor man coughed, once, rather loudly. swankie, frowning fiercely, and shaking his fist, looked at him in horror; and well he might, for the badger became first red and then purple in the face, and seemed as if he were about to burst with his efforts to keep down the cough. it came, however, three times, in spite of him,--not violently, but with sufficient noise to alarm them, and cause them to listen for five minutes intently ere they ventured to go on with their work, in the belief that no one had been disturbed. but major stewart had been awakened by the first cough. he was a soldier who had seen much service, and who slept lightly. he raised himself in his bed, and listened intently on hearing the first cough. the second cough caused him to spring up and pull on his trousers; the third cough found him halfway downstairs, with a boot-jack in his hand, and when the burglars resumed work he was peeping at them through the half-open door. both men were stooping over the plate-chest, the badger with his back to the door, swankie with his head towards it. the major raised the boot-jack and took aim. at the same moment the door squeaked, big swankie looked up hastily, and, in technical phraseology, "doused the glim." all was dark in an instant, but the boot-jack sped on its way notwithstanding. the burglars were accustomed to fighting, however, and dipped their heads. the boot-jack whizzed past, and smashed the pier-glass on the mantelpiece to a thousand atoms. major stewart being expert in all the devices of warfare, knew what to expect, and drew aside. he was not a moment too soon, for the dark lantern flew through the doorway, hit the opposite wall, and fell with a loud clatter on the stone floor of the lobby. the badger followed at once, and received a random blow from the major that hurled him head over heels after the lantern. there was no mistaking the heavy tread and rush of big swankie as he made for the door. major stewart put out his foot, and the burglar naturally tripped over it; before he could rise the major had him by the throat. there was a long, fierce struggle, both being powerful men; at last swankie was hurled completely through the glass door. in the fall he disengaged himself from the major, and, leaping up, made for the garden wall, over which he succeeded in clambering before the latter could seize him. thus both burglars escaped, and major stewart returned to the house half-naked,--his shirt having been torn off his back,--and bleeding freely from cuts caused by the glass door. just as he re-entered the house, the old cook, under the impression that the cat had got into the pantry, and was smashing the crockery, entered the lobby in her nightdress, shrieked "mercy on us!" on beholding the major, and fainted dead away. major stewart was too much annoyed at having failed to capture the burglars to take any notice of her. he relocked the door, and assuring his mother that it was only robbers, and that they had been beaten off, retired to his room, washed and dressed his wounds, and went to bed. meanwhile big swankie and the badger, laden with silver, made for the shore, where they hid their treasure in a hole. "i'll tell 'ee a dodge," said the badger. "what may that be?" enquired swankie. "you said ye saw ruby brand slinking down the market-gate, and that's he's off to sea?" "ay, and twa or three more folk saw him as weel as me." "weel, let's tak' up a siller spoon, or somethin', an' put it in the auld wife's garden, an' they'll think it was him that did it." "no' that bad!" said swankie, with a chuckle. a silver fork and a pair of sugar-tongs bearing old mrs stewart's initials were accordingly selected for this purpose, and placed in the little garden in the front of widow brand's cottage. here they were found in the morning by captain ogilvy, who examined them for at least half-an-hour in a state of the utmost perplexity. while he was thus engaged one of the detectives of the town happened to pass, apparently in some haste. "hallo! shipmate," shouted the captain. "well?" responded the detective. "did ye ever see silver forks an' sugar-tongs growin' in a garden before?" "eh?" exclaimed the other, entering the garden hastily; "let me see. oho! this may throw some light on the matter. did you find them here?" "ay, on this very spot." "hum. ruby went away last night, i believe?" "he did." "some time after midnight?" enquired the detective. "likely enough," said the captain, "but my chronometer ain't quite so reg'lar since we left the sea; it might ha' bin more,--mayhap less." "just so. you saw him off?" "ay; but you seem more than or'nar inquisitive to-day--" "did he carry a bundle?" interrupted the detective. "ay, no doubt." "a large one?" "ay, a goodish big 'un." "do you know what was in it?" enquired the detective, with a knowing look. "i do, for i packed it," replied the captain; "his kit was in it." "nothing more?" "nothin' as i knows of." "well, i'll take these with me just now," said the officer, placing the fork and sugar-tongs in his pocket. "i'm afraid, old man, that your nephew has been up to mischief before he went away. a burglary was committed in the town last night, and this is some of the plate. you'll hear more about it before long, i dare say. good day to ye." so saying, the detective walked quickly away, and left the captain in the centre of the garden staring vacantly before him in speechless amazement. chapter five. the bell rock invaded. a year passed away. nothing more was heard of ruby brand, and the burglary was believed to be one of those mysteries which are destined never to be solved. about this time great attention was being given by government to the subject of lighthouses. the terrible number of wrecks that had taken place had made a deep impression on the public mind. the position and dangerous character of the bell rock, in particular, had been for a long time the subject of much discussion, and various unsuccessful attempts had been made to erect a beacon of some sort thereon. there is a legend that in days of old one of the abbots of the neighbouring monastery of aberbrothoc erected a bell on the inchcape rock, which was tolled in rough weather by the action of the waves on a float attached to the tongue, and thus mariners were warned at night and in foggy weather of their approach to the rock, the great danger of which consists in its being a sunken reef, lying twelve miles from the nearest land, and exactly in the course of vessels making for the firths of forth and tay. the legend further tells how that a danish pirate, named ralph the rover, in a mischievous mood, cut the bell away, and that, years afterwards, he obtained his appropriate reward by being wrecked on the bell rock, when returning from a long cruise laden with booty. whether this be true or not is an open question, but certain it is that no beacon of any kind was erected on this rock until the beginning of the nineteenth century, after a great storm in had stirred the public mind, and set springs in motion, which from that time forward have never ceased to operate. many and disastrous were the shipwrecks that occurred during the storm referred to, which continued, with little intermission, for three days. great numbers of ships were driven from their moorings in the downs and yarmouth roads; and these, together with all vessels navigating the german ocean at that time, were drifted upon the east coast of scotland. it may not, perhaps, be generally known that there are only three great inlets or estuaries to which the mariner steers when overtaken by easterly storms in the north sea--namely, the humber, and the firths of forth and moray. the mouth of the thames is too much encumbered by sand-banks to be approached at night or during bad weather. the humber is also considerably obstructed in this way, so that the roads of leith, in the firth of forth, and those of cromarty, in the moray firth, are the chief places of resort in easterly gales. but both of these had their special risks. on the one hand, there was the danger of mistaking the dornoch firth for the moray, as it lies only a short way to the north of the latter; and, in the case of the firth of forth, there was the terrible bell rock. now, during the storm of which we write, the fear of those two dangers was so strong upon seamen that many vessels were lost in trying to avoid them, and much hardship was sustained by mariners who preferred to seek shelter in higher latitudes. it was estimated that no fewer than seventy vessels were either stranded or lost during that single gale, and many of the crews perished. at one wild part of the coast, near peterhead, called the bullers of buchan, after the first night of the storm, the wrecks of seven vessels were found in one cove, without a single survivor of the crews to give an account of the disaster. the "dangers of the deep" are nothing compared with the _dangers of the shore_. if the hard rocks of our island could tell the tale of their experience, and if we landsmen could properly appreciate it, we should understand more clearly why it is that sailors love blue (in other words, deep) water during stormy weather. in order to render the forth more accessible by removing the danger of the bell rock, it was resolved by the commissioners of northern lights to build a lighthouse upon it. this resolve was a much bolder one than most people suppose, for the rock on which the lighthouse was to be erected was a sunken reef, visible only at low tide during two or three hours, and quite inaccessible in bad weather. it was the nearest approach to building a house _in_ the sea that had yet been attempted! the famous eddystone stands on a rock which is _never quite_ under water, although nearly so, for its crest rises a very little above the highest tides, while the bell rock is eight or ten feet under water at high tides. it must be clear, therefore, to everyone, that difficulties, unusual in magnitude and peculiar in kind, must have stood in the way of the daring engineer who should undertake the erection of a tower on a rock twelve miles out on the stormy sea, and the foundation of which was covered with ten or twelve feet of water every tide; a tower which would have to be built _perfectly_, yet _hastily_; a tower which should form a comfortable home, fit for human beings to dwell in, and yet strong enough to withstand the utmost fury of the waves, not merely whirling round it, as might be the case on some exposed promontory, but rushing at it, straight and fierce from the wild ocean, in great blue solid billows that should burst in thunder on its sides, and rush up in scarcely less solid spray to its lantern, a hundred feet or more above its foundation. an engineer able and willing to undertake this great work was found in the person of the late robert stevenson of edinburgh, whose perseverance and talent shall be commemorated by the grandest and most useful monument ever raised by man, as long as the bell rock lighthouse shall tower above the sea. it is not our purpose to go into the details of all that was done in the construction of this lighthouse. our peculiar task shall be to relate those incidents connected with this work which have relation to the actors in our tale. we will not, therefore, detain the reader by telling him of all the preliminary difficulties that were encountered and overcome in this "robinson crusoe" sort of work; how that a temporary floating lightship, named the _pharos_, was prepared and anchored in the vicinity of the rock in order to be a sort of depot and rendezvous and guide to the three smaller vessels employed in the work, as well as a light to shipping generally, and a building-yard was established at arbroath, where every single stone of the lighthouse was cut and nicely fitted before being conveyed to the rock. neither shall we tell of the difficulties that arose in the matter of getting blocks of granite large enough for such masonry, and lime of a nature strong enough to withstand the action of the salt sea. all this, and a great deal more of a deeply interesting nature, must remain untold, and be left entirely to the reader's imagination. [see note .] suffice it to say that the work was fairly begun in the month of august, ; that a strong beacon of timber was built, which was so well constructed that it stood out all the storms that beat against it during the whole time of the building operations; that close to this beacon the pit or foundation of the lighthouse was cut down deep into the solid rock; that the men employed could work only between two and three hours at a time, and had to pump the water out of this pit each tide before they could resume operations; that the work could only be done in the summer months, and when engaged in it the men dwelt either in the _pharos_ floating light, or in one of the attending vessels, and were not allowed to go ashore--that is, to the mainland, about twelve miles distant; that the work was hard, but so novel and exciting that the artificers at last became quite enamoured of it, and that ere long operations were going busily forward, and the work was in a prosperous and satisfactory state of advancement. things were in this condition at the bell rock, when, one fine summer evening, our friend and hero, ruby brand, returned, after a long absence, to his native town. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . it may be found, however, in minute detail, in the large and interesting work entitled _stevenson's bell rock lighthouse_. chapter six. the captain changes his quarters. it was fortunate for ruby that the skipper of the vessel ordered him to remain in charge while he went ashore, because he would certainly have been recognised by numerous friends, and his arrival would speedily have reached the ears of the officers of justice, who seem to be a class of men specially gifted with the faculty of never forgetting. it was not until darkness had begun to settle down on the town that the skipper returned on board, and gave him leave to go ashore. ruby did not return in the little coaster in which he had left his native place. that vessel had been wrecked not long after he joined her, but the crew were saved, and ruby succeeded in obtaining a berth as second mate of a large ship trading between hull and the baltic. returning from one of his voyages with a pretty good sum of money in his pocket, he resolved to visit his mother and give it to her. he therefore went aboard an arbroath schooner, and offered to work his passage as an extra hand. remembering his former troubles in connexion with the press-gang, he resolved to conceal his name from the captain and crew, who chanced to be all strangers to him. it must not be supposed that mrs brand had not heard of ruby since he left her. on the contrary, both she and minnie gray got letters as frequently as the postal arrangements of those days would admit of; and from time to time they received remittances of money, which enabled them to live in comparative comfort. it happened, however, that the last of these remittances had been lost, so that mrs brand had to depend for subsistence on minnie's exertions, and on her brother's liberality. the brother's power was limited, however, and minnie had been ailing for some time past, in consequence of her close application to work, so that she could not earn as much as usual. hence it fell out that at this particular time the widow found herself in greater pecuniary difficulties than she had ever been in before. ruby was somewhat of an original. it is probable that every hero is. he resolved to surprise his mother by pouring the money he had brought into her lap, and for this purpose had, while in hull, converted all his savings into copper, silver, and gold. those precious metals he stowed separately into the pockets of his huge pea-jacket, and, thus heavily laden, went ashore about dark, as soon as the skipper returned. at this precise hour it happened that mrs brand, minnie gray, and captain ogilvy were seated at their supper in the kitchen of the cottage. two days previously the captain had called, and said to mrs brand-- "i tell 'ee what it is, sister, i'm tired of livin' a solitary bachelor life, all by myself, so i'm goin' to make a change, lass." mrs brand was for some moments speechless, and minnie, who was sewing near the window, dropped her hands and work on her lap, and looked up with inexpressible amazement in her sweet blue eyes. "brother," said mrs brand earnestly, "you don't mean to tell me that you're going to marry at _your_ time of life?" "eh! what? marry?" the captain looked, if possible, more amazed than his sister for a second or two, then his red face relaxed into a broad grin, and he sat down on a chair and chuckled, wiping the perspiration (he seemed always more or less in a state of perspiration) from his bald head the while. "why, no, sister, i'm not going to marry; did i speak of marryin'?" "no; but you spoke of being tired of a bachelor life, and wishing to change." "ah! you women," said the captain, shaking his head--"always suspecting that we poor men are wantin' to marry you. well, pr'aps you ain't far wrong neither; but i'm not goin' to be spliced yet-a-while, lass. marry, indeed! "`shall i, wastin' in despair, die, 'cause why? a woman's rare?'" "oh! captain ogilvy, that's not rightly quoted," cried minnie, with a merry laugh. "ain't it?" said the captain, somewhat put out; for he did not like to have his powers of memory doubted. "no; surely women are not _rare_," said minnie. "good ones are," said the captain stoutly. "well; but that's not the right word." "what _is_ the right word, then?" asked the captain with affected sternness, for, although by nature disinclined to admit that he could be wrong, he had no objection to be put right by minnie. "die because a woman's f---," said minnie, prompting him. "f---, `funny?'" guessed the captain. "no; it's not `funny,'" cried minnie, laughing heartily. "of course not," assented the captain, "it could not be `funny' nohow, because `funny' don't rhyme with `despair;' besides, lots o' women ain't funny a bit, an' if they was, that's no reason why a man should die for 'em; what _is_ the word, lass?" "what am _i_?" asked minnie, with an arch smile, as she passed her fingers through the clustering masses of her beautiful hair. "an angel, beyond all doubt," said the gallant captain, with a burst of sincerity which caused minnie to blush and then to laugh. "you're incorrigible, captain, and you are so stupid that it's of no use trying to teach you." mrs brand--who listened to this conversation with an expression of deep anxiety on her meek face, for she could not get rid of her first idea that her brother was going to marry--here broke in with the question-- "when is it to be, brother?" "when is what to be, sister?" "the--the marriage." "i tell you i _ain't_ a-goin' to marry," repeated the captain; "though why a stout young feller like me, just turned sixty-four, _shouldn't_ marry, is more than i can see. you know the old proverbs, lass--`it's never too late to marry;' `never ventur', never give in;' `john anderson my jo john, when we was first--first--'" "married," suggested minnie. "just so," responded the captain, "and everybody knows that _he_ was an old man. but no, i'm not goin' to marry; i'm only goin' to give up my house, sell off the furniture, and come and live with _you_." "live with me!" ejaculated mrs brand. "ay, an' why not? what's the use o' goin' to the expense of two houses when one'll do, an' when we're both raither scrimp o' the ready? you'll just let me have the parlour. it never was a comf'rable room to sit in, so it don't matter much your givin' it up; it's a good enough sleepin' and smokin' cabin, an' we'll all live together in the kitchen. i'll throw the whole of my treemendous income into the general purse, always exceptin' a few odd coppers, which i'll retain to keep me a-goin' in baccy. we'll sail under the same flag, an' sit round the same fire, an' sup at the same table, and sleep in the same--no, not exactly that, but under the same roof-tree, which'll be a more hoconomical way o' doin' business, you know; an' so, old girl, as the song says-- "`come an' let us be happy together, for where there's a will there's a way, an' we won't care a rap for the weather so long as there's nothin' to pay.'" "would it not be better to say, `so long as there's _something_ to pay?'" suggested minnie. "no, lass, it _wouldn't_," retorted the captain. "you're too fond of improvin' things. i'm a stanch old tory, i am. i'll stick to the old flag till all's blue. none o' your changes or improvements for me." this was a rather bold statement for a man to make who improved upon almost every line he ever quoted; but the reader is no doubt acquainted with parallel instances of inconsistency in good men even in the present day. "now, sister," continued captain ogilvy, "what d'ye think of my plan?" "i like it well, brother," replied mrs brand with a gentle smile. "will you come soon?" "to-morrow, about eight bells," answered the captain promptly. this was all that was said on the subject. the thing was, as the captain said, settled off-hand, and accordingly next morning he conveyed such of his worldly goods as he meant to retain possession of to his sister's cottage--"the new ship", as he styled it. he carried his traps on his own broad shoulders, and the conveyance of them cost him three distinct trips. they consisted of a huge sea-chest, an old telescope more than a yard long, and cased in leather; a quadrant, a hammock, with the bedding rolled up in it, a tobacco-box, the enormous old family bible in which the names of his father, mother, brothers, and sisters were recorded; and a brown teapot with half a lid. this latter had belonged to the captain's mother, and, being fond of it, as it reminded him of the "old ooman", he was wont to mix his grog in it, and drink the same out of a teacup, the handle of which was gone, and the saucer of which was among the things of the past. notwithstanding his avowed adherence to tory principles, captain ogilvy proceeded to make manifold radical changes and surprising improvements in the little parlour, insomuch that when he had completed the task, and led his sister carefully (for she was very feeble) to look at what he had done, she became quite incapable of expressing herself in ordinary language; positively refused to believe her eyes, and never again entered that room, but always spoke of what she had seen as a curious dream! no one was ever able to discover whether there was not a slight tinge of underlying jocularity in this remark of mrs brand, for she was a strange and incomprehensible mixture of shrewdness and innocence; but no one took much trouble to find out, for she was so lovable that people accepted her just as she was, contented to let any small amount of mystery that seemed to be in her to remain unquestioned. "the parlour" was one of those well-known rooms which are occasionally met with in country cottages, the inmates of which are not wealthy. it was reserved exclusively for the purpose of receiving visitors. the furniture, though old, threadbare, and dilapidated, was kept scrupulously clean, and arranged symmetrically. there were a few books on the table, which were always placed with mathematical exactitude, and a set of chairs, so placed as to give one mysteriously the impression that they were not meant to be sat upon. there was also a grate, which never had a fire in it, and was never without a paper ornament in it, the pink and white aspect of which caused one involuntarily to shudder. but the great point, which was meant to afford the highest gratification to the beholder, was the chimney-piece. this spot was crowded to excess in every square inch of its area with ornaments, chiefly of earthenware, miscalled china, and shells. there were great white shells with pink interiors, and small brown shells with spotted backs. then there were china cups and saucers, and china shepherds and shepherdesses, represented in the act of contemplating the heavens serenely, with their arms round each other's waists. there were also china dogs and cats, and a huge china cockatoo as a centre-piece; but there was not a single spot the size of a sixpence on which the captain could place his pipe or his tobacco-box! "we'll get these things cleared away," said minnie, with a laugh, on observing the perplexed look with which the captain surveyed the chimney-piece, while the changes above referred to were being made in the parlour; "we have no place ready to receive them just now, but i'll have them all put away to-morrow." "thank'ee, lass," said the captain, as he set down the sea-chest and seated himself thereon; "they're pretty enough to look at, d'ye see, but they're raither in the way just now, as my second mate once said of the rocks when we were cruising off the coast of norway in search of a pilot." the ornaments were, however, removed sooner than anyone had anticipated. the next trip that the captain made was for his hammock (he always slept in one), which was a long unwieldy bundle, like a gigantic bolster. he carried it into the parlour on his shoulder, and minnie followed him. "where shall i sling it, lass?" "here, perhaps," said minnie. the captain wheeled round as she spoke, and the end of the hammock swept the mantelpiece of all its ornaments, as completely as if the besom of destruction had passed over it. "shiver my timbers!" gasped the captain, awestruck by the hideous crash that followed. "you've shivered the ornaments at any rate," said minnie, half-laughing and half-crying. "so i have, but no matter. never say die so long's there a shot in the locker. there's as good fish in the sea as ever come out of it; so bear a hand, my girl, and help me to sling up the hammock." the hammock was slung, the pipe of peace was smoked, and thus captain ogilvy was fairly installed in his sister's cottage. it may, perhaps, be necessary to remind the reader that all this is a long digression; that the events just narrated occurred a few days before the return of ruby, and that they have been recorded here in order to explain clearly the reason of the captain's appearance at the supper table of his sister, and the position which he occupied in the family. when ruby reached the gate of the small garden, minnie had gone to the captain's room to see that it was properly prepared for his reception, and the captain himself was smoking his pipe close to the chimney, so that the smoke should ascend it. the first glance through the window assured the youth that his mother was, as letters had represented her, much better in health than she used to be. she looked so quiet and peaceful, and so fragile withal, that ruby did not dare to "surprise her" by a sudden entrance, as he had originally intended, so he tapped gently at the window, and drew back. the captain laid down his pipe and went to the door. "what, ruby!" he exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper. "hush, uncle! how is minnie; where is she?" "i think, lad," replied the captain in a tone of reproof, "that you might have enquired for your mother first." "no need," said ruby, pointing to the window; "i _see_ that she is there and well, thanks be to god for that:--but minnie?" "she's well, too, boy, and in the house. but come, get inside. i'll explain, after." this promise to "explain" was given in consequence of the great anxiety he, the captain, displayed to drag ruby into the cottage. the youth did not require much pressing, however. he no sooner heard that minnie was well, than he sprang in, and was quickly at his mother's feet. almost as quickly a fair vision appeared in the doorway of the inner room, and was clasped in the young sailor's arms with the most thorough disregard of appearances, not to mention propriety. while this scene was enacting, the worthy captain was engaged in active proceedings, which at once amused and astonished his nephew, and the nature and cause of which shall be revealed in the next chapter. chapter seven. ruby in difficulties. having thrust his nephew into the cottage, captain ogilvy's first proceeding was to close the outer shutter of the window and fasten it securely on the inside. then he locked, bolted, barred, and chained the outer door, after which he shut the kitchen door, and, in default of any other mode of securing it, placed against it a heavy table as a barricade. having thus secured the premises in front, he proceeded to fortify the rear, and, when this was accomplished to his satisfaction, he returned to the kitchen, sat down opposite the widow, and wiped his shining pate. "why, uncle, are we going to stand out a siege that you take so much pains to lock up?" ruby sat down on the floor at his mother's feet as he spoke, and minnie sat down on a low stool beside him. "maybe we are, lad," replied the captain; "anyhow, it's always well to be ready-- "`ready, boys, ready, we'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.'" "come uncle, explain yourself." "explain myself, nephy? i can neither explain myself nor anybody else. d'ye know, ruby, that you're a burglar?" "am i, uncle? well, i confess that that's news." "ay, but it's true though, at least the law in arbroath says so, and if it catches you, it'll hang you as sure as a gun." here captain ogilvy explained to his nephew the nature of the crime that was committed on the night of his departure, the evidence of his guilt in the finding part of the plate in the garden, coupled with his sudden disappearance, and wound up by saying that he regarded him, ruby, as being in a "reg'lar fix." "but surely," said ruby, whose face became gradually graver as the case was unfolded to him, "surely it must be easy to prove to the satisfaction of everyone that i had nothing whatever to do with this affair?" "easy to prove it!" said the captain in an excited tone; "wasn't you seen, just about the hour of the robbery, going stealthily down the street, by big swankie and davy spink, both of whom will swear to it." "yes, but _you_ were with me, uncle." "so i was, and hard enough work i had to convince them that i had nothin' to do with it myself, but they saw that i couldn't jump a stone wall eight foot high to save my life, much less break into a house, and they got no further evidence to convict me, so they let me off; but it'll go hard with you, nephy, for major stewart described the men, and one o' them was a big strong feller, the description bein' as like you as two peas, only their faces was blackened, and the lantern threw the light all one way, so he didn't see them well. then, the things found in our garden,--and the villains will haul me up as a witness against you, for, didn't i find them myself?" "very perplexing; what shall i do?" said ruby. "clear out," cried the captain emphatically. "what! fly like a real criminal, just as i have returned home? never. what say _you_, minnie?" "stand your trial, ruby. they cannot--they dare not--condemn the innocent." "and you, mother?" "i'm sure i don't know what to say," replied mrs brand, with a look of deep anxiety, as she passed her fingers through her son's hair, and kissed his brow. "i have seen the innocent condemned and the guilty go free more than once in my life." "nevertheless, mother, i will give myself up, and take my chance. to fly would be to give them reason to believe me guilty." "give yourself up!" exclaimed the captain, "you'll do nothing of the sort. come, lad, remember i'm an old man, and an uncle. i've got a plan in my head, which i think will keep you out of harm's way for a time. you see my old chronometer is but a poor one,--the worse of the wear, like its master,--and i've never been able to make out the exact time that we went aboard the _termagant_ the night you went away. now, can you tell me what o'clock it was?" "i can." "'xactly?" "yes, exactly, for it happened that i was a little later than i promised, and the skipper pointed to his watch, as i came up the side, and jocularly shook his head at me. it was exactly eleven p.m." "sure and sartin o' that?" enquired the captain, earnestly. "quite, and his watch must have been right, for the town-clock rung the hour at the same time." "is that skipper alive?" "yes." "would he swear to that?" "i think he would." "d'ye know where he is?" "i do. he's on a voyage to the west indies, and won't be home for two months, i believe." "humph!" said the captain, with a disappointed look. "however, it can't be helped; but i see my way _now_ to get you out o' this fix. you know, i suppose, that they're buildin' a lighthouse on the bell rock just now; well, the workmen go off to it for a month at a time, i believe, if not longer, and don't come ashore, and it's such a dangerous place, and troublesome to get to, that nobody almost ever goes out to it from this place, except those who have to do with it. now, lad, you'll go down to the workyard the first thing in the mornin', before daylight, and engage to go off to work at the bell rock. you'll keep all snug and quiet, and nobody'll be a bit the wiser. you'll be earnin' good wages, and in the meantime i'll set about gettin' things in trim to put you all square." "but i see many difficulties ahead," objected ruby. "of course ye do," retorted the captain. "did ye ever hear or see anything on this earth that hadn't rocks ahead o' some sort? it's our business to steer past 'em, lad, not to 'bout ship and steer away. but state yer difficulties." "well, in the first place, i'm not a stonemason or a carpenter, and i suppose masons and carpenters are the men most wanted there." "not at all, blacksmiths are wanted there," said the captain, "and i know that you were trained to that work as a boy." "true, i can do somewhat with the hammer, but mayhap they won't engage me." "but they _will_ engage you, lad, for they are hard up for an assistant blacksmith just now, and i happen to be hand-and-glove with some o' the chief men of the yard, who'll be happy to take anyone recommended by me." "well, uncle, but suppose i do go off to the rock, what chance have you of making things appear better than they are at present?" "i'll explain that, lad. in the first place, major stewart is a gentleman, out-and-out, and will listen to the truth. he swears that the robbery took place at one o'clock in the mornin', for he looked at his watch and at the clock of the house, and heard it ring in the town, just as the thieves cleared off over the wall. now, if i can get your old skipper to take a run here on his return from the west indies, he'll swear that you was sailin' out to the north sea _before twelve_, and that'll prove that you _couldn't_ have had nothin' to do with it, d'ye see?" "it sounds well," said ruby dubiously, "but do you think the lawyers will see things in the light you do?" "hang the lawyers! d'ye think they will shut their eyes to _the truth_?" "perhaps they may, in which case they will hang _me_, and so prevent my taking your advice to hang _them_," said ruby. "well, well, but you agree to my plan?" asked the captain. "shall i agree, minnie? it will separate me from you again for some time." "yet it is necessary," answered minnie, sadly; "yes, i think you should agree to go." "very well, then, that's settled," said ruby, "and now let us drop the subject, because i have other things to speak of; and if i must start before daylight my time with you will be short--" "come here a bit, nephy, i want to have a private word with 'ee in my cabin," said the captain, interrupting him, and going into his own room. ruby rose and followed. "you haven't any--" the captain stopped, stroked his bald head, and looked perplexed. "well, uncle?" "well, nephy, you haven't--in short, have ye got any money about you, lad?" "money? yes, a _little_; but why do you ask?" "well, the fact is, that your poor mother is hard up just now," said the captain earnestly, "an' i've given her the last penny i have o' my own; but she's quite--" ruby interrupted his uncle at this point with a boisterous laugh. at the same time he flung open the door and dragged the old man with gentle violence back to the kitchen. "come here, uncle." "but, avast! nephy, i haven't told ye all yet." "oh! don't bother me with such trifles just now," cried ruby, thrusting his uncle into a chair and resuming his own seat at his mother's side; "we'll speak of that at some other time; meanwhile let me talk to mother." "minnie, dear," he continued, "who keeps the cash here; you or mother?" "well, we keep it between us," said minnie, smiling; "your mother keeps it in her drawer and gives me the key when i want any, and i keep an account of it." "ah! well, mother, i have a favour to ask of you before i go." "well, _ruby_?" "it is that you will take care of my cash for me. i have got a goodish lot of it, and find it rather heavy to carry in my pockets--so, hold your apron steady and i'll give it to you." saying this he began to empty handful after handful of coppers into the old woman's apron; then, remarking that "that was all the browns", he began to place handful after handful of shillings and sixpences on the top of the pile until the copper was hid by silver. the old lady, as usual when surprised, became speechless; the captain smiled and minnie laughed, but when ruby put his hand into another pocket and began to draw forth golden sovereigns, and pour them into his mother's lap, the captain became supremely amazed, the old woman laughed, and,--so strangely contradictory and unaccountable is human nature,--minnie began to cry. poor girl! the tax upon her strength had been heavier than anyone knew, heavier than she could bear, and the sorrow of knowing, as she had come to know, that it was all in vain, and that her utmost efforts had failed to "keep the wolf from the door", had almost broken her down. little wonder, then, that the sight of sudden and ample relief upset her altogether. but her tears, being tears of joy, were soon and easily dried--all the more easily that it was ruby who undertook to dry them. mrs brand sat up late that night, for there was much to tell and much to hear. after she had retired to rest the other three continued to hold converse together until grey dawn began to appear through the chinks in the window-shutters. then the two men rose and went out, while minnie laid her pretty little head on the pillow beside mrs brand, and sought, and found, repose. chapter eight. the scene changes--ruby is vulcanised. as captain ogilvy had predicted, ruby was at once engaged as an assistant blacksmith on the bell rock. in fact, they were only too glad to get such a powerful, active young fellow into their service; and he was shipped off with all speed in the sloop _smeaton_, with a few others who were going to replace some men who had become ill and were obliged to leave. a light westerly breeze was blowing when they cast off the moorings of the sloop. "goodbye, ruby," said the captain, as he was about to step on the pier. "remember your promise, lad, to keep quiet, and don't try to get ashore, or to hold communication with anyone till you hear from me." "all right, uncle, i won't forget, and i'll make my mind easy, for i know that my case is left in good hands." three hours elapsed ere the _smeaton_ drew near to the bell rock. during this time, ruby kept aloof from his fellow-workmen, feeling disposed to indulge the sad thoughts which filled his mind. he sat down on the bulwarks, close to the main shrouds, and gazed back at the town as it became gradually less and less visible in the faint light of morning. then he began to ponder his unfortunate circumstances, and tried to imagine how his uncle would set about clearing up his character and establishing his innocence; but, do what he would, ruby could not keep his mind fixed for any length of time on any subject or line of thought, because of a vision of sweetness which it is useless to attempt to describe, and which was always accompanied by, and surrounded with, a golden halo. at last the youth gave up the attempt to fix his thoughts, and allowed them to wander as they chose, seeing that they were resolved to do so whether he would or no. the moment these thoughts had the reins flung on their necks, and were allowed to go where they pleased, they refused, owing to some unaccountable species of perversity, to wander at all, but at once settled themselves comfortably down beside the vision with golden hair, and remained there. this agreeable state of things was rudely broken in upon by the hoarse voice of the mate shouting-- "stand by to let go the anchor." then ruby sprang on the deck and shook himself like a great mastiff, and resolved to devote himself, heart and soul, from that moment, to the work in which he was about to engage. the scene that presented itself to our hero when he woke up from his dreams would have interested and excited a much less enthusiastic temperament than his. the breeze had died away altogether, just as if, having wafted the _smeaton_ to her anchorage, there were no further occasion for its services. the sea was therefore quite calm, and as there had only been light westerly winds for some time past, there was little or none of the swell that usually undulates the sea. one result of this was, that, being high water when the _smeaton_ arrived, there was no sign whatever of the presence of the famous bell rock. it lay sleeping nearly two fathoms below the sea, like a grim giant in repose, and not a ripple was there to tell of the presence of the mariner's enemy. the sun was rising, and its slanting beams fell on the hulls of the vessels engaged in the service, which lay at anchor at a short distance from each other. these vessels, as we have said, were four in number, including the _smeaton_. the others were the _sir joseph banks_, a small schooner-rigged vessel; the _patriot_, a little sloop; and the _pharos_ lightship, a large clumsy-looking dutch-built ship, fitted with three masts, at the top of which were the lanterns. it was intended that this vessel should do duty as a lightship until the lighthouse should be completed. besides these there were two large boats, used for landing stones and building materials on the rock. these vessels lay floating almost motionless on the calm sea, and at first there was scarcely any noise aboard of them to indicate that they were tenanted by human beings, but when the sound of the _smeaton's_ cable was heard there was a bustle aboard of each, and soon faces were seen looking inquisitively over the sides of the ships. the _smeaton's_ boat was lowered after the anchor was let go, and the new hands were transferred to the _pharos_, which was destined to be their home for some time to come. just as they reached her the bell rang for breakfast, and when ruby stepped upon the deck he found himself involved in all the bustle that ensues when men break off from work and make preparation for the morning meal. there were upwards of thirty artificers on board the lightship at this time. some of these, as they hurried to and fro, gave the new arrivals a hearty greeting, and asked, "what news from the shore?" others were apparently too much taken up with their own affairs to take notice of them. while ruby was observing the busy scene with absorbing interest, and utterly forgetful of the fact that he was in any way connected with it, an elderly gentleman, whose kind countenance and hearty manner gave indication of a genial spirit within, came up and accosted him: "you are our assistant blacksmith, i believe?" "yes, sir, i am," replied ruby, doffing his cap, as if he felt instinctively that he was in the presence of someone of note. "you have had considerable practice, i suppose, in your trade?" "a good deal, sir, but not much latterly, for i have been at sea for some time." "at sea? well, that won't be against you here," returned the gentleman, with a meaning smile. "it would be well if some of my men were a little more accustomed to the sea, for they suffer much from sea-sickness. you can go below, my man, and get breakfast. you'll find your future messmate busy at his, i doubt not. here, steward," (turning to one of the men who chanced to pass at the moment,) "take ruby brand--that is your name, i think?" "it is, sir." "take brand below, and introduce him to james dove as his assistant." the steward escorted ruby down the ladder that conducted to those dark and littered depths of the ship's hull that were assigned to the artificers as their place of abode. but amidst a good deal of unavoidable confusion, ruby's practised eye discerned order and arrangement everywhere. "this is your messmate, jamie dove," said the steward, pointing to a massive dark man, whose outward appearance was in keeping with his position as the vulcan of such an undertaking as he was then engaged in. "you'll find him not a bad feller if you only don't cross him." he added, with a wink, "his only fault is that he's given to spoilin' good victuals, being raither floored by sea-sickness if it comes on to blow ever so little." "hold your clapper, lad," said the smith, who was at the moment busily engaged with a mess of salt pork, and potatoes to match. "who's your friend?" "no friend of mine, though i hope he'll be one soon," answered the steward. "mr stevenson told me to introduce him to you as your assistant." the smith looked up quickly, and scanned our hero with some interest; then, extending his great hard hand across the table, he said, "welcome, messmate; sit down, i've only just begun." ruby grasped the hand with his own, which, if not so large, was quite as powerful, and shook the smith's right arm in a way that called forth from that rough-looking individual a smile of approbation. "you've not had breakfast, lad?" "no, not yet," said ruby, sitting down opposite his comrade. "an' the smell here don't upset your stummick, i hope?" the smith said this rather anxiously. "not in the least," said ruby with a laugh, and beginning to eat in a way that proved the truth of his words; "for the matter o' that, there's little smell and no motion just now." "well, there isn't much," replied the smith, "but, woe's me! you'll get enough of it before long. all the new landsmen like you suffer horribly from sea-sickness when they first come off." "but i'm not a landsman," said ruby. "not a landsman!" echoed the other. "you're a blacksmith, aren't you?" "ay, but not a landsman. i learned the trade as a boy and lad; but i've been at sea for some time past." "then you won't get sick when it blows?" "certainly not; will _you_?" the smith groaned and shook his head, by which answer he evidently meant to assure his friend that he would, most emphatically. "but come, it's of no use groanin' over what can't be helped. i get as sick as a dog every time the wind rises, and the worst of it is i don't never seem to improve. howsever, i'm all right when i get on the rock, and that's the main thing." ruby and his friend now entered upon a long and earnest conversation as to their peculiar duties at the bell rock, with which we will not trouble the reader. after breakfast they went on deck, and here ruby had sufficient to occupy his attention and to amuse him for some hours. as the tide that day did not fall low enough to admit of landing on the rock till noon, the men were allowed to spend the time as they pleased. some therefore took to fishing, others to reading, while a few employed themselves in drying their clothes, which had got wet the previous day, and one or two entertained themselves and their comrades with the music of the violin and flute. all were busy with one thing or another, until the rock began to show its black crest above the smooth sea. then a bell was rung to summon the artificers to land. this being the signal for ruby to commence work, he joined his friend dove, and assisted him to lower the bellows of the forge into the boat. the men were soon in their places, with their various tools, and the boats pushed off--mr stevenson, the engineer of the building, steering one boat, and the master of the _pharos_, who was also appointed to the post of landing-master, steering the other. they landed with ease on this occasion on the western side of the rock, and then each man addressed himself to his special duty with energy. the time during which they could work being short, they had to make the most of it. "now, lad," said the smith, "bring along the bellows and follow me. mind yer footin', for it's slippery walkin' on them tangle-covered rocks. i've seen some ugly falls here already." "have any bones been broken yet?" enquired ruby, as he shouldered the large pair of bellows, and followed the smith cautiously over the rocks. "not yet; but there's been an awful lot o' pipes smashed. if it goes on as it has been, we'll have to take to metal ones. here we are, ruby, this is the forge, and i'll be bound you never worked at such a queer one before. hallo! bremner!" he shouted to one of the men. "that's me," answered bremner. "bring your irons as soon as you like! i'm about ready for you." "ay, ay, here they are," said the man, advancing with an armful of picks, chisels, and other tools, which required sharpening. he slipped and fell as he spoke, sending all the tools into the bottom of a pool of water; but, being used to such mishaps, he arose, joined in the laugh raised against him, and soon fished up the tools. "what's wrong!" asked ruby, pausing in the work of fixing the bellows, on observing that the smith's face grew pale, and his general expression became one of horror. "not sea-sick, i hope?" "sea-sick," gasped the smith, slapping all his pockets hurriedly, "it's worse than that; i've forgot the matches!" ruby looked perplexed, but had no consolation to offer. "that's like you," cried bremner, who, being one of the principal masons, had to attend chiefly to the digging out of the foundation-pit of the building, and knew that his tools could not be sharpened unless the forge fire could be lighted. "suppose you hammer a nail red-hot," suggested one of the men, who was disposed to make game of the smith. "i'll hammer your nose red-hot," replied dove, with a most undovelike scowl, "i could swear that i put them matches in my pocket before i started." "no, you didn't," said george forsyth, one of the carpenters--a tall loose-jointed man, who was chiefly noted for his dislike to getting into and out of boats, and climbing up the sides of ships, because of his lengthy and unwieldy figure--"no, you didn't, you turtle-dove, you forgot to take them; but i remembered to do it for you; so there, get up your fire, and confess yourself indebted to me for life." "i'm indebted to 'ee for fire," said the smith, grasping the matches eagerly. "thank'ee, lad, you're a true briton." "a tall 'un, rather," suggested bremner. "wot never, never, never will be a slave," sang another of the men. "come, laddies, git up the fire. time an' tide waits for naebody," said john watt, one of the quarriers. "we'll want thae tools before lang." the men were proceeding with their work actively while those remarks were passing, and ere long the smoke of the forge fire arose in the still air, and the clang of the anvil was added to the other noises with which the busy spot resounded. the foundation of the bell rock lighthouse had been carefully selected by mr stevenson; the exact spot being chosen not only with a view to elevation, but to the serrated ridges of rock, that might afford some protection to the building, by breaking the force of the easterly seas before they should reach it; but as the space available for the purpose of building was scarcely fifty yards in diameter, there was not much choice in the matter. the foundation-pit was forty-two feet in diameter, and sunk five feet into the solid rock. at the time when ruby landed, it was being hewn out by a large party of the men. others were boring holes in the rock near to it, for the purpose of fixing the great beams of a beacon, while others were cutting away the seaweed from the rock, and making preparations for the laying down of temporary rails to facilitate the conveying of the heavy stones from the boats to their ultimate destination. all were busy as bees. each man appeared to work as if for a wager, or to find out how much he could do within a given space of time. to the men on the rock itself the aspect of the spot was sufficiently striking and peculiar, but to those who viewed it from a boat at a short distance off it was singularly interesting, for the whole scene of operations appeared like a small black spot, scarcely above the level of the waves, on which a crowd of living creatures were moving about with great and incessant activity, while all around and beyond lay the mighty sea, sleeping in the grand tranquillity of a calm summer day, with nothing to bound it but the blue sky, save to the northward, where the distant cliffs of forfar rested like a faint cloud on the horizon. the sounds, too, which on the rock itself were harsh and loud and varied, came over the water to the distant observer in a united tone, which sounded almost as sweet as soft music. the smith's forge stood on a ledge of rock close to the foundation-pit, a little to the north of it. here vulcan dove had fixed a strong iron framework, which formed the hearth. the four legs which supported it were let into holes bored from six to twelve inches into the rock, according to the inequalities of the site. these were wedged first with wood and then with iron, for as this part of the forge and the anvil was doomed to be drowned every tide, or twice every day, besides being exposed to the fury of all the storms that might chance to blow, it behoved them to fix things down with unusual firmness. the block of timber for supporting the anvil was fixed in the same manner, but the anvil itself was left to depend on its own weight and the small stud fitted into the bottom of it. the bellows, however, were too delicate to be left exposed to such forces as the stormy winds and waves, they were therefore shipped and unshipped every tide, and conveyed to and from the rock in the boats with the men. dove and ruby wrought together like heroes. they were both so powerful that the heavy implements they wielded seemed to possess no weight when in their strong hands, and their bodies were so lithe and active as to give the impression of men rejoicing, revelling, in the enjoyment of their work. "that's your sort; hit him hard, he's got no friends," said dove, turning a mass of red-hot metal from side to side, while ruby pounded it with a mighty hammer, as if it were a piece of putty. "fire and steel for ever," observed ruby, as he made the sparks fly right and left. "hallo! the tide's rising." "ho! so it is," cried the smith, finishing off the piece of work with a small hammer, while ruby rested on the one he had used and wiped the perspiration from his brow. "it always serves me in this way, lad," continued the smith, without pausing for a moment in his work. "blow away, ruby, the sea is my greatest enemy. every day, a'most, it washes me away from my work. in calm weather, it creeps up my legs, and the legs o' the forge too, till it gradually puts out the fire, and in rough weather it sends up a wave sometimes that sweeps the whole concern black out at one shot." "it will _creep_ you out to-day, evidently," said ruby, as the water began to come about his toes. "never mind, lad, we'll have time to finish them picks this tide, if we work fast." thus they toiled and moiled, with their heads and shoulders in smoke and fire, and their feet in water. gradually the tide rose. "pump away, ruby! keep the pot bilin', my boy," said the smith. "the wind blowin', you mean. i say, dove, do the other men like the work here?" "like it, ay, they like it well. at fist we were somewhat afraid o' the landin' in rough weather, but we've got used to that now. the only bad thing about it is in the rolling o' that horrible _pharos_. she's so bad in a gale that i sometimes think she'll roll right over like a cask. most of us get sick then, but i don't think any of 'em are as bad as me. they seem to be gettin' used to that too. i wish i could. another blow, ruby." "time's up," shouted one of the men. "hold on just for a minute or two," pleaded the smith, who, with his assistant, was by this time standing nearly knee-deep in water. the sea had filled the pit some time before, and driven the men out of it. these busied themselves in collecting the tools and seeing that nothing was left lying about, while the men who were engaged on those parts of the rocks that were a few inches higher, continued their labours until the water crept up to them. then they collected their tools, and went to the boats, which lay awaiting them at the western landing-place. "now, dove," cried the landing-master, "come along; the crabs will be attacking your toes if you don't." "it's a shame to gi'e ruby the chance o' a sair throat the very first day," cried john watt. "just half a minute more," said the smith, examining a pickaxe, which he was getting up to that delicate point of heat which is requisite to give it proper temper. while he gazed earnestly into the glowing coals a gentle hissing sound was heard below the frame of the forge, then a gurgle, and the fire became suddenly dark and went out! "i knowed it! always the way!" cried dove, with a look of disappointment. "come, lad, up with the bellows now, and don't forget the tongs." in a few minutes more the boats pushed off and returned to the _pharos_, three and a half hours of good work having been accomplished before the tide drove them away. soon afterwards the sea overflowed the whole of the rock, and obliterated the scene of those busy operations as completely as though it had never been! chapter nine. storms and troubles. a week of fine weather caused ruby brand to fall as deeply in love with the work at the bell rock as his comrades had done. there was an amount of vigour and excitement about it, with a dash of romance, which quite harmonised with his character. at first he had imagined it would be monotonous and dull, but in experience he found it to be quite the reverse. although there was uniformity in the general character of the work, there was constant variety in many of the details; and the spot on which it was carried on was so circumscribed, and so utterly cut off from all the world, that the minds of those employed became concentrated on it in a way that aroused strong interest in every trifling object. there was not a ledge or a point of rock that rose ever so little above the general level, that was not named after, and intimately associated with, some event or individual. every mass of seaweed became a familiar object. the various little pools and inlets, many of them not larger than a dining-room table, received high-sounding and dignified names-- such as _port stevenson, port erskine, taylor's track, neill's pool_, etcetera. of course the fish that frequented the pools, and the shell-fish that covered the rock, became subjects of much attention, and, in some cases, of earnest study. robinson crusoe himself did not pry into the secrets of his island-home with half the amount of assiduity that was displayed at this time by many of the men who built the bell rock lighthouse. the very fact that their time was limited acted as a spur, so that on landing each tide they rushed hastily to the work, and the amateur studies in natural history to which we have referred were prosecuted hurriedly during brief intervals of rest. afterwards, when the beacon house was erected, and the men dwelt upon the rock, these studies (if we may not call them amusements) were continued more leisurely, but with unabated ardour, and furnished no small amount of comparatively thrilling incident at times. one fine morning, just after the men had landed, and before they had commenced work, "long forsyth", as his comrades styled him, went to a pool to gather a little dulse, of which there was a great deal on the rock, and which was found to be exceedingly grateful to the palates of those who were afflicted with sea-sickness. he stooped over the pool to pluck a morsel, but paused on observing a beautiful fish, about a foot long, swimming in the clear water, as quietly as if it knew the man to be a friend, and were not in the least degree afraid of him. forsyth was an excitable man, and also studious in his character. he at once became agitated and desirous of possessing that fish, for it was extremely brilliant and variegated in colour. he looked round for something to throw at it, but there was nothing within reach. he sighed for a hook and line, but as sighs never yet produced hooks or lines he did not get one. just then the fish swam slowly to the side of the pool on which the man kneeled, as if it actually desired more intimate acquaintance. forsyth lay flat down and reached out his hand toward it; but it appeared to think this rather too familiar, for it swam slowly beyond his reach, and the man drew back. again it came to the side, much nearer. once more forsyth lay down, reaching over the pool as far as he could, and insinuating his hand into the water. but the fish moved off a little. thus they coquetted with each other for some time, until the man's comrades began to observe that he was "after something." "wot's he a-doin' of?" said one. "reachin' over the pool, i think," replied another. "ye don't mean he's sick?" cried a third. the smile with which this was received was changed into a roar of laughter as poor forsyth's long legs were seen to tip up into the air, and the whole man to disappear beneath the water. he had overbalanced himself in his frantic efforts to reach the fish, and was now making its acquaintance in its native element! the pool, although small in extent, was so deep that forsyth, long though he was, did not find bottom. moreover, he could not swim, so that when he reached the surface he came up with his hands first and his ten fingers spread out helplessly; next appeared his shaggy head, with the eyes wide open, and the mouth tight shut. the moment the latter was uncovered, however, he uttered a tremendous yell, which was choked in the bud with a gurgle as he sank again. the men rushed to the rescue at once, and the next time forsyth rose he was seized by the hair of the head and dragged out of the pool. it has not been recorded what became of the fish that caused such an alarming accident, but we may reasonably conclude that it sought refuge in the ocean cavelets at the bottom of that miniature sea, for long forsyth was so very large, and created such a terrible disturbance therein, that no fish exposed to the full violence of the storm could have survived it! "wot a hobject!" exclaimed joe dumsby, a short, thickset, little englishman, who, having been born and partly bred in london, was rather addicted to what is styled chaffing. "was you arter a mermaid, shipmate?" "av coorse he was," observed ned o'connor, an irishman, who was afflicted with the belief that he was rather a witty fellow, "av coorse he was, an' a merry-maid she must have bin to see a human spider like him kickin' up such a dust in the say." "he's like a drooned rotten," observed john watt; "tak' aff yer claes, man, an' wring them dry." "let the poor fellow be, and get along with you," cried peter logan, the foreman of the works, who came up at that moment. with a few parting remarks and cautions, such as,--"you'd better bring a dry suit to the rock next time, lad," "take care the crabs don't make off with you, boy," "and don't be gettin' too fond o' the girls in the sea," etcetera, the men scattered themselves over the rock and began their work in earnest, while forsyth, who took the chaffing in good part, stripped himself and wrung the water out of his garments. episodes of this kind were not unfrequent, and they usually furnished food for conversation at the time, and for frequent allusion afterwards. but it was not all sunshine and play, by any means. not long after ruby joined, the fine weather broke up, and a succession of stiff breezes, with occasional storms, more or lees violent, set in. landing on the rock became a matter of extreme difficulty, and the short period of work was often curtailed to little more than an hour each tide. the rolling of the _pharos_ lightship, too, became so great that sea-sickness prevailed to a large extent among the landsmen. one good arose out of this evil, however. landing on the bell rock invariably cured the sickness for a time, and the sea-sick men had such an intense longing to eat of the dulse that grew there, that they were always ready and anxious to get into the boats when there was the slightest possibility of landing. getting into the boats, by the way, in a heavy sea, when the lightship was rolling violently, was no easy matter. when the fine weather first broke up, it happened about midnight, and the change commenced with a stiff breeze from the eastward. the sea rose at once, and, long before daybreak, the _pharos_ was rolling heavily in the swell, and straining violently at the strong cable which held her to her moorings. about dawn mr stevenson came on deck. he could not sleep, because he felt that on his shoulders rested not only the responsibility of carrying this gigantic work to a satisfactory conclusion, but also, to a large extent, the responsibility of watching over and guarding the lives of the people employed in the service. "shall we be able to land to-day, mr wilson?" he said, accosting the master of the _pharos_, who has been already introduced as the landing-master. "i think so; the barometer has not fallen much; and even although the wind should increase a little, we can effect a landing by the fair way, at hope's wharf." "very well, i leave it entirely in your hands; you understand the weather better than i do, but remember that i do not wish my men to run unnecessary or foolish risk." it may be as well to mention here that a small but exceedingly strong tramway of iron-grating had been fixed to the bell rock at an elevation varying from two to four feet above it, and encircling the site of the building. this tramway or railroad was narrow, not quite three feet in width; and small trucks were fitted to it, so that the heavy stones of the building might be easily run to the exact spot they were to occupy. from this circular rail several branch lines extended to the different creeks where the boats deposited the stones. these lines, although only a few yards in length, were dignified with names--as, _kennedy's reach, logan's reach, watt's reach_, and _slight's reach_. the ends of them, where they dipped into the sea, were named _hope's wharf, duff's wharf, rae's wharf_, etcetera; and these wharves had been fixed on different sides of the rock, so that, whatever wind should blow, there would always be one of them on the lee-side available for the carrying on of the work. _hope's wharf_ was connected with _port erskine_, a pool about twenty yards long by three or four wide, and communicated with the side of the lighthouse by _watt's reach_, a distance of about thirty yards. about eight o'clock that morning the bell rang for breakfast. such of the men as were not already up began to get out of their berths and hammocks. to ruby the scene that followed was very amusing. hitherto all had been calm and sunshine. the work, although severe while they were engaged, had been of short duration, and the greater part of each day had been afterwards spent in light work, or in amusement. the summons to meals had always been a joyful one, and the appetites of the men were keenly set. now, all this was changed. the ruddy faces of the men were become green, blue, yellow, and purple, according to temperament, but few were flesh-coloured or red. when the bell rang there was a universal groan below, and half a dozen ghostlike individuals raised themselves on their elbows and looked up with expressions of the deepest woe at the dim skylight. most of them speedily fell back again, however, partly owing to a heavy lurch of the vessel, and partly owing to indescribable sensations within. "blowin'!" groaned one, as if that single word comprehended the essence of all the miseries that seafaring man is heir to. "o dear!" sighed another, "why did i ever come here?" "och! murder, i'm dyin', send for the praist an' me mother!" cried o'connor, as he fell flat down on his back and pressed both hands tightly over his mouth. the poor blacksmith lost control over himself at this point and--found partial relief! the act tended to relieve others. most of the men were much too miserable to make any remark at all, a few of them had not heart even to groan; but five or six sat up on the edge of their beds, with a weak intention of turning out. they sat there swaying about with the motions of the ship in helpless indecision, until a tremendous roll sent them flying, with unexpected violence, against the starboard bulkheads. "come, lads," cried ruby, leaping out of his hammock, "there's nothing like a vigorous jump to put sea-sickness to flight." "humbug!" ejaculated bremner, who owned a little black dog, which lay at that time on the pillow gazing into his master's green face, with wondering sympathy. "ah, ruby," groaned the smith, "it's all very well for a sea-dog like you that's used to it, but--" james dove stopped short abruptly. it is not necessary to explain the cause of his abrupt silence. suffice it to say that he did not thereafter attempt to finish that sentence. "steward!" roared joe dumsby. "ay, ay, shipmate, what's up?" cried the steward, who chanced to pass the door of the men's sleeping-place, with a large dish of boiled salt pork, at the moment. "wot's up?" echoed dumsby. "everythink that ever went into me since i was a hinfant must be `up' by this time. i say, is there any chance of gettin' on the rock to-day?" "o yes. i heard the cap'n say it would be quite easy, and they seem to be makin' ready now, so if any of 'ee want breakfast you'd better turn out." this speech acted like a shock of electricity on the wretched men. in a moment every bed was empty, and the place was in a bustle of confusion as they hurriedly threw on their clothes. some of them even began to think of the possibility of venturing on a hard biscuit and a cup of tea, but a gust of wind sent the fumes of the salt pork into the cabin at the moment, and the mere idea of food filled them with unutterable loathing. presently the bell rang again. this was the signal for the men to muster, the boats being ready alongside. the whole crew at once rushed on deck, some of them thrusting biscuits into their pockets as they passed the steward's quarters. not a man was absent on the roll being called. even the smith crawled on deck, and had spirit enough left to advise ruby not to forget the bellows; to which ruby replied by recommending his comrade not to forget the matches. then the operation of embarking began. the sea at the time was running pretty high, with little white flecks of foam tipping the crests of the deep blue waves. the eastern sky was dark and threatening. the black ridges of the bell rock were visible only at times in the midst of the sea of foam that surrounded them. anyone ignorant of their nature would have deemed a landing absolutely impossible. the _pharos_, as we have said, was rolling violently from side to side, insomuch that those who were in the boats had the greatest difficulty in preventing them from being stove in; and getting into these boats had much the appearance of an exceedingly difficult and dangerous feat, which active and reckless men might undertake for a wager. but custom reconciles one to almost anything. most of the men had had sufficient experience by that time to embark with comparative ease. nevertheless, there were a few whose physical conformation was such that they could do nothing neatly. poor forsyth was one of these. each man had to stand on the edge of the lightship, outside the bulwarks, holding on to a rope, ready to let go and drop into the boat when it rose up and met the vessel's roll. in order to facilitate the operation a boat went to either side of the ship, so that two men were always in the act of watching for an opportunity to spring. the active men usually got in at the first or second attempt, but others missed frequently, and were of course "chaffed" by their more fortunate comrades. the embarking of "long forsyth" was always a scene in rough weather, and many a narrow escape had he of a ducking. on the present occasion, being very sick, he was more awkward than usual. "now, longlegs," cried the men who held the boat on the starboard side, as forsyth got over the side and stood ready to spring, "let's see how good you'll be to-day." he was observed by joe dumsby, who had just succeeded in getting into the boat on the port side of the ship, and who always took a lively interest in his tall comrade's proceedings. "hallo! is that the spider?" he cried, as the ship rolled towards him, and the said spider appeared towering high on the opposite bulwark, sharply depicted against the grey sky. it was unfortunate for joe that he chanced to be on the opposite side from his friend, for at each roll the vessel necessarily intervened and hid him for a few seconds from view. next roll, forsyth did not dare to leap, although the gunwale of the boat came within a foot of him. he hesitated, the moment was lost, the boat sank into the hollow of the sea, and the man was swung high into the air, where he was again caught sight of by dumsby. "what! are you there yet?" he cried. "you must be fond of a swing--" before he could say more the ship rolled over to the other side, and forsyth was hid from view. "now, lad, now! now!" shouted the boat's crew, as the unhappy man once more neared the gunwale. forsyth hesitated. suddenly he became desperate and sprang, but the hesitation gave him a much higher fall than he would otherwise have had; it caused him also to leap wildly in a sprawling manner, so that he came down on the shoulders of his comrades "all of a lump". fortunately they were prepared for something of the sort, so that no damage was done. when the boats were at last filled they pushed off and rowed towards the rock. on approaching it the men were cautioned to pull steadily by mr stevenson, who steered the leading boat. it was a standing order in the landing department that every man should use his greatest exertions in giving to the boats sufficient velocity to preserve their steerage way in entering the respective creeks at the rock, that the contending seas might not overpower them at places where the free use of the oars could not be had on account of the surrounding rocks or the masses of seaweed with which the water was everywhere encumbered at low tide. this order had been thoroughly impressed upon the men, as carelessness or inattention to it might have proved fatal to all on board. as the leading boat entered the fairway, its steersman saw that more than ordinary caution would be necessary; for the great green billows that thundered to windward of the rock came sweeping down on either side of it, and met on the lee-side, where they swept onward with considerable, though much abated force. "mind your oars, lads; pull steady," said mr stevenson, as they began to get amongst the seaweed. the caution was unnecessary as far as the old hands were concerned; but two of the men happened to be new hands, who had come off with ruby, and did not fully appreciate the necessity of strict obedience. one of these, sitting at the bow-oar, looked over his shoulder, and saw a heavy sea rolling towards the boat, and inadvertently expressed some fear. the other man, on hearing this, glanced round, and in doing so missed a stroke of his oar. such a preponderance was thus given to the rowers on the opposite side, that when the wave struck the boat, it caught her on the side instead of the bow, and hurled her upon a ledge of shelving rocks, where the water left her. having been _canted_ to seaward, the next billow completely filled her, and, of course, drenched the crew. instantly ruby brand and one or two of the most active men leaped out, and, putting forth all their strength, turned the boat round so as to meet the succeeding sea with its bow first. then, after making considerable efforts, they pushed her off into deep water, and finally made the landing-place. the other boat could render no assistance; but, indeed, the whole thing was the work of a few minutes. as the boats could not conveniently leave the rock till flood-tide, all hands set to work with unwonted energy in order to keep themselves warm, not, however, before they ate heartily of their favourite dulse--the blacksmith being conspicuous for the voracious manner in which he devoured it. soon the bellows were set up; the fire was kindled, and the ring of the anvil heard; but poor dove and ruby had little pleasure in their work that day; for the wind blew the smoke and sparks about their faces, and occasionally a higher wave than ordinary sent the spray flying round them, to the detriment of their fire. nevertheless they plied the hammer and bellows unceasingly. the other men went about their work with similar disregard of the fury of the elements and the wet condition of their garments. chapter ten. the rising of the tide--a narrow escape. the portion of the work that mr stevenson was now most anxious to get advanced was the beacon. the necessity of having an erection of this kind was very obvious, for, in the event of anything happening to the boats, there would be no refuge for the men to fly to; and the tide would probably sweep them all away before their danger could be known, or assistance sent from the attendant vessels. every man felt that his personal safety might depend on the beacon during some period of the work. the energies of all, therefore, were turned to the preliminary arrangements for its erection. as the beacon would require to withstand the utmost fury of the elements during all seasons of the year, it was necessary that it should be possessed of immense strength. in order to do this, six cuttings were made in the rock for the reception of the ends of the six great beams of the beacon. each beam was to be fixed to the solid rock by two strong and massive bats, or stanchions, of iron. these bats, for the fixing of the principal and diagonal beams and bracing-chains, required fifty-four holes, each measuring a foot and a half deep, and two inches wide. the operation of boring such holes into the solid rock, was not an easy or a quick one, but by admirable arrangements on the part of the engineer, and steady perseverance on the part of the men, they progressed faster than had been anticipated. three men were attached to each jumper, or boring chisel; one placed himself in a sitting posture, to guide the instrument, and give it a turn at each blow of the hammer; he also sponged and cleaned out the hole, and supplied it occasionally with a little water, while the other two, with hammers of sixteen pounds weight, struck the jumper alternately, generally bringing the hammer with a swing round the shoulder, after the manner of blacksmith work. ruby, we may remark in passing, occupied himself at this work as often as he could get away from his duties at the forge, being particularly fond of it, as it enabled him to get rid of some of his superabundant energy, and afforded him a suitable exercise for his gigantic strength. it also tended to relieve his feelings when he happened to think of minnie being so near, and he so utterly and hopelessly cut off from all communication with her. but to return to the bat-holes. the three men relieved each other in the operations of wielding the hammers and guiding the jumpers, so that the work never flagged for a moment, and it was found that when the tools were of a very good temper, these holes could be sunk at the rate of one inch per minute, including stoppages. but the tools were not always of good temper; and severely was poor dove's temper tried by the frequency of the scolds which he received from the men, some of whom were clumsy enough, dove said, to spoil the best tempered tool in the world. but the most tedious part of the operation did not lie in the boring of these holes. in order that they should be of the required shape, two holes had to be bored a few inches apart from each other, and the rock cut away from between them. it was this latter part of the work that took up most time. those of the men who were not employed about the beacon were working at the foundation-pit. while the party were thus busily occupied on the bell rock, an event occurred which rendered the importance of the beacon, if possible, more obvious than ever, and which well-nigh put an end to the career of all those who were engaged on the rock at that time. the _pharos_ floating light lay at a distance of above two miles from the bell rock; but one of the smaller vessels, the sloop _smeaton_, lay much closer to it, and some of the artificers were berthed aboard of her, instead of the floating light. some time after the landing of the two boats from the _pharos_, the _smeaton's_ boat put off and landed eight men on the rock; soon after which the crew of the boat pushed off and returned to the _smeaton_ to examine her riding-ropes, and see that they were in good order, for the wind was beginning to increase, and the sea to rise. the boat had no sooner reached the vessel than the latter began to drift, carrying the boat along with her. instantly those on board endeavoured to hoist the mainsail of the _smeaton_, with the view of working her up to the buoy from which she had parted; but it blew so hard, that by the time she was got round to make a tack towards the rock, she had drifted at least three miles to leeward. the circumstance of the _smeaton_ and her boat having drifted was observed first by mr stevenson, who prudently refrained from drawing attention to the fact, and walked slowly to the farther point of the rock to watch her. he was quickly followed by the landing-master, who touched him on the shoulder, and in perfect silence, but with a look of intense anxiety, pointed to the vessel. "i see it, wilson. god help us if she fails to make the rock within a very short time," said mr stevenson. "she will _never_ reach us in time," said wilson, in a tone that convinced his companion he entertained no hope. "perhaps she may," he said hurriedly; "she is a good sailer." "good sailing," replied the other, "cannot avail against wind and tide together. no human power can bring that vessel to our aid until long after the tide has covered the bell rock." both remained silent for some time, watching with intense anxiety the ineffectual efforts of the little vessel to beat up to windward. in a few minutes the engineer turned to his companion and said, "they cannot save us, wilson. the two boats that are left--can they hold us all?" the landing-master shook his head. "the two boats," said he, "will be completely filled by their own crews. for ordinary rough weather they would be quite full enough. in a sea like that," he said, pointing to the angry waves that were being gradually lashed into foam by the increasing wind, "they will be overloaded." "come, i don't know that, wilson; we may devise something," said mr stevenson, with a forced air of confidence, as he moved slowly towards the place where the men were still working, busy as bees and all unconscious of the perilous circumstances in which they were placed. as the engineer pondered the prospect of deliverance, his thoughts led him rather to despair than to hope. there were thirty-two persons in all upon the rock that day, with only two boats, which, even in good weather, could not unitedly accommodate more than twenty-four sitters. but to row to the floating light with so much wind and in so heavy a sea, a complement of eight men for each boat was as much as could with propriety be attempted, so that about half of their number was thus unprovided for. under these circumstances he felt that to despatch one of the boats in expectation of either working the _smeaton_ sooner up to the rock, or in hopes of getting her boat brought to their assistance would, besides being useless, at once alarm the workmen, each of whom would probably insist upon taking to his own boat, and leaving the eight men of the _smeaton_ to their chance. a scuffle might ensue, and he knew well that when men are contending for life the results may be very disastrous. for a considerable time the men remained in ignorance of the terrible conflict that was going on in their commander's breast. as they wrought chiefly in sitting or kneeling postures, excavating the rock or boring with jumpers, their attention was naturally diverted from everything else around them. the dense volumes of smoke, too, that rose from the forge fire, so enveloped them as to render distant objects dim or altogether invisible. while this lasted,--while the numerous hammers were going and the anvil continued to sound, the situation of things did not appear so awful to the only two who were aware of what had occurred. but ere long the tide began to rise upon those who were at work on the lower parts of the beacon and lighthouse. from the run of the sea upon the rock, the forge fire was extinguished sooner than usual; the volumes of smoke cleared away, and objects became visible in every direction. after having had about three hours' work, the men began pretty generally to make towards their respective boats for their jackets and socks. then it was that they made the discovery that one boat was absent. only a few exclamations were uttered. a glance at the two boats and a hurried gaze to seaward were sufficient to acquaint them with their awful position. not a word was spoken by anyone. all appeared to be silently calculating their numbers, and looking at each other with evident marks of perplexity depicted in their countenances. the landing-master, conceiving that blame might attach to him for having allowed the boat to leave the rock, kept a little apart from the men. all eyes were turned, as if by instinct, to mr stevenson. the men seemed to feel that the issue lay with him. the engineer was standing on an elevated part of the rock named smith's ledge, gazing in deep anxiety at the distant _smeaton_, in the hope that he might observe some effort being made, at least, to pull the boat to their rescue. slowly but surely the tide rose, overwhelming the lower parts of the rock; sending each successive wave nearer and nearer to the feet of those who were now crowded on the last ledge that could afford them standing-room. the deep silence that prevailed was awful! it proved that each mind saw clearly the impossibility of anything being devised, and that a deadly struggle for precedence was inevitable. mr stevenson had all along been rapidly turning over in his mind various schemes which might be put in practice for the general safety, provided the men could be kept under command. he accordingly turned to address them on the perilous nature of their circumstances; intending to propose that all hands should strip off their upper clothing when the higher parts of the rock should be laid under water; that the seamen should remove every unnecessary weight and encumbrance from the boats; that a specified number of men should go into each boat; and that the remainder should hang by the gunwales, while the boats were to be rowed gently towards the _smeaton_, as the course to the floating light lay rather to windward of the rock. but when he attempted to give utterance to his thoughts the words refused to come. so powerful an effect had the awful nature of their position upon him, that his parched tongue could not articulate. he learned, from terrible experience, that saliva is as necessary to speech as the tongue itself. stooping hastily, he dipped his hand into a pool of salt water and moistened his mouth. this produced immediate relief and he was about to speak, when ruby brand, who had stood at his elbow all the time with compressed lips and a stern frown on his brow, suddenly took off his cap, and waving it above his head, shouted "a boat! a boat!" with all the power of his lungs. all eyes were at once turned in the direction to which he pointed, and there, sure enough, a large boat was seen through the haze, making towards the rock. doubtless many a heart there swelled with gratitude to god, who had thus opportunely and most unexpectedly sent them relief at the eleventh hour; but the only sound that escaped them was a cheer, such as men seldom give or hear save in cases of deliverance in times of dire extremity. the boat belonged to james spink, the bell rock pilot, who chanced to have come off express from arbroath that day with letters. we have said that spink came off _by chance_; but, when we consider all the circumstances of the case, and the fact that boats seldom visited the bell rock at any time, and _never_ during bad weather, we are constrained to feel that god does in his mercy interfere sometimes in a peculiar and special manner in human affairs, and that there was something more and higher than mere chance in the deliverance of stevenson and his men upon this occasion. the pilot-boat, having taken on board as many as it could hold, set sail for the floating light; the other boats then put off from the rock with the rest of the men, but they did not reach the _pharos_ until after a long and weary pull of three hours, during which the waves broke over the boats so frequently as to necessitate constant baling. when the floating light was at last reached, a new difficulty met them, for the vessel rolled so much, and the men were so exhausted, that it proved to be a work of no little toil and danger to get them all on board. long forsyth, in particular, cost them all an infinite amount of labour, for he was so sick, poor fellow, that he could scarcely move. indeed, he did at one time beg them earnestly to drop him into the sea and be done with him altogether, a request with which they of course refused to comply. however, he was got up somehow, and the whole of them were comforted by a glass of rum and thereafter a cup of hot coffee. ruby had the good fortune to obtain the additional comfort of a letter from minnie, which, although it did not throw much light on the proceedings of captain ogilvy (for that sapient seaman's proceedings were usually involved in a species of obscurity which light could not penetrate), nevertheless assured him that something was being done in his behalf, and that, if he only kept quiet for a time, all would be well. the letter also assured him of the unalterable affection of the writer, an assurance which caused him to rejoice to such an extent that he became for a time perfectly regardless of all other sublunary things, and even came to look upon the bell rock as a species of paradise, watched over by the eye of an angel with golden hair, in which he could indulge his pleasant dreams to the utmost. that he had to indulge those dreams in the midst of storm and rain and smoke, surrounded by sea and seaweed, workmen and hammers, and forges and picks, and jumpers and seals, while his strong muscles and endurance were frequently tried to the uttermost, was a matter of no moment to ruby brand. all experience goes to prove that great joy will utterly overbear the adverse influence of physical troubles, especially if those troubles are without, and do not touch the seats of life within. minnie's love, expressed as it was in her own innocent, truthful, and straightforward way, rendered his body, big though it was, almost incapable of containing his soul. he pulled the oar, hammered the jumper, battered the anvil, tore at the bellows, and hewed the solid bell rock with a vehemence that aroused the admiration of his comrades, and induced jamie dove to pronounce him to be the best fellow the world ever produced. chapter eleven. a storm and a dismal state of things on board the pharos. from what has been said at the close of the last chapter, it will not surprise the reader to be told that the storm which blew during that night had no further effect on ruby brand than to toss his hair about, and cause a ruddier glow than usual to deepen the tone of his bronzed countenance. it was otherwise with many of his hapless comrades, a few of whom had also received letters that day, but whose pleasure was marred to some extent by the qualms within. being saturday, a glass of rum was served out in the evening, according to custom, and the men proceeded to hold what is known by the name of "saturday night at sea." this being a night that was usually much enjoyed on board, owing to the home memories that were recalled, and the familiar songs that were sung; owing, also, to the limited supply of grog, which might indeed cheer, but could not by any possibility inebriate, the men endeavoured to shake off their fatigue, and to forget, if possible, the rolling of the vessel. the first effort was not difficult, but the second was not easy. at first, however, the gale was not severe, so they fought against circumstances bravely for a time. "come, lads," cried the smith, in a species of serio-comic desperation, when they had all assembled below, "let's drink to sweethearts and wives." "hear, hear! bless their hearts! sweethearts and wives!" responded the men. "hip, hip!" the cheer that followed was a genuine one. "now for a song, boys," cried one of the men, "and i think the last arrivals are bound to sing first." "hear, hear! ruby, lad, you're in for it," said the smith, who sat near his assistant. "what shall i sing?" enquired ruby. "oh! let me see," said joe dumsby, assuming the air of one who endeavoured to recall something. "could you come beet'oven's symphony on b flat?" "ah! howld yer tongue, joe," cried o'connor, "sure the young man can only sing on the sharp kays; ain't he always sharpin' the tools, not to speak of his appetite?" "you've a blunt way of speaking yourself, friend," said dumsby, in a tone of reproof. "hallo! stop your jokes," cried the smith; "if you treat us to any more o' that sort o' thing we'll have ye dipped over the side, and hung up to dry at the end o' the mainyard. fire away, ruby, my tulip!" "ay, that's hit," said john watt. "gie us the girl ye left behind ye." ruby flushed suddenly, and turned towards the speaker with a look of surprise. "what's wrang, freend? hae ye never heard o' that sang?" enquired watt. "o yes, i forgot," said ruby, recovering himself in some confusion. "i know the song--i--i was thinking of something--of--" "the girl ye left behind ye, av coorse," put in o'connor, with a wink. "come, strike up!" cried the men. ruby at once obeyed, and sang the desired song with a sweet, full voice, that had the effect of moistening some of the eyes present. the song was received enthusiastically. "your health and song, lads" said robert selkirk, the principal builder, who came down the ladder and joined them at that moment. "thank you, now it's my call," said ruby. "i call upon ned o'connor for a song." "or a speech," cried forsyth. "a spaitch is it?" said o'connor, with a look of deep modesty. "sure, i never made a spaitch in me life, except when i axed mrs o'connor to marry me, an' i never finished that spaitch, for i only got the length of `och! darlint,' when she cut me short in the middle with `sure, you may have me, ned, and welcome!'" "shame, shame!" said dove, "to say that of your wife." "shame to yersilf," cried o'connor indignantly. "ain't i payin' the good woman a compliment, when i say that she had pity on me bashfulness, and came to me help when i was in difficulty?" "quite right, o'connor; but let's have a song if you won't speak." "would ye thank a cracked tay-kittle for a song?" said ned. "certainly not," replied peter logan, who was apt to take things too literally. "then don't ax _me_ for wan," said the irishman, "but i'll do this for ye, messmates: i'll read ye the last letter i got from the mistress, just to show ye that her price is beyond all calkerlation." a round of applause followed this offer, as ned drew forth a much-soiled letter from the breast pocket of his coat, and carefully unfolding it, spread it on his knee. "it begins," said o'connor, in a slightly hesitating tone, "with some expressions of a--a--raither endearin' charackter, that perhaps i may as well pass." "no, no," shouted the men, "let's have them all. out with them, paddy!" "well, well, av ye _will_ have them, here they be. "`galway. "`my own purty darlin' as has bin my most luved sin' the day we wos marrit, you'll be grieved to larn that the pig's gone to its long home.'" here o'connor paused to make some parenthetical remarks with which, indeed, he interlarded the whole letter. "the pig, you must know, lads, was an old sow as belonged to me wife's gran'-mother, an' besides bein' a sort o' pet o' the family, was an uncommon profitable crature. but to purceed. she goes on to say,--`we waked her' (that's the pig, boys) `yisterday, and buried her this mornin'. big rory, the baist, was for aitin' her, but i wouldn't hear of it; so she's at rest, an' so is old molly mallone. she wint away just two minutes be the clock before the pig, and wos buried the day afther. there's no more news as i knows of in the parish, except that your old flame mary got married to teddy o'rook, an' they've been fightin' tooth an' nail ever since, as i towld ye they would long ago. no man could live wid that woman. but the schoolmaster, good man, has let me off the cow. ye see, darlin', i towld him ye wos buildin' a palace in the say, to put ships in afther they wos wrecked on the coast of ameriky, so ye couldn't be expected to send home much money at prisint. an' he just said, "well, well, kathleen, you may just kaip the cow, and pay me whin ye can." so put that off yer mind, my swait ned. "`i'm sorry to hear the faries rowls so bad, though what the faries mains is more nor i can tell.' (i spelled the word quite krect, lads, but my poor mistress hain't got the best of eyesight.) `let me know in yer nixt, an' be sure to tell me if long forsyth has got the bitter o' say-sickness. i'm koorius about this, bekaise i've got a receipt for that same that's infallerable, as his riverence says. tell him, with my luv, to mix a spoonful o' pepper, an' two o' salt, an' wan o' mustard, an' a glass o' whisky in a taycup, with a sprinklin' o' ginger; fill it up with goat's milk, or ass's, av ye can't git goat's; bait it in a pan, an' drink it as hot as he can--hotter, if possible. i niver tried it meself, but they say it's a suverin' remidy; and if it don't do no good, it's not likely to do much harm, bein' but a waik mixture. me own belaif is, that the milk's a mistake, but i suppose the doctors know best. "`now, swaitest of men, i must stop, for neddy's just come in howlin' like a born turk for his tay; so no more at present from, yours till deth, kathleen o'connor.'" "has she any sisters?" enquired joe dumsby eagerly, as ned folded the letter and replaced it in his pocket. "six of 'em," replied ned; "every one purtier and better nor another." "is it a long way to galway?" continued joe. "not long; but it's a coorious thing that englishmen never come back from them parts whin they wance ventur' into them." joe was about to retort when the men called for another song. "come, jamie dove, let's have `rule, britannia.'" dove was by this time quite yellow in the face, and felt more inclined to go to bed than to sing; but he braced himself up, resolved to struggle manfully against the demon that oppressed him. it was in vain! poor dove had just reached that point in the chorus where britons stoutly affirm that they "never, never, never shall be slaves," when a tremendous roll of the vessel caused him to spring from the locker, on which he sat, and rush to his berth. there were several of the others whose self-restraint was demolished by this example; these likewise fled, amid the laughter of their companions, who broke up the meeting and went on deck. the prospect of things there proved, beyond all doubt, that britons never did, and never will, rule the waves. the storm, which had been brewing for some time past, was gathering fresh strength every moment, and it became abundantly evident that the floating light would have her anchors and cables tested pretty severely before the gale was over. about eight o'clock in the evening the wind shifted to east-south-east; and at ten it became what seamen term a _hard gale_, rendering it necessary to veer out about fifty additional fathoms of the hempen cable. the gale still increasing, the ship rolled and laboured excessively, and at midnight eighty fathoms more were veered out, while the sea continued to strike the vessel with a degree of force that no one had before experienced. that night there was little rest on board the _pharos_. everyone who has been "at sea" knows what it is to lie in one's berth on a stormy night, with the planks of the deck only a few inches from one's nose, and the water swashing past the little port that _always_ leaks; the seas striking against the ship; the heavy sprays falling on the decks; and the constant rattle and row of blocks, spars, and cordage overhead. but all this was as nothing compared with the state of things on board the floating light, for that vessel could not rise to the seas with the comparatively free motions of a ship, sailing either with or against the gale. she tugged and strained at her cable, as if with the fixed determination of breaking it, and she offered all the opposition of a fixed body to the seas. daylight, though ardently longed for, brought no relief. the gale continued with unabated violence. the sea struck so hard upon the vessel's bows that it rose in great quantities, or, as ruby expressed it, in "green seas", which completely swept the deck as far aft as the quarterdeck, and not unfrequently went completely over the stern of the ship. those "green seas" fell at last so heavily on the skylights that all the glass was driven in, and the water poured down into the cabins, producing dire consternation in the minds of those below, who thought that the vessel was sinking. "i'm drowned intirely," roared poor ned o'connor, as the first of those seas burst in and poured straight down on his hammock, which happened to be just beneath the skylight. ned sprang out on the deck, missed his footing, and was hurled with the next roll of the ship into the arms of the steward, who was passing through the place at the time. before any comments could be made the dead-lights were put on, and the cabins were involved in almost absolute darkness. "och! let me in beside ye," pleaded ned with the occupant of the nearest berth. "awa' wi' ye! na, na," cried john watt, pushing the unfortunate man away. "cheinge yer wat claes first, an' i'll maybe let ye in, if ye can find me again i' the dark." while the irishman was groping about in search of his chest, one of the officers of the ship passed him on his way to the companion ladder, intending to go on deck. ruby brand, feeling uncomfortable below, leaped out of his hammock and followed him. they had both got about halfway up the ladder when a tremendous sea struck the ship, causing it to tremble from stem to stern. at the same moment someone above opened the hatch, and putting his head down, shouted for the officer, who happened to be just ascending. "ay, ay," replied the individual in question. just as he spoke, another heavy sea fell on the deck, and, rushing aft like a river that has burst its banks, hurled the seaman into the arms of the officer, who fell back upon ruby, and all three came down with tons of water into the cabin. the scene that followed would have been ludicrous, had it not been serious. the still rising sea caused the vessel to roll with excessive violence, and the large quantity of water that had burst in swept the men, who had jumped out of their beds, and all movable things, from side to side in indescribable confusion. as the water dashed up into the lower tier of beds, it was found necessary to lift one of the scuttles in the floor, and let it flow into the limbers of the ship. fortunately no one was hurt, and ruby succeeded in gaining the deck before the hatch was reclosed and fastened down upon the scene of discomfort and misery below. this state of things continued the whole day. the seas followed in rapid succession, and each, as it struck the vessel, caused her to shake all over. at each blow from a wave the rolling and pitching ceased for a few seconds, giving the impression that the ship had broken adrift, and was running with the wind; or in the act of sinking; but when another sea came, she ranged up against it with great force. this latter effect at last became the regular intimation to the anxious men below that they were still riding safely at anchor. no fires could be lighted, therefore nothing could be cooked, so that the men were fain to eat hard biscuits--those of them at least who were able to eat at all--and lie in their wet blankets all day. at ten in the morning the wind had shifted to north-east, and blew, if possible, harder than before, accompanied by a much heavier swell of the sea; it was therefore judged advisable to pay out more cable, in order to lessen the danger of its giving way. during the course of the gale nearly the whole length of the hempen cable, of fathoms, was veered out, besides the chain-moorings, and, for its preservation, the cable was carefully "served", or wattled, with pieces of canvas round the windlass, and with leather well greased in the hawse-hole, where the chafing was most violent. as may readily be imagined, the gentleman on whom rested nearly all the responsibility connected with the work at the bell rock, passed an anxious and sleepless time in his darkened berth. during the morning he had made an attempt to reach the deck, but had been checked by the same sea that produced the disasters above described. about two o'clock in the afternoon great alarm was felt in consequence of a heavy sea that struck the ship, almost filling the waist, and pouring down into the berths below, through every chink and crevice of the hatches and skylights. from the motion being suddenly checked or deadened, and from the flowing in of the water above, every individual on board thought that the ship was foundering--at least all the landsmen were fully impressed with that idea. mr stevenson could not remain below any longer. as soon as the ship again began to range up to the sea, he made another effort to get on deck. before going, however, he went through the various apartments, in order to ascertain the state of things below. groping his way in darkness from his own cabin he came to that of the officers of the ship. here all was quiet, as well as dark. he next entered the galley and other compartments occupied by the artificers; here also all was dark, but not quiet, for several of the men were engaged in prayer, or repeating psalms in a full tone of voice, while others were protesting that if they should be fortunate enough to get once more ashore, no one should ever see them afloat again; but so loud was the creaking of the bulkheads, the dashing of water, and the whistling noise of the wind, that it was hardly possible to distinguish words or voices. the master of the vessel accompanied mr stevenson, and, in one or two instances, anxious and repeated enquiries were made by the workmen as to the state of things on deck, to all of which he returned one characteristic answer--"it can't blow long in this way, lads; we _must_ have better weather soon." the next compartment in succession, moving forward, was that allotted to the seamen of the ship. here there was a characteristic difference in the scene. having reached the middle of the darksome berth without the inmates being aware of the intrusion, the anxious engineer was somewhat reassured and comforted to find that, although they talked of bad weather and cross accidents of the sea, yet the conversation was carried on in that tone and manner which bespoke ease and composure of mind. "well, lads," said mr stevenson, accosting the men, "what think you of this state of things? will the good ship weather it?" "nae fear o' her, sir," replied one confidently, "she's light and new; it'll tak' a heavy sea to sink her." "ay," observed another, "and she's got little hold o' the water, good ground-tackle, and no top-hamper; she'll weather anything, sir." having satisfied himself that all was right below, mr stevenson returned aft and went on deck, where a sublime and awful sight awaited him. the waves appeared to be what we hear sometimes termed "mountains high." in reality they were perhaps about thirty feet of unbroken water in height, their foaming crests being swept and torn by the furious gale. all beyond the immediate neighbourhood of the ship was black and chaotic. upon deck everything movable was out of sight, having either been stowed away below previous to the gale, or washed overboard. some parts of the quarter bulwarks were damaged by the breach of the sea, and one of the boats was broken, and half-full of water. there was only one solitary individual on deck, placed there to watch and give the alarm if the cable should give way, and this man was ruby brand, who, having become tired of having nothing to do, had gone on deck, as we have seen, and volunteered his services as watchman. ruby had no greatcoat on, no overall of any kind, but was simply dressed in his ordinary jacket and trousers. he had thrust his cap into his pocket in order to prevent it being blown away, and his brown locks were streaming in the wind. he stood just aft the foremast, to which he had lashed himself with a gasket or small rope round his waist, to prevent his falling on the deck or being washed overboard. he was as thoroughly wet as if he had been drawn through the sea, and this was one reason why he was so lightly clad, that he might wet as few clothes as possible, and have a dry change when he went below. there appeared to be a smile on his lips as he faced the angry gale and gazed steadily out upon the wild ocean. he seemed to be enjoying the sight of the grand elemental strife that was going on around him. perchance he was thinking of someone not very far away--with golden hair! mr stevenson, coupling this smile on ruby's face with the remarks of the other seamen, felt that things were not so bad as they appeared to unaccustomed eyes, nevertheless he deemed it right to advise with the master and officers as to the probable result, in the event of the ship drifting from her moorings. "it is my opinion," said the master, on his being questioned as to this, "that we have every chance of riding out the gale, which cannot continue many hours longer with the same fury; and even if she should part from her anchor, the storm-sails have been laid ready to hand, and can be bent in a very short time. the direction of the wind being nor'-east, we could sail up the forth to leith roads; but if this should appear doubtful, after passing the may we can steer for tyningham sands, on the western side of dunbar, and there run the ship ashore. from the flatness of her bottom and the strength of her build, i should think there would be no danger in beaching her even in a very heavy sea." this was so far satisfactory, and for some time things continued in pretty much the state we have just described, but soon after there was a sudden cessation of the straining motion of the ship which surprised everyone. in another moment ruby shouted "all hands a-hoy! ship's adrift!" the consternation that followed may be conceived but not described. the windlass was instantly manned, and the men soon gave out that there was no strain on the cable. the mizzen-sail, which was occasionally bent for the purpose of making the ship ride easily, was at once set; the other sails were hoisted as quickly as possible, and they bore away about a mile to the south-westward, where, at a spot that was deemed suitable, the best-bower anchor was let go in twenty fathoms water. happily the storm had begun to abate before this accident happened. had it occurred during the height of the gale, the result might have been most disastrous to the undertaking at the bell rock. having made all fast, an attempt was made to kindle the galley fire and cook some food. "wot are we to 'ave, steward?" enquired joe dumsby, in a feeble voice. "plumduff, my boy, so cheer up," replied the steward, who was busy with the charming ingredients of a suet pudding, which was the only dish to be attempted, owing to the ease with which it could be both cooked and served up. accordingly, the suet pudding was made; the men began to eat; the gale began to "take off", as seaman express it; and, although things were still very far removed from a state of comfort, they began to be more endurable; health began to return to the sick, and hope to those who had previously given way to despair. chapter twelve. bell rock billows--an unexpected visit--a disaster and a rescue. it is pleasant, it is profoundly enjoyable, to sit on the margin of the sea during the dead calm that not unfrequently succeeds a wild storm, and watch the gentle undulations of the glass-like surface, which the very gulls seem to be disinclined to ruffle with their wings as they descend to hover above their own reflected images. it is pleasant to watch this from the shore, where the waves fall in low murmuring ripples, or from the ship's deck, far out upon the sea, where there is no sound of water save the laving of the vessel's bow as she rises and sinks in the broad-backed swell; but there is something more than pleasant, there is, something deeply and peculiarly interesting, in the same scene when viewed from such a position as the bell rock; for there, owing to the position of the rock and the depth of water around it, the observer beholds, at the same moment, the presence, as it were, of storm and calm. the largest waves there are seen immediately after a storm has passed away, not during its continuance, no matter how furious the gale may have been, for the rushing wind has a tendency to blow down the waves, so to speak, and prevent their rising to their utmost height. it is when the storm is over that the swell rises; but as this swell appears only like large undulations, it does not impress the beholder with its magnitude until it draws near to the rock and begins to feel the checking influence of the bottom of the sea. the upper part of the swell, having then greater velocity than the lower parts assumes more and more the form of a billow. as it comes on it towers up like a great green wall of glittering glass, moving with a grand, solemn motion, which does not at first give the idea of much force or impetus. as it nears the rock, however, its height (probably fifteen or twenty feet) becomes apparent; its velocity increases; the top, with what may be termed gentle rapidity, rushes in advance of the base; its dark green side becomes concave; the upper edge lips over, then curls majestically downwards, as if bowing to a superior power, and a gleam of light flashes for a moment on the curling top. as yet there is no sound; all has occurred in the profound silence of the calm, but another instant and there is a mighty crash--a deafening roar; the great wall of water has fallen, and a very sea of churning foam comes leaping, bursting, spouting over rocks and ledges, carrying all before it with a tremendous sweep that seems to be absolutely irresistible until it meets the higher ledges of rock, when it is hurled back, and retires with a watery hiss that suggests the idea of baffled rage. but it is not conquered. with the calm majesty of unalterable determination, wave after wave comes on, in slow, regular succession, like the inexhaustible battalions of an unconquerable foe, to meet with a similar repulse again and again. there is, however, this peculiar difference between the waves on the ordinary seashore and the billows on the bell rock, that the latter, unlike the former, are not always defeated. the spectator on shore plants his foot confidently at the very edge of the mighty sea, knowing that "thus far it may come, but no farther." on the bell rock the rising tide makes the conflict, for a time, more equal. now, the rock stands proudly above the sea: anon the sea sweeps furiously over the rock with a roar of "victory!" thus the war goes on, and thus the tide of battle daily and nightly ebbs and flows all the year round. but when the cunning hand of man began to interfere, the aspect of things was changed, the sea was forced to succumb, and the rock, once a dreaded enemy, became a servant of the human race. true, the former rages in rebellion still, and the latter, although compelled to uphold the light that warns against itself, continues its perpetual warfare with the sea; but both are effectually conquered by means of the wonderful intelligence that god has given to man, and the sea for more than half a century has vainly beat against the massive tower whose foundation is on the bell rock. but all this savours somewhat of anticipation. let us return to ruby brand, in whose interest we have gone into this long digression; for he it was who gazed intently at the mingled scene of storm and calm which we have attempted to describe, and it was he who thought out most of the ideas which we have endeavoured to convey. ruby had lent a hand to work the pump at the foundation-pit that morning. after a good spell at it he took his turn of rest, and, in order to enjoy it fully, went as far out as he could upon the seaward ledges, and sat down on a piece of rock to watch the waves. while seated there, robert selkirk came and sat down beside him. selkirk was the principal builder, and ultimately laid every stone of the lighthouse with his own hand. he was a sedate, quiet man, but full of energy and perseverance. when the stones were landed faster than they could be built into their places, he and bremner, as well as some of the other builders, used to work on until the rising tide reached their waists. "it's a grand sight, ruby," said selkirk, as a larger wave than usual fell, and came rushing in torrents of foam up to their feet, sending a little of the spray over their heads. "it is indeed a glorious sight," said ruby. "if i had nothing to do, i believe i could sit here all day just looking at the waves and thinking." "thinkin'?" repeated selkirk, in a musing tone of voice. "can ye tell, lad, what ye think about when you're lookin' at the waves?" ruby smiled at the oddness of the question. "well," said he, "i don't think i ever thought of that before." "ah, but _i_ have!" said the other, "an' i've come to the conclusion that for the most part we don't think, properly speakin', at all; that our thoughts, so to speak, think for us; that they just take the bit in their teeth and go rumblin' and tumblin' about anyhow or nohow!" ruby knitted his brows and pondered. he was one of those men who, when they don't understand a thing, hold their tongues and think. "and," continued selkirk, "it's curious to observe what a lot o' nonsense one thinks too when one is lookin' at the waves. many a time i have pulled myself up, thinkin' the most astonishin' stuff ye could imagine." "i would hardly have expected this of such a grave kind o' man as you," said ruby. "mayhap not. it is not always the gravest looking that have the gravest thoughts." "but you don't mean to say that you never think sense," continued ruby, "when you sit looking at the waves?" "by no means," returned his companion; "i'm only talking of the way in which one's thoughts will wander. sometimes i think seriously enough. sometimes i think it strange that men can look at such a scene as that, and scarcely bestow a thought upon him who made it." "speak for yourself, friend," said ruby, somewhat quickly; "how know you that other men don't think about their creator when they look at his works?" "because," returned selkirk, "i find that i so seldom do so myself, even although i wish to and often try to; and i hold that every man, no matter what he is or feels, is one of a class who think and feel as he does; also, because many people, especially christians, have told me that they have had the same experience to a large extent; also, and chiefly, because, as far as unbelieving man is concerned, the bible tells me that `god is not in all his thoughts.' but, ruby, i did not make the remark as a slur upon men in general, i merely spoke of a fact,--an unfortunate fact,--that it is not natural to us, and not easy, to rise from nature to nature's god, and i thought you would agree with me." "i believe you are right," said ruby, half-ashamed of the petulance of his reply; "at any rate, i confess you are right as far as i am concerned." as selkirk and ruby were both fond of discussion, they continued this subject some time longer, and there is no saying how far they would have gone down into the abstruse depths of theology, had not their converse been interrupted by the appearance of a boat rowing towards the rock. "is yonder craft a fishing boat, think you?" said ruby, rising and pointing to it. "like enough, lad. mayhap it's the pilot's, only it's too soon for him to be off again with letters. maybe it's visitors to the rock, for i see something like a woman's bonnet." as there was only one woman in the world at that time as far as ruby was concerned (of course putting his mother out of the question!), it will not surprise the reader to be told that the youth started, that his cheek reddened a little, and his heart beat somewhat faster than usual. he immediately smiled, however, at the absurdity of supposing it possible that the woman in the boat could be minnie, and as the blacksmith shouted to him at that moment, he turned on his heel and leaped from ledge to ledge of rock until he gained his wonted place at the forge. soon he was busy wielding the fore-hammer, causing the sparks to fly about himself and his comrade in showers, while the anvil rang out its merry peal. meanwhile the boat drew near. it turned out to be a party of visitors, who had come off from arbroath to see the operations at the bell rock. they had been brought off by spink, the pilot, and numbered only three-- namely, a tall soldier-like man, a stout sailor-like man, and a young woman with--yes,--with golden hair. poor ruby almost leaped over the forge when he raised his eyes from his work and caught sight of minnie's sweet face. minnie had recognised her lover before the boat reached the rock, for he stood on an elevated ledge, and the work in which he was engaged, swinging the large hammer round his shoulder, rendered him very conspicuous. she had studiously concealed her face from him until quite close, when, looking him straight in the eyes without the least sign of recognition, she turned away. we have said that the first glance ruby obtained caused him to leap nearly over the forge; the second created such a revulsion of feeling that he let the fore-hammer fall. "hallo! got a spark in yer eye?" enquired dove, looking up anxiously. it flashed across ruby at that instant that the look given him by minnie was meant to warn him not to take any notice of her, so he answered the smith's query with "no, no; i've only let the hammer fall, don't you see? get on, old boy, an don't let the metal cool." the smith continued his work without further remark, and ruby assisted, resolving in his own mind to be a little more guarded as to the expression of his feelings. meanwhile mr stevenson received the visitors, and showed them over the works, pointing out the peculiarities thereof, and the difficulties that stood in the way. presently he came towards the forge, and said, "brand, the stout gentleman there wishes to speak to you. he says he knew you in arbroath. you can spare him for a few minutes, i suppose, mr dove?" "well, yes, but not for long," replied the smith. "the tide will soon be up, and i've enough to do to get through with all these." ruby flung down his hammer at the first word, and hastened to the ledge of rock where the visitors were standing, as far apart from the workmen as the space of the rock would admit of. the stout gentleman was no other than his uncle, captain ogilvy, who put his finger to his lips as his nephew approached, and gave him a look of mystery that was quite sufficient to put the latter on his guard. he therefore went forward, pulled off his cap, and bowed respectfully to minnie, who replied with a stiff curtsy, a slight smile, and a decided blush. although ruby now felt convinced that they were all acting a part, he could scarcely bear this cold reception. his impulse was to seize minnie in his arms; but he did not even get the comfort of a cold shake of the hand. "nephy," said the captain in a hoarse whisper, putting his face close to that of ruby, "mum's the word! silence, mystery, an' all that sort o' thing. don't appear to be an old friend, lad; and as to minnie here-- "`o no, we never mention her, her name it's never heard.' "allow me to introduce you to major stewart, whose house you broke into, you know, ruby, when:-- "`all in the downs the fleet was moored,' "at least when the _termagant_ was waitin' for you to go aboard." here the captain winked and gave ruby a facetious poke in the ribs, which was not quite in harmony with the ignorance of each other he was endeavouring to inculcate. "young man," said the major quietly, "we have come off to tell you that everything is in a prosperous state as regards the investigation into your innocence--the private investigation i mean, for the authorities happily know nothing of your being here. captain ogilvy has made me his confidant in this matter, and from what he tells me i am convinced that you had nothing to do with this robbery. excuse me if i now add that the sight of your face deepens this conviction." ruby bowed to the compliment. "we were anxious to write at once to the captain of the vessel in which you sailed," continued the major, "but you omitted to leave his full name and address when you left. we were afraid to write to you, lest your name on the letter might attract attention, and induce a premature arrest. hence our visit to the rock to-day. please to write the address in this pocket-book." the major handed ruby a small green pocket-book as he spoke, in which the latter wrote the full name and address of his late skipper. "now, nephy," said the captain, "we must, i'm sorry to say, bid ye good day, and ask you to return to your work, for it won't do to rouse suspicion, lad. only keep quiet here, and do yer dooty--`england expects _every_ man to do his dooty'--and as sure as your name's ruby all will be shipshape in a few weeks." "i thank you sincerely," said ruby, addressing the major, but looking at minnie. captain ogilvy, observing this, and fearing some display of feeling that would be recognised by the workmen, who were becoming surprised at the length of the interview, placed himself between minnie and her lover. "no, no, ruby," said he, solemnly. "i'm sorry for ye, lad, but it won't do. patience is a virtue, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune." "my mother?" said ruby, wishing to prolong the interview. "is well," said the captain. "now, goodbye, lad, and be off." "goodbye, minnie," cried ruby, stepping forward suddenly and seizing the girl's hand; then, wheeling quickly round, he sprang over the rocks, and returned to his post. "ha! it's time," cried the smith. "i thought you would never be done makin' love to that there girl. come, blaze away!" ruby felt so nettled by the necessity that was laid upon him of taking no notice of minnie, that he seized the handle of the bellows passionately, and at the first puff blew nearly all the fire away. "hallo! messmate," cried the smith, clearing the dust from his eyes; "what on airth ails ye? you've blowed the whole consarn out!" ruby made no reply, but, scraping together the embers, heaped them up and blew more gently. in a short time the visitors re-entered their boat, and rowed out of the creek in which it had been lying. ruby became so exasperated at not being able even to watch the boat going away, that he showered terrific blows on the mass of metal the smith was turning rapidly on the anvil. "not so fast, lad; not so fast," cried dove hurriedly. ruby's chafing spirit blew up just at that point; he hit the iron a crack that knocked it as flat as a pancake, and then threw down the hammer and deliberately gazed in the direction of the boat. the sight that met his eyes appalled him. the boat had been lying in the inlet named port stevenson. it had to pass out to the open sea through _wilson's track_, and past a small outlying rock named _gray's rock_--known more familiarly among the men as _johnny gray_. the boat was nearing this point, when the sea, which had been rising for some time, burst completely over the seaward ledges, and swept the boat high against the rocks on the left. the men had scarcely got her again into the track when another tremendous billow, such as we have already described, swept over the rocks again and swamped the boat, which, being heavily ballasted, sank at once to the bottom of the pool. it was this sight that met the horrified eyes of ruby when he looked up. he vaulted over the bellows like an antelope, and, rushing over _smith's ledge_ and _trinity ledge_, sprang across _port boyle_, and dived head foremost into _neill's pool_ before any of the other men, who made a general rush, could reach the spot. a few powerful strokes brought ruby to the place where the major and the captain, neither of whom could swim, were struggling in the water. he dived at once below these unfortunates, and almost in a second, reappeared with minnie in his arms. a few seconds sufficed to bring him to _smith's ledge_, where several of his comrades hauled him and his burden beyond the reach of the next wave, and where, a moment or two later, the major and captain with the crew of the boat were landed in safety. to bear the light form of minnie in his strong arms to the highest and driest part of the rock were the work of a few moments to ruby. brief though those moments were, however, they were precious to the youth beyond all human powers of calculation, for minnie recovered partial consciousness, and fancying, doubtless, that she was still in danger, flung her arms round his neck, and grasped him convulsively. reader, we tell you in confidence that if ruby had at that moment been laid on the rack and torn limb from limb, he would have cheered out his life triumphantly. it was not only that he knew she loved him--_that_ he knew before,--but he had saved the life of the girl he loved, and a higher terrestrial happiness can scarcely be attained by man. laying her down as gently as a mother would her first-born, ruby placed a coat under her head, and bade his comrades stand back and give her air. it was fortunate for him that one of the foremen, who understood what to do, came up at this moment, and ordered him to leave off chafing the girl's hand with his wet fists, and go get some water boiled at the forge if he wanted to do her good. second words were not needed. the bellows were soon blowing, and the fire glowed in a way that it had not done since the works at the bell rock began. before the water quite boiled some tea was put in, and, with a degree of speed that would have roused the jealousy of any living waiter, a cup of tea was presented to minnie, who had recovered almost at the moment ruby left her. she drank a little, and then closing her eyes, moved her lips silently for a few seconds. captain ogilvy, who had attended her with the utmost assiduity and tenderness as soon as he had wrung the water out of his own garments, here took an opportunity of hastily pouring something into the cup out of a small flask. when minnie looked up again and smiled, he presented her with the cup. she thanked him, and drank a mouthful or two before perceiving that it had been tampered with. "there's something in it," she said hurriedly. "so there is, my pet," said the captain, with a benignant smile, "a little nectar, that will do you more good than all the tea. come now, don't shake your head, but down with it all, like a good child." but minnie was proof against persuasion, and refused to taste any more. "who was it that saved me, uncle?" (she had got into the way of calling the captain "uncle.") "ruby brand did it, my darlin'," said the old man with a look of pride. "ah! you're better now; stay, don't attempt to rise." "yes, yes, uncle," she said, getting up and looking round, "it is time that we should go now; we have a long way to go, you know. where is the boat?" "the boat, my precious, is at the bottom of the sea." as he said this, he pointed to the mast, half of which was seen rising out of the pool where the boat had gone down. "but you don't need to mind," continued the captain, "for they're goin' to send us in one o' their own boats aboord the floatin' lightship, where we'll get a change o' clothes an' somethin' to eat." as he spoke, one of the sailors came forward and announced that the boat was ready, so the captain and the major assisted minnie into the boat, which soon pushed off with part of the workmen from the rock. it was to be sent back for the remainder of the crew, by which time the tide would render it necessary that all should leave. ruby purposely kept away from the group while they were embarking, and after they were gone proceeded to resume work. "you took a smart dive that time, lad," observed joe dumsby as they went along. "not more than anyone would do for a girl," said ruby. "an' such a purty wan, too," said o'connor. "ah! av she's not irish, she should ha' bin." "ye're a lucky chap to hae sic a chance," observed john watt. "make up to her, lad," said forsyth; "i think she couldn't refuse ye after doin' her such service." "time enough to chaff after work is over," cried ruby with a laugh, as he turned up his sleeves, and, seizing the hammer, began, as his friend dove said, "to work himself dry." in a few minutes, work was resumed, and for another hour all continued busy as bees, cutting and pounding at the flinty surface of the bell rock. chapter thirteen. a sleepless but a pleasant night. the evening which followed the day that has just been described was bright, calm, and beautiful, with the starry host unclouded and distinctly visible to the profoundest depths of space. as it was intended to send the _smeaton_ to arbroath next morning for a cargo of stones from the building-yard, the wrecked party were prevailed on to remain all night on board the _pharos_, instead of going ashore in one of the ship's boats, which could not well be spared at the time. this arrangement, we need hardly say, gave inexpressible pleasure to ruby, and was not altogether distasteful to minnie, although she felt anxious about mrs brand, who would naturally be much alarmed at the prolonged absence of herself and the captain. however, "there was no help for it"; and it was wonderful the resignation which she displayed in the circumstances. it was not ruby's duty to watch on deck that night, yet, strange to say, ruby kept watch the whole night long! there was no occasion whatever for minnie to go on deck after it was dark, yet, strange to say, minnie kept coming on deck at intervals _nearly_ the whole night long! sometimes to "look at the stars", sometimes to "get a mouthful of fresh air", frequently to find out what "that strange noise could be that had alarmed her", and at last-- especially towards the early hours of morning--for no reason whatever, except that "she could not sleep below." it was very natural that when minnie paced the quarterdeck between the stern and the mainmast, and ruby paced the forepart of the deck between the bows and the mainmast, the two should occasionally meet at the mainmast. it was also very natural that when they did meet, the girl who had been rescued should stop and address a few words of gratitude to the man who had saved her. but it was by no means natural--nay, it was altogether unnatural and unaccountable, that, when it became dark, the said man and the said girl should get into a close and confidential conversation, which lasted for hours, to the amusement of captain ogilvy and the major, who quite understood it, and to the amazement of many of the ship's crew, who couldn't understand it at all. at last minnie bade ruby a final good night and went below, and ruby, who could not persuade himself that it was final, continued to walk the deck until his eyes began to shut and open involuntarily like those of a sick owl. then he also went below, and, before he fell quite asleep (according to his own impression), was awakened by the bell that called the men to land on the rock and commence work. it was not only ruby who found it difficult to rouse himself that morning. the landing-bell was rung at four o'clock, as the tide suited at that early hour, but the men were so fatigued that they would gladly have slept some hours longer. this, however, the nature of the service would not admit of. the building of the bell rock lighthouse was a peculiar service. it may be said to have resembled duty in the trenches in military warfare. at times the work was light enough, but for the most part it was severe and irregular, as the men had to work in all kinds of weather, as long as possible, in the face of unusual difficulties and dangers, and were liable to be called out at all unseasonable hours. but they knew and expected this, and faced the work like men. after a growl or two, and a few heavy sighs, they all tumbled out of their berths, and, in a very short time, were mustered on deck, where a glass of rum and a biscuit were served to each, being the regular allowance when they had to begin work before breakfast. then they got into the boats and rowed away. ruby's troubles were peculiar on this occasion. he could not bear the thought of leaving the _pharos_ without saying goodbye to minnie; but as minnie knew nothing of such early rising, there was no reasonable hope that she would be awake. then he wished to put a few questions to his uncle which he had forgotten the day before, but his uncle was at that moment buried in profound repose, with his mouth wide open, and a trombone solo proceeding from his nose, which sadly troubled the unfortunates who lay near him. as there was no way of escape from these difficulties, ruby, like a wise man, made up his mind to cast them aside, so, after swallowing his allowance, he shouldered his big bellows, heaved a deep sigh, and took his place in one of the boats alongside. the lassitude which strong men feel when obliged to rise before they have had enough of rest soon wears off. the two boats had not left the _pharos_ twenty yards astern, when joe dumsby cried, "ho! boys, let's have a race." "hooray!" shouted o'connor, whose elastic spirits were always equal to anything, "an' sure ruby will sing us `the girl we've left behind us.' och! an' there she is, av i'm not draymin'." at that moment a little hand was waved from one of the ports of the floating light. ruby at once waved his in reply, but as the attention of the men had been directed to the vessel by ned's remark, each saw the salutation, and, claiming it as a compliment to himself, uttered a loud cheer, which terminated in a burst of laughter, caused by the sight of ruby's half-angry, half-ashamed expression of face. as the other boat had shot ahead, however, at the first mention of the word "race", the men forgot this incident in their anxiety to overtake their comrades. in a few seconds both boats were going at full speed, and they kept it up all the way to the rock. while this was going on, the _smeaton's_ boat was getting ready to take the strangers on board the sloop, and just as the workmen landed on the rock, the _smeaton_ cast loose her sails, and proceeded to arbroath. there were a few seals basking on the bell rock this morning when the men landed. these at once made off, and were not again seen during the day. at first, seals were numerous on the rock. frequently from fifty to sixty of them were counted at one time, and they seemed for a good while unwilling to forsake their old quarters, but when the forge was set up they could stand it no longer. some of the boldest ventured to sun themselves there occasionally, but when the clatter of the anvil and the wreaths of smoke became matters of daily occurrence, they forsook the rock finally, and sought the peace and quiet which man denied them there in other regions of the deep. the building of the lighthouse was attended with difficulties at every step. as a short notice of some of these, and an account of the mode in which the great work was carried on, cannot fail to be interesting to all who admire those engineering works which exhibit prominently the triumph of mind over matter, we shall turn aside for a brief space to consider this subject. chapter fourteen. somewhat statistical. it has been already said that the bell rock rises only a few feet out of the sea at low tide. the foundation of the tower, sunk into the solid rock, was just three feet three inches above low water of the lowest spring-tides, so that the lighthouse may be said with propriety to be founded beneath the waves. one great point that had to be determined at the commencement of the operations was the best method of landing the stones of the building, this being a delicate and difficult process, in consequence of the weight of the stones and their brittle nature, especially in those parts which were worked to a delicate edge or formed into angular points. as the loss of a single stone, too, would stop the progress of the work until another should be prepared at the workyard in arbroath and sent off to the rock, it may easily be imagined that this matter of the landing was of the utmost importance, and that much consultation was held in regard to it. it would seem that engineers, as well as doctors, are apt to differ. some suggested that each particular stone should be floated to the rock, with a cork buoy attached to it; while others proposed an air-tank, instead of the cork buoy. others, again, proposed to sail over the rock at high water in a flat-bottomed vessel, and drop the stones one after another when over the spot they were intended to occupy. a few, still more eccentric and daring in their views, suggested that a huge cofferdam or vessel should be built on shore, and as much of the lighthouse built in this as would suffice to raise the building above the level of the highest tides; that then it should be floated off to its station on the rock, which should be previously prepared for its reception; that the cofferdam should be scuttled, and the ponderous mass of masonry, weighing perhaps tons, allowed to sink at once into its place! all these plans, however, were rejected by mr stevenson, who resolved to carry the stones to the rock in boats constructed for the purpose. these were named praam boats. the stones were therefore cut in conformity with exactly measured moulds in the workyard at arbroath, and conveyed thence in the sloops already mentioned to the rock, where the vessels were anchored at a distance sufficient to enable them to clear it in case of drifting. the cargoes were then unloaded at the moorings, and laid on the decks of the praam boats, which conveyed them to the rock, where they were laid on small trucks, run along the temporary rails, to their positions, and built in at once. each stone of this building was treated with as much care and solicitude as if it were a living creature. after being carefully cut and curiously formed, and conveyed to the neighbourhood of the rock, it was hoisted out of the hold and laid on the vessel's deck, when it was handed over to the landing-master, whose duty it became to transfer it, by means of a combination of ropes and blocks, to the deck of the praam boat, and then deliver it at the rock. as the sea was seldom calm during the building operations, and frequently in a state of great agitation, lowering the stones on the decks of the praam boats was a difficult matter. in the act of working the apparatus, one man was placed at each of the guy-tackles. this man assisted also at the purchase-tackles for raising the stones; and one of the ablest and most active of the crew was appointed to hold on the end of the fall-tackle, which often required all his strength and his utmost agility in letting go, for the purpose of lowering the stone at the instant the word "lower" was given. in a rolling sea, much depended on the promptitude with which this part of the operation was performed. for the purpose of securing this, the man who held the tackle placed himself before the mast in a sitting, more frequently in a lying posture, with his feet stretched under the winch and abutting against the mast, as by this means he was enabled to exert his greatest strength. the signal being given in the hold that the tackle was hooked to the stone and all ready, every man took his post, the stone was carefully, we might almost say tenderly, raised, and gradually got into position over the praam boat; the right moment was intently watched, and the word "lower" given sternly and sharply. the order was obeyed with exact promptitude, and the stone rested on the deck of the praam boat. six blocks of granite having been thus placed on the boat's deck, she was rowed to a buoy, and moored near the rock until the proper time of the tide for taking her into one of the landing creeks. we are thus particular in describing the details of this part of the work, in order that the reader may be enabled to form a correct estimate of what may be termed the minor difficulties of the undertaking. the same care was bestowed upon the landing of every stone of the building; and it is worthy of record, that notwithstanding the difficulty of this process in such peculiar circumstances, not a single stone was lost, or even seriously damaged, during the whole course of the erection of the tower, which occupied four years in building, or rather, we should say, four _seasons_, for no work was or could be done during winter. a description of the first entire course of the lower part of the tower, which was built solid, will be sufficient to give an idea of the general nature of the whole work. this course or layer consisted of blocks of stone, those in the interior being sandstone, while the outer casing was of granite. each stone was fastened to its neighbour above, below, and around by means of dovetails, joggles, oaken trenails, and mortar. each course was thus built from its centre to its circumference, and as all the courses from the foundation to a height of thirty feet were built in this way, the tower, up to that height, became a mass of solid stone, as strong and immovable as the bell rock itself. above this, or thirty feet from the foundation, the entrance-door was placed, and the hollow part of the tower began. thus much, then, as to the tower itself, the upper part of which will be found described in a future chapter. in regard to the subsidiary works, the erection of the beacon house was in itself a work of considerable difficulty, requiring no common effort of engineering skill. the principal beams of this having been towed to the rock by the _smeaton_, all the stanchions and other material for setting them up were landed, and the workmen set about erecting them as quickly as possible, for if a single day of bad weather should occur before the necessary fixtures could be made, the whole apparatus would be infallibly swept away. the operation being, perhaps, the most important of the season, and one requiring to be done with the utmost expedition, all hands were, on the day in which its erection was begun, gathered on the rock, besides ten additional men engaged for the purpose, and as many of the seamen from the _pharos_ and other vessels as could be spared. they amounted altogether to fifty-two in number. about half-past eight o'clock in the morning a derrick, or mast, thirty feet high, was erected, and properly supported with guy-ropes for suspending the block for raising the first principal beam of the beacon, and a winch-machine was bolted down to the rock for working the purchase-tackle. the necessary blocks and tackle were likewise laid to hand and properly arranged. the men were severally allotted in squads to different stations; some were to bring the principal beams to hand, others were to work the tackles, while a third set had the charge of the iron stanchions, bolts, and wedges, so that the whole operation of raising the beams and fixing them to the rock might go forward in such a mariner that some provision might be made, in any stage of the work, for securing what had been accomplished, in case of an adverse change of weather. the raising of the derrick was the signal for three hearty cheers, for this was a new era in the operations. even that single spar, could it be preserved, would have been sufficient to have saved the workmen on that day when the _smeaton_ broke adrift and left them in such peril. this was all, however, that could be accomplished that tide. next day, the great beams, each fifty feet long, and about sixteen inches square, were towed to the rock about seven in the morning, and the work immediately commenced, although they had gone there so much too early in the tide that the men had to work a considerable time up to their middle in water. each beam was raised by the tackle affixed to the derrick, until the end of it could be placed or "stepped" into the hole which had been previously prepared for its reception; then two of the great iron stanchions or supports were set into their respective holes on each side of the beam, and a rope passed round them to keep it from slipping, until it could be more permanently fixed. this having been accomplished, the first beam became the means of raising the second, and when the first and second were fastened at the top, they formed a pair of shears by which the rest were more easily raised to their places. the heads of the beams were then fitted together and secured with ropes in a temporary manner, until the falling of the tide would permit the operations to be resumed. thus the work went on, each man labouring with all his might, until this important erection was completed. the raising of the first beams took place on a sunday. indeed, during the progress of the works at the bell rock, the men were accustomed to work regularly on sundays when possible; but it is right to say that it was not done in defiance of, or disregard to, god's command to cease from labour on the sabbath day, but because of the urgent need of a lighthouse on a rock which, unlighted, would be certain to wreck numerous vessels and destroy many lives in time to come, as it had done in time past. delay in this matter might cause death and disaster, therefore it was deemed right to carry on the work on sundays. [see note .] an accident happened during the raising of the last large beam of the beacon, which, although alarming, fortunately caused no damage. considering the nature of the work, it is amazing, and greatly to the credit of all engaged, that so few accidents occurred during the building of the lighthouse. when they were in the act of hoisting the sixth and last log, and just about to cant it into its place, the iron hook of the principal purchase-block gave way, and the great beam, measuring fifty feet in length, fell upon the rock with a terrible crash; but although there were fifty-two men around the beacon at the time, not one was touched, and the beam itself received no damage worth mentioning. soon after the beacon had been set up, and partially secured to the rock, a severe gale sprang up, as if ocean were impatient to test the handiwork of human engineers. gales set in from the eastward, compelling the attending sloops to slip from their moorings, and run for the shelter of arbroath and saint andrews, and raising a sea on the bell rock which was described as terrific, the spray rising more than thirty feet in the air above it. in the midst of all this turmoil the beacon stood securely, and after the weather moderated, permitting the workmen once more to land, it was found that no damage had been done by the tremendous breaches of the sea over the rock. that the power of the waves had indeed been very great, was evident from the effects observed on the rock itself, and on materials left there. masses of rock upwards of a ton in weight had been cast up by the sea, and then, in their passage over the bell rock, had made deep and indelible ruts. an anchor of a ton weight, which had been lost on one side of the rock, was found to have been washed up and _over_ it to the other side. several large blocks of granite that had been landed and left on a ledge, were found to have been swept away like pebbles, and hurled into a hole at some distance; and the heavy hearth of the smith's forge, with the ponderous anvil, had been washed from their places of supposed security. from the time of the setting up of the beacon a new era in the work began. some of the men were now enabled to remain on the rock all day, working at the lighthouse when the tide was low, and betaking themselves to the beacon when it rose, and leaving it at night; for there was much to do before this beacon could be made the habitable abode which it finally became; but it required the strictest attention to the state of the weather, in case of their being overtaken with a gale, which might prevent the possibility of their being taken off the rock. at last the beacon was so far advanced and secured that it was deemed capable of withstanding any gale that might blow. as yet it was a great ungainly pile of logs, iron stanchions, and bracing-chains, without anything that could afford shelter to man from winds or waves, but with a platform laid from its cross-beams at a considerable height above high-water mark. the works on the rock were in this state, when two memorable circumstances occurred in the bell rock annals, to which we shall devote a separate chapter. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . it was always arranged, however, to have public worship on sundays when practicable. and this arrangement was held to during the continuance of the work. indeed, the manner in which mr stevenson writes in regard to the conclusion of the day's work at the beacon, which we have described, shows clearly that he felt himself to be acting in this matter in accordance with the spirit of our saviour, who wrought many of his works of mercy on the sabbath day. mr stevenson writes thus:-- "all hands having returned to their respective ships, they got a shift of dry clothes, and some refreshment. being sunday, they were afterwards convened by signal on board of the lighthouse yacht, when prayers were read, for every heart upon this occasion felt gladness, and every mind was disposed to be thankful for the happy and successful termination of the operations of this day." it is right to add that the men, although requested, were not constrained to work on sundays. they were at liberty to decline if they chose. a few conscientiously refused at first, but were afterwards convinced of the necessity of working on all opportunities that offered, and agreed to do so. chapter fifteen. ruby has a rise in life, and a fall. james dove, the blacksmith, had, for some time past, been watching the advancing of the beacon-works with some interest, and a good deal of impatience. he was tired of working so constantly up to the knees in water, and aspired to a drier and more elevated workshop. one morning he was told by the foreman that orders had been given for him to remove his forge to the beacon, and this removal, this "flitting", as he called it, was the first of the memorable events referred to in the last chapter. "hallo! ruby, my boy," cried the elated son of vulcan, as he descended the companion ladder, "we're goin' to flit, lad. we're about to rise in the world, so get up your bellows. it's the last time we shall have to be bothered with them in the boat, i hope." "that's well," said ruby, shouldering the unwieldy bellows; "they have worn my shoulders threadbare, and tried my patience almost beyond endurance." "well, it's all over now, lad," rejoined the smith. "in future you shall have to blow up in the beacon yonder; so come along." "come, ruby, that ought to comfort the cockles o' yer heart," said o'connor, who passed up the ladder as he spoke; "the smith won't need to blow you up any more, av you're to blow yourself up in the beacon in futur'. arrah! there's the bell again. sorrow wan o' me iver gits to slape, but i'm turned up immadiately to go an' poke away at that rock-- faix, it's well named the bell rock, for it makes me like to _bell_ow me lungs out wid vexation." "that pun is _bel_ow contempt," said joe dumsby, who came up at the moment. "that's yer sort, laddies; ye're guid at ringing the changes on that head onyway," cried watt. "i say, we're gittin' a _bell_y-full of it," observed forsyth, with a rueful look. "i hope nobody's goin' to give us another!" "it'll create a re_bell_ion," said bremner, "if ye go on like that." "it'll bring my _bell_ows down on the head o' the next man that speaks!" cried ruby, with indignation. "don't you hear the bell, there?" cried the foreman down the hatchway. there was a burst of laughter at this unconscious continuation of the joke, and the men sprang up the ladder,--down the side, and into the boats, which were soon racing towards the rock. the day, though not sunny, was calm and agreeable, nevertheless the landing at the rock was not easily accomplished, owing to the swell caused by a recent gale. after one or two narrow escapes of a ducking, however, the crews landed, and the bellows, instead of being conveyed to their usual place at the forge, were laid at the foot of the beacon. the carriage of these bellows to and fro almost daily had been a subject of great annoyance to the men, owing to their being so much in the way, and so unmanageably bulky, yet so essential to the progress of the works, that they did not dare to leave them on the rock, lest they should be washed away, and they had to handle them tenderly, lest they should get damaged. "now, boys, lend a hand with the forge," cried the smith, hurrying towards his anvil. those who were not busy eating dulse responded to the call, and in a short time the ponderous _materiel_ of the smithy was conveyed to the beacon, where, in process of time, it was hoisted by means of tackle to its place on the platform to which reference has already been made. when it was safely set up and the bellows placed in position, ruby went to the edge of the platform, and, looking down on his comrades below, took off his cap and shouted in the tone of a stentor, "now, lads, three cheers for the dovecot!" this was received with a roar of laughter and three tremendous cheers. "howld on, boys," cried o'connor, stretching out his hand as if to command silence; "you'll scare the dove from his cot altogether av ye roar like that!" "surely they're sendin' us a fire to warm us," observed one of the men, pointing to a boat which had put off from the _smeaton_, and was approaching the rock by way of _macurich's track_. "what can'd be, i wonder?" said watt; "i think i can smell somethin'." "i halways thought you 'ad somethink of an old dog in you," said dumsby. "ay, man!" said the scot with a leer, "i ken o' war beasts than auld dowgs." "do you? come let's 'ear wat they are," said the englishman. "young puppies," answered the other. "hurrah! dinner, as i'm a dutchman," cried forsyth. this was indeed the case. dinner had been cooked on board the _smeaton_ and sent hot to the men; and this,--the first dinner ever eaten on the bell rock,--was the second of the memorable events before referred to. the boat soon ran into the creek and landed the baskets containing the food on _hope's wharf_. the men at once made a rush at the viands, and bore them off exultingly to the flattest part of the rock they could find. "a regular picnic," cried dumsby in high glee, for unusual events, of even a trifling kind, had the effect of elating those men more than one might have expected. "here's the murphies," cried o'connor, staggering over the slippery weed with a large smoking tin dish. "mind you don't let 'em fall," cried one. "have a care," shouted the smith; "if you drop them i'll beat you red-hot, and hammer ye so flat that the biggest flatterer as ever walked won't be able to spread ye out another half-inch." "mutton! oh!" exclaimed forsyth, who had been some time trying to wrench the cover off the basket containing a roast leg, and at last succeeded. "here, spread them all out on this rock. you han't forgot the grog, i hope, steward?" "no fear of him: he's a good feller, is the steward, when he's asleep partiklerly. the grog's here all right." "dinna let dumsby git haud o't, then," cried watt. "what! hae ye begood a'ready? patience, man, patience. is there ony saut?" "lots of it, darlin', in the say. sure this shape must have lost his tail somehow. och, murther! if there isn't bobby selkirk gone an' tumbled into port hamilton wid the cabbage, av it's not the carrots!" "there now, don't talk so much, boys," cried peter logan. "let's drink success to the bell rock lighthouse." it need scarcely be said that this toast was drunk with enthusiasm, and that it was followed up with "three times three." "now for a song. come, joe dumsby, strike up," cried one of the men. o'connor, who was one of the most reckless of men in regard to duty and propriety, here shook his head gravely, and took upon himself to read his comrade a lesson. "ye shouldn't talk o' sitch things in workin' hours," said he. "av we wos all foolish, waake-hidded cratures like _you_, how d'ye think we'd iver git the lighthouse sot up! ate yer dinner, lad, and howld yer tongue." "o ned, i didn't think your jealousy would show out so strong," retorted his comrade. "now, then, dumsby, fire away, if it was only to aggravate him." thus pressed, joe dumsby took a deep draught of the small-beer with which the men were supplied, and began a song of his own composition. when the song was finished the meal was also concluded, and the men returned to their labours on the rock; some to continue their work with the picks at the hard stone of the foundation-pit, others to perform miscellaneous jobs about the rock, such as mixing the mortar and removing _debris_, while james dove and his fast friend ruby brand mounted to their airy "cot" on the beacon, from which in a short time began to proceed the volumes of smoke and the clanging sounds that had formerly arisen from "smith's ledge." while they were all thus busily engaged, ruby observed a boat advancing towards the rock from the floating light. he was blowing the bellows at the time, after a spell at the fore-hammer. "we seem to be favoured with unusual events to-day, jamie," said he, wiping his forehead with the corner of his apron with one hand, while he worked the handle of the bellows with the other, "yonder comes another boat; what can it be, think you?" "surely it can't be tea!" said the smith with a smile, as he turned the end of a pickaxe in the fire, "it's too soon after dinner for that." "it looks like the boat of our friends the fishermen, big swankie and davy spink," said ruby, shading his eyes with his hand, and gazing earnestly at the boat as it advanced towards them. "friends!" repeated the smith, "rascally smugglers, both of them; they're no friends of mine." "well, i didn't mean bosom friends," replied ruby, "but after all, davy spink is not such a bad fellow, though i can't say that i'm fond of his comrade." the two men resumed their hammers at this point in the conversation, and became silent as long as the anvil sounded. the boat had reached the rock when they ceased, and its occupants were seen to be in earnest conversation with peter logan. there were only two men in the boat besides its owners, swankie and spink. "what can they want?" said dove, looking down on them as he turned to thrust the iron on which he was engaged into the fire. as he spoke the foreman looked up. "ho! ruby brand," he shouted, "come down here; you're wanted." "hallo! ruby," exclaimed the smith, "_more_ friends o' yours! your acquaintance is extensive, lad, but there's no girl in the case this time." ruby made no reply, for an indefinable feeling of anxiety filled his breast as he threw down the fore-hammer and prepared to descend. on reaching the rock he advanced towards the strangers, both of whom were stout, thickset men, with grave, stern countenances. one of them stepped forward and said, "your name is--" "ruby brand," said the youth promptly, at the same time somewhat proudly, for he knew that he was in the hands of the philistines. the man who first spoke hereupon drew a small instrument from his pocket, and tapping ruby on the shoulder, said-- "i arrest you, ruby brand, in the name of the king." the other man immediately stepped forward and produced a pair of handcuffs. at sight of these ruby sprang backward, and the blood rushed violently to his forehead, while his blue eyes glared with the ferocity of those of a tiger. "come, lad, it's of no use, you know," said the man, pausing; "if you won't come quietly we must find ways and means to compel you." "compel me!" cried ruby, drawing himself up with a look of defiance and a laugh of contempt, that caused the two men to shrink back in spite of themselves. "ruby," said the foreman, gently, stepping forward and laying his hand on the youth's shoulder, "you had better go quietly, for there's no chance of escape from these fellows. i have no doubt it's a mistake, and that you'll come off with flyin' colours, but it's best to go quietly whatever turns up." while logan was speaking, ruby dropped his head on his breast, the officer with the handcuffs advanced, and the youth held out his hands, while the flush of anger deepened into the crimson blush of shame. it was at this point that jamie dove, wondering at the prolonged absence of his friend and assistant, looked down from the platform of the beacon, and beheld what was taking place. the stentorian roar of amazement and rage that suddenly burst from him, attracted the attention of all the men on the rock, who dropped their tools and looked up in consternation, expecting, no doubt, to behold something terrible. their eyes at once followed those of the smith, and no sooner did they see ruby being led in irons to the boat, which lay in _port hamilton_, close to _sir ralph the rover's ledge_, than they uttered a yell of execration, and rushed with one accord to the rescue. the officers, who were just about to make their prisoner step into the boat, turned to face the foe,--one, who seemed to be the more courageous of the two, a little in advance of the other. ned o'connor, with that enthusiasm which seems to be inherent in irish blood, rushed with such irresistible force against this man that he drove him violently back against his comrade, and sent them both head over heels into port hamilton. nay, with such momentum was this act performed, that ned could not help but follow them, falling on them both as they came to the surface and sinking them a second time, amid screams and yells of laughter. o'connor was at once pulled out by his friends. the officers also were quickly landed. "i ax yer parding, gintlemen," said the former, with an expression of deep regret on his face, "but the say-weed _is_ so slippy on them rocks we're almost for iver doin' that sort o' thing be the merest accident. but av yer as fond o' cowld wather as meself ye won't objec' to it, although it do come raither onexpected." the officers made no reply, but, collaring ruby, pushed him into the boat. again the men made a rush, but peter logan stood between them and the boat. "lads," said he, holding up his hand, "it's of no use resistin' the law. these are king's officers, and they are only doin' their duty. sure am i that ruby brand is guilty of no crime, so they've only to enquire into it and set him free." the men hesitated, but did not seem quite disposed to submit without another struggle. "it's a shame to let them take him," cried the smith. "so it is. i vote for a rescue," cried joe dumsby. "hooray! so does i," cried o'connor, stripping off his waist-coat, and for once in his life agreeing with joe. "na, na, lads," cried john watt, rolling up his sleeves, and baring his brawny arms as if about to engage in a fight, "it'll niver do to interfere wi' the law; but what d'ye say to gie them anither dook?" seeing that the men were about to act upon watt's suggestion, ruby started up in the boat, and turning to his comrade, said: "boys, it's very kind of you to be so anxious to save me but you can't--" "faix, but we can, darlin'," interrupted o'connor. "no, you can't," repeated ruby firmly, "because i won't let you. i don't think i need say to you that i am innocent," he added, with a look in which truth evidently shone forth like a sunbeam, "but now that they have put these irons on me i will not consent that they shall be taken off except by the law which put them on." while he was speaking the boat had been pushed off, and in a few seconds it was beyond the reach of the men. "depend upon it, comrades," cried ruby, as they pulled away, "that i shall be back again to help you to finish the work on the bell rock." "so you will, lad, so you will," cried the foreman. "my blessin' on ye," shouted o'connor. "ach! ye dirty villains, ye low-minded spalpeens," he added, shaking his fist at the officers of justice. "don't be long away, ruby," cried one. "never say die," shouted another, earnestly. "three cheers for ruby brand!" exclaimed forsyth, "hip! hip! hip!--" the cheer was given with the most vociferous energy, and then the men stood in melancholy silence on _ralph the rover's ledge_, watching the boat that bore their comrade to the shore. chapter sixteen. new arrangements--the captain's philosophy in regard to pipeology. that night our hero was lodged in the common jail of arbroath. soon after, he was tried, and, as captain ogilvy had prophesied, was acquitted. thereafter he went to reside for the winter with his mother, occupying the same room as his worthy uncle, as there was not another spare one in the cottage, and sleeping in a hammock, slung parallel with and close to that of the captain. on the night following his release from prison, ruby lay on his back in his hammock meditating intently on the future, and gazing at the ceiling, or rather at the place where he knew the ceiling to be, for it was a dark night, and there was no light in the room, the candle having just been extinguished. we are not strictly correct, however, in saying that there was _no_ light in the room, for there was a deep red glowing spot of fire near to captain ogilvy's head, which flashed and grew dim at each alternate second of time. it was, in fact, the captain's pipe, a luxury in which that worthy man indulged morning, noon, and night. he usually rested the bowl of the pipe on and a little over the edge of his hammock, and, lying on his back, passed the mouthpiece over the blankets into the corner of his mouth, where four of his teeth seemed to have agreed to form an exactly round hole suited to receive it. at each draw the fire in the bowl glowed so that the captain's nose was faintly illuminated; in the intervals the nose disappeared. the breaking or letting fall of this pipe was a common incident in the captain's nocturnal history, but he had got used to it, from long habit, and regarded the event each time it occurred with the philosophic composure of one who sees and makes up his mind to endure an inevitable and unavoidable evil. "ruby," said the captain, after the candle was extinguished. "well, uncle?" "i've bin thinkin', lad,--" here the captain drew a few whiffs to prevent the pipe from going out, in which operation he evidently forgot himself and went on thinking, for he said nothing more. "well, uncle, what have you been thinking?" "eh! ah, yes, i've bin thinkin', lad (pull), that you'll have to (puff)--there's somethin' wrong with the pipe to-night, it don't draw well (puff)--you'll have to do somethin' or other in the town, for it won't do to leave the old woman, lad, in her delicate state o' health. had she turned in when you left the kitchen?" "oh yes, an hour or more." "an' blue eyes,-- "`the tender bit flower that waves in the breeze, and scatters its fragrance all over the seas.' "has she turned in too?" "she was just going to when i left," replied ruby; "but what has that to do with the question?" "i didn't say as it had anything to do with it, lad. moreover, there ain't no question between us as i knows on (puff); but what have you to say to stoppin' here all winter?" "impossible," said ruby, with a sigh. "no so, lad; what's to hinder?--ah! there she goes." the pipe fell with a crash to the floor, and burst with a bright shower of sparks, like a little bombshell. "that's the third, ruby, since i turned in," said the captain, getting slowly over the side of his hammock, and alighting on the floor heavily. "i won't git up again if it goes another time." after knocking off the chimney-piece five or six articles which appeared to be made of tin from the noise they made in falling, the captain succeeded in getting hold of another pipe and the tinder-box, for in those days flint and steel were the implements generally used in procuring a light. with much trouble he re-lit the pipe. "now, ruby, lad, hold it till i tumble in." "but i can't see the stem, uncle." "what a speech for a seaman to make! don't you see the fire in the bowl?" "yes, of course." "well, just make a grab two inches astarn of the bowl and you'll hook the stem." the captain was looking earnestly into the bowl while he spoke, stuffing down the burning tobacco with the end of his little finger. ruby, acting in rather too prompt obedience to the instructions, made a "grab" as directed, and caught his uncle by the nose. a yell and an apology followed of course, in the midst of which the fourth pipe was demolished. "oh! uncle, what a pity!" "ah! ruby, that comes o' inconsiderate youth, which philosophers tell us is the nat'ral consequence of unavoidable necessity, for you can't put a young head on old shoulders, d'ye see?" from the tone in which this was said ruby knew that the captain was shaking his head gravely, and from the noise of articles being kicked about and falling, he became aware that the unconquerable man was filling a fifth pipe. this one was more successfully managed, and the captain once more got into his hammock, and began to enjoy himself. "well, ruby, where was i? o ay; what's to hinder you goin' and gettin' employed in the bell rock workyard? there's plenty to do, and good wages there." it may be as well to inform the reader here, that although the operations at the bell rock had come to an end for the season about the beginning of october, the work of hewing the stones for the lighthouse was carried on briskly during the winter at the workyard on shore; and as the tools, etcetera, required constant sharpening and mending, a blacksmith could not be dispensed with. "do you think i can get in again?" enquired ruby. "no doubt of it, lad. but the question is, are ye willin' to go if they'll take you?" "quite willing, uncle." "good: then that's all square, an' i knows how to lay my course--up anchor to-morrow mornin', crowd all sail, bear down on the workyard, bring-to off the countin'-room, and open fire on the superintendent." the captain paused at this point, and opened fire with his pipe for some minutes. "now," he continued, "there's another thing i want to ax you. i'm goin' to-morrow afternoon to take a cruise along the cliffs to the east'ard in the preventive boat, just to keep up my sea legs. they've got scent o' some smugglin' business that's goin' on, an' my friend leftenant lindsay has asked me to go. now, ruby, if you want a short cruise of an hour or so you may come with me." ruby smiled at the manner in which this offer was made, and replied: "with pleasure, uncle." "so, then, that's settled too. good night, nephy." the captain turned on his side, and dropped the pipe on the floor, where it was shivered to atoms. it must not be supposed that this was accidental. it was done on purpose. captain ogilvy had found from experience that it was not possible to stretch out his arm to its full extent and lay the pipe on the chimney-piece, without waking himself up just at that critical moment when sleep was consenting to be wooed. he also found that on the average he broke one in every four pipes that he thus attempted to deposit. being a philosophical and practical man, he came to the conclusion that it would be worth while to pay something for the comfort of being undisturbed at the minute of time that lay between the conclusion of smoking and the commencement of repose. he therefore got a sheet of foolscap and a pencil, and spent a whole forenoon in abstruse calculations. he ascertained the exact value of three hundred and sixty-five clay pipes. from this he deducted a fourth for breakage that would have certainly occurred in the old system of laying the pipes down every night, and which, therefore, he felt, in a confused sort of way, ought not to be charged in the estimates of a new system. then he added a small sum to the result for probable extra breakages, such as had occurred that night, and found that the total was not too high a price for a man in his circumstances to pay for the blessing he wished to obtain. from that night forward he deliberately dropped his pipe every night over the side of his hammock before going to sleep. the captain, in commenting on this subject, was wont to observe that everything in life, no matter how small, afforded matter of thought to philosophical men. he had himself found a pleasing subject of study each morning in the fact that some of the pipes survived the fall of the previous night. this led him to consider the nature of clay pipes in general, and to test them in various ways. it is true he did not say that anything of importance resulted from his peculiar studies, but he argued that a true philosopher looks for facts, and leaves results alone. one discovery he undoubtedly did make, which was, that the pipes obtained from a certain maker in the town _invariably_ broke, while those obtained from another maker broke only occasionally. hence he came to the conclusion that one maker was an honest man, the other a doubtful character, and wisely bestowed his custom in accordance with that opinion. about one minute after the falling of the pipe ruby brand fell asleep, and about two minutes after that captain ogilvy began to snore, both of which conditions were maintained respectively and uninterruptedly until the birds began to whistle and the sun began to shine. chapter seventeen. a meeting with old friends, and an excursion. next morning the captain and his nephew "bore down", as the former expressed it, on the workyard, and ruby was readily accepted, his good qualities having already been well tested at the bell rock. "now, boy, we'll go and see about the little preventive craft," said the captain on quitting the office. "but first," said ruby, "let me go and tell my old comrade dove that i am to be with him again." there was no need to enquire the way to the forge, the sound of the anvil being distinctly heard above all the other sounds of that busy spot. the workyard at arbroath, where the stones for the lighthouse were collected and hewn into shape before being sent off to the rock, was an enclosed piece of ground, extending to about three-quarters of an acre, conveniently situated on the northern side of the lady lane, or street, leading from the western side of the harbour. here were built a row of barracks for the workmen, and several apartments connected with the engineer's office, mould-makers' department, stores, workshops for smiths and joiners, stables, etcetera, extending feet along the north side of the yard. all of these were fully occupied, there being upwards of forty men employed permanently. sheds of timber were also constructed to protect the workmen in wet weather; and a kiln was built for burning lime. in the centre of the yard stood a circular platform of masonry on which the stones were placed when dressed, so that each stone was tested and marked, and each "course" or layer of the lighthouse fitted up and tried, before being shipped to the rock. the platform measured feet in diameter. it was founded with large broad stones at a depth of about feet inches, and built to within inches of the surface with rubble work, on which a course of neatly dressed and well-jointed masonry was laid, of the red sandstone from the quarries to the eastward of arbroath, which brought the platform on a level with the surface of the ground. here the dressed part of the first entire course, or layer, of the lighthouse was lying, and the platform was so substantially built as to be capable of supporting any number of courses which it might be found convenient to lay upon it in the further progress of the work. passing this platform, the captain and ruby threaded their way through a mass of workyard _debris_ until they came to the building from which the sounds of the anvil proceeded. for a few minutes they stood looking at our old friend jamie dove, who, with bared arms, was causing the sparks to fly, and the glowing metal to yield, as vigorously as of old. presently he ceased hammering, and turning to the fire thrust the metal into it. then he wiped his brow, and glanced towards the door. "what! eh! ruby brand?" he shouted in surprise. "och! or his ghost!" cried ned o'connor, who had been appointed to ruby's vacant situation. "a pretty solid ghost you'll find me," said ruby with a laugh, as he stepped forward and seized the smith by the hand. "musha! but it's thrue," cried o'connor, quitting the bellows, and seizing ruby's disengaged hand, which he shook almost as vehemently as the smith did the other. "now, then, don't dislocate him altogether," cried the captain, who was much delighted with this warm reception; "he's goin' to jine you, boys, so have mercy on his old timbers." "jine us!" cried the smith. "ay, been appointed to the old berth," said ruby, "so i'll have to unship _you_, ned." "the sooner the better; faix, i niver had much notion o' this fiery style o' life; it's only fit for sallymanders and bottle-imps. but when d'ye begin work, lad?" "to-morrow, i believe. at least, i was told to call at the office to-morrow. to-day i have an engagement." "ay, an' it's time we was under weigh," said captain ogilvy, taking his nephew by the arm. "come along, lad, an' don't keep them waiting." so saying they bade the smith goodbye, and, leaving the forge, walked smartly towards that part of the harbour where the boats lay. "ruby," said the captain, as they went along, "it's lucky it's such a fine day, for minnie is going with us." ruby said nothing, but the deep flush of pleasure that overspread his countenance proved that he was not indifferent to the news. "you see she's bin out of sorts," continued the captain, "for some time back; and no wonder, poor thing, seein' that your mother has been so anxious about you, and required more than usual care, so i've prevailed on the leftenant to let her go. she'll get good by our afternoon's sail, and we won't be the worse of her company. what say ye to that, nephy?" ruby said that he was glad to hear it, but he thought a great deal more than he said, and among other things he thought that the lieutenant might perhaps be rather in the way; but as his presence was unavoidable he made up his mind to try to believe that he, the lieutenant, would in all probability be an engaged man already. as to the possibility of his seeing minnie and being indifferent to her (in the event of his being a free man), he felt that such an idea was preposterous! suddenly a thought flashed across him and induced a question-- "is the lieutenant married, uncle?" "not as i know of, lad; why d'ye ask?" "because--because--married men are so much pleasanter than--" ruby stopped short, for he just then remembered that his uncle was a bachelor. "'pon my word, youngster! go on, why d'ye stop in your purlite remark?" "because," said ruby, laughing, "i meant to say that _young_ married men were so much more agreeable than _young_ bachelors." "humph!" ejaculated the captain, who did not see much force in the observation, "and how d'ye know the leftenant's a _young_ man? i didn't say he was young; mayhap he's old. but here he is, so you'll judge for yourself." at the moment a tall, deeply-bronzed man of about thirty years of age walked up and greeted captain ogilvy familiarly as his "buck", enquiring, at the same time, how his "old timbers" were, and where the "bit of baggage" was. "she's to be at the end o' the pier in five minutes," said the captain, drawing out and consulting a watch that was large enough to have been mistaken for a small eight-day clock. "this is my nephy, ruby. ruby brand--leftenant lindsay. true blues, both of ye-- "`when shall we three meet again? where the stormy winds do blow, do blow, do blow, and the thunder, lightenin', and the rain, riots up above, and also down below, below, below.' "ah! here comes the pretty little craft." minnie appeared as he spoke, and walked towards them with a modest, yet decided air that was positively bewitching. she was dressed in homely garments, but that served to enhance the beauty of her figure, and she had on the plainest of little bonnets, but that only tended to make her face more lovely. ruby thought it was perfection. he glanced at lieutenant lindsay, and perceiving that he thought so too (as how could he think otherwise?) a pang of jealousy shot into his breast. but it passed away when the lieutenant, after politely assisting minnie into the boat, sat down beside the captain and began to talk earnestly to him, leaving minnie entirely to her lover. we may remark here, that the title of "leftenant", bestowed on lindsay by the captain was entirely complimentary. the crew of the boat rowed out of the harbour, and the lieutenant steered eastward, towards the cliffs that have been mentioned in an earlier part of our tale. the day turned out to be one of those magnificent and exceptional days which appear to have been cut out of summer and interpolated into autumn. it was bright, warm, and calm, so calm that the boat's sail was useless, and the crew had to row; but this was, in minnie's estimation, no disadvantage, for it gave her time to see the caves and picturesque inlets which abound all along that rocky coast. it also gave her time to--but no matter. "o how very much i should like to have a little boat," said minnie, with enthusiasm, "and spend a long day rowing in and out among these wild rocks, and exploring the caves! wouldn't it be delightful, ruby?" ruby admitted that it would, and added, "you shall have such a day, minnie, if we live long." "have you ever been in the _forbidden cave_?" enquired minnie. "i'll warrant you he has," cried the captain, who overheard the question; "you may be sure that wherever ruby is forbidden to go, there he'll be sure to go!" "ay, is he so self-willed?" asked the lieutenant, with a smile, and a glance at minnie. "a mule; a positive mule," said the captain. "come, uncle, you know that i don't deserve such a character, and it's too bad to give it to me to-day. did i not agree to come on this excursion at once, when you asked me?" "ay, but you wouldn't if i had _ordered_ you," returned the captain. "i rather think he would," observed the lieutenant, with another smile, and another glance at minnie. both smiles and glances were observed and noticed by ruby, whose heart felt another pang shoot through it; but this, like the former, subsided when the lieutenant again addressed the captain, and devoted himself to him so exclusively, that ruby began to feel a touch of indignation at his want of appreciation of _such_ a girl as minnie. "he's a stupid ass," thought ruby to himself, and then, turning to minnie, directed her attention to a curious natural arch on the cliffs, and sought to forget all the rest of the world. in this effort he was successful, and had gradually worked himself into the firm belief that the world was paradise, and that he and minnie were its sole occupants--a second edition, as it were, of adam and eve--when the lieutenant rudely dispelled the sweet dream by saying sharply to the man at the bow-oar-- "is that the boat, baker? you ought to know it pretty well." "i think it is, sir," answered the man, resting on his oar a moment, and glancing over his shoulder; "but i can't be sure at this distance." "well, pull easy," said the lieutenant; "you see, it won't do to scare them, captain ogilvy, and they'll think we're a pleasure party when they see a woman in the boat." ruby thought they would not be far wrong in supposing them a pleasure party. he objected, mentally, however, to minnie being styled a "woman"--not that he would have had her called a man, but he thought that _girl_ would have been more suitable--angel, perhaps, the most appropriate term of all. "come, captain, i think i will join you in a pipe," said the lieutenant, pulling out a tin case, in which he kept the blackest of little cutty pipes. "in days of old our ancestors loved to fight--now we degenerate souls love to smoke the pipe of peace." "i did not know that your ancestors were enemies," said minnie to the captain. "enemies, lass! ay, that they were. what! have ye never heard tell o' the great fight between the ogilvys and lindsays?" "never," said minnie. "then, my girl, your education has been neglected, but i'll do what i can to remedy that defect." here the captain rekindled his pipe (which was in the habit of going out, and requiring to be relighted), and, clearing his throat with the emphasis of one who is about to communicate something of importance, held forth as follows. chapter eighteen. the battle of arbroath, and other warlike matters. "it was in the year --that's not far short o' four hundred years ago--ah! _tempus fugit_, which is a latin quotation, my girl, from horace walpole, i believe, an' signifies time and tide waits for no man; that's what they calls a free translation, you must know; well, it was in the winter o' that a certain alexander ogilvy of inverquharity, was chosen to act as chief justiciar in these parts--i suppose that means a kind of upper bailiff, a sort o' bo's'n's mate, to compare great things with small. he was set up in place of one o' the lindsay family, who, it seems, was rather extravagant, though whether his extravagance lay in wearin' a beard (for he was called earl beardie), or in spendin' too much cash, i can't take upon me for to say. anyhow, beardie refused to haul down his colours, so the ogilvys mustered their men and friends, and the lindsays did the same, and they went at it, hammer and tongs, and fowt what ye may call the battle of arbroath, for it was close to the old town where they fell to. "it was a most bloody affair. the two families were connected with many o' the richest and greatest people in the land, and these went to lend a hand when they beat to quarters, and there was no end o' barbed horses, as they call them--which means critters with steel spikes in their noses, i'm told--and lots of embroidered banners and flags, though i never heard that anyone hoisted the union jack; but, however that may be, they fowt like bluejackets, for five hundred men were left dead on the field, an' among them a lot o' the great folk. "but i'm sorry to say that the ogilvys were licked, though i say it that shouldn't," continued the captain, with a sigh, as he relighted his pipe. "howsever,-- "`never ventur', never win, blaze away an' don't give in,' "as milton remarks in his preface to the _pilgrim's progress_." "true, captain," said the lieutenant, "and you know that he who fights and runs away, shall live to fight another day." "leftenant," said the captain gravely, "your quotation, besides bein' a kind o' desecration, is not applicable; 'cause the ogilvys did _not_ run away. they fowt on that occasion like born imps, an' they would ha' certainly won the day, if they hadn't been, every man jack of 'em, cut to pieces before the battle was finished." "well said, uncle," exclaimed ruby, with a laugh. "no doubt the ogilvys would lick the lindsays _now_ if they had a chance." "i believe they would," said the lieutenant, "for they have become a race of heroes since the great day of the battle of arbroath. no doubt, miss gray," continued the lieutenant, turning to minnie with an arch smile, "no doubt you have heard of that more recent event, the threatened attack on arbroath by the french fire-eater, captain fall, and the heroic part played on that occasion by an ogilvy--an uncle, i am told, of my good friend here?" "i have heard of captain fall, of course," replied minnie, "for it was not many years before i was born that his visit took place, and mrs brand has often told me of the consternation into which the town was thrown by his doings; but i never heard of the deeds of the ogilvy to whom you refer." "no? now, that _is_ surprising! how comes it, captain, that you have kept so silent on this subject?" "'cause it ain't true," replied the captain stoutly, yet with a peculiar curl about the corners of his mouth, that implied something in the mind beyond what he expressed with the lips. "ah! i see--modesty," said lindsay. "your uncle is innately modest, miss gray, and never speaks of anything that bears the slightest resemblance to boasting. see, the grave solemnity with which he smokes while i say this proves the truth of my assertion. well, since he has never told you, i will tell yell myself. you have no objection, captain?" the captain sent a volume of smoke from his lips, and followed it up with--"fire away, shipmet." the lieutenant, having drawn a few whiffs in order to ensure the continued combustion of his pipe, related the following anecdote, which is now matter of history, as anyone may find by consulting the archives of arbroath. "in the year , on a fine evening of the month of may, the seamen of arbroath who chanced to be loitering about the harbour observed a strange vessel manoeuvring in the offing. they watched and commented on the motions of the stranger with considerable interest, for the wary skill displayed by her commander proved that he was unacquainted with the navigation of the coast, and from the cut of her jib they knew that the craft was a foreigner. after a time she took up a position, and cast anchor in the bay, directly opposite the town. "at that time we were, as we still are, and as it really appears likely to me we ever shall be, at war with france; but as the scene of the war was far removed from arbroath, it never occurred to the good people that the smell of powder could reach their peaceful town. that idea was somewhat rudely forced upon them when the french flag was run up to the mizzentop, and a white puff of smoke burst from the vessel, which was followed by a shot, that went hissing over their heads, and plumped right into the middle of the town! "that shot knocked over fifteen chimney-pots and two weathercocks in market-gate, went slap through a house in the suburbs, and finally stuck in the carcass of an old horse belonging to the provost of the town, which didn't survive the shock--the horse, i mean, not the provost. "it is said that there was an old gentleman lying in bed in a room of the house that the shot went through. he was a sort of `hipped' character, and believed that he could not walk, if he were to try ever so much. he was looking quietly at the face of a great dutch clock when the shot entered and knocked the clock inside out, sending its contents in a shower over the old gentleman, who jumped up and rushed out of the house like a maniac! he was cured completely from that hour. at least, so it's said, but i don't vouch for the truth of the story. "however, certain it is that the shot was fired, and was followed up by two or three more; after which the frenchman ceased firing, and a boat was seen to quit the side of the craft, bearing a flag of truce. "the consternation into which the town was thrown is said to have been tremendous." "that's false," interrupted the captain, removing his pipe while he spoke. "the word ain't appropriate. the men of arbroath doesn't know nothin' about no such word as `consternation.' they was _surprised_, if ye choose, an' powerfully enraged mayhap, but they wasn't consternated by no means." "well, i don't insist on the point," said the lieutenant, "but chroniclers write so-- "chroniclers write lies sometimes," interrupted the captain curtly. "perhaps they do; but you will admit, i dare say, that the women and children were thrown into a great state of alarm." "i'm not so sure of that," interposed ruby. "in a town where the men were so bold, the women and children would be apt to feel very much at their ease. at all events, i am acquainted with _some_ women who are not easily frightened." "really, i think it is not fair to interrupt the story in this way," said minnie, with a laugh. "right, lass, right," said the captain. "come, leftenant, spin away at yer yarn, and don't ventur' too much commentary thereon, 'cause it's apt to lead to error, an' ye know, as the poet says-- "`errors in the heart breed errors in the brain, an' these are apt to twist ye wrong again.' "i'm not 'xactly sure o' the precise words in this case, but that's the sentiment, and everybody knows that sentiment is everything in poetry, whether ye understand it or not. fire away, leftenant, an' don't be long-winded if ye can help it." "well, to return to the point," resumed lindsay. "the town was certainly thrown into a tremendous state of _some_ sort, for the people had no arms of any kind wherewith to defend themselves. there were no regular soldiers, no militia, and no volunteers. everybody ran wildly about in every direction, not knowing what to do. there was no leader, and, in short, the town was very like a shoal of small fish in a pool when a boy wades in and makes a dash amongst them. "at last a little order was restored by the provost, who was a sensible old man, and an old soldier to boot, but too infirm to take as active a part in such an emergency as he would have done had he been a dozen years younger. he, with several of the principal men of the town, went down to the beach to receive the bearers of the flag of truce. "the boat was manned by a crew of five or six seamen, armed with cutlasses and arquebusses. as soon as its keel grated on the sand a smart little officer leaped ashore, and presented to the provost a letter from captain fall, which ran somewhat in this fashion:-- "`at sea, _may twenty-third_. "`gentlemen,--i send these two words to inform you, that i will have you to bring-to the french colour in less than a quarter of an hour, or i set the town on fire directly. such is the order of my master, the king of france, i am sent by. send directly the mair and chiefs of the town to make some agreement with me, or i'll make my duty. it is the will of yours,--g. fall. "`to monsieur mair of the town called arbrought, or in his absence to the chief man after him in scotland.' "on reading this the provost bowed respectfully to the officer, and begged of him to wait a few minutes while he should consult with his chief men. this was agreed to, and the provost said to his friends, as he walked to a neighbouring house-- "`ye see, freens, this whipper-snapper o' a tade-eater has gotten the whup hand o' us; but we'll be upsides wi' him. the main thing is to get delay, so cut away, tam cargill, and tak' horse to montrose for the sodgers. spare na the spur, lad, an' gar them to understan' that the case is urgent.' "while tam cargill started away on his mission, the provost, whose chief aim was to gain time and cause delay, penned an epistle to the frenchman, in which he stated that he had neglected to name the terms on which he would consent to spare the town, and that he would consider it extremely obliging if he would, as speedily as possible, return an answer, stating them, in order that they might be laid before the chief men of the place." "when the provost, who was a grave, dignified old man, with a strong dash of humour in him, handed this note to the french officer, he did so with a humble obeisance that appeared to afford much gratification to the little man. as the latter jumped into the boat and ordered the men to push off, the provost turned slowly to his brother magistrates with a wink and a quiet smile that convulsed them with suppressed laughter, and did more to encourage any of the wavering or timid inhabitants than if he had harangued them heroically for an hour. "some time after the boat returned with a reply, which ran thus:-- "`at sea, _eight o'clock in the afternoon_.' "`gentlemen,--i received just now your answer, by which you say i ask no terms. i thought it was useless, since i asked you to come aboard for agreement. but here are my terms:--i will have , pounds sterling at least, and six of the chiefs men of the town for otage. be speedy, or i shot your town away directly, and i set fire to it. i am, gentlemen, your servant,--g. fall. "`i sent some of my crew to you, but if some harm happens to them, you'll be sure we'll hang up the mainyard all the prisoners we have aboard. "`to monsieurs the chiefs men of arbrought in scotland.' "i'm not quite certain," continued the lieutenant, "what were the exact words of the provost's reply to this letter, but they conveyed a distinct and contemptuous refusal to accede to any terms, and, i believe, invited fall to come ashore, where, if he did not get precisely what he had asked, he would be certain to receive a great deal more than he wanted. "the enraged and disappointed frenchman at once began a heavy fire upon the town, and continued it for a long time, but fortunately it did little or no harm, as the town lay in a somewhat low position, and fall's guns being too much elevated, the shot passed over it. "next day another letter was sent to the provost by some fishermen, who were captured while fishing off the bell rock. this letter was as tremendous as the two former. i can give it to you, word for word, from memory. "`at sea, _may_ th.' "`gentlemen,--see whether you will come to some terms with me, or i come in presently with my cutter into the arbour, and i will cast down the town all over. make haste, because i have no time to spare. i give you a quarter of an hour to your decision, and after i'll make my duty. i think it would be better for you, gentlemen, to come some of you aboard presently, to settle the affairs of your town. you'll sure no to be hurt. i give you my parole of honour. i am your, g. fall.' "when the provost received this he looked round and said, `now, gentlemen all, we'll hae to fight. send me ogilvy.' "`here i am, provost,' cried a stout, active young fellow; something like what the captain must have been when he was young, i should think!" "ahem!" coughed the captain. "well," continued lindsay, "the provost said, `now, ogilvy, you're a smart cheel, an' ken aboot war and strategy and the like: i charge ye to organise the men o' the toon without delay, and tak' what steps ye think adveesable. meanwhile, i'll away and ripe oot a' the airms and guns i can find. haste ye, lad, an' mak' as muckle noise aboot it as ye can.' "`trust me,' said ogilvy, who appeared to have been one of those men who regard a fight as a piece of good fun. "turning to the multitude, who had heard the commission given, and were ready for anything, he shouted, `now, boys, ye heard the provost. i need not ask if you are all ready to fight--' "a deafening cheer interrupted the speaker, who, when it ceased, proceeded-- "`well, then, i've but one piece of advice to give ye: _obey orders at once_. when i tell ye to halt, stop dead like lampposts; when i say, "charge!" go at them like wild cats, and drive the frenchmen into the sea!' `hurrah!' yelled the crowd, for they were wild with excitement and rage, and only wanted a leader to organise them and make them formidable. when the cheer ceased, ogilvy cried, `now, then, every man who knows how to beat a kettledrum and blow a trumpet come here.' "about twenty men answered to the summons, and to these ogilvy said aloud, in order that all might hear, `go, get you all the trumpets, drums, horns, bugles, and trombones in the town; beat the drums till they split, and blow the bugles till they burst, and don't give in till ye can't go on. the rest of you,' he added, turning to the crowd, `go, get arms, guns, swords, pistols, scythes, pitchforks, pokers--any thing, everything--and meet me at the head of market-gate--away!' "no king of necromancers ever dispersed his legions more rapidly than did ogilvy on that occasion. they gave one final cheer, and scattered like chaff before the wind, leaving their commander alone, with a select few, whom he kept by him as a sort of staff to consult with and despatch with orders. "the noise that instantly ensued in the town was something pandemoniacal. only three drums were found, but tin kettles and pans were not wanting, and these, superintended by hugh barr, the town drummer, did great execution. three key-bugles, an old french horn, and a tin trumpet of a mail-coach guard, were sounded at intervals in every quarter of the town, while the men were marshalled, and made to march hither and thither in detached bodies, as if all were busily engaged in making preparations for a formidable defence. "in one somewhat elevated position a number of men were set to work with spades, picks, and shovels, to throw up an earthwork. when it had assumed sufficiently large dimensions to attract the attention of the french, a body of men, with blue jackets, and caps with bits of red flannel hanging down the sides, were marched up behind it at the double, and posted there. "meanwhile ogilvy had prepared a dummy field piece, by dismounting a cart from its wheels and fixing on the axle a great old wooden pump, not unlike a big gun in shape; another cart was attached to this to represent a limber; four horses were harnessed to the affair; two men mounted these, and, amid a tremendous flourish of trumpets and beating of drums, the artillery went crashing along the streets and up the eminence crowned by the earthwork, where they wheeled the gun into position. "the artillerymen sprang at the old pump like true britons, and began to sponge it out as if they had been bred to gunnery from childhood, while the limber was detached and galloped to the rear. in this operation the cart was smashed to pieces, and the two hindmost horses were thrown; but this mattered little, as they had got round a corner, and the french did not see it. "fall and his brave men seem to have been upset altogether by these warlike demonstrations, for the moment the big gun made its appearance the sails were shaken loose, and the french privateer sheered off; capturing as he left the bay, however, several small vessels, which he carried off as prizes to france. and so," concluded the lieutenant, "captain fall sailed away, and never was heard of more." "well told; well told, leftenant," cried the captain, whose eyes sparkled at the concluding account of the defensive operations, "and true every word of it." "that's good testimony to my truthfulness, then," said lindsay, laughing, "for you were there yourself!" "there yourself, uncle?" repeated minnie, with a glance of surprise that quickly changed into a look of intelligence, as she exclaimed, with a merry laugh, "ah! i see. it was _you_, uncle, who did it all; who commanded on that occasion--" "my child," said the captain, resuming his pipe with an expression of mild reproof on his countenance, "don't go for to pry too deep into things o' the past. i _may_ have been a fire-eater once--i _may_ have been a gay young feller as could--; but no matter. avast musin'! as lord bacon says-- "`the light of other days is faded, an' all their glory's past; my boots no longer look as they did, but, like my coat, are goin' fast.' "but i say, leftenant, how long do you mean to keep pullin' about here, without an enemy, or, as far as i can see, an object in view? don't you think we might land, and let minnie see some of the caves?" "with all my heart, captain, and here is a convenient bay to run the boat ashore." as he spoke the boat shot past one of those bold promontories of red sandstone which project along that coast in wild picturesque forms, terminating in some instances in detached headlands, elsewhere in natural arches. the cliffs were so close to the boat that they could have been touched by the oars, while the rocks, rising to a considerable height, almost overhung them. just beyond this a beautiful bay opened up to view, with a narrow strip of yellow shingle round the base of the cliffs, which here lost for a short distance their rugged character, though not their height, and were covered with herbage. a zigzag path led to the top, and the whole neighbourhood was full of ocean-worn coves and gullies, some of them dry, and many filled with water, while others were filled at high tide, and left empty when the tides fell. "o how beautiful! and what a place for smugglers!" was minnie's enthusiastic exclamation on first catching sight of the bay. "the smugglers and you would appear to be of one mind," said ruby, "for they are particularly fond of this place." "so fond of it," said the lieutenant, "that i mean to wait for them here in anticipation of a moonlight visit this night, if my fair passenger will consent to wander in such wild places at such late hours, guarded from the night air by my boat-cloak, and assured of the protection of my stout boatmen in case of any danger, although there is little prospect of our meeting with any greater danger than a breeze or a shower of rain." minnie said that she would like nothing better; that she did not mind the night air; and, as to danger from men, she felt that she should be well cared for in present circumstances. as she uttered the last words she naturally glanced at ruby, for minnie was of a dependent and trusting nature; but as ruby happened to be regarding her intently, though quite accidentally, at the moment, she dropped her eyes and blushed. it is wonderful the power of a little glance at times. the glance referred to made ruby perfectly happy. it conveyed to him the assurance that minnie regarded the protection of the entire boat's crew, including the lieutenant, as quite unnecessary, and that she deemed his single arm all that she required or wanted. the sun was just dipping behind the tall cliffs, and his parting rays were kissing the top of minnie's head as if they positively could not help it, and had recklessly made up their mind to do it, come what might! ruby looked at the golden light kissing the golden hair, and he felt-- oh! you know, reader; if you have ever been in similar circumstances, you _understand_ what he felt; if you have not, no words from me, or from any other man, can ever convey to you the most distant idea of _what_ ruby felt on that occasion! on reaching the shore they all went up to the green banks at the foot of the cliffs, and turned round to watch the men as they pulled the boat to a convenient point for re-embarking at a moment's notice. "you see," said the lieutenant, pursuing a conversation which he had been holding with the captain, "i have been told that big swankie, and his mate davy spink (who, it seems, is not over-friendly with him just now), mean to visit one of the luggers which is expected to come in to-night, before the moon rises, and bring off some kegs of auchmithie water, which, no doubt, they will try to hide in dickmont's den. i shall lie snugly here on the watch, and hope to nab them before they reach that celebrated old smuggler's abode." "well, i'll stay about here," said the captain, "and show minnie the caves. i would like to have taken her to see the gaylet pot, which is one o' the queerest hereabouts; but i'm too old for such rough work now." "but _i_ am not too old for it," interposed ruby, "so if minnie would like to go--" "but i won't desert _you_, uncle," said minnie hastily. "nay, lass, call it not desertion. i can smoke my pipe here, an' contemplate. i'm fond of contemplation-- "`by the starry light of the summer night, on the banks of the blue moselle,' "though, for the matter o' that, moonlight'll do, if there's no stars. i think it's good for the mind, minnie, and keeps all taut. contemplation is just like takin' an extra pull on the lee braces. so you may go with ruby, lass." thus advised, and being further urged by ruby himself, and being moreover exceedingly anxious to see this cave, minnie consented; so the two set off together, and, climbing to the summit of the cliffs, followed the narrow footpath that runs close to their giddy edge all along the coast. in less than half an hour they reached the giel or gaylet pot. chapter nineteen. an adventure--secrets revealed, and a prize. the giel or gaylet pot, down into which ruby, with great care and circumspection, led minnie, is one of the most curious of nature's freaks among the cliffs of arbroath. in some places there is a small scrap of pebbly beach at the base of those perpendicular cliffs; in most places there is none--the cliffs presenting to the sea almost a dead wall, where neither ship nor boat could find refuge from the storm. the country, inland, however, does not partake of the rugged nature of the cliffs. it slopes gradually towards them--so gradually that it may be termed flat, and if a stranger were to walk towards the sea over the fields in a dark night, the first intimation he would receive of his dangerous position would be when his foot descended into the terrible abyss that would receive his shattered frame a hundred feet below. in one of the fields there is a hole about a hundred yards across, and as deep as the cliffs in that part are high. it is about fifty or eighty yards from the edge of the cliffs, and resembles an old quarry; but it is cut so sharply out of the flat field that it shows no sign of its existence until the traveller is close upon it. the rocky sides, too, are so steep, that at first sight it seems as if no man could descend into it. but the most peculiar point about this hole is, that at the foot of it there is the opening of a cavern, through which the sea rolls into the hole, and breaks in wavelets on a miniature shore. the sea has forced its way inland and underground until it has burst into the bottom of this hole, which is not inaptly compared to a pot with water boiling at the bottom of it. when a spectator looks into the cave, standing at the bottom of the "pot", he sees the seaward opening at the other end--a bright spot of light in the dark interior. "you won't get nervous, minnie?" said ruby, pausing when about halfway down the steep declivity, where the track, or rather the place of descent, became still more steep and difficult; "a slip here would be dangerous." "i have no fear, ruby, as long as you keep by me." in a few minutes they reached the bottom, and, looking up, the sky appeared above them like a blue circular ceiling, with the edges of the gaylet pot sharply defined against it. proceeding over a mass of fallen rock, they reached the pebbly strand at the cave's inner mouth. "i can see the interior now, as my eyes become accustomed to the dim light," said minnie, gazing up wistfully into the vaulted roof, where the edges of projecting rocks seemed to peer out of darkness. "surely this must be a place for smugglers to come to!" "they don't often come here. the place is not so suitable as many of the other caves are." from the low, subdued tones in which they both spoke, it was evident that the place inspired them with feelings of awe. "come, minnie," said ruby, at length, in a more cheerful tone, "let us go into this cave and explore it." "but the water may be deep," objected minnie; "besides, i do not like to wade, even though it be shallow." "nay, sweet one; do you think i would ask you to wet your pretty feet? there is very little wading required. see, i have only to raise you in my arms and take two steps into the water, and a third step to the left round that projecting rock, where i can set you down on another beach inside the cave. your eyes will soon get used to the subdued light, and then you will see things much more clearly than you would think it possible viewed from this point." minnie did not require much pressing. she had perfect confidence in her lover, and was naturally fearless in disposition, so she was soon placed on the subterranean beach of the gaylet cave, and for some time wandered about in the dimly-lighted place, leaning on ruby's arm. gradually their eyes became accustomed to the place, and then its mysterious beauty and wildness began to have full effect on their minds, inducing them to remain for a long time, silent, as they sat side by side on a piece of fallen rock. they sat looking in the direction of the seaward entrance to the cavern, where the light glowed brightly on the rocks, gradually losing its brilliancy as it penetrated the cave, until it became quite dim in the centre. no part of the main cave was quite dark, but the offshoot, in which the lovers sat, was almost dark. to anyone viewing it from the outer cave it would have appeared completely so. "is that a sea-gull at the outlet?" enquired minnie, after a long pause. ruby looked intently for a moment in the direction indicated. "minnie," he said quickly, and in a tone of surprise, "that is a large gull, if it be one at all, and uses oars instead of wings. who can it be? smugglers never come here that i am aware of, and lindsay is not a likely man to waste his time in pulling about when he has other work to do." "perhaps it may be some fishermen from auchmithie," suggested minnie, "who are fond of exploring, like you and me." "mayhap it is, but we shall soon see, for here they come. we must keep out of sight, my girl." ruby rose and led minnie into the recesses of the cavern, where they were speedily shrouded in profound darkness, and could not be seen by anyone, although they themselves could observe all that occurred in the space in front of them. the boat, which had entered the cavern by its seaward mouth, was a small one, manned by two fishermen, who were silent as they rowed under the arched roof; but it was evident that their silence did not proceed from caution, for they made no effort to prevent or check the noise of the oars. in a few seconds the keel grated on the pebbles, and one of the men leaped out. "noo, davy," he said, in a voice that sounded deep and hollow under that vaulted roof, "oot wi' the kegs. haste ye, man." "'tis big swankie," whispered ruby. "there's nae hurry," objected the other fisherman, who, we need scarcely inform the reader, was our friend, davy spink. "nae hurry!" repeated his comrade angrily. "that's aye yer cry. half o' oor ventures hae failed because ye object to hurry." "hoot, man! that's enough o't," said spink, in the nettled tone of a man who has been a good deal worried. indeed, the tones of both showed that these few sentences were but the continuation of a quarrel which had begun elsewhere. "it's plain to me that we must pairt, freen'," said swankie in a dogged manner, as he lifted a keg out of the boat and placed it on the ground. "ay," exclaimed spink, with something of a sneer, "an' d'ye think i'll pairt without a diveesion o' the siller tea-pots and things that ye daurna sell for fear o' bein' fund out?" "i wonder ye dinna claim half o' the jewels and things as weel," retorted swankie; "ye hae mair right to _them_, seein' ye had a hand in findin' them." "_me_ a hand in findin' them," exclaimed spink, with sudden indignation. "was it _me_ that fand the deed body o' the auld man on the bell rock? na, na, freend. i hae naething to do wi' deed men's jewels." "have ye no?" retorted the other. "it's strange, then, that ye should entertain such sma' objections to deed men's siller." "weel-a-weel, swankie, the less we say on thae matters the better. here, tak' haud o' the tither keg." the conversation ceased at this stage abruptly. evidently each had touched on the other's weak point, so both tacitly agreed to drop the subject. presently big swankie took out a flint and steel, and proceeded to strike a light. it was some some time before the tinder would catch. at each stroke of the steel a shower of brilliant sparks lit up his countenance for an instant, and this momentary glance showed that its expression was not prepossessing by any means. ruby drew minnie farther into the recess which concealed them, and awaited the result with some anxiety, for he felt that the amount of knowledge with which he had become possessed thus unintentionally, small though it was, was sufficient to justify the smugglers in regarding him as a dangerous enemy. he had scarcely drawn himself quite within the shadow of the recess, when swankie succeeded in kindling a torch, which filled the cavern with a lurid light, and revealed its various forms, rendering it, if possible, more mysterious and unearthly than ever. "here, spink," cried swankie, who was gradually getting into better humour, "haud the light, and gie me the spade." "ye better put them behind the rock, far in," suggested spink. the other seemed to entertain this idea for a moment, for he raised the torch above his head, and, advancing into the cave, carefully examined the rocks at the inner end. step by step he drew near to the place where ruby and minnie were concealed, muttering to himself, as he looked at each spot that might possibly suit his purpose, "na, na, the waves wad wash the kegs oot o' that if it cam' on to blaw." he made another step forward, and the light fell almost on the head of ruby, who felt minnie's arm tremble. he clenched his hands with that feeling of resolve that comes over a man when he has made up his mind to fight. just then an exclamation of surprise escaped from his comrade. "losh! man, what have we here?" he cried, picking up a small object that glittered in the light. minnie's heart sank, for she could see that the thing was a small brooch which she was in the habit of wearing in her neckerchief, and which must have been detached when ruby carried her into the cave. she felt assured that this would lead to their discovery; but it had quite the opposite effect, for it caused swankie to turn round and examine the trinket with much curiosity. a long discussion as to how it could have come there immediately ensued between the smugglers, in the midst of which a wavelet washed against swankie's feet, reminding him that the tide was rising, and that he had no time to lose. "there's nae place behint the rocks," said he quickly, putting the brooch in his pocket, "so we'll just hide the kegs amang the stanes. lucky for us that we got the rest o' the cargo run ashore at auchmithie. this'll lie snugly here, and we'll pull past the leftenant, who thinks we havena seen him, with oor heeds up and oor tongues in oor cheeks." they both chuckled heartily at the idea of disappointing the preventive officer, and while one held the torch the other dug a hole in the beach deep enough to contain the two kegs. "in ye go, my beauties," said swankie, covering them up. "mony's the time i've buried ye." "ay, an' mony's the time ye've helped at their resurrection," added spink, with a laugh. "noo, we'll away an' have a look at the kegs in the forbidden cave," said swankie, "see that they're a' richt, an' then have our game wi' the land-sharks." next moment the torch was dashed against the stones and extinguished, and the two men, leaping into their boat, rowed away. as they passed through the outer cavern, ruby heard them arrange to go back to auchmithie. their voices were too indistinct to enable him to ascertain their object in doing so, but he knew enough of the smugglers to enable him to guess that it was for the purpose of warning some of their friends of the presence of the preventive boat, which their words proved that they had seen. "now, minnie," said he, starting up as soon as the boat had disappeared, "this is what i call good luck, for not only shall we be able to return with something to the boat, but we shall be able to intercept big swankie and his comrade, and offer them a glass of their own gin!" "yes, and i shall be able to boast of having had quite a little adventure," said minnie, who, now that her anxiety was ever, began to feel elated. they did not waste time in conversation, however, for the digging up of two kegs from a gravelly beach with fingers instead of a spade was not a quick or easy thing to do; so ruby found as he went down on his knees in that dark place and began the work. "can i help you?" asked his fair companion after a time. "help me! what? chafe and tear your little hands with work that all but skins mine? nay, truly. but here comes one, and the other will soon follow. yo, heave, _ho_!" with the well-known nautical shout ruby put forth an herculean effort, and tore the kegs out of the earth. after a short pause he carried minnie out of the cavern, and led her to the field above by the same path by which they had descended. then he returned for the kegs of gin. they were very heavy, but not too heavy for the strength of the young giant, who was soon hastening with rapid strides towards the bay, where they had left their friends. he bore a keg under each arm, and minnie tripped lightly by his side,--and laughingly, too, for she enjoyed the thought of the discomfiture that was in store for the smugglers. chapter twenty. the smugglers are "treated" to gin and astonishment. they found the lieutenant and captain ogilvy stretched on the grass, smoking their pipes together. the daylight had almost deepened into night, and a few stars were beginning to twinkle in the sky. "hey! what have we here--smugglers?" cried the captain, springing up rather quickly, as ruby came unexpectedly on them. "just so, uncle," said minnie, with a laugh. "we have here some gin, smuggled all the way from holland, and have come to ask your opinion of it." "why, ruby, how came you by this?" enquired lindsay in amazement, as he examined the kegs with critical care. "suppose i should say that i have been taken into confidence by the smugglers and then betrayed them." "i should reply that the one idea was improbable, and the other impossible," returned the lieutenant. "well, i have at all events found out their secrets, and now i reveal them." in a few words ruby acquainted his friends with all that has just been narrated. the moment he had finished, the lieutenant ordered his men to launch the boat. the kegs were put into the stern-sheets, the party embarked, and, pushing off, they rowed gently out of the bay, and crept slowly along the shore, under the deep shadow of the cliffs. "how dark it is getting!" said minnie, after they had rowed for some time in silence. "the moon will soon be up," said the lieutenant. "meanwhile i'll cast a little light on the subject by having a pipe. will you join me, captain?" this was a temptation which the captain never resisted; indeed, he did not regard it as a temptation at all, and would have smiled at the idea of resistance. "minnie, lass," said he, as he complacently filled the blackened bowl, and calmly stuffed down the glowing tobacco with the end of that marvellously callous little fingers, "it's a wonderful thing that baccy. i don't know what man would do without it." "quite as well as woman does, i should think," replied minnie. "i'm not so sure of that, lass. it's more nat'ral for man to smoke than for woman. ye see, woman, lovely woman, should be `all my fancy painted her, both lovely and divine.' it would never do to have baccy perfumes hangin' about her rosy lips." "but, uncle, why should man have the disagreeable perfumes you speak of hanging about _his_ lips?" "i don't know, lass. it's all a matter o' feeling. `'twere vain to tell thee all i feel, how much my heart would wish to say;' but of this i'm certain sure, that i'd never git along without my pipe. it's like compass, helm, and ballast all in one. is that the moon, leftenant?" the captain pointed to a faint gleam of light on the horizon, which he knew well enough to be the moon; but he wished to change the subject. "ay is it, and there comes a boat. steady, men! lay on your oars a bit." this was said earnestly. in one instant all were silent, and the boat lay as motionless as the shadows of the cliffs among which it was involved. presently the sound of oars was heard. almost at the same moment, the upper edge of the moon rose above the horizon, and covered the sea with rippling silver. ere long a boat shot into this stream of light, and rowed swiftly in the direction of arbroath. "there are only two men in it," whispered the lieutenant. "ay, these are my good friends swankie and spink, who know a deal more about other improper callings besides smuggling, if i did not greatly mistake their words," cried ruby. "give way, lads!" cried the lieutenant. the boat sprang at the word from her position under the cliffs, and was soon out upon the sea in full chase of the smugglers, who bent to their oars more lustily, evidently intending to trust to their speed. "strange," said the lieutenant, as the distance between the two began sensibly to decrease, "if these be smugglers, with an empty boat, as you lead me to suppose they are, they would only be too glad to stop and let us see that they had nothing aboard that we could touch. it leads me to think that you are mistaken, ruby brand, and that these are not your friends." "nay, the same fact convinces me that they are the very men we seek; for they said they meant to have some game with you, and what more amusing than to give you a long, hard chase for nothing?" "true; you are right. well, we will turn the tables on them. take the helm for a minute, while i tap one of the kegs." the tapping was soon accomplished, and a quantity of the spirit was drawn off into the captain's pocket-flask. "taste it, captain, and let's have your opinion." captain ogilvy complied. he put the flask to his lips, and, on removing it, smacked them, and looked at the party with that extremely grave, almost solemn expression, which is usually assumed by a man when strong liquid is being put to the delicate test of his palate. "oh!" exclaimed the captain, opening his eyes very wide indeed. what "oh" meant, was rather doubtful at first; but when the captain put the flask again to his lips, and took another pull, a good deal longer than the first, much, if not all of the doubt was removed. "prime! nectar!" he murmured, in a species of subdued ecstasy, at the end of the second draught. "evidently the right stuff," said lindsay, laughing. "liquid streams--celestial nectar, darted through the ambient sky,--" said the captain; "liquid, ay, liquid is the word." he was about to test the liquid again:-- "stop! stop! fair play, captain; it's my turn now," cried the lieutenant, snatching the flask from his friend's grasp, and applying it to his own lips. both the lieutenant and ruby pronounced the gin perfect, and as minnie positively refused either to taste or to pronounce judgment, the flask was returned to its owner's pocket. they were now close on the smugglers, whom they hailed, and commanded to lay on their oars. the order was at once obeyed, and the boats were speedily rubbing sides together. "i should like to examine your boat, friends," said the lieutenant as he stepped across the gunwales. "oh! sir, i'm thankfu' to find you're not smugglers," said swankie, with an assumed air of mingled respect and alarm. "if we'd only know'd ye was preventives we'd ha' backed oars at once. there's nothin' here; ye may seek as long's ye please." the hypocritical rascal winked slyly to his comrade as he said this. meanwhile lindsay and one of the men examined the contents of the boat, and, finding nothing contraband, the former said-- "so, you're honest men, i find. fishermen, doubtless?" "ay, some o' yer crew ken us brawly," said davy spink with a grin. "well, i won't detain you," rejoined the lieutenant; "it's quite a pleasure to chase honest men on the high seas in these times of war and smuggling. but it's too bad to have given you such a fright, lads, for nothing. what say you to a glass of gin?" big swankie and his comrade glanced at each other in surprise. they evidently thought this an unaccountably polite government officer, and were puzzled. however, they could do no less than accept such a generous offer. "thank'ee, sir," said big swankie, spitting out his quid and significantly wiping his mouth. "i hae nae objection. doubtless it'll be the best that the like o' you carries in yer bottle." "the best, certainly," said the lieutenant, as he poured out a bumper, and handed it to the smuggler. "it was smuggled, of course, and you see his majesty is kind enough to give his servants a little of what they rescue from the rascals, to drink his health." "weel, i drink to the king," said swankie, "an' confusion to all his enemies, 'specially to smugglers." he tossed off the gin with infinite gusto, and handed back the cup with a smack of the lips and a look that plainly said, "more, if you please!" but the hint was not taken. another bumper was filled and handed to davy spink, who had been eyeing the crew of the boat with great suspicion. he accepted the cup, nodded curtly, and said-- "here's t'ye, gentlemen, no forgettin' the fair leddy in the stern-sheets." while he was drinking the gin the lieutenant turned to his men-- "get out the keg, lads, from which that came, and refill the flask. hold it well up in the moonlight, and see that ye don't spill a single drop, as you value your lives. hey! my man, what ails you? does the gin disagree with your stomach, or have you never seen a smuggled keg of spirits before, that you stare at it as if it were a keg of ghosts!" the latter part of this speech was addressed to swankie, who no sooner beheld the keg than his eyes opened up until they resembled two great oysters. his mouth slowly followed suit. davy spink's attention having been attracted, he became subject to similar alterations of visage. "hallo!" cried the captain, while the whole crew burst into a laugh, "you must have given them poison. have you a stomach-pump, doctor?" he said, turning hastily to ruby. "no, nothing but a penknife and a tobacco-stopper. if they're of any use to you--" he was interrupted by a loud laugh from big swankie, who quickly recovered his presence of mind, and declared that he had never tasted such capital stuff in his life. "have ye much o't, sir?" "o yes, a good deal. i have _two_ kegs of it" (the lieutenant grinned very hard at this point), "and we expect to get a little more to-night." "ha!" exclaimed davy spink, "there's no doot plenty o't in the coves hereaway, for they're an awfu' smugglin' set. whan did ye find the twa kegs, noo, if i may ask?" "oh, certainly. i got them not more than an hour ago." the smugglers glanced at each other and were struck dumb; but they were now too much on their guard to let any further evidence of surprise escape them. "weel, i wush ye success, sirs," said swankie, sitting down to his oar. "it's likely ye'll come across mair if ye try dickmont's den. there's usually somethin' hidden thereaboots." "thank you, friend, for the hint," said the lieutenant, as he took his place at the tiller-ropes, "but i shall have a look at the gaylet cove, i think, this evening." "what! the gaylet cove?" cried spink. "ye might as weel look for kegs at the bottom o' the deep sea." "perhaps so; nevertheless, i have taken a fancy to go there. if i find nothing, i will take a look into the _forbidden cave_." "the forbidden cave!" almost howled swankie. "wha iver heard o' smugglers hidin' onything there? the air in't wad pushen a rotten." "perhaps it would, yet i mean to try." "weel-a-weel, ye may try, but ye might as weel seek for kegs o' gin on the bell rock." "ha! it's not the first time that strange things have been found on the bell rock," said ruby suddenly. "i have heard of _jewels_, even, being discovered there." "give way, men; shove off," cried the lieutenant. "a pleasant pull to you, lads. good night." the two boats parted, and while the lieutenant and his friends made for the shore, the smugglers rowed towards arbroath in a state of mingled amazement and despair at what they had heard and seen. "it was ruby brand that spoke last, davy." "ay; he was i' the shadow o' captain ogilvy and i couldna see his face, but i thought it like his voice when he first spoke." "hoo _can_ he hae come to ken aboot the jewels?" "that's mair than i can tell." "i'll bury them," said swankie, "an' then it'll puzzle onybody to tell whaur they are." "ye'll please yoursell," said spink. swankie was too angry to make any reply, or to enter into further conversation with his comrade about the kegs of gin, so they continued their way in silence. meanwhile, as lieutenant lindsay and his men had a night of work before them, the captain suggested that minnie, ruby, and himself should be landed within a mile of the town, and left to find their way thither on foot. this was agreed to; and while the one party walked home by the romantic pathway at the top of the cliffs, the other rowed away to explore the dark recesses of the forbidden cave. chapter twenty one. the bell rock again--a dreary night in a strange habitation. during that winter ruby brand wrought diligently in the workyard at the lighthouse materials, and, by living economically, began to save a small sum of money, which he laid carefully by with a view to his marriage with minnie gray. being an impulsive man, ruby would have married minnie, then and there, without looking too earnestly to the future. but his mother had advised him to wait till he should have laid by a little for a "rainy day." the captain had recommended patience, tobacco, and philosophy, and had enforced his recommendations with sundry apt quotations from dead and living novelists, dramatists, and poets. minnie herself, poor girl, felt that she ought not to run counter to the wishes of her best and dearest friends, so she too advised delay for a "little time"; and ruby was fain to content himself with bewailing his hard lot internally, and knocking jamie dove's bellows, anvils, and sledge-hammers about in a way that induced that son of vulcan to believe his assistant had gone mad! as for big swankie, he hid his ill-gotten gains under the floor of his tumble-down cottage, and went about his evil courses as usual in company with his comrade davy spink, who continued to fight and make it up with him as of yore. it must not be supposed that ruby forgot the conversation he had overheard in the gaylet cove. he and minnie and his uncle had frequent discussions in regard to it, but to little purpose; for although swankie and spink had discovered old mr brand's body on the bell rock, it did not follow that any jewels or money they had found there were necessarily his. still ruby could not divest his mind of the feeling that there was some connexion between the two, and he was convinced, from what had fallen from davy spink about "silver teapots and things", that swankie was the man of whose bad deeds he himself had been suspected. as there seemed no possibility of bringing the matter home to him, however, he resolved to dismiss the whole affair from his mind in the meantime. things were very much in this state when, in the spring, the operations at the bell rock were resumed. jamie dove, ruby, robert selkirk, and several of the principal workmen, accompanied the engineers on their first visit to the rock, and they sailed towards the scene of their former labours with deep and peculiar interest, such as one might feel on renewing acquaintance with an old friend who had passed through many hard and trying struggles since the last time of meeting. the storms of winter had raged round the bell rock as usual--as they had done, in fact, since the world began; but that winter the handiwork of man had also been exposed to the fury of the elements there. it was known that the beacon had survived the storms, for it could be seen by telescope from the shore in clear weather--like a little speck on the seaward horizon. now they were about to revisit the old haunt, and have a close inspection of the damage that it was supposed must certainly have been done. to the credit of the able engineer who planned and carried out the whole works, the beacon was found to have resisted winds and waves successfully. it was on a bitterly cold morning about the end of march that the first visit of the season was paid to the bell rock. mr stevenson and his party of engineers and artificers sailed in the lighthouse yacht; and, on coming within a proper distance of the rock, two boats were lowered and pushed off. the sea ran with such force upon the rock that it seemed doubtful whether a landing could be effected. about half-past eight, when the rock was fairly above water, several attempts were made to land, but the breach of the sea was still so great that they were driven back. on the eastern side the sea separated into two distinct waves, which came with a sweep round the western side, where they met, and rose in a burst of spray to a considerable height. watching, however, for what the sailors termed a _smooth_, and catching a favourable opportunity, they rowed between the two seas dexterously, and made a successful landing at the western creek. the sturdy beacon was then closely examined. it had been painted white at the end of the previous season, but the lower parts of the posts were found to have become green--the sea having clothed them with a soft garment of weed. the sea-birds had evidently imagined that it was put up expressly for their benefit; for a number of cormorants and large herring-gulls had taken up their quarters on it--finding it, no doubt, conveniently near to their fishing-grounds. a critical inspection of all its parts showed that everything about it was in a most satisfactory state. there was not the slightest indication of working or shifting in the great iron stanchions with which the beams were fixed, nor of any of the joints or places of connexion; and, excepting some of the bracing-chains which had been loosened, everything wars found in the same entire state in which it had been left the previous season. only those who know what that beacon had been subjected to can form a correct estimate of the importance of this discovery, and the amount of satisfaction it afforded to those most interested in the works at the bell rock. to say that the party congratulated themselves would be far short of the reality. they hailed the event with cheers, and their looks seemed to indicate that some piece of immense and unexpected good fortune had befallen each individual. from that moment mr stevenson saw the practicability and propriety of fitting up the beacon, not only as a place of refuge in case of accidents to the boats in landing, but as a residence for the men during the working months. from that moment, too, poor jamie dove began to see the dawn of happier days; for when the beacon should be fitted up as a residence he would bid farewell to the hated floating light, and take up his abode, as he expressed it, "on land." "on land!" it is probable that this jamie dove was the first man, since the world began, who had entertained the till then absurdly preposterous notion that the fatal bell rock was "land," or that it could be made a place of even temporary residence. a hundred years ago men would have laughed at the bare idea. fifty years ago that idea was realised; for more than half a century that sunken reef has been, and still is, the safe and comfortable home of man! forgive, reader, our tendency to anticipate. let us proceed with our inspection. having ascertained that the foundations of the beacon were all right, the engineers next ascended to the upper parts, where they found the cross-beams and their fixtures in an equally satisfactory condition. on the top a strong chest had been fixed the preceding season, in which had been placed a quantity of sea-biscuits and several bottles of water, in case of accident to the boats, or in the event of shipwreck occurring on the rock. the biscuit, having been carefully placed in tin canisters, was found in good condition, but several of the water-bottles had burst, in consequence, it was supposed, of frost during the winter. twelve of the bottles, however, remained entire, so that the bell rock may be said to have been transformed, even at that date, from a point of destruction into a place of comparative safety. while the party were thus employed, the landing-master reminded them that the sea was running high, and that it would be necessary to set off while the rock afforded anything like shelter to the boats, which by that time had been made fast to the beacon and rode with much agitation, each requiring two men with boat-hooks to keep them from striking each other, or ranging up against the beacon. but under these circumstances the greatest confidence was felt by everyone, from the security afforded by that temporary erection; for, supposing that the wind had suddenly increased to a gale, and that it had been found inadvisable to go into the boats; or supposing they had drifted or sprung a leak from striking upon the rocks, in any of these possible, and not at all improbable, cases, they had now something to lay hold of, and, though occupying the dreary habitation of the gull and the cormorant, affording only bread and water, yet _life_ would be preserved, and, under the circumstances, they would have been supported by the hope of being ultimately relieved. soon after this the works at the bell rock were resumed, with, if possible, greater vigour than before, and ere long the "house" was fixed to the top of the beacon, and the engineer and his men took up their abode there. think of this, reader. six great wooden beams were fastened to a rock, over which the waves roared twice every day, and on the top of these a pleasant little marine residence was nailed, as one might nail a dovecot on the top of a pole! this residence was ultimately fitted up in such a way as to become a comparatively comfortable and commodious abode. it contained four storeys. the first was the mortar-gallery, where the mortar for the lighthouse was mixed as required; it also supported the forge. the second was the cook-room. the third the apartment of the engineer and his assistants; and the fourth was the artificers' barrack-room. this house was of course built of wood, but it was firmly put together, for it had to pass through many a terrific ordeal. in order to give some idea of the interior, we shall describe the cabin of mr stevenson. it measured four feet three inches in breadth on the floor, and though, from the oblique direction of the beams of the beacon, it widened towards the top, yet it did not admit of the full extension of the occupant's arms when he stood on the floor. its length was little more than sufficient to admit of a cot-bed being suspended during the night. this cot was arranged so as to be triced up to the roof during the day, thus leaving free room for occasional visitors, and for comparatively free motion. a folding table was attached with hinges immediately under the small window of the apartment. the remainder of the space was fitted up with books, barometer, thermometer, portmanteau, and two or three camp-stools. the walls were covered with green cloth, formed into panels with red tape, a substance which, by the way, might have had an _accidental_ connexion with the bell rock lighthouse, but which could not, by any possibility, have influenced it as a _principle_, otherwise that building would probably never have been built, or, if built, would certainly not have stood until the present day! the bed was festooned with yellow cotton stuff, and the diet being plain, the paraphernalia of the table was proportionally simple. it would have been interesting to know the individual books required and used by the celebrated engineer in his singular abode, but his record leaves no detailed account of these. it does, however, contain a sentence in regard to one volume which we deem it just to his character to quote. he writes thus:-- "if, in speculating upon the abstract wants of man in such a state of exclusion, one were reduced to a single book, the sacred volume, whether considered for the striking diversity of its story, the morality of its doctrine, or the important truths of its gospel, would have proved by far the greatest treasure." it may be easily imagined that in a place where the accommodation of the principal engineer was so limited, that of the men was not extensive. accordingly, we find that the barrack-room contained beds for twenty-one men. but the completion of the beacon house, as we have described it, was not accomplished in one season. at first it was only used as a smith's workshop, and then as a temporary residence in fine weather. one of the first men who remained all night upon it was our friend bremner. he became so tired of the floating light that he earnestly solicited, and obtained, permission to remain on the beacon. at the time it was only in a partially sheltered state. the joiners had just completed the covering of the roof with a quantity of tarpaulin, which the seamen had laid over with successive coats of hot tar, and the sides of the erection had been painted with three coats of white lead. between the timber framing of the habitable part, the interstices were stuffed with moss, but the green baize cloth with which it was afterwards lined had not been put on when bremner took possession. it was a splendid summer evening when the bold man made his request, and obtained permission to remain. none of the others would join him. when the boats pushed off and left him the solitary occupant of the rock, he felt a sensation of uneasiness, but, having formed his resolution, he stuck by it, and bade his comrades good night cheerfully. "good night, and good_bye_," cried forsyth, as he took his seat at the oar. "farewell, dear," cried o'connor, wiping his eyes with a _very_ ragged pocket handkerchief. "you won't forget me?" retorted bremner. "never," replied dumsby, with fervour. "av the beacon should be carried away, darlin'," cried o'connor, "howld tight to the provision-chest, p'raps ye'll be washed ashore." "i'll drink your health in water, paddy," replied bremner. "faix, i hope it won't be salt wather," retorted ned. they continued to shout good wishes, warnings, and advice to their comrade until out of hearing, and then waved adieu to him until he was lost to view. we have said that bremner was alone, yet he was not entirely so; he had a comrade with him, in the shape of his little black dog, to which reference has already been made. this creature was of that very thin and tight-skinned description of dog, that trembles at all times as if afflicted with chronic cold, summer and winter. its thin tail was always between its extremely thin legs, as though it lived in a perpetual condition of wrong-doing, and were in constant dread of deserved punishment. yet no dog ever belied its looks more than did this one, for it was a good dog, and a warm-hearted dog, and never did a wicked thing, and never was punished, so that its excessive humility and apparent fear and trembling were quite unaccountable. like all dogs of its class it was passionately affectionate, and intensely grateful for the smallest favour. in fact, it seemed to be rather thankful than otherwise for a kick when it chanced to receive one, and a pat on the head, or a kind word made it all but jump out of its black skin for very joy. bremner called it "pup." it had no other name, and didn't seem to wish for one. on the present occasion it was evidently much perplexed, and very unhappy, for it looked at the boat, and then wistfully into its master's face, as if to say, "this is awful; have you resolved that we shall perish together?" "now, pup," said bremner, when the boat disappeared in the shades of evening, "you and i are left alone on the bell rock!" there was a touch of sad uncertainty in the wag of the tail with which pup received this remark. "but cheer up, pup," cried bremner with a sudden burst of animation that induced the creature to wriggle and dance on its hind legs for at least a minute, "you and i shall have a jolly night together on the beacon; so come along." like many a night that begins well, that particular night ended ill. even while the man spoke, a swell began to rise, and, as the tide had by that time risen a few feet, an occasional billow swept over the rocks and almost washed the feet of bremner as he made his way over the ledges. in five minutes the sea was rolling all round the foot of the beacon, and bremner and his friend were safely ensconced on the mortar-gallery. there was no storm that night, nevertheless there was one of those heavy ground swells that are of common occurrence in the german ocean. it is supposed that this swell is caused by distant westerly gales in the atlantic, which force an undue quantity of water into the north sea, and thus produce the apparent paradox of great rolling breakers in calm weather. on this night there was no wind at all, but there was a higher swell than usual, so that each great billow passed over the rock with a roar that was rendered more than usually terrible, in consequence of the utter absence of all other sounds. at first bremner watched the rising tide, and as he sat up there in the dark he felt himself dreadfully forsaken and desolate, and began to comment on things in general to his dog, by way of inducing a more sociable and cheery state of mind. "pup, this is a lugubrious state o' things. wot d'ye think o't?" pup did not say, but he expressed such violent joy at being noticed, that he nearly fell off the platform of the mortar-gallery in one of his extravagant gyrations. "that won't do, pup," said bremner, shaking his head at the creature, whose countenance expressed deep contrition. "don't go on like that, else you'll fall into the sea and be drownded, and then i shall be left alone. what a dark night it is, to be sure! i doubt if it was wise of me to stop here. suppose the beacon were to be washed away?" bremner paused, and pup wagged his tail interrogatively, as though to say, "what then?" "ah! it's of no use supposin'," continued the man slowly. "the beacon has stood it out all winter, and it ain't likely it's goin' to be washed away to-night. but suppose i was to be took bad?" again the dog seemed to demand, "what then?" "well, that's not very likely either, for i never was took bad in my life since i took the measles, and that's more than twenty years ago. come, pup, don't let us look at the black side o' things, let us try to be cheerful, my dog. hallo!" the exclamation was caused by the appearance of a green billow, which in the uncertain light seemed to advance in a threatening attitude towards the beacon as if to overwhelm it, but it fell at some distance, and only rolled in a churning sea of milky foam among the posts, and sprang up and licked the beams, as a serpent might do before swallowing them. "come, it was the light deceived me. if i go for to start at every wave like that i'll have a poor night of it, for the tide has a long way to rise yet. let's go and have a bit supper, lad." bremner rose from the anvil, on which he had seated himself, and went up the ladder into the cook-house above. here all was pitch dark, owing to the place being enclosed all round, which the mortar-gallery was not, but a light was soon struck, a lamp trimmed, and the fire in the stove kindled. bremner now busied himself in silently preparing a cup of tea, which, with a quantity of sea-biscuit, a little cold salt pork, and a hunk of stale bread, constituted his supper. pup watched his every movement with an expression of earnest solicitude, combined with goodwill, in his sharp intelligent eyes. when supper was ready pup had his share, then, feeling that the duties of the day were now satisfactorily accomplished, he coiled himself up at his master's feet, and went to sleep. his master rolled himself up in a rug, and lying down before the fire, also tried to sleep, but without success for a long time. as he lay there counting the number of seconds of awful silence that elapsed between the fall of each successive billow, and listening to the crash and the roar as wave after wave rushed underneath him, and caused his habitation to tremble, he could not avoid feeling alarmed in some degree. do what he would, the thought of the wrecks that had taken place there, the shrieks that must have often rung above these rocks, and the dead and mangled bodies that must have lain among them, _would_ obtrude upon him and banish sleep from his eyes. at last he became somewhat accustomed to the rush of waters and the tremulous motion of the beacon. his frame, too, exhausted by a day of hard toil, refused to support itself, and he sank into slumber. but it was not unbroken. a falling cinder from the sinking fire would awaken him with a start; a larger wave than usual would cause him to spring up and look round in alarm; or a shrieking sea-bird, as it swooped past, would induce a dream, in which the cries of drowning men arose, causing him to awake with a cry that set pup barking furiously. frequently during that night, after some such dream, bremner would get up and descend to the mortar-gallery to see that all was right there. he found the waves always hissing below, but the starry sky was calm and peaceful above, so he returned to his couch comforted a little, and fell again into a troubled sleep, to be again awakened by frightful dreams of dreadful sights, and scenes of death and danger on the sea. thus the hours wore slowly away. as the tide fell the noise of waves retired a little from the beacon, and the wearied man and dog sank gradually at last into deep, untroubled slumber. so deep was it, that they did not hear the increasing noise of the gulls as they wheeled round the beacon after having breakfasted near it; so deep, that they did not feel the sun as it streamed through an opening in the woodwork and glared on their respective faces; so deep, that they were ignorant of the arrival of the boats with the workmen, and were dead to the shouts of their companions, until one of them, jamie dove, put his head up the hatchway and uttered one of his loudest roars, close to their ears. then indeed bremner rose up and looked bewildered, and pup, starting up, barked as furiously as if its own little black body had miraculously become the concentrated essence of all the other noisy dogs in the wide world rolled into one! chapter twenty two. life in the beacon--story of the eddystone lighthouse. some time after this a number of the men took up their permanent abode in the beacon house, and the work was carried on by night as well as by day, when the state of the tide and the weather permitted. immense numbers of fish called poddlies were discovered to be swimming about at high water. so numerous were they, that the rock was sometimes hidden by the shoals of them. fishing for these thenceforth became a pastime among the men, who not only supplied their own table with fresh fish, but at times sent presents of them to their friends in the vessels. all the men who dwelt on the beacon were volunteers, for mr stevenson felt that it would be cruel to compel men to live at such a post of danger. those who chose, therefore, remained in the lightship or the tender, and those who preferred it went to the beacon. it is scarcely necessary to add, that among the latter were found all the "sea-sick men!" these bold artificers were not long of having their courage tested. soon after their removal to the beacon they experienced some very rough weather, which shook the posts violently, and caused them to twist in a most unpleasant way. but it was not until some time after that a storm arose, which caused the stoutest-hearted of them all to quail more than once. it began on the night of as fine a day as they had had the whole season. in order that the reader may form a just conception of what we are about to describe, it may not be amiss to note the state of things at the rock, and the employment of the men at the time. a second forge had been put up on the higher platform of the beacon, but the night before that of which we write, the lower platform had been burst up by a wave, and the mortar and forge thereon, with all the implements, were cast down. the damaged forge was therefore set up for the time on its old site, near the foundation-pit of the lighthouse, while the carpenters were busy repairing the mortar-gallery. the smiths were as usual busy sharpening picks and irons, and making bats and stanchions, and other iron work connected with the building operations. the landing-master's crew were occupied in assisting the millwrights to lay the railways to hand, and joiners were kept almost constantly employed in fitting picks to their handles, which latter were very frequently broken. nearly all the miscellaneous work was done by seamen. there was no such character on the bell rock as the common labourer. the sailors cheerfully undertook the work usually performed by such men, and they did it admirably. in consequence of the men being able to remain on the beacon, the work went on literally "by double tides"; and at night the rock was often ablaze with torches, while the artificers wrought until the waves drove them away. on the night in question there was a low spring-tide, so that a night-tide's work of five hours was secured. this was one of the longest spells they had had since the beginning of the operations. the stars shone brightly in a very dark sky. not a breath of air was felt. even the smoke of the forge fire rose perpendicularly a short way, until an imperceptible zephyr wafted it gently to the west. yet there was a heavy swell rolling in from the eastward, which caused enormous waves to thunder on ralph the rover's ledge, as if they would drive down the solid rock. mingled with this solemn, intermittent roar of the sea was the continuous clink of picks, chisels, and hammers, and the loud clang of the two forges; that on the beacon being distinctly different from the other, owing to the wooden erection on which it stood rendering it deep and thunderous. torches and forge fires cast a glare over all, rendering the foam pale green and the rocks deep red. some of the active figures at work stood out black and sharp against the light, while others shone in its blaze like red-hot fiends. above all sounded an occasional cry from the sea-gulls, as they swooped down into the magic circle of light, and then soared away shrieking into darkness. "hard work's not easy," observed james dove, pausing in the midst of his labours to wipe his brow. "true for ye; but as we've got to arn our brid be the sweat of our brows, we're in the fair way to fortin," said ned o'connor, blowing away energetically with the big bellows. ned had been reappointed to this duty since the erection of the second forge, which was in ruby's charge. it was our hero's hammer that created such a din up in the beacon, while dove wrought down on the rock. "we'll have a gale to-night," said the smith; "i know that by the feelin' of the air." "well, i can't boast o' much knowledge o' feelin'," said o'connor; "but i believe you're right, for the fish towld me the news this mornin'." this remark of ned had reference to a well-ascertained fact, that, when a storm was coming, the fish invariably left the neighbourhood of the rock; doubtless in order to seek the security of depths which are not affected by winds or waves. while dove and his comrade commented on this subject, two of the other men had retired to the south-eastern end of the rock to take a look at the weather. these were peter logan, the foreman, whose position required him to have a care for the safety of the men as well as for the progress of the work, and our friend bremner, who had just descended from the cooking-room, where he had been superintending the preparation of supper. "it will be a stiff breeze, i fear, to-night," said logan. "d'ye think so i" said bremner; "it seems to me so calm that i would think a storm a'most impossible. but the fish never tell lies." "true. you got no fish to-day, i believe?" said logan. "not a nibble," replied the other. as he spoke, he was obliged to rise from a rock on which he had seated himself, because of a large wave, which, breaking on the outer reefs, sent the foam a little closer to his toes than was agreeable. "that was a big one, but yonder is a bigger," cried logan. the wave to which he referred was indeed a majestic wall of water. it came on with such an awful appearance of power, that some of the men who perceived it could not repress a cry of astonishment. in another moment it fell, and, bursting over the rocks with a terrific roar, extinguished the forge fire, and compelled the men to take refuge in the beacon. jamie dove saved his bellows with difficulty. the other men, catching up their things as they best might, crowded up the ladder in a more or less draggled condition. the beacon house was gained by means of one of the main beams, which had been converted into a stair, by the simple process of nailing small battens thereon, about a foot apart from each other. the men could only go up one at a time, but as they were active and accustomed to the work, were all speedily within their place of refuge. soon afterwards the sea covered the rock, and the place where they had been at work was a mass of seething foam. still there was no wind; but dark clouds had begun to rise on the seaward horizon. the sudden change in the appearance of the rock after the last torches were extinguished was very striking. for a few seconds there seemed to be no light at all. the darkness of a coal mine appeared to have settled down on the scene. but this soon passed away, as the men's eyes became accustomed to the change, and then the dark loom of the advancing billows, the pale light of the flashing foam, and occasional gleams of phosphorescence, and glimpses of black rocks in the midst of all, took the place of the warm, busy scene which the spot had presented a few minutes before. "supper, boys!" shouted bremner. peter bremner, we may remark in passing, was a particularly useful member of society. besides being small and corpulent, he was a capital cook. he had acted during his busy life both as a groom and a house-servant; he had been a soldier, a sutler, a writer's clerk, and an apothecary--in which latter profession he had acquired the art of writing and suggesting recipes, and a taste for making collections in natural history. he was very partial to the use of the lancet, and quite a terrible adept at tooth-drawing. in short, peter was the _factotum_ of the beacon house, where, in addition to his other offices, he filled those of barber and steward to the admiration of all. but bremner came out in quite a new and valuable light after he went to reside in the beacon--namely, as a storyteller. during the long periods of inaction that ensued, when the men were imprisoned there by storms, he lightened many an hour that would have otherwise hung heavily on their hands, and he cheered the more timid among them by speaking lightly of the danger of their position. on the signal for supper being given, there was a general rush down the ladders into the kitchen, where as comfortable a meal as one could wish for was smoking in pot and pan and platter. as there were twenty-three to partake, it was impossible, of course, for all to sit down to table. they were obliged to stow themselves away on such articles of furniture as came most readily to hand, and eat as they best could. hungry men find no difficulty in doing this. for some time the conversation was restricted to a word or two. soon, however, as appetite began to be appeased, tongues began to loosen. the silence was first broken by a groan. "ochone!" exclaimed o'connor, as well as a mouthful of pork and potatoes would allow him; "was it _you_ that groaned like a dyin' pig?" the question was put to forsyth, who was holding his head between his hands, and swaying his body to and fro in agony. "hae ye the colic, freen'?" enquired john watt, in a tone of sympathy. "no-n-o," groaned forsyth, "it's a--a--too-tooth!" "och! is that all?" "have it out, man, at once." "ram a red-hot skewer into it." "no, no; let it alone, and it'll go away." such was the advice tendered, and much more of a similar nature, to the suffering man. "there's nothink like 'ot water an' cold," said joe dumsby in the tones of an oracle. "just fill your mouth with bilin' 'ot water, an' dip your face in a basin o' cold, and it's sartain to cure." "or kill," suggested jamie dove. "it's better now," said forsyth, with a sigh of relief. "i scrunched a bit o' bone into it; that was all." "there's nothing like the string and the red-hot poker," suggested ruby brand. "tie the one end o' the string to a post and t'other end to the tooth, an' stick a red-hot poker to your nose. away it comes at once." "hoot! nonsense," said watt. "ye might as weel tie a string to his lug an' dip him into the sea. tak' my word for't, there's naethin' like pooin'." "d'you mean pooh pooin'?" enquired dumsby. watt's reply was interrupted by a loud gust of wind, which burst upon the beacon house at that moment and shook it violently. everyone started up, and all clustered round the door and windows to observe the appearance of things without. every object was shrouded in thick darkness, but a flash of lightning revealed the approach of the storm which had been predicted, and which had already commenced to blow. all tendency to jest instantly vanished, and for a time some of the men stood watching the scene outside, while others sat smoking their pipes by the fire in silence. "what think ye of things?" enquired one of the men, as ruby came up from the mortar-gallery, to which he had descended at the first gust of the storm. "i don't know what to think," said he gravely. "it's clear enough that we shall have a stiffish gale. i think little of that with a tight craft below me and plenty of sea-room; but i don't know what to think of a _beacon_ in a gale." as he spoke another furious burst of wind shook the place, and a flash of vivid lightning was speedily followed by a crash of thunder, that caused some hearts there to beat faster and harder than usual. "pooh!" cried bremner, as he proceeded coolly to wash up his dishes, "that's nothing, boys. has not this old timber house weathered all the gales o' last winter, and d'ye think it's goin' to come down before a summer breeze? why, there's a lighthouse in france, called the tour de cordouan, which rises light out o' the sea, an' i'm told it had some fearful gales to try its metal when it was buildin'. so don't go an' git narvous." "who's gittin' narvous?" exclaimed george forsyth, at whom bremner had looked when he made the last remark. "sure ye misjudge him," cried o'connor. "it's only another twist o' the toothick. but it's all very well in you to spake lightly o' gales in that fashion. wasn't the eddystone lighthouse cleared away one stormy night, with the engineer and all the men, an' was niver more heard on?" "that's true," said ruby. "come, bremner, i have heard you say that you had read all about that business. let's hear the story; it will help to while away the time, for there's no chance of anyone gettin' to sleep with such a row outside." "i wish it may be no worse than a row outside," said forsyth in a doleful tone, as he shook his head and looked round on the party anxiously. "wot! another fit o' the toothick?" enquired o'connor ironically. "don't try to put us in the dismals," said jamie dove, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and refilling that solace of his leisure hours. "let us hear about the eddystone, bremner; it'll cheer up our spirits a bit." "will it though?" said bremner, with a look that john watt described as "awesome", "well, we shall see." "you must know, boys--" "'ere, light your pipe, my 'earty," said dumsby. "hold yer tongue, an' don't interrupt him," cried one of the men, flattening dumsby's cap over his eyes. "and don't drop yer _h_aitches," observed another, "'cause if ye do they'll fall into the sea an' be drownded, an' then ye'll have none left to put into their wrong places when ye wants 'em." "come, bremner, go on." "well, then, boys," began bremner, "you must know that it is more than a hundred years since the eddystone lighthouse was begun--in the year , if i remember rightly--that would be just a hundred and thirteen years to this date. up to that time these rocks were as great a terror to sailors as the bell rock is now, or, rather, as it was last year, for now that this here comfortable beacon has been put up, it's no longer a terror to nobody--" "except geordie forsyth," interposed o'connor. "silence," cried the men. "well," resumed bremner, "as you all know, the eddystone rocks lie in the british channel, fourteen miles from plymouth and ten from the ram head, an' open to a most tremendious sea from the bay o' biscay and the atlantic, as i knows well, for i've passed the place in a gale, close enough a'most to throw a biscuit on the rocks. "they are named the eddystone rocks because of the whirls and eddies that the tides make among them; but for the matter of that, the bell rock might be so named on the same ground. howsever, it's six o' one an' half a dozen o' t'other. only there's this difference, that the highest point o' the eddystone is barely covered at high water, while here the rock is twelve or fifteen feet below water at high tide. "well, it was settled by the trinity board in , that a lighthouse should be put up, and a mr winstanley was engaged to do it. he was an uncommon clever an' ingenious man. he used to exhibit wonderful waterworks in london; and in his house, down in essex, he used to astonish his friends, and frighten them sometimes, with his queer contrivances. he had invented an easy chair which laid hold of anyone that sat down in it, and held him prisoner until mr winstanley set him free. he made a slipper also, and laid it on his bedroom floor, and when anyone put his foot into it he touched a spring that caused a ghost to rise from the hearth. he made a summer house, too, at the foot of his garden, on the edge of a canal, and if anyone entered into it and sat down, he very soon found himself adrift on the canal. "such a man was thought to be the best for such a difficult work as the building of a lighthouse on the eddystone, so he was asked to undertake it, and agreed, and began it well. he finished it, too, in four years, his chief difficulty being the distance of the rock from land, and the danger of goin' backwards and forwards. the light was first shown on the th november, . before this the engineer had resolved to pass a night in the building, which he did with a party of men; but he was compelled to pass more than a night, for it came on to blow furiously, and they were kept prisoners for eleven days, drenched with spray all the time, and hard up for provisions. "it was said the sprays rose a hundred feet above the lantern of this first eddystone lighthouse. well, it stood till the year , when repairs became necessary, and mr winstanley went down to plymouth to superintend. it had been prophesied that this lighthouse would certainly be carried away. but dismal prophecies are always made about unusual things. if men were to mind prophecies there would be precious little done in this world. howsever, the prophecies unfortunately came true. winstanley's friends advised him not to go to stay in it, but he was so confident of the strength of his work that he said he only wished to have the chance o' bein' there in the greatest storm that ever blew, that he might see what effect it would have on the buildin'. poor man! he had his wish. on the night of the th november a terrible storm arose, the worst that had been for many years, and swept the lighthouse entirely away. not a vestige of it or the people on it was ever seen afterwards. only a few bits of the iron fastenings were left fixed in the rocks." "that was terrible," said forsyth, whose uneasiness was evidently increasing with the rising storm. "ay, but the worst of it was," continued bremner, "that, owing to the absence of the light, a large east indiaman went on the rocks immediately after, and became a total wreck. this, however, set the trinity house on putting up another, which was begun in , and the light shown in . this tower was ninety-two feet high, built partly of wood and partly of stone. it was a strong building, and stood for forty-nine years. mayhap it would have been standin' to this day but for an accident, which you shall hear of before i have done. while this lighthouse was building, a french privateer carried off all the workmen prisoners to france, but they were set at liberty by the king, because their work was of such great use to all nations. "the lighthouse, when finished, was put in charge of two keepers, with instructions to hoist a flag when anything was wanted from the shore. one of these men became suddenly ill, and died. of course his comrade hoisted the signal, but the weather was so bad that it was found impossible to send a boat off for four weeks. the poor keeper was so afraid that people might suppose he had murdered his companion that he kept the corpse beside him all that time. what his feelin's could have been i don't know, but they must have been awful; for, besides the horror of such a position in such a lonesome place, the body decayed to an extent--" "that'll do, lad; don't be too partickler," said jamie dove. the others gave a sigh of relief at the interruption, and bremner continued-- "there were always _three_ keepers in the eddystone after that. well, it was in the year , on the nd december, that one o' the keepers went to snuff the candles, for they only burned candles in the lighthouses at that time, and before that time great open grates with coal fires were the most common; but there were not many lights either of one kind or another in those days. on gettin' up to the lantern he found it was on fire. all the efforts they made failed to put it out, and it was soon burned down. boats put off to them, but they only succeeded in saving the keepers; and of them, one went mad on reaching the shore, and ran off, and never was heard of again; and another, an old man, died from the effects of melted lead which had run down his throat from the roof of the burning lighthouse. they did not believe him when he said he had swallowed lead, but after he died it was found to be a fact. "the tower became red-hot, and burned for five days before it was utterly destroyed. this was the end o' the second eddystone. its builder was a mr john rudyerd, a silk mercer of london. "the third eddystone, which has now stood for half a century as firm as the rock itself, and which bids fair to stand till the end of time, was begun in and completed in . it was lighted by means of twenty-four candles. of mr smeaton, the engineer who built it, those who knew him best said that `he had never undertaken anything without completing it to the satisfaction of his employers.' "d'ye know, lads," continued bremner in a half-musing tone, "i've sometimes been led to couple this character of smeaton with the text that he put round the top of the first room of the lighthouse--`except the lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it;' and also the words, `praise god,' which he cut in latin on the last stone, the lintel of the lantern door. i think these words had somethin' to do with the success of the last eddystone lighthouse." "i agree with you," said robert selkirk, with a nod of hearty approval; "and, moreover, i think the bell rock lighthouse stands a good chance of equal success, for whether he means to carve texts on the stones or not i don't know, but i feel assured that _our_ engineer is animated by the same spirit." when bremner's account of the eddystone came to a close, most of the men had finished their third or fourth pipes, yet no one proposed going to rest. the storm without raged so furiously that they felt a strong disinclination to separate. at last, however, peter logan rose, and said he would turn in for a little. two or three of the others also rose, and were about to ascend to their barrack, when a heavy sea struck the building, causing it to quiver to its foundation. chapter twenty three. the storm. "'tis a fearful night," said logan, pausing with his foot on the first step of the ladder. "perhaps we had better sit up." "what's the use?" said o'connor, who was by nature reckless. "av the beacon howlds on, we may as well slape as not; an' if it don't howld on, why, we'll be none the worse o' slapin' anyhow." "_i_ mean to sit up," said forsyth, whose alarm was aggravated by another fit of violent toothache. "so do i," exclaimed several of the men, as another wave dashed against the beacon, and a quantity of spray came pouring down from the rooms above. this latter incident put an end to further conversation. while some sprang up the ladder to see where the leak had occurred, ruby opened the door, which was on the lee-side of the building, and descended to the mortar-gallery to look after his tools, which lay there. here he was exposed to the full violence of the gale, for, as we have said, this first floor of the beacon was not protected by sides. there was sufficient light to enable him to see all round for a considerable distance. the sight was not calculated to comfort him. the wind was whistling with what may be termed a vicious sound among the beams, to one of which ruby was obliged to cling to prevent his being carried away. the sea was bursting, leaping, and curling wildly over the rocks, which were now quite covered, and as he looked down through the chinks in the boards of the floor, he could see the foam whirling round the beams of his trembling abode, and leaping up as if to seize him. as the tide rose higher and higher, the waves roared straight through below the floor, their curling backs rising terribly near to where he stood, and the sprays drenching him and the whole edifice completely. as he gazed into the dark distance, where the turmoil of waters seemed to glimmer with ghostly light against a sky of the deepest black, he missed the light of the _smeaton_, which, up to that time, had been moored as near to the lee of the rock as was consistent with safety. he fancied she must have gone down, and it was not till next day that the people on the beacon knew that she had parted her cables, and had been obliged to make for the firth of forth for shelter from the storm. while he stood looking anxiously in the direction of the tender, a wave came so near to the platform that he almost involuntarily leaped up the ladder for safety. it broke before reaching the beacon, and the spray dashed right over it, carrying away several of the smith's tools. "ho, boys! lend a hand here, some of you," shouted ruby, as he leaped down on the mortar-gallery again. jamie dove, bremner, o'connor, and several others were at his side in a moment, and, in the midst of tremendous sprays, they toiled to secure the movable articles that lay there. these were passed up to the sheltered parts of the house; but not without great danger to all who stood on the exposed gallery below. presently two of the planks were torn up by a sea, and several bags of coal, a barrel of small-beer, and a few casks containing lime and sand, were all swept away. the men would certainly have shared the fate of these, had they not clung to the beams until the sea had passed. as nothing remained after that which could be removed to the room above, they left the mortar-gallery to its fate, and returned to the kitchen, where they were met by the anxious glances and questions of their comrades. the fire, meanwhile, could scarcely be got to burn, and the whole place was full of smoke, besides being wet with the sprays that burst over the roof, and found out all the crevices that had not been sufficiently stopped up. attending to these leaks occupied most of the men at intervals during the night. ruby and his friend the smith spent much of the time in the doorway, contemplating the gradual destruction of their workshop. for some time the gale remained steady, and the anxiety of the men began to subside a little, as they became accustomed to the ugly twisting of the great beams, and found that no evil consequences followed. in the midst of this confusion, poor forsyth's anxiety of mind became as nothing compared with the agony of his toothache! bremner had already made several attempts to persuade the miserable man to have it drawn, but without success. "i could do it quite easy," said he, "only let me get a hold of it, an' before you could wink i'd have it out." "well, you may try," cried forsyth in desperation, with a face of ashy paleness. it was an awful situation truly. in danger of his life; suffering the agonies of toothache, and with the prospect of torments unbearable from an inexpert hand; for forsyth did not believe in bremner's boasted powers. "what'll you do it with?" he enquired meekly. "jamie dove's small pincers. here they are," said bremner, moving about actively in his preparations, as if he enjoyed such work uncommonly. by this time the men had assembled round the pair, and almost forgot the storm in the interest of the moment. "hold him, two of you," said bremner, when his victim was seated submissively on a cask. "you don't need to hold me," said forsyth, in a gentle tone. "don't we!" said bremner. "here, dove, ned, grip his arms, and some of you stand by to catch his legs; but you needn't touch them unless he kicks. ruby, you're a strong fellow; hold his head." the men obeyed. at that moment forsyth would have parted with his dearest hopes in life to have escaped, and the toothache, strange to say, left him entirely; but he was a plucky fellow at bottom; having agreed to have it done, he would not draw back. bremner introduced the pincers slowly, being anxious to get a good hold of the tooth. forsyth uttered a groan in anticipation! alarmed lest he should struggle too soon, bremner made a sudden grasp and caught the tooth. a wrench followed; a yell was the result, and the pincers slipped! this was fortunate, for he had caught the wrong tooth. "now be aisy, boy," said ned o'connor, whose sympathies were easily roused. "once more," said bremner, as the unhappy man opened his mouth. "be still, and it will be all the sooner over." again bremner inserted the instrument, and fortunately caught the right tooth. he gave a terrible tug, that produced its corresponding howl; but the tooth held on. again! again! again! and the beacon house resounded with the deadly yells of the unhappy man, who struggled violently, despite the strength of those who held him. "och! poor sowl!" ejaculated o'connor. bremner threw all his strength into a final wrench, which tore away the pincers and left the tooth as firm as ever! forsyth leaped up and dashed his comrades right and left. "that'll do," he roared, and darted up the ladder into the apartment above, through which he ascended to the barrack-room, and flung himself on his bed. at the same time a wave burst on the beacon with such force that every man there, except forsyth, thought it would be carried away. the wave not only sprang up against the house, but the spray, scarcely less solid than the wave, went quite over it, and sent down showers of water on the men below. little cared forsyth for that. he lay almost stunned on his couch, quite regardless of the storm. to his surprise, however, the toothache did not return. nay, to make a long story short, it never again returned to that tooth till the end of his days! the storm now blew its fiercest, and the men sat in silence in the kitchen listening to the turmoil, and to the thundering blows given by the sea to their wooden house. suddenly the beacon received a shock so awful, and so thoroughly different from any that it had previously received, that the men sprang to their feet in consternation. ruby and the smith were looking out at the doorway at the time, and both instinctively grasped the woodwork near them, expecting every instant that the whole structure would be carried away; but it stood fast. they speculated a good deal on the force of the blow they had received, but no one hit on the true cause; and it was not until some days later that they discovered that a huge rock of fully a ton weight had been washed against the beams that night. while they were gazing at the wild storm, a wave broke up the mortar-gallery altogether, and sent its remaining contents into the sea. all disappeared in a moment; nothing was left save the powerful beams to which the platform had been nailed. there was a small boat attached to the beacon. it hung from two davits, on a level with the kitchen, about thirty feet above the rock. this had got filled by the sprays, and the weight of water proving too much for the tackling, it gave way at the bow shortly after the destruction of the mortar-gallery, and the boat hung suspended by the stern-tackle. here it swung for a few minutes, and then was carried away by a sea. the same sea sent an eddy of foam round towards the door and drenched the kitchen, so that the door had to be shut, and as the fire had gone out, the men had to sit and await their fate by the light of a little oil-lamp. they sat in silence, for the noise was now so great that it was difficult to hear voices, unless when they were raised to a high pitch. thus passed that terrible night; and the looks of the men, the solemn glances, the closed eyes, the silently moving lips, showed that their thoughts were busy reviewing bygone days and deeds; perchance in making good resolutions for the future--"if spared!" morning brought a change. the rush of the sea was indeed still tremendous, but the force of the gale was broken and the danger was past. chapter twenty four. a chapter of accidents. time rolled on, and the lighthouse at length began to grow. it did not rise slowly, as does an ordinary building. the courses of masonry having been formed and fitted on shore during the winter, had only to be removed from the workyard at arbroath to the rock, where they were laid, mortared, wedged, and trenailed, as fast as they could be landed. thus, foot by foot it grew, and soon began to tower above its foundation. from the foundation upwards for thirty feet it was built solid. from this point rose the spiral staircase leading to the rooms above. we cannot afford space to trace its erection step by step, neither is it desirable that we should do so. but it is proper to mention, that there were, as might be supposed, leading points in the process--eras, as it were, in the building operations. the first of these, of course, was the laying of the foundation stone, which was done ceremoniously, with all the honours. the next point was the occasion when the tower showed itself for the first time above water at full tide. this was a great event. it was proof positive that the sea had been conquered; for many a time before that event happened had the sea done its best to level the whole erection with the rock. three cheers announced and celebrated the fact, and a "glass" all round stamped it on the memories of the men. another noteworthy point was the connexion--the marriage, if the simile may be allowed--of the tower and the beacon. this occurred when the former rose to a few feet above high-water mark, and was effected by means of a rope-bridge, which was dignified by the sailors with the name of "jacob's ladder." heretofore the beacon and lighthouse had stood in close relation to each other. they were thenceforward united by a stronger tie; and it is worthy of record that their attachment lasted until the destruction of the beacon after the work was done. jacob's ladder was fastened a little below the doorway of the beacon. its other end rested on, and rose with, the wall of the tower. at first it sloped downward from beacon to tower; gradually it became horizontal; then it sloped upward. when this happened it was removed, and replaced by a regular wooden bridge, which extended from the doorway of the one structure to that of the other. along this way the men could pass to and fro at all tides, and during any time of the day or night. this was a matter of great importance, as the men were no longer so dependent on tides as they had been, and could often work as long as their strength held out. although the work was regular, and, as some might imagine, rather monotonous, there were not wanting accidents and incidents to enliven the routine of daily duty. the landing of the boats in rough weather with stones, etcetera, was a never-failing source of anxiety, alarm, and occasionally amusement. strangers sometimes visited the rock, too, but these visits were few and far between. accidents were much less frequent, however, than might have been expected in a work of the kind. it was quite an event, something to talk about for days afterwards, when poor john bonnyman, one of the masons, lost a finger. the balance crane was the cause of this accident. we may remark, in passing, that this balance crane was a very peculiar and clever contrivance, which deserves a little notice. it may not have occurred to readers who are unacquainted with mechanics that the raising of ponderous stones to a great height is not an easy matter. as long as the lighthouse was low, cranes were easily raised on the rock, but when it became too high for the cranes to reach their heads up to the top of the tower, what was to be done? block-tackles could not be fastened to the skies! scaffolding in such a situation would not have survived a moderate gale. in these circumstances mr stevenson constructed a _balance_ crane, which was fixed in the centre of the tower, and so arranged that it could be raised along with the rising works. this crane resembled a cross in form. at one arm was hung a movable weight, which could be run out to its extremity, or fixed at any part of it. the other arm was the one by means of which the stones were hoisted. when a stone had to be raised, its weight was ascertained, and the movable weight was so fixed as _exactly_ to counterbalance it. by this simple contrivance all the cumbrous and troublesome machinery of long guys and bracing-chains extending from the crane to the rock below were avoided. well, bonnyman was attending to the working of the crane, and directing the lowering of a stone into its place, when he inadvertently laid his left hand on a part of the machinery where it was brought into contact with the chain, which passed over his forefinger, and cut it so nearly off that it was left hanging by a mere shred of skin. the poor man was at once sent off in a fast rowing boat to arbroath, where the finger was removed and properly dressed. [see note .] a much more serious accident occurred at another time, however, which resulted in the death of one of the seamen belonging to the _smeaton_. it happened thus. the _smeaton_ had been sent from arbroath with a cargo of stones one morning, and reached the rock about half-past six o'clock a.m. the mate and one of the men, james scott, a youth of eighteen years of age, got into the sloop's boat to make fast the hawser to the floating buoy of her moorings. the tides at the time were very strong, and the mooring-chain when sweeping the ground had caught hold of a rock or piece of wreck, by which the chain was so shortened, that when the tide flowed the buoy got almost under water, and little more than the ring appeared at the surface. when the mate and scott were in the act of making the hawser fast to the ring, the chain got suddenly disentangled at the bottom, and the large buoy, measuring about seven feet in length by three in diameter in the middle, vaulted upwards with such force that it upset the boat, which instantly filled with water. the mate with great difficulty succeeded in getting hold of the gunwale, but scott seemed to have been stunned by the buoy, for he lay motionless for a few minutes on the water, apparently unable to make any exertion to save himself, for he did not attempt to lay hold of the oars or thwarts which floated near him. a boat was at once sent to the rescue, and the mate was picked up, but scott sank before it reached the spot. this poor lad was a great favourite in the service, and for a time his melancholy end cast a gloom over the little community at the bell rock. the circumstances of the case were also peculiarly distressing in reference to the boy's mother, for her husband had been for three years past confined in a french prison, and her son had been the chief support of the family. in order in some measure to make up to the poor woman for the loss of the monthly aliment regularly allowed her by her lost son, it was suggested that a younger brother of the deceased might be taken into the service. this appeared to be a rather delicate proposition, but it was left to the landing-master to arrange according to circumstances. such was the resignation, and at the same time the spirit of the poor woman, that she readily accepted the proposal, and in a few days the younger scott was actually afloat in the place of his brother. on this distressing case being represented to the board, the commissioners granted an annuity of pounds to the lad's mother. the painter who represents only the sunny side of nature portrays a one-sided, and therefore a false view of things, for, as everyone knows, nature is not all sunshine. so, if an author makes his pen-and-ink pictures represent only the amusing and picturesque view of things, he does injustice to his subject. we have no pleasure, good reader, in saddening you by accounts of "fatal accidents", but we have sought to convey to you a correct impression of things, and scenes, and incidents at the building of the bell rock lighthouse, as they actually were, and looked, and occurred. although there was much, _very_ much, of risk, exposure, danger, and trial connected with the erection of that building, there was, in the good providence of god, _very_ little of severe accident or death. yet that little must be told,--at least touched upon,--else will our picture remain incomplete as well as untrue. now, do not imagine, with a shudder, that these remarks are the prelude to something that will harrow up your feelings. not so. they are merely the apology, if apology be needed, for the introduction of another "accident." well, then. one morning the artificers landed on the rock at a quarter-past six, and as all hands were required for a piece of special work that day, they breakfasted on the beacon, instead of returning to the tender, and spent the day on the rock. the special work referred to was the raising of the crane from the eighth to the ninth course--an operation which required all the strength that could be mustered for working the guy-tackles. this, be it remarked, was before the balance crane, already described, had been set up; and as the top of the crane stood at the time about thirty-five feet above the rock, it became much more unmanageable than heretofore. at the proper hour all hands were called, and detailed to their several posts on the tower, and about the rock. in order to give additional purchase or power in tightening the tackle, one of the blocks of stone was suspended at the end of the movable beam of the crane, which, by adding greatly to the weight, tended to slacken the guys or supporting-ropes in the direction to which the beam with the stone was pointed, and thereby enabled the men more easily to brace them one after another. while the beam was thus loaded, and in the act of swinging round from one guy to another, a great strain was suddenly brought upon the opposite tackle, with the end of which the men had very improperly neglected to take a turn round some stationary object, which would have given them the complete command of the tackle. owing to this simple omission, the crane, with the large stone at the end of the beam, got a preponderancy to one side, and, the tackle alluded to having rent, it fell upon the building with a terrible crash. the men fled right and left to get out of its way; but one of them, michael wishart, a mason, stumbled over an uncut trenail and rolled on his back, and the ponderous crane fell upon him. fortunately it fell so that his body lay between the great shaft and the movable beam, and thus he escaped with his life, but his feet were entangled with the wheel-work, and severely injured. wishart was a robust and spirited young fellow, and bore his sufferings with wonderful firmness while he was being removed. he was laid upon one of the narrow frame-beds of the beacon, and despatched in a boat to the tender. on seeing the boat approach with the poor man stretched on a bed covered with blankets, and his face overspread with that deadly pallor which is the usual consequence of excessive bleeding, the seamen's looks betrayed the presence of those well-known but indescribable sensations which one experiences when brought suddenly into contact with something horrible. relief was at once experienced, however, when wishart's voice was heard feebly accosting those who first stepped into the boat. he was immediately sent on shore, where the best surgical advice was obtained, and he began to recover steadily, though slowly. meanwhile, having been one of the principal masons, robert selkirk was appointed to his vacant post. and now let us wind up this chapter of accidents with an account of the manner in which a party of strangers, to use a slang but expressive phrase, came to grief during a visit to the bell rock. one morning, a trim little vessel was seen by the workmen making for the rock at low tide. from its build and size, ruby at once judged it to be a pleasure yacht. perchance some delicate shades in the seamanship, displayed in managing the little vessel, had influenced the sailor in forming his opinion. be this as it may, the vessel brought up under the lee of the rock and cast anchor. it turned out to be a party of gentlemen from leith, who had run down the firth to see the works. the weather was fine, and the sea calm, but these yachters had yet to learn that fine weather and a calm sea do not necessarily imply easy or safe landing at the bell rock! they did not know that the _swell_ which had succeeded a recent gale was heavier than it appeared to be at a distance; and, worst of all, they did not know, or they did not care to remember, that "there is a time for all things," and that the time for landing at the bell rock is limited. seeing that the place was covered with workmen, the strangers lowered their little boat and rowed towards them. "they're mad," said logan, who, with a group of the men, watched the motions of their would-be visitors. "no," observed joe dumsby; "they are brave, but hignorant." "_faix_, they won't be ignorant long!" cried ned o'connor, as the little boat approached the rock, propelled by two active young rowers in guernsey shirts, white trousers, and straw hats. "you're stout, lads, both of ye, an' purty good hands at the oar, _for gintlemen_; but av ye wos as strong as samson it would puzzle ye to stem these breakers, so ye better go back." the yachters did not hear the advice, and they would not have taken it if they had heard it. they rowed straight up towards the landing-place, and, so far, showed themselves expert selectors of the right channel; but they soon came within the influence of the seas, which burst on the rock and sent up jets of spray to leeward. these jets had seemed very pretty and harmless when viewed from the deck of the yacht, but they were found on a nearer approach to be quite able, and, we might almost add, not unwilling, to toss up the boat like a ball, and throw it and its occupants head over heels into the air. but the rowers, like most men of their class, were not easily cowed. they watched their opportunity--allowed the waves to meet and rush on, and then pulled into the midst of the foam, in the hope of crossing to the shelter of the rock before the approach of the next wave. heedless of a warning cry from ned o'connor, whose anxiety began to make him very uneasy, the amateur sailors strained every nerve to pull through, while their companion who sat at the helm in the stern of the boat seemed to urge them on to redoubled exertions. of course their efforts were in vain. the next billow caught the boat on its foaming crest, and raised it high in the air. for one moment the wave rose between the boat and the men on the rock, and hid her from view, causing ned to exclaim, with a genuine groan, "arrah! they's gone!" but they were not; the boat's head had been carefully kept to the sea, and, although she had been swept back a considerable way, and nearly half-filled with water, she was still afloat. the chief engineer now hailed the gentlemen, and advised them to return and remain on board their vessel until the state of the tide would permit him to send a proper boat for them. in the meantime, however, a large boat from the floating light, pretty deeply laden with lime, cement, and sand, approached, when the strangers, with a view to avoid giving trouble, took their passage in her to the rock. the accession of three passengers to a boat, already in a lumbered state, put her completely out of trim, and, as it unluckily happened, the man who steered her on this occasion was not in the habit of attending the rock, and was not sufficiently aware of the run of the sea at the entrance of the eastern creek. instead, therefore, of keeping close to the small rock called _johnny gray_, he gave it, as ruby expressed it, "a wide berth." a heavy sea struck the boat, drove her to leeward, and, the oars getting entangled among the rocks and seaweed, she became unmanageable. the next sea threw her on a ledge, and, instantly leaving her, she canted seaward upon her gunwale, throwing her crew and part of her cargo into the water. all this was the work of a few seconds. the men had scarce time to realise their danger ere they found themselves down under the water; and when they rose gasping to the surface, it was to behold the next wave towering over them, ready to fall on their heads. when it fell it scattered crew, cargo, and boat in all directions. some clung to the gunwale of the boat, others to the seaweed, and some to the thwarts and oars which floated about, and which quickly carried them out of the creek to a considerable distance from the spot where the accident happened. the instant the boat was overturned, ruby darted towards one of the rock boats which lay near to the spot where the party of workmen who manned it had landed that morning. wilson, the landing-master, was at his side in a moment. "shove off, lad, and jump in!" cried wilson. there was no need to shout for the crew of the boat. the men were already springing into her as she floated off. in a few minutes all the men in the water were rescued, with the exception of one of the strangers, named strachan. this gentleman had been swept out to a small insulated rock, where he clung to the seaweed with great resolution, although each returning sea laid him completely under water, and hid him for a second or two from the spectators on the rock. in this situation he remained for ten or twelve minutes; and those who know anything of the force of large waves will understand how severely his strength and courage must have been tried during that time. when the boat reached the rock the most difficult part was still to perform, as it required the greatest nicety of management to guide her in a rolling sea, so as to prevent her from being carried forcibly against the man whom they sought to save. "take the steering-oar, ruby; you are the best hand at this," said wilson. ruby seized the oar, and, notwithstanding the breach of the seas and the narrowness of the passage, steered the boat close to the rock at the proper moment. "starboard, noo, stiddy!" shouted john watt, who leant suddenly over the bow of the boat and seized poor strachan by the hair. in another moment he was pulled inboard with the aid of selkirk's stout arms, and the boat was backed out of danger. "now, a cheer, boys!" cried ruby. the men did not require urging to this. it burst from them with tremendous energy, and was echoed back by their comrades on the rock, in the midst of whose wild hurrah, ned o'connor's voice was distinctly heard to swell from a cheer into a yell of triumph! the little rock on which this incident occurred was called _strachan's ledge_, and it is known by that name at the present day. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . it is right to state that this man afterwards obtained a light-keeper's situation from the board of commissioners of northern lights, who seem to have taken a kindly interest in all their servants, especially those of them who had suffered in the service. chapter twenty five. the bell rock in a fog--narrow escape of the smeaton. change of scene is necessary to the healthful working of the human mind; at least, so it is said. acting upon the assumption that the saying is true, we will do our best in this chapter for the human minds that condescend to peruse these pages, by leaping over a space of time, and by changing at least the character of the scene, if not the locality. we present the bell rock under a new aspect, that of a dense fog and a dead calm. this is by no means an unusual aspect of things at the bell rock, but as we have hitherto dwelt chiefly on storms it may be regarded as new to the reader. it was a june morning. there had been few breezes and no storms for some weeks past, so that the usual swell of the ocean had gone down, and there were actually no breakers on the rock at low water, and no ruffling of the surface at all at high tide. the tide had, about two hours before, overflowed the rock and driven the men into the beacon house, where, having breakfasted, they were at the time enjoying themselves with pipes and small talk. the lighthouse had grown considerably by this time. its unfinished top was more than eighty feet above the foundation; but the fog was so dense that only the lower part of the column could be seen from the beacon, the summit being lost, as it were, in the clouds. nevertheless that summit, high though it was, did not yet project beyond the reach of the sea. a proof of this had been given in a very striking manner, some weeks before the period about which we now write, to our friend george forsyth. george was a studious man, and fond of reading the bible critically. he was proof against laughter and ridicule, and was wont sometimes to urge the men into discussions. one of his favourite arguments was somewhat as follows-- "boys," he was wont to say, "you laugh at me for readin' the bible carefully. you would not laugh at a schoolboy for reading his books carefully, would you? yet the learnin' of the way of salvation is of far more consequence to me than book learnin' is to a schoolboy. an astronomer is never laughed at for readin' his books o' geometry an' suchlike day an' night--even to the injury of his health--but what is an astronomer's business to _him_ compared with the concerns of my soul to _me_? ministers tell me there are certain things i must know and believe if i would be saved--such as the death and resurrection of our saviour jesus christ; and they also point out that the bible speaks of certain christians, who did well in refusin' to receive the gospel at the hands of the apostles, without first enquirin' into these things, to see if they were true. now, lads, _if_ these things that so many millions believe in, and that _you_ all profess to believe in, are lies, then you may well laugh at me for enquirin' into them; but if they be true, why, i think the devils themselves must be laughing at _you_ for _not_ enquirin' into them!" of course, forsyth found among such a number of intelligent men, some who could argue with him, as well as some who could laugh at him. he also found one or two who sympathised openly, while there were a few who agreed in their hearts, although they did not speak. well, it was this tendency to study on the part of forsyth, that led him to cross the wooden bridge between the beacon and the lighthouse during his leisure hours, and sit reading at the top of the spiral stair, near one of the windows of the lowest room. forsyth was sitting at his usual window one afternoon at the end of a storm. it was a comfortless place, for neither sashes nor glass had at that time been put in, and the wind howled up and down the shaft dreadfully. the man was robust, however, and did not mind that. the height of the building was at that time fully eighty feet. while he was reading there a tremendous breaker struck the lighthouse with such force that it trembled distinctly. forsyth started up, for he had never felt this before, and fancied the structure was about to fall. for a moment or two he remained paralysed, for he heard the most terrible and inexplicable sounds going on overhead. in fact, the wave that shook the building had sent a huge volume of spray right over the top, part of which fell into the lighthouse, and what poor forsyth heard was about a ton of water coming down through storey after storey, carrying lime, mortar, buckets, trowels, and a host of other things, violently along with it. to plunge down the spiral stair, almost headforemost, was the work of a few seconds. forsyth accompanied the descent with a yell of terror, which reached the ears of his comrades in the beacon, and brought them to the door, just in time to see their comrade's long legs carry him across the bridge in two bounds. almost at the same instant the water and rubbish burst out of the doorway of the lighthouse, and flooded the bridge. but let us return from this digression, or rather, this series of digressions, to the point where we branched off: the aspect of the beacon in the fog, and the calm of that still morning in june. some of the men inside were playing draughts, others were finishing their breakfast; one was playing "auld lang syne", with many extempore flourishes and trills, on a flute, which was very much out of tune. a few were smoking, of course (where exists the band of britons who can get on without that!) and several were sitting astride on the cross-beams below, bobbing--not exactly for whales, but for any monster of the deep that chose to turn up. the men fishing, and the beacon itself, loomed large and mysterious in the half-luminous fog. perhaps this was the reason that the sea-gulls flew so near them, and gave forth an occasional and very melancholy cry, as if of complaint at the changed appearance of things. "there's naethin' to be got the day," said john watt, rather peevishly, as he pulled up his line and found the bait gone. baits are _always_ found gone when lines are pulled up! this would seem to be an angling law of nature. at all events, it would seem to have been a very aggravating law of nature on the present occasion, for john watt frowned and growled to himself as he put on another bait. "there's a bite!" exclaimed joe dumsby, with a look of doubt, at the same time feeling his line. "poo'd in then," said watt ironically. "no, 'e's hoff," observed joe. "hm! he never was on," muttered watt. "what are you two growling at?" said ruby, who sat on one of the beams at the other side. "at our luck, ruby," said joe. "ha! was that a nibble?" ("naethin' o' the kind," from watt.) "it was! as i live it's large; an 'addock, i think." "a naddock!" sneered watt; "mair like a bit o' tangle than--eh! losh me! it _is_ a fish--" "well done, joe!" cried bremner, from the doorway above, as a large rock-cod was drawn to the surface of the water. "stay, it's too large to pull up with the line. i'll run down and gaff it," cried ruby, fastening his own line to the beam, and descending to the water by the usual ladder, on one of the main beams. "now, draw him this way--gently, not too roughly--take time. ah! that was a miss--he's off; no! again; now then--" another moment, and a goodly cod of about ten pounds weight was wriggling on the iron hook which ruby handed up to dumsby, who mounted with his prize in triumph to the kitchen. from that moment the fish began to "take." while the men were thus busily engaged, a boat was rowing about in the fog, vainly endeavouring to find the rock. it was the boat of two fast friends, jock swankie and davy spink. these worthies were in a rather exhausted condition, having been rowing almost incessantly from daybreak. "i tell 'ee what it is," said swankie; "i'll be hanged if i poo another stroke." he threw his oar into the boat, and looked sulky. "it's my belief," said his companion, "that we ought to be near aboot denmark be this time." "denmark or rooshia, it's a' ane to me," rejoined swankie; "i'll hae a smoke." so saying, he pulled out his pipe and tobacco-box, and began to cut the tobacco. davy did the same. suddenly both men paused, for they heard a sound. each looked enquiringly at the other, and then both gazed into the thick fog. "is that a ship?" said davy spink. they seized their oars hastily. "the beacon, as i'm a leevin' sinner!" exclaimed swankie. if spink had not backed his oar at that moment, there is some probability that swankie would have been a dead, instead of a living, sinner in a few minutes, for they had almost run upon the north-east end of the bell rock, and distinctly heard the sound of voices on the beacon. a shout settled the question at once, for it was replied to by a loud holloa from ruby. in a short time the boat was close to the beacon, and the water was so very calm that day, that they were able to venture to hand the packet of letters with which they had come off into the beacon, even although the tide was full. "letters," said swankie, as he reached out his hand with the packet. "hurrah!" cried the men, who were all assembled on the mortar-gallery, looking down at the fishermen, excepting ruby, watt, and dumsby, who were still on the cross-beams below. "mind the boat; keep her aff," said swankie, stretching out his hand with the packet to the utmost, while dumsby descended the ladder and held out _his_ hand to receive it. "take care," cried the men in chorus, for news from shore was always a very exciting episode in their career, and the idea of the packet being lost filled them with sudden alarm. the shout and the anxiety together caused the very result that was dreaded. the packet fell into the sea and sank, amid a volley of yells. it went down slowly. before it had descended a fathom, ruby's head cleft the water, and in a moment he returned to the surface with the packet in his hand amid a wild cheer of joy; but this was turned into a cry of alarm, as ruby was carried away by the tide, despite his utmost efforts to regain the beacon. the boat was at once pushed off but so strong was the current there, that ruby was carried past the rock, and a hundred yards away to sea, before the boat overtook him. the moment he was pulled into her he shook himself, and then tore off the outer covering of the packet in order to save the letters from being wetted. he had the great satisfaction of finding them almost uninjured. he had the greater satisfaction, thereafter, of feeling that he had done a deed which induced every man in the beacon that night to thank him half a dozen times over; and he had the greatest possible satisfaction in finding that among the rest he had saved two letters addressed to himself, one from minnie gray, and the other from his uncle. the scene in the beacon when the contents of the packet were delivered was interesting. those who had letters devoured them, and in many cases read them (unwittingly) half-aloud. those who had none read the newspapers, and those who had neither papers nor letters listened. ruby's letter ran as follows (we say his _letter_, because the other letter was regarded, comparatively, as nothing):-- "arbroath, etcetera. "darling ruby,--i have just time to tell you that we have made a discovery which will surprise you. let me detail it to you circumstantially. uncle ogilvy and i were walking on the pier a few days ago, when we overheard a conversation between two sailors, who did not see that we were approaching. we would not have stopped to listen, but the words we heard arrested our attention, so--o what a pity! there, big swankie has come for our letters. is it not strange that _he_ should be the man to take them off? i meant to have given you _such_ an account of it, especially a description of the case. they won't wait. come ashore as soon as you can, dearest ruby." the letter broke off here abruptly. it was evident that the writer had been obliged to close it abruptly, for she had forgotten to sign her name. "`a description of the case;' _what_ case?" muttered ruby in vexation. "o minnie, minnie, in your anxiety to go into details you have omitted to give me the barest outline. well, well, darling, i'll just take the will for the deed, but i _wish_ you had--" here ruby ceased to mutter, for captain ogilvy's letter suddenly occurred to his mind. opening it hastily, he read as follows:-- "dear neffy,--i never was much of a hand at spellin', an' i'm not rightly sure o' that word, howsever, it reads all square, so ittle do. if i had been the inventer o' writin' i'd have had signs for a lot o' words. just think how much better it would ha' bin to have put a regular d like that instead o' writin' s-q-u-a-r-e. then _round_ would have bin far better o, like that. an' crooked thus," (draws a squiggly line); "see how significant an' suggestive, if i may say so; no humbug--all fair an' above-board, as the pirate said, when he ran up the black flag to the peak. "but avast speckillatin' (shiver my timbers! but that last was a pen-splitter), that's not what i sat down to write about. my object in takin' up the pen, neffy, is two-fold, "`double, double, toil an' trouble,' "as macbeath said,--if it wasn't hamlet. "we want you to come home for a day or two, if you can git leave, lad, about this strange affair. minnie said she was goin' to give you a full, true, and partikler account of it, so it's of no use my goin' over the same course. there's that blackguard swankie come for the letters. ha! it makes me chuckle. no time for more--" this letter also concluded abruptly, and without a signature. "there's a pretty kettle o' fish!" exclaimed ruby aloud. "so 'tis, lad; so 'tis," said bremner, who at that moment had placed a superb pot of codlings on the fire; "though why ye should say it so positively when nobody's denyin' it, is more nor i can tell." ruby laughed, and retired to the mortar-gallery to work at the forge and ponder. he always found that he pondered best while employed in hammering, especially if his feelings were ruffled. seizing a mass of metal, he laid it on the anvil, and gave it five or six heavy blows to straighten it a little, before thrusting it into the fire. strange to say, these few blows of the hammer were the means, in all probability, of saving the sloop _smeaton_ from being wrecked on the bell rock! that vessel had been away with mr stevenson at leith, and was returning, when she was overtaken by the calm and the fog. at the moment that ruby began to hammer, the _smeaton_ was within a stone's cast of the beacon, running gently before a light air which had sprung up. no one on board had the least idea that the tide had swept them so near the rock, and the ringing of the anvil was the first warning they got of their danger. the lookout on board instantly sang out, "starboard har-r-r-d-! beacon ahead!" and ruby looked up in surprise, just as the _smeaton_ emerged like a phantom-ship out of the fog. her sails fluttered as she came up to the wind, and the crew were seen hurrying to and fro in much alarm. mr stevenson himself stood on the quarterdeck of the little vessel, and waved his hand to assure those on the beacon that they had sheered off in time, and were safe. this incident tended to strengthen the engineer in his opinion that the two large bells which were being cast for the lighthouse, to be rung by the machinery of the revolving light, would be of great utility in foggy weather. while the _smeaton_ was turning away, as if with a graceful bow to the men on the rock, ruby shouted: "there are letters here for you, sir." the mate of the vessel called out at once, "send them off in the shore-boat; we'll lay-to." no time was to be lost, for if the _smeaton_ should get involved in the fog it might be very difficult to find her; so ruby at once ran for the letters, and, hailing the shore-boat which lay quite close at hand, jumped into it and pushed off. they boarded the _smeaton_ without difficulty and delivered the letters. instead of returning to the beacon, however, ruby was ordered to hold himself in readiness to go to arbroath in the shore-boat with a letter from mr stevenson to the superintendent of the workyard. "you can go up and see your friends in the town, if you choose," said the engineer, "but be sure to return by tomorrow's forenoon tide. we cannot dispense with your services longer than a few hours, my lad, so i shall expect you to make no unnecessary delay." "you may depend upon me, sir," said ruby, touching his cap, as he turned away and leaped into the boat. a light breeze was now blowing, so that the sails could be used. in less than a quarter of an hour sloop and beacon were lost in the fog, and ruby steered for the harbour of arbroath, overjoyed at this unexpected and happy turn of events, which gave him an opportunity of solving the mystery of the letters, and of once more seeing the sweet face of minnie gray. but an incident occurred which delayed these desirable ends, and utterly changed the current of ruby's fortunes for a time. chapter twenty six. a sudden and tremendous change in ruby's fortunes. what a variety of appropriate aphorisms there are to express the great truths of human experience! "there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip" is one of them. undoubtedly there is. so is there "many a miss of a sweet little kiss." "the course of true love," also, "never did run smooth." certainly not. why should it? if it did we should doubt whether the love were true. our own private belief is that the course of true love is always uncommonly rough, but collective human wisdom has seen fit to put the idea in the negative form. so let it stand. ruby had occasion to reflect on these things that day, but the reflection afforded him no comfort whatever. the cause of his inconsolable state of mind is easily explained. the boat had proceeded about halfway to arbroath when they heard the sound of oars, and in a few seconds a ship's gig rowed out of the fog towards them. instead of passing them the gig was steered straight for the boat, and ruby saw that it was full of men-of-war's men. he sprang up at once and seized an oar. "out oars!" he cried. "boys, if ever you pulled hard in your lives, do so now. it's the press-gang!" before those few words were uttered the two men had seized the oars, for they knew well what the press-gang meant, and all three pulled with such vigour that the boat shot over the smooth sea with double speed. but they had no chance in a heavy fishing boat against the picked crew of the light gig. if the wind had been a little stronger they might have escaped, but the wind had decreased, and the small boat overhauled them yard by yard. seeing that they had no chance, ruby said, between his set teeth: "will ye fight, boys?" "_i_ will," cried davy spink sternly, for davy had a wife and little daughter on shore, who depended entirely on his exertions for their livelihood, so he had a strong objection to go and fight in the wars of his country. "what's the use?" muttered big swankie, with a savage scowl. he, too, had a strong disinclination to serve in the royal navy, being a lazy man, and not overburdened with courage. "they've got eight men of a crew, wi' pistols an' cutlashes." "well, it's all up with us," cried ruby, in a tone of sulky anger, as he tossed his oar overboard, and, folding his arms on his breast, sat sternly eyeing the gig as it approached. suddenly a beam of hope shot into his heart. a few words will explain the cause thereof. about the time the works at the bell rock were in progress, the war with france and the northern powers was at its height, and the demand for men was so great that orders were issued for the establishment of an impress service at dundee, arbroath, and aberdeen. it became therefore necessary to have some protection for the men engaged in the works. as the impress officers were extremely rigid in the execution of their duty, it was resolved to have the seamen carefully identified, and, therefore, besides being described in the usual manner in the protection-bills granted by the admiralty, each man had a ticket given to him descriptive of his person, to which was attached a silver medal emblematical of the lighthouse service. that very week ruby had received one of the protection-medals and tickets of the bell rock, a circumstance which he had forgotten at the moment. it was now in his pocket, and might perhaps save him. when the boat ranged up alongside, ruby recognised in the officer at the helm the youth who had already given him so much annoyance. the officer also recognised ruby, and, with a glance of surprise and pleasure, exclaimed: "what! have i bagged you at last, my slippery young lion?" ruby smiled as he replied, "not _quite_ yet, my persevering young jackall." (he was sorely tempted to transpose the word into jackass, but he wisely restrained himself.) "i'm not so easily caught as you think." "eh! how? what mean you?" exclaimed the officer, with an expression of surprise, for he knew that ruby was now in his power. "i have you safe, my lad, unless you have provided yourself with a pair of wings. of course, i shall leave one of you to take your boat into harbour, but you may be sure that i'll not devolve that pleasant duty upon _you_." "i have not provided myself with wings exactly," returned ruby, pulling out his medal and ticket; "but here is something that will do quite as well." the officer's countenance fell, for he knew at once what it was. he inspected it, however, closely. "let me see," said he, reading the description on the ticket, which ran thus:-- "bell rock workyard, arbroath, " th june, . "_ruby brand, seaman and blacksmith, in the service of the honourable the commissioners of the northern lighthouses, aged_ _years_, _feet_ _inches high, very powerfully made, fair complexion, straight nose, dark-blue eyes, and curling auburn hair_." this description was signed by the engineer of the works; and on the obverse was written, "_the bearer, ruby brand, is serving as a blacksmith in the erection of the bell rock lighthouse_." "this is all very well, my fine fellow," said the officer, "but i have been deceived more than once with these medals and tickets. how am i to know that you have not stolen it from someone?" "by seeing whether the description agrees," replied ruby. "of course, i know that as well as you, and i don't find the description quite perfect. i would say that your hair is light-brown, now, not auburn, and your nose is a little roman, if anything; and there's no mention of whiskers, or that delicate moustache. why, look here," he added, turning abruptly to big swankie, "this might be the description of your comrade as well as, if not better than, yours. what's your name?" "swankie, sir," said that individual ruefully, yet with a gleam of hope that the advantages of the bell rock medal might possibly, in some unaccountable way, accrue to himself, for he was sharp enough to see that the officer would be only too glad to find any excuse for securing ruby. "well, swankie, stand up, and let's have a look at you," said the officer, glancing from the paper to the person of the fisherman, and commenting thereon. "here we have `very powerfully made'--no mistake about that--strong as samson; `fair complexion'--that's it exactly; `auburn hair'--so it is. auburn is a very undecided colour; there's a great deal of red in it, and no one can deny that swankie has a good deal of red in _his_ hair." there was indeed no denying this, for it was altogether red, of an intense carroty hue. "you see, friend," continued the officer, turning to ruby, "that the description suits swankie very well." "true, as far as you have gone," said ruby, with a quiet smile; "but swankie is six feet two in his stockings, and his nose is turned up, and his hair don't curl, and his eyes are light-green, and his complexion is sallow, if i may not say yellow--" "fair, lad; fair," said the officer, laughing in spite of himself. "ah! ruby brand, you are jealous of him! well, i see that i'm fated not to capture you, so i'll bid you good day. meanwhile your companions will be so good as to step into my gig." the two men rose to obey. big swankie stepped over the gunwale, with the fling of a sulky, reckless man, who curses his fate and submits to it. davy spink had a very crestfallen, subdued look. he was about to follow, when a thought seemed to strike him. he turned hastily round, and ruby was surprised to see that his eyes were suffused with tears, and that his features worked with the convulsive twitching of one who struggles powerfully to restrain his feelings. "ruby brand," said he, in a deep husky voice, which trembled at first, but became strong as he went on; "ruby brand, i deserve nae good at your hands, yet i'll ask a favour o' ye. ye've seen the wife and the bairn, the wee ane wi' the fair curly pow. ye ken the auld hoose. it'll be mony a lang day afore i see them again, if iver i come back ava. there's naebody left to care for them. they'll be starvin' soon, lad. wull ye--wull ye look-doon?" poor davy spink stopped here, and covered his face with his big sunburnt hands. a sudden gush of sympathy filled ruby's heart. he started forward, and drawing from his pocket the letter with which he was charged, thrust it into spink's hand, and said hurriedly-- "don't fail to deliver it the first thing you do on landing. and hark'ee, spink, go to mrs brand's cottage, and tell them there _why_ i went away. be sure you see them _all_, and explain _why it was_. tell minnie gray that i will be _certain_ to return, if god spares me." without waiting for a reply he sprang into the gig, and gave the other boat a shove, that sent it several yards off. "give way, lads," cried the officer, who was delighted at this unexpected change in affairs, though he had only heard enough of the conversation to confuse him as to the cause of it. "stop! stop!" shouted spink, tossing up his arms. "i'd rather not," returned the officer. davy seized the oars, and, turning his boat in the direction of the gig, endeavoured to overtake it. as well might the turkey-buzzard attempt to catch the swallow. he was left far behind, and when last seen faintly through the fog, he was standing up in the stern of the boat wringing his hands. ruby had seated himself in the bow of the gig, with his face turned steadily towards the sea, so that no one could see it. this position he maintained in silence until the boat ranged up to what appeared like the side of a great mountain, looming through the mist. then he turned round, and, whatever might have been the struggle within his breast, all traces of it had left his countenance, which presented its wonted appearance of good-humoured frankness. we need scarcely say that the mountain turned out to be a british man-of-war. ruby was quickly introduced to his future messmates, and warmly received by them. then he was left to his own free will during the remainder of that day, for the commander of the vessel was a kind man, and did not like to add to the grief of the impressed men by setting them to work at once. thus did our hero enter the royal navy; and many a long and weary day and month passed by before he again set foot in his native town. chapter twenty seven. other things besides murder "will out." meanwhile davy spink, with his heart full, returned slowly to the shore. he was long of reaching it, the boat being very heavy for one man to pull. on landing he hurried up to his poor little cottage, which was in a very low part of the town, and in a rather out-of-the-way corner of that part. "janet," said he, flinging himself into a rickety old armchair that stood by the fireplace, "the press-gang has catched us at last, and they've took big swankie away, and, worse than that--" "oh!" cried janet, unable to wait for more, "that's the best news i've heard for mony a day. ye're sure they have him safe?" "ay, sure enough," said spink dryly; "but ye needna be sae glad aboot it, for. swankie was aye good to _you_." "ay, davy," cried janet, putting her arm round her husband's neck, and kissing him, "but he wasna good to _you_. he led ye into evil ways mony a time when ye would rather hae keepit oot o' them. na, na, davy, ye needna shake yer heed; i ken'd fine." "weel, weel, hae'd yer ain way, lass, but swankie's awa' to the wars, and so's ruby brand, for they've gotten him as weel." "ruby brand!" exclaimed the woman. "ay, ruby brand; and this is the way they did it." here spink detailed to his helpmate, who sat with folded hands and staring eyes opposite to her husband, all that had happened. when he had concluded, they discussed the subject together. presently the little girl came bouncing into the room, with rosy cheeks, sparkling eyes, a dirty face, and fair ringlets very much dishevelled, and with a pitcher of hot soup in her hands. davy caught her up, and kissing her, said abruptly, "maggie, big swankie's awa' to the wars." the child looked enquiringly in her father's face, and he had to repeat his words twice before she quite realised the import of them. "are ye jokin', daddy?" "no, maggie; it's true. the press-gang got him and took him awa', an' i doot we'll never see him again." the little girl's expression changed while he spoke, then her lip trembled, and she burst into tears. "see there, janet," said spink, pointing to maggie, and looking earnestly at his wife. "weel-a-weel," replied janet, somewhat softened, yet with much firmness, "i'll no deny that the man was fond o' the bairn, and it liked him weel enough; but, my certes! he wad hae made a bad man o' you if he could. but i'm real sorry for ruby brand; and what'll the puir lassie gray do? ye'll hae to gang up an' gie them the message." "so i will; but that's like somethin' to eat, i think?" spink pointed to the soup. "ay, it's a' we've got, so let's fa' to; and haste ye, lad. it's a sair heart she'll hae this night--wae's me!" while spink and his wife were thus employed, widow brand, minnie gray, and captain ogilvy were seated at tea, round the little table in the snug kitchen of the widow's cottage. it might have been observed that there were two teapots on the table, a large one and a small, and that the captain helped himself out of the small one, and did not take either milk or sugar. but the captain's teapot did not necessarily imply tea. in fact, since the death of the captain's mother, that small teapot had been accustomed to strong drink only. it never tasted tea. "i wonder if ruby will get leave of absence," said the captain, throwing himself back in his armchair, in order to be able to admire, with greater ease, the smoke, as it curled towards the ceiling from his mouth and pipe. "i do hope so," said mrs brand, looking up from her knitting, with a little sigh. mrs brand usually followed up all her remarks with a little sigh. sometimes the sigh was _very_ little. it depended a good deal on the nature of her remark whether the sigh was of the little, less, or least description; but it never failed, in one or other degree, to close her every observation. "i _think_ he will," said minnie, as she poured a second cup of tea for the widow. "ay, that's right, lass," observed the captain; "there's nothin' like hope-- "`the pleasures of hope told a flatterin' tale regardin' the fleet when lord nelson set sail.' "fill me out another cup of tea, hebe." it was a pleasant little fiction with the captain to call his beverage "tea". minnie filled out a small cupful of the contents of the little teapot, which did, indeed, resemble tea, but which smelt marvellously like hot rum and water. "enough, enough. come on, macduff! ah! minnie, this is prime jamaica; it's got such a--but i forgot; you don't understand nothin' about nectar of this sort." the captain smoked in silence for a few minutes, and then said, with a sudden chuckle-- "wasn't it odd, sister, that we should have found it all out in such an easy sort o' way? if criminals would always tell on themselves as plainly as big swankie did, there would be no use for lawyers." "swankie would not have spoken so freely," said minnie, with a laugh, "if he had known that we were listening." "that's true, girl," said the captain, with sudden gravity; "and i don't feel quite easy in my mind about that same eavesdropping. it's a dirty thing to do--especially for an old sailor, who likes everything to be fair and above-board; but then, you see, the natur' o' the words we couldn't help hearin' justified us in waitin' to hear more. yes, it was quite right, as it turned out. a little more tea, minnie. thank'ee, lass. now go, get the case, and let us look over it again." the girl rose, and, going to a drawer, quickly returned with a small red leather case in her hand. it was the identical jewel-case that swankie had found on the dead body at the bell rock! "ah! that's it; now, let us see; let us see." he laid aside his pipe, and for some time felt all his pockets, and looked round the room, as if in search of something. "what are you looking for, uncle?" "the specs, lass; these specs'll be the death o' me." minnie laughed. "they're on your brow, uncle!" "so they are! well, well--" the captain smiled deprecatingly, and, drawing his chair close to the table, began to examine the box. its contents were a strange mixture, and it was evident that the case had not been made to hold them. there was a lady's gold watch, of very small size, and beautifully formed; a set of ornaments, consisting of necklace, bracelets, ring, and ear-rings of turquoise and pearls set in gold, of the most delicate and exquisite chasing; also, an antique diamond cross of great beauty, besides a number of rings and bracelets of considerable value. as the captain took these out one by one, and commented on them, he made use of minnie's pretty hand and arm to try the effect of each, and truly the ornaments could not have found a more appropriate resting-place among the fairest ladies of the land. minnie submitted to be made use of in this way with a pleased and amused expression; for, while she greatly admired the costly gems, she could not help smiling at the awkwardness of the captain in putting them on. "read the paper again," said minnie, after the contents of the box had been examined. the captain took up a small parcel covered with oiled cloth, which contained a letter. opening it, he began to read, but was interrupted by mrs brand, who had paid little attention to the jewels. "read it out loud, brother," said she, "i don't hear you well. read it out; i love to hear of my darling's gallant deeds." the captain cleared his throat, raised his voice, and read slowly:-- "`lisbon, th march, . "`dear captain brand,--i am about to quit this place for the east in a few days, and shall probably never see you again. pray accept the accompanying case of jewels as a small token of the love and esteem in which you are held by a heart-broken father. i feel assured that if it had been in the power of man to have saved my drowning child your gallant efforts would have been successful. it was ordained otherwise; and i now pray that i may be enabled to say "god's will be done." but i cannot bear the sight of these ornaments. i have no relatives--none at least who deserve them half so well as yourself. do not pain me by refusing them. they may be of use to you if you are ever in want of money, being worth, i believe, between three and four hundred pounds. of course, you cannot misunderstand my motive in mentioning this. no amount of money could in any measure represent the gratitude i owe to the man who risked his life to save my child. may god bless you, sir.'" the letter ended thus, without signature; and the captain ceased to read aloud. but there was an addition to the letter written in pencil, in the hand of the late captain brand, which neither he nor minnie had yet found courage to read to the poor widow. it ran thus:-- "our doom is sealed. my schooner is on the bell rock. it is blowing a gale from the north east, and she is going to pieces fast. we are all standing under the lee of a ledge of rock--six of us. in half an hour the tide will be roaring over the spot. god in christ help us! it is an awful end. if this letter and box is ever found, i ask the finder to send it, with my blessing, to mrs brand, my beloved wife, in arbroath." the writing was tremulous, and the paper bore the marks of having been soiled with seaweed. it was unsigned. the writer had evidently been obliged to close it hastily. after reading this in silence the captain refolded the letter. "no wonder, minnie, that swankie did not dare to offer such things for sale. he would certainly have been found out. wasn't it lucky that we heard him tell spink the spot under his floor where he had hidden them?" at that moment there came a low knock to the door. minnie opened it, and admitted davy spink, who stood in the middle of the room twitching his cap nervously, and glancing uneasily from one to another of the party. "hallo, spink!" cried the captain, pushing his spectacles up on his forehead, and gazing at the fisherman in surprise, "you don't seem to be quite easy in your mind. hope your fortunes have not sprung a leak!" "weel, captain ogilvy, they just have; gone to the bottom, i might a'most say. i've come to tell ye--that--the fact is, that the press-gang have catched us at last, and ta'en awa' my mate, jock swankie, better kenn'd as big swankie." "hem--well, my lad, in so far as that does damage to you, i'm sorry for it; but as regards society at large, i rather think that swankie havin' tripped his anchor is a decided advantage. if you lose by this in one way, you gain much in another; for your mate's companionship did ye no good. birds of a feather should flock together. you're better apart, for i believe you to be an honest man, spink." davy looked at the captain in unfeigned astonishment. "weel, ye're the first man that iver said that, an' i thank 'ee, sir, but you're wrang, though i wush ye was right. but that's no' what i cam' to tell ye." here the fisherman's indecision of manner returned. "come, make a clean breast of it, lad. there are none here but friends." "weel, sir, ruby brand--" he paused, and minnie turned deadly pale, for she jumped at once to the right conclusion. the widow, on the other hand, listened for more with deep anxiety, but did not guess the truth. "the fact is, ruby's catched too, an' he's awa' to the wars, and he sent me to--ech, sirs! the auld wuman's fentit." poor widow brand had indeed fallen back in her chair in a state bordering on insensibility. minnie was able to restrain her feelings so as to attend to her. she and the captain raised her gently, and led her into her own room, from whence the captain returned, and shut the door behind him. "now, spink," said he, "tell me all about it, an' be partic'lar." davy at once complied, and related all that the reader already knows, in a deep, serious tone of voice, for he felt that in the captain he had a sympathetic listener. when he had concluded, captain ogilvy heaved a sigh so deep that it might have been almost considered a groan, then he sat down on his armchair, and, pointing to the chair from which the widow had recently risen, said, "sit down, lad." as he advanced to comply, spink's eyes for the first time fell on the case of jewels. he started, paused, and looked with a troubled air at the captain. "ha!" exclaimed the latter with a grin; "you seem to know these things; old acquaintances, eh?" "it wasna' me that stole them," said spink hastily. "i did not say that anyone stole them." "weel, i mean that--that--" he stopped abruptly, for he felt that in whatever way he might attempt to clear himself, he would unavoidably criminate, by implication, his absent mate. "i know what you mean, my lad; sit down." spink sat down on the edge of the chair, and looked at the other uneasily. "have a cup of tea?" said the captain abruptly, seizing the small pot and pouring out a cupful. "thank 'ee--i--i niver tak' tea." "take it to-night, then. it will do you good." spink put the cup to his lips, and a look of deep surprise overspread his rugged countenance as he sipped the contents. the captain nodded. spink's look of surprise changed into a confidential smile; he also nodded, winked, and drained the cup to the bottom. "yes," resumed the captain; "you mean that you did not take the case of jewels from old brand's pocket on that day when you found his body on the bell rock, though you were present, and saw your comrade pocket the booty. you see i know all about it, davy, an' your only fault lay in concealing the matter, and in keepin' company with that scoundrel." the gaze of surprise with which spink listened to the first part of this speech changed to a look of sadness towards the end of it. "captain ogilvy," said he, in a tone of solemnity that was a strong contrast to his usual easy, careless manner of speaking, "you ca'd me an honest man, an' ye think i'm clear o' guilt in this matter, but ye're mista'en. hoo ye cam' to find oot a' this i canna divine, but i can tell ye somethin' mair than ye ken. d'ye see that bag?" he pulled a small leather purse out of his coat pocket, and laid it with a little bang on the table. the captain nodded. "weel, sir, that was _my_ share o' the plunder, thretty goolden sovereigns. we tossed which o' us was to hae them, an' the siller fell to me. but i've niver spent a boddle o't. mony a time have i been tempit, an' mony a time wad i hae gi'en in to the temptation, but for a certain lass ca'd janet, that's been an angel, it's my belief, sent doon frae heeven to keep me frae gawin to the deevil a'thegither. but be that as it may, i've brought the siller to them that owns it by right, an' so my conscience is clear o't at lang last." the sigh of relief with which davy spink pushed the bag of gold towards his companion, showed that the poor man's mind was in truth released from a heavy load that had crushed it for years. the captain, who had lit his pipe, stared at the fisherman through the smoke for some time in silence; then he began to untie the purse, and said slowly, "spink, i said you were an honest man, an' i see no cause to alter my opinion." he counted out the thirty gold pieces, put them back into the bag, and the bag into his pocket. then he continued, "spink, if this gold was mine i would--but no matter, it's not mine, it belongs to widow brand, to whom i shall deliver it up. meantime, i'll bid you good night. all these things require reflection. call back here to-morrow, my fine fellow, and i'll have something to say to you. another cup of tea?" "weel, i'll no objec'." davy spink rose, swallowed the beverage, and left the cottage. the captain returned, and stood for some time irresolute with his hand on the handle of the door of his sister's room. as he listened, he heard a sob, and the tones of minnie's voice as if in prayer. changing his mind, he walked softly across the kitchen into his own room, where, having trimmed the candle, refilled and lit his pipe, he sat down at the table, and, resting his arms thereon, began to meditate. chapter twenty eight. the lighthouse completed--ruby's escape from trouble by a desperate venture. there came a time at last when the great work of building the bell rock lighthouse drew to a close. four years after its commencement it was completed, and on the night of the st of february, , its bright beams were shed for the first time far and wide over the sea. it must not be supposed, however, that this lighthouse required four years to build it. on the contrary, the seasons in which work could be done were very short. during the whole of the first season of , the aggregate time of low-water work, caught by snatches of an hour or two at a tide, did not amount to fourteen days of ten hours! while in it fell short of four weeks. a great event is worthy of very special notice. we should fail in our duty to our readers if we were to make only passing reference to this important event in the history of our country. that st of february, , was the birthday of a new era, for the influence of the bell rock light on the shipping interests of the kingdom (not merely of scotland, by any means), was far greater than people generally suppose. here is a _fact_ that may well be weighed with attention; that might be not inappropriately inscribed in diamond letters over the lintel of the lighthouse door. up to the period of the building of the lighthouse, the known history of the bell rock was a black record of wreck, ruin, and death. its unknown history, in remote ages, who shall conceive, much less tell? _up_ to that period, seamen dreaded the rock and shunned it--ay, so earnestly as to meet destruction too often in their anxious efforts to avoid it. _from_ that period the bell rock has been a friendly point, a guiding star--hailed as such by storm-tossed mariners--marked as such on the charts of all nations. _from_ that date not a single night for more than half a century has passed, without its wakeful eye beaming on the waters, or its fog-bells sounding on the air; and, best of all, _not a single wreck has occurred on that rock from that period down to the present day_! say not, good reader, that much the same may be said of all lighthouses. in the first place, the history of many lighthouses is by no means so happy as that of this one. in the second place, all lighthouses are not of equal importance. few stand on an equal footing with the bell rock, either in regard to its national importance or its actual pedestal. in the last place, it is our subject of consideration at present, and we object to odious comparisons while we sing its praises! whatever may be said of the other lights that guard our shores, special gratitude is due to the bell rock--to those who projected it--to the engineer who planned and built it--to god, who inspired the will to dare, and bestowed the skill to accomplish, a work so difficult, so noble, so prolific of good to man! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the nature of our story requires that we should occasionally annihilate time and space. let us then leap over both, and return to our hero, ruby brand. his period of service in the navy was comparatively brief, much more so than either he or his friends anticipated. nevertheless, he spent a considerable time in his new profession, and, having been sent to foreign stations, he saw a good deal of what is called "service", in which he distinguished himself, as might have been expected, for coolness and courage. but we must omit all mention of his warlike deeds, and resume the record of his history at that point which bears more immediately on the subject of our tale. it was a wild, stormy night in november. ruby's ship had captured a french privateer in the german ocean, and, a prize crew having been put aboard, she was sent away to the nearest port, which happened to be the harbour of leith, in the firth of forth. ruby had not been appointed one of the prize crew; but he resolved not to miss the chance of again seeing his native town, if it should only be a distant view through a telescope. being a favourite with his commander, his plea was received favourably, and he was sent on board the frenchman. those who know what it is to meet with an unexpected piece of great good fortune, can imagine the delight with which ruby stood at the helm on the night in question, and steered for _home_! he was known by all on board to be the man who understood best the navigation of the forth, so that implicit trust was placed in him by the young officer who had charge of the prize. the man-of-war happened to be short-handed at the time the privateer was captured, owing to her boats having been sent in chase of a suspicious craft during a calm. some of the french crew were therefore left on board to assist in navigating the vessel. this was unfortunate, for the officer sent in charge turned out to be a careless man, and treated the frenchmen with contempt. he did not keep strict watch over them, and the result was, that, shortly after the storm began, they took the english crew by surprise, and overpowered them. ruby was the first to fall. as he stood at the wheel, indulging in pleasant dreams, a frenchman stole up behind him, and felled him with a handspike. when he recovered he found that he was firmly bound, along with his comrades, and that the vessel was lying-to. one of the frenchmen came forward at that moment, and addressed the prisoners in broken english. "now, me boys," said he, "you was see we have konker you again. you behold the sea?" pointing over the side; "well, that bees your bed to-night if you no behave. now, i wants to know, who is best man of you as onderstand die cost? speak de trut', else you die." the english lieutenant at once turned to ruby. "well, cast him loose; de rest of you go b'low--good day, ver' moch indeed." here the frenchman made a low bow to the english, who were led below, with the exception of ruby. "now, my goot mans, you onderstand dis cost?" "yes. i know it well." "it is dangereoux?" "it is--very; but not so much so as it used to be before the bell rock light was shown." "have you see dat light?" "no; never. it was first lighted when i was at sea; but i have seen a description of it in the newspapers, and should know it well." "ver goot; you will try to come to dat light an' den you will steer out from dis place to de open sea. afterwards we will show you to france. if you try mischief--voila!" the frenchman pointed to two of his comrades who stood, one on each side of the wheel, with pistols in their hands, ready to keep ruby in order. "now, cut him free. go, sare; do your dooty." ruby stepped to the wheel at once, and, glancing at the compass, directed the vessel's head in the direction of the bell rock. the gale was rapidly increasing, and the management of the helm required his undivided attention; nevertheless his mind was busy with anxious thoughts and plans of escape. he thought with horror of a french prison, for there were old shipmates of his who had been captured years before, and who were pining in exile still. the bare idea of being separated indefinitely, perhaps for ever, from minnie, was so terrible, that for a moment he meditated an attack, single-handed, on the crew; but the muzzle of a pistol on each side of him induced him to pause and reflect! reflection, however, only brought him again to the verge of despair. then he thought of running up to leith, and so take the frenchmen prisoners; but this idea was at once discarded, for it was impossible to pass up to leith roads without seeing the bell rock light, and the frenchmen kept a sharp lookout. then he resolved to run the vessel ashore and wreck her, but the thought of his comrades down below induced him to give that plan up. under the influence of these thoughts he became inattentive, and steered rather wildly once or twice. "stiddy. ha! you tink of how you escape?" "yes, i do," said ruby, doggedly. "good, and have you see how?" "no," replied ruby, "i tell you candidly that i can see no way of escape." "ver good, sare; mind your helm." at that moment a bright star of the first magnitude rose on the horizon, right ahead of them. "ha! dat is a star," said the frenchman, after a few moments' observation of it. "stars don't go out," replied ruby, as the light in question disappeared. "it is de light'ouse den?" "i don't know," said ruby, "but we shall soon see." just then a thought flashed into ruby's mind. his heart beat quick, his eye dilated, and his lip was tightly compressed as it came and went. almost at the same moment another star rose right ahead of them. it was of a deep red colour; and ruby's heart beat high again, for he was now certain that it was the revolving light of the bell rock, which shows a white and red light alternately every two minutes. "_voila_! that must be him now," exclaimed the frenchman, pointing to the light, and looking enquiringly at ruby. "i have told you," said the latter, "that i never saw the light before. i believe it to be the bell rock light; but it would be as well to run close and see. i think i could tell the very stones of the tower, even in a dark night. anyhow, i know the rock itself too well to mistake it." "be there plenty watter?" "ay; on the east side, close to the rock, there is enough water to float the biggest ship in your navy." "good; we shall go close." there was a slight lull in the gale at this time, and the clouds broke a little, allowing occasional glimpses of moonlight to break through and tinge the foaming crests of the waves. at last the light, that had at first looked like a bright star, soon increased, and appeared like a glorious sun in the stormy sky. for a few seconds it shone intensely white and strong, then it slowly died away and disappeared; but almost before one could have time to wonder what had become of it, it returned in the form of a brilliant red sun, which also shone for a few seconds, steadily, and then, like the former, slowly died out. thus, alternating, the red and white suns went round. in a few minutes the tall and graceful column itself became visible, looking pale and spectral against the black sky. at the same time the roar of the surf broke familiarly on ruby's ears. he steered close past the north end of the rock, so close that he could see the rocks, and knew that it was low water. a gleam of moonlight broke out at the time, as if to encourage him. "now," said ruby, "you had better go about, for if we carry on at this rate, in the course we are going, in about an hour you will either be a dead man on the rocks of forfar, or enjoying yourself in a scotch prison!" "ha! ha!" laughed the frenchman, who immediately gave the order to put the vessel about; "good, ver good; bot i was not wish to see the scottish prison, though i am told the mountains be ver superb." while he was speaking, the little vessel lay over on her new course, and ruby steered again past the north side of the rock. he shaved it so close that the frenchman shouted, "_prenez garde_," and put a pistol to ruby's ear. "do you think i wish to die?" asked ruby, with a quiet smile. "now, captain, i want to point out the course, so as to make you sure of it. bid one of your men take the wheel, and step up on the bulwarks with me, and i will show you." this was such a natural remark in the circumstances, and moreover so naturally expressed, that the frenchman at once agreed. he ordered a seaman to take the wheel, and then stepped with ruby upon the bulwarks at the stern of the vessel. "now, you see the position of the lighthouse," said ruby, "well, you must keep your course due east after passing it. if you steer to the nor'ard o' that, you'll run on the scotch coast; if you bear away to the south'ard of it, you'll run a chance, in this state o' the tide, of getting wrecked among the farne islands; so keep her head _due east_." ruby said this very impressively; so much so, that the frenchman looked at him in surprise. "why you so particulare?" he enquired, with a look of suspicion. "because i am going to leave you," said ruby, pointing to the bell rock, which at that moment was not much more than a hundred yards to leeward. indeed, it was scarcely so much, for the outlying rock at the northern end named _johnny gray_, lay close under their lee as the vessel passed. just then a great wave burst upon it, and, roaring in wild foam over the ledges, poured into the channels and pools on the other side. for one instant ruby's courage wavered, as he gazed at the flood of boiling foam. "what you say?" exclaimed the frenchman, laying his hand on the collar of ruby's jacket. the young sailor started, struck the frenchman a backhanded blow on the chest, which hurled him violently against the man at the wheel, and, bending down, sprang with a wild shout into the sea. so close had he steered to the rock, in order to lessen the danger of his reckless venture, that the privateer just weathered it. there was not, of course, the smallest chance of recapturing ruby. no ordinary boat could have lived in the sea that was running at the time, even in open water, much less among the breakers of the bell rock. indeed, the crew felt certain that the english sailor had allowed despair to overcome his judgment, and that he must infallibly be dashed to pieces on the rocks, so they did not check their onward course, being too glad to escape from the immediate neighbourhood of such a dangerous spot. meanwhile ruby buffeted the billows manfully. he was fully alive to the extreme danger of the attempt, but he knew exactly what he meant to do. he trusted to his intimate knowledge of every ledge and channel and current, and had calculated his motions to a nicety. he knew that at the particular state of the tide at the time, and with the wind blowing as it then did, there was a slight eddy at the point of _cunningham's ledge_. his life, he felt, depended on his gaining that eddy. if he should miss it, he would be dashed against _johnny gray's_ rock, or be carried beyond it and cast upon _strachan's ledge_ or _scoreby's point_, and no man, however powerful he might be, could have survived the shock of being launched on any of these rocks. on the other hand, if, in order to avoid these dangers, he should swim too much to windward, there was danger of his being carried on the crest of a billow and hurled upon the weather-side of _cunningham's ledge_, instead of getting into the eddy under its lee. all this ruby had seen and calculated when he passed the north end of the rock the first time, and he had fixed the exact spot where he should take the plunge on repassing it. he acted so promptly that a few minutes sufficed to carry him towards the eddy, the tide being in his favour. but when he was about to swim into it, a wave burst completely over the ledge, and, pouring down on his head, thrust him back. he was almost stunned by the shock, but retained sufficient presence of mind to struggle on. for a few seconds he managed to bear up against wind and tide, for he put forth his giant strength with the energy of a desperate man, but gradually he was carried away from the rock, and for the first time his heart sank within him. just then one of those rushes or swirls of water, which are common among rocks in such a position, swept him again forward, right into the eddy which he had struggled in vain to reach, and thrust him violently against the rock. this back current was the precursor of a tremendous billow, which came towering on like a black moving wall. ruby saw it, and, twining his arm amongst the seaweed, held his breath. the billow fell! only those who have seen the bell rock in a storm can properly estimate the roar that followed. none but ruby himself could tell what it was to feel that world of water rushing overhead. had it fallen directly upon him, it would have torn him from his grasp and killed him, but its full force had been previously spent on _cunningham's ledge_. in another moment it passed, and ruby, quitting his hold, struck out wildly through the foam. a few strokes carried him through _sinclair's_ and _wilson's_ tracks into the little pool formerly mentioned as _port stevenson_. [the author has himself bathed in port stevenson, so that the reader may rely on the fidelity of this description of it and the surrounding ledges.] here he was in comparative safety. true, the sprays burst over the ledge called _the last hope_ in heavy masses, but these could do him no serious harm, and it would take a quarter of an hour at least for the tide to sweep into the pool. ruby therefore swam quietly to _trinity ledge_, where he landed, and, stepping over it, sat down to rest, with a thankful heart, on _smith's ledge_, the old familiar spot where he and jamie dove had wrought so often and so hard at the forge in former days. he was now under the shadow of the bell rock lighthouse, which towered high above his head; and the impression of immovable solidity which its cold, grey, stately column conveyed to his mind, contrasted powerfully with the howling wind and the raging sea around. it seemed to him, as he sat there within three yards of its granite base, like the impersonation of repose in the midst of turmoil; of peace surrounded by war; of calm and solid self-possession in the midst of fretful and raging instability. no one was there to welcome ruby. the lightkeepers, high up in the apartments in their wild home, knew nothing and heard nothing of all that had passed so near them. the darkness of the night and the roaring of the storm was all they saw or heard of the world without, as they sat in their watch tower reading or trimming their lamps. but ruby was not sorry for this; he felt glad to be alone with god, to thank him for his recent deliverance. exhausting though the struggle had been, its duration was short, so that he soon recovered his wonted strength. then, rising, he got upon the iron railway, or "rails", as the men used to call it, and a few steps brought him to the foot of the metal ladder conducting to the entrance-door. climbing up, he stood at last in a place of safety, and disappeared within the doorway of the lighthouse. chapter twenty nine. the wreck. meantime the french privateer sped onward to her doom. the force with which the french commander fell when ruby cast him off, had stunned him so severely that it was a considerable time before he recovered. the rest of the crew were therefore in absolute ignorance of how to steer. in this dilemma they lay-to for a short time, after getting away to a sufficient distance from the dangerous rock, and consulted what was to be done. some advised one course, and some another, but it was finally suggested that one of the english prisoners should be brought up and commanded to steer out to sea. this advice was acted on, and the sailor who was brought up chanced to be one who had a partial knowledge of the surrounding coasts. one of the frenchmen who could speak a few words of english, did his best to convey his wishes to the sailor, and wound up by producing a pistol, which he cocked significantly. "all right," said the sailor, "i knows the coast, and can run ye straight out to sea. that's the bell rock light on the weather-bow, i s'pose." "oui, dat is de bell roke." "wery good; our course is due nor'west." so saying, the man took the wheel and laid the ship's course accordingly. now, he knew quite well that this course would carry the vessel towards the harbour of arbroath, into which he resolved to run at all hazards, trusting to the harbour-lights to guide him when he should draw near. he knew that he ran the strongest possible risk of getting himself shot when the frenchmen should find out his faithlessness, but he hoped to prevail on them to believe the harbour-lights were only another lighthouse, which they should have to pass on their way out to sea, and then it would be too late to put the vessel about and attempt to escape. but all his calculations were useless, as it turned out, for in half an hour the men at the bow shouted that there were breakers ahead, and before the helm could be put down, they struck with such force that the topmasts went overboard at once, and the sails, bursting their sheets and tackling, were blown to ribbons. just then a gleam of moonlight struggled through the wrack of clouds, and revealed the dark cliffs of the forfar coast, towering high above them. the vessel had struck on the rocks at the entrance to one of those rugged bays with which that coast is everywhere indented. at the first glance, the steersman knew that the doom of all on board was fixed, for the bay was one of those which are surrounded by almost perpendicular cliffs; and although, during calm weather, there was a small space between the cliffs and the sea, which might be termed a beach, yet during a storm the waves lashed with terrific fury against the rocks, so that no human being might land there. it chanced at the time that captain ogilvy, who took great delight in visiting the cliffs in stormy weather, had gone out there for a midnight walk with a young friend, and when the privateer struck, he was standing on the top of the cliffs. he knew at once that the fate of the unfortunate people on board was almost certain, but, with his wonted energy, he did his best to prevent the catastrophe. "run, lad, and fetch men, and ropes, and ladders. alarm the whole town, and use your legs well. lives depend on your speed," said the captain, in great excitement. the lad required no second bidding. he turned and fled like a greyhound. the lieges of arbroath were not slow to answer the summons. there were neither lifeboats nor mortar-apparatus in those days, but there were the same willing hearts and stout arms then as now, and in a marvellously short space of time, hundreds of the able-bodied men of the town, gentle and semple, were assembled on these wild cliffs, with torches, rope, etcetera; in short, with all the appliances for saving life that the philanthropy of the times had invented or discovered. but, alas! these appliances were of no avail. the vessel went to pieces on the outer point of rocks, and part of the wreck, with the crew clinging to it, drifted into the bay. the horrified people on the cliffs looked down into that dreadful abyss of churning water and foam, into which no one could descend. ropes were thrown again and again, but without avail. either it was too dark to see, or the wrecked men were paralysed. an occasional shriek was heard above the roar of the tempest, as, one after another, the exhausted men fell into the water, or were wrenched from their hold of the piece of wreck. at last one man succeeded in catching hold of a rope, and was carefully hauled up to the top of the cliff. it was found that this was one of the english sailors. he had taken the precaution to tie the rope under his arms, poor fellow, having no strength left to hold on to it; but he was so badly bruised as to be in a dying state when laid on the grass. "keep back and give him air," said captain ogilvy, who had taken a prominent part in the futile efforts to save the crew, and who now kneeled at the sailor's side, and moistened his lips with a little brandy. the poor man gave a confused and rambling account of the circumstances of the wreck, but it was sufficiently intelligible to make the captain acquainted with the leading particulars. "were there many of your comrades aboard?" he enquired. the dying man looked up with a vacant expression. it was evident that he did not quite understand the question, but he began again to mutter in a partly incoherent manner. "they're all gone," said he, "every man of 'em but me! all tied together in the hold. they cast us loose, though, after she struck. all gone! all gone!" after a moment he seemed to try to recollect something. "no," said he, "we weren't all together. they took ruby on deck, and i never saw _him_ again. i wonder what they did--" here he paused. "who, did you say?" enquired the captain with deep anxiety. "ruby--ruby brand," replied the man. "what became of him, said you?" "don't know." "was _he_ drowned?" "don't know," repeated the man. the captain could get no other answer from him, so he was compelled to rest content, for the poor man appeared to be sinking. a sort of couch had been prepared for him, on which he was carried into the town, but before he reached it he was dead. nothing more could be done that night, but next day, when the tide was out, men were lowered down the precipitous sides of the fatal bay, and the bodies of the unfortunate seamen were sent up to the top of the cliffs by means of ropes. these ropes cut deep grooves in the turf, as the bodies were hauled up one by one and laid upon the grass, after which they were conveyed to the town, and decently interred. the spot where this melancholy wreck occurred is now pointed out to the visitor as "the seamen's grave", and the young folk of the town have, from the time of the wreck, annually recut the grooves in the turf, above referred to, in commemoration of the event, so that these grooves may be seen there at the present day. it may easily be imagined that poor captain ogilvy returned to arbroath that night with dark forebodings in his breast. he could not, however, imagine how ruby came to be among the men on board of the french prize; and tried to comfort himself with the thought that the dying sailor had perhaps been a comrade of ruby's at some time or other, and was, in his wandering state of mind, mixing him up with the recent wreck. as, however, he could come to no certain conclusion on this point, he resolved not to tell what he had heard either to his sister or minnie, but to confine his anxieties, at least for the present, to his own breast. chapter thirty. old friends in new circumstances. let us now return to ruby brand; and in order that the reader may perfectly understand the proceedings of that bold youth, let us take a glance at the bell rock lighthouse in its completed condition. we have already said that the lower part, from the foundation to the height of thirty feet, was built of solid masonry, and that at the top of this solid part stood the entrance-door of the building--facing towards the south. the position of the door was fixed after the solid part had been exposed to a winter's storms. the effect on the building was such that the most sheltered or lee-side was clearly indicated; the weather-side being thickly covered with limpets, barnacles, and short green seaweed, while the lee-side was comparatively free from such incrustations. the walls at the entrance-door are nearly seven feet thick, and the short passage that pierces them leads to the foot of a spiral staircase, which conducts to the lowest apartment in the tower, where the walls decrease in thickness to three feet. this room is the provision store. here are kept water-tanks and provisions of all kinds, including fresh vegetables which, with fresh water, are supplied once a fortnight to the rock all the year round. the provision store is the smallest apartment, for, as the walls of the tower decrease in thickness as they rise, the several apartments necessarily increase as they ascend. the second floor is reached by a wooden staircase or ladder, leading up through a "manhole" in the ceiling. here is the lightroom store, which contains large tanks of polished metal for the oil consumed by the lights. a whole year's stock of oil, or about gallons, is stored in these tanks. here also is a small carpenter's bench and tool-box, besides an endless variety of odds and ends,--such as paint-pots, brushes, flags, waste for cleaning the reflectors, etcetera, etcetera. another stair, similar to the first, leads to the third floor, which is the kitchen of the building. it stands about sixty-six feet above the foundation. we shall have occasion to describe it and the rooms above presently. meanwhile, let it suffice to say, that the fourth floor contains the men's sleeping-berths, of which there are six, although three men is the usual complement on the rock. the fifth floor is the library, and above that is the lantern; the whole building, from base to summit, being feet high. at the time when ruby entered the door of the bell rock lighthouse, as already described, there were three keepers in the building, one of whom was on his watch in the lantern, while the other two were in the kitchen. these men were all old friends. the man in the lantern was george forsyth, who had been appointed one of the light-keepers in consideration of his good services and steadiness. he was seated reading at a small desk. close above him was the blazing series of lights, which revolved slowly and steadily by means of machinery, moved by a heavy weight. a small bell was struck slowly but regularly by the same machinery, in token that all was going on well. if that bell had ceased to sound, forsyth would at once have leaped up to ascertain what was wrong with the lights. so long as it continued to ring he knew that all was well, and that he might continue his studies peacefully--not quietly, however, for, besides the rush of wind against the thick plate-glass of the lantern, there was the never-ceasing roar of the ventilator, in which the heated air from within and the cold air from without met and kept up a terrific war. keepers get used to that sound, however, and do not mind it. each keeper's duty was to watch for three successive hours in the lantern. not less familiar were the faces of the occupants of the kitchen. to this apartment ruby ascended without anyone hearing him approach, for one of the windows was open, and the roar of the storm effectually drowned his light footfall. on reaching the floor immediately below the kitchen he heard the tones of a violin, and when his head emerged through the manhole of the kitchen floor, he paused and listened with deep interest, for the air was familiar. peeping round the corner of the oaken partition that separated the manhole from the apartment, he beheld a sight which filled his heart with gladness, for there, seated on a camp-stool, with his back leaning against the dresser, his face lighted up by the blaze of a splendid fire, which burned in a most comfortable-looking kitchen range, and his hands drawing forth most pathetic music from a violin, sat his old friend joe dumsby, while opposite to him on a similar camp-stool, with his arm resting on a small table, and a familiar black pipe in his mouth, sat that worthy son of vulcan, jamie dove. the little apartment glowed with ruddy light, and to ruby, who had just escaped from a scene of such drear and dismal aspect, it appeared, what it really was, a place of the most luxurious comfort. dove was keeping time to the music with little puffs of smoke, and joe was in the middle of a prolonged shake, when ruby passed through the doorway and stood before them. dove's eyes opened to their widest, and his jaw dropt, so did his pipe, and the music ceased abruptly, while the face of both men grew pale. "i'm not a ghost, boys," said ruby, with a laugh, which afforded immense relief to his old comrades. "come, have ye not a welcome for an old messmate who swims off to visit you on such a night as this?" dove was the first to recover. he gasped, and, holding out both arms, exclaimed, "ruby brand!" "and no mistake!" cried ruby, advancing and grasping his friend warmly by the hands. for at least half a minute the two men shook each other's hands lustily and in silence. then they burst into a loud laugh, while joe, suddenly recovering, went crashing into a scotch reel with energy so great that time and tune were both sacrificed. as if by mutual impulse, ruby and dove began to dance! but this was merely a spurt of feeling, more than half-involuntary. in the middle of a bar joe flung down the fiddle, and, springing up, seized ruby round the neck and hugged him, an act which made him aware of the fact that he was dripping wet. "did ye _swim_ hoff to the rock?" he enquired, stepping back, and gazing at his friend with a look of surprise, mingled with awe. "indeed i did." "but how? why? what mystery are ye rolled up in?" exclaimed the smith. "sit down, sit down, and quiet yourselves," said ruby, drawing a stool near to the fire, and seating himself. "i'll explain, if you'll only hold your tongues, and not look so scared like." "no, ruby; no, lad, you must change yer clothes first," said the smith, in a tone of authority; "why, the fire makes you steam like a washin' biler. come along with me, an' i'll rig you out." "ay, go hup with 'im, ruby. bless me, this is the most amazin' hincident as ever 'appened to me. never saw nothink like it." as dove and ruby ascended to the room above, joe went about the kitchen talking to himself, poking the fire violently, overturning the camp-stools, knocking about the crockery on the dresser, and otherwise conducting himself like a lunatic. of course ruby told dove parts of his story by fits and starts as he was changing his garments; of course he had to be taken up to the lightroom and go through the same scene there with forsyth that had occurred in the kitchen; and, of course, it was not until all the men, himself included, had quite exhausted themselves, that he was able to sit down at the kitchen fire and give a full and connected account of himself, and of his recent doings. after he had concluded his narrative, which was interrupted by frequent question and comment, and after he had refreshed himself with a cup of tea, he rose and said-- "now, boys, it's not fair to be spending all the night with you here, while my old comrade forsyth sits up yonder all alone. i'll go up and see him for a little." "we'll go hup with 'ee, lad," said dumsby. "no ye won't," replied ruby; "i want him all to myself for a while; fair play and no favour, you know, used to be our watchword on the rock in old times. besides, his watch will be out in a little, so ye can come up and fetch him down." "well, go along with you," said the smith. "hallo! that must have been a big 'un." this last remark had reference to a distinct tremor in the building, caused by the falling of a great wave upon it. "does it often get raps like that?" enquired ruby, with a look of surprise. "not often," said dove, "once or twice durin' a gale, mayhap, when a bigger one than usual chances to fall on us at the right angle. but the lighthouse shakes worst just the gales begin to take off and when the swell rolls in heavy from the east'ard." "ay, that's the time," quoth joe. "w'y, i've 'eard all the cups and saucers on the dresser rattle with the blows o' them heavy seas, but the gale is gittin' to be too strong to-night to shake us much." "too strong!" exclaimed ruby. "ay. you see w'en it blows very hard, the breakers have not time to come down on us with a 'eavy tellin' blow, they goes tumblin' and swashin' round us and over us, hammerin' away wildly everyhow, or nohow, or anyhow, just like a hexcited man fightin' in a hurry. the after-swell, _that's_ wot does it. _that's_ wot comes on slow, and big, and easy but powerful, like a great prize-fighter as knows what he can do, and means to do it." "a most uncomfortable sort of residence," said ruby, as he turned to quit the room. "not a bit, when ye git used to it," said the smith. "at first we was rather skeered, but we don't mind now. come, joe, give us `rule, britannia'--`pity she don't rule the waves straighter,' as somebody writes somewhere." so saying, dove resumed his pipe, and dumsby his fiddle, while ruby proceeded to the staircase that led to the rooms above. just as he was about to ascend, a furious gust of wind swept past, accompanied by a wild roar of the sea; at the same moment a mass of spray dashed against the small window at his side. he knew that this window was at least sixty feet above the rock, and he was suddenly filled with a strong desire to have a nearer view of the waves that had force to mount so high. instead, therefore, of ascending to the lantern, he descended to the doorway, which was open, for, as the storm blew from the eastward, the door was on the lee-side. there were two doors--one of metal, with thick plate-glass panels at the inner end of the passage; the other, at the outer end of it, was made of thick solid wood bound with metal, and hung so as to open outwards. when the two leaves of this heavy door were shut they were flush with the tower, so that nothing was presented for the waves to act upon. but this door was never closed except in cases of storm from the southward. the scene which presented itself to our hero when he stood in the entrance passage was such as neither pen nor pencil can adequately depict. the tide was full, or nearly so, and had the night been calm the water would have stood about twelve or fourteen feet on the sides of the tower, leaving a space of about the same height between its surface and the spot at the top of the copper ladder where ruby stood; but such was the wild commotion of the sea that this space was at one moment reduced to a few feet, as the waves sprang up towards the doorway, or nearly doubled, as they sank hissing down to the very rock. acres of white, leaping, seething foam covered the spot where the terrible bell rock lay. never for a moment did that boiling cauldron get time to show one spot of dark-coloured water. billow after billow came careering on from the open sea in quick succession, breaking with indescribable force and fury just a few yards to windward of the foundations of the lighthouse, where the outer ledges of the rock, although at the time deep down in the water, were sufficiently near the surface to break their first full force, and save the tower from destruction, though not from many a tremendous blow and overwhelming deluge of water. when the waves hit the rock they were so near that the lighthouse appeared to receive the shock. rushing round it on either side, the cleft billows met again to leeward, just opposite the door, where they burst upwards in a magnificent cloud of spray to a height of full thirty feet. at one time, while ruby held on by the man-ropes at the door and looked over the edge, he could see a dark abyss with the foam shimmering pale far below; another instant, and the solid building perceptibly trembled, as a green sea hit it fair on the weather-side. a continuous roar and hiss followed as the billow swept round, filled up the dark abyss, and sent the white water gleaming up almost into the doorway. at the same moment the sprays flew by on either side of the column, so high that a few drops were thrown on the lantern. to ruby's eye these sprays appeared to be clouds driving across the sky, so high were they above his head. a feeling of awe crept over him as his mind gradually began to realise the world of water which, as it were, overwhelmed him--water and foam roaring and flying everywhere--the heavy seas thundering on the column at his back--the sprays from behind arching almost over the lighthouse, and meeting those that burst up in front, while an eddy of wind sent a cloud swirling in at the doorway, and drenched him to the skin! it was an exhibition of the might of god in the storm such as he had never seen before, and a brief sudden exclamation of thanksgiving burst from the youth's lips, as he thought of how hopeless his case would have been had the french vessel passed the lighthouse an hour later than it did. the contrast between the scene outside and that inside the bell rock lighthouse at that time was indeed striking. outside there was madly raging conflict; inside there were peace, comfort, security: ruby, with his arms folded, standing calmly in the doorway; jamie dove and joe dumsby smoking and fiddling in the snug kitchen; george forsyth reading (the _pilgrim's progress_ mayhap, or _robinson crusoe_, for both works were in the bell rock library) by the bright blaze of the crimson and white lamps, high up in the crystal lantern. if a magician had divided the tower in two from top to bottom while some ship was staggering past before the gale, he would have presented to the amazed mariners the most astonishing picture of "war without and peace within" that the world ever saw! chapter thirty one. midnight chat in a lantern. "i'll have to borrow another shirt and pair of trousers from you, dove," said ruby with a laugh, as he returned to the kitchen. "what! been having another swim?" exclaimed the smith. "not exactly, but you see i'm fond o' water. come along, lad." in a few minutes the clothes were changed, and ruby was seated beside forsyth, asking him earnestly about his friends on shore. "ah! ruby," said forsyth, "i thought it would have killed your old mother when she was told of your bein' caught by them sea-sharks, and taken off to the wars. you must know i came to see a good deal of your friends, through--through--hoot! what's the name? the fair-haired lass that lives with--" "minnie?" suggested ruby, who could not but wonder that any man living should forget _her_ name for a moment. "ay, minnie it is. she used to come to see my wife about some work they wanted her to do, and i was now and again sent up with a message to the cottage, and captain ogilvy always invited me in to take a glass out of his old teapot. your mother used to ask me ever so many questions about you, an' what you used to say and do on the rock when this lighthouse was buildin'. she looked so sad and pale, poor thing; i really thought it would be all up with her, an' i believe it would, but for minnie. it was quite wonderful the way that girl cheered your mother up, by readin' bits o' the bible to her, an' tellin' her that god would certainly send you back again. she looked and spoke always so brightly too." "did she do that?" exclaimed ruby, with emotion. forsyth looked for a moment earnestly at his friend. "i mean," continued ruby, in some confusion, "did she look bright when she spoke of my bein' away?" "no lad, it was when she spoke of you comin' back; but i could see that her good spirits was partly put on to keep up the old woman." for a moment or two the friends remained silent. suddenly forsyth laid his hand on the other's shoulder, and said impressively: "ruby brand, it's my belief that that girl is rather fond of you." ruby looked up with a bright smile, and said, "d'you think so? well, d'ye know, i believe she is." "upon my word, youngster," exclaimed the other, with a look of evident disgust, "your conceit is considerable. i had thought to be somewhat confidential with you in regard to this idea of mine, but you seem to swallow it so easy, and to look upon it as so natural a thing, that-- that--do you suppose you've nothin' to do but ask the girl to marry you and she'll say `yes' at once?" "i do," said ruby quietly; "nay, i am sure of it." forsyth's eyes opened very wide indeed at this. "young man," said he, "the sea must have washed all the modesty you once had out of you--" "i hope not," interrupted the other, "but the fact is that i put the question you have supposed to minnie long ago, and she _did_ say `yes' to it then, so it's not likely she's goin' to draw back now." "whew! that alters the case," cried forsyth, seizing his friend's hand, and wringing it heartily. "hallo! you two seem to be on good terms, anyhow," observed jamie dove, whose head appeared at that moment through the hole in the floor by which the lantern communicated with the room below. "i came to see if anything had gone wrong, for your time of watch is up." "so it is," exclaimed forsyth, rising and crossing to the other side of the apartment, where he applied his lips to a small tube in the wall. "what are you doing?" enquired ruby. "whistling up joe," said forsyth. "this pipe runs down to the sleepin' berths, where there's a whistle close to joe's ear. he must be asleep. i'll try again." he blew down the tube a second time and listened for a reply, which came up a moment or two after in a sharp whistle through a similar tube reversed; that is, with the mouthpiece below and the whistle above. soon after, joe dumsby made his appearance at the trap-door, looking very sleepy. "i feels as 'eavy as a lump o' lead," said he. "wot an 'orrible thing it is to be woke out o' a comf'r'able sleep." just as he spoke the lighthouse received a blow so tremendous that all the men started and looked at each other for a moment in surprise. "i say, is it warranted to stand _anything_?" enquired ruby seriously. "i hope it is," replied the smith, "else it'll be a blue lookout for _us_. but we don't often get such a rap as that. d'ye mind the first we ever felt o' that sort, forsyth? it happened last month. i was on watch at the time, forsyth was smokin' his pipe in the kitchen, and dumsby was in bed, when a sea struck us with such force that i thought we was done for. in a moment forsyth and joe came tumblin' up the ladder--joe in his shirt. `it must have been a ship sailed right against us,' says forsyth, and with that we all jumped on the rail that runs round the lantern there and looked out, but no ship could be seen, though it was a moonlight night. you see there's plenty o' water at high tide to let a ship of two hundred tons, drawin' twelve feet, run slap into us, and we've sometimes feared this in foggy weather; but it was just a blow of the sea. we've had two or three like it since, and are gettin' used to it now." "well, we can't get used to do without sleep," said forsyth, stepping down through the trap-door, "so i'll bid ye all good night." "'old on! tell ruby about junk before ye go," cried dumsby. "ah! well, i'll tell 'im myself. you must know, ruby, that we've got what they calls an hoccasional light-keeper ashore, who larns the work out 'ere in case any of us reg'lar keepers are took ill, so as 'e can supply our place on short notice. well, 'e was out 'ere larnin' the dooties one tremendous stormy night, an' the poor fellow was in a mortial fright for fear the lantern would be blowed right hoff the top o' the stone column, and 'imself along with it. you see, the door that covers the manhole there is usually shut when we're on watch, but junk (we called 'im junk 'cause 'e wos so like a lump o' fat pork), 'e kep the door open all the time an' sat close beside it, so as to be ready for a dive. well, it was my turn to watch, so i went up, an' just as i puts my fut on the first step o' the lantern-ladder there comes a sea like wot we had a minit ago; the wind at the same time roared in the wentilators like a thousand fiends, and the spray dashed agin the glass. junk gave a yell, and dived. he thought it wos all over with 'im, and wos in sich a funk that he came down 'ead foremost, and would sartinly 'ave broke 'is neck if 'e 'adn't come slap into my buzzum! i tell 'e it was no joke, for 'e wos fourteen stone if 'e wos an ounce, an'--" "come along, ruby," said dove, interrupting; "the sooner we dive too the better, for there's no end to that story when dumsby get off in full swing. good night!" "good night, lads, an' better manners t'ye!" said joe, as he sat down beside the little desk where the lightkeepers were wont during the lonely watch-hours of the night to read, or write, or meditate. chapter thirty two. everyday life on the bell rock, and old memories recalled. the sun shone brightly over the sea next morning; so brightly and powerfully that it seemed to break up and disperse by force the great storm-clouds which hung about the sky, like the fragments of an army of black bullies who had done their worst and been baffled. the storm was over; at least, the wind had moderated down to a fresh, invigorating breeze. the white crests of the billows were few and far between, and the wild turmoil of waters had given place to a grand procession of giant waves, that thundered on the bell rock lighthouse, at once with more dignity and more force than the raging seas of the previous night. it was the sun that awoke ruby, by shining in at one of the small windows of the library, in which he slept. of course it did not shine in his face, because of the relative positions of the library and the sun, the first being just below the lantern, and the second just above the horizon, so that the rays struck upwards, and shone with dazzling brilliancy on the dome-shaped ceiling. this was the second time of wakening for ruby that night, since he lay down to rest. the first wakening was occasioned by the winding up of the machinery which kept the lights in motion, and the chain of which, with a ponderous weight attached to it, passed through a wooden pilaster close to his ear, causing such a sudden and hideous din that the sleeper, not having been warned of it, sprang like a jack-in-the-box out of bed into the middle of the room, where he first stared vacantly around him like an unusually surprised owl, and then, guessing the cause of the noise, smiled pitifully, as though to say, "poor fellow, you're easily frightened," and tumbled back into bed, where he fell asleep again instantly. on the second time of wakening ruby rose to a sitting posture, yawned, looked about him, yawned again, wondered what o'clock it was, and then listened. no sound could be heard save the intermittent roar of the magnificent breakers that beat on the bell rock. his couch was too low to permit of his seeing anything but sky out of his windows, three of which, about two feet square, lighted the room. he therefore jumped up, and, while pulling on his garments, looked towards the east, where the sun greeted and almost blinded him. turning to the north window, a bright smile lit up his countenance, and "a blessing rest on you" escaped audibly from his lips, as he kissed his hand towards the cliffs of forfarshire, which were seen like a faint blue line on the far-off horizon, with the town of arbroath just rising above the morning mists. he gazed out at this north window, and thought over all the scenes that had passed between him and minnie from the time they first met, down to the day when they last parted. one of the sweetest of the mental pictures that he painted that morning with unwonted facility, was that of minnie sitting at his mother's feet, comforting her with the words of the bible. at length he turned with a sigh to resume his toilette. looking out at the southern window, he observed that the rocks were beginning to be uncovered, and that the "rails", or iron pathway that led to the foot of the entrance-door ladder, were high enough out of the water to be walked upon. he therefore hastened to descend. we know not what appearance the library presented at the time when ruby brand slept in it; but we can tell, from personal experience, that, at the present day, it is a most comfortable and elegant apartment. the other rooms of the lighthouse, although thoroughly substantial in their furniture and fittings, are quite plain and devoid of ornament, but the library, or "stranger's room", as it is sometimes called, being the guest-chamber, is fitted up in a style worthy of a lady's boudoir, with a turkey carpet, handsome chairs, and an elaborately carved oak table, supported appropriately by a centre stem of three twining dolphins. the dome of the ceiling is painted to represent stucco panelling, and the partition which cuts off the small segment of this circular room that is devoted to passage and staircase, is of panelled oak. the thickness of this partition is just sufficient to contain the bookcase; also a cleverly contrived bedstead, which can be folded up during the day out of sight. there is also a small cupboard of oak, which serves the double purpose of affording shelf accommodation and concealing the iron smoke-pipe which rises from the kitchen, and, passing through the several storeys, projects a few feet above the lantern. the centre window is ornamented with marble sides and top, and above it stands a marble bust of robert stevenson, the engineer of the building, with a marble slab below bearing testimony to the skill and energy with which he had planned and executed the work. if not precisely what we have described it to be at the present time, the library must have been somewhat similar on that morning when our hero issued from it and descended to the rock. the first stair landed him at the entrance to the sleeping-berths. he looked into one, and observed forsyth's head and arms lying in the bed, in that peculiarly negligent style that betokens deep and sweet repose. dumsby's rest was equally sound in the next berth. this fact did not require proof by ocular demonstration; his nose announced it sonorously over the whole building. passing to the kitchen, immediately below, ruby found his old messmate, jamie dove, busy in the preparation of breakfast. "ha! ruby, good mornin'; you keep up your early habits, i see. can't shake yer paw, lad, 'cause i'm up to the elbows in grease, not to speak o' sutt an' ashes." "when did you learn to cook, jamie?" said ruby, laughing. "when i came here. you see we've all got to take it turn and turn about, and it's wonderful how soon a feller gets used to it. i'm rather fond of it, d'ye know? we haven't overmuch to work on in the way o' variety, to be sure, but what we have there's lots of it, an' it gives us occasion to exercise our wits to invent somethin' new. it's wonderful what can be done with fresh beef, cabbage, carrots, potatoes, flour, tea, bread, mustard, sugar, pepper, an' the like, if ye've got a talent that way." "you've got it all off by heart, i see," said ruby. "true, boy, but it's not so easy to get it all off yer stomach sometimes. what with confinement and want of exercise we was troubled with indigestion at first, but we're used to it now, and i have acquired quite a fancy for cooking. no doubt you'll hear forsyth and joe say that i've half-pisoned them four or five times, but that's all envy; besides, a feller can't learn a trade without doin' a little damage to somebody or something at first. did you ever taste blackbird pie?" "no," replied ruby, "never." "then you shall taste one to-day, for we caught fifty birds last week." "caught fifty birds?" "ay, but i'll tell ye about it some other time. be off just now, and get as much exercise out o' the rock as ye can before breakfast." the smith resumed his work as he said this, and ruby descended. he found the sea still roaring over the rock, but the rails were so far uncovered that he could venture on them, yet he had to keep a sharp lookout, for, whenever a larger breaker than usual struck the rock, the gush of foaming water that flew over it was so great that a spurt or two would sometimes break up between the iron bars, and any one of these spurts would have sufficed to give him a thorough wetting. in a short time, however, the sea went back and left the rails free. soon after that ruby was joined by forsyth and dumsby, who had come down for their morning promenade. they had to walk in single file while taking exercise, as the tramway was not wide enough for two, and the rock, even when fully uncovered, did not afford sufficient level space for comfortable walking, although at low water (as the reader already knows) it afforded fully a hundred yards of scrambling ground, if not more. they had not walked more than a few minutes when they were joined by jamie dove, who announced breakfast, and proceeded to take two or three turns by way of cooling himself. thereafter the party returned to the kitchen, where they sat down to as good a meal as any reasonable man could desire. there was cold boiled beef--the remains of yesterday's dinner--and a bit of broiled cod, a native of the bell rock, caught from the doorway at high water the day before. there was tea also, and toast--buttered toast, hot out of the oven. dove was peculiarly good at what may be styled toast-cooking. indeed, all the lightkeepers were equally good. the bread was cut an inch thick, and butter was laid on as plasterers spread plaster with a trowel. there was no scraping off a bit here to put it on there; no digging out pieces from little caverns in the bread with the point of the knife; no repetition of the work to spread it thinner, and, above all, no omitting of corners and edges;--no, the smallest conceivable fly could not have found the minutest atom of dry footing on a bell rock slice of toast, from its centre to its circumference. dove had a liberal heart, and he laid on the butter with a liberal hand. fair play and no favour was his motto, quarter-inch thick was his gauge, railway speed his practice. the consequence was that the toast floated, as it were, down the throats of the men, and compensated to some extent for the want of milk in the tea. "now, boys, sit in," cried dove, seizing the teapot. "we have not much variety," observed dumsby to ruby, in an apologetic tone. "variety!" exclaimed forsyth, "what d'ye call that?" pointing to the fish. "well, that _is_ a hextra morsel, i admit," returned joe; "but we don't get that every day; 'owsever, wot there is is good, an' there's plenty of it, so let's fall to." forsyth said grace, and then they all "fell to", with appetites peculiar to that isolated and breezy spot, where the wind blows so fresh from the open sea that the nostrils inhale culinary odours, and the palates seize culinary products, with unusual relish. there was something singularly unfeminine in the manner in which the duties of the table were performed by these stalwart guardians of the rock. we are accustomed to see such duties performed by the tender hands of woman, or, it may be, by the expert fingers of trained landsmen; but in places where woman may not or can not act with propriety,--as on shipboard, or in sea-girt towers,--men go through such feminine work in a way that does credit to their versatility,--also to the strength of culinary materials and implements. the way in which jamie dove and his comrades knocked about the pans, teapots, cups and saucers, etcetera, without smashing them, would have astonished, as well as gratified, the hearts of the fraternity of tinsmiths and earthenware manufacturers. we have said that everything in the lighthouse was substantial and very strong. all the woodwork was oak, the floors and walls of solid stone,--hence, when dove, who had no nerves or physical feelings, proceeded with his cooking, the noise he caused was tremendous. a man used to woman's gentle ways would, on seeing him poke the fire, have expected that the poker would certainly penetrate not only the coals, but the back of the grate also, and perchance make its appearance at the outside of the building itself, through stones, joggles, dovetails, trenails, pozzolano mortar, and all the strong materials that have withstood the fury of winds and waves for the last half-century! dove treated the other furniture in like manner; not that he treated it ill,--we would not have the reader imagine this for a moment. he was not reckless of the household goods. he was merely indifferent as to the row he made in using them. but it was when the cooking was over, and the table had to be spread, that the thing culminated. under the impulse of lightheartedness, caused by the feeling that his labours for the time were nearly ended, and that his reward was about to be reaped, he went about with irresistible energy, like the proverbial bull in a china shop, without reaching that creature's destructive point. it was then that a beaming smile overspread his countenance, and he raged about the kitchen with vulcan-like joviality. he pulled out the table from the wall to the centre of the apartment, with a swing that produced a prolonged crash. up went its two leaves with two minor crashes. down went the four plates and the cups and saucers, with such violence and rapidity that they all seemed to be dancing on the board together. the beef all but went over the side of its dish by reason of the shock of its sudden stoppage on touching the table, and the pile of toast was only saved from scatteration by the strength of the material, so to speak, with which its successive layers were cemented. when the knives, forks, and spoons came to be laid down, the storm seemed to lull, because these were comparatively light implements, so that this period--which in shore-going life is usually found to be the exasperating one--was actually a season of relief. but it was always followed by a terrible squall of scraping wooden legs and clanking human feet when the camp-stools were set, and the men came in and sat down to the meal. the pouring out of the tea, however, was the point that would have called forth the admiration of the world--had the world seen it. what a contrast between the miserable, sickly, slow-dribbling silver and other teapots of the land, and this great teapot of the sea! the bell rock teapot had no sham, no humbug about it. it was a big, bold-looking one, of true britannia metal, with vast internal capacity and a gaping mouth. dove seized it in his strong hand as he would have grasped his biggest fore-hammer. before you could wink, a sluice seemed to burst open; a torrent of rich brown tea spouted at your cup, and it was full--the saucer too, perhaps--in a moment. but why dwell on these luxurious scenes? reader, you can never know them from experience unless you go to visit the bell rock; we will therefore cease to tantalise you. during breakfast it was discussed whether or not the signal-ball should be hoisted. the signal-ball was fixed to a short staff on the summit of the lighthouse, and the rule was that it should be hoisted at a fixed hour every morning _when all was well_, and kept up until an answering signal should be made from a signal-tower in arbroath where the keepers' families dwelt, and where each keeper in succession spent a fortnight with his family, after a spell of six weeks on the rock. it was the duty of the keeper on shore to watch for the hoisting of the ball (the "all's well" signal) each morning on the lighthouse, and to reply to it with a similar ball on the signal-tower. if, on any occasion, the hour for signalling should pass without the ball on the lighthouse being shown, then it was understood that something was wrong, and the attending boat of the establishment was sent off at once to ascertain the cause, and afford relief if necessary. the keeping down of the ball was, however, an event of rare occurrence, so that when it did take place the poor wives of the men on the rock were usually thrown into a state of much perturbation and anxiety, each naturally supposing that her husband must be seriously ill, or have met with a bad accident. it was therefore natural that there should be some hesitation about keeping down the ball merely for the purpose of getting a boat off to send ruby ashore. "you see," said forsyth, "the day after to-morrow the `relief boat' is due, and it may be as well just to wait for that, ruby, and then you can go ashore with your friend jamie dove, for it's his turn this time." "ay, lad, just make up your mind to stay another day," said the smith; "as they don't know you're here they can't be wearyin' for you, and i'll take ye an' introduce you to my little wife, that i fell in with on the cliffs of arbroath not long after ye was kidnapped. besides, ruby, it'll do ye good to feed like a fighting cock out here another day. have another cup o' tea?" "an' a junk o' beef?" said forsyth. "an' a slice o' toast?" said dumsby. ruby accepted all these offers, and soon afterwards the four friends descended to the rock, to take as much exercise as they could on its limited surface, during the brief period of low water that still remained to them. it may easily be imagined that this ramble was an interesting one, and was prolonged until the tide drove them into their tower of refuge. every rock, every hollow, called up endless reminiscences of the busy building seasons. ruby went over it all step by step with somewhat of the feelings that influence a man when he revisits the scene of his childhood. there was the spot where the forge had stood. "d'ye mind it, lad?" said dove. "there are the holes where the hearth was fixed, and there's the rock where you vaulted over the bellows when ye took that splendid dive after the fair-haired lassie into the pool yonder." "mind it? ay, i should think so!" then there were the holes where the great beams of the beacon had been fixed, and the iron bats, most of which latter were still left in the rock, and some of which may be seen there at the present day. there was also the pool into which poor selkirk had tumbled with the vegetables on the day of the first dinner on the rock, and that other pool into which forsyth had plunged after the mermaids; and, not least interesting among the spots of note, there was the ledge, now named the "last hope", on which mr stevenson and his men had stood on the day when the boat had been carried away, and they had expected, but were mercifully preserved from, a terrible tragedy. after they had talked much on all these things, and long before they were tired of it, the sea drove them to the rails; gradually, as it rose higher, it drove them into the lighthouse, and then each man went to his work--jamie dove to his kitchen, in order to clean up and prepare dinner, and the other two to the lantern, to scour and polish the reflectors, refill and trim the lamps, and, generally, to put everything in order for the coming night. ruby divided his time between the kitchen and lantern, lending a hand in each, but, we fear, interrupting the work more than he advanced it. that day it fell calm, and the sun shone brightly. "we'll have fog to-night," observed dumsby to brand, pausing in the operation of polishing a reflector, in which his fat face was mirrored with the most indescribable and dreadful distortions. "d'ye think so?" "i'm sure of it." "you're right," remarked forsyth, looking from his elevated position to the seaward horizon, "i can see it coming now." "i say, what smell is that?" exclaimed ruby, sniffing. "somethink burnin'," said dumsby, also sniffing. "why, what can it be?" murmured forsyth, looking round and likewise sniffing. "hallo! joe, look out; you're on fire!" joe started, clapped his hand behind him, and grasped his inexpressibles, which were smouldering warmly. ruby assisted, and the fire was soon put out, amidst much laughter. "'ang them reflectors!" said joe, seating himself, and breathing hard after his alarm and exertions; "it's the third time they've set me ablaze." "the reflectors, joe?" said ruby. "ay, don't ye see? they've nat'rally got a focus, an' w'en i 'appen to be standin' on a sunny day in front of 'em, contemplatin' the face o' natur', as it wor, through the lantern panes, if i gits into the focus by haccident, d'ye see, it just acts like a burnin'-glass." ruby could scarcely believe this, but after testing the truth of the statement by actual experiment he could no longer doubt it. presently a light breeze sprang up, rolling the fog before it, and then dying away, leaving the lighthouse enshrouded. during fog there is more danger to shipping than at any other time. in the daytime, in ordinary weather, rocks and lighthouses can be seen. at night, lights can be seen, but during fog nothing can be seen until danger may be too near to be avoided. the two great fog-bells of the lighthouse were therefore set a-going, and they rang out their slow deep-toned peal all that day and all that night, as the bell of the abbot of aberbrothoc is said to have done in days of yore. that night ruby was astonished, and then he was stunned! first, as to his astonishment. while he was seated by the kitchen fire chatting with his friend the smith, sometime between nine o'clock and midnight, dumsby summoned him to the lantern to "help in catching to-morrow's dinner!" dove laughed at the summons, and they all went up. the first thing that caught ruby's eye at one of the window panes was the round visage of an owl, staring in with its two large eyes as if it had gone mad with amazement, and holding on to the iron frame with its claws. presently its claws lost hold, and it fell off into outer darkness. "what think ye o' that for a beauty?" said forsyth. ruby's eyes, being set free from the fascination of the owl's stare, now made him aware of the fact that hundreds of birds of all kinds--crows, magpies, sparrows, tomtits, owls, larks, mavises, blackbirds, etcetera, etcetera--were fluttering round the lantern outside, apparently bent on ascertaining the nature of the wonderful light within. "ah! poor things," said forsyth, in answer to ruby's look of wonder, "they often visit us in foggy weather. i suppose they get out to sea in the fog and can't find their way back to land, and then some of them chance to cross our light and take refuge on it." "now i'll go out and get to-morrow's dinner," said dumsby. he went out accordingly, and, walking round the balcony that encircled the base of the lantern, was seen to put his hand up and quietly take down and wring the necks of such birds as he deemed suitable for his purpose. it seemed a cruel act to ruby, but when he came to think of it he felt that, as they were to be stewed at any rate, the more quickly they were killed the better! he observed that the birds kept fluttering about, alighting for a few moments and flying off again, all the time that dumsby was at work, yet dumsby never failed to seize his prey. presently the man came in with a small basket full of _game_. "now, ruby," said he, "i'll bet a sixpence that you don't catch a bird within five minutes." "i don't bet such large sums usually, but i'll try," said ruby, going out. he tried and failed. just as the five minutes were expiring, however, the owl happened to alight before his nose, so he "nabbed" it, and carried it in triumphantly. "_that_ ain't a bird," said dumsby. "it's not a fish," retorted ruby; "but how is it that you caught them so easily, and i found it so difficult?" "because, lad, you must do it at the right time. you watch w'en the focus of a revolvin' light is comin' full in a bird's face. the moment it does so 'e's dazzled, and you grab 'im. if you grab too soon or too late, 'e's away. that's 'ow it is, and they're capital heatin', as you'll _find_." thus much for ruby's astonishment. now for his being stunned. late that night the fog cleared away, and the bells were stopped. after a long chat with his friends, ruby mounted to the library and went to bed. later still the fog returned, and the bells were again set a-going. both of them being within a few feet of ruby's head, they awakened him with a bang that caused him to feel as if the room in which he lay were a bell and his own head the tongue thereof. at first the sound was solemnising, then it was saddening. after a time it became exasperating, and then maddening. he tried to sleep, but he only tossed. he tried to meditate, but he only wandered--not "in dreams", however. he tried to laugh, but the laugh degenerated into a growl. then he sighed, and the sigh ended in a groan. finally, he got up and walked up and down the floor till his legs were cold, when he turned into bed again, very tired, and fell asleep, but not to rest--to dream. he dreamt that he was at the forge again, and that he and dove were trying to smash their anvils with the sledge-hammers--bang and bang about. but the anvil would not break. at last he grew desperate, hit the horn off, and then, with another terrific blow, smashed the whole affair to atoms! this startled him a little, and he awoke sufficiently to become aware of the fog-bells. again he dreamed. minnie was his theme now, but, strange to say, he felt little or no tenderness towards her. she was beset by a hundred ruffians in pea-jackets and sou'westers. something stirred him to madness. he rushed at the foe, and began to hit out at them right and left. the hitting was slow, but sure--regular as clock-work. first the right, then the left, and at each blow a seaman's nose was driven into his head, and a seaman's body lay flat on the ground. at length they were all floored but one--the last and the biggest. ruby threw all his remaining strength into one crashing blow, drove his fist right through his antagonist's body, and awoke with a start to find his knuckles bleeding. "hang these bells!" he exclaimed, starting up and gazing round him in despair. then he fell back on his pillow in despair, and went to sleep in despair. once more he dreamed. he was going to church now, dressed in a suit of the finest broadcloth, with minnie on his arm, clothed in pure white, emblematic, it struck him, of her pure gentle spirit. friends were with him, all gaily attired, and very happy, but unaccountably silent. perhaps it was the noise of the wedding-bells that rendered their voices inaudible. he was struck by the solemnity as well as the pertinacity of these wedding-bells as he entered the church. he was puzzled too, being a presbyterian, why he was to be married in church, but being a man of liberal mind, he made no objection to it. they all assembled in front of the pulpit, into which the clergyman, a very reverend but determined man, mounted with a prayer book in his hand. ruby was puzzled again. he had not supposed that the pulpit was the proper place, but modestly attributed this to his ignorance. "stop those bells!" said the clergyman, with stern solemnity; but they went on. "stop them, i say!" he roared in a voice of thunder. the sexton, pulling the ropes in the middle of the church, paid no attention. exasperated beyond endurance, the clergyman hurled the prayer book at the sexton's head, and felled him! still the bells went on of their own accord. "stop! sto-o-o-op! i say," he yelled fiercely, and, hitting the pulpit with his fist, he split it from top to bottom. minnie cried "shame!" at this, and from that moment the bells ceased. whether it was that the fog-bells ceased at that time, or that minnie's voice charmed ruby's thoughts away, we cannot tell, but certain it is that the severely tried youth became entirely oblivious of everything. the marriage-party vanished with the bells; minnie, alas, faded away also; finally, the roar of the sea round the bell rock, the rock itself, its lighthouse and its inmates, and all connected with it, faded from the sleeper's mind, and:-- "like the baseless fabric of a vision left not a wrack behind." chapter thirty three. conclusion. facts are facts; there is no denying that. they cannot be controverted; nothing can overturn them, or modify them, or set them aside. there they stand in naked simplicity; mildly contemptuous alike of sophists and theorists. immortal facts! bacon founded on you; newton found you out; dugald stewart and all his fraternity reasoned on you, and followed in your wake. what _would_ this world be without facts? rest assured, reader, that those who ignore facts and prefer fancies are fools. we say it respectfully. we have no intention of being personal, whoever you may be. on the morning after ruby was cast on the bell rock, our old friend ned o'connor (having been appointed one of the lighthouse-keepers, and having gone for his fortnight ashore in the order of his course) sat on the top of the signal-tower at arbroath with a telescope at his eye directed towards the lighthouse, and became aware of a fact,--a fact which seemed to be contradicted by those who ought to have known better. ned soliloquised that morning. his soliloquy will explain the circumstances to which we refer; we therefore record it here. "what's that? sure there's something wrong wid me eye intirely this mornin'. howld on," (he wiped it here, and applying it again to the telescope, proceeded); "wan, tshoo, three, _four_! no mistake about it. try agin. wan, tshoo, three, four! an' yet the ball's up there as cool as a cookumber, tellin' a big lie; ye know ye are," continued ned, apostrophising the ball, and readjusting the glass. "there ye are, as bold as brass--av ye're not copper--tellin' me that everythin's goin' on as usual, whin i can see with me two eyes (one after the other) that there's _four_ men on the rock, whin there should be only _three_! well, well," continued ned, after a pause, and a careful examination of the bell rock, which being twelve miles out at sea could not be seen very distinctly in its lower parts, even through a good glass, "the day afther to-morrow'll settle the question, misther ball, for then the relief goes off, and faix, if i don't guv' ye the lie direct i'm not an irishman." with this consolatory remark, ned o'connor descended to the rooms below, and told his wife, who immediately told all the other wives and the neighbours, so that ere long the whole town of arbroath became aware that there was a mysterious stranger, a _fourth_ party, on the bell rock! thus it came to pass that, when the relieving boat went off, numbers of fishermen and sailors and others watched it depart in the morning, and increased numbers of people of all sorts, among whom were many of the old hands who had wrought at the building of the lighthouse, crowded the pier to watch its return in the afternoon. as soon as the boat left the rock, those who had "glasses" announced that there was an "extra man in her." speculation remained on tiptoe for nearly three hours, at the end of which time the boat drew near. "it's a man, anyhow," observed captain ogilvy, who was one of those near the outer end of the pier. "i say," observed his friend the "leftenant", who was looking through a telescope, "if--that's--not--ruby--brand--i'll eat my hat without sauce!" "you don't mean--let me see," cried the captain, snatching the glass out of his friend's hand, and applying it to his eye. "i do believe!--yes! it is ruby, or his ghost!" by this time the boat was near enough for many of his old friends to recognise him, and ruby, seeing that some of the faces were familiar to him, rose in the stern of the boat, took off his hat and waved it. this was the signal for a tremendous cheer from those who knew our hero; and those who did not know him, but knew that there was something peculiar and romantic in his case, and in the manner of his arrival, began to cheer from sheer sympathy; while the little boys, who were numerous, and who love to cheer for cheering's sake alone, yelled at the full pitch of their lungs, and waved their ragged caps as joyfully as if the king of england were about to land upon their shores! the boat soon swept into the harbour, and ruby's friends, headed by captain ogilvy, pressed forward to receive and greet him. the captain embraced him, the friends surrounded him, and almost pulled him to pieces; finally, they lifted him on their shoulders, and bore him in triumphal procession to his mother's cottage. and where was minnie all this time? she had indeed heard the rumour that something had occurred at the bell rock; but, satisfied from what she heard that it would be nothing very serious, she was content to remain at home and wait for the news. to say truth, she was too much taken up with her own sorrows and anxieties to care as much for public matters as she had been wont to do. when the uproarious procession drew near, she was sitting at widow brand's feet, "comforting her" in her usual way. before the procession turned the corner of the street leading to his mother's cottage, ruby made a desperate effort to address the crowd, and succeeded in arresting their attention. "friends, friends!" he cried, "it's very good of you, very kind; but my mother is old and feeble; she might be hurt if we were to come on her in this fashion. we must go in quietly." "true, true," said those who bore him, letting him down, "so, good day, lad; good day. a shake o' your flipper; give us your hand; glad you're back, ruby; good luck to 'ee, boy!" such were the words, followed by three cheers, with which his friends parted from him, and left him alone with the captain. "we must break it to her, nephy," said the captain, as they moved towards the cottage. "`still so gently o'er me stealin', memory will bring back the feelin'.' "it won't do to go slap into her, as a british frigate does into a french line-o'-battle ship. i'll go in an' do the breakin' business, and send out minnie to you." ruby was quite satisfied with the captain's arrangement, so, when the latter went in to perform his part of this delicate business, the former remained at the door-post, expectant. "minnie, lass, i want to speak to my sister," said the captain, "leave us a bit--and there's somebody wants to see _you_ outside." "me, uncle!" "ay, _you_; look alive now." minnie went out in some surprise, and had barely crossed the threshold when she found herself pinioned in a strong man's arms! a cry escaped her as she struggled, for one instant, to free herself; but a glance was sufficient to tell who it was that held her. dropping her head on ruby's breast, the load of sorrow fell from her heart. ruby pressed his lips upon her forehead, and they both _rested_ there. it was one of those pre-eminently sweet resting-places which are vouchsafed to some, though not to all, of the pilgrims of earth, in their toilsome journey through the wilderness towards that eternal rest, in the blessedness of which all minor resting-places shall be forgotten, whether missed or enjoyed by the way. their rest, however, was not of long duration, for in a few minutes the captain rushed out, and exclaiming "she's swounded, lad," grasped ruby by the coat and dragged him into the cottage, where he found his mother lying in a state of insensibility on the floor. seating himself by her side on the floor, he raised her gently, and placing her in a half-sitting, half-reclining position in his lap, laid her head tenderly on his breast. while in this position minnie administered restoratives, and the widow, ere long opened her eyes and looked up. she did not speak at first, but, twining her arms round ruby's neck, gazed steadfastly into his face; then, drawing him closer to her heart, she fervently exclaimed "thank god!" and laid her head down again with a deep sigh. she too had found a resting-place by the way on that day of her pilgrimage. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ now, reader, we feel bound to tell you in confidence that there are few things more difficult than drawing a story to a close! our tale is done, for ruby is married to minnie, and the bell rock lighthouse is finished, and most of those who built it are scattered beyond the possibility of reunion. yet we are loath to shake hands with them and to bid _you_ farewell. nevertheless, so it must be, for if we were to continue the narrative of the after-careers of our friends of the bell rock, the books that should be written would certainly suffice to build a new lighthouse. but we cannot make our bow without a parting word or two. ruby and minnie, as we have said, were married. they lived in the cottage with their mother, and managed to make it sufficiently large to hold them all by banishing the captain into the scullery. do not suppose that this was done heartlessly, and without the captain's consent. by no means. that worthy son of neptune assisted at his own banishment. in fact, he was himself the chief cause of it, for when a consultation was held after the honeymoon, as to "what was to be done now," he waved his hand, commanded silence, and delivered himself as follows:-- "now, shipmates all, give ear to me, an' don't ventur' to interrupt. it's nat'ral an' proper, ruby, that you an' minnie and your mother should wish to live together; as the old song says, `birds of a feather flock together,' an' the old song's right; and as the thing ought to be, an' you all want it to be, so it _shall_ be. there's only one little difficulty in the way, which is, that the ship's too small to hold us, by reason of the after-cabin bein' occupied by an old seaman of the name of ogilvy. now, then, not bein' pigs, the question is, what's to be done? i will answer that question: the seaman of the name of ogilvy shall change his quarters." observing at this point that both ruby and his bride opened their mouths to speak, the captain held up a threatening finger, and sternly said, "silence!" then he proceeded-- "i speak authoritatively on this point, havin' conversed with the seaman ogilvy, and diskivered his sentiments. that seaman intends to resign the cabin to the young couple, and to hoist his flag for the futur' in the fogs'l." he pointed, in explanation, to the scullery; a small, dirty-looking apartment off the kitchen, which was full of pots and pans and miscellaneous articles of household, chiefly kitchen, furniture. ruby and minnie laughed at this, and the widow looked perplexed, but perfectly happy and at her ease, for she knew that whatever arrangement the captain should make, it would be agreeable in the end to all parties. "the seaman ogilvy and i," continued the captain, "have gone over the fogs'l" (meaning the forecastle) "together, and we find that, by the use of mops, buckets, water, and swabs, the place can be made clean. by the use of paper, paint, and whitewash, it can be made respectable; and, by the use of furniture, pictures, books, and 'baccy, it can be made comfortable. now, the question that i've got to propound this day to the judge and jury is--why not?" upon mature consideration, the judge and jury could not answer "why not?" therefore the thing was fixed and carried out and the captain thereafter dwelt for years in the scullery, and the inmates of the cottage spent so much of their time in the scullery that it became, as it were, the parlour, or boudoir, or drawing-room of the place. when, in course of time, a number of small brands came to howl and tumble about the cottage, they naturally gravitated towards the scullery, which then virtually became the nursery, with a stout old seaman, of the name of ogilvy, usually acting the part of head nurse. his duties were onerous, by reason of the strength of constitution, lungs, and muscles of the young brands, whose ungovernable desire to play with that dangerous element from which heat is evolved, undoubtedly qualified them for the honorary title of fire-brands. with the proceeds of the jewel-case ruby bought a little coasting vessel, with which he made frequent and successful voyages. "absence makes the heart grow fonder," no doubt, for minnie grew fonder of ruby every time he went away, and every time he came back. things prospered with our hero, and you may be sure that he did not forget his old friends of the lighthouse. on the contrary, he and his wife became frequent visitors at the signal-tower, and the families of the lighthouse-keepers felt almost as much at home in "the cottage" as they did in their own houses. and each keeper, on returning from his six weeks' spell on the rock to take his two weeks' spell at the signal-tower, invariably made it his first business, _after_ kissing his wife and children, to go up to the brands and smoke a pipe in the scullery with that eccentric old seafaring nursery-maid of the name of ogilvy. in time ruby found it convenient to build a top flat on the cottage, and above this a small turret, which overlooked the opposite houses, and commanded a view of the sea. this tower the captain converted into a point of lookout, and a summer smoking-room,--and many a time and oft, in the years that followed, did he and ruby climb up there about nightfall, to smoke the pipe of peace, with minnie beside them, and to watch the bright flashing of the red and white light on the bell rock, as it shone over the waters far and wide, like a star of the first magnitude, a star of hope and safety, guiding sailors to their desired haven; perchance reminding them of that star of bethlehem which guided the shepherds to him who is the light of the world and the rock of ages. google books (oxford university) transcriber's notes: . page scan source: http://books.google.com/books?id=q_qdaaaaqaaj (oxford university) . the diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. the smuggler: a tale by g. p. r. james, esq. author of "darnley," "de l'orme," "richelieu," etc. etc. in three volumes. vol. i. london: smith, elder and co., , cornhill. . dedication. * * * to the hon. charles ewan law, m.p. recorder of london, etc. etc. etc. * * * my dear sir, it would be almost superfluous to assure you of my esteem and regard; but feelings of personal friendship are rarely assigned as the sole motives of a dedication. the qualities, however, which command public respect, and the services which have secured it to you in so high a degree, must appear a sufficient motive for offering you this slight tribute, in the eyes not only of those who know and love you in the relations of private life, but of all the many who have marked your career, either as a lawyer, alike eminent in learning and in eloquence, or as a just, impartial, clear-sighted, and yet merciful judge. you will willingly accept the book, i know, for the sake of the author; though, perhaps, you may have neither time nor inclination to read it. accept the dedication, also, i beg, as a sincere testimony of respect from one who, having seen a good deal of the world, and studied mankind attentively, is not easily induced to reverence or won to regard. when you look upon this page, it will probably call to your mind some very pleasant hours, which would doubtless have been as agreeable if i had not been there. as i write it, it brings up before my eyes many a various scene, of which you and yours were the embellishment and the light. at all events, such memories must be pleasant to us both; for they refer to days almost without a shadow, when the magistrate and the legislator escaped from care and thought, and the laborious man of letters cast away his toil. in the following pages you will find more than one place depicted, as familiar to your remembrance as to mine; and if i have taken some liberties with a few localities, stolen a mile or two off certain distances, or deprived various hills and dales of their due proportions, these faults are of a species of petty larceny, on which i do not think you will pass a severe sentence, and i hope the public will imitate your lenity. i trust that no very striking errors will meet your eye, for i believe i have given a correct picture of the state of society in this good county of kent as it existed some eighty or ninety years ago; and, in regard to the events, if you or any of my readers should be inclined to exclaim,--"this incident is not probable!" i have an answer ready, quite satisfactory to myself, whatever it may be to others; namely, that "the improbable incident" is true. all the more wild, stirring, and what may be called romantic parts of the tale, are not alone _founded_ upon fact, but are facts; and the narrative owes me nothing more than a gown owes to a sempstress--namely, the mere sewing of it together with a very common-place needle and thread. in short, a few characters thrown in for relief, a little love, a good deal of landscape, and a few tiresome reflections, are all that i have added to a simple relation of transactions well known to many in this part of the country as having actually happened, a generation or two ago. among these recorded incidents are the attack of goudhurst church by the smugglers, its defence by the peasantry, the pursuit, and defeat of the free-traders of those days by the dragoons, the implication of some persons of great wealth in the most heinous parts of the transaction, the visit of mowle, the officer, in disguise, to the meeting-place of his adversaries, his accidental detection by one of them, and the bold and daring man[oe]uvre of the smuggler, harding, as related near the close of the work. another incident, but too sadly true--namely, the horrible deed by which some of the persons taking a chief part in the contraband trade called down upon themselves the fierce enmity of the peasantry--i have but lightly touched upon, for reasons you will understand and appreciate. but it is some satisfaction to know that there were just judges in those days, as well as at present, and that the perpetrators of one of the most brutal crimes on record suffered the punishment they so well merited. happily, my dear sir, a dedication, in these days, is no compliment; and therefore i can freely offer, and you receive it, as a true and simple expression of high respect and regard, from yours faithfully, g. p. r. james. the smuggler chapter i. it is wonderful what improvements have taken place in clocks and watches during the last half-century; how accurately the escapements are constructed, how delicately the springs are formed, how easily the wheels move, and what good time they keep. after all, society is but a clock, a very complicated piece of mechanism; and it, too, has undergone, in many countries, the same improvements that have taken place in the little ticking machines that we put in our pockets, or those greater indicators of our progress towards eternity that we hang upon our walls. from the wooden clock, with its weight and catgut, to the exquisite chronometer which varies only by a second or two in the course of the year, what a vast advance! and between even a period which many still living can remember, and that in which i now write, what a change has taken place in the machinery and organization of the land in which we dwell! in the times which i am about to depict, though feudal ages were gone, though no proud barons ruled the country round from castle and stronghold, though the tumultuous times of the great rebellion had also passed away, and men in buff and bandolier no longer preached, or fought, or robbed, or tyrannized under the name of law and liberty, though the times of the second charles and the second james, william and mary, and good queen anne, falling collars, and hats and plumes, and floating wigs and broad-tailed coats, were all gone--bundled away into the great lumber-room of the past--still, dear reader, there was a good deal of the wooden clock about the mechanism of society. one of the parts in which rudeness of construction and coarseness of material were most apparent, was in the customs system of the country, and in the impediments which it met with. the escapement was anything but fine. nowadays we do things delicately. if we wish to cheat the government, we forge exchequer bills, or bribe landing-waiters and supervisors, or courteously insinuate to a superior officer that a thousand pounds is not too great a mark of gratitude for enabling us to pocket twenty thousand at the expense of the customs. if we wish to cheat the public, there is chalk for our milk, grains of paradise for our beer, sago and old rags for our sugar, lime for our linen, and devils' dust to cover our backs. chemistry and electricity, steam and galvanism, all lend their excellent aid to the cheat, the swindler, and the thief; and if a man is inclined to keep himself within respectable limits, and deceive himself and others at the same time with perfect good faith and due decorum, are there not hom[oe]opathy, hydropathy, and mesmerism? in the days i speak of it was not so. there was a grander roughness and daringness about both our rogues and our theorists. none but a small villain would consent to be a swindler. we had more robbers than cheats; and if a man chose to be an impostor, it was with all the dignity and decision of a psalmanazor, or a bottle conjuror. gunpowder and lead were the only chemical agents employed; a bludgeon was the animal magnetism most in vogue, and your senses and your person were attacked and knocked down upon the open road without having the heels of either delicately tripped up by some one you did not see. still this difference was more apparent in the system of smuggling than in anything else, and the whole plan, particulars, course of action, and results were so completely opposed to anything that is, or can be in the present day--the scenes, the characters, the very localities have so totally changed, that it may be necessary to pause a moment before we go on to tell our tale, in order to give some sort of description of the state of the country bordering on the sea-coast, at the period to which i allude. scarcely any one of the maritime counties was in those days without its gang of smugglers; for if france was not opposite, holland was not far off; and if brandy was not the object, nor silk, nor wine, yet tea and cinnamon, and hollands, and various east india goods, were things duly estimated by the british public, especially when they could be obtained without the payment of custom-house dues. but besides the inducements to smuggling which the high price that those dues imposed upon certain articles, held out, it must be remembered that various other commodities were totally prohibited, and, as an inevitable consequence, were desired and sought for more than any others. the nature of both man and woman, from the time of adam and eve down to the present day, has always been fond of forbidden fruit; and it mattered not a pin whether the goods were really better or worse, so that they were prohibited, men would risk their necks to get them. the system of prevention also was very inefficient, and a few scattered custom-house officers, aided by a cruiser here or there upon the coast, had an excellent opportunity of getting their throats cut or their heads broken, or of making a decent livelihood by conniving at the transactions they were sent down to stop, as the peculiar temperament of each individual might render such operations pleasant to him. thus, to use one of the smugglers' own expressions--a _roaring_ trade in contraband goods was going on along the whole british coast, with very little let or hindrance. as there are land-sharks and water-sharks, so were there then (and so are there now) land-smugglers and water-smugglers. the latter brought the objects of their commerce, either from foreign countries or from foreign vessels, and landed them on the coast--and a bold, daring, reckless body of men they were; the former, in gangs, consisting frequently of many hundreds, generally well mounted and armed, conveyed the commodities so landed into the interior, and distributed them to others, who retailed them as occasion required. nor were these gentry one whit less fearless, enterprising, and lawless than their brethren of the sea. we have not yet done, however, with all the ramifications of this vast and magnificent league, for it extended itself, in the districts where it existed, to almost every class of society. each tradesman smuggled or dealt in smuggled goods; each public house was supported by smugglers, and gave them in return every facility possible; each country gentleman on the coast dabbled a little in the interesting traffic; almost every magistrate shared in the proceeds or partook of the commodities. scarcely a house but had its place of concealment, which would accommodate either kegs or bales, or human beings, as the case might be; and many streets in sea-port towns had private passages from one house to another, so that the gentleman inquired for by the officers at no. was often walking quietly out of no. , while they were searching for him in vain. the back of one street had always excellent means of communication with the front of another; and the gardens gave exit to the country with as little delay as possible. of all counties, however, the most favoured by nature and by art for the very pleasant and exciting sport of smuggling, was the county of kent; its geographical position, its local features, its variety of coast, all afforded it the greatest advantages; and the daring character of the natives on the shores of the channel was sure to turn those advantages to the purposes in question. sussex, indeed, was not without its share of facilities, nor did the sussex men fail to improve them; but they were so much farther off from the opposite coast, that the commerce--which we may well call the regular trade--was, at hastings, rye, and winchelsea, in no degree to be compared to that which was carried on from the north foreland to romney hoy. at one time, the fine level of "the marsh," a dark night and a fair wind, afforded a delightful opportunity for landing a cargo and carrying it rapidly into the interior; at another time, sandwich flats and pevensey bay presented a harbour of refuge, and a place of repose to kegs innumerable and bales of great value; at another period, the cliffs round folkestone and near the south foreland, saw spirits travelling up by paths which seemed inaccessible to mortal foot; and at another, the wild and broken ground at the back of sandgate was traversed by long trains of horses, escorting or carrying every description of contraband articles. the interior of the country was not less favourable to the traffic than the coast: large masses of wood, numerous gentlemen's parks, hills and dales tossed about in wild confusion; roads such as nothing but horses could travel, or men on foot, often constructed with felled trees or broad stones laid side by side; wide tracts of ground, partly copse and partly moor, called in that county "minnisses;" and a long extent of the weald of kent, through which no high way existed, and where such thing as coach or carriage was never seen, offered the land smugglers opportunities of carrying on their transactions with the degree of secrecy and safety which no other county afforded. their numbers, too, were so great, their boldness and violence so notorious, their powers of injuring or annoying so various, that even those who took no part in their operations were glad to connive at their proceedings, and at times to aid in concealing their persons or their goods. not a park, not a wood, not a barn, did not at some period afford them a refuge when pursued, or become a depository for their commodities; and many a man, on visiting his stable or his cart-shed early in the morning, found it tenanted by anything but horses or wagons. the churchyards were frequently crowded at night by other spirits than those of the dead, and not even the church was exempted from such visitations. none of the people of the county took notice of, or opposed these proceedings; the peasantry laughed at, or aided, and very often got a good day's work, or, at all events, a jug of genuine hollands from the friendly smugglers; the clerk and the sexton willingly aided and abetted, and opened the door of vault, or vestry, or church, for the reception of the passing goods; the clergyman shut his eyes if he saw tubs or stone jars in his way; and it is remarkable what good brandy punch was generally to be found at the house of the village pastor. the magistrates of the county, when called upon to aid in pursuit of the smugglers, looked grave, and swore in constables very slowly; despatched servants on horseback to see what was going on, and ordered the steward or the butler to "_send the sheep to the wood_," an intimation that was not lost upon those for whom it was intended. the magistrates and officers of seaport towns were in general so deeply implicated in the trade themselves, that smuggling had a fairer chance than the law, in any case that came before them, and never was a more hopeless enterprise undertaken, in ordinary circumstances, than that of convicting a smuggler, unless captured in flagrant delict. were it only our object to depict the habits and manners of these worthy people, we might take any given part of the seaward side of kent that we chose for particular description, for it was all the same. no railroads had penetrated through the country then; no coast blockade was established; even martello-towers were unknown; and in the general confederacy or understanding which existed throughout the whole of the county, the officers found it nearly a useless task to attempt to execute their duty. nevertheless, as it is a tale i have to tell, not a picture to paint, i may as well dwell for a few minutes upon the scene of the principal adventures about to be related. a long range of hills, varying greatly in height and steepness, runs nearly down the centre of the county of kent, throwing out spurs or buttresses in different directions, and sometimes leaving broad and beautiful valleys between. the origin or base, if we may so call it, of this range is the great surrey chain of hills; not that it is perfectly connected with that chain, for in many places a separation is found, through which the medway, the stour, and several smaller rivers wind onward to the thames or to the sea; but still the general connexion is sufficiently marked, and from dover and folkestone, by chart, lenham, maidstone, and westerham on the one side, and barham, harbledown, and rochester on the other, the road runs generally over a long line of elevated ground, only dipping down here and there to visit some town or city of importance which has nested itself in one of the lateral valleys, or strayed out into the plain. on the northern side of the county, a considerable extent of flat ground extends along the bank and estuary of the thames from greenwich to sandwich and deal. on the southern side, a still wider extent lies between the high-land and the borders of sussex. this plain or valley as perhaps it may be called, terminates at the sea by the renowned flat of romney marsh. farther up, somewhat narrowing as it goes, it takes the name of the weald of kent, comprising some very rich land and a number of small villages, with one or two towns of no very great importance. this weald of kent is bordered all along by the southern side of the hilly range we have mentioned; but strange to say, although a very level piece of ground was to be had through this district, the high road perversely pursued its way up and down the hills, by lenham and charing, till it thought fit to descend to ashford, and thence once more make its way to folkestone. thus a great part of the weald of kent was totally untravelled; and at one village of considerable size, which now hears almost hourly the panting and screaming steam-engine whirled by, along its iron course, i have myself seen the whole population of the place turn out to behold the wonderful phenomenon of a coach-and-four, the first that was ever beheld in the place. close to the sea the hills are bare enough; but at no great distance inland, they become rich in wood, and the weald, whether arable or pasture, or hop-garden or orchard, is so divided into small fields by numerous hedgerows of fine trees, and so diversified by patches of woodland, that, seen at a little distance up the hill--not high enough to view it like a map--it assumes, in the leafy season, almost the look of a forest partially cleared. along the southern edge, then, of the hills we have mentioned, and in the plainer valley that stretches away from their feet, among the woods, and hedgerows, and villages, and parks which embellish that district, keeping generally in kent, but sometimes trespassing a little upon the fair county of sussex, lies the scene of the tale which is to follow, at a period when the high calling, or vocation, of smuggling was in its most palmy days. but, ere i proceed to conduct the reader into the actual locality where the principal events here recorded really took place, i must pause for an instant in the capital, to introduce him to one or two travelling companions. chapter ii. it was in the gray of the morning--and very gray, indeed, the morning was, with much more black than white in the air, much more of night still remaining in the sky than of day appearing in the east--when, from the old golden cross, charing cross, or rather from the low and narrow archway which, at that time, gave exit from its yard into the open street exactly opposite the statue of king charles, issued forth a vehicle which had not long lost the name of diligence, and assumed that of stage-coach. do not let the reader delude himself into the belief that it was like the stage-coach of his own recollections in any other respect than in having four wheels, and two doors, and windows. let not fancy conjure up before him flat sides of a bright claret colour, and a neat boot as smooth and shining as a looking glass, four bays, or browns, or greys, three-parts blood, and a coachman the pink of all propriety. nothing of the kind was there. the vehicle was large and roomy, capable of containing within, at least, six travellers of large size. it was hung in a somewhat straggling manner upon its almost upright springs, and was elevated far above any necessary pitch. the top was decorated with round iron rails on either side; and multitudinous were the packages collected upon the space so enclosed; while a large cage-like instrument behind contained one or two travellers, and a quantity of parcels. the colour of the sides was yellow, but the numerous inscriptions which they bore in white characters left little of the groundwork to be seen; for the name of every place at which the coach stopped was there written for the convenience of travellers who might desire to visit any town upon the road; so that each side seemed more like a leaf out of a topographical dictionary of the county of kent than anything else. underneath the carriage was a large wicker basket, or cradle, also filled with trunk-mails, and various other contrivances for holding the goods and chattels of passengers; and the appearance of the whole was as lumbering and heavy as that of a hippopotamus. the coachman mounted on the box was a very different looking animal even from our friend mr. weller, though the inimitable portrait of that gentleman is now, alas, but a record of an extinct creature! however, as we have little to do with the driver of the coach, i shall not pause to give a long account of his dress or appearance; and, only noticing that the horses before him formed as rough and shambling a team of nags as ever were seen, shall proceed to speak of the travellers who occupied the interior of the vehicle. although, as we have seen, the coach would have conveniently contained six, it was now only tenanted by three persons. the first, who had entered at the golden cross, charing cross, was a tall, thin, elderly gentleman, dressed with scrupulous care and neatness. his linen and his neckcloth were as white as snow, his shoes, his silk stockings, his coat, his waistcoat, and his breeches as black as jet; his hat was in the form of a banbury cake; the buckles in his shoes and at his knees were large and resplendent; and a gold-headed cane was in his hand. to keep him from the cold, he had provided himself with a garment which would either serve for a cloak or a coat, as he might find agreeable, being extensive enough for the former, and having sleeves to enable it to answer the purpose of the latter. his hair and eyebrows were as white as driven snow, but his eyes were still keen, quick, and lively. his colour was high, his teeth were remarkably fine, and the expression of his countenance was both intelligent and benevolent, though there was a certain degree of quickness in the turn of the eyes, which, together with a sudden contraction of the brow when anything annoyed him, and a mobility of the lips, seemed to betoken a rather hasty and irascible spirit. he had not been in the coach more than a minute and a half--but was beginning to look at a huge watch which he drew from his fob, and to "pish" at the coachman for being a minute behind his time--when he was joined by two other travellers of a very different appearance and age from himself. the one who entered first was a well-made, powerful man, who might be either six-and-twenty or two-and-thirty. he could not well be younger than the first of those two terms, for he had all the breadth and vigorous proportions of fully-developed manhood. he could not be well older than the latter, for not a trace of passing years, no wrinkle, no furrow, no grayness of hair, no loss of any youthful grace was apparent. although covered by a large rough coat, then commonly called a wrap-rascal, of the coarsest materials and the rudest form, there was something in his demeanour and his look which at once denoted the gentleman. his hat, too, his gloves, and his boots, which were the only other parts of his dress that the loose coat we have mentioned suffered to be seen, were all not only good, but of the best quality. though his complexion was dark, and his skin bronzed almost to a mahogany colour by exposure to sun and wind, the features were all fine and regular, and the expression high toned, but somewhat grave, and even sad. he seated himself quietly in the corner of the coach, with his back to the horses; and folding his arms upon his broad chest, gazed out of the window with an abstracted look, though his eyes were turned towards a man with a lantern who was handing something up to the coachman. thus the old gentleman on the opposite side had a full view of his countenance, and seemed, by the gaze which he fixed upon it, to study it attentively. the second of the two gentlemen i have mentioned entered immediately after the first, and was about the same age, but broader in make, and not quite so tall. he was dressed in the height of the mode of that day; and, though not in uniform, bore about him several traces of military costume, which were, indeed, occasionally affected by the dapper shopmen of that period, when they rode up rotten row or walked the mall, but which harmonized so well with his whole appearance and demeanour, as to leave no doubt of their being justly assumed. his features were not particularly good, but far from ugly, his complexion fair, his hair strong and curly; and he would have passed rather for a handsome man than otherwise, had not a deep scar, as if from a sabre-wound, traversed his right cheek and part of his upper lip. his aspect was gay, lively, and good-humoured, and yet there were some strong lines of thought about his brow, with a slightly sarcastic turn of the muscles round the corner of his mouth and nostrils. on entering, he seated himself opposite the second traveller, but without speaking to him, so that the old gentleman who first tenanted the coach could not tell whether they came together or not; and the moment after they had entered, the door was closed, the clerk of the inn looked at the way-bill, the coachman bestowed two or three strokes of his heavy whip on the flanks of his dull cattle, and the lumbering machine moved heavily out, and rolled away towards westminster bridge. the lights which were under the archway had enabled the travellers to see each other's faces, but when once they had got into the street, the thickness of the air, and the grayness of the dawn, rendered everything indistinct, except the few scattered globe lamps which still remained blinking at the sides of the pavement. the old gentleman sunk back in his corner, wrapped his cloak about him for a nap, and was soon in the land of forgetfulness. his slumbers did not continue very long, however; and when he woke up at the loompit hill, he found the sky all rosy with the beams of the rising sun, the country air light and cheerful, and his two companions talking together in familiar tones. after rousing himself, and putting down the window, he passed about five minutes either in contemplating the hedges by the roadside, all glittering in the morning dew, or in considering the faces of his two fellow-travellers, and making up his mind as to their characters and qualities. at the end of that time, as they had now ceased speaking, he said-- "a beautiful day, gentlemen. i was sure it would be so when we set out." the darker and the graver traveller made no reply, but the other smiled good-humouredly, and inquired-- "may i ask by what you judged, for to me the morning seemed to promise anything but fine weather?" "two things--two things, my dear sir," answered the gentleman in black. "an old proverb and a bad almanack." "indeed!" exclaimed the other. "i should have thought it a very good almanack if it told me to a certainty what sort of weather it would be." "ay, but how did it tell me?" rejoined the elderly traveller, leaning his hand upon the gold head of his cane. "it declared we should have torrents of rain. now, sir, the world is composed of a great mass of fools with a small portion of sensible men, who, like a little quantity of yeast in a large quantity of dough, make the dumpling not quite so bad as it might be. of all the fools that i ever met with, however, the worst are scientific fools, for they apply themselves to tell all the other fools in the world that of which they themselves know nothing, or at all events very little, which is worse. i have examined carefully, in the course of a long life, how to deal with these gentry, and i find that if you believe the exact reverse of any information they give you, you will be right nine hundred and ninety-seven times out of a thousand. i made a regular calculation of it some years ago; and although at first sight it would seem that the chances are equal, that these men should be right or wrong, i found the result as i have stated, and have acted upon it ever since in perfect security. if they trusted to mere guess work, the chances might, perhaps, be equal, but they make such laborious endeavours to lead themselves wrong, and so studiously avoid everything that could lead them right, that the proportion is vastly against them." "if such be their course of proceeding, the result will be naturally as you say," answered the gentleman to whom he spoke; "but i should think that as the variations of the weather must proceed from natural causes constantly recurring, observation and calculation might arrive at some certainty regarding them." "hold the sea in the hollow of your hand," cried the old gentleman, impatiently; "make the finite contain the infinite; put twenty thousand gallons into a pint pot,--and when you have done all that, then calculate the causes that produce rain to-day and wind to-morrow, or sunshine one day and clouds the next. men say the same cause acting under the same circumstances will always produce the same effect--good; i grant that, merely for the sake of argument. but i contend that the same effect may be produced by a thousand causes or more. a man knocks you down; you fall: that's the effect produced by one cause; but a fit of apoplexy may make you fall exactly in the same way. then apply the cause at the other end if you like, and trip your foot over a stone, or over some bunches of long grass that mischievous boys have tied across the path--down you come, just as if a quarrelsome companion had tapped you on the head. no, no, sir; the only way of ascertaining what the weather will be from one hour to another is by a barometer. that's not very sure, and the best i know of is a cow's tail, or a piece of dried seaweed. but these men of science, they do nothing but go out mare's-nesting from morning till night, and a precious number of horses' eggs they have found!" thus commenced a conversation which lasted for some time, and in which the younger traveller seemed to find some amusement, plainly perceiving, what the reader has already discovered, that his elderly companion was an oddity. the other tenant of the coach made no observation, but remained with his arms folded on his chest, sometimes looking out of the window, sometimes gazing down at his own knee in deep thought. about ten miles from town the coach passed some led horses, with the grooms that were conducting them; and, as is natural for young men, both the old gentleman's fellow-travellers put their heads to the window, and examined the animals with a scrutinizing eye. "fine creatures, fine creatures--horses!" said the gentleman in black. "those are very fine ones," answered the graver of the two young men; "i think i never saw better points about any beast than that black charger." "ay, sir; you are a judge of horse-flesh, i suppose," rejoined the old gentleman; "but i was speaking of horses in the abstract. they are noble creatures indeed; and as matters have fallen out in this world, i can't help thinking that there is a very bad arrangement, and that those at the top of the tree should be a good way down. if all creatures had their rights, man would not be the cock of the walk, as he is now--a feeble, vain, self-sufficient, sensual monkey, who has no farther advantages over other apes than being able to speak and cook his dinner." "may i ask," inquired the livelier of the two young men, "what is the gentlemanly beast you would put over his head?" "a great many--a great many," replied the other. "dogs, horses--elephants, certainly; i think elephants at the top. i am not sure how i would class lions and tigers, who decidedly have one advantage over man, that of being stronger and nobler beasts of prey. he is only at the head of the tribe simia, and should be described by naturalists as the largest, cunningest, and most gluttinous of baboons." the gay traveller laughed aloud; and even his grave companion smiled, saying, drily, "on my life, i believe there's some truth in it." "truth, sir!" exclaimed the old gentleman. "it's as true as we are living. how dare man compare himself to a dog? an animal with greater sagacity, stronger affections, infinitely more honour and honesty, a longer memory, and a truer heart. i would not be a man if i could be a dog, i can assure you." "many a man leads the life of a dog," said the gay traveller. "i'm sure i have, for the last five or six years." "if you have led as honest a life, sir," rejoined the old man, "you may be very proud of it." what the other would have answered cannot be told, for at that moment the coach stopped to change horses, which was an operation in those days, occupying about a quarter of an hour, and the whole party got out and went into the little inn to obtain some breakfast; for between london and folkestone, which was to be the ultimate resting-place of the vehicle, two hours and a half, upon the whole, were consumed with breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper. thus any party of travellers proceeding together throughout the entire journey, had a much better opportunity of becoming thoroughly acquainted with each other than many a man has before marriage with the wife he takes to his bosom. though the conversation of the old gentleman was, as the reader has perceived, somewhat morose and misanthropical, he showed himself very polite and courteous at the breakfast table, made the tea, carved the ham, and asked every man if he took cream and sugar. what wonderful things little attentions are--how they smooth down our asperities and soften us to one another! the two younger gentlemen had looked upon their elderly companion merely as that curious compound which we have before mentioned--an oddity, and which, like a pinch of strong snuff, stimulates us without being very pleasant; but now they began to think him a very nice old gentleman, and even the graver of the pair conversed with him almost cheerfully for the short space of time their meal occupied. when they had finished, and paid the score, the whole party walked out together to the front of the house, where they found a poor beggar woman with a child in her arms. each gave her something, but the elderly man stopped to inquire farther, and the others walked up and down for a few minutes, till the coachman, who was making himself comfortable by the absorption of his breakfast, and the horses who were undergoing the opposite process in the application of their harness, at length made their appearance. the two younger gentlemen turned their eyes from time to time, as they walked, to their elderly friend, who seemed to be scolding the poor woman most vehemently. his keen black eyes sparkled, his brow contracted, he spoke with great volubility, and demonstrated somewhat largely with the forefinger of his right hand. what were their internal comments upon this conduct did not appear; but both were a good deal surprised to see him, in the end, put his hand into his breeches pocket, draw forth a piece of money--it was not silver for it was yellow, and it was not copper for it was too bright--and slip it quietly into the poor woman's palm. he next gave a quiet, almost a timid glance around, to see if any one were looking, and then stepped rapidly into the coach, as if he were ashamed of what he had done. during all this proceeding he had taken no notice of his two companions, nor at all listened to what they were talking of; but as they entered the vehicle, while the horses were being put to, the one said to the other, "i think you had better do so, a great deal. it is as well to have the _carte du pays_ before one commences operations." "well," replied the other, "you take the lead, edward. the wound is still painful, though it is an old one." what they were talking of their companion could not tell; but it excited, in some degree, his curiosity; and the manners of his two companions had, to say the truth, pleased him, though he was one of those men who, with very benevolent feelings at the bottom, are but little inclined to acknowledge that they are well pleased with anything or with anybody. for a moment or two all parties were silent; but the elderly gentleman was the first to begin, saying, in a more placable and complimentary tone than he was in general accustomed to use, "i hope i am to have the pleasure of your society, gentlemen, to the end of my journey?" "i rather think we shall be your companions as far as you go," replied the gayer of the two young men, "for we are wending down to the far, wild parts of kent; and it is probable you will not go beyond folkestone, unless, indeed, you are about to cross the seas." "not i," exclaimed the old gentleman--"i have crossed the seas enough in my day, and never intend to set my foot out of my own country again, till four stout fellows carry me to the churchyard. no, no; you'll journey beyond me a long way, for i am only going to a little place called harbourne, some distance on the sussex side of folkestone: a place quite out of the world, with no bigger a town near it than cranbrook, and where we see the face of a human creature above the rank of a farmer, or a smuggler about once in the year--always excepting the parson of the parish." "then you turn off from maidstone?" said the graver traveller, looking steadfastly in his face. "no, i don't," replied the other. "never, my dear sir, come to conclusions where you don't know the premises. i go, on the contrary, to ashford, where i intend to sleep. i am there to be joined by a worthy brother of mine, and then we return together to cranbrook. you are quite right, indeed, that my best and straightest road would be, as you say, from maidstone; but we can't always take the straightest road in this world, though young men think they can, and old men only learn too late that they cannot." "i have good reason to know the fact," said the gayer of his two fellow travellers; "i myself am going to the very same part of the country you mention, but have to proceed still farther out of my way; for i must visit hythe and folkestone first." "indeed, indeed!" exclaimed their elderly friend. "do you know any body in that part of kent?--have you ever been there before?" "never," replied the other; "nor have i ever seen the persons i am going to see. what sort of a country is it?" "bless the young man's life!" exclaimed the gentleman in black, "does he expect me to give him a long picturesque description of st. augustine's lathe? if you wish to know my opinion of it, it is as wild and desolate a part of the world as the backwoods of america, and the people little better than american savages. you'll find plenty of trees, a few villages, some farm-houses, one or two gentlemen's seats--they had better have called them stools--a stream or two, a number of hills and things of that kind; and your humble servant, who would be very happy to see you, if you are not a smuggler, and are coming to that part of the country." "i shall not fail to pay my respects to you," replied the gentleman to whom he spoke; "but i must first know who i am to inquire for." "pay your respect where it is due, my dear sir," rejoined the other. "you can't tell a whit whether i deserve any respect or not. you'll find out all that by and by. as to what i am called, i could give you half a dozen names. some people call me the bear, some people the nabob, some the misanthrope; but my real name--that which i am known by at the post-office--is mr. zachary croyland, brother of the man who has harbourne house: a younger brother too, by god's blessing--and a great blessing it is." "it is lucky when every man is pleased with his situation," answered his young acquaintance. "most elder brothers thank god for making them such, and i have often had cause to do the same." "it's the greatest misfortune that can happen to a man," exclaimed the old gentleman, eagerly. "what are elder brothers, but people who are placed by fate in the most desperate and difficult circumstances. spoilt and indulged in their infancy, taught to be vain and idle and conceited from the cradle, deprived of every inducement to the exertion of mind, corrupted by having always their own way, sheltered from all the friendly buffets of the world, and left, like a pond in a gravel pit, to stagnate or evaporate without stirring. nine times out of ten from mere inanition they fall into every sort of vice; forget that they have duties as well as privileges, think that the slice of the world that has been given to them is entirely at their own pleasure and disposal, spend their fortunes, encumber their estates, bully their wives and their servants, indulge their eldest son till he is just such a piece of unkneaded dough as themselves, kick out their younger sons into the world without a farthing, and break their daughters' hearts by forcing them to marry men they hate. that's what elder brothers are made for; and to be one, i say again, is the greatest curse that can fall upon a man. but come, now i have told you my name, tell me yours. that's but a fair exchange you know, and no robbery, and i hate going on calling people 'sir' for ever." "quite a just demand," replied the gentleman whom he addressed, "and you shall immediately have the whole particulars. my name is digby, a poor major in his majesty's ---- regiment of dragoons, to whom the two serious misfortunes have happened of being born an eldest son, and having a baronetcy thrust upon him." "couldn't be worse--couldn't be worse!" replied the old gentleman, laughing. "and so you are sir edward digby! oh yes. i can tell you, you are expected, and have been so these three weeks. the whole matter's laid out for you in every house in the country. you are to marry every unmarried woman in the hundred. the young men expect you to do nothing but hunt foxes, course hares, and shoot partridges from morning till night; and the old men have made up their minds that you shall drink port, claret, or madeira, as the case may be, from night till morning. i pity you--upon my life, i pity you. what between love and wine and field sports, you'll have a miserable time of it! take care how you speak a single word to any single woman! don't even smile upon aunt barbara, or she'll make you a low curtsey, and say 'you must ask my brother about the settlement, my dear edward.' ha, ha, ha!" and he laughed a long, merry, hearty peal, that made the rumbling vehicle echo again. then putting the gold-headed cane to his lips, he turned a sly glance upon the other traveller, who was only moved to a very faint smile by all the old gentleman's merriment, asking, "does this gentleman come with you?--are you to be made a martyr of too, sir? are you to be set running after foxes all day, like a tiger on horseback, and to have sheep's eyes cast at you all the evening, like a man in the pillory pelted with eggs? are you bound to imbibe a butt of claret in three weeks? poor young men--poor young men! my bowels of compassion yearn towards you." "i shall fortunately escape all such perils," replied he whom he had last addressed--"i have no invitation to that part of the country." "come, then, i'll give you one," said the old gentleman; "if you like to come and stay a few days with an old bachelor, who will neither make you drunk nor make you foolish, i shall be glad to see you." "i am not very likely to get drunk," answered the other, "as an old wound compels me to be a water drinker. foolish enough i may be, and may have been; but, i am sure, that evil would not be increased by frequenting your society, my dear sir." "i don't know--i don't know, young gentleman," said mr. croyland: "every man has his follies, and i amongst the rest as goodly a bag-full as one could well desire. but you have not given me an answer; shall i see you? will you come with your friend, and take up your abode at a single man's house, while sir edward goes and charms the ladies." "i cannot come with him, i am afraid," replied the young gentleman, "for i must remain with the regiment some time; but i will willingly accept your invitation, and join him in a week or two." "oh you're in the same regiment, are you?" asked mr. croyland; "it's not a whole regiment of elder sons, i hope?" "oh no," answered the other, "i have the still greater misfortune of being an only son; and the greater one still, of being an orphan." "and may i know your style and denomination?" said mr. croyland. "oh, osborn, osborn!" cried sir edward digby, before his friend could speak, "captain osborn of the ---- dragoons." "i will put that down in my note-book," rejoined the old gentleman. "the best friend i ever had was named osborn. he couldn't be your father, though, for he had no children, poor fellow! and was never married, which was the only blessing heaven ever granted him, except a good heart and a well-regulated mind. his sister married my old schoolfellow, leyton--but that's a bad story, and a sad story, though now it's an old story, too." "indeed!" said sir edward digby; "i'm fond of old stories if they are good ones." "but, i told you this was a bad one, sir ned," rejoined the old gentleman sharply; "and as my brother behaved very ill to poor leyton, the less we say of it the better. the truth is," he continued, for he was one of those who always refuse to tell a story, and tell it after all, "leyton was rector of a living which was in my brother's gift. he was only to hold it, however, till my youngest nephew was of age to take it; but when the boy died--as they both did sooner or later--leyton held the living on, and thought it was his own, till one day there came a quarrel between him and my brother, and then robert brought forward his letter promising to resign when called upon, and drove him out. i wasn't here then; but i have heard all about it since, and a bad affair it was. it should not have happened if i had been here, for bob has a shrewd eye to the nabob's money, as well he may, seeing that he's----but that's no business of mine. if he chooses to dribble through his fortune, heaven knows how, i've nothing to do with it! the two poor girls will suffer." "what, your brother has two fair daughters then, has he?" demanded sir edward digby. "i suppose it is under the artillery of their glances i am first to pass; for, doubtless, you know i am going to your brother's." "oh, yes, i know--i know all about it!" replied mr. croyland. "they tell me everything as in duty bound--that's to say, everything they don't wish to conceal. but i'm consulted like an oracle upon all things unimportant; for he that was kicked out with a sixpence into the wide world, has grown a wonderful great man since the sixpence has multiplied itself. as to your having to pass under the artillery of the girls' glances, however, you must take care of yourself; for you might stand a less dangerous fire, i can tell you, even in a field of battle. but i'll give you one warning for your safeguard. you may make love to little zara as long as you like--think of the fools calling her zara! though she'll play a pretty game of picquet with you, you may chance to win it; but you must not dangle after edith, or you will burn your fingers. she'll not have you, if you were twenty baronets, and twenty majors of dragoons into the bargain. she has got some of the fancies of the old uncle about her, and is determined to die an old maid, i can see." "oh, the difficulty of the enterprise would only be a soldier's reason for undertaking it!" said sir edward digby. "it wont do--it wont do;" answered mr. croyland, laughing; "you may think yourself very captivating, very conquering, quite a look-and-die man, as all you people in red jackets fancy yourselves, but it will be all lost labour with edith, i can tell you." "you excite all the martial ardour in my soul!" exclaimed digby, with a gay smile; "and if she be not forty, hump-backed, or one eyed, by the fates you shall see what you shall see." "forty!" cried mr. croyland; "why she's but two-and-twenty, man!--a great deal straighter than that crouching wench in white marble they call the 'venus de medici,' and with a pair of eyes, that, on my life, i think would have made me forswear celibacy, if i had found such looking at me, any time before i reached fifty!" "do you hear that, osborn?" cried sir edward digby. "here's a fine field for an adventurous spirit. i shall have the start of you, my friend; and in the wilds of kent, what may not be done in ten days or a fortnight?" his companion only answered by a melancholy smile; and the conversation went on between the old gentleman and the young baronet till they reached the small town of lenham, where they stopped again to dine. there, however, mr. croyland drew sir edward digby aside, and inquired in a low tone, "is your friend in love?--he looks mighty melancholy." "i believe he is," replied digby. "love's the only thing that can make a man melancholy; and when one comes to consider all the attractions of a squaw of the chippeway indians, it is no wonder that my friend is in such a hopeless case." the old gentleman poked him with his finger, and shook his head with a laugh, saying--"you are a wag, young gentleman--you are a wag; but it would be a great deal more reasonable, let me tell you, to fall in love with a chippeway squaw, in her feathers and wampam, than with one of these made-up madams, all paint and satin, and tawdry bits of embroidery. in the one case you might know something of what your love is like; in the other, i defy you to know anything about her; and, nine times out of ten, what, a man marries is little better than a bale of tow and whalebone, covered over with the excrement of a silkworm. man's a strange animal; and one of the strangest of all his proceedings is, that of covering up his own natural skin with all manner of contrivances derived from every bird, beast, fish, and vegetable, that happens to come in his way. if he wants warmth, he goes and robs a sheep of its great coat; he beats the unfortunate grass of the field, till he leaves nothing but shreds, to make himself a shirt; he skins a beaver, to cover his head; and, if he wants to be exceedingly fine, he pulls the tail of an ostrich, and sticks the feather in his hat. he's the universal mountebank, depend upon it, playing his antics for the amusement of creation, and leaving nothing half so ridiculous as himself." thus saying, he turned round again, and joined captain osborn, in whom, perhaps, he took a greater interest than even in his livelier companion. it might be that the associations called up by the name were pleasant to him, or it might be that there was something in his face that interested him, for certainly that face was one which seemed to become each moment more handsome as one grew familiar with it. when, after dinner, they re-entered the vehicle, and rolled away once more along the high road, captain osborn took a greater share in the conversation than he had previously done; and remarking that mr. croyland had put, as a condition, upon his invitation to sir edward, that he should not be a smuggler, he went on to observe, "you seem to have a great objection to those gentry, my dear sir; and yet i understand your county is full of them." "full of them!" exclaimed mr. croyland--"it is running over with them. they drop down into sussex, out into essex, over into surrey; the vermin are more numerous than rats in an old barn. not that, when a fellow is poor, and wants money, and can get it by no other means,--not that i think very hard of him when he takes to a life of risk and adventure, where his neck is not worth sixpence, and his gain is bought by the sweat of his brow. but your gentleman smuggler is my abomination--your fellow that risks little hut an exchequer process, and gains ten times what the others do, without their labour or their danger. give me your bold, brave fellow, who declares war and fights it out, there's some spirit in him." "gentlemen smugglers!" said osborn; "that seems to me to be a strange sort of anomaly. i was not aware that there were such things." "pooh! the country is full of them," cried mr. croyland. "it is not here that the peasant treads upon the kybe of the peer; but the smuggler treads upon the country gentlemen. many a merchant who never made a hundred pounds by fair trade, makes thousands and hundreds of thousands by cheating the customs. there is not a man in this part of the country who does not dabble in the traffic more or less. i've no doubt all my brandied cherries are steeped in stuff that never paid duty; and if you don't smuggle yourself, your servants do it for you. but i'll tell you all about it," and he proceeded to give them a true and faithful exposition of the state of the county, agreeing in all respects with that which has been furnished to the reader in the first chapter of this tale. his statement and the various conversation, which arose from different parts of it, occupied the time fully, till the coach, as it was growing dark, rolled into ashford. there mr. croyland quitted his two companions, shaking them each by the hand with right goodwill; and they pursued their onward course to hythe and folkestone, without any farther incident worthy of notice. chapter iii. at hythe, to make use of a very extraordinary though not uncommon expression, the coach stopped to sup--not that the coach itself ate anything, for, on the contrary, it disgorged that which it had already taken in; but the travellers who descended from it were furnished with supper, although the distance to folkestone might very well have justified them in going on to the end of their journey without any other pabulum than that which they had already received. but two or three things are to be taken into consideration. the distance from london to folkestone is now seventy-one miles. it was longer in those days by several more, besides having the disadvantage of running up and down over innumerable hills, all of which were a great deal more steep than they are in the present day. the journey, which the travellers accomplished, was generally considered a feat both of difficulty and danger, and the coach which performed that feat in one day, was supposed to deserve right well the name which it had assumed, of "the phenomenon." before it began to run, seventy-one miles in seventeen hours was considered an impracticable journey for anything but a man on horseback, and when first the coach appeared upon the road, the towns-people and villagers turned out in multitudes, with admiration and wonder, not unmixed with dread, to see the rapid rate at which it went--very nearly six miles an hour! the old diligence, which had preceded it, had slept one night, and sometimes two, upon the road; and, in its first vain struggles with its more rapid successor, it had actually once or twice made the journey in two-and-twenty hours. to beat off this pertinacious rival, the proprietor of the stage had been obliged to propitiate the inn-keepers of various important towns, by dividing his favours amongst them; and thus the traveller was forced to wait nearly one hour at hythe, during which he might sup if he liked, although he was only about five miles from folkestone. the supper room of the inn was vacant when the two officers of dragoons entered, but the table, covered with its neat white cloth, and all the preparations for a substantial meal, together with a bright fire sparkling in the grate, rendered its aspect cheerful and reviving after a long and tedious journey, such as that which had just been accomplished. sir edward digby looked round well pleased, turned his back to the fire, spoke to the landlord and his maid about supper, and seemed disposed to enjoy himself during the period of his stay. he ordered, too, a pint of claret, which he was well aware was likely to be procured in great perfection upon the coast of kent. the landlord in consequence conceived a high respect for him, and very much undervalued all the qualities of his companion, who, seating himself at the table, leaned his head upon his hand, and fell into deep thought, without giving orders for anything. the host, with his attendant star, disappeared from the room to procure the requisites for the travellers' meal, and sir edward digby immediately took advantage of their absence to say, "come, come, my dear colonel, shake this off. i think all that we have lately heard should have tended to revive hope, and to give comfort. during all the six years that we have been more like brothers than friends, i have never seen you so much cast down as now, when you are taking the field under the most favourable circumstances, with name, station, reputation, fortune, and with the best reason to believe those true whom you had been taught to suppose false." "i cannot tell, digby," replied his companion; "we shall hear more ere long, and doubt is always well nigh as painful as the worst certainty. besides, i am returning to the scenes of my early youth--scenes stored, it is true, with many a sweet and happy memory, but full also of painful recollections. those memories themselves are but as an inscription on a tomb, where hopes and pleasures, the bright dreams of youth, the ardent aspirations of first true love, the sweet endearments of a happy home, the treasured caresses of the best of mothers, the counsels, the kindness, the unvarying tenderness of the noblest and highest minded of fathers, all lie buried. there may be a pleasure in visiting that tomb, but it is a melancholy one; and when i think that it was for me--that it was on my account, my father suffered persecution and wrong, till a powerful mind, and a vigorous frame gave way, there is a bitterness mingled with all my remembrances of these scenes, from which i would fain clear my heart. i will do so, too, but it will require some solitary thought, some renewed familiarity with all the objects round, to take off the sharpness of the first effect. you, go on to folkestone and see that all is right there, i will remain here and wait for the rest. as soon as you have ascertained that everything is prepared to act in case we are called upon--which i hope may not be the case, as i do not like the service--you may betake yourself to harbourne house, making me a report as you pass. when i have so distributed the men that we can rapidly concentrate a sufficient number upon any spot where they may be required, i will come on after you to our good old friend's dwelling. there you can see me, and let me know what is taking place." "i think you had better not let him know who you really are," replied sir edward digby, "at least till we have seen how the land lies." "i do not know--i will think of it," answered the other gentleman, whom for the present we shall continue to call osborn, though the learned reader has already discovered that such was not his true name. "it is evident," he continued, "that old mr. croyland does not remember me, although i saw him frequently when he was in england for a short time, some six or seven years before he finally quitted india. however, though i feel i am much changed, it is probable that many persons will recognise me whenever i appear in the neighbourhood of cranbrook, and he might take it ill, that he who was so good and true a friend both to my uncle and my father, should be left in ignorance. perhaps it would be better to confide in him fully, and make him aware of all my views and purposes." "under the seal of confession, then," said his friend; "for he is evidently a very talkative old gentleman. did you remark how he once or twice declared he would not tell a story, that it was no business of his, and then went on to tell it directly." "true, such was always his habit," answered osborn; "and his oddities have got somewhat exaggerated during the last twelve years; but he's as true and faithful as ever man was, and nothing would induce him to betray a secret confided to him." "you know best," replied the other; but the entrance of the landlord with the claret, and the maid with the supper, broke off the conversation, and there was no opportunity of renewing it till it was announced that the horses were to, and the coach was ready. the two friends then took leave of each other, both coachman and host being somewhat surprised to find that one of the travellers was about to remain behind. when, however, a portmanteau, a sword-case, and a large trunk, or mail as it was then called, had been handed out of the egregious boot, osborn walked into the inn once more, and called the landlord to him. "i shall, most likely," he said, "take up my quarters with you for some days, so you will be good enough to have a bed room prepared for me. you must also let me have a room, however small, where i can read, and write, and receive any persons who may come to see me, for i have a good deal of business to transact." "oh, yes, sir--i understand," replied the host, with a knowing elevation of one eye-brow and a depression of the other, "quite snug and private. you shall have a room at the back of the house with two doors, so that they can come in by the one, and go out through the other, and nobody know anything about it." "i rather suspect you mistake," answered the guest, with a smile, "and for fear you should say anything, under an error, that you might be sorry for afterwards, let me tell you at once that i am an officer of dragoons, and that the business i speak of is merely regimental business." the host's face grew amazingly blank; for a smuggler in a large way was, in his estimation, a much more valuable and important guest than an officer in the army, even had he been commander-in-chief of the forces; but osborn proceeded to relieve his mind from some of its anxieties by saying: "you will understand that i am neither a spy nor an informer, my good friend, but merely come here to execute whatever orders i may receive from government as a military man. i tell you who i am at once, that you may, as far as possible, keep from my sight any of those little transactions which i am informed are constantly taking place on this coast. i shall not, of course, step over the line of my duty, which is purely military, to report anything i see; but still i should not like that any man should say i was cognizant of proceedings contrary to the interests of the government. this hint, however, i doubt not, will be enough." "sir, you are a gentleman," said the host, "and as a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse, i shall take care you have no annoyance. you must wait a little for your bed-room though, for we did not know you were going to stay; but we will lose no time getting it ready. can i do anything else to serve you, sir?" "i think not," replied osborn. "but one thing will be necessary. i expect five horses down to-morrow, and there must be found stabling for them, and accommodation for the servants." the landlord, who was greatly consoled by these latter proofs of his guest's opulence and importance, was proceeding to assure him that all manner of conveniences, both for horse and man were to be found at his inn, when the door of the room opened, and a third person was added to the party within. the moment the eye of the traveller by the coach fell upon him, his face lighted up with a well pleased smile, and he exclaimed, "ah, my good friend, is that you?--i little expected to find you in this part of kent. what brought you hither, after our long voyage?" "the same that brought you," answered the other: "old memories and loved associations." but before we proceed to notice what was osborn's reply, we must, though very unwilling to give long descriptions either of personal appearance or of dress, pause to notice briefly those of the stranger who had just entered. he had originally been a tall man, and probably a powerful one, but he now stooped considerably, and was extremely thin. his face had no colour in it, and even the lips were pale, but yet the hue was not cadaverous, or even what could be called sickly. the features were generally small and fine, except the eyes, which were large and bright, with a sort of brilliant but unsafe fire in them, and that peculiar searching and intense gaze when speaking to any one, which is common to people of strong imaginations, who try to convey to others more than they actually say. his forehead, too, was high and grand, but wrinkled over with the furrows of thought and care; and on the right side was a deep indentation, with a gash across it, as if the skull had been driven in by a blow. his hair, which was long and thin, was milk white, and though his teeth were fine, yet the wrinkles of his skin, the peculiar roughness of the ear, and the shrivelled hand, all bore testimony of an advanced age. yet, perhaps, he might be younger than he looked, for the light in that eager eye plainly spoke one of those quick, anxious, ever labouring spirits which wear the frame by the internal emotions, infinitely more rapidly and more destructively than any of the external events and circumstances of life. one thing was very peculiar about him--at least, in this country--for on another continent such a peculiarity might have called for no attention. on either cheek, beginning just behind the external corner of the eye, and proceeding in a graceful wave all along the cheek bone, turning round, like an acanthus leaf, at the other extremity upon the cheek itself, was a long line of very minute blue spots, with another, and another, and another beneath it, till the whole assumed the appearance of a rather broad arabesque painted in blue upon his face. his dress in other respects (if this tattooing might be called a part of his dress) though coarse in texture was good. the whole, too, was black, except where the white turned-down collar of his shirt appeared between his coat and his pale brownish skin. his shoes were large and heavy like those used by the countrymen in that part of the county, and in them he wore a pair of silver buckles, not very large, but which in their peculiar form and ornaments, gave signs of considerable antiquity. though bent, as we have said, thin, and pale, he seemed active and energetic. all his motions were quick and eager, and he grasped the hand which osborn extended to him, with a warmth and enthusiasm very different from the ordinary expression of common friendship. "you mistake," said the young gentleman, in answer to his last observation. "it was not old memories and loved associations which brought me here at all, mr. warde. it was an order from the commander-in-chief. had i not received it, i should not have visited this place for years--if ever!" "yes, yes, you would," replied the old man; "you could not help yourself. it was written in the book of your fate. it was not to be avoided. you were drawn here by an irresistible impulse to undergo what you have to undergo, to perform that which is assigned you, and to do and suffer all those things which are written on high." "i wonder to hear _you_ speaking in terms so like those of a fatalist," answered osborn--"you whom i have always heard so strenuously assert man's responsibility for all his actions, and scoff at the idea of his excusing himself on the plea of his predestination." "true, true," answered the old man whom he called warde,--"predestination affords him no excuse for aught that is wrong, for though it be an inscrutable mystery how those three great facts are to be reconciled, yet certain it is that omniscience cannot be ignorant of that which will take place, any more than of that which has taken place; that everything which god foreknows, must take place, and has been pre-determined by his will, and that yet--as every man must feel within himself--his own actions depend upon his volition, and if they be evil he alone is to blame. the end is to come, osborn--the end is to come when all will be revealed--and doubt not that it will be for god's glory. i often think," he continued in a less emphatic tone, "that man with his free will is like a child with a plaything. we see the babe about to dash it against the wall in mere wantonness, we know that he will injure it--perhaps break it to pieces--perhaps hurt himself with it in a degree; we could prevent it, yet we do not, thinking perhaps that it will be a lesson--one of those, the accumulation of which makes experience, if not wisdom. at all events the punishment falls upon him; and, if duly warned, he has no right to blame us for that which his own will did, though we saw what he would do, and could have prevented him from doing so. we are all spoilt children, osborn, and remain so to the end, though god gives us warning enough,--but here comes my homely meal." at the same moment the landlord brought in a dish of vegetables, some milk and some pottage, which he placed upon the table, giving a shrewd look to the young officer, but saying to his companion, "there, i have brought what you ordered, sir; but i cannot help thinking you had better take a bit of meat. you had nothing but the same stuff this morning, and no dinner that i know of." "man, i never eat anything that has drawn the breath of life," replied warde. "the first of our race brought death into the world and was permitted to inflict it upon others, for the satisfaction of his own appetites; but it was a permission, and not an injunction--except for sacrifice. i will not be one of the tyrants of the whole creation; i will have no more of the tiger in my nature than is inseparable from it; and as to gorging myself some five or six times a day with unnecessary food--am i a swine, do you think, to eat when i am not hungry, for the sole purpose of devouring? no, no, the simplest food, and that only for necessity, is best for man's body and his mind. we all grow too rank and superfluous." thus saying, he approached the table, said a short grace over that which was set before him, and then sitting down, ate till he was satisfied, without exchanging a word with any one during the time that he was thus engaged. it occupied less than five minutes, however, to take all that he required, and then starting up suddenly, he thanked god for what he had given him, took up his hat and turned towards the door. "i am going out, osborn," he said, "for my evening walk. will you come with me?" "willingly for half an hour," answered the young officer, and, telling the landlord as he passed that he would be back by the time that his room was ready, he accompanied his eccentric acquaintance out into the streets of hythe, and thence, through some narrow walks and lanes, to the sea-shore. chapter iv. the sky was clear and bright; the moonlight was sleeping in dream-like splendour upon the water, and the small waves, thrown up by the tide more than the wind, came rippling along the beach like a flood of diamonds. all was still and silent in the sky, and upon the earth; and the soft rustle of the waters upon the shore seemed but to say "hush!" as if nature feared that any louder sound should interrupt her calm repose. to the west, stretched out the faint low line of coast towards dungeness; and to the east, appeared the high cliffs near folkestone and dover--grey and solemn; while the open heaven above looked down with its tiny stars and lustrous moon upon the wide extended sea, glittering in the silver veil cast over her sleeping bosom from on high. such was the scene presented to the eyes of the two wanderers when they reached the beach, a little way on the sandgate side of hythe, and both paused to gaze upon it for several minutes in profound silence. "this is indeed a night to walk forth upon the sands," said the young officer at length. "it seems to me, that of all the many scenes from which man can derive both instruction and comfort, in the difficulties and troubles of life, there is none so elevating, so strengthening, as that presented by the sea shore on a moonlight night. to behold that mighty element, so full of destructive and of beneficial power, lying tranquilly within the bound which god affixed to it, and to remember the words, 'thus far shalt thou come, and no farther, and here shall thy proud waves be stopped,' affords so grand an illustration of his might, so fine a proof of the truth of his promises, that the heart must be hard indeed and the mind dull, not to receive confirmation of faith, and encouragement in hope." "more, far more, may man receive," replied his companion, "if he be but willing; but that gross and corrupt insect refuses all instruction, and though the whole universe holds out blessings, still chooses the curse. where is there a scene whence man may not receive benefit? what spot upon the whole earth has not something to speak to his heart, if he would but listen? in his own busy passions, however, and in his own fierce contentions, in his sordid creeping after gain, in his trickery and his knavery, even in his loves and pleasures, man turns a deaf ear to the great voice speaking to him; and the only scene of all this earth which cannot benefit the eye that looks upon it, is that in which human beings are the chief actors. there all is foulness, or pitifulness, or vice; and one, to live in happiness, and to take the moral of all nature to his heart, should live alone with nature. i will find me out such a place, where i can absent myself entirely, and contemplate nought but the works of god without the presence of man, for i am sick to death of all that i have seen of him and his, especially in what is called a civilized state." "you have often threatened to do so, warde," answered the young officer, "but yet methinks, though you rail at him, you love man too much to quit his abodes entirely. i have seen you kind and considerate to savages of the most horrible class; to men whose daily practice it is to torture with the most unheard of cruelty the prisoners whom they take in battle; and will you have less regard for other fellow-creatures, because they are what you call civilized?" "the savage is at least sincere," replied his companion. "the want of sincerity is the great and crowning vice of all this portion of the globe. cruel the wild hunters may be, but are they more cruel than the people here? which is the worst torment, a few hours' agony at the stake, singing the war-song, all ended by a blow of a hatchet, or long years of mental torture, when every scorn and contumely, every bitter injustice, every cruel bereavement that man can inflict or suffer, is piled upon your head, till the load becomes intolerable. then, too, it is done in a smooth and smiling guise. the civilized fiend looks softly upon you while he wounds you to the heart--makes a pretext of law, and justice, and equity--would have you fancy him a soft good man, while there is no act of malevolence and iniquity that he does not practise. the savage is true, at all events. the man who fractured my skull with a blow of his tomahawk, made no pretence of friendship or of right. he did it boldly, as an act customary with his people, and would have led me to the stake and danced with joy to see me suffering, had i not been rescued. he was sincere at least: but how would the englishman have served me? he would have wrung my heart with pangs insupportable, and all the time have talked of his great grief to afflict me, of the necessity of the case, of justice being on his side, and of a thousand other vain and idle pretexts, but aggravating the act by mocking me with a show of generosity." "i fear my excellent friend that you have at some time suffered sadly from man's baseness," said osborn; "but yet i think you are wrong to let the memory thereof affect you thus. i, too, have suffered, and perhaps shall have to suffer more; but yet i would not part with the best blessings god has given to man, as you have done, for any other good." "what have i parted with that i could keep?" asked the other, sharply: "what blessings? i know of none!" "trust--confidence," replied his young companion. "i know you will say that they have been taken from you; that you have not thrown them away, that you have been robbed of them. but have you not parted with them too easily? have you not yielded at once, without a struggle to retain what i still call the best blessings of god? there are many villains in the world--i know it but too well; there are many knaves. there are still more cold and selfish egotists, who, without committing actual crimes or injuring others, do good to none; but there are also many true and upright hearts, many just, noble, and generous men; and were it a delusion to think so, i would try to retain it still." "and suffer for it in the hour of need, in the moment of the deepest confidence," answered warde. "if you must have confidence, place it in the humble and the low, in the rudest and least civilized--ay, in the very outcasts of society--rather than in the polished and the courtly, the great and high. i would rather trust my life, or my purse, to the honour of the common robber, and to his generosity, than to the very gentlemanly man of fashion and high station. now, if, as you say, you have not come down hither for old associations, you must be sent to hunt down honester men than those who sent you--men who break boldly through an unjust and barbarous system, which denies to our land the goods of another, and who, knowing that the very knaves who devised that system, did it but to enrich themselves, stop with a strong hand a part of the plunder on the way--or, rather, insist at the peril of their lives, on man's inherent right to trade with his neighbours, and frustrate the roguish devices of those who would forbid to our land the use of that produced by another." osborn smiled at his companion's defence of smuggling, but replied, "i can conceive a thousand reasons, my good friend, why the trade in certain things should be totally prohibited, and a high duty for the interests of the state be placed on others. but i am not going to argue with you on all our institutions; merely this i will say, that when we entrust to certain men the power of making laws, we are bound to obey those laws when they are made; and it were but candid and just to suppose that those who had made them, after long deliberation, did so for the general good of the whole." "for their own villanous ends," answered warde--"for their own selfish interests. the good of the whole!--what is it in the eyes of any of these law-givers but the good of a party?" "but do you not think," asked the young officer, "that we ourselves, who are not law-givers, judge their actions but too often under the influence of the very motives we attribute to them? has party no share in our own bosoms? has selfishness--have views of our own interests, in opposition either to the interests of others or the general weal, no part in the judgment that we form? each man carps at that which suits him not, and strives to change it, without the slightest care whether, in so doing, he be not bringing ruin on the heads of thousands. but as to what you said just now of my being sent hither to hunt down the smuggler, such is not the case. i am sent to lend my aid to the civil power when called upon to do so--but nothing more; and we all know that the civil power has proved quite ineffective in stopping a system, which began by violation of a fiscal law, and has gone on to outrages the most brutal, and the most daring. i shall not step beyond the line of my duty, my good friend; and i will admit that many of these very misguided men themselves, who are carrying on an illegal traffic in this daring manner, fancy themselves justified by such arguments as you have just now used--nay, more, i do believe that there are some men amongst them of high and noble feelings, who never dream that they are dishonest in breaking a law that they dislike. but if we break one law thus, why should we keep any?--why not add robbery and murder if it suits us? "ay, there _are_ high minded and noble men amongst them," answered warde, not seeming to heed the latter part of what his companion said, "and there stands one of them. he has evil in him doubtless; for he is a man and an englishman; but i have found none here who has less, and many who have more. yet were that man taken in pursuing his occupation, they would imprison, exile, perhaps hang him, while a multitude of knaves in gilded coats, would be suffered to go on committing every sin, and almost every crime, unpunished--a good man, an excellent man, and yet a smuggler." the young officer knew it was in vain to reason with him, for in the frequent intercourse they had held together, he had perceived that, with many generous and noble feelings, with a pure heart, and almost ascetic severity of life, there was a certain perversity in the course of mr. warde's thoughts, which rendered it impossible to turn them from the direction which they naturally took. it seemed as if by long habit they had channelled for themselves so deep a bed, that they could never be diverted thence; and consequently, without replying at first, he merely turned his eyes in the direction which the other pointed out, trying to catch sight of the person of whom he spoke. they were now on the low sandy shore which runs along between the town of hythe and the beautiful little watering place of sandgate. but it must be recollected, that at the time i speak of, the latter place displayed no ornamental villas, no gardens full of flowers, almost touching on the sea, and consisted merely of a few fishermen's, or rather smuggler's, huts, with one little public house, and a low-browed shop, filled with all the necessities that the inhabitants might require. thus nothing like the mass of buildings which the watering place now can boast, lay between them and the folkestone cliffs; and the whole line of the coast, except at one point, where the roof of a house intercepted the view, was open before osborn's eyes; yet neither upon the shore itself, nor upon the green upland, which was broken by rocks and bushes, and covered by thick dry grass, could he perceive anything resembling a human form. a minute after, however, he thought he saw something move against the rugged background, and the next moment, the head and shoulders of a man rising over the edge of the hill caught his eyes, and as his companion walked forward in silence, he inquired, "have you known him long, or is this one of your sudden judgments, my good friend?" "i knew him when he was a boy and a lad," answered wilmot, "i know him now that he is a man--so it is no sudden judgment. come, let us speak with him, osborn," and he advanced rapidly, by a narrow path, up the side of the slope. osborn paused a single instant, and then followed, saying, "be upon your guard, warde; and remember how i am circumstanced. neither commit me nor let him commit himself." "no, no, fear not," answered his friend, "i am no smuggler, young man;" and he strode on before, without pausing for further consultation. as they climbed the hill, the figure of the man of whom they had been speaking became more and more distinct, while walking up and down upon a flat space at the top of the first step or wave of ground; he seemed to take no notice of their approach. when they came nearer still, he paused, as if waiting for their coming; and the moon shining full upon him, displayed his powerful form, standing in an attitude of easy grace, with the arms folded on the chest, and the head slightly bent forward. he was not above the middle height; but broad in the shoulders, and long in the arms; robust and strong--every muscle was round and swelling, and yet not heavy; for there was the appearance of great lightness and activity in his whole figure, strangely combined with that of vigour and power. his head was small, and well set upon his shoulders; and the very position in which he stood, the firm planting of his feet on the ground, the motionless crossing of his arm upon his breast, all seemed to argue to the mind of osborn--and he was one not unaccustomed to judge of character by external signs--a strong and determined spirit, well fitted for the rough and adventurous life which he had undertaken. "good night, harding," said mr. warde, as they came up to the spot where he stood. "what a beautiful evening it is!" "goodnight, sir," answered the man, in a civil tone, and with a voice of considerable melody. "it is indeed a beautiful evening, though sometimes i like to see the cloudy sky, too." "and yet i dare say you enjoy a walk by the bright sea, in the calm moonlight, as much as i do," rejoined mr. warde. "ay, that i do, sir," replied the smuggler. "that's what brought me out to-night, for there's nothing else doing; but i should not rest quiet, i suppose, in my bed, if i did not take my stroll along the downs or somewhere, and look over the sea, while she lies panting in the moonbeams. she's a pretty creature, and i love her dearly. i wonder how people can live inland." "oh, there are beautiful scenes enough inland," said osborn, joining in the conversation; "both wild and grand, and calm and peaceful." "i know there are, sir, i know there are," answered the smuggler, gazing at him attentively, "and if ever i were to live away from the beach, i should say, give me the wild and grand, for i have seen many a beautiful place inland, especially in wales; but still it always seems to me as if there was something wanting when the sea is not there. i suppose it is natural for an englishman." "perhaps it is," rejoined osborn, "for certainly when nature rolled the ocean round us, she intended us for a maritime people. but to return to what you were saying, if i could choose my own abode, it should be amongst the calm and peaceful scenes, of which the eye never tires, and amongst which the mind rests in repose." "ay, if it is repose one is seeking," replied the smuggler, with a laugh, "well and good. then a pleasant little valley, with trees and a running stream, and a neat little church, and the parsonage, may do well enough. but i dare say you and i, sir, have led very different lives, and so have got different likings. i have always been accustomed to the storm and the gale, to a somewhat adventurous life, and to have that great wide sea before my eyes for ever. you, i dare say, have been going on quietly and peacefully all your days, perhaps in london, or in some great town, knowing nothing of hardships or of dangers; so that is the reason you love quiet places." "quite the reverse!" answered osborn, with a smile--"mine has been nothing but a life of peril and danger, and activity, as far as it hitherto has gone. from the time i was eighteen till now, the battle and the skirmish, the march and the retreat, with often the hard ground for my bed, as frequently the sky for my covering, and at best a thin piece of canvas to keep off the blast, have been my lot, but it is that very fact that makes me long for some repose, and love scenes that give the picture of it to the imagination, if not the reality to the heart. i should suppose that few men who have passed their time thus, and known from youth to manhood nothing but strife and hourly peril, do not sooner or later desire such tranquillity." "i don't know, sir," said the smuggler; "it maybe so, and the time may come with me; but yet i think habits one is bred to, get such a hold of the heart that we can't do without them. i often fancy i should like a month's quiet, too; but then i know before the month was out i should long to be on the sea again." "man is a discontented creature," said warde,--"not even the bounty of god can satisfy him. i do not believe that he would even rest in heaven, were he not wearied of change by the events of this life. well may they say it is a state of trial." "i hope i shall go to heaven, too," rejoined the smuggler; "but i should like a few trips first; and i dare say, when i grow an old man, and stiff and rusty, i shall be well contented to take my walk here in the sunshine, and talk of days that are gone; but at present, when one has life and strength, i could no more sit and get cankered in idleness than i could turn miller. this world's not a place to be still in; and i say, blow wind, and push off the boat." "but one may have activity enough without constant excitement and peril," answered osborn. "i don't know that there would be half the pleasure in it," replied the smuggler, laughing--"that we strive for, that we love. everything must have its price, and cheap got is little valued. but who is this coming?" he continued, turning sharply round before either of his companions heard a sound. the next moment, however, steps running up the face of the bank were distinguished, and in another minute a boy of twelve or thirteen, dressed in a sailor's jacket, came hurrying up to the smuggler, and pulled his sleeve, saying, in a low voice, "come hither--come hither; i want to speak to you." the man took a step apart, and bending down his head listened to something which the boy whispered in his ear. "i will come--i will come directly," he said, at length, when the lad was done. "run on and tell him, little starlight; for i must get home first for a minute. good night, gentlemen," he continued, turning to mr. warde and his companion, "i must go away for a longer walk;" and, without farther adieu, he began to descend the bank, leaving the two friends to take their way back to hythe, conversing, as they went, much in the same strain as that in which they had indulged while coming thither, differing in almost every topic, but yet with some undefinable link of sympathy between them, which nevertheless owed its origin, in the old man's breast, to very different feelings from those which were experienced by his younger companion. chapter v. there was an old house, built in a style which acquired the mint-mark of fashion of about the reign of george the first, and was considered by those of the english, or opposite party, to be peculiarly well qualified for the habitation of hanover rats. it stood at a little distance from the then small hamlet of harbourne, and was plunged into one of the southern apertures of the wood of that name, having its gardens and pleasure-grounds around it, with a terrace and a lawn stretching out to the verge of a small parish road, which passed at the distance of somewhat less than a quarter of a mile from the windows. it was all of red brick, and looked square and formal enough, with the two wings projecting like the a-kimbo arms of some untamed virago, straight and resolute as a redoubt. the numerous windows, however, with very tolerable spaces between them; the numerous chimneys, with every sort of form and angle; the numerous doors, of every shape and size, and the square precision of the whole, bespoke it a very capacious building, and the inside justified fully the idea which the mind of a traveller naturally formed from the outside. it was, in truth, a roomy, and in some cases a very convenient abode; but it was laid out upon a particular plan, which it may not be amiss to write down, for the practical instruction of the reader unlearned in such edifices. in the centre of the ground-floor was a large hall of a cruciform shape, each of the limbs being about fifteen feet wide. the two shorter arms of the cross stretched from side to side of the building in its width; the two longer from end to end of its length. the southern termination of the shorter arms was the great hall-door; the northern arm, which formed the passage between the various ranges of offices, extended to a door at the back, opening into a court-yard surrounded by coach-houses, stables, cow-sheds, pig-sties, and hen-roosts. but the offices, and the passage between them, were shut off from the main hall and the rest of the mansion by double doors; and the square of fifteen feet in the centre of the hall was, to the exent of about two-thirds of the whole, occupied by a large, low-stepped, broad-ballustraded oaken staircase. the eastern and western limbs of the cross afforded the means of communicating with various rooms,--such as library, dining-room, drawing-room, music-room, magistrate's-room, gentleman's-room, and billiard-room, with one or two others to which no name had been applied. many of these rooms had doors which led into the one adjacent; but this was not invariably the case, for from the main corridor branched off several little passages, separating in some instances one chamber from the other, and leading out upon the terrace by the smaller doors which we have noticed above. what was the use of these passages and doors nobody was ever able to divine, and it remains a mystery to the present day, which i shall not attempt to solve by venturing any hypothesis upon so recondite a subject. the second floor above was laid out much in the same way as the one below, except that one of the limbs of the cross was wanting, the space over the great door being appropriated to a very tolerable bed-room. from this floor to the other, descended two or three staircases, the principal one being the great open flight of steps which i have already mentioned; and the second, or next in importance, being a stone staircase, which reached the ground between the double doors, that shut out the main hall from the offices. having thus given some idea of the interior of the building, i will only pause to notice, that, at the period i speak of, it had one very great defect. it was very much out of repair,--not, indeed, of that sort of substantial repair which is necessary to comfort, but of that pleasant repair which is agreeable to the eye. it was well and solidly built, and was quite wind and water tight; but although the builders of the day in which it was erected were, as every one knows, peculiarly neat in their brick-work, yet time would have his way even with their constructions, and he had maliciously chiselled out the pointing from between the sharp, well-cut bricks, scraped away the mortar from the stone copings, and cracked and blistered the painting of the wood-work. this labour of his had not only given a venerable, but also a somewhat dilapidated appearance to the mansion; and some green mould, with which he had taken the pains to dabble all the white parts of the edifice, did not decrease the look of decay. sweeping round from the parish road that we have mentioned was a branch, leading by the side of the lawn, and a gentle ascent up to the terrace and to the great door, and carriages on arriving passed along the whole front of the house by the western angle before they reached the court-yard behind. but from that courtyard there were various other means of exit. one to the kitchen garden, one to two or three other courts, and one into the wood which came within fifty yards of the enclosure; for, to use the ordinary romance phrase, harbourne house was literally "bosomed in wood." the windows, however, and the front, commanded a fine view of a rich and undulating country, plentifully garnished with trees, but still, for a considerable distance, exposed to the eye, from the elevated ground upon which the mansion was placed. a little hamlet was seen at the distance of about two miles in front--i rather suspect it was kenchill--and to the eastward the house looked over the valley towards the high ground by woodchurch and woodchurch beacon, catching a blue line which probably was romney marsh. between, woodchurch, however, and itself, was seen standing out, straight and upright, a very trim-looking white dwelling, flanked by some pleasant groves, and to the west were seen one or two gentlemen's seats scattered about over the face of the country. behind, nothing of course was to be seen but tree-tops, except from the window of one of the attics, whence the housemaid could descry biddenden windmill and the top of biddenden church. harbourne wood was indeed, at that time, very extensive, joining on to the large piece of woodland, from which it is now separated, and stretching out as far as that place with an unpleasant name, called gallows green. the whole of this space, and a considerable portion of the cultivated ground around, was within the manor of the master of the mansion, sir robert croyland, of harbourne, the elder brother of that mr. zachary croyland, whom we have seen travelling down into kent with two companions in the newly established stage-coach. about four days after that memorable journey, a traveller on horseback, followed by a servant leading another horse, and with a portmanteau behind him, rode up the little parish road we have mentioned, took the turning which led to the terrace, and drew in his bridle at the great door of harbourne house. i would describe him again, but i have already given the reader so correct and accurate a picture of sir edward digby, that he cannot make any mistake. the only change which had taken place in his appearance since he set out from london, was produced by his being now dressed in a full military costume; but nevertheless the eyes of a fair lady, who was in the drawing-room and had a full view of the terrace, conveyed to her mind, as she saw him ride up, the impression that he was a very handsome man indeed. in two minutes more, which were occupied by the opening of the door and sundry directions given by the young baronet to his servant, sir edward digby was ushered into the drawing-room, and advanced with a frank, free, military air, though unacquainted with any of the persons it contained. as his arrival about that hour was expected, the whole family of harbourne house was assembled to receive him; and before we proceed farther, we may as well give some account of the different persons of whom the little circle was composed. the first whom sir edward's eyes fell upon was the master of the mansion, who had risen, and was coming forward to welcome his guest. sir robert croyland, however, was so different a person from his brother, in every point, that the young officer could hardly believe that he had the baronet before him. he was a large, heavy-looking man, with good features and expressive eyes, but sallow in complexion, and though somewhat corpulent, having that look of loose, flabby obesity, which is generally an indication of bad health. his dress, though scrupulously clean and in the best fashion of the time, fitted him ill, being too large even for his large person; and the setting of the diamond ring which he wore upon his hand was scarcely more yellow than the hand itself. on his face he bore a look of habitual thought and care, approaching moroseness, which even the smile he assumed on sir edward's appearance could not altogether dissipate. in his tone, however, he was courtly and kind, though perhaps a little pompous, expressed his delight at seeing his old friend's son in harbourne house, shook him warmly by the hand, and then led him ceremoniously forward to introduce him to his sister, mrs. barbara croyland, and his two daughters. the former lady might very well have had applied to her fielding's inimitable description of the old maid. her appearance was very similar, her station and occupation much the same; but nevertheless, in all essential points, mrs. barbara croyland was a very different person from the sister of squire allworthy. she was a kind-hearted soul as ever existed; gentle in her nature, anxious to do the very best for every body, a little given to policy for the purpose of accomplishing that end, and consequently, nine times out of ten, making folks very uncomfortable in order to make them comfortable, and doing all manner of mischief for the purpose of setting things right. no woman ever had a more perfect abnegation of self than mrs. barbara croyland, in all things of great importance. she had twice missed a very good opportunity of marriage, by making up a match between one who was quite ready to be her own lover and one of her female friends, for whom he cared very little. she had lent the whole of her own private fortune, except a small annuity, which by some chance had been settled upon her, to her brother sir robert, without taking any security whatsoever for principal or interest; and she was always ready, when there was anything in her purse, to give it away to the worthy or unworthy--rather, indeed, preferring the latter, from a conviction that they were more likely to be destitute of friends than those who had some claim upon society. nevertheless mrs. barbara croyland was not altogether without that small sort of selfishness which is usually termed vanity. she was occasionally a little affronted and indignant with her friends, when they disapproved of her spoiling their whole plans with the intention of facilitating them. she knew that her design was good; and she thought it very ungrateful in the world to be angry when her good designs produced the most opposite results to those which she intended. she was fully convinced, too, that circumstances were perversely against her; and yet for her life she could not refrain from trying to make those circumstances bend to her purpose, notwithstanding all the nips on the knuckles she received; and she had still some scheme going on, which, though continually disappointed, rose up hydra-like, with a new head springing out as soon as the other was cut off. as it was at her suggestion, and in favour of certain plans which she kept deep in the recesses of her own bosom, that sir robert croyland had claimed acquaintance with sir edward digby on the strength of an old friendship with his father, and had invited him down to harbourne house immediately on the return of his regiment to england, it may well be supposed that miss barbara received him with her most gracious smiles--which, to say the truth, though the face was wrinkled with age, and the complexion not very good, were exceedingly sweet and benignant, springing from a natural kindness of heart, which, if guided by a sounder discretion, would have rendered her one of the most amiable persons on the earth. after a few words of simple courtesy on both parts, sir edward turned to the other two persons who were in the room, where he found metal more attractive--at least, for the eyes. the first to whom he was introduced was a young lady, who seemed to be about one-and-twenty years of age, though she had in fact just attained another year; and though sir robert somewhat hurried him on to the next, who was younger, the keen eye of the young officer marked enough to make him aware that, if so cold and so little disposed to look on a lover as her uncle had represented, she might well become a very dangerous neighbour to a man with a heart not well guarded against the power of beauty. her hair, eyes, and eyelashes were almost black, and her complexion of a clear brown, with the rose blushing faintly in the cheek; but the eyes were of a deep blue. the whole form of the head, the fall of the hair, the bend of the neck from the shoulders, were all exquisitely symmetrical and classical, and nothing could be more lovely than the line of the brow and the chiselled cutting of the nose. the upper lip, small and delicately drawn, the under lip full and slightly apart, shewing the pearl-like teeth beneath; the turn of the ear, and the graceful line in the throat, might all have served as models for the sculptor or the painter; for the colouring was as rich and beautiful as the form; and when she rose and stood to receive him, with the small hand leaning gently on the arm of the chair, he thought he had never seen anything more graceful than the figure, or more harmonious than its calm dignity, with the lofty gravity of her countenance. if there was a defect in the face, it was perhaps that the chin was a little too prominent, but yet it suited well with the whole countenance and with its expression, giving it decision without harshness, and a look of firmness, which the bright smile that fluttered for a moment round the lips, deprived of everything that was not gentle and kind. there was soul, there was thought, there was feeling, in the whole look; and digby would fain have paused to see those features animated in conversation. but her father led him on, after a single word of introduction, to present him to his younger daughter, who, with some points of resemblance, offered a strange contrast to her sister. she, too, was very handsome, and apparently about two years younger; but hers was the style of beauty which, though it deserves a better name, is generally termed pretty. all the features were good, and the hair exceedingly beautiful; but the face was not so oval, the nose perhaps a little too short, and the lips too sparkling with smiles to impress the mind, at first sight, so much as the countenance of the other. she seemed all happiness; and in looking to the expression and at her bright blue eyes, as they looked out through the black lashes, like violets from a clump of dark leaves, it was scarcely possible to fancy that she had ever known a touch of care or sorrow, or that one of the anxieties of life had ever even brushed her lightly with its wing. she seemed the flower just opening to the morning sunshine--the fruit, before the bloom had been washed away by one shower. her figure, too, was full of young grace; her movements were all quicker, more wild and free than her sister's; and as she rose to receive sir edward digby, it was more with the air of an old friend than a new acquaintance. indeed, she was the first of the family who had seen him, for hers were the eyes which had watched his approach from the window, so that she felt as if she knew him better than any of them. there was something very winning in the frank and cordial greeting with which she met him, and in an instant it had established a sort of communication between them which would have taken hours, perhaps days, to bring about with her sister. as sir edward digby did not come there to fall in love, he would fain have resisted such influences, even at the beginning; and perhaps the words of old mr. croyland had somewhat put him upon his guard. but it was of no use being upon his guard; for, fortify himself as strongly as he would, zara went through all his defences in an instant; and, seeming to take it for granted that they were to be great friends, and that there was not the slightest obstacle whatever to their being perfectly familiar in a ladylike and gentleman-like manner, of course they were so in five minutes, though he was a soldier who had seen some service, and she an inexperienced girl just out of her teens. but all women have a sort of experience of their own; or, if experience be not the right name, an intuition in matters where the other sex is concerned, which supplies to them very rapidly a great part of that which long converse with the world bestows on men. too true that it does not always act as a safeguard to their own hearts--true that it does not always guide them right in their own actions,--but still it does not fail to teach them the best means of winning where they wish to win; and if they do not succeed, it is far more frequently that the cards which they hold are not good, than that they play the game unskilfully. whether sir robert croyland had or had not any forethought in his invitation of sir edward digby, and, like a prudent father, judged that it would be quite as well his youngest daughter should marry a wealthy baronet, he was too wise to let anything like design appear; and though he suffered the young officer to pursue his conversation with zara for two or three minutes longer than he had done with her sister, he soon interposed, by taking the first opportunity of telling his guest the names of those whom he had invited to meet him that day at dinner. "we shall have but a small party," he said, in a somewhat apologetic tone, "for several of our friends are absent just now; but i have asked my good and eccentric brother zachary to meet you to-day, sir edward; and also my excellent neighbour, mr. radford, of radford hall--a very superior man indeed under the surface, though the manner may be a little rough. his son, too, i trust will join us;" and he glanced his eye towards edith, whose face grew somewhat paler than it had been before. sir robert instantly withdrew his gaze; but the look of both father and daughter had not been lost upon digby; and he replied--"i have the pleasure of knowing your brother already, sir robert. we were fellow-travellers as far as ashford, four or five days ago. i hope he is well." "oh, quite well--quite well," answered the baronet; "but as odd as ever--nay odder, i think, for his expedition to london. that which seems to polish and soften other men, but renders him rougher and more extraordinary. but he was always very odd--very odd indeed, even as a boy." "ay, but he was always kind-hearted, brother robert," observed miss barbara; "and though he may be a little odd, he has been in odd places, you know--india and the like; and besides, it does not do to talk of his oddity, as you are doing always, for if he heard of it, he might leave all his money away." "he is only odd, i think," said edith croyland, "by being kinder and better than other men." sir edward digby turned towards her with a warm smile, replying--"so it struck me, miss croyland. he is so good and right-minded himself, that he is at times a little out of patience with the faults and follies of others--at least, such was my impression, from all i saw of him." "it was a just one," answered the young lady, "and i am sure, sir edward, the more you see of him the more you will be inclined to overlook the oddities for the sake of the finer qualities." it seemed to sir edward digby that the commendations of sir robert croyland's brother did not seem the most grateful of all possible sounds to the ears of the baronet, who immediately after announced that he would have the pleasure of conducting his young guest to his apartments, adding that they were early people in the country, their usual dinner-hour being four o'clock, though he found that the fashionable people of london were now in the habit of dining at half-past four. sir edward accordingly followed him up the great oaken staircase to a very handsome and comfortable room, with a dressing-room at the side, in which he found his servant already busily employed in disburdening his bags and portmanteau of their contents. sir robert paused for a moment--to see that his guest had everything which he might require, and then left him. but the young baronet did not proceed immediately to the business of the toilet, seating himself before the window of the bed-room, and gazing out with a thoughtful expression, while his servant continued his operations in the next room. from time to time the man looked in as if he had something to say, but his master continued in a reverie, of which it may be as well to take some notice. his first thought was, "i must lay out the plan of my campaign; but i must take care not to get my wing of the army defeated while the main body is moving up to give battle. on my life, i'm a great deal too good-natured to put myself in such a dangerous position for a friend. the artillery that the old gentleman spoke of is much more formidable than i expected. my worthy colonel did not use so much of love's glowing colours in his painting as i supposed; but after all, there's no danger; i am proof against all such shots, and i fancy i must use little zara for the purpose of getting at her sister's secrets. there can be no harm in making a little love to her, the least little bit possible. it will do my pretty coquette no harm, and me none either. it may be well to know how the land lies, however; and i dare say that fellow of mine has made some discoveries already; but the surest way to get nothing out of him is to ask him, and so i must let him take his own way." his thoughts then turned to another branch of the same subject; and he went on pondering rather than thinking for some minutes more. there is a state of mind which can scarcely be called thought; for thought is rapid and progressive, like the flight of a bird, whether it be in the gyrations of the swallow, or the straightforward course of the rook; but in the mode or condition of which i speak, the mind seems rather to hover over a particular object, like the hawk eyeing carefully that which is beneath it; and this state can no more be called thought than the hovering of the hawk can be called flight. such was the occupation of sir edward digby, as i have said, for several minutes, and then he went on to his conclusions. "she loves him still," he said to himself; "of that i feel sure. she is true to him still, and steadfast in her truth. whatever may have been said or done has not been hers, and that is a great point gained; for now, with station, rank, distinction, and competence at least, he presents himself in a very different position from any which he could assume before; and unless on account of some unaccountable prejudice, the old gentleman can have no objection. oh, yes, she loves him still, i feel very sure! the calm gravity of that beautiful face has only been written there so early by some deep and unchanged feeling. we never see the sparkling brightness of youth so shadowed but by some powerful and ever-present memory, which, like the deep bass notes of a fine instrument, gives a solemn tone even to the liveliest music of life. she can smile, but the brow is still grave: there is something underneath it; and we must find out exactly what that is. yet i cannot doubt; i am sure of it. here, somers! are not those things ready yet? i shall be too late for dinner." "oh, no, sir;" replied the man, coming in, and putting up the back of his hand to his head, in military fashion. "your honour wont be too late. the great bell rings always half-an-hour before, then mr. radford is always a quarter-of-an-hour behind his time." "i wonder who mr. radford is!" said sir edward digby, as if speaking to himself. "he seems a very important person in the county." "i can tell you, sir," said the man, "he is or was the richest person in the neighbourhood, and has got sir robert quite under his thumb, they say. he was a merchant, or a shopkeeper, the butler told me, in hythe. but there was more money came in than ever went through his counting-house, and what between trading one way or another, he got together a great deal of riches, bought this place here in the neighbourhood, and set up for a gentleman. his son is to be married to miss croyland, they say; but the servants think that she hates him, and fancy that he would himself rather have her sister." the latter part of this speech was that which interested sir edward digby the most; but he knew that there was a certain sort of perversity about his servant, which made him less willing to answer a distinct question than to volunteer any information; and therefore he fixed upon another point, inquiring, "what do you mean, somers, by saying that he is, or was, the richest man in the country?" "why, sir, that is as it may be," answered the man; "but one thing is certain--miss croyland has three times refused to marry this young radford, notwithstanding all her father could say; and as for the young gentleman himself, why he's no gentleman at all, going about with all the bad characters in the county, and carrying on his father's old trade, like a highwayman. it has not quite answered so well though, for they say old radford lost fully fifty thousand pounds by his last venture, which was run ashore somewhere about romney hoy. the boats were sunk, part of the goods seized, and the rest sent to the bottom. you may be sure he's a dare-devil, however, for whenever the servants speak of him, they sink their voice to a whisper, as if the fiend were at their elbow." sir edward digby was very well inclined to hear more; but while the man was speaking, the bell he had mentioned, rang, and the young baronet, who had a certain regard for his own personal appearance, hastened to dress and to descend to the drawing-room. chapter vi. it is sometimes expedient in telling a tale of this kind, to introduce the different personages quietly to the reader one after the other, and to suffer him to become familiar with them separately, before they are all brought to act together, that he may have a clear and definite notion of their various characters, dispositions, and peculiarities, and be enabled to judge at once of the motives by which they are actuated, when we recite the deeds that they perform. having twice or thrice mentioned one of the prominent persons in this history, without having brought him visibly upon the scene, (as, in the natural course of events, i must very soon do,) i shall now follow the plan above mentioned; and, in order to give the reader a distinct notion of mr. radford, his character and proceedings, will beg those who have gone on with me thus far, to step back with me to the same night, on which mr. warde and his young friend met the smuggler in his evening walk along the heights. not very far from the town of hythe, not very far from the village of sandgate, are still to be found the ruins of an ancient castle, which, by various deeds that have been performed within its walls, has acquired a name in english history. the foundation of the building is beyond our records; and tradition, always fond of the marvellous, carries back the period when the first stone was laid to the times of the roman invaders of great britain. others supposed that it was erected by the saxons, but, as it now stands, it presents no trace of the handiwork of either of those two races of barbarians, and is simply one of those strongholds constructed by the normans, or their close descendants, either to keep their hold of a conquered country, or to resist the power both of tyrannical monarchs and dangerous neighbours. various parts of the building are undoubtedly attributable to the reign of henry ii.; and if any portion be of an earlier date, of which i have some doubts, it is but small; but a considerable part is, i believe, of a still later epoch, and in some places may be traced the architecture common in the reign of edward iii. and of his grandson. the space enclosed within the outer walls is very extensive, and numerous detached buildings, chapels, halls, and apparently a priory, are still to be found built against those walls themselves, so that it is probable that the castle in remote days gave shelter to some religious body, which is rendered still more likely from the fact of saltwood castle and its manor having formerly appertained to the church and see of canterbury. many a remarkable scene has undoubtedly passed in the courts and halls of that now ruined building, and it is even probable that there the dark and dreadful deed, which, though probably not of his contriving, embittered the latter life of the second henry, was planned and determined by the murderers of thomas à becket. with such deeds, however, and those ancient times, we have nothing here to do; and at the period to which this tale refers, the castle, though in a much more perfect state than at present, was already in ruins. the park, which formerly surrounded it, had been long thrown open and divided into fields; but still the character which its formation had given to the neighbouring scenery had not passed away; and the rich extent of old pasture, the scattered woods and clumps of trees, the brawling brook, here and there diverted from its natural course for ornament or convenience,--all bespoke the former destination of the ground, for near a mile around on every side, when magnificent archbishop courtenay held the castle of saltwood as his favourite place of residence. though, as i have said, grey ruin had possession of the building, yet the strength of its construction had enabled it in many parts to resist the attacks of time; and the great keep, with its two lofty gate towers and wide-spreading hall, was then but very little decayed. nevertheless, at that period no one tenanted the castle of saltwood but an old man and his son, who cultivated a small portion of ground in the neighbourhood; and their dwelling was confined to three rooms in the keep, though they occupied several others by their implements of husbandry, occasionally diversified with sacks of grain, stores of carrots and turnips, and other articles of agricultural produce. thus, every night, for a short time, lights were to be seen in saltwood castle, but all the buildings except the keep, were utterly neglected, and falling rapidly into a state of complete dilapidation. it was towards this building, on the night i speak of, that the smuggler took his way, about a quarter of an hour after having suddenly broken off his conversation with mr. warde and the young officer. he walked on with a quick, bold, careless step, apparently without much thought or consideration of the interview to which he was summoned. he paused, indeed, more than once, and looked around him; but it was merely to gaze at the beauty of the scenery, for which he had a great natural taste. it is no slight mistake to suppose that the constant intercourse with, and opportunity of enjoying the beauties of nature, diminish in any degree the pleasures that we thence derive. the direct contrary is the case. every other delight, everything that man has contrived or found for himself, palls upon the taste by frequent fruition; but not so with those sources of pleasure which are given us by god himself; and the purer and freer they are from man's invention, the more permanent are they in their capability of bestowing happiness, the more extensive seems their quality of satisfying the ever-increasing desires of the spirit within us. were it not so, the ardent attachment which is felt by those who have been born and brought up in the midst of fine and magnificent scenery to the place of their nativity, could not exist; and it will always be found that, other things being equal, those who live most amongst the beauties of nature, are those who most appreciate them. many a beautiful prospect presented itself to the smuggler, as he walked on by the light of the moon. at one place, the woods swept round him and concealed the rest of the country from his eyes; but then the moonbeams poured through the branches, or streamed along the path, and every now and then, between the old trunks and gnarled roots, he caught a sight of the deeper parts of the woodland, sleeping in the pale rays. at another, issuing forth upon the side of the hill, the leafy wilderness lay beneath his feet with the broad round summit of some piece of high ground, rising dark and flat above; and at some distance further, he suddenly turned the angle of the valley, and had the tall grey ruin of saltwood full before him, with the lines of the trees and meadows sweeping down into the dell, and the bright sky, lustrous with the moonlight, extended broad and unclouded behind. shortly after, he came to the little stream, rushing in miniature cascades between its hollow banks, and murmuring with a soft and musical voice amongst the roots of the shrubs, which here and there hid it from the beams. he paused but a moment or two, however, at any of these things, and then walked on again, till at length he climbed the road leading up to the castle, and passed through the arch-way of the gate. of the history of the place he knew nothing, but from vague traditions heard in his boyhood; and yet, when he stood amongst those old grey walls, with the high towers rising before him, and the greensward, covering the decay of centuries, beneath his feet, he could not help feeling a vague impression of melancholy, not unmingled with awe, fall upon him. in the presence of ancient things, the link between all mortality seems most strongly felt. we perceive our association with the dead more strongly. the character and habits of thought of the person, of course, render it a more distinct or obscure perception; but still we all have it. with some, it is as i have before called it, an impression that we must share the same decay, meet the same fate, fall into the same tomb as those who have raised or produced the things that we behold; for every work of man is but a tombstone, if it be read aright. but with others, an audible voice speaks from the grey ruin and the ancient church, from the dilapidated houses where our fathers dwelt or worshipped, and says to every one amongst the living, "as they were, who built us, so must you be. they enjoyed, and hoped, and feared, and suffered. so do you. where are they gone, with all their thoughts? where will you go, think you never so highly? all down, down, to the same dust, whither we too are tending. we have seen these things, for ages past, and we shall see more." i mean not to say that such was exactly the aspect under which those ruins presented themselves to the eye of the man who now visited them. the voice that spoke was not so clear; but yet it was clear enough to make him feel thoughtful if not sad; and he paused to gaze up at the high keep, as the moon shone out upon the old stone-work, showing every loophole and casement. he was not without imagination in a homely way, and, following the train of thought which the sight of the castle at that hour suggested, he said to himself, "i dare say many a pretty girl has looked out of that window to talk to her lover by the moonlight; and they have grown old, and died like other folks." how long he would have gone on in this musing mood i cannot tell, but just at that moment the boy who had come down to the beach to call him, appeared from the old doorway of the chapel, and pointing to one of the towers in the wall, whispered--"he's up there, waiting for you." "well, then, you run home, young starlight," replied the smuggler. "i'll be after you in a minute, for he can't have much to say, i should think. off with you! and no listening, or i'll break your head, youngster." the boy laughed, and ran away through the gate; and his companion turned towards the angle which he had pointed out. approaching the wall, he entered what might have been a door, or perhaps a window looking in upon the court, and communicating with one of those passages which led from tower to tower, with stairs every here and there leading to the battlements. he was obliged to bow his head as he passed; but after climbing a somewhat steep ascent, where the broken steps were half covered with rubbish, he emerged upon the top of the wall, where many a sentinel had kept his weary watch in times long past. at a little distance in advance, standing in the pale moonlight, was a tall, gaunt figure, leaning against a fragment of one of the neighbouring towers; and harding did not pause to look at the splendour of the view below, though it might well, with its world of wood and meadow, bounded by the glistening sea, have attracted eyes less fond of such scenes than his; but on he walked, straight towards the person before him, who, on his part, hurried forward to meet him, whenever the sound of his step broke upon the ear. "good night, harding," said mr. radford, in a low but still harsh tone; "what a time you have been. it will be one o'clock or more before i get back." "past two," answered the smuggler, bluntly; "but i came as soon as i could. it is not much more than half an hour since i got your message." "that stupid boy has been playing the fool, then," replied the other; "i sent him----" "oh, he's not stupid," interrupted the smuggler; "and he's not given to play the fool either. more like to play the rogue. but what's the business now, sir? there's no doing anything on such nights as these." "i know that--i know that," rejoined radford. "but this will soon change. the moon will be dwindled down to cheese-paring before many days are over, and the barometer is falling. it is necessary that we should make all our arrangements beforehand, harding, and have everything ready. we must have no more such jobs as the last two." "i had nothing to do with them," rejoined the smuggler. "you chose your own people, and they failed. i do not mean to say it was their fault, for i don't think it was. they lost as much, for them, as you did; and they did their best, i dare say; but still that is nothing to me. i've undertaken to land the cargo, and i will do it, if i live. if i die, there's nothing to be said, you know; but i don't say i'll ever undertake another of the sort. it does not answer, mr. radford. it makes a man think too much, to know that other people have got so much money staked on such a venture." "ay, but that is the very cause why every one should exert himself," answered his companion. "i lost fifty thousand pounds by the last affair, twenty by the other; but i tell you, harding, i have more than both upon this, and if this fail----" he paused, and did not finish the sentence; but he set his teeth hard, and seemed to draw his breath with difficulty. "that's a bad plan," said the smuggler--"a bad plan, in all ways. you wish to make up all at one run: and so you double the venture: but you should know by this time, that one out of four pays very well, and we have seldom failed to do one out of two or three; but the more money people get the more greedy they are of it; so that because you put three times as much as enough on one freight, you must needs put five times on the other, and ten times on the third, risking a greater loss every time for a greater gain. i'll have to do with no more of these things. i'm contented with little, and don't like such great speculations." "oh, if you are afraid," cried mr. radford, "you can give it up! i dare say we can find some one else to land the goods." "as to being afraid, that i am not," answered harding; "and having undertaken the run, i'll do it. i'm not half so much afraid as you are: for i've not near so much to lose--only my life or liberty and three hundred pounds. but still, mr. radford, i do not like to think that if anything goes wrong you'll be so much hurt; and it makes a man feel queer. if i have a few hundreds in a boat, and nothing to lose but myself and a dozen of tubs, i go about it as gay as a lark and as cool and quiet as a dogfish; but if anything were to go wrong now, why it would be----" "ruin--utter ruin!" said mr. radford. "i dare say it would," rejoined the smuggler; "but, nevertheless, your coming down here every other day, and sending for me, does no good, and a great deal of harm. it only teazes me, and sets me always thinking about it, when the best way is not to think at all, but just to do the thing and get it over. besides, you'll have people noticing your being so often down here, and you'll make them suspect something is going on." "but it is necessary, my good fellow," answered the other, "that we should settle all our plans. i must have people ready, and horses and help, in case of need." "ay, that you must," replied the smuggler, thoughtfully. "i think you said the cargo was light goods." "almost all india," said radford, in return. "shawls and painted silks, and other things of great value but small bulk. there are a few bales of lace, too; but the whole will require well nigh a hundred horses to carry it, so that we must have a strong muster." "ay, and men who fight, too," rejoined harding. "you know there are dragoons down at folkestone?" "no!--when did they come?" exclaimed hadford, eagerly. "that's a bad job--that's a bad job! perhaps they suspect already. perhaps some of those fellows from the other side have given information, and these soldiers are sent down in consequence--i shouldn't wonder, i shouldn't wonder." "pooh--nonsense, mr. radford!" replied harding; "you are always so suspicious. some day or another you'll suspect me." "i suspect everybody," cried radford, vehemently, "and i have good cause. i have known men do such things, for a pitiful gain, as would hang them, if there were any just punishment for treachery." harding laughed, but he did not explain the cause of his merriment, though probably he thought that mr. radford himself would do many a thing for a small gain, which would not lightly touch his soul's salvation. he soon proceeded, however, to reply, in a grave tone--"that's a bad plan, mr. radford. no man is ever well served by those whom he suspects. he had better never have anything to do with a person he doubts; so, if you doubt me, i'm quite willing to give the business up, for i don't half like it." "oh, no!" said radford, in a smooth and coaxing tone, "i did not mean you, harding; i know you too well for as honest a fellow as ever lived; but i do doubt those fellows on the other side, and i strongly suspect they peached about the other two affairs. besides, you said something about dragoons, and we have not had any of that sort of vermin here for a year or more." "you frighten yourself about nothing," answered harding. "there is but a troop of them yet, though they say more are expected. but what good are dragoons? i have run many a cargo under their very noses, and hope i shall live to run many another. as to stopping this traffic, they are no more good than so many old women!" "but you must get it all over before the rest come," replied mr. radford, in an argumentative manner, taking hold of the lappel of his companion's jacket; "there's no use of running more risk than needful. and you must remember that we have a long way to carry the goods after they are landed. then is the most dangerous time." "i don't know that," said harding; "but, however, you must provide for that, and must also look out for _hides_[ ] for the things. i wont have any of them down with me; and when i have landed them safely, though i don't mind giving a help to bring them a little way inland, i wont be answerable for anything more." --------------------- [footnote : it may be as well to explain to the uninitiated reader, that the secret places where smugglers conceal their goods after landing, are known by the name of "hides."] --------------------- "no, no; that's all settled," answered his companion; "and the hides are all ready, too. some can come into my stable, others can be carried up to the willow cave. then there's sir robert's great barn." "will sir robert consent?" asked harding, in a doubtful tone. "he would never have anything to do with these matters himself, and was always devilish hard upon us. i remember he sent my father to gaol ten years ago, when i was a youngster." "he must consent," replied radford, sternly. "he dare as soon refuse me as cut off his right hand. i tell you, harding, i have got him in a vice; and one turn of the lever will make him cry for mercy when i like. but no more of him. i shall use his barn as if it were my own; and it is in the middle of the wood, you know, so that it's out of sight. but even if it were not for that, we've got many another place. thank heaven, there are no want of hides in this county!" "ay, but the worst of dry goods, and things of that kind," rejoined the smuggler, "is that they spoil with a little wet, so that one can't sink them in a cut or canal till they are wanted, as one can do with tubs. who do you intend to send down for them? that's one thing i must know." "oh, whoever comes, my son will be with them," answered mr. radford. "as to who the others will be, i cannot tell yet. the ramleys, certainly, amongst the rest. they are always ready, and will either fight or run, as it may be needed." "i don't much like them," replied harding; "they are a bad set. i wish they were hanged, or out of the country; for, as you say, they will either fight, or run, or peach, or anything else that suits them: one just as soon as another." "oh, no fear of that--no fear of that!" exclaimed mr. radford, in a confident tone, which seemed somewhat strange to the ears of his companion, after the suspicions he had heard him so lately express; but the other instantly added, in explanation, "i shall take care that they have no means of peaching, for i will tell them nothing about it, till they are setting off with fifty or sixty others." "that's the best way, and the only way with such fellows as that," answered harding; "but if you tell nobody, you'll find it a hard job to get them all together." "only let the day be fixed," said mr. radford; "and i'll have all ready--never fear." "that must be your affair," replied harding; "i'm ready whenever you like. give me a dark night and a fair wind, and my part of the job is soon done." "about this day week, i should think," said mr. radford. "the moon will be nearly out by that time." "not much more than half," replied the smuggler; "and as we have got to go far,--for the ship, you say, will not stand in,--we had better have the whole night to ourselves. even a bit of a moon is a bad companion on such a trip; especially when there is so much money risked. no, i think you had better give me three days more: then there will be wellnigh nothing left of her, and she wont rise till three or four. we can see what the weather's like, too, about that time; and i can come up, and let you know. but if you'll take my advice, mr. radford, you'll not be coming down here any more, till it's all over at least. there's no good of it, and it may do mischief." "well, now it's all settled, i shall not need to do so," rejoined the other; "but i really don't see, harding, why you should so much wish me to stay away." "i'll tell you why, mr. radford," said harding, putting his hands into the pockets of his jacket, "and that very easily. although you have become a great gentleman, and live at a fine place inland, people haven't forgot when you kept a house and a counting-house too, in hythe, and all that used to go on in those days; and though you are a magistrate, and go out hunting and shooting, and all that, the good folks about have little doubt that you have a hankering after the old trade yet, only that you do your business on a larger scale than you did then. it's but the other day, when i was in at south's, the grocer's, to talk to him about some stuff he wanted, i heard two men say one to the other, as they saw you pass, 'ay, there goes old radford. i wonder what he's down here for!' 'as great an old smuggler as ever lived,' said the other; 'and a pretty penny he's made of it. he's still at it, they say; and i dare say he's down here now upon some such concern.' so you see, sir, people talk about it, and that's the reason why i say that the less you are here the better." "perhaps it is--perhaps it is," answered mr. radford, quickly; "and as we've now settled all we can settle, till you come up, i'll take myself home. good night, harding--good night!" "good night, sir," answered harding, with something like a smile upon his lip; and finding their way down again to the court below, they parted. "i don't like that fellow at all," said mr. radford to himself, as he walked away upon the road to hythe, where he had left his horse; "he's more than half inclined to be uncivil. i'll have nothing more to do with him after this is over." harding took his way across the fields towards sandgate, and perhaps his thoughts were not much more complimentary to his companion than mr. radford's had been to him; but in the meantime, while each followed his separate course homeward, we must remain for a short space in the green, moonlight court of saltwood castle. all remained still and silent for about three minutes; but then the ivy, which at that time had gathered thickly round the old walls, might be seen to move in the neighbourhood of a small aperture in one of the ruined flanking towers of the outer wall, to which it had at one time probably served as a window, though all traces of its original form were now lost. the tower was close to the spot where mr. radford and his companion had been standing; and although the aperture we have mentioned looked towards the court, joining on to a projecting wall in great part overthrown, there was a loop-hole on the other side, flanking the very parapet on which they had carried on their conversation. after the ivy had moved for a moment, as i have said, something like a human head was thrust out, looking cautiously round the court. the next minute a broad pair of shoulders appeared, and then the whole form of a tall and powerful man, who, after pausing for an instant on the top of the broken wall, used its fragments as a means of descent to the ground below. just as he reached the level of the court, one of the loose stones which he had displaced as he came down, rolled after him and fell at his side; and, with a sudden start at the first sound, he laid his hand on the butt of a large horse-pistol stuck in a belt round his waist. as soon as he perceived what it was that had alarmed him, he took his hand from the weapon again, and walked out into the moonlight; and thence, after pacing quietly up and down for two or three minutes, to give time for the two other visitors of the castle to get to a distance, he sauntered slowly out through the gate. he then turned under the walls towards the little wood which at that time occupied a part of the valley; opposite to which he stood gazing for about five minutes. when he judged all safe, he gave a whistle, upon which the form of a boy instantly started out from the trees, and came running across the meadow towards him. "have you heard all, mr. mowle?" asked the boy in a whisper, as soon as he was near. "all that they said, little starlight," replied the other. "they didn't say enough; but yet it will do; and you are a clever little fellow. but come along," he added, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder, "you shall have what i promised you, and half-a-crown more; and if you go on, and tell me all you find out, you shall be well paid." thus saying, he walked on with the boy towards hythe, and the scenery round saltwood resumed its silent solitude again. chapter vii. to a very hungry man, it matters not much what is put upon the table, so that it be eatable; but with the intellectual appetite the case is different, and every one is anxious to know who is to be his companion, or what is to be in his book. now, sir edward digby was somewhat of an epicure in human character; and he always felt as great a curiosity to enjoy any new personage brought before him, as the more ordinary epicure desires to taste a new dish. he was equally refined, too, in regard to the taste of his intellectual food. he liked a good deal of flavour, but not too much: a soupçon of something, he did not well know what, in a man's demeanour gave it great zest, as a soupçon of two or three condiments so blended in a salmi as to defy analysis must have charmed vatel; and, to say the truth, the little he had seen or heard of the house in which he now was, together with his knowledge of some of its antecedents, had awakened a great desire for a farther taste of its quality. when he went down stairs, then, and opened the dining-room door, his eye naturally ran round in search of the new guests. only two, however, had arrived, in the first of whom he recognised mr. zachary croyland. the other was a venerable looking old man, in black, whom he could not conceive to be mr. radford, from the previous account which he had heard of that respectable gentleman's character. it turned out, however, that the person before him--who had been omitted by sir robert croyland in the enumeration of his expected visitors--was the clergyman of the neighbouring village; and being merely a plain, good man, of very excellent sense, but neither, rich noble, nor thrifty, was nobody in the opinion of the baronet. as soon as sir edward digby appeared, mr. zachary croyland, with his back tall, straight, and stiff as a poker, advanced towards him, and shook him cordially by the hand. "welcome, welcome, my young friend," he said; "you've kept your word, i see; and that's a good sign of any man, especially when he knows that there's neither pleasure, profit, nor popularity to be gained by so doing; and i'm sure there's none of either to be had in this remote corner of the world. you have some object, of course, in coming among us; for every man has an object; but what it is i can't divine." "a very great object indeed, my dear sir," replied the young officer, with a smile; "i wish to cultivate the acquaintance of an old friend of my father's--your brother here, who was kind enough to invite me." "a very unprofitable sort of plant to cultivate," answered mr. croyland, in a voice quite loud enough to be heard by the whole room. "it wont pay tillage, i should think; but you know your own affairs best. here, edith, my love, i must make you better acquainted with my young fellow-traveller. doubtless, he is perfectly competent to talk as much nonsense to you as any other young man about town, and has imported, for the express benefit of the young ladies in the country, all the sweet things and pretty speeches last in vogue. but he can, in his saner moments, and if you just let him know that you are not quite a fool, bestow upon you some small portion of common sense, which he has picked up, heaven knows how!--he couldn't have it by descent; for he is an eldest son, and that portion of the family property is always reserved for the younger children." mrs. barbara croyland, who found that her brother zachary was riding his horse somewhat hard, moved across the room--with the superfluity of whalebone which she had in her stays crackling at every step, as if expressly to attract attention--and, laying her hand on mr. croyland's arm, she whispered--"now do, brother, be a little civil and kind. there's no use of hurting people's feelings; and, if robert hasn't as much sense as you, there's no use you should always be telling him so." "pish! nonsense! "cried mr. croyland, "hold your tongue, bab. you're a good soul as ever lived, but a great fool into the bargain. so don't meddle. i should think you had burnt your fingers enough with it by this time." "and i'm sure you're a good soul, too, if you would but let people know it," replied mrs. barbara, anxious to soften and keep down all the little oddities and asperities of her family circle in the eyes of sir edward digby. but she only showed them the more by so doing; for mr. croyland was not to be caught by honey; and, besides, the character which she, in her simplicity, thought fit to attribute to him, was the very last upon the face of the earth which he coveted. every man has his vanity; and it is an imp that takes an infinite variety of different forms, frequently the most hideous or the most absurd. now mr. croyland's vanity lay in his oddity and acerbity. there was nothing on earth which he considered so foolish as good-nature; and he was heartily ashamed of the large portion with which heaven had endowed him. "i a good soul!" he exclaimed. "let me tell you, bab, you are very much mistaken in that, as in every other thing you say or do. i am nothing more nor less than a very cross, ill-tempered old man; and you know it quite well, if you wouldn't be a hypocrite." "well, i do believe you are," said the lady, with her own particular vanity mortified into a state of irritation, "and the only way is to let you alone." while this conversation had been passing between brother and sister, sir edward digby, taking advantage of the position in which they stood, and which masked his own operations from the rest of the party, bent down to speak a few words to edith, who, whatever they were, looked up with a smile, faint and thoughtful indeed, but still expressing as much cheerfulness as her countenance ever showed. the topic which he spoke upon might be commonplace, but what he said was said with grace, and had a degree of originality in it, mingled with courtliness and propriety of expression, which at once awakened attention and repaid it. it was not strong beer--it was not strong spirit--but it was like some delicate kind of wine, which has more power than the fineness of the flavour suffers to be apparent at the first taste. their conversation was not long, however; for by the time that the young gentleman and lady had exchanged a few sentences, and mr. croyland had finished his discussion with his sister, the name of mr. radford was announced; and sir edward digby turned quickly round to examine the appearance of the new comer. as he did so, however, his eye fell for a moment upon the countenance of edith croyland, and he thought he remarked an expression of anxiety not unmingled with pain, till the door closed after admitting a single figure, when a look of relief brightened her face, and she gave a glance across the room to her sister. the younger girl instantly rose; and while her father was busy receiving mr. radford with somewhat profuse attention, she gracefully crossed the room, and seating herself by edith, laid her hand upon her sister's, whispering something to her with a kindly look. sir edward digby marked it all, and liked it; for there is something in the bottom of man's heart which has always a sympathy with affection; but he, nevertheless, did not fail to take a complete survey of the personage who entered, and whom i must now present to the reader, somewhat more distinctly than i could do by the moonlight. mr. richard radford was a tall, thin, but large-boned man, with dark eyes and overhanging shaggy brows, a hook nose, considerably depressed towards the point, a mouth somewhat wide, and teeth very fine for his age, though somewhat straggling and sharklike. his hair was very thick, and apparently coarse; his arms long and powerful; and his legs, notwithstanding the meagreness of his body, furnished with very respectable calves. on the whole, he was a striking but not a prepossessing person; and there was a look of keenness and cupidity, we might almost say voracity, in his eye, with a bend in the brow, which would have given the observer an idea of great quickness of intellect and decision of character, if it had not been for a certain degree of weakness about the partly opened mouth, which seemed to be in opposition to the latter characteristic. he was dressed in the height of the mode, with large buckles in his shoes and smaller ones at his knees, a light dress-sword hanging not ungracefully by his side, and a profusion of lace and embroidery about his apparel. mr. radford replied to the courtesies of sir robert croyland with perfect self-possession--one might almost call it self-sufficiency--but with no grace and some stiffness. he was then introduced, in form, to sir edward digby, bowing low, if that could be called a bow, which was merely an inclination of the rigid spine, from a perpendicular position to an angle of forty-five with the horizon. the young officer's demeanour formed a very striking contrast with that of his new acquaintance, not much in favour of the latter; but he showed that, as mr. croyland had predicated of him, he was quite prepared to say a great many courteous nothings in a very civil and obliging tone. mr. radford declared himself delighted at the honour of making his acquaintance, and sir edward pronounced himself charmed at the opportunity of meeting him. mr. radford hoped that he was going to honour their poor place for a considerable length of time, and sir edward felt sure that the beauty of such scenery, and the delights of such society, would be the cause of much pain to him when he was compelled to tear himself away. a low but merry laugh from behind them, caused both the gentlemen to turn their heads; and they found the sparkling eyes of zara croyland fixed upon them. she instantly dropped her eye-lids, however, and coloured a little, at being detected. it was evident enough that she had been weighing the compliments she heard, and estimating them at their right value, which made mr. radford look somewhat angry, but elicited nothing from sir edward digby but a gay glance at the beautiful little culprit, which she caught, even through the thick lashes of her downcast eyes, and which served to reassure her. sir robert croyland himself was displeased; but zara was in a degree a spoiled child, and had established for herself a privilege of doing what she liked, unscolded. to turn the conversation, therefore, sir robert, in a tone of great regard, inquired particularly after his young friend, richard, and said, he hoped that they were to have the pleasure of seeing him. "i trust so--i trust so, sir robert," replied mr. radford; "but you know i am totally unacquainted with his movements. he had gone away upon some business, the servants told me; and i waited as long as i could for him; but i did not choose to keep your dinner, sir robert; and if he does not choose to come in time, the young dog must go without.--pray do not stop a moment for him." "business!" muttered mr. croyland--"either cheating the king's revenue, or making love to a milkmaid, i'll answer for him;" but the remark passed unnoticed, for sir robert croyland, who was always anxious to drown his brother's somewhat too pertinent observations, without giving the nabob any offence, was loudly pressing mr. radford to let them wait for half an hour, in order to give time for the young gentleman's arrival. his father, however, would not hear of such a proceeding; and the bell was rung, and dinner ordered. it was placed upon the table with great expedition; and the party moved towards the dining-room. mr. radford handed in the baronet's sister, who was, to say the truth, an enigma to him; for he himself could form no conception of her good-nature, simplicity, and kindness, and consequently thought that all the mischief she occasionally caused, must originate in well-concealed spite, which gave him a great reverence for her character. sir edward digby, notwithstanding a hint from sir robert to take in his youngest daughter, advanced to miss croyland, and secured her, as he thought, for himself; while the brother of the master of the house followed with the fair zara, leaving the clergyman and sir robert to come together. by a man[oe]uvre on the part of edith, however, favoured by her father, but nearly frustrated by the busy spirit of her aunt, miss croyland got placed between sir robert and the clergyman, while the youngest daughter of the house was seated by sir edward digby, leaving a chair vacant between herself and her worthy parent for young radford, when he should arrive. all this being arranged, to the satisfaction of everybody but sir edward digby, grace was said, after a not very decent hint from sir robert croyland, that it ought not to be too long; and the dinner commenced with the usual attack upon soup and fish. it must not be supposed, however, because we have ventured to say that the arrangement was not to the satisfaction of sir edward digby, that the young baronet was at all disinclined to enjoy his pretty little friend's society nearer than the opposite side of the table. nor must it be imagined that his sage reflections, in regard to keeping himself out of danger, had at all made a coward of the gallant soldier. the truth is, he had a strong desire to study edith croyland: not on account of any benefit which that study could be of to himself, but with other motives and views, which, upon the whole, were very laudable. he wished to see into her mind, and, by those slight indications which were all he could expect her to display--but which, nevertheless, to a keen observer, often tell a history better than a whole volume of details--to ascertain some facts, in regard to which he took a considerable interest. being somewhat eager in his way, and not knowing how long he might find it either convenient or safe to remain in his present quarters, he had determined to commence the campaign as soon as possible; but, frustrated in his first attack, he determined to change his plan of operations, and besiege the fair zara as one of the enemy's outworks. he accordingly laughed and talked with her upon almost every subject in the world during the first part of dinner, skilfully leading her up to the pursuits of her sister and herself in the country, in order to obtain a clear knowledge of their habits and course of proceeding, that he might take advantage of it at an after-period, for purposes of his own. the art of conversation, when properly regarded, forms a regular system of tactics, in which, notwithstanding the various man[oe]uvres of your adversary, and the desultory fire kept up by indifferent persons around, you still endeavour to carry the line of advance in the direction that you wish, and to frustrate every effort to turn it towards any point that may not be agreeable to you, rallying it here, giving it a bend there; presenting a sharp angle at one place, an obtuse one at another; and raising from time to time a barrier or a breastwork for the purpose of preventing the adverse force from turning your flank, and getting into your rear. but the mischief was, in the present instance, that sir edward digby's breastworks were too low for such an active opponent as zara croyland. they might have appeared a formidable obstacle in the way of a scientific opponent; but with all the rash valour of youth, which is so frequently successful where practice and experience fail, she walked straight up, and jumped over them, taking one line after another, till sir edward digby found that she had nearly got into the heart of his camp. it was all so easy and natural, however, so gay and cheerful, that he could not feel mortified, even at his own want of success; and though five times she darted away from the subject, and began to talk of other things, he still renewed it, expatiating upon the pleasures of a country life, and upon how much more rational, as well as agreeable it was, when compared to the amusements and whirl of the town. mr. zachary croyland, indeed, cut across them often, listening to what they said and sometimes smiling significantly at sir edward digby, or at other times replying himself to what either of the two thought fit to discourse upon. thus, then, when the young baronet was descanting sagely of the pleasures of the country, as compared with those of the town, good mr. croyland laughed merrily, saying, "you will soon have enough of it, sir edward; or else you are only deceiving that poor foolish girl; for what have you to do with the country?--you, who have lived the best part of your life in cities, and amongst their denizens. i dare say, if the truth were told now, you would give a guinea to be walking up the mall, instead of sitting down here, in this old, crumbling, crazy house, speaking courteous nonsense to a pretty little milkmaid." "indeed, my dear sir, you are very much mistaken," replied sir edward, gravely. "you judge all men by yourself; and because you are fond of cities, and the busy haunts of men, you think i must be so too." "i fond of cities and the busy haunts of men!" cried mr. croyland, in a tone of high indignation; but a laugh that ran round the table, and in which even the worthy clergyman joined, shewed the old gentleman that he had been taken in by sir edward's quietly-spoken jest; and at the same time his brother exclaimed, still laughing, "he hit you fairly there, zachary. he has found out the full extent of your love for your fellow-creatures already." "well, i forgive him, i forgive him!" said mr. croyland, with more good humour than might have been expected. "i had forgotten that i had told him, four or five days ago, my hatred for all cities, and especially for that great mound of greedy emmets, which, unfortunately, is the capital of this country. i declare i never go into that vast den of iniquity, and mingle with the stream of wretched-looking things that call themselves human, which all its doors are hourly vomiting forth, but they put me in mind of the white ants in india, just the same squalid-looking, active, and voracious vermin as themselves, running over everything that obstructs them, intruding themselves everywhere, destroying everything that comes in their way, and acting as an incessant torment to every one within reach. certainly, the white ants are the less venemous of the two races, and somewhat prettier to look at; but still there's a wonderful resemblance." "i don't at all approve of your calling me a milkmaid, uncle," said zara, shaking her small delicate finger at mr. croyland, across the table. "it's very wrong and ungrateful of you. see if ever i milk your cow for you again!" "then i'll milk it myself, my dear," replied mr. croyland, with a good-humoured smile at his fair niece. "you cannot, you cannot!" cried zara. "fancy, sir edward, what a picture it made when one day i went over to my uncle's, and found him with a frightful-looking black man, in a turban whom he brought over from heaven knows where, trying to milk a cow he had just bought, and neither of them able to manage it. my uncle was kneeling upon his cocked hat, amongst the long grass, looking, as he acknowledges, like a kangaroo; the cow had got one of her feet in the pail, kicking most violently; and the black man with a white turban round his head, was upon both his knees before her, beseeching her in some heathen language to be quiet. it was the finest sight i ever saw, and would have made a beautiful picture of the worship of the cow, which is, as i am told, customary in the country where both the gentlemen came from." "zara, my dear--zara!" cried mrs. barbara, who was frightened to death lest her niece should deprive herself of all share in mr. croyland's fortune. "you really should not tell such a story of your uncle." but the worthy gentleman himself was laughing till the tears ran down his cheeks. "it's quite true--it's quite true!" he exclaimed, "and she did milk the cow, though we couldn't. the ill-tempered devil was as quiet as a lamb with her, though she is so vicious with every male thing, that i have actually been obliged to have a woman in the cottage within a hundred yards of the house, for the express purpose of milking her." "that's what you should have done at first," said mr. radford, putting down the fork with which he had been diligently devouring a large plateful of fish. "instead of having nothing but men about you, you should have had none but your coachman and footman, and all the rest women." "ay, and married my cook-maid," replied mr. croyland, sarcastically. sir robert croyland looked down into his plate with a quivering lip and a heavy brow, as if he did not well know whether to laugh or be angry. the clergyman smiled, mr. radford looked furious, but said nothing, and mrs. barbara exclaimed, "oh, brother, you should not say such things! and besides, there are many cook-maids who are very nice, pretty, respectable people." "well, sister, i'll think of it," said mr. croyland, drily, but with a good deal of fun twinkling in the corners of his eyes. it was too much for the light heart of zara croyland; and holding down her head, she laughed outright, although she knew that mr. radford had placed himself in the predicament of which her uncle spoke, though he had been relieved of the immediate consequence for some years. what would have been the result is difficult to say; for mr. radford was waxing wroth; but at that moment the door was flung hastily open, and a young gentleman entered, of some three or four-and-twenty years of age, bearing a strong resemblance to mr. radford, though undoubtedly of a much more pleasant and graceful appearance. he was well dressed, and his coat, lined with white silk of the finest texture, was cast negligently back from his chest, with an air of carelessness which was to be traced in all the rest of his apparel. everything he wore was as good as it could be, and everything became him; for he was well formed, and his movements were free and even graceful; but everything seemed to have been thrown on in a hurry, and his hair floated wild and straggling round his brow, as if neither comb nor brush had touched it for many hours. it might have been supposed that this sort of disarray proceeded from haste when he found himself too late and his father gone; but there was an expression of reckless indifference about his face which led sir edward digby to imagine that this apparent negligence was the habitual characteristic of his mind, rather than the effect of any accidental circumstance. his air was quite self-possessed, though hurried; and a flashing glance of his eye round the table, resting for a moment longer on sir edward digby than on any one else, seemed directed to ascertain whether the party assembled was one that pleased him, before he chose to sit down to the board with them. he made no apology to sir robert croyland for being too late, but shook hands with him in return for the very cordial welcome he met with, and then seated himself in the vacant chair, nodding to miss croyland familiarly, and receiving a cold inclination of the head in return. one of the servants inquired if he would take soup and fish; but he replied, abruptly, "no; bring me fish. no soup--i hate such messes." in the meantime, by one of those odd turns which sometimes take place in conversation, mr. croyland, the clergyman, and mr. radford himself were once more talking together: the latter having apparently overcome his indignation at the nabob's tart rejoinder, in the hope and expectation of saying something still more biting to him in return. like many a great general, however, he had not justly appreciated the power of his adversary as compared with his own strength. mr. croyland, soured at an early period of life, had acquired by long practice and experience a habit of repartee when his prejudices or his opinions (and they are very different things) were assailed, which was overpowering. a large fund of natural kindness and good humour formed a curious substratum for the acerbity which had accumulated above it, and his love of a joke would often shew itself in a hearty peal of laughter, even at his own expense, when the attack upon him was made in a good spirit, by one for whom he had any affection or esteem. but if he despised or disliked his assailant, as was the case with mr. radford, the bitterest possible retort was sure to be given in the fewest possible words. in order to lead away from the obnoxious subject, the clergyman returned to mr. croyland's hatred of london, saying, not very advisedly perhaps, just as young mr. radford entered, "i cannot imagine, my dear sir, why you have such an animosity to our magnificent capital, and to all that it contains, especially when we all know you to be as beneficent to individuals as you are severe upon the species collectively." "my dear cruden, you'll only make a mess of it," replied mr. croyland. "the reason why i do sometimes befriend a poor scoundrel whom i happen to know, is because it is less pleasant for me to see a rascal suffer than to do what's just by him. i have no will and no power to punish all the villany i see, otherwise my arm would be tired enough of flogging, in this county of kent. but i do not understand why i should be called upon to like a great agglomeration of blackguards in a city, when i can have the same diluted in the country. here we have about a hundred scoundrels to the square mile; in london we have a hundred to the square yard." "don't you think, sir, that they may be but the worse scoundrels in the country because they are fewer?" demanded mr. radford. "i am beginning to fancy so," answered mr. croyland, drily, "but i suppose in london the number makes up for the want of intensity." "well, it's a very fine city," rejoined mr. radford; "the emporium of the world, the nurse of arts and sciences, the birth-place and the theatre of all that is great and majestic in the efforts of human intellect." "and equally of all that is base and vile," answered his opponent; "it is the place to which all smuggled goods naturally tend, radford. every uncustomed spirit, every prohibited ware, physical and intellectual, there finds its mart; and the chief art that is practised is to cheat as cleverly as may be--the chief science learned, is how to defraud without being detected. we are improving in the country, daily--daily; but we have not reached the skill of london yet. men make large fortunes in the country in a few years by merely cheating the customs; but in london they make large fortunes in a few months by cheating everybody." "so they do in india," replied mr. radford, who thought he had hit the tender place. "true, true!" cried mr. croyland; "and then we go and set up for country gentlemen, and cheat still. what rogues we are, radford!--eh? i see you know the world. it is very well for me to say, i made all my money by curing men, not by robbing them. never you believe it, my good friend. it is not in human nature, is it? no, no! tell that to the marines. no man ever made a fortune but by plunder, that's a certain fact." the course of sir robert croyland's dinner-party seemed to promise very pleasantly at this juncture; but sir edward digby, though somewhat amused, was not himself fond of sharp words, and had some compassion upon the ladies at the table. he therefore stepped in; and, without seeming to have noticed that there was anything passing between mr. radford and the brother of his host, except the most delicate courtesies, he contrived, by some well-directed questions in regard to india, to give mr. croyland an inducement to deviate from the sarcastic into the expatiative; and having set him cantering upon one of his hobbies, he left him to finish his excursion, and returned to a conversation which had been going on between him and the fair zara, in somewhat of a low tone, though not so low as to show any mutual design of keeping it from the ears of those around. young radford had in the meantime been making up for the loss of time occasioned by his absence at the commencement of dinner, and he seemed undoubtedly to have a prodigious appetite. not a word had passed from father to son, or son to father; and a stranger might have supposed them in no degree related to each other. indeed, the young gentleman had hitherto spoken to nobody but the servant; and while his mouth was employed in eating, his quick, large eyes were directed to every face round the table in succession, making several more tours than the first investigating glance, which i have already mentioned, and every time stopping longer at the countenance of sir edward digby than anywhere else. he now, however, seemed inclined to take part in that officer's conversation with the youngest miss croyland, and did not appear quite pleased to find her attention so completely engrossed by a stranger. to edith he vouchsafed not a single word; but hearing the fair lady next to him reply to something which sir edward digby had said. "oh, we go out once or twice almost every day; sometimes on horseback; but more frequently to take a walk," he exclaimed, "do you, indeed, miss zara?--why, i never meet you, and i am always running about the country. how is that, i wonder?" zara smiled, and replied, with an arch look, "because fortune befriends us, i suppose, mr. radford;" but then, well knowing that he was not one likely to take a jest in good part, she added--"we don't go out to meet anybody, and therefore always take those paths where we are least likely to do so." still young radford did not seem half to like her reply; but, nevertheless, he went on in the same tone, continually interrupting her conversation with sir edward digby, and endeavouring, after a fashion not at all uncommon, to make himself agreeable by preventing people from following the course they are inclined to pursue. the young baronet rather humoured him than otherwise, for he wished to see as deeply as possible into his character. he asked him to drink wine with him; he spoke to him once or twice without being called upon to do so; and he was somewhat amused to see that the fair zara was a good deal annoyed at the encouragement he gave to her companion on the left to join in their conversation. he was soon satisfied, however, in regard to the young man's mind and character. richard radford had evidently received what is called a good education, which is, in fact, no education at all. he had been taught a great many things; he knew a good deal; but that which really and truly constitutes education was totally wanting. he had not learned how to make use of that which he had acquired, either for his own benefit or for that of society. he had been instructed, not educated, and there is the greatest possible difference between the two. he was shrewd enough, but selfish and conceited to a high degree, with a sufficient portion of pride to be offensive, with sufficient vanity to be irritable, with all the wilfulness of a spoiled child, and with that confusion of ideas in regard to plain right and wrong, which is always consequent upon the want of moral training and over-indulgence in youth. to judge from his own conversation, the whole end and aim of his life seemed to be excitement; he spoke of field sports with pleasure; but the degree of satisfaction which he derived from each, appeared to be always in proportion to the danger, the activity, and the fierceness. hunting he liked better than shooting, shooting than fishing, which latter he declared was only tolerable because there was nothing else to be done in the spring of the year. but upon the pleasures of the chase he would dilate largely, and he told several anecdotes of staking a magnificent horse here, and breaking the back of another there, till poor zara turned somewhat pale, and begged him to desist from such themes. "i cannot think how men can be so barbarous," she said. "their whole pleasure seems to consist in torturing poor animals or killing them." young radford laughed. "what were they made for?" he asked. "to be used by man, i think, not to be tortured by him," the young lady replied. "no torture at all," said her companion on the left. "the horse takes as much pleasure in running after the hounds as i do, and if he breaks his back, or i break my neck, it's our own fault. we have nobody to thank for it but ourselves. the very chance of killing oneself gives additional pleasure; and, when one pushes a horse at a leap, the best fun of the whole is the thought whether he will be able by any possibility to clear it or not. if it were not for hunting, and one or two other things of the sort, there would be nothing left for an english gentleman, but to go to italy and put himself at the head of a party of banditti. that must be glorious work!" "don't you think, mr. radford," asked sir edward digby, "that active service in the army might offer equal excitement, and a more honourable field?" "oh, dear no!" cried the young man. "a life of slavery compared with a life of freedom; to be drilled and commanded, and made a mere machine of, and sent about relieving guards and pickets, and doing everything that one is told like a school-boy! i would not go into the army for the world. i'm sure if i did i should shoot my commanding officer within a month!" "then i would advise you not," answered the young baronet, "for after the shooting there would be another step to be taken which would not be quite so pleasant." "oh, you mean the hanging," cried young radford, laughing; "but i would take care they should never hang me; for i could shoot myself as easily as i could shoot him; and i have a great dislike to strangulation. it's one of the few sorts of death that would not please me." "come, come, richard!" said sir robert croyland, in a nervous and displeased tone; "let us talk of some other subject. you will frighten the ladies from table before the cloth is off." "it is very odd," said young radford, in a low voice, to sir edward digby, without making any reply to the master of the house--"it is very odd, how frightened old men are at the very name of death, when at the best they can have but two or three years to live." the young officer did not reply, but turned the conversation to other things; and the wine having been liberally supplied, operated as it usually does, at the point where its use stops short of excess, in "making glad the heart of man;" and the conclusion of the dinner was much more cheerful and placable than the commencement. the ladies retired within a few minutes after the desert was set upon the table; and it soon became evident to sir edward digby, that the process of deep drinking, so disgracefully common in england at that time, was about to commence. he was by no means incapable of bearing as potent libations as most men; for occasionally, in those days, it was scarcely possible to escape excess without giving mortal offence to your entertainer; but it was by no means either his habit or his inclination so to indulge, and for this evening especially he was anxious to escape. he looked, therefore, across the table to mr. croyland for relief; and that gentleman, clearly understanding what he meant, gave him a slight nod, and finished his first glass of wine after dinner. the bottles passed round again, and mr. croyland took his second glass; but after that he rose without calling much attention: a proceeding which was habitual with him. when, however, sir edward digby followed his example, there was a general outcry. every one declared it was too bad, and sir robert said, in a somewhat mortified tone, that he feared his wine was not so good as that to which his guest had been accustomed. "it is only too good, my dear sir," replied the young baronet, determined to cut the matter short, at once and for ever. "so good, indeed, that i have been induced to take two more glasses than i usually indulge in, and i consequently feel somewhat heated and uncomfortable. i shall go and refresh myself by a walk through your woods." several more efforts were made to induce him to stay; but he was resolute in his course; and mr. croyland also came to his aid, exclaiming, "pooh, nonsense, robert! let every man do as he likes. have not i heard you, a thousand times, call your house liberty hall? a pretty sort of liberty, indeed, if a man must get beastly drunk because you choose to do so!" "i do not intend to do any such thing, brother," replied sir robert, somewhat sharply; and in the meanwhile, during this discussion, sir edward digby made his escape from the room. chapter viii. on entering the drawing-room, towards which sir edward digby immediately turned his steps, he found it tenanted alone by mrs. barbara croyland, who sat in the window with her back towards the door, knitting most diligently, with something pinned to her knee. as it was quite beyond the good lady's conception that any body would ever think of quitting the dining-room so early but her younger brother, no sooner did she hear a step than, jumping at conclusions as she usually did, she exclaimed aloud, "isn't he a nice young man, brother zachary? i think it will do quite well, if that----" sir edward digby would have given a great deal to hear the conclusion of the sentence; but his honour was as bright as his sword; and he never took advantage of a mistake. "it is not your brother, mrs. croyland," he said; and then mrs. barbara starting up with a face like scarlet, tearing her gown at the same time by the tug she gave to the pin which attached her work to her knee, he added, with the most benevolent intentions, "i think he might have been made a very nice young man, if he had been properly treated in his youth. but i should imagine he was very wild and headstrong now." mrs. barbara stared at him with a face full of wonder and confusion; for her own mind was so completely impressed with the subject on which she had begun to speak, that she by no means comprehended the turn that he intended to give it, but thought that he also was talking of himself, and not of young radford. how it would have ended, no mere mortal can tell; for when once mrs. barbara got into a scrape, she floundered most awfully. luckily, however, her brother was close enough behind sir edward digby to hear all that passed, and he entered the room while the consternation was still fresh upon his worthy sister's countenance. after gazing at her for a moment, with a look of sour merriment, mr. croyland exclaimed, "there! hold your tongue, bab; you can't get your fish out of the kettle without burning your fingers!--now, my young friend," he continued, taking sir edward digby by the arm, and drawing him aside, "if you choose to be a great fool, and run the risk of falling in love with a pretty girl, whom my sister barbara has determined you shall marry, whether you like it or not, and who herself, dear little soul, has no intention in the world but of playing you like a fish till you are caught, and then laughing at you, you will find the two girls walking in the wood behind the house, as they do every day. but if you don't like such amusement, you can stay here with me and bab, and be instructed by her in the art and mystery of setting everything to wrongs with the very best intentions in the world." "thank you, my dear sir," replied sir edward, smiling, "i think i should prefer the fresh air; and, as to the dangers against which you warn me, i have no fears. the game of coquetry can be played by two." "ay, but woe to him who loses!" said mr. croyland, in a more serious tone. "but go along with you--go along! you are a rash young man; and if you will court your fate, you must." the young baronet accordingly walked away, leaving mrs. barbara to recover from her confusion as she best might, and mr. croyland to scold her at his leisure, which sir edward did not in the slightest degree doubt he would do. it was a beautiful summer's afternoon in the end of august, the very last day of the month, the hour about a quarter to six, so that the sun had nearly to run a twelfth part of his course before the time of his setting. it was warm and cheerful, too, but with a freshness in the air, and a certain golden glow over the sky, which told that it was evening. not wishing exactly to pass before the dining-room windows, sir edward endeavoured to find his way out into the wood behind the house by the stable and farm yards; but he soon found himself in a labyrinth from which it was difficult to extricate himself, and in the end was obliged to have recourse to a stout country lad, who was walking up towards the mansion, with a large pail of milk tugging at his hand, and bending in the opposite direction to balance the load. right willingly, however, the youth set down the pail; and, leaving it to the tender mercies of some pigs, who were walking about in the yard and did not fail to inquire into the nature of its contents, he proceeded to show the way through the flower and kitchen gardens, by a small door in the wall, to a path which led out at once amongst the trees. now, sir edward digby had not the slightest idea of which way the two young ladies had gone; and it was by no means improbable that, if he were left without pilotage in going and returning, he might lose his way in the wood, which, as i have said, was very extensive. but all true lovers are fond of losing their way; and as he had his sword by his side, he had not the slightest objection to that characteristic of an amadis, having in reality a good deal of the knight-errant about him, and rather liking a little adventure, if it did not go too far. his adventures, indeed, were not destined that night to be very remarkable; for, following the path about a couple of hundred yards, he was led directly into a good, broad, sandy road, in which he thought it would be impossible to go astray. a few clouds that passed over the sky from time to time cast their fitful and fanciful shadows upon the way; the trees waved on either hand; and, with a small border of green turf, the yellow path pursued its course through the wood, forming a fine but pleasant contrast in colour with the verdure of all the other things around. as he went on, too, the sky overhead, and the shades amongst the trees, began to assume a rosy hue as the day declined farther and farther; and the busy little squirrels, as numerous as mice, were seen running here and there up the trees and along the branches, with their bright black eyes staring at the stranger with a saucy activity very little mingled with fear. the young baronet was fond of such scenes, and fond of the somewhat grave musing which they very naturally inspire; and he therefore went on, alternately pondering and admiring, and very well contented with his walk, whether he met with his fair friends or not. sir edward, indeed, would not allow himself to fancy that he was by any means very anxious for zara's company, or for miss croyland's either--for he was not in the slightest hurry either to fall in love or to acknowledge it to himself even if he were. with regard to edith, indeed, he felt himself in no possible danger; for had he continued to think her, as he had done at first, more beautiful than her sister--which by this time he did not--he was still guarded in her case by feelings, which, to a man of his character, were as a triple shield of brass, or anything a great deal stronger. he walked on, however, and he walked on; not, indeed, with a very slow pace, but with none of the eager hurry of youth after beauty; till at length, when he had proceeded for about half an hour, he saw cultivated fields and hedgerows at the end of the road he was pursuing, and soon after came to the open country, without meeting with the slightest trace of sir robert croyland's daughters. on the right hand, as he issued out of the wood, there was a small but very neat and picturesque cottage, with its little kitchen-garden and its flower-garden, its wild roses, and its vine. "i have certainly missed them," said sir edward digby to himself, "and i ought to make the best use of my time, for it wont do to stay here too long. perhaps they may have gone into the cottage. girls like these often seek an object in their walk, and visit this poor person or that;" and thus thinking, he advanced to the little gate, went into the garden, and knocked with his knuckles at the door of the house. a woman's voice bade him come in; and, doing so, he found a room, small in size, but corresponding in neatness and cleanliness with the outside of the place. it was tenanted by three persons--a middle-aged woman, dressed as a widow, with a fine and placid countenance, who was advancing towards the door as he entered; a very lovely girl of eighteen or nineteen, who bore a strong resemblance to the widow; and a stout, powerful, good-looking man, of about thirty, well dressed, though without any attempt at the appearance of a station above the middle class, with a clean, fine, checked shirt, having the collar cast back, and a black silk handkerchief tied lightly in what is usually termed a sailor's knot. the two latter persons were sitting very close together, and the girl was smiling gaily at something her companion had just said. "two lovers!" thought the young baronet; but, as that was no business of his, he went on to inquire of the good woman of the house, if she had seen some young ladies pass that way; and having named them, he added, to escape scandal, "i am staying at the house, and am afraid, if i do not meet with them, i shall not easily find my way back." "they were here a minute ago, sir," replied the widow, "and they went round to the east. they will take the halden road back, i suppose. if you make haste, you will catch them easily." "but which is the halden road, my good lady?" asked sir edward digby; and she, turning to the man who was sitting by her daughter, said, "i wish you would shew the gentleman, mr. harding." the man rose cheerfully enough--considering the circumstances--and led the young baronet with a rapid step, by a footpath that wound round the edge of the wood, to another broad road about three hundred yards distant from that by which the young officer had come. then, pointing with his hand, he said, "there they are, going as slow as a dutch butter-tub. you can't miss them, or the road either: for it leads straight on." sir edward digby thanked him, and walked forward. a few rapid steps brought him close to the two ladies, who--though they looked upon every part of the wood as more or less their home, and consequently felt no fear--turned at the sound of a footfall so near; and the younger of the two smiled gaily, when she saw who it was. "what! sir edward digby!" she exclaimed. "in the name of all that is marvellous, how did you escape from the dining-room? why, you will be accused of shirking the bottle, cowardice, and milksopism, and crimes and misdemeanours enough to forfeit your commission." she spoke gaily; but sir edward digby thought that the gaiety was not exactly sterling; for when first she turned, her face had been nearly as grave as her sister's. he answered, however, in the same tone, "i must plead guilty to all such misdemeanours; but if they are to be rewarded by such pleasure as that of a walk with you, i fear i shall often commit them." "you must not pay us courtly compliments, sir edward," said miss croyland, "for we poor country people do not understand them. i hope, however, you left the party peaceable: for it promised to be quite the contrary at one time, and my uncle and mr. radford never agree." "oh, quite peaceable, i can assure you," replied digby. "i retreated under cover of your uncle's movements. perhaps, otherwise, i might not have got away so easily. he it was who told me where i should find you." "indeed!" exclaimed miss croyland, in a tone of surprise; and then, casting down her eyes, she fell into thought. her sister, however, carried on the conversation in her stead, saying, "well, you are the first soldier, sir edward, i ever saw, who left the table before night." "they must have been soldiers who had seen little service, i should think," replied the young officer; "for a man called upon often for active exertion, soon finds the necessity of keeping any brains he has got as clear as possible, in case they should be needed. in many countries where i have been, too, we could get no wine to drink, even if we wanted it. such was the case in canada, and in some parts of germany." "have you served in canada?" demanded miss croyland suddenly, raising her eyes to his face with a look of deep interest. "through almost the whole of the war." replied sir edward digby, quietly, without noticing, even by a glance, the change of expression which his words had produced. he then paused for a moment, as if waiting for some other question; but both miss croyland and her sister remained perfectly silent, and the former turned somewhat pale. as he saw that neither of his two fair companions were likely to carry the conversation a step further, the young officer proceeded, in a quiet and even light tone--"this part of the country," he continued, "is always connected in my mind with canada; and, indeed, i was glad to accept your father's invitation at once, when he was kind enough to ask me to his house; for, in addition to the pleasure of making his personal acquaintance, i longed to see scenes which i had often heard mentioned with all the deep affection and delight which only can be felt by a fine mind for the spot in which our brighter years are passed." the younger girl looked to her sister, but edith croyland was deadly pale, and said nothing; and zara inquired in a tone to which she too evidently laboured to give the gay character of her usual demeanour, "indeed, sir edward! may i ask who gave you such a flattering account of our poor country? he must have been a very foolish and prejudiced person--at least, so i fear you must think, now you have seen it." "no, no!--oh, no!" cried digby, earnestly, "anything but that. i had that account from a person so high-minded, so noble, so full of every generous quality of heart, and every fine quality of mind, that i was quite sure, ere i came here, i should find the people whom he mentioned, and the scenes which he described, all that he had stated; and i have not been disappointed, miss croyland." "but you have not named him, sir edward," said zara; "you are very tantalizing. perhaps we may know him, and be sure we shall love him for his patriotism." "he was an officer in the regiment to which i then belonged." answered the young baronet, "and my dearest friend. his name was leyton--a most distinguished man, who had already gained such a reputation, that, had his rank in the army admitted it, none could have been more desired to take the command of the forces when wolfe fell on the heights of abraham. he was too young, however, and had too little interest to obtain that position.--miss croyland, you seem ill. let me give you my arm." edith bowed her head quietly, and leaned upon her sister, but answered not a word; and zara gave a glance to sir edward digby which he read aright. it was a meaning, a sort of relying and imploring look, as if she would have said, "i beseech you, say no more; she cannot bear it." and the young officer abruptly turned the conversation, observing, "the day has been very hot, miss croyland. you have walked far, and over-fatigued yourself." "it is nothing--it is nothing," answered edith, with a deep-drawn breath; "it will be past in a moment, sir edward. i am frequently thus." "too frequently," murmured zara, gazing at her sister; and sir edward digby replied, "i am sure, if such be the case, you should consult some physician." zara shook her head with a melancholy smile, while her sister walked on, leaning upon her arm in silence, with her eyes bent towards the ground, as if in deep thought. "i fear that no physician would do her good," said the younger lady, in a low voice; "the evil is now confirmed." "nay," replied digby, gazing at her, "i think i know one who could cure her entirely." his look said more than his words; and zara fixed her eyes upon his face for an instant with an inquiring glance. the expression then suddenly changed to one of bright intelligence, and she answered, "i will make you give me his name to-morrow, sir edward. not now--not now! i shall forget it." sir edward digby was not slow in taking a hint; and he consequently made no attempt to bring the conversation back to the subject which had so much affected miss croyland; but lest a dead silence should too plainly mark that he saw into the cause of the faintness which had come over her, he went on talking to her sister; and zara soon resumed, at least to all appearance, her own light spirits again. but digby had seen her under a different aspect, which was known to few besides her sister; and to say the truth, though he had thought her sparkling frankness very charming, yet the deeper and tenderer feelings which she had displayed towards edith were still more to his taste. "she is not the light coquette her uncle represents her," he thought, as they walked on: "there is a true and feeling heart beneath--one whose affections, if strongly excited and then disappointed, might make her as sad and cheerless as this other poor girl." he had not much time to indulge either in such meditations or in conversation with his fair companion; for, when they were within about a mile of the house, old mr. croyland was seen advancing towards them with his usual brisk air and quick pace. "well, young people, well," he said, coming forward, "i bring the soberness of age to temper the lightness of youth." "oh, we are all very sober, uncle," replied zara. "it is only those who stay in the house drinking wine who are otherwise." "i have not been drinking wine, saucy girl," answered mr. croyland; "but come, edith, i want to speak with you; and, as the road is too narrow for four, we'll pair off, as the rascals who ruin the country in the house of commons term it. troop on, miss zara. there's a gallant cavalier who will give you his arm, doubtless, if you will ask it." "indeed i shall do no such thing," replied the fair lady, walking on; and, while edith and her uncle came slowly after, sir edward digby and the youngest miss croyland proceeded on their way, remaining silent for some minutes, though each, to say the truth, was busily thinking how the conversation which had been interrupted might best be renewed. it was zara who spoke first, however, looking suddenly up in her companion's face with one of her bright and sparkling smiles, and saying, "it is a strange house, is it not, sir edward? and we are a strange family?" "nay, i do not see that," replied the young officer. "with every new person whose acquaintance we make, we are like a traveller for the first time in a foreign country, and must learn the secrets of the land before we can find our way rightly." "oh, secrets enough here!" cried zara. "every one has his secret but myself. i have none, thank god! my good father is full of them; edith, you see, has hers; my uncle is loaded with one even now, and eager to disburden himself; but my aunt's are the most curious of all, for they are everlasting; and not only that, but though most profound, they are sure to be known in five minutes to the whole world. try to conceal them how she may, they are sure to drop out before the day is over; and, whatever good schemes she may have against any one, no defence is needed, for they are sure to frustrate themselves.--what are you laughing at, sir edward? has she begun upon you already?" "nay, not exactly upon me," answered sir edward digby. "she certainly did let drop some words which showed me, she had some scheme in her head, though whom it referred to, i am at a loss to divine." "nay, nay, now you are not frank," cried the young lady. "tell me this moment, if you would have me hold you good knight and true! was it me or edith that it was all about? nay, do not shake your head, my good friend, for i will know, depend upon it; and if you do not tell me, i will ask my aunt myself----" "nay, for heaven's sake, do not!" exclaimed sir edward. "you must not make your aunt think that i am a tell-tale." "oh, i know--i know!" exclaimed the fair girl, clapping her hands eagerly--"i can divine it all in a minute. she has been telling you what an excellent good girl zara croyland is, and what an admirable wife she would make, especially for any man moving in the highest society, and hinting, moreover, that she is fond of military men, and, in short, that sir edward digby could not do better. i know it all--i know it all, as well as if i had heard it! but now, my dear sir," she continued, in a graver tone, "put all such nonsense out of your head, if you would have us such good friends as i think we may be. leave my dear aunt's schemes to unravel and defeat themselves, or only think of them as a matter of amusement, and do not for a moment believe that zara croyland has either any share in them, or any design of captivating you or any other man whatsoever; for i tell you fairly, and at once, that i never intend--that nothing would induce me--no, not if my own dearest happiness depended upon it--to marry, and leave poor edith to endure all that she may be called upon to undergo. i will talk to you more about her another time; for i think that you already know something beyond what you have said to-day; but we are too near the house now, and i will only add, that i have spoken frankly to sir edward digby, because i believe, from all i have seen and all i have heard, that he is incapable of misunderstanding such conduct." "you do me justice, miss croyland," replied the young officer, much gratified; "but you have spoken under a wrong impression in regard to your aunt. i did not interrupt you, for what you said was too pleasing, too interesting not to induce me to let you go on; but i can assure you that what i said was perfectly true, and that though some words which your aunt dropped accidentally showed me that she had some scheme on foot, she said nothing to indicate what it was." "well, never mind it," answered the young lady. "we now understand each other, i trust; and, after this, i do not think you will easily mistake me, though, if what i suppose is true, i may have to do a great many extraordinary things with you, sir edward--seek your society when you may not be very willing to grant it, consult you, rely upon you, confide in you in a way that few women would do, except with a brother or an acknowledged lover, which i beg you to understand you are on no account to be; and i, on my part, will promise that i will not misunderstand you either, nor take anything that you may do, at my request, for one very dear to me," (and she gave a glance over her shoulder towards her sister, who was some way behind,) "as anything but a sign of your having a kind and generous heart. so now that's all settled." "there is one thing, miss croyland," replied digby, gravely, "that you will find very difficult to do, though you say you will try it, namely, to seek my society when i am unwilling to give it." "nay, nay, i will have no such speeches," cried zara croyland, "or i have done with you! i never could put any trust in a man who said civil things to me." "what, not if he sincerely thought them?" demanded her companion. "then i would rather he continued to think them without speaking them," answered the young lady. "if you did but know, sir edward, how sickened and disgusted a poor girl in the country soon gets with flattery that means nothing, from men who insult her understanding by thinking that she can be pleased with such trash, you would excuse me for being rude and uncivilized enough to wish never to hear a smooth word from any man whom i am inclined to respect." "very well," answered the young baronet, laughing, "to please you, i will be as brutal as possible, and if you like it, scold you as sharply as your uncle, if you say or do anything that i disapprove of." "do, do!" cried zara; "i love him and esteem him, though he does not understand me in the least; and i would rather a great deal have his conversation, sharp and snappish as it seems to be, than all the honey or milk and water of any of the smart young men in the neighbourhood. but here we are at the house; and only one word more as a warning, and one word as a question; first, do not let any of my good aunt's schemes embarrass you in anything you have to do or say. walk straight through them as if they did not exist. take your own course, without, in the least degree, attending to what she says for or against." "and what is the question?" demanded sir edward, as they were now mounting the steps to the terrace. "simply this," replied the fair lady,--"are you not acquainted with more of edith's history than the people here are aware of?" "i am," answered digby; "and to see more of her, to speak with her for a few minutes in private, if possible, was the great object of my coming hither." "thanks, thanks!" said zara, giving him a bright and grateful smile. "be guided by me, and you shall have the opportunity. but i must speak with you first myself, that you may know all. i suppose you are an early riser?" "oh, yes!" replied sir edward; but he added no more; for at that moment they were overtaken by edith and mr. croyland; and the whole party entered the house together. chapter ix. there is a strange similarity--i had nearly called it an affinity--between the climate of any country and the general character of its population; and there is a still stronger and more commonly remarked resemblance between the changes of the weather and the usual course of human life. from the atmosphere around us, and from the alterations which affect it, poets and moralists both, have borrowed a large store of figures; and the words, clouds, and sunshine, light breezes, and terrible storms, are terms as often used to express the variations in man's condition as to convey the ideas to which they were originally applied. but it is the affinity between the climate and the people of which i wish to speak. the sunny lightness of the air of france, the burning heat of italy and spain, the cold dullness of the skies of holland, contrast as strongly with the climate in which we live, as the characters of the several nations amongst themselves; and the fiercer tempests of the south, the more foggy and heavy atmosphere of the north, may well be taken as some compensation for the continual mutability of the weather in our own most changeable air. the differences are not so great here as in other lands. we escape, in general, the tornado and the hurricane, we know little of the burning heat of summer, or the intense cold of winter, as they are experienced in other parts of the world; but at all events, the changes are much more frequent; and we seldom have either a long lapse of sunny days, or a long continued season of frost, without interruption. so it is, too, with the people. moveable and fluctuating as they always are, seeking novelty, disgusted even with all that is good as soon as they discover that it is old, our laws, our institutions, our very manners are continually undergoing some change, though rarely, very rarely indeed, is it brought about violently and without due preparation. sometimes it will occur, indeed, both morally and physically, that a great and sudden alteration takes place, and a rash and vehement proceeding will disturb the whole country, and seem to shake the very foundations of society. in the atmosphere, too, clouds and storms will gather in a few hours, and darken the whole heaven. the latter was the case during the first night of sir edward digby's stay at harbourne house. the evening preceding, as well as the day, had been warm and sunshiny; but about nine o'clock the wind suddenly chopped round to the southward, and when sir edward woke on the following morning, as he usually did, about six, he found a strong breeze blowing and rattling the casements of the room, and the whole atmosphere loaded with a heavy sea-mist filled with saline particles, borne over romney marsh to the higher country, in which the house was placed. "a pleasant day for partridge-shooting," he thought, as he rose from his bed; "what variations there are in this climate." but nevertheless, he opened the window and looked out, when, somewhat to his surprise, he saw fifteen or sixteen horses moving along the road, heavily laden, with a number of men on horseback following, and eight or ten on foot driving the weary beasts along. they were going leisurely enough; there was no affectation of haste or concealment; but yet all that the young officer had heard of the county and of the habits of its denizens, led him naturally to suppose that he had a gang of smugglers before him, escorting from the coast some contraband goods lately landed. he had soon a more unpleasant proof of the lawless state of that part of england; for as he continued to lean out of the window, saying to himself, "well, it is no business of mine," he saw two or three of the men pause; and a moment after, a voice shouted--"take that, old croyland, for sending me to gaol last april." the wind bore the sounds to his ear, and made the words distinct; and scarcely had they been spoken, when a flash broke through the misty air, followed by a loud report, and a ball whizzed through the window, just above his head, breaking one of the panes of glass, and lodging in the cornice at the other side of the room. "very pleasant!" said sir edward digby to himself; but he was a somewhat rash young man, and he did not move an inch, thinking--"the vagabonds shall not have to say they frightened me." they shewed no inclination to repeat the shot, however, riding on at a somewhat accelerated pace; and as soon as they were out of sight, digby withdrew from the window, and began to dress himself. he had not given his servant, the night before, any orders to call him at a particular hour; but he knew that the man would not be later than half-past six; and before he appeared, the young officer was nearly dressed. "here, somers," said his master, "put my gun together, and have everything ready if i should like to go out to shoot. after that i've a commission for you, something quite in your own way, which i know you will execute capitally." "quite ready, sir," said the man, putting up his hand to his head. "always ready to obey orders." "we want intelligence of the enemy, somers," continued his master. "get me every information you can obtain regarding young mr. radford, where he goes, what he does, and all about him." "past, present, or to come, sir?" demanded the man. "all three," answered his master. "everything you can learn about him, in short--birth, parentage, and education." "i shall soon have to add his last dying speech and confession, i think, sir," said the man; "but you shall have it all before night--from the loose gossip of the post-office down to the full, true, and particular account of his father's own butler. but bless my soul, there's a hole through the window, sir." "nothing but a musket-ball, somers," answered his master, carelessly. "you've seen such a thing before, i fancy." "yes, sir, but not often in a gentleman's bedroom," replied the man. "who could send it in here, i wonder?" "some smugglers, i suppose they were," replied sir edward, "who took me for sir robert croyland, as i was leaning out of the window, and gave me a ball as they passed. i never saw a worse shot in my life; for i was put up like a target, and it went a foot and a half above my head. give me those boots, somers;" and having drawn them on, sir edward digby descended to the drawing-room, while his servant commented upon his coolness, by saying, "well, he's a devilish fine young fellow, that master of mine, and ought to make a capital general some of these days!" in the drawing-room, sir edward digby found nobody but a pretty country girl in a mob-cap sweeping out the dust; and leaving her to perform her functions undisturbed by his presence, he sauntered through a door which he had seen open the night before, exposing part of the interior of a library. that room was quite vacant, and as the young officer concluded that between it and the drawing-room must lie the scene of his morning's operations, he entertained himself with taking down different books, looking into them for a moment or two, reading a page here and a page there, and then putting them up again. he was in no mood, to say the truth, either for serious study or light reading. gay would not have amused him; locke would have driven him mad. he knew not well why it was, but his heart beat when he heard a step in the neighbouring room. it was nothing but the housemaid, as he was soon convinced, by her letting the dustpan drop and making a terrible clatter. he asked himself what his heart could be about, to go on in such a way, simply because he was waiting, in the not very vague expectation of seeing a young lady, with whom he had to talk of some business, in which neither of them were personally concerned. "it must be the uncertainty of whether she will come or not," he thought; "or else the secrecy of the thing;" and yet he had, often before, had to wait with still more secrecy and still more uncertainty, on very dangerous and important occasions, without feeling any such agitation of his usually calm nerves. she was a very pretty girl, it was true, with all the fresh graces of youth about her, light and sunshine in her eyes, health and happiness on her cheeks and lips, and "la grace encore plus belle que la beauté" in every movement. but then, they perfectly understood each other; there was no harm, there was no risk, there was no reason why they should not meet. did they perfectly understand each other? did they perfectly understand themselves? it is a very difficult question to answer; but one thing is very certain--that, of all things upon this earth, the most gullible is the human heart; and when it thinks it understands itself best, it is almost always sure to prove a greater fool than ever. sir edward digby did not altogether like his own thoughts; and therefore, after waiting for a quarter of an hour, he walked out into one of the little passages, which we have already mentioned, running from the central corridor towards a door or window in the front, between the library and what was called the music-room. he had not been there a minute when a step--very different from that of the housemaid--was heard in the neighbouring room; and, as the officer was turning thither, he met the younger miss croyland coming out, with a bonnet--or hat, as it was then called,--hanging on her arm by the ribbons. she held out her hand, frankly, towards him, saying, in a low tone, "you must think this all very strange, sir edward, and perhaps very improper. i have been taxing myself about it all night; but yet i was resolved i would not lose the opportunity, trusting to your generosity to justify me, when you hear all." "it requires no generosity, my dear miss croyland," replied the young baronet; "i am already aware of so much, and see the kind and deep interest you take in your sister so clearly, that i fully understand and appreciate your motives." "thank you--thank you," replied zara, warmly; "that sets my mind at rest. but come out upon the terrace. there, seen by all the world, i shall not feel as if i were plotting;" and she unlocked the glass door at the end of the passage. sir edward digby followed close upon her steps; and when once fairly on the esplanade before the house, and far enough from open doors and windows not to be overheard, they commenced their walk backwards and forwards. it was quite natural that both should be silent for a few moments; for where there is much to say, and little time to say it in, people are apt to waste the precious present--or, at least, a part--in considering how it may best be said. at length the lady raised her eyes to her companion's face, with a smile more melancholy and embarrassed than usually found place upon her sweet lips, asking, "how shall i begin, sir edward?--have you nothing to tell me?" "i have merely to ask questions," replied digby; "yet, perhaps that may be the best commencement. i am aware, my dear miss croyland, that your sister has loved, and has been as deeply beloved as woman ever was by man. i know the whole tale; but what i seek now to learn is this--does she or does she not retain the affection of her early youth? do former days and former feelings dwell in her heart as still existing things? or are they but as sad memories of a passion passed away, darkening instead of lighting the present,--or perhaps as a tie which she would fain shake off, and which keeps her from a brighter fate hereafter?" he spoke solemnly, earnestly, with his whole manner changed; and zara gazed in his face eagerly and inquiringly as he went on, her face glowing, but her look becoming less sad, till it beamed with a warm and relieved smile at the close. "i was right, and she was wrong"--she said, at length, as if speaking to herself. "but to answer your question, sir edward digby," she continued, gravely. "you little know woman's heart, or you would not put it--i mean the heart of a true and unspoiled woman, a woman worthy of the name. when she loves, she loves for ever--and it is only when death or unworthiness takes from her him she loves, that love becomes a memory. you cannot yet judge of edith, and therefore i forgive you for asking such a thing; but she is all that is noble, and good, and bright; and heaven pardon me, if i almost doubt that she was meant for happiness below--she seems so fitted for a higher state!" the tears rose in her eyes as she spoke; but sir edward feared interruption, and went on, asking, somewhat abruptly perhaps, "what made you say, just now, that you were right and she was wrong?" "because she thought that he was dead, and that you came to announce it to her," zara replied. "you spoke of him in the past, you always said, 'he was;' you said not a word of the present." "because i knew not what were her present feelings," answered digby. "she has never written--she has never answered one letter. all his have been returned in cold silence to his agents, addressed in her own hand. and then her father wrote to----" "stay, stay!" cried zara, putting her hand to her head--"addressed in her own hand? it must have been a forgery! yet, no--perhaps not. she wrote to him twice; once just after he went, and once in answer to a message. the last letter i gave to the gardener myself, and bade him post it. that, too, was addressed to his agent's house. can they have stopped the letters and used the covers?" "it is probable," answered digby, thoughtfully. "did she receive none from him?" "none--none," replied zara, decidedly. "all that she has ever heard of him was conveyed in that one message; but she doubted not, sir edward. she knew him, it seems, better than he knew her." "neither did he doubt her," rejoined her companion, "till circumstance after circumstance occurred to shake his confidence. her own father wrote to him--now three years ago--to say that she was engaged, by her own consent, to this young radford, and to beg that he would trouble her peace no more by fruitless letters." "oh, heaven!" cried zara, "did my father say that?" "he did," replied sir edward. "and more: everything that poor leyton has heard since his return has confirmed the tale. he inquired, too curiously for his own peace--first, whether she was yet married; next, whether she was really engaged; and every one gave but one account." "how busy they have been!" said zara, thoughtfully. "whoever said it, it is false, sir edward; and he should not have doubted her more than she doubted him." "she, you admit, had one message," answered digby; "he had none; and yet he held a lingering hope--trust would not altogether be crushed out. can you tell me the tenour of the letters which she sent?" "nay, i did not read them," replied his fair companion; "but she told me that it was the same story still: that she could not violate her duty to her parent; but that she should ever consider herself pledged and plighted to him beyond recall, by what had passed between them." "then there is light at last," said digby, with a smile. "but what is this story of young radford? is he, or is he not, her lover? he seemed to pay her little attention,--more, indeed, to yourself." the gay girl laughed. "i will tell you all about it," she answered. "richard radford is not her lover. he cares as little about her as about the queen of england, or any body he has never seen; and, as you say, he would perhaps pay me the compliment of selecting me rather than edith, if there was not a very cogent objection: edith has forty thousand pounds settled upon herself by my mother's brother, who was her godfather; i have nothing, or next to nothing--some three or four thousand pounds, i believe; but i really don't know. however, this fortune of my poor sister's is old radford's object; and he and my father have settled it between them, that the son of the one should marry the daughter of the other. what possesses my father, i cannot divine; for he must condemn old radford, and despise the young one; but certain it is that he has pressed edith, nearly to cruelty, to give her hand to a man she scorns and hates--and presses her still. it would be worse than it is, i fear, were it not for young radford himself, who is not half so eager as his father, and does not wish to hurry matters on.--i may have some small share in the business," she continued, laughing again, but colouring at the same time; "for, to tell the truth, sir edward, having nothing else to do, and wishing to relieve poor edith as much as possible, i have perhaps foolishly, perhaps even wrongly, drawn this wretched young man away from her whenever i had an opportunity. i do not think it was coquetry, as my uncle calls it--nay, i am sure it was not; for i abhor him as much as any one; but i thought that as there was no chance of my ever being driven to marry him, i could bear the infliction of his conversation better than my poor sister." "the motive was a kind one, at all events," replied sir edward digby; "but then i may firmly believe that there is no chance whatever of miss croyland giving her hand to richard radford?" "none--none whatever," answered his fair companion. but at that point of their conversation one of the windows above was thrown up, and the voice of mrs. barbara was heard exclaiming--"zara, my love, put on your hat; you will catch cold if you walk in that way, with your hat on your arm, in such a cold, misty morning!" miss croyland looked up, nodding to her aunt; and doing as she was told, like a very good girl as she was. but the next instant she said, in a low tone, "good heaven! there is his face at the window! my unlucky aunt has roused him by calling to me; and we shall not be long without him." "who do you mean?" asked the young officer, turning his eyes towards the house, and seeing no one. "young radford," answered zara. "did you not know that they had to carry him to bed last night, unable to stand? so my maid told me; and i saw his face just now at the window, next to my aunt's. we shall have little time, sir edward, for he is as intrusive as he is disagreeable; so tell me at once what i am to think regarding poor harry leyton. does he still love edith? is he in a situation to enable him to seek her, without affording great, and what they would consider reasonable, causes of objection?" "he loves her as deeply and devotedly as ever," replied sir edward digby; "and all i have to tell him will but, if possible, increase that love. then as to his situation, he is now a superior officer in the army, highly distinguished, commanding one of our best regiments, and sharing largely in the late great distribution of prize-money. there is no position that can be filled by a military man to which he has not a right to aspire; and, moreover, he has already received, from the gratitude of his king and his country, the high honour----" but he was not allowed to finish his sentence; for mrs. barbara croyland, who was most unfortunately matutinal in her habits, now came out with a shawl for her fair niece, and was uncomfortably civil to sir edward digby, inquiring how he had slept, whether he had been warm enough, whether he liked two pillows or one, and a great many other questions, which lasted till young radford made his appearance at the door, and then, with a pale face and sullen brow, came out and joined the party on the terrace. "well," said mrs. barbara--now that she had done as much mischief as possible--"i'll just go in and make breakfast, as edith must set out early, and mr. radford wants to get home to shoot." "edith set off early?" exclaimed zara; "why, where is she going, my dear aunt?" "oh, i have just been settling it all with your papa, my love," replied mrs. barbara. "i thought she was looking ill yesterday, and so i talked to your uncle last night. he said he would be very glad to have her with him for a few days; but as he expects a captain osborn before the end of the week, she must come at once; and sir robert says she can have the carriage after breakfast, but that it must be back by one." zara cast down her eyes, and the whole party, as if by common consent, took their way back to the house. as they passed in, however, and proceeded towards the dining-room, where the table was laid for breakfast, zara found a moment to say to sir edward digby, in a low tone, "was ever anything so unfortunate! i will try to stop it if i can." "not so unfortunate as it seems," answered the young baronet, in a whisper; "let it take its course. i will explain hereafter." "whispering! whispering!" said young radford, in a rude tone, and with a sneer curling his lip. zara's cheek grew crimson; but digby turned upon him sharply, demanding, "what is that to you, sir? pray make no observations upon my conduct, for depend upon it i shall not tolerate any insolence." at that moment, however, sir robert croyland appeared; and whatever might have been richard radford's intended reply, it was suspended upon his lips. chapter x. before i proceed farther with the events of that morning, i must return for a time to the evening which preceded it. it was a dark and somewhat dreary night, when mr. radford, leaving his son stupidly drunk at sir robert croyland's, proceeded to the hall door to mount his horse; and as he pulled his large riding-boots over his shoes and stockings, and looked out, he regretted that he had not ordered his carriage. "who would have thought," he said, "that such a fine day would have ended in such a dull evening?" "it often happens, my dear radford," replied sir robert croyland, who stood beside him, "that everything looks fair and prosperous for a time; then suddenly the wind shifts, and a gloomy night succeeds." mr. radford was not well-pleased with the homily. it touched upon that which was a sore subject with him at that moment; for, to say the truth, he was labouring under no light apprehensions regarding the result of certain speculations of his. he had lately lost a large sum in one of these wild adventures--far more than was agreeable to a man of his money-getting turn of mind; and though he was sanguine enough, from long success, to embark, like a determined gambler, a still larger amount in the same course, yet the first shadow of reverse which had fallen upon him, brought home and applied to his own situation the very commonplace words of sir robert croyland; and he began to fancy that the bright day of his prosperity might be indeed over, and a dark and gloomy night about to succeed. as we have said, therefore, he did not at all like the baronet's homily; and, as very often happens with men of his disposition, he felt displeased with the person whose words alarmed him. murmuring something, therefore, about its being "a devilish ordinary circumstance indeed," he strode to the door, scarcely wishing the baronet good night, and mounted a powerful horse, which was held ready for him. he then rode forward, followed by two servants on horseback, proceeding slowly at first, but getting into a quicker pace when he came upon the parish road, and trotting on hard along the edge of harbourne wood. he had drunk as much wine as his son; but his hard and well-seasoned head was quite insensible to the effects of strong beverages, and he went on revolving all probable contingencies, somewhat sullen and out of humour with all that had passed during the afternoon, and taking a very unpromising view of everybody and everything. "i've a notion," he thought, "that old scoundrel croyland is playing fast and loose about his daughter's marriage with my son. he shall repent it if he do; and if dick does not make the girl pay for all her airs and coldness when he's got her, he's no son of mine. he seems as great a fool as she is, though, and makes love to her sister without a penny, never saying a word to a girl who has forty thousand pounds. the thing shall soon be settled one way or another, however. i'll have a conference with sir robert on friday, and bring him to book. i'll not be trifled with any longer. here we have been kept more than four years waiting till the girl chooses to make up her mind, and i'll not stop any longer. it shall be, yes or no, at once." he was still busy with such thoughts when he reached the angle of harbourne wood, and a loud voice exclaimed, "hi! mr. radford!" "who the devil are you?" exclaimed that worthy gentleman, pulling in his horse, and at the same time putting his hand upon one of the holsters, which every one at that time carried at his saddle bow. "harding, sir," answered the voice--"jack harding; and i want to speak a word with you." at the same time the man walked forward; and mr. radford immediately dismounting, gave his horse to the servants, and told them to lead him quietly on till they came to tiffenden. then pausing till the sound of the hoofs became somewhat faint, he asked, with a certain degree of alarm, "well, harding, what's the matter? what has brought you up in such a hurry to-night?" "no great hurry, sir," answered the smuggler, "i came up about four o'clock; and finding that you were dining at sir robert's, i thought i would look out for you as you went home, having something to tell you. i got an inkling last night, that, some how or another, the people down at hythe have some suspicion that you are going to try something, and i doubt that boy very much." "indeed! indeed!" exclaimed mr. radford, evidently under great apprehension. "what have they found out, harding?" "why, not much, i believe," replied the smuggler; "but merely that there's something in the wind, and that you have a hand in it." "that's bad enough--that's bad enough," repeated mr. radford. "we must put it off, harding. we must delay it, till this has blown by." "no, i think not, sir," answered the smuggler. "it seems to me, on the contrary, that we ought to hurry it; and i'll tell you why. you see, the wind changed about five, and if i'm not very much mistaken, we shall have a cloudy sky and dirty weather for the next week at least. that's one thing; but then another is this, the ramleys are going to make a run this very night. now, i know that the whole affair is blown; and though they may get the goods ashore they wont carry them far. i told them so, just to be friendly; but they wouldn't listen, and you know their rash way. bill ramley answered, they would run the goods in broad daylight, if they liked, that there was not an officer in all kent who would dare to stop them. now, i know that they will be caught to-morrow morning, somewhere up about your place. i rather think, too, your son has a hand in the venture; and if i were you, i would do nothing to make people believe that it wasn't my own affair altogether. let them think what they please; and then they are not so likely to be on the look-out." "i see--i see," cried mr. radford. "if they catch these fellows, and think that this is my venture, they will never suspect another. it's a good scheme. we had better set about it to-morrow night." "i don't know," answered harding. "that cannot well be done, i should think. first, you must get orders over to the vessel to stand out to sea; then you must get all your people together, and one half of them are busy upon this other scheme, the ramleys and young chittenden, and him they call the major, and all their parties. you must see what comes of that first; for one half of them may be locked up before to-morrow night. "that's unfortunate, indeed!" said mr. radford, thoughtfully. "one must take a little ill luck with plenty of good luck," observed harding; "and it's fortunate enough for you that these wild fellows will carry through this mad scheme, when they know they are found out before they start. besides, i'm not sure that it is not best to wait till the night after, or, may be, the night after that. then the news will have spread, that the goods have been either run and hid away, or seized by the officers. in either case, if you manage well, they will think that it is your venture; and the fellows on the coast will be off their guard--especially mowle, who's the sharpest of them all." "oh, i'll go down to-morrow and talk to mowle myself," replied mr. radford. "it will be well worth my while to give him a hundred guineas to wink a bit." "don't try it--don't try it!" exclaimed harding, quickly. "it will do no good, and a great deal of harm. in the first place, you can do nothing with mowle. he never took a penny in his life." "oh, every man has his price," rejoined mr. radford, whose opinion of human nature, as the reader may have perceived, was not particularly high. "it's only because he wants to be bid up to. mr. mowle thinks himself above five or ten pounds; but the chink of a hundred guineas is a very pleasant sound." "he's as honest a fellow as ever lived," answered harding, "and i tell you plainly, mr. radford, that if you offered him ten times the sum, he wouldn't take it. you would only shew him that this venture is not your grand one, without doing yourself the least good. he's a fair, open enemy, and lets every one know that, as long as he's a riding-officer here, he will do all he can against us." "then he must be knocked on the head," said mr. radford, in a calm and deliberate tone; "and it shall be done, too, if he meddles with my affairs." "it will not be i who do it," replied harding; "unless we come hand to hand together. then, every man must take care of himself; but i should be very sorry, notwithstanding; for he's a straightforward, bold fellow, as brave as a lion, and with a good heart into the bargain. i wonder such an honest man ever went into such a rascally service." the last observation of our friend harding may perhaps sound strangely to the reader's ears; but some allowance must be made for professional prejudices, and it is by no means too much to say that the smugglers of those days, and even of a much later period, looked upon their own calling as highly honest, honourable, and respectable, regarding the customs as a most fraudulent and abominable institution, and all connected with it more or less in the light of a band of swindlers and knaves, leagued together for the purpose of preventing honest men from pursuing their avocations in peace. such were the feelings which induced harding to wonder that so good a man as mowle could have anything to do with the prevention of smuggling; for he was so thoroughly convinced he was in the right himself, that he could not conceive how any one could see the case in any other point of view. "ay," answered mr. radford, "that is a wonder, if he is such a good sort of man; but that i doubt. however, as you say it would not do to put oneself in his power, i'll have him looked after, and in the meanwhile, let us talk of the rest of the business. you say the night after to-morrow, or the night after that! i must know, however; for the men must be down. how are we to arrange that?" "why, i'll see what the weather is like," was harding's reply. "then i can easily send up to let you know--or, what will be better still, if you can gather the men together the day after to-morrow, in the different villages not far off the coast, and i should find it the right sort of night, and get out to sea, they shall see a light on the top of tolsford hill, as soon as i am near in shore again. that will serve to guide them and puzzle the officers. then let them gather, and come down towards dymchurch, where they will find somebody from me to guide them." "they shall gather first at saltwood," said mr. radford, "and then march down to dymchurch. but how are we to manage about the ship?" "why, you must send an order," answered harding, "for both days, and let your skipper know that if he does not see us the first, he will see us the second." "you had better take it down with you at once," replied mr. radford, "and get it off early to-morrow. if you'll just come up to my house, i'll write it for you in a minute." "ay, but i'm not going home to-night," said the smuggler; "i can have a bed at mrs. clare's; and i'm going to sleep there, so you can send it over when you like in the morning, and i'll get it off in time." "i wish you would not go hanging about after that girl, when we've got such serious business in hand," exclaimed mr. radford, in a sharp tone; but the next moment he added, with a sudden change of voice, "it doesn't signify to-night, however. there will be time enough; and they say you are going to marry her, harding. is that true?" "i should say, that's my business," replied harding, bluntly, "but that i look upon it as an honour, mr. radford, that she's going to marry me; for a better girl does not live in the land, and i've known her a long while now, so i'm never likely to think otherwise." "ay, i've known her a long time, too," answered mr. radford--"ever since her poor father was shot, and before; and a very good girl i believe she is. but now that you are over here, you may as well wait and hear what comes of these goods. couldn't you just ride over to the ramleys to-morrow morning--there you'll hear all about it." harding laughed, but replied the next moment, in a grave tone, "i don't like the ramleys, sir, and don't want to have more to do with them than i can help. i shall hear all about it soon enough, without going there." "but i sha'n't," answered mr. radford. "then you had better send your son, sir," rejoined harding. "he's oftener there than i am, a great deal.--well, the matter is all settled, then. either the night after to-morrow, or the night after that, if the men keep a good look-out, they'll see a light on tolsford hill. then they must gather as fast as possible at saltwood, and come on with anybody they may find there. good night, mr. radford." "good night, harding--good night," said mr. radford, walking on; and the other turning his steps back towards harbourne, made his way, by the first road on the right, to the cottage where we have seen him in the earlier part of the day. it was a pleasant aspect that the cottage presented when he went in, which he did without any of the ceremonies of knocking at the door or ringing the bell; for he was sure of a welcome. there was but one candle lighted on the table, for the dwellers in the place were poor; but the room was small, and that one was quite sufficient to shew the white walls and the neat shelves covered with crockery, and with one or two small prints in black frames. besides, there was the fire-place, with a bright and cheerful, but not large fire; for though, in the month of september, english nights are frequently cold and sometimes frosty, the weather had been as yet tolerably mild. nevertheless, the log of fir at the top blazed high, and crackled amidst the white and red embers below, and the flickering flame, as it rose and fell, caused the shadows to fall more vaguely or distinctly upon the walls, with a fanciful uncertainty of outline, that had something cheerful, yet mysterious in it. the widow was bending over the fire, with her face turned away, and her figure in the shadow. the daughter was busily working with her needle, but her eyes were soon raised--and they were very beautiful eyes--as harding entered. a smile, too, was upon her lips; and though even tears may be lovely, and a sad look awaken deep and tender emotions, yet the smile of affection on a face we love is the brightest aspect of that bright thing the human countenance. it is what the sunshine is to the landscape, which may be fair in the rain or sublime in the storm, but can never harmonize so fully with the innate longing for happiness which is in the breast of every one, as when lighted up with the rays that call all its excellence and all its powers into life and being. harding sat down beside the girl, and took her hand in his, saying, "well, kate, this day three weeks, then, remember?" "my mother says so," answered the girl, with a cheek somewhat glowing, "and then, you know, john, you are to give it up altogether. no more danger--no more secrets?" "oh, as for danger," answered harding, laughing, "i did not say that, love. i don't know what life would be worth without danger. every man is in danger all day long; and i suppose that we are only given life just to feel the pleasure of it by the chance of losing it. but no dangers but the common ones, kate. i'll give up the trade, as you have made me promise; and i shall have enough by that time to buy out the whole vessel, in which i've got shares, and what between that and the boats, we shall do very well. you put me in mind, with your fears, of a song that wicked boy, little starlight, used to sing. i learned it from hearing him: a more mischievous little dog does not live; but he has got a sweet pipe." "sing it, john--sing it!" cried kate; "i love to hear you sing, for it seems as if you sing what you are thinking." "no, i wont sing it," answered harding, "for it is a sad sort of song, and that wont do when i am so happy." "oh, i like sad songs!" said the girl; "they please me far more than all the merry ones." "oh, pray sing it, harding!" urged the widow; "i am very fond of a song that makes me cry." "this wont do that," replied the smuggler; "but it is sadder than some that do, i always think. however, i'll sing it, if you like;" and in a fine, mellow, bass voice, to a very simple air, with a flattened third coming in every now and then, like the note of a wintry bird, he went on:-- song. "life's like a boat, rowing--rowing over a bright sea, on the waves to float, flowing--flowing away from her lea. "up goes the sheet! sailing--sailing, to catch the rising breeze, while the winds fleet, wailing--wailing, sigh o'er the seas. "she darts through the waves, gaily--gaily, scattering the foam. beneath her, open graves, daily--daily, the blithest to entomb. "who heeds the deep, yawning--yawning for its destined prey, when from night's dark sleep, dawning--dawning, wakens the bright day? "away, o'er the tide! fearless--fearless of all that lies beneath; let the waves still hide, cheerless--cheerless, all their stores of death. "stray where we may, roaming--roaming either far or near, death is on the way, coming--coming-- who's the fool to fear?" the widow did weep, however, not at the rude song, though the voice that sung it was fine, and perfect in the melody, but at the remembrances which it awakened--remembrances on which she loved to dwell, although they were so sad. "ay, harding," she said, "it's very true what your song says. whatever way one goes, death is near enough; and i don't know that it's a bit nearer on the sea than anywhere else." "not a whit," replied harding; "god's hand is upon the sea as well as upon the land, mrs. clare; and if it is his will that we go, why we go; and if it is his will that we stay, he doesn't want strength to protect us." "no, indeed," answered mrs. clare; "and it's that which comforts me, for i think that what is god's will must be good. i'm sure, when my poor husband went out in the morning, six years ago come the tenth of october next, as well and as hearty as a man could be, i never thought to see him brought home a corpse, and i left a lone widow with my poor girl, and not knowing where to look for any help. but god raised me up friends where i least expected them." "why you had every right to expect that sir robert would be kind to you, mrs. clare," rejoined harding, "when your husband had been in his service for sixteen or seventeen years." "no, indeed, i hadn't," said the widow; "for sir robert was always, we thought, a rough, hard master, grumbling continually, till my poor man could hardly bear it; for he was a free-spoken man, as i dare say you remember, mr. harding, and would say his mind to any one, gentle or simple." "he was as good a soul as ever lived," answered harding; "a little rash and passionate, but none the worse for that." "ay, but it was that which set the head keeper against him," answered the widow, "and he set sir robert, making out that edward was always careless and insolent; but he did his duty as well as any man, and knowing that, he didn't like to be found fault with. however, i don't blame sir robert; for since my poor man's death he has found out what he was worth; and very kind he has been to me, to be sure. the cottage, and the garden, and the good bit of ground at the back, and twelve shillings a-week into the bargain, have we had from him ever since." "ay, and i am sure nothing can be kinder than the two young ladies," said kate; "they are always giving me something; and miss edith taught me all i know. i should have been sadly ignorant if it had not been for her--and a deal of trouble i gave her." "god bless her!" cried harding, heartily. "she's a nice young lady, i believe, though i never saw her but twice, and then she looked very sad." "ay, she has cause enough, poor thing!" said mrs. clare. "though i remember her as blithe as the morning lark--a great deal gayer than miss zara, gay as she may be." "ay, i know--they crossed her love," answered harding; "and that's enough to make one sad. though i never heard the rights of the story." "oh, it was bad enough to break her heart, poor thing!" replied mrs. clare. "you remember young leyton, the rector's son--a fine, handsome, bold lad as ever lived, and as good as he was handsome. well, he was quite brought up with these young ladies, you know--always up at the hall, and miss edith always down at the rectory; and one would have thought sir robert blind or foolish, not to fancy that two such young things would fall in love with each other; and so they did, to be sure. many's the time i've seen them down here, in this very cottage, laughing and talking, and as fond as a pair of doves--for sir robert used to let them do just whatever they liked, and many a time used to send young harry leyton to take care of miss croyland, when she was going out to walk any distance; so, very naturally, they promised themselves to each other; and one day--when he was twenty and she just sixteen--they got a prayer-book at the rectory, and read over the marriage ceremony together, and took all the vows down upon their bended knees. i remember it quite well, for i was down at the rectory that very day helping the housekeeper; and just as they had done old mr. leyton came in, and found them somewhat confused, and the book open between them. he would know what it was all about, and they told him the truth. so then he was in a terrible taking; and he got miss croyland under his arm and went away up to sir robert directly, and told him the whole story without a minute's delay. every one thought it would end in being a match; for though sir robert was very angry, and insisted that harry leyton should be sent to his regiment immediately--for he was then just home for a bit, on leave--he did not show how angry he was at first, but very soon after he turned mr. leyton out of the living, and made him pay, i don't know what, for dilapidations; so that he was arrested and put in prison--which broke his heart, poor man, and he died!" harding gave sir robert croyland a hearty oath; and mrs. clare proceeded to tell her tale, saying--"i did not give much heed to the matter then; for it was just at that time that my husband was killed, and i could think of nothing else; but when i came to hear of what was going on, i found that sir robert had promised his daughter to this young radford----" "as nasty a vermin as ever lived," said harding. "well, she wont have him, i'm sure," continued the widow, "for it has been hanging off and on for these six years. people at first said it was because they were too young. but i know that she has always refused, and declared that nothing should ever drive her to marry him, or any one else; for the law might say what it liked, but her own heart and her own conscience, told her that she was harry leyton's wife, and could not be any other man's, as long as he was living. susan, her maid, heard her say so to sir robert himself; but he still keeps teasing her about it, and tells everybody she's engaged to young radford." "he'll go the devil," said harding; "and i'll go to bed, mrs. clare, for i must be up early to-morrow, to get a good many things to rights. god bless you kate, my love! i dare say i shall see you before i go--for i must measure the dear little finger!" and giving her a hearty kiss, harding took a candle, and retired to the snug room that had been prepared for him. chapter xi. we must change the scene for a while, not only to another part of the county of kent, but to very different people from the worthy widow clare and the little party assembled at her cottage. we must pass over the events of the night also, and of the following morning up to the hour of nine, proposing shortly to return to harbourne house, and trace the course of those assembled there. the dwelling into which we must now introduce the reader, was a large, old-fashioned kentish farm-house, not many miles on the sussex side of ashford. it was built, as many of these farm-houses still are, in the form of a cross, presenting four limbs of strongly constructed masonry, two stories high, with latticed windows divided into three partitions, separated by rather neatly cut divisions of stone. externally it had a strong harry-the-eighth look about it, and probably had been erected in his day, or in that of one of his immediate successors, as the residence of some of the smaller gentry of the time. at the period i speak of, it was tenanted by a family notorious for their daring and licentious life, and still renowned in county tradition for many a fierce and lawless act. nevertheless, the head of the house, now waxing somewhat in years, carried on, not only ostensibly but really, the peaceable occupation of a kentish farmer. he had his cows and his cattle, and his sheep and his pigs; he grew wheat and barley, and oats and turnips; had a small portion of hop-ground, and brewed his own beer. but this trade of farming was only a small part of his employment, though, to say the truth, he had given himself up more to it since his bodily powers had declined, and he was no longer able to bear the fatigue and exertion which the great strength of his early years had looked upon as sport. the branch of his business which he was most fond of was now principally entrusted to his two sons; and two strong, handsome daughters, which made the number of his family amount to four, occasionally aided their brothers, dressed in men's clothes, and mounted upon powerful horses, which they managed as well as any grooms in the county. the reader must not think that, in this description, we are exercising indiscreetly our licence for dealing in fiction. we are painting a true picture of the family of which we speak, as they lived and acted some eighty or eighty-five years ago. the wife of the farmer had been dead ten or twelve years; and her children had done just what they liked ever since; but it must be admitted, that, even if she had lived to superintend their education, we have no reason to conclude their conduct would have been very different from what it was. we have merely said that they had done as they pleased ever since her death, because during her life she had made them do as she pleased, and beat them, or, as she herself termed it, "basted" them heartily, if they did not. she was quite capable of doing so too, to her own perfect satisfaction, for probably few arms in all kent were furnished with more sinewy muscles or a stouter fist than hers could boast. it was only upon minor points of difference, however, that she and her children ever quarrelled; for of their general course of conduct she approved most highly; and no one was more ready to receive packets of lace, tea, or other goods under her fostering care, or more apt and skilful in stopping a tub of spirits from "talking," or of puzzling a custom-house officer when force was not at hand to resist him. she was naturally of so strong a constitution, and so well built a frame, that it is wonderful she died at all; but having caught cold one night, poor thing!--it is supposed, in setting fire to a neighbouring farm-house, the inmates of which were suspected of having informed against her husband--her very strength and vigour gave a tendency to inflammation, which speedily reduced her very low. a surgeon, who visited the house in fear and trembling, bled her largely, and forbade the use of all that class of liquids which she was accustomed to imbibe in considerable quantities; and for three or four days the fear of death made her follow his injunctions. but at the end of that period, when the crisis of the disease was imminent, finding herself no better, and very weak, she declared that the doctor was a fool, and ought to have his head broken, and directed the maid to bring her the big green bottle out of the corner cupboard. to this she applied more than once, and then beginning to get a little riotous, she sent for her family to witness how soon she had cured herself. sitting up in her bed, with a yellow dressing-gown over her shoulders, and a gay cap overshadowing her burning face, she sung them a song in praise of good liquor--somewhat panting for breath, it must be owned--and then declaring that she was "devilish thirsty," which was probably accurate to the letter, she poured out a large glass from the big green bottle, which happened to be her bed-fellow for the time, and raised it to her lips. half the contents went down her throat; but, how it happened i do not know, the rest was spilt upon the bed clothes, and good mrs. ramley fell back in a doze, from which nobody could rouse her. before two hours were over she slept a still sounder sleep, which required the undertaker to provide against its permanence. the bereaved widower comforted himself after a time. we will not say how many hours it required to effect that process. he was not a drunken man himself; for the passive participle of the verb to "drink" was not often actually applicable to his condition. nevertheless, there was a great consumption of hollands in the house during the next week; and, if it was a wet funeral that followed, it was not with water, salt or fresh. there are compensations for all things; and if ramley had lost his wife, and his children a mother, they all lost also a great number of very good beatings, for, sad to say, he who could thrash all the country round, submitted very often to be thrashed by his better half, or at all events underwent the process of either having his head made closely acquainted with a candlestick, or rendered the means of breaking a platter. after that period the two boys grew up into as fine, tall, handsome, dissolute blackguards as one could wish to look upon; and for the two girls, no term perhaps can be found in the classical authors of our language; but the vernacular supplies an epithet particularly applicable, which we must venture to use. they were two _strapping wenches_, nearly as tall as their brothers, full, rounded, and well formed in person, fine and straight cut in features, with large black shining eyes, a well-turned foot and ancle, and, as was generally supposed, the invincible arm of their mother. we are not here going to investigate or dwell upon the individual morality of the two young ladies. it is generally said to have been better in some respects than either their ordinary habits, their education, or their language would have led one to expect; and, perhaps being very full of the stronger passions, the softer ones had no great dominion over them. there, however, they sat at breakfast on the morning of which we have spoken, in the kitchen of the farm-house, with their father seated at the head of the table. he was still a great, tall, raw-boned man, with a somewhat ogre-ish expression of countenance, and hair more white than grey. but there were four other men at the table besides himself, two being servants of the farm, and two acknowledged lovers of the young ladies--very bold fellows as may well be supposed; for to marry a she-lion or a demoiselle bear would have been a light undertaking compared to wedding one of the miss ramleys. they seemed to be upon very intimate terms with those fair personages, however, and perhaps possessed as much of their affection as could possibly be obtained; but still the love-making seemed rather of a feline character, for the caresses, which were pretty prodigal, were mingled with--we must not say interrupted by--a great deal of grumbling and growling, some scratching, and more than one pat upon the side of the head, which did not come with the gentleness of the western wind. the fare upon the table consisted neither of tea, coffee, cocoa, nor any other kind of weak beverage, but of beef and strong beer, a diet very harmonious with the appearance of the persons who partook thereof. it was seasoned occasionally with roars of laughter, gay and not very delicate jests, various pieces of fun, which on more than one occasion went to the very verge of an angry encounter, together with a good many blasphemous oaths, and those testimonies of affection which i have before spoken of as liberally bestowed by the young ladies upon their lovers in the shape of cuffs and scratches. the principal topic of conversation seemed to be some adventure which was even then going forward, and in which the sons of the house were taking a part. no fear, no anxiety, however, was expressed by any one, though they wondered that jim and ned had not yet returned. "if they don't come soon they won't get much beef, tom, if you swallow it at that rate," said the youngest miss ramley to her sweetheart; "you've eaten two pounds already, i'm sure." the young gentleman declared that it was all for love of her, but that he hadn't eaten half so much as she had, whereupon the damsel became wroth, and appealed to her father, who, for his part, vowed, that, between them both, they had eaten and swilled enough to fill the big hog-trough. the dispute might have run high, for miss ramley was not inclined to submit to such observations, even from her father; but, just as she was beginning in good set terms, which she had learnt from himself, to condemn her parent's eyes, the old man started up, exclaiming, "hark! there's a shot out there!" "to be sure," answered one of the lovers. "it's the first of september, and all the people are out shooting." even while he was speaking, however, several more shots were heard, apparently too many to proceed from sportsmen in search of game, and the next moment the sound of horses' feet could be heard running quick upon the road, and then turning into the yard which lay before the house. "there they are!--there they are!" cried half-a-dozen voices; and, all rushing out at the front door, they found the two young men with several companions, and four led horses, heavily laden. jim, the elder brother, with the assistance of one of those who accompanied him, was busily engaged in shutting the two great wooden gates which had been raised by old ramley some time before--nobody could tell why--in place of a five-barred gate, which, with the tall stone wall, formerly shut out the yard from the road. the other brother, edward, or ned ramley, as he was called, stood by the side of his horse, holding his head down over a puddle; and, for a moment, no one could make out what he was about. on his sister jane approaching him, however, she perceived a drop of blood falling every second into the dirty water below, and exclaimed, "how hast thou broken thy noddle, ned?" "there, let me alone, jinny," cried the young man, shaking off the hand she had laid upon his arm, "or i shall bloody my toggery. one of those fellows has nearly cracked my skull, that's all; and he'd have done it, too, if he had but been a bit nearer. this brute shied just as i was firing my pistol at him, or he'd never have got within arm's length. it's nothing--it's but a scratch.--get the goods away; for they'll be after us quick enough. they are chasing the major and his people, and that's the way we got off." one of the usual stories of the day was then told by the rest--of how a cargo had been run the night before, and got safe up into the country: how, when they thought all danger over, they had passed before old bob croyland's windows, and how jim had given him a shot as he stood at one of them; and then they went on to say that, whether it was the noise of the gun, or that the old man had sent out to call the officers upon them, they could not tell; but about three miles further on, they saw a largish party of horse upon their right. flight had then become the order of the day; but, finding that they could not effect it in one body, they were just upon the point of separating, ned ramley declared, when two of the riding officers overtook them, supported by a number of dragoons. some firing took place, without much damage, and, dividing into three bodies, the smugglers scampered off, the ramleys and their friends taking their way towards their own house, and the others in different directions. the former might have escaped unpursued, it would seem, had not the younger brother, ned, determined to give one of the dragoons a shot before he went: thus bringing on the encounter in which he had received the wound on his head. while all this was being told to the father, the two girls, their lovers, the farm-servants, and several of the men, hurried the smuggled goods into the house, and raising a trap in the floor of the kitchen--contrived in such a manner that four whole boards moved up at once on the western side of the room--stowed the different articles away in places of concealment below, so well arranged, that even if the trap was discovered, the officers would find nothing but a vacant space, unless they examined the walls very closely. the horses were then all led to the stable; and edward ramley, having in some degree stopped the bleeding of his wound, moved into the house, with most of the other men. old ramley and the two farm-servants, however, remained without, occupying themselves in loading a cart with manure, till the sound of horses galloping down was heard, and somebody shook the gates violently, calling loudly to those within to open "in the king's name." the farmer instantly mounted upon the cart, and looked over the wall; but the party before the gates consisted only of five or six dragoons, of whom he demanded, in a bold tone, "who the devil be you, that i should open for you? go away, go away, and leave a quiet man at peace!" "if you don't open the gates, we'll break them down," said one of the men. "do, if you dare," answered old ramley, boldly; "and if you do, i'll shoot the best of you dead.--bring me my gun, tom.--where's your warrant, young man? you are not an officer, and you've got none with you, so i shan't let any boiled lobsters enter my yard, i can tell you." by this time he was provided with the weapon he had sent for; and one of his men, similarly armed, had got into the cart beside him. the appearance of resistance was rather ominous, and the dragoons were well aware that if they did succeed in forcing an entrance, and blood were spilt, the whole responsibility would rest upon themselves, if no smuggled goods should be found, as they had neither warrant nor any officer of the customs with them. after a short consultation, then, he who had spoken before, called to old ramley, saying, "we'll soon bring a warrant. then look to yourself;" and, thus speaking, he rode off with his party. old ramley only laughed, however, and turned back into the house, where he made the party merry at the expense of the dragoons. all the men who had been out upon the expedition were now seated at the table, dividing the beef and bread amongst them, and taking hearty draughts from the tankard. not the least zealous in this occupation was edward ramley, who seemed to consider the deep gash upon his brow as a mere scratch, not worth talking about. he laughed and jested with the rest; and when they had demolished all that the board displayed, he turned to his father, saying, not in the most reverent tone, "come, old fellow, after bringing our venture home safe, i think you ought to send round the true stuff: we've had beer enough. let's have some of the dutchman." "that you shall, neddy, my boy," answered the farmer, "only i wish you had shot that rascal you fired at. however, one can't always have a steady aim, especially with a fidgetty brute like that you ride;" and away he went to bring the hollands, which soon circulated very freely amongst the party, producing, in its course, various degrees of mirth and joviality, which speedily deviated into song. some of the ditties that were sung were good, and some of them very bad; but almost all were coarse, and the one that was least so was the following:-- song. "it's wonderful, it's wonderful, is famous london town, with its alleys and its valleys, and its houses up and down; but i would give fair london town, its court, and all its people, for the little town of biddenden, with the moon above the steeple. "it's wonderful, it's wonderful, to see what pretty faces in london streets a person meets in very funny places; but i wouldn't give for all the eyes in london town one sees, a pair, that by the moonlight, looks out beneath the trees. "it's wonderful, in london town, how soon a man may hold, by art and sleight, or main and might, a pretty sum of gold; yet give me but a pistol, and one rich squire or two, a moonlight night, a yellow chaise, and the high road will do." this was not the last song that was sung; but that which followed was interrupted by one of the pseudo-labourers coming in from the yard, to say that there was a hard knocking at the gate. "i think it is mr. radford's voice," added the man, "but i'm not sure; and i did not like to get up into the cart to look." "run up stairs to the window, jinny!" cried old ramley, "and you'll soon see." his daughter did, on this occasion, as she was bid, and soon called down from above, "it's old radford, sure enough; but he's got two men with him!" "it's all right, if he's there," said jim ramley; and the gates were opened in a minute, to give that excellent gentleman admission. now, mr. radford, it must be remembered, was a magistrate for the county of kent; but his presence created neither alarm nor confusion in the house of the ramleys; and when he entered, leaving his men in the court for a minute, he said, with a laugh, holding the father of that hopeful family by the arm, "i've come to search, and to stop the others. where are the goods?" "safe enough," answered the farmer. "no fear--no fear!" "but can we look under the trap?" asked mr. radford, who seemed as well acquainted with the secrets of the place as the owner thereof. "ay, ay!" replied the old man. "don't leave 'em too long--that's all." "i'll go down myself," said radford; "they've got scent of it, or i wouldn't find it out." "all right--all right!" rejoined the other, in a low voice; and the magistrate, raising his tone, exclaimed, "here, clinch and adams--you two fools! why don't you come in? they say there is nothing here; but we must search. we must not take any man's word; not to say that i doubt yours, mr. ramley; but it is necessary, you know." "oh, do what you like, sir," replied the farmer. "i don't care!" a very respectable search was then commenced, and pursued from room to room--one of the men who accompanied mr. radford, and who was an officer of the customs, giving old ramley a significant wink with his right eye as he passed, at which the other grinned. indeed, had the whole matter not been very well understood between the great majority of both parties, it would have been no very pleasant or secure task for any three men in england to enter the kitchen of that farm-house on such an errand. at length, however, mr. radford and his companions returned to the kitchen, and the magistrate thought fit to walk somewhat out of his way towards the left-hand side of the room, when suddenly stopping, he exclaimed, in a grave tone, "hallo! ramley, what's here? these boards seem loose!" "to be sure they are," answered the farmer; "that's the way to the old beer cellar. but there's nothing in it, upon my honour!" "but we must look, ramley, you know," said mr. radford. "come, open it, whatever it is! "oh, with all my heart," replied the man; "but you'll perhaps break your head. that's your fault, not mine, however,"--and, advancing to the side of the room, he took a crooked bit of iron from his pocket--not unlike that used for pulling stones out of a horse's hoofs--and insinuating it between the skirting-board and the floor, soon raised the trap-door of which we have spoken before. a vault of about nine feet deep was now exposed, with the top of a ladder leading into it; and mr. radford ordered the men who were with him to go down first. the one who had given old ramley the wink in passing, descended without ceremony; but the other, who was also an officer, hesitated for a moment. "go down--go down, clinch!" said mr. radford. "you _would_ have a search, and so you shall do it thoroughly." the man obeyed, and the magistrate paused a moment to speak with the smuggling farmer, saying, in a low voice, "i don't mind their knowing i'm your friend, ramley. let them think about that as they like. indeed, i'd rather that they did see we understand each other; so give me a hint if they go too far; i'll bear it out." thus saying, he descended into the cellar, and old ramley stood gazing down upon the three from above, with his gaunt figure bending over the trap-door. at the end of a minute or two he called down, "there--that ought to do, i'm sure! we can't be kept bothering here all day!" something was said in a low tone by one of the men below; but then the voice of mr. radford was heard, exclaiming, "no, no; that will do! we've had enough of it! go up, i say! there's no use of irritating people by unreasonable suspicions, mr. clinch. is it not quite enough, adams? are you satisfied!" "oh! quite, sir," answered the other officer; "there's nothing but bare walls and an empty beer barrel." the next moment the party began to reappear from the trap, the officer clinch coming up first, with a grave look, and mr. radford and the other following, with a smile upon their faces. "there, all is clear enough," said mr. radford; "so you, gentlemen, can go and pursue your search elsewhere. i must remain here to wait for my son, whom i sent for to join me with the servants, as you know; not that i feared any resistance from you, mr. ramley; but smuggling is so sadly prevalent now-a-days, that one must be on one's guard, you know." a horse laugh burst from the whole party round the table; and in the midst of it the two officers retired into the yard, where, mounting their horses, they opened the gates and rode away. as soon as they were gone, mr. radford shook old ramley familiarly by the hand, exclaiming, "this is the luckiest thing in the world, my good fellow! if i can but get them to accuse me of conniving at this job, it will be a piece of good fortune which does not often happen to a man." ramley, as well he might, looked a little confounded; but mr. radford drew him aside, and spoke to him for a quarter of an hour, in a voice raised hardly above a whisper. numerous laughs, and nods, and signs of mutual understanding passed between them; and the conversation ended by mr. radford saying, aloud, "i wonder what can keep dick so long; he ought to have been here before now! i sent over to him at eight; and it is past eleven." chapter xii. we will now, by the reader's good leave, return for a short time to harbourne house, where the party sat down to breakfast, at the inconveniently early hour of eight. i will not take upon myself to say that it might not be a quarter-of-an-hour later, for almost everything is after its time on this globe, and harbourne house did not differ in this respect from all the rest of the world. from the face of young radford towards the countenance of sir edward digby shot some very furious glances as they took their places at the breakfast-table; but those looks gradually sunk down into a dull and sullen frown, as they met with no return. sir edward digby, indeed, seemed to have forgotten the words which had passed between them as soon as they had been uttered; and he laughed, and talked, and conversed with every one as gaily as if nothing had happened. edith was some ten minutes behind the rest at the meal, and seemed even more depressed than the night before; but zara had reserved a place for her at her own side; and taking the first opportunity, while the rest of the party were busily talking together, she whispered a few words in her ear. sir edward digby saw her face brighten in a moment, and her eyes turn quickly towards himself; but he took no notice; and an interval of silence occurring the next moment, the conversation between the two sisters was interrupted. during breakfast, a servant brought in a note and laid it on the side-board, and after the meal was over, miss croyland retired to her own room to make ready for her departure. zara was about to follow; but good mrs. barbara, who had heard some sharp words pass between the two gentlemen, and had remarked the angry looks of young radford, was determined that they should not quarrel without the presence of ladies, and consequently called her youngest niece back, saying, in a whisper, "stay here, my dear. i have a particular reason why i want you not to go." "i will be back in a moment, my dear aunt," replied zara; but the worthy old lady would not suffer her to depart; and the butler entering at that moment, called the attention of richard radford to the note which had been brought in some half-an-hour before, and which was, in fact, a sudden summons from his father. the contents seemed to give him no great satisfaction; and, turning to the servant, he said, "well, tell them to saddle my horse, and bring him round;" and as he spoke, he directed a frowning look towards the young baronet, as if he could scarcely refrain from shewing his anger till a fitting opportunity occurred for expressing it. digby, however, continued talking lightly with zara croyland, in the window, till the horse had been brought round, and the young man had taken leave of the rest of the party. then sauntering slowly out of the room, he passed through the hall door, to the side of richard radford's horse, just as the latter was mounting. "mr. radford," he said, in a low tone, "you were pleased to make an impertinent observation upon my conduct, which led me to tell you what i think of yours. we were interrupted; but i dare say you must wish for further conversation with me. you can have it when and where you please." "at three o'clock this afternoon, in the road straight from the back of the house," replied young radford, in a low, determined tone, touching the hilt of his sword. sir edward digby nodded, and then turning on his heel, walked coolly into the house. "i am sure, sir edward," cried mrs. barbara, as soon as she saw him, while zara fixed her eyes somewhat anxiously upon his countenance--"i am sure you and mr. radford have been quarrelling." "oh no, my dear madam," replied sir edward digby; "nothing of the kind, i can assure you. our words were very ordinary words, and perfectly civil, upon my word. we had no time to quarrel." "my dear sir edward," said sir robert croyland, "you must excuse me for saying it, i must have no such things here. i am a magistrate for this county, and bound by my oath to keep the peace. my sister tells me that high words passed between you and my young friend radford before breakfast?" "they were very few, sir robert," answered digby, in a careless tone; "he thought fit to make an observation upon my saying a few words to your daughter, here, in a low tone, which i conceive every gentleman has a right to do to a fair lady. i told him, i thought his conduct insolent; and that was all that passed. i believe the youth has got a bad headache from too much of your good wine, sir robert; therefore, i forgive him. i dare say, he'll be sorry enough for what he said, before the day is over; and if he is not, i cannot help it." "well, well, if that's all, it is no great matter!" replied the master of the house; "but here comes round the carriage; run and call edith, zara." before the young lady could quit the room, however, her sister appeared; and the only moment they obtained for private conference was at the door of the carriage, after edith had got in, and while her father was giving some directions to the coachman. no great information could be given or received, indeed, for sir robert returned to the side of the vehicle immediately, bade his daughter good-bye, and the carriage rolled away. as soon as it was gone, sir edward digby proposed, with the permission of sir robert croyland, to go out to shoot; for he did not wish to subject himself to any further cross-examination by the ladies of the family, and he read many inquiries in fair zara's eyes, which he feared might be difficult to answer. retiring, then, to put on a more fitting costume, while gamekeepers and dogs were summoned to attend him, he took the opportunity of writing a short letter, which he delivered to his servant to post, giving him, at the same time, brief directions to meet him near the cottage of good mrs. clare, about half-past two, with the sword which the young officer usually wore when not on military service. those orders were spoken in so ordinary and commonplace a tone that none but a very shrewd fellow would have discovered that anything was going forward different from the usual occurrences of the day; but somers was a very shrewd fellow; and in a few minutes--judging from what he had observed while waiting on his master during dinner on the preceding day--he settled the whole matter entirely to his own satisfaction, thinking, according to the phraseology of those times, "sir edward will pink him--and a good thing too; but it will spoil sport here, i've a notion." as he descended to the hall, in order to join the keepers and their four-footed coadjutors, the young baronet encountered mrs. barbara and her niece; and he perceived zara's eyes instantly glance to his sword-belt, from which he had taken care to remove a weapon that could only be inconvenient to him in the sport he was about to pursue. she was not so easily to be deceived as her father; but yet the absence of the weapon usually employed in those days, as the most efficacious for killing a fellow-creature, put her mind at ease, at least for the present; and, although she determined to watch the proceedings of the young baronet during the two or three following days--as far, at least, as propriety would permit--she took no further notice at the moment, being very anxious to prevent her good aunt from interfering more than necessary in the affairs of sir edward digby. mrs. barbara, indeed, was by no means well pleased that sir edward was going to deprive her schemes of the full benefit which might have accrued from his passing the whole of that day unoccupied, with zara, at harbourne house, and hinted significantly that she trusted if he did not find good sport he would return early, as her niece was very fond of a ride over the hills, only that she had no companion. the poor girl coloured warmly, and the more so as sir edward could not refrain from a smile. "i trust, then, i shall have the pleasure of being your companion to-morrow, miss croyland," he said, turning to the young lady. "why should we not ride over, and see your excellent uncle and your sister? i must certainly pay my respects to him; and if i may have the honour of escorting you, it will give double pleasure to my ride." zara croyland was well aware that many a matter, which if treated seriously may become annoying--if not dangerous, can be carried lightly off by a gay and dashing jest: "oh, with all my heart," she said; "only remember, sir edward, we must have plenty of servants with us, or else all the people in the country will say that you and i are going to be married; and as i never intend that such a saying should be verified, it will be as well to nip the pretty little blossom of gossip in the bud." "it shall be all exactly as you please," replied the young officer, with a low bow and a meaning smile; but at the very same moment, mrs. barbara thought fit to reprove her niece, wondering how she could talk so sillily; and sir edward took his leave, receiving his host's excuses, as he passed through the hall, for not accompanying him on his shooting expedition. "the truth is, my dear sir," said sir robert croyland, "that i am now too old and too heavy for such sports." "you were kind enough to tell me, this is liberty hall," replied the young baronet, "and you shall see, my dear sir, that i take you at your word, both in regard to your game and your wine, being resolved, with your good permission, and for my own health, to kill your birds and spare your bottles." "certainly, certainly," answered the master of the mansion--"you shall do exactly as you like;" and with this licence, sir edward set out shooting, with tolerable success, till towards two o'clock, when, quite contrary to the advice and opinion of the gamekeepers--who declared that the dogs would have the wind with them in that direction, and that as the day was now hot, the birds would not lie a minute--he directed his course towards the back of harbourne wood, finding, it must be confessed, but very little sport. there, apparently fatigued and disgusted with walking for a mile or two without a shot, he gave his gun to one of the men, and bade him take it back to the house, saying, he would follow speedily. as soon as he had seen them depart, he tracked round the edge of the wood, towards mrs. clare's cottage, exactly opposite to which he found his trusty servant, provided as he had directed. sir edward then took the sword and fixed it in his belt, saying, "now, somers, you may go!" "certainly, sir," replied the man, touching his hat with a look of hesitation; but he added, a minute after, "you had better let me know where it's to be, sir, in case----" "well," rejoined sir edward digby, with a smile, "you are an old soldier and no meddler, somers; so that i will tell you, 'in case,'--that the place is in a straight line between this and harbourne house. so now, face about to the right, and go back by the other road." the man touched his hat again, and walked quickly away, while the young officer turned his steps up the road which he had followed during the preceding evening in pursuit of the two miss croylands. it was a good broad open way, in which there was plenty of fencing room, and he thought to himself as he walked on, "i shall not be sorry to punish this young vagabond a little. i must see what sort of skill he has, and if possible wound him without hurting him much. if one could keep him to his bed for a fortnight, we should have the field more clear for our own campaign; but these things must always be a chance." thus meditating, and looking at his watch to see how much time he had to spare, major sir edward digby walked on till became within sight of the garden wall and some of the out-buildings of harbourne house. the reader, if he has paid attention, will remember that the road did not go straight to the back of the house itself: a smaller path, which led to the right, conducting thither; but as the gardens extended for nearly a quarter of a mile on that side, it followed the course of the wall to the left to join the parish road which ran in front of the mansion, leaving the green court, as it was called, or lawn, and the terrace, on the right hand. as there was no other road in that direction, sir edward digby felt sure that he must be on the ground appointed, but yet, as is the case in all moments of expectation, the time seemed so long, that when he saw the brick-work he took out his watch again, and found there were still five minutes to spare. he accordingly turned upon his steps, walking slowly back for about a quarter of a mile, and then returned, looking sharply out for his opponent, but seeing no one. he was now sure that the time must be past; but, resolved to afford young radford every opportunity, he said to himself, "watches may differ, and something may have detained him. i will give him a full half hour, and then if he does not come i shall understand the matter." as soon, then, as he saw the walls once more, he wheeled round and re-trod his steps, then looked at his watch, and found that it was a quarter past three. "too bad!" he said,--"too bad! the fellow cannot be coward, too, as well as blackguard. one turn more, and then i've done with him." but as he advanced on his way towards the house, he suddenly perceived the flutter of female garments before him, and saying to himself, "this is awkward!" he gazed round for some path, in order to get out of the way for a moment, but could perceive none. the next instant, coming round a shrub which started forward a little before the rest of the trees, he saw the younger miss croyland advancing with a quick step, and, he could not help thinking, with a somewhat agitated air. her colour was heightened, her eyes eagerly looking on; but, as soon as she saw him, she slackened her pace, and came forward in a more deliberate manner. "oh, sir edward!" she said, in a calm, sweet tone, "i am glad to see you. you have finished your shooting early, it seems." "why, the sport was beginning to slacken," answered sir edward digby. "i had not had a shot for the last half hour, and so thought it best to give it up." "well then, you shall take a walk with me," cried zara, gaily. "i am just going down to a poor friend of ours, called widow clare, and you shall come too." "what! notwithstanding all your sage and prudent apprehensions in regard to what people might say if we were seen alone together!" exclaimed sir edward digby, with a smile. "oh! i don't mind that," answered zara. "great occasions, you know, sir edward, require decisive measures; and i assuredly want an escort through this terrible forest, to protect me from all the giants and enchanters it may contain." sir edward digby looked at his watch again, and saw that it wanted but two minutes to the half hour. "oh!" said zara, affecting a look of pique, "if you have some important appointment, sir edward, it is another affair--only tell me if it be so?" sir edward digby took her hand in his: "i will tell you, dear lady," he replied, "if you will first tell me one thing, truly and sincerely--what brought you here?" zara trembled and coloured; for with the question put in so direct a shape, the agitation, which she had previously overcome, mastered her in turn, and she answered, "don't, don't, or i shall cry." "well, then, tell me at least if i had anything to do with it?" asked the young baronet. "yes, you had!" replied zara; "i can't tell a falsehood. but now, sir edward, don't, as most of you men would do, suppose that it's from any very tender interest in you, that i did this foolish thing. it was because i thought--i thought, if you were going to do what i imagined, it would be the very worst thing in the world for poor edith." "i shall only suppose that you are all that is kind and good," answered digby--perhaps a little piqued at the indifference which she so studiously assumed; "and even if i thought, miss croyland, that you did take some interest in my poor self, depend upon it, i should not be inclined to go one step farther in the way of vanity than you yourself could wish. i am not altogether a coxcomb. but now tell me, how you were led to suspect anything?" "promise me first," said zara, "that this affair shall not take place. indeed, indeed, sir edward, it must not, on every account!" "there is not the slightest chance of any such thing," replied sir edward digby. "you need not be under the slightest alarm." "what! you do not mean to say," she exclaimed, with her cheeks glowing and her eyes raised to his face, "that you did not come here to fight him?" "not exactly," answered sir edward digby, laughing; "but what i do mean to say, my dear young lady, is, that our friend is half an hour behind his time, and i am not disposed to give him another opportunity of keeping me waiting." "and if he had been in time," cried zara, clasping her hands together and casting down her eyes, "i should have been too late." "but tell me," persisted sir edward digby, "how you heard all this. has my servant, somers, been indiscreet?" "no, no," replied zara; "no, i can assure you! i saw you go out in your shooting dress, and without a sword. then i thought it was all over, especially as you had the gamekeepers with you; but some time ago i found that your servant had gone out, carrying a sword under his arm, and had come straight up this road. that made me uneasy. when the gamekeepers came back without you, i was more uneasy still; but i could not get away from my aunt for a few minutes. when i could, however, i got my hat and cloak, and hurried away, knowing that you would not venture to fight in the presence of a woman. as i went out, all my worst fears were confirmed by seeing your servant come back without the sword; and then--not very well knowing, indeed, what i was to say or do--i hurried on as fast as possible. now you have the whole story, and you must come away from this place." "very willingly," answered the young officer; adding, with a smile, "which way shall we go, miss croyland? to widow clare's?" "no, no!" answered zara, blushing again. "do not tease me. you do not know how soon, when a woman is agitated, she is made to weep. my father is out, indeed," she added, in a gayer tone, "so that i should have time to bathe my eyes before dinner, which will be half an hour later than usual; but i should not like my aunt to tell him that i have been taking a crying walk with sir edward digby." "heaven forbid that i should ever give you cause for a tear!" answered the young baronet; and then, with a vague impression that he was doing something very like making love, he added, "but let us return to the house, or perhaps we may have your aunt seeking us." "the most likely thing in the world," replied zara; and taking their way back, they passed through the gardens and entered the house by one of the side doors. chapter xiii. it was a custom of those days, i believe, not altogether done away with in the present times, for magistrates to assemble in petty sessions, or to meet at other times for the dispatch of any extraordinary business, in tavern, public-house, or inn--a custom more honoured in the breach than the observance, except where no other place of assembly can be found. it thus happened that, on the day of which we have been speaking, some half-dozen gentlemen, all justices of the peace for the county of kent, were gathered together in a good-sized room of the inn, at the little town of * * * * * . there was a table drawn across the room, at which was placed the magistrates' clerk, with sundry sheets of paper before him, several printed forms, and two books, one big and the other little. the magistrates themselves, however, were not seated in due state and dignity, but, on the contrary, were in general standing about and talking together, some looking out of the window into the street, some leaning with their backs against the table and the tails of their coats turned over their hands, while one occupied an arm-chair placed sideways at the board, with one knee thrown over the other--a favourite position which he could not have assumed had he sat with his face to the table. the latter was sir robert croyland, who had been sent for in haste by his brother justices, to take part in their proceedings relative to a daring act of smuggling which had just been perpetrated. sir robert would willingly have avoided giving his assistance upon this occasion; but the summons had been so urgent that he could not refuse going; and he was now not a little angry to find that there were more than sufficient justices present to make a quorum, and to transact all the necessary business. some one, however, it would seem, had--as usual in all county arrangements--been very busy in pressing for as full an attendance as possible; and those who knew the characters of the gentlemen assembled might have perceived that the great majority of them were not very well qualified to sit as judges upon a case of this nature, as almost every one was under suspicion of leaning towards the side of the smugglers, most of them having at some time engaged more or less in the traffic which they were called upon to stop. sir robert croyland was the least objectionable in this point of view; for he had always borne a very high name for impartiality in such matters, and had never had anything personally to do with the illicit traffic itself. it is probable, therefore, that he was sent for to give a mere show of justice to the proceedings; for mr. radford was expected to be there; and it was a common observation of the county gentlemen, that the latter could now lead sir robert as he liked. mr. radford, indeed, had not yet arrived, though two messengers had been despatched to summon him; the answer still being that he had gone over towards ashford. sir robert, therefore, sat in the midst--not harmonizing much in feeling with the rest, and looking anxiously for his friend's appearance, in order to obtain some hint as to how he was to act. at length, a considerable noise was heard in the streets below, and a sort of constable door-keeper presented himself, to inform the magistrates that the officers and dragoons had arrived, bringing in several prisoners. an immediate bustle took place, the worshipful gentlemen beginning to seat themselves, and one of them--as it is technically termed--moving sir robert into the chair. in order to shew that this was really as well as metaphysically done, sir robert croyland rose, sat down again, and wheeled himself round to the table. a signal was then given to the constable; and a rush of several persons from without was made into the temporary justice room, which was at once nearly filled with custom-house officers, soldiers, smugglers, and the curious of the village. amongst the latter portion of the auditory,--at least, so he supposed at first,--sir robert croyland perceived his young friend, richard radford; and he was in the act of beckoning him to come up to the table, in order to inquire where his father was, and how soon he would return, when one of the officers of the customs suddenly thrust the young gentleman out of the way, exclaiming, "stand farther back! what are you pushing forward for? your turn will come soon enough, i warrant." sir robert croyland was confounded; and for a moment or two he sat silent in perplexity and surprise. not that he ever entertained a doubt of old mr. radford still nourishing all the propensities of his youth; nor that he was not well aware they had formed part of the inheritance of the son; but there were certain considerations of some weight which made sir robert feel that it would have been better for him to be in any other spot of the habitable globe than that where he was at the moment. recovering himself, however, after a brief pause of anxious indecision, he made a sign to the constable door-keeper, and whispered to him, as soon as the man reached his side, to inquire into the cause of mr. richard radford's being there. the man was shrewd and quick, and while half the magistrates were speaking across the table to half the officers and some of the dragoons, he went and returned to and from the other side of the room, and then whispered to the baronet, "for smuggling, sir--caught abetting the others--his name marked upon some of the goods!" sir robert croyland was not naturally a brilliant man. though hasty in temper in his early days, he had always been somewhat obtuse in intellect; but this was a case of emergency; and there is no greater sharpener of the wits than necessity. in an instant, he had formed his plan to gain time, which was his great object at that moment; and, taking out his watch, he laid it on the table, exclaiming aloud, "gentlemen! gentlemen! a little regularity, if you please. my time is precious. i have an important engagement this afternoon, and i----" but his whole scheme had nearly been frustrated by the impetuosity of young radford himself, who at once pushed through officers and soldiers, saying, "and so have i, sir robert, a very important engagement this afternoon. i claim to be heard as speedily as possible." sir robert, however, was determined to carry his point, and to avoid having aught to do with the case of his young friend, even at the risk of giving him offence and annoyance. "stand back, sir!" he said. "in this court, there is no friendship or favour. you will have attention in turn, but not before. mr. mowle, bring forward the prisoners one after the other, as near as possible, in the order of--the order of--of their capture," he added, at length, after hesitating for a moment to consider whether it was or was not probable that young radford had been amongst those last taken; "and let all the others be removed, under guard, into the next room." "wont that make it a long affair, sir robert?" asked mr. runnington, a neighbouring squire. "oh dear, no!" replied the chairman; "by regularity we shall save time. do as you are directed, mowle!" young radford showed a strong disposition to resist, or, at least, to protest against this arrangement; but the officer to whom the baronet had spoken, treated the prisoner with very little reverence; and he, with the rest of the gang, was removed from the room, with the exception of three, one of whom, with a smart cockade in his hat, such as was worn at that time by military men in undress, swaggered up to the table with a bold air, as if he were about to address the magistrates. "ah, major, is that you?" asked a gentleman on sir robert's right, known in the country by the name of squire jollyboat, though his family being originally french, his real appellation was jollivet. "oh yes, squire," answered the prisoner, in a gay, indifferent tone, "here i am. it is long since i have had the pleasure of seeing your worship. i think you were not on the bench the last time i was committed, or i should have fared better." "i don't know that, major," replied the gentleman; "on the former occasion i gave you a month, i think." "ay, but the blackguards that time gave me two," rejoined the major. "because it was the second offence," said squire jollyboat. "the second! lord bless you, sir!" answered the major, with a look of cool contempt; and turning round with a wink to his two companions, they all three laughed joyously, as if it were the finest joke in the world. it might not be very interesting to the reader were we to give in detail the depositions of the various witnesses upon a common case of smuggling in the last century, or to repeat all the various arguments which were bandied backwards and forwards between the magistrates, upon the true interpretation of the law, as expressed in the th george ii., cap. . it was very evident, indeed, to the officers of customs, to the serjeant of dragoons, and even to the prisoners themselves, that the worthy justices were disposed to take as favourable a view of smuggling transactions as possible. but the law was very clear; the case was not less so; mowle, the principal riding officer, was a straightforward, determined, and shrewd man; and although sir robert croyland, simply with a view of protracting the investigation till mr. radford should arrive, started many questions which he left to the other magistrates to settle, yet in about half an hour the charge of smuggling, with riot, and armed resistance to the custom-house officers, was clearly made out against the major and his two companions; and as the act left no discretion in such a case, the resistance raising the act to felony, all three were committed for trial, and the officers bound over to prosecute. the men were then taken away, laughing and jesting; and sir robert croyland looked with anxiety for the appearance of the next party; but two other men were now introduced without richard radford; and the worthy baronet was released for the time. the case brought forward against these prisoners differed from that against those who preceded them, inasmuch as no resistance was charged. they had simply been found aiding and abetting in the carriage of the smuggled goods, and had fled when they found themselves pursued by the officers, though not fast enough to avoid capture. the facts were speedily proved, and, indeed, much more rapidly than suited the views of sir robert croyland. he therefore raised the question, when the decision of the magistrates was about to be pronounced, whether this was the first or the second offence, affecting some remembrance of the face of one of the men. the officers, also, either really did recollect, or pretended to do so, that the person of whom he spoke had been convicted before; but the man himself positively denied it, and defied them to bring forward any proof. a long discussion thus commenced, and before it was terminated the baronet was relieved by the appearance of mr. radford himself, who entered booted and spurred, and covered with dust, as if just returned from a long ride. shaking hands with his brother magistrates, and especially with sir robert croyland, he was about to seat himself at the end of that table, when the baronet rose, saying, "here, radford, you had better take my place, as i must positively get home directly, having important business to transact." "no, no, sir robert," replied that respectable magistrate, "we cannot spare you in this case, nor can i take that place. my son, i hear, is charged with taking part in this affair; and some sharp words have been passing between myself and that scoundrel of a fellow called clinch, the officer, who applied to me for aid in searching the ramleys' house. when i agreed to go with him, and found out a very snug place for hiding, he was half afraid to go down; and yet, since then, he has thought fit to insinuate that i had something to do with the run, and did not conduct the search fairly." the magistrates looked round to each other and smiled; and radford himself laughed heartily, very much as if he was acting a part in a farce, without any hope or expectation of passing off his zeal in the affair, upon his fellow magistrates, as genuine. mowle, the officer, at the same time turned round, and spoke a few words to two men who had followed mr. radford into the room, one of whom shrugged his shoulders with a laugh, and said nothing, and the other replied eagerly, but in a low tone. sir robert croyland, however, urged the necessity of his going, put his watch in his pocket, and buttoned up his coat. but mr. radford, assuming a graver air and a very peculiar tone, replied, "no, no, sir robert; you must stay, indeed. we shall want you. your known impartiality will give weight to our decisions, whatever they may be." the baronet sat down again, but evidently with so much unwillingness, that his brethren marvelled not a little at this fresh instance of the influence which mr. radford exerted over his mind. "who is the next prisoner, mr. mowle?" demanded sir robert croyland, as soon as he had resumed his seat. "mr. richard radford, i suppose, sir," said mowle; "but these two men are not disposed of." "well, then," said mr. jollivet, who was very well inclined to commence a career of lenity, "as no proof has been given that this is the second offence, i think we must send them both for a month. that seems to me the utmost we can do." the other magistrates concurred in this decision; and the prisoners were ordered to be removed; but ere they went, the one against whom the officers had most seriously pressed their charge, turned round towards the bench, exclaiming, in a gay tone, "thank you, squire jollyboat. your worship shall have a chest of tea for this, before i'm out a fortnight." a roar of laughter ran round the magistrates--for such matters were as indecently carried on in those days, on almost all occasions, as they sometimes are now; and in a moment or two after, young radford was brought in, with a dark scowl upon his brow. "how is this, dick?" cried his father. "have you been dabbling in a run, and suffered yourself to be caught?" "let these vagabonds make their accusation, and bring their witnesses," replied the young man, sullenly, "and then i'll speak for myself." "well, your worships," said mowle, coming forward, "the facts are simply these: i have long had information that goods were to be run about this time, and that mr. radford had some share in the matter. last night, a large quantity of goods were landed in the marsh, though i had been told it was to be near about sandgate, or between that and hythe, and was consequently on the look-out there. as soon as i got intimation, however, that the run had been effected, i got together as many men as i could, sent for a party of dragoons from folkestone, and, knowing pretty well which way they would take, came across by aldington, broadoak and kingsnorth, and then away by singleton green, towards four-elms, where, just under the hill, we came upon those two men who have just been convicted, and two others, who got off. we captured these two, and three horse-loads they had with them, for their beasts were tired, and they had lagged behind. there were two or three chests of tea, and a good many other things, and all of them were marked, just like honest bales of goods, 'richard radford, esquire, junior.' as we found, however, that the great party was on before, we pursued them as far as rouse-end, where we overtook them all; but there they scattered, some galloping off towards gouldwell, as if they were going to the ramleys; some towards usherhouse, and some by the wood towards etchden. four or five of the dragoons pushed after those running for gouldwell, but i and the rest stuck to the main body, which went away towards the wood, and who showed fight. there was a good deal of firing amongst the trees, but not much damage done, except to my horse, who was shot in the shoulder. but just as we were chasing them out of the wood, up came mr. richard radford, who was seen for a minute speaking to one of the men who were running, and riding along beside him for some way. he then turned, and came up to us, and tried to stop us as we were galloping after them, asking what the devil we were about, and giving us a great deal of bad language. i didn't mind him, but rode on, knowing we could take him at any time; but mr. birchett, the other chief officer, who had captured the major a minute or two before, got angry, and caught him by the collar, charging him to surrender, when he instantly drew his sword, and threatened to run him through. one of the dragoons, however, knocked it out of his hand, and then he was taken. this affray in the middle of the road enabled the greater part of the rest to get off; and we only captured two more horses and one man." several of the other officers, and the dragoons, corroborated mowle's testimony; and the magistrates, but especially sir robert croyland, began to look exceedingly grave. mr. radford, however, only laughed, turning to his son, and asking, "well, dick! what have you to say to all this?" richard radford, however, merely tossed up his head, and threw back his shoulders, without reply, till sir robert croyland addressed him, saying, "i hope, mr. radford, you can clear yourself of this charge, for you ought to know that armed resistance to the king's officers is a transportable offence." "i will speak to the magistrates," replied young radford, "when i can speak freely, without all these people about me. as to the goods they mention, marked with my name, i know nothing about them." "do you wish to speak with the magistrates alone?" demanded old mr. radford. "i must strongly object to any such proceeding," exclaimed mowle. "pray, sir, meddle with what concerns you," said old radford, turning upon him fiercely, "and do not pretend to dictate here. you gentlemen are greatly inclined to forget your place. i think that the room had better be cleared of all but the prisoner, sir robert." the baronet bowed his head; squire jollivet concurred in the same opinion; and, though one or two of the others hesitated, they were ultimately overruled, and the room was cleared of all persons but the magistrates and the culprit. scarcely was this done, when, with a bold free air, and contemptuous smile, young radford advanced to the side of the table, and laid his left hand firmly upon it; then, looking round from one to another, he said, "i will ask you a question, worshipful gentlemen.--is there any one of you, here present, who has never, at any time, had anything to do with a smuggling affair?--can you swear it upon your oaths?--can you, sir?--can you? can you?" the magistrates to whom he addressed himself, looked marvellously rueful, and replied not; and at last, turning to his father, he said, "can you, sir? though i, methinks, need hardly ask the question." "no, by jove, dick, i can't!" replied his father, laughing. "i wish to heaven you wouldn't put such awful interrogatories; for i believe, for that matter, we are all in the same boat." "then i refuse," said young radford, "to be judged by you. settle the matter as you like.--get out of the scrape as you can; but don't venture to convict a man when you are more guilty than he is himself. if you do, i may tell a few tales that may not be satisfactory to any of you." it had been remarked, that, in putting his questions, the young gentleman had entirely passed sir robert croyland; and mr. jollivet whispered to the gentleman next him, "i think we had better leave him and sir robert to settle it, for i believe the baronet is quite clear of the scrape." but mr. radford had overheard, and he exclaimed, "no, no; i think the matter is quite clear how we must proceed. there's not the slightest proof given that he knew anything about these goods being marked with his name, or that it was done by his authority. he was not with the men either, who were carrying the goods; and they were going quite away from his own dwelling. he happened to come there accidentally, just when the fray was going on. that i can prove, for i sent him a note this morning, telling him to join me at ashford as fast as possible." "i saw it delivered myself," said sir robert croyland. "to be sure," rejoined mr. radford; "and then, as to his talking to the smugglers when he did come up, i dare say he was telling them to surrender, or not to resist the law. wasn't it so, dick?" "not a bit of it," answered richard radford, boldly. "i told them to be off as fast as they could. but i did tell them not to fire any more. that's true enough!" "ay, to be sure," cried mr. radford. "he was trying to persuade them not to resist legitimate authority." almost all the magistrates burst into a fit of laughter; but, no way disconcerted, worthy mr. radford went on saying--"while he was doing this, up comes this fellow, birchett, and seizes him by the collar; and, i dare say, he abused him into the bargain." "he said i was a d--d smuggling blackguard myself," said young radford. "well, then, gentlemen, is it at all wonderful that he drew his sword?" demanded his respectable father. "is every gentleman in the county to be ridden over, rough-shod, by these officers and their dragoons, and called 'd--d smuggling blackguards,' when they are actually engaged in persuading the smugglers not to fire? i promise you, my son shall bring an action against that fellow, birchett, for an assault. it seems to me that the case is quite clear." "it is, at all events, rendered doubtful," said sir robert croyland, "by what has been suggested. i think the officers had better now be recalled; and, by your permission, i will put a few questions to them." in a very few minutes the room was, once more, nearly filled, and the baronet addressed mowle, in a grave tone, saying--"a very different view of this case has been afforded us, mr. mowle, from that which you gave just now. it is distinctly proved, and i myself can in some degree testify to the fact, that mr. radford was on the spot accidentally, having been sent for by his father to join him at ashford----" "at the ramleys', i suppose you mean, sir," observed mowle, drily. "no, sir; at ashford," rejoined mr. radford; and sir robert croyland proceeded to say: "the young gentleman also asserts that he was persuading the smugglers to submit to lawful authority, or, at all events, not to fire upon you. was there any more firing after he came up?" "no; there was not," answered mowle. "they all galloped off as hard as they could." "corroborative proof of his statement," observed sir robert, solemnly. "the only question, therefore, remaining, seems to be, as to whether mr. radford, junior, had really anything to do with the placing of his name upon the goods. now, one strong reason for supposing such not to be the case is, that they were not found near his house, or going towards it, but the contrary." "why, he's as much at home in the ramleys' house as at his own," said a voice from behind; but sir robert took no notice, and proceeded to inquire--"have you proof, mr. mowle, that he authorized any one to mark these goods with his name?" mr. radford smiled; and mowle, the officer, looked a little puzzled. at length, however, he answered--"no, i can't say we have, sir robert; but one thing is very certain, it is not quite customary to ask for such proof in this stage of the business, and in the cases of inferior men." "i am sorry to hear it," replied sir robert croyland, in a dignified and sententious tone, "for it is quite necessary that in all cases the evidence should be clear and satisfactory to justify the magistrates in committing any man to prison, even for trial. in this instance nothing is proved, and not even a fair cause for suspicion made out. mr. radford was there accidentally; the goods were going in a different direction from his house; he was seized, we think upon insufficient grounds, while endeavouring to dissuade the smugglers from resisting the king's officers and troops; and though we may judge his opposition imprudent, it was not wholly unjustifiable. the prisoner is therefore discharged." "the goods were going to the ramleys," said the man, clinch, who now, emboldened by the presence of several other officers, spoke loud and decidedly. "here are two or three of the dragoons, who can swear that they followed a party of the smugglers nearly to the house, and had the gates shut in their face when they came up; and i can't help saying, that the search of the house by mr. radford was not conducted as it ought to have been. the two officers were left without, while he went in to speak with old ramley, and there were a dozen of men, or more, in the kitchen." "pooh! nonsense, fellow!" cried mr. radford, interrupting him with a laugh; "i did it for your own security." "and then," continued clinch, "when we had gone down into the concealed cellar below, which was as clear a _hide_ for smuggled goods as ever was seen, he would not let me carry out the search, though i found that two places at the sides were hollow, and only covered with boards." "why, you vagabond, you were afraid of going down at all!" said mr. radford. "where is adams? he can bear witness of it." "clinch didn't seem to like it much, it must be confessed," said adams, without coming forward; "but, then, the place was so full of men, it was enough to frighten one." "i wasn't frightened," rejoined mr. radford. "because it was clear enough that you and the ramleys understood each other," answered clinch, boldly. "pooh--pooh, nonsense!" said squire jollivet. "you must not talk such stuff here, mr. clinch. but, however that may be, the prisoner is discharged; and now, as i think we have no more business before us, we may all go home; for it's nearly five o'clock, and i, for one, want my dinner." "ay, it is nearly five o'clock," said young radford, who had been standing with his eyes cast down and his brow knit; "and you do not know what you have all done, keeping me here in this way." he added an oath, and then flung out of the room, passing through the crowd of officers and others, in his way towards the door, without waiting for his father, who had risen with the rest of the magistrates, and was preparing to depart. sir robert croyland and mr. radford descended the stairs of the inn together; and at the bottom, mr. radford shook the baronet heartily by the hand, saying, loud enough to be heard by everybody. "that was admirably well done, sir robert! many thanks--many thanks." "none to me, my dear sir," answered sir robert croyland. "it was but simple justice;" and he turned away to mount his horse. "very pretty justice, indeed!" said mowle, in a low voice, to the sergeant of dragoons; "but i can't help fancying there's something more under this than meets the eye. mr. radford isn't a gentleman who usually laughs at these matters so lightly. but if he thinks to cheat me, perhaps he may find himself mistaken." in the meantime the baronet hastened homewards, putting his horse into a quick pace, and taking the nearest roads through the woods, which were then somewhat thickly scattered over that part of kent. he had no servant with him; and when at about two miles from his own house, he passed through a wild and desolate part of the country, near what is now called chequer tree, he looked on before and around him on every side, somewhat anxiously, as if he did not much admire the aspect of the place. he pushed on, however, entered the wood, and rode rapidly down into a deep dell, which may still be seen in that neighbourhood, though its wild and gloomy character is now almost altogether lost. at that time, tall trees grew up round it on either hand, leaving, in the hollow, a little patch of about half an acre, filled with long grass and some stunted willows, while the head of a stream bubbling up in their shade, poured on its clear waters through a fringe of sedges and rushes towards some larger river. the sun had yet an hour or two to run before his setting; but it was only at noon of a summer's day that his rays ever penetrated into that gloomy and secluded spot; and towards the evening it had a chilly and desolate aspect, which made one feel as if it were a place debarred for ever of the bright light of day. the green tints of spring, or the warmer brown of autumn, seemed to make no difference, for the shades were always blue, dull and heavy, mingling with the thin filmy mist that rose up from the plashy ground on either side of the road. a faint sort of shudder came over sir robert croyland, probably from the damp air; and he urged his horse rapidly down the hill without any consideration for the beast's knees. he was spurring on towards the other side, as if eager to get out of it, when a voice was heard from amongst the trees, exclaiming, in a sad and melancholy tone, "robert croyland! robert croyland! what look you for here?" the baronet turned on his saddle with a look of terror and anguish; but, instead of stopping, he dug his spurs into the horse's sides, and gallopped up the opposite slope. as if irresistibly impelled to look at that which he dreaded, he gazed round twice as he ascended, and each time beheld, standing in the middle of the road, the same figure, wrapped in a large dark cloak, which he had seen when first the voice caught his ear. each time he averted his eyes in an instant, and spurred on more furiously than ever. his accelerated pace soon carried him to the top of the hill, where he could see over the trees; and in about a quarter of an hour, he reached halden, when he began to check his horse, and reasoned with himself on his own sensations. there was a great struggle in his mind; but ere he arrived at harbourne house he had gained sufficient mastery over himself to say, "what a strange thing imagination is!" end of vol. i. t. c. savill, printer, , chandos-street, covent-garden. the smuggler: a tale by g. p. r. james, esq. author of "darnley," "de l'orme," "richelieu," etc. etc. in three volumes. vol. ii. london: smith, elder and co., , cornhill. . the smuggler. chapter i. what a varying thing is the stream of life! how it sparkles and glitters! now it bounds along its pebbly bed, sometimes in sunshine, and sometimes in shade; sometimes sporting round all things, as if its essence were merriment and brightness; sometimes flowing solemnly on, as if it were derived from lethe itself. now it runs like a liquid diamond along the meadow; now it plunges in fume and fury over the rock; now it is clear and limpid, as youth and innocence can make it; now it is heavy and turbid, with the varying streams of thought and memory that are ever flowing into it, each bringing its store of dulness and pollution as it tends towards the end. its voice, too, varies as it goes; now it sings lightly as it dances on; now it roars amidst the obstacles that oppose its way; and now it has no tone but the dull low murmur of exhausted energy. such is the stream of life! yet, perhaps, few of us would wish to change our portion of it for the calm regularity of a canal--even if one could be constructed without locks and floodgates upon it to hold in the pent-up waters of the heart till they are ready to burst through the banks. life was in its sparkling aspect with zara croyland and sir edward digby, when they set out on horseback for the house of old mr. croyland, cantering easily along the roads of that part of the country, which, in the days i speak of, were soft and somewhat sandy. two servants followed behind at a discreet distance; and lightly passing over hill and dale, with all the loveliness of a very bright portion of our fair land stretched out around them, the young lady and her companion drew in, through the eyes, fresh sensations of happiness from all the lovely things of nature. the yellow woods warmed their hearts; the blue heaven raised their thoughts; the soft air refreshed and cheered all their feelings; and, when a passing cloud swept over the sky, it only gave that slight shadowy tone to the mind, which wakens within us the deep, innate, and elevating movements of the spirit, that seem to connect the aspect of god's visible creation, with a higher and a purer state of being. each had some spring of happiness in the heart fresh opened; for, to the fair girl who went bounding along through that gay world, the thought that she was conveying to a dear sister tidings of hope, was in itself a joy; and to her companion a new subject of contemplation was presenting itself, in the very being who accompanied him on the way--a subject quite untouched and novel, and, to a man of his character and disposition, a most interesting one. sir edward digby had mingled much with the world; he had seen many scenes of different kinds; he had visited various countries, the most opposite to each other; he had frequented courts, and camps, and cities; and he had known and seen a good deal of woman, and of woman's heart; but he had never yet met any one like zara croyland. the woman of fashion and of rank in all the few modifications of character that her circumstances admit--for rank and fashion are sadly like the famous bed of the robber of attica, on which all men are cut down or stretched out to a certain size,--was well known to him, and looked upon much in the light of an exotic plant, kept in an artificial state of existence, with many beauties and excellences, perhaps, mingling with many deformities and faults, but still weakened and deprived of individuality by long drilling in a round of conventionalities. he had seen, too, the wild indian, in the midst of her native woods, and might have sometimes admired the free grace and wild energy of uncultivated and unperverted nature; but he was not very fond of barbarism, and though he might admit the existence of fine qualities, even in a savage, yet he had not been filled with any great enthusiasm in favour of indian life, from what he had seen in canada. the truth is, he had never been a very dissolute, or, as it is termed, a very gay man--he was not sated and surfeited with the vices of civilization, and consequently was not inclined to seek for new excitement in the very opposite extreme of primeval rudeness. most of the gradations between the two, he had seen at different periods and in different lands; but yet in her who now rode along beside him, there was something different from any. it was not a want, but a combination of the qualities he had remarked in others. there was the polish and the cultivation of high class and finished training, with a slight touch of the wildness and the originality of the fresh unsophisticated heart. there was the grace of education, and the grace of nature; and there seemed to be high natural powers of intellect, uncurbed by artificial rules, but supplied with materials by instruction. all this was apparent; but the question with him was, as to the heart beneath, and its emotions. he gazed upon her as they went on--when she was not looking that way--he watched her countenance, the habitual expression of the features, and the varying expression which every emotion produced. her face seemed like a bright looking-glass, which a breath will dim, and a touch will brighten; but there is so much deceit in the world, and every man who has mingled with that world must have seen so much of it, and every man, also, has within himself such internal and convincing proofs of our human nature's fondness for seeming, that we are all inclined--except in very early youth--to doubt the first impression, to inquire beyond the external appearance, and to inquire if the heart of the fruit corresponds with the beauty of the outside. he asked himself what was she really?--what was true, and what was false, in that bright and sparkling creature? whether, was the gaiety or the sadness the real character of the mind within? or whether the frequent variation from the one to the other--ay, and from energy to lightness, from softness to firmness, from gentleness to vigour--were not all the indications of a character as various as the moods which it assumed. sir edward digby was resolved not to fall in love, which is the most dangerous resolution that a man can take: for it is seldom, if ever, taken, except in a case of great necessity--one of those hasty outworks thrown up against a powerful enemy, which are generally taken in a moment and the cannon therein turned against ourselves. nevertheless, he had resolved, as i have said, not to fall in love; and he fancied that, strengthened by that resolution, he was quite secure. it must not be understood, indeed, that sir edward digby never contemplated marriage. on the contrary, he thought of it as a remote evil that was likely to fall upon him some day, by an inevitable necessity. it seemed a sort of duty, indeed, to transmit his name, and honours, and wealth to another generation; and as duties are not always very pleasant things, he, from time to time, looked forward to the execution of his, in this respect, in a calm, philosophical, determined manner. thirty-five, he thought, would be a good time to marry; and when he did so, he had quite made up his mind to do it with the utmost deliberation and coolness. it should be quite a _mariage de raison_. he would take it as a dose of physic--a disagreeable thing, to be done when necessary, but not a minute before; and in the meantime, to fall in love, was quite out of the question. no, he was examining and investigating and contemplating zara croyland's character, merely as a matter of interesting speculation; and a very dangerous speculation it was, sir edward digby! i don't know which was most perilous, that, or your resolution. it is very strange, he never recollected that, in no other case in his whole career, had he found it either necessary to take such a resolution, or pleasant to enter into such a speculation. if he had, perhaps he might have begun to tremble for himself. nor did he take into the calculation the very important fact that zara croyland was both beautiful and pretty--two very different things, reader, as you will find, if you examine. a person may be very pretty without being the least beautiful, or very beautiful without being the least pretty; but when those two qualities are both combined, and when, in one girl, the beauty of features and of form that excites admiration, is joined with that prettiness of expression, and colouring, and arrangement that wakens tenderness and wins affection, lord have mercy upon the man who rides along with her through fair scenes, under a bright sky! digby did not at all find out, that he was in the most dangerous situation in the world; or, if some fancy ever came upon him, that he was not quite safe, it was but as one of those vague impressions of peril that float for a single instant over the mind when we are engaged in any very bold and exciting undertaking, and pass away again as fast. far from guarding himself at all, sir edward digby went on in his unconsciousness, laying himself more and more open to the enemy. in pursuit of his scheme of investigation, he proceeded, as they rode along, to try the mind of his fair companion in a thousand different ways; and every instant he brought forth some new and dangerous quality. he found that, in the comparative solitude in which she lived, she had had time for study as well as thought, and had acquired far more, and far more varied stores of information, than was common with the young women of her day. it was not alone that she could read and spell--which a great many could not, in those times,--but she had read a number of different works upon a number of different subjects; knew as much of other lands, and of the habits of other people, as books could give, and was tastefully proficient in the arts that brighten life, even where their cultivation is not its object. thus her conversation had always something new about it. the very images that suggested themselves to her mind were derived from such numerous sources, that it kept the fancy on the stretch to follow her in her flights, and made their whole talk a sort of playful chase, like that of one bird after another in the air. now she borrowed a comparison for something sensible to the eye from the sweet music that charms the ear--now she found out links of association between the singing of the birds and some of the fine paintings that she had seen or heard of--now combined a bright scene, or a peculiar moment of happiness, with the sweet odours of the flowers or the murmur of the stream. with everything in nature and art she sported, apparently unconscious; and often, too, in speaking of the emotions of the heart or the thoughts of the mind, she would, with a bright flash of imagination, cast lights upon those dark and hidden things, from objects in the external world, or from the common events of life. eagerly digby led her on--pleased, excited, entertained himself; but in so doing he produced an effect which he had not calculated upon. he made a change in her feelings towards himself. she had thought him a very agreeable man from the first; she had seen that he was a gentleman by habit, and divined that he was so by nature; but now she began to think that he was a very high-toned and noble-minded man, that he was one worthy of high station and of all happiness--she did not say--of affection, nor let the image of love pass distinctly before her eyes. there might be a rosy cloud in the far sky wherein the god was veiled; but she did not see him--or, was it that she would not? perhaps it was so; for woman's heart is often as perverse and blind, in these matters, as man's. but one thing is clear, no two people can thus pour forth the streams of congenial thought and feeling--to flow on mingling together in sweet communion--for any great length of time, without a change of their sensations towards each other; and, unless the breast be well guarded by passion for another, it is not alone that mind with mind is blended, but heart with heart. though the distance was considerable,--that is to say, some three or four miles, and they made it more than twice as long by turning up towards the hills, to catch a fine view of the wooded world below, on whose beauty zara expatiated eloquently,--and though they talked of a thousand different subjects, which i have not paused to mention here, lest the detail should seem all too tedious, yet their ride passed away briefly, like a dream. at length, coming through some green lanes, overhung by young saplings and a crown of brambles and other hedge-row shrubs--no longer, alas, in flower--they caught sight of the chimneys of a house a little way farther on, and zara said, with a sigh, "there is my uncle's house." sir edward digby asked himself, "why does she sigh?" and as he did so, felt inclined to sigh, too; for the ride had seemed too short, and had now become as a pleasant thing passed away. but then he thought, "we shall enjoy it once again as we return;" and he took advantage of their slackened pace to say, "as i know you are anxious to speak with your sister, miss croyland, i will contrive to occupy your uncle for a time, if we find him at home. i fear i shall not be able to obtain an opportunity of talking with her myself on the subjects that so deeply interest her, as at one time i hoped to do; but i am quite sure, from what i see of you, that i may depend upon what you tell me, and act accordingly." as if by mutual consent, they had avoided, during their expedition of that morning, the subject which was, perhaps, most in the thoughts of each; but now zara checked her horse to a slow walk, and replied, after a moment's thought, "i should think, if you desire it, you could easily obtain a few minutes' conversation with her at my uncle's.--i only don't know whether it may agitate her too much or not. perhaps you had better let me speak with her first, and then, if she wishes it, she will easily find the means. you may trust to me, indeed, sir edward, in edith's case, though i do not always say exactly what i mean about myself. not that i have done otherwise with you; for, indeed, i have neither had time nor occasion; but with the people that occasionally come to the house, sometimes it is necessary, and sometimes i am tempted, out of pure perversity, to make them think me very different from what i am. it is not always with those that i hate or despise either, but sometimes with people that i like and esteem very much. now, i dare say poor harry leyton has given you a very sad account of me?" "no, indeed," answered sir edward digby; "you do him wrong; i have not the least objection to tell you exactly what he said." "oh, do--do!" cried zara; "i should like to hear very much, for i am afraid i used to tease him terribly." "he said," replied digby, "that when last he saw you, you were a gay, kind-hearted girl of fourteen, and that he was sure, if i spoke to you about him, you would tell me all that i wanted to know with truth and candour." "that was kind of him," said zara, with some emotion, "that was very kind. i am glad he knows me; and yet that very candour, sir edward, some people call affectation, and some impudence. i am afraid that those who know much of the world never judge rightly of those who know little of it. sincerity is a commodity so very rare, i am told, in the best society, that those who meet with it never believe that they have got the genuine article." "i know a good deal of the world," replied the young baronet, "but yet, my dear miss croyland, i do not think that i have judged you wrongly;" and he fell into thought. the next moment they turned up to the house of old mr. croyland; and while the servants were holding the horses, and zara, with the aid of sir edward digby, dismounting at the door, they saw, to her horror and consternation, a large, yellow coach coming down the hill towards the house, which she instantly recognised as her father's family vehicle. "my aunt, my aunt, upon my life!" exclaimed zara, with a rueful shake of the head. "i must speak one word with edith before she comes; so forgive me, sir edward," and she darted into the house, asking a black servant, in a shawl turban and a long white gown, where miss croyland was to be found. "she out in de garden, pretty missy," replied the man; and zara ran on through the vestibule before her. unfortunately, vestibules will have doors communicating with them, which, i have often remarked, have an unhappy propensity to open when any one is anxious to pass by them quietly. it was so in the present instance: roused from a reverie by the ringing of the bell, and the sound of voices without, mr. croyland issued forth just at the moment when zara's light foot was carrying her across to the garden; and catching her by the arm, he detained her, asking, "what brought you here, saucy girl, and whither are you running so fast?" now zara, though she was not good mr. zachary's favourite, had a very just appreciation of her uncle's character, and knew that the simple truth was less dangerous with him than with nine hundred and ninety-nine persons out of a thousand in civilized society. she, therefore, replied at once. "don't stop me, uncle, there's a good man! i came to speak a few words to edith, and wish to speak them before my aunt arrives." "what! plot and counterplot, i will warrant!" exclaimed mr. croyland, freeing her arm. "well, get you gone, you graceless monkey! ha! who have we here? why, my young friend, the half-bottle man! are you one of the plotters too, sir edward?" "oh, i am a complete master in the art of domestic strategy, i assure you," answered the young officer, "and i propose--having heard what miss croyland has just said--that we take up a position across these glass doors, in order to favour her operations. we can then impede the advance of mrs. barbara's corps, by throwing forward the light-infantry of small-talk, assure her it is a most beautiful day, tell her that the view from the hill is lovely, and that the slight yellowness of september gives a fine warmth to the green foliage--with various other pieces of information which she does not desire--till the man[oe]uvres in our rear are complete." "ah, you are a sad knave," replied mr. zachary croyland, laughing, "and, i see, are quite ready to aid the young in bamboozling the old." but, alas, the best schemed campaign is subject to accidental impediments in execution, which will often deprive it of success! almost as mr. croyland spoke, the carriage rolled up; and not small was the horror of the master of the house, to see riding behind it, on a tall grey horse, no other than young richard radford. sir edward digby, though less horrified, was not well pleased; but it was mr. croyland who spoke, and that in rather a sharp and angry tone, stepping forward, at the same time, over the threshold of his door: "mr. radford," he said--"mr. radford, i am surprised to see you! you must very well know, that although i tolerate, and am obliged to tolerate, a great many people whom i don't approve, at my brother's house, your society is not that which i particularly desire." young radford's eyes flashed, but, for once in his life, he exercised some command over himself. "i came here at your sister's suggestion, sir," he said. "oh, barbara, barbara! barbarous barbara!" exclaimed mr. zachary croyland, shaking his head at his sister, who was stepping out of the carriage. "the devil himself never invented an instrument better fitted to torment the whole human race, than a woman with the best intentions in the world." "why, my dear brother," said mrs. barbara, with the look of a martyr, "you know quite well that robert wishes mr. radford to have the opportunity of paying his addresses to edith, and so i proposed----" "he shan't have the opportunity here, by vishnoo!" cried the old gentleman. "to say the truth," said mr. radford, interposing, "such was not my object in coming hither to-day. i wished to have the honour of saying a few words to a gentleman i see standing behind you, sir, which was also the motive of my going over to harbourne house. otherwise, well knowing your prejudices, i should not have troubled you; for, i can assure you, that _your_ company is not particularly agreeable to _me_." "if mine is what you want, sir," replied sir edward digby, stepping forward and passing mr. croyland, "it is very easily obtained; but, as it seems you are not a welcome guest here, perhaps we had better walk along the lane together." "a less distance than that will do," answered richard radford, throwing the bridle of his horse to one of the servants, and taking two or three steps away from the house. "oh, zachary, my dear brother, do interfere!" exclaimed mrs. barbara. "i forgot they had quarrelled yesterday morning, and unfortunately let out that sir edward was here. there will be a duel, if you don't stop them." "not i," cried mr. croyland, rubbing his hands; "it's a pleasure to see two fools cut each other's throats. i'd lay any wager--if i ever did such a thing as lay wagers at all--that digby pricks him through the midriff. there's a nice little spot at the end of the garden quite fit for such exercises." mr. zachary croyland was merely playing upon his sister's apprehensions, as the best sort of punishment he could inflict for the mischief she had brought about; but he never had the slightest idea that sir edward digby and young radford would come to anything like extreme measures in his sister's presence, knowing the one to be a gentleman, and mistakenly believing the other to be a coward. the conversation of the two who had walked away was not of long duration: nor, for a time, did it appear very vehement. mr. radford said something, and the young baronet replied; mr. radford rejoined, and digby answered the rejoinder. then some new observation was made by the other, which seemed to cause sir edward to look round to the house, and, seeing mr. croyland and his sister still on the step, to make a sign for young radford to follow to a greater distance. the latter, however, planted the heel of his boot tight in the gravel, as if to give emphasis to what he said, and uttered a sentence in a louder tone, and with a look so fierce, meaning, and contemptuous, that mr. croyland saw the matter was getting serious, and stepped forward to interfere. in an instant, however, sir edward digby, apparently provoked beyond bearing, raised the heavy horsewhip which he had in his hand, and laid it three or four times, with great rapidity, over mr. radford's shoulders. the young man instantly dropped his own whip, drew his sword, and made a fierce lunge at the young officer's breast. the motion was so rapid, and the thrust so well aimed, that digby had barely time to put it aside with his riding-whip, receiving a wound in his left shoulder as he did so. but the next moment his sword was also out of the sheath, and, after three sharp passes, young radford's blade was flying over the neighbouring hedge, and a blow in the face from the hilt of sir edward digby's weapon brought him with his knee to the ground. the whole of this scene passed as quick as lightning; and i have not thought fit to interrupt the narration for the purpose of recording, in order, the four, several, piercing shrieks with which mrs. barbara croyland accompanied each act of the drama. the first, however, was loud enough to call zara from the garden, even before she had found her sister; and she came up to her aunt's side just at the moment that young radford was disarmed, and then struck in the face by his opponent. slightly heated, sir edward gazed at him with his weapon in his hand; and the young lady, clasping her hands, exclaimed aloud, "hold, sir edward! sir edward! for heaven's sake!" sir edward digby turned round with a faint smile, thrust his sword back into the sheath, and, without bestowing another word on his adversary, walked slowly back to the door of the house, and apologized to mrs. barbara for what had occurred, saying, "i beg you ten thousand pardons, my dear madam, for treating you to such a sight as this; but i can assure you it is not my seeking. that person, who failed to keep an appointment with me yesterday, thought fit twice just now to call me coward; and as he would not walk to a little distance, i had no resource but to horsewhip him where i stood." "pity you didn't ran him through the liver!" observed mr. croyland. while these few words were passing, young radford rose slowly, paused for an instant to gaze upon the ground, and then, gnawing his lip, approached his horse's side. there is, perhaps, no passion of the human heart more dire, more terrible than impotent revenge, or more uncontrollable in its effect upon the human countenance. the face of richard radford, handsome as it was in many respects, was at the moment when he put his foot into the stirrup and swung himself up to the saddle, perfectly frightful, from the fiend-like expression of rage and disappointment that it bore. he felt that he was powerless--for a time, at least; that he had met an adversary greatly superior to himself, both in skill and strength; and that he had suffered not only defeat but disgrace, before the eyes of a number of persons whom his own headstrong fury had made spectators of a scene so painful to himself. reining his horse angrily back to clear him of the carriage, he shook his fist at sir edward digby, exclaiming, "sooner or later, i will have revenge!" then, striking the beast's flank with his spurs, he turned and galloped away. digby had, as we have seen, addressed his apologies to mrs. barbara croyland; but after hearing, with a calm smile, his vanquished opponent's empty threat, he looked round to the fair companion of his morning's ride, and saw her standing beside her uncle, with her cheek very pale and her eyes cast down to the ground. "do not be alarmed. miss croyland," he said, bending down his head, and speaking in a low and gentle tone. "this affair can have no other results. it is all over now." zara raised her eyes to his face, but, as she did so, turned more pale than before; and pointing to his arm--where the cloth of his coat was cut through, and the blood flowing down over his sleeve and dropping from the ruffle round his wrist--she exclaimed, "you are hurt, sir edward! good heaven! he has wounded you!" "a scratch--a scratch," said digby; "a mere nothing. a pocket-handkerchief tied round it, will soon remedy all the mischief he has done, though not all he intended." "oh! come in--come in, and have it examined!" cried zara, eagerly. the rest of the party gathered round, joined, just at that moment, by edith from the garden; and mr. croyland, tearing the coat wider open, looked at the wound with more experienced eyes, saying, "ah, a flesh wound! but in rather an awkward place. not as wide as a church door, nor as deep as a draw-well, as our friend has it; but if it had been an inch and a half to the right, it would have divided the subclavian artery--and then, my dear sir, 'it would have done.' this will get well soon. but come, sir neddy, let us into the house; and i will do for you what i haven't done for ten or twelve years--_id est_, dress your wound myself: and mind, you must not drink any wine to-night." the whole party began to move into the house, sir edward digby keeping as near the two miss croylands as possible, and laying out a little plan in his head for begging the assistance of mrs. barbara while his wound was dressed, and sending the two young ladies out of the room to hold their conference together. he was, however, destined to be frustrated here also. to zara croyland, it had been a day of unusual excitement; she had enjoyed, she had been moved, she had been agitated and terrified, and she was still under much greater alarm than perhaps was needful, both regarding sir edward digby's wound and the threat which young radford had uttered. she felt her head giddy and her heart flutter as if oppressed; but she walked on steadily enough for four or five steps, while her aunt, mrs. barbara, was explaining to edith, in her own particular way, all that had occurred. but just when the old lady was saying--"then, whipping out his sword in an instant, he thrust at sir edward's breast, and i thought to a certainty he was run through--" zara sunk slowly down, caught by her sister as she fell, and the hue of death spread over her face. "fainted!" cried mr. croyland. "i wish to heaven, bab, you would hold your tongue! i will tell edith about it afterwards. what's the use of bringing it all up again before the girl's mind, when the thing's done and over? there, let her lie where she is; the recumbent position is the right thing. bring a cushion out of the drawing-room, edith, my love, and ask baba for the hartshorn drops. we'll soon get her better; and then the best thing you can do, bab, is to put her into the carriage, take her home again, and hold your tongue to my brother about this foolish affair--if anything can hold a woman's tongue. i'll plaster up the man's arm, and then, like many another piece of damaged goods, he'll be all right--on the outside at least." mrs. barbara croyland followed devoutly one part of her brother's injunctions. as soon as zara was sufficiently recovered, she hurried her to the carriage, without leaving her alone with edith for one moment; and sir edward digby, having had his wound skilfully dressed by mr. zachary croyland's own hands, thanked the old gentleman heartily for his care and kindness, mounted his horse, and rode back to harbourne house. chapter ii. we must now return to the town of hythe, and to the little room in the little inn, which that famous borough boasted as its principal hostelry, at the period of our tale. it was about eleven o'clock at night, perhaps a few minutes earlier; and in that room was seated a gentleman, whom we have left for a long time, though not without interest in himself and his concerns. but, as in this wayfaring world we are often destined for weeks, months--ay, and long years--to quit those whom we love best, and to work for their good in distant scenes, with many a thought given to them, but few means of communication; so, in every picture of human life which comprises more than one character, must we frequently leave those in whom we are most interested, while we are tracing out the various remote cords and pulleys of fate, by which the fabric of their destiny is ultimately reared. the gentleman, then, who had been introduced to mr. croyland as captain osborne, was seated at a table, writing. a number of papers, consisting of letters, accounts, and several printed forms, unfilled up, were strewed upon the table around, which was moreover encumbered by a heavy sword and belt, a large pair of thick buckskin gloves, and a brace of heavy silver-mounted pistols. he looked pale and somewhat anxious; but nevertheless he went on, with his fine head bent, and the light falling from above upon his beautifully cut classical features--sometimes putting down a name, and adding a sum in figures opposite--sometimes, when he came to the bottom of the page, running up the column with rapidity and ease, and then inscribing the sum total at the bottom. it was perhaps, rather an unromantic occupation that the young officer was employed in; for it was evident that he was making up, with steady perseverance, some rather lengthy accounts; and all his thoughts seemed occupied with pounds, shillings, and pence. it was not so, indeed, though he wished it to be so; but, if the truth must be spoken, his mind often wandered afar; and his brain seemed to have got into that state of excitement, which caused sounds and circumstances that would at any other time have passed without notice, to trouble him and disturb his ideas on the present occasion. there had been a card and punch club in one of the neighbouring rooms. the gentlemen had assembled at half-past six or seven, had hung up their wigs upon pegs provided for the purpose, and had made a great deal of noise in coming in and arranging themselves. there was then the brewing of the punch, the lighting of the pipes, and the laughing and jesting to which those important events generally give rise, at the meeting of persons of some importance in a country town; and then the cards were produced, and a great deal of laughing and talking, as usual, succeeded, in regard to the preliminaries, and also respecting the course of the game. there had been no slight noise, also, in the lower regions of the inn, much speaking, and apparently some merriment; and, from all these things put together--to say nothing of, every now and then, the pleasures of a comic song, given by one of the parties above or below--the young officer had been considerably disturbed, and had been angry with himself for being so. his thoughts, too, would wander, whether he liked it or not. "digby must have seen her," he said to himself, "unless she be absent; and surely he must have found some opportunity of speaking with herself or her sister by this time. i wonder i have not heard from him. he promised to write as soon as he had any information; and he is not a man to forget. well, it is of no use to think of it;" and he went on--"five and six are eleven, and four are fifteen, and six are twenty-one." at this interesting point of his calculation, a dragoon, who was stationed at the door, put his head into the room, and said, "mr. mowle, sir, wants to speak to you." "let him come in," answered the officer; and, laying down his pen, he looked up with a smile. "well, mr. mowle!" he continued, "what news do you bring? have you been successful?" "no very good news, and but very little success, sir," answered the officer of customs, taking a seat to which the other pointed. "we have captured some of their goods, and taken six of the men, but the greater part of the cargo, and the greatest villain of them all, have been got off." "ay, how happened that?" asked the gentleman to whom he spoke. "i gave you all the men you required; and i should certainly have thought you were strong enough." "oh yes, sir, that was not what we lacked," answered mowle, in a somewhat bitter tone; "but i'll tell you what we did want--honest magistrates, and good information. knowing the way they were likely to take, i cut straight across the country by aldington, kingsnorth, and singleton-green, towards four elms----" "it would have been better, i should think, to go on by westhawk," said the young officer; "for though the road is rather hilly, you would by that means have cut them off, both from singleton, chart magna, and gouldwell, towards which places, i think you said, they were tending. "yes, sir," replied the officer of customs, "but we found, on the road, that we were rather late in the day, and that our only chance was by hard riding. we came up with four of them, however, who had lagged behind, about four elms. two of these we got, and all their goods; and, from the information they gave, we galloped on as hard as we could to rousend." "did you take the road, or across the country?" demanded the young officer. "birchett would take the road," answered mowle. "he was wrong--he was quite wrong," replied the other. "if you had passed by newstreet, then straight over the fields and meadows, up to the mill, you would have had them in a trap. they could not have reached chart, or new purchase, or gouldwell, or etchden, without your catching them; and if they had fallen back, they must have come upon the men i stationed at bethersden, with whom was adams, the officer." "why, you seem to know the country, sir," said his companion, with some surprise, "as if you had lived in it all your days." "i do know it very well," answered the officer of dragoons; "and you must be well aware that what i say is right. it was the shortest way, too, and presents no impediments but a couple of fences, and a ditch." "all very true, sir," answered mowle, "and so i told birchett; but adams had gone off for another officer, and is very little use to us himself.--there's no trusting him, sir.--however, we came up with them at rousend, but there, after a little bit of a tussle, they separated;" and he went on to give his account of the affray with the smugglers, nearly in the same words which he had employed when speaking to the magistrates, some six or seven hours before. his hearer listened with grave attention; but when mowle came to mention the appearance of richard radford, and his capture, the young officer's eyes flashed, and his brow knit; and as the man went on to describe the self-evident juggle which had been played, to enable the youth to evade the reach of justice, he rose from the table, and walked once or twice hastily up and down the room. then, seating himself again, to all appearance as calm as before, he said, "this is too bad, mr. mowle, and shall be reported." "ay, sir; but you have not heard the worst," answered mowle. "these worthy justices thought fit to send the five men whom they had committed, off to gaol in a wagon, with three or four constables to guard them, and of course you know what took place." "oh, they were all rescued, of course!" replied the officer. "before they got to headcorn," said mowle. "but the whole affair was arranged by mr. radford; for these fellows say themselves, that it is better to work for him at half price, than for any one else, because he always stands by his own, and will see no harm come to them. if this is to go on, sir, you and i may as well leave the county." "it shall not go on," answered the officer; "but we must have a little patience, my good friend. long impunity makes a man rash. this worthy mr. radford seems to have become so already; otherwise, he would never have risked carrying so large a venture across the country in open day----" "i don't think that, in this, he was rash at all, sir," answered mowle, lowering his tone, and speaking in a whisper; "and if you will listen for a moment, i'll tell you why. my belief is, that the whole of this matter is but a lure to take us off the right scent; and i have several reasons for thinking so. in the first place, the run was but a trifling affair, as far as i can learn--not worth five hundred pounds. i know that what we have got is not worth a hundred; and it has cost me as good a horse as i ever rode in my life. now from all i hear, the cargo that mr. radford expects is the most valuable that ever was run from dungeness point to the north foreland. so, if my information is correct, and i am sure it----" "who did you get it from?" demanded the officer, "if the question is a fair one." "some such questions might not be," answered mowle, "but i don't mind answering this, colonel. i got it from mr. radford himself.--ay, sir, you may well look surprised; but i heard him, with my own ears, say that it was worth at least seventy thousand pounds. so you see my information is pretty good. now, knowing this, as soon as i found out what value was in this lot, i said to myself, this is some little spec of young radford's own. but when i came to consider the matter, i found, that must be a mistake too; for the old man helped the ramleys out of their scrape so impudently, and took such pains to let it be well understood that he had an interest in the affair, that i felt sure there was some motive at the bottom, sir. in all these things, he has shown himself from a boy, as cautious as he is daring, and that's the way he has made such a power of money. he's not a man to appear too much in a thing, even for his son's sake, if he has not some purpose to answer; and, depend upon it, i'm right, when i say that this run was nothing but a trap, or a blind as they call it, to make us think--in case we've got any information of the great venture--that the thing is all over. why did they choose the day, when they might have done it all at night? why did mr. radford go on laughing with the magistrates, as if it was a good joke? no, no, sir, the case is clear enough: they are going to strike their great stroke sooner than we supposed; and this is but a trifle." "but may you not have made some mistake in regard to mr. radford's words?" demanded the young officer. "i should think it little likely that so prudent a man, as you represent him to be, would run so great a risk for such a purpose." "i made no mistake," answered mowle; "i heard the words clear enough; and, besides, i've another proof. the man who is to run the goods for him, had nothing to do with this affair. i've got sharp eyes upon him; and though he was away from home the other night, he was not at sea. that i've discovered. he was up in the county, not far from mr. radford's own place, and most likely saw him, though that i can't find out. however, sir, i shall hear more very soon. whenever it is to be done, we shall have sharp work of it, and must have plenty of men." "my orders are to assist you to the best of my power," said the young officer, "and to give you what men you may require; but as i have been obliged to quarter them in different places, you had better give me as speedy information of what force you are likely to demand, and on what point you wish them to assemble, as you can." "those are puzzling questions, colonel," replied mowle. "i do not think the attempt will be made to-night; for their own people must be all knocked up, and they cannot bring down enough to carry as well as run--at least, i think not. but it will probably be made to-morrow, if they fancy they have lulled us; and that fancy i shall take care to indulge, by keeping a sharp look out, without seeming to look out at all. as to the point, that is what i cannot tell. harding will start from the beach here; but where he will land is another affair; and the troops are as likely to be wanted twenty miles down the coast, or twenty miles up, as anywhere else. i wish you would give me a general order for the dragoons to assist me wherever i may want them." "that is given already, mr. mowle," answered the officer; "such are the commands we have received; and even the non-commissioned officers are instructed, on the very first requisition made by a chief officer of customs, to turn out and aid in the execution of the law. wherever any of the regiment are quartered, you will find them ready to assist." "ay, but they are so scattered, sir," rejoined mowle, "that it may be difficult to get them together in a hurry." "not in the least," replied osborne; "they are so disposed that i can, at a very short notice, collect a sufficient force, at any point, to deal with the largest body of smugglers that ever assembled." "you may, perhaps, sir, but i cannot," answered the custom-house officer; "and what i wish is, that you would give them a general order to march to any place where i require them, and to act as i shall direct." "nay, mr. mowle," said the other, shaking his head, "that, i am afraid, cannot be. i have no instructions to such effect; and though the military power is sent here, to assist the civil, it is not put under the command of the civil. i do not conceal from you that i do not like the service; but that shall only be a motive with me for executing my duty the more vigorously; and you have but to give me intimation of where you wish a force collected, and it shall be done in the shortest possible time." mowle did not seem quite satisfied with this answer; and after musing for a few minutes, he replied, "but suppose i do not know myself--suppose it should be fifteen or twenty miles from hythe, and i myself, on the spot, how am i to get the requisition sent to you--and how are you to move your men to the place where i may want them--perhaps, farther still?". "as to my moving my men, you must leave that to me," answered the young officer; "and as to your obtaining the information, and communicating it, i might reply, that _you_ must look to that; but as i sincerely believe you to be a most vigilant and active person, who will leave no means unemployed to obtain intelligence, i will only point out, in the first place, that our best efforts sometimes fail, but that we may always rest at ease, when we have used our best; and, in the second, i will suggest to you one or two means of ensuring success. wherever you may happen to find that the landing of these goods is intended, or wherever you may be when it is effected, you will find within a circle of three miles, several parties of dragoons, who, on the first call, will render you every aid. with them, upon the system i have laid down for them, you will be able to keep your adversaries in check, delay their operations, and follow them up. your first step, however, should be, to send off a trooper to me with all speed, charging him, if verbally, with as short and plain a message as possible--first, stating the point where the 'run,' as you call it, has been effected; and secondly, in what direction, to the best of your judgment, the enemy--that is to say, the smugglers--are marching. if you do that, and are right in your conjecture, they shall not go far without being attacked. if you are wrong, as any man may be, in regard to their line of retreat, they shall not be long unpursued. but as to putting the military under the command of the customs, as i said before, i have no orders to that effect, and do not think that any such will ever be issued. in the next place, in order to obtain the most speedy information yourself, and to ensure that i shall be prepared, i would suggest that you direct each officer on the coast, if a landing should be effected in his district, first, to call for the aid of the nearest military party, and then to light a beacon on the next high ground. as soon as the first beacon is lighted, let the next officer on the side of hythe, light one also, and, at the same time, with any force he can collect, proceed towards the first. easy means may be found to transmit intelligence of the route of the smugglers to the bodies coming up; and, in a case like the present, i shall not scruple to take the command myself, at any point where i may be assured formidable resistance is likely to be offered." "well, sir, i think the plan of the beacons is a good one," answered mowle, "and it would be still better, if there were any of the coast officers on whom we could depend; but a more rascally set of mercenary knaves does not exist. not one of them who would not sell the whole of the king's revenue for a twenty pound or so; and, however clear are the orders they receive, they find means to mistake them. but i will go and write the whole down, and have it copied out for each station, so that if they do not choose to understand, it must be their own fault. i am afraid, however, that all this preparation will put our friends upon their guard, and that they will delay their run till they can draw us off somewhere else." "there is some reason for that apprehension," replied the young officer, thoughtfully. "you imagine, then, that it is likely to take place to-morrow night, if we keep quiet?" "i have little doubt of it," replied mowle; "or if not, the night after.--but i think it will be to-morrow. yes, they won't lose the opportunity, if they fancy we are slack; and then the superintendent chose to fall sick to-day, so that the whole rests with me, which will give me enough to do, as they are well aware." "well, then," replied the gentleman to whom he spoke, "leave the business of the beacons to me. i will give orders that they be lighted at every post, as soon as application is made for assistance. you will know what it means when you see one; and, in the meantime, keep quite quiet--affect a certain degree of indifference, but not too much, and speak of having partly spoiled mr. radford's venture.--do you think he will be present himself?" "oh, not he--not he!" answered mowle. "he is too cunning for that, by a hundred miles. in any little affair like this of to-day, he might not, perhaps, be afraid of showing himself--to answer a purpose; but in a more serious piece of business, where his brother justices could not contrive to shelter him, and where government would certainly interfere, he will keep as quiet and still as if he had nought to do with it. but i will have him, nevertheless, before long; and then all his ill-gotten wealth shall go, even if we do not contrive to transport him." "how will you manage that?" asked the young officer; "if he abstains from taking any active part, you will have no proof, unless, indeed, one of those he employs should give evidence against him, or inform beforehand for the sake of the reward." "they wont do that," said mowle, thoughtfully, "they wont do that.--i do not know how it is, sir," he continued, after a moment's pause, "but the difference between the establishment of the customs and the smugglers is a very strange one; and i'll tell you what it is: there is not one of these fellows who run goods upon the coast, or carry them inland, who will, for any sum that can be offered, inform against their employers or their comrades; and there's scarce a custom-house officer in all kent, that, for five shillings, would not betray his brother or sell his country. the riding officers are somewhat better than the rest; but these fellows at the ports think no more of taking a bribe to shut their eyes than of drinking a glass of rum. now you may attempt to bribe a smuggler for ever--not that i ever tried; for i don't like to ask men to sell their own souls; but birchett has, often. i cannot well make out the cause of this difference; but certainly there is such a spirit amongst the smugglers that they wont do a dishonest thing, except in their own way, for any sum. there are the ramleys, even--the greatest blackguards in europe, smugglers, thieves, and cut-throats--but they wont betray each other. there is no crime they wont commit but that; and that they would sooner die than do; while we have a great many men amongst us, come of respectable parents, well brought up, well educated, who take money every day to cheat their employers." "i rather suspect that it is the difference of consequences in the two cases," answered osborne, "which makes men view the same act in a different way. a custom-house officer who betrays his trust, thinks that he only brings a little loss upon a government which can well spare it--he is not a bit the less a rogue for that, for honesty makes no such distinctions--but the smuggler who betrays his comrade or employer, must be well aware that he is not only ruining him in purse, but bringing on him corporeal punishment." "ay, sir, but there's a spirit in the thing," said mowle, shaking his head; "the very country people in general love the smugglers, and help them whenever they can. there's not a cottage that will not hide them or their goods; scarce a gentleman in the county who, if he finds all the horses out of his stable in the morning, does not take it quietly, without asking any more questions; scarce a magistrate who does not give the fellows notice as soon as he knows the officers are after them. the country folks, indeed, do not like them so well as they did; but they'll soon make it up." "a strange state, certainly," said the officer of dragoons; "but what has become of the horses you mention, when they are thus found absent?" "gone to carry goods, to be sure," answered mowle. "but one thing is very clear, all the country is in the smugglers' favour, and i cannot help thinking that the people do not like the custom's dues, that they don't see the good of them, and are resolved to put them down." "ignorant people, and, indeed, all people, do not like taxation of any kind," replied osborne; "and every class objects to that tax which presses on itself, without the slightest regard either for the necessity of distributing the burdens of the country equally, or any of the apparently minute but really important considerations upon which the apportionment has been formed. however, mr. mowle, we have only to do our duty according to our position--you to gain all the information that you can--i to aid you, to the best of my ability, in carrying the law into effect." "from the smugglers themselves, little is the information i can get, sir," answered mowle, returning to the subject from which their conversation had deviated, "and often i am obliged to have recourse to means i am ashamed of. the principal intelligence i receive is from a boy who offered himself one day--the little devil's imp--and certainly, by his cunning, and by not much caring myself what risks i run, i have got some very valuable tidings. but the little vagabond would betray me, or anyone else, to-morrow. he is the grandson of an old hag who lives at a little hut just by saltwood, who puts him up to it all; and if ever there was an old demon in the world she is one. she is always brewing mischief, and chuckling over it all the time, as if it were her sport to see men tear each other to pieces, and to make innocent girls as bad as she was herself, and as her own daughter was, too,--the mother of this boy. the girl was killed by a chance shot, one day, in a riot between the smugglers and the customs people; and the old woman always says it was a smuggler's shot. oh! i could tell you such stories of that old witch." the stories of mr. mowle, however, were cut short by the entrance of a servant carrying a letter, which the young officer took and opened with a look of eager anxiety. the contents were brief; but they seemed important, for various were the changes which came over his fine countenance while he read them. the predominant expression, however, was joy, though there was a look of thoughtful consideration--perhaps in a degree of embarrassment, too, on his face; and as he laid the letter down on the table, and beat the paper with his fingers, gazing up into vacancy, mowle, judging that his presence was not desired, rose to retire. "stay a moment. mr. mowle--stay a moment," said osborne. "this letter requires some consideration. it contains a call to a part of kent some fifteen or sixteen miles distant; but as it is upon private business, i must not let that interfere with my public duty. you say that this enterprise of mr. radford's is likely to be put in execution to-morrow night." "i cannot be sure, colonel," answered the officer: "but i think there is every chance of it." "then i must return before nightfall to-morrow," replied the gentleman, with a sigh. "your presence will be very necessary, sir," said the custom-house officer. "there is not one of your officers who seems up to the business, except major digby and yourself. all the rest are such fine gentlemen that one can't get on with them." "let me consider for a moment," rejoined the other; but mowle went on in the same strain, saying, "then, sir, if you were to be absent all to-morrow, i might get very important information, and not be able to give it to you, nor arrange anything with you either." osborne still meditated with a grave brow for some time. "i will write," he said, at length. "it will be better--it will be only just and honourable. i will write instead of going to-morrow, mr. mowle; and if this affair should not take place to-morrow night, as you suppose, i will make such arrangements for the following day--on which i must go over to woodchurch--as will enable you to communicate with me without delay, should you have any message to send. at all events, i will return to hythe before night. now good evening;" and while mowle made his bow and retired, the young officer turned to the letter again, and read it over with glistening eyes. chapter iii. i wonder if the reader ever wandered from saltwood castle back to the good old town of hythe, on a fine summer's day, with a fair companion, as full of thought and mind as grace and beauty, and with a dear child just at the age when all the world is fresh and lovely--and then missed his way, and strayed--far from the track--towards sandgate, till dinner was kept waiting at the inn, and the party who would not plod on foot, were all tired and wondering at their friend's delay!--i wonder if the reader ever did all this. i have--and a very pleasant thing it is to do. yes, all of it, reader. for, surely, to go from waving wood to green field, and from green field to hill-side and wood again, and to trace along the brook which we know must lead to the sea-shore, with one companion of high soul, who can answer thought for thought, and another in life's early morning, who can bring back before your eyes the picture of young enjoyment--ay, and to know that those you love most dearly and esteem most highly, are looking for your coming, with a little anxiety, not even approaching the bounds of apprehension, is all very pleasant indeed. you, dear and excellent lady, who were one of my companions on the way, may perhaps recollect a little cottage--near the spot where we sprung a solitary partridge--whither i went to inquire the shortest road to hythe. that cottage was standing there at the period of which i now write; and at the bottom of that hill, amongst the wood, and close by the little stream nearly where the foot-bridge now carries the traveller over dryshod, was another hut, half concealed by the trees, and covered over with well nigh as much moss and houseleek as actual thatch. it has been long swept away, as well as its tenants; and certainly a wretched and ill-constructed place it was. would to heaven that all such were gone from our rich and productive land, and that every labourer, in a country which owes so much to the industry of her children, had a dwelling better fitted to a human being! but, alas, many such still exist! and it is not always, as it was in this case, that vice is the companion of misery. this is no book of idle twaddle, to represent all the wealthy as cold, hard, and vicious, and the poor all good, forbearing, and laborious; for evil is pretty equally distributed through all classes--though, god knows, the rich, with all their opportunities, ought to shew a smaller proportion of wickedness, and the poor might perhaps be expected, from their temptations, to be worse than they are! still it is hard to think that many as honest a man as ever lived--ay, and as industrious a man, too--returns, after his hard day's toil, to find his wife and children, well nigh in starvation, in such a place as i am about to describe--and none to help them. the hut--for it did not deserve the name of cottage--was but of one floor, which was formed of beaten clay, but a little elevated above the surrounding soil. it contained two rooms. the one opened into what had been a garden before it, running down nearly to the brookside; and the other communicated with the first, but had a door which gave exit into the wood behind. windows the hut had two, one on either side; but neither contained more than two complete panes of glass. the spaces, where glass had once been, were now filled up in a strange variety of ways. here was a piece of board nailed in; there a coarse piece of cloth kept out the wind; another broken pane was filled up with paper; and another, where some fragments of the original substance remained, was stopped with an old stocking stuffed with straw. in the garden, as it was still called, appeared a few cabbages and onions, with more cabbage-stalks than either, and a small patch of miserable potatoes. but weeds were the most plentiful of all, and chickweed and groundsel enough appeared there to have supplied a whole forest of singing birds. it had been once fenced in, that miserable garden; but the wood had been pulled down and burned for firing by its present tenants, or others as wretched in circumstances as themselves; and nought remained but a strong post here and there, with sometimes a many-coloured rag of coarse cotton fluttering upon some long, rusty nail, which had snatched a shred from passing poverty. three or four stunted gooseberry bushes, however, marked out the limit on one side; a path ran in front between the garden and the brook; and on the other side there was a constant petty warfare between the farmer and the inhabitant of the hovel as to the possession of the border-land; and like a great and small state contending, the more powerful always gained some advantage in despite of right, but lost perhaps as much by the spiteful incursions of the foe, as if he had yielded the contested territory. on the night of which i speak--the same on which mowle visited the commanding officer of the dragoons at hythe--the cottage itself, the garden, and all the squalid-looking things about the place, were hidden in the deep darkness which had again fallen over the earth as soon as night had fallen. the morning, it may be remembered--it was the same on which sir edward digby had been fired at by the smugglers--had been somewhat cold and foggy; but about eleven, the day had brightened, and the evening had been sultry. no sooner, however, did the sun reach the horizon than mists began to rise, and before seven o'clock the whole sky was under cloud and the air filled with fog. he must have been well acquainted with every step of the country who could find his way from town to town. nevertheless, any one who approached galley ray's cottage, as it was called, would, at the distance of at least a hundred yards, have perceived something to lead him on; for a light, red as that of a baleful meteor, was streaming through the two glazed squares of the window into the misty air, making them look like the eyes of some wild animal in a dark forest. we must pause here, however, for a moment, to explain to the reader who galley ray was, and how she acquired the first of her two appellations, which certainly was not that which she had received at her baptism. galley ray, then, was the old woman of whom mr. mowle had given that favourable account, which may be seen in the last chapter; and, to say the truth, he had but done her justice. her name was originally gillian ray; but, amongst a number of corrupt associates, with whom her early life was spent, the first of the two appellations was speedily transformed to gilly or gill. some time afterwards--when youth began to wane, and whatever youthful graces she possessed were deviating into the virago qualities of the middle age--while watching one night the approach of a party of smugglers, with whom she had some intimacy, she perceived three or four custom-house officers coming down to launch a galley, which they had upon the beach, for the purpose of cutting off the free-traders. but gilly ray instantly sprang in, and with the boat-hook set them all at defiance, till they threatened to launch her into the sea, boat and all. it is true, she was reported to have been drunk at the time; but her daring saved the smugglers, and conveyed her for two months to jail, whence, as may be supposed, she returned not much improved in her morals. one of those whom she had befriended in the time of need, bestowed on her the name of galley, by an easy transition from her original prænomen; and it remained by her to the last day of her life. the reader has doubtless remarked, that amongst the lawless and the rash, there is a certain fondness for figures of speech, and that tropes and metaphors, simile and synecdoche, are far more prevalent amongst them than amongst the more orderly classes of society. whether it is or not, that they wish to get rid of a precise apprehension of their own acts, i cannot say; but certain it is, that they do indulge in such flowers of rhetoric, and sometimes, in the midst of humour, quaintness, and even absurdity, reach the point of wit, and at times soar into the sublime. galley ray had, as we have seen, one daughter, whose fate has been related; and that daughter left one son, who, after his reputed father, one mark nightingale, was baptized nightingale ray. his mother, and after her death his grandmother, used to call him little nighty and little night; but following their fanciful habits, the smugglers who used to frequent the house found out an association between "night ray" and the beams of the bright and mystical orbs that shine upon us from afar; and some one gave him the name of little starlight, which remained with him, as that of galley had adhered to his grandmother. the cottage or hut of the latter, then, beamed with an unwonted blaze upon the night i have spoken of, till long after the hour when mowle had left the inn where his conference with the young officer had taken place. but let not the reader suppose that this illumination proceeded from any great expense of wax or oil. only one small tallow candle, stuck into a long-necked, square-sided dutch bottle, spread its rays through the interior of the hovel, and that was a luxury; but in the fireplace blazed an immense pile of mingled wood and driftcoal; and over it hung a large hissing pot, as huge and capacious as that of the witches in macbeth, or of the no less famous meg merrilies. galley ray, however, was a very different person in appearance from the heroine of "guy mannering;" and we must endeavour to call up her image as she stood by the fire-side, watching the cauldron and a kettle which stood close to it. the red and fitful light flashed upon no tall, gaunt form, and lighted up no wild and commanding features. there was nothing at all poetical in her aspect: it was such as may be seen every day in the haunts of misery and vice. originally of the middle height, though once strong and upright, she had somewhat sunk down under the hand of time, and was now rather short than otherwise. about fifty she had grown fat and heavy; but fifteen years more had robbed her flesh of firmness and her skin of its plumped out smoothness; and though she had not yet reached the period when emaciation accompanies decrepitude, her muscles were loose and hanging, her face withered and sallow. her hair, once as black as jet, was now quite grey, not silver--but with the white greatly predominating over the black. yet, strange to say, her eyes were still clear and bright, though small, and somewhat red round the lids; and, stranger still, her front teeth were white as ivory, offering a strange contrast to the wrinkled and yellow skin. her look was keen; but there was that sort of habitual jocularity about it, which in people of her caste is often partly assumed--as an ever ready excuse for evading a close question, or covering a dangerous suggestion by a jest--and partly natural, or at least springing from a fearful kind of philosophy, gained by the exhaustion of all sorts of criminal pleasures, which leaves behind, too surely, the impression that everything is but a mockery on earth. those who have adopted that philosophy never give a thought beyond this world. her figure was somewhat bowed, and over her shoulders she had the fragments of a coarse woollen shawl, from beneath which appeared, as she stirred the pot, her sharp yellow elbows and long arms. on her head she wore a cap, which had remained there, night and day, for months; and, thrust back from her forehead, which was low and heavy, appeared the dishevelled grey hair, while beneath the thick and beetling brows came the keen eyes, and a nose somewhat aquiline and depressed at the point. near her, on the opposite side of the hearth, was the boy whom the reader has already seen, and who has been called little starlight; and, even at that late hour, for it was near midnight, he seemed as brisk and active as ever. night and day, indeed, appeared to him the same; for he had none of the habits of childhood. the setting sun brought no drowsiness to his eyelids: mid-day often found him sleeping after a night of watchfulness and activity. the whole course of his existence and his thoughts had been tainted: there was nothing of youth either in his mind or his ways. the old beldam called him, and thought him, the shrewdest boy that ever lived; but, in truth, she had left him no longer a boy, in aught but size and looks. often--indeed generally--he would assume the tone of his years, for he found it served his purpose best; but he only laughed at those who thought him a child, and prided himself on the cunning of the artifice. there might be, it is true, some lingering of the faults of youth, but that was all. he was greedy and voracious, loved sweet things as well as strong drink, and could not always curb the truant and erratic spirit of childhood; but still, even in his wanderings there was a purpose, and often a malevolence. he would go to see what one person was about; he would stay away because another wanted him. it may be asked, was this natural wickedness?--was his heart so formed originally? oh no, reader; never believe such things. there are certainly infinite varieties of human character; and i admit that the mind of man is not the blank sheet of paper on which we can write what we please, as has been vainly represented. or, if it be, the experience of every man must have shown him, that that paper is of every different kind and quality--some that will retain the finest line, some that will scarce receive the broadest trace. but still education has immense power for good or evil. by education i do not mean teaching. i mean that great and wonderful process by which, commencing at the earliest period of infancy--ay, at the mother's breast--the raw material of the mind is manufactured into all the varieties that we see. i mean the sum of every line with which the paper is written as it passes from hand to hand. that is education; and most careful should we be that, at an early period, nought should be written but good, for every word once impressed is well nigh indelible. now what education had that poor boy received? the people of the neighbouring village would have said a very good one; for there was what is called a charity school in the neighbourhood, where he had been taught to read and write, and cast accounts. but this was _teaching_, not _education_. oh, fatal mistake! when will englishmen learn to discriminate between the two? his education had been at home--in that miserable hut--by that wretched woman--by her companions in vice and crime! what had all the teaching he had received at the school done for him, but placed weapons in the hand of wickedness? had education formed any part of the system of the school where he was instructed--had he been taught how best to use the gifts that were imparted--had he been inured to regulate the mind that was stored--had he been habituated to draw just conclusions from all he read, instead of merely being taught to read, that would have been in some degree education, and it might have corrected, to a certain point, the darker schooling he received at home. well might the great philosopher, who in some things most grossly misused the knowledge he himself possessed, pronounce that "knowledge is power;" but, alas, he forgot to add, that it is power _for good or evil!_ that poor child had been taught that which to him might have been either a blessing or a bane; but all his real education had been for evil; and there he stood, corrupted to the heart's core. "i say, mother ray," he exclaimed, "that smells cursed nice--can't you give us a drop before the coves come?" "no, no, you young devil," replied the old woman with a grin, "one can't tell when they'll show their mugs at the door; and it wouldn't do for them to find you gobbling up their stuff. but bring me that big porringer, and we'll put by enough for you and me. i've nimmed one half of the yellow-boy they sent, so we'll have a quart of moonshine to-morrow to help it down." "i could get it very well down without," answered little starlight, bringing her a large earthen pot, with a cracked cover, into which she ladled out about half a gallon of the soup. "there, take and put that far under the bed in t'other room," said the old woman, adding several expletives of so peculiar and unpleasant a character, that i must omit them; and, indeed, trusting to the reader's imagination, i shall beg leave to soften, as far as possible, the terms of both the boy and his grandmother for the future, merely premising, that when conversing alone together, hardly a sentence escaped their lips without an oath or a blasphemy. little starlight soon received the pot from the hands of his worthy ancestress, and conveyed it into the other room, where he stayed so long that she called him to come forth, in what, to ordinary ears, would have seemed the most abusive language, but which, on her lips, was merely the tone of endearment. he had waited, indeed, to cool the soup, in order to steal a portion of the stolen food; but finding that he should be detected if he remained longer, he ventured to put his finger in to taste it. the result was that he scalded his hand; but he was sufficiently spartan to utter no cry or indication of pain; and he escaped all inquiry; for the moment after he had returned, the door burst violently open, and some ten or twelve men came pouring in, nearly filling the little room. various were their garbs, and strangely different from each other were they in demeanour as well as dress. some were clad in smock-frocks, and some in sailors' jackets; some looked like respectable tradesmen, some were clothed in a sort of fanciful costume of their own, smacking a little of the brigand; and one appeared in the ordinary riding-dress of a gentleman of that period; but all were well armed, without much concealment of the pistols, which they carried about them in addition to the sword that was not uncommonly borne by more than one class in england at that time. they were all young men except one or two; and three of the number bore evident marks of some recent affray. one had a broad strip of plaster all the way down his forehead, another had his upper lip terribly cut, and a third--the gentleman, as i am bound to call him, as he assumed the title of major--had a patch over his eye, from beneath which appeared several rings of various colours, which showed that the aforesaid patch was not merely a means of disguise. they were all quite familiar with galley ray and her grandson; some slapped her on the shoulder; some pulled her ear; some abused her horribly in jocular tones; and all called upon her eagerly to set their supper before them, vowing that they had come twenty miles since seven o'clock that night, and were as hungry as fox-hunters. to each and all galley ray had something to say in their own particular way. to some she was civil and coaxing, addressed them as "gentlemen," and to others slang and abusive, though quite in good humour, calling them, "you blackguards," and "you varmint," with sundry other delectable epithets, which i shall forbear to transcribe. to give value to her entertainment, she of course started every objection and difficulty in the world against receiving them, asking how, in the name of the fiend, they could expect her to take in so many? where she was to get porringers or plates for them all? and hoping heartily that such a troop weren't going to stay above half an hour. "till to-morrow night, galley, my chicken," replied the major. "come, don't make a fuss. it must be so, and you shall be well paid. we shall stay in here to-night; and to-morrow we shall take to cover in the wood; but young radford will come down some time in the day, and then you must send up little starlight to us, to let me know." the matter of the supper was soon arranged to their contentment. some had tea-cups, and some saucers; some had earthen pans, some wooden platters. two were honoured with china plates; and the large pot being taken off the fire, and set on the ground in the midst of them, each helped himself, and went on with his meal. a grand brewing of smuggled spirits and water then commenced; and a number of horn cups were handed round, not enough, indeed, for all the guests; but each vessel was made to serve two or three; and the first silence of hunger being over, a wild, rambling, and desultory conversation ensued, to which both galley ray and her grandson lent an attentive ear. the major said something to the man with the cut upon his brow, to which the other replied, by condemning his own soul, if he did not blow harding's brains out--if it were true. "but, i don't believe it," he continued. "he's no friend of mine; but he's not such a blackguard as to peach." "so i think; but dick radford says he is sure he did," answered the major; "dick fancies that he's jealous of not having had yesterday's job too, and that's why he spoiled it. we know he was up about that part of the country on the pretence of his seeing his dolly; but radford says he went to inform, and that he'll wring his liver out, as soon as this job of his father's is over." a torrent of blasphemies poured forth by almost every person present followed, and they all called down the most horrid condemnation on their own heads, if they did not each lend a hand to punish the informer. in the midst of this storm of big words, galley ray put her mouth to the major's ear, saying, "i could tell young radford how he could wring his heart out, and that's better than his liver. there's no use of trying to kill him, for he doesn't care two straws about that. sharp steel and round lead are what he looks for every day. but i could show you how to plague him worse." "why, you old brute," replied the major, "you're a friend of his!--but you may tell him, if you like. we have all sworn it, and we'll do it; only hold your tongue till after to-morrow night, or i'll cure your bacon for you." "i'm no friend of his," cried galley ray. "the infernal devil, wasn't it he that shot my girl, meg? ay, ay, i know he says he didn't, and that he didn't fire a pistol that day, but kept all to the cutlash; but he did, i'm sure, and a-purpose too; for didn't he turn to, that morning, and abuse her like the very dirt under his feet, because she came, a little in liquor, down to his boat-side?--ay, i'll have my revenge--i've been looking for it long, but now it's a-coming--it's a-coming very fast; and afore i've done with him, i'll wring him out like a wet cloth, till he's not got one pleasure left in his whole carcase, nor one thing to look to, for as long as he may live!--ay, ay, he thinks an old woman nothing; but he shall see--he shall see;" and the beldam wagged her frightful head backwards and forwards with a look of well-contented malice that made it more horrible than ever. "what an old devil!" cried the major, glancing round the table with a look of mock surprise; and then they all burst into a roar of laughter which shook the miserable hovel in which they sat. "come, granny, give us some more lush, and leave off preaching," cried ned ramley, the man with the cut upon his brow. "you can tell it all to dick radford, to-morrow; for he's fond of cutting up people's hearts." "but how is it--how is it?" asked the major. "i should like to hear." "ay, but you shan't hear all," answered galley ray. "let dick do his part, and i'll do mine, so we'll both have our revenge; but i know one thing, if i were a gentleman, and wanted a twist at jack harding, i'd get his kate away from him. she's a light-hearted lass, and would listen to a gentleman, i dare say; but, however, i'll have her away some way, and then kick her out into folkestone streets, to get her bread like many a better woman than herself." "pooh, nonsense!" said ned ramley--"that's all stuff. harding is going to marry her; and she knows better than to play the fool." "ay," answered the old woman, with a look of spite, "i shouldn't wonder if harding spoiled this job for old radford, too." "not he!" cried ramley, "he would pinch himself there, old tiger; for his own pay depends upon it." "ay, upon landing the stuff safely," answered the old woman, with a grin, "but not upon getting it clear up into the weald. he may have both, neddy, my dear--he may have both pays; first for landing and then for peaching. play booty for ever!--that's the way to make money; and who knows but you may get another crack of your own pretty skull, or have your brains sent flying out, like the inside of an egg against the pillory." "by the fiend, he had better not," said ned ramley, "for there will be some of us left, at all events, to pay him." "come, speak out, old woman," cried another of the men; "have you or your imp there got any inkling that the custom house blackguards have nosed the job. if we find they have, and you don't tell, i'll send you into as much thick loam as will cover you well, i can tell you;" and he added a horrible oath to give force to his words. "not they, as yet," answered the beldam, "of that i am quite sure; for as soon as the guinea and the message came, i went down to buy the beef, and mutton, and the onions; and there i saw mowle talking to gurney the grocer, and heard him say that he had spoiled mr. radford's venture this morning, for one turn at least; and after that, i sent down little nighty there, to watch him and his cronies; and they all seemed very jolly, he said, when he came back half an hour ago, and crowing like so many young cocks, as if they had done a mighty deal. didn't they, my dear?" "ay, that they did, granny," replied the boy, with a look of simplicity; "and when i went to the tap of the dragon to get twopennorth, i heard the landlord say that mowle was up with the dragoon colonel, telling him all about the fine morning's work they had made." "devilish fine, indeed!" cried ned ramley. "why they did not get one quarter of the things; and if we can save a third, that's enough to pay very well, i can tell them." "no, no! they know nothing as yet," continued the old woman, with a sapient shake of the head; "i can't say what they may hear before to-morrow night; but, if they do hear anything, i know where it will come from--that's all. people may be blind if they like; but i'm not, that's one thing." "no, no! you see sharp enough, galley ray," answered the major. "but hark, is not that the sound of a horse coming down?" all the men started up; and some one exclaimed, "i shouldn't wonder if it were mowle himself.--he's always spying about." "if it is, i'll blow his brains out," said ned ramley, motioning to the rest to make their way into the room behind. "ay, you had best, i think, neddy," said galley ray, in a quiet, considerate tone, answering his rash threat as coolly as if she had been speaking of the catching of a trout. "you'll have him here all snug, and may never get such another chance. 'dead men tell no tales,' neddy. but, get back--'tis a horse, sure enough! you can take your own time, if you go in there." the young man retreated; and bending down her lips to the boy's ear, the old witch inquired in a whisper, "is t'other door locked, and the window fast?" "yes," said the boy, in the same tone; "and the key hid in the sacking." "then if there are enough to take 'em," murmured gaily ray to herself--"take 'em they shall!--if there's no one but mowle, he must go--that's clear. stretch out that bit o' sail, boy, to catch the blood." but before the boy could obey her whisper, the door of the hut was thrown open; and instead of mowle there appeared the figure of richard radford. "here, little starlight!" he cried, "hold my horse--why, where are all the men? have they not come?" the old woman arranged her face in an instant into the sweetest smile it was capable of assuming, and replied, instantly, "oh dear, yes: bless your beautiful face, mr. radford, but we didn't expect you to-night, and thought it was some of the custom-house blackguards when we heard the horse. here, neddy!--major!--it's only mr. radford." ere she had uttered the call, the men, hearing a well-known voice, were entering the room again; and young radford shook hands with several of them familiarly, congratulating the late prisoners on their escape. "i found i couldn't come to-morrow morning," he said, "and so i rode down to-night. it's all settled for to-morrow, and by this time harding's at sea. he'll keep over on the other side till the sun is low; and we must be ready for work by ten, though i don't think he'll get close in before midnight." "are you quite sure of harding, mr. radford?" asked the major. "i thought you had doubts of him about this other venture." "ay, and so i have still," answered richard radford, a dark scowl coming over his face, "but we must get this job over first. my father says, he will have no words about it, till this is all clear, and after that i may do as i like. then, major, then----" he did not finish the sentence; but those who heard him knew very well what he meant; and the major inquired, "but is he quite safe in this business? the old woman thinks not." young radford mused with a heavy brow for a minute or two, and then replied, after a sudden start, "but it's no use now--he's at sea by this time; and we can't mend it. have you heard anything certain of him, galley ray?" "no, nothing quite for certain, my beauty," said the old woman; "but one thing i know: he was seen there upon the cliffs, with two strange men, a-talking away at a great rate; and that was the very night he saw your father, too; but that clear little cunning devil, my boy, nighty--he's the shrewdest lad that ever lived--found it all out." "what did he find out?" demanded young radford, sharply. "why, who the one was, he could never be sure," answered the beldam--"a nasty-looking ugly brute, all tattooed in the face, like a wild indian; but the other was the colonel of dragoons--that's certain, so nighty says--he is the shrewdest boy that----" richard radford and his companions gazed at each other with very meaning and very ill-satisfied looks; but the former, at length, said, "well, we shall see--we shall see! and if he does, he shall rue it. in the meantime, major, what we must do is, to have force enough to set them, dragoons and all, at defiance. my father has got already a hundred men, and i'll beat up for more to-morrow.--i can get fifty or sixty out of sussex. we'll all be down with you early. the soldiers are scattered about in little parties, so they can never have very many together; and the devil's in it, if we can't beat a handful of them." "give us a hundred men," said ned ramley, "and we'll beat the whole regiment of them." "why, there are not to be found twenty of them together in any one place," answered young radford, "except at folkestone, and we shan't have the run within fifteen or sixteen miles of that; so we shall easily do for them; and i should like to give those rascals a licking." "then, what's to be done with harding?" asked ned ramley. "leave him to me--leave him to me, ned," replied the young gentleman, "i'll find a way of settling accounts with him." "why, the old woman was talking something about it," said the major. "come, speak up, old brute!--what is it you've got to say?" "oh, i'll tell him quietly when he's a going," answered galley ray. "it's no business of yours, major." "she hates him like poison," said the major, in a whisper, to young radford; "so that you must not believe all she says about him." the young man gave a gloomy smile, and then, after a few words more, unceremoniously turned the old woman out of her own hovel, telling her he would come and speak to her in a moment. as soon as the hut was clear of her presence, he proceeded to make all his final arrangements with the lawless set who were gathered together within. "i thought that harding was not to set off till to-morrow morning," said one of the more staid-looking of the party, at length; "i wonder your father lets him make such changes, mr. radford--it looks suspicious, to my thinking." "no, no; it was by my father's own orders," said young radford; "there's nothing wrong in that. i saw the note sent this evening; so that's all right. by some contrivance of his own, harding is to give notice to one of the people on tolsford hill, when he is well in land and all is safe; and then we shall see a fire lighted on the top, which is to be our signal, to gather down on the beach. it's all right in that respect, at least. "i'm glad to hear it," answered the other; "and now, as all is settled, had you not better take a glass of grog before you go." "no, no," replied the young man, "i'll keep my head cool for to-morrow; for i've got a job to do in the morning that may want a clear eye and a steady hand." "well, then, good luck to you!" said ned ramley, laughing; and with this benediction, the young gentleman opened the cottage door. he found galley ray holding his horse alone; and, as soon as she saw him, she said, "i've sent the boy away, mr. radford, because i wanted to have a chat with you for a minute, all alone, about that blackguard, harding;" and sinking her voice to a whisper, she proceeded for several minutes, detailing her own diabolical notions, of how young radford might best revenge himself on harding, with a coaxing manner, and sweet tone, which contrasted strangely and horribly, both with the words which she occasionally used, and the general course of her suggestions. young radford sometimes laughed, with a harsh sort of bitter, unpleasant merriment, and sometimes asked questions, but more frequently remained listening attentively to what she said. thus passed some ten minutes, at the end of which time, he exclaimed, with an oath, "i'll do it!" and then, mounting his horse, he rode away slowly and cautiously, on account of the thick fog and the narrow and stony road. no sooner was he gone, than little starlight crept out from between the cottage and a pile of dried furze-bushes, which had been cast down on the left of the hut--at once affording fuel to the inhabitants, and keeping out the wind from a large crack in the wall, which penetrated through and through, into the room where young radford had been conversing with the smugglers. "did you hear them, my kiddy?" asked the old woman, as soon as the boy approached her. "every word, mother ray," answered little starlight. "but, get in, get in, or they will be thinking something; and i'll tell you all to-morrow." the old woman saw the propriety of his suggestion; and, both entering the hovel, the door was shut. with it, i may close a scene, upon which i have been obliged to pause longer than i could have wished. chapter iv. the man who follows a wolf goes straight on after him till he rides him down; but, in chasing a fox, it is always expedient and fair to take across the easiest country for your horse or for yourself, to angle a field, to make for a slope when the neighbouring bank is too high, to avoid a clay fallow, or to skirt a shaking moss. very frequently, however, one beholds an inexperienced sportsman (who does not well know the country he is riding, and sees the field broken up into several parties, each taking its own course after the hounds) pause for several minutes, not knowing which to follow. such is often the case with the romance writer also, when the broken nature of the country over which his course lies, separates his characters, and he cannot proceed with all of them at once. now, at the present moment, i would fain follow the smugglers to the end of their adventure; but, in so doing, dear reader, i should (to borrow a shred of the figure i have just used) get before my hounds; or, in other words, i should too greatly violate that strict chronological order which is necessary in an important history like the present. i must, therefore, return, by the reader's good leave, to the house of mr. zachary croyland, almost immediately after sir edward digby had ridden away, on the day following young radford's recently related interview with the smugglers, at which day--with a sad violation of the chronological order i have mentioned above--i had already arrived, as the reader must remember, in the first chapter of the present volume. mr. croyland then stood in the little drawing-room, fitted up according to his own peculiar notions, where sir edward's wound had been dressed; and edith, his niece, sat at no great distance on one of the low ottomans, for which he had an oriental predilection. she was a little excited, both by all that she had witnessed, and all that she had not; and her bright and beautiful eyes were raised to her uncle's face, as she inquired, "how did all this happen? you said you would tell me when they were gone." mr. croyland gazed at her with that sort of parental tenderness which he had long nourished in his heart towards her; and certainly, as she sat there, leaning lightly upon her arm, and with the sunshine falling upon her beautiful form, her left hand resting upon her knee, and one small beautiful foot extended beyond her gown, he could not help thinking her the loveliest creature he had ever beheld in his life, and asking himself--"is such a being as that, so full of grace in person, and excellence in mind, to be consigned to a rude, brutal bully, like the man who has just met with deserved chastisement at my door?" he had just begun to answer her question, thinking how he might best do so without inflicting more pain upon her than necessary, when the black servant i have mentioned entered the drawing-room, saying, "a man want to speak to you, master." "a man!" cried mr. croyland, impatiently. "what man? i don't want any man! i've had enough of men for one morning, surely, with those two fools fighting just opposite my house!--what sort of a man is it?" "very odd man, indeed, master," answered the hindoo. "got great blue pattern on him's face. strange looking man. think him half mad," and he made a deferential bow, as if submitting his judgment to that of his master. "well, i like odd men," exclaimed mr. croyland. "i like strange men better than any others. i'm not sure i do not like them a _leetle_ mad--not too much, not too much, you know, edith, my dear! not dangerous; just mad enough to be pleasant, but not furious or obstreperous.--where have you put him?" "in de library, master," replied the man; "and he begin taking down the books directly." "high time i should go and see, who is so studiously inclined," said mr. croyland; "or he may not only take down the books, but take them away. that wouldn't do, you know, edith, my dear--that wouldn't do. without my niece and my books, what would become of me? i don't intend to lose either the one or the other. so that you are never to marry, my love; mind that, you are never to marry!" edith smiled faintly--very faintly indeed; but for the world she would not have made her uncle feel that he had touched upon a tender point. "i do not think i ever shall, my dear uncle," she answered; and saying, "that's a good girl!" the old gentleman hurried out of the room to see his unknown visitor. edith remained for some time where she was, in deep and even painful thoughts. all that she had learnt from her sister, since zara's explanation with sir edward digby, amounted but to this, that he whom she had so deeply loved--whom she still loved so deeply--was yet living. nothing more had reached her; and, though hope, the fast clinger to the last wreck of probability, yet whispered that he might love her still--that she might not be forgotten--that she might not be abandoned, yet fear and despondency far predominated, and their hoarse tones nearly drowned the feeble whisper of a voice which once had been loud and gay in her heart. after meditating, then, for some minutes, she rose and left the drawing-room, passing, on her way to the stairs, the door of the library to which her uncle had previously gone. she heard him talking loud as she went along; but the sounds were gay, cheerful, and anything but angry; and another voice was answering, in mellower tones, somewhat melancholy, indeed, but still not sad. going rapidly by, this was all she distinguished; but after she reached her own room, which was nearly above the library, the murmur of the voices still rose up for more than an hour, and at length mr. croyland and his guest came out, and walked through the vestibule to the door. "god bless you, harry--god bless you!" said mr. croyland, with an appearance of warmth and affection which edith had seldom known him to display towards any one; "if you wont stay, i can't help it. but mind your promise--mind your promise! in three or four days, you know;" and with another cordial farewell they parted. when the stranger was gone, however, mr. croyland remained standing in the vestibule for several minutes, gazing down upon the floor-cloth, and murmuring to himself various broken sentences, from time to time. "who'd have thought it," he said; "thirty years come lady-day next, since we saw each other!--but this isn't quite right of the boy: i will scold him--i will frighten him, too. he shouldn't deceive--nobody should deceive--it's not right. but after all, in love and war, every stratagem is fair, they say; and i'll work for him, that i will. here, edith, my love," he continued, calling up the stairs, for he had heard his niece's light foot above, "come, and take a walk with me, my dear: it will do us both good." edith came down in a moment, with a hat (or bonnet) in her hand; and although mr. croyland affected, on most occasions, to be by no means communicative, yet there was in his whole manner, and in the expression of his face, quite sufficient to indicate to his niece, that he was labouring under the pressure of a secret, which was not a very sad or dark one. "there, my dear!" he exclaimed, "i said just now that i would not have you marry; but i shall take off the restriction. i will not prohibit the banns--only in case you should wish to marry some one i don't approve. but i've got a husband for you--i've got a husband for you, better than all the radfords that ever were christened; though, by the way, i doubt whether these fellows ever were christened at all--a set of unbelieving, half-barbarous sceptics. i do not think, upon my conscience, that old radford believes in anything but the existence of his own individuality." "but who is the husband you have got for me?" demanded edith, forcing herself to assume a look of gaiety which was not natural to her. "i hope he's young, handsome, rich, and agreeable." "all, all!" cried mr. croyland. "those are absolute requisites in a lady's estimation, i know. never was such a set of grasping monkeys as you women. youth, beauty, riches, and a courtly air--you must have them all, or you are dissatisfied; and the ugliest, plainest, poorest woman in all europe, thinks that she has every right to a ph[oe]nix for her companion--an angel--a demi-god. but you shall see--you shall see; and in the true spirit of a fond parent, if you do not see with my eyes, hear with my ears, and understand with my understanding--why, i'll disinherit you.--but who the mischief is this, now?" he continued, looking out at the door--"another man on horseback, upon my life, as if we had not had enough of them already. never, since i have been in this county of kent, has my poor, quiet, peaceable door been besieged in this manner before." "it's only a servant with a note, my dear uncle," said edith. "ah, something more on your account," cried mr. croyland. "it's all because you are here. baba, baba! see what that fellow wants!--it's not your promised husband, my dear, so you need not eye him so curiously." "oh, no!" answered edith, smiling. "i took it for granted that my promised husband, as you call him, was to be this same odd, strange-looking gentleman, who has been with you for the last hour." "pooh--no!" cried mr. croyland; "and yet, my lady, i can tell you, you could not do better in some respects, for he's a very good man--a very excellent man indeed, and has the advantage of being a _leetle_ mad, as i said before--that is, he's wise enough not to care what fools think of him. that's what is called being mad now-a-days. who is it from, baba? "didn't say, master," answered the indian, who had just handed him a note. "he wait an answer." "oh, very well!" answered mr. croyland. "he may get a shorter one than he expects. i've no time to be answering notes. people in england spend one half of their lives in writing notes that mean nothing, and the other half in sealing them. why can't the fools send a message?" while he had been thus speaking, the worthy old gentleman had been adjusting the spectacles to his nose, and walking with his usual brisk step to the window in the passage, against which he planted his back, so that the light might fall over his shoulder upon the paper; but as he read, a great change came over his countenance. "ah, that's right!--that's well!--that's honest," he said: "i see what he means, but i'll let him speak out himself. walk into the garden, edith, my love, till i answer this man's note. baba, bid the fellow wait for a moment," and stepping into the library, mr. croyland sought for a pen that would write, and then scrawled, in a very rude and crooked hand, which soon made the paper look like an ancient greek manuscript, a few lines, to the beauty of which he added the effect of bad blotting-paper. then folding his note up, he sealed and addressed it, first reading carefully over again the epistle which he had just received, and with which it may be as well to make the reader acquainted, though i shall abstain from looking into mr. croyland's answer till it reaches its destination. the letter which the servant had brought was to the following effect: "the gentleman who had the pleasure of travelling with mr. croyland from london, and who was introduced to him by the name of captain osborn, was about to avail himself of mr. croyland's invitation, when some circumstances came to his knowledge, which seem to render it expedient that he should have a few minutes' conversation with mr. croyland before he visits his house. he is at present at woodchurch, and will remain there till two o'clock, if it is convenient for mr. croyland to see him at that place to-day.--if not, he will return to woodchurch to-morrow, towards one, and will wait for mr. croyland till any hour he shall appoint." "there! give that to the gentleman's servant," said mr. croyland; and then depositing his spectacles safely in their case, he walked out into the garden to seek edith. the servant, in the meanwhile, went at a rapid pace, over pleasant hill and dale, till he reached the village of woodchurch, and stopped at a little public-house, before the door of which stood three dragoons, with their horses' bridles over their arms. as speedily as possible, the man entered the house, and walked up stairs, where he found his master talking to a man, covered with dust from the road. "mr. mowle should have given me farther information," the young officer said, looking at a paper in his hand. "i could have made my combinations here as well as at hythe." "he sent me off in a great hurry, sir," answered the man; "but i'll tell him what you say." "stay, stay!" said the officer, holding out his hand to his servant for the note which he had brought. "i will tell you more in a minute, and breaking open the seal, he read mr. croyland's epistle, which was to the following effect. "mr. croyland presents his compliments to captain osborn, and has had the honour of receiving his letter, although he cannot conceive why captain osborn should wish to speak with him at woodchurch, when he could so easily speak with him in his own house, yet mr. croyland is captain osborn's very humble servant, and will do as he bids him. as it is now past one o'clock, as it would take half-an-hour to get mr. croyland's carriage ready, and an hour to reach woodchurch, and as it is some years since mr. croyland has got upon the back of anything but an ass, or a hobby-horse,--having moreover no asses at hand with the proper proportion of legs, though many, deficient in number--it is impossible for him to reach woodchurch by the time stated to-day. he will be over at that place, however, by two o'clock to-morrow, and hopes that captain osborn will be able to return with him, and spend a few days in an old bachelor's house." the young officer's face was grave as he read the first part of the letter, but it relaxed into a smile towards the end. he then gave, perhaps, ten seconds to thought; after which, rousing himself abruptly, he turned to the dusty messenger from hythe, and fixing a somewhat searching glance upon the man's face, he said--"tell mr. mowle that i will be over with him directly, and as the troops, it seems, will be required on the side of folkestone, he must have everything prepared on his part; for we shall have no time to spare." the man bowed with a stolid look, and withdrew; and after he had left the room, the officer remained silent for a moment or two, looking out of the window till he saw him mount his horse and depart. then, descending in haste to the inn door, he gave various orders to the dragoons, who were there waiting. to one they were, "ride off to folkestone as fast as you can go, and tell captain irby to march immediately with his troop to bilsington, which place he must reach before two o'clock in the morning." to another: "you gallop off to appledore, and bid the sergeant there bring his party down to brenzet corner, in the marsh, and put himself under the orders of cornet joyce." to the third: "you, wood, be off to ashford, and tell lieutenant green to bring down all his men as far as bromley green, taking up the party at kingsnorth. let him be there by three; and remember, these are private orders. not a word to any one." the men sprang into the saddle, as soon as the last words were spoken, and rode away in different directions; and, after bidding his servant bring round his horse, the young officer remained standing at the door of the inn, with his tall form erect, his arms crossed upon his chest, and his eyes gazing towards harbourne house. he was in the midst of the scenes where his early days had been spent. every object around him was familiar to his eye: not a hill, not a wood, not a church steeple or a farm house, but had its association with some of those bright things which leave a lustre in the evening sky of life, even when the day-star of existence has set. there were the pleasant hours of childhood, the sports of boyhood, the dreams of youth, the love of early manhood. the light that memory cast upon the whole might not be so strong and powerful, might not present them in so real and definite a form, as in the full day of enjoyment; but there is a great difference between that light of memory, when it brightens a period of life that may yet renew the joys which have passed away for a time, and when it shines upon pleasures gone for ever. in the latter case it is but as the moonlight--a reflected beam, without the warmth of fruition or the brilliancy of hope; but in the former, it is as the glow of the descending sun, which sheds a purple lustre through the vista of the past, and gives a promise of returning joy even as it sinks away. he stood, then, amongst the scenes of his early years, with hope refreshed, though still with the remembrance of sorrows tempering the warmth of expectation, perhaps shading the present. it wanted, indeed, but some small circumstance, by bearing afar, like some light wind, the cloud of thought, to give to all around the bright hues of other days; and that was soon afforded. he had not remained there above two or three minutes when the landlord of the public-house came out, and stood directly before him. "oh, i forgot your bill, my good fellow," said the young officer. "what is my score?" "no, sir, it is not that," answered the man, "but i think you have forgotten me. i could not let you go, however, without just asking you to shake hands with me, though you are a great gentleman now, and i am much what i was." the young officer gazed at him for a moment, and let his eye run over the stout limbs and portly person of the landlord, till at length he said, in a doubtful tone, "surely, you cannot be young miles, the son of my father's clerk?" "ay, sir, just the same," replied the host; "but young and old, we change, just as women do their names when they marry. not that six or seven years have made me old either; but i was six and twenty when you went away, and as thin as a whipping post; now i'm two and thirty, and as fat as a porker. that makes a wonderful difference, sir. but i'm glad you don't forget old times." "forget them, miles!" said the young officer, holding out his hand to him, "oh no, they are too deeply written in my heart ever to be blotted out! i thought i was too much changed myself for any one to remember me, but those who were most dear to me. what between the effects of time and labour, sorrow and war, i hardly fancied that any one in kent would know me. but you are changed for the better, i for the worse. yet i am very glad to see you, miles; and i shall see you again to-morrow; for i am coming back here towards two o'clock. in the meantime, you need not say you have seen me; for i do not wish it to be known that i am here, till i have learned a little of what reception i am likely to have." "oh, i understand, sir--i understand," replied the landlord; "and if you should want to know how the land lies, i can always tell you; for you see, i have the parish-clerks' club, which meets here once a week; and then all the news of the country comes out; and besides, many a one of them comes in here at other times, to have a gossip with old rafe miles's son, so that i hear everything that goes on in the county almost as soon as it is done; and right glad shall i be to tell you anything you want to know, just for old times' sake; when you used to go shooting snipes by the brooks, and i used to come after for the sport--that is to say, anything about your own people; not about the smugglers, you know; for they say you are sent here to put them down; and i should not like to peach, even to you. i heard that some great gentleman had come down--a sir harry somebody. but i little thought it was you, till i saw you just now standing looking so melancholy towards harbourne, and thinking, i dare say, of the old house at tiffenden." "indeed i was," answered the young officer, with a sigh. "but as to the smugglers, my good friend, i want no information. i am sent down with my regiment merely to aid the civil power, which seems totally incompetent to stop the daring outrages that are every day committed. if this were suffered to go on, all law, not only regarding the revenue, but even that affecting the protection of life and property, would soon be at an end." "that it would, sir," answered the landlord; "and it's well nigh at an end already, for that matter." "well," continued the officer, "though the service is not an agreeable one, and i think, considering all things, might have been entrusted to another person, yet i have but to obey; and consequently, being here, am ready whenever called upon to support the officers, either of justice or the revenue, both by arms and by advice. but i have no other duty to perform, and indeed would rather not have any information regarding the proceedings of these misguided men, except through the proper channels. if i had the absolute command of the district, with orders to put down smuggling therein, it might be a different matter; but i have not." "ay, i thought there was a mistake about it," replied miles; "but here is your horse, sir. i shall see you to-morrow, then?" "certainly," answered the officer; and having paid his score, he mounted and rode away. chapter v. the colonel of the dragoon regiment rode into hythe coolly and calmly, followed by his servant; for though, to say the truth, he had pushed his horse very fast for some part of the way, he judged it expedient not to cause any bustle in the town by an appearance of haste and excitement. it was customary in those days for officers in the army in active service, even when not on actual duty, to appear in their regimental uniform; but this practice the gentleman in question had dispensed with since he left london, on many motives, both public and personal; and though he wore the cockade--at that time the sign and symbol of a military man, or of one who affected that position, yet he generally appeared in plain clothes, except when any large body of the troops were gathered together. at the door of the inn where he had fixed his headquarters, and in the passage leading from it into the house, were a number of private soldiers and a sergeant; and amongst them appeared mr. mowle, the custom-house officer, waiting the arrival of the commander of the dragoons. as the latter dismounted, mowle advanced to his side, saying something in a low voice. the young officer looked at the sky, which was still glowing bright with the sun, which had about an hour and a-half to run ere it reached the horizon. "in an hour, mr. mowle," replied the officer: "there will be time enough. make all your own arrangements in the meanwhile." "but, sir, if you have to send to folkestone?" said mowle. "you misunderstood me, i think." "no, no," answered the colonel, "i did not. you misunderstood me. come back in an hour.--if you show haste or anxiety, you will put the enemy on his guard." after having said these few words in a low tone, he entered the house, gave some orders to the soldiers, several of whom sauntered away slowly to their quarters, as if the business of the day were over; and then, proceeding to his own room, he rang the bell and ordered dinner. "i thought there was a bit of a bustle, sir?" said the landlord, inquiringly, as he put the first dish upon the table. "oh dear, no," replied the colonel. "did you mean about these men who have escaped?" "i didn't know about what, colonel," answered the landlord, "but seeing mr. mowle waiting for you----" "you thought it must be about them," added the officer; "but you are mistaken, my good friend. there is no bustle at all. the men will, doubtless, soon be taken, one after the other, by the constables. at all events, that is an affair with which i can have nothing to do." the landlord immediately retreated, loaded with intelligence, and informed two men who were sipping rum-and-water in the tap-room, that mowle had come to ask the colonel to help in apprehending "the major" and others who had been rescued, and that the colonel would have nothing to do with it. the men finished their grog much more rapidly than they had begun it, and then walked out of the house, probably to convey the tidings elsewhere. now, the town of hythe is composed, as every one knows, of one large and principal street nearly at the bottom of the hill, with several back streets--or perhaps lanes we might call them--running parallel to the first, and a great number of shorter ones running up and down the hill, and connecting the principal thoroughfare with those behind it. many--nay, i might say most--of the houses in the main street had, at the time i speak of, a back as well as a front entrance. they might sometimes have even more than one; for there were trades carried on in hythe, as the reader has been made aware, which occasionally required rapid and secret modes of exit. nor was the house in which the young commander of dragoons resided without its conveniences in this respect; but it happened that mowle, the officer, was well acquainted with all its different passages and contrivances; and consequently he took advantage, on his return at the end of an hour, of one of the small lanes, which led him by a back way into the inn. then ascending a narrow staircase without disturbing anybody, he made his way to the room he sought, where he found the colonel of the regiment quietly writing some letters after his brief meal was over. "well, mr. mowle!" said the young officer, folding up, and sealing the note he had just concluded--"now, let me hear what you have discovered, and where you wish the troops to be." "i am afraid, sir, we have lost time," answered mowle; "for i can't tell at what time the landing will take place." "not before midnight," replied his companion; "there is no vessel in sight, and, with the wind at this quarter, they can't be very quick in their movements." "why, probably not before midnight, sir," answered mowle; "but there are not above fifty of your men within ten miles round, and if you've to send for them to folkestone and ashford, and out almost to staplehurst, they will have no time to make ready and march; and the fellows will be off into the weald before we can catch them." the young officer smiled: "then you think fifty men will not be enough?" he asked. "not half enough," answered mowle, beginning to set down his companion as a person of very little intellect or energy--"why, from what i hear, there will be some two or three hundred of these fellows down, to carry the goods after they are run, and every one of them equal to a dragoon, at any time." "well, we shall see!" said the young officer, coolly. "you are sure that dymchurch is the place?" "why, somewhere thereabouts, sir; and that's a long way off," answered mowle; "so if you have any arrangements to make, you had better make them." "they are all made," replied the colonel; "but tell me, mr. mowle, does it not frequently take place that, when smugglers are pursued in the marsh, they throw their goods into the cuts and canals and creeks by which it is intersected." "to be sure they do, sir," exclaimed the officer; "and they'll do that to a certainty, if we can't prevent them landing; and, if we attack them in the marsh----" "to prevent them landing," said the gentleman, "seems to me impossible in the present state of affairs; and i do not know whether it would be expedient, even if we could. your object is to seize the goods, both for your own benefit and that of the state, and to take as many prisoners as possible. now, from what you told me yesterday, i find that you have no force at sea, except a few miserable boats----" "i sent off for the revenue cruiser this morning, sir," answered mowle. "but she is not come," rejoined the officer; "and, consequently, must be thrown out of our combinations. if we assemble a large force at any point of the coast, the smugglers on shore will have warning. they may easily find means of giving notice of the fact to their comrades at sea--the landing may be effected at a different point from that now proposed, and the goods carried clear off before we can reach them. it seems to me, therefore, better for you to let the landing take place quietly. as soon as it has taken place, the beacons will be lighted by my orders; the very fact of a signal they don't understand will throw the smugglers into some confusion; and they will hurry out of the marsh as fast as possible----" "but suppose they separate, and all take different roads," said mowle. "then all, or almost all, the different parties will be met with and stopped," replied the officer. "but your men cannot act without a requisition from the customs, sir," answered mowle, "and they are so devilish cautious of committing themselves----" "but i am not," rejoined the colonel; "and every party along the whole line has notice that the firing of the beacons is to be taken as a signal that due requisition has been made, and has orders also to stop any body of men carrying goods that they may meet with. but i do not think that these smugglers will separate at all, mr. mowle. their only chance of safety must seem to them--not knowing how perfectly prepared we are--to lie in their numbers and their union. while acting together, their numbers, it appears from your account, would be sufficient to force any one post opposed to them, according to the arrangements which they have every reason to believe still exist; and they will not throw away that chance. it is, therefore, my belief that they will make their way out of the marsh in one body. after that, leave them to me. i will take the responsibility upon myself." "very well, colonel--very well!" said mowle; "if you are ready without my knowing anything about it, all the better. only the fellow i sent you brought back word something about folkestone." "that was merely because i did not like the man's look," replied the young officer, "and thought you would understand that a message sent you in so public a manner, upon a business which required secrecy, must not be read in its direct sense." "oh, i see, colonel--i see," cried the officer of customs; "it was stupid enough not to understand. all my people are ready, however; and if we could but discover the hour the run is to be made, we should have a pretty sure game of it." "cannot the same person who gave you so much intelligence, give you that also?" asked his companion. "why, no; either the imp can't, or he wont," said mowle. "i had to pay him ten pounds for what tidings i got, for the little wretch is as cunning as satan." "are you sure the intelligence was correct?" demanded the officer of dragoons. "oh yes, sir," replied mowle. "his tidings have always been quite right; and besides, i've the means of testing this myself; for he told me where they are to meet--at least a large party of them--before going down to the shore. i've a very great mind to disguise myself, and creep in among them." "a very hazardous experiment, i should think," said the colonel; "and i do not see any object worth the risk." "why, the object would be to get information of the hour," answered mowle. "if we could learn that, some time before, we could have everything ready, and have them watched all through the marsh." "well, you must use your own judgment in that particular!" answered the young officer; "but i tell you, i am quite prepared myself; and such a large body as you have mentioned cannot cross a considerable extent of country without attracting attention." "well, i'll see, sir--i'll see," answered mowle; "but had i not better send off two or three officers towards dymchurch, to give your men notice as soon as the goods are landed?" "undoubtedly," answered the colonel. "there's a party at new romney, and a party at burmarsh. they both have their orders, and as soon as they have intimation, will act upon them. i would have enough men present, if i were you, to watch the coast well, but with strict orders to do nothing to create alarm." some minor arrangements were then entered into, of no great importance to the tale; and mowle took his leave, after having promised to give the colonel the very first intimation he received of the farther proceedings of the smugglers. the completion of his own arrangements took the custom-house officer half an hour more, and at the end of that time he returned to his own dwelling, and sat down for a while, to think over the next step. he felt a strong inclination to visit the meeting place of the smugglers in person. he was, as we have shown, a man of a daring and adventurous disposition, strong in nerve, firm in heart, and with, perhaps, too anxious a sense of duty. indeed, he was rather inclined to be rash than otherwise, from the apprehension of having anything like fear attributed to him in the execution of the service he had undertaken; but still he could not shut his eyes to the fact that the scheme he meditated was full of peril to himself. the men amongst whom he proposed to venture were lawless, sanguinary, and unscrupulous; and, if discovered, he had every reason to believe that his life would be sacrificed by them without the slightest hesitation or remorse. he was their most persevering enemy; he had spared them on no occasion; and although he had dealt fairly by them, yet many of those who were likely to be present, had suffered severe punishment at his instigation and by his means. he hesitated a little, and called to mind what the colonel had said regarding the hazard of the act, and the want of sufficient object; but then, suddenly starting up, he looked forward with a frowning brow, exclaiming, "why, hang it, i'm not afraid! i'll go, whatever befals me. it's my duty not to leave any chance for information untried. that young fellow is mighty cool about the business; and if these men get off, it shall not be any fault of mine." thus saying, he lighted a candle, and went into an adjoining room, where, from a large commode, filled with a strange medley of different dresses and implements, he chose out a wagoner's frock, a large pair of leathern leggings, or gaiters, and a straw hat, such as was very commonly used at that time amongst the peasantry of england. after gazing at them for a moment or two, and turning them over once or twice, he put them on, and then, with a pair of sharp scissors, cut away, in a rough and unceremonious fashion, a considerable quantity of his black hair, which was generally left rough and floating. high up over his neck, and round his chin, he tied a large blue handkerchief, and when thus completely accoutred, gave himself a glance in the glass, saying, "i don't think i should know myself." he seemed considerably reassured at finding himself so completely disguised; and then looking at his watch, and perceiving that the hour named for the meeting was approaching, he put a brace of pistols in his breast, where they could be easily reached through the opening in front of the smock-frock. he had already reached the door, when something seemed to strike him; and saying to himself--"well, there's no knowing what may happen!--it's better to prepare against anything," he turned back to his sitting-room, and wrote down on a sheet of paper: "sir,--i am gone up to see what they are about. if i should not be back by eleven, you may be sure they have caught me, and then you must do your best with birchett and the others. if i get off, i'll call in as i come back, and let you know. "sir, your very obedient servant, "william mowle." as soon as this was done, he folded the note up, addressed, and sealed it; and then, blowing the light out, he called an old female servant who had lived in his house for many years, and whom he now directed to carry the epistle to the colonel of dragoons who was up at the inn, adding that she was to deliver it with her own hand. the old woman took it at once; and knowing well, how usual it was for the custom-house officers to disguise their persons in various ways, she took no notice of the strange change in mr. mowle's appearance, though it was so complete that it could not well escape her eyes, even in the darkness which reigned throughout the house. this having been all arranged, and the maid on her way to convey the letter, mowle himself walked slowly forward through the long narrow lanes at the back of the town, and along the path up towards saltwood. it was dusk when he set out, but not yet quite dark; and as he went, he met two people of the town, whom he knew well, but who only replied to the awkward nod of the head which he gave them, by saying, "good night, my man," and walked on, evidently unconscious that they were passing an acquaintance. as he advanced, however, the night grew darker and more dark; and a fog began to rise, though not so thick as that of the night before. mowle muttered to himself, as he observed it creeping up the hill from the side of the valley, "ay, this is what the blackguards calculated upon, and they are always sure to be right about the weather; but it will serve my turn as well as theirs;" and on he went in the direction of the castle, keeping the regular road by the side of the hill, and eschewing especially the dwelling of galley ray and her grandson. born in that part of the country, and perfectly well prepared, both to find his way about every part of the ruins, and to speak the dialect of the county in its broadest accent, if he should be questioned, the darkness was all that he could desire; and it was with pleasure that he found the obscurity so deep that even he could not see the large stones which at that time lay in the road, causing him to stumble more than once as he approached the castle. he was in some hope, indeed, of reaching the ruins before the smugglers began to assemble, and of finding a place of concealment whence he could overhear their sayings and doings; but in this expectation, he discovered, as he approached the walls, that he should be disappointed; for in the open road between the castle and the village, he found a number of horses tied, and two men watching. he trudged on past them, however, with a slow step and a slouching gait; and when one of the men called out, "is that you, jack?" he answered, "ay, ay!" without stopping. at the gate of the court he heard a good many voices talking within; and, it must be acknowledged, that, although as brave a man as ever lived, he was not without a strong sense of the dangers of his situation. but he suffered it not to master him in the least; and advancing resolutely, he soon got the faint outline of several groups of men--amounting in the whole to about thirty--assembled on the green between the walls and the keep. walking resolutely up to one of these little knots, he looked boldly amongst the persons it comprised as if seeking for somebody. their faces could scarcely be distinguished; but the voices of one or two who were talking together, showed him that the group was a hazardous one, as it contained several of the most notorious smugglers of the neighbourhood, who had but too good cause to be well acquainted with his person and his tongue. he went on, consequently, to the next little party, which he soon judged, from the conversation he overheard, to be principally composed of strangers. one man spoke of how they did those things in sussex, and told of how he had aided to haul up, heaven knows how many bales of goods over the bare face of the cliff between hastings and winchelsea. judging, therefore, that he was here in security, the officer attached himself to this group, and, after a while, ventured to ask, "do ye know what's to be the hour, about?" the man he spoke to answered "no!" adding that, they could not tell anything "till the gentleman came." this, however, commenced a conversation, and mowle was speedily identified with that group, which, consisting entirely of strangers, as he had supposed, did not mingle much with the rest. every one present was armed; and he found that though some had come on foot like himself, the greater part had journeyed on horseback. he had a good opportunity also of learning that, notwithstanding every effort made by the government, the system of smuggling was carried on along the coast to a much greater extent than even he himself had been aware of. many of his brother officers were spoken of in high terms of commendation, which did not sound very satisfactory to his ears; and many a hint for his future operations, he gained from the gossip of those who surrounded him. still time wore on, and he began to be a little uneasy lest he should be detained longer than the hour which he had specified in his note to the colonel of dragoons. but at length, towards ten o'clock, the quick tramping of a number of horses were heard, and several voices speaking; and a minute after, five or six and twenty men entered the grass court, and came up hastily to the rest. "now, are you all ready?" cried a voice, which mowle instantly recognised as that of young radford. "yes, we've been waiting these two hours," answered one of those in the group which the officer had first approached; "but you'll never have enough here, sir." "never you mind that," rejoined richard radford, "there are eighty more at lympne, and a good number down at dymchurch already, with plenty of horses. come, muster, muster, and let us be off, for the landing will begin at one, and we have a good long way to go.--remember, every one," he continued, raising his voice, "that the way is by butter's bridge, and then down and along the shore. if any one takes the road by burmarsh he will fall in with the dragoons. troop off, my men, troop off. you ned, and you major, see that the court is quite cleared; we must have none lagging behind." this precaution did not at all disconcert our good friend mowle, for he judged that he should very easily find the means of detaching himself from the rest, at the nearest point to hythe; and accordingly he walked on with the party he had joined, till they arrived at the spot where they had seen the horses tied. there, however, the greater part mounted, and the others joined a different body, which mowle was well aware was not quite so safe; for acting as the chief thereof, and looking very sharply after his party too, was no other than our friend the major. mowle now took good care to keep silence--a prudent step, which was enjoined upon them all by mr. radford and some others, who seemed to have the direction of the affair. but notwithstanding every care, the tread of so many men and so many horses made a considerable noise; and just as they were passing a small cottage, not a quarter of a mile from saltwood, the good dame within opened the door to see what such a bustle could be about. as she did so, the light from the interior fell full upon mowle's face, and the eyes of the major, turned towards the door at the same moment, rested upon him for an instant, and were then withdrawn. it were vain to say, that the worthy officer felt quite as comfortable at that moment as if he had been in his own house; but when no notice was taken, he comforted himself with the thought that his disguise had served him well, and trudged on with the rest, without showing any hesitation or surprise. about half a mile farther lay the turning which he proposed to take to reach hythe; and he contrived to get over to the left side of the party, in order to drop off in that direction unperceived. when he was within ten steps of it, however, and was congratulating himself that the party, having scattered a little, gave him greater facilities for executing his scheme, an arm was familiarly thrust through his own, and a pair of lips, close to his ear, said in a low, but very distinct tone, "i know you--and if you attempt to get off, you are a dead man! continue with the party, and you are safe. when the goods are landed and gone, you shall go; but the least suspicious movement before, shall bring twenty bullets into your head. you did me a good turn yesterday morning before the justices, in not raking up old offences; and i am willing to do you a good turn now; but this is all i can do for you." mowle turned round, well knowing the voice, nodded his head, and walked on with the rest in the direction of lympne. chapter vi. towards half-past ten o'clock at night, the inn at hythe was somewhat quieter than it had been on the evening before. this was not a punch club night; there was no public dinner going forward; a great many accustomed guests were absent, and the house was left nearly vacant of all visitors, except the young commandant of the dragoons, his two or three servants, and three stout-looking old soldiers, who had come in about ten, and taken possession of the tap-room, in their full uniform, scaring away, as it would seem, a sharp-looking man, who had been previously drinking there in solitude, only cheered by the occasional visits and brief conversation of the landlord. the officer himself was up stairs in his room, with a soldier at his door, as usual, and was supposed by all the household to be busy writing; but, in the meanwhile, there was a good deal of bustle in the stables; and about a quarter before eleven, the ostler came in, and informed the landlord, that they were saddling three of the colonel's horses, and his two grooms' horses. "saddling three!" cried the host; "why, he can't ride three horses at once, anyhow; and where can he be going to ride to-night? i must run and see if i can pump it out of the fellows;" and away he walked to the stables, where he found the men--two grooms, and two helpers--busily engaged in the occupation which the ostler had stated. "ah," said the landlord, "so there is something going on to-night?" "not that i know of," answered the head groom. "tie down that holster, bill. the thongs are loose--don't you see?" "oh, but there must be something in the wind," rejoined the landlord, "the colonel wouldn't ride out so late else." "lord bless you!" replied the man, "little you know of his ways. why, sometimes he'll have us all up at two or three in the morning, just to visit a post of perhaps twenty men. he's a smart officer, i can tell you; and no one must be caught napping in his regiment, that's certain." "but you have saddled three horses for him!" said the landlord, returning to his axiom; "and he can't ride three at once, any how." "ay, but who can tell which he may like to ride?" rejoined the groom, "we shan't know anything about that, till he comes into the stable, most likely." "and where is he going to, to-night?" asked the landlord. "we can't tell that he's going anywhere," answered the man; "but if he does, i should suppose it would be to folkestone. the major is away on leave, you know; and it is just as likely as not, that he'll go over to see that all's right there." the worthy host was not altogether satisfied with the information he received; but as he clearly saw that he should get no more, he retired, and went into the tap, to try the dragoons, without being more successful in that quarter than he had been in the stables. in the meantime, his guest up stairs had finished his letters--had dressed himself in uniform--armed himself, and laid three brace of pistols, charged, upon the table, for the holsters of his saddles; and then taking a large map of the county, he leaned over it, tracing the different roads, which at that time intersected the weald of kent. two or three times he took out his watch; and as the hour of eleven drew near, he began to feel considerable alarm for the fate of poor mowle. "if they discover him, they will murder him, to a certainty," he thought; "and i believe a more honest fellow does not live.--it was a rash and foolish undertaking. the measures i have adopted could not fail.--hark! there is the clock striking. we must lose no more time. we may save him yet, or at all events, avenge him." he then called the soldier from the door, and sent off a messenger to the house of the second officer of customs, named birchett, who came up in a few minutes. "mr. birchett," said the colonel, "i fear our friend mowle has got himself into a scrape;" and he proceeded to detail as many of the circumstances as were necessary to enable the other to comprehend the situation of affairs; and ended by asking, "are you prepared to act in mr. mowle's absence?" "oh, yes, sir," answered birchett. "mowle did not tell me the business; but he said, i must have my horse saddled. he was always a close fellow, and kept all the intelligence to himself." "in this case it was absolutely necessary," replied the colonel; "but without any long explanations, i think you had better ride down towards dymchurch at once, with all the men you can trust, keeping as sharp a look-out as you can on the coast, and sending me information the moment you receive intelligence that the run has been effected. do not attempt to attack the smugglers without sufficient force; but despatch two men by different roads, to intimate the fact to me at aldington knowle, where i shall be found throughout the night." "ay, sir," answered the officer, "but suppose the fellows take along by burmarsh, and so up to hardy pool. they will pass you, and be off into the country before anything can be done." "they will be stopped at burmarsh," replied the colonel; "orders have been given to barricade the road at nightfall, and to defend the hamlet against any one coming from the sea. i shall establish another post at lympne as i go. leave all that to me." "but you must have a requisition, sir, or i suppose you are not authorized to act," said the officer. "i will get one for you in a minute." "i have one," answered the colonel, laying hand on the papers before him; "but even were it not so, i should act on my own responsibility. this is no ordinary case, mr. birchett. all you have to do is to ride off towards dymchurch as fast as you can, to give me notice that the smugglers have landed their goods as soon as you find that such is the case, and to add any information that you can gain respecting the course they have taken. remember, not to attack them unless you find that you have sufficient force, but follow and keep them in sight as far as you can." "it's such a devilish foggy night, sir," said birchett. "it will be clearer inland," replied the young officer; "and we shall catch them at day break. we can only fail from want of good information; so see that i have the most speedy intelligence. but stay--lest anything should go wrong, or be misunderstood with regard to the beacons, you may as well, if you have men to spare, send off as you pass, after the run has been effected, to the different posts at brenzet, at snave, at ham street, with merely these words, 'the goods are landed. the smugglers are at such a place.' the parties will act upon the orders they have already received. now away, and lose no time!" the riding officer hurried off, and the colonel of the regiment descended to the court-yard. in three minutes more the sound of a trumpet was heard in the streets of hythe, and in less than ten, a party of about thirty dragoons were marching out of the town towards lympne. a halt for about five minutes was made at the latter place, and the small party of soldiers was diminished to about half its number. information, too, was there received, from one of the cottagers, of a large body of men (magnified in his account into three or four hundred) having gone down into the marshes about half an hour before; but the commanding officer made no observation in reply, and having given the orders he thought necessary, rode on towards aldington. the fog was thick in all the low ground, but cleared away a good deal upon the more elevated spots; and as they were rising one of the hills, the serjeant who was with the party exclaimed, "there is something very red up there, sir! it looks as if there were a beacon lighted up, if we could see it for the fog." the young officer halted for a moment, looked round, and then rode on till he reached the summit of the hill, whence a great light, clearly proceeding from a beacon, was discovered to the north-east. "that must be near postling," he said. "we have no party there. it must be some signal of their own." and as he rode on, he thought, "it is not impossible that poor mowle's rashness may have put these men on their guard, and thus thwarted the whole scheme. that is clearly some warning to their boats." but ere a quarter of an hour more had passed, he saw the probability of still more disastrous effects, resulting from the lighting of the beacon on tolsford hill; for another flame shot up, casting a red glare through the haze from the side of burmarsh, and then another and another, till the dim air seemed all tinged with flame. "an unlucky error," he said to himself. "serjeant jackson should have known that we have no party in that quarter; and the beacons were only to be lighted, from the first towards hythe. it is very strange how the clearest orders are sometimes misunderstood." he rode on, however, at a quick pace, till he reached aldington knowle, and had found the highest ground in the neighbourhood, whence, after pausing for a minute or two to examine the country, as marked out by the various fires, he dispatched three of the dragoons in different directions, with orders to the parties in the villages round to disregard the lights they saw, and not to act upon the orders previously given, till they received intimation that the smugglers were on the march. it was now about midnight, and during nearly two hours the young officer remained stationed upon the hill without any one approaching, or any sound breaking the stillness of the night but the stamping of the horses of his little force and the occasional clang of the soldiers' arms. at the end of that period, the tramp of horse coming along the road at a quick pace from the side of hythe, was heard by the party on the more elevated ground at a little distance from the highway. there was a tightening of the bridle and a movement of the heel amongst the men, to bring their chargers into more regular line; but not a word was said, and the colonel remained in front, with his arms crossed upon his chest and his rein thrown down, while what appeared from the sound to be a considerable body of cavalry, passed before him. he could not see them, it is true, from the darkness of the night; but his ear recognised in a moment the jingling of the dragoons' arms, and he concluded rightly, that the party consisted of the company which he had ordered from folkestone down to bilsington. as soon as they had gone on, he detached a man to the next cross road on the same side, with orders, if he perceived any body of men coming across from the side of the marsh, to ride forward at once to the officer in command at bilsington, and direct him to move to the north, keeping the priory wood on the right, till he reached the cross-roads at the corner, and wait there for further orders. the beacons had by this time burnt out; and all remained dark and still for about half an hour more, when the quick galloping of a horse was heard coming from the side of the marsh. a pause took place as soon as the animal reached the high road, as if the rider had halted to look for some one he had expected; and--dashing down instantly through the gate of the field, which had been opened by the dragoons to gain the highest point of ground--the young officer exclaimed, "who goes there?" "ah, colonel, is that you?" cried the voice of birchett. "they are coming up as fast as they can come, and will pass either by bilsington or bonnington. there's a precious lot of them--i never saw such a number gathered before. mowle's gone, poor fellow, to a certainty; for we've seen nothing of him down there." "nor i either," answered the young officer, with a sigh. "i hope you have left men to watch them, mr. birchett." "oh yes, sir," replied the officer. "i thought it better to come up myself, than trust to any other. but i left clinch and the rest there, and sent off, as you told me, to all your posts." "you are sure they will come by bilsington or bonnington, and not strike off by kitsbridge, towards ham street or warehorn?" demanded the young officer. "if they do, they'll have to turn all the way back," answered birchett; "for i saw them to the crossing of the roads, and then came across by sherlock's bridges and the horse-road to hurst." "and are you quite sure," continued the colonel, "that your messengers will reach the parties at brenzet or snave?" "quite, sir," answered the custom-house officer; "for i did not send them off till the blackguards had passed, and the country behind was clear." "that was judicious; and we have them," rejoined the young officer. "i trust they may take by bonnington; but it will be necessary to ascertain the fact. you shall go down, mr. birchett, yourself, with some of the troopers, and reconnoitre. go as cautiously as possible; and if you see or hear them passing, fall back quietly. if they do not appear in reasonable time, send me intelligence. you can calculate the distances better than i can." "i believe they will go by bonnington," said the customs officer; "for it's much shorter, and i think they must know of your party at bilsington; though, to be sure, they could easily force that, for it is but a sergeant's guard." "you are mistaken," answered the colonel. "captain irby is there with his troop; and, together with the parties moving up, on a line with the smugglers from the marsh, he will have a hundred and fifty men, either in bilsington, or three miles in his rear. nevertheless, we must give him help, in case they take that road; so you had better ride down at once, mr. birchett." and, ordering three of the privates to accompany the custom-house officer, with renewed injunctions to caution and silence, he resumed his position on the hill, and waited in expectation of the result. chapter vii. the cottages round dymchurch, and the neighbourhood of the gut, as it is called, showed many a cheerful light about eleven o'clock, on the night of which we have just been speaking; and, as the evening had been cold and damp, it seemed natural enough to the two officers of customs stationed in the place--or at least they chose to think so--that the poor people should have a fire to keep them warm. if they had judged it expedient to go forth, instead of remaining in the house appropriated to them, they might indeed have discovered a fragrant odour of good hollands, and every now and then a strong smell of brandy, issuing from any hovel door that happened to open as they passed. but the two officers did not judge it expedient to go forth; for it was late, they were warm and comfortable where they were, a good bowl of punch stood before them, and one of them, as he ladled out the exhilarating liquor to the other, remarked, with philosophical sagacity, "it's such a foggy night, who the deuce could see anything on the water even if they went to look for it?" the other laughed, with a meaning wink of his eye, and perfectly agreed in the justice of his companion's observation. "well, we must go out, jim, about twelve," he said, "just to let old mowle see that we are looking about; but you can go down to high nook, and i can pretend i heard something suspicious in the marsh, farther up. otherwise, we shall be broke, to a certainty." "i don't care, if i am broke," answered the other. "i've got all that i want now, and can set up a shop." "well, i should like to hold on a little longer," replied his more prudent companion; "and besides, if they found us out, they might do worse than discharge us." "but how the deuce should they find us out?" asked the other. "nobody saw me speak to the old gentleman; and nobody saw you. i didn't: nor did you see me. so we can say nothing, and nobody else can say anything--i shan't budge." "well, i shall!" said the other. "'tis but a walk; and you know quite well, jim, that if we keep to the westward, it's all safe." it was evident to the last speaker that his comrade had drunk quite enough punch; but still they went on till the bowl was finished; and then, the one going out, the other did not choose to remain, but issued forth also, cursing and growling as he went. the murmur of a good many voices to the eastward of dymchurch saluted their ears the moment they quitted the house; but that sound only induced them to hasten their steps in the opposite direction. the noise which produced this effect upon the officers, had also been heard by another person, who was keeping his solitary watch on the low shore, three or four hundred yards from the village; and to him it was a pleasant sound. he had been on the look-out there for nearly two hours; and no sight had he seen, nor sound had he heard, but the water coming up as the tide made, and every now and then driving him further back to avoid the ripple of the wave. two or three minutes after, a step could be distinguished; and some one gave a whistle. the watcher whistled in return; and the next instant he was joined by another person, somewhat taller than himself, who inquired, "have you heard anything of them yet?" "no, sir," answered the man, in a respectful tone. "everything has been as still and as sleepy as an old woman's cat." "then what the devil's the meaning of these fires all over the country?" asked young radford; for he it was who had come down. "fires, sir?" said the man. "why they were to light one upon tolsford hill, when harding sent up the rockets; but i have heard of none but that, and have seen none at all." "why, they are blazing all over the country," cried young radford, from tolsford to dungeness. "if it's any of our people that have done it, they must be mad." "well, if they have lighted the one at tolsford,"' answered the man, "we shall soon have tom hazlewood down to tell us more; for he was to set off and gallop as fast as possible, whenever he saw anything." young radford made no reply, but stood musing in silence for two or three minutes; and then starting, he exclaimed, "hark! wasn't that a cheer from the sea?" "i didn't hear it," answered the man; "but i thought i heard some one riding." young radford listened; but all seemed still for a moment, till, coming upon harder ground, a horse's feet sounded distinctly. "tom hazlewood, i think," cried radford. "run up, and see, bill!" "he'll come straight down here, sir," replied the man; "he knows where to find me." and almost as he spoke, a man on horseback galloped up, saying, "they must be well in shore now." "who the devil lighted all those fires?" exclaimed young radford. "why they will alarm the whole country!" "i don't know, sir," answered the man on horseback; "i lighted the one at tolsford, but i've nothing to do with the others, and don't know who lighted them." "then you saw the rockets?" demanded the young gentleman. "quite clear, sir," replied hazlewood; "i got upon the highest point that i could find, and kept looking out over the sea, thinking i should see nothing; for though it was quite clear up so high, and the stars shining as bright as possible, yet all underneath was like a great white cloud rolled about; but suddenly, as i was looking over this way, i saw something like a star shoot up from the cloud and burst into a thousand bright sparks, making quite a blaze all round it; and then came another, and then another. so, being quite sure that it was jack harding at sea, i ran down as hard as i could to where i had left peter by the pile of wood and the two old barrels, and taking the candle out of his lantern, thrust it in. as soon as it was in a blaze, i got outside my horse and galloped down; for he could not be more than two or three miles out when i saw the rockets." "then he must be close in now," answered richard radford; "and we had better get all the men down, and spread out." "there will be time enough, sir, i should think," observed the man on foot, "for he'll get the big boats in, as near as he can, before he loads the little ones." "i will fire a pistol, to let him know where we are," answered young radford; and drawing one from his belt, he had cocked it, when the man on foot stopped him, saying, "there are two officers in dymchurch, you know, sir, and they may send off for troops." "pooh--nonsense!" replied richard radford, firing the pistol in the air; "do you think we would have left them there, if we were not sure of them?" in somewhat less than a minute, a distinct cheer was heard from the sea; and at the sound of the pistol, a crowd of men and horses, which in the mist and darkness seemed innumerable, began to gather down upon the shore, as near to the water's edge as they could come. a great many lanterns were produced, and a strange and curious sight it was to see the number of wild-looking faces which appeared by that dim, uncertain light. "ned ramley!" cried young radford. "here i am, sir," answered a voice close at hand. "where's the major?" "major! major!" shouted ramley. "coming," answered a voice at some distance. "stand by him, and do as i told you!" "what's the matter?" demanded richard radford, as the major came up. "oh, nothing, sir!" replied the other; "only a man i found larking about. he says he's willing to help; but i thought it best to set a watch upon him, as i don't know him." "that was right," said the young gentleman. "but, hark!--there are the oars!" and the sound of the regular sweep, and the shifting beat of the oar against the rowlocks, was distinctly heard by all present. some of the men waded down into the water, there being very little sea running, and soon, through the mist, six boats of a tolerable size could be seen pulling hard towards the land. in another moment, amidst various cries and directions, they touched the shore. several men jumped out of each into the water, and a number of the party which had come down to meet them, running in, caught hold of the ropes that were thrown out of the boats, and with marvellous rapidity they were drawn up till they were high and dry. "ah, harding, is that you?" said young radford, addressing the smuggler, who had been steering the largest boat. "this is capitally managed. you are even earlier than i expected; and we shall get far into the country before daylight." "we were obliged to use the sweeps, sir," said harding, bluntly; "but don't let's talk. get the things out, and load the horses; for we shall have to make two more trips back to the luggers before they are all cleared." everything was now bustle and activity; a number of bales and packages were taken out of the boats and placed upon the horses in one way or another, not always the most convenient to the poor animals; and as soon as harding had made mr. radford count the number of the articles landed, the boats were launched off again to some larger vessels, which it seems were lying out at a little distance, though indiscernible in the fog. harding himself remained ashore; and turning to one or two of those about him, he asked, "what was all that red blaze i saw half over the country?" "none of us can tell," answered young radford. "the moment the fire at tolsford was lighted, a dozen more were flaming up, all along to dungeness." "that's devilish strange!" said harding. "it does not look well.--how many men have you got with you, mr. radford?" "why, well nigh upon two hundred," answered ned ramley, for his comrade. "ah, then you'll do," answered harding, with a laugh; "but still you won't be the worse for some more. so i and some of the lads will see you safe across the marsh. the customs have got nothing at sea about here; so the boats will be safe enough." "thank you, harding--thank you, jack;" said several of the voices. "once out of the marsh, with all these ditches and things, and we shall do very well. how far are the luggers off?" "not a hundred fathom," answered harding. "i would have run them ashore if there had been any capstan here to have drawn them up. but they wont be a minute, so have every thing ready. move off those horses that are loaded, a bit, my lads, and bring up the others." harding's minute, however, extended to nearly ten, and then the boats were again perceived approaching, and the same process was followed as before. the third trip was then made with equal success and ease. not the slightest difficulty occurred, not the slightest obstruction was offered; the number of packages was declared to be complete, the horses were all loaded, and the party began to move off in a long line, across the marsh, like a caravan threading the mazes of the desert. leaving a few men with the boats that were ashore, harding and the rest of the seamen, with mr. radford, and several of his party, brought up the rear of the smugglers, talking over the events which had taken place, and the course of their farther proceedings. all seemed friendly and good-humoured; but there is such a thing as seeming, even amongst smugglers, and if harding could have seen the real feelings of some of his companions towards him, it is very probable that he would not have given himself the trouble to accompany them on the way. "i will pay you the money when i get to bonnington," said young radford, addressing his companion. "i can't very well get at it till i dismount." "oh, there's no matter for that, sir," replied the smuggler. "your father can pay me some other time.--but what are you going to bonnington for? i should have thought your best way would have been by bilsington, and so straight into the weald. then you would have had the woods round about you the greater part of the way; or i don't know that i might not have gone farther down still, and so by orleston." "there's a party of dragoons at bilsington," said young radford, "and another at ham street." "ay, that alters the case," answered the smuggler; "but they are all so scattered about and so few, i should think they could do you no great harm. however, it will be best for you to go by bonnington, if you are sure there are no troops there." "if there are, we must fight: that's all," answered young radford; and so ended the conversation for the time. one of those pauses of deep silence succeeded, which--by the accidental exhaustion of topics and the recurrence of the mind to the thoughts suggested by what has just passed--so frequently intervene in the conversation even of great numbers, whether occupied with light or serious subjects. how often do we find, amidst the gayest or the busiest assembly, a sudden stillness pervade the whole, and the ear may detect a pin fall. in the midst of the silence, however, harding laid his hand upon young radford's bridle, saying, in a low voice, "hark! do you not hear the galloping of horses to the east there?" the young man, on the first impulse, put his hand to his holster; but then withdrew it, and listened. "i think i do," he answered; "but now it has stopped." "you are watched, i suspect," said harding; "they did not seem many, however, and may be afraid to attack you. if i were you, i would put the men into a quicker pace; for these fellows may gather as they go.--if you had got such things with you as you could throw into the cuts, it would not much matter; for you could fight it out here, as well as elsewhere; but, if i understood your father rightly, these goods would all be spoiled, and so the sooner you are out of the marsh the better. then you will be safe enough, if you are prudent. you may have to risk a shot or two; but that does not much matter." "and what do you call prudent, harding?" asked young radford, in a wonderfully calm tone, considering his vehement temperament, and the excitement of the adventure in which he was engaged; "how would you have me act, when i do get out of the marsh?" "why, that seems clear enough," replied the smuggler. "i would send all the goods and the men on foot, first, keeping along the straight road between the woods; and then, with all those who have got horses, i would hang behind a quarter of a mile or so, till the others had time to get on and disperse to the different hides, which ought to be done as soon as possible. let a number drop off here, and a number there--one set to the willow cave, close by woodchurch hill, another to the old priory in the wood, and so on: you still keeping behind, and facing about upon the road, if you are pursued. if you do that, you are sure to secure the goods, or by far the greater part of them." the advice was so good--as far as young radford knew of the condition of the country, and the usual plan of operations which had hitherto been pursued by the customs in their pursuit of smugglers--that he could offer no reasonable argument against it; but when prejudice has taken possession of a man's mind, it is a busy and skilful framer of suspicions; and he thought within his own breast, though he did not speak his intentions aloud, "no! hang me if i leave the goods till i see them safe housed. this fellow may want to ruin us, by separating us into small parties." the rest of the party had, by this time, resumed their conversation; and both radford and harding well knew that it would be vain to attempt to keep them quiet; for they were a rash and careless set, inclined to do everything with dash and swagger; and although, in the presence of actual and apparent danger, they could be induced to preserve some degree of order and discipline, and to show some obedience to their leaders, yet as soon as the peril had passed away, or was no longer immediately before their eyes, they were like schoolboys in the master's absence, and careless of the consequences which they did not see. twice harding said, in a low voice, "i hear them again to the east, there!" and twice young radford urged his men to a quicker pace; but many of them had come far; horses and men were tired; every one considered that, as the goods were safely landed, and no opposition shown, the battle was more than half won; and all forgot the warning of the day before, as man ever forgets the chastisements which are inflicted by heaven for his good, and falls the next day into the very same errors, for the reproof of which they were sent. "now," said harding, as they approached the spot where the marsh road opened upon the highway to bonnington, "spread some of your men out on the right and left, mr. radford, to keep you clear in case the enemy wish to make an attack. your people can easily close in, and follow quickly, as soon as the rest have passed." "if they do make an attack," thought young radford, "your head shall be the first i send a ball through;" but the advice was too judicious to be neglected; and he accordingly gave orders to ned ramley and the major, with ten men each, to go one or two hundred yards on the road towards bilsington on the one hand, and hurst on the other, and see that all was safe. a little confusion ensued, as was but natural in so badly disciplined a body; and in the meanwhile the laden horses advanced along the road straight into the heart of the country, while richard radford, with the greater part of his mounted men, paused to support either of his parties in case of attack. he said something in a low voice regarding the money, to harding, who replied abruptly, "there--never mind about that; only look out, and get off as quickly as you can. you are safe enough now, i think; so good night." thus saying, he turned, and with the six or eight stout fellows who accompanied him, trod his way back into the marsh. what passed through young radford's brain at that moment it may be needless to dwell upon; but harding escaped a peril that he little dreamed of, solely by the risk of ruin to the whole scheme which a brawl at that spot and moment must have entailed. the men who had been detached to the right, advanced along the road to the distance specified, proceeding slowly in the fog, and looking eagerly out before. "look out," said ned ramley, at length, to one of his companions, taking a pistol from his belt at the same time, "i see men on horseback there, i think." "only trees in the fog," answered the other. "hush!" cried ramley, sharply; but the other men were talking carelessly, and whether it was the sound of retreating horses or not, that he heard, he could not discover. after going on about three hundred yards, ned ramley turned, saying, "we had better go back now, and give warning; for i am very sure those were men i saw." the other differed with him on that point; and, on rejoining richard radford, they found the major and his party just come back from the bilsington road, but with one man short. "that fellow," said the major, "has taken himself off. i was sure he was a spy, so we had better go on as fast as possible. we shall have plenty of time before he can raise men enough to follow." "there are others to the east, there," replied ned ramley. "i saw two or three, and there is no time to be lost, i say, or we shall have the whole country upon us. if i were you, mr. radford, i'd disperse in as small numbers as possible whenever we get to the chequer-tree; and then if we lose a few of the things, we shall keep the greater part--unless, indeed, you are minded to stand it out, and have a fight upon the green. we are enough to beat them all, i should think." "ay, ned, that is the gallant way," answered richard radford; "but we must first see what is on before. we must not lose the goods, or risk them; otherwise nothing would please me better than to drub these dragoons; but in case it should be dark still when they come near us--if they do at all--we'll have a blow or two before we have done, i trust. however, let us forward now, for we must keep up well with the rest." the party moved on at a quick pace, and soon overtook the train of loaded horses, and men on foot, which had gone on before. many a time a glance was given along the road behind, and many a time an attentive ear was turned listening for the sound of coming horse; but all was still and silent; and winding on through the thick woods, which at that time overspread all the country in the vicinity of their course, and covered their line of advance right and left, they began to lose the sense of danger, and to suppose that the sounds which had been heard, and the forms which had been seen, were but mere creations of the fancy. about two miles from the border of romney marsh, the mist grew lighter, fading gradually away as the sea air mingled with the clearer atmosphere of the country. at times a star or two might be seen above; and though at that hour the moon gave no light, yet there was a certain degree of brightening in the sky which made some think they had miscalculated the hour, and that it was nearer the dawn than they imagined, while others contended that it was produced merely by the clearing away of the fog. at length, however, they heard a distant clock strike four. they were now at a spot where three or four roads branch off in different directions, at a distance of not more than half-a-mile from chequer-tree, having a wide extent of rough, uncultivated land, called aldington freight, on their right, and part of the priory wood on their left; and it yet wanted somewhat more than an hour to the actual rising of the sun. a consultation was then held; and, notwithstanding some differences of opinion, it was resolved to take the road by stonecross green, where they thought they could get information from some friendly cottagers, and thence through gilbert's wood towards shaddoxhurst. at that point, they calculated that they could safely separate in order to convey the goods to the several _hides_, or places of concealment, which had been chosen beforehand. at stonecross green, they paused again, and knocked hard at a cottage door, till they brought forth the sleepy tenant from his bed. but the intelligence gained from him was by no means satisfactory; he spoke of a large party of dragoons at kingsnorth, and mentioned reports which had reached him of a small body having shown itself, at bromley green, late on the preceding night; and it was consequently resolved, after much debate, to turn off before entering gilbert's wood, and, in some degree retreading their steps towards the marsh, to make for woodchurch beacon and thence to redbrook street. the distance was thus rendered greater, and both men and horses were weary; but the line of road proposed lay amidst a wild and thinly inhabited part of the country, where few hamlets or villages offered any quarters for the dragoons. they calculated, too, that having turned the dragoons who were quartered at bilsington, they should thus pass between them and those at kingsnorth and bromley green: and richard radford, himself, was well aware that there were no soldiers, when he left that part of the country, in the neighbourhood of high halden or bethersden. this seemed, therefore, the only road that was actually open before them; and it was accordingly taken, after a general distribution of spirits amongst the men, and of hay and water to the horses. still their progress was slow, for the ground became hilly in that neighbourhood, and by the time they arrived at an elevated spot, near woodchurch beacon, whence they could see over a wide extent of country round, the grey light of the dawn was spreading rapidly through the sky, showing all the varied objects of the fair and beautiful land through which they wandered. but it is now necessary to turn to another personage in our history, of whose fate, for some time, we have had no account. chapter viii. we left our friend, mr. mowle, in no very pleasant situation; for although the generosity of the major, in neither divulging the discovery he had made, to the rest of the smugglers, nor blowing the brains of the intruder out upon the spot, was, perhaps, much more than could be expected from a man in his situation and of his habits, yet it afforded no guarantee whatsoever to the unfortunate custom-house officer, that his life would not be sacrificed on the very first danger or alarm. he also knew, that if such an accident were to happen again, as that which had at first displayed his features to one of those into whose nocturnal councils he had intruded, nothing on earth could save him; for amongst the gang by whom he was surrounded, were a number of men who had sworn to shed his blood on the very first opportunity. he walked along, therefore, as the reader may well conceive, with the feeling of a knife continually at his throat; and a long and weary march it seemed to him, as, proceeding by tortuous ways and zig-zag paths, the smugglers descended into romney marsh, and advanced rapidly towards dymchurch. mowle was, perhaps, as brave and daring a man as any that ever existed; but still the sensation of impending death can never be very pleasant to a person in strong health, and well-contented with the earth on which he is placed; and mowle felt all the disagreeable points in his situation, exactly as any other man would do. it would not be just to him, however, were we not to state, that many other considerations crossed his mind, besides that of his own personal safety. the first of these was his duty to the department of government which he served; and many a plan suggested itself for making his escape here or there, in which he regarded the apprehension of the smugglers, and the seizure of the goods that they were going to escort into the country, fully as much as his own life. his friend the major, however, took means to frustrate all such plans, and seemed equally careful to prevent mr. mowle from effecting his object, and to guard against his being discovered by the other smugglers. at every turn and corner, at the crossing of every stream or cut, the major was by his side; and yet once or twice he whispered a caution to him to keep out of the way of the lights, more especially as they approached dymchurch. when they came near the shore, and a number of men with lanterns issued forth to aid them from the various cottages in the vicinity, he told mowle to keep back with one party, consisting of hands brought out of sussex, who were stationed in the rear with a troop of the horses. but at the same time mowle heard his compassionate friend direct two of the men to keep a sharp eye upon him, as he was a stranger, of whom the leaders were not quite sure, adding an injunction to blow his brains out at once, if he made the slightest movement without orders. in the bustle and confusion which ensued, during the landing of the smuggled goods and the loading of the horses, mowle once or twice encouraged a hope that something would favour his escape. but the two men strictly obeyed the orders they had received, remained close to his side during more than an hour and a half, which was consumed upon the beach, and never left him till he was rejoined by the major, who told him to march on with the rest. "what's to come of this?" thought mowle, as he proceeded, "and what can the fellow intend to do with me?--if he drags me along with them till daylight, one half of them will know me; and then the game's up--and yet he can't mean me harm, either. well, i may have an opportunity of repaying him some day." when the party arrived at bonnington, however, and, as we have already stated, two small bodies were sent off to the right and left, to reconnoitre the ground on either side, mowle was one of those selected by the major to accompany him on the side of bilsington. but after having gone to the prescribed distance, without discovering anything to create suspicion, the worthy field-officer gave the order to return; and contriving to disentangle mowle from the rest, he whispered in his ear, "off with you as fast as you can, and take back by the marsh, for if you give the least information, or bring the soldiers upon us, be you sure that some of us will find means to cut your throat.--get on, get on fast!" he continued aloud, to the other men. "we've no time to lose;" and mowle, taking advantage of the hurry and confusion of the moment, ran off towards bilsington as fast as his legs could carry him. "he's off!" cried one of the men. "shall i give him a shot?" "no--no," answered the major, "it will only make more row. he's more frightened than treacherous, i believe. i don't think he'll peach." thus saying, he rejoined the main body of the smugglers, as we have seen; and mowle hurried on his way without pause, running till he was quite out of breath. now, the major, in his parting speech to mowle, though a shrewd man, had miscalculated his course, and mistaken the person with whom he had to deal. had he put it to the custom-house officer, as a matter of honour and generosity, not to inform against the person who had saved his life, poor mowle would have been in a situation of great perplexity; but the threat which had been used, relieved him of half the difficulty. not that he did not feel a repugnance to the task which duty pointed out--not that he did not ask himself, as soon as he had a moment to think of anything, "what ought i to do? how ought i to act?" but still the answer was, that his duty and his oath required him immediately to take steps for the pursuit and capture of the smugglers; and when he thought of the menace he said to himself, "no, no; if i don't do what i ought, these fellows will only say that i was afraid." having settled the matter in his own mind, he proceeded to execute his purpose with all speed, and hurried on towards bilsington, where he knew there was a small party of dragoons, proposing to send off messengers immediately to the colonel of the regiment and to all the different posts around. it was pitch dark, so that he did not perceive the first houses of the hamlet, till he was within a few yards of them; and all seemed still and quiet in the place. but after having passed the lane leading to the church, mowle heard the stamping of some horses' feet, and the next instant a voice exclaimed, "stand! who goes there?" '"a friend!" answered mowle. "where's the sergeant?" "here am i," replied another voice. "who are you? "my name is mowle," rejoined our friend, "the chief officer of customs at hythe." "oh, come along, mr. mowle; you are just the man we want," said the sergeant, advancing a step or two. "captain irby is up here, and would be glad to speak with you." mowle followed in silence, having, indeed, some occasion to set his thoughts in order, and to recover his breath. about sixty or seventy yards farther on, a scene broke upon him, which somewhat surprised him; for, instead of a dozen dragoons at the most, he perceived, on turning the corner of the next cottage, a body of at least seventy or eighty men, as well as he could calculate, standing each beside his horse, whose breath was seen mingling with the thick fog, by the light of a single lantern held close to the wall of the house which concealed the party from the bonnington road. round that lantern were congregated three or four figures, besides that of the man who held it; and, fronting the approach, was a young gentleman,[ ] dressed in the usual costume of a dragoon officer of that period. before him stood another, apparently a private of the regiment; and the light shone full upon the faces of both, showing a cold, thoughtful, and inquiring look upon the countenance of the young officer, and anxious haste upon that of the inferior soldier. --------------------- [footnote : it will be seen that i have represented all my officers as young men, even up to the very colonel of the regiment; but it must be remembered, that, in those days, promotion in the service was regulated in a very different manner from the present system. i remember a droll story, of a visitor at a nobleman's house, inquiring of the butler what was the cause of an obstreperous roaring he heard up stairs, when the servant replied, "oh, sir, it is nothing but the little general crying for his pap."] --------------------- "here is mr. mowle, the chief officer, captain," said the sergeant, as they advanced. "ha, that is fortunate!" replied captain irby. "now we shall get at the facts, i suppose. well, mr. mowle, what news?" "why, sir, the cargo is landed," exclaimed mowle, eagerly; "and the smugglers passed by bonnington, up towards chequer-tree, not twenty minutes ago." "so this man says," rejoined captain irby, not the least in the world in haste. "have you any fresh orders from the colonel?" "no, sir; he said all his orders were given when last i saw him," replied the officer of customs; "but if you move up quick towards chequer-tree, you are sure to overtake them." "how long is it since you saw sir henry?" demanded captain irby, without appearing to notice mowle's suggestion. "oh, several hours ago," answered the custom-house agent, somewhat provoked at the young officer's coolness. "i have been kept prisoner by the smugglers since ten o'clock--but that is nothing to the purpose, sir. if you would catch the smugglers, you have nothing for it but to move up to chequer-tree after them; and that is what i require you to do." "i have my orders," answered the captain of the troop, with a smile at the impetuous tone of the custom-house officer, "and if you bring me none later, those i shall obey, mr. mowle." "well, sir, you take the responsibility upon yourself, then," said mowle; "i have expressed my opinion, and what i require at your hands." "the responsibility will rest where it ought," replied captain irby, "on the shoulders of him whom i am bound to obey. for your opinion i am obliged to you, but it cannot be followed; and as to what you require, i am under superior authority, which supersedes your requisition." he then said a word or two to one of the men beside him, who immediately proceeded to the body of men behind; but all that mowle could hear was "snave" and "brenzet," repeated once or twice, with some mention of woodchurch and the road by red brooke street. the order was then given to mount, and march; and mowle remarked that four troopers rode off at a quick pace before the rest. "now, mr. mowle, we shall want you with us if you please," said captain irby, in a civil tone. "where is your horse?" "horse!--i have got none;" answered the officer of customs, a good deal piqued; "did i not say that i have been a prisoner with the smugglers for the last five hours? and as to my going with you, sir, i see no use i can be of, if you do not choose to do what i require, or follow my advice." "oh, the greatest--the greatest!" replied the young officer, without losing his temper for an instant, "and as to a horse, we will soon supply you." an order was immediately given; and in three minutes the horse of a dragoon officer, fully caparisoned, was led up to mowle's side, who, after a moment's hesitation, mounted, and rode on with the troop. it must not be denied that he was anything but satisfied, not alone because he thought that he was not treated with sufficient deference--although, having for years been accustomed to be obeyed implicitly by the small parties of dragoons which had been previously sent down to aid the customs, it did seem to him very strange that his opinions should go for nought--but also because he feared that the public service would suffer, and that the obstinacy, as he called it, of the young officer, would enable the smugglers to escape. still more was his anxiety and indignation raised, when he perceived the slow pace at which the young officer proceeded, and that instead of taking the road which he had pointed out, the party kept the priory wood on the right hand, bearing away from chequer-tree, to which he had assured himself that richard radford and his party were tending. he saw that many precautions were taken, however, which, attributing them at first to a design of guarding against surprise, he thought quite unnecessary. two dragoons were thrown forward at a considerable distance before the head of the troop; a single private followed about twenty yards behind them; two more succeeded, and then another, and last came captain irby himself, keeping mr. mowle by his side. from time to time a word was passed down from those who led the advance, not shouted--but spoken in a tone only loud enough to be heard by the trooper immediately behind; and this word, for a considerable way, was merely "all clear!" at length, just at the end of the priory wood, where a path, coming from the east, branched off towards aldington freight, and two roads went away to the north and west, the order to halt was given, to the surprise and consternation of mr. mowle, who conceived that the escape of the smugglers must be an inevitable result. at length a new word was passed from the head of the line, which was, "on before." but still the captain of the troop gave no command to march, and the soldiers sat idle on their horses for a quarter of an hour longer. mowle calculated that it must now be at least half past four or five o'clock. he thought he perceived the approach of day; and though, in discontented silence, he ventured to say no more, he would have given all he had in the world to have had the command of the troop for a couple of hours. his suspense and anxiety were brought to an end at length; for just as he was assured, by the greyness of the sky, that the sun would soon rise, a trooper came dashing down the right-hand path at full speed, and captain irby spurred on to meet him. what passed between them mowle could not hear; but the message was soon delivered, the soldier rode back to the east, by the way he came, and the order to march was immediately given. instead, however, of taking the road to stonecross, the troop directed its course to the west, but at a somewhat quicker pace than before. still a word was passed back from the head of the line; and, after a short time, the troop was put into a quick trot, captain irby sometimes endeavouring to lead his companion into general conversation upon any indifferent subject, but not once alluding to the expedition on which they were engaged. poor mowle was too anxious to talk much. he did not at all comprehend the plan upon which the young officer was acting; but yet he began to see that there was some plan in operation, and he repeated to himself more than once, "there must be something in it, that's clear; but he might as well tell me what it is, i think." at length he turned frankly round to his companion, and said, "i see you are going upon some scheme, captain. i wish to heaven you would tell me what it is; for you can't imagine how anxious i am about this affair." "my good friend," replied captain irby, "i know no more of the matter than you do; so i can tell you nothing about it. i am acting under orders; and the only difference between you and i is, that you, not being accustomed to do so, are always puzzling yourself to know what it all means, while i, being well drilled to such things, do not trouble my head about it; but do as i am told, quite sure that it will all go right." "heaven send it!" answered mowle; "but here it is broad day-light, and we seem to be going farther and farther from our object every minute." as if in answer to his last observation, the word was again passed down from the front, "on, before!" and captain irby immediately halted his troop for about five minutes. at the end of that time, the march was resumed, and shortly after the whole body issued out upon the side of one of the hills, a few miles from woodchurch. the sun was now just risen--the east was glowing with all the hues of early day--the mist was dispersed or left behind in the neighbourhood of the marsh; and a magnificent scene, all filled with golden light, spread out beneath the eyes of the custom-house officer. but he had other objects to contemplate much more interesting to him than the beauties of the landscape. about three-quarters of a mile in advance, and in the low ground to the north-west of the hill on which he stood, appeared a dark, confused mass of men and horses, apparently directing their course towards tiffenden; and mowle's practised eye instantly perceived that they were the smugglers. at first sight he thought, "they may escape us yet:" but following the direction in which captain irby's glance was turned, he saw, further on, in the open fields towards high halden, a considerable body of horse, whose regular line at once showed them to be a party of the military. then turning towards the little place on his left, called cuckoo point, he perceived, at the distance of about a mile, another troop of dragoons, who must have marched, he thought, from brenzet and appledore. the smugglers seemed to become aware, nearly at the same moment, of the presence of the troops on the side of high halden; for they were observed to halt, to pause for a minute or two, then re-tread their steps for a short distance, and take their way over the side of the hill, as if tending towards plurenden or little ingham. "you should cut them off, sir--you should cut them off!" cried mowle, addressing captain irby, "or, by jove, they'll be over the hill above brook street; and then we shall never catch them, amongst all the woods and copses up there. they'll escape, to a certainty!" "i think not, if i know my man," answered captain irby, coolly; "and, at all events, mr. mowle, i must obey my orders.--but there he comes over the hill; so that matter's settled. now let them get out if they can.--you have heard of a rat-trap, mr. mowle?" mowle turned his eyes in the direction of an opposite hill, about three-quarters of a mile distant from the spot where he himself stood, and there, coming up at a rapid pace, appeared an officer in a plain grey cloak, with two or three others in full regimentals, round him, while a larger body of cavalry than any he had yet seen, met his eyes, following their commander about fifty yards behind, and gradually crowning the summit of the rise, where they halted. the smugglers could not be at more than half a mile's distance from this party, and the moment that it appeared, the troops from the side of high halden and from cuckoo point began to advance at a quick trot, while captain irby descended into the lower ground more slowly, watching, with a small glass that he carried in his hand, the motions of all the other bodies, when the view was not cut off by the hedge-rows and copses, as his position altered. mowle kept his eyes upon the body of smugglers, and upon the dragoons on the opposite hill, and he soon perceived a trooper ride down from the latter group to the former, as if bearing them some message. the next instant, there was a flash or two, as if the smugglers had fired upon the soldier sent to them; and then, retreating slowly towards a large white house, with some gardens and shrubberies and various outbuildings around it, they manifested a design of occupying the grounds with the intention of there resisting the attack of the cavalry. a trooper instantly galloped down, at full speed, towards captain irby, making him a sign with his hand as he came near; and the troop with whom mowle had advanced instantly received the command to charge, while the other, from the hill, came dashing down with headlong speed towards the confused multitude below. the smugglers were too late in their man[oe]uvre. embarrassed with a large quantity of goods and a number of men on foot; they had not time to reach the shelter of the garden walls, before the party of dragoons from the hill was amongst them. but still they resisted with fierce determination, formed with some degree of order, gave the troopers a sharp discharge of firearms as they came near, and fought hand to hand with them, even after being broken by their charge. the greater distance which captain irby had to advance, prevented his troop from reaching the scene of strife for a minute or two after the others; but their arrival spread panic and confusion amongst the adverse party; and after a brief and unsuccessful struggle, in the course of which, one of the dragoons was killed, and a considerable number wounded, nothing was thought of amongst young radford's band, but how to escape in the presence of such a force. the goods were abandoned--all those men who had horses were seen galloping over the country in different directions; and if any fugitive paused, it was but to turn and fire a shot at one of the dragoons in pursuit. almost every one of the men on foot was taken ere half an hour was over; and a number of those on horseback were caught and brought back, some desperately wounded. several were left dead, or dying, on the spot where the first encounter had taken place; and amongst the former, mowle, with feelings of deep regret, almost approaching remorse, beheld, as he rode up towards the colonel of the regiment, the body of his friend, the major, shot through the head by a pistol-ball. men of the custom-house officer's character, however, soon console themselves for such things; and mowle, as he rode on, thought to himself, "after all, it's just as well! he would only have been hanged--so he's had an easier death." the young officer in the command of the regiment of dragoons was seated on horseback, upon the top of a little knoll, with some six or seven persons immediately around him, while two groups of soldiers, dismounted, and guarding a number of prisoners, appeared a little in advance. amongst those nearest to the colonel, mowle remarked his companion, birchett, who was pointing, with a discharged pistol, across the country, and saying, "there he goes, sir, there he goes! i'll swear that is he, on the strong grey horse. i fired at him--i'm sure i must have hit him." "no, you didn't, sir," answered a sergeant of dragoons, who was busily tying a handkerchief round his own wounded arm. "your shot went through his hat." the young officer fixed his eyes keenly upon the road leading to harbourne, where a man, on horseback, was seen galloping away, at full speed, with four or five of the soldiers in pursuit. "away after him, sergeant miles," he said; "take straight across the country, with six men of captain irby's troop. they are fresher. if you make haste you will cut him off at the corner of the wood; or if he takes the road through it, in order to avoid you, leave a couple of men at tiffenden corner, and round by the path to the left. the distance will be shorter for you, and you will stop him at mrs. clare's cottage--a hundred guineas to any one who brings him in." his orders were immediately obeyed; and, without noticing mowle, or any one else, the colonel continued to gaze after the little party of dragoons, as, dashing on at the utmost speed of their horses, they crossed an open part of the ground in front, keeping to the right hand of the fugitive, and threatening to cut him off from the north side of the country, towards which he was decidedly tending. whether, if he had been able to proceed at the same rate at which he was then going, they would have been successful in their efforts or not, is difficult to say; for his horse, though tired, was very powerful, and chosen expressly for its fleetness. but in a flight and pursuit like that, the slightest accident will throw the advantage on the one side or the other; and unfortunately for the fugitive, his horse stumbled, and came upon its knees. it was up again in a moment, and went on, though somewhat more slowly; and the young officer observed, in a low tone, "they will have him.--it is of the utmost importance that he should be taken.--ah! mr. mowle, is that you? why, we have given you up for these many hours. we have been successful, you see; and yet, but half successful either, if their leader gets away.--you are sure of the person, mr. birchett?" "perfectly, sir," answered the officer of customs. "i was as near to him, at one time, as i am now to you; and mr. mowle here, too, will tell you i know him well." "who,--young radford?" asked mowle. "oh yes, that we all do; and besides, i can tell you, that is he on the grey horse, for i was along with him the greater part of last night." and mowle proceeded to relate succinctly all that had occurred to him from ten o'clock on the preceding evening. the young officer, in the meanwhile, continued to follow the soldiers with his eyes, commenting, by a brief word or two, on the various turns taken by the pursuit. "he is cut off," he said, in a tone of satisfaction; "the troops, from halden, will stop him there.--he is turning to the left, as if he would make for tenterden.--captain irby, be so good as to detach a corporal, with as many men as you can spare, to cut him off by gallows green--on the left-hand road, there. bid them use all speed. now he's for harbourne again! he'll try to get through the wood; but miles will be before him." he then applied himself to examine the state of his own men and the prisoners, and paid every humane attention to both, doing the best that he could for their wounds, in the absence of surgical assistance, and ordering carts to be procured from the neighbouring farms, to carry those most severely injured into the village of woodchurch. the smuggled goods he consigned to the charge of the custom-house officers, giving them, however, a strong escort, at their express desire; although, he justly observed, that there was but little chance of any attempt being made by the smugglers to recover what they had lost. "i shall now, mr. mowle," he continued, "proceed to woodchurch, and remain there for a time, to see what other prisoners are brought in, and make any farther arrangements that may be necessary; but i shall be in hythe, in all probability, before night. the custody of the prisoners i shall take upon myself for the present, as the civil power is evidently not capable of guarding them." "well, sir, you have made a glorious day's work of it," answered mowle, "that i must say; and i'm sure if you like to establish your quarters, for the morning, at mr. croyland's there, on just before, he will make you heartily welcome; for he hates smugglers as much as any one." the young officer shook his head, saying, "no, i will go to woodchurch." but he gazed earnestly at the house for several minutes, before he turned his horse towards the village; and then, leaving the minor arrangements to be made by the inferior officers, he rode slowly and silently away. chapter ix. we must turn, dear reader, to other persons and to other scenes, but still keep to that eventful day when the smugglers, who had almost fancied themselves lords of kent, first met severe discomfiture at the hands of those sent to suppress their illicit traffic. many small parties had before been defeated, it is true; many a cargo of great value, insufficiently protected, had been seized. such, indeed, had been the case with the preceding venture of richard radford; and such had been, several times, the result of overweening confidence; but the free-traders of kent had still, more frequently, been successful in their resistance of the law; and they had never dreamed that in great numbers, and with every precaution and care to boot, they could be hemmed in and overpowered, in a country with every step of which they were well acquainted. they had now, however, been defeated, as i have said, for the first time, in a complete and conclusive manner, after every precaution had been taken, and when every opportunity had been afforded them of trying their strength with the dragoons, as they had often boastfully expressed a wish to do. but we must now leave them, and turn to the interior of the house near which the strife took place. nay, more, we must enter a fair lady's chamber, and watch her as she lies, during the night of which we have already given so many scenes, looking for awhile into her waking thoughts and slumbering dreams; for that night passed in a strange mingling of sleepless fancies and of drowsy visions. far from me to encourage weak and morbid sensibilities, or to represent life as a dream of sickly feelings, or a stage for the action of ill-regulated passions;--it is a place of duty and of action, of obedience to the rule of the one great guide, of endeavour, and, alas, of trial!--but still human beings are not mere machines: there is still something within this frame-work of dust and ashes, besides, and very different from, the bones and muscles, the veins and nerves, of which it is composed; and heaven forbid that it should not be so! there are still loves and affections, sympathies and regards, associations and memories, and all the linked sweetness of that strange harmonious whole, where the spirit and the matter, the soul and the body, blended in mysterious union, act on each other, and reciprocate, by every sense and every perception, new sources of pain or of delight. the forms and conventionalities of society, the habits of the age in which we live, the force of education, habit, example, may, in very many cases, check the outward show of feeling, and in some, perhaps, wear down to nothing the reality. but still how many a bitter heart-ache lies concealed beneath the polished brow and smiling lip; how many a bright aspiration, how many a tender hope, how many a passionate throb, hides itself from the eyes of others--from the foreigners of the heart--under an aspect of gay merriment or of cold indifference. the silver services of the world are all, believe me, but of plated goods, and the brightest ornaments that deck the table or adorn the saloon but of silver-gilt. could we--as angels may be supposed to do--stand by the bed-side of many a fair girl who has been laughing through an evening of apparent merriment, and look through the fair bosom into the heart beneath, see all the feelings that thrill therein, or trace even the visions that chequer slumber, what should we behold? alas! how strange a contrast to the beaming looks and gladsome smiles which have marked the course of the day. how often would be seen the bitter repining; the weary sickness of the heart; the calm, stern grief; the desolation; the despair--forming a black and gloomy background to the bright seeming of the hours of light. how often, in the dream, should we behold "the lost, the loved, the dead, too many, yet how few," rise up before memory in those moments, when not only the shackles and the handcuffs of the mind, imposed by the tyrant uses of society, are cast off, but also when the softer bands are loosened, which the waking spirit places upon unavailing regrets and aspirations all in vain--in those hours, when memory, and imagination, and feeling are awake, and when judgment, and reason, and resolution are all buried in slumber. can it be well for us thus to check the expression of all the deeper feelings of the heart--to shut out all external sympathies--to lock within the prison of the heart its brightest treasures like the miser's gold, and only to give up to them the hours of solitude and of slumber?--i know not; and the question, perhaps, is a difficult one to solve: but such, however, are the general rules of society; and to its rules we are slaves and bondsmen. it was to her own chamber that edith croyland usually carried her griefs and memories; and even in the house of her uncle, though she was aware how deeply he loved her, she could not, or she would not, venture to speak of her sensations as they really arose. on the eventful day of young radford's quarrel with sir edward digby, edith retired at the sober hour at which the whole household of mr. croyland usually sought repose; but there, for a considerable time, she meditated as she had often meditated before, on the brief intelligence she had received on the preceding day. "he is living," she said to herself: "he is in england, and yet he seeks me not! but my sister says he loves me still!--it is strange, it is very strange. he must have greatly changed. so eager, so impetuous as he used to be, to become timid, cautious, reserved,--never to write, never to send.--and yet why should i blame him? what has he not met with from mine, if not from me? what has his love brought upon himself and his? the ruin of his father--a parent's suffering and death--the destruction of his own best prospects--a life of toil and danger, and expulsion from the scenes in which his bright and early days were spent!--why should i wonder that he does not come back to a spot where every object must be hateful to him?--why should i wonder that he does not seek me, whose image can never be separated from all that is painful and distressing to him in memory? poor henry! oh, that i could cheer him, and wipe away the dark and gloomy recollections of the past." such were some of her thoughts ere she lay down to rest; and they pursued her still, long after she had sought her pillow, keeping her waking for some hours. at length, not long before daybreak, sleep took possession of her brain; but it was not untroubled sleep. wild and whirling images for some time supplied the place of thought; but they were all vague, and confused, and undefined for a considerable length of time after sleep had closed her eyes, and she forgot them as soon as she awoke. but at length a vision of more tangible form presented itself, which remained impressed upon her memory. in it, the events of the day mingled with those both of the former and the latter years, undoubtedly in strange and disorderly shape, but still bearing a sufficient resemblance to reality to show whence they were derived. the form of young radford, bleeding and wounded, seemed before her eyes; and with one hand clasped tightly round her wrist, he seemed to drag her down into a grave prepared for himself. then she saw sir edward digby with a naked sword in his hand, striving in vain to cut off the arm that held her, the keen blade passing through and through the limb of the phantom without dissevering it from the body, or relaxing its hold upon herself. then the figure of her father stood before her, clad in a long mourning cloak, and she heard his voice crying, in a dark and solemn tone, "down, down, both of you, to the grave that you have dug for me!" the next instant the scene was crowded with figures, both on horseback and on foot. many a countenance which she had seen and known at different times was amongst them; and all seemed urging her on down into the gulf before her; till suddenly appeared, at the head of a bright and glittering troop, he whom she had so long and deeply loved, as if advancing at full speed to her rescue. she called loudly to him; she stretched out her hand towards him, and onward he came through the throng till he nearly reached her. then in an instant her father interposed again and pushed him back. all became a scene of disarray and confusion, as if a general battle had been taking place around her. swords were drawn, shots were fired, wounds were given and received; there were cries of agony and loud words of command, till at length, in the midst, her lover reached her; his arms were cast round her; she was pressed to his bosom; and with a start, and mingled feelings of joy and terror, edith's dream came to an end. daylight was pouring into her room through the tall window; but yet she could hardly persuade herself that she was not dreaming still; for many of the sounds which had transmitted such strange impressions to her mind, still rang in her ears. she heard shots and galloping horse, and the loud word of command; and after pausing for an instant or two, she sprang up, cast something over her, and ran to the window. it was a bright and beautiful morning; and the room which she occupied looked over mr. croyland's garden wall to the country beyond. but underneath that garden wall was presented a scene, such as edith had never before witnessed. before her eyes, mingled in strange confusion with a group of men who, from their appearance, she judged to be smugglers, were a number of the royal dragoons; and, though pistols were discharged on both sides, and even long guns on the part of the smugglers, the use of fire-arms was too limited to produce sufficient smoke to obscure the view. swords were out, and used vehemently; and on running her eye over the mass before her, she saw a figure that strongly brought back her thoughts to former days. directing the operations of the troops, seldom using the sword which he carried in his own hand, yet mingling in the thickest of the fray, appeared a tall and powerful young man, mounted on a splendid charger, but only covered with a plain grey cloak. the features she could scarcely discern; but there was something in the form and in the bearing, that made edith's heart beat vehemently, and caused her to raise her voice to heaven in murmured prayer. the shots were flying thick: one of them struck the sun-dial in the garden, and knocked a fragment off; but still she could not withdraw herself from the window; and with eager and anxious eyes she continued to watch the fight, till another body of dragoons swept up, and the smugglers, apparently struck with panic, abandoned resistance, and were soon seen flying in every direction over the ground. one man, mounted on a strong grey horse, passed close beneath the garden wall; and in him edith instantly recognised young richard radford. that sight made her draw back again for a moment from the window, lest he should recognise her; but the next instant she looked out again, and then beheld the officer whom she had seen commanding the dragoons, stretching out his hand and arm in the direction which the fugitive had taken, as if giving orders for his pursuit. she watched him with feelings indescribable, and saw him more than once turn his eyes towards the house where she was, and gaze on it long and thoughtfully. "can he know whose dwelling this is?" she asked herself; "can he know who is in it, and yet ride away?" but so it was. after he had remained on the ground for about half an hour, she saw him depart, turning his horse's head slowly towards woodchurch; and edith withdrew from the window, and wept. her eyes were dry, however, and her manner calm, when she went down to breakfast; and she heard unmoved, from her uncle, the details of the skirmish which had taken place between the smugglers and the military. "this must be a tremendous blow to them," said mr. croyland; "the goods are reported to be of immense value, and the whole of them are stated to have been run by that old infernal villain, radford. i am glad that this has happened, trebly--_felix ter et amplius_, my dear edith; first, that a trade which enriches scoundrels to the detriment of the fair and lawful merchant, has received nearly its death-blow; secondly, that these audacious vagabonds, who fancied they had all the world at their command, and that they could do as they pleased in kent, have been taught how impotent they are against a powerful hand and a clear head; and, thirdly, that the most audacious vagabond of them all, who has amassed a large fortune by defiance of the law, and by a system which embodies cheatery with robbery--i mean robbery of the revenue with cheatery of the lawful merchant--has been the person to suffer. i have heard a great deal of forcing nations to abate their customs dues, by smuggling in despite of them; but depend upon it, whoever advocates such a system is--i will not say, either a rogue or a fool, as some rash and intemperate persons might say--but a man with very queer notions of morals, my dear. i dare say, the fellows firing awoke you, my love. you look pale, as if you had been disturbed." edith replied, simply, that she had been roused by the noise, but did not enter into any particulars, though she saw, or fancied she saw, an inquiring look upon her uncle's face as he spoke. during the morning many were the reports and anecdotes brought in by the servants, regarding the encounter, which had taken place so close to the house; and all agreed that never had so terrible a disaster befallen the smugglers. their bands were quite broken up, it was said, their principal leaders taken or killed, and the amount of the smuggled goods which--with the usual exaggeration of rumour--was raised to three or four hundred thousand pounds, was universally reported to be the loss of mr. radford. his son had been seen by many in command of the party of contraband traders; and it was clear that he had fled to conceal himself, in fear of the very serious consequences which were likely to ensue. mr. croyland rubbed his hands: "i will mark this day in the calendar with a white stone!" he said. "seldom, my dear edith, very seldom, do so many fortunate circumstances happen together; a party of atrocious vagabonds discomfited and punished as they deserve; the most audacious rogue of the whole stripped of his ill-gotten wealth; and a young ruffian, who has long bullied and abused the whole county, driven from that society in which he never had any business. this young officer, this captain osborn, must be a very clever, as well as a very gallant fellow." "captain osborn!" murmured edith; "were they commanded by captain osborn?" "yes, my dear," answered the old gentleman; "i saw him myself over the garden wall. i know him, my love; i have been introduced to him. didn't you hear me say, he is coming to spend a few days with me?" edith made no reply; but somewhat to her surprise, she heard her uncle, shortly after, order his carriage to be at the door at half-past twelve. he gave his fair niece no invitation to accompany him; and edith prepared to amuse herself during his absence as best she might. she calculated, indeed, upon that which, to a well-regulated mind, is almost always either a relief or a pleasure, though too often a sad one: the spending of an hour or two in solitary thought. but all human calculations are vain; and so were those of poor edith croyland. for the present, however, we must leave her to her fate, and follow her good uncle, zachary, on his expedition to woodchurch, whither, as doubtless the reader has anticipated, his steps, or rather those of his coach horses, were turned, just as the hands of the clock in the vestibule pointed to a quarter to one. chapter x. during the whole forenoon of the rd of september, the little village of woodchurch presented a busy and bustling, though, in truth, it could not be called a gay scene. the smart dresses of the dragoons, the number of men and horses, the soldiers riding quickly along the road from time to time, the occasional sound of the trumpet, the groups of villagers and gaping children, all had an animating effect; but there was, mingled with the other sights which the place presented, quite a sufficient portion of human misery, in various forms, to sadden any but a very unfeeling heart. for some time after the affray was over, every ten minutes, was seen to roll in one of the small, narrow carts of the country, half filled with straw, and bearing a wounded man, or at most, two. in the same manner, several corpses, also, were carried in; and the number of at least fifty prisoners, in separate detachments, with hanging hands and pinioned arms, were marched slowly through the street to the houses which had been marked out as affording the greatest security. the good people of woodchurch laughed and talked freely with the dragoons, made many inquiries concerning the events of the skirmish, and gave every assistance to the wounded soldiers; but it was remarked with surprise, by several of the officers, that they showed no great sympathy with the smugglers, either prisoners or wounded--gazed upon the parties who were brought in with an unfriendly air, and turning round to each other, commented, in low tones, with very little appearance of compassion. "ay, that's one of the ramleys' gang," said the stout blacksmith of the place, to his friend and neighbour, the wheelwright, as some ten or twelve men passed before them with their wrists tied. "and that fellow in the smart green coat is another," rejoined the wheelwright; "he's the man who, i dare say, ham-stringed my mare, because i wouldn't let them have her for the last run." "that's tom angel," observed the blacksmith; "he's to be married to jinny ramley, they say." "he'll be married to a halter first, i've a notion," answered the wheelwright, "and then instead of an angel he'll make a devil! he's one of the worst of them, bad as they all are. a pretty gaol delivery we shall have at the next 'sizes!" "a good county delivery, too," replied the blacksmith; "as men have been killed, it's felony, that's clear: so hemp will be dear, mr. slatterly." by the above conversation the feelings of the people of woodchurch towards the smugglers, at that particular time, may be easily divined; but the reader must not suppose that they were influenced alone by the very common tendency of men's nature to side with the winning party; for such was not altogether the case, though, perhaps, they would not have ventured to show their dislike to the smugglers so strongly, had they been more successful. as long as the worthy gentlemen, who had now met with so severe a reverse, had contented themselves with merely running contraband articles--even as long as they had done nothing more than take a man's horse for their own purposes, without his leave, or use his premises, whether he liked it or not, as a place of concealment for their smuggled goods, they were not only indifferent, but even friendly; for man has always a sufficient portion of the adventurer at his heart to have a fellow feeling for all his brethren engaged in rash and perilous enterprises. but the smugglers had grown insolent and domineering from long success; they had not only felt themselves lords of the county, but had made others feel it often in an insulting, and often in a cruel and brutal manner. crimes of a very serious character had been lately committed by the ramleys and others, which, though not traced home by sufficient evidence to satisfy the law, were fixed upon them by the general voice of the people; and the threats of terrible vengeance which they sometimes uttered against all who opposed them, and the boastful tone in which they indulged, when speaking of their most criminal exploits, probably gained them credit for much more wickedness than they really committed. thus their credit with the country people was certainly on the decline when they met with the disaster which has been lately recorded; and their defeat and dispersion was held by the inhabitants of woodchurch as an augury of better times, when their women would be able to pass from village to village, even after dusk, in safety and free from insult, and their cattle might be left out in the fields all night, without being injured, either by wantonness, or in lawless uses. it will be understood, that in thus speaking, i allude alone to the land smugglers, a race altogether different from their fellow labourers of the sea, whom the people looked upon with a much more favourable eye, and who, though rash and daring men enough, were generally a good humoured free-hearted body, spending the money that they had gained at the peril of their lives or their freedom, with a liberal hand and in a kindly spirit. almost every inhabitant of woodchurch had some cause of complaint against the ramleys' gang; and, to say the truth, mr. radford himself was by no means popular in the county. a selfish and a cunning man is almost always speedily found out by the lower classes, even when he makes an effort to conceal it. but mr. radford took no such trouble; for he gloried in his acuteness; and if he had chosen a motto, it probably would have been "every man for himself." his selfishness, too, took several of the most offensive forms. he was ostentatious; he was haughty; and, on the strength of riches acquired, every one knew how, he looked upon himself as a very great man, and treated all the inferior classes, except those of whom he had need, to use their own expression, "as dirt under his feet." all the villagers, therefore, were well satisfied to think that he had met with a check at last; and many of the good folks of woodchurch speculated upon the probability of two or three, out of so great a number of prisoners, giving such evidence as would bring that worthy gentleman within the gripe of the law. such were the feelings of the people of that place, as well as those of many a neighbouring village; and the scene presented by the captive and wounded smugglers, as they were led along, was viewed with indifference by some, and with pleasure by others. two or three of the women, indeed, bestowed kindly attention upon the wounded men, moved by that beautiful compassion which is rarely if ever wanting, in a female heart; but the male part of the population took little share, if any, in such things, and were quite willing to aid the soldiers in securing the prisoners, till they could be marched off to prison. the first excitement had subsided before noon, but still, from time to time, some little bustle took place--a prisoner was caught and brought in, and carried to the public house where the colonel had established himself--an orderly galloped through the street--messengers came and went; and four or five soldiers, with their horses ready saddled, remained before the door of the inn, ready, at a moment's notice, for any event. the commanding officer did not appear at all beyond the doors of his temporary abode; but continued writing, giving orders, examining the prisoners, and those who brought them, in the same room which he had entered when first he arrived. as few of the people of the place had seen him, a good deal of curiosity was excited by his quietness and reserve. it was whispered amongst the women, that he was the handsomest man ever seen; and the men said he was a very fine fellow, and ought to be made a general of. the barmaid communicated to her intimate friends, that when he took off his cloak, she had seen a star upon the breast of his coat; and that her master seemed to know more of him, if he liked to tell; but the landlord was as silent as a mouse. these circumstances, however, kept up a little crowd before the entrance of the inn, consisting of persons anxious to behold the hero of the day; and just at the hour of two, the carriage of mr. croyland rolled in, through the people, at the usual slow and deliberate pace to which that gentleman accustomed his carriage horses. the large heavy door of the large heavy vehicle, was opened by the two servants who accompanied it; and out stepped mr. croyland, with his back as straight and stiff as a poker, and his gold-headed cane in his hand. the landlord, at the sight of an equipage, which he well knew, came out in haste, bowing low, and welcoming mr. croyland in the hearty good old style. the nabob himself unbent a little to his friend of the inn, and after asking him how he did, and bestowing a word or two on the state of the weather, proceeded to say, "and now, miles, i wish to speak a word or two with captain osborn, who is in your house, i believe." "no, mr. croyland," replied the landlord, looking at the visitor with some surprise, "the captain is not here. he is down at nelly south's, and his name's not osborn, either, but irby." "then, who the deuce have you got here, with all these soldiers about the door?" demanded mr. croyland. "the colonel of the regiment, sir," answered miles; "there has only been one captain here all day; and that's captain irby." "not right of the lad--not right of the lad!" exclaimed mr. croyland, rather testily; "no one should keep a man waiting, especially an old man, and more especially still, a cross old man. but i'll come in and stop a bit; for i want to see the young gentleman. where the devil did he go to, i wonder, after the skirmish?--halloo, you sir, corporal! pray, sir, what's your officer's name?" the man put up his hand in military fashion, and, with a strong hibernian accent, demanded, "is it the colonel you're inquiring about, sir? why, then, his name is lieutenant-colonel sir henry leyton, knight of the bath--and mighty cold weather it was, too, when he got the bath; so i didn't envy him his ducking." "oh ho!" said mr. croyland, putting his finger sagaciously to the side of his nose; "be so good as to send up that card to lieutenant-colonel sir henry leyton, knight of the bath, and tell him that the gentleman whose appellation it bears is here, inquiring for one captain osborn whom he once saw." the corporal took the card himself to the top of the stairs, and delivered the message, with as much precision as his intellect could muster, to some person who seemed to be waiting on the outside of a door above. "why, you fool!" cried a voice, immediately, "i told you, if mr. croyland came, to show him up. sir henry will see him." and immediately a servant, in plain clothes, descended to perform his function himself. "very grand!" murmured mr. croyland, as he followed. the door above was immediately thrown open, and his name announced; but, walking slowly, he had not entered the room before the young officer, who has more than once been before the reader's eyes, was half across the floor to meet him. he was now dressed in full uniform; and certainly a finer or more commanding-looking man had seldom, if ever, met mr. croyland's view. advancing with a frank and pleasant smile, he led him to the arm-chair which he had just occupied--it was the only one in the room--and, after thanking him for his visit, turned to the servant, and bade him shut the door. "i am in some surprise, and in some doubt, sir henry," said mr. croyland, with his sharp eyes twinkling a little. "i came here to see one captain osborn; and i find a gentleman very like him, in truth, but certainly a much smarter looking person, whom i am told is lieutenant-colonel sir henry leyton, knight of the bath, &c. &c. &c.; and yet he seems to look upon old zachary croyland as a friend, too." "he does, from his heart, i can assure you, mr. croyland," replied the young officer; "and i trust you will ever permit him to do so. but if it becomes us to deceive no man, it becomes us still more not to deceive a friend; and on that account it was i asked your presence here, to explain to you one or two circumstances which i thought it but just you should know, before i ventured to present myself at your house." "pray speak, sir henry," replied mr. croyland--"i am all ears." the young officer paused for a moment, and a shadow came over his brow, as if something painful passed through his mind; but then, with a slight motion of his hand, as if he would have waved away unpleasant thoughts, he said, "i must first tell you, my dear sir, that i am the son of the reverend henry leyton, whom you once knew, and the nephew of that charles osborn, with whom you were also intimately acquainted." "the dearest friend i ever had in the world," replied mr. croyland, blowing his nose violently. "then i trust you will extend the same friendship to his nephew," said the colonel. "i don't know--i don't know," answered mr. croyland; "that must depend upon circumstances. i'm a very crabbed, tiresome old fellow, sir henry; and my friendships are not very sudden ones. but i have patted your head many a time when you were a child, and that's something. then you are very like your father, and a little like your uncle, that's something more: so we may get on, i think. but what have you got to say more? and what in the name of fortune made you call yourself captain osborn, to an old friend of your family like myself?" "i did not do so, if you recollect," replied the young officer. "it was my friend digby who gave me that name; and you must pardon me, if, on many accounts, i yielded to the trick; for i was coming down here on a difficult service--one that i am not accustomed to, and do not like; and i was very desirous of seeing a little of the country, and of learning something of the habits of the persons with whom i had to deal, before i was called upon to act." "and devilish well you did act when you set about it," cried mr. croyland. "i watched you this morning over the wall, and wondered a little that you did not come on to my house at once." "it is upon that subject that i must now speak," said sir henry leyton, taking a grave tone, "and i must touch upon many painful subjects in the past. just when i was about to write to you, mr. croyland, to say that i would come, in accordance with your kind invitation, i learned that your niece, miss croyland, is staying at your house. now, i know not whether you have been informed, that long ago----" "oh, yes, i know all about that," answered mr. croyland, quickly. "there was a great deal of love and courting, and all that sort of boy and girl's stuff." "it must be man and woman's stuff now, mr. croyland," replied the young officer, "for i must tell you fairly and at once, i love her as deeply, as truly as ever. years have made no difference; other scenes have made no change. the same as i went, in every thought and feeling, i have returned; and i can never think of her without emotion, which i can never speak to her without expressing." "indeed--indeed!" said mr. croyland, apparently in some surprise. "that does make some difference." "that is what i feared," continued sir henry leyton. "your brother disapproved of our engagement. in consequence of it, he behaved to my father in a way--on which i will not dwell. you would not have behaved in such a way, i know; and although i should think any means justifiable, to see your niece when in her father's mansion, to tell her how deeply i love her still, and to ask her to sacrifice fortune and everything to share a soldier's fate, yet i did not think it would be right or honourable, to come into the house of a friend under a feigned name, and seek his niece--for seek her i should wherever i found her--when he might share the same views as his brother, or at all events think himself bound to support them. in short, mr. croyland, i knew that when you were aware of my real name and of my real feelings, it would make a difference, and a great one." "not the difference you think, harry," replied the old gentleman, holding out his hand to him; "but quite the reverse.--i'll tell you what, young man, i think you a devilish fine, high-spirited, honourable fellow, and the only one i ever saw whom i should like to marry my edith. so don't say a word more about it. come and dine with me to-day, as soon as you've got all this job over. you shall see her; you shall talk to her; you shall make all your arrangements together; and if there's a post-chaise in the country, i'll put you in and shut the door with my own hands. my brother is an old fool, and worse than an old fool, too--something very like an old rogue--at least, so he behaved to your father, and not much better to his own child; but i don't care a straw about him, and never did; and i never intend to humour one of his whims." sir henry leyton pressed the old gentleman's hand in his, with much emotion; for the prospect seemed brightening to him, and the dark clouds which had so long overshadowed his course appeared to be breaking away. he had been hitherto like a traveller on a strong and spirited horse, steadfastly pursuing his course, and making his way onward, with vigour and determination, but with a dark and threatening sky over head, and not even a gleam of hope to lead him on. distinction, honours, competence, command, he had obtained by his own talents and his own energies; he was looked up to by those below him, by his equals, even by many of his superiors. the eyes of all who knew him turned towards him as to one who was destined to be a leading man in his day. everything seemed fair and smiling around him, and no eye could see the cloud that overshadowed him but his own. but what to him were honours, or wealth, or the world's applause, if the love of his early years were to remain blighted for ever? and in the tented field, the city, or the court, the shadow had still remained upon his heart's best feelings, not checking his energies, but saddening all his enjoyments. how often is it in the world, that we thus see the bright, the admired, the powerful, the prosperous, with the grave hue of painful thoughts upon the brow, the never unmingled smile, the lapses of gloomy meditation, and ask ourselves, "what is the secret sorrow in the midst of all this success? what is the fountain of darkness that turns the stream of sunshine grey? what the canker-worm that preys upon so bright a flower?" deep, deep in the recesses of the heart, it lies gnawing in silence; but never ceasing, and never satisfied. now, however, there was a light in the heavens for him; and whether it was as one of those rays that sometimes break through a storm, and then pass away, no more to be seen till the day dies in darkness; or whether it was the first glad harbinger of a serene evening after a stormy morning, the conclusion of this tale must show. "i'll tell you something, my dear boy," continued mr. croyland, forgetting that he was speaking to the colonel of a dragoon regiment, and going back at a leap to early days. "your father was my old school-fellow and dear companion; your uncle was the best friend i ever had, and the founder of my fortune; for to his interest i owe my first appointment to india--ay, and to his generosity the greater part of my outfit and my passage. to them i am indebted for everything, to my brother for nothing; and i look upon you as a relation much more than upon him; so i have no very affectionate motives for countenancing or assisting him in doing what is not right. i'll tell you something more, too, harry; i was sure that you would do what is honourable and right--not because you have got a good name in the world; for i am always doubtful of the world's good names, and, besides, i never heard the name of sir harry leyton till this blessed day--but because you were the son of one honest man and the nephew of another, and a good wild frank boy too. so i was quite sure you would not come to my house under a false name, when my niece was in it, without, at all events, letting me into the secret; and you have justified my confidence, young man." "i would not have done such a thing for the world," replied the young officer; "but may i ask, then, my dear mr. croyland, if you recognised me in the stage coach? for it must be eighteen or nineteen years since you saw me." "don't call me mr. croyland," said the old gentleman, abruptly; "call me zachary, or nabob, or misanthrope, or bear, or anything but that. as to your question, i say, no. i did not recognise you the least in the world. i saw in your face something like the faces of old friends, and i liked it on that account. but as for the rest of the matter, there's a little secret, my boy--a little bit of a puzzle. by one way or another--it matters not what--i had found out that captain osborn was my old friend leyton's son; but till i came here to-day, i had no notion that he was colonel of the regiment, and a knight of the bath, to boot, as your corporal fellow took care to inform me. i thought you had been going under a false name, perhaps, all this time, and fancied i should find captain osborn quite well known in the regiment. i had a shrewd notion, too, that you had sent for me to tell the secret; but i was determined to let you explain yourself without helping you at all; for i'm a great deal fonder of men's actions than their words, harry." "is it fair to ask, who told you who i was?" asked sir henry leyton. "my friend digby has some----" "no, no," cried mr. croyland; "it wasn't that good, rash, rattle-pate, coxcomb of a fellow, who is only fit to be caged with little zara; and then they may live together very well, like two monkeys in a show-box. no, he had nothing to do with it, though he has been busy enough since he came here, shooting partridges, and fighting young radfords, and all that sort of thing." "fighting young radfords!" exclaimed sir henry leyton, suddenly grasping the sheath of his sword with his right hand. "he should not have done that--at least, without letting me know." "why, he knew nothing about it himself," replied mr. croyland, "till the minute it took place. the young vagabond followed him to my house; so i civilly told my brother's pet that i didn't want to see him; and he walked away with your friend digby just across the lawn in front of the house, when, after a few minutes of pleasant conversation, the baronet applies me a horsewhip, with considerable unction and perseverance, to the shoulders of richard radford, esquire, junior; upon which out come the pinking-irons, and in the course of the scuffle, sir edward receives a little hole in the shoulder, and mr. radford is disarmed and brought upon his knee, with a very unpleasant and ungentleman-like bump upon his forehead, bestowed, with hearty good-will, by the hilt of master digby's sword. well, when he had got him there, instead of quietly poking a hole through him, as any man of common sense would have done, your friend lets him get up again, and ride away, just as a man might be supposed to pinch a cobra that had bit him, by the tail, and then say, 'walk off, my friend.' however, so stands the matter; and young radford rode away, vowing all sorts of vengeance. he'll have it, too, if he can get it; for he's as spiteful as a baboon; so i hope you've caught him, as he was with these smuggling vagabonds, that's certain." sir henry leyton shook his head. "he has escaped, i am sorry to say," he replied. "how, i cannot divine; for i took means to catch him that i thought were infallible. all the roads through harbourne wood were guarded, but yet in that wood, all trace of him was lost. he left his horse in the midst of it, and must have escaped by some of the by-paths." "he's concealed in my brother's house, for a hundred guineas!" cried mr. croyland. "robert's bewitched, to a certainty; for nothing else but witchcraft could make a man take an owl for a cock pheasant. oh yes! there he is, snug in harbourne house, depend upon it, feeding upon venison and turbot, and with a magnum of claret and two bottles of port to keep him comfortable--a drunken, beastly, vicious brute! a cross between a wolf and a swine, and not without a touch of the fox either--though the first figure is the best; for his father was the wolf, and his mother the sow, if all tales be true." "he cannot be in harbourne house, i should think," replied the colonel, "for my dragoons searched it, it seems, violating the laws a little, for they had no competent authority with them; and besides he would not have put himself within digby's reach, i imagine." "then he's up in a tree, roosting in the day, like a bird of prey," rejoined mr. croyland, in his quick way. "it's very unlucky he has escaped--very unlucky indeed." "at all events," answered the young officer, "thus much have we gained, my dear friend: he dare not shew himself in this county for years. he was seen, by competent witnesses, at the head of these smugglers, taking an active part with them in resistance to lawful authority. blood has been shed, lives have been sacrificed, and a felony has been committed; so that if he is wise, and can manage it, he will get out of england. if he fail of escaping, or venture to show himself, he will grace the gallows, depend upon it." "heaven be praised!" cried mr. croyland. "give me the first tidings, when it is to happen, harry, that i may order four horses, and hire a window. i would not have him hanged without my seeing it for a hundred pounds." sir henry leyton smiled faintly, saying, "those are sad sights, my dear sir, and we have too many of them in this county; but you have not told me, from whom you received intimation that captain osborn and henry osborn leyton were the same person." "that's a secret--that's a secret, hal," answered mr. croyland. "so now tell me when you'll come.--you'll be over to-night. i suppose, or have time and wisdom tamed the eagerness of love?" "oh no, my dear sir," answered leyton; "but i have still some business to settle here, and have promised to be in hythe to-night. before i go, however, i will ride over for an hour or two, for, till i have seen that dear girl again, and have heard her feelings and her wishes from her own lips, my thoughts will be all in confusion. i shall be calmer and more reasonable afterwards." "much need!" answered mr. croyland. "but now i must leave you. i shan't say a word about it all, till you come; for preparing people's minds is all nonsense. it is only drawing them out upon the rack of expectation, which leaves them bruised and crushed, with no power to resist whatever is to come afterwards.--but don't be long, harry, for remember that delays are dangerous." leyton promised to set out as soon as one of his messengers, whom he expected every instant, had returned; and going down with mr. croyland, to the door of his carriage, he bade him adieu, and watched him as he drove away, gratifying the eyes of the people of woodchurch with a view of his fine person, as he stood uncovered at the door. in the meantime, mr. croyland took his way slowly back towards his own dwelling. what had happened there during his absence, we shall see presently. chapter xi. all things have their several stages; and, without a knowledge of the preceding one it is impossible to judge accurately of any event which is the immediate subject of our contemplation. the life of every one, the history of the whole world that we inhabit, is but a regular drama with its scenes and acts, each depending for its interest upon that which preceded. i therefore judge it necessary, before going on to detail the events which took place in mr. croyland's house during his absence to visit the dwelling of his brother, and give some account of that which produced them. on the same eventful morning, then, of which we have spoken so much already, the inhabitants of harbourne house slept quietly during the little engagement between the smugglers and the dragoons, unaware that things of great importance to their little circle were passing at no great distance. i have mentioned the inhabitants of harbourne house; but perhaps it would have been more proper to have said the master, his family, and his guest; for a number of the servants were up; the windows were opened; and the wind, setting from woodchurch, brought the sound of firearms thence. the movement of the troops from the side of high halden was also remarked by one of the housemaids and a footman, as the young lady was leaning out of one of the windows with the young gentleman by her side. in a minute or two after they perceived, galloping across the country, two or three parties of men on horseback, as if in flight and pursuit. most of these took to the right or left, and were soon lost to the sight; but at length one solitary horseman came on at a furious speed towards harbourne house, with a small party of dragoons following him direct at a couple of hundred yards' distance, while two or three of the soldiery were seen scattered away to the right, and a somewhat larger body appeared moving down at a quick pace to the left, as if to cut the fugitive off at gallows green. the horse of the single rider seemed tired and dirty; and he was himself without a hat; but nevertheless, they pushed on with such rapidity, that a few seconds, from the time when they were first seen, brought steed and horseman into the little parish road which i have mentioned as running in front of the house, and passing round the grounds into the wood. as the fugitive drew near, the maid exclaimed, with a sort of a half scream, "why, lord ha' mercy, matthew, it's young mr. radford!" "to be sure it is," answered the footman; "didn't you see that before, betsy? there's a number of the dragoons after him, too. he's been up to some of his tricks, i'll warrant." "well, i hope he wont come in here, at all events," rejoined the maid, "for i shouldn't like it, if we were to have any fighting in the house." "i shall go and shut the hall door," said the footman, drily--richard radford not having ingratiated himself as much with the servants as he had done with their master. but this precaution was rendered unnecessary; for the young man showed no inclination to enter the house, but passing along the road with the rapidity of an arrow, was soon lost in the wood, without even looking up towards the house of sir robert croyland. several of the dragoons followed him quickly; but two of them planted themselves at the corner of the road, and remained there immovable. the maid then observed, that she thought it high time the gentlefolks should be called; and she proceeded to execute her laudable purpose, taking care that tidings of what she had seen concerning mr. radford should be communicated to sir robert croyland, to zara, and to the servant of sir edward digby, who again carried the intelligence to his master. the whole house was soon afoot; and sir robert was just out of his room in his dressing-gown, when three of the soldiers entered the mansion, expressing their determination to search it, and declaring their conviction that the smuggler whom they had been pursuing had taken refuge there. in vain sir robert croyland remonstrated, and inquired if they had a warrant; in vain the servants assured the dragoons that no person had entered during the morning. the serjeant who was at their head, persisted in asserting that the fugitive must have come in there, just when he was hid from his pursuers by the trees, assigning as a reason for this belief, that they had found his horse turned loose not a hundred yards from the house. they accordingly proceeded to execute their intention, meeting with no farther impediment till they reached the room of sir edward digby, who, though he did not choose to interfere, not being on duty himself, warned the serjeant that he must be careful of what he was doing, as it appeared that he had neither magistrate, warrant, nor custom-house officer with him. the serjeant, however, who was a bold and resolute fellow, and moreover a little heated and excited by the pursuit, took the responsibility upon himself, saying that he was fully authorized by mr. birchett to follow, search for, and apprehend one richard radford, and that he had the colonel's orders, too. certainly, not a nook or corner of harbourne house did he leave unexamined before he retired, grumbling and wondering at his want of success. previous to his going, sir edward digby charged him with a message to the colonel, which proved as great an enigma to the soldier as the escape of richard radford. "tell him," said the young baronet, "that i am ready to come down if he wants me; but that if he does not, i think i am quite as well where i am." the breakfast passed in that sort of hurried and desultory conversation which such a dish of gossip as now poured in from all quarters usually produces, when served up at the morning meal. sir robert croyland, indeed, looked ill at ease, laughed and jested in an unnatural and strained tone upon smugglers and smuggling, and questioned every servant that came in for further tidings. the reports that he thus received were as full of falsehood and exaggeration as all such reports generally are. the property captured was said to be immense. two or three hundred smugglers were mentioned as having been taken, and a whole legion of them killed. some had made confession, and clearly proved that the whole property was mr. radford's; and some had fought to the last, and killed an incredible number of the soldiers. to believe the butler, who received his information from the hind, who had his from the shepherd, the man called the major, before he died, had absolutely breakfasted on dragoons, as if they had been prawns; but all agreed that never had such a large body of contraband traders been assembled before, or suffered such a disastrous defeat, in any of their expeditions. sir edward digby gathered from the whole account, that his friend had been fully successful, that the smugglers had fought fiercely, that blood had been shed, and that richard radford, after having taken an active part in the affray, was now a fugitive, and, as the young baronet fancied, never to appear upon the stage again. but still sir robert croyland did not seem by any means so well pleased as might have been wished; and a dark and thoughtful cloud would frequently come over his heavy brow, while a slight twitching of his lip seemed to indicate that anxiety had as great a share in his feelings as mortification. mrs. barbara croyland amused herself, as usual, by doing her best to tease every one around her, and by saying the most malapropos things in the world. she spoke with great commiseration of "the poor smugglers:" every particle of her pity was bestowed upon them. she talked of the soldiers as if they had been the most fierce and sanguinary monsters in europe, who had attacked, unprovoked, a party of poor men that were doing them no harm; till zara's glowing cheek recalled to her mind, that these very blood-thirsty dragoons were sir edward digby's companions and friends; and then she made the compliment more pointed by apologizing to the young baronet, and assuring him that she did not think for a moment he would commit such acts. her artillery was next turned against her brother; and, in a pleasant tone of raillery, she joked him upon the subject of young mr. radford, and of the search the soldiers had made, looking with a meaning smile at zara, and saying, "she dared say, sir robert could tell where he was, if he liked." the baronet declared, sharply and truly, that he knew nothing about the young man; but mrs. barbara shook her head and nodded, and looked knowing, adding various agreeable insinuations of the same kind as before--all in the best humour possible--till sir robert croyland was put quite out of temper, and would have retorted violently, had he not known that to do so always rendered the matter ten times worse. even poor zara did not altogether escape; but, as we are hurrying on to important events, we must pass over her share of infliction. the conclusion of mrs. barbara's field-day was perhaps the most signal achievement of all. breakfast had come to an end, though the meal had been somewhat protracted; and the party were just lingering out a few minutes before they rose, still talking on the subject of the skirmish of that morning, when the good lady thought fit to remark--"well, we may guess for ever; but we shall soon know more about it, for i dare say we shall have mr. radford over here before an hour is gone, and he must know if the goods were his." this seemed to startle--nay, to alarm sir robert croyland. he looked round with a sharp, quick turn of his head, and then rose at once, saying, "well, whether he comes or not, i must go out and see about a good many things. would you like to take a ride, sir edward digby, or what will you do?" "why, i think i must stay here for the present," replied the young baronet; "i may have a summons unexpectedly, and ought not to be absent." "well, you will excuse me, i know," answered his entertainer. "i must leave my sister and zara to amuse you for an hour or two, till i return." thus saying, and evidently in a great bustle, sir robert croyland quitted the room and ordered his horse. but just as the three whom he had left in the breakfast-room were sauntering quietly towards the library--sir edward digby calculating by the way how he might best get rid of mrs. barbara, in order to enjoy the fair zara's company undisturbed--they came upon the baronet at the moment when he was encountered by one of his servants bringing him some unpleasant intelligence. "please, sir robert," said the man, with a knowing wink of the eye, "all the horses are out." "out!" cried the baronet, with a look of fury and consternation. "what do you mean by out, fellow?" "why, they were taken out of the stable last night, sir," replied the man. "i dare say you know where they went; and they have not come back again yet." "pray, have mine been taken also?" demanded sir edward digby, very well understanding what sort of an expedition sir robert croyland's horses had gone upon. "oh dear, no, sir!" answered the man; "your servant keeps the key of that stable himself, sir." the young baronet instantly offered his host the use of one of his steeds, which was gratefully accepted by sir robert croyland, who, however, thought fit to enter into an exculpation of himself, somewhat tedious withal, assuring his guest that the horses had been taken without his approbation or consent, and that he had no knowledge whatsoever of the transaction in which they were engaged. sir edward digby professed himself quite convinced that such was the case, and in order to relieve his host from the embarrassment which he seemed to feel, explained that he was already aware that the kentish smugglers were in the habit of borrowing horses without the owner's consent. in our complicated state of society, however, everything hinges upon trifles. we have made the watch so fine, that a grain of dust stops the whole movement; and the best arranged plans are thrown out by the negligence, the absence, or the folly of a servant, a friend, or a messenger. sir edward digby's groom could not be found for more than a quarter of an hour: when he was, at length, brought to light, the horse had to be saddled. an hour had now nearly elapsed since the master of the house had given orders for his own horse to be brought round immediately: he was evidently uneasy at the delay, peevish, restless, uncomfortable; and in the end, he said he would mount at the back door, as it was the nearest and the most convenient. he even waited in the vestibule; but suddenly he turned, walked through the double doors leading to the stable-yard, and said he heard the horse coming up. mrs. barbara croyland had, in the meantime, amused herself and her niece in the library, with the door open; and sometimes she worked a paroquet, in green, red, and white silk embroidery--a favourite occupation for ladies in her juvenile days--and sometimes she gazed out of the window, or listened to the conversation of her brother and his guest in the vestibule. at the very moment, however, when sir robert was making his exit by the doors between the principal part of the house and the offices, mrs. barbara called loudly after him, "brother robert!--brother robert!--here is mr. radford coming." the baronet turned a deaf ear, and shut the door. he would have locked it, too, if the evasion would not have then been too palpable. but mrs. barbara was resolved that he should know that mr. radford was coming; and up she started, casting down half-a-dozen cards of silk. zara tried to stop her; for she knew her father, and all the signs and indications of his humours; but her efforts were in vain. mrs. barbara dashed past her, rushed through both doors, leaving them open behind her, and caught her brother's arms just as the horse, which he had thought fit to hear approach a little before it really did so, was led up slowly from the stables to the back door of the mansion. "robert, here is mr. radford!" said mrs. barbara, aloud. "i knew you would like to see him." the baronet turned his head, and saw his worthy friend, through the open doors, just entering the vestibule. to the horror and surprise of his sister, he uttered a low but bitter curse, adding, in tones quite distinct enough to reach her ear, "woman, you have ruined me!" "good gracious!" cried mrs. barbara; "why, i thought----" "hush! silence!" said sir robert croyland, in a menacing tone; "not another word, on your life;" and turning, he met mr. radford with the utmost suavity, but with a certain degree of restraint which he had not time to banish entirely from his manner. "ah, mr. radford!" he exclaimed, shaking him, too, heartily by the hand, "i was just going out to inquire about some things of importance;" and he gazed at him with a look which he intended to be very significant of the inquiries he had proposed to institute. but his glance was hesitating and ill-assured; and mr. radford replied, with the coolest and most self-possessed air possible, and with a firm, fixed gaze upon the baronet's countenance. "indeed, sir robert!" he said, "perhaps i can satisfy you upon some points; but, at all events, i must speak with you for a few minutes before you go. good morning, sir edward digby: have you had any sport in the field?--i will not detain you a quarter of an hour, my good friend. we had better go into your little room." he led the way thither as he spoke; and sir robert croyland followed with a slow and faltering step. he knew richard radford; he knew what that calm and self-possessed manner meant. he was aware of the significance of courteous expressions and amicable terms from the man who called him his good friend; and if there was a being upon earth, on whose head sir robert croyland would have wished to stamp as on a viper's, it was the placid benign personage who preceded him. they entered the room in which the baronet usually sat in a morning to transact his business with his steward, and to arrange his affairs; and sir robert carefully shut the door behind him, trying, during the one moment that his back was turned upon his unwelcome guest, to compose his agitated features into the expression of haughty and self-sufficient tranquillity which they usually wore. "sit down, radford," he said--"pray sit down, if it be but for ten minutes;" and he pointed to the arm-chair on the other side of the table. mr. radford sat down, and leaned his head upon his hand, looking in the baronet's face with a scrutinizing gaze. if sir robert croyland understood him well, he also understood sir robert croyland, heart and mind--every corporeal fibre--every mental peculiarity. he saw clearly that his companion was terrified; he divined that he had wished to avoid him; and the satisfaction that he felt at having caught him just as he was going out, at having frustrated his hope of escape, had a pleasant malice in it, which compensated for a part of all that he had suffered during that morning, as report after report reached him of the utter annihilation of his hopes of immense gain, the loss of a ruinous sum of money, and the danger and narrow escape of his son. he had not slept a wink during the whole of the preceding night; and he had passed the hours in a state of nervous anxiety which would have totally unmanned many a strong-minded man when his first fears were realized. but mr. radford's mind was of a peculiar construction: apprehension he might feel, but never, by any chance, discouragement. all his pain was in anticipation, not in endurance. the moment a blow was struck, it was over: his thoughts turned to new resources; and, in reconstructing schemes which had been overthrown, in framing new ones, or pursuing old ones which had slumbered, he instantly found comfort for the past. thus he seemed as fresh, as resolute, as unabashed by fortune's late frowns, as ever; but there was a rankling bitterness, an eager, wolf-like energy in his heart, which sprung both from angry disappointment and from the desperate aspect of his present fortune; and such feelings naturally communicated some portion of their acerbity to the expression of his countenance, which no effort could totally banish. he gazed upon sir robert croyland, then with a keen and inquiring look, not altogether untinged with that sort of pity which amounts to scorn; and, after a momentary pause, he said, "well, croyland, you have heard all, i suppose!" "no, not all--not all, radford," answered the baronet, hesitating; "i was going out to inquire." "i can save you the trouble, then," replied mr. radford, drily. "i am ruined. that is to say, in the two last ventures i have lost considerably more than a hundred thousand pounds." sir robert croyland waved his head sadly, saying, "terrible, terrible! but what can be done?" "oh, several things," answered mr. radford, "and that is what i have come to speak to you about, because the first must rest with you, my excellent good friend." "but where is your son, poor fellow?" asked the baronet, eager to avoid, as long as possible, the point to which their conversation was tending. "they tell me he was well nigh taken; and, after there has been blood shed, that would have been destruction. do you know they came and searched this house for him?" "no, i had not heard of that, croyland," replied mr. radford; "but he is near enough, well enough, and safe enough to marry your fair daughter." "ay, yes," answered sir robert; "that must be thought of, and----." "oh dear, no!" cried the other, interrupting him; "it has been thought of enough already, croyland--too much, perhaps; now, it must be done." "well, i will go over to edith at once," said the baronet, "and i will urge her, by every inducement. i will tell her, that it is her duty, that it is my will, and that she must and shall obey." mr. radford rose slowly off his seat, crossed over the rug to the place where sir robert croyland was placed; and, leaning his hand upon the arm of the other's chair, he bent down his head, saying in a low but very clear voice and perfectly distinct words, "tell her, her father's life depends upon it!" sir robert croyland shrank from him, as if an asp had approached his cheek; and he turned deadly pale. "no, radford--no," he replied, in a faltering and deprecatory tone; "you cannot mean such a horrible thing. i will do all that i can to make her yield--i will, indeed--i will insist--i will----" "sir robert croyland," said mr. radford, sternly and slowly, "i will have no more trifling. i have indulged you too long. your daughter must be my son's wife before he quits this country--which must be the case for a time, till we can get this affair wiped out by our parliamentary influence. her fortune must be his, she must be his wife, i say, before four days are over.--now, my good friend," he continued, falling back, in a degree, into his usual manner, which had generally a touch of sarcastic bitterness in it when addressing his present companion, "what means you may please to adopt to arrive at this desirable result i cannot tell; but as the young lady has shown an aversion to the match, not very flattering to my son----" "is it not his own fault?" cried sir robert croyland, roused to some degree of indignation and resistance--"has he ever, by word or deed, sought to remove that reluctance? has he wooed her as woman always requires to be wooed? has he not rather shown a preference to her sister, paid her all attention, courted, admired her?" "pity you suffered it, sir robert," answered radford; "but permit me, in your courtesy, to go on with what i was saying. as the young lady has shown this unfortunate reluctance, i anticipate no effect from your proposed use of parental authority. i believe your requests and your commands will be equally unavailing; and, therefore, i say, tell her, her father's life depends upon it; for i will have no more trifling, sir robert--no more delay--no more hesitation. it must be settled at once--this very day. before midnight, i must hear that she consents, or you understand!--and consent she will, if you but employ the right means. she may show herself obstinate, undutiful, careless of your wishes and commands; but i do not think that she would like to be the one to tie a halter round her father's neck, or to bring what i think you gentlemen of heraldry and coat-armour call a cross-patonce into the family-bearing--ha, ha, ha!--do you, sir robert?" the unhappy gentleman to whom he spoke covered his eyes with his hand; but, from beneath, his features could be seen working with the agitation of various emotions, in which rage, impotent though it might be, was not without its share. suddenly, however, a gleam of hope seemed to shoot across his mind; he withdrew his hand; he looked up with some light in his eyes. "a thought has struck me, radford," he said; "zara--we have talked of zara--why not substitute her for edith? listen to me--listen to me. you have not heard all." mr. radford shook his head. "it cannot be done," he replied--"it is quite out of the question." "nay, but hear!" exclaimed the baronet. "not so much out of the question as you think. look at the whole circumstances, radford. the great obstacle with edith, is that unfortunate engagement with young leyton. she looks upon herself as his wife; she has told me so a thousand times; and i doubt even the effect of the terrible course which you urge upon me so cruelly." mr. radford's brow had grown exceedingly dark at the very mention of the name of leyton; but he said nothing, and, as if to keep down the feelings that were swelling in his heart, set his teeth hard in his under lip. sir robert croyland saw all these marks of anger, but went on--"now, the case is different with zara. your son has sought her, and evidently admires her; and she has shown herself by no means unfavourable towards him. besides, i can do with her what i like. there is no such obstacle in her case; and i could bend her to my will with a word--yes, but hear me out. i know what you would say: she has no fortune; all the land that i can dispose of is mortgaged to the full--the rest goes to my brother, if he survives me.--true, all very true!--but, radford, listen--if i can induce my brother to give zara the same fortune which edith possesses--if this night i can bring it you under his own hand, that she shall have fifty thousand pounds?--you shake your head; you doubt that he will do it; but i can tell you that he would willingly give it, to save edith from your son. i am ready to pledge you my word, that you shall have that engagement, under his own hand, this very night, or that edith shall become your son's wife within four days. let us cast aside all idle circumlocution. it is edith's fortune for your son, that you require. you can care nothing personally which of the two he marries. as for him, he evidently prefers zara. she is also well inclined to him. i can--i am sure i can--offer you the same fortune with her. why should you object?" mr. radford had resumed his seat, and with his arms folded on his chest, and his head bent, had remained in a listening posture. but nothing that he heard seemed to produce any change in his countenance; and when sir robert croyland had concluded, he rose again, took a step towards him, and replied, through his shut teeth, "you are mistaken, sir robert croyland--it is not fortune alone i seek.--it is revenge!--there, ask me no questions, i have told you my determination. your daughter edith shall be my son's wife within four days, or maidstone jail, trial, and execution, shall be your lot. the haughty family of croyland shall bear the stain of felony upon them to the last generation; and your daughter shall know--for if you do not tell her, i will--that it is her obstinacy which sends her father to the gallows. no more trifling--no more nonsense! act, sir, as you think fit; but remember, that the words--once passed my lips--can never be recalled; that the secret i have kept buried for so many years, shall to-morrow morning be published to the whole world, if to-night you do not bring me your daughter's consent to what i demand. i am using no vain threats, sir robert croyland," he continued, resuming a somewhat softened tone, "and i do not urge you to this without some degree of regret. you have been very kind and friendly; you have done me good service on several occasions; and it will be with great regret that i become the instrument of your destruction. but still every man has a conscience of some kind. even i am occasionally troubled with qualms; and i frequently reproach myself for concealing what i am bound to reveal. it is a pity this marriage was not concluded long ago, for then, connected with you by the closest ties; i should have felt myself more justified in holding my tongue. now, however, it is absolutely necessary that your daughter edith should become my son's wife. i have pointed out the means which i think will soonest bring it to bear; and if you do not use them, you must abide the consequences. but mark me--no attempt at delay, no prevarication, no hesitation! a clear, positive, distinct answer this night by twelve o'clock, or you are lost!" sir robert croyland had leaned his arms upon the table, and pressed his eyes upon his arms. his whole frame shook with emotion, and the softer, and seemingly more kindly words of the man before him, were even bitterer to him than the harsher and the fiercer. though he did not see his face, he knew that there was far more sarcasm than tenderness in them. he had been his slave--his tool, for years--his tool through the basest and most unmanly of human passions--fear; and he felt, not only that he was despised, but that at that moment radford was revelling in contempt. he could have got up and stabbed him where he stood; for he was naturally a passionate and violent man. but fear had still the dominion; and after a bitter struggle with himself, he conquered his anger, and gave himself up to the thought of meeting the circumstances in which he was placed, as best he might. he was silent for several moments, however, after mr. radford had ceased speaking; and then, looking up with an anxious eye and quivering lip, he said, "but how is it possible, radford, that the marriage should take place in four days? the banns could not be published; and even if you got a licence, your son could not appear at church within the prescribed hours, without running a fatal risk." "we will have a special licence, my good friend," answered mr. radford, with a contemptuous smile. "do not trouble yourself about that. you will have quite enough to do with your daughter, i should imagine, without annoying yourself with other things. as to my son, i will manage his part of the affair; and he can marry your daughter in your drawing-room, or mine, at an hour when there will be no eager eyes abroad. money can do all things; and a special licence is not so very expensive but that i can afford it, still. my drawing-room will be best; for then we shall be all secure." "but, radford--radford!" said sir robert croyland, "if i do--if i bring edith at the time appointed--if she become your son's wife--you will give me up that paper, that fatal deposition?" "oh, yes, assuredly," replied mr. radford, with an insulting smile; "i can hand it over to you as part of the marriage settlement. you need not be the least afraid!--and now, i think i must go; for i have business to settle as well as you." "stay, stay a moment, radford," said the baronet, rising and coming nearer to him. "you spoke of revenge just now. what is it that you mean?" "i told you to ask no questions," answered the other, sharply. "but at least tell me, if it is on me or mine that you seek revenge!" exclaimed sir robert croyland. "i am unconscious of ever having injured or offended you in any way." "oh dear, no," replied mr. radford. "you have nothing to do with it--no, nor your daughter either, though she deserves a little punishment for her ill-treatment to my son. no, but there is one on whom i will have revenge--deep and bitter revenge, too! but that is my affair; and i do not choose to say more. you have heard my resolutions; and you know me well enough, to be sure that i will keep my word. so now go to your daughter, and manage the matter as you judge best; but if you will take my advice, you will simply ask her consent, and make her fully aware that her father's life depends upon it; and now good-by, my dear friend. good luck attend you on your errand; for i would a great deal rather not have any hand in bringing you, where destiny seems inclined to lead you very soon." thus saying, he turned and quitted the room; and sir robert croyland remained musing for several minutes, his thoughts first resting upon the last part of their conversation. "revenge!" he said; "he must mean my brother; and it will be bitter enough, to him, to see edith married to this youth. bitter enough to me, too; but it must be done--it must be done!" he pressed his hand upon his heart, and then went out to mount his horse; but pausing in the vestibule, he told the butler to bring him a glass of brandy. the man hastened to obey; for his master's face was as pale as death, and he thought that sir robert was going to faint. but when the baronet had swallowed the stimulating liquor, he walked to the back door with a quick and tolerably steady step, mounted, and rode away alone. before i follow him, though anxious to do so as quickly as possible, i must say a few words in regard to mr. radford's course. after he had reached the parish road i have mentioned,--on which one or two dragoons were still visible, slowly patrolling round harbourne wood,--the man who had exercised so terrible an influence upon poor sir robert croyland turned his horse's head upon the path which led straight through the trees towards the cottage of widow clare. his face was still dark and cloudy; and, trusting to the care and sure-footedness of his beast, he went on with a loose rein and his eyes bent down towards his saddle-bow, evidently immersed in deep thought. when he had got about two-thirds across the wood, he started and turned round his head; for there was the sound of a horse's feet behind, and he instantly perceived a dragoon following him, and apparently keeping him in sight. mr. radford rode on, however, till he came out not far from the gate of mrs. clare's garden, when he saw another soldier riding slowly round the wood. with a careless air, however, and as if he scarcely perceived these circumstances, he dismounted, buckled the rein of his bridle slowly over the palings of the garden, and went into the cottage, closing the door after him. he found the widow and her daughter busily employed with the needle, making somewhat smarter clothes than those they wore on ordinary occasions. it was poor kate's bridal finery. mrs. clare instantly rose, and dropped a low curtsey to mr. radford, who had of late years frequently visited her cottage, and occasionally contributed a little to her comfort, in a kindly and judicious manner. sometimes he had sent her down a load of wood, to keep the house warm; sometimes he had given her a large roll of woollen cloth, a new gown for her daughter or herself, or a little present of money. but mr. radford had his object: he always had. "well, mrs. clare!" said mr. radford, in as easy and quiet a tone as if nothing had happened to agitate his mind or derange his plans; "so, my pretty little friend, kate, is going to be married to worthy jack harding, i find." kate blushed and held down her head, and mrs. clare assented with a faint smile. "there has been a bad business of it this morning, though," said mr. radford, looking in mrs. clare's face; "i dare say you've heard all about it--over there, in the valley by woodchurch and redbrook street." mrs. clare looked alarmed; and kate forgot her timidity, and exclaimed--"oh! is he safe?" "oh, yes, my dear," answered mr. radford, in a kindly tone; "you need not alarm yourself. he was not in it, at all. i don't say he had no share in running the goods; for that is pretty well known, i believe; and he did his part of the work well; but the poor fellows who were bringing up the things, by some folly, or mistake, i do not know which, got in amongst the dragoons, were attacked, and nearly cut to pieces." "ay, then, that is what the soldiers are hanging about here for," said mrs. clare. "it's a sad affair for me, indeed!" continued mr. radford, thoughtfully. "i am truly sorry to hear that, sir!" exclaimed mrs. clare, "for you have been always very kind to me." "well, my good lady," replied her visitor, "perhaps you may now be able to do me a kindness in return," said mr. radford. "to tell you the truth, my son was in this affray. he made his escape when he found that they could not hold their ground; and it is for him that the soldiers are now looking--at least, i suspect so. perhaps you may be able to give a little help, if he should be concealed about here?" "that i will," said widow clare, "if it cost me one of my hands!" "oh, there will be no danger!" answered mr. radford; "i only wish you, in case he should be lying where i think he is, to take care that he has food till he can get away. it might be better for kate here, to go rather than yourself; or one could do it at one time, and the other at another. with a basket on her arm, and a few eggs at the top, kate could trip across the wood as if she were going to harbourne house. you could boil the eggs hard, you know, and put some bread and other things underneath. then, at the place where i suppose he is, she could quietly put down the basket and walk on." "but you must tell me where he is, sir," answered mrs. clare. "certainly," replied mr. radford--"that is to say, i can tell you where i think he is. then, when she gets near it, she can look round to see if there's any one watching, and if she sees no one, can say aloud--'do you want anything?' if he's there he'll answer; and should he send any message to me, one of you must bring it up. i shan't forget to repay you for your trouble." "oh dear, sir, it isn't for that," said mrs. clare--"kate and i will both be very glad, indeed, to show our gratitude for your kindness. it is seldom poor people have the opportunity; and i am sure, after good sir robert croyland, we owe more to you than to any body." "sir robert has been kind to you, i believe, mrs. clare!" replied mr. radford, with a peculiar expression of countenance. "well he may be! he has not always been so kind to you and yours." "pray, sir, do not say a word against sir robert!" answered the widow; "though he sometimes used to speak rather cross and angrily in former times, yet since my poor husband's death, nothing could be more kind than he has been. i owe him everything, sir." "ay, it's all very well, mrs. clare," replied mr. radford, shaking his head with a doubtful smile--"it's all very well! however, i do not intend to say a word against sir robert croyland. he's my very good friend, you know; and it's all very well.--now let us talk about the place where you or kate are to go; but, above all things, remember that you must not utter a word about it to any one, either now or hereafter; for it might be the ruin of us all if you did." "oh, no--not for the world, sir!" answered mrs. clare; "i know such places are not to be talked about; and nobody shall ever hear anything about it from us." "well, then," continued mr. radford, "you know the way up to harbourne house, through the gardens. there's the little path to the right; and then, half way up that, there's one to the left, which brings you to the back of the stables. it goes between two sandy banks, you may recollect; and there's a little pond with a willow growing over it, and some bushes at the back of the willow. well, just behind these bushes there is a deep hole in the bank, high enough to let a man stand upright in it, when he gets a little way down. it would make a famous _hide_ if there were a better horse-path up to it, and sometimes it has been used for small things such as a man can carry on his back. now, from what i have heard, my boy richard must be in there; for his horse was found, it seems, not above two or three hundred yards from the house, broken-knee'd and knocked-up. if any one should follow you as you go, and make inquiries, you must say that you are going to the house; for there is a door there in the wall of the stable-yard--though that path is seldom, if ever used now; but, if there be nobody by, you can just set down the basket by the stump of the willow, and ask if he wants anything more. if he doesn't answer, speak again, and try at all events to find out whether he's there or not, so that i may hear." "oh, i know the place, quite well!" said mrs. clare. "my poor husband used to get gravel there. but when do you think i had better go, sir? for if the dragoons are still lingering about, a thousand to one but they follow me, and, more likely still, may follow kate; so i shall go myself to night, at all events." "you had better wait till it is duskish," answered mr. radford; "and then they'll soon lose sight of you amongst the trees; for they can't go up there on horseback, and if they stop to dismount you can easily get out of their way. let me have any message you may get from richard; and don't forget, either, if harding comes up here, to tell him i want to speak with him very much. he'll be sorry enough for this affair when he hears of it, for the loss is dreadful!" "i'm sure he will, sir," said kate clare; "for he was talking about something that he had to do, and said it would half kill him, if he did not get it done safely." "ay, he's a very good fellow," answered mr. radford, "and you shall have a wedding-gown from me, kate.--look out of the window, there's a good girl, and see if any of those dragoons are about." kate did as he bade her, and replied in the negative; and mr. radford, after giving a few more directions, mounted his horse and rode away, muttering as he went--"ay, master harding, i have a strong suspicion of you; and i will soon satisfy myself. they must have had good information, which none could give but you, i think; so look to yourself, my friend. no man ever injured me yet who had not cause to repent it." mr. radford forgot that he no longer possessed such extensive means of injuring others as he had formerly done; but the bitter will was as strong as ever. chapter xii. the house of mr. zachary croyland was not so large or ostentatious in appearance as that of his brother; but, nevertheless, it was a very roomy and comfortable house; and as he was naturally a man of fine taste--though somewhat singular in his likings and dislikings, as well in matters of art as in his friendships, and vehement in favour of particular schools, and in abhorrence of others--his dwelling was fitted up with all that could refresh the eye or improve the mind. a very extensive and well-chosen library covered the walls of one room, in which were also several choice pieces of sculpture; and his drawing-room was ornamented with a valuable collection of small pictures, into which not one single dutch piece was admitted. he was accustomed to say, when any connoisseur objected to the total exclusion of a very fine school--"don't mention it--don't mention it; i hate it in all its branches and all its styles. i have pictures for my own satisfaction, not because they are worth a thousand pounds apiece. i hate to see men represented as like beasts as possible; or to refresh my eyes with swamps and canals; or, in the climate of england, which is dull enough of all conscience, to exhilarate myself with the view of a frozen pond and fields, as flat as a plate, covered with snow, while half-a-dozen boors, in red night-caps and red noses, are skating away in ten pairs of breeches--looking, in point of shape, exactly like hogs set upon their hind legs. it's all very true the artist may have shown very great talent; but that only shows him to be the greater fool for wasting his talents upon such subjects." his collection, therefore, consisted almost entirely of the italian schools, with a few flemish, a few english, and one or two exquisite spanish pictures. he had two good murillos and a velasquez, one or two fine vandykes, and four sketches by rubens of larger pictures. but he had numerous landscapes, and several very beautiful small paintings of the bolognese school; though that on which he prided himself the most, was an exquisite correggio. it was in this room that he left his niece edith when he set out for woodchurch; and, as she sat--with her arm fallen somewhat listlessly over the back of the low sofa, the light coming in from the window strong upon her left cheek, and the rest in shade, with her rich colouring and her fine features, the high-toned expression of soul upon her brow, and the wonderful grace of her whole form and attitude--she would have made a fine study for any of those dead artists whose works lived around her. she heard the wheels of the carriage roll away; but she gave no thought to the question of whither her uncle had gone, or why he took her not with him, as he usually did. she was glad of it, in fact; and people seldom reason upon that with which they are well pleased. her whole mind was directed to her own situation, and to the feelings which the few words of conversation she had had with her sister had aroused. she thought of him she loved, with the intense, eager longing to behold him once more--but once, if so it must be--which perhaps only a woman's heart can fully know. to be near him, to hear him speak, to trace the features she had loved, to mark the traces of time's hand, and the lines that care and anxiety, and disappointment and regret, she knew must be busily working--oh, what a boon it would be! then her mind ran on, led by the light hand of hope, along the narrow bridge of association, to ask herself--if it would be such delight to see him and to hear him speak--what would it be to soothe, to comfort, to give him back to joy and peace! the dream was too bright to last, and it soon faded. he was near her, and yet he did not come; he was in the same land, in the same district; he had gazed up to the house where she dwelt; if he had asked whose it was, the familiar name--the name once so dear--must have sounded in his ear; and yet he did not come. a few minutes of time, a few steps of his horse, would have brought him to where she was; but he had turned away,--and edith's eyes filled with tears. she rose and wiped them off, saying, "i will think of something else;" and she went up and gazed at a picture. it was a salvator rosa--a fine painting, though not by one of the finest masters. there was a rocky scene in front, with trees waving in the wind of a fierce storm, while two travellers stood beneath a bank and a writhing beech tree, scarcely seeming to find shelter even there from the large grey streams of rain that swept across the foreground. but, withal, in the distance were seen some majestic old towers and columns, with a gleam of golden light upon the edge of the sky; and hope, never wearying of her kindly offices, whispered to edith's heart, "in life, as in that picture, there may be sunshine behind the storm." poor edith was right willing to listen; and she gave herself up to the gentle guide. "perhaps," she thought, "his duty might not admit of his coming, or perhaps he might not know how he would he received. my father's anger would be sure to follow such a step. he might think that insult, injury, would be added. he might imagine even, that i am changed," and she shook her head, sadly. "yet why should he not," she continued, "if i sit here and think so of him? who can tell what people may have said?--who can tell even what falsehoods may have been spread? perhaps he's even now thinking of me. perhaps he has come into this part of the country to make inquiries, to see with his own eyes, to satisfy himself. oh, it must be so--it must be so!" she cried, giving herself up again to the bright dream. "ay, and this sir edward digby, too, he is his dear friend, his companion, may he not have sent him down to investigate and judge? i thought it strange at the time, that this young officer should write to inquire after my father's family, and then instantly accept an invitation; and i marked how he gazed at that wretched young man and his unworthy father. perhaps he will tell zara more, and i shall hear when i return. perhaps he has told her more already. indeed, it is very probable, for they had a long ride together yesterday;" and poor edith began to feel as anxious to go back to her father's house as she had been glad to quit it. yet she saw no way how this could be accomplished, before the period allotted for her stay was at an end; and she determined to have recourse to a little simple art, and ask mr. croyland to take her over to harbourne, on the following morning, with the ostensible purpose of looking for some article of apparel left behind, but, in truth, to obtain a few minutes' conversation with her sister. there are times in the life of almost every one--at least, of every one of feeling and intellect--when it seems as if we could meditate for ever: when, without motion or change, the spirit within the earthly tabernacle could pause and ponder over deep subjects of contemplation for hour after hour, with the doors and windows of the senses shut, and without any communication with external things. the matter before us may be any of the strange and perplexing relations of man's mysterious being; or it may be some obscure circumstance of our own fate--some period of uncertainty and expectation--some of those egyptian darknesses which from time to time come over the future, and which we gaze on half in terror, half in hope, discovering nothing, yet speculating still. the latter was the case at that moment with edith croyland; and, as she revolved every separate point of her situation, it seemed as if fresh wells of thought sprung up to flow on interminably. she had continued thus during more than half an hour after her uncle's departure, when she heard a horse stop before the door of the house, and her heart beat, though she knew not wherefore. her lover might have come at length, indeed; but if that dream crossed her mind it was soon swept away; for the next instant she heard her father's voice, first inquiring for herself, and then asking, in a lower tone, if his brother was within. if edith had felt hope before, she now felt apprehension; for during several years no private conversation had taken place between her father and herself without bringing with it grief and anxiety, harsh words spoken, and answers painful for a child to give. it seldom happens that fear does not go beyond reality; but such was not the case in the present instance; for edith croyland had to undergo far more than she expected. her father entered the room where she sat, with a slow step and a stern and determined look. his face was very pale, too; his lips themselves seemed bloodless, and the terrible emotions which were in his heart showed themselves upon his countenance by many an intelligible but indescribable sign. as soon as edith saw him, she thought, "he has heard of henry's return to this country. it is that which has brought him;" and she nerved her heart for a new struggle; but still she could scarcely prevent her limbs from shaking, as she rose and advanced to meet her parent. sir robert croyland drew her to him, and kissed her tenderly enough; for, in truth, he loved her very dearly: and then he led her back to the sofa, and seated himself beside her. "how low these abominable contrivances are," he said; "i do wish that zachary would have some sofas that people can sit upon with comfort, instead of these beastly things, only fit for a turkish harem, or a dog-kennel." edith made no reply; for she waited in dread of what was to follow, and could not speak of trifles. but her father presently went on, saying, "so, my brother is out, and not likely to return for an hour or two!--well, i am glad of it, edith; for i came over to speak with you on matters of much moment." still edith was silent; for she durst not trust her voice with any reply. she feared that her courage would give way at the first words, and that she should burst into tears, when she felt sure that all the resolution she could command, would be required to bear her safely through. she trusted, indeed, that, as she had often found before, her spirit would rise with the occasion, and that she should find powers of resistance within her in the time of need, though she shrank from the contemplation of what was to come. "i have delayed long, edith," continued sir robert croyland, after a pause, "to press you upon a subject in regard to which it is now absolutely necessary you should come to a decision;--too long, indeed; but i have been actuated by a regard for your feelings, and you owe me something for my forbearance. there can now, however, be no further delay. you will easily understand, that i mean your marriage with richard radford." edith raised her eyes to her father's face, and, after a strong effort, replied, "my decision, my dear father, has, as you know, been long made. i cannot, and i will not, marry him--nothing on earth shall ever induce me!" "do not say that, edith," answered sir robert croyland, with a bitter smile; "for i could utter words, which, if i know you rightly, would make you glad and eager to give him your hand, even though you broke your heart in so doing. but before i speak those things which will plant a wound in your bosom for life, that nothing can heal or assuage, i will try every other means. i request you--i intreat you--i command you, to marry him! by every duty that you owe me--by all the affection that a child ought to feel for a father, i beseech you to do so, if you would save me from destruction and despair!" "i cannot! i cannot!" said edith, clasping her hands. "oh! why should you drive me to such painful disobedience? in the first place, can i promise to love a man that i hate, to honour and obey one whom i despise, and whose commands can never be for good? but still more, my father,--you must hear me out, for you force me to speak--you force me to tear open old wounds, to go back to times long past, and to recur to things bitter to you and to me. i cannot marry him, as i told you once before; for i hold myself to be the wife of another." "folly and nonsense!" cried sir robert croyland, angrily, "you are neither his wife, nor he your husband. what! the wife of a man who has never sought you for years--who has cast you off, abandoned you, made no inquiry for you?--the marriage was a farce. you read a ceremony which you had no right to read, you took vows which you had no power to take. the law of the land pronounces all such engagements mere pieces of empty foolery!" "but the law of god," replied edith, "tells us to keep vows that we have once made. to those vows, i called god to witness with a true and sincere heart; and with the same heart, and the same feelings, i will keep them! i did wrong, my father--i know i did wrong--and henry did wrong too; but by what we have done we must abide; and i dare not, i cannot be the wife of another." "but, i tell you, you shall!" exclaimed her father, vehemently. "i will compel you to be so; i will over-rule this obstinate folly, and make you obedient, whether you choose it or not." "nay, nay--not so!" cried edith. "you could not do, you would not attempt, so cruel a thing!" "i will, so help me heaven!" exclaimed sir robert croyland. "then, thank heaven," answered his daughter, in a low but solemn voice, "it is impossible! in this country, there is no clergyman who would perform the ceremony contrary to my expressed dissent. if i break the vows that i have taken, it must be my own voluntary act; for there is not any force that can compel me so to do; and i call heaven to witness, that, even if you were to drag me to the altar, i would say, no, to the last!" "rash, mad, unfeeling girl!" cried her father, starting up, and gazing upon her with a look in which rage, and disappointment, and perplexity were all mingled. he stood before her for a moment in silence, and then strode vehemently backwards and forwards in the room, with his right hand contracting and expanding, as if grasping at something. "it must be done!" he said, at length, pressing his hand upon his brow; "it must be done!" and then he recommenced his silent walk, with the shadows of many emotions coming over his countenance. when he returned to edith's side again, the manner and the aspect of sir robert croyland were both changed. there was an expression of deep sorrow upon his countenance, of much agitation, but considerable tenderness; and, to his daughter's surprise, he took her hand in his, and pressed it affectionately. "edith," he said, after a short interval of silence, "i have commanded, i have insisted, i have threatened--but all in vain. yet, in so doing, i have had in view to spare you even greater pain than could be occasioned by a father's sternness. my very love for you, my child, made me seem wanting in love. but now i must inflict the greater pain. you require, it seems, inducements stronger than obedience to a father's earnest commands, and you shall have them, however terrible for me to speak and you to hear. i will tell you all, and leave you to judge." edith gazed at him in surprise and terror. "oh, do not--do not, sir!" she said; "do not try to break my heart, and put my duty to you in opposition to the fulfilment of a most sacred vow--in opposition to all the dictates of my own heart and my own conscience." "edith, it must be done," replied sir robert croyland. "i have urged you to a marriage with young richard radford. i now tell you solemnly that your father's life depends upon it." edith clasped her hands wildly together, and gazed, for a moment, in his face, without a word, almost stupified with horror. but sir robert croyland had deceived her, or attempted to deceive her, on the very same subject they were now discussing, more than once already. she knew it; and of course she doubted; for those who have been once false are never fully believed--those who have been once deceived are always suspicious of those who have deceived them, even when they speak the truth. as thought and reflection came back after the first shock, edith found much cause to doubt: she could not see how such a thing was possible--how her refusal of richard radford could affect her father's life; and she replied, after a time, in a hesitating tone, "how can that be?--i do not understand it.--i do not see how----" "i will tell you," replied sir robert croyland, in a low and peculiarly-quiet voice, which had something fearful in it to his daughter's ear. "it is a long story, edith; but you must hear it all, my child. you shall be your father's confidant--his only one. you shall share the secret, dreadful as it is, which has embittered his whole existence, rendered his days terrible, his nights sleepless, his bed a couch of fire." edith trembled in every limb; and sir robert, rising, crossed over and opened the door of the drawing-room, to see that there were none of the servants near it. then closing it again, he returned to her side, and proceeded, holding her hand in his: "you must have remarked," he said, "and perhaps often wondered, my dear child, that mr. radford, a man greatly below myself in station, whose manners are repulsive and disagreeable, whose practices i condemn and reprobate, whose notions and principles i abhor, has exercised over me for many years an influence which no other person possesses, that he has induced me to do many things which my better sense and better feelings disapproved, that he has even led me to consent that my best-loved daughter should become the wife of his son, and to urge her to be so at the expense of all her feelings. you have seen all this, edith, and wondered. is it not so?" "i have, indeed," murmured edith. "i have been by no means able to account for it." "such will not be the case much longer, edith," replied sir robert croyland. "i am making my confession, my dear child; and you shall hear all. i must recur, too, to the story of young leyton. you know well that i liked and esteemed him; and although i was offended, as i justly might be, at his conduct towards yourself, and thought fit to show that i disapproved, yet at first, and from the first, i determined, if i saw the attachment continue and prove real and sincere, to sacrifice all feelings of pride, and all considerations of fortune, and when you were of a fit age, to confirm the idle ceremony which had passed between you, by a real and lawful marriage." "oh, that was kind and generous of you, my dear father. what could make you change so suddenly and fatally? you must have seen that the attachment was true and lasting; you must have known that henry was in every way calculated to make your daughter happy." "you shall hear, edith--you shall hear," replied her father. "very shortly after the event of which i have spoken, another occurred, of a dark and terrible character, only known to myself and one other. i was somewhat irritable at that time. my views and prospects with regard to yourself were crossed; and although i had taken the resolution i have mentioned, vexation and disappointment had their effect upon my mind. always passionate, i gave way more to my passion than i had ever done before; and the result was a fatal and terrible one. you may remember poor clare, the gamekeeper. he had offended me on the monday morning; and i had used violent and angry language towards him before his companions, threatening to punish him in a way he did not expect. on the following day, we went out again to shoot--he and i alone together--and, on our way back, we passed through a little wood, which lies----" "oh, stop--stop!" cried edith, covering her eyes with her hands. "do not tell me any more!" her father was not displeased to see her emotion, for it answered his purpose. yet, it must not be supposed that the peculiar tone and manner which he assumed, so different from anything that had been seen in his demeanour for years, was affected as a means to an end. such was not the case. sir robert croyland was now true, in manner and in words, though it was the first time that he had been entirely so for many years. there had been a terrible struggle before he could make up his mind to speak; but yet, when he did begin, it was a relief to him, to unburthen the overloaded breast, even to his own child. it softened him; it made his heart expand; it took the chain off long-imprisoned feelings, and gave a better spirit room to make its presence felt. he did not forget his object, indeed. to save himself from a death of horror, from accusation, from disgrace, was still his end; but the means by which he proposed to seek it were gentler. he even wavered in his resolution: he fancied that he could summon fortitude to leave the decision to edith herself, and that if that decision were against him, would dare and bear the worst. but still he was pleased to see her moved; for he thought that she could never hear the whole tale, and learn his situation fully, without rushing forward to extricate him; and he went on--"nay, edith, now the statement has been begun, it must be concluded," he said. "you would hear, and you must hear all. you know the wood i speak of, i dare say--a little to the left of chequer tree?" "oh, yes!" murmured edith, "where poor clare was found." the baronet nodded his head: "it was there, indeed," he said. "we went down to see if there were any snipes, or wild fowl, in the bottom. it is a deep and gloomy-looking dell, with a pond of water and some rushes in the hollow, and a little brook running through it, having tall trees all around, and no road but one narrow path crossing it. as we came down, i thought i saw the form of a man move amongst the trees; and i fancied that some one was poaching there. i told clare to go round the pond and see, while i watched the road. he did not seem inclined to go, saying, that he had not remarked anybody, but that the people round about said the place was haunted. i had been angry with him the whole morning, and a good deal out of humour with many things; so i told him to go round instantly, and not make me any answer. the man did so, in a somewhat slow and sullen humour, i thought, and returned sooner than i fancied he ought to do, saying that he could see no trace of any one. i was now very angry, for i fancied he neglected his duty. i told him that he was a liar, that i had perceived some one, whom he might have perceived as well, and that my firm belief was, he was in alliance with the poachers, and deserved to be immediately discharged. 'well, sir robert,' he said, 'in regard to discharging me, that is soon settled. i will not stay another day in your service, after i have a legal right to go. as to being a liar, i am none; and as to being in league with the poachers, if you say so, you yourself lie!' such were his words, or words to that effect. i got furious at his insolence, though perhaps, edith--perhaps i provoked it myself--at least, i have thought so since. however, madly giving way to rage, i took my gun by the barrel to knock him down. a struggle ensued; for he caught hold of the weapon in my hand; and how i know not, but the gun went off, and clare fell back upon the turf. what would i not have done then, to recal every hasty word i had spoken! but it was in vain. i stooped over him; i spoke to him; i told him how sorry i was for what had happened. but he made no answer, and pressed his hand upon his right side, where the charge had entered. i was mad with despair and remorse. i knew not where to go, or what to do. the man was evidently dying; for his face had grown pale and sharp; and after trying to make him speak, and beseeching him to answer one word, i set off running as fast as i could towards the nearest village for assistance. as i was going, i saw a man on horseback, riding sharply down towards the very place. he was at some distance from me; but i easily recognised mr. radford, and knew that he must pass by the spot where the wounded man lay. i comforted myself with thinking that clare would get aid without my committing myself; and i crept in amongst the trees at the edge of the wood, to make sure that mr. radford saw him, and to watch their proceedings. quietly and stealthily finding my way through the bushes, i came near; and then i saw that radford was kneeling by clare's side with an inkhorn in his hand, which, with his old tradesmanlike-habits, he used always at that time to carry about him. he was writing busily, and i could hear clare speak, but could not distinguish what he said. the state of my mind, at that moment, i cannot describe. it was more like madness than any thing else. vain and foolish is it, for any man or any body of men, to argue what would be their conduct in trying situations which they have never been placed in. it is worse than folly for them to say, what would naturally be another man's conduct in any circumstances; for no man can tell another's character, or understand fully all the fine shades of feeling or emotion that may influence him. the tale i am telling you now, edith, is true--too true, in all respects. i was very wrong, certainly; but i was not guilty of the man's murder. i never intended to fire: i never tried to fire; and yet, perhaps, i acted, afterwards, as if i had been guilty, or at all events in a way that was well calculated to make people believe i was so. but i was mad at the time--mad with agitation and grief--and every man, i believe, in moments of deep emotion is mad, more or less. however, i crept out of the wood again, and hastened on, determined to leave the man to the care of mr. radford, but with all my thoughts wild and confused, and no definite line of conduct laid out for myself. before i had gone a mile, i began to think what a folly i had committed, that i should have joined radford at once; that i should have been present to hear what the man said, and to give every assistance in my power, although it might be ineffectual, in order to stanch the blood and save his life. as soon as these reflections arose, i determined, though late, to do what i should have done at first; and, turning my steps, i walked back at a quick pace. ere i got half way to the top of the hill which looks down upon the wood, i saw radford coming out again on horseback; but i went on, and met him. as soon as he beheld me he checked his horse, which was going at a rapid rate, and when i came near, dismounted to speak with me. we were then little more than common acquaintances, and i had sometimes dealt hardly with him in his different transactions; but he spoke in a friendly tone, saying, 'this is a sad business, sir robert; but if you will take my advice you will go home as quickly as you can, and say nothing to any one till you see me. i will be with you in an hour or so. at present i must ride up to middle quarter, and get down men to carry home the body.' with a feeling i cannot express, i asked, if he were dead, then. he nodded his head significantly, and when i was going to put further questions, he grasped my hand, saying, 'go home, sir robert--go home. i shall say nothing about the matter to any one, till i see you, except that i found him dying in the wood. his gun was discharged,' he continued, 'so there is no proof that he did not do it himself!' little did i know what a fiend he was, into whose power i was putting myself." "oh, heaven!" cried edith, who had been listening with her head bent down till her whole face was nearly concealed, "i see it all, now! i see it all!" "no, dear child," replied sir robert croyland, in a voice sad and solemn, but wonderfully calm, "you cannot see it all; no, nor one thousandth part of what i have suffered. even the next dreadful three hours--for he was fully that time ere he came to harbourne--were full of horror, inconceivable to any one but to him who endured them. at length, he made his appearance; calm, grave, self-possessed, with nought of his somewhat rude and blustering manner, and announced, with an affectation of feeling to the family, that poor clare, my keeper, had been found dying with a wound in his side." "i recollect the day, well!" said edith, shuddering. "do you not remember, then," said sir robert croyland, "that he and i went into my writing-room--that awful room, which well deserves the old prison name of the room of torture! we were closeted there for nearly two hours; and all he said i cannot repeat. his tone, however, was the most friendly in the world. he professed the greatest interest in me and in my situation; and he told me that he had come to see me before he said a word to any one, because he wished to take my opinion as to how he was to proceed. it was necessary, he said, that i should know the facts, for, unfortunately they placed me in a very dangerous situation, which he was most anxious to free me from; and then he went on to tell me, that when he had come up, poor clare was perfectly sensible, and had his speech distinctly. 'as a magistrate,' he continued, 'i thought it right immediately to take his dying deposition, for i saw that he had not many minutes to live. here it is,' he said, showing his pocket-book; 'and, as i luckily always have pen and ink with me, i knelt down, and wrote his words from his own lips. he had strength enough to sign the paper; and, as you may see, there is the mark of blood from his own hand, which he had been pressing on his side.' i would fain have taken the paper, but he would not let me, saying, that he was bound to keep it; and then he went on, and read the contents. in it, the unfortunate man charged me most wrongfully with having shot him in a fit of passion; and, moreover, he said that he had been sure, beforehand, that i would do it, as i had threatened him on the preceding day, and there were plenty of people who could prove it." "oh, how dreadful!" cried edith. "it was false, as i have a soul to be saved!" cried sir robert croyland. "but mr. radford then went on, and, shrugging his shoulders, said, that he was placed in a very delicate and painful situation, and that he did not really know how to act with regard to the deposition. 'put it in the fire!' i exclaimed--'put it in the fire!' but he said, 'no; every man must consider himself in these things, sir robert. i have my own character and reputation to think of--my own duty. i risk a great deal, you must recollect, by concealing a thing of this kind. i do not know that i don't put my own life in danger; for this is clear and conclusive evidence against you, and you know, what it is to be accessory in a case of murder!' i then told him my own story, edith; and he said, that made some difference, indeed. he was sure i would tell him the truth; but yet he must consider himself in the matter; and he added hints which i could not mistake, that his evidence was to be bought off. i offered anything he pleased to name, and the result was such as you may guess. he exacted that i should mortgage my estate, as far as it could be mortgaged, and make over the proceeds to him, and that i should promise to give your hand to his son. i promised anything, my child; for not only life and death, but honour or disgrace, were in the balance. if he had asked my life, i would have held my throat to the knife a thousand times sooner than have made such sacrifices. but to die the death of a felon, edith--to be hanged--to writhe in the face of a grinning and execrating multitude--to have my name handed down in the annals of crime, as the man who had been executed for the murder of his own servant,--i could not bear that, my child; and i promised anything! he kept the paper, he said, as a security; and, at first, it was to be given to me, to do with it as i liked--when the money coming from the mortgage was secretly made over to him; but then, he said, that he had lost one great hold, and must keep it till the marriage was completed: for by this time the coroner's inquest was over, and he had withheld the deposition, merely testifying that he had found the man at the point of death in the wood, and had gone as fast as possible for assistance. the jury consisted of his tenants and mine, and they were easily satisfied; but the fiend who had me in his power was more greedy; and, by the very exercise of his influence, he seemed to learn to enjoy it. day after day, month after month, he took a pleasure in making me do things that were abhorrent to me. it changed my nature and my character. he forced me to wink at frauds that i detested; and every year he pressed for the completion of your marriage with his son. your coldness, your dislike, your refusal would, long ere this, have driven him into fury, i believe, if richard radford had been eager for your hand himself. but now, edith--now, my child, he will hear of no more delay. he is ruined in fortune, disappointed in his expectations, and rendered fierce as a hungry beast by some events that have taken place this morning. he has just now been over at harbourne, and used threats which i know, too well, he will execute. he it was, himself, who told me to inform you, that if you did not consent, your father's life would be the sacrifice!" "oh, heaven!" cried edith, covering her eyes with her hands, "at least, give me time to think.--surely, his word cannot have such power: a base, notorious criminal himself, one who every day violates the law, who scoffs at his own oaths, and holds truth and honour but as names--surely his word will be nothing against sir robert croyland's." "his word is nothing, would be nothing," replied her father, earnestly; "but that deposition, edith! it is that which is my destruction. remember, that the words of a dying man, with eternity and judgment close before his eyes, are held by the law more powerful than any other kind of evidence; and, besides, there are those still living, who heard the rash threat i used. suspicion once pointed at me, a thousand corroborative circumstances would come forth to prove that the tale i told of parting with the dead man, some time before, was false, and that very fact would condemn me. cast away all such hopes, edith--cast away all such expectations. they are vain!--vain! look the truth full in the face, my child. this man has your father's life entirely and totally in his power, and ask yourself, if you will doom me to death." "oh, give me time--give me time!" cried edith, wringing her hands. "let me but think over it till to-morrow, or next day." "not an hour ago," replied sir robert croyland, "he swore, by everything he holds sacred, that if before twelve to-night, he did not receive your consent----" "stay, stay!" cried edith, eagerly, placing her hand upon her brow. "let me think--let me think. it is but money that he wants--it is but the pitiful wealth my uncle left me. let him take it, my father!" she continued, laying her hand upon sir robert's arm, and gazing brightly in his face, as if the light of hope had suddenly been renewed. "let him take it all, every farthing. i would sooner work as a hired servant in the fields for my daily bread, with the only comfort of innocence and peace, than break my vows, and marry that bad man. i will sign a promise this instant that he shall have all." sir robert croyland threw his arms round her, and looked up to heaven, as if imploring succour for them both. "my sweet child!--my dear child!" he said, with the tears streaming down his cheeks. "but i cannot leave you even this generous hope. this man has other designs. i offered--i promised to give zara to his son, and to ensure to her, with my brother's help, a fortune equal to your own. but he would not hear of it. he has other views, my edith. you must know all--you must see all as it really is. he will keep his word this very night! if before twelve, he do not receive your consent, the intimation of the fatal knowledge he possesses will be sent to those who will not fail to track it through every step, as the bloodhound follows his prey. he is a desperate man, edith, and will keep his word, bringing down ruin upon our heads, even if it overwhelm himself also." edith croyland paused without reply for several minutes, her beautiful face remaining pale, with the exception of one glowing spot in the centre of her cheek. her eyes were fixed upon the ground; and her lips moved, but without speech. she was arguing in her own mind the case between hope and despair; and the terrible array of circumstances on every side bewildered her. delay was her only refuge; and looking up in her father's face, she said, "but why is he so hasty? why cannot he wait a few hours longer? i will fix a time when my answer shall be given--it shall be shortly, very shortly--this time to-morrow. surely, surely, in so terrible a case, i may be allowed a few hours to think--a short, a very short period, to decide." "he will admit of no more than i have said," answered sir robert croyland: "it is as vain to entreat him, as to ask the hangman to delay his fatal work. he is hard as iron, without feeling, without heart. his reasons, too, are specious, my dear child. his son, it seems, has taken part this morning in a smuggling affray with the troops--blood has been shed--some of the soldiers have been killed--all who have had a share therein are guilty of felony; and it has become necessary that the young man should be hurried out of the country without delay. to him such a flight is nothing: he has no family to blacken with the record of crime--he has no honourable name to stain--his means are all prepared; his flight is easy, his escape secure; but his father insists that you shall be his bride before he goes, or he gives your father up, not to justice, but to the law--which in pretending to administer justice, but too often commits the very crimes it seems to punish. four short days are all that he allows; and then you are to be that youth's bride." "what! the bride of a felon!" cried edith, her spirit rising for a moment--"of one stained with every vice and every crime--to vow falsely that i will love him whom i must ever hate--to break all my promises to one i must ever love--to deceive, prove false and forsworn to the noble and the true, and give myself to the base, the lawless, and the abhorred! oh, my father--my father! is it possible that you can ask such a thing?" the fate of sir robert croyland and his daughter hung in the balance. one harsh command, one unkind word, with justice and truth on her side, and feebleness and wrong on his, might have armed her to resist; but the old man's heart was melted. the struggle that he witnessed in his child was, for a moment--remark, only for a moment--more terrible than that within his own breast. there was something in the innocence and truth, something in the higher attributes of the passions called into action in her breast, something in the ennobling nature of the conflicting feelings of her heart--the filial tenderness, the adherence to her engagements, the abhorrence of the bad, the love of the good, the truth, the honour, and the piety, all striving one with the other, that for a time made the mean passion of fear seem small and insignificant. "i do not ask you, my child," he said--"i do not urge you--i ask, i urge you no more! the worst bitterness is past. i have told my own child the tale of my sorrows, my folly, my weakness, and my danger. i have inflicted the worst upon you, edith, and on myself; and i leave it to your own heart to decide. after your generous, your noble offer, to sacrifice your property and leave yourself nothing, for my sake, it were cruel--it were, indeed, base, to urge you farther. to avoid this, dreadful disclosure, to shelter you and myself from such horrible details, i have often been stern, and harsh, and menacing.--forgive me, edith, but it is past! you now know what is on the die; and it is your own hand casts it. your father's life, the honour of your family, the high name we have ever borne--these are to be lost and won. but i urge it not--i ask it not. you only must and can decide." edith, who had risen, stood before him, pale as ashes, with her hands clasped so tight that the blood retreated from her fingers, where they pressed against each other, leaving them as white as those of the dead--her eyes fixed, straining, but sightless, upon the ground. all that she saw, all that she knew, all that she felt, was the dreadful alternative of fates before her. it was more than her frame could bear--it was more than almost any human heart could endure. to condemn a father to death, to bring the everlasting regret into her heart, to wander, as if accurst, over the earth, with a parent's blood crying out for vengeance! it was a terrible thought indeed. then again, she remembered the vows that she had taken, the impossibility of performing those that were asked of her, the sacrifice of the innocent to the guilty, the perjury that she must commit, the dark and dreadful future before her, the self-reproach that stood on either hand to follow her through life! she felt as if her heart was bursting; and the next moment, all the blood seemed to fly from it, and leave it cold and motionless. she strove to speak--her voice was choked; but then, again, she made an effort; and a few words broke forth, convulsively--"to save you, my father, i would do anything," she cried. "i _will_ do anything--but----" she could not finish; her sight failed her; her heart seemed crushed; her head swam; the colour left her lips; and she fell prone at her father's feet, without one effort to save herself. sir robert croyland's first proceeding was, to raise her and lay her on the sofa; but before he called any one, he gazed at her a moment or two in silence. "she has fainted," he said. "poor child!--poor girl!" but then came another thought: "she said she would do anything," he murmured; "her words were, 'i will'--it is surely a consent." he forgot--he heeded not--he would not heed, that she had added, "but----" "yes, it was a consent," he repeated; "it must have been a consent. i will hasten to tell him. if we can but gain a few days, it is something. who can say what a few days may bring? at all events, it is a relief.--it will obtain the delay she wished--i will tell him.--it must have been a consent;" and calling the servants and edith's own maid, to attend upon her, he hastened out of the house, fearful of waiting till her senses returned, lest other words should snatch from him the interpretation he chose to put upon those which had gone before. in an instant, however, he returned, went into the library, and wrote down on a scrap of paper:-- "thanks, dearest edith!--thanks! i go in haste to tell mr. radford the promise you have given." then hurrying out again, he put the paper, which he had folded up, into the hands of the groom, who held his horse. "that for miss croyland," he said, "when she has quite recovered; but not before;" and, mounting with speed, he rode away as fast as he could go. end of vol. ii. t. c. savill, printer, , chandos-street, covent-garden. the smuggler: a tale by g. p. r. james, esq. author of "darnley," "de l'orme," "richelieu," etc. etc. in three volumes. vol. iii. london: smith, elder and co., , cornhill. . the smuggler. chapter i. it was two o'clock when sir robert croyland left his daughter; and edith, with the aid of her maid, soon recovered from the swoon into which she had fallen. at first she hardly knew where she was, or what had taken place. all seemed strange to her; for she had never fainted before; and though she had more than once seen her sister in the state in which she herself had just been, yet she did not apply what she had witnessed in others to explain her own sensations. when she could rise from the sofa, where her father had laid her, and thought and recollection returned, edith's first inquiry was for sir robert; and the servant's answer that he had been gone a quarter of an hour, was at first a relief. but edith sat and pondered for a while, applying herself to call to mind all the last words which had been spoken. as she did so, a fear came over her--a fear that her meaning might have been mistaken. "no!" she murmured, at length--"no! i said, _but_--he must have heard it.--i cannot break those vows--i dare not; i would do anything to save him--oh, yes, doom myself to wretchedness for life; but i cannot, unless henry gives me back my promise.--poor henry! what right have i to make him suffer too?--yet does he suffer?--but a father's life--a father's life! that must not be the sacrifice!--leave me, caroline--i am better now!" she continued aloud; "it is very foolish to faint in this way. it never happened to me before." "oh dear, miss edith! it happens to every one now and then," said the maid, who had been in her service long; "and i am sure all sir robert said to you to-day, was enough to make you." "good heaven!" cried edith; in alarm, "did you hear?" "i could not help hearing a part, miss edith," answered the maid; "for in that little room, where i sit to be out of the way of all the black fellows, one hears very plain what is said here. there was once a door, i believe, and it is only just covered over." for a moment, edith sat mute in consternation; but at length demanded, "what did you hear? tell me all, caroline--every word, if you would ever have me regard you more." "oh, it was not much, miss!" replied the maid; "i heard sir robert twice say, his life depended on it--and i suppose he meant, on your marrying young mr. radford. then he seemed to tell you a long story; but i did not hear the whole of that; for i did not try, i can assure you, miss edith; and then i heard you say, 'to save you, my father, i would do anything--i _will_ do anything, but--' and then you stopped in the middle, because i suppose you fainted." edith put her hands before her eyes and thought, or tried to think; for her ideas were still in sad confusion. "leave me now, caroline," she said; "but, remember, i expect that no part of any conversation you have overheard between me and my father, will ever be repeated." "oh dear, no, miss edith," replied the woman, "i would not on any account;" and she left the room. we all know of what value are ordinary promises of secrecy, even in the best society, as it is called. nine times out of ten, there is one dear friend to whom everything is revealed; and that dear friend has others; and at each remove, the bond of secrecy is weaker and more weak, till the whole world is made a hearer of the tale. now edith's maid was a very discreet person; and when she promised not to reveal what she had heard, she only proposed to herself, to tell it to one person in the world. nor was that person her lover, or her friend, or her fellow-servant; nor was she moved by the spirit of gossip, but really and truly by a love for her young lady, which was great, and by a desire to serve her. thus, she thought, as soon as she had shut the door, "i will tell it to miss zara, though; for it is but right that she should know how they are driving her sister to marry a man she hates, as well she may. miss zara is active and quick, and may find some means of helping her." the maid had not been gone a minute, when she returned with the short note which sir robert croyland had left; and as she handed it to her young mistress, she watched her countenance eagerly. but edith took it, read it, and gazed upon the paper without a word. "pray, miss edith," said the maid, "are you likely to want me soon; for i wish to go up to the village for something?" "no, caroline--no," answered edith, with an absent air; "i shall not want you;" and she remained standing with the paper in her hand, and her eyes fixed upon it. the powers by which volition acts upon the mind, and in what volition really consists, are mysteries which have never yet, that i have seen, been explained. yet certain it is, that there is something within us which, when the intellectual faculties seem, under the pressure of circumstances, to lose their functions, can by a great effort compel them to return to their duty, rally them, and array them, as it were, against the enemy by whom they have been routed. edith croyland made the effort, and succeeded. she had been taken by surprise, and overcome; but now she collected all the forces of her mind, and prepared to fight the battle over again. in a few minutes, she became calm, and applied herself to consider fully her own situation. there were filial duty and tenderness on one side--love and a strong vow on the other. "he has gone to tell mr. radford that i have consented," was her first distinct thought, "but his having mistaken me, must not make me give that consent when it is wrong. were it myself alone, i would sacrifice all for him--i could but die--a few hours of misery are not much to bear--i have borne many. but i am bound--good god! what an alternative!" but i will not follow her thoughts: they can easily be conceived. she was left alone, with no one to counsel, with no one to aid her. the fatal secret she possessed was a bar to asking advice from any one. buried in her own bosom, the causes of her conduct, the motives upon which she acted, must ever be secret, whatever course she pursued. agony was on either hand. she had to choose between two terrible alternatives: on the one hand a breach of all her engagements, a few years, a few weeks, perhaps, of misery, and an early death--for such she knew must be her fate: and, on the other, a life, with love certainly to cheer it, but poisoned by the remembrance that she had sacrificed her father. yet edith now thought firmly, weighed, considered all. she could come to no determination. between two such gulfs, she shrank trembling from either. the clock in the hall, with its clear, sharp bell, struck three; and the moment after, the quick sound of horses' feet was heard. "can it be my father?" she thought. "no! he has not had time--unless he has doubted;" but while she asked herself the question, the horses stopped at the door, the bell rang; and she went on to say to herself, "perhaps it is zara. that would be a comfort indeed, though i cannot tell her--i must not tell her all." the old hindoo opened the door, saying "missy, a gentleman want to see you--very fine gentleman." edith could not speak; but she bowed her head, and the servant, receiving that token as assent, turned to some one behind him and said, "walk in, sir." for a moment or two, edith did not raise her eyes, and her lips moved. she heard a step in the room, that made her heart flutter; she heard the door shut; but yet for an instant she remained with her head bent, and her hands clasped together. then she looked up. standing before her, and gazing intently upon her, was a tall handsome man, dressed in the splendid uniform of the dragoons of that time, and with a star upon his left breast--a decoration worn by persons who had the right to do so, more frequently in those days than at the present time. but it was to the face that edith's eyes were turned--to the countenance well known and deeply loved. changed though it was--grave where it had been gay, pale where it had been florid, sterner in the lines, once so full of gentle youth--still all the features were there, and the expression too, though saddened, was the same. he gazed on her with a look full of tenderness and love; and their eyes met. on both of them the feelings of other years seemed to rush with overpowering force. the interval which had since occurred, for a moment, was annihilated; the heart went back with the rapid wing of memory, to the hours of joy that were gone; and leyton opened wide his arms, exclaiming, "edith! edith!" she could not resist. she had no power to struggle. love, stronger than herself, was master; and, starting up, she cast herself upon his bosom, and there wept. "dear, dear girl!" he said, "then you love me still,--then digby's assurance is true--then you have not forgotten poor harry leyton--then his preserving hope, his long endurance, his unwavering love, his efforts, his success, have not been all in vain!--dear, dear edith! this hour repays me for all--for all. dangers and adversities, and wounds, and anguish of body and of mind, and sleepless nights, and days of bitter thought--i would endure them all. all?--ay, tenfold all--for this one hour!" and he pressed her closer and closer to his heart. "nay, harry--nay," cried edith, still clinging to him; "but hear me, hear me--or if you speak such words of tenderness, you will break my heart, or drive me mad." "good heaven!" exclaimed leyton, unclasping his arms, "what is it that you say? edith--my edith--my own, my vowed, my bride! but now, you seemed to share the joy you gave,--to love, as you are loved; and now----" "i do love you--oh! i do love you!" cried edith, vehemently; "add not a doubt of that to all i suffer. ever, ever have i loved you, without change, without thought of change. but yet--but yet--. i may have fancied that you have forgotten me--i may have thought it strange that you did not write--that my letters remained unanswered; but still i loved, still i have been true to you." "i did write, my edith. i received no letters," said leyton, sadly; "we have both been wronged, my dear girl. my letters were returned in a cover directed in your own hand: but that trick i understand--that i see through. oh, do not let any one deceive you again, beloved girl! you have been my chief--i might say my only thought; for the memory of you has mingled with every other idea, and made the whole your own. in the camp and in the field, i have endured and fought for edith; in the council and in the court, i have struggled and striven for her; she has been the end and object of every effort, the ruling power of my whole mind. and now, edith--now your soldier has returned to you. he has won every step towards the crowning reward of his endeavours; he has risen to competence, to command, to some honour in the service of his country; and he can proudly say to her he loves, cast from you the fortune for which men dared to think i sought you--come to your lover, come to your husband, as dowerless as he was when they parted us; and let all the world see and know, that it was your love, not your wealth, i coveted--this dear hand, that dear heart, not base gold, that i desired. oh, edith, in heaven's name, cast me not now headlong down from the height of hope and joy to which you have raised me, for fear a heart and spirit, too long depressed, should never find strength to rise again." edith staggered back and sank down upon the sofa, covering her eyes, and only murmuring--"i do love you, harry, beyond life itself.--oh, that i were dead!--oh, that i were dead!" there was a terrible struggle in henry leyton's bosom. he could not understand the agitation that he witnessed; had it borne anything like the character of joy, even of surprise, all would have been clear; but it was evidently very different. it was joy overborne by sorrow. it was evidently a struggle of love with some influence, perhaps not stronger, yet terrible in its effect. he was a man of quick decision and strong resolution--qualities not always combined; and he overcame himself in a moment. he saw that he was loved--still deeply, truly loved; and that was a great point. he saw that edith was grieved to the soul--he saw that he himself could not feel more intensely the anguish she inflicted than she did, that she was wringing her own heart while she was wringing his, and felt a double pang; and that was a strong motive for calmness, if not for fortitude. her last words, "i wish i were dead!" restored him fully to himself; and following her to the sofa, he seated himself beside her, gently took her hand in his, and pressed his lips upon it. "edith," he said--"my own dear edith, let us be calm! thank you, my beloved, for one moment of happiness, the first i have known for years; and now let us talk, as quietly as may be, of anything that may have arisen which should justly cause henry leyton's return to make edith croyland wish herself dead. your uncle will not be long ere he arrives; i left him on the road; and it is by his full consent that i am here." "oh no, harry--no!" said edith, turning at first to his comment on her words, "it is not your return that makes me wish myself dead; but it is, that circumstances--dark and terrible circumstances--which were only made known to me an hour before your arrival, have turned all the joy, the pure, the almost unmixed joy, that i should have felt at seeing you again, into a well of bitterness. it is that i cannot, that i dare not explain to you those circumstances--that you will think me wrong, unkind--fickle, perhaps,--perhaps even mad, in whatsoever way i may act." "but surely you can say something, dear edith," said her lover; "you can give some hint of the cause of all i see. you tell me in one breath that you love me still, yet wish you were dead; and show evidently that my coming has been painful to you." "no, no, harry," she answered, mournfully, "do not say so. painful to me?--oh, no! it would be the purest joy that ever i yet knew, were it not that--but why did you not come earlier, harry? why, when your horse stood upon that hill, did you not turn his head hither? would that you had, would that you had! my fate would have been already decided. now it is all clouds and darkness. i knew you instantly. i could see no feature; i could but trace a figure on horseback, wrapped in a large cloak; but the instinct of love told me who it was. oh! why did you not come then?" "because it would have been dishonest, edith," answered leyton, gravely. "your uncle had been my father's friend, my uncle's friend. in a kindly manner he invited me here some time ago, as a perfect stranger, under the name of captain osborn. you were not here then; and i thought i could not in honour come under his roof, when i found you were here, without telling him who i really was. he appointed this day to meet me at woodchurch at two; and i dared not venture, after all that has passed between your family and mine, to seek you in his dwelling, ere i had seen and explained myself to him. i knew you were here: i gazed up at these windows with a yearning of the heart that nearly overcame my resolution----" "i saw you gaze, harry," answered edith; "and i say still, would that you had come.--yet you were right.--it might have saved me much misery; but you were right. and now listen to the fate that is before me--to the choice i have to make, as far as i can explain it--and yet what words can i use?--but it must be done. i must not leave anything unperformed, that can prevent poor edith croyland from becoming an object of hatred and contempt in henry leyton's eyes. little as i can do to defend myself, i must do it." she paused, gazed up on high for a moment, and then laid her hand upon his. "henry, i do love you," she said. "nay, more, i am yours, plighted to you by bonds i cannot and i dare not break--vows, i mean, the most solemn, as well as the ties of long affection. yet, if i wed you, i am miserable for life. self-reproach, eternal self-reproach--the most terrible of all things--to which no other mental or corporeal pain can ever reach, would prey upon my heart for ever, and bear me down into the grave. peace--rest, i should have none. a voice would be for ever howling in my ear a name that would poison sleep, and make each waking moment an hour of agony. i can tell you no more on this side of the question; but so it is. it seems fated that i should bring misery one way or another upon him who is dearest to me." "i cannot comprehend," exclaimed leyton, in surprise. "your father has heard, i suppose, that i am here, and has menaced you with his curse." "oh, no!" answered edith; "far from it. he was here but now; he spoke of you, henry, as you deserve. he told me how he had loved you and esteemed you in your young days; how, though angry at first at our rash engagement, he would have consented in the end; but--there was a fatal 'but,' henry--an impediment not to be surmounted. i must not tell you what it is--i cannot, i dare not explain. but listen to what he said besides. you have heard one part of the choice; hear the other: it is to wed a man whom i abhor--despise--contemn--whose very look is fearful to me; to ask you to give me back the vows i plighted, in order--in order," and she spoke very low, "that i may sacrifice myself for my father, that i may linger out a few weeks of wretchedness, and then sink into the grave, which is now my only hope." "and do you ask me, edith?" inquired leyton, in a sad and solemn tone--"do you, edith croyland, really and truly ask me to give you back those vows? speak, beloved--speak; for my heart is well nigh bursting." he paused, and she was silent; covering her eyes with her hands, while her bosom heaved, as if she were struggling for breath. "no, no, no, harry!" she cried, at length, as if the effort were vain, "i cannot, i cannot! oh, harry, harry! i wish that i were dead!" and, casting her arms round his neck, she wept upon his breast again. henry leyton drew her closer to him with his left arm round her waist; but pressed his right hand on his brow, and gazed on vacancy. both remained without speaking for a time; but at length he said, in a voice more calm than might have been expected, "let us consider this matter, edith. you have been terrified by some means; a tale has been told you, which has agitated and alarmed you, which has overcome your resolution, that now has endured more than six years, and doubtless that tale has been well devised.--are you sure that it is true?--forgive this doubt in regard to one who is near and dear to you; but when such deceits have been practised, as those which we know have been used to delude us, i must be suspicious.--are you sure that it is true, i say? "too true, too true!"' answered edith, shaking her head, mournfully--"that tale explains all, too,--even those deceits you mention. no, no, it is but too true--it could not be feigned--besides, i remember so many things, all tending to the same. it is true--i cannot doubt it." sir henry leyton paused, and twice began to speak, but twice stopped, as if the words he was about to utter, cost him a terrible struggle to speak. at length he said, "and the man, edith--the man they wish you to marry--who is he?" "ever the same," answered edith, bending down her head, and her cheek, which had been as pale as death, glowing like crimson--"the same, richard radford." "what! a felon!" exclaimed leyton, turning round, with his brows bent; "a felon, after whom my soldiers and the officers of justice are now hunting through the country! sir robert croyland must be mad! but i tell you, edith, that man shall never stand within a church again, till it be the chapel of the gaol. let him make his peace with heaven; for if he be caught--and caught he shall be--there is no mercy for him on earth. but surely there must be some mistake. you cannot have understood your father rightly, or he cannot know----" "oh! yes, yes!" replied edith; "he knows all; and it is the same. ay, and within four days, too--that he may take me with him in his flight." "ere four days be over," answered her lover, sternly, "he shall no more think of bridals." "and what will become of my father, then!" said edith, gazing steadily down upon the ground. "it is i--i that shall have done it. alas, alas! which way shall i turn?" there was something more than sorrow in her countenance; there was anguish--almost agony; and sir henry leyton was much moved. "turn to me, edith," he said; "turn to him who loves you better than life; and there is no sacrifice that he will not make for you, but his honour. tell me, have you made any promise?--have you given your father your consent?" "no," answered edith, eagerly; "no, i have not. he took my words as consent, though ere they were half finished, the horror and pain of all i heard overcame me, and i fainted. but i did not consent, harry--i could not consent, without your permission.--oh, harry, aid and support me!" "listen to me, my beloved," replied leyton; "wealth, got by any means, is this man's object. i gather from what you say, that your father has some cause to dread him--give up to him this much-coveted fortune--let him take it--ay, and share henry leyton's little wealth. i desire nothing but yourself." "alas, henry, it is all in vain!" answered edith; "i have offered it--i knew your noble, generous heart. i knew that wealth would make no difference to him i loved, and offered to resign everything. my father, even before he came hither, offered him my sister--offered to make her the sacrifice, as she is bound by no promises, and to give her an equal portion; but it was all refused." "then there is some other object," said her lover; "some object that may, perhaps, tend even to more misery than you dream of, edith. believe me, my beloved--oh! believe me, did i but see how i could deliver you--were i sure that any act of mine would give you peace, no sacrifice on my part would seem too great. at present, however, i see nothing clearly--all is darkness and shadow around. i know not, that if i give you back your promise, and free you from your vow, that i shall not be contributing to make you wretched. how, then, am i to act? you are sure, dear one, that you have not consented?" "quite sure," answered edith; "and it so happened, that there was one who heard my words as well as my father. he, indeed, took them as consent, and hurried away to mr. radford, without giving me time to recover and say more. read that, harry," and she put the note her father had left into his hands. "it is fortunate you were heard by another," replied leyton. "hark! there is your uncle's carriage coming.--four days, did he say--four days? well, then, dear edith, will you trust in me? will you leave your fate in the hands of one who will do anything on earth for your happiness?--and will you never doubt, though you may be kept in suspense, that i will so act as to deliver you, if i can, without bringing ruin on your father." "it is worse than ruin," answered edith, with the tears rolling down her cheeks--"it is death. but i will trust to you, henry--i will trust implicitly. but tell me how to act--tell me what i am to do." "leave this matter as it is," answered her lover, hearing mr. croyland's carriage stop at the door;--"your father has snatched too eagerly at your words. perhaps he has done so to gain time; but, at all events, the fault is his, not yours. if he speaks to you on the subject, you must tell the truth, and say you did not consent; but in everything else be passive--let him do with you what he will--take you to the altar, if he so pleases; but there must be the final struggle, edith. there you must boldly and aloud refuse to wed a man you cannot love. there let the memory of your vows to me be ever present with you. it may seem cruel; but i exact it for your own sake. in the meantime, take means to let me know everything that happens, be it small or great--cast off all reserve towards digby; tell him all, everything that takes place; tell your sister, too, or any one who can bear me the tidings. i shall be nearer than you think." "oh, heaven, how will this end!" cried edith, putting her hand in his--"god help me, harry--god help me!" "he will, dear girl," answered leyton--"i feel sure he will. but remember what i have said. fail not to tell digby, or zara, or any one who can bear the tidings to me, everything that occurs, every word that is spoken, every step that is taken. think nothing too trifling. but there is your uncle's voice in the passage. can you not inform him of that which you think yourself bound not to tell me? i mean the particulars of your father's situation." "no; oh no!" replied edith--"i dare tell no one, especially not my uncle. though kind, and generous, and benevolent, yet he is hasty, and he might ruin all. dared i tell any one on earth, henry, it would be you; and if i loved you before--oh, how i must love you now, when instead of the anger, or even heat, which i expected you to display, you have shown yourself ready to sacrifice all for one who is hardly worthy of you." leyton pressed her to his bosom, and replied, "real love is unselfish, edith. i tell you, dearest, that i die if i lose you; yet, edith croyland shall never do what is wrong for henry leyton's sake. if in the past we did commit an error, if i should not have engaged you by vows without your parent's consent--though god knows that error has been bitterly visited on my head!--i am still ready to make atonement to the best of my power; but i will not consent that you should be causelessly made miserable, or sacrifice yourself and me, without benefit to any one. trust to me, edith--trust to me." "i will, i will!" answered edith croyland; "who can i trust to else?" mr. croyland was considerate; and knowing that sir henry leyton was with his niece--for his young friend had passed him on the road--he paused for a moment in the vestibule, giving various orders and directions, in order to afford them a few minutes more of private conversation. when he went in, he was surprised to find edith's face full of deep grief, and her eyes wet with tears, and still more when leyton, after kissing her fair cheek, advanced towards him, saying, "i must go, my dear friend, nor can i accept your kind invitation to stay here to-night. but i am about to show myself a bold man, and ask you to give me almost the privilege of a son--that is, of coming and going, for the four or five next days, at my own will, and without question." "what's all this?--what's all this?" cried mr. croyland; "a lovers' quarrel?--ha, edith? ha, harry?" "oh, no," answered edith, giving her uncle her hand; "there never can be a quarrel between me and henry leyton." "well, then, what is it all?" exclaimed mr. croyland, turning from one to the other. "mystery--mystery! i hate mystery, harry leyton.--however, you shall have your privilege; the doors shall be open. come--go--do what you like. but if you are not a great fool, you will order over a post-chaise and four this very night, put her in, and be off for gretna green. i'll give you my parental benediction." "i am afraid, my dear sir," answered leyton, "that cannot be. edith has told me various things since i saw her, which require to be dealt with in a different way. i trust, that in whatever i do, my conduct will be such as to give you satisfaction; and whether the result be fortunate or otherwise, i shall never, till the last hour of life, forget the kindness you have shown me. and now, my dear sir, adieu for the present, for i have much to do this night." thus saying, he shook the old gentleman's hand, and departed with a heavy heart and anxious mind. during his onward ride, his heart did not become lighter; his mind was only more burdened with cares. as long as he was in edith's presence, he had borne up and struggled against all that he felt; for he saw that she was already overwhelmed with grief, and he feared to add to it; but now his thoughts were all confusion. with incomplete information--in circumstances the most difficult--anxious to save her he loved, even at any sacrifice on his own part, yet seeing no distinct means of acting in any direction without danger to her--he looked around him in vain for any resource; or, if he formed a plan one moment, he rejected it the next. he knew edith's perfect truth, he knew the quiet firmness and power of her mind too well to doubt one tittle of that which she had stated; and though at first sight he thought the proofs he possessed of mr. radford's participation in the late smuggling transaction were quite sufficient to justify that person's immediate arrest, and proposed that it should take place immediately, yet the next moment he recollected what might be the result to sir robert croyland, and hesitated how to act. then, again, he turned his eyes to the circumstances in which edith's father was placed, and asked himself, what could be the mystery which so terribly overshadowed him? edith had said that his life was at stake; and leyton tortured his imagination in vain to find some explanation of such a fact. "can he have been deceiving her?" he asked himself more than once. but then, again, he answered, "no, it must be true! he can have no ordinary motive in urging her to such a step; his whole character, his whole views are against it. haughty and ostentatious, there must be some overpowering cause to make him seek to wed his daughter to a low ruffian--the son of an upstart, who owed his former wealth to fraud, and who is now, if all tales be true, nearly bankrupt,--to wed edith, a being of grace, of beauty, and of excellence, to a villain like this--a felon and a fugitive--and to send her forth into the wide world, to share the wanderings of a man she hates! the love of life must be a strange thing in some men. one would have thought that a thousand lives were nothing to such a sacrifice. yet, the tale must be true; this old man must have sir robert's life in his power. but how--how? that is the question. perhaps digby can discover something. at all events, i must see him without delay." in such thoughts, sir henry leyton rode on fast to woodchurch, accomplishing in twenty minutes that which took good mr. croyland with his pampered horses, more than an hour to perform; and springing from his charger at the door of the inn, he was preparing to go up and write to sir edward digby, when captain irby, on the one hand, and his own servant on the other, applied for attention. "mr. warde is up stairs, sir," said the servant; "he has been waiting about half an hour." but leyton turned to the officer, asking, "what is it, captain irby?" "two or three of the men, sir, who have been taken," replied captain irby, "have expressed a wish to make a statement. one of them is badly wounded, too; but i did not know how to act till you arrived, as we had no magistrate here." "was it quite voluntary?" demanded the young officer; "no inducements held out--no questions asked?" "quite voluntary, sir," answered the other. "they sent to ask for you; and when i went, in your absence, they told me what it was they desired; but i refused to take the deposition till you arrived, for fear of getting myself into a scrape." "it must be taken," replied the colonel. "of whatever value it may be judged hereafter, we must not refuse it when offered. i will come to them in a moment, irby;" and entering the house, but without going up stairs, he wrote a few lines, in the bar, to sir edward digby, requesting to see him without delay. then, calling his servant, he said, "tell mr. warde i will be with him in a few minutes; after which, mount yourself, and carry this note over to harbourne house, to sir edward digby. give it into his own hand; but remember, it is my wish that you should not mention my name there at all. do you know the place?" "yes, sir," replied the man; and, leaving him to fulfil his errand, the colonel returned to the door of the house, to accompany captain irby. chapter ii. we mast now return for a time to harbourne house, where, after sir robert croyland's departure, his guest had endeavoured in vain, during the whole morning, to obtain a few minutes' private conversation with the baronet's youngest daughter. now, it was not in the least degree, that mrs. barbara's notions of propriety interfered to prevent the two young people from being alone together; for, on the contrary, mrs. barbara was a very lenient and gentle-minded person, and thought it quite right that any two human beings who were likely to fall in love with each other, should have every opportunity of doing so, to their hearts' content. but it so happened, from a sort of fatality which hung over all her plans, that whenever she interfered with anything,--which, indeed, she always did, with everything she could lay her hands upon,--the result was sure to be directly the contrary to that which she intended. it might be, indeed, that she did not always manage matters quite judiciously, that she acted without considering all the circumstances of the case; and undoubtedly it would have been quite as well if she had not acted at all when she was not asked. in the present instance, when she had remained in the drawing-room with her niece and sir edward, for near half an hour after her brother had departed, it just struck her that they might wish to be alone together; for she had made up her mind by this time, that the young officer's visit was to end in a love affair; and, as the very best means of accomplishing the desired object, instead of going to speak with the housekeeper, or to give orders to the dairy-maid, or to talk to the steward,--as any other prudent, respectable, and well-arranged aunt would have done--she said to her niece, as if a sudden thought had occurred to her, "i don't think sir edward digby has ever seen the library. zara, my dear, you had better show it to him. there are some very curious books there, and the manuscript in vellum, with all the kings' heads painted." zara felt that it was rather a coarse piece of work which her aunt had just turned out of hand; and being a little too much susceptible of ridicule, she did not like to have anything to do with it, although, to say the truth, she was very anxious herself for the few minutes that mrs. barbara was inclined to give her. "oh, i dare say, my dear aunt," she replied, "sir edward digby does not care anything about old books!--i don't believe they have been opened for these fifty years." "the greater the treasure, miss croyland," answered the young officer; "i can assure you nothing delights me more than an old library; so i think i shall go and find it out myself, if you are not disposed to show it to me." zara croyland remembered, with a smile, that sir edward digby had met with no great difficulty in finding it out for himself on a previous occasion. she rose, however, with her colour a little heightened; for his invitation was a very palpable one, and she did not know what conclusions her aunt might be pleased to draw, or to insinuate to others; and, leading the way towards the library, she opened the door, expecting to find the room untenanted. there, however, before her eyes, standing opposite to a book-case, with a large folio volume of divinity in his hand, stood the clergyman of the parish; and he instantly turned round his head, with spectacles on nose, and advanced to pay his respects to miss croyland and sir edward digby. now, the clergyman was a very worthy man; but he had one of those peculiarities, which, if peculiarities were systematically classed, would be referred to the bore genus. he was frequently unaware of when people had had enough of him; and consequently on the present occasion--after he had informed zara, that finding that her father was out, he had taken the liberty of walking into the library to look at a book he wanted--he put back that book, and attacked sir edward digby, totis viribus, upon the state of the weather, the state of the country, and the state of the smugglers. the later topic, as it was the predominant one in every man's mind at that moment, and in that part of the country, occupied him rather longer than a sermon, though his parishioners occasionally thought his sermons quite sufficiently extensive for any sleep-resisting powers of the human frame to withstand; and then, when sir edward and zara, forgetting, in the interest which they seemed to take in his discourse, that they had come into the library to look at the books, walked out upon the terrace, he walked out with them; and as they turned up and down, he turned up and down also, for full an hour. zara could almost have cried in the end; but, as out of the basest refuse of our stable-yards, grow the finest flowers of our gardens, so good is ever springing up from evil; and in the end the worthy clergyman gave his two companions the first distinct account which they had received of the dispersion of mr. radford's band of smugglers, and of the eager pursuit of young radford which was taking place throughout the country. thus passed the morning, with one event or other of little consequence, presenting obstacles to any free communication between two people, who were almost as desirous of some private conversation as if they had been lovers. a little before three o'clock, however, zara croyland who had been looking out of the window, suddenly quitted the drawing-room; and sir edward digby, who maintained his post, was left to entertain mrs. barbara, which he did to the best of his abilities. he was still in full career, a little enjoying, to say sooth, some of the good lady's minor absurdities, when zara re-entered the room with a quick step, and a somewhat eager look. her fair cheek was flushed too; and her face had in it that sort of determined expression which often betrays that there has been a struggle in the mind, as to some step about to be taken, and that victory has not been achieved without an effort. "sir edward digby," she said, in a clear and distinct tone, "i want to speak with you for a few moments, if you please." mrs. barbara looked shocked, and internally wondered that zara could not have made some little excuse for engaging sir edward in private conversation. "she might have asked him to go and see a flower, or offered to play him a tune on the harpsichord, or taken him to look at the dovecot, or anything," thought mrs. barbara. the young officer, however, instantly started up, and accompanied his fair inviter towards the library, to which she led the way with a hurried and eager step. "let us come in here!" she said, opening the door; but the moment she was within, she sank into a chair and clasped her hands together. sir edward digby shut the door, and then advanced towards her, a good deal surprised and somewhat alarmed by the agitation he saw her display. she did not speak for a moment, as if completely overpowered, and feeling for her more deeply than he himself knew, her companion took her hand and tried to soothe her, saying, "be calm--be calm, my dear miss croyland! you know you can trust in me, and if i can aid you in any way, command me." "i know not what to do, or what to say," cried zara; "but i am sure, sir edward, you will find excuses for me; and therefore i will make none--though i may perhaps seem somewhat bold in dealing thus with one whom i have only known a few days." "there are circumstances which sometimes make a few days equal to many years," replied sir edward digby. "it is so, my dear young lady, with you and i. therefore, without fear or hesitation, tell me what it is that agitates you, and how i can serve you. i am not fond of making professions; but if it be in human power, it shall be done." "i know not, whether it can be done or not," said zara; "but if not, there is nothing but ruin and desolation for two people, whom we both love. you saw my father set out this morning. did you remark the course he took? it was over to my uncle's, for i watched him from the window. he passed back again some time ago, but then struck off towards mr. radford's. all that made me uneasy; but just now, i saw edith's maid coming up towards the house; and eager for tidings, i hurried away.--good heavens, what tidings she has borne me!" "they must be evil ones, i see," answered digby; "but i trust not such as to preclude all chance of remedying what may have gone wrong. when two or three people act together zealously, dear lady, there are very few things they cannot accomplish." "yes, but how to explain!" exclaimed zara; "yet i must be short; for otherwise my aunt will be in upon us. now, sir edward digby," she continued, after thinking for a moment, "i know you are a man of honour--i am sure you are; and i ask you to pledge me that honour, that you will never reveal to any one what i am going to tell you; for i know not whether i am about to do right or wrong--whether, in trying to save one, i may not be bringing down ruin upon others. do you give me your honour?" "most assuredly!" answered her companion. "i will never repeat a word that you say, unless with your permission, on my honour!" "well, then," replied zara, in a faint voice, "mr. radford has my father's life in his power. how, i know not--how, i cannot tell. but so it is; and such are the tidings that caroline has just brought us. mr. radford's conference with him this morning was not for nothing. immediately after, he went over to edith; he told her some tale which the girl did not distinctly hear; but, it seems, some paper which mr. radford possesses was spoken of, and the sum of the whole matter was, that my poor, sweet sister was told, if she did not consent, within four days, to marry that hateful young man, she would sacrifice her father's life. he left her fainting, and has ridden over to bear her consent to mr. radford." "but, did she consent?" exclaimed sir edward digby, in surprise and consternation--"did she really yield?" "no--no!" answered zara, "she did not! the girl said she heard her words, and they were not in truth a consent. but my father chose to take them as such, and left her even before she recovered." i have already shown the effect of the same account upon sir henry leyton, with all the questions which it suggested to his mind; and the impression produced upon his friend, as a man of sense and a man of the world, were so similar, that it may be needless to give any detailed statement of his first observations or inquiries. zara soon satisfied him, however, that the tale her father had told, was not a mere device to frighten edith into a compliance with his wishes; and then came the question, what was to be done? "it is, in truth, a most painful situation in which your sister is placed," said digby, after some consideration; "but think you that this man, this radford, cannot be bought off? money must be to him--if he be as totally ruined as people say--the first consideration; and i know leyton so well, that i can venture to promise nothing of that kind shall stand in the way, if we can but free your sister from the terrible choice put before her." zara shook her head sadly, saying, "no; that hope is vain!--the girl tells me," she added, with a faint smile, which was quickly succeeded by a blush, "that she heard my father say, he had offered me--poor me! to richard radford, with the same fortune as edith, but had been refused." "and would you have consented?" demanded sir edward digby, in a more eager tone than he had yet used. "nay," replied zara, "that has nought to do with the present question. suffice it, that this proves that gold is not his only object." "nay, but answer me," persevered her companion; "would you have consented? it may have much to do with the question yet." he fixed his eyes gravely upon her face, and took the fair, small hand, that lay upon the arm of the chair, in his.--it was something very like making love, and zara felt a strange sensation at her heart; but she turned away her face, and answered, with a very pale cheek, "i would die for my father, sir edward; but i could not wed richard radford." sir edward raised her hand to his lips, and pressed them on it. "i thought so!" he said--"i thought so! and now, heart, and mind, and hand, and spirit, to save your sister, zara! i have hunted many a fox in my day, and i don't think the old one of radford hall will escape me. the greatest difficulty is, not to compromise your father in any way; but that shall be cared for, too, to the very best of my power, be assured. henceforth, dear lady, away with all reserve between us. while i am in this house, it will be absolutely necessary for you to communicate with me freely, and probably very often. have no hesitation; have no scruple as to hour, or manner, or means. trust to my honour as you have trusted this day; and you shall never find it fail you. i will enter into such explanations with my servant, somers, in regard to poor leyton, as will make him think it nothing strange, if you send him for me at any time. he is as discreet as a privy councillor; and you must, therefore, have no hesitation." "i will not," answered zara; "for i would do anything to save my sister from such a fate; and i do believe you will not think--you will not imagine----" she paused in some confusion; and sir edward digby answered, with a smile--but a kindly and a gentlemanly one, "let my imagination do as it will, zara. depend upon it, it shall do you no wrong; and believe me when i say, that i can hardly feel so much pain at these circumstances as i otherwise might, since they bring me into such near and frequent communication with you." "hush, hush!" she answered, somewhat gravely; "i can think of nothing now but my poor sister; and you must not, sir edward, by one compliment, or fine speech--nay, nor by one kind speech either," she added, laying her hand upon his arm, and looking up in his face, with a glowing cheek--"for i know you mean it as kind--you must not, indeed, throw any embarrassment over an intercourse, which is necessary at present, and which is my only hope and resource, in the circumstances in which we are placed. so now tell me what you are going to do; for you seemed, but now, as if you were about to set out somewhere." "i am going to woodchurch instantly," replied digby. "sir henry leyton must be there still----" "sir henry leyton!" exclaimed zara; "then he has, indeed, been a successful campaigner." "most successful, and most deservedly so," answered his friend. "no man but wolfe won more renown; and if he can but gain this battle, leyton will have all that he desires on earth. but i will not stay here, skirmishing on the flanks, dear lady, while the main body is engaged. i will ride over as fast as possible, see leyton, consult with him, and be back, if possible, by dinner time. if not, you must tell your father not to wait for me, as i was suddenly called away on business." "but how shall i know the result of your expedition?" demanded zara; "we shall be surrounded, i fear, by watchful eyes." "we must trust to fortune and our own efforts to afford us some means of communication," replied digby. "but remember, dearest lady, that for this great object, you have promised to cast away all reserve. for the time, at least, you must look upon edward digby as a brother, and treat him as such." "that i will!" answered the fair girl, heartily; and digby, leaving her to explain their conduct to her aunt as she best might, ordered his horse, and rode away towards woodchurch, in haste. pulling in his rein at the door of the little inn, he inquired which was sir henry leyton's room, and was directed up stairs; but on opening the door of the chamber which had been pointed out, he found no one in it, but the somewhat strange-looking old man, whom we have once before seen with leyton, at hythe. "ah, mr. warde, you here!" exclaimed sir edward digby. "leyton told me you were in england. but where is he? i have business of some importance to talk with him upon;" and as he spoke, he shook the old man's hand warmly. "i know you have," answered mr. warde, gazing upon him--"at least, i can guess that such is the case.--so have i; and doubtless the subject is the same." "nay, i should think not," refilled digby; "mine refers only to private affairs." the old man smiled; and that sharp featured, rude countenance assumed an expression of indescribable sweetness: "mine is the same," he said. "you come to speak of edith croyland--so do i." "indeed!" cried his companion, a good deal surprised; "you are a strange being, mr. warde. you seem to learn men's secrets, whether they will or not." "there is nothing strange on earth, but man's blindness," answered the other; "everything is so simple, when once explained, that its simplicity remains the only marvel.--but here he comes. let me converse with him first. then, when he is aware of all that i know, you shall have my absence, or my presence, as it suits you." while he was speaking, the voice of henry leyton was heard below, and then his step upon the stairs; and, before digby could answer, he was in the room. his face was grave, but not so cloudy as it had been when he returned to woodchurch, half-an-hour before. he welcomed mr. warde frankly, and cordially; but turned immediately to sir edward digby, saying, "you have been quick indeed, digby. i could not have conceived that my letter had reached you." "i got no letter," answered digby; "perhaps it missed me on the way; for, the corn being down, i came straight across the country." "it matters not--it matters not," answered leyton; "so you are here--that is enough. i have much to say to you, and that of immediate importance." "i know it already," answered digby. "but here is our good friend, warde, who seems to have something to say to you on the same subject." sir henry leyton turned towards the old man with some surprise. "i think digby must be mistaken," he said, "for though, i am aware, from what you told me some little time ago, that you have been in this part of the country before, yet it must have been long ago, and you can know nothing of the events which have affected myself since." the old man smiled, and shook his head. "i know more than you imagine," he answered. "it is, indeed, long since first i was in this land; but not so long since i was here last; and all its people and its things, its woods, its villages, its hills, are as familiar to me--ay, more so than to you. of yourself, leyton, and your fate, i also know much--i might say i know all; for certainly i know more than you do, can do more than you are able to do, will do more than you can. to show you what i know; i will give you a brief summary of your own history--at least, that part of it, of which you think i know nothing. young, eager, and impatient, you were thrown constantly into the society of one, good, beautiful, gentle, and true. you had much encouragement from those who should not have given it, unless they had the intention of continuing it to the end. you loved, and were beloved; and then, in the impatience of your boyish ardour, you bound edith croyland to yourself, without her parent's knowledge and consent, by vows which, whatever human laws may say, are indissoluble by the law of heaven; and therein you did wrong. it was a great error.--do i say right?" "it was, indeed," answered sir henry leyton, casting down his eyes sternly on the ground--"it was, indeed." "more--i will tell you more," continued mr. warde; "you have bitterly repented it, and bitterly suffered for it. you are suffering even now." "not for it," replied the young officer--"not for it. my sufferings are not consequences of my fault." "you are wrong," answered the old man; "wrong, as you will find. but i will go on, and tell you what you have done this day. those who have behaved ill to you have been punished likewise; and their punishment is working itself out, but sweeping you in within its vortex. you have been over to see edith croyland. she has told you her tale. you have met in love, and parted in sorrow.--is it not so? and now you know not which way to turn for deliverance." "it is so, indeed, my good friend," said leyton, sadly; "but how you have discovered all this, i cannot divine." "that has nought to do with the subject," answered warde. "now tell me, leyton, tell me--and remember you are dearer to me than you know--are you prepared to make atonement for your fault? the only atonement in your power--to give back to edith the vows she plighted, to leave her free to act as she may judge best. i have marked you well, as you know, for years. i have seen you tried as few men, perhaps, are tried; and you have come out pure and honest. the last trial is now arrived; and i ask you here, before your friend, your worldly friend, if you are ready to act honestly still, and to annul engagements that you had no right to contract?" "i am," answered sir henry leyton; "i am, if----" "ay, if! there is ever an 'if' when men would serve their own purposes against their conscience," said mr. warde, sternly. "nay, but hear me, my good friend," replied the young officer. "i have every respect for you. your whole character commands it and deserves it, as well as your profession; but, at the same time, though i may think fit to answer you candidly, in matters where i would reject any other man's interference, yet i must shape my answer as i think proper, and rule my conduct according to my own views. you must, therefore, hear me out. i say that i am ready to give back to edith croyland the vows she plighted me, to set her free from all engagements, to leave her, as far as possible, as if she had never known henry leyton, whatever pang it may cost me--_if_ it can be proved to me that by so doing i have not given her up to misery, as well as myself. my own wretchedness i can bear--i have borne it long, cheered by one little ray of hope. i can bear it still, even though that light go out; but to know that by any act of mine--however seemingly generous, or, as you term it, honest--i had yielded her up to a life of anguish, that i could not bear. show me that this will not be the case; and, as i have said before, i am ready to make the sacrifice, if it cost me life. nay, more: i returned hither prepared, if at the last, and with every effort to avert it, i found that circumstances of which i know not the extent, rendered the keeping of her vows to me more terrible in its consequences than her union with another, however hateful he may be,--i came hither prepared, i say, in such a case, to set her free; and i will do it!" the old man took both his hands, and gazed on him with a look of glad satisfaction. "honest to the last," he said--"honest to the last! the resolution to do this, is as good as the deed; for i know you are not one to fail where you have resolved.--but those who might exact the sacrifice are not worthy of it. your willingness has made the atonement, leyton; and i will deliver you from your difficulty." "you, mr. warde!" exclaimed sir edward digby; "i cannot suppose that you really have the power; or, perhaps, after all, you do not know the whole circumstances." "hush, hush, young man!" answered warde, with a wave of the hand; "i know all, i see all, where you know little or nothing. you are a good youth, as the world goes--better than most of your bad class and station; but these matters are above you. listen to me, leyton. did not edith tell you that her father had worked upon her, by fears for his safety--for his honour--for his life, perhaps?" "yes, indeed," exclaimed leyton, eagerly, and with a ray of hope beginning to break upon him. "was the tale not true, then?" "i guessed so," answered the old man. "i was sure that would be the course at last. nevertheless, the tale he told was true--too true. it was forced from him by circumstances. yet, i have said i will deliver you from your difficulty; and i will. pursue your own course; as you have commenced, go on to the end. i ask you not now to give edith back her promises. nay, i tell you, that her misery, her wretchedness--ay, tenfold more than any you could suffer--would be the consequence, if you did so. let her go on firmly in her truth to the last; but tell her, that deliverance will come. now i leave you; but, be under no doubt. your course is clear; do all you can by your own efforts to save her; but it is i who must deliver her in the end." without any further farewell, he turned and left the room; and sir henry leyton and his friend remained for a minute or two in thought. "his parting advice is the best," said digby, at length; "and doubtless you will follow it, leyton; but, of course, you will not trust so far to the word of a madman, as to neglect any means that may present themselves." "he is not mad," answered leyton, shaking his head. "when first he joined us in canada, before the battle of quebec, i thought as you do; but he is not mad, digby. there are various shades of reason; and there may be a slight aberration in his mind from the common course of ordinary thought. he may be wrong in his reasonings, rash in his opinions, somewhat overexcited in imagination; but that is not madness. his promises give me hope, i will confess; but still i will act as if they had not been made. now let us speak of our plans; and first tell me what has taken place at harbourne; for you seem to know all the particulars already, which i sent for you to communicate, though how you learned them i cannot divine." "oh, my dear leyton, if i were to tell you all that has happened," replied sir edward digby, "i should have to go on as long as a presbyterian minister, or a popular orator. i had better keep to the point;" and he proceeded to relate to his friend the substance of the conversation which had last taken place between himself and zara. "it is most fortunate," answered leyton, "that dear girl has thus become acquainted with the facts; for edith would not have told her, and now we have some chance of obtaining information of all that occurs, which must be our great security. however--since i returned, i have obtained valuable information, which puts good mr. radford's liberty, if not his life, in my power. three of the men whom we have taken, distinctly state that he sent them upon this expedition himself--armed, and mounted them; and therefore he is a party to the whole transaction. i have sent off a messenger to mowle, the officer--as faithful and as true a fellow as ever lived--begging him to bring me up, without a moment's delay, a magistrate in whom he can trust; for one of the men is at the point of death, and all the justices round this place are so imbued with the spirit of smuggling, that i do not choose the depositions to be taken by them. i have received and written down the statements made, before witnesses; and the men have signed them; but i have no power in this case to administer an oath. as soon as the matter is in more formal train, i shall insist upon the apprehension of mr. radford, whatever be the consequences to sir robert croyland; for here my duty to the country is concerned, and the very powers with which i am entrusted, render it imperative upon me so to act." "if you can catch him--if you can catch him!" replied sir edward digby. "but be sure, my dear leyton, if he once discovers that you have got such a hold upon him, he will take care to render that matter difficult. you may find it troublesome, also, to get a magistrate to act as you desire; for they are all of the same leaven; and i fancy you have no power to do anything yourself except in aid and support of the civil authorities. you must be very careful, too, not to exceed your commission, where people might suspect that personal feelings are concerned." "personal feelings shall not bias me, digby, even in the slightest degree," replied his friend. "i will act towards mr. radford, exactly as i would towards any other man who had committed this offence; and, as to the imputation of motives, i can well afford to treat such things with contempt. were i, indeed, to act as i wish, i should not pursue this charge against the chief offender, in order not to bring down his vengeance suddenly upon sir robert croyland's head, or should use the knowledge i possess merely to impose silence upon him through fear. but my duty is plain and straightforward; and it must be done. as to my powers, they are more extensive than you suppose. indeed, i would have sooner thrown up my commission, than have undertaken a service i disliked, without sufficient authority to execute it properly. thus, if no magistrate could be found to act as i might require, i would not scruple, with the aid of any officer of customs, or even without, to apprehend this man on my own responsibility. but i think we shall easily find one who will do his duty." "at all events," replied sir edward digby, "you had better be cautious, my dear leyton. if you are not too quick in your movements, you may perhaps trap the old bird and the young one together; and that will be a better day's sport than if you only got a single shot." "heaven send it may be before these fatal four days are over!" answered leyton; "for then the matter will be decided and edith delivered." "why, if you were to catch the young one, it would be sufficient for that object," said his friend. but leyton shook his head. "i fear not," he replied; "yet that purpose must not be neglected. where he has concealed himself i cannot divine. it would seem certain that he never got out of harbourne wood, unless, indeed, it was by some of the bye-paths; and in that case, he surely must have been seen. i will have it searched, to-morrow, from end to end." in the same strain the conversation proceeded for half-an-hour more, without any feasible plan of action having been decided upon, and with no further result than the arrangement of means for frequent and private communication. it was settled, indeed, that leyton should fix his head-quarters at woodchurch, and that two or three of the dragoons should be billeted at a small public-house on the road to harbourne. to them any communication from sir edward digby was to be conveyed by his servant, somers, for the purpose of being forwarded to woodchurch. such matters being thus arranged, as far as circumstances admitted, the two friends parted; and digby rode back to harbourne house, which he reached, as may be supposed, somewhat later than sir robert croyland's dinner-hour. chapter iii. about six o'clock on the evening of the same day, the cottage of mrs. clare was empty. the good widow herself stood at the garden gate, and looked up the road into the wood, along which the western sun was streaming low. after gazing for a moment in that direction, she turned her eyes to the left, and then down the edge of the wood, which stretched along in a tolerably even line till it reached the farther angle. the persevering dragoons were patrolling round it still; and mrs. clare murmured to herself, "how will he ever get out, if they keep such a watch?" she was then going into the cottage again, when a hurried step caught her ear, coming apparently from the path which led from the side of halden to the back of the house, and thence round the little garden into the road. "that sounds like harding's step," thought the widow; and her ear had not deceived her. in another minute, she beheld him turn the corner of the fence and come towards her; but there was a heated and angry look upon his face, which she had never seen there before; and--although she had acted for the best, and not without much consideration, in sending kate upon mr. radford's commission, and not going herself--she feared that her daughter's lover might not be well pleased his bride should undertake such a task. as he came near, the symptoms of anger were more apparent still. there was the cloudy brow, the flashing eye, the hurried and impetuous walk, which she had often seen in her own husband--a man very similar in character to him who now approached her--when irritated by harsh words; and widow clare prepared to do all she could to soothe him ere kate's return. but harding did not mention her he loved, demanding, while yet at some distance, "where is mr. radford, mrs. clare?" "he is not here, mr. harding," replied the widow; "he has not been here since the morning. but what makes you look so cross, harding? you seem angry." "and well i may be," answered harding, with an oath. "what do you think they have set about?--that i informed against them, and betrayed them into the hands of the dragoons: when, they know, i saw them safe out of the marsh; and it must have been their own stupidity, or the old man's babbling fears, that ruined them--always trusting people that were sure to be treacherous, and doubting those he knew to be honest. but i'll make him eat his words, or cram them down his throat with my fist." "why, he spoke quite kindly of you this morning, harding," said the widow; "there must be some mistake." "mistake!" cried the smuggler, sharply; "there is no mistake.--it is all over hythe and folkestone already; and every one says that it came from him. can you not tell me where he is gone?--which way did he turn?" "towards his own house," replied mrs. clare; "but you had better come in, harding, and get yourself cool before you go to him. you will speak angrily now, and mischief may come of it. i am sure there is some mistake." "i" will not sit down till i have made him own it," answered the smuggler. "perhaps he is up at harbourne. i'll go there. where is kate, mrs. clare?" "she has gone towards harbourne house," said the widow, not choosing, in the excited state of his feelings, to tell him her daughter's errand; "but she will be back in one minute, if you will but come in." "no," he replied; "i will come back by-and-by. perhaps i shall meet her as i go;" and he was turning towards the wood, when suddenly, at the spot where the road entered amongst the trees, the pretty figure of kate clare, as trim, and neat, and simple as a wild flower, appeared walking slowly back towards the cottage. but she was not alone. by her side was a tall, handsome young man, dressed in full military costume, with his heavy sword under his arm, and a star upon his breast. he was bending down, talking to his fair companion with a friendly air, and she was answering him with a gay smile. a pang shot through harding's bosom: the first that ever the poor girl had caused; nor, indeed, would he have felt it then, had he not been irritated; for his was a frank and confiding heart, open as the day, in which that foul and dangerous guest, suspicion, usually could find no lurking place. at first he did not recognise, in the glittering personage before his eyes, the grave, plain-looking stranger, who, a week or two before, had conversed with him for a few minutes on the cliffs near sandgate; but he saw, as the two came on, that kate raised her eyes; and as soon as she perceived him standing by her mother, a look of joy lighted up her face, which made him murmur to himself, "i'm a fool!" the stranger, too, saw him; but it made no change in his demeanour; and the next moment, to harding's surprise, the officer came forward somewhat more quickly, and took widow clare by the hand, saying, with a grave smile, "do you not know me, mrs. clare?" "gracious heaven!" cried the widow, drawing back and gazing at him, "can it be you, sir?" "yes, indeed!" he answered. "why, kate here knew me directly, though she was but ten or eleven, i think, when i went away." "oh, that was because you were always so fond of her, mr. henry," replied widow clare. "gracious! how you are changed!" harding was talking to kate while these few words passed, but he heard them; nor did he fail to remark that two mounted dragoons, one leading a horse by the rein, followed the young officer from the wood. he now recognised him also; and by his dress perceived the rank he held in the army, though mrs. clare called him "mr. henry." "yes, i am changed, indeed!" replied leyton, to the widow's last remark, "in body and health, mrs. clare, but not in heart, i can assure you; and as i was obliged to visit this wood, i resolved i would not be so near you without coming in to see how you were going on, with your pretty kate here." "my pretty kate, very soon!" said harding, aloud; and the young officer turned suddenly round, and looked at him more attentively than before. "ah, mr. harding!" he exclaimed, "is that you? we have met before, though perhaps you don't remember me." "oh yes, i do, sir," replied the smuggler, drily. "but i must go, kate;" and he added, in a low tone, "i shall be back by-and-by." thus saying, he walked away; but before he had taken ten steps, leyton followed, and took him by the arm. "what do you want with me, sir?" asked the smuggler, turning sharply round, and putting his hand in the bosom of his coat. "hush!" replied the young officer; "i seek no harm to you--merely one word. for heaven's sake, harding, quit this perilous life of yours!--at least, before you marry that poor girl--if i have understood you rightly, that you are about to marry her. i speak as a friend." "thank you, sir!" answered the smuggler, "i dare say you mean it kind; but it was hardly fair of you, either, to come and talk with me upon the cliff, if you are, as i suppose, the sir henry leyton all the folks are speaking about." "why, my good friend, my talking with you did you no harm," replied the young officer; "you cannot say that i led you to speak of anything that could injure either you or others. besides, i have nothing to do with you gentlemen of the sea, though i may with your friends on land. but take the advice of one well disposed towards you; and, above all, do not linger about this place at present, for it is a dangerous neighbourhood for any one who has had a share in the late transactions." "that advice i shall take, at all events," answered harding, bluntly; "and perhaps the other too, for i am sick of all this!" and thus saying, he walked away, passing close by the two dragoons, who offered no obstruction. in the meanwhile leyton, returning to widow clare and her daughter, went into the cottage, and talked to them, for a few minutes, of old days. gradually, however, he brought the conversation round to the inhabitants of harbourne house, and asked if either the widow or kate ever went up there. "oh, kate goes twice every day, sir," said mrs. clare, "for we have all the finest of the poultry to keep down here. but are you not going there yourself, mr. henry?" "alas, no!" answered leyton, with a sigh. "those days have gone by, mrs. clare; and i am now a stranger where i was once loved." "don't say so, sir," replied the widow, "don't say so! for, i am sure, where you were best loved of all, there you are best loved still." "that i believe," answered leyton; "but, at all events, i am not going there at present; and if kate would do me a service, she would, the first time she sees miss zara croyland alone, tell her, that if ever she rides or walks out along the road by the chequers, she will find an old friend by the way." "miss zara, sir, did you say?" asked widow clare. "yes, mother--yes," cried kate; "you forget miss edith is not there now; she is down at mr. croyland's." "but remember, kate," continued leyton, "i do not wish my name mentioned to many persons in the house. indeed, it will be better not to speak of me at all to any one but zara. it must be soon known that i am here, it is true; but i wish to let events take their course till then. and now, mrs. clare, good evening. i shall see you again some day soon; and you must let me know when kate's wedding-day is fixed." the mother looked at her daughter with a smile, and kate blushed and laughed. "it is to be this day week, sir," answered mrs. clare. leyton nodded his head, saying, "i will not forget," and, mounting his horse at the door, rode away. "now, did you find him, kate?" asked mrs. clare, in a low tone, the moment sir henry leyton was gone. "oh yes," replied her daughter; "the dragoons did not follow me, as you thought they would, mother; and i set down the basket close to the willow. at first he did not answer when i asked if he wanted anything; but when i spoke again, he said, 'no. a thousand thanks for what you have brought;' and he spoke kind and civilly. then, just as i was going away, he said, 'kate, kate! let me know when the soldiers are gone.--if you could bring me a woman's dress, i could easily get away.' i should not be afraid of going any more, mother," the girl continued; "for he seems quite changed by his misfortune, and not rude and jesting as he always used to be, whenever i saw him before." the idea of the woman's clothes seemed to strike mrs. clare very much; and the good widow and her daughter set their wits to work, to consider how all that was necessary could be procured; for a very serious impediment thrust itself in the way of either mother or child lending him a suit of their own apparel. neither of them were very tall women; and though young radford was himself not above the middle height, yet kate's gown would not have fallen further than half way down his leg; and the poor girl laughed merrily, to think of what a figure he would make dressed in her garments. it would have been the old story of the wolf in sheep's clothing, assuredly. "if we could but accomplish it, and enable him to escape," thought mrs. clare, "especially after harding has just been up here, it would show mr. radford, clearly enough, that john had nothing to do with informing against him." but the question, of where fitting apparel was to be procured, still remained unsettled, till kate suggested, that perhaps her aunt's, at glassenbury, might do. "she is very tall," continued the girl, "and i am sure she would lend them to me; for she and my uncle have always been so kind. suppose i walk over early to-morrow, and ask her." now the little farm which mrs. clare's brother held, was somewhat more than seven miles off, on the other side of cranbrook. but still, what is the exertion which woman will not make for a fellow-creature in distress; and mrs. clare determined that she would rise betimes, and go to william harris's herself, certain of a kind reception and ready consent from those who had always displayed towards her, in adversity, the feelings of affection, which the more worldly-minded generally shower upon prosperity alone. it was far for her daughter to walk, she thought; and besides, harding might come, and it would not do for kate to be absent. thus had she settled it in her own mind, when mr. radford entered the cottage to inquire after his son. high were the praises that he bestowed upon kate and mrs. clare, for their kindness; and he expressed his warm approval of their little scheme. nevertheless, he turned the matter in his mind, in order to see whether he could not save mrs. clare the trouble of going nearly to goudhurst, by obtaining the necessary articles of female apparel somewhere else. his own women servants, however, were all short and stout; the only other persons whom he could think of, as at all approaching his son in height, he did not choose to trust; and therefore it was, at length, determined that the original plan should be followed. but the worthy gentleman laid strict injunctions upon mrs. clare, to be early in her proceedings, as he feared much, from all he had gathered, that the wood might be more strictly searched, in the course of the following day. when this was settled, and mr. radford had expressed his thanks, more than once, mrs. clare thought it a good opportunity of turning the conversation to harding; and she asked mr. radford if he had seen him, adding, "he has gone to look for you, sir, and seems very quick and angry, because the people down about his place have got a report that he informed about the run; and he fancies you have said so." "pooh, nonsense, mrs. clare, i never said anything of the kind!" replied mr. radford. "it is a story put about by the custom-house officers themselves, just to cover the persons from whom they had the information. but we shall discover them some day, and pay them handsomely. tell harding not to mind what people say, for i never thought of such a thing." "that i will, sir," replied the widow; "for i'm sure it will set his mind at rest.--you must know very well, sir, that he's as honest a man as ever lived." "to be sure--to be sure," answered mr. radford, with great warmth of manner; "no one knows that better than i do, mrs. clare." but whether mr. radford really felt the warmth which he assumed, may be another question. his seemings were not always the best indications of his real sentiments; and when he left mrs. clare's cottage, after all had been arranged, his first thought was, "we will reckon with mr. harding by-and-by.--the account is not made up yet." before i proceed to other scenes, it may be as well to go on with the part assigned in this history to mrs. clare and her daughter, at least, till the morning of the following day. about eight o'clock at night, harding returned, still irritable and discontented, having failed to find mr. radford. the account, however, which the widow gave of her conversation with that gentleman, soothed him a good deal; but he would not stay the night, as he had done before, saying that he must absolutely be at home as soon as possible, and would return, perhaps, the next day, or, at all events, the day after. "i must do the best i can, mrs. clare," he continued, "to help these fellows out of the scrape they've run into. two or three of them are good men enough; and, as they risk their necks if they are taken, i should like to get them down, and give them a passage to the other side. so you see i shall be going about here a good deal, for the next four or five days, and will look in, from time to time, to see you and my dear little kate." "but are you going to walk all the way back to-night, john?" asked kate, as he rose to depart. "no, my love," he answered, "i've got a horse up at plurendon; but the beast cast a shoe as i was coming, and i was obliged to leave him at the blacksmith's." no sooner was harding gone, than a little kindly contest rose between mother and daughter, as to which should go over to glassenbury; but mrs. clare persisted, against all her child's remonstrances; and, in order that they might rise before daylight, both retired to bed early, and slept calmly and peacefully, unknowing what the morrow, to which they both looked anxiously forward, was to bring. the sun was yet some way below the horizon, when mrs. clare set out; but she met with no impediment, and, walking on stoutly, arrived, at an early hour, at a little farm-house, inhabited by her brother. she found farmer harris and his wife, with their two sons and mrs. harris's nephew (three stout, good humoured, young men) seated at their breakfast; and warm and joyful was the reception of aunt clare; one joking her upon kate's approaching marriage; another declaring jack harding, whom they all knew, was a capital fellow; and all striving to make her comfortable, and pressing her to partake of their morning meal. every one of the party was eager to obtain some information from her, who lived so much nearer to the spot, in regard to the late discomfiture of the smugglers, although none seemed to take any great interest in them, all declaring that the ramleys, and their gang, were the pest of the country, and that young dick radford was not a bit better. such opinions, regarding that young gentleman, acted as a warning to mrs. clare, not to mention the object of the loan she came to solicit; and when, after having rested about twenty minutes, she preferred her petition to mrs. harris, it was readily granted by the tall farmer's wife, although not without some expression of curiosity, as to what her sister-in-law could want a dress of hers for. "kate or i will bring it back to-night or to-morrow morning," replied mrs. clare, "and i'll tell you what we want it for, at the wedding, which, remember, is to be yesterday week." "ay, we will all come down with white favours, and our best buckles," said young william, the farmer's eldest son; "and i'll have a kiss of the bride." a gown and cloak of mrs. harris's, having been brought down--they were not her best--and neatly folded up in a shawl-handkerchief, mrs. clare set forward on her way home, hurrying her steps as much as possible, lest any untoward event should prevent the execution of her scheme. a stout country woman, accustomed to exercise, the widow accomplished the walk in as short a time as possible; yet it was nine o'clock before she reached the cottage, and she instantly dispatched her daughter to the "hide" in the wood, with the clothes folded up in as small a space as possible, and laid in the bottom of a basket, covered over with eggs. the only difficulty was, in regard to a bonnet; and, after earnest consultation between mother and child, it was determined that, as mrs. clare's head was somewhat larger than kate's, her bonnet should be put over her daughter's, which was easily accomplished. both were of straw, and both were plain enough; but, to conceal the contrivance from the eyes of any one whom kate might meet, mrs. clare pinned a small piece of lace--which had been bought for the wedding--into the inside of her own bonnet, remarking, that it would do to hide young mr. radford's face a bit. furnished with all that was needful, and having had the instructions which mr. radford had left, repeated carefully to her, by her mother, fair kate clare set out upon her expedition, passing one of the dragoons, who were still patrolling round the wood, near the place where the road entered it. the man said something to her, as she went by, but did not attempt to follow; and kate walked on, looking behind her, from time to time, till she was satisfied that her proceedings were unwatched. then, hurrying on, with a quicker step, she turned to the path, which led to the back of the gardens of harbourne house, and approached the old willow, and the brushwood which covered the place where richard radford was concealed. "mr. radford," she said, as soon as she was quite close, "mr. radford! here is what you wanted. take it as fast as you can." "is there any one near but you, kate?" asked the voice of richard radford. "oh, no!" she replied; "but the soldiers are still on the outside of the wood watching." "i know that," rejoined the voice again, "for i saw them last night, when i tried to get out. but are you sure that none of them followed you, kate?" "oh, quite sure," she answered, "for i looked behind all the way!" "well, stay and help me to put the things on," said richard radford, issuing forth from behind the bushes, like a snake out of its hole. kate clare willingly agreed to help him, and while the gown and the cloak were thrown over his other clothes, told him all that his father had said, desiring him not to come up to radford hall till he heard more; but to go down to the _lone house_, near iden green, where he would find one or two friends already collected. "why, these are never your own clothes, kate!" said young radford, as she pinned on the gown for him. "they fit as if they were made for me." "not at the back," answered kate, laughing, "i cannot get the gown to meet there; but that will be covered up by the cloak, so it does not matter.--no, they are my aunt's, at glassenbury; and you must let me have them back, mr. radford, as soon as ever you have got to iden green; for my mother has promised to return them to-night." "i don't know howl shall get them back, kate," answered richard radford; "for none of our people will like to venture up here. can't you come down and fetch them? it is not much out of your way." "no, i can't do that," answered kate, who did not altogether like going to the lone house she had mentioned; "but you can send them down to cranbrook, at all events; and there they can be left for me, at mrs. tims's shop. they'll be quite safe; and i will call for them either to-night or to-morrow morning." "well, i will do that, my love," replied richard radford, taking the bonnet and putting it on his head. "very well, sir," answered kate, not well pleased with the epithet he had bestowed upon her, and taking a step to move away, "i will call for them there." but young radford threw his arm round her waist, saying, "come, kate! i must have a kiss before you go.--you give plenty to harding, i dare say." "let me go, sir!" cried kate clare, indignantly. "you are a base, ungrateful young man!" but young radford did not let her go. he took the kiss she struggled against, by force; and he was proceeding to farther insult, when kate exclaimed, "if you do not let me go, i will scream till the soldiers are upon you.--they are not far." she spoke so loud, that her very tone excited his alarm; and he withdrew his arm from her waist, but still held her hand tight, saying, "come, come, kate! nonsense, i did not mean to offend you! go up to harbourne house, there's a good girl, and stay as long as you can there, till i get out of the wood." "you do offend me--you do offend me!" cried kate clare, striving to withdraw her hand from his grasp. "will you promise to go up to harbourne, then?" said richard radford, "and i will let you go." "yes, yes," answered kate, "i will go;" and the moment her hand was free, she darted away, leaving the basket she had brought behind her. as soon as she was gone, richard radford cursed her for a saucy jade, as if the offence had been hers, not his; and then taking up the basket, he threw it, eggs and all, together with his own hat, into the deep hole in the sandbank. advancing along the path till he reached the open road, he hurried on in the direction of widow clare's cottage. of a daring and resolute disposition--for his only virtue was courage--he thought of passing the soldiers, as a good joke rather than a difficult undertaking; but still recollecting the necessity of caution, as he came near the edge of the wood he slackened his pace, tried to shorten his steps, and assumed a more feminine demeanour. when he was within a couple of hundred yards of the open country, he saw one of the dragoons slowly pass the end of the road and look up; and, on issuing forth from the wood, he perceived that the man had paused, and was gazing back. but at that distance, the female garments which he wore deceived the soldier; and he was suffered to walk on unopposed towards iden green. chapter iv. sir robert croyland himself did not return to harbourne house, till the hands of the clock pointed out to every one that went through the hall, that it was twenty minutes past the usual dinner hour; and, though he tried to be as expeditious as he could, he was yet fully ten minutes longer in dressing than usual. he was nervous; he was agitated; all the events of that day had shaken and affected him; he was angry with his servant; and several times he gave the most contradictory orders. although for years he had been undergoing a slow and gradual change, under the painful circumstances in which he had been placed, and had, from the gay, rash, somewhat noisy and overbearing country gentleman, dwindled down into the cold, silent, pompous, and imperative man of family, yet the alteration during that day had been so great and peculiar that the valet could not help remarking it, and wondering if his master was ill. sir robert tried to smoothe his look and compose his manner for the drawing-room, however; and when he entered, he gazed round for sir edward digby, observing aloud: "why, i thought soldiers were more punctual. however, as it happens, to-day i am glad sir edward is not down." "down!" cried mrs. barbara, who had a grand objection to dinners being delayed; "why, he is out; but you could expect no better; for yesterday you were so long that the fish was done to rags; so i ordered it not to be put in till he made his appearance." "i told you, my dear aunt, that he said he might not be back before dinner," replied her niece, "and, therefore, it will be vain to wait for him. he desired me to say so, papa." "oh yes! zara knows all about it," said mrs. barbara, with a shrewd look; "they were talking together for ten minutes in the library; and i cannot get her to tell me what it was about." it is, indeed, conscience that makes cowards of us all; and had the fair girl's conversation with her new friend been on any other subject than that to which it related--had it been about love, marriage, arms, or divinity, she would have found no difficulty in parrying her aunt's observations, however mal-à-propos they might have been. at present, however, she was embarrassed by doubts of the propriety of what she was doing, more especially as she felt sure that her father would be inquisitive and suspicious, if the tale the maid had told was true. acting, however, as she not unfrequently did, in any difficulty, she met mrs. barbara's inuendoes at once, replying, "indeed i shall not say anything about it to any one, my dear aunt. i will manage some matters for myself; and the only thing i shall repeat is sir edward's last dying speech, which was to the effect, that he feared he might be detained till after our dinner hour, but would be back as soon as ever he could, and trusted my father would not wait." "do you know where he is gone, and why?" asked sir robert croyland, in a much quieter tone than she expected. but poor zara was still puzzled for an answer; and, as her only resource, she replied vaguely, "something about some of the smugglers, i believe." "then had he any message or intelligence brought him?" inquired sir robert croyland. "i do not know--oh, yes, i believe he had," replied his daughter, in a hesitating tone and with a cheek that was beginning to grow red. "he spoke with one of the soldiers at the corner of the road, i know;--and, oh yes, i saw a man ride up with a letter." "that was after he was gone," observed mrs. barbara; but sir robert paid little attention, and, ringing, ordered dinner to be served. could we see into the breasts of others, we should often save ourselves a great deal of unnecessary anxiety. zara forgot that her father was not as well aware that sir edward digby was leyton's dearest friend, as she was; but, in truth, all that he concluded--either from the pertinent remarks of mrs. barbara or from zara's embarrassment--was, that the young baronet had been making a little love to his daughter, which, to say sooth, was a consummation that sir robert croyland was not a little inclined to see. in about a quarter of an hour more, the dinner was announced; and the master of the house, his sister, and zara, sat down together. hardly had the fish and soup made any progress, when the quick canter of sir edward digby's horse put his fair confidante out of her anxiety; and, in a few minutes after, he appeared himself, and apologized gracefully to his host, for having been too late. "you must have waited for me, i fear," he added, "for it is near an hour after the time; but i thought it absolutely necessary, from some circumstances i heard, to go over and see my colonel before he returned to hythe, and then i was detained." "pray, who does command your regiment?" asked mrs. barbara. but sir edward digby was, at that moment, busily engaged in taking his seat by zara's side; and he did not hear. the lady repeated the question when he was seated; but then he replied, "no, i thank you, my dear madam, no soup to-day--a solid meal always after a hard ride; and i have galloped till i have almost broken my horse's wind.--by the way, sir robert, i hope you found my bay a pleasant goer. i have only ridden him twice since i bought him, though he cost two hundred guineas." "he is well worth the money," replied the baronet--"a very powerful animal--bore me like a feather, and i ride a good weight." "have your own horses come back?" asked the young officer, with a laugh. sir robert croyland answered in the negative, adding, "and that reminds me i must write to my brother, to let edith have his carriage to-morrow, to bring her back; for mine are gone--coach-horses, and all." "edith, to-morrow!" exclaimed mrs. barbara, in surprise; "why, i thought she was going to stay four or five days." "she is coming back to-morrow, bab," replied sir robert, sharply; and instantly turned the conversation. during the rest of the evening, sir edward digby remained very constantly by fair zara's side; and, moreover, he paid her most particular attention, in so marked a manner, that both sir robert croyland and mrs. barbara thought matters were taking their course very favourably. the father busied himself in writing a letter and one or two notes, which he pronounced to be of consequence--as, indeed, they really were--while the aunt, worked diligently and discreetly at embroidering, not interrupting the conference of her niece and their guest above ten times in a minute. sir edward, indeed, kept himself within all due and well-defined rules. he never proceeded beyond what a great master of the art has pronounced to be "making love"--"a course of small, quiet, attentions, not so pointed as to alarm, nor so vague as to be misunderstood." strange to say, zara was very much obliged to him for following such a course, as it gave an especially good pretext for intimacy, for whispered words and quiet conversation, and even for a little open seeking for each other's society, which would have called observation, if not inquiry, upon them, had not her companion's conduct been what it was. she thought fit to attribute it, in her own mind, entirely to his desire of communicating to her, without attracting notice, whatever he had learned, that could in any way affect her sister's fate; and she judged it a marvellous good device that they should appear for the time as lovers, with full powers on both parts to withdraw from that position whenever it suited them. poor girl! she knew not how far she was entangling herself. sir edward digby, in the meanwhile, took no alarming advantage of his situation. the whispered word was almost always of edith or of leyton. he never spoke of zara herself, or of himself, or of his own feelings; not a word could denote to her that he was making love, though his whole demeanour had very much that aspect to those who sat and looked on. oh, those who sit and look on, what a world they see! and what a world they don't see! ever more than those who play the game, be they shrewd as they may: ever less than the cards would show, were they turned up. by fits and snatches, he communicated to his fair companion, while he was playing with this ball of gold thread, or winding and unwinding that piece of crimson silk, as much of what had passed between himself and sir henry leyton, as he thought necessary; and then he asked her to sing--as her aunt had given him a quiet hint that her niece did sometimes do such a thing--saying, in a low tone, while he preferred the request, "pray, go on with the song, though i may interrupt you sometimes with questions, not quite relevant to the subject." "i understand--i quite understand," answered zara; but it may be a question whether that sweet girl really quite understood either herself or him. it is impossible that any two free hearts, can go on long, holding such intimate and secret communion, on subjects deeply interesting to both, without being drawn together by closer bonds, than perhaps they fancy can ever be established between them--unless there be something inherently repulsive on one part or the other. propinquity is certainly much, in the matter of love; but there are circumstances, not rarely occurring in human life, which mightily abridge the process; and such are--difficulties and dangers experienced together--a common struggle for a common object--but more than all--mutual and secret communion with, and aid of each other in things of deep interest. the confidence that is required, the excitement of imagination, the unity of effort, and of purpose, the rapid exercise of mind to catch the half-uttered thought, the enforced candour from want of time, which admits of no disguise or circumlocution, the very mystery itself--all cast that magic chain around those so circumstanced, within which they can hardly escape from the power of love. nine times out of ten, they never try; and, however zara croyland might feel, she rose willingly enough to sing, while sir edward digby leaned over her chair, as she sat at the instrument, which in those days supplied the place of that which is now absurdly enough termed in england, a piano. her voice, which was fine though not very powerful, wavered a little as she began, from emotions of many kinds. she wished to sing well; but she sang worse than she might have done; yet quite well enough to please sir edward digby, though his ear was refined by art, and good by nature. nevertheless, though he listened with delight, and felt the music deeply, he forgot not his purpose, and between each stanza asked some question, obtaining a brief reply. but i will not so interrupt the course of an old song, and will give the interrogatory a separate place: the lady's song. "oh! there be many, many griefs, in this world's sad career, that shun the day, that fly the gaze, and never, never meet the ear. but what is darkest--darkest of them all? the pang of love betray'd?-- the hopes of youth all fleeting by-- spring flowers that early, early fade? but there are griefs--ay, griefs as deep: the friendship turn'd to hate-- and, deeper still--and deeper still, repentance come too late!--too late! the doubt of those we love; and more the rayless, dull despair, when trusted hearts are worthless found, and all our dreams are air--but air. deep in each bosom's secret cell, the hermit-sorrows lie; and thence--unheard on earth--they raise the voice of prayer on high--on high. oh! there be many, many griefs, in this world's sad career, that shun the day, that fly the gaze, and, never, never meet the ear." thus sang the lady; and one of her hearers, at least, was delighted with the sweet voice, and the sweet music, and the expression which she gave to the whole. but though he listened with deep attention, both to words and tones, as long as her lips moved, yet, when the mere instrumental part of the music recommenced, which was the case between every second and third stanza--and the symphonetic parts of every song were somewhat long in those days--he instantly remembered the object with which he had first asked her to sing, (little thinking that such pleasure would be his reward;) and bending down his head, as if he were paying her some lover-like compliment on her performance, he asked her quietly, as i have said before, a question or two, closely connected with the subject on which both their minds were at that moment principally bent. thus, at the first pause, he inquired--"do you know--did you ever see, in times long past, a gentleman of the name of warde--a clergyman--a good and clever man, but somewhat strange and wild?" "no," answered zara, looking down at the keys of the harpsichord; "i know no one of that name;" and she recommenced the song. when her voice again ceased, the young officer seemed to have thought farther; and he asked, in the same low tone, "did you ever know a gentleman answering that description--his features must once have been good--somewhat strongly marked, but fine and of an elevated expression, with a good deal of wildness in the eye, but a peculiarly bland and beautiful smile when he is pleased--too remarkable to be overlooked or forgotten?" "can you be speaking of mr. osborn?" asked zara, in return. "i barely recollect him in former days; but i and edith met him about ten days ago; and he remembered and spoke to her." the song required her attention; and though she would fain have played the symphony over again, she was afraid her father would remark it, and went on to sing the last two stanzas. as soon as she had concluded, however, she said, in a low, quick voice, "he is a very extraordinary man." "can you give me any sign by which i should know him?" asked digby. "he has now got a number of blue lines traced on his face," answered zara; "he went abroad to preach to the savages, i have heard. he is a good man, but very eccentric." at the same moment the voice of her father was raised, saying, "i wish, my dear, you would not sing such melancholy things as that. cannot you find something gayer? i do not like young ladies singing such dull ditties, only fit for sentimental misses of the true french school." what was the true french school of his day, i cannot tell. certainly, it must have been very different from the present. "perhaps sir edward will sing something more cheerful himself?" answered zara. "oh, i am a very bad musician," replied the young officer; "i cannot even accompany myself. if you will, and have any of the few things i know, i shall be very happy.--in everything, one can but try," he added, in a low voice, "still hoping for the best." zara looked over her collection of music with him; and at last she opened one song which was somewhat popular in those times, though it has long fallen into well-merited oblivion. "can you venture to sing that?" she asked, pointing to the words rather than the music; "it is quite a soldier's song." sir edward digby read the first line; and thinking he observed a double meaning in her question, he answered, "oh, yes, that i will, if you will consent to accompany me." zara smiled, and sat down to the instrument again; and the reader must judge from the song itself whether the young officer's conjecture that her words had an enigmatical sense was just or not. the officer's song. "a star is still beaming beyond the grey cloud; its light rays are streaming, with nothing to shroud; and the star shall be there when the clouds pass away; its lustre unchanging, immortal its ray. "'tis the guide of the true heart, in field, or on sea; 'tis the hope of the slave, and the trust of the free; the light of the lover, whatever assail; the strength of the honest, that never can fail. "waft, waft, thou light wind, from the peace-giving ray, the vapours of sorrow, that over it stray; and let it pour forth, all unshrouded and bright, that those who now mourn, may rejoice in its light." "god grant it!" murmured the voice of sir robert croyland. zara said, "amen," in her heart; and in a minute or two after, her father rose, and left the room. during the rest of the evening, nothing very important occurred in harbourne house. mrs. barbara played her usual part, and would contribute to sir edward digby's amusement in a most uncomfortable manner. the following morning, too, went by without any incident of importance, till about ten o'clock, when breakfast just being over, and zara having been called from the room by her maid, sir robert's butler announced to his master, that the groom had returned from mr. croyland's. "where is the note?" demanded his master, eagerly. "he has not brought one, sir robert," replied the servant, "only a message, sir, to say that mr. croyland is very sorry he cannot spare the horses to-day, as they were out a long way yesterday." sir robert croyland started up in a state of fury not at all becoming. he stamped, he even swore. but we have got rid of a great many of the vices of those times; and swearing was so common at the period i speak of, that it did not even startle mrs. barbara. her efforts, however, to soothe her brother, only served to irritate him the more; and next he swore at her, which did surprise her mightily. he then fell into a fit of thought, which ended in his saying aloud, "yes, that must be the way. it is his business, and so----" but sir robert did not conclude the sentence, retiring to his own sitting-room, and there writing a letter. when he had done, he paused and meditated, his mind rambling over many subjects, though still occupied intensely with only one. "i am a most unfortunate man," he thought. "nothing since that wretched day has ever gone right with me. even trifles combine to frustrate everything i attempt. would i had died many years ago! poor edith--poor girl--she must know more sorrow still, and yet it must be done, or i am lost!--if that wretched youth had been killed in that affray yesterday, it would have all been over. was there no bullet that could find him?--and yet, perhaps, it might not have had the effect.--no, no; there would have been some new kind of demand from that greedy, craving scoundrel.--may there not be such even now? will he give up that fatal paper?--he shall--by heaven, he shall!--but i must send the letter. sir edward digby will think this all very strange. how unfortunate, that it should have happened just when he was here. would to heaven i had any one to consult with! but i am lone, lone indeed. my wife, my sons, my friends,--gone, gone, all gone! it is very sad;" and after having mused for several minutes more, he rang the bell, gave the servant who appeared the letter which he had just written, and directed him to take it over to mr. radford's as soon as possible. returning to the room which he had previously left--without bestowing one word upon mrs. barbara, whom he passed in the corridor, sir robert croyland entered into conversation with sir edward digby, and strove--though with too evident an effort--to appear careless and unconcerned. in the meantime, however, we must notice what was passing in the corridor; for it was of some importance, though, like many other important things, it was transacted very quietly. mrs. barbara had overheard sir robert's directions to the servant; and she had seen the man--as he went away to get ready the pony, which was usually sent in the morning to the post--deposit the note he had received upon an antique piece of furniture--a large marble table, with great sprawling gilt legs--which stood in the hall, close to the double doors that led to the offices. now, mrs. barbara was one of the most benevolent people upon earth: she literally overflowed with the milk of human kindness; and, if a few drops of that same milk occasionally spotted the apron of her morality, which we cannot help acknowledging was sometimes the case, she thought, as a great many other people do of a great many other sins, that "there was no great harm in it, if the motive was good." this was one of those cases and occasions when the milk was beginning to run over. she had a deep regard for her brother: she would have sacrificed her right hand for him; and she was quite sure that something very sad had happened to vex him, or he never would have thought of swearing _at her_. she would have done, she was ready to do, anything in the world, to help him; but how could she help him, without knowing what he was vexed about? it is wonderful how many lines the devil always has out, for those who are disposed to take a bait. something whispered to mrs. barbara, as she gazed at the letter, "the whole story is in there!" ah, mrs. barbara, do not take it up, and look at the address!--it is dangerous--very dangerous. but mrs. barbara did take it up, and looked at the address--and then at the two ends. it was folded as a note, unfortunately; and she thought--"there can be no harm, i'm sure--i won't open it--though i've seen him open edith's letters, poor thing!--i shall hear the man pull back the inner door, and can put it down in a minute. nobody else can see me here; and if i could but find out what is vexing him, i might have some way of helping him; i'm sure i intend well." all this argumentation in mrs. barbara's mind took up the space of about three seconds; and then the note, pressed between two fingers in the most approved fashion, was applied as a telescope to her eye, to get a perspective view of the cause of her brother's irritation. i must make the reader a party to the transaction, i am afraid, and let him know the words which mrs. barbara read:-- "my dear radford," the note began--"as misfortune would have it, all my horses have been taken out of the stable, and have not been brought back. i fear that they have fallen into other hands than those that borrowed them; and my brother zachary has one of his crabbed moods upon him, and will not lend his carriage to bring edith back. if your horses have not gone as well as mine, i should feel particularly obliged by your sending them down here, to take over my coach to zachary's and bring edith back; for i do not wish her to stay there any longer, as the marriage is to take place so soon. if you can come over to-morrow, we can settle whether it is to be at your house or here--though i should prefer it here, if you have no objection." there seemed to be a few words more; but it took mrs. barbara longer to decipher the above lines, in the actual position of the note, than it might have done, had the paper been spread out fair before her; so that, just as she was moving it a little, to get at the rest, the sound of the farther of the two doors being thrown open, interrupted her proceedings; and, laying down the letter quickly, she darted away, full of the important intelligence which she had acquired. chapter v. there are periods in the life of some men, when, either by a concatenation of unfortunate events, or by the accumulated consequences of their own errors, the prospect on every side becomes so clouded, that there is no resource for them, but to shut their eyes to the menacing aspect of all things, and to take refuge in the moral blindness of thoughtless inaction, against the pressure of present difficulties. "i dare not think," is the excuse of many a man, for continuing in the same course of levity which first brought misfortunes upon him; but such is not always the case with those who fly to wretched merriment in the hour of distress; and such was not the case with sir robert croyland. he had thought for long years, till his very heart sickened at the name of reflection. he had looked round for help, and had found none. he had tried to discover some prospect of relief; and all was darkness. the storm he had long foreseen was now bursting upon his head; it was no longer to be delayed; it was not to be warded off. his daughter's misery, or his own destruction, was the only choice before him; and he was resolved to think no more--to let events take their course, and to meet them as he best might. but to resolve is one thing--to execute, another; and edith's father was not a man who could keep such a determination long. he might indeed, for a time, cease to think of all the painful particulars of his situation; but there will ever come moments when thought is forced even upon the thoughtless, and events will arise, to press reflection upon any heart. his efforts were, at first, very successful. after he had despatched the letter to mr. radford, he had said, "i must really pay my visitor some attention. it will serve to occupy my mind, too. anything to escape from the torturing consideration of questions, which must ever be solved in wretchedness." and when he returned to sir edward digby, his conversation was particularly gay and cheerful. it first turned to the unpleasant fact of the abstraction of all his horses; but he now spoke of it in a lighter and less careful manner than before. "doubtless," he said, "they have been taken without leave, as usual, by the smugglers, to use for their own purposes. it is quite a common practice in this county; and yet we all go on leaving our stable-doors open, as if to invite all who pass to enter, and choose what they like. then, i suppose, they have been captured with other spoil, in the strife of yesterday morning, and are become the prize of the conquerors; so that i shall never see them again." "oh, no!" answered the young officer, "they will be restored, i am quite sure, upon your identifying them, and proving that they were taken, without your consent, by the smugglers. i shall go over to woodchurch by-and-by; and if you please, i will claim them for you." "it is scarcely worth while," replied the baronet; "i doubt that i shall ever get them back. these are little losses which every man in this neighbourhood must suffer, as a penalty for remaining in a half savage part of the country.--what are you disposed to do this morning, sir edward? do you again walk the stubbles?" "i fear it 'would be of little use," answered digby; "there has been so much galloping lately, that i do not think a partridge has been left undisturbed in its furrow; and the sun is too high for much sport." "well, then, let us walk in the garden for a little," said sir robert; "it is curious, in some respects, having been laid out long before this house was built, antiquated as it is." sir edward digby assented, but looked round for zara, as he certainly thought her society would be a great addition to her father's. she had not yet returned to the room, however; and sir robert, as if he divined his young companion's feelings, requested his sister to tell her niece, when she came, that he and their guest were walking in the garden. "it is one of her favourite spots, sir edward," he continued, as they went out, "and many a meditative hour she spends there; for, gay as she is, she has her fits of thought, too." the young baronet internally said, "well she may, in this house!" but making a more civil answer to his entertainer, he followed him to the garden; and so well and even cheerfully did sir robert croyland keep up the conversation, so learnedly did he descant upon the levelling and preservation of turf in bowling-greens, and upon the clipping of old yew-trees--both before and after zara joined them--that digby began to doubt, notwithstanding all he had heard, whether he could really have such a load upon his heart as he himself had stated to edith, and to fancy that, after all, it might be a stratagem to drive her to compliance with his wishes. a little incident, of no great moment in the eyes of any one but a very careful observer of his fellow-men--and digby was far more so than he seemed--soon settled the doubt. as they were passing under an old wall of red brick--channelled by time and the shoots of pears and peaches--which separated the garden from the different courts, a door suddenly opened behind them, just after they had passed it; and while sir edward's eyes were turned to the face of the master of the house, sir robert's ear instantly caught the sound, and his cheek became as pale as ashes. "there is some dark terror there!" thought the young officer; but, turning to zara, he finished the sentence he had been uttering, while her father's coachman, who was the person that had opened the door, came forward to say that one of the horses had returned. "returned!" exclaimed sir robert croyland; "has been brought back, i suppose you mean?" "ay, sir robert," replied the man; "a fellow from the lone house by iden green brought him; and in a sad state the poor beast is. he's got a cut, like with a knife, all down his shoulder." "your dragoon swords are sharp, sir edward," said the old baronet, gaily, to his guest; "however, i will go and see him myself, and rejoin you here in a minute." "i am so glad to have a moment alone," cried zara, as soon as her father was gone, "that you must forgive me if i use it directly. i am going to ask you a favour, sir edward. you must take me a ride, and lend me a horse. i have just had a message from poor harry leyton; he wishes to see me, but i am afraid to go alone, with so many soldiers about." "are they such terrible animals?" asked her companion, with a smile, adding, however, "i shall be delighted, if your father will consent; for i have already told him that i am going to woodchurch this afternoon." "oh! you must ask me yourself, sir edward," replied zara, "quite in a civil tone; and then when you see that i am willing, you must be very pressing with my father--quite as if you were a lover; and he will not refuse you.--i'll bear you harmless, as i have heard mr. radford say;" she added, with a playful smile that was quickly saddened. "you shall command for the time," answered digby, as gaily; "perhaps after that, i may take my turn, sweet lady. but i have a good deal to say to you, too, which i could not fully explain last night." "as we go--as we go," replied zara; "my father will be back directly, otherwise i would tell you a long story about my aunt, who has evidently got some great secret which she is all impatience to divulge. if i had stayed an hour with her, i might have arrived at it; but i was afraid of losing my opportunity here.--oh, that invaluable thing, opportunity! once lost, what years of misery does it not sometimes leave behind.--would to heaven that edith and leyton had run away with each other when they were about it.--we should all have been happier now." "and i should never have known you," replied digby. zara smiled, and shook her head, as if saying, "that is hardly fair;" but sir robert croyland was seen coming up the walk; and she only replied, "now do your _devoir_, gallant knight, and let me see if you do it zealously." "i have been trying in your absence, my dear sir," said digby, rather maliciously, as the baronet joined them, "to persuade your fair daughter to run away with me. but she is very dutiful, and will not take such a rash step, though the distance is only to woodchurch, without your consent. i pray you give it; for i long to mount her on my quietest horse, and see her try her skill in horsemanship again." sir robert croyland looked grave; and ere the words were half spoken, sir edward digby felt that he had committed an error in his game; for he was well aware that when we have a favour to ask, we should not call up, by speech or look, in the mind of the person who is to grant it, any association having a contrary tendency. "i am afraid that i have no servant whom i could send with you, sir edward," replied her father; "one i have just dispatched to some distance, and you know i am left without horses, for this poor beast just come back, is unfit. neither do i think it would be altogether consistent with decorum, for zara to go with you quite alone." sir edward digby mentally sent the word decorum back to the place from whence it came; but he was resolved to press his point; and when zara replied, "oh, do let me go, papa!" he added, "my servant can accompany us, to satisfy propriety, sir robert; and you know i have quartered three horses upon you. then, as i find the fair lady is somewhat afraid of a multitude of soldiers, i promise most faithfully not even to dismount in woodchurch, but to say what i have to say, to the officer in command there, and then canter back over the country." "who is the officer in command?" asked sir robert croyland. zara drew her breath quick, but sir edward digby avoided the dangerous point. "irby has one troop there," he replied; "and there are parts of two others. when i have made interest enough here," he continued, with a half bow to zara, "i shall beg to introduce irby to you, sir robert; you will like him much, i think. i have known him long." "pray invite him to dinner while he stays," said sir robert croyland; "it will give me much pleasure to see him." "not yet--not yet!" answered digby, laughing; "i always secure my own approaches first." sir robert croyland smiled graciously, and, turning to zara, said, "well, my dear, i see no objection, if you wish it. you had better go and get ready." zara's cheek was glowing, and she took her father at the first word; but when she was gone, sir robert thought fit to lecture his guest a little, upon the bad habit of spoiling young ladies which he seemed to have acquired. he did it jocularly, but with his usual pompous and grave air; and no one would have recognised in the sir robert croyland walking in the garden, the father whom we have lately seen humbled before his own child. there is no part of a man's character which he keeps up so well to the world as that part which is not his own. the assertion may seem to be a contradiction in terms; but there is no other way of expressing the sense clearly; and whether those terms be correct or not, will depend upon whether character is properly innate or accumulated. sir edward digby answered gaily, for it was his object to keep his host in good humour at least, for the time. he denied the possibility of spoiling a lady, while he acknowledged his propensity to attempt impossibilities in that direction; and at the same time, with a good grace, and a frankness, real yet assumed--for his words were true, though they might not have been spoken just then, under any other circumstances--he admitted that, of all people whom he should like to spoil, the fair being who had just left them was the foremost. the words were too decided to be mistaken. sir edward digby was evidently a gentleman, and known to be a man of honour. no man of honour trifles with a woman's affections; and sir robert croyland, wise in this instance if not in others, did as all wise fathers would do, held his tongue for a time that the matter might cool and harden, and then changed the subject. digby, however, had grown thoughtful. did he repent what he had said? no, certainly not. he wished, indeed, that he had not been driven to say it so soon; for there were doubts in his own mind whether zara herself were altogether won. she was frank, she was kind, she trusted him, she acted with him; but there was at times a shade of reserve about her, coming suddenly, which seemed to him as a warning. she had from the first taken such pains to ensure that her confidence--the confidence of circumstances--should not be misunderstood; she had responded so little to the first approaches of love, while she had yielded so readily to those of friendship, that there was a doubt in his mind which made him uneasy; and, every now and then, her uncle's account of her character rung in his ear, and made him think--"i have found this artillery more dangerous than i expected." what a pity it is that uncles will not hold their tongues! at length, he bethought him that it would be as well to order the horses, which was accordingly done; and some time before they were ready, the fair girl herself appeared, and continued walking up and down the garden with her father and their guest, looking very lovely, both from excitement, which gave a varying colour to her cheek, and from intense feelings, which, denied the lips, looked out with deeper soul from the eyes. "i think, zara," said sir robert croyland, when it was announced that the horses and the servant were ready, "that you took sir edward to the north, when you went over to your uncle's. you had better, therefore, in returning--for i know, in your wild spirits, when once on horseback, you will not be contented with the straight road--you had better, i say, come by the southwest." "oh, papa, i could never learn the points of the compass in my life!" answered zara, laughing; "i suppose that is the reason why, as my aunt says, i steer so ill." "i mean--by the lower road," replied her father; and he laid such emphasis on the words, that zara received them as a command. they mounted and set out, much to the surprise of mrs. barbara croyland, who saw them from the window, and thence derived her first information of their intended expedition; for zara was afraid of her aunt's kindnesses, and never encountered them when she could help it. when they were a hundred yards from the house, the conversation began; but i will not enter into all the details; for at first they related to facts with which the reader is already well acquainted. sir edward digby told her at large, all that had passed between himself and leyton on the preceding day, and zara, in return, informed him of the message she had received from his friend, and how it had been conveyed. their minds then turned to other things, or rather to other branches of the same subjects; and, what was to be done? was the next question; for hours were flying--the moment that was to decide the fate of the two beings in whom each felt a deep though separate interest, was approaching fast; and no progress had apparently been made. zara's feelings seemed as much divided as edith's had been. she shrank from the thought, that her sister, whom she loved with a species of adoration, should sacrifice herself on any account to such a fate as that which must attend the wife of richard radford. she shrank also, as a young, generous woman's heart must ever shrink, from the thought of any one wedding the abhorred, and separating for ever from the beloved; but then, when she came to turn her eyes towards her father, she trembled for him as much as for edith; and, with her two hands resting on the pommel of the saddle, she gazed down in anxious and bitter thought. "i know not your father as well as you do, my dear miss croyland," said her companion, at length, as he marked these emotions; "and therefore i cannot tell what might be his conduct under particular circumstances." zara suddenly raised her eyes, and fixed them on his face; but digby continued. "i do not speak of the past, but of the future. i take it for granted--not alone as a courtesy, but from all i have seen--that sir robert croyland cannot have committed any act, that could justly render him liable to danger from the law." "thank you--thank you!" said zara, dropping her eyes again; "you judge rightly, i am sure." "but at the same time," he proceeded, "it is clear that some unfortunate concurrence of circumstances has placed him either really, or in imagination, in mr. radford's power. now, would he but act a bold and decided part--dare the worst--discountenance a bad man and a villain--even, if necessary, in his magisterial capacity, treat him as he deserves--he would take away the sting from his malice. any accusation this man might bring would have _enmity_ too strongly written upon it, to carry much weight; and all the evidence in favour of your father would have double force." "he cannot--he will not," answered zara, sadly, "unless he be actually driven. i know no more than you, sir edward, how all this has happened; but i know my father, and i know that he shrinks from disgrace more than death. an accusation, a public trial, would kill him by the worst and most terrible kind of torture. mr. radford, too, has wound the toils round him completely--that i can see. he could say that sir robert croyland has acted contrary to all his own principles, at his request; and he could point to the cause. he could say that sir robert croyland suddenly became, and has been for years the most intimate friend and companion of a man he scorned and avoided; and he could assert that it was because the proud man was in the cunning man's power. if, for vengeance, he chooses to avow his own disgrace--and what is there not mr. radford would avow to serve his ends?--believe me, he has my father in a net, from which it will be difficult to disentangle him." they both fell into thought again; but zara did not sink in digby's estimation, from the clear and firm view which she took of her father's position. "well," he said, at length, "let us wait, and hear what poor leyton has to tell you. perhaps he may have gained some further insight, or may have formed some plan; and now, zara, let us for a moment speak of ourselves. you see, to-day, i have been forced to make love to you." "too much," said zara, gravely. "i am sure you intended it for the best; but i am sorry it could not be avoided." "and yet it is very pleasant," answered digby, half jestingly, half seriously. zara seemed agitated: "do not, do not!" she replied; "my mind is too full of sad things, to think of what might be pleasant or not at another time;" and she turned a look towards him, in which kindness, entreaty, and seriousness were all so blended, that it left him in greater doubt than ever, as to her sensations. "besides," she added, the serious predominating in her tone, "consider what a difference one rash word, on either part, may make between us. let me regard you, at least for the present, as a friend--or a brother, as you once said, digby; let me take counsel with you, seek your advice, call for your assistance, without one thought or care to shackle or restrain me. in pity, do; for you know not how much i need support." "then i am most ready to give it, on your own terms, and in your own way," answered digby, warmly; but, immediately afterwards, he fell into a reverie, and in his own mind thought--"she is wrong in her view; or indifferent towards me. with a lover to whom all is acknowledged, and with whom all is decided, she would have greater confidence, than with a friend, towards whom the dearest feelings of the heart are in doubt. this must be resolved speedily, but not now; for it evidently agitates her too much.--yet, after all, in that agitation is hope." just as his meditations had reached this point, they passed by the little public house of the chequers, then a very favourite sign in england, and especially in that part of the country; and in five minutes after, they perceived a horseman on the road, riding rapidly towards them. "there is leyton," said sir edward digby, as he came somewhat nearer; but zara gazed forward with surprise, at the tall, manly figure, dressed in the handsome uniform of the time, the pale but noble countenance, and the calm commanding air. "impossible!" she cried. "why, he was a gay, slight, florid, young man." "six or seven years ago," answered digby; "but that, my dear miss croyland, is sir henry leyton, depend upon it." now, it may seem strange that edith should have instantly recognised, even at a much greater distance, the man whom her sister did not, though the same period had passed since each had seen him; but, it must be remembered, that edith was between two and three years older than zara; and those two or three years, at the time of life which they had reached when leyton left england, are amongst the most important in a woman's life--those when new feelings and new thoughts arise, to impress for ever, on the woman's heart, events and persons that the girl forgets in an hour. leyton, however, it certainly was; and when zara could see his features distinctly, she recalled the lines. springing from his horse as soon as he was near, her sister's lover cast the bridle of his charger over his arm, and, taking the hand she extended to him, kissed it affectionately: "oh, zara, how you are changed!" he said. "but so am i; and you have gained, whilst i have lost. it is very kind of you to come thus speedily." "you could not doubt, leyton, that i would, if possible," answered zara; "but all things are much changed in our house, as well as ourselves; and that wild liberty which we formerly enjoyed, of running whithersoever we would, is sadly abridged now. but what have you to say, leyton? for i dare not stay long." digby was dropping behind, apparently to speak to his servant for a moment; but leyton called to him, assuring him that he had nothing to say, which he might not hear. "presently, presently," answered zara's companion; and leaving them alone, he rode up to good mr. somers, who, with his usual discretion, had halted, as they halted, at a very respectful distance. the young officer seemed to give some orders, which were rather long, and then returned at a slow pace. in the meantime, the conversation of leyton and zara had gone on; but his only object, it appeared, was to see her, and to entreat her to aid and support his edith in any trial she might be put to. "i spent a short period of chequered happiness with her last night," he said; "and she then told me, dear zara, that she was sure her father would send for her in the course of this day. if such be the case, keep with her always as far as possible; bid her still remember harry leyton; bid her resist to the end; and assure her that he will come to her deliverance ultimately. were it myself alone, i would sacrifice anything, and set her free; but when i know that, by so doing, i should make her wretched for ever--that her own heart would be broken, and nothing but an early death relieve her, i cannot do it, zara--no one can expect it." "perhaps not--perhaps not, leyton;" answered zara, with the tears in her eyes; "but yet--my father! however, i cannot advise--i cannot even ask anything. all is so dark and perplexed, i am lost!" "i am labouring now, dear zara," replied the young officer, "to find or devise means of rendering his safety sure. already i have the power to crush the bad man in whose grasp he is, and render his testimony, whatever it may be, nearly valueless. at all events, the only course before us, is that which i have pointed out; and while digby is with you, you can never want the best and surest counsel and assistance. you may confide in him fully, zara. i have now known him many years; and a more honourable and upright man, or one of greater talent, does not live." there was something very gratifying to zara in what he said of his friend; and had she been in a mood to scrutinize her own feelings accurately, the pleasure that she experienced in hearing such words spoken of sir edward digby--the agitated sort of pleasure--might have given her an insight into her own heart. as it was, it only sent a passing blush into her cheek, and she replied, "i am sure he is all you say, harry; and indeed, it is to his connivance that i owe my being able to come hither to-day. these smugglers took away all my father's horses; and i suppose, from what i hear, that some of them have been captured by your men." "if such is the case they shall be sent back," replied leyton; "for i am well aware that the horses being found with the smugglers, is no proof that they were therewith the owner's consent. to-morrow, i trust to be able to give you a further insight into my plans, for i am promised some information of importance to-night; and perhaps, even before you reach home, i shall have put a bar against mr. richard radford's claims to edith, which he may find insurmountable." as he was speaking, sir edward digby returned, quickening his horse's pace as he came near, and pointing with his hand. "you have got a detachment out, i see, leyton," he said--"is there any new affair before you?" "oh, no," replied the colonel, "it is merely irby and a part of his troop, whom i have despatched to search the wood, for i have certain intelligence that the man we are seeking is concealed there." "they may save themselves the trouble," replied zara, shaking her head; "for though he was certainly there all yesterday, he made his escape this morning." leyton hit his lip, and his brow grew clouded. "that is unfortunate," he said, "most unfortunate!--i do not ask you how you know, zara; but are you quite sure?" "perfectly," she answered--"i would not deceive you for the world, leyton; and i only say what i have said, because i think that, if you do search the wood, it may draw attention to your being in this neighbourhood, which as yet is not known at harbourne, and it may embarrass us very much." "i am not sure, leyton," said sir edward digby, "that as far as your own purposes are concerned, it might not be better to seem, at all events, to withdraw the troops, or at least a part of them, from this neighbourhood. indeed, though i have no right to give you advice upon the subject, i think also it might be beneficial in other respects, for as soon as the smugglers think you gone, they will act with more freedom." "i propose to do so, to-morrow," replied the colonel; "but i have some information already, and expect more, upon which i must act in the first place. it will be as well, however, to stop irby's party, if there is no end to be obtained by their proceedings." he then took leave of zara and his friend, mounted his horse, and rode back to meet the troop that was advancing; while zara and sir edward digby, after following the same road up to the first houses of woodchurch, turned away to the right, and went back to harbourne, by the small country road which leads from kennardington to tenterden. their conversation, as they went, would be of very little interest to the reader; for it consisted almost altogether of comments upon leyton's changed appearance, and discussions of the same questions of doubt and difficulty which had occupied them before. they went slowly, however; and when they reached the house it did not want much more than three quarters of an hour to the usual time of dinner. sir robert croyland they found looking out of the glass-door, which commanded a view towards his brother's house, and his first question was, which way they had returned. sir edward digby gave an easy and unconcerned reply, describing the road they had followed, and comparing it, greatly to its disadvantage, with that which they had pursued on their former expedition. "then you saw nothing of the carriage, zara?" inquired her father. "it is very strange that edith has not come back." "no, we saw no carriage of any kind; but a carrier's cart," replied the young lady. "perhaps if edith did not know you were going to send, she might not be ready." this reason, however, did not seem to satisfy sir robert croyland; and after talking with him for a few minutes more as he stood, still gazing forth over the country, zara and digby retired to change their dress before dinner; and the latter received a long report from his servant of facts which will be shown hereafter. the man was particularly minute and communicative, because his master asked him no questions, and suffered him to tell his tale his own way. but that tale fully occupied the time till the second bell rang, and digby hurried down to dinner. still, miss croyland had not returned; and it was evident that sir robert croyland was annoyed and uneasy. all the suavity and cheerfulness of the morning was gone; for one importunate source of care and thought will always carry the recollection back to others; and he sat at the dinner table in silence and gloom, only broken by brief intervals of conversation, which he carried on with a laborious effort. just as mrs. barbara rose to retire, however, the butler re-entered the room, announcing to sir robert croyland that mr. radford had called, and wished to speak with him. "he would not come in, sir," continued the man, "for he said he wanted to speak with you alone, so i showed him into the library." sir robert croyland instantly rose, but looked with a hesitating glance at his guest, while mrs. barbara and zara retired from the room. "pray, do not let me detain you, sir robert," said the young officer; "i have taken as much wine as i ever do, and will go and join the ladies in the drawing-room." the customs of the day required that the master of the house should press the bottle upon his guest; and sir robert croyland did not fail to do so. but digby remained firm, and, to settle the question, walked quietly to the door and entered the drawing-room. there, he found zara seated; but mrs. barbara was standing near the table, and apparently in a state, for which the english language supplies but one term, and that not a very classical one. i mean, she was in a _fidget_. the reader is aware that the library of harbourne house was adjacent to the drawing-room, and that there was a door between them. it was a thick, solid, oaken door, however, such as shut out the wind in the good old times; and, moreover, it fitted very close. thus, though the minute after sir edward had entered the room, a low murmur, as of persons speaking somewhat loud, was heard from the library, not a single syllable could be distinguished; and mrs. barbara looked at the keyhole, with a longing indescribable. after about thirty seconds' martyrdom, mrs. barbara quitted the room: zara, who knew her aunt, candidly trusting, that she had gone to put herself out of temptation; and sir edward digby never for a moment imagining, that she could have been in any temptation at all. it may now be necessary, however, to follow sir robert croyland to the library, and to reveal to the reader all that mrs. barbara was so anxious to learn. he found mr. radford, booted and spurred, standing, with his tall, bony figure, in as easy an attitude as it could assume, by the fire-place; and the baronet's first question was, "in the name of heaven, radford, what has become of edith?--neither she nor the carriage have returned." "oh, yes, the carriage has, half an hour ago!" replied mr. radford; "and i met the horses going back as i came.--didn't you get my message which i sent by the coachman?" "no, i must have been at dinner," answered sir robert croyland, "and the fools did not give it to me." "well, it is no great matter," rejoined mr. radford, in the quietest possible tone. "it was only to say that i was coming over, and would explain to you all about miss croyland." "but where is she? why did she not come?" demanded her father, with some of the old impetuosity of his youth. "she is at my house," answered the other, deliberately; "i thought it would be a great deal better, croyland, to bring her there at once, as you left to me the decision of where the marriage was to be. she could be quite as comfortable there as here. my son will be up to-morrow; and the marriage can take place quietly, without any piece of work. now, here it would be difficult to manage it; for, in the first place, it would be dangerous for my son. you have got a stranger in the house, and a whole heap of servants, who cannot be trusted. i have arranged everything for the marriage, and for their going off quietly on their little tour. we shall soon get a pardon for this affair with the dragoons; and that will be all settled." sir robert croyland had remained mute; not with any calm or tranquil feelings, but with indignation and astonishment. "upon my life and soul," he cried, "this is too bad! do you mean to say, sir, that you have ventured, without my knowledge or consent, to change my daughter's destination, and take her to your house when i wished her to be brought here?" "undoubtedly," replied mr. radford, with the most perfect calmness. "well then, sir," exclaimed the baronet, irritated beyond all endurance--"i have to tell you, that you have committed a gross, insolent, and unjustifiable act; and i have to insist that she be brought back here this very night." "nay, my dear friend--nay," replied mr. radford, in a half jeering tone. "these are harsh words that you use; but you must hear me first, before i pay any attention to them." "i want to hear nothing, sir," cried sir robert croyland, his anger still carrying him forward. "but if you do not send her back to her own home, i will get horses over from tenterden, and bring her myself.--her slavery has not yet commenced, mr. radford." "i shall not be able to bring her over," answered mr. radford, still maintaining the same provoking coolness; "because, in case of her return, i should be obliged to use my horses myself, to lay certain important facts, which we both know of, before a brother magistrate." he paused, and sir robert croyland winced. but still indignation was uppermost for the time; and rapidly as lightning the thoughts of resistance passed through his mind. "this man's conduct is too bad," he said to himself. "after such a daring act as this, with his character blackened by so many stains, and so clear a case of revenge, the magistrates will surely hardly listen to him." but as he continued to reflect, timidity--the habitual timidity of many years--began to mingle with and dilute his resolution; and mr. radford, who knew him to the very heart, after having suffered him to reflect just long enough to shake his firmness, went on in a somewhat different tone, saying, "come, sir robert! don't be unreasonable; and before you quarrel irretrievably with an old friend, listen quietly to what he has got to say." "well, sir, well," said sir robert croyland, casting himself into a chair--"what is it you have got to say?" "why, simply this, my dear friend," answered mr. radford, "that you are not aware of all the circumstances, and therefore cannot judge yet whether i have acted right or wrong. you and i have decided, i think, that there can no longer be any delay in the arrangement of our affairs. i put it plainly to you yesterday, that it was to be now or never; and you agreed that it should be now. you brought me your daughter's consent in the afternoon; and so far the matter was settled. i don't want to injure you; and if you are injured, it is your own fault--" "but i gave no consent," said sir robert croyland, "that she should be taken to your house. the circumstances--the circumstances, mr. radford!" "presently, presently," replied his companion. "i take it for granted, that, when you have pledged yourself to a thing, you are anxious to accomplish it. now i tell you, there was no sure way of accomplishing this, but that which i have taken. do you know who is the commander of this dragoon regiment which is down here?--no. but i do. do you know who is the man, who, like a sub-officer of the customs, attacked our friends yesterday morning, took some fifty of them prisoners, robbed me of some seventy thousand pounds, and is now hunting after my son, as if he were a fox?--no. but i do; and i will tell you who he is.--one harry leyton, whom you may have heard of--now, lieutenant-colonel sir henry leyton, knight of the bath, forsooth!" sir robert croyland gazed upon him in astonishment; but, whatever were his other sensations, deep grief and bitter regret mingled with them, when he thought that circumstances should ever have driven or tempted him to promise his daughter's hand to a low, dissolute, unprincipled villan, and to put a fatal barrier between her and one whom he had always known to be generous, honorable, and high principled, and who had now gained such distinction in the service of his country. he remained perfectly silent, however; and the expression of surprise and consternation which his countenance displayed, was misinterpreted by mr. radford to his own advantage. "now, look here, sir robert," he continued; "if your daughter were in your house, you could not help this young man having some communication with her. he has already been over at your brother's, and has seen her, i doubt not. here, then, is your fair daughter miss zara, your guest sir edward digby--his intimate friend, i dare say--all your maids and half your men servants, even dear mrs. barbara herself, with her sweet meddling ways, would all be ready to fetch and carry between the lovers. in short, our whole plans would be overturned; and i should be compelled to do that which would be very disagreeable to me, and to strike at this upstart henry leyton through the breast of sir robert croyland. in my house, he can have no access to her; and though some mischief may already have been done, yet it can go no further." "now i understand what you mean by revenge," said the baronet, in a low tone, folding his hands together.--"now i understand." "well, but have i judged rightly or wrongly?" demanded mr. radford. "rightly, i suppose," said sir robert croyland, sadly. "it can't be helped;--but poor edith, how does she bear it?" "oh, very well," answered mr. radford, quietly. "she cried a little at first, and when she found where they were going, asked the coachman what he meant. it was my coachman, you know, not yours; and so he lied, like a good, honest fellow, and said you were waiting for her at my house. i was obliged to make up a little bit of a story too, and tell her you knew all about it; but that was no great harm; for i was resolved, you should know all about it, very soon." "lied like a good honest fellow!" murmured sir robert croyland, to himself. "well," he continued, aloud, "at all events i must come over to-morrow, and try to reconcile the poor girl to it." "do so, do so," answered mr. radford; "and in the meantime, i must be off; for i've still a good deal of work to do to-night. did you see, they have withdrawn the dragoons from the wood? they knew it would be of no use to keep them there. so now, good night--that's all settled." "all settled, indeed," murmured sir robert croyland as mr. radford left him; and for nearly half an hour after, he continued sitting in the library, with his hands clasped upon his knee, exactly in the same position. chapter vi. sir edward digby did not take advantage of the opportunity which mrs. barbara's absence afforded him. this may seem extraordinary conduct in a good soldier and quick and ready man; but he had his reasons for it. not that he was beginning to hesitate, as some men do, when--after having quite made up their minds--they begin to consider all the perils of their situation, and retreat, without much regard for their own consistency, or the feelings of the other persons interested. but, no--digby justly remembered that what he had to say might require some time, and that it might produce some agitation. moreover, he recollected that there are few things so disagreeable on earth, as being interrupted at a time when people's eyes are sparkling or in tears, when the cheek is flushed or deadly pale; and as he knew not when mrs. barbara might return, and certainly did not anticipate that she would be long absent, he resolved to wait for another opportunity. when he found minute after minute slip by, however, he began to repent of his determination; and certainly, although the word love never passed his lips, something very like the reality shone out in his eyes. perhaps, had zara been in any of her usual moods, more serious words might have followed. had she been gay and jesting, or calm and thoughtful, a thousand little incidents might have led on naturally to the unfolding of the heart of each. but, on the contrary, she was neither the one nor the other. she was evidently anxious, apprehensive, ill at ease; and though she conversed rationally enough for a person whose mind was in such a state, yet she frequently turned her eyes towards the door of the adjoining room, from which the sound of her father's voice and that of mr. radford might still be heard. sir edward digby endeavoured to gain her attention to himself, as much with a view to withdraw it from unpleasant subjects as anything else; and it was very natural that--with one so fair and so excellent, one possessing so much brightness, in spite of a few little spots--it was natural that his tone should become tenderer every minute. at length, however, she stopped him, saying, "i am very anxious just now. i fear there is some mischief going on there, which we cannot prevent, and may never know. edith's absence is certainly very strange; and i fear they may foil us yet." in a minute or two after, mrs. barbara croyland returned, but in such a flutter that she spoilt her embroidery, which she snatched up to cover her agitation, dropped her finest scissars, and broke the point off, and finally ran the needle into her finger, which, thereupon, spotted the silk with blood. she gave no explanation indeed of all this emotion, but looked several times at zara with a meaning glance; and when, at length, sir robert croyland entered the drawing-room, his whole air and manner did not tend to remove from his daughter's mind the apprehension which his sister's demeanour had cast over it. there is a general tone in every landscape which it never entirely loses; yet how infinite are the varieties which sunshine and cloud and storm, and morning, evening, and noon, bring upon it; and thus with the expression and conduct of every man, although they retain certain distinctive characteristics, yet innumerable are the varieties produced by the moods, the passions, and the emotions of the mind. sir robert croyland was no longer irritably thoughtful; but he was stern, gloomy, melancholy. he strove to converse, indeed; but the effort was so apparent, the pain it gave him so evident, that sir edward digby felt, or fancied, that his presence was a restraint. he had too much tact, however, to show that he imagined such to be the case; and he only resolved to retire to his own room as soon as he decently could. he was wrong in his supposition, indeed, that his host might wish to communicate something privately to zara, or to mrs. barbara. sir robert had nothing to tell; and therefore the presence of sir edward digby was rather agreeable to him than not, as shielding him from inquiries, which it might not have suited him to answer. he would have talked if he could, and would have done his best to make his house agreeable to his young guest; but his thoughts still turned, with all the bitterness of smothered anger, to the indignity he had suffered; and he asked himself, again and again, "will the time ever come, when i shall have vengeance for all this?" the evening passed gloomily, and in consequence slowly; and at length, when the clock showed that it still wanted a quarter to ten, digby rose and bade the little party good night, saying that he was somewhat tired, and had letters to write. "i shall go to bed too," said sir robert croyland, ringing for his candle. but digby quitted the room first; and zara could not refrain from saying, in a low tone, as she took leave of her father for the night, and went out of the room with him, "there is nothing amiss with edith, i trust, my dear father?" "oh dear, no!" answered sir robert croyland, with as careless an air as he could assume. "nothing at all, but that she does not come home to-night, and perhaps may not to-morrow." still unsatisfied, zara sought her own room; and when her maid had half performed her usual functions for the night, she dismissed her, saying, that she would do the rest herself. when alone, however, zara croyland did not proceed to undress, but remained thinking over all the events of the day, with her head resting on her hand, and her eyes cast down. the idea of edith and her fate mingled with other images. the words that digby had spoken, the increasing tenderness of his tone and manner, came back to memory, and made her heart flutter with sensations unknown till then. she felt alarmed at her own feelings; she knew not well what they were; but still she said to herself at every pause of thought--"it is all nonsense!--he will go away and forget me; and i shall forget him! these soldiers have always some tale of love for every woman's ear. it is their habit--almost their nature." did she believe her own conclusions? not entirely; but she tried to believe them; and that was enough for the present. some minutes after, however, when a light knock was heard at the door, she started almost as if some one had struck her; and fancy, who is always drawing upon improbability, made her believe, for an instant, that it might be digby. she said, "come in," however, with tolerable calmness; and the next instant, the figure of her aunt presented itself, with eagerness in her looks and importance in her whole air. "my dear child!" she said, "i did not know whether your maid was gone; but i am very happy she is, for i have something to tell you of very great importance indeed. what do you think that rascal radford has done?" and as she spoke, she sank, with a dignified air, into a chair. "i really can't tell, my dear aunt," replied zara, not a little surprised to hear the bad epithet which her aunt applied to a gentleman, towards whom she usually displayed great politeness. "i am sure he is quite capable of anything that is bad." "ah, he is very much afraid of me, and what he calls my sweet meddling ways," said the old lady; "but, perhaps, if i had meddled before, it might have been all the better. i am sure i am the very last to meddle, except when there is an absolute occasion for it, as you well know, my dear zara." the last proposition was put in some degree as a question; but zara did not think fit to answer it, merely saying, "what is it, my dear aunt?--i am all anxiety and fear regarding edith." "well you may be, my love," said mrs. barbara; and thereupon she proceeded to tell zara, how she had overheard the whole conversation between mr. radford and her brother, through the door of the library, which opened into the little passage, that ran between it and the rooms beyond. she did not say that she had put her ear to the keyhole; but that zara took for granted, and indeed felt somewhat like an accomplice, while listening to secrets which had been acquired by such means. thus almost everything that had passed in the library--with a few very short variations and improvements, but with a good deal of comment, and a somewhat lengthy detail--was communicated by mrs. barbara to her niece; and when she had done, the old lady added, "there, my dear, now go to bed and sleep upon it; and we will talk it all over in the morning, for i am determined that my niece shall not be treated in such a way by any vagabond smuggler like that. dear me! one cannot tell what might happen, with edith shut up in his house in that way. talk of my meddling, indeed! he shall find that i will meddle now to some purpose! good night, my dear love--good night!" but mrs. barbara stopped at the door, to explain to zara that she had not told her before, "because, you know," said the good lady, "i could not speak of such things before a stranger, like sir edward digby; and when he was gone, i didn't dare say anything to your father. think of it till to-morrow, there's a dear girl, and try and devise some plan." "i will," said zara--"i will;" but as soon as her aunt had disappeared, she clasped her hands together, exclaiming, "good heaven! what plan can i form? edith is lost! they have her now completely in their power. oh, that i had known this before sir edward digby went to sleep. he might have gone over to leyton to-morrow, early; and they might have devised something together. perhaps he has not gone to rest yet. he told me to throw off all restraint, to have no ceremony in case of need. leyton told me so, too--that i might trust in him--that he is a man of honour. oh, yes, i am sure he is a man of honour! but what will he think?--he promised he would think no harm of anything i might be called upon to do; and i promised i would trust him. i will go! he can speak to me in the passage. no one sleeps near, to overhear. but i will knock softly; for though he said he had letters to write, he may have gone to bed by this time." leaving the lights standing where they were, zara cast on a long dressing-gown, and crept quietly out into the passage, taking care not to pull the door quite to. all was silent in the house; not a sound was heard; and with her heart beating as if it would have burst through her side, she approached sir edward digby's door;--but there she paused. had she not paused, but gone on at once, and knocked, all would have been well; for, so far from being in bed, he was sitting calmly reading. but ladies' resolutions, and men's, are made of very much the same materials. the instant her foot stopped, her whole host of woman's feelings crowded upon her, and barred the way. first, she thought of modesty, and propriety, and decency; and then, though she might have overcome the whole of that squadron for edith's sake, the remembrance of many words that digby had spoken, the look, the tone, the manner, all rose again upon her memory. she felt that he was a lover; and putting her hand to her brow, she murmured--"i cannot; no, i cannot. had he been only a friend, i would.--i will see him early to-morrow. i will sit up all night, that i may not sleep, and miss the opportunity; but i cannot go to-night;" and, returning as quietly to her own chamber as she had come thence, she shut the door and locked it. she had never locked it in her life before; and she knew not why she did it. then, drawing the arm-chair to the hearth, zara croyland trimmed the fire, wrapped herself up as warmly as she could; and putting out one of the candles, that she might not be left in darkness by both being burnt out together, she took up a book, and began to read. from time to time, during that long night, her eyes grew heavy, and she fell asleep; but something always woke her. either her own thoughts troubled her in dreams, or else the book fell out of her hand, or the wind shook the window, or the cold chill that precedes the coming morning disturbed her; and at length she looked at her watch, and, finding it past five o'clock, she congratulated herself at having escaped the power of the drowsy god, and, dressing in haste, undrew the curtains, and looked out by the light of the dawning day. when she saw the edge of the sun coming up, she said to herself, "he is often very early. i will go down." but, bethinking herself that no time was to be lost, she hurried first to her maid's room, and waking her, told her to see sir edward digby's servant, as soon as he rose, and to bid him inform his master that she wanted to speak with him in the library. "speak not a word of this to any one else, eliza," she said; and then, thinking it necessary to assign some reason for her conduct, she added, "i am very anxious about my sister; her not coming home yesterday alarms me, and i want to hear more." "oh dear! you needn't frighten yourself, miss zara," replied the maid--"i dare say there's nothing the matter." "but i cannot help frightening myself," replied zara; and going down into the library, she unclosed one of the shutters. the maid was very willing to gratify her young lady, for zara was a favourite with all; but thinking from the look of the sky, that it would be a long time before the servant rose, and having no such scruples as her mistress, she went quietly away to his room, and knocked at his door, saying, "i wish you would get up, mr. somers--i want to speak with you." zara remained alone for twenty minutes in the library, or not much more, and then she heard digby's step in the passage. there was a good deal of alarm and surprise in his look when he entered; but his fair companion's tale was soon told; and that sufficiently explained her sudden call for his presence. he made no comment at the moment, but replied, "wait for me here one instant. i will order my horse, and be back directly." he was speedily by her side again; and then, taking her hand in his, he said, "i wish i had known this, last night.--you need not have been afraid of disturbing me, for i was up till nearly one." zara smiled: "you do not know," she answered, "how near i was to your door, with the intention of calling you." "and why did you not?" asked digby, eagerly. "nay, you must tell me, why you should hesitate when so much was at stake." "i can but answer, because my heart failed me," replied zara. "you know women's hearts are weak foolish things." "nay," said digby, "you must explain further.--why did your heart fail you? tell me, zara. i cannot rest satisfied unless you tell me." "indeed, there is no time now for explanation," she replied, feeling that her admission had drawn her into more than she had anticipated; "your horse will soon be here--and--and there is not a moment to lose." "there is time enough for those who will," answered digby, in a serious tone; "you promised me that you would not hesitate, whenever necessity required you to apply to me for counsel or aid--you have hesitated, zara. could you doubt me--could you be apprehensive--could you suppose that edward digby would, in word, deed, or thought, take advantage of your generous confidence?" "no, no--oh, no!" answered zara, warmly, blushing, and trembling at the same time, "i did not--i could not, after all you have done--after all i have seen. no, no; i thought you would think it strange--i thought----" "then you supposed i would wrong you in thought!" he replied, with some mortification in his manner; "you do not know me yet." "oh yes, indeed i do," she answered, feeling that she was getting further and further into difficulties; and then she added, with one of her sudden bursts of frankness, "i will tell you how it was--candidly and truly. just as i was at your door, and about to knock, the memory of several things you had said--inadvertently, perhaps--crossed my mind; and, though i felt that i could go at any hour to consult a friend in such terrible circumstances, i could not--no, i could not do so with a--with one--you see what harm you have done by such fine speeches!" she thought, that by her last words, she had guarded herself securely from any immediate consequences of this unreserved confession; but she was mistaken. she merely hurried on what might yet have rested for a day or two. sir edward digby took her other hand also, and held it gently yet firmly, as if he was afraid she should escape from him. "zara," he said, "dear zara, i have done harm, by speaking too much, or not enough. i must remedy it by the only means in my power.--listen to me for one moment, for i cannot go till all is said. you must cast off this reserve--you must act perfectly freely with me; i seek to bind you by no engagement--i will bear my doubt; i will not construe anything you do, as an acceptance of my suit; but you must know--nay, you do know, you do feel, that i am your lover. it was doubt of your own sensations towards me, that made you hesitate--it was fear that you should commit yourself, to that which you might, on consideration, be indisposed to ratify.--you thought that i might plead such confidence as a tacit promise; and that made you pause. but hear me, as i pledge myself--upon my honour, as a gentleman--that if you act fearlessly and freely, in the cause in which we are both engaged--if you confide in me--trust in me, and never hesitate to put yourself, as you may think, entirely in my power, i will never look upon anything as plighting you to me in the slightest degree, till i hear you say the words, 'digby, i am yours'--if ever that happy day should come. in the meantime, however, to set you entirely free from all apprehension of what others may say, i hold myself bound to you by every promise that man can make; and this very day i will ask your father's approbation of my suit. but i am well aware, though circumstances have shown me in a marvellous short time, that your heart and mind is equal to your beauty, yet it is not to be expected that such a being can be won in a few short days, and that i must wait in patience--not without hope, indeed, but with no presumption. by your conduct, at least, i shall know, whether i have gained your esteem.--your love, perhaps, may follow; and now i leave you, to serve your sister and my friend, to the best of my power." thus saying, he raised her hand to his lips, kissed it, and moved towards the door. there was a sad struggle in zara's breast; but as he was laying his hand upon the lock to open it, she said, "digby--digby--edward!" he instantly turned, and ran towards her; for her face had become very pale. she gave him her hand at once, however, "kind, generous man!" she said, "you must not go without hearing my answer. such a pledge cannot be all on one part. i am yours, digby, if you wish it; yet know me better first before you answer--see all my faults, and all my failings. even this must show you how strange a being i am--how unlike other girls--how unlike perhaps, the woman you would wish to call your wife!----" "wish it!" answered digby, casting his arm round her, "from my heart--from my very soul, zara. i know enough, i have seen enough, for i have seen you in circumstances that bring forth the bosom's inmost feelings; and though you are unlike others--and i have watched many in their course--that very dissimilarity is to me the surpassing charm. they are all art, you are all nature--ay, and nature in its sweetest and most graceful form; and i can boldly say, i never yet saw woman whom i should desire to call my wife till i saw you. i will not wait, dear girl; but, pledged to you as you are pledged to me, will not press this subject further on you, till your sister's fate is sealed. i must, indeed, speak with your father at once, that there may be no mistake, no misapprehension; but till all this sad business is settled, we are brother and sister, zara; and then a dearer bond." "oh, yes, yes--brother and sister!" cried zara, clinging to him at a name which takes fear from woman's heart, "so will we be, edward; and now all my doubts and hesitations will be at an end. i shall never fear more to seek you when it is needful." "and my suit will be an excuse and a reason to all others, for free interviews, and solitary rambles, and private conference, and every dear communion," answered digby, pleased, and yet almost amazed at the simplicity with which she lent herself to the magic of a word, when the heart led her. but zara saw he was a little extending the brother's privilege; and with a warm cheek but smiling lip, she answered, "there, leave me now; i see you are learned in the art of leading on from step to step. go on your way, edward; and, oh! be kind to me, and do not make me feel this new situation too deeply at first. there, pray take away your arm; none but a father's or a sister's has been there before; and it makes my heart beat, as if it were wrong." but digby kept it where it was for a moment or two longer, and gave a few instants to happiness, in which she shared, though it agitated her. "nay, go," she said, at length, in a tone of entreaty, "and i will lie down and rest for an hour; for i have sat up all night by the fire, lest i should be too late.--you must go, indeed. there is your horse upon the terrace; and we must not be selfish, but remember poor edith before we think of our own happiness." there was a sweet and frank confession in her words that pleased digby well; and leaving her with a heart at rest on his own account, he mounted his horse and rode rapidly away towards the quarters of sir henry leyton. chapter vii. the reader has doubtless remarked--for every reader who peruses a book to any purpose must remark everything, inasmuch as the most important events are so often connected with insignificant circumstances, that the one cannot be understood without the other--the reader has doubtless remarked, that mr. radford, on leaving sir robert croyland, informed his unhappy victim, that he had still a good deal of business to do that night. now, during the day he had--as may well be judged from his own statement of all the preparations he had already made--done a great deal of very important business; but the details of his past proceedings i shall not enter into, and only beg leave to precede him by a short time, to the scene of those farther operations which he had laid out as the close of that evening's labours. it is to the lone house, as it was called, near iden green, that i wish to conduct my companions, and a solitary and gloomy looking spot it was, at the time i speak of. all that part of the country is now very thickly inhabited: the ground bears nearly as large a population as it can support; and though there are still fields, and woods, and occasional waste places, yet no such events could now happen as those which occurred eighty or a hundred years ago, when one might travel miles, in various parts of kent, without meeting a living soul. the pressure of a large population crushes out the bolder and more daring sorts of crime, and leaves small cunning to effect, in secret, what cannot be accomplished openly, under the police of innumerable eyes. but it was not so in those days; and the lone house near iden green, whatever it was originally built for, had become the refuge and the lurking-place of some of the most fierce and lawless men in the country. it was a large building, with numerous rooms and passages; and it had stables behind it, but no walled courtyard; for the close sweeping round of the wood, a part of which still exists in great beauty, was a convenience on which its architect seemed to have calculated. standing some way off the high road, and about half a mile from collyer green, it was so sheltered by trees that, on whichever side approached, nothing could be seen but the top of the roof and part of a garret-window, till one was within a short distance of the edifice. but that garret-window had its advantages; for it commanded a view over a great part of the country, on three sides, and especially gave a prospect of the roads in the neighbourhood. the building was not a farm-house, for it had none of the requisites; it could not well be a public-house, though a sign swung before it; for the lower windows were boarded up, and the owner or tenant thereof, if any traveller whom he did not know, stopped at his door--which was, indeed, a rare occurrence--told him that it was all a mistake, and cursing the sign, vowed he would have it cut down. nevertheless, if the ramleys, or any of their gang, or, indeed, any members of a similar fraternity, came thither, the doors opened as if by magic; and good accommodation for man and horse was sure to be found within. it was also remarked, that many a gentleman in haste went in there, and was never seen to issue forth again till he appeared in quite a different part of the country; and, had the master of the house lived two or three centuries earlier, he might on that very account have risked the fagot, on a charge of dealing with the devil. as it was, he was only suspected of being a coiner; but in regard to that charge, history has left no evidence, pro or con. it was in this house, however, on the evening of the day subsequent to the discomfiture of the smugglers, that six men were assembled in a small room at the back, all of whom had, more or less, taken part in the struggle near woodchurch. the two younger ramleys were there, as well as one of the principal members of their gang, and two other men, who had been long engaged in carrying smuggled goods from the coast, as a regular profession; but who were, in other respects, much more respectable persons than those by whom they were surrounded. at the head of the table, however, was the most important personage of the whole: no other than richard radford himself, who had joined his comrades an hour or two before. the joy and excitement of his escape from the wood, the temporary triumph which he had obtained over the vigilance of the soldiery, and the effect produced upon a disposition naturally bold, reckless, and daring, by the sudden change from imminent peril to comparative security, had all raised his spirits to an excessive pitch; and, indeed, the whole party, instead of seeming depressed by their late disaster, appeared elevated with that wild and lawless mirth, which owns no tie or restraint, reverences nothing sacred or respectable. spirits and water were circulating freely amongst them; and they were boasting of their feats in the late skirmish, or commenting upon its events, with many a jest and many a falsehood. "the major did very well, too," said ned ramley, "for he killed one of the dragoons, and wounded another, before he went down himself, poor devil!" "here's to the major's ghost!" cried young radford, "and i'll try to give it satisfaction by avenging him. we'll have vengeance upon them yet, ned." "ay, upon all who had any concern in it," answered jim ramley, with a meaning look. "and first upon him who betrayed us," rejoined richard radford; "and i will have it, too, in a way that shall punish him more than if we flogged him to death with horse-whips, as the sussex men did to chater at the flying bull, near hazlemere." the elder of the two ramleys gave a look towards the men who were at the bottom of the table; and richard radford, dropping his voice, whispered something to ned ramley, who replied aloud, with an oath, "i'd have taken my revenge, whatever came of it." "no, no," answered radford, "the red-coats were too near. however, all's not lost that's delayed. i wonder where that young devil, little starlight's gone to. i sent him three hours ago to cranbrook with the clothes, and told him to come back and tell me if she passed. she'll not go now, that's certain; for she would be in the dark. have you any notion, ned, how many men we could get together in case of need?" "oh, fifty or sixty!" said one of the men from the bottom of the table, who seemed inclined to have his share in the conversation, as soon as it turned upon subjects with which he was familiar; "there are seven or eight hid away down at cranbrook, and nine or ten at tenterden, with some of the goods, too." "ah, that's well!" answered young radford; "i thought all the goods had been taken." "oh, dear no," replied jim ramley, "we've got a thousand pounds' worth in this house, and i dare say double as much is scattered about in different hides. the light things were got off; but they are the most valuable." "i'll tell you what, my men," cried young radford, "as soon as these soldiers are gone down to the coast again, we'll all gather together, and do some devilish high thing, just to show them that they are not quite masters of the country yet. i've a great mind to burn their inn at woodchurch, just for harbouring them. if we don't make these rascally fellows fear us, the trade will be quite put down in the county." "i swear," exclaimed ned ramley, with a horrible blasphemy, "that if i can catch any one who has peached, even if it be but by one word, i will split his head like a lobster." "and i, too!" answered his brother; and several others joined in the oath. the conversation then took another turn; and while it went on generally around the table, young radford spoke several times in a low voice to the two who sat next to him, and the name of harding was more than once mentioned. the glass circulated very freely also; and although none of them became absolutely intoxicated, yet all of them were more or less affected by the spirits, when the boy, whom we have called little starlight, crept quietly into the room, and approached mr. radford. "she's not come, sir," he said; "i waited a long while, and then went and asked the old woman of the shop, telling her that i was to be sure and see that kate clare got the bundle; but she said that she certainly wouldn't come to-night." "that's a good boy," said young radford. "go and tell the people to bring us some candles; and then i'll give you a glass of hollands for your pains. it's getting infernally dark," he continued, "and as nothing more is to be done to-day, we may as well make a night of it." "no, no," answered one of the men at the bottom of the table, "i've had enough, and i shall go and turn in." nobody opposed him; and he and his companion soon after left them. a smile passed round amongst the rest as soon as the two had shut the door. "now those puny fellows are gone," said jim ramley, "we can say what we like. first, let us talk about the goods, mr. radford, for i don't think they are quite safe here. they had better be got up to your father's as soon as possible, for if the house were to be searched, we could get out into the wood, but they could not." "hark!" said young radford; "there's some one knocking hard at the house door, i think." "ay, trust all that to obadiah," said ned ramley. "he wont open the door till he sees who it is." the minute after, however, old mr. radford stood amongst them; and he took especial care not to throw any damp upon their spirits, but rather to encourage them, and make light of the late events. he sat down for a few minutes by his son, took a glass of hollands and water, and then whispered to his hopeful heir that he wanted to speak with him for a minute. the young man instantly rose, and led the way out into the room opposite, which was vacant. "by heaven, dick, this is an awkward job!" said his father; "the loss is enormous, and never to be recovered." "the things are not all lost," answered richard radford. "a great quantity of the goods are about the country. there's a thousand pounds' worth, they say, in this house." "we must have them got together as fast as possible," said mr. radford, "and brought up to our place. all that is here had better be sent up about three o'clock in the morning." "i'll bring them up myself," replied his son. "no, no, no!" said mr. radford; "you keep quiet where you are, till to-morrow night." "pooh, nonsense," answered the young man; "i'm not at all afraid.--very well--very well, they shall come up, and i'll follow to-morrow night, if you think i can be at the hall in safety." "i don't intend you to be long at the hall," answered mr. radford: "you must take a trip over the sea, my boy, till we can make sure of a pardon for you. there! you need not look so blank. you shan't go alone. come up at eleven o'clock; and you will find edith croyland waiting to give you her hand, the next day.--then a post-chaise and four, and a good tight boat on the beach, and you are landed in france in no time. everything is ready--everything is settled; and with her fortune, you will have enough to live like a prince, till you can come back here." all this intelligence did not seem to give richard radford as much satisfaction as his father expected. "i would rather have had little zara, a devilish deal!" he replied. "very likely," answered his father, with his countenance changing, and his brow growing dark; "but that wont do, dick. we have had enough nonsense of all sorts; and it must now be brought to an end. it's not the matter of the fortune alone; but i am determined that both you and i shall have revenge." "revenge!" said his son; "i don't see what revenge has to do with that." "i'll tell you," answered old mr. radford, in a low tone, but bitter in its very lowness. "the man who so cunningly surrounded you and the rest yesterday morning, who took all my goods, and murdered many of our friends, is that very harry leyton, whom you've heard talk of. he has come down here on purpose to ruin you and me, if possible, and to marry edith croyland; but he shall never have her, by----," and he added a fearful oath which i will not repeat. "ay, that alters the case," replied richard radford, with a demoniacal smile; "oh, i'll marry her and make her happy, as the people say. but i'll tell you what--i'll have my revenge, too, before i go, and upon one who is worse than the other fellow--i mean the man who betrayed us all." "who is that?" demanded the father. "harding," answered young radford--"harding." "are you sure that it was he?" asked the old gentleman; "i have suspected him myself, but i have no proof." "but i have," replied his son: "he was seen several nights before, by little starlight, talking for a long while with this very colonel of dragoons, upon the cliff. another man was with him, too--most likely mowle; and then, again, yesterday evening, some of these good fellows who were on the look-out to help me, saw him speaking to a dragoon officer at widow clare's door; so he must be a traitor, or they would have taken him." "then he deserves to be shot," said old radford, fiercely; "but take care, dick: you had better not do it yourself. you'll find him difficult to get at, and may be caught." "leave him to me--leave him to me," answered his hopeful son; "i've a plan in my head that will punish him better than a bullet. but the bullet he shall have, too; for all the men have sworn that they will take his blood; but that can be done after i'm gone." "but what's your plan, my boy?" asked old mr. radford. "never mind, never mind!" answered richard, "i'll find means to execute it.--i only wish those dragoons were away from harbourne wood." "why, they are," exclaimed his father, laughing. "they were withdrawn this afternoon, and a party of them, too, marched out of woodchurch, as if they were going to ashford. i dare say, by this time to-morrow night, they will be all gone to their quarters again." "then it's all safe!" said his son; and after some more conversation between the two--and various injunctions upon the part of the old man, as to caution and prudence, upon the part of the young one, they parted for the time. young radford then rejoined his companions, and remained with them till about one o'clock in the morning, when the small portion of smuggled goods which had been saved, was sent off, escorted by two men, towards radford hall, where they arrived safely, and were received by servants well accustomed to such practices. they consisted of only one horse-load, indeed, so that the journey was quickly performed; and the two men returned before five. although richard radford had given his father every assurance that he would remain quiet, and take every prudent step for his own concealment, his very first acts showed no disposition to keep his word. before eight o'clock in the morning, he, the two ramleys, and one or two other men, who had come in during the night, were out amongst the fields and woods, "reconnoitring," as they called it; but, with a spirit in their breasts, which rendered them ready for any rash and criminal act that might suggest itself. thus occupied, i shall for the present leave them, and show more of their proceedings at a future period. chapter viii. having now led the history of a great part of the personages in our drama up to the same point of time, namely, the third morning after the defeat of the smugglers, we may as well turn to follow out the course of sir edward digby, on a day that was destined to be eventful to all the parties concerned. on arriving at woodchurch, he found a small body of dragoons, ready mounted, at the door of the little inn, and two saddled horses, held waiting for their riders. without ceremony, he entered, and went up at once to leyton's room, where he found him, booted and spurred to set out, with mowle the officer standing by him, looking on, while sir henry placed some papers in a writing-desk, and locked them up. the young commander greeted his friend warmly; and then, turning to the officer of customs, said, "if you will mount, mr. mowle, i will be down with you directly;" and as soon as mowle, taking the hint, departed, he continued, in a quick tone, but with a faint smile upon his countenance, "i know your errand, digby, before you tell it. edith has been transferred to the good charge and guidance of mr. radford; but that has only prepared me to act more vigorously than ever. my scruples on sir robert croyland's account are at an end.--heaven and earth! is it possible that a man can be so criminally weak, as to give his child up--a sweet, gentle girl like that--to the charge of such a base unprincipled scoundrel!" "nay, nay, we must do sir robert justice," answered digby. "it was done without his consent--indeed, against his will; and, a more impudent and shameless piece of trickery was never practised. you must listen for one moment, leyton, though you seem in haste;" and he proceeded to detail to him, as succinctly as possible, all that had occurred between mr. radford and edith's father on the preceding evening, stating his authority, and whence zara had received her information. "that somewhat alters the case, indeed;" answered leyton; "but it must not alter my conduct. i am, indeed, in haste, digby, for i hope, ere two or three hours are over, to send the young scoundrel, for whose sake all this is done, a prisoner to the gaol. mowle has somehow got information of where he is--from undoubted authority, he says; and we are away to iden green, in consequence. we shall get more information by the way; and i go with the party for a certain distance, in order to be at hand, in case of need; but, as it does not do for me, in my position, to take upon me the capture of half-a-dozen smugglers, the command of the party will rest with cornet joyce. we will deal with mr. radford, the father, afterwards. but, in the meantime, digby, as your information certainly gives a different view of the case, from that which i had before taken, you will greatly oblige me if you can contrive to ride over to mr. croyland's, and see if you can find mr. warde there. beg him to let me have the directions he promised, by four o'clock to-day; and if you do not find him, leave word to that effect, with mr. croyland himself." "you seem to place great faith in warde," said sir edward digby, shaking his head. "i have cause--i have cause, digby," answered his friend. "but i must go, lest this youth escape me again." "well, god speed you, then," replied digby. "i will go to mr. croyland at once, and can contrive, i dare say, to get back to harbourne by breakfast time. it is not above two or three miles round, and i will go twenty, at any time, to serve you, leyton." sir edward digby found good mr. zachary croyland walking about in his garden, in a state of irritation indescribable. he, also, was aware, by this time, of what had befallen his niece; and such was his indignation, that he could scarcely find it in his heart to be even commonly civil to any one. on sir edward digby delivering his message, as he found that mr. warde was not there, the old gentleman burst forth, exclaiming, "what have i to do with warde, sir, or your friend either, sir?--your friend's a fool! he might have walked out of that door with edith croyland in his hand; and that's no light prize, let me tell you; but he chose to be delicate, and gentlemanly, and all that sort of stupidity, and you see what has come of it. and now, forsooth, he sends over to ask advice and directions from warde. well, i will tell the man, if i see him--though heaven only knows whether that will be the case or not." "sir henry leyton seems to place great confidence in mr. warde," replied digby, "which i trust may be justified." mr. croyland looked at him sharply, for a moment, from under his cocked hat, and then exclaimed, "pish! you are a fool, young man.--there, don't look so fierce. i've given over fighting for these twenty years; and, besides--you wouldn't come to the duello with little zara's uncle, would you? ha, ha, ha!--ha, ha, ha!--ha, ha, ha!" and he laughed immoderately, but splenetically enough at the same time. "but i ought to have put my meaning as a question, not as a proposition," he continued. "are you such a fool as not to know the difference between an odd man and a madman, an eccentric man and a lunatic? if so, you had better get away as fast as possible; for you and i are likely soon to fall out. i understand what you mean about warde, quite well; but i can tell you, that if you think warde mad, i'm quite as mad as he is, only that his oddities lie all on the side of goodness and philanthropy, and mine now and then take a different course. but get you gone--get you gone; you are better than the rest of them, i believe. i do hope and trust you'll marry zara; and then you'll plague each other's souls, to my heart's content." he held his hand out as he spoke; and digby shook it, laughing good-humouredly; but, ere he had taken ten steps towards the door of the house, through which he had to pass before he could mount his horse, mr. croyland called after him, "digby, digby!--sir eddard!--eldest son! i say,--how could you be such a fool as not to run that fellow through the stomach when you had him at your feet? you see what a quantity of mischief has come of it. you are all fools together, you soldiers, i think;--but it's true, a fool does as well as anything else to be shot at.--how's your shoulder? better, i suppose." "i have not thought of it for the last two days," replied digby. "well, that will do," said mr. croyland. "cured by the first intention. there, you may go: i don't want you. only, pray tell my brother, that i think him as great a rascal as old radford.--he'll know how much that means.--one's a weak rascal, and the other's a strong one; that's the only difference between them; and robert may fit on which cap he likes best." digby did not think it necessary to stop to justify sir robert croyland in his brother's opinion; but, mounting his horse, he rode back across the country towards harbourne as fast as he could go. he reached the house before the usual breakfast hour; but he found that everybody there had been an early riser as well as himself; the table was laid ready for breakfast; and sir robert croyland was waiting in the drawing-room with some impatience in his looks. "i think i am not too late, sir robert," said digby, taking out his watch, and bowing with a smile to zara and mrs. barbara. "no, oh dear, no, my young friend," replied the baronet; "only in such a house as this, breakfast is going on all the morning long; and i thought you would excuse me, if i took mine a little earlier than usual, as i have got some way to go this morning." this was said as they were entering the breakfast-room; but sir edward digby replied, promptly, "i must ask you to spare me five minutes before you go, sir robert, as i wish to speak with you for a short time." his host looked uneasy; for he was in that nervous and agitated state of mind, in which anything that is not clear and distinct seems terrible to the imagination, from the consciousness that many ill-defined calamities are hanging over us. he said, "certainly, certainly!" however, in a polite tone; but he swallowed his breakfast in haste; and the young officer perceived that his host looked at every mouthful he took, as if likely to procrastinate the meal. zara's face, too, was anxious and thoughtful; and consequently he hurried his own breakfast as fast as possible, knowing that the signal to rise would be a relief to all parties. "if you will come into my little room, sir edward," said the master of the house, as soon as he saw that his guest was ready, "i shall be very happy to hear what you have to say." sir edward digby followed in silence; and, to tell the truth, his heart beat a good deal, though it was not one to yield upon slight occasions. "i will not detain you a moment, sir robert," he said, when they had entered, and the door was shut, "for what i have to say will be easily answered. i am sensible, that yesterday my attention to your youngest daughter must have been remarked by you, and, indeed, my manner altogether must have shown you, and herself also, that i feel differently towards her and other women. i do not think it would be right to continue such conduct for one moment longer, without your approbation of my suit; and i can only further say, that if you grant me your sanction, i feel that i can love her deeply and well, that i will try to make her happy to the best of my power, and that my fortune is amply sufficient to maintain her in the station of life in which she has always moved, and to make such a settlement upon her as i trust will be satisfactory to you. i will not detain you to expatiate upon my feelings; but such is a soldier's straightforward declaration, and i trust you will countenance and approve of my addressing her." sir robert croyland shook him warmly by the hand. "'my dear sir edward," he said, "you are your father's own son--frank, candid, and honourable. he was one of the most gentlemanly and amiable men i ever knew; and it will give me heartfelt pleasure to see my dear child united to his son. but--indeed, i must deal with you as candidly----" he hesitated for a moment or two, and then went on--"perhaps you think that circumstances here are more favourable than they really are. things may come to your knowledge--things may have to be related--zara's fortune will be----" sir edward digby saw that sir robert croyland was greatly embarrassed; and for an instant--for love is a very irritable sort of state, at least for the imagination, and he was getting over head and ears in love, notwithstanding all his good resolutions--for an instant, i say, he might think that zara had been engaged before, and that sir robert was about to tell him, that it was not the ever-coveted, first freshness of the heart he was to possess in her love, even if it were gained entirely. but a moment's thought, in regard to her father's situation, together with the baronet's last words, dispelled that unpleasant vision, and he replied, eagerly, "oh, my dear sir, that can make no difference in my estimation. if i can obtain her full and entire love, no external circumstance whatsoever can at all affect my views.--i only desire her hand." "no external circumstances whatsoever!" said sir robert croyland, pausing on the words. "are you sure of your own firmness, sir edward digby? if her father were to tell you he is a ruined man--if he had many circumstances to relate which might make it painful to you to connect yourself with him--i do not say that it is so; but if it were?" "rather an awkward position!" thought sir edward digby; but his mind was fully made up; and he replied, without hesitation, "it would still make no difference in my eyes, sir robert. i trust that none of these terrible things are the case, for your sake; but i should despise myself, if, with enough of my own, i made fortune any ingredient in my considerations, or if i could suffer my love for a being perfectly amiable in herself, to be affected by the circumstances of her family." sir robert croyland wrung his hand hard; and digby felt that it was a sort of compact between them. "i fear i must go," said zara's father, "and therefore i cannot explain more; but it is absolutely necessary to tell you that all my unmortgaged property is entailed, and will go to my brother, that edith's fortune is totally independent, and that zara has but a tithe of what her sister has." "still i say, as i said before," replied digby, "that nothing of that kind can make any difference to me; nor will i ever suffer any consideration, not affecting your daughter personally--and i beg this may be clearly understood--to make any change in my views. if i can win her love--her entire, full, hearty love--with your sanction, she is mine. have i that sanction. sir robert?" "fully, and from my heart," replied sir robert croyland, with the unwonted tears coursing over his cheeks. "go to her, my dear friend--go to her, and make what progress you may, with my best wishes. this is indeed a great happiness--a great relief!" thus saying, he followed sir edward digby out of the room; and, mounting a new horse which had been brought up from his bailiff's, he rode slowly and thoughtfully away. as he went, a faint hope--nay, it could hardly be called a hope--a vague, wild fancy of explaining his whole situation to sir edward digby, and gaining the blessed relief of confidence and counsel, arose in sir robert croyland's breast. alas! what an unhappy state has been brought about by the long accumulation of sin and deceit which has gathered over human society! that no man can trust another fully! that we dare not confide our inmost thoughts to any! that there should be a fear--the necessity for a fear--of showing the unguarded heart to the near and dear! that every man should--according to the most accursed axiom of a corrupt world--live with his friend as if he were one day to be his enemy. oh, truths and honour, and sincerity! oh, true christianity! whither are ye gone? timidity soon banished such thoughts from the breast of sir robert croyland, though there was something in the whole demeanour of his daughter's lover which showed him that, if ever man was to be trusted, he might trust there; and had he known how deeply digby was already acquainted with much that concerned him, he might perhaps have gone one step farther, and told him all. as it was, he rode on, and soon gave himself up to bitter thoughts again. in the meantime. sir edward digby returned to zara and mrs. barbara in the drawing-room, with so well satisfied a look, that it was evident to both, his conversation with sir robert had not referred to any unpleasant subject, and had not had any unpleasant result. he excited the elder lady's surprise, however, and produced some slight agitation in the younger, by taking zara by the hand, and in good set terms of almost formal courtesy, requesting a few minutes' private audience. her varying colour, and her hesitating look, showed her lover that she apprehended something more unpleasant than he had to say; and he whispered, as they went along towards the library, "it is nothing--it is nothing but to tell you what i have done, and to arrange our plan of campaign." zara looked up in his face with a glad smile, as if his words took some terror from her heart; and as soon as he was in the room, he let go her hand, and turned the key in such a manner in the door, that the key-hole could not serve the purpose of a perspective glass, even if it might that of an ear-trumpet. "forgive me, dear zara," he said, "if i take care to secure our defences; otherwise, as your good aunt is perfectly certain that i am about to fall on my knees, and make my declaration, she might be seized with a desire to witness the scene, not at all aware that it has been performed already. but not to say more," he continued, "on a subject on which you have kindly and frankly set a lover's heart at rest, let me only tell you that your father has fully sanctioned my suit, which i know, after what you have said, will not be painful to you to hear." "i was sure he would," answered zara; "not that he entered into any of my aunt's castles in the air, or that he devised my schemes, digby; but, doubtless, he wishes to see a fortuneless girl well married, and would have been content with a lover for her, who might not have suited herself quite so well. you see i deal frankly with you, digby, still; and will do so both now and hereafter, if you do not check me." "never, never will i!" answered sir edward digby; "it was so you first commanded my esteem, even before my love; and so you will always keep it." "before your love?" said zara, in an unwontedly serious tone; "your love is very young yet, digby; and sometimes i can hardly believe all this to be real.--will it last? or will it vanish away like a dream, and leave me waking, alone and sorrowful?" "and yours for me, zara?" asked her lover; but then, he added, quickly, "no, i will not put an unfair question: and every question is unfair that is already answered in one's own heart. yours will, i trust, remain firm for me--so mine, i know, will for you, because we have seen each other under circumstances which have called forth the feelings, and displayed fully all the inmost thoughts which years of ordinary intercourse might not develop. but now, dear zara, let us speak of our demeanour to each other. it will, perhaps, give us greater advantage if you treat me--perhaps, as a favoured, but not yet as an accepted lover. i will appear willingly as your humble slave and follower, if you will, now and then, let me know in private that i am something dearer; and by keeping up the character with me, which has gained you your uncle's commendation as a fair coquette, you may, perhaps, reconcile mrs. barbara to many things, which her notions of propriety might interfere with, if they were done as between the betrothed." "i fear i shall manage it but badly, digby," she answered. "it was very easy to play the coquette before, when no deeper feelings were engaged, when i cared for no one, when all were indifferent to me. it might be natural to me, then; but i do not think i could play the coquette with the man i loved. at all events, i should act the part but badly, and should fancy he was always laughing at me in his heart, and triumphing over poor zara croyland, when he knew right well that he had the strings of the puppet in his hand. however, i will do my best, if you wish it; and i do believe, from knowing more of this house than you do, that your plan is a good one. the airs i have given myself, and the freedom i have taken, have been of service both to myself and edith--to her in many ways, and to myself in keeping from me all serious addresses from men i could not love.--yours is the first proposal i have ever had, digby; so do not let what my uncle has said, make you believe that you have conquered a queen of hearts, who has set all others at defiance." "no _gentleman_ was ever refused by a _lady_," answered digby, laying a strong emphasis on each noun-substantive. "so, then, you were quite sure, before you said a word!" cried zara, laughing. "well, that is as frank a confession as any of my own! and yet you might have been mistaken; for esteeming you as i did, and circumstanced as i was, i would have trusted you as much, digby, if you had been merely a friend." "but you would not have shown me the deeper feelings of your heart upon other indifferent subjects," replied her lover. zara blushed, and looked down; then suddenly changed the course of conversation, saying, "but you have not told me what leyton thought of all this, and what plans you have formed. what is to be done? was he not deeply grieved and shocked?" sir edward digby told her all that had passed, and then added, "i intend now to send out my servant, somers, to reconnoitre. he shall waylay leyton on his return, and bring me news of his success. if this youth be safely lodged in gaol, his pretensions are at an end, at least for the present; but if he again escape, i think, ere noon to-morrow, i must interfere myself. i have now a better right to do so than i have hitherto had; and what i have heard from other quarters will enable me to speak boldly--even to your father, dear one--without committing either you or edith." zara paused and thought; but all was still dark on every side, and she could extract no ray of light from the gloom. digby did not fail (as, how could a lover neglect?) to try to lead her mind to pleasanter themes; and he did so in some degree. but we have been too long eaves-dropping upon private intercourse, and we will do so no more. the rest of the day passed in that mingled light and shade, which has a finer interest than the mere broad sunshine, till the return of sir robert croyland, when the deep sadness that overspread his countenance clouded the happiness of all the rest. shortly after, zara saw her lover's servant ride up the road, at considerable speed; and as it wanted but half-an-hour to dinner-time, digby, who marked his coming also, retired to dress. when he returned to the drawing-room, there was a deeper and a sterner gloom upon his brow than the fair girl had ever seen; but her father and aunt were both present, and no explanation could take place. after dinner, too, sir robert croyland and his guest returned to the drawing-room together; and though the cloud was still upon digby's countenance, and he was graver than he had ever before appeared, yet she whom he loved could gain no tidings. to her he was still all tenderness and attention; but zara could not play the part she had undertaken; and often her eyes rested on his face, with a mute, sad questioning, which made her aunt say to herself, "well, zara is in love at last!" thus passed a couple of hours, during which not above ten words were uttered by sir robert croyland. at length, lights were brought in, after they had been for some time necessary; and at the end of about ten minutes more, the sound of several horses coming at a quick pace was heard. the feet stopped at the great door, the bell rang, and voices sounded in the hall. the tones of one, deep, clear, and mellow, made both zara and her father start; and in a minute after, the butler entered--he was an old servant--saying, in a somewhat embarrassed manner, "colonel sir henry leyton, sir, wishes to speak with you immediately on business of importance." "who--who?" demanded sir robert, "sir henry leyton!--well, well, take him in somewhere!" he rose from his chair, but staggered perceptibly for a moment; then, overcoming the emotion that he could not but feel, he steadied himself by the arm of his chair, and left the room. zara gazed at digby, and he at her he loved; but this night mrs. barbara thought fit to sit where she was; and digby, approaching zara's seat, bent over her, whispering, "leyton has a terrible tale to tell; but not affecting edith. she is safe.--what more he seeks, i do not know." chapter ix. after parting with sir edward digby at woodchurch, henry leyton had ridden on at a quick pace to park-gate, and thence along the high road, to cranbrook. he himself was habited in the undress of his regiment, though with pistols at his saddle, and a heavy sword by his side. one of his servants followed him similarly accoutred, and an orderly accompanied the servant, while by the young officer's side appeared our good friend mr. mowle, heavily armed, with the somewhat anomalous equipments of a riding officer of customs in those days. at a little distance behind this first group, came cornet joyce, and his party of dragoons; and in this order they all passed through cranbrook, about nine o'clock; but a quarter of a mile beyond the little town they halted, and mowle rode on for a short way alone, to the edge of hangley wood, which was now close before them. there he dismounted, and went in amongst the trees; but he was not long absent, for in less than five minutes he was by the colonel's side again. "all's right, sir," he said, "the boy assures me that they were all there still, at six this morning, and that their captain, radford, does not move till after dark, to-night. so now we shall have the worst fellows amongst them--the two ramleys and all." "well, then," answered leyton, "you had better go on at once with the party, keeping through the wood. i will remain behind, coming on slowly; and if wanted, you will find me somewhere in the hanger. cornet joyce has his orders in regard to surrounding the house; but of course he must act according to circumstances." no more words were needed: the party of dragoons moved on rapidly, with mowle at their head; and leyton, after pausing for a few minutes on the road, dismounted, and giving his rein to the servant, walked slowly on into the wood, telling the two men who accompanied him, to follow. there was, at that time, as there is now, i believe, a broad road through hangley wood, leading into the cross-road from biddenden to goudhurst; but at that period, instead of being tolerably straight and good, it was very tortuous, rough, and uneven. along this forest path, for so it might be called, the dragoons had taken their way, at a quick trot; and by it their young colonel followed, with his arms crossed upon his chest, and his head bent down, in deep and anxious meditation. the distance across the wood at that part is nearly a mile; and when he had reached the other side, leyton turned upon his steps again, passed his servant and the orderly, and walked slowly on the road back to cranbrook. the two men went to the extreme verge of the wood, and looked out towards iden green for a minute or two before they followed their officer, so that in the turnings of the road, they were out of sight by the time he had gone a quarter of a mile. leyton's thoughts were busy, as may be well supposed; but at length they were suddenly interrupted by loud, repeated, and piercing shrieks, apparently proceeding from a spot at some distance before him. darting on, with a single glance behind, and a loud shout to call the men up, he rushed forward along the road, and the next instant beheld a sight which made his blood boil with indignation. at first, he merely perceived a girl, struggling in the hands of some five or six ruffians, who were maltreating her in the most brutal manner; but in another instant, as, drawing his sword, he rushed forward, he recognised--for it can scarcely be said, he saw--poor kate clare. with another loud shout to his men to come up, he darted on without pause or hesitation; but his approach was observed--the ruffians withdrew from around their victim; and one of them exclaimed, "run, run! the dragoons are coming!" "d--me! give her a shot before you go," cried another, "or she'll peach." "let her," cried young radford--"but here goes;" and, turning as he hurried away, he deliberately fired a pistol at the unhappy girl, who was starting up wildly from the ground. she instantly reeled and fell, some seconds before leyton could reach her; for he was still at the distance of a hundred yards. all this had taken place in an inconceivably short space of time; but the next minute, the panic with which the villains had been seized subsided a little. one turned to look back--another turned--they beheld but one man on the road; and all the party were pausing, when leyton reached poor kate clare, and raised her in his arms. it might have fared ill with him had he been alone; but just at that moment the orderly appeared at the turn, coming up at the gallop, with the young officer's servant behind him; and not doubting that a large party was following, radford and his companions fled as fast as they could. "on after them, like lightning!" cried leyton, as the men came up. "leave the horse, leave the horse, and away! watch them wherever they go, especially the man in the green coat! take him if you can--shoot him dead if he resist. ah, my poor girl!" he cried, with the tears rising in his eyes, "this is sad, indeed!--where has he wounded you?" "there," said kate, faintly, taking away her hand, which was pressed upon her right side; "but that was his kindest act.--thank god, i am dying!" "nay, nay," answered leyton, "i trust not!" but the blood poured rapidly out, staining all her dress, which was torn and in wild disorder, and so rapidly did it flow, that leyton clearly saw her words would probably prove too true. "who was that villain?" he cried; "i will punish him if there be justice on earth!" "don't you know him?" said kate, her voice growing more and more low. "i thought you were seeking him--richard radford." "the atrocious scoundrel!" said leyton; and drawing his handkerchief from his breast, he tied it tightly over her side, trying, though he saw it was nearly in vain, to stanch the blood, while at the same time he supported her against his knee with one arm thrown round her waist. poor kate closed her eyes with a faint shudder; and for a moment leyton thought she was dead. she appeared to be reviving again, however, when a loud voice, not far distant, exclaimed, "ha,--halloo! what the devil is this?" leyton looked suddenly up--for his eyes had been bent upon the poor girl's face for several minutes--and then beheld, hurrying up the road with a look of fury in his countenance, kate's promised husband, harding. with a violent oath the man rushed on, exclaiming, "kate, what is all this?--villain, have you misused the girl?" "hush, hush!" cried leyton, with a stern gesture of his hand; "she is dying!--i would have saved her if i could; but alas, i came too late!" the whole expression of harding's countenance changed in an instant. grief and terror succeeded to rage; and, catching her franticly in his arms, he exclaimed--"kate, kate, speak to me!--tell me, who has done this?" "i can tell you," answered leyton--"richard radford." while he was speaking, kate clare opened her eyes again, and gazed on harding's face, moving her right hand faintly round and placing it upon his. "give me that handkerchief from your neck," said leyton; "if we can stop the blood, we may save her, yet. i have seen very bad wounds recovered from----" "no, no!" said kate clare; "thank god, i am dying--i would rather die!--harding, i am not in fault--they caught me in the wood--oh, they treated me horribly. mr. radford said it was revenge--god forgive him, god forgive him! but i would rather die thus in your arms--do not try to stop it--it is all in vain." leyton and harding still persisted, however, and bound another handkerchief tight over the wound, in some degree diminishing the stream of blood, but yet, not stopping it entirely. "let us carry her to some house," cried leyton, "and then send for assistance. see! her lips are not so pale." "i will carry her," cried harding, raising her in his powerful arms. "to my aunt's, then--to my aunt's, harding," murmured kate; "i would sooner die there than in any other place." and on harding sped, without reply, while leyton, sheathing his sword, which he had cast down, followed him, inquiring, "is it far?" "but a step, sir," answered the smuggler. "pray, come with us.--this must be avenged." "it shall," replied leyton, sternly; "but i must stay here for a minute or two, till you can send somebody to me, to take my place, and let my men know where i am when they return." harding nodded his head, and then turned his eyes upon the face of the poor girl whom he bore in his arms, hurrying on without a moment's pause, till he was lost to the young officer's sight. it is needless to describe the feelings of a high-minded and noble man like leyton, when left alone to meditate over the horrible outrage which had been committed under his very eyes. he gave way to no burst of indignation, indeed, but with a frowning brow walked back upon the road, caught his horse without difficulty, and mounting, remained fixed near the spot where poor kate had received her death-wound, like a soldier upon guard. in less than ten minutes, a lad ran up, saying, "mr. harding sent me, sir." "well, then, walk up and down here, my good boy," replied leyton, "till some one comes to inquire for me. if it should be a servant, or a single soldier, send him down to the place which you came from, and wait where you are till a larger party of dragoons come up, when you must tell them the same--to go down to me there. if the party come first, wait for the servant and the soldier." having given these directions, he was turning away, but paused again to inquire his way to the place where harding was; and then pointing to a bundle that lay upon the road, he said--"you had better bring that with you." following the boy's direction, as soon as he issued out of the wood, sir henry leyton turned through a little field to the left; and seeing a small farm-house at some distance before him, he leaped his horse over two fences to abridge the way. then riding into the farm-yard, he sprang to the ground, looking round for some one to take his charger. several men of different ages were running about with eagerness and haste in their faces. horses were being led forth from the stable; guns were in the hands of several; and one of them--a fine, tall, powerful young fellow--exclaimed, as soon as he saw leyton--"we will catch them, sir--we will catch them! and by----they shall be hanged as high as haman for hurting the poor dear girl. here, take his honour's horse, bill." "is she still living?" asked leyton. "oh dear, yes, sir!" cried the young man; "she seemed somewhat better for what mother gave her." "well, then," rejoined the young officer, "if you are going to search for these scoundrels, gallop up to the wood as fast as you can; you will find my servant and a trooper watching. they will give you information of which way the villains are gone. i will join you in a minute or two with a stronger force." "oh, sir, we shall do--we shall do," cried william harris; "we will raise the whole county as we go, and will hunt them down like foxes. do they think that our sisters and our wives are to be ill-used and murdered by such scum as they are?" and at the same time he sprang upon his horse's back. leyton turned towards the house, but met the old farmer himself coming out with a great cavalry sword in his hand, and the butt end of a pistol sticking out of each pocket. "quick, quick! to your horses!" he cried, "they shall rue the day--they shall rue the day!--ah, sir, go in," he continued, seeing leyton; "she is telling my wife and harding all about it; but i can't stop to hear.--i will have that young radford's blood, if i have a soul to be saved!" "better take him alive, and hand him over to justice," said leyton, going into the house. "d----n him, i'll kill him like a dog!" cried the farmer; and mounting somewhat less nimbly than his son, he put himself at the head of the whole party assembled, and rode fast away towards hangley wood. in the meantime, leyton entered the kitchen of the farm; but it was quite vacant. voices, however, were heard speaking above, and he ventured to go up and enter the room. three or four women were assembled there round good mrs. harris's own bed, on which poor kate clare was stretched, with harding on his knees beside her, and her hand in his, the hot tears of man's bitterest agony, coursing each other down his bronzed and weather-beaten cheek. "there, there!" said mrs. harris; "don't take on so, harding--you only keep down her spirits. she might do very well, if she would but take heart. you see she is better for the cordial stuff i gave her." harding made no reply; but kate clare faintly shook her head; and leyton, after having gazed on the sad scene for a moment, with bitter grief and indignation in his heart, drew back, thinking that his presence would only be a restraint to kate's family and friends. he made a sign, however, to one of the women before he went, who followed him out of the room. "i merely wish to tell you," he said, in a low voice, when the woman joined him at the top of the stairs, "that i am going back to the wood, to aid in the pursuit of these villains; for i can be of no use here, and may be there. if any of my people come, tell them where to find me; bid them follow me instantly, and stop every man on foot they see quitting the wood, till he gives an account of himself.--but had you not better send for a surgeon?" "one is sent for, sir," replied the woman; "but i think she is not so bad as she was.--i'll take care and tell your people. i do hope they will catch them, for this is _too_ bad." without more words leyton went down, remounted his horse, and galloped back towards the edge of the wood. the news of what had happened, however, seemed to have spread over the country with the speed of lightning; for he saw four or five of the peasantry on horseback, already riding in the same direction across the fields. two stout farmers joined him as he went, and both were already full of the story of poor kate clare. rage and indignation were universal amongst the people; but as usual on such occasions, one proposed one plan, and another the other, so that by want of combination in their operations, all their resolution and eagerness were likely to be fruitlessly employed. leyton knew that it was of little use to argue on such points with undisciplined men; and his only trust was in the speedy arrival of the soldiers from iden green. when he reached the edge of the wood, however, with his two companions, they came upon farmer harris's party, now swelled to twelve or thirteen men; and at the same moment his own servant rode round, exclaiming, as soon as he saw his master, "they are still in the wood, sir, if they have not come out this way. they dispersed so that we could not follow them on horseback, and we galloped out by different ways to watch." "they haven't come here," cried farmer harris, "or we should have seen them. so now we have them safe enough." "ride off towards iden green," said leyton to the servant, "and direct cornet joyce to bring down his men at the gallop to the edge of the copse. let him dismount twelve on the north side of the wood, and, with all the farm-servants and country people he can collect, sweep it down, while the rest of the mounted men advance, on a line, on either side.--stay, i will write;" and tearing a leaf out of his pocket-book, he put down his orders in pencil. the man had just galloped away, when the young farmer, william harris, shouted, "there they go--there they go! after them!--after them! tally ho!" and instantly set spurs to his horse. all the rest but leyton followed at full speed; but he paused, and, directing his eyes along the edge of the wood, clearly saw, at the distance of somewhat more than half a mile, three men, who seemed to have issued forth from amongst the trees, running across the fields as fast as they could go. it would seem that they had not been aware of the numbers collected to intercept them, till they had advanced too far to retreat; but they had got a good start; the country was difficult for any but well-trained horses; and darting on, they took their way towards goudhurst, passing within a hundred yards of the spot where the victim of their horrid barbarity lay upon the bed of death. taking the narrow paths, leaping the stiles and gates, they at first seemed to gain upon the mass of peasantry who followed them, though their pursuers were on horseback and they on foot. but, well knowing the country, the farmers spread out along the small bridle-roads; and, while the better mounted horsemen followed direct across the fields, the others prepared to cut off the ruffians on the right and left. gradually a semi-circle, enclosing them within its horns, was thus formed; and all chance of escape by flight was thus cut off. in this dilemma, the three miscreants made straight towards a farm-house at which they occasionally received hospitality in their lawless expeditions, and which bears the name of "smuggler farm" to this day; but they knew not that all hearts had been raised against them by their late atrocities, and that the very tenant of the farm himself was now one of the foremost in pursuit. rushing in, then, with no farther ceremony than casting the door open, they locked and barred it, just as some of the peasantry were closing in upon them; and then, hurrying to the kitchen, where the farmer's wife, his sister, and a servant was collected, ned ramley, who was the first, exclaimed, "have you no hide, good dame?" "hide!" replied the stout farmer's wife, eyeing him askance--"not for such villains as you! give me the spit, madge; i've a great mind to run him through." ned ramley drew a pistol from his pocket; but at that moment the window was thrown up, the back door of the house was cast open, and half-a-dozen of the stout yeomanry rushed in. the smugglers saw that resistance would be vain; but still they resisted; and though, in the agitation of the moment, ned ramley's pistol was discharged innocuously, he did not fail to aim it at the head of young william harris, who was springing towards him. the stout farmer, however, instantly levelled him with the ground by a thundering blow upon the head; and the other two men, after a desperate struggle, were likewise taken and tied. "lucky for you it was me, and not my father, master ramley," said william harris. "he'd have blown your brains out; but you're only saved to be hanged, anyhow.--ay, here he comes!--stop, stop, old gentleman! he's a prisoner; don't you touch him.--let the law have the job, as the gentleman said." "oh, you accursed villain--oh, you hellish scoundrel," cried old harris, kept back with difficulty by his son and the rest. "you were one of the foremost of them. but where is the greatest villain of them all?--where's that limb of the devil, young radford?--i will have him! let me go, will--i will have him, i say!" ned ramley laughed aloud: "you wont, though," he answered, bitterly; "he's been gone this half hour, and will be at the sea, and over the sea, before you can catch him.--you may do with me what you like, but he's safe enough." "some one ride off and tell the officer what he says!" cried the farmer. but when the intelligence was conveyed to sir henry leyton, he was already aware that some of the men must have made their escape unobserved; for his servant had met cornet joyce and the party of dragoons by the way, and with the aid of a number of farm servants from iden green and its neighbourhood, the wood had been searched with such strictness, that the pheasants, which were at that time numerous there, had flown out in clouds, as if a battue had been going on. he mistrusted ned ramley's information, however; knowing that the hardened villain would find a sort of pride in misleading the pursuers of young radford, even though taken himself. riding quickly across to the farm, then, together with mowle and the cornet, he interrogated the men separately, but found they were all in the same story, from which they varied not in the least--that richard radford had crept out by the hedges near the wood, and had gone first to a place where a horse was in waiting for him, and thence would make straight to the sea-side, where a boat was already prepared. instant measures to prevent him from executing this plan now became necessary; and leyton directed the cornet to hasten away as fast as possible in pursuit, sending information from woodchurch to every point of the coast where the offender was likely to pass, spreading out his men so as to cover all the roads to the sea, and only leaving at the farm a sufficient guard to secure the prisoners. on hearing the latter part of this order, however, farmer harris exclaimed, "no, no, sir; no need of that. we've taken them, and we'll keep them safe enough. i'll see these fellows into prison myself--ay, and hanged too, please god! and we'll guard them sure, don't you be afraid." leyton looked to mowle, saying, "i must abide by your decision, mr. mowle." but the officer answered: "oh, you may trust them, sir, quite safely, after all i hear has happened. but i think, mr. harris, you had better have just a few men to help you. you've got no place to keep them here; and they must be taken before a magistrate first, before they can be committed." "oh, we'll keep them safe enough," replied the farmer. "we'll put them in goudhurst church, till we can send them off, and, in the meantime, i'll have them up before squire broughton. my son's a constable, so they are in proper hands." "very well," answered leyton; "in this case i have no right to interfere; but, of course, you are responsible for their safe custody." "i say, mowle," cried ned ramley, in his usual daring manner, "bid them give me something to drink, for i'm devilish thirsty; and i'll give you some information, if you will." mowle obtained some beer for him, and then demanded, "well, what is it, ned?" "why, only this," said ned ramley, after they had held the beer to his lips, and he had taken a deep draught--"you will have your brains blown out, before ten days are over." "i am not afraid," replied mowle, laughing. "that's right," answered ned ramley. "but it will happen; for fifty of us have sworn it. we have had our revenge of your spy, harding; and we have only you to settle with now." "harding!" cried mowle. "he's no spy of mine.--it was not he that peached, you young scoundrel; it was one of those whom you trusted more than him." "ah, well," answered ned ramley, indifferently; "then he'll have a sore heart to-night, that he didn't work for. but you'll have your turn yet, mr. mowle, so look that you make good use of your brains, for they wont be long in your skull." "you are a hardened villain," said sir henry leyton. "you had better march them off as fast as you can, my good friends; take them before a magistrate; and above all things, get them to prison ere nightfall, or we may have another rescue." "no fear, no fear!" answered farmer harris. "to rescue a smuggler is one thing--i never liked to see them taken myself--but bloodthirsty villains like these, that would ill use a poor, dear, good girl, and murder her in cold blood,--why, there is not a man in the county would not help to hang them. but i wish, sir, you would go yourself, and see and stop that other great villain. if he isn't hanged too, i don't think i shall ever rest in my bed again." "i will do my best, depend upon it," replied leyton; "but i must first, mr. harris, go to your house, and see the state of that poor girl. i have known her since she was a child, and feel for her almost as if she were a sister." "thank you, sir--thank you!" cried old harris, shaking him by the hand. "there, boys," he continued, dashing away the tears from his eyes--"make a guard, and take these blackguards off in the middle of you. we'll have them up to squire broughton's at once; and then i must go back, too." on his way to the farm, leyton desired mowle to return to woodchurch, and to wait for him there, taking every step that he might think necessary, with the aid of captain irby. "i will not be long," he added. "pray don't, sir," rejoined mowle; "for we have other business to do to-night;" and, sinking his voice to a whisper, he added, "i've got the information i wanted, sir. a part of the goods are certainly at radford hall, and if we can seize them there, that, with the deposition of the men at woodchurch, will bring him in for the whole offence." "i shall, very likely, overtake you by the way," replied leyton. "but, at all events, i shall be there before four." most such calculations are vain, however. leyton turned aside to the harris's farm, where he found poor kate clare sinking rapidly. the curate of the parish had been sent for, and, by his advice, mr. broughton, the magistrate, who had entered the house but two or three minutes before leyton himself. though her voice now scarcely rose above a whisper, she made her dying declaration with clearness and accuracy. it is not necessary here to give any of the details; but, as she concluded, she turned her faint and swimming eyes towards leyton, saying, "that gentleman, who has always been such a good friend to me and mine, can tell you more, sir, for he came up to my help, just as they shot me." the magistrate raised his eyes, and inquired, in a low tone, "who is he?" "sir henry leyton," replied the poor girl, loud enough for that officer to hear; and thinking that she asked for him, he approached nearer, and stood by harding's side. kate raised her hand a little from the bedclothes, as if she would have given it to him; and he took it kindly in his, speaking some words of comfort. "thank you, sir--thank you, for all your kindness," said kate. "i am glad you have come, that i may wish you good-bye, and ask you to be kind to poor harding, too. it will soon be over now; and you had better all leave me. not you, harding--not you.--you must close my eyes, as my poor mother is not here." a groan burst from the stout seaman's breast; and giving way to all his feelings, he sobbed like a child. according to her desire, leyton and mr. broughton retired from the room; and the young officer informed the magistrate, that the prisoners who had been taken were waiting for examination at his house. "we shall want your evidence, sir henry," said the magistrate. "it is absolutely necessary, if, as i understand, you were eye-witness to the murder." leyton saw the propriety of the magistrate's demand, and he yielded immediately. but the investigation was prolonged by several circumstances; and, what between the time that it took up, and that which had been previously spent in the pursuit of the murderers, it was past three o'clock before leyton mounted his horse at mr. broughton's door. he paused for an instant at the gate of the harris's farm-yard, where a girl was standing with tears in her eyes; but before he could ask any question, she replied to that which was rising to his lips. "she is gone, sir," said the girl--"she is gone. she did not last half-an-hour after you were here." with a sad heart, leyton rode on, passing at a quick pace through harbourne wood, and not trusting himself to stop at mrs. clare's cottage. the windows, however, were closed; and the young officer concluded from that circumstance, that the tidings of her daughter's fate must by this time have reached the childless widow. not far beyond her gate, he was met by sir edward digby's servant; but eager to arrive at woodchurch, leyton did not stop to speak with him, and somers, turning his horse with the orderly and his old companion, leyton's servant, gleaned what information he could from them as he went. notwithstanding all the speed he could use, however, it was half-past four before leyton reached woodchurch; and, on inquiring for mr. warde, he found that gentleman had called, but gone away again, saying he would return in an hour. chapter x. such as we have described in the last chapter, were the fatal events to which sir edward digby had alluded in the few words he had spoken to zara croyland; and it may be needless to explain to the reader, that he had learned the tale from his servant just before he came down to dinner. sir robert croyland, as we have shown, after some agitation and hesitation, quitted the drawing-room to meet,--the first time for many years--the son of a man, whom, at the instigation of others, he had cruelly persecuted. he paused as soon as he got into the passage, however, to summon courage, and to make up his mind as to the demeanour which he should assume--always a vain and fruitless task; for seldom, if ever, do circumstances allow any man to maintain the aspect which he has predetermined to affect. sir robert croyland resolved to be cold, stately, and repulsive--to treat sir henry leyton as a perfect stranger, and if he alluded to their former intimacy, to cut the conversation short by telling him that, as all the feelings of those days were at an end, he did not wish to revive their memory in any shape. he did not calculate, indeed, upon the peculiar state of leyton's mind, at the moment--nay, nor even upon the effect of his former favourite's personal appearance upon himself; and when he entered the library and saw the tall, powerful, dignified-looking man, the pale, thoughtful, stern countenance, and the haughty air, he felt all his predeterminations vain. leyton, on his part, had done the same as sir robert croyland, and in setting out from woodchurch had made up his mind to see in the man he went to visit, nothing but edith's father--to treat him kindly, gently, and with compassion for his weakness, rather than anger at his faults; but as he rode along, and conversed with one who accompanied him thither, the memory of much that sir robert croyland had done in former days, came painfully back upon him, and combining with his treatment of edith, raised up bitter and indignant feelings that he could have wished to quell. the scenes which he had passed through that day, too, had given a tone of sternness to his mind which was not usual; and the few minutes he had waited in the library, when every moment seemed of value, added impatience to his other sensations. the baronet entered as firmly as he could, bowing his head and motioning coldly to a chair. but leyton did not sit down, gazing for an instant on the countenance of sir robert, struck and astonished by the change that he beheld. that steadfast gaze was painful to its object, and sank his spirit still farther; but leyton, the moment after, began to speak; and the well-known tones of his clear, mellow voice, awakened the recollection of the days when they were once pleasant to hear. "sir robert croyland," he said, "i have come to you on business of importance, in which it is necessary for you to act immediately in your magisterial capacity." "i have no clerk with me, sir," answered the baronet, in a hesitating manner; "at this late hour, it is not usual, except under circumstances----" "the circumstances admit of no delay, sir robert croyland," replied leyton. "as the nearest magistrate, i have applied to you in the first instance; and have done so for many other reasons besides your being the nearest magistrate." "well, sir, what is your application?" demanded edith's father. "i wish, indeed, you had applied to somebody else, at this time of night; but i will do my duty--oh, yes, i will do my duty." "that is all that is required, sir," answered the young officer. "my application is for a warrant to search the house of one richard radford; and i have to tender you, on oath, information that customable goods, which have been introduced without the payment of duty, are concealed on his premises.--one moment more, if you please--i have also to apply to you, upon similar evidence, for a warrant to search his house for his son, richard radford, charged with murder; and, in the end, if you would allow me to advise you, you would instantly mount your horse, and superintend the search yourself." there was a marked and peculiar emphasis on the last few words, which sir robert croyland did not understand. the manner was not agreeable to him; but it was scarcely perhaps to be expected that it should be; for there had been nothing in his own, to invite that kindly candour, which opens heart to heart. all that had of late years passed between him and sir henry leyton, had been of a repulsive kind. for one youthful error, he had not only repelled and shut his house against the son, but he had persecuted, ruined, and destroyed the father, who had no part in that fault. every reason too, which he had given, every motive he had assigned, for his anger at henry leyton's pretensions to edith's hand, he had set at nought, or forgotten in the case of him whom he had chosen for her husband. even now, although his manner was wavering and timid, it was cold and harsh; and it was a hard thing for henry leyton to assume the tone of kindness towards sir robert croyland, or to soften his demeanour towards him, with all the busy memories of the past and the feelings of the present thronging upon him, on his first return to the house where he had spent many happy days in youth. i am painting a man, and nothing more; and he could not, and did not overcome the sensations of human nature. his words did not please sir robert croyland, but they somewhat alarmed him. everything that was vague in his present situation, did produce fear; but after a moment's thought, he replied, coldly, "oh dear no, sir, i do not see that it is at all necessary i should go myself. i really think the application altogether extraordinary, seeing that it comes from, i am led to imagine, the lieutenant-colonel, commanding the ---- regiment of dragoons, quartered in this district, who has no primary power, or authority, or even duty in such affairs; but can only act as required by the officers of customs, to whom he is so far subordinate.--but still i am ready to receive the informations tendered, and then shall decide in regard to my own conduct, as the case may require." "you are wrong in all respects, but one, sir robert croyland," answered leyton, at once; "i am empowered to act very differently from any officer who has been in command here before me. if my powers are beyond that which the law authorizes, those who gave them are responsible to their country; but, for an extraordinary case, extraordinary means are requisite; and as i require of you nothing but what the law requires, i shall not pause to argue, whether i am exactly the proper person to make the application. it might easily be made by another, who is without: but i have reasons for what i am doing--and reasons, believe me," he added, after a moment's pause and reflection, "not unfriendly to sir robert croyland." again his words and manner were peculiar. sir robert croyland began to feel some apprehension lest he might push his coldness too far. but he did not see how he could change his tone; and he was proceeding, with the same distant reserve, to repeat that he was ready to receive the information in a formal manner, when leyton suddenly interrupted him, after a severe struggle with himself. "sir robert croyland," he said, "let us speak as friends. let griefs and complaints on both sides be forgotten for the moment; let us bury, for the time, seven years in oblivion. look upon me, if it be but for a few minutes, as the henry leyton you knew before anything arose to produce one ill feeling between us; for, believe me, i come to you with kindly sentiments. your own fate hangs in the balance at this hour. i would decide it favourably for you, if you would let me. but--you must shake off doubt and timidity; you must act boldly and decidedly, and all will be well." "i do not understand what you mean, sir," cried sir robert croyland, astonished at his change of tone, and without time to collect his ideas, and calculate the probabilities. "my fate!--how can you affect my fate?" "more than you are aware," answered leyton; "even now i affect your fate, by giving you the choice of at once proceeding in the line of your duty, against a bad man who has overruled your better nature, too long,--by allowing you to conduct the search, which must be instituted either by yourself or others.--in one word, sir robert croyland, i know all; and would serve you, if you would let me." "you know all!" exclaimed edith's father, in a dull, gloomy tone--"you know all! she has told you, then! that explains it--that shows how she retracted her consent--how she was willing to-day to sacrifice her father. you have seen her--you have taught her her part!--yes, she has betrayed her parent's confidence." leyton could bear no more. himself, he could have heard slandered calmly; but he could not hear such words of her he loved: "it is false!" he said; "she did not betray your confidence! she told me no more than was needful to induce me to release her from bonds she was too faithful and true to break. from her i have heard nothing more--but from others i have heard all; and now, sir robert croyland, you have chosen your part, i have but to call in those who must lay the required information. our duty must be done, whatever be the consequences; and as you reject the only means of saving yourself from much grief--though, i trust, not the danger you apprehend--we must act without you;" and he rose and walked towards the door. "stay, leyton--stay!" cried sir robert croyland, catching him eagerly by the arm--"yet a moment--yet a moment. you say you know all. do you know all?--all?--everything?" "all!--everything!" answered leyton, firmly; "every word that was spoken--every deed that was done--more than you know yourself." "then, at least, you know i am innocent," said the old man. a calm but grave serenity took the place, on sir henry leyton's countenance, of the impetuous look with which he had last spoken. "innocent," he said, "of intentional murder; but not innocent of rash and unnecessary anger; and, oh! sir robert croyland--if i must say it--most culpable in the consequences which you have suffered to flow from one hasty act. mark me; and see the result!--your own dear child, against your will, is in the hands of a man whom you hate and abhor. you are anxious to make her the wife of a being you condemn and despise! the child of the man that your own hand slew, is now lying a corpse, murdered by him to whom you would give your daughter! your own life is----" "what, kate!--kate clare!" exclaimed sir robert croyland, with a sudden change coming over his countenance--"murdered by richard radford!" "by his own hand, after the most brutal usage," replied leyton. sir robert croyland sprang to the bell, and rang it violently, then threw open the door and called aloud--"my horse!--my horse!--saddle my horse!--if it cost me land and living, life and honour, she shall be avenged!" he added, turning to leyton, and raising his head erect, the first time for many years. "it is over--the folly, and the weakness, and crime, are at an end. i have been bowed and broken; but there is a spark of my former nature yet left. i vowed to god in heaven, that i would ever protect and be a father to that child, as an atonement--as some--some compensation, however small; and i will keep my vow." "oh! sir robert," cried leyton, taking his hand and pressing it in his, "be ever thus, and how men will love and venerate you!" the barrier was broken down--the chain which had so long bound him was cast away; and sir robert returned leyton's grasp with equal warmth. "harry," he said, "i have done you wrong; but i will do so no more. i was driven--i was goaded along the road to all evil, like a beast driven to the slaughter. but you have done wrong, too, young man--yours was the first offence." "it was," answered leyton--"i own it--i did do wrong; and i will make no excuse, though youth, and love as true as ever man felt, might afford some. but let me assure you, that i have been willing to make reparation--i have been willing to sacrifice all the brightest hope of years to save you, even now. i assured edith that i would, when she told me the little she could venture to tell; but it was her misery that withheld me--it was the life-long wretchedness, to which she was doomed if i yielded, that made me resist. nothing else on earth should have stopped me; but now, sir robert, the prospect is more clear for you." "nay, do not speak of that," replied sir robert croyland; "i will think of it no more--i have now chosen my path; and i will pursue it, without looking at the consequences to myself. let them come when they must come; for once in life, i will do what is just and right." "and by so doing, my dear sir, you will save yourself," answered leyton. "moved by revenge--with no doubt whatsoever of his motive--after a concealment of six years, this base man's accusation will be utterly valueless. your bare statement of the real circumstances will be enough to dissipate every cloud. i shall require that all his papers be seized; and i have many just reasons for wishing that they should be in your hands." "i understand you, harry, and i thank you," said sir robert croyland; "but with my present feelings i would not----" "you do not understand me fully, sir robert," replied leyton. "i wish you only to act as you will find just, right, and honourable, and wait for the result. it will be, or i am much mistaken, more favourable to you, personally, than you imagine. now, as you have decided on the true and upright course, let us lose no time in carrying it into execution. i will call in the men who have to lay the information; and when you have received it, i will place before you depositions which will justify the most vigorous measures against both father and son. in regard to the latter, i must act under your authority in my military capacity, as i have no civil power there; but in regard to the former, i am already called upon, by the officers of the revenue, to aid them in entering his house by force, and searching it thoroughly." "call them in, harry--call them in!" replied sir robert croyland; "every man is justified by the law in apprehending a murderer. but you shall have full authority.--kate clare!--how could this have happened?" "i will explain, as we ride on," answered leyton, going to the door; and speaking to one of the servants who was standing in the hall, he added, "desire mr. mowle to walk in, and bring the boy with him." in another minute, mowle entered the room with another man, holding by the arm the boy ray, whom the smugglers had chosen to denominate little starlight. he came, apparently, unwillingly; for though ever ready, for money, to spy and to inform secretly, he had a great abhorrence of being brought publicly forward; and when on coming to mowle that evening with more information--he was detained and told he must go before a magistrate, he had made every possible effort to escape. he was now somewhat surprised, on being brought forward after mowle had laid the information, to find that he was not questioned upon any point affecting the smuggling transactions which had lately taken place, as the evidence upon that subject was sufficient without his testimony. but in regard to the proceedings of young radford, and to the place where he was concealed, he was interrogated closely. it was all in vain, however. to obtain a straightforward answer from him was impossible; and although mowle repeated distinctly that the boy had casually said, the murderer of poor kate clare had gone to his father's house, little starlight lied and prevaricated at every word, and impudently, though not unskilfully attempted to put another meaning on his previous admission. as time was wearing away, however, sir henry leyton, at length, interposed--"i think it is unnecessary, sir robert," he said, "to push this inquiry further at present. as the whole house and premises must be searched on other grounds, we shall discover the villain if he is there. mr. mowle and i have adopted infallible means, i think, to prevent his escaping from any point of the coast; and the magistrates at every port were this evening furnished with such information that, if they act with even a moderate degree of ability, he must be taken." "besides, sir," rejoined mowle, "the frigate has come round; and she will take care that, with this wind, not a boat big enough to carry him over shall get out. we had better set out, your worship, if you please; for if old radford gets an inkling of what is going on, he will double upon us some way." "i am quite ready," said sir robert croyland. "i will call my clerk to accompany us as we go, in case of any further proceedings being necessary. we must pass through the village where he lives." with a firm step he moved towards the door; and, strange as it may seem, though for six years, while supposing he was taking the only means of self-preservation, he had lived in constant terror and anxiety, he felt no fear, no trepidation now, when he had determined to do what was right at every personal risk. an enfeebling spell seemed to have been taken off his mind; and the lassitude of doubt and indecision was gone. but such is almost always the result, even upon the nerves of our corporeal frame, of a strong effort of mental energy. it is one thing certainly to resolve, and another to do; but the very act of resolution, if it be sincerely exerted, affords a degree of vigour, which is sure to produce as great results as the means at our disposal can accomplish. energetic determination will carry men through things that seem impossible, as a bold heart will carry them over alps, that, viewed from their base, appear insurmountable. sir robert croyland did not venture into the drawing-room before he went; but he told the butler, who was waiting in the hall, to inform sir edward digby and the family that he had been called away on business, and feared he should not return till a late hour; and having left this message, he went out upon the terrace. he found there a number of persons assembled, with some twenty or thirty of the dragoons. five or six officers of the customs were present, besides mowle; but the darkness was too great to admit of their faces being seen; and sir robert croyland mounted without speaking to any one. sir henry leyton paused for an instant to give orders, that the boy should be taken back to woodchurch, and kept there under a safe guard. he then spoke a few words to digby's servant, somers, and springing on his horse placed himself at sir robert croyland's side. the night was as dark as either of the two which had preceded it; the same film of cloud covered the sky; not a star was to be seen; the moon was far below the horizon; and slowly the whole party moved on, two and two abreast, through the narrow lanes and tortuous roads of that part of the country. it halted for a minute in the nearest village, while sir robert croyland stopped at his clerk's house, and directed him to follow as fast as possible to mr. radford's; and then, resuming their march, the dragoons, and those who accompanied them, wound on for between four or five miles further, when, as they turned the angle of a wood, some lights, apparently proceeding from the windows of a house half way up a gentle slope, were seen shining out in the midst of the darkness. "halt!" said sir henry leyton; and before he proceeded to give his orders, for effectually surrounding the house and grounds of mr. radford, he gazed steadfastly for a moment or two upon the building which contained her who was most dear to him, and whose heart he well knew was at that moment wrung with the contention of many a painful feeling. "i promised her i would bring her aid, dear girl," he thought, "and so i have.--thanks be to god, who has enabled me!" sir robert croyland, too, gazed--with very different feelings, it is true, but still with a stern determination that was not shaken in the least. it seemed, when he thought of kate clare, that he was atoning to the spirit of the father, by seeking to avenge the child; and the whole tale of her wrongs and death, which he had heard from leyton, as they came, had raised the desire of so doing almost to an enthusiasm. human passions and infirmities, indeed, will mingle with our best feelings; and as he gazed upon mr. radford's house, and remembered all that he had endured for the last six years, he said to himself, with some bitterness, "that man shall now taste a portion of the same cup he has forced upon others." sir henry leyton woke from his reverie sooner than his companion; and turning his horse, he spoke for a few moments with mowle, somewhat longer with another person wrapped in a dark horseman's coat behind, and then gave various distinct orders to the dragoons, who immediately separated into small parties, and, taking different roads, placed themselves in such positions as to command every approach to the house. then riding forward with sir robert croyland, the officers of customs, and one or two soldiers, he turned up the little avenue which led from the road, consulting with edith's father as he went. at about a couple of hundred yards from the house he paused, turning his head and saying to mowle, "you had better, i think, all dismount; and, making fast the horses, get behind the nearest laurels and evergreens, while sir robert and i ride on alone, and ask admission quietly. when the door is opened, you can come up and make yourselves masters of the servants till the search is over. i do not anticipate any resistance; but if the young man be really here, it may be made." he then rode on with the baronet at a quicker pace, the noise of their horses' feet, as they trotted on and approached the great doors, covering the sound of the movements of the party they left behind. the house, to which the actual possessor had given the name of radford hall, was an old-fashioned country mansion, and presented, like many another building at that time, several large, iron hooks, standing out from the brickwork on each side of the doorway, on which it was customary for visitors on horseback to hang their rein while they rang the bell, or till a servant could be called to take them to the stable. sir robert croyland was acquainted with this peculiarity of the house, though leyton was not, and he whispered to his companion--"let us hook up our horses, before we ring." this was accordingly done; and then taking the long iron handle of the bell, leyton pulled it gently. a minute or two after, a step sounded in the hall, and a servant appeared--a stout, red-faced, shrewd-looking fellow, who at first held the great door only half open. as soon, however, as he saw sir robert croyland's face, he threw it back, replying, in answer to the baronet's question as to whether mr. radford was at home, "yes, sir robert, he has been home this hour." leyton had stood back, and, in the darkness, the man did not see him, or took him for a groom; but when the young officer advanced, and the uniform of the dragoon regiment became apparent, mr. radford's servant suddenly stretched his hand towards the door again, as if about to throw it violently to. but leyton's strong grasp was on his shoulder in a moment. "you are my prisoner," he said, in a low tone; "not a word--not a syllable, if you would not suffer for it. no harm will happen to you, if you are only quiet." at the same moment, mowle and the rest came running across the lawn, and, giving the man into their hands, leyton entered the house with sir robert croyland. chapter xi. about an hour before the event took place, which we have last related, edith croyland sat in a small drawing-room at the back of mr. radford's house, in which she had been kept captive--for we may well use that term--ever since her removal from mr. croyland's. her first day had been spent in tears and indignation; for immediately after her arrival, on finding that her father was not really there, she became convinced that she had been deceived, and naturally doubted that it was with his consent she had been removed. nor had mr. radford's manner at all tended to do away with this impression. he laughed at her remonstrances and indignation, treated her tears with cold indifference, and told his servants, before her face, that she was on no account to be suffered to go out, or to see any one but sir robert croyland. in other respects, he treated her well--did all in his power to provide for her comfort; and, as his whole establishment was arranged upon a scale of luxury and extravagance rarely met with in the old country houses of the gentry of that time, none of the materials of that which is commonly called comfort were wanting. but it was the comfort of the heart which edith required, and did not find. mr. radford handed her down to dinner himself, and with as much ceremonious politeness as he could show, seated her at the end of his ostentatious table: but edith did not eat. she retired at night to the downy bed prepared for her: but edith did not sleep. thus passed the first day and the morning of the second; and when, about noon, sir robert croyland arrived, he found her pale and wan with anxiety and watching; and he left her paler still; for he resisted all her entreaties to take her thence; and her last hope of relief was gone. he had spoken kindly--tenderly, indeed; he had even shed tears; but his mind at the time of his visit was still in a state of suspense, irritated by injuries and insult, but not yet roused by indignation to dare the worst that mr. radford could do; and, though he heard her express her determination never to marry richard radford unless set free from her vows to henry leyton, without remonstrance, only begging her to keep that resolution secret till the last moment, yet, with the usual resource of weakness, he sought to postpone the evil hour by seeming to enter into all his enemy's views. thus had passed edith's time; and it is unnecessary to enter into a more detailed account of her thoughts and feelings previous to the period we have mentioned--namely, one hour before the arrival of her father and henry leyton at the door of the house. she was sitting, then, in that small back drawing-room, with her fair cheek leaning on her hand, her eyes bent down upon the table, and her mind busy with the present and the future. "it is foolish," she thought, "thus to alarm myself. no harm can happen. they dare not show me any violence; and no clergyman in england will venture to proceed with the service against my loud dissent. my uncle, and leyton too, must soon hear of this, and will interfere.--i will not give way to such terrors any more." as she thus meditated, she heard a rapid step upon the great stairs; and the next moment mr. radford entered--booted, spurred, and dusty, as from a journey, and with a heavy horsewhip in his hand. his face betrayed more agitation than she had ever seen it display. there was a deep line between his brows, as if they had been long bent into such a frown, that they could not readily be smoothed again. his long upper-lip was quivering with a sort of impatient vehemence that would not be restrained; and his eye was flashing, as if under the influence of some strong passion. "well, miss croyland," he said, throwing his horsewhip down upon the table, and casting himself into a chair, "i hope they have made you comfortable during my absence?" edith merely bowed her head, without reply. "well, that's civil!" cried mr. radford; "but i think every body is going mad, and so it is no wonder that women do! miss croyland, i have a piece of news for you--there's going to be a wedding in our house, to-night!" still edith was silent, and looked towards the fire. "i tell you of the fact," continued mr. radford, "because it may be necessary for you to make some little preparation for your journey. i don't know whether you hear or not; but you are to be married to my son, to-night. it is now nine; the clergyman and richard will be here by eleven; and the marriage will take place half an hour before twelve. so you have two hours and a half to prepare." "you are mistaken altogether, mr. radford," replied edith, in as firm a tone as she could assume. "it is not my intention to marry your son at all. i have often told you so--i now repeat it." "you do, do you!" exclaimed mr. radford, giving her a furious glance across the table; "then i will tell you something, young woman. your consent was given to your father; and i will have no trifling backwards and forwards. circumstances have arisen to-day--curses be upon them all!--which render it necessary that the marriage should take place four-and-twenty hours before it was first fixed, and it shall take place, by----!" and he added a terrible oath. "you will find it will not take place, mr. radford," replied edith, in the same tone as before, "for, in the first place, i never did consent. my father left me fainting, without waiting to hear what i had to say, or he would not have so deceived himself." "then he shall die the death of a felon," cried mr. radford, "and you yourself shall be the person to put the rope round his neck." "whatever be the consequences, i shall be firm," replied edith; "but at the same time, let me tell you, i do not believe you have the power you suppose. you may bring a false accusation--an accusation you know to be false; but such things are never so well prepared but they are discovered at last; and so it will be in your case." "a false accusation!" exclaimed mr. radford vehemently--"an accusation i know to be false! i'll soon show you that, girl;" and starting up from his seat, he hurried out of the room. contrary to edith's expectation, mr. radford was absent for a long time; but when he returned he had several papers in his hand, some apparently freshly written, and one which bore the yellow marks of age. his face was stern and resolute, but displayed less excitement than when he left her. he entered with a slow step, leaving the door partly open behind him, seated himself, and gazed at her for a moment, then spread out the small yellow paper on the table, but held his hand tight upon the lower part, as if he feared she might snatch it up and destroy it. "there, look at that, miss croyland!" he said; "you spoke of false accusations; look at that, and be ashamed of bringing them yourself." edith gave a glance towards it with a sensation of awe, but did not attempt to read it. her eye rested upon the words, "deposition of--" and upon a stain of blood at the bottom of the page, and she turned away with a shudder. "i have heard of it before," she answered, "yet every word in it may be false." "false, or not false," replied mr. radford, "it sends your father to gaol to-morrow, and to the gallows a month after--if you do not instantly sign that!" and he laid another freshly written page open before her. edith took it in her hand, and read--"i hereby consent and promise, when called upon, to marry richard radford, junior, esquire, the son of richard radford, of radford hall." "you have your choice, miss croyland," continued her persecutor, in a low and bitter tone, "either to save your father, or to put him to death with your own hands; for i swear, by all that i hold sacred, that if you do not instantly sign that paper--ay, and fulfil its engagement, i will send off this deposition to the bench of magistrates, with the letter i have just written, giving an account of all the circumstances, and explaining how, out of weak kindness and friendship for sir robert croyland, i have been prevailed upon to keep back the information until now. do not deceive yourself, and think that his fortune or his station will save him. a peer of the realm has been hanged before now for the murder of his own servant. neither must you suppose that upon that deposition alone rests the proof of his guilt. there was other evidence given at the coroner's inquest, all bearing upon the same point, which requires but this light, to be made plain. the threats your father previously used, the falsehoods he told regarding where he had been--all these things can be proved, for i have taken care to preserve that evidence." "that was like a friend, indeed!" murmured edith; "but such are the friendships of the world." "i am acting like a friend to you, miss croyland," rejoined mr. radford, apparently neither touched nor hurt by her words, "in letting you see clearly your father's situation, while i give you the opportunity of saving him if you will. do as you please--there is the paper. sign it if you like; but sign it quickly; for this night brings all tergiversation to an end. i will have no more of it; and five minutes decides your father's life or death. do not say i do it. it is you. his pardon is before you. you have nothing to do but to put your name. if you do not, you sign his death warrant!" "five minutes!" said edith, with her heart beating violently. "ay, five minutes," answered mr. radford, who saw, from the wild look of her beautiful eyes, and the ashy paleness of her cheek and lips, how powerfully he had worked upon her--"five minutes, no longer;" and he laid his watch upon the table. then, turning somewhat ostentatiously to a small fixed writing-desk, which stood near, he took up a stick of sealing-wax, and laid it down beside the letter he had written, as if determined not to lose a moment beyond the period he had named. edith gazed upon the paper for an instant, agitated and trembling through her whole frame; but her eye fell upon the name of richard radford. his image rose up before her, recalling all the horror that she felt whenever he was in her presence; then came the thought of leyton, and of her vows to him yet uncancelled. "richard radford!" she said to herself--"richard radford!--marry him--vow that i will love him--call god to witness, when i know i shall abhor him more and more--when i love another? i cannot do it--i will not do it!" and she pushed the paper from her, saying, aloud, "no, i will not sign it!" "very well," said mr. radford--"very well. your parent's blood be upon your head;" and he proceeded to fold up slowly the deposition he had shown her, in the letter he had written. but he stopped in the midst; and then, abandoning the calm, low tone, and stern but quiet demeanour which he had lately used, he started up, striking the table violently with his hand, and exclaiming, in a loud and angry tone, "wretched, miserable girl, dare you bring upon your head the guilt of parricide? what was the curse of cain to that? how will you bear the day of your father's trial--ay, how bear the day of his death--the lingering agony of his imprisonment--the public shame of the court of justice--the agony of the gallows and the cord?--the proud sir robert croyland become the gaze of hooting boys, the spectacle of the rude multitude, expiring, through his daughter's fault, by the hand of the common hangman! ay, think of it all, for in another minute it will be too late! once gone from my hand, this paper can never be recalled." edith uttered a faint cry; but at the same moment a voice behind mr. radford said, "nor can it, now!" and sir robert croyland himself laid his hand upon the papers. mr. radford turned round fiercely, and was darting forward to seize them from him; but he was held back by a more powerful arm; and the baronet went on, in a voice grave and sad, but firm and strong--"sir henry leyton," he said, "i give these papers into your hands to do with exactly as you may think right, as a man of honour, a gentleman, and a respecter of the law. i ask not to hold them for one moment." "do not struggle, sir,--do not struggle!" cried leyton, holding mr. radford fast by the collar--"you are a prisoner." "a prisoner!" exclaimed mr. radford. "what! in my own house--a magistrate!" "anywhere, sir," answered leyton; "and for the time, you are a magistrate no longer.--ho! without there!--send some one in!" edith had sunk down in her seat; for she knew not whether to rejoice or grieve. the first feeling undoubtedly was joy; but the next was bitter apprehension for her father. at first she covered her eyes with her hands; for she thought to hear the terrible truth proclaimed aloud; but when she looked up, sir robert croyland's face was so calm, so resolute, so unlike what it had ever appeared of late years, that fear gave way to surprise, and surprise began to verge into hope. as that bright flame arose again in her heart, she started up, and cast herself upon her father's bosom, murmuring, while the tears flowed rapidly from her eyes, "are you safe--are you safe?" "i know not, my dear child," replied sir robert croyland; "but i am now doing my duty, and that gives me strength." in the meantime, a dragoon had appeared at the door, and as soon as mr. radford beheld him, he exclaimed, "this is a base and infamous plot to defeat the ends of justice. i understand it all: the military power called in, right willingly, i have no doubt, to take away the documents which prove that felon's guilt. but this shall be bitterly repaid, and i hold you responsible, sir, for the production of these papers." "certainly, mr. radford," replied leyton, with a calm smile, "i will be responsible. but as you object to the military power, we will hand you over to the civil. hart," he continued, speaking to the soldier, "call up mowle or birchett, or any of the other officers, and let them bring one of the constables with them, for this is not purely a case for the customs. then tell serjeant shaw to bring on his men from the back, as i directed, seeing that nothing--not an inch of ground, not a shed, not a tool-house, remains unexamined." "of what am i accused, sir, that you dare to pursue such a course in my house?" demanded mr. radford. "of murder, sir," replied sir henry leyton. "murder!" exclaimed mr. radford, and then burst into an affected laugh. "yes, sir," replied the young officer; "and you may find it not so much a jest as you suppose; for though the law, in consequence of the practices of yourself and others, has slept long ineffective, it is not dead. i say for murder! as an accessory before the fact, to the armed resistance of lawful authority, in which his majesty's subjects have been killed in the execution of their duty; and as an accessory after the fact, in harbouring and comforting the actual culprits, knowing them to be such." mr. radford's countenance fell; for he perceived that the matter was much more serious than he at first supposed. he trusted, indeed, from the laxity with, which the law had lately been carried into execution, that he might escape from the gravest part of the charge; but still, if sir henry leyton was in a condition to prove the participation of which he accused him, in the crimes that had been committed, nothing short of transportation for life could be anticipated. but he had other sources of anxiety. his wretched son, he expected to present himself every minute; and well aware of the foul deed which richard radford had that morning perpetrated, and of his person having been recognised, he was perfectly certain, that his apprehension would take place. he would have given worlds to speak for a single instant with one of his own servants; but none of them appeared; and while these thoughts were passing rapidly through his brain, the officer birchett entered the room with a constable, and several other persons followed them in. he was startled from his reverie, however, by sir henry leyton's voice demanding--"have you brought handcuffs, constable?" "oh, ay, sir," answered the man, "i've got the bracelets." "good evening, mr. radford," said birchett; "we have hold of you at last, i fancy." mr. radford was silent, and the young officer demanded, "have you found anything else, birchett?" "oh yes, sir, plenty," answered birchett, "and besides the run goods, things enough to prove all the rest even if we had not proof sufficient before--one of your own dragoon's swords, sir, that must have been snatched up from some poor fellow who was killed. corporal hart says, he thinks it belonged to a man named green." "well, there is your prisoner," replied leyton,--"you and the constable must take care that he be properly secured. no unnecessary harshness, i beg; but you know how rescue is sometimes attempted, and escape effected. you had better remove him to another room; for we must have all the papers and different articles of smuggled goods brought hither." "i protest against the whole of this proceeding," exclaimed mr. radford, on whom the constable was now unceremoniously fixing a pair of handcuffs, "and i beg every body will take notice of my protest. this person, who is, i suppose, a military officer, is quite going beyond his duty, and acting as if he were a civil magistrate." "i am acting under the orders and authority of a magistrate, sir," replied sir henry leyton, "and according to my instructions.--dear edith," he continued, crossing over to her, and taking her hand as she still clung to her father; for all that i have described had taken place with great rapidity--"you had better go into another room till this is over. we shall have some papers to examine, and i trust another prisoner before the search is finished.--had she not better retire, sir robert?" but mr. radford raised his voice again, as the constable was moving him towards the door, exclaiming, "at all events, i claim my right to witness all these extraordinary proceedings. it is most unjust and illegal for you to seize and do what you will with my private papers, in my absence." "it is a very common occurrence," said sir henry leyton, "in criminal cases like your own." "let him remain--let him remain!" said sir robert croyland. "he can but interrupt us a little.--oh, here is the clerk at last!--now, edith, my love, you had better go; these are no scenes for you." leyton took her by the hand, and led her to the door, bending down his head and whispering as he went, "be under no alarm, dear girl. all will go well." "are you sure, harry--are you sure?" asked edith, gazing anxiously in his face. "certain," he replied; "your father's decision has saved him." as he spoke, there was a violent ringing at the bell; and mr. radford said to himself, "it is that unhappy boy; he will be taken, to a certainty." but the next instant, he thought, "no--no, he would never come to the front door. it must be some more of their party." sir robert croyland, in the meantime, seated himself at the end of the table, and handed over a number of papers, which leyton had given him at his own house, to the clerk, who, by his direction, seated himself near. "i have no objection, mr. radford," he said, turning to the prisoner, "that you should hear read, if you desire it, the depositions on which i have granted a warrant for your apprehension, and, at the requisition of the officers of customs, have authorized your premises to be searched for the smuggled goods, a part of which has been found upon them. the depositions are those of a man named george jones, since dead, and of michael scalesby, and edward larchant, at present in the hands of justice; and the information is laid by john mowle and stephen birchett." at the recital of the names of several of the men whom he himself had furnished with arms and directions, mr. radford's heart sunk; but the moment after, a gleam of bitter satisfaction sprang up in his breast, as the door opened, and mr. zachary croyland entered, exclaiming, "how's this--how's this? i came to take a dove out of a hawk's nest, and here i find the dogs unearthing a fox." "i am very glad you are come, sir," replied mr. radford, before any one else could speak; "for, though you are the brother of that person sitting there, you are a man of honour, and an honest man----" "more than i can say for you, radford," grumbled mr. croyland. "and, moreover, a magistrate for this county," continued mr. radford. "i never act--i never act!" cried the old gentleman. "i never have acted; i never will act." "but in this case i shall insist upon your acting," said the prisoner; "for your brother, who is now proceeding thus virulently against me, does it to shield himself from a charge of murder, which he knew i was about to bring against him." "fiddlesticks' ends!" cried mr. croyland. "this is what people call turning the tables, i think. but it wont succeed with me, my good friend. i am an old bird--a very old bird, indeed--and i don't like chaff at all, radford. if you have any charge to make against my brother, you must make it where you are going. i'll have nothing to do with it. i always knew him to be a fool; but never suspected him of being anything else." "at all events," said mr. radford, in a gloomy tone, "since simple justice is denied me at all hands, i require that the papers which have been seized in this house, be placed in proper hands, and duly authenticated. the important evidence of the crime of which i charge him, has been given by your brother, sir, to one who has but too great an interest, i believe, to conceal or destroy it. i say it boldly, those papers are not safe in the keeping of sir henry leyton; and i demand that they be given up, duly marked by the clerk, and signed by myself, and some independent person." leyton's eyes flashed for a moment, at the insinuation which the prisoner threw out; but he overcame his anger instantly, and took the papers which had been handed him, from his pocket, saying, "i will most willingly resign these documents, whatever they may be. mr. croyland, this person seems to wish that you should keep them, rather than myself; but here is another paper on the table, which may throw some light upon the whole transaction;" and he took up the written promise, which mr. radford had been urging edith to sign--and on which his own eyes had been fixed during the last few minutes--and handed it, with the rest, to her uncle. "stay, stay a moment!" said mr. croyland, putting on his spectacles. "i will be responsible for the safe keeping of nothing of which i do not know the contents;" and he proceeded to read aloud the engagement to wed richard radford, which edith had rejected. "ay, a precious rascally document, indeed!" said the old gentleman, when he had concluded; "written in the hand of the said richard radford, esq., senior, and which, i suppose, miss croyland refused to sign under any threats. be so good as to put your name on that, at the back, mr. clerk. i will mark it, too, that there be no mistake." "and now, sir, since you have read the one, will you be good enough to read the other?" exclaimed mr. radford, with a triumphant smile. "even-handed justice, if you please, mr. zachary croyland; the enclosure first, then the letter, if you will. i see there are a multitude of persons present; i beg they will all attend." "i will read it certainly," replied mr. croyland, drawing one of the candles somewhat nearer. "it seems to be somewhat indistinct." sir robert croyland leaned his head upon his hand, and covered his eyes; and several persons pressed forward, to hear what seemed of importance--in the eyes of the prisoner, at least. mr. croyland ran over the writing, as a preliminary to reading it aloud; but, as he did so, his countenance fell, and he paused and hesitated. the next moment, however, he exclaimed, "no, hang it! it shall be read--'the deposition of william clare, now lying at the point of death, and with the full assurance that he has not many minutes to live, made before richard radford, esquire, j. p.; this th day of september, in the year of grace --;" and he proceeded to read, with a voice occasionally wavering indeed, but in general firm and clear, the formal setting forth of the same tale which the reader has heard before, in the statement of sir robert croyland to his daughter. his brother paused, and held the paper in his hand for a moment after he had done, while leyton, who had been standing close beside him, bore a strange, almost sarcastic smile upon his lip, which strongly contrasted with the sad and solemn expression of mr. croyland's countenance. "what is this great red blot just below the man's name?" asked the old gentleman, at length, looking to mr. radford. "that, sir," replied the prisoner, in a calm, grave tone, which had much effect upon the hearers, "is the poor fellow's own blood, as i held him up to sign the declaration. he had been pressing his right hand upon the wound, and where it rested on the paper it gave that bloody witness to the authenticity of the document." there was something too fine in the reply, and mr. croyland repeated, "bloody witness!--authenticity of the document!" but leyton stretched out his hand, saying, "will you allow me to look at the paper, mr. croyland?" and then added, as soon as he received it, "can any one tell me whether william clare was left-handed?" "no!" replied sir robert croyland, suddenly raising his head--"no, he was not.--why do you ask?" "that i can answer for," said the constable, coming forward, "for he carved the stock of a gun for me; and i know he never used his left hand when he could use his right one." "why do you ask, harry?--why do you ask?" exclaimed mr. croyland. "because, my dear sir," answered leyton, aloud and clear, "this is the print of the thumb of a man's right hand. to have made it at all, he must have held the paper with his right, while he signed with his left, and even then, he could have done it with difficulty, as it is so near the signature, that his fingers would not have room to move;" and as he ended, he fixed his eyes sternly on mr. radford's face. the prisoner's countenance had changed several times while sir henry leyton spoke, first becoming fiery red, then deadly pale, then red again. "however it happened, so it was," he said, doggedly. "well!" exclaimed mr. croyland, sharply, "your evidence will fetch what it is worth!--i hope, clerk, you have got down mr. radford's statement." "he has written the same down here, your worship," replied the man, pointing to the letter in which the deposition had been enclosed, and which, having been cast down by mr. zachary, had been busily read by the clerk. "well, then, we will read that too," observed the old gentleman. "silence there!" he continued; for there was a good deal of noise at the side of the room, as the different persons present conversed over the events that were passing; "but first, we had better docket this commodity which we have just perused. mr. clerk, will you have the goodness to sign it also--on the back?" "stay," said a voice from behind the rest, "let me sign it first;" and the man who had accompanied leyton thither, wrapped in the dark horseman's coat, advanced between mr. croyland and the clerk. "any one that likes--any one that likes," answered the former. "ah, is that you, my old friend?" both mr. radford and sir robert croyland gazed, with looks of surprise not unmingled with more painful feelings, on the countenance of mr. warde, though each doubted his identity with one whom they had known in former years. but, without noticing any one, the strange-looking old man took the paper from the clerk, dipped the pen in the ink, and, in a bold, free hand, wrote some words upon the back. "ha, what is this?" cried mr. croyland, taking the paper, and reading--"an infamous forgery--henry osborn!" "villain, you are detected!" cried the person who has been called mr. warde. "i wrote from a distant land to warn you, that i was present when you knelt by william clare--that i heard all--that i heard you try to prompt the dying man to an accusation he would not make--that i saw you stain the paper with his blood--ay, and sign it, too, after life had quitted him--i wrote to warn you; for i suspected you, from all i heard of your poor tool's changed conduct; and i gave you due notice, that if you ceased not, the day of retribution would arrive. it is come; and i am here, though you thought me dead! all your shifts and evasions are at an end. there is no collusion here--there is no personal interest. i have not conversed with that weak man for many years--and he it was who persecuted my sister's husband unto death!" "at his suggestion--from his threats!" exclaimed sir robert croyland, pointing with his hand to mr. radford. "take me away," said the prisoner, turning to the constable--"i am faint--i am sick--take me away!" mr. croyland nodded his head; and, supported by the constable and birchett, mr. radford was led into the adjoining room. the scene that followed is indescribable. it was all confusion; every one spoke at once; some strove to make themselves heard above the rest; some seemed little to care whether they were heard or not; if any man thought he could fix another's attention, he tried to converse with him apart--many fixed upon the person nearest; but one or two endeavoured to make others hear across the room; and all order and common form were at an end. i have said every one spoke; but i should have made one exception. sir robert croyland talked eagerly with his brother, and said a few low words to mr. osborn; but leyton remained profoundly silent for several minutes. the din of many voices did not seem to disturb him; the strange turn that events had taken, appeared to produce no surprise; but he remained fixed to the same spot, with his eyes bent upon the table, and his mind evidently absent from all that was passing round. it was the abstraction of profound emotion; the power which the heart sometimes exercises over the mind, in withdrawing all its perceptions and its operative faculties from external things, to fix them concentrated upon some great problem within. at length, however, a sense of higher duties made him shake off the thoughts of his own fate and situation--of the bright and glorious hopes that were rising out of the previous darkness, like the splendour of the coming star after a long night--of the dreams of love and joy at length--of the growing light of "trust in the future," still faintly overshadowed by the dark objects of the past. with a quick start, as if he had awakened from sleep, he looked round, and demanded of one of the soldiers, many of whom were in the room, "have you found the person accused--richard radford, i mean--has any one been taken in the premises and the house, besides the servants?" "yes, sir, a person just arrived in a post-chaise," replied the sergeant. "we must have order, sir robert," continued leyton, his powerful voice rising above the din; "there is much more to be done! clear the room of your men, sergeant. they are not wanted here--but stay, i will speak with mr. haveland;" and he went out, followed by the sergeant and some half-dozen of the dragoons, who had accompanied their non-commissioned officer into the room. leyton soon returned; but the precautions he had gone to enforce were vain. the person who had arrived in the chaise, proved to be a somewhat disreputable clergyman from a distant parish. young richard radford was not taken; another fate awaited him. a man, indeed, on horseback, was seen to approach the grounds of radford hall towards eleven o'clock; but the lights, that were apparent through many windows, seemed to startle him, as he rode along the road. he paused for a moment, and gazed, and then advanced more slowly; but the eagerness of the small guard at that point, perhaps, frustrated their object, for it is not certain to this day who the person was. when he again halted, and seemed to hesitate, they dashed out after him; but instantly setting spurs to his horse, he galloped off into the woods; and knowing the country better than they did, he was soon lost to their pursuit. in the meantime, the result of the search in mr. radford's house was made known, in a formal manner, to the party assembled in the small drawing-room. abundant evidence was found of his having been implicated in all the most criminal parts of the late smuggling transactions; and the business of the night concluded, by an order to remand him, to be brought before the bench of magistrates on the following day; for sir robert croyland declined to commit him on his own responsibility. "he has preferred a charge against me," he said, in the same firm tone he had lately assumed--"let us see whether he will sustain it to-morrow." before all was concluded, it was near midnight; and then every one rose to depart. mr. croyland eagerly asked for edith, saying he would convey her home in his carriage; but leyton interposed, replying, "we will bring her to you in a moment, my dear friend.--sir robert, it may be as well that you and i should seek miss croyland alone. i think i saw her maid below." "certainly," answered her father, "let us go, my dear henry, for it is growing very late." mr. croyland smiled, saying, "well, well, so be it;" and the other two left the room. they found edith, after some search, seated in the dining hall. she looked pale and anxious; but the expression of leyton's face relieved her of her worst apprehensions--not that it was joyful; for there was a touch of sadness in it; but she knew that his aspect could not be such, if her father's life were in any real danger. leyton advanced towards her at once, even before her father, took her hand in his, and kissed it tenderly. "i told you, dearest edith," he said, "that i would bring you aid; and i have, thank god, been able to redeem that promise; but now i have another task to perform. your father's safety is placed beyond doubt--his innocence made clear; and your happiness, beloved one, is not sacrificed. the chance of endangering that happiness was the only cause of my not doing what, perhaps, you desired for his sake--what i do now. sir robert croyland, i did wrong in years long past--in boyhood and the intemperance of youthful love and hope--by engaging your daughter to myself by vows, which she has nobly though painfully kept. as an atonement to you, as a satisfaction to my own sense of right, i now, as far as in me lies, set her free from those engagements, leaving to her own self how she will act, and to you how you will decide. edith, beloved, you are free, as far as i can make you so; and, sir robert, i ask your forgiveness for the wrong act i once committed." edith croyland turned somewhat pale, and looked at her father earnestly; but sir robert did not answer for a moment.--was it that he hesitated?--no; but there was an oppressive weight at his heart, when he thought of all that he had done--all that he had inflicted, not only on the man before him, but on others guiltless of all offence, which seemed almost to stop its beating. but at length, he took edith's hand and put it in leyton's, saying, in a low, tremulous voice, "she is yours, henry--she is yours; and, oh, forgive the father for the daughter's sake!" chapter xii. there was a solitary light in an upstairs window of farmer harris's house; and, by its dim ray, sat harding the smuggler, watching the inanimate form of her upon whom all the strong affections of his heart had been concentrated. no persuasions could induce him to entrust "the first watch," as he called it, to others; and there he sat, seldom taking his eyes from that pale but still beautiful countenance, and often stooping over to print a kiss upon the cold and clay-like forehead of the dead. his tears were all shed: he wept not--he spoke not; but the bitterness which has no end was in his heart, and, with a sleepless eye, he watched through the livelong night. it was about three o'clock in the morning, when a hard knocking was heard at the door of the farm; and, without a change of feature, harding rose and went down in the dark. he unlocked the door, and opened it, when a hand holding a paper was thrust in, and instantly withdrawn, as harding took the letter. "what is this?" he said; but the messenger ran away without reply; and the smuggler returned to the chamber of death. the paper he had taken was folded in the shape of a note, but neither sealed nor addressed; and, without ceremony, harding opened it, and read. it was written in a free, good hand, which he recognised at once, with rage and indignation all the more intense because he restrained them within his own breast. he uttered not a word; his face betrayed, only in part, the workings of strong passion within him. it is true, his lip quivered a little, and his brow became contracted, but it soon relaxed its frown; and, without oath or comment--though very blasphemous expletives were then tolerated in what was called the best society, and were prevalent amongst all the inferior classes,--he proceeded to read the few lines which the letter contained, and which something--perhaps the emotions he felt--had prevented him from seeing distinctly at first. the epistle was, as we have seen, addressed to no one, and was drawn up, indeed, more in the form of a general notice than anything else. many, of nearly the same import, as was afterwards discovered, had been delivered at various farm-houses in the neighbourhood; but, as all were in substance the same, one specimen will suffice. "we give you to know," so the letter ran, "that, unless edward ramley and his two comrades are set free before daylight to-morrow, we will come to goudhurst, and burn the place. neither man, woman, nor child, shall escape. we are many--more than you think--and you know we will keep our word. so look to it, if you would escape-- "vengeance!" harding approached the bed, with the letter in his hand, gazed steadfastly upon the corpse for several minutes, and then, without a word, quitted the room. he went straight to the chamber which farmer harris and his wife now occupied, and knocked sharply at the door, exclaiming, "harris--harris! i want to speak with you!" the good farmer was with difficulty roused; for though no man felt more warmly, or, indeed, more vehemently, yet the corporeal had its full share with the mental; and when the body was fatigued with more than its ordinary portion of labour, the mind did not keep the whole being waking. at length, however, he came out, still drowsy, and taking the letter, gazed on it by the light of the candle, "with lack lustre eye!" but harding soon brought him to active consciousness, by saying, "they threaten to burn the village, harris, unless the murderers be suffered to escape. i am going up to the church, where they are kept.--wake some one to sit up-stairs.--i will die before a man of them goes out." "and so will i," cried harris; "let me see--let me see! my heart's asleep still, but i'll soon wake up. why, where the mischief did this come from?" and he read the letter over again, with more comprehension of its contents. when he had done, he swore vehemently, "they shall find that the men of goudhurst can match them," he cried; "but we must set about it quick, harding, and call up all the young men.--they will come, that is certain; for the devil himself has not their impudence; but they must be well received when they do come. we'll give them a breakfast, harding, they shan't forget. it shall be called the goudhurst breakfast, as long as men can remember. stay, i'll just put on my coat, and get out the gun and the pistols--we shall want as many of those things as we can muster. i'll be back in a minute." from that hour till five o'clock, the little village of goudhurst was all alive. intimation of the danger was sent to all the neighbouring farmers; every labouring man was roused from his bed with directions to meet the rest in the church-yard; and there, as the sky became grey, a busy scene was displayed, some sixty stout men being assembled before the porch, most of them armed with old muskets or fowling pieces. amongst those to whom age or habitual authority assigned the chief place, an eager consultation went on as to their proceedings; and though there was, as is generally the case in such meetings, a great difference upon many points, yet three acts were unanimously decided upon; first, to send all the women and children out of the village--next, to despatch a messenger to woodchurch for military aid--and, next, to set about casting bullets immediately, as no shot larger than slugs were to be found in the place. the reader will probably ask, with a look of surprise, "is this a scene in north america, where settlers were daily exposed to the incursions of the savages?"--and he may add, "this could not have happened in england!" but i beg to say, this happened in the county of kent, less than a century ago; and persons are still living, who remember having been sent with the women and children out of the village, that the men might not be impeded by fear for those they loved, while defending the spot on which they were born. a fire of wood was speedily lighted by some of the men in the church-yard; others applied themselves, with what moulds could be procured, to the casting of ball; others, again, woke the still slumbering inhabitants of the cottages and houses round, and warned the women to remove to the neighbouring farms, and the men to come and join their friends at the rendezvous; and a few of the best instructed proceeded to arrange their plan of defence, barricading the gates of the cemetery, and blocking up a stile, which at that time led from the right hand wall, with an old grave-stone, against which they piled up a heap of earth. the vestry, in which the prisoners had been confined--after having been brought from mr. broughton's at too late an hour to convey them to gaol--was luckily protected by strong iron bars over the windows, and a heavy plated door between it and the church; and the old tower of the building afforded a strong point in the position of the villagers, which they flattered themselves could not easily be forced. "how many men do you think they can muster, harding?" asked farmer harris, when their first rude preparations were nearly complete. "i can but guess," answered the smuggler; "perhaps two hundred. they had more than that in the marsh, of whom i hear some fifty were taken or killed; but a good many were not there, who may, and will be here to-day--old ramley for one, i should think." "then we had better get into the church when they come," replied the farmer; "they cannot force us there till the soldiers come." "did you send for them?" asked harding. "oh, yes," answered the farmer, "half-an-hour ago. i sent the young boy, who would be of no good here, on the pony; and i told him to let sir robert know, as he passed; for i thought the soldiers might not meddle if they had not a magistrate with them." "very well," replied harding, and set himself to work away again. six o'clock was now past, seven approached and went by; the hand of the dial moved half-way on to eight, and yet nothing indicated the approach of the smugglers. in a few minutes after, however, the sound of horses' feet galloping was heard; and a young man, who had been placed in the belfry to look out, shouted down to those below, "only two!" and the next moment a horseman in military half dress, with a servant behind him, rode up at speed to the principal entrance of the church-yard. "i am come to help you, my men," cried sir edward digby, springing to the ground, and giving his rein to his servant--"will you let us in to your redoubt? the dragoons will soon be over; i sent your messenger on." "perhaps, sir, you may have your trouble for your pains, after all," answered young harris, opening the gate, to let digby and his horses in; "the fellows have not shown themselves, and very likely wont come." "oh, yes, they will," said the young baronet, advancing amongst them, and looking round on every side, "i saw a long line of men on horseback moving over the hill as i came. put the horses under cover of that shed, somers. you should cut down those thick bushes near the wall. they will conceal their movements.--have you any axes?" "here is one," cried a young man, and immediately he set to work, hewing down the shrubs and bushes to which digby pointed. in the meantime, the young officer ran over the groups with his eye, calculating their numbers, and at length he said: "you had better confine yourselves to defending the church--you are not enough to meet them out here. i counted a hundred and fifty, and there may be more. station your best marksmen at the windows and on the roof of the tower, and put a few stout resolute fellows to guard the door in case these scoundrels get nearer than we wish them. as we all act upon our own responsibility, however, we had better be cautious, and abstain from offensive measures, till they are absolutely necessary for the defence of ourselves and the security of the prisoners. besides, if they are kept at bay for some time, the dragoons will take them in flank, and a good number may be captured." "we can deal with them ourselves," said the voice of harding, in a stern tone. he had been standing by, listening, in grave silence, with a gun in his hand, which he had borrowed at farmer harris's; and now, as soon as he had spoken, he turned away, walked into the church, and climbed to the roof of the tower. there, after examining the priming of the piece, he seated himself coolly upon the little parapet, and looked out over the country. the moment after, his voice was heard, calling from above--"they are coming up, harris!--tell the officer." sir edward digby had, in the meantime, advanced to the gates to insure that they were securely fastened; but he heard what harding said, and turning his head, exclaimed--"go into the church; and garnish the windows with marksmen, as i said! i will be with you in a moment.--here, somers, help me here for a moment. they will soon pull this down;" and he proceeded calmly to fasten the barricade more strongly. before he had accomplished this to his satisfaction, men on horseback were seen gathering thick in the road, and on the little open space in front; but he went on without pausing to look at them, till a loud voice exclaimed--"what are you about there?--do you intend to give the men up, or not?" sir edward digby then raised his head, and replied: "certainly not!--oh, mr. richard radford--you will have the goodness to remark that, if you advance one step towards these gates, or attempt to pass that wall, you will be fired on from the church." while he was speaking, he took a step back, and then walked slowly towards the building, making his servant go first; but half-way thither he paused, and turning towards the ruffians congregated at a little distance from the wall, he added aloud, addressing richard radford--"you had better tell your gang what i say, my good friend, for they will find we will keep our word." as he spoke, some one from the mass fired a pistol at him; but the ball did not take effect, and digby raised his hand, waving to those in the church not to fire, and at the same time hurrying his pace a little till he had passed the door and ordered it to be shut. "they have now fair warning," he said to one of the young harris's, who was on guard at the door; "but i will go up above and call to you when i think anything is necessary to be done.--remember, my good fellows, that some order must be kept; and as you cannot all be at the windows, let those who must stand back, load while the rest fire." thus saying, he mounted to the top of the tower with a quick step, and found harding and five others on the roof. the horsemen in front of the church, were all gathered together at a little distance, and seemed in eager consultation; and amongst them the figures of young radford and the two ramleys, father and son, were conspicuous from the vehement gestures that they made--now pointing to the top of the tower, now to the wall of the churchyard. "i think we could bring a good many down as they stand now," said young william harris, moving his gun towards his shoulder, as if the inclination to fire were almost irresistible. "stay--stay! not yet," replied sir edward digby; "let it be clearly in our own defence. besides, you must remember these are but fowling pieces. at that distance, few shots would tell." "one shall tell, at least, before this day is over," said harding, who had remained seated, hardly looking at the party without. "something tells me, i shall have vengeance this day." "hallo! they are going to begin!" cried another man; and the same moment, the gang of miscreants spread out, and while some advanced on horseback towards the wall, at least fifty, who were armed with guns, dismounted and aimed deliberately at the tower and the windows. "down with your heads behind the parapet!" cried digby, though he did not follow the caution himself; "no use of exposing your lives needlessly. down--down, harding!" but harding sat where he was, saying, bitterly, "they'll not hit me.--i know it--they've done worse already." as he spoke, a single gun was fired, and then a volley, from the two sides of the churchyard wall. one of the balls whizzed close by sir edward digby's head, and another struck the parapet near harding; but neither were touched, and the stout seaman did not move a muscle. "now up, and give it them back!" exclaimed digby; and, speaking down the trap that led to the stairs, he called to those below, "fire now, and pick them off!--steadily--steadily!" he continued, addressing his companions on the roof, who were becoming somewhat too much excited. "make every shot tell, if you can--a good aim--a good aim!" "here goes for one!" cried william harris, aiming at jim ramley, and hitting him in the thigh; and instantly, from the roof and the windows of the church, blazed forth a sharp fire of musketry, which apparently was not without severe effect; for the men who had dismounted were thrown into great confusion, and the horsemen who were advancing recoiled, with several of their horses plunging violently. the only one on the roof who did not fire was harding, and he remained with his gun resting on the parapet beside him, gazing, with a stern, dark brow, upon the scene. "there are three down," cried one of the men, "and a lot of horses!" but richard radford was seen gesticulating vehemently; and at length taking off his hat, he waved it in the air, shouting, so loud that his words reached those above, "i will show you the way, then; let every brave man follow me!" and as he spoke he struck his spurs into his horse's sides, galloped on, and pushed his beast at the low wall of the churchyard. the animal, a powerful hunter, which had been sent to him by his father the day before, rose to the leap as if with pride. but just then, harding raised his gun, aimed steadily, and pulled the trigger. the smoke for a moment obscured digby's view; but the instant after he saw richard radford falling headlong from the saddle, and his shoulder striking the wall as the horse cleared it. the body then fell over, bent up, with the head leaning against a tombstone and the legs upon an adjoining grave. "there!--that's done!" said harding; and laying down the gun again, he betook himself quietly to his seat upon the parapet once more. "the dragoons! the dragoons!" cried a young man from the other side of the tower. but ere he spoke, the gang of villains were already in retreat, several galloping away, and the rest wavering. loading as fast as they could, the stout yeomanry in the church continued firing from the windows and from the roof, accelerating the movements of their assailants, who seemed only to pause for the purpose of carrying off their wounded companions. sir edward digby, however, ran round to the opposite side of the tower, and, clearly seeing the advance of some cavalry from the side of cranbrook--though the trees prevented him from ascertaining their numbers--he bade the rest follow, and ran down into the body of the church. "now out, and after them!" he exclaimed; "we may make some prisoners!" but as soon as the large wooden doors were thrown back and the peasantry were seen pouring forth, old ramley, who was amongst the last that lingered, turned his horse and galloped away, his companions following as fast as they could. four men were found on the outside of the churchyard wall, of whom two were living; but sir edward digby advanced with several others to the spot where richard radford was lying. he did not appear to have moved at all since he fell; and on raising his head, which had fallen forward on his chest as he lay propped up by the gravestone, a dark red spot in the centre of the forehead, from which a small quantity of blood had flowed down over his eyes and cheeks, told how fatally true the shot had gone to the mark. when he had gazed on him for a moment, digby turned round again, to look for harding; but the man who had slain him, did not approach the corpse of richard radford; and digby perceived him standing near a low shed, which at that time encumbered the churchyard of goudhurst, and under which the young baronet's horses had been placed. thither the strong hunter, which radford had been riding, had trotted as soon as his master fell; and harding had caught it by the bridle, and was gazing at it with a thoughtful look. the last time sir edward digby had seen him, before that morning, he was in high happiness by the side of poor kate clare; and when the young officer looked at him, as he stood there, with a sort of dull despair in his whole aspect, he could not but feel strong and painful sympathy with him, in his deep grief. "mr. harding," he said, approaching him, "the unhappy man is quite dead." "oh, yes, sir," answered harding, "dead enough, i am sure. i hope he knew whose hand did it." "i am sorry to give you any further pain or anxiety, at this moment," continued digby, sinking his voice, "but i have heard that you are supposed to have taken some part in landing the goods which were captured the other day. for aught we know, there may be information lodged against you; and probably there will be some officer of customs with the troop that is coming up. would it not be better for you to retire from this scene for a little?" "thank you, sir,--thank you! that is kind!" answered harding. "life's a load to me; but a prison is another thing. i would have given any of those clumsy fellows a hundred guineas to have shot me as i sat there but no man shall ever take me, and clap me up in a cell. i could not bear that; and my poor kate lying dead there, too!--i'll go, as you say." but before he could execute his purpose, a small party of dragoons, commanded by a lieutenant, with birchett, the riding officer, and two or three of his companions, came up at a trot, and poured through the gate of the churchyard, which was now open. sir edward digby advanced at once towards them--if the truth must be told, to cover harding's retreat; but birchett's quick, shrewd eye had run round the place in an instant; and, before the young baronet had taken two steps along the path, he cried, "why, there is harding! stop him!--stop him! we have information against him. don't let him pass!" "i _will_ pass, though," cried harding, leaping at once upon the back of richard radford's horse. "now, stop me if you can!" and striking it with his heel, he turned the animal across the churchyard, taking an angle, away from the dragoons. birchett spurred after him in a moment; and the other officers followed; but the soldiers did not move. passing close by the spot where young radford lay, as the officers tried to cut him off from the gate, harding cried, with a wild and bitter laugh, "he is a good leaper, i know!" and instantly pushed his horse at the wall. the gallant beast took it at once, and dashed away with its rider along the road. the officers of customs dared not trust their own cattle with the same feat; but birchett exclaimed, in a loud and imperative tone, turning to the lieutenant of dragoons, "i require your aid in capturing that man. he is one of the most daring smugglers on the whole coast. we can catch him easily, if we are quick." "i do not know that i am authorized," said the lieutenant, not well pleased with the man's manner; "where no armed resistance is apprehended, i doubt if----" "but there may be resistance, sir," replied birchett, vehemently; "he is gone to join his comrades.--well, the responsibility be on your head! i claim your aid! refuse it or not, as you shall think fit.--i claim and require it instantly!" "what do you think, sir?" asked the young officer, turning to digby. "nay, i am not in command here," answered the other; "you know your orders." "to give all lawful aid and assistance," said the lieutenant. "well, take a serjeant's guard, mr. birchett." in haste, the men were drawn out, and followed: birchett leading them furiously on the pursuit; but ere they had quitted the churchyard, harding was half-a-mile upon the road; and that was all he desired. chapter xiii. there was a large lugger lying off at no great distance from the beach, near sandgate, and a small boat, ready for launching, on the shore. at the distance of two or three miles out, might be seen a vessel of considerable size, and of that peculiar rig and build which denoted, to nautical eyes, that there lay a king's vessel. she was, indeed, a frigate of inferior class, which had been sent round to co-operate with the customs, in the suppression of the daring system of smuggling, which, as we have shown, was carried on in romney marsh, and the neighbouring country. by the lesser boat, upon the shore, stood four stout fellows, apparently employed in making ready to put off; and upon the high ground above, was seen a single officer of customs, walking carelessly to and fro, and apparently taking little heed of the proceedings below. some movements might be perceived on board the ship; the sails, which had been furled, now began to flutter in the wind, which was blowing strong; and it seemed evident that the little frigate was about to get under weigh. the lugger, however, remained stationary; and the men near the boat continued their labours for nearly an hour after they seemed in reality to have nothing more to do. at length, however, coming at a furious pace, down one of the narrow foot-paths from the high ground above, which led away towards cheriton and newington, was seen a horseman, waving his hand to those below, and passing within fifty yards of the officer of customs. the sailors, who were standing by the boat, instantly pushed her down to the very verge of the water; the officer hallooed after the bold rider, but without causing him to pause for an instant in his course; and down, at thundering speed, across the road, and over the sand and shingle, harding, the smuggler, dashed on, till the horse that bore him stood foaming and panting beside the boat. instantly springing out of the saddle, he cast the bridle on the tired beasts neck, and jumped into the skiff, exclaiming, "shove her off!" "arn't there some more, jack?" asked one of the men. "none but myself," replied harding, "and me they shan't catch.--shove her off, i say--you'll soon see who are coming after!" the men obeyed at once; the boat was launched into the water; and almost at the same instant, the party of dragoons in pursuit appeared upon the top of the rise, followed, a moment after, by birchett, and another officer of the customs. the vehement and angry gestures of the riding officer indicated plainly enough that he saw the prey had escaped him; but while the dragoons and his fellow officer made their way slowly down the bank, to the narrow road which at that time ran along the beach, he galloped off towards a signal-post, which then stood upon an elevated spot, not far from the place where the turnpike, on the road between sandgate and folkestone, now stands. in a few minutes various small flags were seen rapidly running up to the top of the staff; and, as speedily as possible afterwards, signals of the same kind were displayed on board the frigate. in the meantime, however, harding and his party had rowed rapidly towards the lugger, the sails of which were already beginning to fill; and in less than two minutes she was scudding through the water as fast as the wind would bear her. but the frigate was also under weigh; and, to both experienced and inexperienced eyes, it seemed that the bold smuggler had hardly one chance of escape. between dungeness point, and the royal vessel, there appeared to be no space for any of those daring man[oe]uvres by which the small vessels, engaged in the contraband trade, occasionally eluded the pursuit of their larger and more formidable opponents; but harding still pursued his course, striving to get into the open sea, before the frigate could cut him off. bending under the press of sail, the boat rushed through the waves, with the uptide running strong against her, and the spray dashing over her from stem to stern; but still, as she took an angle, though an acute one, with the course of the frigate, the latter gained upon her every moment, till at length a shot, whistling across her bows, gave her the signal to bring to. it is needless to tell the reader, that signal received no attention; but, still steered with a firm hand, and carrying every stitch of canvas she could bear, the lugger pursued her way. a minute had scarcely passed, ere flash and report came again from the frigate, and once more a ball whistled by. another and another followed; but, no longer directed across the lugger's bows, they were evidently aimed directly at her; and one of them passed through the foresail, though without doing any farther damage. the case seemed so hopeless, not only to those who watched the whole proceeding from the shore, but to most of those who were in the lugger, that a murmured consultation took place among the men; and after two or three more shots had been fired, coming each time nearer and nearer to their flying mark, one of the crew turned to harding, who had scarcely uttered a word since he entered the boat, and said, "come, sir, i don't think this will do.--we shall only get ourselves sunk for no good.--we had better douse." harding looked sternly at him for a moment without reply; and a somewhat bitter answer rose to his lips. but he checked himself, and said, at length, "there's no use sacrificing your lives. you've got wives and children--fathers and mothers. i have no one to care for me.--get into the boat, and be off. me they shall never catch, dead or alive; and if i go to the bottom, it's the best berth for me now. here, just help me reeve these tiller-ropes that i may take shelter under the companion; and then be off as fast as you can." the men would fain have remonstrated; but harding would hear nothing; and, covering himself as much as he could from the aim of small arms from the vessel, he insisted that the whole of his crew should go and leave him. a short pause in the lugger's flight was observable from the shore; and everybody concluded that she had struck. the row-boat, filled with men, was seen to pull off from her, and the large heavy sails to flap for an instant in the wind. but then her course was altered in a moment; the sails filled again with the full breeze; and going like a swallow over the waves, she dashed on towards the frigate, and, passing her within pistol-range immediately after, shot across upon her weather-bow. a cloud of smoke ran all along the side of the frigate, as this bold and extraordinary man[oe]uvre was executed. the faint report of small arms was wafted by the wind to the shore, as well as the sound of several cannon; but still, whether harding was wounded or not wounded, living or dead, his gallant boat dashed steadily on, and left the frigate far behind, apparently giving up the chase, as no longer presenting any chance of success. on, on, went the lugger, diminishing as it flew over the waves, till at length, to the eyes even of those who watched from the heights, its dark, tanned sails grouped themselves into one small speck, and were then lost to the sight. the after-fate of that adventurous man, who thus, single and unaided, trusted himself to the wide waves, is wrapped in obscurity. the writer of these pages, indeed, did once see a stern-looking old man of the same name, who had returned some few years before from distant lands--no one well knew whence--to spend the last few years of a life, which had been protracted considerably beyond the ordinary term of human existence, in a seaport not very far from folkestone. the conversation of the people of the place pointed him out as one who had done extraordinary deeds, and seen strange sights; but whether he was, indeed, the harding of this tale or not, i cannot say. of one thing, however, the reader may be certain, that in all the statements regarding the smuggler's marvellous escape, the most scrupulous accuracy has been observed, and that every fact is as true as any part of history, and a great deal more so than most. having now disposed of one of our principal characters, let me take the reader gently by the hand, and lead him back to harbourne house. the way is somewhat long, but still, not more than a stout man can walk without fatigue upon a pleasant morning; and it lies, too, amongst sweet and interesting scenes--which, to you and me, dear reader, are, i trust, embellished by some of the charms of association. it was about six days after the attack, upon the church at goudhurst, when a great number of those personages with whom it has been necessary to make the reader acquainted, were assembled in the drawing-room of sir robert croyland's mansion. one or two, indeed, were wanting, even of the party which might have been expected there, but their absence shall be accounted for hereafter. the baronet himself was seated in the arm-chair, which he generally occupied more as a mark of his state and dignity, than for comfort and convenience. in the present instance, however, he seemed to need support, for he leaned heavily upon the arm of the chair, and appeared languid and feeble. his face was very pale, his lips somewhat livid; and yet, though suffering evidently under considerable corporeal debility, there was a look of mental relief in his eyes, and a sweet placidity about his smile, that no one had seen on his countenance for many years. mrs. barbara was, as usual, seated at her everlasting embroidery; and here we may as well mention a fact which we omitted to mention before, but which some persons may look upon as indicative of her mental character--namely, that the embroidery, though it had gone on all her life, by no means proceeded in an even course of progression. on the contrary, to inexperienced eyes, it seemed as if no sooner was a stitch put in than it was drawn out again, the point of the needle being gently thrust under the loop of the thread, and then the arm extended with an even sweep, so as to withdraw the silk from its hole in the canvas. penelope's web was nothing to mrs. barbary croyland's embroidery; for the queen of ithaca only undid what she had previously done, every night; and aunt bab undid it every minute. on the present occasion, she was more busy in the retroactive process than ever, not only pulling out the silk she had just put in, but a great deal more; so that the work of the last three days, was in imminent danger of total destruction. mr. zachary croyland never sat down when he could stand; for there was about him, a sort of mobility and activity of spirits, which always inclined him to keep his body ready for action. he so well knew that, when seated, he was incessantly inclined to start up again, that probably he thought it of little use to sit down at all; and consequently he was even now upon his feet, midway between his brother and his sister, rubbing his hands, and giving a gay, but cynical glance from one to the other. in a chair near the window, with his wild, but fine eye gazing over the pleasant prospect which the terrace commanded, and apparently altogether absent in mind from the scene in the drawing-room, was seated mr. osborn; and not far from mr. croyland stood sir henry leyton, in an ordinary riding-dress, with his left hand resting on the hilt of his sword, speaking in an easy, quiet tone to sir robert croyland; and nearly opposite to him was edith, with her arm resting on the table, and her cheek supported on her hand. her face was still pale, though the colour had somewhat returned; and the expression was grave, though calm. indeed, she never recovered the gay and sparkling look which had characterized her countenance in early youth; but the expression had gained in depth and intensity more than it had lost in brightness; and then, when she did smile, it was with ineffable sweetness: a gleam of sunshine upon the deep sea. her eyes were fixed upon her lover; and those who knew her well could read in them satisfaction, love, hope--nay, more than hope--a pride, the only pride that she could know--that he whom she had chosen in her girlhood, to whom she had remained true and faithful through years of sorrow and unexampled trial, had proved himself in every way worthy of her first affection and her long constancy. but where was zara?--where sir edward digby? for neither of them were present at the time. from the laws of attraction between different terrestrial bodies, we have every reason to infer that digby and zara were not very far apart. however, they had been somewhat eccentric in their orbits; for zara had gone out about a couple of hours before--digby being then absent, no one knew where--upon a charitable errand, to carry consolation and sympathy to the cottage of poor mrs. clare, whose daughter had been committed to the earth the day before. how it happened, heaven only knows, but certain it is, that at the moment i now speak of, she and digby were walking home together, towards harbourne house, while his servant led his horse at some distance behind. before they reached the house, however, a long conversation had taken place between the personages in the drawing-room, of which i shall only give the last few sentences. "it is true, harry, it is true," said sir robert croyland, in reply to something just spoken by leyton; "and we have both things to forgive; but you far more than i have; and as you have set me an example of doing good for evil, and atoning, by every means, for a slight error, i will not be backward to do the same, and to acknowledge that i have acted most wrongly towards you--for which may heaven forgive me, as you have done. i have small means of atoning for much that is past; but to do so, as far as possible: freely, and with my full consent, take the most valuable thing i have to give--my dear child's hand,--nay, hear me yet a moment. i wish your marriage to take place as soon as possible. i have learned to doubt of time, and never to trust the future. say a week--a fortnight, edith; but let it be speedily. it is my wish--let me say, for the last time, it is my command." "but, brother robert," exclaimed mrs. barbara, ruining her embroidery irretrievably in the agitation of the moment, "you know it can't be so very soon; for there are all the dresses to get ready, and the settlements to be drawn up, and a thousand things to buy; and our cousins in yorkshire must be informed, and----" "d--n our cousins in yorkshire!" exclaimed mr. zachary croyland. "now, my dear bab, tell me candidly, whether you have or have not any nice little plan ready for spoiling the whole, and throwing us all into confusion again. don't you think you could just send edith to visit somebody in the small-pox? or get harry leyton run through in a duel? or some other little comfortable consummation, which may make us all as unhappy as possible?" "really, brother zachary, i don't know what you mean," said mrs. barbara, looking the picture of injured innocence. "i dare say not, bab," answered mr. croyland; "but i understand what you mean; and i tell you it shall not be. edith shall fix the day; and as a good child, she will obey her father, and fix it as early as possible. when once fixed, it shall not be changed or put off, on any account or consideration whatever, if my name's croyland. as for the dresses, don't you trouble your head about that; i'll undertake the dresses, and have them all down from london by the coach. give me the size of your waist, edith, upon a piece of string, and your length from shoulder to heel, and leave all the rest to me. if i don't dress her like a mahommedan princess, may i never hear _bismillah_ again." edith smiled, but answered, "i don't think it will be at all necessary, my dear uncle, to put you to the trouble; and i do not think it would answer its purpose if you took it." "but i will have my own way," said mr. croyland--"you are my pet; and all the matrimonial arrangements shall be mine. if you don't mind, and say another word, i'll insist upon being bridesmaid too; for i can encroach in my demands, i can tell you, as well as a lady, or a prime minister." as he spoke, the farther progress of the discussion was interrupted by the entrance of zara, followed by sir edward digby. her colour was a little heightened, and her manner somewhat agitated; but she shook hands with her uncle and leyton, neither of whom she had seen before during that morning; and then passing by her father, in her way towards edith, she whispered a word to him as she went. "what, what!" exclaimed sir robert croyland, turning suddenly round towards digby, with a look of alarm, and pressing his left hand upon his side, "she says you have something important to tell me, sir edward.--pray speak! i have no secrets from those who are around me." "i am sure, what i have to say will shock all present!" replied sir edward digby, gravely; "but the fact is, i heard a report this morning, from my servant, that mr. radford had destroyed himself last night in prison; and i rode over as fast as i could, to ascertain if the rumour was correct. i found that it was but too accurate, and that the unhappy man terminated a career of crime, by the greatest that he could commit." "well, there's one rascal less in the world--that's some comfort," said mr. zachary croyland; "i would rather, indeed, he had let some one else hang him, instead of doing it himself; for i don't approve of suicide at all--it's foolish, and wicked, and cowardly. still, nothing else could be expected from such a man--but what's the matter with you, robert? you seem ill--surely, you can't take this man's death much to heart?" sir robert croyland did not reply, but made a faint sign to open the window, which was immediately done; and he revived under the influence of the air. "i will go out for a few minutes," he said, rising; and edith, instantly starting up, approached to go with him. he would not suffer her, however--"no, my child," he replied to her offer, "no: you can understand what i feel; but i shall be better presently. stay here, and let all this be settled; and remember, edith, name the earliest day possible--arrange with zara and digby. theirs can take place at the same time." thus saying, he went out, and was seen walking slowly to and fro upon the terrace, for some minutes after. in the meanwhile, the war had commenced between mr. zachary croyland and his younger niece. "ah, mrs. madcap!" he exclaimed, "so i hear tales of you. the coquette has been caught at length! you are going to commit matrimony; and as birds of a feather flock together, the wild girl and the wild boy must pair." with her usual light, graceful step, and with her usual gay and brilliant smile, zara left sir edward digby's side, and crossing over to her uncle, rested both her hands upon his arm, while he stood as erect and stiff as a finger post, gazing down upon her with a look of sour fun, but in zara's eyes, beautiful and beaming as they were, there was a look of deeper feeling than they usually displayed when jesting, as was her wont, with mr. croyland. "well, chit," he said, "well, what do you want?--a new gown, or a smart hat, or a riding-whip, with a tiger's head in gold at the top?" "no, my dear uncle," she answered, "but i want you not to tease me, nor to laugh at me, nor to abuse me, just now. for once in my life, i feel that i must be serious; and i think even less teasing than ordinary might be too much for me. perhaps, one time or another, you may find out that poor zara's coquetry was more apparent than real, and that though she had an object, it was a better one than you, in your benevolence, were disposed to think." an unwonted drop swam in her eyes as she spoke; and mr. croyland gazed down upon her tenderly for a moment. then throwing his arms round her, he kissed her cheek--"i know it, my dear," he said--"i know it. edith has told me all; and she who has been a kind, good sister, will, i am sure, be a kind, good wife. here, take her away, digby. a better girl doesn't live, whatever i may have said. the worst of it is, she is a great deal too good for you, or any other wild, harem-scarem fellow. but stay--stay," he continued, as digby came forward, laughing, and took zara's hand; "here's something with her; for, as i am sure you will be a couple of spendthrifts, it is but fit that you should have something to set out upon." mr. croyland, as he spoke, put his hand into the somewhat wide and yawning pocket of his broad-tailed coat, and produced his pocket-book, from which he drew forth a small slip of paper. digby took it, and looked at it, but instantly held it out again to mr. croyland, saying, "my dear sir, it is quite unnecessary. i claim nothing but her hand; and that is mine by promises which i hope will not be very long ere they are fulfilled." "nonsense, nonsense!" cried mr. croyland, putting away the paper with the back of his hand; "did ever any one see such a fool?--i tell you, sir edward digby, i'm as proud a man as you are, and you shall not marry my niece without receiving the same portion as her sister possesses. i hate all eldest sons, as you well know; and i don't see why eldest daughters should exist either. i'll have them all equal. no differences here. i've made up to zara, the disparity which one fool of an uncle thought fit to put between her and edith. such was always my intention; and moreover, let it clearly be understood, that when you have put this old carrion under ground, what i leave is to be divided between them--all equal, all equal--co-heiresses, of zachary croyland, esq., surnamed the nabob, alias the misanthrope--and then, if you like it, you may each bear in your arms a crow rampant, on an escutcheon of pretence." "thank you, thank you, my dear uncle," answered edith croyland, while zara's gay heart was too full to let her speak--"thank you for such thought of my sweet sister; for, indeed, to me, during long years of sorrow and trouble, she has been the spirit of consolation, comfort, strength--even hope." poor zara was overpowered; and she burst into tears. it seemed as if all the feelings, which for the sake of others she had so long suppressed--all the emotions, anxieties, and cares which she had conquered or treated lightly, in order to give aid and support to edith, rushed upon her at once in the moment of joy, and overwhelmed her. "why, what's the foolish girl crying about?" exclaimed mr. croyland; but then, drawing her kindly to him, he added, "come, my dear, we will make a truce, upon the following conditions--i wont tease you any more; and you shall do everything i tell you. in the first place, then, wipe your eyes, and dry up your tears; for if digby sees how red your cheeks can look, when you've been crying, he may find out that you are not quite such a venus as he fancies just now--there, go along!" and he pushed her gently away from him. while this gayer conversation had been going on within, mr. osborn had passed through the glass doors, and was walking slowly up and down with sir robert croyland. the subject they spoke upon must have been grave; for there was gloom upon both their faces when they returned. "i know it," said sir robert croyland to his companion as they entered the room; "i am quite well aware of it; it is that which makes me urge speed." "if such be your view," replied mr. osborn, "you are right, sir robert; and heaven bless those acts, which are done under such impressions." the party in the drawing-room heard no more; and, notwithstanding the kindly efforts of mrs. barbara, and a thousand little impediments, which, "with the very best motives in the world," she created or discovered, all the arrangements for the double marriage were made with great promptitude and success. at the end of somewhat less than a fortnight, without any noise or parade, the two sisters stood together at the altar, and pledged their troth to those they truly loved. sir robert croyland seemed well and happy; for during the last few days previous to the wedding, both his health and spirits had apparently improved. but, ere a month was over, both his daughters received a summons to return, as speedily as possible, to harbourne house. they found him on the bed of death, with his brother and mr. osborn sitting beside him. but their father greeted them with a well-contented smile, and reproved their tears in a very different tone from that which he had been generally accustomed to use. "my dear children," he said, in a feeble voice, "i have often longed for this hour; and though life has become happier now, i have, for many weeks, seen death approaching, and have seen it without regret. i did not think it would have been so slow; and that was the cause of my hurrying your marriage; for i longed to witness it with my own eyes, yet was unwilling to mingle the happiness of such a union, with the thought that it took place while i was in sickness and danger. my brother will be a father to you, i am sure, when i am gone; but still it is some satisfaction to know that you have both better protectors, even here on earth, than he or i could be. i trust you are happy; and believe me, i am not otherwise--though lying here with death before me." towards four o'clock on the following day, the windows of harbourne house were closed; and, about a week after, the mortal remains of sir robert croyland were conveyed to the family vault in the village church. mr. croyland succeeded to the estates and title of his brother; but he would not quit the mansion which he himself had built, leaving mrs. barbara, with a handsome income, which he secured to her, to act the lady bountiful of harbourne house. the fate of edith and zara we need not farther trace. it was such as might be expected from the circumstances in which they were now placed. we will not venture to say that it was purely happy; for when was ever pure and unalloyed happiness found on earth? there were cares, there were anxieties, there were griefs, from time to time: for the splendid visions of young imagination may be prophetic of joys that shall be ours, if we deserve them in our trial here, but are never realized within the walls of our mortal prison, and recede before us, to take their stand for ever beyond the portals of the tomb. but still they were as happy as human beings, perhaps, ever were; for no peculiar pangs or sufferings were destined to follow those which had gone before; and in their domestic life, having chosen well and wisely, they found--as every one will find, who judges upon such grounds--that love, when it is pure, and high, and true, is a possession, to the brightness of which even hope can add no sweetness, imagination no splendour that it does not in itself possess. the reader may be inclined to ask the after fate of some of the other characters mentioned in this work. in regard to many of them, i must give an unsatisfactory reply. what became of most, indeed, i do not know. the name of mowle, the officer of customs, is still familiar to the people of hythe and its neighbourhood. it is certain that ramley and one of his sons were hanged; but the rest of the records of that respectable family are, i fear, lost to the public. little starlight seems to have disappeared from that part of the country, for some time; and in truth, i have no certainty that the well-known pickpocket, night ray, who was transported to botany bay, some thirty years after the period of this tale, and was shot in an attempt to escape, was the same person whose early career is here recorded. but of one thing the reader maybe perfectly certain, that--whatever was the fortune which attended any of the persons i have mentioned--whether worldly prosperity, or temporary adversity befel them--the real, the solid good, the happiness of spirit, was awarded in exact proportion to each, as their acts were good, and their hearts were pure. the end. t. c. savill, printer, , chandos street, covent garden. distributed proofreading canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net nurse heatherdale's story by mrs molesworth illustrated by l leslie brooke macmillan & co london mdcccxci to my far-away but faithful friend gisÉla lindfield, _august_ , . [illustration: she was sitting in the dame's old-fashioned armchair, in the window of the little room; the bright summer sunshine streaming in behind her.--p. .] contents page chapter i love at first sight chapter ii an unexpected proposal chapter iii treluan chapter iv a nursery tea chapter v the shop in the village chapter vi the smugglers' caves chapter vii a rainy day chapter viii the old latin grammar chapter ix upset plans chapter x the new baby chapter xi in disgrace again chapter xii lost chapter xiii 'old sir david's' secret illustrations page 'hasn't her a nice face?' she was sitting in the dame's old-fashioned armchair, in the window of the little room; the bright summer sunshine streaming in behind her then there burst upon the view a wonderful surprise miss bess and master francis were talking eagerly with old prideaux 'poor f'ancie,' she said pitifully. 'so tired, baby wants to kiss thoo' 'auntie!' he said, smiling a very little; 'how pretty you look!' sir hulbert, holding master francis with one arm and the side of the ladder with the other, followed nurse heatherdale's story chapter i love at first sight i could fancy it was only yesterday! that first time i saw them. and to think how many years ago it is really! and how many times i have told the story--or, perhaps, i should say the _stories_, for after all it is only a string of simple day-by-day events i have to tell, though to me and to the children about me they seem so interesting and, in some ways, i think i may say, rather out of the common. so that now that i am getting old, or 'beginning to think just a tiny bit about some day getting old,' which is the only way miss erica will let me say it, and knowing that nobody else _can_ know all the ins and outs which make the whole just as i do, and having a nice quiet time to myself most days (specially since dear tiresome little master ramsey is off to school with his brothers), i am going to try to put it down as well as i can. my 'as well as i can' won't be anything very scholarly or fine, i know well; but if one knows what one wants to say it seems to me the words will come. and the story will be there for the dear children, who are never sharp judging of old heather--and for their children after them, maybe. i was standing at our cottage door that afternoon--a beautiful summer afternoon it was, early in june. i was looking idly enough across the common, for our cottage stood--stands still, perhaps--i have not been there for many a year--just at the edge of brayling common, where it skirts the pine-woods, when i saw them pass. quite a little troop they looked, though they were scarcely near enough for me to see them plainly. there was the donkey, old larkins's donkey, which they had hired for the time, with a tot of a girl riding on it, the page-boy leading it, and a nursemaid walking on one side, and on the other an older little lady--somewhere about ten years old she looked, though she was really only eight. what an air she had, to be sure! what a grand way of holding herself and stepping along like a little princess, for all that she and her sisters were dressed as simple as simple. pink cotton frocks, if i remember right, a bit longer in the skirts than our young ladies wear them now, and nice white cotton stockings,--it was long before black silk ones were the fashion for children,--and ankle-strap shoes, and white sun-bonnets, made with casers and cords, nice and shady for the complexions, though you really had to be close to before you could see a child's face inside of them. and some way behind, another little lady, a good bit shorter than miss bess--i meant to give all their names in order later on, but it seems strange-like not to say it--and looking quite three years younger, though there was really not two between them. and alongside of her a boy, thin and pale and darkish-haired--that, i could see, as he had no sun-bonnet of course, only a cap of some kind. he too was a good bit taller than miss ----, the middle young lady i mean, though short for his age, which was eleven past. they were walking together, these two--they were mostly always together, and i saw that the boy was a little lame, just a touch, but enough to take the spring out of his step that one likes to see in a young thing. and though i couldn't see her face, only some long fair curls, long enough to come below the cape of her bonnet, a feeling came over me that the child beside him was walking slow, keeping back as it were, on purpose to bear him company. there was something gentle and pitying-like in her little figure, in the way she went closer to the boy and took his hand when the nurse turned round and called back something--i couldn't hear the words but i fancied the tone was sharp--to the two children behind, which made them press forward a little. the other young lady turned as they came nearer and said something with a sort of toss-up of her proud little head to the nurse. and then i saw that she held out her hand to her younger sister, who kept hold all the same of the boy's hand on the other side. and that was how they were walking when they went in among the trees and were lost to my sight. but i still stood looking after them, even when there was nothing more of them to be seen. not even the dog--oh, i forgot about him--he was the very last of the party--a brisk, shortish haired, wiry-looking rough terrier, who, just as he got to the entrance of the wood, turned round and stood for a moment barking, for all the world as if he might be saying, 'my young ladies have gone a-walking in the wood now, and nobody's to come a-troubling of them. so i give you fair notice.' he did think, did fusser, that was _his_ name, that he managed all the affairs of the family. many a time we've laughed at him for it. 'dear me,' thought i to myself, 'i could almost make a story out of those young ladies and gentleman, though i've only seen them for a minute, or two at the most.' for i was very fond of children even then, and knew a good deal about their ways, though not so much--no, nor nothing like--what i do now! but i was in rather a dreamy sort of humour. i had just left my first place,--that of nursery-maid with the family where my mother had been before me, and where i had stayed on older than i should have done by rights, because of thinking i was going to be married. and six months before, my poor charles had died suddenly, or so at least it had seemed to us all. for he caught cold, and it went to his chest, and he was gone in a fortnight. the doctor said for all he looked strong, he was really sadly delicate, and it was bound to be sooner or later. it may have been true, leastways the doctor meant to comfort me by saying so, though i don't know that i found much comfort in the thought. not so much anyhow as in mother's simple words that it was god's will, and so it must be right. and in thinking how happy we had been. never a word or a coldness all the four years we were plighted. but it was hard to bear, and it changed all my life for me. i never could bring myself to think of another. still i was only twenty-one, and after i'd been at home a bit, the young ladies would have me back to cheer me up, they said. i travelled with them that spring; but when they all went up to london, and miss marian was to be married, and the two little ones were all day with the governess, i really couldn't for shame stay on when there was no need of me. so, though with many tears, i came home, and was casting about in my mind what i had best do--mother being hale and hearty, and no call for dress-making of a plain kind in our village--that afternoon, when i stood watching the stranger little gentry and old larkins's donkey and the dog, as they crossed the common into the firwood. it was mother's voice that woke me up, so to say. 'martha,' she called out in her cheery way, 'what's thee doing, child? i'm about tidied up; come and get thy work, and let's sit down a bit comfortable. i don't like to see thee so down-like, and such bright summer weather, though mayhap the very sunshine makes it harder for thee, poor dear.' and she gave a little sigh, which was a good deal for her, for she was not one as made much talk of feelings and sorrows. it seemed to spirit me up somehow. 'i wasn't like that just now, mother,' i said cheerfully. 'i've been watching some children--gentry--going over the common--three little young ladies and a boy, and larkins's donkey. they made me think of miss charlotte and miss marian when first i went there, though plainer dressed a good deal than our young ladies were. but real gentry, i should say.' 'and you'd say right,' mother answered. 'they are lodging at widow nutfold's, quite a party of them. their father's sir----; dear, dear, i've forgot the name, but he's a barrowknight, and the family's name is penrose. they come from somewhere far off, near by the sea--quite furrin parts, i take it.' 'not out of england, you don't mean, do you?' i asked. for mother, of course, kept all her old country talk, while i, with having been so many years with miss marian and her sisters, and treated more like a friend than a servant, and great pains taken with my reading and writing, had come to speak less old-fashioned, so to say, and to give the proper meaning to my words. 'foreign parts really means out of this country, where they talk french or italian, you know, mother.' but mother only shook her head. 'nay,' she said, 'i mean what i say. furrin parts is furrin parts. i wouldn't say as they come from where the folks is nigger blacks, or from old boney's country neither, as they used to frighten us about when i was a child. but these gentry come from furrin parts. why, i had it from sarah nutfold's own lips, last saturday as never was, at brayling market, and old neighbours of forty years; it's not sense to think she'd go for to deceive me.' mother was just a little offended, i could see, and i thought to myself i must take care of seeming to set her right. 'of course not,' i said. 'you couldn't have it surer than from mrs. nutfold. i daresay she's pleased to have them to cheer her up a bit. they seem nice little ladies to look at, though they're on the outside of plain as to their dress.' 'and more sense, too,' said mother. 'i always thought our young ladies too expensive, though where money's no consideration, 'tis a temptation to a lady to dress up her children, i suppose.' 'but they were never _over_-dressed,' i said, in my turn, a little ruffled. 'nothing could be simpler than their white frocks to look at.' 'ay, to look at, i'll allow,' said mother. 'but when you come to look _into_ them, martha, it was another story. embroidery and tucks and real walansian!' and she held up her hands. 'still they've got it, and they've a right to spend it, seein' too as they're generous to those who need. but these little ladies at sarah's are not rich, i take it. there was a deal of settlin' about the prices when my lady came to take the rooms. she and the gentleman's up in london, but one or two of the children got ill and needed country air. it's a heavy charge on sarah nutfold, for the nurse is not one of the old sort, and my lady asked sarah, private-like, to have an eye on her.' 'there now,' i cried, 'i could have said as much! the way she turned just now so sharp on the poor boy and the middle little lady. i could see she wasn't one of the right kind, though i didn't hear what she said. no one should be a nurse, or have to do with children, mother, who doesn't right down love them in her heart.' 'you're about right there, martha,' mother agreed. just then father came in, and we sat round, the three of us, to our tea. 'it's a pleasure to have thee at home again, my girl, for a bit,' he said. and the kind look in his eyes made me feel both cheered and sad together. it was the first day i had been with them at tea-time, for i had got home pretty late the night before. 'and i hope it'll be a longish bit this time,' he went on. i gave a little sigh. 'i'd like to stay a while; but i don't know that it would be good for me to stay very long, father, thank you,' i said. 'i'm young and strong and fit for work, and i'd like to feel i was able to help you and mother if ever the time comes that you're laid by.' 'please god we'll never need help of that kind, my girl,' said father. 'but it's best to be at work, i know, when one's had a trouble. the day'll maybe come, martha, when you'll be glad to have saved a little more for a home of your own, after all. so i'd not be the one to stand in your way, a few months hence--nor mother neither--if a good place offers.' 'thank you, father,' i said again; 'but the only home of my own i'll ever care for will be here--by mother and you.' and so it proved. i little thought how soon father's words about not standing in my way if a nice place offered would be put to the test. i saw the children who were lodging at mrs. nutfold's several times in the course of the next week or two. they seemed to have a great fancy for the pine-woods, and from where they lived they could not, to get to them, but pass across the common within sight of our cottage. and once or twice i met them in the village street. not all of them together--once it was only the two youngest with the nurse; they were waiting at the door of the post-office, which was also the grocer's and the baker's, while she was inside chattering and laughing a deal more than she'd any call to, it seemed to me. (i'm afraid i took a real right-down dislike to that nurse, which isn't a proper thing to do before one has any certain reason for it.) and dear little ladies they looked, though the elder one--that was the middle one of the three--had rather an anxious expression in her face, that struck me. the baby--she was nearly three, but i heard them call her baby--was a little fat bundle of smiles and dimples. i don't think even a cross nurse would have had power to trouble _her_ much. another time it was the two elder girls and the lame boy i met. it was a windy day, and the eldest missy's big flapping bonnet had blown back, so i had a good look at her. she was a beautiful child--blue eyes, very dark blue, or seeming so from the clear black eyebrows and thick long eyelashes, and dark almost black hair, with just a little wave in it; not so long or curling as her sister's, which was out-of-the-way beautiful hair, but seeming somehow just to suit her, as everything about her did. she came walking along with the proud springing step i had noticed that first day, and she was talking away to the others as if to cheer and encourage them, even though the boy was full three years older than she, and supposed to be taking charge of her and her sister, i fancy. 'nonsense, franz,' she was saying in her decided spoken way, 'nonsense. i won't have you and lally treated like that. and i don't care--i mean i can't help if it does trouble mamma. mammas must be troubled about their children sometimes; that's what being a mamma means.' i managed to keep near them for a bit. i hope it was not a mean taking-advantage. i have often told them of it since--it was really that i did feel such an interest in the dear children, and my mind misgave me from the first about that nurse--it did so indeed. 'if only----' said the boy with a tiny sigh. but again came that clear-spoken little voice, 'nonsense, franz.' i never did hear a child of her age speak so well as miss bess. it's pretty to hear broken talking in a child sometimes, lisping, and some of the funny turns they'll give their words; but it's even prettier to hear clear complete talk like hers in a young child. then came a gentle, pitiful little voice. 'it isn't nonsense, queen, darling. it's _howid_ for franz, but it wasn't nonsense he was going to say. i know what it was,' and she gave the boy's hand a little squeeze. 'it was only--if aunty _was_ my mamma, bess, but you know she isn't. and _aunts_ aren't forced to be troubled about not their own children.' 'yes they are,' the elder girl replied. 'at least when they're instead of own mammas. and then, you know, franz, it's not only you, it's lally too, and----' that was all i heard. i couldn't pretend to be obliged to walk slowly just behind them, for in reality i was rather in a hurry, so i hastened past; but just as i did so, their little dog, who was with them, looked up at me with a friendly half-bark, half-growl. that made the children smile at me too, and for the life of me, even if 'twas not good manners, i couldn't help smiling in return. 'hasn't her a nice face?' i heard the second little young lady say, and it sent me home with quite a warm feeling in my heart. [illustration: 'hasn't her a nice face?'] it was about a week after that, when one evening as we were sitting together--father, mother, and i--and father was just saying there'd be daylight enough to need no candles that night--we heard the click of the little garden gate, and a voice at the door that mother knew in a moment was widow nutfold's. 'good evening to you, mrs. heatherdale,' she said, 'and many excuses for disturbing of you so late, but i'm that put about. is your martha at home?--thank goodness, my dear,' as i came forward out of the dusk to speak to her. 'it's more you nor your good mother i've come after; you'll be thinking i'm joking when you hear what it is. can you slip on your bonnet and come off with me now this very minute to help with my little ladies? would you believe it--that their good-for-nothing girl is off--gone--packed up this very evening--and left me with 'em all on my hands, and miss baby beginning with a cold on her chest, and master francis all but crying with the rheumatics in his poor leg. and even the page-boy, as was here at first, was took back to london last week.' the good woman held up her hands in despair, and then by degrees we got the whole story--how the nurse had not been meaning to stay longer than suited her own convenience, but had concealed this from her lady; and having heard by a letter that afternoon of another situation which she could have if she went at once, off she had gone, in spite of all poor widow nutfold could say or do. 'she took a dislike to me seein' as i tried to look after her a bit and to stop her nasty cross ways, and she told me that impertinent, as i wanted to be nurse, i might be it now. she has a week or two's money owing her, but she was that scornful she said she'd let it go; she had been a great silly for taking the place.' 'but she might be had up and made to give back some of her wages,' said father. 'sir hulbert and my lady are not that sort, and she knows it,' said mrs. nutfold. 'the wages was pretty fair--it was the dulness of the life down in cornwall the girl objected to most, i fancy.' 'cornwall,' repeated mother. 'there now, martha, if that isn't furrin parts, i don't know what is.' but i hadn't time to say any more. i hurried on my shawl and bonnet, and rolled up an apron or two, and slipped a cap into a bandbox, and there i was. 'good-night, mother,' i said. 'i'll look round in the morning--and i don't suppose i'll be wanted to stay more than a day or two. my lady's sure to find some one at once, being in london too.' 'i should think so,' said old sarah, but there was something in her tone i did not quite understand. chapter ii an unexpected proposal we hurried across the common--it was still daylight though the sun had set some little time. the red and gold were still lingering in the sky and casting a beautiful glow on the heather and the gorse bushes. for brayling common is not like what the word makes most people think of--there's no grass at all--it's all heather and gorse, and here and there clumps of brambles, and low down on the sandy soil all sorts of hardy, running, clinging little plants that ask for nothing but sunshine and air. for of moisture there's but scanty supply; it no sooner rains than it dries up again. but oh it is beautiful--the colours of it i've never seen equalled--not even in italy or switzerland, where i went with my first ladies, as i said before. the heather seems to change its shade a dozen times a day, as well as with every season--according as the sky is cloudy or bright, or the sun overhead or on his way up or down. i cannot say it the right way, but i know that many far cleverer than me would feel the same; you may travel far before you'd see a sweeter piece of nature than our common, with its wonderful changefulness and yet always beautiful. there's little footpaths in all directions, as well as a few wider tracks. it takes strangers some time to learn their way, i can tell you. the footpaths are seldom wide enough for two, so it's a queer sort of backwards and forwards talking one has to be content with. and we walked too fast to have breath for much, only widow nutfold would now and then throw back to me, so to say, some odds and ends of explaining about the children that she thought i'd best know. 'they're dear young ladies,' she said, 'though miss elisabeth is a bit masterful and miss baby--augusta's her proper name--a bit spoilt. take them all together, i think miss lally's my favourite, or would be if she was a little happier, poor child! i can't stand whiney children.' i smiled to myself--i knew that the good woman's experience of children was not great--she had married late and never had one of her own. it was real goodness that made her take such an interest in the little penroses. 'poor child,' i said, 'perhaps the cross nurse has made her so,' at which sarah gave a sort of grunt. 'what is her real name--the middle young lady's, i mean?' 'oh, bless you, i couldn't take upon me to say it--it's too outlandish. miss lally we call her--' and i could hear that mrs. nutfold's breath was getting short--she was stout in her later years--and that she was a little cross. 'you must ask for yourself, martha.' so i said no more, though i had wanted to hear about the boy, who had spoken of their mother as his aunty, and how he had come to be so delicate and lame. and in a few minutes more we found ourselves at the door of clover cottage; that was mrs. nutfold's house, though 'bramble cottage' would have suited it better, standing where it did. she took the key out of her pocket. 'i locked them in,' she said, nodding her head, 'though they didn't know it.' 'gracious,' says i, 'you don't mean as the children are all alone?' 'to be sure--who'd be with them? i wasn't going to make a chatter all over the place about that impident woman a-goin' off. and bella, my girl, goes home at five. 'twas after she left there was all the upset.' i felt rather startled at hearing this. suppose they had set themselves on fire! but old sarah seemed quite easy in her mind, as she opened the door and went in, me following. 'twas a nice roomy cottage, and so clean. besides the large kitchen at one side, with a good back-kitchen behind it, and a tidy bedroom for mrs. nutfold, there was a fair-sized parlour, with casement windows and deep window-seats--all old-fashioned, but roomy and airy. and upstairs two nice bed-rooms and a small one. i knew it well, having been there off and on to help mrs. nutfold with her lodgers at the busy season before i went away to a regular place. so i was a little surprised when she turned to the kitchen, instead of opening the parlour door. and at first, what with coming out of the half-light and the red glow still in my eyes, and what with that there fusser setting upon me with such a barking and jumping--all meant for a welcome, i soon found--as never was, i scarce could see or hear. but i soon got myself together again. 'down fusser, naughty fuss,' said the children, and, 'he won't bite, it's only meant for "how do you do?"' said the eldest girl. and then she turned to me as pretty as might be. 'is this martha?' says she, holding out her little hand. 'i _am_ pleased to see you. it's very good of you, and oh, mrs. nutfold, i'm so glad you've come back. baby is getting so sleepy.' poor little soul--so she was. they had set her up on sarah's old rocking-chair near the fire as well as they could, to keep her warm because of her cold, and it was a chilly evening rather. but it was past her bed-time, and she was fractious with all the upset. i just was stooping down to look at her when she gave a little cry and held out her arms to me. 'baby so tired,' she said, 'want to go to bed.' 'and so you shall, my love,' i said. 'i'll have off my bonnet in a moment, and then martha will put miss baby to bed all nice and snug.' 'marfa,' said a little voice beside me. it was the middle young lady. 'i like that name, don't you, francie?' that was the boy--they were all there, poor dears. old sarah had thought they'd be cosier in the kitchen while she was out. i smiled back at miss lally, as they called her. she was standing by master francis; both looking up at me, with a kind of mixture of hope and fear, a sort of asking, 'will she be good to us?' in their faces, which touched me very much. master francis was not a pretty child like the others. he was pale and thin, and his eyes looked too dark for his face. he was small too, no taller than miss bess, and with none of her upright hearty look. but when he smiled his expression was very sweet. he smiled now, with a sort of relief and pleasure, and i saw that he gave a little squeeze to miss lally's hand, which he was holding. 'yes,' he said, 'it's a nice name. the other nurse was called "sharp;" it suited her too,' with a twinkle in his eyes i was pleased to see. 'lally can't say her "th's" properly,' he went on, as if he was excusing her a little, 'nor her "r's" sometimes, though bess and i are trying to teach her.' 'it's so babyish at _her_ age, nearly six, not to speak properly,' said miss bess, with her little toss of the head, at which miss lally's face puckered up, and the corners of her mouth went down, and i saw what sarah nutfold meant by saying she was rather a 'whiney' child. i didn't give her time for more just then. i had got miss baby up in my arms, where she was leaning her sleepy head on my shoulder in her pretty baby way. i felt quite in my right place again. 'come along, miss lally, dear,' i said. 'it must be your bed-time too, and if you'll come upstairs with miss baby and me, you'll be able to show me all the things--the baths, and the sponges, and everything--won't that be nice?' she brightened up in a moment--dear child, it's always been like that with her. give her a hint of anything she could do for others, and she'd forget her own troubles--fancy or real ones--that minute. 'the hot water's all ready,' said mrs. nutfold. 'i kep' the fire up, so as you shouldn't have no trouble i could help, martha, my dear.' and then the three of us went upstairs to the big room at the back, where i was to sleep with miss baby in her cot, and which we called the night nursery. miss lally was as bright as a child could be, and that handy and helpful. but more than once i heard a sigh come from the very depths of her little heart, it seemed. 'sharp never lettened me help wif baby going to bed, this nice way,' she said, and sighed again. 'never mind about sharp, my dear,' i said. 'she had her ways, and martha has hers. what are you sighing about?' 'i'm so fwightened her'll come back and you go, marfa,' she said, nestling up to me. baby was safe in bed by now, prayers said and all. 'and--i'm sleepy, but i don't like going to bed till queen comes.' 'who may she be, my dear?' i asked, and then i remembered their talking that day in the street. 'oh, it's miss bess, you mean.' 'yes--it's in the english hist_ory_,' said the child, making a great effort over the 'r.' 'there was a queen they called "good queen bess," so i made that my name for bess. but mamma laughed one day and said that queen wasn't "good." i was so sorry. so i just call bess "queen" for short. and i say "good" to myself, for my bess _is_ good; only i wish she wouldn't be vexed when i don't speak words right,' and again the little creature sighed as if all the burdens of this weary world were on her shoulders. 'it's that miss bess wants you to speak as cleverly as she does, i suppose. it'll come in time, no fear. when i was a little girl i couldn't say the letter "l," try as i might. i used to leave it out altogether--i remember one day telling mother i had seen such a sweet "ittie 'amb"--i meant "little lamb."' 'oh, how funny,' said miss lally laughing. she was always ready to laugh. 'it's a good thing i can say "l's," isn't it? my name wouldn't be--nothing--would it?--without the "l's."' 'but it's only a short, isn't it, missy?' i said. 'yes, my _weal_ name is "lalage." do you fink it's a pretty name?' she said. she was getting sleepy, and it was too much trouble to worry about her speaking. 'yes, indeed, i think it's a sweet name. so soft and gentle like,' i said, which pleased her, i could see. 'papa says so too--but mamma doesn't like it so much. it was francie's mamma's name, but she's dead. and poor francie's papa's dead too. he was papa's brother,' said miss lally, in her old-fashioned way. there was a funny mixture of old-fashionedness and simple, almost baby ways about all those children. i've never known any quite like them. no doubt it came in part from their being brought up so much by themselves, and having no other companions than each other. but from the first i always felt they were dear children, and more than common interesting. a few days passed--very quiet and peaceful, and yet full of life too they seemed to me. i felt more like myself again, as folks say, than since my great trouble. it _was_ sweet to have real little ones to see to again--if miss baby had only known it, that first evening's bathing her and tucking her up in bed brought tears of pleasure to my eyes. 'come now,' i said, to myself, 'this'll never do. you mustn't let yourself go for to get so fond of these young ladies and gentleman that you're only with for a day or two at most,' but i knew all the same i couldn't help it, and i settled in my own mind that as soon as i could i would look out for a place again. i wasn't afraid of what some would count a hardish place--indeed, i rather liked it. i've always been that fond of children that whatever i have to do for them comes right--what does try my temper is to see things half done, or left undone by silly upsetting girls who haven't a grain of the real nurse's spirit in them. my lady wrote at once on hearing from mrs. nutfold. she was very angry indeed about sharp's behaviour, and at first was by way of coming down immediately to see to things. but by the next day, when she had got a second letter saying how old sarah had fetched me, and that i was willing to stay for the time, she wrote again, putting off for a few days, and glad to do so, seeing how cleverly her good mrs. nutfold had managed. that was how she put it--my lady always had a gracious way with her, i will say--and i was to be thanked for my obligingness; she was sure her little dears would be happy with any one so well thought of by the dame. they were very busy indeed just then, she and sir hulbert, she said, and very gay. but when i came to know her better i did her justice, and saw she was not the butterfly i was inclined to think her. she was just frantic to get her husband forward, so to speak, and far more ambitious for him than caring about anything for herself. he had had a trying and disappointing life of it in some ways, had sir hulbert, and it had not soured him. he was a right-down high-minded gentleman, though not so clever as my lady, perhaps. and she adored him. they adored each other--seldom have i heard of a happier couple: only on one point was there ever disunion between them, as i shall explain, all in good time. a week therefore--fully a week--had gone by before my little ladies' mother came to see them. and when she did come it was at short notice enough--a letter by the post--and mayne, the postman, never passed our way much before ten in the morning. so the dame told as how she'd be down by the first train, and get to clover cottage by eleven, or soon after. we were just setting off on our morning walk when sarah came calling after us to tell. she was for us not going, and stopping in till her ladyship arrived; but when i put it to her that the children would get so excited, hanging about and nothing to do, she gave in. 'i'll bring them back before eleven,' i said. 'they'll be looking fresh and rosy, and with us out of the way you and the girl can get the rooms all tidied up as you'd like for my lady to find them.' and sarah allowed it was a good thought. 'you've a head on your shoulders, my girl,' was how she put it. so off we set--our usual way, over the common to the firwoods. there's many a pretty walk about brayling, and a great variety; but none took the young ladies' and master francie's fancy like the firwoods. they had never seen anything of the kind before, their home being by the seashore was maybe the reason--or one reason. for i feel much the same myself about loving firwoods, though, so to say, i was born and bred among them. there's a charm one can't quite explain about them--the sameness and the stillness and the great tops so high up, and yet the bareness and openness down below, though always in the shade. and the scent, and the feel of the crisp crunching soil one treads on, soil made of the millions of the fir needles, with here and there the cones as they have fallen. 'it's like fairy stories,' miss lally used to say, with her funny little sigh. but we couldn't linger long in the woods that morning, though a beautiful morning it was. miss bess and miss baby were in the greatest delight about 'mamma' coming, and always asking me if i didn't think it must be eleven o'clock. miss lally was pleased too, in her quiet way, only i noticed that she was a good deal taken up with master francie, who seemed to have something on his mind, and at last they both called to miss bess, and said something to her which i didn't hear, evidently asking her opinion. 'nonsense,' said miss bess, in her quick decided way; 'i have no patience with you being so silly. as if mamma would be so unjust.' 'but,' said master francis hesitatingly, 'you know, bess--sometimes----' 'yes,' put in miss lally, 'she might think it had been partly francie's fault.' 'nonsense,' said miss bess again; 'mamma knows well enough that sharp was horrid. i am sure francie has been as good as good for ever so long, and old mrs. nutfold will tell mamma so, even if possibly she did not understand.' their faces grew a little lighter after this, and by the time we had got home and i had tidied them all up, i really felt that my lady would be difficult to please if she didn't think all four looking as bright and well as she could wish. i kept myself out of the way when i heard the carriage driving up, though the children would have dragged me forward. but i was a complete stranger to lady penrose, and things having happened as they had, i felt that she might like to be alone with the children, at first, and that no doubt sarah nutfold would be eager to have a talk with her. i sat down to my sewing quietly--there was plenty of mending on hand, sharp's service having been but eye-service in every way--and i won't deny but that my heart was a little heavy thinking how soon, how very soon, most likely, i should have to leave these children, whom already, in these few days, i had grown to love so dearly. i was not left very long to my meditations, however; before an hour had passed there came a clear voice up the old staircase, 'martha, martha, come quick, mamma wants you,' and hastening out i met miss bess at the door. she turned and ran down again, i following her more slowly. how well i remember the group i saw as i opened the parlour door! it was like a picture. lady penrose herself was more than pretty--beautiful, i have heard her called, and i think it was no exaggeration. she was sitting in the dame's old-fashioned armchair, in the window of the little room; the bright summer sunshine streaming in behind her and lighting up her fair hair--hair for all the world like miss lally's, though perhaps a thought darker. miss baby was on her knee and miss bess on a stool at her feet, holding one of her hands. miss lally and master francie were a little bit apart, close together as usual. 'come in,' said my lady. 'come in, martha,' as i hesitated a little in the doorway. 'i am very pleased to see you and to thank you for all your kindness to these little people.' she half rose from her chair as i drew near, and shook hands with me in the pretty gracious way she had. 'i am sure it has been a pleasure to me, my lady,' i said. 'i've been used to children for so long that i was feeling quite lost at home doing nothing.' 'and you are very fond of children, truly fond of them,' my lady went on, glancing up at me with a quick observant look, that somehow reminded me of miss bess; 'so at least mrs. nutfold tells me, and i think i should have known it for myself even if she had not said so. i have to go back to town this afternoon--supposing you all run out into the garden for a few minutes, children; i want to talk to martha a little, and it will soon be your dinner time.' she got up as she spoke, putting miss baby down gently; the child began grumbling a little--but, 'no, no, baby, you must do as i tell you,' checked her in a moment. 'take her out with you, bess,' she added. i could see that my lady was not one to be trifled with. when they had all left the room she turned to me again. 'sit down, martha, for a minute or two. one can always talk so much more comfortably sitting,' she said pleasantly. 'and i have no doubt the children have given you plenty of exercise lately, though you don't look delicate,' she added, with again the little look of inquiry. 'thank you, my lady; no, i am not delicate; as a rule i am strong and well, though this last year has brought me troubles and upsets, and i haven't felt quite myself.' 'naturally,' she said. 'mrs. nutfold has told me about you. i was talking to her just now when i first arrived.' truly my lady was not one to let the grass grow under the feet. 'she says you will be looking for a situation again before long. is there any chance of your being able to take one at once, that is to say if mine seems likely to suit you.' she spoke so quick and it was so unexpected that i felt for a moment half stupid and dazed-like. 'are you sure, my lady, that i should suit you?' i managed to say at last. 'i have only been in one place in my life, and you might want more experience.' 'you were with mrs. wyngate, in ----shire, i believe? i know her sister and can easily hear any particulars i want, but i feel sure you would suit me.' she went on to give me a good many particulars, all in the same clear decided way. 'the wyngates are very rich,' she said, as she ended. 'you must have seen a great deal of luxury there. now we are not rich--not at all rich--though we have a large country place that has belonged to the family for many hundreds of years; but we are obliged to live plainly and the place is rather lonely. i don't want you to decide all at once. think it all over, and consult your parents, and let me have your answer when i come down again.' 'that will be the difficulty,' i replied; 'my parents wanted me to stay on some time with them. there is nothing about the work or the wages i should object to, and though mrs. wyngate was very kind, i have never cared for much luxury in the nursery--indeed, i should have liked plainer ways; and i love the country, and as for the young ladies and gentleman, my lady, if it isn't taking a liberty to say so, i love them dearly already. but it is father and mother----' 'well, well,' said my lady, 'we must see. the children are very happy with you, and i hope it may be arranged, but of course you must consult your parents.' she went back to london that same afternoon, and that very evening, when they were all in bed, i slipped on my bonnet and ran home to talk it over with father and mother. chapter iii treluan there were fors and againsts, as there are with most things in this world. father was sorry for me to leave so soon and go so far, and he scarce thought the wages what i might now look for. mother felt with him about the parting, but mother was a far-seeing woman. she thought the change would be the best thing for me after my trouble, and she thought a deal of my being with real gentry. not but that mrs. wyngate's family was all one could think highly of, but mr. wyngate's great fortune had been made in trade, and there was a little more talk and thought of riches and display among them than quite suited mother's ideas, and she had sometimes feared it spoiling me. 'the wages i wouldn't put first,' she said. 'a good home and simple ways among real gentlefolk--that's what i'd choose for thee, my girl. and the children are good children and not silly spoilt things, and straightforward and well-bred, i take it?' 'all that and more,' i answered. 'if anything, they've been a bit too strict brought up, i'd say. if i go to them i shall try to make miss lally brighten up--not that she's a dull child, but she has the look of taking things to heart more than one likes to see at her age. and poor master francis--i'm sure he'd be none the worse of a little petting--so delicate as he is and his lameness.' 'you'll find your work to do, if you go--no fear,' said mother. 'maybe it's a call.' i got to think so myself--and when my lady wrote that all she heard from mrs. wyngate was most satisfactory, i made up my mind to accept her offer, and told her so when she came down again for a few hours the end of the week. we stayed but a fortnight longer at brayling--and a busy fortnight it was. i had my own things to see to a little, and would fain have finished the set of shirts i had begun for father. the days seemed to fly. i scarce could believe it was not a dream when i found myself with all the family in a second-class railway carriage, starting from paddington on our long journey. it was a long journey, especially as, to save expense, we had come up from brayling that same morning. we were not to reach the little town where we left the railway till nearly midnight, to sleep there, i was glad for the poor children's sake to hear, and start again the next morning on a nineteen miles' journey by coach. 'and then,' said miss lally, with one of her deep sighs, 'we shall be at home.' i thought there was some content in her sigh this time. 'shall you be glad, dearie, to be at home again?' i said. 'i fink so,' she answered. 'and oh, i am glad you've comed wif us, 'stead of sharp. and francie's almost more gladder still, aren't you, dear old francie?' 'i should just think i was,' said the boy. 'sharp,'--and the little girl lowered her voice and glanced round; we were, so to speak, alone at one end of the carriage,--miss lally, her cousin and i, for miss baby was already asleep in my arms and miss bess talking, like a grown-up young lady, at the other end, with her papa and mamma--'sharp,' said miss lally, 'really _hated_ poor francie, because she thought he told mamma about her tempers. and she made mamma think he was naughty when he wasn't. francie and i were frightened when sharp went away that mamma would think it was his fault. but she didn't. queen spoke to her, and mrs. dame' (that was her name for old sarah) 'did too. and you didn't get scolded, did you, francie?' 'no,' said master francie quietly, 'i didn't.' he looked as if he were going to say more, but just then miss bess, who had had enough for the time, of being grown up--and indeed she was but a complete child at heart--got up from her seat and came to our end of the carriage. sir hulbert was reading his newspaper, and my lady was making notes in a little memorandum book. 'what are you talking about?' said the eldest little sister, sitting down beside me. 'you all look very comfortable, baby especially.' 'we are talking about sharp going away,' replied miss lally, 'and francie thinking he'd be scolded for it.' 'oh! do leave off about that and talk of something nicer. franz is really silly. if you'd only speak right out to mamma,' she went on, 'things would be ever so much better.' the boy shook his head rather sadly. 'now you know,' said miss bess, 'they would be. mamma is never unjust.' she was speaking in her clear decided way, and feeling a little afraid lest their voices should reach to the other end--i wouldn't have liked my lady to think i encouraged the children in talking her over--i tried to change the conversation. 'won't you tell me a little about your home?' i said. 'you know it'll all be quite new to me; i've only seen the sea once or twice in my life, and never lived by it.' 'treluan isn't quite close to the sea,' said master francis, evidently taking up my feeling. 'we can see it from some of the top rooms, and from one end of the west terrace at high tides, and we can hear it too when it's stormy. but it's really two miles to the coast.' 'there are such dear little bays, lots of them,' said miss bess. 'we can play robinson crusoe and smugglers and all sorts of things, for the bays are quite separated from each other by the rocks.' 'there's caves in some,' said miss lally, 'rather f'ightening caves, they're so dark;' but her eyes sparkled as if she were quite able to enjoy some adventures. 'we shall be at no loss for nice walks, i see; but how do you amuse yourselves on wet days?' 'oh! we've always plenty to do,' said miss bess. 'miss kirstin comes from the vicarage every morning for our lessons, and twice a week papa teaches franz and me latin in the afternoon, and the house is very big, you know. when we can't go out, we may race about in the attics over the nurseries. there's a stair goes up to the tower, just by the nursery door, and you pass the attics on the way. they're called the tower attics, because there are lots more over the other end of the house. francie's room is in the tower.' it was easy to see by this talk that treluan was a large and important place. 'i suppose the house is very, very old?' i said. 'oh yes! thousands--i mean hundreds--of years old. centuries mean hundreds, don't they, franz?' said she, turning to her cousin. 'yes, dear,' he answered gently, though i could see he was inclined to smile a little. 'if you know english history,' he went on to me, 'i could tell you exactly how old, treluan is. the first bit of it was built in the reign of king henry the third, though it's been changed ever so often since then. about a hundred years ago the penroses were very rich, very rich indeed. but when one of them died--our great, great grand-uncle, i think it was--and his nephew took possession, it was found the old man had sold a lot of the land secretly--it wasn't to be told till his death--and no one has ever been able to find out what he did with the money. it was the best of the land too.' 'and they were so surprised,' said miss bess, 'for he'd been a very saving old man, and they thought there'd be lots of money over, any way. wasn't it too bad of him--horrid old thing?' 'queen,' said miss lally gravely. 'you know we fixed never to call him that, 'cos he's dead. he was a--oh, what's that word?--something like those things in the hall at home--helmet--was it that? no--do tell me, queen.' 'you're muddling it up with crusaders, you silly little thing,' said miss bess. 'how could he have been a crusader only a hundred years ago?' 'no, no, it isn't that--i said it was _like_ it,' said miss lally, ready to cry. 'what's the other word for helmet?' 'i know,' said master francis, '_vizor_--and----' 'yes, yes--and the old man was a _miser_, that's it,' said the child. 'papa said so, and he said it's like a' illness, once people get it they can't leave off.' miss bess and master francis could not help laughing at the funny way the child said it, nor could i myself, for that matter. and then they went on to tell me more of the strange old story--how their great grandfather and their grandfather after him had always gone on hoping the missing money would sooner or later turn up, though it never did, till--putting what the children told me together with my lady's own words--it became clear that poor sir hulbert had come into a sadly impoverished state of things. 'perhaps the late baronet and his father were not of the "saving" sort,' i said to myself, and from what i came to hear afterwards, i fancy i was about right. after a while my lady came to our end of the carriage. she was afraid, she said, i'd find miss baby too heavy--wouldn't i lay her comfortably on the seat, there was plenty of room?--my lady was always thoughtful for others--and then when we had got the child settled, she sat down and joined in our talk a little. 'we've been telling martha about treluan and about the old uncle that did something with the money,' said miss bess. my lady did not seem to mind. 'it is a queer story, isn't it?' she said. 'worse than queer, indeed----' and she sighed. 'though even with it, things would not be as they are, if other people had not added their part to them.' she glanced round in a half impatient way, and somehow her glance fell on master francis, and i almost started as i caught sight of the expression that had come over her face--it was a look of real dislike. 'sit up, francis--do, for goodness' sake,' she said sharply; 'you make yourself into a regular humpback.' the boy's pale, almost sallow face reddened all over. he had been listening with interest to the talking, and taking his part in it. now he straightened himself nervously, murmuring something that sounded like, 'i beg your pardon, aunt helen,' and sat gazing out of the window beside him as if lost in his own thoughts. i busied myself with pulling the rugs better over miss baby, so that my lady should not see my face just then. but i think she felt sorry for her sharp tone, for when she spoke again it was even more pleasantly than usual. 'have you told nurse other things about treluan, children?' she said. 'it is really a dear old place,' she went on to me; 'it might be made _quite_ delightful if sir hulbert could spend a little more upon it. i had set my heart on new furnishing your room this year, bess darling, but i'm afraid it will have to wait.' 'never mind, dear,' said miss bess comfortingly, in her old-fashioned way, 'there's no hurry. if i could have fresh covers to the chairs, the furniture itself--i mean the _wood_ part--is quite good.' 'i did get some nice chintz in london,' said her mamma; 'there was some selling off rather cheap. but it's the getting things made--everything down with us is so difficult and expensive,' and my lady sighed. her mind seemed full of the one idea, and i began to think she should try to take a cheerier view of things. 'if you'll excuse me mentioning it,' i said, 'i have had some experience in the cutting out of chair-covers and such things. it would be a great pleasure to me to help to make the young ladies' rooms nice.' 'that would be very nice indeed,' said my lady; 'i really should like to do what we can to brighten up the old house. i expect it will look very gloomy to you, nurse, till you get used to it. i do want bess's room to look better. of course lally is in the nursery still, and won't need a room of her own for a long time yet.' miss lally was sitting beside me, and as her mamma spoke, i heard a very tiny little sigh. 'never mind, miss lally dear,' i whispered. 'we'll brighten up the nurseries too, nicely.' these little scraps of talk come back to my mind now, when i think of that first journey down to treluan so many years ago. i put them down such as they are, as they may help better than words of my own to give an idea of the dear children and all about them, as they then were. we reached treluan the afternoon of the next day. it was a dull day unfortunately, though the very middle of summer--rainy and gray. of course every one knows that there's much weather of that kind in the west country, but no doubt it added to the impression of gloom with which the first sight of the old house struck me, i must confess. gloom, perhaps, is hardly the word to use; it was more a feeling of desertedness, almost of decayed grandeur, quite unlike anything i had ever seen before. for in my former place everything had been bright and new, fresh and perfect of its kind. afterwards, when i came to see into things better, i found there was no neglect or mismanagement; everything that _could_ be done was done by sir hulbert outside, and my lady in her own department--uphill and trying work though it must often have been for them. but that first evening, when i looked round the great lofty hall into which my lady had led the way, dusky and dim already with the rain pattering against the high arched windows and a chilly feeling in the air, the half dozen servants or so, who had come out to meet us--evidently the whole establishment--standing round, i must own that in spite of the children's eager excitement and delight at finding themselves at home again, my heart went down. i did feel so very far away from home and father and mother, and everything i had ever known. the first thing to cheer me was when the old housekeeper--cook-housekeeper she really was--mrs. brent, came forward after speaking to my lady, and shook me kindly by the hand. 'welcome to treluan, nurse heatherdale,' she said. and here i should explain that as there was already a martha in the house, my lady had expressed her wish that i should be called 'nurse,' or 'heatherdale,' from which came my name of 'heather,' that i have always been called by. 'welcome to treluan, and don't go for to think that it's always as dull as you see it just now, as like as not to-morrow will be bright and sunny.' she was a homely-looking body with a very kind face, not cornish bred i found afterwards, though she had lived there many years. something about her made me think of mother, and i felt the tears rise to my eyes, though no one saw. 'shall i show nurse the way upstairs, my lady?' she said. for mrs. brent was like her looks, simple and friendly like. she had never known treluan in its grand days of course, though she had known it when things were a good deal easier than at present; and that evening, when the children were asleep, she came up to sit with me a bit, and, though with perfect respect to her master and mistress and no love of gossip in her talk (for of that she was quite free), she explained to me a few things which already had puzzled me a little. no praise was too high for sir hulbert with her, and my lady was a really good, high-minded woman. 'but she takes her troubles too heavy,' said mrs. brent; 'she's like to break her heart at having no son of her own, and that and other things make her not show her best self to poor little master francis, though, considering he's been here since he was four, 'tis a wonder he doesn't seem to her like a child of her own. and sir hulbert feels it; it's a real grief to him, for he loved master francis's father dearly through all the troubles he caused them, and anyway 'tis not fair to visit the father's sin on the innocent child.' then she told me how master francis's father had made things worse by his extravagance, half-breaking his young wife's heart and leaving debts behind him, when he was killed by an accident; and that sir hulbert, for the honour of the family, had taken these debts upon himself. 'his wife was a pretty young creature, half a foreigner. sir hulbert had her brought here with the boy, and here she died, not long before miss lalage was born, and so, failing a son, master francis is the heir, and a sweet, good young gentleman he is, though nothing as to looks. 'tis a pity he's so shy and timid in his ways; it gives my lady the idea he's not straightforward, though that i'm very sure he is, and most affectionate at heart, though he hasn't the knack of showing it.' 'except to miss lally, i should say,' i put in; 'how those two do cling together, to be sure.' 'he loves them all dearly, my lady too, though he's frightened of her. miss lally's the one he's most at home with, because she's so little, and none of miss bess's masterful ways about her. poor dear miss lally, many's the trouble she's got into for master francis's sake.' all this was very interesting to me, and helped to clear my mind in some ways from the first, which was, i take it, a good thing. mrs. brent said little about sharp, but i could see she had not approved of her; and she was so kind as to add some words about myself, and feeling sure i would make the children happy, especially the two whom it was easy to see were her own favourites, miss lally and her cousin. this made me feel the more earnest to do my very best in every way for the young creatures under my care. chapter iv a nursery tea writing down that talk with good mrs. brent made me put aside the account of our arrival at treluan, clearly though i remember it. even to this day i never go up the great staircase--of course it is not often that i pass that way--without recalling the feelings with which i stepped up it for the first time--mrs. brent in front, carrying a small hand-lamp, the passages being so dark, though it was still early in the evening; the children running on before me, except miss baby, who was rather sleepy and very cross, poor dear, so that half way up i had to lift her in my arms. all up the dark wainscoted walls, dead and gone penroses looked down upon us, in every sort of ancient costume. they used to give me a half eerie feeling till i got to know them better and to take a certain pride in them, feeling myself, as i came to do, almost like one of the family, though in a humble way. at the top of the great staircase we passed along the gallery, which runs right across one side of the hall below; then through a door on the right and down a long passage ending in a small landing, from which a back staircase ran down again to the ground floor. the nurseries in those days were the two large rooms beyond, now turned into a billiard-room, my present lady thinking them scarcely warm enough for the winter. it is handy too to have the billiard-room near the tower, where the smoking-room now is, and the spare rooms for gentlemen-visitors. a door close beside the nurseries opened on to the tower stair; some little way up this stair another door leads into the two or three big attics over the nurseries, which the children used as playrooms in the wet weather. master francis's room was the lowest door on the tower staircase, half way as it were, as to level, between the nurseries and the attics. the ground-floor rooms of the tower were entered from below, as the separate staircase only began from the nursery floor. all these particulars, of course, i learnt by degrees, having but a very general idea of things that first night; but plans of houses and buildings have always had an interest for me, and as a girl i think i had a quick eye for sizes and proportions. i do remember the first time i saw the ground-floor room of the tower, under master francis's, so to say, wondering to myself how it came to be so low in the ceiling, seeing that the floor of his room was several feet higher than that of the nurseries. no doubt others would have been struck by this also, had the lowest room in the tower been one in regular use, but as long as any one could remember it had only been a sort of lumber-room. it was only by accident that i went into it one day, months after i had come to treluan. the nurseries were nice airy rooms; the schoolroom was underneath the day nursery, down on the ground floor; and miss bess's room was off the little landing i spoke of before you came to the nursery passage. but all seemed dim and dusky in the half light, that first evening. it was long before the days of gas, of course, except in towns, though that, i am told, is now thought nothing of compared to this new electric light, which sir bevil is thinking of establishing here, to be made on the premises in some wonderful way. and even lamps at that time were very different from what they are now, when every time my lady goes up to town she brings back some beautiful new invention for turning night into day. i was glad, i remember, june though it was, to see a bright fire in the nursery grate--mrs. brent was always thoughtful--and the tea laid out nice and tidy on the table. miss baby brightened up at sight of it, and the others gathered round to see what good things the housekeeper had provided for them by way of welcome home. 'i hope there's some clotted cream,' said miss bess; 'yes, that's right! nurse has never seen it before, i'm sure. fancy, mrs. brent, mamma says the silly people in london call it devonshire cream, and i'm sure it's far more cornish. and honey and some of your own little scones and saffron cakes, that is nice! mayn't we have tea immediately?' 'i must wash my hands,' said master francis, 'they did get so black in the carriage.' 'and mine too,' said miss lally. 'oh, nurse, mayn't francis wash his for once in the night nursery, to be quick?' 'why didn't you both keep your gloves on, you dirty children?' said miss bess in her masterful way. 'my hands are as clean as clean, and of course francis mustn't begin muddling in the nursery. you'd never have asked sharp that, lally. it's just the sort of thing mamma doesn't like. i shall take my things off in my own room at once.' and she marched to the door as she spoke, stopping for a moment on the way to say to me--'heatherdale, you'll come into my room, won't you, as soon as ever you can, to talk about the new chair-covers?' 'i won't forget about them, miss bess,' i said quietly; 'but for a few days i am sure to be busy, unpacking and looking over the things that were left here.' the child said nothing more, but i saw by the lift of her head that she was not altogether pleased. 'now master francis,' i went on, 'perhaps you had better run off to your own room to wash your hands. it's always best to keep to regular ways.' the boy obeyed at once. i had, to tell the truth, been on the point of letting him do as miss lally had wanted, but miss bess's speech had given me a hint, though i was not sorry for her not to have seen it. i should be showing master francis no true kindness to begin by any look of spoiling him, and i saw by a little smile on mrs. brent's face that she thought me wise, even though it was not till later in the evening that i had the long talk with her that i have already mentioned. our tea was bright and cheery, miss baby's spirits returned, and she kept us all laughing by her funny little speeches. my lady came in when we had nearly finished, just to see how all the children were--perhaps too, for she was full of kind thoughtfulness, to make me feel myself more at home. she sat down in the chair by the fire, with a little sigh, and i was sorry to see the anxious, harassed look on her beautiful face. 'you all look very comfortable,' she said; 'please give me a cup of tea, nurse. i found such a lot of things to do immediately, that i've not had time to think of tea yet, and poor sir hulbert is off in the rain to see about some broken fences. oh dear! what a contrary world it seems,' she added half laughingly. 'how did the fences get broken, mamma?' said miss bess; 'and why didn't garth get them mended at once without waiting to tease papa the moment he got home?' 'some cattle got wild and broke them, and if they are not put right at once, more damage may be done. but all these repairs are expensive. it only happened two days ago; poor garth was obliged to tell papa before doing it. dear me,' she said again, 'it really does seem sometimes as if money would put everything in life right.' 'oh! my lady,' i exclaimed hastily, and then i got red with shame at my forwardness and stopped short. i felt very sorry for her; the one thought seemed never out of her mind, and bid fair to poison her happy home. i felt too that it was scarcely the sort of talk for the children to hear, miss bess being already in some ways so old for her years, and the two others scarce as light-hearted as they should have been. my lady smiled at me. 'say on, heatherdale; i'd like to hear what you think about it.' i felt my face getting still redder, but i had brought it on myself. 'it was only, my lady,' i began, 'that it seems to me that there are so many troubles worse than want of money. there's my last lady's sister, for instance, mrs. vernon,--everything in the world has she that money can give, but she's lost all her babies, one after the other, and she's just heart-broken. then there's young lady mildred parry, whose parents own the finest place near my home, and she's their only child; but she had a fall from her horse two years ago and her back is injured for life; she often drives past our cottage, lying all stretched-out-like, in a carriage made on purpose.' my lady was silent. suddenly, to my surprise, master francis looked up quickly. 'i don't think i'd mind that so very much,' he said, 'not if my back didn't hurt badly. i think it would be better than walking with your leg always aching, and i daresay everybody loves that girl dreadfully.' he stopped as suddenly as he had begun, giving a quick frightened glance round, and growing not red but still paler than usual, as was his way. 'poor little francie,' said miss lally, stretching her little hand out to him and looking half ready to cry. 'don't be silly, lally; if francis's leg hurts him he has only to say so, and it will be attended to as it has always been. if everybody loves that young lady mildred, no doubt it is because she is sweet and loving _to_ everybody.' then she grew silent again and seemed to be thinking. 'you are right, nurse,' she said. 'i am very grateful when i see my dear children all well and happy.' 'and _good_,' added miss bess with her little toss of the head. 'well, yes, of course,' said her mother smiling. it was seldom, if ever, miss bess was pulled up for anything she took it into her head to say, whether called for or not. 'but,' my lady went on in a lower voice, turning to me, as if she hardly wished the children to hear, 'want of money isn't my only, nor indeed my worst trouble.--i must go,' and she got up as she spoke; 'there are twenty things waiting for me to attend to downstairs. good-night, children dear; i'll come up and peep at you in bed if i possibly can, but i'm not sure if i shall be able. if not, nurse must do instead of me for to-night,' and she turned towards the door, moving in the quick graceful way she always did. 'franz!' said miss bess reprovingly; the poor boy was already getting off his chair, but he was too late to open the door. i doubt if his aunt noticed his moving at all. 'you're always so slow and clumsy,' said his eldest cousin. the words sounded unkind, but it was greatly that miss bess wanted him to please her mamma, for the child had an excellent heart. there was plenty to do after that first evening for all of us. i got sleepy miss baby to bed as soon as might be. the poor dear, she _was_ sleepy! i remember how, when she knelt down in her little white nightgown to say her prayers, she could only just get out, 't'ank god for b'inging us safe home;' as she had evidently been taught to say after a journey. 'baby thinks that's enough, when she's been ter-a-velling,' explained miss lally. then i set to work to unpack, and it was quite surprising how handy the two elder girls--and not they only, but master francis too--were in helping me, and explaining where their things were kept and all the nursery ways. then i had to be shown miss bess's room, and nearly offended her little ladyship by saying i hadn't time just then to settle about the new covers. for i was determined to give some attention to master francis also. his room was very plain, not to say bare; not that i hold with pampering boys, but he being delicate, it did seem to me he might have had a couch or easy-chair to rest his poor leg. he was very eager to make the best of things, telling me i had no idea what a beautiful view there was from his windows, of which there were three. 'i love the tower,' he said. 'i wouldn't change my room here for any other in the house.' and i must say i thought it was very nice of him to put things in that way, considering too the sharp tone in which i had heard his aunt speak to him that very evening. when i woke the next morning i found that mrs. brent's words had come true, for the sun was pouring in at the window, and when i drew up the blind and looked out i would scarce have known the place to be the same. the outlook was bare, to be sure, compared with the well-wooded country about my home; but the grounds just around the house were carefully kept, though in a plain way, no bedding-out plants or rare foreign shrubs, such as i had been used to see at mr. wyngate's country place. but all about treluan there was the charm which no money will buy--the charm of age, very difficult to put into words, though i felt it strongly. a little voice just then came across the room. 'nurse, dear.' it was miss lalage. 'it's a very fine day, isn't it? i have been watching the sun getting up ever so long. when i first wokened, it was nearly quite dark.' i looked at the child. she was sitting up in her cot; her face looked tired, and her large gray eyes had dark lines beneath them, as if she had not slept well. miss baby was still slumbering away in happy content--she was a child to sleep, to be sure! a round of the clock was nothing for her. 'my dear miss lally,' i said, 'you have never been awake since dawn, surely. is your head aching, or is something the matter?' she gave a little sigh. 'no, fank you, it's nothing but finking, i mean th-inking. oh! i wish i could speak quite right, bess says it's so babyish.' 'thinking! and what have you been thinking about, dearie? you should have none but happy thoughts. isn't it nice to be at home again? and this beautiful summer weather! we can go such nice walks. you've got to show me all the pretty places about.' 'yes,' said miss lally. 'i'd like that, but we'll be having lessons next week,--not all day long, we can go beautiful walks in the afternoons.' 'was it about lessons you were troubling your little head?' 'no,' she said, though not very heartily. 'i don't like them much, at least not those _very_ high up sums--up you know to the _very_ top of the slate--that won't never come right. but i wasn't finking of them; it was about poor mamma, having such ter-oubles. francie and i do fink such a lot about it. bess does too, but she's so clever, she's sure she'll do something when she's big to get a lot of money for papa and mamma. but i'm not clever, and francie has got his sore leg; we can't fink of anything we could do, unless we could find some fairies; but francie's sure there aren't any, and he's past ten, so he must know.' 'you can do a great deal, dear miss lally,' i said. 'don't get it into your head you can't. rich or poor, there's nothing helps papas and mammas so much as their children being good, and loving, and obedient; and who knows but what master francis may be a very clever man some day, whether his poor leg gets better or not.' the little girl seemed pleased. it needed but a kind word or two to cheer her up at any time. 'oh! i am so glad sharp has gone away and you comed,' she said. she was rather silent while i was dressing her, but when she had had her bath, and i was putting on her shoes and stockings, she began again. 'nurse,' she asked, 'do stockings cost a lot of money to buy?' 'pretty well,' i said. 'at my home, mother always taught us to knit our own. i could show you a pair i knitted before i was much bigger than you.' how the child's face did light up! 'i've seen a little girl knitting who's not much bigger than me. couldn't you show me how to make some stockings, and then mamma wouldn't have to buy so many?' 'certainly i could; i have plenty of needles with me, and i daresay we could get some wool,' i replied. 'i'll tell you what, miss lally; you might knit some for master francis; that would be pleasing him as well as your mamma. there's a village not far off, i suppose--you can generally buy wool at a village shop.' 'there's our village across the park, and there's two shops. i'll ask bess; she'll know if we could get wool. oh! nurse, how pleased i am; i wonder if we could go to-day. i've got some pennies and a shilling. i do like to have nice things to think of. i wish francie would be quick, i do so want to tell him, or do you think i should keep it a surprise for him?' and she danced about in her eager delight, which at last woke miss baby, who opened her eyes and stared about her, with a sleepy smile of content on her plump rosy face. she was a picture of a child, and so easy minded. it is wonderful, to be sure, how children brought up like little birds in one nest yet differ from each other. i began to feel very satisfied that i should never regret having come to treluan. chapter v the shop in the village before many days had passed i felt quite settled down. the weather was most lovely for some time just then, and this i think always helps to make one feel more at home in a strange place. that first day, and for two or three following, we could not go long walks, as i had really so much to see to indoors. miss bess had to make up her mind to wait as patiently as she could, till other things were attended to, for the doing up of her room, and, what i was more sorry for, poor miss lally had also to wait about beginning the knitting she had so set her heart on. i think it was the fourth day after our arrival that i began at last to feel pretty clear. all the nursery drawers and cupboards tidied up and neatly arranged; the children's clothes looked over and planned about for the rest of the summer. my lady went over them with me, and i could see that it was a comfort to her to feel assured that i understood the need for economy, and prided myself, thanks to my good old mother, on neat patches and darns quite as much as on skill on making new things. my poor lady--it went to my heart to see how often she would have liked to get fresh and pretty frocks and hats for the young ladies, for she had good taste and great love of order. but after all there is often a good deal of pleasure in contriving and making the best of what one has. 'you must take nurse a good walk to-day, children,' said my lady as she left the room. 'i shall be busy with your papa, but you might get as far as the sea, i think, if you took old jacob and the little cart for baby if she gets tired, and for francis if his leg hurts him. how has it been, by the by, for the last day or two, francis?' her tone was rather cold, but still i could see a little flush of pleasure come over the boy's face. 'oh! much better, thank you, auntie,' he said eagerly. 'it's only just after the day in the railway that it seems to hurt more.' 'then try to be bright and cheerful,' she said. 'remember you are not the only one in the world that has troubles to bear.' the boy didn't answer, but i could see his thin little face grow pale again, and i just wished that my lady had stopped at her first kindly inquiry. a deal of mischief is done, it seems to me, by people not knowing when it is best to stop. jacob, the donkey, was old and no mistake. larkins's 'peter' was young compared to him, and the cart was nothing but a cart such as light luggage might be carried in. it had no seats, but we took a couple of footstools with us, which served the purpose, and many a pleasant ramble we had with the shabby little old cart and poor jacob. 'which way shall we go?' said miss bess, as we started down the drive. 'you know, nurse, there's ever so many ways to the sea here. it's all divided into separate little bays. you can't get from one to the other except at low tide, and with a lot of scrambling over the rocks, so we generally fix before we start which bay we'll go to.' 'oh! do let's go to polwithan bay!' said miss lally. 'it's not nearly so pretty as trewan,' said miss bess, 'and there are the smugglers' caves at trewan. we often call it the smugglers' bay because of that. we've got names of our own for the bays as well as the proper ones.' 'there's one we call picnic bay,' said master francis, 'because there are such beautiful big flat stones for picnic tables. but i think the smugglers' bay is the most curious of all. i'm sure nurse would like to see it. why do you want to go to polwithan, lally? it is rather a stupid little bay.' 'can we go to the smugglers' bay by the village?' asked miss lally, and then i understood her, though i did not know that tightly clutched in her hot little hand were the shilling and the three or four pennies she had taken out of her money box on the chance of buying the wool for her stockings. 'it would be ever such a round,' said miss bess; but then she added politely--she was very particular about politeness, when she wasn't put out--'but of course if nurse wants to see the village that wouldn't matter. we've plenty of time. would you like to see it, nurse?' a glance at miss lally's anxious little face decided me. 'well, i won't say but what it would interest me to see the village,' i replied. 'of course it's just as well and might be handy for me to know my way about, so as to be able to find the post-office or fetch any little thing from the shop if it were wanted.' this was quite true, though i won't deny but that another reason was strongest and miss lally knew it, for she crept up to me and slid her little hand into mine gratefully. 'very well, then,' said miss bess, 'we'll go round by the village. but remember if you're tired, lally, you mustn't grumble, for it was you that first spoke of going that way.' 'there's the cart if miss lally's tired,' i said. 'three could easily get into it, and jacob can't be knocked up if only miss baby goes in it all the way there.' 'nurse,' said miss lally suddenly--i don't think she had heard what we were saying--'there's two shops in the village.' 'are there, my dear,' i said; 'and is one the post-office? and what do they sell?' 'yes, one is the post-office, but they sell other things 'aside stamps,' miss lally replied. 'they are both _everything_ shops.' 'but the _not_ the post-office one is much the nicest,' said master francis. 'it's kept by old prideaux--he's an old sailor and----' here the boy looked round, but there was no one in sight. still he lowered his voice. 'people do say that after he left off being a proper sailor he was a smuggler. it runs in the family, mrs. brent says,' he went on in the old-fashioned way i noticed in all the children. 'his father was a regular smuggler. brent says she's seen some queer transactions when she was a girl in the kitchen behind the shop.' 'i thought mrs. brent was a stranger in these parts by her birth and upbringing,' i said. 'so she is,' said master francis, 'but she came here on a visit when she was a girl to her uncle at the high meadows farm, and that's how she came first to treluan. grandfather was alive then, and papa and uncle hulbert were boys. even then prideaux was an old man. uncle hulbert says he knows lots of queer stories--he does tell them sometimes, but not as if they had happened here, and you have to pretend to think he and his father had nothing to do with them themselves.' 'it was he that told us first about the smugglers' caves, wasn't it?' said miss bess. 'fancy, nurse, some treasures were found in one of the caves, not so very long ago, hid away in a dark corner far in. there was lace and some beautiful fine silk stockings and some bottles of brandy----' 'and a lot of cigars and tobacco, but they had gone all bad, and some of the brandy hadn't any taste in it, though some was quite good. but grandpapa was a dreadfully honest man; he would send all the things up to london, just as they were found, for he said they belonged to the queen.' 'i wonder if the queen wored the silk stockings her own self?' said miss lally. 'if _we_ found some treasures,' said miss bess, 'do you think we'd have to send them to the queen too? it would be very greedy of her to keep them, when she has such lots and lots of everything.' 'that's just because she's queen; she can't help it. it's part of being a queen, and i daresay she gives away lots too. besides, you wouldn't care for brandy or cigars, bess?' said master francis. 'we could sell them,' answered miss bess, 'if they were good.' 'p'raps the queen would send us a nice present back,' said miss lally. 'fancy, if she sent us a whole pound, what beautiful things we could buy.' 'it would be great fun to find treasures, whatever they were,' said miss bess. 'if we see old prideaux to-day, i'll ask him if he thinks possibly there's still some in the caves. only it wouldn't do to go into his shop on purpose to ask him--he'd think it funny.' 'and you'll have to be very careful how you ask him,' said master francis. 'besides, i'm quite sure if there were any to be found, he'd have found them before this.' 'does he sell wool in his shop, do you think, miss bess?' i inquired, and i felt miss lally's hand squeeze mine. 'wool, or worsted for knitting stockings, i mean. i want to get some, and that would be a reason for speaking to him.' 'i daresay he does; at least his daughter's always knitting, and she must get wool somewhere. anyway we can ask,' answered miss bess, quite pleased with the idea. 'now, nurse,' said master francis suddenly, 'keep your eyes open. when we turn into the field at the end of this little lane--we've come by a short-cut to the village, for the cart can go through the field quite well--you'll have your first good view of the sea. we can see it from some of the windows at treluan and from the end of the terrace, but nothing like as well.' i was glad he had prepared me, for we had been interested in our talking, and i hadn't paid much attention to the way we were going. now i did keep my eyes open, and i was well rewarded. the field was a sloping one--sloping upwards, i mean, as we entered it--and till we got to the top of the rising ground we saw nothing but the clear sky above the grass, but then there burst upon the view a wonderful surprise. the coast-line lay before us for a considerable distance at each side. just below us were the rocky bays or creeks the children had told me of, the sand gleaming yellow and white in the sunshine, for the tide was half way out, though near enough still for us to see the glisten of the foam and the edge of the little waves, as they rippled in sleepily. and farther out the deep purple-blue of the ocean, softening into a misty gray, there, where the sky and the water met or melted into each other. a little to the right rose the smoke of several houses--lazily, for it was a very still day. these houses lay nestled in together, on the way to the shore, and seemed scarcely enough to be called a village; but as we left the field again to rejoin the road, i saw that these few houses were only the centre of it, so to speak, as others straggled along the road in both directions for some way, the church being one of the buildings the nearest to treluan house. [illustration: then there burst upon the view a wonderful surprise.] 'it is a beautiful view,' said i, after a moment's silence, as we all stood still at the top of the slope, the children glancing at me, as if to see what i thought of it. 'i've never seen anything approaching to it before, and yet it's a bare sort of country--many wouldn't believe it could be so beautiful with so few trees, but i suppose the sea makes up for a good deal.' 'and it's such a lovely day,' said master francis. 'i should say the sun makes up for a good deal. we've lots of days here when it's so gray and dull that the sea and the sky seem all muddled up together. i'm not so very fond of the sea myself. people say it's so beautiful in a storm, and i suppose it is, but i don't care for that kind of beauty, there's something so furious and wild about it. i don't think raging should be counted beautiful. shouldn't we only call good things beautiful?' he looked up with a puzzle in his eyes. master francis always had thoughts beyond his age and far beyond me to answer. 'i can't say, i'm sure,' i replied. 'it would take very clever people indeed to explain things like that, though there's verses in the bible that do seem to bear upon it, especially in the psalms.' 'i know there are, but when it tells of heaven, it says "there shall be no more sea,"' said master francis very gravely. 'and i think i like that best.' 'dear francie,' said miss lally, taking his hand, as she always did when she saw him looking extra grave, though of course she could not understand what he had been saying. we were out of the field by this time, and miss bess caught hold of jacob's reins, for up till now the old fellow had been droning along at his own pace. 'come along, jacob, waken up,' she said, as she tugged at him, 'or we'll not get to polwithan bay to-day, specially if we're going to gossip with old prideaux on the way.' we passed the church in a moment, and close beside it the vicarage. 'that's where miss kirstin lives,' said miss bess. 'come along quick, i don't want her to see us.' 'don't you like her, my dear?' i said, a little surprised. 'oh yes! we like her very well, but she makes us think of lessons, and while it is holidays we may as well forget them,' and by the way in which master francis and miss lally joined her in hurrying past mr. kirstin's house, i could see they were of the same mind. miss kirstin, when i came to know her, i found to be a good well-meaning young lady, but she hadn't the knack of making lessons very interesting. it wasn't perhaps altogether her fault; in those days books for young people, both for lessons and amusement, were very different from what they are now. school-books were certainly very dry and dull, and there was a sort of feeling that making lessons pleasant or taking to children would have been weak indulgence. the church was a beautiful old building. i am not learned enough to describe it, and perhaps after all it was more beautiful from age than from anything remarkable in itself. i came to love it well; it was a real grief to me and to others besides me when it had to be partly pulled down a few years ago, and all the wonderful growth of ivy spoilt. though i won't say but what our new vicar--the third from mr. kirstin our present one is--is well fitted for his work, both with rich and poor, and one whom it is impossible not to respect as well as love, though mr. kirstin was a worthy and kind old man in his way. a bit farther along the road we passed the post-office, which the children pointed out to me. the mistress came to the door when she saw us, and curtsied to the little ladies, with a smile and a word of 'welcome home again, miss penrose!' she took a good look at me out of the corner of her eye, i could see. for having lived so much in small country places, i knew how even a fresh servant at the big house will set all the village talking. miss lally glanced in at the shop window as we passed. there was indeed, as she had said, a mixture of 'everything,' from tin pails and mother-of-pearl buttons to red herrings and tallow-candles. 'nurse,' she whispered, '_in case_ we can't get the wool at prideaux', we might come back here, but i'm afraid bess wouldn't like to turn back. oh! i do hope'--with one of her little sighs--'they'll have it at the other shop.' and so they had, though when we got there a little difficulty arose. the two elder children both wanted to come in, having got their heads full of asking the old man about the smugglers' caves, and thinking it was for myself i wanted the wool. never a word said poor miss lally, when her sister told her to stay outside with miss baby and the cart; but i was getting to know the look of her little face too well by this time not to understand the puckers about her eyes, and the droop at the corners of her mouth. 'we may as well all go in,' i said, lifting miss baby out of the cart. 'there's no one else in the shop, and i want miss lally's opinion about the wool.' '_lally's!_' said miss bess rather scornfully; 'she doesn't know anything about wool, or knitting stockings, nurse.' 'ah! well, but perhaps she's going to know something about it,' i said. 'it's a little secret we've got, miss bess; you shall hear about it all in good time.' 'oh, well, if it's a secret,' said miss bess good-naturedly--she was a nice-minded child, as they all were--'franz and i will keep out of the way while you and lally get your wool. we'll talk to old prideaux.' he was in the shop, as well as his daughter, who was knitting away as the children had described her, and the old wife came hurrying out of the kitchen, when she heard it was the little gentry from treluan that were in the shop. they did make a fuss over the children, to be sure; it wasn't easy for miss lally and me to get our bit of business done. but sally prideaux found us just what we wanted--the same wool that she was knitting stockings of herself, only she had not much of it in stock, and might be some little time before she could get more. but i told miss lally there'd be enough for a short pair of socks for her cousin--boys didn't wear knickerbockers and long stockings in those days--adding that it was best not to undertake too big a piece of work for the first. the wool cost one-and-sixpence. it was touching to see the little creature counting over the money she had been holding tightly in her hand all the way, and her look of distress when she found it only came up to one and fourpence halfpenny. 'don't you trouble, my dear,' i said, 'i have some coppers in my pocket.' she thanked me as if i had given her three pounds instead of three halfpence, saying in a whisper--'i'll pay you back, nursie, when i get my twopence next saturday;' and then as happy as a little queen she clambered down off the high stool, her precious parcel in her hand. 'won't francie be pleased?' she said. 'they must be ready for his birthday, nurse. and won't mamma be pleased when she finds i can knit stockings, and that she won't have to buy any more?' chapter vi the smugglers' caves the others seemed to have been very well entertained while miss lally and i were busy. mrs. prideaux had set miss baby on the counter, where she was admiring her to her heart's content--miss baby smiling and chattering, apparently very well pleased. miss bess and master francis were talking eagerly with old prideaux; they turned to us as we came near. [illustration: miss bess and master francis were talking eagerly with old prideaux.] 'oh, nurse!' said miss bess, 'mr. prideaux says that he shouldn't wonder if there were treasures hidden away in the smugglers' caves, though it wouldn't be safe for us to look for them. he says they'd be so very far in, where it's quite, quite dark.' 'and one or two of the caves really go a tremendous way underground. didn't you say there's one they've never got to the end of?' asked master francis. 'so they say,' replied the old man, with his queer cornish accent. it did sound strange to me then, their talk--though i've got so used to it now that i scarce notice it at all. 'but i wouldn't advise you to begin searching for treasures, master francis. if there's any there, you'd have to dig to get at them. i remember when i was a boy a deal of talk about the caves, and some of us wasted our time seeking and digging. but the only one that could have told for sure where to look was gone. he met his death some distance from here, one terrible stormy winter, and took his secret with him. i have heard tell as he "walks" in one of the caves, when the weather's quite beyond the common stormy. but it's not much use, for at such times folk are fain to stay at home, so there's not much chance of any one ever meeting him.' 'then how has he ever been seen?' asked miss bess in her quick way; 'and who was he, mr. prideaux? do tell us.' but the old man didn't seem inclined to say much more. perhaps indeed miss bess was too sharp for him, and he did not know how to answer her first question. 'such things is best not said much about,' he replied mysteriously; 'and talking of treasures, by all accounts you'd have a better chance of finding some nearer home.' he smiled, as if he could have said more had he chosen to do so. the children opened their eyes in bewilderment. 'what do you mean?' exclaimed the two elder ones. miss lally's mind was running too much on her stockings for her to pay much attention. prideaux did not seem at all embarrassed. 'well, sir, it's no secret hereabouts,' he said, addressing master francis in particular, 'that the old, old squire, sir david, the last of that name--there were several david penroses before him, but never one since--it's no secret, as i was saying, that a deal of money or property of some kind disappeared in his last years, and it stands to reason that, being as great a miser as was ever heard tell of, he couldn't have spent it. why, more than half of the lands changed hands in his time, and what did he do with what he got for them?' 'that was our great, great grand-uncle,' said master francis to me; 'you remember i told you about him, but i never thought----' he stopped short. 'it _is_ very queer,' he went on again, as if speaking to himself. but just then, miss baby having had enough of mrs. prideaux' pettings, set up a shout. 'nurse, nurse,' she said, 'baby wants to go back to jacob. poor jacob so tired waiting. dood-bye, mrs. pideaux,' and she began wriggling to get off the counter, so that i had to hurry forward to lift her down. 'we'd best be going on,' i said, 'or we'll be losing the finest part of the afternoon.' i didn't feel quite sure that prideaux' talk was quite what my lady would approve of for the children. they had a way of taking things up more seriously than is common with such young creatures, and certainly they had got in the way--and i couldn't but feel but what my lady was to blame for this--of thinking too much of the family troubles, especially the want of wealth, which seemed to them a greater misfortune than it need have done. still, being quite a stranger, and them seeming at liberty to talk to the people about as they did, i didn't feel that it would have been my place to begin making new rules or putting a stop to things, as likely as not quite harmless. i resolved, however, to find out my lady's wishes in such matters at the first opportunity. another half hour brought us close to the shore; the road was a good one, being used for carting gravel and sea-weed in large quantities to the village and round about from the little bay--treluan bay, that is to say--it led directly to. but as we were bound for polwithan bay, where the smugglers' caves were, and had made a round for the sake of coming through the village, we had to cross several fields and follow a rough track instead of going straight down to the sands. jacob didn't seem to mind, i must say, nor miss baby neither, though she must have been pretty well jolted, but it was worth the trouble. 'isn't it lovely, nurse?' said miss bess, when at last we found ourselves in the bay on the smooth firm sand, the sea in front of us, and so encircled on three sides by the rocks that even the path by which we had come was hidden. 'this bay is so beautifully shut in,' said master francis. 'you could really fancy that there was no one in the world but us ourselves. i think it's such a nice feeling.' 'it's nice when we're all together,' said miss lally; 'it would be rather frightening if anybody was alone.' 'alone or not,' said miss bess, 'it wouldn't be at all nice when tea-time came if we had nothing to eat. and fancy, what _should_ we do at night--we couldn't sleep out on the sand?' 'we'd have to go into the caves,' said master francis. 'it would be rather fun, with a good fire and with lots of blankets.' 'and where would you get blankets from, or wood for a fire, you silly boy?' said miss bess. 'can we see the caves?' i asked, for having heard so much talk about them, i felt curious to see them. 'of course,' said master francis. 'we always explore them every time we come to this bay. do you see those two or three dark holes over there among the rocks, nurse? those are the caves; come along and i'll show them to you.' i was a little disappointed. i had never seen a cave in my life, but i had a confused remembrance of pictures in an old book at home of some caves--'the mammoth caves of kentucky,' i afterwards found they were--which looked very large and wonderful, and somehow i suppose i had all the time been picturing to myself that these ones were something of the same kind. i didn't say anything to the children though, as they took great pride in showing me all the sights. and after all, when we got to the caves, they turned out much more curious and interesting than i expected from the outside. the largest one, though its entrance was so small, was really as big as a fair-sized church, and narrowing again far back into a dark mysterious-looking passage, from which master francis told me two or three smaller chambers opened out. 'and then,' he said, 'after that the passage goes on again--ever so far. in the old days the smugglers blocked it up with pieces of rock, and it isn't so very long ago that this was found out. it was somewhere down along that passage that they found the things i told you of.' we went a few yards along the passage, but it soon grew almost quite dark, and we turned back again. 'i can quite see it wouldn't be safe to try exploring down there,' i said. 'yes, i suppose so,' said master francis, with a sigh. 'i wish i could find some treasure, all the same. i wonder----' he went on, then stopped short. 'nurse,' he began again, 'did you hear what old prideaux said of our great grand-uncle the miser? could it really be true, do you think, that he hid away money or treasures of some kind?' and he lowered his voice mysteriously. 'i shouldn't think it was likely,' i replied. for i had a feeling that it would not be well for the children to get any such ideas into their heads. it sounded to me like a sort of fairy tale. i had never come across anything so romantic and strange in real life. though for that matter, treluan itself, and the kind of old-world feeling about the place, was quite unlike anything i had ever known before. we were outside the cave again by this time; the sunshine seemed deliciously warm and bright after the chill and gloom inside. miss bess had been listening eagerly to what master francis was saying. 'i can't see but what old sir david _might_ have hidden treasures away, as he was a real miser,' she said. 'and you know that misers are so suspicious, that even when they're dying they won't trust anybody. i know i've read a story like that,' said the boy. 'oh! bess, just fancy if we could find a lot of money or diamonds! wouldn't uncle and aunt be pleased?' his whole face lighted up at the very idea. 'i daresay he hid it all away in a stocking,' put in miss lally, whose head was still full of her knitting. 'i've heard a story of an old woman miser that did that.' 'and where would the stocking be hid?' said miss bess. 'besides, if a stocking was ever so full, it couldn't hold enough money to be a real treasure.' 'it might be stuffed with bank notes,' said master francis. 'there's banknotes worth ever so much; aren't there, nurse?' 'i remember once seeing one of a thousand pounds,' i said. 'that was at my last place. mr. wyngate had to do with business in the city, and he once brought one home to show the young ladies.' 'well, then, you see, queen,' said miss lally, 'there might be a stocking with enough money to make papa and mamma as rich as rich.' 'i'm quite sure sir david's money wasn't put in a stocking,' said miss bess decidedly. 'you've got rather silly ideas, lally, considering you're getting on for six.' miss lally began to look rather doleful. she had been so bright and cheerful all day that i didn't like to see her little face overcast. we had left jacob outside the cave, of course; there was one satisfaction with him--he was not likely to run away. 'miss baby, dear,' i said, 'aren't you getting hungry? where's the basket you were holding in the cart?' 'nice cakes in basket,' said the little girl. 'baby looked, but baby didn't eaten them.' the basket was still in the cart, and i think they were all very pleased when they saw what i had brought for them. some of mrs. brent's nice little saffron buns and a bottle of milk. i remember that i didn't like the taste of the saffron buns at first, and now i might be cornish born and bred, i think it such an improvement to cakes! 'another time,' i said, 'we might bring our tea with us. i daresay my lady wouldn't object.' 'i'm sure she wouldn't mind,' said miss bess. 'we used to have picnic teas sometimes, when our _quite_, quite old nurse was with us--the one that's married over to st. iwalds.' 'bess,' said master francis, 'you should say "over at," not "over to."' 'thank you,' said miss bess, 'i don't want you to teach me grammar. _that_ isn't parson's business.' master francis grew very red. 'did you know, nurse,' said miss lally, 'francie's going to be a clergy-gentleman?' they couldn't help laughing at her, and the laugh brought back good humour. 'i want to be one,' said master francis, 'but i'm afraid it costs a great lot to go to college.' poor children, through all their talk and plans the one trouble seemed always to keep coming up. 'i fancy that's according a good deal to how young gentlemen take it. there's some that spend a fortune at college, i've heard, but some that are very careful; and i expect you'd be that kind, master francis.' 'yes,' he said, in his grave way. 'i wouldn't want to cost uncle hulbert more than i can help. i wish one could be a clergyman without going to college though.' 'you've got to go to school first,' said miss bess. 'you needn't bother about college for a long time yet.' miss lally sighed. 'i don't like francie having to go to school,' she said. 'and the boys are so rough there; i hope they won't hurt your poor leg, francie.' 'it isn't _that_ i mind,' said master francie--the boy had a fine spirit of his own though he was so delicate--'what i mind is the going alone and being so far away from everybody.' 'it's a pity,' i said without thinking, 'but what one of you young ladies had been a young gentleman, to have been a companion for master francis, and to have gone to school together, maybe.' 'oh!' said miss bess quickly, 'you must never say that to mamma, nurse. you don't know what a trouble it is to her not to have a boy. she'd have liked lally to be a boy most of all. she wanted her to be a boy; she always says so.' here master francis gave a deep sigh in his turn. 'oh! how i wish,' he said, 'that i could turn myself into a girl and lally into a boy. i wouldn't _like_ to be a girl at all, and i daresay lally wouldn't like to be a boy. but to please aunt helen i'd do it.' 'no,' said miss lally, 'i don't think i would--not even to please mamma. i couldn't bear to be a boy.' i was rather sorry i had led to this talk. 'isn't it best,' i said, 'to take things as they are? master francis is just like your brother--the same name and everything.' 'i'd like it that way,' said master francis, with a pleased look in his eyes. but i heard miss bess, who was walking close beside me, say in a low voice, 'mamma will never think of it that way!' this talk made some things clearer to me than before, and that evening, after the children were in bed, i went down to the housekeeper's room and eased my mind by telling her about it, i felt so afraid of having said anything uncalled for. but mrs. brent comforted me. 'it's best for you to know,' she said, 'that my lady does make a great trouble, too great a trouble, to my thinking, of not having a son. and no doubt it has to do with her coldness to master francis, though i doubt if she really knows this herself, for she's a lady that means to do right and justly to all about her; i will say that for her.' it was really something to be thankful for to have such a good and sensible woman to ask advice from, for a stranger, as i still was. the more i knew her, the more she reminded me of my good mother. plain and homely in her ways, with no love of gossip about her, yet not afraid to speak out her mind when she saw it right to do so. many things would have been harder at treluan, the poor dear children would have had less pleasure in their lives, but for mrs. brent's kind thought for them. that very evening i had had a reason, so to say, for paying a special visit to the housekeeper's room; for when we had got in from our long walk, rather tired and certainly very hungry, a nice surprise was waiting for us in the nursery. the tea-table was already set out most carefully. there was a pile of mrs. brent's hot scones and a beautiful dish of strawberries. 'oh, nurse!' cried miss bess, who had run on first, 'quick, quick, look what a nice tea. i'm sure it's mrs. brent! isn't it good of her?' 'it's like a birfday,' said miss lally. and miss baby, who had been grumbling a good deal and crying, 'i want my tea,' nearly jumped out of my arms--i had had to carry her upstairs--at the sight of it. for i'm afraid there's no denying that in those days breakfast, dinner, and tea filled a large place in miss augusta's thoughts. i hope she'll forgive me for saying so, if she ever sees this. chapter vii a rainy day that lovely weather lasted on for about a fortnight without a break, and many a pleasant ramble we had, for though lessons began again, miss kirstin always left immediately after luncheon, which was the children's dinner, for the three elder ones always joined sir hulbert and my lady in the dining-room. two afternoons in the week, as i think i have said, master francis and miss bess had latin lessons from sir hulbert. miss bess, by all accounts, did not take very kindly to the latin grammar, and but for master francis helping her--many a time indeed sitting up after his own lessons were done to set hers right--she would often have got into trouble with her papa. for indulgent as he was, sir hulbert could be strict when strictness was called for. miss bess was a curious mixture; to see her and hear her talk you'd have thought her twice as clever as miss lally, and so in some ways she was. but when it came to book learning, it was a different story. teaching miss lally--and i had something to do with her in this way, for i used to hear over the lessons she was getting ready for miss kirstin--was really like running along a smooth road, the child was so eager and attentive, never losing a word of what was said to her. miss bess used to say that her sister had a splendid memory by nature. but in my long life i've watched and thought about some things a great deal, and it seems to me that a good memory has to do with our own trying, more than some people would say,--above all, with the habit of really giving attention to whatever you're doing. and this habit miss bess had not been taught to train herself to; and being a lively impulsive child, no doubt it came a little harder to her. a dear child she was, all the same. looking back upon those days, i would find it hard to say which of them all seemed nearest my heart. the days of the latin lessons we generally had a short walk in the morning, as well as one after tea, so as to suit sir hulbert's time in the afternoon; and those afternoons were miss lally's great time for her knitting, which she was determined to keep a secret till she had made some progress in it and finished her first pair of socks. how she did work at it, poor dear! her little face all puckered up with earnestness, her little hot hands grasping the needles, as if she would never let them go. and she mastered it really wonderfully, considering she was not yet six years old! she had more time for it after a bit, for the beautiful hot summer weather changed, as it often does, about the middle of july, and we had two or three weeks of almost constant rain. thanks to her knitting, miss lally took this quite cheerfully, and if poor master francis had been left in peace, we should have had no grumbling from him either. a book and a quiet corner was all he asked, and though he said nothing about it, i think he was glad now and then of a rest from the long walks which my lady thought the right thing, whenever the weather was at all fit for going out. but dear, dear! how miss bess did tease and worry sometimes! she was a strong child, and needed plenty of exercise to keep her content. i remember one day, when things really came to a point with her, and, strangely enough,--it is curious on looking back to see the thread, like a road winding along a hill, sometimes lost to view and sometimes clear again, unbroken through all, leading from little things to big, in a way one could never have pictured,--strangely enough, as i was saying, the trifling events of that very afternoon were the beginning of much that changed the whole life at treluan. it was raining that afternoon, not so very heavily, but in a steady hopeless way, rather depressing to the spirits, i must allow. it was not a latin day--i think some of us wished it had been! 'now, bess!' said master francis, when the three children came up from their dinner, 'before we do anything else'--there had been a talk of a game of 'hide-and-seek,' or 'i spy,' to cheer them up a bit--'before we do anything else, let's get our latin done, or part of it, any way, as long as we remember what uncle corrected yesterday, and then we'll feel comfortable for the afternoon.' 'very well,' said miss bess, though her voice was not very encouraging. she was standing by the window, staring out at the close-falling rain, and as she spoke she moved slowly towards the table, where master francis was already spreading out the books. 'i don't think it's a good plan to begin lessons the very moment we've finished our dinner,' she added. 'it isn't the very minute after,' put in miss lally, not very wisely. 'you forget, queen, we went into the 'servatory with mamma, while she cut some flowers, for ever so long.' being put in the wrong didn't sweeten miss bess's temper. ''servatory--you baby!' said she. 'nurse, can't you teach lally to spell "constantinople"?' miss lally's face puckered up, and she came close to me. 'nursie,' she whispered, 'may i go into the other room with my knitting; i'm sure queen is going to tease me.' i nodded my head. i used to give her leave sometimes to go into the night nursery by herself, when she was likely to be disturbed at her work, and that generally by miss bess. for though master francis couldn't have but seen she had some secret from him, he was far too kind and sensible to seem to notice it. whereas miss bess, who had been taken into her confidence, never got into a contrary humour without teasing the poor child by hints about stockings, or wool, or something. and the contrary humour was on her this afternoon, i saw well. 'now, bess, begin, do!' said master francis. 'these are the words we have to copy out and learn. i'll read them over, and then we can write them out and hear each other.' he did as he said, but it was precious little attention he got from his cousin, though it was some time before he found it out. looking up, he saw that she had dressed up one hand in her handkerchief, like an old man in a nightcap, and at every word poor master francis said, made him gravely bow. it was all i could do to keep from laughing, though i pretended not to see. 'o bess!' said the boy reproachfully, 'i don't believe you've been listening a bit.' 'well, never mind if i haven't. i'd forget it all by to-morrow morning anyway. show me the words, and i'll write them out.' she leant across him to get the book, and in so doing upset the ink. the bottle was not very full, so not much damage would have been done if master francis's exercise-book had not been lying open just in the way. 'oh! bess,' he cried in great distress. 'just look. it was such a long exercise and i had copied it out so neatly, and you know uncle hates blots and untidiness.' miss bess looked very sorry. 'i'll tell papa it was my fault,' she said. but master francis shook his head. 'i must copy it out again,' i heard him say in a low voice, with a sigh, as he pushed it away and gave his attention to his cousin and the words she had to learn. she was quieter after that, for a while, and in half an hour or so master francis let her go. he set to work at his unlucky exercise again, and seeing this, should really have sobered miss bess. but she was in a queer humour that afternoon, it only seemed to make her more fidgety. 'you really needn't do it,' she said to master francis crossly. 'i told you i'd explain it to papa.' but the boy shook his head. he'd have taken any amount of trouble rather than risk vexing his uncle. 'it was partly my own fault for leaving it about,' he said gently, which only seemed to provoke miss bess more. 'you do so like to make yourself a martyr. it's quite true what mamma says,' she added in a lower voice, which i did think unkind. but in some humours children are best left alone for the time, so i took no notice. miss bess returned to her former place in the window. miss baby was contentedly setting out her doll's tea-things on the rug in front of the fire,--at treluan even in the summer one needs a little fire when there comes a spell of rainy weather. miss bess glanced at her, but didn't seem to think she'd find any amusement there. miss baby was too young to be fair game for teasing. 'what's lally doing?' she said suddenly, turning to me. 'has she hidden herself as usual? i hate secrets. they make people so tiresome. i'll just go and tell her she'd better come in here.' she turned, as she spoke, to the night nursery. 'now, miss bess, my dear,' i couldn't help saying, 'do not tease the poor child. i'll tell you what you might do. get one of your pretty books and read aloud a nice story to miss lally in the other room, till master francis is ready for a game.' 'i've read all our books hundreds of times. i'll tell her a story instead!' she replied. 'that would be very nice,' i could not but say, though something in her way of speaking made me feel a little doubtful, as miss bess opened the night nursery door and closed it behind her carefully. for a few minutes we were at peace. no sound to be heard, except the scratching of master francis's busy pen and miss augusta's pressing invitations to the dollies to have--'thome more tea'--or--'a bit of this bootiful cake,' and i began to hope that in her quiet way miss lally had smoothed down her elder sister, when suddenly--dear, dear! my heart did leap into my mouth--there came from the next room the most terrible screams and roars that ever i have heard all the long years i have been in the nursery! 'goodness gracious!' i cried, 'what can be the matter. there's no fire in there!' and i rushed towards the door. to my surprise master francis and miss baby remained quite composed. 'it's only lally,' said the boy. 'she does scream like that sometimes, though she hasn't done it for a good while now. i daresay it's only bess pulling her hair a little.' it was not even that. when i opened the door, miss bess, who was standing by her sister--miss lally still roaring, though not quite so loudly--looked up quietly. 'i've been telling her stories, nurse,' she said. 'but she doesn't like them at all.' miss lally ran to me sobbing. i couldn't but feel sorry for her, as she clung to me, and yet i was provoked, thinking it really too bad to have had such a fright for nothing at all. 'queen has been telling me such _howid_ things,' she said among her tears, as she calmed down a little. 'she said it was going to be such a pretty story and it was all about a little girl, who wasn't a little girl, weally. they tied her sleeves with green ribbons, afore she was christened, and so the naughty fairies stealed her away and left a howid squealing pertence little girl instead. and it was just, _just_ like me, and, queen says, they _did_ tie me in green ribbons. she knows they did, she can 'amember;' and here her cries began again. 'and queen says 'praps i'll never come right again, and i can't bear to be a pertence little girl. queen told it me once before, but i'd forgot, and now it's all come back.' she buried her face on my shoulder. i had sat down and taken her on my knees, and i could feel her all shaking and quivering, though through it all she still clutched her knitting and the four needles. 'miss bess,' i said, in a voice i don't think i had yet used since i had been with them, 'i _am_ surprised at you! come away with me, my dear,' i said to miss lally. 'come into the other room. miss bess will stay here till such time as she can promise to behave better, both to you and master francis.' miss bess had turned away when i began to speak, and i think she had felt ashamed. but my word about master francis had been a mistake. 'you needn't scold me about spilling the ink on francis's book!' she said angrily. 'you know that was an accident.' 'there's accidents and accidents,' i replied, which i know wasn't wise; but the child had tried my temper too, i won't deny. i took miss lally into a corner of the day nursery and talked to her in a low voice, not to disturb master francis, who was still busy writing. 'my dear,' i said, 'so far as i can put a stop to it, i won't have miss bess teasing you, but all the same i can't have you screaming in that terrible way for really nothing at all. your own sense might tell you that there's no such things as fairies changing babies in that way. miss bess only said it to tease.' she was still sobbing, but all the same she had not forgotten to wrap up her precious knitting in her little apron, so that her cousin shouldn't catch sight of it, and her heart was already softening to her sister. 'queen didn't mean to make me cry,' she said. 'but i can't bear that story; nobody would love me if i was only a pertence little girl.' 'but you're not that, my dear; you're a very real little girl,' i said. 'you're your papa's and mamma's dear little daughter and god's own child. that's what your christening meant.' miss lally's sobs stopped. 'i forgot about that,' she said very gravely, seeming to find great comfort in the thought. 'if i had been a pertence little girl, i couldn't have been took to church like baby was. could i? and i know i was, for i have got godfather and godmother and a silver mug wif my name on.' 'and better things than that, thank god, as you'll soon begin to understand, my dear miss lally,' i answered, as she held up her little face to be kissed. 'may i go back to queen now?' she asked, but i don't think she was altogether sorry when i shook my head. 'not just yet, my dear, i think,' i replied. 'only where am i to do my knitting?' she whispered. 'i can't do it here; francie would be sure to see,' and the corners of her mouth began to go down again. 'oh! i know,' she went on in another moment, brightening up. 'i could work so nicely in the attic, there's a little seat in the corner, by the window, where francie and i used to go sometimes when sharp told us to get out of the way.' 'wouldn't you be cold, my dear,' i said doubtfully. but i was anxious to please her, so i fetched a little shawl for her and we went up together to the attic. it did not feel chilly, and the corner by the window--the kind they call a 'storm window,' with a sort of little separate roof of its own--was very cosy. you have a peep of the sea from that window too. 'isn't it a good plan?' said miss lally joyfully. 'i can knit here _so_ nicely, and i have been getting on so well this afternoon. there's no stitches dropped, not one, nursie. mightn't i come here every day?' 'we'll see, my dear,' i said, thinking to myself that it might really be good for her--being a nervous child, and excitable too, for all she seemed so quiet--to be at peace and undisturbed now and then by herself. 'we'll see, only you must come downstairs at once if you feel cold or chilly.' i looked round me as i was leaving the attic. there was a big cupboard, or closet rather, at the end near the door. miss lally's window was at this end too. the closet door stood half open, but it seemed empty. 'that's where we wait when we're playing "i spy" up here,' said miss lally. 'mouses live in that cupboard. we've seen them running out of their holes; but i like mouses, they've such dear bright eyes and long tails.' i can't say that i agreed with miss lally's tastes. mice are creatures i've never been able to take to, still they'd do her no harm, that was certain, so seeing her quite happy at her work i went down to the nursery again. chapter viii the old latin grammar master francis was still writing busily when i went back to the nursery. he looked pale and tired, and once or twice i heard him sigh. i knew it was not good for him to be stooping so long over his lessons, especially as the children had not been out all that day. 'really,' i said, half to myself, but his ears were quick and he heard me, 'miss bess has done nothing but mischief this afternoon. i feel sometimes as if i couldn't manage her.' the boy looked up quickly. 'o nurse!' he said, 'please don't speak like that. i mean i wouldn't for anything have uncle or auntie think i had put her out, or that there had been any trouble. it just comes over her sometimes like that, and she's very sorry afterwards. i suppose lally and i haven't spirits enough for her, she is so clever and bright, and it must be dull for her, now and then.' 'i'm sure, master francis, my dear,' i said, 'no one could be kinder and nicer with miss bess than you; and as for cleverness, she may be quick and bright, but i'd like to know where she'd be for her lessons but for you helping her many a time.' i was still feeling a bit provoked with miss bess, i must allow. 'i'm nearly three years older, you know,' replied master francis, though all the same i could see a pleased look on his face. it wasn't that he cared for praise--boy or man, i have never in my life known any human being so out and out humble as mr. francis; it's that that gives him his wonderful power over others, i've often thought,--but he did love to think he was of the least use to any of those he was so devoted to. 'i'm so glad to help her,' he said softly. 'nurse,' he added after a little silence, 'i do feel so sad about things sometimes. if i had been big and strong, i might have looked forward to doing all sorts of things for them all, but now i often feel i can never be anything but a trouble, and such an expense to uncle and aunt. you really don't know what my leg costs,' he added in a way that made me inclined both to laugh and cry at once. 'dear master francis,' i said, 'you shouldn't take it so.' i should have liked to say more, but i felt i could scarcely do so without hinting at blame where i had no right to do so. he didn't seem to notice me. 'if it had to be,' he went on in the same voice, 'why couldn't i have been a girl, or why couldn't one of them have been a boy? that would have stopped it being quite so bad for poor auntie.' 'whys and wherefores are not for us to answer, my dear, though things often clear themselves up when least expected,' i said. 'and now i must see what miss bess is after, that's to say if you've got your writing finished.' 'it's just about done,' he said, 'and i'm sure bess won't tease any more. do fetch her in, nurse. why, baby! what is it, my pet?' he added, for there was miss augusta standing beside him, having deserted her toys on the hearthrug. for, though without understanding anything we had been saying, she had noticed the melancholy tone of her cousin's voice. 'poor f'ancie,' she said pitifully. 'so tired, baby wants to kiss thoo.' [illustration: 'poor f'ancie,' she said pitifully. 'so tired, baby wants to kiss thoo.'] the boy picked her up in his arms, and i saw the fair shaggy head and fat dimpled cheeks clasped close and near to his thin white face, and if there were tears in master francis's eyes i am sure it wasn't anything to be ashamed of. never was a braver spirit, and no one that knows him now could think him less a hero could they look back over the whole of his life. i found miss bess sitting quietly with the pincushion on her lap, by the window, making patterns with the pins, apparently quite content. she had not been crying, indeed it took a great deal to get a tear from that child, she had such a spirit of her own. still she was sorry for what she had done, and she bore no malice, that i could see by the clear look in her pretty eyes as she glanced up at me. 'nurse,' she said, though more with the air of a little queen granting a favour than a tiresome child asking to be forgiven, 'i'm not going to tease any more. it's gone now, and i'm going to be good. i'm very sorry for making lally cry, though she is a little silly--of course i wouldn't care to do it if she wasn't,--and i'm _dreadfully_ sorry for poor old franz's exercise. look what i have been doing to make me remember,' and i saw that she had marked the words 'bess sorry' with the pins. 'if you leave it there for a few days, and just say "pincushion" if you see me beginning again, it'll remind me.' it wasn't very easy for me to keep as grave as i wished, but i answered quietly-- 'very well, miss bess, i hope you'll keep to what you say,' and we went back, quite friendly again, to the other room. master francis and she began settling what games they would play, and i took the opportunity of slipping upstairs to the attic to call miss lally down. she came running out, as bright as could be, and gave me her knitting to hide away for her. 'nursie,' she said, 'i really think there's good fairies in the attic. i've got on so well. four whole rows all round and none stitches dropped.' so that rainy day ended more cheerfully than it had begun. unluckily, however, the worst of the mischief caused by miss bess's heedlessness didn't show for some little time to come. the next latin lesson passed off by all accounts very well, especially for miss bess. for, thanks to her new resolutions, she was in a most biddable mood, and quite ready to take her cousin's advice as to learning her list of words again, giving up half an hour of her playtime on purpose. she came dancing upstairs in the highest spirits. 'nursie,' she said,--and when she called me so i knew i was in high favour,--'i'm getting so good, i'm quite frightened at myself. papa said i had never known my lessons so well.' 'i am very glad, i am sure, my love; and i hope,' i couldn't help adding, 'that master francis got some of the praise of it.' for master francis was following her into the room, looking not quite so joyful. miss bess seemed a little taken aback. 'do you know,' she said, 'i never thought of it. i was so pleased at being praised.' and as the child was honesty itself, i was certain it was just as she said. 'i'll run down now,' she went on, 'and tell papa that it was franz who helped me.' 'no, please don't,' said the boy, catching hold of her. 'i am as pleased as i can be, bess, that you got praised, and it's harder for you than for me, or even for lally, to try hard at lessons, for you've always got such a lot of other things taking you up; and i wouldn't like,' he added slowly, 'for uncle to think i wanted to be praised. you see i'm older than you.' 'i'm sure you don't get too much praise ever, poor franz!' said miss bess. 'your exercise was as neat as neat, and yet papa wasn't pleased with it.' then i understood better why master francis looked a little sad. 'it was the one i had to copy over,' he said. all the same he wouldn't let miss bess go down to her papa. sir hulbert was busy, he knew; he had several letters to write, he had heard him say, so miss bess had to give in. 'i'll tell you what it is,' she said. 'people who are generally rather naughty, like me,'--miss bess was in a humble mood!--'get made a great fuss about when they're good. but people who are always good, like franz, never get any praise for it, and if ever they do the least bit wrong, they are far worse scolded.' this made master francis laugh. it was something, as miss bess said, among the children themselves. miss lally, who was always loving and gentle to her cousin, he just counted upon in a quiet steady sort of way. but a word of approval from flighty miss bess would set him up as if she'd been the queen herself. that was a friday. the next latin day was tuesday. of course i don't know much about such things myself, but the lessons were taken in turns. one day they'd words and writing exercises out of a book on purpose, and another day they'd have regular latin grammar, out of a thick old book, which had been sir hulbert's own when he was a boy, and which he thought a great deal of. lesson-books were still expensive too, and even in small things money was considered at treluan. it was on that tuesday then that, to my distress, i saw that master francis had been crying when he came back to the nursery. it was the first time i had seen his eyes red, and he had been trying to make them right again, i'm sure, for he hadn't come straight up from the library. miss bess was not with him; it was a fine day and she had gone out driving with her mamma, having been dressed all ready and her lesson shortened for once on purpose. i didn't seem to notice master francis, sorry though i felt, but miss lally burst out at once. 'francie, darling,' she said, running up to him and throwing her arms round him. 'what's the matter? it isn't your leg, is it?' 'i wouldn't mind that, you know, lally,' he said. 'but sometimes, when the pain's been dreadful bad, it squeezes the tears out, and you can't help it,' she said. 'no,' he answered, 'it isn't my leg. i think i'd better not tell you, lally, for you might tell it to bess, and i just won't have her know. everything's been so nice with her lately, and it just would seem as if i'd got her into trouble.' 'was papa vexed with you for something?' the child went on. 'you'd better tell me, francie, i really won't tell bess if you don't want me, and i'm sure nursie won't. i'm becustomed to keeping secrets now. sometimes secrets are quite right, nursie says.' i could scarcely help smiling at her funny little air. 'it wasn't anything _very_ much, after all,' said master francis. 'it was only that uncle said----,' and here his voice quivered and he stopped short. 'tell it from the beginning,' said miss lally in her motherly way, 'and then when you get up to the bad part it won't seem so hard to tell.' it was a relief to him to have her sympathy, i could see, and i think he cared a little for mine too. 'well,' he began, 'it's all about that latin grammar--no, not the lesson,' seeing that miss lally was going to interrupt him, 'but the book. uncle's fat old latin grammar, you know, lally. we didn't use it last friday, it wasn't the day, and we hadn't needed to look at it ourselves since last wednesday--that was the ink-spilling day. so it was not found out till to-day; and--and uncle was--so--so vexed when he saw how spoilt it was, and the worst of it was i began something about it having been bess, and that she hadn't told me, and that made uncle much worse----.' here master francis stopped, he seemed on the point of crying again, and he was a boy to feel very ashamed of tears, as i have said. 'i don't think miss bess could have known the book had got inked,' i said. 'and i scarce see how it happened, unless the ink got spilt on the table, and it may have been lying open--i've seen miss bess fling her books down open on their faces, so to speak, many a time,--and it may have dried in and been shut up when all the books were cleared away, and no one noticed.' 'yes,' said master francis eagerly, 'that's how it must have been. i never meant that bess had done it and hidden it. i said it in a hurry because i was so sorry for uncle to think i hadn't taken care of his book, and i was very sorry about the book too. but i made it far worse. uncle said it was mean of me to try to put my carelessness upon another, a younger child, and a girl; o lally! you never heard him speak like that; it was _dreadful_.' 'was it worse than that time when big jem put the blame on little pat about the dogs not being fed?' asked miss lally very solemnly. master francis flushed all over. 'you needn't have said that, lally,' he said turning away. 'i'm not so bad as that, any way.' it was very seldom he spoke in that voice to miss lally, and she hadn't meant to vex him, poor child, though her speech had been a mistake. 'come, come, master francis,' i said, 'you're taking the whole thing too much to heart, i think. perhaps sir hulbert was worried this morning.' 'no, no,' said master francis, 'he spoke quite quietly. a sort of cold, kind way, that's much worse than scolding. he said whatever bess's faults were, she was quite, quite open and honest, and of course i know she is; but he said that this sort of thing made him a little afraid that my being delicate and not--not like other boys, was spoiling me, and that i must never try to make up for not being strong and manly by getting into mean and cunning ways to defend myself.' young as she was, miss lally quite understood; she quite forgot all about his having been vexed with her a moment before. 'o francie!' she cried, running to him and flinging her arms round him, in a way she sometimes did, as if he needed her protection; 'how could papa say so to you? nobody could think you mean or cunning. it's only that you're too good. i'll tell bess as soon as she comes in, and she'll tell papa all about it, then he'll see.' 'no, dear,' said master francis, 'that's just what you mustn't do. don't you remember you promised?' miss lally's face fell. 'don't you see,' master francis went on, 'that _would_ look mean? as if i had made bess tell on herself to put the blame off me. and i do want everything to be happy with bess and me ourselves as long as i am here. it won't be for so very long,' he added. 'uncle says it will be a very good thing indeed for me to go to school.' this was too much for miss lally, she burst out crying, and hugged master francis tighter than before. i had got to understand more of her ways by now, and i knew that once she was started on a regular sobbing fit, it soon got beyond her own power to stop. so i whispered to master francis that he must help to cheer her up, and between us we managed to calm her down. that was just one of the things so nice about the dear boy, he was always ready to forget about himself if there was anything to do for another. miss bess came back from her drive brimming over with spirits, and though it would have been wrong to bear her any grudge, it vexed me rather to see the other two so pale and extra quiet, though master francis did his best, i will say, to seem as cheerful as usual. miss bess's quick eyes soon saw there had been something amiss. but i passed it off by saying miss lally had been troubled about something, but we weren't going to think about it any more. think about it i did, however, so far as it concerned master francis, especially. till now i had been always pleased to see that his uncle was really much attached to the boy, and ready to do him justice. but this notion, which seemed to have begun in sir hulbert's mind, that just because the poor child was delicate and in a sense infirm, he must be mean spirited and unmanly in mind, seemed to me a very sad one, and likely to bring much unhappiness. nor could i feel sure that my lady was not to blame for it. she was frank and generous herself, but inclined to take up prejudices, and not always careful enough in her way of speaking of those she had any feeling against. i did what i could, whenever i had any opportunity, to stand up for the boy in a quiet way, and with all respect to those who were his natural guardians. but, on the whole, much as i knew we should miss him in the nursery, i was scarcely sorry to hear not many weeks after the little events i have been telling about, that master francis's going to school was decided upon. it was to be immediately after the christmas holidays, and we were now in the month of october. chapter ix upset plans but, as everybody knows, things in this world seldom turn out as they are planned. there was a great deal of writing and considering about master francis's school, and i could see that both sir hulbert and my lady had it much on their minds. they would never have thought of sending him anywhere but of the best, but in those days schools, even for little boys, cost, i fancy, quite as much or more than now. and i can't say but what i think that the worry and the difficulty about it rather added to his aunt's prejudice against the boy. however, before long, all was settled, the school was chosen and the very day fixed, and in our different ways we began to get accustomed to the idea. master francis, i could see, had two quite opposite ways of looking at it: he was bitterly sorry to go, to leave the home and those in it whom he loved so dearly, more dearly, i think, than any one understood. and he took much to heart also the fresh expenses for his uncle. but, on the other hand, he was eager to get on with his learning; he liked it for its own sake, and, as he used to say to me sometimes when we were talking alone-- 'it's only by my mind, you know, nurse, that i can hope to be good for anything. if i had been strong and my leg all right, i'd have been a soldier like papa, i suppose.' 'there's soldiers and soldiers, you must remember, master francis,' i would reply. 'there's victories to be won far greater than those on the battlefield. and many a one who's done the best work in this world has been but feeble and weakly in health.' his eyes used to brighten up when i spoke like that. sometimes, too, i would try to cheer him by reminding him there was no saying but what he might turn out a fairly strong man yet. many a delicate boy got improved at school, i had heard. but alas!--or 'alas' at least it seemed at the time--everything was changed by what happened that winter. it was cold, colder than is usual in this part of the world, and i think master francis had got it in his head to try and harden himself by way of preparing for school life. my lady used to say little things sometimes, with a good motive, i daresay, about not minding the cold and plucking up a spirit, and what her brothers used to do when they were young, all of which master francis took to heart in a way she would not then have believed if she had been told it. dear me! it is strange to think of it, when i remember how perfectly in later years those two came to understand each other, and how nobody--after she lost her good husband--was such a staff and support to her, such a counsellor and comfort, as the nephew she had so little known--her 'more than son,' as i had often heard her call him. but i am wandering away from my story. i was just getting to master francis's illness. how it came about no one could really tell. it is not often one can trace back illnesses to their cause. most often i fancy there are more than one. but just after christmas master francis began with rheumatic fever. we couldn't at first believe it was going to be anything so bad. for my lady's sake, and indeed for everybody's, i tried to cheer up and be hopeful, in spite of the doctor's gloomy looks. it was a real disappointment to myself and took down my pride a bit, for i had done my best by the child, hoping to start him for school as strong and well as was possible for him. and any one less just and fair than my lady might have had back thoughts, such as damp feet, or sheets not aired enough, or chills of some kind, that a little care might have avoided. it was my belief that he had been feeling worse than usual for some time, but never a complaint had he made, perhaps he wouldn't own it to himself. it wasn't till two nights after christmas that, sitting by the nursery fire, just after miss augusta had been put to bed, he said to me-- 'nurse, i can't help it, my leg is so dreadfully bad, and not my leg only, the pain of it seems all over. i'm _all_ bad legs to-night,' and he tried to smile. 'may i go to bed now, and perhaps it will be all right in the morning?' i _was_ frightened! sir hulbert and my lady were dining out that evening, which but seldom happened, and when i got over my start a little i wasn't sorry for it, hoping that a good night might show it was nothing serious. we got him to bed as fast as we could. there was no going down to dessert that evening, so miss bess and miss lalage set to work to help me, like the womanly little ladies they were; one of them running downstairs to see about plenty of hot water for a good bath and hot bottles, and the other fetching the under housemaid to see to a fire in his room. i doubt if he had ever had one before. bedroom fires were not in my lady's rule, and i don't hold with them myself, except in illness or extra cold weather. he cheered up a little, and even laughed at the fuss we made. and before his uncle and aunt returned he was sound asleep, looking quiet and comfortable, so that i didn't think it needful to say anything to them that night. but long before morning, for i crept upstairs to his room every hour or two, i saw that it was not going off as i had hoped. he started and moaned in his sleep, and once or twice when i found him awake, he seemed almost lightheaded, and as if he hardly knew me. once i heard him whisper: 'oh! it hurts so,' as if he could scarcely bear it. about five o'clock i dressed myself and took up my watch beside him. my lady was an early riser; by eight o'clock, in answer to a message from me, she was with us herself in her dressing-gown. master francis was awake. 'o my lady!' i said, 'i'd no thought of bringing you up so early, and you were late last night too.' for they had had a long drive. 'it was only that i dursn't take upon me to send for the doctor without asking.' 'no, no, of course not,' she said. and indeed that was a liberty my lady would not have been pleased with any one's taking. 'do you really think it necessary?' the poor child was looking a little better just then, the pain was not so bad. he seemed quiet and dreamy-like, though his face was flushed and his eyes very bright. 'auntie!' he said, smiling a very little; 'how pretty you look!' [illustration: 'auntie!' he said, smiling a very little; 'how pretty you look!'] and so she did in her long white dressing-gown, with her lovely fair hair hanging about, for all the world like miss lally's. i think myself the fever was on his brain a little already, else he would scarce have dared speak so to his aunt. she took no notice, but drew me out of the room. 'what in the world's the matter with him?' she said, anxious and yet irritated at the same time. 'has he been doing anything foolish that can have made him ill?' i shook my head. 'it's seldom one can tell how illness comes, but i feel sure the doctor should see him,' i replied. so he was sent for, and before the day was many hours older, there was little doubt left--though, as i said before, i tried for a bit to hope it was only a bad cold--that master francis was in for something very serious. almost from the first the doctor spoke of rheumatic fever. there was a sort of comfort in this, bad as it was--the comfort of knowing there was no infection to fear. it was a great comfort to master francis himself, whenever he felt the least bit easier, now and then to see his cousins for a minute or two at a time, without any risk to them. for one of his first questions to the doctor was whether his illness was anything the others could catch. after that for a few days he was so bad that he could really think of nothing but how to bear the pain patiently. then when he grew a shade better, he began thinking about going to school. 'what was the day of the month? would he be well, _quite_ well, by the th, or whatever day school began? uncle would be _so_ disappointed if it had to be put off'--and so on, over and over again, till at last i had to speak, not only to the doctor, but to sir hulbert himself, about the way the boy was worrying in his mind. the doctor tried to put him off by saying he was getting on famously, and such-like speeches. a few quiet words from sir hulbert had far more effect. 'my dear boy,' he said gravely, 'what you have to do is to try to get well and not fret yourself. if it is god's will that your going to school should be put off, you must not take it to heart. you're not in such a hurry to leave us as all that, are you?' the last few words were spoken very kindly and he smiled as he said them. i was glad of it, for i had not thought his uncle quite as tender of the boy as he had used to be. they pleased master francis, i could see, and another thought came into his mind which helped to quiet him. 'anyway, nurse,' he said to me one day, 'there'll be a good deal of expense saved if i don't go to school till easter.' it never struck him that there are few things more expensive than illness, and as i had no idea till my lady told me that the term had to be paid for, whether he went to school or not, i was able to agree with him. i was deeply sorry for my lady in those days. some might be hard upon her, for not forgetting all else in thankfulness that the child's life was spared, and i know she tried to do so, but it was difficult. and when she spoke out to me one day, and told me about the schooling having to be paid all the same, i really did feel for her; knowing through mrs. brent, as i have mentioned, all the past history of the troubles brought about by poor master francis's father. 'i hope he'll live to be a comfort to you yet, if i may say so, my lady, and i've a strong feeling that he will,' i said (she reminded me of those words long after), 'and in the meantime you may trust to mrs. brent and me to keep all expense down as much as possible, while seeing that master francis has all he needs. i'm sure we can manage without a sick-nurse now.' for there had been some talk of having one sent for from london, though in those days it was less done than seems the case now. and after a while things began to mend. it was not a _very_ bad attack, less so than we had feared at first. in about ten days' time mrs. brent and susan the housemaid and i, who had taken it in turns to sit up all night, were able to go to bed as usual, only seeing to it that the fire was made up once in the night, so as to last on till morning, and the day's work grew steadily lighter. once they had finished their lessons, the little girls were always eager to keep their cousin company. he was only allowed to have them one at a time. miss bess used to take the first turn, but it was hard work for her, poor child, to keep still, though it grew easier for her when it got the length of his being able for reading aloud. but miss lally from the first was a perfect model of a little sick-nurse. mouse was no word for her, so still and noiseless and yet so watchful was she, and if ever she was left in charge of giving him his medicine at a certain time, i could feel as sure as sure that it wouldn't be forgotten. when he was inclined to talk a little, she knew just how to manage him--how to amuse him without exciting him at all, and always to cheer him up. the weather was unusually bad just then, though we did our best to prevent master francis feeling it, by keeping his room always at an even heat, but there were many days on which the young ladies couldn't get out. altogether it was a trying time, and for no one more than for my lady. i couldn't help thinking sometimes how different it would have been if master francis had been her own child, when the joy of his recovering would have made all other troubles seem nothing. i felt it both for her and for him, though i don't think he noticed it himself; and after all, now that i can look back on things having come so perfectly right, perhaps it is foolish to recall those shadows. only it makes the picture of their lives more true. through it all i could see my lady was trying her best to have none but kind and nice feelings. 'the doctor says that though francis will really be almost as well as usual in three or four weeks from now, there can be no question of his going to school for ever so long--perhaps not at all this year.' 'dear, dear,' i said. 'but you won't have to go on paying for it all the same, my lady?' she smiled at this. 'no, no, not quite so bad as that, only this one term, which is paid already. sir hulbert might have got off paying it if he had really explained how difficult it was. but that's just the sort of thing it would really be lowering for him to do,' and she sighed. 'the doctor says too,' she went on again, 'that by rights the boy should have a course of german baths, that might do him good for all his life; but how we _could_ manage that i can't see, though sir hulbert is actually thinking of it. i doubt if he would think of it as much if it were for one of our own children,' she added rather bitterly. 'he feels master francis a sort of charge, i suppose,' i said, meaning to show my sympathy. 'he is a charge indeed,' said his aunt. 'and to think that all this time he might have been really improving at school.' i could say nothing more, but i did grieve that she couldn't take things in a different spirit. 'it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good.' miss lally had a fine time for her knitting just then, with master francis out of the way. of course if he had been at school there would have been no difficulty, and she had planned to have his socks ready to send him on his birthday, the end of march. now she had got on so fast--one sock finished and the heel of the other turned, though not without many sighs and even a few tears--that she hoped to have them as a surprise the first day he came down to the nursery. 'i'll have to begin working in the attic again, after that,' she said to me, 'for i'm going to make a pair for baby.' 'that's to say if the weather gets warmer,' i said to her. 'you certainly couldn't have sat up in the attic these last few weeks, miss lally.' chapter x the new baby the weather did improve. the winter having been so unusually severe was made up for, as i think often happens, by a bright and early spring. by the beginning of april master francis was able to be out again, though of course only for a little in the middle of the day, and we had to be very careful lest he should catch the least cold. i was exceedingly glad, really more glad than i can say, that his getting well went through without any backcasts. for himself he was really better than the doctor had dared to hope, but as he began to move about more freely i was grieved to see that the stiffness of his leg seemed worse than before his illness. i don't think it pained him much, at least he didn't complain. in the meantime i thought it would be best to say nothing about it, half hoping that he didn't notice it himself, but i heard no talk of his going to school. i shall never forget one morning in april--it was towards the end of the month, a most lovely sunny morning it was, as i went up the winding staircase leading to master francis's room in the tower. the sunshine came pouring in through the narrow windows as brilliant as if it had been midsummer, and the songs of the birds outside seemed to tell how they were enjoying it, yet it was only half-past six! the little ladies below were all sleeping soundly, but master francis, i knew, always woke very early, and somehow i had a feeling that he must be the first to hear the good news. as i knocked at the door i heard him moving inside. he had got up to open the window; the room seemed flooded with light as i went in. master francis was sitting up in bed reading, or learning some of his lessons more likely, for he was well enough now to have gone back to regular ways. he looked up very brightly. 'isn't it a most beautiful morning, nurse?' he said. 'the sunshine woke me even earlier than usual, so i'm looking over my latin. auntie doesn't mind my reading in bed in the morning. it isn't like at night with candles.' 'no, of course not,' i said. 'but, master francis, i want you to leave off thinking about your lessons for a minute. i rather fancy you'll have a holiday to-day. i've got a piece of news for you! i wonder if you can guess what has happened?' he opened his eyes wide in surprise. 'it must be something good,' he said, 'or you wouldn't look so pleased. what _can_ it be? it can't be that uncle hulbert's got a lot of money.' 'there are some things better than money,' i said. 'what would you think if a dear little baby boy had come in the night?' his whole face flushed pink with pleasure. 'nurse!' he said. 'is it really true? oh! how pleased i am. just the very thing auntie has wanted so--a little boy of her own. i may count him like a brother, mayn't i? won't bess and lally be pleased! do they know? mayn't i get up at once, and when do you think i may see him?' 'some time to-day, i hope,' i answered. 'no, the young ladies don't know yet. they're fast asleep. but i thought you'd like to know.' 'how good of you!' he said. 'i'm just _so_ pleased that i don't know what to do.' what a morning of excitement it was, to be sure! the children were all half off their heads with delight. all, that is to say, except miss baby, who burst out crying in the middle of her breakfast, sobbing that she 'wouldn't have no--something----' we couldn't make out what for ever so long, till we found it was her name she was crying about, as of course we were all talking of the new little brother as 'the baby.' we comforted her by saying that anyway he would not be 'miss baby'; and perhaps from that it came about that her old name clung to her till she was quite a big girl, and almost from the first master bevil got his real name. he was a great darling--so strong and hearty too--and so handsome even as an infant. everything seemed to go right with him from the very beginning. 'surely,' i often said to myself, 'he will bring a blessing with him. and now that my lady's great wish has been granted, i do hope she will feel more trustful and less anxious.' i hoped too that she would now have happier feelings to poor master francis, especially when she saw his devotion to the baby boy. for of all the children i must say he was the one who loved the little creature the most. and for a while all seemed tending in the right way, but when the baby was a few weeks old, i began to fear that something of the old trouble was in the air again. fresh money difficulties happened about that time, though of course i didn't know exactly what they were. but it was easy to see that my lady was fretted, she was not one to hide anything she was feeling. one day, it was in june, as far as i remember, my lady was in the nursery with miss lally and miss baby and the real baby. the two elder children were downstairs at their lessons with sir hulbert. master bevil was looking beautiful that afternoon. we had laid him down on a rug on the floor, and he was kicking and crowing as if he had been six months old, his little sisters chattering and laughing to him, while my lady sat by in the rocking-chair, looking for once as if she had thrown all her cares aside. 'he really is getting on beautifully,' she said to me. 'doesn't he look a great big boy?' i was rather glad of the remark, for it gave me a chance to say something that had been on my mind. 'we'll have to be thinking of short-coating him, before we know where we are, my lady,' i said with a smile. 'and there's another thing i've been thinking of. he's such a heavy boy to carry already, and as time gets on it would be a pity for our walks to be shortened in the fine weather. we had a beautiful basket for the donkey at mrs. wyngate's, it was made so that even a little baby could lie quite comfortably in it.' 'that would be very nice,' my lady answered. 'i'll speak to sir hulbert about it. only----,' and again a rather worried look came into her face. i could see that she had got back to the old thought, 'everything costs money.' 'we must do something about it before long,' she added. just then miss bess ran into the room, followed more slowly by her cousin. 'what are you talking about?' she said. 'about how dear fat baby is to go walks with us when he gets still fatter and heavier,' said miss lally. 'poor nurse couldn't carry him so very far, you know, and mamma says perhaps----' 'oh! nonsense,' interrupted miss bess; 'we'd carry him in turns, the darling.' my lady looked up quickly at this. 'don't talk so foolishly, child,' she said sharply. for, fond as she was of miss bess, she could put her down sometimes, and just now the little girl scarcely deserved it, it seemed to me. 'i won't allow anything of that kind,' she went on. 'you are far too young, all of you--francis especially, must never attempt to carry baby. do you hear, children? nurse, you must be strict about this.' 'certainly, my lady,' i replied. 'master francis and the young ladies have never done more than just hold master bevil in their arms for a moment, me standing close by.' then they went on to talk about getting a basket for the donkey, which they were very much taken up about. i didn't notice at the time that master francis had only looked in for an instant and gone off again; but that evening at tea time, when miss bess and miss lally said something about old jacob, master francis asked what they meant, which i remembered afterwards as showing that he had not heard his aunt's strict orders. it was a week or two after that, that one lovely afternoon we all set out on a walk together. we had planned to go rather farther than we had yet been with the baby, resting here and there on the way, it was so warm and sunny and he was not _yet_ so very heavy, of course. all went well, and we found ourselves close to home again in nice time. for of course i knew that if we stayed out too long it would be only natural for my lady to be anxious. 'it's rather too soon to go in and it's such a beautiful afternoon,' said miss bess as we were coming up the drive. 'do let us go into the little wood, for half an hour or so, nurse, and you might tell us a story.' the little wood skirts the drive at one side. it is a sweet place, in the early summer especially, so many wild flowers and ferns, and lots of squirrels overhead among the branches, and little rabbits scudding about down below. we found a cosy nook, where we settled ourselves. the little brother was fast asleep, the three elder ones sat round me, while miss baby toddled off a little way, busy about some of her own funny little plays by herself, though well within sight. i was in the middle of a long story of having been lost in the firwoods at home as a child, when a loud scream made us all start, and looking up i saw to my alarm that miss baby was no longer to be seen. 'dear, dear,' i cried, jumping up in a fright. 'she must have hurt herself. here, master francis, hold the baby for a moment, don't get up;' and i put his little cousin down safely in his arms. i meant him not to stir till i came back, but he didn't understand this. miss bess was already off after her little sister, and after a minute or two we found her, not hurt at all, but crying loudly at having fallen down and dirtied her frock in running away from what _she_ called a 'bear,' coming out of the wood--most likely only a branch of a tree swaying about. it took a little time to quiet her and to set her to rights again, and when we got back to the other children i was surprised to see that the baby was now in miss lally's arms, master francis kneeling beside them wiping something with his handkerchief. 'there's nothing wrong, i hope,' i said, rather startled again. 'oh no!' said miss lally. 'it's only that little brother cried and francie walked him up and down and somefing caught francie's foot and he felled, but baby didn't fall. francie held him tight, only a twig scratched baby's nose a tiny little bit. but he doesn't mind, he's laughing.' so he was, though sure enough there was a thin red line right across his plump little nose, and the least little mark of blood on the handkerchief with which his cousin had been tenderly dabbing it. master francis himself was so pale that i hadn't the heart to say more to him than just a word. 'i had meant you to sit still with him, my dear.' 'but he cried so,' said the boy. however, there was no harm done, though i thought to myself i'd be more careful than ever, but unluckily just as we were within a few steps of the house whom should we see but my lady coming to meet us. i'm never one for hiding things, but i did wish she had not happened to come just then. she noticed the scratch in a moment, as she stooped to kiss the baby, though really there was nothing to mind, seeing the dear child so rosy and happy looking. 'what's the matter with his nose?' she said quickly. 'you haven't any pins about you, nurse, surely?' pins were not in my way, certainly, but i could have found it in my heart to wish i could own to one just then, for master francis started forward. 'oh no! aunt helen,' he said, 'it was my fault. i was walking him about for a minute or two, while nurse went after baby, and my foot slipt, but i only came down on my knees and _he_ didn't fall. it was only a twig scratched his nose, a tiny bit.' my lady grew first red then white. 'he might have been killed,' she said; and she caught the baby from me and kissed him over and over again. then she turned to master francis, and i could see that she was doing her best to keep in her anger. 'francis, how dared you, after what i said the other day so very strongly about your _never_ carrying the baby? your own sense might have told you you are not able to carry him, but besides that, what i said makes it distinct disobedience. nurse, did you _know_ of it?' 'it was i myself gave master bevil to master francis to hold,' i said, flurried like at my lady's displeasure. 'i hadn't meant him to walk about with him.' 'of course not,' said my lady. 'there now, you see, francis, double disobedience! i must speak to your uncle. take back baby, nurse, he must have some _pomade divine_ on his nose when he gets in;' and before any of us had time to speak again she had turned and hurried back to the house. my lady had always a quick way with her, pleased or displeased. 'she's gone to tell papa,' said the young ladies, looking very distressed. master francis was quite white and shaking like. 'nurse,' he said at last, when he had got voice enough to speak, 'i really don't know what auntie meant about something she said the other day.' 'o franz! you can't have forgotten,' said miss bess, who often spoke sharply when she was really very sorry. 'mamma did say most plainly that none of us were to carry baby about.' but the boy still looked quite puzzled, and when we talked it over, we were all satisfied that he hadn't been in the room at the time. 'i must try to put it right with my lady,' i said, feeling that if any one had been to blame in the matter it was certainly me much more than master francis, for not having kept my eye better on miss baby in the wood. but we were a very silent and rather sad party as we made our way back slowly to the house. i couldn't see my lady till late that evening, and then, though i did my best, i didn't altogether succeed. she had already spoken to sir hulbert, and nothing would convince her that master francis had not heard at least some part of what she said. sir hulbert was always calm and just; he sent for the boy the next morning, and had a long talk with him. master francis came back to the nursery looking pale and grave, but more thoughtful than unhappy. 'uncle has been very good and kind,' was all he said. 'and i will try never to vex him and auntie again.' later that evening, when he happened to be alone with me, after the young ladies had gone to bed, he said a little more. i was sitting by the fire with master bevil on my knee. master francis knelt down beside me and kissed the little creature tenderly. then he stroked his tiny nose--the mark of the scratch had almost gone already. 'you darling!' he said. 'oh! how glad i am you weren't really hurt. nurse,' he went on, 'i'd do anything for this baby, i do _love_ him so. i only wish i could say it to auntie the way i can to you. if only i were big and strong, or very clever, and could work for him, to get him everything he should have, and then it would make up a little for all the trouble i've been always to them.' he spoke quite simply. there wasn't a thought of himself--as if he had anything to complain of, or put up with, i mean--in what he said. but all the more it touched me very much, and i felt the tears come into my eye, but i wouldn't have master francis see it, and i began laughing and playing with the baby. 'see his dear little feet,' i said. 'they're almost the prettiest part of him. he kicks so, he wears out his little boots in no time. it would be nice if miss lally could knit some for him.' master francis looked surprised. 'why,' he said, 'do you call those little white things boots? and are they made the same way as my socks? i've got them on now; aren't they splendid? i really think it was very clever of lally.' chapter xi in disgrace again he held out one foot to be admired. 'yes,' i said, 'they are very nice indeed, and miss lally was so patient about them. i'll have to think of some other knitting for her.' 'o nurse!' said master francis quickly, then he stopped. 'i must ask lally first,' he went on; and i heard him say, as if speaking to himself--'it would be nice to please auntie.' for a day or two after that i saw there was some mystery going on. master francis and miss lally were whispering together and looking very important, and one fine afternoon the secret was confided to me. miss bess was out with her mamma, and master francis had disappeared when we came in from our walk, a rather short one that day. suddenly, just as we were sitting down to tea, and i was wondering what had become of him, he hurried in, and threw a small soft white packet on to miss lally's lap. 'o francie!' she said, 'have you really got it?' then she undid the parcel and showed it to me; it was white wool. 'francie has bought it with his own money,' she said, 'for me to knit a pair of boots for baby, and oh! nursie, will you show me how? they're to be a present from francie and me; me the knitting and francie the wool, and we want it to be quite a secret till they're ready. it's so warm now i can knit up in the attic. won't mamma be pleased?' 'certainly, my dear,' i said. 'i'll do my best to teach you. they'll be rather difficult, for we'll have to put in some fancy stitches, but i think you can manage it now.' master francis stood by, looking as interested and pleased as miss lally herself. 'that was all the wool prideaux' daughter had,' he said. 'do you think there'll be enough, nurse? she'll have some more in a few days.' 'i doubt if there'll be enough,' i said, 'but i can tell better when we've got them begun.' begun they were, that very evening. miss lally and master francis set to work to wind the wool, having first spent some time at an extra washing of their hands, for fear of soiling it in the very least. 'it's so beautifully white,' said miss lally, 'like it says in the bible, isn't it, nursie? it would be a pity to dirty it.' dear me! how happy those two were over their innocent secret, and how little i thought what would come of master bevil's white wool bootikins! the knitting got on nicely, though there were some difficulties in the way. the weather was getting warmer, and it is not easy for even little ladies to keep their hands quite spotlessly clean. the ball of wool had to be tied up in a little bag, as it would keep falling on the floor, and besides this, miss lally spread out a clean towel in the corner where she sat to work in the attic. i gave miss bess a hint that there was a new secret and got her to promise not to tease the children, and she was really good about it, as was her way if she felt she was trusted. altogether, for some little time things seemed to be going smoothly. master francis was most particular to do nothing that could in the least annoy his uncle and aunt, or could seem like disobedience to them. after the long spell of fine weather, july set in with heavy rain. i had now been a whole year with the dear children. i remember saying so to them one morning when we were all at breakfast. it was about a week since the baby's boots had been in hand. one was already finished, in great part by miss lally herself, though i had had to do a little to it in the evenings after they were all in bed, setting it right for her to go on with the next day. with the wet weather there was less walking out, of course, and all the more time for the knitting. on the day i am speaking of the children came down from the attic in the afternoon with rather doleful faces. 'nursie,' said miss lally, 'i have been getting on so nicely,' and indeed i had not required to do more than glance at her work for two or three days. 'i thought i would have had it ready for you to begin the lace part round the top, only, just fancy the wool's done!' 'they'll have more at the shop by now,' said master francis. 'if only it would clear up i could go to the village for it.' 'it may be finer to-morrow,' i said, 'but there's no chance of you going out to-day; even if it left off raining, the ground's far too wet for you with your rheumatism. now, miss lally, my dear, don't you begin looking so doleful about it; you've got on far quicker than you could have expected.' she did look rather doleful all the same, and the worst of it was that though master francis would have given up anything for himself, he never could bear miss lally to be disappointed. 'i'm so much better now, nurse,' he said. 'i don't believe even going out in the rain would hurt me.' 'it's _possible_ it mightn't hurt you, but----' i was beginning, when i heard master bevil crying out in the other room. miss lally had now a little room of her own on the other side of the nursery, and we had saved enough of miss bess's chintz to smarten it up. this had been done some months ago. i hadn't too much time now, and the young girl who helped me was no hand at sewing at all. off i hurried to the baby without finishing what i was saying to master francis, and indeed i never gave another thought to what he'd said about fetching the wool till tea-time came, and he didn't answer when we called him, thinking he was in his own room. just then, unluckily, my lady came up to the nursery to say good-bye to the children, or good-night rather, for she and sir hulbert were going to dine at carris court, which is a long drive from treluan, and the roads were just then very heavy with the rain. she came in looking quite bright and cheery. i can see her now in her black lace dress--it was far from new--it was seldom my lady spent anything on herself--but it suited her beautifully, showing off her lovely hair and fair complexion. one little diamond star was her only ornament. i forget if i mentioned that as well as the strange disappearance of money at the death of old sir david, a great many valuable family jewels, worth thousands of pounds, were also missing, so it was but little that sir hulbert had been able to give his wife, and what money she had of her own she wouldn't have spent in such ways, knowing from the first how things were with him. she came in, as i said, looking so beautiful and bright that i felt grieved when almost in a moment her look changed. 'where is francis?' she asked quickly. 'he must be somewhere downstairs, my lady,' i said. 'he's not in his room, but no doubt he'll be coming directly.' esther, the nursery-maid, was just then coming in with some tea-cakes mrs. brent had sent us up. 'go and look for master francis, and tell him to come at once,' said my lady. 'surely he can't have gone out anywhere,' she added to me; 'it's pouring, besides he isn't allowed to go out without leave.' 'he'd never think of such a thing,' i said quickly, 'after being so ill too.' but even as i spoke the words, there came into my mind what the boy had said that afternoon, and i began to feel a little anxious, though of course i didn't let my lady see it, and i did my best to smooth things when esther came back to say that he was nowhere to be found. it was little use, however, my lady began to be thoroughly put out. she hurried off to sir hulbert, feeling both anxious and angry, and a good half-hour was spent in looking for the boy before sir hulbert could persuade her to start. he was vexed too, and no wonder, just when my lady had been looking so happy. 'really,' i thought to myself, 'master francis is tiresome after all.' and i was thankful when they at last drove off, there being no real cause for anxiety. no sooner had the sound of the carriage-wheels died away than the nursery door opened and master francis burst in, looking for once like a regular pickle of a boy. his eyes bright and his cheeks rosy, though he was covered with mud from head to foot, his boots really not to be thought of as fit to come up a tidy staircase. 'hurrah!' he cried, shaking a little parcel over his head. 'i've got it, lally. and i'm not a bit wet after all, nurse!' 'oh no!' said miss bess, who did love to put in her word, 'not at all. quite nice and dry and tidy and fit to sit down to tea, after worrying mamma out of her wits and nearly stopping papa and her going to carris.' master francis's face fell at once. i was sorry for him and yet that provoked i couldn't but join in with miss bess. 'go upstairs to your room at once, master francis, and undress and get straight into your bed. i'll come up in a few minutes with some hot tea for you. how you could do such a thing close upon getting better of rheumatic fever, and the trouble and worry it gave, passes me! and considering, too, what i said to you this very afternoon.' 'you didn't actually say i wasn't to go,' he said quickly. 'you know quite well why i went, and i'm not a _bit_ wet really. i'm all muffled up in things to keep me dry. i'm nearly suffocating.' 'all the worse,' i said. 'if you're overheated all the more certain you'll get a chill. don't stand talking, go at once.' he went off, and i was beginning to pour out the tea, which had been kept back all this time, when, as i lifted the teapot in my hand i almost dropped it, nearly scalding miss baby who was sitting close by me, so startled was i by a sudden terrible scream from miss lally; and, as i have said before, anything like miss lally's screams i never did hear in any nursery. besides which, once she was started, there was never any saying when she'd leave off. 'now, whatever's the matter with you, my dear?' i said, but it was little use talking quietly to her. she only sobbed something about 'poor francie and nursie scolding him,' and then went on with her screaming till i was obliged to put her in the other room by herself to get quiet. of all the party miss bess and miss baby were the only ones who did justice to mrs. brent's tea-cakes that evening. they did take miss lally's screaming fits quietly, i must say, which was a good thing, and even master bevil had strong nerves, i suppose, for he slept on sweetly through it all, poor dear. for myself, i was out and out upset for once, provoked and yet sorry too. i went up to master francis and did the best i could for him to prevent his taking cold. he was as sorry as could be by this time, and he had really not meant to be disobedient, but though i was ready to believe him, i felt much afraid that this new scrape wouldn't be passed over very lightly by his uncle and aunt. after a while miss lally quieted down, partly, i think, because i promised her she might go up to her cousin if she would leave off crying, and the two passed the evening together very soberly and sadly, winding the fresh skein of white wool which had been the cause of all the trouble. after all master francis did not take cold. he came down to breakfast the next morning looking pretty much as usual, though i could see he was uneasy in his mind. miss lally too was feeling rather ashamed of her screaming fit the night before, for she was growing a big girl now, old enough to understand that she should have more self-command. altogether it was a rather silent nursery that morning, for miss bess was concerned for her cousin too. i had quite meant to try to see my lady before anything was said to master francis. but she was tired and later of getting up than usual, and i didn't like to disturb her. sir hulbert, i found, had gone out early and would not be in till luncheon-time, so i hoped i would still have my chance. i hardly saw the elder children till their dinner time. it was an extra long morning of lessons with miss kirstin, for it was still raining, and on wet days she sometimes helped them with what they had to learn by themselves. the three hurried up together to make themselves tidy before going down to the dining-room, and i just saw them for a moment. master bevil was rather fractious, and i was feeling a little worried about him, so that what had happened the night before was not quite so fresh in my mind as it had been; but i did ask miss lally, who came to me to have her hair brushed, if she had seen her mamma, and if my lady was feeling rested. 'she's getting up for luncheon,' was the child's answer, 'but i haven't seen her. mrs. brent told us she was very tired last night. mrs. brent waited up to tell mamma francie had come in.' after luncheon the two young ladies came up together. i looked past them anxiously for master francis. 'no,' said miss lally, understanding my look, 'he's not coming. he's gone to papa's room, and papa and mamma are both there.' my heart sank at the words. 'mamma's coming up to see baby in a little while,' said miss bess. 'she was so tired, poor little mamma, she only woke in time to dress for luncheon, and papa said he was very glad.' miss lally came round and whispered to me. 'nurse,' she said, 'may i go up to the attic? i want to knit a great lot to-day, and if i stayed down here mamma would see.' 'very well, my dear,' i said. 'only be sure to come downstairs if you feel chilly.' there was really no reason, now that she had a room of her own, for her ever to sit in the attic, but she had taken a fancy to it, i suppose, and off she went. miss bess stood looking out of the window, in a rather idle way she had. 'oh dear!' she said impatiently; 'is it _never_ going to leave off raining? i am so tired of not getting out.' 'get something to do, my dear,' i said. 'then the time will pass more quickly. it won't stop raining for you watching it, you know. weren't you saying something about the schoolroom books needing arranging, and that you hadn't had time to do them?' miss bess was in a very giving-in mood. 'very well,' she said, moving off slowly. 'i suppose i may as well do them. but i need somebody to help me; where's lally?' 'don't disturb her yet awhile, poor dear,' i said. 'she does so want to get on with the work i've told you about.' miss bess stood looking uncertain. suddenly an idea struck her. 'may i have baby then?' she asked. 'she could hold up the books to me, and that's about all the help i need, really.' i saw no objection, and miss baby trotted off very proud, miss bess leading her by the hand. the nursery seemed very quiet the next half-hour or so, or maybe longer. i was beginning to wonder when my lady would be coming, and feeling glad that master bevil, who had just wakened up from a nice sleep, was looking quite like himself again before she saw him, when suddenly the door burst open and master francis looked in. he was not crying, but his face had the strained white look i could not bear to see on it. 'is there no one here?' he said. somehow i didn't like to question him, grieved though i felt at things going wrong again. 'no,' i replied. 'miss bess is in the schoolroom with----,' then it suddenly struck me that my lady might be coming in at any moment, and that it might be better for master francis not to be there. 'miss lally,' i went on quickly, 'is at her knitting in the attic, if you like to go to her there.' he turned and went. afterwards he told me that he caught sight of my lady coming along the passage as he left the room, and that he hurried upstairs to avoid her. he didn't find miss lally in the attic as he expected, but her knitting was there lying on the floor, thrown down hurriedly, and though she had not forgotten to spread out the clean towel as usual, in her haste she hadn't noticed that the newly-wound ball of white wool had rolled some distance away from the half-finished boot and the pins. afterwards i will tell what happened to master francis, up there by himself in the attic. to make all clear, i may here explain why he had not found miss lally in her nook. the book-tidying in the schoolroom had gone on pretty well, but after a bit, though miss baby did her best, miss bess found the want of some one who could read the titles, and she ran upstairs to beg miss lally to come for a few minutes. the few minutes turned into an hour or more, for the young ladies, just like children as they were, came across some old favourites in their tidying, and began reading out bits here and there to each other. and then to please miss baby they made houses and castles of the books on the floor, which she thought a beautiful new game, so that miss lally forgot about her knitting, while feeling, so to say, at the back of her mind quite easy about it, thinking she had left it safely lying on the clean cloth. they were both so much taken up with what they were about, that it never struck them to wonder what master francis was doing with himself all the afternoon. my lady and i meanwhile were having a long talk in the nursery. it had been as i feared, sir hulbert having spoken most severely to the boy, and my lady having said some bitter things, which already she was repenting, more especially when i was able to explain that master francis had really not been so distinctly disobedient as had seemed the case. 'we must try and put it right again, i suppose,' she said rather sadly, as she was leaving the room. 'i wish i didn't take up things so hotly at the time, but i was really frightened as well as angry. still sir hulbert would not have spoken so strongly if it hadn't been for me.' this was a great deal for my lady to say, and i felt honoured by her confidence. i began to be more hopeful again, and tried to set out the tea rather nicer than usual to cheer them up a little. chapter xii lost the three young ladies came in together, miss baby looking very important, but calling out for her tea. 'it's quite ready, my dear,' i said. 'but where's master francis?' '_i_ don't know,' said miss bess. 'i haven't seen him all the afternoon.' i turned to miss lally. 'he went up to sit with you, my dear, in the attic,' i said. 'i didn't see him,' said miss lally, and then she explained how miss bess had fetched her down ever so long ago. 'i daresay francie's in his own room,' she went on. 'i'll run up and see, and i'll look in the attic too, for i left my work lying about.' she ran off. 'nurse,' said miss bess, 'do you think francis got a very bad scolding? you saw him, didn't you? did he seem very unhappy?' 'i'm afraid so, my dear, but i think it will come all right again. i've seen your mamma since, and she quite sees now that he didn't really mean to be disobedient.' 'i wish you had told mamma that before they spoke to francis,' said miss bess, who i must say was rather a job's comforter sometimes. we waited anxiously till we heard miss lally's footsteps returning. she ran in alone, looking rather troubled. 'he's not there, not in his own room, or the attic, or nowhere, but he must have been in the attic, for my work's gone.' a great fear came over me. could the poor boy have run away in his misery at having again angered his uncle and aunt? for the look on his face had been strange, when he glanced in at the nursery door, asking for miss lally. was he meaning perhaps to bid her good-bye before setting off in some wild way? and what she said of the knitting having gone made me still more uneasy. had he perhaps taken it with him as a remembrance? for of all the queer mixtures of old-fashionedness and childishness that ever i came across, master francis was the strangest, though, as i have said, there was a good deal of this in all the children. i got up at miss lally's words. master bevil was asleep, luckily. 'you go on with your tea, my dears, there's good children,' i said. 'i must see about master francis, he must be somewhere about the house. he'd never have thought of going out again in such weather,' for it was pouring in torrents. i went downstairs, asking everybody i met if they had seen him, but they all shook their heads, and at last, after searching through the library and the big drawing-rooms, and even more unlikely places, i got so frightened that i made bold to knock at sir hulbert's study door, where he was busy writing, my lady working beside him. they had been talking of master francis just before i went in, and they were far more distressed than annoyed at my news, my lady growing quite pale. 'o hulbert!' she exclaimed, 'if he has run away it is my fault.' 'nonsense, helen,' he said, meaning to cheer her. 'the boy has got sense and good feeling, he'd never risk making himself ill again. and where would he run away to? he couldn't go to sea. but certainly the sooner we find him the better.' he went off to speak to some of the men, while my lady and i, mrs. brent and some of the others, started again to search through the house. we did search, looking in really impossible corners, where he couldn't have squeezed himself in. then the baby awoke, and i had to go to him, and miss bess and miss lally took their turn at this melancholy game of hide-and-seek, but it was all no use. the dull gray afternoon darkened into night, the rain still pouring down, and nothing was heard of the missing boy. sir hulbert at last left off pretending not to be anxious. he had his strongest horse put into the dog-cart, and drove away to the town to give notice to the police, stopping on the way at every place where it was the least likely the boy could have been seen. he didn't get back till eleven o'clock. my lady and mrs. brent and me were waiting up for him, for master bevil was sleeping sweetly, and i had put the nursery-maid to watch beside him. the young ladies, poor dears, were in bed too, and, as is happily the way with children, had fallen asleep in spite of their tears and sad distress. we knew the moment we saw sir hulbert that he had no good tidings to give us. his sunburnt face looked almost white, as he came into the hall soaking wet and shook his head. 'i have done everything, nelly,' he said, 'everything that can be done, and now we must try to be patient till some news comes. it is impossible, everybody says, that a boy like him, so well known in the neighbourhood too, could disappear without some one seeing him, or that he could remain in hiding for long. it is perfectly extraordinary that we have not found him already, and somehow i can scarcely believe he is doing it on purpose. he has such good feeling, and must know how anxious we should be.' sir hulbert was standing by the fire, which my lady had had lighted in the hall, as he spoke. he seemed almost thinking aloud. my lady crept up to him with a look on her face i could not bear to see. 'hulbert,' she said in a low voice, 'i said things to him enough to make him doubt our caring at all.' and then she broke down into bitter though silent weeping. we got her to bed with difficulty. there was really no use whatever in sitting up, and who knew what need for strength the next day might bring? then there were the other poor children to think of. so by midnight the house was all quiet as usual. i was thankful that the wind had fallen, for all through the evening there had been sounds of wailing and sobbing, such as stormy weather always brings at treluan, enough to make you miserable if there was nothing the matter--the rain pattering against the window like cold tiny hands, tapping and praying to be let in. sad as i was, and though i could scarcely have believed it of myself, i had scarcely laid my head down before i too, like the children, fell fast asleep. i was dreaming, a strange confused dream, which i never was able to remember clearly; but it was something about searching in the smugglers' caves for master francis, followed by an old man, who i somehow fancied was the miser baronet, sir david. his hair was snow white, and there was a confusion in my mind of thinking it like miss lally's wool. anyhow, i had got the idea of whiteness in my head, so that, when something woke me--afterwards i knew it was the sound of my own name--and i opened my eyes to see by the glimmer of the night-light what seemed at first a shining figure by my bed-side, i did not feel surprised. and the first words i said were 'white as wool.' 'no, no,' said miss lally, for it was she, in her little night-dress, her fair hair all tumbling over her shoulders, 'it isn't about my wool, nurse, please wake up quite. it's something so strange--such a queer noise. please get up and come to my room to see what it is.' miss lally's room was a tiny place at the side of the nursery nearest the tower, though not opening on to the tower stair. i got up at once and crossed the day nursery with her, lighting a candle on the way. but when we got into her room all was perfectly silent. 'what was it you heard, my dear?' i asked. 'a sort of knocking,' she said, 'and a queer kind of little cry, like a rabbit caught in a trap when you hear it a long way off.' 'it must have been the wind and rain again,' i was beginning to say, but she stopped me. 'hush, listen!' she said, holding up her little hand, 'there it is again.' it was just as she had said, and it seemed to come from the direction of the tower. 'isn't it like as if it was from francie's room?' said miss lally, shivering a little; 'and yet we know he's not there, nursie.' but something was there, or close by, and something _living_, i seemed to feel. 'put on your dressing-gown,' i said to the little girl, 'and your slippers, and we'll go up and see. you're not frightened, dear?' 'oh no!' she said. 'if only it was francie!' but she clung to my hand as we went up the stair, leaving the nursery door wide open, so as to hear master bevil if he woke up. master francis's room was all dark, of course, and it struck very chill as we went in, the candle flickering as we pushed the door open. it seemed so strange to see the empty bed, and everything unused about the room, just as if he was really quite away. we stood perfectly still. all was silent. we were just about leaving the room to go to the attic when the faintest breath of a sound seemed to come again, i couldn't tell from where. it was more like a sigh in the air. 'stop,' said miss lally, squeezing my hand, and then again we heard the muffled taps, much more clearly than downstairs. miss lally's ears were very sharp. 'i hear talking,' she whispered, and before i knew what she was about she had laid herself down on the floor and put her ear to the ground, at a part where there was no carpet. 'nursie,' she went on, looking up with a very white face and shining eyes, 'it is francie. he must have felled through the floor. i can hear him saying, "o lally! o bess! oh, somebody come."' i stooped down as she had done. it was silent again; but after a moment began the knocking and a sort of sobbing cry; my ears weren't sharp enough to make it into words, but i seized the first thing that came to hand, i think it was the candlestick, and thumped it on the floor as hard as ever i could, calling out, close down through the boarding, 'master francie, we hear you.' but there was nothing we could do by ourselves, and we were losing precious time. 'miss lally,' i said, 'you won't be frightened to stay here alone; i'll leave you the candle. go on knocking and calling to him, to keep up his heart, in case he can hear, while i go for your papa.' in less time than it takes to tell it, i had roused sir hulbert and brought him back with me, my lady following after. nothing would have kept her behind. we were met by eager words from miss lally. 'papa, nursie,' she cried, 'i've made him hear, and i can make out that he says something about the window.' without speaking sir hulbert strode across the room and flung it open. oh, how thankful we were that the wind had fallen and all was still. 'francis, my boy,' we heard sir hulbert shout--he was leaning out as far as ever he could--'francis, my boy, can you hear me?' something answered, but we inside the room couldn't distinguish what it said, but in another moment sir hulbert turned towards us. 'he says something about the cupboard in the attic,' he said. 'what can he mean? but come at once.' he caught up my lady's little hand-lamp and led the way, we three following. when we reached the attic he went straight to the big cupboard i have spoken of. the doors were standing wide open. sir hulbert went in, but came out again, looking rather blank. 'i can see nothing,' he said. 'i fancied he said the word "mouse," but his voice had got so faint.' 'if you knock on the floor,' i began, but miss lally stopped me by darting into the closet. 'papa,' she said, 'hold the light here. i know where the mouse-hole is.' what they had thought a mouse-hole was really a hole with jagged edges cut out in one of the boards, which you could thrust your hand into. sir hulbert did so, beginning to see what it was meant for, and pulled. a trap-door, cleverly made, for all that it looked so roughly done, gave way, and by the light of the lamp we saw a kind of ladder leading downwards into the dark. sir hulbert stooped down and leaned over the edge. 'francis,' he called, and a very faint voice--we couldn't have heard it till the door was opened--answered-- 'yes, i'm here. take care, the ladder's broken.' luckily there was another ladder in the attic. sir hulbert and i dragged it out, and managed to slip it down the hole, in the same direction as the other. we were so afraid it would be too short, but it wasn't. my lady and i held it steady at the top, while sir hulbert went down with the lamp, miss lally holding a candle beside us. sir hulbert went down very slowly, not knowing how or in what state master francis might be lying at the foot. our hearts were beating like hammers, for all we were so quiet. first we heard an exclamation of surprise. i rather think it was 'by jove!' though sir hulbert was a most particular gentleman in his way of speaking--then came a hearty shout-- 'all right, he's here, no bones broken.' 'shall i come down?' cried my lady. 'i think you may,' sir hulbert answered, 'if you're very careful. i'll bring the light to the foot of the ladder again.' when my lady got down, miss lally and i strained our ears to hear. i knew the child was quivering to go down herself, and it was like her to be so patient. strange were the words that first reached us. 'auntie, auntie!' we heard master francis say, in his poor weak voice. 'it's old sir david's treasure! you won't be poor any more. oh! i'm so glad now i fell down the hole, but i thought i'd die before i could tell any one.' miss lally and i stared at each other. could it be true? or was master francis off his head? we had not long to wait. they managed to get him up--after all it was not so very far to climb,--my lady coming first with the lamp, and sir hulbert, holding master francis with one arm and the side of the ladder with the other, followed, for the boy had revived wonderfully, once he knew he was safe. [illustration: sir hulbert, holding master francis with one arm and the side of the ladder with the other, followed.] my lady was crying, i saw it the moment the light fell on her face, and as soon as master francis was up beside us, she threw her arms round him and kissed him as never before. 'oh! my poor dear boy,' she said, 'i am so thankful, but do tell us how it all happened.' she must have heard, and indeed seen something of the strange discovery that had been made, but for the moment i don't think there was a thought in her heart except thankfulness that he was safe. before master francis could answer, sir hulbert interrupted. 'better not ask him anything for a minute or two,' he said. 'nurse, you will find my brandy-flask downstairs in the study. he'd better have a little mixed with water; and ring the bell as you pass to waken crooks, and some one must light the fire in francis's room.' i was back in five minutes with what was wanted; and then i found miss lally having her turn at petting her cousin. as soon as he had had a little brandy and water we took him down to the nursery, where the fire was still smouldering, sir hulbert carefully closing the trap-door as it had been before, and then following us downstairs. once in the nursery, anxious though we were to get him to bed, it was impossible not to let him tell something of what had happened. it began by a cry from miss lally. 'why, francie, you've got my knitting sticking out of your pocket. but two of the needles have dropped out,' she went on rather dolefully. 'they'll be lying down in that room,' said master francis. 'i was carrying it in my hand when i went down the ladder after the ball of wool, and when i fell i dropped it, and i found it afterwards. it was the ball of wool that did it all,' and then he went on to explain. he had not found miss lally in the attic, for miss bess had already called her down, but seeing her knitting lying on the floor, he had sat down to wait for her, thinking she'd be sure to come back. then he noticed that the ball of wool must have rolled away as she threw her work down, and disappeared into the cupboard. the door was wide open, and he traced it by the thread in his hand to the 'mouse-hole' in the corner, down which it had dropped, and putting his hand through to see if he could feel it, to his surprise the board yielded. pulling a little more, the trap-door opened, and he saw the steps leading downwards. it was not dark in the secret room in the day-time, for it had two narrow slits of windows hardly to be noticed from the outside, so, with a boy's natural curiosity, he determined to go down. he hadn't strength to lift the trap-door fully back, but he managed to stick it open enough to let him pass through; he had not got down many steps, however, before he heard it bang to above him. the shock may have jarred the ladder, which was a roughly-made rotten old thing. anyway, the next moment master francis felt it give way, and he fell several feet on to the floor below. he was bruised, and a little stunned for a few minutes, but he soon came quite to himself, and, still full of curiosity, began to look about him. the place where he was was only a sort of entrance to a larger room, which was really under his own bedroom, and lighted, as i have said, by narrow deep windows, without glass. and though there was no door between the two, the large room was on a much lower level, and another ladder led down to it. this time he was very careful, and got to the bottom without any accident. looking about him, he saw standing along one side of the room a collection of the queerest-shaped objects of all sizes that could be imagined, all wrapped up in some kind of linen or canvas, grown gray with age and dust. chapter xiii 'old sir david's' secret at first he thought the queer-looking things he saw must be odd-shaped pieces of stone, or petrifactions, such as you see in old-fashioned rockeries in gardens sometimes. but when he went close up to them and touched one, he found that the covering was soft, though whatever was inside it was hard. he pulled the cloth off it, and saw to his surprise that it was a heavy silver tea-urn, though so black and discoloured that it looked more like copper or iron. he examined two or three other things, standing by near it; they also proved to be large pieces of plate--great heavy dinner-table centres, candelabra, and such things,--and, child though he was, master francis could see they must be of considerable value. but this was not what struck him the most. like a flash of lightning it darted into his mind that there must be still more valuable things in this queer store-room. 'i do believe,' he said to himself, 'that this is old sir david's treasure!' he was right. it would take too long to describe how he went on examining into all these strange objects. several, that looked like well-stuffed sacks, were tied up so tightly that he couldn't undo the cord. he made a little hole in one of them with his pocket-knife, and out rolled, to his delight, ever so many gold pieces! 'then,' said master francis to us, 'i really felt as if i could have jumped with joy; but i thought i'd better fetch uncle hulbert before i poked about any more, and i went up the short ladder again, meaning to go back the way i'd come. i had never thought till that minute that i couldn't manage it, but the long ladder was broken away so high above my head that i couldn't possibly reach up to it, and the bits of it that had fallen on to the floor were quite rotten. and the trap-door seemed so close shut, that i was afraid no one would hear me however i shouted.' he did shout though, poor boy; it was the only thing he could do. the short ladder was a fixture and he couldn't move it from its place, even if it had been long enough to be of any use. after a while he got so tired of calling out, that he seemed to have no voice left, and i think he must have fallen into a sort of doze, for the next thing he remembered was waking up to find that it was quite dark. then he began to feel terribly frightened, and to think that perhaps he would be left there to die of hunger. 'and the worst of it was,' he said in his simple way, 'that nobody would ever have known of the treasure.' he called out again from time to time, and then a new idea struck him. he felt about for a bit of wood on the floor and set to work, knocking as hard as he could. most likely he fell asleep by fits and starts, waking up every now and then to knock and call out again, and when the house was all shut up and silent for the night, of course the sound he made seemed much louder, only unluckily we were all asleep and might never have heard it except for dear little miss lally. it was not till after master francis caught the sound of our knocking back in reply that it came into his head to make his way close up to the windows--luckily it was not a very dark night--and call through them, for there was no glass in them, as i have said. if he had done that before it is just possible we might have heard him sooner, as in our searching we had been in and out of his room, above where he was, several times. there is not much more for me to tell. master francis was ill enough to have to stay in bed for a day or two, and at first we were a little afraid that the cold and the terror, and the strange excitement altogether, might bring on another illness. but it was not so. i think he was really too happy to fall ill again! in a day or two sir hulbert was able to tell him all about the discovery. it was kept quite secret till the family lawyer could be sent for, and then he and my lady and sir hulbert all went down through the trap-door again with mr. crooks, the butler, to help them, and everything was opened out and examined. it was a real miser's hoard. besides the plate, which was really the least valuable, for it was so clumsy and heavy that a good deal of it was only fit to be melted down, there were five or six sacks filled with gold and some with silver coin. of course something was lost upon it with its being so old, but taking it all in all, a very large sum was realised, for a great many of the penrose diamonds had been hidden away also, _some_ of which--the most valuable, though not the most beautiful--were sold. altogether, though it didn't make sir hulbert into a millionaire, it made him a rich man, as rich, i think, as he cared to be. and, strangely enough, as the old proverb has it, 'it never rains but it pours,' only two or three years after, money came to my lady which she had never expected. so that to any one visiting treluan, as it now is, and seeing all that has been done by the family, not only for themselves, but for those about them,--the church, the schools, the cottages on the estate being perfect models of their kind--it would be difficult to believe there had ever been want of money to be wisely and generously spent. dear, dear, how many years ago it all is now! there's not many living, if any, to remember the ins and outs as i do, which is indeed my excuse for having put it down in my own way. miss bess,--miss penrose, as i should say,--miss lalage, and even miss augusta have been married this many a day; and lady helen, miss bess's eldest daughter, is sixteen past, and it is she that has promised to look over my writing and correct it. master bevil, sir bevil now, for sir hulbert did not live to be an old man, has two fine boys of his own, whom i took care of from their babyhood, as i did their father, and i'm feeling quite lost since master ramsey has gone to school. and of dear master francis. what words can i say that would be enough? he is the only one of the flock that has not married, and yet who could be happier than he is? he never thinks of himself, his whole life has been given to the noblest work. his writings, i am told, though they're too learned for my old head, have made him a name far and wide. and all this he has done in spite of delicate health and frequent suffering. he seems older than his years, and sir bevil is in hopes that before long he may persuade his cousin to give up his hard london parish and make his regular home where he is so longed for, in treluan itself, as our vicar, and indeed i pray that it may be so while i am still here to see it. above all, for my dear lady's sake, i scarcely like to own to myself that she is beginning to fail, for though i speak of myself as an old woman and feel it is true, yet i can't bear to think that her years are running near to the appointed threescore and ten, for she is nine years older than i. she has certainly never been the same, and no wonder, since sir hulbert's death, but she has had many comforts, and almost the greatest of them has been, as i think i have said before, master francis. * * * * * mother and my aunts want me to add on a few words of my own to dear old nurse's story. she gave it me to read and correct here and there, more than a year ago, and i meant to have done so at once. but for some months past i hardly felt as if i had the heart to undertake it, especially as i didn't like bringing back the remembrance of their old childish days to mother and my aunts, or to uncle bevil and uncle francis, as we always call him, just in the first freshness of their grief at dear grandmamma's death. and i needed to ask them a few things to make the narrative quite clear for any who may ever care to read it. but now that the spring has come back again, making us all feel bright and hopeful (we have all been at treluan together for uncle bevil's birthday), i have enjoyed doing it, and they all tell me that they have enjoyed hearing about the story and answering my questions. dear grandmamma loved the spring so! she was so gentle and sweet, though she never lost her quick eager way either. and though she died last year, just before the daffodils and primroses were coming out, somehow this spring the sight of them again has not made us feel sad about her, but _happy_ in the best way of all. perhaps i should have said before that i am 'nelly,' 'miss bess's' eldest daughter. aunt lalage has only one daughter, who is named after mother, and _i_ think very like what mother must have been at her age. there are five of _us_, and aunt augusta has two boys, like uncle bevil. what used to be 'the secret room,' where our miser ancestor kept the hoard so strangely discovered, has been joined, by taking down the ceiling, to what in the old days was uncle francis's room, and enters from a door lower down the tower stair, and uncle bevil's boys have made it into what they call their 'museum.' we are all very fond of showing it to visitors, and explaining how it used to be, and telling the whole story. uncle francis always maintains that aunt lally saved his life, and though she gets very red when he says so, i do think it is true. she really was very brave for such a little girl. if i heard knockings in the night, i am afraid i should hide my head under the clothes, and put my fingers in my ears. uncle francis and aunt lally always do seem almost more brother and sister to each other than any of the rest; and her husband, uncle geoffrey, whom next to uncle francis i think i like best of all my uncles, was one of _his_--i mean uncle francis's; what a confusion i'm getting into--best friends at college. when i began this, after correcting nurse's manuscript, i thought nothing would be easier than to write a story in the most beautiful language, but i find it so much harder than i expected that i am not sorry to think that there is really nothing more of importance to tell. and i must say my admiration for the way in which nurse has performed _her_ task has increased exceedingly! the end [frontispiece: for half a minute or so it rocked and swayed against the sky-line.] highway pirates or, the secret place at coverthorne by harold avery thomas nelson and sons, ltd. london, edinburgh, and new york contents. i. a day of trouble ii. the knocking on the wall iii. men in hiding iv. the singing ghost v. nicholas coverthorne shows his hand vi. a mad prank vii. tried and sentenced viii. my journey begins ix. the rising x. highway pirates xi. the last of the "true blue" xii. within the cavern xiii. the brandy kegs xiv. abandoned xv. in desperate straits xvi. the subterranean tunnel xvii. daylight at last xviii. a further find xix. brought to bay list of illustrations for half a minute or so it rocked and swayed against the sky-line . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._frontispiece_ there was a funny twinkle in his eyes as he spoke deserted highway pirates. chapter i. a day of trouble. "they've seen us! run for it!" my chosen friend, miles coverthorne, was the speaker. he sprang to his feet as he uttered the words, and darted like a rabbit into the bushes, i myself following hard at his heels. the seasons seem to have come earlier in those days, and though may was not out, the woods and countryside appeared clothed with all the richness of leafy june. at headlong speed we dashed through the underwood, stung by hazel switches which struck us across the face like whips, and staggering as our feet caught in thick tufts of grass. "who is it--keepers?" i inquired. "no; 'eagles'!" was the quick reply. if anything had been needed to quicken my pace, this last word would have served the purpose. we both rushed wildly onward, as though our very lives were at stake. it may be guessed that miles did not mean to imply that a number of real eagles were swooping down upon us with the intention of bearing us away to some rocky crags, there to form an appetizing repast for their young; the word had, in this case, a special meaning, to explain which a slight digression will be necessary. many things have altered since the year , and in no direction are greater changes manifested than in the schools and school life of that period compared with those of the present day. what the modern boy at hobworth's school (so called after its worthy founder) would think of the place if suddenly transferred back to the days when i went there as a boarder, i cannot imagine. whole chapters might be devoted to a comparison of the past with the present, but for the purposes of our story only one point need be considered, and that is the great difference in the style and character of recreation out of school hours. though organized games, such as cricket, no doubt existed in the big public schools, they were unknown at hobworth's. such sports as prisoner's base, marbles, and an elaborate form of leap-frog called--if i remember rightly--"fly-the-garter," we certainly indulged in; but, as might be expected, such amusements did not always satisfy the bolder spirits--the result being that these found vent for their adventurous inclinations in various expeditions, which more than once landed them in serious trouble with farmers and gamekeepers. i cannot say that there was any vicious intention in these raids and forays. it was perhaps difficult for us boys to see the justice of certain men claiming all the birds' eggs, squirrels, or hazel-nuts in the neighbourhood, especially as these things were of no value to their avowed owners. again, if pheasants were disturbed, or fences broken, or perhaps a rabbit knocked over for the joy of subsequently cooking it surreptitiously in a coffee-pot, it was, after all, a very small matter, and not worth making a fuss about. so, at least, the youngster of that period would have argued. those were not happy times for the small and weak. brute force was far too highly esteemed, and the champion fighter of a school was thought as much or even more of than the leading cricket or football player is to-day. it was an unpardonable sin for a small boy to sneak, but the cruelty and oppression of the more evil-minded of his elders was hardly deemed worthy of censure. out of school hours very little notice was taken by masters of how their pupils employed their time, and as long as the latter refrained from bringing the place about their ears with any acts of particularly flagrant mischief, they were left pretty much to their own devices. partly for mutual protection against the violence of their fellows, and partly in pursuit of the questionable forms of recreation already referred to, the boys had formed themselves into a number of "tribes," each under the leadership of some heavy-fisted chieftain to whom they swore allegiance, at the same time sharing all their worldly possessions with the other members of the band. in course of time these various small communities became gradually absorbed into two large rival bands known as the "foxes" and the "eagles," the peculiarity of name being due to an exciting story of adventure among the indians which had been going the round of the school; for books of that kind were, in those days, a rare and highly-prized possession. skirmishes between parties of the two tribes were of frequent occurrence, and expeditions with various objects, and not unfrequently exciting endings, were indulged in almost every half-holiday afternoon. miles and myself were numbered among the "foxes," while at the head of the "eagles" was a notorious bully named ben liddle, who possessed all the nature and none of the nobility of the actual savage. this leader had lately laid claim to all the woods and country on the north side of the road which passed the school, as the hunting-ground of the "eagles," and had thrown out dark hints of a terrible vengeance which should be meted out to any luckless "fox" who should be captured encroaching on this preserve. as this meant nothing less than calmly appropriating all the places where any good sport could be obtained, the claim was naturally resented by the "foxes;" and though kerry, our chief, had not as yet made any public pronouncement on the subject, it was understood that before long the matter would be discussed, probably in a grand pitched battle between the tribes, when this and other causes of disagreement would be settled once for all. but even ben liddle's threats were not sufficient to keep enterprising "foxes" on the south side of the road. miles and i had already made several expeditions into the forbidden territory, perhaps rather enjoying the extra risk of capture by "eagles," added to the chance of being chased by keepers. on this particular saturday afternoon we had penetrated into the depths of a favourite haunt named patchley wood. the arms of an "indian" at such times, i might explain, were a big catapult, a pocketful of pebbles, and a short stick with a lump of lead at the end, in shape somewhat resembling a life-preserver. this weapon--known to us as a "squaler"--was capable of being flung with great force and precision. with the whole of this outfit we were duly provided. we had been in the woods perhaps half an hour, and had lain down to rest at the foot of a tree, when my companion's quick eye detected the approach of the enemy, with the result that we immediately took flight in the manner which has already been described. at headlong speed we dashed off through the bushes, regardless of the noise we made; for any hope we might hitherto have entertained of escaping unobserved had been dispelled by the shout sent up by the "eagles" the moment we moved. on we ran, the enemy following hard in pursuit, crashing through the underwood, while liddle's voice rang out yelling directions to his followers, heedless of the risk he ran of attracting the notice of the keepers. if captured by the rival chief, we knew we might expect no mercy; and though the pair of us were pretty swift-footed, we felt that nothing short of a stroke of luck would save us, for among the "braves" now in pursuit were some of the best runners in the school. to lessen still more our hope of escape, before us rose a gentle slope, on which the underwood grew so sparse and thin as to render it certain that we should be seen by our pursuers as we breasted the rise. we laboured on up the hill, gasping for breath as we neared the top; then a yell of triumph from behind, as our pursuers caught sight of us, goaded us to pull ourselves together in one last effort to escape. plunging into the thickets, which now became again more dense, we had not gone twenty yards when miles caught his foot in a root, and came down headlong. he recovered himself immediately from the shock of the fall, and attempted to scramble to his feet, but sank down again with a smothered cry of pain. "i'm done for," he said. "i've twisted my ankle. go on; don't wait!" anxious as i was to outdistance the "eagles," i had certainly no thought of leaving miles to their tender mercies, and glancing round i saw, close at hand, the trunk of a large tree which had recently been felled, together with a large heap of branches which had been lopped off by the woodcutters. though a very poor one, it was our only chance; so, half carrying miles, i got him to the spot. we flung ourselves down in a little vacant space between the trunk and the pile of wood, and at the same moment heard liddle and the foremost of his band gain the summit of the slope, and come bursting through the bushes. possibly if we had had a better start, the "eagles" might have searched for and found us; as it was, they never thought we should pull up with them so close at our heels, and the wood pile was such a poor place of concealment that it did not seem to attract their attention or arouse their suspicion. they rushed on, whooping as they went; and those following behind, no doubt thinking that their comrades in front had us in view, paid no heed to anything but the headlong chase. thus it came about that, much to our surprise, as we lay panting on the ground we had the satisfaction of hearing the last of our pursuers go racing past, leaving us unmolested to recover our wind and make off in another direction. "i thought my ankle was broken," muttered miles, "but it's only a sharp twist. i think i can hobble along; and we'd better get out of this as soon as we can, for they may find they've overrun us, and turn back." we paused for a moment to get our bearings. "the road must be close here," i remarked. "once across it we shall be in our own territory, and can easily escape." taking the lead, and with my companion hobbling along in the rear, i headed for the edge of the wood. fortune seemed to be favouring us, for we found a gap in the hedge through which miles was able to scramble in spite of his disabled foot. i followed with a jump, and we were just congratulating ourselves on having outwitted the hostile "tribe," when a long-drawn yell, which we at once recognized as their war-cry, caused us to turn our heads. away down the road stood a solitary "brave," who had evidently been sent there by liddle to give warning if we should break out of the wood. the yell was immediately answered by others, and a moment later several of our foes came bursting through the hedge, though at a spot some distance beyond the post occupied by their scout. escape seemed out of the question. it was impossible for miles, with his wrenched ankle, to scramble over ditches and hedges, and we had no choice but to keep on the road. in despair we turned and ran towards the school, coverthorne hobbling and hopping along as best he could, with clenched teeth and subdued groans. then suddenly, as we turned a corner, we came face to face with a gentleman on horseback, who on seeing us abruptly reined in his steed. my first fearful thought was that this must be squire eastman, the owner of the woods in which we had been trespassing; but a second glance showed me that i was mistaken, and at the same time i heard miles exclaim,-- "hullo, young man!" remarked the horseman; "you seem in a hurry. what's the matter? late for school?" "no, thank you, uncle," gasped the boy; "it's only--only a game." mr. nicholas coverthorne was a hard-featured man, with cold gray eyes and a rather harsh voice. he rode a big black horse, and seemed to control the animal with a wrist of iron. something in his manner and appearance caused me to take an instinctive dislike to him, though at the time of this our first meeting i certainly had reason to feel grateful for his opportune appearance, which was undoubtedly the means of delivering us out of the hands of our enemies. as the leading "braves" turned the corner, they promptly wheeled about and fled back the way they had come, shouting out to their comrades that we had been caught by the squire, at which intelligence the band quickly dispersed over the fields, and made their way back to the school by different routes. a few more sentences passed between uncle and nephew, and though not any more observant of such things than most boys, it struck me at once that the relationship between them did not appear to be very cordial. mr. coverthorne explained that he had been over to see a neighbouring farmer about the sale of a horse. "i'm going to stay with a friend at round green to-night," he said. "it's rather too far to get here from home and back in the same day, though i daresay nimrod would take me all the way if i let him." the speaker laughed in a mirthless manner, and after a few more questions as to how his nephew was getting on at school, and when the holidays began, wished us good-bye, and, with a parting nod, went on his way. miles seemed glad to get the interview ended, and turned to me with what seemed almost a sigh of relief as the horseman disappeared round the bend in the road. "come on," he said. "the 'eagles' may be hiding somewhere, and rush out as soon as the horse has passed them. that was my uncle nicholas," he continued, as he hobbled along. "i don't think i ever told you about him. he's my father's only brother, but they quarrelled some years ago, and now they never meet or speak." "why was that?" i asked. "oh, it was about the property. my grandfather left coverthorne and almost all the land to my father, and uncle nicholas had only a small farm called stonebank; but before that he'd had a lot of money to enable him to start in business, and he lost it all in speculation. he said at my grandfather's death that the property and land ought to have been divided, but my father told him he had already had his share in money." "your people have lived at coverthorne an awful time, haven't they?" i asked. "oh yes. it's a dear old house, with low rooms and big latticed windows with stone mullions, and a broad oak staircase. there's an old sundial in the garden which was put there in queen elizabeth's reign; and what's more, the house has a secret place which nobody can find." "a secret place! what's that?" i inquired, pricking up my ears. "why, it's a little secret chamber or hiding-place which has been made somewhere in the building years and years ago, when there might be chances of people having to be concealed to save their lives. there is a rule in our family, handed down from one generation to another, that the whereabouts of the secret place must only be known to the owner of the house, and be told by him to the heir when he is twenty-one." "then you yourself don't know where it is?" "no; my father will tell me when i come of age. of course if he were dying, or were going on a long journey from which he might never return, or anything of that kind were to happen, he would tell me at once, else the secret might be lost for ever." "is it big enough for a man to get into?" "oh yes--big enough for two people to stand in, so father says." "then surely it must be easy to find. i can't see how it's possible for there to be a little room in a house without people knowing it is there. i believe i could find it for you if you gave me the chance." miles laughed. "you'd better come over and try," he answered. "now, that's a good idea. you must come and stay with me for part of the summer holidays, and we'll have heaps of fun. it would be jolly to have you, for i often find it dull with no cousins or friends of my own age." the proposal struck me as most delightful. during the last few moments i had been picturing up the ancient house, with its old-world associations and romantic hidden chamber, and comparing it, in my mind, with the prosaic red-brick building in which my own parents lived. moreover, coverthorne, i knew, was situated on the sea-coast, and only about a quarter of a mile from the summit of the rugged cliffs. i had often listened with envy to my friend's tales of wrecks and smugglers, and longed to have an opportunity of wandering over the wide headlands, climbing the rocks and exploring the caves. now the prospect of such treats being actually in store made me feel quite a thrill of delightful anticipation. i had not finished thanking miles and telling him how much i should like to come, when we reached the school. passing through a side door we entered the playground, and were almost immediately surrounded by a crowd of "foxes," who had somehow got wind of our escape from the "eagles," and were eager to have a detailed account of the adventure. telling our story, and receiving the congratulations of the other members of our "tribe," so much occupied our attention that we hardly noticed the sound of a horse galloping down the road and stopping in front of the schoolhouse; but a few moments later sparrow, the porter, crossed the playground and, addressing miles, told him he was wanted at once by dr. bagley. a message of that kind from the headmaster usually meant that there was trouble in the wind. "hullo!" exclaimed a boy named seaton, "what's the row, i wonder? he'll want you next, eden. you must have been seen in the woods, and the squire has sent some one over to complain." reluctantly miles followed the porter. in no very enviable frame of mind i waited, expecting every minute to be ordered to appear before the doctor in his study. still no such message came, nor did miles return to inform us of his fate. we heard the horseman ride away again, but the height of the playground wall prevented our seeing whether he really were one of the men-servants from the hall. a little later liddle returned with a band of his "braves;" but the "foxes" being also present in force, he could only shake his fist at me, and repeat his former threats of what he would do if he caught us on the hunting-ground of the "eagles." at length the bell rang, and we moved towards the house. hardly had i entered the door when i met sparrow. "have you heard the news, master eden?" he exclaimed. "dreadful--dreadful! poor master coverthorne! his father's been shot--mortally wounded--and is most probably dead by this time. it's a great question if the young gentleman will ever see him alive." "what!" i cried--"mr. coverthorne shot! how did it happen?" "it's true enough," answered sparrow. "i had it all from the messenger himself. mr. coverthorne was out shooting with a party, and a gen'leman's gun went off by accident as he was climbing a hedge. mr. coverthorne was shot in the breast. they got a trap, and took him to the crown at welmington, and sent for a surgeon. he wanted particular to see his son, so one of the postboys rode over; but it's hardly likely the young gentleman will get there in time." "what a dreadful thing!" i muttered. "poor miles! i wish i could have seen him before he went." the news of this terrible blow which had so suddenly fallen on my companion shocked me almost as much as if the trouble had been my own. when adventuring together into the woods that afternoon, how little he imagined what the immediate future had in store! i sat down with the rest in the long, bare dining-room, but had little heart to eat; the thought of miles being hurried along the country road, not knowing whether he would find his father alive or dead, weighed down my spirits. if his father died, the only relative he would have in the world, besides his widowed mother, would be his uncle nicholas; and remembering the latter's hard face and harsh voice, and the story of the brothers' quarrel, my mind was filled with dark forebodings for the future of my friend. chapter ii. the knocking on the wall. it was ten days before i saw miles again; then he returned to school for the last three weeks of the half. seeing him dressed in black, and noticing the unaccustomed look of sadness on his usually cheerful face, boylike i felt for a moment shy of meeting him; but with the first hearty hand-grip all feeling of restraint vanished, and i was able to give him the assurance of my sympathy and friendship. then it was that i heard for the first time how he had arrived at welmington too late to see his father alive--a fact which must have added greatly to the heaviness of the blow and the keenness of his grief. naturally, for the time, he had no heart to join in our usual amusements; and his rough, though for the most part good natured, schoolboy comrades showed their sympathy in allowing him to go his own ways. just then "foxes" and "eagles" had buried the hatchet, owing to the fact that a spell of hot weather had set in, and the members of both "tribes" went amicably, nearly every day, to bathe in a neighbouring stream. the majority of the boarders were thus engaged one afternoon, and miles and i had the playground to ourselves. we were sitting on a seat under a shady tree, and something perhaps in the restful quiet of the place encouraged my companion to unburden himself and take me into his confidence. i had noticed a troubled look on his face, and inquired whether anything was weighing on his mind. "yes," he replied. "look here, sylvester, old fellow, i'm sure there's something wrong at home that i don't quite understand. mr. denny, our lawyer, has been there with my mother, and they haven't told me what is the matter, but they seem to be afraid of something or somebody, and i believe it's uncle nicholas." "why? has he shown any signs of ill-will?" "no; if anything, he's appeared more friendly than he has been since i can remember. he came over to coverthorne the day after the funeral, and said he was sorry that he and my father had quarrelled; that there had probably been mistakes on both sides, but he was glad now to think that all the misunderstanding had been cleared away before james's death, and that they had mutually agreed the past should be forgiven and forgotten. my uncle must have noticed the surprised look on my mother's face, as she knew of no such reconciliation; and he went on to explain that he and my father had agreed not to make it public till next christmas day, when they intended to dine together. 'there's another matter which was to have been mentioned then,' he went on. 'i won't broach the subject now. after the terrible shock, you aren't in a fit state to be bothered with business. we'll leave it for a few weeks.'" "i must say i didn't like the look of that man when i saw him," i muttered; "his face seemed hard and cruel." "my mother mistrusts him too, and so does mr. denny. i can tell that by the way in which they speak about him." for some moments miles remained silent, scraping patterns in the gravel with the heel of his boot. "look here. you're an old friend whom i know i can trust, sylvester," he exclaimed suddenly. "i'm sure if i tell you what i think you won't let it go any farther?" i at once gave him the promise he desired. "soon after uncle nicholas's visit," he began, "mr. denny came to stay with us for three days, spending most of his time going through my father's papers. my mother would be closeted with him for an hour at a time. i could hear their voices talking together in low tones as i passed the door; and when they came out there was always a worried, anxious look on their faces. i had heard it mentioned that my father's will and some other documents were missing; but hitherto mr. denny had not treated the loss as a very serious thing, at all events as far as i could gather. i don't think i should have troubled my head any more about the matter, but for what i am going to describe. it was on the last day of mr. denny's visit. i had gone to bed rather early, as i was tired, and had been asleep some hours, when i was awakened by a sound like a muffled knocking. i lay for a few minutes, thinking it must have been my fancy; then the sound was repeated. the thought occurred to me at once that it must be some one who had come to the house for some reason or other, and was knocking at the back door to try and waken one of the servants. i got up, leaned out of my window, and called out, 'who's there?' no reply was given, nor could i see any one in the yard. once more i thought my fancy had deceived me; then _thump--thump--thump_! it came again. 'it must be some one at the front door,' i thought; so i threw a coat over my shoulders and went out of my room, down a passage, and across the landing to a window that looks out on the front of the house. i opened it, and once more asked who was there, but got no answer. "the horses in the stables often make curious noises at night, but this rapping was too regular to have been caused by them. i walked slowly back, and just as i reached the middle of the landing it came again, _knock--knock--knock_! i expect you'll think me a coward, but i must own that a chill went all down my back. people say that coverthorne is haunted, and this strange rapping in the middle of the night, long after every one else had gone to bed, reminded me of all the stories i had often heard the servants telling each other round the kitchen fire. if you'll believe me, i was more than half inclined to bolt for my room and stick my head under the bedclothes. the sound came from somewhere downstairs, and, as far as i could judge, from the direction of the very room which is supposed to be particularly favoured by the ghost. it was like some one rapping slowly and deliberately with his knuckles on the panel of a door. i stood irresolute and holding my breath; then i heard something tinkle like metal falling on stone. that seemed to break the spell, and my heart beat fast. i no longer feared a ghost, but thought it must be robbers. what i intended doing i hardly know, but i think i must have had some vague idea of trying to slip across the kitchen to the servants' quarters, and there rouse the men. i went slowly and carefully down the stairs, my bare feet making no sound. the knocking was repeated. i could tell now exactly from what part of the house it came, and a strong desire seized me to get a sight of the thieves and see what they were about. old houses like ours have all kinds of funny twists and turns. i crept along to one of these, and peeped round the corner. what i saw astonished me more than if i had been confronted by a whole band of robbers. i was looking down a long, narrow passage, the walls of which are panelled with oak: at the farther end stood my mother and mr. denny. she was carrying a candle, while he held in his hands a hammer and small chisel; the latter it was which he must have dropped a few moments before, when i heard the chink of its fall on the flagstones. what they were doing i could not imagine. i saw mr. denny rap on the wall with the handle of the hammer, at the same time turning his ear to listen, as though he almost expected some one on the other side of the panelling to say 'come in!' then it dawned on me in a moment that they were searching for the secret place." miles paused as he said this, and i listened breathlessly for what was coming next. "of course," continued my companion, "i guessed at once that my mother and mr. denny were searching then, instead of in the daytime, because they thought it best for the servants not to see and go gossiping in the village. as they evidently did not want me with them, i turned and crept quietly back to bed again; but i couldn't help lying awake listening for the tap of the hammer, and from that i knew they continued searching most of the night. try as i would, i could not rest till my curiosity was in some measure satisfied; so on the following day, after mr. denny had gone back home, i told my mother what i knew, and begged her to give me an explanation. even then she wouldn't tell me plainly what was the matter. she said mr. denny had heard a rumour which made him uneasy about our future, and that he wanted to find some letters and papers which he thought it possible my father might have stowed away in the secret place. she warned me to be sure and not mention this to the servants, and, above all, to uncle nicholas." my companion's story reawakened all the former interest which i had felt in the old house. it seemed to me a place which must be abounding in mystery, and almost as romantic as the enchanted castle of a fairy tale. "i _should_ like to help to search, and see if i couldn't find the secret place," i blurted out. "so you shall," answered miles. "it was understood that you were to stay with me at coverthorne." then seeing that i hesitated, regretful at having reminded him of a promise which had been made before the sad circumstance of his father's death--"oh yes," he added, "i'm quite expecting you to come back with me. mother wishes it too, for she thinks it will do me good to have some companion of my own age, to cheer me up. it will be fine," he went on, his face growing brighter than i had seen it since his return to the school. "we'll shoot rabbits, and bathe, and go down to rockymouth, and go fishing in one of the boats. there'll be heaps to do, if only we get fine weather." all these projects were delightful to contemplate, but the thought of searching for that mysterious hidden chamber was what still appealed most strongly to my imagination. "what a pity your father wasn't able to tell you the secret before you came of age!" i remarked. "i daresay he would have," answered miles sadly, "if only i had arrived in time to see him alive." "haven't you been able to find any clue that would help you in the search?" "no; the secret has been so well kept, and handed on from father to son, that, outside our family, many people who have heard the story think there is no such place." "has it ever been used for anything?" "not that i know of, except, i believe, years ago. when there was the scare of a french invasion, my grandfather, who was alive then, hid all his silver and valuables there. about a year ago my father went to london, and mr. denny thinks it possible that before he started he might have wanted to find a safe place for his papers, put them in the secret chamber, and not troubled to take them out again when he came back." it seems to me that in my young days the prospect of breaking up and going home for the holidays was a period which occasioned a greater amount of rejoicing and excitement than it does among the younger generation of the present time. for one thing, the contrast between school and home was greater then; and again, the half-year was longer than the term, and the end of it the more eagerly awaited. now, my grandchildren appear to be no sooner packed off to school than they are back again. in addition to all this, when that particular vacation drew near, the prospect of returning home with miles for a fortnight at coverthorne made me long all the more for the few remaining days to pass; and when at length we flung our dog-eared school books into our desks for the last time, and rushed out into the playground to give vent to our feelings with three rousing cheers, i know i shouted till i was hoarse. owing to the limited accommodation on the coaches, we had two actual breaking-up days--half of the boys going home on the one and half on the other, those whose progress in school work had been most satisfactory being allowed to start first. miles and i had the good fortune to be numbered among the latter, and i don't think i shall ever forget that bright summer morning when, together with several more companions, we started to walk to the little village of round green, through which the coach passed about nine o'clock. our luggage had already preceded us in a cart, to be transferred to the boot of the _regulator_, the guard of which, george woodley by name, was a prime favourite with us boys. shutting my eyes for a moment, i can imagine myself standing again outside the sportsman inn at round green, waiting with boyish eagerness for the first distant note of the horn which--this being the end of a stage--was sounded to give the hostlers warning to bring out the fresh horses. what music ever was so sweet on a bright summer morning as that gay call, coupled with the brisk clattering of the hoofs, when it sounded in the ears of a boy returning home from school? how we held our breath and strained our ears to listen for the approaching vehicle! i could almost imagine i heard that far-off fanfare now, forgetful of the fact that the gulf of a long life divides me from that time, that the railway has long displaced the _regulator_, and that coachman, guard, and most of their young passengers know now a greater secret than the one which, during the coming holidays, i hoped to fathom. chapter iii. men in hiding. when in actual sight of the two things i had most longed to see, i can hardly say which of them more strongly attracted my attention--the sea glistening like a sheet of silver in the distance, or the old house nestling down among the trees, with its mullioned windows, gray, lichen-covered walls, and the funny little cupola surmounting the roof, and containing the bell which was rung to summon the farm hands to their meals. the coach had put us down at a spot on the highroad known as tod's corner, where an old servant had met us, and driven us the rest of the way in a light trap which was just large enough to hold us and our luggage. even at the first glance coverthorne quite realized my expectations. the house and farm buildings formed a quadrangle, while the windows of the sitting-rooms looked out into a quiet, old walled garden, with fruit-trees, box-edged paths, beds of old-fashioned flowers, and a big mulberry tree, in the shade of which was a rustic seat. inside the building was a large stone-flagged hall, in which, except on special occasions, we had our meals. the rooms were low and cool, the steps of the staircase were shallow and broad, flanked with a ponderous balustrade of dark oak, while panelling of the same material covered the walls of the best rooms and some of the passages. the whole place seemed characteristic of a peaceful old age, and it was almost impossible to think that within its walls anything could ever occur to disturb its restful quiet with any jarring note of violence or fear. mrs. coverthorne gave me a kindly welcome, though it was evident that she had not yet recovered from the shock of her husband's death. her quiet voice and motherly smile at once won my affections; but often, when her face was in repose, it bore a sad and harassed expression which did not escape my notice, and which brought back to my mind a remembrance of the hints which miles had given me at school, of some trouble, in addition to his father's death, which overshadowed the family. we arrived early in the afternoon, and after a hearty meal, for which the long ride in the fresh air had given us an appetite, we hurried out of doors, to go the round of the place, and visit all miles's favourite haunts. to the neighbouring pond and water-wheel, the orchard, the stables and dog-kennels--to these and a score of other places my friend rushed, eager to discover whether any changes had taken place; and after he had satisfied his curiosity on these points, we went farther afield, roaming over the estate, which on that side included all the land between coverthorne and the sea. in those days, when people did comparatively little travelling, the sight of the ocean was more of a novelty to an inland-bred boy than it would be now; and standing on the summit of a headland, listening to the surging of the waves against the foot of the precipice over which we gazed, i caught my breath, thrilled with a feeling which was almost one of awe. away to our left was the little coast village of rockymouth, and as we looked we could see a tiny fishing-boat beating up against the wind to make the harbour, while on either hand the formidable line of frowning cliffs stretched away, headland beyond headland, till lost in the blue and hazy distance. to me the view was like a scene from some stirring romance, and i drank it in, little thinking under what different circumstances i should one day renew my acquaintance with that sea and shore. so many things there were to occupy our attention during that first afternoon and evening that, for the time being, our resolve to search for the secret place was banished from our minds; but after we had finished breakfast on the following morning, i reminded miles of our project. "d'you want to begin at once?" he asked, smiling. "why not!" i returned; "it won't take us long." "won't it?" answered my companion. "don't you be so cocksure till you've tried.--by the way," he continued, his face changing from gay to grave, "we'd better not let my mother know what we're doing; it would only revive unpleasant thoughts in her mind." "would she be vexed if she found out we were searching for the hiding-place?" i asked. "oh no! it's the loss of the papers she troubles so much about." it was easy to make an excuse for wandering about the house, and together we examined every nook and corner, from the cold, gloomy cellars to dark and stuffy holes in the roof. more than once i thought i had made some wonderful discovery when i came across mysterious little doors in some of the bedrooms opening into dark cupboards or closets in the wall; but miles in every case damped my enthusiasm by saying that these were already well known to the whole household. i must confess that in my own mind i had fondly imagined i should discover the secret chamber without much difficulty, but soon i began to realize that it was not such an easy task as i had expected, and at the end of a couple of hours i came near to owning myself beaten. "this is where i saw old denny sounding the walls with the hammer," said miles. as my companion spoke, we were passing down the narrow wainscoted passage which he had described to me at school. i struck the boarding myself once or twice with my knuckles as we moved along, but produced no sound which might betoken the presence of a hollow cavity behind the oak. arriving at length at an old square-panelled doorway, we entered a room which i at once realized i had not been inside before. save for a plain wooden chair and table, it was empty and destitute of furniture. there was nothing specially remarkable about the place, yet the appearance of its interior seems so vividly impressed on my mind, that i can see it now as though at this moment i were once more crossing the threshold. the apartment was evidently intended for a sort of morning room or second parlour. the walls were panelled with oak, and a carved mantelpiece, of massive though not elaborate design, framed the wide, open hearth. there was a curious earthy smell about the place, probably owing to the fact that it was never used; which seemed strange, for it had a pleasant outlook into the garden. "what a jolly room!" i exclaimed. "why isn't it used?" miles gave a short laugh. "there's no need," he answered; "we've got enough without it." we crossed the bare floor and sat down in the deep window-seat. i still went on talking, but, though i hardly noticed it at the time, my companion grew quieter than before. he returned absent-minded replies to my questions, and seemed, from the position of his head, as though he half expected to hear something in the passage or the garden. we may have sat like this for ten minutes or longer, when suddenly an intent expression on miles's face caused me to break off abruptly in what i was saying. then, for the first time, i became aware of a curious sound, faint and subdued, as though some one were humming with the mouth closed. at first it seemed far away; then it might have been in the room, though in what part it was impossible to say. i was listening idly and with no particular wonder to the noise, when miles rose to his feet. "come on," he said abruptly. for a moment i hesitated, not understanding this sudden move; then seeing my friend already half-way across the room, i rose and followed. "where are you going?" i asked. "oh, anywhere," he answered, almost snappishly, and i wondered what could have upset his temper. a boy's thoughts turn quickly from one point to another, like a weather-vane in a changing wind, and that afternoon our search for the secret chamber was abandoned in favour of another form of amusement. miles had already learned to shoot, and promised to take me out with him that evening in the hope that we might get a few rabbits. i was, of course, eager for the expedition, though my own part in it would be the comparatively humble one of carrying the flasks for powder and shot. what a clumsy thing that old flintlock fowling-piece would appear now beside the modern breechloader! yet how i envied my friend its possession while i watched him cleaning it, as we sat in the garden, sheltered from the hot sun by the thick foliage of the old mulberry tree! "there!" said miles at length, as he threw aside the oiled rag and brought the weapon to his shoulder; "with a charge well rammed home, i'll warrant her to kill as far as any gun in the county!" the heat of the day was past when we set out, and the landscape appeared bathed in warm evening sunshine. i wished that the "foxes" and "eagles" could see us sallying forth armed with a real gun; and when about two fields away from the house we halted to load and prime the piece, i felt almost as though i were actually embarked on one of the wild adventures of the hunter heroes of our indian tales. as far as actual sport went, we tramped a long way with very little result. we should see rabbits feeding out in the fields as we crept up under the hedges, but before we got within range they would suddenly prick up their ears and scamper back to their holes. "the ground is so hard in this hot weather that they hear us coming," muttered miles; but he managed to get a few shots, and, much to my delight, killed two, which he handed to me to carry. so we went on, walking across the open, or creeping cautiously along under the shadow of hedges and bushes, until we reached the summit of the cliffs, where we sat down to rest. "how many ships can you see?" asked miles. "two," i replied. "i can make out a third!" he answered, pointing with his finger. "my eyes, i expect, are sharper than yours. it's a great deal a matter of practice. you'd be surprised what keen sight some of the men have here who've been sailors. old lewis, for instance--he can tell a ship's nationality when she appears only a speck on the horizon, and i believe he can see almost as well in the dark as he can in the daylight. he's a curious old fellow. some afternoon we'll go out fishing with him in his boat." we sat looking out over the vast expanse of ocean till the sun sank like a huge ball of fire below the horizon; then my companion rose once more to his feet. "it's time we went back to supper," he said, "or mother will be getting anxious, and think we've met with an accident. she's been very nervous since father's death." crossing a stretch of common land, we found ourselves looking down on a little sheltered valley, through which ran a tiny stream, winding its way towards a little cove where i knew my friend often went to bathe. worn out, no doubt, in the course of ages by the water, this gully narrowed down as it neared the sea, but where we stood it was some little distance across, and the farther side was covered with quite a thick copse of trees and bushes. "i wish i'd brought the dog with me," said miles. "there is any quantity of rabbits here. still, we may be able to get a shot. if we creep along till we reach that corner," he continued, as we entered the fringe of the wood, "we may find some of them sitting out in the open." bending down, we moved forward in single file, avoiding any dry twigs which might crack beneath our feet. in this manner we had proceeded some distance, when i was startled by a rustling in the bushes, and a big brown dog went bounding across our path. "you poaching rascal!" exclaimed miles, and raised his gun to his shoulder. he was, i am sure, too kind-hearted to have actually shot the dog; it was more of an angry gesture, or he might have intended to send the charge a few yards behind the animal's tail to give it a fright. anyway, before he could have had time to pull the trigger, to my astonishment a man suddenly rose up close to us, as though out of the ground. "don't shoot, master miles!" he cried. "it be only old joey, and he's doing no harm." the speaker was clad in a dilapidated hat, a blue jersey, and a pair of old trousers stuffed into a fisherman's boots. i set him down at once as a poacher, and was astonished at the friendly tone in which he addressed the owner of the property on which he was found trespassing. i was still further surprised when miles, instead of showing any signs of resentment, merely turned and said in an almost jocular tone,-- "hullo! what are you up to? it's a mercy i didn't mistake you for a fox or a rabbit, and put a charge of shot into your whiskers." "just out for an evening stroll, sir, and lay down to rest," replied the man, whistling the dog to his side. there was a funny twinkle in his piercing gray eyes as he spoke, the meaning of which miles seemed to fathom, for his own face relaxed into a grin. [illustration: there was a funny twinkle in his eyes as he spoke.] "begging your pardon, sir," the fellow continued, "i don't think you're likely to find any rabbits in this copse to-night. they're all gone to bed early, or perhaps old joey may have frightened them." for another moment miles and the man stood looking into each other's faces, and once more the meaning smile passed between them; then the former uncocked his gun, and slung it over his shoulder. "all right!" he answered.--"come on, sylvester; it's time we went back to supper." there was no hedge to the copse. we stepped out from among the trees and underwood, and had not gone far when the man came running after us. "master miles," he said, "if ever you want to go a-fishing, you can come down to rockymouth and have the boat, sir; and if you'll give me a call, i'll go with you." i hardly heard what he said, for glancing into the wood, something caught my eye which immediately riveted my attention. projecting from behind a clump of bushes were a pair of heavy boots, and as i looked one of them moved, which showed conclusively that they were not empty. i waited till we had got some little distance beyond the copse, and then seized my companion's arm. "miles," i whispered, "there's another man hiding in the wood." "is there?" he answered carelessly. "some friend of old lewis, i suppose." "is that the old sailor you were talking about?" i asked. "what's he doing in your wood at this time in the evening? lying down, too, concealed among the bushes. he must be poaching." miles only smiled, and shook his head. "he's all right. the chap wouldn't harm a stick of our property; in fact, he'd just about murder any one who did." though more mystified than ever with this explanation, it was the only one i could get, and we walked on talking of other matters until we came within a field of the house. the darkness had almost fallen by this time, though back across the undulating country i could just see the dark ridge where the tree tops rose above the side of the valley. "i'm going to fire," said miles; "it saves the bother of drawing the charge." the report of the piece rang out, and echoed over the quiet country, and as though in answer to the sound there came out of the distance the sharp bark of a dog. it was evident that the man lewis was still enjoying his evening stroll in the wood. "master joe's getting out of training, i fancy," muttered miles, as though speaking to himself. "i say," he added aloud, "you needn't mention anything to mother about our meeting those men in the wood. they aren't up to any harm, but it might make her more nervous; she gets frightened at anything now." "but what are they doing?" i asked. "surely they can't be loitering out there for fun?" miles laughed. "it's fun of a sort," he answered. "i'll tell you some day. now come on in to supper." it was one of those hot, still nights when it seems impossible to sleep, and tired though i was with my long ramble in the open air, i lay tossing from side to side, now and again dozing off into an uneasy slumber, only to once more suddenly find myself broad awake. at length, feeling very thirsty, i got up and groped my way across to the washstand for a drink of water. a delicious cool breeze had just begun to come in at the window. i went over and leaned out. the sky was gray and wan with the first pale light of dawn, and the country over which i gazed looked ghostly and strange in the twilight. with my arms folded on the sill, i remained for some time drawing in the fresh morning air in deep breaths, and fascinated by the solemn silence which still reigned over the sleeping world, when to my ear came suddenly an unexpected sound--the clatter of a closing gate. wondering who could be about at that early hour, i gazed across the neighbouring field, and so doing saw the figures of two men emerge from the deep shadow of the farthest hedge. at a peculiar jog-trot they crossed the open till a slope in the ground once more hid them from my view. the light was not strong enough to allow of my making out anything beyond the outline of their figures, but it seemed to me that each carried on his back something which i thought resembled a soldier's knapsack. it was impossible, i say, for me to recognize their faces, but following close at the heels of the first i distinctly saw a dog, and immediately decided in my own mind that the man must be lewis, whom i had seen a few hours before hiding in the wood. what the men could be doing, or whither they were going, i had not the faintest idea, but it struck me that they were up to no good, and that their errand was one which they would not have performed in broad daylight. no other person crossed the field, and at length, greatly perplexed, i returned to bed. i began to think there were other mysteries to be solved at coverthorne besides the whereabouts of the secret chamber. chapter iv. the singing ghost. though i longed to tell miles of what i had seen in the early morning, yet on second thoughts i decided to let the matter drop. the vague replies which he had given to my questions of the previous evening showed clearly that he was not disposed to give me a true explanation of the fisherman's presence in the wood. i must own that this puzzled me not a little, for, certain as i felt of my comrade's uprightness and honour, it was firmly impressed on my mind that there was something very questionable in old lewis's conduct; and if this were so, it was difficult to understand why miles should tolerate underhand doings on what was now practically his own estate. it was, however, after all, no business of mine; and i determined to restrain my curiosity till my friend chose to explain, or a good opportunity occurred for me to broach the subject again, and ask him further questions. at odd times we continued our search for the secret place, but without any further success than before. miles became inclined to treat the matter as a joke, but i had some reason to believe that, though our search and the various incidents connected with it were often highly amusing, the loss of the papers, which it was possible had been placed in the hidden chamber, might prove more serious than my school friend fully understood. what suggested this thought to my mind was part of a conversation which i chanced to overhear under circumstances which were briefly as follows. on about the fourth day of my visit mr. denny put in an appearance at the house. i did not know of his arrival, but on going into the parlour for something i found him there with mrs. coverthorne, turning out the contents of an old bureau which stood against the wall. i merely entered the room and went out again, but that was long enough for me to see that not only were the table and the window-seat littered with the contents of pigeonholes and drawers, but that all the books had been removed from the shelves above, and were undergoing a careful examination, as though it were thought possible that some paper of importance might be found between their leaves. at dinner i sat opposite the lawyer. he was a thin, dry little man, with very bright eyes and quick, jerky movements which reminded me of a bird. he spoke kindly to us boys, cracked jokes, and spoke about our school life and our holiday amusements; but in spite of this i could not help thinking that his gaiety was rather forced. mrs. coverthorne, too, looked more anxious than usual; and though she also made attempts to be cheerful, i felt sure that the lawyer's business with her had not been of a pleasant or reassuring nature. almost directly after the meal was finished miles started off on an errand to rockymouth--mr. denny, who lived there, having arranged to return later in the afternoon. left to myself, i climbed into the old mulberry tree, and discovering a most comfortable perch among the branches, read a book until i fell asleep. as a combined result of the strong sea air and an unusual amount of outdoor exercise, i must have slept pretty soundly; but i was at length aroused by the sound of voices, and looking down through the leafy branches saw mrs. coverthorne and the lawyer walking down the garden path towards the gate. they did not see me, and i could not help overhearing what they said, though the only words which reached my ears were those which they spoke as they were passing close to the tree. "don't be too downhearted, ma'am," mr. denny was saying in his brisk manner; "there's still that one chance i spoke of. we haven't had an opportunity to compare the dates yet, and that's an important matter." "i cannot bring myself to think it possible that my dear husband could have done such a thing--at least without telling me of his intentions. there must be some great mistake. we mustn't tell miles, not just yet, for i had so wished to make these holidays specially happy." a few moments later, as the speaker was returning alone to the house, i saw that she was weeping. a great longing filled my heart to understand her trouble, and to render her and miles some assistance. it seemed a vain and hopeless wish, for of what use could i, a mere schoolboy and comparative stranger, possibly be to them? yet the unexpected often happens, and the queer cross-currents on the sea of life bring about unlooked-for meetings with equally strange results. two days later a respectable working-man made his appearance at coverthorne. we heard that he was a master-builder, and that he had come to give some advice about repairs. he went all over the house, even going so far as to climb more than half-way up two of the big chimneys. it was, i say, given out that he was to ascertain whether certain of the walls and parts of the roof needed repair, but i hazarded a shrewd guess that he had been employed by mr. denny in a confidential manner to apply his practical knowledge of building and architecture in a further attempt to find the secret chamber. if this were so, the man was not any more successful than we boys had been. granted that such a hiding-place really existed, it was constructed in some most unlikely place, or concealed in an unusually skilful manner. miles and i sought it again more than once; but gradually, when the novelty of the idea had worn off and the quest appeared hopeless, i must confess that i began to lose interest in the matter, and to devote my attention to more attractive amusements. there was certainly no lack of these at coverthorne. we shot rabbits, bathed from the beach of the little sheltered cove, and went out to sea and fished for whiting and pollack. in pursuit of this last-named form of sport we usually made use of a boat which belonged to the man lewis. he seemed very willing for us to have it, often came out with us himself, teaching us how to row and to use the sail, and refusing to accept any money in return. in addition to the fact of having seen him under circumstances which naturally excited my curiosity, there was something about the man which roused my interest in a special degree. as a boy he had served in the navy, having been present at the battle of the nile; and how eagerly we listened to accounts of those great fights with the french on sea and land, the memory of which was still fresh in men's minds when i was a lad! the brown dog almost always accompanied its master. it was a very intelligent animal, and however far from home, if given anything and told to carry it back to its master's cottage, it would do so with the greatest certainty and promptitude. though past middle age, and round-shouldered like many old sailors, lewis was wonderfully active, and sprang from one boat to another in the harbour or climbed the rocks with the agility of a cat. it was really this which, by accident, led to my making some further discoveries with regard to the old salt. we had been out for a sail, and lewis, after taking leave of us, was running along the village street to overtake some friend whom he saw in the distance. "the old beggar can cover the ground at a good pace still," remarked miles. "i saw him from my bedroom window the other night," i remarked unthinkingly, "cutting across your field with something which looked like a soldier's knapsack on his back. he must have a good wind." "soldier's knapsack!" blurted out miles with a laugh. "more like a keg of french brandy, with another on his chest to keep the balance." "what?" i exclaimed. taken off his guard, miles had gone a bit too far to refuse a further explanation. "i don't suppose it matters if i tell you," he remarked, with a glance over his shoulder to make sure that no one else was listening. "old lewis goes in a bit for what used to be known as the 'free trade,' but what you now hear of as smuggling." "i thought smugglers were men who owned ships and sailed across from france with tobacco, and lace, and spirits--" i began. "so they do," interrupted miles; "but there are smugglers on land as well as on sea. the men who bring the stuff across from france only do part of the work; when it is put ashore it has to be taken inland and sold, and often it has to be hidden away somewhere till the preventive men are off their guard. bless you, i know all about it, and you would too if you'd lived as long as i have on the coast." "and was that what he was up to the night we found him in the little wood by the cliffs?" i asked, a light suddenly breaking in on my mind. "yes," answered miles. "i saw at a glance what was afoot. you noticed another man hiding behind a bush. i daresay there were a dozen more of them in the copse." "but what were they doing there?" "well, it would take a long time to explain it all in detail: but to put it in a few words, what happens is something like this. somebody--probably old lewis or another man--arranges with the owner of a lugger to bring some brandy from france, the spirit being sent over in little tubs or ankers. it is, of course, all arranged beforehand just when and where the stuff is to be landed, and preparations are made accordingly. lewis gets a number of men, farm labourers and others, to act as what are termed 'carriers,' and these meet and lie hidden somewhere close to the place on the coast where the run is to take place. the tubs are all fastened to a long rope, so that, as soon as ever the lugger brings to, the end of this rafting line can be conveyed to the beach, and the whole 'crop' dragged on shore. with the same cords by which the tubs are fastened to the ropes they are then tied together in such a way that the carriers can sling them over their shoulders. each man takes two ankers, and then they scatter, and dash off inland to some meeting-place already agreed upon. in this way, when the men are up to their work, it takes only a few minutes for the lugger to discharge her cargo, while the carriers get clear of the beach and disappear." i must own to being rather shocked at the careless and even jocular tone in which my companion described a traffic which i had always heard spoken of as a crime. "but, miles," i began, "it's against the law!" "oh, of course it is!" he answered, laughing; "but who's going to interfere with a few poor men turning a penny now and then? the only result is that people round about get better brandy than they otherwise would have done, and a good bit cheaper. of course people like us don't have any share in the business, but when we know anything is happening we just look the other way." the weak points in my comrade's arguments may be patent enough to the present-day reader of this story; but it is due to him to say that in those times, especially along the coast, defrauding the revenue was hardly looked upon as a crime, and in the still earlier times of "free trade" this idea had an even greater hold on the minds of the common people, who were always ready to regard the smuggler as a hero, and the exciseman as a villain. old ideas die hard in country places, and miles had listened to the talk of the fisher folk since childhood, and had been accustomed to regard the matter from their point of view. i had always imagined the smuggler as a picturesque sort of villain, sailing the seas in a saucy craft, with a belt stuck full of knives and pistols, and i must own to something like a feeling of disappointment when brought face to face with the original. "don't they ever have fights with the coast-guards?" i asked. "not if they can help it," was the reply. "you see if they resisted and wounded the officers it would be a serious thing, and might mean transportation for some of them. there's been a lively chase once or twice. i'm very much afraid, though, that there'll be an ugly row some day if they are caught; for old lewis and some of his men are determined fellows, and as likely as not would show fight before allowing their kegs to be taken." the remainder of the way home was beguiled with further tales of the doings of the smugglers. "look here," miles concluded, as we came in sight of the house. "of course mother doesn't know all this, or i expect she'd object to our going out so much with lewis. all i do is what i did the other night: if i know the men are on our ground, i look the other way. it's no business of mine to meddle with their doings, and there isn't one of them who would take a single rabbit or forget to shut a gate behind him. if he did, he'd soon hear of it from the others." the remainder of my stay at coverthorne passed pleasantly if uneventfully, nothing of any note happening until the last day of my visit, when an incident occurred which i have good reason always to remember. the day was wet and stormy. miles was engaged doing something for his mother, and having nothing particular with which to occupy my attention, i strolled from one part of the house to another, and at length found my way to the empty room which i have already described, and which i discovered by this time was spoken of as the west parlour. this morning the curious earthy smell which i had remarked there before seemed stronger than usual; but in spite of this and its bare and neglected appearance, the room struck me as one which would have been pleasant and cosy if properly furnished. i strolled over to the window-seat, and sat gazing round at the dark oak panelling, wondering vaguely why the place was never used. if occupied in no other way, it surprised me that miles did not appropriate it for a sort of private den or workshop. i was lolling back, idly poking a straw into a crevice of the woodwork, when suddenly the same strange sound broke on my ear which i had heard before. i sat up to listen. it was like some one humming without any regard to tune. at one time it seemed to come from a distant part of the house, and then it appeared to be actually in the room. one glance was sufficient to show that the chamber itself was empty. i listened with awakened curiosity, but with no sensation of uneasiness or fear. what could it be? rising to my feet i walked across the room, stepped into the open fireplace, and stared up the wide chimney. some spots of rain fell on my upturned face, but nothing was to be seen except the gray sky overhead. i stepped back into the room, and still the muffled drone continued, rising and falling, and then ceasing altogether. "it must be the wind in the chimney," i thought, and moved once more into the open hearth; but now the sound seemed in the room, and was certainly not in the stone shaft above my head. i next opened the window and looked out into the walled garden. no noise, however, was to be heard there but the patter of the raindrops on the leaves of the trees. perplexed and rather astonished, i now crossed the floor, opened the door, and went out into the passage, only to find it empty. once more, as i stood undecided what to do next, the crooning notes fell on my ear, and i began to think that some one was playing me a trick. it was just as i had arrived at this conclusion that i heard miles calling me; and a moment later, in obedience to my answering hail, he joined me in the empty room. "i keep hearing that funny noise," i said, "and i can't make out where it comes from." he made no reply, but stood at my side listening till the sound came again, this time a long, mournful wail like that of some one in pain. i turned, and was surprised to find that miles's face was almost bloodless. he slipped his arm within mine, and drew me towards the door. "what can it be?" i asked. "no one will ever know for certain," he answered, speaking almost in a whisper. "the room is haunted!" "haunted!" i cried, stopping short as i gained the passage. "you don't believe in ghosts?" "i believe in that one," he answered. "i've heard it too often to have any doubt. that's the reason we never use the room; only mother doesn't like it talked about, because it only frightens the servants. people have tried to make out it was the wind; but though we've blocked up the chimney, and have stopped every crack and hole we could find, it makes no difference to the sound, and no one can tell from what part of the room it comes. besides, the story is that my great-grandfather died there. when he was an old man he always went about humming to himself, and making just the same sort of noise that has been heard in the room ever since his death. all the people round know about it, and they call it the singing ghost of coverthorne." "o miles," i began, "you don't believe such stuff as that?" "i know you'll think me a coward," he interrupted. "i'm not afraid of most things, but i own frankly i hate to go near that horrid room. mother had it furnished, and tried to use it one winter; but at the end of a month she got so frightened of the noise that she declared she'd never sit there again." "i don't mind your ghost," i exclaimed, laughing. "you wait here, and i'll go back and listen to it again." i entered the room, closed the door behind me, and stood waiting in a corner of the floor. i tried to persuade myself that i was not in the least frightened, but my heart beat faster than usual, and i strained my ears with almost painful intentness to catch the slightest sound. within the last few moments the place seemed to have grown more cold, damp, and earthy than before; it felt like standing in a vault. then, whether from the floor, ceiling, or solid oak panelling on the walls, i could not tell, came once more that mysterious sound, as though a person were humming with closed lips. i cast one hasty glance round the room, and made hurriedly for the door. miles was still waiting in the passage. "you didn't stay very long," he remarked with a quiet smile. chapter v. nicholas coverthorne shows his hand. in due course the summer holidays came to an end, and miles and i met again at school. i had not been in his company five minutes before i noticed that his face wore a different look from when i had seen him last at coverthorne; indeed, he seemed once more as sad and dejected as he had appeared immediately after his father's funeral. "what's the matter with you? have you been ill?" i asked; but he only shook his head and gave evasive replies. the first day of the half was always one of excitement. the reunion of old friends, the appearance of new boys and masters, the changes of classes and dormitories, all aroused our lively interest; but miles seemed in no mood to join in our fun. he slipped out of the playground as soon as work was finished, and went off for a walk alone. thinking that his return to school had in some way recalled the consciousness of his bereavement, i allowed him for a time to go his own way; but when tea was over i determined to find him, and at least offer him some expression of sympathy. after a little search i discovered him standing with his back against a tree moodily chewing a piece of straw. "there is something the matter with you," i said. "why won't you tell me? is it private?" my arm seemed naturally to slip through his as i asked the question, and perhaps the action, simple as it was, gave him a fresh assurance of my friendship, and influenced him to unburden himself of what was on his mind. "there's no harm in my telling you, sylvester," he replied. "i know you won't let it go any further. i'm upset by what's happened at home." "something that has happened since i stayed with you?" i asked. "well, yes," he answered--"that is, it's come to a head since your visit. i daresay while you were with us you noticed that there was something wrong, and that my mother often seemed worried and depressed. it was not till after you'd gone that i found out what was really the matter." he paused as though expecting me to speak, but i made no interruption. "as i've already told you, my father made a will about two years ago," continued miles. "he signed it at mr. denny's office, and took it away with him; but now it can't be found. my mother always thought that it was in the secret drawer of the bureau; but it proved to be empty when she went to look. then, as i've mentioned before, the idea occurred to her and mr. denny that it had been put away for safety in the secret place. if that's the case, then goodness knows if either the papers or the hidden chamber will ever be discovered. at least so far all attempts have proved a failure. mr. denny even goes so far as to suggest that the so-called hiding-place may be nothing but a small cavity in the wall behind some sliding panel; though he admits that, from a remark he once heard my father make, he had always believed it was a place large enough to conceal a man. if it's only a little hole somewhere in the stonework, we might pull the house down before we found it." "but see here," i interrupted. "i don't understand anything about lawyers' business; but even if your father's will were lost, i suppose the property will come to you all the same, seeing that you are his only son." "wait a moment till i have finished the story," continued my companion. "when i talked to you about this once before, i described how my uncle came to coverthorne soon after my father's funeral, and spoke to my mother about a secret reconciliation between the brothers, and hinted at a matter of business which he would discuss at some future time, when she should have recovered somewhat from the shock of her loss. my mother was surprised, and thought it very strange, as she had heard no word from her husband to lead her to suppose that he had made up the quarrel with his brother. the matter, i say, puzzled her a good bit, but did not cause her any actual uneasiness till mr. denny came one day and told her privately of an extraordinary rumour he had heard in rockymouth, to the effect that uncle nicholas had told some one that my father had made a will leaving him half the property, that being the fair share which he ought to have had after my grandfather's death. this rumour, coupled with what my uncle had already said to her, caused my mother to begin to fear that something was wrong. she wanted to write to uncle nicholas right away; but mr. denny advised her to say nothing till she heard from him. in the meantime they made further attempts to find the will which my father had signed in the lawyer's office, mr. denny knowing the terms of this one, and hoping it would bear a more recent date than any other which my father might have made. you see, if a man makes more than one will it's the last that counts, and the others are worth nothing." i nodded to show that i understood this explanation. "about a week or ten days after you left," went on miles, "one afternoon uncle nicholas called, and out came the whole affair. he produced the will of which we had already heard the rumour, and said that my father had executed it at the time that they had made up their quarrel. the terms were exactly what mr. denny had already hinted--that if my father died first, half the estate was to go to nicholas; in case, however, nicholas did not survive his brother, the whole property would come to my mother and myself. having read the paper, he once more described how my father had been prompted to take this step out of a sense of justice; and then he added that, after all, it would make very little difference to any of us, since he himself had no children, and i should be his heir. he would only enjoy his share during the rest of his life, which at most would not be many years. from the first my mother was amazed and incensed at this disclosure. though she saw the signature at the foot of the document, and recognized it as my father's handwriting, yet she could not but regard the whole thing as an unfair and wicked attempt on my uncle's part to rob us of our possessions. my father had been so open in his dealings, and she had always shared his confidence; it seemed, therefore, almost impossible that he should have taken such a step without at least telling her of his intentions. the interview soon became a stormy one. uncle nicholas, in a cold, half-ironical manner, said he felt sure that my mother would not oppose her dead husband's wishes; and gave as the reason for our not finding another will that my father had no doubt destroyed the first before making the second. he pooh-poohed the idea of any document being deposited in the hidden chamber, saying that the so-called secret place was merely a hole in one of the chimneys, which had been built up in my grandfather's time to prevent the birds building there and making a mess. my mother, however, would not be convinced, though this fresh will was clearly of a later date than the one for which she had been searching. she would not admit the justice of my uncle's claims, reminding him that he had received his portion from his father in money. she accused him of attempting to deprive his brother's widow and only son of their heritage, and at length refused to discuss the subject any further, directing him to communicate in future with our lawyer, mr. denny. "'very well,' answered my uncle shortly. 'if you are determined not to listen to reason, i can say no more; but i had much rather have settled the matter amicably between ourselves without creating a public scandal.' his face was black as thunder as he left the house, and i could see at once that all his former pleasant manners had been simply put on for the time being to suit his own purpose. two days later mr. denny called to see us, and he and my mother had a long talk in the dining-room. i wasn't present myself, but i learned afterwards that my uncle had gone straight from us to the lawyer. the latter had seen the will, and was obliged to confess that it seemed genuine and in order, and was dated at least eighteen months after the one executed at his office. i think old denny was as much surprised at my father's conduct as my mother had been, and he questioned her closely to find out whether anything had ever happened which could in any way have brought my father into nicholas's power, so that he might have been induced by threats of any kind to make such a disposition of his property. of course my mother knew nothing of the kind; but in calling to mind everything she could remember, she recollected that a few months back she had seen my father address and send a large sealed envelope to his brother, and as this would have been just about the time when nicholas asserted that the reconciliation had taken place, it seemed possible that this very letter might have contained the will. the document, i should say, was witnessed by a housekeeper of my uncle's who had since died, and by a sea captain who had often stayed at stonebank, but whose vessel had foundered in a storm, with all hands. the fact that both of the witnesses were dead seemed suspicious, but there was no flaw in the signatures, and nicholas had a witness who could prove that my father and rhodes, the master-mariner, had met at stonebank on the day the will was signed." "then what is going to be done?" i asked. "what can be done?" returned miles, with a shrug of his shoulders. "my uncle poses as a model of forbearance, and says he will allow us to remain in possession of the whole estate till the beginning of the new year, at which date the property will be duly divided." "at least you'll have the old house," i remarked, not knowing what else to say. "yes; but look here, sylvester," my friend exclaimed. "we shall never be able to live on at coverthorne as we're doing now if half the property is taken away from us. i believe uncle nicholas knows that," continued the speaker excitedly. "he wants to force us to leave, and then he'll raise or borrow money from somewhere, and so come to be owner of the whole place. he's a bad man--you can see it in his face--and how ever he induced my father to make the will i can't imagine." "i can't either," i replied. "i disliked your uncle the first time i saw him. i believe he's a villain." a sudden rush of boys towards the spot where we stood talking put an end to our conversation, but the substance of it was constantly recurring to my mind. i had quite made up my mind that nicholas coverthorne was an unscrupulous rascal, and a few days later an incident happened which not only tended to increase my dislike of the man, but to invest him and his doings with a certain sinister air of mystery. dr. bagley had been expecting a parcel to be left by the coach at round green, and knowing that miles was accustomed to horses, he asked him to drive over with the pony and trap and bring home the package--sparrow, who usually performed these errands, having injured his hand. at my friend's request i was allowed to accompany him, and we set off in high spirits, a number of envious "foxes" and "eagles" shouting after us as we passed the playground wall. nothing of any importance happened till we reached the sportsman, where, having fastened up the pony, we went inside to inquire about the parcel. it being the middle of the afternoon the little inn seemed deserted. the only occupant of the taproom was a young country lad, who sat on a big settle, just inside the door, munching a crust of bread and cheese. he turned his head as we entered, and miles immediately accosted him with,-- "hullo, tom lance! what brings you here?" the lad was evidently confused at the meeting. his sunburnt face flushed a deeper red, and he mumbled something which we did not hear. "what brings you in this part of the world?" asked miles. "are you tramping it all the way back to stonebank?" it had dawned on me by this time who the boy was and where i had seen him before. i remembered now that he was an orphan, and in the employ of mr. nicholas coverthorne. he lived in the house, and made himself generally useful about the farm. miles had to repeat his question a second time before he got any answer; then the boy, seeming to realize that he could not avoid an explanation sooner or later, blurted out,-- "i'm on the way to welmington, sir, to go for a soldier." "to go for a soldier!" cried miles. "you aren't old enough to enlist." "i'm big enough, though," replied the boy with a grin; and this seemed likely to prove true, for he was well grown, and might easily have persuaded a recruiting sergeant that he was two years beyond his real age. "but what are you doing that for?" asked my friend. "why are you leaving stonebank?" lance hesitated, toying with his huge clasp-knife, and moving uneasily on his seat. "well, sir," he said at length, "i've run away. and it's no use your telling mr. nicholas or the rest where i'm gone, for i ain't going back, not if they send a wagon and horses to fetch me." "i'm not going to tell my uncle," was the reply. "all i asked was what made you leave." "well, sir," continued the lad, "the master's been so queer of late, i believe he bears ill-will towards me for something, and that some day he'll do me an injury." by dint of many questions we at length got out of tom something like a connected account of his troubles. the story as he told it was so disjointed, and at times so incoherent, that i shall make no attempt to repeat it in his own words, but rather give the sum and substance of the narrative which was laid before us when we at length came to the end of our inquiry. soon after his brother's death the servants had noticed some change in mr. nicholas's manner and behaviour, which they regarded as the effect of his sudden bereavement. he became preoccupied and silent, and of an evening would lock the door of his sitting-room and stay there far into the night, though hitherto he had been very regular in his habits, and had almost invariably retired to bed soon after ten. one afternoon tom had gone on an errand to tod's corner, and being delayed did not return till late. it was nearly eleven when he reached the farm. he saw a light in the parlour as he approached the house, and on entering went at once to inform his master of the result of his mission. proceeding to the sitting-room, he found the door standing ajar, and the room unoccupied. the lamp was burning on the table, beside it was a large brass-bound box, and a spirit decanter and glass stood hard by. tom lingered, note in hand, then determined to leave the message where his master would be sure to see it on his return. to do this he approached the table, but had hardly done so when mr. coverthorne burst into the room in a towering rage. "who told you to come here?" he shouted, seizing tom by the throat, as though with the intention of strangling him. "i'll teach you to come prying and meddling about my house when you ought to be in bed, you rascal!" nicholas coverthorne, as any one could have told at a glance, was a powerful man, and the wonder was that in his blind rage he did not do the lad some injury before the latter had time to explain that he had merely stepped inside the room a moment before to deliver his message. "you've been prying into the drawers and cupboards after tobacco, or anything you could find, that's my opinion," cried his master. "if so, you'd better speak the truth before i find it out for myself." tom, equally astonished at this unreasonable outburst, and at the fact of his honesty being called in question--a thing which had never occurred before--was for the time at a loss to find words in which to excuse himself, a fact which seemed to increase all the more his master's suspicions. at length, after a long wrangle and many threats, he was dismissed to bed, whither he gladly betook himself, having by this time arrived at the conclusion that his master had either drunk too much brandy or was losing his reason. a few days later mr. coverthorne sent for the lad, and told him to go to the cottage of the hind and bring back an answer to some inquiry about the sheep. "if i'm not in the parlour when you return," mr. coverthorne had said, "step inside, and wait there till i come back." in obedience to his orders tom went to the hind, and returning entered the parlour, only to find that his master was not there. the room presented an exactly similar appearance to what it had done on the occasion of his previous visit: the lamp was lit, and beside it was the brass-bound box, while a little further along was the tray with glass and decanter. cap in hand, the boy remained standing just inside the door, wondering how long he would have to wait. it was while thus employed that his attention became attracted towards a curtain which covered the bay window at the end of the room. almost in the centre of the drapery, which was old and faded, was a hole, and behind this something sparkled in the ray of the lamp. it did not take tom long to discover that this something was an eye peering at him from behind the screen. startled at the knowledge that he was being watched, the lad was about to run from the room and raise an alarm of robbers, when the curtain was flung aside, and with a laugh mr. coverthorne stepped out into the room, and asked the boy in a jocular manner what he was staring at. nicholas was not given to joking with any man, least of all with his servants, and this erratic behaviour served to strengthen in tom's mind the impression that his master was certainly going mad. "ever since that time i've seen him a-watching, watching me wherever i goes and whatever i does," concluded the boy. "once he told me what he'd do to any one as couldn't mind their own business, though i'm sure i've not been prying into other folk's affairs. he follows me about; he's got a grudge against me for something--i can see it in his evil eye--and some day he'll pay it off. i won't stay there any longer; i'm going for a soldier." it was in vain that we tried to dissuade tom lance from his purpose, and induce him to return to stonebank. he stubbornly refused to listen to our arguments. it was evident that he had been some time making up his mind, and was now doggedly determined to carry out his purpose. finding it impossible to do anything else, we wished him good luck, at the same time giving him a shilling and some loose coppers, which was all the money we had in our pockets. having found the doctor's parcel, we returned to the pony carriage, and drove some little distance on our homeward way without speaking. it is probable, however, that the thoughts of both of us were busy with the same subject. "i wonder if your uncle is going out of his mind," i said at length. "more likely some deep dodge of his, i fancy," returned miles. "don't you see that he arranged that second visit of tom's to the parlour just to judge what he'd done the time before? if the lad was inquisitive and had pried about once, he'd probably do so again. still, what's the meaning of it all i've no idea." chapter vi. a mad prank. time has been called "the great healer;" and as the term ran on miles gradually regained a measure of his former high spirits, and became more his old bright self again. the thought, however, that at the end of the half he would leave school and we should part, perhaps for ever, hung over us like a cloud, rendered all the heavier and darker by the consciousness on my friend's part that his prospects in life had undergone a great change, and that his future was uncertain. "it's all very well," he burst out one day, "for uncle nicholas to say that he would rather have the matter settled amicably. as i said before, he means to get the whole estate before he's finished." "old villain!" i answered; "i hate his very look! i hope, if he does go to coverthorne, that the ghost will haunt him, and drive him away again. did it sing any more after i left?" "i don't know," answered miles abruptly, as though the subject was one to which he did not care to refer. "i don't think i've been inside the room since we were there together. i suppose i'm a coward, but i don't mind owning that that unearthly row gives me the creeps, and i daresay it would you too if you were to hear it as i have, sometimes, when passing down the passage at night." we did not pursue the subject any further. indeed, the thought may have occurred to me that my own courage had ebbed away rather fast the last time i had listened to those strange sounds; and such being the case, i could hardly afford to rally my friend on his superstitious fears. the days came and went; the trees put on their glorious autumn tints, and then gradually grew bare and lifeless, while we boys went on with our accustomed round of school life, labouring at our desks, and larking with unbounded stock of animal spirits in the playground. i can recollect no event of any particular consequence having happened during this time, except that one day miles received a letter from home which contained news of interest to us both. in those times, before the introduction of the penny post, letters were less frequent and more highly prized than they are to-day; and i think i can see my friend now as he came down the schoolroom waving above his head the oblong packet sealed with a yellow wafer. "for me!" he cried. "hurray! now i shall hear what's been happening in our part of the world." he flung himself down on the end of a bench, tore open the packet, and for some moments was absorbed in reading its contents. suddenly i saw the expression of his face change, his mouth opened, and his eye ran more rapidly from line to line. "phew! well, i never!" he exclaimed. "what is it?" i asked; "anything to do with your uncle nicholas?" "no; it's about old lewis," he answered. then, after scanning the letter rapidly to the end of the page, he let it fall and raised his head. "i say," he began, "what d'you think's happened? why, there's been a fight down at rockymouth between the smugglers and the preventive men; quite a serious affair--two fellows badly injured." "was old lewis one of them--that man whom we saw hiding in your copse, and in whose boat we went fishing?" "yes, rather: he seems to have been the leading spirit, and has got into worse trouble than the rest, poor beggar! as far as i can understand from my mother's account, it must have happened in this way. one of the land gang was bribed, and turned informer, so by that means the coastguard knew the exact time and place of the run. it happened in that same little cove where we used to go and bathe. the spirit was landed, and the carriers were just shouldering their tubs to make off inland, when an armed party appeared on the beach and ordered them to surrender. then there was a pretty how-de-do! some of the gang threw down their loads and tried to bolt. most of these got away in the darkness. but the old hands, enraged at the thought of losing the stuff just as it had come into their possession, showed fight. one of the preventive men was knocked down with a bludgeon, the rest drew their cutlasses, and blood was shed on both sides. lewis, raging like a madman, whipped out a pistol and fired it, though fortunately without doing any harm, and the next moment he was stretched senseless on the shingle with a blow on the head given with the flat of a steel blade. in the end, of course, the coastguard got the best of it. some of the smugglers made off when they saw the day was going against them, but the rest were overpowered, handcuffed, and dragged off to the watchhouse. some of them have already been sent to jail, but lewis has been sent to welmington to await trial at the assizes. he was recognized as the leader of the party, and as the man who fired the pistol; and to use weapons like that against the king's men is a serious offence. mother says she thinks he will be transported. it's a crying shame," concluded the speaker, after a moment's pause. "what difference can it make to the king, or to anybody else, if those men buy and sell a few ankers of brandy? they don't injure or rob anybody, and the men who come meddling and interfering with them deserve to be roughly handled. i believe i should have shot at them myself if i'd been in lewis's place." knowing the peculiar views of the coast-bred boy on the subject of defrauding the revenue, and the little likelihood of inducing him to change them, i made no attempt to argue the matter, but stood for a moment recalling to my mind the sight i had witnessed of the two stooping figures crossing the field in the gray twilight of the summer dawn. "it's dreadful to think of his being transported to the other side of the world," i said. "it must be sad for him to think that he may never see rockymouth again, where he has lived so long--ever since he was a boy, except the time he spent away as a sailor in the navy." "well, it's fortunate that he didn't shoot straighter, or he would have swung for it," remarked miles bluntly; "though i believe some of those fellows would as soon be hung as transported. i'm glad none of our coverthorne men appear to have been in it," he added. "it's a wonder they weren't; but perhaps if any of them did lend a hand, they were among those who escaped." he laughed as though it were more of a prank than a crime; then picking up the sheets of paper which had fallen from his hand, he went on reading his letter. boys may remain always much the same in their tastes and dispositions, but, as i have said before, school life and customs have undergone great changes since my day. in consequence of having no properly organized outdoor sports, we found methods of our own for letting off steam, some of which were about as sensible as the antics of a kitten or the mad gallop of a young colt. boys who wished to establish and keep up a reputation for hardihood and daring were prone to perform some reckless feat, and then dare others to follow their example. ben liddle, the acknowledged chief of the "eagles," was much given to this sort of thing, and a dozen or more of his escapades occur to my mind as i write. it so happened that this term miles and i slept in a dormitory of which liddle was "cock;" an arrangement which might have been unpleasant for us had it not been for the fact that the majority of the boys were "foxes," and formed a mutual defensive alliance, so that liddle stopped short of actual violence, knowing that anything of the kind would raise a hornet's nest about his ears. nevertheless, he was always passing slighting remarks about us, and hinting that we were lacking in pluck and daring; which taunts on one or two occasions nearly brought about a free fight between the rival parties. the weeks went by; we were close to the end of the half, and boys had commenced to talk of holidays and home, when one night liddle came up to bed with something under his coat. "look here," he said; "i found this in a field this afternoon." the article which he held up was an ordinary rope halter. he waved it triumphantly in the air, and then flung it into a box by the side of his bed. "what on earth d'you want with that old thing?" cried one of his followers, laughing; "it's no use to you. what made you bring it home?" "you know that horse of old smiley's that he's turned out to graze in that big field--the second beyond the brook? well, i'm going to make him give me a ride. i've bet maggers two to one in half-crowns that i'll ride him bareback twice round the field without being thrown." seated on the next bed, winding an old turnip-shaped silver watch, was a fellow named rigby. though professedly a stanch "eagle," he seemed lately to have grown rather jealous of liddle, and to covet for himself the post of leader. whenever liddle attempted to impress us with some fresh act of bravado, rigby either made light of it or tried to outdo it by the recital of some still more brilliant piece of mischief which he had either been guilty of in the past or was prepared to attempt some time in the future. as might be expected, nothing could have been more calculated to vex and provoke liddle, who, we could see, often found it difficult to restrain himself from vindicating his outraged vanity by pounding with clenched fists the person of his presumptuous follower. "pooh!" said rigby. "when d'you expect you're going to ride a horse round that field? they can see it from the house, and you'd have some one after you within five minutes. i'll bet you'll never try it." "what'll you bet?" demanded liddle, bristling up in a moment. "i won't bet anything on such a stupid thing. i know you won't do it." "i'll do it any time you like to mention." "well, do it now," answered rigby, suggesting what he considered to be impossible. "all right; i will," returned liddle recklessly. "wait till the lights have been put out and the coast is clear, and i'll go and ride the nag to-night. but look here, my boy," continued the speaker, with a malicious twinkle in his eyes: "if i go you'll have to come too, as a witness, or maggers won't believe i've won my wager." "i never said i'd do anything of the kind," answered the other, rather drawing in his horns. "ho, ho!" sneered liddle, perceiving his advantage, and proceeding to make the most of it; "you're funky. you try to make out that other people haven't the spirit to do a thing when really you're afraid to try it yourself." "i'm not afraid," was the reply; "i only say it can't be done, so what's the good of gabbing about it any further?" "it _can_ be done," asserted liddle. "all you have to do is to wait till there's no one about, then get out of this window on to the roof of the shed, creep along that, and down by the water-butt, then hop over the wall, and there you are. come; you've as good as dared me to do it, and i say i'll go and ride the horse if you'll come and see me do it. now, will you go, or will you not?" "there's no sense in it," grumbled rigby. "pooh! you mean you haven't got the pluck." there was a general laugh. rigby found himself in a trap of his own making. if he drew back he stood a good chance of being exposed to ridicule as an empty boaster, besides practically confessing himself liddle's inferior in daring. his face twitched with excitement and vexation. "oh, very well, i'll go!" he answered desperately. "but i don't see any object in it, all the same." an hour later, when all was quiet, the two boys, who had only partially undressed, rose, put on the rest of their clothes, and prepared to start. "shut the window after us, you fellows," said liddle, "and be ready to haul us in when we return. we'll chuck a bit of mud or gravel against the glass. don't get talking or making a row to attract attention; and mind, if any one does come into the room you're all dead asleep." arranging a bundle of spare clothes and pillows under their counterpanes as a last precaution, lest the notice of a master entering the room should be attracted by the empty beds, the two boys started on their expedition. the roof of the outbuilding was not far below our window, and with the assistance of a rope made of knotted towels it was reached without much difficulty. there was a whispered "all right!" and we heard the adventurers crawl away in the direction of the water-butt. broad awake, and in a state of suppressed excitement, we waited for what seemed hours, now and again speculating in whispers as to what had become of our two comrades, wondering if liddle would really carry out his intention of riding the horse, and whether they would get back safely without being caught. once the footsteps of a master passing along the corridor caused us a few moments' suspense; but we lay perfectly still, and the door of the room remained unopened. at length there came an unmistakable rap on the window-pane, the rope was lowered, and rigby, followed by liddle, was hauled back into the room. "i've done it," whispered the latter, undoing the halter, which he had wound round his waist, "i caught the old nag, and had a fine scamper round the field.--didn't i, rigby?" the other affirmed that such was the fact. both boys were out of breath with running, and flushed with the excitement and success of their enterprise. the result of the ordeal being to enhance the reputation of both, they now seemed on the best of terms, and appeared to have forgotten entirely the outburst of jealousy which had really occasioned the expedition. for some time we lay awake, listening to a detailed account of the adventure, and it must have been early morning before we stopped talking and fell asleep. almost before breakfast next morning a report of what had happened was whispered through the school, in consequence of which liddle and rigby became the heroes of the hour. though nothing more than a piece of senseless bravado, their prank was considered a very fine and spirited exploit; indeed, when compared with the many raids and hunting expeditions of "eagles" and "foxes," it was declared that nothing quite so daring had been attempted for a long while. such an amount of notice, combined with open admiration, could not be without its effect on the two persons chiefly concerned, and by the time we retired to rest that evening both liddle and rigby were puffed up with conceit, and inclined to indulge in any amount of swagger. "now then," cried the former, "who's going to ride the old nag to-night? come; we've given you a lead, and it's simple enough." "i'm not going," muttered one boy, while the rest sought to evade the challenge with a laugh. "see here," continued liddle, in the same boastful manner, "one of you 'foxes' have a shot. there doesn't seem to be a ha'porth of go among the lot of you!--now then, coverthorne, you can ride, so you're the very man. you used to be ready for a lark, but now, for all this half, you seem to have turned into a regular old woman." miles's cheek reddened with an angry flush. "i'm no more a coward than you are yourself," he answered; "but if you choose to do a senseless thing, that's no reason why every one else in the room should follow suit." "oh, that's a fine excuse! why don't you say at once that you're afraid?" the dialogue was continued in much the same strain, liddle flinging taunts with ever-increasing bitterness, till i could see that miles was rapidly losing his temper. at length, perhaps rather weakly, the latter gave way, and declared himself ready to repeat the previous night's performance. "i'll do it," he said, "if any one will go with me." just at the moment, from a boy's point of view, it seemed to me that friendship demanded that i should volunteer to share the risk. "all right, miles," i exclaimed. "i'll go with you; it's simple enough." the other "foxes" rewarded me with a subdued "hear, hear!" for their own sakes they were eager enough for us to make the attempt, but i confess that i would gladly have recalled the promise almost as soon as it was made. from the very start, when i found myself crawling along the top of the wall against which the outhouses were built, i heartily wished myself safely back in the dormitory. still, there was nothing to be gained by anticipating disaster until the worst actually happened, and we both pretended to make light of the whole matter. what such fellows as liddle and rigby had done we could certainly accomplish; and, after all, if we had an ordinary amount of luck, the risk was not great. miles especially was country bred, and had no difficulty in finding his way in the dark. not a sound broke the stillness, and no one seemed to be abroad but ourselves. we pressed forward, conversing only in whispers, until in front of us a row of leafless willow trees loomed up out of the darkness. "this is the brook," murmured miles. "there's a plank laid across a little further down. here we are. now mind how you step." gingerly we crossed the frail bridge, not wishing to add a wetting to the other delights of this midnight raid. two more hedges had to be scrambled through, and we found ourselves in the field in which the old horse had been turned out to graze. away on some rising ground a little to the right was the farmhouse, and we noticed a light dimly burning in one of the windows. "i should have thought they'd have all been in bed by this time," said miles. "now then," he continued, unwinding the halter, "let's find the nag. coop, coo-op, coop!" whether blackbird--as we afterwards found the animal's name was--had grown wiser by experience, and was prepared to show objection to having his night's rest disturbed to gratify the idiotic whim of a couple of schoolboys, i can't say, but the fact remains that as soon as we came within twenty yards of him he gave an indignant snort, and went plunging off in the darkness. the thunder of his hoofs on the turf seemed loud enough to be heard up at the farm. i held my breath till all was quiet again; then off we started towards the opposite end of the meadow, miles attempting to cajole the animal with soothing words and an imaginary capful of corn. once more blackbird allowed us, very nearly, to drive him up in a corner; then, with a loud protestation in the shape of a neigh and a snort, he kicked up his heels and went off at a gallop. how long this sort of thing might have lasted, and whether we or the animal would have got the best of it in the end, can never be said; for before the thudding of the hoofs had ceased, a man's form came crashing through the hedge, and an angry voice yelled out,-- "hey, you rascals! what are you doing with that horse?" the newcomer was none other than the farmer himself, returning home from a festive gathering at the house of a friend. passing along the footpath in the neighbouring field, he had heard our voices and blackbird's stampede, and had come to the conclusion that he was receiving a visit from a couple of horse-thieves. all this we learned later, but at the moment no other thought entered our minds than to save ourselves by immediate flight. we turned and ran. how we got over the hedges i don't know; i can only remember plunging through them, regardless of scratches and tumbles, as a bather might through a breaking wave. old smiley, who had the advantage of knowing the ground better than we did, followed hard at our heels, breathing out threats and curses. if the man had had a gun in his hand, i believe he would certainly have fired. suddenly we found ourselves on the bank of the stream. as luck would have it, we happened to have struck it just at the right spot, and miles's ready wit came to the rescue. "quick!" he panted; "over, and draw away the plank, or the beggar will follow us to the school!" recklessly we sprang across the narrow bridge; then seizing the plank, with our united strength dragged it over, flung it down on the bank, and rushed off into the darkness. the ruse proved entirely successful. though a good runner, old smiley was not going to attempt a jump with the risk of a ducking. we heard his shouts growing fainter and fainter in the distance, and a few minutes later we had scrambled along the roof of the outhouses, given the signal, and were being hauled up to the window by our comrades, who were on the _qui vive_ awaiting our return. in a few breathless sentences miles explained what had happened. "it's all right!" said liddle reassuringly. "you gave the old beggar the slip finely, and he can never tell that it was two fellows from here. in the darkness he didn't get close enough to recognize your faces." during the time these few words were being spoken i had been sitting on the end of my bed, endeavouring to regain my breath sufficiently to take part in the conversation. now raising my hand to take off my cap, i found that it was missing. at once the thought flashed through my mind that i must have dropped it during my flight across the fields, and, what was more, i remembered that my name was clearly marked on the lining. if any of my room-mates had been watching me closely, they must have seen my face lengthen; for should old smiley or one of his men happen to pick up the cap, it was as good as if they had caught the owner, and my share in the horse-chasing adventure would certainly be discovered. chapter vii. tried and sentenced. every thoughtful person will have remarked how the important events in life are often led up to by some incident or mischance of the most trivial kind; and so this story of mine would, in all probability, never have been written if it had not been for the accidental dropping of my cap in the course of that senseless night adventure. "had you got it on when you crossed the brook?" asked miles, when i explained what had happened. "d'you think you dropped it climbing up to the window?" in answer to these inquiries i could only shake my head. from the time the farmer surprised us in the field i could only recall a vague impression of our wild scamper through the darkness. "oh, it's all right," said rigby. "i expect it fell off when we were hauling you from the roof of the shed. if so, you can easily get it in the morning." with that the talk ended, and we scrambled into bed. we had certainly silenced our enemies, and covered ourselves with a questionable kind of glory, by our escapade, for even liddle admitted that our pluck could no longer be doubted. yet, as i continued to lie broad awake, staring into the darkness long after my companions had fallen asleep, i was far from easy in mind or satisfied with the result of the adventure. if i had dropped my cap in the fields and old smiley found it, he was sure to take it at once to dr. bagley and state what had happened. unfortunately, not more than a month before there had been a passage-at-arms between this same man and us boys, about a broken gate which he declared to have been our doing, though in that instance i think he was mistaken. still, a formal complaint was made to the headmaster, who addressed us on the subject in the big schoolroom, warning us that in the event of any fresh instances of trespass and damage done by us to neighbouring property being brought under his notice, the culprit would be punished with the utmost severity. all this did not tend to ease my mind as i lay picturing up the possibility of a terrible interview in the doctor's study. there was only one thing i could decide to do, and that was to make search as early as possible on the following day, and try to recover this damaging piece of evidence before it fell into the hands of the enemy. jumping out of bed next morning at the first sound of the bell, and dressing as hastily as possible, i rushed down into the yard, where, in spite of the cold and darkness, i carefully examined the roof of the outhouses, and the spot by the water-butt where we had climbed up and down. hunt as i would, however, i was doomed to disappointment--the missing cap was nowhere to be seen; and at length the unwelcome truth was forced upon my mind that it must have fallen off during our flight across the fields, most likely have been dragged from my head as i plunged madly through a hedge. standing there shivering in the raw winter morning, i quickly came to the conclusion that i had now no choice but to pursue one course of action. the free time after breakfast was too short to allow of my doing anything till after morning school ended at twelve o'clock; then, even if it meant accepting the risk of being seen, i must run over the ground we had covered the night before, and attempt to find the cap. it was quite possible that neither the farmer nor his men might cross these particular fields before midday, and so, with good luck, this unfortunate proof of my guilt might be kept from falling into their hands. how vividly the events of that unfortunate morning are impressed upon my mind! we had no separate classroom in those days; the one big school held all the forms in work hours, each division being marshalled round the desk of its particular master. the class which contained miles coverthorne, myself, and about a dozen other boys, was taken by a master named jennings. we were seated at our desks preparing some work before standing round to be questioned. exactly what the subject was i don't remember--probably the latin grammar, to the study of which the greater portion of our time seems to have been devoted. directly in front of me sat a youth who, from the possession of a peculiarly squeaky voice, was known as the "jackdaw," a nickname which suited him in more ways than one, for he was as mischievous as the famous bird whom the legend declares to have stolen the cardinal's ring. my eyes happening to wander from my book, i became aware of the fact that the "jackdaw" was endeavouring to attract my attention. in the hand which he held out towards me was a queer-shaped object, which he evidently wished me to examine. i took it, and found that it was a toy which he had already informed me he intended to make. the article in question was one which it is probable my present-day readers will never have seen, and i find some difficulty in describing it without being able to demonstrate its working by showing the thing itself. in my young days, when children were more often obliged to make their own playthings, they were common enough. we called them "jumpers," and constructed them out of the breastbone of a goose, a bit of wood, and some twisted string. at the point of the bone was a small piece of cobbler's wax. this was warmed; then the bit of wood was wound round and round in the twisted string, which ran through two holes bored in the extremities of the fork; the end of the chip was then stuck to the wax, and the "jumper" placed ready for its leap. as the wax cooled, its hold gradually relaxed, till suddenly the bit of wood was let go, and, with the action of a compressed spring, sent the whole contrivance flying into the air. unable to resist the temptation of seeing how the "jackdaw's" newly-made treasure would act, i wound up the string, warmed the wax by breathing on it, and foolishly set the toy down on the form by my side. i don't know whether the "jumper" was a specially strong one, but after a few moments' pause it suddenly sprang high in the air, and, describing a circle, fell with a clatter right on the master's desk. mr. jennings looked up with a start from the book he was reading. "who did that?" he demanded sharply. there was a general titter. "please, sir, i did," i faltered. "then stand out," ordered the master. "if i have to speak to you again for inattention, you will stay in and do your work after school." as the words were uttered a sudden thought flashed through my mind that if i were kept in after school i should not be able to carry out my intention of slipping off and going in search of my cap. i glanced uneasily towards the end of the room where dr. bagley was seated at his desk, giving instruction to the head form. if he happened to catch sight of me thus banished from the class, it might mean further trouble. fortunately, for the present the great man's attention was fully occupied. i waited anxiously for about ten minutes, and then ventured to ask mr. jennings if i might sit down. "certainly not," was the reply. "remain where you are till the end of the lesson." hoping that the worst would not happen, i resumed my former position. there was a movement at the end of the room; the doctor had dismissed his boys to their seats to write an exercise. slowly he rose from his chair, adjusted his spectacles, and, descending from his platform, came down the room. i saw that my fate was sealed, and stood like a condemned criminal on the drop, awaiting the withdrawal of the fatal bolt. "well, sir, and what brings you here?" not knowing what reply to make, i remained speechless, and mr. jennings answered the question. "he has been wasting his time and disturbing the rest of the class playing with this silly toy, sir." in those days the cane was the most usual form of punishment for all kinds of offences. though sharp at the moment, it had the advantage of being soon over; and remembering my project, i almost hoped that the headmaster would order me to follow him to his desk, the usual place of execution. if this, however, was my wish, it was destined to be thwarted. "oh, indeed!" returned the doctor, in his most magisterial tones. "then let me tell you, sir, that a boy who plays in work hours must make up his mind to work in play hours.--mr. jennings, kindly set him a task, and see that he remains at his desk during the free hour before dinner." in my vexation i could have fallen on the "jackdaw" and given him a good pommelling for having induced me to meddle with such an exceptionally lively "jumper" in school time. the mischief, however, was done now; and when the other boys were dismissed, and rushed out into the playground, i was forced to remain at my place with a latin book open in front of me, a certain number of lines of which i was ordered to commit to memory. i was still far from easy in mind, and could only hope that my cap was reposing in some ditch or thicket, where it was not likely to be noticed by any chance passers-by. attempting to reassure myself with the thought of this possibility, i settled down to my task, and commenced repeating the latin lines over and over again, in a monotonous undertone, until they should become fixed in my memory. the hands of the clock must have reached half-past twelve, when the door of the schoolroom suddenly opened, and sparrow the porter made his appearance. "mr. eden, the doctor wants you--now, at once--in his study;" and with this abrupt announcement the man promptly turned on his heel and disappeared. to us boys there was always a dreadful significance in that apparently harmless message, and my heart sank within me as i rose to my feet and prepared to obey. i walked down a short, dark passage, across a bare, draughty hall, and knocking on a forbidding-looking door, received a peremptory command to "come in." once across the threshold any doubt as to the reason of the summons was set at rest by the sight of farmer smiley sitting very bolt upright on a chair by the bookcase, with his hat on the floor by his side. "d'you see this cap, sir?" began the headmaster, holding up the article in question. "it has your name on the lining, therefore i presume it is yours." from the burning sensation in my cheeks i felt that my face must have given a plainer answer to the question than my mumbled reply. "then will you explain how it came to be lying this morning in the middle of one of mr. smiley's fields?" however unwilling i might be to tell the story, the admissions were dragged from me--first, that i had visited the farmer's field with the object of enjoying a stolen ride on his horse; and, secondly, that i had actually done so late the previous night, when i was supposed to be asleep in bed. "you actually mean to tell me that you climbed out of your dormitory window and went roaming over the country when it must have been close on midnight? i never heard of such outrageous conduct--never!" "he warn't the only one," put in the old farmer; "there was two on 'em." "was any other boy with you?" demanded dr. bagley. i shut my mouth tightly with the determination that nothing should induce me to betray my friend. whether the doctor would have insisted on a reply to his question i cannot say, but fortunately a diversion was caused by the farmer, who probably felt satisfied in bringing home the charge against at least one of the culprits. "well, whether i seed one or two i ain't perticular about--leastways there's no doubt about this un. and," continued the speaker, going off at a tangent, "it seems to me a pity that a man can't live on a farm without his gates being broken and his beasts chased by a band of mischievous young rascals like this 'ere." "mr. smiley," began the headmaster, "i can only say how much i regret that anything of this sort should have happened. i can assure you that i shall make an example of this boy, and take steps to prevent your meeting with any such annoyances in the future.--now, sir," he continued, turning to me, "go straight to your bedroom, and stay there till i send for you to come down." there is no necessity for me to enter into a full description of the painful incidents which followed this command. dr. bagley was not in a mood to be lenient. the various raids of "foxes" and "eagles" over the countryside had occasioned more than one complaint being lodged against us; and now that he had a clearly-proved case to deal with, the headmaster was determined to make such an example of the culprit as should discourage indulgence in such lawless practices in the future. that afternoon i received a public caning before the whole school, and was informed that, as an additional punishment, i should be kept back to go home one day later than the rest. though the flogging was a severe one, i think i would have endured it a second time if the doctor would have substituted this for the remaining part of my sentence. at the end of a long half every extra day seemed an unbearably long period of time, and the thought of seeing all my comrades start for home while i lingered behind, and missed all the fun of travelling with them--such a prospect, i say, appeared almost unendurable. as has been already stated, owing to the limited accommodation on the coaches, our breaking-up really extended over two days: half the boys were starting on the wednesday, and the other half on the thursday; so i should have to remain till the friday morning. sitting on the end of my bed in the cold dormitory, where i had been ordered to spend the rest of the day in solitary confinement, i felt the soreness of this disappointment more than the smart of the weals inflicted by the headmaster's cane. there was, however, one consolation through it all--namely, the fact that i had not betrayed my comrade in the night's adventure. however crude our code of honour may have been, we were loyal to it; and i had the satisfaction of feeling that my school-fellows would remember this as a proof that i was no sneak. furthermore, this was to be the end of miles's school life, and it would have been a pity for him to finish up by being sent home in disgrace for what was, after all, merely a piece of thoughtless folly, and largely the fault of liddle. the short winter day was drawing to a close, and i was sitting in the deepening twilight, when the door suddenly opened, and in came miles. he had been watching his opportunity to creep upstairs, and was carrying his boots in his hand, it being against the rules for boys to visit the dormitories between the times of getting up and going to bed. "i say," he began, "i hope i haven't acted like a sneak. i've been thinking that perhaps i ought to have come forward and owned up to having been with you last night, but i'll tell you why i didn't. i thought perhaps the doctor had asked if any one else had gone, and you might have said 'no;' and in that case you'd only have got it worse for not telling the truth. i tried to get to see you before dinner, but i nearly got caught; and though i've been on the lookout ever since, this is really the first opportunity. i say, didn't old smiley notice there were two of us? or how did it happen that i escaped?" i told him exactly what had transpired in the course of my examination by the headmaster. "you're an awful old brick, sylvester!" he exclaimed. "it was jolly good of you to try to keep me out of the scrape when it was really my doing. all the same, now i know exactly what you said, i shall go to bagley and tell him of my share in the business. i can't save you the thrashing, but he might let you off from staying behind that extra day." "don't be a fool!" i cried, catching him by the arm. "it can't make any difference now. he won't let me off, and you'll only get in a row yourself. look here, miles: you've had trouble enough lately, and i'm only too glad to have kept you out of this row. if you think you're indebted to me for a good turn, then do as i ask, and don't go spoiling it all by getting flogged for nothing." he laughed, and sat down on the bed by my side. "you're a regular old brick," he repeated; "and if you really mean it, why, i'll let sleeping dogs lie. but i wish there was more likelihood of my being able to do something for you in return. who knows if we shall ever meet again? if we are forced to give up coverthorne, i think i shall go to sea. i must have an open-air life, and i couldn't stand being penned up in an office." we sat silent for a few moments in the gathering darkness, and i must own to an uncomfortable lump rising in my throat as i strove to find words in which to reply. we had come as new boys to the school on the same day, and had been close friends ever since, sharing our joys and sorrows, and never expecting that a day would come when our companionship would have a sudden and unlooked-for ending. i should have little to look forward to in returning to school after the christmas holidays. "hullo! there goes the tea-bell," exclaimed. miles. "cheer up," he added, apparently reading my thoughts; "we shall meet again--who knows?" "who knows?" i echoed, as cheerfully as i could, and forcing a laugh. my friend turned and stole softly from the room. if some one could have told us that we should see each other again before the year was out, we might have spent the night in guessing, and yet have remained without the remotest idea as to how, when, and where that extraordinary meeting was to take place. chapter viii. my journey begins. it was certainly a bitter pill for me to swallow watching the boys start for home on the wednesday and thursday mornings, and what made the punishment seem all the harder was saying good-bye to miles. had it not been for that hare-brained antic, i might at least have travelled with him on the coach as far as tod's corner, and so enjoyed his companionship a few hours longer. a school, after the boys have gone home for the holidays, is a very desolate place. i had my meals at the headmaster's table, but, being in disgrace, ate them in solemn silence, and was glad enough when the ordeal was over, and i was free once more to go where i liked. at length, on the thursday afternoon, i found myself sitting at one of the long rows of desks in the empty schoolroom. the unusual quiet seemed to weigh on my spirits; and though i tried to cheer myself with the thought that only a few hours now remained before i should be on the way home, yet a certain gloomy foreboding as of impending trouble seemed to weigh on my mind. what could it be? after all, the loss of one day did not much matter, and i felt sure that when i explained the full circumstances of the case to my parents, they would take a lenient view of my foolish midnight escapade. sitting idly mending an old quill pen which i had found on the floor, my thoughts turned once more to miles and his uncertain future, and from this i came to recalling the incidents of my visit to coverthorne. what could be the explanation of that strange noise in the so-called haunted room? of course, there were no such things as ghosts, and yet--and yet i myself had beaten a hasty retreat when left alone with those unearthly sounds, the origin of which it was impossible to trace. the very recollection of the experience made me turn and glance uneasily up and down the long room, as though i half expected to find myself sharing its solitude with some black bogey of a nursemaid's tale. the next instant i laughed at my own foolishness, and rising to my feet began to move about, for the room was cold. the place had not been swept since the boys' departure. the floor was littered with torn paper, fragments of broken slates, and other rubbish which had been thrown about in the process of packing up. some light-hearted youth, who had come into possession of a piece of chalk, had covered the blackboard with his scrawlings. wandering aimlessly up the room, i came to a halt; then, hardly conscious of what i was doing, i opened one of the desks, and glanced down carelessly at its interior. what good reason i afterwards had to remember that apparently purposeless' action! the books and other boyish possessions had been removed, and nothing remained but a mass of waste paper and other odds and ends, such as lay strewn about on the floor. i stirred this up with my hand. as i did so, my fingers came in contact with something hard, and i drew forth a small, oblong metal box, made, if i remember rightly, of pewter. the desk had been occupied by a boy named talbot, who was leaving these holidays, and so had taken his books with him. the object which i held in my hand, and which he had evidently overlooked, was a tinder-box, or rather a box containing tinder, flint, and steel, and little chips of wood tipped with sulphur. the so-called "lucifer" matches, i may remark, did not come into use until some years later. i stood for a moment undecided what to do with my find. left in the desk it was certain to be discovered and carried off, either by one of the servants or the charwoman who cleaned the room. talbot had a younger brother who would be returning after christmas. i might restore the box to him; and with this intention i slipped it into my pocket. i was up early enough on the following morning, devoured my breakfast in the kitchen by the light of a solitary candle, and then said a hasty good-bye to dr. bagley, who had just come down, and who, after sternly expressing a hope that i should amend my ways next term, thawed sufficiently to wish me a merry christmas and send his compliments to my friends at home. sparrow was to drive me in the pony-chaise as far as round green. we started off, with the single trunk which composed my luggage on the seat in front; and so began the most eventful journey of my life--one which it seems little short of a miracle did not end in my embarking on that still longer journey from which there is no return. the coach was due to arrive at round green at about . , and we were to wait for it, as usual, at the sportsman inn, which, being the end of a stage, was always stopped at for the purpose of changing horses. it was a bitterly cold morning; the roads seemed as hard as iron, and our breath smoked as we talked. we had covered nearly half the distance, and were going along in fine fashion, when suddenly there was a clatter and a crash. i felt myself flung forward, heard a shout from sparrow, and the next moment found myself rolling down a steep bank by the roadside, half blinded by the cold rime from the frosty grass. it took me a few seconds to recover myself, and when at length i scrambled to my feet, i saw at once what had happened. the pony had slipped on a sheet of ice, and come down badly, cutting its knees and smashing one of the shafts. fortunately sparrow had sustained no injury, and with the help of a countryman who happened to be crossing a neighbouring field we unharnessed our steed, and got it once more on its legs. for a time the accident occupied the whole of our attention. sparrow was in a fine state of mind, fearing that he would be blamed for the mishap. it was evident that we could not go on, and if we returned we should have to walk. then it flashed across my mind that this delay would cause me to lose the coach. there was no catching a later train in those days, and i could not bring myself to face the prospect of spending another day in that deserted school. "i shall go on," i declared to sparrow, "and you can return with the pony." "i doubt if you'll reach the sportsman in time, mr. eden," was the answer. "and there's your box. we must back the chaise into the roadside till it can be sent for, but we ought not to leave your box." "oh, bother my luggage!" i began, when the countryman interrupted and came to the rescue. "i doan't mind carrying the young gen'leman's box as fur as the sportsman for a mug o' beer," he remarked; "then you can get back home with the pony." the arrangement was no sooner suggested than i agreed to it, and sparrow was obliged to acquiesce. the damaged carriage was pushed back into a gateway, my trunk was lifted out, and hoisted on to the broad shoulders of the labourer; and taking leave of the school porter, i turned to resume my journey to round green. in the heat of the moment i had not paid much attention to the doubt expressed by sparrow as to my reaching the inn in time to catch the coach, but now i began to wonder myself whether the thing could be done. nowadays every boy has a watch; then they were a rarer possession. i had no means of telling the time, but guessed we had none to spare. on i went, the man with the box trudging behind me. it soon became evident that, burdened as he was, he could not keep up with me unless i moderated my pace; and at length, when we reached the top of a rather stiff hill, he was obliged to stop and put down the trunk, in order to rest and regain his breath. the sunshine sparkled on the frosted trees and hedges. it was one of those clear, still winter mornings when sounds carry a long distance, and as we waited there came to our ears the far-off "toot-toot" of a horn. it was the coach signalling its approach to round green. i sprang to my feet, and abandoning my box to its fate, rushed off along the road, with some wild notion of stopping the coach and leaving word for my luggage to be sent on. but i might as well have attempted to overtake the vehicle which had carried off my companions on the previous day. the inn was still more than a mile distant, and when at length, flushed and panting, i arrived in front of the building, the only trace to be seen of the _regulator_ was a glimpse of the steaming horses, which had worked the last stage, being led away by an hostler in the direction of the stables. accustomed though i was to take hard knocks at school, i must say that i could have sat down and cried with vexation. pulling myself together, i walked into the house, and there encountering peter judson, the landlord, and his wife, a stout, good-natured body, who always took a kindly interest in us boys, in a few words i related exactly what had happened. "what stuff and nonsense not allowing him to go home with the rest!" exclaimed mrs. judson. "it just serves that old dr. bagley right, his chaise being broken!--well, my dear," she continued, "i don't see there's anything to be done but for you to go back, and make a fresh start again to-morrow. the butcher will pass in about an hour's time; he is going ashbridge way, and would take you along with him in his cart." "oh, i'm not going back," i answered doggedly. "look here," i added, struck with a sudden idea: "i'll wait here, and go on by the night coach. i don't mind the cold, and i should get home to castlefield in time for breakfast to-morrow morning." "it's not certain you'd find room," muttered peter, "unless you booked a place beforehand. there's a good many travelling now, just before christmas." "oh, they'd stow him away somewhere, a little chap like him," remarked mrs. judson. just then a man's head appeared at the door of the bar-parlour in which we were talking, and i recognized bob, the head stableman, who had been passing down the passage and had overheard our conversation. "there's the _true blue_ put on extra to-day for the jail delivery," he remarked. "the young gen'leman might get through to castlefield all right on that. i don't suppose he'd have any particular objection to going along of the 'birds,' seeing they're well looked after!" the exact meaning of this speech i did not comprehend, but i gathered from it that there was a chance of my going on by an extra coach, which would pass before the mail, and i at once jumped at the opportunity. "oh yes; i'll go on by that," i exclaimed. "what time is it due?" "about half-past four," answered the man. judson and his wife looked at each other and then at me. "i don't see why he shouldn't go," remarked the latter. "george'll look after him all right. besides, his friends will be expecting him to-day, and'll be sure to be sitting up. he ought to be home just afore or after midnight." it was, accordingly, settled that i was to go on by the _true blue_, which was due to pass at half-past four. the man appeared shortly after with my box. i gave him his mug of beer, and then settled down to while away the time as best i could till the coach should arrive. i looked over some back numbers of the _welmington advertiser_, went outside and chatted with the stablemen, and joined the landlord and his wife at their midday dinner. slowly the afternoon wore away. mrs. judson had forced me to eat a hearty tea--"to keep out the cold," as the good soul put it--and i was standing warming myself by the taproom fire talking to judson, when, happening to turn my head, i saw a man's face pressed close against the outside of the window. by this time it was quite dark. i could see nothing more of the stranger than his face, but from the way in which he moved his head it seemed to me that he was endeavouring to get a glimpse of the old eight-day clock which stood in a corner of the room behind the bar. perceiving that i was looking at something, the landlord turned also, but had hardly done so when the face disappeared. we waited for a moment, expecting that the stranger would enter the inn; then, as he did not appear, judson strolled outside to see what the man wanted. i waited some time, and at length the landlord returned. "you saw that fellow outside, didn't you, sir?" he asked. "well, it's curious i can't see no trace of him anywhere. he looked rather a rough customer. i wonder what he wanted." we had little time for speculation, for hardly had my companion finished speaking when the cheerful note of the horn gave warning that the coach was approaching; and the quiet little inn woke up at once with an unwonted show of life and bustle. great was my delight, as the guard of the coach entered the room, to recognize our old friend george woodley, who, i afterwards discovered, had been changed from the _regulator_ to the _true blue_; and in a few words i explained to him the situation in which i was placed. "oh, very well, sir," he answered, "come along; there's a seat outside, and we'll look after you all right." i followed him down the passage and outside, where the fresh horses were just being put to--the glaring lamps of the coach sending forth rays of light into the darkness ahead, which seemed to make it all the more intense, though stars twinkled overhead. as we stepped into the road we were greeted with a roar of men's voices singing, without much regard to tune or time. the sound came from the outside passengers, who seemed to be diverting themselves with a sort of rough taproom chorus. i remember noticing that the usual pile of luggage on the roof was missing, and to my surprise the box-seat by the side of the coachman was vacant. into this lofty perch it was that i now climbed; and as the driver gathered up his reins, on the point of starting, an incident happened which caught my attention. a man emerged from the deep shadow of the hedge at the roadside, and springing lightly on to the near front wheel, said in a hoarse whisper,-- "is that you, ned? good-bye, old man! here, shake hands. good-bye--god bless you!" there followed a sharp metallic jingle, which caused me to turn my head; and then it was that, for the first time, i became aware of the fact that the men behind me were all fettered. chapter ix. the rising. tom barker, the coachman, had just given the word to the hostler to "let 'em go!" when judson came running out of the lighted doorway of the inn with something in his hand. "here's a hare and a brace of pheasants the squire wants delivered to dr. plumer of castlefield, tom," he said. "they may as well go on by you. i'll hang 'em on the lamp iron." "all right," muttered barker, and off we went. to sit beside the driver was in those days considered a very privileged position, and i felt not a little proud of the honour, in spite of the fact that i was filled with a feeling of uneasiness and astonishment at what i had just discovered with regard to my fellow-travellers. the good-natured driver must have guessed my thoughts, for he turned to me, remarking,-- "i suppose you know what sort of a load we've got to-night, sir?" "well, no--not exactly," i replied. "why, it's the jail delivery off to botany bay," was the answer. "and what's the 'jail delivery'?" i asked, remembering that i had heard the words before, but still in doubt as to their exact meaning. "why, these is all jail-birds off to a warmer climate like the swallers," answered tom, chuckling at his own grim joke, and skilfully winding up the long lash of his whip. "they've all been condemned to transportation at welmington assizes, and now they're on their way from jail to the hulks at portsmouth." any doubt as to the correctness of this statement was dispelled by the convicts themselves, who launched out once more into their uproarious song, "we're off to botany bay," accompanying their chant with a weird jingling of their chains. this last sound sent a momentary thrill of horror through me, for i had never before seen human beings chained like brute beasts. "they're all right!" continued tom. "they've got the ruffles on, and they're all fast to the rail," he added, referring to an iron rail which ran across the coach behind the seat on the roof, to keep the luggage from slipping forward. "they can't do no harm. all the same, i've carried loads i liked better." "how many are there?" i inquired. "ten, and two warders--one inside, and t'other out. there's one they've got inside, a regular highflier--rodwood his name is. he's sentenced for life, i believe. the only wonder is he's escaped being hung." "what was his crime?" "forgery--at least that's what they've got him for; but they say he's a desperate villain--one as'll stop at nothing when his blood is up, and would think no more of killing a man as came in his way than you or i might of knocking down a rat in a stable. well, he's off safe enough now for t'other side of the world, and i hope they'll keep him there." the convicts continued to sing and shout, then grew quieter, apparently tired by their exertions, though every now and again one or more of them burst out afresh in a forced manner, as though bent on making a display of bravado and unconcern. once or twice, in the pauses of their singing, and amid the clatter of the horses' hoofs and the rumble of the wheels, i remember catching a slight sound, the origin of which it was impossible for even my sharp ears to clearly distinguish, but which i attributed to the swaying and grating of the lamp-iron on which the game had been hung. on and on we rattled through the darkness. tom and i exhausted our topics of conversation, and for the time being relapsed into silence. guilty as i knew my fellow-passengers were of serious crimes, i could not help in a way feeling sorry for them, and contrasting their journey with mine--i myself on the way to the enjoyment of a jolly christmas holiday with friends at home, and they to banishment from their native land, and to hard servitude beyond the sea. the cold, too, was intense. i felt it, though warmly clad, and made sure that the poor wretches on the seats behind must be chilled to the bone. even burly tom barker, protected with a driving coat and a big shawl, growled out that "it was a sharp un to-night, and no mistake," by which i understood him to imply that it was freezing hard. at length, at the end of a stage, as we drew up outside an inn very similar to the sportsman, tom prepared to dismount from his perch, and invited me to do the same. i preferred, however, to remain where i was, and was watching the stablemen removing the horses, when, to my surprise, i heard a man's voice behind me pronounce my name. "mr. eden." turning sharply, i found the convict directly behind me leaning forward in his seat. the bright light which shone out through the open door of the inn fell directly on his face, and i was shocked to recognize the rugged features of the man lewis, in whose boat at rockymouth, on more than one occasion, miles and i had gone fishing. "excuse me, sir," continued the man. "i knew you as soon as you got up at round green. maybe you've heard from mr. miles how i come to this. a tussle with the preventive men was what done it. i'm no thief." had it not been for the sadness of the situation, i could almost have smiled at this fresh proof of the dogged conviction, entertained by this man and his class, that defrauding the revenue was no crime. "i should like to have said good-bye to mr. miles," continued lewis. "give him my respects when you see him. i suppose, sir, you haven't got such a thing as a bit of baccy about you?" remembering our holiday excursions, and somehow contrasting his present hapless condition with the freedom of the great sea, i could not but pity the unhappy fellow. i shook my head, signifying that i had not. the next moment tom barker emerged from the inn, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. he clambered into his place; there was a "give 'em their heads, dick," and we were off again. the next stage was not accomplished quite so successfully as the previous part of the journey. after a time one of the wheelers went lame. on examination, it proved to have been badly shod, and at the end of another mile tom pulled up at a wayside blacksmith's to have the offending nail extracted. here we had to wait some little time while the smith, who had stopped work for the day, was fetched from his cottage, which was down a dark lane, and not easy to find. it was during this pause in the journey, after the coach had remained stationary for about twenty minutes, that a man thrust his head out of the window and demanded, in loud and peremptory tones, the reason of the delay. "see here, guard," he cried, "this sort of thing won't do! i'm due aboard one of the king's ships to-morrow!" the convicts sent up a shout of laughter at this reference to the hulk for which they were bound, and i was soon aware that the speaker was not the warder, as i had at first imagined, but the man rodwood of whom tom had spoken. he kept up the joke with a few more sentences of a similar kind, until the gruff command, "stow that!" from the warder caused him to subside once more into his seat. he spoke like an educated gentleman, and with the air of one accustomed to command. indeed, i afterwards learned that he had once held a commission in the army, but owing to gambling debts had been obliged to sell out, whereupon he had entered upon a career of crime, which had terminated in a sentence of transportation for life. at length george woodley and the smith put in their appearance; the injured horse was attended to, and we were enabled to resume our journey. bowling along mile after mile in the darkness, it was difficult to judge how time was passing; but tom, glancing at his old, turnip-shaped watch as we left the smithy, muttered,-- "blessed if it ain't quarter-past eight, and we ain't got to tod's corner." the mention of the crossroads, where at the beginning of the summer holidays we had been met by the gig from coverthorne, caused my thoughts to fly off to the old house and the fun i had had with miles, both at the commencement of the previous holidays and during that long friendship which had been brought to such an untimely end. musing over the events of the holiday naturally led me back to a remembrance of the man with whom i had just been speaking. there he sat, bound for the opposite side of the globe; yet within half an hour we should pass within three miles of rockymouth, that native village which he might never behold again. if it had been daylight, we should by this time have caught a glimpse of the sea from the highway along which we were travelling, and the night air seemed flavoured with the salt odour of the ocean. though cold and weary, the convicts had once more commenced their song, as though, being debarred the free use of their limbs, they were determined to keep themselves warm with the exercise of their lungs. i had grown by this time so much accustomed to their presence as to hardly notice their shouting; tired out with the day's adventures, only the fear of falling from my lofty perch prevented my dropping off to sleep. even the sharp tingling of my ears would not have kept me awake. my chin kept falling with a jerk upon my breast, and the clatter of hoofs and the song of the prisoners mingled strangely with momentary fancies that i was back at school, or was talking with the loved ones at home. at length i was roused up broad awake by the coach stopping. the road was very dark, owing to its being overshadowed by a number of tall trees. i peered about me, and catching sight of a ruined cottage with half of its thatched roof fallen in, i recognized the spot at once, and knew that we were come to within about a mile of tod's corner. just beyond the glare of our lamps was the brow of a steep and dangerous hill, and we had pulled up while george jumped down and put on the drag. in fancy i can see now the dark figure of tom barker beside me, reins in one hand and whip in the other, waiting for the signal to proceed. the convicts had ceased their singing, and all was quiet except for the impatient scrape of one of the leader's hoofs. i heard the tinkle of the drag as woodley loosed the chain; then on the roof behind some one gave a short, sharp whistle. exactly what happened next i did not fully realize till later. two men suddenly seized tom barker from behind, and a desperate struggle ensued. the silence was broken by an outburst of horrible threats and cursing, while, to make matters worse, the horses, startled by the noise and the fall of the coachman's whip on the backs of the wheelers, sprang forward, and, as though knowing instinctively that something was wrong, gave every sign of commencing to bolt. i fear i cannot claim for myself any particular presence of mind: it was more the natural impulse of self-preservation which prompted me to act; for once let the horses start to gallop down that hill, and all our necks were as good as broken. fortunately, although i had never enjoyed the privilege of handling the ribbons on a stage-coach before, i was accustomed to horses. i seized the reins in the nick of time, just as they were slipping over the splashboard, and bracing myself for the effort, succeeded in bringing the team to a standstill. even as i did so tom barker was flung from his seat, and fell heavily into the road, where he lay like a log, stunned if not dead. terrified by this violence, i was about to spring down and make good my escape in the darkness, when i felt my arm seized in an iron grip, and a voice, which i recognized as belonging to the man lewis, spoke in my ear. "stay still, sir; you may get hurt if you try to run. i'll see you come to no harm." chapter x. highway pirates. it did not take me long to arrive at an understanding of the true state of affairs. the convicts had risen, overpowered their guards, and seized the coach. from scraps of conversation which passed between them, i subsequently learned that the man whom i had seen appear and disappear so mysteriously outside the sportsman inn was a friend of one of the prisoners, and, under the pretence of wishing him good-bye, had handed up a couple of small files, with which several of the men had freed themselves from their fetters. once or twice i had heard a slight grating noise, but, as i have already said, i had attributed the sound to the swaying of the lamp. by some method of communication such as criminals seem always able to establish, the three convicts inside had been informed of what was about to take place, so that at the same moment the outbreak took place on the roof they flung themselves on the warder who rode with them, and succeeded in holding him down and wresting from him the pistol with which he was armed. to a certain extent stupefied by the shock of this sudden surprise, i had but a confused notion of what took place during the next ten minutes. together with george woodley, who had also been seized, i was thrust to the side of the road, while a man told off to keep watch over us ordered us gruffly to sit down facing the hedge with our feet in the ditch, as a greater precaution against our making any sudden attempt to bolt. in this position we could only judge by the sounds and conversation going on behind us what was actually taking place. "better keep still, master eden," whispered george. "we'd be safer in a cage of wild beasts than among these men at this moment." obtaining the keys of the handcuffs from the pockets of their guards, those men who had not already freed themselves from their fetters were speedily liberated; the warders were now gagged, chained, and, as a further precaution, bound with the broad straps used for securing luggage on the coach roof. not till this had been done was any heed paid to poor tom barker, who lay in the road exactly where he had fallen. "is he dead?" i heard a voice inquire callously. "can't say," was the gruff reply. "there's blood from his head on the stones. hand down that lamp, and let's have a look. he's breathing," continued the speaker after a pause. "i should say he'll come round again before long." at that moment a man, whom i recognized at once as rodwood, bade every one be silent and listen to what he had to say. the hum of voices ceased, and the men gathered round the speaker, who raised himself by standing on one of the steps of the vehicle. "whatever happens now, there's no turning back," he began; "and what's to be done must be done quickly. the mail to welmington will pass before long; and what's more, they'll be expecting us at the end of this stage, so after a while they'll send a man back to find out what's happened. for the present we're all in the same boat, and we'd better all pull together. the thing will be to choose a leader. now, who'll you have?" "yourself," cried a voice, and to this there was a unanimous murmur of approbation. "very well," exclaimed the newly-appointed captain, jumping down into the centre of his gang. "then the first thing is to get these two 'screws' out of the road. they'd have shot us if they could have got at their barkers, and i propose to serve 'em the same way. it's the safest plan. hand me the pistols!" the awful coolness with which the man made this terrible proposal thrilled me with horror. left to himself, the fellow would, i feel sure, have carried out his abominable intention; but his comrades, hardened and reckless offenders as some of them were, could not be persuaded to follow him to such extremes of crime. "no, no, rodwood," cried one and another; "there's no need to risk being scragged. hoist them inside this empty cottage; that'll give us a fair start before they're likely to be found. put the coachman in there too, and tie his legs; he won't find voice enough to shout for help for some time yet, even if any one chanced to hear him." the warders and poor tom were accordingly half lifted, half dragged inside the ruined cottage, and the men came back to decide what was to be done next. "where are we going?" asked several voices. "well, we must clear out from here," answered rodwood. "the whole countryside will be raised up against us before morning. we've got a coach and horses at our disposal, so why not go off in that? i'll drive, if no other man wants to handle the ribbons." "that's all very well," muttered a man named ned arch, the convict to whom the file had been given. "that's all very well, but we can't go farther than the end of this stage. they'll be on the lookout there to change the horses, and they'll see at once that something's wrong if we try to drive through without stopping." "true," answered rodwood. "we must get off the main road." it was at this point that i heard lewis suddenly break in on the conversation. "if there's no better plan going," he said, "why not make for the coast? we ain't above four miles from rockymouth, i reckon, and once there i'll undertake to hide you all in a place where you can lie for a time with no danger of being found. i've got friends there to whom, with a bit of care, we can apply for help; and with anything like luck we ought to be safe across the water, every one of us, by this day week." "bravo!" cried rodwood. "trust a bold 'free trader' for finding a way out of a tight corner. there's our plan of campaign all ready made." "look here," broke in the man who had been standing guard over myself and george woodley. "what's to be done with this pair, i'd like to know? you don't mean to leave 'em sitting here, i suppose?" "i'd forgotten about the guard and that boy," exclaimed rodwood. "take them across the field, and tie them each to a tree in the copse yonder; but gag them first." fortunately for us, this suggestion on the part of their leader did not meet with the approval of the other convicts. "don't be hard on the lad," said one. "if he hadn't pulled up the horses, we should most of us have had our necks broken." "woodley's a good fellow too," remarked another: "he gave us all the baccy he had on him. tied to a tree, that youngster will be dead of cold before morning; as for the 'screws,' why, they must take their chance." "well, these must take their chance too," returned rodwood angrily. "if they come to be mixed up in this business, that's their own lookout, and not our fault." "the boy will be frozen on a night like this," said a voice. "he did us a good turn, so why not take him with us? we shall find a chance of dropping him, and the guard too, later on." "take him with us!" retorted the leader. "we shall have enough trouble to get off as it is, without dragging a couple of informers round the country with us." a heated discussion followed. strange and out of place as it seemed in the breasts of such rascals, a sense of gratitude for what i had done, and for sundry little tokens of commiseration on the part of the kind-hearted george, mingled with their delight at finding themselves so far on the road to freedom, prompted them to show some return in preserving us from injury. it was freezing hard, and the cold was likely to increase still more before morning; therefore it was more than likely that a boy like myself, already tired out with the journey and the long day's adventures, if tied to a tree without the chance of moving about to keep up the circulation, would ultimately perish from the effects of the exposure, if he did not actually die before he was discovered. for the warders there was certainly more hope: the walls of the cottage afforded them a certain amount of shelter from the cutting wind, and, as i afterwards discovered, they had been flung down on some straw, which added to the warmth of their clothing. rodwood might have ordered us to be put in the same place, but he feared that, if too many prisoners were huddled together in such a confined space, they might roll together on the floor, and in some way contrive to loosen each other's bonds. it need hardly be said that i listened with straining ears and beating heart as the discussion proceeded. from woodley's attitude i could tell that he, too, was on the alert; and but for the fact that our captors were now in possession of firearms, i think he might have attempted to spring to his feet and break away from the group with a sudden rush. at length lewis turned the balance in our favour by declaring that unless we were allowed to accompany the party he would not act as guide, at the same time promising to hold himself responsible for our safe custody until the gang should have effected their escape. rodwood perhaps knew that his authority over the party was, after all, of a very nominal kind; and fearing to risk a mutiny before he should have made his position as captain still more assured, he at length gave in, merely insisting that we should be secured in some way to prevent the possibility of our escape. "once they get free we're as good as lagged again.--but," he added menacingly, turning in our direction, "you'd better try no tricks on with me, d'ye hear? there's no turning back as far as i'm concerned. it's life or death for me, and i'll make it a life-or-death matter for any one who tries to come between me and liberty." without further discussion woodley and i were, accordingly, ordered to take our places inside the coach, where, to make doubly certain of our safekeeping, we were handcuffed together. it was no good expostulating; we could only submit, and feel thankful at receiving no worse treatment at the hands of these desperate men. but the grip of that cold steel on my wrist made me realize, more than anything else had done hitherto, the perilous nature of our situation. there was no knowing how long the friendly attitude on the part of the convicts would last, or what would be our fate if they were pursued, or were hard pressed in their attempt to escape. precious as every moment was to them, they still delayed making a start. one fellow, in whom the plundering instinct seemed to rise even stronger than that of personal safety, had opened the hind boot, and discovered, stowed away there, a large christmas hamper which, among other things, contained two bottles of wine. breaking the neck of one of these, and using a metal cup belonging to a flask found in the pocket of the coachman, the men drank all round, pledging each other with rough jests and hoarse laughter. rodwood alone chafed at this waste of time, but once more found his authority of too brief duration to enforce obedience to his wishes. the men would probably have insisted on discussing the contents of the second bottle, had not something happened which drove even the thoughts of liquor from their minds. clear and distinct on the frosty air came the clatter of horses' hoofs, and at the same moment the man who had been standing at the heads of our leaders called back the unwelcome news that a coach was coming from the direction of tod's corner. it was then that, for the first time, rodwood really asserted himself, and proved his natural capacity as a leader. among his followers the sudden alarm created something like a panic; left to themselves they would certainly have abandoned the _true blue_ where it stood, and made off over the neighbouring hedges and fields--a proceeding the fatal consequences of which, as far as their own interests were concerned, it was not difficult to realize. with curses, and even with blows, rodwood dashed here and there, seizing the men who were already turning to fly, and forcing them to take their places on the coach. "as for you two," he said hurriedly, poking his head through the coach window, "if you value your lives, keep your mouths shut.--you understand, nat?" turning to the man who rode inside to act as our guard. "yes, i understand," muttered this ruffian grimly. "they won't have the chance to say much, i'll warrant!" the speaker was one of the least friendly disposed towards us of the whole gang. he had armed himself with a big stone, and sitting directly opposite woodley and myself, would certainly have brained one or the other of us if we had made the faintest attempt to give an alarm. in another moment there was a jerk as the vehicle started and went slowly grinding down the steep hill. about half-way we met the other coach coming up, and for one moment, as the glare of the lamps shone full upon us, i held my breath, wondering whether the escape would be discovered. the man nat raised his stone in a threatening manner, but neither george nor i had any intention of risking a smashed skull by an outcry which would probably be lost amid the clatter of hoofs and the noise of the wheels. the tension lasted only a few seconds. rodwood, who had picked up and put on poor tom's characteristic beaver hat, played his part well, returning the gruff salutation of the driver of the mail with the greatest coolness. we slipped by into the darkness, and the crisis was past. so, handcuffed to woodley, the captive of a gang of highway pirates, i entered on the third stage of that eventful holiday journey. chapter xi. the last of the "true blue." under the guidance of lewis, who acted as pilot, we must have turned down a lane before reaching tod's corner, and on leaving the main road our two large lamps were promptly extinguished. the wonder was that the cumbrous vehicle was not overturned twenty times in the first mile. any ordinary driver might have refused to make the attempt in broad daylight, and on a dark night it needed skill as well as courage, both of which, however, rodwood seemed to possess in a marked degree. i heard afterwards that in his palmy days he had owned and driven a coach of his own, which no doubt accounted for the masterly way in which he handled the ribbons. the hour would now have been considered late by country people. there was little chance of any one being about; the chief risk, and that a remote one, lay in the possibility of encountering and being challenged by a "riding officer," a branch of the preventive service whose duty it was during the night to patrol and examine lanes and byroads near the coast, and thus hamper the movements of the smugglers on shore. though i did not know it till later, this chance of being stopped had been discussed by lewis and the leader of the gang, who, in the event of such a thing taking place, was fully prepared to resort to desperate measures, and drove with a pistol ready cocked lying on the seat by his side. on and on we went, jolting and lurching like a fishing-smack in a choppy sea. there was no singing now; the men, as might have been expected, were watchful, and intent on making good their escape. the coach's disappearance from the highroad might not be discovered for some hours yet; on the other hand, any belated farm-labourer, hearing or seeing us as we lumbered past in the darkness, would surely guess that something unusual was happening, and might raise an alarm. it is difficult for me to recall my own personal feelings at this stage of the adventure. i think i had too much confidence in the good will shown by lewis and the other men whom we had in a small way befriended to feel really afraid. i was chiefly curious to know where the hiding-place existed in which we should be so securely stowed. perhaps it was some secret loft or cellar, many of which miles had declared existed at rockymouth. here we should no doubt lie till the following evening, when the convicts would continue their escape by land or water, and george woodley and i would be set free. how long we continued jogging onward at a walking pace i cannot say; we should certainly have been overturned had we attempted to go faster, and even at that slow rate it seemed to me that we must have gone miles beyond our destination, and possibly have travelled far along some byroad running parallel with the coast. then suddenly the coach stopped; there was a murmur of conversation, and we heard the men clambering down from the roof. a moment later the door was opened, and a voice ordered us to dismount--a feat which it was not altogether easy for woodley and me to accomplish, still fettered as we were, wrist to wrist. the moment i was outside the vehicle the fresh salt breath of the sea saluted my cheeks and nostrils. we stood on the high ground above rockymouth, and the narrow lane along which we had come now emerged from between high hedges and cultivated ground, and crossed a stretch of open common or moorland. a mile distant, and far beneath us, the little haven snuggled down in the sheltering valley, the only sign of its existence being one tiny point of light from some cottage window where perhaps watchers sat beside a sickbed. the last of the outside passengers was helped down from the roof as though he had suffered some injury and was partially disabled. i could not see clearly enough to distinguish what was really the matter with him, but i noticed that in all his subsequent movements he seemed to be led or supported by one of his companions. by mutual consent the men gathered round us in a group, while the tired horses shook their heads and champed their bits. there we stood, a strange company, and in the silence, broken only by their heavy breathing, a feeling of apprehension began to take hold of me, and i wondered what would happen next. "what's the time?" demanded rodwood abruptly. "the guard's got a watch; just have a look, some of you." the "flink" of a flint and steel was sufficient to show the position of the hands on the broad face of the old-fashioned timepiece, and a voice murmured, "close on ten." "well, boys," began rodwood, "the first question is, what's to be done with the coach? we can't go to sea in her; and if we leave her here, it's as good as giving the whole countryside information as to our whereabouts." for a moment there was a silence. a coach and four is not a thing that can be hidden away in the nearest hedgerow, and hitherto the convicts had regarded it merely as a means of escape. at length the man named nat, who had ridden inside as our guard, spoke up. he had struck me all along as a reckless rascal, and his suggestion certainly confirmed the opinion i had formed. "why not send her over the cliffs?" he asked. "no chance of her being found then. i know this coast--a sheer drop into the water in most places. the horses can be turned loose on the common, and i don't suppose they'll be noticed for a day or so. even when they are found, no one can say very well where they come from." this outrageous proposal seemed to appeal to the leader of the gang. "bravo!" he exclaimed. "come on, my lads! where's the 'free trader'? he'll show the way." the idea of the old _true blue_ being wantonly hurled over the cliffs into the sea was too much for poor george woodley. he burst out into a torrent of angry expostulations, but was promptly silenced by rodwood, who flourished a pistol in his face, at the same time bidding him hold his tongue unless he wished to follow the coach on its last journey. with lewis and rodwood in front, two men leading the horses, and the rest of the party, george and myself included, following behind in a sort of funeral procession, we went stumbling across the common. once i thought i heard lewis expressing some dislike to the business in hand, but his objections, if such they were, were speedily overridden. rodwood was beginning to feel his feet more as leader of the party, and enforced obedience to his commands with a swagger and bluster which was well calculated to win respect from his jail-bird following. the murmur of the sea grew more and more distinct as we neared the dark line of headlands; then, at length, the swaying coach came to a standstill. "now, then, get their clothes off them!" ordered rodwood. the command had reference to the horses, from which the harness was speedily stripped and flung inside the coach. with a cut of the whip they were then driven off into the darkness. as the common extended some distance down the coast, it was probable that before daylight the animals would have strayed far from the spot where they had been liberated. "save the lamps," was the next command, "and see if there's anything in the fore or hind boot." owing to the peculiar character of its passengers, the coach was found to be carrying practically nothing in the way of luggage, except my own trunk and the one large hamper already mentioned, which had been pushed into the boot for conveyance to castlefield, probably to relieve the mail, which was sure to be heavily laden at this time of the year. from the gruff remarks of the would-be plunderers, it was evident that they were disappointed. it was probably within the knowledge of most of them that a stage coach sometimes carried a valuable cargo; in fact, not more than two years after the date of my story a bank parcel containing notes and gold to the value of £ , was stolen from a coach running between glasgow and edinburgh--the thieves in this instance travelling as inside passengers, and cutting a hole with brace-bit and saw through the body of the coach into the boot, from which the plunder was then extracted. however, a basket of provisions was, in a way, a valuable find; for the question of food was likely to become a serious problem before the members of the gang regained their full freedom. rodwood therefore told off two of his followers to carry the basket, refused to allow the men to drink the other bottle of wine, and bade one of the party unhang the game from the lamp-iron and carry it slung over his shoulder. my box was forced open and speedily overhauled; but as it contained little besides spare clothing, it was flung back into the coach. it would have been useless for me to expostulate and claim my property--the rascals were not likely to leave such a piece of evidence lying about on the grass--and i held my tongue. "it's half-tide," i heard lewis mutter. "there's a ledge of rock she'll land on, but the flood will carry off the wreckage." the last moments of the _true blue_ had come. "turn her round and back her over," ordered rodwood. awed by the thought of such wanton destruction, i stood with my eyes fixed upon the dark body of the coach, as for half a minute or so it rocked and swayed against the sky-line; then, with a subdued shout from the men, it suddenly disappeared. a moment later, from far beneath came a mighty crash of woodwork and the sharp tinkle of shivered glass. george woodley groaned, and ground his teeth with rage. but for the fact that we were still chained together and i held him back, i believe he would have rushed upon the gang and fought them with his bare hands. "the murderous villains!" he muttered. "fancy throwing a stage-coach into the sea, as if it were nothing more than an old fish-basket!" "steady, george," i whispered. "keep your mouth shut. we're in the hands of these men, and they'll stop at nothing now to get their liberty. be thankful they didn't knock us on the head at the first, or leave us tied to a tree to perish with the cold." once more the men instinctively formed a group round their leader, to learn what should be done next. "i expect they're all abed in the village by this time," said lewis; "still, there's nothing like making sure. there's a little place hereabouts where the rest of you can lie snug while i go down and put the oars in the boat, and see that all's quiet." at the mention of the boat i pricked up my ears. was it possible that some smuggling lugger was then off the coast, and that the gang were going straight on board? if so, what was to become of woodley and myself? surely they would not want to carry us with them across to france! in another hour, perhaps, we should regain our liberty. a short distance away was a cavity in the ground--a sort of dried pit surrounded and overhung by gorse bushes. into this, by lewis's direction, we all crept, and lay or squatted in a huddled mass upon the ground. it was bitterly cold; my teeth chattered, and i was glad enough to creep close to george woodley for the extra warmth. if rodwood had been allowed to carry out his intention of binding us to a couple of trees in the lonely copse, the pair of us must certainly have been frozen stiff by morning. i could only hope that the shelter of the cottage and the warmth of the straw would preserve the warders and tom from a similar fate. it still wanted more than an hour to midnight, yet it seemed as if the darkness must have lasted a week, and i could hardly bring myself to believe that it was but a few hours since i had left the shelter of the sportsman. the convicts began to talk to each other in low tones, the chief topic of conversation being the likelihood of pursuit. would the disappearance of the coach from the highroad have been discovered by now? this might or might not be the case. breakdowns sometimes occurred which caused delay, and in case of anything serious the guard sometimes rode forward on one of the horses to obtain assistance. "they must have been expecting of us at the stage beyond tod's corner," said one fellow; "and most likely after a time they'll send a man back as far as the last stopping-place. he'll hear we passed there all right, and then the question'll be what's become of us." the speaker chuckled, as though picturing to himself the astonishment of the stableman when it dawned on him that a coach and four, with guard, driver, and passengers, had apparently vanished into thin air, at some spot on the ten or twelve miles of dark, lonely road over which he had just ridden. "it's bound to come out some time," answered a voice which i recognized as rodwood's; "but it'll take time. granted that the man has ridden back by now and found out that we're gone--well, what's he going to do? he and the rest will waste another hour talking; or perhaps they'll wait for the mail to come along, and tell the folks on that what's happened. then it's ten to one they'll take it for granted that we've made off further inland. no; we're safe enough at present. with anything like luck we ought to have a fair start till morning." hardly had the words been uttered when there came a warning "hist!" from some member of the gang whose sense of hearing must have been particularly acute. men who go in constant peril of losing their liberty need no second hint of the presence of danger, and at once a deathlike silence prevailed. so infectious was the suppressed excitement that i felt the strain as much as if i myself had been an escaping prisoner. my heart thumped, and i held my breath, eager to ascertain the cause of the alarm. for some moments i heard nothing; then, distinct and not far distant, there was a metallic tinkle as of a light chain. a pause followed, and then the sound was repeated, this time nearer to the pit, while at the same instant an exactly similar noise came from some little distance away in the opposite direction. on that wild spot, at such an hour, any sound not attributable to the wild animals or the forces of nature might have awakened the listener's curiosity; but in the present instance it was calculated to arouse something more than idle speculation. not a man moved--they sat or crouched like figures of stone; and once again came that ominous jingle, exactly like the sound that might be caused by the movements of a man whose limbs were fettered. "_it's the 'screws'!_" exclaimed one fellow in a horrified whisper, with that morbid superstition which is sometimes found in criminals. "this frost has done for them, and now they're following us with their ghosts!" "shut your mouth, you fool!" replied his companion fiercely. "if that's living men after us with the 'ruffles,' they won't put 'em on me! i'll make a few more ghosts before that happens!" it was evident that the whole party had arrived at the same conclusion--that, by some means or other, they had already been tracked down by pursuers and their whereabouts discovered. how this could have happened it was impossible to imagine; but there was no mistaking that sound--more than one person was moving towards us on the common, incautiously allowing their approach to be heralded by the jingling of chains. for the moment i think even rodwood forgot the presence of george woodley and myself; but even if the thought had occurred to either of us to do such a thing, it would have been madness for us to shout or give any signal betraying our whereabouts, as we should certainly have paid the penalty of our lives for such an act. the sharp tinkle sounded first on one side of the pit, and then on the other. noiselessly rodwood thrust his head forward into the centre of his followers. "they're coming up on both sides," he whispered. "it's that man lewis has done it," added the speaker, with an imprecation. "he's informed, to get his own liberty. this is a trap; but they won't take me out of it alive! now, lads, no backing out. there are ten of us, and if we all strike together we'll prove a match for them yet!" the words were followed by a click indicating the cocking of a pistol, and i noticed that the man nearest to me was working at a fragment of rock, endeavouring to dislodge it for use as a weapon. at any other time i think i should have openly contradicted this charge of treachery against the absent man. comparatively little as i knew of lewis, i felt sure that whatever his faults might have been, he was never untrue to his own code of honour. i was, however, wise enough to hold my tongue, for a word uttered just then had like to have been the last i had ever spoken. the clinking noise came nearer. there were long pauses between each repetition of the noise, as though the bearers were advancing cautiously, intending, when they got within easy distance of the pit, to carry the position with a final rush. now on either side of us they appeared to be close at hand; the fateful moment had surely arrived, and my heart seemed to stop beating. the rascal at my side had loosened his jagged stone, and was clutching it with murderous intent; while the rest of the gang crouched, ready to spring to action at a signal from their leader. then suddenly the man named nat broke out into a roar of hoarse laughter. the noise was, i think, more of a shock to the overstrained nerves of his comrades than a dozen pistol-shots. they sprang to their feet with a perfect howl of pent-up excitement. the next instant i fully expected their pursuers would leap down upon us, and the pit become the scene of a fierce conflict. instinctively i shrank back under the overhanging bushes; but, to my surprise, nothing happened. "ho, ho!" burst out the voice of nat above the confusion; "it's not the 'screws,' it's only some of those sheep! they chain them together out here on the coast, to prevent them straying." "keep quiet, you fool!" cried rodwood. "d'you want to wake up every man in rockymouth with your bull's roaring? silence, you noisy hound, or i'll crack your skull with the butt of this pistol!" however much inclined other members of the gang might have been to relieve their overstrung nerves with a laugh, rodwood's threat was enough to force them into silence. one man sprung out of the hollow, and returned a moment later confirming nat's statement regarding the sheep; and then, for the first time, i remembered having seen the animals on the cliffs, during my summer rambles with miles, grazing in couples fastened together with collars and a chain, to hamper their movements and prevent their wandering. it was certainly a ludicrous ending to what had seemed a tragic situation, but for my own part i was little inclined to laugh; and as the man beside me flung down his piece of rock, i could but feel thankful that the disturbance had proved a false alarm. once more the gang settled down to await the return of lewis, who at length appeared with the intelligence that all was quiet in the village. with rodwood and the old smuggler leading, and the rest of the party following in a straggling line, we made our way across the common and down a steep slope on the seaward side of the village. as george woodley and i stumbled along over the uneven ground the handcuffs jerked, and chafed our fettered wrists; but the chance of our giving them the slip in the darkness and rousing up a pursuit was too serious a risk for the convicts to make it likely that they would liberate us at that important moment of their escape. on we went in perfect silence, skirting the village; and now almost immediately beneath us lay the harbour, sheltered from the beat of the open sea by the curved stone jetty, which always reminded me of a defending arm, crooked at the elbow, shielding the small craft which sought its protection. they had no need of it on this particular night, for the sea could not have been calmer if the month had been june instead of december. close behind me came the man whom i had seen helped down from the roof of the coach; and now, from a muttered word uttered now and again, i gathered that he was blind. assisted, however, as before, by a comrade, he kept pace with the rest, and gave less trouble than might have been expected. we were half-way down the precipitous hillside when the leaders came to an abrupt halt--an example followed immediately by the rest of the party--and as we steadied ourselves, digging our heels into the ground, a voice cried,-- "listen!" it was the blind man who spoke. he had already uttered the word once before in a lower key, and i knew now that it was he who had given the first warning of the tinkling chains as we crouched in the pit. as i have already said, the sea was very calm; there was no surf beating on the rocks, and in addition to this it was one of those still, frosty nights when the slightest sound can be heard with great distinctness. sharp and clear, as though not more than a hundred yards distant, came the rhythmic clatter of a galloping horse. it was probably still the better part of a mile distant, descending the long, steep hill to the village; but the sides of the valley threw back and intensified the sound, so that an impression was given of the rider being close at hand. it was not likely that any one would gallop at headlong speed into rockymouth at close on midnight on a winter's night unless his business was urgent; and it did not take the escaped prisoners long to find a reason for the messenger's hot haste. "the murder's out!" cried rodwood. "they've guessed the direction we've gone in from the wheel-tracks. now we shall have every dog in the county set at our heels!" "it's one of the riding officers has got the news, i'll warrant!" answered lewis.--"come on, lads! only a nimble pair of feet will save you." "forward!" cried the man who now acted as our guard, at the same time giving george and myself a shove which nearly sent us headlong down the slope, while the whole party went plunging recklessly from ridge to ridge after the fleet-footed smuggler. once, as woodley made a false step, i thought my right wrist was broken, but we were too well aware of the mood of our companions to show any signs of hesitation. gaining the level ground, we rushed on past the few cottages which straggled out towards the sea; the men, careless now of the noise their heavy boots made on the rocky ground, tore along, thinking only of speed, and for the most part believing that the horseman was close at their heels. another moment, and we were stumbling breathlessly into the boat which lewis had already drawn alongside the jetty. down she sank under the unaccustomed load, until it seemed to me the gunnels were almost level with the water; then the damp stone wall began to recede--lewis had pushed off--and the next instant the oars were grinding in the rowlocks. slowly we gathered way, and cleared the end of the pier; a gentle heave betokened the open sea, and as we felt it a shouting was heard in the village. "we've got a start, anyway," muttered lewis, who was bending his back to a long, steady stroke. "hullo!" exclaimed one of the men, "there's a dog crouching under this seat. how did he get in the boat, i wonder?" "let him be," answered the smuggler. "he won't do no harm. he's mine, and met me in the village. he'd only sit and howl if we left him ashore." hardly had the words been uttered when the boat gave a sudden violent lurch, which brought the water rushing in over the side. had not george and i flung ourselves promptly to starboard, and thus brought all our weight to bear in the opposite direction, the overloaded craft would certainly have capsized, and flung all its occupants into the sea. in his excitement the convict who had taken the second oar had "caught a crab," and thus narrowly escaped bringing the adventures of the whole party to an untimely termination. "you lubber!" growled lewis.--"isn't there a man among you who can pull an oar?" "i can row if you'll free my hand," i exclaimed, not relishing the prospect of a watery grave, which was inevitable if this boatload of landsmen were once overturned. "yes, master eden, you'll do; i've seen you in a boat before," was the reply.--"for any sake cast off the boy's irons, some of you, and let him come forward." feeling rather proud, i fancy, as a boy might in proving himself superior to a number of grown men, i changed seats, and bent with a will to the oar, keeping time with the swing of lewis's figure, which was dimly visible in the gloom. thus the boat crept out to sea, and turning moved in a westerly direction down the coast. there was no sign or sound of pursuit; our departure from the harbour had evidently not been discovered. i was too much occupied with my oar to notice where we were going; but at last, when my arms were beginning to ache, and i feared i should have to ask to be relieved, lewis ceased rowing, bidding me do the same; then turning, to my surprise i found we were close to shore, while above us towered the face of a mighty cliff. flinging his oar over the stern, with a skilful twisting of his wrist the old sailor sculled the boat carefully towards the towering mass of rock. in another moment i thought we should strike, and prepared involuntarily for the expected shock; then a half-circle of blackness resolved itself into the narrow, tunnel-like mouth of a cave. gently we drifted through the opening, a man in the bows guiding us with his hand, until the darkness became absolutely impenetrable, and the intense stillness was broken only by the lapping of water against the sides of the cavern. this, then, was lewis's promised hiding-place, and his assertion that there would be no danger of the men being found seemed no idle boast. chapter xii. within the cavern. "hi there! one of you men forrard, light the lamp!" said lewis, ceasing in the motion of sculling. "let's see where we're going." his voice sounded strange and hollow, like that of a person speaking under an archway; and a rumbling echo of his words came back from the distance, showing that the cave was of considerable extent. rodwood had plundered a tinder-box from one of the warders, and the next moment the oarsman's request was responded to with the _click, click_ of flint and steel. even the strong glare of the big coach lamp did little more than reveal the surrounding darkness; the black water flashed and sparkled, and as the beam of light was directed from side to side the walls of the cavern loomed up out of the gloom. as yet there was no sign of the end of the cave, which was of a size altogether out of proportion to its narrow opening. it was lofty as well as long, and from the manner in which the walls went down perpendicularly into the sea, i imagined that there was a good depth of water beneath our keel. "turn the light ahead!" ordered lewis, and once more the sculling oar was set in motion. slowly we penetrated farther and farther into the mighty foundation of the great cliff; then suddenly there was a bump, which shook us on our seats. i thought at first that the boat had grounded on a rock; but she gathered way again, though with something grating against her side. "hullo!" came from the man who was acting the part of lookout in the bow; "there's something floating in the water." the lamp was brought to bear, and a number of dark objects were discovered alongside. "it's wreck-wood," said nat, leaning over the gunwale and grasping the end of a broken spar. "there's quite a lot of it, and cargo too. that over there looks like the top of a barrel." lewis bent down and examined the floating _debris_ with a critical eye. "the set of the current brings a good bit of driftwood in here," he mumbled, "specially after a south-easterly gale. hum! that's bad," he continued, as something seemed to catch his eye. "looks uncommon as if one of the boats had gone ashore, or maybe been driven on sawback reef. it was blowing hard a week back; i could tell that even in the jail at welmington." once more the boat moved on, a slight jar every now and then bespeaking the presence of more wreckage; then a shout from the lookout warned us that we had reached the end of our journey. the cavern terminated in a platform of rock raised some six or eight feet above high-water level, and having a surface which might in all have afforded as much space as the floor of a fairly large sized room; some niches and ledges in the side of the cavern formed a sort of rude natural staircase from the water's edge, while a rusty iron ring seemed to show that boats had been moored there before. "now then, up with you!" said lewis. "but mind what you're about. there's water running down from the roof which makes the rock uncommon slippery." there being no longer any chance of our giving them the slip, and perhaps mindful of the service i had rendered in manning the second oar, the convicts seemed once more fairly well disposed towards george and myself. one of them lent me a hand as i clambered up the rock; another performed a similar service for woodley. the hamper, the dead game, and the two lamps were transferred to the platform from the boat, and lewis made fast the painter. the dog had scrambled up the rocks almost as soon as the boat touched. he had evidently been there before. "well, i'm hungry," cried one man; "i could chaw a leather strap! just open that basket." "can't we start a fire?" inquired another fellow, whose teeth were chattering loudly. "i'm perished with the cold. there's wood enough in the water to burn for a week; and though it is wet, if we use the dry straw and the hamper for kindling, we shall be able to make a start, and once having done that, it'll be easy enough with a little care to keep going." numbed and chilled to the bone, the prospect of warmth seemed to appeal to the majority of the gang even more strongly than the necessity for food, and under rodwood's direction they set to work to prepare fuel for a fire. in order that the hamper itself might be broken up for kindlings, it had first to be emptied of its contents, which were found to consist of a good-sized turkey, some mince-pies, a small cheese, some sausages, and a quantity of apples; also the bottle of wine which had not yet been opened. so utterly incongruous and out of place did this christmas fare appear when exposed to view in that sea cavern, under circumstances so extraordinary, that the group of onlookers gave vent to their feelings with a burst of laughter. "i take it wery kind of the folks as packed the 'amper for this 'ere picnic," said one of the convicts. "they evidently remembered my weakness for sarsengers!" a long fissure in the rock, which was henceforth known as the "cupboard," afforded a suitable place for stowing away the provisions; and a tarred plank having in the meantime been fished out of the water, one burly fellow proceeded to split it into small pieces with the aid of a large clasp-knife belonging to george. a fire was soon kindled in the centre of the platform, more wreckage was collected by lewis in the boat, and either heaped on the blaze or piled around it to dry. the sight of the crackling flames seemed to have an immediate cheering effect on the men, who gathered round, warming their numbed hands and exchanging jokes on the subject of their escape. "now then," exclaimed their leader, as the fire began to burn clear on one side, "make a spit, some of you, and bring along that turkey. you don't expect a party of gentlemen to eat it raw like a pack of starving dogs, i suppose?" some of these jail-birds seemed to have a wonderful knack of making the most of any material which might come to hand. utilizing some pieces of wreck-wood, shaped roughly with the clasp-knife, they rigged up a kind of spit, which promised at least to prevent the necessity of our devouring the turkey raw. at the same time lewis took the dipper from the boat, and placed it in such a position that it caught the thin trickle of fresh water which, as has already been mentioned, ran down one side of the rock. i thought then, and have done so many a time since, how little the unknown person who packed that hamper imagined how and by whom the provisions which it contained would be consumed! possibly it was the gift of the wife of some gentleman farmer, intended as christmas cheer for some relative in the town. now, instead of reaching its destination in the ordinary manner, it was supplying the needs of a band of outlaws in the fastness of a sea cavern. there was nothing particularly appetizing about the half-cooked meat divided up with the big blade of a pocket-knife, and subsequently conveyed to the mouth with the fingers; but i myself felt ravenous, after the riding, tramping, and rowing in the cold night air. i was glad enough to receive my portion of the bird, and to eat it without the accompaniment of bread or even salt. the water in the dipper was heated over the fire, and wine added from the remaining bottle. the negus had, to be sure, a brackish flavour, but it sent a glow of warmth through our chilled bodies, and when the bowl was emptied a second brew was demanded. at length the strange meal ended, and rodwood ordered the lamp to be extinguished. "it won't burn for ever," he said, "and we may want the light before we've finished." with their faces illumined only with the flicker of the fire, the convicts gathered round to get as much warmth as possible, woodley and i being forced to join the circle for the same reason; while old joey retired to a corner, and there crunched up the bones and fragments which had been flung to him by the men. being but a boy, i think i was to a certain extent fascinated by the strangeness of the adventure. it seemed as if i personally were sharing the excitements as well as the hazards of the escape, though in my case there was no sense of guilt to lie heavy on my conscience. i might have been a prisoner wrongfully convicted making a dash for liberty. the delusion was perhaps strengthened by the fact that up to the present the personal risk and danger i had run had not been very great. of rodwood i certainly felt afraid, regarding him as an unscrupulous ruffian; but the remainder of the gang, perhaps with the exception of nat, i believed certainly bore us more good will than ill, and would set us at liberty again as soon as they could do so without endangering the success of their own plans. so, in a comparatively tranquil frame of mind, i stretched my tired limbs on the rock beside woodley, and listened to the conversation. "well, and how long do you reckon we're going to stay here?" demanded nat. "we can't stir to-morrow--that is, not in daylight," answered rodwood; "and i'm not sure if it'll be safe to do so at night either. there'll be too sharp a lookout kept for some days to make it over safe for us to take our walks abroad." "why can't we stay here for a week," said one fellow, "until the chase has been abandoned? if the food runs short, we could get more some night from the village; at least," he added with a laugh, "i reckon i could find some if any one will put me ashore!" "it's risky to stay too long," muttered lewis. "what d'you mean?" asked rodwood sharply. "i thought you offered to find us a safe hiding-place where there'd be no danger." "i said where there'd be no danger of being found." "then what other risk is there?" "the chance of getting in without being able to get out," was the reply. there was a certain ominous sound in the speaker's voice which attracted every man's attention, and i noticed that george woodley turned his head to listen. "what's the good of beating about the bush?" growled one man. "speak out plain, you fool!" "why," returned the smuggler, "what i mean is, you can't get in or out of this place with anything of a rough sea running. it's calm now, but there's no knowing how long the weather's going to hold this time of year. you can't expect to walk out of jail and get off without running risks; if you steer clear of one, you must take your chance of running into another. here's a place where there's precious little chance of your being found, except by them who, at a word from me, would take care not to see you; but there's equal chance, if you stay here till a gale should happen to spring up, that you'll be missing till the day of judgment." the truth of this assertion seemed to shock the group of listeners into a momentary silence. to myself the danger of our present position became at once evident, and a sense of fear chilled my heart as i listened to the lapping of the water and thought of what must be our fate if the slumbering sea awoke in fury, and the huge billows thundered through the mouth of the cave. there was little doubt but that in a storm the ledge on which we rested would be swept clean with the surges, and any living being seeking refuge there would soon be drawn into the surf and dashed to pieces against the sides of the cavern. "what d'you propose to do, then?" inquired rodwood. "it's no use to stir abroad in daylight," answered lewis; "we must wait here till to-morrow night. then i thought i'd go alone into rockymouth, and try and get a word with them as will help us. they'll say how soon there's a chance of our getting across the water. i'll bring back some more food; and if i see any sign of bad weather, why, we must get out of this, and find some snug hole among the bushes on the cliffs. maybe during to-morrow all that ground will be searched, and folks won't trouble to look there again." for a few seconds the leader of the gang remained thinking, with his chin resting on his hand; then i saw him raise his head and dart a quick glance at lewis. "see here!" he exclaimed; "how are we to know that when you once get among your friends you'll ever come back again? i don't suppose there's a man among us who can swim; and if the fact of our being left behind should happen to slip your memory, here we should remain, like rats in a drain-pipe, to either starve or drown." "when my word's given i don't go back on it," replied lewis. "if you doubt me, you can send a man along with me in the boat." "there, there, my friend! don't get angry," replied rodwood with a laugh. "you've served us well in the past, and there's no reason to doubt you in the future; but when a man has knocked about the world as much as i have; he gets to look at a thing from more than one point of view." overcome at length by the fatigues and excitements of the day, and rendered still more drowsy by the grateful warmth of the fire, i gradually sank back on the rock; the murmur of voices became fainter and more confused, my eyelids closed, and i sank gradually into a deep and dreamless sleep. chapter xiii. the brandy kegs. a vague sense of pain and discomfort at length began to enter into my dreams, and soon i awoke to find that, from having lain so long in one position on the hard rock, i was aching in every limb as though i had been beaten. for a moment or so my head swam with bewilderment as i stared about me and wondered where i was. it was like the recovering of consciousness after a fall. but presently the full recollection of the previous day's adventure flooded my memory. i struggled into a sitting posture, and gazed around. the sun had risen, but the mouth of the cavern being so small and far distant, the surrounding objects were visible in a sort of gray twilight, such as might have illumined some underground dungeon with but a single small barred window high up in the wall. the other members of the party were already astir--one man mending the fire, another plucking one of the pheasants we had brought with us, and a group of two or three hauling up more of the wreck-wood out of the water on to the platform. looking towards the mouth of the cave from where i sat was much like surveying the interior of a modern railway tunnel which by some means had become flooded, except that the cavern was more lofty. the roof itself was lost in darkness; but as far as i could make out, exactly over our ledge was a wide hole in the rock, like the perpendicular shaft of an old-fashioned chimney. this, however, was only discernible by the space of denser black amid the general gloom. shivering with the cold, i was glad enough to get some warmth by assisting in building up the fire. the broken spars which had been recovered the previous night were dry by this time, and made good fuel, of which there seemed a sufficient supply to more than last out our needs. there being no beach for nearly a mile on either side of us, a quantity of flotsam, as lewis explained, was often to be found in the cavern, carried there by the current. our breakfast was a frugal one--a sausage and a small hunk of cheese served out to each man--rodwood having determined to husband the food supply. then the gang settled down to endure as best they could the long hours of waiting till it would be safe for lewis to venture forth and bring back such information as would enable them to decide on their further movements. from the time i awoke, the unpleasant conviction began gradually to force itself on my mind that the attitude and disposition of the escaped prisoners towards george and myself was undergoing a change. in the first glow of their gratitude for the small kindnesses and services which we had shown them, they had gone to an extreme in their expression of good will, but now a reaction became evident. any obligation to us which they might have felt on the previous evening was now forgotten. they began to resent our presence among them, and appeared to regret that they had not taken their leader's advice, and not hampered their escape by bringing us with them to the coast. as far as was possible in such a limited space, they excluded us from their society, allowing us to have no share in their conversation, which, for the most part, seemed to turn on the various misdeeds for which they had suffered. "what's to be done with 'em when we get out of here?" i heard one man remark. "that'll be seen when the time comes," answered another. "i don't suppose they'd thank us to take 'em with us over to france." on comparing notes with george, i found he had already remarked the same thing, but had refrained from mentioning it for fear of causing me unnecessary alarm. "laugh every now and again as if we were talking about something comic," he whispered as we sat together, a little apart from the rest. "it won't do to let 'em think we suspect them or notice any change." so with many feigned grins and chuckles we continued our talk, though heaven knows i never in my life felt less in a laughing mood. "what d'you think they'll do with us?" i asked. "how can i tell?" he answered. "but any one could see that there's rocks ahead for you and me. put yourself in their place, and leave everything out of the question but your own safety, and think what's to be done. once give us our freedom, and how are they to know that we shan't loose the dogs on their heels the very next minute? another thing: if they take us with them, we shall be able to identify the men who help them in their escape--the crew of some smuggling craft, i expect--and it's not likely, with that knowledge in our heads, we shall be left to walk straight off to the nearest justice of the peace." "then what will they do with us? they can't leave us here; that would be worse than downright murder." "there's no knowing what they'll do," answered george evasively. "old lewis will remain our friend," i replied. "i'm sure he'll not stand by and allow us to come to harm." "but what's he to do by himself, one to nine?" was the reply. "these are desperate men, and prepared for desperate measures. we're about as safe here, master eden, as if we were in a den of tigers." "but lewis can say, as he did before, that he won't help them if harm comes to us," i persisted, unwilling to abandon this sheet anchor of hope. "he may say that once too often," muttered george. "you must remember, too, that the man's walking the greasy pole himself, so to speak, and one slip sends him down into transportation for life; for i don't doubt but what they'd all get that after this attempted escape and making away with the coach." as one or two of the convicts seemed to be eyeing us, we ceased our conversation with a forced laugh; and rising, i strolled over towards lewis, who stood at the edge of the platform with arms folded, gazing towards the mouth of the cave. if not then low water, the tide could not long have turned, and the ledge seemed considerably higher above the sea than it had done when we had first landed from the boat. "what's the matter?" i asked, seeing how the old sailor's heavy brows were contracted in thought. "there's a good bit may be the matter, master eden, before this gang of lubbers steps ashore in france," he answered. "i've been as far as the mouth of the cave this morning in the boat, and i don't altogether like the look of the sea: there's a swell getting up which may mean wind behind it. if so, these blokes may find this cave as difficult a place to get out of as welmington jail." now that he called my attention to it, i noticed that there was certainly a constant ripple whispering down the length of the cave. the boat rocked gently at her mooring, and at the sight of her a sudden foreboding of evil entered my mind. "you don't think it's going to be rough enough to wash us off this rock?" i asked anxiously. "i doubt if that would happen unless it came on to blow a regular gale," he answered. "you see, the mouth of the cave is only a narrow opening, and, especially at high water, the seas would spend most of their force outside; still, as i've warned these men here, if once a big storm did get up, not a mother's son of them is ever likely to be heard of again. no," continued the speaker, "it's not being drowned i'm so much afraid of now as there being just enough sea running to prevent us getting out. these fools don't realize what a ticklish job it is except in still water. let them try it in a stiff sou'-easterly breeze, and see how far they get! i'll wager my neck not one of them would ever set foot on shore again." i stood gazing anxiously at that distant semicircle of light beyond which the sea was sparkling in the wintry sunshine. as i did so a fresh salt breeze swept through the cavern, and a miniature wave rolled up and spent itself against the mass of rock on which we stood. i was on the point of making some further remark to lewis, when, in a sharp, peremptory manner, a voice behind us exclaimed,-- "hark!" the hum of conversation going on round the fire instantly ceased, while lewis and i involuntarily turned sharp round to see who had spoken. "hist! d'ye hear anything?" it was the blind man who spoke. his name was mogger, and he sat a little apart from his companions, with his back against the rock wall of the cavern. from chance remarks let drop by the others, i gathered that he had been accustomed to beg for his bread with a dog, leading-string, and tin can. associating with a set of rogues and vagabonds, he had at length become concerned in a robbery, and had been found guilty of receiving and concealing stolen goods. his loss of sight appeared to have been in a measure made up to him by an abnormally keen sense of hearing; in fact, the fellow's ears were as sensitive to sound as a dog's. walking down the middle of a road, he declared that he could tell whenever he passed a house, or when he emerged from between two rows of buildings into the open country, and this simply by the change in the sound of his own footsteps. i mention this as giving additional interest to the incident which i am about to describe. there was a moment of dead silence. the picture of that scene rises in my mind now as i write--the blind man sitting bolt upright against the rock with closed eyes, and his pale, expressionless face raised at an unusual angle, as though an unseen hand had gripped him beneath the chin; the group round the fire, for the instant rigid and alert, with heads half turned and mouths opened in the attitude of listening; while rodwood's hand closed instinctively on a pistol which he had been cleaning, and had laid beside him on the rock. thus, in the gloomy twilight of the cave we all remained motionless as the rock itself, until one of the men broke the spell with speech. "what's the matter now?--more sheep?" he demanded gruffly, referring to the false alarm of the previous evening, at which several of his companions laughed. the blind man made no reply, but remained in exactly the same attitude, like a person in a trance. on any occasion his conduct would have been disquieting and uncanny, but for hunted men there was something in it especially disturbing. "can't you answer, you dumb post?" cried rodwood angrily. "if you hear anything, tell us what it is." "it was a voice," answered mogger. "i heard it, i'll swear; my ears never play me false." "you heard a good many voices, i suppose, seeing that we was most of us talking," retorted one of his companions, with an uneasy catch in the blustering tone which he tried to assume. "i know all your voices," was the reply. "this was strange, and seemed to come from a distance. hark!" the man held up a warning hand. in the death-like stillness which followed i strained my ears to catch the faintest whisper; but no sound reached them save the plash of the water and the heavy breathing of lewis, who stood close at my side. "be hanged to you!" burst out rodwood. "you'll cry 'wolf' so often that we shall pay no heed to real danger when it comes. what you heard was the seagulls crying.--confound the man, he's enough to send a nervous old woman into a fit with his prick ears and bladder face!" the blind man seemed too intent in listening for a repetition of the sounds which he believed he had heard to take much notice of this speech. the convicts joined in a rough jeer, but it was evident that they had not recovered from the shock of the alarm. "the dog's given no sign," said lewis presently, looking hard at his four-footed companion. "he'd be uneasy if there was strangers about.--eh, joey? is the coast clear?" the animal merely wagged its tail, and before the subject could be discussed any further the attention of the party was diverted to another matter. "here's something in the water!" exclaimed one of the convicts, who had wandered to the edge of the platform. "looks like a cask of some sort. come on, and help to fish it out." "if i were you i'd leave it where it is," interposed lewis; "it'll bring you no luck." "why?" demanded the fellow, who was already clambering down the ledges of rock to get to the boat. "because it's dead men's property," answered lewis. "it belongs to the crew of this boat that's been wrecked. they'll be coming to claim it if you don't leave it alone." "rubbish!" retorted the man. "keep your sailor yarns for a ship's fo'castle!--hurray, boys! see here! call me a dutchman if it isn't a keg of smugglers' brandy; and there's another bobbing about just over yonder!" the group by the fire scrambled hastily to their feet, and i heard lewis mutter a curse. he must have known all along what the kegs which we had seen floating in the water as we entered the cave really contained, and have foreseen the consequences of their coming into the possession of his companions. as it was, he stepped quickly from my side, and i saw him talking in quick, eager tones to rodwood. it would have been as easy to wrest a carcass from a pack of starving wolves as to rob this band of criminals of their newly-found store of liquor. "steady, lads, steady!" was all their leader could say. "one sup all round, and then let it rest; we shall need clear heads until we're safe out of the wood." the words might as well have been spoken to the winds. the two ankers were quickly dragged up on to the platform, and one of them was broached with the aid of george's knife. the metal cup from the coachman's flask and a small mug found in the locker of the boat afforded the means of conveying the fiery spirit to eager lips. from hand to hand it passed. rodwood himself, after some protestation, took his share with the rest, and even lewis could not for long withstand the temptation of the liquor which was almost forced upon him. woodley, however, was naturally a sober fellow, and kept his senses. he took one sip at the mug when it was handed to him, to avoid rousing the convicts to a still further feeling of hostility, after which he and i edged away from the rest, and sat down at the farther end of the platform. what followed during the course of the next few hours it would be difficult to describe. the rousing of the appetite which they had for so long been unable to gratify was like applying a light to a heap of straw. forgetful of food or of their perilous position, the men tossed the ardent spirit down their throats, and passed the cup for more. in a very short time the effect of the drink began to make itself evident, the more so that for some time past the members of the band had been forced abstainers. their faces flushed, their eyes brightened with a feverish light, while with loosened tongues they began to jabber like monkeys, laughing long and uproariously at their own coarse jokes, and raising their voices to a shout when the din made it no longer possible for them to be heard. there was no talk now of limiting the allowance; even rodwood himself was far too intoxicated to care, while lewis seemed robbed of that instinct of caution which had been bred in him by the risks of his calling. how long this orgy lasted i don't know, but it must have continued far into the afternoon. the tide rose, and with it the sea; the broken waves seemed to come jostling and elbowing each other through the entrance to the cave, and splashed heavily against the foot of our platform, sprinkling the unheeding revellers every now and again with a dash of salt water. if the revenue cutter or any small craft had passed close in to shore, the noise made by the fugitives must have betrayed their whereabouts, as in their drunken frenzy they danced and yelled like raving lunatics. at length, quite suddenly it seemed to us, they were all fighting. how the quarrel first started it was impossible to discern; but it had not been in progress more than a few seconds when all the band were engaged in the conflict. in terror i crouched in the corner of the rock farthest removed from this scene of strife, expecting momentarily to receive some injury from this outburst of unreasoning fury. with clenched fists, and with logs of wood snatched from the ground, the maniacs struck at each other, or grappling fell, and were trodden on and stumbled over by the other combatants. rodwood, fighting like an enraged lion, and striking out indiscriminately right and left, felled several antagonists, and was ultimately the means of putting an end to the mêlée, but not before one man had received some severe injury from a kick in the stomach, and another had been horribly burned about the face from falling, half stunned, into the fire. the groans of these wretches now mingled with the maudlin peacemaking of the other members of the band, as they rubbed their bruises and gathered once more round the brandy keg. the fading light of the short winter day was deepening into darkness as the horrid scene continued. "hark'ee!" cried rodwood, suddenly dashing the pewter cup to the ground: "i've no mind to spend another night in this foxes' burrow. let us go back to the little port yonder and say we're what's left of a shipwrecked crew. i'll be bound good beds enough would be offered to such jolly mariners!" a babel of voices followed this proposal. some men were in favour, while others, perhaps a trifle more sober, were against the move. "i'd like to see you pass yourselves off as sailor men," shouted lewis with a wild laugh. "besides, who's going to get the boat out with this swell on? she'll be bottom up before she's ten yards beyond the opening." a fresh outburst of drunken argument drowned his further remarks, and it soon became evident that the more reckless spirits had carried the day. the remaining keg of brandy was handed down into the boat, and the men prepared to follow, the first to move falling under the thwarts, where he lay yelling that his arm was broken, while his comrades staggered over his prostrate form. george woodley and i rushed forward. whatever the risk of the voyage might be, it was preferable to being left behind. but as we approached the group of men who were gathered at the head of the flight of rough steps, rodwood waved us back. "no room for you!" he cried with an oath. "no strangers or informers come with us now; we've got enough to do to save our own necks." "quite right, captain!" added another drunken scoundrel. "why did they come with us at all? let them bide there till they're fetched." "for mercy's sake don't leave us here!" cried george. but a blow in the face, which sent him staggering backwards, was the only response. the blind man and the fellows who had been injured in the fight were handed down into the boat. one groaned heavily as he was moved, his complaints rising at last to a shriek which made my blood curdle. "lewis! lewis!" i shouted in despair, "tell them to make room! we won't betray you!" the smuggler heard my cry, and paused with his foot already on the first step of the descent. "it's no good, master eden," he said, in a low, thick utterance. "if i put you in the boat they'll throw you out. you're all right--i'll tell master miles; or if not, you'll find it yourself if you look about. i'm the only one as knows--" the words, which i regarded merely as the rambling nonsense spoken by a drunkard, were cut short by the speaker being forcibly dragged down into the boat, which an instant later shoved off from the platform. [illustration: deserted.] in an agony of despair we heard it receding farther and farther in the gloom, the hoarse shouts and laughter of the men and the continuous barking of the dog, which had sprung aboard at the last moment, echoing strangely from the arched roof. a few moments later we saw the dark outline of the overladen craft obscuring the semicircle of light as it reached the mouth of the cavern, and at the same time the drunken clamour seemed to end in one final yell. the men were gone, and george and i were left to our fate, at the mercy of wind and sea. chapter xiv. abandoned. there was a pause as we stood in the deepening darkness at the end of that horrible tunnel. cold, hungry, and despairing, i think if i had been alone i should have broken down completely; but george woodley, though no doubt sharing to a great extent my own feelings, did his best for my sake to put as cheerful a face on the matter as was possible under the circumstances. "cheer up, master eden," he exclaimed. "while there's life there's hope, and we're a good way off being dead yet, sir. i shouldn't wonder," he continued, "if this doesn't turn out all for the best as far as we're concerned. these men, drunk as they are, will be certain to be captured as soon as they step ashore. lewis will think of us and say where we are, and my belief is we shall be rescued to-morrow morning." there certainly did seem some probability that things would turn out as the guard suggested; anyway, it was a ray of hope to lighten the gloom of our present situation. still, the prospect of spending another night in that dark cavern, with the danger of the sea rising ever present in our minds, seemed almost unbearable. "we mustn't let the fire out," said my companion. "there's that bird to cook, and i'm fairly famished." i myself was faint with hunger, for, owing to the drunken outbreak among the convicts, we had spent the whole day since our scanty breakfast without food. the pheasant which one of the men had drawn and plucked had lain unheeded and forgotten since the appearance of the brandy kegs, and this we decided should form our evening meal. building up the fire and improvising a spit on which to roast the bird occupied our attention, and relieved our minds by diverting our thoughts from our forlorn and perilous position. we found the metal cup which rodwood had flung down, and also the wine bottle, the neck of which had been broken off, and this we placed under a trickle of fresh water--the dipper having been carried off in the boat. "the rascals have taken the coach lamp with them," said george. "we shall have to feel our way about as best we can." almost as he spoke my foot struck against something which slid along the rock with a metallic clatter, and stooping down, to my joy i picked up the guard's clasp-knife, which had also been overlooked by the drunken gang at the time of their departure. the find gave us considerable satisfaction, as the knife had proved of great service in many ways, and we were already contemplating the necessity of tearing the pheasant apart with our fingers. the meal was no more appetizing than the one which had preceded it on the previous evening. how i longed for a morsel of bread and salt! the last defect i tried to rectify by dipping my meat in salt water; but the result was not all that could be desired, and woodley laughed at the wry faces which i pulled. however, the flesh of the bird, followed by a mince-pie, and an apple by way of dessert, certainly appeased our hunger, and in doing so enabled us to face our position with more fortitude. reclining on the hard rock as near as we could get to the smouldering fire, we went over the whole of our strange adventure from the moment the convicts had seized the coach to the time they had left us in the boat. "we might be worse off," said george. "i believe that if they'd tied us up in that copse, as that rascal rodwood suggested, we should have been frozen stiff by morning. i wonder how poor tom got on! that was a nasty fall of his; i heard his head strike on the hard ground, and i made sure he'd be picked up dead. them warders, too--i hope the warmth of the straw and the shelter of the cottage kept them alive." "i believe those villains would have killed any one who had tried to stop them," i remarked. "do you remember that fellow close to me digging out that stone with his fingers in the pit on the cliff, when the sheep made that false alarm? the way he did it made me tremble. i believe he'd have brained some one with it if we really had been surrounded." "well, the whole lot of them are taken by this time, dead or alive; at least that's my belief," answered george. "they were crazy with drink, and would walk straight into the net. that man we heard gallop into the village last night may have given the alarm, and i'll wager there's been a hue and cry and a sharp lookout all to-day. as long as the sea don't prevent it, we shall have a boat sent here for us to-morrow, and then a fine story you'll have to tell the folks at home, and the boys at school next term, master sylvester!" his last remark, though intended to cheer me up, had rather the opposite effect. i must confess that, up to the present, i had been so much concerned with my own personal safety as to give hardly a thought to the friends at home, and to the anxiety which my father and mother must be now feeling at my non-arrival; for by this time the news would no doubt have reached them of the disappearance of the coach. in those days there were no telegraph wires by means of which messages could be sent and replies received in the course of at most a few hours. a messenger had probably been dispatched on horseback to round green, to learn whether i had travelled by the ill-fated true blue; but he would probably not return to castlefield till late that night. and even now, as i sat blinking at the glowing logs, my parents would be in a state of anxious uncertainty as to whether i was really missing, or had been detained for some reason at the school. george did not notice my silence, but went on, following up his own line of thought. "i believe there's been a boat out to-day spying down the coast, and 'twas that the blind fellow heard when he talked about distant voices. my stars! it gave me quite a turn for the minute. i almost thought it was ghosts, and so did some of the rest, i suppose, by the scared look on their faces. you didn't hear nothing, i suppose, did you, master eden?" "no," i replied. "but i hardly expected to; for i've got a bit of a cold in my head, and it's made me rather deaf." "it was a queer thing," murmured george. "that man had such sharp ears i don't think 'twas fancy; and if not, then what could it have been, i wonder?" "the dog didn't seem to notice it," i answered, "and a dog can hear better than a man. i dare say it was the water gurgling in some hole or hollow, and it may have sounded like a voice." how endless seemed that long december night! the cold did not appear to be so intense, but i was less weary than on the previous evening, and less inclined for sleep. every now and again woodley would raise himself on his elbow to readjust the smouldering logs; and we would speculate as to what could be the time, for the man had forgotten to wind his watch the night before, and it had run down. we cheered each other with the assertion that the people in rockymouth must know now of our whereabouts, and that when day dawned we should be rescued. at length we must both have fallen into an uneasy slumber, and when i recovered consciousness the mouth of the cavern was showing like a distant window in the pale gray light of morning. rising, and stretching our stiffened limbs, we stirred up the fire, and slapped our arms across our breasts to restore the circulation. to my joy i noticed that the sea was calmer; the wind had dropped, and what waves there were outside reached our platform in little more than gentle ripples. "they won't be long fetching us now," said george. "i wonder how far those rascals got before they were collared? not much farther than the pierhead, i fancy. the villains, sending the old _true blue_ over the cliffs like a worthless piece of rock! i hope they'll get a sound flogging for it, every man jack of 'em, when they get aboard the hulk. i'd like to give it 'em myself!" we stood watching the light strengthen in the entrance to the cave, momentarily expecting to see the aperture darkened by the prow of a boat, and prepared to give a simultaneous hail with all the force of our voices. "well, some of those lazy dogs of villagers might have been up and about by this time," grumbled george. "i know i would if it were a case of rescuing fellow-creatures in distress. they needn't have waited for dawn; i'll warrant there's some of them could have guided a boat in here with a lamp if there'd been a cargo of brandy kegs to be fetched, instead of two human beings!" "perhaps they don't know we're here," i suggested, rather reluctantly. "of course they do," answered george, who had fully made up his mind on the subject. "that gang of rascals must have been caught yesterday. how could it have been otherwise when most of them were too drunk to walk, let alone run? that being the case, for their own sakes they'd be ready enough to say what had become of us. they'll be held responsible for our safety, and it would go hard with them if--if we weren't found." "but they might have got into hiding, and be waiting to get on board some vessel." "not they! the harbour was empty when we got into the boat--i noticed that; so there was no craft lying alongside the wharf which would take them on board, we'll say, and stow them down in the hold. no; they'd have to go ashore. it's risky enough for men who know their way about to beach a boat along this coast among the rocks and breakers, and especially after dark; and the only chance for these fellows would be to make the harbour and land on the quay. bless you, they were too reckless and fuddled to think of the chances of being caught. they've all been nabbed safe enough, and had time by now to cool their heads and remember whom they left behind. we shall be taken off directly, and in the meanwhile i don't see why we shouldn't have breakfast." i sat down readily enough, and ate my share of what was left of the pheasant, and a small wedge of cheese, washing down the repast with a draught of the fresh water in the broken bottle. still there was no sign of the relief party, for the arrival of which we kept a constant lookout, and i thought i noticed an uneasy look on woodley's face, which did not tend to allay my own misgivings. growing restless at this delay, we longed to be doing something, and at length decided to try to secure some more pieces of the floating wreckage. george was the first to rise to his feet, and as he did so he exclaimed,-- "hullo! here's a find!" lying on the ledge of rock where rodwood had left it on the previous evening was the warder's pistol. my companion examined it, and finding that it was loaded and primed, clambered up and put it in a niche of the rock high above his head, remarking as he did so,-- "there, that's safer than letting it lie about on the ground. a chance kick might send it off, and one of us get the ball in his foot." the set of the current seemed to have drifted more wreckage into the cavern, and the flowing tide had brought a quantity of it close to the extreme end of the cave, where it floated in a jumbled mass at the foot of our platform. by clambering down to the water's edge and "fishing" with another broken spar, we had no difficulty in drawing it towards us and then throwing it up to the rock above. one piece of timber which seemed a portion of a mast had a quantity of rope attached to it, and a couple of blocks with more cordage were also secured. at length my eye rested on another of those mischievous kegs, but this one apparently half or wholly empty, judging from the manner in which the greater portion of it appeared above the surface of the water. "there's another of those little barrels," i said to george, half jestingly. "haul it out, and we'll use it as our water-butt." the keg was accordingly fished out of the sea, and added to our little pile of salvage. one or two more small fragments of wood were next recovered; then george pointed to a long, slender spar which i had already noticed, but which was floating close to the opposite wall of the cavern, and beyond our reach. "that looks like an oar, master eden," he said. "we'll get that somehow. i think i can manage it with a line and slip-knot made out of some of that rope." it did not take long for this simple tackle to be prepared, and with its aid george soon secured the oar, and handed it up to me as i stood above him on the rock. he passed it up, i say, blade first, and i remember, as i caught hold of it, having given a sudden cry, almost as though the wood had been red-hot iron. "what's the matter?" shouted the astonished guard. "o george, look here!--look at this!" with a bound woodley was at my side; but even then he could not guess the reason for my outcry. there was, after all, little for him to see--merely a letter "l" branded into the water-worn surface of the wood. "what's the matter?" he asked. "matter!" i cried. "don't you see that mark? this is one of the oars from lewis's boat. o woodley! can't you guess what's happened? she's capsized, and all those drunken rascals are drowned. i remember now there was a yell as they passed out of the cave, and then silence. i thought they'd gone beyond our hearing, but when they got into the swirl of the backwash at the foot of the cliffs they must have overturned. lewis himself told me how dangerous it was. it would have been a difficult thing for a sober and experienced crew to get safely out to sea, but with the first bad lurch those madmen would have flung themselves about, and lost their balance in no time." "it can't have been that," said george, who stood aghast at my suggestion. "ten men drowned within fifty yards of us, and we none the wiser! no, no, master eden; i won't believe it." "you forget they were all of them drunk," i answered. "even if any of them had floated for a moment, we weren't likely to hear their stifled cries right back here, and above the noise the wash of the sea was making." "how d'you know that oar came out of the boat? its being marked with an 'l' is no proof that it belonged to lewis." "you forget i went out in his boat several times last summer, and learned to row. i remember the oar as well as if it was my own; it's got a smaller 'l' carved with a knife just below the button. there, see for yourself." still george stood staring at me as though unwilling to be convinced that the worst had happened. "look at that keg," i continued, "and see if it isn't the one they took with them in the boat. if so, you'll find the small hole they made with your knife." on examination, the spot where the convicts had broached the anker was clearly visible. there could no longer be any doubt as to how it came to be floating on the water. "some of them must have got to land," muttered george doggedly. "not they!" i replied; "there wasn't a man of them could swim. don't you remember what rodwood said? i know lewis couldn't, because he told us so last summer; and we remarked at the time how strange it was he had never learned, when he had spent most of his life on the water. besides, what difference does it make to a man whether he can swim or not, if he's flung into the water stupefied with drink?" the oar dropped from my hands as i spoke, and for some minutes each stood staring blankly in the other's face. that short space of silence did as much as an hour's feverish discussion of the subject to impress upon our minds how hazardous and almost hopeless our position had now become. no gloomy underground dungeon in some ancient prison, made secure by locks and bolts and watchful jailers, could have afforded less chance of escape than in our case did this cavern; for even if a boat had been waiting close outside, as neither of us could swim, there was enough deep water between us and the sunshine to drown us twenty times over. it was probable that even the smugglers only entered the cave on rare occasions, for too frequent visits would draw attention to the spot; and especially at this time of the year, close on christmas, the chances were a thousand to one against any boat coming near the place till we had either died of starvation or been washed away in one of the fierce storms which raged constantly during the winter months. with the loss of the boat and its occupants all chance of communication with the outer world was ended; and if we had been marooned on an island or coral reef in the pacific, far out of the usual track of ships, there could hardly have been less prospect of a timely rescue. though all these thoughts flashed through our minds, we neither of us seemed willing to put them into words; both shrank from being the first to pronounce the sentence of our doom. george woodley at length broke the silence, and he did so in a voice the tone of which betrayed strong emotion. "this is a bad lookout for us, master eden," he said. "what are we to do?" "we must portion out the food," i answered, "and make it last as long as possible. there's the other pheasant, and the hare, two or three mince-pies, and a few apples, and part of the cheese. with that we ought to keep from starving a few days longer." george shook his head, as if to imply that it would be only lengthening the agony of our suspense; and for a time we remained doing nothing but listlessly watching the sparkling patch of sea beyond the mouth of the cavern, in the vague hope that some boat would pass within hail. owing to the fact that the entrance arch was low, and our platform was raised some distance above the water level, our view of the outside world was very limited, and unless a boat had come close in to the foot of the cliff we could not have seen her. how long we remained thus in a state of hopeless inactivity i cannot tell. the hours of daylight seemed hardly less long and dragging than those of darkness. woodley sat by the fire nursing his knees and sullenly chewing a splinter of wood. at last he roused himself and stood up. "it's no good sitting here like this and not making a single bid for freedom!" he exclaimed. "a thought's just come into my head, and if you can't suggest anything better, why, i vote we try my plan." "what is it?" i cried eagerly. "why, it's this," he answered. "we must at least try to get outside where folks can see us, and we can cry for help. neither of us can swim, but here's wood, and rope to fasten it together. why shouldn't we make a raft?" the proposal was one exactly calculated to appeal to a boy's imagination; but when i cast my eyes over our stock of timber, the possibility of putting the project into actual execution seemed almost out of the question. "there's never enough wood here for that!" i answered. "there may not be sufficient to make a raft that would carry us both, but there ought to be enough to keep one of us afloat. look here, sir," continued the man earnestly: "we've got to get out of this place somehow, and the sooner the better. if it means running risks, why, we shall have to run them. we're in peril of our lives as it is, standing here upon this rock. if it should come to blow really hard to-night, it would be good-bye to us before morning. my idea is this:--we must fasten enough of these logs together to make a raft big enough to carry me. that oar will serve as a paddle, or to shove off from the rocks, and so doing i ought, at all events, to be able to get outside into open water; and once out there i should be bound either to be seen or to drift ashore somewhere where i could climb the rocks. then, you may be sure, it won't be long before i bring a boat round to rescue you." "o george," i exclaimed, "i don't think i can stand being left quite alone in this awful place! besides, what if you are washed off into the sea? you can't swim." "i must take my chance of that, sir, as you must of being left," was the answer. "i'd suggest your going, only i think i'm the stronger, and could hold on longer if, as is sure to be the case, the waves wash over the logs. think, sir, what'll happen in the first gale, even if our food lasts, and then take your choice." i glanced round at the dark walls of our prison, which, though now high and dry, had been worn smooth by the storms of ages; and the very thought of the mountainous seas forcing their way in irresistible fury through the entrance of the cavern made me shudder. take a bottle three parts full of water, i thought, and shake it violently from side to side, and that, on an infinitely larger scale, might be taken to represent what the interior of this cave would be like in a winter storm. "very well," i answered desperately. "if that's your plan, let's carry it out; i know of none better." he turned at once, and worked with feverish eagerness, as though we knew that the dreaded storm was then brewing. every piece of wreckage of any size which still remained within reach we fished out of the water and added to our store. the next business was to collect and untangle the rope and cord, and this took us far longer than we expected. the sodden knots wore the skin off the ends of our fingers, and made the job all the more laborious and painful. it was late in the afternoon before this portion of our task was accomplished. then came selecting the most suitable pieces of timber, and planning how they should be arranged and joined together. all this while we kept glancing anxiously towards the entrance of the cave, still hoping against hope that some of the convicts might have escaped a watery grave, and either by capture or giving themselves up have made known our whereabouts to the good folks of rockymouth. no help arrived, however, and it became more and more evident that none was to be expected. the patch of sea grew gray and misty as the second day of our captivity drew towards its close. kneeling in the quickly-gathering darkness of the cavern, george completed the first lashing of the logs; then gathering up all the remainder of the rope, that we might not entangle our feet, he stowed it away high up on the rocky ledge which had served as a shelf for our provisions. all day we had hardly thought of food--a bite of cheese while we worked having proved sufficient; but now, though wearied with our labour, we set to work to pluck and cook the second pheasant--an operation which, as we sat in the darkness with no means of telling how time was passing, seemed to last far into the night. with most of our wood gone to form the raft, we had to be chary of our fuel. the bird was only half cooked, and i had little inclination for eating; but we forced ourselves to swallow something, for on george's strength keeping up, if not on mine, our last chance of rescue depended. my cold was worse, and i felt utterly miserable as i sat crouching by the glowing embers, the warmth from which was not sufficient to temper the bitter breeze from the sea, which swept through the cavern as through a draughty tunnel. "george," i said, "it would be awful to die here alone in the dark, and no one ever to know what had become of us. are you sure that raft will carry you safely?" "oh, bless you, master eden, don't talk about dying," answered the man; "that's not the way the true briton looks at things. 'never say die' is his motto. there's many poor fellows been in worse plights than we are, and not thrown up the sponge. bless you, sir, i shall help to carry you to and from school many a time yet, i hope. 'woodley,' you'll say, 'this is better than the two nights we spent in that cave!' 'you're right, sir,' i shall answer; and then all the other outsides'll want to hear the story. ho, ho! my eye! but i doubt if they'll believe it's all true!" he went on cheering me with his lively talk, though his teeth chattered with the cold. he had never seemed more gay when perched on the back seat of the old _regulator_. yet if i could have read his thoughts, i might have discovered that he more than half believed that this was to be his last night on earth; for though determined for my sake, as well as for the wife and child dependent on him, to attempt an escape from the cave by means of the raft, he did not doubt that the chances were very much against his ever reaching the shore. so, for the sake of the youngster at his side, he hid his fears and made light of the uncertain future. such was george woodley, and as such i like to remember him: on the highroad a mail-coach guard, in the presence of death a very gallant gentleman. the day had been tiring as well as anxious, and in spite of cold and discomforts my heavy eyelids began at length to droop and my head to nod, until before long my troubles were swallowed up in blissful forgetfulness. i must have slept some hours, totally unconscious of what was going on around me. i have a distinct recollection that i was dreaming of making a journey by coach as an inside passenger. mile by mile we went rumbling on; it was windy, for the blast came in gusts through the open windows, and roared in the tops of the wayside trees. we stopped to change horses, and as i looked out an hostler lifted a pail of water and, with a shout, flung it in my face! i awoke gasping and choking. the water and the shout had been no dream, nor, for that matter, the unceasing sound which had seemed to me the noise of the wind and the lumbering vehicle. the next instant my arm was seized and shaken by woodley. "rouse up, master eden!" he cried; "rouse up, sir! there's a storm coming on, and the sea is splashing over the rock!" chapter xv. in desperate straits. dazed by the sudden alarm, i lay for a moment hardly knowing where i was; then another lash of icy cold water across my face brought me to my senses, and i sprang to my feet. never shall i forget those terrible moments as we stood in pitchy darkness, relieved only by the faint, uncanny, phosphorescent light of the sea-water. the thudding boom of a big wave striking against the cliff and bursting in through the narrow archway, then the peculiar hollow sound the water made as it rushed along the cavern, and the fierce splash with which it expended its force against our platform--all are sounds which seem to echo in my ears even now as i write. "the wind's come at last!" shouted george, and added something further which i could not catch. "we're safe here," i answered at the top of my voice. "i've no idea what the time is," he replied; "but i don't believe it's high water yet--the tide's still rising." for just a few moments i think even brave george woodley was panic-stricken at our hazardous situation, and his words added a fresh terror to the darkness. if the tide was still flowing, then it was only a matter of waiting till we should be washed away and drowned. there was apparently nothing to be done but to take up our position as far back as the width of our platform would allow, and so remain till our fate was decided. the air was full of a fine drenching mist, but as yet only the broken spray from the waves had reached us. trembling with cold and terror i stood, hoping against hope that the tide had reached its height or begun to ebb; then suddenly a larger sea than had hitherto entered the cavern swept clean over our place of refuge, the rushing surf whirling and hissing round our feet like a thousand serpents. the water had not taken us much above the ankles, but in that awful darkness i imagined for a moment that the end had already come, and clung to george with a cry of alarm. "we must climb higher, master eden," yelled woodley, his words, though shouted in my ear, almost drowned in the rush of the back-wash. "we must climb the rock; there's a ledge above us, if we can only get to it." the words had hardly been uttered when, as though to enforce the necessity of his suggestion, another deluge of foaming surf swept over the rock, and i heard a clattering, bumping noise, the woeful significance of which i did not realize at the moment. groping with our hands over the surface of the cold, slippery stone, and yelling directions to each other, though our heads were not two feet apart, we climbed precariously from one foothold to another till we reached a ledge some five or six feet above the level on which we had hitherto been standing. this was as far as we could get, for above us the end wall of the cave rose precipitously, as though the rock had been hewn to stand the test of line and plummet. weary, wet, and chilled to the bone, in such a miserable condition i think i would hardly have troubled to avoid a speedy ending to all my misfortunes if death had presented itself in a less terrible form. but the fearful churning of that wild water was sufficiently appalling to cause one to cling with frenzied earnestness to any position of safety; for to be drawn down into that raging tumult was as dreadful to contemplate as being flung bodily into some enormous piece of whirling machinery, to be ground and dashed out of all human shape by a force as pitiless as it was overwhelming. higher and higher rose the tide. now our platform was completely awash, and the seas, dashing against the end of the cavern, leaped up like hungry wolves, and soaked afresh our already sodden clothes with icy water. thrown back in echoes from the arched roof of the cave, the noise of the sea was probably magnified tenfold, and in the darkness was terrifying to hear, while the compressed air rushed through the opening above us with a long, whistling sigh. the wonder seems to me that the pair of us did not lose our reason. happily for us, in those days folks were evidently made of tougher material, both as regards muscle and nerve, else i could hardly have survived the exposure of that night, let alone its long agony of suspense. as it was, i had come about to the end of my tether; and had it not been for woodley, i should never have survived to write the present story. there came a boom louder than we had heard before. i seemed to feel that mighty mass of broken water sweeping towards us through the gloom. then with a crash it burst over the lower ledge, and rose level with our armpits. i felt my numbed fingers relaxing their hold, and with a wild, despairing cry was slipping from my place, when woodley seized me with one arm round the waist as the water subsided with a deafening roar. that sea, i believe, was the largest which swept through the cave, and shortly after this the tide must have commenced to ebb; but of what happened next i had positively no remembrance, nor, strange to say, had george. whether he held on to me after i lost consciousness, or whether we both continued to cling with a blind instinct of self-preservation to our ledge when our overtaxed brains had become oblivious to our surroundings, i cannot tell. how we maintained our foothold through the succeeding hours of darkness is a mystery. the next recollection i have is of finding myself lying on my side on the platform, staring blankly at the tossing surf as it rushed through the distant arch of rock in the gray light of morning. the sea was rough, and a strong wind was blowing; but terrible as it had seemed at high water and in the darkness of night, it could not have been more than what seamen term half a gale, or we must certainly have been swept away and drowned. i was so numbed that it was with great difficulty i could move my stiffened limbs and stagger to my feet; and when george spoke to me i discovered that i was nearly deaf--a result probably due to aggravation of the cold from which i had previously been suffering. what sort of an object i myself presented i have no means of telling, but when i looked at george i was shocked at his woebegone appearance. his face was haggard and pinched with cold, and something of that long night of terror seemed to remain in the wild glitter of his eyes. his cap was lost, and his sodden and dishevelled clothing hung about him like rags. becoming aware of the fact that i was looking at him, he pointed, mutely with his finger. i saw in a moment what he meant; and if it had been possible for hope and courage to sink lower in my breast, they would surely have done so then. the sea had made a clean sweep of the rocky platform, and the raft was gone! save one piece of splintered board, which the waves had wedged into a fissure of the rock, not a fragment of wood remained in our possession; and not only had the wreckage been washed away from the spot where we had stored it, but the retreating tide, and some change in the currents, seemed to have carried it once more out to sea. i had reached a condition of despair and misery far beyond that which can find relief in tears; i could only stare in a dull, stupefied fashion at the empty space of cold, wet rock. woodley said something, but i could not catch his words. "speak louder," i answered, in a voice as hoarse as a crow's. "i can't hear; i believe i'm going deaf." "all the timber's gone--every inch," cried george, coming nearer. "i've been having a look round, and there's nothing left but a lump of cheese and a bundle of rope what's up there in the 'cupboard.' i'm afraid we've played our last card, master eden." i knew what he meant. if the sea continued rough, as there was every probability of its doing, we should never be able to hold out a second time when the tide rose and once more flooded our refuge. the misery and mental anguish through which we had passed had, i think, gone far to rob us both of the fear of death; but the form in which it appeared was terrible to contemplate, and the longing for life still throbbed fiercely in our breasts. i said nothing; but feeling the water squelching in my boots, i emptied them, and then began stamping my icy feet in order to restore the circulation. was there no hope? must we remain like condemned criminals watching the angry water slowly rising till it claimed its prey? of escape there seemed no possible chance, but in the anguish of our desolate condition i prayed fervently to god for fortitude and consolation to support us in our last hours. making cups of our hands, we drank from the trickling water as we ate our cheese. we had little to say to each other; even george seemed to have abandoned hope, and to be nerving himself up, that when the time came he might make a brave ending and encourage me to do the same. "it seems months since i took you up at the sportsman, master eden," he said, after a long silence. "ah me! you little expected you was starting on such a queer journey." he spoke in so kind and gentle a manner that i knew instinctively his thoughts and regrets were more for me than for himself. somehow his tone, and the memories which his words awakened of the many times i had clambered up beside him on those happy days when i had returned to the home and dear ones i should never see again, broke me down; and rising hastily, i went forward to the edge of the platform and stood there, vainly endeavouring to stifle my sobs. i was but a boy, and am not ashamed now to remember those emotions. i must have stood like this for some time, when i heard george call me; and looking round, i saw him standing gazing up at the roof of the cavern above his head. "master eden, come here a minute, sir," he said. i turned on my heel and obeyed, wondering what he wanted. "look here, sir," he continued, as i reached his side. "d'you see that hole up above there? i wonder how far it goes." the roof of the cave was almost lost to view in sombre shadows; but as i have already mentioned, our eyes had become sufficiently accustomed to the gloom to make out the existence of a curious hole or fissure in the rock, which resembled nothing so much as a wide old-fashioned chimney, and this resemblance was strengthened by the fact that one side of it was level with the end wall of the cavern. more than this we could not tell, an oblong patch of blackness being all that could be seen from where we stood. "i believe it goes up some way," continued george. "i noticed that the smoke from the fire all went up it, and didn't hang about in the roof yonder; and last night i heard the wind rushing through the opening when the big waves burst into the cavern." "there are plenty of funny holes worn in the rook along this coast," i replied. "it may go up for a few feet, but there's no chance of its leading out to the top of the cliff." "no, i don't suppose it would," answered my companion; "but what i've been thinking is, that perhaps it may turn a bit, and so form a ledge where we might take refuge out of reach of the waves." "but it's out of our reach," i answered, almost petulantly. "we can't climb up the side of a flat rock like flies up a window-pane." george did not reply for a moment, but remained staring upwards with his head thrown back as far as it would go. "i believe," he continued, "that if we climbed up to the ledge we were on last night, and i hoisted you on to my shoulders, you might get a foothold still higher up on that shelf. then there's a crack just below the opening, and if you stuck that piece of plank that's left in the rift, it would make another step, and bring you practically right into the hole. i suppose you've never climbed a chimney, master eden; but if you could do as the climbing boys do, work yourself up with your back against one side and your knees against the other, you might see how far it goes. i'll stand below and catch you if you fall." by the "foxes" i was accounted one of the best climbers of the tribe, and had a steady head; but i own i was not taken with the guard's proposal. the jagged rock on which we stood was hard and cruel, and it seemed impossible to ascend and descend the shaft without a tumble. "how about yourself?" i objected. "if i do find a ledge up there, you'll have to stay down below; we can't both stand on each other's shoulders at the same time, and that's necessary for making the start." "there's that rope, sir," was the reply. "you might find a way of making one end fast; and if so, i'd soon be up after you." there was a pause. "it's our only chance, sir," said george. "there's no knowing but what it might save the two of us." that last remark fired my resolution: it was for him as well as for myself that the attempt was to be made. he had certainly saved my life, and by all the laws of justice and honour i owed him a like return, if such a thing were possible. "all right," i cried; "i'll try it--now, at once!" with some difficulty we wrenched the piece of splintered plank from the cranny into which one end had been forced by the sea, after which we scrambled up the ledge on which we had passed those awful hours of darkness. everywhere the rock was wet and slippery from the drenching it had received during the storm. i felt george's foot slide as i clambered up on to his shoulders, and a horrid feeling of faintness seized me, for i was then high enough to have broken my neck if we had fallen. with dogged determination to get as far as i could, i planted my foot on the narrow shelf which my companion had indicated; and receiving the piece of plank which he handed up, i thrust it into the crack some two feet higher up, and almost in what might be called the mouth of the chimney. fortunately this crevice was just wide enough to admit the wood a sufficient distance to make it secure; another step upwards, and as i made it my head struck sharply against something projecting from the side of the hole. it was evidently an iron bar bent round in a semicircle, with both ends embedded firmly in the rock. the surface was eaten with rust, but pull and tug at it as i would, it showed no signs of giving. rising carefully to my full height, i found another piece of iron exactly similar to the first some little way above; then suddenly it occurred to my mind that they had been put there to serve as steps, as i had once seen similar irons placed in a new chimney-stack at castlefield. hesitating no longer, i mounted from one to another, until i must have climbed a dozen; then feeling with my hand in the darkness, i discovered an open space, evidently the mouth of some subterranean tunnel. far beneath me i could just make out the pale shadow of my companion's upturned face as he gazed anxiously into the gloom, wondering, no doubt, what had become of me. "george! george!" i yelled excitedly, "i've found the entrance of a passage. come up quick, and see for yourself. i believe we're saved!" chapter xvi. the subterranean tunnel. whether george understood me i could not tell; he made some reply, but my increasing deafness rendered his words inaudible, i shouted again, and told him of the iron steps i had discovered; and this time he must have heard, for he waved his hand. he disappeared, but after a few moments i saw him again. "catch the end of this rope, and make it fast if you can," he roared. twice he threw, and i heard the coil of rope whistle in the rocky shaft, but it did not reach my hand; then the third time i grabbed it, and to make doubly sure, i fastened it to two of the iron steps, in case one should not prove equal to the strain of george's weight. woodley was an active fellow. he swung on the rope first, to make certain that it would bear him, and then commenced to climb. in less than two minutes he was by my side. "well, this is a queer place," he remarked, as he crouched by me in the subterranean tunnel. "those iron steps weren't put there for nothing; somebody must have used them for going up and down." "i wonder where this passage goes?" i said. "perhaps it's part of a disused mine." "there never was no mine along here that i know of," answered my companion. "the air seems fresh. the only thing is to go along and see where it leads. be careful, master eden; there may be a nasty drop somewhere." slowly and cautiously, in the inky darkness, we crept along, at each step making sure of the ground in front of us before we advanced further. the path appeared to make a very gradual slope upwards. we must have gone quite twenty yards, which, owing to our slow progress, seemed treble that distance, and we were beginning to exult in the thought of speedily obtaining our freedom, when there was an exclamation from george, and the next moment we found ourselves brought up short by a bank of earth which completely blocked the passage. even in the darkness it was not difficult to realize what had happened. "the roof has fallen in," said woodley shortly, but the catch in his voice betrayed his bitter disappointment. there was no help for it--the tunnel was blocked; and in utter weariness we sat down on the rocky floor to rest. "well, we're better off here than where we were last night," said george. "we shouldn't live many more hours down below, for i believe the storm's getting worse." "i wonder what this passage was for?" i remarked, after a few moments' silence. "d'you suppose the smugglers used it for anything?" "no," answered george. "if the smugglers made it, then old lewis would have known of its existence, and he'd have tried to escape this way instead of risking his life in that boat." "he did say something," i exclaimed, suddenly remembering the last words i had heard from the old salt. "i didn't suppose they had any meaning at the time, for i thought he was drunk. wait a moment, and i'll tell you exactly what they were. he said, 'you'll find it yourself if you look about. i'm the only one as knows.'" "then he must have known," said george, "but he didn't want those convict chaps to find out. perhaps it's a secret among the 'free traders,' or perhaps it's a fact that the old chap was really the only person who knew. i've heard him say that he was a rare climber when he was younger, and had got to places on the cliffs where no one else had ever been. well, sir, there's a bit of cheese and two apples wedged in that crack of the rock. i'd better go down and fetch them before the tide rises; they'll at least keep life in us for a couple of days." slowly we retraced our steps, taking great care lest we should arrive at the opening of the shaft before we knew where we were, and fall through it on to the platform beneath. with the sea rising, there seemed as small a chance as ever that we should get out of the cave alive; but we were, at all events, spared the terrible fate which that morning had seemed inevitable. woodley descended to the cavern, and having rolled up the two apples and the cheese in his coat, he made fast the bundle to the end of the rope, and i hauled it up. he was in the act of following, and had nearly reached the mouth of the shaft, when i saw him pause and, hanging on the rope with one hand, take something off a ledge with the other. "what d'you think i've found?" he said, as he joined me again in the tunnel. "why, that pistol rodwood left behind. i put it right up there out of harm's way. the little crevice is dry and sheltered, and a good bit above the reach of the waves, so i don't doubt but what the charge will explode all right if it's fired. it don't seem much good to us at present, but it might come in useful to make a signal and attract attention if we could manage to get to the mouth of the cave and sight a passing ship or boat. there!" he continued, as we once more sat down at the end of the passage, and he unrolled our meagre stores from his coat; "that's all we've got in the world, barring the water that trickles down the rock below, and a bottle of sweet oil i've got in my pocket, which my missis asked me to bring her from the chemist's at welmington. poor girl! she's wondering what's become of it, and of me, too, by now, i expect. and the stuff isn't much good to us, i fancy. i wish the bottle had been filled with some of that brandy those rascals wasted; we shall be likely to need something of the sort before long, if we haven't wanted it already." although the tunnel was blocked, a cold draught from the cave below seemed to be always blowing through it, every now and again coming in stronger gusts as the storm increased. the darkness was so intense that i already felt it oppressive, and thought that after a time it would become positively unbearable. "i wonder if the smugglers ever come here now," i said. "they might perhaps know of the place, and use it as a hiding-place for their goods." with this notion in my mind i went down on my hands and knees, and felt about in order to find anything which might prove that the tunnel had been visited at one time or another by the "free traders." but though i spent some time in groping about in this manner, i picked up nothing but a few fragments of rock. then i remembered lewis's words, and how he had distinctly stated that he was "the only one that knows." he had no doubt been led by some accident to discover the shaft and the passage, and had thought fit to keep the knowledge to himself, perhaps intending to make good use of it when any special need should arise for a place of concealment, either for men or "goods." i sat down again by woodley, and passing my hand over my clothes to find if they were drying at all, i felt something hard in my inside coat pocket. wondering vaguely what it could be, i unbuttoned my jacket, and while doing so remembered suddenly the metal tinder-box i had found in the empty desk the day before i left school. i took it out, fumbled with my fingers till i found the flint and steel, and--i suppose for the sake of seeing a ray of light, however tiny and momentary--i struck a spark. i hardly think if i had fired a gun it could have produced a more unexpected effect on woodley. he sprang to his feet with something like a shout of surprise. "what's that?" he cried. "a tinder-box! where did you find it? i made sure rodwood had taken it with him in his pocket." "this is another," i answered; "it's one i found at school. the lid fits well, and has kept out the damp, i fancy." "bless the boy!" cried george, "why didn't you tell me you had it before? i've been wishing and wishing for one this last hour or more." "it's precious little good now that you have got it," i replied, handing him the box in the darkness. "we've got nothing to light except the tinder and matches, and that's no practical use." "wait a bit," interrupted the guard. "we'll make a lamp. this bottle of oil i've got in my pocket will provide stuff to burn, and a strand of worsted out of one of my socks will make a wick. hurrah, master eden! we'll get a light burning presently, and find out what sort of a place we're in." "i don't see how you're going to make a lamp," i answered, "unless you hold the oil in the palm of your hand. we've got nothing left--not even that metal cup the men took from poor tom's flask." the question was a difficult one to answer. reduced to the possession of practically nothing but the clothes we wore, it seemed at first impossible to manufacture any implement or vessel, however simple. but necessity is the mother of invention, and certainly the necessity in our case was sufficiently pressing to quicken any inventive faculties we might possess. after some minutes' thought, and the making of one or two suggestions which had to be abandoned as impracticable, my companion slapped his thigh, exclaiming,-- "i've got it--my old watch!" with the aid of his knife george managed to remove the works from the old-fashioned turnip-shaped silver case, which was so commonly seen in those days. this formed a sort of cup to hold the oil, which was supplied with a sort of floating wick made of a thread of worsted and a tiny bit of wood, to obtain which we were obliged to descend the iron steps, and bring up the fragment of broken plank from the bottom of the shaft. it was hardly possible that the tiny flame could be kept long alight if exposed to the strong draught which swept through the tunnel; but with a piece of leather cut from the top of his boot, and the big bull's-eye glass of the watch, woodley managed to fashion a rough but effective shade, and at length the lamp was pronounced ready for use. if we had been a couple of boys about to let off a big sky-rocket, we could hardly have felt more excited as we struck the flint, blew up the spark in the tinder, and ignited first the sulphur match and then the tiny wick. the result was poor enough, but the lamp certainly did burn, giving out perhaps as much light as a modern night-light. to us, however, after having been so long in total darkness, it seemed quite brilliant; and with its aid there was at all events a possibility of our being able to examine our surroundings. a part of the passage had evidently been cut through the solid rock, but farther along the roof was of earth, and had been propped up with wooden supports. it was owing to the fact that some of these, no doubt rotten with age, had given way, that the fall had occurred which formed the block against which we had been brought up short. we at once proceeded to examine this obstruction, and had hardly turned our light upon it before we made an important discovery. the fall had not been of sufficient volume to quite block the tunnel; there was a narrow opening still at the top of the heap of _débris_, but not wide enough, as we could see at a glance, to admit of the passage of a human being. "hurrah!" cried the guard. "d'you see that, sir? we'll soon scratch a hole there big enough to crawl through, or my name ain't george woodley." "i'm afraid if you do it won't be much good," i answered. "if the roof has fallen here, it's almost sure to have fallen again further on in several places, before the tunnel comes to the surface. this shows that no one has been along it for some time." we turned away, and examined the rest of the passage as far as the top of the shaft; but only one thing did we find, and that was an empty bottle stowed away in a hole in the rock. it was a queer, misshapen old thing, which had, perhaps, held good liquor in its time, but evidently belonged to a by-gone age. worthless as it might have appeared under ordinary circumstances, to us it proved a valuable find; and george offered at once to go down and fill it with water from the cave below. the discovery and the suggestion were both made none too soon. another half-hour and it would have been impossible, for both wind and tide were rising; the big waves were already breaking into the entrance of the cavern with a booming roar, and the boiling surf swept clean over the platform just as george was re-ascending the rope. i was a strong, healthy boy, but the long hours of cold, terror, and semi-starvation were beginning to tell. i felt weak and feverish, my skin was dry and parched, yet the chill from my sodden clothes seemed still to strike right through into my very bones. with the aid of his knife george fashioned the fragment of plank into something resembling a short spade; then scrambling up the bank of earth, he began to dig with the intention of enlarging the existing hole till it should be big enough for us to crawl through. with burning eyes and chattering teeth i stood below, and assisted as best i could by dragging away the loose earth with my hands. what with my deafness, and with the roar of the sea in the cavern below, i could not hear a word he said, though he did not waste much time in talking. our fate must have been decided long before this if we had not found means of ascending the shaft to our present position. the storm had increased in fury, and we could tell each time a big wave swept into the cavern, by the rush of air which came whistling up the shaft and swept in a briny blast along the passage. suddenly george stopped working, and i saw the dark outline of his figure motionless in the feeble ray of the little lamp. "what's the matter?" i cried. he made no reply, but raised his hand as a person would in the act of listening. for half a minute he remained in that position, then resumed his digging. in a very short time, however, he stopped again, and after an instant's pause startled me by leaning forward and shouting at the top of his voice through the hole,-- "hollo, there!" receiving apparently no reply to his hail, he turned and beckoned me to climb up by his side. "can you hear anything, master eden?" he asked. i listened intently, but no sound caught my ear but the muffled surge and splash of the water in the cavern. "there!" exclaimed my companion--"there again! don't you hear it?" still to my dulled hearing no fresh sound was audible. "what was it?" i asked. without answering my question, he once more roared, "hollo, there!" through the widened hole, and remained with warning hand uplifted, as though expecting an answering shout. "fancy, i suppose," he muttered at length. "yet that blind fellow heard something of the sort too. tut! i think i'm going queer in my head." he went on digging, but once or twice i noticed that he paused in the same curious manner. i was too weary to pay much attention, but continued laboriously scooping and dragging the earth he loosened till my fingers seemed raw. at length woodley stopped digging, and sat down for a rest. as he moved the lamp the dim oil flame gave me a momentary glimpse of his face, and on it i thought i detected a queer expression which i had never noticed there before. for ten minutes, perhaps, he sat regaining his breath, and saying nothing; then turning to me he asked abruptly,-- "master eden, do you believe there's such things as ghosts?" "no," i answered blankly, astonished at the question. a terrible thought flashed through my mind that, as a last crowning horror, woodley was actually going out of his mind. "no," i repeated in a faltering tone, "i don't believe in ghosts." "neither do i, then," said george; and picking up his wooden spade, he went on digging. chapter xvii. daylight at last. how that night passed, or whether it was night or day, i cannot say. worn out, i must have fallen asleep over my work; and when i awoke, george was shaking my arm and informing me that he had crawled through the hole and found the passage free on the other side. i seemed to be burning hot now; there was a singing in my head, and as i rose to my feet i staggered and almost fell. how many hours george had been at work i had no idea. my notions of time were getting hazy and uncertain; i felt that we had lived in that dark, windy passage for ages. the hole had been enlarged just sufficiently to admit of our crawling through. the fall of earth did not extend many yards, and beyond it we found ourselves in the continuation of the tunnel. on, on, on we went, moving slowly, with only the uncertain light of the tiny lamp to warn us of any dangerous pitfall which might lie in our path. contrary to my expectation, we encountered no further obstacle of a similar kind to that through which we had just cut our way. now we were passing once more through solid rock, and now the tunnel was continued through earth, supported by rough-hewn beams, black with damp and age. owing to our slow progress, the distance seemed much longer than it no doubt really was; the path sloped upward with a gentle gradient all the way, and so long did the ascent appear that at almost every step i wondered that we did not arrive at the surface of the ground on a level with the top of the cliffs. the passage made no turns, and we were evidently striking straight inland. the air still kept fresh, and even at this distance from the cave we could feel the upward blast of air as the big seas entered the cavern. i staggered along like one in a dream, sometimes steadying myself with my hands as i lurched up against rock or beam; then all at once george, who was going on a pace or two in front, started back so quickly that he trod on my toes, and nearly knocked me down. at the same moment the lamp fell from his hand, and we were once more in a darkness that could be felt. i heard it myself that time! out of the inky blackness, from the direction in which we were going, there came a most unearthly sound, half human, half the note of some strange instrument made and played upon by underground goblins of old country folk's tales. it rose to almost a shriek at its loudest pitch, and then died away into a sort of crooning growl. so weird and terrifying was it in that subterranean region, that, though past caring for most things, whether good or ill, i felt the hair bristle on my head. woodley was a brave man, as i had reason to know, but i felt his arm shaking as i clutched it with my hand. "hullo!--hullo, there!" he cried, in a hoarse, quavering voice which no friend of his could have recognized. "who are you, and what are you doing?" once more there was no reply. another few moments of that suspense, and i verily believe i should have turned and rushed back along the way we had come, regardless whether i ended up by pitching head first down the shaft into the cavern beneath. fortunately, george possessed a large stock of that dogged resolution peculiar to a briton, which desperate circumstances tend only to harden; and now, recovering from the shock which the sound had given him, i believe he was ready to deal with a whole churchyardful of ghosts. "strike a light, master eden," he said shortly, "and i'll find the lamp." owing partly to the fright, and partly to my dazed condition, i struck a good many blows with the steel before i had a spark glowing in the tinder. in the meantime woodley had recovered the lamp, and replenished the oil which had been spilt by pouring out a fresh supply from the bottle in his pocket. just as we got the wick to burn, another weird, high-pitched howl rang through the darkness, continued for perhaps half a minute, and then ceased; but this time george remained undaunted. "you carry the lamp, sir," he said. "hold it well up, and i'll go in front." he took something from his pocket, and i knew from the sharp click that he had cocked the pistol. what we expected to see it would be hard to say. certainly not the obstacle which, a few paces further on, we found blocking our path. this was nothing more or less than a heavy wooden door, dark with age like the beams of the tunnel, and studded with rusty iron nails. we stopped, and stood staring at it in the faint glimmer of our feeble lamp. what, then, could have become of the creature--goblin or human--that had terrified us with its unearthly music? could it have retreated before our advance, and be now lying in wait for us behind that mass of ancient timber? woodley was the first to move. he walked up to the door, tried it with his shoulder, and finding it fast, rapped on it with his knuckles, as though he expected some ghostly porter to answer his summons. again we stood, waiting and listening; then, just as i was about to speak, a gust of air came sweeping down the passage, causing our lamp to flicker, and the ghostly music burst out again close to where we stood, as though the goblin minstrel were piping defiance at us from the farther side of the door. i grabbed woodley by the arm; but to my surprise the man burst into a roar of laughter, which mingled strangely with the weird howl that rose and fell in total disregard of this audacious interruption. "ho, ho!" laughed george. "to think that we should have been scared by that! bless me, nothing but the wind blowing through a keyhole!" a moment's examination proved his statement to be correct. the gusts of air driven along the tunnel transformed the wide, old-fashioned keyhole into a sort of musical instrument; something in the formation of the lock must, i think, have lent itself to producing an unusually strange effect as the wind hummed and whistled through the hole. here, at all events, was an explanation to the mystery; but in my case the sudden relaxing of overstrung nerves made me little inclined to join in my companion's laugh. i leaned up against the side of the passage, gasping for breath, while the throbbing of my heart seemed to hammer through my whole frame. by the time i had somewhat recovered from the reaction caused by our discovery, george had carefully examined the door. it was fast and firm as a rock, though on one side, where the ponderous framework seemed to have shrunk or sunk, there were chinks into which i could have inserted the end of my finger; through these, too, the stronger gusts of air sighed and hummed as though in accompaniment to the whoop and wail of the keyhole. "it's the lock that holds it," said george, returning to my hands the lamp which he had borrowed to aid him in his investigations. "if we could find one of these beams or uprights loose, and use it as a battering-ram, we might soon burst it open." what the object of a door in such a place could be we had no notion, nor, i believe, did we trouble to think. what concerned us was that it stood between us and our hopes of liberty; and having no tool with which to pick the lock, we must employ our remaining strength in an attempt to make it yield to force. to this end we retraced our steps some distance along the passage; but the heavy blocks of timber were too firmly fixed to admit of our wrenching them from their places. in vain did we search for a lump of rock sufficiently large and heavy to answer the same purpose; the only loose piece we could find was about the size of a man's boot, and we might have continued to fling this at the door for a whole week without achieving any further result than dinting the oak. "master eden," said george, turning to me as though a sudden thought had come into his mind, "i've got a key here i fancy will fit that lock," and he made a sign indicating the pistol in his hand. "i've heard of its being done," he continued, "and i don't see why it shouldn't act in this case. i'll extract the ball, put the end of the muzzle to the keyhole, and blow the lock clean off the inside of the door. the powder's dry, and i don't doubt but what it'll explode." "you'll hurt your hand," i said. "i'll chance that," he replied. "i'll use my left. now, sir, you hold the lamp, and stand clear when i fire." with the corkscrew belonging to his knife woodley was able to draw the wad from the short-barrelled pistol, and so remove the ball; then standing at arm's-length from the door, he took the weapon in his left hand and signalled to me to go farther back. the next instant there was a blinding flash, and a report which, in that confined space, sounded like the discharge of a small cannon. woodley staggered back, and his arm dropped to his side. it was not for some moments that i was able to ascertain whether or not he was seriously injured; then it turned out that the recoil of the firearm, discharged with its muzzle so close to the door, had dislocated his wrist. we pressed forward through the cloud of pungent smoke, and to our delight found that the door was no longer able to resist our united efforts to shove it open; indeed, when we had time to examine it more closely, we found that the lock had been blown away on the inside. we crossed the threshold eagerly enough, but the next moment whatever hopes had risen in our minds of finding ourselves on the point of stepping out into the blessed fresh air and light of day were dashed to the ground. we had certainly arrived at the end of our journey, but only to find that the long tunnel had apparently no outlet, and terminated in a small underground cell, of which the walls and roof even were of stone. as the dim light of our lamp revealed this unwelcome truth, i felt that at last our fate was finally sealed, that i could make no further effort, and that here i must lie down and die. listlessly i stood by george's side and looked round. the little chamber in which we stood was the same height as the tunnel, and, i should say, as regards length and breadth not more than five feet square. it contained nothing but a three-legged wooden stool, and an ancient box or coffer, apparently of iron, secured with a heavy padlock. the walls, as i have said, were of roughly-hewn stone, and the roof was formed of two slabs of granite. dimly i wondered to what purpose such a place could ever have been put--whether some hermit had dwelt there in a bygone age, and why such a long tunnel had been excavated for no further purpose than to end in a tiny vault which seemingly, to all intents and purposes, might have been constructed immediately above the cave. these thoughts drifted languidly through my fevered brain; the reaction after a brief period of excitement was beginning to tell, and i was fast coming to the end of my powers of endurance. "what's this, i wonder?" exclaimed george, giving the iron box a kick. "some old pirate's treasure, maybe. well, if 'twas full of gold it's no good to us at present, nor likely to be unless we can find a way out of this vault. set down the light a moment, master eden," he continued. "i'll hoist you up on my back, sir, and you can see if you can stir either of them stone slabs overhead." feeble as i was, i doubt whether i could have moved the stone if it had offered no other resistance than its own weight; as it was, for all the effect my pushing had there might have been ten thousand tons of earth resting on its upper surface. as woodley once more set me on my feet i turned giddy, and sank down on the iron box to save myself from falling. the dimly-lit vault spun round and round; i leaned my head against the cold stone and closed my eyes. whether i fainted or merely dozed off from sheer exhaustion i can't say, but after what seemed an age i was roused by woodley shaking my shoulder and addressing me in loud and excited tones. his words had to be repeated several times before i grasped their meaning; then at last they forced themselves into my brain. "master eden, i've heard a dog barking! there 'tis again! liven up, sir; we can't be far from help." for a moment i seemed to recover full possession of my senses; my brain was feverishly active as a sudden inspiration came to my mind--the weird song of the wind through the keyhole, the long uphill slope of the passage, the barking of the dog. "george," i cried, "i know where we are! we're in the secret place at coverthorne! we must be close to the haunted room, perhaps directly under it; and the wind was the ghost!" i broke out into a fit of wild hysterical laughter, and ended by bursting into tears. "steady, steady, sir," cried george. "what d'you mean? what are you talking about?" with an effort recovering my self-possession, i told him in a few words what i meant, and how i believed we had unwittingly discovered the old house's secret chamber. "but what can we do?" i exclaimed. "we may stay buried here for any length of time, and no one know where we are or how to get us out." woodley was certainly a man of quick resource. he stood thinking for a moment; then picking up the lamp, he carried it out into the tunnel, and returning closed the door. standing in the pitch darkness, we saw for the first time a faint gray shadow as it were, but a few inches long, which filtered through between one granite slab and the end wall of the cell. faint and indistinct it might be, but at the sight of it our hearts leaped within us: this was daylight at last! "hurrah!" shouted george. "yonder's the way out? now i'll soon have some one to open the door for us, or may i never ride behind four horses again!" he brought back the lamp, and then commenced to yell at the top of his voice, varying this proceeding by hurling the wooden stool up against the slabs overhead, which, in spite of the injury to his left arm, he continued doing till every leg was smashed and only the seat remained. "yo-ho!" he shouted. "the dog's heard me; he's barking like mad. yo-ho! help here--help!" i made some feeble attempt to contribute to the uproar, but my voice seemed suddenly to have failed me, and my cheer was nothing but a croak. strange noises were ringing in my ears, and a shower of sparks danced before my eyes. how long this continued i could not have told, but at length there was a muffled, "who are you down there?" and more shouting on the part of george. then i became aware of the fact that woodley was hugging me in his arms, laughing and crying, and assuring me that we were saved. straightway i found myself mounted with him on the back seat of a coach. we were tearing along at breakneck speed in the twilight of a winter afternoon; there was a great roaring in the air, which drowned even the rattle of the wheels, and looking round i was horrified to see following us a great onrushing wall of water, as though the sea had overflowed the land. faster and faster became our wild gallop, but the huge line of breakers was gaining on us every moment; now we were overtaken, and a great wave was rearing its head above us to sweep us to destruction. i heard a muffled voice shout, "stand from under!" there was a crash, a blaze of light, and i became unconscious. long after, whole centuries later it might have been, i became aware of the fact that i was staring upward at some oblong patch of light. slowly this resolved itself into an opening in the roof of the passage, and i realized that two men and a boy were staring down at me in mute astonishment. then, as my dizzy brain grew clear for a moment, i recognized the last named as miles coverthorne. once more the roar of a troubled sea was in my ears; i had a horrible idea that i had been thrust down into a vault and should be buried alive. i made one last frantic effort to retain my failing senses. "miles," i cried pitifully, "take me out! don't let them bury me! i'm sylvester eden!" i could not hear his reply, but saw him move his head and hand, and the next moment i had been whirled away once more into darkness beyond even the land of dreams. chapter xviii. a further find. i awoke quite naturally, as though from a deep sleep, to find myself in bed, with mrs. coverthorne and a strange gentleman standing close by, looking down at me as i lay. i recognized the room, and had some hazy idea that this was a continuation of my summer holiday. "well?" said the gentleman, smiling; "feeling better after your nap?" i felt too drowsy to reply, but languidly allowed the stranger to feel my pulse, which he did after lugging a huge watch out of his fob. "keep him snug in bed for a day or two," i heard him say, "and he'll be all right. forty years ago i dare say i could have gone through it myself without much hurt. i'll make up something, and send it by the boy." i was asleep again before they left the room, and did not wake till mrs. coverthorne roused me to take some beef tea. slowly, as i swallowed the nourishment, i began to wonder why i was propped up in bed, being fed with a spoon in my old room at coverthorne. had i been ill? or had i met with an accident? what had miles and i been doing? then suddenly, like a landscape coming into view through a quickly-vanishing mist, the recollection of past events came flooding into my mind. i remembered it all now--the captured coach, the sea cavern, and the dark subterranean tunnel. "george!" i cried--"george woodley! is he safe? he was with me in the passage." "yes, he's quite safe," answered mrs. coverthorne, with a smile. "he's down in the kitchen now, having his dinner. you shall see him again by-and-by, but just for the present you must keep very quiet and not talk." it seemed no hardship for the time being to lie warm and snug in bed, and in the wakeful intervals between my dozes i recalled and pieced together the whole story of our adventure. once when i woke i was surprised to find mr. denny in the room, standing gazing out of the window with his hands under his coat tails. some slight movement on my part caused him to turn; he smiled and nodded, and moved towards the bed. "feeling as if you could relish a good beef-steak and slice of pudding?" he inquired. "not just yet," i answered feebly. "o mr. denny," i continued, remembering something which, since my return of memory, had been puzzling my brain, "was that the secret place that george and i discovered?" "yes," he answered; "but i fancy you discovered something more important than the hidden chamber." he said this with a dry chuckle, and producing his little tortoise-shell box took a pinch of snuff. "what was that?" i asked languidly. "well, i don't think you'd understand if i told you. better wait, and you shall hear all in good time." i must have slept most of that day. thanks to my youth and good constitution, i was suffering from nothing worse than exhaustion and a severe cold, and i was much stronger when miles came to see me the following morning. he had already heard our story from george woodley; indeed, i think that by this time there was hardly a man, woman, or child on the whole countryside but had listened to a more or less exaggerated narrative of our adventures. in some of these garbled accounts george and i were reported to have done and endured the most extraordinary things. one old lady, to her dying day, could never be persuaded otherwise than that the convicts had locked us inside the coach, and then sent us and it together bodily over the cliff. "i shall never forget when we first heard that strange muffled knocking and shouting in the west parlour," said miles. "it was so strange and unearthly that my blood ran cold with terror. john, the shepherd, was in the yard, and noticed that his dog seemed uneasy, and kept barking and growling at something. i was talking with him at the time. we paused to listen, but i could hear nothing; so john ordered the dog to lie down. old 'help' still kept grumbling to himself; then, just as the man and i were turning to walk out of the yard, one of the maids came out of the house screaming and bawling something about a ghost. it was some seconds before we could get enough sense out of her to understand what was wrong, and in the meantime stokes, the wagoner, came clattering out of the stable and joined the group. there was a ghost knocking and calling in the haunted room, so the girl informed us, and off we went to discover what was wrong. old john shortened his oak stick, and stokes caught up a pitchfork: they evidently both meant business. "it seems funny enough now, but i can tell you i didn't feel much inclined to laugh when we reached that fusty old parlour and heard that mysterious bump, bump, and a faint, far-off voice, as it seemed, giving unearthly whoops, and crying, 'help!' old john was the first to recover his senses. 'there's some one under here!' he cried, striking his stick on the hearthstone. then he shouted, and sure enough there was an answering hail. it seemed impossible that any living being could be down under that solid slab of granite; but we fetched a pick and crowbar, and worked at it till it fell into the tunnel. if we'd only known the proper way to deal with it, we could have made it slide along into a recess specially made for it at the back of the fireplace, but we didn't discover that till later. "woodley says you fainted; but fortunately he heard our warning shout to stand from under, and dragged you back into the tunnel, or you might have been killed by the falling slab. i was so excited and astonished as i looked down into that queer little vault, and you both were so haggard, and ragged, and generally bedraggled, that at first i didn't recognize you, and it was only when you called my name that i saw who it was. well, you may be very sure we soon had you out; and i think you know the rest." "the room will never be haunted any more," i said, laughing; "george laid the ghost with his pistol. but tell me, when did you first know that the convicts had escaped?" "we heard about the coach having been seized the very next morning. the alarm of their escape was given very much sooner than the men expected. it so happened that a labourer had come into rockymouth to fetch the doctor for his child, who was very ill. dr. thomas--who came to see you yesterday--was out in the country, and the man hurried off to catch him before he returned home. going along the road in the darkness, he heard the trampling of horses' hoofs, and the sound of a heavy vehicle coming towards him, and so stepped aside into a gateway. none of your gang saw him; but, as you can imagine, he was mightily surprised to see a mail-coach and team come jolting and floundering down that byroad. fortunately for him he didn't hail it; but he thought something must be wrong, and he spoke about it when he met the doctor. as luck would have it, dr. thomas, on his return journey, had to go some distance along the highroad, and there he was accosted by a man who was out of breath with running. this fellow turned out to be one of the warders; he had managed to get the gag out of his mouth and shout for help till some one came and untied his bonds. his story was soon told, and dr. thomas rode as fast as he could back to rockymouth, and gave the alarm. george says you heard him coming just before you got into the boat. "for a time the whole place was in a state of panic, and every person who lived in outlying cottages was expecting to be robbed, and perhaps murdered, by the convicts. a large body of men, armed with all kinds of weapons, from a gun to a reaping-hook, went out to hunt for them, but with no result. then a boat was seen floating bottom upwards some distance from shore, and the report got about that the gang had attempted to cross to france, but being landsmen had overturned the boat, and were all drowned. "the question which puzzled most people was what had become of the _true blue_; and the general opinion was that one or more of the men had not gone with the others, but had stuck to the coach, and driven it somewhere right away on to the moors. it was only yesterday that the horses were found and identified." "were all the convicts drowned?" i asked. "very little doubt, i fear," was the reply. "there's a reef of rocks just outside the mouth of that cave which, when the sea is at all rough, makes a strong current and dangerous eddy. it's almost certain that as soon as the boat got clear of the mouth of the cavern she was caught in the swirl and swung round, and the men jumping up, or throwing themselves about in a panic, turned her over." miles stood for a moment silently eyeing me with a curious look on his face. "i say, sylvester," he began again, lowering his voice, "promise me you won't say anything, but i believe one of them was saved." "who--old lewis?" i asked excitedly. my companion nodded. "i've just heard the faintest rumour that his dog dragged him ashore on a ledge below what's called the old quarry. at all events, the dog's on land, and i take care not to ask too many questions about lewis. a man brought me a curious message, telling me to 'go down to the seal-cave by the short cut, and see what i should find.' i couldn't make head or tail out of it, and the man didn't seem to know the sense of it either, but said it had been given him to pass on by a friend. now, when i come to think it over, i believe lewis must sometime have discovered the tunnel and hiding-place. he imagined i should know of them too, and he thought he ought not to give the secret away to other people. i suppose he judged this hint would be sufficient, and that i should go down to the tunnel and rescue you and george.--by the way," added the speaker, turning on his heel to leave the room, "we've sent word to your father and mother to say you're safe, and that you'll be sent home to them as soon as you're well enough to travel." after each long sleep i seemed to wake up stronger, and my thoughts turned to miles and his mother, from whom i was receiving so much kindness. i remembered what the former had told me--of how his uncle meant to claim half the estate at the commencement of the new year, which was now close at hand; and how, with straitened means, they feared it would be impossible for them to live on at coverthorne. several times i had been on the point of questioning miles on the matter, but it seemed such a painful subject that the words had died on my lips. strangely enough, i could not but think that both he and his mother looked more cheerful than when i had visited them last; and though there still appeared an anxious expression in mrs. coverthorne's face, there seemed also to be an air of hope and confidence about her at which i greatly wondered. once there was a knock at the door, and george woodley came to wish me good-bye. he seemed in high spirits, and to have quite recovered from the effects of our adventure, except that his left arm hung in a sling. "my eye, master eden!" he exclaimed, "for the same rate of pay i believe i'd go through it all again!" "what d'you mean?" i asked. "why, look here, sir," he continued, producing a crisp five-pound note from his pocket. "that there mr. denny gave me this! i didn't want to take it, but he said i deserved it for laying the ghost. what's more, i'm thinking before long of giving up the road and settling down in a little dairy-farm business, which the missis and i could look after between our two selves; and master miles has promised, when i do, that he'll start my stock with one of the best beasts he's got on the farm. well, good-bye, sir. i hope i shall see you again quite well when you're on your way back to school in january." liberal i knew the coverthornes always were, but it astonished me rather that they should bestow such handsome gifts on woodley, to whom they were really under no obligation. if it had been my own parents, the case would have been different; for the man had certainly saved my life, and i fully intended to ask my father to send him a suitable reward. on the third day after my strange and unceremonious arrival at the old house, i was so far recovered as to be able to get up in the afternoon and spend a few hours downstairs. being for a time alone with miles in the parlour, my thoughts returned to the subject of his future. "miles," i said, "do tell me what you are going to do next year. is your uncle nicholas still determined to take away half the land?" "as far as i know, that's his intention--at present," was the reply. there was something about the way in which the last two words were uttered which made me prick up my ears. "look here! why did mr. denny give such a handsome present to george woodley?" i asked. "and why did you promise him that cow?" "i suppose we can give him what presents we like, as long as the things are ours to give," retorted miles, smiling. another recollection had just flashed across my mind. "miles, mr. denny said that we had discovered something more important than the hidden chamber. what did he mean?" my companion turned away from me with a queer laugh. "i'm under promise not to tell," he answered. "you may hear to-morrow." chapter xix. brought to bay. it was the last day of the old year, and though burning with curiosity to know what discovery george and i had unwittingly made beyond the whereabouts of the secret chamber, i forbore to ask any questions. remembering that after this date miles and his mother could no longer count on being left in undisputed possession of the whole estate, i did not like to make any inquiries which might revive this painful subject; so, with an effort, i resolved to possess my soul in patience, and wait till either miles or mr. denny should volunteer some explanation. the latter had arrived at the house not long after breakfast, and appeared to have come to spend the day. from some remarks which he made, i understood that he had been in welmington the day before, and had travelled home through the night. considering that he was an elderly man, and that this was the middle of winter, it struck me that whatever business he had had to transact must have been both important and urgent. in some indefinable manner the impression grew in my mind that something was brewing--whether trouble or otherwise i could not say; but there was a subdued air of excitement about the house, in which miles, his mother, and the lawyer all seemed to share. though i cannot but own that it aroused my curiosity, i stuck to my former determination to mind my own business, and not try to poke my nose into matters in which i had no concern. at dinner even mr. denny, usually so sharp and alert, seemed at times a trifle preoccupied; while mrs. coverthorne was evidently in a state of nervous tension. she made a forced attempt to keep up the conversation, but it was plain that she was merely talking for the sake of talking, and that her thoughts were far from the subject of her remarks. still, whatever might have been weighing on her mind, her look seemed to denote a change from when i had seen her in the summer: it was as though some burden of care had been recently lifted from her shoulders. when the table had been cleared, we still sat on in the oak-panelled parlour--mr. denny thoughtfully sipping his wine, miles notching a small fragment of firewood with his pocket-knife, and his mother making a pretence to sew, though at times i saw her hand shake so that she could not possibly direct her needle. as no one else made a move, i, too, remained in the room, gazing at the burning logs in the big open hearth. at length there came a sound of horses' hoofs in the yard, and i saw mrs. coverthorne and mr. denny exchange a quick glance; then, a few minutes later, one of the maids knocked at the door and announced mr. nicholas coverthorne. miles's mother rose to her feet, letting her work drop unheeded to the floor. "come, sylvester," she said; "mr. denny has some private business to transact, and we will go into another room." in the passage we met mr. coverthorne. he paused as though about to speak, but his sister-in-law passed him with a slight inclination of her head. i saw the man's face in the half-light of the passage--grim, cold, forbidding; and so the recollection of it has always remained in my mind. he passed on with a measured stride, entered the parlour, and closed the door behind him. it was not until some years later that i heard from the lips of my friend an exact account of the interview which followed; but so vividly was every detail of it impressed on miles's mind that in after life he could recall it as though it had been an event of yesterday. mr. denny and the visitor exchanged a formal salutation, and the latter took a chair by the side of the table. a man of iron will and unrelenting purpose, tall and heavily built, the little dried-up lawyer seemed no match for such an adversary; but he was evidently prepared for the fray, and began by politely pushing the decanter and a glass towards his opponent. mr. nicholas, however, declined the proffered refreshment with a somewhat peremptory wave of his hand. "your time, mr. coverthorne, i know is valuable," began the lawyer, "and therefore i know you will thank me to come at once to business. i requested you to meet me here to ask you once more whether you were finally determined to assert your claim to half the coverthorne estate--a claim based, of course, on the will made early in the present year, under very extraordinary circumstances, by your brother james?" an angry glint came into the visitor's cold gray eyes, but he was too strong a man to give way to any outburst of passion. "i thought we had come to a clear and definite understanding on that point long ago," he replied. "if that is all you have to say, you have brought me here for nothing. moreover, i strongly resent your suggestion that the will was made under any 'extraordinary circumstances.' for reasons of his own, my late brother chose to keep the matter for the time being from the knowledge of his family; but the will was executed in a perfectly proper and legal manner, as you yourself must know, having seen the document with your own eyes." "this division of the property would necessitate your sister-in-law and her son leaving coverthorne," said mr. denny. "i don't necessarily admit that," returned the other. "but as i've told you before, sir, other people have rights to be considered besides my brother's family. he himself saw that i had been done out of mine for many years; and though neither he nor i then thought that i should ever benefit by this act of restitution, yet he considered it just and necessary, if for nothing more than as an acknowledgment that i had not been fairly dealt with, and that i had his sympathy. i have already suggested to mrs. coverthorne that, as this house is much too large for her and miles, she should give it up and take a smaller one in town, where they would see more people and make new friends." "still," said mr. denny, "it is very hard for the lad, as his father's heir, to have to give up the old house, which has been in the family for so many generations, containing, as it does, the rooms in which his great-grandparents lived and died--ay, further back still. i repeat, it would be hard for him to give up a home so rich in old traditions and associations." "merely a matter of sentiment," answered mr. nicholas shortly. "if the old place were mine, i'd sell it to-morrow if i were offered a good enough price." "there's that secret place about which so many legends have clustered," went on the solicitor musingly, "and which you once gave us to understand was simply a hole in the chimney which had been built up in your father's time. i suppose you heard how it was discovered?" the visitor nodded. mr. denny took another sip at his port, set down the glass, and sat up straighter in his chair. there was something in his action suggestive of a person who suddenly prepares to attack after having stood for some time merely on the defensive. "on the same day that the secret chamber was found," he began, "we made another discovery, to which i should now like to call your attention. in the underground chamber was an iron box, which on being opened was found to contain a quantity of papers. among them was your brother's will, which since his death we had not been able to discover. he went away from home some little time ago at rather short notice, and probably deposited the documents in the hiding-place for safe-keeping." "you mean the will which he made some three years ago?" said mr. nicholas. "exactly," answered mr. denny. in his quick, jerky movements he was always very like a bird, but now he was watching the other man with the keen eyes of a hawk. "well?" queried the visitor. "on examination," continued the lawyer, "i found that, unknown to me, he had added a codicil. pardon me if i make this quite clear for the benefit of our young friend," he continued, turning to miles. "a codicil is an addition--postscript, as it were--which a person adds to his original will, and it has to be duly signed and witnessed in the same way as the will itself. in this case your father wished a small sum of money to be given to an old servant, and to ensure this being done he added the codicil of which i am speaking." mr. nicholas was listening intently, but did not seem to understand at what the lawyer was driving. "well, what of that?" he demanded. "the point is," said mr. denny quite calmly, "that this codicil was dated not more than a month before your brother's death." a deep hush fell upon the room--so deep that the ticking of the old clock in the corner seemed to have become almost as loud as the knocking of a hammer. mr. nicholas sat like a graven image, merely drumming softly on the table with the tips of his fingers, while his and mr. denny's gaze remained fixed as though each had determined to stare the other out of countenance. "once more, for the benefit of our young friend, let me be more explicit," went on mr. denny. "his father makes a will, and then, apparently, revokes it by making another some eighteen months later. now, a month before his death, instead of adding a codicil to the second will, he adds it to the first, which has become so much waste paper--a foolish thing, which no man in his senses would have thought of doing. we can only conclude," continued mr. denny, "that he had no recollection at all of having executed a second will." the square jaw was rigid, and a dark flush overspread the visitor's temples. "it was a mistake," he said thickly. "a slip of memory might cause any one to do a similar thing." "following up our first discovery," continued mr. denny, apparently paying no attention to this reply, "i was led to go a little further, and make a second. remembering an account which the boys gave me of a chance meeting which they had with your old servant tom lance, i found him out, and had an interview with him at the barracks at welmington. he seems a sharp fellow, and it appears had taught himself to read and write, and to read handwriting." "well, what about him?" asked mr. nicholas, in a tone of repressed anger. "although he would not confess it before, not even to our young friends, it appears that on the evening when you first found him alone in your parlour he was so far overcome by curiosity as to open your brass-bound box and look inside. there he found a sheet of foolscap covered with signatures, chiefly those of mr. james coverthorne, but also of the two other men whom we know now as the witnesses to this second will." mr. nicholas muttered an oath, and brought down his fist heavily on the table. his eyes flashed, and the veins in his forehead swelled with pent-up emotion. "go on," he said at length; "come to the point, and let us know what you mean." "what i mean, mr. coverthorne, is this," replied the other, in firm, icy tones: "for the sake of her dead husband and the son who may hand on the family name, mrs. coverthorne has asked me to give you this information, which i might otherwise have withheld until i had sent the law to knock at your door. to-morrow i shall commence to act on behalf of my clients. i am already in communication with your solicitor, who has this second will in his possession, and i think you will gain nothing by paying him a visit; in fact, you might be wasting valuable time by such a journey. you follow me, mr. coverthorne, i hope?--valuable time, sir, was what i said. now, i think there is no reason for us to prolong this interview any further." muttering something below his breath, mr. nicholas coverthorne rose from his chair and strode from the room. a few moments later he spurred out of the yard and galloped down the road. we heard the sound of his horse-hoofs die away in the distance; and so he passed for ever out of the knowledge of those whom he had sought to wrong. "what did it all really mean?" was the question i put to miles when he told me this story; for on that eventful afternoon i had only a very vague notion of what had happened. "what did it all mean?" was the reply; "why, simply this, that my uncle was a forger. probably he had never been guilty of such a crime before, but the fact remains that he forged that will from beginning to end, and did it so well that even mr. denny could detect no flaw, either in the text or in the signatures. he must have possessed more skill as a penman than any one imagined. at first we thought some expert criminal must have helped him, but the fact of tom lance discovering that sheet of paper covered with signatures in his desk seems to prove that he did it himself. for the sake of the family my mother did not wish him to be arrested, so gave him the opportunity to escape--a chance of which he had the good sense to avail himself, for he went off that night, and we never saw or heard anything of him again. it turned out that he was deep in debt. the house and land at stonebank were heavily mortgaged, and as soon as it was known that he was gone, everything was seized by the creditors. he was a thoroughly bad man, and if it hadn't been for your adventure, sylvester, he'd have turned my mother and myself out of doors before he'd done with us. yes," insisted my old friend, seeing me about to interrupt, "we shall always consider we owe it to you and george woodley that we are still living on in the old house. if you hadn't caused me to find the secret place, mr. denny would never have seen that codicil to my father's will which made him feel certain that the other was a forgery. it was that discovery, coupled with what i had already told him, that induced him to go and hunt up tom lance; and the two things together were enough to prove my uncle's guilt. well, 'it's an ill wind that blows nobody good,' runs the old saying, and certainly we have cause to be thankful for the outcome of your eventful journey with the coach-load of convicts." * * * * * though the "secret place" has long ago been bricked up, the old house at coverthorne remains much the same as it appeared when i first saw it; but a fresh generation of boys and girls have sprung up to enliven it with their laughter and frolics, and to this merry audience, around the self-same hearth from under which i was drawn up half dead that winter morning, i have told repeatedly the story of that strange adventure. george woodley lived to a hale and peaceful old age. he did well at his farming, and was content to hear from a distance the familiar toot of the horn on which he himself had performed for so many years. he was the same bright, good-hearted fellow to the end of his days, but he could never quite forgive the convicts for having thrown the old _true blue_ over the cliff. "the cold-blooded villains!" he would exclaim. "if they'd left her in a field or shoved her into that dry pit, i wouldn't have minded; but to smash her on the rocks--'twas as bad as murder! well, there! they met their punishment; and for my part i know i came out of it with a very handsome reward from master miles, and what's more, a good yarn to tell the boys." the end. printed in great britain at the press of the publishers. established t. nelson and sons printers and publishers t. nelson & sons, ltd., publishers. a companion volume to "the betty book." the patsy book. by anne anderson. anne anderson's christmas present for the youngsters. a large and handsome book of colour plates and many black-and-white illustrations. special end paper and beautiful cover design. an amusing story of children's visit to a farm with their dog pat. strongly bound, s. net. thinking it out. by a. williams. one of mr. williams's ever-popular volumes. a new volume in the "how it works" series. the author gives the why and wherefore of many everyday problems which captivate and puzzle the young mind. fully illustrated, s. net. canterbury puzzles. by h. e. dudeney. 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"a comprehensive, brightly-written introduction to the study of literature."--_times_. "a capital first book of english literature for children, produced in handsome form, with excellent print, and having the advantage of twenty first-rate coloured illustrations by j. r. skelton."--_guardian_. in the roar of the sea by s. baring-gould author of "the pennycomequicks," "urith," etc. new york national book company mission place copyright, , by united states book company. [_all rights reserved._] contents. chapter page i. over and done ii. a passage of arms iii. captain cruel iv. hop-o'-my-thumb v. the buttons vi. uncle zachie vii. a visit viii. a patched peace ix. c. c. x. ego et regina mea xi. jessamine xii. the cave xiii. in the dusk xiv. warning of danger xv. chained xvi. on the shingle xvii. for life or death xviii. una xix. a goldfish xx. bought and sold xxi. othello cottage xxii. jamie's ride xxiii. all is for the best in the best of worlds xxiv. a night excursion xxv. found xxvi. an unwilling prisoner xxvii. a rescue xxviii. an examination xxix. on a peacock's feather xxx. through the tamarisks xxxi. among the sand-heaps xxxii. a dangerous gift xxxiii. half a marriage xxxiv. a breakfast xxxv. jack o' lantern xxxvi. the sea-wolves xxxvii. bruised not broken xxxviii. a change of wind xxxix. a first lie xl. the diamond butterfly xli. a dead-lock xlii. two letters xliii. the second time xliv. the whip falls xlv. gone from its place xlvi. a second lie xlvii. fast in his hands xlviii. two alternatives xlix. nothing like grog l. playing forfeits li. surrender lii. to judith liii. in the smoke liv. squab pie in the roar of the sea. chapter i. over and done. sitting in the parsonage garden, in a white frock, with a pale green sash about her waist, leaning back against the red-brick wall, her glowing copper hair lit by the evening sun, was judith trevisa. she was tossing guelder-roses into the air; some dozens were strewn about her feet on the gravel, but one remained of the many she had plucked and thrown and caught, and thrown and caught again for a sunny afternoon hour. as each greenish-white ball of flowers went up into the air it diffused a faint but pleasant fragrance. "when i have done with you, my beauty, i have done altogether," said judith. "with what?" her father spoke. he had come up unperceived by the girl, burdened with a shovel in one hand and a bucket in the other, looking pale, weary, and worn. "papa, you nearly spoiled my game. let me finish, and i will speak." "is it a very serious matter, judith, and engrossing?" "engrossing, but not serious, _je m'amuse_." the old rector seated himself on the bench beside her, and he also leaned back against the red-brick, gold-and-gray-lichen-spotted wall, and looked into the distance before him, waiting till his daughter was ready to speak, not, perhaps, sorry to have a little rest first, for he was overtired. had judith not been absorbed in her ball-play with the guelder-rose bunch she would have noticed his haggard appearance, the green hue about his mouth, the sunken eyes, the beaded brow. but she was counting the rebounds of her ball, bent on sustaining her play as long as was possible to her. she formed a charming picture, fresh and pure, and had the old man not been overtired, he would have thought so with a throb of parental pride. she was a child in size, slender in build, delicate in bone, with face and hands of porcelain transparency and whiteness, with, moreover, that incomparable complexion only seen in the british isles, and then only with red-gold hair. her bronze-leather shoes were the hue of some large flies that basked and frisked on the warm wall, only slightly disturbed by the girl's play, to return again and run and preen themselves again, and glitter jewel-like as studs on that sun-baked, lichen-enamelled wall. her eyes, moreover, were lustrous as the backs of these flies, iridescent with the changing lights of the declining sun, and the changed direction of her glance following the dancing ball of guelder-rose. her long fingers might have been of china, but that when raised so that the sun struck their backs they were turned to a translucent rose. there was no color in her cheek, only the faintest suffusion of pink on the temples below where the hair was rolled back in waves of luminous molten copper dashing against the brick wall. "i have done my work," said the rector. "and i my play," responded the girl, letting the ball drop into her lap and rock there from one knee to the other. "papa, this fellow is the conqueror; i have made him dance thirty-five great leaps, and he has not yet fallen--wilfully. i let him go down and get breath just now. there lie all my dancers dead about me. they failed very speedily." "you cannot be forever playing, ju." "that is why i play now, papa. when playtime is over i shall be in earnest indeed." "indeed?" the old man sighed. judith looked round, and was shocked to see how ill her father appeared to be. "are you very tired, darling papa?" "yes--overtired." "have you been at your usual task?" "yes, ju--an unprofitable task." "oh, papa!" "yes, unprofitable. the next wind from the sea that blows--one will blow in an hour--and all my work is undone." "but, my dear papa!" judith stooped and looked into the bucket. "why!--what has made you bring a load of sand up here? we want none in the garden. and such a distance too!--from the church. no wonder you are tired." "have i brought it?" he asked, without looking at the bucket. "you have, indeed. that, if you please, is unprofitable work, not the digging of the church out of the sand-heaps that swallow it." "my dear, i did not know that i had not emptied the pail outside the church-yard gate. i am very tired; perhaps that explains it." "no doubt about it, papa. it was work quite as unprofitable but much more exhausting than my ball-play. now, papa, while you have been digging your church out of the sand, which will blow over it again to-night, you say, i have been pitching and tossing guelder-roses. we have been both wasting time, one as much as the other." "one as much as the other," repeated the old man. "yes, dear, one as much as the other, and i have been doing it all my time here--morally, spiritually, as well as materially, digging the church out of the smothering sands, and all in vain--all profitless work. you are right, ju." "papa," said judith hastily, seeing his discouragement and knowing his tendency to depression, "papa, do you hear the sea how it roars? i have stood on the bench, more than once, to look out seaward, and find a reason for it; but there is none--all blue, blue as a larkspur; and not a cloud in the sky--all blue, blue there too. no wind either, and that is why i have done well with my ball-play. do you hear the roar of the sea, papa?" she repeated. "yes, ju. there will be a storm shortly. the sea is thrown into great swells of rollers, a sure token that something is coming. before night a gale will be on us." then ensued silence. judith with one finger trifled with the guelder-rose bunch in her lap musingly, not desirous to resume her play with it. something in her father's manner was unusual, and made her uneasy. "my dear!" he began, after a pause, "one must look out to sea--into the vast mysterious sea of the future--and prepare for what is coming from it. just now the air is still, and we sit in this sweet, sunny garden, and lean our backs against the warm wall, and smell the fragrance of the flowers; but we hear the beating of the sea, and know that a mighty tempest, with clouds and darkness, is coming. so in other matters we must look out and be ready--count the time till it comes. my dear, when i am gone----" "papa!" "we were looking out to sea and listening. that must come at some time--it may come sooner than you anticipate." he paused, heaved a sigh, and said, "oh, jamie! what are we to do about jamie?" "papa, i will always take care of jamie." "but who will take care of you?" "of me? oh, papa, surely i can take care of myself!" he shook his head doubtfully. "papa, you know how strong i am in will--how firm i can be with jamie." "but all mankind are not jamies. it is not for you i fear, as much as for you and him together. he is a trouble and a difficulty." "jamie is not so silly and troublesome as you think. all he needs is application. he cannot screw his mind down to his books--to any serious occupation. but that will come. i have heard say that the stupidest children make the sharpest men. little by little it will come, but it will come certainly. i will set myself as my task to make jamie apply his mind and become a useful man, and i shall succeed, papa." she caught her father's hand between hers, and slapped it joyously, confidently. "how cold your hand is, papa! and yet you look warm." "you were always jamie's champion," said her father, not noticing her remark relative to himself. "he is my twin brother, so of course i am his champion. who else would be that, were not i?" "no--no one else. he is mischievous and troublesome--poor, poor fellow. you will always be to jamie what you are now, ju--his protector or champion? he is weak and foolish, and if he were to fall into bad hands--i shudder to think what might become of him." "rely on me, dearest father." then he lifted the hand of his daughter, and looked at it with a faint smile. "it is very small, it is very weak, to fight for self alone, let alone yourself encumbered with jamie." "i will do it, papa, do not fear." "judith, i must talk very gravely with you, for the future is very dark to me; and i am unable with hand or brain to provide anything against the evil day. numbness is on me, and i have been hampered on every side. for one thing, the living has been so poor, and my parishioners so difficult to deal with, that i have been able to lay by but a trifle. i believe i have not a relative in the world--none, at all events, near enough and known to me that i dare ask him to care for you----" "papa, there is aunt dionysia." "aunt dionysia," he repeated, with a hesitating voice. "yes; but aunt dionysia is--is not herself capable of taking charge of you. she has nothing but what she earns, and then--aunt dionysia is--is--well--aunt dionysia. i don't think you could be happy with her, even if, in the event of my departure, she were able to take care of you. then--and that chiefly--she has chosen, against my express wishes--i may say, in defiance of me--to go as housekeeper into the service of the man, of all others, who has been a thorn in my side, a hinderer of god's work, a--but i will say no more." "what! cruel coppinger?" "yes, cruel coppinger. i might have been the means of doing a little good in this place, god knows! i only _think_ i might; but i have been thwarted, defied, insulted by that man. as i have striven to dig my buried church out of the overwhelming sands, so have i striven to lift the souls of my poor parishioners out of the dead engulfing sands of savagery, brutality, very heathenism of their mode of life, and i have been frustrated. the winds have blown the sands back with every gale over my work with spade, and that stormblast coppinger has devastated every trace of good that i have done, or tried to do, in spiritual matters. the lord reward him according to his works." judith felt her father's hand tremble in hers. "never mind coppinger now," she said, soothingly. "i must mind him," said the old man, with severe vehemence. "and--that my own sister should go, go--out of defiance, into his house and serve him! that was too much. i might well say, i have none to whom to look as your protector." he paused awhile, and wiped his brow. his pale lips were quivering. "i do not mean to say," said he, "that i acted with judgment, when first i came to s. enodoc, when i spoke against smuggling. i did not understand it then. i thought with the thoughts of an inlander. here--the sands sweep over the fields, and agriculture is in a measure impossible. the bays and creeks seem to invite--well--i leave it an open question. but with regard to wrecking--" his voice, which had quavered in feebleness, according with the feebleness of his judgment relative to smuggling, now gained sonorousness. "wrecking, deliberate wrecking, is quite another matter. i do not say that our people are not justified in gathering the harvest the sea casts up. there always must be, there will be wrecks on this terrible coast; but there has been--i know there has been, though i have not been able to prove it--deliberate provocation of wrecks, and that is the sin of cain. had i been able to prove----" "never mind that now, dear papa. neither i nor jamie are, or will be, wreckers. talk of something else. you over-excite yourself." judith was accustomed to hear her father talk in an open manner to her. she had been his sole companion for several years, since his wife's death, and she had become the _confidante_ of his inmost thoughts, his vacillations, his discouragements, not of his hopes--for he had none, nor of his schemes--for he formed none. "i do not think i have been of any use in this world," said the old parson, relapsing into his tone of discouragement, the temporary flame of anger having died away. "my sowing has produced no harvest. i have brought light, help, strength to none. i have dug all day in the vineyard, and not a vine is the better for it; all cankered and fruitless." "papa--and me! have you done nothing for me!" "you!" he had not thought of his child. "papa! do you think that i have gained naught from you? no strength, no resolution from seeing you toil on in your thankless work, without apparent results? if i have any energy and principle to carry me through i owe it to you." he was moved, and raised his trembling hand and laid it on her golden head. he said no more, and was very still. presently she spoke. his hands weighed heavily on her head. "papa, you are listening to the roar of the sea?" he made no reply. "papa, i felt a cold breath; and see, the sun has a film over it. surely the sea is roaring louder!" his hand slipped from her head and struck her shoulder--roughly, she thought. she turned, startled, and looked at him. his eyes were open, he was leaning back, almost fallen against the wall, and was deadly pale. "papa, you are listening to the roar?" then a thought struck her like a bullet in the heart. "papa! papa! my papa!--speak--speak!" she sprang from the bench--was before him. her left guelder-rose had rolled, had bounded from her lap, and had fallen on the sand the old man had listlessly brought up from the church. his work, her play, were forever over. chapter ii. a passage of arms. the stillness preceding the storm had yielded. a gale had broken over the coast, raged against the cliffs of pentyre, and battered the walls of the parsonage, without disturbing the old rector, whom no storm would trouble again, soon to be laid under the sands of his buried church-yard, his very mound to be heaped over in a few years, and obliterated by waves of additional encroaching sand. judith had not slept all night. she--she, a mere child, had to consider and arrange everything consequent on the death of the master of the house. the servants--cook and house-maid--had been of little, if any, assistance to her. when jane, the house-maid, had rushed into the kitchen with the tidings that the old parson was dead, cook, in her agitation, upset the kettle and scalded her foot. the gardener's wife had come in on hearing the news, and had volunteered help. judith had given her the closet-key to fetch from the stores something needed; and jamie, finding access to the closet, had taken possession of a pot of raspberry jam, carried it to bed with him, and spilled it over the sheets, besides making himself ill. the house-maid, jane, had forgotten in her distraction to shut the best bedroom casement, and the gale during the night had wrenched it from its hinges, flung it into the garden on the roof of the small conservatory, and smashed both. moreover, the casement being open, the rain had driven into the room unchecked, had swamped the floor, run through and stained the drawing-room ceiling underneath, the drips had fallen on the mahogany table and blistered the veneer. a messenger was sent to pentyre glaze for miss dionysia trevisa, and she would probably arrive in an hour or two. mr. trevisa, as he had told judith, was solitary, singularly so. he was of a good cornish family, but it was one that had dwindled till it had ceased to have other representative than himself. once well estated, at crockadon, in s. mellion, all the lands of the family had been lost; once with merchants in the family, all the fortunes of these merchants industriously gathered had been dissipated, and nothing had remained to the reverend peter trevisa but his family name and family coat, a garb or, on a field gules. it really seemed as though the tinctures of the shield had been fixed in the crown of splendor that covered the head of judith. but she did not derive this wealth of red-gold hair from her cornish ancestors, but from a scottish mother, a poor governess whom mr. peter trevisa had married, thereby exciting the wrath of his only sister and relative, miss dionysia, who had hitherto kept house for him, and vexed his soul with her high-handed proceedings. it was owing to some insolent words used by her to mrs. trevisa that peter had quarrelled with his sister at first. then when his wife died, she had forced herself on him as housekeeper, but again her presence in the house had become irksome to him, and when she treated his children--his delicate and dearly loved judith--with roughness, and his timid, silly jamie with harshness, amounting in his view to cruelty--harsh words had passed between them; sharp is, however, hardly the expression to use for the carefully worded remonstrances of the mild rector, though appropriate enough to her rejoinders. then she had taken herself off and had become housekeeper to curll coppinger, cruel coppinger, as he was usually called, who occupied pentyre glaze, and was a fairly well-to-do single man. mr. trevisa had not been a person of energy, but one of culture and refinement; a dispirited, timid man. finding no neighbors of the same mental texture, nor sympathetic, he had been driven to make of judith, though a child, his companion, and he had poured into her ear all his troubles, which largely concerned the future of his children. in his feebleness he took comfort from her sanguine confidence, though he was well aware that it was bred of ignorance, and he derived a weak satisfaction from the thought that he had prepared her morally, at all events, if in no other fashion, for the crisis that must come when he was withdrawn. mr. peter trevisa--peter was a family christian name--was for twenty-five years rector of s. enodoc, on the north coast of cornwall at the mouth of the camel. the sand dunes had encroached on the church of s. enodoc, and had enveloped the sacred structure. a hole was broken through a window, through which the interior could be reached, where divine service was performed occasionally in the presence of the church-wardens, so as to establish the right of the rectors, and through this same hole bridal parties entered to be coupled, with their feet ankle-deep in sand that filled the interior to above the pew-tops. but mr. trevisa was not the man to endure such a condition of affairs without a protest and an effort to remedy it. he had endeavored to stimulate the farmers and land-owners of the parish to excavate the buried church, but his endeavors had proved futile. there were several reasons for this. in the first place, and certainly foremost, stood this reason: as long as the church was choked with sand and could not be employed for regular divine service, the tithe-payers could make a grievance of it, and excuse themselves from paying their tithes in full, because, as they argued, "parson don't give us sarvice, so us ain't obliged to pay'n." they knew their man, that he was tender-conscienced, and would not bring the law to bear upon them; he would see that there was a certain measure of justness in the argument, and would therefore not demand of them a tithe for which he did not give them the _quid pro quo_. but they had sufficient shrewdness to pay a portion of their tithes, so as not to drive him to extremities and exhaust his patience. it will be seen, therefore, that in the interests of their pockets the tithe-payers did not want to have their parish church excavated. excavation meant weekly service regularly performed, and weekly service regularly performed would be followed by exaction of the full amount of rent-charge. then, again, in the second place, should divine service be resumed in the church of s. enodoc, the parishioners would feel a certain uneasiness in their consciences if they disregarded the summons of the bell; it might not be a very lively uneasiness, but just such an irritation as might be caused by a fly crawling over the face. so long as there was no service they could soothe their consciences with the thought that there was no call to make an effort to pull on sunday breeches and assume a sunday hat, and trudge to the church. therefore, secondly, for the ease of their own consciences, it was undesirable that s. enodoc should be dug out of the sand. then lastly, and thirdly, the engulfment of the church gave them a cherished opportunity for being nasty to the rector, and retailing upon him for his incaution in condemning smuggling and launching out into anathema against wrecking. as he had made matters disagreeable to them--tried, as they put it, to take bread out of their mouths, they saw no reason why they should spend money to please him. mr. trevisa had made very little provision for his children, principally, if not wholly, because he could not. he had received from the farmers and land-owners a portion of tithe, and had been contented with that rather than raise angry feelings by demanding the whole. out of that portion he was able to put aside but little. aunt dionysia arrived, a tall, bony woman, with hair turning gray, light eyes and an aquiline nose, a hard, self-seeking woman, who congratulated herself that she did not give way to feelings. "i feel," said she, "as do others, but i don't show my feelings as beggars expose their bad legs." she went into the kitchen. "hoity-toity!" she said to the cook, "fine story this--scalding yourself. mind this, you cook meals or no wage for you." to jane, "the mischief you have done shall be valued and deducted from any little trifle my brother may have left you in his will. where is jamie? give me that joint of fishing-rod; i'll beat him for stealing raspberry jam." jamie, however, on catching a glimpse of his aunt had escaped into the garden and concealed himself. the cook, offended, began to clatter the saucepans. "now, then," said mrs. trevisa--she bore the brevet-rank--"in a house of mourning what do you mean by making this noise, it is impertinent to me." the house-maid swung out of the kitchen, muttering. mrs. trevisa now betook herself up-stairs in quest of her niece, and found her with red eyes. "i call it rank _felo-de-se_," said aunt dionysia. "every one knew--_he_ knew, that he had a feeble heart, and ought not to be digging and delving in the old church. who sent the sand upon it? why, providence, i presume. not man. then it was a flying in the face of providence to try to dig it out. who wanted the church? he might have waited till the parishioners asked for it. but there--where is jamie? i shall teach him a lesson for stealing raspberry jam." "oh, aunt, not now--not now!" mrs. trevisa considered a moment, then laid aside the fishing-rod. "perhaps you are right. i am not up to it after my walk from pentyre glaze. now, then, what about mourning? i do not suppose jamie can be measured by guesswork. you must bring him here. tell him the whipping is put off till another day. of course you have seen to black things for yourself. not? why, gracious heavens! is everything to be thrown on my shoulders? am i to be made a beast of burden of? now, no mewling and pewking. there is no time for that. whatever _your_ time may be, _mine_ is valuable. i can't be here forever. of course every responsibility has been put on me. just like peter--no consideration. and what can i do with a set of babies? i have to work hard enough to keep myself. peter did not want my services at one time; now i am put upon. have you sent for the undertaker? what about clothing again? i suppose you know that you must have mourning? bless my heart! what a lot of trouble you give me." mrs. trevisa was in a very bad temper, which even the knowledge that it was seemly that she should veil it could not make her restrain. she was, no doubt, to a certain extent fond of her brother--not much, because he had not been of any advantage to her; and no doubt she was shocked at his death, but chiefly because it entailed on herself responsibilities and trouble that she grudged. she would be obliged to do something for her nephew and niece; she would have to provide a home for them somewhere. she could not take them with her to coppinger's house, as she was there as a salaried servant, and not entitled to invite thither her young relatives. moreover, she did not want to have them near her. she disliked young people; they gave trouble, they had to be looked after, they entailed expenses. what was she to do with them? where was she to put them? what would they have to live upon? would they call on her to part-maintain them? miss dionysia had a small sum put away, and she had no intention of breaking into it for them. it was a nest-egg, and was laid by against an evil day that might come on herself. she had put the money away for herself, in her old age, not for the children of her feeble brother and his lack-penny wife to consume as moth and rust. as these thoughts and questions passed through her mind, aunt dionysia pulled open drawers, examined cupboards, pried open closets, and searched chests and wardrobes. "i wonder now what he has put by for them," she said aloud. "do you mean my dear papa?" asked judith, whose troubled heart and shaken spirits were becoming angry and restless under the behavior of the hard, unfeeling woman. "yes, i do," answered mrs. trevisa, facing round, and glaring malevolently at her niece. "it is early days to talk of this, but it must be done sooner or later, and if so, the sooner the better. there is money in the house, i suppose?" "i do not know." "i must know. you will want it--bills must be paid. you will eat and drink, i suppose? you must be clothed. i'll tell you what: i'll put the whole case into the hands of lawyer jenkyns, and he shall demand arrears of tithes. i know what quixotish conduct peter----" "aunt, i will not allow this." a light flush came into the girl's cheek. "it is all very well talking," said aunt dionysia; "but black is not white, and no power on earth can make me say that it is so. money must be found. money must be paid for expenses, and it is hard that i should have to find it; so i think. what money is there in the house for present necessities? i must know." suddenly a loud voice was heard shouting through the house-- "mother dunes! old dunes! i want you." judith turned cold and white. who was this that dared to bellow in the house of death, when her dear, dear father lay up-stairs with the blinds down, asleep? it was an insult, an outrage. her nerves had already been thrilled, and her heart roused into angry revolt by the cold, unfeeling conduct of the woman who was her sole relative in the world. and now, as she was thus quivering, there came this boisterous shout. "it is the master!" said mrs. trevisa, in an awestruck voice, lowered as much as was possible to her. to coppinger alone she was submissive, cringing, obsequious. "what does he mean by this--this conduct?" asked judith, trembling with wrath. "he wants me." again a shout. "dunes! old fool! the keys!" then judith started forward, and went through the door to the head of the staircase. at the foot stood a middle-sized, strongly built, firmly knit man, in a dress half belonging to the land and half to the sea, with high boots on his legs, and slouched hat on his head. his complexion was olive, his hair abundant and black, covering cheeks and chin and upper lip. his eyes were hard and dark. he had one brown hand on the banister, and a foot on the first step, as though about to ascend, when arrested by seeing the girl at the head of the stairs before him. the house was low, and the steps led without a break directly from the hall to the landing which gave communication to the bedrooms. there was a skylight in the roof over the staircase, through which a brilliant flood of pure white light fell over judith, whereas every window had been darkened by drawn blinds. the girl had found no sombre dress suitable to wear, and had been forced to assume the same white gown as the day before, but she had discarded the green sash and had bound a black ribbon about her waist, and another about her abundant hair. a black lace kerchief was drawn over her shoulders across her breast and tied at her back. she wore long, black mittens. judith stood motionless, her bosom rising and falling quickly, her lips set, the breath racing through her nostrils, and one hand resting on the banister at the stair-head. in a moment her eyes met those of coppinger, and it was at once as though a thrill of electric force had passed between them. he desisted from his attempt to ascend, and said, without moving his eyes from hers, in a subdued tone, "she has taken the keys," but he said no more. he drew his foot from the step hesitatingly, and loosened his hand from the banister, down which went a thrill from judith's quivering nerves, and he stepped back. at the same moment she descended a step, still looking steadily into the dark, threatening pupils, without blinking or lowering her orbs. emboldened by her boiling indignation, she stood on the step she had reached with both feet firmly planted there, and finding that the banister rattled under her hand she withdrew it, and folded her arms. coppinger raised his hand to his head and took off his hat. he had a profusion of dark, curly, flowing hair, that fell and encircled his saturnine face. then judith descended another step, and as she did so he retreated a step backwards. behind him was the hall door, open; the light lay wan and white there on the gravel, for no sunshine had succeeded the gale. at every step that judith took down the stair coppinger retreated. neither spoke; the hall was still, save for the sound of their breath, and his came as fast as hers. when judith had reached the bottom she turned--coppinger stood in the doorway now--and signed to her aunt to come down with the keys. "take them to him--do not give them here--outside." mrs. trevisa, surprised, confounded, descended the stair, went by her, and out through the door. then judith stepped after her, shut the door to exclude both aunt dionysia and that man coppinger, who had dared, uninvited, on such a day to invade the house. she turned now to remount the stairs, but her strength failed her, her knees yielded, and she sank upon a step, and burst into a flood of tears and convulsive sobs. chapter iii. captain cruel. captain coppinger occupied an old farmhouse, roomy, low-built, granite quoined and mullioned, called pentyre glaze, in a slight dip of the hills near the cliffs above the thundering atlantic. one ash shivered at the end of the house--that was the only tree to be seen near pentyre glaze. and--who was coppinger? that is more than can be told. he had come--no one knew whence. his arrival on the north coast of cornwall was mysterious. there had been haze over the sea for three days. when it lifted, a strange vessel of foreign rig was seen lying off the coast. had she got there in the fog, not knowing her course; or had she come there knowingly, and was making for the mouth of the camel? a boat was seen to leave the ship, and in it a man came ashore; the boat returned to the vessel, that thereupon spread sail and disappeared in the fog that re-descended over the water. the man gave his name as coppinger--his christian name, he said, was curll, and he was a dane; but though his intonation was not that of the cornish, it was not foreign. he took up his residence in s. enodoc at a farm, and suddenly, to the surprise of every one, became by purchase the possessor of pentyre glaze, then vacant and for sale. had he known that the estate was obtainable when he had come suddenly out of the clouds into the place to secure it? nobody knew, and coppinger was silent. thenceforth pentyre glaze became the harbor and den of every lawless character along the coast. all kinds of wild uproar and reckless revelry appalled the neighborhood day and night. it was discovered that an organized band of smugglers, wreckers, and poachers made this house the centre of their operations, and that "cruel coppinger" was their captain. there were at that time--just a century ago--no resident magistrates or gentry in the immediate neighborhood. the yeomen were bribed, by kegs of spirits left at their doors, to acquiesce in a traffic in illicit goods, and in the matter of exchange they took their shares. it was said that on one occasion a preventive man named ewan wyvill, who had pursued coppinger in his boat, was taken by him, and his head chopped off by the captain, with his boat axe, on the gunwale. such was the story. it was never proved. wyvill had disappeared, and the body was recovered headless on the doom bar. that violence had been used was undoubted, but who had committed the crime was not known, though suspicion pointed to coppinger. thenceforth none ever called him curll; by one consent he was named cruel. in the west of england every one is given his christian name. an old man is uncle, and an old woman aunt, and any one in command is a captain. so coppinger was known as captain cruel, or as cruel coppinger. strange vessels were often seen appearing at regular intervals on the coast, and signals were flashed from the one window of pentyre glaze that looked out to sea. among these vessels, one, a full-rigged schooner, soon became ominously conspicuous. she was for long the terror of the cornish coast. her name was the black prince. once, with coppinger on board, she led a revenue cutter into an intricate channel among the rocks, where, from knowledge of the bearings, the black prince escaped scathless, while the king's vessel perished with all on board. immunity increased coppinger's daring. there were certain bridle-roads along the fields over which he exercised exclusive control. he issued orders that no man should pass over them by night, and accordingly from that hour none ever did.[a] [a] many stories of cruel coppinger may be found in hawker's footprints of former men in cornwall. i have also told them in my vicar of morwenstow. i have ventured to translate the scene of coppinger's activity further west, from wellcombe to s. enodoc. but, indeed, he is told of in many places on this coast. moreover, if report spoke true--and reports do not arise without cause--coppinger was not averse from taking advantage, and that unlawful advantage, of a wreck. by "lawful" and "unlawful" two categories of acts are distinguished, not by the laws of the land but by common consent of the cornish conscience. that same cornish conscience distinguished wrecking into two classes, as it distinguished then, and distinguishes still, witchcraft into two classes. the one, white witchcraft, is legitimate and profitable, and to be upheld; the other, black witchcraft, is reprehensible, unlawful, and to be put down. so with wrecking. the bristol channel teemed with shipping, flights of white sails passed in the offing, and these vessels were, when inward bound, laden with sugars and spices from the indies, or with spirits and wines from france. if outward bound they were deep in the water with a cargo of the riches of england. now, should a gale spring up suddenly and catch any of these vessels, and should the gale be--as it usually is, and to the cornish folk, favorably is--from the northwest, then there was no harbor of refuge along that rock-bound coast, and a ship that could not make for the open was bound inevitably to be pounded to pieces against the precipitous walls of the peninsula. if such were the case, it was perfectly legitimate for every householder in the district to come down on the wreck and strip it of everything it contained. but, on the other hand, there was wrecking that was disapproved of, though practised by a few, so rumor said, and that consisted in luring a vessel that was in doubt as to her course, by false signals, upon a reef or bar, and then, having made a wreck of her, to pillage her. when on a morning after a night in which there had been no gale, a ship was found on the rocks, and picked as clean as the carcase of a camel in the desert, it was open to suspicion that this ship had not been driven there by wind or current; and when the survivors, if they reached the shore, told that they had been led to steer in the direction where they had been cast away by certain lights that had wholly deceived them, then it was also open to suspicion that these lights had been purposely exhibited for the sake of bringing that vessel to destruction; and when, further, it was proved that a certain set or gang of men had garnered all the profits, or almost all the profits, that accrued from a wreck, before the countryside was aware that a wreck had occurred, then it was certainly no very random conjecture that the wreck had been contrived in some fashion by those who profited by it. there were atrocious tales of murder of shipwrecked men circulating, but these were probably wholly, or at all events in part, untrue. if when a vessel ran upon the rocks she was deserted by her crew, if they took to the boats and made for shore, then there remained no impediment to the wreckers taking possession; it was only in the event of their finding a skipper on board to maintain right over the grounded vessel, or the mariners still on her engaged in getting her off, that any temptation to violence could arise. but it was improbable that a crew would cling to a ship on such a coast when once she was on the breakers. it was a moral certainty that they would desert her, and leave the wreck to be pillaged by the rats from shore, without offer of resistance. the character of the coast-wreckers was known to seamen, or rather a legend full of horror circulated relative to their remorseless savagery. the fear of wreckers added to the fear of the sea would combine to drive a crew, to the last man, into the boats. consequently, though it is possible that in some cases murder of castaway men may have occurred, such cases must have been most exceptional. the wreckers were only too glad to build a golden bridge by which the wrecked might escape. morally, without a question, those who lured a hapless merchantman upon the rocks were guilty of the deaths of those sailors who were upset in their boats in escaping from the vessel, or were dashed against the cliffs in their attempts to land, but there was no direct blood-guiltiness felt in such cases; and those who had reaped a harvest from the sea counted their gains individually, and made no estimate of the misery accruing thereby to others. chapter iv. hop-o'-my-thumb. "listen to me," said judith. "yes, ju!" the orphans were together in the room that had been their father's, the room in which for some days he had lain with the blinds down, the atmosphere heavy with the perfume of flowers, and that indescribable, unmistakable scent of death. often, every day, almost every hour, had judith stolen into the room while he lay there, to wonder with infinite reverence and admiration at the purity and dignity of the dead face. it was that of the dear, dear father, but sublimed beyond her imagination. all the old vacillation was gone, the expression of distress and discouragement had passed away, and in their place had come a fixity and a calm, such as one sees in the busts of the ancient roman cæsars, but with a superadded ethereality, if such a word can be used, that a piece of pagan statuary never reached. marvellous, past finding out, it is that death, which takes from man the spiritual element, should give to the mere clay a look of angelic spirituality, yet so it is--so it was with the dead peter trevisa; and judith, with eyes filling as fast as dried, stood, her hands folded, looking into his face, felt that she had never loved, never admired him half enough when he was alive. life had been the simmer in which all the scum of trivialities, of infirmities, of sordidness had come to and shown itself on the surface. now death had cleared these all away, and in the peaceful face of the dead was seen the _real_ man, the nobility, sanctity, delicacy that formed the texture of his soul, and which had impressed the very clay wrapped about that volatile essence. as long as the dear father's body lay in the house judith had not realized her utter desolation. but now the funeral was over, and she had returned with her brother to the parsonage, to draw up the blinds, and let the light once more enter, and search out, and revivify the dead rooms. she was very pale, with reddened eyes, and looking more fragile and transparent than ever she did before, worn and exhausted by tearful, wakeful nights, and by days of alternating gusts of sorrow and busy preparation for the funeral, of painful recollections of joyous days that were past, and of doubtful searchings into a future that was full of cloud. her black frock served to enhance her pallor, and to make her look thinner, smaller than when in white or in color. she had taken her place in her father's high-backed leather chair, studded thick with brass nails, the leather dulled and fretted by constant use, but the nail-heads burnished by the same treatment. her brother was in the same chair with her; both his arms were round her neck, and his head was on her shoulder. she had her right arm about his waist, her left was bowed, the elbow leaning on the chair arm, her hand folded inward, and her weary head rested on its back. the fine weather broken in upon by the gale had returned; the sun shone in unhindered at the window, and blazed on the children's hair; the brass nails, polished by friction, twinkled as little suns, but were naught in lustre to the gorgeous red of the hair of the twins, for the first were but brass, and the other of living gold. two more lonely beings could hardly be discovered on the face of the earth--at all events in the peninsula of cornwall--but the sense of this loneliness was summed in the heart of judith, and was there articulate; jamie was but dimly conscious of discomfort and bereavement. she knew what her father's death entailed on her, or knew in part, and conjectured more. had she been left absolutely alone in the world her condition would have been less difficult than it was actually, encumbered with her helpless brother. swimming alone in the tossing sea, she might have struck out with confidence that she could keep her head above water, but it was quite otherwise when clinging to her was a poor, half-witted boy, incapable of doing anything to save himself, and all whose movements tended only to embarrass her. not that she regretted for an instant having to care for jamie, for she loved him with sisterly and motherly love combined, intensified in force by fusion; if to her a future seemed inconceivable without jamie, a future without him would be one without ambition, pleasure, or interest. the twin brother was very like her, with the same beautiful and abundant hair, delicate in build, and with the same refined face, but without the flashes of alternating mood that lightened and darkened her face. his had a searching, bewildered, distressed expression on it--the only expression it ever bore except when he was out of temper, and then it mirrored on its surface his inward ill-humor. his was an appealing face, a face that told of a spirit infantile, innocent, and ignorant, that would never grow stronger, but which could deteriorate by loss of innocence--the only charge of which it was capable. the boy had no inherent naughtiness in him, but was constantly falling into mischief through thoughtlessness, and he was difficult to manage because incapable of reasoning. what every one saw--that he never would be other than what he was--judith would not admit. she acknowledged his inaptitude at his books, his frivolity, his restlessness, but believed that these were infirmities to be overcome, and that when overcome the boy would be as other boys are. now these children--they were aged eighteen, but jamie looked four years younger--sat in their father's chair, clinging to each other, all in all to one another, for they had no one else to love and who loved them. "listen to me, jamie." "yes, ju, i be----" "don't say 'i be'--say 'i am.'" "yes, ju." "jamie, dear!" she drew her arm tighter about him; her heart was bounding, and every beat caused her pain. "jamie, dear, you know that, now dear papa is gone, and you will never see him in this world again, that----" "yes, ju." "that i have to look to you, my brother, to stand up for me like a man, to think and do for me as well as for yourself--a brave, stout, industrious fellow." "yes, ju." "i am a girl, and you will soon be a man, and must work for both of us. you must earn the money, and i will spend it frugally as we both require it. then we shall be happy again, and dear papa in paradise will be glad and smile on us. you will make an effort, will you not, jamie? hitherto you have been able to run about and play and squander your time, but now serious days have come upon us, and you must fix your mind on work and determine--jamie--mind, screw your heart to a strong determination to put away childish things and be a man, and a strength and a comfort to me." he put up his lips to kiss her cheek, but could not reach it, as her head was leaning on her hand away from him. "what are you fidgeting at, my dear?" she asked, without stirring, feeling his body restless under her arm. "a nail is coming out," he answered. it was so; whilst she had been speaking to him he was working at one of the brass studs, and had loosened its bite in the chair. "oh, jamie! you are making work by thus drawing out a nail. can you not help me a little, and reduce the amount one has to think of and do? you have not been attending to what i said, and i was so much in earnest." she spoke in a tone of discouragement, and the tone, more than the words, impressed the susceptible heart of the boy. he began to cry. "you are cross." "i am not cross, my pet; i am never cross with you, i love you too dearly; but you try my patience sometimes, and just now i am overstrained--and then i did want to make you understand." "now papa's dead i'll do no more lessons, shall i?" asked jamie, coaxingly. "you must, indeed, and with me instead of papa." "not _rosa_, _rosæ_?" "yes, _rosa_, _rosæ_." then he sulked. "i don't love you a bit. it is not fair. papa is dead, so i ought not to have any more lessons. i hate _rosa_, _rosæ_!" he kicked the legs of the chair peevishly with his heels. as his sister said nothing, seemed to be inattentive--for she was weary and dispirited--he slapped her cheek by raising his hand over his head. "what, jamie, strike me, your only friend?" then he threw his arms round her again, and kissed her. "i'll love you; only, ju, say i am not to do _rosa_, _rosæ_!" "how long have you been working at the first declension in the latin grammar, jamie?" he tried for an instant to think, gave up the effort, laid his head on her shoulder, and said: "i don't know and don't care. say i am not to do _rosa_, _rosæ_!" "what! not if papa wished it?" "i hate the latin grammar!" for a while both remained silent. judith felt the tension to which her mind and nerves had been subjected, and lapsed momentarily into a condition of something like unconsciousness, in which she was dimly sensible of a certain satisfaction rising out of the pause in thought and effort. the boy lay quiet, with his head on her shoulder, for a while, then withdrew his arms, folded his hands on his lap, and began to make a noise by compressing the air between the palms. "there's a finch out there going 'chink! chink!' and listen, ju, i can make 'chink! chink!' too." judith recovered herself from her distraction, and said: "never mind the finch now. think of what i say. we shall have to leave this house." "why?" "of course we must, sooner or later, and the sooner the better. it is no more ours." "yes, it is ours. i have my rabbits here." "now that papa is dead it is no longer ours." "it's a wicked shame." "not at all, jamie. this house was given to papa for his life only; now it will go to a new rector, and aunt dunes[b] is going to fetch us away to another house." [b] dunes is the short for dionysia. "when?" "to-day." "i won't go," said the boy. "i swear i won't." "hush, hush, jamie! don't use such expressions. i do not know where you have picked them up. we must go." "and my rabbits, are they to go too?" "the rabbits? we'll see about them. aunt----" "i hate aunt dunes!" "you really must not call her that; if she hears you she will be very angry. and consider, she has been taking a great deal of trouble about us." "i don't care." "my dear, she is dear papa's sister." "why didn't papa get a nicer sister--like you?" "because he had to take what god gave him." the boy pouted, and began to kick his heels against the chair-legs once more. "jamie, we must leave this house to-day. aunt is coming to take us both away." "i won't go." "but, jamie, i am going, and the cook is going, and so is jane." "are cook and jane coming with us?" "no, dear." "why not?" "we shall not want them. we cannot afford to keep them any more, to pay their wages; and then we shall not go into a house of our own. you must come with me, and be a joy and rest to me, dear jamie." she turned her head over, and leaned it on his head. the sun glowed in their mingled hair--all of one tinge and lustre. it sparkled in the tears on her cheek. "ju, may i have these buttons?" "what buttons?" "look!" he shook himself free from his sister, slid his feet to the ground, went to a bureau, and brought to his sister a large open basket that had been standing on the top of the bureau. it had been turned out of a closet by aunt dionysia, and contained an accumulation of those most profitless of collected remnants--odd buttons, coat buttons, brass, smoked mother-of-pearl, shirt buttons, steel clasps--buttons of all kinds, the gathering together made during twenty-five years. why the basket, after having been turned out of a lumber closet, had been left in the room of death, or why, if turned out elsewhere, it had been brought there, is more than even the novelist can tell. suffice it that there it was, and by whom put there could not be said. "oh! what a store of pretty buttons!" exclaimed the boy. "do look, ju, these great big ones are just like those on cheap jack's red waistcoat. here is a brass one with a horse on it. do see! oh, ju, please get your needle and thread and sew this one on to my black dress." judith sighed. it was in vain for her to impress the realities of the situation on his wandering mind. "hark!" she exclaimed. "there is aunt dunes. i hear her voice--how loud she speaks! she has come to fetch us away." "where is she going to take us to?" "i do not know, jamie." "she will take us into the forest and lose us, like as did hop-o'-my-thumb's father." "there are no forests here--hardly any trees." "she will leave us in the forest and run away." "nonsense, jamie!" "i am sure she will. she doesn't like us. she wants to get rid of us. i don't care. may i have the basket of buttons?" "yes, jamie." "then i'll be hop-o'-my-thumb." chapter v. the buttons. it was as judith surmised. mrs. dionysia trevisa had come to remove her nephew and niece from the rectory. she was a woman decided in character, especially in all that concerned her interests. she had made up her mind that the children could not be left unprotected in the parsonage, and she could not be with them. therefore they must go. the servants must leave; they would be paid their month's wage, but by dismissing them their keep would be economized. there was a factotum living in a cottage near, who did the gardening, the cinder-sifting, and boot-cleaning for the rectory inmates, he would look after the empty house, and wait on in hopes of being engaged to garden, sift cinders, and clean boots for the new rector. as it was settled that the children must leave the house, the next thing to consider was where they were to be placed. the aunt could not take them to pentyre glaze; that was not to be thought of. they must be disposed of in some other way. mrs. trevisa had determined on a sale of her brother's effects: his furniture, bedding, curtains, carpets, books, plate, and old sermons. she was anxious to realize as soon as possible, so as to know for certain what she could calculate upon as being left her for the support of judith and her brother. to herself the rector had left only a ring and five guineas. she had not expected more. his decease was not likely to be a benefit, but, on the contrary, an embarrassment to her. he had left about a thousand pounds, but then mrs. trevisa did not yet know how large a bite out of this thousand pounds would be taken by the dilapidations on rectory, glebe, and chancel. the chancel of the church was in that condition that it afforded a wide margin for the adjudication of dilapidations. they might be set down at ten shillings or a thousand pounds, and no one could say which was the fairest sum, as the chancel was deep in sand and invisible. the imagination of the valuer might declare it to be sound or to be rotten, and till dug out no one could impeach his judgment. in those days, when an incumbent died, the widow and orphans of the deceased appointed a valuer, and the incoming rector nominated his valuer, and these two cormorants looked each other in the eyes--said to each other, "brother, what pickings?" and as less resistance to being lacerated and cleaned to the bone was to be anticipated from a broken-hearted widow and helpless children than from a robust, red-faced rector, the cormorants contrived to rob the widow and the fatherless. then that cormorant who had been paid to look after the interest of the widow and children and had not done it said to the other cormorant, "brother, i've done you a turn this time; do me the like when the chance falls to you." now, although nominally the money picked off the sufferers was to go to the account of the incomer, it was not allowed to pass till the cormorants had taken toll of it. moreover, these cormorants were architects, builders, solicitors, or contractors of some sort, and looked to get something further out of the incoming man they favored, whereas they knew they could get nothing at all out of the departed man who was buried. now we have pretended to change all this; let us persuade ourselves we have made the conduct of these matters more honest and just. aunt dionysia did not know by experience what valuers for dilapidations were, but she had always heard that valuation for dilapidations materially diminished the property of a deceased incumbent. she was consequently uneasy, and anxious to know the worst, and make the best of the circumstances that she could. she saw clearly enough that the sum that would remain when debts and valuation were paid would be insufficient to support the orphans, and she saw also with painful clearness that there would be a necessity for her to supplement their reduced income from her own earnings. this conviction did not sweeten her temper and increase the cordiality with which she treated her nephew and niece. "now, hoity-toity!" said aunt dionysia; "i'm not one of your mewlers and pewkers. i have my work to do, and can't afford to waste time in the luxury of tears. you children shall come with me. i will see you settled in, and then balhachet shall wheel over your boxes and whatever we want for the night. i have been away from my duties longer than i ought, and the maids are running wild, are after every one who comes near the place like horse-flies round the cattle on a sultry day. i will see you to your quarters, and then you must shift for yourselves. balhachet can come and go between the rectory and zachie menaida as much as you want." "are we going to mr. menaida's, aunt?" asked judith. "did i not say zachie menaida! if i said zachie menaida i suppose i meant what i said, or are you hard of hearing? come--time to _me_ is precious. bustle--bustle--don't keep me waiting while you gape." after a while mrs. trevisa succeeded in getting her nephew and niece to start. judith, indeed, was ready at the first suggestion to go with her aunt, glad to get over the pang of leaving the house as quickly as might be. it was to be the rupture of one thread of the tie that bound her to the past, but an important thread. she was to leave the house as a home, though she would return to it again and again to carry away from it such of her possessions as she required and could find a place for at zachary menaida's. but with jamie it was otherwise. he had run away, and had to be sought, and when found coaxed and cajoled into following his aunt and sister. judith had found him, for she knew his nooks and dens. he was seated in a laurel bush playing with the buttons. "look, ju! there is some broken mirror among the buttons. stand still, and i will make the sun jump into your eyes. open your mouth, and i will send him down your throat. won't it be fun; i'll tease old dunes with it." "then come along with me." he obeyed. the distance to zachary menaida's cottage was about a mile and a quarter, partly through parish roads, partly through lanes, the way in parts walled and hedged up against the winds, in others completely exposed to every breath of air where it traversed a down. judith walked forward with her aunt, and jamie lagged. occasionally his sister turned her head to reassure herself that he had not given them the slip; otherwise she attended as closely as she was able to the instructions and exhortations of her aunt. she and her brother were to be lodged temporarily at uncle zachie's, that is to say, with mr. menaida, an elderly, somewhat eccentric man, who occupied a double cottage at the little hamlet of polzeath. no final arrangement as to the destination of the orphans could be made till aunt dunes knew the result of the sale, and how much remained to the children after the father's trifling debts had been paid, and the considerable slice had been cut out of it by the valuers for dilapidations. mrs. trevisa talked fast in her harsh tones, and in a loud voice, without undulation or softness in it, and expected her niece to hear and give account for everything she told her, goading her to attention with a sharp reminder when she deemed that her mind was relaxed, and whipping her thoughts together when she found them wandering. but, indeed, it was not possible to forget for one moment the presence and personality of dionysia, though the subject of her discourse might be unnoticed. every fibre of judith's heart was strung and strained to the uttermost, to acutest feeling, and a sympathetic hand drawn across them would have produced a soft, thrilling, musical wail. her bosom was so full to overflow that a single word of kindness, a look even that told of love, would have sufficed to make the child cast herself in a convulsion of grief into her aunt's arms, bury her face in her bosom, and weep out her pent-up tears. then, after perhaps half an hour, she would have looked up through the rain into her aunt's face, and have smiled, and have loved that aunt passionately, self-sacrificingly, to her dying day. she was disposed to love her--for was not dionysia the only relative she had; and was she not the very sister of that father who had been to her so much? but mrs. trevisa was not the woman to touch the taught cords with a light hand, or to speak or look in love. she was hard, angular, unsympathetic; and her manner, the intonations of her voice, her mode of address, the very movements of her body, acted on the strained nerves as a rasping file, that would fret till it had torn them through. suddenly round a corner, where the narrow road turned, two hundred yards ahead, dashed a rider on a black steed, and judith immediately recognized coppinger on his famous mare black bess; a mare much talked of, named after the horse ridden by dick turpin. the recognition was mutual. he knew her instantly; with a jerk of the rein and a set of the brow he showed that he was not indifferent. coppinger wore his slouched hat, tied under his chin and beard, a necessary precaution in that gale-swept country; on his feet to his knees were high boots. he wore a blue knitted jersey, and a red kerchief about his throat. captain cruel slightly slackened his pace, as the lane was narrow; and as he rode past his dark brow was knit, and his eyes flashed angrily at judith. he deigned neither a glance nor a word to his housekeeper, who courtesied and assumed a fawning expression. when he had passed the two women he dug his spurs into black bess and muttered some words they did not hear. judith, who had stood aside, now came forward into the midst of the roadway and rejoined her aunt, who began to say something, when her words and judith's attention was arrested by shouts, oaths, and cries in their rear. judith and her aunt turned to discover the occasion of this disturbance, and saw that coppinger was off his horse, on his feet, dragging the brute by the rein, and was hurling his crop, or hunting-whip, as he pursued jamie flying from him with cries of terror. but that he held the horse and could not keep up with the boy, jamie would have suffered severely, for coppinger was in a livid fury. jamie flew to his sister. "save me, ju! he wants to kill me." "what have you done?" "it is only the buttons." "buttons, dear?" but the boy was too frightened to explain. then judith drew her brother behind her, took from him the basket he was carrying, and stepped to encounter the angry man, who came on, now struggling with his horse, cursing bess because she drew back, then plunging forward with his whip above his head brandished menacingly, and by this conduct further alarmed black bess. judith met coppinger, and he was forced to stay his forward course. "what has he done?" asked the girl. "why do you threaten?" "the cursed idiot has strewn bits of glass and buttons along the road," answered the captain, angrily. "stand aside that i may lash him, and teach him to frighten horses and endanger men's lives." "i am sorry for what jamie has done. i will pick up the things he has thrown down." cruel coppinger's eyes glistened with wrath. he gathered the lash of his whip into his palm along with the handle, and gripped them passionately. "curse the fool! my bess was frightened, dashed up the bank, and all but rolled over. do you know he might have killed me?" "you must excuse him; he is a very child." "i will not excuse him. i will cut the flesh off his back if i catch him." he put the end of the crop handle into his mouth, and, putting his right hand behind him, gathered the reins up shorter and wound them more securely about his left hand. judith walked backward, facing him, and he turned with his horse and went after her. she stooped and gathered up a splinter of glass. the sun striking through the gaps in the hedge had flashed on these scraps of broken mirror and of white bone, or burnished brass buttons, and the horse had been frightened at them. as judith stooped and took up now a buckle, then a button, and then some other shining trifle, she hardly for an instant withdrew her eyes from coppinger; they had in them the same dauntless defiance as when she encountered him on the stairs of the rectory. but now it was she who retreated, step by step, and he who advanced, and yet he could not flatter himself that he was repelling her. she maintained her strength and mastery unbroken as she retreated. "why do you look at me so? why do you walk backward?" "because i mistrust you. i do not know what you might do were i not to confront you." "what i might do? what do you think i would do?" "i cannot tell. i mistrust you." "do you think me capable of lashing at you with my crop?" "i think you capable of anything." "flattering that!" he shouted, angrily. "you would have lashed at jamie." "and why not? he might have killed me." "he might have killed you, but you should not have touched him--not have thought of touching him." "indeed! why not?" "why not?" she raised herself upright and looked straight into his eyes, in which fire flickered, flared, then decayed, then flared again. "you are no dane, or you would not have asked 'why not?' twice. nay, you would not have asked it once." "not a dane?" his beard and mustache were quivering, and he snorted with anger. "a dane, i have read in history, is too noble and brave to threaten women and to strike children." he uttered an oath and ground his teeth. "no; a dane would never have thought of asking why not?--why not lash a poor little silly boy?" "you insult me! you dare to do it?" her blood was surging in her heart. as she looked into this man's dark and evil face she thought of all the distress he had caused her father, and a wave of loathing swept over her, nerved her to defy him to the uttermost, and to proclaim all the counts she had against him. "i dare do it," she said, "because you made my own dear papa's life full of bitterness and pain----" "i! i never touched him, hardly spoke to him. i don't care to have to do with parsons." "you made his life one of sorrow through your godless, lawless ways, leading his poor flock astray, and bidding them mock at his warnings and despise his teachings. almost with his last breath he spoke of you, and the wretchedness of heart you had caused him. and then you dared--yes--you dared--you dared to burst into our house where he lay dead, with shameful insolence to disturb its peace. and now--" she gasped, "and now, ah! you lie when you say you are a dane, and talk of cutting and lashing the dead father's little boy on his father's burial day. you are but one thing i can name--a coward!" did he mean it? no! but blinded, stung to madness by her words, especially that last, he raised his right arm with the crop. did she mean it? no! but in the instinct of self-preservation, thinking he was about to strike her, she dashed the basket of buttons in his face, and they flew right and left over him, against the head of black bess, a rain of fragments of mirror, brass, steel, mother-of-pearl, and bone. the effect was instantaneous. the mare plunged, reared, threw coppinger backward from off his feet, dashed him to the ground, dragged him this way, that way, bounded, still drawing him about by the twisted reins, into the hedge, then back, with her hoofs upon him, near, if not on, his head, his chest--then, released by the snap of the rein, or through its becoming disengaged, bess darted down the lane, was again brought to a standstill by the glittering fragments on the ground, turned, rushed back in the direction whence she had come, and disappeared. judith stood panting, paralyzed with fear and dismay. was he dead, broken to pieces, pounded by those strong hoofs? he was not dead. he was rolling himself on the ground, struggling clumsily to his knees. "are you satisfied?" he shouted, glaring at her like a wild beast through his tangled black hair that had fallen over his face. "i cannot strike you nor your brother now. my arm and the lord knows what other bones are broken. you have done that--and i owe you something for it." chapter vi. uncle zachie. the astonishment, the consternation of mrs. trevisa at what had occurred, which she could not fully comprehend, took from her the power to speak. she had seen her niece in conversation with cruel coppinger, and had caught snatches of what had passed between them. all his words had reached her, and some of judith's. when, suddenly, she saw the girl dash the basket of buttons in the face of the captain, saw him thrown to the ground, drawn about by his frantic horse, and left, as she thought, half dead, her dismay was unbounded. it might have been that coppinger threatened judith with his whip, but nothing could excuse her temerity in resisting him, in resisting him and protecting herself in the way she did. the consequences of that resistance she could not measure. coppinger was bruised, bones were broken, and aunt dionysia knew the nature of the man too well not to expect his deadly animosity, and to feel sure of implacable revenge against the girl who had injured him--a revenge that would envelop all who belonged to her, and would therefore strike herself. the elderly spinster had naturally plenty of strength and hardness that would bear her through most shocks without discomposure, but such an incident as that which had just taken place before her eyes entirely unnerved and dismayed her. coppinger was conveyed home by men called to the spot, and mrs. trevisa walked on with her niece and nephew in silence to the house of mr. zachary menaida. jamie had escaped over the hedge, to put a stone-and-earth barrier between himself and his assailant directly judith interposed between him and coppinger. now that the latter was gone, he came, laughing, over the hedge again. to him what had occurred was fun. at menaida's the aunt departed, leaving her nephew and niece with the old man, that she might hurry to pentyre glaze and provide what was needed for coppinger. she took no leave of judith. in the haze of apprehension that enveloped her mind glowed anger against the girl for having increased her difficulties and jeopardized her position with coppinger. mr. zachary menaida was an old man, or rather a man who had passed middle age, with grizzled hair that stood up above his brow, projecting like the beak of a ship or the horn of an unicorn. he had a big nose inclined to redness, and kindly, watery eyes, was close shaven, and had lips that, whenever he was in perplexity, or worried with work or thought, he thrust forward and curled. he was a middle-statured man, inclined to stoop. uncle zachie, as he was commonly called behind his back, was a gentleman by birth. in the roman catholic church there is a religious order called that of minims. in england we have, perhaps, the most widely-diffused of orders, not confined to religion--it is that of crotchets. to this order mr. menaida certainly belonged. he was made up of hobbies and prejudices that might bore, but never hurt others. probably the most difficult achievement one can conceive for a man to execute is to stand in his own light; yet mr. menaida had succeeded in doing this all through his life. in the first place, he had been bred up for the law, but had never applied himself to the duties of the profession to which he had been articled. as he had manifested as a boy a love of music, his mother and sister had endeavored to make him learn to play on an instrument; but, because so urged, he had refused to qualify himself to play on pianoforte, violin, or flute, till his fingers had stiffened, whereupon he set to work zealously to practise, when it was no longer possible for him to acquire even tolerable proficiency. as he had been set by his father to work on skins of parchment, he turned his mind to skins of another sort, and became an eager naturalist and taxidermist. that he had genius, or rather a few scattered sparks of talent in his muddled brain, was certain. every one who knew him said he was clever, but pitied his inability to turn his cleverness to purpose. but one must take into consideration, before accepting the general verdict that he was clever, the intellectual abilities of those who formed this judgment. when we do this, we doubt much whether their opinion is worth much. mr. menaida was not clever. he had flashes of wit, no steady light of understanding. above all, he had no application, a little of which might have made him a useful member of society. when his articleship was over he set up as a solicitor, but what business was offered him he neglected or mismanaged, till business ceased to be offered. he would have starved had not a small annuity of fifty pounds been left him to keep the wolf from the door, and that he was able to supplement this small income with money made by the sale of his stuffed specimens of sea-fowl. taxidermy was the only art in which he was able to do anything profitable. he loved to observe the birds, to wander on the cliffs listening to their cries, watching their flight, their positions when at rest, the undulations in their feathers under the movement of the muscles as they turned their heads or raised their feet; and when he set himself to stuff the skins he was able to imitate the postures and appearance of living birds with rare fidelity. consequently his specimens were in request, and ornithologists and country gentlemen whose game-keepers had shot rare birds desired to have the skins dealt with, and set in cases, by the dexterous fingers of mr. zachary menaida. he might have done more work of the same kind, but that his ingrained inactivity and distaste for work limited his output. in certain cases mr. menaida would not do what was desired of him till coaxed and flattered, and then he did it grumblingly and with sighs at being subjected to killing toil. mr. menaida was a widower; his married life had not been long; he had been left with a son, now grown to manhood, who was no longer at home. he was abroad, in portugal, in the service of a bristol merchant, an importer of wines. as already said, uncle zachie did not begin the drudgery of music till it was too late for him to acquire skill on any instrument. his passion for music grew with his inability to give himself pleasure from it. he occupied a double cottage at polzeath, and a hole knocked through the wall that had separated the lower rooms enabled him to keep his piano in one room and his bird-stuffing apparatus in the other, and to run from one to the other in his favorite desultory way, that never permitted him to stick to one thing at a time. into this house judith and her brother were introduced. mr. menaida had been attached to the late rector, the only other gentleman in culture, as in birth, that lived in the place, and when he was told by miss--or, as she was usually called, mrs.--trevisa that the children must leave the parsonage and be put temporarily with some one suitable, and that no other suitable house was available, he consented without making much objection to receive them into his cottage. he was a kindly man, gentle at heart, and he was touched at the bereavement of the children whom he had known since they were infants. after the first salutation mr. menaida led judith and the boy into his parlor, the room opening out of his workshop. "look here," said he, "what is that?" he pointed to his piano. "a piano, sir," answered judith. "yes--and mind you, i hate strumming, though i love music. when i am in, engaged at my labors, no strumming. i come in here now and then as relaxation, and run over this and that; then, refreshed, go back to my work, but, if there is any strumming, i shall be put out. i shall run my knife or needle into my hand, and it will upset me for the day. you understand--no strumming. when i am out, then you may touch the keys, but only when i am out. you understand clearly? say the words after me: 'i allow no strumming.'" judith did as required. the same was exacted of jamie. then mr. menaida said-- "very well; now we shall have a dish of tea. i daresay you are tired. dear me, you look so. goodness bless me! indeed you do. what has tired you has been the trial you have gone through. poor things, poor things! there, go to your rooms; my maid, jump, will show you where they are, and i will see about making tea. it will do you good. you want it. i see it." the kind-hearted man ran about. "bless my soul! where have i put the key of the caddy? and--really--my fingers are all over arsenical soap. i think i will leave jump to make the tea. jump, have you seen where i put the key? bless my soul! where did i have it last? never mind; i will break open the caddy." "please, mr. menaida, do not do that for us. we can very well wait till the key is found." "oh! i don't know when that will be. i shall have forgotten about it if i do not find the key at once, or break open the caddy. but, if you prefer it, i have some cherry-brandy, or i would give you some milk-punch." "no--no, indeed, mr. menaida." "but jamie--i am sure he looks tired. a little cherry-brandy to draw the threads in him together. and suffer me, though not a doctor, to recommend it to you. bless my soul! my fingers are all over arsenical soap. if i don't have some cherry-brandy myself i shall have the arsenic get into my system. i hope you have no cuts or scratches on your hand. i forgot the arsenic when i shook hands with you. now, look here, jump, bring in the saffron cake, and i will cut them each a good hunch. it will do you good, on my word it will. i have not spared either figs or saffron, and then--i will help you, as i love you. come and see my birds. that is a cormorant--a splendid fellow--looks as if run out of metal, all his plumage, you know, and in the attitude as if swallowing a fish. do you see!--the morsel is going down his throat. and--how much luggage have you? jump! show the young lady where she can put away her gowns and all that sort of thing. oh, not come yet? all right--a lady and her dresses are not long parted. they will be here soon. now, then. what will you have?--some cold beef--and cider? upon my soul!--you must excuse me. i was just wiring that kittiwake. excuse me--i shall be ready in a moment. in the meantime there are books--rollin's 'ancient history,' a very reliable book. no--upon my word, my mind is distracted. i cannot get that kittiwake right without a glass of port. i have some good port. oliver guarantees it--from portugal, you know. he is there--first-rate business, and will make his fortune, which is more than his father ever did." mr. menaida went to a closet, and produced a bottle. "come here, jamie. i know what is good for you." "no--please, mr. menaida, do not. he has not been accustomed to anything of the sort. please not, sir." "fudge!" said uncle zachie, holding up a glass and pouring cherry-brandy into it. "what is your age?--seventeen or eighteen, and i am fifty-two. i have over thirty years' more experience of the world than you. jamie, don't be tied to your sister's apron-string. i know what is best for you. girls drink water, men something better. come here, jamie!" "no, sir--i beseech you." "bless my soul! i know what is good for him. come to me, jamie. look the other way, judith, if i cannot persuade you." judith sighed, and covered her face with her hands. there was to be no help, no support in uncle zachie. on the contrary, he would break down her power over jamie. "jamie," she said, "if you love me, go up-stairs." "presently, ju. i want that first." and he took it, ran to his sister, and said: "it is good, ju!" "you have disobeyed me, jamie--that is bad." she stood on the threshold of further trouble, and she knew it. chapter vii. a visit. no sleep visited judith's eyes that night till the first streaks of dawn appeared, though she was weary, and her frail body and over-exerted brain needed the refreshment of sleep. but sleep she could not, for cares were gathering upon her. she had often heard her father, when speaking of mr. menaida, lament that he was not a little more self-controlled in his drinking. it was not that the old fellow ever became inebriated, but that he hankered after the bottle, and was wont to take a nip continually to strengthen his nerves, steady his hand, or clear his brain. there was ever ready some excuse satisfactory to his own conscience; and it was due to these incessant applications to the bottle that his hand shook, his eyes became watery, and his nose red. it was a danger judith must guard against, lest this trick should be picked up by the childish jamie, always apt to imitate what he should not, and acquire habits easily gained, hardly broken, that were harmful to himself. uncle zachie, in his good-nature, would lead the boy after him into the same habits that marred his own life. this was one thought that worked like a mole all night in judith's brain; but she had other troubles as well to keep her awake. she was alarmed at the consequences of her conduct in the lane. she wondered whether coppinger were more seriously hurt than had at first appeared. she asked herself whether she had not acted wrongly when she acted inconsiderately, whether in her precipitation to protect herself she had not misjudged coppinger, whether, if he had attempted to strike her, it would not have been a lesser evil to receive the blow, than to ward it off in such a manner as to break his bones. knowing by report the character of the man, she feared that she had incurred his deadly animosity. he could not, that she could see, hurt herself in the execution of his resentment, but he might turn her aunt out of his house. that she had affronted her aunt she was aware; mrs. trevisa's manner in parting with her had shown that with sufficient plainness. a strange jumble of sounds on the piano startled judith. her first thought and fear were that her brother had gone to the instrument, and was amusing himself on the keys. but on listening attentively she was aware that there was sufficient sequence in the notes to make it certain that the performer was a musician, though lacking in facility of execution. she descended the stairs and entered the little sitting-room. uncle zachie was seated on the music-stool, and was endeavoring to play a sonata of beethoven that was vastly beyond the capacity of his stiff-jointed fingers. whenever he made a false note he uttered a little grunt and screwed up his eyes, endeavored to play the bar again, and perhaps accomplish it only to break down in the next. judith did not venture to interrupt him. she took up some knitting, and seated herself near the piano, where he might see her without her disturbing him. he raised his brows, grunted, floundered into false harmony, and exclaimed, "bless me! how badly they do print music nowadays. who, without the miraculous powers of a prophet, could tell that b should be natural?" then, turning his head over his shoulder, addressed judith, "good-morning, missie. are you fond of music?" "yes, sir, very." "so you think. everyone says he or she is fond of music, because that person can hammer out a psalm tune or play the 'rogue's march.' i hate to hear those who call themselves musical strum on a piano. they can't feel, they only execute." "but they can play their notes correctly," said judith, and then flushed with vexation at having made this pointed and cutting remark. but it did not cause mr. menaida to wince. "what of that? i give not a thank-you for mere literal music-reading. call jump, set 'shakespeare' before her, and she will hammer out a scene--correctly as to words; but where is the sense? where the life? you must play with the spirit and play with the understanding also, as you must read with the spirit and read with the understanding also. it is the same thing with bird-stuffing. any fool can ram tow into a skin and thrust wires into the neck, but what is the result? you must stuff birds with the spirit and stuff with the understanding also--or it is naught." "i suppose it is the same with everything one does--one must do it heartily and intelligently." "exactly! now you should see my boy, oliver. have you ever met him?" "i think i have; but, to be truthful, i do not recollect him, sir." "i will bring you his likeness--in miniature. it is in the next room." up jumped mr. menaida, and ran through the opening in the wall, and returned in another moment with the portrait, and gave it into judith's hands. "a fine fellow is oliver! look at his nose how straight it is. not like mine--that is a pump-handle. he got his good looks from his mother, not from me. ah!" he reseated himself at the piano, and ran--incorrectly--over a scale. "it is all the pleasure i have in life, to think of my boy, and to look at his picture, and read his letters, and drink the port he sends me--first-rate stuff. he writes admirable letters, and never a month passes but i receive one. it would come expensive if he wrote direct, so his letter is enclosed in the business papers sent to the house at bristol, and they forward it to me. you shall read his last--out loud. it will give me a pleasure to hear it read by you." "if i read properly, mr. menaida--with the spirit and with the understanding." "exactly! but you could not fail to do that looking at the cheerful face in the miniature, and reading his words--pleasant and bright as himself. pity you have not seen him; well, that makes something to live for. he has dark hair and blue eyes--not often met together, and when associated, very refreshing. wait! i'll go after the letter: only, bless my soul! where is it? what coat did i have on when i read it? i'll call jump. she may remember. wait! do you recall this?" he stumbled over something on the keys which might have been anything. "it is haydn. i will tell you what i think: mozart i delight in as a companion; beethoven i revere as a master; but haydn i love as a friend. you were about to say something?" judith had set an elbow on the piano and put her hand to her head, her fingers through the hair, and was looking into uncle zachie's face with an earnestness he could not mistake. she did desire to say something to him; but if she waited till he gave her an opportunity she might wait a long time. he jumped from one subject to another with alacrity, and with rapid forgetfulness of what he was last speaking about. "oh, sir, i am so very, very grateful to you for having received us into your snug little house----" "you like it? well, i only pay seven pounds for it. cheap, is it not? two cottages--laborers' cottages--thrown together. well, i might go farther and fare worse." "and, mr. menaida, i venture to ask you another favor, which, if you will grant me, you will lay me under an eternal obligation." "you may command me, my dear." "it is only this: not to let jamie have anything stronger than a glass of cider. i do not mind his having that; but a boy like him does not need what is, no doubt, wanted by you who are getting old. i am so afraid of the habit growing on him of looking for and liking what is too strong for him. he is such a child, so easily led, and so unable to control himself. it may be a fancy, a prejudice of mine"--she passed her nervous hand over her face--"i do hope i am not offending you, dear mr. menaida; but i know jamie so well, and i know how carefully he must be watched and checked. if it be a silly fancy of mine--and perhaps it is only a silly fancy--yet," she put on a pleading tone, "you will humor me in this, will you not, mr. menaida?" "bless my soul! you have only to express a wish and i will fulfil it. for myself, you must know, i am a little weak; i feel a chill when the wind turns north or east, and am always relaxed when it is in the south or west; that forces me to take something just to save me from serious inconvenience, you understand." "oh quite, sir." "and then--confound it!--i am goaded on to work when disinclined. why, there's a letter come to me now from plymouth--a naturalist there, asking for more birds; and what can i do? i slave, i am at it all day, half the night; i have no time to eat or sleep. i was not born to stuff birds. i take it as an amusement, a pastime, and it is converted into a toil. i must brace up my exhausted frame; it is necessary to my health, you understand!" "oh, yes, mr. menaida. and you really will humor my childish whim?" "certainly, you may rely on me." "that is one thing i wanted to say. you see, sir, we have but just come into your house, and already, last night, jamie was tempted to disobey me, and take what i thought unadvisable, so--i have been turning it over and over in my head--i thought i would like to come to a clear understanding with you, mr. menaida. it seems ungracious in me, but you must pity me. i have now all responsibility for jamie on my head, and i have to do what my conscience tells me i should do; only, i pray you, do not take offence at what i have said." "fudge! my dear; you are right, i dare say." "and now that i have your promise--i have that, have i not?" "yes, certainly." "now i want your opinion, if you will kindly give it me. i have no father, no mother, to go to for advice; and so i venture to appeal to you--it is about captain coppinger." "captain coppinger!" repeated uncle zachie, screwing up his brows and mouth. "umph! he is a bold man who can give help against captain coppinger, and a strong man as well as bold. how has he wronged you?" "oh! he has not wronged me. it is i who have hurt him." "you--you!" uncle zachie laughed. "a little creature such as you could not hurt captain cruel!" "but, indeed, i have; i have thrown him down and broken his arms and some of his bones." "you--you?" uncle zachie's face of astonishment and dismay was so comical that judith, in spite of her anxiety and exhaustion, smiled; but the smile was without brightness. "and pray, how in the name of wonder did you do that? upon my word, you will deserve the thanks of the preventive men. they have no love for him; they have old scores they would gladly wipe off with a broken arm, or, better still, a cracked skull. and pray how did you do this? with the flour-roller?" "no, sir, i will tell you the whole story." then, in its true sequence, with great clearness, she related the entire narrative of events. she told how her father, even with his last breath, had spoken of coppinger as the man who had troubled his life by marring his work; how that the captain had entered the parsonage without ceremony when her dear father was lying dead up-stairs, and how he had called there boisterously for aunt dionysia because he wanted something of her. she told the old man how that her own feelings had been wrought, by this affront, into anger against coppinger. then she related the incident in the lane, and how that, when he raised his arm against her, she had dashed the buttons into his face, frightened his horse, and so produced an accident that might have cost the captain his life. "bless my soul!" exclaimed mr. menaida, "and what do you want? is it an assault? i will run to my law-books and find out; i don't know that it can quite be made out a case of misadventure." "it is not that, sir." "then what do you want?" "i have been racking my head to think what i ought to do under the circumstances. there can be no doubt that i aggravated him. i was very angry, both because he had been a trouble to my darling papa, and then because he had been so insolent as to enter our house and shout for aunt dunes; but there was something more--he had tried to beat jamie, and it was my father's day of burial. all that roused a bad spirit in me, and i did say very bad words to him--words a man of metal would not bear from even a child, and i suppose i really did lash him to madness, and he would have struck me--but perhaps not, he might have thought better of it. i provoked him, and then i brought about what happened. i have been considering what i ought to do. if i remain here and take no notice, then he will think me very unfeeling, and that i do not care that i have hurt him in mind and body. it came into my head last night that i would ask aunt to apologize to him for what i had done, or, better still, should aunt not come here to-day, which is very likely, that i might walk with jamie to pentyre and inquire how captain coppinger is, and send in word by my aunt that i am sorry--very sorry." "upon my soul, i don't know what to say. i could not have done this to coppinger myself for a good deal of money. i think if i had, i would get out of the place as quickly as possible, while he was crippled by his broken bones. but then, you are a girl, and he may take it better from you than from me. well--yes; i think it would be advisable to allay his anger if you can. upon my word, you have put yourself into a difficult position. i'll go and look at my law-books, just for my own satisfaction." a heavy blow on the door, and without waiting for a response and invitation to enter, it was thrown open, and there entered cruel coppinger, his arm bandaged, tied in splints, and bound to his body, with his heavy walking-stick brandished by the uninjured hand. he stood for a moment glowering in, searching the room with his keen eyes till they rested on judith. then he made an attempt to raise his hand to his head, but ineffectually. "curse it!" said he, "i cannot do it; don't tear it off my head with your eyes, girl. here, you menaida, come here and take my hat off. come instantly, or she--she will do--the devil knows what she will not do to me." he turned, and with his stick beat the door back, that it slammed behind him. chapter viii. a patched peace. "look at her!" cried coppinger, with his back against the house door, and pointing to judith with his stick. she was standing near the piano, with one hand on it, and was half turned toward him. she was in black, but had a white kerchief about her neck. the absence of all color in her dress heightened the lustre of her abundant and glowing hair. coppinger remained for a moment, pointing with a half sneer on his dark face. mr. menaida had nervously complied with his demand, and had removed the hat from the smuggler, and his dark hair fell about his face. that face was livid and pale; he had evidently suffered much, and now every movement was attended with pain. not only had some of his bones been broken, but he was bruised and strained. "look at her!" he shouted again, in his deep commanding tones, and he fixed his fierce eyes on her and knitted his brows. she remained immovable, awaiting what he had to say. though there was a flutter in her bosom, her hand on the piano did not shake. "i am very sorry, captain coppinger," said judith, in a low, sweet voice, in which there was but a slight tremulousness. "i profess that i believe i acted wrongly yesterday, and i repeat that i am sorry--very sorry, captain coppinger." he made no reply. he lowered the stick that had been pointed at her, and leaned on it. his hand shook because he was in pain. "i acted wrongly yesterday," continued judith, "but i acted under provocation that, if it does not justify what i did, palliates the wrong. i can say no more--that is the exact truth." "is that all?" "i am sorry for what was wrong in my conduct--frankly sorry that you are hurt." "you hear her?" laughed coppinger, bitterly. "a little chit like that to speak to me thus"--then, turning sharply on her, "are you not afraid?" "no, i am not afraid; why should i be?" "why? ask any one in s. enodoc--any one in cornwall--who has heard my name." "i beg your pardon. i do not want to ask any one else in s. enodoc, any one else in cornwall. i ask you." "me? you ask me why you should be afraid of me?" he paused, drew his thick brows together till they formed a band across his forehead. "i tell you that none has ever wronged me by a blade of grass or a flock of wool but has paid for it a thousand-fold. and none has ever hurt me as you have done--none has ever dared to attempt it." "i have said that i am sorry." "you talk like one cold as a mermaid. i do not believe in your fearlessness. why do you lean on the piano. there, touch the wires with the very tips of your fingers, and let me hear if they give a sound--and sound they will if you tremble." judith exposed some of the wires by raising the top of the piano. then she smiled, and stood with the tips of her delicate fingers just touching the chords. coppinger listened, so did uncle zachie, and not a vibration could they detect. presently she withdrew her hand, and said, "is not that enough? when a girl says, 'i am sorry,' i supposed the chapter was done and the book closed." "you have strange ideas." "i have those in which i was brought up by the best of fathers." coppinger thrust his stick along the floor. "is it due to the ideas in which you have been brought up that you are not afraid--when you have reduced me to a wreck?" "and you?--are you afraid of the wreck that you have made?" the dark blood sprang into and suffused his whole face. uncle zachie drew back against the wall and made signs to judith not to provoke their self-invited visitor; but she was looking steadily at the captain, and did not observe the signals. in coppinger's presence she felt nerved to stand on the defensive, and more, to attack. a threat in his whole bearing, in his manner of addressing her, roused every energy she possessed. "i tell you," said he, harshly, "if any man had used the word you threw at me yesterday, i would have murdered him; i would have split his skull with the handle of my crop." "you raised your hand to do it to me," said judith. "no!" he exclaimed, violently. "it is false; come here, and let me see if you have the courage, the fearlessness you affect. you women are past-masters of dissembling. come here; kneel before me and let me raise my stick over you. see; there is lead in the handle, and with one blow i can split your skull and dash the brains over the floor." judith remained immovable. "i thought it--you are afraid." she shook her head. he let himself, with some pain, slowly into a chair. "you are afraid. you know what to expect. ah! i could fell you and trample on you and break your bones, as i was cast down, trampled on, and broken in my bones yesterday--by you, or through you. are you afraid?" she took a step toward him. then uncle zachie waved her back, in great alarm. he caught judith's attention, and she answered him, "i am not afraid. i gave him a word i should not have given him yesterday. i will show him that i retract it fully." then she stepped up to coppinger and sank on her knees before him. he raised his whip, with the loaded handle, brandishing it over her. "now i am here," she said, "i again ask your forgiveness, but i protest an apology is due to me." he threw his stick away. "by heaven, it is!" then in an altered tone, "take it so, that i ask your forgiveness. get up; do not kneel to me. i could not have struck you down had i willed, my arm is stiff. perhaps you knew it." he rose with effort to his feet again. judith drew back to her former position by the piano, two hectic spots of flame were in her cheek, and her eyes were preternaturally bright. coppinger looked steadily at her for a while, then he said, "are you ill? you look as if you were." "i have had much to go through of late." "true." he remained looking at her, brooding over something in his mind. she perplexed him; he wondered at her. he could not comprehend the spirit that was in her, that sustained a delicate little frame, and made her defy him. his eyes wandered round the room, and he signed to uncle zachie to give him his stick again. "what is that?" said he, pointing to the miniature on the stand for music, where mr. menaida had put it, over a sheet of the music he had been playing, or attempting to play. "it is my son, oliver," said uncle zachie. "why is it there? has she been looking at it? let me see it." mr. menaida hesitated, but presently handed it to the redoubted captain, with nervous twitches in his face. "i value it highly--my only child." coppinger looked at it, with a curl of his lips; then handed it back to mr. menaida. "why is it here?" "i brought it here to show it her. i am very proud of my son," said uncle zachie. coppinger was in an irritable mood, captious about trifles. why did he ask questions about this little picture? why look suspiciously at judith as he did so--suspiciously and threateningly? "do you play on the piano?" asked coppinger. "when the evil spirit was on saul, david struck the harp and sent the spirit away. let me hear how you can touch the notes. it may do me good. heaven knows it is not often i have the leisure, or the occasion, or am in the humor for music. i would hear what you can do." judith looked at uncle zachie. "i cannot play," she said; "that is to say, i can play, but not now, and on this piano." but mr. menaida interfered and urged her to play. he was afraid of coppinger. she seated herself on the music-stool and considered for a moment. the miniature was again on the stand. coppinger put out his stick and thrust it off, and it would have fallen had not judith caught it. she gave it to mr. menaida, who hastily carried it into the adjoining room, where the sight of it might no longer irritate the captain. "what shall i play? i mean, strum?" asked judith, looking at uncle zachie. "beethoven! no--haydn. here are his 'seasons.' i can play 'spring.'" she had a light, but firm touch. her father had been a man of great musical taste, and he had instructed her. but she had, moreover, the musical faculty in her, and she played with the spirit and with the understanding also. wondrous is the power of music, passing that of fabled necromancy. it takes a man up out of his most sordid surroundings, and sets him in heavenly places. it touches fibres of the inner nature, lost, forgotten, ignored, and makes them thrill with a new life. it seals the eyes to outward sights, and unfurls new vistas full of transcendental beauty; it breathes over hot wounds and heals them; it calls to the surface springs of pure delight, and bids them gush forth in an arid desert. it was so now, as, under the sympathetic fingers of judith, haydn's song of the "spring" was sung. a may world arose in that little dingy room; the walls fell back and disclosed green woods thick with red robin and bursting bluebells, fields golden with buttercups, hawthorns clothed in flower, from which sang the blackbird, thrush, the finch, and the ouzel. the low ceiling rose and overarched as the speed-well blue vault of heaven, the close atmosphere was dispelled by a waft of crisp, pure air; shepherds piped, boy blue blew his horn, and milkmaids rattled their pails and danced a ballet on the turf; and over all, down into every corner of the soul, streamed the glorious, golden sun, filling the heart with gladness. uncle zachie had been standing at the door leading into his workshop, hesitating whether to remain, with a pish! and a pshaw! or to fly away beyond hearing. but he was arrested, then drawn lightly, irresistibly, step by step, toward the piano, and he noiselessly sank upon a chair, with his eyes fixed on judith's fingers as they danced over the keys. his features assumed a more refined character as he listened; the water rose into his eyes, his lips quivered, and when, before reaching the end of the piece, judith faltered and stopped, he laid his hand on her wrist and said: "my dear--you play, you do not strum. play when you will--never can it be too long, too much for me. it may steady my hand, it may dispel the chill and the damp better than--but never mind--never mind." why had judith failed to accomplish the piece? whilst engaged on the notes she had felt that the searching, beaming eyes of the smuggler were on her, fixed with fierce intensity. she could meet them, looking straight at him, without shrinking, and without confusion, but to be searched by them whilst off her guard, her attention engaged on her music, was what she could not endure. coppinger made no remark on what he had heard, but his face gave token that the music had not swept across him without stirring and softening his hard nature. "how long is she to be here with you?" he asked, turning to uncle zachie. "captain, i cannot tell. she and her brother had to leave the rectory. they could not remain in that house alone. mrs. trevisa asked me to lodge them here, and i consented. i knew their father." "she did not ask me. i would have taken them in." "perhaps she was diffident of doing that," said uncle zachie. "but really, on my word, it is no inconvenience to me. i have room in this house, and my maid, jump, has not enough to do to attend on me." "when you are tired of them send them to me." "i am not likely to be tired of judith, now that i have heard her play." "judith--is that her name?" "yes--judith." "judith!" he repeated, and thrust his stick along the floor, meditatively. "judith!" then, after a pause, with his eyes on the ground, "why did not your aunt speak to me! why does she not love you?--she does not, i know. why did she not go to see you when your father was alive! why did you not come to the glaze?" "my dear papa did not wish me to go to your house," said judith, answering one of his many questions, the last, and perhaps the easiest to reply to. "why not?" he glanced up at her, then down on the floor again. "papa was not very pleased with aunt dunes--it was no fault on either side, only a misunderstanding," said judith. "why did he not let you come to my house to salute your aunt?" judith hesitated. he again looked up at her searchingly. "if you really must know the truth, captain coppinger, papa thought your house was hardly one to which to send two children--it was said to harbor such wild folk." "and he did not know how fiercely and successfully you could defend yourself against wild folk," said coppinger, with a harsh laugh. "it is we wild men that must fear you, for you dash us about and bruise and break us when displeased with our ways. we are not so bad at the glaze as we are painted, not by a half--here is my hand on it." judith was still seated on the music-stool, her hands resting in her lap. coppinger came toward her, walking stiffly, and extending his palm. she looked down in her lap. what did this fierce, strange man, mean? "will you give me your hand?" he asked. "is there peace between us?" she was doubtful what to say. he remained, awaiting her answer. "i really do not know what reply to make," she said, after awhile. "of course, so far as i'm concerned, it is peace. i have myself no quarrel with you, and you are good enough to say that you forgive me." "then why not peace?" again she let him wait before answering. she was uneasy and unhappy. she wanted neither his goodwill nor his hostility. "in all that affects me, i bear you no ill-will," she said, in a low, tremulous voice; "but in that you were a grief to my dear, dear father, discouraging his heart, i cannot be forgetful, and so full of charity as to blot it out as though it had not been." "then let it be a patched peace--a peace with evasions and reservations. better that than none. give me your hand." "on that understanding," said judith, and laid her hand in his. his iron fingers closed round it, and he drew her up from the stool on which she sat, drew her forward near the window, and thrust her in front of him. then he raised her hand, held it by the wrist, and looked at it. "it is very small, very weak," he said, musingly. then there rushed over her mind the recollection of her last conversation with her father. he, too, had taken and looked at her hand, and had made the same remark. coppinger lowered her hand and his, and, looking at her, said: "you are very wonderful to me." "i--why so?" he did not answer, but let go his hold of her, and turned away to the door. judith saw that he was leaving, and she hastened to bring him his stick, and she opened the door for him. "i thank you," he said, turned, pointed his stick at her, and added, "it is peace--though a patched one." chapter ix. c. c. days ensued, not of rest to body, but of relaxation to mind. judith's overstrained nerves had now given them a period of numbness, a sleep of sensibility with occasional turnings and wakenings, in which they recovered their strength. she and jamie were settled into their rooms at mr. menaida's, and the hours were spent in going to and from the rectory removing their little treasures to the new home--if a temporary place of lodging could be called a home--and in arranging them there. there were a good many farewells to be taken, and judith marvelled sometimes at the insensibility with which she said them--farewells to a thousand nooks and corners of the house and garden, the shrubbery, and the glebe farm, all endeared by happy recollections, now having their brightness dashed with rain. to judith this was a first revelation of the mutability of things on earth. hitherto, as a child, with a child's eyes and a child's confidence, she had regarded the rectory, the glebe, the contents of the house, the flowers in the garden, as belonging inalienably to her father and brother and herself. they belonged to them together. there was nothing that was her father's that did not belong to jamie and to her, nothing of her brother's or her own that was not likewise the property of papa. there was no mine or thine in that little family of love--save only a few birthday presents given from one to the other, and these only special property by a playful concession. but now the dear father was gone, and every right seemed to dissolve. from the moment that he leaned back against the brick, lichen-stained wall, and sighed--and was dead, house and land had been snatched from them. and though the contents of the rectory, the books, and the furniture, and the china belonged to them, it was but for a little while; these things must be parted with also, turned into silver. not because the money was needed, but because judith had no settled home, and no prospect of one. therefore she must not encumber herself with many belongings. for a little while she would lodge with mr. menaida, but she could not live there forever; she must remove elsewhere, and she must consider, in the first place, that there was not room in uncle zachie's cottage for accumulations of furniture, and that, in the next place, she would probably have to part with them on her next remove, even if she did retain them for a while. if these things were to be parted with, it would be advisable to part with them at once. but to this determination judith could not bring herself at first. though she had put aside, to be kept, things too sacred to her, too much part of her past life, to be allowed to go into the sale, after a few days she relinquished even these. those six delightful old colored prints, in frames, of a fox-hunt--how jamie had laughed at them, and followed the incidents in them, and never wearied of them--must they go--perhaps for a song? it must be so. that work-table of her mother's, of dark rosewood, with a crimson bag beneath it to contain wools and silks, one of the few remembrances she had of that mother whom she but dimly recalled--must that go?--what, and all those skeins in it of colored floss silk, and the piece of embroidery half finished? the work of her mother, broken off by death--that also? it must be so. and that rusty leather chair in which papa had sat, with one golden-headed child on each knee cuddled into his breast, with the flaps of his coat drawn over their heads, which listened to the tick-tick of his great watch, and to the tale of little snowflake, or gracieuse and percinet?--must that go also? it must be so. every day showed to judith some fresh link that had to be broken. she could not bear to think that the mother's work-table should be contended for at a vulgar auction, and struck down to a blousy farmer's wife; that her father's chair should go to some village inn to be occupied by sots. she would rather have seen them destroyed; but to destroy them would not be right. after a while she longed for the sale; she desired to have it over, that an entirely new page of life might be opened, and her thoughts might not be carried back to the past by everything she saw. of coppinger nothing further was seen. nor did aunt dionysia appear at the rectory to superintend the assortment of the furniture, nor at mr. menaida's to inquire into the welfare of her nephew and niece. to judith it was a relief not to have her aunt in the parsonage while she was there; that hard voice and unsympathetic manner would have kept her nerves on the quiver. it was best as it was, that she should have time, by herself, with no interference from any one, to select what was to be kept and put away what was to be sold; to put away gently, with her own trembling hand, and with eyes full of tears, the old black gown and the oxford hood that papa had worn in church, and to burn his old sermons and bundles of letters, unread and uncommented on by aunt dunes. in these days judith did not think much of coppinger. uncle zachie informed her that he was worse, he was confined to his bed, he had done himself harm by coming over to polzeath the day after his accident, and the doctor had ordered him not to stir from pentyre glaze for some time--not till his bones were set. nothing was known of the occasion of coppinger's injuries, so uncle zachie said; it was reported in the place that he had been thrown from his horse. judith entreated the old man not to enlighten the ignorance of the public; she was convinced that naught would transpire through jamie, who could not tell a story intelligibly; and miss dionysia trevisa was not likely to publish what she knew. judith had a pleasant little chamber at mr. menaida's; it was small, low, plastered against the roof, the rafters showing, and whitewashed like the walls and ceiling. the light entered from a dormer in the roof, a low window glazed with diamond quarries set in lead that clickered incessantly in the wind. it faced the south, and let the sun flow in. a scrap of carpet was on the floor, and white curtains to the window. in this chamber judith ranged such of her goods as she had resolved on retaining, either as indispensable, or as being too dear to her to part with unnecessarily, and which, as being of small size, she might keep without difficulty. her father's old travelling trunk, covered with hide with the hair on, and his initials in brass nails--a trunk he had taken with him to college--was there, thrust against the wall; it contained her clothes. suspended above it was her little bookcase, with the shelves laden with "the travels of rolando," dr. aitkin's "evenings at home," magnal's "questions," a french dictionary, "paul and virginia," and a few other works such as were the delight of children from ninety to a hundred years ago. books for children were rare in those days, and such as were produced were read and re-read till they were woven into the very fibre of the mind, never more to be extricated and cast aside. now it is otherwise. a child reads a story-book every week, and each new story-book effaces the impression produced by the book that went before. the result of much reading is the same as the result of no reading--the production of a blank. how judith and jamie had sat together perched up in a sycamore, in what they called their nest, and had revelled in the adventures of rolando, she reading aloud, he listening a little, then lapsing into observation of the birds that flew and hopped about, or the insects that spun and crept, or dropped on silky lines, or fluttered humming about the nest, then returned to attention to the book again! rolando would remain through life the friend and companion of judith. she could not part with the four-volumed, red-leather-backed book. for the first day or two jamie had accompanied his sister to the rectory, and had somewhat incommoded her by his restlessness and his mischief, but on the third day, and thenceforth, he no longer attended her. he had made fast friends with uncle zachie. he was amused with watching the process of bird-stuffing, and the old man made use of the boy by giving him tow to pick to pieces and wires to straighten. mr. menaida was pleased to have some one by him in his workshop to whom he could talk. it was unimportant to him whether the listener followed the thread of his conversation or not, so long as he was a listener. mr. menaida, in his solitude, had been wont to talk to himself, to grumble to himself at the impatience of his customers, to lament to himself the excess of work that pressed upon him and deprived him of time for relaxation. he was wont to criticise, to himself, his success or want of success in the setting-up of a bird. it was far more satisfactory to him to be able to address all these remarks to a second party. he was, moreover, surprised to find how keen and just had been jamie's observation of birds, their ways, their attitudes. judith was delighted to think that jamie had discovered talent of some sort, and he had, so uncle zachie assured her, that imitative ability which is often found to exist alongside with low intellectual power, and this enabled him to assist mr. menaida in giving a natural posture to his birds. it flattered the boy to find that he was appreciated, that he was consulted, and asked to assist in a kind of work that exacted nothing of his mind. when uncle zachie was tired of his task, which was every ten minutes or quarter of an hour, and that was the extreme limit to which he could continue regular work, he lit his pipe, left his bench, and sat in his arm-chair. then jamie also left his tow-picking or wire-punching, and listened, or seemed to listen, to mr. menaida's talk. when the old man had finished his pipe, and, with a sigh, went back to his task, jamie was tired of hearing him talk, and was glad to resume his work. thus the two desultory creatures suited each other admirably, and became attached friends. "jamie! what is the meaning of this?" asked judith, with a start and a rush of blood to her heart. she had returned in the twilight from the parsonage. there was something in the look of her brother, something in his manner that was unusual. "jamie! what have you been taking? who gave it you?" she caught the boy by the arm. distress and shame were in her face, in the tones of her voice. mr. menaida grunted. "i'm sorry, but it can't be helped--really it can't," said he, apologetically. "but captain coppinger has sent me down a present of a keg of cognac--real cognac, splendid, amber-like--and, you know, it was uncommonly kind. he never did it before. so there was no avoidance; we had to tap it and taste it, and give a sup to the fellow who brought us the keg, and drink the health of the captain. one could not be churlish; and, naturally, i could not abstain from letting jamie try the spirit. perfectly pure--quite wholesome--first-rate quality. upon my word, he had not more than a fly could dip his legs in and feel the bottom; but he is unaccustomed to anything stronger than cider, and this is stronger than i supposed." "mr. menaida, you promised me--" "bless me! there are contingencies, you know. i never for a moment thought that captain coppinger would show me such a favor, would have such courtesy. but, upon my honor, i think it is your doing, my dear! you shook hands and made peace with him, and he has sent this in token of the cessation of hostilities and the ratification of the agreement." "mr. menaida, i trusted you. i did believe, when you passed your word to me, that you would hold to it." "now--there, don't take it in that way. jamie, you rascal, hop off to bed. he'll be right as a trivet to-morrow morning, i stake my reputation on that. there, there, i will help him up-stairs." judith suffered mr. menaida to do as he proposed. when he had left the room with jamie, who was reluctant to go, and struggled to remain, she seated herself on the sofa, and covering her face with her hands burst into tears. whom could she trust? no one. had she been alone in the world she would have been more confident of the future, been able to look forward with a good courage; but she had to carry jamie with her, who must be defended from himself, and from the weak good-nature of those he was with. when uncle zachie came down-stairs he slunk into his workroom and was very quiet. no lamp or candle was lighted, and it was too dark for him to continue his employment on the birds. what was he doing? nothing. he was ashamed of himself, and keeping out of judith's way. but judith would not let him escape so easily; she went to him, as he avoided her, and found him seated in a corner turning his pipe about. he had been afraid of striking a light, lest he should call her attention to his presence. "oh, my dear, come in here into the workshop to me! this is an honor, an unexpected pleasure. jamie and i have been drudging like slaves all day, and we're fagged--fagged to the ends of our fingers and toes." "mr. menaida, i am sorry to say it, but if such a thing happens again as has taken place this evening, jamie and i must leave your house. i thank you with an overflowing heart for your goodness to us; but i must consider jamie above everything else, and i must see that he be not exposed to temptation." "where will you take him?" "i cannot tell; but i must shield him." "there, there, not a word! it shall never happen again. now let by-gones be by-gones, and play me something of beethoven, while i sit here and listen in the twilight." "no, mr. menaida, i cannot. i have not the spirit to do it. i can think only of jamie." "so you punish me!" "take it so. i am sorry; but i cannot do otherwise." "now, look here! bless my soul! i had almost forgotten it. here is a note for you, from the captain, i believe." he went to the chimney-piece and took down a scrap of paper, folded and sealed. judith looked at it and went to the window, broke the seal, and opened the paper. she read-- "why do you not come and see me? you do not care for what you have done. they call me cruel; but you are that.--c. c." chapter x. ego et regina mea. the strange, curt note from cruel coppinger served in a measure to divert the current of judith's thoughts from her trouble about jamie. it was, perhaps, as well, or she would have fretted over that throughout the night, not only because of jamie, but because she felt that her father had left his solemn injunction on her to protect and guide her twin-brother, and she knew that whatsoever harm, physical or moral, came to him, argued a lack of attention to her duty. her father had not been dead many days, and already jamie had been led from the path she had undertaken to keep him in. but when she began to worry herself about jamie, the bold characters, "c. c.," with which the letter was signed, rose before her, and glowed in the dark as characters of fire. she had gone to her bedroom, and had retired for the night, but could not sleep. the moon shone through the lattice into her chamber, and on the stool by the window lay the letter, where she had cast it. her mind turned to it. why did coppinger call her cruel? was she cruel? not intentionally so. she had not wilfully injured him. he did not suppose that. he meant that she was heartless and indifferent in letting him suffer without making any inquiry concerning him. he had injured himself by coming to polzeath to see her the day following his accident. uncle zachie had assured her of that. she went on in her busy mind to ask why he had come to see her? surely there had been no need for him to do so! his motive--the only motive she could imagine--was a desire to relieve her from anxiety and distress of mind; a desire to show her that he bore no ill-will toward her for what she had done. that was generous and considerate of him. had he not come she certainly would have been unhappy and in unrest, would have imagined all kinds of evil as likely to ensue through his hostility--for one thing, her aunt's dismissal from her post might have been expected. but coppinger, though in pain, and at a risk to his health, had walked to where she was lodging to disabuse her of any such impression. she was grateful to him for so doing. she felt that such a man could not be utterly abandoned by god, entirely void of good qualities, as she had supposed, viewing him only through the representations of his character and the tales circulating relative to his conduct that had reached her. a child divides mankind into two classes--the good and the bad, and supposes that there is no debatable land between them, where light and shade are blended into neutral tint; certainly not that there are blots on the white leaf of the lives of the good, and luminous glimpses in the darkness of the histories of the bad. as they grow older they rectify their judgments, and such a rectification judith had now to make. she was assisted in this by compassion for coppinger, who was in suffering, and by self-reproach, because she was the occasion of this suffering. what were the exact words captain cruel had employed? she was not certain; she turned the letter over and over in her mind, and could not recall every expression, and she could not sleep till she was satisfied. therefore she rose from bed, stole to the window, took up the letter, seated herself on the stool, and conned it in the moonlight. "why do you not come and see me? you do not care for what you have done." that was not true; she was greatly troubled at what she had done. she was sick at heart when she thought of that scene in the lane, when the black mare was leaping and pounding with her hoofs, and coppinger lay on the ground. one kick of the hoof on his head, and he would have been dead. his blood would have rested on her conscience, never to be wiped off. horrible was the recollection now, in the stillness of the night. it was marvellous that life had not been beaten out of the prostrate man, that, dragged about by the arm, he had not been torn to pieces, that every bone had not been shattered, that his face had not been battered out of recognition. judith felt the perspiration stand on her brow at the thought. god had been very good to her in sending his angel to save coppinger from death and her from blood-guiltiness. she slid to her knees at the window, and held up her hands, the moonlight illuminating her white upturned face, as she gave thanks to heaven that no greater evil had ensued from her inconsidered act with the button-basket than a couple of broken bones. oh! it was very far indeed from true that she did not care for what she had done. coppinger must have been blind indeed not to have seen how she felt her conduct. his letter concluded: "they call me cruel; but you are that." he meant that she was cruel in not coming to the glaze to inquire after him. he had thought of her trouble of mind, and had gone to polzeath to relieve her of anxiety, and she had shown no consideration for him--or not in like manner. she had been very busy at the rectory. her mind had been concerned with her own affairs, that was her excuse. cruel she was not. she took no pleasure in his pain. but she hesitated about going to see him. that was more than was to be expected of a young girl. she would go on the morrow to coppinger's house, and ask to speak to her aunt; that she might do, and from aunt dionysia she would learn in what condition captain cruel was, and might send him her respects and wishes for his speedy recovery. as she still knelt in her window, looking up through the diamond panes into the clear, gray-blue sky, she heard a sound without, and, looking down, saw a convoy of horses pass, laden with bales and kegs, and followed or accompanied by men wearing slouched hats. so little noise did the beasts make in traversing the road, that judith was convinced their hoofs must be muffled in felt. she had heard that this was done by the smugglers. it was said that all coppinger's horses had their boots drawn on when engaged in conveying run goods from the place where stored to their destination. these were coppinger's men, this his convoy, doubtless. judith thrust the letter from her. he was a bad man, a very bad man; and if he had met with an accident, it was his due, a judgment on his sins. she rose from her knees, turned away, and went back to her bed. next day, after a morning spent at the rectory, in the hopes that her aunt might arrive and obviate the need of her going in quest of her, judith, disappointed in this hope, prepared to walk to pentyre. mrs. dionysia had not acted with kindness toward her. judith felt this, without allowing herself to give to the feeling articulate expression. she made what excuses she could for aunt dunes: she was hindered by duties that had crowded upon her, she had been forbidden going by captain cruel; but none of these excuses satisfied judith. judith must go herself to the glaze, and she had reasons of her own for wishing to see her aunt, independent of the sense of obligation on her, more or less acknowledged, that she must obey the summons of c. c. there were matters connected with the rectory, with the furniture there, the cow, and the china, that mrs. trevisa must give her judgment upon. there were bills that had come in, which mrs. trevisa must pay, as judith had been left without any money in her pocket. as the girl walked through the lanes she turned over in her mind the stories she had heard of the smuggler captain, the wild tales of his wrecking ships, of his contests with the preventive men, and the ghastly tragedy of wyvill, who had been washed up headless on doombar. in former days she had accepted all these stories as true, had not thought of questioning them; but now that she had looked coppinger in the face, had spoken with him, experienced his consideration, she could not believe that they were to be accepted without question. that story of wyvill--that captain cruel had hacked off his head on the gunwale with his axe--seemed to her now utterly incredible. but if true! she shuddered to think that her hand had been held in that stained with so hideous a crime. thus musing, judith arrived at pentyre glaze, and entering the porch, turned from the sea, knocked at the door. a loud voice bade her enter. she knew that the voice proceeded from coppinger, and her heart fluttered with fear and uncertainty. she halted, with her hand on the door, inclined to retreat without entering; but again the voice summoned her to come in, and gathering up her courage she opened the door, and, still holding the latch, took a few steps forward into the hall or kitchen, into which it opened. a fire was smouldering in the great open fireplace, and beside it, in a carved oak arm-chair, sat cruel coppinger, with a small table at his side, on which were a bottle and glass, a canister of tobacco and a pipe. his arm was strapped across his breast as she had seen it a few days before. entering from the brilliant light of day, judith could not at first observe his face, but, as her eyes became accustomed to the twilight of the smoke-blackened and gloomy hall, she saw that he looked more worn and pale than he had seemed the day after the accident. nor could she understand the expression on his countenance when he was aware who was his visitor. "i beg your pardon," said judith; "i am sorry to have intruded; but i wished to speak to my aunt." "your aunt? old mother dunes? come in. let go your hold of the door and shut it. your aunt started a quarter of an hour ago for the rectory." "and i came along the lane from polzeath." "then no wonder you did not meet her. she went by the church path, of course, and over the down." "i am sorry to have missed her. thank you, captain coppinger, for telling me." "stay!" he roared, as he observed her draw back into the porch. "you are not going yet!" "i cannot stay for more than a moment in which to ask how you do, and whether you are somewhat better? i was sorry to hear you had been worse." "i have been worse, yes. come in. you shall not go. i am mewed in as a prisoner, and have none to speak to, and no one to look at but old dunes. come in, and take that stool by the fire, and let me hear you speak, and let me rest my eyes a while on your golden hair--gold more golden than that of the indies." "i hope you are better, sir," said judith, ignoring the compliment. "i am better now i have seen you. i shall be worse if you do not come in." she refused to do this by a light shake of the head. "i suppose you are afraid. we are wild and lawless men here, ogres that eat children! come, child, i have something to show you." "thank you for your kindness; but i must run to the parsonage; i really _must_ see my aunt." "then i will send her to polzeath to you when she returns. she will keep; she's stale enough." "i would spare her the trouble." "pshaw! she shall do what i will. now see--i am wearied to death with solitude and sickness. come, amuse yourself, if you will, with insulting me--calling me what you like; i do not mind, so long as you remain." "i have no desire whatever, captain coppinger, to insult you and call you names." "you insult me by standing there holding the latch--standing on one foot, as if afraid to sully the soles by treading my tainted floor. is it not an insult that you refuse to come in? is it not so much as saying to me, 'you are false, cruel, not to be trusted; you are not worthy that i should be under the same roof with you, and breathe the same air?'" "oh, captain coppinger, i do not mean that!" "then let go the latch and come in. stand, if you will not sit, opposite me. how can i see you there, in the doorway?" "there is not much to see when i am visible," said judith, laughing. "oh, no! not much! only a little creature who has more daring than any man in cornwall--who will stand up to, and cast at her feet, cruel coppinger, at whose name men tremble." judith let go her hold on the door, and moved timidly into the hall; but she let the door remain half open that the light and air flowed in. "and now," said captain coppinger, "here is a key on this table by me. do you see a small door by the clock-case? unlock that door with the key." "you want something from thence!" "i want you to unlock the door. there are beautiful and costly things within that you shall see." "thank you; but i would rather look at them some other day, when my aunt is here, and i have more time." "will you refuse me even the pleasure of letting you see what is there?" "if you particularly desire it, captain coppinger, i will peep in--but only peep." she took the key from his table, and crossed the hall to the door. the lock was large and clumsy, but she turned the key by putting both hands to it. then, swinging open the door, she looked inside. the door opened into an apartment crowded with a collection of sundry articles of value: bales of silk from italy, genoa laces, spanish silver-inlaid weapons, chinese porcelain, bronzes from japan, gold and silver ornaments, bracelets, brooches, watches, inlaid mother-of-pearl cabinets--an amazing congeries of valuables heaped together. "well, now!" shouted cruel coppinger. "what say you to the gay things there? choose--take what you will. i care not for them one rush. what do you most admire, most covet? put out both hands and take--take all you would have; fill your lap, carry off all you can. it is yours." judith drew hastily back and relocked the door. "what have you taken?" "nothing." "nothing? take what you will; i give it freely." "i cannot take anything, though i thank you, captain coppinger, for your kind and generous offer." "you will accept nothing?" she shook her head. "that is like you. you do it to anger me. as you throw hard words at me--coward, wrecker, robber--and as you dash broken glass, buttons, buckles, in my face, so do you throw back my offers." "it is not through ingratitude--" "i care not through what it is! you seek to anger, and not to please me. why will you take nothing? there are beautiful things there to charm a woman." "i am not a woman; i am a little girl." "why do you refuse me!" "for one thing, because i want none of the things there, beautiful and costly though they be." "and for the other thing----?" "for the other thing--excuse my plain speaking--i do not think they have been honestly got." "by heavens!" shouted coppinger. "there you attack and stab at me again. i like your plainness of speech. you do not spare me. i would not have you false and double like old dunes." "oh, captain coppinger! i give you thanks from the depths of my heart. it is kindly intended, and it is so good and noble of you, i feel that; for i have hurt you and reduced you to the state in which you now are, and yet you offer me the best things in your house--things of priceless value. i acknowledge your goodness; but just because i know i do not deserve this goodness i must decline what you offer." "then come here and give me the key." she stepped lightly over the floor to him and handed him the great iron key to his store chamber. as she did so he caught her hand, bowed his dark head, and kissed her fingers. "captain coppinger!" she started back, trembling, and snatched her hand from him. "what! have i offended you again? why not? a subject kisses the hand of his queen; and i am a subject, and you--you my queen." chapter xi. jessamine. "how are you, old man?" "middlin', thanky'; and how be you, gov'nor?" "middlin' also; and your missus?" "only sadly. i fear she's goin' slow but sure the way of all flesh." "bless us! 'tis a trouble and expense them sort o' things. now to work, shall we? what do you figure up?" "and you?" "oh, well, i'm not here on reg'lar business. huntin' on my own score to-day." "oh, ay! nice port this." "best the old fellow had in his cellar. i told the executrix i should like the taste of it, and advise thereon." the valuers for dilapidations, vulgarly termed dilapidators, were met in the dining-room of the deserted parsonage. mr. scantlebray was on one side, mr. cargreen on the other. mr. scantlebray was on that of the "orphings," as he termed his clients, and mr. cargreen on that of the rev. mr. mules, the recently nominated rector to s. enodoc. mr. scantlebray was a tall, lean man, with light gray eyes, a red face, and legs and arms that he shook every now and then as though they were encumbrances to his trunk and he was going to shake them off, as a poodle issuing from a bath shakes the water out of his locks. mr. cargreen was a bullet-headed man, with a white neckcloth, gray whiskers, a solemn face, and a sort of perpetual "let-us-pray" expression on his lips and in his eyes--a composing of his interior faculties and abstraction from worldly concerns. "i am here," said mr. scantlebray, "as adviser and friend--you understand, old man--of the orphings and their haunt." "and i," said mr. cargreen, "am ditto to the incoming rector." "and what do you get out of this visit!" asked mr. scantlebray, who was a frank man. "only three guineas as a fee," said mr. cargreen. "and you?" "ditto, old man--three guineas. you understand, i am not here as valuer to-day." "nor i--only as adviser." "exactly! taste this port. 'taint bad--out of the cellar of the old chap. told auntie i must have it, to taste and give opinion on." "and what are you going to do to-day?" "i'm going to have one or two little things pulled down, and other little things put to rights." "humph! i'm here to see nothing is pulled down." "we won't quarrel. there's the conservatory, and the linney in willa park." "i don't know," said cargreen, shaking his head. "now look here, old man," said mr. scantlebray. "you let me tear the linney down, and i'll let the conservatory stand." "the conservatory----" "i know; the casement of the best bedroom went through the roof of it. i'll mend the roof and repaint it. you can try the timber, and find it rotten, and lay on dilapidations enough to cover a new conservatory. pass the linney; i want to make pickings out of that." it may perhaps be well to let the reader understand the exact situation of the two men engaged in sipping port. directly it was known that a rector had been nominated to s. enodoc, mr. cargreen, a bodmin valuer, agent, and auctioneer, had written to the happy nominee, mr. mules, of birmingham, inclosing his card in the letter, to state that he was a member of an old-established firm, enjoying the confidence, not to say the esteem of the principal county families in the north of cornwall, that he was a sincere churchman, that deploring, as a true son of the church, the prevalence of dissent, he felt it his duty to call the attention of the reverend gentleman to certain facts that concerned him, but especially the church, and facts that he himself, as a devoted son of the church, on conviction, after mature study of its tenets, felt called upon, in the interest of that church he so had at heart, to notice. he had heard, said mr. cargreen, that the outgoing parties from s. enodoc were removing, or causing to be removed, or were proposing to remove, certain fixtures in the parsonage, and certain out-buildings, barns, tenements, sheds, and linneys on the glebe and parsonage premises, to the detriment of its value, inasmuch as that such removal would be prejudicial to the letting of the land, and render it impossible for the incoming rector to farm it himself without re-erecting the very buildings now in course of destruction, or which were purposed to be destroyed: to wit, certain out-buildings, barns, cattle-sheds, and linneys, together with other tenements that need not be specified. mr. cargreen added that, roughly speaking, the dilapidations of these buildings, if allowed to stand, might be assessed at £ ; but that, if pulled down, it would cost the new rector about £ to re-erect them, and their re-erection would be an imperative necessity. mr. cargreen had himself, personally, no interest in the matter; but, as a true son of the church, etc., etc. by return of post mr. cargreen received an urgent request from the rev. mr. mules to act as his agent, and to act with precipitation in the protection of his interests. in the meantime mr. scantlebray had not been neglectful of other people's interest. he had written to miss dionysia trevisa to inform her that, though he did not enjoy a present acquaintance, it was the solace and joy of his heart to remember that some years ago, before that infelicitous marriage of mr. trevisa, which had led to miss dionysia's leaving the rectory, it had been his happiness to meet her at the house of a mutual acquaintance, mrs. scaddon, where he had respectfully, and, at this distance of time, he ventured to add, humbly and hopelessly admired her; that, as he was riding past the rectory he had chanced to observe the condition of dilapidation certain tenements, pig-sties, cattle-sheds, and other out-buildings were in, and that, though it in no way concerned him, yet, for auld lang syne's sake, and a desire to assist one whom he had always venerated, and, at this distance of time might add, had admired, he ventured to offer a suggestion: to wit, that a number of unnecessary out-buildings should be torn down and utterly effaced before a new rector was nominated, and had appointed a valuer; also that certain obvious repairs should be undertaken and done at once, so as to give to the parsonage the appearance of being in excellent order, and cut away all excuse for piling up dilapidations. mr. scantlebray ventured humbly to state that he had had a good deal of experience with those gentlemen who acted as valuers for dilapidations, and with pain he was obliged to add that a more unscrupulous set of men it had never been his bad fortune to come into contact with. he ventured to assert that, were he to tell all he knew, or only half of what he knew, as to their proceedings in valuing for dilapidations, he would make both of miss trevisa's ears tingle. at once miss dionysia entreated mr. scantlebray to superintend and carry out with expedition such repairs and such demolitions as he deemed expedient, so as to forestall the other party. "chicken!" said mr. cargreen. "that's what i've brought for my lunch." "and 'am is what i've got," said mr. scantlebray. "they'll go lovely together." then, in a loud tone--"come in!" the door opened, and a carpenter entered with a piece of deal board in his hand. "you won't mind looking out of the winder, mr. cargreen?" said mr. scantlebray. "some business that's partick'ler my own. you'll find the jessamine--the white jessamine--smells beautiful." mr. cargreen rose, and went to the dining-room window that was embowered in white jessamine, then in full flower and fragrance. "what is it, davy?" "well, sir, i ain't got no dry old board for the floor where it be rotten, nor for the panelling of the doors where broken through." "no board at all?" "no, sir--all is green. only cut last winter." "won't it take paint?" "well, sir, not well. i've dried this piece by the kitchen fire, and i find it'll take the paint for a time." "run, dry all the panels at the kitchen fire, and then paint 'em." "thanky', sir; but, how about the boarding of the floor? the boards'll warp and start." "look here, davy, that gentleman who's at the winder a-smelling to the jessamine is the surveyor and valuer to t'other party. i fancy you'd best go round outside and have a word with him and coax him to pass the boards." "come in!" in a loud voice. then there entered a man in a cloth coat, with very bushy whiskers. "how d'y' do, spargo? what do you want?" "well, mr. scantlebray, i understand the linney and cow-shed is to be pulled down." "so it is, spargo." "well, sir!" mr. spargo drew his sleeve across his mouth. "there's a lot of very fine oak timber in it--beams, and such like--that i don't mind buying. as a timber merchant i could find a use for it." "say ten pound." "ten pun'! that's a long figure!" "not a pound too much; but come--we'll say eight." "i reckon i'd thought five." "five! pshaw! it's dirt cheap to _you_ at eight." "why to me, sir?" "why, because the new rector will want to rebuild both cattle-shed and linney, and he'll have to go to you for timber." "but suppose he don't, and cuts down some on the glebe?" "no, spargo--not a bit. there at the winder, smelling to the jessamine, is the new rector's adviser and agent. go round by the front door into the garding, and say a word to him--you understand, and--" mr. scantlebray tapped his palm. "do now go round and have a sniff of the jessamine, mr. spargo, and i don't fancy mr. cargreen will advise the rector to use home-grown timber. he'll tell him it sleeps away, gets the rot, comes more expensive in the long run." the valuer took a wing of chicken and a little ham, and then shouted, with his mouth full--"come in!" the door opened and admitted a farmer. "how do, mr. joshua? middlin'?" "middlin', sir, thanky'." "and what have you come about, sir?" "well--mr. scantlebray, sir! i fancy you ha'n't offered me quite enough for carting away of all the rummage from them buildings as is coming down. 'tis a terrible lot of stone, and i'm to take 'em so far away." "why not?" "well, sir, it's such a lot of work for the bosses, and the pay so poor." "not a morsel, joshua--not a morsel." "well, sir, i can't do it at the price." "oh, joshua! joshua! i thought you'd a better eye to the future. don't you see that the new rector will have to build up all these out-buildings again, and where else is he to get stone except out of your quarry, or some of the old stone you have carted away, which you will have the labor of carting back?" "well, sir, i don't know." "but i do, joshua." "the new rector might go elsewhere for stone." "not he. look there, at the winder is mr. cargreen, and he's in with the new parson, like a brother--knows his very soul. the new parson comes from birmingham. what can he tell about building-stone here? mr. cargreen will tell him yours is the only stuff that ain't powder." "but, sir, he may not rebuild." "he must. mr. cargreen will tell him that he can't let the glebe without buildings; and he can't build without your quarry stone: and if he has your quarry stone--why, you will be given the carting also. are you satisfied?" "yes--if mr. cargreen would be sure----" "he's there at the winder, a-smelling to the jessamine. you go round and have a talk to him, and make him understand--you know. he's a little hard o' hearing; but the drum o' his ear is here," said scantlebray, tapping his palm. mr. scantlebray was now left to himself to discuss the chicken wing--the liver wing he had taken--and sip the port; a conversation was going on in an undertone at the window; but that concerned mr. cargreen and not himself, so he paid no attention to it. after a while, however, when this hum ceased, he turned his head, and called out: "old man! how about your lunch?" "i'm coming." "and you found the jessamine very sweet?" "beautiful! beautiful!" "taste this port. it is not what it should be: some the old fellow laid in when he could afford it--before he married. it is passed, and going back; should have been drunk five years ago." mr. cargreen came to the table, and seated himself. then mr. scantlebray flapped his arms, shook out his legs, and settled himself to the enjoyment of the lunch, in the society of mr. cargreen. "the merry-thought! pull with me, old man?" "certainly!" mr. scantlebray and mr. cargreen were engaged on the merry-thought, each endeavoring to steal an advantage on the other, by working the fingers up the bone unduly, when the window was darkened. without desisting from pulling at the merry-thought each turned his head, and scantlebray at once let go his end of the bone. at the window stood captain coppinger looking in at the couple, with his elbow resting on the window-sill. mr. scantlebray flattered himself that he was on good terms with all the world, and he at once with hilarity saluted the captain by raising the fingers greased by the bone to his brow. "didn't reckon on seeing you here, cap'n." "i suppose not." "come and pick a bone with us?" coppinger laughed a short snort through his nostrils. "i have a bone to pick with you already." "never! no, never!" "you have forced yourself on miss trevisa to act as her agent and valuer in the matter of dilapidations." "not forced, captain. she asked me to give her friendly counsel. we are old acquaintances." "i will not waste words. give me her letter. she no longer requires your advice and counsel. i am going to act for her." "you, cap'n! lor' bless me! you don't mean to say so!" "yes. i will protect her against being pillaged. she is my housekeeper." "but see! she is only executrix. she gets nothing out of the property." "no--but her niece and nephew do. take it that i act for them. give me up her letter." mr. scantlebray hesitated. "but, cap'n, i've been to vast expense. i've entered into agreements----" "with whom?" "with carpenter and mason about the repairs." "give me the agreements." "not agreements exactly. they sent me in their estimates, and i accepted them, and set them to work." "give me the estimates." mr. scantlebray flapped all his limbs, and shook his head. "you don't suppose i carry these sort of things about with me?" "i have no doubt whatever they are in your pocket." scantlebray fidgeted. "cap'n, try this port--a little going back, but not to be sneezed at." coppinger leaned forward through the window. "who is that man with you?" "mr. cargreen." "what is he here for?" "i am agent for the reverend mules, the newly appointed rector," said mr. cargreen, with some dignity. "then i request you both to step to the window to me." the two men looked at each other. scantlebray jumped up, and cargreen followed. they stood in the window-bay at a respectful distance from cruel coppinger. "i suppose you know who i am?" said the latter, fixing his eyes on cargreen. "i believe i can form a guess." "and your duty to your client is to make out as bad a case as you can against the two children. they have had just one thousand pounds left them. you are going to get as much of that away from them as you are permitted." "my good sir--allow me to explain----" "there is no need," said coppinger. "suffice it that you are one side. i--cruel coppinger--on the other. do you understand what that means?" mr. cargreen became alarmed, his face became very blank. "i am not a man to waste words. i am not a man that many in cornwall would care to have as an adversary. do you ever travel at night, mr. cargreen?" "yes, sir, sometimes." "through the lanes and along the lonely roads?" "perhaps, sir--now and then." "so do i," said coppinger. he drew a pistol from his pocket, and played with it. the two "dilapidators" shrank back. "so do i," said coppinger; "but i never go unarmed. i would advise you to do the same--if you are my adversary." "i hope, captain, that--that----" "if those children suffer through you more than what i allow"--coppinger drew up his one shoulder that he could move--"i should advise you to consider what mrs. cargreen will have to live on when a widow." then he turned to scantlebray, who was sneaking behind the window-curtain. "miss trevisa's letter, authorizing you to act for her?" scantlebray, with shaking hand, groped for his pocket-book. "and the two agreements or estimates you signed." scantlebray gave him the letter. "the agreements also." nervously the surveyor groped again, and reluctantly produced them. captain coppinger opened them with his available hand. "what is this? five pounds in pencil added to each, and then summed up in the total? what is the meaning of that, pray?" mr. scantlebray again endeavored to disappear behind the curtain. "come forward!" shouted captain cruel, striking the window-sill with the pistol. scantlebray jumped out of his retreat at once. "what is the meaning of these two five pounds?" "well, sir--captain--it is usual; every one does it. it is my--what d'y' call it!--consideration for accepting the estimates." "and added to each, and then charged to the orphans, who pay you to act in their interest--so they pay wittingly, directly, and unwittingly, indirectly. well for you and for mrs. scantlebray that i release you of your obligation to act for mother dunes--i mean miss trevisa." "sir," said cargreen, "under the circumstances, under intimidation, i decline to sully my fingers with the business. i shall withdraw." "no, you shall not," said cruel coppinger, resolutely. "you shall act, and act as i approve; and in the end it shall not be to your disadvantage." then, without a word of farewell, he stood up, slipped the pistol back into his pocket, and strode away. mr. cargreen had become white, or rather, the color of dough. after a moment he recovered himself somewhat, and, turning to scantlebray, with a sarcastic air, said-- "i hope _you_ enjoy the jessamine. they don't smell particularly sweet to me." "orful!" groaned scantlebray. he shook himself--almost shaking off all his limbs in the convulsion--"old man--them jessamines is orful!" chapter xii. the cave. some weeks slipped by without bringing to judith any accession of anxiety. she did not go again to pentyre glaze, but her aunt came once or twice in the week to polzeath to see her. moreover, miss dionysia's manner toward her was somewhat less contrary and vexatious, and she seemed to put on a conciliatory manner, as far as was possible for one so angular and crabbed. gracious she could not be; nature had made it as impossible for her to be gracious in manner as to be lovely in face and graceful in movement. moreover, judith observed that her aunt looked at her with an expression of perplexity, as though seeking in her to find an answer to a riddle that vexed her brain. and so it was. aunt dunes could not understand the conduct of coppinger toward judith and her brother. nor could she understand how a child like her niece could have faced and defied a man of whom she herself stood in abject fear. judith had behaved to the smuggler in a way that no man in the whole countryside would have ventured to behave. she had thrown him at her feet, half killed him, and yet cruel coppinger did not resent what had been done; on the contrary, he went out of his way to interfere in the interest of the orphans. he was not the man to concern himself in other people's affairs; why should he take trouble on behalf of judith and her brother? that he did it out of consideration for herself, miss trevisa had not the assurance to believe. aunt dunes put a few searching questions to judith, but drew from her nothing that explained the mystery. the girl frankly told her of her visit to the glaze and interview with the crippled smuggler, of his offer to her of some of his spoil, and of her refusal to receive a present from him. miss trevisa approved of her niece's conduct in this respect. it would not have befitted her to accept anything. judith, however, did not communicate to her aunt the closing scene in that interview. she did not tell her that coppinger had kissed her hand, nor his excuse for having done so, that he was offering homage to a queen. for one thing, judith did not attach any importance to this incident. she had always heard that coppinger was a wild and insolent man, wild and insolent in his dealings with his fellow-men, therefore doubtless still more so in his treatment of defenceless women. he had behaved to her in the rude manner in which he would behave to any peasant girl or sailor's daughter who caught his fancy, and she resented his act as an indignity, and his excuse for it as a prevarication. and, precisely, because he had offended her maidenly dignity, she blushed to mention it, even to her aunt, resolving in her own mind not to subject herself to the like again. miss trevisa, on several occasions, invited judith to come and see her at pentyre glaze, but the girl always declined the invitation. judith's estimate of cruel coppinger was modified. he could not be the utter reprobate she had always held him to be. she fully acknowledged that there was an element of good in the man, otherwise he would not have forgiven the injury done him, nor would he have interfered to protect her and jamie from the fraud and extortion of the "dilapidators." she trusted that the stories she had heard of coppinger's wild and savage acts were false, or overcolored. her dear father had been misled by reports, as she had been, and it was possible that coppinger had not really been the impediment in her father's way that the late rector had supposed. jamie was happy. he was even, in a fashion, making himself useful. he helped mr. menaida in his bird-stuffing on rainy days; he did more, he ran about the cliffs, learned the haunts of the wild-fowl, ascertained where they nested, made friends with preventive men, and some of those fellows living on shore, without any very fixed business, who rambled over the country with their guns, and from these he was able to obtain birds that he believed mr. menaida wanted. judith was glad that the boy should be content, and enjoy the fresh air and some freedom. she would have been less pleased had she seen the companions jamie made. but the men had rough good-humor, and were willing to oblige the half-witted boy, and they encouraged him to go with them shooting, or to sit with them in their huts. jamie manifested so strong a distaste for books, and lesson time being one of resistance, pouting, tears, and failures, that judith thought it not amiss to put off the resumption of these irksome tasks for a little while, and to let the boy have his run of holidays. she fancied that the loss of his father and of his old home preyed on him more than was actually the case; and believed that by giving him freedom till the first pangs were over, he might not suffer in the way that she had done. for a fortnight or three weeks judith's time had been so fully engaged at the parsonage, that she could not have devoted much of it to jamie, even had she thought it desirable to keep him to his lessons; nor could she be with him much. she did not press him to accompany her to the rectory, there to spend the time that she was engaged sorting her father's letters and memoranda, his account-books and collection of extracts made from volumes he had borrowed, as not only would it be tedious to him, but he would distract her mind. she must see that he was amused, and must also provide that he was not at mischief. she did take him with her on one or two occasions, and found that he had occupied himself in disarranging much that she had put together for the sale. but she would not allow him wholly to get out of the way of looking to her as his companion, and she abandoned an afternoon to him now and then, as her work became less arduous, to walk with him on the cliffs or in the lanes, to listen to his childish prattle, and throw herself into his new pursuits. the link between them must not be allowed to become relaxed, and, so far as in her lay, she did her utmost to maintain it in its former security. but, with his father's death, and his removal to mr. menaida's cottage, a new world had opened to jamie; he was brought into association with men and boys whom he had hardly known by sight previously, and without any wish to disengage himself from his sister's authority, he was led to look to others as comrades, and to listen to and follow their promptings. "come, jamie," said judith, one day. "now i really have some hours free, and i will go a stroll with you on the downs." the boy jumped with pleasure, and caught her hand. "i may take tib with me?" "oh yes, certainly, dear." tib was a puppy that had been given to jamie by one of his new acquaintances. the day was fresh. clouds driving before the wind, now obscuring the sun and threatening rain, then clearing and allowing the sun to turn the sea green and gild the land. owing to the breeze the sea was ruffled and strewn with breakers shaking their white foam. "i am going to show you something i have found, ju," said the boy. "you will follow, will you not?" "lead the way. what is it?" "come and see. i found it by myself. i shan't tell any one but you." he conducted his sister down the cliffs to the beach of a cove. judith halted a moment to look along the coast with its mighty, sombre cliffs, and the sea glancing with sun or dulled by shadow to tintagel head standing up at the extreme point to the northeast, with the white surf lashing and heaving around it. then she drew her skirts together, and descended by the narrow path along which, with the lightness and confidence of a kid, jamie was skipping. "jamie!" she said. "have you seen?--there is a ship standing in the offing." "yes; she has been there all the morning." then she went further. the cove was small, with precipitous cliffs rising from the sand to the height of two to three hundred feet. the seagulls screamed and flashed to and fro, and the waves foamed and threw up their waters lashed into froth as white and light as the feathers on the gulls. in the concave bay the roar of the plunging tide reverberated from every side. neither the voice of jamie, when he shouted to his sister from some feet below, nor the barking of his little dog that ran with him, could be distinguished by her. the descent was rapid and rugged, yet not so precipitous but that it could be gone over by asses or mules. evidence that these creatures had passed that way remained in the impression of their hoofs in the soil, wherever a soft stratum intervened between the harder shelves of the rock, and had crumbled on the path into clay. judith observed that several paths--not all mule-paths--converged lower down at intervals in the way by which she descended, so that it would be possible, apparently, to reach the sand from various points in the down, as well as by the main track by which she was stepping to the beach. "jamie!" called judith, as she stood on the last shoulder of rock before reaching the beach over a wave-washed and smoothed surface. "jamie! i can see that same ship from here." but her brother could not hear her. he was throwing stones for the dog to run after, and meet a wave as it rushed in. the tide was going out: it had marked its highest elevation by a bow of foam and strips of dark seaweed and broken shells. judith stepped along this line, and picked out the largest ribbon of weed she could find. she would hang it in her bedroom to tell her the weather. the piece that had been wont to act as barometer was old, and, besides, it had been lost in the recent shift and confusion. jamie came up to her. "now, ju, mind and watch me, or you will lose me altogether." then he ran forward, with tib dancing and yelping round him. presently he scrambled up a shelf of rock inclined from the sea, and up after him, yelping, scrambled tib. in a moment both disappeared over the crest. judith went up to the ridge and called to her brother. "i cannot climb this, jamie." but in another moment, a hundred yards to her right, round the extremity of the reef, came tib and his master, the boy dancing and laughing, the dog ducking his head, shaking his ears, and, all but laughing also, evidently enjoying the fun as much as jamie. "this way, ju!" shouted the boy, and signed to his sister. she could not hear his voice, but obeyed his gestures. the reef ran athwart the top of the bay, like the dorsal, jagged ridge of a crocodile half buried in the sand. judith drew her skirts higher and closer, as the sand was wet, and there were pools by the rock. then, holding her ribbon of seaweed by the harsh, knotted root, torn up along with the leaf, and trailing it behind her, she followed her brother, reached the end of the rock, turned and went in the traces of jamie and tib in the sand parallel to her former course. suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, on the right hand there opened before her, in the face of the cliff, a cave, the entrance to which was completely masked by the ridge she had turned. into this cave went jamie with his dog. "i am not obliged to follow you there!" protested judith; but he made such vehement signs to her to follow him that she good-humoredly obeyed. the cave ran in a long way, at first at no great incline, then it became low overhead, and immediately after the floor inclined rapidly upward, and the vault took a like direction. moreover, light appeared in front. here, to judith's surprise, she saw a large boat, painted gray, furnished with oars and boat-hook. she was attached by a chain to a staple in the rock. judith examined her with a little uneasiness. no name was on her. the sides of the cave at this point formed shelves, not altogether natural, and that these were made use of was evident, because on them lay staves of broken casks, a four-flanged boat-anchor, and some oars. out of the main trunk cave branched another that was quite dark, and smaller; in this, judith, whose eyes were becoming accustomed to the twilight, thought she saw the bows of a smaller boat, also painted gray. "jamie!" said judith, now in serious alarm; "we ought not to be here. it is not safe. do--do come away at once." "why, what is there to harm us?" "my dear, do come away." she turned to retrace her steps, but jamie stopped her. "not that way, ju! i have another by which to get out. follow me still." he led the way up the steep rubble slope, and the light fell fuller from above. the cave was one of those into which when the sea rolls and chokes the entrance, the compressed air is driven out by a second orifice. they reached a sort of well or shaft, at the bottom of which they stood, but it did not open vertically but bent over somewhat, so that from below the sky could not be seen, though the light entered. a narrow path was traced in the side, and up this jamie and the dog scrambled, followed by judith, who was most anxious to escape from a place which she had no doubt was one of the shelter caves of the smugglers--perhaps of cruel coppinger, whose house was not a mile distant. the ascent was steep, the path slippery in places, and therefore dangerous. jamie made nothing of it, nor did the little dog, but judith picked her way with care; she had a good steady head, and did not feel giddy, but she was not sure that her feet might not slide in the clay where wet with water that dripped from the sides. as she neared the entrance she saw that hartstongue and maidenhair fern had rooted themselves in the sheltered nooks of this tunnel. after a climb of a hundred feet she came out on a ledge in the face of the cliff above the bay, to see, with a gasp of dismay, her brother in the hand of cruel coppinger, the boy paralyzed with fear so that he could neither stir nor cry out. "what!" exclaimed the captain, "you here?" as he saw judith stand before him. the puppy was barking and snapping at his boots. coppinger let go jamie, stooped and caught the dog by the neck. "look at me," said the smuggler sternly, addressing the frightened boy. then he swung the dog above his head and dashed it down the cliffs; it caught, then rolled, and fell out of sight--certainly with the life beaten out of it. "this will be done to you," said he; "i do not say that i would do it. she"--he waved his hand toward judith--"stands between us. but if any of the fifteen to twenty men who know this place and come here should chance to meet you as i have met you, he would treat you without compunction as i have treated that dog. and if he were to catch you below--you have heard of wyvill, the preventive man?--you would fare as did he. thank your sister that you are alive now. go on--that way--up the cliff." he pointed with a telescope he held. jamie fled up the steep path like the wind. "judith," said coppinger, "will you stand surety that he does not tell tales?" "i do not believe he will say anything." "i do not ask you to be silent. i know you will not speak. but if you mistrust his power to hold his tongue, send him away--send him out of the country--as you love him." "he shall never come here again," said judith, earnestly. "that is well; he owes his life to you." judith noticed that cruel coppinger's left arm was no more in a sling, nor in bands. he saw that she observed this, and smiled grimly. "i have my freedom with this arm once more--for the first time to-day." chapter xiii. in the dusk. "kicking along, mr. menaida, old man?" asked mr. scantlebray, in his loud, harsh voice, as he shook himself inside the door of uncle zachie's workshop. "and the little 'uns? late in life to become nurse and keep the bottle and pap-bowl going, eh, old man? how's the orphings? eating their own weight of victuals at twopence-ha'penny a head, eh? my experience of orphings isn't such as would make a man hilarious, and feel that he was filling his pockets." "sit you down, sir; you'll find a chair. not that one, there's a dab of arsenical paste got on to that. sit you down, sir, over against me. glad to see you and have some one to talk to. here am i slaving all day, worn to fiddlestrings. there's squire rashleigh, of menabilly, must have a glaucous gull stuffed at once that he has shot; and there's sir john st. aubyn, of clowance, must have a case of kittiwakes by a certain day; and an institution in london wants a genuine specimen of a cornish chough. do they think i'm a tradesman to be ordered about? that i've not an income of my own, and that i am dependent on my customers? i'll do no more. i'll smoke and play the piano. i've no time to exchange a word with any one. come, sit down. what's the news?" "it's a bad world," said mr. scantlebray, setting himself into a chair. "that's to say, the world is well enough if it warn't for there being too many rascals in it. i consider it's a duty on all right-thinking men to clear them off." "well, the world would be better if we had the making of it," acquiesced mr. menaida. "bless you! i've no time for anything. i like to do a bit of bird-stuffing just as a sort of relaxation after smoking, but to be forced to work more than one cares--i won't do it! besides, it is not wholesome. i shall be poisoned with arsenic. i must have some antidote. so will you, sir--eh? a drop of real first-rate cognac?" "thank you, sir--old man--i don't mind dipping a feather and drawing it across my lips." jamie had been so frightened by the encounter with cruel coppinger that he was thoroughly upset. he was a timid, nervous child, and judith had persuaded him to go to bed. she sat by him, holding his hand, comforting him as best she might, when he sobbed over the loss of his pup, and cheering him when he clung to her in terror at the reminiscence of the threats of the captain to deal with him as he had with tib. judith was under no apprehension of his revisiting the cave; he had been too thoroughly frightened ever to venture there again. she said nothing to impress this on him; all her efforts were directed toward allaying his alarms. just as she hoped that he was dropping off into unconsciousness, he suddenly opened his eyes, and said, "ju." "yes, dear." "i've lost the chain." "what chain, my pretty?" "tib's chain." the pup had been a trouble when jamie went with the creature through the village or through a farm-yard. he would run after and nip the throats of chickens. tib and his master had got into trouble on this account; accordingly judith had turned out a light steel chain, somewhat rusty, and a dog collar from among the sundries that encumbered the drawers and closets of the rectory. this she had given to her brother, and whenever the little dog was near civilization he was obliged to submit to the chain. judith, to console jamie for his loss, had told him that in all probability another little dog might be procured to be his companion. alas! the collar was on poor tib, but she represented to him that if another dog were obtained it would be possible to buy or beg a collar for him, supposing a collar to be needful. this had satisfied jamie, and he was about to doze off, when suddenly he woke to say that the chain was lost. "where did you lose the chain, jamie?" "i threw it down." "why did you do that?" "i thought i shouldn't want it when tib was gone." "and where did you throw it? perhaps it may be found again." "i won't go and look for it--indeed i won't." he shivered and clung to his sister. "where was it? perhaps i can find it." "i dropped it at the top--on the down when i came up the steps from--from that man, when he had killed tib." "you did not throw it over the cliff?" "no--i threw it down. i did not think i wanted it any more." "i dare say it may be found. i will go and see." "no--no! don't, ju. you might meet that man." judith smiled. she felt that she was not afraid of that man--he would not hurt her. as soon as the boy was asleep, judith descended the stairs, leaving the door ajar, that she might hear should he wake in a fright, and entering the little sitting-room, took up her needles and wool, and seated herself quietly by the window, where the last glimmer of twilight shone, to continue her work at a jersey she was knitting for jamie's use in the winter. the atmosphere was charged with tobacco-smoke, almost as much as that of the adjoining workshop. there was no door between the rooms; none had been needed formerly, and mr. menaida did not think of supplying one now. it was questionable whether one would have been an advantage, as jamie ran to and fro, and would be certain either to leave the door open or to slam it, should one be erected. moreover, a door meant payment to a carpenter for timber and labor. there was no carpenter in the village, and mr. menaida spent no more money than he was absolutely obliged to spend, and how could he on an annuity of fifty pounds. judith dropped her woolwork in her lap and fell into meditation. she reviewed what had just taken place: she saw before her again coppinger, strongly built, with his dark face, and eyes that glared into the soul to its lowest depths, illumining all, not as the sun, but as the lightning, and suffering not a thought, not a feeling to remain obscure. a second time had jamie done what angered him, but on this occasion he had curbed his passion and had contented himself with a threat--nay, not even that--with a caution. he had expressly told jamie, that he himself would not hurt him, but that he ran into danger from others. she was again looking at coppinger as he spoke; she saw the changes in his face, the alterations of expression in his eyes, in his intonation. she recalled the stern, menacing tone in which he had spoken to jamie, and then the inflexion of voice as he referred to her. a dim surmise--a surmise she was ashamed to allow could be true--rose in her mind and thrilled her with alarm. was it possible that he _liked_ her--liked--she could, she would give even in thought no other term to describe that feeling which she feared might possibly have sprung up in his breast. that he liked her--after all she had done? was that why he had come to the cottage the day after his accident? was that what had prompted the strange note sent to her along with the keg of spirits to uncle zachie? was that the meaning of the offer of the choice of all his treasures?--of the vehemence with which he had seized her hand and had kissed it? was that the interpretation of those words of excuse in which he had declared her his queen? if this were so, then much that had been enigmatical in his conduct was explained--his interference with the valuers for dilapidations, the strange manner in which he came across her path almost whenever she went to the rectory. and this was the signification of the glow in his eyes, the quaver in his voice, when he addressed her. was it so?--could it be so?--that he liked her?--he--cruel coppinger--_cruel_ coppinger--the terror of the country round--liked _her_, the weakest creature that could be found? the thought of such a possibility frightened her. that the wild smuggler-captain should hate her she could have borne with better than that he should like her. that she was conscious of a sense of pleased surprise, intermixed with fear, was inevitable, for judith was a woman, and there was something calculated to gratify feminine pride in the presumption that the most lawless and headstrong man on the cornish coast should have meant what he said when he declared himself her subject. these thoughts, flushing and paling her cheek, quickening and staying her pulse, so engrossed judith that, though she heard the voices in the adjoining apartment, she paid no heed to what was said. the wind, which had been fresh all day, was blowing stronger. it battered at the window where judith sat, as though a hand struck and brushed over the panes. "hot or cold?" asked uncle zachie. "thanky', neither. water can be got everywhere, but such brandy as this, old man--only here." "you are good to say so. it is coppinger's present to me." "coppinger!--his very good health, and may he lie in clover to-morrow night. he's had one arm bound, i've seen; perhaps he may have two before the night grows much older." mr. menaida raised his brows. "i do not understand you." "i daresay not," said scantlebray. "it's the duty of all right-minded men to clear the world of rascals. i will do my duty, please the pigs. would you mind--just another drop?" after his glass had been refilled, mr. scantlebray leaned back in his chair and said: "it's a wicked world, and, between you and me and the sugar dissolving at the bottom of my glass, you won't find more rascality anywhere than in my profession, and one of the biggest rascals in it is mr. cargreen. he's on the side against the orphings. if you've the faculty of pity in you, pity them--first, because they've him agin' 'em, and, secondly, because they've lost me as their protector. you know whom they got in place of me? i wish them joy of him. but they won't have his wing over them long, i can tell you." "you think not?" "sure of it." "you think he'll throw it up?" "i rather suspect he won't be at liberty to attend to it. he'll want his full attention to his own consarns." mr. scantlebray tipped off his glass. "it's going to be a dirty night," said he. "you won't mind my spending an hour or two with you, will you?" "i shall be delighted. have you any business in the place?" "business--no. a little pleasure, maybe." after a pause, he said, "but, old man, i don't mind telling you what it is. you are mum, i know. it is this--the trap will shut to-night. snap it goes, and the rats are fast. you haven't been out on the cliffs to-day, have you?" "no--bless me!--no, i have not." "the black prince is in the offing." "the black prince?" "ay, and she will run her cargo ashore to-night. now, i'm one who knows a little more than most. i'm one o' your straightfor'ard 'uns, always ready to give a neighbor a lift in my buggy, and a helping hand to the man that is down, and a frank, outspoken fellow am i to every one i meet--so that, knocking about as i do, i come to know and to hear more than do most, and i happen to have learnt into what cove the black prince will run her goods. i've a bone to pick with captain cruel, so i've let the preventive men have the contents of my information-pottle, and they will be ready to-night for coppinger and the whole party of them. the cutter will slip in between them and the sea, and a party will be prepared to give them the kindliest welcome by land. that is the long and short of it--and, old man, i shall dearly love to be there and see the sport. that is why i wish to be with you for an hour or two. will you come as well?" "bless me!" exclaimed mr. menaida, "not i! you don't suppose coppinger and his men will allow themselves to be taken easily? there'll be a fight." "and pistols go off," said scantlebray. "i shall not be surprised or sorry if captain cruel be washed up one of these next tides with a bullet through his head. ebenezer wyvill is one of the guards, and he has his brother's death to avenge." "do you really believe that coppinger killed him?" mr. scantlebray shrugged his shoulders. "it don't matter much what _i_ think, to-night, but what the impression is that ebenezer wyvill carries about with him. i imagine that if ebenezer comes across the captain he won't speak to him by word of mouth, nor trouble himself to feel for a pair of handcuffs. so--fill my glass again, old man, and we'll drink to a cold bed and an indigestible lump--somewhere--in his head or in his gizzard--to cruel coppinger, and the wiping off of old scores--always a satisfaction to honest men." scantlebray rubbed his hands. "it is a satisfaction to the conscience--to ferret out the rats sometimes." chapter xiv. warning of danger. judith, lost for awhile in her dreams, had been brought to a sense of what was the subject of conversation in the adjoining room by the mention of coppinger's name more than once. she heard the desultory talk for awhile without giving it much attention, but scantlebray's voice was of that harsh and penetrating nature that to exclude it the ears must be treated as ulysses treated the ears of his mariners as he passed the rock of the sirens. presently she became alive to the danger in which coppinger stood. scantlebray spoke plainly, and she understood. there could be no doubt about it. the black prince belonged to the captain, and his dealings with and through that vessel were betrayed. not only was coppinger, as the head of a gang of smugglers, an object worth capture to the preventive men, but the belief that he had caused the death of at least one of their number had embittered them against him to such an extent that, when the opportunity presented itself to them of capturing him red-handed engaged in his smuggling transactions, they were certain to deal with him in a way much more summary than the processes of a court of a justice. the brother of the man who had been murdered was among the coast-guard, and he would not willingly let slip a chance of avenging the death of jonas wyvill. coppinger was not in a condition to defend himself effectively. on that day for the first time, had he left off his bandages, and his muscles were stiff and the newly set bones still weak. what was to be done? could judith go to bed and let coppinger run into the net prepared for his feet--go to his death? no sooner, however, had judith realized the danger that menaced coppinger than she resolved on doing her utmost to avert it. she, and she alone, could deliver him from the disgrace, if not the death, that menaced him. she stole lightly from the room and got her cloak, drew the hood over her head, and sallied forth into the night. heavy clouds rolled over the sky, driven before a strong gale. now and then they opened and disclosed the twilight sky, in which faintly twinkled a few stars, and at such times a dim light fell over the road, but in another moment lumbering masses of vapor were carried forward, blotting out the clear tract of sky, and at the same time blurring all objects on earth with one enveloping shadow. judith's heart beat furiously, and timidity came over her spirit as she left the cottage, for she was unaccustomed to be outside the house at such an hour; but the purpose she had before her eyes gave her strength and courage. it seemed to her that providence had suddenly constituted her the guardian angel of coppinger, and she flattered herself that, were she to be the means of delivering him from the threatened danger, she might try to exact of him a promise to discontinue so dangerous and so questionable a business. if this night she were able to give him warning in time, it would be some return made for his kindness to her, and some reparation made for the injury she had done him. when for an instant there was a rift in the clouds, and she could look up and see the pure stars, it seemed to her that they shone down on her like angels' eyes, watching, encouraging, and promising her protection. she thought of her father--of how his mind had been set against coppinger; now, she felt convinced, he saw that his judgment had been warped, and that he would bless her for doing that which she had set her mind to accomplish. her father had been ever ready frankly to acknowledge himself in the wrong when he had been convinced that he was mistaken, and now in the light of eternity, with eyes undarkened by prejudice, he must know that he was in error in his condemnation of coppinger, and be glad that his daughter was doing something to save that man from an untimely and bloody death. not a soul did judith meet or pass on her way. she had determined in the first case to go to pentyre glaze. she would see if captain cruel were there. she trusted he was at his house. if so, her course was simple; she would warn him and return to mr. menaida's cottage as quickly as her feet would bear her. the wind caught her cloak, and she turned in alarm, fancying that it was plucked by a human hand. no one, however, was behind her. in pentyre lane it was dark, very dark. the rude half-walls, half-hedges stood up high, walled toward the lane hedged with earth and planted with thorns toward the field. the wind hissed through the bushes; there was an ash tree by a gate. one branch sawed against another, producing a weird, even shrill sound like a cry. the way led past a farm, and she stole along before it with the utmost fear as she heard the dog in the yard begin to bark furiously, and as she believed that it was not chained up, might rush forth at her. it might fall upon her, and hold her there till the farmer came forth and found her, and inquired into the reason of her being there at night. if found and recognized, what excuse could she give? what explanation could satisfy the inquisitive? she did not breathe freely till she had come out on the down; the dog was still barking, but, as he had not pursued her, she was satisfied that he was not at large. her way now lay for a while over open common, and then again entered a lane between the hedges that enclosed the fields and meadows of the glaze. a dense darkness fell over the down, and judith for a while was uncertain of her way, the track being undistinguishable from the short turf on either side. suddenly she saw some flashes of light that ran along the ground and then disappeared. "this is the road," said a voice. judith's heart stood still, and her blood curdled in her veins. if the cloud were to roll away--and she could see far off its silvery fringe, she would become visible. the voice was that of a man, but whether that of a smuggler or of a coast-guard she could not guess. by neither did she care to be discovered. by the dim, uncertain light she stole off the path, and sank upon the ground among some masses of gorse that stood on the common. between the prickly tufts she might lie, and in her dark cloak be mistaken for a patch of furze. she drew her feet under the skirt, that the white stockings might not betray her, and plucked the hood of her cloak closely round her face. the gorse was sharp, and the spikes entered her hands and feet, and pricked her as she turned herself about between the bushes to bring herself deeper among them. from where she lay she could see the faintly illumined horizon, and against that horizon figures were visible, one--then another--a third--she could not count accurately, for there came several together; but she was convinced there must have been over a dozen men. "it's a'most too rough to-night, i reckon," said one of the men. "no, it is not--the wind is not direct on shore. they'll try it." "coppinger and his chaps are down in the cove already," said a third. "they wouldn't go out if they wasn't expecting the boats from the black prince." "you are sure they're down, wyvill?" "sure and sartain. i seed 'em pass, and mighty little i liked to let 'em go by--without a pop from my pistol. but i'd my orders. no orders against the pistol going off of itself, captain, if i have a chance presently?" no answer was given to this; but he who had been addressed as captain asked-- "are the asses out?" "yes; a whole score, i reckon." "then they'll come up the mule path. we must watch that. lieutenant hanson will be ready with the cutter to run out and stop their way back by water to the prince. the prince's men will take to the sea, and he'll settle with them; but coppinger's men will run up the cliffs, and we must tackle them. go on." several now disappeared into the darkness, moving toward the sea. "here, a word with you, wyvill," said the captain. "right, sir--here i be." "dash it!--it is so dark! here, step back--a word in your ear." "right you are, sir." they came on to the turf close to where judith crouched. "what is that?" said the captain, hastily. "what, sir?" "i thought i trod on something like cloth. have you a light?" "no, sir! home has the dark lantern." "i suppose it is nothing. what is all that dark stuff there?" "i'll see, sir," said wyvill, stooping, and with his hand. "by george, sir! it's naught but fuzz." "very well, wyvill--a word between us. i know that if you have the chance you intend to send a bullet into coppinger. i don't blame you. i won't say i wouldn't do it--unofficially--but looky' here, man, if you can manage without a bullet--say a blow with the butt-end on his forehead and a roll over the cliffs--i'd prefer it. in self-defence of course we must use fire-arms. but there's some squeamish stomachs, you understand; and if it can come about accidentally, as it were--as if he'd missed his footing--i'd prefer it. make it pleasant all around, if you can." "yes, sir; leave it to me." "it oughtn't to be difficult, you know, wyvill. i hear he's broke one arm, so is like to be insecure in his hold climbing the cliffs. then no questions asked, and more pleasant, you know. you understand me?" "yes, sir; thank you, sir." then they went on, and were lost to sight and to hearing. for some minutes judith did not stir. she lay, recovering her breath; she had hardly ventured to breathe while the two men were by her, the captain with his foot on her skirt. now she remained motionless, to consider what was to be done. it was of no further use her going on to pentyre glaze. coppinger had left it. wyvill, who had been planted as spy, had seen him with his carriers defile out of the lane with the asses that were to bring up the smuggled goods from the shore. she dare not take the path by which on the preceding afternoon she had descended with jamie to the beach, for it was guarded by the preventive men. there was but one way by which she could reach the shore and warn coppinger, and that was by the chimney of the cave--a way dangerous in daylight, one, moreover, not easy to find at night. the mouth of the chimney opened upon a ledge that overhung the sea half-way down the face of the precipice, and this ledge could only be reached by a narrow track--a track apparently traced by sheep. judith thought that she might find her way to that part of the down from which the descent was to be made; for she had noticed that what is locally called a "new-take" wall came near it, and if she could hit this wall, she believed she could trace it up to where it approached the cliff: and the track descended somewhere thereabouts. she waited where she lay till the heavy clouds rolled by, and for a brief space the sky was comparatively clear. then she rose, and took the direction in which she ought to go to reach the "new-take" wall. as she went over the down, she heard the sea roaring threateningly; on her left hand the glint of the light-house on trevose head gave her the direction she must pursue. but, on a down like that, with a precipice on one hand, in a light, uncertain at best, often in complete darkness, it was dangerous to advance except by thrusting the foot forward tentatively before taking a step. the sea and the gnawing winds caused the cliffs to crumble; bits were eaten out of the surface, and in places there were fissures in the turf where a rent had formed, and where shortly a mass would fall. it is said that the duties on customs were originally instituted in order to enable the crown to afford protection to trade against pirates. the pirates ceased to infest the seas, but the duties were not only taken off, but were increased, and became a branch of the public revenue. perhaps some consciousness that the profits were not devoted to the purpose originally intended, bred in the people on the coast a feeling of resentment against the imposition of duties. there certainly existed an impression, a conviction rather, that the violation of a positive law of this nature was in no respect criminal. adventurers embarked in the illicit traffic without scruple, as they did in poaching. the profit was great, and the danger run enhanced the excitement of the pursuit, and gave a sort of heroic splendor to the achievements of the successful smuggler. the government, to stop a traffic that injured legitimate trade and affected the revenue, imposed severe penalties. smuggling was classed among the felonies, "without benefit of clergy," the punishment for which was death and confiscation of goods. the consciousness that they would be dealt with with severity did not deter bold men from engaging in the traffic, but made them desperate in self-defence when caught. conflicts with revenue officers were not uncommon, and lives were lost on both sides. the smugglers were not bound together by any link, and sometimes one gang was betrayed by another, so as to divert suspicion and attention from their own misdeeds, or out of jealousy, or on account of a quarrel. it was so on this occasion: the success of coppinger, the ingenuity with which he had carried on his defiance of the law, caused envy of him, because he was a foreigner--was, at all events, not a cornishman; this had induced a rival to give notice to the revenue officers, through scantlebray--a convenient go-between in a good many questionable negotiations. the man who betrayed coppinger dared not be seen entering into communication with the officers of the law. he, therefore, employed scantlebray as the vehicle through whom, without suspicion resting on himself, his rival might be fallen upon and his proceedings brought to an end. it was now very dark. judith had reached and touched a wall; but in the darkness lost her bearings. the trevose light was no longer visible, and directly she left the wall to strike outward she became confused as direction, and in the darkness groped along with her feet, stretching her hands before her. then the rain came down, lashing in her face. the wind had shifted somewhat during the evening, and it was no guidance to judith to feel from what quarter the rain drove against her. moreover, the cove formed a great curve in the coast-line, and was indented deeply in some places, so that to grope round the edge without light in quest of a point only seen or noticed once, seemed a desperate venture. suddenly judith's foot caught. it was entangled, and she could not disengage it. she stooped, and put her hand on a chain. it was jamie's steel dog-chain, one link of which had caught in a tuft of rest-harrow. she had found the spot she wanted, and now waited only till the rain had rushed further inland, and a fringe of light appeared in the sky, to advance to the very edge of the cliff. she found it expedient to stoop as she proceeded, so as to discover some indications of the track. there were depressions where feet had worn the turf, and she set hers therein, and sought the next. thus, creeping and groping, she neared the edge. and now came the moment of supreme peril, when, trusting that she had found the right path, she must go over the brink. if she were mistaken, the next step would send her down two hundred feet, to where she heard the roar, and felt the breath of the sea stream up to her from the abyss. here she could distinguish nothing; she must trust to providence to guide her steps. she uttered a short and earnest prayer, and then boldly descended. she could not stoop now. to stoop was to dive headlong down. she felt her way, however, with her feet, reached one firm station, then another. her hands touched the grass and earth of the ragged margin, then with another step she was below it, and held to the rain-splashed fangs of rock. clinging, with her face inward, feeling with her feet, and never sure but that the next moment might see her launched into air, she stole onward, slowly, cautiously, and ever with the gnawing dread in her heart lest she should be too late. one intense point of consciousness stood out in her brain--it told her that if, while thus creeping down, there should come the flash and explosion of fire-arms, her courage would fail, her head would spin, and she would be lost. how long she was descending she could not tell, how many steps she took was unknown to her--she had not counted--but it seemed to her an entire night that passed, with every change of position an hour was marked; then, at last, she was conscious that she stood on more level ground. she had reached the terrace. a little further, and on her left hand, would open the mouth of the shaft, and she must descend that, in profoundest darkness. a cry! a light flashed into her eyes and dazzled her. a hand at the same moment clutched her, or she would have reeled back and gone over the cliff. the light was held to pour over her face. who held it and who grasped her she could not see; but she knew the moment she heard a voice exclaim-- "judith!" in her terror and exhaustion she could but gasp for breath for a few moments. by degrees her firmness and resolution returned, and she exclaimed, in broken tones, panting between every few words-- "captain cruel!--you are betrayed--they are after you!" he did not press her. he waited till she could speak again, lowering the lantern. then, without the glare in her eyes, she was able to speak more freely. "there is a boat--a revenue cutter--waiting in the bay--and--above--are the preventive men--and they will kill you." "indeed," said he. "and you have come to warn me?" "yes." "tell me--are there any above, where you came down!" "none; they are on the ass-path." "can you ascend as you came down?" "yes." he extinguished his lantern, or covered it. "i must no more show light. i must warn those below." he paused, then said-- "dare you mount alone." "i came down alone." "then do this one thing more for me. mount, and go to pentyre. tell your aunt--three lights--red, white, red; then ten minutes, and then, red, red, white. can you remember? repeat after me: 'three lights--red, white, red; then, ten minutes, and next, red, red, and white.'" judith repeated the words. "that is right. lose no time. i dare not give you a light. none must now be shown. the boat from the black prince is not in--this lantern was her guide. now it is out she will go back. you will remember the signals? i thank you for what you have done. there is but one woman would have done it, and that judith." he stepped inside the shaft to descend. when hidden, he allowed his light again to show, to assist him in his way down. judith only waited till her eyes, that had been dazzled by the light, were recovered, and then she braced herself to resume her climb; but now it was to be up the cliff. chapter xv. chained. to ascend is easier than to go down. judith was no longer alarmed. there was danger still, that was inevitable; but the danger was as nothing now to what it had been. it is one thing to descend in total darkness into an abyss where one knows that below are sharp rocks, and a drop of two hundred feet to a thundering, raging sea, racing up the sand, pouring over the shelves of rock, foaming where divided waves clash. when judith had been on the beach in the afternoon the tide was out; now it was flowing, and had swept over all that tract of white sand and pebble where she had walked. she could not indeed now see the water, but she heard the thud of a billow as it smote a rock, the boil and the hiss of the waves and spray. to step downward, groping the way, with a depth and a wild-throbbing sea beneath, demanded courage, and courage of no mean order; but it was other to mount, to be able to feel with the foot the ascent in the track, and to grope upward with the hand from one point of clutch to another, to know that every step upward was lessening the peril, and bringing nearer to the sward and to safety. without great anxiety, therefore, judith turned to climb. cruel coppinger had allowed her to essay it unaided. would he have done that had he thought it involved danger, or, rather, serious danger? judith was sure he would not. his confidence that she could climb to the summit unassisted made her confident. as she had descended she had felt an interior qualm and sinking at every step she took; there was no such sensation now as she mounted. she was not much inconvenienced by the wind, for the wind was not directly on shore; but it soughed about her, and eddies caught her cloak and jerked it. it would have been better had she left her cloak above on the turf. it incommoded her in her climb; it caught in the prongs of rock. the rain, the water running off the rock, had wet her shoes, soaked them, and every step was in moisture that oozed out of them. she was glad now to rest on her right hand. in descending, the left had felt and held the rock, and it had been rubbed and cut. probably it was bleeding. surely there was a little more light in the sky where the sky showed between the dense masses of vapor. judith did not observe this, for she did not look aloft; but she could see a steely tract of sea, fretted into foam, reflecting an illumination from above, greater than the twilight could cast. then she remembered that there had been a moon a few nights before, and thought that it was probably risen by this time. something chill and wet brushed her face. it startled her for a moment, and then she knew by the scent that it was a bunch of samphire growing out of the side of the crag. shrill in her ear came the scream of a gull that rushed by in the darkness, and she felt, or believed she felt, the fan from the wings. again it screamed, and near the ear it pierced her brain like an awl, and then again, still nearer, unnerving her. in the darkness she fancied that this gull was about to attack her with beak and claws, and she put up her left arm as a protection to her eyes. then there broke out a jabber of sea-birds' voices, laughing mockingly, at a little distance. whither had she got! the way was no longer easy--one step before another--there was a break of continuity in the path, if path the track could be called. judith stood still, and put forward her foot to test the rock in front. there was no place where it could rest. had she, bewildered by that gull, diverged from the track? it would be well to retreat a few steps. she endeavored to do this, and found that she encountered a difficulty in finding the place where she had just planted her foot. it was but too certain that she was off the track line. how to recover it she knew not. with the utmost difficulty she did reach a point in her rear where she could stand, clinging to the rock; but she clung now with both hands. there was no tuft of samphire to brush her face as she descended. she must have got wrong before she touched that. but where was the samphire? she cautiously felt along the surface of the crag in quest of it, but could not find it. there was, however, a little above her shoulder, a something that felt like a ledge, and which might be the track. if she had incautiously crept forward at a level without ascending rapidly enough, she was probably below the track. could she climb to this point--climb up the bare rock, with sheer precipice below her? and, supposing that the shelf she felt with her hand were not the track, could she descend again to the place where she had been? her brain spun. she lost all notion as to where she might be--perhaps she was below the path, perhaps she was above it. she could not tell. she stood with arms extended, clinging to the rock, and her heart beat in bounds against the flinty surface. the clasp of her cloak was pressing on her throat, and strangling her. the wind had caught the garment, and was playing with the folds, carrying it out and flapping it behind her over the gulf. it was irksome; it was a danger to her. she cautiously slid one hand to her neck, unhasped the mantle, and it was snatched from her shoulders and carried away. she was lighter without it, could move with greater facility; cold she was not, wet she might become, but what mattered that if she could reach the top of the cliff? not only on her own account was judith alarmed. she had undertaken a commission. she had promised to bear a message to her aunt from coppinger that concerned the safety of his men. what the signal meant she did not know, but suspected that it conveyed a message of danger. she placed both her hands on the ledge, and felt with her knee for some point on which to rest it, to assist her in lifting herself from where she stood to the higher elevation. there was a small projection, and after a moment's hesitation she drew her foot from the shelf whereon it had rested and leaned the left knee on this hunch. then she clung with both hands, and with them and her knee endeavored to heave herself up about four feet, that is, to the height of her shoulders. a convulsive quiver seized on her muscles. she was sustained by a knee and her hands only. if they gave way she could not trust to recover her previous lodgement place. one desperate strain, and she was on the ledge, on both knees, and was feeling with her hands to ascertain if she had found the track. her fingers touched thrift and passed over turf. she had not reached what she sought. she was probably farther from it than before. as all her members were quivering after the effort, she seated herself on the shelf she had reached, leaned back against the wet rock, and waited till her racing pulses had recovered evenness of flow, and her muscles had overcome the first effects of their tension. her position was desperate. rain and perspiration mingled dripped from her brow, ran over and blinded her eyes. her breath came in sobs between her parted lips. her ears were full of the booming of the surge far below, and the scarcely less noisy throb of her blood in her pulses. when she had started on her adventurous expedition she had seen some stars that had twinkled down on her, and had appeared to encourage her. now, not a star was visible, only, far off on the sea, a wan light that fell through a rent in the black canopy over an angry deep. beyond that all was darkness, between her and that all was darkness. as she recovered her self-possession, with the abatement of the tumult in her blood she was able to review her position, and calculate her chances of escape from it. up the track from the cave the smugglers would almost certainly escape, because that was the only way, unwatched, by which they could leave the beach without falling into the hands of the preventive men. if they came by the path--that path could not be far off, though in which direction it lay she could not guess. she would call, and then coppinger or some of his men would come to her assistance. by this means alone could she escape. there was nothing for her to do but to wait. she bent forward and looked down. she might have been looking into a well; but a little way out she could see, or imagine she saw, the white fringes of surf stealing in. there was not sufficient light for her to be certain whether she really saw foam, or whether her fancy, excited by the thunder of the tide, made her suppose she saw it. the shelf she occupied was narrow and inclined; if she slipped from it she could not trust to maintain herself on the lower shelf, certainly not if she slid down in a condition of unconsciousness. and now reaction after the strain was setting in, and she feared lest she might faint. in her pocket was the dog-chain that had caught her foot. she extracted that now, and groping along the wall of rock behind her, caught a stout tuft of coarse heather, wiry, well rooted; and she took the little steel chain and wound it about the branches and stem of the plant, and also about her wrist--her right wrist--so as to fasten her to the wall. that was some relief to her to know that in the event of her dropping out of consciousness there was something to hold her up, though that was only the stem of an erica, and her whole weight would rest on its rootlets. would they suffice to sustain her? it was doubtful; but there was nothing else on which she could depend. suddenly a stone whizzed past, struck the ledge, and rebounded. then came a shower of earth and pebbles. they did not touch her, but she heard them clatter down. surely they had been displaced by a foot, and that a foot passing above. then she heard a shot--also overhead, and a cry. she looked aloft, and saw against the half-translucent vapors a black struggling figure on the edge of the cliff. she saw it but for an instant, and then was struck on the face by an open hand, and a body crashed on to the shelf at her side, rolled over the edge, and plunged into the gulf below. she tried to cry, but her voice failed her. she felt her cheek stung by the blow she had received. a feeling as though all the rock were sinking under her came on, as though she were sliding--not shooting--but sliding down, down, and the sky went up higher, higher--and she knew no more. chapter xvi. on the shingle. the smugglers, warned by coppinger, had crept up the path in silence, and singly, at considerable intervals between each, and on reaching the summit of the cliffs had dispersed to their own homes, using the precaution to strike inland first, over the "new-take" wall. as the last of the party reached the top he encountered one of the coast-guards, who, by the orders of his superior, was patrolling the down to watch that the smugglers did not leave the cove by any other path than the one known--that up and down which donkeys were driven. this donkey-driving to the beach was not pursued solely for the sake of contraband; the beasts brought up loads of sand, which the farmers professed they found valuable as manure on their stiff soil, and also the masses of seaweed cast on the strand after a gale, and which was considered to be possessed of rare fertilizing qualities. no sooner did the coast-guard see a man ascend the cliff, or rather come up over the edge before him, than he fired his pistol to give the signal to his fellows, whereupon the smuggler turned, seized him by the throat, and precipitated him over the edge. of this coppinger knew nothing. he had led the procession, and had made his way to pentyre glaze by a roundabout route, so as to evade a guard set to watch for him approaching from the cliffs, should one have been so planted. on reaching his door, his first query was whether the signals had been made. "what signals?" asked miss trevisa. "i sent a messenger here with instructions." "no messenger has been here." "what, no one--not--" he hesitated, and said, "not a woman?" "not a soul has been here--man, woman, or child--since you left." "no one to see you?" "no one at all, captain." coppinger did not remove his hat; he stood in the doorway biting his thumb. was it possible that judith had shrunk from coming to his house to bear the message? yet she had promised to do so. had she been intercepted by the preventive men? had--had she reached the top of the cliff? had she, after reaching the top, lost her way in the dark, taken a false direction, and--coppinger did not allow the thought to find full expression in his brain. he turned, without another word, and hastened to the cottage of mr. menaida. he must ascertain whether she had reached home. uncle zachie had not retired to bed; scantlebray had been gone an hour; zachie had drunk with scantlebray, and he had drunk after the departure of that individual to indemnify himself for the loss of his company. consequently mr. menaida was confused in mind and thick in talk. "where is judith?" asked coppinger, bursting in on him. "in bed, i suppose," answered uncle zachie, after a while, when he comprehended the question, and had had time to get over his surprise at seeing the captain. "are you sure? when did she come in?" "come in?" said the old man, scratching his forehead with his pipe. "come in--bless you, i don't know; some time in the afternoon. yes, to be sure it was, some time in the afternoon." "but she has been out to-night?" "no--no--no," said uncle zachie, "it was scantlebray." "i say she has--she has been to--" he paused, then said--"to see her aunt." "aunt dunes! bless my heart, when?" "to-night." "impossible!" "but i say she has. come, mr. menaida. go up to her room, knock at the door, and ascertain if she be back. her aunt is alarmed--there are rough folks about." "why, bless me!" exclaimed mr. menaida, "so there are. and--well, wonders'll never cease. how came you here! i thought the guard were after you. scantlebray said so." "will you go at once and see if judith trevisa is home?" coppinger spoke with such vehemence, and looked so threateningly at the old man, that he staggered out of his chair, and, still holding his pipe, went to the stairs. "bless me!" said he, "whatever am i about? i've forgot a candle. would you oblige me with lighting one? my hand shakes, and i might light my fingers by mistake." after what seemed to coppinger to be an intolerable length of time, uncle zachie stumbled down the stairs again. "i say," said mr. menaida, standing on the steps, "captain--did you ever hear about tincombe lane?-- 'tincombe lane is all up-hill, or down hill, as you take it; you tumble up and crack your crown, or tumble down and break it.' --it's the same with these blessed stairs. would you mind lending me a hand? by the powers, the banister is not firm! do you know how it goes on?-- 'tincombe lane is crooked and straight as pot-hook or as arrow. 'tis smooth to foot, 'tis full of rut, 'tis wide and then 'tis narrow.' --thank you, sir, thank you. now take the candle. bah! i've broke my pipe--and then comes the moral-- 'tincombe lane is just like life from when you leave your mother, 'tis sometimes this, 'tis sometimes that, 'tis one thing or the other.'" in vain had coppinger endeavored to interrupt the flow of words, and to extract from thick zachie the information he needed, till the old gentleman was back in his chair. then uncle zachie observed--"blessy'--i said so--i said so a thousand times. no--she's not there. tell aunt dunes so. will you sit down and have a drop? the night is rough, and it will do you good--take the chill out of your stomach and the damp out of your chest." but coppinger did not wait to decline the offer. he turned at once, left the house, and dashed the door back as he stepped out into the night. he had not gone a hundred paces along the road before he heard voices, and recognized that of mr. scantlebray-- "i tell you the vessel is the black prince, and i know he was to have unloaded her to-night." "anyhow he is not doing so. not a sign of him." "the night is too dirty." "wyvill--" coppinger knew that the captain at the head of the coast-guard was speaking. "wyvill, i heard a pistol-shot. where is jenkyns? if you had not been by me i should have said you had acted wide of your orders. has any one seen jenkyns?" "no, sir." "who is that?" suddenly a light flashed forth, and glared upon coppinger. the captain in command of the coast-guard uttered an oath. "you out to-night, mr. coppinger! where do you come from?" "as you see--from polzeath." "humph! from no other direction?" "i'll trouble you to let me pass." coppinger thrust the preventive man aside, and went on his way. when he was beyond earshot, scantlebray said--"i trust he did not notice me along with you. you see, the night is too dirty. let him bless his stars, it has saved him." "i should like to see jenkyns," said the officer. "i am almost certain i heard a pistol-shot; but when i sent in the direction whence it came, there was no one to be seen. it's a confounded dark night." "i hope they've not give us the slip, captain?" said wyvill. "impossible," answered the officer. "impossible. i took every precaution. they did not go out to-night. as mr. scantlebray says, the night was too dirty." then they went on. in the meantime coppinger was making the best of his way to the downs. he knew his direction even in the dark--he had the "new-take" wall as a guide. what the coast-guard did not suspect was that this "new-take" had been made for the very purpose of serving as a guide by which the smugglers could find their course in the blackest of winter's nights; moreover, in the fiercest storm the wall served as a shelter, under lea of which they might approach their cave. coppinger was without a lantern. he doubted if one would avail him, in his quest; moreover, the night was lightening, as the moon rode higher. the smuggler captain stood for a moment on the edge of the cliffs to consider what course he should adopt to find judith. if she had reached the summit, it was possible enough that she had lost her way and had rambled inland among lanes and across fields, pixy-led. in that case it was a hopeless task to search for her; moreover, there would be no particular necessity for him to do so, as, sooner or later, she must reach a cottage or a farm, where she could learn her direction. but if she had gone too near the edge, or if, in her ascent, her foot had slipped, then he must search the shore. the tide was ebbing now, and left a margin on which he could walk. this was the course he must adopt. he did not descend by the track to the chimney, as the creeping down of the latter could be effected in absolute darkness only with extreme risk; but he bent his way over the down skirting the crescent indentation of the cove to the donkey-path, which was now, as he knew, unwatched. by that he swiftly and easily descended to the beach. along the shore he crept carefully toward that portion which was overhung by the precipice along which the way ran from the mouth of the shaft. the night was mending, or at all events seemed better. the moon, as it mounted, cast a glimmer through the least opaque portions of the driving clouds. coppinger looked up, and could see the ragged fringe of down torn with gullies, and thrust up into prongs, black as ink against the gray of the half-translucent vapors. and near at hand was the long dorsal ridge that concealed the entrance to the cave, sloping rapidly upward and stretching away before him into shadow. coppinger mused. if one were to fall from above, would he drop between the cliff and this curtain, or would he strike and be projected over it on to the shelving sand up which stole the waves? he knew that the water eddying against friable sandstone strata that came to the surface had eaten them out with the wash, and that the hard flakes of slate and ribs of quartz stood forth, overhanging the cave. most certainly, therefore, had judith fallen, her body must be sought on the sea-face of the masking ridge. the smuggler stood at the very point where in the preceding afternoon jamie and the dog had scrambled up that fin-like blade of rock and disappeared from the astonished gaze of judith. the moon, smothered behind clouds, and yet, in a measure self-assertive, cast sufficient light down into the cove to glitter on, and transmute into steel, the sea-washed and smoothed, and still wet, ridge, sloping inland as a seawall. as coppinger stood looking upward he saw in the uncertain light something caught on the fangs of this saw-ridge, moving uneasily this way, then that, something dark, obscuring the glossed surface of the rock, as it might be a mass of gigantic sea-tangles. "judith!" he cried. "is that you?" and he plunged through the pool that intervened, and scrambled up the rock. he caught something. it was cloth. "judith! judith!" he almost shrieked in anxiety. that which he had laid hold of yielded, and he gathered to him a garment of some sort, and with it he slid back into the pool, and waded on to the pebbles. then he examined his capture by the uncertain light, and by feel, and convinced himself that it was a cloak--a cloak with clasp and hood--just such as he had seen judith wearing when he flashed his lantern over her on the platform at the mouth of the shaft. he stood for a moment, numbed as though he had been struck on the head with a mallet, and irresolute. he had feared that judith had fallen over the edge, but he had hoped that it was not so. this discovery seemed to confirm his worst fears. if the cloak were there--she also would probably be there also, a broken heap. she who had thrown him down and broken him, had been thrown down herself, and broken also--thrown down and broken because she had come to rescue him from danger. coppinger put his hand to his head. his veins were beating as though they would burst the vessels in his temples, and suffuse his face with blood. as he stood thus clasping his brow with his right hand, the clouds were swept for an instant aside, and for an instant the moon sent down a weird glare that ran like a wave along the sand, leaped impediments, scrambled up rocks, and flashed in the pools. for one moment only--but that sufficed to reveal to him a few paces ahead a black heap: there was no mistaking it. the rounded outlines were not those of a rock. it was a human body lying on the shingle half immersed in the pool at the foot of the reef! a cry of intensest, keenest anguish burst from the heart of coppinger. prepared though he was for what he must see by the finding of the cloak, the sight of that motionless and wrecked body was more than he could endure with composure. in the darkness that ensued after the moon-gleam he stepped forward, slowly, even timidly, to where that human wreck lay, and knelt on both knees beside it on the wet sand. he waited. would the moon shine out again and show him what he dreaded seeing? he would not put down a hand to touch it. one still clasped his brow, the other he could not raise so high, and he held it against his breast where it had lately been strapped. he tried to hold his breath, to hear if any sound issued from what lay before him. he strained his eyes to see if there were any, the slightest movement in it. yet he knew there could be none. a fall from these cliffs above must dash every spark of life out of a body that reeled down them. he turned his eyes upward to see if the cloud would pass; but no--it seemed to be one that was all-enveloping, unwilling to grant him that glimpse which must be had, but which would cause him acutest anguish. he could not remain kneeling there in suspense any longer. in uncertainty he was not. the horror was before him--and must be faced. he thrust his hand into his pocket and drew forth tinder-box and flint. with a hand that had never trembled before, but now shaking as with an ague, he struck a light. the sparks flew about, and were long in igniting the touchwood. but finally it was kindled, and glowed red. the wind fanned it into fitful flashes, as coppinger, stooping, held the lurid spark over the prostrate form, and passed it up and down on the face. then suddenly it fell from his hand, and he drew a gasp. the dead face was that of a bearded man. a laugh--a wild, boisterous laugh--rang out into the night, and was re-echoed by the cliff, as coppinger leaped to his feet. there was hope still. judith had not fallen. chapter xvii. for life or death. coppinger did not hesitate a moment now to leave the corpse on the beach where he had found it, and to hasten to the cave. there was a third alternative to which hitherto he had given no attention. judith, in ascending the cliff, might have strayed from the track, and be in such a position that she could neither advance nor draw back. he would, therefore, explore the path from the chimney mouth, and see if any token could be found of her having so done. he again held his smouldering tinder and by this feeble glimmer made his way up the inclined beach within the cave, passed under the arch of the rock where low, and found himself in that portion where was the boat. here he knew of a receptacle for sundries, such as might be useful in an emergency, and to that he made his way, and drew from it a piece of candle and a lantern. he speedily lighted the candle, set it in the lantern, and then ascended the chimney. on reaching the platform at the orifice in the face of the rock, it occurred to him that he had forgotten to bring rope with him. he would not return for that, unless he found a need for it. rope there was below, of many yards length. till he knew that it was required, it seemed hardly worth his while to encumber himself with a coil that might be too long or too short for use. he did not even know that he would find judith. it was a chance, that was all. it was more probable that she had strayed on the down, and was now back at polzeath, and safe and warm in bed. from the ledge in front of the shaft coppinger proceeded with caution and leisure, exploring every portion of the ascent with lowered lantern. there were plenty of impressions of feet wherever the soft and crumbly beds had been traversed, and where the dissolved stone had been converted into clay or mud, but these were the impressions of the smugglers escaping from their den. step by step he mounted, till he had got about half-way up, when he noticed, what he had not previously observed, that there was a point at which the track left the ledge of stratified vertical rock that had inclined its broken edge upward, and by a series of slips mounted to another fractured stratum, a leaf of the story-book turned up with the record of infinite ages sealed up in it. it was possible that one unacquainted with the course might grope onward, following the ledge instead of deserting it for a direct upward climb. as coppinger now perceived, one ignorant of the way and unprovided with a light would naturally follow the shelf. he accordingly deserted the track, and advanced along the ledge. there was a little turf in one place, in the next a tuft of armeria, then mud or clay, and there--assuredly a foot had trodden. there was a mark of a sole that was too small to have belonged to a man. the shelf at first was tolerably broad, and could be followed without risk by one whose head was steady; but for how long would it so continue? these rough edges, these laminæ of upheaved slate were treacherous--they were sometimes completely broken down, forming gaps, in places stridable, in others discontinuous for many yards. the footprints satisfied coppinger that judith had crept along this terrace, and so had missed the right course. it was impossible that she could reach the summit by this way--she must have fallen or be clinging at some point farther ahead, a point from which she could not advance, and feared to retreat. he held the lantern above his head, and peered before him, but could see nothing. the glare of the artificial light made the darkness beyond its radius the deeper and more impervious to the eye. he called, but received no answer. he called again, with as little success. he listened, but heard no other sound than the mutter of the sea, and the wail of the wind. there was nothing for him to do but to go forward; and he did that slowly, searchingly, with the light near the ground, seeking for some further trace of judith. he was obliged to use caution, as the ledge of rock narrowed. here it was hard, and the foot passing over it made no impression. then ensued a rift and a slide of shale, and here he thought he observed indications of recent dislodgement. now the foot-hold was reduced, he could no longer stoop to examine the soil; he must stand upright and hold to the rock with his right hand, and move with precaution lest he should be precipitated below. was it conceivable that she had passed there?--there in the dark? and yet--if she had not, she must have been hurled below. coppinger, clinging with his fingers, and thrusting one foot before the other, then drawing forward that foot, with every faculty on the alert, passed to where, for a short space, the ledge of rock expanded, and there he stooped once more with the light to explore. beyond was a sheer fall, and the dull glare from his lantern showed him no continuance of the shelf. as he arose from his bent position, suddenly the light fell on a hand--a delicate, childish hand--hanging down. he raised the lantern, and saw her whom he sought. at this point she had climbed upward to a higher ledge, and on that she lay, one arm raised, fastened by a chain to a tuft of heather--her head fallen against the rock, and feet and one arm over the edge of the cliff. she was unconscious, sustained by a dog-chain and a little bunch of ling. coppinger passed the candle over her face. it was white, and the eyes did not close before the light. his position was vastly difficult. she hung there chained to the cliff, and he doubted whether he could sustain her weight if he attempted to carry her back while she was unconscious, along the way he and she had come. it was perilous for one alone to move along that strip of surface; it seemed impossible for one to effect it bearing in his arms a human burden. moreover, coppinger was well aware that his left arm had not recovered its strength. he could not trust her weight on that. he dare not trust it on his right arm, for to return by the way he came the right hand would be that which was toward the void. the principal weight must be thrown inward. what was to be done? this, primarily: to release the insensible girl from her present position, in which the agony of the strain on her shoulder perhaps prolonged her unconsciousness. coppinger mounted to the shelf on which she lay, and bowing himself over her, while holding her, so that she should not slip over the edge, he disentangled the chain from her wrist and the stems of the heather. then he seated himself beside her, drew her toward him, with his right arm about her, and laid her head on his shoulder. and the chain? that he took and deliberately passed it round her waist and his own body, fastened it, and muttered, "for life or for death!" there, for a while, he sat. he had set the lantern beside him. his hand was on judith's heart, and he held his breath, and waited to feel if there was pulsation there; but his own arteries were in such agitation, the throb in his finger ends prevented his being able to satisfy himself as to what he desired to know. he could not remain longer in his present position. judith might never revive. she had swooned through over-exhaustion, and nothing could restore her to life but the warmth and care she would receive in a house; he cursed his folly, his thoughtlessness, in having brought with him no flask of brandy. he dared remain no longer where he was, the ebbing powers in the feeble life might sink beyond recall. he thrust his right arm under her, and adjusted the chain about him so as to throw some of her weight off the arm, and then cautiously slid to the step below, and, holding her, set his back to the rocky wall. so, facing the atlantic ocean, facing the wild night sky, torn here and there into flakes of light, otherwise cloaked in storm-gloom, with the abyss below, an abyss of jagged rock and shingle shore, he began to make his way along the track by which he had gained that point. he was at that part where the shelf narrowed to a foot, and his safety and hers depended largely on the power that remained to him in his left arm. with the hand of that arm he felt along and clutched every projecting point of rock, and held to it with every sinew strained and starting. he drew a long breath. was judith stirring on his arm? the critical minute had come. the slightest movement, the least displacement of the balance, and both would be precipitated below. "judith!" said he, hoarsely, turning his head toward her ear. "judith!" there was no reply. "judith! for heaven's sake--if you hear me--do not lift a finger. do not move a muscle." the same heavy weight on him without motion. "judith! for life--or death!" then suddenly from off the ocean flashed a tiny spark--far, far away. it was a signal from the black prince. he saw it, fixed his eyes steadily on it, and began to move sideways, facing the sea, his back to the rock, reaching forward with his left arm, holding judith in the right. "for life!" he took one step sideways, holding with the disengaged hand to the rock. the bone of that arm was but just knit. not only so, but that of the collar was also recently sealed up after fracture. yet the salvation of two lives hung on these two infirm joints. the arm was stiff; the muscles had not recovered flexibility, nor the sinews their strength. "for death!" a second sidelong step, and the projected foot slid in greasy marl. he dug his heel into the wet and yielding soil, he stamped in it; then, throwing all his weight on the left heel, aided by the left arm, he drew himself along and planted the right beside the left. he sucked the air in between his teeth with a hiss. the soft soil was sinking--it would break away. the light from the black prince seemed to rise. with a wrench he planted his left foot on rock--and drew up the right to it. "judith! for life!" that star on the black sea--what did it mean? he knew. his mind was clear, and though in intense concentration of all his powers on the effort to pass this strip of perilous path, he could reason of other things, and knew why the black prince had exposed her light. the lantern that he had borne, and left on the shelf, had been seen by her, and she supposed it to be a signal from the terrace over the cave. the next step was full of peril. with his left foot advanced, coppinger felt he had reached the shale. he kicked into it, and kicked away an avalanche of loose flakes that slid over the edge. but he drove his foot deep into the slope, and rammed a dent into which he could fix the right foot when drawn after it. "for death!" then he crept along upon the shale. he could not see the star now. his sweat, rolling off his brow, had run over his eyelids and charged the lashes with tears. in partial blindness he essayed the next step. "for life!" then he breathed more freely. his foot was on the grass. the passage of extreme danger was over. from the point now reached the ledge widened, and coppinger was able to creep onward with less stress laid on the fractured bones. the anguish of expectation of death was lightened; and as it lightened nature began to assert herself. his teeth chattered as in an ague fit, and his breath came in sobs. in ten minutes he had attained the summit--he was on the down above the cliffs. "judith," said he, and he kissed her cheeks and brow and hair. "for life--for death--mine, only mine." chapter xviii. una. when judith opened her eyes, she found herself in a strange room, but as she looked about her she saw aunt dionysia with her hands behind her back looking out of the window. "oh, aunt! where am i!" miss trevisa turned. "so you have come round at last, or pleased to pretend to come round. it is hard to tell whether or not dissimulation was here." "dissimulation, aunt?" "there's no saying. young folks are not what they were in my day. they have neither the straightforwardness nor the consideration for their elders and betters." "but--where am i?" "at the glaze; not where i put you, but where you have put yourself." "i did not come here, auntie, dear." "don't auntie dear me, and deprive me of my natural sleep." "have i?" "have you not? three nights have i had to sit up. and natural sleep is as necessary to me at my age as is stays. i fall abroad without one or the other. give me my choice--whether i'd have nephews and nieces crawling about me or erysipelas, and i'd choose the latter." "but, aunt--i'm sorry if i am a trouble to you." "of course you are a trouble. how can you be other? don't burs stick? but that is neither here nor there." "aunt, how came i to pentyre glaze!" "i didn't invite you, and i didn't bring you--you may be sure of that. captain coppinger found you somewhere on the down at night, when you ought to have been at home. you were insensible, or pretended to be so--it's not for me to say which." "oh, aunt, i don't want to be here." "nor do i want you here--and in my room, too. hoity-toity! nephews and nieces are just like pigs--you want them to go one way and they run the other." "but i should like to know where captain coppinger found me, and all about it. i don't remember anything." "then you must ask him yourself." "i should like to get up; may i?" "i can't say till the doctor comes. there's no telling--i might be blamed. i shall be pleased enough when you are shifted to your own room," and she pointed to a door. "my room, auntie?" "i suppose so; i don't know whose else it is." then miss trevisa whisked out of the room. judith lay quietly in bed trying to collect her thoughts and recall something of what had happened. she could recollect fastening her wrist to the shrub by her brother's dog-chain; then, with all the vividness of a recurrence of the scene--the fall of the man, the stroke on her cheek, his roll over and plunge down the precipice. the recollection made a film come over her eyes and her heart stand still. after that she remembered nothing. she tried hard to bring to mind one single twinkle of remembrance, but in vain. it was like looking at a wall and straining the eyes to see through it. then she raised herself in bed to look about her. she was in her aunt's room, and in her aunt's bed. she had been brought there by captain coppinger. he, therefore, had rescued her from the position of peril in which she had been. so far she could understand. she would have liked to know more, but more, probably, her aunt could not tell her, even if inclined to do so. where was jamie? was he at uncle zachie's? had he been anxious and unhappy about her? she hoped he had got into no trouble during the time he had been free from her supervision. judith felt that she must go back to mr. menaida's and to jamie. she could not stay at the glaze. she could not be happy with her ever-grumbling, ill-tempered aunt. besides, her father would not have wished her to be there. what did aunt dunes mean when she pointed to a door and spoke of her room? judith could not judge whether she were strong till she tried her strength. she slipped her feet to the floor, stood up and stole over the floor to that door which her aunt had indicated. she timidly raised the latch, after listening at it, opened and peeped into a small apartment. to her surprise she saw the little bed she had occupied at her dear home, the rectory, her old wash-stand, her mirror, the old chairs, the framed pictures that had adorned her walls, the common and trifling ornaments that had been arranged on her chimney-piece. every object with which she had been familiar at the parsonage for many years, and to which she had said good-by, never expecting to have a right to them any more--all these were there, furnishing the room that adjoined her aunt's apartment. she stood looking around in surprise, till she heard a step on the stair outside, and, supposing it was that of aunt dionysia, she ran back to bed, and dived under the clothes and pulled the sheets over her golden head. aunt dunes entered the room, bringing with her a bowl of soup. her eye at once caught the opened door into the little adjoining chamber. "you have been out of bed!" judith thrust her head out of its hiding-place, and said, frankly, "yes, auntie! i could not help myself. i want to see. how have you managed to get all my things together?" "i? i have had nothing to do with it." "but--who did it, auntie?" "captain coppinger; he was at the sale." "is the sale over, aunt?" "yes, whilst you have been ill." "oh, i am so glad it is over, and i knew nothing about it." "oh, exactly! not a thought of the worry you have been to me; deprived of my sleep--of my bed--of my bed," repeated aunt dunes, grimly. "how can you expect a bulb to flower if you take it out of the earth and stick it on a bedroom chair stirring broth? i have no patience with you young people. you are consumed with selfishness." "but, auntie! don't be cross. why did captain coppinger buy all my dear crinkum-crankums?" aunt dionysia snorted and tossed her head. judith suddenly flushed; she did not repeat the question, but said hastily, "auntie, i want to go back to mr. menaida." "you cannot desire it more than i do," said miss trevisa, sharply. "but whether _he_ will let you go is another matter." "aunt dunes, if i want to go, i will go!" "indeed!" "i will go back as soon as ever i can." "well, that can't be to-day, for one thing." the evening of that same day judith was removed into the adjoining room, "her room," as miss trevisa designated it. "and mind you sleep soundly, and don't trouble me in the night. natural sleep is as suitable to me as green peas to duck." when, next morning, the girl awoke, her eyes ranged round and lighted everywhere on familiar objects. the two mezzotints of happy and deserted auburn, the old and battered pieces of dresden ware, vases with flowers encrusted round them, but with most of the petals broken off--vases too injured to be of value to a purchaser, valuable to her because full of reminiscences--the tapestry firescreen, the painted fans with butterflies on them, the mirror blotched with damp, the inlaid wafer-box and ruler, the old snuffer-tray. her eyes filled with tears. a gathering together into one room of old trifles did not make that strange room to be home. it was the father, the dear father, who, now that he was taken away, made home an impossibility, and the whole world, however crowded with old familiar odds and ends, to be desert and strange. the sight of all her old "crinkum-crankums," as she had called them, made judith's heart smart. it was kindly meant by coppinger to purchase all these things and collect them there; but it was a mistake of judgment. grateful she was, not gratified. in the little room there was an ottoman with a woolwork cover representing a cluster of dark red, pink, and white roses; and at each corner of the ottoman was a tassel, which had been a constant source of trouble to judith, as the tassels would come off, sometimes because the cat played with them, sometimes because jamie pulled them off in mischief, sometimes because they caught in her dress. her father had embroidered those dreadful roses on a buff ground one winter when confined to the house by a heavy cold and cough. she valued that ottoman for his sake, and would not have suffered it to go into the sale had she possessed any place she could regard as her own where to put it. she needed no such article to remind her of the dear father--the thought of him would be forever present to her without the assistance of ottomans to refresh her memory. on this ottoman, when dressed, judith seated herself, and let her hands rest in her lap. she was better; she would soon be well; and when well would take the first opportunity to depart. the door was suddenly thrown open by her aunt, and in the doorway stood coppinger looking at her. he raised his hand to his hat in salutation, but said nothing. she was startled and unable to speak. in another moment the door was shut again. that day she resolved that nothing should detain her longer than she was forced. jamie--her own dear jamie--came to see her, and the twins were locked in each other's arms. "oh, ju! darling ju! you are quite well, are you not! and captain coppinger has given me a gray donkey instead of tib; and i'm to ride it about whenever i choose!" "but, dear, mr. menaida has no stable, and no paddock." "oh, ju! that's nothing. i'm coming up here, and we shall be together--the donkey and you and me and aunt dunes!" "no, jamie. nothing of the sort. listen to me. you remain at mr. menaida's. i am coming back." "but i've already brought up my clothes." "you take them back. attend to me. you do not come here. i go back to mr. menaida's immediately." "but, ju! you've got all your pretty things from the parsonage here!" "they are not mine. mr. coppinger bought them for himself." "but--the donkey?" "leave the donkey here. pay attention to my words. i lay a strict command on you. as you love me, jamie, do not leave mr. menaida's; remain there till my return." that night there was a good deal of noise in the house. judith's room lay in a wing, nevertheless she heard the riot, for the house was not large, and the sounds from the hall penetrated every portion of it. she was frightened, and went into miss trevisa's room. "aunt! what is this dreadful racket about?" "go to sleep--you cannot have every one shut his mouth because of you." "but what is it, auntie!" "it is nothing but the master has folk with him, if you wish particularly to know. the whole cargo of the black prince has been run, and not a finger has been laid by the coast-guard on a single barrel or bale. so they are celebrating their success. go to bed and sleep. it is naught to you." "i cannot sleep, aunt. they are singing now." "why should they not; have you aught against it? you are not mistress here, that i am aware of." "but, auntie, are there many down-stairs?" "i do not know. it is no concern of mine--and certainly none of yours." judith was silenced for a while by her aunt's ill-humor; but she did not return to her room. presently she asked-- "are you sure, aunt, that jamie is gone back to polzeath?" miss trevisa kicked the stool from under her feet, in her impatience. "really! you drive me desperate. i did not bargain for this. am i to tear over the country on post-horses to seek a nephew here and a niece there? i can't tell where jamie is, and what is more, i do not care. i'll do my duty by you both. i'll do no more; and that has been forced on me, it was not sought by me. heaven be my witness." judith returned to her room. the hard and sour woman would afford her no information. in her room she threw herself on her bed and began to think. she was in the very home and head-quarters of contrabandism. but was smuggling a sin? surely not that, or her father would have condemned it decidedly. she remembered his hesitation relative to it, in the last conversation they had together. perhaps it was not actually a sin--she could recall no text in scripture that denounced it--but it was a thing forbidden, and though she did not understand why it was forbidden, she considered that it could not be an altogether honorable and righteous traffic. judith was unable to rest. it was not the noise that disturbed her so much as her uneasiness about jamie. had he obeyed her and gone back to uncle zachie? or had he neglected her injunction, and was he in the house, was he below along with the revellers? she opened the door gently, and stole along the passage to the head of the stairs, and listened. she could smell the fumes of tobacco; but to these she was familiar. the atmosphere of mr. menaida's cottage was redolent of the virginian weed. the noise was, however, something to which she was utterly unaccustomed: the boisterous merriment, the shouts, and occasional oaths. then a fiddle was played. there was disputation, a pause, then the fiddle recommenced; it played a jig; there was a clatter of feet, then a roar of laughter--and then--she was almost sure she heard the voice of her brother. regardless of herself, thinking only of him, without a moment's consideration, she ran down the stairs and threw open the door into the great kitchen or hall. it was full of men--wild, rough fellows--drinking and smoking; there were lights and a fire. the atmosphere was rank with spirits and tobacco; on a chair sat a sailor fiddling, and in the midst of the room, on a table, was jamie dancing a jig, to the laughter and applause of the revellers. the moment judith appeared silence ensued--the men were surprised to see a pale and delicate girl stand before them, with a crown of gold like a halo round her ivory-white face. but judith took no notice of anyone there--her eyes were on her brother, and her hand raised to attract his attention. judith had been in bed, but, disturbed by the uproar, had risen and drawn on her gown; her feet, however, were bare, and her magnificent hair poured over her shoulders unbound. her whole mind, her whole care, was for jamie; on herself not a thought rested; she had forgotten that she was but half clothed. "jamie! jamie!" she cried. "my brother! my brother!" the fiddler ceased, lowered his violin, and stared at her. "ju, let me alone! it is such fun," said the boy. "jamie! this instant you shall come with me. get down off the table!" as he hesitated, and looked round to the men who had been applauding him for support against his sister, she went to the table, and caught him by the feet. "jamie! in pity to me! jamie! think--papa is but just dead." then tears of sorrow, shame, and entreaty filled her eyes. "no, ju! i'm not tied to your apron-strings," said the lad, disengaging himself. but in an instant he was caught from the table by the strong arm of coppinger, and thrust toward the door. "judith, you should not have come here." "oh, mr. coppinger--and jamie! why did you let him--" coppinger drew the girl from the room into the passage. "judith, not for the world would i have had you here," said he, in an agitated voice. "i'll kill your aunt for letting you come down." "mr. coppinger, she knew nothing of my coming. come i must--i heard jamie's voice." "go," said the captain, shaking the boy. he was ashamed of himself and angry. "beware how you disobey your sister again." coppinger's face was red as fire. he turned to judith-- "your feet are bare. let me carry you up-stairs--carry you once more." she shook her head. "as i came down so i can return." "will you forgive me?" he said, in a low tone. "heaven forgive you," she answered, and burst into tears. "you will break my heart, i foresee it." chapter xix. a goldfish. next day--just in the same way as the day before--when judith was risen and dressed, the door was thrown open, and again coppinger was revealed, standing outside, looking at her with a strange expression, and saying no word. but judith started up from her chair and went to him in the passage, put forth her delicate white hand, laid it on his cuff, and said: "mr. coppinger, may i speak to you?" "where?" "where you like--down-stairs will be best, in the hall if no one be there." "it is empty." he stood aside and allowed her to precede him. the staircase was narrow, and it would have been dark but for a small dormer-window through which light came from a squally sky covered with driving white vapors. but such light as entered from a white and wan sun fell on her head as she descended--that head of hair was like the splendor of a beech-tree touched by frost before the leaves fall. coppinger descended after her. when they were both in the hall, he indicated his arm-chair by the hearth for her to sit in, and she obeyed. she was weak, and now also nervous. she must speak to the smuggler firmly, and that required all her courage. the room was tidy; all traces of the debauch of the preceding night had disappeared. coppinger stood a few paces from her. he seemed to know that what she was going to say would displease him, and he did not meet her clear eyes, but looked with a sombre frown upon the floor. judith put the fingers of her right hand to her heart to bid it cease beating so fast, and then rushed into what she had to say, fearing lest delay should heighten the difficulty of saying it. "i am so--so thankful to you, sir, for what you have done for me. my aunt tells me that you found and carried me here. i had lost my way on the rocks, and but for you i would have died." "yes," he said, raising his eyes suddenly and looking piercingly into hers, "but for me you would have died." "i must tell you how deeply grateful i am for this and for other kindnesses. i shall never forget that this foolish, silly, little life of mine i owe to you." again her heart was leaping so furiously as to need the pressure of her fingers on it to check it. "we are quits," said coppinger, slowly. "you came--you ran a great risk to save me. but for you i might be dead. so this rude and worthless--this evil life of mine," he held out his hands, both palms before her, and spoke with quivering voice--"i owe to you." "then," said judith, "as you say, we are quits. yet no. if one account is cancelled, another remains unclosed. i threw you down and broke your bones. so there still remains a score against me." "that i have forgiven long ago," said he. "throw me down, break me, kill me, do with me what you will--and--i will kiss your hand." "i do not wish to have my hand kissed," said judith, hastily, "i let you understand that before." he put his elbow against the mantel-shelf, and leaned his brow against his open hand, looking down at her, so she could not see his face without raising her eyes, but he could rest his on her and study her, note her distress, the timidity with which she spoke, the wince when he said a word that implied his attachment to her. "i have not only to thank you, captain coppinger, but i have to say good-by." "what--go?" "yes--i shall go back to mr. menaida to-day." he stamped, and his face became blood-red. "you shall not. i will it--here you stay." "it cannot be," said judith, after a moment's pause to let his passion subside. "you are not my guardian, though very generously you have undertaken to be valuer for me in dilapidations. i must go, i and jamie." he shook his head. he feared to speak, his anger choked him. "i cannot remain here myself, and certainly i will not let jamie be here." "is it because of last night's foolery you say that?" "i am responsible for my brother. he is not very clever; he is easily led astray. there is no one to think for him, to care for him, but myself. i could never let him run the risk of such a thing happening again." "confound the boy!" burst forth coppinger. "are you going to bring him up as a milk-sop? you are wrong altogether in the way you manage him." "i can but follow my conscience." "and is it because of him that you go?" "not because of him only." "but i have spoken to your aunt; she consents." "but i do not," said judith. he stamped again, passionately. "i am not the man who will bear to be disobeyed and my will crossed. i say--here you shall stay." judith waited a moment, looking at him steadily out of her clear, glittering iridescent eyes, and said slowly, "i am not the girl to be obliged to stay where my common-sense and my heart say stay not." he folded his arms, lowered his chin on his breast, and strode up and down the room. then, suddenly, he stood still opposite her and asked, in a threatening tone: "do you not like your room? does that not please your humor?" "it has been most kind of you to collect all my little bits of rubbish there. i feel how good you have been, how full of thought for me; but, for all that, i cannot stay." "why not?" "i have said, on one account, because of jamie." he bit his lips--"i hate that boy." "then most certainly he cannot be here. he must be with those who love him." "then stay." "i cannot--i will not. i have a will as well as you. my dear papa always said that my will was strong." "you are the only person who has ever dared to resist me." "that may be; i am daring--because you have been kind." "kind to you. yes--to you only." "it may be so, and because kind to me, and me only, i, and i only, presume to say no when you say yes." he came again to the fireplace and again leaned against the mantel-shelf. he was trembling with passion. "and what if i say that, if you go, i will turn old dunes--i mean your aunt--out of the house?" "you will not say it, mr. coppinger; you are too noble, too generous, to take a mean revenge." "oh! you allow there is some good in me?" "i thankfully and cheerfully protest there is a great deal of good in you--and i would there were more." "come--stay here and teach me to be good--be my crutch; i will lean on you, and you shall help me along the right way." "you are too great a weight, mr. coppinger," said she, smiling--but it was a frightened and a forced smile. "you would bend and break the little crutch." he heaved a long breath. he was looking at her from under his hand and his bent brows. "you are cruel--to deny me a chance. and what if i were to say that i am hungry, sick at heart, and faint. would you turn your back and leave me?" "no, assuredly not." "i am hungry." she looked up at him, and was frightened by the glitter in his eyes. "i am hungry for the sight of you, for the sound of your voice." she did not say anything to this, but sat, with her hands on her lap, musing, uncertain how to deal with this man, so strange, impulsive, and yet so submissive to her, and even appealing to her pity. "mr. coppinger, i have to think of and care for jamie, and he takes up all my thoughts and engrosses all my time." "jamie, again!" "so that i cannot feed and teach another orphan." "put off your departure--a week. grant me that. then you will have time to get quite strong, and also you will be able to see whether it is not possible for you to live here. here is your aunt--it is natural and right that you should be with her. she has been made your guardian by your father. do you not bow to his directions." "mr. coppinger, i cannot stay here." "i am at a disadvantage," he exclaimed. "man always is when carrying on a contest with a woman. stay--stay here and listen to me." he put out his hand and pressed her back into the chair, for she was about to rise. "listen to what i say. you do not know--you cannot know--how near death you and i--yes, you and i were, chained together." his deep voice shook. "you and i were on the face of the cliff. there was but one little strip, the width of my hand"--he held out his palm before her--"and that was not secure. it was sliding away under my feet. below was death, certain death--a wretched death. i held you. that little chain tied us two--us two together. all your life and mine hung on was my broken arm and broken collar-bone. i held you to me with my right arm and the chain. i did not think we should live. i thought that together--chained together, i holding you--so we would die--so we would be found--and my only care, my only prayer was, if so, that so we might be washed to sea and sink together, i holding you and chained to you, and you to me. i prayed that we might never be found; for i thought if rude hands were laid on us that the chain would be unloosed, my arm unlocked from about you, and that we should be carried to separate graves. i could not endure that thought. let us go down together--bound, clasped together--into the depths of the deep sea, and there rest. but it was not to be so. i carried you over that stage of infinite danger. an angel or a devil--i cannot say which--held me up. and then i swore that never in life should you be loosed from me, as i trusted that in death we should have remained bound together. see!" he put his hand to her head and drew a lock of her golden hair and wound it about his hand and arm. "you have me fast now--fast in a chain of gold--of gold infinitely precious to me--infinitely strong--and you will cast me off, who never thought to cast you off when tied to you with a chain of iron. what say you? will you stand in safety on your cliff of pride and integrity and unloose the golden band and say, 'go down--down. i know nothing in you to love. you are naught to me but a robber, a wrecker, a drunkard, a murderer--go down into hell?'" in his quivering excitement he acted the whole scene, unconscious that he was so doing, and the drops of agony stood on his brow and rolled--drip--drip--drip from it. man does not weep; his tears exude more bitter than those that flow from the eyes, and they distil from his pores. judith was awed by the intensity of passion in the man, but not changed in her purpose. his vehemence reacted on her, calming her, giving her determination to finish the scene decisively and finally. "mr. coppinger," she said, looking up to him, who still held her by the hair wound about his hand and arm, "it is you who hold me in chains, not i you. and so i--your prisoner--must address a gaoler. am i to speak in chains, or will you release me?" he shook his head, and clenched his hand on the gold hair. "very well," said she, "so it must be; i, bound, plead my cause with you--at a disadvantage. this is what i must say at the risk of hurting you; and, heaven be my witness, i would not wound one who has been so good to me--one to whom i owe my life, my power now to speak and entreat." she paused a minute to gain breath and strengthen herself for what she had to say. "mr. coppinger--do you not yourself see that it is quite impossible that i should remain in this house--that i should have anything more to do with you? consider how i have been brought up--what my thoughts have been. i have had, from earliest childhood, my dear papa's example and teachings, sinking into my heart till they have colored my very life-blood. my little world and your great one are quite different. what i love and care for is folly to you, and your pursuits and pleasures are repugnant to me. you are an eagle--a bird of prey." "a bird of prey," repeated coppinger. "and you soar and fight, and dive, and rend in your own element; whereas i am a little silver trout----" "no"--he drew up his arm wound round with her hair--"no--a goldfish." "well, so be it; a goldfish swimming in my own crystal element, and happy in it. you would not take me out of it to gasp and die. trust me, captain coppinger, i could not--even if i would--live in your world." she put up her hands to his arm and drew some of the hair through his fingers, and unwound it from his sleeve. he made no resistance. he watched her, in a dream. he had heard every word she had said, and he knew that she spoke the truth. they belonged to different realms of thought and sensation. he could not breathe--he would stifle--in hers, and it was possible--it was certain--that she could not endure the strong, rough quality of his. her delicate fingers touched his hand, and sent a spasm to his heart. she was drawing away another strand of hair, and untwisting it from about his arm, passing the wavy, fire-gold from one hand to the other. and as every strand was taken off, so went light and hope from him, and despair settled down on his dark spirit. he was thinking whether it would not have been better to have thrown himself down when he had her in his arms, and bound to him by the chain. then he laughed. she looked up, and caught his wild eye. there was a timid inquiry in her look, and he answered it. "you may unwind your hair from my arm, but it is woven round and round my heart, and you cannot loose it thence." she drew another strand away, and released that also from his arm. there remained now but one red-gold band of hair fastening her to him. he looked entreatingly at her, and then at the hair. "it must indeed be so," she said, and released herself wholly. then she stood up, a little timidly, for she could not trust him in his passion and his despair. but he did not stir; he looked at her with fixed, dreamy eyes. she left her place, and moved toward the door. she had gone forth from mr. menaida's without hat or other cover for her head than the cloak with its hood, and that she had lost. she must return bare-headed. she had reached the door; and there she waved him a farewell. "goldfish!" he cried. she halted. "goldfish, come here; one--one word only." she hesitated whether to yield. the man was dangerous. but she considered that with a few strides he might overtake her if she tried to escape. therefore she returned toward him, but came not near enough for him to touch her. "hearken to me," said he. "it may be as you say. it is as you say. you have your world; i have mine. you could not live in mine, nor i in yours." but his voice thrilled. "swear to me--swear to me now--that while i live no other shall hold you, as i would have held you, to his side; that no other shall take your hair and wind it round him, as i have--i could not endure that. will you swear to me that?--and you shall go." "indeed i will; indeed, indeed i will." "beware how you break this oath. let him beware who dares to seek you." he was silent, looking on the ground, his arms folded. so he stood for some minutes, lost in thought. then suddenly he cried out, "goldfish!" he had found a single hair, long--a yard long--of the most intense red-gold, lustrous as a cloud in the west over the sunken sun. it had been left about his arm and hand. "goldfish!" but she was gone. chapter xx. bought and sold. cruel coppinger remained brooding in the place where he had been standing, and as he stood there his face darkened. he was a man of imperious will and violent passions; a man unwont to curb himself; accustomed to sweep out of his path whoever or whatever stood between him and the accomplishment of his purpose; a man who never asked himself whether that purpose were good or bad. he had succumbed, in a manner strange and surprising to himself, to the influence of judith--a sort of witchery over him that subdued his violence and awed him into gentleness and modesty. but when her presence was withdrawn the revolt of the man's lawless nature began. who was this who had dared to oppose her will to his? a mere child of eighteen. women were ever said to be a perverse generation, and loved to domineer over men; and man was weak to suffer it. so thinking, chafing, he had worked himself into a simmering rage when miss trevisa entered the hall, believing it to be empty. seeing him, she was about to withdraw, when he shouted to her to stay. "i beg your pardon for intruding, sir; i am in quest of my niece. those children keep me in a whirl like a teetotum." "your niece is gone." "gone! where to?" "back--i suppose to that old fool, menaida. he is meet to be a companion for her and that idiot, her brother; not i--i am to be spurned from her presence." miss trevisa was surprised, but she said nothing. she knew his moods. "stand there, mother dunes!" said coppinger, in his anger and humiliation, glad to have some one on whom he could pour out the lava that boiled up in his burning breast. "listen to me. she has told me that we belong to different worlds--she and i--and to different races, kinds of being, and that there can be no fellowship betwixt us. where i am she will not be. between me and you there is a great gulf fixed--see you? and i am as dives tormented in my flame, and she stands yonder, serene, in cold and complacent blessedness, and will not cross to me with her finger dipped in cold water to cool my tongue; and as for my coming near to her"--he laughed fiercely--"that can never be." "did she say all that?" asked miss trevisa. "she looked it; she implied it, if she did not say it in these naked words. and, what is more," shouted he, coming before aunt dionysia, threateningly, so that she recoiled, "it is true. when she sat there in yonder chair, and i stood here by this hearthstone, and she spoke, i knew it was true; i saw it all--the great gulf unspanned by any bridge. i knew that none could ever bridge it, and there we were, apart for ever, i in my fire burning, she in blessedness--indifferent." "i am very sorry," said miss trevisa, "that judith should so have misconducted herself. my brother brought her up in a manner to my mind, most improper for a young girl. he made her read rollin's 'ancient history,' and blair's 'chronological tables,' and really upon my word, i cannot say what else." "i do not care how it was," said coppinger. "but here stands the gulf." "rollin is in sixteen octavo volumes," said aunt dionysia; "and they are thick also." coppinger strode about the room, with his hands in his deep coat pockets, his head down. "my dear brother," continued miss trevisa, apologetically, "made of judith his daily companion, told her all he thought, asked her opinion, as though she were a full-grown woman, and one whose opinion was worth having, whereas he never consulted me, never cared to talk to me about anything, and the consequence is the child has grown up without that respect for her elders and betters, and that deference for the male sex which the male sex expects. i am sure when i was a girl, and of her age, i was very different, very different indeed." "of that i have not the smallest doubt," sneered coppinger. "but never mind about yourself. it is of her i am speaking. she is gone, has left me, and i cannot endure it. i cannot endure it," he repeated. "i beg your pardon," said aunt dionysia, "you must excuse me saying it, captain coppinger, but you place me in a difficult position. i am the guardian of my niece, though, goodness knows, i never desired it, and i don't know what to think. it is very flattering and kind, and i esteem it great goodness in you to speak of judith with such warmth, but----" "goodness! kindness!" exclaimed coppinger. "i am good and kind to her! she forced me to it. i can be nothing else, and she throws me at her feet and tramples on me." "i am sure your sentiments, sir, are--are estimable; but, feeling as you seem to imply toward judith, i hardly know what to say. bless me! what a scourge to my shoulders these children are: nettles stinging and blistering my skin, and not allowing me a moment's peace!" "i imply nothing," said coppinger. "i speak out direct and plain what i mean. i love her. she has taken me, she turns me about, she gets my heart between her little hands and tortures it." "then surely, captain, you cannot ask me to let her be here. you are most kind to express yourself in this manner about the pert hussy, but, as she is my niece, and i am responsible for her, i must do my duty by her, and not expose her to be--talked about. bless me!" gasped aunt dunes, "when i was her age i never would have put myself into such a position as to worry my aunt out of her seven senses, and bring her nigh to distraction." "i will marry her, and make her mistress of my house and all i have," said coppinger. miss trevisa slightly courtesied, then said, "i am sure you are over-indulgent, but what is to become of me? i have no doubt it will be very comfortable and acceptable to judith to hear this, but--what is to become of me? it would not be very delightful for me to be housekeeper here under my own niece, a pert, insolent, capricious hussy. you can see at once, captain coppinger, that i cannot consent to that." the woman had the shrewdness to know that she could be useful to coppinger, and the selfishness that induced her to make terms with him to secure her own future, and to show him that she could stand in his way till he yielded to them. "i never asked to have these children thrust down my throat, like the fish-bone that strangled lady godiva--no, who was it? earl godiva; but i thank my stars i never waded through rollin, and most certainly kept my hands off blair. of course, captain coppinger, it is right and proper of you to address yourself to me, as the guardian of my niece, before speaking to her." "i have spoken to her and she spurns me." "naturally, because you spoke to her before addressing me on the subject. my dear brother--i will do him this justice--was very emphatic on this point. but you see, sir, my consent can never be given." "i do not ask your consent." "judith will never take you without it." "consent or no consent," said coppinger, "that is a secondary matter. the first is, she does not like me, whereas i--i love her. i never loved a woman before. i knew not what love was. i laughed at the fools, as i took them to be, who sold themselves into the hands of women; but now, i cannot live without her. i can think of nothing but her all day. i am in a fever, and cannot sleep at night--all because she is tormenting me." all at once, exhausted by his passion, desperate at seeing no chance of success, angry at being flouted by a child, he threw himself into the chair, and settled his chin on his breast, and folded his arms. "go on," said he. "tell me what is my way out of this." "you cannot expect my help or my advice, captain, so as to forward what would be most unsatisfactory to me." "what! do you grudge her to me?" "not that; but, if she were here, what would become of me? should i be turned out into the cold at my age by this red-headed hussy, to find a home for myself with strangers? here i never would abide with her as mistress, never." "i care naught about you." "no, of that i am aware, to my regret, sir; but that makes it all the more necessary for me to take care for myself." "i see," said coppinger, "i must buy you. is your aid worth it? will she listen to you?" "i can make her listen to me," said aunt dunes, "if it be worth my while. at my age, having roughed it, having no friends, i must think of myself and provide for the future, when i shall be too old to work." "name your price." miss trevisa did not answer for a while; she was considering the terms she would make. to her coarse and soured mind there was nothing to scruple at in aiding coppinger in his suit. the trevisas were of a fine old cornish stock, but then judith took after her mother, the poor scottish governess, and aunt dunes did not feel toward her as though she were of her own kin. the girl looked like her mother. she had no right, in miss trevisa's eyes, to bear the name of her father, for her father ought to have known better than stoop to marry a beggarly, outlandish governess. not very logical reasoning, but what woman, where her feelings are engaged, does reason logically? aunt dunes had never loved her niece; she felt an inner repulsion, such as sprang from encountering a nature superior, purer, more refined than her own, and the mortification of being forced to admit to herself that it was so. judith, moreover, was costing her money, and miss trevisa parted with her hard-earned savings as reluctantly as with her heart's blood. she begrudged the girl and her brother every penny she was forced, or believed she would be forced, to expend upon them. and was she doing the girl an injury in helping her to a marriage that would assure her a home and a comfortable income? aunt dionysia knew well enough that things went on in pentyre glaze that were not to be justified, that coppinger's mode of life was not one calculated to make a girl of judith's temperament happy, but--"hoity-toity!" said miss trevisa to herself, "if girls marry, they must take men as they find them. beggars must not be choosers. you must not look a gift horse in the mouth. no trout can be eaten apart from its bones, nor a rose plucked that is free from thorns." she herself had accommodated herself to the ways of the house, to the moods and manners of coppinger; and if she could do that, so could a mongrel trevisa. what was good enough for herself was over-good for judith. she had been saddled with these children, much against her wishes, and if she shifted the saddle to the shoulders of one willing to bear it, why not? she had duties to perform to her own self as well as to those thrust on her by the dead hand of that weak, that inconsiderate brother of hers, peter trevisa. would her brother have approved of her forwarding this union? that was a question that did not trouble her much. peter did what he thought best for his daughter when he was alive, stuffing her head with rollin and blair, and now that he was gone, she must do the best she could for her, and here was a chance offered that she would be a fool not to snap at. nor did she concern herself greatly whether judith's happiness were at stake. hoity-toity! girls' happiness! they are bound to make themselves happy when they find themselves. the world was not made to fit them, but they to accommodate themselves to the places in which they found themselves in the world. miss trevisa had for some days seen the direction matters were taking, she had seen clearly enough the infatuation--yes, infatuation she said it was--that had possessed coppinger. what he could see in the girl passed her wits to discover. to her, judith was an odious little minx--very like her mother. miss trevisa, therefore, had had time to weigh the advantages and the disadvantages that might spring to her, should coppinger persist in his suit and succeed; and she had considered whether it would be worth her while to help or to hinder his suit. "you put things," said aunt dionysia, "in a blunt and a discourteous manner, such as might offend a lady of delicacy, like myself, who am in delicacy a perfect guava jelly; but, captain, i know your ways, as i ought to, having been an inmate of this house for many years. it is no case of buying and selling, as you insinuate, but the case is plainly this: i know the advantage it will be to my niece to be comfortably provided for. she and jamie have between them but about a thousand pounds, a sum to starve, and not to live, upon. they have no home and no relative in the world but myself, who am incapable of giving them a home and of doing anything for them except at an excruciating sacrifice. if judith be found, through your offer, a home, then jamie also is provided for." he said nothing to this, but moved his feet impatiently. she went on: "the boy _must_ be provided for. and if judith become your wife, not only will it be proper for you to see that he is so, but judith will give neither you nor me our natural rest until the boy is comfortable and happy." "confound the boy!" "it is all very well to say that, but he who would have anything to say to judith must reckon to have to consider jamie also. they are inseparable. now, i assume that by judith's marriage jamie is cared for. but how about myself? is every one to lie in clover and i in stubble? am i to rack my brains to find a home for my nephew and niece, only that i may be thrust out myself? to find for them places at your table, that i may be deprived of a crust and a bone under it? if no one else will consider me, i must consider myself. i am the last representative of an ancient and honorable family--" she saw coppinger move his hand, and thought he expressed dissent. she added hastily, "as to judith and jamie, they take after their scotch mother. i do not reckon them as trevisas." "come--tell me what you want," said coppinger, impatiently. "i want to be secure for my old age, that i do not spend it in the poor-house." "what do you ask?" "give me an annuity of fifty pounds for my life, and othello cottage that is on your land." "you ask enough." "you will never get judith without granting me that." "well--get judith to be mine, and you shall have it." "will you swear to it?" "yes." "and give me--i desire that--the promise in writing." "you shall have it." "then i will help you." "how?" "leave that to me. i am her guardian." "but not of her heart?" "leave her to me. you shall win her." "how!" "through jamie." chapter xxi. othello cottage. to revert to the old life as far as possible under changed circumstances, to pass a sponge over a terrible succession of pictures, to brush out the vision of horrors from her eyes, and shake the burden of the past off her head--if for a while only--was a joy to judith. she had been oppressed with nightmare, and now the night was over, her brain clear, and should forget its dreams. she and jamie were together, and were children once more; her anxiety for her brother was allayed, and she had broken finally with cruel coppinger. her heart bounded with relief. jamie was simple and docile as of old; and she rambled with him through the lanes, along the shore, upon the downs, avoiding only one tract of common and one cove. a child's heart is elastic; eternal droopings it cannot bear. beaten down, bruised and draggled by the storm, it springs up when the sun shines, and laughs into flower. it is no eucalyptus that ever hangs its leaves; it is a sensitive plant, wincing, closing, at a trifle, feeling acutely, but not for long. and now judith had got an idea into her head, that she communicated to jamie, and her sanguine anticipations kindled his torpid mind. she had resolved to make little shell baskets and other chimney ornaments, not out of the marine shells cast up by the sea, for on that coast none came ashore whole, but out of the myriad snail-shells that strew the downs. they were of all sizes, from a pin's head to a gooseberry, and of various colors--salmon-pink, sulphur-yellow, rich brown and pure white. by judicious arrangement of sizes and of colors, with a little gum on cardboard, what wonderful erections might be made, certain to charm the money out of the pocket, and bring in a little fortune to the twins. "and then," said jamie, "i can build a linney, and rent a paddock, and keep my neddy at polzeath." "and," said judith, "we need be no longer a burden to auntie." the climax of constructive genius would be exhibited in the formation of a shepherd and shepherdess, for which judith was to paint faces and hands; but their hats, their garments, their shoes, were to be made of shells. the shepherdess was to have a basket on her arm, and in this basket were to be flowers, not made out of complete shells, but out of particles of sea-shells of rainbow colors. what laughter, what exultation there was over the shepherd and shepherdess! how in imagination they surpassed the fascinations of dresden china figures. and the price at which they were to be sold was settled. nothing under a pound would be accepted, and that would be inadequate to represent the value of such a monument of skill and patience! the shepherd and shepherdess would have to be kept under glass bells, on a drawing-room mantel-shelf. judith's life had hitherto been passed between her thoughtful, cultured father and her thoughtless, infantile brother. in some particulars she was old for her age, but in others she was younger than her years. as the companion of her father, she had gained powers of reasoning, a calmness in judging, and a shrewdness of sense which is unusual in a girl of eighteen. but as also the associate of jamie in his play, she had a childish delight in the simplest amusements, and a readiness to shake off all serious thought and fretting care in an instant, and to accommodate herself to the simplicity of her brother. thus--a child with a child--judith and jamie were on the common one windy, showery day, collecting shells, laughing, chattering, rejoicing over choice snail-shells, as though neither had passed through a wave of trouble, as though life lay serene before them. judith had no experience of the world. with her natural wit and feminine instinct she had discovered that cruel coppinger loved her. she had also no hesitation in deciding that he must be repulsed. should he seek her, she must avoid him. they could not possibly unite their lives. she had told him this, and there the matter ended. he must swallow his disappointment, and think no more about her. no one could have everything he wanted. other people had to put up with rejection, why not coppinger? it might be salutary to him to find that he could not have his way in all things. so she argued, and then she put aside from her all thought of the captain, and gave herself up to consideration of snail-shell boxes, baskets, and shepherds and shepherdesses. jamie was developing a marvellous aptitude for bird-stuffing. mr. menaida had told judith repeatedly that if the boy would stick to it, he might become as skilful as himself. he would be most happy, thankful to be able to pass over to him some of the work that accumulated, and which he could not execute. "i am not a professional; i am an amateur. i only stuff birds to amuse my leisure moments. provokingly enough, gentlemen do not believe this. they write to me as if i were a tradesman, laying their commands upon me, and i resent it. i have a small income of my own, and am not forced to slave for my bread and 'baccy. now, if jamie will work with me and help me, i will cheerfully share profits with him. i must be director--that is understood." but it was very doubtful whether poor jamie could be taught to apply himself regularly to the work, and that under a desultory master, who could not himself remain at a task many minutes without becoming exhausted and abandoning it. jamie could be induced to work only by being humored. he loved praise. he must be coaxed and flattered to undertake any task that gave trouble. fortunately, taxidermy did not require any mental effort, and it was the straining of his imperfect mental powers that irritated and exhausted the boy. with a little cajolery he might be got to do as much as did uncle zachie, and if mr. menaida were as good as his word--and there could be little doubt that so kind, amiable, and honorable a man would be that--jamie would really earn a good deal of money. judith also hoped to earn more with her shell-work, and together she trusted they would be able to support themselves without further tax on miss trevisa. and what a childish pleasure they found in scheming their future, what they would do with their money, where they would take a house, how furnish it! they laughed over their schemes, and their pulses fluttered at the delightful pictures they conjured up. and all their rosy paradise was to rise out of the proceeds of stuffed birds and snail-shell chimney ornaments. "ju! come here, ju!" cried jamie. then again impatiently, "ju! come here, ju!" "what is it, dear?" "here is the very house for us. do come and see." on the down, nestled against a wall that had once enclosed a garden, but was now ruinous, stood a cottage. it was built of wreck-timber, thatched with heather and bracken, and with stones laid on the thatching, which was bound with ropes, as protection against the wind. a quaint, small house, with little windows under the low eaves; one story high, the window-frames painted white; the glass frosted with salt blown from the sea, so that it was impossible to look through the small panes, and discover what was within. the door had a gable over it, and the centre of the gable was occupied by a figure-head of othello. the moor of venice was black and well battered by storm, so that the paint was washed and bitten off him. there was a strong brick chimney in the midst of the roof, but no smoke issued from it, nor had the house the appearance of being inhabited. there were no blinds to the windows, there were no crocks, no drying linen about the house; it had a deserted look, and yet was in good repair. "oh, ju!" said jamie, "we will live here. will it not be fun? and i shall have a gun and shoot birds." "whose house can it be?" asked judith. "i don't know. ju, the door is open; shall we go in?" "no, jamie, we have no right there." a little gate was in the wall, and judith looked through. there had at one time certainly been a garden there, but it had been neglected, and allowed to be overrun with weeds. roses, escallonica, and lavender had grown in untrimmed luxuriance. marigolds rioted over the space like a weed. pinks flourished, loving the sandy soil, but here and there the rude blue thistle had intruded and asserted its right to the sea-border land as its indigenous home. down came the rain, so lashing that judith was constrained to seek shelter, and, in spite of her protest that she had no right to enter othello cottage, she passed the threshold. no one was within but jamie, who had not attended to her objection; led by curiosity, and excusing himself by the rain, he had opened the door and gone inside. the house was unoccupied, and yet was not in a condition of neglect and decay. if no one lived there, yet certainly some one visited it, for it had not that mouldy atmosphere that pervades a house long shut up, nor were dust and sand deep on floor and table. there was furniture, though scanty. the hearth showed traces of having had a fire in it at no very distant period. there were benches. there were even tinder-box and candle on the mantle-shelf. jamie was in high excitement and delight. this was the ogre's cottage to which jack had climbed up the bean-stalk. he was sure to find somewhere the hen that laid golden eggs, and the harp that played of itself. judith seated herself on one of the benches and sorted her shells, leaving jamie to amuse himself. as the house was uninhabited, it did not seem to her that any gross impropriety existed in allowing him to run in and out and peep round the rooms, and into the corners. "judith," he exclaimed, coming to her from an adjoining room, "there is a bed in here, and there are crooks in the wall!" "what are the crooks for, dear?" "for climbing, i think." then he ran back, and she saw no more of him for a while, but heard him scrambling. she rose and went to the door into the adjoining apartment to see that he was after no mischief. she found that this apartment was intended for sleeping in. there was a bedstead with a mattress on it, but no clothes. jamie had found some crooks in the wall, and was scrambling up these, with hands and feet, toward the ceiling, where she perceived an opening, apparently into the attic. "oh, jamie! what are you doing there?" "ju, i want to see whether there is anything between the roof and the ceiling. there may be the harp there, or the hen that lays golden eggs." "the shower is nearly over; i shall not wait for you." she seated herself on the bed and watched him. he thrust open a sliding board, and crawled through into the attic. he would soon tire of exploring among the rafters, and would return dirty, and have to be cleared of cobwebs and dust. but it amused the boy. he was ever restless, and she would find it difficult to keep him occupied sitting by her below till the rain ceased, so she allowed him to scramble and search as he pleased. very few minutes had passed before judith heard a short cough in the main room, and she at once rose and stepped back into it to apologize for her intrusion. to her great surprise she found her aunt there, at the little window, measuring it. "a couple of yards will do--double width," said miss trevisa. "auntie!" exclaimed judith. "who ever would have thought of seeing you here?" miss trevisa turned sharply round, and her lips tightened. "and who would have thought of seeing you here," she answered, curtly. "auntie, the rain came on; i ran in here so as not to be wet through. to whom does this house belong?" "to the master--to whom else? captain coppinger." "are you measuring the window for blinds for him?" "i am measuring for blinds, but not for him." "but--who lives here?" "no one as yet." "is any one coming to live here?" "yes--i am." "oh, auntie! and are we to come here with you?" miss trevisa snorted, and stiffened her back. "are you out of your senses, like jamie, to ask such a question? what is the accommodation here? two little bedrooms, one large kitchen, and a lean-to for scullery--that is all--a fine roomy mansion for three people indeed!" "but, auntie, are you leaving the glaze?" "yes, i am. have you any objection to that?" "no, aunt, only i am surprised. and captain cruel lets you have this dear little cottage?" "as to its being dear, i don't know, i am to have it; and that is how you have found it open to poke and pry into. i came up to look round and about me, and then found i had not brought my measuring tape with me, so i returned home for that, and you found the door open and thrust yourself in." "i am very sorry if i have given you annoyance." "oh, it's no annoyance to me. the place is not mine yet." "but when do you come here, aunt dunes?" "when?" miss trevisa looked at her niece with a peculiar expression in her hard face that judith noticed, but could not interpret. "that," said miss trevisa, "i do not know yet." "i suppose you will do up that dear little garden," said judith. miss trevisa did not vouchsafe an answer; she grunted, and resumed her measuring. "has this cottage been vacant for long, auntie?" "yes." "but, auntie, some one comes here. it is not quite deserted." miss trevisa said to herself, "four times two and one breadth torn in half to allow for folds will do it. four times two is eight, and one breadth more is ten." just then jamie appeared, shyly peeping through the door. he had heard his aunt's voice, and was afraid to show himself. her eye, however, observed him, and in a peremptory tone she ordered him to come forward. but jamie would not obey her willingly, and he deemed it best for him to make a dash through the kitchen to the open front door. "that boy!" growled miss trevisa, "i'll be bound he has been at mischief." "auntie, i think the rain has ceased, i will say good-by." then judith left the cottage. "ju," said jamie, when he was with his sister beyond earshot of the aunt, "such fun--i have something to tell you." "what is it, jamie?" "i won't tell you till we get home." "oh, jamie, not till we get back to polzeath?" "well, not till we get half-way home--to the white gate. then i will tell you." chapter xxii. jamie's ride. "now, jamie! the white gate." "the white gate!--what about that?" he had forgotten his promise. "you have a secret to tell me." then the boy began to laugh and to tap his pockets. "what do you think, ju! look what i have found. do you know what is in the loft of the cottage we were in? there are piles of tobacco, all up hidden away in the dark under the rafters. i have got my pockets stuffed as full as they will hold. it is for uncle zachie. won't he be pleased?" "oh, jamie! you should not have done that." "why not? don't scold, ju!" "it is stealing." "no, it is not. no one lives there." "nevertheless it belongs to some one, by whatever means it was got, and for whatever purpose stowed away there. you had no right to touch it." "then why do you take snail-shells?" "they belong to no one, no one values them. it is other with this tobacco. give it up. take it back again." "what--to aunt dunes? i daren't, she's so cross." "well, give it to me, and i will take it to her. she is now at the cottage, and the tobacco can be replaced." "oh, ju, i should like to see her scramble up the wall!" "i do not think she will do that; but she will contrive somehow to have the tobacco restored. it is not yours, and i believe it belongs to captain cruel. if it be not given back now he may hear of it and be very angry." "he would beat me," said the boy, hastily emptying his pockets. "i'd rather have aunt dunes' jaw than captain cruel's stick." he gave the tobacco to his sister, but he was not in a good humor. he did not see the necessity for restoring it. but jamie never disobeyed his sister, when they were alone, and she was determined with him. before others he tried to display his independence, by feeble defiances never long maintained, and ending in a reconciliation with tears and kisses, and promises of submission without demur for the future. with all, even the most docile children, there occur epochs when they try their wings, strut and ruffle their plumes, and crow very loud--epochs of petulance or boisterous outbreak of self-assertion in the face of their guides and teachers. if the latter be firm, the trouble passes away to be renewed at a future period till manhood or womanhood is reached, and then guide and teacher who is wise falls back, lays down control, and lets the pupils have their own way. but if at the first attempts at mastery, those in authority, through indifference or feebleness or folly, give way, then the fate of the children is sealed, they are spoiled for ever. jamie had his rebellious fits, and they were distressing to judith, but she never allowed herself to be conquered. she evaded provoking them whenever possible; and as much as possible led him by his affection. he had a very tender heart, was devotedly attached to his sister, and appeals to his better nature were usually successful, not always immediately, but in the long run. her association with jamie had been of benefit to judith; it had strengthened her character. she had been forced from earliest childhood to be strong where he was weak, to rule because he was incapable of ruling himself. this had nurtured in her a decision of mind, a coolness of judgment, and an inflexibility of purpose unusual in a girl of her years. judith walked to othello cottage, carrying the tobacco in her skirt, held up by both hands; and jamie sauntered back to polzeath, carrying his sister's basket of shells, stopping at intervals to add to the collection, then ensconcing himself in a nook of the hedge to watch a finch, a goldhammer, or a blackbird, then stopped to observe and follow a beetle of gorgeous metallic hues that was running across the path. presently he emerged into the highway, the parish road; there was no main road in those parts maintained by toll-gates, and then observed a gig approach in which sat two men, one long and narrow-faced, the other tall, but stout and round-faced. he recognized the former at once as mr. scantlebray, the appraiser. mr. scantlebray, who was driving, nudged his companion, and with the butt-end of the whip pointed to the boy. "heigh! hi-up! gaffer!" called mr. scantlebray, flapping his arms against his sides, much as does a cock with his wings. "come along; i have something of urgent importance to say to you--something so good that it will make you squeak; something so delicious that it will make your mouth water." this was addressed to jamie, as the white mare leisurely trotted up to where the boy stood. then scantlebray drew up, with his elbows at right angles to his trunk. "here's my brother thirsting, ravening to make your acquaintance--and, by george! you are in luck's way, young hopeful, to make his. obadiah! this here infant is an orphing. orphing! this is obadiah scantlebray, whom i call scanty because he is fat. jump up, will y', into the gig." jamie looked vacantly about him. he had an idea that he ought to wait for judith or go directly home. but she had not forbidden him to have a ride, and a ride was what he dearly loved. "are you coming?" asked scantlebray; "or do you need a more ceremonious introduction to mr. obadiah, eh?" "i've got a basket of shells," said jamie. "they belong to ju." "well, put ju's basket in--the shells won't hurt--and then in with you. there's a nice little portmantle in front, on which you can sit and look us in the face, and if you don't tumble off with laughing, it will be because i strap you in. my brother is the very comicalest fellow in cornwall. it's a wonder i haven't died of laughter. i should have, but our paths diverged; he took up the medical line, and i the valuation and all that, so my life was saved. are you comfortable there?" "yes, sir," said jamie, seated himself where advised. "now for the strap round ye," said scantlebray. "don't be alarmed; it's to hold you together, lest you split your sides with merriment, and to hold you in, lest you tumble overboard convulsed with laughter. that brother of mine is the killingest man in great britain. look at his face. bless me! in church i should explode when i saw him, but that i am engrossed in my devotions. on with you, juno!" that to the gray mare, and a whip applied to make the gray mare trot along, which she did, with her head down lost in thought, or as if smelling the road, to make sure that she was on the right track. "'tisn't what he says," remarked mr. scantlebray, seeing a questioning expression on jamie's innocent face, "it's the looks of him. and when he speaks--well, it's the way he says it more than what he says. i was at a charity trust dinner, and obadiah said to the waiter, 'cutlets, please!' the fellow dropped the dish, and i stuffed my napkin into my mouth, ran out, and went into a fit. now, scanty, show the young gentleman how to make a rabbit." then mr. scantlebray tickled up the mare with the lash of his whip, cast some objurgations at a horse-fly that was hovering and then darting at juno. mr. obadiah drew forth a white but very crumpled kerchief from his pocket, and proceeded to fold it on his lap. "just look at him," said the agent, "doing it in spite of the motion of the gig. it's wonderful. but his face is the butchery. i can't look at it for fear of letting go the reins." the roads were unfrequented; not a person was passing as the party jogged along. mr. scantlebray hissed to the mare between his front teeth, which were wide apart; then, turning his eye sideways, observed what his brother was about. "that's his carcase," said he, in reference to the immature rabbit. then a man was sighted coming along the road, humming a tune. it was mr. menaida. "how are you? compliments to the young lady orphing, and say we're jolly--all three," shouted scantlebray, urging his mare to a faster pace, and keeping her up to it till they had turned a corner, and menaida was no more in sight. "just look at his face, as he's a folding of that there pockyhandkercher," said the appraiser. "it's exploding work." jamie looked into the stolid features of mr. obadiah, and laughed--laughed heartily, laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. not that he saw aught humorous there, but that he was told it was there, he ought to see it, and would be a fool if he were not convulsed by it. precisely the same thing happens with us. we look at and go into raptures over a picture, because it is by a royal academician who has been knighted on account of his brilliant successes. we are charmed at a cantata, stifling our yawns, because we are told by the art critics who are paid to puff it, that we are fools, and have no ears if we do not feel charmed by it. we rush to read a new novel, and find it vastly clever, because an eminent statesman has said on a postcard it has pleased him. we laugh when told to laugh, condemn when told to condemn, and would stand on our heads if informed that it was bad for us to walk on our feet. "there!" said mr. scantlebray, the valuer. "them's ears." "crrrh!" went mr. obadiah, and the handkerchief, converted into a white bunny, shot from his hand up his sleeve. "i can't drive, 'pon my honor; i'm too ill. you have done me for to-day," said scantlebray the elder, the valuer. "now, young hopeful, what say you? will you make a rabbit, also? i'll give you a shilling if you will." thereupon jamie took the kerchief and spread it out, and began to fold it. whenever he went wrong mr. obadiah made signs, either by elevation of his brows and a little shake of his head, or by pointing, and his elder brother caught him at it and protested. obadiah was the drollest fellow, he was incorrigible, as full of mischief as an egg is full of meat. there was no trusting him for a minute when the eye was off him. "come, scanty! i'll put you on your honor. look the other way." but a moment after--"ah, for shame! there you are at it again. young hopeful, you see what a vicious brother i have; perfectly untrustworthy, but such a comical dog. full of tricks up to the ears. you should see him make shadows on the wall. he can represent a pig eating out of a trough. you see the ears flap, the jaws move, the eye twinkle in appreciation of the barley-meal. it is to the life, and all done by the two hands--by one, i may say, for the other serves as trough. what! done the rabbit! first rate! splendid! here is the shilling. but, honor bright, you don't deserve it; that naughty scanty helped you." "please," said jamie, timidly, "may i get out now and go home?" "go home! what for?" "i want to show ju my shilling." "by ginger! that is too rich. not a bit of it. do you know mistress polgrean's sweetie shop?" "but that's at wadebridge." "at wadebridge; and why not? you will spend your shilling there. but look at my brother. it is distressing; his eyes are alight at the thoughts of the tartlets, and the sticks of peppermint sugar, and the almond rock. are you partial to almond rock, orphin?" jamie's mind was at once engaged. "which is it to be? gingerbreads or tartlets, almond rock or barley-sugar?" "i think i'll have the peppermint," said jamie. "then peppermint it shall be. and you will give me a little bit, and scanty a bit, and take a little bit home to ju, eh?" "yes, sir." "he'll take a little bit home to ju, obadiah, old man." the funny brother nodded. "and the basket of shells?" asked the elder. "yes, she is making little boxes with them to sell," said jamie. "i suppose i may have the privilege of buying some," said mr. scantlebray, senior. "oh, look at that brother of mine! how he is screwing his nose about! i say, old man, are you ill? upon my life, i believe he is laughing." presently jamie got restless. "please, mr. scantlebray, may i get out? ju will be frightened at my being away so long." "poor ju!" said scantlebray, the elder. "but no--don't you worry your mind about that. we passed uncle zachie, and he will tell her where you are, in good hands, or rather, nipped between most reliable knees--my brother's and mine. sit still. i can't stop juno; we're going down-hill now, and if i stopped juno she would fall. you must wait--wait till we get to mrs. polgrean's." then, after chuckling-to himself, scantlebray, senior, said: "obadiah, old man, i wonder what missie ju is thinking? i wonder what she will say, eh?" again he chuckled. "no place in your establishment for that party, eh?" the outskirts of wadebridge were reached. "now may i get out?" said jamie. "bless my heart! not yet. wait for mrs. polgrean's." but presently mrs. polgrean's shop-window was passed. "oh, stop! stop!" cried jamie. "we have gone by the sweetie shop." "of course we have," answered scantlebray, senior. "i daren't trust that brother of mine in there; he has such a terrible sweet tooth. besides, i want you to see the pig eating out of the trough. it will kill you. if it don't i'll give you another shilling." presently he drew up at the door of a stiff, square-built house, with a rambling wing thrown out on one side. it was stuccoed and painted drab--drab walls, drab windows, and drab door. "now, then, young man," said scantlebray, cheerily, "i'll unbuckle the strap and let you out. you come in with me. this is my brother's mansion, roomy, pleasant, and comprehensive. you shall have a dish of tea." "and then i may go home?" "and then--we shall see; shan't we, obadiah, old man?" they entered the hall, and the door was shut and fastened behind them; then into a somewhat dreary room, with red flock paper on the walls, no pictures, leather-covered, old, mahogany chairs, and a book or two on the table--one of these a bible. jamie looked wonderingly about him, a little disposed to cry. he was a long way from polzeath, and judith would be waiting for him and anxious, and the place into which he was ushered was not cheery, not inviting. "now, then," said mr. scantlebray, "young hopeful, give me my shilling." "please, i'm going to buy some peppermint and burnt almonds for ju and me as i go back." "oh, indeed! but suppose you do not have the chance?" jamie looked vacantly in his face, then into that of the stolid brother, who was not preparing to show him the pig feeding out of a trough, nor was he calling for tea. "come," said scantlebray, the elder; "suppose i take charge of that shilling till you have the chance of spending it, young man." "please, i'll spend it now." "not a bit. you won't have the chance. do you know where you are!" jamie looked round in distress. he was becoming frightened at the altered tone of the valuer. "my dear," said mr. scantlebray, "you're now an honorable inmate of my brother's establishment for idiots, which you don't leave till cured of imbecility. that shilling, if you please?" chapter xxiii. all is for the best in the best of worlds. judith returned to the cottage of mr. menaida, troubled in mind, for aunt dunes had been greatly incensed at the taking of the tobacco by jamie, and not correspondingly gratified by the return of it so promptly by judith. miss trevisa was a woman who magnified and resented any wrong done, but minimized and passed over as unworthy of notice whatever was generous, and every attempt made to repay an evil. such attempts not only met with no favor from her, but were perverted in her crabbed mind into fresh affronts or injuries. that the theft of jamie would not have been discovered had not judith spoken of it and brought back what had been taken, was made of no account by aunt dionysia; she attacked judith with sharp reproach for allowing the boy to be mischievous, for indulging him and suffering him to run into danger through his inquisitiveness and thoughtlessness. "for," said aunt dionysia, "had the master or any of his men found out what jamie had done there is no telling how he might have been served." then she had muttered: "if you will not take precautions, other folk must, and the boy must be put where he can be properly looked after and kept from interfering with the affairs of others." on reaching mr. menaida's cottage, judith called her brother, but as she did not receive an answer, she went in quest of him, and was met by the servant, jump. "if you please, miss," said jump, "there's been two gen'lemen here, as said they was come from mrs. trevisa, and said they was to pack and take off master jamie's clothes. and please miss, i didn't know what to do--they was gen'lemen, and the master--he was out, and you was out, miss--and master jamie, he wasn't to home n'other." "taken jamie's clothes!" repeated judith, in amazement. "yes, miss, they brought a portmantle a-purpose; and they'd a gig at the door; and they spoke uncommon pleasant, leastwise one o' them did." "and where is jamie? has he not come home?" "no, miss." at that moment mr. menaida came in. "what is it, judith? jamie? where jamie is?--why, having a ride, seated between the two scantlebrays, in their gig. that is where he is." "oh, mr. menaida, but they have taken his clothes!" "whose clothes?" "jamie's." "i do not understand." "the two gentlemen came to this house when you and i were out, and told jump that they were empowered by my aunt to pack up and carry off all jamie's clothing, which they put into a portmanteau they had brought with them." "and then picked up jamie. he was sitting on the portmanteau," said uncle zachie; then his face became grave. "they said that they acted under authority from mrs. trevisa?" "so jump says." "it can surely not be that he has been moved to the asylum." "asylum, mr. menaida?" "the idiot asylum." judith uttered a cry, and staggered back against the wall. "jamie! my brother jamie!" "mr. obadiah scantlebray has such a place at wadebridge." "but jamie is not an idiot." "your aunt authorized them--," mused uncle zachie. "humph! you should see her about it. that is the first step, and ascertain whether she has done it, or whether they are acting with a high hand for themselves. i'll look at my law-books--if the latter it would be actionable." judith did not hesitate for a moment. she hastened to pentyre. that her aunt had left othello cottage she was pretty sure, as she was preparing to leave it when judith returned with the tobacco. accordingly she took the road to pentyre at once. tears of shame and pain welled up in her eyes at the thought of her darling brother being beguiled away to be locked up among the imbecile in a private establishment for the insane. then her heart was contracted with anger and resentment at the scurvy trick played on her and him: she did not know that the scantlebrays had been favored by pure accident. she conceived that men base enough to carry off her brother would watch and wait for the opportunity when to do it unobserved and unopposed. she hardly walked. she ran till her breath failed her, and the rapid throbbing of her heart would no longer allow her to run. her dread of approaching the glaze after the declaration made by captain cruel was overwhelmed in her immediate desire to know something about jamie, in her anguish of fear for him. on coppinger she did not cast a thought--her mind was so fully engrossed in her brother. she saw nothing of the captain. she entered the house, and proceeded at once to her aunt's apartment. she found miss trevisa there, seated near the window, engaged on some chintz that she thought would do for the window at othello cottage, when she took possession of it. she had measured the piece, found that it was suitable, and was turning down a hem and tacking it. it was a pretty chintz, covered with sprigs of nondescript pink and blue flowers. judith burst in on her, breathless, her brow covered with dew, her bosom heaving, her face white with distress, and tears standing on her eyelashes. she threw herself on her knees before miss trevisa, half crying out and half sobbing: "oh, aunt! they have taken him!" "who have taken whom?" asked the elderly lady, coldly. she raised her eyes and cast a look full of malevolence at judith. she never had, did not, never would feel toward that girl as a niece. she hated her for her mother's sake, and now she felt an unreasonable bitterness against her, because she had fascinated coppinger--perhaps, also, because in a dim fashion she was aware that she herself was acting toward the child in an unworthy, unmerciful manner, and we all hate those whom we wrong. "auntie! tell me it is not so. mr. scantlebray and his brother have carried my darling jamie away." "well, and what of that!" "but--will they let me have him back?" miss trevisa pulled at the chintz. "i will trouble you not to crumple this," she said. "aunt! dear aunt! you did not tell mr. scantlebray to take jamie away from me?" the old lady did not answer, she proceeded to release the material at which she was engaged from under the knees of judith. the girl, in her vehemence, put her hands to her aunt's arms, between the elbows and shoulders, and held and pressed them back, and with imploring eyes looked into her hard face. "oh, auntie! you never sent jamie to an asylum?" "i must beg you to let go my arms," said miss trevisa. "this conduct strikes me as most indecorous toward one of my age and relationship." she avoided judith's eye, her brow wrinkled, and her lips contracted. the gall in her heart rose and overflowed. "i am not ashamed of what i have done." "auntie!" with a cry of pain. then judith let go the old lady's arms, and clasped her hands over her eyes. "really," said miss trevisa, with asperity, "you are a most exasperating person. i shall do with the boy what i see fit. you know very well that he is a thief." "he never took anything before to-day--never--and you had settled this before you knew about the tobacco!" burst from judith, in anger and with floods of tears. "i knew that he has always been troublesome and mischievous, and he must be placed where he can be properly managed by those accustomed to such cases." "there is nothing the matter with jamie." "you have humored and spoiled him. if he is such a plague to all who know him, it is because he has been treated injudiciously. he is now with men who are experienced, and able to deal with the like of jamie." "aunt, he must not be there. i promised my papa to be ever with him, and to look after him." "then it is a pity your father did not set this down in writing. please to remember that i, and not you, am constituted his guardian, by the terms of the will." "oh, aunt! aunt! let him come back to me!" miss trevisa shook her head. "then let me go to him!" "hoity-toity! here's airs and nonsense. really, judith, you are almost imbecile enough to qualify for the asylum. but i cannot afford the cost of you both. jamie's cost in that establishment will be £ in the year, and how much do you suppose that you possess?" judith remained kneeling upright, with her hands clasped, looking earnestly through her tears at her aunt. "you have in all, between you, but £ or £ . when the dilapidations are paid, and the expenses of the funeral, and the will-proving, and all that, i do not suppose you will be found to have a thousand pounds between you, and that put out to interest will not bring you more than i have said; so i shall have to make up the deficiency. that is not pleasing to me, you may well suppose. but i had rather pay £ out of my poor income, than have the name of the family disgraced by jamie." "jamie will never, never disgrace the name. he is too good. and--it is wicked, it is cruel to put him where you have. he is not an idiot." "i am perhaps a better judge than you; so also is mr. obadiah scantlebray, who has devoted his life to the care and study of the imbecile. your brother has weak intellects." "he is not clever; that is all. with application----" "he cannot apply his mind. he has no mind that can be got to be applied." "aunt, he's no idiot. he must not be kept in that place." "you had best go back to polzeath. i have decided on what i considered right. i have done my duty." "it cannot be just. i will see what mr. menaida says. he must be released; if you will not let him out, i will." miss trevisa looked up at her quickly between her half-closed lids; a bitter, cruel smile quivered about her lips. "if any one can deliver him, it will be you." judith did not understand her meaning, and aunt dionysia did not care at that time to further enlighten her thereon. finding her aunt inflexible, the unhappy girl left pentyre glaze and hurried back to polzeath, where she implored mr. menaida to accompany her to wadebridge. go there she would--she must--that same evening. if he would not attend her, she would go alone. she could not rest, she could not remain in the house, till she had been to the place where jamie was, and seen whether she could not release him thence by her entreaties, her urgency. mr. menaida shook his head. but he was a kind-hearted old man, and was distressed at the misery of the girl, and would not hear of her making the expedition alone, as she could not well return before dark. so he assumed his rough and shabby beaver hat, put on his best cravat, and sallied forth with judith upon her journey to wadebridge, one that he assured her must be fruitless, and had better be postponed till the morrow. "i cannot! i cannot!" she cried. "i cannot sleep, thinking of my darling brother in that dreadful place, with such people about him, he crying, frightened, driven mad by the strangeness of it all, and being away from me. i must go. if i cannot save him and bring him back with me, i can see him and console him, and bid him wait in patience and hope." mr. menaida with a soft heart and a weak will, was hung about with scraps of old-world polish, scraps only. in him nothing was complete--here and there a bare place of rustic uncouthness, there patches of velvet courtesy of the queen anne age; so, also, was he made up of fine culture, of classic learning alternating with boorish ignorance--here high principle, there none at all--a picture worked to a miniature in points, and in others rudely roughed in and neglected. now he was moved as he had not been moved for years by the manifest unhappiness of the girl, and he was willing to do his utmost to assist her, but that utmost consisted in little more than accompanying her to wadebridge and ringing at the house-bell of mr. obadiah scantlebray's establishment. when it came to the interview that ensued with the proprietor of the establishment and jailer of jamie, he failed altogether. judith and uncle zachie were shown into the dreary parlor without ornaments, and presently to them entered mr. obadiah. "oh, sir, is he here?--have you got jamie here?" mr. scantlebray nodded his head, then went to the door and knocked with his fists against the wall. a servant maid appeared. "send missus," said he, and returned to the parlor. again judith entreated to be told if her brother were there with all the vehemence and fervor of her tattered heart. mr. obadiah listened with stolid face and vacant eyes that turned from her to mr. menaida, and then back to her again. presently an idea occurred to him and his face brightened. he went to a sideboard, opened a long drawer, brought out a large book, thrust it before judith, and said, "pictures." then, as she took no notice of the book, he opened it. "oh, please sir," pleaded judith, "i don't want that. i want to know about jamie. i want to see him." then in at the door came a lady in black silk, with small curls about her brow. she was stout, but not florid. "what!" said she, "my dear, are you the young lady whose brother is here? don't you fret yourself. he is as comfortable as a chick in a feathered nest. don't you worry your little self about him now. now your good days have begun. he will not be a trouble and anxiety to you any more. he is well cared for. i dare be sworn he has given you many an hour of anxiety. now, o be joyful! that is over, and you can dance and play with a light heart. i have lifted the load off you, i and mr. scantlebray. here he will be very comfortable and perfectly happy. i spare no pains to make my pets snug, and scantlebray is inexhaustible in his ability to amuse them. he has a way with these innocents that is quite marvellous. wait a while--give him and me a trial, and see what the result is. you may believe me as one of long and tried experience. it never does for amateurs--for relations--to undertake these cases; they don't know when to be firm, or when to yield. we do--it is our profession. we have studied the half-witted." "but my brother is _not_ half-witted." "so you say, and so it becomes you to say. never admit that there is imbecility or insanity in the family. you are quite right, my dear; you look forward to being married some day, and you know very well it might stand in the way of an engagement, were it supposed that you had idiocy in the family blood. it is quite right. i understand all that sort of thing. we call it nervous debility, and insanity we term nervous excitement. scantlebray, my poppet, isn't it so!" mr. obadiah nodded. "you leave all care to us; thrust it upon our shoulders. they will bear it; and never doubt that your brother will be cared for in body and in soul. in body--always something nice and light for supper, tapioca, rice-pudding, batter; to-night, rolly-poly. after that, prayers. we don't feed high, but we feed suitably. if you like to pay a little extra, we will feed higher. now, my dear, you take all as for the best, and rely on it everything is right." "but jamie ought not to be locked up." "my dear, he is at school under the wisest and most experienced of teachers. you have mismanaged him. now he will be treated professionally; and mr. scantlebray superintends not the studies only, but the amusements of the pupils. he has such a fund of humor in him." obadiah at once produced his pocket-handkerchief and began to fold it. "no, dear, no ducky, no rabbit now! you fond thing, you! always thinking of giving entertainment to some one. no, nor the parson preaching either." he was rolling his hands together and thrusting up his thumb as the representative of a sacred orator in his pulpit. "no, ducky darling! another time. my husband is quite a godsend to the nervously prostrate. he can amuse them by the hour; he never wearies of it; he is never so happy as when he is entertaining them. you cannot doubt that your brother will be content in the house of such a man. take my word for it; there is nothing like believing that all is for the best as it is. our pupils will soon be going to bed. rolly-poly and prayers, and then to bed--that is the order." "oh, let me see jamie now." "no, my dear. it would be injudicious. he is settling in; he is becoming reconciled, and it would disturb him, and undo what has already been done. don't you say so, poppet?" the poppet nodded his head. "you see, this great authority agrees with me. now, this evening jamie and the others shall have an extra treat. they shall have the pig eating out of the trough. there--what more can you desire? as soon as lights are brought in, then rolly-poly, prayers, and the pig and the trough. another time you shall see him. not to-night. it is inadvisable. take my word for it, your brother is as happy as a boy can be. he has found plenty of companions of the same condition as himself." "but he is _not_ an idiot." "my dear, we know all about that; very nice and sweet for you to say so--isn't it duckie?" the duckie agreed it was so. "there is the bell. my dear, another time. you will promise to come and see me again? i have had such a delightful talk with you. good-night, good-night. 'all is for the best in the best of worlds.' put that maxim under your head and sleep upon it." chapter xxiv. a night excursion. some people are ever satisfied with what is certain to give themselves least trouble, especially if that something concerns other persons. mr. menaida was won over by the volubility of mrs. scantlebray and the placidity of mr. scantlebray to the conviction that jamie was in the very best place he could possibly be in. a lady who called judith "my dear" and her husband "duckie" must have a kindly heart, and a gentleman like mr. obadiah, so full of resources, could not fail to divert and gratify the minds of those under his charge, and banish care and sorrow. and as mr. menaida perceived that it would be a difficult matter to liberate jamie from the establishment where he was, and as it was an easy matter to conclude that the establishment was admirably adapted to jamie, he was content that aunt dionysia had chosen the wisest course in putting him there, and that it would be to the general advantage to cherish this opinion. for, in the first place, it would pacify judith, and then, by pacifying her, would give himself none of that inconvenience, that running to and fro between polzeath and wadebridge, that consultation of law-books, that correspondence, that getting of toes and fingers into hot water, likely to result from the impatience, the unflagging eagerness of judith to liberate her brother. accordingly uncle zachie used his best endeavors to assure judith that jamie certainly was happy, had never been so happy in his life before, and that, under the treatment of so kind and experienced a man as mr. obadiah scantlebray, there was reason to believe that in a short time jamie would issue from under his tuition a light so brilliant as to outshine the beacon on trevose head. judith was unconvinced. love is jealous and timorous. she feared lest all should not be as was represented. there was an indefinable something in mrs. scantlebray that roused her suspicion. she could not endure that others should step into the place of responsibility toward jamie she had occupied so long, and which she had so solemnly assured her father she would never abandon. supposing that scantlebray and his wife were amiable and considerate persons, might they not so influence the fickle jamie as to displace her from his affections and insinuate themselves in her room? but it was not this mainly that troubled her. she was tormented with the thought of the lonely, nervous child in the strange house, among strange people, in desolation of heart and deadly fear. whenever he had become excited during the day he was sleepless at night, and had to be soothed and coaxed into slumber. on such occasions she had been wont, with the infinite, inexhaustible patience of true love, to sit by his bed, pacifying his alarms, allaying his agitation, singing to him, stroking his hair, holding his hand, till his eyes closed. and how often, just as he seemed about to drop asleep, had he become again suddenly awake, through some terror, or some imagined discomfort? then all the soothing process had to be gone through again, and it had always been gone through without a murmur or an impatient word. now jamie was alone--or perhaps worse than alone--in a dormitory of idiots, whose strange ways filled him with terror, and his dull mind would be working to discover how he came to be there, how it was that his ju was not with him. who would lull his fears, who sing to him old familiar strains? would any other hand rest on the hot brow and hold it down on the pillow? judith looked up to heaven, to the stars already glimmering there. she was not hearkening to the talk of uncle zachie: she was thinking her own thoughts. she was indeed walking back to polzeath; but her mind was nailed to that dull drab house in the suburbs of wadebridge with the brass plate on the door, inscribed, "mr. scantlebray, surgeon." as her eyes were raised to the stars, she thought of her father. he was above, looking down on her, and it seemed to her that in the flicker of the stars she saw the trouble in her father's face at the knowledge that his children were parted, and his poor little half-bright boy was fallen among those who had no love for him, might have no patience with his waywardness, would not make allowance for his infirmities. she sobbed, and would not be comforted by mr. menaida's assurances. tired, foot-weary, but more tired and weary in heart and mind, she reached the cottage. she could not sleep; she was restless. she sought jamie's room, and seated herself on the chair by his little bed, and sobbed far on into the night. her head ached, as did her burning and blistered feet; and as she sat she dozed off, then awoke with a start, so distinctly did she seem to hear jamie's voice--his familiar tone when in distress--crying, "ju! come to me, ju!" so vividly did the voice sound to her that she could not for a moment or two shake off the conviction that she had in reality heard him. she thought that he must have called her. he must be unhappy. what were those people doing to him? were they tormenting the poor little frightened creature? were they putting him into a dark room by himself, and was he nearly mad with terror? were they beating him, because he cried out in the night and disturbed the house? she imagined him sitting up on a hard bed, shivering with fear, looking round him in the dark, and screaming for her--and she could not help him. "oh, jamie!" she cried, and threw herself on her knees and put her hands over her eyes to shut out the horrible sight, over her ears to close them to the piercing cry. "they will drive him mad! oh, papa! my papa! what will you say to me? oh, my jamie! what can i do for you?" she was half mad herself, mad with fancies, conjured up by the fever of distress into which she had worked herself. what could she do? she could not breathe in that room. she could not breathe in the house. she could not remain so far from jamie--and he crying for her. his voice rang still in her ears. it sounded in her heart, it drew her irresistibly away. if she could but be outside that drab establishment in the still night, to listen, and hear if all were quiet within, or whether jamie were calling, shrieking for her. he would cry himself into fits. he would become really deranged, unless he were pacified. oh! those people!--she imagined they were up, not knowing what to do with the boy, unable to soothe him, and were now wishing that she were there, wishing they had not sent her away. judith was in that condition which is one of half craze through brooding on her fears, through intense sympathy with the unhappy boy so ruthlessly spirited away, through fever of the blood, caused by long-protracted nervous strain, through over-weariness of mind and body. jamie's distress, his need for her became an idea that laid hold of her, that could not be dispelled, that tortured her into recklessness. she could not lie on her bed, she could not rest her head for one moment. she ran to the window, panting, and smoked the glass with her burning breath, so that she could not see through it. the night was still, the sky clear, and there were stars in it. who would be abroad at that time? what danger would ensue to her if she went out and ran back to wadebridge? if any foot were to be heard on the road, she could hide. she had gone out at night in storm to save cruel coppinger--should she not go out in still starlight to aid her own twin-brother, if he needed her? providence had shielded her before--it would shield her now. the house was quiet. mr. menaida had long ago gone to bed, and was asleep. his snores were usually audible at night through the cottage. jump was asleep, sound in sleep as any hard-worked sewing-wench. judith had not undressed, had not taken off her shoes; she had wandered, consumed by restlessness, between her own room and that of her brother. it was impossible for her to remain there. she felt that she would die of imaginings of evil unless she were near jamie, unless there were naught but a wall between him and her. judith descended the stairs and once again went forth alone into the night, not now to set her face seaward, but landward; before she had gone with a defined aim in view, to warn coppinger of his danger, now she was moved by a vague suspicion of evil. the night was calm, but there was summer lightning on the horizon, attended by no thunder, a constant flicker, sometimes a flare, as though some bonfire were kindled beyond the margin of the world, that was being stirred and added to. the air was close. judith had no one to look to in the world to help her and jamie--not her aunt, her sole relative, it was she who had sent her brother to this place of restraint; not mr. menaida, he had not the moral courage and energy of purpose to succor her in her effort to release jamie; not captain coppinger--him she dare not ask, lest he should expect too much in return. the hand of misfortune was heavy on the girl; if anything was to be done to relieve the pressure, she must do it herself. as she was going hastily along the lane she suddenly halted. she heard some one a little way before her. there was no gate near by which she could escape. the lane was narrow, and the hedges low, so as not to afford sufficient shadow to conceal her. by the red summer flashes she saw a man reeling toward her round the corner. his hat was on one side of his head, and he lurched first to one side of the lane, then to the other. "there went three trav'llers over the moor-- ri-tiddle-riddle-rol, huph! said he. three trav'llers over the moor so green, the one sang high, the third sang low, ri-tiddle-riddle-rol, huph! said he, and the second he trolled between." then he stood still. "huph! huph!" he shouted. "some one else go on, i'm done for--'ri-tiddle-de.'" he saw judith by the starlight and by the flicker of the lightning, and put his head on one side and capered toward her with arms extended, chirping--"'ri-tiddle-riddle-rol, huph! said he.'" judith started on one side, and the drunken man pursued her, but in so doing, stumbled, and fell sprawling on the ground. he scrambled to his feet again, and began to swear at her and sent after her a volley of foul and profane words. had he contented himself with this it would have been bad enough, but he also picked up a stone and threw it. judith felt a blow on her head, and the lightning flashes seemed to be on all sides of her, and then great black clouds to be rising like smoke out of the earth about her. she staggered into the hedge, and sank on her knees. but fear lest the tipsy ruffian should pursue her nerved her to make an effort to escape. she quickly rose and ran along the lane, turned the corner, and ran on till her feet would no longer bear her, and her breath failed. then, looking back, and seeing that she was not followed, she seated herself, breathless, and feeling sick, in the hedge, where a glow-worm was shining, with a calm, steady light, very different from the flicker of the stars above. as she there sat, she was conscious of something warm on her neck, and putting her hand up, felt that it was moist. she held her fingers to the faint glow of the worm in the grass; there was a dark stain on her hand, and she was sure that it was blood. she felt her head swim, and knew that in another moment she would lose consciousness, unless she made an effort to resist. hastily she bound a white handkerchief about her head where wounded by the stone, to stay the flow, and walked resolutely forward. there was now a shadow stealing up the sky to the south, and obscuring the stars, a shadow behind which danced and wavered the electrical light, but judith heard no thunder, she had not the leisure to listen for it; all her anxiety was to reach wadebridge. but the air, the oppressively sultry air, was charged with sound, the mutter and growl of the atlantic. the ocean, never at rest, ever gives forth a voice, but the volume of its tone varies. now it was loud and threatening, loud and threatening as it had been on that afternoon when judith sat with her father in the rectory garden, tossing guelder-roses. then, the air had been still, but burdened with the menace of the sea. so it was now at midnight; the ocean felt the influence of the distant storm that was playing far away to the south. judith could not run now. her feet were too sore, her strength had given way. resolute though her will might be, it could not inspire with masculine strength the fragile little body, recently recovered from sickness. but it carried her into the suburbs of wadebridge, and in the starlight she reached the house of mr. obadiah scantlebray, and stood before it, looking up at it despairingly. it was not drab in color now, it was lampblack against a sky that flashed in the russet-light. the kerchief she had tied about her head had become loose. still looking at the ugly, gloomy house, she put up her arms and rebound it, knotting the ends more tightly, using care not to cover her ears, as she was intent to hear the least sound, that issued from the asylum. but for some time she could hear nothing save the rush of her blood in her ears, foaming, hissing, like the tide entering a bay over reefs. with this was mingled the mutter of the atlantic, beyond the hills--and now--yes, certainly now--the rumble of remote thunder. judith had stood on the opposite side of the street looking up at scantlebray's establishment; she saw no light anywhere. now she drew near and crept along the walls. there was a long wing, with its back to the street, without a window in the wall, and she thought it probable that the inmates of the asylum were accommodated therein, a dormitory up-stairs, play or school-rooms below. there jamie must be. the only windows to this wing opened into the garden; and consequently judith stole along the garden wall, turned the angle, down a little lane, and stood listening. the wall was high, and the summit encrusted with broken glass. she could see the glass prongs by the flicker of the lightning. she could not possibly see over the wall; the lane was too narrow for her to go back far, and the wall on the further side too high to climb. not a sound from within reached her ears. in the still night she stood holding her breath. then a scream startled her. it was the cry of a gull flying inland. if a gull's cry could be heard, then surely that of her brother, were he awake and unhappy, and wanting her. she went further down the wall, and came on a small garden gate in it, fastened, locked from within. it had a stone step. on that she sank, and laid her head in her hands. chapter xxv. found. strange mystery of human sympathy! inexplicable, yet very real. irrational, yet very potent. the young mother has accepted an invitation to a garden-party. she knows that she never looked better than at present, with a shade of delicacy about her. she has got a new bonnet that is particularly becoming, and which she desires to wear in public. she has been secluded from society for several months, and she longs to meet her friends again. she knows that she is interesting, and believes herself to be more interesting than she really is. so she goes. she is talking, laughing, a little flushed with pleasure, when suddenly she becomes grave, the hand that holds the plate of raspberries and cream trembles. all her pleasure is gone. she knows that baby is crying. her eye wanders in quest of her husband, she runs to him, touches his arm, says-- "do order the carriage; baby is crying." it is all fiddle-de-dee. baby has the best of nurses, the snuggest, daintiest little cot; has a fresh-opened tin of condensed swiss milk. reason tells her that; but no! and nurse cannot do anything to pacify the child, baby is crying, nurse is in despair. in like manner now did judith argue with herself, without being able to convince her heart. her reason spoke and said to her-- no sound of cries comes from the asylum. there is no light in any window. every inmate is asleep, jamie among them. he does not need you. he is travelling in dreamland. the scantlebrays have been kind to him. the lady is a good, motherly body; the gentleman's whole soul is devoted to finding amusement and entertainment for the afflicted creatures under his care. he has played tricks before jamie, made shadow-pictures on the wall, told funny stories, made jacks-in-the-box with his hands, and jamie has laughed till he was tired, and his heavy eyes closed with a laugh not fully laughed out on his lips. the scantlebrays are paid £ for taking care of jamie, and £ in judith's estimation was a very princely sum. the £ per annum mr. scantlebray would corruscate into his richest fun, and mrs. scantlebray's heart overflowed with warmest maternal affection. but it was in vain that judith thus reasoned, her heart would not be convinced. an indescribable unrest was in her, and would not be laid. she knew by instinct that jamie wanted her, was crying for her, was stretching out his hands in the dark for her. as she sat on the step not only did reason speak, but judgment also. she could do nothing there. she had acted a foolish part in coming all that way in the dark, and without a chance of effecting any deliverance to jamie now she had reached her destination. she had committed an egregious error in going such a distance from home, from anyone who might serve as protector to her in the event of danger, and there were other dangers she might encounter than having stones thrown at her by drunken men. if the watch were to find her there, what explanation of her presence could she give? would they take her away and lock her up for the rest of the night? they could not leave her there. large, warm drops, like tears from angels' eyes, fell out of heaven upon her folded hands, and on her bowed neck. she began to feel chilled after having been heated by her walk, so she rose, and found that she had become stiff. she must move about, however sore and weary her feet might be. she had explored the lane as far as was needful. she could not see from it into the house, the garden, and playground. was it possible that there was a lane on the further side of the house which would give her the desired opportunity? judith resolved to return by the way she had come, down the lane into the main street, then to walk along the front of the house, and explore the other side. as she was descending the lane she noticed, about twenty paces from the door, on the further side, a dense mass of portugal laurel that hung over the opposite wall, casting a shadow of inky blackness into the lane. this she considered might serve her as shelter when the threatening storm broke and the rain poured down. she walked through this shadow, and would have entered the street, but that she perceived certain dark objects passing noiselessly along it. by the flashes of lightning she could distinguish men with laden asses, and one she saw turn to enter the lane where she was. she drew back hastily into the blot cast by the bush that swung its luxuriance over the wall, and drew as closely back to the wall as was possible. thus she could not be seen, for the reflection of the lightning would not fall on her; every glare made the shadow seem the deeper. though concealed herself, and wholly invisible, she was able to distinguish a man with an ass passing by, and then halting at the door in the wall that surrounded mr. obadiah's tenement. there the man knocked, and uttered a peculiar whistle. as there ensued no immediate answer he knocked and whistled again, whereupon the door was opened; and a word or two was passed. "how many do you want, sir?" "four." "any to help to carry the half-ankers!" "no." "well, no odds. i'll carry one and you the t'other. we'll make two journeys, that's all. i can't leave neddy for long, but i'll go with you to your house-door." probably the person addressed nodded a reply in the darkness; he made no audible answer. "which is it, mr. obadiah, rum or brandy?" "brandy." "right you are, then. these are brandy. you won't take three brandies and one rum?" "yes." "all right, sir; lead the way. it's deuced dark." judith knew what this signified. some of the householders of wadebridge were taking in their supplies of spirits from the smugglers. owing to the inconvenience of it being unlawful to deal with these men for such goods, they had to receive their purchases at night, and with much secrecy. there were watchmen at wadebridge, but on such nights they judiciously patrolled another quarter of the town than that which received its supplies. the watchmen were municipal officials, and were not connected with the excise, had no particular regard for the inland revenue, anyhow, owed no duties to the officers of the coast-guard. their superior was the mayor, and the mayor was fond of buying his spirits at the cheapest market. both men disappeared. the door was left open behind them. the opportunity judith had desired had come. dare she seize it? for a moment she questioned her heart, then she resolutely stepped out of the shadow of the portugal laurel, brushed past the patient ass, entered the grounds of mr. scantlebray's establishment through the open garden-door, and drew behind a syringa bush to consider what further step she should take. in another moment both men were back. "you are sure you don't mind one rum?" "no." "right you are, then; i'll have it for you direct. the other kegs are at t'other end of the lane. you come with me, and we'll have 'em down in a jiffy." judith heard both men pass out of the door. she looked toward the house. there was a light low down in a door opening into the garden or yard where she was. not a moment was to be lost. as soon as the last kegs were brought in the house-door would be locked, and though she had entered the garden she would be unable to penetrate to the interior of the asylum. without hesitation, strong in her earnest purpose to help jamie to the utmost of her power, and grasping at every chance that offered, she hastened, cautiously indeed, but swiftly, to the door whence the light proceeded. the light was but a feeble one, and cast but a fluttering ray upon the gravel. judith was careful to walk where it could not fall on her dress. the whole garden front of the house was now before her. she was in a sort of gravelled yard, with some bushes against the walls. the main block of the house lay to her right, and the view of it was intercepted by a wall. clearly the garden space was divided, one portion for the house, and another, that into which she had entered, for the wing. that long wing rose before her with its windows all dark above, and the lower or ground floor also dark. only from the door issued the light, and she saw that a guttering tallow candle was set there on the floor. hastily she drew back. she heard feet on the gravel. the men were returning, mr. obadiah scantlebray and the smuggler, each laden with a small cask of spirits. "right you are," said the man, as he set his keg down in the passage, "that's yours, and i could drink your health, sir." "you wouldn't--prefer?--" mr. scantlebray made contortions with his hands between the candle and the wall, and threw a shadow on the surface of plaster. "no, thanks sir, i'd prefer a shilling." mr. scantlebray fumbled in his pockets, grunted "humph! purse up-stairs." felt again, "no," groped inside the breast of his waistcoat, "another time--not forget." the man muttered something not complimentary, and turned to go through the yard. "must lock door," said mr. obadiah, and went after him. now was judith's last chance. she took it at once; the moment the backs of the two men were turned she darted into the passage and stood back against the door out of the flare of the candle. the passage was a sort of hall with slated floor, the walls plastered and whitewashed at one time, but the wash and plaster had been picked off to about five feet from the floor wherever not strongly adhesive, giving a diseased and sore look to the wall. the slates of the floor were dirty and broken. judith looked along the hall for a place to which she could retreat on the return of the proprietor of the establishment. she had entered that portion of the building tenanted by the unhappy patients. the meanness of the passage, the picked walls, the situation on one side of the comfortable residence showed her this. a door there was on the right, ajar, that led into the private dwelling-house, but into that judith did not care to enter. one further down on the left probably gave access to some apartment devoted to the "pupils," as mrs. scantlebray called the patients. there was, however, another door that was open, and from it descended a flight of brick steps to what judith conjectured to be the cellars. at the bottom a second candle, in a tin candlestick, was guttering and flickering in the draught that blew in at the yard door, and descended to this underground story. it was obvious to the girl that mr. scantlebray was about to carry or roll his kegs just acquired down the brick steps to his cellar. for that purpose he had set a candle there. it would not therefore do for her, to attempt to avoid him, to descend to this lower region. she must pass the door that gave access to the cellars, a door usually locked, as she judged, for a large iron key stood in the lock, and enter the room, the door of which opened further down the passage. she was drawing her skirts together, so as to slip past the candle on the passage floor for this purpose, when her heart stood still as though she had received a blow on it. she heard--proceeding from somewhere beneath down those steps--a moan, then a feeble cry of "ju! where are you? ju! ju! ju!" she all but did cry out herself. a gasp of pain and horror did escape her, and then, without a thought of how she could conceal herself, how avoid scantlebray, she ran down the steps to the cellar. on reaching the bottom she found that there were four doors, two of which had square holes cut in them, but with iron bars before these openings. the door of one of the others, one on the left, was open, and she could see casks and bottles. it was a wine and spirit cellar, and the smell of wine issued from it. she stood panting, frightened, fearing what she might discover, doubting whether she had heard her brother's voice or whether she was a prey to fancy. then again she heard a cry and a moan. it issued from the nearest cell on her right hand. "jamie! my jamie!" she cried. "ju! ju!" the door was hasped, with a crook let into a staple so that it might, if necessary, be padlocked. but now it was simply shut and a wooden peg was thrust through the eye of the crook. she caught up the candle, and with trembling hand endeavored to unfasten the door, but so agitated was she, so blinded with horror, that she could not do so till she had put down the candle again. then she forced the peg from its place and raised the crook. she stooped and took up the candle once more, and then, with a short breath and a contraction of the breast, threw open the door, stepped in, and held up the light. the candle flame irradiated what was but a cellar compartment vaulted with brick, once whitewashed, now dirty with cobwebs and accumulated dust and damp stains. it had a stone shelf on one side, on which lay a broken plate and some scraps of food. against the further wall was a low truckle bed, with a mattress on it and some rags of blanket. huddled on this lay jamie, his eyes dilated with terror, and yet red with weeping. his clothes had been removed, except his shirt. his long red-gold hair had lost all its gloss and beauty, it was wet with sweat and knotted. the boy's face was ghastly in the flickering light. judith dropped the candle on the floor, and rushed with outstretched arms, and a cry--piercing, but beaten back on her by the walls and vault of the cell--and caught the frightened boy to her heart. "jamie! o my jamie! my jamie!" she swayed herself, crying, in the bed, holding him to her, with no thought, her whole being absorbed in a spasm of intensest, most harrowing pain. the tallow candle was on the slate floor, fallen, melting, spluttering, flaming. and in the door, holding the brandy keg upon his shoulders, stood, with open eyes and mouth, mr. obadiah scantlebray. chapter xxvi. an unwilling prisoner. mr. obadiah stood open-mouthed staring at the twins clasped in each other's arms, unable at first to understand what he saw. then a suspicion entered his dull brain, he uttered a growl, put down the keg, his heavy brows contracted, he shut his mouth, drawing in his lips so that they disappeared, and he clenched his hands. "wait--i'll beat you!" he said. the upset candle was on the floor, now half molten, with a pond of tallow burning with a lambent blue flicker trembling on extinction, then shooting up in a yellow flame. in that uncertain, changeful, upward light the face of the man looked threatening, remorseless, so that judith, in a paroxysm of fear for her brother and herself dropped, on her knee, and caught at the tin candlestick as the only weapon of defence accessible. it was hot and burnt her fingers, but she did not let go; and as she stood up the dissolved candle fell from it among some straw that littered the pavement. this at once kindled and blazed up into golden flame. for a moment the cell was full of light. mr. obadiah at once saw the danger. his casks of brandy were hard by--the fume of alcohol was in the air--if the fire spread and caught his stores a volume of flame would sweep up the cellar stair and set his house on fire. he hastily sprang in, and danced about the cell stamping furiously at the ignited wisps. judith, who saw him rush forward, thought he was about to strike her and jamie, and raised the tin candlestick in self-defence; but when she saw him engaged in trampling out the fire, tearing at the bed to drag away the blankets with which to smother the embers, she drew jamie aside from his reach, sidled, with him clinging to her, along the wall, and by a sudden spring reached the passage, slammed the door, fastened the hasp, and had the gaoler secured in his own gaol. for a moment mr. scantlebray was unaware that he was a prisoner, so busily engaged was he in trampling out the fire, but the moment he did realize the fact he slung himself with all his force against the door. judith looked round her. there was now no light in the cellar but the feeble glimmer that descended the stair from the candle above. the flame of that was now burning steadily, for the door opening into the yard was shut, and the draught excluded. in dragging jamie along with her, judith had drawn forth a scanty blanket that was about his shoulders. she wrapped it round the boy. "let me out!" roared scantlebray. "don't understand. fun--rollicking fun." judith paid no attention to his bellow. she was concerned only to escape with jamie. she was well aware that her only chance was by retaining mr. obadiah where he was. "let me out!" again shouted the prisoner; and he threw himself furiously against the door. but though it jarred on its hinges and made the hasp leap, he could not break it down. nevertheless, so big and strong was the man that it was by no means improbable that his repeated efforts might start a staple or snap a hinge band, and he and the door might come together crashing down into the passage between the cells. judith drew jamie up the steps, and on reaching the top shut the cellar door. below, mr. scantlebray roared, swore, shouted, and beat against the door; but now his voice, and the sound of his blows were muffled, and would almost certainly be inaudible in the dwelling-house. no wonder that judith had not heard the cries of her brother. it had never occurred to her that the hapless victim of the keeper of the asylum might be chastised, imprisoned, variously maltreated in regions underground, whence no sounds of distress might reach the street, and apprise the passers-by that all was not laughter within. standing in the passage or hall above, judith said: "oh, jamie! where are your clothes?" the boy looked into her face with a vacant and distressed expression. he could not answer, he did not even understand her question, so stupefied was he by his terrors, and the treatment he had undergone. judith took the candle from the floor and searched the hall. nothing was there save mr. scantlebray's coat, which he had removed and cast across one of the kegs when he prepared to convey them down to his cellar. should she take that? she shook her head at the thought. she would not have it said that she had taken anything out of the house, except only--as that was an extreme necessity, the blanket wrapped about jamie. she looked into the room that opened beyond the cellar door. it was a great bare apartment, containing only a table and some forms. "jamie!" she said, "we must get away from this place as we are. there is no help for it. do you not know where your clothes were put?" he shook his head. he clung to her with both arms, as though afraid, if he held by but one that she would slip away and vanish, as one drowning, clinging to the only support that sustained him from sinking. "come, jamie! it cannot be otherwise!" she set down the candle, opened the door into the yard, and issued forth into the night along with the boy. the clouds had broken, and poured down their deluge of warm thunder rain. in the dark judith was unable to find her direction at once, she reached the boundary wall where was no door. jamie uttered a cry of pain. "what is it, dear?" "the stones cut my feet." she felt along the wall with one hand till she touched the jamb, then pressed against the door itself. it was shut. she groped for the lock. no key was in it. she could as little escape from that enclosure as she could enter into it from without. the door was very solid, and the lock big and secure. what was to be done? judith considered for a moment, standing in the pouring rain through which the lightning flashed obscurely, illumining nothing. it seemed to her that there was but one course open to her, to return and obtain the key from mr. obadiah scantlebray. but it would be no easy matter to induce him to surrender it. "jamie! will you remain at the door? here under the wall is some shelter. i must go back." but the boy was frightened at the prospect of being deserted. "then--jamie, will you come back with me to the house?" no, he would not do that. "i must go for the key, dearest," she said, coaxingly. "i cannot open the door, so that we can escape, unless i have the key. will you do something for ju? sit here, on the steps, where you are somewhat screened from the rain, and sing to me something, one of our old songs--a jolly hawk and his wings were gray? sing that, that i may hear your voice and find my way back to you. oh--and here, jamie, your feet are just the size of mine, and so you shall pull on my shoes. then you will be able to run alongside of me and not hurt your soles." with a little persuasion she induced him to do as she asked. she took off her own shoes and gave them to him, then went across the yard to where was the house, she discovered the door by a little streak of light below it and the well trampled and worn threshold stone. she opened the door, took up the candle and again descended the steps to the cellar floor. on reaching the bottom, she held up the light and saw that the door was still sound; at the square barred opening was the red face of mr. scantlebray. "let me out," he roared. "give me the key of the garden door." "will you let me out if i do?" "no; but this i promise, as soon as i have escaped from your premises i will knock and ring at your front door till i have roused the house, and then you will be found and released. by that time we shall have got well away." "i will not give you the key." "then here you remain," said judith, and began to reascend the steps. it had occurred to her, suddenly, that very possibly the key she desired was in the pocket of the coat mr. scantlebray had cast off before descending to the cellar. she would hold no further communication with him till she had ascertained this. he yelled after her "let me out, and you shall have the key." but she paid no attention to his promise. on reaching the top of the stairs, she again shut the door, and took up his coat. she searched the pockets. no key was within. she must go to him once more. he began to shout as he saw the flicker of the candle approach. "here is the key, take it, and do as you said." his hand, a great coarse hand, was thrust through the opening in the door, and in it was the key she required. "very well," said she, "i will do as i undertook." she put her hand, the right hand, up to receive the key. in her left was the candlestick. suddenly he let go the key that clinked down on the floor outside, and made a clutch at her hand and caught her by the wrist. she grasped the bar in the little window, or he would have drawn her hand in, dragged her by the arm up against the door, and broken it. he now held her wrist and with his strong hand strove to wrench her fingers from their clutch. "unhasp the door!" he howled at her. she did not answer other than with a cry of pain, as he worked with his hand at her wrist, and verily it seemed as though the fragile bones must snap under his drag. "unhasp the door!" he roared again. with his great fingers and thick nails he began to thrust at and ploughed her knuckles; he had her by the wrist with one hand, and he was striving to loosen her hold of the bar with the other. "unhasp the door!" he yelled a third time, "or i'll break every bone in your fingers!" and he brought his fist down on the side of the door to show how he would pound them by a blow. if he did not do this at once it was because he dreaded by too heavy a blow to strike the bar and wound himself while crushing her hand. she could not hold the iron stanchion for more than another instant--and then he would drag her arm in, as a lion in its cage when it had laid hold of the incautious visitor, tears him to itself through the bars. then she brought the candle-flame up against his hand that grasped her wrist, and it played round it. he uttered a scream of pain, and let go for a moment. but that moment sufficed. she was free. the key was on the floor. she stooped to pick it up; but her fingers were as though paralyzed, she was forced to take it with the left hand and leave the candle on the floor. then, holding the key she ran up the steps, ran out into the yard, and heard her brother wailing, "ju! i want you! where are you, ju?" guided by his cries she reached the door. the key she put into the lock, and with a little effort turned it. the door opened, she and jamie were free. the door shut behind them. they were in the dark lane, under a pouring rain. but judith thought nothing of the darkness, nothing of the rain. she threw her arms round her brother, put her wet cheek against his, and burst into tears. "my jamie! o my jamie!" but the deliverance of her brother was not complete; she must bring him back to polzeath. she could allow herself but a moment for the relief of her heart, and then she caught him to her side, and pushed on with him along the lane till they entered the street. here she stood for a moment in uncertainty. was she bound to fulfil her engagement to mr. obadiah? she had obtained the key, but he had behaved to her with treachery. he had not intended the key to be other than a bait to draw her within his clutch, that he might torture her into opening the door of his cell. nevertheless, she had the key, and judith was too honorable to take advantage of him. with jamie still clinging to her she went up the pair of steps to the front door, rang the night-bell, and knocked long and loud. then, all at once her strength that had lasted gave way, and she sank on the doorsteps, without indeed losing consciousness, but losing in an instant all power of doing or thinking, of striving any more for jamie or for herself. chapter xxvii. a rescue. a window overhead was thrown open, and a voice that judith recognized as that of mrs. obadiah scantlebray, called: "who is there?--what is wanted?" the girl could not answer. the power to speak was gone from her. it was as though all her faculties, exerted to the full, had at once given way. she could not rise from the steps on which she had sunk: the will to make the effort was gone. her head was fallen against the jamb of the door and the knot of the kerchief was between her head and the wood, and hurt her, but even the will to lift her hands and shift the bandage one inch was not present. the mill-wheel revolves briskly, throwing the foaming water out of its buckets, with a lively rattle, then its movement slackens, it strains, the buckets fill and even spill, but the wheel seems to be reduced to statuariness. that stress point is but for a moment, then the weight of the water overbalances the strain, and whirr! round plunges the wheel, and the bright foaming water is whisked about, and the buckets disgorge their contents. it is the same with the wheel of human life. it has its periods of rapid and glad revolutions, and also its moments of supreme tension, when it is all but overstrung--when its movement is hardly perceptible. the strain put on judith's faculties had been excessive, and now those faculties failed her, failed her absolutely. the prostration might not last long--it might last forever. it is so sometimes when there has been overexertion; thought stops, will ceases to act, sensation dies into numbness, the heart beats slow, slower, then perhaps stops finally. it was not quite come to that with judith. she knew that she had rushed into danger again, the very danger from which she had just escaped, she knew it, but she was incapable of acting on the knowledge. "who is below?" was again called from an upper window. judith, with open eyes, heard that the rain was still falling heavily, heard the shoot of water from the roof plash down into the runnel of the street, felt the heavy drops come down on her from the architrave over the door, and she saw something in the roadway: shadows stealing along the same as she had seen before, but passing in a reversed direction. these were again men and beasts, but their feet and hoofs were no longer inaudible, they trod in the puddles and splashed and squelched the water and mud about, at each step. the smugglers had delivered the supplies agreed on, at the houses of those who dealt with them, and were now returning, the asses no longer laden. and judith heard the door behind her unbarred and unchained and unlocked. then it was opened, and a ray of light was cast into the street, turning falling rain-drops into drops of liquid gold, and revealing, ghostly, a passing ass and its driver. "who is there? _is_ anyone there?" then the blaze of light was turned on judith, and her eyes shut with a spasm of pain. in the doorway stood mrs. scantlebray half-garmented, that is to say with a gown on, the folds of which fell in very straight lines from the waist to her feet, and with a night-cap on her head, and her curls in papers. she held a lamp in her hand, and this was now directed upon the girl, lying, or half-sitting in the doorway, her bandaged head leaning against the jamb, one hand in her lap, the fingers open, the other falling at her side, hanging down the steps, the fingers in the running current of the gutter, in which also was one shoeless foot. "why--goodness! mercy on us!" exclaimed mrs. scantlebray, inconsiderately thrusting the lamp close into the girl's face. "it can never be--yet--surely it is----" "judith!" exclaimed a deep voice, the sound of which sent a sudden flutter through the girl's nerves and pulses. "judith!" and from out the darkness and falling rain plunged a man in full mantle wrapped about him and overhanging broad-brimmed hat. without a word of excuse he snatched the light from mrs. scantlebray and raised it above judith's head. "merciful powers!" he cried, "what is the meaning of this! what has happened? there is blood here--blood! judith--speak. for heaven's sake, speak!" the light fell on his face, his glittering eyes--and she slightly turned her head and looked at him. she opened her mouth to speak, but could form no words, but the appeal in those dim eyes went to his heart, he thrust the lamp roughly back into mrs. scantlebray's hand, knelt on the steps, passed an arm under the girl, the other about her waist, lifted and carried her without a word inside the house. there was a leather-covered ottoman in the hall, and he laid her on that, hastily throwing off his cloak, folding it, and placing it as a pillow beneath her head. then, on one knee at her side, he drew a flask from his breast pocket, and poured some drops of spirit down her throat. the strength of the brandy made her catch her breath, and brought a flash of red to her cheek. it had served its purpose, helped the wheel of life to turn beyond the stress point at which it threatened to stay wholly. she moved her head, and looked eagerly about her for jamie. he was not there. she drew a long breath, a sigh of relief. "are you better?" he asked, stooping over her, and she could read the intensity of his anxiety in his face. she tried to smile a reply, but the muscles of her lips were too stiff for more than a flutter. "run!" ordered captain coppinger, standing up, "you woman, are you a fool? where is your husband? he is a doctor, fetch him. the girl might die." "he--captain--he is engaged, i believe, taking in his stores." "fetch him! leave the lamp here." mrs. scantlebray groped about for a candle, and having found one, proceeded to light it. "i'm really shocked to appear before you, captain, in this state of undress." "fetch your husband!" said coppinger, impatiently. then she withdrew. the draught of spirits had acted on judith and revived her. her breath came more evenly, her heart beat regularly, and the blood began to circulate again. as her bodily powers returned, her mind began to work once more, and again anxiously she looked about her. "what is it you want?" asked captain cruel. "where is jamie?" he muttered a low oath. always jamie. she could think of no one but that silly boy. then suddenly she recalled her position--in scantlebray's house, and the wife was on the way to the cellars, would find him, release him--and though she knew that coppinger would not suffer obadiah to injure her, she feared, in her present weakness, a violent scene. she sat up, dropped her feet on the floor, and stretched both her hands to the smuggler. "oh, take me! take me from here." "no, judith," he answered. "you must have the doctor to see you--after that----" "no! no! take me before he comes. he will kill me." coppinger laughed. he would like to see the man who would dare to lay a finger on judith while he stood by. now they heard a noise from the wings of the house at the side that communicated with the dwelling by a door that mrs. scantlebray had left ajar. there were exclamations, oaths, a loud, angry voice, and the shrill tones of the woman mingled with the bass notes of her husband. the color that had risen to the girl's cheeks left them; she put her hands on coppinger's breast and looking him entreatingly in the eyes, said: "i pray you! i pray you!" he snatched her up in his arms, drew her close to him, went to the door, cast it open with his foot, and bore her out into the rain. there stood his mare, black bess, with a lad holding her. "judith, can you ride?" he lifted her into the saddle. "boy," said he, "lead on gently; i will stay her lest she fall." then they moved away, and saw through the sheet of falling rain the lighted door, and scantlebray in it, in his shirt sleeves shaking his fists, and his wife behind him, endeavoring to draw him back by the buckle and strap of his waistcoat. "oh, where is jamie? i wonder where jamie is?" said judith, looking round her in the dark, but could see no sign of her brother. there were straggling houses for half a mile--a little gap of garden or paddock, then a cottage, then a cluster of trees, and an alehouse, then hedges and no more houses. a cooler wind was blowing, dispelling the close, warm atmosphere, and the rain fell less heavily. there was a faint light among the clouds like a watering of satin. it showed that the storm was passing away. the lightning flashes were, moreover, at longer intervals, fainter, and the thunder rumbled distantly. with the fresher air, some strength and life came back to judith. the wheel though on the turn was not yet revolving rapidly. coppinger walked by the horse, he had his arm up, holding judith, for he feared lest in her weakness she might fall, and indeed, by her weight upon his hand, he was aware that her power to sustain herself unassisted was not come. he looked up at her; he could hardly fail to do so, standing, striding so close to her, her wet garments brushing his face; but he could not see her, or saw her indistinctly. he had thrust her little foot into the leather of his stirrup, as the strap was too long for her to use, and he did not tarry to shorten it. coppinger was much puzzled to learn how judith had come at such an hour to the door of mrs. obadiah scantlebray, shoeless, and with wounded head, but he asked no questions. he was aware that she was not in a condition to answer them. he held her up with his right hand in the saddle, and with his left he held her foot in the leather. were she to fall she might drag by the foot, and he must be on his guard against that. pacing in the darkness, holding her, his heart beat, and his thoughts tossed and boiled within him. this girl so feeble, so childish, he was coming across incessantly, thrown in her way to help her, and he was bound to her by ties invisible, impalpable, and yet of such strength that he could not break through them and free himself. he was a man of indomitable will, of iron strength, staying up this girl, who had flickered out of unconsciousness and might slide back into it again at any moment, and yet he felt, he knew that he was powerless before her--that if she said to him, "lie down that i may trample on you," he would throw himself in the foul road without a word to be trodden under by these shoeless feet. there was but one command she could lay on him that he would not perform, and that was "let me go by myself! never come near me!" that he could not obey. the rugged moon revolves about the earth. could the moon fly away into space were the terrestrial orb to bid it cease to be a satellite? and if it did, whither would it go? into far off space, into outer darkness and deathly cold, to split and shiver into fragments in the inconceivable frost in the abyss of blackness. and judith threw a sort of light and heat over this fierce, undisciplined man, that trembled in his veins and bathed his heart, and was to him a spring of beauty, a summer of light. could he leave her? to leave her would be to be lost to everything that had now begun to transform his existence. the thought came over him now, as he walked along in silence--that she might bid him let go, and he felt that he could not obey. he must hold her, he must hold her not _from_ him on the saddle, not as merely staying her up, but to himself, to his heart, as his own, his own forever. suddenly an exclamation from judith: "jamie! jamie!" something was visible in the darkness, something whitish in the hedge. in another moment it came bounding up. "ju! oh, ju! i ran away!" "you did well," she said. "now i am happy. you are saved." coppinger looked impatiently round and saw by the feeble light that the boy had come close to him, and that he was wrapped up in a blanket. "he has nothing on him," said judith. "oh, poor jamie!" she had revived; she was almost herself again. she held herself more firmly in the saddle and did not lean so heavily on coppinger's hand. coppinger was vexed at the appearance of the boy, jamie; he would fain have paced along in silence by the side of judith. if she could not speak it mattered not so long as he held her. but that this fool should spring out of the darkness and join company with him and her, and at once awake her interest and loosen her tongue, irritated him. but as she was able to speak he would address her, and not allow her to talk over his head with jamie. "how have you been hurt?" he asked. "why have you tied that bandage about your head?" "i have been cut by a stone." "how came that?" "a drunken man threw it at me." "what was his name?" "i do not know." "that is well for him." then, after a short pause, he asked further, "and your unshod feet?" "oh! i gave my shoes to jamie." coppinger turned sharply round on the boy. "take off those shoes instantly and give them back to your sister." "no--indeed, no," said judith. "he is running and will cut his poor feet--and i, through your kindness, am riding." coppinger did not insist. he asked: "but how comes the boy to be without clothes?" "because i rescued him, as he was, from the asylum." "you--! is that why you are out at night?" "yes. i knew he had been taken by the two mr. scantlebrays at wadebridge, and i could not rest. i felt sure he was miserable, and was dying for me." "so--in the night you went to him?" "yes." "but how did you get him his freedom?" "i found him locked in the black-hole, in the cellar." "and did scantlebray look on passively while you released him?" "oh, no, i let jamie out, and locked him in, in his place." "you--scantlebray in the black-hole!" "yes." then coppinger laughed, laughed long and boisterously. his hand that held judith's foot and the stirrup leather shook with his laughter. "by heaven!--you are wonderful, very wonderful. any one who opposes you is ill-treated, knocked down and broken, or locked into a black hole in the dead of night." judith, in spite of her exhaustion, was obliged to smile. "you see, i must do what i can for jamie." "always jamie." "yes, captain coppinger, always jamie. he is helpless and must be thought for. i am mother, nurse, sister to him." "his providence," sneered coppinger. "the means under providence of preserving him," said judith. "and me--would you do aught for me?" "did i not come down the cliffs for you?" asked the girl. "heaven forgive me that i forgot that for one moment," he answered, with vehemence. "happy--happy--happiest of any in this vile world is the man for whom you will think, and scheme and care and dare--as you do for jamie." "there is none such," said judith. "no--i know that," he answered, gloomily, and strode forward with his head down. ten minutes had elapsed in silence, and polzeath was approached. then suddenly coppinger let go his hold of judith, caught the rein of black bess, and arrested her. standing beside judith, he said, in a peevish, low tone: "i touched your hand, and said i was subject to a queen." he bent, took her foot and kissed it. "you repulsed me as subject; you are my mistress!--accept me as your slave." chapter xxviii. an examination. some days had elapsed. judith had not suffered from her second night expedition as she had from the first, but the intellectual abilities of jamie had deteriorated. the fright he had undergone had shaken his nerves, and had made him more restless, timid, and helpless than heretofore, exacting more of judith's attention and more trying her endurance. but she trusted these ill effects would pass away in time. from his rambling talk she had been able to gather some particulars, which to a degree modified her opinion relative to the behavior of mr. obadiah scantlebray. it appeared from the boy's own account that he had been very troublesome. after he had been taken into the wing of the establishment that was occupied by the imbeciles, his alarm and bewilderment had grown. he had begun to cry and to clamor for his release, or for the presence of his sister. as night came on, paroxysms of impotent rage had alternated with fits of whining. the appearance of his companions in confinement, some of them complete idiots, with half-human gestures and faces, had enhanced his terrors. he would eat no supper, and when put to bed in the common dormitory had thrown off his clothes, torn his sheets, and refused to lie down; had sat up and screamed at the top of his voice. nothing that could be done, no representations would pacify him. he prevented his fellow inmates of the asylum from sleeping, and he made it not at all improbable that his cries would be overheard by passers-by in the street, or those occupying neighboring houses, and thus give rise to unpleasant surmises, and perhaps inquiry. finally, scantlebray had removed the boy to the place of punishment, the black hole, a compartment of the cellars, there to keep him till his lungs were exhausted, or his reason gained the upper hand, and judith supposed, with some justice, that scantlebray had done this only, or chiefly, because he himself would be up, and about the cellars, engaged in housing his supplies of brandy, and that he had no intention of locking the unhappy boy up for the entire night, in solitude, in his cellars. he had not left him in complete darkness, for a candle had been placed on the ground outside the black hole door. as judith saw the matter now, it seemed to her that though scantlebray had acted with harshness and lack of judgment there was some palliation for his conduct. that jamie could be most exasperating, she knew full well by experience. when he went into one of his fits of temper and crying, it took many hours and much patience to pacify him. she had spent long time and exhausted her efforts to bring him to a subdued frame of mind on the most irrational and trifling occasions, when he had been angered. nothing answered with him then save infinite forbearance and exuberant love. on this occasion there was good excuse for jamie's fit, he had been frightened, and frightened out of his few wits. as judith said to herself--had she been treated in the same manner, spirited off, without preparation, to a strange house, confined among afflicted beings, deprived of every familiar companion--she would have been filled with terror, and reasonably so. she would not have exhibited it, however, in the same manner as jamie. scantlebray had not acted with gentleness, but he had not, on the other hand, exhibited wanton cruelty. that he was a man of coarse nature, likely on provocation to break through the superficial veneer of amiability, she concluded from her own experience, and she did not doubt that those of the unfortunate inmates of the asylum who overstrained his forbearance met with very rough handling. but that he took a malignant pleasure in harassing and torturing them, that she did not believe. on the day following the escape from the asylum, judith sent mr. menaida to wadebridge with the blanket that had been carried off round the shoulders of her brother, and with a request to have jamie's clothes surrendered. uncle zachie returned with the garments, they were not refused him, and judith and her brother settled down into the routine of employment and amusement as before. the lad assisted mr. menaida with his bird skins, talking a little more childishly than before, and sticking less assiduously to his task; and judith did her needlework and occasionally played on the piano the pieces of music at which uncle zachie had hammered ineffectually for many years, and she played them to the old man's satisfaction. at last the girl ventured to induce jamie to recommence his lessons. he resisted at first, and when she did, on a rainy day, persuade him to set to his school tasks, she was careful not to hold him to them for more than a few minutes, and to select those lessons which made him least impatient. there was a "goldsmith's geography," illustrated with copper-plates of indians attacking captain cook, the geysers, esquimaux fishing, etc., that always amused the boy. accordingly, more geography was done during these first days of resumption of work than history, arithmetic, or reading. latin had not yet been attempted, as that was jamie's particular aversion. however, the eton latin grammar was produced, and placed on the table, to familiarize his mind with the idea that it had to be tackled some day. judith had spread the table with lesson-books, ink, slate, and writing-copies, one morning, when she was surprised at the entry of four gentlemen, two of whom she recognized immediately as the brothers scantlebray. the other two she did not know. one was thin faced, with red hair, a high forehead extending to the crown, with the hair drawn over it, and well pomatumed, to keep it in place, and conceal the baldness; the other a short man, in knee-breeches and tan-boots, with a red face, and with breath that perfumed the whole room with spirits. mr. scantlebray, senior, came up with both hands extended. "this is splendid! how are you? never more charmed in my life, and ready to impart knowledge, as the sun diffuses light. obadiah, old man, look at your pupil--better already for having passed through your hands. i can see it at a glance; there's a brightness, a _je ne sais quoi_ about him that was not there before. old man, i congratulate you. you have a gift--shake hands." the gentlemen seated themselves without invitation. surprise and alarm made judith forget her usual courtesy. she feared lest the sight of his gaolers might excite jamie. but it was not so. whether, in his confused mind, he did not associate mr. obadiah with his troubles on that night of distress, or whether his attention was distracted by the sight of so many, was doubtful, but jamie did not seem to be disconcerted; rather, on the contrary, he was glad of some excuse for escape from lessons. "we are come," said the red-headed man, "at miss trevisa's desire--but really, mr. scantlebray, for shame of you. where are your manners? introduce me." "mr. vokins," said scantlebray, "and the accomplished and charming miss judith trevisa, orphing." "and now, dear young lady," said the red-headed man, "now, positively, it is my turn--my friend, mr. jukes. jukes, man! miss judith trevisa." then mr. vokins coughed into his thin white hand, and said, "we are come, naturally--and i am sure you wish what miss trevisa wishes--to just look at your brother, and give our opinion on his health." "oh, he is quite well," said judith. "ah! you think so, naturally, but we would decide for ourselves, dearest young lady, though--not for the world would we willingly differ from you. but, you know, there are questions on which varieties of opinions are allowable, and yet do not disturb the most heartfelt friendship. it is so, is it not, jukes?" the rubicund man in knee-breeches nodded. "shall i begin, jukes? why, my fine little man! what an array of books! what scholarship! and at your age, too--astounding! what age did you say you were?" this to jamie in an insinuating tone. jamie stared, looked appealingly at judith, and said nothing. "we are the same age, we are twins," said judith. "oh! it is not the right thing to appear anxious to know a lady's age. we will put it another way, eh, jukes?" the red-faced man leaned his hands on his stick, his chin on his hands, and winked, as in that position he could not nod. "now, my fine little man! when is your birthday? when you have your cake--raisin-cake, eh?" jamie looked questioningly at his sister. "ah! come, not the day of the month--but the month, eh?" jamie could not answer. "come now," said the red-headed levy man, stretching his legs before him, legs vested in white trousers, strapped down tight. "come now, my splendid specimen of humanity! in which quarter of the year? between sickle and scythe, eh?" he waited, and receiving no answer, pulled out a pocket-book and made a note, after having first wetted the end of his pencil. "don't know when he was born. what do you say to that, jukes? will you take your turn?" the man with an inflamed face was gradually becoming purple, as he leaned forward on his stick, and said, "humph! a latin grammar. propria quæ maribus. i remember it, but it was a long time ago i learned it. now, whipper-snapper! how do you get on? propria quæ maribus--go on." he waited. jamie looked at him in astonishment. "come! tribu--" again he waited. "come! _tribuntur mascula dicas._ go on." again a pause. then with an impatient growl. "ut sunt divorum, mars, bacchus, apollo. this will never do. go on with the scaramouch, vokins. i'll make my annotations." "he's too hard on my little chap, ain't he?" asked the thin man in ducks. "we won't be done. we are not old enough----" "he is but eighteen," said judith. "he is but eighteen," repeated the red-headed man. "of course he has not got so far as that, but musa, musæ." jamie turned sulky. "not musa, musæ--and eighteen years! jukes, this is serious, jukes; eh, jukes?" "now look here, you fellows," said scantlebray, senior. "you are too exacting. it's holiday time, ain't it, orphing? we won't be put upon, not we. we'll sport, and frolic, and be joyful. look here, scanty, old man, take the slate and draw a pictur' to my describing. now then, jamie, look at him and hearken to me. he's the funniest old man that ever was, and he'll surprise you. are you ready, scanty?" mr. obadiah drew the slate before him, and signed with the pencil to jamie to observe him. the boy was quite ready to see him draw. "there was once upon a time," began mr. scantlebray, senior, "a man that lived in a round tower. look at him, draw it, there you are. that is the tower. go on. and in the tower was a round winder. do you see the winder, orphing? this man every morning put his hand out of the winder to ascertain which way the wind blew. he put it in thus, and drew it out thus. no! don't look at me, look at the slate and then you'll see it all. now this man had a large pond, preserved full of fish." scratch, scratch went the pencil on the slate. "them's the fish," said scantlebray, senior. "now below the situation of that pond, in two huts, lived a pair of thieves. you see them pokey things my brother has drawn? them's the 'uts. when night set in, these wicked thieves came walking up to the pond, see my brother drawing their respective courses! and on reaching the pond, they opened the sluice, and whish! whish! out poured the water." scratch, scratch, squeak, squeak, went the pencil on the slate. "there now! the naughty robbers went after fish, and got a goose! look! a goo-oose." "where's the goose?" asked jamie. "where? before your eyes--under your nose. that brilliant brother of mine has drawn one. hold the slate up, scanty." "that's not a goose," said jamie. "not a goose! you don't know what geese are." "yes, i do," retorted the boy, resentfully, "i know the wild goose and the tame one--which do you call that?" "oh, wild goose, of course." "it's not one. a goose hasn't a tail like that, nor such legs," said jamie, contemptuously. mr. scantlebray, senior, looked at messrs. vokins and jukes and shook his head. "a bad case. don't know a goose when he sees it--and he is eighteen." both vokins and jukes made an entry in their pocket-books. "now jukes," said vokins, "will you take a turn, or shall i?" "oh, you, vokins," answered jukes, "i haven't recovered _propria quæ maribus_, yet." "very well, my interesting young friend. suppose now we change the subject and try arithmetic." "i don't want any arithmetic," said jamie, sulkily. "no--come--now we won't call it by that name; suppose some one were to give you a shilling." jamie looked up interested. "and suppose he were to say. there--go and buy sweeties with this shilling. tartlets at three for two pence, and barley-sugar at three farthings a stick, and----" "i want my shilling back," said jamie, looking straight into the face of mr. scantlebray, senior. "and that there were burnt almonds at two pence an ounce." "i want my shilling," exclaimed the boy, angrily. "your shilling, puff! puff!" said the red-headed man. "this is ideal, an ideal shilling, and ideal jam-tarts, almond rock, burnt almonds or what you like." "give me back my shilling. i won it fair," persisted jamie. then judith, distressed, interfered. "jamie, dear! what do you mean? you have no shilling owing to you." "i have! i have!" screamed the boy. "i won it fair of that man there, because i made a rabbit, and he took it from me again." "hallucinations," said jukes. "quite so," said vokins. "give me my shilling. it is a cheat!" cried jamie, now suddenly roused into one of his fits of passion. judith caught him by the arm, and endeavored to pacify him. "let go, ju! i will have my shilling. that man took it away. he is a cheat, a thief. give me my shilling." "i am afraid he is excitable," said vokins. "like all irrational beings," answered jukes. "i'll make a note. rising out of hallucinations." "i will have my shilling," persisted jamie. "give me my shilling or i'll throw the ink at you." he caught up the ink-pot, and before judith had time to interfere had flung it across the table, intending to hit mr. scantlebray, senior, but not hurt him, and the black fluid was scattered over mr. vokins's white trousers. "bless my life!" exclaimed this gentleman, springing to his feet, pulling out his handkerchief to wipe away the ink, and only smearing it the more over his "ducks" and discoloring as well, his kerchief. "bless my life--jukes! a dangerous lunatic. note at once. clearly comes within the act. clearly." in a few minutes all had left, and judith was endeavoring to pacify her irritated brother. his fingers were blackened, and finally she persuaded him to go up-stairs and wash his hands clear of the ink. then she ran into the adjoining room to mr. menaida. "oh, dear mr. menaida!" she said, "what does this mean? why have they been here?" uncle zachie looked grave and discomposed. "my dear," said he. "those were doctors, and they have been here, sent by your aunt, to examine into the condition of jamie's intellect, and to report on what they have observed. there was a little going beyond the law, perhaps, at first. that is why they took it so easily when you carried jamie off. they knew you were with an old lawyer; they knew that you or i could sue for a writ of habeas corpus." "but do you really think--that aunt dionysia is going to have jamie sent back to that man at wadebridge?" "i am certain of it. that is why they came here to-day." "can i not prevent it?" "i do not think so. if you go to law----" "but if they once get him, they will make an idiot or a madman of him." "then you must see your aunt and persuade her not to send him there." chapter xxix. on a peacock's feather. as mr. menaida spoke, miss dionysia trevisa entered, stiff, hard, and when her eyes fell on judith, they contracted with an expression of antipathy. in the eyes alone was this observable, for her face was immovable. "auntie!" exclaimed judith, drawing her into the sitting-room, and pressing her to take the arm chair. "oh, auntie! i have so longed to see you--there have been some dreadful men here--doctors i think--and they have been teasing jamie, till they had worked him into one of his temper fits." "i sent them here, and for good reasons. jamie is to go back to wadebridge." "no--indeed no! auntie! do not say that. you would not say it if you knew all." "i know quite enough. more than is pleasing to me. i have heard of your outrageous and unbecoming conduct. hoity! toity! to think that a trevisa--but there you are one only in name--should go out at night, about the streets and lanes, like a common stray. bless me! you might have knocked me down with a touch, when i was told of it." "i did nothing outrageous and unbecoming, aunt. you may be sure of that. i am quite aware that i am a trevisa, and a gentlewoman, and something higher than that, aunt--a christian. my father never let me forget that." "your conduct was--well i will give it no expletive." "aunt, i did what was right. i was sure that jamie was unhappy and wanted me. i cannot tell you how i knew it, but i was certain of it, and i had no peace till i went; and, as i found the garden door open, i went in, and as i went in i found jamie locked up in the cellars, and i freed him. had you found him there, you would have done the same." "i have heard all about it. i want no repetition of a very scandalous story. against my will i am burdened with an intolerable obligation, to look after an idiot nephew and a niece that is a self-willed and perverse miss." "jamie is no idiot," answered judith, firmly. "jamie is what those pronounce him to be, who by their age, their profession, and their inquiries are calculated to judge better than an ignorant girl, not out of her teens." "auntie i believe you have been misinformed. listen to me, and i will tell you what happened. as for those men----" "those men were doctors. perhaps they were misinformed when they went through the college of surgeons, were misinformed by all the medical books they have read, were misdirected by all the study of the mental and bodily maladies of men they have made, in their professional course." "i wish, dear aunt dionysia, you would take jamie to be with you a few weeks, talk to him, play with him, go walks with him, and you will never say that he is an idiot. he needs careful management, and also a little application----" "enough of that theme," interrupted miss trevisa, "i have not come here to be drawn into an argument, or to listen to your ideas of the condition of that unhappy, troublesome, that provoking boy. i wish to heaven i had not the responsibility for him, that has been thrust on me, but as i have to exercise it, and there is no one to relieve me of it, i must do my best, though it is a great expense to me. seventy pounds is not seventy shillings, nor is it seventy pence." "aunt, he is not to go back to the asylum. he _must not_ go." "hoity-toity! _must not_ indeed. you, a minx of eighteen to dictate to me! must not, indeed! you seem to think that you, and not i, are jamie's guardian." "papa entrusted him to me with his last words." "i know nothing about last words. in his will i am constituted his guardian and yours, and as such i shall act as my convenience--conscience i mean, dictates." "but, aunt! jamie is not to go back to wadebridge. aunt! i entreat you! i know what that place is. i have been inside it, you have not. and just think of jamie on the very first night being locked up there." "he richly deserved it, i will be bound." "oh, aunt! how could he? how could he?" "of that mr. obadiah scantlebray was the best judge. why he had to be punished you do not know." "indeed i do. he cried because the place was strange, and he was among strange faces. aunt--if you were whipped off to timbuctoo, and suddenly found yourself among savages, and in a rush apron, as the squaw of a black chief, or whatever they call their wives in timbuctoo land, would you not scream?" "judith," said miss trevisa, bridling up. "you forget yourself." "no, aunt! i am only pleading for jamie, trying to make you feel for him, when he was locked up in an asylum. how would you like it, aunt, if you were snatched away to barthelmy fair, and suddenly found yourself among tight-rope dancers, and jack puddings?" "judith, i insist on you holding your tongue. i object to being associated even in fancy, with such creatures." "well--but jamie was associated, not in fancy, but in horrible reality, with idiots." "jamie goes to scantlebray's asylum to-day." "auntie!" "he is already in the hands of the brothers scantlebray." "oh, auntie--no--no!" "it is no pleasure to me to have to find the money, you may well believe. seventy pounds is not, as i said, seventy pence, it is not seventy farthings. but duty is duty, and however painful and unpleasant and costly, it must be performed." then from the adjoining room, "the shop," came mr. menaida. "i beg pardon for an interruption and for interference," said he. "i happen to have overheard what has passed, as i was engaged in the next room, and i believe that i can make a proposal which will perhaps be acceptable to you, miss trevisa, and grateful to miss judith." "i am ready to listen to you," said aunt dionysia, haughtily. "it is this," said uncle zachie. "i understand that pecuniary matters concerning jamie are a little irksome. now the boy, if he puts his mind to it, can be useful to me. he has a remarkable aptitude for taxidermy. i have more orders on my hands than i can attend to. i am a gentleman, not a tradesman, and i object to be oppressed--flattened out--with the orders piled on top of me. but if the boy will help, he can earn sufficient to pay for his living here with me." "oh, mr. menaida, dear mr. menaida! thank you so much," exclaimed judith. "perhaps you will allow me to speak," said miss trevisa, with asperity. "i am guardian, and not you, whatever you may think from certain vague expressions breathed casually from my poor brother's lips, and to which you have attached an importance he never gave to them." "aunt, i assure you, my dear papa----" "that question is closed. we will not reopen it. i am a trevisa. i can't for a moment imagine where you got those ideas. not from your father's family, i am sure. tight-rope dancers and timbuctoos, indeed!" then she turned to mr. menaida, and said, in her hard, constrained voice, as though she were exercising great moral control to prevent herself from snapping at him with her teeth. "your proposal is kind and well intentioned, but i cannot accept it." "oh, aunt! why not?" "that you shall hear. i must beg you not to interrupt me. you are so familiar with the manners of timbuctoo and of barthelmy fair, that you forget those pertaining to england and polished society." then, turning to mr. menaida, she said: "i thank you for your well-intentioned proposal, which, however, it is not possible for me to close with. i must consider the boy's ulterior advantage, not the immediate relief to my sorely-taxed purse. i have thought proper to place jamie with a person, a gentleman of experience, and highly qualified to deal with those mentally afflicted. however much i may value you, mr. menaida, you must excuse me for saying that firmness is not a quality you have cultivated with assiduity. judith, my niece, has almost ruined the boy by humoring him. you cannot stiffen a jelly by setting it in the sun, or in a chair before the fire, and that is what my niece has been doing. the boy must be isinglassed into solidity by those who know how to treat him. mr. obadiah scantlebray is the man----" "to manufacture idiots, madam, out of simple innocents, it is worth his while at seventy pounds a year," said uncle zachie, petulantly. miss trevisa looked at him stonily, and said: "sir! i suppose you know best. but it strikes me that such a statement, relative to mr. obadiah scantlebray, is actionable. but you know best, being a solicitor." mr. menaida winced and drew back. judith leaned against the mantel-shelf, trembling with anxiety and some anger. she thought that her aunt was acting in a heartless manner toward jamie, that there was no good reason for refusing the generous offer of uncle zachie. in her agitation, unable to keep her fingers at rest, the girl played with the little chimney ornaments. she must occupy her nervous, twitching hands about something; tears of distressed mortification were swelling in her heart, and a fire was burning in two flames in her cheeks. what could she do to save jamie? what would become of the boy at the asylum? it seemed to her that he would be driven out of his few wits, by terror and ill-treatment, and distress at leaving her and losing his liberty to ramble about the cliffs where he liked. in a vase on the chimney-piece was a bunch of peacock's feathers, and in her agitation, not thinking what she was about, desirous only of having something to pick at and play with in her hands, to disguise the trembling of the fingers, she took out one of the plumes and trifled with it, waving it and letting the light undulate over its wondrous surface of gold and green and blue. "as long as i have responsibility for the urchin----" said miss dionysia. "urchin!" muttered judith. "as long as i have the charge i shall do my duty according to my lights, though they may not be those of a rush-aproned squaw in timbuctoo, nor of a jack pudding balancing a feather on his nose." there was here a spiteful glance at judith. "when my niece has a home of her own--is settled into a position of security and comfort--then i wash my hands of the responsibility; she may do what she likes then--bring her brother to live with her if she chooses and her husband consents--that will be naught to me." "and in the mean time," said judith, holding the peacock's feather very still before her, "in the mean time jamie's mind is withered and stunted--his whole life is spoiled. now--now alone can he be given a turn aright and toward growth." "that entirely depends on you," said miss trevisa, coldly. "you know best what opportunities have offered----" "aunt, what do you mean?" "wait," said uncle zachie, rubbing his hands. "my boy oliver is coming home. he has written his situation is a good one now." miss trevisa turned on him with a face of marble. "i entirely fail to see what your son oliver has to do with the matter, more than the man in the moon. may i trouble you, as you so deeply interest yourself in our concerns, to step outside to messrs. scantlebray and that boy, and ask them to bring him in here. i have told them what the circumstances are, and they are prepared." mr. menaida left the room, not altogether unwilling to escape. "now," said aunt dionysia, "i am relieved to find that for a minute, we are by ourselves, not subjected to the prying and eavesdropping of the impertinent and meddlesome. mr. menaida is a man who never did good to himself or to anyone else in his life, though a man with the best intentions under the sun. now, judith, i am a plain woman--that is to say--not plain, but straightforward--and i like to have everything above board. the case stands thus. i, in my capacity as guardian to that boy, am resolved to consign him immediately to the asylum, and to retain him there as long as my authority lasts, though it will cost me a pretty sum. you do not desire that he should go there. well and good. there is but one way, but that is effectual, by means of which you can free jamie from restraint. let me tell you he is now in the hands of mr. obadiah, and gagged that he may not rouse the neighborhood with his screams." miss trevisa fixed her hard eyes on judith. "as soon as you take the responsibility off me, and on to yourself, you do with the boy what you like." "i will relieve you at once." "you are not in a condition to do so. as soon as i am satisfied that your future is secure, that you will have a house to call your own, and a certainty of subsistence for you both--then i will lay down my charge." "and you mean----" "i mean that you must first accept captain coppinger, who has been good enough to find you not intolerable. he is--in this one particular--unreasonable, however, he is what he is, in this matter. he makes you the offer, gives you the chance. take it, and you provide jamie and yourself with a home, he has his freedom, and you can manage or mismanage him as you list. refuse the chance and jamie is lodged in mr. scantlebray's establishment within an hour." "i cannot decide this on the spur of the moment." "very well. you can let jamie go provisionally to the asylum--and stay there till you have made up your mind." "no--no--no--aunt! never, never!" "as you will." miss trevisa shrugged her shoulders, and cast a glance at her niece like a dagger-stab. "auntie--i am but a child." "that may be. but there are times when even children must decide momentous questions. a boy as a child decides on his profession, a girl--may be--on her marriage." "oh, dear auntie! do leave jamie here for, say a fortnight, and in a fortnight from to-day you shall have my answer." "no," answered miss trevisa, "i also must decide as to my future, for your decision affects not jamie only but me also." judith had listened in great self-restraint, holding the feather before her. she held it between thumb and forefinger of both hands, not concerning herself about it, and yet with her eyes watching the undulations from the end of the quill to the deep blue eye set in a halo of gold at the further end, and the feather undulated with every rise and fall of her bosom. "surely, auntie! you cannot wish me to marry cruel coppinger?" "i have no wishes one way or the other. please yourself." "but, auntie----" "you profess to be ready to do all you can for jamie and yet hesitate about relieving me of an irksome charge, and jamie of what you consider barbarous treatment." "you cannot be serious--_i_ to marry captain cruel!" "it is a serious offer." "but papa!--what would he say?" "i never was in a position to tell his thoughts and guess what his words would be." "but, auntie--he is such a bad man." "you know a great deal more about him than i do, of course." "but--he is a smuggler, i do know that." "well--and what of that. there is no crime in that." "it is not an honest profession. they say, too, that he is a wrecker." "they say!--who say? what do you know?" "nothing, but i am not likely to trust my future to a man of whom such tales are told. auntie! would you, supposing that you were----" "i will have none of your suppositions, i never did wear a rush apron, nor act as jack pudding." "i cannot--captain cruel of all men." "is he so hateful to you?" "hateful--no; but i cannot like him. he has been kind, but--somehow i can't think of him as--as--as a man of our class and thoughts and ways, as one worthy of my own, own papa. no--it is impossible, i am still a child." she took the end of the peacock's feather, the splendid eye lustrous with metallic beauty, and bowed the plume without breaking it, and, unconscious of what she was doing, stroked her lips with it. what a fragile fine quill that was on which hung so much beauty? and how worthless the feather would be when that quill was broken. and so with her--her fine, elastic, strong spirit, that when bowed sprang to its uprightness the moment the pressure was withdrawn; that on which all her charm, her beauty hung. "captain coppinger has, surely, never asked you to put this alternative to me?" "no--i do it myself. as you are a child, you are unfit to take charge of your brother. when you are engaged to be married you are a woman; i shift my load on you then." "and you wish it?" "i repeat i have no wishes in the matter." "give me time to consider." "no. it must be decided now--that is to say if you do not wish jamie to be taken away. don't fancy i want to persuade you; but i want to be satisfied about my own future. i shall not remain in pentyre with you. as you enter by the front door, i leave by the back." "where will you go?" "that is my affair." then in at the door came the two scantlebrays and jamie between them, gagged and with his hands bound behind his back. he had run out, directly his examination was over, and had been secured, almost without resistance, so taken by surprise was he, and reduced to a condition of helplessness. judith leaned against the mantel-shelf, with every tinge of color gone out of her cheeks. jamie's frightened eyes met hers, and he made a slight struggle to speak, and to escape to her. "you have a close conveyance ready for your patient?" asked aunt dionysia of the brothers. "oh, yes, a very snug little box on wheels. scanty and i will sit with our young man, to prevent his feeling dull, you know." "you understand, gentlemen, what i told you, that in the deciding whether the boy is to go with you or not, i am not the only one to be considered. if i have my will, go he shall, as i am convinced that your establishment is the very place for him; but my niece, miss judith, has at her option the chance of taking the responsibility for the boy off my shoulders, and if she chooses to do that, why then, i fear she will continue to spoil him, as she has done heretofore." "it has cost us time and money," said scantlebray, senior. "and you shall be paid, whichever way is decided," said miss trevisa. "every thing now rests with my niece." judith seemed as one petrified. one hand was on her bosom, staying her heart, the other held the peacock's feather before her, horizontally. every particle of color had deserted, not her face only, but her hands as well. her eyes were sunless, her lips contracted and livid. she was motionless as a parian statue, she hardly seemed to breathe. she perfectly understood what her aunt had laid upon her, her bodily sensations were dead whilst a conflict of ideas raged in her brain. she was the arbiter of jamie's fate. she did not disguise from herself that if consigned to the keeper of the asylum, though only for a week or two, he would not leave his charge the same as he entered. and what would it avail her or him to postpone the decision a week or a fortnight. the brothers scantlebray knew nothing of the question agitating her, but they saw that the determination at which she was resolving was one that cost her all her powers. mr. obadiah's heavy mind did not exert itself to probe the secret, but the more eager intellect of his elder brother was alert, and wondering what might be the matter that so affected the girl, and made it so difficult for her to pronounce the decision. the hard eyes of miss trevisa were fixed on her. judith's answer would decide her future--on it depended othello cottage, and an annuity of fifty pounds. jamie looked through a veil of tears at his sister, and never for a moment turned them from her, from the moment of his entry into the room. instinctively the boy felt that his freedom and happiness depended on her. one or the other must be sacrificed. that judith saw jamie was dull of mind, but there were possibilities of development in it. and, even if he remained where he was, he was happy, happy and really harmless, if a little mischievous; an offer had been made which was likely to lead him on into industrious ways, and to teach him application. he loved his liberty, loved it as does the gull. in an asylum he would pine, his mind become more enfeebled, and he would die. but then--what a price must be paid to save him? oh, if she could have put the question to her father. but she had none to appeal to for advice. if she gave to jamie liberty and happiness, it was at the certain sacrifice of her own. but there was no evading the decision, one or the other must go. she stretched forth the peacock's feather, laid the great indigo blue eye on the bands that held jamie, on his gagged lips, and said: "let him go." "you agree!" exclaimed miss trevisa. judith doubled the peacock's feather and broke it. chapter xxx. through the tamarisks. for some time after judith had given her consent, and had released jamie from the hands of the scantlebrays, she remained still and white. uncle zachie missed the music to which he had become used, and complained. she then seated herself at the piano, but was distraught, played badly, and the old bird-stuffer went away grumbling to his shop. jamie was happy, delighted not to be afflicted with lessons, and forgot past troubles in present pleasures. that the recovery of his liberty had been bought at a heavy price, he did not know, and would not have appreciated it had he been told the sacrifice judith had been ready to make for his sake. in the garden behind the cottage was an arbor, composed of half a boat set up, that is to say, an old boat sawn in half, and erected so that it served as a shelter to a seat, which was fixed into the earth on posts. from one side of this boat a trellis had been drawn, and covered with eschalonia, and a seat placed here as well, so that in this rude arbor it was possible for more than one to find accommodation. here judith and jamie often sat; the back of the boat was set against the prevailing wind from the sea, and on this coast the air is unusually soft at the same time that it is bracing, enjoyable wherever a little shelter is provided against its violence. for violent it can be, and can buffet severely, yet its blows are those of a pillow. here judith was sitting one afternoon, alone, lost in a dream, when uncle zachie came into the garden with his pipe in his mouth, to stretch his legs, after a few minutes' work at stuffing a cormorant. in her lap lay a stocking judith was knitting for her brother, but she had made few stitches, and yet had been an hour in the summer-house. the garden of mr. menaida was hedged off from a neighbor's grounds by a low wall of stone and clay and sand, in and out of which grew roughly strong tamarisks now in their full pale pink blossom. the eyes of judith had been on these tamarisks, waving like plumes in the sea-air, when she was startled from her reverie by the voice of uncle zachie. "why, miss judith! what is the matter with you? dull, eh? ah--wait a bit, when oliver comes home we shall have mirth. he is full of merriment. a bright boy and a good son; altogether a fellow to be proud of, though i say it. he will return at the fall." "i am glad to hear it, mr. menaida. you have not seen him for many years." "not for ten." "it will be a veritable feast to you. does he remain long in england?" "i cannot say. if his employers find work for him at home, then at home he will tarry, but if they consider themselves best served by him at oporto, then to portugal must he return." "will you honor me by taking a seat near me--under the trellis?" asked judith. "it will indeed be a pleasure to me to have a talk with you; and i do need it very sore. my heart is so full that i feel i must spill some of it before a friend." "then indeed i will hold out both hands to catch the sweetness." "nay--it is bitter, not sweet, bitter as gall, and briny as the ocean." "not possible; a little salt gives savor." she shook her head, took up the stocking, did a couple of stitches, and put it down again. the sea-breeze that tossed the pink bunches of tamarisk waved stray tresses of her red-gold hair, but somehow the brilliancy, the burnish, seemed gone from it. her eyes were sunken, and there was a greenish tinge about the ivory white surrounding her mouth. "i cannot work, dear mr. menaida; i am so sorry that i should have played badly that sonata last night. i knew it fretted you, but i could not help myself, my mind is so selfishly directed that i cannot attend to anything even of beethoven's in music, nor to stocking-knitting even for jamie." "and what are the bitter--briny thoughts?" judith did not answer at once, she looked down into her lap, and mr. menaida, whose pipe was choked, went to the tamarisks and plucked a little piece, stripped off the flower and proceeded to clear the tube with it. presently, while uncle zachie's eyes were engaged on the pipe, judith looked up, and said hastily, "i am very young, mr. menaida." "a fault in process of rectification every day," said he, blowing through the stem of his pipe. "i think it is clear now." "i mean--young to be married." "to be married! zounds!" he turned his eyes on her in surprise, holding the tamarisk spill in one hand and the pipe in the other, poised in the air. "you have not understood that i got jamie off the other day only by taking full charge of him upon myself and relieving my aunt." "but--good gracious, you are not going to marry your brother." "my aunt would not transfer the guardianship to me unless i were qualified to undertake and exercise it properly, according to her ideas, and that could be only by my becoming engaged to be married to a man of substance." "goodness help me! what a startlement! and who is the happy man to be? not scantlebray, senior, i trust, whose wife is dying." "no--captain coppinger." "cruel coppinger!" uncle zachie put down his pipe so suddenly on the bench by him that he broke it. "cruel coppinger! never!" she said nothing to this, but rose and walked, with her head down, along the bank, and put her hands among the waving pink bunches of tamarisk bloom, sweeping the heads with her own delicate hand as she passed. then she came back to the boat arbor and reseated herself. "dear me! bless my heart! i could not have credited it," gasped mr. menaida, "and i had such different plans in my head--but there, no more about them." "i had to make my election whether to take him and qualify to become jamie's guardian, or refrain, and then he would have been snatched away and imprisoned in that odious place again." "but, my dear miss judith--" the old man was so agitated that he did not know what he was about; he put the stick of tamarisk into his mouth in place of his pipe, and took it out to speak, put down his hand, picked up the bowl of his pipe, and tapped the end of the tamarisk spill with that; "mercy save me! what a world we do live in. and i had been building for you a castle--not in spain, but in a contiguous country--who'd have thought it? and cruel coppinger, too! upon my soul i don't want to say i am sorry for it, and i can't find in my heart to say i'm glad." "i do not expect that you will be glad--not if you have any love for me." the old man turned round, his eyes were watering and his face twitching. "i have, heaven knows! i have--yes--i mean miss judith." "mr. menaida," said the girl, "you have been so kind, so considerate, that i should like to call you what every one else does--when speaking of you to one another--not to your face--uncle zachie." he put out his hand, it was shaking, and caught hers. he put the ends of the fingers to his lips; but he kept his face averted, and the water that had formed in his eyes ran down his cheeks. he did not venture to speak. he had lost command over his voice. "you see, uncle, i have no one of whom to ask counsel. i have only aunt, and she--somehow--i feel that i cannot go to her, and get from her the advice best suited to me. now papa is dead i am entirely alone, and i have to decide on matters most affecting my own life, and that of jamie. i do so crave for a friend who could give me an opinion--but i have no one, if you refuse." he pressed her hand. "not that now i can go back from my word. i have passed that to aunt dionysia, and draw back i may not; but somehow, as i sit and think, and think, and try to screw myself up to the resolution that must be reached of giving up my hand and my whole life into the power of--of that man, i cannot attain to it. i feel like one who is condemned to cast himself down a precipice and shrinks from it, cannot make up his mind to spring, but draws back after every run made to the edge. tell me--uncle--tell me truly, what do you think about captain coppinger? what do you know about him? is he a very wicked man?" "you ask me what i think, and also what i know," said mr. menaida, releasing her hand. "i know nothing, but i have my thoughts." "then tell me what you think." "as i have said, i know nothing. i do not know whence he comes. some say he is a dane, some that he is an irishman. i cannot tell, i know nothing, but i think his intonation is irish, and i have heard that there is a family of that name in ireland. but this is all guesswork. one thing i do know, he speaks french like a native. then, as to his character, i believe him to be a man of ungovernable temper, who, when his blood is roused will stick at nothing. i think him a man of very few scruples. but he has done liberal things--he is open-handed, that all say. a hard liver, and with a rough tongue, and yet with some of the polish of a gentleman; a man with the passions of a devil, but not without in him some sparks of divine light. that is what i think him to be. and if you ask me further, whether i think him a man calculated to make you happy--i say decidedly that he is not." rarely before in his life had mr. menaida spoken with such decision. "he has been kind to me," said judith. "very kind." "because he is in love with you." "and gentle--" "have you ever done aught to anger him!" "yes. i threw him down and broke his arm and collar-bone." "and won his heart by so doing." "uncle zachie, he is a smuggler." "yes--there is no doubt about that." "do you suppose if i were to entreat him that he would abandon smuggling? i have already had it in my heart to ask him this, but i could not bring the request over my lips." "i have no doubt if you asked him to throw up his smuggling that he would promise to do so. whether he would keep his promise is another matter. many a girl has made her lover swear to give up gambling, and on that understanding has married him; but i reckon none have been able to keep their husbands to the engagement. gambling, smuggling, and poaching, my dear, are in the blood. a man brings the love of adventure, the love of running a risk, into the world with him. if i had been made by my wife to swear when i married never to touch a musical instrument, i might out of love for her have sworn, but i could not have kept my oath. and you--if you vowed to keep your fingers from needle and thread, and saw your gown in rags, or your husband's linen frayed--would find an irresistible itch in the finger ends to mend and hem, and you would do it, in spite of your vows. so with a gambler, a poacher, and a smuggler, the instinct, the passion is in them and is irresistible. don't impose any promise on captain cruel, it will not influence him." "they tell me he is a wrecker." "what do you mean by a wrecker! we are all wreckers, after a storm, when a merchantman has gone to pieces on the rocks, and the shore is strewn with prizes. i have taken what i could, and i see no harm in it. when the sea throws treasures here and there, it is a sin not to take them up and use them and be thankful." "i do not mean that. i mean that he has been the means of luring ships to their destruction." "of that i know nothing. stories circulate whenever there is a wreck not in foul weather or with a wind on shore. but who can say whether they be true or false?" "and about that man, wyvill. did he kill him?" "there also i can say nothing, because i know nothing. all that can be said about the matter is that the preventive man wyvill was found at sea--or washed ashore without his head. a shark may have done it, and sharks have been found off our coast. i cannot tell. there is not a shadow of evidence that could justify an indictment. all that can be stated that makes against coppinger is that the one is a smuggler, the other was a preventive man, and that the latter was found dead and with his head off, an unusual circumstance, but not sufficient to show that he had been decapitated by any man, nor that the man who decapitated him was coppinger." then mr. menaida started up: "and--you sell yourself to this man for jamie?" "yes, uncle, to make a man of jamie." "on the chance, judith, on the very doubtful chance of making a man of jamie, you rush on the certainty of making a ruin of yourself. that man--that coppinger to be trusted with you! a fair little vessel, richly laden, with silken sail, and cedar sides, comes skimmering over the sea, and--heaven forgive me if i judge wrongly--but i think he is a wrecker, enticing, constraining you on to the reefs where you will break up, and all your treasures will--not fall to him--but sink; and all that will remain of you will be a battered and broken hull, and a draggled discolored sail. i cannot--i cannot endure the thought." "yet it must be endured, faced and endured by me," said judith. "you are a cruel comforter, uncle zachie. i called you to encourage me, and you cast me down; to lighten my load, and you heap more on." "i can do no other," gasped mr. menaida. then he sprang back, with open mouth, aghast. he saw cruel coppinger on the other side of the hedge, he had put his hands to the tamarisk bushes, and thrust them apart and was looking through. "goldfish!" called captain coppinger, "goldfish, come!" judith knew the voice and looked in the direction whence it came, and saw the large hands of coppinger holding back the boughs of tamarisk, his dark face in the gap. she rose at once and stepped toward him. "you are ill," he said, fixing his sombre eyes on her. "i am not ill in body. i have had much to harass my mind." "yes, that wadebridge business." "what has sprung out of it?" "shall i come to you, or will you to me!--through the tamarisks?" "as you will, captain coppinger." "come, then--up on to the hedge and jump--i will catch you in my arms. i have held you there ere this." "yes, you have taken me up, now must i throw----" she did not finish the sentence; she meant, must she voluntarily throw herself into his arms? she caught hold of the bushes and raised herself to the top of the hedge. "by heaven!" said he. "the tamarisk flowers have more color in them than your face." she stood on the summit of the bank, the tamarisks rising to her knees, waving in the wind about her. must she resign herself to that man of whom she knew so little, whom she feared so greatly? there was no help for it. she must. he held out his arms. she sprang, and he caught her. "i have you now," he said, with a laugh of triumph. "you have come to me, and i will never give you up." chapter xxxi. among the sand-heaps. coppinger held her in his arms, shook her hair out that it streamed over his arm, and looked into her upturned face. "indeed you are light, lighter than when i bore you in my arms before; and you are thin and white, and the eyes, how red. you have been crying. what! this spirit, strong as a steel spring, so subdued that it gives way to weeping!" judith's eyes were closed against the strong light from the sky above, and against the sight of his face bent over hers, and the fire glint of his eyes, dark as a thundercloud and as charged with lightnings. and now there was a flashing of fire from them, of love and pride and admiration. the strong man trembled beneath his burden in the vehemence of his emotion. the boiling and paining of his heart within him, as he held the frail child in his arms, and knew she was to be his own, his own wholly, in a short space. it was for the moment to him as though all earth and sea and heaven were dissolved with nebulous chaos, and the only life--the only pulses in the universe--were in him and the little creature he held to his breast. he looked into her face, down on her as vesuvius must have looked down on lovely, marble, white pompeii, with its gilded roofs and incense-scented temples, and restrained itself, as long as restrain its molten heart it could, before it poured forth its fires and consumed the pearly city lying in its arms. he looked at her closed eyelids with the long golden lashes resting on the dark sunken dip beneath, at the delicate mouth drawn as with pain, at the white temples in which slowly throbbed the blue veins, at the profusion of red-gold hair streaming over his arm and almost touching the ground. she knew that his eyes--on fire--were on her, and she dared not meet them, for there would be a shrinking--from him, no responsive leap of flame from hers. "shall i carry you about like this!" he asked. "i could and i would, to the world's end, and leap with you thence into the unfathomed abyss." her head, leaning back on his arm, with the gold rain falling from it, exposed her long and delicate throat of exquisite purity of tint and beauty of modelling, and as it lay a little tuft of pink tamarisk blossom, brushed off in her lap into his arms, and then caught in the light edging of her dress, at the neck. "and you come to me of your own will?" he said. then judith slightly turned her head to avoid his eyes, and said, "i have come--it was unavoidable. let me down, that we may speak together." he obeyed with reluctance. then, standing before him, she bound up and fastened her hair. "look!" said he, and threw open his collar. a ribbon was tied about his throat. "do you see this?" he loosed the band and held it to her. one delicate line of gold ran along the silk, fastened to it by threads at intervals. "your own hair. the one left with me when you first heard me speak of my heart's wish, and you disdained me and went your way. you left me that one hair, and that one hair i have kept wound round my neck ever since, and it has seemed to me that i might still have caught my goldfish, my saucy goldfish that swam away from my hook at first." judith said calmly; "let us walk together somewhere--to st. enodoc, to my father's grave, and there, over that sand-heap we will settle what must be settled." "i will go with you where you will. you are my queen, i your subject--it is my place to obey." "the subject has sometimes risen and destroyed the queen; it has been so in france." "yes, when the subject has been too hardly treated, too down-trodden, not allowed to look on and adore the queen." "and," said judith further, "let us walk in silence, allow me the little space between here and my father's grave to collect my thoughts, bear with me for that short distance." "as you will. i am your slave, as i have told you, and you my mistress have but to command." "yes, but the slave sometimes becomes the master, and then is all the more tyrannous because of his former servitude." so they walked together, yet apart, from polzeath to st. enodoc, neither speaking, and it might have been a mourner's walk at a funeral. she held her head down, and did not raise her eyes from the ground, but he continued to gaze on her with a glow of triumph and exultation in his face. they reached at length the deserted church, sunken in the sands; it had a hole broken in the wall under the eaves in the south, rudely barricaded, through which the sacred building might be entered for such functions as a marriage, or the first part of the funeral office that must be performed in a church. the roof was of pale gray slate, much broken, folding over the rafters like the skins on the ribs of an old horse past work. the church-yard was covered with plain sand. gravestones were in process of being buried like those whom they commemorated. some peeped above the sand, with a fat cherub's head peering above the surface. others stood high on the land side, but were banked up by sand toward the sea. here the church-yard surface was smooth, there it was tossed with undulations, according as the sand had been swept over portions tenanted by the poor who were uncommemorated with head-stones, or over those where the well-to-do lay with their titles and virtues registered above them. there was as yet no monument erected over the grave of the reverend peter trevisa, sometime rector of st. enodoc. the mound had been turfed over and bound down with withes. the loving hands of his daughter had planted some of the old favorite flowers from the long walk at the rectory above where he lay, but they had not as yet taken to the soil, the sand ill agreed with them, and the season of the year when their translation had taken place dissatisfied them, and they looked forlorn, drooping, and doubted whether they would make the struggle to live. below the church lay the mouths of the camel, blue between sand-hills, with the doom bar, a long and treacherous band of shifting sands in the midst. on reaching the graveyard judith signed to captain coppinger to seat himself on a flat tombstone on the south side of her father's grave, and she herself leaned against the headstone that marked her mother's tomb. "i think we should come to a thorough understanding," she said, with composure, "that you may not expect of me what i cannot give, and know the reason why i give you anything. you call me goldfish. why?" "because of your golden hair." "no--that was not what sprung the idea in your brain, it was something i said to you, that you and i stood to each other in the relation of bird of prey to fish, belonging to distinct modes of life and manner of thinking, and that we could never be to one another in any other relation than that, the falcon and his prey, the flame and its fuel, the wreckers and the wrecked." coppinger started up and became red as blood. "these are strange words," he said. "it is the same that i said before." "then why have you given yourself to me?" "i have resigned myself to you, as i cannot help myself any more than the fish can that is pounced on by the sea-bird, or the fuel that is enveloped by the flame, or the ship that is boarded by the wrecker." she looked at him steadily; he was quivering with excitement, anger, and disappointment. "it is quite right that you should know what to expect, and make no more demands on me that i am capable of answering. you cannot ask of me that i should become like you, and i do not entertain the foolish thought that you could be brought to be like me--to see through my eyes, feel with my heart. my dead father lies between us now, and he will ever be between us--he a man of pure life, noble aspirations, a man of books, of high principle, fearing god and loving men. what he was he tried to make me. imperfectly, faultily, i follow him, but though unable to be like him, i strive after what he showed me should be my ideal." "you are a child. you will be a woman, and new thoughts will come to you." "will they be good and honorable and contented thoughts? shall i find those in your house?" coppinger did not reply, his brows were drawn together and his face became dark. "why, then, have you promised to come to me?" "because of jamie." he uttered an oath, and with his hands clenched the upper stone of the tomb. "i have promised my aunt that i will accept you, if you will suffer my poor brother to live where i live, and suffer me to be his protector. he is helpless and must have someone to think and watch for him. my aunt would have sent him to mr. obadiah scantlebray's asylum, and that would have been fatal to him. to save him from that i said that i would be yours, on the condition that my home should be his home. i have passed my word to my aunt, and i will not go from it, but that does not mean that i have changed my belief that we are unfitted for each other, because we belong to different orders of being." "this is cold comfort." "it is cold as ice, but it is all that i have to give to you. i wish to put everything plainly before you now, that there may be no misapprehension later, and you may be asking of me what i cannot give, and be angry at not receiving what i never promised to surrender." "so! i am only accepted for the sake of that boy, jamie." "it is painful for me to say what i do--as painful as it must be for you to hear it, but i cannot help myself. i wish to put all boldly and hardly before you before an irrevocable step is taken such as might make us both wretched. i take you for jamie's sake. were his happiness, his well-being not in the scale, i would not take you. i would remain free." "that is plain enough," exclaimed coppinger, setting his teeth, and he broke off a piece of the tombstone on which he was half sitting. "you will ask of me love, honor, and obedience. i will do my best to love you--like you i do now, for you have been kind and good to me, and i can never forget what you have done for me. but it is a long leap from liking to loving, still i will try my best, and if i fail it will not be for lack of effort. honor is another matter. that lies in your own power to give. if you behave as a good and worthy man to your fellows, and justly toward me, of course i shall honor you. i must honor what is deserving of honor, and where i honor there i may come to love. i cannot love where i do not honor, so perhaps i may say that my heart is in your hands, and that if those hands are clean and righteous in their dealings it may become yours some time. as to obedience--that you shall command. that i will render to you frankly and fully in all things lawful." "you offer me an orange from which all the juice has been squeezed, a nut without a kernel." "i offer you all i have to offer. is it worth your while having this?" "yes!" said he angrily, starting up, "i will have what i can and wring the rest out of you, when once you are mine." "you never will wring anything out of me. i give what i may, but nothing will i yield to force." he looked at her sullenly and said, "a child in years with an old head and a stony heart." "i have always lived with my father, and so have come to think like one that is old," said judith, "and now, alone in the world, i must think with ripened wits." "i do not want that precocious, wise soul, if that be the kernel. i will have the shell--the glorious shell. keep your wisdom and righteousness and piety for yourself. i do not value them a rush. but your love i will have." "i have told you there is but one way by which that may be won. but indeed, captain coppinger, you have made a great mistake in thinking of me. i am not suited to you to make you happy and content; any more than you are suited to me. look out for some girl more fit to be your mate." "of what sort? come, tell me!" said coppinger scornfully. "a fine, well-built girl, dark-haired, dark-eyed, with cheeks like apricots, lively in mood, with nimble tongue, good-natured, not bookish, not caring for brush or piano, but who can take a rough word and return it; who will not wince at an oath, and shrink away at coarse words flung about where she is. all these things you know very well must be encountered by your wife, in your house. did you ever read 'hamlet,' captain coppinger?" he made no answer, he was plucking at the slab-cover of the tomb and grinding his heels into the sand. "in 'hamlet,' we read of a king poisoned by his queen, who dipped the juice of cursed hebenon into his ears, and it curdled all his blood. it is the same with the sort of language that is found in your house when your seamen are there. i cannot endure it, it curdles my heart--choose a girl who is indifferent." "you shall not be subjected to it," said coppinger, "and as to the girl you have sketched--i care not for her--such as you describe are to be found thick as whortle-berries on a moor. do you not know that man seeks in marriage not his counterpart but his contrast? it is because you are in all things different from me that i love you." "then will naught that i have said make you desist?" "naught." "i have told you that i take you only so as to be able to make a home for jamie." "yes." "and that i do not love you and hardly think i can ever." "yes." "and still you will have me?" "yes." "and that by taking me you wreck my life--spoil my happiness." he raised his head, then dropped it again and said, "yes." she remained silent, also looking on the ground. presently she raised her head and said: "i gave you a chance, and you have cast it from you. i am sorry." "a chance? what chance?" "the chance of taking a first step up the ladder in my esteem." "i do not understand you." "therefore i am sorry." "what is your meaning?" "captain coppinger," said judith, firmly, looking straight into his dark face and flickering eyes, "i am very, very sorry. when i told you that i accepted your offer only because i could not help myself, because i was a poor, feeble orphan, with a great responsibility laid on me, the charge of my unfortunate brother; that i only accepted you for his sake when i told you that i did not love you, that our characters, our feelings were so different that it would be misery to me to become your wife--that it would be the ruin of my life, then--had you been a man of generous soul, you would have said--i will not force myself upon you, but i will do one thing for you, assist you in protecting jamie from the evil that menaces him. had you said that i would have honored you, and as i said just now, where i honor, there i may love. but you could not think such a thought, no such generous feeling stirred you. you held me to my bond." "i hold you to your bond," exclaimed coppinger, in loud rage. "i hold you, indeed. even though you can neither love nor honor me, you shall be mine. you likened me to a bird of prey that must have its prey or die, to a fire--and that must have its fuel--to a wrecker, and he must have his wreck, i care not. i will have you as mine, whether you love me or not." "so be it, then," said judith, sadly. "you had your opportunity and have put it from you. we understand each other. the slave is master--and a tyrant." chapter xxxii. a dangerous gift. "i do love a proper muddle, cruel bad, i do," said jump, and had what she loved, for the preparations for judith's marriage threw mr. menaida's trim cottage into a "proper muddle." there were the cakes to be baked, and for a while the interior of the house was pervaded by that most delicious aroma of baking bread superior to frangipani, jockey club, and wood violet. then came the dusting, and after that the shaking and beating of the rugs and sofa and chairs. then it was discovered that the ceilings and walls would be the better for white and color-wash. this entailed the turning out of every thing previously dusted and tidied and arranged. neither mr. menaida nor jump had any other idea of getting things into order than throwing all into a muddle in the hopes that out of chaos, exactness and order might spring. a dressmaker had been engaged and material purchased, for the fabrication of a trousseau. this naturally interested jamie vastly, and jump paid repeated visits to the dressmaker, whilst engaged on her work. on one such occasion she neglected the kitchen and allowed some jam to become burnt. on another she so interested the needlewoman and diverted her attention from her work, whilst cutting out that the latter cut out two right arms to the wedding gown. this involved a difficulty, as it was not practicable either to turn the one sleeve, and convert it into a left arm, nor to remove judith's left arm and attach it to the right side of her body, and so accommodate her to the gown. the mercer at camelford was communicated with, from whom the material had been procured, but he was out of it, he however was in daily expectation of a consignment of more of the same stuff. a fortnight later he was able to supply the material, sufficient for a left sleeve, but unfortunately of a different color. the gown had to be laid aside till some one could be found of judith's size and figure with two right arms, and also who wanted a wedding dress, and also would be disposed to take this particular one at half the cost of the material, or else to let the gown stand over till after the lapse of a century or thereabouts, when the fashion would prevail for ladies to wear sleeves of a different substance and color from their bodies and skirts. "'taint a sort o' a courtin' as i'd give a thankee for," said jump. "there was camelford goose fair, and whether he axed her to go wi' him and pick a goose i can't tell, but i know her never went. then o' sundays they don't walk one another out. and he doesn't come arter her to the back garden, and she go to him, and no whisperings and kissings. i've listened a score o' times a hoping and a wishing to see and hear the likes, and never once as i'm a christian and a female. there were my sister jane, when she was going to be married, her got that hot and blazin' red that i thought it were scarletine, but it was naught but excitement. but the young mistress, bless 'ee, her gets whiter and colder every day, and i'd say, if such a thing were possible, that her'd rather her never was a going to be married. but you see that ain't in natur', leastways wi' us females. i tell 'ee i never seed him once put his arm round her waist. if this be courtin' among gentlefolks, all i say is preserve and deliver me from being a lady." it was as jump, in her vulgar way, put it. judith alone in the house appeared to take no interest in the preparations. it was only after a struggle with her aunt that she had yielded to have the wedding in november. she had wished it postponed till the spring, but cruel coppinger and aunt dionysia were each for their several ends desirous to have it in the late autumn. coppinger had the impatience of a lover; and miss trevisa the desire to be free from a menial position and lodged in her new house before winter set in. she had amused herself over othello cottage ever since judith had yielded her consent, and her niece saw little of her accordingly. it suited coppinger's interest to have a tenant for the solitary cottage, and that a tenant who would excite no suspicions, as the house was employed as a store for various run goods, and it was understood between him and miss trevisa, that he was still to employ the garret for the purposes that suited him. had othello cottage remained long unoccupied, it was almost certain to attract the attention of the preventive men, awake their suspicions, and be subjected to a visit. its position was convenient, it was on the cliff of that cove where was the cave in which the smugglers' boats were concealed. coppinger visited polzeath and saw judith whenever he came to mr. menaida's house, but his wooing met with no response. she endured his attentions, shrinking from the slightest approach to familiarity, and though studiously courteous was never affectionate. it would take a heavy charge of self-conceit to have made the captain blind to the fact that she did not love him, that in truth she viewed her approaching marriage with repugnance. coppinger was a proud, but not a conceited man, and her coldness and aversion aroused his anger, for it galled his pride. had he been a man of noble impulse, he would have released her, as she had already told him, but he was too selfish, too bent on carrying out his own will to think of abandoning his suit. her lack of reciprocation did not abate his passion, it aggravated it. it enlisted his self-esteem in the cause, and he would not give her up, because he had set his mind upon obtaining her, and to confess his defeat would have been a humiliation insufferable to his haughty spirit. but it was not merely that he would not, it was also that he could not. coppinger was a man who had, all his life long, done what he willed, till his will had become in him the mainspring of his existence, and drove him to execute his purposes in disregard of reason, safety, justice, and opposition. he would eat out his own furious heart in impotent rage, if his will were encountered by impossibility of execution. and he was of a sanguine temperament. hitherto every opposition had been overthrown before him, therefore he could not conceive that the heart of a young girl, a mere child, could stand out against him permanently. for a while it might resist, but ultimately it must yield, and then the surrender would be absolute, unconditional. every time he came to see her, he came with hopes, almost with confidence, that the icy barrier would dissolve, but when in her presence the chill from it struck him, numbed his heart, silenced his tongue, deadened his thoughts. yet no sooner was he gone from the house, than his pulses leaped, his brain whirled, and he was consumed with mortified pride and disappointed love. he could not be rough, passionate or imperious with her. a something he could not understand, certainly not define, streamed from her that kept him at a distance and quelled his insolence. it was to him at moments as if he hated her; but this hate was but the splutter of frustrated love. he recalled the words she had spoken to him, and the terms she had employed in speaking of the relation in which they stood to each other, the only relations to her conceivable in which they could stand to each other, and each such word was a spark of fire, a drop of flaming phosphorus on his heart, torturing it with pain, and unquenchable. a word once spoken can never be recalled, and these words had been thrown red hot at him, had sunk in and continued to consume where they had fallen. he was but a rapacious bird and she the prey, he the fire and she the fuel, he the wrecker and she the wreck. there could be no reciprocity between them, the bird in the talons of the hawk, rent by his beak could do no other than shiver and shriek and struggle to be free. the fuel could but expect to be consumed to ashes in the flames; and the wrecked must submit to the wrecker. he brooded over these similes, he chafed under the conviction that there was truth in them, he fought against the idea that a return of his love was impossible--and then his passion raged and roared up in a fury that was no other than hatred of the woman who could not be his in heart. then, in another moment, he cooled down, and trusted that what he dreaded would not be. he saw before him the child, white as a lily, with hair as the anthers of the lily--so small, so fragile, so weak; and he laughed to think that one such, with no experience of life, one who had never tasted love, could prove insensible to his devouring passion. the white asbestos in the flame glows, and never loses its delicacy and its whiteness. and judith was, as jump observed, becoming paler and more silent as her marriage drew on. the repugnance with which she had viewed it instead of abating intensified with every day. she woke in the night with a start of horror, and a cold sweat poured from her. she clasped her hands over her eyes and buried her face in her pillow and trembled, so that the bed rattled. she lost all appetite. her throat was contracted when she touched food. she found it impossible to turn her mind to the preparations that were being made for her wedding, she suffered her aunt to order for her what she liked, she was indifferent when told of the blunder made by the dressmaker in her wedding-gown. she could not speak at meals. when mr. menaida began to talk, she seemed to listen, but her mind was elsewhere. she resumed lessons with jamie, but was too abstracted to be able to teach effectually. a restlessness took hold of her and impelled her to be out of doors and alone. any society was painful to her, she could endure only to be alone; and when alone, she did nothing save pluck at her dress, or rub her fingers one over the other--the tricks and convulsive movements of one on the point of death. but she did not yield to her aversion without an effort to accustom herself to the inevitable. she rehearsed to herself the good traits she had observed in coppinger, his kindness, his forbearance toward herself, she took cognizance of his efforts to win her regard, to afford her pleasure, his avoidance of everything that he thought might displease her. and when she knew he was coming to visit her, she strove with herself; and formed the resolution to break down the coldness, and to show him some of that semblance of affection which he might justly expect. but it was in vain. no sooner did she hear his step, or the first words he uttered, no sooner did she see him, than she turned to stone, and the power to even feign an affection she did not possess left her. and when coppinger had departed, there was stamped red hot on her brain the conviction that she could not possibly endure life with him. she prayed long and often, sometimes by her father's grave, always in bed when lying wakeful, tossing from side to side in anguish of mind; often, very often when on the cliffs looking out to sea, to the dark, leaden, sullen sea, that had lost all the laughter and color of summer. but prayer afforded her no consolation. the thought of marriage to such a man, whom she could not respect, whose whole nature was inferior to her own, was a thought of horror. she could have nerved herself to death by the most excruciating of torments, but for this, not all the grace of heaven could fortify her. to be his mate, to be capable of loving him, she must descend to his level, and that she neither could nor would do. his prey, his fuel, his wreck--that she must become, but she could be nothing else--nothing else. as the day of her marriage approached her nervous trepidation became so acute that she could hardly endure the least noise. a strange footfall startled her and threw her into a paroxysm of trembling. the sudden opening of a door made her heart stand still. when her father had died, poignant though her sorrow had been, she had enjoyed the full powers of her mind. she had thought about the necessary preparations for the funeral, she had given orders to the servants, she had talked over the dear father to jamie, she had wept his loss till her eyes were red. not so now; she could not turn her thoughts from the all-absorbing terror; she could not endure an allusion to it from anyone, least of all to speak of it to her brother, and the power to weep was taken from her. her eyes were dry; they burnt, but were unfilled by tears. when her father was dead she could look forward, think of him in paradise, and hope to rejoin him after having trustily executed the charge imposed on her by him. but now she could not look ahead. a shadow of horror lay before her, an impenetrable curtain. her father was covering his face, was sunk in grief in his celestial abode; he could not help her. she could not go to him with the same open brow and childish smile as before. she must creep to his feet, and lay her head there, sullied by association with one against whom he had warned her, one whom he had regarded as the man that had marred his sacred utility, one who stood far below the stage of virtue and culture that belonged to his family and on which he had firmly planted his child. what was in her heart judith could pour out before none; certainly not before aunt dionysia, devoid of a particle of sympathy with her niece. nor could she speak her trouble to uncle zachie, a man void of resources, kind, able for a minute or two to sympathize, but never to go deeply into any trouble and understand more of a wound than the fester on the surface. besides, of what avail to communicate the anguish of her heart to anyone, when nothing could be done to alter the circumstances. she could not now draw back. indeed it never occurred to her to be possible to go back from her undertaking. to save jamie from an idiot asylum she had passed her word to give her hand at the altar to cruel coppinger, and her word was sacred. aunt dionysia trusted her word. coppinger held to it, knowing that she gave it on compulsion and reluctantly, yet he showed his perfect confidence in its security. "my dear judith," said mr. menaida, "i am so sorry about losing you, and what is more, losing jamie, for i know very well that when he is at the glaze he will find plenty to amuse him without coming to see me, or anyhow, coming to work with me." "i hope not, dear uncle." "yes, i lose a promising pupil." then turning to the boy, he said: "jamie, i hope you will not give up stuffing birds, or, if you have not the patience to do that, that you will secure the skins and prepare them for me." "yes, i will," said jamie. "yes, yes, my dear boy," said menaida, "but don't you fancy i am going to trust you with arsenic for preparing the skins. i shall give that to your sister and she will keep the supply, eh, will you not, judith?" "yes. i will take charge of it." "and let him have it as needed; never more than is needed." "why not?" asked jamie. "because it is a dangerous thing to have lying about." menaida ran into the workshop, and came back with a small tin box of the poison. "look here! here is a little bone spoon. don't get the powder over your fingers. why, a spoonful would make a man very ill, and two would kill him. so, judith, i trust this to you. when jamie has a skin to prepare he will go to you, and you will let him have only so much as he requires." "yes, uncle." she took the little tin of arsenic and put it in her workbox, under the tray that contained reels and needles. chapter xxxiii. half a marriage. one request judith had made, relative to her marriage, and one only, after she had given way about the time when it was to take place, and this request concerned the place. she desired to be married, not in the parish church of s. minver, but in that of s. enodoc, in the yard of which lay her father and mother, and in which her father had occasionally ministered. it was true that no great display could be made in a building half-filled with sand, but neither judith nor coppinger, nor aunt dionysia desired display, and jump, the sole person who wished that the wedding should be in full gala, was not consulted in the matter. november scowled over sea and land, perverting the former into lead and blighting the latter to a dingy brown. the wedding-day was sad. mist enveloped the coast, wreathed the cliffs, drifted like smoke over the glebe, and lay upon the ocean, dense and motionless, like a mass of cotton-wool. not a smile of sun, not a glimmer of sky, not a trace of outline in the haze overhead. the air was full of minute particles of moisture flying aimlessly, lost to all sense of gravity, in every direction. the mist had a fringe but no seams, and looked as if it were as unrendable as felt. it trailed over the soil, here lifting a ragged flock or tag of fog a few feet above the earth, there dropping it again and smearing water over all it touched. vapor condensed on every twig and leaf, but only leisurely, and slowly dripped from the ends of thorns and leaves; but the weight of the water on some of the frosted and sickly foliage brought the leaves down with it. every stone in every wall was lined with trickles of water like snail crawls. the vapor penetrated within doors, and made all articles damp, of whatever sort they were. fires were reluctant to kindle, chimneys smoked. the grates and irons broke out into eruptions of rust, mildew appeared on walls, leaks in roofs. the slate floors became dark and moist. forks and spoons adhered to the hands of those who touched them, and on the keys of mr. menaida's piano drops formed. what smoke did escape from a chimney trailed down the roof. decomposed leaves exhaled the scent of decay. from every stack-yard came a musty odor of wet straw and hay. stable yards emitted their most fetid exudations that oozed through the gates and stained the roads. the cabbages in the kail-yards touched by frost announced that they were in decomposition, and the turnips that they were in rampant degeneration and rottenness. the very seaweed washed ashore impregnated the mist with a flavor of degeneration. the new rector, the reverend desiderius mules had been in residence at st. enodoc for three months. he had received but a hundred and twenty-seven pounds four and ninepence farthing for dilapidations, and was angry, declared himself cheated, and vowed he would never employ the agent cargreen any more. and a hundred and twenty-seven pounds four and ninepence farthing went a very little way in repairing and altering the rectory to make it habitable to the liking of the reverend desiderius. the reverend peter trevisa and his predecessors had been west country men, and as such loved the sun, and chose to have the best rooms of the house with a southern aspect. but the reverend desiderius mules had been reared in barbadoes, and hated the sun, and elected to have the best rooms of the house to look north. this entailed great alterations. the kitchen had to be converted into parlor, and the parlor into kitchen, the dining-room into scullery, and the scullery into study, and the library enlarged to serve as dining-room. all the down-stairs windows had to be altered. mr. desiderius mules liked to have french windows opening to the ground. in the same manner great transformations were made in the garden. where mr. peter trevisa had built up and planted a hedge there mr. desiderius mules opened a gate, and where the late rector had laid down a drive there the new rector made garden beds. in the same manner shrubberies were converted into lawns, and lawns into shrubberies. the pump was now of no service outside the drawing-room window; it had to be removed to the other side of the house, and to serve the pump with water a new well had to be dug, and the old well that had furnished limpid and wholesome water was filled up. the site of the conservatory was considered the proper one for the well, and this entailed the destruction of the conservatory. removal was intended, with a new aspect to the north, as a frigidarium, but when touched it fell to pieces, and in so doing furnished mr. desiderius mules with much comment on the imposition to which he had been subjected, for he had taken this conservatory at a valuation, and that valuation had been for three pounds seven and fourpence ha'penny, whereas its real value was, so he declared, three pounds seven and fourpence without the ha'penny at the end or the three pounds before. when the reverend desiderius mules heard that captain coppinger and judith trevisa were to be married in his church, "by jove," said he, "they shall pay me double fees as extra parochial. i shall get that out of them at all events. i have been choused sufficiently." a post-chaise from wadebridge conveyed judith, miss trevisa, uncle zachie, and jamie from polzeath. the bride was restless. at one moment she leaned back, then forward; her eyes turned resolutely through the window at the fog. her hands plucked at her veil or at her gloves; she spoke not a word throughout the drive. aunt dionysia was also silent. opposite her sat mr. menaida in blue coat with brass buttons, white waistcoat outside a colored one, and white trousers tightly strapped. though inclined to talk, he was unable to resist the depressing influence of his vis-a-vis, miss trevisa, who sat scowling at him with her thin lips closed. jamie was excited, but as no one answered him when he spoke he also lapsed into silence. when the church-yard gate of st. enodoc was reached, mr. menaida jumped out of the chaise with a sigh of relief, and muttered to himself that, had he known what to expect, he would have brought his pocket-flask with him, and have had a nip of cognac on the way. a good number of sight-seers had assembled from polzeath and st. enodoc, and stood in the church-yard, magnified by the mist to gigantic size. over the graves of drowned sailors were planted the figure-heads of wrecked vessels, and these in the mist might have been taken as the dead risen and mingling with the living to view this dreary marriage. the bride herself looked ghostlike, or as a waft of the fog, but little condensed, blown through the graveyard toward the gap in the church wall, and blown through that also within. that gap was usually blocked with planks from a wreck, supported by beams; when the church was to be put in requisition, then the beams were knocked away, whereupon down clattered the boards and they were tossed aside. it had been so done on this occasion, and the fragments were heaped untidily among the graves under the church wall. the clerk-sexton had, indeed, considered that morning, with his hands in his pockets, whether it would be worth his while, assisted by the five bell-ringers, to take this accumulation of wreckage and pile it together out of sight, but he had thought that, owing to the fog, a veil would be drawn over the disorder, and he might be saved this extra trouble. within the sacred building, over his boots in sand, stamped, and frowned, and paced, and growled the reverend desiderius mules, in surplice, hood, and stole, very ill at ease and out of humor because the wedding-party arrived unpunctually, and he feared he might catch cold from the wind and fog that drifted in through the hole in the wall serving as door. the sand within was level with the sills of the windows; it cut the tables of commandments in half; had blotted away the majority of inhibitions against marriage within blood relationship and marriage kinship. the altar-rails were below the surface. the altar-table had been fished up and set against the east wall, not on this day for the marriage, but at some previous occasion. then the sexton had placed two pieces of slate under the feet on one side, and not having found handy any other pieces, had thought that perhaps it did not matter. consequently the two legs one side had sunk in the sand, and the altar-table formed an incline. a vast number of bats occupied the church, and by day hung like little moleskin purses from the roof. complaints had been made of the disagreeableness of having these creatures suspended immediately over the head of the officiant, accordingly the sexton had knocked away such as were suspended immediately above the altar and step--a place where the step was, beneath the sand; but he did not think it necessary to disturb those in other parts of the church. if they inconvenienced others, it was the penalty of curiosity, coming to see a wedding there. toward the west end of the church some wooden pew-tops stood above the sand, and stuck into a gimlet-hole in the top rail of one was a piece of holly, dry and brown as a chip. it had been put there as a christmas decoration the last year that the church was used for divine worship, at the feast of noel; _when_ that was, only the oldest men could remember. the sexton had looked at it several times with his hands in his pockets and considered whether it were worth while pulling his hands out and removing the withered fragment, and carrying it outside the church, but had arrived at the conclusion that it injured no one, and might therefore just as well remain. there were fragments of stained glass in the windows, in the upper light of the perpendicular windows saints and angels in white and gold on ruby and blue grounds. in one window a fragment of a christ on the cross. but all were much obscured by cobwebs. the cobwebs, after having entangled many flies, caught and retained many particles of sand, became impervious to light and obscured the figures in the painted glass. the sexton had looked at these cobwebs occasionally and mused whether it would be worth his while to sweep them down, but as he knew that the church was rarely used for divine offices, and never for regular divine worship, he deemed that there was no crying necessity for their destruction. life was short, and time might be better employed--to whit in talking to a neighbor, in smoking a pipe, in drinking a pint of ale, in larruping his wife, in reading the paper. consequently the cobwebs remained. had mr. desiderius mules been possessed of antiquarian tastes, he might have occupied the time he was kept waiting in studying the bosses of carved oak that adorned the wagon-roof of the church, which were in some cases quaint, in the majority beautiful, and no two the same. and he might have puzzled out the meaning of three rabbits with only three ears between them forming a triangle, or three heads united in one neck, a king, a queen, a bishop and a monk, or of a sow suckling a dozen little pigs. but mr. desiderius mules had no artistic or archaeological faculty developed in him. his one object on the present occasion was to keep draught and damp from the crown of his head, where the hair was so scanty as hardly to exist at all. he did not like to assume his hat in the consecrated building, so he stamped about in the sand holding a red bandanna handkerchief on the top of his head, and grumbling at the time he was kept waiting, at the cornish climate, at the way in which he had been "choused" in the matter of dilapidations for the chancel of the church, at the unintelligible dialect of the people, and at a good many other causes of irritation, notably at a bat which had not reverenced his bald pate, when he ventured beyond the range of the sexton's sweeping. presently the clerk, who was outside, thrust in his head through the gap in the wall, and in a stage whisper announced, "they's a-coming." the reverend mules growled, "there ought to be a right to charge extra when the parson is kept waiting--sixpence a minute, not a penny less. but we are choused in this confounded corner of the world in every way. ha! there is a mildew-spot on my stole--all come of this villainous damp." in the tower stood five men, ready to pull the ropes and sound a merry peal when the service was over, and earn a guinea. they had a firkin of ale in a corner, with which to moisten their inner clay between each round. now that they heard that the wedding party had arrived they spat on their hands and heaved their legs out of the sand. through the aperture in the wall entered the bridal party, a cloud of fog blowing in with them and enveloping them. they stepped laboriously through the fine sand, at this place less firm than elsewhere, having been dug into daily by the late rector in his futile efforts to clear the church. mr. mules cast a suspicious look into the rafters above him to see that no profane bat was there, and opened his book. mr. menaida was to act as father to the bride, and there was no other bride's-maid than miss trevisa. as they waded toward the alter, judith's strength failed, and she stood still. then uncle zachie put his arm round her and half carried her over the sand toward the place where she must stand to give herself away. she turned her head and thanked him with her eyes, she could not speak. so deathly was her whiteness, so deficient in life did she seem, that miss trevisa looked at her with some anxiety, and a little doubt whether she would be able to go through the service. when judith reached her place, her eyes rested on the sand. she did not look to her left side, she could hear no steps, for the sand muffled all sound of feet, but she knew by the cold shudder that thrilled through her, that captain coppinger was at her side. "dearly beloved, we are gathered together here--now then order, if you please, and quiet, we are twenty-five minutes after time," said mr. desiderius mules. the first few words, seven in all were addressed to the wedding party, the rest to a number of men and women and children who were stumbling and plunging into the church through the improvised door, thrusting each other forward, with a "get along," and "out of the road," all eager to secure a good sight of the ceremony, and none able to hurry to a suitable place because of the sand that impeded every step. "now then--i can't stay here all day!" mr. mules sniffed and applied the bandanna to his nose, as an indication that he was chilled, and that this rheum would be on the heads of the congregation, were he made ill by this delay. "dearly beloved, we are gathered," he began again, and he was now able to proceed. "cruel," said he in loud and emphatic tones, "wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after god's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her so long as ye both shall live?" the response of coppinger went through the heart of judith like a knife. then the rector addressed her. for answer she looked up at him and moved her lips. he took her hand and placed it in that of coppinger. it was cold as ice and quivering like an aspen leaf. as captain coppinger held it, it seemed to drag and become heavy in his hand, whilst he pronounced the words after the rector, making oath to take judith as his own. then the same words were recited to her, for her to repeat in order after the priest. she began, she moved her lips, looked him pleadingly in the face, her head swam, the fog filled the whole church and settled between her and the rector. she felt nothing save the grip of coppinger's hand, and sank unconscious to the ground. "go forward," said cruel. mr. menaida and aunt dionysia caught judith and held her up. she could neither speak nor stir. her lips were unclosed, she seemed to be gasping for breath like one drowning. "go on," persisted cruel, and holding her left hand he thrust the ring on her fourth finger, repeating the words of the formula. "i cannot proceed," said the reverend desiderius. "then you will have to come again to-morrow." "she is unconscious," objected the rector. "it is momentary only," said aunt dionysia; "be quick and finish." mr. mules hesitated a moment. he had no wish to return in like weather on another day; no wish again to be kept waiting five and twenty minutes. he rushed at the remainder of the office and concluded it at a hand gallop. "now," said he, "the registers are at the rectory. come there." coppinger looked at judith. "not to-day. it is not possible. she is ill--faint. to-morrow. neither she nor i nor the witnesses will run away. we will come to you to-morrow." uncle zachie offered to assist judith from the church. "no," said cruel, peremptorily, "she is mine now." she was able with assistance to walk, she seemed to recover for a moment in the air outside, but again lapsed into faintness on being placed in the chaise. "to pentyre glaze," ordered coppinger; "our home." chapter xxxiv. a breakfast. "she has been over-exerted, over-excited," said miss trevisa. "leave her to recover; in a few days she will be herself again. remember, her father died of heart complaint, and though judith resembles her mother rather than a trevisa, she may have inherited from my brother just that one thing she had better have let him carry to his grave with him." so judith was given the little room that adjoined her aunt's, and miss trevisa postponed for a week her migration to othello cottage. aunt dionysia was uneasy about her niece; perhaps her conscience did suffer from some qualms when she saw how judith shrank from the union she had driven her into for her own selfish convenience. she treated her in the wisest manner, now she had brought her to the glaze, for she placed her in her old room next her own, and left her there to herself. judith could hear her aunt walking about and muttering in the adjoining chamber, and was content to be left alone to recover her composure and strength. uncle zachie and jump were, however, in sore distress; they had made the trim cottage ready, had prepared a wedding breakfast, engaged a helping hand or two, and no one had come to partake. nor was mr. desiderius mules in a cheerful mood. he had been invited to the breakfast, and was hungry and cold. he had to wait while mr. menaida ran up to pentyre to know whether any one was going to honor his board. while he was away the rector stamped about the parlor, growling that he believed he was about to be "choused out of his breakfast. there was really no knowing what these people in this out-of-the-world corner might do." then he pulled off his boots and shook the sand out, rang for jump, and asked at what hour precisely the breakfast was to be eaten, and whether it was put on table to be looked at only. from pentyre glaze mr. menaida was not greatly successful in obtaining guests. he found some wild-looking men there in converse with coppinger, men whom he knew by rumor to belong to a class that had no ostensible profession and means of living. mr. menaida had ordered in clotted cream, which would not keep sweet many days. it ought to be eaten at once. he wanted to know whether coppinger, the bride, miss trevisa, anyone was coming to his house to consume the clotted cream. as jamie was drifting about purposeless, and he alone seemed disposed to accompany uncle zachie, the old gentleman carried him off. "i s'pose i can't on the spur of the moment go in and ask over st. minver parson?" asked menaida, dubiously, of the st. enodoc parson. "you see i daresay he's hurt not to have had the coupling of 'em himself." "most certainly not," said mr. mules; "an appetite is likely to go into faintness unless attended to at once. i know that the coats of my stomach are honeycombed with gastric juice. shall i say grace? another half-hour of delay will finish me." consequently but three persons sat down to a plentiful meal; but some goose, cold, had hardly been served, when in came mr. scantlebray, the agent, with a cheery salutation of "hulloa, menaida, old man! what, eating and drinking? i'll handle a knife and fork with you, unasked. beg pardon, mr. mules. i'm a rough man, and an old acquaintance of our good friend here. hope i see you in the enjoyment of robust health, sir. oh, menaida, old man! i didn't expect such a thing as this. now i begin to see daylight, and understand why i was turned out of the valuership, and why my brother lost this promising young pupil. ah, ha! my man, you have been deprived of fun, such fun, roaring fun, by not being with my brother scanty. well, sir," to mr. mules, "what was the figure of the valuation? you had a queer man on your side. i pity you. a man i wouldn't trust myself. i name no names. now tell me, what did you get?" "a hundred and twenty-seven pounds four and ninepence farthing. monstrous--a chouse." "as you say, monstrous. why that chancel, show me the builder who will contract to do that alone at a hundred and twenty-seven pounds? and the repairs of the vestry--are they to be reckoned at four and ninepence farthing? it is a swindle. i'd appeal. i'd refuse. you made a mistake, sir, let me tell you, in falling into certain hands. yes--i'll have some goose, thank you." mr. scantlebray ate heartily, so did the reverend desiderius, who had the honeycomb cells of his stomach coats to fill. both, moreover, did justice to mr. menaida's wine, they did not spare it; why should they? those for whom the board was spread had not troubled to come to it, and they must make amends for their neglect. "horrible weather," said the rector. "i suppose this detestable sort of stuff of which the atmosphere is composed is the prevailing abomination one has to inhale throughout three-quarters of the year. one cannot see three yards before one." "it's bad for some and good for others," answered scantlebray. "there'll be wrecks, certainly, after this, especially if we get, as we are pretty sure to get, a wind ashore." "wrecks!" exclaimed the rector, "and pray who pays the fees for drowned men i may be expected to bury?" "the parish," answered uncle zachie. "oh, half-a-crown a head," said mr. mules, contemptuously. "there are other things to be had besides burial fees out of a wreck," said scantlebray; "but you must be down early before the coast-guard are there. have you donkeys?" "donkeys! what for?" "i have one, a gray beauty," exclaimed jamie; "captain coppinger gave her to me." "well, young man, then you pick up what you can, when you have the chance, and lade her with your findings. you'll pick up something better than corpses, and make something more than burial half-crowns." "but why do you suppose there will be wrecks?" inquired the rector of st. enodoc. "there is no storm." "no storm, certainly, but there is fog, and in the fog vessels coming up the channel to bristol get lost as to their bearings, get near our cliffs without knowing it, and then--if a wind from the west spring up and blows rough--they are done for, they can't escape to the open. that's it, old man. i beg your reverence's pardon, i mean, sir. when i said that such weather was bad for some and good for others you can understand me now--bad for the wrecked, good for the wreckers." "but surely you have no wreckers here?" mr. scantlebray laughed. "go and tell the bridegroom that you think so. i'll let you into the knowledge of one thing"--he winked over his glass--"there's a fine merchantman on her way to bristol." "how do you know?" "know! because she was sighted off st. ives, and the tidings has run up the coast like fire among heather. i don't doubt it that it has reached hartland by this; and with a thick fog like to-day there are a thousand hearts beating with expectation. who can say? she may be laden with gold-dust from africa, or with tin from barca, or with port from oporto." "my boy oliver is coming home," said mr. menaida. "then let's hope he is not in this vessel, for, old man, she stands a bad chance in such weather as this. there is porth-quin, and there is hayle bay ready to receive her, or doom bar on which she may run, all handy for our people. are you anything of a sportsman, sir?" "a little--but i don't fancy there is much in this precious country--no cover." "what is fox-hunting when you come to consider--or going after a snipe or a partridge? a fox! it's naught, the brush stinks, and a snipe is but a mouthful. my dear sir, if you come to live among us, you must seek your sport not on the land but at sea. you'll find the sport worth something when you get a haul of a barrel of first-rate sherry, or a load of silver ingots. why, that's how penwarden bought his farm. he got the money after a storm--found it on the shore out of the pocket of a dead man. do you know why the bells of st. enodoc are so sweet? because, so folks say, melted into them are ingots of peruvian silver from a ship wrecked on doom bar." "i should like to get some silver or gold," said jamie. "i daresay you would, and so perhaps you may if you look out for it. go to your good friend, captain coppinger, and tell him what you want. he has made his pickings before now on shore and off wrecks, and has not given up the practice." "but," said mr. mules, "do you mean to tell me that you people in this benighted corner of the world live like sharks, upon whatever is cast overboard?" "no, i do not," answered scantlebray. "we have too much energy and intelligence for that. we don't always wait till it is cast overboard, we go aboard and take what we want." "what, steal!" "i don't call that stealing when providence and a southwest wind throws a ship into our laps, when we put in our fingers and pick out the articles we want. what are porth-quin and hayle bay but our laps, in which lie the wrecks heaven sends us? and doom bar, what is that but a counter on which the good things are spread, and those first there get the first share?" "and pray," said mr. desiderius mules, "have the owners of the vessels, the passengers, the captains, no objections to make?" "they are not there. don't wait for our people. if they do--so much the worse for them." then scantlebray laughed. "there's a good story told of the zenobia, lost four years ago. there was a lady on board. when she knew the vessel was on doom bar she put on all her jewelry, to escape with it. but some of our people got to the wreck before she got off it, and one lobe of her ears got torn off." "torn off?" "yes--in pulling the earrings off her." "but who pulled the earrings off her?" "our people." "gracious heavens! were they not brought to justice?" "who did it? no one knew. what became of the jewelry? no one knew. all that was known was that lady knighton--that was her name--lost her diamonds and the lobe of her right ear as well." "and it was never recovered?" "what! the lobe of her ear?" "no, the jewelry." "never." "upon my word i have got among a parcel of scoundrels. it is high time that i should come and reform them. i'll set to work at once. i'll have st. enodoc dug out and restored, and i'll soon put an end to this sort of thing." "you think so?" "you don't know me. i'll have a bazaar. i'll have a ball in the assembly rooms at wadebridge. the church shall be excavated. i'm not going in there again with the bats, to have my boots filled with sand, i can tell you--everything shall be renovated and put to rights. i'll see to it at once. i'll have a pigeon shooting for the sake of my chancel--i daresay i shall raise twenty pounds by that alone--and a raffle for the font, and an aunt sally for the pulpit. but the ball will be the main thing, i'll send and get the county people to patronize. i'll do it, and you barbarians in this benighted corner of the world shall see there is a man of energy among you." "you'd best try your hand on a wreck. you'll get more off that." "and i'll have a bran pie for an altar-table." "you won't get the parishioners to do anything for the restoration of the church. they don't want to have it restored." "the decalogue is rotten. i ran my umbrella through the ten commandments this morning. i'll have a gypsy camp and fortune-telling to furnish me with new commandments." "i've heard tell," said scantlebray, "that at ponghill, near stratton, is a four-post bed of pure gold came off a wreck in bude bay."[c] [c] an exaggeration. the bed of seventeenth century italian work, is gilt. it is now in a small farmhouse. "when i was in the north," said the rector of st. enodoc, "we had a savage who bit off the heads of rats, snap, skinned them and ate them raw, and charged sixpence entrance; but that was for the missionaries. i should hardly advocate that for the restoration of a church; besides, where is the savage to be got? we made twenty-seven pounds by that man, but expenses were heavy and swallowed up twenty-five; we sent two pounds to the missionaries." mr. menaida stood up and went to the window. "i believe the wind has shifted to the north, and we shall have a lightening of the fog after sunset." "shall we not have a wreck! i hope there'll be one," said jamie. "what is the law about wreckage, menaida, old man?" asked scantlebray, also coming to the window. "the law is plain enough. no one has a right to goods come to land; he who finds may claim salvage--naught else; and any persons taking goods cast ashore, which are not legal wreck, may be punished." "and," said scantlebray, "what if certain persons give occasion to a ship being wrecked, and then plundering the wreck?" "there the law is also plain. the invading and robbing of a vessel, either in distress or wrecked, and the putting forth of false lights in order to bring a vessel into danger, are capital felonies." scantlebray went to the table, took up a napkin, twisted it and then flung it round his neck, and hung his head on one side. "what--this, menaida, old man?" uncle zachie nodded. "come here, jim, my boy, a word with you outside." scantlebray led jamie into the road. "there's been a shilling owing you for some time. we had roaring fun about it once. here it is. now listen to me. go to pentyre, you want to find gold-dust on the shore, don't you?" "yes." "or bars of silver?" "yes." "well, beg captain coppinger, if he is going to have a jack o' lantern to-night, to let you be the jack. do you understand? and mind--not a word about me. then gold-dust and bars of silver and purses of shillings. mind you ask to be jack o' lantern. it is fun. such fun. roaring fun." chapter xxxv. jack o' lantern. evening closed in; judith had been left entirely to herself. she sat in the window, looking out into the mist and watching the failing of the light. sometimes she opened the casement and allowed the vapor to blow in like cold steam, then became chilled, shivered, and closed it again. the wind was rising and piped about the house, piped at her window. judith, sitting there, tried with her hand to find the crevice through which the blast drove, and then amused herself with playing with her finger-tops on the openings and regulating the whistle so as to form a tune. she heard frequently coppinger's voice in conversation, sometimes in the hall, sometimes in the court-yard, but could not catch what was spoken. she listened, with childish curiosity, to the voice that was now that of her lord and husband, and endeavored to riddle out of it some answer to her questions as to what sort of a master he would prove. she could not comprehend him. she had heard stories told of him that made her deem him the worst of men, remorseless and regardless of others, yet toward her he had proved gentle and considerate. what, for instance, could be more delicate and thoughtful than his behavior to her at this very time! feeling that she had married him with reluctance, he had kept away from her and suffered her to recover her composure without affording her additional struggle. a reaction after the strain on her nerves set in; the step she had dreaded had been taken, and she was the wife of the man she feared and did not love. the suspense of expectation was exchanged for the calmer grief of retrospect. the fog all day had been white as wool, and she had noticed how parcels of vapor had been caught and entangled in the thorn bushes as the fog swept by, very much as sheep left flocks of their fleece in the bushes when they broke out of a field. now that the day set, the vapor lost its whiteness and became ash gray, but it was not as dense as it had been, or rather it was compacted in places into thick masses with clear tracts between. the sea was not visible, nor the cliffs, but she could distinguish out-buildings, tufts of furze and hedges. the wind blew much stronger, and she could hear the boom of the waves against the rocks, like the throbbing of the unseen heart of the world. it was louder than it had been. the sound did not come upon the wind, for the fog that muffled all objects from sight, muffled also all sounds to the ear, but the boom came from the vibration of the land. the sea flung against the coast-line shook the rocks, and they quivered for a long distance inland, making every wall and tree quiver also, and the sound of the sea was heard not through the ears but through the soles of the feet. miss trevisa came in. "shall i light you a pair of candles, judith?" "i thank you, hardly yet." "and will you not eat?" "yes, presently, when supper is served." "you will come down-stairs?" "yes." "i am glad to hear that." "aunt, i thought you were going to othello cottage the day i came here." "captain coppinger will not suffer me to leave at once till you have settled down to your duties as mistress of the house." "oh, auntie! i shall never be able to manage this large establishment." "why not! you managed that at the rectory." "yes, but it was so different." "how so?" "my dear papa's requirements were so simple, and so few, and there were no men about except old balhachet, and he was a dear, good old humbug. here, i don't know how many men there are, and who belong to the house, and who do not. they are in one day and out the next--and then captain coppinger is not like my own darling papa." "no, indeed, he is not. shall i light the candles? i have something to show you." "as you will, aunt." miss trevisa went into her room and fetched a light, and kindled the two candles that stood on judith's dressing-table. "oh, aunt! not three candles." "why not? we shall need light." "but three candles together bring ill-luck; and we have had enough already." "pshaw! don't be a fool. i want light, for i have something to show you." she opened a small box and drew forth a brooch and earrings that flashed in the rays of the candle. "look, child! they are yours. captain coppinger has given them to you. they are diamonds. see--a butterfly for the breast, and two little butterflies for the ears." "oh, auntie! not for me. i do not want them." "this is ungracious. i daresay they cost many hundreds of pounds. they are diamonds." judith took the brooch and earrings in her hand; they sparkled. the diamonds were far from being brilliants, they were of good size and purest water. "i really do not want to have them. persuade captain coppinger to return them to the jeweller, it is far too costly a gift for me, far--far--i should be happier without them." then, suddenly--"i do not know that they have been bought? oh, aunt dunes, tell me truly. have they been bought? i think jewellers always send out their goods in leather cases, and there is none such for these. and see--this earring--the gold is bent, as if pulled out of shape. i am sure they have not been bought. take them back again, i pray you." "you little fool!" said miss trevisa, angrily. "i will do nothing of the kind. if you refuse them--then take them back yourself. captain coppinger performs a generous and kind act that costs him much money, and you throw his gift in his face, you insult him. insult him yourself with your suspicions and refusals--you have already behaved to him outrageously. i will do nothing for you that you ask. your father put on me a task that is hateful, and i wish i were clear of it." then she bounced out of the room, leaving her candle burning along with the other two. a moment later she came back hastily and closed judith's shutters. "oh, leave them open," pleaded judith. "i shall like to see how the night goes--if the fog clears away." "no--i will not," answered miss trevisa, roughly. "and mind you. these shutters remain shut, or your candles go out. your window commands the sea, and the light of your window must not show." "why not?" "because should the fog lift, it would be seen by vessels." "why should they not see it?" "you are a fool. obey, and ask no questions." miss trevisa put up the bar and then retired with her candle, leaving judith to her own thoughts, with the diamonds on the table before her. and her thoughts were reproachful of herself. she was ungracious and perhaps unjust. her husband had sent her a present of rare value, and she was disposed to reject it, and charge him with not having come by the diamonds honestly. they were not new from a jeweller, but what of that? could he afford to buy her a set at the price of some hundreds of pounds? and because he had not obtained them from a jeweller, did it follow that he had taken them unlawfully? he might have picked them up on the shore, or have bought them from a man who had. he might have obtained them at a sale in the neighborhood. they might be family jewels, that had belonged to his mother, and he was showing her the highest honor a man could show a woman in asking her to wear the ornaments that had belonged to his mother. he had exhibited to her a store-room full of beautiful things, but these might be legitimately his, brought from foreign countries by his ship the black prince. it was possible that they were not contraband articles. judith opened her door and went down-stairs. in the hall she found coppinger with two or three men, but the moment he saw her he started up, came to meet her, and drew her aside into a parlor, then went back into the hall and fetched candles. a fire was burning in this room, ready for her, should she condescend to use it. "i hope i have not interrupted you," she said, timidly. "an agreeable interruption. at any time you have only to show yourself and i will at once come to you, and never ask to be dismissed." she knew that this was no empty compliment, that he meant it from the depth of his heart, and was sorry that she could not respond to an affection so deep and so sincere. "you have been very good to me--more good than i deserve," she said, standing by the fire with lowered eyes, "i must thank you now for a splendid and beautiful present, and i really do not know how to find words in which fittingly to acknowledge it." "you cannot thank and gratify me better than by wearing what i have given you." "but when? surely not on an ordinary evening?" "no--certainly. the rector has been up this afternoon and desired to see you, he is hot on a scheme for a public ball to be given at wadebridge for the restoration of his church, and he has asked that you will be a patroness." "i--oh--i!--after my father's death?" "that was in the late spring, and now it is the early winter, besides, now you are a married lady--and was not the digging out and restoring of the church your father's strong desire?" "yes--but he would never have had a ball for such a purpose." "the money must be raised somehow. so i promised for you. you could not well refuse--he was impatient to be off to wadebridge and secure the assembly rooms." "but--captain coppinger--" "captain coppinger?" judith colored. "i beg your pardon--i forgot. and now--i do not recollect what i was going to say. it matters nothing. if you wish me to go i will go. if you wish me to wear diamond butterflies i will wear them." "i thank you." he held out his hands to her. she drew back slightly and folded her palms as though praying. "i will do much to please you, but do not press me too greatly. i am strange in this house, strange in my new situation; give me time to breathe and look round and recover my confidence. besides, we are only half-married so far." "how so?" "i have not signed the register." "no, but that shall be done to-morrow." "yes, to-morrow--but that gives me breathing time. you will be patient and forbearing with me." she put forward her hands folded and he put his outside them and pressed them. the flicker of the fire lent a little color to her cheeks and surrounded her head with an aureole of spun gold. "judith, i will do anything you ask. i love you with all my soul, past speaking. i am your slave. but do not hold me too long in chains, do not tread me too ruthlessly under foot." "give me time," she pleaded. "i will give you a little time," he answered. then she withdrew her hands from between his and sped up stairs, leaving him looking into the fire with troubled face. when she returned to her room the candles were still burning, and the diamonds lay on the dressing-table where she had left them. she took the brooch and earrings to return them to their box, and then noticed for the first time that they were wrapped in paper, not in cotton-wool. she tapped at her aunt's door, and entering asked if she had any cotton-wool that she could spare her. "no, i have not. what do you want it for?" "for the jewelry. it cannot have come from a shop, as it was wrapped in paper only." "it will take no hurt. wrap it in paper again." "i had rather not, auntie. besides, i have some cotton-wool in my workbox." "then use it." "but my workbox has not been brought here. it is at mr. menaida's." "you can fetch it to-morrow." "but i am lost without my needles and thread. besides, i do not like to leave my workbox about. i will go for it. the walk will do me good." "nonsense, it is falling dark." "i will get uncle zachie to walk back with me. i must have my workbox. besides, the fresh air will do me good, and the fog has lifted." "as you will, then." so judith put on her cloak and drew a hood over her head and went back to polzeath. she knew the way perfectly, there was no danger, night had not closed in. it would be a pleasure to her to see the old bird-stuffer's face again, and she wanted to find jamie. she had not seen him nor heard his voice, and she supposed he must be at polzeath. on her arrival at the double cottage, the old fellow was delighted to see her, and to see that she had recovered from the distress and faintness of the morning sufficiently to be able to walk back to his house from her new home. her first question was after jamie. uncle zachie told her that jamie had breakfasted at his table, but he had gone away in the afternoon and he had seen no more of him. the fire was lighted, and uncle zachie insisted on judith sitting by it with him and talking over the events of the day, and on telling him that she was content with her position, reconciled to the change of her state. she sat longer with him than she had intended, listening to his disconnected chatter, and then nothing would suffice him but she must sit at the piano and play through his favorite pieces. "remember, judith, it is the last time i shall have you here to give me this pleasure." she could not refuse him his request, especially as he was to walk back to pentyre with her. thus time passed, and it was with alarm and self-reproach that she started up on hearing the clock strike the half-past, and learned that it was half-past nine, and not half-past eight, as she supposed. as she now insisted on departing, mr. menaida put on his hat. "shall we take a light?" he asked, and then said: "no, we had better not. on such a night as this a moving light is dangerous." "how can it be dangerous?" asked judith. "not to us, my dear child, but to ships at sea. a stationary light might serve as a warning, but a moving light misleads. the captain of a vessel, if he has lost his bearings, as is like enough in the fog, as soon as the mist rises, would see a light gliding along and think it was that of a vessel at sea, and so make in the direction of the light in the belief that there was open water, and so run directly on his destruction." "oh, no, no, uncle, we will not take a light." mr. menaida and judith went out together, she with her workbox under her arm, he with his stick, and her hand resting on his arm. the night was dark, very dark, but the way led for the most part over down, and there was just sufficient light in the sky for the road to be distinguishable. it would be in the lane, between the walls and where overhung by thorns, that the darkness would be most profound. the wind was blowing strongly and the sound of the breakers came on it now, for the cloud had lifted off land and sea, though still hanging low. very dense overhead it could not be, or no light would have pierced the vaporous canopy. uncle zachie and judith walked on talking together, and she felt cheered by his presence, when all at once she stopped, pressed his arm, and said: "oh, do look, uncle! what is that light?" in the direction of the cliffs a light was distinctly visible, now rising, now falling, observing an unevenly undulating motion. "oh, uncle? it is too dreadful. some foolish person is on the downs going home with a lantern, and it may lead to a dreadful error, and a wreck." "i hope to heaven it is only what you say." "what do you mean?" "that it is not done wilfully." "wilfully!" "yes, with the purpose to mislead. look. the movement of the light is exactly that of a ship on a rolling sea." "uncle, let us go there at once and stop it." "i don't know, my dear; if it be done by some unprincipled ruffian he would not be stopped by us." "it must be stopped. and, oh, think! you told me that your oliver is coming home. think of him." "we will go." mr. menaida was drawn along by judith in her eagerness. they left the road to pentyre, and struck out over the downs, keeping their eyes on the light. the distance was deceptive. it seemed to have been much nearer than they found it actually to be. "look! it is coming back!" exclaimed judith. "yes, it is done wilfully. that is to give the appearance of a vessel tacking up channel. stay behind, judith. i will go on." "no. i will go with you. you would not find me again in the darkness if we parted." "the light is coming this way. stand still. it will come directly on us." they drew up. judith clung to uncle zachie's side, her heart beating with excitement, indignation, and anger. "the lantern is fastened to an ass's head," said uncle zachie; "do you see how as the creature moves his head the light is swayed, and that with the rise and fall in the land it looks as though the rise and fall were on the sea. i have my stick. stand behind me, judith." but a voice was heard that made her gasp and clasp the arm of uncle zachie the tighter. neither spoke. the light approached. they could distinguish the lantern, though they could not see what bore it; only--next moment something caught the light--the ear of a donkey thrust forward. again a voice, that of some one urging on the ass. judith let go menaida's arm, sprang forward with a cry: "jamie! jamie! what are you doing!" in a moment she had wrenched the lantern from the head of the ass, and the creature, startled, dashed away and disappeared in the darkness. judith put the light under her cloak. "oh, jamie! jamie! why have you done this! who ever set you to this wicked task?" "i am jack o' lantern," answered the boy. "ju! now my neddy is gone." "jamie, who sent you out to do this? answer me." "captain coppinger!" judith walked on in silence. neither she nor uncle zachie spoke, only jamie whimpered and muttered. suddenly they were surrounded, and a harsh voice exclaimed: "in the king's name. we have you now--showing false lights." judith hastily slung the lantern from beneath her cloak, and saw that there were several men about her, and that the speaker was mr. scantlebray. the latter was surprised when he recognized her. "what!" he said, "i did not expect this--pretty quickly into your apprenticeship. what brings you here! and you, too, menaida, old man?" "nothing simpler," answered uncle zachie. "i am accompanying mrs. coppinger back to the glaze." "what, married in the morning and roving the downs at night?" "i have been to polzeath after my workbox--here it is," said judith. "oh, you are out of your road to pentyre--i suppose you know that," sneered scantlebray. "naturally," replied mr. menaida. "it is dark enough for any one to stray. why! you don't suspect me, do you, of showing false lights and endeavoring to wreck vessels! that would be too good a joke--and the offence, as i told you--capital." scantlebray uttered an oath and turned to the men and said: "captain cruel is too deep for us this time. i thought he had sent the boy out with the ass--instead he has sent his wife--a wife of a few hours, and never told her the mischief she was to do with the lantern--hark!" from the sea the boom of a gun. all stood still as if rooted to the spot. then again the boom of a gun. "there is a wreck!" exclaimed scantlebray. "i thought so--and you, mistress orphing, you're guilty." he turned to the men. "we can make nothing of this affair with the lantern. let us catch the sea-wolves falling on their prey." chapter xxxvi. the sea-wolves. on the doom bar. that very merchantman was wrecked, over which so many cornish mouths had watered, ay, and devonian mouths also, from the moment she had been sighted at st. ives. she had been entangled in the fog, not knowing where she was, all her bearings lost. the wind had risen, and when the day darkened into night the mist had lifted in cruel kindness to show a false glimmer, that was at once taken as the light of a ship beating up the channel. the head of the merchantman was put about, a half-reefed topsail spread, and she ran on her destruction. with a crash she was on the bar. the great bowlers that roll without a break from labrador rushed on behind, beat her, hammered her farther and farther into the sand, surged up at each stroke, swept the decks with mingled foam and water and spray. the main-mast went down with a snap. bent with the sail, at the jerk, as the vessel ran aground, it broke and came down--top-mast, rigging, and sail, in an enveloping, draggled mass. from that moment the captain's voice was no more heard. had he been struck by the falling mast and stunned or beaten overboard? or did he lie on deck enveloped and smothered in wet sail, or had he been caught and strangled by the cordage? none knew, none inquired. a wild panic seized crew and passengers alike. the chief mate had the presence of mind to order the discharge of signals of distress--but the order was imperfectly carried out. a flash, illuminating for a second the glittering froth and heaving sea, then a boom--almost stunned by the roar of the sea, and the screams of women and oaths of sailors, and then panic laid hold of the gunner also and he deserted his post. the word had gone round, none knew from whom, that the vessel had been lured to her destruction by wreckers, and that in a few minutes she would be boarded by these wolves of the sea. the captain, who should have kept order, had disappeared, the mate was disregarded, there was a general _sauve qui peut_. a few women were on board. at the shock they had come on deck, some with children, and the latter were wailing and shrieking with terror. the women implored that they might be saved. men passengers ran about asking what was to be done, and were beaten aside and cursed by the frantic sailors. a portuguese nun was ill with sea-sickness, and sank on the deck like a log, crying to st. joseph between her paroxysms. one man alone seemed to maintain his self-possession, a young man, and he did his utmost to soothe the excited women and abate their terrors. he raised the prostrate nun and insisted on her laying hold of a rope, lest in the swash of the water she should be carried overboard. he entreated the mate to exert his authority and bring the sailors to a sense of their duty, to save the women instead of escaping in the boat, regardful of themselves only. suddenly a steady star, red in color, glared out of the darkness, and between it and the wreck heaved and tossed a welter of waves and foam. "there is land," shouted the mate. "and that shines just where that light was that led us here," retorted a sailor. the vessel heeled to one side, and shipped water fore and aft, over either rail, with a hiss and heave. she plunged, staggered, and sank deeper into the sand. a boat had been lowered and three men were in it, and called to the women to be sharp and join them. but this was no easy matter, for the boat at one moment leaped up on the comb of a black wave, and then sank in its yawning trough, now was close to the side of the ship, and then separated from it by a rift of water. the frightened women were let down by ropes, but in their bewilderment missed their opportunity when the boat was under them, and some fell into the water, and had to be dragged out, others refused to leave the wreck and risk a leap into the little boat. nothing would induce the sick nun to venture overboard. she could not understand english; the young passenger addressed her in portuguese, and finally, losing all patience and finding that precious time was wasted in arguing with a poor creature incapable of reasoning in her present condition, he ordered a sailor to help him, caught her up in his arms, and proceeded to swing himself over, that he might carry her into the boat. but at that moment dark figures occupied the deck, and a man arrested him with his hand, while in a loud and authoritative voice he called, "no one leaves the vessel without my orders. number five, down into the boat and secure that. number seven, go with him. now, one by one, and before each leaves, give over your purses and valuables that you are trying to save. no harm shall be done you, only make no resistance." the ship was in the hands of the wreckers. the men in the boat would have cast off at once, but the two men sent into it, numbers five and seven, prevented them. the presence of the wreckers produced order where there had been confusion before. the man who had laid his hand on the portuguese nun, and had given orders, was obeyed not only by his own men, but by the crew of the merchant vessel, and by the passengers, from whom all thoughts of resistance, if they ever rose, vanished at once. all alike, cowed and docile, obeyed without a murmur, and began to produce from their pockets whatever they had secured and hoped to carry ashore with them. "nudding! me nudding!" gasped the nun. "let her pass down," ordered the man who acted as captain. "now the next--you!" he turned on the young passenger who had assisted the nun. "you scoundrel," shouted the young man, "you shall not have a penny of mine." "we shall see," answered the wrecker, and levelled a pistol at his head. "what answer do you make to this?" the young man struck up the pistol, and it was discharged into the air. then he sprang on the captain, struck him in the chest, and grappled with him. in a moment a furious contest was engaged in between the two on the wet, sloping deck, sloping, for the cargo had shifted. "hah!" shouted the wrecker, "a cornishman." "yes, a cornishman," answered the youth. the wrecker knew whence he came by his method of wrestling. if there had been light, crew, invaders, and passengers would have gathered in a circle and watched the contest; but in the dark, lashed by foam, in the roar of the waves and the pipe of the wind, only one or two that were near were aware of the conflict. some of the crew were below. they had got at the spirits and were drinking. one drunken sailor rushed forth swearing and blaspheming and striking about him. he was knocked down by a wrecker, and a wave that heaved over the deck lifted him and swept him over the bulwarks. the wrestle between the two men in the dark taxed the full nerves and the skill of each. the young passenger was strong and nimble, but he had found his match in the wrecker. the latter was skilful and of great muscular power. first one went down on the knee, then the other, but each was up again in a moment. a blinding whiff of foam and water slashed between them, stinging their eyes, swashing into their mouths, forcing them momentarily to relax their hold of each other, but next moment they had leaped at each other again. now they held each other, breast to breast, and sought, with their arms bowed like the legs of grasshoppers, to strangle or break each other's necks. then, like a clap of thunder, beat a huge billow against the stern, and rolled in a liquid heap over the deck, enveloping the wrestlers, and lifted them from their feet and cast them, writhing, pounding each other, on the deck. there were screams and gasps from the women as they escaped from the water; the nun shrieked to st. joseph--she had lost her hold and fell overboard, but was caught and placed in the boat. "now another," was the shout. "hand me your money," demanded one of the wreckers. "madam, have no fear. we do not hurt women. i will help you into the boat." "i have nothing--nothing but this! what shall i do if you take my money?" "i am sorry--you must either remain and drown when the ship breaks up or give me the purse." she gave up the purse and was safely lodged below. "who are you?" gasped the captain of the wreckers in a moment of relaxation from the desperate struggle. "an honest man--and you a villain," retorted the young passenger, and the contest was recommenced. "let go," said the wrecker, "and you shall be allowed to depart--and carry your money with you." "i ask no man's leave to carry what is my own," answered the youth. he put his hand to his waist and unbuckled a belt, to this belt was attached a pouch well weighted with metal. "there is all i have in the world--and with it i will beat your brains out." he whirled the belt and money bag round his head and brought it down with a crash upon his adversary, who staggered back. the young man struck at him again, but in the dark missed him, and with the violence of the blow and weight of the purse was carried forward, and on the slippery inclined planks fell. "now i have you," shouted the other; he flung himself on the prostrate man and planted his knee on his back. but, assisted by the inclination of the deck, the young man slipped from beneath his antagonist, and half-rising caught him and dashed him against the rail. the wrecker was staggered for a moment, and had the passenger seized the occasion he might have finished the conflict; but his purse had slipped from his hand, and he groped for the belt till he found one end at his feet, and now he twisted the belt round and about his right arm and weighted his fist with the pouch. the captain recovered from the blow, and flung himself on his adversary, grasped his arms between the shoulder and elbow, and bore him back against the bulwark, drove him against it, and cast himself upon him. "i've spared your life so far. now i'll spare you no more," said he, and the young man felt one of his arms released. he could not tell at the time, he never could decide after how he knew it, but he was certain that his enemy was groping at his side for his knife. then the hand of the wrecker closed on his throat, and the young man's head was driven back over the rail, almost dislocating the neck. it was then as though the young man saw into the mind of him who had cast himself against him, and who was strangling him. he knew that he could not find his knife, but he saw nothing, only a fire and blood before his eyes that looked up into the black heavens, and he felt naught save agony at the nape of his neck, where his spine was turned back on the bulwarks. "number seven! any of you! an axe!" roared the wrecker. "by heaven you shall be as wyvill! and float headless on the waves." "coppinger!" cried the young man, by a desperate effort liberating his hand. he threw his arms round the wrecker. a dash and a boil of froth, and both went overboard, fighting as they fell into the surf. "in the king's name!" shouted a harsh voice. "surround--secure them all. now we have them and they shall not escape." the wreck was boarded by, and in the hands of, the coast-guard. chapter xxxvii. bruised not broken. "come with me, uncle!" said judith. "my dear, i will follow you like a dog, everywhere." "i want to go to the rectory." "to the rectory! at this time of night!" "at once." when the down was left there was no longer necessity for hiding the lantern, as they were within lanes, and the light would not be seen at sea. the distance to the parsonage was not great, and the little party were soon there, but were somewhat puzzled how to find the door, owing to the radical transformations of the approaches effected by the new rector. mr. desiderius mules was not in bed. he was in his study, without his collar and necktie, smoking, and composing a sermon. it is not only _lucus_ which is derived from _non lucendo_. a study in many a house is equally misnamed. in that of mr. mules's house it had some claim, perhaps, to its title, for in it, once a week, mr. desiderius cudgelled his brains how to impart form to an inchoate mass of notes; but it hardly deserved its name as a place where the brain was exercised in absorption of information. the present study was the old pantry. the old study had been occupied by a man of reading and of thought. perhaps it was not unsuitable that the pantry should become mr. mules's study, and where the maid had emptied her slop-water after cleaning forks and plates should be the place for the making of the theological slop-water that was to be poured forth on the sunday. but--what a word has been here used--theological--another _lucus a non lucendo_, for there was nothing of theology proper in the stuff compounded by mr. mules. we shall best be able to judge by observing him engaged on his sermon for sunday. in his mouth was a pipe, on the table a jar of bird's-eye; _item_, a tumbler of weak brandy and water to moisten his lips with occasionally. it was weak. mr. mules never took a drop more than was good for him. before him were arranged in a circle his materials for composition. on his extreme left was what he termed his treacle-pot. that was a volume of unctuous piety. then came his dish of flummery. that was a volume of ornate discourses by a crack ladies' preacher. next his spice-box. that was a little store of anecdotes, illustrations, and pungent sayings. pearson on the creed, bishop andrews, or any work of solid divinity was not to be found either on his table or on his shelves. a commentary was outspread, and a concordance. the reverend desiderius mules sipped his brandy and water, took a long whiff of his pipe, and then wrote his text. then he turned to his commentary and extracted from it junks of moralization upon his text and on other texts which his concordance told him had more or less to do with his head text. then he peppered his paper well over with quotations, those in six lines preferred to those in three. "now," said the manufacturer of the sermon, "i must have a little treacle. i suppose those bumpkins will like it, but not much, i hate it myself. it is ridiculous. and i can dish up a trifle of flummery in here and there conveniently, and--let me see. i'll work up to a story near the tail somehow. but what heading shall i give my discourse? 'pon my word i don't know what its subject is--we'll call it general piety. that will do admirably. yes, general piety. come in! who's there?" a servant entered and said that there were mr. menaida and the lady that was married that morning, at the door, wanting to speak with him. should she show them into the study? mr. mules looked at his brandy and water, then at his array of material for composition, and then at his neckerchief on the floor, and said: "no, into the drawing-room." the maid was to light the candles. he would put on his collar and be with them shortly. so the sermon had to be laid aside. presently mr. desiderius mules entered his drawing-room, where judith, uncle zachie, and jamie were awaiting him. "a late visit, but always welcome," said the rector. "sorry i kept you waiting, but i was _en deshabille_. what can i do for you now, eh?" judith was composed, she had formed her resolution. she said, "you married me this morning when i was unconscious. i answered but one of your questions. will you get your prayer-book and i will make my responses to all those questions you put to me when i was in a dead faint." "oh, not necessary. sign the register and it is all right. silence gives consent, you know." "i wish it otherwise, particularly, and then you can judge for yourself whether silence gives consent." mr. desiderius mules ran back into his study, pulled a whiff at his pipe to prevent the fire from going out, moistened his untempered clay with brandy and water, and came back again with a book of common prayer. "here we are," said he. "'wilt thou have this man,' and so on--you answered to that, i believe. then comes 'i, judith, take thee, curll, to my wedded husband'--you were indistinct over that, i believe." "i remember nothing about it. now i will say distinctly my meaning. i will _not_ take curll coppinger to my wedded husband, and thereto i will never give my troth--so help me, god." "goodness gracious!" exclaimed the rector. "you put me in a queer position. i married you, and you can't undo what is done. you have the ring on your finger." "no, here it is. i return it." "i refuse to take it. i have nothing whatever to do with the ring. captain coppinger put it on your hand." "when i was unconscious." "but am i to be choused out of my fee--as out of other things!" "you shall have your fee. do not concern yourself about that. i refuse to consider myself married. i refuse to sign the register, no man shall force me to it, and if it comes to law, here are witnesses, you yourself are a witness, that i was unconscious when you married me." "i shall get into trouble! this is a very unpleasant state of affairs." "it is more unpleasant for me than for you," said judith. "it is a most awkward complication. never heard of such a case before. don't you think that after a good night's rest and a good supper--and let me advise a stiff glass of something warm, taken medicinally, you understand--that you will come round to a better mind." "to another mind i shall not come round. i suppose i am half married--never by my will shall that half be made into a whole." "and what do you want me to do?" asked mr. mules, thoroughly put out of his self-possession by this extraordinary scene. "nothing," answered judith, "save to bear testimony that i utterly and entirely refuse to complete the marriage which was half done--by answering to those questions with a consent, which i failed to answer in church because i fainted, and to wear the ring which was forced on me when i was insensible, and to sign the register now i am in full possession of my wits. we will detain you no longer." judith left along with jamie and mr. menaida, and mr. mules returned to his sermon. he pulled at his pipe till the almost expired fire was rekindled into glow, and he mixed himself a little more brandy and water. then with his pipe in the corner of his mouth he looked at his discourse. it did not quite please him, it was undigested. "dear me!" said mr. desiderius. "my mind is all of a whirl, and i can do nothing to this now. it must go as it is--yet stay, i'll change the title. general piety is rather pointless. i'll call it practical piety." judith returned to pentyre glaze. she was satisfied with what she had done; anger and indignation were in her heart. the man to whom she had given her hand had enlisted her poor brother in the wicked work of luring unfortunate sailors to their destruction. she could hardly conceive of anything more diabolical than this form of wrecking: her jamie was involved in the crime of drawing men to their death. a ship had been wrecked, she knew that by the minute guns, and if lives were lost from it, the guilt in a measure rested on the head of jamie. but for her intervention he would have been taken in the act of showing light to mislead mariners, and would certainly have been brought before magistrates and most probably have been imprisoned. the thought that her brother, the son of such a father, should have escaped this disgrace through an accident only, and that he had been subjected to the risk by coppinger, filled her veins with liquid fire. thenceforth there could be nothing between her and captain cruel, save antipathy, resentment, and contempt on her part. his passion for her must cool or chase itself away. she would never yield to him a hair's breadth. judith threw herself on her bed, in her clothes. she could not sleep. wrath against coppinger seethed in her young heart. concerned she was for the wrecked, but concern for them was over-lapped by fiery indignation against the wrecker. there was also in her breast self-reproach. she had not accepted as final her father's judgment on the man. she had allowed coppinger's admiration of herself to move her from a position of uncompromising hostility, and to awake in her suspicions that her dear, dear father might have been mistaken, and that the man he condemned might not be guilty as he supposed. as she lay tossing on her bed, turning from side to side, her face now flaming, then white, she heard a noise in the house. she sat up on her bed and listened. there was now no light in the room, and she would not go into that of her aunt to borrow one. miss trevisa might be asleep, and would be vexed to be disturbed. moreover resentment against her aunt for having forced her into the marriage was strong in the girl's heart, and she had no wish to enter into any communications with her. so she sat on her bed, listening. there was certainly disturbance below. what was the meaning of it? presently she heard her aunt's voice down-stairs. she was therefore not asleep in her room. thereupon judith descended the stairs to the hall. there she found captain coppinger being carried to his bedroom by two men, while miss trevisa held a light. he was streaming with water that made pools on the floor. "what is the matter? is he hurt? is he hurt seriously?" she asked, her woman's sympathy at once aroused by the sight of suffering. "he has had a bad fall," replied her aunt. "he went to a wreck that has been cast on doom bar, to help to save the unfortunate, and save what they value equally with their lives--their goods, and he was washed overboard. fell into the sea, and was dashed against that boat. yes--he is injured. no bones broken _this_ time. this time he had to do with the sea and with men. but he is badly bruised. go on," she said to those who were conveying coppinger. "he is in pain, do you not see this as you stand here? lay him on his bed, and remove his clothes. he is drenched to the skin. i will brew him a posset." "may i help you, aunt?" "i can do it myself." judith remained with miss trevisa. she said nothing to her till the posset was ready. then she offered to carry it to her husband. "as you will--here it is," said aunt dionysia. thereupon judith took the draught, and went with it to captain coppinger's room. he was in his bed. no one was with him, but a candle burned on the table. "you have come to me, judith?" he said with glad surprise. "yes--i have brought you the posset. drink it out to the last drop." she handed it to him; and he took the hot caudle. "i need not finish the bowl?" he asked. "yes--to the last drop." he complied, and then suddenly withdrew the vessel from his lips. "what is this--at the bottom?--a ring?" he extracted a plain gold ring from the bowl. "what is the meaning of this? it is a wedding-ring." "yes--mine." "it is early to lose it." "i threw it in." "you--judith--why?" "i return it to you." he raised himself on one elbow and looked at her fixedly with threatening eyes. "what is the meaning of this?" "that ring was put on my finger when i was unconscious. wait till i accept it freely." "but--judith--the wedding is over." "only a half wedding." "well--well--it shall soon be a whole one. we will have the register signed to-morrow." judith shook her head. "you are acting strangely to-night," said he. "answer me," said judith. "did you not send out jamie with a light to mislead the sailors, and draw them on to doom bar?" "jamie, again!" exclaimed coppinger, impatiently. "yes, i have to consider for jamie. answer me, did you not send him----" he burst in angrily, "if you will--yes--he took the light to the shore. i knew there was a wreck. when a ship is in distress she must have a light." "you are not speaking the truth. answer me, did you go on board the wrecked vessel to save those who were cast away?" "they would not have been saved without me. they had lost their heads--every one." "captain coppinger," said judith, "i have lost all trust in you. i return you the ring which i will never wear. i have been to see the rector and told him that i refuse you, and i will never sign the register." "i will force the ring on to your finger," said coppinger. "you are a man, stronger than i--but i can defend myself, as you know to your cost. half married we are--and so must remain, and never, never shall we be more than that." then she left the room, and coppinger dashed his posset cup to the ground, but held the ring and turned it in his fingers, and the light flickered on it, a red gold ring like that red gold hair that was about his throat. chapter xxxviii. a change of wind. after many years of separation, father and son were together once more. early in the morning after the wreck in dover bar, oliver menaida appeared at his father's cottage, bruised and wet through, but in health and with his purse in his hand. when he had gone overboard with the wrecker, the tide was falling and he had been left on the sands of the bar, where he had spent a cold and miserable night, with only the satisfaction to warm him that his life and his money were his. he was not floating, like wyvill, a headless trunk, nor was he without his pouch that contained his gold and valuable papers. mr. menaida was roused from sleep very early to admit oliver. the young man had recognized where he was, as soon as sufficient light was in the sky, and he had been carried across the estuary of the camel by one of the boats that was engaged in clearing the wreck, under the direction of the captain of the coast-guard. but three men had been arrested on the wrecked vessel, three of those who had boarded her for plunder, all the rest had effected their escape, and it was questionable whether these three could be brought to justice, as they protested they had come from shore as salvers. they had heard the signals of distress and had put off to do what they could for those who were in jeopardy. no law forbad men coming to the assistance of the wrecked. it could not be proved that they had laid their hands on and kept for their own use any of the goods of the passengers or any of the cargo of the vessel. it was true that from some of the women their purses had been exacted, but the men taken professed their innocence of having done this, and the man who had made the demand--there was but one--had disappeared. unhappily he had not been secured. it was a question also whether proceedings could be taken relative to the exhibition of lights that had misguided the merchantman. the coast-guard had come on mr. menaida and judith on the downs with a light, but he was conducting her to her new house, and there could be entertained against them no suspicion of having acted with evil intent. "do you know, father," said oliver, after he was rested, had slept and fed, "i am pretty sure that the scoundrel who attacked me was captain coppinger. i cannot swear. it is many years now since i heard his voice, and when i did hear it, it was but very occasionally. what made me suspect at the time that i was struggling with captain cruel was that he had my head back over the gunwale and called for an axe, swearing that he would treat me like wyvill. that story was new when i left home, and folk said that coppinger had killed the man." mr. menaida fidgeted. "that was the man who was at the head of the entire gang. he it was who issued the orders which the rest obeyed; and he, moreover, was the man who required the passengers to deliver up their purses and valuables before he allowed them to enter the boat." "between ourselves," said uncle zachie, rubbing his chin and screwing up his mouth, "between you and me and the poker, i have no doubt about it, and i could bring his neck into the halter if i chose." "then why do you not, father? the ruffian would not have scrupled to hack off my head had an axe been handy, or had i waited till he had got hold of one." mr. menaida shook his head. "there are a deal of things that belong to all things," he said. "i was on the down with my little pet and idol, judith, and we had the lantern, and it was that lantern that proved fatal to your vessel." "what, father! we owe our wreck to you?" "no, and yet it must be suffered to be so supposed, i must allow many hard words to be rapped out against me, my want of consideration, my scatterbrainedness. i admit that i am not a solomon, but i should not be such an ass, such a criminal, as on a night like the last to walk over the downs above the cliffs with a lantern. nevertheless i cannot clear myself." "why not?" "because of judith." "i do not understand." "i was escorting her home, to her husband's----" "is she married?" "'pon my word, i can't say; half and half----" "i do not understand you." "i will explain, later," said mr. menaida. "it's a perplexing question, and though i was brought up at the law, upon my word i can't say how the law would stand in the matter." "but how about the false lights?" "i am coming to that. when the preventive men came on us, led by scantlebray--and why he was with them, and what concern it was of his, i don't know--when the guard found us, it is true judith had the lantern, but it was under her cloak." "we, however, saw the light for some time." "yes, but neither she nor i showed it. we had not brought a light with us. we knew that it would be wrong to do so, but we came on someone driving an ass with a lantern affixed to the head of the brute." "then say so." "i cannot--that person was judith's brother." "but he is an idiot." "he was sent out with the light." "well, then, that person who sent him will be punished and the silly boy will come off scot free." "i cannot--he who sent the boy was judith's husband." "judith's husband! who is that?" "captain coppinger." "well, what of that? the man is a double-dyed villain. he ought to be brought to justice. consider the crimes of which he has been guilty. consider what he has done this past night. i cannot see, father, that merely because you esteem a young person, who may be very estimable, we should let a consummate scoundrel go free, solely because he is her husband. he has brought a fine ship to wreck, he has produced much wretchedness and alarm. indeed, he has been the occasion of some lives being lost, for one or two of the sailors, thinking we were going to davy jones's locker, got drunk and were carried overboard. then, consider, he robbed some of the unhappy, frightened women as they were escaping. bless me!" oliver sprang up and paced the room. "it makes my blood seethe. the fellow deserves no consideration. give him up to justice; let him be hung or transported." mr. menaida passed his hand through his hair, and lit his pipe. "'pon my word," said he, "there's a good deal to be said on your side--and yet----" "there is everything to be said on my side," urged oliver, with vehemence. "the man is engaged on his nefarious traffic. winter is setting in. he will wreck other vessels as well, and if you spare him now, then the guilt of causing the destruction of other vessels and the loss of more lives will rest in a measure on you." "and yet," pleaded menaida, senior, "i don't know--i don't like--you see----" "you are moved by a little sentiment for miss judith trevisa, or--i beg her pardon--mrs. cruel coppinger. but it is a mistake, father. if you had had this sentimental regard for her, and value for her, you should not have suffered her to marry such a scoundrel, past redemption." "i could not help it. i told her that the man was bad--that is to say--i believed he was a smuggler, and that he was generally credited with being a wrecker as well. but there were other influences--other forces at work--i could not help it." "the sooner we can rid her of this villain the better," persisted oliver. "i cannot share your scruples, father." then the door opened and judith entered. oliver stood up. he had reseated himself on the opposite side of the fire to his father, after the ebullition of wrath that had made him pace the room. he saw before him a delicate, girlish figure--a child in size and in innocence of face, but with a woman's force of character in the brow, clear eyes, and set mouth. she was ivory white; her golden hair was spread out about her face--blown by the wind, it was a veritable halo, such as is worn by an angel of la fiesole in cimabue. her long, slender, white throat was bare; she had short sleeves, to the elbows, and bare arms. her stockings were white, under the dark-blue gown. oliver menaida had spent a good many years in portugal, and had seen flat faces, sallow complexions, and dark hair--women without delicacy of bone and grace of figure--and, on his return to england, the first woman he saw was judith--this little, pale, red-gold-headed creature, with eyes iridescent and full of a soul that made them sparkle and change color with every change of emotion in the heart and of thought in the busy brain. oliver was a fine man, tall, with a bright and honest face, fair hair, and blue eyes. he started back from his seat and looked at this child-bride who entered his father's cottage. he knew at once who she was, from the descriptions he had received of her from his father in letters from home. he did not understand how she had become the wife of cruel coppinger. he had not heard the story from his father, still less could he comprehend the enigmatical words of his father relative to her half-and-half marriage. as now he looked on this little figure, that breathed an atmosphere of perfect purity, of untouched innocence, and yet not mixed with that weakness which so often characterizes innocence--on the contrary blended with a strength and force beyond her years--oliver's heart rose with a bound and smote against his ribs. he was overcome with a qualm of infinite pity for this poor, little, fragile being, whose life was linked with that of one so ruthless as coppinger. looking at that anxious face, at those lustrous eyes, set in lids that were reddened with weeping, he knew that the iron had entered into her soul, that she had suffered and was suffering then; nay, more, that the life opening before her would be one of almost unrelieved contrariety and sorrow. at once he understood his father's hesitation when he urged him to increase the load of shame and trouble that lay on her. he could not withdraw his eyes from judith. she was to him a vision so wonderful, so strange, so thrilling, so full of appeal to his admiration and to his chivalry. "here, ju! here is my oliver, of whom i have told you so much!" said menaida, running up to judith. "oliver, boy! she has read your letters, and i believe they gave her almost as great pleasure as they did me. she was always interested in you. i mean ever since she came into my house, and we have talked together about you, and upon my word it really seemed as if you were to her as a brother." a faint smile came on judith's face; she held out her hand and said: "yes, i have come to love your dear father, who has been to me so kind, and to jamie also; he has been full of thought--i mean kindness. what has interested him has interested me. i call him uncle, so i will call you cousin. may it be so?" he touched her hand; he did not dare to grasp the frail, slender white hand. but as he touched it, there boiled up in his heart a rage against coppinger, that he--this man steeped in iniquity--should have obtained possession of a pearl set in ruddy gold--a pearl that he was, so thought oliver, incapable of appreciating. "how came you here?" asked judith. "your father has been expecting you some time, but not so soon." "i am come off the wreck." she started back and looked fixedly on him. "what--you were wrecked?--in that ship last night?" "yes. after the fog lifted we were quite lost as to where we were, and ran aground." "what led you astray?" "our own bewilderment and ignorance as to where we were." "and you got ashore?" "yes. i was put across by the preventive men. i spent half the night on doom bar." "were any lives lost?" "only those lost their lives who threw them away. some tipsy sailors, who got at the spirits, and drank themselves drunk." "and--did any others--i mean did any wreckers come to your ship?" "salvors? yes; salvors came to save what could be saved. that is always so." judith drew a long breath of relief; but she could not forget jamie and the ass. "you were not led astray by false lights?" "any lights we might have seen were sure to lead us astray, as we did not in the least know where we were." "thank you," said judith. then she turned to uncle zachie. "i have a favor to ask of you." "anything you ask i will do." "it is to let jamie live here, he is more likely to be well employed, less likely to get in wrong courses, than at the glaze. alas! i cannot be with him always and everywhere, and i cannot trust him there. here he has his occupation; he can help you with the birds. there he has nothing, and the men he meets are not such as i desire that he should associate with. besides, you know, uncle, what occurred last night, and why i am anxious to get him away." "yes," answered the old man; "i'll do my best. he shall be welcome here." "moreover, captain coppinger dislikes him. he might in a fit of anger maltreat him; i cannot say that he _would_, but he makes no concealment of his dislike." "send jamie here." "and then i can come every day and see him, how he is getting on, and can encourage him with his work, and give him his lessons as usual." "it will always be a delight to me to have you here." "and to me--to come." she might have said, "to be away from pentyre," but she refrained from saying that. with a faint smile--a smile that was but the twinkle of a tear--she held out her hand to say farewell. uncle zachie clasped it, and then, suddenly, she bent and kissed his hand. "you must not do that," said he, hastily. she looked piteously into his eyes, and said, in a whisper that he alone could hear--"i am so lonely." when she was gone the old man returned to the ingle nook and resumed his pipe. he did not speak, but every now and then he put one finger furtively to his cheek, wiped off something, and drew very vigorous whiffs of tobacco. nor was oliver inclined to speak; he gazed dreamily into the fire, with contracted brows, and hands that were clenched. a quarter of an hour thus passed. then oliver looked up at his father, and said: "there is worse wrecking than that of ships. can nothing be done for this poor little craft, drifting in fog--aimless!--and going on to the rocks?" uncle zachie again wiped his cheek, and in his thoughtlessness wiped it with the bowl of his pipe and burnt himself. he shook his head. "now tell me what you meant when you said she was but half married," said oliver. then his father related to him the circumstances of judith's forced engagement, and of the incomplete marriage of the day before. "by my soul!" exclaimed oliver. "he must--he shall not treat her as he did our vessel." "oh, oliver! if i had had my way--i had designed her for you." "for me!" oliver bent his head and looked hard into the fire, where strange forms of light were dancing--dancing and disappearing. then mr. menaida said, between his whiffs: "surely a change of wind, oliver. a little while ago, and she was not to be considered; justice above all, and judith sacrificed, if need be--now it is judith above all." "yes," musingly, "above all." chapter xxxix. a first lie. as a faithful, as a loving wife almost, did judith attend to coppinger for the day or two before he was himself again. he had been bruised, that was all. the waves had driven him against the boat, and he had been struck by an oar; but the very fact that he was driven against the boat had proved his salvation, for he was drawn on board, and his own men carried him swiftly to the bank, and, finding him unable to walk, conveyed him home. on reaching home a worse blow than that of the oar had struck him, and struck him on the heart, and it was dealt him by his wife. she bade him put away from him for ever the expectation, the hope, of her becoming his in more than name. pain and disappointment made him irritable. he broke out into angry complaint, and judith had much to endure. she did not answer him. she had told him her purpose, and she would neither be bullied nor cajoled to alter it. judith had much time to herself; she wandered through the rooms of pentyre during the day without encountering anyone, and then strolled on the cliffs; wherever she went she carried her trouble with her, gnawing at her heart. there was no deliverance for her, and she did not turn her mind in that direction. she would remain what she was--coppinger's half-wife, a wife without a wedding-ring, united to him by a most dubiously legal ceremony. she bore his name, she was content to do that; she must bear with his love turned to fury by disappointment. she would do that till it died away before her firm and unchangeable opposition. "what will be said," growled coppinger, "when it is seen that you wear no ring?" "i will wear my mother's, and turn the stone within," answered judith, "then it will be like our marriage, a semblance, nothing more." she did appear next day with a ring. when the hand was closed, it looked like a plain gold wedding hoop. when she opened and turned her hand, it was apparent that within was a small brilliant. a modest ring, a very inexpensive one, that her father had given to her mother as a guard. modest and inexpensive because his purse could afford no better; not because he would not have given her the best diamonds available, had he possessed the means to purchase them. this ring had been removed from the dead finger of her mother, and mr. peter trevisa had preserved it as a present for the daughter. almost every day judith went to polzeath to give lessons to jamie, and to see how the boy was going on. jamie was happy with mr. menaida, he liked a little desultory work, and oliver was kind to him, took him walks, and talked to him of scenes in portugal. very often, indeed, did judith, when she arrived, find oliver at his father's. he would sometimes sit through the lesson, often attend her back to the gate of pentyre. his conduct toward her was deferential, tinged with pity. she could see in his eyes, read in his manner of address, that he knew her story, and grieved for her, and would do anything he could to release her from her place of torment, if he knew how. but he never spoke to her of coppinger, never of her marriage, and the peculiar features that attended it. she often ventured on the topic of the wreck, and he saw that she was probing him to discover the truth concerning it, but he on no occasion allowed himself to say anything that could give her reason to believe her husband was the cause of the ship being lost, nor did he tell her of his own desperate conflict with the wrecker captain on board the vessel. he was a pleasant companion, cheerful and entertaining. having been abroad, though not having travelled widely, he could tell much about portugal, and something about spain. judith's eager mind was greedy after information, and it diverted her thoughts from painful topics to hear and talk about orange and lemon groves, the vineyards, the flower-gardens, the manners and customs of the people of portugal, to see sketches of interesting places, and of the costumes of the peasantry. what drew her to oliver specially was, however, his consideration for jamie, to whom he was always kind, and whom he was disposed to amuse. the wreck of the merchantman on doom bar had caused a great commotion among the inhabitants of cornwall. all the gentry, clergy, and the farmers and yeomen not immediately on the coast, felt that wrecking was not only a monstrous act of inhumanity, but was a scandal to the county, and ought to be peremptorily suppressed, and those guilty of it brought to justice. it was currently reported that the merchantman from oporto was wilfully wrecked, and that an attempt had been made to rob and plunder the passengers and the vessel. but the evidence in support of this view was of little force. the only persons who had been found with a light on the cliffs were mr. menaida, whom every one respected for his integrity, and judith, the daughter of the late rector of st. enodoc, the most strenuous and uncompromising denouncer of wrecking. no one, however malicious, could believe either to be guilty of more than imprudence. the evidence as to the attempt of wreckers to invade the ship, and plunder it and the passengers also broke down. one lady alone could swear that her purse had been forcibly taken from her. the portuguese men could hardly understand english, and though she asserted that she had been asked for money, she could not say that anything had been taken from her. it was quite possible that she had misunderstood an order given her to descend into the boat. the night had been dark, the lady who had been robbed could not swear to the identity of the man who had taken her purse, she could not even say that it was one of those who had come to the vessel, and was not one of the crew. the crew had behaved notoriously badly, some had been drunk, and it was possible that one of these fellows, flushed with spirits, had demanded and taken her money. there were two or three st. enodoc men arrested because found on the ship at the time, but they persisted in the declaration that, hearing signals of distress, they had kindled a light and set it in the tower window of the church as a guide to the shipwrecked, and had gone to the vessel aground on doom bar, with the intention of offering every assistance in their power to the castaways. they asserted that they had found the deck in confusion. the seamen drunk and lost to discipline, the passengers helpless and frightened, and that it was only owing to them that some sort of order was brought about, or attempted. the arrival of the coast-guard interfered with their efforts to be useful. the magistrates were constrained to dismiss the case, although possessed with the moral conviction that the matter was not as the accused represented. the only person who could have given evidence that might have consigned them to prison was oliver, and he was not called upon to give witness. but, although the case had broken down completely, an uneasy and angry feeling prevailed. people were not convinced that the wreck was accidental, and they believed that but for the arrival of the guard, the passengers would have been robbed and the ship looted. it was true enough that a light had been exhibited from st. enodoc tower, but that served as a guide to those who rushed upon the wreck, and was every whit as much to their advantage as to that of the shipwrecked men. for, suppose that the crew and passengers had got off in their boats, they would have made, naturally, for the light, and who could say but that a gang of ruffians was not waiting on the shore to plunder them as they landed. the general feeling in the county was one of vexation that more prompt action had not been taken, or that the action taken had not been more successful. no man showed this feeling more fully than mr. scantlebray, who hunted with the coast-guard for his own ends, and who had felt sanguine that in this case coppinger would be caught. that coppinger was at the bottom of the attempt, which had been partly successful, few doubted, and yet there was not a shadow of proof against him. but that, according to common opinion, only showed how deep was his craft. the state of judith's mind was also one of unrest. she had a conviction seated in her heart that all was not right, and yet she had no sound cause for charging her husband with being a deliberate wrecker. jamie had gone out with his ass and the lantern, that was true, but was jamie's account of the affair to be relied on? when questioned he became confused. he never could be trusted to recall, twenty-four hours after an event, the particulars exactly as they occurred. any suggestive queries drew him aside, and without an intent to deceive he would tell what was a lie, simply because he could not distinguish between realities and fleeting impressions. she knew that if she asked him whether coppinger had fastened the lantern to the head of his donkey, and had bidden him drive the creature slowly up and down the inequalities of the surface of the cliffs, he would assent, and say it was so; but, then, if she were to say to him, "now, jamie, did not captain coppinger tell you on no account to show the light till you reached the shore at st. enodoc, and then to fix it steadily," that his face would for a moment assume a vacant, then a distressed expression, and he would finally say that he believed it really was so. no reliance was to be placed on anything he said, except at the moment, and not always then. he was liable to misunderstand directions, and by a stupid perversity to act exactly contrary to the instructions given him. judith heard nothing of the surmises that floated in the neighborhood, but she knew enough to be uneasy. she had been somewhat reassured by oliver menaida; she could see no reason why he should withhold the truth from her. was it, then, possible after all that captain coppinger had gone to the rescue of the wrecked people, that he had sent the light not to mislead, but to direct them aright? it was judith's fate--so it seemed--to be never certain whether to think the worst of coppinger, or to hold that he had been misjudged by her. he had been badly hurt in his attempt to rescue the crew and passengers--according to aunt dionysia's account. if she were to believe this story, then he was deserving of respect. judith began to recover some of her cheerfulness, some of her freshness of looks. this was due to the abatement of her fears. coppinger had angrily, sullenly, accepted the relation which she had assured him must subsist between them, and which could never be altered. aunt dionysia was peevish and morose indeed. she had been disappointed in her hope of getting into othello cottage before christmas; but she had apparently received a caution from coppinger not to exhibit ill-will toward his wife by word or token, and she restrained herself, though with manifest effort. that sufficed judith. she no longer looked for, cared for love from her aunt. it satisfied her if miss trevisa left her unmolested. moreover, judith enjoyed the walk to polzeath every day, and, somehow, the lessons to jamie gave her an interest that she had never found in them before. oliver was so helpful. when jamie was stubborn, he persuaded him with a joke or a promise to laugh and put aside his ill-humor, and attack the task once more. the little gossiping talk after the lesson with oliver, or with oliver and his father, was a delight to her. she looked forward to it, from day to day, naturally, reasonably, for at the glaze she had no one with whom to converse, no one with the same general interests as herself, the same knowledge of books, and pleasure in the acquisition of information. on mountain sides there are floral zones. the rhododendron and the gentian luxuriate at a certain level, above is the zone of the blue hippatica, the soldanella, and white crocus; below is the belt of mealy primula and lilac clematis. so is it in the world of minds--they have their levels, and can only live on those levels. transplant them to a higher or to a lower zone and they suffer, and die. judith found no one at pentyre with whom she could associate with pleasure. it was only when she was at polzeath with uncle zachie and oliver that she could talk freely and feel in her element. one day oliver said to her, "judith"--for, on the understanding that they were cousins, they called each other by their christian names--"judith! are you going to the ball at wadebridge after christmas?" "ball, oliver, what ball?" "that which mr. mules is giving for the restoration of his church." "i do not know. i--yes, i have heard of it; but i had clean forgotten all about it. i had rather not." "but you must, and promise me three dances, at least." "i do not know what to say. captain coppinger"--she never spoke of her husband by his christian name, never thought of him as other than captain coppinger. did she think of oliver as mr. menaida, junior? "captain coppinger has not said anything to me about it of late. i do not wish to go. my dear father's death----" "but the dance is after christmas. and, you know, it is for a sacred purpose. think, every whirl you take puts a new stone on the foundations, and every setting to your partner in quadrille adds a pane of glass to the battered windows." "i do not know," again said judith, and became grave. her heart fluttered. she would like to be at the ball--and dance three dances with oliver--but would captain coppinger suffer her? would he expect to dance with her all the evening? if that were so, she would not like to go. "i really do not know," again she said, clasped her hands on her knees, and sighed. "why that sigh, judith?" she looked up, dropped her eyes in confusion, and said faintly, "i do not know," and that was her first lie. chapter xl. the diamond butterfly. poor little fool! shrewd in maintaining her conflict with cruel coppinger--always on the defensive, ever on guard, she was sliding unconsciously, without the smallest suspicion of danger, into a state that must eventually make her position more desperate and intolerable. in her inexperience she had never supposed that her own heart could be a traitor within the city walls. she took pleasure in the society of oliver, and thought no wrong in so doing. she liked him, and would have reproached herself had she not done so. her relations with coppinger remained strained. he was a good deal from home; indeed, he went on a cruise in his vessel, the black prince, and was absent for a month. he hoped that in his absence she might come to a better mind. they met, when he was at home, at meals; at other times not at all. he went his way, she went hers. whether the agitation of men's minds relative to the loss of the merchantman, and the rumors concerning the manner of its loss, had made captain cruel think it were well for him to absent himself for a while, till they had blown away, or whether he thought that his business required his attention elsewhere, or that by being away from home his wife might be the readier to welcome him, and come out of her vantage castle, and lay down her arms, cannot be said for certain; probably all these motives combined to induce him to leave pentyre for five or six weeks. while he was away judith was lighter in heart. he returned shortly before christmas, and was glad to see her more like her old self, with cheeks rounder, less livid, eyes less sunken, less like those of a hunted beast, and with a step that had resumed its elasticity. but he did not find her more disposed to receive him with affection as a husband. he thought that probably some change in the monotony of life at pentyre might be of advantage, and he somewhat eagerly entered into the scheme for the ball at wadebridge. she had been kept to books and to the society of her father too much, in days gone by, and had become whimsical and prudish. she must learn some of the enjoyments of life, and then she would cling to the man who opened to her a new sphere of happiness. "judith," said he, "we will certainly go to this ball. it will be a pleasant one. as it is for a charitable purpose, all the neighborhood will be there. squire humphrey prideaux of prideaux place, the matthews of roscarrock, the molesworths of pencarrow, and every one worth knowing in the country round for twelve miles. but you will be the queen of the ball." judith at first thought of appearing at the dance in her simplest evening dress; she was shy and did not desire to attract attention. her own position was anomalous, because that of coppinger was anomalous. he passed as a gentleman in a part of the country not very exacting that the highest culture should prevail in the upper region of society. he had means, and he owned a small estate. but no one knew whence he came, or what was the real source whence he derived his income. suspicion attached to him as engaged in both smuggling and wrecking, neither of which were regarded as professions consonant with gentility. the result of this uncertainty relative to coppinger was that he was not received into the best society. the gentlemen knew him and greeted him in the hunting-field, and would dine with him at his house. the ladies, of course, had never been invited, because he was an unmarried man. the gentlemen probably had dealings with him about which they said nothing to their wives. it is certain that the bodmin wine-merchant grumbled that the great houses of the north of cornwall did not patronize him as they ought, and that no wine-merchant was ever able to pick up a subsistence at wadebridge. yet the country gentry were by no means given to temperance, and their cellars were being continually refilled. it was not their interest to be on bad terms with coppinger, one must conjecture, for they went somewhat out of their way to be civil to him. coppinger knew this, and thought that now he was married an opportunity had come in this charity ball for the introduction of judith to society, and that to the best society, and he trusted to her merits and beauty, and to his own influence with the gentlemen, to obtain for her admission to the houses of the neighborhood. as the daughter of the rev. peter trevisa, who had been universally respected, not only as a gentleman and a scholar, but also as a representative of an ancient cornish family of untold antiquity, she had a perfect right to be received into the highest society of cornwall, but her father had been a reserved and poor man. he did not himself care for associating with fox-hunting and sporting squires, nor would he accept invitations when he was unable to return them. consequently judith had gone about very little when at st. enodoc rectory. moreover, she had been but a child, and was known only by name to those who lived in the neighborhood. she was personally acquainted with none of the county people. captain cruel had small doubt but that, the ice once broken, judith would make friends, and would be warmly received. the neighborhood was scantily peppered over with county family-seats, and the families found the winters tedious, and were glad of any accession to their acquaintance, and of another house opened to them for entertainment. if judith were received well, and found distraction from her morbid and fantastic thoughts, then she would be grateful to him--so thought coppinger--grateful for having brought her into a more cheerful and bright condition of life than that in which she had been reared. following thereon, her aversion for him, or shyness toward him, would give way. and judith--what were her thoughts? her mind was a little fluttered, she had to consider what to wear. at first she would go simply clad, then her aunt insisted that, as a bride, she must appear in suitable garb, that in which she had been married, not that with the two sleeves for one side, which had been laid by. then the question of the jewellery arose. judith did not wish to wear it, but yielded to her aunt's advice. miss trevisa represented to her that, having the diamonds, she ought to wear them, and that not to wear them would hurt and offend captain coppinger, who had given them to her. this she was reluctant to do. however, she consented to oblige and humor him in such a small matter. the night arrived, and judith was dressed for the ball. never before had coppinger seen her in evening costume, and his face beamed with pride as he looked on her in her white silk dress, with ornaments of white satiny bugles in sprigs edging throat and sleeves, and forming a rich belt about the waist. she wore the diamond butterfly in her bosom, and the two earrings to match. a little color was in her delicately pure cheeks, brought there by excitement. she had never been at a ball before, and with an innocent, childish simplicity she wondered what oliver menaida would think of her in her ball-dress. judith and coppinger arrived somewhat late, and most of those who had taken tickets were already there. sir william and lady molesworth were there, and the half-brother of sir william, john molesworth, rector of st. breock, and his wife, the daughter of sir john s. aubyn. with the baronet and his lady had come a friend, staying with them at pencarrow, and lady knighton, wife of an indian judge. the matthews were there; the tremaynes came all the way from heligan, as owning property in st. enodoc, and so, in duty bound to support the charity; the prideauxs were there from place; and many, if not all, of the gentry of various degrees who resided within twelve to fifteen miles of wadebridge were also there. the room was not one of any interest, it was long, had a good floor, which is the main thing considered by dancers, a gallery at one end for the instrumentalists, and a draught which circulated round the walls, and cut the throats of the old ladies who acted as wall-fruit. there was, however, a room to which they could adjourn to play cards. and many of the dowagers and old maids had brought with them little silver linked purses in which was as much money as they had made up their minds to lose that evening. the dowager lady molesworth in a red turban was talking to lady knighton, a lady who had been pretty, but whose complexion had been spoiled by indian suns, and to her sir william was offering a cup of tea. "you see," said lady knighton, "how tremulous my hand is. i have been like this for some years--indeed ever since i was in this neighborhood before." "i did not know you had honored us with a visit on a previous occasion," said sir william. "it was very different from the present, i can assure you," answered the lady. "now it is voluntarily--then it was much the contrary. now i have come among very dear and kind friends, then--i fell among thieves." "indeed!" "it was on my return from india," said lady knighton. "look at my hand!" she held forth her arm, and showed how it shook as with palsy. "this hand was firm then. i even played several games of spellikins on board ship on the voyage home, and, sir william, i won invariably, so steady was my hold of the crook, so evenly did i raise each of the little sticks. but ever since then i have had this nervous tremor that makes me dread holding anything." "but how came it about?" asked the baronet. "i will tell you, but--who is that just entered the room?" she pointed with trembling finger. judith had come in along with captain coppinger, and stood near the door, the light of the wax candles twinkling in her bugles, glancing in flashes from her radiant hair. she was looking about her, and her bosom heaved, she sought oliver, and he was near at hand. a flush of pleasure sprang into her cheeks as she caught his eye, and held out her hand. "i demand my dance!" said he. "no, not the first, oliver," she answered. coppinger's brows knit. "who is this?" he asked. "oh! do you not know? mr. menaida's son, mr. oliver." the two men's eyes met, their irises contracted. "i think we have met before," said oliver. "that is possible," answered captain cruel, contemptuously, looking in another direction. "when we met i knew you without your knowing me," pursued the young man, in a voice that shook with anger. he had recognized the tone of the voice that had spoken on the wreck. "of that i, neither, have any doubt as to its possibility. i do not recollect every jack i encounter." a moment after an idea struck him, and he turned his head sharply, fixed his eyes on young menaida, and said, "where did we meet?" "'encounter' was your word." "very well--encounter!" "on doom bar." coppinger's color changed. a sinister flicker came into his sombre eyes. "then," said he slowly, in low vibrating tones, "we shall meet again." "certainly, we shall meet again, and conclude our--i use your term--'encounter.'" judith did not hear the conversation. she had been pounced upon by mr. desiderius mules. "now--positively i must walk through a quadrille with you," said the rector. "this is all my affair; it all springs from me, i arranged everything. i beat up patrons and patronesses. i stirred up the neighborhood. it all turns as a wheel about me as the axle. come along, the band is beginning to play. you shall positively walk through a quadrille with me." mr. mules was not the man to be put on one side, not one to accept a refusal; he carried off the bride to the head of the room and set her in one square. "look at the decorations," said mr. mules, "i designed them. i hope you will like the supper. i drew up the _menu_. i chose the wines, and i know they are good. the candles i got at wholesale price--because for a charity. what beautiful diamonds you are wearing. they are not paste, i suppose?" "i believe not." "yet good old paste is just as iridescent as real diamonds. where did you get them? are they family jewels? i have heard that the trevisas were great people at one time. well, so were the mules. we are really de moels. we came in with the conqueror. that is why i have such a remarkable christian name. desiderius is the french désiré, and a norman christian name. look at the wreaths of laurel and holly. how do you like them?" "the decorations are charming." "i am so pleased that you have come," pursued mr. mules. "it is your first appearance in public as mrs. captain coppinger. i have been horribly uncomfortable about--you remember what. i have been afraid i had put my foot into it, and might get into hot water. but now you have come here, it is all right; it shows me that you are coming round to a sensible view, and that to-morrow you will be at the rectory and sign the register. if inconvenient, i will run up with it under my arm to the glaze. at what time am i likely to catch you both in? the witnesses, miss trevisa and mr. menaida, one can always get at. perhaps you will speak to your aunt and see that she is on the spot, and i'll take the old fellow on my way home." "mr. mules, we will not talk of that now." "come! you must see, and be introduced to, lady molesworth." in the meanwhile lady knighton was telling her story to a party round her. "i was returning with my two children from india; it is now some years ago. it is so sad, in the case of indians, either the parents must part from their children, or the mother must take her children to england and be parted from her husband. i brought my little ones back to be with my husband's sister, who kindly undertook to see to them. we encountered a terrible gale as we approached this coast; do you recollect the loss of the andromeda?" "perfectly," answered sir william molesworth; "were you in that?" "yes, to my cost. one of my darlings so suffered from the exposure that she died. but, really, i do not think it was the wreck of the vessel which was worst. it was not that, not that alone, which brought this nervous tremor on me." "i remember that case," said sir william. "it was a very bad one, and disgraceful to our county. we have recently had an ugly story of a wreck on doom bar, with suspicion of evil practices; but nothing could be proved, nothing brought home to anyone. in the case of the andromeda there was something of the same sort." "yes, indeed, there were evil practices. i was robbed." "you! surely, lady knighton, it was not of you that the story was told?" "if you mean the story of the diamonds, it was," answered the indian lady. "we had to leave the wreck, and carry all our portable valuables with us. i had a set of jewellery of indian work, given me by sir james--well, he was only plain mr. knighton then. it was rather quaint in design: there was a brooch representing a butterfly, and two emeralds formed the----" "excuse me one moment, lady knighton," said sir william. "here comes the new rector of st. enodoc, with the bride, to introduce her to my wife. i am ashamed to say we have not made her acquaintance before." "bride! what--his bride?" "oh, no; the bride of a certain captain coppinger, who lives near here." "she is pretty, very pretty; but how delicate!" suddenly lady knighton sprang to her feet, with an exclamation so shrill and startling that the dancers ceased, and the conductor of the band, thinking an accident had occurred, with his baton stopped the music. all attention was drawn to lady knighton, who, erect, trembling from head to foot, stood pointing with shaking finger to judith. "see! see! my jewels, that were torn from me! look!" she lifted the hair, worn low over her cheeks, and displayed one ear; the lobe was torn away. no one stirred in the ball-room; no one spoke. the fiddler stood with bow suspended over the strings, the flutist with fingers on all stops. every eye was fixed on judith. it was still in that room as though a ghost had passed through in winding-sheet. in this hush, lady knighton approached judith, pointing still with trembling hand. "i demand, whence comes that brooch? where--from whom did you get those earrings? they are mine; given me in india by my husband. they are indian work, and not to be mistaken. they were plucked from me one awful night of wreck by a monster in human form, who came to our vessel, as we sought to leave it, and robbed us of our treasures. answer me--who gave you those jewels?" judith was speechless. the lights in the room died to feeble stars. the floor rolled like a sea under her feet; the ceiling was coming down on her. she heard whispers, murmurs--a humming as of a swarm of bees approaching ready to settle on her and sting her. she looked round her. every one had withdrawn from her. mr. desiderius mules had released her arm, and stood back. she tried to speak, but could not. should she make the confession which would incriminate her husband? then she heard a man's deep voice, heard a step on the floor. in a moment an arm was round her, sustaining her, as she tottered. "i gave her the jewels. i, curll coppinger, of pentyre. if you ask where i got them--i will tell you. i bought them of willy mann, the pedlar. i will give you any further information you require to-morrow. make room; my wife is frightened." then, holding her, looking haughtily, threateningly, from side to side, coppinger helped judith along--the whole length of the ball-room--between rows of astonished, open-eyed, mute dancers. near the door was a knot of gentlemen. they sprang apart, and coppinger conveyed judith through the door, out of the light, down the stairs, into the open air. chapter xli. a dead-lock. the incident of the jewellery of lady knighton occasioned much talk. on the evening of the ball it occupied the whole conversation, as the sole topic on which tongues could run and brains work. i say tongues run and brains work and not brains work and tongues run, for the former is the natural order in chatter. it was a subject that was thrashed by a hundred tongues of the dancers. then it was turned over and rethrashed. then it was winnowed. the chaff of the tale was blown into the kitchens and servants' halls, it drifted into tap-rooms, where the coachmen and grooms congregated and drank; and there it was rethrashed and rewinnowed. on the day following the ball, the jewels were returned to lady knighton, with a courteous letter from captain coppinger, to say that he had obtained them through the well-known willy mann, a pedlar who did commissions for the neighborhood, who travelled from exeter along the south coast of devon and cornwall, and returned along the north coast of both counties. everyone had made use of this fellow to do commissions, and trustworthy he had always proved. that was not a time when there was a parcels' post, and few could afford the time and the money to run at every requirement to the great cities, where were important shops when they required what could not be obtained in small country towns. he had been employed to match silks, to choose carpets, to bring medicines, to select jewellery, to convey love-letters. but willy mann had, unfortunately, died a month ago, having fallen off a wagon and broken his neck. consequently it was not possible to follow up any further the traces of the diamond butterflies. willy mann, as was well known, had been a vehicle for conveying sundry valuables from ladies who had lost money at cards, and wanted to recoup by parting with bracelets and brooches. that he may have received stolen goods and valuables obtained from wrecks was also probable. so, after all the thrashing and winnowing, folks were no wiser than before, and no nearer the solution of the mystery. some thought that coppinger was guilty, others thought not, and others maintained a neutral position. some again thought one thing one day and the opposite the next, and some always agreed with the last speaker's views. whereas others again always took a contrary opinion to those who discussed the matter with them. moreover, the matter went through a course much like a fever. it blazed out, was furious, then died away; languor ensued--and it gave symptoms of disappearing. the general mistrust against coppinger was deepened, certainly, and the men who had wine and spirits and tobacco through him, resolved to have wine and spirits and tobacco from him, but nothing more. they would deal with him as a trader, and not acknowledge him as their social fellow. the ladies pitied judith, they professed their respect for her; but as beds are made so must they be lain on, and as is cooked so must be eaten. she had married a man whom all mistrusted, and must suffer accordingly; one who is associated with an infected patient is certain to be shunned as much as the patient. such is the way of the world, and we cannot alter it, as the making of that way has not been intrusted to us. on the day following the ball, judith did not appear at polzeath, nor again on the day after that. oliver became restless. the cheerful humor, the merry mood that his father had professed were his, had deserted him. he could not endure the thought that one so innocent, so child-like as judith, should have her fortunes linked to those of a man of whom he knew the worst. he could not, indeed, swear to his identity with the man on the wreck who had attempted to rob the passengers, and who had fought with him. he had no doubt whatever in his own mind that his adversary and assailant had been coppinger, but he was led to this identification by nothing more tangible than the allusion made to wyvill's death, and a certain tone of voice which he believed he recognized. the evidence was insufficient to convict him, of that oliver was well aware. he was confident, moreover, that coppinger was the man who had taken the jewels from lady knighton; but here again he was wholly unsupported by any sound basis of fact on which his conviction could maintain itself. toward coppinger he felt an implacable anger, and a keen desire for revenge. he would like to punish him for that assault on the wreck, but chiefly for the wrongs done to judith. she had no champion, no protector. his father, as he acknowledged to himself, was a broken reed for one to lean on, a man of good intentions, but of a confused mind, of weakness of purpose, and lack of energy. the situation of judith was a pitiful one, and if she was to be rescued from it, he must rescue her. but when he came to consider the way and means, he found himself beset with difficulties. she was married after a fashion. it was very questionable whether the marriage was legal, but, nevertheless, it was known through the county that a marriage had taken place, judith had gone to coppinger's house, and had appeared at the ball as his wife. if he established before the world that the marriage was invalid, what would she do? how would the world regard her? was it possible for him to bring coppinger to justice? oliver went about instituting inquiries. he endeavored to trace to their source, the rumors that circulated relative to coppinger, but always without finding anything on which he could lay hold. it was made plain to him that captain cruel was but the head of a great association of men, all involved in illegal practices; men engaged in smuggling, and ready to make their profit of a wreck, when a wreck fell in their way. they hung together like bees. touch one, and the whole hive swarmed out. they screened one another, were ready to give testimony before magistrates that would exculpate whoever of the gang was accused. they evaded every attempt of the coast-guard to catch them; they laughed at the constables and magistrates. information was passed from one to another with incredible rapidity; they had their spies and their agents along the coast. the magistrates and country gentry, though strongly reprobating wrecking, and bitterly opposed to poaching, were of broad and generous views regarding smuggling, and the preventive officer complained that he did not receive that support from the squirearchy which he expected and had a right to demand. there were caves along the whole coast, from land's end to hartland, and there were, unquestionably, stores of smuggled goods in a vast number of places, centres whence they were distributed. when a vessel engaged in the contraband trade appeared off the coast, and the guard were on the alert in one place, she ran a few miles up or down, signalled to shore, and landed her cargo before the coast-guard knew where she was. they were being constantly deceived by false information, and led away in one direction while the contraband goods were being conveyed ashore in an opposite quarter. oliver learned much concerning this during the ensuing few days. he made acquaintance with the officer in command of the nearest station, and resolved to keep a close watch on coppinger, and to do his utmost to effect his arrest. when captain cruel was got out of the way, then something could be done for judith. an opportunity came in oliver's way of learning tidings of importance, and that when he least expected it. as already said, he was wont to go about on the cliffs with jamie, and after judith ceased to appear at mr. menaida's cottage, in his unrest he took jamie much with him, out of consideration for judith, who, as he was well aware, would be content to have her brother with him, and kept thereby out of mischief. on one of these occasions he found the boy lag behind, become uneasy, and at last refuse to go farther. he inquired the reason, and jamie, in evident alarm, replied that he dare not--he had been forbidden. "by whom?" "he said he would throw me over, as he did my doggie, if i came here again." "who did?" "captain coppinger." "but why?" jamie was frightened, and looked round. "i mustn't say," he answered, in a whisper. "must not say what, jamie?" "i was to let no one know about it." "about what?" "i am afraid to say. he would throw me over. i found it out and showed it to ju. i have never been down there since." "captain coppinger found you somewhere, and forbade your ever going to that place again?" "yes," in a faltering voice. "and threatened to fling you over the cliffs if you did!" "yes," again timidly. oliver said quietly, "now run home and leave me here." "i daren't go by myself. i did not mean to come here." "very well. no one has seen you. let me see, this wall marks the spot. i will go back with you." oliver was unusually silent as he walked to polzeath with jamie. he was unwilling further to press the boy. he would probably confuse him, by throwing him into a paroxysm of alarm. he had gained sufficient information for his purpose from the few words he let drop. "i have never been down there since," jamie had said. there was, then, something that coppinger desired should not be generally known concealed between the point on the cliff where the "new-take" wall ended and the beach immediately beneath. he took jamie to his father, and got the old man to give him some setting up of birds to amuse and occupy him, and then returned to the cliff. it did not take him long to discover the entrance to the cave beneath, behind the curtain of slate reef, and as he penetrated this to the farthest point, he was placed in possession of one of the secrets of coppinger and his band. he did not tarry there, but returned home another way, musing over what he had learned, and considering what advantage he was to take of it. a very little thought satisfied him that his wisest course was to say nothing about what he had learned, and to await the turns of fortune, and the incautiousness of the smugglers. from this time, moreover, he discontinued his visits to the coast-guard station, which was on the farther side of the estuary of the camel, and which could not well be crossed without attracting attention. there was no trusting anyone, oliver felt--the boatman who put him across was very possibly in league with the smugglers, and was a spy on those who were in communication with the officers of the revenue. another reason for his cessation of visits was that, on his return to his father's house, after having explored the cave, and the track in the face of the cliff leading to it, he heard that jamie had been taken away by coppinger. the captain had been there during his absence, and had told mr. menaida that judith was distressed at being separated from her brother, and that, as there were reasons which made him desire that she should forego her walks to polzeath, he, captain coppinger, deemed it advisable to bring jamie back to pentyre. oliver asked himself, when he heard this, with some unease, whether this was due to his having been observed with the boy on the downs near the place from which access to the cave was had. also, whether the boy would be frightened at the appearance of captain cruel so soon after he had approached the forbidden spot, and, in his fear, reveal that he had been there with oliver and had partially betrayed the secret. there was another question he was also constrained to ask himself, and it was one that made the color flash into his cheek. what was the particular reason why captain coppinger objected to the visits of his wife to polzeath at that time? was he jealous? he recalled the flare in his eyes at the ball, when judith turned to him, held out her hand, and called him by his christian name. from this time all communication with pentyre glaze was cut off; tidings relative to judith and jamie were not to be had. judith was not seen, aunt dionysia rarely, and from her nothing was to be learned. it would hardly comport with discretion for inquiries to be made by oliver of the servants of the glaze; but his father, moved by oliver and by his own anxiety, did venture to go to the house and ask after judith. he was coldly received by miss trevisa, who took the opportunity to insult him by asking if he had come to have his bill settled--there being a small account in his favor for jamie. she paid him, and sent the old fellow fuming, stamping, even swearing, home, and as ignorant of the condition of judith as when he went. he had not seen judith, nor had he met captain coppinger. he had caught a glimpse of jamie in the yard with his donkey, but the moment the boy saw him he dived into the stable, and did not emerge from it till uncle zachie was gone. then mr. menaida, still urged by his son and by his own feelings, incapable of action unless goaded by these double spurs, went to the rectory to ask mr. mules if he had seen judith, and whether anything had been done about the signatures in the register. mr. desiderius was communicative. he had been to pentyre about the matter. he was, as he said, "in a stew over it" himself. it was most awkward; he had filled in as much as he could of the register, and all that lacked were the signatures--he might say all but that of the bride and mr. menaida, for there had been a scene. mrs. coppinger had come down, and, in the presence of the captain and her aunt, he had expostulated with her, had pointed out to her the awkward position in which it placed himself, the scruple he felt at retaining the fee, when the work was only half done; how, that by appearing at the ball, she had shown to the whole neighborhood that she was the wife of captain coppinger, and that, having done this, she might as well append her name to the entry in the register. then captain coppinger and miss trevisa had made the requisite entries, but judith had again calmly, but resolutely, refused. mr. mules admitted there had been a scene. mr. coppinger became angry, and used somewhat violent words. but nothing that he himself could say, no representations made by her aunt, no urgency on the part of her husband could move the resolution of judith, "which was a bit of arrant tomfoolery," said mr. desiderius, "and i told her so. even that--the knowledge that she went down a peg in my estimation--even that did not move her." "and how was she?" asked mr. menaida. "obstinate," answered the rector, "obstinate as a--i mean as a donkey, that is the position of affairs. we are at a dead-lock." chapter xlii. two letters. oliver menaida was summoned to bristol by the heads of the firm which he served, and he was there detained for ten days. whilst he was away, uncle zachie felt his solitude greatly. had he had even jamie with him he might have been content, but to be left completely alone was a trial to him, especially since he had become accustomed to having the young trevisa in his house. he missed his music. judith's playing had been to him an inexpressibly great delight. the old man for many years had gone on strumming and fumbling at music by great masters, incapable of executing it, and unwilling to hear it performed by incompetent instrumentalists. at length judith had seated herself at his piano, and had brought into life all that wondrous world of melody and harmony which he had guessed at, believed in, yearned for, but never reached. and now that he was left without her to play to him, he felt like one deprived of a necessary of life. but his unrest did not spring solely from a selfish motive. he was not at ease in his mind about her. why did he not see her anymore? why was she confined to pentyre! was she ill? was she restrained there against her will from visiting her old friends? mr. menaida was very unhappy because of judith. he knew that she was resolved never to acknowledge coppinger as her real husband; she did not love him, she shrank from him. and knowing what he did--the story of the invasion of the wreck, the fight with oliver--he felt that there was no brutality, no crime which coppinger was not capable of committing, and he trembled for the happiness of the poor little creature who was in his hands. weak and irresolute though mr. menaida was, he was peppery and impulsive when irritated, and his temper had been roused by the manner of his reception at the glaze, when he went there to inquire after judith. whilst engaged on his birds, his hand shook, so that he could not shape them aright. when he smoked his pipe, he pulled it from between his lips every moment to growl out some remark. when he sipped his grog, he could not enjoy it. he had a tender heart, and he had become warmly attached to judith. he firmly believed in identification of the ruffian with whom oliver had fought on the deck, and it was horrible to think that the poor child was at his mercy; and that she had no one to counsel and to help her. at length he could endure the suspense no longer. one evening, after he had drank a good many glasses of rum and water, he jumped up, put on his hat, and went off to pentyre, determined to insist on seeing judith. as he approached the house he saw that the hall windows were lighted up. he knew which was judith's room, from what she had told him of its position. there was a light in that window also. uncle zachie, flushed with anger against coppinger, and with the spirits he had drank, anxious about judith, and resenting the way in which he had been treated, went boldly up to the front door and knocked. a maid answered his knock, and he asked to see mrs. coppinger. the woman hesitated, and bade him be seated in the porch. she would go and see. presently miss trevisa came, and shut the door behind her, as she emerged into the porch. "i should like to see mrs. coppinger," said the old man. "i am sorry--you cannot," answered miss trevisa. "but why not?" "this is not a fit hour at which to call." "may i see her if i come at any other hour?" "i cannot say." "why may i not see her?" "she is unwell." "if she is unwell, then i am very certain she would be glad to see uncle zachie." "of that i am no judge, but you cannot be admitted now." "name the day, the hour, when i may." "that i am not at liberty to do." "what ails her? where is jamie?" "jamie is here--in good hands." "and judith." "she is in good hands." "in good hands!" exclaimed mr. menaida, "i should like to see the good, clean hands worn by anyone in this house, except my dear, innocent little judith. i must and will see her. i must know from her own lips how she is. i must see that she is happy--or at least not maltreated." "your words are an insult to me, her aunt, and to captain coppinger, her husband," said miss trevisa, haughtily. "let me have a word with captain coppinger." "he is not at home." "not at home!--i hear a great deal of noise. there must be a number of guests in the hall. who is entertaining them, you or judith!" "that is no concern of yours, mr. menaida." "i do not believe that captain coppinger is not at home. i insist on seeing him." "were you to see him--you would regret it afterwards. he is not a person to receive impertinences and pass them over. you have already behaved in a most indecent manner, in encouraging my niece to visit your house, and sit, and talk, and walk with, and call by his christian name, that young fellow, your son." "oliver!" mr. menaida was staggered. it had never occurred to his fuddled, yet simple mind, that the intimacy that had sprung up between the young people was capable of misinterpretation. the sense that he had laid himself open to this charge made him very angry, not with himself, but with coppinger and with miss trevisa. "i'll tell you what," said the old man, "if you will not let me in i suppose you will not object to my writing a line to judith?" "i have received orders to allow of no communication of any kind whatsoever between my niece and you or your house." "you have received orders--from coppinger?" the old man flamed with anger. "wait a bit! there is no command issued that you are not to take a message from me to your master?" he put his hand into his pocket, pulled out a note-book, and tore out of it a page. then, by the light from the hall window, he scribbled on it a few lines in pencil. "sir!--you are a scoundrel. you bully your wife. you rob, and attempt to murder those who are shipwrecked.--zachary menaida." "there," said the old man, "that will draw him, and i shall see him, and have it out with him." he had wafers in his pocket-book. he wetted and sealed the note. then he considered that he had not said enough, so he opened the page again, and added: "i shall tell all the world what i know about you." then he fastened the note again, and directed it. but as it suddenly occurred to him that captain coppinger might refuse to open the letter, he added on the outside, "the contents i know by heart, and shall proclaim them on the house-tops." he thrust the note into miss trevisa's hand, and turned his back on the house, and walked home snorting and muttering. on reaching polzeath, however, he had cooled, and thought that possibly he had done a very foolish thing, and that most certainly he had in no way helped himself to what he desired, to see judith again. moreover, with a qualm, he became aware that oliver, on his return from bristol, would in all probability greatly disapprove of this fiery outburst of temper. to what would it lead? _could_ he fight captain coppinger? if it came to that, he was ready. with all his faults mr. menaida was no coward. on entering his house he found oliver there, just arrived from camelford. he at once told him what he had done. oliver did not reproach him; he merely said, "a declaration of war, father! and a declaration before we are quite prepared." "well--i suppose so. i could not help myself. i was so incensed." "the thing we have to consider," said oliver, "is what judith wishes, and how it is to be carried out. some communication must be opened with her. if she desires to leave the house of that fellow, we must get her away. if, however, she elects to remain, our hands are tied: we can do nothing." "it is very unfortunate that jamie is no longer here; we could have sent her a letter through him." "he has been removed to prevent anything of the sort taking place." then oliver started up. "i will go and reconnoitre, myself." "no," said the father. "leave all to me. you must on no account meddle in this matter." "why not?" "because"--the old man coughed. "do you not understand--you are a young man." oliver colored, and said no more. he had not great confidence in his father's being able to do anything effectual for judith. the step he had recently taken was injudicious and dangerous, and could further the end in view in no way. he said no more to old mr. menaida, but he resolved to act himself, in spite of the remonstrance made and the objection raised by his father. no sooner was the elder man gone to bed, than he sallied forth and took the direction of pentyre. it was a moonlight night. clouds indeed rolled over the sky, and for awhile obscured the moon, but a moment after it flared forth again. a little snow had fallen and frosted the ground, making everything unburied by the white flakes to seem inky black. a cold wind whistled mournfully over the country. oliver walked on, not feeling the cold, so glowing were his thoughts, and came within sight of the glaze. his father had informed him that there were guests in the hall; but when he approached the house, he could see no lights from the windows. indeed, the whole house was dark, as though everyone in it were asleep, or it were an uninhabited ruin. that most of the windows had shutters he was aware, and that these might be shut so as to exclude the chance of any ray issuing he also knew. he could not therefore conclude that all the household had retired for the night. the moon was near its full. it hung high aloft in an almost cloudless sky. the air was comparatively still--still it never is on that coast, nor is it ever unthrilled by sound. now, above the throb of the ocean, could be heard the shrill clatter and cry of the gulls. they were not asleep; they were about, fishing or quarrelling in the silver light. oliver rather wondered at the house being so hushed--wondered that the guests were all dismissed. he knew in which wing of the mansion was judith's room, and also which was judith's window. the pure white light shone on the face of the house and glittered in the window-panes. as oliver looked, thinking and wondering, he saw the casement opened, and judith appeared at it, leaned with her elbow on the sill, and rested her face in her hand, looking up at the moon. the light air just lifted her fine hair. oliver noticed how delicately pale and fragile she seemed--white as a gull, fragile as porcelain. he would not disturb her for a moment or two; he stood watching, with an oppression on his heart, and with a film forming over his eyes. could nothing be done for the little creature? she was moped up in her room. she was imprisoned in this house, and she was wasting, dying in confinement. and now he stole noiselessly nearer. there was an old cattle-shed adjoining the house, that had lost its roof. coppinger concerned himself little about agriculture, and the shed that had once housed cows had been suffered to fall to ruin, the slates had been blown off, then the rain had wetted and rotted the rafters, and finally the decayed rafters had fallen with their remaining load of slates, leaving the walls alone standing. up one of the sides of this ruinous shed oliver climbed, and then mounted to the gable, whence he could speak to judith. but she must have heard him, and been alarmed, for she hastily closed the casement. oliver, however, did not abandon his purpose. he broke off particles of mortar from the gable of the cow-house and threw them cautiously against the window. no notice was taken of the first or the second particle that clickered against a pane; but at the third a shadow appeared at the window, as though judith had come to the casement to look out. oliver was convinced that he could be seen; as he was on the very summit of the gable, and he raised his hands and arms to ensure attention. suddenly the shadow was withdrawn. then hastily he drew forth a scrap of paper, on which he had written a few words before he left his father's house, in the hopes of obtaining a chance of passing it to judith, through jamie, or by bribing a servant. this he now wrapped round a bit of stone and fastened it with a thread. next moment the casement was opened and the shadow reappeared. "back!" whispered oliver, sufficiently loud to be heard, and he dexterously threw the stone and the letter through the open window. next moment the casement was shut and the curtains were drawn. he waited for full a quarter of an hour but no answer was returned. chapter xliii. the second time. no sooner had oliver thrown the stone with note tied round it into judith's room through the window, than he descended from a position which he esteemed too conspicuous should anyone happen to be about in the night near the house. he ensconced himself beneath the cow-shed wall in the shadow, where concealed, but was ready should the casement open to step forth and show himself. he had not been there many minutes before he heard steps and voices, one of which he immediately recognized as that of cruel coppinger. oliver had not been sufficiently long in the neighborhood to know the men in it by their voices, but looking round the corner of the wall he saw two figures against the horizon, one with hands in his pockets, and by the general slouch, he thought that he recognized the sexton of s. enodoc. "the black prince will be in before long," said coppinger. "i mean next week or fortnight, and i must have the goods shored here, this time. she will stand off porth-leze, and mind you get information conveyed to the captain of the coast-guard that she will run her cargo there. remember that. we must have a clear coast here. the stores are empty and must be refilled." "yes, your honor." "you have furnished him with the key to the signals?" "yes, cap'n." "and from porth-leze there are to be signals to the black prince to come on here--but so that they may be read the other way--you understand?" "yes, cap'n." "and what do they give you every time you carry them a bit of information?" "a shilling." "a munificent government payment! and what did they give you for the false code of signals?" "half a crown." "then here is half a guinea--and a crown for every lie you impose on them." then coppinger and the sexton went further. as soon as oliver thought he could escape unobserved he withdrew and returned to polzeath. next day he had a talk with his father. "i have had opinions, in bristol," said he, "relative to the position of judith." "from whom?" "from lawyers." "well--and what did they say?" "one said one thing and one another. i stated the case of her marriage, its incompletion, the unsigned register, and one opinion was that nevertheless she was mrs. coppinger. but another opinion was that, in consequence of the incompleteness of the marriage, it was none--she was miss trevisa. father, before i went to the barristers and obtained their opinions, i was as wise as i am now, for i knew then, what i know now, that she is either mrs. coppinger, or else that she is miss trevisa." "i could have told you as much." "it seems to me--but i may be uncharitable," said oliver, grimly, "that the opinion given was this way or that way according as i showed myself interested for the legality or against the legality of the marriage. both of those to whom i applied regarded the case as interesting and deserving of being thrashed out in a court of law, and gave their opinions so as to induce me to embark in a suit. you understand what i mean, father? when i seemed urgent that the marriage should be pronounced none at all, then the verdict of the consulting barrister was that it was no marriage at all, and very good reasons he was able to produce to show that. but when i let it be supposed that my object was to get this marriage established against certain parties keenly interested in disputing it, i got an opinion that it was a good and legal marriage, and very good reasons were produced to sustain this conclusion." "i could have told you as much--and this has cost you money?" "yes--naturally." "and left you without any satisfaction?" "yes." "no satisfaction is to be got out of law--that is why i took to stuffing birds." "what is that noise at the door?" asked oliver. "there is some one trying to come in, and fumbling at the hasp," said his father. oliver went to the door and opened it--to find jamie there, trembling, white, and apparently about to faint. he could not speak, but he held out a note to oliver. "what is the matter with you?" asked the young man. the boy, however, did not answer, but ran to mr. menaida, and crouched behind him. "he has been frightened," said the old man. "leave him alone. he will come round presently and i will give him a drop of spirits to rouse him up. what letter is that?" oliver looked at the little note given him. it had been sealed, but torn open afterward. it was addressed to him, and across the address was written in bold, coarse letters with a pencil, "seen and passed. c. c." oliver opened the letter and read as follows: "i pray you leave me. do not trouble yourself about me. nothing can now be done for me. my great concern is for jamie. but i entreat you to be very cautious about yourself where you go. you are in danger. your life is threatened, and you do not know it. i must not explain myself, but i warn you. go out of the country--that would be best. go back to portugal. i shall not be at ease in my mind till i know that you are gone, and gone unhurt. my dear love to mr. menaida--judith." the hand that had written this letter had shaken, the letters were hastily and imperfectly formed. was this the hand of judith who had taught jamie caligraphy, had written out his copies as neatly and beautifully as copper-plate? judith had sent him this answer by her brother, and jamie had been stopped, forced to deliver up the missive, which coppinger had opened and read. oliver did not for a moment doubt _whence_ the danger sprang with which he was menaced. coppinger had suffered the warning to be conveyed to him with contemptuous indifference--it was as though he had scored across the letter--"be forewarned, take what precautions you will--you shall not escape me." the first challenge had come from old menaida, but coppinger passed over that as undeserving of attention, but he proclaimed his readiness to cross swords with the young man. and oliver could not deny that he had given occasion for this. without counting the cost, without considering the risk; nay, further, without weighing the right and wrong in the matter, oliver had allowed himself to slip into terms of some familiarity with judith, harmless enough were she unmarried, but hardly calculated to be so regarded by a husband. they had come to consider each other as cousins, or they had pretended so to consider each other, so as to justify a half-affectionate, half-intimate association, and before he was aware of it oliver had lost his heart. he could not and he would not regard judith as the wife of coppinger, because he knew that she absolutely refused to be so regarded by him, by herself, by his father, though by appearing at the ball with coppinger, by living in his house, she allowed the world to so consider her. was she his wife? he could not suppose it when she had refused to conclude the marriage ceremony, when there was no documentary evidence for the marriage. let the question be mooted in a court of law; what could the witnesses say, but that she had fainted, and that all the latter portion of the ceremony had been performed over her when unconscious, and that on her recovery of her faculties she had resolutely persisted in resistance to the affixing of her signature to the register. with respect to judith's feelings toward himself oliver was ignorant. she had taken pleasure in his society, because he had made himself agreeable to her, and his company was a relief to her after the solitude of pentyre and the association there with persons with whom she was wholly out of sympathy. his quarrel with coppinger had shifted ground. at first he had resolved, should occasion offer, to conclude with him the contest begun on the wreck, and to chastise him for his conduct on that night. now, he thought little of that cause of resentment, he desired to punish him for having been the occasion of so much misery to judith. he could not now drive from his head the scene of the girl's wan face at the window, looking up at the moon. oliver would shrink from doing anything dishonorable, but it did not seem to him that there could be aught wrong and unbecoming a gentleman in endeavoring to snatch this hapless child from the claws of the wild beast that had struck it down. "no, father," said he hastily, as the old fellow was pouring out a pretty strong dose of his great specific and about to administer it to jamie, "no father, it is not that the boy wants; and remember how strongly judith objects to his being given spirits." "dear, dear!" exclaimed uncle zachie, "to be sure she does, and she made me promise not to give him any. but this is an exceptional case." "let him come to me, i will soothe him. the child is frightened, or stay, get him to help you with that kittiwake. jamie, father can't get the bird to look natural; his head does not seem to me to be right. did you ever see a kittiwake turn his neck in that fashion? i wish you would put your fingers to the throat, and bend it about, and set the wadding where it ought to be. father and i can't agree about it." "it is wrong," said jamie. "look, this is the way." his mind was diverted. always volatile, always ready to be turned from one thing to another, oliver had succeeded in interesting him, and had made him forget for a moment the terrors that had shaken him. after jamie had been in the house for half an hour, oliver advised him to return to the glaze. he would give him no message, verbal or written. but the thought of having to return renewed the poor child's fears, and oliver could hardly allay them by promising to accompany him part of the way. oliver was careful not to speak to him on the subject of his alarm, but he gathered from his disjointed talk that judith had given him the note and impressed on him that it was to be delivered as secretly as possible; that coppinger had intercepted him, and suspecting something, had threatened and frightened him into divulging the truth. then captain cruel had read the letter, scored over it some words in pencil, given it back to him, and ordered him to fulfil his commission, to deliver the note. "look you here, jamie," was mr. menaida's parting injunction to the lad as he left the house, "there's no reason for you to be idle when at pentyre. you can make friends with some of the men and get birds shot. i don't advise your having a gun, you are not careful enough. but if they shoot birds you may amuse your leisure in skinning them, and i gave judith arsenic for you. she keeps it in her workbox, and will let you have sufficient for your purpose as you need it. i would not give it to you, as it might be dangerous in your hands as a gun. it is a deadly poison, and with carelessness you might kill a man. but go to judith when you have a skin ready to dress and she will see that you have sufficient for the dressing. there, good-by, and bring me some skins shortly." oliver accompanied the boy as far as the gate that led into the lane between the walls enclosing the fields of the pentyre estate. jamie pressed him to come farther, but this the young man would not do. he bade the poor lad farewell, bid him divert himself as his father had advised, with bird stuffing, and remained at the gate watching him depart. the boy's face and feebleness touched and stirred the heart of oliver. the face reminded him so strongly of his twin sister, but it was the shadow, the pale shadow of judith only, without the intelligence, the character, and the force. and the helplessness of the child, his desolation, his condition of nervous alarm roused the young man's pity. he was startled by a shot, that struck his gray hat simultaneously with the report. in a moment he sprang over the hedge in the direction whence the smoke rose, and came upon cruel coppinger with a gun. "oh, you!" said the latter, with a sneer, "i thought i was shooting a rabbit." "this is the second time," said oliver. "the first," was coppinger's correction. "not so--the second time you have levelled at me. the first was on the wreck when i struck up your hand." coppinger shrugged his shoulders. "it is immaterial. the third time is lucky, folks say." the two men looked at each other with hostility. "your father has insulted me," said coppinger. "are you ready to take up his cause? i will not fight an old fool." "i am ready to take up his cause, mine also, and that of----" oliver checked himself. "and that of whom?" asked coppinger, white with rage, and in a quivering voice. "the cause of my father and mine own will suffice," said oliver. "and when shall we meet?" asked captain cruel, leaning on his gun and glaring at his young antagonist over it. "when and where suits me," answered oliver, coldly. "and when and where may that be?" "when and where!--when and where i can come suddenly on you as you came on me upon the wreck. with such as you--one does not observe the ordinary rules." "very well," shouted coppinger. "when and where suits you, and when and where suits me--that is, whenever we meet again--we meet finally." then each turned and strode away. chapter xliv. the whip falls. for many days judith had been as a prisoner in the house, in her room. some one had spoken to coppinger and had roused his suspicions, excited his jealousy. he had forbidden her visits to polzeath; and to prevent communication between her and the menaidas, father and son, he had removed jamie to pentyre glaze. angry and jealous he was. time had passed, and still he had not advanced a step, rather he had lost ground. judith's hopes that he was not what he had been represented, were dashed. however plausible might be his story to account for the jewels, she did not believe it. why was judith not submissive? coppinger could now only conclude that she had formed an attachment for oliver menaida--for that young man whom she singled out, greeted with a smile, and called by his christian name. he had heard of how she had made daily visits to the house of his father, how oliver had been seen attending her home, and his heart foamed with rage and jealousy. she had no desire to go anywhere, now that she was forbidden to go to polzeath, and when she knew that she was watched. she would not descend to the hall and mix with the company often assembled there, and though she occasionally went there when coppinger was alone, took her knitting and sat by the fire, and attempted to make conversation about ordinary matters, yet his temper, his outbursts of rancor, his impatience of every other topic save their relations to each other, and his hatred of the menaidas, made it intolerable for her to be with him alone, and she desisted from seeking the hall. this incensed him, and he occasionally went up-stairs, sought her out and insisted on her coming down. she would obey, but some outbreak would speedily drive her from his presence again. their relations were more strained than ever. his love for her had lost the complexion of love and had assumed that of jealousy. his tenderness and gentleness toward her had been fed by hope, and when hope died they vanished. even that reverence for her innocence and the respect for her character that he had shown was dissipated by the stormy gusts of jealousy. miss trevisa was no more a help and stay to the poor girl than she had been previously. she was soured and embittered, for her ambition to be out of the house and in othello cottage had been frustrated. coppinger would not let her go till he and his wife had come to more friendly terms. on her chimney-piece were two bunches of lavender, old lavender from the rectory garden of the preceding year. they had become so dry that the seeds fell out, and they no longer exhaled scent unless pressed. judith stood at her chimney-piece pressing her finger on the dropped seeds, and picking them up by this means to throw them into the small fire that smouldered in the grate. at first she went on listlessly picking up a seed and casting it into the fire, actuated by her innate love of order, without much thought--rather without any thought--for her mind was engaged over the letter of oliver and his visit the previous night outside. but after a while, while thus gathering the grains of lavender, she came to associate them with her trouble, and as she thought--"is there any escape for me, any happiness in store?"--she picked up a seed and cast it into the fire. then she asked: "is there any other escape for me than to die--to die and be with dear papa again, now not in s. enodoc rectory garden, but in the garden of paradise?" and again she picked up and cast away a grain. then, as she touched her fingertip with her tongue and applied it to another lavender seed, she said: "or must this go on--this nightmare of wretchedness, of persecution, of weariness to death without dying, for years?" and she cast away the seed shudderingly. "or"--and again, now without touching her finger with her tongue, as though the last thought had contaminated it--"or will he finally break and subdue me, destroy me and jamie, soul and body?" shivering at the thought she hardly dare to touch a seed, but forced herself to do so, raised one, and hastily shook it from her. thus she continued ringing the change, never formulating any scheme of happiness for herself--certainly, in her white, guileless mind, not in any way associating oliver with happiness, save as one who might by some means effect her discharge from this bondage--but he was not linked, not woven up with any thought of the future. the wind clickered at the casement. she had a window toward the sea; another, opposite, toward the land. hers was a transparent chamber, and her mind had been transparent. only now, timidly, doubtfully, not knowing herself why, did she draw a blind down over her soul, as though there were something there that she would not have all the world see, and yet which was in itself innocent. then a new fear woke up in her, lest she should go mad. day after day, night after night, was spent in the same revolution of distressing thought, in the same bringing up and reconsidering of old difficulties, questions concerning coppinger, questions concerning jamie, questions concerning her own power of endurance and resistance. was it possible that this could go on without driving her mad? "one thing i see," murmured she; "all steps are broken away under me on the stair, and one thing alone remains for me to cling to--one only thing--my understanding. that"--she put her hands to her head--"that is all i have left. my name is gone from me. my friends i am separated from. my brother may not be with me. my happiness is all gone. my health may break down, but to a clear understanding i must hold; if that fails me i am lost--lost indeed." "lost indeed!" exclaimed coppinger, entering abruptly. he had caught her last words. he came in in white rage, blinded and forgetful in his passion, and with his hat on. there was a day when he entered the boudoir with his head covered, and judith, without a word, by the mere force of her character shining out of her clear eyes, had made him retreat and uncover. it was not so now. she was careless whether he wore the hat or not when he entered her room. "so!" said he, in a voice that foamed out of his mouth, "letters pass between you! letters--i have read that you sent. i stayed your messenger." "well," answered judith, with such composure as she could muster. she had already passed through several stormy scenes with him, and knew that her only security lay in self-restraint. "there was naught in it that you might not read. what did i say? that my condition was fixed--that none could alter it; that is true. that my great care and sorrow of heart is for jamie; that is true. that oliver menaida has been threatened; that also is true. i have heard you speak words against him of no good." "i will make good my words." "i wrote, and hoped to save him from a danger, and you from a crime." coppinger laughed. "i have sent on the letter. let him take what precautions he will. i will chastise him. no man ever crossed me yet but was brought to bite the dust." "he has not harmed you, captain coppinger." "he! can i endure that you should call him by his christian name, while i am but captain coppinger? that you should seek him out, laugh, and talk, and flirt with him--" "captain coppinger!" "yes," raged he, "always captain coppinger, or captain cruel, and he is dear oliver! sweet oliver!" he well-nigh suffocated in his fury. judith drew herself up and folded her arms. she had in one hand a sprig of lavender from which she had been shaking the over-ripe grains. she turned deadly white. "give me up his letter. yours was an answer!" "i will give it to you," answered judith, and she went to her workbox, raised the lid, then the little tray containing reels, and from beneath it extracted a crumpled scrap of paper. she handed it calmly, haughtily to coppinger, then folded her arms again, one hand still holding the bunch of lavender. the letter was short. coppinger's hand shook with passion so that he could hardly hold it with sufficient steadiness to read it. it ran as follows: "i must know your wishes, dear judith. do you intend to remain in that den of wreckers and cut-throats? or do you desire that your friends should bestir themselves to obtain your release? tell us, in one word, what to do, or rather what are your wishes, and we will do what we can." "well!" said coppinger, looking up. "and your answer is to the point--you wish to stay." "i did not answer thus. i said--leave me." "and never intended that he should leave you," raged coppinger. he came close up to her with his eyes glittering, his nostrils distended and snorting and his hands clinched. judith loosened her arms, and with her right hand swept a space before her with the bunch of lavender. he should not approach her within arm's length; the lavender marked the limit beyond which he might not draw near. "now, hear me!" said coppinger. "i have been too indulgent. i have humored you as a spoilt child. because you willed this or that, i have submitted. but the time for humoring is over. i can endure this suspense no longer. either you are my wife or you are not. i will suffer no trifling over this any longer. you have as it were put your lips to mine, and then sharply drawn them away--and now offer them to another." "silence!" exclaimed judith. "you insult me." "you insult and outrage me!" said coppinger, "when you run from your home to chatter with and walk with this oliver, and never deign to speak to me. when he is your dear oliver, and i am only captain coppinger; when you have smiles for him you have black looks for me. is not that insulting, galling, stinging, maddening?" judith was silent. her throat swelled. there was some truth in what he said; but, in the sight of heaven, she was guiltless of ever having thought of wrong, of having supposed for a moment that what she had allowed herself had not been harmless. "you are silent," said coppinger. "now hearken! with this moment i turn over the page of humoring your fancies and yielding to your follies. i have never pressed you to sign that register--i have trusted to your good sense and good feeling. you cannot go back. even if you desire it, you cannot undo what has been done. mine you are, mine you shall be--mine wholly and always. do you hear?" "yes." "and agree?" "no." he was silent a moment, with clinched teeth and hands looking at her, with eyes that smote her, as though they were bullets. "very well," said he. "your answer is no." "my answer is no, so help me god." "very well," said he, between his teeth. "then we open a new chapter." "what chapter is that?" "it is that of compulsion. that of solicitation is closed." "you cannot, whilst i have my senses. what!" she saw that he had a great riding-whip in his hand. "what--the old story again! you will strike me?" "no--not you. i will lash you into submission--through jamie." she uttered a cry, dropped the lavender, that became scattered before her, and held up her hands in mute entreaty. "i owe him chastisement. i have owed it him for many a day--and to-day above all--as a go-between." judith could not speak. she remained as one frozen--in one attitude, in one spot, speechless. she could not stir, she could not utter a word of entreaty, as coppinger left the room. in another minute a loud and shrill cry reached her ears from the court into which one of her windows looked. she knew the cry. it was that of her twin brother, and it thrilled through her heart, quivered in every nerve of her whole frame. she could hear what followed; but she could not stir. she was rooted by her feet to the floor, but she writhed there. it was as though every blow dealt the boy outside fell on her: she bent, she quivered, her lips parted, but cry she could not, the sweat rolled off her brow; she beat with her hands in the air. now she thrilled up with uplifted arms, on tip-toe, then sank--it was like a flame flickering in a socket before it expires: it dances, it curls, it shoots up in a tongue, it sinks into a bead of light, it rolls on one side, it sways to the other, it leaps from the wick high into the air, and drops again. it was so with judith--every stroke dealt, every scream of the tortured boy, every toss of his suffering frame, was repeated in her room, by her--in supreme, unspeaking anguish, too intense for sound to issue from her contracted throat. then all was still, and judith had sunk to her knees on the scattered lavender, extending her arms, clasping her hands, spreading them again, again beating her palms together, in a vague, unconscious way, as if in breathing she could not gain breath enough without this expansion and stretching forth of her arms. but, all at once, before her stood coppinger, the whip in his hands. "well! what now is your answer?" she breathed fast for some moments, laboring for expression. then she reared herself up and tried to speak, but could not. before her, threshed out on the floor, were the lavender seeds. they lay thick in a film over the boards in one place. she put her finger among them and drew no. chapter xlv. gone from its place. there are persons, they are not many, on whom luck smiles and showers gold. not a steady daily downpour of money but, whenever a little cloud darkens their sky, that same little cloud, which to others would be mere gloom, opens and discharges on them a sprinkling of gold pieces. it is not always the case that those who have rich relatives come in for good things from them. in many cases there are such on whom luck turns her back, but to those of whom we speak the rain of gold, and the snow of scrip and bonds come unexpectedly, but inevitably. just as pilatus catches every cloud that drifts over switzerland, so do they by some fatality catch something out of every trouble, that tends materially to solace their feelings, lacerated by that trouble. but not so only. these little showers fall to them from relatives they have taken no trouble to keep on good terms with, from acquaintances whom they have cut, admirers whose good opinion they have not concerned themselves to cultivate, friends with whom they have quarrelled. gideon's fleece, on one occasion, gathered to itself all the dew that fell, and left the grass of the field around quite dry. so do these fortunate persons concentrate on themselves, fortuitively it seems, the dew of richness that descends and might have, ought to have, dropped elsewhere; at all events, ought to have been more evenly and impartially distributed. gideon's fleece, on another occasion was dry, when all the glebe was dripping. so is it with certain unfortunates, luck never favors them. what they have expected and counted on they do not get, it is diverted, it drops round about them on every side, only on them it never falls. now, miss trevisa cannot be said to have belonged to either of these classes. to the latter she had pertained till suddenly, from a quarter quite unregarded, there came down on her a very satisfactory little splash. of relatives that were rich she had none, because she had no relatives at all. of bosom friends she had none, for her bosom was of that unyielding nature, that no one would like to be taken to it. but, before the marriage of her brother, and before he became rector of s. enodoc, when he was but a poor curate, she had been companion to a spinster lady, miss ceely, near s. austell. now the companion is supposed to be a person without an opinion of her own, always standing in a cringing position to receive the opinion of her mistress, then to turn it over and give it forth as her own. she is, if she be a proper companion, a mere echo of the sentiments of her employer. moreover, she is expected to be amiable, never to resent a rude word, never to take umbrage at neglect, always to be ready to dance attendance on her mistress, and with enthusiasm of devotion, real or simulated, to carry out her most absurd wishes, unreasoningly. but miss trevisa had been, as a companion, all that a companion ought not to be. she had argued with miss ceely, invariably, had crossed her opinions, had grumbled at her when she asked that anything might be done, raised difficulties, piled up objections, blocked the way to whatever miss ceely particularly set the heart on having executed. the two ladies were always quarrelling, always calling each other names, and it was a marvel to the relatives of miss ceely that she and her companion hung together for longer than a month. nevertheless they did. miss trevisa left the old lady when mr. peter trevisa became rector of s. enodoc, and then miss ceely obtained in her place quite an ideal companion, a very mirror--she had but to look on her face, smile, and a smile was repeated, weep, and tears came in the mirror. the new companion grovelled at her feet, licked the dust off her shoes, fawned on her hand, ran herself off her legs to serve her, grew gray under the misery of enduring miss ceely's jibes and sneers and insults, finally sacrificed her health in nursing her. when miss ceely's will was opened it was found that she had left nothing--not a farthing to this obsequious attendant, but had bequeathed fifteen hundred pounds, free of legacy duty, and all her furniture and her house to miss trevisa, with whom she had not kept up correspondence for twenty-three years. it really seemed as if leathery, rusty aunt dionysia, from being a dry gideon's fleece, were about to be turned into a wet and wringable fleece. no one was more astounded than herself. it was now necessary that miss trevisa should go to s. austell and see after what had come to her thus unsolicited and unexpectedly. all need for her to remain at pentyre was at an end. before she departed--not finally, but to see about the furniture that was now hers, and to make up her mind whether to keep or to sell it--she called judith to her. that day, the events of which were given in last chapter, had produced a profound impression on jamie. he had become gloomy, timid, and silent. his old idle chatter ceased. he clung to his sister, and accompanied her wherever she went; he could not endure to be with coppinger. when he heard his voice, caught a glimpse of him, he ran away and hid. jamie had been humored as a child, never beaten, scolded, put in a corner, sent to bed, cut off his pudding, but the rod had now been applied to his back and his first experience of corporal punishment was the cruel and vindictive hiding administered, not for any fault he had committed but because he had done his sister's bidding. he was filled with hatred of coppinger, mingled with fear, and when alone with judith would break out into exclamations of entreaty that she would run away with him, and of detestation of the man who held them there, as it were prisoners. "ju," said he, "i wish he were dead. i hate him. why doesn't god kill him and set us free!" at another time he said, "ju, dear! you do not love him. i wish i were a big strong man like oliver, and i would do what captain cruel did." "what do you mean?" "captain cruel shot at oliver." this was the first tidings judith had heard of the attempt on oliver's life. "he is a mean coward," said jamie. "he hid behind a hedge and shot at him. but he did not hurt him." "god preserved him," said judith. "why does not god preserve us! why did god let that beast----" "hush, jamie!" "i will not--that wretch--beat me? why did he not send lightning and strike him dead?" "i cannot tell you, darling. we must wait and trust." "i am tired of waiting and trusting. if i had a gun i would not shoot birds, i would go behind a hedge and shoot captain coppinger. there would be nothing wrong in that, ju?" "yes there would. it would be a sin." "not after he did that to oliver." "i would never--never love you, if you did that." "you would always love me whatever i did," said jamie. he spoke the truth, judith knew it. her eyes filled, she drew the boy to her passionately and kissed his golden head. then came aunt dionysia and summoned her into her own room. jamie followed. "judith," began aunt dunes, in her usual hard tones, and with the same frozen face, "i wish you particularly to understand. look here! you have caused me annoyance enough while i have been here. now i shall have a house of my own at s. austell, and if i choose to live in it i can. if i do not, i can let it, and live at othello cottage. i have not made up my mind what to do. fifteen hundred pounds is a dirty little sum, and not half as much as ought to have been left me for all i had to bear from that old woman. i am glad for one thing that she has left me something, though not much. i should have despaired of her salvation had she not. however her heart was touched at the last, though not touched enough. now what i want you to understand is this--it entirely depends on your conduct whether after my death this sum of fifteen hundred pounds and a beggarly sum of about five hundred i have of my own, comes to you or not. as long as this nonsense goes on between you and captain coppinger--you pretending you are not married, when you are, there is no security for me that you and jamie may not come tumbling in upon me and become a burden to me. captain coppinger will not endure this fooling much longer. _he_ can take advantage of your mistake. _he_ can say--i am not married. where is the evidence? produce proof of the marriage having been solemnized--and then he may send you out of his house upon the downs in the cold. what would you be then, eh? all the world holds you to be mrs. coppinger. a nice state of affairs, if it wakes up one morning to hear that mrs. coppinger has been kicked out of the glaze, that she never was the wife. what will the world say, eh? what sort of name will the world give you, when you have lived here as his wife." "that i have not." "lived here, gone to balls as his wife when you were not. what will the world call you, eh?" judith was silent, holding both her hands, open against her bosom. jamie beside her, looking up in her face, not understanding what his aunt was saying. "very well--or rather very ill!" continued miss trevisa. "and then you and this boy here will come to me to take you in, come and saddle yourselves on me, and eat up my little fund. that is what will be the end of it, if you remain in your folly. go at once to the rector, and put your name where it should have been two months ago, and your position is secure, he cannot drive you away, disgusted at your stubbornness, and you will relieve me of a constant source of uneasiness. it is not that only, but i must care for the good name of trevisa, which you happen to bear, that that name may not be trailed in the dust. the common sense of the matter is precisely what you cannot see. if you are not coppinger's wife you should not be here. if you are coppinger's wife, then your name should be in the register. now here you have come. you have appeared in public with him. you have but one course open to you, and that is to secure your position and your name and honor. you cannot undo what is done, but you can complete what is done insufficiently. the choice between alternatives is no longer before you. if you had purposed to withdraw from marriage, break off the engagement, then you should not have come on to pentyre, and remained here. as, however, you did this, there is absolutely nothing else to be done, but to sign the register. do you hear me?" "yes." "and you will obey?" "no." "pig-headed fool," said miss trevisa. "not one penny will i leave you. that i swear, if you remain obstinate." "do not let us say anything more about that, aunt. now you are going away, is there anything connected with the house you wish me to attend to? that i will do readily." "yes, there are several things," growled miss trevisa, "and, first of all, are you disposed to do anything, any common little kindness for the man whose bread you eat, whose roof covers you?" "yes, aunt." "very well, then. captain coppinger has his bowl of porridge every morning. i suppose he was accustomed to it before he came into these parts, and he cannot breakfast without it. he says that our cornish maids cannot make porridge properly, and i have been accustomed to see to it. either it is lumpy, or it is watery, or it is saltless. will you see to that?" "yes, aunt, willingly." "you ought to know how to make porridge, as you are more than half scottish." "i certainly can make it. dear papa always liked it." "then you will attend to that. if you are too high and too great a lady to put your hand to it yourself, you can see that the cook manages it aright. there is a new girl in now, who is a fool." "i will make it myself. i will do all i can do." "then take the keys. now that i go, you must be mistress of the house. but for your folly, i might have been from here, and in my own house, or rather in that given me for my use, othello cottage. i was to have gone there directly after your marriage, i had furnished it, and made it comfortable, and then you took to your fantastic notions, and hung back, and refused to allow that you were married, and so i had to stick on here two months. here, take the keys." miss trevisa almost flung them at her niece. "now i have two thousand pounds of my own, and a house at s. austell, it does not become me to be doing menial service. take the keys. i will never have them back." when miss trevisa was gone, and judith was by herself at night, jamie being asleep, she was able to think over calmly what her aunt had said. she concerned herself not the least, relative to the promise her aunt had made of leaving her two thousand pounds, were she submissive, and her threat of disinheriting her, should she continue recalcitrant, but she did feel that there was truth in her aunt's words when she said that she, judith, had placed herself in a wrong position--but it was a wrong position into which she had been forced, she had not voluntarily entered it. she had, indeed, consented to become coppinger's wife, but when she found that coppinger had employed jamie to give signals that might mislead a vessel to its ruin she could not go further to meet him. although he had endeavored to clear himself in her eyes, she did not believe him. she was convinced that he was guilty, though at moments she hoped, and tried to persuade herself that he was not. then came the matter of the diamonds. there, again, the gravest suspicion rested on him. again he had endeavored to exculpate himself, yet she could not believe that he was innocent. till full confidence that he was blameless in these matters was restored, an insuperable wall divided them. never would she belong to a man who was a wrecker, who belonged to that class of criminals her father had regarded with the utmost horror. before she retired to bed, she picked up from under the fender the scrap of paper on which oliver's message had been written. it had lain there unobserved where coppinger had flung it, now, as she tidied her room, and arranged the fire-rug, she observed it. she smoothed it out, folded it, and went to her workbox to replace it where it had been before. she raised the lid, and was about to put the note among some other papers she had there, a letter of her mother's, a piece of her father's writing, some little accounts she had kept, when she was startled to see that the packet of arsenic mr. menaida had given her was missing. she turned out the contents of her workbox. it was nowhere to be found, either there, or in her drawers. her aunt must have been prying into the box, have found and removed it, so judith thought, and with this thought appeased her alarm. perhaps, considering the danger of having arsenic about, aunt dionysia had done right in removing it. she had done wrong in doing so without speaking to judith. chapter xlvi. a second lie. next day, miss trevisa being gone, judith had to attend to the work of the house. it was her manifest duty to do so. hitherto she had shrunk from the responsibility, because she shrank from assuming a position in the house to which she refused to consider that she had a right. judith was perfectly competent to manage an establishment, she had a clear head, a love of order, and a power of exacting obedience of servants without incessant reproof. moreover, she had that faculty possessed by few of directing others in their work so that each moved along his or her own line and fulfilled the allotted work with ease. she had managed her father's house, and managed it admirably. she knew that, as the king's government must be carried on, so the routine of a household must be kept going. judith had sufficient acquaintance also with servants to be aware that the wheel would stop or move spasmodically, unless an authoritative hand were applied to it to keep it in even revolution. she knew also that whatever happened in a house--a birth, a death, a wedding, an uproar--the round of common duties must be discharged, the meals prepared, the bread baked, the milk skimmed, the beds made, the carpets swept, the furniture dusted, the windows opened, the blinds drawn down, the table laid, the silver and glass burnished. nothing save a fire which gutted a house must interfere with all this routine. miss trevisa was one of those ladies who, in their own opinion, are condemned by providence never to have good servants. a benign providence sheds good domestics into every other house, save that which she rules. she is born under a star which inexorably sends the scum and dregs of servantdom under her sceptre. miss trevisa regarded a servant as a cat regards a mouse, a dog regards a fox, and a dolphin a flying-fish, as something to be run after, snapped at, clawed, leaped upon, worried perpetually. she was incapable of believing that there could be any good in a servant, that there was any other side to a domestic save a seamy side. she could make no allowance for ignorance, for weakness, for lightheartedness. a servant in her eyes must be a drudge ever working, never speaking, smiling, taking a hand off the duster, without a mind above flue and tea-leaves, and unable to soar above a cobweb; with a temper perfect in endurance of daily, hourly fault-finding, nagging, grumbling, a mind unambitious also of commendation. miss trevisa held that every servant that a malign providence had sent her was clumsy, insolent, slatternly, unmethodical, idle, wasteful, a gossip, a gadabout, a liar, a thief, was dainty, greedy, one of a cursed generation; and when in the psalms, david launched out in denunciation of the enemies of the lord, miss trevisa, when she heard or read these psalms, thought of servantdom. servants were referred to when david said, "hide me from the insurrection of the wicked doers, who have whet their tongues like a sword, that they may privily shoot at him that is perfect," _i.e._, me, was miss trevisa's comment. "they encourage themselves in mischief; and commune among themselves how they may lay snares, and say, that no man shall see them." "and how," said miss trevisa, "can men be so blind as not to believe that the bible is inspired when david hits the character of servants off to the life!" and not the psalms only, but the prophets were full of servants' delinquencies. what were tyre and egypt but figures of servantdom shadowed before. what else did isaiah lift up his testimony about, and jeremiah lament over, but the iniquities of the kitchen and the servants' hall. miss trevisa read her bible, and great comfort did it afford her, because it did denounce the servant maids so unsparingly and prepared brimstone and outer darkness for them. now judith had seen and heard much of the way in which miss trevisa managed captain coppinger's house. her room adjoined that of her aunt, and she knew that if her aunt were engaged on--it mattered not what absorbing work, embroidery, darning a stocking, reading a novel, saying her prayers, studying the cookery book--if a servant sneezed within a hundred yards, or upset a drop of water, or clanked a dust-pan, or clicked a door-handle, miss trevisa would be distracted from her work and rush out of her room, just as a spider darts from its recess, and sweep down on the luckless servant to worry and abuse her. judith, knowing this, knew also that the day of miss trevisa's departure would be marked with white chalk, and lead to a general relaxation of discipline, to an inhaling of long breaths, and a general stretching and taking of ease. it was necessary, therefore, that she should go round and see that the wheel was kept turning. to her surprise, on entering the hall, she found captain coppinger there. "i beg your pardon," she said, "i thought you were out." she looked at him and was struck with his appearance, the clay-like color of his face, the dark lines in it, the faded look in his eyes. "are you unwell?" she asked; "you really look ill." "i am ill." "ill--what is the matter?" "a burning in my throat. cramp and pains--but what is that to you?" "when did it come on?" "but recently." "will you not have a doctor to see you?" "a doctor!--no." "was the porridge as you liked it this morning? i made it." "it was good enough." "would you like more now?" "no." "and to-morrow morning, will you have the same?" "yes--the same." "i will make it again. aunt said the new cook did not understand how to mix and boil it to your liking." coppinger nodded. judith remained standing and observing him. some faces when touched by pain and sickness are softened and sweetened. the hand of suffering passes over the countenance and brushes away all that is frivolous, sordid, vulgar; it gives dignity, purity, refinement, and shows what the inner soul might be were it not entangled and degraded by base association and pursuit. it is different with other faces, the hand of suffering films away the assumed expression of good nature, honesty, straightforwardness, and unmasks the evil inner man. the touch of pain had not improved the expression of cruel coppinger. it cannot, however, with justice be said that the gentler aspect of the man, which judith had at one time seen, was an assumption. he was a man in whom there was a certain element of good, but it was mixed up with headlong wilfulness, utter selfishness, and resolution to have his own way at any cost. judith could see, now that his face was pain-struck, how much of evil there was in the soul that had been disguised by a certain dash of masculine overbearing and brusqueness. "what are you looking at?" asked coppinger, glancing up. "i was thinking," answered judith. "of what?" "of you--of wyvill, of the wreck on doom bar, of the jewels of lady knighton, and last of all of jamie's maltreatment." "and what of all that?" he said in irritable scorn. "that i need not say. i have drawn my own conclusions." "you torment me, you--when i am ill? they call me cruel, but it is you who are cruel." judith did not wish to be drawn into discussion that must be fruitless. she said, quietly, in altered tone, "can i get you anything to comfort you?" "no--go your way. this will pass. besides, it is naught to you. go; i would be left alone." judith obeyed, but she was uneasy. she had never seen coppinger look as he looked now. it was other, altogether, after he had broken his arm. other, also, when for a day he was crippled with bruises, after the wreck. she looked into the hall several times during the day. in the afternoon he was easier, and went out; his mouth had been parched and burning, and he had been drinking milk. the empty glass was on the table. he would eat nothing at mid-day. he turned from food, and left the room for his own chamber. judith was anxious. she more than once endeavored to draw coppinger into conversation relative to himself, but he would not speak of what affected him. he was annoyed and ashamed at being out of his usual rude health. "it is naught," he said, "but a bilious attack, and will pass. leave me alone." she had been so busy all day, that she had seen little of jamie. he had taken advantage of captain coppinger not being about, to give himself more license to roam than he had of late, and to go with his donkey on the cliffs. anyhow judith on this day did not have him hanging to her skirts. she was glad of it, for, though she loved him, he would have been an encumbrance when she was so busy. the last thing at night she did was to go to coppinger to inquire what he would take. he desired nothing but spirits and milk. he thought that a milk-punch would give him ease and make him sleep. that he was weak and had suffered pain she saw, and she was full of pity for him. but this she did not like to exhibit, partly because he might misunderstand her feelings, and partly because he seemed irritated at being unwell, and at loss of power; irritated, at all events, at it being observed that he was not in his usual plenitude of strength and health. that night the atlantic was troubled, and the wind carried the billows against the cliffs in a succession of rhythmic roars that filled the air with sound and made the earth quiver. judith could not sleep, she listened to the thud of the water-heaps flung against the rocks; there was a clock on the stairs and in her wakefulness she listened to the tick of the clock, and the boom of the waves, now coming together, then one behind the other, now the wave-beat catching up the clock-tick, then falling in arrear, the ocean getting angry and making up its pace by a double beat. moreover flakes of foam were carried on the wind and came, like snow, against her window that looked seaward striking the glass and adhering to it. as judith lay watchful in the night her mind again recurred to the packet of arsenic that had been abstracted from her workbox. it was inconsiderate of her to have left it there; she ought to have locked her box. but who could have supposed that anyone would have gone to the box, raised the tray and searched the contents of the compartment beneath? judith had been unaccustomed to lock up anything, because she had never had any secrets to hide from any eye. she again considered the probability of her aunt having removed it, and then it occurred to her that perhaps miss trevisa might have supposed that she--judith--in a fit of revolt against the wretchedness of her life might be induced to take the poison herself and finish her miseries. "it was absurd if aunt dunes thought that," said judith to herself; "she can little have known how my dear papa's teaching has sunk into my heart, to suppose me capable of such a thing--and then--to run away like a coward and leave jamie unprotected. it was too absurd." next morning judith was in her room getting a large needle with which to hem a bit of carpet edge that had been fraying for the last five years, and which no one had thought of putting a thread to, and so arresting the disintegration. jamie was in the room. judith said to him: "my dear, you have not been skinning and stuffing any birds lately, have you?" "no, ju." "because i have missed--but, jamie, i hope you have not been at my workbox?" "what about your workbox, ju?" she knew the boy so well, that her suspicions were at once aroused by this answer. when he had nothing to hide he replied with a direct negative or affirmative, but when he had done what his conscience would not quite allow was right, he fell into equivocation, and shuffled awkwardly. "jamie," said judith, looking him straight in the face, "have you been to my box?" "only just looked in." then he ran to the window. "oh, do see, ju, how patched the glass is with foam!--and is it not dirty?" "jamie, come back. i want an answer." he had opened the casement and put his hand out and was wiping off the patches of froth. "what a lot of it there is, ju." "come here, instantly, jamie, and shut the window." the boy obeyed, creeping toward her sideways, with his head down. "jamie, did you lift the tray?" "only on one side, just a little bit." "did you take anything from under the tray?" he did not answer immediately. she looked at him searchingly and in suspense. he never could endure this questioning look of hers, and he ran to her, put his arms round her waist, and clasped to her side, hid his face in her gown. "only a little." "a little what?" "i don't know." "jamie, no lies. there was a blue paper there containing poison, that you were not to have unless there were occasion for it--some bird skin to be preserved and dressed with it. now, did you take that?" "yes." "go and bring it back to me immediately." "i can't." "why not? where is it?" the boy fidgeted, looked up in his sister's face to see what expression it bore, buried his head again, and said: "ju! he is rightly called cruel. i hate him, and so do you, don't you, ju? i have put the arsenic into his oatmeal, and we will get rid of him and be free and go away. it will be jolly." "jamie!" with a cry of horror. "he won't whip me and scold you any more." "jamie! oh, my lord, have pity on him! have pity on us!" she clasped her hands to her head, rushed from the room, and flew down the stairs. but ten minutes before that judith had given coppinger his bowl of porridge. he had risen late that morning. he was better, he said, and he looked more himself than the preceding day. he was now seated at the table in the hall, and had poured the fresh milk into the bowl, had dipped the spoon, put some of the porridge to his mouth, tasted, and was looking curiously into the spoon, when the door was flung open, judith entered, and without a word of explanation, caught the bowl from him and dashed it on the floor. coppinger looked at her with his boring, dark eyes intently, and said: "what is the meaning of this?" "it is poisoned." judith was breathless. she drew back relieved at having cast away the fatal mess. coppinger rose to his feet, and glared at her across the table, leaning with his knuckles on the board. he did not speak for a moment, his face became livid, and his hands resting on the table shook as though he were shivering in an ague. "there is arsenic in the porridge," gasped judith. she had not time to weigh what she should say, how explain her conduct; but one thought had held her--to save coppinger's life while there was yet time. the captain's dog that had been lying at his master's feet rose, went to the spilt porridge, and began to lap the milk and devour the paste. neither judith nor coppinger regarded him. "it was an accident," faltered judith. "you lie," said coppinger, in thrilling tones, "you lie, you murderess! you sought to kill me." judith did not answer for a moment. she also was trembling. she had to resolve what course to pursue. she could not, she would not, betray her brother, and subject him to the worst brutality of treatment from the infuriated man whose life he had sought. it were better for her to take the blame on herself. "i made the porridge--i and no one else." "you told me so, yesterday." he maintained his composure marvellously, but he was stunned by the sudden discovery of treachery in the woman he had loved and worshipped. "you maddened me by your treatment, but i did not desire that you should die. i repented and have saved your life." as judith spoke she felt as though the flesh of her face stiffened, and the skin became as parchment. she could hardly open her mouth to speak and stir her tongue. "go!" said coppinger, pointing to the door. "go, you and your brother. othello cottage is empty. go, murderess, poisoner of your husband, there and wait till you hear from me. under one roof, to eat off one board, is henceforth impossible. go!" he remained pointing, and a sulphurous fire flickered in his eyes. then the hound began to howl, threw itself down, its limbs were contracted, it foamed at the mouth, and howled again. to the howlings of the poisoned and dying dog judith and jamie left pentyre. chapter xlvii. fast in his hands. judith and jamie were together in othello cottage--banished from pentyre with a dark and threatening shadow over them, but this, however, gave the boy but little concern; he was delighted to be away from a house where he had been in incessant terror, and where he was under restraint; moreover, it was joy to him to be now where he need not meet coppinger at every turn. judith forbade his going to polzeath to see uncle zachie and oliver menaida, as she thought it advisable, under the circumstances, to keep themselves to themselves, and above all not to give further occasion for the suspicions and jealousy of coppinger. this was to her, under the present condition of affairs, specially distressing, as she needed some counsel as to what she should do. uncle zachie at his best was a poor adviser, but on no account now would she appeal to his son. she was embarrassed and alarmed. and she had excuse for embarrassment and alarm. she had taken upon herself the attempt that had been made on the life of coppinger, and he would, she supposed, believe her to be guilty. what would he do? would he proceed against her for attempted murder? if so, the case against her was very complete. it could be shown that mr. menaida had given her this arsenic, that she had kept it by her in her workbox while at the glaze, that she had been on the most unsatisfactory terms with captain coppinger, and that she had refused to complete her marriage with him by appending her signature to the register. she was now aware--and the thought made her feel sick at heart and faint--that her association with the menaidas had been most injudicious and had been capable of misinterpretation. it had been misinterpreted by coppinger, and probably also by the gossips of polzeath. it could be shown that a secret correspondence had been carried on between her and oliver, which had been intercepted by her husband. this was followed immediately by the attempt to poison coppinger. the arsenic had been given him in the porridge her own hands had mixed, and which had been touched by no one else. it was natural to conclude that she had deliberately purposed to destroy her husband, that she might be free to marry oliver menaida. if she were prosecuted on the criminal charge of attempted murder, the case could be made so conclusive against her that her conviction was certain. her only chance of escape lay in two directions--one that she should tell the truth, and allow jamie to suffer the consequences of what he had done, which would be prison or a lunatic asylum. the other was that she should continue to screen him and trust that coppinger would not prosecute her. he might hesitate about proceeding with such a case, which would attract attention to himself, to his household, and lay bare to the public eye much that he would reasonably be supposed to wish to keep concealed. if, for instance, the case were brought into court the story of the enforced marriage must come out, and that would rake up once more the mystery of the wreckers on doom bar, and of lady knighton's jewels. coppinger might and probably would grasp at the other alternative--take advantage of the incompletion of the marriage, repudiate her, and let the matter of the poisoned porridge remain untouched. the more judith turned the matter over in her head the more sure she became that the best course, indeed the only one in which safety lay, was for her to continue to assume to herself the guilt of the attempt on coppinger's life. he would see by her interference the second time, and prevention of his taking a second portion of the arsenic, that she did not really seek his life, but sought to force him, through personal fear, to drive her from his house and break the bond by which he bound her to him. for the sake of this going back from a purpose of murder, or from thinking that she had never intended to do more than drive him to a separation by alarm for his own safety; for the sake of the old love he had borne her, he might forbear pressing this matter to its bitter consequences, and accept what she desired--their separation. but if judith allowed the truth to come out, then her husband would have no such compunction. it would be an opportunity for him to get rid of the boy he detested, and even if he did not have him consigned to jail, then it would be only because he would send him to an asylum. judith went out on the cliffs. the sea was troubled, far as the horizon, strewn with white horses shaking their manes, pawing and prancing in their gallop landward. there was no blue, no greenness in the ocean now. the dull tinctures of winter were in it. the atlantic wore its scowl, was leaden and impatient. the foam on the rocks was driven up in spouts into the air and carried over the downs, it caught in the thorn bushes like flocks of wool, and was no cleaner. it lay with the thin melting snow and melted with it into a dirty slush. it plastered the face of othello cottage as though, in brutal insolence, ocean had been spitting at the house that was built of the wreck he had failed to gulp down, though he had chewed the life out of it. the foam rested in flakes on the rushes where it hung and fluttered like tufts of cotton-grass. it was dropped about by the wind for miles inland as though the wind were running in a paper chase. it was as though sky and sea were contending in a game of pelting the land, the one with snow, the other with foam, the one sweet, the other salt. judith walked where, near the edge of the cliffs, there was no snow, and looked out at the angry ocean. all without was cold, rugged, ruffled, wretched; and within her heart burned a fire of apprehension, distress, almost of despair. all at once she came upon mr. desiderius mules, walking in an opposite direction, engaged in wiping the foam-flakes out of his eyes. "halloo! you here mrs. coppinger?" exclaimed the rector; "glad to see you. i'm not here like s. anthony preaching to the fishes, because i am a practical man. in the first place, in such a disturbed sea the fishes would have enough to do to look after themselves and would be ill-disposed to lend me an ear. in the next place the wind is on shore, and they would not hear me were i to lift up my voice. so i don't waste words and over-strain my larynx. if the bishop were a mile or a mile and a half inland, it might be different, he might admire my zeal. and what brings you here?" "oh, mr. mules!" exclaimed judith, with a leap of hope in her heart--here was someone who might if he would be a help to her. she had indeed made up her own mind as to what was the safest road on which to set her feet, but she was timid, shrank from falsehood, and earnestly craved for someone to whom she could speak, and from whom she could obtain advice. "oh, mr. mules! will you give me some advice and assistance?" "advice, by all means," said the rector. "i'll turn and walk your way, the froth is blown into my face and stings it. my skin is sensitive, so are my eyes. upon my word, when i get home my face will be as salt as if i had flooded it with tears--fancy me crying. what did you say you wanted--advice?" "advice and assistance." "advice you shall have, it is my profession to give it. i mix it with pepper and salt and serve it out in soup plates every week--am ready with it every day, mrs. coppinger. i have buckets of it at your disposal, bring your tureen and i'll tip in as much of the broth as you want, and may you like it. as to assistance, that is another matter. pecuniary assistance i never give. i am unable to do so. my principles stand in the way. i have set up a high standard for myself and i stick to it. i never render pecuniary assistance to any one, as it demoralizes the receiver. i hope and trust it was not pecuniary assistance you wanted." "no, mr. mules--not that, only guidance." "oh, guidance! i'm your sign-post, where do you want to go!" "it is this, sir. i have given poison to mr. coppinger." "mercy on me!" the rector jumped back and turned much the tinge of the foam plasters that were on his face. "that is to say, i gave him arsenic mixed with his porridge the day before yesterday, and it made him very ill. yesterday----" "hush, hush!" said mr. mules, "no more of this. this is ghastly. let us say it is hallucination on your part. you are either not right in your head or are very wicked. if you please--don't come nearer to me. i can hear you quite well, hear a great deal more than pleases me. you ask my advice, and i give it: sign the register, that will set me square, and put me in an unassailable position with the public, and also, secondarily, it will be to your advantage. you are now a nondescript, and a nondescript is objectionable. if you please--you will excuse me--i should prefer _not_ standing between you and the cliff. there is no knowing what a person who confesses to poisoning her husband might do. if it be a case of lunacy--well, more reason that i should use precautions. my life is valuable. come, there is only one thing you can do to make me comfortable--sign the register." "you will not mention what i have told you to anyone?" "save and defend us! i speak of it!--i! come, come, be rational. sign the register and set my mind at ease, that is all i want and ask for, and then i wash my hands of you." then away went mr. desiderius mules, with the wind catching his coat tails, twisting them, throwing them up against his back, parting them, and driving them one on each of him, taking and cutting them and sending them between his legs. judith stood mournfully looking after him. the sign-post, as he had called himself was flying from the traveller whom it was his duty to direct. then a hand was laid on her arm. she started, turned and saw oliver menaida, flushed with rapid walking and with the fresh air he had encountered. "i have come to see you," he said. "i have come to offer you my father's and my assistance. we have just heard----" "what?" "that captain coppinger has turned you and jamie out of his house." "have you heard any reason assigned?" "because--so it is said--he had beaten the boy, and you were incensed, angry words passed--and it ended in a rupture." "that, then, is the common explanation?" "everyone is talking about it. everyone says that. and now, what will you do?" "thank you. jamie and i are at othello cottage, where we are comfortable. my aunt had furnished it intending to reside in it herself. as for our food, we receive that from the glaze." "but this cannot continue." "it must continue for a while." "and then?" "the future is not open to my eyes." "judith, that has taken place at length which i have been long expecting." "what do you mean?" "this miserable condition of affairs has reached its climax, and there has been a turn." judith sighed. "it has taken a turn, indeed." "now that captain coppinger has been brought to his senses, and he sees that your resolve is not to be shaken, and he releases you, or you have released yourself from the thraldom you have been in. i do not suppose the popular account of the matter is true, wholly." "it is not at all true." "that matters not. the fact remains that you are out of pentyre glaze and your own mistress. the snare is broken and you are delivered." again judith sighed, and she shook her head despondingly. "you are free," persisted oliver, "just consider. you were hurried through a marriage when insensible, and when you came to consciousness you did what was the only thing you could do--you absolutely refused your signature that would validate what had taken place. that was conclusive. that ceremony was as worthless as this sea-foam that blows by. no court in the world would hold that you were bound by it. the consent, the free consent, of each party in such a convention is essential. as to your being at pentyre, nothing against that can be alleged; miss trevisa was your aunt and constituted your guardian by your father. your place was by her. to her you went when my father's house was no longer at your service through my return. at pentyre you remained as long as miss trevisa was there. she went, and at once you left the house." "you do not understand." "excuse me, i think i do. but no matter as to details. when your aunt went, you went also--as was proper under the circumstances. we have heard, i do not know whether it be true, that your aunt has come in for a good property." "for a little something." "then, shall you go to her and reside with her?" "no; she will not have jamie and me." "so we supposed. now my father has a proposal to make. the firm to which i belong has been good enough to take me into partnership, esteeming my services far higher than they deserve, and i am to live at oporto, and act for them there. as my income will now be far larger than my humble requirements, i have resolved to allow my dear father sufficient for him to live upon comfortably where he wills, and he has elected to follow me, and take up his abode in portugal. now what he has commissioned me to say is--will you go with him? will you continue to regard him as uncle zachie, and be to him as his dear little niece, and keep house for him in the sunny southern land?" judith's eyes filled with tears. "and jamie is included in the invitation. he is to come also, and help my father to stuff the birds of portugal. a new ornithological field is opening before him, he says and he must have help in it." "i cannot," said judith, in a low tone, with her head sunk on her breast. "i cannot leave here till captain coppinger gives me leave." "but, surely, you are no longer bound to him?" "he holds me faster than before." "i cannot understand this." "no; because you do not know all." "tell me the whole truth. let me help you. let my father help you. you little know how we both have our hearts in your service." "well, i will tell you." but she hesitated and trembled. she fixed her eyes on the wild, foaming, leaden sea, and pressed her bosom with both hands. "i poisoned him." "judith!" "it is true, i gave him arsenic, once; that your father had let me have for jamie. if he had taken it the second time, when i offered it him in his bowl of porridge, he would be dead now. do you see--he holds me in his hands and i cannot stir. i could not escape till i know what he intends to do with me. now go--leave me to my fate." "judith--it is not true! though i hear this from your lips i will not believe it. no; you need my father's, you need my help more than ever." he put her hand to his lips. "it is white--innocent. i _know_ it, in spite of your words." chapter xlviii. two alternatives. when judith returned to othello cottage, she was surprised to see a man promenading around it, flattening his nose at the window, so as to bring his eyes against the glass, then, finding that the breath from his nostrils dimmed the pane, wiping the glass and again flattening his nose. at first he held his hands on the window-ledge, but being incommoded by the refraction of the light, put his open hands against the pane, one on each side of his face. having satisfied himself at one casement, he went to another, and made the same desperate efforts to see in at that. judith coming up to the door, and putting the key in, disturbed him, he started, turned, and with a nose much like putty, but rapidly purpling with returned circulation, disclosed the features of mr. scantlebray, senior. "ah, ha!" said that gentleman, in no way disconcerted; "here i have you, after having been looking for my orphing charmer in every direction but the right one. with your favor i will come inside and have a chat." "excuse me," said judith, "but i do not desire to admit visitors." "but i am an exception. i'm the man who should have looked after your interests, and would have done it a deal better than others. and so there has been a rumpus, eh? what about?" "i really beg your pardon, mr. scantlebray, but i am engaged and cannot ask you to enter, nor delay conversing with you on the doorstep." "oh, jimminy! don't consider me. i'll stand on the doorstep and talk with you inside. don't consider me; go on with what you have to do and let me amuse you. it must be dull and solitary here, but i will enliven you, though i have not my brother's gifts. now, obadiah is a man with a genius for entertaining people. he missed his way when he started in life; he would have made a comic actor. bless your simple heart, had that man appeared on the boards, he would have brought the house down--" "i have no doubt whatever he missed his way when he took to keeping an asylum," said judith. "we have all our gifts," said scantlebray. "mine is architecture, and 'pon my honor as a gentleman, i do admire the structure of othello cottage, uncommon. you won't object to my pulling out my tape and taking the plan of the edifice, will you?" "the house belongs to captain coppinger; consult him." "my dear orphing, not a bit. i'm not on the best terms with that gent. there lies a tract of ruffled water between us. not that i have given him cause for offence, but that he is not sweet upon me. he took off my hands the management of your affairs in the valuation business, and let me tell you--between me and you and that post yonder"--he walked in and laid his hand on a beam--"that he mismanaged it confoundedly. he is your husband, i am well aware, and i ought not to say this to you. he took the job into his hands because he had an eye to you, i knew that well enough. but he hadn't the gift--the faculty. now i have made all that sort of thing my specialty. how many rooms have you in this house? what does that door lead to?" "really, mr. scantlebray, you must excuse me; i am busy." "o, yes--vastly busy. walking on the cliffs, eh! alone, eh? well, mum is the word. come, make me your friend and tell me all about it. how came you here? there are all kind of stories afloat about the quarrel between you and your husband, and he is an eolus, a blustering boreas, all the winds in one box. not surprised. he blew up a gale against me once. domestic felicity is a fable of the poets. home is a region of cyclones, tornadoes, hurricanes--what you like; anything but a pacific ocean. now, you won't mind my throwing an eye round this house, will you--a scientific eye? architecture is my passion." "mr. scantlebray, that is my bedroom; i forbid you touching the handle. excuse me--but i must request you to leave me in peace." "my dear creature," said scantlebray, "scientific thirst before all. it is unslakable save by the acquisition of what it desires. the structure of this house, as well as its object, has always been a puzzle to me. so your aunt was to have lived here--the divine, the fascinating dionysia, as i remember her years ago. it wasn't built for the lovely dionysia, was it? no. then for what object was it built? and why so long untenanted? these are nuts for you to crack." "i do not trouble myself about these questions. i must pray you to depart." "in half the twinkle of an eye," said scantlebray. then he seated himself. "come, you haven't a superabundance of friends. make me one and unburden your soul to me. what is it all about? why are you here? what has caused this squabble? i have a brother a solicitor at bodmin. let me jot down the items, and we'll get a case out of it. trust me as a friend, and i'll have you righted. i hear miss trevisa has come in for a fortune. be a good girl, set your back against her and show fight." "i will thank you to leave the house," said judith, haughtily. "a moment ago you made reference to your honor as a gentleman. i must appeal to that same honor which you pride yourself on possessing, and, by virtue of that, request you to depart." "i'll go, i'll go. but, my dear child, why are you in such a hurry to get rid of me? are you expecting some one? it is an odd thing, but as i came along i was overtaken by mr. oliver menaida, making his way to the downs--to look at the sea, which is rough, and inhale the breeze of the ocean, of course. at one time, i am informed, you made daily visits to polzeath, daily visits while captain coppinger was on the sea. since his return, i am informed, these visits have been discontinued. is it possible that instead of your visiting mr. oliver, mr. oliver is now visiting you--here, in this cottage?" a sudden slash across the back and shoulders made mr. scantlebray jump and bound aside. coppinger had entered, and was armed with a stout walking-stick. "what brings you here?" he asked. "i came to pay my respects to the grass-widow," sneered scantlebray, as he sidled to the door and bolted, but not till, with a face full of malignity, he had shaken his fist at coppinger, behind his back. "what brings this man here?" asked the captain. "impertinence--nothing else," answered judith. "what was that he said about oliver menaida?" "his insolence will not bear reporting." "you are right. he is a cur, and deserves to be kicked, not spoken to or spoken of. i heed him not. there is in him a grudge against me. he thought at one time that i would have taken his daughter--do you recall speaking to me once about the girl that you supposed was a fit mate for me! i laughed--i thought you had heard the chatter about polly scantlebray and me. a bold, fine girl, full of blood as a cherry is full of juice--one of the stock--but with better looks than the men, yet with the assurance, the effrontery of her father. a girl to laugh and talk with, not to take to one's heart. i care for polly scantlebray! not i! that man has never forgiven me the disappointment because i did not take her. i never intended to. i despised her. now you know all. now you see why he hates me. i do not care. i am his match. but i will not have him insolent to you. what did he say?" it was a relief to judith that captain coppinger had not heard the words that mr. scantlebray had used. they would have inflamed his jealousy, and fired him into fury against the speaker. "he told me that he had been passed, on his way hither, by mr. oliver menaida, coming to the cliffs to inhale the sea air and look at the angry ocean." captain coppinger was satisfied, or pretended to be so. he went to the door and shut it, but not till he had gone outside and looked round to see, so judith thought, whether oliver menaida were coming that way, quite as much as to satisfy himself that mr. scantlebray was not lurking round a corner listening. no! oliver menaida would not come there. of that judith was quite sure. he had the delicacy of mind and the good sense not to risk her reputation by approaching othello cottage. when he had made that offer to her she had known that his own heart spoke, but he had veiled its speech and had made the offer as from his father, and in such a way as not to offend her. only when she had accused herself of attempted murder did he break through his reserve to show her his rooted confidence in her innocence, in spite of her confession. when the door was fast, coppinger came over to judith, and, standing at a little distance from her, said: "judith, look at me." she raised her eyes to him. he was pale and his face lined, but he had recovered greatly since that day when she had seen him suffering from the effects of the poison. "judith," said he, "i know all." "what do you know?" "you did not poison me." "i mixed and prepared the bowl for you." "yes--but the poison had been put into the oatmeal before, not by you, not with your knowledge." she was silent. she was no adept at lying; she could not invent another falsehood to convince him of her guilt. "i know how it all came about," pursued captain coppinger. "the cook, jane, has told me. jamie came into the kitchen with a blue paper in his hand, asked for the oatmeal, and put in the contents of the paper so openly as not in the least to arouse suspicion. not till i was taken ill and made inquiries did the woman connect his act with what followed. i have found the blue paper, and on it it is written, in mr. menaida's handwriting, which i know, 'arsenic. poison: for jamie, only to be used for the dressing of bird-skins, and a limited amount to be served to him at a time.' now i am satisfied, because i know your character, and because i saw innocence in your manner when you came down to me on the second occasion, and dashed the bowl from my lips--i saw then that you were innocent." judith said nothing. her eyes rested on the ground. "i had angered that fool of a boy, i had beaten him. in a fit of sullen revenge, and without calculating either how best to do it, or what the consequences would be, he went to the place where he knew the arsenic was--mr. menaida had impressed on him the danger of playing with the poison--and he abstracted it. but he had not the wit or cunning generally present in idiots----" "he is no idiot," said judith. "no, in fools," said coppinger, "to put the poison into the oatmeal secretly when no one was in the kitchen. he asked the cook for the meal and mingled the contents of the paper into it so openly as to disarm suspicion." he paused for judith to speak, but she did not. he went on: "then you, in utter guilelessness, prepared my breakfast for me, as instructed by miss trevisa. next morning you did the same, but were either suspicious of evil through missing the paper from your cabinet, or drawer, or wherever you kept it, or else jamie confessed to you what he had done. thereupon you rushed to me to save me from taking another portion. i do not know that i would have taken it; i had formed a half-suspicion from the burning sensation in my throat, and from what i saw in the spoon--but there was no doubt in my mind after the first discovery that you were guiltless. i sought the whole matter out, as far as i was able. jamie is guilty--not you." "and," said judith, drawing a long breath, "what about jamie?" "there are two alternatives," said coppinger; "the boy is dangerous. never again shall he come under my roof." "no," spoke judith, "no, he must not go to the glaze again. let him remain here with me. i will take care of him that he does mischief to no one. he would never have hurt you had not you hurt him. forgive him, because he was aggravated to it by the unjust and cruel treatment he received." "the boy is a mischievous idiot," said coppinger; "he must not be allowed to be at large." "what, then, are your alternatives?" "in the first place, i propose to send him back to that establishment whence he should never have been released, to scantlebray's asylum." "no--no--no!" gasped judith. "you do not know what that place is. i do. i got into it. i saw how jamie had been treated." "he cannot be treated too severely. he is dangerous. you refuse this alternative?" "yes, indeed, i do." "very well. then i put the matter in the hands of justice, and he is proceeded against and convicted as having attempted my life with poison. to jail he will go." it was as judith had feared. there were but two destinations for jamie, her dear, dear brother, the son of that blameless father--jail or an asylum. "oh, no! no--no! not that!" cried judith. "one or the other. i give you six hours to choose," said coppinger. then he went to the door, opened it, and stood looking seaward. suddenly he started, "ha! the black prince." he turned in the door and said to judith: "one hour after sunset come to pentyre glaze. come alone, and tell me your decision. i will wait for that." chapter xlix. nothing like grog. the black prince had been observed by oliver menaida. he did not know for certain that the vessel he saw in the offing was the smuggler's ship, but he suspected it, as he knew that coppinger was in daily expectation of her arrival. he brought his father to the cliffs, and the old man at once identified her. oliver considered what was to be done. a feint was to be made at a point lower down the coast so as to attract the coast-guard in that direction; whereas, she was to run for pentyre as soon as night fell, with all lights hidden, and to discharge her cargo in the little cove. oliver knew pretty well who was confederate with coppinger, or were in his employ. his father was able to furnish him with a good deal of information, not perhaps very well authenticated, all resting on gossip. he resolved to have a look at these men, and observe whether they were making preparations to assist coppinger in clearing the black prince the moment she arrived off the cove. but he found that he had not far to look. they were drawn to the cliffs one after another to observe the distant vessel. oliver now made his way to the coast-guard station, and to reach it went round by wadebridge, and this he did because he wished to avoid being noticed going to the preventive station across the estuary at the doom bar above st. enodoc. on reaching his destination he was shown into an ante-room, where he had to wait some minutes, because the captain happened to be engaged. he had plenty to occupy his mind. there was that mysterious confession of judith that she had tried to poison the man who persisted in considering himself as her husband, in spite of her resistance, and who was holding her in a condition of bondage in his house. oliver did not for a moment believe that she had intentionally sought his life. he had seen enough of her to gauge her character, and he knew that she was incapable of committing a crime. that she might have given poison in ignorance and by accident was possible; how this had happened it was in vain for him to attempt to conjecture; he could, however, quite believe that an innocent and sensitive conscience like that of judith might feel the pangs of self-reproach when hurt had come to coppinger through her negligence. oliver could also believe that the smuggler captain attributed her act to an evil motive. he was not the man to believe in guilelessness, and when he found that he had been partly poisoned by the woman whom he daily tortured almost to madness, he would at once conclude that a premeditated attempt had been made on his life. what course would he pursue? would he make this wretched business public and bring a criminal action against the unfortunate and unhappy girl who was linked to him against her will? oliver saw that if he could obtain coppinger's arrest on some such a charge as smuggling, he might prevent this scandal, and save judith from much humiliation and misery. he was therefore most desirous to effect the capture of coppinger at once and _flagrante delicto_. as he waited in the ante-room a harsh voice within was audible which he recognized as that of mr. scantlebray. presently the door was half opened, and he heard the coast-guard captain say: "i trust you rewarded the fellow for his information. you may apply to me----" "o royally, royally." "and for furnishing you with the code of signals?" "imperially--imperially." "that is well--never underpay in these matters." "do not fear! i emptied my pockets. and as to the information you have received through me--rely on it as you would on the bank of england." "you have been deceived and befooled," said oliver, unable to resist the chance of delivering a slap at a man for whom he entertained a peculiar aversion, having heard much concerning him from his father. "what do you mean?" "that the shilling you gave the clerk for his information, and the half-crown for his signal table were worth what you got--the information was false, and was intended to mislead." scantlebray colored purple. "what do you know? you know nothing. you are in league with them." "take care what you say," said oliver. "i maintain," said scantlebray, somewhat cowed by his demeanor, "that what i have said to the captain here is something of which you know nothing--and which is of importance to him to know." "and i maintain that you have been hoodwinked," answered oliver. "but it matters not. the event will prove which of us is on the right track." "yes," laughed scantlebray, "so be it; and let me bet you, captain, and you mr. oliver menaida--that i am on the scent of something else. i believe i know where coppinger keeps his stores, and--but you shall see, and captain cruel also, ha, ha!" rubbing his hands he went out. then oliver begged a word with the preventive captain, and told him what he had overheard, and also that he knew where was the cave in which the smugglers had their boat and to which they ran the cargo first, before removing it to their inland stores. "i'm not so certain the black prince dare venture nigh the coast to-night," said the captain, "because of the sea and the on-shore wind. but the glass is rising and the wind may change. then she'll risk it for certain. now, look you here. i can't go with you myself to-night, because i must be here; and i can only let you have six men." "that will suffice." "under wyvill. i cannot, of course, put them under you, but wyvill shall command. he bears a grudge against coppinger, and will be rejoiced to have the chance of paying it out. but, mind you, it is possible that the black prince dare not run in, because of the weather, at pentyre cove, she may run somewhere else, either down the coast or higher up. coppinger has other ovens than one. you know the term. his store-places are ovens. we can't find them, but we know that there are several of them along the coast, just as there are a score of landing-places. when one is watched, then another is used, and that is how we are thrown out. there are plenty of folk interested in defrauding the revenue in every parish between hartland and land's end, and let the black prince, or any other smuggling vessel appear where she will, there she has ready helpers to shore her cargo, and convey it to the ovens. when we appear it is signalled at once to the vessel, and she runs away up or down the coast, and discharges somewhere else, before we can reach the point. now, i do not say that what you tell me is not true, and that it is not coppinger's intent to land the goods in the pentyre cove, but if we are smelt, or if the wind or sea forbid a landing there, away goes the black prince and runs her cargo somewhere else. that is why i cannot accompany you, nor can i send you with more than half a dozen men. i must be on the look out, and i must be prepared in the event of her coming suddenly back and attempting to land her goods at porth-leze, or constantine, or harlyn. what you shall do is--remain here with me till near dusk, and then you shall have a boat and my men and get round pentyre, and you shall take possession of that cave. you shall take with you provisions for twenty-four hours. if the black prince intends to make that bay and discharge there, then she will wait her opportunity. if she cannot to-night, she will to-morrow night. now, seize every man who comes into that cave, and don't let him out. you see?" "perfectly." "very well. wyvill shall be in command, and you shall be the guide, and i will speak to him to pay proper attention to what you recommend. you see?" "exactly." "very well--now we shall have something to eat and to drink, which is better, and drink that is worth the drinking, which is best of all. here is some cognac, it was run goods that we captured and confiscated. look at it. i wish there were artificial light and you would see, it is liquid amber--a liqueur. when you've tasted that, ah-ha! you will say, 'glad i lived to this moment.' there is all the difference, my boy, between your best cognac and common brandy--the one, the condensed sunshine in the queen of fruit sublimed to an essence; the other, coarse, raw fire--all the difference that there is between a princess of blood royal and a gypsy wench. drink and do not fear. this is not the stuff to smoke the head and clog the stomach." when oliver menaida finally started, he left the first officer of the coast-guard, in spite of his assurances, somewhat smoky in brain, and not in the condition to form the clearest estimate of what should be done in a contingency. the boat was laden with provisions for twenty-four hours, and placed under the command of wyvill. the crew had not rowed far before one of them sang out: "gearge!" "aye, aye, mate!" responded wyvill. "i say, gearge. be us a going round pentyre?" "i reckon we be." "and wet to the marrowbone we shall be." "i reckon we shall." then a pause in the conversation. presently from another, "gearge!" "aye, aye, will!" "i say gearge! where be the spirits to? there's a keg o' water, but sure alive the spirits be forgotten." "bless my body!" exclaimed wyvill, "i reckon you're right. here's a go." "it will never do for us to be twenty-four hours wi' salt water outside of us and fresh wi'in," said will. "what's a hat wi'out a head in it, or boots wi'out feet in 'em, or a man wi'out spirits in his in'ard parts?" "dear, alive! 'tis a nuisance," said wyvill. "who's been the idiot to forget the spirits?" "gearge!" "aye, aye, samson!" "i say, gearge! hadn't us better run over to the rock and get a little anker there?" "i reckon it wouldn't be amiss, mate," responded wyvill. to oliver's astonishment and annoyance, the boat was turned to run across to a little tavern, at what was called "the rock." he remonstrated. this was injudicious and unnecessary. "onnecessary," said wyvill. "why, you don't suppose fire-arms will go off wi'out a charge? it's the same wi' men. what's the good of a human being unless he be loaded--and what's his proper load but a drop o' spirits." then one of the rowers sang out: "water-drinkers are dull asses when they're met together. milk is meat for infancy; ladies like to sip bohea; not such stuff for you and me, when we're met together." oliver was not surprised that so few captures were effected on the coast, when those set to watch it loved so dearly the very goods they were to watch against being imported untaxed. on reaching the shore, the man samson and another were left in charge of the boat, while wyvill, will, and the rest went up to the rock inn to have a glass for the good of the house, and to lade themselves with an anker of brandy which, during their wait in the cave, was to be distributed among them. oliver thought it well to go to the tavern as well. he was impatient and thought they would dawdle there, and, perhaps, take more than the nip to which they professed themselves content to limit themselves. pentyre point had to be rounded in rough water, and they must be primed to enable them to round pentyre. "you see," said wyvill, who seemed to suppose that some sort of an explanation of his conduct was due. "when ropes be dry they be terrible slack. wet 'em and they are taut. it is the same wi' men's muscles. we've pentyre point to get round. very strainin' to the arms, and i reckon it couldn't be done unless we wetted the muscles. that's reason. that's convincin'." at the rock tavern the preventive men found the clerk of s. enodoc, with his hands in his pockets, on the settle, his legs stretched out before him, considering one of his knees that was threadbare, and trying to make up his mind whether the trouser would hold out another day without a thread being run through the thin portion, and whether if a day, then perhaps two days, and if perchance for two days, then for three. but if for three, then why not for four! and if for four, then possibly for five--anyhow, as far as he could judge, there was no immediate call for him to have the right knee of his trouser repaired that day. the sexton-clerk looked up when the party entered, and greeted them each man by name, and a conversation ensued relative to the weather. each described his own impressions as to what the weather had been, and his anticipations as to what it would be. "and how's your missus?" "middlin'--and yours?" "same, thanky'. a little troubled wi' the rheumatics." "tell her to take a lump o' sugar wi' five drops o' turpentine." "i will, thanky"--and so on for half an hour, at the end of which time the party thought it time to rise, wipe their mouths, shoulder the anker, and return to the boat. no sooner were they in it, and had thrust off from shore, and prepared to make a second start, than oliver touched wyvill and said, pointing to the land, "look yonder." "what!" "there is that clerk. running, actually running." "i reckon he be." "and in the direction of pentyre." "so he be, i reckon." "and what do you think of that?" "nothing," answered wyvill, confusedly. "why should i? he can't say nothing about where we be going. not a word of that was said while us was there. i don't put no store on his running." "i do," said oliver, unable to smother his annoyance. "this folly will spoil our game." wyvill muttered, "i reckon i'm head of the consarn and not you." oliver deemed it advisable, as the words were said low, to pretend that he did not hear them. the wind had somewhat abated, but the sea was running furiously round pentyre. happily the tide was going out, so that tide and wind were conflicting, and this enabled the rowers to get round pentyre between the point and the newland isle, that broke the force of the seas. but when past the shelter of newland, doubling a spur of pentyre that ran to the north, the rowers had to use their utmost endeavors, and had not their muscles been moistened they might possibly have declared it impossible to proceed. it was advisable to run into the cove just after dark, and before the turn of the tide, as, in the event of the black prince attempting to land her cargo there, it would be made with the flow of the tide, and in the darkness. the cove was reached and found to be deserted. oliver showed the way, and the boat was driven up on the shingle and conveyed into the smugglers' cave behind the rock curtain. no one was there. evidently, from the preparations made, the smugglers were ready for the run of the cargo that night. "now," said will, one of the preventive men, "us hev' a' labored uncommon. what say you, mates? does us desarve a drop of refreshment or does us not? every man as does his dooty by his country and his king should be paid for 't, is my doctrine. what do y' say, gearge? sarve out the grog?" "i reckon yes. sarve out the grog. there's nothing like grog--i think it was solomon said that, and he was the wisest of men." "for sure; he made a song about it," said one of the coast-guard. "it begins: "'a plague of those musty old lubbers, who tell us to fast and to think. and patient fall in with life's rubbers, with nothing but water to drink.'" "to be sure," responded wyvill, "never was a truer word said than when solomon was called the wisest o' men." chapter l. playing forfeits. "here am i once more," said mr. scantlebray, walking into othello cottage with a rap at the door but without waiting for an invitation to enter. "come back like the golden summer, but at a quicker rate. how are you all? i left you rather curtly--without having had time to pay my proper _congé_." judith and jamie were sitting over the fire. no candle had been lighted, for, though a good many things had been brought over to othello cottage for their use, candles had been forgotten, and judith did not desire to ask for more than was furnished her, certainly not to go to the glaze for the things needed. they had a fire, but not one that blazed. it was of drift-wood, that smouldered and would not flame, and as it burned emitted a peculiar odor. jamie was in good spirits, he chattered and laughed, and judith made pretence that she listened, but her mind was absent, she had cares that had demands on every faculty of her mind. moreover, now and then her thoughts drifted off to a picture that busy fancy painted and dangled before them--of portugal, with its woods of oranges, golden among the burnished leaves, and its vines hung with purple grapes--with its glowing sun, its blue glittering sea--and, above all, she mused on the rest from fears, the cessation from troubles which would have ensued, had there been a chance for her to accept the offer made, and to have left the cornish coast for ever. looking into the glowing ashes, listening to her thoughts as they spoke, and seeming to attend to the prattle of the boy, judith was surprised by the entry of mr. scantlebray. "there--disengaged, that is capital," said the agent. "the very thing i hoped. and now we can have a talk. you have never understood that i was your sincere friend. you have turned from me and looked elsewhere, and now you suffer for it. but i am like all the best metal--strong and bright to the last; and see--i have come to you now to forewarn you, because i thought that if it came on you all at once there would be trouble and bother." "thank you, mr. scantlebray. it is true that we are not busy just now, but it does not follow that we are disposed for a talk. it is growing dark, and we shall lock up the cottage and go to bed." "oh, i will not detain you long. besides i'll take the wish out of your heart for bed in one jiffy. look here--read this. do you know the handwriting?" he held out a letter. judith reluctantly took it. she had risen; she had not asked scantlebray to take a seat. "yes," she said, "that is the writing of captain coppinger." "a good bold hand," said the agent, "and see here is his seal with his motto, _thorough_. you know that?" "yes--it is his seal." "now read it." judith knelt at the hearth. "blow, blow the fire up, my beauty," called scantlebray to jamie. "don't you see that your sister wants light, and is running the risk of blinding her sweet pretty eyes." jamie puffed vigorously and sent out sparks snapping and blinking, and brought the wood to a white glow, by which judith was able to decipher the letter. it was a formal order from cruel coppinger to mr. obadiah scantlebray to remove james trevisa that evening, after dark, from othello cottage to his idiot asylum, to remain there in custody till further notice. judith remained kneeling, with her eyes on the letter, after she had read it. she was considering. it was clear to her that directly after leaving her captain coppinger had formed his own resolve, either impatient of waiting the six hours he had allowed her, or because he thought the alternative of the asylum the only one that could be accepted by her, and it was one that would content himself, as the only one that avoided exposure of a scandal. but there were other asylums than that of scantlebray, and others were presumably better managed, and those in charge less severe in their dealings. she had considered this, as she looked into the fire. but a new idea had also at the same time lightened in her mind, and she had a third alternative to propose. she had been waiting for the moment when to go to the glaze and see coppinger, and just at the moment when she was about to send jamie to bed and leave the house scantlebray came in. "now then," said the agent, "what do you think of me--that i am a real friend?" "i thank you for having told me this," answered judith, "and now i will go to pentyre. i beg that you will not allow my brother to be conveyed away during my absence. wait till i return. perhaps captain coppinger may not insist on the removal at once. if you are a real friend, as you profess, you will do this for me." "i will do it willingly. that i am a real friend i have shown you by my conduct. i have come beforehand to break news to you which might have been too great and too overwhelming had it come on you suddenly. my brother and a man or two will be here in an hour. go by all means to captain cruel, but," scantlebray winked an eye, "i don't myself think you will prevail with him." "i will thank you to remain here for half an hour with jamie," said judith, coldly. "and to stay all proceedings till my return. if i succeed--well. if not, then only a few minutes have been lost. i have that to say to captain coppinger which may, and i trust will, lead him to withdraw that order." "rely on me. i am a rock on which you may build," said scantlebray. "i will do my best to entertain your brother, though, alas! i have not the abilities of obadiah, who is a genius, and can keep folks hour by hour going from one roar of laughter into another." no sooner was judith gone than scantlebray put his tongue into one side of his cheek, clicked, pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, and seated himself opposite jamie on the stool beside the fire which had been vacated by judith. jamie had understood nothing of the conversation that had taken place, his name had not been mentioned, and consequently his attention had not been drawn to it away from some chestnuts he had found, or which had been given to him, that he was baking in the ashes on the hearth. "fond of hunting, eh?" asked scantlebray, stretching his legs and rubbing his hands. "you are like me--like to be in at the death. what do you suppose i have in my pocket? why, a fox with a fiery tail. shall we run him to earth? shall we make an end of him? tally-ho! tally-ho! here he is. oh, sly reynard, i have you by the ears." and forth from the tail-pocket of his coat scantlebray produced a bottle of brandy. "what say you, corporal, shall we drink his blood? bring me a couple of glasses and i'll pour out his gore." "i haven't any," said jamie. "ju and i have two mugs, that is all." "and they will do famously. here goes--off with the mask!" and with a blow he knocked away the head and cork of the bottle. "no more running away for you, my beauty, except down our throats. mugs! that is famous. come, shall we play at army and navy, and the forfeit be a drink of reynard's blood?" jamie pricked up his ears; he was always ready for a game of play. "look here," said scantlebray. "you are in the military, i am in the nautical line. each must address the other by some title in accordance with the profession each professes, and the forfeit of failure is a pull at the bottle. what do you say! i will begin. set the bottle there between us. now then, sergeant, they tell me your aunt has come in for a fortune. how much? what is the figure, eh?" "i don't know," responded jamie, and was at once caught up with "forfeit! forfeit!" "oh, by jimminy, there am i, too, in the same box. take your swig, commander, and pass to me." "but what am i to call you?" asked the puzzle-headed boy. "mate, or captain, or boatswain, or admiral." "i can't remember all that." "mate will do. always say mate, whatever you ask or answer. do you understand, general!" "yes." "forfeit! forfeit! you should have said 'yes, mate.'" mr. scantlebray put his hands to his sides and laughed. "oh, jimminy! there am i again. the instructor as bad as the pupil. i'm a bad fellow as instructor, that i am, field-marshal. so--your aunt dionysia has come in for some thousands of pounds--how many do you think! have you heard?" "i think i've heard----" "mate! mate!" "i think i've heard, mate." "now, how many do you remember to have heard named? was it five thousand? that is what i heard named--eh, captain?" "oh, more than that," said jamie, in his small mind catching at a chance of talking-big, "a great lot more than that." "what, ten thousand?" "i dare say; yes, i think so." "forfeit! forfeit! pull again, centurion." "yes, mate, i'm sure." "ten thousand--why, at five per cent. that's a nice little sum for you and ju to look forward to when the old hull springs a leak and goes to the bottom." "yes," answered jamie, vaguely. he could not look beyond the day, moreover he did not understand the figurative speech of his comrade. "forfeit again, general! but i'll forgive you this time, or you'll get so drunk you'll not be able to answer me a question. bless my legs and arms! on that pretty little sum one could afford one's self a new tie every sunday. you will prove a beau and buck indeed some day, captain of thousands! and then you won't live in this little hole. by the way, i hear old dunes trevisa, i beg pardon, field-marshal sir james, i mean your much respected aunt, miss trevisa, has got a charming box down by s. austell. you'll ask me down for the shooting, won't you, commander-in-chief?" "yes, i will," answered jamie. "and you'll give me the best bedroom, and will have choice dinners, and the best old tawny port, eh?" "yes, to be sure," said the boy, flattered. "mate! mate! forfeit! and i suppose you'll keep a hunter?" "i shall have two--three," said jamie. "and if i were you, i'd keep a pack of fox-hounds." "i will." "that's for the winter, and other hounds for the summer." "i am sure i will, and wear a red coat." "famous! but--there i spare you this time--you forfeited again." "no, i won't be spared," protested the boy. "as for a wretched little hole like this othello cottage----" said scantlebray. "but, by the bye, you have never shown me over the house. how many rooms are there in it, generalissimo of his majesty's forces!" "there's my bedroom there," said jamie. "yes; and that door leads to your sister's?" "yes. and there's the kitchen." "and up-stairs!" "there's no up-stairs." "now, you are very clever--clever. by ginger, you must be to be commander-in-chief; but 'pon my word, i can't believe that. no up-stairs. there must be up-stairs." "no, there's not." "but by jimminy! with such a roof as this house has got, and a little round window in the gable. there must be an up-stairs." "no there's not." "how do you make that out?" "because there are no stairs at all." then jamie jumped up, but rolled on one side, the brandy he had drunk had made him unsteady. "i'll show you mate--mate--yes, mate. there three times now will do for times i haven't said it. there--in my room. the floor is rolling; it won't stay steady. there are cramps in the wall, no stairs, and so you get up to where it all is." "all what is?" "forfeit, forfeit!" shouted jamie. "say general or something military. i don't know. ju won't let me go up there; but there's tobacco, for one thing." "where's a candle, corporal?" "there is none. we have no light but the fire." then jamie dropped back on his stool, unable to keep his legs. "i am more provident than you. i have a lantern outside, unlighted, as i thought i might need it on my return. the nights close in very fast and very dark now, eh, commander?" mr. scantlebray went outside the cottage, looked about him, specially directing his eyes toward the glaze. then he chuckled and said: "sent miss judith on a wild goose chase, have i? ah ha! captain coppinger, i'll have a little entertainment for you to-night. the preventives will snatch your goods at porth-leze or constantine, and here--behind your back--i'll attend to your store of tobacco and whatever else i may find." then he returned and going to the fire extracted the candle from the lantern and lighted it at a burning log. "halloa, captain of thousands! going to sleep? there's the bottle. you must make up forfeits. you've been dishonest i fear and not paid half. that door did you say?" but jamie was past understanding a question, and mr. scantlebray could find out for himself now what he wanted to know. that this house had been used by coppinger as a store for some of the smuggled cargoes he had long suspected, but he had never been able to obtain any evidence which would justify the coast-guard in applying to the justices for a search-warrant. now he would be able to look about it at his leisure, while judith was absent. he did not suppose coppinger was at the glaze. he assumed that an attempt would be made, as the clerk of st. enodoc had informed him, to land the cargo of the black prince to the west of the estuary of the camel, and he supposed that coppinger would be there to superintend. he had used the letter sent to his brother to induce the girl to go to pentyre, and so leave the cottage clear for him to search it. now, holding the candle, he entered the bedroom of jamie, and soon perceived the cramps the boy had spoken of that served in place of stairs. above was a door into the attic, whitewashed over, like the walls. mr. scantlebray climbed, thrust open the door and crept into the garret. "ah, ha!" said the valuer. "so, so, captain! i have come on one of your lairs at last. and i reckon i will make it warm for you. but, by ginger, it is a pity i can't remove some of what is here." he prowled about in the roomy loft, searching every corner. there were a few small kegs of spirit, but the stores were mostly of tobacco. in about ten minutes mr. scantlebray reappeared in the room where was jamie. he was without his candle. the poor boy, overcome by what he had drunk, had fallen on the floor and was in a tipsy sleep. scantlebray went to him. "come along with me," he said. "come, there is no time to be lost. come, you fool!" he shook him, but jamie would not be roused, he kicked and struck out with his fists. "you won't come? i'll make you." then scantlebray caught the boy by the shoulders to drag him to the door. the child began to struggle and resist. "oh! i'm not concerned for you, fool," said scantlebray. "if you like to stay and take your chance--my brother will be here to carry you off presently. will you come?" scantlebray caught the boy by the feet and tried to drag him, but jamie clung to the table-legs. scantlebray uttered an oath--"stay, you fool, and be smothered! the world will get on very well without you." and he strode forth from the cottage. chapter li. surrender. scantlebray was mistaken. coppinger had not crossed the estuary of the camel. he was at pentyre glaze awaiting the time when the tide suited for landing the cargo of the black prince. in the kitchen were a number of men having their supper and drinking, waiting also for the proper moment when to issue forth. at the turn of the tide the black prince would approach in the gathering darkness and would come as near in as she dare venture. the wind had fallen, but the sea was running, and with the tide setting in she would approach the cove. judith hastened toward the glaze. darkness had set in, but in the north were auroral lights, first a great, white halo, then rays that shot up to the zenith, and then a mackerel sky of rosy light. the growl and mutter of the sea filled the air with threat like an angry multitude surging on with blood and destruction in their hearts. the flicker overhead gave judith light for her cause; the snow had melted except in ditches and under hedges, and there it glared red or white in response to the changing, luminous tinges of the heavens. when she reached the house she at once entered the hall; there coppinger was awaiting her. he knew she would come to him when her mind was made up on the alternatives he had offered her, and he believed he knew pretty surely which she would choose. it was because he expected her that he had not suffered the men collected for the work of the night to invade the hall. "you are here," he said. he was seated by the fire; he looked up, but did not rise. "almost too late." "almost, maybe, but not altogether," answered judith. "and yet it seems unnecessary, as you have already acted without awaiting my decision." "what makes you say that?" "i have been shown your letter." "oh! obadiah scantlebray is premature." "he is not at othello cottage yet. his brother came beforehand to prepare me." "how considerate of your feelings," sneered captain cruel. "i would not have expected that of scantlebray." "you have not awaited my decision," said judith. "that is true," answered coppinger, carelessly. "i knew you would shrink from the exposure, the disgrace of publication of what has occurred here. i knew you so well that i could reckon beforehand on what you would elect." "but, why to scantlebray? are there not other asylums?" "yes: so long as that boy is placed where he can do no mischief, i care not." "then, if that be so, i have another proposal to make." "what is that?" coppinger stood up. "if you have any regard for my feelings, any care for my happiness, you will grant my request." "let me hear it." "mr. menaida is going to portugal." "what!"--in a tone of concentrated rage--"oliver?" "oliver and his father. but the proposal concerns the father." "go on." coppinger strode once across the room, then back again. "go on," he said, savagely. "old mr. menaida offers to take jamie with him. he intends to settle at oporto, near his son, who has been appointed to a good situation there. he will gladly undertake the charge of jamie. let jamie go with them. there he can do no harm." "what, go--without you! did they not want you to go, also?" judith hesitated and flushed. there was a single tallow candle on the table. coppinger took it up, snuffed it, and held the flame to her face to study its expression. "i thought so," he said, and put down the light again. "jamie is useful to mr. menaida," pleaded judith, in some confusion, and with a voice of tremulous apology. "he stuffs birds so beautifully, and uncle zachie--i mean mr. menaida--has set his heart on making a collection of the spanish and portuguese birds." "oh, yes; he understands the properties of arsenic," said coppinger, with a scoff. judith's eyes fell. captain cruel's tone was not reassuring. "you say that you care not where jamie be, so long as he is where he cannot hurt you," said judith. "i did not say that," answered coppinger. "i said that he must be placed where he can injure no one." "he can injure no one if he is with mr. menaida, who will well watch him, and keep him employed." coppinger laughed bitterly. "and you? will you be satisfied to have the idolized brother with the deep seas rolling between you?" "i must endure it. it is the least of evils." "but you would be pining to have wings and fly over the sea to him." "if i have not wings i cannot go." "now hearken," said coppinger. he clinched his fist and laid it on the table. "i know very well what this means. oliver menaida is at the bottom of this. it is not the fool jamie who is wanted in portugal, but the clever judith. they have offered to take the boy, that through him they may attract you, unless," his voice thrilled, "they have already dared to propose that you should go with them." judith was silent. coppinger clinched his second hand and laid that also on the table. "i swear to heaven," said he, "that if i and that oliver menaida meet again, it is for the last time for one or other of us. we have met twice already. it is an understood thing between us, when we meet again, one wets his boots in the other's blood. do you hear? the world will not hold us two any longer. portugal may be far off, but it is too near cornwall for me." judith made no answer. she looked fixedly into the gloomy eyes of coppinger, and said-- "you have strange thoughts. suppose--if you will--that the invitation included me, i could not have accepted it." "why not! you refuse to regard yourself as married, and if unmarried, you are free--and if free, ready to elope with----" he would not utter the name in his quivering fury. "i pray you," said judith, offended, "do not insult me." "i--insult you? it is a daily insult to me to be treated as i have been. it is driving me mad." "but, do you not see," urged judith, "you have offered me two alternatives and i ask for a third, yours are jail or an asylum, mine is exile. both yours are to me intolerable. conceive of my state were jamie either in jail or with mr. scantlebray. in jail--and i should be thinking of him all day and all night in his prison garb, tramping the tread-mill, beaten, driven on, associated with the vilest of men, an indelible stain put, not on him only, but on the name of our dear, dear father. do you think i could bear that? or take the other alternative? i know the scantlebrays. i should have the thoughts of jamie distressed, frightened, solitary, ill-treated, ever before me. i had it for a few hours once and it drove me frantic. it would make me mad in a week. i know that i could not endure it. either alternative would madden or kill me. and i offer another--if he were in exile, i could at least think of him as happy among the orange groves, in the vineyards, among kind friends, happy, innocent--at worst, forgetting me. _that_ i could bear. but the other--no, not for a week--they would be torture insufferable." she spoke full of feverish vehemence, with her hands outspread before her. "and this smiling vision of jamie happy in portugal would draw your heart from me." "you never had my heart," said judith. coppinger clinched his teeth. "i will hear no more of this," said he. then judith threw herself on her knees, and caught him and held him, lifting her entreating face toward his. "i have undergone it--for some hours. i know it will madden or kill me. i cannot--i cannot--i cannot," she could scarce breathe, she spoke in gasps. "you cannot what?" he asked, sullenly. "i cannot live on the terms you offer. you take from me even the very wish to live. take away the arsenic from me--lest in madness i give it to myself. take me far inland from these cliffs--lest in my madness i throw myself over--i could not bear it. will nothing move you?" "nothing." he stood before her, his feet apart, his arms folded, his chin on his breast, looking into her uplifted, imploring face. "yes--one thing. one thing only." he paused, raking her face with his eyes. "yes--one thing. be mine wholly--unconditionally. then i will consent. be mine; add your name where it is wanting. resume your ring--and jamie shall go with the menaidas. now, choose." he drew back. judith remained kneeling, upright, on the floor with arms extended--she had heard and at first hardly comprehended him. then she staggered to her feet. "well," said coppinger, "what answer do you make?" still she could not speak. she went to the table with uncertain steps. there was a wooden form by it. she seated herself on this, placed her arms on the board, joining her hands, and laid her head, face downward, between them on the table. coppinger remained where he was, watching and waiting. he knew what her action implied--that she was to be left alone with her thoughts, to form her resolve undisturbed. he remained, accordingly, motionless, but with his eyes fixed on the golden hair that flickered in the dim light of the one candle. the wick had a great fungus in it--so large and glaring that in another moment it must fall, and fall on judith's hand. coppinger saw this and he thrust forth his arm to snuff the candle with his fingers, but his hand shook, and the light was extinguished. it mattered not. there were glowing coals on the hearth, and through the window flared and throbbed the auroral lights. a step sounded outside. then a hand was on the door. coppinger at once strode across the hall, and arrested the intruder from entering. "who is that?" "hender pendarvis"--the clerk of st. enodoc. "i have some'ut partickler i must say." coppinger looked at judith; she lay motionless, her head between her arms on the board. he partly opened the door and stepped forth into the porch. when he had heard what the clerk of st. enodoc had to say, he answered with an order, "round to the kitchen--bid the men arm and go by the beach." he returned into the hall, went to the fireplace and took down a pair of pistols, tried them that they were charged, and thrust them into his belt. next he went up to judith, and laid his hand on her shoulder. "time presses," he said; "i have to be off. your answer." she looked up. the board was studded with drops of water. she had not wept, these stains were not her tears, they were the sweat of anguish off her brow that had run over the board. "well, judith, our answer." "i accept." "unreservedly?" "unreservedly." "stay," said he. he spoke low, indistinctly articulated sentences. "let there be no holding back between us. you shall know all. you have wondered concerning the death of wyvill--i know you have asked questions about it. i killed him." he paused. "you heard of the wreckers on that vessel cast on doom bar. i was their leader." again he paused. "you thought i had sent jamie out with a light to mislead the vessel. you thought right. i did have her drawn to her destruction, and by your brother." he paused again. he saw judith's hand twitch: that was the only sign of emotion in her. "and lady knighton's jewels. i took them off her--it was i who tore her ear." again a stillness. the sky outside shone in at the window, a lurid red. from the kitchen could be heard the voice of a man singing. "now you know all," said coppinger. "i would not have you take me finally, fully, unreservedly without knowing the truth. give me your resolve." she slightly lifted her hands; she looked steadily into his face with a stony expression in hers. "what is it!" "i cannot help myself--unreservedly yours." then he caught her to him, pressed her to his heart and kissed her wet face--wet as though she had plunged it into the sea. "to-morrow," said he, "to-morrow shall be our true wedding." and he dashed out of the house. chapter lii. to judith. in the smugglers' cave were oliver menaida and the party of preventive men, not under his charge, but under that of wyvill. this man, though zealous in the execution of his duty, and not averse, should the opportunity offer, of paying off a debt in full with a bullet, instead of committing his adversary to the more lenient hands of the law, shared in that failing, if it were a failing, of being unable to do anything without being primed with spirits, a failing that was common at that period, to coast-guards and smugglers alike. the latter had to be primed in order to run a cargo, and the former must be in like condition to catch them at it. it was thought, not unjustly, that the magistrates before whom, if caught, the smugglers were brought, needed priming in order to ripen their intellects for pronouncing judgment. but it was not often that a capture was effected. when it was, priming was allowed for the due solemnization of the fact by the captors; failure always entitled them to priming in order to sustain their disappointment with fortitude. wyvill had lost a brother in the cause, and his feelings often overcame him when he considered his loss, and their poignancy had to be slaked with the usual priming. it served, as its advocates alleged, as a great stimulant to courage; but it served also, as its deprecators asserted, as a solvent to discipline. now that the party were in possession of the den of their adversaries, such a success needed, in their eyes, commemoration. they were likely, speedily, to have a tussle with the smugglers, and to prepare themselves for that required the priming of their nerves and sinews. they had had a sharp struggle with the sea in rounding pentyre point, and their unstrung muscles and joints demanded screwing up again by the same means. the black prince had been discerned through the falling darkness drawing shoreward with the rising tide; but it was certain that for another hour or two the men would have to wait before she dropped anchor, and those ashore came down to the unloading. a lantern was lighted, and the cave was explored. certainly coppinger's men from the land would arrive before the boats from the black prince, and it was determined to at once arrest them, and then await the contingent in the boats, and fall on them as they landed. the party was small, it consisted of but seven men, and it was advisable to deal with the smugglers piecemeal. the men, having leisure, brought out their food, and tapped the keg they had procured at the rock. it was satisfactory to them that the black prince was apparently bent on discharging the cargo that night and in that place, thus they would not have to wait in the cave twenty-four hours, and not, after all, be disappointed. "all your pistols charged?" asked wyvill. "aye, aye, sir." "then take your suppers while you may. we shall have hot work presently. should a step be heard below, throw a bit o' sailcloth over the lantern, samson." oliver was neither hungry nor thirsty. he had both eaten and drunk sufficient when at the station. he therefore left the men to make their collation, prime their spirits, pluck up their courage, screw up their nerves, polish their wits, all with the same instrument, and descended the slope of shingle, stooped under the brow of rock that divided the lower from the upper cave, and made his way to the entrance, and thence out over the sands of the cove. he knew that the shore could be reached only by the donkey-path, or by the dangerous track down the chimney--a track he had not discovered till he had made a third exploration of the cave. down this tortuous and perilous descent he was convinced the smugglers would not come. it was, he saw, but rarely used, and designed as a way of escape only on an emergency. a too-frequent employment of this path would have led to a treading of the turf on the cliff above, and to a marking of the line of descent, that would have attracted the attention of the curious, and revealed to the explorer the place of retreat. oliver, therefore, went forward toward the point where the donkey-path reached the sands, deeming it advisable that a watch should be kept on this point, so that his party might be forewarned in time of the approach of the smugglers. there was much light in the sky, a fantastic, mysterious glow, as though some great conflagration were taking place and the clouds over head reflected its flicker. there passed throbs of shadow from side to side, and as oliver looked he could almost believe that the light he saw proceeded from a great bonfire, such as was kindled on the cornish moors on midsummer's eve, and that the shadows were produced by men and women dancing round the flames and momentarily intercepting the light. then ensued a change. the rose hue vanished suddenly, and in its place shot up three broad ribbons of silver light; and so bright and clear was the light that the edge of the cliff against it was cut as sharp as a black silhouette on white paper, and he could see every bush of gorse there, and a sheep--a solitary sheep. suddenly he was startled by seeing a man before him, coming over the sand. "who goes there?" "what--oliver! i have found you!" the answer was in his father's voice. "oh, well, i got fidgeted, and i thought i would come and see if you had arrived." "for heaven's sake, you have told no one of our plans?" "i--bless you, boy--not i. you know you told me yourself, before going to the station, what you intended, and i was troubled and anxious, and i came to see how things were turning out. the black prince is coming in; she will anchor shortly. she can't come beyond the point yonder. i was sure you would be here. how many have you brought with you?" "but six." "too few. however, now i am with you, that makes eight." "i wish you had not come, father." "my boy, i did not come only on your account. i have my poor little ju so near my heart that i long to put out if only a finger to liberate her from that ruffian, whom by the way i have challenged." "yes--but i have stepped in as your substitute. i shall, i trust, try conclusions with coppinger to-night. come with me to the cave i told you of. we will send a man to keep guard at the foot of the donkey path." oliver led the way; the sands reflected the illumination of the sky, and the foam that swept up the beach had a rosy tinge. the waves hissed as they rushed up the shore, as though impatient at men speaking and not listening to the voice of the ocean, that should subdue all human tongues, and command mute attention. and yet that roar is inarticulate, it is like the foaming fury of the dumb, that strives with noise and gesticulation to explain the thoughts that are working within. in the cave it was dark, and oliver lighted a piece of touchwood as a means of observing the shelving ground, and taking his direction, till he passed under the brow of rock and entered the upper cavern. after a short scramble, the dim yellow glow of light from this inner recess was visible, when oliver extinguished his touchwood and pushed on, guided by this light. on entering the upper cave he was surprised to find the guards lying about asleep, and snoring. he went at once to wyvill, seized him by the arm and shook him, but none of his efforts could rouse him. he lay as a log, or as one stunned. "father! help me with the others," said oliver in great concern. mr. menaida went from one to the other, spoke to each, shook him, held the lantern to his eyes; he raised their heads; when he let go his hold, they fell back. "what is the meaning of this?" asked oliver. "humph!" said old menaida, "i'll tell you what this means. there is a rogue among them, and their drink has been drugged with deadly night-shade. you might be sure of this--that among six coast-guards one would be in the pay of coppinger. which is it? whoever it is, he is pretending to be as dead drunk and stupefied as the others, and which is the man, noll?" "i cannot tell. this keg of brandy was got at the rock inn." "it was got there and there drugged, but by one of this company. who is it?" "yes," said oliver, waxing wrathful, "and what is more, notice was sent to coppinger to be on his guard. i saw the sexton going in the direction of pentyre." "that man is a rascal." "and now we shall not encounter coppinger. he will be warned and not come." "trust him to come. he has heard of this. he will come and murder them all as he did wyvill." oliver felt as though a frost had fallen on him. "hah!" said old menaida. "never trust anyone in this neighborhood; you cannot tell who is not in the pay or under the control of coppinger, from the magistrate on the bench to the huckster who goes round the country. among these six men, one is a spy and a traitor. which it is we cannot tell. there is nothing else to be done but to bind them all, hand and foot. there is plenty of cord here." "plenty. but surely not wyvill." "wyvill and all. how can you say that he is not the man who has done it? many a fellow has carried his brother in his pocket. what if he has been bought?" old menaida was right. he had not lived so many years in the midst of smugglers without having learned something of their ways. his advice must be taken, for the danger was imminent. if, as he supposed, full information had been sent to captain cruel, then he and his men would be upon them shortly. oliver hastily brought together all the cord of a suitable thickness he could find, and the old father raised and held each preventive man, while oliver firmly bound him hand and foot. as he did not know which was shamming sleep, he must bind all. of the six, five were wholly unconscious what was being done to them, and the sixth thought it advisable to pretend to be as the rest, for he was quite aware that neither oliver nor his father would scruple to silence him effectually did he show signs of animation. when all were made fast, old mr. menaida said: "now, noll, my boy, are you armed?" "no, father. when i went from home i expected to return. i did not know i should want weapons. but these fellows have their pistols and cutlasses." "try the pistols. there, take that of the man wyvill. are you sure they are loaded?" "i know they are." "well, try." oliver took wyvill's pistol, and put in the ramrod. "oh yes, it is loaded." "make sure. draw the loading. you don't know what it is to have to do with coppinger." oliver drew the charge, and then, as is usual, when the powder has been removed, blew down the barrel. then he observed that there was a choke somewhere. he took the pistol to the lantern, opened the side of the lantern and examined it. the touch-hole was plugged with wax. "humph!" said mr. menaida. "the man who drugged the liquor waxed the touch-holes of the pistols. try the rest." oliver did not now trouble himself to draw the charges; he cocked each man's pistol and drew the trigger. not one would discharge. all had been treated in like manner. oliver thought for a moment what was to be done. he dared not leave the sleeping men unprotected, and he and his father alone were insufficient to defend them. "father," said he, "there is but one thing that can be done now: you must go at once, fly to the nearest farmhouses and collect men, and, if possible, hold the donkey path before coppinger and his men arrive. if you are too late, pursue them. i will choke the narrow entrance, and will light a fire. perhaps they may be afraid when they see a blaze here, and may hold off. anyhow, i can defend this place for a while. but i don't expect that they will attack it." mr. menaida at once saw that his son's judgment was right, and he hurried out of the cave, oliver holding the light to assist him to descend, and then he made his way over the sands to the path, and up that to the downs. no sooner was he gone than oliver collected what wood and straw were there, sailcloth, oilcloth, everything that was combustible, and piled them up into a heap, then applied the candle to them, and produced a flame. the wood was damp and did not burn freely, but he was able to awake a good fire that filled the cavern with light. he trusted that when the smugglers saw that their den was in the possession of the enemy they would not risk the attempt to enter and recover it. they might not, they probably did not, know to what condition the holders of the cave were reduced. the light of the fire roused countless bats that had made the roof of the cave their resting-place, and they flew wildly to and fro with whirr of wings and shrill screams. oliver set to work with all haste to heap stones so as to choke the entrance from the lower cave, by which he anticipated that the smugglers would enter, should they resolve on so desperate a course. but owing to the rapid inclination, the pebbles yielded, and what he piled up rolled down. he then, with great effort, got the boat thrust down to the opening, and by main force drew it partly across. it was not possible for him completely to block the entrance, but by planting the boat athwart it, he could prevent several men from entering at once, and whoever did enter must scramble over the bulwarks of the boat. all this took some time, and he was thus engaged, when his attention was suddenly arrested by the click of a pistol brought to the cock. he looked hastily about him, and saw coppinger, who, unobserved, had descended by the chimney, and now by the light of the fire was taking deliberate aim at him. oliver drew back behind a rock. "you coward!" shouted captain cruel. "come out and be shot." "i am no coward," answered oliver. "let us meet with equal arms. i have a cutlass." he had taken one from the side of a sleep-drunk coast-guard. "i prefer to shoot you down as a dog," said coppinger. then holding his pistol levelled in the direction of oliver, he approached the sleeping men. oliver saw at once his object: he would liberate the confederate. he stepped out from behind the rock, and immediately the pistol was discharged. a bat fell at the feet of oliver. had not that bat at the moment whizzed past his head and received the ball in its soft and yielding body, the young man would have fallen shot through his head. coppinger uttered a curse, and put his hand to his belt and drew forth his second pistol. but oliver sprang forward, and with a sweep of his cutlass caught him on the wrist with the blade as he was about to touch the trigger. the pistol fell from his hand, and a rush of blood overflowed the back of the hand. coppinger remained for one minute motionless. so did oliver, who did not again raise his cutlass. but at that moment a harsh voice was heard crying, "there he is, my men, at him; beat his brains out. a guinea for the first man who knocks him over," and from the further side of the boat, illumined by the glare from the fire, were seen the faces of mr. scantlebray, his brother, and several men, who began to scramble over the obstruction. then, and then only in his life, did coppinger's heart fail him. his right hand was powerless; the sharp blade had severed the tendons, and blood was flowing from his wrist in streams. one pistol was discharged, the other had fallen. in a minute he would be in the hands of his deadly enemies. he turned and fled. the light from the fire, the illumined smoke, rose through the chimney, and by that he could run up the familiar track, reach the platform in the face of the cliff, thence make his way by the path up which he had formerly borne judith. he did not hesitate, he fled, and oliver, also without hesitation, pursued him. as he went up the narrow track, his feet trod in and were stained with the blood that had fallen from coppinger's wounded arm, but he did not notice it--he was unaware of it till the morrow. coppinger reached the summit of the cliffs. his feet were on the down. he ran at once in the direction of othello cottage. his only chance of safety lay there. there he could hide in the attic, and judith would never betray him. in his desperate condition, wounded, his blood flowing from him in streams, hunted by his foes, that one thought was in him--judith--he must go to judith. she would never betray him, she would be hacked to death rather than give him up. to judith as his last refuge! chapter liii. in the smoke. judith left pentyre glaze when she had somewhat recovered herself after the interview with coppinger and her surrender. she had fought a brave battle, but had been defeated and must lay down her arms. resistance was no longer possible if jamie was to be saved from a miserable fate. now by the sacrifice of herself she had assured to, him a future of calm and innocent happiness. she knew that with uncle zachie and oliver he would be cared for, kindly treated, and employed. uncle zachie himself was not to be trusted; whatever he might promise, his good nature was greater than his judgment. but she had confidence in oliver, who would prove a check on the over-indulgence which his father would allow. but jamie would forget her. his light and unretentive mind was not one to harbor deep feeling. he would forget her when on board ship in his pleasure at running about the vessel chattering with the sailors, and would only think of her if he wanted aught or was ill. rapidly the recollection of her, love for her, would die out of his mind and heart; and as it died out of his, her thought and love for him would deepen and become more fixed, for she would have no one, nothing in the world to think of and love save her twin-brother. she walked on in the dark winter night, lighted only by the auroral glow overhead, and was conscious of a smell of tobacco-smoke that so persistently seemed to follow her that she was forced to notice it. she became uneasy, thinking that someone was walking behind the hedge with a pipe, watching her, perhaps waiting to spring out upon her when distant from the house, where her cries for help might not be heard. she stood still. the smell was strong. she climbed the hedge on one side and looked over; as far as she could discern in the red glimmer from the flushed sky there was no one there. she listened, she could hear no step. she walked hastily on to a gate in the hedge on the opposite side and went through that. the smell of burning tobacco was as strong there. judith turned in the lane and walked back in the direction of the house. the smell pursued her. it was strange. could she carry the odor in her clothes? she turned again and resumed her walk toward othello cottage. now she was distinctly aware that the scent came to her on the wind. her perplexity on this subject served as a diversion of her mind from her own troubles. she emerged upon the downs, and made her way across them toward the cottage that lay in a dip, not to be observed except by one close to it. the wind when it brushed up from the sea was odorless. presently she came in sight of othello cottage, and in spite of the darkness could see that a strange, dense, white fog surrounded it, especially the roof, which seemed to be wearing a white wig. in a moment she understood what this signified. othello cottage was on fire, and the stores of tobacco in the attic were burning. judith ran. her own troubles were forgotten in her alarm for jamie. no fire as yet had broken through the roof. she reached the door, which was open. mr. scantlebray in leaving had not shut the door, so as to allow the boy to crawl out should he recover sufficient intelligence to see that he was in danger. it is probable that scantlebray, senior, would have made further efforts to save jamie, but that he believed he would meet with his brother, and two or three men he was bringing with him, near the house, and then it would be easy unitedly to drag the boy forth. he did, indeed, meet with obadiah, but also at the same time with uncle zachie menaida and a small party of farm-laborers, and when he heard that mr. menaida desired help to secure coppinger and the smugglers, he thought no more of the boy and joined heartily in the attempt to rescue the preventive men and take coppinger. through the open door dashed judith, crying out to jamie whom she could not see. there was a dense, white cloud in the room, let down from above, and curling out at the top of the door, whence it issued as steam from a boiler. it was impossible to breathe in this fog of tobacco-smoke, and judith knew that if she allowed it to surround her she would be stupefied. she therefore stooped and entered, calling jamie. although the thick mattress of white smoke had not as yet descended to the floor, and had left comparatively clear air beneath it--the in-draught from the door--yet the odor of the burning tobacco impregnated the atmosphere. here and there curls of smoke descended, dropped capriciously from the bed of vapor above, and wantonly played about. judith saw her brother lying at full length near the fire. scantlebray had drawn him partly to the door, but he had rolled back to his former position near the hearth, perhaps from feeling the cold wind that blew in on him. there was no time to be lost. judith knew that flame must burst forth directly--directly the burning tobacco had charred through the rafters and flooring of the attic and allowed the fresh air from below to rush in and, acting as a bellows, blow the whole mass of glowing tobacco into flame. it was obvious that the fire had originated above in the attic. there was nothing burning in the room, and the smoke drove downward in strips through the joints of the boards overhead. "jamie, come, come with me!" she shook the boy, she knelt by him and raised him on her knee. he was stupefied with cognac, and with the fumes of the burning tobacco he had inhaled. she must drag him forth. he was no longer half-conscious as he had been when mr. scantlebray made the same attempt; the power to resist was now gone from him. judith was delicately made, and was not strong, but she put her arms under the shoulders of jamie and herself on her knees and dragged him along the floor. he was as heavy as a corpse. she drew him a little way and desisted, overcome, panting, giddy, faint. but time must not be lost. every moment was precious. judith knew that overhead in the loft was something that would not smoulder and glow, but burst into furious flame--spirits. not, indeed, many kegs, but there were some. when this became ignited their escape would be impossible. she drew jamie further up; she was behind him. she thrust him forward as she moved on upon her knees, driving him a step further at every advance. it was slow and laborious work. she could not maintain this effort for long and fell forward on her hands, and he fell also at the same time on the floor. then she heard a sound, a roar, an angry growl. the shock of the fall, and striking his head against the slate pavement, roused jamie momentarily and he also heard the noise. "ju! the roar of the sea!" "a sea of fire, jamie! oh, do push to the door." he raised himself on his hands, looked vacantly round, and fell again into stupid unconsciousness. now still on her knees, but with a brain becoming bewildered with the fumes, she crept to his head, placed herself between him and the door, and holding his shoulders, dragged him toward her, she moving backward. even thus she could make but little way with him; his boot-tops caught in the edge of a slate slab ill fitted in the floor and held him, so that she could not pull him to her with the additional resistance thus caused. then an idea struck her. staggering to her feet, holding her breath, she plunged in the direction of the window, beat it open, and panted in the inrush of pure air. with this new current wafted in behind her she returned amid the smoke, and for a moment it dissipated the density of the cloud about her. the window had faced the wind, and the rush of air through it was more strong than that which entered by the door. and yet this expedient did not answer as she had expected, for the column of strong, cold air pouring in from a higher level threw the cloud into confusion, stirred it up as it were, and lessened the space of uninvaded atmosphere below the descending bed of vapor. again she went to jamie. the roar overhead had increased, some vent had been found, and the attic was in full flagrance. now, drawing a long breath at the door, near the level of the ground, she returned to her brother and disengaged his foot from the slate, then dragged, then thrust, sometimes at his head, sometimes at his side; then again she had her arms round him, and swung herself forward to the right knee sideways; then brought up the other knee, and swung herself with the dead weight in her arms again to the right, and thus was able to work her way nearer to the door, and, as she got nearer to the door, the air was clearer, and she was able to breathe freer. at length she laid hold of the jamb with one hand, and with the other she caught the lappel of the boy's coat, and assisted by the support she had gained, was able to drag him over the doorstep. at that moment passed her rushed a man. she looked, saw and knew coppinger. as he rushed passed, the blood squirting from his maimed right hand fell on the girl lying prostrate at the jamb to which she had clung. and now within a red light appeared, glowing through the mist as a fiery eye, not only so, but every now and then a fiery rain descended. the burning tobacco had consumed the boards and was falling through in red masses. judith had but just brought her brother into safety, or comparative safety, and now another, coppinger, had plunged into the burning cottage, rushed to almost certain death. she cried to him as well as she could with her short breath. she could not leave him within. why had he run there? she saw on her dress the blood that had fallen from him. she went outside the hut and dragged jamie forth and laid him on the grass. then, without hesitation, inhaling all the pure air she could, she darted once more into the burning cottage. her eyes were stung with the smoke, but she pushed on, and found coppinger under the open window, fallen on the floor, his back and head against the wall, his arms at his side, and the blood streaming over the slate pavement from his right gashed wrist. accident or instinct--it could not have been judgment--had carried him to the only spot in the room where pure air was to be found, and there it descended like a rushing waterfall, blowing about the prostrate man's wild long hair. "judith!" said he, looking at her, and he raised his left hand. "judith, this is the end." "oh, captain coppinger, do come out. the house is burning. quick, or it will be too late." "it is too late for me," he said. "i am wounded." he held up his half-severed hand. "i gave this to you and you rejected it." "come--oh, do come--or you and i will be burnt." in the inrushing sweep of air both were clear of the smoke and could breathe. he shook his head. "i am followed. i will not be taken. i am no good now--without my right hand. i will not go to jail." she caught his arm, and tearing the kerchief from her neck, bound it round and round where the veins were severed. "it is in vain," he said. "i have lost most of my blood. ju!"--he held her with his left hand--"ju, if you live, swear to me, swear you will sign the register." she was looking into his face--it was ghastly, partly through loss of blood, partly because lighted by the glare of the burning tobacco that dropped from above. then a sense of vast pity came surging over her along with the thought of how he had loved her. into her burning eyes tears came. "judith!" he said, "i made my confession to you--i told you my sins. give me also my release. say you forgive me." she had forgotten her peril, forgotten about the fire that was above and around, as she looked at his eyes, and, holding the maimed right arm, felt the hot blood welling through her kerchief and running over her hand. "i pray you, oh, i pray you, come outside. there is still time." again he shook his head. "my time is up. i do not want to live. i have not your love. i could never win it, and if i went outside i should be captured and sent to prison. will you give me my absolution?" "what do you mean?" and in her trembling concern for him--in the intensity of her pity, sorrow, care for him--she drew his wounded hand to her and pressed it against her heaving bosom. "what i mean is, can you forgive me?" "indeed--indeed i do." "what--all i have done?" "all." she saw only a dying man before her, a man who might be saved if he would, but would not because her love was everything to him, and _that_ he never, never could gain. would she make no concession to him? could she not draw a few steps nearer? as she looked into his face and held his bleeding arm to her bosom, pity overpowered her--pity, when she saw how strong had been this wild and wicked man's love. now she truly realized its depth, its intensity, and its tenderness alternating with stormy blasts of passion, as he wavered between hope and fear, and the despair that was his when he knew he must lose her. then she stooped, and, the tears streaming over her face, she kissed him on his brow, and then on his lips, and then drew back, still holding his maimed hand, with both of hers crossed over it, to her heaving bosom. kneeling, she had her eyes on his, and his were on hers--steady, searching, but with a gentle light in them. and as she thus looked she became unconscious, and sank, still holding his hand, on the floor. at that instant, through the smoke and raining masses of burning tobacco, plunged oliver menaida. he saw judith, bent, caught her in his arms, and rushed back through the door. a moment after and he was at the entrance again, to plunge through and rescue his wounded adversary; but the moment when this could be done was past. there was an explosion above, followed by a fall as of a sheet of blue light, a curtain of fire through the mist of white smoke. no living man could pass that. oliver went round to the window, and strove to enter by that way; the man who had taken refuge there was still in the same position, but he had torn the kerchief of judith from the bleeding arm, and he held it to his mouth, looking with fixed eyes into the falling red and blue fires and the swirling flocks of white smoke. there were iron bars at the window. oliver tore at these to displace them. "coppinger!" he shouted, "stand up--help me to break these bars!" but coppinger would not move, or, possibly, the power was gone from him. the bars were firmly set. they had been placed in the windows by coppinger's orders and under his own supervision, to secure othello cottage, his store-place, against invasion by the inquisitive. at length oliver succeeded in wrenching one bar away, and now a gap was made through which he might reach coppinger and draw him forth through the window. he was scrambling in when the captain staggered to his feet. "let me alone," said he. "you have won what i have lost. let me alone. i am defeated." then he stepped into the mass of smoke and falling liquid blue fire and dropping masses of red glowing tobacco. a moment more, and the whole of the attic floor, with all the burning contents of the garret, fell in. chapter liv. squab pie. next morning, at an early hour, judith, attended by mr. zachary menaida, appeared at the rectory of st. enodoc. she was deadly pale, but there was decision in her face. she asked to see mr. desiderius mules in his study, and was shown into what had, in her father's days, been the pantry. mr. menaida had a puzzled look in his watery eyes. he had been up all night, and indeed it had been a night in which few in the neighborhood had slept, excepting mr. mules, who knew nothing of what had happened. the smugglers, alarmed by the fire at othello cottage, and by the party collected by mr. menaida to guard the descent to the beach, had not ventured to force their way to the cave. the black prince, finding that no signal was made from the ledge above the cave, suspected mischief, heaved anchor and bore away. the stupefied members of the preventive service were conveyed to the nearest cottages, and there left to recover. as for othello cottage, it was a blazing and smoking mass of fire, and till late on the following day could not be searched. there was no fire-engine anywhere near; nor would a fire-engine have availed to save either the building or its contents. when mr. mules appeared, judith said in a quiet but firm tone, "i have come to sign the register. mr. menaida is here. i do it willingly, and with no constraint." "thank you. this is most considerate to my feelings. i wish all my flock would obey my advice as you are now doing," said the rector, and produced the book, which judith signed with trembling hand. mr. desiderius was quite ignorant of the events of the night. he had no idea that at that time captain coppinger was dead. it was not till some days later that judith understood why, at the last moment, with death before his eyes, coppinger had urged on her this ratification of her marriage. it was not till his will was found, that she understood his meaning. he had left to her, as his wife, everything that he possessed. no one knew of any relatives that he had, for no one knew whence he came. no one ever appeared to put in a claim against the widow. on the second day the remains of the burnt cottage were cleared away, and then the body of cruel coppinger was found, fearfully charred, and disfigured past recognition. there were but two persons who knew that this blackened corpse belonged to the long dreaded captain, and these were judith and oliver. when the burnt body was cleared from the charred fragments of clothing that were about it one article was discovered uninjured. about his throat coppinger had worn a silk handkerchief, and this as well as the collar of his coat had preserved his neck and the upper portion of his chest from injury such as had befallen the rest of his person. and when the burnt kerchief was removed, and the singed cloth of the coat-collar, there was discovered round the throat a narrow black band, and sewn into this band, one golden thread of hair, encircling the neck. * * * * * are our readers acquainted with that local delicacy entitled, in cornwall and devon, squab pie? to enlighten the ignorant, it shall be described. first, however, we premise that of squab pies there are two sorts: devonian squab and cornish squab. the cornish squab differs from the devonian squab in one particular; that shall be specified presently. _how to make a squab pie._--take half a pound of veal, cut into nice square pieces, and put a layer of them at the bottom of a pie-dish. sprinkle over these a portion of herbs, spices, seasoning, lemon-peel, and the yolks of eggs cut in slices; cut a quarter of a pound of boiled ham very thin, and put in a layer of this. take half a pound of mutton cut into nice pieces, and put a layer of them on the top of the veal. sprinkle as before with herbs and spices. take half a pound of beef, cut into nice pieces, and put a layer of them on top of the mutton. sprinkle as before with herbs and spices. cut up half a dozen apples very fine, also half a dozen onions, mix, and proceed to ram the onions and apples into every perceivable crevice. take half a dozen pilchards, remove the bones, chop up and strew the whole pie with pilchards. then fill up with clotted cream, till the pie-dish will hold no more. (for cornish squab add, treated in like manner, a cormorant.) proceed to lay a puff paste on the edge of the dish. then insert a tablespoon and stir the contents, till your arm aches. cover with crust or ornament it with leaves, brush it over with the yolk of an egg, and bake in a well-heated oven for one or one and a half hour, or longer, should the pie be very large (two in the case of a cornish squab, and the cormorant very tough). in one word, a squab pie is a scrap pie. so is the final chapter of a three-volume novel. it is made up, from the first word to the last, of scraps of all kinds, toothsome and the reverse. now let the reader observe--he has been already supplied with scraps. he has learned the result of mr. menaida's collecting men to assist him against the smugglers. also of his expedition along with judith to the rectory of st. enodoc. also he has heard the provisions of captain coppinger's will; also that this will was not contested. he has also heard of the recovery of the captain's body from the burnt cottage. is not this a collection of scraps cut very small? but there are more, of a different character, with which this chapter will be made up, before the pie-crust closes over it with a flourishing "finis" to ornament it. mr. scantlebray had lost his wife, who had been an ailing woman for some years, and being a widower, cast about his eyes for a second wife, after the way of widowers. there was not the excuse of a young family needing a prudent housewife to manage the children, for mr. scantlebray had only one daughter, who had been allotted by her father and by popular opinion to captain coppinger, but had failed to secure him. mr. scantlebray, though an active man, had not amassed much money, and if he could add to his comforts, provide himself with good eating and good drinking, by marrying a woman with money, he was not averse to so doing. now, mr. scantlebray had lent a ready ear to the voice of rumor which made miss dionysia trevisa the heiress who had come in for all the leavings of that rich old spinster, miss ceely, of st. austell, and mr. scantlebray gave credit to this rumor, and acting on it, proposed to and was accepted by miss dionysia. now when, after marriage, mr. scantlebray found out that the sweet creature he had taken to his side was worth under a quarter of the sum he had set down at the lowest figure, at which he could endure her, and when the late miss trevisa, now the second mrs. scantlebray, learned from her husband's lips that he had married her only for her money, and not for her good looks or for any good quality she was supposed to be endowed with, the reader, knowing something of the characters of these two persons, may conjecture, if he please, what sort of scenes ensued daily between them, and it may be safely asserted that the bitterest enemies of either could not have desired for each a more unenviable lot than was theirs. very shortly after the death of captain coppinger, judith and jamie left bristol in a vessel, with uncle zachie, bound for lisbon. oliver menaida had gone to oporto before, to make arrangements for his father. it was settled that judith and her brother should live with the old man, and that the girl should keep house for him. oliver would occupy his old quarters, that belonged to the firm in which he was a partner. it is a strange thing--but after the loss of coppinger judith's mind reverted much to him, she thought long and tenderly of his considerations for her, his patience with her, his forbearance, his gentleness toward her, and of his intense and enduring love. his violence she forgot, and she put down the crimes he had committed to evil association, or to an irregulated, undisciplined conscience, excusable in a measure in one who had not the advantages she had enjoyed, of growing up under the eye of a blameless, honorable, and right-minded father. in the consistory court of canterbury is a book of the marriages performed at the oporto factory, by the english chaplain resident there. it begins in the year and ends in . the author has searched this volume in vain for a marriage between oliver menaida and judith coppinger. if such a marriage did take place, it must have been after , but the book of register of marriages later than this date is not to be found in the consistory court. were they married? on inquiry at st. enodoc no information has been obtained, for neither judith nor the menaidas had any relatives there with whom they communicated. if mrs. scantlebray ever heard, she said nothing, or, at all events, nothing she said concerning them has been remembered. were they ever married? that question the reader must decide as he likes. finis. transcriber's note a table of contents has been added by the transcriber for the convenience of the reader. saint is abbreviated to both s. and st. in this book. the author refers to plants by the names of escallonica and eschalonia. it's likely that both are errors for escallonia, but they are preserved as printed. instances of archaic spelling (e.g. taught meaning taut) are preserved as printed. variant spelling (e.g. jewelry and jewellery) is preserved as printed except where there was a clear prevalence of one form over another, as follows: page --wyvell amended to wyvill--"... on one occasion a preventive man named ewan wyvill, ..." page --wyvell amended to wyvill--"wyvill had disappeared, and the body was recovered ..." page --jassamine amended to jessamine--"... a-smelling to the jessamine is the surveyor ..." page --stupified amended to stupefied--"... so stupefied was he by his terrors, ..." hyphenation usage has been made consistent. minor punctuation errors have been repaired. the following printer errors have been fixed: page --contion amended to condition--"the chancel of the church was in that condition ..." page --omitted 'a' added for sense--"... was to be anticipated from a broken-hearted widow and helpless children ..." page --repeated 'the' deleted--"... who occupied a double cottage at the little hamlet of polzeath." page --she amended to he--"... with a jerk of the rein and a set of the brow he showed ..." page --bluet amended to blue--"... boy blue blew his horn, ..." page --companian amended to companion--"... the friend and companion of judith." page --it amended to in--"... the voice summoned her to come in, ..." page --repeated 'had' deleted--"... had seen him with his carriers defile out of the lane ..." page --keenist amended to keenest--"a cry of intensest, keenest anguish ..." page --repeated 'the' deleted--"that star on the black sea--what did it mean?" page --aught amended to ought--"... but that he was told it was there, he ought to see it, ..." page --hime amended to home--"... "may i get out now and go home?"" page --springs amended to sprigs--"... covered with sprigs of nondescript pink and blue flowers." page --repeated 'and' deleted--"... and never once as i'm a christian ..." page --coldnesss amended to coldness--"... formed the resolution to break down the coldness ..." page --or amended to of--"... to take this accumulation of wreckage ..." page --officient amended to officiant--"... immediately over the head of the officiant, ..." page --remorselesss amended to remorseless--"... remorseless and regardless of others, ..." page --judiah amended to judith--""nothing," answered judith, ..." page --travisa amended to trevisa--"... by a little sentiment for miss judith trevisa, ..." page --chose amended to choose--"... and if i choose to live in it i can." page --superfluous 'where' deleted before 'there'--"judith walked where, near the edge of the cliffs, there was no snow, ..." page --breakfeast amended to breakfast--"... in utter guilelessness, prepared my breakfast for me, ..." page --kness amended to knees--"... and herself on her knees and dragged him ..." nan sherwood on the mexican border by annie roe carr [illustration] the world syndicate publishing company cleveland new york _published by the world syndicate publishing co._ [illustration] _printed in the united states of america_ table of contents chapter page i unexpected guests ii you're going with me iii adair mackenzie speaks up iv trouble at the border v tell us about the hacienda vi something about mexico vii bess smells a romance viii trouble for rhoda ix resolutions x first mexican experience xi a legend xii linda riggs turns up xiii nan turns photographer xiv smugglers xv a bullfight xvi end of the fight xvii a hasty departure xviii linda performs an introduction xix floating gardens xx good-bye to mexico city xxi the hacienda xxii stubborn fools xxiii in a patio xxiv stolen! xxv bess has suspicions xxvi serenaders xxvii walker departs xxviii nan's big adventure xxix happily ever after! nan sherwood on _the_ mexican border [illustration] chapter i unexpected guests elizabeth harley jumped down from her bicycle and dropped it noisily against the steps of the sherwood back porch. "nan, oh, nan!" she called. there was no answer. she ran up the steps and into the cottage, letting the screen door bang behind her. a friend since primary school days of nan sherwood, she was like one of the family and always ran into the sherwood home on amity street without the formality of ringing the doorbell or pausing to knock. now she was more than anxious to find nan. she had something important to tell her, news, she felt, that had to be told right away. grace and rhoda and laura and amelia, the whole crowd that had gone to england to see the king and queen crowned in westminster the year before were coming to tillbury by motor to spend a couple of weeks. nan and bess had invited them during the last busy days at school, but bess had only just now received a telegram saying they could come. oh, there was so much to do! "nan, nan!" she called again. they would have to have parties and picnics and hikes. bess's mind was busy planning even as she wondered where in the world nan was. they would have a steak fry down on the shore of the lake. they would stay late and after the moon was up, they would sit on the shore and sing and talk and build the fire up high and then when the embers were low, they would toast marshmallows and talk some more until it was time to go home. but where was nan? bess called again. again there was no answer, but bess heard the sound of voices in the front of the house. she walked on through. excited herself, she failed to notice the excitement in the voices that attracted her, so when she stuck her head through the door between the hall and the sherwood front parlor, she was taken completely by surprise. there were strangers in the room! bess withdrew her head in embarrassment, but nan had seen her and came towards her laughing. "oh, bess," she said, reaching her hand out toward her friend and pulling her into the room. "come on in, you are just the person we wanted to see." "yes, bess, it's so," mrs. sherwood nodded her head reassuringly at her daughter's young friend. "yes, lassie, come in," one of the strangers, a white-haired old man spoke up. "come over here by me, and let me look at you." his bright blue eyes twinkled as he noted the blush on the girl's cheek but he did nothing to relieve her embarrassment. on the contrary, he adjusted his glasses on his nose, and carefully looked her up and down. "hm-m-m, a pretty bit," he smiled as he rendered his verdict and then reached over and drew nan, who was standing close beside bess, near to him. "so this is another of the lassies who went over to see the good king crowned," he addressed his remark to nan. "and i gather you are pretty good friends." nan and bess both nodded at this. "and you go to the same school and you pay attention to your lessons and you mind your own business?" the old gentleman tried to look severe as he asked these questions. "we try to, sir." bess found her voice at last. "you obey your elders and you think you are going to spend your vacation here in tillbury, a god-forsaken place, with a half dozen bright lassies like yourself?" "yes, sir. no, sir. yes, sir." bess didn't know what to answer. this strange old man was like no one she had ever met before. she wanted to protest that tillbury was not a god-forsaken place, that she and nan both liked it, but she didn't quite dare. she wanted to speak up and tell him that vacation in tillbury with all her friends would be fun, but she didn't dare do that either. she didn't quite know what to think of this white-haired gentleman who seemed so fond of nan and was so outspoken. in her confusion, she was tongue-tied. but he wasn't. each time that he opened his mouth, the words that came forth were more astonishing than they had been before. bess found herself listening in amazement. "well, you're not going to stay here in tillbury for the summer," he continued his discussion of bess and nan's vacation. "i won't have it. and your friends aren't going to either. you're all coming with me. england one summer, and tillbury the next. forsooth! i thought you all had more imagination than that. you, nan, i'm disappointed in you." his eyes twinkled merrily as he looked at his young cousin, for the stranger was adair mackenzie, first cousin to mrs. sherwood, and a wealthy memphis, tennessee, business man. "now, let's see, when can we start?" he took out his watch as he spoke. "hm-m-m. it will take a little time to pack," he reflected. "lassies are such fussy creatures. they have to have two or three dresses--" "two or three!" nan exclaimed, "why, cousin adair, we have to have just dozens if we are going to stay away all summer." "who said you were?" the old scotchman roared and then threw back his head and laughed long and heartily at the young girl who seemed so self-possessed no matter what he said or did. nan laughed with him and then, turning toward bess, she introduced her eccentric old relative and his pretty daughter, alice, a young lady about five years older than nan who, up to this time, had said nothing, but had watched her father with amusement. at the introduction, adair mackenzie bowed gracefully and, taking bess's hand lightly in his, kissed it quickly. "you're a nice lassie," he said then. "now let's all sit down and talk a while about this trip to mexico." "to mexico!" bess was wide-eyed as the exclamation slipped off her tongue. "are we going to mexico?" "why, yes. that was all settled weeks ago," mackenzie knitted his brows as he looked at bess. "such a bright young lassie and yet she didn't know that!" "don't mind father," alice took bess's hand in hers. "he goes about planning all these things and never says anything to anyone until he has everything all ready. it used to wear me out, but now i think it is quite charming of him. of course, it keeps everyone at home in a constant state of turmoil and it makes the housekeeper furious, but then we manage." "manage!" the old man exploded again. "manage! why, you imp, you, you love it and you know you do. it's the spice of life to you. mexico, europe, alaska, south america, egypt, why, the world's a place to live in, not just to read about. india and china and japan, these are places we haven't been." "and daddy, we're not going just yet." alice acted as though she wanted to forestall any possibility of their starting off the next day or the next hour for the orient. "remember, it's mexico we're going to this summer. we're going to live in that big hacienda that was dumped into your hands when you sued those clients of yours that were exporters in mexico city. oh, daddy, remember, when you came back the last time, you said it was a grand old place with gorgeous vines flinging scarlet sprays all over everything." "yes, i remember. i said that the sunsets were more gorgeous, the birds more brilliant, the flowers brighter, the moon more silver, the sea bluer than anything we've ever seen." "and that wasn't all you said," alice seemed to be baiting her father now. "i know it." he fell right into the trap of the daughter whom he adored. "i said also that there was a bunch of darn mexicans cluttering up the place down there who put the politeness of us southerners to shame. never saw anything like it," he turned to mrs. sherwood with this. "they fall all over themselves every time they turn around, and women just eat it up. can't stand it myself. never get anything done. have to change that." mrs. sherwood laughed softly at this. adair had not changed a bit since she saw him last, and that was longer ago than she liked to remember. that was at her wedding. she smiled now to herself in recalling it. she and bob, in their anxiety to escape from the wedding reception without being followed, had taken adair into their confidence. he had promised to get them a horse and buggy, to see that they got off safely to the train that was to bring them up north on their honeymoon. he had told them to leave everything to him, and, in their innocence, they had. adair had meant well, but somehow or other in his peremptory handling of events, he got everything in such confusion that practically the whole town turned out to see the sherwoods off. they, in their turn, almost missed the train, for the horse and buggy never did arrive. however, it had all turned out happily, and when the bride and groom stood on the back of the train and waved to their friends, they had an especially fond feeling for adair. he, however, felt pretty glum, and their last view of him was of a perplexed young man standing off alone on one corner of the station platform, wondering how in the world all of the people had happened to be there. no, adair, she could see, hadn't changed a bit. he still liked to manage people, still liked to follow up any impulsive idea that came to his active mind. through the years, tales of his adventures had reached her by letter from friends and relatives. adair himself was not given to writing. "takes too much time," he said. "can't sit still that long." his visit now was a surprise. he had arrived, unannounced, when she and nan were in a turmoil unpacking the trunks that nan had brought back from school with her. only the peremptory peal of the doorbell had announced his coming. when she opened the door, he had taken her in his arms and kissed her and then, without even introducing alice whom she had never met, he began immediately to call for nan. "where's that girl?" he asked almost before he was inside the door. "come all the way up here from memphis to see her and then she doesn't even come to greet me." in his impatience, he pounded on the floor with his cane. mrs. sherwood called her daughter. "you're nan," he said positively, when nan finally entered the room. "i'm adair. i would have known you anyplace. you look and walk and talk (nan hadn't said a word) just like your mother. the same eyes, the same hair, the same determined chin. now i believe everything i've been hearing about you. didn't before. sounded like a bunch of nonsense to me." "young school girl takes part in english coronation. young school girl saves child from rattlesnake. young school girl saves life of old lady. didn't believe a word of it. now i do. you're going to mexico with me." "adair mackenzie!" mrs. sherwood exclaimed. "will you please lay your cane aside, take off your coat, put your hat down and have a chair before you go sweeping nan off her feet with your scatterbrained ideas. "nan, don't worry, darling," she turned toward her daughter and laughed. "this man is really quite harmless. he is adair mackenzie, our cousin. remember, the one we wrote to some years ago when we were in such trouble. he can't help being like this. he's always been so." "well, well, well!" adair grinned rather winningly at mrs. sherwood. "i must say, jessie, you haven't changed either. still think you can manage me, do you? alice," he turned toward his daughter now for the first time, "this woman you see here is the only woman who ever thought she could wind me around her finger." mrs. sherwood and alice exchanged sympathetic glances at this. alice, too, if her father only knew it, had her ways of managing him. nan's mother knew this instinctively and liked alice. nan liked her too. she was tall, slender, with blond curly hair and deep blue eyes. she was pretty and happy looking. and she liked nan and hoped against hope that her father could work out his plan to induce nan and her friends to come to mexico with them. she sat quietly by while he plunged into the matter. "come here, nancy," he commanded when he had taken off his coat. nan walked across the room and stood in front of him. "you want to go to mexico?" nan hesitated. she had never before thought of going to mexico. "you want to go to mexico? yes, or no?" "why, i can't." nan hesitated as she answered. "no such word. never say can't to me. don't like it. why can't you?" adair mackenzie frowned at nan. "why, sir, i have friends coming to stay with me for a few weeks. i can't run away from them." nan hardly knew what to say. "you like them?" "of course." "are they as nice as you?" "nicer." "don't be modest. they couldn't be. when are they coming?" "i'm not just sure. perhaps next week." "that's all right then. they'll come with us. we'll all go to mexico together. now, that's taken care of." it was on this decision, that bess had entered the room so unexpectedly. chapter ii you're going with me "but do you think the others can go?" bess asked anxiously when adair mackenzie and alice had driven off in search of mr. sherwood. "to bring him home where he belongs when he has visitors," adair had said. "what do you think, momsey?" nan referred the question to her mother. the three were in the kitchen where mrs. sherwood was bustling about preparing a company dinner. "the good lord only knows," mrs. sherwood shook her head as she sifted more flour on her biscuit dough and then kneaded it lightly and expertly. "i can only tell you two girls this. when adair mackenzie sets out to do something, he usually does it. he has a way about him that almost always wins people over to his side." "yes, but to mexico. he wants to take us all to mexico and he doesn't even know us!" bess couldn't believe it, not even after seeing and hearing the old scotchman. "and if i can't believe it," she questioned, "how in the world will the others when they haven't even seen him or heard him talk?" "don't you worry, bessie," mrs. sherwood looked affectionately at this girl who was almost a second daughter to her. "they'll be both seeing him and hearing him talk before long now. if i know adair mackenzie at all, he'll be at work on this thing before another day is up. and if he's one-half the man he used to be, you might just as well begin packing tonight." "you mean to say you are sure we will all go?" bess was incredulous. "yes, you'll go and have the grandest time you ever have had," mrs. sherwood said confidently. "there never was another man like adair mackenzie." "then i'm going?" nan had, despite her cousin's assurance, been somewhat doubtful. she knew that her mother had wanted her to stay at home this summer, that she had been lonesome without her daughter the summer before and was planning all sorts of little surprises for this vacation. "go! of course you're going!" mrs. sherwood nearly dropped her biscuit dough in her surprise at nan's question. "and i shouldn't be a bit surprised if your father and i were to go at least part way with you. adair said something about it. aye, but he's a thoughtful soul." so it came about that rhoda hammond, grace and walter mason, amelia "procrastination" boggs, and laura polk, all school chums of bess and nan, in the days that followed, received telegraphic invitations to spend the summer with nan in mexico. while each of them is laying her plans, packing her clothes and wiring "santa claus", as laura polk immediately dubbed cousin adair, let's briefly review the adventures of nan sherwood and her friends up to this point. nan was born in tillbury, a pleasant little town, some distance from any big city, and her early school days were spent with elizabeth harley, the only one of nan's many friends who has followed her through all of her adventures. in the first book of the series, "nan sherwood at pine camp" or "the old lumberman's secret" nan and bess are pals at tillbury high school. here nan is extremely popular with all of her classmates and excels in sports. she and bess have grand times together, though the sherwoods live on a reduced income while bess, the daughter of one of tillbury's wealthiest families, has everything that money can buy. the first big disagreement the girls ever have comes in the opening chapters of this book when bess, having decided to go away to an exclusive boarding school on the shores of lake michigan, tries to induce nan to go with her. though nan wants with all her heart to go, she absolutely refuses to ask her parents because she knows that they cannot afford to let her. she is happy later at her decision, because on the eve of it, she discovers that her father has lost his job in the tillbury mills. everything looks extremely dark for the sherwoods. momsey sherwood is ill and papa sherwood, because of his age, is complete at a loss as to know where to turn for a job. however, when things are darkest, mrs. sherwood receives two letters. one from scotland informs her that she is sole heir of a fortune in scotland, and the other, from her cousin adair mackenzie, whom we have already met, promises her aid until such time as she can collect on her inheritance. with this, nan's parents leave for scotland and pack nan off to northern wisconsin where she spends an exciting year in the lumber country with an uncle and aunt. here, in chapter after chapter that are full of thrills for nan, those about her, and the reader, the plucky young girl solves a mystery that, in the end, clears her uncle's title to a valuable piece of property. in the next volume of the series, "nan sherwood at lakeview hall" or "the mystery of the haunted boathouse" our young heroine goes off to school with bess. and there never was a nicer school anyplace than lakeview hall. situated on a bluff overlooking the lake it's like an old castle. mrs. cupp, assistant to dr. beulah prescott, is the keeper and the girls, early in the volume, learn to respect her, if not to admire her. here, they make the acquaintance of a number of new friends. there are grace mason and her brother walter, children of a wealthy chicago family; laura polk, a red-headed girl whose lively imagination and ready tongue are constantly getting her into difficulties; amelia boggs, a serious book-loving soul with a roomful of clocks; and finally, linda riggs, a snobbish, spoiled child, who is extremely jealous of nan and her well-deserved popularity. last, but not least, there is the boathouse ghost around whom is woven a mystery that brings nan and walter mason together in such a way that they develop a keen admiration for one another. this book is chock full of adventure, excitement and mystery and lakeview hall is the center of it all. her friendship with grace and walter bring about her next big experience, a visit to chicago. in "nan sherwood's winter holidays" or "rescuing the runaways" the lakeview hall crowd spends christmas vacation in grace mason's palatial chicago home. the story of nan's meeting with a very famous movie star and her solution to the mystery surrounding the strange disappearance of two young farm girls who have come to the city to go into the movies is recounted in this volume. next, nan and her friends go off on a visit to a western ranch, the home of rhoda hammond, a school chum. here the northern girls get their first taste of what it is to live in the wide open spaces of the west. the story of lost treasure that is told in this volume of the series, "nan sherwood at rose ranch" or "the old mexican's treasure" is one that no admirer of plucky nan sherwood would want to miss. the year that follows this western adventure is a pleasant one at lakeview hall and at its end, we find nan and her friends trekking off to florida and palm beach. so, in "nan sherwood at palm beach" or "strange adventures among the orange groves" in a background of wide sandy beaches, beautiful graceful palms, and a hotel that overlooks the sea, a villain who has tried to cheat one of nan's many acquaintances out of her fortune, comes to a well-deserved end, and nan emerges a heroine once more. at the end of this volume, we find that walter and nan are becoming more and more fond of one another, and we see the lakeview hall girls teasing them about it again and again. in the sixth volume, mrs. sherwood's scotch connections bring about an invitation to nan to visit scotland and the family estate of her mother's people. bess is heartbroken that her friend is going away without her. however, she tries to conceal her disappointment and joins with nan's other friends in planning a grand farewell party. the party proves to be a surprise all round and the great day ends with an announcement by dr. prescott that she is taking a party of six girls abroad to see the king and queen of england crowned! such excitement! such last minute rush! such fun! never was there a happier, more exciting, more adventurous crossing of the ocean than the lakeview hall crowd enjoyed on the s. s. lincoln. and the whole is rounded out in the last chapter with nan as a lady-in-waiting to the queen at the coronation. how this all came about is a story that all nan sherwood fans will want to read. it was the part his little cousin had played in the coronation that made adair mackenzie resolve to hunt her up. it was this that brought him to tillbury and the cottage on amity street on the day the present volume opens. "good biscuits!" adair mackenzie bit off a piece of their lightness the evening the present story opens. they were all sitting at the sherwood dinner table. there he sat, chewing reflectively, as he glanced down the table at young nan. "so you helped crown the good queen," he remarked, "and it didn't go to your head. you're a good lass. you blakes," he turned to mrs. sherwood now, "were always a bunch of modest creatures. that's why i like you. now, bessie there," he pointed to bess who had stayed for dinner, "she's not so modest, but she's kind and loyal. she's a little spoiled, but she'll get by." bess blushed all shades of the rainbow at adair's frankness. used to being babied and somewhat pampered at home, his outspokenness troubled her. she felt strangely like crying. nan caught her eye and smiled encouragingly. mrs. sherwood patted her hand beneath the tablecloth. and alice, well, alice was a dear, for she turned the conversation toward school, and both nan and bess utterly forgot themselves in telling of the horse show in which they had both taken part during the last week at school. "so you think you can ride, eh?" adair mackenzie was secretly pleased at both of the young girls. "well, we'll see. i'll put you each on a mexican mule and let you try to climb a mountain and see what happens." he chuckled at the thought. alice laughed merrily at this. "well, you'll never get me on one," she vowed. "once was enough. instead of the mule pulling me up the narrow path, i pulled the mule up. i never worked harder in my life." "oh, my sweet, you never worked at all." adair shook his finger at his daughter. "but you'll work this summer--if that old housekeeper of ours keeps her resolution not to go down to that dirty hole which we call a hacienda. the words are hers," he explained to nan and bess. "she once, when she was a very young girl, spent a summer on a sugar beet farm here in the north. a lot of mexicans worked on it. they were miserably treated and poorly paid. as a result their huts were like hovels. she saw some of them and now she says that wild horses couldn't drag her into that country down there. she'd rather see me starve first. but i'll get her yet." adair mackenzie smiled as though he liked opposition. "i'll show her who is boss," he ended. "of course you will, daddy," alice agreed. "but now tell us, when are we going? how long are we going to stay? and whom have you invited?" this last question put adair mackenzie in a corner and he knew it. really, a very kind and extremely impulsive soul, when he went on these summer jaunts for pleasure he was apt to go about for weeks, inviting all his friends. as a result, no matter how large the house was he rented, it was always too small, and no matter what preparation alice made for guests, they were always inadequate. now, as he sat thinking, a mischievous light came into his eye. "there is only one that i've invited," he teased, "besides these girls that will interest you." "and that is--?" "walker jamieson, that smart-alecky reporter that we met in san francisco a couple of years ago. remember?" "remember? of course i remember and he wasn't smart alecky. he was kind and sweet and--" but alice didn't finish her sentence, for she became conscious of the fact that all the eyes around the dinner table were on her. she blushed prettily. "anyway," she justified herself, "he'll be a help in handling you, for he's smart, almost as smart as you are, daddy." "a reporter! you mean to say a real newspaper reporter will be down there with us?" nan couldn't contain herself any longer. "yep, a no good reporter." adair mackenzie tried hard to look disdainful as he said this, but he didn't succeed very well and both nan and bess guessed that he had a genuine regard for the "young scamp" as he called him. "got to have someone around," he muttered as he drank his coffee, "to help handle you women, even if it's a young scalawag who spends all his time tracking down stories for your worthless newspaper." "stories!" bess and nan were wide-eyed. "now, see here," adair shook his finger in the direction of the two young girls, "reporters are no good. they're a lazy lot that hang around with their feet on desks pretending to think. think! why, i never knew one yet that had a thought worth telling, let alone writing. "this one that you are going to meet is no better than the rest. m-m-m, and no worse either," he conceded as he noted the expression on alice's face. "i asked him to come along because he has a knack of making things lively wherever he is. "soon's he gets those two big feet of his down off his desk, he makes things hum. that's the way he is, lazy one minute, full of action the next. if there's absolutely nothing happening, he knows how to stir things up. i rather like a man like that--not that i like him," he added hastily, "but if we're going to go across the border this summer, got to have someone like him around. might just as well be jamieson as anyone else." "and will he write stories while we're there and will they be in the paper?" nan was reluctant to let the conversation about the young reporter drop. "never can tell anything about people like him," adair mackenzie shook his head as though he would be the last person in the world to predict anything about reporters. could he have looked into the future he would have shaken it even more violently, for in the next few weeks walker jamieson, with the help of nan and the lakeview hall crowd, was to uncover in mexico one of the biggest stories of the year. chapter iii adair mackenzie speaks up it all started in laredo, texas, just after nan and her guests had been met by adair mackenzie, alice, and that amazing young newspaper man, walker jamieson. "got everything?" adair mackenzie asked gruffly when the bevy of pretty young girls, all in their early teens, had stepped, one after the other, from the streamlined train that had brought them from st. louis. they had met in that city, all except rhoda whose home, as those who have read "nan sherwood at rose ranch" will remember, was in the south. she, therefore, had joined the party at beautiful san antonio. from there on, the girls had all been together. "i-i-i guess so," nan answered her eccentric old cousin slowly as she looked about first at her friends and then at the suitcases and bags that the porters were setting on the station platform beside them. "looks it." adair mackenzie agreed laconically. "got almost as many bags as alice here and i thought that she carried more junk than any other woman alive. so these are the girls. h-m-m." he looked at the lakeview hall group in much the same manner that he had appraised bess just three weeks before. "let's see," he began, and nan's eyes twinkled as she realized that he was not going to keep his conclusions to himself any more than he had before. "you're laura," he said positively, picking the red-headed girl out of the crowd as though he had studied a photograph of her until he couldn't possibly mistake her features. "and that red hair's going to get you in trouble sometime," he continued his characterization. "got a temper now. i can see that. a ready tongue too, i'll wager. but you'll get by if you can go on laughing at yourself. you've got a sense of humor. keep it." "yes, sir," laura answered as meekly as she could. she had already been warned, on the train, by bess as to what to expect, so this frank analysis of her character did not take her altogether by surprise. "and you, miss," the old scotsman went on around the circle of girls enjoying himself hugely as he characterized his young cousin's friends, "you," he was looking at amelia as he spoke, "are the one that has all of those clocks. you're too serious. you'll learn down here in this lazy country that time just doesn't matter. ask anybody to do anything for you and he'll nod his head slowly and mutter, if he's got enough pep, 'si, si, señor, mañana!' he'll do anything in the world you want him to do, mañana, and mañana never comes. "however, you and i will get along. i like you. you are punctual. it's a virtue. never been late for anything in your life, have you?" amelia hardly knew what to answer, for adair had made time seem both important and unimportant. "speak up," the old man looked at her kindly now. "don't be modest like my young cousin here. well, never mind," he passed amelia by as he saw that he had embarrassed her beyond her ability to speak. "i'll take care of you later," he ended before he turned to rhoda. "from the west, aren't you?" he questioned the proud brown-eyed young girl. "can tell in a minute. that carriage, the way you hold your head, your clear eyes. even if i hadn't heard that western accent, i would have known." adair mackenzie was proud of his ability to read character, and as he went from one of the young lassies to the other, he was pleased with himself and pleased with them, for their quiet acceptance of his outspokenness. "a city girl. just a little too shy." grace's turn came last, and she had been dreading it. "you've got to learn to stick up for your own rights," he had struck home here, he knew, and though he realized that grace could take it with less equilibrium than any of the rest, he wasn't going to spare her. "say, 'boo,' to you," he went on, "and you'll run. isn't it so?" grace said nothing, but nodded her head. "try saying 'boo!' back sometime," he advised in a quieter tone than he had used to any of the other girls, "and see what happens. if the person you say it to doesn't run, stand your ground and say it again, louder. but be careful," he patted grace on the shoulder, "and don't scare yourself with your own voice." at this everyone laughed, including grace, and alice mackenzie took her father by the arm and started toward the station. "if you don't look out, father," she warned, "i'll say 'boo!' to you and then you'll jump." "oh, go along with you," adair mackenzie pounded his cane on the wooden platform, and then shook it at his daughter, "if you don't behave yourself, i'll give you one last spanking that will hold you until you are as old and gray as i am." for answer, alice laughed provocatively up into his face. "now, come on, you girls," adair frowned as best he could under the circumstances, "we've got to get along. and you too, you get a move on," he pointed his cane, with this, at a tall, lanky blond young man. at this, nan and bess, rhoda and grace, laura and amelia with one accord turned their eyes on walker jamieson. "it's real, girls." walker grinned down into their faces. "it moves and speaks, eats and sleeps just like the rest of the world. it does everything but work." so saying, he winked quite openly at alice and lengthened his steps so that he walked beside her father. "first truth i've ever heard you utter," adair mackenzie tried to sound brusk, but didn't succeed very well. the truth was, of course, that he was intensely pleased with the prospect of spending his summer with this crowd of young people. and, though he would be the last person in the world to admit it, he was intensely flattered that this brilliant young newspaper man was in the party. "not that he came," he thought to himself as he noted, with some satisfaction, the regard with which walker seemed to hold alice, "to keep me company." he sighed deeply as he finished the thought. alice was his only child. "got everything?" adair mackenzie repeated the question with which he greeted the girls as they all approached the customs office. "baggage checks? tourist cards?" at this, they all opened their purses and rummaged around in them. "shades of glasgow." laura murmured into nan's ears. "seems good to be going through this red tape again, doesn't it?" nan nodded. she felt much the same as she did the day they had first stepped foot on foreign soil, an unforgettable experience that they all had talked over again and again since that morning in may when the great boat had been moored to the dock and they had walked, one after the other, down the gangplank to set their feet in scotland for the first time. the adventures that had followed had made their vacation the most exciting of their lives as those who have read "nan sherwood's summer holidays" all agree. now, as they all walked forward toward the offices of the mexican officials, nan wondered idly what further adventures were in store for her. "señorita, your bag, señorita." "why don't you answer when you are called?" walker jamieson dropped back into step beside nan. "lady," he prodded nan with his elbow, "the handsome young mexican with the neat little mustache that is running after us, is calling you." "me?" nan's voice had a surprised ring to it. "am i señorita?" "none other, for months to come, now." walker jamieson answered. "you are señorita sherwood and you had better answer when these señores call or they will be so much insulted that they will never recover." "oh, i'm sorry," nan looked genuinely regretful as she turned to the tall thin native that had been following her. "it is nothing," he dismissed her concern with a wave of his hands, "but the señorita has dropped her purse. may i give it to her?" he bowed gracefully as he presented it, and nan felt that he couldn't possibly have presented the finest gift in the world with more grace. however, before she could possibly thank him, he disappeared. she turned to follow the others into the offices, rummaging through her purse, even as they had done, as she went. "why, it's gone!" nan looked first at her purse and then in the direction in which the obliging young mexican had vanished. "uh-huh, we should have guessed," walker jamieson shook his head sadly. "dumb of me. what did he get?" "my visitor's pass!" nan exclaimed. "now, what will i do?" involuntarily, they both looked toward adair mackenzie who was just disappearing through the door. then they laughed. "i don't know, kid," walker liked this youngster that alice had already filled his ears with tales about. "but you're in for it. it's tough, these days, getting duplicates of the things. shall i break the news to the ogre," he nodded in adair mackenzie's direction. "he'll explode, but you've just got to take it." chapter iv trouble at the border "here, here, what's eating you two?" adair mackenzie came bursting forth from the door he had entered just a few moments before nan's encounter with the mexican. "h-m-m, lost your pass, i'll wager." with the uncanny instinct of many peppery old gentlemen, adair mackenzie as soon as he saw the baffled expression on nan's face, jumped immediately to the right conclusion. "might have known that would happen. should have taken care of them all myself. can't depend on women and girls. always tell alice that. ought to have a safe place to keep things. old pouch my mother used to strap around her waist was a good idea." nan couldn't restrain the smile that came to her eyes at this. she had known one person in her life who tied a bag around her waist. that was grim old mrs. cupp, assistant to dr. beulah prescott, principal at lakeview hall. legend had it that mrs. cupp had a dark secret the key to which she carried in the black bag which someone, in days long before nan and bess descended on lakeview hall, had seen. whether or not it was so, nan didn't know, but at lakeview hall, the words "keep it a secret" were generally expressed by saying "put it in the black bag." "laughing at me, miss!" adair's roar brought nan out of her reveries. she jumped, and looking up into his face, she winged her way from lakeview hall on the shores of the great lakes back to laredo, texas and the immediate problem of the lost visitor's pass. "i said you should take care of your things the way i do," he roared again. "see," he pushed his hand inside his topcoat pocket, "always know where my things--" the end of the sentence was lost in a sputter, as adair mackenzie searched frantically in pocket after pocket for his visitor's pass. it was gone! "w-w-why, somebody's picked my pockets. can't allow this. where's a policeman? you, you, why don't you do something instead of standing there and laughing?" adair shook his cane at walker jamieson who was grinning broadly at the spectacle of the old man fuming and sputtering now, not at his own negligence, but at the inefficiency of a government that would allow such things to happen. his tirade against nan and her carelessness were utterly forgotten. but it wasn't necessary for walker to do anything. adair, in his outburst, railing against governments in general now, calling down the wrath of the gods on the heads of all policemen, and expressing himself most forcibly on the subject of newspaper men in particular, attracted a crowd. shortly, english and spanish words were being flung this way and that and everyone was arguing, but what it was all about no one seemed to know. "why, daddy, what has happened?" alice having heard the excitement from her seat in the office where her father had left her had worked her way through the crowd, and now put a restraining hand on his arm. immediately, he was quiet. "i'm sorry, dear," he looked down at her shamefacedly, "but these blundering mexicans have lost not only that poor young girl's," he pointed to nan with his cane, "visitor's pass, but mine too. it's an outrage! that's what it is, an outrage. and i won't stand for it." "oh, walker," alice turned to the young reporter now, "what shall we do?" "i beg your pardon, miss," the voice was that of a texas ranger with a big ten-gallon hat who had watched the whole scene with some amusement, "but if you'll step right over to the offices there" he nodded in the direction of the door from which alice had emerged a moment before, "mr. nogales will take care of you." "thanks," walker acknowledged the information, grinned, as though he was sharing a joke with the stranger, took both alice and her father by the arm, and, with nan, worked his way out of the crowd. "it's a difficult problem." lozario nogales gave a slight spanish accent to his words as he spoke to the americans who, a few moments after the scene above, were ushered into his office. "you see, it's like this--" he spoke slowly and fingered a pencil as he chose his words, for english did not come any too easily to him. "nonsense! no difficulties at all." adair mackenzie was always impatient with slow speech, "all you have to do is write out another of those cards for each of us. take you a minute. they're nothing but a lot of silly red tape anyway. if i had my way about it, there would be no passports, no customs, no visitors' passes, no anything that impedes free movement of people across the borders. it's all foolishness the way you mexicans do these things." thus, with utter inconsistency, adair mackenzie, in a moment's time placed the whole burden of border regulations in the laps of the mexicans. "but señor," lozario felt that he never would become accustomed to the ways of these americans, and of this american in particular, "there are the rules." "rules! what rules?" adair stormed further, then he caught alice's eye and capitulated, "well, what are we to do?" "it's simply this," mr. nogales was more than grateful for alice's presence which gave him at last an opportunity to speak, "there has been a good deal of smuggling across the borders in the past few months, and your american government has made new rules about the issuing of duplicates when passes are lost." "smuggling?" walker jamieson now spoke up for the first time since the party entered the office. "smuggling what?" "well, the american gentleman knows that immigration laws prohibit the free passage of certain nationalities into the united states." walker nodded. his work in san francisco had brought this fact most forcibly to his mind again and again, for there he had worked often among the chinese and the japanese and numbered among them many close friends. these people admired him and respected him greatly. they thought that because he was a newspaper man, he could do anything in the world for them that he wanted to do. as a consequence, they were constantly coming to him with tales of wives or mothers or children that they wanted to see, but could not get into the united states because of the immigration laws. "and the señor knows that these people somehow or other manage to get across the border in spite of these laws?" mr. nogales continued. he liked this young man. "yes." walker knew that too. often he had been amazed while covering his beat in chinatown to meet the very mothers, wives, or children he had been asked to "get here for me, please, mr. jamieson" a few days after being asked. however, as he threaded through the dark streets of the famous san francisco chinatown this surprise always wore off. the ways of the people he was among were so silent and mysterious, even to him working among them and calling them "friends", that he had grown to take such sudden appearances for granted. "well, just lately," mr. nogales went on, "there have been even more than the usual number of persons smuggled across. your government and mine has been working hard on the problem of putting an end to this. one means of stopping it has been to check most thoroughly the issuance of all duplicate visitor's passes." nan was beginning to see light in the whole situation now. immigration laws and the smuggling of aliens across the border was something she had studied about in social science classes at lakeview. this scene in the laredo offices was a school lesson brought to life. nan vaguely remembered, as she stood there listening and watching, that laura had once had a special report to give on this particular subject. she remembered because it was at the time the girls were planning a big spread down at the boathouse, and laura had been so excited about the whole thing that she had gone to class utterly unprepared. in the few minutes before the assembly bell rang nan helped her out, and so laura had managed to struggle through the social science hour. nan turned. she wished that laura and the rest were here now, but she knew that they were waiting in an outer office. "then you think," walker jamieson's words brought nan back to the present plight of herself and her cousin adair, "that there is a regular trade in visitors' passes, that the pickpocket who got ours wanted nothing else?" "you had no money stolen, did you?" mr. nogales queried. "uh-h-h-" adair mackenzie had been silent for a long while for him. now he rummaged through his pockets even as nan checked on the contents of her purse. "just as i thought," mr. nogales nodded his head, as the two agreed that all their money was there. "your visitors' passes are the only thing missing. just a moment, please, i'll see what can be done." with this, he disappeared into the office of his superior, and adair mackenzie followed him. nan, alice, and walker jamieson looked hopelessly at one another as adair disappeared from their view. chapter v tell us about the hacienda "what did you think?" laura inquired afterwards when the girls were all settled in a hotel close to the border for the night. "that the walls of that inner office would just cave in when mr. mackenzie started bellowing." "why, laura polk, how disrespectfully you talk!" bess exclaimed from her place in front of the dressing table where she was brushing her hair. "and mr. mackenzie is our host too. if it weren't for him we wouldn't be down here now. at this minute we'd probably be on the shores of a lake near tillbury." "oh, bess, you know i'm not one bit disrespectful, really," laura retorted. "i like mr. mackenzie real well and you know i do. i'd give anything in the world to be able to roar the way he does." there was genuine longing in her voice as she spoke. "just imagine," she continued, "how handy that roar would have come in the night we routed the ghost. i just think," she continued to play with the idea of making use of adair mackenzie's roar, "how handy it would come in, if we were to meet linda riggs. "couldn't we manage," she was lying prone on the bed, and, as this new idea came to her, she cupped her chin in her hands and looked off into space, "to have your cousin around sometime when linda riggs was present. i'd love to have him analyze her the way he did us today. such fun!" laura's eyes danced merrily at the thought. "and then i'd like to have her open her mouth to protest," laura continued, "and have him roar at her. oh, i'd give a million dollars, a trillion dollars," she amended generously, "to hear that roar." "you and me too," bess joined in. "by the way, have any of you heard anything about her lately." "not i," nan answered, "and i must say the less i hear about her and the less i see of her, the better. there was a rumor, you know, at school that she was going to be allowed to come back this fall." "i know it," bess somehow always managed to hear all the rumors, "and i can't for the life of me understand why dr. prescott would ever let her reenter. certainly, she's no credit to lakeview hall, or to any school for that matter. if i were a principal i wouldn't let her in my school. in fact, if i got the chance at all, i'd just slam the door right in her face." "oh, bess, do you ever sound as though you meant it? cousin adair should hear you talk now. he thinks that laura has a temper. he should hear you sometimes." nan laughed at her pal. "i know it, but i think i'm more than justified. she's certainly caused us plenty of trouble from the very first time we ever met her. i'll never forget how she embarrassed us on the train that took us to lakeview the first time." "nor how professor krenner took our part," nan added. "nor how you outwitted her and drove up to school in the back of walter mason's car as though you were a princess returning to her palace," laura giggled. "there never was a freshman created more of a stir than you did that night. boy, did we ever put our heads together in corridor four and decide that we would have to put you in your place right away," she continued slangily. "and did i ever hate you, laura polk," bess laughed now at the recollection. "you embarrassed me so about that lunch box that when i went to bed that night i cried myself to sleep." "poor bessie," laura sympathized. "you were such a proud little thing that i never in the world thought i'd ever be able to get along with you." "get along with bess!" nan exclaimed, "if you had ever heard what bess said about you that night, you would have been surprised that she ever spoke to you again." "what did you say, bess?" laura looked positively impish as she looked at bess's reflection in the mirror. "oh, i don't remember." bess was obviously concealing the truth. "you do too," amelia joined in as she wound the pretty little travelling clock that had been given her the week before. "if you don't tell, i will," nan was enjoying the situation as much as the rest, for she saw that bess was not really embarrassed. "go ahead then and see if i care," bess retorted, giving a few final strokes to her hair. "well, you said," nan began slowly, "that that homely red-headed polk girl was just as mean as she could be!" "did she say that?" laura laughed heartily. even in those days she would have been the first to laugh at herself. now she could laugh doubly, for the homely red-headed girl had, since then, blossomed out into a pretty, fair complexioned curly headed miss with a very pleasing personality. and so the girls continued for some time to talk over events and happenings that are recounted in other books of this series until laura turned to nan, "anyway," she said, "if we may return to the present and laredo, texas, will you please tell us just how your cousin managed to extract those passes from the authorities this afternoon? i respected his abilities to get what he wanted from the moment mother capitulated and let me come down here with what she called, 'a perfect stranger,' but i never respected them as much as i did when i saw that white uniformed official bowing you people out of that office as though you were the president's party itself." "wasn't he just grand!" nan's eyes were alight at the recollection. "that man was none other than a special aid to the mexican consular office here in laredo, and he nearly fell all over trying to help us after cousin adair ceased his storming and told those people who he was. i never saw anything like it in my life. "it was 'si, señor, this,' and 'si, señor, that' until alice and walker and i began to think that we were really somebody, if only by reflected glory." "well, you certainly looked like somebody very important when you came out," bess agreed. "i wondered for a moment whether i had really heard allright when you went in." "then you did hear us?" nan laughed. "all mexico did," laura put in. "really, at first we thought another revolution was taking place. grace here was looking around for someplace to hide herself. amelia was clutching her watch to her with a look of determination which said as plainly as anything 'no foraging rebel is going to get this' and rhoda looked as though she wished she had brought her trusty six shooter along. and then when we had gotten ourselves all worked up to the point of accepting the inevitable, who should come round the corner but you and mr. jamieson, alice and her father!" "you sound as though we disappointed you," nan remarked. "oh, not at all." laura hastened to correct this impression. "i don't believe mr. mackenzie has ever disappointed anyone in his life. he just couldn't. not with that cane, that roar, and that honesty which stops at nothing. he's a dear. now tell us, nan, all you know about this place we are going to." "i've done that a thousand times since i met you in st. louis," nan responded as she pulled off her dress and slipped her arms into the lounging robe that the lakeview hall girls had given her at a surprise party in her honor more than a year before. "oh, no, you haven't," laura denied. "we made you spend most of the time telling us about this angel of a cousin that appeared out of a clear sky and offered to take us all to mexico. doesn't sound real even now when we're here." "there's one thing about it," amelia added, "if one can't have rich relations oneself, the next best thing in the world is to have charming friends who have them." "here, here!" laura raised a protesting hand. "you're out of order. the first thing you know nan will be thinking we're fond of her." "oh, you old ducks," nan looked at them all fondly. "don't you know that cousin adair knew that if he didn't invite all of you that i wouldn't come at all? now, let's forget all of this gratitude stuff. it embarrasses me." "all right then," bess agreed, "but you really haven't told rhoda anything at all about the hacienda, nan." "i don't know anything myself," nan admitted after some hesitation. "i've tried and tried to get cousin adair to tell me something about the place, but he just won't say anything. i'm not sure whether he knows and won't tell or whether he doesn't know himself. at any rate, he's being extremely mysterious about the whole thing. says that we didn't see anything when we saw emberon, that this place that we are going has that beat all hollow. now what do you people make of that?" "dungeons, secret passage, weird wailing of bagpipes, that's what emberon had," laura summarized. "if this mexican hacienda has anything better to offer, i'd like to see it." "and so would i," nan agreed. she almost resented the idea that anything could possibly be any nicer than the old blake estate in scotland. "and listen, he says this further, that if we think we had adventures in scotland and england, we just haven't seen anything yet. what in the world do you suppose he means?" "if doctor prescott said that, or mrs. cupp, or your father or mine," rhoda answered, "i might possibly hazard a guess as to what was meant, but there's no telling about this cousin of yours, nan." "no, he's as unpredictable as the seasons, alice says, and the only thing we can do is wait." nan sounded as though waiting was the hardest thing in the world to do. chapter vi something about mexico "what's this?" laura questioned the next morning when she came upon amelia in her hotel room reading diligently from a book. "oh, nothing." amelia barely looked up. "come on, tell aunty," laura teased. "nobody else is up yet and i've simply got to talk to someone." "you mean there's no one else about, so you'll talk to me. well, i like that!" amelia returned to her book as though she were really indignant. "you know i didn't," laura sounded very conciliatory--for her. "it's just this; i've got the whim-whams something terrible. did you ever have the whim-whams, amelia?" "can't say i did," amelia answered. "at least i didn't call them any such name as that." "then you know what i mean?" laura looked very serious. "you mean," amelia turned the open book over on her lap and answered laura's question, "that you have awakened early in a hotel in a strange city, that you want like anything to go off exploring, that you know you can't, and that the next best thing you can find to do is to annoy someone else who can't go either." "my dear professor," laura assumed as serious a mien as possible, "you have hit the well-known nail squarely on the head. it must be that you have the whim-whams too. now what is that you are reading?" "well, if you must know," amelia gave in, "it's a guidebook to mexico." "ah, what could be better." laura herself reached for the book. "let's see what this country across the street from this hotel is like." "it does seem funny, doesn't it," amelia said, "that when we look out our hotel windows we are looking into a foreign country. it doesn't look any different. it doesn't sound any different. and it doesn't--" "smell any different," laura finished, "and that's the most surprising thing of all, because according to mr. mackenzie, mexico is just the smelliest place on god's green earth." "did he tell you that too?" amelia asked. "really, when he finished the tirade against the country that he delivered to me after dinner, i began to wonder why in the world he ever brought along five such nice girls as we." "five? what's the matter, 'mealy, can't you count before breakfast? there are six of us." "i said five _nice_ girls," amelia insisted. "he might have had one of several reasons for bringing you along." "such as--" nan had come into the room just in time to hear this last. "oh, he might have wanted to make the world a better place for the rest of us to live in by losing laura, making her a target for the revolutionists, feeding her to the bulls, or just leaving her here as food for the fleas," amelia responded airily, and then she put her arm around laura's shoulder as though to show her that she didn't mean a word of what she was saying. "they do say," grace added as she joined the group, "that the fleas here are man-sized. that reporter told me last night that the reason they give us mosquito netting to put over us at night is that the fleas and the mosquitos wage a nightly battle as to who is going to carry off the americans." "and you believed him?" laura laughed. "well, not exactly," grace answered, "but i did carefully tuck my netting all round me last night." "he told me lots of things about mexico, too," nan added, "and i don't know which of them to believe. this is a queer country we are going into, full of so many strange legends, so many different kinds of people that any wild tale at all might be true." "that's what i was thinking," amelia agreed, "when laura came into the room this morning. this guidebook here is full of all sorts of queer tales." "such as--?" nan queried. "oh, you people in there," bess called from another room, "wait until rhoda and i come before you talk any more about mexico. we want to hear too." "all right, slow-pokes," nan called back, "but you'll have to hurry. we're supposed to be downstairs for breakfast with cousin adair in exactly one-half hour." at this, bess and rhoda came into amelia's room and the girls, all dressed in sports clothes, settled themselves to learn something about the country they were going to visit. "it says here," nan began, for she had long ago lifted the guidebook from amelia's lap, "that mexico is a latin-american country south of the united states of america. the gulf of mexico is to the east and the pacific ocean to the west." "oh, we know that," bess interrupted impatiently, "tell us something that is different." "well, how's this?" nan queried, "mexico is a land of great contrasts. about sixty percent of its population are indians who live in a backward civilization that weaves its own clothes, grinds its own corn, does everything for itself by hand. the other forty percent is advanced and modern. the first can neither read nor write. the latter attends modern schools and universities. "nothing in mexico, in its history, its climate, its people, or its landscape is dull or monotonous." "that's better," bess approved. she was not one to care much for facts or figures. "oh, there are more interesting things than that in the book," amelia reached for it. "here let me read you something that i found this morning." "just a second," nan held on to it, "how in the world do you pronounce these words with all their z's and x's. no wonder there are so many people that can't read or write. i wouldn't be able to write myself if i lived here. imagine living in a place called i x m i q u i l p a n or x o c h i m i l c o." she spelled them all out because she couldn't possibly pronounce them. "they must all be indian words dating from the time of the aztecs," nan went on. "look, they all have beautiful meanings. "chalchihuites is translated into 'emeralds in the rough', tehuacan, 'stone of the gods', chiapas, 'river of the lime-leaved sage', and tzintzuntzan, 'humming bird'. and here's a place i want to go, yecapixtla or 'place where people have sharp noses'." "what a funny place that must be," laura laughed with nan, "i'll bet they all spend their time minding one another's business." "they probably have a factory there," nan went on, "for turning out people like mrs. cupp and they have catalogues showing the sharp, sharper, and sharpest noses." "and when a school principal wants to hire an assistant that will see everything and hear everything he pays top price and gets the sharpest," laura liked the idea. "we ought to go there," she ended, "if it's only to get a postcard so that we can send it back to mrs. cupp with the words 'wish you were here'." "oh, laura, you old meany," nan laughed. "you know she isn't half as bad as you make her out to be." "no, she isn't," laura agreed. "lakeview hall certainly wouldn't be complete without her. why, down here in mexico--well, on the border of mexico--when i'm going farther and farther away from her all the time, i can almost believe that i'm fond of her. but don't let me talk about it," she pretended to sniff as though she was going to cry, "or i'll be getting homesick for her." "small chance of your ever getting homesick for anyone," bess remarked, "but let's hear what it is amelia wants to tell us about and then go downstairs, i'm almost starved." "oh, i'm sorry, amelia," nan handed over the book, "i didn't mean to monopolize it." these lakeview hall girls, together for so many years under all sorts of circumstances, were still polite to one another and thoughtful about little things. they teased one another, laughed at one another's faults, and quarreled sometimes among themselves, but they were always eager to forgive and more than anxious to please. this was why they had been friends for so long. they were never really jealous of one another and were always ready to praise anyone in the group who did anything outstanding. "it's all right, nan," amelia answered as she reached for the book. "i merely thought that this story of the founding of mexico city might be fun to read. it's short, bess, so we'll be downstairs in just a few minutes. here it is. "'when the aztecs, a people that inhabited this part of mexico long before the coming of the white man from across the water, were wandering from place to place in search of a spot on which to establish themselves, their head priest had a vision. "'in it, he saw their war god and heard him telling them to go on and on until they found an eagle on a cactus growing from the rock. the cactus, the war god said, was the heart of his treacherous nephew who had waged war against him and lost. as punishment, he had been put to death and his heart was torn from him and thrown into the lake. it fell upon a rock among the reeds, and from it grew a cactus so big and strong that an eagle, seeking a place to build his nest, had made his home upon it. "'the aztecs heeded the words of their war god as told them by the priest. for years they wandered, until finally, one morning very early, their long search was rewarded. they came upon the eagle on the cactus! his wings were extended to the rays of the sun and in his claws he held a snake. "'so it was here that they built their city and even to this day, the cactus and the eagle, holding a snake in his beak, is mexico's emblem.'" with this, amelia closed the book. "so that's why i've been seeing that symbol on so many mexican things all these years," nan commented. "i've wondered what it meant, but was always too lazy to look it up. how strange the history of this country is that we are going into! i wonder what will happen." "probably everything," laura said, "so, now i think we'd better go downstairs and eat, fortify ourselves so to speak for any emergency." "guess you're right," nan laughed. and with this, nan and her friends all hurried down to breakfast and to the beginning of another day in their mexican adventure. chapter vii bess smells a romance "well, how are the charming señoritas this morning?" walker jamieson dropped his feet from the chair next to him and rose as nan and her friends entered the lounge of the hotel. "let's see, one, two, three, four, five, yes, there are six of you still. there was no victory for the mosquitoes last night i can see. i had an idea," he nodded his head slowly as though he had been seriously considering the subject, "that all would go well after my joust with the man-sized monster that forced its way into my room. boy, was it a big one! it had a million legs like tentacles that wound themselves around me so that if it hadn't been for my trusty excalibur, none of us would have been here this morning. it was a fight." he shook his head as though the recollection was more than he could bear. "yes, we can see it was." alice, too, had been waiting for the girls to appear. "we can see the marks of the bloody battle all over your face." "can you really?" walker jamieson grinned down at the girl who was just a foot shorter than himself. "well, they are all for you ladies," he pretended now to doff a big sombrero and sweep it across in front of him in the most approved style. "what's all this nonsense?" adair mackenzie joined the party. "can't stand silliness any time, and least of all before breakfast. now, get out into that dining room and eat." at this, the whole party moved. "don't intend to spend the summer in laredo," adair muttered as he followed them. breakfast was a silent meal--silent that is, save for adair's sputtering into his coffee. at its finish, he pushed his plate back, called the waiter and gave him an extraordinarily large tip, and turned to his young cousin. "well, nancy," he said agreeably, "how are things with you this fine morning? ready to move on? and you, bess, and all the rest of you, are you all right? now, let me tell you all a secret," he went on as he realized how quiet everyone had been throughout the meal, "i'm not really such a bad old soul. oh, i lose my temper at times. i admit that," he said generously, "but i'm not bad, not bad at all." he shook his head as though he was entirely satisfied with himself and the world in general. "and you there, jamieson, you're not bad either," he went on. walker nodded his head as though he acquiesced entirely and alice beamed on everyone. it was nice to have everyone in such a happy frame of mind, she thought, and then, for luck, crossed her fingers. "and now, daddy," she ventured while he was still in his expansive mood, "what's on the program for today?" "oh, lots of things, lots of nice things," he looked very pleased with himself. "first off, how soon can you all be ready to move on? we should be moving along to mexico city, a grand place, one of the most interesting cities i've ever visited. what say you, jamieson?" "eh, what?" jamieson had been quite bowled over by the old man's sudden change in mood and had been wondering whether it would be the right time now to ask whether he could kidnap alice for part of the morning. he was trying to signal her to ask her opinion, when the question was addressed to him. now, he was at a complete loss, for he had heard nothing of the conversation that preceded the query. "i say," adair repeated his question patiently, "isn't mexico city a grand place?" "yes, yes, a grand place," walker answered absently. had alice understood what he was signaling? he couldn't be sure. what was she telling him with her lips. was it "better wait" or "better not." "what?" the question came out audibly without his realizing it. it was nan, the darling, who saved the day. she had been watching the frantic efforts of walker jamieson to communicate with alice and noted his lack of success. she, too, had been trying to read alice's answer and was as startled as walker when his "what?" was voiced. now, like a "veteran" (walker used the word later when he promised to buy her something, anything from a gorgeously colored serape to an jade bracelet for coming to his rescue) she filled the breach. "i said," she affirmed, looking at walker as though she was answering his question, "that we can all be ready to leave about noon, if it pleases cousin adair." she turned to her cousin somewhat diffidently as she added this last. the truth was, of course, that she and her friends could have left in an hour, in a half hour, but it was fun trying to help walker and alice out. "let's see," adair took out his big gold watch and considered. "noon. that gives us a few hours to make a good start on our way before dark. could you make it by eleven?" nan looked at walker. "eleven-thirty." she read his lips. "eleven-thirty," she smiled up at her cousin. "you little beggar, you," he tweaked the pink ear that showed just beneath her brown bobbed hair, "you'll be able to barter with those mexicans like a veteran. it's your scotch blood." he looked proud of her as he turned to the others, "well, nan here says 'eleven-thirty', so eleven-thirty it is. now get out, all of you, i've got some business to attend to, and i don't want to see any more of any of you until it's time to leave. no, not even you," he added as he looked at alice. they all strolled out of the dining room together and walker executed a few fancy little steps for nan's benefit, as, when they reached the elevators, he and alice went on past them to the doors and out. "why, nan sherwood, it's a romance. walker jamieson is in love with alice mackenzie. i'll bet you anything." bess's face was all alight as she closed the door of nan's room. "it's just thrilling. did you see the way the two of them walked away together. why, they were so glad you said you couldn't be ready until eleven-thirty! i just know they were!" bess was fairly bubbling over with excitement. "didn't you see it at all?" "see what?" nan pretended innocence. "why, how glad they were, of course," bess seemed impatient with nan's inability to see a romance when it was right under her nose. "oh, bess, you imagine things," nan answered. she didn't want bess to be aware at all that she had tried to help alice and walker out. "imagine things! you're just blind, that's all," bess was very proud of her discovery. "they are in love with one another and they'll get married in mexico. you'll be the maid of honor and we'll be the bridesmaids and everything will be just grand, won't it?" "bess, bess," nan laughed, "how you do jump to conclusions! have you ever considered that the bride has to have someone to give her away and have you tried to imagine cousin adair giving alice away?" bess was all soberness immediately. "no, i didn't think of that," she admitted. "oh, what can we do about him?" she puckered her brows as if adair was an immediate and very difficult problem. "if we could get him right after he has had a good breakfast," she laughed, "maybe he would be as nice as he was this morning and then i'm sure everything would be all right." "or," she continued, as a new and better idea came to her, "they could elope. wouldn't that be exciting, nan? and just think how mad your cousin would be. no, that's not so good either. mr. mackenzie would probably disown alice and then they wouldn't have all his money." "bess!" nan exclaimed, "how you do run on." "yes, i know," bess agreed, "but it's such a perfectly entrancing subject. she's a darling and so is he. why, he's almost as nice as walter mason," she added slyly. nan ignored this last. "walker is nice, isn't he?" she said. "and he and alice do look dear together." "he's swell," bess said slangily. "he's tall and handsome and full of fun. do you know, i think sometimes that mr. mackenzie does like him, for all the way he calls him 'lazy' and a 'no-good reporter.'" "of course he does," nan agreed, "and walker likes him too. i just know it." bess looked at nan questioningly at this latter bit of information. did nan know something she didn't know? "anyway, we'll just have to wait and see what happens," nan tried to dismiss the subject. "i suppose so," bess sighed, "but it would be such fun to be an attendant at a wedding." "oh, bessie," nan ruffled her friend's hair, "you're such a romantic soul. i'll bet that you think that if worse came to worse and cousin adair insisted that alice marry someone else, walker would ride up on a charger and carry alice off the way young lochinvar did in that poem we learned back in the fifth grade. remember?" "you mean the one about lochinvar coming up out of the west, 'through all the wide world his steed was the best,'" bess laughed. "yes, that's the one," nan assented. "remember how we loved that thing and how we used to say over and over again the stanza that followed the one where he asked the bride to dance with him 'one touch to her hand, and one word in her ear when they reach'd the hall door, and the charger stood near; so light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, so light to the saddle before her he sprung! she is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; they'll have fleet steeds that follow, quoth young lochinvar.'" "and then at the end," bess went on, "there was this, 'there was racing and chasing, on cannobie lea, but the lost bride of netherby ne'er did they see. so daring in love, and so dauntless in war, have ye e'er heard of gallant like young lochinvar?'" "oh, nan," bess laughed when she had finished, "when i was a kid i thought there couldn't possibly be anything more romantic than that." "nor i neither," nan admitted, "and i thought of it often when we were in scotland last summer. but do you know, bess," she giggled, "that young lochinvar of today would have to dash up in a car--" "yes, or in mexico it might be a burro," bess laughed heartily at the thought. "say, what are you two making such a rumpus about," laura stuck her head in through the door. "first thing you know, they'll be locking you up as a couple of laughing hyenas, because you are making such a racket." "come on in, laura," nan invited, "we've just got a silly streak, that's all. bess, here, had a couple of crazy ideas that she aired. she's all right now. you can come in," she finished reassuringly. "what's up?" "oh, nothing," laura answered in such an unusual tone that nan knew immediately something was wrong. "come, what is it?" she asked again, going over to laura and closing the door behind her. chapter viii trouble for rhoda "oh, it's rhoda," laura admitted when the door was closed. "nan, something terrible's happened and rhoda is in her room crying her eyes out. won't you come and see if you can't do something for her." "of course," nan started for the door at once. "but what's happened?" she and bess asked this last together. "rhoda just received a telegram from her father asking her to come home at once." "why?" "oh, girls," laura herself was almost in tears, "rhoda's mother is seriously ill and they don't know whether or not she will live until rhoda gets there." "go downstairs," nan took command of the situation at once, "and find cousin adair. tell him what's happened and ask him what to do. i'll go to rhoda. bess, you had better come too," she continued. "somebody will have to fix her bags so that she can leave at once. now, don't any of you cry in front of rhoda, we've got to help her to be as brave as possible. maybe it isn't as bad as it seems." with this nan and bess and laura set about to help their friend and, for the time, all thoughts of their mexican journey were forgotten. mrs. hammond, rhoda's mother, had entertained the girls a couple of years previous to the present story, on the hammond ranch in the west. they all remembered her as a beautifully graceful, sweet woman. blind for many years, she had not let her affliction crush her spirit and was, perhaps, one of the happiest, nicest people they had ever known. those who have read "nan sherwood at rose ranch or the old mexican's treasure" will remember mrs. hammond too and remember well her first meeting with the girls. "i'll never forget it," nan had told her own mother again and again. "as we rode up to the veranda of the low-roofed ranch house mr. and mrs. hammond stood there on the porch waiting for us. she was a tall lovely person. i liked her the moment i saw her. as i came up the steps behind her friend, mrs. janeway, she took hold of me and asked 'who is this?' "before i had a chance to answer she ran her fingers lightly over my face, even feeling my ears and the way my hair fluffed over my forehead and the way my eyebrows were. then, without any hesitation and before i had said anything at all, she said, 'why, this is nan sherwood that i have heard so much about.' "when i asked her how she knew, she laughed the prettiest laugh i've ever heard, outside of yours, and said that she knew because rhoda had written home about me and because she was a witch. she knew the others by touch too. oh, she was such a nice person and so good to us all the while we were there! "she never once said a thing about her blindness. she seemed to take it for granted and never excused herself on account of it. "i only hope that, if ever anything terrible happens to me, i will remember her and be as sweet and uncomplaining about it as she is." the other girls had felt the same as nan. all had left rose ranch with a very warm feeling for mrs. hammond and they were all better girls for having met her. in the days that followed their return to school that year they sent her a gift along with their bread-and-butter notes. ever after that, boxes rhoda received from her western home always contained some sort of goodies specially marked for rhoda's lakeview hall friends. so mrs. hammond had become a well-beloved friend to them all. now, when the telegram came telling of her serious illness, they all felt personally concerned. "oh, nan," laura came into the room where nan was helping rhoda dress and comforting her as much as possible, "i can't find your cousin anyplace. he seems to have gone out on business and he didn't leave word with anyone as to where he was going." "well, we've got to find him, that's all." nan was not one to give up easily in any circumstances. "have you tried to locate walker jamieson?" "yes, and i can't find him or alice either. you don't know where they were going, do you?" "no." already nan was regretting that she had helped alice and walker out. she felt that she needed them now, very much. "i tell you what you do, you call up the railway station and find out what are the best possible train connections that rhoda can make. then reserve her a compartment. after that call those offices where we were yesterday and ask whether cousin adair is there or is expected. "by the time you finish, rhoda will be ready and we'll be downstairs at the telegraph desk. we are going to wire her father so that he can have someone at the station to meet her." at these instructions, laura flew across the hall to her own room to make the calls, for she wished to keep things as quiet as possible around rhoda. in the meantime, both amelia and grace had heard what had happened and came to help. the girls were all sticking together in trouble even as they always did in pleasure, and it was a great comfort to completely bewildered rhoda. now, as nan completed the job of helping rhoda dress and bess finished packing her bags, there was a gentle knock on the door and a gentle voice inquired, "may i come in?" it was alice. "walker's gone for father," she said, "and laura's asked me to tell you that there's a train out in a half hour. is everything ready?" rhoda nodded her head, but said nothing. she was trying hard now not to cry. "so you know where cousin adair is?" nan looked across the room at alice. "no, but walker will find him and have him here in no time at all," alice replied quietly and confidently. she had hardly finished the sentence, when those in the room heard the firm tread of adair mackenzie in the hall and heard his voice boom out, "porter, porter, come here, and take these bags." it was good to hear him, good to hear his decisiveness. everyone in the room felt better as soon as he opened the door. "here, here, what's all this?" he looked at rhoda's red eyes. "come, girl, buck up," he patted her roughly on the shoulder. "ready, are you?" "you're going by plane. it leaves in fifteen minutes and there's a taxi waiting downstairs. that red-headed girl, what's her name, got you a compartment in a train, but we've cancelled that. "now, that good-for-nothing newspaper friend of my daughter's is downstairs putting through a long distance call so that you can talk to your father before you leave here. "you can tell him that this is a private plane and that it will practically drop you in your own back yard. do they have back yards where you come from?" rhoda nodded. how good everyone was being to her. "now, now, don't thank me," adair mackenzie forestalled her thanks. "help a nice girl like you out any time i can. ready? you better go downstairs. you've just got time to talk to your father before you make the plane. you'll find everything comfortable there. "come, you, nan," he motioned to his cousin, "you're the only one that can come along with us. don't want a lot of fuss. see the rest of you later." with this, he hurried nan and rhoda out of the room and down the elevator so quickly that rhoda, in doing things, got control of herself, just as adair mackenzie had known she would. the talk with her father was comforting, but not encouraging, and it was with a heavy, heavy heart that rhoda hammond waved good-by to her friends at the airport a few minutes later. nan stifled a sob as the plane taxied across the field and rose into the air. adair mackenzie looked down on her. "there, there, child," he said gently, "things will turn out all right and we'll make this up to the girl sometime later." nan caught her upper lip between her teeth and tried to smile up at him. "please, please, make everything right." it was a prayer that she breathed. chapter ix resolutions it was a sad little party that drew out of laredo that afternoon. the thoughts of nan and her friends were all with rhoda. at every turn they wondered where she was and what she was doing. only adair mackenzie's insistence had made them depart from the city on the border at all. "got to be on our way now," he had said brusquely when he and nan had driven up to the hotel after seeing rhoda off. "now, get busy, you," he ordered the girls after they had heard the details of rhoda's departure from nan. "can't stay around here any longer. sick and tired of this place. nothing but a hole in the wall. don't like it. don't like the people. we're leaving. get busy, i say." he tapped his cane impatiently on the floor of the hotel veranda. "i mean you and you and you." he pointed with it to each separate member of the party. the girls jumped. alice jumped. and walker jamieson jumped. everyone got busy and in an hour's time they were all sitting on the veranda, dressed for traveling, waiting for the car to come. "what are you doing here?" adair mackenzie appeared in the doorway. short and somewhat stocky with a face that was perpetually tanned and dressed as he was in a white suit and large white panama hat, he looked like a permanent part of the scene about him. nan, as she looked at him felt proud. despite all his blustering, his ordering of people around, and his abrupt manner, he was kind and gentle at heart. this, she knew, was the reason for his success. this was why everyone who had ever known him liked him and loved him. now, characteristically, he followed his abrupt question with a piece of information that laid bare his softness and unfailing thoughtfulness. "get inside, all of you," he ordered, "there are long distance calls coming through for each of you from your parents. can't have you mooning around," he muttered, "waiting for mail in order to find out whether or not your mothers and fathers are well. you, nancy, your call is waiting now. just talked to jessie myself in memphis. she's fine, just fine. never felt better in her life she says. might have known it in the first place. the blakes are strong people." with this, he walked away. "no nonsense, now," he grumbled as he disappeared and each of the girls went in to talk from a telephone booth on the southern border of the united states to her parents in the north. how exciting it was to talk over that great distance! how good it seemed to the girls to hear their mother's voices! nan talked to both her father and mother in tennessee, and as she did, she imagined just how they looked, the expressions on their faces when they said certain dear, familiar things and the look in their eyes when they laughed. it was almost like having them in the same room with her. as she hung up, a wistful expression crossed her face, one that adair mackenzie, standing off to one side of the room noted. "what's the matter, nancy?" he asked in a softer tone than nan had ever heard him use. "lonesome?" adair questioned further. "oh, a little bit," nan smiled. "sometimes, i miss momsey a great, great deal." as she spoke her thoughts slipped back to those first days at pine camp recounted in the first volume of the nan sherwood series when it was so hard to fight off the wave of homesickness that came over her. "not going to back down on me and go home, are you?" adair mackenzie asked the question half in fun and half in seriousness. "oh, no," nan laughed. "i couldn't do that." "that's the spirit!" nan's cousin applauded. "never back down on anything you set out to do. when you start a thing, finish it. that's the way people get places. made me what i am. never started a thing yet i didn't finish." nan looking at him, believed it. he had the air about him of one that accomplishes things. you could see it in the way he walked, the way he talked. "doesn't make any difference," he continued, "what it is, a school lesson, a vacation, a housekeeping task for your mother. if you begin it, finish it." he said this last so emphatically that nan looked about her half expecting to find something that she should finish right away. "doesn't make any difference," he went on, "how hard the thing is or how much you want to do something else. do the thing you first started and do it as well as you possibly can. understand what i mean?" nan's cousin looked at her very intently for a moment and then he ruffled her pretty brown hair with his rough hand. "of course you do, child," he smiled at her. "you're as bright as they make them." "dad, oh, dad!" alice mackenzie joined the two. "you're wanted. the car's ready and the driver wants to know when we're going to start." "start!" adair mackenzie, the soft mood having slipped away from him now, roared. "haven't i been waiting around here for an hour now for that old sluggard. and then he has the effrontery to send word to me that he's waiting! the dolt! i'll fix him. i'll fix him, if it's the last thing in the world i do! thinks i'm a softy, does he? i'll show him!" with this, adair mackenzie went fuming from the room. fifteen minutes later nan sherwood and her friends, walker jamieson, and alice and her father were riding along the road toward mexico city. "got this telegram just before we left," adair mackenzie felt in his pockets for the yellow paper, "it's from that hammond girl." he turned it over to nan who read aloud to the others. "arrived safely at san antonio. plane there ready to take me on. called home again. mother holding her own. love. rhoda." nan's voice was husky as she finished. she folded the telegram slowly and thoughtfully, thinking of the struggle that was going on at rose ranch and remembering her own concern years back over her own mother's health. "there, nan," bess laid a gentle hand on her friend's. "don't look so worried. i'm sure things will turn out for the best." "oh, bess, if they don't," nan half whispered in return, "it will leave rhoda and her father all alone. it will make things so hard, for everyone just worships mrs. hammond." "i know," bess's voice was heavy too, "but don't think of those things." the role of consoler was new to bess, but instinctively she was saying just the right thing. "mrs. hammond just has to get well, and so she will. i feel sure that what i'm saying is true. oh, nan, don't cry," bess's own voice was full of tears. "here, here, what's happening back there?" adair mackenzie turned from his place next to the driver and frowned at the girls. "can't have this. no blubbering on this trip." nan smiled a wan smile at the word. "thought you were a brave girl," adair went on. "now, dry away those tears," he ended, and turning, resumed his work of instructing the driver as to how to drive. it was laura who unthinkingly started them all off again. "makes you think, doesn't it," she remarked, "of the number of things you overlook doing for your mother when you're around her? will i ever be good," she continued, "when i get home. i'll wash the dishes, set the table, run to the store, do anything and everything without question." laura sounded so serious and so unlike herself in her seriousness that even nan had to smile, as she agreed. "that's just the way it makes me feel," she said. "oh, nan," bess protested, "and you're always so good to your mother. i'm the one that's mean. why, i never do a thing around the house if i can help it." and bess spoke the truth. the daughter of a family that had plenty of money, bess was a pampered child. as a general rule, she had little regard for either of her parents. whatever she wanted, she asked for without regard for cost. what she couldn't get from her mother, she frequently managed to get from her father, and the two were well on the way toward spoiling her utterly when she went off to lakeview with nan. there, away from home among strangers in a place where she had to live up to certain well-defined rules, bess had improved considerably. those that have watched her since her first appearance in "nan sherwood at pine camp" have seen a change come over her gradually. she is a little more thoughtful, a little more considerate of other people, but she still has a selfish streak which at times like the present confronts her so that her conscience pricks her sharply. "when i get home," bess spoke more quietly than was her wont, "i'm going to do a little reforming myself. i'm going to pay more attention to what mother has to say. i'm going to be a better daughter." "and i am too," laura agreed. "and i," grace and amelia said this together. so even while rhoda hammond in a plane that was winging its way toward her western home, was remembering little, dear things about the mother she was so fond of, her friends were thinking of her and making resolution after resolution about their own conduct toward their parents. chapter x first mexican experience the days that followed were punctuated by telegrams received from rhoda. "arrived safely." that was the first one. it told nothing at all of her mother's condition. "mother's condition very serious. not much hope." that was the second and the girls scarcely had the heart to go on with adair mackenzie's party. privately, they gave up hope entirely, but adair tried to keep their spirits up. "never can tell about these things," he said after reading the message. "some improvement. pray. love. rhoda." the third one read, and everyone felt better. then for two days, there was no word, and everyone's hope just dwindled away to nothing. during these days, it was walker jamieson with his knowledge of mexico and its ways that put what life there was into the party. the eight hundred miles over the new pan-american highway from laredo to mexico city was through gorgeous tropical and mountain scenery, and all the way walker regaled the girls with stories and legends about mexico and its history. he told bloody stories of bandits coming down out of the hills, attacking travelers, kidnaping them and then robbing them, or holding them for huge ransom. he told of warfare between the mexicans and the indians back in the hills. he told of lost tribes who still worshipped the sun god, talked their native tongue, still lived in the way those who had built the pyramids had lived. alice listened breathlessly to all he had to say. nan and her friends hung on his every word. adair mackenzie listened and grunted noncommittally. from laredo to monterey, he told these stories and from monterey to villa juarez until everyone, whether he would admit it or not, felt deeply the spell of mexico. then from villa juarez to tamazunchale, across rivers that were bordered by heavy tropical foliage, everyone except adair mackenzie was more or less silent absorbing quietly the beauty about. "listen!" nan had the temerity to interrupt one of adair's outbursts against their chauffeur. surprised by the command, adair chuckled and kept quiet. nan had heard the song of a tropical bird. its call was picked up by another on the other side of the road. the chauffeur slowed down and then, at adair's command, stopped. for a few moments everyone listened, and then nan pushed open the door of the car and got out. the others followed. to the right and to the left of them the luxuriant growth made the place like nothing else they had ever seen before. the birds that flew out of the thicket were gorgeous things in brilliant colors. the butterflies that drifted from flower to flower were lovely too. but the biggest surprise of all was the orchids. "why, they grow wild!" bess was amazed. the only ones she had ever seen before had been in the window of a florist's shop on madison avenue in chicago and in a shoulder corsage worn by linda riggs at a school ball. this last had made bess exceedingly envious, despite the fact that linda had been reprimanded afterwards, by dr. prescott, for wearing it. and now, here they were growing all about her, wild! bess could scarcely believe her eyes. walker jamieson laughed at her. "you like them?" he asked. "didn't know, did you, that they grew any place outside of a hothouse?" bess shook her head. it was the first time in her life that she had ever really been moved by nature in any form. the others felt the same. the air seemed quiet and heavy and yet full of all sorts of strange noises too. grace was timid in the face of all the strangeness and held on to nan's hand. nan's eyes were big and wondrous. it was like tropical jungles that she had read about. it was like something she had never even dared hope to see. she was quiet. silently adair mackenzie watched her, and felt pleased with himself that he had shown it to her. in regarding her, he felt almost as though he himself had created it for her special benefit. she caught his glance, looked up at him and grinned. "wish i could take a piece of it home with me," she said. "you can." walker jamieson sounded as though that would be the simplest thing in the world. "how?" nan asked in the tone of one who didn't believe a word of what she heard. "easy." jamieson's eyes twinkled, for he knew that she thought that this was only another bit of his foolishness. "all you've got to do is get a camera and take a picture. then you'll have it for life." "but i can't," nan was serious too now. "why?" "first, i've no camera and secondly, i don't know how to take pictures." "oh, we'll take care of that," walker jamieson waved these difficulties aside as though they didn't amount to anything. "i've got a camera in the car, and, if you want, i'll show you how to get the best results. i'm in your debt anyway," he whispered. "do you mean that about the camera and everything?" nan was incredulous. "mean it? it's a promise, isn't it?" walker drew alice into the conversation. she nodded her head happily. she knew, if nan didn't, that walker had made a hobby of photography and just the year before, had won a prize in a national show. "we'll begin, just as soon as we get back in that car," jamieson promised further. "when we get to mexico city, we'll buy some more films and the camera is yours to do with as you will until we return to the states." so, because of an impulsive wish and an impulsive promise, nan began almost immediately to develop a hobby that, even before her mexican adventure was over, was going to have amazing consequences. from tamazunchale to mexico city, the drive was quite another experience. the road now was hewn out of sheer mountain rock. the car climbed and climbed, until the girls' ears felt strange and bess declared that she could hardly breathe. she forgot this, however, when they, upon alice's insistence, this time, got out again. all around them, huge mountain peaks rose to great heights making them all, except, perhaps, adair mackenzie, feel small and insignificant. straight down below them they saw rivers and waterfalls that looked small and white and unimportant, like a thread that some mighty hand had dropped carelessly in the greenness. then they got in the car, went down the mountainside again, and they came to a lovely white village in a fertile green valley. here they stopped and ate. "can't understand this jargon," adair mackenzie laid the menu that had been given him down and looked utterly disgusted. "no sense in their making it like this," he continued as though it was a personal insult that anyone should presume to speak or write any other language than english. "can't see how they can understand it themselves." in the end, it was walker jamieson who did the ordering. "how about some nice mode de guajolote?" he grinned at nan and her friends as he put the question. "it's turkey to you," he explained when they laughed, "stuffed turkey to be exact and a choice bit here. with it, we'll have tortillas, the mexican substitute for bread, and frijoles, the favorite mexican bean. sound all right?" the girls nodded as they tried to find the items on their own menus. and adair mackenzie grunted that he would take the same. the meal wasn't entirely a success. nan and her friends enjoyed it, but adair mackenzie grumbled throughout despite all that alice could do to mollify him. "never mind, daddy," she said at last, "in a couple of more days we'll be at the hacienda--" "yes, and that housekeeper of ours better be there, or i'll fire her." adair was off again. alice restrained a smile. for twenty years now, adair had been firing the housekeeper and for twenty years she had been running him and his house just as she pleased. it was a joke that the motherly old lady and alice shared. "she'll be there," alice tried to reassure him, "and so will that chinese cook that we have heard so much about." nan and the rest looked up from their turkey, half expecting a story, but alice said nothing further. they finished the meal in silence and followed adair to the car. then, by way of zimapan, an attractive hillside village, remembered ever afterwards by the girls for its huge cacti, some more than thirty-five feet high, they continued on toward mexico city. they passed through tasquillo, and then over a sandy road between other tall cacti to ixmiquilpan, a picturesque town where native indians were tending sheep and spinning along the streets. here nan took a picture, the first of many she was to take, of the girls as they stood in a market where they had just bought some gayly woven baskets. the sight of the indians brought more stories to walker's mind and so, in the few miles that lay between them and their stopping place for the night, he told more tales. he told stories of buried treasure left by the aztecs in deep underground chambers, of turquoise and jade that was more lovely than any the modern world has discovered. he told of gold so plentiful that it had no value, of great temples that american museums were spending hundreds of thousands of dollars to rebuild. he knew all the stories, because, since his early childhood, spent in california where mexican labor was plentiful because it was cheap, he had been interested in the country. when, on the third day of their journey, they approached mexico city, walker jamieson was in a particularly expansive mood, one designed to keep their minds off the question of what word they would find from rhoda in the capital. "below you, ladies and gentlemen," he said with a great sweep of his arm, "you see mexico city, the capital of this surprising republic of mexico. there you will find romance, adventure, everything." chapter xi a legend "mexico city," he went on, as though he were a guide introducing a party of tourists to its first sight of a city, "lies, as you can see from here, in a mountain valley on the great central plateau. constructed on a former lake by those aztecs who once made of this whole region a grand and glorious place, it was called by them 'tenochtitlan', an aztec word meaning 'belonging to the property of the temple.' "when the spaniards conquered tenochtitlan, they found grand palaces and elegant homes under the shadow of the mountains that lie all about. they found gardens more beautiful and more highly cultivated than any they had ever known. they found wealth and splendour such as not even their vivid imaginations had ever constructed. they found everything," he finished dramatically, "and they drove the people who had conceived it out, and they took it unto themselves, and it went to ruin. you see now, the modern city, and as you go through its streets, you will find everywhere evidences of all these changes living side by side with the new that the present generation is in the process of building up." walker jamieson had started his little harangue half in fun, but as always when he talked about the old city, he grew serious as he went on. now, as he noted the half scowl on adair mackenzie's face, the look of interest on alice's, and the attention of nan sherwood and her friends, he paused. "how am i doing?" he directed the question to the group in general. adair mackenzie grunted. alice beamed, her eyes full of pride in him. and nan and her crowd nodded their heads for him to go on. "so, my public adores me," he said in a mocking self-satisfied tone that caused alice and nan to laugh aloud. with this he wrapped his guide's cloak about him again and went on. "as you go about," he said, "and look up from day to day at the mountains that surround you, you will soon be able to name them all from chiquihuite, 'the basket', to el cerro gordo, 'the fat hill', but there is none that has a more fascinating story than la sierra madre over there to the west." he pointed as he spoke. "that's the famous one with the two volcanoes, ixtaccihuatl, 'the white woman', and popocatepetl, 'the mountain that smokes'. "at one time, before the great cortez conquered the country, these volcanoes were worshipped as deities. there were days set aside for their veneration, feasts in their honor, and elaborate ceremonies." "just imagine," laura interrupted, "having a feast in honor of a mountain." "strange, isn't it?" walker jamieson agreed. "but wait, i have even stranger things to tell you." "i have no doubt." the remark was adair mackenzie's who, whether he would admit it or not, was really enjoying himself thoroughly. "ixtaccihuatl had a wooden idol representing her in the great temple and popocatepetl a representation of dough of amarand and maize seeds. these idols you will see in the great museums of the city. the legend that surrounds them, if you will bear with me, goes something like this. "ixtaccihuatl was the beautiful daughter of a proud and powerful aztec emperor and his only child. as such, she was heir to his throne and watched and guarded throughout her youth. her father adored her, but as he grew old and weak and his enemies began to wage war against him, he realized more and more how difficult it would be for a woman to hold together his vast and wealthy empire. so he set out to find a husband worthy of his daughter, worthy of the splendour that would be hers after his death. "he called to his aid all the proud young warriors of his tribe and offered his daughter in marriage and his throne to the one among them who would conquer his enemies. "this popocatepetl that you see yonder went into the fight. he had long been in love with the beautiful princess. "the war was long. it was cruel. it was bloody. but popocatepetl endured to the end. ah, but he was proud and triumphant when he saw that it would surely be he who would return to claim the princess whom he loved. "but alas, his triumph was short-lived. his enemies, having failed in battle, stooped to the lowest form of deceit. they sent back to the princess the false news that her beloved had been killed. she languished and became ill of a strange malady that not even the smartest witch doctors in the realm could cure her of. she died. "popocatepetl's grief was more than he could bear. he wished to die too, so he caused to be constructed a great pyramid upon which he himself laid the beautiful ixtaccihuatl. next to it, he built another. there, he stands, holding a funeral torch. "the snow has enfolded her body and covered that of the man that would have married her, but it has never covered the torch which burns on, a symbol of the love of popocatepetl for ixtaccihuatl." "and the smoke," nan said quietly when she saw that he had finished, "of the volcano is the smoke of the torch's flame." "smart girl," walker jamieson slipped into a lighter mood now. "and they believed that story?" bess sounded incredulous. "yes, o doubtful one," laura answered the question, "and they had feasts for the couple. didn't you listen to the beginning?" "hm-m, they probably weren't edible," adair mackenzie suddenly remembered the meal he had found so distasteful a short time before. walker winked at alice who patted her father on the arm, "never mind, dad," she said, "there'll be food that you like later on." "too late then." adair mackenzie was not to be mollified now. "be all burned up before then by these confounded mexican chiles. must have a million varieties. find them in everything. afraid even to order ice-cream. probably comes with a special chile sauce on it. somebody ought to teach these mexicans how to eat. do it myself if i had time. always think that when i come here. teach them that and how to build roads," he added as the car bumped over the highway. "anyway, we're coming into some sort of civilized city, now." he looked about himself with some degree of satisfaction, for as walker had proceeded with his account of the legend of the two famous volcanoes, the car had been progressing toward the city. now it was on the outskirts and nan and bess, grace and amelia and laura were craning their necks so as not to miss one single sight. "how nice it would be," amelia remarked to the group after she had missed something that walker had pointed out on the side of the road opposite to the one she had been watching, "to have a face on all sides of your head so that you could see all ways at once." "well, all i can say is," laura returned dryly, "that you are doing pretty well with the one that you have. you might have missed the old flower woman back there, but you are certainly making up for it now." with this she laughed and pushed amelia's head, that was now blocking her own line of vision, out of the way. "such pretty young girls," nan remarked as the car stopped at a crossroad to let a half dozen mexicans cross the street. "aren't they though?" bess agreed. "one of them looked just like juanita. remember?" of course nan remembered the girl that had been involved in the hidden treasure plot that was recounted in the story "nan sherwood at rose ranch." the thought of her now brought rhoda back to mind and her mother, and with it a return of the anxiety they had felt at not having heard recently from their friend. chapter xii linda riggs turns up adair mackenzie was quick to note the change in their mood. "wells fargo and co., madero ." he gave instructions to the chauffeur, and then turned to nan. "it's the american express of this country," he explained in a tone that indicated that they had no right to call it other than the "american express". "we'll pick up mail there. you see." "what have you done to the old man?" walker jamieson questioned as he helped nan out of the car a few minutes later. "why, alice," he continued, assisting her too, "he's practically putty in her hands." "i know," alice smiled as she took nan's arm and walked along beside her. "it is amazing and i'm almost jealous. i thought that i was the only one in the world that could manage him." she looked fondly in the direction of adair mackenzie who had already passed through the door and was at the counter inside demanding his mail. "see, what did i tell you?" he asked triumphantly when they all entered together. "there's a whole bunch of mail here. see." he held up a truly large package of letters, letters from home for each of the girls. as they all crowded around him, he teased them by delaying the process of handing them out. "let's see, this one looks interesting, mighty interesting." he lingered over the address. "but the writing isn't very clear." alice reached for it as though to help him out. he raised his arm high. "no, it's not for you," he shook his head at her. "this mailman always delivers his mail to the proper person. now, stand back all of you, while i look again." "this is as bad or worse than it is at school when they distribute mail, isn't it?" laura nudged nan. "but look, isn't the old duck getting a kick out of it all?" nan nodded. there was only one thing that she was really impatient about. she wanted to know now, right away, whether there was any word from rhoda. she felt as though she couldn't stand it a moment longer not to know. "please, cousin adair," she begged, "is there anything there at all from rhoda?" "yes, father, tell us quickly," alice chimed in. "oh, i'm sorry," adair mackenzie was immediately all contrition. "h-m-m, wait." he leafed quickly through the pack. "yes, there is something," he admitted at last. "it's addressed to nan." with this he handed a yellow telegram over to her. "take it easily," he advised, while they all waited anxiously for nan to open it. she tore the seal, pulled the message out, dropped it in her nervousness, and then when it was restored to her hands, read it slowly to herself. at long last she looked up. "it's--" she caught her breath before she could continue--"all right. rhoda's mother is going to get well." saying this, she passed the telegram over to bess and laura, and then, before she realized at all what was happening, her eyes welled up with tears. "why, nan, darling!" alice exclaimed, "don't cry. everything's all right now. come," she drew from her own purse a pretty white handkerchief and wiped nan's tears away, "you'll have us all in tears." nan took the handkerchief away from her and wiped her own eyes, hard. then she smiled. "don't mind me," she laughed. "i'm just an old silly. please, cousin adair, what's in the rest of that package." "yes, what's in it?" even adair mackenzie sounded as though he had lost possession of himself for a moment. now, he collected himself again and took the party in his hands, as he had had it before. "too much stalling around here," he grumbled to no one in particular, and then went on with the distribution of the mail. the letters from home were fun to get, fun to read, and fun to share. each one was read and re-read a dozen times by the girl that received it, and then it was passed around and enjoyed by all the others. there were letters from their mothers and fathers and letters from their friends. there was a round robin from their pals at school. though all of them had news, this last had the choicest bits. "do you know that," it began, "professor krenner and dr. beulah prescott are going to be married before the summer is over?" "nan," bess stopped nan who was reading the bit aloud to the others, "is it true? did i hear you right?" "i guess you did," nan's eyes looked merry now. she of all the girls had been the only one who knew that this announcement was coming. beloved by dr. beulah and the best student and most wide-awake person that had ever come to dr. krenner's attention, she had been in their confidence before school had closed. the romance between the principal of lakeview and one of its most scholarly instructors had blossomed the summer the two had escorted the present group of girls on their european trip. professor krenner joined the party in london, just before the coronation. there he and dr. prescott learned of the million and one things they had in common. nan knew of this, knew too that the wedding was to take place in the chapel at lakeview just before school opened. already, she had planned to attend. now, she went on with the reading of the round robin. "do you know," she continued, "that the old boathouse where we had that grand party on bess's twenty-five dollars, is going to be pulled down and a big new one built? "that the dormitories are being redecorated and that corridor four where we have rooms is going to have all the walls done over and that serapes will look especially nice hanging on them? "and that, and this is the biggest piece of news of all, linda riggs is someplace in mexico?" "no!" the exclamation was bess's. if it was possible to say that one girl in the room disliked the proud linda more than the rest, bess was that girl. "i hate her. i just hate her." bess had said vehemently many times. and well she might, for often in the days that followed the registration of bess and nan at lakeview, linda had purposely embarrassed and humiliated them. at first, bess, because she naturally coveted wealth, and linda was a very wealthy girl, had tried to make friends with "her highness" as laura dubbed linda. but her efforts always ended disastrously. nan, as all those who have followed the fortunes of the young girl know, time and again tried to help linda. once or twice she was instrumental in saving her life. but despite this, whenever linda was in a position to do so, she managed to belittle nan, to snub her rudely, to make her just as uncomfortable as she possibly could. so nan and bess had particular reasons for disliking the girl who had even been expelled from school for one bit of meanness that caused an explosion which might easily have cost the lives of many of the lakeview hall students. linda, in other words, was cordially hated by most of the students of the fashionable boarding school. now, the news that she was in mexico brought consternation to the group. "it's just as i've always said," bess fumed. "it's impossible to go anyplace without having her turn up." "probably likes you and just won't admit it." laura could well afford to add fuel to the flame. linda generally avoided her. "she doesn't like me and you know it, laura polk," bess exclaimed. "why she had to come down here when there's all the rest of the world for her to travel in, i don't know. but you can just be sure of this, no good will come of it." "sh! bess," nan warned as she looked over to one side where adair mackenzie, alice, and walker jamieson were deep in consultation. "i'm sorry, nan," bess lowered her voice, "but i just don't seem to be able to control myself when that girl comes to mind. she's caused us so much unhappiness that i can't stand her." "i know," nan was genuinely sympathetic, "but don't you worry, we probably won't see her at all. mexico, after all, is a pretty big place." "yes, it has twenty-seven states, besides the federal district and the territory of lower california." laura quoted the guidebook glibly. "doesn't make any difference," bess said firmly. "if she's anywhere in the country, there's no escaping her. we'll meet her." she ended positively. how truly bess spoke, the crowd was soon to find out, but the circumstances and the far-reaching results must be left to other chapters. chapter xiii nan turns photographer "well, what's on the program this morning?" adair mackenzie was in a genial mood the day after the telegram had informed the girls that rhoda's mother was going to recover. he had had a good night's sleep and a generous well-cooked breakfast in the fashionable hotel where he had chosen to take his brood. though he had complained about the coffee in no uncertain terms, as is the custom of most americans traveling in foreign countries, the rest of the food had seemed good and now he acted as though he was entirely at the disposal of his guests. "what do you say, jamieson?" he turned to the young newspaper man. "got any ideas?" "only those that we talked over at wells fargo's yesterday." walker jamieson assumed a mysterious air. "oh, that, that has to wait until the afternoon," adair mackenzie looked mysterious too. "then we might just explore the city, take the buses and street cars and find out how the natives get around. we might let the girls get a glimpse of the cathedral, one of the most important in all of the americas. it was built over the old aztec templo mayor and it took two and a half centuries to build." "two and a half centuries to build a church!" laura exclaimed. "what can you expect?" adair mackenzie asked in a tone that indicated he was not the least bit surprised, "of a nation that has 'mañana' for its motto?" walker jamieson laughed heartily at this. "well, maybe you are right," he admitted, "but i don't think you'll find your interpretation in any guidebook. they say merely that the indians contributed a third of the cost and all the work and that 'many died each day due to the long hours of unaccustomed strenuous work.'" "that's right, they'll never admit they are wrong," adair shook his head as though this fact grieved him deeply. "never be afraid, you nan," he pointed his finger sternly at his young cousin, "to admit you are wrong. best medicine in the world. if you are wrong say so. it's good for you." adair mackenzie had a habit of talking thus in circles, agreeing with himself over some great truth. now he nodded his head with great satisfaction as though he himself made a practice of admitting his mistakes. walker looked at alice. alice looked at walker. they both laughed. both knew that the old man had never in his life admitted that he had made a mistake. both at this moment thought him charming and lovable. "well, shall we leave the cathedral out then?" walker jamieson was always willing to give in in little particulars. "there's plenty else to see, palaces, parks, markets. why, there's a whole new city to explore." "won't leave anything out," adair mackenzie looked at his watch as he spoke, "but we've got to do everything up in a hurry. haven't got much time to stay in this city. got a telegram this morning from the caretaker at the hacienda. expects us there within the next couple of days." "oh, daddy," alice laughed. "that's the way you always are. always wanting to move on just as soon as we arrive at a place." "and you," he twitted, "mañana is always good enough for you. you're just a lazy beggar. now, what do you want to do today." "oh, everything, just everything," alice looked as though she would like to do it all and do it now. she had that happy faculty that some people have of always having a good time no matter what happens. nan had it too. the word "bore" which slips so easily from the tongues of many young people who really shouldn't know what boredom is, had never crossed her lips. life seemed too full of adventure, too full of a number of things to do for her to even think of applying it to herself. linda riggs might have used the word, but never nan, and never alice. "well, there's your answer," adair mackenzie turned to walker when alice answered that she wanted to do "just everything." "it's a typical woman's answer. now, do what you want to with it." "o-kay." walker jamieson assumed the responsibility willingly enough. "now, listen here," he turned to the girls and assumed a serious air and a stern one that unfortunately didn't impress them at all, and said, "we've got just about four hours in this day to do with as you want to do." "four hours!" nan exclaimed, "why, how short the days are here! it's only nine o'clock now, or is amelia's watch slow?" she had been looking at amelia's wrist as she spoke. "i said four hours." walker repeated, still sternly. "he said four hours." adair mackenzie was equally stern. "then, why don't you get started," alice teased. "come on, here. we are." walker pretended that he was angry and that alice's remark was just the last straw. he took her by the arm and with the others following after, they all left the dining room, walked through the lounge and then out into the morning sunshine. the four hours flew by. they shopped in the busy mexican markets, bartered with natives, dressed in brilliantly colored blankets and huge sombreros, bought serapes, beautiful indian pottery, some opals that were sold by the dozen, handwoven baskets and a million and one little things that walker declared would fill a trunk. nan took her camera along and snapped pictures of everyone, pretty mexican señoritas selling flowers, little mexican boys who were boot-blacks, proud of the american slang they had learned in the movies, and whole families complete with shawls, squatting over low fires making tortillas for whomsoever would buy. she took pictures until in her enthusiasm she forgot herself entirely and asked adair mackenzie if he would please hold a little mexican baby while she photographed it. as soon as the question was out of her mouth, she realized that she had made a mistake. what a torrent it brought forth! adair mackenzie blustered as he had never blustered before. he would see himself tied and hung before she would ever find him even touching one of those kids. why, the idea. did she think he was an embassador of good will, that he was down there to kiss babies and wear serapes to show that he was just one of the people. did--d--did she think he was--why, what did she think he was? he stuttered in his surprise. finally, nan and walker and alice and all the rest broke down in laughter, for adair mackenzie was certainly outdoing himself. with this, he stopped in amazement. and they were laughing at him! "no respect any more at all," he muttered and then he laughed too. "you, walker, you," he took the remaining bit of his impatience out on that able young man, "you've no sense at all in that head of yours. let the girls get out of hand all the time. now, i'm going to take charge of the party. had enough of your nonsense. come on, you," he turned to nan and the rest with this, "there'll be no more pictures today. we're going back to the hotel now." "and then what?" alice ventured to ask. "you'll see. just wait. you'll see. this is my party now." so, he right-about-faced and went striding from the market with the others following him. chapter xiv smugglers "a bullfight, bess, we're going to a bullfight," nan exclaimed as she and bess dressed for the afternoon excursion with adair mackenzie. "why, nancy sherwood, i never in all the world thought you were the bloodthirsty creature that you are," bess laughed at her pal. "oh, you are just the same, elizabeth harley," nan returned. "when cousin adair told us at the luncheon table what we were going to do this afternoon, you were just as excited as the rest of us." "i know it," bess confessed. "but i expect to hold my ears and close my eyes through the worst parts. they do say they can be very gory spectacles with blood streaming all over everything." "that's right," nan admitted. "it scares me to think of that part, but i want to see it anyway." as the girls talked, they dressed, combed their hair, and then tidied up the room. "ready?" laura stuck her head through the door and asked. "amelia and grace are already downstairs. we better get started, or grace will be backing down. really, i think she's scared to death, but is afraid to admit it. me, i'm going to love this." "me, too," nan admitted. "i can hardly wait. i've read about them so often. remember the lecturer at lakeview who had all those slides about bullfights in spain. i've wanted to see one ever since then." "yes, mrs. cupp was so angry over that. she didn't think it was the proper sort of thing for young ladies to see. she thought it would coarsen them," laura finished primly. "wait until we get back to lakeview, will we ever have some tales to tell her that will make her hair stand on end! she'll have to go to bed for a week to recover." "oh, laura," nan laughed, "you sound as though you'd be brave enough to tell her all about it yourself." "well, if i'm not," laura joined in the laughter, "because we aren't exactly bosom pals, you know, she'll find out. nothing escapes her." "truer words were never spoken," nan agreed as she adjusted her hat in front of the mirror. "come on, now, i'm ready. are you, bess?" "just a second." bess was rummaging through her purse. "there's everything here except the thing i want." "looks almost like an over-night bag," laura commented as bess poured the contents out on the dresser. "what in the world are you looking for?" nan asked somewhat impatiently. bess never could find things in her purse because she had a habit of saving everything and never cleaning the pocket-book out. "oh, my passport--i mean my visitors' pass." bess really did look worried. "i had it this morning. i know i did." "all i can say is," laura commented dryly, "if you've lost that, you might just as well go out and drown yourself, because if you don't, mr. mackenzie will roar so loud when you tell him that the earth will just open up and swallow us all." "i know it." bess was almost in tears. she didn't like to be roared at. she took scoldings harder than anyone else in the crowd, because at home she had always been made to feel that what she did was right. "bessie, you're such a silly," nan laughed. "you've got the wrong pocket-book. that isn't the one you had with you this morning. you had the little black one and that's over there on your trunk. remember, you put it there when you came in so that you would be sure to know where it was when you wanted it again." bess laughed too now. "isn't that just like me, always hunting for something and always finding it just where it ought to be?" "i do that too," laura sympathized as they three left the room. and so does everyone, but bess had a habit of getting confused and impatient as soon as things went wrong and using all her energy in getting excited. nan generally remained calm and found things. laura was calm too and that because she never took anything very seriously. if she couldn't find one thing, another would do, and so she always went happily on her way. bess was thinking of this, as nan pushed the button for the automatic elevator. "but you couldn't have substituted anything for the visitors' pass." she directed her remark to laura as though they had been talking over the thing she was thinking about. "whatever are you talking about?" laura laughed. "or, is it a secret? you know what happens to people in this country who go around talking to themselves? they throw them to the bulls. now, come on, bessie," she finished. "you may be a harum-scarum child, but we love you. cheer up." at this, the elevator jolted and settled to its place on the first floor and the three girls stepped out to find adair, alice, walker jamieson and the rest all waiting for them. "thought you had cold feet, and were backing out." walker jamieson greeted them with this sally as they all walked down the entrance stairs and out to their waiting car. "look!" nan pointed at a street car they were passing. "at what?" laura questioned. "oh, you were too late," nan answered while she adjusted her camera so that it would be ready for her to take pictures when she wanted to. "there was a sign on that car which said, 'toreo.'" "what does that mean?" grace questioned. "bullfight, darling, that's where you are going now," laura answered. "see, there's the sign that nan saw again. it's on the front of that bus that's stopped across the street. this must be a holiday. practically everyone seems to have dusted off his best sombrero and come out on the streets." "it's a holiday everyday here." adair mackenzie turned around to join in the conversation. "saw a calendar of festivals posted in the hotel lobby. no end to it. no wonder the people never get anything done." "i saw that too," walker jamieson remarked. "saw something else posted on a bulletin board that was interesting. it was a warning to everyone to take good care of his visitor's pass. right beside it was the announcement of a reward being offered to anyone who could give information as to the whereabouts of one antonio mazaro, an american citizen and former aviator, who is suspected of being an accomplice in an international smuggling ring." "they must be the smugglers mr. nogales told us about at the border," nan remarked. walker jamieson said nothing further. the truth, was, however, that he had just an hour before received an assignment from a big new york newspaper to cover certain aspects of this smuggling ring story, and he was already wondering whether or not it was going to be possible for him to go on to the hacienda as he had planned. "these mexicans will never catch anyone, much less a band of american crooks." adair mackenzie looked around again. "need a couple of good g-men down here, if they're going to find out anything at all." "think so too," walker agreed, "they are sending some down, i understand." "you got your nose in the story?" adair mackenzie asked abruptly, and everyone looked at walker, waiting for his answer. chapter xv a bullfight "oh, always interested in whatever goes on," walker answered off-handedly. "you know how it is. see a story breaking, you want to be in on the kill. just can't help yourself. gets in your blood, after you've worked on any paper for a while. "back four years ago, i went up into northern canada for a vacation. chose that spot because i thought it would be far away from newspapers and stories of all kinds. i guess i was feeling rather disgusted with everything and wanted to get away, so when an old newspaper buddy who had struck out a claim for himself asked me to go up and do a little prospecting for gold with him, i jumped at the chance. "it looked like an ideal set-up. we were to go alone to his cabin which was miles away from civilization and stay there for the summer. we stocked up with plenty of food, some books i had been wanting to read for a long time, and took a radio along. "i had a book i wanted to write, something i had started and never found time to finish. oh, it was nothing," he added as nan and the rest looked impressed. "all newspaper people think that some day they'll write a book that will take the world by storm. "well, i thought i would finish that, do some prospecting and just have a nice quiet time for myself. the chap i was going up with was a nice sort of fellow, quiet like myself. "we went by train as far as we could go, and then got an old indian to paddle us the rest of the way in a canoe. it was nice going. we took it leisurely, stopped and fished along the banks of the river, and camped for three days in a gorgeous spot that seemed as remote from civilization as any place could possibly be. "things went along quite perfectly until one night--this was after we had been in the camp for a couple of weeks--there was a radio call 'plane carrying doctor and infantile paralysis serum to canadian outpost in northwest down. position approximately'--oh, i've forgotten what it was now, but it was not far from our camp. "the next morning we were up at daybreak and by the next afternoon we had located the plane. the pilot was dead, but the doctor, though suffering from a broken leg and shock, was still living. after we had fixed him up, we spent the night trying to get the plane's radio to the point where it would function, so that we could get the news back to civilization. "but things were so radically wrong with it, that my pal finally decided that he would set out for the nearest outpost, traveling as we had when we came, walking and by canoe. in the meantime, the doctor was fretting and stewing because he couldn't get to the station that was in such urgent need of medical aid, so partly on this insistence, partly because i'm a stubborn fool when i start out to do anything, i kept tinkering around with the radio. "finally, the thing came to life, and we were able to get in touch with the outside world. you know as well as i what happens in such cases. it wasn't long before i was up to my neck, sending exclusive stories back to my old sheet and then, when another plane came to take the doctor and brought with it a whole flock of reporters, i was swamped with work. "i grumbled, but i loved it, and when the story died down and i was called back to work on an assignment that i was more than proud to accept i was like a kid with a new toy. never so glad to get back into harness in my life. "i feel now, a little the way i did then. mexico and the land of mañana spelled romance and rest to me in the city room where i do my daily stint. but now i want neither of them. i smell a story." with this, he sniffed the air as though he was actually trying to get the direction of the scent. alice laughed and held her hand on the handle of the door. "maybe you do," she said, "but you're not leaving us today, at least not this minute. walker jamieson, we're headed for a bullfight and you're going along with us whether you want to or not." there was no protest, and walker was glad afterwards when he pieced the little sections of the plot together that he hadn't struck out on the trail of the story before that memorable bull-fight. "and what's the man with the wheelbarrow doing in the parade?" nan asked the question of walker jamieson. they were all sitting now in the huge arena, "plaza de toros," the most important bull-fighting ring in all mexico. the place was packed and nan thought as she looked out over the people that she had never in her life seen such a gay colorful crowd, nor one in such an excited mood. they were sitting on the shady side of the ring, "sombra" it was called, the seats of which cost twice the price of those on the sunny side, or "sol." it was four o'clock exactly and the cuadrilla or parade that precedes every bull-fight had just entered the arena. everyone was standing up shouting, waving his sombrero, and cheering for his favorite. "that's a secret, not to be divulged until later," walker answered nan's question. "i didn't know it would be like this," grace, generally so quiet and shy, said. her face was all alight and she was waving the pillow that had been bought for her to sit on, as were all the rest of the girls and women in the place. laura was waving hers too, and so were bess and nan and amelia. down in the ring below them the parade was marching around. first came a man on a spirited horse that pranced and danced and bowed its head to the ground again and again as the rider circled the ring. then followed the matadores or bullfighters themselves in brilliant costumes that proclaimed to everyone that they were the heroes of the hour. it was for them that pillows were waved and cheers echoed back and forth across the ring. "oh, they're gorgeous, simply gorgeous," nan was carried away with the excitement. "what are they called?" she pointed her finger to a number of men now riding on horseback and directed her question to walker. "and look, what are they?" laura turned to him at the same time. she was pointing to men in white suits, red sashes, and caps who came in on mules. "one at a time, please," walker laughed at their excitement. "nan's first. those men on horseback are the picadores. watch them later. and you, señorita," he turned to laura, "you asked about the wise monkeys, 'monosabios' we mexicans call them. when the fight's over they'll drag out the dead bull." "oh!" the exclamation was grace's. she had forgotten that a bullfight meant that there would be blood and killing. walker looked at her questioningly and then at alice. "here was a girl," the glances they exchanged said, "that would have to be watched at the killing." now, below them, the horseman leading the procession bowed before the judge of the bullfight, the formation disbanded, and the ring cleared for the entrance of the first bull. it came in, charging from a door that was opened below the ring, went bellowing madly across the arena, and charged straight into a target that maddened it further. now the prettiest, most graceful part of the whole spectacle began. two helpers carrying lovely bright capes stepped from the side into the arena. one of them waved his cape, attracting the attention of the bull which came rushing toward the bright moving object. the helper danced gracefully aside. the bull turned and rushed at him again, putting his head down and going for him with his horns. but the man was graceful and daring and teasing and avoided him. now the other helper waved his cape and was equally provocative and the bull went for him with the same lack of success. so they played back and forth, tantalizing the bull, attracting it with one cape and distracting it with another until it was thoroughly maddened. then the rider came in on his horse and the rider and the horse teased the bull further. so it went until the climax when the third and most important part of the fight began--the actual killing of the bull. chapter xvi end of the fight the ring was in a furor when bess clutched nan's arm. "look, nan, look," she said. "it's she. it's linda. look, nan." nan's eyes were riveted on the ring, where the bullfighter with his spear was waiting for a propitious moment to plunge it into the mad bleeding animal that was lunging at him. "just a minute, bess," nan hadn't heard what her friend had said. the horror and cruelty and yet the excitement of the scene before her was holding all her attention. down there before her the bullfighter was fighting a championship fight. he was playing with the bull, teasing him toward him and then skillfully dancing away. the end was imminent. the fighter was waiting only for an opportunity to make the clean, quick plunge that would finish the fight with one stroke. now, the moment seemed near and everyone, nan and her friends, and the more than twenty thousand other people in the great ring stood up, cheering for the finish. the fighter closed in and then drew back to make the lunge, but there was blood on the ground beneath his feet and he slipped. the bull gave a mighty roar and went toward him, his horns lowered. the fight had turned. there could be only one possible end now. death for the fighter. but wait. that fighter is clever. he gracefully pulls aside so the menacing horns glance across his arm. he jumps up from the ground, pulls his arm back, and before the bull has had a chance to recover from his surprise, that fighter is, with one mighty thrust, plunging the spear straight through the bull's heart. there, it's over now. the fighter has fought the fight that will surely bring him the trophy, a pair of little gold ears. the throng, wild with excitement, throws hats, scarfs, pillows, everything loose that it can lay its hands on into the ring as the hero of the hour slowly walks around and bows with arms thrown out wide as though to embrace the whole cheering multitude. everything is gay and happy now. even the man that follows after the hero and picks up the hats, scarfs, and pillows that litter the ground and tosses them lightly back to the owners above is laughing. yes, even the man that pushed the wheelbarrow in the grand opening procession is happy, basking in reflected glory, as he trundles his burden around the ring, sprinkling sawdust over the blood spots. it was not until the monosabios, "wise monkeys", came to drag out the bull, destined now for food for a nearby hospital, that bess again tried to attract nan's attention. "nan, i tell you that that's linda riggs down there below us," she said insistently this time. "look at the way she's tossing her head and talking to that man that's next to her. you would think that he was a prince, a handsome prince, the way she is acting." "why, bess, you're right. that is linda." nan at last drew her eyes away from the ring and looked at the girl bess was pointing to. "yes, and i'm sure she saw us a while ago," laura contributed. she too had been watching the girl that the lakeview crowd had grown to dislike so cordially. "you know the way she always looks around her to see whether there is anyone she really ought to be decent to, anyone that might be able to do something for her. well, she did that when she first came in. i saw her, but i wasn't going to say anything because i didn't want to spoil the fun we were having." "i'll bet she sneered when she saw us," bess said. "she's always hated us and especially since we had the laugh on her on the boat last summer." "oh, bess, that wasn't exactly a laugh," nan protested. "the girl almost drowned." "yes, and you went and saved her. and what thanks did you get?" bess could always be indignant when she thought of linda riggs. "you should have let her alone. i would have. i would have enjoyed seeing the waves wash her over-board. i would have looked over the rail and laughed when i saw her screaming and waving her arms and trying to keep herself from going under." "you little fiend!" nan exclaimed. "how can you say such things?" "because they are true," bess retorted. "people like her shouldn't be allowed to clutter up things. she makes everybody that knows her unhappy, so what good is she anyway? her father is always trying to get her out of trouble. look at her down there now. you can see by the way she's holding her head that she's mean and proud and deceitful." "bess, be quiet!" nan warned. "you'll have everyone looking at you. linda is a little prig and she does make trouble and i don't like her any more than you do, but there's no use making things unpleasant because she's happened to turn up here where we are. forget her." "forget her!" bess exclaimed. "you can't forget a thorn that's forever sticking in your flesh. trying to forget her doesn't do any good. she always makes trouble. it's best to watch her so that you will be prepared for what happens." perhaps bess was right. certainly, if at other times nan and bess had been more watchful they might have been able to avoid trouble. but nan always believed that there was some good in everyone and she was always trustful. she felt often that linda, because of her wealth and the fact that her mother was dead and her father tried to give her everything she wanted, was not entirely to blame for her actions. and bess, well, bess's attitude toward linda had changed considerably since their first meeting. then bess had thought that the daughter of the railroad magnate would be a nice person to have for a friend, for bess was decidedly impressed by her wealth, by the way she ordered people around, and the way she dressed. bess had even written home in the first days at school and told her mother that she didn't have at all the proper kind of clothes to wear, if she was going to chum around with people that amounted to something. she had linda in mind when she wrote it, linda's clothes and linda's social position. but linda had soon shown bess that there was no room for her in her world. girls that linda called friend, if there was any such word in her vocabulary, had to bow to all her wishes. she liked them only if they thought everything she did and said was right. no girl could be her friend and have a will of her own. no girl could be her friend and have other friends too. linda wanted to be the very center of everyone's attention. as a consequence she had no real friends at all. bess never analyzed this to herself, but after one or two attempts to go around with linda, she gave up entirely and grew to dislike her very much, as all the readers of the nan sherwood series know. she disliked her particularly because of the mean things she had done to nan, for if bess had no other outstanding characteristic, she did have a sense of justice that was almost as strong as nan's. this she had although her sympathies were not as deep nor as understanding as nan's. bess was apt to accept or reject things and people on account of appearances. nan never did this. she liked everyone and had always had some sort of sixth sense that made her look beneath surfaces and find the true person. thus she made friends with all sorts of people. this was the reason that nan led such an adventurous life. this was the reason everyone liked her. everyone called linda snobbish. a few people called bess the same. but no one ever thought of applying the word to nan. and nan seldom talked about people. so now, as the girls sat in the arena in mexico city waiting for the next bullfighter to come into the ring, nan was doing her best to quiet her friend. "there's no reason whatsoever to get so excited," she said in an undertone to bess. "she's sitting way down below us so we won't have to even talk to her when we go out. we'll be up the stairs and out the exit before she does. we'll probably never even see her again while we're here." "that's right," laura agreed, talking in a whisper too. "and though you might think that you could prepare yourself for what might happen if you did encounter linda, you never could. no one ever knows what that girl might do. and, elizabeth harley, you're not smart enough to guess." laura being laura with her red hair and her love for battle couldn't resist adding this thrust. "well, i could try anyway," bess retorted. "say, what are you people all talking about so quietly?" amelia leaned over and asked now. "why, you didn't even pay any attention when mr. jamieson took grace out." "took grace out!" nan exclaimed, noticing now for the first time that two in the party were missing. "why?" "she almost fainted when she saw all the blood streaming from the bull, so just before he was killed, walker jamieson took her by the arm and said they were going for a walk and would be back soon." "i don't blame her," bess said emphatically. "i would have fainted myself--" "--if you had been watching the bullfight instead of linda riggs," nan supplied the end of the sentence. "i guess you are right," bess laughed. "that girl certainly does have a habit of getting in my hair. i'm always on pins and needles whenever she is around." "there, bessie," nan tried to smooth her friend's ruffled feelings. "just you sit quietly and watch the next fight and you'll feel better. we'll see that linda doesn't cross your path." "she hadn't better," bess replied and then did try to devote herself to watching the next fight on the program. chapter xvii a hasty departure "sit quietly and watch a bullfight!" adair mackenzie had heard nan's counsel to bess. "never heard of such a thing. never saw such a thing happen. couldn't possibly sit quietly and watch a bullfight. too exciting. too much blood and gore. no place to bring a woman." adair had been upset by grace's fainting spell and now he was sorry he had ever brought the girls here. already he was casting about in his mind for something else to do that would wipe the memory of the unpleasantness of the spectacle out of their minds. he was oblivious of the fact that none of them outside of perhaps nan and amelia had witnessed the fight with their whole attention. he didn't yet know the story of linda. the fact that her presence distracted them consequently had gone unobserved. "got your things? come on. we're going now." abruptly he made up his mind and plunged into action without further ado. "but father," alice demurred. "don't 'but' me," adair answered. "we're going to get out of this outlandish place right away. can't have you all fainting on my hands. ready?" he was already halfway out the row and effectively blocking the view of the ring of all the people who had seats behind his party. but it didn't matter to him. in fact, he was so concerned with his own immediate problem that no one else in the world existed. now he turned around again to see if the girls were following him. "fine spectacle for civilized people to put on," he muttered. "hurry, you people. can't be all day getting out of here." "that's right." the voice that agreed with him was an american voice and it startled him. adair looked up. "what's that?" he asked the question gruffly. "i said, 'that's right,'" the stranger answered. he was sitting about three rows behind where adair was standing. "what do you mean?" adair looked more belligerent than ever. "i mean you can't be all day getting out of here." the voice in back answered positively. "w-w-why, you old--old--old," adair spluttered. he could think of no epithet appropriate and yet forceful enough to call his critic in the presence of the girls. so his spluttering died away as he brandished his cane and just stood and looked. "daddy, daddy," alice put a soft hand on his arm. "do come. we are blocking the view." "nothing to see down there anyway," adair returned. "these americans," he went on talking loudly and looking back at the man above him, "come down here and think they can run everything. want to tell us to move on. who do they think they are anyway?" "sh, daddy." alice was worried for fear her father would start a fight, even while she was secretly amused that he was accusing a fellow countryman of doing the very thing that he was guilty of. "we must get down and out so that we can find how grace is," she added tactfully. "well, i'm hurrying just as fast as these mexicans will let me," adair answered. "i always said they were the slowest, most inconsiderate people in the world." adair was wrong in what he said, and he knew it. as he was now sputtering about them being inconsiderate, so often he had sputtered because of their patient consideration for other people. then he had said that they were too polite. however, adair prided himself on his willingness to change his mind. "only dunces never contradict themselves," he often said. now, alice and the girls were themselves moving along as fast as they could behind him, so, though he continued to mutter and even brandish his cane at others whom he suspected of calling at him in spanish, he was soon safely out in the aisle and they all hurried up the stairs and out. "o-o-ooh, but that was close," laura's eyes were dancing at the recollection of the scene in the stands as she and nan stepped out into the street. "wasn't it though?" nan was laughing too, now, though at the time, she, like alice, had been worried for fear adair would come to blows with the american. "two americans come to blows at a bullfight," laura said, "and the bullfight is forgotten." "that's just what i was afraid of," nan whispered. "these people in this country are so hot-headed that i was afraid there would be a general riot, before we got out of there. they were all worked up so over the first fight that they would have entered our private little fray without any question." "that's what i thought too," laura agreed. "and did you see the expression on bess's face?" "no," nan returned, "but i can just imagine what it was like. she hates scenes of any kind. i do too, but this one was almost funny. cousin adair is so quick tempered that he glides in and out of trouble with the greatest of ease." "doesn't he though?" amelia contributed. "it fascinates me when i see one of his explosions coming. every time he opens his mouth, he gets in deeper." "that is funny when you see it happen to someone else," laura agreed somewhat ruefully. "but when it happens to you, if you have a sensitive soul, like mine, it's pretty embarrassing." laura was in earnest, for her quick tongue often did its work before she had a chance to stop it. "oh laura," her mother had more than once shaken her head over her daughter's failing, "you need to count to a hundred at least when you feel your cheeks flushing and your head getting hot with anger. and you need to button your mouth up tight, or you'll always be terribly unhappy." laura thought of this now, and giggled. "well, i don't know what's so funny," bess remarked. she still felt irritated at what had happened. "maybe if you had seen linda riggs looking around at us, you wouldn't be giggling the way you are. i wish i could have just gone right through that floor." "but it was concrete and you couldn't." laura pretended to be very practical. "that is, not without hurting herself," amelia appended. "oh, it isn't funny." bess was genuinely upset. she would have hated the scene anyway, and when it occurred in linda's presence, she hated it doubly. "you should have seen the look of pity and disgust and triumph on her face when she saw that it was our party that was making all the fuss," bess went on, growing more vehement the more she talked. "it was positively humiliating." more than any of the others, bess cared about what other people thought of her. always conscious of herself and eager to make a good impression, she was always upset when things went wrong at all. when they did not run just according to the way she thought they should, in public especially, she felt like hiding her head and running. "it's the way i am and i can't help it," she retorted once when nan accused her of being over-sensitive, and so she never made the proper effort to overcome her failing. "who cares what linda thinks?" laura said airily as walker and grace joined the party, and the incident was forgotten, for the moment, while everyone made a fuss over grace. "you're just a sissy," laura teased. "see a little bit of blood and you go off in a faint. what will you do when we start dissecting things in biology at school next fall?" "i don't know." grace looked worried as though she was going to have to do the dissecting right away. "tut! tut! we'll worry about that when the time comes," adair mackenzie answered as though it was his problem to be handled in due course. "how are you now?" he looked at grace closely while he asked the question. "feeling all right again, are you?" he spoke gently, as he might have spoken to alice, his daughter, and a warm feeling of sympathy toward him went through all those standing around. "why," nan said afterward, and bess had to agree, "i believe he was irritable up in the stands because he was worried about grace." "i suppose so." bess was much less tolerant of other people's failings than her friend. "but that was no excuse for him to get all riled up. i can't forget the way linda looked." "bessie, forget it." nan spoke sharply. "it's not important at all. it doesn't matter what linda thinks of us. and it is important that we not criticise cousin adair. after all, we are his guests." "you are right," bess agreed. she could, on occasion, be generous in yielding when she knew she was in the wrong. as they talked these things over, the whole party walked toward the waiting car. again, it was a voice from the united states that arrested them, but one more softly spoken than that they had heard in the grandstands. "i beg your pardon," it said. nan and her lakeview hall companions looked up startled. the speaker who had accosted them was accompanied by none other than linda riggs! chapter xviii linda performs an introduction "i beg your pardon." linda riggs' companion spoke again, "but could you direct us to avenida chapultepec?" before anyone could answer linda rushed over to nan and took her by the arm. "why, nancy sherwood!" she exclaimed as though nan was the best friend she had in the world. "i'm so surprised to see you here. when did you arrive? isn't this city just perfectly gorgeous? more quaint, don't you think, than anything we saw in europe?" nan was at a loss as to what to say. deep within her she was entirely out of patience with the situation. linda was being disgustedly affected. she was talking slowly, dragging her vowels and gesturing with her hands, acting as a person twice her age might act and even then be nauseous. but linda disregarded nan's coolness. "and you, bess," linda turned to elizabeth harley. "imagine seeing you here. isn't it all too romantic for words, a whole crowd of lakeview hall people meeting in this far-off corner of the globe. the most astounding things do happen, don't they?" "yes, they do," laura remarked dryly, looking linda up and down as she did so. "and you, laura polk. why, you are all together, i do believe." linda acted as though she had made a brilliant observation. she was having a difficult time, even for her, in the situation, for her effusions were being received rather coldly to say the least. "i'd like to have you meet my friend, arthur howard," she went on, forcing nan to introduce her and her companion to her cousin and alice. "hm! glad to meet you." adair mackenzie said abruptly. "got to be going now. sorry, don't know the way to avenida whatever-it-was-you-said. can't keep any of these streets straight in my mind. they're all mixed up." with this, he summarily herded his daughter, nan, laura, bess, and amelia toward the car where walker jamieson and grace who had gone on alone together were waiting. linda and her companion were thus left behind. "nan," grace hardly waited until the girls were in the car beside her before she asked the question, "was that linda riggs that you were talking to out there?" "none other," laura answered. "and why are you giggling so, bess. a few moments ago you were all hot and bothered about linda and now you're laughing. will you please make up your mind about what you're thinking." "oh, it's so funny." bess was off again. "did you see the way she looked when mr. mackenzie walked away so suddenly. i do believe that she thought we would fall all over her the way she was falling all over us. oh, dear, did that do my heart good!" bess sounded positively gleeful. "mine too." laura was laughing with her. "and do you remember," bess went on, "how, when mr. mackenzie analyzed all of us when he first met us, we wished that some day he would have the chance to do it to linda. well, that wish almost came true down there. i do believe that if we had stayed a moment longer he would have done it. i was hoping--" "elizabeth harley! i thought you didn't like cousin adair," nan, too, was tickled at the whole situation. "oh, i do now," bess capitulated. "i just love him. do you know that's the first time since we've known her, that we've seen her as embarrassed as she makes us sometimes. how i wish we had stayed just a moment longer." "what's this about your just loving someone?" adair turned around to join in the conversation. bess blushed. "well, all i can say is," he went on when she failed to answer. "i hope it's not that girl back there that we just met that you're being so enthusiastic about. don't like her at all myself. no character. she's snippy. she's deceitful. can't even talk without putting on airs. can't stand her. hope she's no friend of yours." he turned to nan as he said this last. nan shook her head and said nothing further. she felt, and rightly so, that it was unnecessary to discuss linda among people who did not know her. this was a consideration that linda would never have shown nan. in fact, time and again, linda had purposely attempted to blacken nan's character in front of strangers. this was one reason that bess, loyal as she was to nan, disliked linda so much. "can't tolerate people who are affected," adair mackenzie went on blustering as the car drove out into the street. "and didn't like that man she was with either. he didn't have a very honest look about him." "but he was nice-looking." bess let the words out before she realized what she was doing, and the wrath of adair mackenzie descended upon her. "nice-looking! that's all you think of. nice-looking, bah! can't judge people by their looks. it's what's in their eyes and their hearts that counts. have to see that before you can accurately decide what they are. anybody can dress up and make a good appearance. you, bessie," he lowered his tone at a look from alice, "you've got to learn something about true values before you get much older. you're a nice sort of girl, but you put too much emphasis on money and worldly goods. you'll have to be taught sometime that they are not so important as you think. "that goes for all of you," he ended, sweeping them all with his glance. "you've all had easy lives, so you don't know yet, really, what's worth while and what isn't." "now, that girl back there," he resumed his talk after a few moments of silence, "she has no conception what-so-ever of worth. what's her name, anyway?" he asked. "linda riggs," nan answered. "not the daughter of the railroad king?" "that's right." nan nodded her head. "knew him, when he was a young fellow," adair paused, remembering his own youth. "he was a nice chap then. can't understand how he could have reared such a poor excuse for a daughter. we belonged to the same college fraternity. he was president of it at one time i think. always helping people out. everybody liked him. that's how he happened to get on in the world the way he did. met up with someone who had lots of dough and no son to carry on the family name. riggs seemed to fill the bill, so the wealthy old codger took him into his business and taught him the ropes. "riggs wore well, and when the old man died he inherited the fortune. sounds like a fairy story, but those things happen. jamieson here must know the tale." walker nodded in agreement. "do. interviewed the old bird one time under particularly difficult circumstances. there was a big railroad merger story about to break, and nobody wanted to talk. i got wind of it through a hot tip from a stooge in new york. tried everything in order to get the story, and finally in desperation went to riggs himself. it was rumored that he had the controlling interest in the stock. i had to go through a dozen secretaries before i finally got to him. "then he didn't want to talk either. however, some little thing i said in passing, captured his fancy, and before i knew it, i was laying all my cards on the table and he was putting them together so that they made sense. when we were finished, i realized that i had one of the biggest stories of the year and was about to grab my hat and run out to put it on the wires, when he put out a restraining hand. 'sorry,' he said, 'but i must ask you to keep this quiet for twenty-four hours longer. if you promise, i assure you that no one else will get the release until your paper has the scoop all sewed up.' "in a way i was up a tree, because i knew that if the story had leaked out to me, someone else was very likely to get wind of it too. i hesitated. he stuck out his hand as though to shake mine and he did it in such a frank friendly fashion, that i agreed to what he asked, even though i knew it was a dumb thing to do under the circumstances. "but there was something about the man that inspired confidence and regard." "lived up to the agreement, didn't he?" adair said positively. "sure did," walker assented, "and under difficulty too. just as i suspected, some other paper did get wind of the story and sent one of their ace men out to get the details. riggs let him in, quizzed him to find out what he knew, excused himself, and then called me to tell me that the time was up, that i'd better shoot the yarn right through if i wanted to scoop the rest of the dailies. "well, after he did that, he went back into his office and told the other reporter the whole story he had told me. it took him three hours to tell it, and when my competitor came out of the office our extras were already on the street." "that was the midwestern merger, wasn't it?" adair questioned. "right!" jamieson agreed. "remember it, don't you? but you chits," he turned his attention to the girls who had been listening with their customary attention to his tale, "you wouldn't remember. you were hardly out of your cradles then. nan here was probably still creeping around in rompers. bess, well, bess probably didn't creep, that was too dirty for her, but she was probably beginning to put her hands up to her father and saying, 'gimme'." this brought a laugh from everyone, including adair mackenzie. "can't understand," he returned to the question of linda, "how a girl with a father like riggs could be such an obnoxious person." "oh, there are lots of explanations," walker answered. "i happen to know that his wife died when the girl was just a baby. he was all broken up and turned to the child for comfort. guess he lavished all his attention on her and spoiled her." "sounds plausible," adair agreed, and then looked at alice. "see how i ruined my daughter with kindness," he twitted. "let her get out of hand completely. now i can't do anything with her." "want to get rid of her?" walker winked at alice, as he asked the question. "what's that?" adair was startled. "oh, nothing, dad," alice frowned at walker. "where are we going now." "don't know." adair took out his watch as he shook his head. he frowned. "guess we can make it though," he continued, laughing with the others at his own inconsistency. chapter xix floating gardens "xochimilco or place of flowers. how lovely," nan spoke softly in the presence of the beauty before her. adair mackenzie in his desire to introduce the girls to something that would make them forget the bullfight had brought them to one of the prettiest places in all mexico. now, he was looking exceedingly pleased with himself. "oh, daddy," alice too was thrilled at the spectacle before them. "many, many times i've heard of the floating gardens of mexico and i've always wanted to see them." "well, there they are," adair said as off-handedly as possible under the circumstances. "now you see them." they laughed at his matter-of-factness. "if you will allow me," walker jamieson who had deserted the party immediately after the car had been parked, now brought a canoe he had rented and paddled up one of the many canals before them to a stop at their feet. he stood up and held out his arm to alice. "fair lady, you come first." he said as he helped her in and assisted her to a seat opposite him. "and now, nan." so one after the other he helped the members of the party to places in the large canoe. "h-h-hm," adair mackenzie cleared his throat as he seated his bulk. "now, i'd say this is more in keeping with what young ladies should like. how about it?" he addressed his question to grace who was beaming beside him. she nodded in agreement. everyone was completely happy as walker pushed the canoe off. so the rest of the afternoon was whiled away in paddling lazily through the flower-bordered canals. "why are they called floating gardens?" nan addressed her question to walker who seemed a fountainhead of information about all sorts of things. "simply because they float," walker answered as he disentangled his paddle from some lily stems along the side. "but you can't actually see them move," nan said as she peered earnestly at one of the many islands. "no, you can't, now," walker agreed. "but there was a time, miss curiosity, ages ago when these beautiful gardens actually did float from place to place, a time when you didn't know from one day to the next just where you'd wake up and find a certain particularly beautiful one." "why?" the subject was an intriguing one and nan wanted to know all about it. "oh, they say," walker continued quietly, "that the earth of the gardens lies on interlacing twigs. naturally before the water filled in as it is now, these twigs moved with the current and carried their burden of earth and flowers along with them. "this was always a beautiful spot," he continued, "even back before the aztecs found the eagle on the cactus and conquered the region and settled their capitol. when they did all this and found themselves with leisure on their hands, the nobles made of this place a playground, and the aztec papa and mama came here with the aztec child for sunday picnics. "today, if i hadn't been as energetic as i am," he paused and grinned at the snort that this brought forth from alice's father, "a descendant of these same aztecs, who still, by the way, speaks the tongue of his forefathers, would have been plying this gondola. the aztecs still live around here and still preserve many of the ancient customs of their people." he rested the paddle on the side of the canoe as he finished and, as water dripped from it making little rings in the canal, he sat idly dreaming. the canoe drifted along and came to rest under an over-hanging willow. no one spoke. it was a magic moment, for the sun was setting and sending low rays over the water. tropical birds were singing full-throated songs and in the distance they could hear, faintly, the sound of music. finally, alice spoke. "it can't be very different," she said, "than it was centuries ago. for the same exotic flowers ran wild here then that do now, and the same birds sang. how queer that makes me feel. century after century has unrolled and yet this is the same." "i know." walker looked across at her. "makes you feel, doesn't it, that time isn't so important after all, that a philosophy in which 'mañana' is the all-important word is perhaps not such a bad one after all." "here, here," adair mackenzie broke the spell. "don't go preaching that mañana business to these girls. they are lazy enough as it is. look at them now, will you?" in truth, the girls did all look comfortable and lazy, entirely at peace with themselves and the world and not at all like the busy energetic beings that they were at school. "the world doesn't seem real, does it?" nan looked at bess as she made this observation. "no," bess answered. "not real at all. this, i believe, is the most romantic spot we have ever been in." "yes," nan agreed idly, and for some reason or other her thoughts drifted back towards home and school and then to walter, grace's brother. "i've been meaning to tell you," grace broke in on her train of thought as though she knew what had been going on in nan's mind. "mother said in that letter i got at wells fargo's this morning that she had consented to let walter go on a motor trip through the west and mexico with his spanish teacher." "yes." nan's voice betrayed her interest, and she was conscious as she spoke that all the girls were suddenly more alert. the piece of news was one they were interested in too. "it seems," grace went on, pleased that she had the attention of everyone, "that every year he takes a group down through this district so that they can hear spanish spoken by the people whose tongue it is. walter likes spanish and so he's going along with them." "when will he be here," bess asked the question which she knew nan wanted to ask but wouldn't in face of the interest that everyone was showing in the matter. "oh, mother wasn't sure," grace answered. "it all depends on so many things. they'll be gone the whole summer and will linger at the places the boys seem to like the best. it seems that the teacher leaves the itinerary almost entirely up to them." "sounds like fun." nan tried to be casual and general as she spoke, but she didn't altogether succeed. "what's all this about?" adair mackenzie had caught the drift of the conversation. "who is this walter anyway?" "he is grace's brother," nan answered. "yes?" adair was not to be put off so easily. "and he went with us to rose ranch a few summers ago and met us in london with grace's mother and dad last year." nan thought it would be better for her to answer the questions. "hm-m-m. think i understand." adair appeared to be devoting much thought to this "understanding" business for he said nothing further for a while. finally, as though he suddenly remembered what they had been talking about, he returned to the subject. "why can't the young hoodlums--i have no doubt but what they are young hoodlums, all boys are--stop at the hacienda with us for a few days?" he asked. grace's face beamed at this. "why, how nice!" she exclaimed, "but just think, there will be five of them at least." "what of it?" adair dismissed this as an objection. "got lots of room. we'll make a party of it when they come and serve them a real mexican meal." adair seemed to have forgotten entirely that he personally despised mexican cooking. "hot tamales, tortillas, everything." he waved his hand grandly as though the whole world would be at the disposal of the boys for the asking. "like boys anyway," adair went on. "girls are a nuisance. always fainting. oh, it doesn't matter," he glossed over this last part of conversation as he saw the blood mounting to grace's cheeks. "just like to have boys around." he ended rather weakly. "now, let's see. it's getting pretty dark, better move on." he motioned to walker who obediently took the paddle in hand and began the leisurely journey back. chapter xx good-by to mexico city "oh, yesterday was a grand day!" nan stretched her arms wide and high as she sat up in her bed the next morning. "yes, wasn't it?" bess rolled over in her bed and looked at nan. "it was just full of surprises. i don't know what i liked the best." "i do," nan said promptly. "what?" "oh, cousin adair. i think he's a darling." "he'd probably roar a mighty roar if he heard you say that," bess laughed at the prospect, "but you know, i quite agree with you, even if it isn't my friend that he has invited to stop at the hacienda." "but walter's a friend to all of us," nan protested. "yes, yes, of course," bess agreed. "he's a friend to all of us and a particular friend to you." "bessie, if this big pillow wasn't so soft," nan looked at the pillow she was holding in her hand speculatively, "i'd heave it over at you so fast that you wouldn't know what had struck you." "that's all right, nancy," bess laughed. "i understand. you don't like to be teased." "wasn't it fun last night?" nan changed the subject completely. "what was fun?" bess could remember so many nice things that she really didn't know which one nan was talking about. "dinner on the bank of the canal at xochimilco," nan answered promptly. "i'll never forget it. the lights. the flowers. the music. who would ever think to look at him and hear him talk that cousin adair would be romantic enough to think up anything like that?" "i know it." bess idly watched an insect that was buzzing around the room. "i was much surprised. then i began to wonder if it wasn't walker jamieson's idea after all. you know he has a clever way of suggesting things to your cousin, so that when your cousin decides what to do it appears as though he thought up the idea originally." "why, bess." nan appeared to be horrified at the thought. "oh, you know it's so." bess looked over at nan. "it's lots of fun to watch him do it. do you know, sometimes i think that he's almost clever enough to make mr. mackenzie think that the idea of his marrying alice was his, mr. mackenzie's i mean, originally. do you suppose?" "bess, if you don't stop speculating about that, i don't know what i'm going to do to you." nan laughed. "you know you might spoil everything by talking about it," she ended seriously. "for all you know the idea has never once entered walker jamieson's head." bess hooted at this. "don't you ever think that," she said finally, "because it isn't true and you know it isn't." "say, what are you two people doing in bed at this hour?" laura stuck her head in the doorway and inquired. "don't you know that it's long past time to get up." "oh, bed's so nice," nan answered, "i just hate to get up." "well, all i can say is," laura finished before she closed the door, "the temperature downstairs is slightly chilly, and if you know what's good for you, you'll be out of there in a jiffy." "right-o." nan jumped up at this bit of information. "hi! laura," she called after her friend, "come back here a minute. was there any mail this morning," she asked as laura's red head reappeared. "nothing for us," laura answered, "but your cousin got something that made him blow up. that's why i'm telling you to hurry. i gather from certain orders i overheard him giving the chauffeur that he wants to start immediately, if not sooner, for the hacienda." "really?" bess asked, as she too jumped out of bed. "you mean we are going to leave mexico city today." "that's the impression i'm trying hard to convey," laura responded. "and i think that if you two lugs want any breakfast at all, you better get a hustle on." with this she closed the door definitely and disappeared. needless to say, nan and bess hurried as they had not hurried for a long time. "getting ready for an early morning class in the winter has nothing on this," bess laughed as she tied a bright three-cornered scarf around her neck and pulled it in place. "i'll say it hasn't," nan agreed, quickly tying the laces in her white oxfords. "a lick and a promise and we're ready to go." with this she bounded across the room and opened the door wide for her friend. "such energy!" bess exclaimed as though horrified. she was never one to be as exuberant as nan. she was always more dignified and more correct. nan was more natural and more full of fun. she did what she liked to do, for the most part, simply because it was fun. bess was more apt to do things because other people did them. nan was a leader, and bess, the follower. that was, perhaps, the reason they had been friends for so long. they were alike in some respects, but totally different in others. now, as they came down the broad stairway of the big hotel lobby together, this difference was most plain. adair mackenzie, pacing up and down the lobby even as he did in his office when he was at work, stopped to look at them. "she'll get by," he thought with satisfaction as he noted nan's bright face and free, graceful walk. "'bout time you two made your appearance," he said aloud and assumed a grim appearance. "finished a day's work myself already. guess it's another to get you people started." "started?" nan questioned. "can't stay here all the time." adair answered her question. "anyway, i just got word that the housekeeper is arriving tomorrow and i've got to get down there and have things straightened around before she puts in an appearance. these ornery housekeepers, you know, have to be babied. if you don't, they leave every time you turn around. someday, someone will invent a robot that will do the work, and then--" "you won't have a housekeeper to scold anymore, daddy," alice interrupted and finished for him. "serve her right," adair answered as though the housekeeper would be the loser. "can't see that she's any good anyway." "so we're leaving." walker jamieson joined the rest in the lobby. he had been out for an early morning walk and looked fresh and full of life as he came in. "got your camera, nan?" he turned to her when he spoke. "upstairs," nan answered. "let's take a few pictures," walker suggested. in the face of adair's morning state, this seemed a daring thing to suggest, and nan looked at adair to see his reaction. he seemed not to be listening. "run along," alice gave nan a little shove. "dad's going to be busy for the next half hour or so, finishing up some business here, so if we hurry, we can take all the pictures we want to." at this nan did go upstairs for her camera. she was anxious enough to, but she had hesitated because she never liked to be the one to arouse her cousin. now, she almost petted the camera as she returned with it. she loved it and was already looking forward to the day when she could own one herself, for she had made up her mind, since walker had been giving her instructions to learn all she possibly could about taking pictures. this was the reason she took pictures of everyone and everything she saw until walker declared that the authorities would be questioning her on suspicion that she was a spy of some sort. "me, a spy?" nan laughed at the thought. "well, you do look harmless," walker agreed, "but then strange things do happen, especially to people who spend all their time taking pictures. how many have you got now?" "oh, i don't know," nan laughed. "come on, 'fess up'," walker urged. "let's see there must be a dozen rolls upstairs," nan admitted. "it will cost a fortune to develop them, won't it?" "what do you say to my buying some developer and pans and whatever else is needed and taking them along to the hacienda with us?" walker asked. "we could develop all your films there then, for practically nothing." "i'd like that," nan agreed enthusiastically, "but i thought you had some big story you were going to work on down there." "oh, that can wait." walker jamieson acted as though stories did wait for people and laughed at himself while he did it. "anyway it will only take a jiffy to teach you all i know about the photography business." "all right then," nan agreed. so it came about that nan and walker went to the hacienda supplied with everything to develop pictures. how fortunate this was! but then that story belongs to later chapters. "well, eagle eye, how's the camera working this morning?" laura inquired as nan and walker went out into the lovely patio of their hotel. "want to take some pictures of me draped around one of those tall white pillars?" "do one of you strung from that balcony, up there, kid," walker offered generously. "thank you, kind sir," laura replied graciously, "but since i'm going to need my neck for a little while longer, i must refuse--with regret of course." "on second thought, perhaps that is best," walker agreed. "it would be a shame to spoil this lovely scene this fine morning." "it is pretty, isn't it?" nan looked about her with great satisfaction. the patio or courtyard so familiar to spain is a part of the mexican scene too, and this one where nan was taking pictures was particularly lovely with its gay flowers, deep green foliage, and pond all surrounded by the pinkish colored walls of the hotel itself. "oh, but i hate to leave all this," nan remarked when the pictures were taken and she and laura and walker were returning to the hotel lobby. "and so do we," the other girls chorused, as the party all came together. "ah, you go, but you return." walker sounded quite poetic as he said this. "and then, remember, you have no conception of the adventures the hacienda holds in store for you." "have you?" the girls looked suspiciously at walker, when nan asked this question. his answer was a mysterious look. chapter xxi the hacienda "that must be it over there," walker jamieson pointed to a low rambling building nestled among the hills, as the car swung around a curve in the road. the party had, despite sundry irritating delays, left mexico city in the middle of the forenoon, and now, as evening approached they did sight the hacienda, their destination and proposed home for the summer. "about time," adair mackenzie said curtly. "hundred miles from mexico city. humph! that's what they told me in memphis. hundred miles maybe, as the crow flies, but on this treacherous piece of bandit-infested highway it's at least two hundred." he looked about him, as he finished, as though he was daring someone to gainsay him. no one accepted the dare. "what's the matter?" he surveyed the silent group. "all worn out?" again, there was no answer. "say, you," he looked directly at nan now, "are you backing down on your old cousin? don't know what's happened," he continued. "can't even get anyone to fight with me any more." he really sounded pathetic. at this, the whole group broke down in laughter. "what is this?" adair laughed too now, but his face bore a puzzled expression. "nothing, dad." alice wiped the tears from her eyes. "don't say nothing to me, child." adair brandished his cane as though he was going to take alice over his knee and spank her. "what were you trying to do," he jumped to the correct conclusion immediately, "give me the silent treatment?" alice nodded her head half guiltily, half roguishly. the idea had been hers. "your mother tried that years ago," adair reminisced. "it didn't work then, and it's not working now. it's better to give me an opportunity to explode," he advised. "volcanoes have to erupt or something terrible happens." "that's what i said, sir." walker jamieson agreed with the old man. "you mean to say, to sit right there and say," adair exploded "that you had the gall to liken me to a volcano?" walker nodded his head in agreement. "you-you-you, why, i like you!" adair thrust out his hand and shook that of the young reporter. "you say what you think no matter how dire the consequences. maybe you're not such a bad reporter after all." he said this as though he was making a great concession. "yes, sir. no, sir." walker hardly knew what to say in the face of all this unexpectedness. "now, come on here," adair turned around and addressed this to the driver. "can't this old jallopie do more than miles an hour even when it sees its berth in the distance." he too, pointed to the white buildings that stood out from the green foliage around them. "not a bad looking place, from here." he went on contentedly. "supposed to be one of the finest in the district, but you never can tell about such comparisons. been fooled too many times to believe much of what i hear now. take everything with a grain of salt. "hear that, girl?" he turned to nan. "best always not to believe what you hear. discount at least fifty percent and then draw your own conclusions. that right, jamieson?" walker nodded his head in complete agreement. it was one of the first lessons he had learned as a cub reporter. now, as they talked, the car climbed a steep hill. at the top, they turned to the right and came upon the hacienda. "how perfectly lovely!" alice's face was all aglow as she caught her first real glimpse of the place. the buildings were in spanish style of a stucco material of a color bordering on the pink. there were iron balconies, large windows, and a courtyard or patio complete with palms, a fountain, and seats. the girls had thought that there could be nothing in the world so pretty as the patio in their hotel in mexico city, but here already was one that surpassed it. "humph!" adair mackenzie was as pleased as the others at his first sight of the place, but more cautious than they and more reluctant to let his real feelings be known, he let his "humph!" be his only comment as he descended from the car and walked with the others through the archway into the courtyard. there crowds of natives awaited the arrival of the new master, and the overseer of the place hurried forth to greet him. "eet ees a pleasure, señor," he said as he took adair's hand and bowed deeply. the rest in the party smiled and hung back at this bit of mexican courtesy. walker grinned broadly. "you, señorita, are next," he whispered in alice's ear. "are you prepared to have your hand kissed by a servant who would consider it an honor to die in your service?" "be still," alice murmured, and then smiled as the overseer did come forward, take her hand and bow deeply. "buenos días, señorita," he greeted her. "may your stay here be as pleasant to you as your honoring us with your presence has been to us." "come on, now," adair was always impatient with the elaborate courtesies of the south, impatient probably because he never felt at ease with them. "i always suspect," alice laughed once when she and walker were talking about adair's abruptness, "that he's more than a little afraid that some day some one of these strangers will break down and kiss him on the cheek." "i wonder what he would do?" walker paused in speculation. "you might try it yourself, sometime, and find out," alice retorted. "do you want to have me ousted bag and baggage from your presence, fair lady?" walker questioned, but alice never had a chance to answer, for just at that moment her father came upon the two and demanded all their attention. alice smiled over this in recollection now as they went through the door of the main building and into a spacious entrance hall with its big winding stairway, its high-beamed ceiling, and its pretty tiled floor. walker caught the smile and guessed at its origin, but he said nothing as they were all escorted up the broad steps to their quarters. "ours, all ours?" bess questioned when the lakeview hall girls were conducted to a suite of five rooms overlooking on one side the patio and the other, a river, broad fields, and mountains in the distance. "si, si, señoritas," the smiling mexican maid, soledad, who was to be theirs during their stay, hadn't understood the question, but "si, si," seemed the proper answer. now she bustled about trying to help them until her curiosity as to what was going on downstairs got the better of her and on some slight pretext she left. "just think of it!" bess exclaimed when she had disappeared. "a whole suite of rooms of our own, a maid, and everything, oh, everything we can wish for. it's a magic country and adair mackenzie is the presiding genie." "well, he is in one way," laura admitted dryly. "when he waves his wand things happen." "yes, and he goes up in smoke," nan added. "right," laura laughed, "and there's no one that can do it more expertly." alone now, the girls went from one to another of their rooms enjoying everything. even grace, accustomed as she was to luxury, was greatly impressed. she had never been in a house like this before. the rooms were big and spacious with heavy oaken furniture, thick rugs, tapestries, and beds so high that it was necessary to climb up a little ladder in order to get to them. each room had big double windows opening out onto the patio. bess stood out on hers and looked down on the courtyard below where maids were already busy setting a table under a tree centuries old. "do they ever serenade people here," she directed her question toward those inside. "i hear that they do, sometimes," nan called back. "but you have to wait for a clear night, with a sky that's blue as blue can be, a moon big and silver, shining low over these pretty buildings, and stars that are bigger and closer to earth than any you have ever seen." "why, nan sherwood," bess came into the room now. "where did you learn all these things?" "oh," nan shrugged her shoulders, "this atmosphere gets into your blood and you just can't help yourself. there is only one regret that i have." "and that?" bess couldn't imagine anyone having any regrets at this time. the world seemed just perfect to her now. "that rhoda isn't here with us," nan replied promptly. she had been thinking of rhoda a great deal in the past few days that had been such fun. "i know," grace agreed with nan softly. "i have been thinking of her too. we should be hearing from her now in a few days because in those last letters that we sent we told her to direct all future mail to this place." "i wonder how you get your mail here," laura said. "do you suppose a mexican caballero comes dashing up on a donkey, sweeps his hat in a wide arc toward the ground, and then deposits the bills and things as though they were special messages from the king of spain?" "oh, laura, don't be silly," bess was taking her romance seriously and didn't want it to be spoiled with laughter. "do you suppose," she turned to nan now, "that all those people that we saw down there in the courtyard live on this estate." "probably those and many more," nan assented, "but we'll have to wait for the tour of the estate that's been promised before we know for sure. and there are a million other things, at least that i want to know about." "me too," laura agreed, and the rest chimed in, for this mexican hacienda was something that captured the imagination of all of them. chapter xxii stubborn fools "oh, bess, you should see yourself now," nan laughed the next morning. it was early and the girls were all mounted on mules as they passed through the archway of the patio and out into the gardens with their huge palms and brilliant flowers and birds. "feel like a fool myself," adair grumbled as he tried to adjust his position on the beast he was riding. and truly, he was a ridiculous figure. "well, dad," alice pretended that she was trying to mollify him, "you just weren't made to ride a mule. nor were you," she looked at walker jamieson's long dangling legs as she spoke. "nor you either," walker retorted laughing. "you're too little. hey, you," he broke off his conversation with alice quickly and called to nan, "don't do that." "what?" nan asked innocently. "you know. don't look so innocent." "nan sherwood!" bess guessed at what walker was driving at. "you're not taking pictures of us in _these_ outfits are you?" "she not only is, but she has," walker answered before nan could say anything. "i saw her sliding that little camera back into its case." "nan, please," alice joined in the protest, "have mercy on us and think how our children and grandchildren will laugh if they ever see pictures of us riding mule-back. we're all perfect sights." but nan had already taken the pictures, so the protests came too late. now it was adair mackenzie who diverted their attention. "get along there. get a move on, you slow poke." adair was kicking the sides of his mule with real force. but the mule was accustomed to such treatment and he only raised his ears lazily, turned his head slowly and looked at his rider sleepily. then he stopped, dead in his tracks. "get along there, get along, i say," adair kicked the mule again. "can't you understand plain english?" "understands only spanish, i guess, mr. mackenzie," walker said. "try that on him." "if he can't understand english, the best language in the world, he can't understand anything," adair was as stubborn as the mule he was on, but for once all his railing, all his sputtering, all the ordering that he could do, didn't accomplish a thing. the mule just wouldn't move. "here you," adair called ahead to their guide who had philosophically shrugged his shoulders at the outburst of the new master, and sat now, on his mule on the trail above waiting for the party to move on. at the call, he ambled back to see what was wrong. "hey, you," adair was impatient with everyone and everything now. "get a hustle on. it's today we want to see this blasted estate, today. not mañana." the guide understood one word, 'mañana.' his face broke into a broad grin. "si, si, señor. si, señoritas." he was more than glad that these strangers could speak his language. now, he broke out into a voluble explanation, all in spanish of course, as to how to treat a mule. walker stood off laughing heartily at the whole situation. adair mackenzie did not understand one single word of what was being said to him, but it was coming forth so fast that he could neither interrupt nor stop the flow. for once in his life he looked utterly helpless. alice was as amused as walker. "poor dear," she said, "to think that he should come all of this way to be baffled by a mule and a man whose philosophy says 'tomorrow', we will do it 'tomorrow'." adair saw their smiles. it was more than he could stand, more than any man could stand. awkwardly, he dismounted from his beast, walked around in front and shook his ever present cane at him. the beast did nothing but blink. "why, wh-wh-why, you good-for-nothing, senseless, no-count, beast you," he burst forth in a torrent, "if you think you can stop me, you're mistaken. you'll go up there if i have to carry you and you'll not take a picture of that either," adair turned to nan with this last. it was somehow much more satisfying to explode to nan than to either the beast or the mexican. "no, cousin," nan answered as seriously as she could. "and don't be meek either." he brandished his cane again. "never get anyplace like that." there was no satisfying the man now. neither agreement nor disagreement could placate him. nan kept still. it was alice finally, who smoothed his ruffled feelings and got him back on the mule. "now, daddy," she said quietly, "if you'll just sit quietly and wait, the mule will go, but you can't beat him into action the way you do me." saying this she laughed up at him. he stooped over and kissed her. it was nice to see this father and daughter together. they seemed to understand one another perfectly. adair, explode as he might, could never frighten alice. she knew how soft-hearted and kind he was underneath all his crust. she had known from babyhood that he wouldn't intentionally, for all his angry outbursts, hurt anyone. now, having smoothed his ruffled feelings some, she let walker assist her back on her mule. the party moved slowly along the narrow stony trail while huge limbs of great palm trees waved slightly above them. reaching the top of a high hill on the estate they looked out over the countryside. "what's that?" laura, ever curious, indicated a point in the distance, something that showed black against the sky and that clearly had been built by man. walker drew forth his field glasses and directed his glance toward the object. "can't be sure," he rendered his verdict after some thought, "but think it might be a pyramid. there are several in the district you know. perhaps the most famous of them all is the one that a hunter down from new york discovered three or four years ago. it's rather inaccessible, but such an old one that some old codger in the east with a lot of money on his hands donated a considerable sum to have it opened." "what did they find?" nan asked. "oh, lots of dried up bones." "that all?" nan sounded disappointed. "well, not exactly," walker admitted and then stopped. he enjoyed teasing these youngsters. "well, what did they find then," nan persisted. "some jewels. some gold. some exceptionally fine pottery." "and--" nan saw that he was still holding out. "some poison spiders that killed three members of the excavation party. now you satisfied?" walker grinned down at her. "well, yes," nan agreed. "but i still want to visit a pyramid sometime." "visit those in egypt," walker advised. "there's nothing more impressive." "you been there?" nan questioned. the path was wide enough so that they could ride now with their mules side by side. "yes, years ago, with my father," walker answered. "he had a bad case of the wanderlust, so whenever he could scrape a few dollars together, off he would go to some outlandish place." "taking your mother with him?" "oh, sometimes. she went up into alaska when he went to pan gold from the streams. she went down into south america when he went as an engineer on a big industrial project. and she went when he set out for russia after the revolution, but after that she gave up." "you must be like your father," nan commented. "oh, a little," walker admitted. "but i haven't quite got the wanderlust as much as he has. he could go into raptures over anything that was far away from him. i've been thinking of him a lot today, riding over this estate. he spent some time down here in mexico, and never grew tired of extolling the country. this was after my mother died. "though we are not entering the country at all that he was fondest of, i've been thinking of his descriptions of it, especially after seeing that pyramid in the distance. "it was down in oaxaca and was called, i believe, tehuantepec. it took days to get there by horseback, according to his account, and the route was through tropical jungles more dense than any others in the world. you see my father never saw mediocre things," he explained by the way. "the city itself lay on a river by the same name in a gorgeous tropical setting surrounded by orchards and many gardens, all shaded by flowering trees and palms. "the population was largely indian, a tribe that had its own language and preserved its own traditions, but it seems that above all this particular tribe was known for its beautiful women, more independent, more lovely, and more beautifully dressed than any of the women in other tribes. "he described them as being tall, well-built, and industrious. their dresses consisted of long full skirts made of bright colors with a deep white flounce at the bottom, that swept the ground and covered their bare feet. the blouse was short and square-necked and for adornment they wore much jewelry, earrings and long heavy chains hung with ten and twenty american gold pieces. "they had a graceful carriage, walking straight and firmly with an ease that only those women who have been trained to carry things on their head have. these people, he said, carry their flowers, fruit, and foods to the market in painted gourd bowls perched firmly on the crowns of their heads. "ah, yes, those people were perfect, more perfect my father said than any he had ever come across. but then, my father," walker admitted boyishly, "always did tell a grand tale." "so that's why you became a newspaper man," nan concluded. "yes, i suppose so," walker admitted. "you know this taste for queer places and queer things is often bred right in your bones." "say, what are you two talking about back there?" adair mackenzie suddenly became conscious of the fact that two in his party were paying no attention whatsoever to him and his troubles with his mule. had he had a horse, he would liked to have galloped back beside them, but with a mule there was no galloping. as it was he turned the mule's head sharply. it was just too much. the mule was tired of his burden anyway, so before anyone realized at all what was happening, adair was deposited firmly on the ground and the mule, with more intelligence perhaps than he had been given credit for, was gazing at him soberly. chapter xxiii in a patio "are you hurt? daddy, are you hurt?" alice cried, but even as she did, tears of laughter were rolling down her cheeks. she had never in her life seen her father in such a ridiculous position, which was saying something, for adair mackenzie had a knack of getting himself in more absurd situations than anyone else in the world. "stop your blubbering." adair was thoroughly irritated this time. "i'll conquer you yet." he scolded the mule. "think you can vanquish adair mackenzie, do you? i'll show you." but to all of this scolding that fell dully on the tropical verdure about them, that sounded harsh and out of place in the soft greenness of the scene, the mule never blinked an eyelash. "daddy, are you hurt?" alice repeated her question as she took hold of one arm while walker jamieson took the other. but their offers of assistance went unappreciated. adair mackenzie merely shook off their hands, used his own to push himself up, and then stood, brushing himself off while he continued his tirade. "now, you're going home, and you're going to stay there." adair spluttered off into the kind of scolding that he might have given an erring child. with this, he about faced and walked, leading the mule beside him the three miles back to the hacienda. it was a quiet party, but one full of suppressed mirth, that wound its way back over the path. the lakeview hall girls could scarcely contain themselves until they got in their apartments. "it was just perfect." laura laughed heartily. "did you see the way he looked, and the way the donkey looked?" amelia asked. "they just stared at one another until i thought that cousin adair would beat the beast with his cane." "i thought of that, too," bess said. "but i guess he's too kind-hearted to do anything like that." bess was right. adair mackenzie had never in his life made any attempt to hurt a dumb animal in any way until that morning when he had dug his heels in irritation into the mule's side. at home, he always had animals about him, a dog that was now well along in years, a stable full of horses, and yes, a mule that he once bought on the street when he saw its master trying to beat it into moving along. "the crust of that mule," laura said slangily. "did it ever do my heart good to see its stubbornness matched against mr. mackenzie's! i wonder what kind of a character sketch he would make of it, if he had the chance, that is, i mean, if the mule could understand him." "probably, 'stubborn fool' and let it go at that," nan answered. "anyway his troubles with that mule will never be forgotten." "and 'stubborn as a mule', will always mean something to us now," nan added. "now, we've got to get ready and get downstairs. dinner's going to be ready very shortly." so the girls changed their clothes, washed, combed and presented themselves downstairs all clean and neat. there was no one around. they walked through the great hall and out into the patio. still they found no one except the servants. "i never saw so much help in all my life," grace remarked. "why, just millions of people work here. i haven't seen the same person twice at all." "didn't you hear walker jamieson say that labor's cheap in this country?" nan explained. "everyone has one or two or three servants. but i wonder where cousin adair and everyone is now." she hadn't long to wait, for just as she spoke they heard loud voices from the direction of the kitchen at the back, and shortly adair, alice and walker appeared. "there that's done," adair slapped his hands together as though he had just disposed of a mighty problem. "trouble, trouble all the while," he looked at the girls as he spoke. "if it isn't one thing, it's another. one moment it's a mule and the next it's a woman." he looked utterly worn out, and nan felt sorry for him. "oh, daddy, don't take mrs. o'malley too seriously," alice tried to ease his worry. "too seriously! well, i like that," adair exclaimed. "when the best housekeeper in all christendom threatens to walk out on you, tell me now, what are you supposed to do? say, all right, go ahead? just what would you do, now?" he looked at alice. she hesitated. "there," he didn't give her a chance to answer, "she'd walk out on you before you did anything. you can't hesitate in serious matters like this. you have to act. but never mind," he turned to his guests, "you don't need to worry. i have acted. mrs. o'malley has promised to stay. the chinese cook has promised to stay. everyone's staying. there'll be no deserting the ship on this trip." "that's fine, daddy," alice complimented him. "and now when do we have dinner?" "dinner? where's dinner?" adair was off again. he picked up a bell and rang it forcefully. everyone, except the famous mrs. o'malley and the chinese cook came running. people came out of doors, in through the arches of the patio, and stuck their heads out from windows. everyone thought that there was something radically wrong. when they saw that it was just the american again, they disappeared as quickly as they came. the old women shook their heads. would he never learn, they wondered, that there was no necessity to rush anything, that if you let things just go their own quiet, placid way, they would eventually work themselves out. they couldn't understand this man who had come to them as their master. already, thanks to the guide of the morning, legends about him and his wrath were spreading around the place. the wireless that civilization knows is fast, but the grapevine among the mexican indians was even more effective. when he saw the commotion he had caused, adair mackenzie sat down, and shortly dinner appeared, as it would have appeared even though he had done nothing. the dinner was good and the cool fruit juices that followed it were good. and everyone sat, as long as the warmth of the day permitted, in the patio under the tropical sky and talked some, sat silent more, for it was all very peaceful. "so you're not going to work on that smuggling story after all?" adair mackenzie asked walker just before they all got up to go in. "well, i wouldn't say that," walker answered carefully. "feel the need of a little rest now and i like this place and i like the people and it's hard to tear myself away." "we thank you, don't we?" adair took his daughter's hand in his. he felt vaguely that there was something more serious in all of this than appeared on the surface, but just now he was too tired to question. he squeezed alice's hand. chapter xxiv stolen! "nan, it's a letter from rhoda," bess repeated the information twice before she got any response at all, and then it was only a grunt. it was the morning after the famous mule-back excursion, and nan was in her room alone until bess's entrance. "whatever are you doing?" bess asked when she saw that nan, strangely enough, didn't seem to be interested in her bit of information. "oh, bess, i can't find it anyplace," nan looked as though the world had come to an end. she had all that she could do to keep from crying. "find what?" "oh, my ring. you know the one i mean, the one old mr. blake gave me in scotland last summer. he said it was a family heirloom and that i should keep it as long as i lived and then see that it was passed on down to my children. now, it's gone and i'm sure i left it in this room when we went away yesterday." "are you sure, nan?" bess looked worried too, now. the ring was a lovely thing with the bluest of blue sapphires in an old-fashioned gold setting. bess had coveted it herself, and often wanted to wear it. but she respected nan's sentiment about the bit of jewelry enough to have not even asked to try it on. now it was gone! "when did you wear it last?" "bess, i had it on yesterday morning before we went on that trip by muleback and i took it off because i was afraid i would lose it. i left it in this box i'm sure, and it isn't here now. i've looked through it a dozen times." as she finished, she proffered the box to bess, who took it, opened it up, and carefully looked through the trinkets contained therein. the ring wasn't there. "have you told anybody, yet?" bess questioned. "no, but if it doesn't come to light pretty soon, i'm going to tell cousin adair. i'm almost afraid to do that, because he values the ring almost as much as i. he saw it once, he said, when he was in scotland, and he was proud to think that it came to me. now i've lost it, and i'm sure he'll think that i've been very careless." "it doesn't matter what he thinks," bess said firmly. "you'd better tell him right away. if someone has stolen it, he's the only one that can find the culprit. come on, let's go downstairs now. or do you want me to hunt first?" "yes, do that." nan did dread telling adair mackenzie of her loss. bess looked thoroughly, but nowhere could she find the ring. so together, the two girls went down the stairs, bess this time in the role of comforter. they found adair out in the gardens talking as best he could with an old gardener who knew at least a few words of english. adair looked up at their entrance. "so you like flowers, too," he greeted them. nan nodded her head, and then couldn't say anything for a few minutes. "why, what's the matter, nancy child," adair was all sympathy as he noted the worried look on the girl's face. "nothing serious, i hope." "i'm afraid it is," nan answered. "you know my ring--" "the sapphire ring that you brought home from scotland?" adair said. "yes," nan nodded her head to indicate that he was right. "it's missing." "what do you mean, missing?" adair asked. "have you lost it?" "no, it was in my room, and it's gone now." nan said this very positively. "gone, gone where?" adair flared up as usual. "that's what i don't know," nan was having a difficult time being patient. "i wish i did." "you think it's stolen." adair now had the girls by the arm and was taking them back to the hacienda. "i don't like to say that," nan hedged. "if that's what happened, speak up." adair wanted to get to the bottom of this right away and although he was very fond of nan he wasn't going to spare her or her feelings any now. the ring, he felt, was a personal loss to him too and as he went into the house, he was determined to find it. first he quizzed all the girls to find out, if by chance, they knew of anything that would indicate that nan was mistaken. they didn't. no one had seen her wearing it after the time at which she said she had put it away. then he quizzed all of the upstairs' servants. this was done with walker's help, since he was the only one in the crowd that knew any spanish at all. again, there was no light cast on the mystery. he called in all the rest of the house servants, with no results. then he blustered and fumed and threatened, but this to no avail. finally, with one last grand threat that he would find out who the culprit was in spite of everybody, he sent everyone from the room. the girls went up to their quarters together. "now, who do you suppose could have done anything like that?" bess wondered as they all sat around listlessly and hopelessly, for there was nothing that they could do. "do you suspect anyone, nan?" "no one in this whole wide world." nan answered wholeheartedly. "the servants since we have been here have all been just as nice as they could be. i don't think there is a one of them that would stoop to anything like that." "it doesn't seem possible," soft-spoken grace agreed, "but then someone has taken it. we're sure of that." "as sure as we are of anything," nan said. "is it very valuable, nan?" amelia asked. "oh, i don't know that," nan answered. "i think, however, that the value is mostly sentimental. it was originally given to one of the blakes as a reward by the king. it was supposed then to have the power to bring the king's soldiers to the help of the person wearing it, in whatever trouble he might be. "there is a story that once, someone who owned it committed treason and was about to be beheaded when he brought forth the ring. it saved him, even then, and instead of killing him they banished him to another country for ten years. ordinarily, it would have been death or a life banishment, but the ring's power was mighty." "maybe then," laura suggested, "if you or your cousin will offer a reward, the ring will turn up. the person that stole it probably thought that it was valuable." "i thought of that," nan answered, "but cousin adair says 'no,' that he will get the ring back without any such monkey business. so i guess we'll just have to leave it up to him." chapter xxv bess has suspicions they did leave it up to adair mackenzie, and for several days nothing happened. the house was like a morgue, for everyone suspected everyone else and the servants were all under suspicion. finally, nan couldn't stand it any longer, and decided to do a little investigating on her own. it was bess who put her on the track. "i don't trust chinamen," bess had confided and then felt foolish immediately afterward, for if there was one thing that nan resented above all others, it was race prejudice in any form. "oh, bess, don't be silly," nan dismissed the statement shortly. "but i don't," bess persisted. "elizabeth harley," nan exclaimed, "if you make that remark again, i'll never speak to you as long as i live." nan was cross and irritable these days, because nothing seemed to be going right and she felt that if she hadn't said anything about the ring in the first place, everyone would be enjoying themselves. "but nan," bess put her arm around her friend. "i don't mean it all the way you think. i haven't liked the cook ever since that first day when he had a fight with mrs. o'malley and she's such a dear too." "oh, but bess, you know how that happened," nan protested. "mrs. o'malley went into the kitchen that he had run for some twenty years and tried to tell him what to do. he just wouldn't stand for it." "even then, i don't like him." bess persisted. "he's been horrid and mean to all of us ever since we've been here. i think he stole your ring, and if you don't do something about it, i'm going to tell mr. mackenzie myself." "see here, bess," nan was very serious now. "if you don't keep quiet about what you have just been saying to me, i'm going to be very angry. i don't want suspicions being cast on people who haven't done anything, and i don't think he has, honestly." bess paused and thought before she said anything further. "and bess," nan said more softly now, "don't resent the way i've talked to you these days. i feel very troubled." bess felt badly too now. it wasn't very often that nan let her temper get away with her, and since she had, bess thought, she must be more troubled than any of us realize. so the subject was dropped between the two friends. but bess's remarks had done their work. when nan was alone, the thought of what bess had said, came back to her again and again. she dismissed it impatiently at first, but then little things about the cook began to come to her attention constantly. finally she determined to do something about it all and so, one day when she was alone, she went back to the kitchen. she was just about to open the door and go through when she heard loud voices. "i tell you it's not enough," one, an american voice was saying. "alle samee, it's all i can get." the voice of the cook came to her in reply. nan stopped, startled. this, why, this verified bess's suspicions. nan stood back and listened further, but heard nothing. she had come in on the end of the argument. shortly, she heard a door slam on the other side of the kitchen, and then there were no more sounds at all. she waited for some time, and then cautiously opened the door and went in. over in one corner, the cook, alone, was busy preparing the evening meal. he looked up as the girl entered, and was on the point of reprimanding her for invading his quarters when he stopped, recognizing her. he waited then, resentfully, for her to speak. nan was equally wary however, so there was a moment of embarrassed silence, before either said anything. then, as they stood waiting, a call outside distracted their attention. the cook answered it, and when he returned, they both felt more at ease. he brought her a stool to sit on and offered her some of his choice cookies, so before long they were talking to one another. they talked about little things, and nan went away without mentioning the ring or the conversation she had heard at all. but she went back the next day. following this procedure it wasn't long before the cook poured out his whole sorry tale. nan later, when she got walker jamieson alone, told it and swore him to secrecy. "then he took the ring," walker concluded, when the story had all been told. "he hasn't said so," nan was being very careful that the facts were all understood as they were, not as other people might imagine them to be. "no, not in so many words," walker agreed, "but then, he did. you and i know that, and it's not necessary to tell anyone at all anything about this yet. it's a bigger story than you realize," he ended, "and it has many, many more angles than this particular one. let me work on it awhile without any interference." nan agreed to this, and so the two conspirators parted. chapter xxvi serenaders "what's going on downstairs?" laura came into nan's room quietly. "of course, it's none of my business," she went on, "but everything seems to be in an uproar. your cousin is ranting around as i've never seen him rant before, and walker jamieson is there and he looks as though everything is wrong with the world." "why, i don't know," nan looked up from the diary she was writing, a diary in which she kept a day by day account of her trip. but she looked worried. had walker, after all, told the story that they had promised to keep a secret and was her cousin insisting on getting to the bottom of everything right away? "what were they talking about?" she asked laura. "i don't know," laura answered. "when i came through the room, they stopped, and seemed to be waiting until i got out, before continuing. i got the point and hurried. i was only after a magazine that i had left in the room, anyway. but even for the short time i was in there, the air seemed so heavy with emotion that you could cut it." "and you didn't hear anything?" nan repeated the thought of her former question. "i said, 'no'." laura insisted. "why, what did you expect me to hear?" she looked at her friend intently. as bess often did in similar circumstances, laura now felt that nan knew much more about what was going on downstairs than she wanted to reveal. "oh, nothing," nan managed to say this airily, as though she truly had had nothing in view when she asked the question. so saying, she screwed the top on her fountain pen, put her diary away, and stamped a letter she had just written home. with these little things done, she turned again to laura, "do you know that grace's brother and his friends are expected here at the hacienda tomorrow?" she asked. "are they? tomorrow?" laura had been out in the courtyard watching some mexican youngsters at play when grace had told nan. now, the information was a surprise to her. "what's been planned? how many will there be? how long will they stay?" the questions rolled off her tongue one after the other, until nan stopped her. "oh, laura," she said, "one at a time, please. we've not planned anything definite yet and we don't know how many nor how long, but we're hoping that they can stay at least a week. isn't it all going to be fun!" "yes," laura was almost as excited as nan. "it's going to be grand to have them all here. now, let's go and get the other girls and plan something." but before they could get out of the room, the others came bursting in. "oh, do you know," bess got the words out first, "walter and his friends probably will arrive tonight." amelia and grace nodded their heads in unison. "how do you know?" nan asked. "here's a telegram." grace waved it in the air. "it says," she read, "'arriving tonight. six of us. anxious to see you. walter.' i wonder when they'll get here." saying this, she went over to the windows and looked down into the courtyard as though she expected them at once. then she turned toward the others again, "how good it's going to be!" she exclaimed. "i've been a little lonesome for someone from home ever since rhoda's mother became so ill." "have you, gracie?" nan put her arm affectionately around the more timid girl's shoulder. "i guess we all have been. it will be good to see walter because he has seen all our parents since we left. now let's go downstairs and tell cousin adair." but the girls lingered a little while longer, talking and planning. "it must have been fate that kept us there," laura laughed afterwards, for one of the very nicest things of all their trip happened just before they departed. it was nan who heard it first, that faint far-away sound of the strumming of a guitar. "sh! quiet!" she broke in on the hubbub in the room. "what's that i hear?" they all listened for a second. "oh, nothing." laura waved the question aside, "and do you think we can get mr. mackenzie to go with us again on a mule ride over the estate?" she went on with the planning of entertainment for the boys. "it is too something," nan insisted, for she heard again the sound of music. "listen!" "oh, nan, you're hearing things," laura perhaps was more impatient than any of the others, for she was intrigued with the idea of asking adair to get on a mule again, and she wanted to talk about it. "she isn't either." bess heard the strains now. "i hear something too." "come--oh, look!" nan was at a balcony window beckoning the others eagerly. they all clustered round her, and there in the moonlit courtyard below them walter and his friends were serenading the girls. when they all appeared, the music grew louder, stronger, and the boys harmonized their voices as they sang for the second time, "soft o'er the fountain, ling'ring falls the southern moon; far o'er the mountain, breaks the day too soon! in thy dark eyes' splendor, where the warm light loves to dwell, weary looks, yet tender, speak their fond fare-well. nita! juanita!--" as they swung into the chorus, the girls, laughing but enjoying it all thoroughly, pulled flowers that they had picked that day from the garden from their dresses and threw them down. the chorus ended, and the girls clapped. the boys laughed up at them, and others in the courtyard who had been attracted by the music called for more. it was all very gay and happy. the boys did sing an encore, and then as alice and adair came out on the veranda they broke off, and walter went up the steps and introduced himself and his friends. the girls came down and they all had a merry evening together, talking over the million and one things that had been happening. it was not until the afternoon of the next day, that nan and walter had a moment alone together. then she told him the story of her missing ring. "then the cook didn't actually tell you that he took it?" walter asked at the end. "no, but he implied it," nan answered, "and i'm as sure he did as i am certain that he is not to be blamed." walter couldn't restrain the smile that came at this. nan always trusted people, always felt that there was good in everyone. this was one of the things that first attracted walter to her. somehow, she, unlike many others her own age, never found enjoyment in criticising others. she seemed to understand their faults and to be able to explain them sympathetically no matter what they were. now, in talking of the man whom she felt sure had stolen her ring, she honestly believed that, in doing so, he had been influenced by conditions over which he had no control. she felt sorry for him, and didn't want to do him any injury. this was one of the big reasons why she had pledged walker jamieson to secrecy. "and what does mr. mackenzie think of all of this?" walter asked just before nan left him to dress for dinner. "oh, he doesn't know anything about it at all," nan hastened to explain, "and i don't want you to say a thing. this is all a secret until--until--until--" "until what?" walter looked at the young girl curiously, as she stopped midway in her sentence. "until it's solved," nan smiled at her friend, and then refused to explain further. "nancy sherwood," walter spoke seriously now, "if you're not careful, you're going to get yourself all involved in a plot that might hurt you. come, be sensible for once. either forget the ring entirely, or tell your cousin all that you know about it. promise?" nan shook her head. she couldn't tell walter that she and walker had already made certain promises about the ring and the chinaman's part in its disappearance. she couldn't tell him that the reporter sensed a big story and asked her to protect the details until he had arrived at a solution. she couldn't tell him, but she wanted to. now it was grace who saved what otherwise might have been an embarrassing situation. she came out into the corner of the patio where nan and walter were standing. "nan," she asked, "did you know that walker jamieson left the hacienda early this afternoon and that he took his bags with him?" "left the hacienda!" nan exclaimed, "are you sure, grace?" "as sure as i am of anything," grace replied, "and if you don't believe me you can either wait to see if he appears at dinner, or you can go in right now and ask bess." chapter xxvii walker departs however, it was bess who sought nan out, and that before grace had barely had time to finish divulging her bit of news. "what did i tell you?" bess greeted nan as soon as she could find her. "what do you mean?" nan retorted. "i mean that talk we had some time ago up in your room." "what talk?" nan pretended to have forgotten. "you know as well as i," bess responded impatiently. "i mean that talk about walker and alice. it was nice, but it's all over now." "what do you mean?" "i mean that walker talked to your cousin sometime yesterday, that your cousin was simply furious, and that walker jamieson has left, never to return!" "oh, bess, don't get romantic about it," nan said abruptly. "now get your breath and tell me actually what you know." "i have," bess insisted. "walker wanted to marry alice and adair mackenzie said 'no!' walker left without saying goodby to anyone and nobody knows when he is going to return if at all. alice has gone to her room, and everybody in the house is all broken up, except the old housekeeper. all she does is shake her head and say 'you just wait. this will all be all right in the end. young people are too hasty.' "imagine that!" bess ran on indignantly. "she says young people are too hasty, when all the trouble here is caused by mr. mackenzie and he certainly isn't young!" "elizabeth harley, you be careful!" nan warned her friend. "you don't know for sure whether what you are saying is true or not. you'll have everybody in trouble if you don't watch out." "but nan, i could just cry," bess protested. "he is such a nice person and so is she. and now it's all spoiled." "hush, bess," nan spoke more softly now. then she looked over at walter as though begging him to leave them for a few moments which he did. "now, see here," she spoke sternly to bess when he disappeared. "if there is anything at all in what you say, and i doubt it, there is nothing in the world to be gained by crying and talking and interfering." "i'm not interfering!" bess was indignant. "well, then talking about it," nan corrected herself. "we can't do anything about it except sit around and wait. i don't believe that walker has gone away for the reason you say he has at all, and if he has, he'll be back." "well, if he hasn't gone away for that reason, why has he gone at all?" bess demanded. "you can't tell," nan answered lamely. why was it, she thought, that she was forever running into the secret that she had promised walker she would keep. she had done the same thing ten minutes ago with walter. now she was doing it with her best friend. "you've just got to wait and find out," she added. "come on, bess," she made a decided effort to change the subject, "let's go in and get the camera. i want to take some pictures of the boys. anyway we are neglecting them by staying out here like this." "neglecting them!" bess exclaimed. "they've done nothing all day but sit around and loaf. they're a lazy bunch, and we all had such high hopes." she let her sentence die away tragically. "why," she wrinkled up her nose at nan, as she spoke, "are boys in general so dumb? oh, walter's all right, but all the rest are just like bumps on a log." "no, they aren't," nan denied. "don't you remember last night when they were all out there below our balconies? you didn't think they were bumps on a log then, did you?" bess shook her head and her eyes shone. "no, that was grand," she said. "but today, they just don't do anything." "maybe they think that we're neglecting them?" nan suggested. "well, let them," bess flounced away from nan and into the house. nan looked bewilderedly after her. "what can be wrong with bess," she asked herself and then did go after her camera. if bess didn't want any pictures of the visitors, she did. a few hours later, after an afternoon siesta and a long cool refreshing drink of fruit juices beneath the palms of the courtyard, everyone felt better. alice's eyes were red and swollen with crying, but she made an appearance. adair mackenzie was even more terse than usual, but he was kinder too. and bess who had but three hours before found the boys so disagreeable now was surrounded by them. she was telling them in low tones of the donkey episode of the day before. it was all very cheerful and pleasant despite the emptiness that was felt because of walker's absence. however, no one mentioned his name. in fact, he might have remained away from the hacienda, away from alice, indefinitely, if it hadn't been for adair himself, adair and nan. "well, well, girls, how do you like your new home now?" adair mackenzie was feeling somewhat talkative after his long refreshing drink of loganberry juice. "a pretty nice place, isn't it?" he looked about himself with a satisfied sort of appreciation. adair mackenzie for all of his scotch blood and his leanings toward economy really liked the good things of life. this southern home pleased him. "it's grand, cousin adair," nan answered for them all. "perfectly grand. there's only one thing that's lacking." "and that?" "we're missing rhoda. she was so excited about the plans to come down here that she could hardly contain herself, and now we won't see her all summer. we won't see her until we get back to school in the fall." "who said you wouldn't?" adair asked suddenly. "don't jump to conclusions like that. just to show you how wrong you are--you're leaving tomorrow morning by plane to visit with this hammond girl over the week end, and then if it's at all possible, she is to come back with you to stay here for a week or two. now, how's that?" chapter xxviii nan's big adventure nan couldn't answer for a moment, then unexpectedly, even to herself, she threw her arms around adair mackenzie's neck and kissed him. "tut! tut!" he straightened his necktie and adjusted the soft white collar of his shirt after her hug. "can't stand for this. what's the matter? aren't you pleased?" "oh, dear!" nan's face was flushed and her eyes bright as she answered. "there was never in all this wide world a nicer cousin than you are being to me." "wait a second," adair was immensely pleased at this outburst. "what will these young men all think of you? want to make them jealous of an old codger like me? better watch out." nan looked at the boys sitting around the ground and in the big comfortable chairs and blushed furiously. she had completely forgotten, at the announcement of her proposed journey that anyone else was present beside the girls whom she knew so well. but her embarrassment couldn't last long in the face of the excitement. nan was going for rhoda! nan was going by plane to get rhoda and bring her back. nan was going to start the next morning and by monday she would be back, having flown half the length of mexico to the border and then from there to rose ranch. it was exciting to think of, but then a thousand, a million times more exciting in reality, for all sorts of unexpected things were to come about as the result of that ride. now, nan could scarcely contain herself as she sat in the group and listened to the little everyday things they were talking about. the only thing that really penetrated her consciousness was the fact that she was leaving and that when she returned walter and his friends would have left. adair brought this fact to life. in his free open, hospitable style, he tried to induce the youngsters to linger. he liked them, liked the excitement they had caused, for in spite of bess's complaint to nan that they were a dull lot, they kept things moving from the moment they serenaded their hostesses until they left. through the days there had been hikes, parties, a visit into the interior by auto, and an excursion to a small village where the indians were celebrating a native holiday. they had seen them dressed in native dress, dancing native dances with all the abandon of a people freed from the daily routine, and they had witnessed one of their elaborate religious rites in which the ritual of the church and the ritual of pagan ancestors who had worshipped the sun god were mingled with one another to result in a queer worship that was unlike anything any place else in the world. then they all went to a moving picture show where roberta taylor, the pretty little american actress whom everybody adored spoke in spanish. how queer that seemed! they had all seen the film--it was an old one--in a theatre in chicago, but how different it seemed now with all the conversation translated into spanish. they giggled when the heroine looked up at her tall american hero and murmured "señor, señor," and when he greeted her with "buenos días" and other common spanish phrases. it was all very charming and amusing and everyone had a grand time. but now nan was going to leave and the boys were going to leave. the evening, in spite of the excitement about nan's proposed journey, turned a little sad when they all gathered around walter and his guitar to sing as they had each night since he arrived. the songs they sang were all sad little songs. by next morning all this was forgotten. the girls were all thrilled over rhoda's coming. they had telegraphed to tell her what was happening and she had wired back that her mother was well enough now so that she could carry out the plans that adair mackenzie had made with such enjoyment, for he did enjoy doing things for other people. he liked being santa claus the year round. so, by ten o'clock the next day a whole caravan drew up to the airport and walter, his friends, bess, laura, grace, amelia, adair and alice saw nan off. how exciting it was, getting the ticket, standing by while the plane's motors were warmed up, and then, when the passengers started to get in, taking pictures of the plane, of the people around it, and of the crew. finally, she was off and nan was soaring over the heads of all her friends. she looked out the window and waved a big white handkerchief, but already she seemed part of the clouds and those below, waving too, couldn't see her. how much fun it was climbing, climbing, climbing. nan wasn't worried at all. she looked out. around her were clouds and beneath her the mountains of mexico were stretched out. she was higher than the mountains! her spirits soared with the thought and she looked around at her fellow passengers, two men who were in earnest conversation, a woman with a small child beside her, and another man who seemed to be alone. none of them looked particularly interesting and nan returned to her watching of the landscape, so when, after they had traveled for some time, there was a commotion up in the pilot's cabin and the one traveler who seemed alone stood up and quietly ordered everyone to put his hands up, nan was taken completely by surprise. "hands up, there, you!" the remark was addressed to nan when she failed to comply with the first request. she put her hands up. the woman with the baby screamed. the baby cried. nan put her hands down and moved to help the two. "put your hands up there!" the order came again in good american diction. nan did. the voice meant business. now the plane began to rock. it slowed down some and glided down a hill of air to taxi across a field in a place far removed from civilization. now, for the first time, nan was really frightened. somehow, up in the air, she hadn't been very scared. it had all happened too suddenly. now, with her feet on the ground, however, she felt as though she was going to faint. she clenched her fists at her side, gritted her teeth, and stood waiting for the next move. it came, quickly. everyone was ordered to surrender his pass to cross the border, told to remove his luggage, and then together, they were hurried over the rough ground to a cabin and locked in. shortly, they heard the motors of the great plane again and then the drone as it swung around over head and went off in the direction it was headed for before anything happened--the united states. the passengers, they were only nan and the woman with the baby--the men had all been involved in the plot--looked at one another in consternation. what had happened? were they being kidnapped and why? how long would they be left in this deserted spot? they tried the doors and the windows. someone outside yelled a warning to them. they paced the floor and the baby cried a pathetic little cry. they tried to help it, but still it cried, a baffled little cry. chapter xxix happily ever after! "passenger plane x headed toward the border missing. nan sherwood--" walker jamieson in a newspaper office in mexico city got no further as the news came over the wire. he grabbed a phone, asked for long distance, and called the hacienda. yes, they had received the news. no, they didn't know anything beyond what walker did. nan was traveling alone. walker breathed a deep sigh of relief at this. he had been afraid that alice was with her. it was all a complete mystery. couldn't walker do something? this plea came from alice herself and it wrung his heart. "i'll try." these were the words with which he hung up and somehow they comforted the young woman on the phone. she turned to her father and said simply, "it was walker. he'll help." and walker did. while government planes swooped back and forth again and again across the country looking for a wrecked plane, walker was busy working out his own theories. "i tell you," he was calling his new york editor, "there's a whale of a good story here, one that's bigger than anyone has guessed. this is no mere plane accident. "how do i know? oh, just smart that way. can't tell you more now. want to go through with it? it will cost plenty of dough. need a plane and a couple of darn good pilots. "sky's the limit, you say? okey-doke." with this he slammed the receiver down and was off. he went to the united states embassy, called the hacienda again, hired a plane and zoomed off in the direction x was headed for when it disappeared. for hours he and his pilot combed the district and found nothing that satisfied walker. then, along about nightfall a lone shack in a deserted district attracted his attention. the plane dropped down. nan heard it, from her shack prison she heard it and thought that it was the x returning. while she waited, she didn't know what she wanted the more--to have the plane come or have it stay away. if it stayed away, she thought, that somehow, some way they could get out of the cabin, but to what end she couldn't imagine. in the meantime, she was concerned over the child and the fear that it would starve. she waited tensely as the motor died, as she heard footsteps approaching the cabin. a voice called. where had she heard it before? could it possibly be--walker! was she dreaming? she heard it again. this time she answered and a great flood of relief came over her. it was he! she ran to the door and shook it, although she had done it a dozen times before during the day and nothing had happened. because walker was here now, because there was someone out there that she knew, she felt that almost anything might come true. she pushed and shouted and beat upon the door. walker called to her again. this time she answered. his relief was as great as hers. she was alive. his hunch was right! he too beat upon the door with all his strength, pulled and pushed, but to no avail. then he and the pilots got a beam and rammed it into the unresisting blockade. after what seemed hours, the door moved on its hinges, then gave way and walker found nan, the pluckiest little girl in the world he said later, unharmed by her experience. "but mr. jamieson," nan questioned him as the plane he had brought took to the air with the pilots and the other prisoners, the woman and child, "how did you guess what had happened?" he didn't hear her at first. he was already busy planning the release on the tale he had pieced together. the lead--"plucky nan sherwood found alive in deserted shack in wilderness. gang of smugglers exposed in daring attempt to take plane load of chinese across the border." sounded good, he was thinking, but they really hadn't been exposed as yet. he knew how they worked, but he didn't know who they were. he turned now to nan to see if he could find a clue. "what did the men who imprisoned you look like?" he questioned her. nan described them briefly. "did you hear or see anyone besides the people you saw in the plane?" he questioned. nan hadn't, but as he talked she had an inspiration. "oh, i know, maybe i can help you!" she exclaimed. then she told him of the pictures she had snapped before boarding the transport. the rest of the plane ride was a dash toward a place where the pictures could be developed. one by one they were brought forth from the developing fluid, until it seemed as though the inspiration had not been such a fortunate one after all. but walker didn't give up. it was the last one that brought the desired results. "why, i know that man." walker jamieson summoned forth from his long experience as a newspaperman, the recollection of a story about an aviator who had been discharged from the airplane mail service because of irregularities. here was a picture of the man. nan took it up and studied it. "why, i know him too!" she exclaimed. "of course you do," walker agreed. "he was one of the men who held up the plane, wasn't he?" "yes, and not only that," nan now divulged a surprising bit of information, "he was present at the bull fight in mexico city a few days ago." "what do you mean?" walker looked at her intently. "he was there with a former schoolmate, a linda riggs, and he was introduced to cousin adair by her." "his name?" nan searched back in her memory before she answered. "arthur--" "howard?" walker supplied the name. "that's right." nan was smiling now, thinking of bess's glee when she found out what a position linda would be in when this story came out. "so, you perhaps can even locate him," walker looked at the amazing youngster beside him. "linda is staying--oh, i don't know." nan looked disappointed as she remembered that they hadn't exchanged addresses with the girl. but it didn't matter, before the night was over, linda riggs, thoroughly frightened because she had unwittingly entertained and been entertained by an international crook, revealed all she knew about his whereabouts. and before the morning run of the great metropolitan daily that walker was associated with had gone to press, the story was completed. arthur howard using visitors' passes stolen at the border and altered to suit his needs passed back and forth freely between the united states and mexico. he was engaged in smuggling chinese across and in this particularly daring attempt to finish up a big job had, after he held up the plane on which nan had been a passenger, loaded it heavily with men who had paid high prices to make the trip. the chinese cook at the hacienda had been involved because he had paid a high price to try to get a relative of his across. the ring stolen from nan was his last desperate effort to finish his payments, payments which had been draining all of his resources for months and had taken all of his life's savings. this was the part of his story that he had told nan after she had won his confidence. needless to say, arthur howard and his gang were rounded up by a group of united states g-men and he received a long prison sentence after a startling trial. but to nan and her friends at the hacienda, the most important result of the whole complicated affair was a certain wedding. "your cousin just couldn't be mean after walker found you," bess hugged nan in her excitement. "and there is to be that wedding that we talked about, and you are going to be maid of honor and we're all going to be bridesmaids. it will be in the garden and there will be lots of guests from all over the country and maybe walter will be back here. oh, nan, i'm so excited!" "and that isn't the half of it," nan finished. "cousin adair has given this place to walker and alice and he's settled a large sum of money on them and he's inviting momsey and papa down for the wedding. oh, bess, and rhoda's going to come too, but not by plane," she added. "everything is just perfectly grand!" so, let's leave nan sherwood and her friends to a happy, happy time, to finish out a summer in mexico that was more exciting than they ever imagined a summer could possibly be. transcriber's notes obvious printer's errors were silently corrected. otherwise spelling, hyphenation, interpunction and syntax of the original have been preserved. line : some-place should be non-hyphenated. [illustration: to the girls' surprise they heard an exclamation.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the secret of steeple rocks by harriet pyne grove [illustration] the saalfield publishing company akron, ohio :: new york ------------------------------------------------------------------------ copyright mcmxxviii the saalfield publishing company the secret of steeple rocks _made in the united states of america_ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the secret of steeple rocks chapter i steeple rocks "are you satisfied, beth?" elizabeth secrest turned with a smile to the two girls who had come up behind her, their footfalls silent in the sand. "the world is mine," she answered, with a comprehensive sweep of her arm and hand toward the foaming surf which was almost at their feet. "doesn't it _fill_ you, some way?" "yes, beth; i'm not myself at all. here,--take these and look at those towering rocks with them." sarita moore handed her fine glasses, all shining and new, to the older girl, who directed them toward a distant pile of rocks. there two rose high, irregularly decreasing in circumference, and at this distance apparently pointed at their tops. below them massed the other rocks of the dark headland. elizabeth looked long and steadily. "steeple rocks!" she murmured. "i wish that i owned them! but i would give them a better name. i'd call them cathedral rocks. doesn't the whole mass make you think of the cathedrals,--the cathedrals that you and i are going to see some day, leslie?" the third girl of the group now took the glasses which her sister offered. "sometimes, beth, i can't follow the lines of your imagination; but it doesn't take much this time to make a cathedral out of that. _are_ you happy, beth?" there was a tone of anxiety in the question. "yes, child. who could help being happy here? look at that ocean, stretching out and away--into eternity, i think,--and the clouds--and the pounding of the surf. think, girls! it's going to put us to sleep to-night!" "unless it keeps us awake," suggested leslie, "but i'm all lifted out of myself, too, beth. imagine being here all summer! look at dal, sarita." leslie pointed toward a masculine figure standing on the beach not far in advance of them. "it's 'what are the wild waves saying?' to dal all right!" dalton secrest, who had preceded his two sisters and their friend in their visit to the beach and the tossing waves, stood facing the sea, his hands in his pockets, his tall young body straight before the strong breeze. he heard the girls' voices above the noise of the surf, as they came more closely behind him, and turned with a smile as his sister had done. [illustration: map of steeple rocks] "what great thoughts are you thinking dal?" sarita queried. "sorry that i can't claim any just this minute, sarita. i was thinking about what fish there are in the sea for me. when i'm not building the shack i'm going to fish, girls, and i was wondering if the bay wouldn't be the best place for that." "of course it would, dal," leslie replied, "but you can easily find out where the fishermen get their fish. i thought at first that i should never want to eat. it is almost enough to look. but now,--'i dunno,' as the song goes!" "we'd better be getting back to the tents," said dalton. "beth looks as if she had not had enough, but i'll have to gather some wood for a fire and by the time we have our supper it will be dark. we can watch the sunset just as well from above." with this, dalton secrest linked arms with the girls, and with one on each side of him ran as rapidly as sand would permit to where elizabeth had found a seat upon a rock back of the sands. "come on, beth. time for eats. les and sairey gamp are going to do the cooking while you sit out on the point with your little pencil to sketch." "don't you call me 'sairey gamp,' dal secrest," laughed sarita. "never you mind, sairey, you can get it back on me. if i have any time left from building, fishing and bringing home the bacon, i shall be the wild pirate of pirates' cove!" "listen to dal!" cried leslie. "you'd think that he had to support the family! but i will admit, dal, that if 'bacon' is fish, it will certainly help out expenses." dalton fell back with his older sister, beth, while the two others went on, all directing their way to a spot some distance ahead, where the climb to the upper level was not difficult. all four were exhilarated by the new scenes, the beauty and almost mystery of the sea, the beach, the rocks and crags, and the invitation of the singing pines where their tents were pitched. as anyone might surmise, their arrival was recent. sensibly they had pitched their tents first, while dalton could have the assistance of the man who drove them there; but after the necessary things were accomplished they hastened to get as close to the sea as possible, for none of them had ever seen it before. it was one of the interesting spots on the much indented coast of maine. there were an obscure little fishing village, a bay, into which a few small streams emptied, and a stretch of real coast, washed by the ocean itself. it was this beach which the newcomers had just visited with such pleasure, at a place varying in its outlines, from curving sands washed by a restless sea to high rocks and half-submerged boulders, where the water boiled and tossed. as the summer visitors climbed the ascent, they noticed that in the village at their left most of the fishers' cottages lay within easy reach of the beach proper, from which the launching of boats was easy. there was a dock, stout, but small. it was quite evident that no large vessels came in. the bay lay in the direction of steeple rocks, but the climb to reach it would have been impossible from the beach. this was blocked by the high cliff whose rocks reached out into the waves and curved around into one side of the bay's enclosure, though gradually lowering in height. much farther away, around the curving, rocky, inland shore of the bay, and across its quiet waters from this cliff, loomed the other more bulging headland which reminded beth of a cathedral in some of its outlines. but beth was an artist, and an artist had not named steeple rocks. dalton helped elizabeth while the other girls scrambled up to the path by themselves. "i do hate to play the invalid, dal," breathlessly said beth, clutching her brother's arm. "what _is_ the matter with me, anyhow?" "nothing in the world, doc said, but being just played out. what do you expect? you can't do a million things and teach school, for fun, of course, on the side, and feel as frisky as a rabbit at the end of the year. just wait, old girl. we had to let you help us get ready to come, but about two weeks of doing nothing and sleeping in this air,--well, you will probably be able to help _me_ up the rocks!" leslie, meanwhile, was explaining to her chum sarita how their property included the smaller headland and its rocks. "there is right of way, of course, but this is ours." the girls were standing by this time high on the rocks, from which they could look down and back, along the beach where they had been. at this place the point ran out to its curving, jutting, broken but solid rampart which kept the sea from the bay. below them a few boats dotted the surface of the bay. sarita through her glass was watching a vessel which was passing far out on the ocean. "how did it happen, leslie, that you never came here?" sarita asked. "you see, father had just bought it the summer before he died. he had been up in canada and then down on the coast of maine. he came home to tell us of the place he had bought at a great bargain, where we had an ocean view, a bay to fish in, and a tiny lake of our own. then came all our troubles and we had almost forgotten about it, except to count it among our assets, pay tax on it and wish that we could raise some money on it. but nobody wanted a place that had no good roads for an automobile and was not right on the railroad, though, for that matter, i don't think it's so terribly far." "yes, it is, les, for anybody that wants to be in touch with civilization, but who wants to be for the summer?" "well, as we told you when beth said i could ask you to come along, it is just what we want to camp in, and there are people near enough for safety, besides the 'emporium' of modern trade in the village, if that is what one can call this scattered lot of cottages." "it is more picturesque, beth says, just as it is, and most of the summer cottages are on the other side of the village, or beyond the steeple rocks, in the other direction, so we'll not be bothered with anybody unless we want to be. i like folks, myself, but when you camp you want to camp, and beth is so tired of kiddies that she says she doesn't want to see anybody under fifteen for the whole three months!" sarita laughed at this. "she seemed jolly enough on the way." "oh, beth is jolly and perfectly happy to come; but we did not have any idea how worn out she was, simply doing too much and so afraid _we'd_ have too much to do to get our lessons. why, when dal and i waked up to the fact that elizabeth was almost a _goner_, we were scared to pieces. she couldn't get up one morning after commencement was over,--but you remember about that and how we sent for the doctor in a hurry. my, what a relief when he said that it was just overdoing and that she was to stay in bed and sleep, and eat anything she wanted to!" "she told me how you wanted to feed her every half hour." "yes," laughed leslie, "and i tried all the good recipes in the cook book, almost." but the girls walked out on the point a little distance, then returned, while leslie, from her memory of her father's plan, pointed out the place behind a windbreak of rocks where elizabeth thought he intended to build the "eyrie." strolling back from the point, across an open space partly grown with straggling weeds and grass, the girls entered the pine woods, which was the thing of beauty upon the secrest land. there beth was seated upon a box, watching dalton build a fire. "ever and anon that lad shakes a finger at me, girls, to keep me from doing anything," beth said, in explanation of her idleness. "good for dal," said leslie. "sarita and i are the chief cooks and bottle-washers around here. just sit there, beth, and tell us what to do, if we can't think of it ourselves. i see that you brought water, dal. shall we boil it before drinking?" "no; this is from the prettiest spring you ever saw. i opened some boxes and set up the tables, so you can go ahead. i'm going to get a supply of wood handy. we'll fix up our portable stove to-morrow, but i want to have it in good shape, and then i thought that you girls would like a camp fire to-night." "oh, we do!" cried leslie and sarita almost with one voice. "we'll have hot wieners and open a can of beans. they'll heat in a minute. dal, that is a fine arrangement, fixing those stones for us to rest our pan on." it was leslie who finished these remarks, as she and sarita busied themselves with the work of supper and dalton went back into the woods again for more wood. they heard the sound of his hatchet as they put a cloth on the little folding table and set it in a convenient place outside of the tent. "the table will make a good buffet, but i want to take my plate and sit on the pine needles." "you will be obliged to, for want of chairs at present," said elizabeth, jumping up and insisting on being allowed to help. what a new atmosphere it was! here they were, off in the "wilds" and their own wilds at that, with all sorts of happy experiences before them. dalton, whistling a popular song went about hither and yon, gathering a supply of wood, lopping off undesirable portions of old limbs here and there. looking up at a sound, he was surprised to see a rough-looking man approaching him. he was ill-featured, dark, grim, and of stalwart build. dalton, rather glad of his hatchet, stood his ground, waiting to be addressed. "what are you folks doing here?" the man demanded. "this is our land, sir," replied dalton, "and we have just come to camp here for the summer." he felt like adding, "any objections?" but thought that he would not be the one to start any trouble by impertinence. he did not like the man's tone, however. "how do we know that you own this land? i'd not heard of its being sold." "it can easily be proved. our name is secrest. my father bought this several years ago." "is your father here?" "well, excuse me, sir, would you prefer to ask your questions of my father? are you the mayor of the village?" "no; but any of us have a right to know what strangers are going to do." "perhaps you have, sir," said dalton, in a more friendly way, "but it's a free country, you know, and we own this piece of ground. i'm expecting to camp here all summer, and to build a more permanent home, or start one, for our summers here." the man nodded. "well, if that is so, and if you mind your own business, you may like it. but it ain't healthy around here for snoopers, nor folks that are too cur'ous. that's all." the man stalked away, tying more tightly a red handkerchief around his neck, and hitching up the collar of his rough coat. the ocean breeze was growing a little chilly. but a thought occurred to dalton and he spoke again to the man. "wait a moment, please. how about these woods and the places around here,--are they safe for my sisters and our friend?" "yes, safe enough. it's too far from the railroad for tramps and thieves and there ain't no good roads for the fellers with cars. the folks over at steeple rocks growl about that." "we have neighbors over in that direction, then?" "so you didn't _know_ that. h'm. you don't know much about this place, if your father did buy it." "no. none of us were ever here before." "and your father's dead." dalton looked up surprised at that, for he had purposely avoided answering that question about his father. the man grinned a little. "i reckon a kid like you wouldn't be talkin' about buildin' a cabin himself if he had a father. have you got a boat?" "no, but we're going to have one." "remember what i said, then, about minding your own affairs." having no good reply to this, which dalton resented, he curbed his rising anger at this rude acquaintance and watched him stride in the direction of the road, which wound through the woods some distance away. "well, your room is far better than your company," thought dalton, as he picked up his sticks, making a load of them. he wondered whether this were one of the fishermen or not. he did not have the same speech as that of the other new englanders whom they had recently met. the man who had brought their goods from the station had been most friendly, answering their questions and volunteering all kinds of interesting information about the country. it was odd that he had not mentioned the people at steeple rocks, but it had so happened. with such thoughts, dalton went through the woods, whose wonderful pines had so delighted them, and finally joined the girls, arranging his firewood at a convenient distance. leslie found little things for dalton to do and supper was hurried up. the table was used for buttering bread and fixing sandwiches; then each with a loaded plate sought a place around the fire, which dalton heaped with firewood till it blazed as hotly as was safe. there was some scrambling around when the wind veered and blew the smoke in the wrong direction, but the camp was more or less protected from the direct breeze. happy and hungry, the campers disposed of a good meal in the midst of considerable fun and joking. long acquaintance had made sarita like a member of the family. she and leslie recounted amusing incidents of their school year just ended, or consulted dalton about their plans for the camp and the eyrie. elizabeth woke to something like her old fire and announced that she intended to go back to "sweet sixteen" and play with the rest of them. "oh, beth, bob your hair, then!" urged leslie, running her fingers through her own curly brown mop. "not much she doesn't!" dalton objected. "i can't imagine beth without her piles of pretty hair. who was that beau, beth, that wrote about your 'waves of burnished gold'?" beth laughed. "i was very mad, then, when you infants discovered that poem." "beth's hair is just a little too dark to be called 'golden,'" reflectively said sarita. "you might braid it and wear it over your shoulders, indian fashion." "it would be in my way, my dear." "bob it, beth!" again said leslie. "dalton is just like the rest of the men about a girl's hair. think how fine it will be not to have so much to dry when you go in swimming." "don't you weaken, beth," spoke dalton, eating his last sandwich. "think of the 'artistic miss secrest' without her 'wonderful hair.'" "come now, folks, it's my hair. i'm not doing anything at all about it, and what a waste of time and opportunity to discuss such a subject here! come on, girls, we must fix up the beds. dal, please help us with the cots, and did you think what a fine dresser that big box will make, girls? it has a division in it, you remember. we'll set it on end, put a cover on it over some paper, tack a curtain across, and there will be our dressing table, with a big shelf behind the curtain. i'm wasted in the schoolroom, sarita. i ought to be an interior decorator. to-morrow some of those pretty spruce limbs will make a fine background for our mirror!" "beth! did you honestly _buy_ that mirror in the store by the station? dal, it's the funniest thing you ever saw and we look crooked in it. beth must have liked it because it makes her look fat!" springing up, the party of four piled their plates and cups on the table, where sarita busied herself in repacking the food in its containers and the others went into the larger tent. there trunks and boxes had been left in confusion. in a short time dalton had the three cots up and took another to his own tent, which stood opposite the larger one. leslie had suggested the arrangement, insisting that they must live on an "avenue." elizabeth and leslie were now drawing both woolen and cotton blankets from a big trunk of supplies, together with four warm bathrobes. sarita came in just in time to seize upon hers with an exclamation of welcome. "we'll probably want to sleep in 'em," she said, with an exaggerated shiver, putting on the garment over her sweater while leslie laughed at her. trunks were pulled around into place, boxes piled out of the way, flashlights and the convenient bags or cases, with which they had traveled, found and placed by their owners' cots. on the rude dresser, to be made more attractive in the future, a candlestick, candle and a box of matches stood ready if needed, "and if anybody lights the candle, let him beware of burning up the place!" warned beth. "her, not 'him,' beth," corrected leslie. "the only 'him' has a tent of his own. i'm going to see, too, that dal has enough blankets on his bed and everything. no, keep out, beth. don't worry; i'll think of just exactly what we have that he must have, too. say, what did we do with those towels? thanks. dal is grand to do things for us, but when it comes to fixing up himself,--" leslie ran across the boulevard, which sarita now called the space between the tents, and the girls smiled as they heard her arguing with dalton about something. "listen, dal! it gets _cold_ up here. i've known girls that camped in maine. i know that you're hot-blooded and all that. i'll just tuck these blankets in at the foot, and i know that you'll want to draw them up by morning." some bass murmur came from her brother and then the girls heard leslie's more carrying voice. "no, i'll brace them back on this box and _then_ they won't be too heavy on your feet. well, have it your own way, then, but if you _freeze_, i'll not be responsible!" leslie was grinning herself, when she came into the girls' tent and saw sarita shaking with laughter, as she sat on the edge of her cot undressing. "we'' couldn't help hear, les!" she said. "the boulevard should be wider. what was it beside the blanket discussion?" "the last thing he said to me was 'can't you let a guy go to bed?'--but he was laughing and lifted the flap of the tent for me with a most ridiculous bow. dal's the funniest thing!" "all the same i'd be scared to death, going to bed away off here, if it wasn't for dal across there." "i imagine that i would be, too, though beth and i have gotten used to taking care of ourselves. now you in bed first, beth. you must get out of the way of 'going over the house' to see if everything is all right. i _will_ boss _somebody_!" "you can boss _me_ all you please, leslie. you may even tuck me into bed," said beth, looking so sweet with her long, light braids, that leslie walked right over, turned back the blankets on beth's cot, almost lifted the slight figure into place, tucked her in snugly and kissed her soundly. the first day in camp was over. dalton had purposely said nothing about the man of the woods. he would mention it to leslie and sarita in the morning, but on the whole he expected no trouble. the fishermen reached the bay, as a rule, from the ocean itself, rather than from the high cliffs. there was little to bring anyone in that direction, except possibly someone of their neighbors from steeple rocks. his question to the man had been more to test his purposes, than for information, and dalton was sorry that he had not mentioned the target practice which he had induced the girls to take up more as a safe means of defence than as a sport, though he had not told them that. but dalton secrest was of no timid sort. this was a new adventure and promised much. what it was to include he did not yet know. there were to be some moments not exactly "healthy," as the man had warned, though dalton himself was not responsible for unraveling the mystery of steeple rocks. chapter ii peggy descends elizabeth, dalton and leslie secrest were intelligent young people of some culture and background, though that impression might not always be given when dalton or leslie fell into the modern school vernacular. elizabeth, two years out of college, was more careful, inasmuch as she was teaching drawing and other lines of school art to children and was also the head of their little family. it had all happened very suddenly, the death of the parents and the plunge into partial self-support. interest from the invested life insurance furnished part of their income, and what elizabeth called her "munificent salary" the rest. dalton earned enough outside of school hours to help considerably. elizabeth had insisted that he must finish high school and now thought that he should take enough of their principal to see him through college. this was a subject of argument between them, for dalton considered that out of the question. he had just been graduated from high school and had prevailed upon his sister to take the money for this adventure, particularly with the purpose of finding out how valuable the property was for a possible sale. plans were all a little vague, but when the doctor ordered beth somewhere for change and rest, leslie and dalton executed the whole affair, with beth's advice and assistance. enthusiasm had grown when they came upon a letter outlining their father's plans for building what he called the "eyrie" and now that they were here, seeing upon the spot their few but beautiful acres, and the limitless sea by which they lay, values went up, mentally at least. beth of the "burnished locks," was not beautiful, but her golden-brown hair crowned a delicate face with fairly regular features, steady blue eyes, dreamy when they had a chance to dream, and a sensitive mouth. she was slight and of medium height, twenty-three at her next birthday. dalton, eighteen on the day of his graduation, was most fortunately a tall, strong lad, with a very practical turn. vocational training had fostered this and young as he was, dalton expected, with some help, to build a very respectable log cabin from the timber on the place. his last two vacations had been spent in helping a carpenter and small contractor. while his experience might not apply to handling logs, it would help. leslie, like dalton, was more of the brunette type, though not dark. brown hair and lashes, grey eyes, good features with a pleasing mouth, laughing or firm as circumstances might demand, were her assets. she was taller at not quite sixteen than her older sister, and according to her own statement could not "draw a crooked line"; but she could play on ukelele or guitar as well as on the piano at home, and she and sarita knew all the songs, old and new, that their generation afforded. sarita, brown-haired, brown-eyed, demure, pretty, half a head shorter than leslie and a few months younger, was the fortunate one of the party in having a father. an easy-going step-mother let sarita do very much as she pleased, a delightful, though not altogether safe method of management. but sarita's pleasures were always harmless ones and included those of her chum leslie. both girls were active, energetic and capable, with many an enthusiastic scheme or ambition originating in their fertile minds. dalton sometimes called them the "self-starters." after a trip with dalton to view the little lake and to help him bring water from the spring, the girls spent the morning of the second day in arranging their camp quarters. elizabeth, when challenged to bring forth her curtains for their "dresser," surprised leslie and sarita by producing them, deep ruffles that had once graced some home-made dressing table. "they were in a trunk in the attic," beth explained, "and i thought that we could use them here in the eyrie, if it ever gets built." the cots, trunks and the beruffled box took up most of the room in the larger tent, but some perishable supplies were stored there; and dalton set about making what the girls called a chicken coop, to keep their boxes of food stuffs from harm, all to be covered with a huge piece of waterproofing. while he was doing this, he had an opportunity to tell leslie and sarita about his inquisitive visitor of the evening before. he described the man and gave details of the conversation. "what do you suppose he meant, dal?" asked sarita in some excitement, her brown eyes growing larger. leslie, too, was alert, scenting some secret. "oh, i imagine that there is a bit of rum-running, perhaps," replied dalton, driving another nail. "we'd probably better take his advice about minding our own business, though i will admit that it made me hot to have a chap like that laying down the law. i'll make a few inquiries among the fishermen. i've got to see about getting a boat, too. i wouldn't do this, but we have to make our stuff safe from rain or little foragers. what a waste of time it is to work here, sarita." "yes, it is. poor you, dal--let's not have an eyrie." "oh, i'll like building that, when i get at it. it isn't going to take so long, when the materials come and the man who is to help me comes with his helpers. i'm going through the woods some time to-day to mark the trees that i want." "don't take the big lovely ones, dal," said leslie. "no, i'll not. i shall select the trees with less symmetrical limbs or placed where thinning out will be good." "do you know all about old-fashioned 'log-raising,' dal?" sarita asked. "no, i don't know 'all' about anything, sairey, but this man helps build the new-fangled log houses that they have in the north woods, so i have hopes. there! that's finished!" "look, dal," suddenly leslie said in a low voice, and dalton turned to see a gentleman riding among the trees and coming toward them. the little camp had been placed back a short distance in the grove, where a more open space occurred, with smaller trees and bushes. it had pleased elizabeth here, though she said that she was being cut off from a view of the sea. but it was better so, more retired, and the smaller trees were, safer neighbors in a storm than the tall ones. lovely ferns, vines entwining the trees, and wild flowers grew about them. beth was in the tent, still straightening and unpacking but the three outside watched the pretty horse and its straight rider. the gentleman dismounted, fastened the horse to a tree, and walked toward them. "good morning," he said, and the young people returned the greeting. everything was in perfect taste about the riding costume, leslie noticed. the gentleman rather nervously flexed a small whip in his gloved hands and looked sharply with keen black eyes from one to another, addressing dalton in particular. "i am told that you have purchased this place and are about to build a house of some sort upon it." "yes, sir. my father bought the ground something over two years ago." "are you sure that the purchase was completed?" "yes, sir. we hold the deed and i preserved the check that my father gave for the land, when we came across it in going through his papers." "where is the deed?" the gentleman spoke a little abruptly, leslie thought. who in the world could he be? "the deed is in the bank at home, but i suppose if you want to assure yourself of our right here, you could consult the records here. i'm not sure just where the place is where the deed was recorded, but my sister will know. leslie, please ask beth to come." "that is not necessary," impatiently their caller said. "i am sorry to tell you, but i am quite sure that your title is not clear. i understood that this land belonged to me. it is certainly included in the description upon the deed that i hold." "it is very strange," said dalton. "i think that you must be mistaken. when did you purchase the land to which you refer?" leslie was proud of dalton. he talked just like father and was so dignified and nice without being "mad." the gentleman hesitated. "it is part of a tract which i acquired some time ago. if i were, you i would not go on building, for i should certainly not sell this land on the bay. it is too bad, but why can you not look up a camp at some other place upon the coast? i know of several excellent places to be purchased at a low price. indeed, considering the matter from your standpoint, i might part with a strip of land some forty miles from here for merely a nominal price." the man was almost fascinating when he smiled in this persuasive way, sarita was thinking, but why so suave and urgent? dalton smiled. "if i have to prove that i own it, so do you," he said, "and i think that i will not consider anything else just now. perhaps it would be just as well not to go on with the building, though i have already ordered some material. if this should prove to be your land, i will pay you for occupancy, but we'll just continue to camp here. my older sister is very tired after her teaching and likes this place. my father's plans were all made and we expect to carry them out in part. but we will not destroy anything, and i will not cut down the trees that i intended until we look into the matter at the courthouse." that this did not please the gentleman was quite evident. he frowned. "i should like you to leave at once," he said at last. "i do not intend to leave at once, sir," sharply said dalton. "may i ask your name?" "yes. i am the owner of steeple rocks and have my summer home there. i should advise you to leave. my name is ives. i am wondering if you are yet of age. i understand that your father is not living?" "no, i am not of age, and it is true that my father is not living." "who, then, is the executor of your estate?" "my sister is executrix, the older one. we have a friend, though, who is our lawyer whenever we need one. if necessary, i can write to consult him about this; but you can easily find out whether or not our deed is recorded." "that is not the question, young man. the question is whether the man of whom your father bought the land had any right to it. you will avoid trouble if you leave the place. my lawyer will look into the matter. a few days, of course, will make no difference. there is a truck on my place which i should be willing to lend you for the transfer." with a business-like air, mr. ives took a card from his pocket and wrote something upon it with a shining gold pencil. dalton, leslie and sarita watched him with various expressions. dalton's face was firm and sober. leslie's eyes were contracted a little as if she were sizing up a suspicious character. sarita wore a look of bright interest. this was an adventure. handing the card to dalton, mr. ives said, "that is the name of the little village where i can permit you to camp, or can offer you land with a clear title. one reason that we like this place is its comparative isolation and we want to keep our holding large and intact. but you would doubtless enjoy more companionship and that you will find in the other community. the homes are scattered, however, and the beach and views are beyond criticism. as i said, in view of your disappointment about this, i can afford to be generous." dalton glanced at the address on mr. ives' personal and listened to what was said. "i see your point, mr. ives," he replied, "but none of us intend in any way to disturb the quiet of steeple rocks. we, too, like the wildness of the place, as well as the feeling that we are on land that our father admired. my sister is an artist and rocks and woods appeal to her. thank you for the offer of the truck, but we'll not be moving till we find out definitely the facts in the case." "if you will call, i will give you such information as you want about my ownership," mr. ives said, in the tone of speaking to an obstinate boy. quickly he turned away, and a silent group watched him until he disappeared among the trees. then sarita dropped to the ground and sat holding her knees. "well, what do you think of that!" she cried, "going to tell beth, dal?" "no; not a word, please, girls. beth is too happy to have her fun spoiled and her sleep disturbed by a new problem." dalton sat down on an old stump and leslie dropped beside sarita. "she got out her pencils and paints and things a little while ago," said leslie, "and she was unpacking her easel when i left the tent. that accounts, perhaps for her not coming out. i wonder she didn't hear mr. ives. there she comes, now." "let me handle it, please, les," said her brother in a low voice. "hello, beth, getting ready to paint up the place?" "yes, i'm taking my easel out on the rocks. i must get a sketch right away of the bay and cathedral rocks. i thought i heard another voice out here, but i was too lazy and busy with my traps to come out." "you don't want to see anybody, do you, beth? well, this was only the man that lives across the bay, or around the bay, as you like, the man of steeple rocks. i imagine that he wouldn't mind your sketching them. what do you think, girls?" dalton's voice was so sarcastic that beth laughed. "you didn't like him, that's certain. i'm glad that i didn't come out. he can't help my sketching his rocks, however. oh, isn't it too glorious here! i thought that you were going to take a swim as soon as the tide was right." "the girls are, i guess, and i'm tempted, too; but beth, i think that i'd be more sensible to hike out and see about our building affairs and one thing and another. i may get a horse in the village and ride to the station, too, to see about the other junk that's to come. you won't be afraid without me, will you, girls?" "no, indeed," leslie declared. "besides, sarita and i are going to put up our target and practice a little. bail us out if we get arrested for shooting, dal. but if they hear it at the village at all, it may warn anybody of 'hostile intent.'" "i don't like to hear you speak in that way, leslie," said beth, with decision. "it is right for you to learn, i think, but use the greatest care, please. load just before you try for the target and be sure that all your cartridges have been exploded. if you never get reckless or careless it is all right. you'd better fix your target in front of the rocks, too. then there will be no possibility of someone's coming through the trees to get shot." "my, beth, you think of everything don't you? we'll not do it at all, if it makes you nervous, and i promise you, up and down and 'cross my heart,' that no 'weepon' is going to be left loaded. in case of an attack by indians, we shall have cartridges handy anyhow." "in case of a _large_ band of indians," grinned dalton, rising from the stump, "there are plenty of cartridges in my tent." "just think," said sarita, looking around at the spruces and ferns, "once there were indians all over this place. i 'spect they liked it, too." "i 'spect they did," returned dalton, "and i 'spect that they and the white men had a great time trying to drive each other off." with his back to beth, dalton winked at leslie. "girls," he added in a new tone, "whatever happens, i'm going to take one dip with you. come on. everybody into bathing suits!" beth was already strolling toward her rocks, but one more unusual adventure was in store for the others. it was not quite as convenient as if their property sloped directly to the beach, but the trail was not long to a descent whose footing was not too impossible. presently they were on their way, dalton running ahead, with his bathrobe over his arm, the girls in their coats over their bathing suits, for the breeze was a little cool. yet the sun was warm, and the lapping waves of a smooth sea invited them. "dal says," leslie was saying, "that he is going to find out where the deed is recorded and he may be able to get into touch with the man of whom father bought the place. he doesn't know when he'll be back. let's get beth to bed early to-night. it will be easy, because she is ordered to do it, you know. then she won't know if dalton doesn't get back. will you be afraid?" "very likely, but it has to be done. mr. ives looked rich. don't you suppose that he could even get the records fixed up if he wanted to?" "i don't know. i should imagine that we'd have some account of the recording, some receipt, or something. i don't know much about such things, but dal will find out, and beth, too, if we have to tell her. oh, if beth can have only a few weeks of rest, it will be enough! mercy, what's that?" the girls looked back along the narrow, weed-grown trail. a loud clattering on the rocky way announced the coming of a horse at some speed. the girls drew off among some bushes. they were startled to see a great black horse dashing over the uneven ground and a frightened girl clinging to reins and saddle, with no control of the animal. a white face and tight-set lips flashed by, as the horse swerved suddenly, almost unseating its rider. then it dashed on. "it shied at us," said sarita. "look. she's trying to shake loose from the stirrups--to jump, i suppose. my! there's that pretty nearly straight-up-and-down place just beyond where we go down to the beach!" leslie set her teeth together and shivered. "poor girl! but perhaps the horse won't fall. at that pace i'm afraid it will kill her to jump." both girls started to run forward, as a turn in the cliff and the trail took the horse and its rider out of sight for a few moments, behind a clump of wind-blown pines and some bushes. but the girls hurried around to where they could see the road again, and they wondered where dalton might be. "if dal has gotten to the beach," said leslie, "we'll have to call him to help, in case of a bad accident." "it is pretty level after that one place," sarita answered, "and perhaps someone at the village will catch--" but they heard a frightened scream. now they could see the scene clearly. what was the girl doing? and there stood dalton at the side of the trail opposite the cliff's edge. his feet were apart, bracing his body, for his arms were outstretched to catch the girl. there went a flying, falling figure,--and dalton, under the impact, fell too. what a crash among the bushes! chapter iii peggy ives the running girls reached the scene just as dalton and the girl who had jumped from the horse were picking themselves up and out of some blackberry bushes. leslie was relieved to see that dalton was disentangling himself with all his limbs in working order. "oh! oh! didn't i _kill_ you, falling on you that way? i ought to have known better, but you held up your hands, you know. say, i could have chosen some bushes that weren't _blackberry_ bushes, though!" somewhat hysterical leslie thought the young lady, but when she knew her better, she found that this was peggy ives' usual style of conversation. "just look a little farther on and you will see why any bushes would do," said dalton, pulling a long blackberry branch from her dress and giving her his hand to help her up. "say, you are all scratched up, too, and you even had the sense to throw your robe over the bush,--not that it did much good! i'm full of prickles, but i am certainly much obliged!" by this time the young girl was on her feet, looking questioningly at the girls who had stepped up closely. "are you hurt, dal?" leslie inquired. "not to amount to anything,--a few scratches." "and a bump or two," added the new acquaintance. "i caught you sideways," said dalton, "and only eased your fall. are you sure that you are whole?" "oh, yes. i'm not feeling so good, but neither are you. my name is peggy ives." "mine is dalton secrest and this is my sister leslie." leslie, rather ashamed of having asked after her brother's safety first, held out her hand to peggy and asked if she could not help get out some of the prickles. sarita was introduced while they drew out of the bushes and crossed the trail to the edge of the cliff, where there were rocks to make seats for them. peggy limped a little and leslie put an arm around her, finding peggy a slim little thing, glad of someone to lean upon. dalton still stood by the blackberry bushes, getting rid of briars, and wiping off the result of some scratches, with a handkerchief which he had found in his bathrobe pocket. "what became of my horse?" peggy asked. "did either of you see it?" "yes," sarita answered. "he ran on and fell, but he must have picked himself up, for i looked down the road a minute ago and he wasn't there." "i am going to 'catch it' at home. oh, here they come!" they all looked up the road, in the direction of steeple rocks, to see mr. ives and a pleasant-looking youth of perhaps dalton's age. both were riding, their horses carefully held in to keep them from stumbling. "did you get thrown, peggy?" the boy asked, as peggy rose and limped out toward them. "no. i jumped. that boy over there--" "never mind, peggy," said mr. ives impatiently. "jack says that you bolted into the woods and left him. where is your horse?" "i don't know. this girl says that she saw him roll down the hill, but he isn't there now. they were ever so kind to me--" peggy seemed fated to be interrupted, for mr. ives again broke in upon her speech to direct the boy to give peggy his horse and go down into the village to find the other. "if you can't find him, go to bill's and get a horse to bring you home." peggy was helped upon the other horse, after a vain effort to introduce mr. ives to the girls. dalton had thrown his bathrobe around his shoulders and started for the beach as soon as he had seen the ives delegation approaching. "i have met them, peggy," mr. ives had said shortly. "you did not see me bow to them." "neither did we," said sarita, a moment after peggy, looking back with a smile and wave, had ridden away. "neither did we what?" asked leslie. "see mr. ives bow to us." "well, he gave us a look anyway, and maybe he did bow. i didn't think about it." "scene number two in the secrest-ives meller-dramer!" sarita went on. leslie laughed. "what brilliant idea have you now, sarita? what was scene number one? mr. ives' appearance?" "yes. villain appears, threatens hero. scene two, villain's daughter rescued by the hero. leading lady, star of the movies, yet to be discovered. perhaps she is the villain's daughter." "she is a nice little thing, isn't she? i imagine that she is a little younger than we are, but it's hard to tell. she has a funny streak,--telling dal that she could have chosen the bushes!" "i liked her, and mr. ives can be just as nice as pie, but he wants to get rid of us, that's clear, and he doesn't like it that dal isn't more upset and scared about it." "smart girl. that's what i think, too. but i wouldn't say that he is really a 'villain.' perhaps he is right. wouldn't it be _too_ bad if there was something crooked about the title and father didn't know it! the only thing is, i can't imagine that father would buy a piece of land without knowing all about it." "and your dad a lawyer, too!" "exactly. but look at dal, going in anyhow! the salt water will nearly kill him with those scratches!" they did not stay in the water long on this first occasion, but they all found it invigorating and dalton insisted that after the first he did not notice the scratches. "i'm hurrying off now," he said, after they came out of the water. "i'll probably have to get the name of the man father bought the place of from the deed. i wish we'd brought our deed with us. perhaps beth will remember it, and i can ask her casually, 'by the way, beth, do you remember,' and so forth?" "i'll ask her, and tell you. you'll not be dressed before we get there." "no. take your time. don't hurry sarita up the cliff and maybe have some accident yourself. turned out to be ives' daughter?" "yes, i suppose so, by the way he bossed her, and her name is peggy ives. didn't you kind of like her?" "a smart little thing. she screamed just before she jumped; but she was plucky about her bruises. i shouldn't be surprised but she sprained her ankle. get acquainted, girls. perhaps the stern parent will relent toward us." "i think i see ourselves calling at steeple rocks! you'd better go. _you_ have been invited, you know." dalton laughed and ran on, his bathrobe flapping about his ankles. but like peggy, dalton was not feeling "so good." he had fairly thought at the impact that his shoulder was broken or dislocated. then he found, as they picked themselves out of the blackberry briars, that it was not. the cold sea water felt good to it and he gave himself a vigorous rubbing both in and out of the water, not trying to swim out far from shore, a sensible plan in any event, since they did not know the coast here. now his shoulder ached. when leslie came into the little camp, shortly after his own arrival, he called to her. "any of that liniment, les, that i use?" "yes, dal. do you suppose that beth would go anywhere with you along and no liniment?" dalton heard sarita laugh at this. "i didn't know, leslie," dalton returned. "i didn't expect to play football up here, you know. please hunt me up the bottle,--that's a good girl!" leslie made no reply, for she was already hunting the liniment. handing it in through the flap of the tent, she said, "let me rub your shoulder for you, dal." "thanks. i'll do it this time, but it knocks out my going anywhere with my good clothes on. did you ever see such luck!" "don't worry, dal. if mr. ives really is going to do anything mean, all he would have to do would be to telephone somebody to fix it up and that would get ahead of you anyhow. it is too late to go to-day, seems to me. get up early to-morrow morning and start." "perhaps i will, but i'll go to the village and get some means of transportation arranged for." shortly dalton was out, arrayed in his camp outfit, an old shirt and a sweater covering the aching shoulder. but he looked more dogged than happy as he started down the trail again, and sarita remarked to leslie that dalton was blue. "i believe that he is more worried over what mr. ives said to us than he will say. but i'm not going to worry. whatever is right will be found out, i hope, and anyhow we are in this lovely country. it wouldn't cost much to put our things in a truck and go somewhere else, but not on any old land of mr. ives'! we could rent a spot near here. but what i'm wondering about is if he has any reason why he wouldn't want us to stay around. there are other tourists, though, in cottages." "but none so near steeple rocks, leslie, or on the bay. maybe he just wants what he thinks is his own land." "or _wants_ to think it." as so often it happens, the day had turned out entirely different from their plans. instead of target practice the girls chose other pursuits. elizabeth was absorbed in her first successful sketches. dalton brought back from the village some fine fish and reported that he had found out how to get to the county seat, where the deed would be recorded. he had found someone at the village who would drive him there. elizabeth was not admitted to this news, but after their delicious supper, she officiated as chief nurse in making dalton comfortable. the other girls had given her the details of the accident. "it will do no harm to wait a little in seeing about your building, dalton," consolingly said beth, gently rubbing in the liniment. "by morning, though, this will feel better, i am sure." "gee, your hands are soft, beth. you are as good as mother used to be!" "that is about the nicest thing you could say to me, dal," returned his sister. "i've been a poor substitute, but i have wanted to take her place a little." "you are all right, beth," said dalton, with boyish embarrassment over sentiment expressed. "you've had to do father's job too. _boy_, that feels the best yet! do you know what i'm going to do, beth?" "i am no mind-reader, dal." "well, i've decided to put off building or even cutting the trees for a week or two. i'll fish and poke around in a boat, seeing the place. you and the girls will want to come along sometimes, too. we'll go out and get you fine views of the shore and beach and all the rocks you want to sketch. and the next fish we eat may be what we have caught. how do you like lobster and shrimps, beth?" "i am perishing for some!" "here's the boy that will get them for you!" thus elizabeth accepted the change of plan without being troubled by a knowledge of the cause. chapter iv "snoopers" the camping adventure developed rapidly and more pleasantly during the next few days. elizabeth was enthusiastic, sleeping soundly, taking a daily dip or two with the other girls and adding to the really good sketches which she was making either in the woods or on the cliffs and shore. dalton returned from his trip to the county seat with the news for leslie and sarita that the deed had been properly recorded. someone at the courthouse had asked dalton, in connection with some inquiry of his, whether he had an abstract of title or not. this dalton did not know and he promptly wrote to their lawyer friend to inquire. "if we have, leslie, i'd like to see mr. ives get around that." "perhaps he just wanted to frighten us and get us away. could he be connected with rum-running, do you suppose?" "men apparently as honest as he _are_," dalton replied, "but unless it is on a large scale, i scarcely think so. i've put it up to jim lyon, anyway. i wouldn't be surprised if he took a vacation and came on. i offered him a bunk with me,--you wouldn't mind, would you, les?" "it wouldn't do, especially as he likes beth; but there would be some place that he could stay, or he could have a camp of his own." "he could bring his sister and the kiddies, too," sarita suggested. "of course! there is a lovely place for a camp right on our little lake. it would have been much more convenient for us, too, only we wanted to be nearer the ocean. write again and suggest it, dal. mrs. marsh looked sort of wistful when we were talking about going and wished that they could afford a trip. if mr. marsh can't get away, why couldn't they put the youngsters in the old ford and drive through?" "write and suggest it, leslie. jim has a key to our deposit box, and i imagine that if we have an 'abstract' or a 'guarantee of title' it's in there. i don't remember; but there were a lot of papers and things that i never looked at. now i'm going to have a good time fishing. i found out who sold the place to father, and i've written to him,--so let nature take its course while we camp. i met a chap on the train that has a motor boat, a regular little yacht, he says, and he has invited me to go out with him. then i'm getting a little boat of our own _with an engine in it_, les, and it is big enough to sail the briny all right, except in a storm, perhaps." this was a great surprise to leslie and sarita, who greeted the news with enthusiasm, though leslie remarked that she did not suppose he ought to have taken the money. "well, leslie, it is my money, and i got this at a wonderful bargain,--you will be surprised. it belongs to a man at the county seat and he is starting to leave the state altogether, after being accustomed to spend the summers here, you know. he almost gave the little boat away. i took a big chance, of course, for i haven't seen it, but he said that if it wasn't what he said it was, i needn't finish paying for it. he took a chance on me, too, for i only gave him a small payment. but i'll send him a check as soon as i see it. it's in a boat house at the village." the girls could scarcely realize their good fortune, but dalton rather dreaded telling elizabeth. he spent some little time thinking how to approach the subject diplomatically and then gave it up when the time came. elizabeth did look sober and warned dalton that he was using money which should be saved for his further education; but she, too, was pleased with the thought of the trips that they would take together. was the outdoor life making her think less of the "welfare of the children?" the boat was in fairly good condition, dalton found, though he had it carefully gone over, helping in this himself. at odd times, he and leslie began to make a way down to the bay from the rocks, to a place which dalton thought would be suitable for the boat. nature had provided most of the steps, but there was one stretch where it was necessary to assist nature and make a safer footing. then a rope, fastened above and below, would give confidence, for a fall would not be pleasant if it ended on the rocks on the edge, or in the water. on a ledge above the water, one then walked to a small cove. there, at the most protected part of the bay, where the higher part of the cliff began to start out into the curving point or arm which formed a real breakwater, the new boat should lie. but dalton spent only a part of his time on these preparations. in a rented boat he and the girls rowed out on the bay and examined its every cove. "snoopers," sarita said they were, and leslie remarked that so far their observations _had_ been "healthy" for them, which reference elizabeth did not understand. but then she did not always understand the jokes of the younger girls. she had her own thoughts and dreams and seldom inquired about apparently trivial matters. several times when they were on the bay they saw the rough man of dalton's first acquaintance. but he paid no attention to them and gave dalton no opportunity to nod or speak, if he had wanted to do so. bay and sea were often dotted with fishing boats that either remained or went out to a greater distance or to other points along the coast. the girls began to talk learnedly about codfish and mackerel, lobster, haddock and halibut. they did not tire of the sea food and elizabeth came back to earth enough to discover how to cook most effectively the fish which dalton, leslie and sarita caught. at last the day came when the new boat was ready. launched at the village, it contained its young owner at the wheel and a boy of about dalton's age, who was fussing about the engine to see that it was working properly. leslie and sarita were in the bow, uttering mild squeals of delight at the way the little vessel cut the water, as they went some distance out into the ocean, preparatory to entering the broad mouth of the bay. when they were ready to turn and enter the bay, the young mechanic, tom carey by name, took the wheel and showed dalton what part of the bay to avoid, though the entrance was large enough and without any rocks in its deep waters. "but keep away from the little bay or cove under steeple rocks," said tom. "the buoys, of course, warn you." "it is safe enough with a flat boat, isn't it?" dalton inquired. "i came very near rowing in there the other day, but there was that buoy with 'danger' on it and i put off my going till i should ask what is the matter." "matter enough. i suppose that it is years since anyone has tried to go into the bay from this side. around the other side of the headland, though, there are the boats that belong to the ives' place and they get out into the bay here by that rocky channel you see. it's wide enough, and luckily there is that sort of a long bar of broken rocks that separates their dock from pirates' cove. that is what the smaller bay is called. there is a terrible current or undertow, they say, and the last person that ever went in over there never came back. folks saw the boat drift in under the rocks and not a scrap of the boat was ever seen again, and the man seemed to be knocked over by the rocks. nobody ever saw him again, either. he was some sort of a foreigner. it's funny how many foreigners we get here." "where do they come from?" asked leslie, who had come to watch the proceedings when the bay was entered. "i guess that some of them come over from canada," replied tom. "they don't stay very long, as a rule, though there is one family of russians that has been here for several years. they seem to have a lot of relatives that visit them, especially in the summer. bill ritter, too, always has a lot working for him that can't speak good english or don't speak english at all. they may come from the fisheries down the coast. bill's swiss, they say." "what does he do?" idly asked leslie, watching the waves. "he fishes; and i think that he supplies the steeple rocks folks with fish and lobster. he's always going there. you've probably seen him. there he is now in a rowboat." dalton looked in the direction to which tom nodded and saw the darkly red, sunburned features of the man who had spoken to him in his own woods. "yes, i've seen him before. and that is the boat from which somebody waved to me, when i was over by pirates' cove. it was probably bill that pointed out the buoy with the danger sign. when he saw me row to it and read it, he rowed away. he must have been rowing towards me before. i'm much obliged to bill. look at him, leslie. that is the man i was telling you about." leslie, with a quick, understanding look at her brother, gazed in the direction of the rowboat to which they were now nearer. but its occupant, after a glance in their direction, rowed farther away and seemed to be making preparations to cast his line. sarita now came from where she had been leaning over to look at the depths and asked what tom thought of dalton's boat and its engine. "they're all right. that engine is almost new. keep her oiled and you can go to europe with her." "we'll go to europe in a larger boat, i think," laughed leslie. "honestly, though, could we put out to sea in this boat?" "it would be less rough out farther than here about the coast and these rocks, except inside the bay, of course. but i wouldn't advise you to get out there in stormy weather. you are going to keep your launch inside the bay, aren't you?" "yes, just as soon as we get the place fixed for it. dal wants you to see the place, don't you dal?" "yes. i can't imagine the boat's getting beaten on the rocks badly there, even in a gale; but i want you to look at the cove and see what you think." leslie thought that gales seemed almost impossible on a day like that. the sky was serene, with gently floating masses of white clouds against the blue. the sea was almost calm, except where a line of breakers came in close to the shore. in the bay there were only ripples, with the salt water gently bathing the rocks of the cliffs and washing them with a light spray. "cathedral rocks" towered at the northern end of the bay and their own smaller cliff made a low headland at its southern side. as they carefully approached the lower end, they could see elizabeth up on the rocks with her big umbrella and her easel. she was too deeply engaged to see them at first, but when she heard their hail, she came to look over and wave joyfully. chapter v peggy says "thank you" this was only the beginning of trips. leslie, sarita, dalton, and very often elizabeth, went about bay and sea in the new launch, which leslie named at once the "sea crest yacht," only a variation of their own name, she said. sarita thought it delightful that their name was so appropriate to these circumstances and declared that their prospective cabin ought to be called sea crest instead of the eyrie. but leslie reminded her that their father had suggested an "eyrie." "we'll have an 'eagles' nest' on the rocks, perhaps, unless it does seem very much better to build in the woods," said dalton bareheaded, keeping the wheel steady as the little yacht cut the waves. "perhaps dalton would prefer some other name for his boat, leslie," suggested elizabeth, by way of reminding her sister not to be too possessive. "he told me that i might name it," leslie replied, "didn't you, dal?" dalton nodded. "it's the secrest yacht," said he. "i like leslie's idea. i'm teaching her to be at the wheel, beth, and all about the engine, too. i hope that you have no objections." "it will probably be too late if i have, but do use judgment, children!" "we will, dear old emergency brake!" "poor old beth! she didn't want to be so grown up and careful, but had to be!" as she spoke, leslie put her arm around elizabeth, who was standing beside her. "i'm letting you all share the responsibility now," laughed elizabeth. "i hope that i'll not regret it!" "if we get reckless, beth, we've learned that we have to take the consequences," sarita inserted. "yes, but we don't _like_ consequences, sarita." "hear, hear!" came from dalton, "but les can run the launch if she keeps away from the rocks. luckily the entrance to the bay is broad enough, and the bay itself is remarkably free from rocks that we can't see. tom has given me full instructions, and he even drew a little chart for me." in two weeks time the "yacht" and a newly painted rowboat were safely tied or anchored within the little cove below the eyrie, as they had decided to call their rocks, whether a cabin or lookout were ever built there or not. it was dalton who suggested a "lookout," a small shelter among the rocks, where elizabeth could paint, and from which all of them could watch the changing sea, or be protected from a storm. as dalton told leslie and sarita, perhaps it was a good thing that they were hindered in their first plans and work. "we'll have a much better idea of what we want to do, for being around the place a while." although dalton occasionally felt uneasy about matters, his materials had not arrived for the cabin, and the man whom he had expected to help him was delayed with other work. they heard nothing from the young lawyer at home about an abstract of title. indeed, he had not replied to their letter at all, which seemed strange, considering his previous devotion to elizabeth. mr. ives had not appeared again, nor had they seen anything of peggy. she, very likely, was more hurt with her fall than she had been willing to admit. dalton wrote another letter to the lawyer and after learning that one of bill's sons had charge of the little village post office, he hired a horse and rode himself to the town at the railroad station, to see it safely on its way. just why he should be so suspicious of mr. ives, he did not quite know, but it was instinctive. fishing trips in the rowboat were successful. they were managing to have good meals at slight expense. it was the other part of their undertaking that took the money, dalton's boat and the prospective building. but they had no regrets. there would be enough to do it and dalton told beth that with her attaining fame from some picture of steeple rocks, and his learning to fish and handle a boat, they would be "fixed for life." it was a great adventure and the lure of pirates' cove brought much speculation to leslie and sarita. "what would it be called pirates' cove for," asked leslie, "if no pirates ever went there? it isn't any worse with rocks than lots of other places around here where we go, and i think that the story of a whirlpool or current is all nonsense!" "that's all right, les," said dalton, who was standing by her on the sea crest at the time when she made this remark. "watch your wheel, sis. there. turn it that way just a little now. good girl. but all the same, you keep out of pirates' cove, leslie. so far as the name is concerned, there are plenty of pirates' coves on this coast. i've no doubt. it's a good name for any rather mysterious place." "yes, it is," said sarita, who was waiting her turn at the wheel, "but that is it. when we _have_ a pirates' cove right at our door, so to speak, why not get some good of it?" dalton laughed at this and said that they would row around into the ives' territory "one of these days. we can see all the rocks closer there." "not i," firmly said leslie, not knowing that she would be the first one to go. "it might remind mr. ives of our existence, if he should see us. let's let well enough alone, folks. when we hear that we have an abstract of title and everything, you can go over to steeple rocks, dal, and tell him so." "i'll begin to cut down a few trees, then," said dalton, with a grin. "that will bring _him_ over fast enough." but their freedom from mr. ives was due to another cause, as they found out at once; for when they came back from this trip, they found peggy ives at the camp, in animated conversation with beth. beth was showing peggy their camp and she was admiring the convenience of their "bungalow tent," when leslie and sarita appeared in the door. "oh, here is our circus lady," cried sarita before she thought. she and leslie had so dubbed peggy, but they had not intended to announce it. peggy's eyes smiled at sarita, however, as she turned from an examination of the ruffled dressing table. "is _that_ what you call me! i _was_ quite a performer, wasn't i? i just came over to tell you how much obliged i am that your brother made me jump before i got to that awful place further on. i came to say 'thank you' to him, and then i want you all to come over to steeple rocks to have dinner with us." "thank you, miss peggy," elizabeth said at once. "i scarcely think that we can do that. you see, we have chiefly camping clothes, and we are not ready for dinner at a home like yours." "oh, we don't always dress for dinner. mother lets me come in to the table in my sport things. she wants to see you. father had to go away on business the very next day after i fell, and we haven't seen a thing of him since. i would have been over before, but i did give my ankle a terrible wrench and then i was sick a little, too. mother said it was 'shock,' but my nerves are all right!" "i'd think that the scare you had would do something to them," sarita remarked. "it is ever so good of you to ask us over," leslie added, glad that elizabeth had started the "regrets," "but beth is right about our clothes, peggy. _you'd_ better visit _us_ here. we'll have a beach party and chowder. wouldn't that be fun?" "yes, it would. i'd like to; but still, we want to have you come to steeple rocks, too. where are the clothes you traveled in? you will like my mother. she is nicer than my father, and i am _very sure_ that she will be disappointed if you can not come. she told me to bring you to-day if you would, and if you had something else that you were doing to-day, you could come to-morrow. then she didn't know whether you had a car, or horses, or anything, if you thought it too far to walk. it's terribly rough for a car, of course." they were outside, now, sitting upon the various seats that dalton had provided, from stones, or logs found in the woods. "no, we haven't any car or any horses, but it is not too far for us to walk," gently said elizabeth. "i still think, though, that, as leslie says, it would be better for you to visit us here. stay to supper with us. dal is fishing now. sometimes he gets a big fellow that we can scarcely eat up." "i wouldn't dare stay this time, thank you. mother would think that i'd had another accident. besides, the boy that you saw the other day is with me. he stopped back in the woods on the way over from the road. i'd _love_ to stay, though." peggy looked as if she were almost ready to yield, in spite of better judgment. "we'll hurry up the meal," leslie suggested. "there comes dal now. go and ask your friend to come too. it doesn't take any time to cook fish on our portable stove, and it will be such fun to have you." "i'd love to see how you do it! well, i'll go and call jack and see what he says." dalton reached the tent just as the "circus lady" was disappearing into the woods. "'how now, malvolio?'" he inquired facetiously. "more communications from the ives?" "peggy came to say 'thank you,' dal," beth replied. "she is a dear little girl,--though for that matter, i imagine that she is only a year or so younger than leslie and sarita." "she just told me that she is fourteen," said leslie, who had walked a little distance with peggy. "she did it in such a funny way, saying that perhaps we thought her too young to 'play with us,' but she _would_ like to know us. imagine, dal." leslie looked at her brother with a funny smile that elizabeth, naturally did not understand. "why is that strange?" she asked. "i know that dal does not like mr. ives, from something he said; but why shouldn't he like peggy?" "there isn't any reason at all," dalton answered. "she did give me a lame shoulder and a few bruises and scratches on our first acquaintance, to be sure, but that was nothing." "this sounds as if your meeting peggy were in a fight. dal," sarita said, "but hurry up with that fish. leslie and i will help you clean it, while beth gets the things ready to cook it." thus it happened that neither leslie nor sarita could offer a fishy hand to jack morgan, who came hurrying into camp with peggy, his blue eyes smiling and his frank face interested, as they could clearly see. he acknowledged the introductions with the manner of a boy used to meeting people, and laughed when leslie and sarita displayed their hands, cleaning fish with dalton over some paper which could be gathered up and burned later. "i hated to be hurried away that day when peggy scared the ives family nearly to death, but her father and i did not know but she might be seriously hurt after all; and after being shaken up by the ride home, she was glad enough to be taken care of in a hurry, weren't you, peggy?" "m'm-h'm," nodded peggy, watching operations with the fish. "if dad hadn't been so cross over nothing, i wouldn't have minded so much." "he was worried, peggy," said jack. leslie thought it good of him to make excuses for his handsome but irritable host. at once they all liked jack morgan. he turned out to be a cousin of peggy's, whom mrs. ives had invited for the summer at steeple rocks. peggy privately informed leslie that jack was worth a dozen of their other guests, most of them friends of her father's, she said. but almost everyone was grown up, she said, and peggy had no chums of her own. sarita and leslie forthwith invited her to make chums of them, and they were not a little touched at the eagerness with which peggy accepted the offer. the little hurriedly-prepared supper broke any remaining ice. when jack finally rode off with peggy, both insisted that there must be a beach party at steeple rocks very soon, to which all the camping party would come. beth thought that it would be very pleasant and accepted for the family, which was just as well; but she did not notice that while the rest commented on the kindness of the invitation, none of them committed themselves about coming. "we did that very well, dal," sarita remarked afterwards. "they know that we'd love to come, but if mr. ives appears and says anything, they may remember that beth was the only one who said anything definite about accepting, and even she said 'if we can.' i am pretty sure that they are all regular summer folks with money and clothes and style." "it does not sound very well to hear peggy criticise her father," dalton suggested, to the girls' surprise. they had seen peggy go up purposely but shyly to dalton after supper, to say her "thank you," they supposed, and they had noticed dalton's friendly response. "i thought of it, too," said leslie, "and i am sure that beth did; but at that, peggy ives may have reason to dread her father, even though she should not speak so before strangers. i don't trust him." yet it was leslie, on the very next day, when she was at the beach, alone, who accepted an invitation to enter the ives' launch. she was the first one of the secrest party to land at steeple rocks. chapter vi a "close-up" view dalton had gone to the town on the railroad, where he had arranged to have his mail sent for a while, writing to the lawyer again and telling him to direct important letters to the general delivery there for the present. sarita had a headache and was lying down for the afternoon, looked in upon occasionally by elizabeth, who was at her usual occupation of sketching or painting. beth ascribed sarita's headache to some cheap candy which the girls had bought at the village and was hoping that a little soreness about sarita's throat would not amount to anything. leslie, who had been in the ocean earlier in the day with elizabeth, was a bit of bright color on the beach in a red frock and sweater to match. she was easily seen from the launch, where figures waved at her and pointed toward the dock, a small one at the end of the town nearest the secrest headland, as peggy had begun to call it. they were beckoning her to come, leslie saw; and making a pile of her shells, for gathering them was her latest occupation, she ran toward the little dock. there, before she arrived the pretty launch was bobbing up and down inside the breakwater. "come on for a cruise, leslie!" called peggy. "it's grand this afternoon. we'll bring you back in time for anything." jack was out on the rough boards to help leslie inside of the launch. it was really not necessary to accept or refuse, only to climb in. a large, dark woman looked critically at leslie and leslie found no sympathy in her eyes when, after she was seated, she met her glance. "madame kravetz, this is leslie secrest. madame teaches me, leslie. where is sarita?" "she has a headache and beth is hoping that it doesn't mean tonsilitis. sarita wore a thin dress and forgot her sweater when we went out last night, but beth is dosing her and perhaps it will not amount to anything." leslie was wondering a little about peggy's governess. she did not look french, and her name was certainly not french. she might be one of those swiss who are part french and part german. leslie did not like her expression. jack was running the launch. out to sea they started; then, after a time, they made for the bay, which was better for launches than the sea, which was growing rough. for a while they cruised around among the fishing boats and a few pretty sail-boats until peggy directed jack to head for steeple rocks. "take leslie through the channel, jack, and show her our little harbor in our own bay." madam kravetz started to say something, but closed her thin lips rather tightly instead. leslie thought that she had been about to make an objection, but she was having too good a time to think much about their chaperon. the channel was interesting. jack was careful between rocks at the entrance, but the distance widened as they proceeded. at their right a narrow islet with high rocks kept the force of the ocean from the channel and other rocks made a breakwater for the ives' harbor, "ives bay." "people are often afraid when we take them through the channel for the first time," said peggy, "especially if they have heard the stories about pirates' cove. but we tell them that the channel is deep and safe even for a boat of fair size, if they veer away a little from the rocks on the cove side." peggy nodded toward the rocks at their left over which tossing waters left their spray. "dad showed jack where to go and where not to go," she added. "i just _love_ steeple rocks, leslie, and i wish that you would come here a lot." leslie saw that madame kravetz looked annoyed. she almost turned her back upon the girls and looked out over the boat's edge with a frown. "these are beth's 'cathedral rocks,'" leslie replied to peggy. "she loves them, more than any of us. beth is an artist, you know. but we all love to look at them and i like any rock on the coast. they beat sand for beauty any day, though i will say that for bathing, you may give me a sandy beach." little waves lapped the shore near the dock where jack skilfully brought their boat. leslie felt thrilled, as she confided to sarita later, to see a pretty sailboat tied there, together with other boats of various sorts. dear me, they could have everything they wanted, she supposed. in response to leslie's exclamation over the number of boats, peggy said that her father had a large yacht, too, that had to be docked in the other bay. "we wondered if that larger dock were not yours," said leslie. "i think that you are a very lucky girl, peggy, to have so much fun." "but after all, leslie, it's _people_ that make fun and good times, not _things_, or even places, though i like to cruise." peggy frowned and looked thoughtful, while leslie wondered again. but now jack was offering to help the ladies out of the boat "what are you going to do now?" asked madame kravetz. "oh, i want to show leslie all over steeple rocks. jack and i have been intending to explore them more ourselves, but we haven't had time, with all the company we have had." "no,--and you haven't time now," coldly said peggy's governess. "your mother will expect to meet your friend, since you have brought her here; and then it will be necessary to see her home before long, if her sister does not worry about what has become of her." "oh, you always think up such horrid things, madame k," rather pettishly peggy said. "all right, though, for i want mother to see leslie." it was quite a climb to reach the top of the headland and then, indeed, they were only at the beginning of the higher mass known as steeple rocks. but good steps had been made, with a strong railing, that made the ascent easy to the young people. madame kravetz, also, climbed easily. when they reached the top of the steps, they walked from the upper platform to a rocky expanse which was evidently the rear of the steeple rocks garden, for presently they came among little trees, planted with decorative intent, and leslie found herself within a formal garden. flowers were blossoming and leslie would have liked to linger, had not peggy hurried her on to show her the house, an immense affair, of how many rooms leslie could only guess. there were gables and ells and corners and masses of stone. there were chimneys and bay windows and balconies. from the rear they went around to the front, past a porte-cochere, where a big car was standing. the entrance was particularly beautiful, leslie thought, with wide steps and pillars. great flags of stone made the porch floor. light wicker chairs stood about and a long wicker couch was piled with pretty cushions in gay colors. "and they don't want _us_ to have even a log cabin!" leslie thought, in a moment of resentment. but no one could be resentful with peggy, who was the most hospitable creature imaginable. jack, too, felt the responsibility of making leslie have a good time. peggy took leslie to her own pretty room first, where both girls made themselves a little more presentable. leslie was glad that her dress and sweater were respectable, since she was to meet mrs. ives. gathering shells on the beach had not improved the appearance of her hands, which were now washed with peggy's pet soap, fragrant and soothing. then they joined jack on the porch again, to find him at a little table behind tall glasses of delicious lemonade and a dish of cakes. this was almost better than camping! but never mind. the secrests, too, would have a house one of these days! through the trees they could see a tennis court where active figures were playing and other people were about. white, red, blue, orange, all sorts of colors, had a share in the sport costumes. "it's doubles," said peggy. "there, it's over. now they will be coming in, i think." in a few minutes small groups, perhaps a dozen people in all, sauntered toward the house, mrs. ives hurrying on before the rest. "that's mother in the white," said peggy, going to the steps to stop her. "oh, mother, stop a minute, won't you? leslie's here." mrs. ives halted and turned toward leslie and jack. "yes, peggy, if jack will order some lemonade and cakes for us all. that is what i was hurrying for. so this is leslie?" she cordially extended a hand to leslie, who rose and stepped forward to greet her, rather surprised to find her so young, in appearance, at least, with her bobbed hair and youthful dress. referring to their kindness to peggy, mrs. ives renewed her invitation. but leslie saw that her hostess was not speaking very seriously. "thank you, mrs. ives," she said. "we were glad to be invited, but there have been things to hinder us (indeed there had), and then, we are scarcely prepared to mingle with your guests. we came to camp, you know." "that will make no difference," cordially said mrs. ives, "but perhaps you will best enjoy the beach party that peggy is planning. peggy, you arrange it and have what you want. excuse me, miss leslie, i must go on." although leslie felt that mrs. ives pleasant cordiality was not assumed, she saw that her mind was wandering toward her older guests during the time of their brief conversation. one of the ladies was waiting for her and both went into the large room which leslie had noticed as she passed in the hall. sounds of music presently reached them. "now that's over," coolly peggy remarked, "and we've gotten rid of madame. jack, i want to take leslie to my room and talk with her a little bit. will you be ready to take her back in the launch when we come down?" "i surely will, but you'd better make it snappy if you don't want to have miss beth worrying over what has become of her wandering sister." leslie looked at her watch. there was time for a little visit only. she followed peggy back into the attractive room with its comfortable, summer fittings. so near the sea, the house was suitably screened from the strong winds by the pile of headland rocks with their two towers. peggy, however, considered this a decided drawback, since there was no good view of the sea from any of the windows. "but dad said that i would be glad sometimes not to be blown away or think that i was going to sail off with the house! he wanted it close up against the rocks, and you can see for yourself that part of the house fairly joins them. dad has his office there and his own little library. he's a shivery sort of man, anyhow, used to florida in the winters, you know." "how would i know, sweet peggy?" "probably you wouldn't," laughed peggy. "that is what my own father used to call me, 'sweet peggy,' after the old song." "oh, then, mr. ives is really not your father," said the surprised leslie. but that accounted for some of peggy's rather disrespectful speeches. "no, and i ought to be ashamed of myself for not liking him better. i can have anything i want and he doesn't care. o leslie, i wish that you would let me talk to you about things sometimes! you are all so happy, and we aren't, very, here. i don't know just what is the matter, either!" "why, of course you may talk to me, peggy! it seems to me that you might be happy enough, a nice, pretty girl with everything to make you happy. why, child, we've had real trouble,--well, i suppose that you have been through that, too, losing your father." "yes, though i was pretty small, then. haven't you very much to live on, either?" peggy was quite frank in her question, but leslie, to whom having money or not having it was only an agreeable or disagreeable incident, did not mind. "not so very much, peggy," she answered, "but enough to get along and more than some people. then we are always expecting to do and be something wonderful, you see!" leslie was laughing a little, but peggy understood. "perhaps that's it," peggy said. "nobody here wants to do anything but have a good time. if i had been allowed to have one of my girl friends here this summer, i suppose i would have been satisfied. but when mother invited jack, even, dad made a terrible to-do about it and almost said that he should not come; but he had already been invited. dad said that he did not want any 'curious boys' around. leslie, there is something funny going on and i wish i could find out what it is. i'm pretty sure that mother doesn't know either, and she worries. she has been worried ever since that old foreigner came to be a sort of secretary or something to dad. he manages his business, dad says sometimes. he's a count. madame kravetz belongs to the nobility, too." "from what country?" asked leslie, interested. "russia, i think, though she claims to be french. old count herschfeld is supposed to be austrian. you'll see him sometime. he has fishy eyes and is very straight and tall and pale, and has a slit for a mouth, and walks like a soldier. probably he was some sort of a general in the war." "if i were you, peggy, i wouldn't worry over anything that you can't help. you will be able to enjoy this wonderful place. it must be great to be in florida for the winters, too." "i suppose it is. i never thought about it. mother married dad when i was about six years old. he was nicer then than he is now. we travel so much that i have a teacher with me all the time. but i heard mother talking to dad about _not_ putting me in school, so i suppose that boarding school will be the next thing for me." "do you like your governess?" "i do _not_. to myself i call her 'crabby.' kravetz, kravy, crabby, you see. sometime i will forget before company!" "better not," smiled leslie. "but if they let you, suppose you stay around with us a good deal this summer. you and sarita and i will be a sort of--'triumvirate,' you know. dal will be terribly busy pretty soon, building our log cabin, and we'll have to run our launch half the time without him, and fish in the small boat, too. he is taking most of his fun now, he says, though, of course, he will like to build the house, too. he is crazy about the woods and about making things and having a house of our own. we sold our house when elizabeth got a place to teach in a bigger town only a few miles away." "i wish elizabeth taught me," said peggy. "i could learn more if i liked the teacher and was sure that what she said was true." leslie was quite impressed by that statement. she had not liked the face of the governess either. "i'm going to be real good and see if they will not let me off from lessons, though mother said that madame kravy needed the money and the place. but she could stay just the same. dad said the other day that he needed some one 'to help him in his office.'" leslie wondered what his business could be that he carried it on in this remote spot. but he might be some big executive who had to keep in touch with affairs and write "letters and things." busily they talked. peggy thanked leslie for asking her to be a member of a "triumvirate" and said that if sarita did not mind she surely would belong. "jack is sort of lost, too, without anybody of his own age. perhaps dalton would not mind if he hung around when he was building." "well, peggy, i think that i ought to tell you something, if you promise not to say a word to elizabeth about it. you see beth was all used up when school was out, and if she can only have a little while to be happy and get strong again, why then it won't make so much difference what happens, and i suppose that she will have to know about this. now it _might_ interfere with the 'triumvirate.'" "tell, me. i'll not say a word. i can't imagine what it is." "i'm sure you never could. you see, peggy, your father may not _want_ you to come to see us, or have us out here, or anything. was he there when your mother sent word for us to come?" "no." "i thought so." then leslie gave the details of their first meeting with mr. ives, summing up the case quite clearly. "so, you see, if mr. ives wants to get us off the land, and we stand up for what we think are our rights, it may not be so very pleasant all around. we'd always like you, peggy, but it might be embarrassing for you to have much to do with us." "it would be a great deal more pleasant than not to have anything to do with you. little peggy will try diplomacy. i'll find out what dad is up to; but if i don't, and the position in the triumvirate is still open, i'll fill it, you can be sure." "well, then, peggy, don't do anything you oughtn't for our sakes." "how about little peggy's sake, leslie?" "same thing. but if your mother lets you, you will certainly be welcome _on_ the sea crest and in the eyrie pretty soon." "when shall we have the first meeting of the 'triumvirate'?" "say to-morrow." "to-morrow it is." the faintly ticking little wrist watches announced to the girls who glanced at them that they must bring the visit to a close. they ran downstairs and leslie strolled out, while peggy hunted up her cousin. in a few minutes the three were going down the steps to the ives' launch, which carried them past the foaming rocks and into the bay toward leslie's homing spot, the little rude dock at the base of the secrest headland. pirates' cove looked just as interesting and deadly as ever, as they passed it. the sea crest bobbed up and down gently in recognition of the other boat, and jack gallantly handed leslie to a safe foothold and saw her up the more difficult steps, before he took the wheel from peggy and waved a goodbye. the little launch chugged away. leslie stopped at the top to lean upon a rock and watch the boat and her new friends. what a queer household there was at steeple rocks. mr. ives was not peggy's father. she was glad of that. she was sure that others there beside madame kravetz were foreign. the lady who waited for mrs. ives and joined her had spoken to her in french, probably because mrs. ives knew french; for she heard the guest "jabber" something else to another lady that followed them. there was something queer going on, peggy had said. of course. it was that, perhaps, that made mr. ives try to send them all away. leslie's thoughts were busy with impressions received at steeple rocks. chapter vii rights assured on leslie's arrival in camp, she found only beth there. something savory was steaming on the portable stove, which stood out under the trees, protected from any breeze too strong both by the natural screen and one manufactured from canvas. "soup to-night, leslie," said beth. "sarita thought that she could enjoy it. step into the tent and see what you think of that water color. i finished it. tell me that the sky looks like the one we see here!" "oh, it does, beth," called leslie in a moment from the tent. then she came out to help. "it is lovely, beth, the prettiest thing you have done yet. where is sarita?" "back in the woods with her glass. the last i saw of her she was trailing a warbler and trying to find its nest. i think that she called it a redstart. she is ever so much better, though rather weak after that headache. her throat is a little raw, but she will escape any further trouble, i think. i hope that dal will get back in time for supper. i was almost worried about you, gone so long." "peggy and jack picked me up from the beach and i had a trip to steeple rocks. there doesn't seem to be anything to do, beth,--do you care if i go to hunt sarita?" "not at all." back into the fragrant woods leslie strolled and met sarita coming with dalton by the little trail, now quite a path of their making, that led through the woods from the road. the two were laughing and talking as they came and dalton waved triumphantly a letter as he saw leslie. "letter from jim lyon, leslie. we have the abstract of title safely reposing in our deposit box, where jim says it had better stay. we are to refer mr. ives to him. this land never _did_ belong to mr. ives. he sent me a little list of names of the owners. so mr. ives is--mistaken! in other words, it's all a bluff, for some unknown reason, to get rid of us, or grab the land, or something." "then we can go right on and have our shack! how grand! sarita, if your head wasn't shaky, we'd have a war-dance right here where they used to have 'em!" "what's the matter with sarita?" dalton inquired. "she does look a little peaked." "oh, i'm all right now, dal. beth was sure that i was going to be sick, but it was only a sick headache, i think. beth's been doctoring me all day. my throat is a little raw and that's all. let's hurry up to tell beth the good news." "you have forgotten that she does not know the bad news." "sure enough. why not tell her now?" "no,--i--think not," hesitatingly said dalton. "i've another letter for her from jim,--i told him that she did not know what mr. ives said and that we are trying to keep her from worry. i transacted some business about the building, and that will be enough news for beth about my trip. if beth and peggy don't know, it will make relations less strained, i think." "i told peggy to-day, dal. i almost had to. do you mind?" "you have as much right as i have, leslie, to manage affairs with peggy. tell me about it." "i will. i'll tell nearly everything at supper, then we'll have a private confab later. what do you think? i was at the very stronghold of the enemy,--steeple rocks!" leslie enjoyed the surprise of dalton and sarita, but she continued to speak of beth. "we'd better let her have a little longer time to rest. this doesn't spoil _our_ fun at all, but she might worry and not sleep." dalton wore a wide grin. "your freedom from care shows your confidence in your natural protector," said he, tapping his chest. leslie laughed with sarita, but told her brother that he was more nearly right than he thought. "under these circumstances i'd certainly hate to be here without you!" "thanks for the tribute, les; i'm almost overcome, but i think that i can manage to get into camp without assistance." but dalton pretended to stagger a little, while both laughing girls ran to his support just as they emerged from the deeper wood into the clearing. elizabeth, watching the soup, looked up, startled to see dalton apparently in need of help, but it was evident in a moment that it was only what she termed "some silly joke" as she summoned them to supper. "now beth, don't look at me in that tone of voice," jovially urged dalton. "see this letter that i have for you? don't halt supper, though, while you read it. i'm half starved." "i think that i can manage to wait until after supper," dryly returned elizabeth, but she flushed when she saw the letter. "nice old beth," crooned leslie. "i'm doing all the clearing up after supper, and you shall have a free day to-morrow, too, shan't she, sarita?" "i _think_ so! poor beth would just get into some inspiring mood for her latest masterpiece, when she would happen to think that i ought to have some medicine, or a drink, or something." "nonsense! i had a lovely, quiet day." but beth was tired and after reading her letter she went to bed, while leslie cleared away the evidences of the meal and washed the dishes with sarita's help. dalton then built a fire out on the rocks which overlooked bay and sea and there they toasted marshmallows and talked, sarita wrapped like a mummy, as she declared, to keep her from too strong a breeze. they put her in a sheltered spot, but they sat for a long time about the cheerful blaze, talking over the events of the day and other things. dalton gave the details of his trip to town more fully than he had done before beth at supper. by the firelight the girls read again the letter from mr. lyon to dalton. "here's what he says, sarita," said leslie, leaning where the light would fall upon the page. "'i'm glad that you suggested our coming to maine, dalton. it may be possible, though we do not want to drive with a big camping outfit. can such things be purchased near you? i believe that you ordered yours sent on. i may as well take my vacation there.'" here leslie pursed up her mouth and gave sarita a comical glance. "'you may imagine how the children shouted when i read them your message. marsh can not come, but mary looked as if the mere suggestion of maine breezes were refreshing. we are having very hot weather. i will wait to hear again from you before making definite plans.'" "he will also wait to hear what beth thinks, i imagine," said sarita. "we can let them use the bungalow tent if we get some building done by the time they want to come," dalton suggested. "now that we've had the brilliant idea of an eyrie first, here on the rocks, that ought to be finished _pronto_, and its one big room will do for you girls if our company comes before the shack in the woods gets finished. that will take longer. but i've ordered lumber for the eyrie and it's going to back right up against the rocks. we are going to have a frame inside, then use the rocks around here for the outside, a real stone house, you see, girls, and i shall have it built with a little window looking over the rocks and out to sea, our real 'lookout.' you girls can help gather the smaller stones if you want to, and beth may have, some artistic ideas. "a man is coming to help me. i've ordered a wheelbarrow and a lot of things. just wait till the truck comes to-morrow!" "shall you begin to cut down the trees that you have marked, dal, now that you know our title is all right?" "i am not sure. cutting down trees will mean that someone from steeple rocks will be right over. i think that it might be better to get the eyrie right up, with a lock on the door." "aha! our castle, sarita!" cried leslie. "you are right, dal. now let me tell you all about peggy. she wants to be with us as much as possible, sarita. it was too pathetic. imagine not being happy with all the advantages that she has! but she told me that mr. ives is not her real father." leslie paused to let this statement take effect. "good!" sarita exclaimed, and dalton, too, nodded his approval. "then, her governess, too, is some queer foreigner and an old count somebody, that is in some business or other with mr. ives, is there and her mother has worried ever since he appeared on the scene somewhere in florida,--" "i admire your definite way of telling the facts," dalton remarked. "i want you to get only the main fact, dal, the 'atmosphere' of steeple rocks. from what peggy says it is clear that she is uneasy and that there is some mystery there. if we take peggy into our society, sarita, we are very likely to find out what it is, and anyhow the kiddie needs us, i think. she may be as old as we are in some ways, and again she is just a little girl. but she is true blue, i believe, nothing deceitful about her." "you can take her around on our launch, les," dalton suggested. "i'll be too busy for a while to take out the boats, and you can run the launch as well as i can now." "i'll do it. we'll cruise around and fish sometimes. by the way, jack morgan may come over to 'help you with the building,' he said, when he deposited me on our rocks; and peggy announced that both of them would be over to-morrow." dalton's grin was again in evidence. "we'll see who wins out, the folks that want to get rid of us, or those that want us to stay," and to emphasize his remark, he threw another stick on the fire. by the flickering light they strolled around to look at the place where the eyrie was to be built. as in the case of the steeple rocks home, it could be built against the protecting rocks, in a natural "corner," where the rocks of the headland might form almost two walls. but dalton explained that it would be better to have a good frame inside, and both girls said that as dal always knew what he was about they would leave it to him to show them by doing it. it was quite late when dalton left them, but sarita and leslie lingered. "be in pretty soon, dal," said leslie. they turned into a favorite corner of the rocks, where they, could perch upon one and see over a ledge. "why, look, sarita," continued leslie. "there is a big ship. see all the lights!" "it is either moving very, very slowly out there," said sarita, "or standing still. look! there's a signal of some sort." climbing around the rocks, careful of slipping in the dark, leslie and sarita found a post from which they could see the entire bay and its surrounding waters. neither had said so, but each was wondering whether there might not be some answering lights from the village or from steeple rocks. it was from the village, however, that a motor boat put out. they could hear the chugging sound of its engine and watched its light. it was eerie there, with the sound of the breakers, the faint noise of the little engine as it went farther away, the great dark headlands and woods, the misty air from the ocean. sarita drew dose to leslie and took her hand. "it is all so big that it scares me," she whispered. "i love it," leslie whispered back, "but i imagine that it's just as well for nobody to see us here." "let's go back," hastily said sarita. "if you want to, but who could see us in this dark?" leslie looked up at the sky glittering with stars. "if it were moonlight it would be different. but perhaps we'd better not talk. somebody might be snooping around to see if any of us were up." sarita, not quite herself yet, sat down on the rocks at hand, but leslie stood with deepest interest, watching the moving light. "now they are there," she whispered to sarita; "come on, child, i'm going to see you to bed and then come back with my flashlight to see where that motorboat comes back to,--don't you admire my english?" "i'll wait with you, leslie." "no, not after the day you have had. i ought to have been more thoughtful. come on, honey-child, if only to save me from beth's reproofs." leslie never knew how wise a move she had made, for when she and sarita had been in the tent for a little while, moving carefully, with only an occasional flash of the flashlight, in order not to disturb beth, a watcher among the rocks moved slowly away toward the village. their fire on the rocks had been noted. it was just as well, too, that leslie waited for some little time after sarita was in her cot before leaving the tent again. she knew that it would be some time, very likely, before the launch would return, especially if, as she thought, they were engaged in rum-running. in consequence, she, too, undressed, slipping on her warm bathrobe and her rubber-soled tennis shoes for her little venture. she grew sleepy as she sat for a little while on the edge of her cot, wrapped in a blanket. then, when she found herself nodding, she roused with a start! oh, she must have gone to sleep and it would be too late! but she looked at her watch and found that only twenty minutes had passed since she and sarita had come in. it _was_ a little spooky, leslie thought, to go out to the rocks alone. she had half a notion to call dalton, but when she tiptoed to his tent she heard his even breathing and had not the heart to waken him. coming from the darkness of the tent, it did not seem so black under the starlight. she kept to the path and occasional flashes from her light showed her the ground before her. their fire was out. when she reached the spot where she and sarita had stood, she was surprised to see the launch half way toward the bay. it had not taken them long to load, she thought. and a second surprise, though not so much of one, either, was to see the launch speeding in the direction of steeple rocks, not by way of the bay and the channel, but from the ocean, doubtless to the ives' bay. something, then, was to be taken from the ship to mr. ives. perhaps it wasn't liquor. perhaps mr. ives was a jewel smuggler. perhaps he wasn't! leslie laughed to herself at another idea. mr. ives was away. it might be that he himself was on board the vessel and was delivered here instead of being taken further down to the port. that was probably it. still-- chapter viii the eyrie true to the arrangement, dalton's man arrived the next morning with two trucks instead of one and another man to assist. they were real new englanders, with speech quaint to these young people. the head man told the girls that the shack would be up by night. they thought that he was joking, but if it had not been for a few hindrances it might have been accomplished. it was necessary, however, to fasten it very securely to the rocks, for lack of much foundation, though sarita declared that it fulfilled every requirement of a house founded upon the rock. it was surprising how much two men with dalton's trained assistance could accomplish in one day, and they left for home well satisfied with what had been done. as some more lumber was needed the men drove the trucks back to town, but they promised to come early and expected to stay the next night and, indeed, until the eyrie was completed. neither jack nor peggy put in an appearance, but the girls scarcely thought about it, in the excitement of the growing building. leslie had told sarita and dalton about her having seen the launch move toward steeple rocks, and both girls related what had happened before to dalton. he said little, but seemed to agree with them in regard to the possibilities. that night it was the girls who retired before dalton. he was fussing around, as leslie expressed it, seeing that tools were under cover and everything about their materials in order, when they left him and went into their tent. remembering what warnings had been given him, dalton felt a little uneasy, now that they were actually launched in building, though in so small a way. he hoped that no one had discovered the undertaking so far. finally he went to bed and slept till some time past midnight when he woke with an uneasy feeling. the surf was booming beyond the camp and the rocks. he heard an owl hooting in the woods. then he thought he heard sounds as if someone or something was moving through the thickets or brushing by the bushes along the path. it would be hard to make one's way through this grove without some noise. again he heard the cracking of a stick. reaching for his gun, dalton sprang out of his cot and peered through the flap of his tent. a dark figure was stealthily entering the camp, making its way toward the pile of lumber. it was carrying something. this was placed against the lumber and a match was lit. dalton waited no longer. he stepped out from his tent, directed his gun toward the stars, away from the tents, and fired. crack! the shot reverberated among the rocks and the intruder lost no time in getting out of range and sight. dalton smiled grimly as he ran in apparent pursuit, but really to see that the dropped match had gone out. he darted behind the lumber, then, not knowing but the shot might be returned. the sounds of someone crashing through the woods came to him and he came to the conclusion that he had successfully frightened away his enemy. most likely he would not want to be identified, dalton thought. there was not much danger that there would be any battle now. "oh, dal! what is the matter? what--are you hurt?" here was leslie, coming from the door of his tent, where she had evidently gone first to find him. "here, sis,--get back to bed _instanter!_ no, nobody is shot. i'm sorry that i had to wake you all up, but somebody was trying to set fire to our lumber and i had to scare him away. did you hear him smashing through the woods?" "yes, and i thought that he had shot you. i was glad to see your cot empty, then i was afraid that you were shot out in the woods!" "go back and tell the girls what happened. we'll not be bothered again to-night; besides, i'll stay awake till daylight. you sleep on and wake me up when the men come, if i oversleep." "all right. i don't think that beth even woke up. her nerves certainly have gotten cured. sarita is awake, though. i told her i'd find out. want my flashlight, dal?" "no, thank you, les. i have my own if i need it." "well, don't stay where you might get hurt, then." "no. i'm going back to the tent again, but i'll have to sneak around a little from time to time. don't worry if you hear me." fortunately for dalton, leslie wakened early and roused her brother when the workmen arrived. such progress was made that in a few days the entire eyrie was complete, "lookout," stone wall and all. there was plenty of material for the wall. boulders near at hand were pried and rolled into position and smaller stones were lifted to place above, all secured by mortar, like a brick wall. the roof, with the little window that looked toward the sea and above the rocks, took some little time, for it must be made weather-proof. but so small a shelter was soon finished. elizabeth promised herself much fun in their finishing the inside to their liking. it was to be their watch tower as well as "the artist's retreat," leslie declared. "i'll give you a day or two more of my valuable time," said dalton, "to put up shelves and make the step that we need at the door, then i'm going to begin on the trees. the men have another job and that is why they were willing to work overtime every day and finish this. if i decide to stay here all winter by myself, i'll have this plastered. but this boarding up will do this summer. "the other man that i engaged for the log house can come pretty soon. my plans are fine unless something interferes. i think that i will report to mr. ives the matter of the man who tried to set fire to our lumber. i can't think that he would want that to happen. a fire here would spread to his own woods. trust a man to look after his own interests, even if he is willing that something should happen to us. i don't think that he was concerned in it. it is hard to understand, unless bill or someone works on his own in smuggling." "you are sure that it is smuggling, dal?" "what else could it be?" then at last came peggy and jack, the very day after the eyrie was completed, coming in the ives' launch and docking where they had left leslie. up by the rocky steps they climbed, not seeing sarita and leslie, who were peering at them over the rocks. "welcome to our eyrie!" cried leslie as they reached the top. "oh, hello, girls," peggy returned. "you almost scared me. i didn't know that you were so close. we just had to come as soon as we could to see what you have been doing. have you built your eyrie, then, or started it?" "just come on a little way and then turn around to your right. couldn't you see the little lookout window from the bay?" "didn't notice it. oh, how cute! and you are making the step of stones, too, with concrete." peggy ran around to where dalton was on his knees, pointing up the step in front of the eyrie door. he was so absorbed in his work that he did not look up for a moment. then he lifted his face and saw peggy. "yes; this is home-made concrete. let's hope that it will last. where have you been, peggy? leslie told us that we might expect you over some time ago. you have missed all the excitement of our first home-building." "i know it. it's been so stupid, except for our playing tennis and cruising around a little. jack is perishing for someone old enough for him to have real fun with. the rest of our guests are too old and i guess that they are all leaving anyhow. we couldn't come, you know. well, yes, we _could_, but dad was home, and i didn't want to risk having an order not to come over at all. so i told jack that we'd just wait and say nothing till dad left. mother said that he was going away again, and we made no remarks at all. "but now dad is gone and we can have that beach party. leslie told you, i suppose, that she told me about dad's claiming to own your land." dalton was rather surprised at the way in which peggy put it, but he answered her seriously. "yes, leslie told us about the visit she had with you. i hope that we shall not have any trouble with mr. ives. we have had word that we have an abstract of title, so we shall not leave, of course. but i scarcely think that it would be the thing for us to go to steeple rocks when he might not want us there. it is very kind for your mother to invite us, but you must remember that she does not know anything about it all. can't you continue to come here instead? you girls can have all kinds of fun together." "but we like you, too. didn't you rescue, me from a--stony grave? i want _you_ to see steeple rocks." "and i confess that there is no place i should rather see." dalton was on his feet now, replacing the boards by which they could enter the eyrie door without setting foot upon the wide step, just completed. jack, sarita and leslie came up now, for an introduction between jack and dalton, and to peep within the one large room of the eyrie. it was still quite primitive, with a sliding bar on the inside of the door to make it secure at night, and a hasp, staple and padlock on the outside, but the boards had been neatly fitted together, perpendicularly, and the rafters were not unpleasant to the eye. already the girls had decorated them with spruce, and a bouquet of wild flowers stood upon the long shelf which dalton had put up. "we can't have any fireplace here," said leslie, "but we shall in our bigger house." "who knows?" dalton inquired. "we may enlarge this place sometime and make what father expected it to be." "sure enough, who knows?" quoted peggy. "i believe that dalton will do anything he wants to do!" dalton gave peggy a big brotherly smile. "thanks," he said. "i'm going to try, but things do not always turn out as you expect, peggy." "i should say they don't!" chapter ix the first tree falls "dal, are you sure that we ought to do this?" elizabeth secrest eyed her brother seriously. "yes, beth. i know that you are thinking about the money, and i don't blame you. you have had a hard enough time to earn our income, and if i slash around and spend all our principal, you'll be thinking 'what's the use?' but beth, there is a method in my madness, and if we get a livable house up, next summer you can bring some of the girls, charge them a reasonable price for room, and board, too, or let them cook for themselves. then i ought to make a little money out of the launch. there's a little colony only a few miles away, if we don't get enough people here to pay." "it is a pity to spoil our woods with people," said beth. "but we'll make the camp ourselves," urged dalton, "and have only nice folks. how would a girls' camp strike you, and i might have a few boys somewhere?" "no, thanks. i get enough of that in school time." "poor beth! but suppose we manage it so you do not have to teach during the year. if i got some one to play chaperon and run the affairs, would you be hostess and perhaps teach a class of girls in sketching or something in your line?" "dal, i'd hate it. wait till leslie grows up a little further to try all that. you wouldn't like it yourself." "i'd like anything that took you out of the school room. but i have another plan for that. all right, beth; but just the same, we'll go ahead now. there are possibilities here. i promise you to spend as little as possible and to do as much of the work myself as i can." "i don't want you to kill yourself and not to have any of the fun, fishing and all." beth had a sympathetic voice that always carried more meaning than her words themselves. "i have already had a great time with that, and i shall again, later. but you know how i like this sort of thing. i'd like to be a big contractor some day. the first tree comes down to-morrow morning!" dalton had another reason for working steadily at their camp. the experience with the man who had tried to set fire to their lumber had made quite an impression. dalton had talked it over with leslie, who thought that it might be the eyrie which could be especially objectionable, since it had the view of the bay and any operations there. "you don't suppose, dal, that they could think us spying?" "they might think that we would report them if we saw anything unusual; but if they think that we are here on purpose it will reassure them when we build a larger and more permanent home,--unless all this comes from mr. ives, and he is really determined to get us away, for some reason." "we girls are going to try to find out." "don't use peggy unless she wants to be in it, whether her father is concerned or not." "what do you think of me, dal secrest! peggy shall know everything that we know, if she lends herself to our investigating. she was thunderstruck when she found out about our having an abstract of title, and mr. ives' name not even mentioned." dalton nodded. "peggy is an unusually nice girl, but she is considerably younger and hasn't much judgment. don't let her get into trouble at home, if you can help it. as for me, i'm going to be right on the job most of the time, and while we are putting up the log house, i'll keep a man to sleep right here in camp. i would sleep in the eyrie now, to watch it, if it were not for being farther away from you girls." "how about our sleeping there, then? with the padlock off, they will know that someone is inside, and there will be enough air with that one window open on the side of the ocean." "someone might climb up on the roof," laughed dalton. "yes, but i'd like to see them climb out and into the window. there's a sheer drop of i don't know how many feet. and one thing, i don't see how they could set fire to the eyrie." dalton did not tell leslie of what he had been afraid, namely that eyrie and rocks might be blown up with dynamite. but he finally consented to have the girls move over to the eyrie, which suited beth; nor did she know how many times dalton wakened at first and came over to see if eyrie and girls were safe. but dalton secrest was not easily moved from any purpose that he was convinced to be a wise one. the first tree fell by his ax at the appointed time. all the girls, peggy included, were on hand to watch operations, and jack arrived, from an errand to the village, just in time. "there!" said dalton, leaning on his ax, "that's done!" the girls, warned away before the tree fell, came around to look at it. "doesn't it seem a pity to cut any tree down!" leslie exclaimed. "yes, it does," dalton acknowledged, "but you need not be afraid. i appreciate this woods perhaps more than you do, leslie. but you notice that the trees are all growing too thickly here. i shall cut two more out." to illustrate, dalton gave a sharp blow with the ax to one of the trees which he had marked. "have you another ax, dalton?" jack inquired. "what is the matter with my taking a hand in this?" "only the fact that your host, mr. ives, does not want us to build here," frankly dalton replied. "what is the matter with him?" asked jack, not much impressed with the news. he took the ax from dalton's hand and applied it to the base of the tree with some skill. peggy jumped up and down like some little child and clapped her hands. dalton rubbed his hands and stood back to rest a little. leslie watched jack with some admiration. they were just beginning to get acquainted with jack, who was not as talkative as peggy, but manly and capable. leslie had an idea that he was not from as wealthy a home as steeple rocks, though he seemed to have clothes for all occasions. she was glad that he was related to peggy and not to mr. ives. it would be hard to like anybody that really belonged to mr. ives, she thought, though she was conscious that she might not be quite fair to the suave gentleman, so unpleasant had been their relations. "go on, jack; that was good," peggy was saying. "it will be such fun to watch a real log house go up. didn't the pioneers always help each other?" "i fancy not when a man was building on land belonging to someone else!" all of the young people were startled at this new voice which came from behind them, as they faced the tree and jack. they turned to see a tall, straight man of possibly sixty years, looking coldly upon the scene. "count herschfeld!" exclaimed jack. peggy shrugged her shoulders. "i rather think there isn't anything of the sort here," said she. dalton tossed aside the ax, which jack had half unconsciously handed him, and stepped forward. "and who may you be?" he asked quietly, setting his lips firmly as he stopped speaking. "introduce us, peggy," sneeringly said the older man. peggy threw back her head and stepped from beside sarita toward dalton. "this is count herschfeld, dalton. count herschfeld, this is my friend, dalton secrest, who is building on his _own land_! miss elizabeth, count herschfeld,--miss leslie and miss sarita--" peggy began to be embarrassed with the number of introductions. she was not very old, and elizabeth put an arm around her, as she stepped forward in great surprise. "are you visiting at steeple rocks, count herschfeld?" elizabeth inquired, starting to put out her hand, then remembering that his first remark had not been friendly. what could it mean? she glanced at the faces around her. jack, frowning, was leaning against the tree. sarita and leslie had drawn together and were looking at the count with anything but friendly expressions. it seemed as if they were not as surprised as she. "you could scarcely call it visiting, miss secrest. i conduct mr. ives' business affairs very largely." "i see. can we do anything for you this morning?" "most certainly; you can order your brother to refrain from cutting any more of mr. ives' trees, and i am sorry to inform you, as mr. ives informed you some time ago, that we should like to have you withdraw from these woods." "but they _belong_ to us, count herschfeld. there must be some grave mistake on your part. my father purchased this land, which is duly recorded and we hold deed and abstract of title in the usual way. my father was a lawyer, sir, and it is not very likely that he would accept a doubtful title." beth's voice sounded very courteous and sweet, but she was as dignified as she was in the school room. "good old beth," whispered leslie to sarita. "she knew all about it all the time. we could have saved ourselves all that trouble if we had told her!" "but you did it to save _her_ the worry. it's a joke on us, all the same!" what would the count say next, leslie thought. he could not have expected them to be so sure of their rights. with a sneering smile on his face, count herschfeld stood there, bracing himself now with his walking stick. "i have no doubt that you think yourselves within your rights," began he, but dalton stepped up to him with a card on which he had been scribbling while beth talked. "here is the address of our lawyer, count herschfeld," said dalton. "you may wish to telegraph him. i want to have no trouble over this, but neither do i propose to be hindered. i have looked up the records purposely before beginning to build. we are not harming any one, count herschfeld, and we want to be let alone. i hope that we shall not be obliged to seek any protection from the law!" dalton spoke strongly and meaningly. count herschfeld lifted his eyebrows at that, but the sneer on his face remained. "i will report what you say to mr. ives," he replied, "also the felling of the trees." "mean old thing!" peggy cried, as the count disappeared through the trees. "probably he'll tell about our being here and jack's helping! he couldn't have heard the chopping clear from steeple rocks, could he?" "no, peggy," said dalton. "beth, we'll have to tell you what happened before. it's a good joke on us. we have spent lots of time and trouble finding out, and here you knew all about the abstract of title and everything." "it was my business to know, dal. why didn't you tell me?" elizabeth was quite amazed that she had not been informed at first. "mr. ives came right over, and you were so worn out that we didn't have the heart to give you anything to worry about. that was all. write to jim, beth, and hurry up his coming!" "i'd scarcely like to do that, dal,"--but elizabeth was smiling. "suppose we just go right on, as you have been doing, dal. we have the right of it. i am surprised that a man of mr. ives' wealth and position should do this. do you know, peggy, why he thinks he owns this land?" "i don't think that he thinks he owns it," replied peggy, her cheeks red with excitement. "he wants you to go away, and i don't think that he is very smart about it, either. he might know that you would know what you are about." "why should he want us to go away, peggy?" queried the still amazed elizabeth. "what harm could we do here? does he want all this woods and country about the bay to himself?" "something like that," peggy agreed. "he was fussing at mother, for 'bringing so many guests' to the place, and he said that he came here to get 'away from civilization.' seems to me, though, that he makes a great many trips back into it!" "perhaps he is obliged to," kindly said beth. "what is his business, peggy?" "i don't know. he doesn't drink, if that is what you are thinking. he has wines for those foreigners, friends of his, and the 'counts' that are always coming, but he never takes any to amount to anything." "oh, peggy, i never thought of such a thing. please consider that question unasked!" beth had not given possible smuggling any thought. "i don't care, miss beth. i'm worried myself about all this." "cheer up, peggy," said jack. "your dad and these folks will let their lawyers fix it all up, and meanwhile we'll have all the fun we want." "unless dad takes a notion to keep us at home!" "here goes for the other tree," said jack, picking up the ax again. leaving the two boys engaged in their task, the rest strolled from the woods to the rocks, where beth disappeared into the eyrie, which she was fitting up to her taste. the other girls went down to the launch, the sea crest, in which they were soon speeding out upon the bay. "every morning," said peggy, "jack will bring me over, either through the woods or in our launch. i'm going to say a little something to mother, so she will avoid the subject with dad, and perhaps she will help us to come. she sometimes does when dad is unreasonable." leslie did not quite know whether she approved of this or not. any form of deceit was abhorrent to leslie and she liked peggy too much to want her concerned in it. the situation at steeple rocks did not seem very admirable, to tell the truth. chapter x the secret no more was heard from the count. dalton and jack spent a busy week, working together and becoming very well acquainted. they were of almost the same age with many ideas in common. jack was intending to enter a university in the autumn and tried to persuade dalton to enter with him, but dalton told him that he was the man of the family and while it had been a matter of course to expect a college education while his father lived, it might not be best now. he had that matter to decide. if he went, he would work his way almost entirely. the girls had savory lunches for the boys, but they were often out on interesting affairs of their own about which they said little either to beth, dalton or jack. the sea crest and the little row boat dubbed the "swallow" were in frequent use. for the most part the girls wore their bathing suits, with raincoats or heavy coats over them, according to the weather. they swam near the beach, they made trips to the village; they climbed over the rocks, and under peggy's leadership they became acquainted with the literal ups and downs of the rocky paths around steeple rocks. they talked of secrets and mysteries before the boys, inviting their questions, but dalton and jack claimed that if they had anything to tell they would tell it. "oh, you'll be sorry!" cried peggy to dalton, whom she liked very much, it seemed, "when we find out why is pirates' cove or uncover a pirate hoard, or something!" "if you find it on our side, miss, it belongs to us!" "finders keepers, dal," laughed peggy. of the girls leslie was peggy's favorite, but sarita had no reason to be jealous, since peggy was too much younger to spoil the old close relation between the older girls. yet peggy was a bit of fire and energy and real lovableness to them both, and old enough in her ways to adapt herself to them if they forgot to adapt their plans to peggy. through sarita, peggy was introduced to the different gulls and other sea birds that flapped or sailed or flew over the bay and in the woods. leslie knew them too and peggy was envious, she said, until she found out that looking through sarita's good lenses, she, too, could distinguish the differences and learn to identify some of them. the little sandpipers that flew in wheeling flocks or skimmed with rapid feet over the sands were her particular delight. leslie and sarita wondered what peggy's real name might be, if mr. ives were only her step-father, but peggy did not seem inclined to talk about herself and they were too polite to ask. that she had been christened marguerite, margaret, or some other more dignified name than peggy they naturally supposed, but they were puzzled a little, as doubtless mischievous peggy intended, when she wrote large upon the sand one day at the beach the name angelina. "that, of course, is my real name, and mother used to call me angel sometimes till dad said that it wasn't very 'characteristic.'" but peggy's pretty lips were parted in what might easily be called an impish grin. "don't tell whoppers, little girl," advised sarita. "thanks. i'm glad you think that 'angel' is appropriate." "your lightning deductions are something wonderful," lazily said leslie, who was lying on the sand in the sun. it was really a hot morning "for once," as peggy said, and the girls could safely take their time to their dip. peggy was telling them about bathing in florida, and how she loved it. "but i'm glad to be here with you girls now and the peppy days that we usually have here just suit me. how about going around home after a while, letting me have a lunch fixed up and exploring that little cave we found. perhaps there is a passage to that hole in pirates' cove." "whoever heard of a hole in a cove?" sarita queried. "you know what i mean, the hole in the rocks there." leslie jumped to her feet. "come on, then. let's do something. one more dip and then for camp!" three heads bobbed up and down in the surf as they tossed a big ball, one that peggy had brought from florida, from one to another while they swam. by this time they had learned where it was safe for them and where the undertow might be a little too strong. dalton, who was a strong swimmer, had both inquired and investigated. a run and a climb and running again brought them into camp, where they changed to dry garments and started on a hike through the woods toward steeple rocks. by this time leslie and sarita had become quite familiar with the way. they scarcely liked to appear at the great house there just because they knew that mr. ives was away; yet peggy frankly wanted them, and her mother cordially urged them to come often. she thanked them for making life at the coast so pleasant to peggy. count herschfeld was away, too. peggy said that it was like a different place with him away and openly rejoiced in the absence of "the kravetz," as jack called her, most disrespectfully. where she had gone peggy did not know. the pleasant fact was enough for her she told the girls, though not in just those words. peggy was a great girl to "rattle on," sarita said; but leslie thought that there was always a point to peggy's remarks and enjoyed them. when they arrived at steeple rocks, peggy ran in to interview the housekeeper, while leslie and sarita strolled about the grounds, which by this time were in their prettiest summer garb. in part the gardens were formal, but there were nooks cleverly wild, yet rescued from the uncomfortable features of real wildness. they sat down on a rustic bench near the tennis court and surveyed the arbors, the porches, the solid, handsome house, the mass of beth's cathedral rocks and their steeple spires, towering behind and above. "grim and mysterious, aren't they, sarita?" "yes, leslie. i rather like the distant view best." "we get advantage of the distance for the outlines." "i wonder if mr. ives has built anything into the rock,--i mean bored or blasted into it see how closely that wall joins the rock." "that is where mr. ives' library and office are, peggy said, and i think that she mentioned a safe built into the rock. she said that was why he keeps everybody away from that part of the house." "oh, he does, does he?" "so peggy said. she says it's no temptation to her to go near his 'old office.'" sarita smiled. "peggy has turned out to be the most enthusiastic member of our 'triumvirate.' do you like her mother?" "i don't know what to think of mrs. ives. she is lovely to us and she seems to think a great deal of peggy, if she does turn her over to other people. perhaps she has to. do you remember mrs. peacock? she didn't do a thing but preen her feathers and play bridge and golf till the crash came; then she gathered up her kiddies from various schools and went to work to take care of them." "yes. it's hard to tell about the society women." the girls rose as they saw peggy tripping down the steps with a picnic basket in her hand. they joined her and went toward the path which led around into the rocks. they crossed the path by which they had entered the grounds from their own and the ives' woods, crossing also the rocky way with the steps which led down to the dock where the ives' yacht was supposed to stay. on a narrow ledge to their left they had need to be careful, but it led to a small cave which they had discovered before. it was not like one hollowed out by the action of water, but more like a space in the midst of rocks which some giant had been piling, one upon another. there were cracks and fissures, too, and the retreat was large enough to be interesting. "i've got sandwiches and doughnuts, pickles, some shrimp salad, and a blueberry pie," peggy announced, "and there is some lemonade in the 'icy-hot.'" she swung the basket to the rocky floor as she spoke and sat down beside it. "you are all hot with climbing and carrying that basket," sympathetically said leslie. "you should have let me carry it part of the way as i wanted to." "it helped me swing around that narrow place," laughed peggy. "besides, let the hostess provide the eats." "are you hostess?" "isn't this steeple rocks? i know that you are laughing at the lunch, but those were the things i found and they all looked good." "i know by experience, peggy, that anything from your house is good," said leslie. "this isn't the first time that you have treated us. hurrah for blueberry pie in maine! we found a new place for blueberries, peggy, scrumptious ones." peggy had saluted when leslie complimented the steeple rocks cooking. now she changed expression. "fee, fi, fo, fum, i smell the--smoke of an english-_mun_! isn't that funny? don't you smell cigar smoke, girls?" "i believe i do a little, peggy," sarita replied. she was at the opening, and taking a careful step or two she looked over the ledge, her hand on a rocky protuberance for safety's sake. "somebody's going down toward the dock. perhaps we are getting a whiff from the pipe he is smoking." "please see who it is, sarita, if you can without being seen. mother said that dad might be home to-day, and if he is, i want to keep out of sight as much as possible." leslie, listening, puckered her brows and peggy saw her. "now leslie, don't worry. it isn't bad of me to keep out of trouble. you just don't understand, that's all." peggy gave leslie an engaging look out of frank, affectionate eyes. "little flirt," laughed leslie. "she knows, sarita, that she only has to look at us with 'them eyes' to have us melt. why don't you try that on mr. ives?" "you think that i'm just pretending! i don't like you any mare, leslie secrest!" but peggy was half smiling as she spoke and leslie did not apologize. sarita was still looking out over the ledge. then quickly she stepped back behind the jutting rocks and plumped herself down by the other girls. "it's bill," she said. "he was going on down, but i couldn't get a good look at him till he suddenly turned; and then i was afraid that he would see me watching him,--hence my sudden retreat!" "could there be some other ledge along here, and someone on it?" leslie suggested. "this one ends here, i suppose, with that big bulge of rock." "suppose we fasten a sign of some sort here and then look up from below and see just what is near us here. that does not smell like a pipe, and i can smell it yet. can't you?" "yes, peggy, though not so much," said leslie. "sarita, this is more like an eyrie than ours, isn't it? you can see most of the bay, our headland, the sea and a bit of the village from here. do you suppose that we can see this with our 'mind's eye' next winter when we are digging into our books and have nothing better to look at than the flat plains of home?" "i wonder," said sarita. below them lay the bay, sparkling in the sun. its salty waves leaped up on many a half-submerged rock near the shore, that sent back the spray. beyond the rim of confining rocks and the secrest headland, the sea surged more quietly than usual, though there was a line of breakers to be seen. the sky was a deep blue, its clouds in heaps of billowing, floating white. "this," said peggy, "is the home of the 'triumvirate.'" "'triumvirate' is not exactly appropriate, peggy," sarita remarked. "no," said leslie. "how about the three bears?" "who's been sitting in _my_ chair?" squeaked peggy in a high voice. they all laughed. it did not take much to make them laugh to-day. peggy was rummaging in her basket and now handed out some paper napkins. "let's have a good name, then," she continued. "what would a triumvirate of girls be?" "_femina_ is the latin word for woman," said leslie. "put it in place of _vir_ and see what you have." "tri-tri--" began peggy, thinking; "trium-feminate!" she triumphantly finished, flourishing a bottle of olives so vigorously that the cork, previously loosened, came out and the liquid spilled. soon the girls were munching sandwiches and olives, drinking copiously of the cold lemonade and talking as busily as ever of jack, dalton and the prospective log house; of the queer happenings at camp and at sea; and of their secret, the 'mystery', in regard to which they had teased or tried to tease the boys. "tell me again, peggy," said leslie, "just what you heard said and just where it was. i want to get it straight. it may be that we ought to tell dal and beth." "it's all right with _me_, leslie, if you do," said peggy. "i'm sure that dad has something up with the count, and if either he or the count are going to do anything to you folks, i don't want it to happen. but i'm hoping, of course, that for mother's sake dad isn't into anything real wicked. "well, it was the night after he was supposed to have gone away that last time. i was as wide awake as anything and i thought that i'd slip out of the house and go down to the shore a while. the house was all still, you know, and i guess it must have been about two o'clock. i would have taken my bathing suit for a dip, but i promised mother that i would never go in all alone. so i just slipped out in my silk negligee and slippers, though it was a little shivery. "i sauntered down the long flight of steps, holding to the railing, and all at once i heard dad's voice below me. i almost ran up the steps in a hurry, but what i heard was interesting, so i scrooched down on the step right where i was to listen a minute. _that_ was curiosity, i'll admit, and i ought to have been noble enough not to have done it,--only that things are queer, and when they are, a body has _some_ right to find out. what do you think, leslie?" "i don't know, peggy; but it does seem that way." "anyhow dad was saying next, 'they are not mere children to be frightened and driven off as you supposed. if i had known that what you told me was an absolute lie, i wouldn't have gone as far in my statement to them as i did. just let it drop.'" peggy's air and dignified speech so reminded the girls of the suave mr. ives that both of them smiled broadly. the words were brutally frank, but peggy's tone robbed them of sharpness. now she was the cold count in her recital. the girls could fairly see him draw himself up in courteous resentment. "'you do not mince words, i see. it was the only way to produce the effect through you. if you believed it yourself, you could intimidate them.'" "'but they were not intimidated. i do not like this intimacy with my daughter any more than you do. but the first object must be to avoid suspicion. i would suggest that we employ'--then i missed a few words just at the important place! dad dropped his voice a little, and you know how the surf roars sometimes. but i got _one clue_ or one thing that might be as important. the count started in to talk. 'see to it,' he said, 'that they'--then a mumble of words--'by the twenty-eighth.' "i said it over to myself, so i wouldn't forget to tell you girls exactly what had been said, and then i realized that dad was coming up the steps. they shook, as you remember they do a little when somebody walks. it was too far to get to the top before he reached me, so what did i do but whisk out to the side and drop under the steps to wait till he passed!" "but it is some distance, in places, to the rocks underneath!" peggy nodded. "i knew it, but it was 'instinctive,' as you say, leslie, to get out of dad's way, and by good luck a nice rock was reachable under my step. i just scrooched there again till dad went by and i'm sure he never saw me. i waited, because i thought the count might come next, but he never did, and i was so curious that when i hitched up again--you ought to have seen my acrobatic performance, girls,--i sneaked down the steps to the bottom and finally all around the place and never a sign did i see of the count. there wasn't a sign of a boat, either, and there had scarcely been time, i think, for a boat to get around behind the channel entrance." "i don't know," leslie said. "you may have taken more time than you thought." "perhaps so, but wouldn't i have heard a boat?" "a launch certainly, but not a row boat against the sound of the surf if it was rather rough that night." "perhaps the count was behind a tree," sarita suggested. peggy looked at sarita to see if she were in earnest. "you know very well, sarita, that there isn't a tree there!" chapter xi the intentional "accident" "i wonder what bill was doing down at your dock," said sarita. "it needs some repairs," peggy replied. "i heard dad say to mother that he was going to bring the yacht down from where _it_ has been undergoing something or other. i smell that smoke again, sarita. where do you suppose it comes from?" peggy jumped up and went out upon the shelf again. "don't smell it at all out here," she said. sniffing, peggy walked back further within their rocky den. "must be a volcano under here, girls. i smell it more strongly." "do volcanoes smoke tobacco?" joked leslie. "this must be a new kind," peggy returned. "come here, girls." sarita and leslie, rather cramped from long sitting, rose and shook out their frocks. leslie tossed a bit of her last sandwich to the rocks below and said that the birds might have it. "you are right, peggy. it isn't very strong, but i do notice a bit of tobacco smoke. isn't it queer? perhaps someone is outside and there is some current that whisks the scent through here." "nothing like having an imagination, sarita. perhaps there is a smuggler's den below us. we may smell the liquor if we stay long enough. perhaps bill has some little cave inside, too." so speaking, peggy again ran out upon the ledge to look toward the ives' dock on this side. there was no sign of bill. "if there is this much of a cave here, why _mightn't_ there be one somewhere below? we haven't found the way to one, but we just might have missed it." "that is so, peggy," said leslie. "_isn't_ this odd!" leslie and sarita were sniffing till peggy laughed at the whole performance. "if i looked as funny as you girls do, sniffing and going from one crevice to another, i wonder that you didn't make fun of me at the start!" "we were more interested in the smoke than in how anybody looked," sarita returned. "it is stronger way back here, don't you think so?" sarita was back where she was obliged to stoop considerably. there was a crack, or fissure, and a hole of no great size into what peggy called the "inner darkness." "i believe that i could crawl into that," said peggy, with some decision. "not for the world!" cried leslie. "my dear chief investigator of the 'tri-feminate,' you might step off into space and fall into some crevice that we _never_ could get you out of!" "that _would_ be a calamity," grinned peggy. "i won't then,--not now, at any rate. it must be as you think, somebody is smoking somewhere and a current brings the odor up here,--but some way that theory doesn't satisfy me." "that is because we _scent_ a mystery, peggy," said sarita. "it's fun to imagine things. i'd just as lief find _bill_ to be a villain, but perhaps we'd better not meddle too much with things around here, peggy." peggy set her lips together. "if there's anything that _ought_ to be found out, why, then, it ought to be,--that's all there is about it!" peggy's attitude settled it. though the older girls felt that care should be taken not to go beyond the bounds of courtesy within the limits of steeple rocks, they certainly had no objections to peggy's solving any mystery there, particularly if the count were the chief villain. peggy had not told them of her little adventure in such detail before. with the words of peggy's step-father clearly in her mind, leslie felt jubilant to think that their possession was to be practically undisputed. but what other plan was there in which they were probably concerned? she would tell dalton, or get peggy to tell him. probably peggy would enjoy the excitement of it. the date was interesting. that would be july twenty-eighth, perhaps. was something to happen to them before that time? "see that they ... by the twenty-eighth!" pleasant prospect! such thoughts ran through leslie's mind and sarita asked her what she was thinking about. "i'm just thinking what the next enemy move will be. peggy, i hope that you can find out what the plan is and what they intend to do to us." "i'll try," peggy promised. "what i'm wondering about is how we can get over on the front of the cliff and see if there are any caves there." "i don't know that i ever used my glasses on the headland when we were close," said sarita. "suppose we take the sea crest out and go over that way." "you forget how we watched those gulls and things that were roosting up there," peggy reminded sarita in her usual indefinite way at which sarita always laughed. "gulls and things, indeed. i'm sure that i found an eagle's nest and we were following a bald eagle as he flew. however, girls, i'm not so sure that we'd see anything if it were there. we never saw _this_ from the bay, you know. there is one opening that we know of." "what's that?" peggy inquired. "there in pirates' cove." "but there is the whirlpool, or whatever it is, and the buoys say danger." "sometimes i have wondered if that were a fiction," thoughtfully leslie remarked, "just to protect the old pirates or smugglers; and maybe bill and his rum-runners take advantage of it. do you remember, sarita, how those gulls the other day were floating near that place? it was fairly quiet, you know, not much spray on the rocks, and i noticed how wide that low opening is. i think that a person could almost stand up there, if there is anything to stand on. i'd like to find out how it looks at low tide. i'm not sure that we ever were out there or thought of it at low tide. were we?" the other girls did not know, but sarita suggested that they would not dare risk going among the rocks there in any event and the girls agreed with her. "dalton would go up in the air if we rowed in there, to say nothing of elizabeth," said sarita. "i'd like to _do_ it, girls," and peggy's tones vibrated with her suppressed energy. "much you would, if you once got inside and found that the whirlpool, or undertow, or what not, was no joke. promise me that you'll not try it." "oh, i'll not do anything of that sort without you girls. but if ever you do, i want to be along." "it is a bargain," laughed leslie, with no serious thoughts of its possibility. peggy had asked permission to stay at the eyrie if she were asked for supper, rather imagining that she would be, if chance took her there at the time. jack probably would be working with dalton until late. she welcomed, accordingly, the suggestion of their going out in the sea crest to take a look at the great bulk of the headland where it jutted out in its irregular masses over the waters that bathed its base. before leaving, however, peggy tarried behind to carry out an idea. it took the girls some time to climb carefully back to level ground and they took their own pace through the woods, or along the cliff, as fancy directed on their way back to the camp. they found jack and dalton perspiringly happy over their wood-chopping activities, for they were now trimming the trees of their branches and taking these to an open spot where they would dry for firewood. "don't take the sea crest," said dalton. "catch us a fish for supper, girls." "all right, we'll either catch or buy one for you boys. where's beth?" "haven't seen her this afternoon. she said that she was going to write to mrs. marsh. i went down to the village for her to get some groceries; so mind you have a good supper for your workmen, les!" "we will. i'll stop to see beth." at the camp they found beth bringing up her correspondence, which was such a waste of valuable time in this glorious spot, the girls thought. leslie and beth planned their meal, which was to be a good one, whether they caught a fish or not. peggy received her desired invitation before they descended the rocky way to where the row boat was moored. sarita had stopped at the tent to get her field glass. they looked rather longingly at the sea crest, but their purpose could be as easily accomplished in the swallow and there was a better chance of catching a fish for supper. leslie was in charge of the fishing tackle and prepared to lure some unwary denizen of the deep to its destruction. so sarita said, as she put her glass in a safe place and took the oars. the bay was calm and beautiful. this, after all, was their chief pleasure. rowing steadily, for there was really no time to waste if they caught any fish for supper they reached the spot immediately opposite pirates' cove and its frowning cavern. "see? there are a lot of water birds now," said leslie, pointing to some herring gulls that floated contentedly in the cove, not very far from the opening. "yes," said sarita, "but remember that they can lift their little feet and fly away from any wave or tugging below." letting her oars rest, sarita took her glass and began to scan the rocks above. "what's that sign up there?" she queried, her glass turned toward the left. "funny! i never noticed it before." sarita lowered her glass and looked at the girls. peggy was as sober as a judge, her eyes widening. "let leslie look first," she said, as sarita offered her the lenses. sarita put them into leslie's hand and she, too, expressed surprise. "there doesn't seem to be anything written on it," she remarked, still looking. "it is just a square white thing of some sort." sarita looked again and then offered the glass again to peggy, who did not try to keep from laughing now. "you little mischief!" leslie cried. "sarita, that is where we were this afternoon and peggy stuck something up there. what is it, peggy?" "oh, there was just a piece of pasteboard in the bottom of the basket and i had a brilliant thought. that is why i stayed behind and you had to call to me to hurry up. i just pinned our paper napkins on top of the pasteboard and then stuck it up. the first good wind will blow it down. i thought that we could tell from down here what was next to it, you know, and whether there would be any chance of getting around any further." "did you want our retreat discovered, peggy?" "i thought of that, but i imagine that people have climbed all over there before, don't you?" "very likely," leslie replied. "now be good children while i get ready to catch dal's fish." the boat had drifted a little, and peggy, who now was the only one with oars, looked mischievous as she allowed it to go just within the circle indicated by the chief buoy and one or two others. the other girls did not notice. sarita was scanning the cliff and leslie was engaged with the line. but they heard a hail and saw a boat approaching. "they'd better do all their calling before i begin to fish," said leslie, looking at the approaching boat. "that's bill and there's somebody else,--oh, it's tom! we haven't seen him for an age." tom was beckoning and leslie looked around to see what could be the matter. "peggy," she said; "child, you've gotten us inside the forbidden territory. pull out!" peggy did so without a word, but tom continued to pull toward them and came up smiling. "how do you do, miss secrest and--?" he did not mention the other names, but took off his cap in salute. "bill called my attention to you and i saw that you were in dangerous quarters, so i rowed over. see what luck we have had." tom displayed the fish in the bottom of their boat with pride, while the girls acknowledged the presence of bill with little nods and "how do you do's." he was not very responsive and one "how do you do, miss?" sufficed for all. "oh, tom!" exclaimed leslie, who felt that she knew the lad that had shown them how to run the sea crest. "couldn't we buy some of those fish? we're not doing it for fun this time. the boys are hungry for fish and dal doesn't have time to fish these days--he's so busy getting ready to build our log cabin." leslie cast a surreptitious glance at bill, remembering his warning to dalton. but bill was looking at sarita's glass, which she held loosely in her hand. "of course you can have some of our fish. we were going to sell them anyhow. it will be all right with you, bill, won't it? i'm working for bill now sometimes, miss leslie." bill had surlily nodded assent to tom's question, while leslie bent over eagerly to look into the other boat, now close beside them, and to select her fish. "kin ye see very fur with them, miss?" bill was now asking sarita. "oh, yes," she replied. "it isn't exactly like a spy glass, you know, but you ought to look at the moon with it some night when it's full!" sarita bid fair to start on her favorite fad now. "i noticed ye lookin' at the rocks. what wuz ye lookin' fur? do ye mind lettin' me look through 'em?" sarita handed over her glass immediately. "certainly you may use it," she said, though by this time it had occurred to her that bill's question might have some other ground than mere curiosity. but it would never do to show any reluctance. "i thought that i found an eagle's nest the other day, and i was looking for that first. then that forbidding old cliff is interesting anyway, don't you think so?" bill grunted some reply as he focused the lenses with no unpracticed hand. "somebody's tacked something up there," he said presently, the glass pointed in the direction of the "retreat." "i did that," said peggy. "that is to show our prowess. we've been climbing around about as far as we could go, i guess, and i was wondering if there weren't other places we could get to." this was very bold, sarita thought, to the man who was very likely the chief smuggler. but then, bill worked for mr. ives, she knew. "you'd better be keerful, miss peggy. fust thing ye know, ye'll miss yer footing and git drawed under in pirates' cove. here, tom, i guess she wouldn't mind if you took a look, too," and bill handed the glass to tom, who wiped his fishy hands first, then took it and looked through the lenses with deep interest. "no wonder you are crazy about the birds, miss sarita," said tom. "i can see every feather on that gull." "i ought to have showed you when we were all on the sea crest so much," replied sarita. "i was busy then," said tom. bill ritter now asked leslie if she had picked out the fish that she wanted. leslie then pointed them out and bill started to gather them up. suddenly the boat tipped a little. bill, stooping, seemed to lose his balance and fell against tom, unexpectedly. for _calamitas calamitatum_,--sarita's cherished field glass flew from tom's hand, seeking a watery grave just inside of pirates' cove. sarita gave a little exclamation. bill's boat righted. bill himself caught hold of tom, then of the seat, to place himself again, and the incident was ended so far as the final disposal of poor sarita's bird glass was concerned. tom gave an angry and startled look at bill, then began to kick off his shoes and pull off his old sweater. "what're you doing?" growled bill. "going down after her glass. you knocked it out of my hand! what did you mean by falling over me that way!" "i was trying to get their fish and put it over. stay in the boat! you can't dive here. you'll never dive deep enough to git it!" bill laid a detaining hand on tom, who was distressed. "oh, yes, tom," cried sarita. "don't go in after it. bill is right, and you didn't mean to do it!" "i should say i didn't!" exclaimed tom, struggling with a desire to pitch bill overboard. "i will get you some other good glass, miss sarita, as soon as i can. no, miss leslie, not a cent for the fish. that's the least we can do now. it was bill's fault, too. i'll be up at the camp to see you about this, miss sarita." seizing the oars, tom rowed furiously away, paying no attention to bill's growlings. "those squatters on ives' land have enough money to pay for our fish. that other girl picked three beauties and had her money out to pay for them!" meanwhile leslie, rather dazed by what had happened, picked up her oars and with peggy's help rowed quietly toward home. sarita sat idle, presently putting her face in her hands, while her shoulders heaved a little. peggy looked serious. "she cares a lot, doesn't she?" she said in a low tone to leslie. leslie nodded, her face also serious, and a frown between her brows. presently sarita dropped her hands and wiped her eyes a little. "i couldn't help a little weep, girls," she said. "you don't know the things i went without to save up for that field glass! but it doesn't do any good to cry. perhaps i can buy another some time. i can't let poor tom buy any. he is taking care of his old grandmother now, dal said. they live in one of the neatest cottages in the village, but tom has to make what they live on. dear me! think of the birds that i'm going to miss!" "sarita," said peggy, "i'm going to buy some glasses. i'll tell mother that sarita has gotten me simply crazy about birds and i must have some binoculars like what dad has, or some good field glasses right away!" peggy bent over her oars well satisfied with her plans, while the other girls looked at each other and at her with smiles. "what should we do without our peggy?" affectionately leslie inquired. "don't go too far, though, in saying how crazy you are about birds. stick strictly to the truth, honey." "all right, leslie. but i do like them and i want the glass awfully anyway. i'd lend dad's, only i don't suppose you'd want to use that. you can teach me birds, sarita, and we'll keep the glass at the eyrie, so dad will not find out. i'll use my own money if you would feel better." "please, peggy, don't do anything about it. i can get along. there are enough other nice things in this grand place! and please don't say a word about it at supper. i'll be able to enjoy the fun then. but if the boys know, they may talk about it and i don't believe that i can stand it just now." sarita's voice was quivering again. peggy spoke at once. "it's a perfect shame! don't worry. i'll not say a word at camp. besides,--i think that bill did that on purpose!" "i wonder if he did!" exclaimed leslie, looking at sarita. chapter xii elizabeth has an adventure it is not to be supposed that elizabeth secrest was not having as good a time as the rest of the party, or that her days were altogether spent in the work and play of the artist. in a delicious rest of mind and body she had quickly gained back her nervous energy. her camp life soon settled into a brief routine of daily duties, quickly accomplished with the help of the other girls, and into a rest and freedom from responsibility that she had not known for a long time. in this place of beautiful views and big spaces, worries seemed small. she often went alone to the beach, to walk up and down, sketch a little, pick up some newly deposited shell, or merely to sit, feasting her eyes upon the apparently limitless sea. one afternoon beth was perched upon a rock, near the place where sand gave place to rock and their headland. she was thinking of their log house, so soon to go up now. dalton was expecting the men on the following day. her back was toward the village and she was not conscious of anyone's approach until she heard herself addressed. "pardon me, madam, is this the ives' headland, and are these what are called steeple rocks? from appearance i should say that they are farther on, but my directions pointed here." beth looked around to see a young gentleman lifting his neat straw hat and regarding her rather seriously. he looked like any young business man from the city. "no, these are not steeple rocks. this is the sea crest headland," said beth, making up the name as she talked. "steeple rocks lie around the bay, or across it from here." "they are those large masses of rocks with the two towers, then." "yes. i call them cathedral rocks." "a good name." the young man smiled, looking at sea, rocks and sky, turning away from beth a little and putting his hands in his pockets, like a boy who has just found a good place to play. beth said nothing. he looked good, but beth was not in the habit of making acquaintance with strange young gentlemen. "i wonder if you would mind giving me a little information about this neighborhood. i have just come by boat and rail from new york. i might add auto, if one could so denominate the ancient ark in which i was transported to the village." beth laughed at this. "it must have been an ideal ride," she said. "we know all about that." "i wonder if you are not miss secrest." beth's interviewer hitched himself up on a projecting rock near her. "i shall not trouble you long, but you may be willing to give me some advice. i can not find a desirable place in the village to stay, that is, a desirable place which is not already full of tourists or town families. "i came prepared to camp, but my driver told me that i must get permission to camp in any of these woods and i was referred to the home of a man named bill somebody. i caught a glimpse of him and i passed the house instead of stopping! i thought i would stroll a while first. for some reason i was not prejudiced in his favor." a whimsical smile curled around the newcomer's lips. "bill seems to be the village type of ward boss and manager of the general situation. my brother found that out when he had occasion to inquire what sort of protection we might count on here. he found that there was none at all aside from such as this man and his friends might furnish." "indeed. have you had trouble?" "nothing very serious so far, but it is just as well for a stranger to know about this. it is a funny little village. i have sometimes felt that i ought to do something for some of the people whom i have seen there. some of the women are so hopeless looking. but my brother tells me to wait until we are better established. we are building a cabin." "i am sure that this is miss secrest, then. my name is evan tudor and i belong to that great army of aspiring writers that throng new york. while i am writing that best seller, you know, i am on a certain newspaper, and have another side line at times. "down at the dock a while ago i met a young fellow named carey, who told me that you owned the first woods up on the heights and that i might ask you for permission to camp there for the night at least." "yes." beth was hesitating. she liked the appearance of the gentlemanly stranger, but would it do to offer him a place to camp in their woods? "so, if your brother agrees, will you not consent? i make a neat camp and i will not set the woods on fire." beth looked into the smiling face of the earnest young man and returned his smile. he might be a help, indeed, if they needed a friend at any time. "we are not stingy about our woods," she said, "to any one who is careful. it is, i know, a fine place, because of the spring and good water. we expect some friends to camp with us later on in the summer. i think that i shall have to talk with my brother before i can say positively that you can make a real camp on our place, but surely for to-night we shall not refuse hospitality. did you say that you have your outfit ready? we might spare you some things." "thank you. you are generous and kind. it is quite a relief to have it settled temporarily. where shall i find your brother?" "he went out with our launch this afternoon, but he may be back at any time. you will probably want your equipment brought up by the road, not on the trail along the cliff. i can scarcely tell you now where to go, but you may select any spot that you like, if dal is not there, and someone can show you the way to our camp; whoever brings you up will know the direction. it is toward the cliff, in any event. i will be there, or at the eyrie, our little watch tower on the cliff." "young carey may bring my stuff, or get me some one," he said. "i will be at the camp or the eyrie in about an hour, i think." evan tudor smiled as he mentioned the eyrie, for he was thinking that the "dove-cote" would be a more suitable place for a pretty, gentle girl like beth. but people did not always recognize in beth's soft speech and ways of a gentlewoman her real energy and the fire of purpose which made it possible to do what she did. bowing his thanks, evan tudor left beth, treading quickly and surely close to the line of swirling foam, where the retreating waters were leaving the sand more or less closely packed. beth watched him naturally enough, as he was the only person on the beach except herself. he carried his hat and let the breeze blow his thick brown locks as it would while he strode along. if the young lawyer at home had seen the interest in beth's eyes, he would very probably have refused the opportunity which had just come to him to try an important case, and might have come to maine on the next train. mr. tudor was above medium height, slender, active, with a lean, attractive face and a pair of keen gray eyes which were to be employed with great effect during the next few weeks in the lines of a duty and interest. beth followed him with her eyes till he had left the beach for the village; then she rose to go back to camp. but she had another slight interruption before she reached the place where the secrest party usually climbed to the trail. rarely villagers were to be found on this part of the beach, unless it might be a few children gathering shells. now, however, an odd party was slowly advancing along the shore. two women with little shawls tied over their heads, long, full skirts and big shoes, were behind a few children who were shouting in their delight. the women were talking together and madly gesticulating as they talked. one of the peculiarly dressed children went too near the water and a wave which came in farther than the last one, as waves have a habit of doing, drenched the little one's feet. his mother, presumably, jerked him away roughly and spanked him soundly. beth halted a moment at that and eyed the woman with some disgust. but that was an ignorant woman's way of bringing up her family. as beth paused, one of the older children saw her and ran to show her a shell, probably attracted by beth's face. an elfin face, none too clean, looked up at beth, speaking a jumble of words in a foreign tongue. beth shook her head to indicate that she did not understand, but she smiled and patted the little shoulder. in a moment the motley group stood around her. as beth had picked up a handful of pretty shells when she first walked out upon the beach, she divided them impartially among the children. the mothers began to talk in guttural and foreign words, but beth replied in english, knowing that it would be useless to try french, the only foreign tongue in which she could speak at all. the women and children laughed, and one little chap spoke proudly, waving his hand around. "'merica!" he repeated several times. "yes, this is america and the united states," beth added. the child nodded. he understood that. beth turned to the women and inquired, "new york?" but they looked at each other and obviously did not understand. beth tried it again. "boston?" she asked, for she felt that they must have come in on some recent immigrant trip. again the women shook their heads. if they had docked at either new york or boston they had not learned the name of the port. the older boy who had spoken before was watching beth closely. he now pointed out to sea and said, "ship,--'merica." beth nodded, smiled and turned to go, with her inadequate words of farewell. but they understood the friendliness in beth's eyes and responded with more unintelligible words from the women and farewell shouts from the children, who went back to the swirling foam, or as near as they were allowed to go. more fishermen and their families brought to the village by bill, beth supposed. he must bring them directly from the immigrant ships,--or--another thought came to beth. what if these people had no right to be here! were they aliens properly coming in under the quota allowed by the government? perhaps bill brought in some of his fishermen illegally. "poor little kiddies," beth thought, "this is probably the first time that they ever played upon a beach!" when beth reached camp, she found that dalton and the girls had already returned. "i'm so glad that you are here, dal," said she, "for i don't know but i've done something that i ought not." "what has the head boss done," grinned dalton, "that she is willing to confess to a mere underling?" "underling--nothing! you are the protector of this camp." "come out, les, sairey,--and hear what our sister has to say for herself," dalton called. the girls came out from the tent with smiling faces, ready to hear some joke on beth. "what's beth been up to?" queried sarita. "has she made friends with the count? promised bill and mr. ives to leave these shores?" "worse," laughed beth. "i've rented camping space to a dangerously handsome young man. seriously, dal, if the young man i met on the beach just now is as good as he looks, it may not be a bad thing for you to have him somewhere near us while you build. but i made arrangements only for his camping in our woods to-night. you will have to decide the matter." "how old is he?" sarita inquired. "i'm sure i don't know. he is a writer, from new york, and must have come here as blandly ignorant of accommodations as we might have been. i think that he expected to find a suitable room for a night or two in the village. but he has all his camping outfit, i understand. tom carey must have directed him to us, from what he said." to her interested audience beth gave the details of her two adventures. leslie was more interested in the children than in the young man and asked all about the party. "funny that bill gets all these new immigrants," she remarked. "no, leslie," said her brother. "you see, bill ships fish by boat or rail and he can get these people to work for him for next to nothing. you ought to see the shacks they live in. i bet some of them wish that they'd never come to 'merica." "but at least they have enough to eat, catching fish," said sarita. "i doubt it, if they work for bill." "come, children, i must hurry," said beth. "there is a meal to cook and i promised to meet our boarder at the eyrie." beth put on an expression of great dignity. "ha!" exclaimed dalton. "do you girls realize what has occurred? never can we leave our sister unchaperoned again!" dalton linked his arm in beth's and began to stride around the camp with such long and exaggerated strides that beth, laughing, had to run to keep up with him. but when she told him that the stranger would really arrive by way of the wood, he stopped and more sensibly directed their way into it, while leslie and sarita not understanding what that move meant, waved a goodbye. "i'll walk with you a little way," said beth. "have you seen anything of peggy or jack to-day?" "not a thing. peggy was coming early, too, for i told them that i was taking a day off before my men came to work on the house and that we would take out the sea crest." "probably mr. ives has come home. peggy so cherishes coming here, or so she says, that she does not risk him forbidding her to come." "he knows all about it, though. didn't peggy relate what he said about disliking the 'intimacy' with us?" "yes, but that makes peggy all the more afraid that he will stop it. possibly he thinks that he will know what we are doing through her, however, though i can't imagine his getting much out of peggy unless she wants to tell. leslie worries about it slightly." "that is because it is not the sporting thing to accept a man's hospitality when one is opposing him. that is what bothers les when peggy takes her out in his launch or insists on her going around steeple rocks. after all, the hospitality is extended by peggy and her mother." "certainly, dal. but leslie and sarita are not 'opposing' mr. ives exactly, are they?" "i am not so sure that their search for the 'secret' of steeple rocks will not result in their finding mr. ives much concerned in something decidedly out of the way. by the way, the launch put out from the village last night, or early this morning. i was awake and i heard it. it had disappeared in a thick fog by the time i reached the rocks." "peggy herself seems to think that something is wrong," said beth, thoughtfully, "but our girls scent a 'mystery' chiefly, and sarita hopes to find some 'pirate gold.'" "much good that would do her if she found it at steeple rocks, and the ives have enough wealth as it is." chapter xiii "waves of burnished gold" before beth realized it she was some distance within the thick forest with dalton and she was just saying that she must go back, when they heard someone coming, off the scarcely recognizable trail, and struggling through bushes. dalton, called, "this way," thinking that it was probably mr. tudor. it was the young man himself, fortunately for his good suit of clothes, in which beth had first seen him, now attired in camping costume, with high leather buskins. "i missed the path, didn't i?" said he, smiling and pulling off his cap, "but i was pretty sure of the general direction toward the sea." "mr. tudor, this is my brother, dalton secrest," said beth. "he will help you choose a place for your camp." dalton held out his hand, liking evan tudor at once. "i'm glad to meet you, sir. if you are a writer, i suppose that you want a quiet spot?" "you are right; i should prefer to be back in the woods rather than near the shore. it will give me exercise to take a run to the ocean every day. but i want to thank you for allowing me to camp in your woods. i shall help protect it, i assure you." "i believe that you will, and we may need you, indeed. there is no reason why you should not stay as long as you like." evan tudor was surprised and delighted at this quick decision and told dalton that he should have no reason to regret it, while beth, seeing that her share in the affair was over, excused herself and went back to camp, though not before she had invited mr. tudor to be their guest at supper. "perhaps i will send the girls to call you after a while," she said. "i suppose that you will show him to some place not too far from the spring, dal?" "yes, beth." while dalton and mr. tudor went back along the poorly defined bridle path to the road, which came from the village to the wood, then took a great curve to avoid it, dalton explained that there would be some noise for several days while the men were putting up the log cabin, but that there was a good place for a camp of which he was thinking. "you will be surrounded by woods, though the spot is comparatively open, and if it is not too far from the spring you may like it. the little stream from our lake takes a turn there, and there are rocks on which your fires will be safe. indeed, you might use that water safely, for the lake is never polluted in any way. it is little more than a big pool, fed by springs and a tiny brook above." "that sounds fine, but are you not building near your 'lake'?" "not too close, though we are nearer the spring than we are at our camp. beth hated to leave the vicinity of the sea. but now she sees that it will be better to be closer to the water supply." mr. tudor asked a number of questions and seemed to be interested in the way to reach steeple rocks from the woods. he inquired, too, about who were spending the summer there, in such a way that dalton wondered if he had heard of the ives before. not knowing of any reason why he should not be communicative to this sincere appearing young man, dalton mentioned peggy, her mother and step-father, the count, the foreign governess and the guests. he even told him of mr. ives' request that they should leave. "i tell you this, mr. tudor, because you, too, may not be wanted here. i'd keep an eye out. have you any way of defending yourself? by the way, though, we'd rather not have any hunting done here." "i have no interest in hunting--animals, or small game of any sort," and evan tudor laughed. "but i am armed, after a fashion." evan tudor knew only too well that he would not be wanted, but he hoped to carry out the idea of a harmless writer on a vacation and to conceal his real purpose in coming. it was true enough that he was a writer, also that he needed a vacation. "is there anyone besides mr. ives who feels inhospitable?" he asked. "yes. a man whom they call bill interviewed me, too, and warned me to mind my own affairs around here. he has a lot of people fishing for him and ships the fish. i rather think that bill does a little rum-running, for there is much drinking in the village. bill may ship that, too, for all i know. you may have to convince bill that you are not employed by the government to detect rum-runners." "if bill inquires," said mr. tudor with a smile, "you may tell him from me that i am not a prohibition agent, though i might do my duty as a citizen in that line, if necessary. however, i've another purpose, and i'll mightily enjoy this woods of yours. "by the way, i'd like to interview some of those interesting foreign citizens in the village. the setting for them here is just a little more intriguing than in new york, for a change. a friend of yours down there told me a good deal about you. what sort of a chap is tom carey?" "oh, tom carey is straight and all right, if he does work for bill. bill has taken a notion to tom and i suppose he finds him smarter and more reliable than most of his workers. you will have to be careful if you interview those foreigners. bill may not like it." "i see. i'm to be careful about one mr. bill ritter." they were pushing through the woods as they talked. presently they reached the road where a man waited with a heavily-laden mule. evan tudor picked up a typewriter from the protection of some bushes and dalton gathered up a suitcase, which he saw by the side of the road, and a basket of what he judged were groceries. "it was quite a walk for you with these things," he said. "not so bad," said mr. tudor. "i had help and the mule carries the most of the outfit." it took almost as much time to get through the woods as to unload the outfit, but dalton assured mr. tudor that in the direction of their camp the woods would be found more open and that it was not as far as it seemed. evan tudor was delighted with the camping spot and started at once to set up his small tent and arrange his supplies. dalton began to help him, but the departing man, after he had received his pay, waited a few moments and then asked dalton to "walk a piece" with him. "i want to ask ye somethin'," he said. there was a twinkle in evan tudor's eye as he glanced after them. he hoped that dalton would establish what the modern youth sometimes calls his "alibi" and successfully divert suspicion; for evan tudor was on a quest. "say," said the man, as he and dalton had reached a spot out of hearing and dalton stopped, not thinking it necessary to go any farther. "say, bill wants to know what this chap is up to. is he any coast guard feller?" "bill came to see us when we first came, and i just told mr. tudor that bill was the high ruler of this little village and would very likely want to know about him. he laughed and said that he had nothing to do with catching rum-runners, or words to that effect. he is a writer looking for material and taking a vacation, i suppose. he just came from new york. "but i'm going to say to bill sometime that he is going a little too far. the way he does things around here makes any square people suspicious. i'm too busy right now to spend any time on fellows like bill ritter, but i am a good citizen of my country and i'm not _protecting_ that sort of thing, either. bill had better stick to fishing if he doesn't want to get into trouble some day." "i kinda thought you'd feel that way about it," said the man, "but you'll have to tell bill that. some of the rest of us don't like bill any too well, but--well, the kids has to have bread and butter. bill didn't tell me to ask was he with the coast-guard. that was my put-in. bill told me to find out what he was up to. see?" "well, now you know, and you can tell bill from me that i informed mr. tudor about unfriendliness shown us and told him to be on the lookout!" the man laughed roughly. "i will. sure he's a writer fellow all right?" "that is what he told me, and he talked like one. you noticed that he carried his little typewriter case, didn't you?" "was that what it was? i noticed that he parked it kinda careful." dalton felt that this conversation had not been in vain. he repeated it to mr. tudor, who was setting up a small heater and began to demur in regard to taking supper at the secrest camp. "it's an imposition," he declared. "i have plenty to eat right here." "sure you have, but what will beth think? moreover, we caught too many fish to-day for four people to eat up. better not refuse to come,--make it a celebration of getting into the woods on your vacation." dalton had scarcely stopped speaking when a feminine "hoo-hoo" sounded from the woods across the stream. leslie and sarita were calling them. "hoo-hoo," replied dalton in shrill imitation, and added, "we'll be there, girls; give us ten minutes longer here." evan tudor straightened up from his work to look across at the two smiling girls. introduction was impossible, but he raised his cap and smiled, standing "at attention," sarita said, till they were lost again among the green spruces and birches. the girls reported to beth what dalton had said and preparations went on accordingly. the big fish were baking in the outdoor oven which dalton had made. beth was stirring up some blueberry muffins, to be baked in the oven of the "portable." "we were stunned, beth," said sarita, "by the style and bearing of your latest conquest. not to be conceited at all, he looks like our kind of folks. let's see, what's that sweet poem? "'when i behold thy lovely face 'neath waves of burnished gold,'--what's the rest of it, les?" "that's all we ever did get, sarita. beth found us as we had just begun to read it off, dal and i." beth, her lips tightly pressed together to keep them from laughter, pretended to be deeply offended. "such girls! come, now, leslie, get out a glass of that jelly we brought from home and finish up the table." "it's serious, sarita," laughed leslie, still teasing her sister. "she is giving him our precious jelly!" "don't you really want to, leslie?" beth asked. "of course i do, silly. i know well enough that you are following mother's rule of the best for guests. where are the rest of those linen napkins? i suppose you will use those this time." "yes, if we have any. look in my trunk, top tray. if you can't find them, we'll just use the paper ones." but beth kept laughing at the girls, for when sarita suggested that mr. tudor was probably about forty, leslie corrected her to "i should say thirty, just right for beth, and poor jim writes that they can't come yet!" "i don't blame him for taking that case, do you, leslie?" "no, sarita, of course not, but what is it that shakespeare says about opportunity?" "perhaps mr. tudor is not as good as jim." "he is much more attractive, though i'd vote for jim now because he is such a good friend." "well you can't help whom you fall in love with or don't." "yes, you can. at least you can keep away from people you don't want to fall in love with, like some _fascinating bad_ man; but i suppose that you can't very well make yourself fall in love with _everybody_ that likes _you_." "i'm _so_ glad that i have you girls' wisdom and experience to guide me," demurely said beth, and leslie was just thinking up some brilliant reply when they saw dalton and their guest. but leslie managed to whisper to sarita before real introductions took place, "there's where jim will have to do his best, because beth doesn't care enough for him, if i'm any judge." courteously evan tudor met the two girls, but he actually seemed almost embarrassed about having accepted the invitation to supper. "really i think that it is enough to let me camp here, miss secrest," he said. "i finally persuaded him," said dalton, "by telling him that his 'name was already in the pot' and that it would upset all your arrangements if he didn't show up." "of course we would have been disappointed," cordially beth added. "now just excuse us a moment till we get up this camp meal." with her flushed cheeks and pretty smile, beth made a charming hostess and sarita whispered to leslie as they began to do a few last things, "for all beth says, he sees the 'burnished gold' all right." there was gay conversation and exchange of news during the good but very informal meal that camping made necessary. the secrests described the locality, in which evan tudor was so much interested and he, in turn, had bright accounts of his recent experiences in the great city. "i am going to forget it all for a few weeks," he said. "if i write here, it will be because i can't help it. i brought the old typewriter along for fear the 'best seller' might insist on being written; but all that i really expect to do toward my future profession is to fill a notebook or two for future use. well, i have one or two sketches to get off at once." "will you put us all in for 'characters' in your 'best seller,' mr. tudor?" sarita asked. "you might all figure in my fiction, but i'll not use you as 'types.'" "thanks. i'd be proud to be in one of your novels, but i'd rather not be a 'character sketch.'" "beth 'sketches' too," said leslie. "now, leslie, are you going to play the part of _l'enfant terrible_?" asked beth. "please don't mention my efforts!" "your brother has already told me that you are an artist, miss secrest. i wish that i might see how you interpret this place." quickly beth looked at evan tudor. he spoke of interpretation. perhaps he was one who understood. but voices were coming from the woods and mr. tudor turned to look in that direction. "hitch 'em anywhere, jack," they heard. it was peggy ives with her cousin. chapter xiv the new camper it could be easily seen that peggy was under some excitement. she almost sparkled as she ran into the little clearing, alone first, for jack was doing her bidding with the horses. she was wearing a new riding outfit and cried, "look at me, folks. don't i look grown up?" not a little was she taken back upon seeing the stranger, but she recovered herself quickly, especially as dalton rose and took a step toward her as if to protect her from criticism. gaily peggy extended her hand high, its fingers drooping. "congratulate me, dal," she said, "on some new clothes. we're having company,--but excuse me, beth, for rushing in this way." then she paused and waited to be introduced. "miss ives," said beth, formally and sweetly, as if peggy were as grown as she claimed to be, "you will be glad to meet mr. tudor of new york, a writer who is taking a vacation in our fine country." peggy stepped forward a little to offer her hand prettily and modestly, as she had been taught to do. "i am glad to see you, mr. tudor, and i am sorry that i interrupted your visit, but this is the first time that the eyrie has had company. "the great excitement, girls," she continued, looking at leslie and sarita, "is that we are having important guests and i can't get over having new clothes and part of the responsibility." evan tudor had said the few pleasant words of greeting that were proper when he met peggy, and stood by, interested. jack morgan now appeared, equally resplendent in riding togs that were new. he came forward as eagerly as peggy had done, but as he was not saying anything, he was not embarrassed when he observed the stranger. after jack had been introduced, he began to explain why they had not been over. "peggy and i have been trying to help my aunt with her plans. uncle is bringing down, or up, from wherever they are a prince and princess, a grand duchess or two and i don't know whom else for a sort of house party, i suppose. aunt kit had a telegram some time ago, but we just heard about it lately. then uncle wired that he did not know just when they could get together, but he would bring them in the yacht and everything was to be ready to entertain them in their accustomed style." "that might depend upon their recent fortunes, don't you think, mr. morgan?" mr. tudor asked. he was standing with his hands behind him, a little smile on his rather thin face. "european royalty has had rather a hard time of it in some countries since the war." "you are right. i imagine that the russian grand duchess doesn't find it any too pleasant at home." "in fact she could not stay there at all," said dalton, "if i know anything about it." "but probably mrs. ives' guests are not all exiles," mr. tudor added, open for information. "mother and dad met some of them abroad, i think," peggy volunteered. "and i think that count herschfeld knows some of them, and the kravetz, too." beth looked rather disapproving of peggy's reference to her governess and mr. tudor wanted to ask who the count and "the kravetz" were; but he thought it not in good taste to ask any more questions. peggy, however, explained. "the count, mr. tudor, is a sort of secretary for my step-father. do come over to see my things, girls. i shall have time to play around for several days. dad wrote that they would be here at the latest somewhere around the twenty-eighth, he thought,--oh, girls, that--" peggy had just thought. but leslie spoke at once. "indeed, we shall be over right away, peggy. would to-morrow morning be too soon? it is not very long till the twenty-eighth, is it, dal?" leslie looked soberly at her brother. "not very, les." "i wish that you would come, too, dal. you have never been over and mother was saying that she wanted to see the rest of the eyrie family." "i want to see your mother, too, peggy, but i'm too busy with the building, you see. bring your mother over here." "i will, when the company goes. but then, she always has somebody." peggy looked rather cross at the thought. "we'll ask your mother out for a little trip in the sea crest," beth suggested. "perhaps she will feel that she can run off for a little while." "i believe that she might," peggy replied. evan tudor had noted peggy's startled pause, and leslie's question concerning the date. he had a particular interest in matters here which he was not disclosing yet, but he welcomed anything which threw any light upon it. when peggy and jack went away after their short visit, he walked beside peggy's horse for some distance till it was necessary to strike off from the trail or bridle path to his own little camp. several notes went into his small pocket notebook that night before he went to sleep. he was inclined to go abroad to do a little investigating, but he decided that first he should get some familiarity with the woods and coast by daylight. it might be just as well, too, to have one good night's rest. he expected to have few before the twenty-eighth. early the next morning evan tudor was at the roadside, waiting, and who should come to meet him there but tom carey, who then rode to the town at the railroad and sent a telegram, written at length, and signed e. t. it was very innocent and related to a certain article which would be ready for the press to meet the editor's date. "are you deeply engaged in the affairs of a certain man here named bill?" evan tudor facetiously asked tom, as he handed him the written message. "no, sir. i catch fish for him," said tom. "i might be doing something else, perhaps, if he meant some things that he said to me, but what i do i do in the open." "do you know what it is that bill meant?" "no; i thought that it was liquor, but i am not so sure now." tom dug his shoe into the turf by the side of the road with a troubled face. "would you consider finding out for me, if i should take you into my employ without interfering with your work for bill? indeed, that would be a part of it." tom looked up quickly. "you are after bill!" "i am not sure that i am at all. something is wrong up here. can i count on you not to betray me?" "yes, sir. something _is_ wrong up here. i've got to stay here with my old grandmom that has been here all her life, and i'd like to see somebody beside bill running things." "i picked you yesterday, from something you said," mr. tudor continued. "i am taking quite a risk to tell anyone that i have a quest here, but i shall need someone, and i happened to find that i need you right away. i made this appointment with you not knowing that i should have to send this telegram, but i hoped to secure your services. i _did_ expect to enjoy a little fishing, but i suppose that i shall have to keep up my writing a while, to give you the excuse of bringing fish to me every day. tell bill that the writing chap has ordered fish, shrimp, lobster, anything that you get particularly fine and every day. i mean to write, too,--but not _all_ the time." this mystery appealed to tom, whose eyes sparkled. "you can count on me, sir. prob'ly bill will charge you fancy prices, though." "that is all right, and i'll pay you, too. it's going faster than i thought. sure you can carry it off so that bill will not suspect? it's all right for you to show an interest in me, of course." "i've kept more than one thing from bill already, sir." "don't forget, then." tom carried the telegram into the station with an air of great indifference, as he happened to see a man who worked for bill, in fact one of bill's chief henchmen, on the platform. "h'lo, tom. wot'e ye doin' here?" "what ye doin' yourself?" tom was grinning. perhaps it would do no harm to let the man see the telegram. it would be better at any rate than to make any mystery over it. he went right ahead about the business of sending off the message, making out the blank and stuffing the original paper, scribbled by evan tudor, into his pocket. but the man was waiting curiously at the door. tom hoped that it was mere curiosity that moved him. "wot's the matter? any of yer folks sick?" "no. i'm sending a message for somebody else, the new man that came in yesterday. i s'pose everybody in town knows--" "say, wot was it about? bill was kinda suspicious las' night." "bill's always suspicious," laughed tom. "read it yourself." tom pulled the mussed paper from his pocket. "the man's on some paper. abner said that he wouldn't let anybody carry his typewriter but himself yesterday." "that so?" the man scanned the paper. "lemme show this to bill?" "i don't know whether i ought to give it to you or not. there's nothing private in it, i suppose, but he paid me to bring it and i was to ask whether there was any message for him. suppose he asks me about this?" "_was_ they any message fer him?" "no." "well, i don't want it anyhow. i kin remember if bill asts me." but bill was not quite satisfied with the report of his henchman. he decided to see himself what the "young chap was up to," as he had done in the case of the secrests. evan tudor was quite pleased with himself that he was running his typewriter at top speed, under the trees in his chosen retreat, when a rough man appeared before him with a "hello." "good morning sir." evan looked up from his improvised seat on a boulder. "too fine a morning to waste this way, isn't it?'" "might just as well stay in the city if you have to write." "just what i was thinking. but i don't know. this is a pretty good place to think; and i don't intend to keep it up after i get this off by mail, and maybe one or two other things out of my system." "hunting a quiet place, then?" "yes; but it is partly for a vacation, too. aren't you the man who runs a lot of the fishing around here?" "yes. how did you know?" "i think i saw you in the village, and someone told me. i got hold of a boy that works for you and i told him to bring me something every day, fish, shrimp, your choicest of anything. can that be done?" "yes, but you will have to pay for it." "all right. want a little pay in advance?" "no objection." "don't cheat me, then." evan tudor's tone was not one which would give offense, rather one inclined to banter. he felt in his vest pocket and took out a folded bill, for five dollars. "that all right?" "we'll do the best we kin fer ye." bill pocketed the money. this chap was easy. "say are ye a friend of them secrests? you was eatin' there last night." "certainly i am a friend of theirs, though i never saw any of them before last night. and i don't like that, mr.--" not recalling bill's name mr. tudor paused for a moment. "that looks a little as if i were being spied on. are there any parties around here from whom i may need to protect myself?" evan's eyes flashed. bill's eyes fell. he was used to taking the initiative in threats. this was something new for him. "if ye mind yer own business, i reckon ye needn't be afraid of nobody." "that is good. i'll not be, but it is just as well in a new country to be ready, i suppose. how are the village people about talking to strangers? i want a little material in the line of characters and i may wander among those interesting shacks a little. will they throw me out?" mr. tudor's face wore a whimsical smile. "they might. i wouldn't advise ye to git too smart around here." bill sauntered off. he had come from the direction of steeple rocks, mr. tudor noted. he smiled to himself as he started the typewriter once more. he was _paying_ bill, bill the chief sinner, aside from _those who paid him for doing what he was doing_. evan tudor spent the rest of the day in spying out the land. he searched the woods, finding it a glorious grove of beautiful trees and interesting growths of bush and fern. he had the love of a scientist for the different phases of wild life and spent some time over curious flowers, taking a list of those he knew for future use in some setting of a story. toward dark, he entered the ives' land and after dark he wandered around steeple rocks, feeling justified in the intrusion, for his quest was a trust. but as it grew late he hurried back to his tent, for he rather expected that some watcher would know whether he spent the night in his tent or in "snooping." he thought that so far he had escaped observation since evening fell. and after all, an early trip about would be only natural to a newcomer. evan tried to put himself in the place of the evildoer, suspicious, fearful, and he wished at first to allay those suspicions. as he approached his tent, he thought he heard a rustle in the bushes. he put a tree between himself and the noise, but hummed a little. a shot in the dark would be possible, but scarcely likely. bill would be the first one to be suspected, and bill, whether able to prove an alibi or not, did not want any investigating authorities. so reasoning, young tudor boldly walked to his tent, turned his flashlight inside of it and finding it empty, except for his undisturbed possessions, entered, lit a candle and prepared for the night. he lay awake for some time, a little uncertain whether or not he might be the intended victim of some attack. he was ready but nothing happened. no suspicious noise of any human source disturbed him. finally he had to fight to keep awake, but when the stirring of the birds denoted the dawn, he fell into a deep slumber and slept far into the morning. chapter xv more discovery there was early rising at the eyrie on the morning after they had shared their supper with the new camper. jack arrived from steeple rocks even before the men who were to help dalton, and wore his working clothes. he reported that peggy was up, expecting the girls at any time, but he drew leslie aside, as he sometimes did, to tell her the developments at steeple rocks. leslie was glad that sarita was still getting ready, for sarita was inclined to tease her over jack's preference. it was clear that jack valued leslie's opinion on affairs at least. "my aunt is nervous and worried, leslie," said jack. "she announced this distinguished company about to arrive, but does not seem certain just when they will arrive. the kravetz is back, but disappears for a long while and pays no attention to peggy. i overheard her say to mrs. ives that it was absurd to dress up peggy to help entertain '_for so short a time_.' then my aunt said that she intended to have someone of her own right at hand, and she said it almost in a tone of desperation. the kravetz sometimes has an air of dictating to my aunt that i have wondered about. "aunt kit said 'all my own friends have been sent away on one excuse or another and i have this lot of foreigners to entertain _again_, half the time without my husband, i suppose!' "'he will be here,' the kravetz said, 'and the count and i will help you.'" jack laughed. "the kravetz got up and went into the house, and aunt kit, who knew that i was in the hammock, came right over to me. 'jack,' she said, 'if i ever needed my own people it's now. promise me that no matter how insulting madame kravetz or anyone may be, you will stay around.' so of course i promised, though if i get scared out at 'royalty' i may come here and bring peggy any time. peg, though, is all keyed up and tickled over her new clothes. it will be all right if i escape to the eyrie, will it?" "you know that it will, jack," said leslie heartily. "do you know who any of them are?" "no, not by name. i supposed that they were people of title that my aunt and uncle met abroad; but from something she said i think that they are people whom she has never met at all. yet she spoke of entertaining them 'again.' how do you account for that, leslie?" "perhaps she has had to entertain a different lot of them some other time," said leslie. "i expected you to say that. i rather think that she has, and if they are like the kravetz, well, good-night!" leslie laughed at jack's expression, but jack looked around to see that no one was near and bent to say something low into leslie's ear. "jack!" she exclaimed, as if startled. then she looked into his eyes. "jack, you've got it! that must be the matter over there,--and your aunt suspects it, but isn't sure, or else,--" leslie broke off, for sarita was coming. they both turned with smiles and leslie said, "jack was just telling me of all the excitement over the guests that are coming. he does not appreciate it at all and would rather help build log cabins, i guess." as dalton came up to claim jack, the girls started toward steeple rocks. sarita led the way, partly by the woods, but they decided to enter the grounds near the cliffs and sarita suggested visiting the "retreat," or peggy's little eyrie. they found the rocks slippery from the mist, but the more cautious leslie followed sarita's lead and they reached the cave without accident. "that was a bit risky, sairey," she said. "we'd better come here when it is dry." but sarita hushed her and reminded her that they had come to see if they could notice smoke again. stooping, they went as far back as they could and sarita observed that a piece of rock was loose at the hole where peggy had been tempted to crawl in. she knelt and tugged at it, without any particular purpose except that of general investigation. to her surprise, it gave way and she nearly fell backward, losing her hold upon the rock, which rolled in the other direction, instead of out, though it seemed to stop with a bump against something. sarita looked up at leslie with a comical expression as she straightened herself and leaned forward to the opening again. she was about to say something, when to the girls' surprise they heard an exclamation, "what is that?" someone asked. both girls instinctively drew back and put their fingers to their lips in warning to each other. but what they next heard they placed more as if the sound were conveyed through a speaking tube in this curious place. another voice was answering. "rocks fall once in a while. there's quite a crack by you. it's more or less honeycombed, but there is no danger here." "i see. i noticed a little draught when i lit my cigaret." more followed, but the persons speaking were not in the proper position now for more than a murmur to be heard. "how _lucky_ that we didn't say anything near that hole!" whispered sarita, as both girls withdrew toward the entrance. "do you suppose that anything we _have_ said here has been heard?" "i scarcely think so. something would have been done about it, you know. it looks as if the secret of steeple rocks were nearly ours, sarita, doesn't it?" "it certainly does. wait. i'm going back a minute." sarita knelt again at the opening and thrust her head within, to leslie's disapproval. she followed her, catching hold of her dress and looking at the rocks above her to see if any more had been loosened. she was relieved when sarita drew back again. "too dark to see anything, leslie," she reported when they were outside. they covered the rest of the way to peggy's house with very little conversation. "that was a stranger," sarita commented. "the other voice was like the count's," said leslie. "shall we tell peggy?" "i suppose so," said leslie doubtfully. she was thinking about that. what jack suspected she would keep to herself for the present, but peggy had a right to know the secret of her retreat. peggy was delighted to see them and took them to her room for what she called the "gorgeous display," some very pretty but suitable frocks for a young girl about to mingle with others who had them. "it is going to be quite a house party," peggy said, "and a few of them may stay for some time, mother says. it's awfully interesting, though 'royalty' doesn't mean so much any more. we had a princess once while we were in florida and she had wonderful jewels. mother thinks that there is one girl about my age. you simply must come over, girls!" "clothes, my dear peggy. wouldn't we look great to a grand duchess, in this rig, for instance?" leslie turned slowly around, with the air of a fashion show model, displaying a sweater much the worse for wear and her oldest gym bloomers. "i really meant to put on something better, like sarita, but i thought that i could sneak up to your room without your mother's seeing me, and we want to go out in the boat afterwards, or we _did_ want to go." "i mind the maids more than i do your mother," laughed sarita. "the last time, you should have seen the scorn with which your mother's maid looked at me." "pooh! what's the difference? you girl's always look like somebody nice, no matter what you have on. jack says so, too. but what has happened to change you about going out in the boat? is it going to be bad weather?" peggy glanced toward the window, where sunshine was driving the mists away. "mercy no! it's going to be a _wonderful_ day. leslie, tell peggy what we heard. it's a great discovery, peggy." peggy threw across the bed her most cherished frock which she had saved for the last to show them, and clasped her hands together in her eagerness to hear what had happened. they all sat down together on peggy's low day bed, a pretty wicker affair which stretched at the foot of the other bed. peggy was in the middle. a background of silk and fluffy chiffon and tulle behind them set off the three heads bent close together, as the girls related in whispers what had occurred. peggy was delighted, with little thought of what the discovery might imply. "then there _is_ a cave somewhere! girls, we have simply _got_ to find it! will you go back there now with me? i'll call pugs, to hang up the things, and get into my knickers and sweater in a minute!" peggy's maid came into the room while the girls were still waiting for peggy to scramble from one costume into another. she tried to smile and help peggy, but the girls could see that she had been crying. peggy explained as soon as they started out. "i didn't know that dear old pugsy cared that much for me. i've been a lot of trouble to her. but honestly, she's almost a part of the family to mother and me. perhaps mother can get out of it, but dad says that pugsy's got to leave. i must have a maid that speaks french now! if it were mother that wanted it, i could understand, but what does dad care whether i speak french or not?" "it will be fine when you travel," said sarita. but leslie, thinking of what jack had said, wondered if mr. ives did not want to employ another foreigner instead of "pugsy." a dark-browed maid who was dusting in the hall looked at them in none too friendly a way. even sarita spoke of it afterward. but peggy paid no attention to their surroundings as they left the house behind and darted past flower beds and masses of shrubbery on their way to the rocks. once there, peggy viewed the hole and was duly impressed. she had brought a flashlight, which disclosed nothing but rock beyond the hole, with a slight descent to where the loose rock had rolled. granite walls and an arching ceiling were above. leslie knew that it was foolish for all of them to enter, though sarita declared that never a rock could fall on them. nevertheless the prospect was so tempting that leslie crawled in after the others. there was at least good air within. they hoped to find a passage to the cave whence the voices had come; but after a short distance, which they could cover without stooping, they were stopped by a granite wall as hard as the rest of steeple rocks. there was a deep fissure, however, and there they could feel a decided draught. the light turned off, they sat down to listen. perhaps they could hear something more, if the people were still in the cave. peggy suggested that perhaps they had heard the count and someone back in the office. "i feel pretty sure that they have something back in the rock," whispered she, "perhaps a real cave, and more than just dad's safe." but leslie shook her head. "i may be mistaken, but i think that this came from below." as if to confirm her words, there came the sound of conversation, a mere murmur at first, then a few words very loudly conveyed by this queer speaking tube which nature had provided. the next were fainter, and then there was the murmur. "he's walking around," leslie suggested. peggy had a picture of someone restlessly pacing a cave. "well, i hope that ives will hurry up this house party. i'm certainly sick of staying here. how do i make up as an english lord, bill?" a hoarse laugh was the answer to this, but bill was not standing so close to the fissure, it was obvious. "and how am i going to get out of this?" "same way you got in, by boat and at night." "why can't i leave in the daytime if you can?" "well, in the first place, you wouldn't care to play the fisherman, i think, the way you look now, or to stay in one o' the shacks with the rest o' the crowd. i kin take you out to-night, if you want to go, but what i'm going to do now is to swim under water a ways. want to try it?" "no thanks. but i'll join the rest to-night. a little dirt on my face will make it all right, and i'd rather be with folks than in this terrible place." "a little timid, huh?" "i'll show you whether i'm timid or not!" the girls were breathless, wondering what was going to happen, but the ferocious bill was evidently possessed of soothing powers. "no, now there ain't no call to git excited. there's going to be enough people here when the schooner comes in." "yes," sarcastically said the other man. "you're going to make enough money to give up fishing by that time, aren't you?" "i might if they wasn't others i had to divide with," growled bill. "you pay attention to yer own affairs. you got it fixed with ives about yerself?" "yes." the girls heard peggy gasp, but the voices were not sounding as if either man were very near the "steeple rocks speaking tube," as leslie began to call it. probably peggy would not be heard. for some little time the girls sat still, in uncomfortable positions, but they heard nothing more. peggy was the first to jump up, and by the light of the flashlight which she carried, they all found their way back to the opening and crawled out. "i forgot to look, girls," said leslie, "to see if there were other rocks that could get loose outside, and after we were in there, listening to bill and that other man, i began to think what if a rock fell down and closed up this hole!" "we could have called down the speaking tube, leslie," sarita suggested. "yes," said peggy, "and have bill see that we stayed in there forever! 'sad loss of three bright young people at steeple rocks', would be in the paper." peggy was so funny as she said this that leslie and sarita both laughed, though the subject was far from laughable. peggy was frowning now. "let's go right now and tell jack," she said. "i certainly heard enough about dad, didn't i?" neither leslie nor sarita replied to this question, for they knew that peggy did not expect comment. they were helping each other around the jutting part of the cliff now and did not resume conversation until they were on the path. then peggy cried, "oh, girls! i was going to watch to see where bill came out, weren't you?" "yes," said leslie. "i thought of it when bill said that he was going to 'swim under water a ways.' what possessed us? but, after all, we could not have seen anything from the retreat. come on; let's climb down sort of near your yacht dock, peggy. perhaps we can see bill come out of the water yet." this was no sooner said than done. as quickly as possible, the girls found a spot which would command most of the shore around the bay. the girls looked over the surface of the cliff, as they had done many times before, without finding any opening. "if he has to swim under water, the cave _must_ be at the bottom," said leslie, decisively, "and the only place, girls, where a boat could go in, is in pirates' cove!" "then bill will swim out there and get to the rocks outside on _this_ side,--unless he has a boat tied in the channel." "i think that it would be too great a swim to the channel, unless it would be right near our dock around there, and bill would run the risk of mother's coming down to the beach or of somebody's seeing him from the house." "your mother wouldn't be surprised to see bill there,--not very, would she, peggy?" "perhaps not. let's get up a step higher. we can look over these rocks then, and duck down if bill should come out anywhere near the dock. _then_ we shall have to scamper up and out of sight as quickly as possible." in spite of peggy's evident chagrin at the implications about mr. ives in the conversation which they had overheard, she was enjoying the excitement, leslie could see. there might be some compensations for peggy, leslie thought, in the discovery of mr. ives' operations, if it led to her freedom from their shadow. but would it? what ought to be done now? she must tell jack at once,--so much was clear. but it might be even dangerous for anyone who interfered. could jack and peggy keep their knowledge from mr. ives and that household of suspicious foreign servants? the more leslie thought, the more undecided she felt. for some time the girls waited uneasily. perhaps bill had gone, or perhaps he was taking some time, making ready for the "enough people" who were to be there when the "schooner" came in! probably they would miss him altogether. no! there he was! peeping over the rocks, the girls caught each other's hands in their excitement. bill came up out of the water and shook it from him like a big mastiff. he looked around hastily to see if he were observed and the girls kept very still. sarita and leslie, indeed, ducked behind the rocks, but peggy, who had taken a black silk handkerchief from her neck, wrapped it about her head and kept on looking. it was not very likely that bill would see them, yet he might if he looked above on his way over the rocks from those at the base of steeple rocks, where he had emerged from the cove waters. peggy gave the word to start up. "he's going over the rocks now. stoop low and you'll get to the top in a jiffy! he'll only hope that we haven't seen him, if he does see us. but it isn't so wonderful for a person to go in swimming anywhere here." chapter xvi the dilemma from the rocky steps where they had been watching the return of bill ritter, leslie, sarita and peggy plunged into the woods as soon as possible and by that more devious route reached the secrest camp. they were rather surprised to find it not yet ten o'clock, but they had spent much less time with peggy, at what she called her fashion show, than they had expected. then the time spent in the retreat and in waiting for bill's appearance must have been much less than it seemed. when they reached the new clearing on the slight rise of ground not far from the spring, they found dalton and his men hard at work and dalton jubilant over the prospect of speedy building. beth was sitting on a pile of logs making a sketch of the place and the workers, "for us to remember how it looked," she said. dalton dropped his work to join the girls and look at the sketch. "pretty good, sister," said he. "do you know i've a great notion to plaster this house and stay here through the winter." "what do you mean, dal,--stay _alone_, or no school for any of us?" the tone of the surprised beth was not as reproving as dalton might have expected. "no school for anybody," asserted dalton, though he had really not thought this out before. "it would be the best thing in the world for you, beth, and think what snow scenes you could immortalize with your pen, pencil and brush!" "ridiculous boy!" "oh, let me board with you instead of going to florida. i never _have_ had any winter sports!" peggy's voice was coaxing. "we'll have skiing down the hills, that hill where you saved my life, dal,--and skating, and ice-boating and everything on the bay!" even leslie and sarita, who were more interested in lessons than peggy, brightened at the thought. "poor me!" exclaimed sarita. "i'd have to go home and miss it all!" "vacation, sarita," suggested peggy, "the christmas vacation." "we'll skate on our little lake, peggy," said dalton, "as if it were already decided, and we can have a dog-sled to take us to town,--" "crazy!" laughed leslie. "but, beth, i believe that dal is in earnest." "wait till he has fires to make some morning when it is below zero, ice to break, water to carry and everything frozen up." "not much worse than a furnace to take care of, beth," said the man of the house. "we'll have a big fireplace in one room and a big heater somewhere, a shed full of coal, and wood on the place,--think it over. i've got to work." whistling a little, dalton went back to help and direct. "dalton just loves this," said leslie, "but look, beth, here comes mr. tudor." with a salute to everybody, evan tudor stopped first to speak to dalton, then joined the other group with greetings. peggy, remembering her impulsive entrance of the previous day, bowed sweetly, but with dignity, while leslie asked if he had been annoyed by the sounds of building so early. "i slept as if i should never waken this morning and i have only just eaten my breakfast. there must be something in this air, as advertised! i prowled around a while last night, enjoying the woods and the shore. at this rate, it looks as if you would have a house up in no time." "they will," said peggy, "and dal is planning to make it so they can stay all winter." peggy looked wickedly at beth. evan tudor looked surprised, but said, "it would be very beautiful here in winter." "i'd like to try it once," said leslie, "but not unless the whole family wanted to do it, for beth might get pneumonia and then we'd be in a pretty pickle!" "it would be lovely here, with the ice and snow," beth acknowledged, relenting a little, "and i seldom ever take cold. i'd have to watch the rest of you to see that you were not careless." "oh, beth," cried peggy, assuming her own presence, "we'd fish through the ice, and leslie and i would do the cooking!" then leslie and sarita did laugh, for peggy could not cook anything and had confessed the fact before. "well," peggy continued, answering their thought, "couldn't i _learn_?" at this point beth glanced at her wrist watch and asked if a short trip in the sea crest would not be possible before lunch, in order to show mr. tudor the bay and the rocks. "if we should be late, dal will make the hot coffee for the men. they bring their lunches, but we give them something hot, and i have everything ready, beans all cooked and some meat." everybody thought this a good plan, especially as they could take peggy home by launch and jack, if he thought best. otherwise, jack could have beans and coffee with dalton. but jack decided to go with them, for peggy privately informed him that she must consult him about something. on the way to the boat, beth exhibited the eyrie to mr. tudor, while jack, leslie, and the other girls went on down the rocks to get the launch ready and start the engine. none of them were disappointed by any lack of enthusiasm on the part of their guest, for though evan tudor was not particularly voluble in his speech he gave the impression of not missing any practical or inspirational detail in the comments which he made. after the start mr. tudor sat or stood with beth, who pointed out the sights, while jack at the wheel listened to what the girls had to tell him with peggy as chief spokesman. he made little comment at first and the impatient peggy urged him, saying, "well, jack, why don't you go 'up in the air' about it?" "it is too serious, peggy. i don't think that you know just how serious it is. that fake english lord in the cave only proves what i have been suspecting." "_what_ have you been suspecting, jack?" "i'd rather not say, peggy. suppose we wait a little. i am thinking that about the twenty-eighth we may find some others of the same sort, only pretending to carry out the house party idea with your mother, and then some that are very likely real titled exiles." "but why would they do that? why should this man hide away? is he afraid of somebody? and why should dad let him hide there? just what is it that dad is doing?" "i am very much afraid, peggy, that your step-father is helping these people into the country against the law, and probably for a good price. i hope that it is the count who is doing it,--that is, i have been hoping that, with uncle's just letting him use the place and entertaining as his guests only some people brought here in his yacht that really have a right to be here. but i think now that the yacht is a blind and that everybody will come in on the 'schooner.'" "oh!" peggy began to understand more clearly. "shall i tell mother, jack?" "no. i've got to find out _what_ to do." but as it happened, neither jack nor peggy nor any of the secrests decided what was to be done; and it was better so. the little cruise was delightful. troubles seemed far away after they gave themselves to the lure of the water and sky and the motion of the boat. even peggy, who had at first been startled and distressed at jack's clear statements, seemed to forget and joked as usual with the girls. leslie was thoughtful, wondering what their duty was. it was not pleasant to have such a problem presented to them. evan tudor, who could run a launch quite well himself, was entirely content to be a passenger, visiting with the pretty artist and forgetting his quest in these parts, except to fix in mind the location of steeple rocks and pirates' cove. he intended to go out in a row boat to investigate that region. jack and peggy were left at the dock in ives bay, while leslie took the wheel for the homeward trip. this they made quickly, landing in time for beth to superintend the hot lunch. mr. tudor was invited to partake, but he thanked beth and declined, saying that he had work to do and that his late breakfast made a late lunch desirable. for leslie and sarita it had been a full and surprising morning. after lunch was over, with its work, they found a quiet place apart where they could discuss the present dilemma. chapter xvii pirates' cove bill's men, out in the boats, reported to him at noon the short trip of the sea crest and the passengers upon it. bill accepted the report, thinking that the "writin' feller," if he liked the girl who made pictures and kept himself to his work and his visits with the secrests, was probably harmless so far as bill's pursuits were concerned. he dispatched tom carey with an excellent choice of fish, which he could leave at the tent if the man had not returned. but tom chose to wait for mr. tudor. "hello, tom," evan tudor called, as he approached his tent and saw tom stretched out on a rock by the stream. "have you been waiting long? you might have left the fish, but i'm glad that you did not. anything to report?" this last was in a lower tone, after he had jumped across the stream by its little stepping stones to the rock where tom now stood. "yes, i have. here are the fish." "good. those are fine. bill must think that i have an appetite, but then i did not limit the quantity and the more delivered the better business for bill." "yes, sir," grinned tom. "i didn't expect to have any news for you so soon, but bill is about sick to-day, having a chill or something. so he wants me to take a boat, go to pirates' cove, row into the cave and bring out a man." "what?" evan tudor was a little puzzled. "i thought, from what i have been told that it was not safe to go into the cove at all. miss secrest just spoke of it on a trip that they took me around the bay and through the channel to ives bay." "yes, sir. i was there when a man told bill about your being with them." tom and evan tudor exchanged glances. "miss secrest told me quite a tale of disappearances and of the danger where that opening occurs." "yes, sir; that is what is generally thought around here. but my grandmother has always laughed to me about it, and she remembers the time when people used to visit the pirates' cave." "then probably smugglers built up this tale for their own purposes." tom nodded assent. "i've told you how bill wants to get me into all this, and get some hold on me, you know. if you weren't here i'd never do it in the world, but i've pretended to listen to what he says about 'making good money.' i don't know why he doesn't have someone else go, unless it is dangerous and they will not do it, or there is some smuggled stuff that he can't trust them with, or he just wants to get me into it. i'm not afraid to go, and it is a good chance to find out." "don't risk anything on my account, tom; but if you think it safe to go, i shall be among those rocks somewhere with a boat. call if you are in any danger. i am a good swimmer." tom, rather glad that there would be help at hand if any were needed, went away and mr. tudor examined his fish. soon they were cooking over a good fire, while a well satisfied young man watched them and made more plans. this was a great opportunity. he would visit the cave after tom and the man had left. there was a possibility of there being others in the cave, but he would risk that. it was not very likely. perhaps tom could let him know in some way if there were, though no signal had been agreed upon. indeed, he must keep out of sight. evan tudor did not know, of course, that he would not be the only watcher that night. the only decision that the girls and jack had been able to make was that of immediate action in seeing bill take out the man whose voice the girls had heard through the "speaking tube." it would never do to miss that. leslie thought that perhaps peggy would want to give up their plan after hearing jack's plain statements. but the last thing that she said before the sea crest left her and jack at their dock was, "now don't forget to-night!" peggy still loved mystery. more than once peggy afterward remarked to dalton, with whom she became so very, very well acquainted, that it was funny how the different people who were engaged that night in pirates' cove affairs had no knowledge of each other. bill's man escorted tom part way, but did not know about tom's relation to mr. tudor. the pretended nobleman had no idea how near discovery he was. the ives-secrest group knew nothing about mr. tudor and he knew nothing of their interest or presence at first. peggy and jack decided that rather than steal out of the house late at night it would be better to go out openly for a row to the eyrie, early in the evening. peggy's mother would assume that they had returned, they hoped, for mrs. ives was concerned about other things. their plan was to return with the girls and hide among the rocks in the channel, where there was a view of the cove. about the time the last boats were going in they would quietly row out from the eyrie. this plan was carried out. it was about one o'clock when a boat came into the bay from the sea, and after reaching quiet waters, edged around into the channel. naturally leslie did not know that it was their own swallow, borrowed from beth and dalton by mr. tudor, though he had not come for it till long after the first party had left the eyrie. sarita had gone to sleep, lulled by the gentle rocking of their boat, for the wait seemed long. her head was on leslie's shoulder, but she was startled awake when peggy clutched leslie and whispered, "oh, who is this? one of bill's spies?" "sh-sh," jack warned. but it would not be easy to see them among the shadows of the rocks, and presently they saw the boat no longer as it gently glided farther within the channel, and none too soon for its occupant, for two more boats, rapidly rowed, approached the mouth of the cove. in one was tom, who was given final orders and directions by the man in the other boat. bay and cove were comparatively calm. the night, too, was clear so far, bright with stars and a late moon, a condition good for the watchers, but not so favorable to any underhand project. the girls located the dark opening into the cave and watched tensely. the one boat waited at the rocks which marked the beginning of the cove. tom's boat entered the cove and went straight across to the mouth of the cave, with only one exception, when tom avoided a foaming, restless stretch where some hidden rocks lurked like scylla of old. "look! he's gone right on in," said leslie, "without a bit of trouble!" "wait till you see if he ever comes out again," sarita returned, for she still more than half believed in the old story. "if he does and they get away all right, let's go in, too," peggy suggested, a wild desire to see the inside of that cave taking possession of her. they could take the same course. that boat had kept steady, unharmed, not tossed about by any current or whirlpool. "it would be safe enough," said jack, looking at his watch, "if we can do it before the tide comes up much. it is not quite low tide now. i looked up the tides before we came out. it will be easier to get in at low tide, though we may have to watch for rocks more. make up your minds what you want to do, girls." "if it were a question of _wanting_," said leslie, "i'd say go at once, but i'm not sure it would be very safe. what do you think, sarita?" but sarita did not answer, for at that moment tom's boat shot out from the dark, spray-washed entrance. all had seen the flash of light, presumably from tom's flashlight, as he took his bearings before starting out of the cave. two figures were in the boat this time. over the legend-cursed waters of pirates' cove tom's boat sped, faster than when it was attempting an unknown course. again they saw him avoid the one tempestuous spot. again they saw him reach the rocks and the buoy where the other boat waited. the watchers did not hear, however, the rough jeer with which the man who rowed the accompanying boat greeted tom. "so bill's got ye at last, has he? ye'll work fer him now or yer life won't be safe. that's yer 'nishiation, did ye know it?" tom was spared an answer by the rough order of the man whom he had brought from the cave. it was to the effect that this was his trip and that he wanted to get to land as quickly as possible. so did tom. the two boats bobbed over the waves and out of the bay to some mooring at the village. the boat load of young people watched, still keeping in the shadow of the rocks and discussing in low tones the likelihood of their being still watched, if at all, by the other boat which had come into the channel. then they heard the soft plash of oars. startled, jack braced himself for possible trouble and peggy clutched leslie again. the boat passed them, its occupant leaning to look in their direction. then it shot back and a voice addressed them. "why, it's the eyrie crowd, isn't it?" what a relief! it was only mr. tudor! "my, how you scared us, mr. tudor!" cried peggy. "how did you happen to get out here? did you see that boat come out of the cove?" "yes. it would seem that the old story is not true, yet i heard miss secrest tell it only to-day." "we're going over. don't you want to go with us?" "peggy!" leslie exclaimed. "have we decided to go?" "i have, unless you really hate to go." "we're crazy to see it," said sarita. mr. tudor was inwardly amused at the turn of events. again they were in his favor. "if you think that it will not be a trespass, miss peggy, i should like to go with you. it seems safe to me. suppose you let me go first, however. i noted the boatman's course, and we shall avoid the same rocks that took him aside." "good!" cried peggy. "have you a light? we brought some." "yes. i have a large flashlight." it seemed like a dream,--the late night, the restless waters, the mystery of the cove, the yawning entrance of the cave. the ives boat followed exactly the trail of the swallow, which the girls now recognized. now they passed the boiling surf. "between scylla and charybdis," quoted leslie to sarita, and peggy, who did not know what she meant, decided to look that up. bowing his head, mr. tudor pulled upon his oars, and his boat disappeared into the yawning maw of the cavern. jack was wondering if it were safe to follow immediately, but he heard a call, "come on," and the entrance was illuminated by the light which mr. tudor carried and which he flashed upon the churning waters in the center of the opening. down went the heads,--a breathless moment! now! the secrest-ives combination were within the pirate cave! looking about by the steady light which mr. tudor held for them, they saw his boat drawn aside a little and near a floating dock, as it might be called, a mere plank tightly fastened to posts at the very edge of a worn rocky ledge, the floor of the cave. waters stretched to the right and left of them. above, the roof of the cave was low at the entrance, but lifted to a high vault farther in. "snug place," said leslie, turning her own flashlight from side to side. mr. tudor examined the landing, made it firm by some quick manipulation, and leaped out of his boat, which he had fastened. "want to get out?" he inquired, leaning toward the passengers of jack's boat, which now occupied the other side of the landing space. he held his hand to the girls, while jack kept the boat steady. "let us keep together," suggested mr. tudor. having the largest light, he naturally took the lead. they found it a large cave, quite evidently often and recently used. nature had been assisted in making it a safe storage for either goods or persons, for they found more than one room, with steps cut in uneven places, and a long passage leading somewhere. they did not follow that very far, for mr. tudor suggested that it would not be best to stay long "this time" on account of the tide. there were cots standing on end, and one which had been left with bedding on it. peggy shuddered. "think of sleeping with such damp bedding!" she said. "this room seems fairly dry, though," said leslie, "and i feel quite a breeze from somewhere." "oh, it must be the place where the men were when we heard them talking!" peggy exclaimed. she and leslie searched the wall and ceiling and found a crack which they decided to be the opening to the "speaking tube," for the immediate surroundings were like a wide funnel. a pile of old and foreign-looking clothing in one corner gave mr. tudor good evidence of what he was seeking. there was a portable stove all greasy and rusty, with a cask which they thought contained gasoline. a wooden door boarded up one opening off from the passage but it was locked. as there was a narrow opening across the top of the ill-fitting door, mr. tudor suggested to jack that he climb up to see what was inside. "stand on my shoulders," he said. jack helped himself first by the edge of a thick board in the door, which had been made by nailing horizontal planks across a frame. partly lifted or supported by mr. tudor, jack clung to the top of the door, with one foot on mr. tudor's shoulder, and looked over. "case after case, and a lot of loose bottles of liquor," he reported. "bill's activities include more than one line of smuggling," mr. tudor replied, as jack dropped to the floor again. "my muddy feet will not help your coat any," said jack. "it will dry and brush off. we have not found any pirate treasure for the girls yet," he continued. "perhaps there is a safe somewhere with the pirate jewels; but we must hurry. i want to see the front space again. come, please." the party went back into the front of the cave, while mr. tudor and jack searched the wall on the side toward the ives' little bay and dock. there, indeed, in a little recess, were some steps, the same sort of rocky steps, where the hand of man had assisted nature. at the top there was another door, locked. but this time mr. tudor drew a key from his pocket which unlocked it. a breeze blew in, fresh and sweet and cool. carefully lighting his steps before him mr. tudor stepped outside, then made room for the rest. they found themselves on a rocky ledge, rather narrow and walled in by rock. mr. tudor rounded a corner carefully, looked and came back. "very clever," said he. "this door is concealed by the mass of rock, and when you turn that corner, there you are in a narrow opening between rocks that looks just like a hundred others. look, but be careful not to step off the edge." each followed directions and looked. "a long plank would reach over to our steps," said peggy. "i've often wondered why that wide, long board was laid along the side of the steps. there is a sort of fastening there, too. i asked mother about it once and she said she supposed it was there to strengthen the stairway. i wonder why they go in and out by boat when that is there." "perhaps," said jack, "there is more danger of discovery, or maybe it is not as safe a way." "that is what became of the count that time. i was not far enough down, or not smart enough to see it." mr. tudor looked inquiringly at peggy. "count herschfeld?" he asked. "yes. do you know him?" "i know of him." they were now back within the cave and mr. tudor locked the door again. "a place like this develops," said he. "it is not planned from the first. it has probably been the resort of smugglers from early times." "but we'd better hurry away while the tide is low. there is a plank to be found inside, if you girls would prefer to cross to the steps. i am sure that i saw one somewhere." "no walking the plank for me _yet_," said peggy. "are you going to tell on bill yet, mr. tudor?" from what he had said, peggy knew that he must know about bill. what else did he know? but she would not be the one to tell about her step-father. "what do you think we ought to do about it, miss peggy?" mr. tudor countered. "i suppose we can't let smuggling go on." "no," soberly evan tudor replied. "it will have to be broken up sometime. probably we should have a little more proof about bill and his friends." "oh, yes," eagerly peggy replied. "poor child," evan tudor was thinking. safely they all went through the spray. mr. tudor went first, then turned his light upon the place for jack's exit. to their surprise they found it foggy and by the time they reached ives bay and the dock there the fog was rolling in so thickly that it was decided to leave the swallow among the ives boats till the next day. evan tudor and the girls would walk home. jack was distressed about this and wanted to accompany them, but peggy insisted that it would be foolish and the rest agreed. "the more quickly and quietly we get into the house the better, jack," said peggy, "and no one will notice the swallow, mr. tudor. we do all sorts of crazy things going back and forth, and jack and i might easily have rowed home in the swallow, or all of us landed here and gone on some hike or other." tired as the girls were, they managed to give a full and clear account of their suspicions and discoveries to mr. tudor on the way home. it was a comfort to pass over some of the responsibility to him, though he did not tell them that this smuggling of aliens was the subject of his quest, nor that he represented the law and the united states government. the other smuggling would naturally be attended to at the same time, but it was desired to find the heads of a ring having operations at different points. "we have been so troubled, mr. tudor, about our duty, how to notify the right authorities, or whether to do so or not, with peggy and her family to consider,--though i suppose that it is wrong to be hindered by that." so leslie told the man who represented the right authority. "it would be a hard thing for you to take up without more proof, miss leslie. suppose you just do nothing but keep your eyes open and tell me about it. i will watch, too. did you say that a schooner was expected about the twenty-eighth?" "yes, sir." "i will talk it over with your brother and miss beth. good-night; do not worry about this." chapter xviii the net is spread the girls found elizabeth up and greatly worried. she had gone to bed and fallen asleep, she said, waking at midnight to find that they had not come in. "if dalton had not needed his sleep so much, i would have wakened him," she said. again the sleepy girls told the story, gathering up the details in the process and filling in what beth did not know. "but we have passed the responsibility over to mr. tudor, beth. he thinks that more proof is necessary, too. we've found out more than enough for poor little peggy, though she is the stoutest little piece you ever saw. one thing, she does not like her step-father, or trust him, and she sees that he makes mrs. ives miserable. mr. tudor asked if she would be likely to warn her step-father and of course, we could not know. so far she has not said anything to her mother." "do you suppose that mr. tudor will do anything?" asked beth, very much interested. "i don't know. he said that he would talk to dalton and to you. i'd say wait till they get here, anyhow. we surely are going to watch for that schooner, beth,--but not to-night!" on the very next day another young man arrived at evan tudor's camp. largely for bill's benefit, a heavy package marked manuscript was mailed by mr. tudor from the village post office. when tom arrived that day with the regular supply of fish, he was told that he might make his report in the presence of the other young man. he did so, showing some money that bill had paid him for the trip, a sum which tom had inwardly hesitated to take, feeling like a traitor. he spoke of his feeling in the matter, but mr. tudor assured him that he must seem to be a part of the smuggler group. "you may even have to be arrested with the rest, though if there is any resisting, get out of range! can you meet that?" "yes, sir." "our people will be instructed about you, and you have only to tell who you are. i'm not anticipating any war. things are coming to a climax now. have you any information about the schooner that is bringing in the immigrants?" "yes, sir. mr. ives is out with the yacht now. he is expecting to take them off the schooner some distance out, but the yacht has trouble with the engine and they may have to dock her. in that case they'll bring what bill calls the big bugs to the yacht, by the launch, of course, and take the rest into the cave till they can get them 'distributed.' that is what mr. ives calls it. i saw him. he came in to bill's on the launch, about ten o'clock last night." mr. tudor had also seen him, but he did not mention the fact to tom. "does mr. ives know that you are in this with bill?" "yes, sir. he asked me questions and gave me a ten dollar bill. i feel like a judas." "remember what he is and you will not feel so. you can give the money back later, if you like." the more puzzling part of this matter to mr. tudor was to make no mistake about having the government officers and men on hand at the right time. with careful scouts out on land and sea to guard against surprise when the schooner actually arrived, mr. ives and bill would be thoroughly informed about any suspicious movements. but an innocent looking hunting and fishing party had just arrived at a camp a few miles away, and a few miles down the coast a small passenger vessel had put in, apparently for repairs. a regular coast guard steamer had passed as well and had duly been reported to bill and mr. ives, who were feeling none too easy about this next cargo of aliens to be smuggled in. but thousands of dollars were already in their pockets and they expected to make as much again. patriotism? bill had been smuggled in himself years before, and mr. ives often told his wife that he owed nothing to uncle sam or the flag. he was a brilliant scoundrel, thoroughly selfish and of the type that enjoys intrigue and power. the count had been embittered by the results of the world war and was glad to do what he could against the country and its laws. some of the alien immigrants themselves were to be pitied, though they were lending themselves to this scheme. many of them were caught in some unhappy circumstances at home and cared nothing for governments, only for a refuge. others were of the dangerous class of communists that were willing to pay and pay heavily for the chance to spread their doctrines in a country that wanted none of them. then there were the ignorant ones, of "low degree," who believed almost anything that they were told of the chances in america. they were to be largely bill's prey, robbed of their savings and forced to work for him if he chose. that was the "fine opportunity" waiting for them in america! the new man with mr. tudor carried the messages now, at night, for it was no longer best to telegraph from the nearest town. after the sending of the manuscript, the two men now spent long hours in fishing or in tramping about after the manner of tourists. they took notes in prominent places, to carry out the idea of their profession, and, indeed, both of them were correspondents for certain papers. mr. tudor told beth that his "best seller" could more easily be a detective story than anything else. dalton was admitted to councils now, but he was more anxious to get on with the house than to do any detective work. the chief benefit to him was the knowledge that someone else was watching bill and mr. ives. his family was safe without his being on guard any longer. like magic, leslie said, the house went up and it was decided to finish it within and without for cold weather. they would at least have what sarita called a "proper home" and if they wanted to stay through part of the cold weather they could. at night watch was kept in the eyrie, as they had planned, for now it was but a short time till the schooner was due. on the twenty-sixth the ives yacht came into the bay and men were sent for to fix some part of the machinery. mr. ives, "cross as two sticks," according to peggy, appeared at his home and had long consultations with the count. at other times he could be heard pacing up and down in his office. "he has something on hand that worries him terribly, peggy," mrs. ives told her daughter, "and just at the time of the house party, too! he says that perhaps the yacht will not be ready in time to go for them, but that if it isn't he will get them here some other way." peggy did not confide this to the other girls. she had stopped talking about the matter. it was not fun any more. they missed her at the eyrie, for while jack came as usual, still interested in the house and dalton, and still wanting to confide in leslie the matters of the steeple rocks mystery, now a mystery no longer, peggy tried to seem interested in her clothes and the plans for the house party. would it come off? would mr. tudor tell? he didn't talk as if he would right away. what ought she to do about telling her mother? peggy's mind was somewhat in confusion. the servants were quiet, inclined to watch peggy, she imagined. it would have been hard to find opportunity for the secret talk with her mother which she rather longed for sometimes. she and jack did not attempt to discuss the matter and mr. ives asked jack to drop his "carpenter work" at the eyrie. once, while they were playing tennis, jack muttered to peggy, "no use, can't do a thing now, peggy. we'll just wait." a very pleasant thing happened at the secrest camp in the shape of a surprise for sarita. through mr. tudor, tom carey sent her a package in which was her lost glass. tom had recovered it that very night after it had fallen into the water, by swimming from his boat and diving where it seemed safe. the glass had lodged upon a rock not far from the surface, he discovered, and while its appearance was spoiled, the lenses were not broken. keeping the recovery a secret from bill, tom had made a trip to town and had the field glass put in shape again, with new covering. a little note explained the facts and sarita was quite overcome, almost sorry that tom had gone to the expense but admiring his spirit. "oh, the poor boy!" she exclaimed. "he paid for it with bill's money, though," said the smiling mr. tudor, in whose presence sarita had opened the package, "and as he is making a little more than usual, you need not worry about tom. i will explain in a few days, miss sarita. it comes just in time for good service." meanwhile the net was being drawn more tightly. it was desired to take the count and mr. ives after their connection with the smuggling was further proved by the presence of the aliens illegitimately brought in in the ives home or upon the ives yacht. on land and by sea the arrival of the schooner was awaited. chapter xix sails on the horizon on the night of the twenty-seventh, leslie secrest and sarita moore were sitting in the sea crest to talk. gently the boat rocked a little in the lapping water of their little cove. beth and dalton were above in the eyrie, where they had a spyglass, not one belonging to peggy, but one which dalton had procured. "it would be a fine thing, wouldn't it," he asked, "to hunt down peggy's step-father with a glass that he will probably pay for?" idly leslie dipped her hand in the water. "let's go over after peggy," sarita suggested. "lots of boats are out yet, and the sunset isn't over. see what entrancing shades there are. beth is probably copying those over there in the east. too bad the sun itself isn't in that direction!" without a word, leslie sprang into action. "i see a few twinkles of stars coming out, but it isn't too late," she said. they were soon out upon the bay, sarita waving a farewell to beth, who had walked out upon the rocks. before they had gone far toward the channel, by which they would reach peggy's, to their surprise, the ives yacht gave forth a deep and sonorous sound. "listen to peggy's yacht tooting!" cried sarita. "look out, les. let's keep out of the way." the yacht, indeed, was moving out; but as there was but one straight course for it out of the bay, leslie was not concerned. she drove the sea crest in another direction, and circled around, as they often did. to their surprise again, there was peggy herself, waving from the deck. leslie chose to follow in the wake of the yacht, which drew farther and farther away from them, and finally turned north along the coast, disappearing from view. it had not been leslie's intention, to be sure, to go out into the open sea very far, but she saw mr. tudor and his friend in another launch no bigger than the sea crest and she found the sea very little rougher than the bay. "it will be fairly light for more than an hour, sarita, let's stay out a while." sarita was willing, and they turned the little sea crest toward the open sea and sped on. suddenly, upon the horizon, a lovely sight greeted their eyes. there hung a large schooner as if suspended from the clouds. it was in full sail, the last pink and lavender of the sunset imparting a tinge of color to the swelling sails. "how lovely!" exclaimed leslie. "is it a fishing schooner, or _the_ schooner, i wonder?" "it might be either, or both," laughed sarita. "how odd! it's simply fading from view! see, it's turned, too." the girls watched the schooner till they could see it no more. then leslie turned the launch and ran straight for the bay. "do you suppose that it _is_ the schooner and that the yacht has gone to meet it now? they certainly would not take peggy and mrs. ives, would they? how terrible it would be if they were boarded out there and peggy would be in the midst of it!" but as they came on, they saw mrs. ives and peggy in a launch run by no less a personage than bill himself. peggy said something to bill, who ran the launch within speaking distance while she called, "engine stopped and we had to signal for help. dad and the count may have to stay there all night!" peggy's face was bright. there was much else that she wanted to tell the girls, but bill wouldn't want to wait, she knew. after nodding brightly to peggy, leslie and sarita looked at each other. "camouflage," said leslie "they meant to send them back all the time. their engine is all right and that's the schooner! bill will go out with the launch, of course, taking the plumber!" "plumber!" laughed sarita. "well, isn't that whom you send for when anything is out of fix?" quick-witted leslie's imagination was right, as it happened. sending on her boat at full speed, she felt very much relieved to think that peggy would be safely at home. "i'd pay five cents," she added, "to know if mr. tudor is taking this in." as that was mr. tudor's chief business at this time, he was not ignorant of all the moves. like leslie, however, he was going in to shore. the schooner would be taken care of at the proper time by others. he knew who was on the yacht and where it lay. he was not so impatient as the girls, for he knew what it all involved. the denouement might be dramatic. he hoped that it would be neither dangerous nor fatal to anyone. no move at all was to be made until the alien passengers were transferred from the schooner. bill's scouts were then to be quietly seized, in order that no signal might be given the yacht, though even then the chase upon the open sea would probably be successful. tom carey was of great help in learning who these scouts were. again that night, like a wraith from the sea, the schooner was seen. leslie in the eyrie, where poor dalton was trying to keep awake after his day of physical labor, found it with the spy-glass and exclaimed. the rest sprang up to look, and while they still tried to distinguish the vessel, whose lights had apparently been extinguished, there was a knock at the door. "it's tudor," spoke a voice. "come right in." dalton hastened to open the door for mr. tudor, who was not quite as calm as usual. "good evening, friends. have you seen the schooner?" "we have just been looking at it," said beth, offering the glass to evan, who looked for some time. "it is flying here and there, like a bird trying to reach its nest and avoid the owl that is watching. ostensibly it has fishing grounds in the vicinity. perhaps it was a mistake to have our boat pass again, but it is not investigating. the ives yacht is lying off the coast with some broken machinery, they say. bill has just brought off the count and mr. ives. "it will probably be to-morrow night when the schooner unloads. our boat is leaving just a little before dawn, to assure them that they are not to be searched, and also to prevent their unloading to-night. i believe that our ship is to hail the schooner, appear to be satisfied with inquiry and steam away. our boat is not very large,--but there is another, not too far out at sea. "circumstances often determine what it is best to do. i thought that you would like to know what is going on. i am going to take a sleep now, my friend on guard. if i were you, i should sleep, too." after this explanation, mr. tudor took his leave. the rather serious secrest group decided to take his advice. the girls were soon asleep in the eyrie with their door barred, though leslie wakened before daylight to lie and think about peggy. peggy herself had many thoughts on the morning of the twenty-eighth. she did not know that the schooner had arrived, but that was the date of the house party. mr. ives was still nervous but in better poise, giving orders in regard to certain provisions for the guests. mrs. ives was mistress of herself and the situation, for her house was ready, the menus made out with the housekeeper. never had peggy had such a problem to face. she could not bring herself to inform authority against her step-father, and in her indecision she was ready to see who came, what sort of people they were and whether it were really mr. ives who was the real smuggler or not. perhaps he could be persuaded to give it all up, she thought. mr. tudor's knowing worried her. she now felt persuaded that he had been investigating, though she hoped that she was only imagining it. it was out of peggy's hands, however. if the girls had never started to find a mystery out for themselves, the result would have been the same. before midnight men were hidden in the pirates' cave, for tom had fortunately been appointed watch there. whether tide and hour would permit entrance by water or by plank and the door, they were ready. tom carey could tell them little this time, for plans were known only to bill. the rest followed his orders. one government boat was to take the yacht, another was to follow the schooner, and lest slippery bill should escape in the launch, provision was made for that. it was hoped that the entire number of aliens, high and low, might be transferred to the yacht first because of its size. no interference was to be made until after that occurred. mr. tudor told elizabeth that the smugglers were doubtless hoping for fog to conceal their activities. the first excitement at the eyrie occurred about ten o'clock that night, when dalton, uneasy, sauntered down to their cove and discovered the sea crest foundered, not in very deep water to be sure, but it was an unwelcome calamity. the swallow was floating, but dalton examined it to find that someone had begun to cut a hole in it. "my coming probably frightened the man away," dalton reported at the eyrie. "they do not want the sea crest abroad to-night." it did grow somewhat foggy, though not enough so to annoy what boats were out upon the bay. long since the "engine trouble" of the yacht had been overcome and it had steamed away, up the coast and out of sight. now, shortly after midnight it appeared, regardless of who might see it, well lighted, its pennants waving in honor of distinguished guests. it approached the bay, at full speed and cutting the waves valiantly. chapter xx capture peggy and jack, at steeple rocks, had gone to watch for the yacht at the tops of the steps which ran down to the dock where the yacht was expected. at the sight of it, jack waited, but peggy hurried in to announce the arrival. mrs. ives and madame kravetz were sitting in the drawing room, while timmons, the butler, was in the hall. "the yacht is coming," said peggy in her clear voice, "all lit up and everything. it just passed another vessel that was going along and it's coming into the bay! shall i tell jack to light the lights outside?" "timmons will do it. timmons, rouse the maids if they are drowsy." but mrs. ives wondered at the alarmed expression on the face of the butler, and that madame kravetz went outside immediately. mr. ives and the count had gone out to the yacht in the morning, ostensibly to go to the port where he was to meet his guests. some train must have been late to delay them this long, or perhaps the engines had not worked properly. it was all decidedly queer. she looked at peggy. "what's the matter with 'em?" bluntly asked peggy. "i am sure i do not know, unless timmons is excited for fear things may not go as they should." the bay was a trap. no sooner had the yacht gotten well into it than the passing vessel, manned by government men to catch both aliens and smugglers, turned about and rapidly sought the mouth of the bay. the pursuit was short, as mr. ives and count herschfeld, on board the yacht knew it must be. hastily the word was passed around among the more important passengers, who were panic-stricken, facing deportation, having many jewels which they were smuggling in. smaller boats also gathered around the yacht, but it reached the dock, though boarded at once. it attempted no useless defense, for it was immediately seen that a concerted plan on the part of the government forces made them too strong for the smugglers. how mr. ives got away, no one knew. he was not seen upon the rocks, but someone saw him take off his coat and leap into the water, though it was thought at the time that he was at once picked up by one of the boats. the approaches to the house were all guarded, it was supposed, but a secret entrance from the cliff, which the girls had not discovered, admitted mr. ives to a rocky chamber behind his office. peggy, sitting in the drawing room with her mother, heard the door to the library and office open behind her. mr. ives, a wild figure, appeared. water was dripping from him. he was drawing on a dry coat as he entered and stuffing its pockets with money from his safe. "get the car quickly, kit! they're after me! call timmons! peggy, run up and get my overcoat and all the clothes that you can lay your hands on!" mrs. ives in her pretty evening dress ran outside, followed by her husband, while peggy instinctively started after the overcoat and clothes. but she met timmons on the stairs, a hurrying timmons, dressed for departure, carrying her step-father's top-coat and two suit-cases. her assistance was not necessary. timmons must have seen the capture at which peggy guessed. she stood aside to let him pass, but followed rapidly herself. at the foot of the stairs peggy and madame kravetz nearly collided. the governess was rushing out from the dining room with what appeared to be a sack of food, a brown paper sack carried by the particular, elegant kravetz! she picked up a suitcase in the hall and dashed out of the front door. peggy heard the sound of the car and immediately thought of her mother, outside in the chill air with only that thin dress to protect her. perhaps her husband would make her go with him! luckily peggy had wrapped herself in her mother's coat when she had gone with jack to look for the yacht. there lay the pretty silk-lined evening wrap with its warm fur collar. peggy snatched it up from the hall seat and rushed out as wildly as any of the fleeing conspirators had done. it was only a moment after madame kravetz had passed her, before peggy was at the side of the car with her mother's wrap. she tossed it in, hearing mr. ives say, "very well, ride a short distance with us, kitty. you have been a good wife,--" but the car started to speed, peggy knew, over the terrible roads till they reached the good highway and what hiding place peggy could not imagine. but while she stood there, watching the darkness into which the car had taken her mother and scarcely seeing the stupefied maids that gathered around her, mr. tudor, breathless and much chagrined over the escape of mr. ives, came hurrying around the house from the dock. unfortunately for plans, guards around the house had all rushed to prevent escape at the yacht. "where is your mother, miss peggy?" he asked. "is your father inside? it will be better for him quietly to surrender." "don't ask me anything, please," said peggy, suddenly feeling utterly alone. but her maid, the beloved "pugsy," who had avoided being sent away after all, came with alarmed face from the house just then and went to peggy, who collapsed upon her shoulder in a storm of sobs. "i am very sorry, miss peggy,--_believe_ me, i am," mr. tudor stopped to say, though he had one eye on two officers who were entering the house. "i know it," sobbed peggy, "but do go away now, and find out things for yourself!" jack, who had been down at the yacht, joined the maid in soothing peggy and between them they persuaded her to go to bed, promising to let her know when her mother came back. mrs. ives was one of the women who believe that vows for better or worse should be kept. had her husband desired her to accompany him, she would have done so, though it took her into danger and unhappiness. his wet hands drew the cloak around her, as he outlined briefly what had happened. amazed, in spite of previous suspicions, she listened, while the ear jolted them from side to side. they were all in great suspense. it was a terrific dash for freedom, but at last they reached a good highway where they went on for some miles, turning off finally upon one short, bad stretch to a small village. there mr. ives said that he had kept horses for some time, using them in "his business" as he needed them. "go back with the car," he directed, "stopping somewhere for something to eat, if any place is open. we shall be aboard a ship after a short ride with the horses. i will get word to you, from abroad, probably, in some way. i have plenty of money now." mrs. ives knew that scouting parties would be out in every direction as soon as it was known from the servants how mr. ives made his escape. accordingly, she quickly took the car to the main highway and drove slowly homeward, faint and worn, and in no mood for questions. but unlike tempestuous peggy, she responded courteously when she was stopped. yes, she had accompanied mr. ives part way. they could scarcely expect her to help them, could they? she knew very well that trains would be examined, the woods searched and the coast followed. as it was, her husband was foolishly expectant of escape, she thought. but mr. ives was clever enough to elude them, it happened. the count had been taken, on the yacht. he was the real organizer of the ring. bill ritter, trying to escape, had been arrested and through tom carey's information, all his chief assistants in this work were gathered in. the village was in a turmoil, for some of the people there were due to be deported. through evan tudor, however, the work of investigation was carried on in a way as little distressing to these poor victims of others' greed as was possible. tom carey set to work to organize again the fishing industry, filling orders and carrying on the shipping. through jack, mrs. ives sent for mr. tudor, who was still in his camp, in the intervals of these affairs in which he was concerned. he came to steeple rocks rather uncertain of his reception, but mrs. ives, sober and depressed, made no reference to his part in the disclosures. "i have heard of you from peggy, mr. tudor," she said, "and i want to consult you as representing the government interests. your report will probably be accepted, will it not?" mr. tudor, relieved, bowed. "yes, mrs. ives." "i want it understood that whatever in the way of restitution is to be done, i will do. i am sorry that i could do nothing for those poor foreigners that were hurried right away. whether mr. ives is ever found or not, i should prefer to have everything made clear and to be free from obligation. so i have made out a list of our property, not including, of course, the small estate which is peggy's from her own father. my husband told me that the liquor in the cave was bill ritter's, though i suppose that my husband was partly responsible for letting it be housed upon our property. "i want to show you the safe and what i found in it, some bonds, cash and important papers. now will you act for me?" "i will be glad to do so, though i am not a lawyer." "you will be more a witness, i should think. i am dismissing most of the servants; indeed, some of them left because they were afraid of being arrested as aliens. steeple rocks will be for sale. i have not found any smuggled jewels, and i scarcely think that my husband ever was concerned in that." "the whole place was thoroughly searched, mrs. ives, before your return. after the steamer took charge of the aliens, the force searched yacht and house at once." mrs. ives sadly shook her head. "it is a tragedy to me, but if only the shadow does not rest on peggy, i can bear it." "nothing of all this attaches to you, mrs. ives, and i have seen to it that a very general account so far has been published by the papers. my friend and i so promptly sent in our reports that they are the ones given. i will send you some of the papers." "thank you. it is a relief to know that all the details are not spread broadcast." following this conference with mr. tudor, mrs. ives and peggy quietly went about steeple rocks making ready to close it early, for mrs. ives felt that she must get away from the place. peggy, on the other hand, wanted to stay and asked her mother if she might not stay at the eyrie. "will they want you after this?" "i don't see why not. i belong to the 'trium-feminate', you know. sarita likes me for taking an interest in birds, and dalton saved my life. i know that _he_ likes me. leslie is just like dalton and elizabeth is _always_ sweet to me. dal would like to stay all winter and keep beth from teaching. why, mother, why couldn't she tutor me? they might like a boarder that would pay and work, too, and it wouldn't be as expensive for you, i'm sure. think of traveling expenses and boarding, especially if we have to give nearly everything we have to the government!" mrs. ives smiled. "it is not quite as bad as that, peggy, but we shall see." "i'm going right over now!" declared peggy. this is how it came about that after a quiet summer, without the expected visit from the lyon-marsh party, but with cruises and hikes and picnics, peggy ives was still with the secrests. she was called by her own name, peggy or marguerite nave, though the girls occasionally called her angelina for fun and dal said that he was "always sure an angel descended when she leaped out of the air into the blackberry bushes." beth had consented to tutor peggy and take care of her as long as it seemed best for her to stay at the eyrie, "and that may be all winter," peggy confided to dalton, who nodded assent. jack tried in vain to persuade dalton to go to college with him, but dalton could not be persuaded. "no, jack," he said at their final talk. "you go to college, and leslie and i may both come year after next. but i want to finish this home, and keep beth out of school this year if possible. the way it looks now, she never will go back. it will be nip and tuck between jim lyon and this evan tudor, i think, though jim seems to be losing out at present. i think that beth is the heroine in that best seller that mr. tudor is always joking about." jack nodded. "all right, dal. i don't blame you for wanting to fix up this place. and if you bring leslie to my college year after next,--it will be worth waiting for." by fall the quaint new home was ready for cold weather. plans had grown, with their interest, till now it included the living room with its big fireplace, two bedrooms and a tiny kitchen, though that would not be used much when it grew cold. dalton was full of plans for plumbing and electricity and a still larger house, but beth, while she never threw cold water on the projects, was quite content to regard this as a happy interlude and a summer home. there were more school days for dalton and leslie, and as for her,--she had just received a letter from mrs. ives which informed her that the father of evan tudor wanted to buy steeple rocks! simply, too, mrs. ives wrote that she was now a widow and that the long strain of anxiety about her husband's always impending capture was over. on christmas eve, peggy and dalton were decorating the large room with spruce boughs and some holly wreaths and mistletoe sent by mrs. ives. the most perfect little christmas tree that the secrest woods could furnish stood in front of the window, ready to be lit up for the world to see, though that world might consist only of a few village children in whose welfare beth and the rest were interested. leslie sat in front of the fireplace stringing the last bit of corn out of the popper for festoons upon the tree. beth was finishing little net stockings for nuts and candy. "we _must_ stop for some supper, children," she was saying. "oh, never mind about supper; there's too much to do." peggy gave dalton a mischievous glance as she spoke. "never," he promptly replied. "didn't i bring home the bacon myself?" "yes, you did," answered leslie, emptying the corn popper and rising from the floor. "i'll cook that rabbit myself. i can watch it while we finish up. what more is there to do, beth?" "not so much. anita's doll has to have a sash, sonia's a cap and josef's drum needs hanging on the tree. if you will get the supper, i will finish, leslie. the baskets of food for them need a little more arranging. peggy and dal may drape the popcorn on the tree, if they will." something was already bubbling in an old-fashioned iron pot in the fireplace; but it was the same old reliable and speedy "portable" which leslie used to cook the rabbit. behind a tall screen in one corner of the room stood a table, the stove and a cupboard, but primitive ways of cooking in the fireplace, were fun when "used in moderation," as peggy put it. soon the savory supper was over and everything cleared away. peggy and leslie lit the candles on the trees, for they knew that eager feet were trampling the light snow in the path from the village. childish voices were heard outside before long and then there came a pause. leslie was about to fling open the door, but beth signaled to her to wait. it was anita whose clear voice led the christmas carol which beth had taught them, but the children were almost too excited to finish it properly for the lights of the tree shone out over the snow to invite them within. "i couldn't make 'em sing it vera good," said anita, as beth drew her inside with the rest of the children and several mothers, one of whom beth had first met that day on the beach when someone else important entered beth's life to stay. "it was _beautiful_," beth answered lovingly. "now we'll all sing together while you warm your toes and fingers by the fire. leslie, get your guitar, please, and peggy, you may lead us if you will. we shall have sarita to sing with us after christmas. after we sing about the little christ-child, we shall see what santa can find for us on that tree!" obediently the children sang and how they shouted when dalton, who had disappeared during the singing, appeared as santa claus with a rosy-cheeked, white-bearded santa claus mask. there was no delay in presenting the gifts, in providing which some absent friends had a share. it was much later, after the guests had gone, that beth sat alone by the fire. dalton, leslie and peggy had taken their skates to the lake. beth felt a little lonely and was not in a mood to read. she was thinking of someone whom tom carey had promised to take in whenever he could get away for a trip to maine. she was still thrilled over his last letter and she wondered if he had yet received her reply. the flames curled lazily around the last log that dalton had put on before he left. unexpectedly, but appropriately to her thought, there came a little rap that beth knew. "oh,--why--" she said, as she opened the door quickly to a traveler in a big fur coat. "i couldn't help it, beth," said evan tudor, closing the door upon icy breezes, tossing off his thick gloves and taking both her hands. "beth, dear, i have sold the 'best seller'! it has just been accepted and i had to come on to make _sure_ that i am, too. it's christmas eve, beth!" "i didn't make any conditions, did i, evan, in my letter? i'm glad about the 'best seller'--and--you needn't worry about the rest. oh, how _wonderful_ to have you for christmas!" the end the three cutters, by captain marryat. ________________________________________________________________________ captain frederick marryat was born july , and died august . he retired from the british navy in in order to devote himself to writing. in the following years he wrote books, many of which are among the very best of english literature, and some of which are still in print. marryat had an extraordinary gift for the invention of episodes in his stories. he says somewhere that when he sat down for the day's work, he never knew what he was going to write. he certainly was a literary genius. "the three cutters" was published in , the tenth book to flow from marryat's pen. this e-book was transcribed in by nick hodson, and was reformatted in , and again in . ________________________________________________________________________ the three cutters, by captain frederick marryat. chapter one. cutter the first. reader, have you ever been at plymouth? if you have, your eye must have dwelt with ecstasy upon the beautiful property of the earl of mount edgcumbe: if you have not been at plymouth, the sooner that you go there the better. at mount edgcumbe you will behold the finest timber in existence, towering up to the summits of the hills, and feathering down to the shingle on the beach. and from this lovely spot you will witness one of the most splendid panoramas in the world. you will see--i hardly know what you will not see--you will see ram head, and cawsand bay; and then you will see the breakwater, and drake's island, and the devil's bridge below you; and the town of plymouth and its fortifications, and the hoe; and then you will come to the devil's point, round which the tide runs devilish strong; and then you will see the new victualling office,--about which sir james gordon used to stump all day, and take a pinch of snuff from every man who carried a box, which all were delighted to give, and he was delighted to receive, proving how much pleasure may be communicated merely by a pinch of snuff; and then you will see mount wise and mutton cove; the town of devonport; with its magnificent dockyard and arsenals, north corner, and the way which leads to saltash. and you will see ships building and ships in ordinary; and ships repairing and ships fitting; and hulks and convict ships, and the guard-ship; ships ready to sail and ships under sail; besides lighters, men-of-war's boats, dockyard-boats, bum-boats, and shore-boats. in short, there is a great deal to see at plymouth besides the sea itself: but what i particularly wish now is, that you will stand at the battery of mount edgcumbe and look into barn pool below you, and there you will see, lying at single anchor, a cutter; and you may also see, by her pendant and ensign, that she is a yacht. of all the amusements entered into by the nobility and gentry of our island there is not one so manly, so exciting, so patriotic, or so national, as yacht-sailing. it is peculiar to england, not only for our insular position and our fine harbours, but because it requires a certain degree of energy and a certain amount of income rarely to be found elsewhere. it has been wisely fostered by our sovereigns, who have felt that the security of the kingdom is increased by every man being more or less a sailor, or connected with the nautical profession. it is an amusement of the greatest importance to the country, as it has much improved our ship-building and our ship-fitting, while it affords employment to our seamen and shipwrights. but if i were to say all that i could say in praise of yachts, i should never advance with my narrative. i shall therefore drink a bumper to the health of admiral lord yarborough and the yacht club, and proceed. you observe that this yacht is cutter-rigged, and that she sits gracefully on the smooth water. she is just heaving up her anchor; her foresail is loose, all ready to cast her--in a few minutes she will be under way. you see that there are ladies sitting at the taffrail; and there are five haunches of venison hanging over the stern. of all amusements, give me yachting. but we must go on board. the deck, you observe, is of narrow deal planks as white as snow; the guns are of polished brass; the bitts and binnacles of mahogany: she is painted with taste; and all the mouldings are gilded. there is nothing wanting; and yet how clear and unencumbered are her decks! let us go below. there is the ladies' cabin: can anything be more tasteful or elegant? is it not luxurious? and, although so small, does not its very confined space astonish you, when you view so many comforts so beautifully arranged? this is the dining-room, and where the gentlemen repair. what can be more complete or _recherche_? and just peep into their state-rooms and bed-places. here is the steward's room and the beaufet: the steward is squeezing lemons for the punch, and there is the champagne in ice; and by the side of the pail the long-corks are ranged up, all ready. now, let us go forwards: here are, the men's berths, not confined as in a man-of-war. no! luxury starts from abaft, and is not wholly lost, even at the fore-peak. this is the kitchen; is it not admirably arranged? what a _multum in parvo_! and how delightful are the fumes of the turtle-soup! at sea we do meet with rough weather at times; but, for roughing it out, give me a _yacht_. now that i have shown you round the vessel, i must introduce the parties on board. you observe that florid, handsome man, in white trousers and blue jacket, who has a telescope in one hand, and is sipping a glass of brandy and water which he has just taken off the skylight. that is the owner of the vessel, and a member of the yacht club. it is lord b---: he looks like a sailor, and he does not much belie his looks; yet i have seen him in his robes of state at the opening of the house of lords. the one near to him is mr stewart, a lieutenant in the navy. he holds on by the rigging with one hand, because, having been actively employed all his life, he does not know what to do with hands which have nothing in them. he is a _protege_ of lord b---, and is now on board as sailing-master of the yacht. that handsome, well-built man, who is standing by the binnacle, is a mr hautaine. he served six years as midshipman in the navy, and did not like it. he then served six years in a cavalry regiment, and did not like it. he then married, and in a much shorter probation found that he did not like that. but he is very fond of yachts and other men's wives, if he does not like his own; and wherever he goes, he is welcome. that young man with an embroidered silk waistcoat and white gloves, bending to talk to one of the ladies, is a mr vaughan. he is to be seen at almack's, at crockford's, and everywhere else. everybody knows him, and he knows everybody. he is a little in debt, and yachting is convenient. the one who sits by the lady is a relation of lord b---; you see at once what he is. he apes the sailor; he has not shaved, because sailors have no time to shave every day; he has not changed his linen, because sailors cannot change every day. he has a cigar in his mouth, which makes him half sick and annoys his company. he talks of the pleasure of a rough sea, which will drive all the ladies below--and then they will not perceive that he is more sick than themselves. he has the misfortune to be born to a large estate, and to be a _fool_. his name is ossulton. the last of the gentlemen on board whom i have to introduce is mr seagrove. he is slightly made, with marked features full of intelligence. he has been brought up to the bar; and has every qualification but application. he has never had a brief, nor has he a chance of one. he is the fiddler of the company, and he has locked up his chambers and come, by invitation of his lordship, to play on board of his yacht. i have yet to describe the ladies--perhaps i should have commenced with them--i must excuse myself upon the principle of reserving the best to the last. all puppet-showmen do so: and what is this but the first scene in my puppet-show? we will describe them according to seniority. that tall, thin, cross-looking lady of forty-five is a spinster, and sister to lord b---. she has been persuaded, very much against her will, to come on board; but her notions of propriety would not permit her niece to embark under the protection of only her father. she is frightened at everything: if a rope is thrown down on the deck, up she starts, and cries, "oh!" if on the deck, she thinks the water is rushing in below; if down below, and there is a noise, she is convinced there is danger; and if it be perfectly still, she is sure there is something wrong. she fidgets herself and everybody, and is quite a nuisance with her pride and ill-humour; but she has strict notions of propriety, and sacrifices herself as a martyr. she is the hon. miss ossulton. the lady who, when she smiles, shows so many dimples in her pretty oval face, is a young widow of the name of lascelles. she married an old man to please her father and mother, which was very dutiful on her part. she was rewarded by finding herself a widow with a large fortune. having married the first time to please her parents, she intends now to marry to please herself; but she is very young, and is in no hurry. that young lady with such a sweet expression of countenance is the hon. miss cecilia ossulton. she is lively, witty, and has no fear in her composition; but she is very young yet, not more than seventeen--and nobody knows what she really is--she does not know herself. these are the parties who meet in the cabin of the yacht. the crew consist of ten fine seamen, the steward and the cook. there is also lord b---'s valet, mr ossulton's gentleman, and the lady's-maid of miss ossulton. there not being accommodation for them, the other servants have been left on shore. the yacht is now under way, and her sails are all set. she is running between drake's island and the main. dinner has been announced. as the reader has learnt something about the preparations, i leave him to judge whether it be not very pleasant to sit down to dinner in a yacht. the air has given everybody an appetite; and it was not until the cloth was removed that the conversation became general. "mr seagrove," said his lordship, "you very nearly lost your passage; i expected you last thursday." "i am sorry, my lord, that business prevented my sooner attending to your lordship's kind summons." "come, seagrove, don't be nonsensical," said hautaine; "you told me yourself, the other evening, when you were talkative, that you had never had a brief in your life." "and a very fortunate circumstance," replied seagrove; "for if i had had a brief i should not have known what to have done with it. it is not my fault; i am fit for nothing but a commissioner. but still i had business, and very important business, too. i was summoned by ponsonby to go with him to tattersall's, to give my opinion about a horse he wishes to purchase, and then to attend him to forest wild to plead his cause with his uncle." "it appears, then, that you were retained," replied lord b---; "may i ask you whether your friend gained his cause?" "no, my lord, he lost his cause, but he gained a suit." "expound your riddle, sir," said cecilia ossulton. "the fact is, that old ponsonby is very anxious that william should marry miss percival, whose estates join on to forest wild. now, my friend william is about as fond of marriage as i am of law, and thereby issue was joined." "but why were you to be called in?" inquired mrs lascelles. "because, madam, as ponsonby never buys a horse without consulting me--" "i cannot see the analogy, sir," observed miss ossulton, senior, bridling up. "pardon me, madam: the fact is," continued seagrove, "that, as i always have to back ponsonby's horses, he thought it right that, in this instance, i should back him; he required special pleading, but his uncle tried him for the capital offence, and he was not allowed counsel. as soon as we arrived, and i had bowed myself into the room, mr ponsonby bowed me out again--which would have been infinitely more jarring to my feelings, had not the door been left a-jar." "do anything but pun, seagrove," interrupted hautaine. "well, then, i will take a glass of wine." "do so," said his lordship; "but recollect the whole company are impatient for your story." "i can assure you, my lord, that it was equal to any scene in a comedy." now be it observed that mr seagrove had a great deal of comic talent; he was an excellent mimic, and could alter his voice almost as he pleased. it was a custom of his to act a scene as between other people, and he performed it remarkably well. whenever he said that anything he was going to narrate was "as good as a comedy," it was generally understood by those who were acquainted with him that he was to be asked so to do. cecilia ossulton therefore immediately said, "pray act it, mr seagrove." upon which, mr seagrove--premising that he had not only heard, but also seen all that passed--changing his voice, and suiting the action to the word, commenced. "it may," said he, "be called:-- "five thousand acres in a ring-fence." we shall not describe mr seagrove's motions; they must be inferred from his words. "`it will, then, william,' observed mr ponsonby, stopping, and turning to his nephew, after a rapid walk up and down the room with his hands behind him under his coat, so as to allow the tails to drop their perpendicular about three inches clear of his body, `i may say, without contradiction, be the finest property in the country--five thousand acres in a ring-fence.' "`i dare say it will, uncle,' replied william, tapping his foot as he lounged in a green morocco easy-chair; `and so, because you have set your fancy upon having these two estates enclosed together in a ring-fence, you wish that i should also be enclosed in a ring-fence.' "`and a beautiful property it will be,' replied mr ponsonby. "`which, uncle? the estate or the wife?' "`both, nephew, both; and i expect your consent.' "`uncle, i am not avaricious. your present property is sufficient for me. with your permission, instead of doubling the property, and doubling myself, i will remain your sole heir, and single.' "`observe, william, such an opportunity may not occur again for centuries. we shall restore forest wild to its ancient boundaries. you know it has been divided nearly two hundred years. we now have a glorious, golden opportunity of re-uniting the two properties; and when joined, the estate will be exactly what it was when granted to our ancestors by henry the eighth, at the period of the reformation. this house must be pulled down, and the monastery left standing. then we shall have our own again, and the property without encumbrance.' "`without encumbrance, uncle! you forget that, there will be a wife.' "`and you forget that there will be five thousand acres in a ring-fence.' "`indeed, uncle, you ring it too often in my ears that i should forget it. but, much as i should like to be the happy possessor of such a property, i do not feel inclined to be the happy possessor of miss percival; and the more so, as i have never seen the property.' "`we will ride over it to-morrow, william.' "`ride over miss percival, uncle! that will not be very gallant. i will, however, one of these days ride over the property with you, which, as well as miss percival, i have not as yet seen.' "`then i can tell you she is a very pretty property.' "`if she were not in a ring-fence.' "`in good heart, william. that is, i mean an excellent disposition.' "`valuable in matrimony.' "`and well tilled--i should say well educated--by her three maiden aunts, who are the patterns of propriety.' "`does any one follow the fashion?' "`in a high state of cultivation; that is, her mind highly cultivated, and according to the last new system--what is it?' "`a four-course shift, i presume,' replied william, laughing; `that is, dancing, singing, music, and drawing.' "`and only seventeen! capital soil, promising good crops. what would you have more?' "`a very pretty estate, uncle, if it were not the estate of matrimony. i am sorry, very sorry, to disappoint you; but i must decline taking a lease of it for life.' "`then, sir, allow me to hint to you that in my testament you are only a tenant-at-will. i consider it a duty that i owe to the family that the estate should be re-united. that can only be done by one of our family marrying miss percival; and as you will not, i shall now write to your cousin james, and if he accept my proposal, shall make _him_ my heir. probably he will more fully appreciate the advantages of five thousand acres in a ring-fence.' "and mr ponsonby directed his steps towards the door. "`stop, my dear uncle,' cried william, rising up from his easy-chair; `we do not quite understand one another. it is very true that i would prefer half the property and remaining single, to the two estates and the estate of marriage; but at the same time i did not tell you that i would prefer beggary to a wife and five thousand acres in a ring-fence. i know you to be a man of your word. i accept your proposal, and you need not put my cousin james to the expense of postage.' "`very good, william; i require no more: and as i know you to be a man of your word, i shall consider this match as settled. it was on this account only that i sent for you, and now you may go back again as soon as you please. i will let you know when all is ready.' "`i must be at tattersall's on monday, uncle; there is a horse i must have for next season. pray, uncle, may i ask when you are likely to want me?' "`let me see--this is may--about july, i should think.' "`july, uncle! spare me--i cannot marry in the dog-days. no, hang it! not july.' "`well, william, perhaps, as you must come down once or twice to see the property--miss percival, i should say--it may be too soon--suppose we put it off till october.' "`october--i shall be down at melton.' "`pray, sir, may i then inquire what portion of the year is not, with you, _dog_-days?' "`why, uncle, next april, now--i think that would do.' "`next april! eleven months, and a winter between. suppose miss percival was to take a cold and die.' "`i should be excessively obliged to her,' thought william. "`no! no!' continued mr ponsonby: `there is nothing certain in this world, william.' "`well, then, uncle, suppose we arrange it for the first _hard frost_.' "`we have had no hard frosts, lately, william. we may wait for years. the sooner it is over the better. go back to town, buy your horse, and then come down here, my dear william, to oblige your uncle--never mind the dog-days.' "`well, sir, if i am to make a sacrifice, it shall not be done by halves; out of respect for you i will even marry in july, without any regard to the thermometer.' "`you are a good boy, william. do you want a cheque?' "`i have had one to-day,' thought william, and was almost at fault. `i shall be most thankful, sir--they sell horse-flesh by the ounce now-a-days.' "`and you pay in pounds. there, william.' "`thank you, sir, i'm all obedience; and i'll keep my word, even if there should be a comet. i'll go and buy the horse, and then i shall be ready to take the ring-fence as soon as you please.' "`yes, and you'll get over it cleverly, i've no doubt. five thousand acres, william, and--a pretty wife!' "`have you any further commands, uncle?' said william, depositing the cheque in his pocket-book. "`none, my dear boy: are you going?' "`yes, sir; i dine at the clarendon.' "`well, then, good-bye. make my compliments and excuses to your friend seagrove. you will come on tuesday or wednesday.' "thus was concluded the marriage between william ponsonby and emily percival, and the junction of the two estates, which formed together the great desideratum--_five thousand acres in a ring-fence_." mr seagrove finished, and he looked round for approbation. "very good, indeed, seagrove," said his lordship; "you must take a glass of wine after that." "i would not give much for miss percival's chance of happiness," observed the elder miss ossulton. "of two evils choose the least, they say," observed mr hautaine. "poor ponsonby could not help himself." "that's a very polite observation of yours, mr hautaine--i thank you in the name of the sex," replied cecilia ossulton. "nay, miss ossulton; would you like to marry a person whom you never saw?" "most certainly not; but when you mentioned the two evils, mr hautaine, i appeal to your honour, did you not refer to marriage or beggary?" "i must confess it, miss ossulton; but it is hardly fair to call on my honour to get me into a scrape." "i only wish that the offer had been made to me," observed vaughan; "i should not have hesitated as ponsonby did." "then i beg you will not think of proposing for me," said mrs lascelles, laughing; for mr vaughan had been excessively attentive. "it appears to me, vaughan," observed seagrove, "that you have slightly committed yourself by that remark." vaughan, who thought so too, replied: "mrs lascelles must be aware that i was only joking." "fie! mr vaughan," cried cecilia ossulton; "you know it came from your heart." "my dear cecilia," said the elder miss ossulton, "you forget yourself-- what can you possibly know about gentlemen's hearts?" "the bible says that they are `deceitful and desperately wicked,' aunt." "and cannot we also quote the bible against your sex, miss ossulton?" replied seagrove. "yes, you could, perhaps, if any of you had ever read it," replied miss ossulton, carelessly. "upon my word, cissy, you are throwing the gauntlet down to the gentlemen," observed lord b---; "but i shall throw my warder down, and not permit this combat _a l'outrance_.--i perceive you drink no more wine, gentlemen, we will take our coffee on deck." "we were just about to retire, my lord," observed the elder miss ossulton, with great asperity: "i have been trying to catch the eye of mrs lascelles for some time, but--" "i was looking another way, i presume," interrupted mrs lascelles, smiling. "i am afraid that i am the unfortunate culprit," said mr seagrove. "i was telling a little anecdote to mrs lascelles--" "which, of course, from its being communicated in an undertone, was not proper for all the company to hear," replied the elder miss ossulton; "but if mrs lascelles is now ready," continued she, bridling up, as she rose from her chair. "at all events, i can hear the remainder of it on deck," replied mrs lascelles. the ladies rose and went into the cabin, cecilia and mrs lascelles exchanging very significant smiles as they followed the precise spinster, who did not choose that mrs lascelles should take the lead merely because she had once happened to have been married. the gentlemen also broke up, and went on deck. "we have a nice breeze now, my lord," observed mr stewart, who had remained on deck, "and we lie right up channel." "so much the better," replied his lordship; "we ought to have been anchored at cowes a week ago. they will all be there before us." "tell mr simpson to bring me a light for my cigar," said mr ossulton to one of the men. mr stewart went down to his dinner; the ladies and the coffee came on deck: the breeze was fine, the weather (it was april) almost warm; and the yacht, whose name was the _arrow_, assisted by the tide, soon left the mewstone far astern. chapter two. cutter the second. reader, have you ever been at portsmouth? if you have, you must have been delighted with the view from the saluting battery; and if you have not you had better go there as soon as you can. from the saluting battery you may look up the harbour, and see much of what i have described at plymouth; the scenery is different, but similar arsenals and dockyards, and an equal portion of our stupendous navy are to be found there; and you will see gosport on the other side of the harbour, and sallyport close to you; besides a great many other places, which, from the saluting battery, you cannot see. and then there is southsea beach to your left. before you, spithead, with the men-of-war, and the motherbank crowded with merchant vessels; and there is the buoy where the _royal george_ was wrecked and where she still lies, the fish swimming in and out of her cabin windows but that is not all; you can also see the isle of wight,--ryde with its long wooden pier, and cowes, where the yachts lie. in fact there is a great deal to be seen at portsmouth as well as at plymouth; but what i wish you particularly to see just now is a vessel holding fast to the buoy just off the saluting battery. she is a cutter; and you may know that she belongs to the preventive service by the number of gigs and galleys which she has hoisted up all round her. she looks like a vessel that was about to sail with a cargo of boats; two on deck, one astern, one on each side of her. you observe that she is painted black, and all her boats are white. she is not such an elegant vessel as the yacht, and she is much more lumbered up. she has no haunches of venison hanging over the stern! but i think there is a leg of mutton and some cabbages hanging by their stalks. but revenue-cutters are not yachts. you will find no turtle or champagne; but, nevertheless, you will, perhaps, find a joint to carve at, a good glass of grog, and a hearty welcome. let us go on board. you observe the guns are iron, and painted black, and her bulwarks are painted red; it is not a very becoming colour, but then it lasts a long while, and the dockyard is not very generous on the score of paint--or lieutenants of the navy troubled with much spare cash. she has plenty of men, and fine men they are; all dressed in red flannel shirts and blue trousers; some of them have not taken off their canvas or tarpaulin petticoats, which are very useful to them, as they are in the boats night and day, and in all weathers. but we will at once go down into the cabin, where we shall find the lieutenant who commands her, a master's mate, and a midshipman. they have each their tumbler before them, and are drinking gin-toddy, hot, with sugar-- capital gin, too, 'bove proof; it is from that small anker standing under the table. it was one that they forgot to return to the custom-house when they made their last seizure. we must introduce them. the elderly personage, with grizzly hair and whiskers, a round pale face, and a somewhat red nose (being too much in the wind will make the nose red, and this old officer is very often "in the wind," of course, from the very nature of his profession), is a lieutenant appleboy. he has served in every class of vessel in the service, and done the duty of first-lieutenant for twenty years; he is now on promotion--that is to say, after he has taken a certain number of tubs of gin, he will be rewarded with his rank as commander. it is a pity that what he takes inside of him does not count, for he takes it morning, noon, and night. he is just filling his fourteenth glass; he always keeps a regular account, as he never exceeds his limited number, which is seventeen; then he is exactly down to his bearings. the master's mate's name is tomkins; he has served his six years three times over, and has now outgrown his ambition; which is fortunate for him, as his chances of promotion are small. he prefers a small vessel to a large one, because he is not obliged to be so particular in his dress--and looks for his lieutenancy whenever there shall be another charity promotion. he is fond of soft bread, for his teeth are all absent without leave; he prefers porter to any other liquor, but he can drink his glass of grog, whether it be based upon rum, brandy or the liquor now before him. mr smith is the name of that young gentleman whose jacket is so out at the elbows; he has been intending to mend it these last two months; but is too lazy to go to his chest for another. he has been turned out of half the ships in the service for laziness; but he was born so--and therefore it is not his fault. a revenue-cutter suits him, she is half her time hove to; and he has no objection to boat-service, as he sits down always in the stern-sheets, which is not fatiguing. creeping for tubs is his delight, as he gets over so little ground. he is fond of grog, but there is some trouble in carrying the tumbler so often to his mouth; so he looks at it, and lets it stand. he says little because he is too lazy to speak. he has served more than _eight years_; but as for passing--it has never come into his head. such are the three persons who are now sitting in the cabin of the revenue-cutter, drinking hot gin-toddy. "let me see, it was, i think, in ninety-three or ninety-four. before you were in the service, tomkins--" "maybe, sir; it's so long ago since i entered, that i can't recollect dates--but this i know, that my aunt died three days before." "then the question is, when did your aunt die?" "oh! she died about a year after my uncle." "and when did your uncle die?" "i'll be hanged if i know!" "then, d'ye see, you've no departure to work from. however, i think you cannot have been in the service at that time. we were not quite so particular about uniform as we are now." "then i think the service was all the better for it. now-a-days, in your crack ships, a mate has to go down in the hold or spirit-room, and after whipping up fifty empty casks, and breaking out twenty full ones, he is expected to come on quarter-deck as clean as if he was just come out of a band-box." "well, there's plenty of water alongside, as far as the outward man goes, and iron dust is soon brushed off. however, as you say, perhaps a little too much is expected; at least, in five of the ships in which i was first-lieutenant, the captain was always hauling me over the coals about the midshipmen not dressing properly, as if i was their dry-nurse. i wonder what captain prigg would have said if he had seen such a turn-out as you, mr smith, on his quarter-deck." "i should have had one turn-out more," drawled smith. "with your out-at-elbows jacket, there, eh!" continued mr appleboy. smith turned up his elbows, looked at one and then at the other; after so fatiguing an operation, he was silent. "well, where was i? oh! it was about ninety-three or ninety-four, as i said that it happened--tomkins, fill your glass and hand me the sugar-- how do i get on? this is number ," said appleboy, counting some white lines on the table by him; and taking up a piece of chalk, he marked one more line on his tally. "i don't think this is so good a tub as the last, tomkins, there's a twang about it--a want of juniper; however, i hope, we shall have better luck this time. of course you know we sail to-morrow?" "i presume so, by the leg of mutton coming on board." "true--true; i'm regular--as clock-work. after being twenty years a first-lieutenant one gets a little method. i like regularity. now the admiral has never omitted asking me to dinner once, every time i have come into harbour, except this time. i was so certain of it, that i never expected to sail; and i have but two shirts clean in consequence." "that's odd, isn't it?--and the more so, because he has had such great people down here, and has been giving large parties every day." "and yet i made three seizures, besides sweeping up those thirty-seven tubs." "i swept them up," observed smith. "that's all the same thing, _younker_. when you've been a little longer in the service, you'll find out that the commanding officer has the merit of all that is done; but you're _green_ yet. let me see, where was i? oh!--it was about ninety-three or ninety-four, as i said. at that time i was in the channel fleet--tomkins, i'll trouble you for the hot water; this water's cold. mr smith, do me the favour to ring the bell.--jem, some more hot water." "please, sir," said jem, who was bare-footed as well as bare-headed, touching his lock of hair on his forehead, "the cook had capsized the kettle--but he has put more on." "capsized the kettle! hah!--very well--we'll talk about that to-morrow. mr tomkins, do me the favour to put him in the report: i may forget it. and pray, sir, how long is it since he has put more on?" "just this moment, sir, as i came aft." "very well, we'll see to that to-morrow. you bring the kettle aft as soon as it is ready. i say, mr jem, is that fellow sober?" "yees, sir, he be sober as you be." "it's quite astonishing what a propensity the common sailors have to liquor. forty odd years have i been in the service, and i've never found any difference. i only wish i had a guinea for every time that i have given a fellow seven-water grog during my servitude as first-lieutenant, i wouldn't call the king my cousin. well, if there's no hot water, we must take lukewarm; it won't do to heave-to. by the lord harry! who would have thought it?--i'm at number sixteen! let me count, yes!--surely i must have made a mistake. a fact, by heaven!" continued mr appleboy, throwing the chalk down on the table. "only one more glass, after this; that is, if i have counted right--i may have seen double." "yes," drawled smith. "well, never mind. let's go on with my story. it was either in the year ninety-three or ninety-four that i was in the channel fleet: we were then abreast of torbay--" "here be the hot water, sir," cried jem, putting the kettle down on the deck. "very well, boy. by-the-bye, has the jar of butter come on board?" "yes, but it broke all down the middle. i tied him up with a ropeyarn." "who broke it, sir?" "coxswain says as how he didn't." "but who did, sir." "coxswain handed it up to bill jones, and he says as how he didn't." "but who did, sir." "bill jones gave it to me, and i'm sure as how i didn't." "then who did, sir, i ask you." "i think it be bill jones, sir, 'cause he's fond of butter, i know, and there be very little left in the jar." "very well, we'll see to that to-morrow morning. mr tomkins, you'll oblige me by putting the butter-jar down in the report, in case it should slip my memory. bill jones, indeed, looks as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. never mind. well, it was, as i said before--it was in the year ninety-three or ninety-four, when i was in the channel fleet; we were then off torbay, and had just taken two reefs in the top-sails. stop--before i go on with my story, i'll take my last glass; i think it's the last--let me count. yes, by heavens! i make out sixteen, all told. never mind, it shall be a stiff one. boy, bring the kettle, and mind you don't pour the hot water into my shoes, as you did the other night. there, that will do. now, tomkins, fill up yours; and you, mr smith. let us all start fair, and then you shall have my story--and a very curious one it is, i can tell you, i wouldn't have believed it myself, if i hadn't seen it. hilloa! what's this? confound it! what's the matter with the toddy? heh, mr tomkins?" mr tomkins tasted; but, like the lieutenant, he had made it very stiff; and, as he had also taken largely before, he was, like him, not quite so clear in his discrimination. "it has a queer _twang_, sir: smith, what is it?" smith took up his glass, tasted the contents. "_salt-water_," drawled the midshipman. "salt-water! so it is by heavens!" cried mr appleboy. "salt as lot's wife! by all that's infamous!" cried the master's mate. "salt-water, sir!" cried jem in a fright, expecting a _salt_ eel for supper. "yes, sir," replied mr appleboy, tossing the contents of the tumbler in the boy's face, "salt-water. very well, sir,--very well!" "it warn't me, sir," replied the boy, making up a piteous look. "no, sir, but you said the cook was sober." "he was not so _very_ much disguised, sir," replied jem. "oh! very well--never mind. mr tomkins, in case i should forget it, do me the favour to put the kettle of salt-water down in the report. the scoundrel! i'm very sorry, gentlemen, but there's no means of having any more gin-toddy. but never mind, we'll see to this to-morrow. two can play at this; and if i don't salt-water their grog, and make them drink it too, i have been twenty years a first-lieutenant for nothing, that's all. good night, gentlemen; and," continued the lieutenant, in a severe tone, "you'll keep a sharp look-out, mr smith-- do you hear, sir?" "yes," drawled smith, "but it's not my watch: it was my first watch: and, just now, it struck one bell." "you'll keep the middle watch, then, mr smith," said mr appleboy, who was not a little put out; "and, mr tomkins, let me know as soon as it's daylight. boy, get my bed made. salt-water, by all that's blue! however, we'll see to that to-morrow morning." mr appleboy then turned in; so did mr tomkins; and so did mr smith, who had no idea of keeping the middle watch because the cook was drunk and had filled up the kettle with salt-water. as for what happened in ninety-three or ninety-four, i really would inform the reader if i knew; but i am afraid that that most curious story is never to be handed down to posterity. the next morning mr tomkins, as usual, forgot to report the cook, the jar of butter and the kettle of salt-water; and mr appleboy's wrath had long been appeased before he remembered them. at daylight, the lieutenant came on deck, having only slept away half of the sixteen, and a taste of the seventeenth salt-water glass of gin-toddy. he rubbed his grey eyes, that he might peer through the grey of the morning; the fresh breeze blew about his grizzly locks, and cooled his rubicund nose. the revenue-cutter, whose name was the _active_, cast off from the buoy, and, with a fresh breeze, steered her course for the needles' passage. chapter three. cutter the third. reader! have you been to saint malo? if you have, you were glad enough to leave the hole; and if you have not, take my advice, and do not give yourself the trouble to go and see that or any other french port in the channel. there is not one worth looking at. they have made one or two artificial ports, and they are no great things; there is no getting out or getting in. in fact, they have no harbours in the channel, while we have the finest in the world; a peculiar dispensation of providence, because it knew that we should want them, and france would not. in france, what are called ports are all alike,--nasty, narrow holes, only to be entered at certain times of tide and certain winds; made up of basins and backwaters, custom-houses, and cabarets; just fit for smugglers to run into, and nothing more; and, therefore they are used for very little else. now, in the dog-hole called saint malo there is some pretty land, although a great deficiency of marine scenery. but never mind that. stay at home, and don't go abroad to drink sour wine, because they call it bordeaux, and eat villainous trash, so disguised by cooking that you cannot possibly tell which of the birds of the air, or beasts of the field, or fishes of the sea, you are cramming down your throat. "if all is right, there is no occasion for disguise," is an old saying; so depend upon it that there is something wrong, and that you are eating offal, under a grand french name. they eat everything in france, and would serve you up the head of a monkey who has died of the smallpox, as _singe a la petite verole_--that is, if you did not understand french; if you did, they would call it, _tete d'amour a l'ethiopique_, and then you would be even more puzzled. as for their wine, there is no disguise in that; it's half vinegar. no, no! stay at home; you can live just as cheaply, if you choose; and then you will have good meat, good vegetables, good ale, good beer, and a good glass of grog; and, what is of more importance, you will be in good company. live with your friends, and don't make a fool of yourself. i would not have condescended to have noticed this place, had it not been that i wish you to observe a vessel which is lying along the pier-wharf, with a plank from the shore to her gunwale. it is low water, and she is aground, and the plank dips down at such an angle that it is a work of danger to go either in or out of her. you observe that there is nothing very remarkable in her. she is a cutter, and a good sea-boat, and sails well before the wind. she is short for her breadth of beam, and is not armed. smugglers do not arm now--the service is too dangerous; they effect their purpose by cunning, not by force. nevertheless, it requires that smugglers should be good seamen, smart active fellows, and keen-witted, or they can do nothing. this vessel has not a large cargo in her, but it is valuable. she has some thousand yards of lace, a few hundred pounds of tea, a few bales of silk, and about forty ankers of brandy--just as much as they can land in one boat. all they ask is a heavy gale or a thick fog, and they trust to themselves for success. there is nobody on board except a boy; the crew are all up at the cabaret, settling their little accounts of every description--for they smuggle both ways, and every man has his own private venture. there they are all, fifteen of them, and fine-looking fellows, too, sitting at that long table. they are very merry, but quite sober, as they are to sail to-night. the captain of the vessel (whose name, by-the-bye, is the _happy-go-lucky_,--the captain christened her himself) is that fine-looking young man, with dark whiskers meeting under his throat. his name is jack pickersgill. you perceive at once that he is much above a common sailor in appearance. his manners are good, he is remarkably handsome, very clean, and rather a dandy in his dress. observe how very politely he takes off his hat to that frenchman, with whom he had just settled accounts; he beats johnny crapeau at his own weapons. and then there is an air of command, a feeling of conscious superiority, about jack; see how he treats the landlord, _de haut en bas_, at the same time that he is very civil. the fact is, that jack is of a very good, old family, and received a very excellent education; but he was an orphan, his friends were poor, and could do but little for him: he went out to india as a cadet, ran away, and served in a schooner which smuggled opium into china, and then came home. he took a liking to the employment, and is now laying up a very pretty little sum: not that he intends to stop: no, as soon as he has enough to fit out a vessel for himself, he intends to start again for india, and with two cargoes of opium he will return, he trusts, with a handsome fortune, and re-assume his family name. such are jack's intentions; and, as he eventually means to reappear as a gentleman, he preserves his gentlemanly habits: he neither drinks, nor chews, nor smokes. he keeps his hands clean, wears rings, and sports a gold snuff-box; notwithstanding which, jack is one of the boldest and best of sailors, and the men know it. he is full of fun, and as keen as a razor. jack has a very heavy venture this time--all the lace is his own speculation, and if he gets it in safe, he will clear some thousands of pounds. a certain fashionable shop in london has already agreed to take the whole off his hands. that short, neatly-made young man is the second in command, and the companion of the captain. he is clever, and always has a remedy to propose when there is a difficulty, which is a great quality in a second in command. his name is corbett. he is always merry--half-sailor, half-tradesman; knows the markets, runs up to london, and does business as well as a chapman--lives for the day and laughs at to-morrow. that little punchy old man, with long grey hair and fat face, with a nose like a note of interrogation, is the next personage of importance. he ought to be called the sailing-master, for, although he goes on shore in france, off the english coast he never quits the vessel. when they leave her with the goods, he remains on board; he is always to be found off any part of the coast where he may be ordered; holding his position in defiance of gales, and tides, and fogs; as for the revenue-vessels, they all know him well enough, but they cannot touch a vessel in ballast, if she has no more men on board than allowed by her tonnage. he knows every creek, and hole, and corner of the coast; how the tide runs in--tide, half-tide, eddy, or current. that is his value. his name is morrison. you observe that jack pickersgill has two excellent supporters in corbett and morrison; his other men are good seamen, active, and obedient, which is all that he requires. i shall not particularly introduce them. "now you may call for another _litre_, my lads, and that, must be the last; the tide is flowing fast, and we shall be afloat in half an hour, and we have just the breeze we want. what d'ye think, morrison, shall we have dirt?" "i've been looking just now, and if it were any other month in the year i should say, yes; but there's no trusting april, captain. howsomever, if it does blow off, i'll promise you a fog in three hours afterwards." "that will do as well. corbett, have you settled with duval?" "yes, after more noise and _charivari_ than a panic in the stock exchange would make in england. he fought and squabbled for an hour, and i found that, without some abatement, i never should have settled the affair." "what did you let him off?" "seventeen sous," replied corbett, laughing. "and that satisfied him?" inquired pickersgill. "yes--it was all he could prove to be a _surfaire_: two of the knives were a little rusty. but he will always have something off; he could not be happy without it. i really think he would commit suicide if he had to pay a bill without a deduction." "let him live," replied pickersgill. "jeannette, a bottle of volnay of , and three glasses." jeannette, who was the _fille de cabaret_, soon appeared with a bottle of wine, seldom called for, except by the captain of the _happy-go-lucky_. "you sail to-night?" said she, as she placed the bottle before him. pickersgill nodded his head. "i had a strange dream," said jeannette; "i thought you were all taken by a revenue-cutter, and put in a _cachot_. i went to see you, and i did not know one of you again--you were all changed." "very likely, jeannette; you would not be the first who did not know their friends again when in misfortune. there was nothing strange in your dream." "_mais, mon dieu! je ne suis pas comme ca, moi_." "no, that you are not, jeannette; you are a good girl, and some of these fine days i'll marry you," said corbett. "_doit etre bien beau ce jour la, par exemple_," replied jeannette, laughing; "you have promised to marry me every time you have come in these last three years." "well, that proves i keep to my promise, anyhow." "yes; but you never go any further." "i can't spare him, jeannette, that is the real truth," said the captain: "but wait a little,--in the meantime, here is a five-franc piece to add to your _petite fortune_." "_merci bien, monsieur le capitaine; bon voyage_!" jeannette held her finger up to corbett, saying, with a smile, "_mechant_!" and then quitted the room. "come, morrison, help us to empty this bottle, and then we will all go on board." "i wish that girl wouldn't come here with her nonsensical dreams," said morrison, taking his seat; "i don't like it. when she said that we should be taken by a revenue-cutter, i was looking at a blue and a white pigeon sitting on the wall opposite; and i said to myself, now, if that be a warning, i will see: if the _blue_ pigeon flies away first, i shall be in jail in a week; if the _white_, i shall be back here." "well?" said pickersgill, laughing. "it wasn't well," answered morrison, tossing off his wine, and putting the glass down with a deep sigh; "for the cursed _blue_ pigeon flew away immediately." "why, morrison, you must have a chicken-heart to be frightened at a blue pigeon!" said corbett, laughing and looking out of the window; "at all events, he has come back again, and there he is sitting by the white one." "it's the first time that ever i was called chicken-hearted," replied morrison, in wrath. "nor do you deserve it, morrison," replied pickersgill; "but corbett is only joking." "well, at all events, i'll try my luck in the same way, and see whether i am to be in jail: i shall take the blue pigeon as my bad omen, as you did." the sailors and captain pickersgill all rose and went to the window, to ascertain corbett's fortune by this new species of augury. the blue pigeon flapped his wings, and then he sidled up to the white one; at last, the white pigeon flew off the wall and settled on the roof of the adjacent house. "bravo, white pigeon!" said corbett; "i shall be here again in a week." the whole party, laughing, then resumed their seats; and morrison's countenance brightened up. as he took the glass of wine poured out by pickersgill, he said, "here's your health, corbett; it was all nonsense, after all--for, d'ye see, i can't be put in jail, without you are. we all sail in the same boat, and when you leave me you take with you everything that can condemn the vessel--so here's success to our trip." "we will all drink that toast, my lads, and then on board," said the captain; "here's success to our trip." the captain rose, as did the mates and men, drank the toast, turned down the drinking-vessels on the table, hastened to the wharf, and, in half an hour, the _happy-go-lucky_ was clear of the port of saint malo. chapter four. portland bill. the _happy-go-lucky_ sailed with a fresh breeze and a flowing sheet from saint malo, the evening before the _arrow_ sailed from barn pool. the _active_ sailed from portsmouth the morning after. the yacht, as we before observed, was bound to cowes, in the isle of wight. the _active_ had orders to cruise wherever she pleased within the limits of the admiral's station; and she ran for west bay, on the other side of the bill of portland. the _happy-go-lucky_ was also bound for that bay to land her cargo. the wind was light, and there was every appearance of fine weather, when the _happy-go-lucky_, at ten o'clock on the tuesday night, made the portland lights; as it was impossible to run her cargo that night, she hove to. at eleven o'clock the portland lights were made by the revenue-cutter _active_. mr appleboy went up to have a look at them, ordered the cutter to be hove to, and then went down to finish his allowance of gin-toddy. at twelve o'clock, the yacht _arrow_ made the portland lights, and continued her course, hardly stemming the ebb tide. day broke, and the horizon was clear. the first on the look-out were, of course, the smugglers; they, and those on board the revenue-cutter, were the only two interested parties--the yacht was neuter. "there are two cutters in sight, sir," said corbett, who had the watch; for pickersgill, having been up the whole night, had thrown himself down on the bed with his clothes on. "what do they look like?" said pickersgill, who was up in a moment. "one is a yacht, and the other may be; but i rather think, as far as i can judge in the grey, that it is our old friend off here." "what! old appleboy?" "yes, it looks like him; but the day has scarcely broke yet." "well, he can do nothing in a light wind like this; and before the wind we can show him our heels: but are you sure the other is a yacht?" said pickersgill, coming on deck. "yes; the king is more careful of his canvas." "you're right," said pickersgill, "that is a yacht; and you're right there again in your guess--that is the stupid old _active_ which creeps about creeping for tubs. well, i see nothing to alarm us at present, provided it don't fall a dead calm, and then we must take to our boats as soon as he takes to his; we are four miles from him at least. watch his motions, corbett, and see if he lowers a boat. what does she go now? four knots?--that will soon tire their men." the positions of the three cutters were as follows:-- the _happy-go-lucky_ was about four miles off portland head, and well into west bay. the revenue-cutter was close to the head. the yacht was outside of the smuggler, about two miles to the westward, and about five or six miles from the revenue-cutter. "two vessels in sight, sir," said mr smith, coming down into the cabin to mr appleboy. "very well," replied the lieutenant, who was _lying_ down in his _standing_ bed-place. "the people say one is the _happy-go-lucky_, sir," drawled smith. "heh? what! _happy-go-lucky_? yes, i recollect; i've boarded her twenty times--always empty. how's she standing?" "she stands to the westward now, sir; but she was hove to, they say, when they first saw her." "then she has a cargo in her," and mr appleboy shaved himself, dressed, and went on deck. "yes," said the lieutenant, rubbing his eyes again and again, and then looking through the glass, "it is her, sure enough. let draw the foresheet-hands make sail. what vessel's the other?" "don't know, sir,--she's a cutter." "a cutter? yes, may be a yacht, or may be the new cutter ordered on the station. make all sail, mr tomkins: hoist our pendant, and fire a gun--they will understand what we mean then; they don't know the _happy-go-lucky_ as well as we do." in a few minutes the _active_ was under a press of sail; she hoisted her pendant, and fired a gun. the smuggler perceived that the _active_ had recognised her, and she also threw out more canvas, and ran off more to the westward. "there's a gun, sir," reported one of the men to mr stewart, on board of the yacht. "yes; give me the glass--a revenue-cutter; then this vessel in shore running towards us must be a smuggler." "she has just now made all sail, sir." "yes, there's no doubt of it. i will go down to his lordship; keep her as she goes." mr stewart then went down to inform lord b--- of the circumstance. not only lord b--- but most of the gentlemen came on deck; as did soon afterwards the ladies, who had received the intelligence from lord b---, who spoke to them through the door of the cabin. but the smuggler had more wind than the revenue-cutter, and increased her distance. "if we were to wear round, my lord," observed mr stewart, "she is just abreast of us and in shore, we could prevent her escape." "round with her, mr stewart," said lord b---; "we must do our duty and protect the laws." "that will not be fair, papa," said cecilia ossulton; "we have no quarrel with the smuggler: i'm sure the ladies have not, for they bring us beautiful things." "miss ossulton," observed her aunt, "it is not proper for you to offer an opinion." the yacht wore round, and, sailing so fast, the smuggler had little chance of escaping her; but to chase is one thing--to capture, another. "let us give her a gun," said lord b---, "that will frighten her; and he dare not cross our hawse." the gun was loaded, and not being more than a mile from the smuggler, actually threw the ball almost a quarter of the way. the gentlemen, as well as lord b---, were equally excited by the ardour of pursuit; but the wind died away, and at last it was nearly calm. the revenue-cutter's boats were out, and coming up fast. "let us get our boat out, stewart," said his lordship, "and help them; it is quite calm now." the boat was soon out: it was a very large one, usually stowed on, and occupying a large portion of, the deck. it pulled six oars; and when it was manned, mr stewart jumped in, and lord b--- followed him. "but you have no arms," said mr hautaine. "the smugglers never resist now," observed stewart. "then you are going on a very gallant expedition, indeed," observed cecilia ossulton; "i wish you joy." but lord b--- was too much excited to pay attention. they shoved off, and pulled towards the smuggler. at this time the revenue boats were about five miles astern of the _happy-go-lucky_, and the yacht about three-quarters of a mile from her in the offing. pickersgill had, of course, observed the motions of the yacht; had seen her wear on chase, hoist her ensign and pendant, and fire her gun. "well," said he, "this is the blackest ingratitude! to be attacked by the very people whom we smuggle for! i only wish she may come up with us; and, let her attempt to interfere, she shall rue the day: i don't much like this, though." as we before observed, it fell nearly calm, and the revenue boats were in chase. pickersgill watched them as they came up. "what shall we do?" said corbett,--"get the boat out?" "yes," replied pickersgill, "we will get the boat out, and have the goods in her all ready; but we can pull faster than they do, in the first place; and, in the next, they will be pretty well tired before they come up to us. we are fresh, and shall soon walk away from them; so i shall not leave the vessel till they are within half a mile. we must sink the ankers, that they may not seize the vessel, for it is not worth while taking them with us. pass them along, ready to run them over the bows, that they may not see us and swear to it. but we have a good half hour, and more." "ay, and you may hold all fast if you choose," said morrison, "although it's better to be on the right side and get ready; otherwise, before half an hour, i'll swear that we are out of their sight. look there," said he, pointing to the eastward at a heavy bank, "it's coming right down upon us, as i said it would." "true enough; but still there is no saying which will come first, morrison, the boats or the fog; so we must be prepared." "hilloa! what's this? why, there's a boat coming from the yacht!" pickersgill took out his glass. "yes, and the yacht's own boat with the name painted on her bows. well, let them come--we will have no ceremony in resisting them; they are not in the act of parliament, and must take the consequences. we have nought to fear. get stretchers, my lads, and hand-spikes; they row six oars, and are three in the stern-sheets: they must be good men if they take us." in a few minutes lord b--- was close to the smuggler. "boat ahoy! what do you want?" "surrender in the king's name." "to what, and to whom, and what are we to surrender? we are an english vessel coasting along shore." "pull on board, my lads," cried stewart; "i am a king's officer: we know her." the boat darted alongside, and stewart and lord b---, followed by the men, jumped on the deck. "well, gentlemen, what do you want?" said pickersgill. "we seize you! you are a smuggler,--there's no denying it: look at the casks of spirits stretched along the deck." "we never said that we were not smugglers," replied pickersgill; "but what is that to you? you are not a king's ship, or employed by the revenue." "no; but we carry a pendant, and it is our duty to protect the laws." "and who are you?" said pickersgill. "i am lord b---." "then, my lord, allow me to say that you would do much better to attend to the framing of laws, and leave people of less consequence, like those astern of me, to execute them. `mind your own business,' is an old adage. we shall not hurt you, my lord, as you have only employed words, but we shall put it out of your power to hurt us. come aft, my lads. now, my lord, resistance is useless; we are double your numbers, and you have caught a tartar." lord b--- and mr stewart perceived that they were in an awkward predicament. "you may do what you please," observed mr stewart, "but the revenue boats are coming up, recollect." "look you, sir, do you see the revenue-cutter?" said pickersgill. stewart looked in that direction and saw that she was hidden in the fog. "in five minutes, sir, the boats will be out of sight also, and so will your vessel; we have nothing to fear from them." "indeed, my lord, we had better return," said mr stewart, who perceived that pickersgill was right. "i beg your pardon, you will not go on board your yacht so soon as you expect. take the oars out of the boat; my lads, two or three of you, and throw in a couple of our paddles for them to reach the shore with. the rest of you knock down the first man who offers to resist. you are not aware, perhaps, my lord, that you have attempted _piracy_ on the high seas?" stewart looked at lord b---. it was true enough. the men of the yacht could offer no resistance; the oars were taken out of the boat and the men put in again. "my lord," said pickersgill, "your boat is manned, do me the favour to step into it; and you, sir, do the same. i should be sorry to lay my hands upon a peer of the realm, or a king's officer even on half pay." remonstrance was vain; his lordship was led to the boat by two of the smugglers, and stewart followed. "i will leave your oars, my lord, at the weymouth custom-house, and i trust this will be a lesson to you in future to `mind your own business.'" the boat was shoved off from the sloop by the smugglers, and was soon lost sight of in the fog, which had now covered the revenue boats as well as the yacht, at the same time it brought down a breeze from the eastward. "haul to the wind, morrison," said pickersgill, "we will stand out to get rid of the boats; if they pull on they will take it for granted that we shall run into the bay, as will the revenue-cutter." pickersgill and corbett were in conversation abaft for a short time, when the former desired the course to be altered two points. "keep silence all of you, my lads, and let me know if you hear a gun or a bell from the yacht," said pickersgill. "there is a gun, sir, close to us," said one of the men; "the sound was right ahead." "that will do, keep her as she goes. aft here, my lads; we cannot run our cargo in the bay, for the cutter has been seen to chase us, and they will all be on the look-out at the preventive stations for us on shore. now, my lads, i have made up my mind that, as these yacht gentlemen have thought proper to interfere, that i will take possession of the yacht for a few days. we shall then outsail everything, go where we like unsuspected, and land our cargo with ease. i shall run alongside of her--she can have but few hands on board; and mind, do not hurt anybody, but be civil and obey my orders. morrison, you and your four men and the boy will remain on board as before, and take the vessel to cherbourg, where we will join you." in a short time another gun was fired from the yacht. those on board, particularly the ladies, were alarmed; the fog was very thick, and they could not distinguish the length of the vessel. they had seen the boat board, but had not seen her turned adrift without oars, as the fog came on just at that time. the yacht was left with only three seamen on board, and should it come on bad weather, they were in an awkward predicament. mr hautaine had taken the command, and ordered the guns to be fired that the boat might be enabled to find them. the fourth gun was loading, when they perceived the smuggler's cutter close to them looming through the fog. "here they are," cried the seamen; "and they have brought the prize along with them! three cheers for the _arrow_!" "hilloa! you'll be on board of us?" cried hautaine. "that's exactly what i intend to be, sir," replied pickersgill, jumping on the quarter-deck, followed by his men. "who the devil are you?" "that's exactly the same question that i asked lord b--- when he boarded us," replied pickersgill, taking off his hat to the ladies. "well, but what business have you here?" "exactly the same question which i put to lord b---," replied pickersgill. "where is lord b---, sir?" said cecilia ossulton, going up to the smuggler; "is he safe?" "yes, madam, he is safe; at least he is in his boat with all his men, and unhurt: but you must excuse me if i request you and the other ladies to go down below while i speak to these gentlemen. be under no alarm, miss, you will receive neither insult nor ill-treatment--i have only taken possession of this vessel for the present." "take possession," cried hautaine, "of a yacht." "yes, sir, since the owner of the yacht thought proper to attempt to take possession of me. i always thought that yachts were pleasure-vessels, sailing about for amusement, respected themselves, and not interfering with others; but it appears that such is not the case. the owner of this yacht has thought proper to break through the neutrality and commence aggression, and under such circumstances i have now, in retaliation, taken possession of her." "and, pray, what do you mean to do, sir?" "simply for a few days to make an exchange. i shall send you on board of my vessel as smugglers, while i remain here with the ladies and amuse myself with yachting." "why, sir, you cannot mean--" "i have said, gentlemen, and that is enough; i should be sorry to resort to violence, but i must be obeyed. you have, i perceive, three seamen only left: they are not sufficient to take charge of the vessel, and lord b--- and the others you will not meet for several days. my regard for the ladies, even common humanity, points out to me that i cannot leave the vessel in this crippled condition. at the same time, i must have hands on board of my own, you will oblige me by going on board and taking her safely into port. it is the least return you can make for my kindness. in those dresses, gentlemen, you will not be able to do your duty: oblige me by shifting and putting on these." corbett handed a flannel shirt, a rough jacket and trousers, to messrs. hautaine, ossulton, vaughan, and seagrove. after some useless resistance they were stripped, and having put on the smugglers' attire, they were handed on board of the _happy-go-lucky_. the three english seamen were also sent on board and confined below, as well as ossulton's servant, who was also equipped like his master, and confined below with the seamen. corbett and the men then handed up all the smuggled goods into the yacht, dropped the boat, and made it fast astern, and morrison having received his directions, the vessels separated, morrison running for cherbourg, and pickersgill steering the yacht along shore to the westward. about an hour after this exchange had been effected the fog cleared up, and showed the revenue-cutter hove to for her boats, which had pulled back and were close on board of her, and the _happy-go-lucky_ about three miles in the offing; lord b--- and his boat's crew were about four miles in shore, paddling and drifting with the tide towards portland. as soon as the boats were on board, the revenue-cutter made all sail after the smuggler, paying no attention to the yacht, and either not seeing or not caring about the boat which was drifting about in west bay. chapter five. the travesty. "here we are, corbett, and now i only wish my venture had been double," observed pickersgill; "but i shall not allow business to absorb me wholly--we must add a little amusement. it appears to me, corbett, that the gentleman's clothes which lie there will fit you, and those of the good-looking fellow who was spokesman will, i am sure, suit me well. now let us dress ourselves, and then for breakfast." pickersgill then exchanged his clothes for those of mr hautaine, and corbett fitted on those of mr ossulton. the steward was summoned up, and he dared not disobey; he appeared on deck, trembling. "steward--you will take these clothes below," said pickersgill, "and, observe, that i now command this yacht; and during the time that i am on board you will pay me the same respect as you did lord b---: nay, more, you will always address me as lord b---. you will prepare dinner and breakfast, and do your duty just as if his lordship was on board, and take care that you feed us well, for i will not allow the ladies to be entertained in a less sumptuous manner than before. you will tell the cook what i say; and now that you have heard me, take care that you obey; if not, recollect that i have my own men here, and if i but point with my finger, _overboard you go_. do you perfectly comprehend me?" "yes,--sir," stammered the steward. "yes, _sir_!--what did i tell you, sirrah?--yes, my lord. do you understand me?" "yes--my lord." "pray, steward, whose clothes has this gentleman put on?" "mr--mr ossulton's, i think--sir--my lord, i mean." "very well, steward; then recollect, in future you always address that gentleman as _mr ossulton_." "yes, my lord," and the steward went down below, and was obliged to take a couple of glasses of brandy to keep himself from fainting. "who are they, and what are they, mr maddox?" cried the lady's-maid, who had been weeping. "pirates!--_bloody murderous, stick-at-nothing_ pirates!" replied the steward. "oh!" screamed the lady's-maid, "what will become of us, poor unprotected females?" and she hastened into the cabin, to impart this dreadful intelligence. the ladies in the cabin were not in a very enviable situation. as for the elder miss ossulton (but perhaps, it will be better in future to distinguish the two ladies, by calling the elder simply miss ossulton, and her niece, cecilia), she was sitting with her salts to her nose, agonised with a mixture of trepidation and wounded pride. mrs lascelles was weeping, but weeping gently. cecilia was sad, and her heart was beating with anxiety and suspense--when the maid rushed in. "o madam! o miss! o mrs lascelles! i have found it all out!--they are murderous, bloody, do-everything pirates!" "mercy on us!" exclaimed miss ossulton; "surely they will never dare--?" "oh, ma'am, they dare anything!--they just now were for throwing the steward overboard; and they have rummaged for all the portmanteaus, and dressed themselves in the gentlemen's best clothes. the captain of them told the steward that he was lord b---, and that if he dared to call him anything else, he would cut his throat from ear to ear; and if the cook don't give them a good dinner, they swear that they'll chop his right hand off, and make him eat it without pepper or salt!" miss ossulton screamed, and went off into hysterics. mrs lascelles and cecilia went to her assistance; but the latter had not forgotten the very different behaviour of jack pickersgill, and his polite manners, when he boarded the vessel. she did not therefore believe what the maid had reported, but still her anxiety and suspense were great, especially about her father. after having restored her aunt she put on her bonnet, which was lying on the sofa. "where are you going, dear?" said mrs lascelles. "on deck," replied cecilia. "i must and will speak to these men." "gracious heaven, miss ossulton! going on deck! have you heard what phoebe says?" "yes, aunt, i have; but i can wait here no longer." "stop her! stop her!--she will be murdered!--she will be--she is mad!" screamed miss ossulton; but no one attempted to stop cecilia, and on deck she went. on her arrival she found jack pickersgill and corbett walking the deck, one of the smugglers at the helm, and the rest forward, and as quiet as the crew of the yacht. as soon as she made her appearance jack took off his hat, and made her a bow. "i do not know whom i have the honour of addressing, young lady; but i am flattered with this mark of confidence. you feel, and i assure you, you feel correctly, that you are not exactly in lawless hands." cecilia looked with more surprise than fear at pickersgill. mr hautaine's dress became him; he was a handsome, fine-looking man, and had nothing of the ruffian in his appearance; unless, like byron's corsair, he was _half savage, half soft_. she could not help thinking that she had met many with less pretensions, as far as appearance went, to the claims of a gentleman, at almack's and other fashionable circles. "i have ventured on deck, sir," said cecilia, with a little tremulousness in her voice, "to request, as a favour, that you will inform me what your intentions may be with regard to the vessel and with regard to the ladies!" "and i feel much obliged to you for so doing, and i assure you i will, as far as i have made up my own mind, answer you candidly: but you tremble--allow me to conduct you to a seat. in few words, then, to remove your present alarm, i intend that the vessel shall be returned to its owner, with every article in it as religiously respected as if they were church property. with respect to you, and the other ladies on board, i pledge you my honour that you have nothing to fear; that you shall be treated with every respect; your privacy never invaded; and that, in a few days, you will be restored to your friends. young lady, i pledge my hopes of future salvation to the truth of this; but, at the same time, i must make a few conditions, which, however, will not be very severe." "but, sir," replied cecilia, much relieved, for pickersgill had stood by her in the most respectful manner, "you are, i presume, the captain of the smuggler? pray answer me one question more--what became of the boat with lord b---? he is my father." "i left him in his boat, without a hair of his head touched, young lady; but i took away the oars." "then he will perish!" cried cecilia, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. "no, young lady; he is on shore, probably, by this time. although i took away his means of assisting to capture us, i left him the means of gaining the land. it is not every one who would have done that, after his conduct to us." "i begged him not to go," said cecilia; "i told him that it was not fair, and that he had no quarrel with the smugglers." "i thank you even for that," replied pickersgill. "and now, miss--i have not the pleasure of recollecting his lordship's family name--" "ossulton, sir," cried cecilia, looking at pickersgill with surprise. "then with your permission, miss ossulton, i will now make you my confidant: excuse my using so free a term, but it is because i wish to relieve your fears. at the same time, i cannot permit you to divulge all my intentions to the whole party on board. i feel that i may trust you, for you have courage, and where there is courage there generally is truth; but you must first tell me whether you will condescend to accept these terms?" cecilia demurred a moment; the idea of being the confidant of a smuggler rather startled her: but still, her knowledge of what his intentions were, if she might not reveal them, might be important; as, perhaps, she might dissuade him. she could be in no worse position than she was now, and she might be in a much better. the conduct of pickersgill had been such, up to the present, as to inspire confidence; and, although he defied the laws, he appeared to regard the courtesies of life. cecilia was a courageous girl, and at length she replied:-- "provided what you desire me to keep secret will not be injurious to any one, or compromise me in my peculiar situation, i consent." "i would not hurt a fly, miss ossulton, but in self-defence; and i have too much respect for you, from your conduct during our short meeting, to compromise you. allow me now to be very candid; and then, perhaps, you will acknowledge that in my situation others would do the same, and, perhaps, not show half so much forbearance. your father, without any right whatever, interferes with me and my calling: he attempts to make me a prisoner, to have me thrown into jail, heavily fined, and, perhaps, sent out of the country. i will not enter into any defence of smuggling; it is sufficient to say that there are pains and penalties attached to the infraction of certain laws, and that i choose to risk them. but lord b--- was not empowered by government to attack me; it was a gratuitous act; and had i thrown him and all his crew into the sea, i should have been justified; for it was, in short, an act of piracy on their part. now, as your father has thought to turn a yacht into a revenue-cutter, you cannot be surprised at my retaliating, in turning her into a smuggler; and as he has mixed up looking after the revenue with yachting, he cannot be surprised if i retaliate, by mixing up a little yachting with smuggling. i have dressed your male companions as smugglers, and have sent them in the smuggling vessel to cherbourg, where they will be safely landed; and i have dressed myself, and the only person whom i could join with me in this frolic, as gentlemen in their places. my object is twofold; one is to land my cargo, which i have now on board, and which is very valuable; the other is, to retaliate upon your father and his companions for their attempt upon me, by stepping into their shoes, and enjoying, for a day or two, their luxuries. it is my intention to make free with nothing but his lordship's wines and eatables--that you may be assured of; but i shall have no pleasure if the ladies do not sit down to the dinner-table with us, as they did before with your father and his friends." "you can hardly expect that, sir," said cecilia. "yes, i do; and that will be not only the price of the early release of the yacht and themselves, but it will also be the only means by which they will obtain anything to eat. you observe, miss ossulton, the sins of the fathers are visited on the children. i have now told you what i mean to do and what i wish. i leave you to think of it, and decide whether it will not be the best for all parties to consent. you have my permission to tell the other ladies that, whatever may be their conduct, they are as secure from ill-treatment or rudeness as if they were in grosvenor-square; but i cannot answer that they will not be hungry, if, after such forbearance in every point, they show so little gratitude as not to honour me with their company." "then i am to understand that we are to be starved into submission?" "no, not starved, miss ossulton; but recollect that you will be on bread and water, and detained until you do consent, and your detention will increase the anxiety of your father." "you know how to persuade, sir," said cecilia. "as far as i am concerned, i trust i shall ever be ready to sacrifice any feelings of pride to spare my father so much uneasiness. with your permission, i will now go down into the cabin and relieve my companions from the worst of their fears. as for obtaining what you wish, i can only say that, as a young person, i am not likely to have much influence with those older than myself, and must inevitably be overruled, as i have not permission to point out to them reasons which might avail. would you so far allow me to be relieved from my promise, as to communicate all you have said to me to the only married woman on board? i think i might then obtain your wishes, which, i must candidly tell you, i shall attempt to effect _only_ because i am most anxious to rejoin my friends." "and be relieved of my company," replied pickersgill, smiling ironically,--"of course you are; but i must and will have my pretty revenge: and although you may, and probably will, detest me, at all events you shall not have any very formidable charge to make against me. before you go below, miss ossulton, i give you my permission to add the married lady to the number of my confidants; and you must permit me to introduce my friend, mr ossulton;" and pickersgill waved his hand in the direction of corbett, who took off his hat and made a low obeisance. it was impossible for cecilia ossulton to help smiling. "and," continued pickersgill, "having taken the command of this yacht instead of his lordship, it is absolutely necessary that i also take his lordship's name. while on board i am lord b---; and allow me to introduce myself under that name; i cannot be addressed otherwise. depend upon it, miss ossulton, that i shall have a most paternal solicitude to make you happy and comfortable." had cecilia ossulton dared to have given vent to her real feelings at that time, she would have burst into a fit of laughter; it was too ludicrous. at the same time, the very burlesque reassured her still more. she went into the cabin with a heavy weight removed from her heart. in the meantime, miss ossulton and mrs lascelles remained below, in the greatest anxiety at cecilia's prolonged stay; they knew not what to think, and dared not go on deck. mrs lascelles had once determined at all risks to go up; but miss ossulton and phoebe had screamed and implored her so fervently not to leave them that she unwillingly consented to remain. cecilia's countenance when she entered the cabin, reassured mrs lascelles, but not her aunt, who ran to her crying and sobbing and clinging to her, saying, "what have they done to you, my poor, poor cecilia?" "nothing at all, aunt," replied cecilia, "the captain speaks very fairly, and says he shall respect us in every possible way, provided that we obey his orders; but if not--" "if not--what, cecilia?" said miss ossulton, grasping her niece's arm. "he will starve us, and not let us go!" "god have mercy on us!" cried miss ossulton, renewing her sobs. cecilia then went to mrs lascelles, and communicated to her apart, all that had passed. mrs lascelles agreed with cecilia that they were in no danger of insult; and as they talked over the matter they at last began to laugh; there was a novelty in it, and there was something so ridiculous in all the gentlemen being turned into smugglers. cecilia was glad that she could not tell her aunt, as she wished her to be so frightened as never to have her company on board the yacht again; and mrs lascelles was too glad to annoy her for many and various insults received. the matter was therefore canvassed over very satisfactorily, and mrs lascelles felt a natural curiosity to see this new lord b--- and the second mr ossulton. but they had had no breakfast, and were feeling very hungry now that their alarm was over. they desired phoebe to ask the steward for some tea or coffee. the reply was, that "breakfast was laid in the cabin, and lord b--- trusted that the ladies would come to partake of it." "no, no," replied mrs lascelles, "i never can, without being introduced to them first." "nor will i go," replied cecilia, "but i will write a note, and we will have our breakfast here." cecilia wrote a note in pencil as follows: "miss ossulton's compliments to lord b---, and, as the ladies feel rather indisposed after the alarm of this morning, they trust that his lordship will excuse their coming to breakfast; but hope to meet his lordship at dinner, if not before that time on deck." the answer was propitious, and the steward soon appeared with the breakfast in the ladies' cabin. "well, maddox," said cecilia, "how do you get on with your new master?" the steward looked at the door, to see if it was closed, shook his head, and then said, with a look of despair, "he has ordered a haunch of venison for dinner, miss, and he has twice threatened to toss me overboard." "you must obey him, maddox, or he certainly will. these pirates are dreadful fellows. be attentive, and serve him just as if he was my father." "yes, yes, ma'am, i will; but our time may come. it's _burglary_ on the high seas, and i'll go fifty miles to see him hanged." "steward!" cried pickersgill, from the cabin. "o lord! he can't have heard me--d'ye think he did, miss?" "the partitions are very thin, and you spoke very loud," said mrs lascelles: "at all events, go to him quickly." "good bye, miss; good bye, ma'am; if i shouldn't see you any more," said maddox, trembling with fear, as he obeyed the awful summons--which was to demand a tooth-pick. miss ossulton would not touch the breakfast; not so mrs lascelles and cecilia, who ate very heartily. "it's very dull to be shut up in this cabin," said mrs lascelles; "come, cecilia, let's go on deck." "and leave me!" cried miss ossulton. "there is phoebe here, aunt; we are going up to persuade the pirates to put us all on shore." mrs lascelles and cecilia put on their bonnets and went up. lord b--- took off his hat, and begged the honour of being introduced to the pretty widow. he handed the ladies to a seat, and then commenced conversing upon various subjects, which at the same time possessed great novelty. his lordship talked about france, and described its ports; told now and then a good anecdote; pointed out the different headlands, bays, towns, and villages, which they were passing rapidly, and always had some little story connected with each. before the ladies had been two hours on deck they found themselves, to their infinite surprise, not only interested, but in conversation with the captain of the smuggler, and more than once they laughed outright. but the _soi-disant_ lord b--- had inspired them with confidence; they fully believed that what he had told them was true, and that he had taken possession of the yacht to smuggle his goods, to be revenged, and to have a laugh. now none of these three offences are capital in the eyes of the fair sex, and jack was a handsome, fine-looking fellow, of excellent manners and very agreeable conversation; at the same time, neither he nor his friend were in their general deportment and behaviour otherwise than most respectful. "ladies, as you are not afraid of me, which is a greater happiness than i had reason to expect, i think you may be amused to witness the fear of those who accuse your sex of cowardice. with your permission, i will send for the cook and steward, and inquire about the dinner." "i should like to know what there is for dinner," observed mrs lascelles demurely; "wouldn't you, cecilia?" cecilia put her handkerchief to her mouth. "tell the steward and the cook both to come aft immediately," cried pickersgill. in a few seconds they both made their appearance. "steward!" cried pickersgill, with a loud voice. "yes, my lord," replied maddox, with his hat in his hand. "what wines have you put out for dinner?" "champagne, my lord; and claret, my lord; and madeira and sherry, my lord." "no burgundy, sir?" "no, my lord; there is no burgundy on board." "no burgundy, sir! do you dare to tell me that?" "upon my soul, my lord," cried maddox, dropping on his knees, "there is no burgundy on board--ask the ladies." "very well, sir, you may go." "cook, what have you got for dinner?" "sir, a haunch of mut--of venison, my lord," replied the cook, with his white night-cap in his hand. "what else, sirrah?" "a boiled calf's head, my lord." "a boiled calf's head! let it be roasted, or i'll roast you, sir!" cried pickersgill, in an angry tone. "yes, my lord; i'll roast it." "and what else, sir?" "maintenon cutlets, my lord." "maintenon cutlets! i hate them--i won't have them, sir. let them be dressed _a l'ombre chinoise_." "i don't know what that is, my lord." "i don't care for that, sirrah; if you don't find out by dinner-time, you're food for fishes--that all; you may go." the cook walked off wringing his hands and his night-cap as well--for he still held it in his right hand--and disappeared down the fore-hatchway. "i have done this to pay you a deserved compliment, ladies; you have more courage than the other sex." "recollect that we have had confidence given to us in consequence of your pledging your word, my lord." "you do me, then, the honour of believing me?" "i did not until i saw you," replied mrs lascelles, "but now i am convinced that you will perform your promise." "you do, indeed, encourage me, madam, to pursue what is right," said pickersgill, bowing; "for your approbation i should be most sorry to lose, still more sorry to prove myself unworthy of it." as the reader will observe, everything was going on remarkably well. chapter six. the smuggling yacht. cecilia returned to the cabin, to ascertain whether her aunt was more composed; but mrs lascelles remained on deck. she was much pleased with pickersgill; and they continued their conversation. pickersgill entered into a defence of his conduct to lord b---; and mrs lascelles could not but admit the provocation. after a long conversation she hinted at his profession, and how superior he appeared to be to such a lawless life. "you may be incredulous, madam," replied pickersgill, "if i tell you that i have as good a right to quarter my arms as lord b--- himself; and that i am not under my real name. smuggling is, at all events, no crime; and i infinitely prefer the wild life i lead at the head of my men to being spurned by society because i am poor. the greatest crime in this country is poverty. i may, if i am fortunate, some day resume my name. you may, perhaps, meet me, and if you please, you may expose me." "that i should not be likely to do," replied the widow; "but still i regret to see a person, evidently intended for better things, employed in so disreputable a profession." "i hardly know, madam, what is and what is not disreputable in this conventional world. it is not considered disreputable to cringe to the vices of a court, or to accept a pension wrung from the industry of the nation, in return for base servility. it is not considered disreputable to take tithes, intended for the service of god, and lavish them away at watering-places or elsewhere, seeking pleasure instead of doing god service. it is not considered disreputable to take fee after fee to uphold injustice, to plead against innocence, to pervert truth, and to aid the devil. it is not considered disreputable to gamble on the stock exchange, or to corrupt the honesty of electors by bribes, for doing which the penalty attached is equal to that decreed to the offence of which i am guilty. all these, and much more, are not considered disreputable; yet by all these are the moral bonds of society loosened, while in mine we cause no guilt in others--" "but still it is a crime." "a violation of the revenue laws, and no more. observe, madam, the english government encourage the smuggling of our manufactures to the continent, at the same time that they take every step to prevent articles being smuggled into this country. now, madam, can that be a _crime_ when the head of the vessel is turned north, which becomes _no crime_ when she steers the opposite way?" "there is a stigma attached to it, you must allow." "that i grant you, madam; and as soon as i can quit the profession i shall. no captive ever sighed more to be released from his chains; but i will not leave it, till i find i am in a situation not to be spurned and neglected by those with whom i have a right to associate." at this moment the steward was seen forward making signs to mrs lascelles, who excused herself, and went to him. "for the love of god, madam," said maddox, "as he appears to be friendly with you, do pray find out how these cutlets are to be dressed; the cook is tearing his hair, and we shall never have any dinner; and then it will all fall upon me, and i--shall be tossed overboard." mrs lascelles desired poor maddox to wait there while she obtained the desired information. in a few minutes she returned to him. "i have found it out. they are first to be boiled in vinegar, then fried in batter, and served up with a sauce of anchovy and malaga raisins!" "first fried in vinegar, then boiled in batter, and served up with almonds and raisins." "no--no!" mrs lascelles repeated the injunction to the frightened steward, and then returned aft, and re-entered into a conversation with pickersgill, in which for the first time, corbett now joined. corbett had sense enough to feel, that the less he came forward until his superior had established himself in the good graces of the ladies, the more favourable would be the result. in the meantime cecilia had gone down to her aunt, who still continued to wail and lament. the young lady tried all she could to console her, and to persuade her that if they were civil and obedient they had nothing to fear. "civil and obedient, indeed!" cried miss ossulton, "to a fellow who is a smuggler and a pirate! i, the sister of lord b---! never! the presumption of the wretch!" "that is all very well, aunt; but recollect, we must submit to circumstances. these men insist upon our dining with them; and we must go, or we shall have no dinner." "i, sit down with a pirate! never! i'll have no dinner--i'll starve-- i'll die!" "but, my dear aunt, it's the only chance we have of obtaining our release; and if you do not do it mrs lascelles will think that you wish to remain with them." "mrs lascelles judges of other people by herself." "the captain is certainly a very well-behaved, handsome man. he looks like a nobleman in disguise. what an odd thing it would be, aunt, if this should be all a hoax!" "a hoax, child?" replied miss ossulton, sitting up on the sofa. cecilia found that she had hit the right nail, as the saying is; and she brought forward so many arguments to prove that she thought it was a hoax to frighten them, and that the gentleman above was a man of consequence, that her aunt began to listen to reason, and at last consented to join the dinner-party. mrs lascelles now came down below; and when dinner was announced they repaired to the large cabin, where they found pickersgill and corbett waiting for them. miss ossulton did not venture to look up, until she heard pickersgill say to mrs lascelles, "perhaps, madam, you will do me the favour to introduce me to that lady, whom i have not had the honour of seeing before?" "certainly, my lord," replied mrs lascelles. "miss ossulton, the aunt of this young lady." mrs lascelles purposely did not introduce _his lordship_ in return, that she might mystify the old spinster. "i feel highly honoured in finding, myself in the company of miss ossulton," said pickersgill. "ladies, we wait but for you to sit down. ossulton, take the head of the table and serve the soup." miss ossulton was astonished; she looked at the smugglers, and perceived two well-dressed gentlemanly men, one of whom was apparently a lord and the other having the same family name. "it must be all a hoax," thought she, and she very quietly took to her soup. the dinner passed off very pleasantly; pickersgill was agreeable, corbett funny, and miss ossulton so far recovered herself as to drink wine with his lordship, and to ask corbett what branch of their family he belonged to. "i presume it's the irish branch?" said mrs lascelles, prompting him. "exactly, madam," replied corbett. "have you ever been to torquay, ladies?" inquired pickersgill. "no, my lord," answered mrs lascelles. "we shall anchor there in the course of an hour, and probably remain there till to-morrow. steward, bring coffee. tell the cook these cutlets were remarkably well-dressed." the ladies retired to their cabin. miss ossulton was now convinced that it was all a hoax; "but," said she, "i shall tell lord b--- my opinion of their practical jokes when he returns. what is his lordship's name who is on board?" "he won't tell us," replied mrs lascelles; "but i think i know; it is lord blarney." "lord blaney you mean, i presume," said miss ossulton; "however the thing is carried too far. cecilia, we will go on shore at torquay, and wait till the yacht returns with lord b---. i don't like these jokes; they may do very well for widows, and people of no rank." now mrs lascelles was sorry to find miss ossulton so much at her ease. she owed her no little spite, and wished for revenge. ladies will go very far to obtain this. how far mrs lascelles would have gone, i will not pretend to say; but this is certain, that the last innuendo of miss ossulton very much added to her determination. she took her bonnet and went on deck, at once told pickersgill that he could not please her or cecilia more than by frightening miss ossulton, who, under the idea that it was all a hoax, had quite recovered her spirits; talked of her pride and ill-nature, and wished her to receive a useful lesson. thus, to follow up her revenge, did mrs lascelles commit herself so far, as to be confidential with the smuggler in return. "mrs lascelles, i shall be able to obey you, and, at the same time, to combine business with pleasure." after a short conversation, the yacht dropped her anchor at torquay. it was then about two hours before sunset. as soon as the sails were furled, one or two gentlemen, who resided there, came on board to pay their respects to lord b---; and, as pickersgill had found out from cecilia that her father was acquainted with no one there, he received them in person; asked them down in the cabin--called for wine--and desired them to send their boats away, as his own was going on shore. the smugglers took great care that the steward, cook, and lady's-maid, should have no communication with the guests; one of them, by corbett's direction, being a sentinel over each individual. the gentlemen remained about half-an-hour on board, during which corbett and the smugglers had filled the portmanteaus found in the cabin with the lace, and they were put in the boat; corbett then landed the gentlemen in the same boat, and went up to the hotel, the smugglers following him with the portmanteaus, without any suspicion or interruption. as soon as he was there, he ordered post-horses, and set off for a town close by, where he had correspondents; and thus the major part of the cargo was secured. corbett then returned in the night, bringing with him people to receive the goods; and the smugglers landed the silks, teas, etcetera, with the same good fortune. everything was out of the yacht except a portion of the lace, which the portmanteaus would not hold. pickersgill might easily have sent this on shore; but, to please mrs lascelles, he arranged otherwise. the next morning, about an hour after breakfast was finished, mrs lascelles entered the cabin pretending to be in the greatest consternation, and fell on the sofa as if she were going to faint. "good heavens! what is the matter?" exclaimed cecilia, who knew very well what was coming. "oh, the wretch! he has made such proposals!" "proposals! what proposals? what! lord blaney?" cried miss ossulton. "oh, he's no lord! he's a villain and a smuggler! and he insists that we shall both fill our pockets full of lace, and go on shore with him." "mercy on me! then it is no hoax after all; and i've been sitting down to dinner with a smuggler!" "sitting down, madam!--if it were to be no more than that--but we are to take his arm up to the hotel. oh dear! cecilia, i am ordered on deck; pray, come with me!" miss ossulton rolled on the sofa, and rang for phoebe; she was in a state of great alarm. a knock at the door. "come in," said miss ossulton, thinking it was phoebe; when pickersgill made his appearance. "what do you want, sir? go out, sir! go out directly, of i'll scream!" "it is no use screaming, madam; recollect, that all on board are at my service. you, will oblige me by listening to me, miss ossulton. i am, as you know, a smuggler; and i must send this lace on shore. you will oblige me by putting, it into your pockets, or about your person, and prepare to go on shore with me. as soon as we arrive at the hotel, you will deliver it to me, and i then shall re-conduct you on board of the yacht. you are not the first lady who has gone on shore with contraband articles about her person." "me, sir! go on shore in that way? no, sir--never! what will the world say?--the hon. miss ossulton walking with a smuggler! no, sir-- never!" "yes, madam; walking arm-in-arm with a smuggler: i shall have you on one arm, and mrs lascelles on the other; and i would advise you to take it very quietly; for, in the first place, it will be you who smuggle, as the goods will be found on your person, and you will certainly be put in prison: for at the least appearance of insubordination, we run and inform against you; and further, your niece will remain on board as a hostage for your good behaviour--and if you have any regard for her liberty, you will consent immediately." pickersgill left the cabin, and shortly afterwards cecilia and mrs lascelles entered, apparently much distressed. they had been informed of all, and mrs lascelles declared, that for her part, sooner than leave her poor cecilia to the mercy of such people, she had made up her mind to submit to the smuggler's demands. cecilia also begged so earnestly, that miss ossulton, who had no idea that it was a trick, with much sobbing and blubbering, consented. when all was ready, cecilia left the cabin; pickersgill came down, handed up the two ladies, who had not exchanged a word with each other during cecilia's absence; the boat was ready alongside--they went in, and pulled on shore. everything succeeded to the smuggler's satisfaction. miss ossulton, frightened out of her wits, took his arm; and, with mrs lascelles on the other, they went up to the hotel, followed by four of his boat's crew. as soon as they were shown into a room, corbett, who was already on shore, asked for lord b---, and joined them. the ladies retired to another apartment, divested themselves of their contraband goods, and, after calling for some sandwiches and wine, pickersgill waited an hour, and then returned on board. mrs lascelles was triumphant; and she rewarded her new ally--the smuggler--with one of her sweetest smiles. community of interest will sometimes make strange friendships. chapter seven. conclusion. we must now return to the other parties who have assisted in the acts of this little drama. lord b---, after paddling and paddling, the men relieving each other, in order to make head against the wind, which was off shore, arrived about midnight at a small town in west bay, from whence he took a chaise on to portsmouth, taking it for granted that his yacht would arrive as soon as, if not before himself, little imagining that it was in possession of the smugglers. there he remained three or four days, when, becoming impatient, he applied to one of his friends who had a yacht at cowes, and sailed with him to look after his own. we left the _happy-go-lucky_ chased by the revenue-cutter. at first the smuggler had the advantage before the wind; but, by degrees, the wind went round with the sun, and brought the revenue-cutter leeward: it was then a chase on a wind, and the revenue-cutter came fast up with her. morrison, perceiving that he had no chance of escape, let run the ankers of brandy that he might not be condemned; but still he was in an awkward situation, as he had more men on board than allowed by act of parliament. he therefore stood on, notwithstanding the shot of the cutter went over and over him hoping, that a fog or night might enable him to escape; but he had no such good fortune; one of the shot carried away the head of his mast, and the _happy-go-lucky's_ luck was all over. he was boarded and taken possession of; he asserted that the extra men were only passengers; but, in the first place, they were dressed in seamen's clothes; and, in the second, as soon as the boat was aboard of her, appleboy had gone down to his gin-toddy, and was not to be disturbed. the gentlemen smugglers therefore passed an uncomfortable night; and the cutter going portland by daylight, before appleboy was out of bed, they were taken on shore to the magistrate. hautaine explained the whole affair, and they were immediately released and treated with respect; but they were not permitted to depart until they were bound over to appear against the smugglers, and prove the brandy having been on board. they then set off for portsmouth in the seamen's clothes, having had quite enough of yachting for that season, mr ossulton declaring that he only wanted to get his luggage, and then he would take care how he put himself again in the way of the shot of a revenue cruiser, or of sleeping a night on her decks. in the mean time morrison and his men were locked up in the gaol, the old man, as the key was turned on him, exclaiming, as he raised his foot in vexation, "that cursed blue pigeon!" we will now return to the yacht. about an hour after pickersgill had come on board, corbett had made all his arrangements and followed him. it was not advisable to remain at torquay any longer, through fear of discovery; he therefore weighed anchor before dinner, and made sail. "what do you intend to do now, my lord?" said mrs lascelles. "i intend to run down to cowes, anchor the yacht in the night, and an hour before daylight have you in my boat with all my men. i will take care that you are in perfect safety, depend upon it, even if i run a risk. i should, indeed, be miserable, if, through my wild freaks, any accident should happen to mrs lascelles or miss ossulton." "i am very anxious about my father," observed cecilia. "i trust that you will keep your promise." "i always have hitherto, miss ossulton; have i not?" "ours is but a short and strange acquaintance." "i grant it; but it will serve for you to talk about long after. i shall disappear as suddenly as i have come--you will neither of you, in all probability, ever see me again." the dinner was announced, and they sat down to table as before; but the elderly spinster refused to make her appearance, and mr lascelles and cecilia, who thought she had been frightened enough, did not attempt to force her. pickersgill immediately yielded to these remonstrances, and from that time she remained undisturbed in the ladies' cabin, meditating over the indignity of having sat down to table, having drank wine, and been obliged to walk on shore, taking the arm of a smuggler, and appear in such a humiliating situation. the wind was light, and they made but little progress, and were not abreast of portland till the second day, when another yacht appeared in sight, and the two vessels slowly neared, until in the afternoon they were within four miles of each other. it then fell a dead calm: signals were thrown out by the other yacht, but could not be distinguished, and, for the last time, they sat down to dinner. three days' companionship on board of a vessel, cooped up together, and having no one else to converse with, will produce intimacy; and pickersgill was a young man of so much originality and information, that he was listened to with pleasure. he never attempted to advance beyond the line of strict decorum and politeness; and his companion was equally unpresuming. situated as they were, and feeling what must have been the case had they fallen into other hands, both cecilia and mrs lascelles felt some degree of gratitude towards him; and although anxious to be relieved from so strange a position, they had gradually acquired a perfect confidence in him; and this had produced a degree of familiarity on their parts, although never ventured upon by the smuggler. as corbett was at the table, one of the men came down and made a sign. corbett, shortly after quitted the table and went on deck. "i wish, my lord, you would come up a moment, and see if you can make this flag out," said corbett, giving a significant nod to pickersgill. "excuse me, ladies, one moment," said pickersgill, who went on deck. "it is the boat of the yacht coming on board," said corbett; "and lord b--- is in the stern-sheets with the gentleman who was with him." "and how many men in the boat?--let me see--only four. well, let his lordship and his friend come: when they are on the deck, have the men ready in case of accident; but if you can manage to tell the boat's crew that they are to go on board again, and get rid of them that way, so much the better. arrange this with adams, and then come down again--his lordship must see us all at dinner." pickersgill then descended, and corbett had hardly time to give his directions and to resume his seat, before his lordship and mr stewart pulled up alongside and jumped on deck. there was no one to receive them but the seamen, and those whom they did not know. they looked round in amazement; at last his lordship said to adams, who stood forward--"what men are you?" "belong to the yacht, ye'r honour." lord b--- heard laughing in the cabin; he would not wait to interrogate the men; he walked aft, followed by mr stewart, looked down the skylight, and perceived his daughter and mrs lascelles, with, as he supposed, hautaine and ossulton. pickersgill had heard the boat rub the side, and the sound of the feet on deck, and he talked the more loudly, that the ladies might be caught by lord b--- as they were. he heard their feet at the skylight, and knew that they could hear what passed; and at that moment he proposed to the ladies that as this was their last meeting at table they should all take a glass of champagne to drink to "their happy meeting with lord b---." this was a toast which they did not refuse. maddox poured out the wine, and they were all bowing to each other, when his lordship, who had come down the ladder, walked into the cabin, followed by mr stewart. cecilia perceived her father; the champagne-glass dropped from her hand--she flew into his arms, and burst into tears. "who would not be a father, mrs lascelles?" said pickersgill, quietly seating himself, after having first risen to receive lord b---. "and pray, whom may i have the honour of finding established here?" said lord b---, in an angry tone, speaking over his daughter's head, who still lay in his arms. "by heavens, yes!--stewart, it is the smuggling captain dressed out." "even so, my lord," replied pickersgill. "you abandoned your yacht to capture me; you left these ladies in a vessel crippled for want of men; they might have been lost. i have returned good for evil by coming on board with my own people, and taking charge of them. this night i expected to have anchored your vessel in cowes, and have left them in safety." "by the--" cried stewart. "stop, sir, if you please!" cried pickersgill; "recollect you have once already attacked one who never offended. oblige me by refraining from intemperate language; for i tell you i will not put up with it. recollect, sir, that i have refrained from that, and also from taking advantage of you when you were in my power. recollect, sir, also, that the yacht is still in possession of the smugglers, and that you are in no condition to insult with impunity. my lord, allow me to observe, that we men are too hot of temperament to argue or listen coolly. with your permission, your friend, and my friend, and i, will repair on deck, leaving you to hear from your daughter and that lady all that has passed. after that, my lord, i shall be most happy to hear anything which your lordship may please to say." "upon my word--" commenced mr stewart. "mr stewart," interrupted cecilia ossulton, "i request your silence; nay, more, if ever we are again to sail in the same vessel together, i _insist_ upon it." "your lordship will oblige me by enforcing miss ossulton's request," said mrs lascelles. mr stewart was dumbfounded--no wonder--to find the ladies siding with the smuggler. "i am obliged to you, ladies, for your interference," said pickersgill; "for, although i have the means of enforcing conditions, i should be sorry to avail myself of them. i wait for his lordship's reply." lord b--- was very much surprised. he wished for an explanation; he bowed with _hauteur_. everybody appeared to be in a false position; even he, lord b---, somehow or another had bowed to a smuggler. pickersgill and stewart went on deck, walking up and down, crossing each other without speaking, but reminding you of two dogs who are both anxious to fight, but have been restrained by the voice of their masters. corbett followed, and talked in a low tone to pickersgill; stewart went over to leeward to see if the boat was still alongside, but it had long before returned to the yacht. miss ossulton had heard her brother's voice, but did not come out of the after-cabin; she wished to be magnificent, and at the same time she was not sure whether all was right, phoebe having informed her that there was nobody with her brother and mr stewart, and that the smugglers still had the command of the vessel. after a while, pickersgill and corbett went down forward, and returned dressed in the smugglers' clothes, when they resumed their walk on deck. in the mean time it was dark; the cutter flew along the coast, and the needles' lights were on the larboard bow. the conversation between cecilia, mrs lascelles, and her father, was long. when all had been detailed, and the conduct of pickersgill duly represented, lord b--- acknowledged that, by attacking the smuggler, he had laid himself open to retaliation; that pickersgill had shown a great deal of forbearance in every instance; and after all, had he not gone on board the yacht, she might have been lost, with only three seamen on board. he was amused with the smuggling and the fright of his sister, still more with the gentlemen being sent to cherbourg, and much consoled that he was not the only one to be laughed at. he was also much pleased with pickersgill's intention of leaving the yacht safe in cowes harbour, his respect for the property on board, and his conduct to the ladies. on the whole, he felt grateful to pickersgill, and where there is gratitude there is always good will. "but who can he be?" said mrs lascelles; "his name he acknowledges not to be pickersgill, and he told me confidentially that he was of good family." "confidentially, my dear mrs lascelles!" said lord b---. "oh, yes! we are both his confidants. are we not, cecilia?" "upon my honour, mrs lascelles, this smuggler appears to have made an impression which many have attempted in vain." mrs lascelles did not reply to the remark, but said, "now, my lord, you must decide--and i trust you will, to oblige us; treat him as he has treated us, with the greatest respect and kindness." "why should you suppose otherwise?" replied lord b---; "it is not only my wish but my interest so to do. he may take us over to france to-night, or anywhere else. has he not possession of the vessel?" "yes," replied cecilia; "but we flatter ourselves that we have _the command_. shall we call him down, papa?" "ring for maddox. maddox, tell mr pickersgill, who is on deck, that i wish to speak with him, and shall be obliged by his stepping down into the cabin." "who, my lord? what? _him_?" "yes; _him_," replied cecilia, laughing. "must i call him my lord, now, miss?" "you may do as you please, maddox; but recollect he is still in possession of the vessel," replied cecilia. "then, with your lordship's permission, i will; it's the safest way." the smuggler entered the cabin, the ladies started as he appeared in his rough costume. with his throat open, and his loose black handkerchief, he was the _beau ideal_ of a handsome sailor. "your lordship wishes to communicate with me?" "mr pickersgill, i feel that you have had cause of enmity against me, and that you have behaved with forbearance. i thank you for your considerate treatment of the ladies; and i assure you, that i feel no resentment for what has passed." "my lord, i am quite satisfied with what you have said; and i only hope that, in future, you will not interfere with a poor smuggler, who may be striving, by a life of danger and privation, to procure subsistence for himself, and, perhaps, his family. i stated to these ladies my intention of anchoring the yacht this night at cowes, and leaving her as soon as she was in safety. your unexpected presence will only make this difference, which is, that i must previously obtain your lordship's assurance that those with you will allow me and my men to quit her without molestation, after we have performed this service." "i pledge you my word, mr pickersgill, and thank you into the bargain. i trust you will allow me to offer some remuneration." "most certainly not, my lord." "at all events, mr pickersgill, if, at any other time, i can be of service, you may command me." pickersgill made no reply. "surely, mr pickersgill--" "pickersgill! how i hate that name!" said the smuggler, musing. "i beg your lordship's pardon--if i may require your assistance for any of my unfortunate companions--" "not for yourself, mr pickersgill?" said mrs lascelles. "madam, i smuggle no more." "for the pleasure i feel in hearing that resolution, mr pickersgill," said cecilia, "take my hand and thanks." "and mine," said mrs lascelles, half crying. "and mine, too," said lord b---, rising up. pickersgill passed the back of his hand across his eyes, turned round, and left the cabin. "i'm so happy!" said mrs lascelles, bursting into tears. "he's a magnificent fellow," observed lord b---. "come, let us all go on deck." "you have not seen my aunt, papa." "true; i'll go in to her, and then follow you." the ladies went upon deck. cecilia entered into conversation with mr stewart, giving him a narrative of what had happened. mrs lascelles sat abaft at the taffrail, with her pretty hand supporting her cheek, looking very much _a la juliette_. "mrs lascelles," said pickersgill, "before we part, allow me to observe, that it is _you_ who have induced me to give up my profession--" "why me, mr pickersgill?" "you said that you did not like it." mrs lascelles felt the force of the compliment. "you said just now that you hated the name of pickersgill: why do you call yourself so?" "it was my smuggling name, mrs lascelles." "and now that you have left off smuggling, pray what may be the name we are to call you by?" "i cannot resume it till i have not only left this vessel, but shaken hands with, and bid farewell to my companions; and by that time, mrs lascelles, i shall be away from you." "but i've a great curiosity to know it; and a lady's curiosity must be gratified. you must call upon me some day, and tell it me. here is my address." pickersgill received the card with a low bow: and lord b--- coming on deck, mrs lascelles hastened to meet him. the vessel was now passing the bridge at the needles, and the smuggler piloted her on. as soon as they were clear and well inside, the whole party went down into the cabin, lord b--- requesting pickersgill and corbett to join him in a parting glass. mr stewart, who had received the account of what had passed from cecilia, was very attentive to pickersgill and took an opportunity of saying that he was sorry that he had said or done anything to annoy him. every one recovered his spirits: and all was good humour and mirth, because miss ossulton adhered her resolution of not quitting the cabin till she could quit the yacht. at ten o'clock the yacht was anchored. pickersgill took his leave of the honourable company and went in his boat with his men; and lord b--- was again in possession of his vessel, although he had not ship's company. maddox recovered his usual tone; and the cook flourished his knife, swearing that he should like to see the smuggler who would again order him to dress cutlets _a l'ombre chinoise_. the yacht had remained three days at cowes, when lord b--- received a letter from pickersgill, stating that the men of his vessel had been captured, and would be condemned, in consequence of their having the gentlemen on board, who were bound to appear against them, to prove that they had sunk the brandy. lord b--- paid all the recognisances, and the men were liberated for want of evidence. it was about two years after this that cecilia ossulton, who was sitting at her work-table in deep mourning for her aunt, was presented with a letter by the butler. it was from her friend mrs lascelles, informing her that she was married again to a mr davenant, and intended to pay her, a short visit on her way to the continent. mr and mrs davenant arrived the next day; and when the latter introduced her husband, she said to miss ossulton, "look, cecilia, dear, and tell me if you have ever seen davenant before." cecilia looked earnestly: "i have, indeed," cried she at last, extending her hand with warmth; "and happy am i to meet with him again." for in mr davenant she recognised her old acquaintance the captain of the _happy-go-lucky_, jack pickersgill the smuggler. the end. the air mystery of isle la motte by e. j. craine author of cap rock flyers, the sky buddies secrets of cuzko, flying to amy-ran fastness, etc. the world syndicate publishing co. cleveland, ohio new york, n. y. made in u. s. a. copyright by the world syndicate publishing company press of the commercial bookbinding co. cleveland ------------------------------------------------------------------------ this is the first book of the sky buddies, jim austin and bob caldwell and their plane, properly christened "her highness" in which they encounter many thrilling and exciting adventures. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ contents i the step-brothers ii the three mysteries iii thundering waters iv a mysterious find v a discovery vi a capture vii a tail spin viii ablaze ix the mail must go through x danger xi the cry for help xii detectives ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the air mystery of isle la motte i the step-brothers "i say now, why are you fellows landing here?" the canadian mounted policeman reined in his horse as close to the cock-pit as he could get, and eyed the two occupants in the plane, which had just landed in the southern part of the province of quebec. "you want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" the blue-eyed youth in the passenger's seat drawled in an accent that could belong to only one part of the world, texas. "if you're telling it today," the mounty replied. "if not, we'll get it later." "very true, but you shall have it pronto. from an elevation of three thousand feet we observed you, so we came down to find out if you are riding a real horse, or merely an imitation--" "it isn't a bad plug," interrupted the pilot, whose eyes were blue and they rested with approval on the animal that had aroused their curiosity. "but, if you ever visit cap bock, we'll fork you on something superior--we have a pinto that can--" "now, look here, i'm not fooling. you hop out of that and give an account of yourselves," the mounty ordered firmly. "yes, sir." the two obeyed willingly enough and the man dismounted. when they took off their helmets he saw they were boys, both had tow heads, and they didn't look at all formidable or like a pair he might have to escort to headquarters. however, duty was duty and he wasn't making any snap judgments or taking needless risks. there was too much smuggling, to say nothing of illegal immigration across the border, and orders were strict. it was not at all outside possibility that a couple of perfectly innocent looking youths might be the tools or employees of some powerful gang. the fact that they dropped out of the skies in an airplane was in itself suspicious. "i'm jim austin, age sixteen years and two months. this is my step-brother, bob caldwell, fifteen years and eleven months," the grey-eyed boy announced gravely. "proud to meet you, sir," bob bowed, then added. "i'm almost as old as he is." "well, go ahead, get along with the story," the mounty put in more pleasantly. his horse had walked close to the boy and was nosing about the pockets of his aviation coat. soberly bob drew forth an apple, broke it in half and fed the big fellow. "we were both born with a complete pair of parents on ranches, adjoining ones, along cap rock in texas, but circumstances, over which we had no control removed my mother and bob's father," jim explained. "when i was twelve i discovered that my father was spending a lot of time on the caldwell ranch and i lay awake nights wondering why a texas gentleman couldn't shoot a lady." "and i planned to set a trap for mr. austin and fill him full of lead," bob offered. "give me your apple, jim." jim handed it over without hesitation and it was fed to the horse. "then, one day, i happened along by the water-hole and found some greasers knocking the stuffing out of bob. we beat them off, and after that, i went to the caldwell's. it was a nice, clean house and mrs. caldwell gave me a square meal, woman cooked." "my mother is the best cook in texas," bob offered softly. "yes. that night i started to follow my father and i ran into bob. we rode about and talked it over. bob's mother wanted him to go to school." "and bob didn't want to," the officer suggested solemnly. "oh yes i did," bob replied quickly. "but a mother, ranch, a string of horses and a pair of blue cranes, is a responsibility," jim offered, "then, we rode to the house--" "and found his father eating a piece of chocolate cake that i didn't know anything about," said bob. "and he'd eaten the last crumbs," jim added. "then, we told them they were a pair of boobs. a week later the knots were tied that united the ranches and made us step-brothers. we were all at our place--" "and bob was to be sent to school?" "sure, but his mother said i had to go too," jim grinned. "not so good." "it was not so bad because his father said that when we finished the course, it was four years, we could have an airplane, he'd see that we were properly instructed in its chauffeuring. we were both hipped about flying," bob answered. "so we went to the school, did the work in two years and a half, learned piloting on the side, then went home and made the old man keep his word. meet her highness," he waved his hand toward the plane which was a beauty. "i'm glad to," the officer grinned broadly. "now, tell me what you are doing here." "you haven't told us anything about yourself," bob reminded him. "later." "bob's mother has a sister, mrs. norman fenton, and she lives on a farm on north hero island. in the summer time she takes tourists and calls the house, stumble inn. we came to see a bit of the world and to pay her a visit. arrived yesterday and this morning took a hop over british soil. we like it even if it isn't texas." "that's generous of you. i'm sergeant bradshaw on border patrol duty, the horse is patrick. he was imported from one of the western states, don't know which one, but he was a bloody beast when he was wished on me--" "somebody had mistreated him," bob announced. "he's got a scar on his leg. looks like a short-hitch hobble that cut him." the boy stooped over, took the hoof in his hand and pat submitted amiably to the inspection. "reckon it was done with raw-hide," jim declared. his fingers gently manipulated the old wound and pat turned his nose about to sniff at the youngster. "pat doesn't usually make friends with strangers. you must have a way with horses," sergeant bradshaw told them. "we came out of the sky to meet him," bob reminded the man. "dad told us before we started north to make our trip as profitable as possible by learning all we can. it's against our principles to ask impudent questions, but we should like to know what you have to do," jim announced and bradshaw laughed heartily. "i have to patrol this territory, watch the roads carefully, and every place where smugglers of any kind might try to break across the border. there has been no end of bootlegging--" "thought canada was all wet," bob grinned. "the provinces have local option and quebec went dry, so we have to enforce it, but the rum runners are the least of our troubles, although they are bad enough. there's a lot of objectionable people sneaking in to both this country and yours, besides drugs and jewelry. this is a pretty wild section and it keeps pat and me on our toes." "noticed from the air it isn't much settled. didn't know there is so much open space outside of texas," bob said. "i should think you'd have a plane and you could see what's going on a lot better. with the glasses we knew all about what you looked like before we came down," jim remarked. "there are some planes on the job, but men and horses are necessary--mighty necessary," the sergeant answered. "the airmen can tell us if anything is moving that is suspicious, but we have to be down here to get it, unless the outlaws are taking the air." "anything special afoot now," jim inquired. "you bet there is." both boys looked at him eagerly. "our men and yours have been working for months trying to get something on a gang that has put it over every time. if we don't make a killing soon, i can see where there will be a general shaking up in both forces and a lot of us will be sent to hoe hay." the officer spoke seriously and the boys listened with keen interest. "tell you what, we didn't think we'd find anything very exciting so far north, but i reckon we'll ooze around here and see what we can pick up. maybe we can help you. you'll recognize her highness if you see her sailing through again, and if we want to communicate with you, we'll circle around and drop you a message if we can't land. how will you let us know if you receive it o.k.?" "that's fine of you, jim, but this is a man-sized job. i appreciate your offer no end, old top, but your aunt and uncle, to say nothing of your mother and father would come down on me hard if i agreed to let you risk your necks--" "the parents are sensible people, we picked them out for that very reason. they both told us to have a good time, and helping you looks to me like a good time--" "besides, what would we risk? all we could do is report to you if we see anything, and like as not what we see won't be much help because we're so green. but, if we did see anything real--because we are such a pair of nuts we might put something over for you. we elect ourselves, you're in the minority, so, if you hear her highness, listen, stop, watch. come on, buddy, your aunt was making cherry pies when we left and if we don't get a move on, some cadaverous tourist is likely to come along and eat every snitch of it. they are a greedy lot." "isn't your aunt the woman who raises such a flock of turkeys?" the sergeant asked. "sure, she used to. she has them on isle la motte, but last year they didn't do so well, and she said last night that she isn't having much luck this spring. it's tough because there is money in turkeys if you can ever make them grow up," bob replied. "i drove down there once and got a couple for my family. they were grand birds. come on, pat." "you haven't told us yet how we will know that you get our message," jim reminded him. "i'll wave my hat, and if i want you to come down, i'll keep it off my head, but you fellows watch your step and don't go doing anything that will get us all into the cooler," he warned. "we'll look out." they both rubbed pat's nose, then climbed into the cock-pit of her highness, this time bob took the pilot's seat. "need any help?" "not a bit, thanks." bob opened her up, the engine bellowed, the propeller spun and her highness raced forward, lifted her nose as if sniffing the air, then climbed into it. jim waved at the man, who wondered if he had not better telephone the fentons and tell them to keep the boys out of any trouble. on second thought, he decided against it. after all, their own air men were watching from above, and as they were every one of them experts at the game, they would report things long before the boys could possibly have their suspicions aroused. it would be too bad to spoil their fun, and if they would enjoy keeping an eye on the world, let them do it. they appeared to be a pretty decent pair of kids. "you almost flew off with them, old top," he remarked, giving the horse an affectionate pat, "and only yesterday you bared your teeth and scared the wits, what little he has, out of that canuck. you _are_ a discriminating old cuss." he leaped into the saddle, but he waited to make a note of the meeting of the boys and their account of themselves. "even at that they may be stringing me," he remarked a bit uneasily as he glanced toward the fast disappearing speck in the sky, but he dismissed the thought immediately for he felt confident the step-brothers were entirely trustworthy. in the meantime her highness climbed in swift spirals for three thousand feet, then bob leveled her off, set his course and started toward north hero, which is one of many delightful bits of land in lake champlain. presently the boys could see a tiny shack with the british flag floating on one side, the stars and stripes on the other. "they look like good pals," jim said into the speaking tube, and bob glanced over the side. "great pair," he responded. "not like the border at texas." he took a good look at the huge lake that stretched out restlessly between new york state and vermont. "we could use that down our way." "let's send some of it to dad. remember how long it is?" "one hundred and twenty-eight miles." "bigger than the two ranches together." they flew on until they were flying over the water, and jim took the glasses to get a better view of the historic lake. he picked out rouse's point, then on to the picturesque sections of land whose rocky coasts had defied the pounding waves. there was isle la motte, with it's farms at one end and long wooded stretch at the other where the fenton's kept their turkeys. beyond, united by a long bridge was north hero island, cut up into small homesteads. there were acres of uncultivated land which was now blue and yellow with flowers, groves of cedar, elm and ash, to say nothing of delicate green spots that the boys knew were gardens or meadows. further on was grand isle, also connected by a bridge, but they were not going that far. "let's hop down on the turkey end of la motte," jim suggested, and bob nodded. he shut the engine off, let her highness glide, and circled for a landing place. "get on the water." young caldwell kicked forward a lever which shifted landing wheels to water floats, selected a smooth cove, and in a moment they lighted, splashed and stopped. "hey you, get the heck out of here. get out!" the voice came from back of a fallen tree, and in a moment a huge man whose face was ugly with anger, walked along the dead bole and shook his fist at them. "get out. you ain't no business around here." "we just dropped in to have a look at the turkeys," bob told him. "we're--" but jim stepped on his foot. "what's the matter?" he broke in quickly. "we're not going to hurt anything. we've never seen a turkey farm and we heard that you have a fine one here." "you're right you're not going to hurt anything, and you're not going to see this turkey farm. hear! now, get out! you're on private property and i'll have the law on you! don't you see them signs, 'no trespassing', right there!" he pointed to a large sign hung between two trees and it plainly warned off inquisitive, or interested spectators. "go on, now, get out." bob glanced questioningly at his step-brother. he had started to tell the caretaker who they were, feeling sure that the information would naturally assure them a very different reception, but for some reason or other, the older boy wanted to withhold the fact. just then the man broke off a dry branch, raised it over his head, and prepared to throw it. "move out of his range," jim said tensely. "he might land that in our propeller or tail." bob sent her highness scurrying over the water and the stick fell harmlessly behind the plane. "the ornery old cuss," bob growled at the indignity. he whirled the plane about, held her nose low, and set the propeller racing. instantly it kicked up a spray of water that shot out on all sides, and before the man could move, he was drenched to the skin. "confound your hides," he bellowed, but her highness was circling away, then she lifted, climbed swiftly and started homeward. bob taxied her low across the two miles of water, and brought her down close to the boat pier, where she "rode at anchor." "boys, dinner's ready." mrs. fenton, a typical, tall, slender vermont woman, came out onto the back veranda of the old house. "so are we," bob shouted. the plane made secure, they raced around the curve, across the wide, sloping lawn, up the high stairs, and into the living-room. "there's basins outside to wash up," mrs. fenton told them, and soon they were splashing the cold water over their faces, and lathering their hands with the cake of home-made soap. "well, you lads get a good look at vermont?" mr. fenton joined them at his own basin. he too was tall and slender, with kindly grey eyes, and a broad smile. although they had never seen him before until their arrival twenty-four hours earlier, they both liked him enormously. "corking. she's some state, uncle norman!" bob answered from behind the roller towel. "she's got a lot of her under water," jim added. "expect you'd like some of that in texas." "surely could use it. cracky, some of those hot spots would seep it up like a sponge." "we could spare a good deal of it," mr. fenton told them. "especially when it's high." "does it get much higher than it is now?" jim asked. "it has swelled up fifteen feet more, then it does some flooding, but that doesn't happen often, not so far north, but we get plenty. well, come on in. hope you didn't leave your appetites in the sky." "we did not." "i will take the milk now, sir." the boys turned quickly at the voice, which was deep and musical, and saw a tall, powerfully built man, whose skin and eyes were dark. he wore the usual overalls, a tan shirt open at the throat, and carried himself more like a person of importance than a working man or a farmer. "all right, corso. here it is waiting for you." mr. fenton handed down a covered pail. "i thank you, sir," corso replied with dignity. "your nephew is doing an interesting job on that mud hole. the boy is a good worker." "he is learning. we thank you." the man accepted the pail of milk and walked away swiftly. the boys noted that he was amazingly light on his feet for a man of his size. "is he a vermonter, uncle norman?" bob asked as they made they way to the dining room where the table would have groaned if it had not been accustomed to such a bounteous load. "no, he isn't. i really don't know where he comes from, bob, and my guess is spain, although i'm probably miles off on that. he and his young nephew, a boy about thirteen, or perhaps a little older, rented a shack a mile or so up the shore; they paid several months in advance. seem to spend their time walking, or on the lake, and i believe i'm about the only person, on north hero island corso talks with, and he doesn't say very much to me. i've seen the boy, of course, but i don't know if he can speak english or not, i've never heard him." "he's a nice looking boy," mrs. fenton put in. "ever since they came your aunt has longed to get her motherly hands on him," mr. fenton laughed. "he needs a woman to look after him, see that he gets proper food and plenty of it. he's as thin as a stick, and i know he was sick this spring. i did make corso take some puddings and jellies to him," she announced. "they sound like an interesting pair," jim remarked. "well, they are, but they mind their own business, and we vermonters mind ours. how about it, light meat or dark, jim?" "dark, please." "what is the boy doing with the mud hole?" bob wanted to know, for a mud hole didn't sound very promising. "i don't know what it will be like when he gets finished but i'm keen to see. it's a strip about two and a half acres wide, and five long, that has always been a dead loss for cultivation. it comes between my alfalfa meadow and the garden; dips down low and toward the middle is quite a hole. the place catches all the rain and hangs on to it all through the hottest months. i had an expert here to drain it several years ago, he sunk some pipes, and although he did get the water off, more came back inside of a few weeks, and it was full after the first rain storm. the land is very fertile, and if i could use it, i would raise bumper crops." "shame you can't." "yes, it is. corso came to me early this spring, some weeks ago, and asked if i would rent it to him, and permit him to dig and do anything he wanted to with it. he assured me he would do it no harm, nor the surrounding patches. i told him it wasn't good for anything, but he seemed to want it, so i let him have it. he and the boy spend a great deal of time there, and they have hauled a lot of rocks from the shore. you probably noticed the edge of the lake, except around the cliffs, is all small flat stones, not very brittle, but not so soft as soap-stone." "sure, we were looking at them last night. some have pink and white streaks, like marble, and are pretty. i'd like to send a box to mom for the garden walks. she'd be pleased to pieces to have them." "they have taken several loads of them and some very large stones. after dinner you might walk over and see what you make out of the work so far. i can't make head or tail of it. a few days ago they planted corn, right in the mud, and in each hole they put a minnow they scooped out of the lake." "why put fish in, do they expect to raise sardines?" jim laughed. "can't say," mr. fenton answered. "it's some heathen notion i know." mrs. fenton announced positively. "are you getting enough to eat, bob?" ii the three mysteries "i say, uncle norman, you surely have a crab of a man to look after your turkeys," bob remarked when the noonday meal was nearly finished, and the boy suddenly recalled their very unwelcome reception on isle la motte. "a crab?" "i'll tell the herd he is the prize long horn for meanness," jim added emphatically. "my goodness, boys, what on earth did he do?" mrs. fenton asked soberly, as if she could hardly believe her ears. "he wouldn't let us near the place," bob explained, then went on with an account of their effort to see the turkey farm. "hezzy's all right, boys. you didn't tell him who you were." "no, we didn't, but great snakes, about everybody on the three islands seemed to know we were coming. didn't seem reasonable that this fellow did not have an idea who we were," jim declared. "of course, airplane visitors are not common and the news of your arriving from texas did spread, but it's possible hezzy didn't hear of it," mrs. fenton told them. "you see, boys, he's been having quite a peck of trouble. last year they hatched a big flock of birds, but before they were half grown, a lot of them were stolen. we know they didn't die--only a few of them--and there is no way for them to have wandered off. their wings are clipped as soon as they are big enough to get any height, and turkeys do not fly very high or far, anyway. some one, or some band of thieves must have made away with them. hezzy is hired to raise them, i haven't time to and look after the farm, and he takes real pride in having a big flock. some of the young ones have disappeared already and i expect he's keeping a mighty close watch to save as many as he can. they bring a good price and last year was the first season we didn't realize a profit on them." "any idea where they go?" "no, we haven't, but it must be outsiders. probably some tourists discovered the old farm tucked away there in the woods, and let it be known, or came back themselves. we have three watchmen, and now one of them sits up all night, but it hasn't done much good," mr. fenton answered. "sure hezzy isn't putting his own brand on them?" jim suggested. "my goodness sakes alive, child, don't say anything like that. i wouldn't have anyone hear you for the world," aunt belle said anxiously. "hezzy is too honest for his own good, really. he wouldn't take a bent pin that didn't belong to him. i've known him since i was a boy. he's a fine poultry man and absolutely reliable. keeps his records as accurate as can be. there isn't a cent's worth he doesn't give a detailed account of every week," mr. fenton supplemented. "i didn't mean to cast reflections on his honesty, but he was such a bear, it just occurred to me he might be feathering his own nest with your turkeys," jim said. "oh, dear me, don't say it again. why, i should be so distressed to have it get out--" "we won't breath it, aunt belle," bob promised. "i'll take you over sometime and you can see the place. i ordered a pair of good watchdogs to help guard it. they should be here in a day or so," mr. fenton said, then added. "well, if you want to go out and inspect what's being done on the mud hole, come along." "perhaps they could eat another piece of pie, norman." "no, we couldn't, not a sliver," bob insisted. "much to our regret," jim grinned. "very well," aunt belle agreed. the two boys followed mr. fenton out of the front door, down the flower lined path under a grove of huge maples, across the road onto the farm proper, past the barns, around the vegetable garden and then he stopped and made a gesture. "here it is." they saw the land, much as he had described it, the alfalfa meadow rising gently on the further side, and between them was a long pond of still water which was very dirty. "some hole," jim nodded. they walked on, picking their way until they saw a boy at work, and they stood quietly watching him. he did not realize they were there and went on with his task quite as if he was alone on the island. "what the heck is he doing?" bob whispered. the boy had some odd sort of implement, the handles of which he grasped in both hands, stood it upright, then jumped, his feet landing in the middle; driving the queer tool deep into the ground. then he stepped off, bent the handles as far as they would go, and raised the earth. "i think it is some sort of shovel, or plow," mr. fenton told them, "but i never saw anything like it. listen and you'll hear him sing, it's a kind of a chant." the step-brothers listened and in a moment they could hear, but the words and melody were unfamiliar. as the youngster straightened up, they could see that he was lithe, his skin was dark like his uncle's, and his heavy hair, which was quite long for a boy's, waved in the breeze. "gosh, he looks a little like an indian, a good one," jim remarked. "will he mind if we go closer?" "no, but i wouldn't pay too much attention to him," mr. fenton advised. "i'll go about my job and you amuse yourselves." he left them, and the boys proceeded to where the young farmer, or whatever he was, was engaged. they marveled at the speed with which he turned over the earth and before they were very close they saw that he was making some kind of trench. at the nearest end the work seemed to be finished, and then they could tell that he was making a terrace along the edge of the alfalfa plot. about half way down he had taken some very large rocks, fitted them with great nicety, filled in the crevices with smaller stones, filled in the space toward the hill with earth, and above the dark soil poked two rows of tiny green shoots of young corn. "gosh, he's planting as he gets the land ready. great job, isn't it?" bob whispered and his step-brother nodded. presently they came up to the boy. when their shadows fell across his plow, he glanced up quickly and sprang back. they grinned cheerfully to let him know they were friendly, and jim pointed to the new terrace. "fine," he declared. the boy smiled, his eyes lost some of the terror which had leaped into them, and his body relaxed. he eyed them for a moment, then motioning with one hand, he led them back to the other side where he showed them a narrow trench. with one scoop of his shovel he removed the earth that still held the water as a dam, and it started to tumble through and race off toward the road, where it would be carried away into the lake. for several minutes they watched, and then they glanced at the useless bog. "cracky," bob shouted with admiration. "some irrigator. look, it's draining off." sure enough, the long strip was getting dry around the edges, and promised to be emptied inside of an hour. "if it stays dry, uncle norman will be tickled pink. say, jim, what do you suppose he is?" "search me," jim responded. "seems as if i've got a kind of hazy idea of reading something about some old race or other using plows like that," bob remarked. "me too. maybe it was the egyptians." "maybe, but holy hoofs, what's this kid doing it for?" "as i said before, my esteemed step-brother, you are at liberty to search me thoroughly, but if you find anything, you have to let me in on it," jim laughed. the boy watched them a few minutes longer, then picking up his tool, he hurried back to his work. "you know, jim, we thought this neck of the woods was going to be dull as ditch-water, but i've got a hunch that if we stick around we may be able to crowd some real excitement into our visit. i'm dying to know who this kid is and where he came from, mystery number one; i'd like to do some flying about isle la motte and perhaps we can see something that will solve mystery number two--what's happening to uncle norman's turkeys--" "i'd like to do some observing and see if we can't get a line on that gang that is giving friend bradshaw such deep furrows between his handsome eyes," jim laughed. "me too, but gosh all hemlock, wouldn't dad kid the life out of us if he knew we are out to help the little old world!" "not only dad, but the whole shooting match on the ranch. tell you what, aunt belle and uncle fent said we could stay as long as we like, and they meant it, even if we are boys. let's organize a secret--s-e-c-r-e-t--mind you, detecting bureau, or what ever it is, and stay until we solve the three mysteries!" bob proposed. "i'm on. this end of the world doesn't look so bad to me. we'll let the folks know we're taking root for a while, the three of us, that includes her highness. we'll keep on the job until we win, or we have to admit we're licked." bob held out his hand and the agreement was made, without further discussion. "we'll have to explain to her highness," the younger boy declared. "sure thing. she'll be disappointed unless there's a lot of air work to it, and i have a hunch there will be." "oh, boys--" "yes aunt belle," bob shouted. "do you know where your uncle is working?" mrs. fenton called from the roadway. "there's a telephone message for him." "we'll find him for you," jim promised. they hurried off in the direction mr. fenton had taken when he left them and soon the sound of a hammer ringing in the distance informed them they were on the right trail. a moment later they could see the man repairing a place in the rail fence that bounded the pasture. "uncle norman, you're wanted on the telephone," bob roared. "all right, coming," the man waved, and dropping his work, came as fast as his long legs could carry him. "guess you're party's holding the line," jim volunteered. "they don't mind that around here," mr. fenton replied. he went ahead and the boys followed more leisurely. "this certainly is a good looking spot. no wonder the early pioneers settled in rock-bound vermont, but, gosh, what a fight they had to put up to get a living out of those rocks," bob remarked as his eyes roamed admiringly over the green hills, across the blue water, on to the distant mountains. "it isn't a rich state yet, but it has produced some fine men. real rip-snorters, rearin' to go," jim added. by that time they had reached the "hole" and could see the strange boy working industriously at his terrace. "you know, bob, we want to be kind of careful because we don't want to do any butting-in on that kid. maybe, far as he's concerned, we had better mind our own business." "reckon you're right, but let's try to make friends with him," bob suggested, and that was passed without a dissenting vote. "oh boys." "here," bob shouted to his uncle. "how long would it take you to get me to burlington?" the man asked as he came up to them. "less than an hour," bob answered. "would it be too much trouble for you to take me?" "not one bit," jim assured him. "ever been up in a plane, sir?" "no, i haven't," the man admitted. "do you get dizzy easily, that is, does it make you sick to your stomach when you get on a high place and look over?" "oh no. i never get dizzy." "that's all right then." "we can strap you in," bob offered. "will the plane carry three of us?" the man asked. "sure. there's an emergency seat in the back, and she'll carry some freight besides," jim explained. "our dad didn't leave anything undone when he bought that plane, and besides, we helped in the selection. she'll do anything except herd sheep," bob said proudly. "we have parachutes and everything. maybe you'd like to try one of them out," jim offered. "not this time unless i have to," mr. fenton laughed. "a chap called me up on important business, and if i can get it attended to today, it will be a big help." "well then, get a heavy coat on. we have an extra helmet--" "shall i need rubbers?" "if you intend to come down with the parachute over the lake," bob answered. "it's mighty nice of you--" "we'll get her highness in ship shape." "i'll be with you in five minutes," mr. fenton promised, and he was. he joined his young guests at the pier, bob was already in the back, while jim was fussing about the pilot's seat. mr. fenton was given the extra helmet and a pair of goggles, both of which he adjusted when he took his place after he had submitted to having the parachute and safety strap buckled properly. "all o.k.?" jim shouted finally. mrs. fenton had come down to see her husband start on his first flight, and she watched a bit nervously. "i don't know about those contraptions, norman," she said anxiously. "they're great inventions, belle. when we get rich, we'll have one," he promised her. "i'd rather have a good horse and buggy," she retorted. "a horse is all right, aunt belle. he never loses an engine or gets his wings ripped off," bob shouted, then added. "all set in the rumble seat, jim!" "right-you-are." jim glanced at their passenger, assured himself that he was secure, then, opened her up, and they sped forward over the water, which was smooth as a sheet of glass. mr. fenton's lips moved, but whatever he said was lost in the roar of the motor. he grabbed the edge of the seat as her highness lifted her nose eagerly, and he hung on grimly as she spiraled in wide curves over the lake. at a thousand feet the young pilot leveled her off and they roared swiftly south toward the state's largest city. after about ten minutes, mr. fenton sat less rigidly. jim picked up the speaking tube and handed the end to him, making motions how to use it. "how do you like flying, uncle norman?" mr. fenton nodded and smiled. he didn't feel quite equal to carrying on a conversation yet. jim followed the lake, and as they were approaching their destination, he spoke again to his passenger. "if we land on the water will that be all right for you, can you get to your place easily?" "yes, the office isn't far from the east shore." mr. fenton felt like an old timer now. he was thoroughly enjoying himself. "ten minutes more," jim told him, and he nodded. presently the pilot shut off the engine, and the man looked startled at the sudden silence. he glanced at jim, who grinned reassuringly as he kicked the rudder about and brought her highness into a long glide toward the spot he had selected for the landing. the plane touched the water lightly, sped along a few yards and stopped beside a long pier. "are we here?" mr. fenton asked. "yes sir. how do you like air traveling?" "it's wonderful, but i did almost get heart failure when the motor stopped," he admitted. "begun to wish you had brought your rubbers?" "my rubbers and a boat." "is this place near enough?" "plenty." jim helped him out of the straps, and by that time bob stepped over the fuselage to give a hand. "glad you didn't try to jump over, uncle norman. how are your air-legs, wobbly?" "a bit cramped." he stretched them both, found they would work, and in a moment he mounted the boat pier. "i don't expect to be more than half an hour." "we'll wait here," jim promised. "oh, look at the hydroplane," shouted a small boy on the shore. "they are calling her highness names," bob scowled. "she's a hydroplane for the minute," jim replied. "let's taxi around the water." "it's getting kind of rough. up at north hero it was as smooth as a sheet," bob answered. "wish i knew more about water and its tricks." "i think we're going to have a blow," jim speculated as her highness went rocking over the waves. "there are some black clouds over south and west and they sure do look as if they are in a hurry. we'll have them on our tail as we go back. got plenty of gas? i read that in some places lake champlain is three hundred feet deep, and it's wet clear to the bottom," said bob. "there's an extra tank besides what is in the bus. guess i'll feed her up. somehow, i think a nice texas desert is pleasanter to land on than water." jim busied himself with the task and bob helped look things over. "why don't you go back above the shore?" he suggested. "we have to land on the cove when we get home, so why switch gears. if there's time this evening, we might locate a place to land on the farm, but we'll have to ask your uncle about that or we'll be coming down on some field he's planted." "o.k. with me." "whoooo boys," mr. fenton shouted from the pier where he was standing with a group of men and an army of small boys who had come to see the take off. "an audience. do your prettiest, your highness," bob urged the plane as his step-brother brought it around in fancy style. "it isn't every farmer who has a couple of pilots to bring him to town in a private plane, free of charge," one of the men joked. "certainly looks like the farmers are getting some relief," another added. "they are going up in the air about it." "it's time we did something," mr. fenton responded. "shall i get in now, jim?" "sure." bob gave him a hand, the straps were re-adjusted, and the younger boy crawled back to his seat, attached his own parachute, and was finally ready. by that time the shore was lined with spectators. "all ready. contact," caldwell shouted. jim opened the throttle, and they were off in a jiffy. they could see the people waving and cheering as they came about a few feet above the lake. then her highness zoomed, high and handsome and the town was left behind. because of the rising wind the return trip was not so smooth. they ran into bumps and pockets, and the force of the approaching storm drove hard behind them, pushing them forward swiftly. jim zoomed to ten thousand feet in an effort to get above the troubled air, but even at that altitude there was no improvement. occasionally he took a second to glance at his passenger, but mr. fenton was facing it bravely, although his eyes showed that he was a bit anxious. the young pilot took the speaking tube, signaled to the boy in the back, and almost instantly there was a red flash on the dial board, which meant bob was paying attention. "better put your cover over, old man." "got her up," came the answer. "i'm snug as a bug in a rug. want to know the readings back here?" "yes." bob read them off while jim compared them with the records on his own control board, and when it was finished, he called. "all correct." "you covered up?" bob demanded. "going to fix it now. so long. meet you on the ice." "you needn't. i'm not a skate," came the chuckling response. then jim drew the storm cover over the cock-pit, switched on extra lights, and the plane raced forward, guided entirely by compass, and the sensitive instruments which kept him fully informed as to how high they were and how fast they were going. the coming of the storm suddenly hit them with a bang and the young fellow fought with the controls to keep her highness balanced. glancing through the tiny window he was startled to see that it was pitch dark, and he had to look at his watch to be sure that night was still several hours away. "some storm," he remarked to mr. fenton, who answered courageously. "lake champlain is noted for them. they are pretty tempestuous at times and this looks like a rip-snorter." iii thundering waters as the sturdy little plane tore along through the thick blackness a deluge of water hit her suddenly with such force it might have been a cloud burst and she staggered under the fury of the impact. she wobbled, side-slipped, twisted and dipped with the strength of the storm beating her mercilessly every inch of the way, and the gale at her tail spun her forward like a leaf torn from a branch. above the roar of the engine and the shriek of the wind through the wires, came the threatening boom of the lake as its mighty waves smashed against the rock-bound shore. tensely jim sat, his eyes watching the dials in front of him, his hands and feet ready for instant action. it was a struggle to keep her righted and the boy zoomed her to fifteen thousand feet in an effort to get above the ceiling of the tempest. but he only climbed into greater trouble, and after a resounding crash of thunder, the sky was split in a thousand ways by flashes of forked lightning. quickly he nosed her down, eyes on the directional compass, but keeping their course was out of the question. they were being blown miles out of the way and he hoped they would not go far enough east to land them somewhere in the mountains. he had not an instant to glance at his passenger, but once or twice his hand came in contact with mr. fenton, and the man was sitting braced for all he was worth. another flash of lightning showed their faces, grim and white. the rain continued to pelt them, and finally jim calculated that they had traveled in a northerly direction. allowing for the wind that had driven them steadily, he turned her highness' nose about in an effort to reach their destination, and the frail little air-craft was almost rolled over. in jim's mind was a vision of champlain and he debated the advisability of shifting the landing gears from the floats to the wheels, but he decided to keep the former in place. he knew so little about the country, and where it was safe to land. in the blackness which enveloped them he could not hope to come down without a very serious smash-up. with bob in the back and mr. fenton beside him, it was too great a risk to take. then he saw the man pick up the speaking-tube, so he prepared to listen. "anything i can do to help?" was the question. jim shook his head. "we ought to be near your place but i don't know where to go down. is the water very rough?" he asked. "yes. the waves will be high and now they are driving from the southeast and will be hitting our side of the island. during a storm like this, boats have to be put under cover or they get beaten to splinters," mr. fenton answered. "thanks," said jim. the prospect wasn't any too cheerful. although it was still raining, he shoved back the protecting cover and tried to peer through the darkness. he could hardly see his hand before his face, but he waited, until suddenly, an almost blinding flash of lightning revealed the world. just ahead of them were farms and patches of thickly wooded sections. the boy saw small houses, their windows lighted as if it were late at night. low growing things, vines and shrubs were bent to the ground. the trees bowed and groaned in the throes of the storm. some of the branches, unable to withstand the strain, were being ripped off and hurled through space. beneath the racing plane the black waters of champlain were whipped into giant rollers, and along their edges white-caps foamed ghastly yellow in the weird light. it was all shut out in a fraction of a minute, and jim zoomed higher to get out of harm's way. "we're about five miles north of our place," mr. fenton told him, and the young fellow grinned with relief. it was some comfort to know where they were. grimly he fought to bring her highness to face the storm. feeding the engine all she could carry he battled to get south, but it was a hard struggle, like shoving against an immovable, impenetrable wall. it seemed as if the plane barely moved forward, but her propeller screwed valiantly, and slowly they gained against the wind, but it drove them east. "any rocks or islands near?" jim asked. "gull rock, two miles directly east, and fisher's island. that's a couple of miles long. if you can head into the southern point of our cove, that is protected somewhat from this wind and the water will not be so bad," the man explained. "we'll try it. do these storms last very long?" "one never can tell. sometimes they come and go in less than an hour, and very often they last much longer." "then there is no sense in trying to stay up until it beats itself out," jim remarked. he couldn't say anything more. another flash of light gave them a brief glimpse of the world but they seemed to be far over the water. mr. fenton leaned out to make observations, but was promptly forced back to his seat. "wow," he whistled. "better keep low," jim advised. then came a series of flashes, and mr. fenton managed to get their location straightened out. "we're still a mile north and about half way across the lake," he volunteered. "i see fisher's point, the north end." "thanks." jim brought the plane about hard, raced her across, then shut off the engine just as a flash revealed the cove at the south end. the boy could see branches being tossed on the waves and hoped hard that none of them would cripple her highness when she dropped down. another prayer he sent up fervently was that the space was wide enough for them to stop short of the rocks. they hit the water, rocked forward and up and down choppily, then stopped, just as someone came racing along the shore waving a lantern. "is that you, norman?" it was mrs. fenton and she was so frightened that she could hardly speak. her face showed white in the darkness and she gripped the light as if she would crush it. "we're all present and accounted for, belle," her husband answered quickly as he hastened to get loose from the straps. "hello everybody!" that was bob who bobbed up in the back seat like a jack in the box. "so, this is london, and here _we_ are!" "oh, i've been so terrified. i telephoned to burlington when i saw the storm coming and they said that you had started. it--it's been just awful, awful." mr. fenton splashed through the water to reach her side. "we're a bit damp, belle, but otherwise perfectly fine." "i knew you would all be killed--" she insisted. "but we aren't," he assured her again. "need any assistance, boys?" "no. we can manage all right," jim answered. the rain was coming down with less force and here and there through the darkness showed streaks of yellow light. the boys got her highness secured to the pier, and hurried to the house, where they found that mrs. fenton was getting out dry garments for them, and a cheery blaze crackled in the wide fireplace, while from the kitchen came the welcome fragrance of the evening meal. they grinned appreciatively at each other and climbed to their own room under the rafters where they changed their wet clothes. when they came down mrs. fenton was just putting out the lights because the darkness had lifted, as if by magic, and through the western windows they could see the glow of the evening sunshine. "well, what do you know about that!" bob exclaimed, hardly able to believe the evidence of his own eyes. "have we been dreaming, or _did_ we come back from burlington in the teeth of a rip-snorting gale?" jim demanded. "it was no dream," mrs. fenton said fervently. "it was more like a nightmare. i was afraid to switch off the telephone because i expected every minute to get a call telling me that you had been wrecked on the lake and were all drowned. and, i was afraid to leave the switch connected because i was sure the house would be struck by lightning. my, it wasn't a dream--not here anyway. goodness, such a storm. i thought the house would be ripped from its foundations and come tumbling over my head. a tree was struck nearby for--oh, it did crash two different times--something awful. land sakes alive, you boys must not go up again in such weather--goodness--" the good lady stopped for breath and to pour glasses of milk out of a huge pitcher, while her husband served the rest of the meal. mr. fenton did not seem to have suffered any from his experience, and both boys considered the whole affair a most worth-while adventure. "we've got some bus, aunt belle. her highness is the best in two countries. have to say that because the shift landing gear was invented by an englishman, but the rest is pure american," bob smiled, then took such a long drink that when he looked up from his glass, there was a perfect white half-moon on his upper lip. "you better shave," jim suggested. "go on, shave yourself! how do you like air-traveling, uncle norman?" "i think it's perfectly marvelous. had no idea, really, how wonderful it is. when especially i think that i never, in all my life, went so far and back in so short a time. we always take a full day to make the trip to burlington, and today we made it in an afternoon." "were you frightened during the storm?" jim asked. "have to admit that i was quite a bit nervous but when i saw you so cool and managing so easily, and how the plane responded to every move you made with those controls, why, i just naturally couldn't go on being a coward. it does not seem to me that bob is over-stating the facts when he says the little plane is the best in two countries. i should say that she is the best in the world to come through such a grilling." "like to go up again?" "i should indeed. just think how automobiles and other modern inventions have placed us far ahead of my father's time. he had to use horses and oxen, and my grandfather did all his traveling, that is, any distance, on the lake-steamers. sometimes it took weeks, and a storm such as we had this afternoon would have driven the boat into the nearest harbor to wait for fair weather." "gee," bob said soberly. "how did those old boys ever get anywhere or have time to do anything?" "when i was a boy i saw some of their primitive methods, bob, but they did manage to accomplish a great deal." "some real nice day we'll give you a joy ride, aunt belle," bob promised with a twinkle in his eyes. he fully expected that mrs. fenton would promptly decline such an invitation, but she looked at the men folk very thoughtfully, then a little pucker came between her eyes. "land sakes alive, bob, you'll probably have to tie me fast and sit on me to keep me from jumping over-board, but i guess if you all think it's so fine, i can live through it. after i have the--er--joyous--i mean joyride, i'll write and tell your mother about it. she said that you took her up several times and now she wants her husband to get a plane." "right you are," jim laughed heartily. "mom's a good sport and so are you. we'll bind you hand and foot, and put weights on you, but i'll bet you will like it as much as mom did." "no doubt i shall," and mrs. fenton didn't smile over the prospect. "well, don't come down and ask me to buy you an air-plane, that is, unless the turkeys take a jump and we have a grand flock of them this fall, but it doesn't look now as if there is much chance," mr. fenton said. the last part of his statement was made soberly. "wonder how the boy's draining plan is working after that rain," jim remarked as he recalled the work of the strange boy on the bog. "when we finish supper, we'll go and have a look, but i expect the place is flooded way above the foot of the alfalfa bed," mr. fenton said. "now, how do you expect to eat your meal if you talk so much? norman, you are not paying a bit of attention to those boys' plates and they are both empty." "my plate may be empty, aunt belle, but my tummy is beginning to feel mighty content. i could purr," bob told them. "well don't. it isn't polite at the table. you may roll over on the floor and kick your feet up if you like," jim suggested. "don't you do anything of the kind," aunt belle said hastily. "the very idea. is that what you do when you have a good meal at home?" "no, mom wouldn't stand that," bob answered. "we tried it once at school and it didn't go so well there either," jim added gravely, and mr. fenton laughed heartily. "how many demerits did they give you?" he asked. "ten apiece," jim answered. "and we had to average ninety-five on four subjects to shake them off," bob added. "it's a cruel world." "the world is a great little old place. it's only the people in it, i mean some of them, who make it unpleasant," jim declared. "i can't eat another mouthful." "this is my last," bob announced regretfully as he swallowed the bite of cherry pie. "that is, i mean the last for the time being." "all right, it's a good thing you added that because you are not at home now and you don't know where the pantry is located--" "don't kid yourself. i ascertained the location yesterday afternoon, before i'd been here twenty minutes." "you would! where was i?" "luxuriating in champlain. i watched your fair form in the red bathing suit while i ate gingerbread and milk--" "humph, that's nothing, i had some when i came in--four pieces and two glasses--cream on top. come along--that is--is there anything we can do to help you, sir?" "no, thank you, jim. i have a couple of chore boys and if you helped they might think i do not want them any more. we want you to enjoy your stay in vermont--" "great guns, we are. it's a grand state even if we could put it into a comer of texas," bob replied sincerely. "you ought to like it, your mother was brought up here, but goodness sakes, she went off when she wasn't much more than a girl. she was married right here in the parlor. i can remember it just as if it was yesterday, then the pair of them drove away in the two seater with old shoes tied to the end. they did look handsome. your pa was all spruced up--and the next year they were in texas--" "you boys coming?" "yes sir." as they went out onto the front piazza, the sun was setting and the sky was streaked with brilliant red and gold which shone magnificently through the trees. there was no doubting that the storm had been an actuality, for a deep stream was racing down the run-off toward the lake, and everywhere the place was strewn with leaves and branches that had been broken. the rural free delivery box was leaning wearily against a maple, as if the struggle to keep upright had been altogether too much. the three picked their way across the road with water dripping from trees and shrubs, and the ground soggy underfoot. they were soon past the garden, and at the further side they could see the foreign boy busy working, but this time his uncle was with him. "whoo-oo," bob called cheerfully. the boy straightened up and smiled, then he came toward them and they went to the ditch he had showed them earlier in the day. it was full to the top with water which was running off as hard as it could go, and in spite of the storm there was little more water on the bog than had been there at noon time. "huh!" mr. fenton gave a little grunt of astonishment. "looks as if it's working all right, doesn't it?" jim remarked. "it certainly does. it'll be a great thing for me if he gets the place drained for that land is a piece of the best. don't see how he's doing it. i had an expert engineer here to dry up that section and he couldn't accomplish a thing. said the only way was to ditch it to the lake, then fill in the hole, use a lot of lime, like a concrete mixer and bring the hill forward. a mighty expensive job it would have been and then part of the land wouldn't be very good," mr. fenton explained. "reckon this boy is some sort of wizard. he's bewitching it," jim suggested. "wish we knew something about him," bob added. "don't blame you for being interested, bob, but we like to mind our own business around here. they seem to be honest and capable and don't interfere with what doesn't concern them--" "oh, we're not going to make blooming pests of ourselves, but we thought it would be fun to get acquainted with him. wish he could speak english," jim explained. "i don't believe that he's spoken to anyone since they came. his uncle speaks fairly well. he seems upstanding. there isn't any harm in trying to make friends with the boy, but i wouldn't--" "butt-in? we won't unless he's willing to have us. know what he reminds me of, bob?" "what?" "some of those indians, the chiefs, you know the fellows that are so straight, clear-eyed, and sort of fine. he seems like that, only maybe an even better sort. the indians we see now aren't so much like that." "he is a little like that, but i don't believe he's an indian. maybe he's like they used to be a long time ago before the white men took all the pep out of them," bob agreed. "i don't know any indians, but i never heard that they were very hard workers, not farmers i mean. it would be queer for one to be interested in that sort of thing. they like hunting--" "yes, that's right. dad said a few of them made good cow punchers, but they never got much chance to show what they might do." just then corso came toward them. his face was grave but his eyes wore a pleased expression. "it is good?" he said as he motioned toward the receding water. "very fine," mr. fenton answered heartily, then he added, "you must not let the boy work too hard. he does not look very strong. why not have one of the men help him in what he is doing? i can get a chap who will do as he's directed, and this piece of work will be a great improvement to the property." corso smiled. "that would be so excellent," he agreed. "all right. i'll have him here in the morning." "he can the english speak?" "sure. you can talk to him, and i'll tell him i want him to follow any instructions you give him." mr. fenton was glad that corso agreed to the plan for as the work promised to be a success he was anxious to get it finished as quickly as possible. "we better look after her highness before it gets too late," jim proposed to his step-brother. "all right," bob agreed, then turning to the boy, he grinned. "so long, old top!" the youngster frowned-- "old top," he repeated, "so long, old top." iv a mysterious find the next morning broke clear and beautiful as only a late spring day can start. the step-brothers found aunt belle busy canning rhubarb, and she eyed the two dozen jars with keen satisfaction. "there, that's finished," she announced. "did you do all that this morning?" jim asked for the sun was hardly well out of the lake and was sending a golden path dancing across the water. "land o' goodness, yes. tomorrow i'm going to make some dandelion wine, and before sun-up is the best time of day to get work done, to my way of thinking," she replied as she bustled about getting the meal ready. "then suppose we give you that joy-ride right after breakfast," jim proposed, and he looked at her to see if she had changed her mind. "land o' goodness, you boys don't believe in giving a body a minute to worry over doing a thing like that. i don't know--" "there's no time like the present," bob teased her, and she smiled. "i might's well get it over with and it will be a real experience. i can think of it all winter. all right." they both had a hunch that she was eager for the adventure, but she was mighty nervous about it, just the same. "it's kind of like going to have an operation or a tooth pulled," she told them and they laughed. "you won't feel that way about it when you come back." "coming back will be a relief, like when the tooth or the appendix has been taken out. i suppose i'll be kind of shaky and queer, but the agony will be over. now, you sit right down and help yourselves. norman told me to be sure to wrap up warm." she hurried away and the boys grinned, then obeyed orders. by the time they had finished, mrs. fenton appeared, wrapped from head to foot almost like an eskimo. her lips were set grimly and her fists were clenched for the ordeal. "now, don't you be afraid, aunt belle. it isn't any worse than sitting in a rocking chair, and it's much more exciting." "i expect you're right. it was exciting watching you drop out of the sky on a streak of lightning yesterday," she gave a nervous giggle. "we won't stay up very long, and if we see the tiniest cloud, we'll bring you right back," jim promised. fifteen minutes later they were ready for the start. aunt belle had been given advice and instructions, strapped fast and parachuted in case of an emergency, her head encased in one of her nephew's helmets and goggles adjusted so she could pull them down. the speaking tube and field glasses were close at hand. this trip jim was in the back seat while his step-brother was beside the passenger. not a word did the lady utter during the preliminaries, but when young austin called that all was as it should be in the rear, she braced herself stiffly, her frightened eyes searching the velvety-blue heavens for a sign of a cloud which might possibly spell danger. "all set!" bob shouted as he opened her for an easy take-off. her highness seemed to realize the importance of behaving like a member of the royal family and did her part like a charm. she skimmed over the lake, circled widely, nosed up speculatively, lifted slowly on a long gradual climb, the motion of which was truly as pleasant as being rocked comfortably in a grandmother's big chair. up they went five hundred feet and by that time they were beyond the south end of fisher's island and sailing gaily toward the narrows below the point. bob leveled off, they soared ahead, came partly around and climbed again at easy stages until the altimeter registered twelve hundred feet. the boy was glad that his aunt had asked no questions about the control board. her highness roared across north hero island, turned south again toward grand isle, then curved to come back. by that time mrs. fenton was wearing a very surprised look, and a moment later, she gave a relieved sigh, relaxed, and even sat up a little. her lips moved and the boy knew that she was saying: "my land o' goodness." "look," he pointed ahead and she followed the direction with interest, and after five minutes more, she was gazing over the side with fine unconcern. then bob pressed the glasses upon her, and she raised them to her eyes, and smiled at the wonders she beheld. as mrs. fenton had never been "joy riding" before, the boys had agreed not to keep her up too long this first trip, so bob brought her highness about, roared over the country his aunt knew; crossed the island above the bridge which connects north hero with isle la motte, and curved over the latter stretch of land until they were sailing on a line with the turkey farm. jim in the back seat had time for observation, so he took a good look at the place. he had no difficulty in making out the ancient homestead, the old house where he guessed that hezzy burley, the poultry man, lived with his helpers. close by were a number of hatcheries, and further along high wire-covered pens where turkeys, young and old, strutted timidly. the boy didn't have time to get a bird's-eye view of the whole farm, but he did notice that it came down to the lake on one side, and stretched back over a belt of timber and beyond a hill which looked as if it might be a very delightful place to ramble, but no good for landing a plane. as he glanced with interest at the fenton property, he thought he saw some men in a ravine and decided they were hikers, or merely out for a stroll. then, suddenly it occurred to him that they had no business on the property and it might be a good idea to tell mr. fenton and have hezzy keep on the lookout for them. the boy wondered if the watch dogs had arrived, but his mental query was answered immediately, for he saw two dogs racing down to the water, and both of them plunged in for a swim. they looked like a very capable pair and he hoped they would be able to save bob's uncle from having to mark off another bad year in his turkey business. her highness was now soaring as gracefully as the white gulls they passed on the water, and bob shut off the engine. the plane began a beautiful descent, and in a minute more she was floating toward the pier. "well, how's the tooth, aunt belle?" bob teased. "my land sakes alive, if it isn't the beatinest. there, i never slept a wink all night thinking about it, wishin' i'd been a better christian in case i never got down to earth again, and all that worry--" "was a dead loss," jim laughed. "yes it was," she admitted honestly. "it was just marvelous. now, i've got to hurry. my fruit man comes through in a few minutes and i want some lemons. tourists say this fruit wagon is kind of interesting and curious, maybe you boys would like to look at it," she invited. "it comes from montreal, through the customs, and we can buy things cheaper than we can get them from our own stores. it seems queer, but it's so." they had unstrapped her and she smiled. "i'd like to see him. we have some queer covered wagons that are driven through texas. how did you like the ride?" "a lot, and i'm ever so much obliged to you both. my land o'goodness--i mustn't forget to write to your mother and tell her i've been up with you. her highness is real pretty, isn't she!" "we think she is," bob answered with pride. "you got a right to think that." aunt belle stood a moment to admire the plane, which did look particularly lovely as the sun shone on her broad wings, and the water beneath her, splashed gently about the floats. "she's a beauty." "i saw some men, hikers i guess, back of your turkey farm," jim volunteered as they went toward the house. "there's a lot of people living at the north end of the isle, and they are likely to go roaming all over the place. sometimes the school teachers take nature classes to study the trees, and the boy scouts asked permission to camp there. hezzy knows them all and he lets them go parts where they won't do any damage or scare the birds." "probably it's all right then." jim dismissed the idea that he might have spotted something important, and followed the others into the house. "i got some bananas, mees fenton." it was a soft pleasant voice that spoke, and the lips were parted in a wide smile. "little greaser?" bob said in an undertone. "more likely little canuck," jim reminded him. "and he's not so little at that." the man was certainly picturesque in his baggy trousers, tied at the knees with pieces of new hemp, a red flannel shirt, and velvet jacket. he stood over six feet in his moccasins, which were of thick deer skin, and he might have been taller, but the weight of his hat must have kept him down. "i'll be right out, pedro," mrs. fenton called and she hurried away to rid herself of the extra clothing she had donned for the air ride. the two boys strolled out on the veranda to wait for her, and they could see the huge covered truck standing under the shade of two of the maples that edged the winding main road. being sure of a customer, pedro proceeded to his wagon, opened the end doors, leaped lightly over the tail board, and disappeared. "cracky, it doesn't look like any wagon i ever saw before," said bob. "no." they studied it with interest. it was heavily built, evidently constructed for long hauls and to carry heavy loads. the "cover" was of wood and metal, and the whole thing was painted a brilliant red and deep blue. "anyone would recognize that as far as he could see it," laughed bob. "oh, here you are." mrs. fenton came out with a basket on her arm and the three made their way to the caravan. "do all these peddlers have wagons like that?" jim wanted to know. "good land, no, only pedro. he had it made specially. fills it up in canada. he has to carry a great deal of truck to make it pay because some of the customs are high," she explained. "does he pick up american goods to take back?" "yes, and sometimes he does a little freighting when he can't buy our farm products." they had reached the end of the wagon, and the boys were amazed at its capacity. it seemed to hold a store full of goods. besides the early vegetables, lemons, bananas, oranges, and pineapples, there were moccasins, indian bows and arrows for youthful purchasers, bright blankets, and some skins hanging from the top. mrs. fenton looked over the wares, made her selection, and finally the transaction was completed. pedro got a pail of water from the lake and gave his engine a drink, then climbed into the seat, waved cheerfully, and thundered colorfully off toward the next farm. in a minute he disappeared over the hill, but it took longer for the noise of his machine to diminish in the distance. "golly, he could take half the state over the border in that bus," bob declared, then added as he saw the foreign boy coming from the garden, "here's our friend. hello," he called. the boy stopped, eyed them keenly, then smiled and showed a set of teeth so perfect that any dentist would have given half his kingdom to use his picture in an advertisement. "old top, so long." "guess that will hold you for a while," jim roared. "you are dismissed, my brother, old top." "aw i say, that's wrong. hello!" "aw," the boy repeated--"aw, hello." "that's more like it." he pointed to his step-brother. "jim." the boy looked at jim, who flushed under the scrutiny. "jim," bob said again. "jimmm?" "you got it. jim." "aw, old top; jim, so long; hello." "will you listen to the vocabulary. ain't that marvelous!" "it ain't," jim scowled, then he pointed to bob. "bob," he explained. the boy seemed to understand that it was some sort of introduction. "it ain't bob?" "yes it is," bob insisted, pointing to himself. "bob." "bob? jim?" "great," they both nodded gleefully. "you're a regular chatterbox." the boy repeated the words he had learned and seemed to enjoy the sound of them. then he stood a moment, straight as a young sapling, the expression on his face changed to a sober one, and into his deep, fine eyes, came a thoughtful look, which seemed to be habitual to them. as they met his gaze, any desire they might have had to have fun with him, disappeared, and the step-brothers felt a strong urge inside them to befriend this young foreigner. "bet my share of her highness against a plugged dime that he'd make a great pal," jim remarked. "i'm not taking you up. let's see if we can't teach him more english. that won't be butting in," bob proposed. "maybe we can do a little," jim agreed. but just then a soft whistle came from further up the road and the boy turned quickly, leaped over the low fence and started toward the sound. the boys watched him until a moment later he joined his uncle, who had evidently called. they both hurried in the direction of the lake, and a few minutes later, the young americans heard the dip of oars as a boat was shoved off onto the water. aimlessly jim and bob followed more slowly until they were standing on the shore, and they could see the boat skimming swiftly north. "they parked it here. guess they're going home to lunch, and it's easier than walking up the road," jim suggested. he glanced at the marks on the rocks and sand where the boat had been left. bob stared at the spot as if he expected to learn something of the two mysterious persons who had just left it. "here's a can, or something." bob stooped and picked up a small covered box. it was somewhat the shape of a tobacco box such as men carry in their pockets, and was no more than an inch thick. "that isn't tin. maybe they dropped it," jim said as he turned it over in his hand. "say, know what that looks like?" "a box--" "sure, but the metal looks like my silver watch did--you remember it got almost coal-black--sort of brownish." "so it does. guess this is silver. we better keep it, and if it belongs to the kid, return it to him." "sure. if it doesn't belong to him, aunt belle may know who owns it. mom said that in a little place like this everybody knows all about what everybody else owns." jim turned the thing over in his hand again, gave it a little shake, and as he did so, the cover sprang back, as if he had pressed a concealed spring. "well, look here," he exclaimed. the two looked inside but all they could see was some bits of colored string. carefully jim took hold of one and gave a little pull. "you'd better not do that. the string may be around something real small and you'll lose it," bob suggested, but before the words were out of his mouth, the entire contents was in jim's hand. "what do you make of that?" "maybe the kid has been trying to be a boy scout. it's nothing but colored strings full of knots, but it's a queer sort of string at that. i never saw anything like it--" "you'd better put it back," bob urged. "it isn't any good, but if the kid was having fun with it, we don't want to be goops--" both boys turned quickly as they heard the sound of oars being plied swiftly as if someone were rowing in a great hurry. "he's coming back." hastily jim stuffed the odd looking string back into its container and snapped the lid shut. "wish i hadn't been such an inquisitive boob," he muttered. by that time the boy and his uncle had almost reached the spot, and both of them seemed to be anxious about something. "did you drop a little box here?" bob called as the boy leaned on the oars to let the boat come ashore. corso's face lighted with relief, as if the thing they had lost were of great value. "yes, sir," he answered. "well, that's good. we just picked it up." jim stepped hastily forward and restored the find to its owners, but to his surprise, they both leaped out. "much sirs, we thank you." the man took jim's hand, and to that pure young american's utter embarrassment, stooped and kissed it. hastily he drew it back. "aw, that's all right," he said in confusion. "glad we saw it before the waves carried it off," bob declared. he was congratulating himself that it was his step-brother who received the homage, but his delight was short-lived, for the boy took his hand and performed as did his uncle. "much thanks, bob--jim," he said chokily. "aw, it isn't anything to make a fuss over," bob answered quickly, and his face flushed to the roots of his hair. in his heart he was glad that none of the cowpunchers from cap rock were there to witness such a display of gratitude. "much thanks," the uncle said again, and the two backed away. "don't mention it," jim said hastily. "we have to go, or we'll be late for lunch. we would have given it to you this afternoon if you hadn't come for it." they both bowed low, then sprang into the boat and rowed off, but now their faces were wreathed in smiles and as the distance grew between them and the shore, they began a sort of chant which sounded like the wind sighing through the cedars. "come along, let's get a move on. i don't want to be kissed any more. gosh, they must be french," bob exclaimed, and the two started to run as if the old harry were after them. when they came in sight of the house, they stopped. "i'm not going to tell anyone about that box." "mum's the word. if we tell about finding it, we'll have to tell about giving it back. perhaps it's some sort of heirloom, but it sure is a queer sort of thing to make such a fuss over." "i'll say, maybe now that we gave it back, corso and the boy will be friendly and we can ask them where they came from--" "maybe we can, but we're not going to be little interrogation points unless they give us the information without our asking for it. dad says a gentleman recognizes another gentleman and they treat each other accordingly--" "well, that's o. k. with me," bob nodded. "but i thought we might get an answer to one of the mysteries." v a discovery "i have some errands at isle la motte station, boys, and i'm running up there in the car. if you'll condescend to ride in anything so slow and primitive, i'm driving down to the turkey farm and you can see what it looks like," mr. fenton invited that afternoon as the boys came up from a swim. "well, of course, sir, we wouldn't be so impolite as to say that we scorn to use your only mode of conveyance," jim grinned broadly. "but we'll accept with pleasure. i'm looking forward to meeting hezzy and seeing his face when he learns we are members of the family," bob added with relish. "how soon are you starting?" "as soon as you are ready," mr. fenton told them, so they raced into the house and made a wild scramble to get into their clothes. in record time they were out, their faces were flushed from the stampede and the cold dip. "you surely have a grand lake in your back yard. i never enjoyed a swim so much in my life," jim volunteered as they climbed into the seat of the waiting car. "suppose that you have water-holes in texas and you boys fight over the swimming privileges just as the cattle men used to fight over keeping them for their stock," mr. fenton remarked. "we don't kill each other." "we're not so fond of a bath as all that, uncle norman. there are four creeks on the ranches, and one corner of mom's takes in a slice of pearl river." "in the spring we have it to burn. sometimes it fills the gullies and part way up the canyons, but that's only in the cap rock section. almost at the edge of the cliff the land stretches away for about three hundred miles and that's pretty dry. some of the ranchers drove wells, but they had to do it a dozen times before they had any luck, and most of them are driven more than a hundred feet to reach water. they force it to the surface and make pools," jim explained. "is that for the cattle?" mr. fenton was greatly interested. "yes, and to irrigate the grain." as he listened to the bits of description of the boys' home in texas, mr. fenton was driving along the road which ran in a wavy line all the way around the island and in ten minutes they came to the log bridge which led to isle la motte. here and there they passed vermonters who exchanged greetings with the farmer, and occasionally they passed touring cars. some of them were carrying full loads, while others were less crowded. a good percentage were trying to take in all the beauty of the "islands" they were crossing, but the rest looked bored and some of them read. the cars carried plates from almost every state in the union and were everything from shiny and new, to rattly and very old. "great snakes," jim remarked. "looks as if the world and his wife have taken to their automobiles." "glad we have her highness. she can't be crowded off the road," bob added and he glanced a bit disdainfully at the travelers. they drove across the bridge, hurried on north and at last came to the little depot, where mr. fenton took on a piece of freight, chattered a moment with the agent, then took his place again. "now, you'll see the farm. the place is one that mrs. fenton inherited from an uncle of hers. that end of isle la motte used to be rather thickly settled for these parts, but the old people died off and the younger ones went to other places to make their homes. it's quite a farm, nearly three hundred acres, but most of it is timber land, and it's too far from the main road to cultivate. if we didn't have the other place, we should have moved over, but it seemed ideal for a poultry farm. vermont turkeys bring a big price, so we started in a small way and soon it was quite a success. the last couple of years haven't been so good. the birds are not easy to raise, and we expect many of them to die and don't mind if a few are stolen, but wholesale loss--a couple of hundred went two nights before you boys arrived." "cracky, that was a wollop," bob whistled. "have many raids like that?" asked jim. it sounded like the losses on a big stock ranch. "there have been quite a few. well, here we are." they drove up to the old house which had been built over a hundred years ago, but in spite of its great age, it was sturdy looking. its architecture, doors, mullioned windows, and wide floorings in the "porch" would have gladdened the heart of a "colonial" collector. the boys did not know this, of course, but they could appreciate that it was a great old place. mr. fenton honked, and in a moment the door was opened and hezzy emerged. "how are you, burley? dropped around to show the nephews from texas what a turkey farm looks like." hezzy came down the steps and the boys eyed him gravely. "want you to meet the boys. jim austin and bob caldwell. they are going to spend a part of the summer with us." "pleased to--" hezzy was beside the car now, his glasses resting low on his nose as he could look over them. "reckon mr. burley has met us before," bob grinned. "oh yes, i forgot. they told me they landed with their plane on the cove and you drove them away. i explained the troubles you have been having." "they didn't one of them say they come from your place, just landed on the lake and said they wanted to see the farm. that was two days, or less, since we lost that big batch--i wasn't taking no chances," hezzy said quickly. he wasn't a very prepossessing man to look at, but now he smiled at his employer and was most affable. "sure, we understand," bob assured him, but jim said never a word. "want to look around now?" hezzy invited cordially. "we will. i haven't much time but they can get an idea and come back later if they want to see more," mr. fenton said as they climbed out of the car. "oh, they can see it in a few minutes," hezzy answered. "it's pretty much all alike." he led the way toward the shore, and presently the three were going through the houses, past the wired run-ways, and to the larger enclosure where the bigger birds were confined. "the thieves must have done some damage if they went over those wires," jim remarked as he noted the fine mesh, and that smaller yards were enclosed like a box. "they got in through the houses," hezzy answered promptly. "at night." "got good locks?" bob asked. "best we can buy," his uncle replied. "wish we could help you find the thieves," said jim, "but we're kind of dubs. i lost my watch at school and tried detecting. began to suspect the president, then i found it in my other suit pocket, so i swore off sleuthing." "you bet, it's a dangerous business, but i suppose you have someone on the job, uncle norman!" "well, no, we haven't. we just try our best to catch them when they come for more, but we haven't been able to discover the thieves yet. i see that you have the watch dogs. are they good?" "they seem to be fine dogs, but one of them is sick this morning. i gave him a physic. it's the only thing i know to do for him, but i guess he'll come around," hezzy told them. "you'd better call up the veterinary. i paid a good price for those beasts and should not like to have to buy another pair," mr. fenton ordered. "i called up the vet. he told me what to give him," hezzy answered. "well, guess that's all you can do. someone might try to poison them, so keep an eye on what they eat." "i'm not taking any chances," hezzy said hastily. "want to have a look at him?" "not this afternoon, i want to get back. you boys seen enough to satisfy you for the time being?" "sure," jim answered. "there isn't much to see. sometime when you are coming again, we'll tag along if you'll let us, sir." "be glad to have you." "sure, bring them along any time," hezzy spoke up. "i'm sorry you didn't say you belonged to the fentons when you were here yesterday, but i didn't know, and turkeys are the scariest birds that grow wings." "that's all right, but we thought you might have heard about the plane and recognize us from that," jim told him. "fent told me you were coming from texas in an airplane, but when a man's worried he don't stop to think. only thing came into my head was you were some marauders and my men were both away for an hour." "all right, come along." they made their way to the car and were soon on the way home. "it's a great place, uncle norman. maybe when we're flying around we can locate something which will solve the mystery for you, but you'd better not say anything to anyone because it might put the thieves wise and they'd work another way." "very well, i'll keep it under my hat, but don't either of you go taking any chances. i want to send you home with whole bones and not in sections. that would be a poor ending for your trip." "we'll be careful. we were over the island with aunt belle this morning and i noticed the other end hasn't much good landing space. too many trees and shrubs, except one hill that's kind of bare, but it isn't very big and it looks steep," bob explained. "your aunt certainly did enjoy her ride," the man smiled. "don't we know it! we knew she would, but she was scared blue when we started--said it was like going to have a tooth drawn." by that time they were at home and after supper they took a stroll along the rocky beach. "got something on your mind besides your cap?" bob asked his buddy. "yes, hair." "the rest is vacant space--" bob dodged a stone that his step-brother threw at him. "no it isn't, you nut. keep away from those trees or a squirrel will mistake you for a part of his supper," jim retorted. they walked on a way in silence, then they came to a huge boulder, where the older boy sat down. "i say, what are you thinking about? i never saw you still so long except when you're in her highness and her voice keeps you quiet." "how did you like hezzy?" jim asked. "oh, he wasn't so bad when we were properly introduced. guess if we had just lost two hundred turkeys we'd have been out with shot guns too. we'd have fired them first and sent apologies to the family afterwards. what do _you_ think of him?" "i don't know. it's giving me a brainstorm to find out. can't blame a man for being on the war path under those conditions. he's probably the salt of the earth, as your aunt says, and honest as the day is long, but i can't get over the idea that if we met him on the range in texas, we'd turn the bull loose on him," jim laughed. "maybe we would," bob admitted, then he grinned, "but you don't want to forget that you thought the president had your watch." "go on!" "what's eating you besides the man's looks and his reception of us the other day?" "not much. it seemed to me that he wasn't overly anxious to have us come back--" "why yes he was--said to come--" "any time _with your uncle_. but when mr. fenton said we could come by ourselves and take a look, he said 'we could see it all in a few minutes.' like as not, i'm barking up the wrong tree. let's go up early in the morning and see what we can see around the border. i'd kind of like to talk with bradshaw again. he was real decent and i'd like to know if he located any of that gang yet," jim proposed. "suits me right down to the ground." "we've been kind of grounded since we came. suppose your aunt would mind letting us take a lunch to eat in the air, or some nice place we pick out?" "of course she won't mind. what sort of crab do you think she is?" "no sort of crab, unless there is a very generous, likable variety, but we don't want to make extra trouble for her. your mother said that the farm takes a lot of work and she has no end of things to do. tomorrow she's going to can some more--" "and she'll be glad to have us out of the way for a while." bob was quite positive, and although his aunt showed no desire to be rid of her two guests, she was perfectly willing to fix them up a picnic lunch and by the weight of the basket she handed her nephew the next morning, it promised to be a bountiful meal. "you boys be careful and if it gets stormy you'd better come right home. i'd be real worried--" "you must not do that. didn't we slide down on the lightning the other day?" bob demanded. "yes, i know you did--" "and didn't you enjoy air traveling?" "yes, yes indeed i did, i wrote to your mother last night--" "then don't waste any good worries about us," bob grinned. "we'll be fine and come home to roost, like chickens." "hurry up, her highness is raring to go," jim shouted. he was already in the cock-pit, and his pal raced to join him. "all o.k.?" "sure mike." bob took his place beside his step-brother, adjusted himself, and in a minute jim opened the throttle, the engine bellowed a challenge to the world, or a joyous roar that it was about to do something worth watching. up they climbed a thousand feet, circled above north hero, and as bob glanced over the side, he caught glimpses of children and farmer folk staring at them. he waved gaily, then her highness leveled off and shot northwest. "going to have a look about isle la motte?" bob asked through the speaking tube. "no. if the thief is there i want him to think that we are not interested in looking for him," jim answered, then added. "i'm more interested in seeing if we can find bradshaw." "any special reason?" "not one." jim answered emphatically. they sped toward the boundary and both boys were filled with delight at being in the air. bob kept the glasses to his eyes and every once in a while would point out something attractive so his step-brother would miss none of the delights of the trip. jim did not wish to go straight north, so he bore westward, following the american side of the border and after an hour, circled about and returned pretty much along the same course. once they saw a passenger plane soaring majestically south, and then they spied the mail-pilot racing toward them, so they went to meet him. the young fellow in the cock-pit eyed them for a moment but when they grinned and waved, he waggled his wings as a return salute. he seemed such a jolly sort that jim came about and taxied along beside him for a while, then with a farewell wave, he spiraled high and circled away, the u. s. plane thundering toward montreal. "we ought to locate bradshaw soon," bob remarked as they were nearing the territory which their mounty friend patrolled, and jim nodded. the younger boy searched the rolling globe beneath them. through the glasses he could see tiny homesteads, miles of unsettled stretches broken only by a rough road, and an occasional traveler scooting along in a car or seeming to crawl behind a team of horses. "the place we picked up bradshaw is about a mile ahead," jim remarked, and this time bob nodded assent. he paid even greater attention to his observations, and once he picked up something that puzzled him. it was a wooded ravine, the sides of which rose steeply and were bristling with overhanging rock. the boy guessed that it was the bed of a stream, but the water had either dried up or been diverted through another outlet. he followed its winding course, and calculated that it must be several miles long and extended well across the borders into the two countries. twice he thought he saw something moving about, then he looked more sharply for he thought it might be a bear. in a moment more he discovered that it was a man, two of them in fact and they were making their way warily as if anxious to escape detection. "slow up a bit buddy and zig-zag. i want to see this place." jim nodded, reduced the speed, zoomed high and spiraled as if he were reaching for the ceiling, then dropped, and all the while bob kept his eyes on that deep ravine. "spot anything, buddy?" "i don't know. you have a look, but be careful. wouldn't that ravine down there be a corker place for bootleggers or smugglers to go sneaking from one side to the other? i see some men there now. what do you think?" jim was already scrutinizing the place. "yes it would, but it's too big for the patrol men to have overlooked," jim answered. "that old road runs pretty close to it. law-breakers would keep out of a place like that." "they might not just because it looks so inviting. they might figure they could get away with it because it's so easy, and they'd have it fixed up. see those fellows?" jim nodded, and by that time he was keenly interested. he not only saw the two men, but further along he picked up two more who seemed to be hiding in the underbrush, and not far away he espied a two-wheel cart, which was painted green. "great guns, we've got to find bradshaw and tell him. he may give us the ha-ha, but just the same, that's no ordinary bunch down there, and the men are not even smoking cigarettes. here." he handed the glasses back to the younger boy. "be careful no one notices that you are watching them," he warned tensely. he kicked the rudder, shot her highness' nose into the air, zoomed higher, and five minutes later, bob caught his arm and nodded toward the land. "bradshaw is down there on the road! he's about five miles, i guess, from where i first saw that ravine, and it ends just a little way below him. two fellows crawled up after he had passed, got on horses and separated, and jim, they are following the mounty, one on each side, as if they are watching him. they are just jogging along as if they are on old plugs, and jim--there, oh gosh, there are two more coming out a mile ahead on the road." bob was so excited that he could hardly speak steadily. "are they laying for him?" jim asked tensely. "i think they are. come on, do something, and do it quick, for they are all trotting in close. i think he hears the ones behind, because he's turning around--jim--" jim looked over the side, and just ahead he could see the drama being enacted two-thousand feet beneath him. "hang on to your teeth," he roared. with a swift flop he turned her highness' nose toward the earth, and with the engine bellowing he came tearing out of the sky. after the first second he shut off the motor, made it cough and sputter, and the plane began to spin and twist, tail first, then nose first. both boys tried to watch what was taking place beneath them, and jim's heart almost stopped beating as he saw that the mounty was concentrating his whole attention on them. even pat had his eyes upward at the startling spectacle of a gyrating airplane that promised to be kindling wood in a few seconds. on they raced, and as they came, austin saw that two of the outlaws were galloping swiftly, rifles on their arms, toward their prey. they seemed to have thrown caution to the winds and were taking advantage of the commotion above them to complete their wicked crime. bob clutched his step-brother's arm as he too took in the scene, but jim was not unmindful of their own danger and one eye was on the altitude meter. at five hundred feet he took the controls, started the engine and lifted her highness' nose, then went on into a glide that brought them, a moment later, to a scant two feet of the snorting patrick and the indignant mounty. but before the man could utter a protest, jim bellowed defiantly. "aw yes, suppose you think you own the air, and you're going to give us a blowing up. well, come on and do it." "i surely will," bradshaw responded. he was surprised at the whole performance, leaped from his horse, and strode close to them. "well, go on and search me if you want to, you half-baked nut--" "i say, how do you get that way?" jim was out of the cock-pit, his arms raised above his head as if he were being held up. "go on and search," he shouted. "i'm not afraid of the whole canadian army," then he added in a lower tone. "search me and make out you're mad as blazes. rip us both up loud and handsome. we saw some guys out to do you, and they are not far away. savvy?" "yes, i'll search you, you rough necks." swiftly his hands went over the boy from head to foot, while jim alternated between bitter abuse, punctuated with bits of their story told in a lower tone. in the middle of the performance, bob hopped out beside his step-brother. "what do you think you're doing?" he yelled, and added, "get out your gun, they're just back in some brush." the business-like automatic was instantly in bradshaw's hand and he whirled on caldwell. "you quit shooting off your mouth," he ordered in fine style. "how did you chaps discover this bunch?" in a lower tone of voice. he began the search of caldwell, and as the three stood they could see on all sides of them in case the outlaws decided to take a hand. "we were looking for you," bob answered while the man went through his breast pockets. "saw a ravine back there with a lot of men in it. looked queer so we came to give you the message, then as soon as we spotted you, we saw the bunch, four of them, closing in, so we did our little stuff with her highness. now don't go taking anything that doesn't belong to you," he ended with a savage roar as bradshaw drew a notebook out of his pocket. vi a capture they stood in rather close formation, bob and the mounty facing each other, jim so that he could observe anything approaching by either of two other points of the compass, and bradshaw scowling fiercely and thumbing young caldwell's book. "you've got to explain this," he thundered. "it's nothing but school reports, tests and names of classmates. you needn't go cribbing it," bob growled angrily. "what you american kids doing here anyway? got a permit a fly into canada?" bradshaw demanded, but his eyes were narrowed as he focused them on the surrounding brush, his gun in hand. suddenly he whipped it up almost to bob's ear, and snapped: "come out of that you fellow." then followed a snarling curse, a smashing through underbrush, and the sharp crack of the automatic. like a panther bradshaw leaped forward and in an instant he dragged forth one of the pair who had come to head him off, but galloping hoofs and wild oaths proclaimed the departure of the other three. a moment later there wasn't a sound of them. the mounty snapped handcuffs on his captive, trussed his feet, and shoved him along out of earshot. "pat," he called and the big horse trotted to his side. "don't let him move." pat promptly stepped over the man, who howled in terror, and lightly planted one hoof on his coat, pinning him securely. "some horse," bob whispered with admiration. "now, you fellows give an account of yourselves. how did you happen to come down right here just as those lads were getting funny?" he spoke so sharply that the younger boy was sure the man believed they were a party to the hold-up, but jim merely scowled back. "aw you ground hog. our motor stalled up there and i couldn't get it going until we almost smashed. can you understand that?" "it's clear enough. what are you smuggling in that car?" he gave a little nod and strode with a determined tread to her highness. "not a blamed thing that doesn't belong to us," jim shouted as he followed close. "no?" bradshaw leaned over as if to make a thorough inspection. "what's in the basket. a book of bed-time stories?" "grub," jim answered sharply, then added. "and some apples for pat." "thanks," the mounty grinned. "now, tell me, is that ravine the one that comes along like a letter s, deep and steep on both sides almost all the way. it ends in a rock cliff about a half mile below here?" "that's it," bob whispered and he sighed with relief as he realized that the officer had been playing the game. "great guns, we've had that under inspection, but we'll take another look into it. do you know that out-post right on the line?" "sure. has the two flags." "that's it. my head chief is there now. i wish you'd fly over it and drop him a message--" "we can give it to him," jim offered. "don't want you to come down. we've been bluffing that i don't know you and it may help. anyway it won't get you into trouble if any of the gang should see you again. i'll have to get this fellow locked up and make a report. i'm no end obliged to you. if you hadn't been on the look-out i might have had a nasty fight all by my lonesome. wish you'd get away as soon as you can and drop this to my chief. you did me a mighty good turn and the department will appreciate your further service. weight it down with these rocks, if you haven't anything better. i picked them up when i was cuffing our friend over there." "glad to. we'll keep a look-out from the air and you watch us. if we see any more surprise parties coming your way, we'll do a tail spin," jim said softly. "thanks, but i fancy those fellows are willing to call it a day. don't know why i've been picked out to bump off, but they may be planning to pull something in my territory during this beat. i'll be moving." he raised his voice and handed the note to jim, then began in a louder tone. "sure, i suppose your father is the president of the united states, but you beat it back over your own line and if you don't you'll wish he had the power of triplets." "aw," growled jim. "smoke bomb," bob added with relish as the throttle was opened and her highness got under way. further pleasantries were cut off by the thundering of the motors but the younger boy leaned over ostensibly to make faces at the officer, while his eyes searched the vicinity. he saw pat still penning the captive to the earth, but not a glimpse did he get of another human being in the neighborhood. the plane zoomed a thousand feet, leveled off and headed for the post the boys had seen a few days before. jim had the stones, which he wrapped with the paper in his handkerchief, and then he knotted the note inside. "all quiet on the front?" he asked his step-brother. "as a mid-summer night's dream," bob replied, then added. "i see the post, buddy." jim nodded for he too had picked it out and already her highness was gliding to a lower level. down she rode swiftly, until she was only five hundred feet in the air, then they noticed the man-on-post come out, and level his glasses upon them. jim raised his arm, and at the right moment he dropped the message over the side, and brought the plane about in a half circle, while they both watched the thing, the corners of the handkerchief standing out like a pair of rabbit's ears as it tumbled to the earth. "he's got it," bob shouted gleefully. a second man had come out of the hut and the boys saw them inspecting the present they had received so unexpectedly. the first man waved his hand and ducked into the house, and the boys, quite satisfied with the morning's work, grinned at each other. "i'm empty, buddy," jim announced as they sailed off. the boys took a route almost straight west, and in half an hour they were above a rugged region which the map informed them was in the state of new york. they selected a plateau with little timber and some kind of stream. they glided to the landing place, and presently her highness was standing like a great wild bird, poised on the hill. the boys hopped out of the cockpit, looked about to make sure that there were no warnings posted to keep off the premises, then out came the basket. "want to build a fire and toast some of these marshmallows?" bob proposed as he glanced at the food. "sure thing," jim agreed readily. he got busy and cleared a rock while bob gathered some bits of wood. in a few minutes they had the blaze crackling cheerily, and then they prepared to enjoy themselves thoroughly. mrs. fenton had put in almost a loaf of home made bread and butter sandwiches, a glass of plum jelly, six deviled eggs, slices of roast ham, olives, pickles, ginger cookies, milk, chocolate cake and candy. "if we eat all this her highness will never be able to take us up," bob grinned broadly as the things were set forth on the huge napkin. "intend to eat sparingly?" jim inquired. "not so that you could notice it," bob assured him. "when i come to think of it, i don't know where you're going to get any. i am hollow in both legs." "i know what i'm going to do," jim retorted promptly. "pitch right in and if you get more than a toe full, you'll be lucky." with that threat, they fell to and ate with keen appetites, and when bob finally stretched himself out on the rock with a huge sigh of contentment, the food was almost all gone. "gosh, i feel great." "i'm right with you, buddy," jim answered. he lay on his tummy and for a few minutes they watched the tiny coil of smoke that rose in a wavering line from the fire, which was burning low. austin did manage to throw on a few more sticks, that caught quickly, and crackled at a lively rate. "wonder what bradshaw and his gang have been doing while we tanked up," bob remarked. "wish we could have been in on the scrap." "wish we could, but we might have been in the way. if we had hung around that ravine waiting for the fireworks, the chaps who were parked there might have been warned and that would have spoiled the show," jim replied. "oh sure. by the noise they made, those chaps getting away may not have heard our little play. reckon, they beat it to their headquarters to tell the other fellows. seeing us again would have queered the party for the mounties," bob agreed. "yes, a plane is sort of conspicuous. bet that message told the chief, whoever he is, to surround the ravine and get the outlaws while the getting promised to be good." "i saw one of those fellows pull out his gun. gosh, they would have got bradshaw if he had come riding right into their arms." "it would have been some scrap, you bet. bradshaw's no slouch." "not a bit. wish he could come and see us at cap rock. say, with pat to help him, he's better off than if he were twins, or two policemen," bob laughed as he thought of the efficient pony. "some horse. glad he's got a good master." "you bet." they rested comfortably, and at last jim broke the silence again. "gosh, buddy, remember that story of the brothers who watched the smoke go up the chimney?" "surely. i was just thinking about them. the montgolfier boys. they were watching the fire and the smoke go up the chimney, and that set their brains to working and they wondered why the smoke went up. queer isn't it when you think that a little thing like that happening around one hundred and thirty years ago, should develop into air travel!" bob glanced toward her highness affectionately. "she doesn't look much like the paper bags they made their first experiments with, does she?" "i'll say she doesn't, nor the balloons that came a few years later. gosh, i'm glad we don't live at a time when people were so ignorant that they thought everything new was a devil of some kind," bob replied. "we'd be in a nice fix if we got shot at or stabbed with pitch forks every time we came down. but, even at that, jim, there are places in the world where the people are mighty savage. dad says in some of the south american provinces they've never been able to conquer all the tribes, or civilize them. they are almost the same as they were when columbus landed, and will fill a chauffeur full of poison arrows if they see a car driving through their land." "great horns. i'd like to go sailing over some of those places some time. lindbergh must have seen some mighty interesting places when he went cutting air-paths over mexico." "he sure did. and isn't he the grand lad for keeping his eyes open and his wits about him?" keen admiration for the lone eagle silenced them for a while, then bob reached out and took a triangle of chocolate cake. "i'll divvy up." "you needn't." jim made himself another sandwich. "don't know where my lunch is disappearing, but i find i have a little vacant space which needs fueling." at that they both sat up, made a second attack on the food, but finally were compelled to stop. "we may as well be soaring along," jim proposed. "let's go over canada and see if we can see any of the smoke from the ravine," bob suggested eagerly. "all right. you want to drive?" "you bet, and you watch for the scrap." they packed the remains of the food in the basket, stored it into the cock-pit, poured water over the embers of their fire and cleaned the spot with a piece of dry pine brush, then gave her highness an inspection. "great old bird," bob chuckled when they were sure that all was well. "she did a good job this morning." he took his place and jim occupied the passenger seat prepared to be the observer. a moment later her highness ran along the plateau, lifted her nose into the air, then climbed for all she was worth while jim examined the earth beneath them. there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the roar of the engine was a startling contrast to the calm forest they had just left. caldwell watched his controls as they raced at three thousand foot height. jim thoroughly enjoyed the inspection and occasionally made a note of something especially interesting, and often called his buddy's attention to the rolling globe. in less than an hour they were over the post where they had dropped the message, but if anyone was inside the shack, they did not come out to examine them. then bob turned sharply north, and soon they were about ten miles beyond the edge of the ravine and the place where they had stopped the mounty. "slack up a bit and go south," jim suggested through the speaking tube. "all right," bob agreed. he kicked the rudder, her highness circled, proceeded at a slower speed, and presently the spot in which they were so keenly interested, jumped into the lenses. at first glance it was as deserted as before, then jim saw a coil of smoke rolling up into the wind. concentrating with all his attention, he saw that some sort of shack was on fire, and just below the burning building, was a blackened spot that had been swept bare by the blaze. a couple of puffs snapped out from down the ravine, and a volley of answering shots spat viciously from the other end. "the fight's still on, buddy," jim bellowed, and bob looked over the side. they were getting close enough now so that they could see the battle fairly clearly, and they watched with tense interest. at one end they made out the canadian policemen closing in on the desperadoes, who seemed to be sliding back behind a screen of brush they had dug up, and just a few feet from them the wall of the ravine rose sharply cutting off their escape. "they'll have them in a minute," bob exclaimed excitedly. "suppose they can climb up that wall?" "it looks pretty jagged to me, like tiers of boulders, but, zowee--if they do get up, there's a line of blue-coats waiting for them," jim announced, and he would have danced up and down with joy, if he hadn't been strapped securely to the seat. bob paid strict attention to his business, then, as the attack was started, he decided it would be no harm to circle about and see the finish of the fight. he knew that his brother would be in accord with the plan, so he proceeded to carry it out. he zoomed higher, kicked the rudder, raced the engine and was soon pounding at three thousand feet, where he leveled off for the ring, and started to fly so they had a grand view of the drama below. jim kept his glasses fixed on the gully, and as the position of her highness was changed, he had a superior view of both sides of the maneuvers. suddenly the wall that cut off the criminals was directly in front of his gaze and he began to wonder about it. it seemed strange that men who were probably accustomed to protecting themselves and taking every precaution, should select a place where they could be so easily trapped. "the mounties must have given them a special surprise," he remarked to himself, but just the same, that did not seem entirely possible. it seemed to the boy that there must be a gang who used the ravine as a hangout, a means of slipping into the united states or canada whenever they wanted to, and they would need quite a force of men in order to keep themselves well posted on the habits of the men who patrolled the location. then it occurred to jim that the outlaws might not have used the place long and had not had time to prepare hasty exits. but that idea as it flashed through his brain did not seem at all plausible. the boy remembered that bradshaw had said the "gang" had been particularly successful in putting over every one of their schemes. that meant they were taking no chances, and surely they would none of them let themselves be backed against a high cliff where they were sure to be picked off with the rifles of the mounties if they tried to scale it, and run into the arms of other officers if they did manage to reach the top. he studied the group of men firing furiously from behind the brush pile and rocks, then he wondered why the men on top did not fire down at them. that was soon answered, for he saw that the edge was steep and soft, and even as he watched, he saw a man slip. his companion grabbed him by the arm and saved him from going over into the ravine. the slip dislodged a quantity of gravel and brush which slid down behind the desperadoes. two of them instantly whirled about ready to fire in case they were attacked from the rear. there still remained a few rods to be traversed before they would reach the cliff, and another man glanced up at the plane and shook his fist. "shouldn't like to kill any of them, but i wish we had a few tear bombs, or some little thing like that to put them out of business," jim lamented. he couldn't help feeling that although it looked as if the officers would soon get their men, they must have some cards still up their sleeves. "say, buddy," bob bellowed, "there comes pedro's covered wagon." he pointed, and although jim could not catch the words, he followed the direction and had no difficulty in picking out the highly colored truck which was moving forward slowly along a road that looked as if it was used very little. it was about a mile from the ravine in an especially isolated section and jim's eyes swept the vicinity as he thought that the huckster must be nearing his own home, but there wasn't a house for miles, and as near as the boy could make out, the road meandered along and finally slowed down near a dilapidated old rail fence which might mark an ancient boundary, or surround a pasture. rocks and brush were piled above it, and as the boy looked, he saw that the truck stopped. "perhaps the old guy has heard the shooting," he thought, but if pedro did, he gave no sign of either assisting or investigating. instead he dismounted with agility, with some sort of huge bundle in his arms, and in a moment he was standing on the rim of the wagon bed. it took but a moment for jim to realize that the man was throwing a canvas of dark green material over the brilliant truck. "bob, look," he bellowed. his step-brother, who had been giving his attention to the plane, glanced over and ahead, and his lips pursed up in a long drawn out whistle. by this time, which was really only a few minutes, her highness had passed over the end of the ravine, so bob zoomed again, banked, and came about. he didn't propose to miss anything. in that brief interval, the red and blue truck had been turned into a green one so like the forest surrounding it that it could hardly be picked out. jim saw pedro take his seat again, then move forward a way until he reached a wide spot where he turned around. "that old boy isn't all he pretends to be," the boy muttered. he would have liked to watch the "old boy" but he wanted to know what was going on in the ravine. he saw that the bandits were stretched in rows, only two men in the one nearest the blazing shack, while the mounties were making their way forward cautiously. as jim watched, he saw the rear row of outlaws slide swiftly back, then one of them disappeared under a rock. another followed quickly, while the men in front continued to fire rapidly, as if to cover the fact that there were fewer men at the guns. "great caesar's ghost. they've got an outlet there and are going to get away under the ground," jim shouted, but he couldn't make bob hear and he didn't want to take his eyes off the event even for an instant. quickly he swept the country-side for a cave entrance, and then, in a moment, he picked it up. a man emerged stealthily, raced through the woods, and came out close to pedro and his camouflaged truck. "by gum and thunder," jim exploded. vii a tail spin "buddy," jim screamed as he clutched bob by the collar. "they're going to get away." bob looked over the side to see what it was all about, and in a moment he gave a grunt. "huh!" caldwell took in the scene, then for a second he stared at his step-brother, mechanically bringing her highness around in a half circle. then jim had an idea. he pulled his note book from his pocket, fished out a pencil, and began to scribble hastily. when he had finished, bob read the message. 'they are crawling away under the hill and there's a truck, pedro's, but it's got a green cover, and is on an old road to the west, picking them up. the flying buddies.' caldwell grinned at the signature, and he was already guiding the plane toward the mounties, who were still peppering the cliff with their rifles. a few of them on both sides were edging up through the brush, but they were not firing, and the boys guessed that they expected to close in on the bandits, feeling sure the men could not escape. jim glanced about for a weight, but the only thing was the lunch basket, so he caught it up, saw that the cover was secure, then tied the note on the handle with his handkerchief so that it could be easily seen. "shoot," bob shouted when he was just enough below the canadians to allow the thing to fall close by them and not force a man to expose himself to the guns at the further end. the basket went over swiftly, spun around, tipped and tossed, and they saw it land. a man secured it without difficulty and waved an acknowledgment, while two others read the message. the boys couldn't see what action they took, nor did they hear the shrill blast of a whistle signaling to men stationed above the ravine. bob brought her highness about, and sent her over so they could get a good look at the scene in the woods. while they watched, two men slipped across the road and jumped into the back of the huge fruit truck, which was moving slowly. caldwell clenched his fists as he realized that the fellows would surely slip through the officers' fingers and he looked at jim, hoping that his step-brother would have another idea, but austin shrugged his shoulders. with anxious eyes bob scanned the road. he noticed that the truck was nearing a point which was high and narrow. on either side rain and winter storms had dug deep gullies, leaving barely room for one vehicle of any kind to traverse it in safety. glancing at the altimeter, bob read that the plane was less than a thousand feet up, so he banked, tipped her highness' nose, and zoomed in a swift, steep climb. the needle pointed to twelve hundred, fifteen, eighteen, but caldwell held her throttle wide open, going full blast and climbing at top speed. the wind shrieked through the wires and threatened to rip the wings from the fuselage, but the pilot did not stop until he was thirty-five hundred feet and some distance behind the truck. then he leveled off and the drama beneath them looked as if it were being performed by moving dots and dashes. the plane was brought about with a protesting howl, as caldwell looked at the globe with its tiny specks, the narrow, treacherous road and wee puffs of smoke. he made a swift calculation, came to a decision, and shut off the motor. the sudden silence was punctuated by faint booms of the guns cracking far below, and jim looked inquiringly at his step-brother, who was sitting calmly, but flushed as her highness' tail dropped; nose tipped foremost, then began to spin slowly, held up by the force of the wind from underneath, carried forward like a leaf caught in the breeze, and irresistibly drawn down by the laws of gravitation. jim hadn't the faintest idea what his step-brother hoped to gain by the reckless maneuver, but he saw that bob had some sort of plan, and that every fibre of his tense young body was on the alert, hands and mind ready to carry out his scheme. once they struck an air-pocket that bounced her highness in a most undignified manner, rolling her over on her back as if she were a kitten, but she finally tumbled out of it, and spun on and on. once the brother's eyes met and they grinned at each other reassuringly. "don't know what you're up to, buddy, but i'm right with you," said jim. "thanks. you might get your parachute in case i make a fluke. it's more likely to be that, than it is to do any good," answered bob, for they could speak to each other quite easily now. "how about your own umbrella?" jim demanded. "it's o. k.," answered bob, then added, "see that road?" "i can't help see it." "think there is room--i mean think it's wide enough so we can get into it without smashing the wings?" "ask me another. it's pretty narrow." jim studied the situation. "that truck is wide and there's quite a space on each side, but it will take some fancy landing to get the wheels on the road and miss those trees at the side. they grow like a wall, and as they are coming up to meet us, they look like the bottom of a nice torture chamber bristling with sharpened spikes." "nothing wrong with the picture. keep your eyes on that truck of pedro's. i'm going to try to drop in front of it. they can't get by, or turn back, and all i hope to do is delay them, but that may help, if i do it. keep a sharp lookout and tell me if i'm going too far either side. i don't want to get far ahead of them, not more than a few feet," bob explained. "bully idea, old man. if we smash up, i'll meet you at the gate. if you need any help, i'll tell st. peter you're a good kid and to let you in," jim promised gravely. "go on. _i'll_ have to do some tall lying to get him even to look at you," bob retorted. "here goes." he started to manipulate the controls, slowly bringing her highness as he wanted her, and jim scanned the scene ahead. he could see movement in the brush, men crawling or running on hands and knees, but not a uniform was in sight. he noted one thing in particular for which he was thankful. no one seemed to have noticed the falling plane, and that might be in their favor. also, he thought ruefully, it might not. if the mounties heard them dropping out of the sky, it would direct them more quickly to the road, but he thought of those men, armed to the teeth, desperate to get away, and he didn't try to imagine what they would do to the plane and the boys who threatened to frustrate their plans. austin had read of terrific battles with rum-runners who fought to the last ditch for their lives and stopped at nothing, and now he knew that if her highness was not hung in those spear-like pines, or wrecked on the treacherous road, the men behind them would instantly open fire and riddle them with bullets before they could move in the cock-pit. he glanced about for a sign of the canadian officers, but not one did he see, and by now they were so close to the ground that his range of vision was very limited. then bob brought her highness out of the spin, glided forward, her float ends scraping the edge of the truck as it slipped over, then, in another breathless second they were over the road, the wheels touched the ground, raced forward a few rods, slowed down, and at last came to a dead stop. "hey, what the blazes do you think you're doing?" it was the belligerent voice of the driver and did not sound at all like the musical tones of pedro. jim looked back while bob loosened the safety strap, but did not get out of it. "hop over and tinker about," bob directed, and jim obeyed. "you get out of the way," bellowed pedro. "oh, hello, old man," jim called good naturedly. "our engine stalled. guess we got something in it. maybe you can give me a hand." "i got no time. get out of the way, fast. i'm in a hurry." "sorry, we won't be a minute." bob was also struggling in the cock-pit as if something was out of order, and after a minute, during which pedro made the air blue with curses, he got back in his seat. "guess we got it," he shouted. "beastly sorry to keep you." bob tried out the motor. it thundered smooth as silk, the plane moved a few inches, coughed apologetically, then stopped. "come on, now, old girl," bob coaxed, and again he set the motor humming, but the propeller hung idle. caldwell did not dare to move forward until he was ready to fly, for there wasn't a foot to spare on the road ahead, which curved sharply. frantically the step-brothers tried out this and that, including the compass, but it didn't seem to help them a bit, and they were afraid to look over their shoulders at the fuming truck-man. "what's the matter with her?" pedro hadn't been able to sit still a moment longer, so he climbed from his seat and strode along the gully to the cock-pit. "hanged if i know. she never acted this way before," jim answered innocently, and the man scowled savagely. "what you doing here anyway?" pedro persisted. "great guns," bob looked up into the man's face. "didn't you see us stall up there, and come down tail spinning! you are darned lucky we didn't smash up in front of you, that would have been something to cuss about. it takes hours to clear up a busted plane and she digs a hole in the ground ten feet deep. that would have held you up good and proper. now, get back to your bus, we'll fix this thing as fast as we can and be out of your way." "you kids look here." pedro shook his fist in bob's face. "you be out of here by the time i get my engine started, or i send you both to hell, fast, more fast than your plane," he promised. "thanks a lot, old timer. every little favor is greatly appreciated," bob answered, and he scowled quite as fiercely as the canuck. "and if you send us to hell this afternoon, maybe we won't be lonesome," jim added. "can you run a plane?" "no," pedro snapped savagely. "well, we can, but not if we're ghosts. put that in your peace pipe and get on your own wave length. you don't own this end of canada. what are you doing here? if you can answer that, i've got another to ask you and it's right on the tip of my tongue--" "stick your tongue out at him," bob suggested. "i'd rather punch his jaw, i don't like his face. give me that wrench and i'll tap him for sap, he's full of it. run along, old boy--don't you know your onions, or haven't you got any this load?" jim demanded. "you get out of the way." "you go back to your bus, you make us nervous so we can't tell whether the tail ensemble is in front or back--" "you get out--" pedro insisted, and then as the boys merely stared at him, he started toward the truck, and through a slit in the big car, jim caught a glimpse of a man's face, and heard a soft signaling whistle as some one called the driver to his seat. quickly the big fellow climbed up, and jim, realizing that trouble was close by, buckled his safety strap, while bob too made ready for a quick get-away. "if i keep the engine going, it will locate us for those mounties, but they're afoot, or horseback, and can't come so fast," bob whispered. "start the noise and i'll watch behind. if i give you a kick in the ribs, lift us up," jim replied under his breath. in a moment more the engine was racing again, then it really did stop, but this time it was by accident and looked as if it was too surprised to go, for at that instant, bob caught sight of uniforms, and a sharp command was issued. "climb down out of that, pedro." the boys looked back and saw the truck-driver's face turn green with terror. "lively now, no funny business." pedro literally tumbled to the ground, his legs shaking as if he had the ague, and his teeth chattering. "i--i wasn't touching 'em," he stammered. "sure, i know you didn't, but you were impolite to american citizens and you ought to know better. stand on your feet." then the boys saw more than a dozen silent figures surrounding the truck. "i didn't lay a hand on 'em," pedro declared. "it's well for you that you didn't send them to hell as you promised. what are you doing here and what have you got a green cover on your bus for? you went down the line this morning and you aren't reported back yet. come, explain yourself." the man was on horseback and evidently the chief of the outfit. jim guessed that he was playing for a few minutes to give his men time to close in, then he snapped again, "cuff him. you boys let fly." immediately the truck wagon was literally alive with men swarming over it. the doors at both ends were jerked open, and in another second, crouching outlaws were being tumbled over each other. some of them opened fire, but their guns were knocked out of their hands, and in less time than it takes to tell about it, the fight was over. fifteen prisoners were lined up on the road, while the officer looked at them calmly. "put them back in and take them along." the crowd was bundled back, this time each was securely handcuffed, then a familiar voice called from the woods. "we got the last of them out of the hole, chief. what shall we do with them?" "pile them in here," the chief answered, then, as the group came stumbling forward, the man went on, but his voice was stern, "these your texas friends, bradshaw?" "yes sir," bradshaw replied quickly. "you'd better bring them to headquarters for obstructing traffic." "all right, sir," bradshaw agreed. "what'll we do with her highness? put her under arrest?" "who is her highness?" "the bus. i was introduced a few days ago." "thought united states didn't like nobility." there was a tiny smile on the chief's lips and a twinkle in his eyes. "how do you explain the title, bradshaw?" "i don't know, sir, unless they are of irish descent--" "we are not," jim declared positively. "you've done devilment enough today to be pure-bloods," bradshaw informed them. the chief dismounted and came close to the fuselage and held out his hand. "i want to thank you for your devilment, boys," he smiled and they both thought he was a grand looking man, the sort one reads about. "we didn't do much of anything," jim stammered. "we like canada," bob added for he was less fussed and shook the officer's hand vigorously. "if we've helped, we're mighty glad," jim drawled, then went on, "but we'd have been wash-outs if it hadn't been for her highness. i think being among nobility made her do her job extra well." "no doubt. is she all right, or has something gone wrong with her?" "her highness is fine as silk," bob declared emphatically. "nothing is the matter with her, sir." "glad to hear it. now, can you get her out of this trap?" "surely. it'll be a close shave, but she'll do it." "all right. wish you would and let the truck by. and, next time you are in canada, look me up, there's something important i want to show you," the chief told them. "we'll be mighty glad to see you--" "but we're not coming if it's one of those parties with all the world looking on," jim added quickly. the chief laughed. "we'll spare your feelings, but if you'll come, we'd be glad to have you dine with us some evening, only just our own crowd--all these fellows you know, and the cook." "that'll be fun," jim agreed. "we'll let you know some night when we're not having corned-beef and cabbage. so long." "so long." bob opened her up, the engine thundered, the propeller whirled madly. her highness slid forward, lifted, cleared the curve gracefully, zoomed and climbed. both boys waved at the men, and a moment later jim saw the truck load of outlaws being driven to some unknown point. that is, the point was not known to the boys, but they knew it was a good strong jail. "it's been quite a day. anything left in that basket?" jim asked through the tube. "left in the basket! well, if there is the squirrels are eating it back there in that ravine. you nut, you threw it overboard with your note," bob answered. "great guns, so i did, and it's your aunt's basket. say, hop down in some town and let's buy another for her," jim urged. "oh she won't mind, there's no hurry. we can get her one when we drive to north hero," bob objected. "i know she won't mind, but just the same, let's get another to take back with us, and something because we lost the napkins and dishes," jim insisted. "say, what's your rush?" bob demanded impatiently. "we want a basket again, don't we? don't we want to go up tomorrow? well, we can't lose all your aunt's baskets and expect her to pack grub stakes for us, can we?" jim answered. "that's so. we better get her a couple," bob agreed quickly. he consulted the map. "st. john's is the nearest," he announced, so gravely he turned her highness' nose in the direction of the town, because, when the matter was put to him that way, he could see the need of keeping mrs. fenton supplied with baskets. viii ablaze for the next three days after the boys' exploit in canada, it rained. not gentle showers, but a good stiff down-pour that drenched the land, swelled the lake, and ruined young crops. her highness was kept in the carriage shed under the tool house, because besides raining as if it were never going to stop, there was thunder and lightning, and hours of pitch blackness. both jim and bob would have liked nothing better than to go soaring up and battle with the elements but they knew that such an adventure would cause mrs. fenton terrific worry every moment they were out of her sight, so they contented themselves with the radio, phonograph, some jolly old books they found in the attic, and swims between storms. several times they caught glimpses of the strange boy as he went splashing by to and from the garden, and they watched his run-off with considerable interest. "if he keeps the water down on that hole land it will save the alfalfa meadow," mr. fenton remarked thoughtfully. "does he seem to be doing it, uncle norman?" "so far the water isn't any higher." "jinks, that's great," jim exclaimed with enthusiasm. he rather envied corso's young nephew who disregarded weather and waded barefoot along the road, his overalls rolled above his knees, and not even a splattering automobile racing past him, sending sheets of water from all four wheels, seemed to disturb him. the morning of the fourth day broke clear and fine, the sky velvet blue, and not a cloud in sight. the step-brothers came down stairs with joyous whoops, and young caldwell danced his aunt about the kitchen. "well, my land, if you want me to dance with you bob, you will have to make it a reel or a jig--" "let it be a jig," bob answered promptly and taking her hand he began the clattery dance while jim played an accompaniment on the mouth organ. but in a few minutes mrs. fenton had to stop for breath. "where did you learn to do that?" she demanded. "i never supposed that any young one could do it these days." "in school," bob answered. "you ought to see jim highland fling." "what's all the shouting about?" mr. fenton asked. he had just come in with the brimming milk pails. "look at the weather," jim laughed. "it's enough to make an airplane do a tail spin," bob added. "no doubt, but i hope her highness doesn't do any more--" "more?" the boys chorused. "canadian chap telephoned me yesterday to inquire if you live here, and he said that you two had made the country safe for the mounted police--" "aw, go on," bob exclaimed in disgust. "what did they do that for?" demanded jim. "in the course of his duty," mr. fenton smiled. "we'll be very much obliged if you will give us the details of the war while we breakfast. we want to know all about it. it isn't every day that exciting things happen around us and we feel that we have been slighted--" "that's all right, mr. fenton. bob did most of it. i'll tell you the whole story--" "i did not do most of it," bob denied emphatically. "if you leave out anything you did, i'll tell them." "fair enough," mr. fenton laughed. "now sit down, satisfy the first pangs of hunger, then begin," he ordered, and the boys took their places. between the two of them, the fentons were able to get a fairly interesting account of what happened, and when the story was finished, mrs. fenton looked at them soberly. "my, my, you might both have been killed. that was why you got me those new baskets. i thought there was something queer about your losing it," mrs. fenton exclaimed. "if you had lost it, or forgotten it, i should not have minded one bit; but if you had told me how you happened to throw it overboard, i should have been glad." "we wanted to be sure that we had a basket for next time," bob grinned cheerfully. "we expect there will be other next times." "my land of goodness, there's the mail man. he looks like a drowned rat. come right in, harvey." the r.f.d. man wore boots that came to his thigh, and even at that he was splashed with mud. "got a registered letter, and another one that looks important, so i didn't put them in the box," the man explained. "some rain we've had. did you know, fenton, that the carrying point is covered? the water is going over it like a mill race, and i had all i could do to keep the wheels under me. loaded the car up with rocks or i'd have been swimming around after the letters." "my land sakes alive, is it as bad as that! here jim, this letter seems to be for you." mrs. fenton gave austin a long envelope, which he accepted with surprise. in the corner was a canadian stamp. "looks like it's from your friends across the border," mr. fenton said. jim opened it promptly, and scanned the contents, then he smiled with relief that it wasn't more formidable. the salutation was as he had signed the note he dropped to the mounties in the ravine. 'flying buddies. gentlemen: it would give us great pleasure if you will join us in an informal dinner tomorrow evening at seven p.m. in going over the off duty hours, we find that most of the men who participated in the affair at the ravine can be present. you have our solemn word that the dinner is merely a friendly one, and you will not be embarrassed by speeches. as a matter of fact you may be aroused to the fighting point by the uncomplimentary remarks of your hosts. telephone me if the time is not convenient to you, and believe me, very sincerely yours, allen ruhel.' "great guns and little fish-hooks, that will be fun," bob shouted. "it means tonight," jim reminded his step-brother. "it says tomorrow." "but it's dated yesterday." "that's so. we'll get her highness diked out, and be ready. suppose we better wear real clothes under our flying suits--" "dinner coats," jim agreed. "if it's informal we don't have to do more than that--" "brush our teeth," bob suggested. they showed the letter to the fentons and the man looked grave. "i hope they are careful what they say," he remarked seriously. "what do you mean?" bob demanded. "these international affairs are ticklish things. if you get riled and throw a soup plate, or some little thing like that, it might bring on a war. it doesn't take much to bring on a war--" "there isn't a soup plate handy, uncle norman, but i know where aunt belle keeps her potato masher. you want to be very careful that you do not start any internal wars; they are the worst sort." "guess i better get outside if that's the case," he chuckled, and went for his own high boots. "let's have a look at the world," jim proposed, then added, "old champlain looks kind of high to me. is it usually so?" "suppose it would be after so much rain," bob put in. "no it isn't," mrs. fenton answered, and she looked very serious. "it's higher now than it's been in years, and with the rain stopped, it will fill more. there are so many streams, some big ones, that empty into it all around." she went with the boys to the back veranda and glanced across anxiously. "i can't see gull rock at all, and fisher's island looks as if half of it is under water." "if it comes flooding too high, we'll take you and uncle norman up in her highness out of danger," bob promised. "we can get in the boats if necessary, bob, and we've got a lot of high land for the stock, so that will be all right, but there are many of the people here who have small farms. my land sakes alive, i expect that some of them are in a bad way right this minute. i'll go telephone." she hurried into the house, and in a moment the boys heard her talking with some neighbors. "let's have a walk around," bob suggested. "we won't need to wheel her highness out. look at the carriage shed," jim exclaimed as he happened to glance in that direction and saw the water lapping up under the wide doors. "cracky. let's see if she's all right." "we'll have to take our shoes off--or get boots." "i'll see if aunt belle has any extra pairs around." he went inside, while jim surveyed the turbulent waters which had risen several feet and were thrashing up to the edge of mrs. fenton's flower garden, and was more than half way across the lawn when the two boys first saw it. "come on," bob called, and jim went inside to the shed. "here are some boots. aunt belle says they are water-proof, but not very handsome. they have been patched." "they will be just the thing." presently the pair had their feet in boots several sizes too large for them, but they grinned, and went down into the yard. their first care was her highness. the water had run up a little way under her, but she hadn't suffered any damage. jim got into the cock-pit and shifted the wheels to the floats, and that done the boys continued the tour of inspection. "if it rains any more, by george, there will be the deuce to pay." they went to the edge of the lake, but could not follow its rim because the inundations were deep and many of them ended in treacherous swampy stretches. where the cedar-rimmed cliff came close to the lake's edge, the water pounded high above all previous marks, and some of the lower ones were being undermined by the strength of the waves. "looks like a regular ocean," jim remarked thoughtfully as they stood on a promontory which jutted out in defiance of old champlain's fury. "say, where's that carrying point?" "further down. about half way to the village. remember the day we were coming up and you noticed a neck of land, lake on both sides, that connected the two larger sections of north hero?" "oh sure. little stretch with a beach and roadway." "that's it. mom told me it got its name from revolutionary days. pirates and smugglers coming down from canada with loads of goods in small boats, carried their boats across this piece and would get away from the officers, or whoever happened to be chasing them. it's quite historic. a bigger craft coming along would have to go all the way around and by that time the smugglers could lose them plenty. they'd hide among some of the lower islands, or even go on straight." "great old place. obliging of champlain to arrange itself so conveniently. smashing guns, look at that water. it's hammering in all directions. too bad if it spoils crops, but it sure looks as if it is going to. did you hear your aunt say whether the turkeys are dying off because of the dampness?" "hezzy reported a hundred have turned up their toes." "rotten. why don't they have a good warm place to keep them when the weather is had?" jim exclaimed wrathfully. "that's the funny part of it, buddy, they have got a real up-to-the-minute house, brooders and everything," bob replied soberly, then added, "gosh, i do wish we could do something about it." "well, we can't keep them from dying off, that's a cinch," jim answered. "let's take her highness and have a look over the place." "right-o, old man." they turned about away from the destructive waters and hurried as fast as the clumsy boots would permit, to the carriage house, where they floated the plane out, closed the door after them, and piled into the cock-pit. "got enough gas?" "plenty." presently her highness was thundering above the lake and after a few circles over the land, which gave the boys an idea of the havoc being wrought among the islands, jim headed her toward the end of isle la motte and in a few minutes they were cruising at low speed above the turkey farm. it too had suffered from the rain, but its buildings were located on high ground which was well drained so that even now it was drying rapidly. the boys could see the turkeys in the run-ways and they knew that until the vicinity was no longer drenched, the delicate birds could not be allowed to roam in the larger pens. as there seemed to be nothing special they could learn, they proceeded to fly across the property, and soon they were above the section where they had seen the men hiking the first day they had attempted to visit hezzy. just beyond the strip of forest, which was quite dense, they saw a long, comparatively bare slope toward the opposite side of the isle and they easily discerned several men moving about as if they were working. "there's more turkeys," jim remarked through the tube and bob nodded that he could see them. "probably they are fixing a place on this side because it's more sheltered," the younger boy suggested. "i see hezzy down there." sure enough the farm's foreman was striding along the edge of the meadow. he paused suddenly, glanced up at them, then disappeared quickly among the trees. "i suspect that he doesn't like us," jim grinned, and bob laughed heartily. "sometime we'll come over and tell him we want to help catch the thieves," the younger boy suggested. "let's hop down now. we can land on that field." "we'd better not. we might land on some small birds," bob replied, and jim agreed that probably it would be safer to wait and have their talk with hezzy at the house. as there didn't seem to be much more to see the boys rode on, across to the new york side of champlain, and before they decided to return they were overtaken by the mail plane. bob, who was at the controls, waggled his wings, and instantly the other pilot responded. he grinned as he flew by, and they waved as if he were an old friend. "it's the guy we saw the other day," jim declared, and bob nodded. the mail plane went racing north, and the boys started for home. it felt good being in the air again, but they were going to the dinner and they wanted to give her highness her weekly inspection, besides replenish the gas supply. that evening, with their best suits under flying togs, they hopped off again, this time making straight north toward the border. they soared grandly beneath a brilliant dome of colors reflected by the setting sun, roared above canada, and in half an hour came down on the flying field where they found allen ruhel and sergeant bradshaw, their uniforms swank, and their faces wearing wide grins of welcome. "glad you could come," ruhel greeted them. "we surely owe you a swell spread--" bradshaw began, but the chief interrupted him. "perhaps we do, but they are not going to get much more than the usual mess. i had to promise that or they would not have come." "how's pat?" bob inquired as they were led toward the long mess hall. "he's so set up over my promotion there's no doing anything with him," bradshaw answered soberly. "i may have to trade him off for a yellow cat." "any time you want to trade him, let us know," jim put in quickly. "i know you boys. you'd spoil him more than i have." they were ushered into a barracks-like building and were soon in the mess hall where already two dozen of canada's finest men were waiting. the boys recognized a few of their faces, though not many, but introductions were gotten over with little ceremony, and the dinner started. because of the young american guests of honor there was no wine served, but that did not detract from anyone's good humor, and the party was an enormous success. bradshaw told the boys that the outlaw gang they had been trying to capture for such a long time, were at last almost all rounded up. "thanks to your good help," he added. "jinks, wish we could have been down in the battle," bob lamented. "i say, didn't you have enough of it?" the chief laughed. "it seems to me you were rather in the thick of things, you know. i expected any moment the blighters would turn their guns on your wings. they would have made their get-away if you had not let us know about the hole they were crawling through. did bradshaw tell you that it was fitted up like a war-time trench, with living quarters, periscopes and what-not?" "great guns--oh, what happened to pedro?" "he's a perfectly good canuck gone wrong. he'll pay for his sins with the rest. a couple of them got away, and a few of the ones we caught are americans." "do you have to send them back?" jim asked. he rather felt the fellows should take their punishment with their gang. "neither your government nor their families have shown any disposition to intervene in their behalf," the chief smiled, then went on, "as a matter of fact, from their records in the states, i think your department of justice is likely to send us a vote of thanks for apprehending them." "i hope they do," jim responded. after that the courses went on merrily. there were jokes, jolly stories, no end of kidding back and forth, and finally the dessert was served. a few minutes later the chief rose. "i promised our american friends that there would be no speeches tonight, so i've kept my word, but some of the boys will have a presentation. stand up, you men of texas, and take your medicine." the boys obeyed, and flushed crimson around their collars as the chief made his way to their places. he opened a small box which seemed to have some ribbons on the royal purple velvet surface. the man held them up and solemnly pinned one to each boy's coat. each medal was of two ribbons, the american flag and the british, arranged on a bar side by side, and suspended from them was the mounty insignia in the middle, a pair of wings, and from the wings hung a tiny basket. "to the flying buddies" was engraved on the back. "you can thank your lucky stars that this isn't the french section of canada and you don't have to be kissed," bradshaw informed them. "we're grateful for that," jim laughed in confusion. "this has been a swell party, but what we did, if it was any good, was as much for our own country as for yours, but let me tell you this, if we ever catch you in texas, we'll get back at you--we'll pin horse-shoes on every one of you," bob declared. "is that a threat or a promise?" "both," bob laughed. "my dad has a sizy sort of ranch. it will hold the whole bunch, so if any of you come to our state we'll be mortally offended if you don't show up at our house," jim supplemented. he was recovering his poise, and then the mounties cheered them until the rafters rang. an hour later they were allowed to depart, and every man promised to call for the horseshoe. "that was a dandy party," jim chuckled later as they circled above the field again. "they are a grand bunch," bob declared enthusiastically. he leveled off her highness, and started in a southerly course that would take them down over new york state a way, but the wind was from the west and would drive them toward their own goal. the night was starless, although there seemed to be few clouds, and the air was heavy with moisture as if it would be raining before morning. the step-brothers did no more talking. they were both busy with their own thoughts. their minds were occupied with the evening's fun, but in a few minutes bob began to think of his aunt and uncle and wished very hard that he could do something to help them. the rain had ruined a large part of the crops, and although there was time to plant other things, the year promised to be another bad one for the fentons. the boy resolved to write and tell his mother. mom somehow always had a suggestion that was worth while. if we could only find out what happens to the turkeys, he sighed and he resolved to pay hezzy a visit the next day if possible. suddenly, in the distance they caught a glimpse of a flash of light across the sky. it disappeared almost at once, then they picked it up again. "bet it's the mail plane," jim shouted. "guess it is," bob agreed. he watched the plane getting closer, and presently there was no mistaking the huge machine that came droning toward them. their altitude was five thousand feet, and the other pilot would pass almost over them. it was mighty chummy to meet a pal of the air, so bob zoomed up, and soon her highness was racing beside the bigger machine. the pilots waved greetings, waggled their wings, then, as the boys had to turn eastward, they waved a good-night, turned abruptly and shot across the other's course. the man in the cock-pit nodded, and in a minute they were a mile apart, but jim was watching the diminishing lights with interest. suddenly he caught his brother's arm and twisted him around. "something's gone wrong," he bellowed; he didn't need to, for bob could see. at that moment there was a blaze, a leaping tongue of flame and the plane started to totter crazily toward the ground. "thundering mars--he's on fire!" ix the mail must go through "bellowing bulls," bob yelled at the top of his lungs as he realized that something catastrophic was taking place in the air and that the good-natured young pilot was in danger of his life. "blistering blazes," jim exclaimed. neither boy could hear the other's ejaculation, but they were tense and rigid as they sat for a paralyzed instant staring through the darkness toward that flaming plane which was beginning to drop like some kind of lost star out of the blackness of the sky. mechanically young caldwell kicked the rudder, his fingers adjusted the controls, and her highness came around with a screech of the wind through the struts and a shrill whine of the wires. he opened her up wide, zoomed, then leveling off, raced toward that flaming, careening plane. with lightning rapidity the boy calculated to a nicety the speed of the doomed mail-plane, and into both their brains flashed the ghastly question as to the sort of spot on to which she was making her plunge. was it smooth open country, or was it thick forests where the fire would spread and become a violent furnace before it could be subdued, or was it into some little sleeping village, whose residents would be seriously jeopardized? as she made her way downward the plane cast a bright glow about herself, like a funeral bier, but the light only accentuated the night beyond the rim. at racing speed her highness cut through the heavens like a thin streak of brightness, and in a minute she was above her falling fellow. the altimeter read three thousand feet, so bob climbed higher, circled when he was sure he would have the grade he wanted, then, tipping the nose almost vertical, he raced downward, the engine roaring. it was breath-taking, but both boys were keenly alert. in a moment they were beside the burning plane and following it, at a safe distance, toward the ground. they could see the mail pilot struggling with the controls, then he noticed them, grinned, and with a wave of his hand, he stopped the battle, loosened his safety strap, and stepped over the rim of the cock-pit. he seemed as cool as if he were doing a stunt at a fair-ground. a moment later he waved again, then jumped into space, making as wide a leap as possible. the two machines plunged on and the man's body seemed to roll, then drop swiftly, then the parachute blossomed out wide and white as it spread open to save him. "whew," bob whistled softly. he could not watch the escaping pilot a moment longer, but he switched on all the light he had in an effort to pick out a landing place. one thing they were positive of, they were not over a village, for there wasn't even a fueling signal visible. on they went, and at last jim caught his step-brother's shoulder. "woods," he said, making his lips form the word so the boy would get it, and bob nodded that he understood. by this time they were so close to the ground that the descending furnace cast a brighter glow, and they could see the tree tops standing out like sentinels. at five hundred feet bob pulled her highness out of the mad drop, leveled off and circled in swift short turns. he maintained the height, and the two looked over the side. presently they saw the pilot dropping toward them for his speed had been checked by the parachute. at the same instant there was a dull thud and the mail plane smashed into the ground. the flames leaped furiously, and while they ate hungrily at their prey, they lighted the vicinity brilliantly. "over there," jim pointed, and bob looked. he saw a clear place, and shutting off the motor, glided to a landing. before her highness came to a full stop, jim was out of the cock-pit. he glanced anxiously at the work of destruction, then looked up to the pilot, but he gasped with dismay as he discovered that the fellow was over trees and seemed unable to spill enough air to guide himself out of their reach. in a second a huge branch caught the silk and held it firmly, while the man dangled like a pendulum thirty feet above the hard ground. a fall would mean broken bones. as the step-brothers were texans first and foremost, ranchers' sons, they never went anywhere without a rope. in fact they would have felt as if they were not fully dressed, so now long lariats were coiled under their seats. it took only a second to secure them, then the two raced toward the tree. "hey you lads, get the mail out of the plane," the pilot shouted when he saw them approaching. "you go back and do that while i get him down," jim said quickly to his brother. "the three of us can probably save it all." "take my rope." bob handed it over, then started to save the mail or as much of it as he could, while austin ran on to the tree. "be careful. i'm trying to figure out a way to get onto the branch, but if i swing. i'll come down," the pilot called. "i'll look out. hold yourself steady." jim had the rope in his hands, but a flying suit is a cumbersome garment and hampering. he stood away on a slight knoll, gave the lariat a few expert turns, then sent it forth. it shot under the pilot's feet, opened wide, rose quickly and was jerked securely. "good work, buddy," the pilot called. "fix it so it won't cut you and i'll get in that nearest tree," jim answered. he was already beside the tree, and looping the end of the rope about his wrist as he started to climb. it was no easy task to prevent the lariat from tangling with the branches, but luckily the tree was a yellow pine, and one side of its trunk had only a few short stubs. the boy went like a monkey and was soon a few feet higher than the pilot. he fastened the end of the rope to a stout branch, took an instant to decide what his next move would be, then he made up his mind, and began to crawl out closer to the man he was trying to save. "careful that doesn't smash," the chap warned. "all right. get loose from your parachute. i'll make a hitch here, so you'll come just under me--" "sure that will hold us both?" "it's a good green branch." "you make your hitch, then get back to the trunk," the pilot proposed. "it will be safer." jim obeyed. hanging on with one hand, he leaned forward to watch. the pilot released himself from the straps, then eased himself by hanging on with one hand. finally he let go, and swung beneath by the lariat. vigorously he sent his body forward, grasped the branch, hauled himself upright, then made his way to his rescuer. "all o. k." "i'll tell the world. come along and we'll help the kid." scrambling to the ground was much simpler than making the ascent, and presently they joined young bob, who was courageously hauling out bags of mail. "gosh," he whistled. "here, take hold." the pilot directed the work and in a few minutes the mail bags were all out of the compartment, and none too soon, for the flames had gained great headway, and were swiftly devouring the plane. they dragged the bags to a safe distance. "i say, we have some pyrene," bob announced; "i was a boob not to think of it before." he ran for the tank, they helped him with the tiny hose, and in a few minutes the blaze was extinguished. the darkness seemed to settle about them more thickly than ever, but the light from her highness showed clearly so they could see their way to the plane. quickly the mail pilot glanced over it and he smiled with admiration. "some grand little bus," he told them. "you bet. where can we take you?" "to albany. we got to get the mail there too," the pilot informed them and the brothers glanced at each other. her highness would certainly carry the three of them and some freight, but whether she was capable of such a load was another matter. "the mail must get through," the pilot repeated. "we'll try it," jim responded. "one of you fellows might stay here," the pilot suggested. "that won't be necessary," jim said quickly. taking the mail to albany would be a task, but coming back to find the one left behind would be an all night's job. anyway, her highness had never been pressed into service for such an emergency and he was determined to leave nothing behind if that could be avoided. the mail man was already dragging bags from the pile. luckily none of them were very bulky and the three set to work to fit them into the freight compartment. that full, what was left was stored in the extra passenger seat. "i'll sit back there," bob offered. "i'm smallest." "all right," jim agreed. he was rather glad the younger boy had made the suggestion. caldwell had piloted her highness through her latest hazard and must be fagged. "pile in." he took a moment to inspect the strip he would follow in the take-off, then leaped to his own seat. the third air-man was beside him. "i'm much obliged to you lads for what you did for me tonight," he said. "you don't know what a relief it was to see you tearing to help me. had an idea that your backs were turned in my direction and didn't hope that you had seen me." "i was watching you as we went along. we were about a mile over, so of course we came back," jim replied casually. "glad we were able to get to you in time." further conversation was impossible, for the boy opened the throttle and her highness roared. the engine ran smoothly, the machine started, but it seemed to jim as if she would never lift. he could see the pines leaping toward them, then up went her nose and she was off the ground, soared laboriously and dangerously close to the trees, then began to climb. that part accomplished, austin was relieved, and he concentrated on the long grill ahead of him. he wished that he had discussed the course with this man who must know every inch of air along his route, but the whole affair had taken but a short time. the excitement had driven a great many things from his mind, so now he began to calculate his course, tracing it on the map. in coming up from texas the boys had stopped off to see the capital city and its twin across the river. he could depend upon the pilot to direct him to the proper field, so coming down would be all right. the unaccustomed load made her highness' management quite different from ordinary occasions when she had carried only an extra passenger, but the mail had to go through, regardless of men and machines, and the youthful part-owner of the plane was proud of her performance now, but he hoped hard that they would meet nothing on the way which would add to their difficulties. he thought of the fentons. they were early birds and probably in bed long ago, but bob's aunt was a nervous woman and she might not sleep soundly because of their absence. they could let her know from albany what was delaying them, but that might only add to her anxiety. well, they had to make the best of it and it was rather an honor to be entrusted with u. s. mail. he tried to imagine what the bags contained. probably a great many of the letters were highly important. people would not be sending their communications by the swiftest way if the matters were not urgent. on, on, and on they soared through the night. the clock on the dial said twelve thirty. it seemed much longer than that since they had left their jolly hosts in canada. once the mail pilot touched his arm, then raising his hand as if he were an orchestra leader, he motioned to go higher, jim nodded that he understood, so began to climb. they were fifteen thousand feet when he got the signal to level off. then he pointed to the speaking tube, and the pilot nodded that he would use it if he had anything to say. one o'clock came, and one-thirty. they had been going over an hour. probably the mail was late, for jim was sure the regular plane was a fast bus. her highness could do high speed too, but not with such a load. it was nearly two o'clock when the pilot picked up the tube and gave directions. later he pointed. "there's the field." it was brilliantly lighted and the boy could see figures moving about the drome. as he glided down he noticed men looking at him curiously. he decided that they expected the mail plane and were surprised at his arrival. when he came to a stop a chap ran to the fuselage. "seen anything of mason--the--" "right here, old timer," mason said quickly. "thank the lord. we got word that a blazing plane was sighted, and we've been on pins and needles ever since. a couple of canadians are out trying to locate you." "i'm o. k., and so is the mail, thanks to these youngsters." mason prepared to hop out, and he turned to jim. "you didn't tell me your name. i'm phil mason." "mine's jim austin, and my step-brother is bob caldwell. we've been visiting relatives in vermont," jim explained. by that time bob was out of his seat and a couple of men were removing the bags. "glad to know you lads. you want to bunk here the rest of the night--" "thanks, no, but i should appreciate a supply of gas. i'm not sure i have enough to make the trip back," jim answered. "gas, of course, you can have all you want. here you--" he shouted directions, and a mechanic came on the run. the task of re-fueling was accomplished with efficiency, but the boys had to shake hands with a lot of relieved pilots who were grateful that one of their number was not lying wrecked and helpless miles away. finally they permitted the buddies to go, and this time bob was beside his brother. "want me to pilot, old man?" he offered. "did you get any sleep back there?" jim demanded. "no, i watched the duplicate controls. thought you might need help." "then you sit beside me and take a nap now. if i get so my eyes won't stay open. i'll wake you up and let you do the work," jim promised. "so long, buddies," mason shouted, just as the throttle was opened. bob waved his hand, and jim nodded. taking off on the drome was simple, and in a moment her highness, no longer loaded to the hilt, leaped into the air. "great old girl," jim exclaimed proudly, and the plane responded eagerly. the course was set, and while they went, roaring back toward the northern part of vermont, bob's head nodded and finally dropped forward as sleep overtook him. jim grinned affectionately at the young fellow and made up his mind that he wouldn't disturb that rest if he could possibly help it. the trip home was uneventful but jim did have to blink hard several times to keep his eyes open. however, he managed it, but the first streaks of dawn were softening the sky before the fenton cove met his tired vision. with a whistle of relief that at last it was over, he glided down toward the carriage house, and as the plane shot forward, he heard the house door open quickly. "is that you, boys?" mrs. fenton's tone was distressed. then bob woke up, blinked, and stared. "thunder and mars, why didn't you let me do part of it?" he demanded. "we're all right," jim shouted to aunt belle, and added to his step-brother, "i'll let you have the honor of putting her ladyship up if you like." "you'd better," bob growled. "next time i won't go to sleep. you go in and hop to bed. i'll explain to aunt belle." that arrangement was entirely satisfactory to jim, and in five minutes he was in their room, in ten minutes he was stretched out in his pajamas and sound asleep. it was noon when he opened his eyes. bob was on the second cot and was just turning over. "hello, old timer." "hello yourself. what day is it?" "same one. say, jim did you notice the lake when we got home?" "didn't notice a blooming thing. is the house afloat?" "not yet. it rained some more. woke me up about nine o'clock. i'd thought of going over today and have a talk with hezzy, but i changed my mind," bob announced. "wise lad." "you never did cotton up to hezzy did you?" "not so you could notice it." "well, i've been doing some thinking. seems kind of queer to me that he should have sneaked under those trees yesterday when we were going over. i've been wondering what he was doing on that side of the property. if it was all right, what the heck did he dodge us for?" "ask me another," jim yawned. "did your aunt think we had flown to the bottom of the lake?" "she sure did, but luckily she didn't miss us until she got up. our door was open and she saw the beds--then she got scared for fair and came flying down stairs. about that time we came rolling in. i am glad she didn't have any more time to fret." "same here." just then they heard mrs. fenton come tip-toeing up the stairs and they both closed their eyes tight, then began to snore melodiously. anyone could tell that it was a pretense. "i was just coming to see if you boys aren't ready to have something to eat. you must be starved," she exclaimed. "we are," they wailed. "well, dinner's all ready. you get into your bath-robes and come right down. no one will mind and i guess you deserve some privileges. someone called up this morning to know if you got home all right, and i guess you did more than bob told me." she looked reproachfully at her nephew and shook her finger. "now, hustle up--i've got huckleberry pie--" they were out of bed before the words were fairly uttered, so she hurried back to her duties and the two boys were close at her heels, donning bath robes as they came. they did take time to have a good cold splash, and glance at the lake, which had risen two feet higher. mr. and mrs. fenton tried to look cheerful and to joke during the meal, but it was not a success, for the menacing water creeping steadily toward them had already seeped into the cellar, and on the road in front of the house the boys could see automobiles, trucks, hay wagons, and even a team of oxen hitched to a great cart, plugging slowly forward. the vehicles were every one of them piled high with household effects and the people of the island whose homes were already below the danger line, were looking for a safe place to settle until champlain should recede within bounds. the meal over, the two boys went to the veranda at the back. there was something terrible about the whole situation, and they wondered dully what could be done about it. just waiting was nerve racking. for a minute they watched the water, which was muddy as it thrashed in the rising wind, and beyond the cove they could see branches, whole trees, rails of fences, boxes, and all sorts of wreckage tossed on the waves. "let's get out of sight of it," bob proposed, so they went to the front of the house, but the view there was no less depressing. an old man trudged through the water driving his cow, and right behind him, seated on a queer old carriage was his wife driving a horse that lifted his hoofs wearily and wheezed with every step. at that moment an automobile drove to the door, and a huge man, with a booming voice, stuck his head out of the window. "can i get something to eat here?" "come right in," mrs. fenton answered. the man climbed out clumsily, and right behind him came a smaller man who had been completely concealed by his companion. "this is a blasted neck of the woods," the big fellow bellowed. "let's sit over here," bob suggested. he didn't think the newcomer added anything attractive to the prevailing discomfort. the fellow talked and cussed the weather, but the small man didn't utter a word. it wasn't until they were eating that he ventured to speak. "i told you, burnam, this was a fool's errand," he declared. the big man brought his fist down on the table so hard that the china jumped. "don't i know you did. well, i'm telling you that they are hiding somewhere around here, understand, and i'm going to find them. you can get on the train and go to blazes if you like, see!" the words and the tone made the boys jump, then jim gripped bob's arm. "shhhhsss." he pointed to the end of the veranda. bob looked and was surprised to see corso standing like a statue close to the step. he looked as if something had struck him paralyzed, but he recovered himself in a second, leaped nimbly to the veranda, stepped with amazing swiftness to the window and cautiously peeped in. it was just one brief glance he got of the room and the tourists, but it seemed to be enough. he jumped lightly as a cat to the ground, crouched, then disappeared around the corner of the house. "what do you know about that," bob exclaimed, then added quickly, "don't tell me to ask you another. let's go up and get our clothes on." x danger!! "i say, jim, that was a queer thing for corso to do!" the two were putting the finishing touches on their toilet. from the dining room came the voice of the man called burnam, who seemed to do considerable talking while he ate, but if his companion spoke again, his words were inaudible. "yes. listen, buddy, i think corso knows that lad down there." "maybe he does," bob agreed, but that hadn't occurred to him. "maybe we can help those two. come on down, and if the bounders show a disposition to pump us, let's give them an earful." "great guns, we don't want to tell him they are here--" "of course not, you nut. we'll see what they lead up to. you follow my lead. come along." they raced down stairs quietly and into the dining room. mrs. fenton had finished serving the travelers and had gone to the cellar where she was rescuing preserves. "good car you have," jim remarked, and burnam glanced at him. "pretty good," he admitted. "know anything about cars?" "enough to run a flivver," jim answered modestly. burnam sized them up as a pair of country hicks and smiled broadly. "interesting neighborhood around here," he ventured. "oh, fair," jim drawled. "not many strangers," burnam went on. "a sprinklin', but nobody wants them," jim volunteered. "exclusive community. what do you do with strangers?" "leave 'em alone. there's a colony further up. summer people, most from cities, come every year." "same ones all the time?" "sure. fellow who owns the land won't let 'em bring outsiders," the boy explained taking a chair. "enjoy your dinner?" "fine. ever have any southern people--" "few," jim admitted. "chap i know and his nephew came around here for the fishing. he liked the place. perhaps you know him." "how long has he been coming?" jim asked. "i understand last fall was the first time, come to think of it." "nobody was here last fall," jim declared positively. "what sort of chap is he, about your size?" "no, very slender fellow, dark skin and eyes, rather good looking." jim looked at bob. "maybe it's those ginks," he said scornfully. "sounds like them," bob admitted. "where they stopping?" burnam asked, eagerly. "they ain't," jim grinned, then added, "they tried this neighborhood for a week, then went on into canada. the station agent said their luggage was shipped to toronto." "you don't say." the big man seemed disappointed and the little one smiled behind his napkin. "chap like that wouldn't stay in so small a place," he remarked. "no, i suppose not. well, can i pay you--" "pay my brother," jim answered, and strolled out of the house. in the soft earth he had no difficulty in trailing corso's foot prints and a few minutes later saw the man and the boy crouched in the garden where they were completely hidden from the road. "hello," he said softly. "i told those fellows that you two went to toronto. know where that is?" "i do," corso answered. "i let them ask me questions, then told them you stayed here a week. they are so disgusted with the place i don't think they'll hang around, but you better keep out of sight. i'm going to escort them off the island, but they don't know that." "much in your debt we are, sir," corso said quietly. "we shall not forget, sir." his eyes turned toward the road. "bad men, sir. very, very bad men." "they don't look any too good," jim admitted. "you stay here until one of us comes and tells you they are gone." jim strode quickly back toward the house and as he crossed the road he saw burnam getting into the limousine. "get a move on, dyke," he growled, and the smaller chap hastily took his place. motioning to his step-brother to keep quiet, jim stepped behind the huge maple, and when the car hacked into the road, he hopped onto the spare tires, caught the strap and threw his legs over, ducking his head so that if the men should either of them glance through the window, he would not be seem. the car raced off carrying the stow-a-way. "i told you those lads were in this part of the country," burnam said shrilly when they had gone some distance from stumble inn. "i know just how to handle natives, and i got exactly the information we want." "yes, but how the blazes do you expect to pick up the trail in canada?" dyke demanded in a lower tone. "it'll be easier than in the united states," the big fellow replied, and after that he seemed to concentrate his whole attention on driving, for the road was rough from the rains and the boy in the back was soon splashed thickly with mud. presently they came to the bridge which connected north hero with isle la motte. jim could see that the water had risen until it was splashing through the planking, and dozens of men were working hard to keep it from being washed away. they were bringing the biggest rocks they could haul and were distributing them in piles from one end to the other. young austin hoped anxiously that none of the workmen would call burnam's attention to the extra passenger he was carrying, but they passed over quickly, and if anyone noticed the boy, nothing was done about it. they probably thought him a hiker tired of walking and unable to get a lift on his way. the car sped on to the station, but it was deserted, and jim was mighty thankful that no agent was there to answer inquiries regarding the travelers who were supposed to have gone on to toronto. half a mile ahead the machine had to slow up for a sharp curve, so feeling confident that the pair were really headed for canada, the boy dropped off and started to trudge home. a good-natured farmer gave him a lift, and at last he saw bob anxiously scanning the road. "gosh all hemlock, i was going into the air to look for you. say, come on, quick." he led the way to the water's edge, and far across the thrashing lake jim saw a tiny boat, with an outboard motor on the stern, chugging valiantly against the waves and making for fisher's island. "who is it?" jim demanded. "corso and the boy. i saw them a few minutes after they left the shore. they have a load of stuff aboard as if they intend to hide over there," bob explained. "gee, i wonder if it's safe!" jim said anxiously. "i asked uncle norman and he said the greater part of the land is under water now, but there are high spots that may serve them. let's keep an eye on the place, jim. i think that pair is all right, and gosh, i'd hate like fury to have them carried away in this. just look at it." jim didn't need to look any more than he had for as far as he could see, the wreckage, large and small, was being tossed and dashed to splinters. "so should i. we'll keep watch, then if it looks bad we'll go after them in her highness. i say, did you happen to notice the number of that limousine? i, like a dub, forgot to look at it." "i wrote it down," bob answered proudly, and he produced the figures. "good work. i'm going to call up ruhel and tell him to be on the look-out for that pair. they're no good and the mounties will keep them under observation." he hurried into the house, called long distance, and in five minutes was telling the story to the chief, who listened with interest. "thanks no end, old man. i take it you'd like us to let them roam around here for a while and give your friends a chance." "that's the idea." "we'll keep them hunting. it will do them good. oh, by the way, i say, what time did you lads breeze in to your house this morning--" "don't ask personal questions," jim retorted. "i don't have to, i know. mason came in this afternoon and told the story. you knights had some night. i hope they pin something on you--" "probably they will. we ought to have a lemon. well, thanks for listening." "same to you." the connection was cut off, and jim joined his step-brother on the veranda. "listen, buddy, that watch dog uncle norman bought, died this morning, and now the other one is sick. what do you know about that?" "rotten. wonder if there was anything the matter with them when they arrived, or if some one over there didn't want watch dogs?" "hezzy?" "that's the lad i'm going to keep an eye on. gosh." he jumped to his feet and started to walk toward the garden. "for a quiet little place, we surely have found no end of excitement since we landed." "it hasn't been exactly dull," bob admitted. they went on in silence and at last they reached the edge of the alfalfa meadow. the stones the strange boy had been working with a few days before were neatly arranged in a low wall, and the land above was terraced as if by someone skilled in the art. the whole section which the fenton's had called the bog had been plowed, smoothed on a slight incline toward the lake, which left the garden side lower than that land, and this also was built up with a cleverly set curb of stones. there were three small outlets which acted as drains, and in spite of the heavy rains the land was comparatively dry. "well, anyway, your uncle has got this work to be thankful for. it sure looks like a grand piece of land. perhaps he can plant it with something that he can harvest this season. must be odd to be in a place where the summers are as short as they are here. i'd like to see it in the fall. it must be quite a sight." "i'd like to see it in the winter. mom says the lake freezes over, and the people who live near cut ice, and they can cross to new york, or any place they want to go. they drive, have races and skate," bob volunteered. "we can't stay to see all that," jim said regretfully. "the parents wouldn't stand for it." "no, i know it." "supper," mr. fenton called, and the boys made their way back to the house. they were very thoughtful as they took their places, and the food was eaten in silence. "any more turkey's stolen, uncle norman?" "some were taken last night," the man answered. just then the telephone rang and aunt belle answered. "the norman's are going to stay here all night," she said quietly. "their house is flooded above the kitchen." that evening stumble inn was filled to the brim with neighbors. belated supper was served to refugees who straggled in, and the two boys turned to and helped. they carried down cots, made beds, washed dishes, turned horses into the pasture, and drove cattle into the meadow. it was late at night when they were repairing a place in the fence to be sure that the nervous stock did not break through and get away. when the job was finished, they made their way back to the house, and all along the road they could see tents pitched, or families gathered about their cars or wagons prepared to sleep out of doors. the protection they had was frail and if another storm should come up suddenly half their worldly goods would be swept into champlain. in spite of their dilemma the vermonters were facing their troubles quietly and without a whimper. although there were as many as fifty people within earshot, hardly a sound could be heard. then a child, whose sleeping quarters was under the big maple, cried in fright. the mother tried to hush it, but the little fellow's terror did not diminish. without an instant's hesitation, bob leaned over the wagon. "don't be afraid, little fellow. you come on in and sleep--" "there isn't any room in your aunt's house, bob," the woman answered. "she would have taken us if she could." "come along anyway," bob insisted. he picked the boy up in his arms, while jim offered to help the woman. "i'll be all right here," she answered, "if you can find a place for the children." a little girl raised her head. "come on, old man," bob urged. the boy came to him willingly, and the girl reached her arms out to jim. together the two went to the house. the living-room door was wide open, and there were beds spread out on the chairs as well as the floor. "i put some more beds in your room, boys," aunt belle said softly. "anyone in our cots?" bob asked. "no," she answered. "we'll put the babies on them, aunt belle. you don't mind, do you?" "of course not, bob, but where will you sleep?" "oh, in one of the hammocks--" "you can't, my dear, they are all full." "we'll find a place. aunt belle, maybe you'd better come along. we don't know much about little fellows." they started to climb the stairs and his aunt followed. it did not take long for the little codgers to be tucked in comfortably, and in a moment they were both asleep. it seemed to the boys as if the very air was charged with impending danger as they went down stairs again. some of the vermont men and women were sitting around on newspapers on the lawn. they spoke softly, partly because of their friends trying to rest, and partly because they were making a brave effort to face the disaster courageously. "heard that no more trains can get through," one man remarked. "ed allen's prize sheep ran into the lake and were carried away," said another. "something frightened them." "the lower end of canada is in a bad way. the border men asked for all the milk they could get, even if it's sour." "expect we better do some sort of organizing and see what we have," another proposed. "let's talk it over with fenton." the boys moved on and sat down against the shed. "say jim, know what this makes me think of, these people i mean?" "makes me think of so much, i'm getting brain-storm," jim answered, but his tone was sober. "the history we read--these vermonters. those allen boys. did you know the two towns, north hero and south hero are given those names because of the brothers, and a lot of their original tract of land is still in the families' possession?" "i heard your mother say so. they were a great gang." "sure were. well, i was thinking how these people, some of them members of those old families, still stand shoulder to shoulder. of course most folks are pretty decent when neighbors are in trouble, but here they are also quiet and sure of each other. no wonder they are considered a fine lot. a couple of hundred years ago just a handful of them bucked against the hardships and won out. now, uncle norman and aunt belle are facing ruin maybe, but they are right with their neighbors, ready to share everything they have as long as they have it--you see what i mean--it's a great spirit, i think." "so do i. i say, let's see if we can find a couple of blankets and sleep out here," jim proposed. "suits me," bob agreed. they had no trouble finding bedding and soon they were ready to turn in. before they did, they stood staring off across the black water of lake champlain. "i say, isn't that a light over there on fisher's?" "was just watching it. perhaps it's corso's fire. gosh, that means they're all right and i'm glad of that." they watched the tiny streak of red that burned cheerily in the darkness, but finally they stretched out and were soon asleep. xi the cry for help neither of the boys slept soundly that night. their dreams were troubled by a conglomeration of their experiences since their arrival at north hero, the weird boom of the waves as champlain rose steadily, and a confusion of people going by in search of places of safety. several times men stopped to inquire for lodgings or routes, and it seemed as if a dozen dogs howled gloomily. but above it all, toward morning, there was one sound that came to their subconscious minds and they stirred fitfully as if trying to shake off a nightmare. then suddenly they awoke and sat up. it was still dark, that pitch darkness that is so thick just before the first streaks of dawn brush the sky. "i say, buddy, did you hear anyone call?" jim whispered. "i was just going to ask you the same question," bob answered. "i thought i heard a cry for help." they sat listening tensely, straining their ears to distinguish the call that had broken into their sleep, but could make out nothing more than the sighing of the wind through the bowing trees and the noises they had been hearing before. jim started to slip into his shoes and bob followed his example. "let's get some clothes on, i can't sleep any more, can you?" "no. gosh, jim, this is spooky." they slipped their trousers and sweaters on over their pajamas, without stopping to don shirts. in two minutes they were dressed and made their way carefully to the rim of the water. "we'd better have a flashlight or we'll be stepping into it." "i've got the little one in my pocket." jim took it out and pressed the button. its faint tray cast a round glow, not very bright, but sufficient to show them where to step. austin led the way while bob followed close at his heels and finally they stopped on the edge of a cliff and stood listening tensely. for what seemed like an hour, although it was less than a minute, the world was oddly hushed, as if it too were listening, then, clear and unmistakable from north of them, somewhere on the lake, came a terrified cry and a shout for help. "let's get her highness. somebody's out there," bob whispered, and as fast as they could they ran to the carriage shed, where the plane was bumping the top of her wings on the high roof of the ceiling. in order to get inside the boys climbed through the window on the opposite end, and even then had to wade ankle deep in water. they lost no time in getting ready, just enough to be sure that all was well and there was plenty of gas in the tanks. "all o. k.," jim announced taking the pilot's seat. "right with you. i say, old man, we never can hear anything with the engine going, and we can't see much through this pitch." "i know it, and we don't dare stay on the water or we are likely to get a tree in the works, but we've got to take a chance. that voice sounded as if it's a little north, didn't you think so?" "yes, and sort of far away--muffled." they floated out into the cove, all lights on, and jim gasped as he saw that the wind had changed during the night and the water on that side was dangerously full of wreckage. he set his lips grimly, opened the throttle, raced out over great rollers that teetered them even more than the day they returned from burlington in the storm. her highness lost no time in lifting herself above the danger and soared up two hundred feet as her nose was brought about and her course was set north by north west. anxiously bob leaned over as far as his safety-strap would permit and scanned the blackness beneath them hoping to catch sight of something which would account for what they were seeking. jim sent the plane in wide circles in order to give bob a chance to see as far as possible, and although their lights helped some, they seemed to make the rest of the night even darker. for ten minutes they rode in a fruitless search, each time coming around a little further north. "jim, things i can make out are being carried fast toward the south. perhaps we're too far up," bob said through the tube, and jim nodded. he changed the procedure, while the younger boy watched. five minutes more they circled, then jim decided to climb. he tipped her highness' nose at a sharp angle and zoomed two thousand feet just as fast as she could scramble through the air, then he shut off the motor and let her glide. the lake beneath them seemed a regular bedlam of sound, and as they drifted forward at as gradual a descent as possible, they finally picked up a frantic call. "it's over there," jim exclaimed and his buddy agreed. the plane was so low now that they dared glide no longer, so jim set the engine going full blast as they made for the place. "there's a light." bob clutched his arm and pointed. whoever had cried out evidently had some dry matches or a cigarette lighter and was trying to help them locate him. in a moment they were riding in close circles, and then they made out what looked like the roof of a portable summer house. they couldn't tell what was on top of it, but by that time the morning light began to break slowly. "what the heck can we do?" "tie the lariats together," jim directed. that was but the work of a moment, then bob put a weight on one end of it and threw it over. "if he can grab it, we can give him a tow." jim nodded, so bob leaned over again. "come a little lower." her highness obeyed, and with the help of the speaking tube, they at last managed to get the plane in proper position, and almost instantly there was a tug as the rope was caught. it was evident that since they had come to him the stranded man had been using his head, for he managed to keep from being dragged off the roof, and even made the end of the lariat fast to a rod that stuck out near the metal chimney. "she's coming," bob shouted--"go easy or she'll be banged to bits." sturdily her highness taxied forward just as low as she could. bob kept his eyes on the house they were towing, and several times he caught his breath sharply as a particularly heavy plank, a broken tree, or a drowned animal came thumping into it. as it got lighter, the boy was amazed to see that the roof held more than just the man, who had flung himself on his face, his body sprawled out flat as he kept a woman and a tiny baby from being jarred off. "oh, great guns," bob whistled. "throw off the line," jim directed. they were in the cove now, and already mr. fenton and several men were on the shore, while two strong young fellows were in the row boats, prepared to shove out and help. the waves battered them all angrily, but her highness had to soar up out of the way, and after a few minutes in the air where she waggled her wings gaily over her victory, she was brought down again, and the flying buddies hurried to learn about the man and his family. "are they all right, aunt belle?" bob called as they went into the kitchen. "yes. here, you hold the little fellow a minute, while i stir this." she promptly dumped the baby into her nephew's arms, and jim grinned at his brother's discomfort. "will it break, mrs. fenton?" "break--" she looked at bob and laughed, "no, certainly not, if it can come alive through such a night. they were driven to the roof hours ago because the floors of those cottages are fastened to the ground and can't get away--" "i don't know how i can ever thank you fellows--" said the rescued man as he came into the kitchen. "aw, please don't try. we thought we heard you call, so we went to see what it was all about," jim said quickly, but he had to take the hand that was extended to him. "if i had been alone i wouldn't have howled, but with my wife and baby i had to do anything i could. we were asleep, and it seemed as if an earth-quake gave us a broadside and we were full of water. we just managed to get some blankets to keep the baby warm, and climb through the window. we were on the veranda roof first, but that wasn't very secure, so we got on the main part. it was good we moved, for the other sections were battered off--" "my land sakes alive--how awful. here now, you take this in to your wife and tell her to drink every bit of it like a good girl, and just as soon as i get some more dry things on the baby, she can have him back. he is a cunning little fellow--" bob was no end relieved that his services as a nurse were no longer required. "buster," he chuckled as he handed the baby to his aunt. "my land sakes alive. how did you boys happen to get that man and his folks? i never saw the like--never. i thought you were asleep by the barn, and then, all of a sudden, some one said you were out down the lake and you were coming in slow like. fent got the glasses and saw those folks--my land sakes alive, i never saw the like of it. how did you happen to be out there?" "we couldn't sleep, and we thought we heard someone call, so we went out. reckon we better get dressed, we haven't got much on," he added, because several people were trooping into the kitchen and he didn't want to be the center of an admiration meeting. "come down as soon as you're ready and have breakfast. you must be most starved both of you." there is nothing like an early morning rescue party to sharpen the appetite, so the boys did not take long to get ready. jim went down first and just as he came into the living room, the telephone, which was a party line, gave a long persistent ring. "that's forever ringing," mrs. fenton called to him. "will you answer it? i can't put down the baby for a minute." "glad to." jim took down the receiver and heard the operator. "please do not try to use your telephone until further notice, unless the call is _very_ important. the lines are congested. the selectmen have given orders that no one is to try to cross the bridges--either at the north or south end of north hero island. please tell people on the road they cannot go any further." the girl repeated the same thing three times to be sure that everybody got it, then there came a click as she closed the connection. austin gave the message to mrs. fenton, who sighed heavily. "my land sakes alive--there, there, you are almost ready, little fellow. this is a nice baby! now you can go to your mother." she hustled the infant to his parents and then hustled back to serve her hungry household. during the meal two serious-faced men came to the house. "we heard that your nephews dragged in a family that might have been drowned, fent," one of them started. "yes they did," mr. fenton admitted and introduced the boys to the men, who shook hands gravely. "i've heard that there are some families stranded on the islands, and it may be that some of the summer colonies have suffered just as that family you brought in. we were wondering if you will help us get any others, if there are any. we have several good strong power boats, but we would waste a great deal of time trying to locate people and might not find them all." "if you will fly around and watch for signal fires or flags, then we could send the boats directly and take them off," the other added. "of course we'll be mighty glad to help," bob declared promptly. "thank you. another thing, there may be some who haven't had much to eat for a couple of days, not being able to use their boats. could you drop food to them?" "sure thing," jim replied. "we'll take some weights along because we don't usually carry anything like that. we just happened to have one this morning or we might not have been able to give that fellow a tow." "thank you. we'll arrange to have boats and rafts at four points of the island. if you find anyone, give the word to the nearest party. i'll show you about where they are." he took a map from his pocket and pointed to four places that would be used for stations. "you can come down on the water to speak to the men we'll have there?" "yes, we'll manage." "that will be good. we appreciate your help." then he turned to mrs. fenton. "my wife and some of the neighbors in the village are packing boxes of food, sandwiches, coffee and milk. we'll send a truck--it ought to be here in a quarter of an hour--and the boys can take it with them and use their own judgment about dropping it." "i can fix them some--" "judging by the number of people you have taken in i think that you are doing your share, mrs. fenton. we won't ask you to do any more," the man replied. "now, i'll telephone to the boatmen--" "they just told us not to use the phone," jim explained. "they will give me a connection," the man smiled. in a minute he was giving information, directions and instructions, and finally the rescue work was well organized. by the time the boys were ready to take off, the truck appeared with boxes of food, and the chauffeur helped them store it in the plane. "we're lucky to have you fellows here," the man said, when finally the task was accomplished. "we're in luck to be here," bob grinned. "my mother always said that i'd like this place, and i do." "come along." jim waved to the men, opened the throttle and her highness tore across the cove, rose and started on her errand of mercy. she seemed to appreciate the importance of the work before her, and never did an airplane behave more beautifully. they went circling north on the lake and were about to turn when bob shouted through the tube. "there's a raft load, look at it!" jim glanced in the direction his step-brother pointed and saw the crude raft being whirled like a top and it was a marvel that the thing held together. the boys saw two boys, young fellows, some household effects, and a little girl. austin glanced at the map, picked out the nearest station, and they raced to it, coming down where the water happened to be fairly smooth. "there's a raft out there," bob shouted. instantly the engine of the power boat gave a bellow almost as furious as the plane's, and off the party scooted, cutting through the waves and sending a rolling sheet of foam on either side of them. her highness raced back to be sure the rescuers did not miss their goal, and in a few minutes the first job was being done well. "not a bad stunt," bob grinned and then the flying buddies started to work again. they discovered families huddled on tiny bits of land that had been cut off by the water, others on great rocks and a number on floating buildings that threatened to fall to pieces any minute. each time they led the way for the power-boats and had the satisfaction of knowing that all were saved. about noon the four power-boats were out, besides several smaller motor-boats and the boys spied two more families stranded helplessly, so they decided to drop food. "i'll tell them the men will come for them," bob announced. he proceeded to write the message in the box and dropped it over. in that particular group they counted ten people, so they dropped more boxes. then on they circled. the men of the party waved their thanks and an hour later, her highness returned, escorting the boats. the work went on for hours until finally one of the men at a station shouted, "mrs. fenton says that you fellows must come and eat." "we'll stay a while longer--" "no, you mustn't. you show us this bunch, then go home and tank up. it's the selectmen's orders and you have to obey." "all right," jim agreed, then he looked at the dial. it was half past one and he could hardly believe his eyes. so the orders were obeyed, and her highness too had to be tanked up for her gas supply was dangerously low. in the afternoon the boys went up again, and although they circled miles they discovered only two more people who needed rescuing, then bob, who was piloting, had an idea. "i say, buddy, i'm going to hop down on fisher's island and find corso." "we saw them earlier and they were all right," answered jim. "i know, but they might not be by morning. let's just make sure." "suits me," jim acquiesced. her highness was brought about and was soon circling over fisher's island, which was more than half submerged, but it did not look as if anyone on it would be in any immediate danger. soon bob picked out a landing spot on an open space where the ground was high and fairly smooth. presently the plane was on the ground, and the boys began to look about. it did not take them long to locate the foreign man, who came to meet them. "burnam left?" he questioned anxiously. "he surely did. went on to canada, and he can't get back because both bridges are closed until the flood goes down," jim explained. "it is good that he is gone, but we cannot get away," corso said, and he scowled thoughtfully. "it may not be many days before he discovers that you tricked him, then he will come back. he is very determined." "i guess it must be pretty bad with you if you feel that way," bob put in quickly. he couldn't help wondering why the man was afraid. "it is much bad, sirs." "tell you what, we'll take you across to new york. will that help?" jim offered cordially. "it would be much help. come." he led the way through a strip of woods and around a boulder, where the man stopped, gave a low whistle, waited for a response, then they went on and in a minute they came to a well sheltered spot where the trees grew high and thick and the cliff formed a semi-circle protection with an overhanging top. "whew," whistled bob in astonishment. back from the opening stood the mysterious boy, straight as a die, but instead of overalls and brown shirt, he wore a long white garment of some very fine material, and over that was a richly embroidered coat, brilliant with peacock-feather trimming. on his head was a deep fringe arrangement and at his feet a strong box. the lid was open and its contents made the brothers think of some arabian night treasure. "you signaled, my uncle!" he spoke in perfect english, and the man answered, briefly in their own tongue, whatever that was. "it is well," the boy nodded. then he turned toward jim and about his lips was a faint smile. "it was considered best that i do not permit it to be known that i understand your language." "holy hoofs, and we were being little helpfuls trying to teach you," jim exploded. "you have been most generous to us, also the fentons." "well, we're glad to have been," bob replied a bit weakly. "my uncle knows men and i too recognize those who are trustworthy, even though i am only twelve years old--" "only twelve. why, you are as tall as i am." "today i am twelve. because of your great kindness i shall impart to you a little about the reason i am here, if you are interested--" "i say, we've been busting to know ever since we first saw you, but you needn't tell us a thing unless you want to," jim assured him. "you need bust no longer." across the boy's face a smile flashed. "let us be seated. we shall be free from interruption." he spoke as if he were some great personage giving an audience, but there was something about his whole bearing that made the step-brothers have perfect faith in him. they seated themselves on the ground close to him, while his uncle stood on guard. "maybe you better close this," bob suggested. "we didn't see anyone else on the island, but you never can tell. is that what burnam's after?" "burnam is after much more than this," replied the boy, and he dropped the lid, shutting the contents from sight. "i was born in a far land. its name i shall keep. five hundred years ago my people were great rulers of a happy nation. it was ruthlessly invaded, conquered, and great works wantonly destroyed. a few of my fathers escaped destruction, they tried to get back their land but their efforts were fruitless. later, they united secretly and hid their vast treasure which the conqueror could never find. they kept together generation after generation, although few outsiders are aware that any of the pure blood are alive." the boy paused, but his audience made no comment. "in my conquered land there is a beautiful statue to one of my blood who fought successfully and helped free the nation from the devastator's yoke." a gleam of pride shone in the boy's eyes. "did they get it back?" bob whispered. "no, but they got rid of the--the yoke. in the generations the number of men of my race has grown. it is now like a vast army, secretly governed by wise men. many are scattered in different countries, learning the best of the white men's way of living, keeping the best of their own knowledge of life. there are still parts of my country that are unsettled, and one day we shall unite there. we shall be versed in the greatest sciences, and never again can we be conquered or put to rout by ignorance or brute force--we shall be the conquerors, and we shall rid ourselves of the waste races as your uncle rids the garden of rank worthless weeds that would choke and smother the good about them." there was no malice in the boy's tone, no bravado in his manner, he spoke impersonally and without bitterness. his eyes shone with a fine intelligence, he made his statements quietly, and once his eyes wandered to the horizon as if they beheld that future. "accurate records are being kept by every generation and brought together. i have been taught the ancient arts of my fathers, i have worked with the soil as my fathers did, and now that i am twelve years old, i am ready to study the sciences, the languages, higher mathematics--the classics." he broke off a moment, then went on. "i may not live to see the establishment of my race, it may not come for hundreds of years, but it will come when we are fully prepared to take the reins and hold them firmly." his eyes rested first on bob, then jim. "whether it is years hence, or centuries, because of what you have done for one of our princes, the men of your tribe, james austin, and of yours, bob caldwell, will be spared, even though they be inferior, they will be given a chance. i have spoken, and my uncle has written it into the records." "gosh," bob gasped. "if they aren't any good, don't bother with them." his face flushed suddenly, he didn't know why, but he felt that weeds of all kinds should be destroyed. "now, before you take us to new york, i will give you each a token. give it to your son, and your son's son, and on, for one day it will find its way back to my land." he opened the box, drew out two large green stones. they were oblong in shape, some marks had been worked into them, and into a groove in one side was a tiny many-colored tube of exquisite enameling. the boy pressed an invisible spring and the tube opened revealing a slip of parchment covered closely with fine writing. "i say--" jim started to protest, but the boy paid no attention to him. "keep these always, they are fine emeralds. here are smaller pieces." he picked up two rings. "wear these and wherever you are seen by any of my people you will be helped and protected." he handed the jewels to his amazed companions, then went on, "mr. fenton has been losing his turkeys. watch the man who is taking care of them, watch him closely." "thundering rattlers, is he the thief?" "he is a naturally dishonest man. watch him closely and you will learn what happened to the turkeys." "thanks a lot, old man--gee, uncle norman will be no end obliged to you, and gosh, he is already, for that bog you drained is still dry--" "it will remain dry--" the boy assured him. "maybe we'd better be starting," jim suggested, "that is, if you are in a hurry to get to new york." "we shall be glad to hurry." "i say," jim put in, "you know, maybe i'm a nut, but if you people, i mean you and your uncle, would kind of act like ordinary people, not wear anything that looks a bit different, or act as if you are trying to keep out of sight, you wouldn't attract attention--nobody would pay any attention to you at all, except maybe in a little place like north hero, where everybody knows everybody else," he finished hurriedly. the boy sat thoughtfully for a moment, then he smiled and held out his hand. "thank you, it is excellent advice." "when you are by yourselves you can act naturally, i mean as you do anyway, but you look as if you are different, you seem to know more--" "thank you, we will do that, and i hope we meet again, jim austin and bob caldwell." "if you come to texas, look us up. this is where we live." he gave the boy a card, with the address scrawled on the back. "we will get ready," corso interrupted. "well, i say, where does this burnam come in?" jim asked. "he was employed to do some task for one of our people and he suspected that somewhere great wealth must be stored. he saw me once in my father's house. when his work was done, he was paid and dismissed, and taken away, so that he could not find the place again, but he came upon my uncle and myself on your western coast. he believes that i know the secret and tried twice to kidnap me, but he has failed each time, and he will fail again, for it is written in the forecasts that i shall live to a great age and that my enemies shall perish. one day you found a box, it held knotted strings. long before writing, or signs, tribes made their records by that method, i know the language of the knots in the colored strings." "why, i've read of that, learned it in school, old language," bob exclaimed with enthusiasm. xii detectives "i say, what a pair of nuts we are. we don't know that boy's name." jim, who was in the passenger seat beside his step-brother, made the announcement with disgust. bob made a grimace. "we do take first prize. do you think that pair are batty?" "not as batty as some of the rest of us," jim declared emphatically. "that's what i think. i say, let's not do any talking about them. you know, sometimes a little thing starts things and evidently this burnam bird isn't letting any grass grow under his feet." "that's a first-rate idea." they had just left corso and his nephew in one of the small towns in the northern part of new york state, and the couple had taken a train south. now the boys were about ready to return to north hero. "i'm telling the cock-eyed world that we are landing on the turkey farm and somebody's going to talk turkey. it won't be us," bob declared. "atta boy. you know, buddy, we agreed with what that boy said just because we've been suspicious of hezzy all along, but we couldn't convince your uncle nor any of the selectmen on anything as thin as that. we've got to get something on the fellow; something no one will be able to think isn't real proof." "that's right," bob acknowledged. "it's getting kind of late. suppose we drop down there. if hezzy's around we can get the lay of things, and maybe find evidence enough so uncle norman can act on it. we'll have to be mighty careful, or burley will be suspicious." "we might say we need a little gas, that our tanks are empty," jim suggested. "and ask about the dog, if he's getting over that sickness." "yes, that's the idea. i've been wondering--if hezzy is getting away with the turkeys, he wouldn't want a good watch dog around. i've got a kind of hunch we'd better be ready to act with a snap." "suits me. let her go." bob opened the throttle and presently they were in the air, each thinking soberly of what might be before them. as jim recalled the weird experiences of the afternoon and the interview with the foreign boy, it all seemed mighty unreal, but he had to admit that the emerald ring on his middle finger was not a dream, and the jewel in his shirt pocket pressed against his chest was substantial enough. the air was heavy with clouds that hung low, and the boy knew that another storm was brewing. he hoped it wouldn't be a bad one, for the vermonters had already suffered terrific loss because of the late rains and the flooding lake which was sweeping everything before it. looking down he could see the thrashing waves, and the whimsical idea came to him that the lake was determined to go somewhere. "a river has more fun," he grinned to himself. bob's mind was fully occupied with his job of piloting, but it did not take long to cross champlain. it was dark enough now so that homes were being lighted up. the bright window squares began to look like jewels suspended on a rapidly darkening background. in a little while night would be upon them. as they approached isle la motte they were riding five thousand feet up, and suddenly jim noticed two other planes flash through the clouds from the north. he wondered if it was their friend the mail pilot, but the hour was not right, and besides there would not be two. he touched bob on the arm, and pointed. "there's a couple of planes." bob picked them out a moment later, then both boys sat tense and astonished as they noticed that the flying machines were circling above the eastern side of the turkey farm. through breaks in the mist the boys saw that the machines were both large ones, big enough to carry considerable freight or several passengers. why they should be maneuvering through the clouds above isle la motte was puzzling, so bob, as he watched them, guided her highness in a wide circle a thousand feet higher. he was confident their presence would not be observed or heard as long as the other engines were racing. keeping the planes within their range of vision was difficult, and several times they lost sight of them, but succeeded in picking them up again. jim had his eyes fast to the glasses, and suddenly he made out a man standing upright on one of the wings. a second man jumped out of the cock-pit and joined the first, then a third and a fourth got on to the other side of the fuselage. it took an instant for the boy to guess what they were going to do, then he shouted. "they are going to jump!" "over the lake." "the farm. i'm going after them." as soon as the words were out of his mouth he was busy with the safety straps, and as he unbuckled himself he noticed their lariats coiled about the hooks. instinctively, but with no idea for what he might use them, the young ranch boy reached for the long plaited leather ropes. it was natural to have them in his hands, and he hopped out of the cock-pit. "i'll land over there and join you as fast as i can," bob bellowed, and although jim could understand only one or two of the words, he guessed the rest and nodded. he glanced down again and by that time counted five figures dropping through the clouds, but instead of white silk parachutes blossoming out above them, the huge umbrellas were some dark color which was soon lost in the haze. without waiting any longer, jim hopped over, while bob maneuvered to keep out of his way, then the pilot turned about and started for the nearest shore of the lake. while dropping through the air toward the fenton turkey farm, jim's brain was working like a trip hammer. his parachute was white and therefore conspicuous. he did not want to land before the other jumpers nor did he want to be too near them. as soon as he was clear of her highness, he pulled the cord, and calling to his mind a detailed picture of the property, he guided himself far enough to the north so that he would be over the forest. he hoped that the others would be too occupied in their own arrival to do much looking around. the parachute floated him gently, and by spilling air carefully, he managed to keep from, being carried from the course he wanted to follow. sometimes the mist was so thick that he couldn't see a thing in any direction, and then he would be drifting through breaks light enough so that he could keep his bearings. his drop was a thousand feet more than the men he was interested in, and each one of them, he noticed, let himself go more than half of the distance before pulling the cords which opened the "chutes." "wow, there are more," the boy exclaimed and he counted ten tumblers. "what in heck are they up to?" he couldn't answer the question and he didn't try, but concentrated all his attention in observing as much as possible. the first man landed on the smooth space which was familiar to jim, and he saw someone coming to meet the new arrival. the chap looked amazingly like hezzy, and the boy whistled. he saw the fellow free himself from his trappings, then the pair scooted out of sight. by the time jim was nearly ready to land, he had seen the ten drop out of the fog, and each one scooted away as quickly as possible. the boy glanced beneath and saw he was coming to what looked like a grove of young maples or willows, and he smiled with satisfaction. they were not very tall and promised him a safe landing. in a moment more it was made, then he too ducked out of the straps as fast as his fingers could unbuckle them. expertly he folded the "umbrella" and hung it where he could find it again, then made his way stealthily toward the clearing. the fog was rolling from the east but did not seem inclined to settle, and that helped him a lot. at the edge of the woods, his lariat in hand, he stood trying to pick out the spot on which the men had landed. at last he discovered it, and he made another discovery. just a few feet below where he was standing was the edge of a long, narrow fine-wire enclosed pen, such as were made for young turkeys on the other side of the farm. "the mystery begins to clear," he muttered softly. stepping carefully so he would start not the slightest commotion he made the way toward the pen, and then he saw there was a shelter over a large section. the place was built of old boards and seemed to have been made to appear as inconspicuous as possible. listening tensely, jim was sure that he could hear the queer noise young turkeys make, but he didn't dare to scrutinize more closely. he was determined to find where hezzy and the ten men were located. it occurred to him that they might be already making their way to the old farm house, which was certainly big enough to accommodate them all without crowding, but at the same time he had a hunch that an investigation of his immediate surroundings would be more to the point for the present. before going any further jim listened for the planes, but not an engine roared in the skies. he thought that the two had proceeded away from the place as soon as their passengers discharged themselves and the boy wondered if these men landing on isle la motte had anything to do with the gang which allen ruhel and bradshaw had raided. the officers had said that a few got away, but of course they could not know how many. these might be left-overs who had been compelled to keep in hiding until they arranged for a safe get-away from canada. the more he thought, the more suppositions flashed through his brain. suddenly he heard a muffled step, as if made by a man walking cautiously in rubber boots and the boy dodged quickly behind the biggest tree, then dropped to his stomach and made a tiny opening in the underbrush so he could look through. for a breathless minute he waited, then into his range of vision came two men, one wearing an all-over aviation suit. "one of the ten," jim grinned to himself, "and friend hezzy." they were coming toward the pen, and the poultry man's face was black with scowls. "i got them here all right," he muttered, "but how can i get them away? where in blazes is pedro?" "now, keep your shirt on, can't you? you've got the birds, nobody knows a thing about them, and we'll get them away as fast as we can. i don't know where pedro is, i told you, but i think he's in the states here somewhere. one of the boys discovered that the mounties, blast them, are hanging around the ravine. we can't go in it, but we do know that some of the gang went off with the canuck. he's probably helping to keep them under cover. you look after your end here--" "well, i've been looking after my end, but blast it all, how can i keep the gang--ten new ones, under cover? the islands are half of them under water. know what that means?" "sure, they won't be bothering you," the air-man answered promptly. "that's where you ain't got a grain of sense. there's probably a hundred people got their homes washed from under them. everybody will be making room for them--and there isn't a house in isle la motte will take care of so many. the fenton's will offer it--if they haven't already fixed to fill it up," hezzy growled furiously. "whew, that's so, but they ain't likely to bring 'em across tonight, that's sure. they can't use the bridges even to walk on, and no north hero man will bring a boat across until the lake isn't so rough, that's a cinch. you sit tight and keep a watch so you can slip 'em out if anyone shows up. this'll be a grand place to stay tonight, and in the morning some of the planes will be back, then we can make a get-away, part of us, before daylight. what do you want to do over here?" "see that the water pans are filled," hezzy replied sullenly. "all right, go to it, i'll cross to the house and catch up with the other fellows. don't hang around too long--" "i gotta see they're all right for the night or they'll be dying on me," hezzy insisted. the pair separated, and jim watched the strange man strike off through the dusk, while the poultry man made his way further along the turkey pen. "now," whispered jim. he jumped to his feet as nimbly and quietly as a cat, and tip-toed after the air-man. half a dozen plans bobbed into the boy's mind, but none seemed feasible. if he could only capture the pair while they were separated he might accomplish something, but how, was the question. he hesitated a moment as he thought of going back and fastening hezzy in the temporary turkey house, but that didn't seem good because he was sure the man could break his way out. by that time the stranger was almost across the clearing, and then the boy made a decision. swiftly he ran, being careful to make no noise, and as he drew closer the lariats in his hand were being looped into shape. it was only the work of a moment to coil one, then taking a quick jump forward, the boy cast the loop. it swished low along the ground straight to its goal, rose over the fellow's foot as he made a step, then jumping behind a small tree, the boy jerked it taut and the chap went down on his face with a hard thump. "hope he landed on a rock," jim muttered as he hauled it expertly. it was evident that the fellow had knocked the wind out of himself in his fall, for he did not struggle, and in a second jim was standing over him, trussing him tightly like a chicken. "he--grr--" austin's handkerchief was stuffed into his mouth just in time to prevent further explosives. "grr, yourself," jim grinned pleasantly. at last assured that the fellow was helpless, the boy rolled him to a tree, and fastened him to that so he could not get away. "now, ta-ta," he said softly, and taking a last glance at the knots, he hurried back toward the pen where he hoped to capture the unsuspecting hezzy. he wished he had another rope, but he hadn't, so he picked up a good stout stick and a couple of rocks. thus armed, he ran at top speed, then he stopped suddenly and gasped. he saw hezzy was not alone. there was another chap with him, and the other chap was putting up a rattling good fight, although burley was bound to be the victor. down the pair went and jim recognized that pair of arms and legs. it was bob. in a moment he would be out. "howling pole cats," jim yelled. hezzy glanced over his shoulder toward the new attacker, but the stick came down on his head with a sickening thud and he stretched out beside his would be victim. "little jimmy, my brother. let me kiss you--" "i'll knock your block off. how did you happen to get into the scrap?" "was coming valiantly to save you from destruction when i stumbled on this pen." the boy got to his feet, then sat down on his enemy. "started to do a bit of rubbering when our esteemed friend arrived. he was very rude, in fact be promised to send me to hell, i believe he called the place." "thoughtful of him. well, i've got the big boss, i think, tied up back there with our ropes. better let me have your belt so we can arrange hezzy as safely." belts and neckties were used to secure the man's hands and feet, and into his mouth was stuffed a gag to keep him from getting boisterous, then the step-brothers took a minute to discuss the situation. "tell you what," jim proposed finally. "you go back for her highness, and land her down here. i'll strike a match so that you can drop close, then we'll give these boys a ride to north hero. the selectmen can lodge them in jail away from all danger, and somebody else can come later and collect the gang in the house." "guess that's the brightest plan, buddy," bob agreed, and he set off to get the plane. half an hour later they dropped down in the cove, and as one of the selectmen was at the fenton's, he heard the charge, and arrested the pair without further ceremony. "my land sakes alive, bob, why, it just don't seem possible hezzy--" "well, we have the goods on him, aunt belle, and let me tell you something. there are hundreds of turkeys in that pen over there, guess your loss won't be so bad after all. gosh, i'm glad--" "well--er--gosh, bob, i am too--now then, there goes the telephone. you answer it, i'm so excited i can't talk straight." bob went, and after listening a moment he repeated. "yes, now, is this right? you have a telegram from texas, that five thousand dollars has been deposited in the burlington bank for mrs. fenton because my mother, that is, mrs. austin, read of the flood and thought her sister could use it. right?" a pause, "thanks!" the boys hung up and turned to his aunt who was leaning helplessly against the door frame. "get that, aunt belle!" she gave a little choking sob, and big tears ran down her cheeks. "yes, bob--i did--that's just like your mother--she wouldn't even take the--time to find out if we needed it--b-but just sent it so we could have it--" "of course," jim laughed. "that's just like her, i know. she's bully." "my land--why my land, you haven't had a bite of supper, you must be starved." then she flew about to get it ready and bob turned on the radio. "weather report. fair and warm, tonight and tomorrow," he announced. "good news," mr. fenton remarked as he came into the room. "we've got so much good news," his wife beamed. but before the boys got a chance to eat the meal, the selectmen came, three of them, and asked to be taken across to isle la motte. they wanted to round up the men in the old house before they could get away, so jim took them over. there wasn't even a fight, and it didn't take the officers long to learn that the ten were men who had come across the border without authority, and they were hand-cuffed, placed under guard, and held for deportation. "we're much obliged, young man," one of the selectmen smiled at the boy and held out his hand. "you've done a lot for all of us and we hope that you will stay with us as long as you can." "oh, thank you. if you don't need me any more, i'll fly back or bob won't leave me a smell of supper." "fly away. i think by morning the bridges will be safe so we can use them, but if they are not, and you'll pay us a visit here, i'll be further in your debt--yours and the plane's." it didn't take long for jim to get home, and he found that there was still plenty to eat. when he had "tanked up" comfortably, he glanced at the green emerald ring on his finger, then at his brother. "say, buddy, suppose we'll ever be lucky enough to meet that kid again?" "i have a big hunch we will," bob declared with satisfaction. [illustration: "do you know, it was like a pirate's ship"] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ laughing last by jane abbott author of highacres, keineth, red robin, etc. illustrated by e. corinne pauli [illustration] grosset & dunlap publishers new york ------------------------------------------------------------------------ copyright, , by j. b. lippincott company ------------------------------------------------------------------------ to frances stanton smith whose loyal interest in my work is an unfailing help to me, i affectionately dedicate this book ------------------------------------------------------------------------ contents i the egg ii rebellion iii pola lifts a curtain iv sidney digs for cousins v the summer will tell who laughs last vi sunset lane vii when dreams come true viii mr. dugald explains ix sidney tells "dorothea" x maids xi independence xii sidney belongs xiii plots and counterplots xiv words that sing xv cap'n phin xvi pola xvii peacocks xviii "hook" xix the gleam xx "there's something wrong" xxi what the night held xxii "you need a big brother" xxiii diamonds xxiv what the day held xxv no one laughs last ------------------------------------------------------------------------ illustrations "do you know, it was like a pirate's ship" her eyes fell upon an entry on another page captain davies drew a letter from his pocket and tapped it with his finger she spied approaching figures--trude and mr. dugald, walking slowly ------------------------------------------------------------------------ laughing last chapter i the egg "i beg your pardon, but it's _my_ turn to have the egg!" three pairs of eyes swept to the sunny window seat from which vantage-ground sidney romley had thrown her protest. three mouths gaped. "_yours--_" "why, sid--" "fifteen-year-olders don't have turns!" laughed victoria romley, who was nineteen and very grown up. though inwardly sidney writhed, outwardly she maintained a calm firmness. the better to impress her point she uncurled herself from the cushions and straightened to her fullest height. "it's because i _am_ fifteen that i am claiming my rights," she answered, carefully ignoring vicky's laughing eyes. "each one of you has had the egg twice and i've never had a cent of it--" "sid, you forget i bought a rug when it was my last turn and you enjoy that as much as i do," broke in her oldest sister. sidney waved her hand impatiently. she had rehearsed this scene in the privacy of her attic retreat and she could not be deflected by mention of rugs and things. she must keep to the heart of the issue. "it's the principle of the thing," she continued, loftily. "we're always fair with one another and give and take and all that, and i think it'd be a blot on our honor if you refused me my lawful turn at the egg. i'm willing to overlook each one of you having it twice." "that's kind of you. what would you do with it, anyway, kid?" interrupted vicky, quite unimpressed by her sister's seriousness. she let a chuckle in her voice denote how amused she was. sidney flashed a withering look in vicky's direction. "i wouldn't spend it all on one party that's over in a minute and nothing to show for it!" she retorted. then: "and what i'd do with it is my own affair!" she swallowed to control a sob that rose in her throat. "tut! tut!" breathed the tormenting vicky. "why, sid, dear!" cried trude, astonished. she put a tray of dishes that she was carrying to the kitchen down upon the old sideboard and turned to face sid. at the tone of her voice sidney flew to her and flung her arms about her. "i don't care--i don't _care_! you can laugh at me but i'm _sick_ of being different. i--i want to do things like--other girls do. h-have fun--" over her head trude's eyes implored the others to be gentle. she herself was greatly disturbed. even vicky grew sober. in a twinkling this lanky, pigtailed little sister seemed to have become an individual with whom they must reckon. they had never suspected but that she was as contented with her happy-go-lucky way as any petted kitten. isolde, the oldest sister, frowned perplexedly. "sidney, stop crying and tell us what you want. as far as _fun_ is concerned i don't think you have any complaint. certainly you do not have anything to _worry_ about!" isolde's tone conveyed that she did. "if it's just the egg that's bothering you, why, take it!" cried vicky, magnanimously. only trude sensed that the cause of sidney's rebellion lay deeper than any desire for fun. she was not unaware of certain dissatisfactions that smoldered in her own breast. the knowledge of them helped her to understand sidney's mood. she patted the girl's head sympathetically. "i guess we haven't realized you're growing up, sid," she laughed softly. "now brace up and tell us what's wrong with everything." trude's quiet words poured balm on sidney's soul. at last--at _last_ these three sisters realized she was fifteen. it _hadn't_ been the egg itself she had wanted--it had been to have them reckon her in on their absurd family cogitations. she drew the sleeve of her blouse across her eyes and faced them. "i want to go somewhere, to live somewhere where i won't be joseph romley's daughter! i want to wear clothes like the other girls and go to a boarding school and never set eyes on a book of poetry. i want adventure and to do exciting things. i want--" isolde stemmed the outpour with a shocked rebuke. "sid, i don't think you realize how disrespectful what you are saying is to our father's memory! he has left us something that is far greater than wealth. a great many girls would gladly change places with you and enjoy being the daughter of a poet--" "oh, tush!" quite unexpectedly sidney found an ally in vicky. "issy, you've acted your part so often, poor dear, that you really think we _are_ blessed by the gods in having been born to a poet. and poor as church mice! i wish someone _would_ change places with me long enough for me to eat a few meals without hearing you and trude talk about how much flour costs and how we're going to pay the milk bill. yes, a _fine_ heritage! poor dad, he couldn't help being a poet, but i'll bet he wishes now he'd been a plasterer or something like that--for _our_ sakes, of course. i'm not kicking, i'm as game as you are, and i'm willing to carry on about dad's memory and all that--it's the least _we_ can do in return for what the league's done for us, but just among ourselves we might enjoy the emotion of sighing for the things other girls do and have, mightn't we?" sidney had certainly started something! the very atmosphere of the familiar room in which they were assembled seemed charged with strange currents. never had any family council taken such a tone. sidney thrilled to the knowledge that she was now a vital part of it. her eyes, so recently wet, brightened and her cheeks flushed. so interested was she in what issy would answer to vick that she ignored the opening vick had made for her. but it was trude who answered vicky--trude, the peaceful. "come! come! first thing we know we'll actually be feeling sorry for ourselves! i sometimes get awfully tired living up to dad's greatness, but i don't think that's being disrespectful to his memory. i don't suppose there are any girls, even rich ones, who don't sigh for something they haven't. but just to stiffen our spines let's sum up our assets. we're not quite as poor as church mice; we have this old house that isn't half bad, even if the roof does leak, and the government bonds and the royalties and living the way we had to live with dad taught us to have fun among ourselves which is something! we're not dependent upon outsiders for _that_. you, issy, have your personality which will get you anywhere you want to go. and vick's better dressed on nothing than any girl in middletown. we older girls do have a little more than sid, so i vote she has the egg this time all to herself to do exactly as she pleases with it--go 'round the world in search of adventure or any old thing. how's that, family?" the tension that had held the little circle broke under trude's practical cheeriness. isolde smiled. vick liked being told she looked well-dressed, she worked hard enough to merit that distinction. sid had the promise of the egg, which, be it known, was the royalty accruing each year from a collection of whimsical verse entitled "goosefeathers" and which these absurd daughters of a great but improvident man set aside from the other royalties to be spent prodigally by each in turn. "i'm quite willing," isolde conceded. "i was going to suggest that we agree to use it this time to fix the roof where it leaks but if sid's heart is set on it--" "it would have been my turn--that is not counting sid," vick reminded them, "and i'd have used it having that fur coat godmother jocelyn sent me made over. but let the roof leak and the coat go--little sid must have her fling! i hope you're happy now, kid. what will you really do with all that money?" at no time had sidney definitely considered such a question. her point won she found herself embarrassed by victory. she evaded a direct answer. "i won't tell, now!" "oh--ho, mysterious! well, there won't be so much that you'll hurt yourself in your youthful extravagance. now that this momentous _affaire de famille_ is settled, what are you girls going to do this morning?" "as soon as these dishes are out of the way i'm going to trim that vine on the front wall. it's disgustingly scraggly." "oh, trude--you _can't_! you forget--_it's saturday_!" trude groaned. vicky laughed naughtily. saturday--that was the day of the week which the middletown branch of the league of american poets kept for the privilege of taking visitors to the home of joseph romley, the poet. in a little while they would begin to come, in twos and threes and larger groups. first they'd stand outside and look at the old house from every angle. they would say to the strangers who were visiting the shrine for the first time: "no, the house wasn't in his family but joseph romley made it peculiarly his; it's as though his ancestors had lived there for generations--nothing has been changed--that west room with the bay window was his study--yes, his desk is there and his pencils and pens--just as he left them--even his old house jacket--of course we can go in--our league paid off the mortgage as a memorial and we have saturday as a visiting day--there are four girls, most interesting types, but isolde, the oldest, is the only one of them who is at all like the great poet--" they would come in slowly, reverently. isolde, in a straight smock of some vivid color, with a fillet about the cloudy hair that framed her thin face like a curtain, would meet them at the door of the study. she would shake hands with them and answer their awkward questions in her slow drawl which always ended in a minor note. they would look at isolde much more closely than at the desk and the pens and pencils and the old swivel chair and the faded cushion. on their way out they'd peep inquisitively into the front room with its long windows, bared to the light and the floor looking dustier for the new rug, and the two faded, deep chairs near the old piano. they would see the dust and the bareness but they wouldn't know how gloriously, at sunset time, the flame of the sky lighted every corner of the spacious room or what jolly fires could crackle on the deep hearth or what fun it was to cuddle in the old chairs--they could hold four--while vicky's clever fingers raced over the cracked ivory keys in her improvisations that sometimes set them roaring with laughter and sometimes brought mist to their eyes. the intruders would find some way to look into the dining room which for the girls was living room and sewing room, too, and they'd say: "how quaint everything is! these old houses have _so_ much atmosphere;" when in their hearts they'd be thinking about the shabbiness of everything and they'd be rejoicing that _their_ fathers and husbands were not poets! vicky claimed to have heard one sacrilegious young creature, plainly on a honeymoon, exclaim: "i'm glad i'm not a poet's daughter and have to live in that old sepulcher! give me obscurity in a steam-heated three bathroom apartment, any day!" of course there could be no trimming the vines and trude's fingers itched for the task--not so much that she minded the unkempt growth as that she longed to be active out-of-doors. she had planned to plant another row of beans, too. the girls wouldn't poke fun at her when they ate fresh vegetables right out of a garden all of their own! but the ladies of the league must not find her, earth-stained and disheveled, in the garden on saturday! "i'll have to change my dress. i forgot it was saturday when i put this old thing on." "vick, dear, you haven't taken your sketching things from dad's desk," admonished isolde a little frightenedly and vicky jumped with a low whistle. "good gracious! what if a high lady leaguer found _my_ truck on that sacred shrine!" she rushed off to the study. trude having gone kitchenward with her dishes, isolde and sidney faced one another. sidney grew awkwardly aware of a constraint in her sister's manner. she was regarding her with a curious hardness in her grave eyes. "you said you were sick of being different!" isolde made sidney's words sound childish. "well--i don't know just how you can escape it--any more than the rest of us can. look at me--look at trude--" then she shut her lips abruptly over what she had started to say. "what had you planned to do this morning, sid?" "i told nancy stevens i'd go swimming with her though i don't much care whether i go or not." "well--as long as you _have_ claimed a share in our little scheme of life, kitten--perhaps _you'd_ better receive the league visitors this morning. i have some letters to write and i want to dye that old silk. don't forget to enter the date in the register!" with which astounding command isolde walked slowly out of the room leaving sidney with a baffled sense of--in spite of the promise of the egg--having been robbed of something. chapter ii rebellion not the least of the dissatisfactions that had grown in sidney's breast was belonging to an estate. since the death of joseph romley four years earlier, the royalties from his published verse and the government bonds and the oil stock, that had never paid any dividend but might any year, and the four young daughters were managed by two trustees who had been college friends of the poet and who, even in his lifetime, had managed what of his affairs had had any managing. one was a banker and one was a lawyer and they lived in new york, making only rare visits to middletown. they considered it far better for isolde and trude to visit them twice a year and to such an arrangement both older girls were quite agreeable. but sidney, knowing the trustees only as two brusque busy men who talked rapidly and called her "mouse" and "youngster" and brought her childish presents and huge boxes of candy which never contained her favorite chocolate alligators, found them embarrassingly lacking in the dramatic qualities a "guardian," to be of any value to a girl, should possess. nor did they ever bother their heads in the least as to what _she_ did or didn't do! in fact no one did. there seemed to be only one law that controlled her and everything in the big old house--what one could _afford_ to do! she disliked the word. she resented, too, the middletown branch of the league of american poets. this was a band of women and a scattering of men who had pledged to foster the art of verse-making; a few of them really wrote poetry, a few more understood it, the greater number belonged to the league as associates. before joseph romley's death sidney had thought them only very funny because her father and trude and isolde thought them funny. there had been then a great timidity in their approach. they had seemed to tremble in their adoring gratitude for a hastily scrawled autograph; they had sometimes knocked at the back door and with deep apologies asked if they might slip in _very_ quietly and take a time exposure of the desk where joseph romley worked. they brought senseless gifts which they left unobtrusively on the piano or the hall rack. they dragged their own daughters to the old house for awkwardly formal calls upon isolde and trude. but after her father's death even sidney realized that the league ladies were different. they were not shy any more, they swooped down upon the little household and cleaned and baked and sewed and "deared" the four girls, actually almost living in the house. isolde and trude had made no protest and had gone around with troubled faces and had talked far into the nights in the bed which they shared. then one morning at breakfast isolde had announced: "the league has paid the mortgage on this house so that we can keep our home here. it is very good of them--i'm sure i don't know where we could have gone. we must show them how grateful we are." and sidney had come to know, by example and the rebukes cast her way by isolde, that "showing them" meant living, not as _they_ might want to live--but as the league expected the four daughters of a great poet to live. _that_ was the price for the mortgage. the league wanted to say possessively: "this is joseph romley's second daughter" or "that is our lamb who was only ten months old when the poor mother died. i am sure the great man would not have known what to do if it had not been for old huldah mueller who stayed on and took care of the house and the children for him. he wrote a sonnet to huldah once. it was worth a month's wages to the woman--" and the league had bought its right to that possessive tone. sidney, when isolde could not see, indulged in naughty faces behind stout mrs. milliken's back and confided to her chum, nancy stevens, the story of how dad had once, in a rage of impatience, called down to the adoring mrs. milliken, waiting in the hall for an autograph: "madam, if you don't go off at once and leave me alone i'll come down to you in my pajamas! i tell you i've gone to bed." oh, mrs. milliken had fled _then_! sidney had to go to miss downs' stupid private day school when she would have preferred the middletown high (as long as she could not go away to a boarding school), simply because miss downs was one of the directors of the league and gave her her tuition as a scholarship. but sidney had never thought--until isolde had spoken so strangely a moment before--that her sisters minded either the trustees or the league or having to be "different." isolde naturally was everything the league wanted her to be, with her grave eyes and her cloudy hair with the becoming fillets and her drawling voice and her clever smocks. trude always wanted to oblige everyone anyway, and vicky was so pretty that it didn't make any difference what she did. sidney had considered that she was alone in her rebellion, a rebellion that had flamed in her outburst of the morning: "i'm _sick_ of being different!" isolde's words of a moment before, with their hard hint of some portentous meaning, started a train of thought now in sidney's mind that drove away all joy in the promise of the next egg, that made her even forget her dislike of the duty isolde had so unexpectedly put upon her. isolde had said distinctly: "you can't get away from it--look at _me_--look at _trude_!" and it had sounded queer, bitter, as though somewhere down deep in her isolde nursed an unhappy feeling about something. sidney pondered, lingering in the deserted dining room. maybe, after all, isolde did not like being the daughter of a poet and her smocks and her fillets and all the luncheons and teas to which she had to go and the speeches of appreciation she had to make. and what did trude dislike? she always _seemed_ happy but maybe _she_ wanted something. sidney remembered once hearing trude cry terribly hard in the study. she and dad had been talking at dinner about college. they had come to the door of the study and dad had said: "it can't be done, sonny." that's what dad had always called trude because she was the boy of the family. trude had come out with her face all shiny with tears and her father had stood on the threshold of the door with his hair rumpled and his nose twitching the way it did when something bothered him. that was probably it. trude had wanted college. that seemed silly to sidney who hated lessons, at least the kind miss downs gave, but it was too bad to have good old trude, who was such a peach, want anything. isolde hadn't included vicky, but then vicky _couldn't_ want anything. she wasn't afraid to fly in the faces of the trustees and the whole league and they wouldn't mind if she did. she was as clever as she was pretty. she could take the old dresses which mrs. custer and mrs. white, the trustees' wives, and mrs. deering whom isolde had visited in chicago, and godmother jocelyn sent every now and then and make the stunningest new dresses. and once an artist from new york had painted her portrait and exhibited it in paris and had won a medal for it. the league ladies approved of that and always told of it. vicky had whole processions of beaux who came and crowded in the chairs in the front room or sat on the broad window sills of the open windows smoking while she talked to them or played for them. isolde's few beaux were not noisy and jolly like vick's--they all looked as though the league might have picked them out from some assortment. they usually read to isolde verses of their own or made her read them some of dad's. maybe, sidney's thoughts shot out at a new angle--maybe isolde did not like beaux who were poets, liked vick's kind of men better. trude had only one beau and sidney had never seen him because trude had had him when she was visiting aunt edith white. trude and isolde had whispered a great deal about him and trude had let isolde read his letters. then a letter had come that had made trude look all queer and white and isolde, after she had read it, had gone to trude and put her arms around her neck and isolde only did a thing like that when something dreadful happened. sidney had hoped that she might find the letter lying around somewhere so carelessly that she could be pardoned for reading it, but though she had looked everywhere she had never found it. she had had to piece together trude's romance from the fabric of her agile imagination. sidney had often tried to make herself hate the old house. though it was a jolly, rambly place it was so very down-at-the heels and the light that poured in through the windows made things look even barer and shabbier. nancy stevens lived in one of the new bungalows near the school and it was beautiful with shiny furniture and rugs that felt like woolly bed slippers under one's tread and two pairs of curtains at each window and nancy's own room was all pink even to the ruffled stuff hung over her bed like a tent. but sidney had once heard mrs. milliken say to isolde: "i hope, dear girl, that you will not be tempted to change this fine old house in _any_ way--to leave it just as your father lived in it is the greatest tribute we can pay to his memory." after that sidney knew there was no use hinting for even _one_ pair of curtains. but her sisters had seemed quite contented. there had been a disturbing ring of finality to isolde's, "you can't get away from it," that seemed almost to slap sidney in the face. would they _always_--at least she and isolde and trude, vick would manage to escape someway--be bound down there in the "quaint" bare house with the trustees sending their skimpy allowances and long letters of advice and the ladies of the league of poets coming and going and owning them body and soul? what was to prevent such a fate? they didn't have money enough to just say--"dear ladies, take the old house and the desk and the pens and pencils and the old coat--they're yours--" and run away and do what they pleased; probably a whole dozen of eggs would not get them anywhere! "what are you doing mooning there in the window?" cried vick from the open door. her arms were filled with a litter of boxes and old portfolios. "where's isolde? i want her to know i dusted things in the study." "isolde's writing letters. then she's going to dye something." "on saturday!" "yes. _i'm_ going to receive the league visitors today." "you!" victoria went off into such a peal of laughter that she had to lean against the door frame. "oh--how funny! what's _ever_ in the air today." "i don't know why it's so funny. i'm--" "fifteen. so you are. but bless me, child, the leaguers will never accept you in a middy blouse and pigtails. what's isolde _thinking_ of? and you look _much_ too plump! now--" but sidney stalked haughtily past her tormenter into the hall. vick's bantering, however, had stung her. the old clock on the stair landing chiming out the approaching hour of the league visitors warned sidney that there was not time to change her middy with its faded collar; nor to wind the despised pigtails, around her head in the fashion mrs. milliken called "so beautifully quaint." anyway, if there were all the time in the world she would not do it. she'd begin right now being her own self and not something the league wanted her to be because she was a poet's daughter! isolde and trude might yield weakly to their fate but she would be strong. perhaps, some day, she would rescue them--even vicky! but as an unmistakable wave of chattering from without struck her ear her fine defiance deserted her. she ran to the door and peeped through one of the narrow windows that framed the door on either side. at the gate stood mrs. milliken and a strange woman. behind them, in twos, stretched a long queue of girls--girls of about her own age. they wore trim serge dresses with white collars, all alike. they carried notebooks in their hands. they leaned toward one another, whispering, giggling. sidney's heart gave a tremendous bound. it was most certainly a boarding school! it was the nearest she had ever been to one! she forgot her middy and the hated pigtails, and the dread of the league. she threw open the door. mrs. milliken's voice came to her: "he died on april tenth, nineteen eighteen. he had just written that sonnet to the west wind. you know it i am sure. he bought this house when he came to middletown but he made it his as though he'd lived in it all his life--we have left it _exactly_ as it was when he was with us--our committee----" they came walking slowly toward the house, mrs. milliken and the strange woman with reverent mien, the wriggling queue still whispering and giggling. chapter iii pola lifts a curtain "where _is_ isolde?" mrs. milliken whispered between her "note the gracious proportions of this hall" and "joseph romley would never allow himself to be crowded with possessions." "she's--she's--" sidney had a sudden instinct to protect isolde. "she has--a headache." "i am _so_ sorry that i cannot introduce you to isolde romley--the poet's oldest daughter," mrs. milliken pitched her voice so that it might reach even to the girls crowding into the front door. "she is a _most_ interesting and delightful and unusual young lady. she was always closely associated with her gifted father and we feel that she is growing to be very like him. _this_--" smiling affectionately at sidney and allowing a suggestion of apology to creep into her tone, "this is just our little sidney, the poet's baby-girl. sidney, lamb, this is miss byers of grace hall, a boarding school for young ladies and these are her precious charges. they are making a pilgrimage to our beloved shrine--" sidney, too familiar with mrs. milliken's flowery phrases to be embarrassed by them, faced a little frightenedly the eyes that stared curiously at her from above the spotless collars. "we will go right into the study," mrs. milliken advised miss byers. "we can take the girls in in little groups. as poor isolde is not here i will tell them some of the precious and personal anecdotes of the great poet. you know we, in middletown--especially of the league--feel very privileged to have lived so close to him--" miss byers briskly marshalled the first eight girls into the small study. the others broke file and crowded into the front room and on to the stairs, some even spilled over into the dining room. they paid not the slightest attention to anything about them. assured that miss byers was out of hearing they burst into excited chatter and laughter. except for one or two who smiled shyly at her they did not even notice sidney. sidney, relieved that mrs. milliken did not expect _her_ to recite the "precious and personal anecdotes," drew back into a corner from where she could enjoy to its fullest measure the delight of such close propinquity to real boarding-school girls. their talk, broken by smothered shrieks of laughter, rang like sweetest music to her. they seemed so jolly. their blue serges and white collars were so stylish. she wondered where they all came from and whether they had "scrapes" at grace hall. the first eight girls filed back into the hall from the study and miss byers motioned eight more to enter. there was a general stirring, then the chatter swelled again. presently a girl slipped into sidney's corner and dropped down upon a chair. "isn't this the _stupidest_ bore!" she groaned. then looking at sidney, she gasped and laughed. "say--i _beg_ your pardon. i thought you were one of the girls. and you're--you're--the poet's daughter, aren't you?" the slanting dove-gray eyes above the white collar actually softened with sympathy. sidney thought this young creature the very prettiest girl--next to vicky--she had ever seen. she did not mind her pity. the stranger had taken her for "one of the girls" and sidney would have forgiven her anything for that! "i suppose it is a bore. isn't it fun, though, just going places?" the boarding school girl stared. "oh, we go so _much_. there isn't a big gun anywhere within a radius of five hundred miles that we don't have to visit. we get autographs and listen to speeches and make notes about graves and look at pictures. most of the girls get a kick out of it slipping in some gore behind byers' back--but i don't. i travel so much with my family that nothing seems awfully exciting now." sidney wished she'd say that over again--it sounded so unbelievable. and the girl couldn't be any older than she was. she was conscious that the slanting eyes were regarding her closely. "do you like living here and having a lot of people tramp all over your house and stare at you and say things about you and poke at your father's things?" it was plain magic the way this stranger put her finger directly upon the sore spot. "no, i don't!" vehemently. "_i'd_ hate it, too. and i suppose you always have to act like a poet's daughter, don't you? do you have to write poetry yourself?" "no, i loathe poetry!" "but i'll bet you don't dare say so when that dame in there can hear you! i have to be careful talking about candy. my father makes the betty sweets. don't you know them? they're sold all over the world. we have an immense factory. and there isn't any other kind of candy that i don't like better. but i don't dare tell anybody that. funny, i'm telling you! our spirits must be drawn together by some invisible bond." sidney's ears fairly ached with the beauty of the other's words. she stiffened her slender little body to control its trembling. she tried to say something but found her throat choked. the other girl rattled on: "i didn't take any notes. i'll copy my roommate's. you see we have to write a theme about our visit. miss byers prides herself on the girls of grace being so well-informed. i know. i'll put you into it. that'll be fun. only you'll have to tell me something about yourself. how old are you? do you go to a regular school and play with other girls like any ordinary girl?" sidney flushed at the other's manner and found her tongue in an instinctive desire to defend her lot. "of course i go to school. it's sort of a boarding school, only all the girls go home nights. and i do everything the others do. and i am fifteen." "i didn't mean to offend you. i thought perhaps a poet's daughter was different. if you don't mind in my theme i'll _make_ you different--pale and thin, with curly hair in a cloud, and faraway eyes--" "that's like isolde, my oldest sister, the one who usually tells the 'precious and personal anecdotes.' i wasn't really offended--and i'll admit most of the girls do treat me a little bit differently--but that's miss downs' fault; she won't let them forget that i am joseph romley's daughter. she uses it all the time in her catalogue and when any visitors come to the school it's dreadful--" "if you don't like it why don't you come to grace hall? we'd have no end of fun--" "gracious, i've never been _any_where. i only go to miss downs' because it's here at middletown and because she gives me my tuition on account of dad--" sidney bit off her words in a sudden panic lest her admission of poverty shock this lovely creature. it had not, however. the dove-gray eyes had softened again with pity. "oh, i see. of course, poets are always poor. i supposed they usually lived in garrets. i nearly flopped when i saw this big house!" this to comfort sidney. "well, it's too bad you _can't_ go to grace. i like the riding best. i have my own horse. gypsy. she's a darling. my roommate is the cutest thing. she's captain of the hockey team and her picture was in the _new york times_. her mother made a dreadful fuss about it but it was too late. and she got a letter from a boy in new york who'd seen the picture--the most exciting letter--" "oh, _here_ you are, pola," cried a voice behind them and a tall girl elbowed sidney back into her corner. "say, byers will be here at least a half an hour longer. we'll have time for a dope at that store we passed, if we hurry!" all boredom vanished, the girl pola sprang to her feet. she paused only long enough to hold out her hand to sidney. "don't tell anyone that i don't like betty sweets best of all the candy in the world, will you?" she laughed. "and i won't tell anyone that you loathe poetry." then she ran after the tall girl. sidney felt engulfed in a great and terrible loneliness. for the next half hour she was only conscious of a fear that pola and her companion might not get back before miss byers discovered their flight. but just as the last eight came out of the study and miss byers was lingering for a few words with mrs. milliken, sidney saw two flying figures join the others at the gate. her little hope that she might have a chance to talk again with pola or hear her talk was lost in a surge of relief that she was quite safe. mrs. milliken remained after the others had filed down the street. sidney, troubled by her fib of the headache, wished with all her soul that she would go and strained her ears for any sound from the floor above that might betray isolde's activities. "a lovely thing--to bring those young girls to this spot," mrs. milliken was murmuring as she looked over the register which the league kept very carefully. "here are some well-known names. jenkins--probably that's the iron family. scott--i wonder if that's the scott who's related to the astors." sidney watched the gloved finger as it traced its way down the page of scrawled signatures. "is there a pola somebody there?" she asked, hopefully. mrs. milliken's finger ran back up the page. "no--not that i can find. the girls were very careless--not half of them registered." of course pola wouldn't have registered--she had been too bored. her survey finished, mrs. milliken put the register in its place and regarded sidney with contemplative eyes. "another time, dear lamb, if you receive, tell isolde to--well, fix you up a little. i must speak to the committee and plan something suitable for you. perhaps we have been forgetting that our dear little girl is growing out of her rompers. oh--and another thing, tell isolde i was _shocked_ to smell gasoline on your gifted father's jacket--" "trude thought it had moths in it and she soaked it in gasoline," explained sidney uncomfortably. "oh, she _mustn't_ do it again. it--it spoiled the atmosphere of everything! i will speak to the dear girls. give my love to isolde and tell her to rest. i do not think anyone else will come today for i posted a notice at the clubrooms reserving this date for grace school." with an affectionate leave-taking of her "lamb" mrs. milliken rustled off. sidney slowly shut the door. out there, beyond the hedge, went pola and the other laughing girls of grace hall, out into a world of fun and adventure. and _inside_ the door-- pola had dared race off to the corner drug store; sidney felt certain pola would dare _anything_. and _she_ had not even had spunk enough to speak up and tell interfering mrs. milliken that trude and the rest of them would soak everything in gasoline, if they wanted to! most certainly they were not going to let _moths_ eat them all up alive! oh--oh, it was hateful! and isolde had said they could not escape it; well, she'd _find_ a way! * * * * * from abovestairs the three older sisters had witnessed the invasion of their home by the grace hall girls. "it's perfectly disgusting!" had been vick's comment. trude was all sympathy for sidney. "you were cruel, issy, making sid receive that mob." isolde reluctantly turned her attention from the faded silks in her lap. "sidney might as well realize with what _we_ have to put up. then perhaps she will not be so discontented with her own easy lot--" from where she squatted on the floor, a huge mending basket balanced on her knees, trude regarded isolde with troubled eyes. her forehead puckered with little criss-cross wrinkles. of the three older girls trude had the least claim to beauty; from constant exposure her skin had acquired a ruddiness like a boy's which made her blue eyes paler by contrast; her hair had been cut after an attack of scarlet fever and had grown in so slowly that she wore it shingle-bobbed which added to the suggestion of boyishness about her; there was an ungirlish sturdiness and squareness to her build--one instinctively looked to her shoulders to carry burdens. yet withal there was about her a lovableness infinitely more winning than vick's grecian beauty or isolde's interesting personality--a lovableness and a loyalty that urged her on now to champion poor sidney and yet made it the harder for her to express to the others what she felt deep in her heart. "stop a minute and think, issy. didn't _we_ used to feel discontented lots of times and fuss about things between ourselves? we knew--though we didn't exactly ever _say_ it--that we _had_ to be different, on account of dad. we couldn't ever bother him, for fear we'd spoil his work. of course it was all worth while and doesn't make much difference--now, but, issy, _sid_ doesn't have to put up with what we did--" trude stopped suddenly. it seemed dreadful to say: "dad isn't writing any poems now." she felt the pang of loss in her tender heart that always came when she thought of her father, with his bursts of impatience and his twitching nose and his long hours in the study with the door closed, and then his great indulgence and boyish demonstrativeness when some work that had been tormenting was completed and off or when some unexpected acceptance came with an accompanying check. she blinked back some tears. "you know i wouldn't talk like this to anyone outside of us, but, just among us--i wish we could let sidney do the things we didn't do when we were her age." "trude, i have never heard you talk so foolishly. i'm sure our lot isn't so tragic that sid can't share it. she has nice friends and goes to miss downs and hasn't a responsibility in the world--" "sometimes we get tired of the brand of our best friends and want a change--even yearn for responsibility!" "i'd say we'd spoiled her enough--she doesn't need any more." "isolde, you simply don't want to understand me! goodness knows i preach contentment the loudest--but-- are we going to live like this all our lives? look at us, huddled up here, now, because the saturdays belong to the league. issy, you and i can go on because we got broken in to it years ago. vick won't, of course--" (flashing a smile at the disinterested victoria) "but little sid--she's fifteen now. she has two more years at miss downs'. she may want college--or--or something--different----" isolde lifted her shoulders with an impatient shrug. isolde's thin shoulders were very expressive and had a way of communicating her thoughts more effectively than mere words. they silenced trude, now. "do you think it's a kindness to encourage sid to want things that we simply can't afford to give her? you ought to know that we can't live a bit differently--you keep our accounts." trude groaned. in any argument they always came back to that; their poverty was like the old wall outside that closed them around. if poor little sid dreamed dreams it would be as it had been with her. isolde was quite right--it might be no kindness to the child to let her want things--like college. yet, though silenced, trude was not satisfied; there were surely things one could want that could surmount even the ugly wall of poverty. vick broke into the pause. "while we're considering sid, what are we going to do with her this summer? if she's going to have fits like she had this morning it'll be pleasant having her round with nothing to do. of course if godmother jocelyn makes good on her promise to take me to banff _i_ won't have to worry but--" "trude, have you written to huldah asking her if she can come for july and august? prof. deering wrote last week suggesting that i spend the summer with them in their cottage on lake michigan. i can more than pay my board by helping professor deering with his book and that will relieve mrs. deering so that she can play with the children. it will be a change for me--" "some change, i'd say," laughed vicky. "a crabby professor and an overworked wife and two crying babies--" "professor deering _isn't_ crabbed at all, vick; he's a dear and the babies are adorable and mrs. deering wrote that the bungalow is right on the water and that she's going to reduce the housework to almost nothing." "it would be nice, isolde. why hadn't you told us of the plan? i had better postpone going to new york. aunt edith white will invite me some other time." "you mustn't do anything of the sort," remonstrated isolde quickly. "if you do i'll write to mrs. deering and tell her i cannot come. you didn't go to new york at easter when aunt edith white invited you and she may think you don't like to go." "it seems terribly selfish for us to go away and leave sid with huldah in this lonely old house." "she adores huldah and she has her chums--" "and she'll have the egg to spend--" from vick. "but there's such a sameness. and the league brings so many more people--" "trude, you're positively silly about sid. when we were fifteen--" "just the same, i don't want to be the one to tell her the three of us are going away to have a good time and leave her here with huldah all summer--" "i'll tell her," declared isolde, firmly. "and i'll try to make her understand she is very well off. sidney really owes more to the league than the rest of us do for we _could_ take care of ourselves. i think we ought to make her appreciate that fact. vick, look out, quick! did i hear mrs. milliken saying goodby?" "yes, there she goes!" cried vick, now boldly at the window. "what luck to be free so early. let's see how much is left of poor old sid." but vick, opening the door, saw a very straight, pigtailed figure walk resolutely down the long hall toward the attic stairs. her quick "well, kid, how did it go?" fell upon deaf ears, nor did sidney so much as glance in her direction. chapter iv sidney digs for cousins the romley house stood two stories and a half high, heavy-beamed, thick-walled, of square spacious rooms with deep-set windows and cavernous fireplaces under low marble mantels. joseph romley had chosen it because he said it was so big a man could think in it; he liked the seclusion, too, that the surrounding wall promised. if his wife faltered before the care it presented she had given no sign but had bravely spread their limited possessions through some of the rooms and had sensibly closed off others. there had never been a time since the romleys took possession when the house had not needed painting and shingling, when the guarding wall was not crumbling and the gate swinging on one hinge, when the furnace was not needing cleaning and the plumbing overhauling. but the wind sang cheerily down the great chimneys and the sun poured in through the windows and the ancient elms housed hosts of birds and the hollyhocks bloomed early and late against the wall so that joseph romley knew only the beauty of the place and was content and his family, perforce, was content because he was. there had never been enough of the fine old furniture mrs. romley had collected in her bridehood to furnish a separate room for each one of the girls. isolde and trude had always shared a sunny room over the study. in a back room victoria and sidney still used the narrow beds of nursery days. only lately victoria had painted them gray with a trim of pink rose buds but the effect had suffered so sharply from sidney's "truck" that sidney had been coerced into taking her precious belongings to the attic where she established a kingdom of her own. it was a beautiful attic. its rafters, shiny and brown, were so low that sidney, by standing very straight, could touch them with the top of her head. it had mysterious crannies and shadowy corners and deep dusty holes. sidney had walled off one end by piling one trunk upon another and pushing an old wardrobe next to them. there she had her possessions, a flat-topped desk with long wobbly legs which she reached by a box balanced on an old stool, the skeleton of a sofa on which sat five dusty and neglected dolls, a scrap of carpeting, amazing as to red roses but sadly frayed about its edges, one boastful rocker in complete possession of arms and legs, which trude had smuggled up to her, and a conglomeration of her favorite books scattered everywhere, for in the seclusion of the attic she could pore over them without risk of some lady leaguer discovering her love of them. to this sanctuary sidney retreated now from vick and the leaguers and her luckless lot. swinging open the door of the wardrobe so as to shut off any unannounced approach to her den, she tiptoed to a corner, knelt down and cautiously lifted a board from the floor, thereby revealing a space two feet square between the beams. from among the treasures concealed there she drew out an old ledger on the first page of which was printed in large type: "dorothea, friend and confidante of sidney romley." jerking herself closer to the window she opened the book across her knees and began to write in it with the stub of a pencil she extracted from the pocket of her middy blouse. "dearest dorothea: "today i stand at a crossroad of life. i am fifteen. it is not my birthday for i had my birthday as you will see if you turn back to page but i am fifteen today in the eyes of the world for i have come into my legal and just rights. i am to have the next egg. i had to make a scene before i got them to promise i could have it but it was ever thus with rights. i swear solemnly now to you, dear dorothea, that i shall never cry again in front of victoria romley. never. i hate her when she laughs. i do not hate isolde even though she does not understand me and that is hard. and i adore trude as i have told you on many other pages. however, i am to have the egg. "but that is not all that happened this morning. i have talked to the most beautiful girl i ever saw. her name is pola and she goes to grace hall, which is a boarding school for very rich girls who have horses. her father makes candy in a big factory and it is sold all over the world. when i get the egg i shall buy a great deal of betty sweets. that is it. pola has traveled so much that it bores her to think of it. when she talked she lifted a curtain and let me peep into a wonderful world. i think she liked me. she's going to put me in a theme only she is going to make me like isolde who just to be mean made me receive the leaguers this morning and went upstairs and did things as though it was not saturday at all. but for that i must love her just as if she had not done it to be mean for i would not have met pola. pola--is that not the most romantic name you ever heard?--feels sorry for me because my father was a poet and she knew right off how i hate having the leaguers own us and the house. she was wonderful. i shall never see anyone like her again. my life is doomed to be sad and lonely. "but though i never see pola again i shall try to live to be like her. inside of me, of course. it would be no use to try to be like her outside on account of my horrid hair. pola's hair is curly and short and she wears it caught with a 'bonny bright ribbon.' my eyes are plain blue and hers are a mysterious gray like an evening sky. her skin is like creamy satin touched with rose petals and i think it is natural for it is not a bit like josie walker's who uses rouge for nancy caught her putting it on one day at school in the toilet. pola is as brave as she is beautiful. she dares anything. she would despise me if she knew that i just let my fate close over my head and do nothing. "but now that i am fifteen before the world i must take my life in my hands. as adventure will never come to this house on account of the league i must go forth to meet adventure. i will not let the others know what i am planning for, as i said heretofore, isolde does not understand me and victoria would only laugh. and as i said heretofore, i hate her when she laughs. but, victoria romley, remember the words of the prophet: 'he who laughs last laughs loudest.' "in case i pass to the great beyond and strange eyes read these confidences, let me add that i only hate vicky when she laughs. at all other times i love her dearly. she is so beautiful that sometimes when i look at her i feel all queer and gaspy inside. pola is not quite as beautiful as vic but pola is a girl like me. "dear dorothea, friend of my inner spirit, as i close this page who knows what the future holds for me? i shall probably be very busy with my plans and may neglect you, my comforter, but as i go forth on my quest i shall often think of you, waiting, faithful, in my secret cranny. and i shall think of isolde and trude for i gleaned from something isolde said to me this morning when she was mad that she and trude long to escape from the league the way i do. but they think they have to stay here the rest of their lives. mayhap i can bring escape to them. vick will marry of course, but isolde's beaux look too poor to get married and they are mostly poets as i have told you. and trude has only her one lost love. dear dorothea, farewell. 'mid pleasures and palaces though i may roam, my heart will come to thee in thy deep and secret chamber.'" sidney liked the last line so well that she paused to read it over, aloud. she closed the book simply because her thoughts were racing ahead so fast that to write them became a torture. she restored "dorothea" rather carelessly to her "deep and secret chamber." having secured the loose planking she rose and turned her agile mind to the consideration of a desire that had began shaping when trude said she could go around the world with the egg. of course the egg would not take her that far but if it would only just take her somewhere on a train she'd be satisfied. travel in the romley family had always been limited. one shabby bag had done comfortable duty for them all. joseph romley had never wanted to go away; if the girls' mother ever yearned for other horizons she had hidden it behind a smiling contentment. neither isolde nor trude had gone further than fifty miles from middletown until the two trustees, after their father's death, had summoned them to new york. victoria, seemingly born to more fortune than the others, had been whisked away on several trips with godmother jocelyn, traveling luxuriously in a stateroom with a maid but she had returned from even the most prolonged of these so silent and dispirited that sidney suspected traveling with godmother jocelyn, fat and fussy, was not the unalloyed pleasure vick would have them believe. to how much sidney longed to vision the world that lay beyond the level horizons of middletown an old map of the united states and canada, tacked to one of the rafters, attested. upon this sidney had marked with various signs that meant much to her and nothing to any one else, the different localities of which she read in books or newspapers. when a leaguer introduced some devotee from some far-off city sidney promptly noted the visit on the map. in consequence she had a vicarious acquaintance scattered from coast to coast. it was the only way she had ever expected to "know" the world until trude had said that about the egg. she did not count as "traveling" going once to cascade lake, twenty miles to the south, and spending a week there with nancy. they had not gone on a train; they had driven down with nancy's father in the automobile. though in anticipation the visit had appeared like an adventure, in later retrospection it was stupid. it had been just like being at nancy's house in middletown; nancy's father and mother and snap, the dog, and caroline, the colored cook, and much of the furniture were all there. it had rained all week and they had had to play in the house and nancy had had a cold in her head which had made her cross and horrid-looking. no, that had not been "going" somewhere, the way trude went to new york and isolde to chicago. crouched low in the sound rocker sidney stared at the old map with speculative eyes. one could not, when one was the youngest sister, simply pack the old bag and start off for just anywhere. all the trips she knew anything about had some objective; one went somewhere to see somebody. trude went to see aunt edith white, isolde the deerings. vick always went somewhere with godmother jocelyn. plainly her first step was to find someone who lived somewhere where she could want to go. it was a pity, sidney lamented voicelessly, that her father had shunned all their relatives the way he had the autograph seekers. nancy had a great many; she was always going to reunions at some aunt's or cousin's or her mother was having a big "family" dinner. it would help her now to have a few cousins herself. they surely must have some somewhere. everyone did. that her father had snubbed them would not make them any the less related. she suddenly remembered a book she had found once in a box consigned to the attic in that first settling. the book for a while had fascinated her and nancy, then they had thrown it aside for something more novel, little dreaming that it was destined to hold an important part in the shaping of sidney's fortunes--and misfortunes. it was a very slender little volume with an embellished binding, long since yellow with dust. finding it now sidney drew the sleeve of her blouse across its cover and opened it. its first page was given over to a curious tree from the sprawling branches of which hung round things much like grapefruits, each ring encircling one or two names. from each fruit dangled more fruit until the tree was quite overladen. a line at the bottom explained that the curious growth was the tree of the new england ellis family. at that first inspection sidney had felt no particular sense of belonging herself to the suspended grapefruits; the only thought that had held her was how many, many years it had taken all those people to live and what a little minute to read their names. but finding an "ann ellis" in a corner of the tree had brought them suddenly close to her. "ann ellis green"--why, that was her mother's name. she and nancy figured out at once that these were her mother's ancestors--_her_ ancestors. nancy had supplied the word. nancy had been deeply impressed by the tree and the coat-of-arms which had come down to these ellises from a welsh baron of feudal times. she had urged sidney to use it on her school papers. but neither the coat-of-arms nor the tree held any especial value to sidney, brought up as she had been in a state of family isolation, until this moment. now the little book offered the reasonable possibility that each ancestor recorded therein had had children, just as that ann ellis in the round enclosure had had her mother and her mother in turn had had isolde and trude and vick and herself. these children would be cousins--and cousins were what she needed! she remembered certain notations that had been made in a fine script on back pages of the book. in search of cousins she now scanned these carefully, with a shivery feeling of prowling over dead bones--the writing was so queer and faded, the paper crackled and smelled so old. "charles ellis, son of james by mary martin, second wife. served in the nd regiment at gettysburg. awarded the congressional medal for exceptional bravery under fire." "priscilla ellis gave her life in the service of nursing through the epidemic of small-pox that swept boston in the year of --" sidney read this twice with a thrill. that was adventure for you. small-pox. she wondered if priscilla had been beautiful like victoria and whether she had left a sweetheart to mourn her tragic death to the end of his days. she liked to think priscilla had had such. that one abner ellis had been a selectman for ten years did not interest her--she passed him for the next entry. "ann ellis married jonathan green, june , . to this happy union has been born one precious daughter, our little ann." why, this "little ann" was her own mother, of course. and the jonathan green who was her father had written in the book the little notes about all the ellises so that when the "little ann" grew up she would know all about them and be proud--priscilla who had died of small-pox and the ancestor with the congressional medal. sidney suddenly thought it strange that her mother had cared so little for the family tree that she had left it, dusty and forgotten, in the attic. probably that was because her mother had been too busy being a poet's wife to bother about dead and gone ellises. she felt a little rush of tender remorse toward jonathan green--she wished he had not died when her mother was a little girl. he was her own grandfather. and _he_ had had a tree behind _him_--there had doubtless been as many greens as ellises. she wished she knew what _they_ had been like. and almost in answer to the thought her eyes fell upon an entry on another page, made in jonathan green's fine hand. "on this day, october , , my brother, ezekiel green, sailed from provincetown for far shores on his good ship the _betsy king_ which same has come into his possession as a reward for years of thrift and perseverance. god's blessing go with him--" there were more entries concerning the brother, ezekiel. he and his good ship the _betsy king_ were reported as returning safely from the azores, and again they had rounded cape horn, again had ventured to east indian waters. "oh-h!" cried sidney aloud for at the top of another page she read that the _betsy king_ had foundered off the cape in the storm of ' --with all lives. "may the soul of my beloved brother, ezekiel green, rest in peace with his maker." sidney forgot the burton-ellis tree in her breathless interest in the fate of ezekiel green who had "foundered" and then rested in peace. it was like a story of marvellous adventure. her grandfather had evidently thought a great deal of this brother who had sailed the oceans wide. he had added, beneath the entry of the foundering of the _betsy king_: "our loving prayers go out in behalf of our beloved ezekiel's son and daughter, asabel and achsa. may they walk in the path their respected father trod before them!" "that's funny," reflected sidney, "how _can_ they when he sailed the wide seas!" [illustration: her eyes fell upon an entry on another page] sidney's brain actually crackled with lightning calculations. this asabel and achsa must be old but they might be still living--and at provincetown, from whence the _betsy king_ had sailed. perhaps asabel had a boat, too. provincetown--she looked at the map. why, provincetown was at the very tip end of that crooked finger of land which always seemed to be beckoning to ships to come to massachusetts. she knew all about it--she and nancy had read a delightful book in which a little girl had lived with two guardians who were old sea captains--like ezekiel green. and she, sidney romley, had never known that she had relatives, real flesh-and-blood relatives, lots of them, no doubt, who lived right on cape cod! she wished that nancy were with her that she might tell her at once. she figured off the generations on her fingers. ezekiel green was her mother's uncle, her great uncle. this son and daughter, asabel and achsa, were her mother's first cousins, _her_ second cousins. she felt suddenly proudly rich in kin. "cousin achsa!" she repeated the name slowly, wondering just how she ought to pronounce it. she pictured cousin achsa living in a square white cupolaed house of noble dimensions that crowned a rocky eminence from which a sweeping view of ocean distances might be had. this picture had no more than shaped itself in her mind than the resolution formed to communicate at once with asabel and achsa. not a day must be lost. when one had girded oneself to set forth in quest of the gleam one must not dally over any uncertainties. sidney climbed on to the box before the high desk and spread the book before her for reference in spelling her relatives' names. then she took out a sheet of writing paper and dipped an old pen into a bottle of ink. her imagination seething, it was not difficult to frame her unusual letter. indeed, the writing of it fell into quite easy lines. "dear cousin achsa: "you will be very much surprised to get a letter from your second cousin, sidney ellis romley. but i have heard my mother speak of you often. (let it be said in justice to sidney that she hesitated over this outrageous fib, then decided it was justified by the necessity for tact. however, some quick calculation caused her to amend her statement.) at least my older sisters have told me that she spoke often of you. you see she died when i was a baby. my father is dead, too. i live with my sisters in middletown. i am the youngest though i am fifteen. "my sisters have travelled extensively but i have never gone anywhere. but this summer i am going to have the egg which is a sum of money that comes to us each year. (here sidney had paused to consider whether she ought to confess that her father had been a poet. she decided she need not.) i can spend the egg any way i want to. i think i will go somewhere on a train. i came across a family tree of the new england ellises which told all about the greens, too, and ezekiel green who is your father as you know and his good ship the _betsy king_ which i think was thrilling and how his soul is with his maker and all about you and cousin asabel and it was so interesting, i mean the greens, not the ellises, that i have decided to visit you if it is convenient. i will not be any trouble. i wish you would write and tell me if i can come. i shall await your letter with trembling expectancy. "your most affectionate and new-found cousin, "sidney ellis romley." sidney hurried the letter into an envelope, sealed it and addressed it. for a dreadful moment she wondered if she ought to know a street number in provincetown. this achsa might have married and have another name. then she remembered that isolde always put their own address in one corner of her envelopes. she printed it on hers in square letters. "there, it'll come back to me if it doesn't find cousin achsa! but, oh, i hope it does." "_sid-ney!_ luncheon. i've called you three times." vick's voice, sharply rebuking, broke across sidney's occupation. she jumped hurriedly from her perch, tucking the letter into the pocket of her blouse. her lips pressed together in a straight thin line of red. life must, of course, appear to go on as usual--school and the same stupid things she did every day, nancy, who was so distressingly short of the standard pola had that day forever fixed. no one, her sisters least, must suspect that adventure loomed so close. she would guard her plans carefully in her "inscrutable breast." chapter v "the summer will tell who laughs last!" to use sidney's own thought, "things happened" with amazing swiftness. if a fairy godmother had been invited in at her christening her plans could not have prospered more. first came mrs. milliken's unpleasant announcement that the summer convention of the league was to be held in middletown during july which meant that every day for two weeks would see the old house invaded by the curious and the reverent. mrs. milliken, in sidney's hearing, had gently hinted that it would be very nice if the girls could go away somewhere for july--at least all of them except dear isolde. then sidney heard for the first time of isolde's invitation to the deerings. isolde had thrown it in self-defense at mrs. milliken. "i do not expect to be here, mrs. milliken. i am going to professor deering's for july and august to help him with his new book." sidney turned away to hide a sudden smile, not, however, before she caught trude's eyes anxiously upon her. then the egg--seventy whole dollars--came on the same day that godmother jocelyn informed vick by telegram that if she could be ready by the first of july she could go with her to california by way of the canadian rockies. "be ready! well, i should just say i _could_!" vick's eyes had shone like stars against a velvet black sky and sidney had again intercepted that anxious glance from trude. isolde considered this an auspicious moment, with all the excitement over vick, to break to sidney their plans for the summer--plans hurried to a head by the league's announcement. "and trude's going to long island with the whites, dear, but you won't be lonely with huldah. you can have nancy here and probably she will invite you down to cascade." "oh, there's a letter from huldah on the table in the hall! i meant to bring it in and forgot," cried vick. "get it, dear," asked isolde, gently, of sidney. action would help sidney control her disappointment--if the child _was_ disappointed. perhaps trude was over-apprehensive. trude hastily scanned the few lines of the letter sidney put into her hands. "oh, _dear_," she exclaimed "huldah can't come." could any fairy godmother, indeed, have shaped circumstances with more kindly hand? "she says she can't leave her niece. her niece's just had a baby. and her rheumatism is bad." "i call that rank disloyalty," cried isolde with spirit. "after all we've stood from huldah!" "what'll we do? can't we make her come? doesn't she owe us more consideration than her niece?" trude put the letter down. "huldah isn't disloyal. you know that, isolde. and she doesn't owe us anything. don't forget, vick, that she worked for us for years for almost nothing when she could have gone anywhere else and received good pay. this house _is_ damp and big and huldah is old. no, we can't beg her to come--over this. it was probably hard for her to refuse. i'll stay home with sid. we'll have lots more fun here together than i'd have with aunt edith white on long island--in spite of the league. will we not, sid?" there was so much more sincerity in trude's honest blue eyes than any suggestion of self-sacrifice that sidney ran around to her and hugged her. she longed to tell trude and the others of her own budding plans--only she had not received as yet an answer from cousin achsa. so all she could say was: "we just won't mind the league!" and then that very afternoon the postman, meeting her outside the wall, had handed her an envelope addressed to "miss sidney ellis romley" and postmarked _provincetown_! sidney ran with it straight to her attic retreat. her heart within her breast hurt with its high hopes. there was a cousin achsa--her own letter had reached her and had been answered! she studied the unfamiliar writing on the envelope--it was a big sweeping script. the envelope felt fine and soft in her fingers and smelled faintly of a fragrance that was not of flowers and yet distinctly pleasant. oh, this cousin achsa must be wealthy, like pola! she broke the envelope and spread out the double sheet it contained. at its top she read, "my dear little cousin." she paused long enough to wonder why cousin achsa thought that she was little. "my dear little cousin: "of course you may come to visit us. we shall enjoy learning to love a young cousin who must be delightful if we can judge from her letter. we blame ourselves and the miles that have separated us for not knowing anything of 'sidney ellis romley' until yesterday, though we knew your mother in days long past. will you write and tell us when we may expect you? can a girl of fifteen find her way to this outlying bit of country? if you decide you cannot perhaps we can arrange for you to come with someone. we await your word with affectionate anticipation. "your already loving cousin, "achsa." sidney blinked hard simply to be certain that the words actually lay before her eyes. then she read it again and again--aloud. oh, it was too wonderful to believe. it was a _beautiful_ letter--cousin achsa must surely live in the square white house on the eminence she had pictured. she had written "we" so perhaps cousin asabel still lived or maybe there were young cousins. anyway, they wanted her. she hugged the letter to her and rushed off to find the girls. oh, huldah could stay with her niece if she wanted to! and trude could go to long island! the leaguers could come and camp in the house! guided by the murmur of voices sidney broke headlong into an informal conference of the older sisters. her drama-loving soul could not have built a more perfect stage, nor asked a more thrilling moment of denouement. isolde had just declared generously, that she could not enjoy a day of her stay with the deerings if trude had to give up the long island plans. "it isn't as though we girls received invitations every day," she explained tearfully. "and it'll be stupid for you here, trude, with just sidney. perhaps it's my duty to stay home and help mrs. milliken." "your sacrifice is quite unnecessary!" sid answered in such a queer voice that the three older girls stared at her in alarm. in truth her flushed face and wild eyes gave strength to the sudden conviction that she had gone mad! she fairly leaped at isolde and flung her letter into isolde's lap. "i guess 'just sid' is capable of making her own plans!" sidney had a moment's terror that she was "beginning" wrong but isolde's remark which she had overheard had upset all her preplanned diplomacy. now she stood back, anxiously, and watched isolde read the letter. as isolde read it aloud she punctuated it with excited exclamations. "'my dear little cousin'--why, sid, how did you happen to write to her? how did you know she wasn't dead? why--'of course you may come and visit us!' sid, what _have_ you been doing? why--" and so, to the end. sidney drew a long breath and braced herself. her explanation tumbled out with such incoherence that the girls kept interrupting her to ask her to repeat something. well, they had told her she could use the egg any way she wanted to and she wanted to go somewhere a long way off--on a train. one always had to visit someone or with somebody and she'd remembered these cousins-- "why, how _could_ you, sid? i don't think you've ever heard us speak of them. i'm sure i'd almost forgotten them--" "well, i _did_. blood's thicker than water," witheringly, "and maybe you can just remember relatives without ever hearing anything about them. she's nice, i know, because her father was persevering and thrifty--" a sudden laugh from vick brought sidney to an abrupt stop. but isolde, rebuking vick with a lift of her right shoulder, turned her attention again to the letter. "it's a very nice letter--a--a cultured letter, don't you think so, trude? somehow i have always had the idea that these relations in the east--the greens--were very poor and--well, uneducated. but this letter doesn't look like it. and they actually seem to _want_ sidney to come!" "it's a long way--" trude put in. "but i want to _go_ a long way. i don't just want to go to some place right near home--like cascade. there's money enough--nancy and i asked at the railroad station. and the man there gave me a timetable with all sorts of interesting pictures on it. it's the very most interesting place i ever heard of--it's an education. i want to go. i've--i've never been anywhere." isolde was trying not to look as though this unexpected development of things was pleasing but she simply could not suppress the thought that in permitting sid to go to these cousins lay their one chance of happy escape for their summer. after all--these cape cod relatives _were_ first cousins of their mother's, her very own people. she wished she could remember what her mother had told of them from time to time but it could not have been anything to their discredit or she would have remembered. and the letter, in its woody fragrance, the bold sweep of the handwriting, the expensive texture of the paper, bespoke culture, even wealth. however, with a lingering sense of duty, she reminded sidney that this cousin achsa must be very old. as if that mattered! sidney flung out an impatient hand. it was like isolde to sit rock-fashion and trump up reasons why she'd better not go. but vick came unexpectedly to her aid. "if she's old--all the better. she'll make sid behave herself. i think this is the luckiest thing that could have happened. now we can all go away. sid wanted adventure--she'll have it with cousin--what's her name?" though she writhed under the tone in vick's voice sidney bit her lips over the retort that sprang to them. anyway, she _would_ have her adventure. she wanted to go on the train all alone; the ticket office man had said it would be quite safe and had told her that he'd write something on a card that she could show to each conductor. she'd like not to have even to do _that_, for that seemed a little babyish. trude had found a reassuring thought. "i'll be near enough, anyway, so that if sid gets homesick or finds that things aren't just what she'd like them to be she can telegraph to me and come home. you will, won't you, kid?" sid promised hastily. then for the next half hour everything whirled about her; she could not believe what her ears heard, what her eyes beheld. the girls were actually planning for her--clothes, trunks, tickets, trains. trude was figuring and making notes on the back of cousin achsa's letter. it was, "sid will need this--sid had better do that--it will be nice for sid to see this--i think by way of boston is the better route--you'd better write to cousin achsa, trude--no, let sid write herself--had we ought to consult the trustees? why, we're old enough to decide this for ourselves--she'd better go just before vick and then we can pack away our intimate things and turn the house over to the league." "didn't evangeline come from somewhere up that way? oh, no. well, i always think of cape cod and nova scotia as being off there on the map together. anyway, write and tell us, kid, when you find the chalice or grail or whatever it is! if you discover any untrodden fields of romance--wire us and we'll send one of issy's poets down--" now, in her exalted spirit sid could meet vick's raillery with a level glance. let vick laugh! cape cod wasn't off "somewhere" in a corner of the map. it was as intriguing as the canadian rockies. and she had a lot shut away in her heart about which vick and the others knew nothing. all that about the good ship _betsy king_. _betsy king_ had foundered as a good ship should, but there was a big chance that cousin asabel, ezekiel's son, might have a boat. then she had a glimpse into a beautiful world that pola had given her; she would see pola's world from the train window. it was simply all too breath-taking to think of. oh, the summer would tell who would laugh last! chapter vi sunset lane when tillie higgins saw joe the baker's cart pass her house she ran to her gate. "he must be going to eph calkins or to achsy green's. now i wonder--" joe rarely penetrated sunset lane with his goods; tillie higgins and old mrs. calkins did their own baking and achsa green's pies were legend. old mrs. calkins, too, had seen the baker's rickety cart approaching through the deep sand. at once she "happened" to be out tying up her yellow rambler. "got a letter for achsy green," the baker called to her, leaning out of his cart. "you don't say! not bad news, i hope?" "dunno. it's a letter. thought i'd bring it to her. gettap, general. pretty nice weather we're havin'. dry, though." "tell achsy i'll drop over soon's my bakin's done." tillie higgins' shadow fell across the yellow roses. tillie was a little breathless; she had hurried over to catch what the baker was saying. "a letter? for achsy green? you don't say. not bad news i hope," she echoed. "joe dunno. cal'late that's why he came all this way with it. he'll find out what's in that letter if he can. then the hul town'll know. i told him to tell achsy i'd drop over soon's my pies are out of the oven. better set down a spell and go along with me." but tillie higgins, with regret in her voice, explained that she had bread in her own oven. "if it's news send martie over with it. hope it's nothing bothersome. achsy green has 'nough as 'tis." this sunset lane was the farthest byway of the northernmost habitation of cape cod. only a ridge of sandy dunes at its back door kept it from tumbling into the blue atlantic. provincetown folk called it "up p'int way" and "t'other end." the more fanciful name had been given to it by a young portuguese who had essayed to convert that corner of provincetown into a summer colony. he had only succeeded, after long effort, in selling the carpenter house nearest commercial street, then had abandoned his enterprise to open a combination garage and one-arm lunch room on commercial street. sunset lane led nowhere, unless one counted the dunes; it was only wide enough for a cart to pass between the hedging rows of crowding wild flowers and the guardian willows; it was deep in sand. the rising tide of commercialism that was destroying the eighteenth-century dignity of the little town turned before it reached it. few went there unless on definite purpose bound, excepting the artists who came singly and in groups to paint an old gray gable against an overtowering hill of sand or a scrap of blue sky between crumbling chimney pots and peaked roofs or old mrs. calkins' hollyhocks that flanked the narrow byway like gaudy soldiers. some sketched jeremiah higgins' octagonal house, more of an oddity than a thing of grace yet ornamented with hand-wrought cornices and dignified by a figurehead from the prow of a ship long since split into driftwood; others went on to the end of the lane to catch upon their canvases the grace of achsa's green's old gray-shingled cottage with its low roof and white pilastered doorway. with the changing years achsa green had become as quaint as her surroundings. bent, and small, her face seared to the brown of a withered leaf from the hot suns and biting winds, her hands knotted with labor, her sparse hair twisted into a knob at the exact center of the back of her head, she was not lovely to look upon, yet from her eyes gleamed a spirit that knew no wear of age, that took its knocks upstanding, that suffered when others suffered but that spread a healing philosophy of god's wisdom. for achsa's acceptance of god's wisdom faltered only when she thought of lavender. lavender was her brother asabel's only child. his mother had died a week after his birth, his father five months before. achsa had taken the babe into her arms and had promised to "do" for him. and she had, with a fierce yearning, a compassion that hurt to her very soul. for lavender was not like other children; his poor little body was sadly crippled. achsa had at first refused to believe but that he might "grow straight," then as the years convinced her that this could never be she consecrated herself to the single task of keeping him fed and clothed and happy and "out o' mischief." she clung staunchly to the hope that, if she prayed hard enough by night and believed by day that her boy was "straight," sometime lavender _would_ be straight and all their little world--the cape--would know. there was nothing unusual in dugald allan of rahway, n. j., finding sunset lane, for he was a fledgling artist and came there like other artists, but certainly a destiny that was kind toward old achsa had something to do in the skirmish that ensued between poker, allan's brindle bull-pup, and nip and tuck, achsa green's two black cats. tuck, caught sunning herself in the middle of the lane, had recognized a foe in poker and had defended her stronghold; poker, resenting her exclusiveness, had offered battle. nip, never far from his sister, had promptly thrown himself into the fray. there had resulted a whirl of sand like a miniature cyclone from which young allan rescued poker just in time to save his brindle hide. nip, unvanquished, had retreated to the very doorway that allan had come to paint; tuck fled to the shelter of a bed of tall sweet william. "dear! dear!" cried achsa green in the open doorway. "oh, my cats--" "nobody hurt. i'm sorry," laughed young allan. "i mean--poker's sorry. i don't understand his rudeness. he never fights anyone smaller than himself. i've brought him up to a high sporting code. he must have misunderstood your cat's attitude. he apologizes, humbly." assured that her pets were unharmed the little old woman in the doorway had laughed gleefully. "tuck's sort o' suspicious o' strange folks, but i cal'late she didn't take a good look at _you_! she must a looked at your dog first!" "i thank you for the compliment. you see, we came quite peaceably to paint your doorway. you're miss green, aren't you? i'm sure that's the door they told me about. and if your defiant animal will stand like that long enough for me to sketch it--i'd consider myself in luck--" "i cal'late he will--if your dog's 'round. nip ain't 'fraid of nothin' 'slong as his own door's at his back. don't know as anyone's wanted to draw his picture before. he'll be all set up for sure!" whipping out his pad dugald allan, with rapid strokes, had sketched the door and the cat--and achsa green. later the picture he painted from the sketch hung in a paris exhibition. when he showed the drawing to achsa green she had beamed with pleasure. "why, that's as like nip as though it war a twin." nip, scenting the friendly atmosphere, had relaxed, stretched, yawned, waved a plumy tail toward poor poker, watching fearfully from behind his master, and had stalked, disdainful, over to the sweet william to reassure the more timid tuck. of course achsa green had wanted to show the "picture" to lavender and dugald allan, eager to see the inside of the old house, had followed her into the low-ceilinged kitchen. and that had been ten years ago and each succeeding spring since had brought dugald allan back to sunset lane. achsa green knew him only as "a nice appearin' boy--not so much on looks," with a kindly manner toward lavender and an appreciation of the merits of nip and tuck. and inasmuch as nip and tuck made friendly advances to poker and lavender would do things for dugald allan that he would not do for anyone else, she finally consented to "let" her gable room to the young stranger and to board him as well. in settling the matter of board young allan had had to deal with a pride as hard as the granite of the breakwall he could glimpse from the one window of his room; it had been only after he convinced aunt achsa that he could never feel like "one of the folks" until he contributed something to the upkeep of the family, that he had persuaded her to accept the sum of money which he considered barely repaid her trouble but which aunt achsa deemed a fortune. wisely young allan paid the "board money" at the bank. he had come to know aunt achsa's failings, how sometimes she stowed her scant earnings away and forgot its hiding place; how at other times she gave them to someone needier than herself. many a one of her generation had told him that she was without "sense" where business was concerned. it was everyone's wonder how she'd managed to feed two mouths, not counting the cats, with lavender not earning so much as his salt. and gradually, as the summers passed, allan took upon his shoulders other responsibilities; planning safe pastimes for lavender; marketing, after which the kitchen cupboards groaned with food; persuading aunt achsa to let her rugs go and putter in her flowers while the summer lasted. with the cape standards of wealth it would not have made any difference to achsa green, anyway, or to anyone else, if they had known that the "nice-appearin' boy" in the old flannels was the only son of roderick allan, president of the allan iron works of newark, new jersey. not half so much difference as the old flannels made to dugald's mother. the inclination on the part of their boy to be "queer," for under that head they put all his predilections that differed from their ambitions--distressed his parents very much. the boy had "everything" and he didn't care a rap about "anything"; they looked upon his spells of dreamy preoccupation as "loafing." his father had an executive office in the iron works waiting for him when he finished college, a job at which any red-blooded young fellow would jump, and dugald talked of painting. his mother had grieved that he would take no part in the social whirl that made up her existence, that he laughed at the creed of her "set," scouted the class commandments by which she lived. when he expressed the intention of going on a tramp over cape cod she had encouraged the whim. she had believed that the discomforts of such an expedition would cure him of his "notions." she had motored to provincetown two summers before and she thought it a forlorn place; the hotels were impossible, the streets dusty and crowded, everything smelled fishy and one was always elbowing great foreign creatures in dirty oilskins and rubber boots. like many a mother she had been too busy living down to her rapidly accruing wealth to know the man her boy had grown to be. all her upbringing notwithstanding he was a simple soul with a sympathetic understanding of his fellow mortals; a quiet humor and a keen perception of beauty that abhorred the false or superficial, a brain that stifled in crowded places. he much preferred knocking elbows with men of homely labor to the crowded and law-breaking parties he came to cape cod to escape; he found among the fisherfolk, the old gray wharves, the sandy dunes, everlastingly swept with the clean breath of the atlantic, a peace of mind and an inspiration he had never known elsewhere. the longing in his heart to paint that had been scarcely more than an urge, took definite and splendid shape. someone else had the executive job in his father's manufacturing plant. that he grew to know that aunt achsa needed him and looked forward to his coming strengthened the bond that brought him back to sunset lane each spring. no one had ever needed him before and it was a man-satisfying sensation. and in aunt achsa's affection for him there was a depth which he divined but only vaguely understood. in his hardy six feet four the compassionate mother-woman was seeing her poor lavender, big and strong and "straight." to her dugald was what lavender "wasn't"; in her way she put him and lavender together and made a satisfying whole. sometimes she wondered if dugald might not be the answer to her prayers! it had been to young allan that aunt achsa had carried the letter that the baker brought so unexpectedly to the door. joe had lingered on the doorstep, but had not been rewarded by any hint of its contents. achsa could not remember when she had had a letter before. she fingered the envelope apprehensively. yet it could scarcely be bad news of any sort, for there was just herself and lavender and he was only down in the flats. no one would write anything about _him_. "read it--my eyes ain't certain with folk's writing," she had begged dugald allan, in a shaky voice. thereupon he had read aloud sidney's letter. "i never!" "i swan!" "why, that's annie green's girl--annie was jon'than's daughter--i rec'lect her when she wasn't much bigger than a pint of cider." achsa green fluttered with excitement like a quivering brown leaf caught in a sudden stir of wind. "and the little thing says she knows all about me. heard her folks tell. well, well, i wouldn't 'a said there was a god's soul knew about achsa green outside this harbor! the little pretty. and her ma's dead--died when she was a baby, poor little mite. sidney--that's not a cape name. like as not they got it from the other side. well, uncle jon'than allas was diff'runt--he was for books and learnin' and was a peaked sort, as i rec'lect him--he was consid'rable younger than pa!" during achsa's excited soliloquy dugald allan had an opportunity to reread the letter. he smiled broadly over the reading. but his smile changed to a quick frown as he observed the signature. for a brief second he pondered over it, then by a shake of his head seemed to dismiss some thought. "what are you going to tell her?" he asked achsa green. "will you let her come on?" achsa green started. she had not thought of the real business of the letter. "why, i don't know. it's a poor place for a young girl--" "don't talk like that, aunt achsa. haven't i told you this is the only corner of the earth where god's air is sweet--and untainted?" achsa green could only understand what her mr. dugald meant by the expression of his eyes. now, they encouraged her. "i might fix up the downstairs bedroom. it ain't been used except to store things since lavender was born in there and his ma was taken out in a box, but i don't know but that i could fix it up suit'ble; a young girl ain't so finicky as grownups. if you won't mind havin' a young piece 'round--" uncertainly. it was _not_ exactly to dugald allan's liking to have a "young piece" around. he had planned some difficult and steady work for the summer. and he had an unreasonable aversion to fifteen-year-olds, at least the kind like his young cousin and her friends, which was the only kind he really knew. but he was touched by aunt achsa's delight in finding "flesh-and-blood" kin; he did not like to dampen her pleasure. he could work somewhere else, in one of the corners of the breakwall or among the dunes. he smilingly assured her that a "young piece" around would add tremendously to his summer. "i dunno if i can write her a nice enough letter, my hand shakes so, and i ain't much of a head at spelling. pa never set anything by books himself and asabel's and my schoolin' sort o' depended on the elements." dugald allan sensed that achsa did not want this little unknown cousin, miles away, to know of her lack of "schoolin'." "bless you, i'll write and i'll write just as though it came from you." "don't know as there's a scrap of writin' paper in this house." "my best is none too good," promised young allan promptly, delighting in the growing pleasure in the wrinkled face. but one more doubt assailed achsa green. lavender. "d'you think i ought to tell first hand--about lavender?" early in his acquaintance with aunt achsa and sunset lane dugald had come to know how it hurt aunt achsa to speak of lavender as "being different." at first, with courteous consideration he had avoided the truth--then as the summers passed he himself had grown fond enough of the boy to forget the crooked body. he hesitated a moment before he answered, then he spoke gently: "no, aunt achsa. that is not necessary. and anyway--it's only the outer shell of him that is different, his soul is fine and straight and manly." at this achsa's eyes caressed him; he put so easily into words what she tried so bravely to remember. and thus it had come about that dugald allan wrote on his best stationery (which he kept for his letters to his mother) to sidney ellis romley, as though, per promise, it was cousin achsa, herself. he had had to write several letters before one quite suited both him and achsa. the letter despatched, to his surprise he shared with aunt achsa considerable interest in its outcome. it would certainly knock the summer flat, but aunt achsa's delighted anticipation was rare. he helped her to prepare the "spare" room off the parlor and to remove anything that might remind its young occupant of that tragic passing of lavender's mother "by box." he abetted her safeguarding the various mementoes of the days when the _betsy king_ sailed into the harbor from foreign shores. "no sense leavin' things 'round waitin' to be knocked off long's they lived through them cats. you can't tell what fifteen's goin' to be!" "no--" groaned allan inwardly, "you certainly can not." in the last hours before sidney's expected arrival he agreed to meet her. though that was lavender's duty he knew, as well as achsa, that she could not depend upon lavender. "if he took it into his head to go down to rockman's wharf why, he'd go--cousin or no cousin comin'," aunt achsa had worried; and then dugald had come to the rescue, even promising to go so far as to hire hiram foss's hack--none of the town taxis would go through the sand of sunset lane! chapter vii when dreams come true "land o' goshen, you don't tell me you're cruisin' down to the cape all by yourself! now, ain't that exciting! and you never been there before, y'say?" sidney nodded, sitting very straight on the seat, her hand closed tightly over her purse which contained all that was left of the egg after purchasing her tickets. her face perceptibly brightened. others had talked to her during the long journey but they had had a way of saying "brave little girl" that had been annoying and that had not helped the lump that persisted in rising in her throat. this stranger sidney felt was himself from the cape. he was big and broad and had bushy white whiskers that encircled a very red face. from his booming voice she knew he must have commanded a ship; perhaps he knew ezekiel green and the _betsy king_. she smiled shyly at him as he slid into the seat beside her. they were leaving plymouth behind. "goin' to provincetown? well, now, that's about as far as you _can_ go, 'lowin' you ain't goin' to race p'int light, by chance. you be careful that no pirates come 'long and ship and stow you in the fo'castle! there's a-plenty of 'em 'round these waters yet." "of course i know there aren't really pirates--but what's a--a fo'castle?" her new friend roared. "bless the heart of the little landlubber! why, the--the fo'castle's the--the fo'castle--for'ard of the fo'mast. and don't you be too sure about the pirates--you ask jed starrow if there ain't! only they don't run up their flag no more--i guess the black sky's _their_ flag." "have they any treasure buried on the cape?" sidney ventured. the old seaman started to laugh again, then smothered it by a big hand at his whiskers. "now i won't say they have or they haven't. the cape ought to be full of it. and these here pirates i speak of bury their treasures somewheres--jest where's the business of uncle sam's men to find out." he struck his chest proudly and sidney caught the gleam of a badge pinned to one of the red straps of his suspenders. he saw that she had glimpsed it; doubtless he had intended she should. "special deputy marshal--i'm cap'n phin davies of wellfleet, retired, you might say--at uncle sam's command." "oh, i guessed you'd sailed a ship. do you--did you know the greens?" "greens? there's greens all over the cape. but i reckon i know 'most everyone in these parts and if i don't, elizy does--" "ezekiel green sailed the _betsy king_--" enlightened sidney. "old zeke? why, sure as spatter! well, well! i might say i was brought up on stories about zeke green. my father overhauled the _betsy king_ for zeke. zeke's folks any folks of yours?" turning suddenly to sidney. sidney explained that they were--that she was sidney romley of middletown, going now to visit her cousin achsa, whom she had never seen and of whom she knew little. "you don't say. my, my, comin' all this way. so achsa's livin', is she? zeke's boy died, near as i can remember. i rec'lect a benefit they had for his widow. she was a wellfleet girl. seems to me she died, too. yes, she did--suddenly, when her baby was born. can't rec'lect whether the baby lived or not. don't pay much time to those things, don't have to for elizy does it well enough for the two of us. ain't anything on the cape elizy misses. comes to me though that i heard her say something about that kid--sure does. i remember that benefit like it was last night. i'd just come ashore from a long v'yage and was rigged from t'mast to mizzen for a night at potter's with the boys and elizy puts me into a b'iled shirt and makes me hitch up the hoss and drive to that benefit. i guess i ought 'er remember it." he was too deep in his own reminiscences to observe the effect of his words upon sidney. so cousin asabel was dead! and they had had a benefit for his widow. sidney did not know just what a benefit was but the sound of the word connected it in her brain with the league and the mortgage. she wished cap'n phin davies could remember whether the baby had lived or not. "if it had lived--i mean that baby--how old would it be, now?" "oh--yes--the baby. let's see. that benefit must a' been all a' sixteen or seventeen year ago. it was the last trip i made on the _valiant_. yep, the last. elizy'd know for sartin sure, though. ain't many dates she can't remember down to the minit. there's somethin' about that kid of green's i've heard elizy tell--" he turned suddenly to sidney: "you're comin' down to this part of the country to visit what's left of your folks hereabouts and you don't know nothin' 'bout them? seems to me some one ought 'a shipped with you. now i wish 'twas elizy and me you was comin' to visit. i sartin' do. elizy likes little girls--we've often wished we had a boat's crew of 'em. what's the use i tell her of havin' a house as big as a four-masted schooner and nary a chick or a child in it. i tell you, you ask your auntie or whatever she is to let you come over and stay a spell with us. wellfleet ain't so far. i'll tell elizy. you'll come, now, won't you? anyone can tell you which is phin davies' house--ain't any much finer on the cape." "is it square--and white--and on an eminence?" "eh? if it's a hill you mean, you're right. i told elizy after i'd made my last v'yage she could build anything she had her heart set on but it'd got to be where i could smell the harbor. got a lookout atop where you can see the boats when they sail round the point." a faintly wistful note shaded the rugged voice. "you tell folks in provincetown that you're a friend of cap'n phin davies and i guess you can just about have anything you want in the town. there's a few of us old fellows left!" as the train carried them further upon the cape a boyish excitement seized the old man. he declared that, though he'd only been in boston three or four days, it was as good as "moorin' from a long v'yage." he pointed out to sidney the places and things of interest they were passing. through his eyes sidney saw the beauty of the old, elm-shaped villages, the rich meadow lands, the low-lying salt marshes, the sand-bars gleaming against stretches of blue water. cap'n phin davies seemed to know something, and it was nearly always funny, about every one who lived in the quaint houses set here and there under century old trees. wellfleet came all too soon. "now don't forget, missy, you're coming to visit old phin davies. i'll tell elizy. and keep an eye to wind'ard for those pirates!" "gosh all fish hooks," he exclaimed to his elizy a half hour later, as he divested himself of his sunday coat and vest and sprawled his great hulk in his own easy chair, "don't know as i've ever seen a cuter little girl--and comin' all this way by herself to visit what's left of zeke green's folks." in her way elizy davies registered sincere horror. "you don't say! why, all there _is_ is old achsa and that poor lavender! now, you don't say! the little thing--" with cap'n phin's going sidney was engulfed in a terrifying loneliness. the lump swelled in her throat again. she tried desperately to rally something of that splendid excitement with which she had started on her journey, to thrill again over the assembled belongings in the old satchel, some things isolde's and some trude's and some even vick's. the girls had been very kind and generous with her. but in spite of her valiant efforts her spirits sank lower and lower. she had come so far, she had sat through so many lonely hours that all that had happened back at middletown seemed now to belong to someone else--some other sidney romley. strong within her mounted an apprehension at what awaited her at her journey's end. but there was a chance the "baby" _had_ lived; cap'n davies had said it'd be about sixteen. sidney hoped it was a boy--a boy cousin would be such fun. and he'd be more likely to have a boat. in order to keep from thinking that the low dunes of sand and marsh, shrouded in twilight haze, through which they now were passing were very dreary she held stubbornly to her speculations concerning the "baby." she was tired and hungry. the lump was growing very big and hurt. when, as she finally followed her fellow passengers off the train and along a bustling platform she heard a pleasant voice ask: "is this sidney romley?" she gave an involuntary little gasp of relief. "oh, are you my cousin?" dugald allan took her bag. "well, yes, if both of us belonging to aunt achsa can make us cousins. are you tired? it's an endless journey--you think you are never going to get here, don't you? did you have any fears that you'd just ride off into the ocean? you had a coolish day." as he talked he piloted her through the crowd, a crowd that startled sidney after those miles of twilight loneliness. "it's always like this toward the week-end," he apologized. "but sunset lane is quiet enough. i've old dobbin here and the one-hoss shay. hoist this up, will you, toby?" he addressed a lanky barefooted boy who slouched upon the driver's high seat. as they creaked and swayed down the sandy road sidney turned searching eyes again upon her companion. "i mean--are you the baby that was born? you see, captain phin davies told me--" "oh, you mean lavender. no--i am not lavender. i just live with aunt achsa summers; wouldn't that make me a--sort of half-nephew?" "but there _is_ a cousin?" sidney drew a quick breath. "you see everything's so strange to me that i have to put it all together, like a picture puzzle. and it will be _nice_ having someone young in the picture. then you're--you're--a sort of boarder?" her voice rose, hesitatingly. "i suppose so. though aunt achsa holds me as one of the family and i hope you will, too, when you get that picture put together. what do you think of our cape?" "oh, it's wonderful! only--" sidney had to be honest. "i didn't like it so well until captain phin davies made me see what was so nice about it. you see i expected to see a stern and rock-bound coast." at this allan laughed. "we'll have to find one for you, won't we? well, wait until you see the back shore. toby's taking a short-cut home. i expect he knows aunt achsa has the finest dinner you ever tasted waiting for us--we'll be there in two seconds now." two seconds--and her journey would be over, her adventure begun. again that apprehension mounted sweeping before it even her hope of the big house on an eminence. she was scarcely conscious of anything they were passing. the dusk had deepened, enveloping them like a heavy veil. she heard her companion say: "this is sunset lane." then, with a great jolt, the ancient equipage stopped. "here we are--and there's aunt achsa watching for us!" they were so close to the house that sidney almost could have jumped from the step of the carriage to the threshold. all about her she felt rather than saw crowding flowers. and in the open door silhouetted against a glow of lamplight waited a very small, brown old lady. ascha green fluttered out to meet sidney and touched the girl with shy hands. "well, well, you're here. don't seem true. let old achsa look at you, child. annie's girl. come in. come right in. i expect you're tuckered out and hungry, too. lavender, come and meet your new cousin." sidney's glance shot across the room to the boy who huddled back of the stove, regarding her with shy dark eyes. and as quickly it dropped before what she saw. ascha green, watching, sensed her involuntary shudder. "he's strange," aunt achsa hurried to explain, a tremble in her voice, "but he'll make friends fast 'nough. goodness knows he ain't talked of much else than a new cousin's comin' sence we got your letter. this is your room, sidney, right here handy and mebbe you'll like to wash up while i put supper on the table. here, take this candle; it's darkened up fast." the "boarder" had already carried sidney's bag into the little room that opened directly out of the parlor. aunt achsa, after bustling her in, closed the door quickly between them. it was the smallest room sidney had ever seen. why, she could reach out from just where she was standing and touch the ceiling or anyone of the walls. and it was the neatest. the small panes of the window twinkled at her between starched muslin curtains, coarse but immaculate towels covered the washstand and the highboy that stood at each side of the window. another white towel achsa had tacked on the wall behind the washbowl and under the oval mirror. a cushion, much faded from many washings, she had tied to the back of the straight rush-bottomed chair at the foot of the bed. a smell of strong soap hung in the air. sidney could not know that the highboy was priceless, that the two blue vases which achsa had risked leaving on top of it had come from a spanish port a century before, that the woven cover on the bed had the date of its making in one corner, that the hooked rug on the floor could have brought achsa a hundred dollars any time she wanted to sell it; her eyes were too brimming with tears to notice the flowers that grew to her window-sill and peeped over it at her their bright heads nodding to the candle gleam. the lump that had been growing and growing mastered her. she drew a long-quivering breath. she had come all the way from home for _this_. _this_ was her great adventure! oh, it was too humiliating, too cruel! that dreadful old woman--if she'd only had a broom she would have looked just like a witch. and in a few minutes she'd open the door and make her go out into the kitchen and eat supper with them. they were going to eat in the kitchen. she had seen the table. and the boarder--nice people in middletown did not keep boarders. and, oh, that dreadful lavender and his big eyes, staring at her--that was the cousin! and she could not telegraph trude until tomorrow at the earliest-- she could not cry. she must not. if she began she'd never stop. she knew now that the tears had been starting deep down within her miles back on her long journey. her teeth bit into her quivering lip. she went to the little window and leaned her face against its frame. the fragrant salt-laden air caressed her hot face and soothed her. "shame on you, sidney romley," she finally muttered. "remember you're fifteen. and you _wanted_ to come--no one made you! anyway--" she addressed a rose that was wagging its pink head at her in an understanding way and that certainly had not been there a moment before! "anyway, i'll bet it won't be a _bit_ worse than traveling with fat, cross old godmother jocelyn!" chapter viii mr. dugald explains sidney had fallen asleep on that first night at cousin achsa's with the resolution to escape at the earliest moment possible from her humiliating situation; she would telegraph trude in the morning. but with errant sunbeams, as yellow as gold, dancing across one's face, with a tang of salt and pine in the air, fifteen is certain to rise up strong-hearted, despite all accumulated woe. forgetting her bitter disappointment of the night before sidney sprang from her bed and rushed to the window to look out upon her new surroundings. there was not really much she could see, for the lane turned at mrs. ephraim calkins' house and beyond her house a hillock of sand rose steeply to an azure blue sky. but aunt achsa's riotous flowers were smiling their brightest, at the opening of the hedge crouched nip and tuck regarding the morning with dignified satisfaction, over everything shone the alluring sun. a sudden whiff of tobacco caught sidney's attention. at the same moment the boarder emerged from the back of the house and walked slowly along the clam-shell path that skirted the bit of garden. he was evidently deep in thought. suddenly he bent and picked a flower. as he straightened his glance interrupted sidney's curious speculations. "good morning, little half-cousin." "good morning," sidney answered, quite cheerfully, thinking as she spoke that he was nicer looking in the garden than he had seemed in cousin achsa's kitchen the night before. "is it early or late and is it your pipe that smells so good?" "it's early. aunt achsa has gone on an errand, for i assured her that you would probably sleep until noon. you see i'd forgotten that you are--fifteen, did you say? and that smell--well, it may be the good atlantic, or lav's basket of fish, which is not likely. my best bet is that it's breakfast over at the calkins'. i have an idea. i'll finish this pipe while you dress, then we'll run down and meet aunt achsa and incidentally i'll give you your first glimpse of the harbor. what say?" sidney indicated her willingness by drawing her head in from the frame of roses. she dressed with haste, splashing the cold water from the bowl over her face and scarcely disturbing the two braids of hair. in a few moments she joined the "boarder" in the garden, rousing him from a frowning contemplation of the little flower he had picked. at her "i'm ready" he put it into the pocket of his coat. unlike sidney, dugald allan had _not_ slept the night before. argue as he would he could not shake the notion that he was responsible for sidney's coming. because the idea had seemed to please aunt achsa he had encouraged her to invite the girl; to further humor her he himself had written the letter that he knew must have given sidney's family a wrong impression of conditions at aunt achsa's. its very tone had been unwittingly misleading he had not thought of that until he had caught the stricken look on sidney's face the night before, observed her involuntary shrinking from the intimacy of the supper table. poor aunt achsa, it had been rather a ghastly supper in spite of all her efforts and her expectations: lavender had huddled in his chair with his great soft eyes on sidney; sidney had been too frightened to eat or to answer by more than a monosyllable aunt achsa's eager questions; poor aunt achsa, in an agony of shyness and concern had fluttered over them all. it had been a relief when sidney, pleading weariness from her long journey, took her candle from aunt achsa and went to bed. and later allan could have sworn he heard the sound of sobbing from behind that closed door. the whole thing had bothered him and kept him awake, thinking. and it was not alone sidney's disappointment that moved him. he was stirred by a strong desire to make the girl know aunt achsa as he knew her, to love the noble spirit in the weather-beaten old body. even lavender. these people might indeed be his own so quickly did he rise in their defense. "well, they _are_ my own!" he muttered. if this sidney had been like the other fifteen-year-old girls who had crossed his path he would not have bothered, for they could not have been taught by any process to recognize the gold from the dross; but she seemed different. and he had caught the impression that she had come all this way for something that she had wanted very much to find. her disappointment had bordered on the tragic. well, it was no business of his, but he'd make amends by laying off work for a few days and playing around with her and lavender. he was a little taken aback when sidney, clad in a middy and pleated skirt, for trude's last injunction had been to brush and hang away the new suit in which she had traveled, joined him, no trace of last night's woe on her face. with nip and tuck following they tramped through the sand between the hollyhocks. where the lane turned into the beach road sidney stopped with a quick, delighted intake of breath. "oh, the _boats_! aren't they darling? i never saw so many. why, the sails look all pinky!" dugald allan explained that this was a trick of the sun and water. "sometimes they are green and sometimes they are gray and deep purple. the fishing boats are starting out for the grounds. they've been waiting for the tide. that large schooner's headed for the banks--i think it's the _puritan_, jed starrow's new boat. she won't be back for a week or so. most of the others will pull in by dark." "can i go out on one of them? oh, you don't know how much i want to, i've never been in anything but a rowboat. and i can swim! has lavender a boat?" "one can always find a dory one can use--whenever he wants one. and lavender has the _arabella_." it was on the tip of sidney's tongue to ask "what is the _arabella_?" and something more of this jed starrow whom she remembered captain phin davies had mentioned, but another thought seized her, crowding out all others. from this boarder who seemed to want to be very nice to her, she might learn the answer to the riddle that was perplexing her. "mr.-- mr.--" "dugald, please. won't you treat me like one of the family?" "mr.--dugald, i--i want to ask you something. prob'ly you'll think it's dreadfully rude but--you see, none of us, my sisters and me, really knew anything about cousin achsa and the greens except what we found in a book in our attic--a sort of family tree book. but i wanted to go somewhere, so i wrote to her. i didn't tell my sisters until i got an answer back. mr.--dugald, can letters be awfully different--from people?" a guilty shiver raced the length of mr. dugald's spine. "what do you mean?" he parried. "why, i mean the letter i got back looked so _nice_. it looked as though the person who wrote it was--well, sort of rich and lived in a big house and--" dugald allan motioned to an overturned dory. "suppose we sit here where we can see aunt achsa when she comes up the road. now i'll make a confession. _i_ wrote that letter for aunt achsa. she didn't feel quite up to the mark, her hand shakes and she's a little uncertain as to her spelling. i did not think at the time that i possibly might be giving you--your family--a wrong impression. aunt achsa was so happy at finding a relative, so touched that you knew something of her, that i only thought of furthering her delight. anyway--" he faced sidney's amazed eyes squarely; "you say you didn't know anything of achsa green except what you--well, you might say, dug out of the attic, weren't you taking a sporting chance when you came?" sidney flushed under the challenge in his tone. "i--i guess so. you see, i've never done anything _different_--like the other girls have, and i thought it was _my_ turn to use the--the egg, we call it. i wanted adventure. but i think i know what you mean; i ought not to be disappointed because my cousins aren't just what i thought they'd be--" "sidney--i've lived--well, a little longer than you have; you see i've had a chance to find out a few things about this world of ours and the people in it. there's one kind of an aristocracy that we find mostly in big cities--it comes up overnight, a sham thing made over with a gilding of money and wit, very grand on the outside but when you scratch it a little you find the common material underneath. then there's an aristocracy that's the real thing way through--it's so real that it doesn't ever stop to think that it is an aristocracy. you find that mostly in old, forgotten, out-of-the-way places--like on cape cod. i think here it's more solid than the most, though it's fast dying; some day it'll be a thing only of romance. but the real cape coders are descended from pioneer men who followed the sea for an honest living, who put bravery and justice and charity and how to live humanly with their fellows above money. most of 'em have been crowded out by a different kind of a commerce than they knew how to deal with; that's lavender's father's story; others, the young ones, have scattered to inland places; some have saved enough money to keep their positions in their communities, like captain phin davies; a few like your cousin achsa have nothing but the honor of their people. miss sidney, in your cousin achsa's old body there is a spirit that has come to her from men who were like the vikings of old--she lives by their standards. she's never known anything but work and poverty, but she faces it--square to the wind. and i've never known her to make a complaint or to utter a begrudging word to or of a soul. isn't that nobility?" "i adore the way you say it!" cried sidney. "it's just like the things that come to me to say in my attic!" "huh? your--what?" amazed, allan looked at her to see if she were making fun of him. but her face was alight with enthusiasm. "you must think a great deal of cousin achsa." "i do. but--wait, i have more i want to say. you see, i feel responsible on account of that letter--for your coming here. i want to tell you--about lavender. you could not have known--knowing nothing of any of them--that poor old lav wasn't--well, like other boys." sidney flushed. "no, i didn't. but then i didn't know there _was_ a lavender until i came." "look here--" allan drew from his pocket the flower he had picked up in the garden. "i was racking my brain for some way to make you see lavender as i see him--and then i found this. it was growing in a corner of the garden where the soil is poor and the wind harsh and where there isn't much sun; see, it's only half-size and the stem is crooked. but look into the heart of it--it's as beautiful as its fellows. well--that's lavender. after all his poor little body is only a shell--if the heart of him is fine and straight, isn't that all that matters? like the blossom of the flower. can't you think of lav like that?" "i'll try to," promised sidney, "and i'm ashamed dreadfully, to have been so disappointed--about everything. i'll take the sporting chance. of course vick would poke no end of fun at me if she knew how different everything is. but--" with sudden determination, "vick shall never know." then sidney drew a long breath and let her thoughts revert to the _arabella_. "what is the _arabella_?" "look beyond that schooner that's nosing into the tide." "why, that's a real boat." "oh, the _arabella's_ real enough. but she's been pensioned off--you might say; she's enjoying a peaceful old age on a sand bar. when the tide is out she's high and dry." "and she belongs to lavender?" incredulously. dugald allan laughed. "the blood of his ancestors is strong in the boy. he wanted a boat. a boat of his own--poor lad. he used to hide on the fishing schooners until they'd clear the point. so i bought the _arabella_ for him. her owner was going to chop her up for kindling wood. she serves a good purpose--and a safe one, moored out there. lavender sails the globe on her--and nothing can harm him. "oh, i see--just pretend. but even that's fun. will he let me go with him?" "i am sure he will. if you ask him to take you to the caribbean sea on his next voyage you'll win him completely." "i'll help lavender play the game for i know lots of different places--though they're mostly inside the map." dugald allan was regarding sidney with thoughtful eyes. she certainly was not in the least like the fifteen-year-olds he had assiduously avoided. "some kid," he commented, inwardly. aloud he ventured: "will it be too inquisitive if i ask you what an egg is? i see aunt achsa coming and i think you'll have just time to tell me--unless you'd rather not." "an egg? oh, you mean _my_ egg. of course you must have thought it funny! why the egg's the money that comes each year from a book my father wrote--goosefeathers. he was always ashamed of it. so we--my sisters, you see, take turns spending the money any way we want to. this is my first turn. oh, dear, i wasn't going to tell a soul." "you don't mean to say that you have any--well, objection, to being known as the daughter of joseph romley?" "why, i'm not _ashamed_, of course not, for he was my own dad, and we loved him. lots of times he acted just as though he wasn't a poet. but--but i wanted to be my own self; that was to be part of my adventure. you see its awfully stupid always having to remember to act like a poet's daughter; at least it is for victoria and me--my older sisters are so used to it that they do it naturally--" but the astonishing boarder interrupted her with a roar of laughter. in fact, he seemed so amused and even delighted at something that he could not control his mirth. "you _are_ the funniest kid!" then he had to laugh again. "did you say you were--only fifteen? and just how do poets' daughters _have_ to act, anyway? i've only known--one. well, i'll keep your secret. only you'll let me talk about it with you once in a while, won't you? with everyone else you shall be as 'different' as your heart desires. i don't believe aunt achsa knows. now, let's go and meet her and assure her that you are ready for the biggest breakfast she can give you!" "and do you think we can go out on the _arabella_ today?" chapter ix sidney tells "dorothea" after all sidney never sent the telegram to trude. but it must not be thought that all in a moment she adapted herself to her new surroundings, or saw cousin achsa as the "boarder" had pictured her; her anticipations had soared too high, on the wings of too agile an imagination, to surrender at once to their downfall. even dugald allan she regarded with inward skepticism. how she rebuilt her small world can be chronicled best by peeping over her shoulder one afternoon, the third day after her coming, as she wrote in her precious "dorothea" book. at the last moment she had brought this with her, moved by a doubt as to the wisdom of leaving it behind; there was no knowing what liberties the leaguers, left alone, might take. "dorothea mine, you do not know how it comforts me to feel your dear pages. i am not alone for you are with me. and when i think how i almost left you at home. there is so much to write that i scarcely know where to begin and must needs sit with my pen suspended. this is the funniest place i ever saw but no one, absolutely no one but you, dear bosom friend, shall ever know that. i mean it is funny because everything is just the opposite of what i expected it to be. i had thought, you see, that our relatives probably lived in a big white square house high up on a rock-bound coast against which the waves dashed in foamy crests. that's the way i wanted the house to look. and instead it is very small and all wigglety, with sand hills around it. but it is cute for the rooms are small like a doll's house. there is a kitchen in which we do everything which i did not like at first only it is a different kitchen and there is not any other place anyway for the parlor is so stiff and dressed-up looking that it would be shocking to muss it up. the kitchen smells good and shines it is so clean and there is a door that opens right out into the flowers. i shall not say much about cousin achsa because dugald, who is the boarder, says that she is an aristocrat of solid material and he must know because he has lived here summers for a very long time. but she talks bad english like huldah only she says 'i swum,' instead of 'yah!' and she is queer looking but then all is not gold that glitters. but she is very kind to me and i think likes me and she cooks the grandest things and so much. she works all the time. i do not think i ever saw anyone who could work so fast. she is like she was wound up inside and had to keep working until she ran down. "but pour out my heart i must about lavender who is my cousin. you see i did not know i had a young cousin until phin davies (of him i will record later), told me of the benefit and of the baby who would be sixteen now, he said. then i became greatly excited in anticipation of a cousin about my own age to play with. and oh, what did i find! but only once will i truly describe him for i have promised mr. dugald to think of lavender as the poor flower on the crooked stem and i make myself shut my inside eyes so that i cannot see that he is different. he is small for he only comes to my ears and his arms hang way down and he has funny, long fingers and one shoulder is higher than the other and he has a hump on his back. there, i have written the truth. now i will remember the flower. lavender has beautiful and very wise eyes and a low voice that sounds like music and a lovely name, like a name in a languishing novel. and he is dreadfully smart, and gets it all from the lots and lots of books which he reads to make up for not going to school. i suppose he hates to go to school and anyway his mind is working all the while other boys are playing ball and doing things he can't do. at least mr. dugald thinks it's that way. mr. dugald told me how to win lavender's affection for he is terribly shy and that was by making a great fuss over nip and tuck who are the cats and lavender is passionately fond of the cats. that was hard, too, for we never had any cats as you know and the only cat i ever touched was mrs. jordan's old tommy when i wanted him in a play nancy and i were going to give in the attic and he scratched me. but i bravely took nip and tuck in my arms and you would have been surprised if you could have seen how beatified lavender looked. at least that's the way mr. dugald said he looked afterwards. and he has liked me ever since. i mean lavender, of course. i must digress to say a word of nip and tuck. they are extraordinary cats. they are quite old and big and black and i think they are solid aristocrats, too, and you can only tell them apart by a nick in nip's ear that he got in a fight. they can lick any dog or cat in this part of provincetown. they are terrors. and they are twins, i forgot to say. and they do the same things all the time like the crooker twins at school. lavender loves all animals. he is always bringing home some stray thing only nip and tuck will not let them stay and that makes lavender sad. "but i must not spend all my time telling you of my cousins and the cats when there is so much terribly exciting to write about. this is the most different place i ever knew. it is all sand and the houses look like doll's houses most of them and come right out to the funniest little streets that are not much wider that our sidewalks at home and all the nice houses have flowers around them somewhere. and they are mostly a lovely shiny gray that is pinky in the sun. mr. dugald says they get that way from the salt in the air and that most of the old houses were shingled from the wood that was in old masts. and he says the reason flowers grow brighter and bigger here is because years ago the ships used plain earth for ballast and changed it when they got into the harbor and that there is soil right here in provincetown from almost every corner of the world. i held a handful from cousin achsa's garden and pretended i knew it was from algiers. there are a lot of stores on the main street and some are like the stores home and mr. dugald says they are a shame. it is hard to walk on the sidewalk because it is so narrow and most of the time you have to walk in the street. and everybody talks to everybody else whether they know them or not or if they do not talk they smile. there are lots of portuguese and they have beautiful eyes and lovely voices like isolde's. i think mr. dugald means it's them who have crowded out the solid aristocracy, but they are nice for they make it seem just like i was in a foreign land. but most, most of all, i like the docks. mr. dugald laughs at me when i call them docks; but i always forget to call them wharves. they are all gray and crookedy, as though they were leaning against one another and when the tide goes out it leaves the posts all shiny and green. and there are funny little houses all along the edge of the beach that are something like the boathouses of cascade lake, only more interesting and people live right in them and have flower boxes all around them and fix up weeny verandas over the water and go in bathing right out of their front doors. and some of them are fish lofts only mr. dugald says that consolidated companies (i do not exactly know what he means but will write it because he said it) have bought out all the small fish companies and that means that the men do not get enough for their 'catch' to pay for the expense and danger of their going out to sea. he says the portuguese are satisfied to only get a little. everyone knows lavender and they let him go anywhere and on to the boats and everything and i follow him, though at first the little rowboats which mr. dugald calls dorys smelled so that it made me sick. but i did not want even lavender to think i was afraid so i held my nose inside and went wherever he did. i cannot wear anything but my old clothes--but no one dresses up here like pola probably does, which is a disappointment, for vick let me bring her cherry crêpe de chine for she is very sure godmother jocelyn will get her some new dresses and i am simply dying to wear it. "and now i must tell you about the good ship _arabella_. it is a very old boat--i think it is a schooner--and mr. dugald says it has probably been in every port in the world. when it got too old to sail any more mr. dugald bought it for lavender. and it is all lavender's own. i am sure i never heard of anyone before having a real big boat just to play on. but, then, lavender is different. it is fastened with a great big anchor and can't move only when the water is in it swings around on it just as though it was going. and when the water is out the boat is up real high and looks so funny and lopsided, like that dreadful old drunken man who walked past school one day. mr. dugald and lavender took me out to the _arabella_ the very first day. we went out in a rowboat--i mean dory, and mr. dugald rowed. oh, it was so thrilling, my heart sang within my breast. it seemed as though i was going far out to sea and the little waves danced and were so blue and everything smelled so salty and there were boats all around and some of them moving with big sails and a three-masted schooner went right close to us--i mean we went right close to it because it was fastened--and i could breathe only with difficulty i was so excited. dear friend--at that moment i said to myself i did not mind my relatives not living in a big house on an eminence. this, meaning all the boats and the lovely docks and things, is worth my quest. it was very hazardous climbing on to the _arabella_ for it wiggled so but at last we were on and then!--oh! do you know, it was like a pirate's ship. and it has a wheel and a little house and the cutest cabins downstairs and a funny little kitchen. i am going to ask aunt achsa--i have decided to call her that because she seems too old to be a cousin--to let me cook out on the _arabella_. mr. dugald will not let lavender cook on it for fear he will set the boat on fire. it would be funny to have a boat burn right in the water, but then i have read of ships that burned at sea. mr. dugald has fixed everything up real nice and he goes out a lot and draws. he says that as long as i know how to swim i can go out anytime with lavender. it is certainly the most different thing i ever dreamed of doing and next best to sailing far away on a young boat. the boat rocked like a cradle and we laid down on the deck in the sun and it was a delightful sensation. i am going to take books out there and i will sometime take you, dear friend, and write in you as i rock upon the bosom of the ocean--though this is a bay it is ocean water. "next most exciting to the _arabella_ was going to the backside which is what they call the other side of the cape the side that is on the outside on the map. we tramped over for mr. dugald says that is the only way to navigate on cape cod. it was not the least bit hot for there was such a lovely breeze and the road is hard and right through sand hills that looked awfully big and just have a little grass on them and funny little trees. mr. dugald told me that the heavy winds keep shifting the sand and that after ever and ever so many years the whole cape will be moved and maybe was somewhere else a long time ago and the state of massachusetts is planting a lot of pine trees to hold it where it is now and that the reason the trees look so small is that every fall and winter when the big storms come they blow the sand over them until they are almost buried. i suppose if one could dig down you would find a big tree. mr. dugald told me all this as we walked over the dunes. he told me how after one big storm years and years ago the school children went to school and found it buried under sand right up to the roof. i wish that would happen to my school. but that is how different this place is. well, we finally came to a ridge of sand that was bigger and higher than any of the others so that it took my breath to climb it like the trail back of cascade and then when i got to the top it was so beautiful that i felt hurt inside and felt afraid. before me, dear friend, swept the endless ocean. and as far as eye could see there was naught but sand. and you seemed close enough to the blue in the sky to touch it. you felt it the way you do the furnace when you go into the furnace room. and not a living being anywhere around, except us. and the beach is the loveliest beach i ever dreamed of--and you see it is the first real beach i have ever seen. it is wide and hard and part of it is wet where the big waves roll in and it moans beautifully. and there are lots of little funny flowers, like wild sweet peas, and pretty grasses grow on it and the sand up away from the water is white and glistens like jewels. i did not like to go near the water at first for the waves looked like angry monsters with tossing white manes tearing in at me with their arms raised to clutch me. but i kept close to mr. dugald who sometimes goes in swimming right in the breakers. and he pointed out the coast guard station which was a cute little white house nestled in the sand dunes and he told me there was a man up in the square tower who was watching us and every move we made and if a wave did catch us he'd give the alarm and a lifeguard would dash out in a minute and save us. that would be very exciting but it did not tempt me. we picked up beautiful shells on the beach and i poked a horrid jelly fish and then we visited the station where the men were very nice and showed us everything. the big man who is commander nelson told us how the sand when it blows against the windows of the house turns the glass all funny and frosted so that you cannot see out of it, and he said they have to keep putting in new glass every few days. and mr. dugald told me as we walked back how the men from the coast guard stations patrol the shores of our country so that there is not a bit of our seacoast that is not guarded. one starts out from one station and meets another from another station and they exchange little checks which they take back so that their commanders know they have been all the way. is it not a lovely feeling to think that as we sleep someone is watching our shores by night? only i wonder how if there are any pirates, and captain davies said there still were, they can land anywhere without one of these guards seeing them. maybe they wait until the watchmen start back with their checks. "i must now tell you of my new acquaintances. "first there is aunt achsa and lavender of whom i have written. second, there is the boarder. his name is dugald allan which i think is a perfectly lovely name. i am sorry to say he is an artist. i would have preferred that he had been a fisherman. when i told him that he laughed very hard. he laughs at me a great deal which i did not like at first and then i decided it is his nature and he cannot help it. he spends every summer with aunt achsa and says he is her half-nephew. even though he gave the _arabella_ to lavender i think he must be a poor artist because his clothes look old and have no style. he knows everyone and everyone calls him dug. at first i thought it was horrid visiting a relative who kept boarders but afterwards i learned that here in provincetown someone else lives in nearly all the houses besides the families, because they are not nearly enough houses for all the people who want to come to provincetown. mr. dugald says that artists and poets and musicians come here from all over the world for the inspiration. i cannot tell the men artists from the fishermen for they wear things like sailors but the women artists all wear big hats and smocks all covered with paint. i am sure i saw a poet yesterday and i do not know what a musician would look like and mr. dugald said he did not know, either. that was one of the times when he laughed. but i said then and repeat now that there are enough other people around so that i do not mind the artists and poets. "third of my acquaintance is captain phin davies. aunt achsa says he is very rich, that he was smart enough to buy up a lot of fishing boats and a storage house of his own and he could laugh at the boston and new york people. but he used to sail a boat like cousin zeke's which is what they call my relative. and he is very, very nice and invited me to go to wellfleet and visit him and his wife and aunt achsa says she does not see no harm in my going. aunt achsa's grammar is so bad that i blush to write it here. "fourth, martie calkins who is mrs. eph calkins' granddaughter and lives in the house next to aunt achsa's. she is very different from the girls i know at school and nancy would shudder if she saw her for nancy is so sensitive, but then this is not middletown and i am sensitive like nancy and mart is just my age and she can go out on the _arabella_ with us, though she told me confidentially that her grandmother thought achsa green stark daffy to trust lavender out of her sight. mart does not think about lavender the way mr. dugald taught me to think. she can tell the grandest stories of the sea because her father and grandfather were fishermen who went out on big boats and her father was lost at sea so she is an aristocrat, too. she is going to show me how to dig clams tomorrow. and we are going to the moving pictures on saturday. it seems very queer and like home to have moving pictures here but mr. dugald says they are like the poor. to quote him exactly, 'alas, the movies--like the poor, we have always with us!' he says very queer things. "fifth, miss letitia vine, a most picturesque character. i quoted mr. dugald then for i did not know people could be picturesque. no one but miss letty herself knows how old she is and she won't tell. aunt achsa said she paid to have the date and year of her mother's death scratched off her tombstone so folks couldn't figure out her age. but she is very cultured and is a music teacher, only a funny one. she drives all over this part of the cape and gives music lessons. she has done it for years and years, aunt achsa calculates she has worn out three horses teaching folks their notes. she stays in one town two or three days sleeping round with her pupils and then hitches up and drives to the next. she scorns a ford. mr. dugald says he's thankful for that for a ford would spoil the most perfect thing on the cape. she looks like the figurehead of a ship (again quoting mr. dugald) and she isn't afraid of man or beast. she and mr. dugald are very good friends and mr. dugald took me there to call and i think he told her that i was the daughter of a poet, because she looked at me like that though he had promised not to and i hate to think he broke his promise. she has very interesting things in her house that she has picked up from all over the cape as she gave her music lessons. i guess she does not have many pupils now but aunt achsa said letty vine would have to die in the harness so that is probably why she keeps going. "sixth is mr. commander nelson at the coast guard station who invited me to come to see him again. he said if he needed a hand at any time he'd send for me. it would be exciting to help save souls from a wreck at sea. i would like to even see one though that sounds wicked and i must curb my thirst for adventure. "jed starrows is not an acquaintance but i intend to know more about him. when anyone speaks of him they put such a funny tone in their voices. i asked mr. dugald if he is aristocratic too and he laughed and said he most certainly is not. but he owns a big boat--an auxiliary schooner that is the fastest one here and he has just bought out a fish company and aunt achsa says it beats everything where he gets his money because he wasn't much more than a common clam-digger a year or so ago. but i will record here that captain davies spoke of jed starrows as though he might know something about pirates and i mean to find out if i can. "enough now, dear friend--my arm aches and i must stop. adieu for the nonce--" chapter x maids and later sidney wrote the following letter to her sisters. "dear family: "i have not written before because everything is so marvellously exciting. my telegram told you that i had arrived safely at cousin achsa's. the hours of my journey, all too short, sped on wings of happiness. thus they are still speeding. this is the loveliest and the unusualest place and it is filled with quaint homes and the most interesting people. our relatives are among the most aristocratic and aunt achsa, she wants me to call her that, is of the proudest blood of cape cod. she is very nice to me and asks a great many questions about you all and about our mother. she has a nephew who lives here who is only a year older than i am. and a family friend of aunt achsa's lives here summers and he takes lavender (which is our cousin's name) and me out on a big boat which is most exciting. "there is a girl about my own age who lives right next door and i think we will be very good friends. she is not at all like nancy which i am glad as variety is the sauce of living. she is of pure cape cod blood, too. "if i do not write often and only very little letters it is because i'm so busy, for i must make the most of every minute. i wish you would write to me an awful lot though and please send all of vick's letters to me so that i will know what she's doing just as though i was home, and trude, _you_ write every day. and when you write to vick tell her that i am having the most wonderful time. be sure to do that. loads and loads of love, "your sister, sidney." kneeling against a half-packed trunk, trude read sidney's letter aloud to isolde. victoria had gone the day before. "what do you think?" trude asked, slowly, as she finished. "think? what do you mean? i'm glad the child's there safe and happy." "but, issy, that letter doesn't ring just--true. i know how sid usually writes and talks. it's too brief and there's something, well--forced about it." isolde put down a box of papers she had been sorting over. her conscience had troubled her not a little at letting sidney go off alone among strangers, even though they were relatives, and now trude's doubts sharpened the pricks. "forced? i didn't notice it. it was short, of course, but probably she is having too good a time to write a longer letter. anyway, trude, she's there safe, and we're almost packed and our tickets are bought--it isn't going to do anyone a bit of good, now, to upset all our plans and bring sid home. that's the way i look at it. and she would have been perfectly wretched here with the league convention filling the house. it's dreadful to contemplate." "i can't bear to think of sid going out on boats with a harum-scarum boy--" trude groaned. "i don't feel half as concerned over the boats as i do wondering if living there in luxury may not spoil her for her own poor home--make her dissatisfied. she is probably meeting all the wealthy summer people--there are a lot on the cape, you know." trude was still studying the letter as though to find something between the written lines. "she wants me to write every day. that sounds a little homesicky. well, i will, bless the kid's heart--no matter how rushed i am. and i will warn her in every letter to be careful around the boats. and not to get her head turned by our relatives' high estate, either. isn't it funny, issy, that we never knew they were wealthy--until now? not that it would have made a bit of difference with mother or dad," she finished, defensively. isolde, her conscience quieted for the hundreth time, turned her attention to her box. she lifted out a small packet of letters tied together and handed them to trude. "these are yours." one slipped from the packet and fell to the floor between the two girls. trude picked it up quickly, a deep crimson sweeping her face. "why, it's one of _those letters_--" exclaimed isolde, accusingly. trude nodded, guiltily. "i know it. i--i couldn't bear to destroy them all." "trude, dear, you don't care anything about that man--now?" trude forced a light laugh but her eyes avoided isolde's searching glance. "why, no--at least not in _that_ way. if you like things in a person very much you just have to keep on liking them no matter what happens. and, issy, it wasn't his fault that i--i imagined--he cared--for me--" her voice broke. isolde gave a quick little cry. "trude, you _do_ care! and he isn't worth the tiniest heartache. he _must_ have led you on to think things. and all the time he was playing with you. it makes me _furious_! you're such an old peach." the "old peach" made no answer. there flashed across her mind all that isolde had had to say before about this man; every fibre of her being shrank from a repetition that would bring pain as well as humiliation. she straightened. "we are a couple of geese to dig all this up now. i was just sentimental enough to hang on to one of the letters--i suppose it's because they are the only letters i've ever had from a man--but i see my mistake now. i will destroy it." she slipped the letter into her pocket with the tiniest sigh. "so there." (but the letter was not destroyed.) "i wish you'd meet someone down at the whites'--some perfectly grand man. i should think uncle jasper would realize--" isolde's tone was so tragic that trude laughed, now with genuine amusement. "i was thinking of some of uncle jasper's friends," she explained. "they are mostly nice, fat settled bankers and lawyers, but if any bachelor doctors, tinkers or tailors slip in i promise to flirt desperately--" "trude, you think i am joking and i am not. if you don't meet someone at the whites' where _will_ you meet him? what chance have you and i, shut up here, to know the kind of men we'd--we'd like to know? do you think i enjoy the namby-pamby sort that flock here to sit in dad's chair? no, indeed. and trude--i'm--twenty-six next october! _i'm--an old maid!_" before isolde's earnestness trude unknowingly lowered her voice to a soft note. "do you feel like that, too, issy? i've felt that way often. i'm twenty-four. but i'm not afraid of being an old maid--i've always sort of known i'd be one--but i catch myself just longing to do _something_ with my life, different--as little sid put it. then i chastise myself severely for my repinings. anyway, it'll be fun watching vick's and sid's experiences, won't it? bless them, they seem to have escaped our bounds, don't they?" "i am afraid my vicarious enjoyment of their adventures may be tempered with a little jealousy. i am not as noble as you are, trude. it is hard to think that you and i have to go on sitting still and watching our lives go by--and our one and only life, remember!" trude shook herself a little--perhaps she was "chastising" her inner spirit. "come, we mustn't get mopey on the eve of a holiday. they're too rare to spoil. and two trunks still to pack. do you think the leaguers will mind if we shroud that painting in the living-room. it's the best thing we own and i hate to have it get too dusty." isolde lifted her shoulders rebelliously. "i don't know what has happened to me but, do you know, trude, i am beginning to think it's the limit that we have to consider the league in even a little thing like that. thank goodness we _are_ going to have a holiday! but i wonder if the summer will bring anything to any of us." in answer trude smiled down into the trunk. "well--it's bringing something to sid. rather she went out and got it. and it surely will to vick, new clothes if nothing more. and i hope it will to you, too, issy, dear, something grand and--contenting." it was typical of trude that she did not think of herself. chapter xi independence "golly day, but i'm tired!" martie calkins threw herself on the cool sand of the beach and gave vent to a long breath. sidney, standing over her, wished she could do likewise with the same picturesque abandon. mart was so splendidly "i don't care a hang"; her tumbled hair now was thick with sand, across her tanned face was a smear of black, her shabby blouse was torn and open at the throat exposing her chest to the hot sun, her bare, hard-muscled legs were outstretched, the heels digging into the sand and the grimy toes separating and curling like the tentacles of a crab. "oh, this is the life," she sang. "sit down and make yourself at home. this beach's yours as much as mine i guess." sidney sat down quickly lest her companion guess how she was tied inside with the innumerable bonds and knots of conventions, century old, which martie had somehow escaped. of course sidney herself did not think it that way; she only knew that she felt ridiculously awkward with martie calkins in spite of her growing determination to be just like her. they had been friends now for two whole weeks, the shortest two weeks sidney had ever known simply because into them they had crowded so much. she had met mart the day after her coming to sunset lane. mart had appeared at aunt achsa's with some baking soda her grandmother had borrowed two months before. aunt achsa had said: "i cal'late you two girls better make friends." that was so obviously sensible that sidney quickly put from her the impression that mart was the "queerest" girl she had ever met. she had _seen_ queerer but had never _talked_ to them. but mart was young and frankly friendly and lived next door and, anyway, everything was so very different here that it was ridiculous to expect to meet a girl like nancy or the others at school or perfect like pola. before mart's experience, her knowledge of the sea and boats, her background of seafaring ancestors, her easy assurance, sidney's pleasant sense of superiority soon went crash. too, mart revealed a quality of strongheartedness and a contentment with everything as it came along that amazed sidney at the same time that it put her own restlessness to shame. why, mart, in all her life, had never been farther than falmouth and had gone there to a funeral, but she had none of sidney's yearnings to "see places." pressed by sidney's inquiries she had answered, with a deceiving indifference: "oh, what's the use of wanting to go anywhere, it's nice enough here." nor did mart's multitudinous tasks embarrass her; she would keep sidney waiting while she finished scrubbing the kitchen floor. and she had a way of swishing her brush that made even this homely labor seem like play until sidney, watching from the safety of a chair, her feet securely tucked between its rungs, longed to roll up her own sleeves and thrust her arms into the sudsy water. martie had to work much harder than any girl sidney had ever known or heard about; she did a man's work and a woman's work about her home and did not even think it was out of kindly proportion to her years. "oh, there's just gran'ma and me and she has rheumatiz awful," she had explained just once to sidney. that was why, of course, martie looked so unkempt and overgrown and had had so little schooling, but sidney came to think these shortcomings and their cause made martie the more interesting. though after a week sidney could toss her head like mart, run as fast, go barefooted, sprinkle her chatter with a colloquial slang that would have horrified the league, affect ignorance to anything schooly, she found that it was not easy to emulate mart's fine independence. there was always that feeling of being tied to the things ingrained within her. mart's ease with everyone, young or old, gave her, in sidney's eyes, the desirable quality of grown-upness. mart talked to the fishermen and the women who were her grandmother's friends and the artists and the tradespeople exactly as though she were their equal in point of years; sidney, marvelling and admiring, did not know that this assurance was really a boldness that had grown naturally out of there just being "gran'ma and me." martie had had to hold her own since she was six years old. though from the first day of her coming sidney, moved by a sense of the courtesy to be expected from a guest, had insisted that they include lavender in all their plans, at the same time she had wished that he would refuse for she could not conquer a shyness with him. he was a boy and she had never known any boys very well, and he was a "different" boy. but mart did not mind him at all; she played tolerantly with him, quarreled cheerfully and bitterly with him, laughed with him and at him exactly as though he were a girl like herself or she the boy that she should have been, gran'ma considered. on this day mr. dugald had taken lavender to the backside. he had not invited the girls to join them which had roused sidney's curiosity. she had watched them depart, loaded down with books and stools and an easel and a box of lunch and had wondered what they were going to do all day, alone, in the dunes. she was soon to know that those hours were sacred to lavender, that in the great silences of the sandy stretches he and his mr. dugald with their books went far from the cape and sunset lane and the crooked body. the girls, left to themselves, had decided to go clamming. of all the novel things she had done in the last two weeks sidney liked clamming best. it was even more fun than the _arabella_ for after all the _arabella_ was only pretend. she liked to feel her bare toes suck up the goosy sand as she stepped over the wet beds. she could never dig as fast as mart or lavender because she had to stop and watch the sky and the clouds and the moving sails and the swooping seagulls. "you'd never make a living digging clams," martie had scolded. (mart herself could dig faster than old jake newberry who had peddled clams through the town for fifty years. mart had sometimes sold hers at the hotels.) "there's so much to _look_ at!" sidney had answered, drawing in a long happy breath. "_look_ at! what? all i can see is sky and water and a lot of that and that ain't nothing new." "but it is always different! the sky gets bluer and the clouds pinker and the water dances just as though there were sprites hiding in each wave." "gee, anyone 'ud think you were a poet!" mart had laughed and at that sidney had fallen hastily to digging. now, as they lay on the beach, hot and happy, their basket of clams between them, sidney's thoughts went back to lavender's and mr. dugald's mysterious departure. "we've had just as much fun," she declared, aloud. "what d'you mean? oh--lav. pooh, yes. who'd want t'go off in the sand and sit in the hot sun all day? _i_ wouldn't." "aunt achsa packed them an awfully good lunch," sidney reflected. "sure she did. she spoils lav like anything. gran'ma says it's a shame. and what _she_ doesn't spoil that boarder does." for an instant sidney flared with resentment at her companion's tone. however she realized that she was at a disadvantage in that she had only known these people for only two weeks and mart for her whole lifetime. "what do you s'pose they do over there?" mart shrugged her shoulders. "i used to be curious but i'm not any more. they go off somewhere like that together all the time, packed up 'sif they were headin' for a whole winter's cruise. i guess i know. like as not the boarder's paintin' lav's picture and lav don't want him to do it where people'll see on account of his being crooked." mart, satisfied with her explanation, stretched herself luxuriously, her arms upflung. sidney shuddered. "oh, why should he want to paint lavender's picture? i think he's cruel!" then she remembered dugald allan's allusion to the flower on the crooked stem. "maybe he's painting lav's spirit." at this mart raised herself on her elbow, stared at sidney, and burst into a loud laugh. "oh, that's the _best_! lav's spirit! oh, _my_! you're the funniest kid. say, don't get sore but i just have to howl, you're so rich." she threw herself back in the sand and rolled from one side to the other. sidney sat very still biting the lips that had betrayed her. she'd remember after this; she'd never make another slip that would provoke mart to such amusement. mart began looking hard at her again and she squirmed uneasily under the scrutiny. but mart only asked: "say, ain't your hair awful hot?" relieved, sidney answered promptly, "yes. i hate it." she gave a fling to the heavy braids. "why do you have it then? i'd cut it off. i cut mine. i wouldn't be bothered with a lot of hair. i s'pose your folks would make an awful fuss if you did, though." sidney twisted her bare toes in the sand and frowned down at them. yet it was not at their whiteness she frowned but at a sudden recollection of mrs. milliken's: "always wear your hair like that, my lamb, it is so beautifully quaint." "i don't know that they'd mind. it's my own hair. i've thought of having it cut often." mart sat upright. "say, i'll do it for you--if you want me to. we can go straight home now. we'll divide our clams when we get to our house. that is if you're not afraid." "afraid--of just cutting my hair? i may look a sight but who cares? i'll do it. come on!" sidney sprang to her feet, a challenge in her voice that mart, of course, could not understand. mart rose more leisurely and took the dripping basket of clams and seaweed. they were not far from sunset lane. it took them but a few moments to reach the calkins' house--not long enough for sidney's courage to falter. "gran'ma isn't home, but anyway she wouldn't say anything. she lets me do just as i please. she never said a word when i cut my own hair. sit down here and i'll find the shears in a jiffy." sidney sat down in a rush-bottomed chair, thrilling pleasantly. this was a high moment in her life--the clipping of the two despised braids; a declaration of independence, a symbol of a freedom as great as mart's. and certainly mart must be impressed by the way she had responded to the suggestion. "afraid!" well, mart might laugh at things she said but she would see that she was quite her own mistress. mart returned with a pair of huge shears. "of course i can't do it as good as a regular barber but it'll be good enough for the first time and around here, anyway. sure you don't mind? your hair _is_ dandy!" while she was speaking she was unbraiding one pigtail. she shook it out. "it's awful thick and wavy. mebbe you could sell it. i've heard of girls doing that but i don't know's there's any place around here. sit still, now, so i can get it straight." click. sidney shut her eyes and sat rigid with a fearful certainty that she must suffer physical pain from the operation. click. the touch of the steel against her neck sent icy shivers down her spine. "there, now--it's off," cried mart, taking a step backward. "it's sort of crooked but that won't show when it's all loose. go in gran'ma's room and take a look at yourself." sidney turned and stared stupidly at the mass of hair in martie's hand. it _was_ beautiful hair. for an instant she wanted to cry out in a violent protest; she checked it as it rose to her lips. mart's eyes were on her. she managed instead a little laugh. "it feels so _funny_." "oh, you'll get used to that. you'll like it. take a look now and say i'm some barber." gran'ma calkins' old mirror, hung where the light shone strong upon it, reflected back to sidney a strange and pleasing image. "why _i like it_!" she cried, running her fingers through the mass. "it's--it's--so _different_. it's jolly." "you won't have to bother combing it much, either. i don't touch mine sometimes for days." sidney, still staring at the stranger in the old mirror, laughed softly. "wait until nancy sees it. nancy hair is straight as can be or i'll bet she'd cut hers. and issy. issy will have a fit when she knows. and mrs. milliken!" here she broke off abruptly, not even in her triumph must she give hint to mart of the league and its hold upon the house of romley. "oh, i like it!" she repeated exultingly. "and it won't be half the bother." she felt now that she was mart's peer in point of abandon. "you don't think your aunt achsa will make a fuss, do you?" asked martie, with tardy concern. "aunt achsa? oh, no! at least--" it had not occurred to sidney that aunt achsa had anything to say about it. "she lets me do anything." which was quite true. but something of sidney's exultance faded; she was beginning to wish that she had just said _some_thing to aunt achsa about it before she let mart clip her braids--not exactly asked permission but confided her intentions. that mart might not perceive her moment's perturbation she turned her attention to the clams. "i ought not to have half for i didn't find nearly as many as you did." "oh, rats. take 'em. all you want." to mart, who could dig clams faster than old jake newberry, an accurate division of their spoils meant nothing. to sidney who dug awkwardly each clam was a treasure. her step lagged as she approached aunt achsa's. she hoped aunt achsa would not be home. then she wondered why she could not be as confidently defiant as martie; she supposed it was the restraint of the league and the three sisters under whom she had had to live and martie had not. but it was absurd to feel even apprehensive of aunt achsa's displeasure when aunt achsa was such a little thing and so indefinite a relative. aunt achsa was in the kitchen trimming the edge of a pie. she was holding it high on the tips of her fingers and skilfully cutting the crust with a small knife when under it she spied sidney's shorn head. she promptly dropped the pie upon the table upside down. a trickle of red cherry juice ran out over the spotless table. "why, i _swum_! sidney romley! wh--what have you gone and done? what's ever happened to you?" "my hair was so hot and _such_ a bother. i can swim now and won't have to sit around for an hour drying it. i _hated_ my braids--" all good arguments which rang true but did not seem to convince aunt achsa who continued to stare at sidney with troubled eyes. "it's _my_ hair, aunt achsa. if i look a sight it's my own fault." "that ain't it, child. only--it's so sudden. your--_doing_ it--without a word or--or anything. what'll your folks say? i--i--kind a wish you'd just _told_ me, you see." sidney laughed with a lightness she did not feel. aunt achsa eyes were so reproachful, even hurt. "why, i did not have time to tell you. i didn't think of it myself until a few moments ago. and mart offered to do it for me. it's such a little thing to make any fuss about." the cherry juice went on dripping until a big round stain disfigured the tablecloth and still aunt achsa stared at sidney with troubled eyes. "it's a little thing, of course. but i was thinkin'--sidney, promise your aunt achsy you won't go off and do anything _else_ high-handed like without tellin' me. i don't want to be worryin' or suspicionin' what you're up to or havin' your sisters blame me for something that ain't just right to their thinkin'. mebbe we don't do things same as you do but we know what's right and what's wrong same as anyone." which was a long and stern speech for aunt achsa. she gave a frightened gasp at the end and turned the poor pie right side up. a dark flush had swept sidney's face. there was no such thing as freedom _any_where--there must always be someone in authority somewhere to warn and rebuke, even this absurd little old woman, who seemed so remotely related. she wished she could think of something very withering and at the same time dignified to retort. "i think i am perfectly capable of knowing what is right and what is wrong and my sisters have _perfect_ confidence in me," she said slowly and with deep inward satisfaction. then she added scornfully: "of course it _is_ very different here and if i don't seem to get used to it you can't blame me!" with which she stalked through the parlor to her room and slammed the door. aunt achsa pattered after her. "child! child!" she called through the door. "here's a letter for you. i was that taken back when i saw you i forgot to give it you." she slipped the letter through the inch of opening that sidney, now tearful, vouchsafed her. the letter was from trude. to poor sidney this was the crowning humiliation; it was exactly as though trude could look out from the pages and see the mutilated locks. trude had always loved her hair and had often brushed it for her for the simple delight of fingering its wavy strands. more than once trude had said: "you're lucky to have this hair, kid. look at mine." now she would gasp in horror as aunt achsa had done. "you should not have done it, sidney--at least without consulting one of us." it was not the deed itself even trude would censure--it was her independence. oh, how terribly difficult it was to be like mart! trude had written to her almost daily, sketchy letters full of the news of what she was doing at the whites. sidney could not know that trude purposely made them lively and wrote them often because she believed sidney was homesick. in this letter her concern had reached the height of sacrifice. "if you're ready to go home, have had enough of cape cod, just say the word, little sister, and i'll join you at middletown. perhaps you have been with cousin achsa long enough--you do not want to impose upon her hospitality. she may have other friends she wants to invite to her house. but you must decide at once for mrs. white is making plans for the next few weeks and will want to know if i am going to be here. she is perfectly wonderful to me and i think she likes to have me here and that i help her a little, but if you want me to join you at home she will understand. "why in the world haven't you written to me? i shall scold you soundly for that when we are together. be a good girl and remember how much we all love you. i shall expect a letter within three days at most telling me what you want to do." sidney gasped. her barbered hair, aunt achsa, were forgotten for the moment. go home--leave all her fun and sunset lane and mart--and lavender? her consternation gave no room for the thought that two weeks had indeed worked a strange conversion. why, she would sit right down and write to trude that she did not _want_ to go home. that was silly! then she thought of the hurt on aunt achsa's face only a few moments before when she had flung her angry retort at her. and aunt achsa had been so good to her! why, that cherry pie that had come to such a disastrous end aunt achsa was baking just because she had said she adored cherry pies. that was aunt achsa's way of showing affection. that aunt achsa had trusted her--she had given her complete freedom in the two last whirlwind weeks because she had _trusted_ her. and how ungrateful, now, aunt achsa must think her. well, she had punished her own self for now, of course, aunt achsa would _want_ her to go. chapter xii sidney belongs sidney was too deep in her slough of despond to see that behind mr. dugald's shock of surprise was a smiling admiration of her bobbed head. and even lavender avowed at once that it "looked swell." two hours before sidney would have gloried in their approval but with trude's letter in her pocket and the humiliating memory of her silly retort to aunt achsa she was beyond feeling pleasure at anything. she ate her supper in a heavy silence. lavender's and mr. dugald's high spirits seemed to her as unfitting as jazz at a funeral. she kept her eyes carefully away from aunt achsa's face and found a faint solace in only nibbling at the especially delectable supper until aunt achsa asked her anxiously if she "wa'n't well?" she felt infinitely far removed, too, from the curiosity that had obsessed her throughout the day. it didn't matter now what mr. dugald and lavender had been doing over there among the sand dunes! the next morning lav invited her to go with him while he helped cap'n hawkes take a fishing party out to the _mabel t_. this was one of the odd jobs lavender often did around the harbor. sidney had gone with him twice before and had thoroughly enjoyed it. it was fun to sit in the bow of the old dory and watch the harbor lazily coming to life in the bright morning sun, sails lifting and dipping to the breeze, boats swinging at their moorings, the low roofs of the houses on the shore glistening pink against the higher ridges of sand, the dancing waves, their tips touched with gold. she liked to listen to the noisy chatter of the picnicers, to most of whom everything was as novel as it was to her; the women invariably squealed as they climbed aboard the _mabel t_ just as she had squealed the first time she boarded the _arabella_. and her greatest thrill came when the tourists took her for a native, like lavender, asking her questions which she invariably answered glibly. this was probably the last time she would go out in the harbor with lavender. she thought it, sitting very still behind a barricade of bait pails and baskets. she glared at a tanned girl who was telling her companion that they were going to stay on at the cape through august. the brightness of the morning only deepened her gloom--she could stand things _much_ better if it were pouring rain. the fishing party and all the paraphernalia shipped safely aboard the _mabel t_, lavender let the dory drift as sidney had begged him to do the first time she had gone out. he looked at her anticipating her noisy pleasure only to find her eyes downcast, her face disconsolate. she felt his glance questioning her and lifted her head. "i've got to go home." that he simply stared and said nothing was balm to her. and she caught, too, the strange expression that flashed into the boy's great dark eyes. "i got a letter yesterday from trude. she thinks i've stayed long enough--that i am imposing upon aunt achsa's hospitality." still lavender said nothing. now he was looking off to where the sails of the _mabel t_ cut the blue of the sky like the wings of a great bird. "she wants me to write at once just when i am going." which was of course not _exactly_ the way trude had written and yet was the correct interpretation sidney now put upon her letter. and still no word from lavender. "i--i hate to go. dreadfully. will you miss me the least bit, lav? i--i mean you and mart--" "oh, _hang_ mart!" burst out the boy hotly. "who cares 'bout her? i can fool 'round with her _any_time only i don't want to. i--i--" he stopped short with a queer inarticulate sound and sidney gasped. why, lavender was almost crying! he really _was_ crying only he was swallowing it all with funny gulps that lifted his crooked shoulders. sidney's heart gave a happy leap. "oh, lav, i'm so _glad_ you are sorry that i am going. we have had such fun together and you see i've never known any boys before--oh, except the ones i've met at parties and things and they're terribly stupid. but you have been such a peach to me and showed me how to do everything just as though i was a boy. i'll miss you, too, lav--" "oh, no, you won't. i mean it isn't the same," muttered lavender, his shoulders quiet now. across his face settled a sullenness that sidney had never seen on it. she did not like it; it made him look ugly. she turned away. the boy went on, in a thick voice. "y'see, i never do anything with anyone because, well--i'm different. that's why. i c'n always see them lookin' at me curious or pitying and i won't stand it! i just _won't_. i hate it. that's why i wouldn't ever go to school. some of the kids wouldn't come near me--'fraid of touchin' me, i guess. and some'd _try_ to touch me--for luck, y'know. it's always been like that--and i get awful lonesome. but some day when i'm grown up i'm going to save money and go away. out in the big cities there are lots of people that are different--all kinds of shapes and colors and everything and they are too busy to stop to pity you. mr. dugald says so. i'm goin' to study and learn to be a doctor. not the kind that goes around to see folks like dr. blackwell but the kind that works in a big laboratory and finds out what cures the sick people. they are just as important mr. dugald says. and no one will _see_ me then--they'll just _know_ about me. i don't care how old i am, i'm going to do it some time." before the sudden fire in his voice sidney's heart quickened with excitement. why, lavender was revealing to her his innermost soul and it was fine and straight, just as mr. dugald had said. "oh, lavender, you're _wonderful_!" she cried, her eyes shining. "it must be grand to know just what you want to do and i hope you _won't_ have to wait until you're very old. i'm glad you told me. only, only--" a doubt assailed her. "won't you _have_ to go to school?" lavender flushed. "sometime, i s'pose. but not here. mr. dugald understands how it is and he's helped me. and he says i know more than the other fellows in the grade i'd be in if i had kept on going. he sends me books all winter long and miss letty hears me and she got some examination papers from the teachers at school and i tried them and gee, they were a cinch. only don't tell anyone--mart, anyway," he admonished, in sudden alarm. "it's a secret between me and mr. dugald and miss letty. let 'em think i'm a loafer." the sullen look that had made lavender's face so ugly disappeared under sidney's understanding. and she in turn forgot her own sorrow in her joy of lavender's confidences. now the golden sun and the dancing water gladdened her and lifted her spirit; all _was_ well in the world. "i won't tell a soul--_not_ a soul, lav. oh--" gasping, "is that what you and mr. dugald do when you go off like you did yesterday?" lavender nodded with a sheepish grin. "yep, that's our school." "oh, what _fun_! to study like that. _i'd_ learn a lot, too. mart and i were dreadfully curious and mart said she knew that mr. dugald was painting you and didn't want to do it where anyone might see you on account of--" poor sidney stopped, abruptly in sorry confusion. "oh, that's all right! i don't care what _you_ say because you don't feel sorry for me. that's why i like to have you 'round. _you_ think i can do something. sidney, mr. dugald says there was a man who was an electrical wizard and knew everything and what he didn't know he worked over until he found out and he--he--was--like me--only worse. i'll work--gee, how i'll work--if i get a chance--" lavender clenched his long fingers together and his dark eyes glared fiercely. "i'd cut and run now from here--if it wasn't for aunt achsa." "oh, yes,--aunt achsa." that brought sidney sharply back to her own troubles. "she's been awful good to me and i can't leave her now even though i don't do much. mr. dugald says that just now my job's right here and i must show folks that my back can carry its job even if it is--" "_don't_, lav--" cried sidney, near to the pity that lavender despised, but he was too engrossed in his own feelings to notice it. "of course you can't leave aunt achsa. lav, i feel so cheap and--and--horrid. i was very rude to aunt achsa yesterday and hurt her feelings which was ungrateful of me after her letting me come and doing everything here to make me happy. it was about my hair. i--i--oh, i won't even _repeat_ what i said--it was so silly. and _that's_ really why i must go home. trude didn't exactly tell me i had to go--she just said perhaps i ought to go and that i must decide. but of course i know now--after yesterday--aunt achsa would not want me to stay--" "say, is _that_ all! as though aunt achsa is holding anything against you! why, she's the most forgivingest person you ever heard of. she wants to forgive anyone before they've done anything. she's like that. i'll bet the next second after you said it she'd forgotten what you said." "but it's worse to hurt anyone like that!" cried sidney miserably, yet with her heart lifting. for a thought was taking shape--a reasonable and just thought. "lavender--do you think--as long as _you_ like to have me here--that that would sort of make up for my rudeness? i mean--can't i go and ask aunt achsa to let me stay? i'll tell her how ashamed i am." "gee, you're square!" exclaimed lavender, proudly. "i'll tell you--we'll go together and ask her. i know just what she'll say but you'll feel more honest about it." "lav, you're wonderful--the way you understand." sidney's responsive mood leaped out to the boy's. lavender had found something in her that was above his estimation of girls. and _she_ had been vouchsafed a glimpse into the heart that lay beneath the crooked body--with its sensitiveness, its ambition. "we're just like pals," she finished shyly, "and i'm as proud as can be." mentally she was resolving to live true to lavender's standard. _that_ would be much finer than to try to be like mart. in her effort to attain mart's showy independence she had--almost--come to grief, not quite. lavender seemed certain that aunt achsa would want her to stay. and he had said he would go with her while she apologized which would make it as easy as could be. "let's go now!" she said aloud, unmindful of the fact that lavender could not possibly be following her high flight of thought. "where?" "home--to aunt achsa." sidney said it very simply. and to her it seemed like home, now. with a warm feeling in her heart she thought of herself as truly belonging to them all and to sunset lane and the homely cottage. "all right." with a dexterous motion lavender swung his strength into the oars. the dory cut the shining water. sidney stared solemnly straight ahead, going over in her mind just what she would say to aunt achsa. at sight of the two aunt achsa paused in one of her multitudinous tasks. it was not usual for either the boy or the girl to appear until noontime. her first thought was an anxiety that something had happened. she fluttered out to meet them. "there ain't anything happened, has there?" her fond eyes on lavender. "i'll say something's _most_ happened," the boy began. "sidney here thinks she ought to go home on account of something she said yesterday--" "lav, let me do it," implored sidney. "aunt achsa, i--i'm so ashamed of the way i answered you yesterday about my hair. i ought to have told you--you had a right--but i guess i wanted to feel grown up and independent. and i am sorry." at sidney's halting confession aunt achsa looked what lavender, with his odd coinage of words, had described as the "most forgivingest person." she actually blushed. "why, law's sake, child, your aunt ascha didn't mind--don't worry your little head over that. i ain't forgotten how a girl feels even if it was a long spell ago that i was fifteen. old as i am my tongue gets loose in my head lots of times and runs away with itself. that's a way tongues has of doing. and you worryin' over it and thinkin' about going home! why, why--it's _nice_ to have you here. only last evening i said it to mr. dugald. it's like you were one of us--" "do you really mean that, aunt achsa? i'm not company any more or--or--a distant cousin?" "not a bit. and now long's you and lavender's come home in the middle of the morning, which i will say give me a turn, you can set down on the step out there and pit these cherries for me!" "cherry pie?" cried sidney, glad over everything. "better. i'll bet pickled cherries!" lavender had spied the row of glistening glass jars on the table. "and they're licking good." sidney took the checkered apron aunt achsa handed her and tied it about her slim person, then they sat down upon the step in the sunshine and fell to their task. from the shade of the lilac bush nip and tuck regarded them with their inscrutably wise eyes. without doubt nip and tuck knew why sidney's voice lifted so gaily as the red juice trickled down her brown arms. when mr. dugald returned for dinner he had to hear how nearly sidney had come to going home. "why, that's the worst thing i've heard," he exclaimed with exaggerated alarm, "now, you wouldn't really go and do that, would you?" his eyes laughed above the serious twist of his lips; sidney wondered if he was remembering that first night of her coming. "i think we ought to celebrate this crisis through which we have lived," he declared. "what say to a picnic supper over at the backside and a call upon captain nelson. he'll be expecting us about this time. if i commandeer pete cady's ford you can go, too, aunt achsa." when he was in his rollicking mood aunt achsa could never resist her mr. dugald. though she'd as soon trust herself in one of "them ar-y-planes" as in pete cady's ford, which only went under stress of many inward convulsions and ear-splitting explosions, she accepted mr. dugald's invitation and fell at once to planning the "supper," though their dinner was not yet cleared away. "i'll write a letter and mail it and then stop and tell mart. mart may go, may she not?" sidney asked anxiously. yes, mart must go, too. plainly the occasion _was_ a momentous one. and to trude sidney wrote, hastily, for lavender was waiting and there would be time for a swim on the _arabella_ before they started off in the ford. "--aunt achsa and lavender both want me to stay _very_ much. they like me and i am just one of the family. i help aunt achsa too, in a great many ways and lavender and i are like pals--it's just as though i had a brother which i never thought would be any fun but now i know it would be a lot especially if the brother was a twin. you must not worry when i do not write often for there is so much to do that i don't have a bit of time--" and in her excited state of mind sidney forgot to tell trude about her shorn braids. chapter xiii plots and counterplots rockman's wharf was the center of the fishing activities of the town. to it, each day, the small fishermen came in their dories with their day's catch. from it motor boats chugged off to the bigger boats moored in the bay, some schooner was always tied to the gray piles waiting to be overhauled or to be chartered for deep sea fishing. there was always something to watch on rockman's, or someone to talk to. the fishing folk spent their leisure hours loafing in the shadow of the long shed, smoking and talking; often the artists boldly pitched their easels and stools in everyone's way and painted a gray hull and a pink-gray sail, checkered with white patches, or a dark-skinned portuguese bending to the task of spiking shiny cod from the bottom of a dory and throwing them to the wharf to be measured and weighed. sidney never failed to thrill to the changing scenes that rockman's offered. she had become, like mart and lavender and a score of other youngsters, a familiar figure on the old wharf. with the ease of a cape coder born she talked to the portuguese fishermen and to the men who worked in the shed and to captain hawkes, who when he was not on the _mabel t_ sat on a leaning pile smoking and waiting for tourists to engage him. she knew the fishermen and their boats by name and was as interested in how much old amos martin got for his beautiful catch as amos himself. rockman's knew her as "that summer gal of achsa green's." "she beats all for askin' questions," it agreed, smilingly. "ain't anything misses _that_ gal!" sidney certainly did not intend anything should. she had to make up for all the years she had not lived in provincetown and if she watched and listened closely she might some day catch up with mart and lavender. she sat on the wharf late one afternoon, dangling her bare legs over its edge, and watched the sails and the circling seagulls and everything within sight and waited for mart and lavender to join her as they had agreed. lavender was running an errand for cap'n hawkes and mart had gone to commercial street for some candy. it was too early in the day for the fishermen to come in. sidney knew that. for that reason a dory approaching rockman's caught her eye. in it were two men, in oilskins and rubber boots. as it came near to the wharf a thickset fellow stepped out from the shed. sidney had never noticed him before. and her eyes grew round as she observed that in place of one hand he wore an iron hook. like a flash there came to her a confused memory of stories she had read of high piracy and buccaneers. she looked at the ugly hook and at the man and then at the approaching dory and every pulse quickened and tingled. without moving a muscle she leapt to attention. partly concealed as she was by the pile of old canvas the man did not see her. nor did the two in the dory notice her. as the dory bumped its nose against the wharf one of the men threw a line to the man on the dock who caught it dexterously with the iron hook. he had evidently been waiting for the dory. then one of the two in the boat sprang to the wharf while the other busied himself in shutting off the engine. "'lo, jed. good catch?" "yep. good catch." not unusual words for rockman's wharf but they rang with strange significance to sidney, athirst for adventure. why, there were not any fish in the dory! and the man with the hook had called the other jed! jed starrow! _it was jed starrow._ she peeked cautiously around the old sails. jed starrow was tall and very dark and had just the right swagger. if he had worn a gay 'kerchief knotted about his head, earrings, and a cutlass in his sash he would have been the pirate true; as it was easy for sidney to see him like that in spite of his commonplace oilskins and his cap. the two men walked slowly up the wharf, jed starrow a little in advance of the other. the man in the dory, having shut off the engine, lounged in the bow of the boat and lighted a pipe. sidney sat very still until jed starrow and his companion were out of sight. then she climbed to her feet, slipped along the side of the shed and ran up the wharf until she could jump down on the beach. here she waited mart's return. mart and lavender came almost at the same moment, mart with a bulging bag of assorted and dreadful-hued candies. mysteriously sidney beckoned to them to join her in the seclusion of the beach. "whatever's happened?" mumbled mart her mouth full of candy. "you act like you were struck silly." "i've found something out!" sidney spoke in a sepulchral whisper though their voices could not have been heard by anyone on the wharf. "lav, _who is jed starrow_!" lav stared at her in wonder. "why--why--he's jed starrow. that's all. fellow 'round town. owns the _puritan_, that new schooner." "i believe--" sidney spoke slowly. "i believe jed starrow is a--pirate!" at this lav and mart broke into loud laughter. but sidney stood her ground, not even flushing under their derision. "you can laugh. but i know--i know--instinctively. i sometimes do know things like that. i guess it's an occult power i have. and, anyway, cap'n davies hinted as much." "oh, cap'n davies--he's always snoopin' round for trouble. we have plenty of rum-runners and i guess lots of things get smuggled--but _pirates_--" "captain davies distinctly _said_ pirates--" insisted sidney who had not sufficient experience to properly classify rum-runners and smugglers. anyway, pirates sounded more exciting. "what's started all this?" asked lavender. sidney told of the landing of the dory and the man with the iron hook for a hand. "oh, that's only joe josephs. he's a wrecker." mart was catching something of sidney's spirit; in truth mart was unconsciously catching a great deal from sidney these days. "well, he's certainly doing something _besides_ wrecking. it's been an awful poor season for wrecks and gran'ma says joe josephs' wife's been to her sister's at plymouth and got a new coat and hat for the trip and she hasn't had a new thing since letty vine give her her blue serge dress and that wasn't new." "you see--" cried sidney, exulting, "joe josephs has divided the spoils!" "oh, you girls are crazy! why everyone in the town knows jed starrow. don't you think everyone 'ud know if he was a pirate? he's lived here ever since he was born, i guess." "but, lav, it was so _funny_ for them to say just alike 'good catch' when they didn't have any fish at all! it was a password. pirates always have passwords." "prob'bly a code," jeered lav, rocking with laughter. "you watch the sky anights; mebbe they use rockets to signal one another, too." sidney was still sufficiently stirred by the whole incident as to be able to tolerate lav's stupidity. "of course i know pirates--even these days--wouldn't use rockets and codes. i'm not as ignorant as all _that_. and i _am_ going to watch, day and night. it'll be easy for me to watch 'cause i'm a girl and no one will suspect what's in my head." "i should say they wouldn't! gee!" and lav permitted himself a last long laugh. "and you may change your tune yet," cried sidney, really vexed, "when mart and i discover something." "we'll both keep our eyes open!" mart agreed, admiring sidney's imagination even though she could not always follow it. "but we ought to keep quiet 'bout our suspicions, hadn't we?" sidney hesitated. she _did_ want to tell mr. dugald about the "good catch." but mart went on convincingly. "if we told anyone we were on, y'see it might get to jed starrow himself." "that'd be the biggest joke in town," lav warned, with a chuckle. sidney ignored him. "of course we must not breathe a word of our suspicions to a soul," she averred. "and if either of us finds out anything she must tell the other at once. i think we _will_ find something, too, for two heads are better than one." "say, are you going to leave me out of your fun--just 'cause i laughed?" sidney did not want to leave lavender out but she did want to punish him a little. she pretended to consider his question. "if you find it all so highly amusing you might be tempted to tell someone--" "what'ya mean? that i'd squeal on you? if you think _that_, well, i don't want to be in on it--" "oh, lav, of course i know you wouldn't squeal," cried sidney, relenting. "and we _will_ need you to help find things out. oughtn't we to have some sign or a word or something to sort of signal that one of us knows something to tell the others? what'll it be--" mart scowled down at the sand. for the moment she was possessed with an envy for sidney's agile imagination, a disgust at her own stolid faculties. why couldn't _she_ think of things right offhand the way sidney could? but it was lavender who suggested the "signal." "hook!" he offered and sidney clapped her hands in delight. "oh, grand! no one would ever guess. and it sounds so shivery! why, that man with the iron hook just _has_ to be a pirate!" then she suddenly grew embarrassed by her own enthusiasm. "it's different with you two," she explained, "you've lived here all your lives and you don't know what it's like to have to be a po--" she broke off, startled. one breath more and she would have revealed the truth to lavender and mart. "middletown is the pokiest town--there's nothing exciting ever happens there." "i don't know as much exciting happens here. i s'pose enough happens, only you have to have something inside you that makes you _think_ it exciting, i guess." which was mart's initial step into any analysis of emotion, but not her last. lavender turned toward the wharf. "i got to go and hunt up cap'n hawkes," he announced regretfully. "so it'll be 'hook,' will it? well, i swear from henceforth i'll watch every citizen of provincetown to see if he has a cutlass at his belt or a tattoo on his chest. come on, girls--sleuths, i mean--" "i do hope," sighed sidney as she and mart wandered homeward over the hard sand, "that one of us'll have to say 'hook' soon. don't you?" but in her heart sidney had an annoying conviction that neither mart nor lav took her pirate suspicions quite as seriously as she did. at supper lav deliberately kept the conversation on jed starrow and his activities with a disconcerting twinkle in his eyes. mart assumed the same lofty tolerance of their secret game as she showed to their play on the _arabella_--as though it were a sort of second-best fun. "well, i don't care," sidney declared stoutly. to think of jed starrow as a wicked buccaneer and joe josephs, the wrecker, as his accomplice in piracy, satisfied her craving for adventure. for the next many days she let it color everything she saw, every word she overheard; the connecting links she forged from her own active imagination. chapter xiv words that sing to seal their pact of palship lavender took sidney to top notch. he led her over a little path that wound around the smaller sand dunes directly behind sunset lane until they came to a clump of old willows. once a cottage had stood under the willows; its timbers and crumbling bricks still lay about half buried in the sand and covered over with moss and climbing weeds. though not a quarter of a mile from aunt achsa's the spot offered as complete solitude as though it had been at the ends of the world. the only sounds that reached its quiet were the far-off screaming of the seagulls as they fought for their food at low tide, and the distant boom-boom of the surging sea on the beach of the backside. "look up there!" commanded lavender proudly. and sidney, looking as he had bidden her, gave a little cry of delight. for there among the great limbs of the biggest of the willows was a tiny house. "that's mine. top notch. mr. dugald built it. that's where i study." "why, it's the cutest thing i ever _saw_!" sidney was already at the bottom of the narrow ladder that led to the house. "can i go up? i feel just like alice in wonderland, as though i'd have to take a pill to get small enough to squeeze in." "oh, no, you won't. it's big enough for two." the structure had been cleverly contrived; plankings securely nailed to the spreading branches gave indeed ample space for two and even more; there were comfortable seats and wide unshuttered windows, a rough table and a secret shelf that looked like part of the wall until one unlocked and let down a little door and revealed a neat row of books. a "wing" of the house, added to another branch, sidney declared, was "upstairs." sidney sat down on one of the seats and lavender sat on the other. "why, this is the best _yet_!" sidney cried with a long breath. "i don't see how mr. dugald thinks of the nice things he does." "he's the best sort that ever lived." lavender asserted with a little break in his voice. "i don't know why he bothers 'bout me. but he found out that i came over here and sort o' camped among those ruins down there and i used to hide my things in that old oven so's aunt achsa wouldn't find them. he knew why, too. y'see it bothers aunt achsa a lot to have me want to read and study so much--she's afraid i'll get to thinkin' of going away. she don't know, y'see, that i _am_ going, some day. so then mr. dugald helped me build top notch. there are all my books." sidney ran her eye over the different volumes; among them were stories of seafaring adventure and books on travel and science, a dictionary, a bible--and a volume of browning's poetry. sidney's hand shot out toward this last, then quickly dropped to her side. lavender saw the gesture. "i like poetry," he explained shyly. "i'm kinda afraid of it--i mean i don't understand it and i wish i did. mr. dugald says he don't, either. but there's something about the way poetry goes that's like music--it makes a sound. it's like the ocean, moving and beating, and kind o' like your heart. and sometimes the words hurt, they're so beautiful. i wish i knew more about poetry." sidney felt shivery cold all over and hot at the same moment. she kept her eyes on the square that was the open window. she knew she ought to tell the truth to lavender--right now. but, oh, she _couldn't_. yet she must! she had almost summoned the right words to begin when lavender rose and stepped toward the ladder. "i brought you here so's you'd know 'bout it and use it when you want to--the books'n everythin'. only don't let mart come. she'd make fun of it. here's where i hide the key to the shelf. s'long. i got to get down to rockman's." lavender abruptly slipped down the ladder and ran out of sight among the dunes. left alone in the top notch sidney felt a guilty remorse sweep over her. lavender had shared with her his sanctum sanctorum, he had admitted his love of poetry and she had sat silent and had not told him the truth. like music--like the waves of the ocean beating--like one's heart--words that hurt, his shy sentences rang in her ears. probably he had found it hard to tell her for fear she might laugh. laugh--why, suddenly she knew that that was really the way poetry seemed to her! she just _made_ herself believe she hated it when she did not hate it at all. music--she could hear isolde's soft drawling voice reading from one of father's books and it was indeed music. she had all that treasure that she could share with lavender, hungry for the beautiful, and yet she had sat mum. oh, she had been horrid, stingy. and he was sharing top notch with her. quite naturally sidney, brooding secretly over her shortcomings, fell back upon the long-neglected "dorothea." and she took "dorothea" at once to top notch, the better to pour out her feelings undisturbed. she covered a whole page with her appreciation of lavender's confidence and her utter unworthiness of such tribute. then the fascination of top notch brought her to mr. dugald. "i wish the girls knew him. he's so much nicer than any of their suitors, than even any of vick's." let it be recorded here that sidney paused and chewed her pencil and pondered the difficulties of bringing about an acquaintance between mr. dugald and any one of her three sisters. romance was never far from sidney's imaginings; she invariably endowed every young man who came to the romley house for any sort of a reason with deep purposes of wooing. but this situation offered obstacles to even sidney's imagination for miles separated mr. dugald from the charms of her sisters; there seemed no way in which he could meet them. however, obstacles only stimulated sidney. "i know," she wrote furiously, "i'll pick out one of them and talk about her all the time and wish and wish in my heart and just _make_ something happen. now, which one, dear dorothea, is the important thing for me to decide." from point of romance vick offered the most possibilities--there was so much about vick to talk about. but mr. dugald did not seem vick's sort. vick liked what she called "smooth" men and mr. dugald was most certainly not that. and, anyway, vick would simply have to have a rich man to give her all the things she said she intended having and mr. dugald was not rich or he'd have more fashionable clothes. no, vick was out of it. isolde--well, he wasn't issy's sort, either. sidney did not know just what issy's sort was like but she did not think it was like mr. dugald. anyway, she did not _want_ issy to have him. she wanted trude to have him, dear old peachy trude who had never had any beau except her lost love. "i shall talk about dear trude and all her nice points. i shall even say she is beautiful for she is in the eyes of love and i like to talk about trude, anyway. so from this day forth i shall gather the threads of destiny into my white hands and weave a beautiful pattern of love and happiness." forthwith sidney began her weaving and found it amazingly easy. she talked through supper about trude and took it as a promising sign that mr. dugald himself asked her all sorts of questions as though he "thirsted" to know more. and sidney answered generously. she walked with him after supper to the postoffice in order to talk more about trude. the next day she produced a very unflattering snapshot of trude and left it on the kitchen table and later gloated in secret over its disappearance, though of course aunt achsa _might_ have burned it up in her tireless cleaning and straightening. after that trude's name crossed the conversation of the little family frequently and quite naturally. mr. dugald called her "truda" and knew that she was staying with the whites on long island and that she was the prop of the entire romley family and never thought of herself at all and that she wasn't as pretty as vick or isolde but really, _nicer_--sidney quite opened her heart. and then one morning when she was helping mr. dugald clean his brushes she told him of trude's lost love. not much about it for the reason that she herself knew only a little and also because a strange look went suddenly over mr. dugald's face. "put on the brakes, little sister. aren't you letting me into secrets that perhaps your trude would not want me to know?" sidney's face flamed. she knew mr. dugald was right. "oh, i _should_ not have told you. i--just got started and didn't think. can't you forget what i said as though i didn't say it?" she pleaded. "i'll forget what you said," mr. dugald promised, knowing perfectly well that he could not and from that day on he never asked any more questions of sidney concerning her family. "i'm not playing fair," he said to himself but not to her. to "dorothea" sidney confided her chagrin. "i didn't say _much_--just that trude had had one heartbreaking affair with a man she met at mrs. white's and that i didn't believe she'd gotten over it yet. i read a book once where it said pity was akin to love and i thought if mr. dugald _knew_ that trude's heart was broken he would feel very sorry for her. but he looked so embarrassed that i knew i had not been maidenly as isolde would say and i blushed furiously. he promised to forget it and i think he will. but, oh, perhaps i have defeated my dear purpose for now when i speak of trude he looks funny as though he was afraid of what i was going to say next. i am in despair." the sound of voices, one unmistakably mr. dugald's, disturbed sidney's musings. she thrust "dorothea" into the secret shelf and locked it. then she peeped out of the window. mr. dugald and miss letty vine approached down the narrow path of hard sand straight toward the willows. sidney's first impulse was to call to them; in the next moment she realized that they had no intention of climbing to top notch. miss vine wore heavy gloves on her hands and carried a trowel and a basket and was making little jumps here and there among the weeds in search of "specimens." sidney sat very still and watched her. she thought miss letty the most interesting person, anyway. she always looked like the figurehead of a ship come to life, as mr. dugald had described her. she was very tall and bony, with huge bones that made lumps in her shoulders and elbows and even at her knees; her temples protruded and her cheek-bones and her jaw. she had long fingers with prominent knuckles. miss letty always wore a style of dress that she had evolved for herself long ago and that was plainly built for comfort rather than style or beauty. she held any grace of trimming as "froppery" and scorned it, going always unadorned. she wore her "learning" just as she wore her clothes. that she had gone to school in boston and studied music there no one would ever know from anything she said. one just thought of miss letty as being _born_ with knowledge, the way she was born capable. "capable from the cradle," aunt achsa sometimes said. everyone liked miss letty in spite of the bones and the sharp tongue and the freakish dresses, and no one knew exactly why; it might have been her eyes which were kindly and had little twinkles deep-set within their irises, or her way of knowing the thing to do and going ahead and doing it. everyone respected miss letty and acknowledged her worth at once. now mr. dugald was lounging against one of the rotting timbers of the house-that-had-been and sketching miss letty on the pad which he always carried in the pocket of his old coat. _he_ thought miss letty most interesting, too. he spent considerable time at her house and often took long walks with her. while sidney watched, miss letty sat down stiffly by mr. dugald's side and looked with interest at the sketch. "that's about the thousandth one you've made, isn't it? and you can't seem to get any of them bad enough." "i can't get into it what i want," dugald allan laughed, tearing off the sheet and crumpling it in his hand. "you see i feel something about you that i haven't been able yet to put on canvas. but i will some day. then i'll know i have gotten somewhere." miss letty considered his words as though they were of some one quite apart from herself. "i suppose it's my soul you're hoping to catch. well, i never did wear it on my sleeve," and she laughed, a great laugh like a man's. "no, you do not. that's true. but it's my job to get at people's souls, wherever they wear 'em, and paint them in." "well, hunt, then. souls are queer things," opined miss letty, carefully drawing off her old gloves and smoothing them out with her long, bony fingers. "i sometimes think the lord gets the souls mixed up and puts them in the wrong bodies. maybe that's wicked but if 'tis i think lots wickeder things." "maybe he knows more about it than we think he does--" said dugald so softly that sidney, frankly eavesdropping, had hard work to catch the words. they were so interesting, these two, that she was glad she had not let them know she was in top notch; she hoped they would talk a long time about souls and such things. but without warning miss letty changed the subject. "did you ever know such a smart piece as that girl of achsy green's?" "sidney?" and mr. dugald chuckled. "she's sure one rare kid. i don't know when i've enjoyed anything as much as having her around. and do you know the youngster's rarely gifted--she has a colorful imagination and a perception of verities that may take her further than her father. she is fighting destiny just now, but it will get her; if she isn't a poet she'll be a creator of something equally fine." "i'm too old to live to know--but you will," answered miss letty, quite calmly. "and maybe we're both wrong. maybe her finest work will be to raise a family. and i don't know, when all's said and done, but that's as good a job as your daubs or my music or a book of verse. you've got something then that can love you back." but sidney did not hear this simple philosophy for she had dropped to the floor of top notch and covered her ears with her hands. her face flamed with the anger that held her. how _dared_ they sit there and talk her over! and say that she was going to write poetry! that she had something or other and might be greater than her father! a poet! well, she _wouldn't_! _she would not!_ she thought, with stinging humiliation, of the verses she had written in her attic den and that lay now hidden in the secret place under the floor. she'd written them just because they hummed so in her ears that she had _had_ to write them, but when she returned home she'd tear them into tiny bits and never, _never_ write another line, even though the words did jingle and hum. she sat cramped on the floor of top notch, until she was certain the intruders had gone away. then she got stiffly to her feet and reached for "dorothea." hot tears of mortification blinded her eyes so that she had to dash them away with the back of her hand. one splashed upon the page she had opened. "i have come, dear dorothea, to another crossroad in life. you only shall witness my solemn vow. _i shall not be a poet!_ i shall be a missionary. a missionary's life is fraught with danger and takes them to distant climes and they have to dress in what is given to them out of a barrel--" she felt a little better and pleasantly sacrificial after she had written this vow. poor sidney, she did not know that the words that lavender had likened to music and the beating sea would sing in her ears as persistently in timbuctoo as in the quiet of her attic den! chapter xv cap'n phin what made life at sunset lane so delightful to sidney was that she never knew from one day to the next what she was going to do. back at middletown everything was always arranged ahead--they did this on tuesday and this on wednesday and always on saturday there was the league. at sunset lane she did not even know when it was tuesday or thursday unless she stopped to think; jolly things happened as though they popped out of the blue ether. like that miss letty dropped in one evening after supper. "do you want to ride over to wellfleet with me enough to be ready at six o'clock?" she asked sidney very casually, as though it were nothing at all to suggest. sidney had longed to ride with miss letty in the sideboard buggy behind king who, mr. dugald declared, had come off the ark with noah. and to go to wellfleet, perhaps see her friend cap'n phin davies! "can we call on cap'n davies?" she asked eagerly. miss letty smiled. "i reckon i couldn't steer king away from elizy davies' house. i thought i'd take you there and leave you while i give my lessons and then i'd ride 'round and have a visit with elizy and phin and maybe some of elizy's gingerbread. elizy and i went to school together." the next morning sidney was ready and on her, way to miss letty's house before six o'clock. she had been far too excited to eat any of the breakfast aunt achsa had set out for her but miss letty, guessing this, made her sit down and eat a bit of toast and a boiled egg. "it's a long way between here and wellfleet and king's slower than he used to be." seated next to miss letty, jogging along through the misty morning, sidney could not speak for pure rapture of delight. she had never ridden behind a horse in her life! she thought king a giant steed; with every swish of his long tail her heart skipped a beat, the move of his great muscles under his heavy flanks held her fascinated gaze. miss letty talked to him as though he were human and the animal understood and tossed his head. she said: "now, king, we're going to wellfleet and we got to get there before noon." and then she let the reins slacken and slip down between her knees as though she had no further care. one certainly could not do that with an automobile! sidney did not wonder now that miss letty preferred king to a ford. she wished she dared ask miss letty how old king really was but she did not think it polite anymore than if she asked miss letty how old she was. king was not handsome, he was bony like his mistress, but he certainly understood everything. miss letty said he knew they were going to elizy davies' by the way he loped ahead; king, too, had a strong liking for elizy davies' gingerbread. "she feeds it to him in great hunks. and he won't eat anyone else's gingerbread, either. scornful as you please even when i offer him some. now i say that's discriminating for a horse. i suppose it's what folks call horse-sense." sidney did not know which she liked better, watching the gleaming marshes through which the highway wound or listening to miss letty's spasmodic conversation. miss letty pointed out old landmarks to sidney, then told her something of the school at truro to which she and elizy davies had gone, then of the little girls to whom she was about to give music lessons. she had taught their mothers. then she lapsed into a deep silence broken only by an occasional "cl-lk" to king which she made with her tongue against her teeth and to which king paid no attention except for a flick of his right ear. sidney, looking down at the great bony hands limply holding the reins, thought it very funny to picture them on the keyboard of a piano. if she had spoken her thoughts aloud miss letty would have told her, quite calmly, that she couldn't play a note now, but that she knew when notes were played right and she could still rap lagging fingers smartly across the knuckles. folks would have her, anyway. sidney did not know, of course, that miss letty was a tradition and that cape cod clings to its traditions. "you'll think phin davies' house the queerest thing you ever saw. it isn't a house nor is it a boat; it's as much one as t'other and not anything, i'd say, but what two crazy men getting their heads together rigged up. cap'n davies said as long as he had to live ashore he wanted his house to look like a boat, he didn't care what folks said, and he hunted the cape over to find a builder who wouldn't apply to have him locked up in an asylum, straight off. he got a man from falmouth, who'd been a master once on a trader and sort of knew how phin davies felt. but there was elizy carrying on awful about it and saying _she'd_ always looked forward to the time when she could have a nice house--and there the two of them were. and the house is as 'tis. phin has the front of it that's as like the bow of a ship without any rigging as they could make it, and elizy has the back that's got as up-to-date a kitchen as any on cape cod." a winding road, all sweet with wild primroses led up to the queer house on the eminence. sure enough, there was the front part like the forward hull of a ship, deck-houses and all; and the back like any sensible new england home. sidney giggled delightedly. "but there aren't two finer people on this cape!" declared miss letty. "and there's phin coming to meet us. reckon he spied king through his glasses along beyond wellfleet." cap'n phin davies was overjoyed to see sidney. "why, it's the little gal i found on the train!" he repeated over and over. "elizy," he called lustily toward the kitchen door, "come and see! it's the little gal i told you 'bout that i found on the train." elizy davies came hurrying from the kitchen door. she was lean to gauntness and tall and wore round, steel-rimmed glasses low on the sharp bridge of her nose. sidney immediately understood how she had been able to hold out for her half of the house. but she greeted sidney with kindly interest and miss letty with real affection. "i thought you'd be over this way today. anne matthews said maida was going to have a lesson. got my gingerbread all mixed." miss letty had not gotten out of the buggy. she turned king's head. "thought i'd leave sidney here while i gave my lessons," she explained briefly and then clucked to king. mrs. davies took sidney into her part of the house. it was cool and dark and sweet-smelling and very, very neat. sidney sat down in a stiff rocker and answered mrs. davies' questions concerning her aunt achsa and lavender, while cap'n davies stumped restlessly about. "now i cal'late you've heard enough, elizy, and i'm goin' to carry my little shipmate off and show her _my_ part o' the old hull." elizy accepted his suggestion with a smile and admitted that she had to finish up her work. immensely relieved sidney followed cap'n davies. with the enthusiasm of a boy he took her to the front rooms of the house and showed her his treasured possessions. there was not a corner of the globe that had not contributed something to his collection of mementoes. and each meant to the old seafarer, not its own intrinsic value, but a certain voyage. "i got that when we took a cargo to shanghai. roughest v'yage i ever ran into," and "i picked that up when we had to lay to at buenos aires 'cause every man jack in the fo'castle had small-pox," or "found that when elizy shipped with me on the old _amanda l. downs_. forget just where--" and so on. in the cupola on the roof that cap'n davies called his lookout and where he spent most of his time, he had put the paraphernalia from the _viking_, his last boat. he had rigged up a bunk so that he could even sleep there when he fancied. he explained that he never let elizy "tidy up." "when i get a notion i fix things shipshape myself, but i ain't had a notion now in sometime." sidney could see that. yet the littered room had an individuality that elizy's own spotless quarters lacked. "now set down on that bunk and let me have a look at you," the cap'n commanded, seating himself in an old swivel chair that creaked and trembled under his weight. "'pears to me you've picked up quite a bit!" he smiled his approval and nodded his great head. "yes, they ain't starvin' you and i'd say you'd been runnin' in the sun and there ain't anything that can beat our cape sun for bringin' out roses on bushes and little gal's cheeks." he beamed with satisfaction over his long speech. "now, tell me, how's the pirates? seen any?" his question came so suddenly that sidney started. she hesitated, then answered slowly. "yes, i have." "well, i'll be dumblasted!" exclaimed the captain, plainly astonished by her answer. he had spoken only in pleasant chaff and had not thought sidney would take him seriously. "at least--" sidney amended, "i _think_ i've seen some. i told lavender and mart they're pirates or--or something, and we're going to watch every move jed starrow makes, at least every chance we get--" the jovial expression suddenly left the captain's genial face and a heavy frown furrowed the leathery forehead. "jed starrow! now what in thunder would make you set on jed starrow--" his frown alarmed sidney. perhaps she had made a dreadful mistake in divulging their suspicions of jed starrow, suspicions which really lavender and mart did not share, except as it helped their fun along-- "oh, i shouldn't have said that it's jed starrow we suspect. i heard mr. starrow and that--that man with the hook--say something that sounded mysterious and i told the others, mart and lav, about it and we're just pretending that we _think_ they're pirates! it's something to do and makes it exciting when we're down on the wharves. and they _do_ look like pirates--especially the wrecker man. but i ought not to have said their names--as long as it's only a sort of game we're playing, ought i? you won't tell anyone, will you?" cap'n davies promised hastily and took sidney off to see the new heifer calf, just a week old. in the delight of fondling the pretty little creature sidney forgot her embarrassing break. she did not notice that the captain seemed deeply absorbed by some thought and that when he was not talking he still frowned. after she had visited the cove and watched the waves dash against the head and explored the boathouse miss letty arrived with king and mrs. davies summoned them to dinner. they ate dinner in the big kitchen that stretched from one side of the house to the other so that a breeze, all tangy with salt, stirred the heat of the room. mrs. elizy and miss letty talked and sidney ate and laughed as cap'n phin surreptitiously, and with sly winks at her, fed the old maltese cat under the table. there were fried chicken and peas and mashed potatoes and the gingerbread and cocoa and flaky cherry pie. and after dinner they all went out to watch king eat the gingerbread of his choice. sidney and miss letty helped mrs. elizy clear up and then they joined cap'n phin under the shade of the trees on the head from where they could see far out over the bay. sidney stretched on the grass and listened while the others talked, determining to put down every word they said in "dorothea" so that she could read it over when she was a very old woman. she loved the way miss letty answered back to cap'n davies when he teased her and she was not the least bit afraid of mrs. davies, now. all in all, though it was a very quiet afternoon, it was one sidney long remembered. when miss letty announced that they'd "have to be starting for home," cap'n davies recollected that there was something in the lookout he wanted to show sidney and had forgotten. but when they reached the lookout it appeared that he had forgotten again for he sat down in the swivel chair and faced her. "looky here," he commanded in a voice sidney had not heard before in their brief acquaintance, "don't know as it's any o' my affair but i want you to keep off the wharves after dark. off the beach, too. play your games in daylight. things are shapin' to a sort o' head and there may be mischief anytime and you'd best be at home come dark. if you don't promise me i'll speak a word to achsy green--" "oh, i'll promise," cried sidney anxiously. a warning to aunt achsa would most likely curtail their precious freedom. but she could not resist the temptation of questioning. "what mischief?" she asked, eagerly. cap'n davies hesitated. then he drew a letter from his pocket and tapped it with his finger. "that's from the custom house in boston. come last week. they're sending secret service men down to comb the cape. been huntin' the hul coast for a year and a half and they sort o' suspicion these parts because a lot of 'em was shipped into boston that--" "oh, _what_! you haven't said _what_--" broke in sidney, aquiver. "so i didn't. i'm sailin' stern first, i cal'late. well, there's always smuggling and smuggling and i guess there always will be, but when it comes to _diamonds_ uncle sam sets up and takes notice. and they're suspicionin' that they're comin' in somewheres along the cape, and this part of the cape, too. and _this_--" he shook another sheet in sidney's face, "this is a notice of a reward offered by wellfleet and truro counties for findin' the dog that's givin' this part of the cape a bad name! five thousand dollars. in two weeks it'll be stuck on every post hereabouts 's far as provincetown. and phin davies ain't goin' to lay to 'till i've found out whether it's someone on the cape that's doing it or not. cape cod's brung up a race of honest men who could sleep with their doors wide open and if anybody is hurtin' the good name of the cape i want to know it. 'taint the money i want." [illustration: captain davies drew a letter from his pocket and tapped it with his finger] sidney was scarcely drawing a breath for excitement. the captain, suddenly subsiding, observed her tenseness. he laughed embarrassedly. "now there i go spillin' everything _i_ know like a ship that's sprung a leak. i'll have to ask you to keep mum 'bout what i've told you, mate, and remember your word to keep off the beach come night. ain't no place for a gal like you." and without another word he rose and led sidney down the narrow stairs. on the homeward ride miss letty found sidney an abstracted companion. after a few attempts to keep up conversation she subsided into silence herself. "it's good to find a young one who can keep her tongue still a spell and enjoy her own thoughts." but sidney was not enjoying her thoughts, not at all. with the realization that she could not share with mart and lavender the astounding revelations cap'n phin davies had made all joy in them had fled. had not she and mart and lavender agreed solemnly to tell one another anything any one of them discovered? it would be so perfectly thrilling to greet them the instant she reached home with "hook!" they would be so surprised. they wouldn't laugh if she told them what she knew! but she couldn't. cap'n phin davies had said: "i'll have to ask you to keep mum" and that was quite enough to seal sidney's lips. chapter xvi pola for the next few days mart and lav found sidney strangely quiet. sidney on her part wondered if they could not tell, simply by looking at her, that her uncomfortable heart carried a great secret. then something happened that put pirates and secrets completely out of her mind, something so amazing, so unexpected, as to turn her world on its head. pola came! in her zeal to get out of each day all the joy that it offered sidney had forgotten pola, or at least she had tucked her idol into a far-back corner of her mind where it was fast gathering dust. one morning mart, racing over the sand of the beach, hailed her. "sid! sid! they want us to pose for them! that craig woman and the others!" sid gasped, unbelieving. the girls had often wished they might pose for some of the artists. mart, having caught up with her, clutched her arm and hauled her hurriedly forward toward where little groups of artists were gathering on the beach in the shadow of one of the long wharves. "but--but--" sidney protested breathlessly. it would be fun to pose, of course, but not dressed as she was at that moment! vick, in the picture that had been hung in paris, had worn a black velvet dress which the artist had borrowed for her sitting; she could run home and don the precious cherry crêpe de chine that she had not worn since she had come to sunset lane. "miss craig said to get that--other--girl--" mart was explaining as they ran. "and they're waiting." miss craig, a pretty, earnest-eyed woman who was studying in one of the summer art classes, came forward to meet them. her glance went over sidney's figure with enthusiastic approval. "you found her! how nice. miss higgins will pose you--" "can't i go home and change my dress? i have an awfully pretty--" but miss craig cut sidney's appeal short. "_gracious_ no! why, that would _spoil_ you! we want you exactly as you are this moment--both of you. you're--you're _precious_!" sidney resented her "precious." she resented other remarks that came to their ears as miss higgins, who had charge of the little group, posed them against an old, overturned dory. "a perfect type--native--girls----freedom----wild beauty----" she resented the rotting dory. vick had leaned against a crimson velvet chair. why, her hair had not been combed since the morning before, her skirt was in tatters where she had torn it climbing into top notch; she was horribly conscious of her long legs, bare, brown, and bruised. sidney found that posing in the morning sun on a beach at provincetown was not the lark vick had declared posing for the great stuart gelding had been. but then vick had flirted a little with stuart gelding and had always had a cup of tea with him and his wife afterward; these art students appeared to have forgotten that their models were human with legs that ached from holding a position and arms that trembled with very eagerness to move. it was not one bit of fun. then, after an interminable time, miss craig called out cheerily; "there, that's enough for this morning," and came down to the dory, opening a little crocheted bag. from it she took two crisp one dollar bills. "take this, girls, and divide it. and we are ever so grateful--you were splendid types. we'll have you again some day." sidney's hand had barely closed over her dollar bill when she spied a woman and a girl slowly walking along the wharf, watching with interest the artists who were still at work. the girl looked startlingly familiar to sidney. she gave a little gasp and ran forward. "_pola!_" she called loudly. the girl turned in astonishment at the sound of her name, stared for a moment, then quickly advanced laughing. "why, you're the romley girl, aren't you? of _all_ the things! what are you doing here?" "i'm visiting my aunt," explained sidney, suddenly conscious of her appearance and in consequence painfully ill-at-ease. "oh, and do they hire you to pose? what fun! i suppose that's a sort of costume they make you wear, isn't it?" "y--yes," sidney faltered, miserably. pola's manner was prettily condescending and she made no move to join sidney on the beach. "i'm a wreck myself," pola went on, airily surveying her trim and elegant person. "mother and i are motoring. and i made her bring me down here to see my cousin. he's an artist and lives here summers. he'll just despise seeing us because he comes here to get rid of everything home. and the car's broken down and goodness knows how long we'll have to stay." "pola!" her mother called sharply. pola waved her hand toward her mother. "yes, mamma!" then, to sidney, "isn't it simply rare our meeting like this? it shows how small the world is. i must run now! by-by!" she gave the slightest flip of her hand in sign of leave-taking and, turning, ran lightly up the wharf toward her mother. sidney's eyes followed her, devouring her dainty clothes, the tight-fitting motoring hat, the buckled pumps. pola--the pola she had carried enshrined in her heart! that heart hurt now, to the core. she had dreamed of a meeting sometime, somewhere, had planned just what it would be like and what she'd say and what pola would say. and now pola had turned a shoulder upon it. mart's laugh behind her roused her. "who's guinevere, anyway? her ma called her just in time--we might a hurt the doll-baby!" sidney turned on mart fiercely. "she's a friend of mine," she cried, in a voice she made rough to keep the tears from it. "and she's _not_ a doll-baby." "all right--go and play with her then--she's crazy about you, i guess." and with that mart swung on her heel and stalked away, her head in the air. poor sidney hurried back to sunset lane to hide her humiliation and her dismay. for some reason she could not understand she had offended mart. and pola had snubbed her. it had indeed been a cruel fate that had brought pola out on the wharf at that precise moment! she spent a lonely afternoon in top notch, too miserable to even pour out her heart to "dorothea." then she helped aunt achsa prepare supper and after supper, which was lonely, too, for neither lavender nor mr. dugald were there, she insisted upon clearing up the dishes while aunt achsa went down to tillie higgins'. swishing her hands in the soapy water sidney pondered sadly the things she had longed to learn of pola. her name--why she hadn't even found out her name! what had her teacher said of that theme she had written on her visit to the romley house? where did pola live? of course she might see her again--pola had said that they'd be in provincetown for a few days, but she did not _want_ to see her; she did not want pola to see sunset lane and the little gray cottage and aunt achsa and lavender. pola would laugh at them and she would hate her! at that moment footsteps crunched the gravel of the path and a shadow fell across the kitchen door. sidney turned from the table. there stood mr. dugald and with him--pola. "i've brought my cousin, sidney. she blew out to the cape with that ill-wind we felt this morning. if you know what we can do with her i'll be your slave for life." playfully pushing dugald allan aside pola walked into the kitchen. "isn't he horrid? you wouldn't dream that he's really crazy about me, would you? i told him how we'd met, even before this morning. he'd written home that miss green's cousin was here but i never dreamed it was you. i'm so sorry i didn't have a chance to introduce you to mother this morning. but mother wants me to take you back to the hotel. you can have a room right next to mine and we'll have scads of fun--you'll come, won't you?" for sidney's face was unyielding. like one cornered, sidney stood straight against the table, her hands, red from the hot dish water, clasped tightly behind her back. though she knew that pola was trying to make amends for her rudeness of the morning, something within her heart turned hard. the dusty idol was crumbling to bits of clay. "she's only inviting me because mr. dugald has told her to," she reasoned inwardly. and aloud she answered in a steady voice: "i'm sorry, but i simply can't leave aunt achsa. you must come here and we'll find lots of jolly things to do--" "here?" laughed pola, glancing around the old kitchen. "why not here?" roared mr. dugald. "as long as you've broken into our secret garden we'll introduce you to some things you've never done before in your life. only sid will have to find some suitable clothes for you, and you'd better leave your complexion on the dressing table." pola accepted his banter good-naturedly. "i shall be deeply grateful, old dear, if you _will_ introduce me to any sensations i have not experienced before. there, now, will that hold you for awhile?" she turned to sidney. "we quarrel like this all the time, but it's fun and i always have the last word. i make him so mad he can't think of anything withering enough to say and i seize that strategic moment to cease firing. you see, i practice on dug. i _will_ come tomorrow if i may. now, duggie dear, lead me out of this funny lane or else i'll _never_ find my way back to mamma. goodby, miss romley." behind pola's back mr. dugald cast such a despairing, apologetic and altogether furious look toward sidney as to make sidney suddenly laugh. and with her laugh all her sense of dismay and humiliation vanished. she forgot her red hands and the big gingham apron and the dishes spread about her in her amusement over pola's pathetic attempt to be very grown-up and sophisticated. and _so_ ill-bred! how ashamed mr. dugald had been of her! then a thought struck sidney with such force that she sat down in the nearest chair. why, if mr. dugald was pola's own cousin, belonged to the grandeur that was pola's, he would _never_ be attracted by poor, plain trude. her beautiful hopes were shattered! she felt distinctly aggrieved. however, there was vick. sidney hated to give mr. dugald to vick, who always got everything, yet it seemed the only thing to do if any of the sisters were to have him. almost sadly she went to her room, opened her satchel and took from it a small framed photograph of victoria, a photograph which, while it did not flatter victoria, paid full justice to her enticing beauty. considering it, sidney reflected on how lucky it was that at the last moment she had put the pictures of her sisters into her baggage. then she carried it to the kitchen and stood it on the narrow mantel next to the clock where mr. dugald's eyes must surely find it. unlike the snapshot of trude the picture remained there undisturbed. chapter xvii peacocks early the next day pola appeared with mr. dugald in sunset lane in a simple garb that must have satisfied even her exacting cousin. her mood was in accord with her attire as though she had left her sophistication behind with her silks and her rouge. she declared she felt as "peppy as they make them" and ready to do anything anyone suggested. and mr. dugald, resigned to wasting two weeks to entertaining his young cousin, of whom he was really very fond, promptly offered an astonishing assortment of suggestions from which he commanded the girls to choose. "why, you wouldn't believe there were so many things to do!" cried pola with real enthusiasm. "sidney, you'll have to decide." and sidney at once decided upon a tramp to peaked hill on the ocean side with an early picnic supper. in the days that followed, sidney's first admiration for pola returned. though pola would never again be the idol she was much more enjoyable as a chum. her spirits, though an affectation, were infectious and gay; in her pretty clothes and with her pretty face she made sidney think of a butterfly, a fragile, golden-winged, dainty flitting butterfly. she professed to enjoy everything they did--even to the picnics. she tramped endlessly in her unsuitable shoes without a murmur of fatigue and sidney suspected that she really _did_ care a great deal for her cousin dugald's approval. with mr. dugald they motored to highland light and to chatham. they toured the shops at hyannis. they sailed with captain hawkes on the _mabel t_. they rose very early one morning and went to the coast guard station to watch the drill and then ate ham and eggs with commander nelson. more than once sidney donned the cherry crêpe de chine and dined with mrs. allan and pola and dugald at the hotel, feeling very grand and traveled. but to sidney's deep regret pola professed an abhorrence of swimming. "just please don't _ask_ me," she had begged, shuddering. "i loathe it! it's one of my complexes. of course i've gone swimming in almost every body of water on the globe, but i hate it. you'll spoil my fun _utterly_ if you even try to make me!" after that sidney could not urge. she did not know what complexes were, but pola had made them sound real and convincing and a little delicate. though sidney missed the jolly swims with lavender and mart she refrained from even a hint of her feelings. often when they were together pola waxed confidential over her cousin. "he's a thorn in aunt lucy's side," she explained one day as the girls lounged in pola's room at the hotel, a huge box of candy on a stool between them. "she always wants him to go in for society and to go abroad with her and do all the fashionable resorts on the continent, but couldn't you _see_ him? not for duggie boy, ever! when she starts planning something like that he bolts off somewhere and the next thing you hear is that he's painted a wonderful picture and sold it or had first mention or a gold medal. of course that makes him terribly interesting and there are dozens of single ladies from forty to fourteen itching to catch him. and dug's such a simple old dear that he doesn't know it. but his mother does and she has them all sorted over and the eligible ones ticketed. you see dug will be dreadfully rich some day and goodness knows what he'll do with the money for he hasn't the brains of a child where business is concerned. his father's even richer than dad." sidney literally blinked before the picture pola drew--blinked and blushed that she had dared angle for mr. dugald herself like the forty-to-fourteen single ladies. mr. dugald belonged to a world that was foreign to the romley girls, pola's dazzling, peacock-world. sidney felt immensely flattered that pola had taken her in among her peacocks. (secretly, too, she considered that she carried herself well among them. she was most careful of her dress, now!) she did not know that pola's sort instinctively seeks out someone to dazzle, that pola's generosity was a part of the dazzling process. she thought pola wonderful to accept so casually her gilded privileges. why, if pola didn't like a dress or a hat or a pair of shoes she simply didn't wear it; she could buy anything she wanted from any one of the priceless bits of jewelry in the shops at hyannis to the delectable sweets in the tea-rooms on commercial street. she could do just as she pleased--even more than mart, for _she_ never had to darn or mend or wipe dishes or dust or hang up her clothes or brush them. realizing all this sidney came to forgive that first condescension that had stung; she thought pola little short of an angel to be so prettily friendly with them all. so engrossed was sidney in basking in pola's favor that for a time she felt no compunctions at deserting mart and lavender; in fact she did not even think of them. both mart and lavender had become suddenly very busy with affairs that kept them out of sight. if, once in awhile, sidney wondered what they were doing something of pola's or something pola said quickly crowded the thought from her head. but one afternoon they encountered mart as they strolled toward the green lantern to sit under its gay awnings and drink tea. sidney introduced mart to pola and to cover pola's rude stare she added quickly: "we're going down to the green lantern, mart. won't you come with us?" conscious as she said it that her voice sounded stilted. "no, thanks. i'm going to do something lots more exciting than sitting _there_! and i'm in a hurry, too." and with that mart swung on past them, her head high. sidney had a moment's longing to run after her and coax her to come, but pola's light giggle checked her. "isn't she a riot? i'd have _died_ if she'd come with us!" "oh, pola--she'll hear you!" pleaded sidney. she hated herself because she did not tell pola at once how bravely mart shouldered her responsibilities, about gran'ma, who looked to mart for everything. instead she simply walked along with pola and let pola giggle. pola, sensing sidney's feelings, slipped her arm through hers and gave it an affectionate little squeeze. "you're such a funny child," she said softly. "you'd be nice to anything. i can't, of course, for i go around to so many places and mother's warned me often about strangers. anyway, it's lots nicer for just us two to be together, isn't it?" but in spite of pola's soft flattery and countless lumps of sugar the tea tasted bitter to sidney and the green lantern, with its futurist awnings, its bizarre hangings and cushions, had no allure. the thought came suddenly to sidney that it had been a whole week since she had even seen mart; in that time she had scarcely exchanged more than a half dozen words with lavender. to the tune of pola's ceaseless chatter sidney's thoughts kept darting back to that uncomfortable fact. pola always talked of things she had done at home, abroad, at school, of her boy friends whom she called "men." she liked to hint of countless "affairs" which simply must not come to her mother's attention, assuring sidney that she was absolutely the only one to whom she confided these deep intrigues. she had worn guy townsend's fraternity pin the whole winter before and not a soul had known whose pin it was for guy was tabooed by mothers in general and mrs. allan in particular. now pola was simply crazy over a jack sicard who was playing the lead in "hearts aquiver." but not even jack's manly beauty, as described by pola, failed to draw from sidney more than a mild: "he must be cute." pola gave way to vexation. "you're scarcely listening to me, sidney romley, when i'm telling you things i haven't told a _soul_! i believe you're still thinking of that ridiculous girl we met." "she isn't ridiculous!" sidney was prompt enough now in mart's defense. "she looks funny, but you see i've gotten well acquainted with her and she's awfully nice." "oh, _nice_, of course! but _anyone_ can be nice! you know perfectly well, sidney, that there's as much class in this country as there is in europe and being _nice_ does not break down social barriers." sidney had no answer ready for this. curiously into her mind flashed what mr. dugald had said about the solid aristocracy. but somehow she knew pola would not understand this. pola went on: "i'm a dreadful little snob, anyway. but i suppose that is the result of my education. it would be funny to go to the most expensive schools and have all the culture that europe can offer and _not_ be a snob." still sidney stared into her teacup. she thought pola was all wrong, but she did not know how to say it. pola herself had told her that she had gone to grace hall because it had no examinations and graduated a girl anyway--so much for pola's education. and culture--what benefited all the culture of europe if pola found enjoyment only in the company of youths her mother would not permit in the house? pola mistook sidney's silence for hurt. "you goose, i'm not saying i think i'm any better than _you_ are! but you must see that neither of us are a bit like that native girl!" which admission pola considered most generous. "i wasn't thinking about whether you are any better than i am or not. i've been brought up, you see," with a rueful laugh, "to believe that my father being a poet set _me_ a little apart from everyone else. and i've hated it. what i was thinking was that there really isn't any class difference in people--except what we make ourselves, like the league building a barrier around me and you thinking you're in another class from mart because you're rich. maybe it isn't really the outside things that count, maybe it's the big things we have got or haven't got inside us--" "like what?" demanded pola. sidney was thinking of lav's self-effacing ambition to serve the world from the seclusion of a laboratory, of mart's cheerfulness in the face of her lot and her loyal affection for her exacting and rheumatic grandmother; of the courage of mart's grandfather, ambrose calkins, who had lost his own life in going back to his sinking schooner for the cook who could not swim; of her own ancestor, priscilla ellis. _those_ were the things which set people apart from their fellows, sidney thought, but the understanding was too new in her own heart for her to find words in which she could tell pola of it. "like what?" pola demanded again and this time her voice was a little haughty. "oh, i don't know," sidney laughed. "i'm all mixed up. i guess i was trying to say something mr. dugald said once to me." "oh, _dug_!" laughed pola. "he's nutty about all that! look at the way he lives here on the cape. but mother says he'll get over it when he marries. now i have no intention of getting serious this grand day so let's have another piece of that chocolate fudge cake--it's on me, too, remember!" which was pola's pretty way of pretending she did not know that sidney did not have any money with her. the dollar sidney had earned for posing had long since been spent. sidney was relieved that pola had rescued her from the "deep water." at the same time she suffered from the sense that she had not made pola see mart in another light. she had failed in loyalty. the sparkling blue of the bay that stretched before them only reminded her that this was the hour she usually went swimming. due to pola's "complex" she had not gone swimming for a whole week. even with her mouth full of the fudge cake, she vowed to herself that the very next day she would hunt out her chums and her old pastimes. pola and mr. dugald must plan without her! she had promised to dine again at the hotel with pola and her mother but as soon as she could after dinner she returned to sunset lane. because of her determination her heart was lighter. and her way was made easier, too, for mrs. allan had told pola at dinner that the "truxtons were at chatham bars." pola had been as excited over the truxtons as her mother. "can we go and see them right away?" "not tonight. but i have arranged for a car and shields will drive us over tomorrow. we can stay there for a few days. i shall welcome the change for this place has been very stupid for me, my dear." "poor mamma! i've been selfish. it'll be a lark seeing cora truxton again!" pola had explained to sidney: "we met the truxtons at nice. cora and millicent are both older, but they're the _cutest_ girls. will we go in the morning, mamma?" pola's manner had indicated that the coming of the truxtons into their plans raised a barrier that now excluded sidney. throughout the dinner she had talked exclusively of the trip on the morrow and the renewing of that acquaintance that had begun in nice. but sidney felt nothing but a sense of escape. she found aunt achsa alone in the cottage on sunset lane. she was sitting on the doorstep, "coolin' off." sidney sat down beside her. "where's lavender?" she asked, wishing lavender was at home that she might begin her "making up" at once. "don't know. and i wish i did. don't know what's gotten into that boy. i'm as worried as can be." "about lav? oh, what's the matter?" for aunt achsa was close to tears. something must have happened to break her habitual optimism. "he's acted so queer like lately. cal'late you'd of noticed it if you hadn't been off so much with mr. dugald's folks. i thought it might a' been his stomach and i put a powder into his coffee, but he ain't been a mite different--" "but what does he do, aunt achsa? he looks all right--" now aunt achsa hesitated. one tear separated itself from its fellows and rolled down her withered cheek and dropped upon her withered hand. she looked at it, startled, then lifted her hand and dashed it across her eyes. "i swum, i'm cryin'. don't know as i know when i've cried before. and cryin' before i have anything as i can see to cry for. but sidney, i set such a lot on that boy--it's like i was his mother and his father and his brothers and his sisters all mixed up in one--gran'ma, too. he was such a little mite when i took him, y'see and then he's not like other boys and i've had to do a heap of lovin' to make up to him. i've prayed every day of my life for the lord to keep him happy in spite of things and that was a pretty big prayer for i don't suppose the lord wants us all to be happy all the time, that ain't his way of bringing us up. but i thought he might make an exception for lav. land sakes, how i go on--and you nigh to cryin' yourself." for she had caught sidney blinking back something glistening from her own eyes. "aunt achsa, lavender is wonderful. he's talked to me a lot and he's going to be a great man some day, i know. he has the grandest plans shut away in his heart and he _is_ happy--" aunt achsa looked at her, startled. "plans--how _can_ he when he's--" she bit off the words. her lips trembled. "aunt achsa, it doesn't matter what one's like on the outside!" now sidney floundered for the second time in one day under the pressure of her own thoughts. "i mean--lav can do anything he wants to do, anyway. and he's working hard reading and studying and some day, after awhile, he'll go away somewhere and study more--" "sidney romley, you're _crazy_!" cried aunt achsa, in a quavering voice. "go away! how _can_ he go away when we ain't even the money to go 'sfar as orleans. and he ain't plannin' to go on anyone's _charity_!" "oh, i don't mean he's going away _soon_! i shouldn't have told anyway for lav told me as a secret. but i thought maybe it would make you happier knowing he had great ambitions. and he'll tell you sometime himself." when aunt achsa spoke it was in a thin, grieved voice. "it's what i didn't want him to ever take into his head. goin' off somewhere--alone. for i'm too old to go with him and he'll need me!" "oh i wouldn't have told you if i'd thought it would make you unhappy. he won't go for a long time, aunt achsa. and when he does he'll come back real often." now aunt achsa sat so still that sidney thought she had consoled her. but aunt achsa was facing in her own way this at which sidney had hinted, drawing for it from that courage of hers that had not yet been exhausted. well, if it was best for lavender some day to go away she'd send him away with a smile even though the heart that had taken him, a wee baby, from the dying mother did burst with loneliness. besides, even if lavender went away she could go on praying to the lord to keep him "happy"--no distance could keep her from doing that! "it's like as not his plans in his head that's makin' him act so quiet like and short-spoken. and last night he didn't sleep in his bed at all!" "why, aunt achsa, where _was_ he?" gasped sidney, really startled. "i don't know, dearie. he used to take to spells like that when he was little. but lately he's got over them. i followed him once and i found him out in the sand dunes lying flat on his face cryin' awful--out loud and beatin' his arms. i let him be. i stole home and i never let on i knew. when he came back all white lookin' i had a nice cake ready--roll jell, his favorite." "do--do you think he was out in the sand dunes--last night?" "i don't know. he come in about nine o'clock, awful quiet and i didn't ask him anything, but i just set his breakfast before him as though the morning wa'n't half over. and then he went off again and i ain't seen him sense. i thought mebbe it was these folks of mr. dugald's--" "what do you mean, aunt achsa?" but sidney knew what she meant. "like as not lav's plain jealous. mr. dugald hasn't had any time for anything but toting this pola round everywhere and lav notices it. he hasn't any right to be jealous as i can see for miss pola is mr. dugald's own cousin, but lav thinks the sun rises and sets in mr. dugald. and like as not he misses you--" "i've missed lav dreadfully. i didn't know how much i missed him and mart until today when it came over me suddenly that the things i was doing with pola weren't really much fun--just at first they were because they were different. i'm afraid, aunt achsa, that i love different things! but tomorrow i am going to play all day long with lav and mart, see if i don't. i can't wait for tomorrow to come!" chapter xviii "hook!" sidney found it a little difficult to take up the fun with her erstwhile chums where she had left off. when she stopped at the calkins' house directly after breakfast, mart coolly declined to go anywhere with her, and smiled scornfully at her bare legs. "i s'pose your million-dollar friend is otherwise engaged today!" sidney truthfully admitted that she was. "she's gone to chatham with her mother to see some people they know. and i'm glad. i've been just dying for a good swim. let's go out to the _arabella_ this morning." but mart declared she was tired of all that. in fact she was tired of doing lots of the silly things they'd been doing. she'd promised gert bartow to go there right after lunch. sidney had no choice but to go on alone in search of lav. she was discouraged to the point of tears. yet she knew in her heart that she deserved mart's coldness. she remembered how she had felt once when nancy had deserted her for a new girl at miss downs'. and it had seriously threatened their friendship. as she wandered slowly toward the town sidney wondered what mart and gert bartow were going to do. gert bartow was a girl of nineteen at least, and much more grown up than even that. mart had pointed her out to sidney. sidney wished mart had asked her to go with her to gert's. she felt very lonely. perhaps she had spoiled everything. pola would come back, of course, but, somehow, pola's glamour had faded. after all, what, besides tons of candy and quarts of sweet mixtures and much glitter, had there been to it? the sweets and the glitter and pola's endless confidences of "men" had left sidney jaded and bored, though she did not know it; she did know that she was suddenly lonely for mart and lav and the stimulating pastimes they seemed to find always right at hand. as she approached rockman's, wandering there from force of habit, she saw lav pushing off in a dory. she ran down the wharf, hailing him. "oh, lav, take me with you!" she pleaded, breathlessly. he hesitated a moment before he swung the dory back to the wharf. something of the look mart had given her flashed into his eyes. then: "come on if y'want to," he answered ungraciously. as she sat down in the bow of the boat sidney wanted to cry more than anything else, but lav's dark face suddenly reminded her of what aunt achsa had told her. perhaps he had been out in the sand dunes last night, lying on his face, sobbing aloud! she began chattering with resolute cheerfulness. "isn't it hot this morning, lav? where are you going?" lav answered shortly that he was going out to the _arabella_. sidney noticed a book in his pocket, but said nothing. she ventured other remarks concerning the activities in the bay to which lavender answered in monosyllables, if at all. "oh, look, the _puritan's_ in, lav!" and even to this lavender only grunted: "it's been in two days!" by the time they reached the _arabella_ sidney's remorse was yielding to a spark of indignation. lav needn't be _quite_ so mad for, after all, it had been his own precious mr. dugald who had thrown her and pola so constantly together! and if lav had not hidden himself away he most certainly would have been included in all the plans. it was not fair in lav to act so cross. "i know you came out to read, lav, and i've some thinking to do, so i'm going up in the bow and leave you quite to yourself," sidney said as they boarded the _arabella_, and if in her tone there was something of mart's tartness, it may be forgiven for sidney had been punished enough. "i don't care if you hang 'round," lav conceded. "it's too hot to read, anyways. i thought maybe there'd be a breeze out here. what's that?" for he had suddenly spied an object lying on the deck close to the rail as though it had dropped there from someone's pocket. at almost the same moment sidney spied it, too. both darted for it. lavender reached it first and picked it up and examined it with frowning eyes. "it's a knife!" cried sidney, at his elbow. "sure it's a knife. anybody can see that. what i want to know--" "let me look at it. isn't it mr. dugald's?" "no, it isn't mr. dugald's. he hasn't been out here for a week. and that knife wasn't here yesterday for i'd a' seen it." "let me look at it, lav," pleaded sidney, for lav, a curious expression on his face, had covered the knife with his hand. "it's funny, that's all i got to say. i mean--how it come here." "lavender green, show me that knife this minute! you act so mysterious and i have a right to know why." slowly lavender placed the knife in sidney's eager hands. it was an ordinary case knife such as the fishermen carried, but lavender pointed to two initials that had been carved on the case. "j.s." "j.s." repeated sidney; then she cried: "why--j.s.! that's jed starrow!" "sure it's jed starrow!" "but how did it get on the _arabella_?" "that's what i'd like to know." "he's _been_ on the _arabella_, lav!" "or someone of his gang." "isn't that _funny_? what would he come here for?" lavender was silent. and sidney, staring at him as though to read from his face some explanation, suddenly fell silent, too. the secret that cap'n davies had laid upon her weighed heavily. she _wished_ she could tell. "sid, i haven't played square," lavender suddenly blurted out, flushing. "we promised to tell one another if any one of us found out anything and _i did_--and i didn't tell!" lavender's admission faded beside the fact that he knew something. "oh, what?" sidney cried. "i wasn't going to tell you. i thought you didn't care anything about the pirates any more. and the laugh's sort o' on me, anyway, because i thought we were all crazy to suspect jed starrow." "tell me quick, lav," commanded sidney, quivering with excitement. lav leaned against the rail. to tell his story meant confessing his state of mind. "i guess i've been sore because you and mr. dugald fooled 'round with those new folks. jealous. i get that way lots of times--all hot inside because i'm different. and i go off somewhere alone and stay there until i fight it down." "i know, lav. aunt achsa told me. did you go to the dunes?" "one night i did. stayed there all night. but one evening i went out on the breakwall. there's a place out there where the rocks are piled so's to make a cave. i used to play there a lot when i was a little kid. i crawled into it. and i hadn't been there very long when i heard somebody talking--two men. they were up close so's i heard everything they said." "and what did they say, lav? oh, tell me quick!" "i could only get scraps of it. i didn't dare look, i didn't dare move. but one fellow called the other jed. i heard 'em say something about 'risk' and a 'stranger from boston asking too many questions 'round rockman's to be healthy,' and jed starrow--i'm dead sure it was his voice--said, sort of blustering like, 'let them search the _puritan_! they won't find anything on her _now_!' and the other fellow answered him: 'there's too much in this, jed, to take any chances.' that's what they said, sid, and then they went on." "oh, lav, they're pirates!" "well, not exactly pirates, but they're up to _something_ that's sure. maybe they're rum-runners. there's a lot of that going on. i thought you were crazy, but i guess you weren't." sidney's lips trembled with eagerness. as long as lavender knew what he knew she felt that she would be justified in telling him what cap'n davies had told her. "it isn't rum--lav," she whispered, "it's _diamonds_!" "diamonds! oh, go on, where did you get that stuff?" "it's diamonds, lav." then sidney solemnly repeated what the old captain had told her concerning the letter and the reward. "he asked me not to tell a soul, but you're different because you know. and he said that the reward would be posted everywhere in two weeks at least and it's that long now. everyone will know soon." "sid, five thousand dollars!" lavender whistled. "if someone 'round here's doing it cap'n davies wants to catch him himself. he says he doesn't want the reward but he wants to punish the man who's hurting the honest name of this part of cape cod. i think that's a grand spirit." lavender's shoulders lifted. why couldn't someone else save the fair name of cape cod--someone like a crippled boy whom most of the towns-people looked upon as a loafer? "i'd like to catch 'em, myself," he said slowly in such a low voice that sidney barely caught the words. "oh, lav, why not? we have as good a chance as anyone, knowing as much as we do. what'll we do first?" for sidney was ready for adventure. suddenly lavender realized that he was gripping the knife in his hand. he looked down at it. "what we ought to do first is to find out how this knife got here. let's put it where we found it and go back around the other side of that schooner so's no one on the _puritan_'ll see us. then we can come out late this afternoon and if it's gone--well, we'll know someone came to look for it!" "and then we'd know for sure that someone had been on the _arabella_." "that's the idea. you get on quickly for a girl, sid. come on, now, we'll pull the dory round to the starboard side." sidney caught herself tiptoeing across the deck of the_ arabella_. in her excitement she scarcely breathed. every move, every act, was fraught with significance. lavender took the precaution to beach the dory at an abandoned wharf near sunset lane. "just as well not to show ourselves 'round rockman's." "when can we go out to the _arabella_?" "not 'till four o'clock. we can go out to swim just like we always do. even if they see us they won't think it's funny for us to do that. they'd think it funnier if we didn't." sidney admitted the truth of this, but wondered how she could live until four o'clock! as they walked up sunset lane sidney reminded lavender that, because of their promise, they ought to tell mart. but when they stopped at the calkins' house they found that mart had already gone to gert bartow's. "oh, dear," sighed sidney, with an added pang of remorse. at four o'clock sidney and lavender went out to the _arabella_ to swim as they had done always before pola's coming. except for a brightness in sidney's eyes, an alertness about her whole body, and the occasional significant glances that passed between them they both appeared quite normal. lav talked casually of the heat of the day. "gee, the water'll feel great. this is the hottest day we've had yet." "i can't wait to get in." most certainly jed starrow, had he been listening, could not have guessed how closely nemesis pressed upon his heels! lavender pulled up alongside of the _arabella_ and deliberately made the boat fast. "we got to act as though we haven't found the knife, y'see," he warned. "as though we were going just swimming." in her eagerness to board the _arabella_ sidney stumbled. lavender had to clutch her to keep her from tumbling into the water. "oh!" they both cried in one sound as they clambered to the deck--for the knife was gone! "well, _that_ means they'd been on the _arabella_. jed starrow dropped that knife and he missed it and came back to look for it!" "lav, i believe they've hidden their treasure on the _arabella_!" sidney still reverted to the more romantic terms of buccaneering. "let's look for it now!" "with 'em watching maybe from the _puritan_? i guess not. we got to go ahead and swim the way we always do, sid. don't let's even appear to be talking about anything. come on, i'll beat you in!" for the space of the few minutes while the water closed about her with delicious coolness sidney forgot everything in an intoxication of delight. presently she came back to the _arabella_ and climbed aboard with a sigh of utter content. "thank goodness _i_ haven't any complexes," she laughed, shaking the salt drops from her bobbed head. "and now what?" lavender pulled on the light sweater he had worn over his bathing suit. "when it gets dark i'm coming out to the _arabella_ and stay all night. maybe they'll come back and i'll find out why. that fellow said something 'bout rockman's not being safe. they'll learn the _arabella_ isn't safe either!" "but lav, i'm coming with you!" "you can't. and this isn't any work for a girl to get mixed up in." sidney drew herself to her full height. "lavender green, if you think you're going to lose me _now_ you're mistaken. i guess we went into this in a sort of partnership and it's going to hold. i found out just as much as you did! and if you come out to the _arabella_, _i'm_ coming, and mart, too, if she's home." lav still hesitated. "aunt achsa won't let you. how'd you get away?" this staggered sidney for a moment, then she thought of a "way." this was wednesday night and miss letty had said that on wednesday night she was going to drive to truro and that sidney might go with her. from truro miss letty was going on to wellfleet. aunt achsa would think sidney wanted to see cap'n davies again. she explained all this breathlessly to lavender. "this is important enough to warrant a fib. and when it's all over aunt achsa will understand. let's go home now and find mart." unwillingly lavender conceded sidney's right to share with him his night's vigil at any cost. again they beached the dory near sunset lane. now they found mart at home. sidney put her head in the door, made certain that gran'ma was not in hearing, and cried "hook!" mart had only to look once at sidney's face to know that something had happened. sidney dragged her out to the lane and there she and lavender, in words as quick as pistol shots, told the story. "meet us down on the beach near milligan's at eight o'clock," lav whispered, as they parted. chapter xix the gleam exactly at the appointed hour sidney met lavender on the beach. she was breathless and a little worried for it had been neither easy nor to her liking to deceive aunt achsa. aunt achsa had declared that a storm was "comin'" for she could smell it in the air and tillie higgins had seen sam doolittle start for the backside with his pike pole and that meant a blow for sam didn't waste steps. "'tisn't likely letty vine'll _go_ to truro tonight." "but i'll _see_ if she's going, anyway," sidney had cried and had raced off, a sweater over her arm. "i wish i could tell her how very important it is and then she'd understand, but i can't for maybe she wouldn't understand," sidney thought as she hurried to the rendezvous. "gee, how'd you ever get away?" asked lav, admiringly, but sidney had no opportunity to explain for at that moment mart joined them, eager and excited. "i put some cookies in my pocket," she exclaimed. "you can't tell what'll happen." "good. and i've got matches." sidney wished she had thought of something to bring. lav went on: "it isn't dark enough to go out yet. we got to be awful careful. you girls sort o' walk up the beach as though we weren't all together." lavender was actually pale and his eyes burned fiercely. sidney looked at him admiringly. she knew he was not thinking of the reward but of the fair name of the cape. obediently the girls strolled up the beach. and, as they turned, a voice hailed them. to their consternation pola came flying toward them. at sight of her sidney bit her lips with vexation. she gave a sidewise glance at mart and saw mart's chin set stubbornly. "sidney--wait a minute!" pola called and sidney could do nothing but wait until pola came up to them. "i thought you were going to stay in chatham tonight." "i should say _not_!" pola had enough breath to make her answer expressive. "i was never so bored in my life. those truxton girls are _stupid_. and i kept wondering what you were doing. i coaxed mother to let shields bring me back and she said she would provided i came and stayed with you tonight. can you squeeze me in? dug will give me his room, i know." sidney cast a wild glance toward mart. she started to answer, then stopped. pola looked from her to mart and back again to sidney. "what's the mystery? if you don't want me i'll go to the hotel." "oh, pola, it isn't that. it's--it's--" "sidney romley i'll bet you're up to something! and if you are, you simply have got to let me in on it! i'm just pepped up to some excitement. tell me what's up." the girls turned slowly and walked toward lav and the dory, pola between them. "it isn't any fun," sidney explained slowly. "it's something serious--and--and dangerous. and you'll have to ask mart and lav if you can come with us." "you'll let me go, won't you, mart?" pola begged with friendly entreaty, forgetting she had ever thought mart a riot. sidney introduced pola to lavender and turned away that she might not see the pain that flashed across lavender's face. "pola came back to stay all night with me. she wants to go with us and if she doesn't i guess i'll have to go back home." "i'll do anything you say," promised pola. "i'm so curious that i'm fairly bursting." "i don't care, but you'll have to take off your shoes and stockings," muttered lav, scarcely looking at pola. "oh, i'll do that! i'll do _anything_!" pola flopped upon the beach and commenced removing her sport shoes. "and i won't even ask any questions until you're ready to tell me." rising, her small feet pink against the sand, she saluted lav with mock solemnity. "there, captain lavender green, i'm at your command." her pretty acquiescence won the girls at once. if any doubt assailed them as to the prudence of letting pola go, their admiration for pola's gameness stilled it. sidney rolled pola's shoes and stockings and her own in her sweater and hid them behind some logs. then the little party waded out to the dory and embarked. "we're going to the _arabella_," sidney whispered to pola. she felt pola shiver, but the girl made no protest. "we have to go 'round this way so's no one can see us from the harbor. sh--h!" silently they boarded the old hull, lavender last. with the line from the dory in his hand the boy considered. "if anyone comes up and sees the dory they'll know someone's aboard." "that's true. what'll we do?" whispered sidney, anxiously. "we can set her adrift. it's an old tub anyway." "but how'll we get ashore?" "the tide'll be out towards morning." "you mean _swim_?" cried pola. "but i _can't_ swim! i--i--" true, pola's complex! sidney hastened to reassure her. "when the tide's out it won't be over your head. and i'll help you." lavender had already let the line of the dory slip out of his hand. they saw the old boat become a shadowy outline as the tide carried it slowly away, then--nothing. pola caught sidney's hand and held it. "i'm not frightened--but it's so--_spooky_!" it had been decided that they should conceal themselves in the fo'castle cabin. they groped their way forward, sidney guiding pola in the dark, for lavender dared not light any of his matches. stumbling, scarcely breathing, they slipped down the companion ladder and crawled into the small, ill-ventilated cabin. sidney sat down upon some tarpaulins. pola crouched close to sidney's side. lav and mart stowed themselves upon one of the bunks. "there--now we'll wait!" "i--i wish i knew what _for_!" whispered pola. the smell of rank bilge water, the lift and drop of the boat sickened her. the wind was whining and that and the swish of the water against the sides of the boat terrified the girl. in a few short words lav vouchsafed pola a little information. like sidney he admired the girl's gameness though he was beginning to wish they had not let her come. "how long do you think we'll have to wait? and what if no one comes?" "we'll have to wait until most morning anyway before the tide is out. and if no one comes tonight we'll have to come out again, that's all. we're not in this business for any fun!" "oh--h!" sighed pola, clinging closer to sidney. the wind howled over their heads with increasing velocity and sidney thought involuntarily of the snugness of miss letty's buggy. miss letty was probably almost to truro now. and aunt achsa thought she was with her! "is--is the boat tied tight?" asked pola; and lav assured her that it was. "the wind could get a lot worse and you'd be as safe out here as in your bed at home." after a long while mart muttered, "what's that?" the others leaned forward in the blackness of the cabin. they had all felt rather than heard a soft thud as though something had touched the side of the boat. and in a few moments heavy footsteps came straight toward the fo'castle. "oh, will they come _here_?" breathed pola, shaking. and for answer sidney caught pola's arm with a warning clutch. for an instant it seemed that the footsteps must descend to the cabin. but at the companionway they halted. a voice came, heavy and thick. "i tell you it ain't safe to take it off now. they got a man on rockman's and another on teal's and no knowin' how many in the bay! every constable on the cape's here, damn them! and old davies's been 'round all day and he ain't rigged up for any picnic!" "if we don't take it off tonight lav green may find it--or that girl--" at that someone laughed, horribly. "huh--_him_! why we could twist every crooked bone in his body until he wouldn't know 'em. him--ha, that's a joke! why, a look 'ud scare him to a pulp. the girl, too." sidney, reaching her hand out instinctively, caught lavender's and held it tight. she felt the writhing of his body. a new voice broke in above them. "i got a better scheme. listen. we'll--" but the voices suddenly died to silence; the footsteps moved away. the four, huddled in the darkness of the cabin, drew long trembling breaths. "lav, those diamonds are on this boat!" "sh--h. i know it. but we got to be careful. they haven't gone yet. we got to wait. and we'll wait until we find 'em. damn them _i'll_ show them who's crooked!" "hush," implored sidney. "of course you will" "isn't it most morning? i--i wish i was home," quavered pola; but no one paid any heed to her. with the howling of the wind, the slap-slap of the water, it was difficult to make out whether the men had left the boat or not. once lav crawled to the top of the companion ladder but a muttering like a human voice drove him back. queer sounds struck upon their sensitized ears. and the boat seemed to lift to a new motion. they waited for an interminable time. then mart spoke quickly. "lav, we're moving!" lav needed no warning. he, too, had missed the pull of the boat on the anchor rope. he shot up the ladder. "oh, what's the matter?" cried sidney and pola, forgetting all caution. mart had no time to explain her fears. in an instant lav was back, fairly throwing himself into the cabin. "we're drifting! they cut the anchor rope! we're drifting out! fast! way out! to sea!" that had been the "better scheme." to cut the _arabella_ free from its mooring and let the wind and tide carry it out into the bay. at first starrow had not favored the plan; he had declared that it was too much risk, that the wind was shifting and freshening fast and that the old tub might open a seam, but joe josephs had convinced him with: "the _arabella_ would be good for a week out in a nastier sea than this. it's safer than riskin' runnin' afoul one of phin davies' men ashore. guthrie's _sally_'ll stand this squall and pick up the _arabella_ easy and we can reckon sure on the course the old tub'll take, even 'lowin' for the wind to shift." as she comprehended what had happened pola screamed. mart and sidney dragged her with them up the ladder. lav was at the side of the boat tearing off his blouse. "oh, lav, what'll we do! what are you going to do now?" cried sidney. "it's so black," wailed pola. "i'm--sick!" "i'm going to swim ashore. it's the only way. i don't know how long this old tub'll stand a sea and the wind's rising. we got to get help." "you shan't swim alone, lavender green. we'll _all_ swim. that's nothing of a swim--" "you can't! you forget--pola." sidney wheeled in consternation. "pola's complex!" the girl was crouched, now, on the deck, an abject, wailing figure. "you go with lav, mart," said sidney in a quiet voice. "i'll stay with pola." "what do you think i am? i guess i'll stay with her too!" "but your grandmother--" "oh, gran'ma!" mart's voice choked. "but she'd be the one to _tell_ me to stay--" "it's no use our all trying it," muttered lav. "i'll get there or i won't get anywhere." "maybe it's too far for you to swim!" sidney was at lavender's side, her hands on his arm. the boy's form in its light underwear showed pitifully crooked but sidney saw him straight and she saw the gleam in his eyes. suddenly she remembered what vick had said so lightly about the grail. ah, she was seeing its gleam now, transcendently beautiful, in lav's eyes! she dropped her hold of his arm. "you see, i've _got_ to try it, sid." and she understood. he went on: "i'll swim for the lighthouse. they can telephone from there to rockman's. you girls find a light and signal with it. don't lose your nerve, sid." he poised for an instant on the rail then plunged into the black water. "oh, _lav_," cried sidney. she leaned far over the side of the boat. she could see nothing but a crest of foam. "mart, he's--he's--drowned!" pola screamed again. chapter xx "there's something wrong!" in the sunny embrasure of mrs. white's morning room trude romley sorted over the mail that pepper, the butler, had brought in. so gay and colorful was the room itself with its cretonnes, its soft tinted walls, its singing birds, in wicker cages, that it seemed a part of the fragrant garden that crowded close to the french windows. a tiny fountain splashed azure blue water over delicately sculptured nymphs; a flowering vine trailed around the windows. the mail arranged, trude sat back in the cushions of a great wicker chair and with a long breath of delight enjoyed the beauty around her. each day edgeacres enraptured her anew and roused in her a wonder as to why it should be her lot to be there. "it ought to be vick or issy," she would apologize to the nodding flowers or to mitie, the yellow warbler. and as might be expected trude had found innumerable ways of making herself useful to mrs. white as an expression of her gratitude. there were telephone calls she could answer, letters she could write, shopping she could do, ordering, she even conferred with old pepper and jonathan, the gardener. she drove with mrs. white in the afternoon and served tea to the callers who flocked to the house from the nearby summer hotels. "i do not know how i ever got along without you, my dear," mrs. white had said more than once. "what do you do to make yourself so invaluable? it seems as though just to look at you one leans on you! even pepper is saying 'miss trude thinks this and miss trude thinks that--'" her benevolent interest in her husband's wards, a certain pride in saying to her friends: "my husband, you know, is looking after the daughters of joseph romley, who was a college friend of his," had grown into a real fondness for trude. "i have never appreciated the dear girl when she's been with us before," she declared to her husband. "i suppose it was because we were in town, then, and i was too busy to get acquainted with her. why, she's really pretty. and she makes such a slave of herself to her sisters! she hasn't any life of her own. i don't believe they appreciate it, either. it's a shame she doesn't marry some nice young man--" mrs. white's kind always found virtue's reward in the proverbial "nice young man." mr. white agreed with her on every point but this. "if she deserted that household it would fall! she's the only one that isn't like her father." "then she must find someone who'll take the family with her," mrs. white asserted determinedly. but having no godmother's fairy wand she had not been able, during the summer weeks, to bring the prince to edgeacres; her husband's acquaintances were too bald and round to play the part of princes. trude had not minded the dearth of young men. since her unhappy experience on a former visit she was glad of that dearth. the serenity of the summer, the relaxation and rest from responsibilities had brought a lovely freshness to her face, a brightness to her eyes that was not all a reflection of the brightness about her. the sheer luxury of loafing, of not having to think out petty problems or worry one single minute was all her old-young heart now asked. once in awhile, of course, she fretted because isolde was not enjoying edgeacres with her, or getting to know how really nice aunt edith white was. where vick and sidney were concerned she had no remorse for vick was seeing new lands, doubtless conquering them, and sidney was happy at cape cod; but she could not help thinking that issy must be working too hard at the deerings--getting up early in the morning and typing all through the hot day and doubtless fussing over the housework and the small babies as well. trude thought of the mail. again there had been no letter from either issy or sidney! sidney really _ought_ to write. perhaps it _had_ not been wise to let her go off alone with relatives of whom they knew nothing! suddenly a postmark on one of the letters on the little table at her elbow caught her eye. provincetown. trude caught it up apprehensively. that letter might be from their cousin achsa! she turned it over and over, wishing she might open it. "good morning, my dear! i get up with the birds myself and find that you're up before me!" trude laughed, to cover her anxiety. "i told jonathan i'd inspect his new beds this morning." "there, didn't i say you were supplanting me in jonathan's esteem? but he only wants you to admire them and smile at him. he knows you know nothing about gardens, even though you are a very wise young woman! ah, the mail--is there anything there worth looking at before breakfast?" "two cards, three advertising envelopes and--and two personal letters." trude held out the two letters, her heart beating in her throat. mrs. white glanced at them indifferently. she turned one as though to tear open the envelope, then stopped to play with mitie. next she gave her attention to pepper who appeared in the door to summon her to breakfast. and all the time trude's eyes were beseeching her to open them--to open _one_ of them quickly. trude followed her into the breakfast room and sat down across from her. after she had eaten her fruit mrs. white took up the envelope that was postmarked provincetown and studied it while trude waited. "why, that's from laura craig--a cousin of mine. i remember now she said she was going to study in a summer school on cape cod. i hope the girl's getting on. she's dependent upon her own labor." as she spoke she spread out the sheet. a sketch dropped to the table. trude drew a long breath. she had not known how worried she was. she wanted to laugh aloud now from sheer relief. because she had to do something she took up the sketch with a murmured: "may i?" "laura writes it's a little sketch she made in class. 'this will show you i am improving. it's from life. it will give you an idea of the delightful types we find around here, types that you will not find anywhere else. these are two little vagabonds whom you see almost anytime on the beach or around the wharves--as wild and free and beautiful as the seagulls--'" mrs. white looked up from the letter to take the sketch and exclaimed aloud at trude's face. it had gone deathly white. "my _dear_, what is it?" for a moment trude could not answer. she was staring at the sketch as though she could not take her eyes from it. "read that again! these are types--you find these girls any time on the wharves--wild--vagabonds! oh, aunt edith that's--_that's_--_sidney_!" "why, it _can't_ be, trude. you said--" trude shook her head. "i can't help what i said. it's sidney. i--know. the likeness is true--there can't be anyone else who looks like sidney! but she's barefooted--and--and so--_slovenly_--and--_her hair_! she's cut her beautiful hair!" mrs. white took the sketch forcibly from trude. she frowned over it. one of the girls certainly did look like sidney as she remembered the child from their one meeting. "how do you explain it, trude?" trude sighed heavily. "i can't explain it. there's something wrong somewhere. and it's my fault, aunt edith. i--i consented--we all consented to let sidney go off down there just so that we could go ahead with our own plans. but we thought--we felt _certain_ that these cousins were very nice--i--i mean had a lovely home and were rich so that sidney might get something out of her visit that she couldn't get at home. it sounds shameful to _say_ it." "i understand, my dear. but what made you think so?" "the--the letter this cousin achsa wrote. it _was_ a very nice letter!" "well, _i_ have always thought you could judge anyone's character and background by a letter. there must be something wrong. this girl--" pointing to the sketch, "is positively shocking! at least she would be around here." "i remember now something sidney said--when she was begging us to let her go away. 'i want to be different! i want to go somewhere where i won't be joseph romley's daughter. i want adventure and to do exciting things--' those were her very words! i didn't take them seriously then, but, oh, aunt edith, perhaps she meant them more than we guessed!" poor trude rose quickly to her feet. "aunt edith, i simply _must_ go to provincetown at once. may i ask pepper to find out about trains? you'll--you'll understand, won't you? i can't be happy one minute until i see the child. i feel that it's all my fault." mrs. white was all concern. she summoned pepper and instructed him to find out the first train; she sent her maid to trude's room to pack her clothes. and last she wrote a generous check. "you may need it, my dear. it is nothing. don't thank me. i wish i could do more. somehow your shoulders seem too young to carry so much responsibility!" so on the selfsame day that sidney and the others set out upon their adventure trude was journeying to cape cod. she missed connections at boston and hired an automobile to take her to provincetown, in her heart thanking mrs. white for the check that made this possible. two blow-outs delayed her journey so that it was midnight when she reached her destination. she could scarcely hunt out the greens and sidney at that hour. she took a room at the hotel for the night and sat for a while at its window straining her eyes out into the darkness. the howling of the wind intensified her apprehension; somewhere out in that strange blackness that enwrapped her was her little sister. perhaps sidney needed her that very moment! finally she crept into bed and fell into a troubled sleep. she did not hear the running steps that passed under her window or the muffled voices of excited men. chapter xxi "what the night held" "oh--h, take me back to the cabin!" moaned pola. "i guess we might as well," muttered mart. their matches had been long since exhausted; they had been of little avail for the one ship's light on the boat was without oil. one on each side of her, mart and sidney helped pola down into the cabin. the boat was rolling heavily now in the rough sea, each lift and drop sending terror to the three young hearts. in the blackness of the night the waves looked mountain high. even mart was glad to shut them from view. "if--if we're going to drown i'd rather drown in--a--room," gasped pola, clinging to sidney and burying her face in sidney's shoulder. it seemed to the girls as though months had passed since lav had plunged to what they felt certain was his death. the _arabella_ had tossed about on the roughening water like some wild thing, her old timbers creaking and groaning under their new living. just at first sidney and mart had been too concerned in quieting the panic-stricken pola to face their danger; not until pola had exhausted herself did they think of their possible fate. unless lav succeeded in reaching the beach and giving an alarm, they might toss about for days or be dashed to pieces on some reef. or, worse fate, jed starrow and his gang might find the boat and-- "wh-at are you thinking about, mart?" whispered sidney after a long time of silence, broken only by the howling of the wind and the pounding of the water. "let's talk--and then we can't hear--" "don't be afraid, sidney," mart spoke calmly. "you sort o' belong to the cape and we cape folks don't think anything of drowning. we sort of expect to, sometime--" but here her voice broke with a tremble. "i--i was thinking of gran'ma. i wish i'd been better to her. i talk back to her lots of times when i shouldn't." "but you _are_ good to her, mart. and--_i_ was thinking of aunt achsa. i shouldn't have deceived her--about coming out here. i fooled myself into thinking that even a lie didn't matter considering what we were trying to do. but the honor of cape cod isn't worth anything happening to lav. and if anything does happen there won't be anyone to tell about jed starrow, anyway! oh, mart, i can't bear to _think_ about lav. why did we let him do it? dear old lav. i've been mean to him, too. he adores poetry and i--i never even told him that my father was a poet and that i know lots and lots of poems and--and--that i've written most a book myself." "honest, sid, was your father a poet? and you can write it yourself? gee," softly. "i wish i could do something like that. i'd rather be like that than anything else. i just pretend that i hate school and books and such things--it's because i had to stop going to school to stay with gran'ma that i've put on that i didn't have any use for it. even when i was sort of laughing at you, sid, down in my heart i was feeling aw'fly proud that you'd want to fool 'round with anyone like me--i'll _always_ be proud." "oh, mart--" sidney faltered. "i wish i could put into words what mr. dugald taught me when i first came here. that it's the big inside things that really count. he told me so's i'd see aunt achsa and lav as they really are. and, mart, your giving up school to take care of your grandmother is a big thing, a real thing! you don't want to forget it." "oh, i'm--i'm--sick!" broke in pola. "sit up straight and talk and you won't think about it," commanded mart, so sternly that pola straightened, her white face wan in the darkness. "i don't see how you _can_ talk when you're--may be--going--to die!" "well, talking helps you more than crying." "but i--i don't _want_ to--die." "who does?" retorted mart roughly. nevertheless, touched by pola's helplessness, she found pola's hand and held it close in hers. "but let's face whatever happens with our heads up!" "to the wind," breathed sidney, shivering. "i--i just can't be brave like you two. i--i'm an awful coward. i can't help it. i've always been afraid to even try to swim. i'm afraid of lots of things. oh, i'm afraid to--to--" sidney caught pola's other hand. "don't say it, pola. maybe someone will find us. and probably you can't help feeling afraid." mart suddenly remembered the cookies she had brought. she found them where she had hidden them at the back of one of the bunks. "here, eat a cookie and you'll forget things. i'm hungry, aren't you, too?" pola ate with nervous greed. sidney bit off a piece but found it dry in her mouth. she was thinking of her sisters and the safety of the dear old house; as vividly as though it hung in a picture before her eyes she saw the little circle around the dining room table, the embroidered square of indian cloth, the green shaded lamp, issy's books and trude's sewing, vick's sketching things, the girls at their beloved tasks--and her chair empty! oh, what if she never sat again in that dear circle? her heart broke in an agony of longing for trude. a sudden thought roused pola to a feeble show of spirit. "if i had known how to swim we'd all be ashore now! and you two stayed with me! i--i don't believe i'm worth that, girls." she spoke with gloomy conviction. but mart answered with a promptness that settled that question forever. "forget it. why, you don't think we could a' done anything else, do you? and now i'm going up on deck and get some air. we must be most to halifax by this time." "_halifax!_" but this time pola did not scream. * * * * * lavender, after his first plunge, had struck out toward the lighthouse. his mr. dugald had taught him the science of swimming and because it was the one thing he could do easily and well, in spite of his misshaped body, lavender had taken pride in perfecting the practice. his assurance helped him now; he had no fear, he knew how to save his strength; he swam first with one stroke, then with another, always keeping in sight the beacon of light. but after a little it came to him that the yellow gleam did not seem any closer; in fact, it grew fainter; he knew then, with a moment's panic, that the tide and wind were too strong for him. he cursed his frail strength, with a smarting in his eyes that did not come from the salt water. there was only one thing he could do. turn his back on the friendly light and strike out in the direction of the beach. it would be further, but the cross currents of the tide would not impede his progress so much. for a long time he fought ahead stubbornly, changing his strokes, even swimming on his back. but his breath came with increasing difficulty, a sharp pain stabbed at his side. he labored on. the pain grew sharper and caught at him like a horrible vise. once he yielded to it and sank down, down into the black water. but it passed and, as he rose, he struck out again, blindly, now, for he had lost all sense of direction. "oh, god! oh, god!" he shouted in his heart. his aunt achsa's god, whose all-embracing love he had questioned because that god had made him crooked, must help him now! "i _got_ to get help!" god _must_ hear him. a great exhaustion seized him. he sank again with a quivering breath. but now his feet touched sand. with new strength he plunged ahead. again he was in deep water but he swam with eager strokes. the dreadful pain stabbed but he did not heed. now he saw moving lights. he was near the beach! with a heartbreaking effort he fought the strength of the water, finally gaining the shallow depths. he heard voices nearby in the darkness. knee-deep in the water he tried to shout but he had no strength. a terrible faintness was creeping over him. his arms outstretched, he stumbled forward toward the voices. oh, he must _not_ yield to that overpowering sleepiness until he had made them know! "help--help!" he gasped, reeling toward the shadowy forms. "what the blazes--" a man ran forward. two others came at his heels. "why, _it's lav green_!" one of them cried. "the _arabella_--adrift out there--sidney's on it--oh--_help_! and then lavender slipped into the strong arms that reached out to catch him. "quick, the _sally_! she's at rockman's!" captain davies ran toward rockman's wharf. before jed starrow's men, concealed behind the shed could guess their intention, three men had jumped into the big motor boat and had swung her free of the wharf. "what the hell--" shouted an ugly voice after them, but the _sally_ only chugged out into the darkness of the bay. * * * * * "look, sid--light! it's--it's--morning!" mart's voice came in a thin whisper. for a long time the girls had lain huddled against the taff-rail of the boat, too weary and disheartened to even talk. sidney lifted her face to the tiny streak of light that gleamed palely in the east. then she shook pola ever so slightly. poor pola had fallen into a sleep of exhaustion. she stirred now with a little cry. "what is it?" "it's morning--daylight. see--there--" "oh--h!" pola whimpered. "is that all?" she clung to sidney in fresh terror. "if we're going to die--i'd rather not _see_--" "hark," cried mart, suddenly leaning forward. "don't you hear something? girls, that's a motor boat! i _know_! quick. let's signal! yell! wave something! _anything!_" she sprang to her feet, leaning her body against the rail for support as the boat rolled in the heavy sea. she cupped her hands to her lips and shouted lustily. "come on, girls!" she commanded. "maybe it's the pirates," wailed pola. "i don't care if it is! i don't care _what_ it is!" and mart and sidney lifted their chorus. out of the mist that lay over the surging water a small, gray object gradually shaped. the chug-chug of an engine now came distinctly to their ears. after a little they could make out the forms of two men standing. and then someone shouted faintly. pola, a solemn happiness transfiguring her face, clung to sidney. "girls," she whispered, "we're going to be saved! and i'll never forget this night--never. or you two. or what you've done! or what you _are_. and i'm never going to get over being ashamed of myself!" sidney had some solemn resolutions of her own shaping in her heart but the moment gave her no time to pronounce them. "mart!" she cried. "it's _not_ jed starrow! it's--it's--cap'n phin davies! and that means that--_lav_--_made_--_it_!" and happy tears ran down her cheeks. under the skilled guidance of the man at its wheel the _sally_ soon came alongside of the _arabella_. cap'n davies promptly boarded the schooner and the next instant sidney was in his arms. "all i'll say is praise be to god!" the old mariner muttered. "and now i cal'late you and your mates here are 'bout ready to abandon your cruisin'--" "lav, is he--all right?" demanded sidney, still clinging to cap'n phin. "well, he jest about made port and how he is now i can't say for i didn't waste any time shippin' in the _sally_. lucky for us it was lyin' there at rockman's. give us a hand, saunders, while we load on this cargo of distress!" a roughness in the old man's voice betrayed that the big heart was not as light as he would have the girls think. for hours they had searched the bay with only their knowledge of tides and winds to guide them; more than once the others had been ready to abandon the search as futile, but the captain had held them stubbornly to it. pola needed no urging but leaped into the _sally_ and sank to its bottom with a long gasp of relief. sidney and mart were about to follow her example when a word from cap'n davies held sidney. "we'll let a government boat pick up the _arabella_. we'll take no chances tryin' to tow her in with the _sally_." and then sidney thought of the treasure. "but the diamonds!" she cried. "_diamonds_--" cap'n davies stared at her, his mouth open. "why, yes, they're on this boat. they _must_ be! we were in the forward cabin watching and jed starrow came on board and they talked right where we could hear. they were going to take them off and then they decided it wasn't safe and they'd wait and they went away. and then they must have cut the boat adrift. but we're _sure_ they're on this boat." "so that was it! of all the low-down dastardly tricks! well, never mind your diamonds, now. we got to get back to shore and let a few folks know--" "but i won't _go_ until we've looked!" sidney protested, almost in tears. "why, that was why we risked everything! and lav wants to save the name of the cape--the--the way--you do! oh, please look!" the old captain dropped his hold of the girl's arm. "well, i'll be ding-blasted!" he stormed. but he motioned to saunders. "climb aboard and give us a hand. 'taint likely they'd hide their stuff above deck. you look round the stern and the girls and me'll give a hunt forward. of all the stubborn, crazy-headed female pieces you'll beat 'em all!" while saunders searched the stern of the schooner the captain and sidney and mart searched the fo'castle cabin. sidney, tugging away the heavy tarpaulins, disclosed a small wooden box. "i'm _sure_ it wasn't there before--" she cried. "why--why, i was _sitting_ on it--" cap'n davies lifted the box. "it's pretty big to be diamonds but it looks suspicious like! and you're sure it wasn't there before? that it ain't the property of that summer boarder of miss green's?" sidney's face was flaming with excitement. "oh, i'm _sure_! the other stuff was there but there wasn't any box under it. if i hadn't been so excited listening i'd have realized i was sitting on something different. can't we look inside?" "we won't take the time to look at anything now, mate. we'll get ashore. i reckon by this time there are folks strainin' their eyes for a sight o' you--" he fairly pushed sidney and mart ahead of him and toward the _sally_. saunders lifted the girls into the smaller boat, then took the box. "to rockman's. quick as you can make it," snapped cap'n phin. chapter xxii "you need a big brother" aunt achsa had not slept through the storm. accustomed though she was to the howl of the wind and the roar of the pounding surf, tonight it filled her heart with dread. lavender had not come home. twice during the night hours she crept to the door of his small room and peered in, shielding her candle with a trembling hand. for a long while she sat in the window straining her eyes into the darkness. the cats came and rubbed her bare ankles and nip meowed plaintively. she picked him up and cuddled him to her. suddenly a moving object in the lane caught her attention. it separated itself into the forms of men, men moving slowly as though they bore a burden. they turned into the garden patch. "lavender!" aunt achsa cried, jumping up quickly, shaking. "oh--my boy!" but that was the only sound she made. she opened the door as though she had been waiting for these men with their limp burden. she directed them to carry the boy to his own room. she moved aside for doctor blackwell who had come with the others, an old pair of flannel trousers drawn over his night shirt. she felt mr. dugald put a restraining arm over her shoulders and nodded as though to say: "i'm all right--just look out for lavender." one of the men coming back from lavender's room offered an explanation. "those young 'uns were on the _arabella_ and it broke from its moorin's. the boy swum ashore to give an alarm. plucky, i say--don't know how he did it." "those young ones--_who_?" cried dugald allan. "why, i cal'late that gal sidney and i don't know who else--" "sidney went with miss vine!" protested achsa. but at that moment miss letty appeared in the door, as scantily clad as the doctor had been. from her window which faced doctor blackwell's house, she had heard the men summoning him. she had lost no time in getting to sunset lane. "who went with me? where? what's happened?" now aunt achsa let her whole weight drop against mr. dugald. "didn't sidney go 'long to truro with you?" she asked falteringly. "i didn't go to truro. knew this storm was comin'. where--" "oh--h!" aunt achsa moaned mr. dugald motioned to miss vine. "take care of things--here. i'm off--" "cap'n davies and jim saunders and pete cady's gone out in the _sally_," cried one of the men who had brought lavender home. but dugald allan had plunged into the darkness without hearing him. the men rushed after him. miss vine pushed aunt achsa into a chair. "you're not going to cross any bridges 'til you come to them, achsy green. doctor blackwell brought lav into this world and he isn't going to let him quit it without putting up a pretty good fight. jeremiah berry's in with him and he's as good as two women. you wrap that shawl 'round you 'til i can light a lamp and get you some clothes. you're shivering like it was december. i'll put the kettle over, too--" oddly huge and gaunt in the shadowy room, miss vine moved and talked briskly to keep up aunt achsa's nerve and her own against the black fear that held them. mr. dugald ran with all speed to rockman's, the other men after him. as their hurrying steps echoed through the silent street heads popped out of windows, doors opened. then more men, half-dressed and dressing as they ran, rushed after them toward rockman's. they knew, with that intuition inbred in seacoast communities, that something was wrong. old simon tibbetts, too crippled to join the gathering crowds, rang up commander nelson at the life guard station on the backside. when, in the gray light of the dawn, the _sally_ chugged up to rockman's wharf with its precious cargo sidney and mart found a weary, anxious crowd of men and women gathered there. and as cap'n davies and saunders lifted the girls ashore a lusty shout of rejoicing went up--eager hands reached out to touch the rescued as though to make certain they were safe and sound. sidney had eyes only for mr. dugald who seemed to tower above them all, his eyes dark lined with the strain of anxious watching, his mouth set sternly. and strangely enough, at first, dugald allan saw only sidney, yet it was not strange, for the white-faced, shrinking, abject girl, barefooted and disheveled, who was hiding behind mart and sidney, had little semblance to his gay young cousin. mr. dugald opened his arms and sidney ran into them like a little child, and clung to him. he felt her slender body shaking. "i--i can't help crying. i wanted trude--so much!" "_i_ was thinking of trude, too. thank god!" but sidney was too moved at the moment to wonder at his words or that the cheek he bent to hers was wet with tears. then dugald allan spied pola shivering forlornly behind mart and sidney. "_you_--" he cried, pushing sidney aside. "i thought you were at chatham!" his mouth tightened in a straight, stern line. "what is all this? but wait, i must get sidney back to aunt achsa. you shall explain things as we go along." he hurried the girls through the crowd which parted, smilingly, to let them pass. on commercial street he hailed old hiram moss, who with an eye to business in the midst of tragedy, had harnessed his horses to his ancient cab and had them ready for an emergency. after he had bundled his charges in dugald allan turned to sidney. "now give me some inkling of what started this crazy adventure. thank god it has not ended as it might have ended though lavender is still fighting for his life! answer me, sidney." but before sidney could begin her tale she had to know what had happened to lavender. "fighting for his life? but--he _got here_, didn't he?" "yes--he reached shore, by an effort so great as to completely prostrate him. they took him home. i left doctor blackwell with him." dugald allan spoke shortly and his crisp sentences had the effect of stunning poor sidney. she shivered and leaned close to him. her voice, when she spoke, came with a childish tremor. "oh, lavender _can't_ die. if he does--it will be all my fault! i started everything. i--i told him about the diamonds--" "_diamonds_--" "yes--the diamonds. that's why we went out on the _arabella_--" in broken sentences sidney told the story; she wanted mr. dugald to know that they had cared most for the honor of cape cod! "and we found them--a big box--at least we _think_ it's the diamonds! cap'n phin davies says it's _something_ queer!" dugald allan's exclamation had much the character of an explosion. "_diamonds!_ what nonsense! you've risked bereaving three homes for what is probably nothing more than a case of rum. if ever a girl needed a big brother to keep her in check, you do!" chapter xxiii diamonds during the early morning hours of that summer day that sidney was destined never to forget, the girl passed through every emotion that a fifteen-year-old heart can suffer. first, to her dismay no one at the cottage had seemed to rejoice, as the crowd on the wharf had rejoiced, at her rescue. when mr. dugald led her in miss vine was making coffee at the stove and all she said was: "well, you're all right! better go to bed now as quick as you can and keep out from under foot." then mr. dugald had taken pola back to the hotel. aunt achsa was with doctor blackwell and lavender. sidney had tried to summon sufficient courage to ask miss vine's forbidding back for some word of lavender, but the words failed in her throat. cold, forlorn, hungry, she crept to her room, threw off her clothes and huddled down into the bed-clothes. they would all blame her--miss vine and mr. dugald, aunt achsa, doctor blackwell. probably now pola would have more complexes to suffer; pola's mother would be angry and they could never be friends again. and mart--aunt achsa had said old mrs. calkins could be terrible when she was "worked up!" even if lavender lived aunt achsa would never forgive her and if he _didn't_ live--mr. dugald had said he was fighting. those boards creaking faintly meant that doctor blackwell and aunt achsa were helping lavender fight. dear old lav with his fine dreams! the desperate longing for trude shook her. she sobbed into her pillow. and yet the longing brought only added remorse. trude would scold her. trude would take her home. that meant stinging humiliation. how vick would laugh at her when everything was over. a case of rum! sidney writhed under the soft covers. somewhere boards creaked again--lavender's fight. sidney pictured the doctor and aunt achsa bending over him. and outside everything was so quiet and gray. that was the way death probably came, sidney thought. on the morrow they would send her home--in disgrace. she might not even be allowed to see lavender, or mart, or pola--or mr. dugald. someone would telegraph to trude and trude would meet her back at middletown. she would live a long, sad life of penance behind the crumbing stone wall she had so detested. but the thought of the wall and the shelter of the old house brought such a surcease of torment that the girl had fallen into a heavy sleep. when she wakened it was to a consciousness of bright sunshine--and someone looking at her, someone different, and someone smiling. she sat bolt upright and rubbed her eyes. then she flung out her arms with a low glad cry that was half sob. "trude--_oh, trude!_" trude held her long and close, stroking the shorn head, murmuring soothing words. finally sidney wriggled from her. "have you come to take me home? but how could they send for you so quickly? how long have i been asleep? oh, lavender--is he--is he--" "one question at a time, sid. lavender is better. he'll be all right, the doctor says, after a good rest. yes, i think i'd better take you home. no, they did not send for me." briefly, as though now that earlier concern was of little consequence, trude told of the sketch that had so bewildered and alarmed her. "i couldn't understand," she finished. "i couldn't either, at first. you see the boarder--the man who has boarded here so long and is dreadfully fond of aunt achsa wrote that letter to me and wrote it _nice_ so as to please her, and, at first--but, oh, trude, aunt achsa _is_ wonderful and so is lavender, really, truly, even though they are poor--" "hush, sidney." trude's eyes darkened with feeling. "you do not have to tell me that. i have learned _that_ in only a few hours. oh, i have seen straight into souls--those kind men on the street, as concerned as though you belonged to them, and here--aunt achsa with her great courage and her love. and that miss vine--they're so _simple_--and so fine--it made me ashamed of my silly standards, my fears." "and lavender is best of all--" now quick tears shone like stars in trude romley's eyes. she reached out her hands and caught sidney's. "oh, lavender--when i think what _he_ did i--i--" she could not finish, but sidney understood the gratitude that was in her heart. she leaned her face against trude's shoulder with a long sigh. "i'm cured of lots of things, trude. i wanted something different but i didn't want all _this_ to happen! you see i _made_ lavender and mart believe it was diamonds jed starrow was hiding when it was probably only a case of rum--" suddenly trude straightened. "i almost forgot. a boy came here and said a captain davies wanted you to come down to rockman's wharf as soon as you could. that was two hours ago. you see it is nearly noon now. you'd better dress quickly and i'll go out and fix you some breakfast." sidney obeyed reluctantly. in her mingled remorse and humiliation she shrank from facing the world. she was not even curious as to why cap'n phin wanted to see her. by the time she had dressed trude had a poached egg and a glass of milk ready for her. miss letty was with lavender and aunt achsa had gone to bed. sidney begged so hard that trude accompany her to rockman's that trude put on her hat and went with her. and poor sidney needed trude's support for sunset lane was thronged with curious men and women; as they walked along the waterfront fishermen and tourists and boys and girls stared and nodded and sidney's sensitive soul mistook their obvious interest for ridicule. she walked with lowered eyes lest she encounter mrs. calkins or pola's mother. cap'n phin was waiting outside the door of the shed on rockman's wharf. he nodded to sidney and trude and beckoned them inside. at any other time, in any other state of mind, sidney would have thrilled to his air of mystery. four men sat in wooden chairs tipped at various angles and on the floor before them stood the wooden box from the _arabella_. the men nodded and smiled at sidney and brought their chairs to the floor as though to attention. cap'n davies solemnly motioned sidney and trude to two vacant chairs and then cleared his throat. "i cal'late, miss sidney, that you've a sort o' interest in this cargo we brought in on the _sally_ so we stood by 'til you hove in sight. now, mebbe it's what we think it is and mebbe it isn't. si, give a hand and unload." one of the men knelt down by the box and proceeded to open it with a hammer and a chisel. the others leaned forward with interest. sidney held her breath. the man si, having torn off the cover, put his hands into the paper wrappings and drew forth yards and yards of magnificently embroidered fabric that made sidney and trude gasp in admiration and astonishment. but the others were plainly disappointed. a low murmur of disgust went around the room. "give it here," one of the men asked. and as si handed over the contraband it slipped from his hands. he caught at it quickly to save it from the dirt of the floor. suddenly something small and gleaming fell from the folds and rolled upon the floor. "i'll be ding-blasted!" roared cap'n phin. someone swore softly. the man si dropped to his knees. sidney blinked. cap'n phin seized the silk and unwound it. and among the countless folds he found a cunningly contrived pocket filled with hundreds of the priceless gems. for a moment no one spoke. the daring of it all, the wealth of the glistening jewels, held each man in the room. cap'n phin folded the gorgeous silk and passed it to one of the men. "i guess this belongs to you in trust for uncle sam," he said gravely. "our business is with one jed starrow." he turned to sidney who was trembling violently. "now, matie, will you tell these men how you happened to ship aboard the _arabella_ last night?" sidney's story tumbled out in quick, eager words and in careful detail. the men listened closely. the one who had taken the diamonds "in trust for uncle sam" made notes in a small black book. when she had finished cap'n phin nodded, his face serious. "reckon we'd better not question lav green just yet, he's pullin' out of the fog. we got enough as 'tis to hold jed starrow. if i ain't much mistaken he'll turn yellow when we face him and squeal on the folks higher up what's paid him to hurt the name of the cape. that'll do for now, little gal." walking homeward sidney could not speak for excitement. it had _not_ been rum! it _had_ been the diamonds they had sought! their recklessness had not been in vain. her disgrace had a sweeter flavor. as they turned in to sunset lane sidney spied mr. dugald ahead. he must hear the news! and he could tell her of pola! she ran toward him, calling. at the sound of her voice he lifted his head. "oh, mr. dugald, it _was_ diamonds--in that box, you know, why--" but here sidney stopped. for mr. dugald was not even hearing her, he was staring over her head at trude. "oh, i forgot--this is my sister, trude. trude, this is mr. dugald, aunt achsa's--" but her introduction went no farther. at sight of trude's face she broke off abruptly. and mr. dugald was saying quietly: "i know your sister, sidney. trude, i am more glad to see you than you can ever know!" sidney's brain whirled. mr. dugald _knew_ trude! and trude--only once before had she seen that look on trude's face and that had been when she had watched trude reading a letter to issy. "why--why--why--" she gasped, a great enlightenment slowly dawning over her. "you're--you're--why, you're trude's _lost love_!" "_sidney!_" cried trude, scarlet-faced. dugald allan laughed. "sidney, go in and see lav. he's been calling for you and miss letty says you can see him for five minutes if you won't let him do any of the talking. i want to tell your sister a few things about you that i think she ought to know." he caught trude's arm in a masterful way, wheeled her about and led her down the lane. sidney stared after them; even the excitement of the diamonds faded to nothing by the side of this amazing revelation. mr. dugald had known trude all the time! he was the man who had made trude so unhappy! he had let her talk of trude and had never betrayed by so much as a blush their acquaintance! sidney had no choice but to go on alone to the cottage. her elation and her delight at seeing lavender were shadowed by a growing apprehension. mr. dugald had promised to forget what she had told him of trude's broken heart, but perhaps he hadn't! and he might tell trude that he knew! [illustration: she spied approaching figures--trude and mr. dugald, walking slowly] chapter xxiv what the day held "dear dorothea, again i stand at the crossroads, a saddened soul, and wiser--" but sidney could get no further than that. there was so much to tell dorothea that she did not know how to begin. for those terrible hours on the _arabella_ she had no words; she shrank from trying to depict lavender's splendid courage for his white face as she had seen it in the precious five minutes still haunted her. even the diamonds lost their lustre beside trude's ultimatum that they must go home. go home so ingloriously! it was two hours since dugald had led trude away down the lane and sidney's apprehension had mounted as the time had passed. she was feeling very young and very forgotten; miss letty who had remained at the cottage to "be handy" and to answer the stream of inquiries that came to the door, had warned her to "keep quiet" as there had been enough excitement for one day and she had been too rebuffed to even confide to miss letty that mr. dugald was someone her sister had known a few years before and that they had gone away without her. miss letty was baking vigorously, her great hands moving deftly among the cupboards, her straight back eloquently expressive of her mood. "i guess folks'll have a different opinion of lavender green _now_," she muttered and as sidney was the only person within hearing she accepted the remark as addressed to her and agreed. miss letty went on, shaking the flour-sifter as though she wished she were shaking someone in particular: "i guess folks like that mrs. allan will have a different opinion of cape cod. she came here and asked to see lavender and i took her in and waited outside the door--" "oh, what did she say?" begged sidney. "she offered him money! well, i thought the boy'd have a relapse on the spot. and i walked in and took her by the arm and led her out and i said to her: 'madam, we on cape cod do not sell our bravery--we _give_ it!' i said just that. and she withered like a limp leaf. she sort of clung to me and cried like a baby. yes, she'll know now what sort o' breed we cape coders are." even that sidney could not record in dorothea. she began to pack because it was the occupation best suited to her mood and because from the window of her room she could see trude and mr. dugald the moment they turned the corner by mart's house. she spread her scant belongings over the bed and set the old satchel on the rush-bottomed chair. she was in the act of folding the precious cherry crêpe de chine when she spied approaching figures--trude and mr. dugald, walking slowly. her heart gave a quick bound only to grow cold at the sight of trude's chin which was set stubbornly in a way that sidney well knew! nor did mr. dugald appear the happy lover; he walked with bent face and occasionally kicked at the flowers that edged the lane. trude sought sidney directly and nodded with approval when she saw the packing. she sat down on the edge of the bed. "sid," she began in a queer voice that sidney had never heard before. "i suppose i ought to tell you how i happened to know--dugald allan." trude spoke so slowly and with such difficulty that sidney hastened to make it easier for her. "i do know. you met him at the whites three winters ago and he wrote something. i overheard you and issy talking once but i didn't hear his name and i saw you crying over a letter--" trude laughed shakily. "sidney, you're simply the limit! yes, i met him there that first winter i went to visit aunt edith. his father and mr. white are old friends and he was staying at aunt edith's while he painted a portrait of one of aunt edith's friends. i was just a silly, countrified girl and--i didn't understand lots of things and thought--well, there's no use, now going into all that. i lost my head and let myself think things that weren't so--" sidney interrupted, impatiently. "trude, you talk to me as though i was a baby and couldn't hear the truth. i guess i know; you fell in love with mr. dugald and you thought he was in love with you--" "thank you, sid. yes, i _had_ forgotten your extreme age. i fell in love with--him. i am not ashamed to admit it. i had never known anyone like him before. and i thought--yes, that--there was another girl there, sylvia thorn, from atlanta. she was very pretty and she and dugald were great pals and one day aunt edith told me she hoped they would marry, that it would be a very nice match for dugald, a relief to his family, that he needed that type of girl to cure him of his queer ways. i remember just what she said. 'you understand, my dear, _you_ have lived with genius yourself.' it wasn't exactly _what_ she said, it was the way she said it, as though she thought i would know because _i_ lived entirely out of dugald allan's class. it hurt cruelly. it made me sensitive and made me see little things between dugald--and sylvia. and it made me see myself as someone quite unworthy of--dugald. i found some pretext to go home. i thought by running away from it all i could forget. dugald wrote a few times--then that letter telling me that he was going on a six months' painting cruise in the south seas with sylvia thorn and her father and mother and wanted to run up to middletown to tell me something before he went. i wrote back that he must not come that i--could not--see him. that's all." sidney was listening with clasped hands, a color on her cheeks that matched trude's, stars in her eyes. with magic swiftness her romantic soul was piecing together a beautiful picture. "why, that _can't_ be all! how could you have written to him like that! and he wasn't in love with that sylvia, was he?" trude's eyes softened. "n--no. i know now. he told me--today. sylvia was engaged at the time to his best friend, but they wanted it kept secret for awhile. dugald thought i knew." "then--then--" cried sidney. but, somehow, she could not ask trude what had happened during the afternoon, something new in trude's dear eyes plainly warned her that just now all that was too much her own to be shared with anyone. instead she threw her arms around trude and hugged her violently. "oh, trude, how i love you! and it's so good to be with you. out there--on the boat--i kept thinking of you and how safe i always feel with you--how i _need_ you! i don't ever want to feel grown-up again and independent, i don't care _how_ old i am--" trude kissed the tousled head. "you've said just what i wanted to hear, dear," she answered softly. "and that you--need me!" summoning them to supper, miss letty stood with arms akimbo and with a satisfied eye surveyed the good things she had prepared. that mr. dugald was at the hotel starting his aunt and cousin homeward from provincetown, was miss letty's one regret. sidney sniffed rapturously at everything, begging that trude sit next to her. the old kitchen gleamed golden in the fading sunlight, a fragrance of flowers and sea-air and pines came on the breeze that wafted in through the wide-opened doors and windows. aunt achsa, her smiling self again, fluttered around in anxious concern as to trude's welfare. a great happiness held the little group. though lavender's chair was empty lavender was better--lavender would get well! after supper, while they still lingered over the empty plates, the voices of men came from the lane. "more folks askin' after lav," declared miss letty with pride. cap'n davies himself halted before the door and nodded to the women inside. back of him stood the men sidney had met that morning at rockman's and back of them mr. dugald, smiling, and back of him many others, curious and excited. what _ever_ had happened! cap'n davies wore his most important air. "i'm here to see one lavender green and one sidney romley." "phin davies, you know lav green's flat on his back," retorted miss letty brusquely but smiling. it seemed to sidney, standing close to trude, that everyone was smiling. mr. dugald pushed into the room. "doctor blackwell says that it won't hurt lav for me to carry him in!" and without another word he rushed off to lav's room and returned almost instantly with the boy in his arms. he put him carefully in aunt achsa's rocker and then stood close to him. cap'n phin cleared his throat an extra number of times. having done this to his satisfaction he drew a blue slip of paper from a leather pocketbook and held it high. "in the name of truro and wellfleet counties i take great pleasure in presenting to lavender green and sidney romley this reward for the capture of--" he never did finish his speech. his voice was drowned in loud hurrahs that echoed and reechoed down the lane and brought gran'ma calkins and mart and tillie higgins in a great hurry to achsa green's. sidney's face flamed. "oh, _i_ don't want it!" she cried. "it's lav's. honestly. he really found out about the diamonds. i--i just--" everyone looked at lavender, whose face had gone even whiter. against it his eyes shone big and black. he seemed to straighten in the old chair and his poor shoulders took on a fine dignity. "_i_--didn't--want--any--money," he answered in a voice so weak that it was scarcely anything more than a whisper. but here the practical miss letty, who had taught mrs. allan her lesson on cape cod folks, took charge of matters. "well, you can do a whole lot with money, lav green. as long as the two counties decided it was worth that much to run down these smugglers i reckon you've earned it. and i want you men to go away from here and spread the word over the whole of cape cod that in that crooked body of lav green's is a heart that's as brave as the bravest and ambition, too. folks have gotten to think he's a loafer because he wouldn't go to school, but they'll come to know he isn't and you can tell them letty vine knows for she's taught him herself and he knows as much and more than any boy his age! and now--well, you _watch_ lav green! that's all i can say. some day you men will hear about him and remember this day and be awful proud!" miss vine had to stop to swallow something in her throat. cap'n phin forgot entirely the nice phrases he had practiced for the occasion. his men shuffled slowly out of the room, some of them coughing and others covertly wiping their eyes. mr. dugald and doctor blackwell and cap'n phin and martie and gran'ma calkins remained. mart and sidney were excitedly examining the little slip of paper that meant five thousand whole dollars, not with any coveting, for mart was as vehement as sidney in disclaiming any share in the reward. it was lav's. but for lav's risking everything to swim to shore no one might have known anything about jed starrow's connection with the persistent smuggling. "oh, where _is_ jed starrow?" sidney suddenly asked and cap'n phin told her jed starrow was in jail. "it'll be a lesson to him and others like him," he continued, sternly. "betrayin' the honor of the cape! and him born and brought up on it!" sidney felt a moment's regret that _anyone_ had to be in jail. then she forgot it in everyone's interest as to what lavender would do with so much money. they pressed him on every side, heedless of doctor blackwell's warning that the boy should not be unduly excited. lav's eyes found aunt achsa's smiling face. "get aunt achsa an oil stove," he answered promptly. "and--and lots of things. and books. and--" his eyes kindled. but he broke off abruptly. he was going to say that now he could go to school in one of the big cities where folks did not notice other folks who were "different." but he did not say it, he did not want to spoil aunt achsa's joy. sidney understood and, reaching out, squeezed one of lavender's hands. doctor blackwell ordered his patient back to bed. martie took gran'ma calkins home. with much handshaking cap'n phin took his leave. miss letty and trude and sidney briskly cleared away the dishes. "i feel as though i had lived ten years since i heard those men pounding on steve blackwell's door," declared miss letty, piling the plates with a clatter. "oh, ten! a _hundred_! i didn't know anyone _could_ live so fast all at one time!" agreed sidney solemnly. "sometimes i think i'm just dreaming and will wake up and find that nothing's happened. i won't mind going home now for i'll have so much to think about!" "going home?" gasped aunt achsa. "why--why--" dugald allan, coming from lavender's room, interrupted them. "i beg to report that your millionaire nephew is resting quietly and is in fine shape." sidney noticed with a little glow of feeling how quickly mr. dugald's eyes sought trude's. and she thought trude cruel to look away! miss vine persuaded aunt achsa to go to bed and then said good-night herself. her "ten years" had left her fatigued. dugald allan walked as far as the lane with her then came back, remembering suddenly that he was carrying two letters in his pocket. "in the excitement i nearly forgot them," he apologized. he drew them out. both were for trude and had been forwarded by special delivery from long island. one was from vick and one from issy. "oh, open them quickly," begged sidney. trude's hand trembled as she held issy's envelope. "i'm--almost afraid to. i _know_ it's silly--but so much has happened today that--i don't think--i could bear--anything more!" chapter xxv no one laughs last trude read issy's letter aloud, not noticing in her high pitch of anxiety that dugald allan had lingered. "--i am going to tell something now concerning which i have given no hint in my former letters. it's something that means so much to me that i have not dared write about it until it was decided. and now it is decided. professor deering has asked me to stay on with him as his secretary. and i have accepted. the salary will not be so very big though it will seem big to me and i am happy among books and bookish people and working right here in the college will give me opportunities i never had before. "but trude dear, i feel like a deserter! to think that i who used to preach the loudest of our duty to dad's memory and the tradition of his genius should be the first to break from it! i believe now that sidney, that morning she had her little flare-up and we promised her the egg, broke down restraints that have been holding us all. certainly, ever since then, rebellious thoughts have been growing in me. i have come to see our lives differently and to believe that we've been silly. we thought we had to go on living the same kind of lives we led when dad was with us, that we had to submerge our own personalities to his because his was so great. maybe the league frightened us into thinking that; they bought us or thought they did. but trude, they _couldn't_! they can buy the house and the atmosphere and dad's coat and chair and pens and all that but they can't buy dad's children! dad wouldn't want it that way. why, we are his greatest creation and our lives are his gift to us and he would want us to make something fine of those gifts--something that would be our own. sidney said that she wanted to be something besides joseph romley's daughter and that was simply her real self crying for escape. i hope the dear child has found it in a happy summer and has had her fill of the adventure she craved. "happy as i am i cannot bear thinking of leaving you with the responsibilities of vick and sidney and the league, except that you have always carried the responsibility anyway. but it seems too much for even shoulders like yours. so i've been making schemes. vick will be sure to marry soon, bless her pretty face, and then with my salary and the royalties we can send sidney away to school and you can plan something for yourself just as i have done. it's a wonderful feeling, trude, i am just beginning to live! i don't mind a bit now thinking of being an old maid--" trude folded the letter, suddenly conscious of her listeners. sidney caught at it as though to make certain it had actually been written by her sister isolde. "think of it. trude! a hope-to-die secretary with a salary! i do believe it's old issy who's going to laugh last." "what do you mean sidney?" asked trude; but she did not wait for sidney to answer. her thoughts were elsewhere. "i believe _issy_ has torn a veil from us all. we _were_ silly. we held to the ties of dad as a poet and were losing the sweet real ones of him as a father. of course he'd want us--the father part of him--to live our own lives, make of them what we can--" "_would he?_" cried dugald allan from his corner. and at the sound of his voice trude started, her face flushing crimson. "then, trude romley, will you please withdraw that answer you gave me out on the breakwall? it can't hold good now." "oh, _hush_! don't! not here--now--" sidney, alert to some deeper meaning, took up his question. "what answer?" she demanded. mr. dugald threw his arm about her shoulder. "sid, i asked your sister to marry me. you see i found out that you needed a big brother, someone with a stern eye and a hard heart and i rather want the job. and that's the only way i can think of. and she says she cannot, that she must keep the little household together in return for what the league has done and cook and sew and sweep and keep accounts. i think there was a lot more--" sidney threw out an imploring hand to her sister. "oh, trude, _please_! i _do_ need a big brother. and mr. dugald's grand! and rich. pola said so. and _dear_. and it'd be such fun having him in the family! i'll go away to school and vick can work and we can give the old house over to the league. issy _said_ they couldn't buy us! and--why, there are just loads of women trying to get mr. dugald--" "sidney romley, _stop_!" trude stamped her foot in confused exasperation. she refused to meet dugald's yearning eyes. "no league can mortgage your heart or your happiness!" he pleaded softly. "it belongs to you--to give--" "i object to being courted in this--public--manner," trude broke in, her hands flying to her face. but dugald allan caught the surrender in her eyes. he seized her hand. "all right. we'll go out in the garden. excuse us, sid. when i come back i think i'll be your big brother." sidney's eyes followed them longingly until they disappeared behind a hedge of hollyhocks. she wanted to laugh and to cry all at once she was so strangely happy; her girl heart stirred with a vicarious thrill to the look she had seen in trude's face. well, trude would laugh last! dear old trude. trude a bride when everyone had thought that she would never marry, just because she had no beaus like vick or languishing poets like issy. sidney stood still in the center of the dusk gray room. she did not know what she wanted to do next--or even think of. she would like to plan the wedding at once with herself as a beautiful bridesmaid in shimmery white and mart and pola and lavender and aunt achsa there to see, and she would like just to think of mrs. milliken's face when she heard about everything and-- suddenly her eyes fell upon vick's forgotten letter. what had vick written? no ordinary letter could come on this momentous day! perhaps vick had written that she had eloped--she had read that sometimes even nice girls did that, girls oppressed by things like the league. she opened the letter without any hesitation and carried it to the door that she might read it by the fading light. it was not neatly margined like issy's; the big letters raced slantwise across the page. nor was it wordy, rather straight to the point. "dear old girls everybody: you'll die. godmother jocelyn's a good sort, in spite of her lace and her lap-dog. she's going to take me around the world! she says that as long as we're this far we might as well go all the way. it isn't the cherry blossoms and the rickshaws and the southern moons alone that thrill me--we're going with the peppiest family from chicago--some people we met on the train. a father, a mother, a girl my age--_and_--a very nice brother! _nicest yet!_ but am i a pig? yes. to leave my sisters there under mrs. milliken's thumb! but you'll forgive me, won't you? do you remember how we used to play going to china?_ and i'm going!_" sidney drew a long breath. she wished she were not alone. she wanted to shout or something. "well!" she cried softly. "_no_ one laughs loudest! i guess--the whole family of romley--laughs _together_ long--and--loud!" the end ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "the books you like to read at the price you like to pay" there are two sides to everything-- --including the wrapper which covers every grosset & dunlap book. when you feel in the mood for a good romance, refer to the carefully selected list of modern fiction comprising most of the successes by prominent writers of the day which is printed on the back of every grosset & dunlap book wrapper. you will find more than five hundred titles to choose from--books for every mood and every taste and every pocketbook. _don't forget the other side, but in case the wrapper is lost, write to the publishers for a complete catalog._ _there is a grosset & dunlap book for every mood and for every taste_ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the novels of temple bailey may be had wherever 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------------------------------------------------------------------------ jackson gregory's novels may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list. the maid of the mountain a thrilling story, centering about a lovely and original girl who flees to the mountains to avoid an obnoxious suitor--and finds herself suspected of murder. daughter of the sun a tale of aztec treasure--of american adventurers who seek it--of zoraida, who hides it. timber-wolf this is a story of action and of the wide open, dominated always by the heroic figure of timber-wolf. the everlasting whisper the story of a strong man's struggle against savage nature and humanity, and of a beautiful girl's regeneration from a spoiled child of wealth into a courageous strong-willed woman. desert valley a college professor sets out with his daughter to find gold. they meet a rancher who loses his heart, and becomes involved in a feud. man to man how steve won his game and the girl he loved, is a story 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------------------------------------------------------------------------ detective stories by j. s. fletcher may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list the secret of the barbican the annexation society the wolves and the lamb green ink the king versus wargrave the lost mr. linthwaite the mill of many windows the heaven-kissed hill the middle temple murder ravensdene court the rayner-slade amalgamation the safety pin the secret way the valley of headstrong men ask for complete free list of g. & d. popular copyrighted fiction grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the lighthouse by r.m.ballantyne author of "the coral island" &c. blackie and son limited london glasgow bombay e-test prepared by roy brown contents chapter i. the rock. ii. the lovers and the press-gang. iii. our hero obliged to go to sea. iv. the burglary. v. the bell rock invaded. vi. the captain changes his quarters. vii. ruby in difficulties. viii the scene changes--ruby is vulcanized. ix. storms and troubles. x. the rising of the tide--a narrow escape. xi. a storm, and a dismal state of things on board the pharos. xii. bell rock billows--an unexpected visit--a disaster and a rescue. xiii. a sleepless but a pleasant night. xiv. somewhat statistical. xv. ruby has a rise in life, and a fall. xvi. new arrangements--the captain's philosophy in regard to pipeology. xvii. a meeting with old friends, and an excursion. xviii. the battle of arbroath, and other warlike matters. xix. an adventure--secrets revealed, and a prize. xx. the smugglers are "treated" to gin and astonishment. xxi. the bell rock again--a dreary night in a strange habitation. xxii. life in the beacon--story of the eddystone lighthouse. xxiii. the storm. xxiv. a chapter of accidents. xxv. the bell rook in a fog--narrow escape of the smeaton. xxvi. a sudden and tremendous change in fortunes. xxvii. other things besides murder "will out". xxviii. the lighthouse completed--ruby's escape from trouble by a desperate venture. xxix. the wreck. xxx. old friends in new circumstances. xxxi. midnight chat in a lantern. xxxii. everyday life on the bell rook, and old memories recalled. xxxiii. conclusion. the lighthouse chapter i the rock early on a summer morning, about the beginning of the nineteenth century, two fishermen of forfarshire wended their way to the shore, launched their boat, and put off to sea. one of the men was tall and ill-favoured, the other, short and well-favoured. both were square-built, powerful fellows, like most men of the class to which they belonged. it was about that calm hour of the morning which precedes sunrise, when most living creatures are still asleep, and inanimate nature wears, more than at other times, the semblance of repose. the sea was like a sheet of undulating glass. a breeze had been expected, but, in defiance of expectation, it had not come, so the boatmen were obliged to use their oars. they used them well, however, insomuch that the land ere long appeared like a blue line on the horizon, then became tremulous and indistinct, and finally vanished in the mists of morning. the men pulled "with a will,"--as seamen pithily express in silence. only once during the first hour did the ill-favoured man venture a remark. referring to the absence of wind, he said, that "it would be a' the better for landin' on the rock." this was said in the broadest vernacular dialect, as, indeed, was everything that dropped from the fishermen's lips. we take the liberty of modifying it a little, believing that strict fidelity here would entail inevitable loss of sense to many of our readers. the remark, such as it was, called forth a rejoinder from the short comrade, who stated his belief that "they would be likely to find somethin' there that day." they then relapsed into silence. under the regular stroke of the oars the boat advanced steadily, straight out to sea. at first the mirror over which they skimmed was grey, and the foam at the cutwater leaden-coloured. by degrees they rowed, as it were, into a brighter region. the sea ahead lightened up, became pale yellow, then warmed into saffron, and, when the sun rose, blazed into liquid gold. the words spoken by the boatmen, though few, were significant. the "rock" alluded to was the celebrated and much dreaded inch cape--more familiarly known as the bell rock--which being at that time unmarked by lighthouse or beacon of any kind, was the terror of mariners who were making for the firths of forth and tay. the "something" that was expected to be found there may be guessed at, when we say that one of the fiercest storms that ever swept our eastern shores had just exhausted itself after strewing the coast with wrecks. the breast of ocean, though calm on the surface, as has been said, was still heaving with a mighty swell, from the effects of the recent elemental conflict. "d'ye see the breakers noo, davy?" enquired the ill-favoured man, who pulled the aft oar. "ay, and hear them, too," said davy spink, ceasing to row, and looking over his shoulder towards the seaward horizon. "yer een and lugs are better than mine, then," returned the ill-favoured comrade, who answered, when among his friends, to the name of big swankie, otherwise, and more correctly, jock swankie. "od! i believe ye're right," he added, shading his heavy red brows with his heavier and redder hand, "that _is_ the rock, but a man wad need the een o' an eagle to see onything in the face o' sik a bleezin' sun. pull awa', davy, we'll hae time to catch a bit cod or a haddy afore the rock's bare." influenced by these encouraging hopes, the stout pair urged their boat in the direction of a thin line of snow-white foam that lay apparently many miles away, but which was in reality not very far distant. by degrees the white line expanded in size and became massive, as though a huge breaker were rolling towards them; ever and anon jets of foam flew high into the air from various parts of the mass, like smoke from a cannon's mouth. presently, a low continuous roar became audible above the noise of the oars; as the boat advanced, the swells from the southeast could be seen towering upwards as they neared the foaming spot, gradually changing their broad-backed form, and coming on in majestic walls of green water, which fell with indescribable grandeur into the seething caldron. no rocks were visible, there was no apparent cause for this wild confusion in the midst of the otherwise calm sea. but the fishermen knew that the bell rock was underneath the foam, and that in less than an hour its jagged peaks would be left uncovered by the falling tide. as the swell of the sea came in from the eastward, there was a belt of smooth water on the west side of the rock. here the fishermen cast anchor, and, baiting their hand-lines, began to fish. at first they were unsuccessful, but before half an hour had elapsed, the cod began to nibble, and big swankie ere long hauled up a fish of goodly size. davy spink followed suit, and in a few minutes a dozen fish lay spluttering in the bottom of the boat. "time's up noo," said swankie, coiling away his line. "stop, stop, here's a wallupper," cried davy, who was an excitable man; "we better fish a while langer--bring the cleek, swankie, he's ower big to--noo, lad, cleek him! that's it!--oh-o-o-o!" the prolonged groan with which davy brought his speech to a sudden termination was in consequence of the line breaking and the fish escaping, just as swankie was about to strike the iron hook into its side. "hech! lad, that was a guid ane," said the disappointed man with a sigh; "but he's awa'." "ay," observed swankie, "and we must awa' too, so up anchor, lad. the rock's lookin' oot o' the sea, and time's precious." the anchor was speedily pulled up, and they rowed towards the rock, the ragged edges of which were now visible at intervals in the midst of the foam which they created. at low tide an irregular portion of the bell rock, less than a hundred yards in length, and fifty yards in breadth, is uncovered and left exposed for two or three hours. it does not appear in the form of a single mass or islet, but in a succession of serrated ledges of various heights, between and amongst which the sea flows until the tide has fallen pretty low. at full ebb the rock appears like a dark islet, covered with seaweed, and studded with deep pools of water, most of which are connected with the sea by narrow channels running between the ledges. the highest part of the rock does not rise more than seven feet above the level of the sea at the lowest tide. to enter one of the pools by means of the channels above referred to is generally a matter of difficulty, and often of extreme danger, as the swell of the sea, even in calm weather, bursts over these ledges with such violence as to render the channels at times impassable. the utmost caution, therefore, is necessary. our fishermen, however, were accustomed to land there occasionally in search of the remains of wrecks, and knew their work well. they approached the rock on the lee side, which was, as has been said, to the westward. to a spectator viewing them from any point but from the boat itself, it would have appeared that the reckless men were sailing into the jaws of certain death, for the breakers burst around them so confusedly in all directions that their instant destruction seemed inevitable. but davy spink, looking over his shoulder as he sat at the bow-oar, saw a narrow lead of comparatively still water in the midst of the foam, along which he guided the boat with consummate skill, giving only a word or two of direction to swankie, who instantly acted in accordance therewith. "pull, pull, lad," said davy. swankie pulled, and the boat swept round with its bow to the east just in time to meet a billow, which, towering high above its fellows, burst completely over the rocks, and appeared to be about to sweep away all before it. for a moment the boat was as if embedded in snow, then it sank once more into the lead among the floating tangle, and the men pulled with might and main in order to escape the next wave. they were just in time. it burst over the same rocks with greater violence than its predecessor, but the boat had gained the shelter of the next ledge, and lay floating securely in the deep, quiet pool within, while the men rested on their oars, and watched the chaos of the water rush harmlessly by. in another moment they had landed and secured the boat to a projecting rock. few words of conversation passed between these practical men. they had gone there on particular business. time and tide proverbially wait for no man, but at the bell rock they wait a much briefer period than elsewhere. between low water and the time when it would be impossible to quit the rock without being capsized', there was only a space of two or three hours--sometimes more, frequently less--so it behoved the men to economize time. rocks covered with wet seaweed and rugged in form are not easy to walk over; a fact which was soon proved by swankie staggering violently once or twice, and by spink falling flat on his back. neither paid attention to his comrade's misfortunes in this way. each scrambled about actively, searching with care among the crevices of the rocks, and from time to time picking up articles which they thrust into their pockets or laid on their shoulders, according as weight and dimensions required. in a short time they returned to their boat pretty well laden. "weel, lad, what luck?" enquired spink, as swankie and he met--the former with a grappling iron on his shoulder, the latter staggering under the weight of a mass of metal. "not much," replied swankie; "nothin' but heavy metal this mornin', only a bit of a cookin' stove an' a cannon shot--that's all." "never mind, try again. there must ha' bin two or three wrecks on the rock this gale," said davy, as he and his friend threw their burdens into the boat, and hastened to resume the search. at first spink was the more successful of the two. he returned to the boat with various articles more than once, while his comrade continued his rambles unsuccessfully. at last, however, big swankie came to a gully or inlet where a large mass of the _débris_ of a wreck was piled up in indescribable confusion, in the midst of which lay the dead body of an old man. swankie's first impulse was to shout to his companion, but he checked himself, and proceeded to examine the pockets of the dead man. raising the corpse with some difficulty he placed it on the ledge of rock. observing a ring on the little finger of the right hand, he removed it and put it hastily in his pocket. then he drew a red morocco case from an inner breast pocket in the dead man's coat. to his surprise and delight he found that it contained a gold watch and several gold rings and brooches, in some of which were beautiful stones. swankie was no judge of jewellery, but he could not avoid the conviction that these things must needs be valuable. he laid the case down on the rock beside him, and eagerly searched the other pockets. in one he found a large clasp-knife and a pencil-case; in another a leather purse, which felt heavy as he drew it out. his eyes sparkled at the first glance he got of the contents, for they were sovereigns! just as he made this discovery, davy spink climbed over the ledge at his back, and swankie hastily thrust the purse underneath the body of the dead man. "hallo! lad, what have ye there? hey! watches and rings--come, we're in luck this mornin'." "_we!_" exclaimed swankie, somewhat sternly, "_you_ didn't find that case." "na, lad, but we've aye divided, an' i dinna see what for we should change our plan noo." "we've nae paction to that effec'--the case o' kickshaws is mine," retorted swankie. "half o't," suggested spink. "weel, weel," cried the other with affected carelessness, "i'd scorn to be sae graspin'. for the matter o' that ye may hae it all to yersel', but i'll hae the next thing we git that's worth muckle a' to _mysel_'." so saying swankie stooped to continue his search of the body, and in a moment or two drew out the purse with an exclamation of surprise. "see, i'm in luck, davy! virtue's aye rewarded, they say. this is mine, and i doot not there'll be some siller intilt." "goold!" cried davy, with dilated eyes, as his comrade emptied the contents into his large hand, and counted over thirty sovereigns. "ay, lad, ye can keep the what-d'ye-ca'-ums, and i'll keep the siller." "i've seen that face before," observed spink, looking intently at the body. "like enough," said swankie, with an air of indifference, as he put the gold into his pocket. "i think i've seed it mysel'. it looks like auld jamie brand, but i didna ken him weel." "it's just him," said spink, with a touch of sadness. "ay, ay, that'll fa' heavy on the auld woman. but, come, it'll no' do to stand haverin' this way. let's see what else is on him." they found nothing more of any value; but a piece of paper was discovered, wrapped up in oilskin, and carefully fastened with red tape, in the vest pocket of the dead man. it contained writing, and had been so securely wrapped up, that it was only a little damped. davy spink, who found it, tried in vain to read the writing; davy's education had been neglected, so he was fain to confess that he could not make it out. "let _me_ see't," said swankie. "what hae we here? 'the sloop is hard an--an--'" ("'fast,' maybe," suggested spink). "ay, so 'tis. i canna make out the next word, but here's something about the jewel-case." the man paused and gazed earnestly at the paper for a few minutes, with a look of perplexity on his rugged visage. "weel, man, what is't?" enquired davy. "hoot! i canna mak' it oot," said the other, testily, as if annoyed at being unable to read it. he refolded the paper, and thrust it into his bosom, saying, "come, we're wastin' time. let's get on wi' our wark." "toss for the jewels and the siller," said spink, suggestively. "very weel," replied the other, producing a copper. "heeds, you win the siller; tails, i win the box;--heeds it is, so the kickshaws is mine. weel, i'm content," he added, as he handed the bag of gold to his comrade, and received the jewel-case in exchange. in another hour the sea began to encroach on the rock, and the fishermen, having collected as much as time would permit of the wrecked materials, returned to their boat. they had secured altogether above two hundredweight of old metal,--namely, a large piece of a ship's caboose, a hinge, a lock of a door, a ship's marking-iron, a soldier's bayonet, a cannon ball, a shoebuckle, and a small anchor, besides part of the cordage of the wreck, and the money and jewels before mentioned. placing the heavier of these things in the bottom of the boat, they pushed off. "we better take the corp ashore," said spink, suddenly. "what for? they may ask what was in the pockets," objected swankie. "let them ask," rejoined the other, with a grin. swankie made no reply, but gave a stroke with his oar which sent the boat close up to the rocks. they both re-landed in silence, and, lifting the dead body of the old man, laid it in the stern sheets of the boat. once more they pushed off. too much delay had been already made. the surf was breaking over the ledges in all directions, and it was with the utmost difficulty that they succeeded in getting clear out into deep water. a breeze which had sprung up from the east, tended to raise the sea a little, but when they finally got away from the dangerous reef, the breeze befriended them. hoisting the foresail, they quickly left the bell rock far behind them, and, in the course of a couple of hours, sailed into the harbour of arbroath. chapter ii the lovers and the press-gang about a mile to the eastward of the ancient town of arbroath the shore abruptly changes its character, from a flat beach to a range of, perhaps, the wildest and most picturesque cliffs on the east coast of scotland. inland the country is rather flat, but elevated several hundred feet above the level of the sea, towards which it slopes gently until it reaches the shore, where it terminates in abrupt, perpendicular precipices, varying from a hundred to two hundred feet in height. in many places the cliffs overhang the water, and all along the coast they have been perforated and torn up by the waves, so as to present singularly bold and picturesque outlines, with caverns, inlets, and sequestered "coves" of every form and size. to the top of these cliffs, in the afternoon of the day on which our tale opens, a young girl wended her way,--slowly, as if she had no other object in view than a stroll, and sadly, as if her mind were more engaged with the thoughts within than with the magnificent prospect of land and sea without. the girl was "fair, fair, with golden hair," and apparently about twenty years of age. she sought out a quiet nook among the rocks at the top of the cliffs, near to a circular chasm, with the name of which (at that time) we are not acquainted, but which was destined ere long to acquire a new name and celebrity from an incident which shall be related in another part of this story. curiously enough, just about the same hour, a young man was seen to wend his way to the same cliffs, and, from no reason whatever with which we happened to be acquainted, sought out the same nook! we say "he was seen", advisedly, for the maid with the golden hair saw him. any ordinary observer would have said that she had scarcely raised her eyes from the ground since sitting down on a piece of flower-studded turf near the edge of the cliff, and that she certainly had not turned her head in the direction of the town. yet she saw him,--however absurd the statement may appear, we affirm it confidently,--and knew that he was coming. other eyes there were that also saw the youth--eyes that would have caused him some degree of annoyance had he known they were upon him--eyes that he would have rejoiced to tinge with the colours black and blue! there were thirteen pair of them, belonging to twelve men and a lieutenant of the navy. in those days the barbarous custom of impressment into the royal navy was in full operation. england was at war with france. men were wanted to fight our battles, and when there was any difficulty in getting men, press-gangs were sent out to force them into the service. the youth whom we now introduce to the reader was a sailor, a strapping, handsome one, too; not, indeed, remarkable for height, being only a little above the average--five feet, ten inches, or thereabouts--but noted for great depth of chest, breadth of shoulder, and development of muscle; conspicuous also for the quantity of close, clustering, light-brown curls round his head, and for the laughing glance of his dark blue eyes. not a hero of romance, by any means. no, he was very matter of fact, and rather given to meditation than to mischief. the officer in charge of the press-gang had set his heart on this youth (so had another individual, of whom more anon!) but the youth, whose name was ruby brand, happened to have an old mother who was at that time in very bad health, and she had also set her heart, poor body, on the youth, and entreated him to stay at home just for one half-year. ruby willingly consented, and from that time forward led the life of a dog in consequence of the press-gang. now, as we have said, he had been seen leaving the town by the lieutenant, who summoned his men and went after him--cautiously, however, in order to take him by surprise, for ruby, besides being strong and active as a lion, was slippery as an eel. going straight as an arrow to the spot where she of the golden hair was seated, the youth presented himself suddenly to her, sat down beside her, and exclaiming "minnie", put his arm round her waist. "oh, ruby, don't," said minnie, blushing. now, reader, the "don't" and the blush had no reference to the arm round the waist, but to the relative position of their noses, mouths, and chins, a position which would have been highly improper and altogether unjustifiable but for the fact that ruby was minnie's accepted lover. "don't, darling, why not?" said ruby in surprise. "you're so rough," said minnie, turning her head away. "true, dear, i forgot to shave this morning----" "i don't mean that," interrupted the girl quickly, "i mean rude and--and--is that a sea-gull?" "no, sweetest of your sex, it's a butterfly; but it's all the same, as my metaphysical uncle ogilvy would undertake to prove to you, thus, a butterfly is white and a gull is white,--therefore, a gull is a butterfly." "don't talk nonsense, ruby." "no more i will, darling, if you will listen to me while i talk sense." "what is it?" said the girl, looking earnestly and somewhat anxiously into her lover's face, for she knew at once by his expression that he had some unpleasant communication to make. "you're not going away?" "well, no--not exactly; you know i promised to stay with mother; but the fact is that i'm so pestered and hunted down by that rascally press-gang, that i don't know what to do. they're sure to nab me at last, too, and then i shall have to go away whether i will or no, so i've made up my mind as a last resource, to----" ruby paused. "well?" said minnie. "well, in fact to do what will take me away for a short time, but----" ruby stopped short, and, turning his head on one side, while a look of fierce anger overspread his face, seemed to listen intently. minnie did not observe this action for a few seconds, but, wondering why he paused, she looked up, and in surprise exclaimed-- "ruby! what do you----" "hush! minnie, and don't look round," said he in a low tone of intense anxiety, yet remaining immovably in the position which he had assumed on first sitting down by the girl's side, although the swelled veins of his neck and his flushed forehead told of a fierce conflict of feeling within. "it's the press-gang after me again. i got a glance of one o' them out of the tail of my eye, creeping round the rocks. they think i haven't seen them. darling minnie--one kiss. take care of mother if i don't turn up soon." "but how will you escape----" "hush, dearest girl! i want to have as much of you as i can before i go. don't be afraid. they're honest british tars after all, and won't hurt _you_, minnie." still seated at the girl's side, as if perfectly at his ease, yet speaking in quick earnest tones, and drawing her closely to him, ruby waited until he heard a stealthy tread behind him. then he sprang up with the speed of thought, uttered a laugh of defiance as the sailors rushed towards him, and leaping wildly off the cliff, fell a height of about fifty feet into the sea. minnie uttered a scream of horror, and fell fainting into the arms of the bewildered lieutenant. "down the cliffs--quick! he can't escape if you look alive. stay, one of you, and look after this girl. she'll roll over the edge on recovering, perhaps." it was easy to order the men down the cliffs, but not so easy for them to obey, for the rocks were almost perpendicular at the place, and descended sheer into the water. "surround the spot," shouted the lieutenant. "scatter yourselves--away! there's no beach here." the lieutenant was right. the men extended themselves along the top of the cliffs so as to prevent ruby's escape, in the event of his trying to ascend them, and two sailors stationed themselves in ambush in the narrow pass at the spot where the cliffs terminate in the direction of the town. the leap taken by ruby was a bold one. few men could have ventured it; indeed, the youth himself would have hesitated had he not been driven almost to desperation. but he was a practised swimmer and diver, and knew well the risk he ran. he struck the water with tremendous force and sent up a great mass of foam, but he had entered it perpendicularly, feet foremost, and in a few seconds returned to the surface so close to the cliffs that they overhung him, and thus effectually concealed him from his pursuers. swimming cautiously along for a short distance close to the rocks, he came to the entrance of a cavern which was filled by the sea. the inner end of this cave opened into a small hollow or hole among the cliffs, up the sides of which ruby knew that he could climb, and thus reach the top unperceived, but, after gaining the summit, there still lay before him the difficulty of eluding those who watched there. he felt, however, that nothing could be gained by delay, so he struck at once into the cave, swam to the inner end, and landed. wringing the water out of his clothes, he threw off his jacket and vest in order to be as unencumbered as possible, and then began to climb cautiously. just above the spot where ruby ascended there chanced to be stationed a seaman named dalls. this man had lain down flat on his breast, with his head close to the edge of the cliff, so as to observe narrowly all that went on below, but, being a stout, lethargic man, he soon fell fast asleep! it was just at the spot where this man lay that ruby reached the summit. the ascent was very difficult. at each step the hunted youth had to reach his hand as high above his head as possible, and grasp the edge of a rock or a mass of turf with great care before venturing on another step. had one of these points of rock, or one of these tufts of grass, given way, he would infallibly have fallen down the precipice and been killed. accustomed to this style of climbing from infancy, however, he advanced without a sensation of fear. on reaching the top he peeped over, and, seeing that no one was near, prepared for a rush. there was a mass of brown turf on the bank above him. he grasped it with all his force, and swung himself over the edge of the cliff. in doing so he nearly scalped poor dalls, whose hair was the "turf" which he had seized, and who, uttering a hideous yell, leaped upon ruby and tried to overthrow him. but dalls had met his match. he received a blow on the nose that all but felled him, and instantly after a blow on each eye, that raised a very constellation of stars in his brain, and laid him prone upon the grass. his yell, however, and the noise of the scuffle, were heard by those of the press-gang who were nearest to the scene of conflict. they rushed to the rescue, and reached the spot just as ruby leaped over his prostrate foe and fled towards arbroath. they followed with a cheer, which warned the two men in ambush to be ready. ruby was lithe as a greyhound. he left his pursuers far behind him, and dashed down the gorge leading from the cliffs to the low ground beyond. here he was met by the two sailors, and by the lieutenant, who had joined them. minnie was also there, having been conducted thither by the said lieutenant, who gallantly undertook to see her safe into the town, in order to prevent any risk of her being insulted by his men. on hearing the shout of those who pursued ruby, winnie hurried away, intending to get free from the gang, not feeling that the lieutenant's protection was either desirable or necessary. when ruby reached the middle of the gorge, which we have dignified with the name of "pass", and saw three men ready to dispute his passage, he increased his speed. when he was almost up to them he turned aside and sprang nimbly up the almost perpendicular wall of earth on his right. this act disconcerted the men, who had prepared to receive his charge and seize him, but ruby jumped down on the shoulders of the one nearest, and crushed him to the ground with his weight. his clenched fist caught the lieutenant between the eyes and stretched him on his back--the third man wisely drew aside to let this human thunderbolt pass by! he did pass, and, as the impetuous and quite irresistible locomotive is brought to a sudden pause when the appropriate breaks are applied, so was he brought to a sudden halt by minnie a hundred yards or so farther on. "oh! don't stop," she cried eagerly, and hastily thrusting him away. "they'll catch you!" panting though he was, vehemently, ruby could not restrain a laugh. "catch me! no, darling; but don't be afraid of them. they won't hurt you, minnie, and they _can't_ hurt _me_--except in the way of cutting short our interview. ha! here they come. goodbye, dearest; i'll see you soon again." at that moment five or six of the men came rushing down the pass with a wild cheer. ruby made no haste to run. he stood in an easy attitude beside minnie; leisurely kissed her little hand, and gently smoothed down her golden hair. just as the foremost pursuer came within fifteen yards or so of them, he said, "farewell, my lassie, i leave you in good hands"; and then, waving his cap in the air, with a cheer of more than half-jocular defiance, he turned and fled towards arbroath as if one of the nor'-east gales, in its wildest fury, were sweeping him over the land. chapter iii our hero obliged to go to sea when ruby brand reached the outskirts of arbroath, he checked his speed and walked into his native town whistling gently, and with his hands in his pockets, as though he had just returned from an evening walk. he directed his steps to one of the streets near the harbour, in which his mother's cottage was situated. mrs. brand was a delicate, little old woman--so little and so old that people sometimes wondered how it was possible that she could be the mother of such a stalwart son. she was one of those kind, gentle, uncomplaining, and unselfish beings, who do not secure much popularity or admiration in this world, but who secure obedient children, also steadfast and loving friends. her favourite book was the bible; her favourite hope in regard to earthly matters, that men should give up fighting and drinking, and live in peace; her favourite theory that the study of _truth_ was the object for which man was created, and her favourite meal--tea. ruby was her only child. minnie was the daughter of a distant relation, and, having been left an orphan, she was adopted by her. mrs. brand's husband was a sailor. he commanded a small coasting sloop, of which ruby had been the mate for several years. as we have said, ruby had been prevailed on to remain at home for some months in order to please his mother, whose delicacy of health was such that his refusal would have injured her seriously; at least the doctor said so, therefore ruby agreed to stay. the sloop _penguin_, commanded by ruby's father, was on a voyage to newcastle at that time, and was expected in arbroath every day. but it was fated never more to cast anchor in that port. the great storm, to which reference has been made in a previous chapter, caused many wrecks on the shores of britain. the _penguin_ was one of the many. in those days telegraphs, railroads, and penny papers did not exist. murders were committed then, as now, but little was said, and less was known about them. wrecks occurred then, as now, but few, except the persons immediately concerned, heard of them. "destructive fires", "terrible accidents", and the familiar round of "appalling catastrophes" occurred then, as now, but their influence was limited, and their occurrence soon forgotten. we would not be understood to mean that "now" (as compared with "then",) all is right and well; that telegraphs and railways and daily papers are all-potent and perfect. by no means. we have still much to learn and to do in these improved times; and, especially, there is wanting to a large extent among us a sympathetic telegraphy, so to speak, between the interior of our land and the sea-coast, which, if it existed in full and vigorous play, would go far to improve our condition, and raise us in the esteem of christian nations. nevertheless, as compared with now, the state of things then was lamentably imperfect. the great storm came and went, having swept thousands of souls into eternity, and hundreds of thousands of pounds into nonentity. lifeboats had not been invented. harbours of refuge were almost unknown, and although our coasts bristled with dangerous reefs and headlands, lighthouses were few and far between. the consequence was, that wrecks were numerous; and so also were wreckers,--a class of men, who, in the absence of an efficient coastguard, subsisted to a large extent on what they picked up from the wrecks that were cast in their way, and who did not scruple, sometimes, to _cause_ wrecks, by showing false lights in order to decoy vessels to destruction. we do not say that all wreckers were guilty of such crimes, but many of them were so, and their style of life, at the best, had naturally a demoralizing influence upon all of them. the famous bell rock, lying twelve miles off the coast of forfarshire, was a prolific source of destruction to shipping. not only did numbers of vessels get upon it, but many others ran upon the neighbouring coasts in attempting to avoid it. ruby's father knew the navigation well, but, in the confusion and darkness of the furious storm, he miscalculated his position and ran upon the rock, where, as we have seen, his body was afterwards found by the two fishermen. it was conveyed by them to the cottage of mrs. brand, and when ruby entered he found his mother on her knees by the bedside, pressing the cold hand of his father to her breast, and gazing with wild, tearless eyes into the dead face. we will not dwell upon the sad scenes that followed. ruby was now under the necessity of leaving home, because his mother being deprived of her husband's support naturally turned in distress to her son. but ruby had no employment, and work could not be easily obtained at that time in the town, so there was no other resource left him but to go to sea. this he did in a small coasting sloop belonging to an old friend, who gave him part of his wages in advance to enable him to leave his mother a small provision, at least for a short time. this, however, was not all that the widow had to depend on. minnie gray was expert with her needle, and for some years past had contributed not a little to the comforts of the household into which she had been adopted. she now set herself to work with redoubled zeal and energy. besides this, mrs. brand had a brother, a retired skipper, who obtained the complimentary title of captain from his friends. he was a poor man, it is true, as regarded money, having barely sufficient for his own subsistence, but he was rich in kindliness and sympathy, so that he managed to make his small income perform wonders. on hearing of his brother-in-law's death, captain ogilvy hastened to afford all the consolation in his power to his sorrowing sister. the captain was an eccentric old man, of rugged aspect. he thought that there was not a worse comforter on the face of the earth than himself, because, when he saw others in distress, his heart invariably got into his throat, and absolutely prevented him from saying a single word. he tried to speak to his sister, but all he could do was to take her hand and weep. this did the poor widow more good than any words could have done, no matter how eloquently or fitly spoken. it unlocked the fountain of her own heart, and the two wept together. when captain ogilvy accompanied ruby on board the sloop to see him off, and shook hands as he was about to return to the shore, he said-- "cheer up, ruby; never say die so long as there's a shot in the locker. that's the advice of an old salt, an' you'll find it sound, the more you ponder of it. wen a young feller sails away on the sea of life, let him always go by chart and compass, not forgettin' to take soundin's w'en cruisin' off a bad coast. keep a sharp lookout to wind'ard, an' mind yer helm--that's _my_ advice to you lad, as ye go 'a-sailin' down life's troubled stream, all as if it wor a dream'". the captain had a somewhat poetic fancy (at least he was impressed with the belief that he had), and was in the habit of enforcing his arguments by quotations from memory. when memory failed he supplemented with original composition. "goodbye, lad, an' providence go wi' ye." "goodbye, uncle. i need not remind you to look after mother when i'm away." "no, nephy, you needn't; i'll do it whether or not." "and minnie, poor thing, she'll need a word of advice and comfort now and then, uncle." "and she shall have it, lad," replied the captain with a tremendous wink, which was unfortunately lost on the nephew, in consequence of its being night and unusually dark, "advice and comfort on demand, gratis; for 'woman, in her hours of ease, is most uncommon hard to please'; but she _must_ be looked arter, ye know, and made of, d'ye see? so ruby, boy, farewell." half-an-hour before midnight was the time chosen for the sailing of the sloop _termagant_, in order that she might get away quietly and escape the press-gang. ruby and his uncle had taken the precaution to go down to the harbour just a few minutes before sailing, and they kept as closely as possible to the darkest and least-frequented streets while passing through the town. captain ogilvy returned by much the same route to his sister's cottage, but did not attempt to conceal his movements. on the contrary, knowing that the sloop must have got clear of the harbour by that time, he went along the streets whistling cheerfully. he had been a noted, not to say noisy, whistler when a boy, and the habit had not forsaken him in his old age. on turning sharp round a corner, he ran against two men, one of whom swore at him, but the other cried-- "hallo! messmate, yer musical the night. hey, captain ogilvy, surely i seed you an' ruby slinkin' down the dark side o' the market-gate half an 'oor ago?" "mayhap ye did, an' mayhap ye didn't," retorted the captain, as he walked on; "but as it's none o' your business to know, i'll not tell ye." "ay, ay? o but ye're a cross auld chap. pleasant dreams t' ye." this kindly remark, which was expressed by our friend davy spink, was lost on the captain, in consequence of his having resumed his musical recreation with redoubled energy, as he went rolling back to the cottage to console mrs. brand, and to afford "advice and comfort gratis" to minnie gray. chapter iv the burglary on the night in question, big swankie and a likeminded companion, who went among his comrades by the name of the badger, had planned to commit a burglary in the town, and it chanced that the former was about that business when captain ogilvy unexpectedly ran against him and davy spink. spink, although a smuggler, and by no means a particularly respectable man, had not yet sunk so low in the scale of life as to be willing to commit burglary. swankie and the badger suspected this, and, although they required his assistance much, they were afraid to ask him to join, lest he should not only refuse, but turn against them. in order to get over the difficulty, swankie had arranged to suggest to him the robbery of a store containing gin, which belonged to a smuggler, and, if he agreed to that, to proceed further and suggest the more important matter in hand. but he found spink proof against the first attack. "i tell 'ee, i'll hae naething to do wi't," said he, when the proposal was made. "but," urged swankie, "he's a smuggler, and a cross-grained hound besides. it's no' like robbin' an honest man." "an' what are we but smugglers'!" retorted spink; "an' as to bein' cross-grained, you've naethin' to boast o' in that way. na, na, swankie, ye may do't yersel, i'll hae nae hand in't. i'll no objec' to tak a bit keg o' auchmithie water [footnote] noo and then, or to pick up what comes to me by the wund and sea, but i'll steal frae nae man." [footnote: smuggled spirits.] "ay, man, but ye've turned awfu' honest all of a suddent," said the other with a sneer. "i wonder the thretty sovereigns i gied ye the other day, when we tossed for them and the case o' kickshaws, havena' brunt yer pooches." davy spink looked a little confused. "aweel," said he, "it's o' nae use greetin' ower spilt milk, the thing's done and past noo, and i canna help it. sae guid-night to 'ee." swankie, seeing that it was useless to attempt to gain over his comrade, and knowing that the badger was waiting impatiently for him near the appointed house, hurried away without another word, and davy spink strolled towards his home, which was an extremely dirty little hut, near the harbour. at the time of which we write, the town of arbroath was neither so well lighted nor so well guarded as it now is. the two burglars found nothing to interfere with their deeds of darkness, except a few bolts and bars, which did not stand long before their expert hands. nevertheless, they met with a check from an unexpected quarter. the house they had resolved to break into was inhabited by a widow lady, who was said to be wealthy, and who was known to possess a considerable quantity of plate and jewels. she lived alone, having only one old servant and a little girl to attend upon her. the house stood on a piece of ground not far from the ruins of the stately abbey which originated and gave celebrity to the ancient town of aberbrothoc. mrs. stewart's house was full of eastern curiosities, some of them of great value, which had been sent to her by her son, then a major in the east india company's service. now, it chanced that major stewart had arrived from india that very day, on leave of absence, all unknown to the burglars, who, had they been aware of the fact, would undoubtedly have postponed their visit to a more convenient season. as it was, supposing they had to deal only with the old lady and her two servants, they began their work between twelve and one that night, with considerable confidence, and in great hopes of a rich booty. a small garden surrounded the old house. it was guarded by a wall about eight feet high, the top of which bristled with bottle-glass. the old lady and her domestics regarded this terrible-looking defence with much satisfaction, believing in their innocence that no human creature could succeed in getting over it. boys, however, were their only dread, and fruit their only care, when they looked complacently at the bottle-glass on the wall, and, so far, they were right in their feeling of security, for boys found the labour, risk, and danger to be greater than the worth of the apples and pears. but it was otherwise with men. swankie and the badger threw a piece of thick matting on the wall; the former bent down, the latter stepped upon his back, and thence upon the mat; then he hauled his comrade up, and both leaped into the garden. advancing stealthily to the door, they tried it and found it locked. the windows were all carefully bolted, and the shutters barred. this they expected, but thought it as well to try each possible point of entrance, in the hope of finding an unguarded spot before having recourse to their tools. such a point was soon found, in the shape of a small window, opening into a sort of scullery at the back of the house. it had been left open by accident. an entrance was easily effected by the badger, who was a small man, and who went through the house with the silence of a cat, towards the front door. there were two lobbies, an inner and an outer, separated from each other by a glass door. cautiously opening both doors, the badger admitted his comrade, and then they set to work. a lantern, which could be uncovered or concealed in a moment, enabled them to see their way. "that's the dinin'-room door," whispered the badger. "hist! haud yer jaw," muttered swankie; "i ken that as weel as you." opening the door, they entered and found the plate-chest under the sideboard. it was open, and a grin of triumph crossed the sweet countenances of the friends as they exchanged glances, and began to put silver forks and spoons by the dozen into a bag which they had brought for the purpose. when they had emptied the plate-chest, they carried the bag into the garden, and, climbing over the wall, deposited it outside. then they returned for more. now, old mrs. stewart was an invalid, and was in the habit of taking a little weak wine and water before retiring to rest at night. it chanced that the bottle containing the port wine had been left on the sideboard, a fact which was soon discovered by swankie, who put the bottle to his mouth, and took a long pull. "what is't?" enquired the badger, in a low tone. "prime!" replied swankie, handing over the bottle, and wiping his mouth with the cuff of his coat. the badger put the bottle to his mouth, but unfortunately for him, part of the liquid went down the "wrong throat". the result was that the poor man coughed, once, rather loudly. swankie, frowning fiercely, and shaking his fist, looked at him in horror; and well he might, for the badger became first red and then purple in the face, and seemed as if he were about to burst with his efforts to keep down the cough. it came, however, three times, in spite of him,--not violently, but with sufficient noise to alarm them, and cause them to listen for five minutes intently ere they ventured to go on with their work, in the belief that no one had been disturbed. but major stewart had been awakened by the first cough. he was a soldier who had seen much service, and who slept lightly. he raised himself in his bed, and listened intently on hearing the first cough. the second cough caused him to spring up and pull on his trousers; the third cough found him half-way downstairs, with a boot-jack in his hand, and when the burglars resumed work he was peeping at them through the half-open door. both men were stooping over the plate-chest, the badger with his back to the door, swankie with his head towards it. the major raised the boot-jack and took aim. at the same moment the door squeaked, big swankie looked up hastily, and, in technical phraseology, "doused the glim". all was dark in an instant, but the boot-jack sped on its way notwithstanding. the burglars were accustomed to fighting, however, and dipped their heads. the boot-jack whizzed past, and smashed the pier-glass on the mantelpiece to a thousand atoms. major stewart being expert in all the devices of warfare, knew what to expect, and drew aside. he was not a moment too soon, for the dark lantern flew through the doorway, hit the opposite wall, and fell with a loud clatter on the stone floor of the lobby. the badger followed at once, and received a random blow from the major that hurled him head over heels after the lantern. there was no mistaking the heavy tread and rush of big swankie as he made for the door. major stewart put out his foot, and the burglar naturally tripped over it; before he could rise the major had him by the throat. there was a long, fierce struggle, both being powerful men; at last swankie was hurled completely through the glass door. in the fall he disengaged himself from the major, and, leaping up, made for the garden wall, over which he succeeded in clambering before the latter could seize him. thus both burglars escaped, and major stewart returned to the house half-naked,--his shirt having been torn off his back,--and bleeding freely from cuts caused by the glass door. just as he re-entered the house, the old cook, under the impression that the cat had got into the pantry, and was smashing the crockery, entered the lobby in her nightdress, shrieked "mercy on us!" on beholding the major, and fainted dead away. major stewart was too much annoyed at having failed to capture the burglars to take any notice of her. he relocked the door, and assuring his mother that it was only robbers, and that they had been beaten off, retired to his room, washed and dressed his wounds, and went to bed. meanwhile big swankie and the badger, laden with silver, made for the shore, where they hid their treasure in a hole. "i'll tell 'ee a dodge," said the badger. "what may that be?" enquired swankie. "you said ye saw ruby brand slinking down the market-gate, and that's he's off to sea?" "ay, and twa or three more folk saw him as weel as me." "weel, let's tak' up a siller spoon, or somethin', an' put it in the auld wife's garden, an' they'll think it was him that did it." "no' that bad!" said swankie, with a chuckle. a silver fork and a pair of sugar-tongs bearing old mrs. stewart's initials were accordingly selected for this purpose, and placed in the little garden in the front of widow brand's cottage. here they were found in the morning by captain ogilvy, who examined them for at least half-an-hour in a state of the utmost perplexity. while he was thus engaged one of the detectives of the town happened to pass, apparently in some haste. "hallo! shipmate," shouted the captain. "well?" responded the detective. "did ye ever see silver forks an' sugar-tongs growin' in a garden before?" "eh?" exclaimed the other, entering the garden hastily; "let me see. oho! this may throw some light on the matter. did you find them here?" "ay, on this very spot." "hum. ruby went away last night, i believe?" "he did." "some time after midnight?" enquired the detective. "likely enough," said the captain, "but my chronometer ain't quite so reg'lar since we left the sea; it might ha' bin more,--mayhap less." "just so. you saw him off?" "ay; but you seem more than or'nar inquisitive today----" "did he carry a bundle?" interrupted the detective. "ay, no doubt." "a large one?" "ay, a goodish big 'un." "do you know what was in it?" enquired the detective, with a knowing look. "i do, for i packed it," replied the captain; "his kit was in it." "nothing more?" "nothin' as i knows of." "well, i'll take these with me just now," said the officer, placing the fork and sugar-tongs in his pocket. "i'm afraid, old man, that your nephew has been up to mischief before he went away. a burglary was committed in the town last night, and this is some of the plate. you'll hear more about it before long, i dare say. good day to ye." so saying, the detective walked quickly away, and left the captain in the centre of the garden staring vacantly before him, in speechless amazement. chapter v the bell rock invaded a year passed away. nothing more was heard of ruby brand, and the burglary was believed to be one of those mysteries which are destined never to be solved. about this time great attention was being given by government to the subject of lighthouses. the terrible number of wrecks that had taken place had made a deep impression on the public mind. the position and dangerous character of the bell rock, in particular, had been for a long time the subject of much discussion, and various unsuccessful attempts had been made to erect a beacon of some sort thereon. there is a legend that in days of old one of the abbots of the neighbouring monastery of aberbrothoc erected a bell on the inchcape rock, which was tolled in rough weather by the action of the waves on a float attached to the tongue, and thus mariners were warned at night and in foggy weather of their approach to the rock, the great danger of which consists in its being a sunken reef, lying twelve miles from the nearest land, and exactly in the course of vessels making for the firths of forth and tay. the legend further tells how that a danish pirate, named ralph the rover, in a mischievous mood, cut the bell away, and that, years afterwards, he obtained his appropriate reward by being wrecked on the bell rock, when returning from a long cruise laden with booty. whether this be true or not is an open question, but certain it is that no beacon of any kind was erected on this rock until the beginning of the nineteenth century, after a great storm in had stirred the public mind, and set springs in motion, which from that time forward have never ceased to operate. many and disastrous were the shipwrecks that occurred during the storm referred to, which continued, with little intermission, for three days. great numbers of ships were driven from their moorings in the downs and yarmouth roads; and these, together with all vessels navigating the german ocean at that time, were drifted upon the east coast of scotland. it may not, perhaps, be generally known that there are only three great inlets or estuaries to which the mariner steers when overtaken by easterly storms in the north sea--namely, the humber, and the firths of forth and moray. the mouth of the thames is too much encumbered by sand-banks to be approached at night or during bad weather. the humber is also considerably obstructed in this way, so that the roads of leith, in the firth of forth, and those of cromarty, in the moray firth, are the chief places of resort in easterly gales. but both of these had their special risks. on the one hand, there was the danger of mistaking the dornoch firth for the moray, as it lies only a short way to the north of the latter; and, in the case of the firth of forth, there was the terrible bell rock. now, during the storm of which we write, the fear of those two dangers was so strong upon seamen that many vessels were lost in trying to avoid them, and much hardship was sustained by mariners who preferred to seek shelter in higher latitudes. it was estimated that no fewer than seventy vessels were either stranded or lost during that single gale, and many of the crews perished. at one wild part of the coast, near peterhead, called the bullers of buchan, after the first night of the storm, the wrecks of seven vessels were found in one cove, without a single survivor of the crews to give an account of the disaster. the "dangers of the deep" are nothing compared with the _dangers of the shore_. if the hard rocks of our island could tell the tale of their experience, and if we landsmen could properly appreciate it, we should understand more clearly why it is that sailors love blue (in other words, deep) water during stormy weather. in order to render the forth more accessible by removing the danger of the bell rock, it was resolved by the commissioners of northern lights to build a lighthouse upon it. this resolve was a much bolder one than most people suppose, for the rock on which the lighthouse was to be erected was a sunken reef, visible only at low tide during two or three hours, and quite inaccessible in bad weather. it was the nearest approach to building a house in the sea that had yet been attempted! the famous eddystone stands on a rock which is _never quite_ under water, although nearly so, for its crest rises a very little above the highest tides, while the bell rock is eight or ten feet under water at high tides. it must be clear, therefore, to everyone, that difficulties, unusual in magnitude and peculiar in kind, must have stood in the way of the daring engineer who should undertake the erection of a tower on a rock twelve miles out on the stormy sea, and the foundation of which was covered with ten or twelve feet of water every tide; a tower which would have to be built perfectly, yet hastily; a tower which should form a comfortable home, fit for human beings to dwell in, and yet strong enough to withstand the utmost fury of the waves, not merely whirling round it, as might be the case on some exposed promontory, but rushing at it, straight and fierce from the wild ocean, in great blue solid billows that should burst in thunder on its sides, and rush up in scarcely less solid spray to its lantern, a hundred feet or more above its foundation. an engineer able and willing to undertake this great work was found in the person of the late robert stevenson of edinburgh, whose perseverance and talent shall be commemorated by the grandest and most useful monument ever raised by man, as long as the bell rock lighthouse shall tower above the sea. it is not our purpose to go into the details of all that was done in the construction of this lighthouse. our peculiar task shall be to relate those incidents connected with this work which have relation to the actors in our tale. we will not, therefore, detain the reader by telling him of all the preliminary difficulties that were encountered and overcome in this "robinson crusoe" sort of work; how that a temporary floating lightship, named the _pharos_, was prepared and anchored in the vicinity of the rock in order to be a sort of depot and rendezvous and guide to the three smaller vessels employed in the work, as well as a light to shipping generally, and a building-yard was established at arbroath, where every single stone of the lighthouse was cut and nicely fitted before being conveyed to the rock. neither shall we tell of the difficulties that arose in the matter of getting blocks of granite large enough for such masonry, and lime of a nature strong enough to withstand the action of the salt sea. all this, and a great deal more of a deeply interesting nature, must remain untold, and be left entirely to the reader's imagination. [footnote] [footnote: it may be found, however, in minute detail, in the large and interesting work entitled _steveson's bell rock lighthouse.] suffice it to say that the work was fairly begun in the month of august, ; that a strong beacon of timber was built, which was so well constructed that it stood out all the storms that beat against it during the whole time of the building operations; that close to this beacon the pit or foundation of the lighthouse was cut down deep into the solid rock; that the men employed could work only between two and three hours at a time, and had to pump the water out of this pit each tide before they could resume operations; that the work could only be done in the summer months, and when engaged in it the men dwelt either in the _pharos_ floating light, or in one of the attending vessels, and were not allowed to go ashore--that is, to the mainland, about twelve miles distant; that the work was hard, but so novel and exciting that the artificers at last became quite enamoured of it, and that ere long operations were going busily forward, and the work was in a prosperous and satisfactory state of advancement. things were in this condition at the bell rock, when, one fine summer evening, our friend and hero, ruby brand, returned, after a long absence, to his native town. chapter vi the captain changes his quarters it was fortunate for ruby that the skipper of the vessel ordered him to remain in charge while he went ashore, because he would certainly have been recognized by numerous friends, and his arrival would speedily have reached the ears of the officers of justice, who seem to be a class of men specially gifted with the faculty of never forgetting. it was not until darkness had begun to settle down on the town that the skipper returned on board, and gave him leave to go ashore. ruby did not return in the little coaster in which he had left his native place. that vessel had been wrecked not long after he joined her, but the crew were saved, and ruby succeeded in obtaining a berth as second mate of a large ship trading between hull and the baltic. returning from one of his voyages with a pretty good sum of money in his pocket, he resolved to visit his mother and give it to her. he therefore went aboard an arbroath schooner, and offered to work his passage as an extra hand. remembering his former troubles in connexion with the press-gang, he resolved to conceal his name from the captain and crew, who chanced to be all strangers to him. it must not be supposed that mrs. brand had not heard of ruby since he left her. on the contrary, both she and minnie gray got letters as frequently as the postal arrangements of those days would admit of; and from time to time they received remittances of money, which enabled them to live in comparative comfort. it happened, however, that the last of these remittances had been lost, so that mrs. brand had to depend for subsistence on minnie's exertions, and on her brother's liberality. the brother's power was limited, however, and minnie had been ailing for some time past, in consequence of her close application to work, so that she could not earn as much as usual. hence it fell out that at this particular time the widow found herself in greater pecuniary difficulties than she had ever been in before. ruby was somewhat of an original. it is probable that every hero is. he resolved to surprise his mother by pouring the money he had brought into her lap, and for this purpose had, while in hull, converted all his savings into copper, silver, and gold. those precious metals he stowed separately into the pockets of his huge pea-jacket, and, thus heavily laden, went ashore about dark, as soon as the skipper returned. at this precise hour it happened that mrs. brand, minnie gray, and captain ogilvy were seated at their supper in the kitchen of the cottage. two days previously the captain had called, and said to mrs. brand-- "i tell 'ee what it is, sister, i'm tired of livin' a solitary bachelor life, all by myself, so i'm goin' to make a change, lass." mrs. brand was for some moments speechless, and minnie, who was sewing near the window, dropped her hands and work on her lap, and looked up with inexpressible amazement in her sweet blue eyes. "brother," said mrs. brand earnestly, "you don't mean to tell me that you're going to marry at _your_ time of life?" "eh! what? marry?" the captain looked, if possible, more amazed than his sister for a second or two, then his red face relaxed into a broad grin, and he sat down on a chair and chuckled, wiping the perspiration (he seemed always more or less in a state of perspiration) from his bald head the while. "why, no, sister, i'm not going to marry; did i speak of marryin'?" "no; but you spoke of being tired of a bachelor life, and wishing to change." "ah! you women," said the captain, shaking his head--"always suspecting that we poor men are wantin' to marry you. well, pr'aps you ain't far wrong neither; but i'm not goin' to be spliced yet-a-while, lass. marry, indeed! 'shall i, wastin' in despair, die, 'cause why? a woman's rare?'" "oh! captain ogilvy, that's not rightly quoted," cried minnie, with a merry laugh. "ain't it?" said the captain, somewhat put out; for he did not like to have his powers of memory doubted. "no; surely women are not _rare_," said minnie. "good ones are," said the captain stoutly. "well; but that's not the right word." "what _is_ the right word, then?" asked the captain with affected sternness, for, although by nature disinclined to admit that he could be wrong, he had no objection to be put right by minnie. "die because a woman's f----," said minnie, prompting him. "f----, 'funny?'" guessed the captain. "no; it's not 'funny'," cried minnie, laughing heartily. "of course not," assented the captain, "it could not be 'funny' nohow, because 'funny' don't rhyme with 'despair'; besides, lots o' women ain't funny a bit, an' if they was, that's no reason why a man should die for 'em; what _is_ the word, lass?" "what am _i_?" asked minnie, with an arch smile, as she passed her fingers through the clustering masses of her beautiful hair. "an angel, beyond all doubt," said the gallant captain, with a burst of sincerity which caused minnie to blush and then to laugh. "you're incorrigible, captain, and you are so stupid that it's of no use trying to teach you." mrs. brand--who listened to this conversation with an expression of deep anxiety on her meek face, for she could not get rid of her first idea that her brother was going to marry--here broke in with the question,-- "when is it to be, brother?" "when is what to be, sister?" "the--the marriage." "i tell you i _ain't_ a-goin' to marry," repeated the captain; "though why a stout young feller like me, just turned sixty-four, _shouldn't_ marry, is more than i can see. you know the old proverbs, lass--'it's never too late to marry'; 'never ventur', never give in'; 'john anderson my jo john, when we was first--first----'" "married," suggested minnie. "just so," responded the captain, "and everybody knows that _he_ was an old man. but no, i'm not goin' to marry; i'm only goin' to give up my house, sell off the furniture, and come and live with _you_." "live with me!" ejaculated mrs. brand. "ay, an' why not? what's the use o' goin' to the expense of two houses when one'll do, an' when we're both raither scrimp o' the ready? you'll just let me have the parlour. it never was a comf'rable room to sit in, so it don't matter much your givin' it up; it's a good enough sleepin' and smokin' cabin, an' we'll all live together in the kitchen. i'll throw the whole of my _tree_mendous income into the general purse, always exceptin' a few odd coppers, which i'll retain to keep me a-goin' in baccy. we'll sail under the same flag, an' sit round the same fire, an' sup at the same table, and sleep in the same--no, not exactly that, but under the same roof-tree, which'll be a more hoconomical way o' doin' business, you know; an' so, old girl, as the song says-- 'come an' let us be happy together, for where there's a will there's a way, an' we won't care a rap for the weather so long as there's nothin' to pay'." "would it not be better to say, 'so long as there's _something_ to pay?'" suggested minnie. "no, lass, it _wouldn't_," retorted the captain. "you're too fond of improvin' things. i'm a stanch old tory, i am. i'll stick to the old flag till all's blue. none o' your changes or improvements for me." this was a rather bold statement for a man to make who improved upon almost every line he ever quoted; but the reader is no doubt acquainted with parallel instances of inconsistency in good men even in the present day. "now, sister," continued captain ogilvy, "what d'ye think of my plan?" "i like it well, brother," replied mrs. brand with a gentle smile. "will you come soon?" "to-morrow, about eight bells," answered the captain promptly. this was all that was said on the subject. the thing was, as the captain said, settled off-hand, and accordingly next morning he conveyed such of his worldly goods as he meant to retain possession of to his sister's cottage--"the new ship", as he styled it. he carried his traps on his own broad shoulders, and the conveyance of them cost him three distinct trips. they consisted of a huge sea-chest, an old telescope more than a yard long, and cased in leather; a quadrant, a hammock, with the bedding rolled up in it, a tobacco-box, the enormous old family bible in which the names of his father, mother, brothers, and sisters were recorded; and a brown teapot with half a lid. this latter had belonged to the captain's mother, and, being fond of it, as it reminded him of the "old ooman", he was wont to mix his grog in it, and drink the same out of a teacup, the handle of which was gone, and the saucer of which was among the things of the past. notwithstanding his avowed adherence to tory principles, captain ogilvy proceeded to make manifold radical changes and surprising improvements in the little parlour, insomuch that when he had completed the task, and led his sister carefully (for she was very feeble) to look at what he had done, she became quite incapable of expressing herself in ordinary language; positively refused to believe her eyes, and never again entered that room, but always spoke of what she had seen as a curious dream! no one was ever able to discover whether there was not a slight tinge of underlying jocularity in this remark of mrs. brand, for she was a strange and incomprehensible mixture of shrewdness and innocence; but no one took much trouble to find out, for she was so lovable that people accepted her just as she was, contented to let any small amount of mystery that seemed to be in her to remain unquestioned. "the parlour" was one of those well-known rooms which are occasionally met with in country cottages, the inmates of which are not wealthy. it was reserved exclusively for the purpose of receiving visitors. the furniture, though old, threadbare, and dilapidated, was kept scrupulously clean, and arranged symmetrically. there were a few books on the table, which were always placed with mathematical exactitude, and a set of chairs, so placed as to give one mysteriously the impression that they were not meant to be sat upon. there was also a grate, which never had a fire in it, and was never without a paper ornament in it, the pink and white aspect of which caused one involuntarily to shudder. but the great point, which was meant to afford the highest gratification to the beholder, was the chimney-piece. this spot was crowded to excess in every square inch of its area with ornaments, chiefly of earthenware, miscalled china, and shells. there were great white shells with pink interiors, and small brown shells with spotted backs. then there were china cups and saucers, and china shepherds and shepherdesses, represented in the act of contemplating the heavens serenely, with their arms round each other's waists. there were also china dogs and cats, and a huge china cockatoo as a centre-piece; but there was not a single spot the size of a sixpence on which the captain could place his pipe or his tobacco-box! "we'll get these things cleared away," said minnie, with a laugh, on observing the perplexed look with which the captain surveyed the chimney-piece, while the changes above referred to were being made in the parlour; "we have no place ready to receive them just now, but i'll have them all put away to-morrow." "thank'ee, lass," said the captain, as he set down the sea-chest and seated himself thereon; "they're pretty enough to look at, d'ye see, but they're raither in the way just now, as my second mate once said of the rocks when we were cruising off the coast of norway in search of a pilot." the ornaments were, however, removed sooner than anyone had anticipated. the next trip that the captain made was for his hammock (he always slept in one), which was a long unwieldy bundle, like a gigantic bolster. he carried it into the parlour on his shoulder, and minnie followed him. "where shall i sling it, lass?" "here, perhaps," said minnie. the captain wheeled round as she spoke, and the end of the hammock swept the mantelpiece of all its ornaments, as completely as if the besom of destruction had passed over it. "shiver my timbers!" gasped the captain, awestruck by the hideous crash that followed. "you've shivered the ornaments at any rate," said minnie, half-laughing and half-crying. "so i have, but no matter. never say die so long's there a shot in the locker. there's as good fish in the sea as ever come out of it; so bear a hand, my girl, and help me to sling up the hammock." the hammock was slung, the pipe of peace was smoked, and thus captain ogilvy was fairly installed in his sister's cottage. it may, perhaps, be necessary to remind the reader that all this is a long digression; that the events just narrated occurred a few days before the return of ruby, and that they have been recorded here in order to explain clearly the reason of the captain's appearance at the supper table of his sister, and the position which he occupied in the family. when ruby reached the gate of the small garden, minnie had gone to the captain's room to see that it was properly prepared for his reception, and the captain himself was smoking his pipe close to the chimney, so that the smoke should ascend it. the first glance through the window assured the youth that his mother was, as letters had represented her, much better in health than she used to be. she looked so quiet and peaceful, and so fragile withal, that ruby did not dare to "surprise her" by a sudden entrance, as he had originally intended, so he tapped gently at the window, and drew back. the captain laid down his pipe and went to the door. "what, ruby!" he exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper. "hush, uncle! how is minnie; where is she?" "i think, lad," replied the captain in a tone of reproof, "that you might have enquired for your mother first." "no need," said ruby, pointing to the window; "i _see_ that she is there and well, thanks be to god for that:--but minnie?" "she's well, too, boy, and in the house. but come, get inside. i'll explain, after." this promise to "explain" was given in consequence of the great anxiety he, the captain, displayed to drag ruby into the cottage. the youth did not require much pressing, however. he no sooner heard that minnie was well, than he sprang in, and was quickly at his mother's feet. almost as quickly a fair vision appeared in the doorway of the inner room, and was clasped in the young sailor's arms with the most thorough disregard of appearances, not to mention propriety. while this scene was enacting, the worthy captain was engaged in active proceedings, which at once amused and astonished his nephew, and the nature and cause of which shall be revealed in the next chapter. chapter vii ruby in difficulties having thrust his nephew into the cottage, captain ogilvy's first proceeding was to close the outer shutter of the window and fasten it securely on the inside. then he locked, bolted, barred, and chained the outer door, after which he shut the kitchen door, and, in default of any other mode of securing it, placed against it a heavy table as a barricade. having thus secured the premises in front, he proceeded to fortify the rear, and, when this was accomplished to his satisfaction, he returned to the kitchen, sat down opposite the widow, and wiped his shining pate. "why, uncle, are we going to stand out a siege that you take so much pains to lock up?" ruby sat down on the floor at his mother's feet as he spoke, and minnie sat down on a low stool beside him. "maybe we are, lad," replied the captain; "anyhow, it's always well to be ready-- 'ready, boys, ready, we'll fight and we'll conquer again and again'." "come uncle, explain yourself." "explain myself, nephy? i can neither explain myself nor anybody else. d'ye know, ruby, that you're a burglar?" "am i, uncle? well, i confess that that's news." "ay, but it's true though, at least the law in arbroath says so, and if it catches you, it'll hang you as sure as a gun." here captain ogilvy explained to his nephew the nature of the crime that was committed on the night of his departure, the evidence of his guilt in the finding part of the plate in the garden, coupled with his sudden disappearance, and wound up by saying that he regarded him, ruby, as being in a "reg'lar fix". "but surely," said ruby, whose face became gradually graver as the case was unfolded to him, "surely it must be easy to prove to the satisfaction of everyone that i had nothing whatever to do with this affair?" "easy to prove it!" said the captain in an excited tone; "wasn't you seen, just about the hour of the robbery, going stealthily down the street, by big swankie and davy spink, both of whom will swear to it." "yes, but _you_ were with me, uncle." "ay, so i was, and hard enough work i had to convince them that i had nothin' to do with it myself, but they saw that i couldn't jump a stone wall eight foot high to save my life, much less break into a house, and they got no further evidence to convict me, so they let me off; but it'll go hard with you, nephy, for major stewart described the men, and one o' them was a big strong feller, the description bein' as like you as two peas, only their faces was blackened, and the lantern threw the light all one way, so he didn't see them well. then, the things found in our garden,--and the villains will haul me up as a witness against you, for, didn't i find them myself?" "very perplexing; what shall i do?" said ruby. "clear out," cried the captain emphatically. "what! fly like a real criminal, just as i have returned home? never. what say _you_, minnie?" "stand your trial, ruby. they cannot--they dare not--condemn the innocent." "and you, mother?" "i'm sure i don't know what to say," replied mrs. brand, with a look of deep anxiety, as she passed her fingers through her son's hair, and kissed his brow. "i have seen the innocent condemned and the guilty go free more than once in my life." "nevertheless, mother, i will give myself up, and take my chance. to fly would be to give them reason to believe me guilty." "give yourself up!" exclaimed the captain, "you'll do nothing of the sort. come, lad, remember i'm an old man, and an uncle. i've got a plan in my head, which i think will keep you out of harm's way for a time. you see my old chronometer is but a poor one,--the worse of the wear, like its master,--and i've never been able to make out the exact time that we went aboard the _termagant_ the night you went away. now, can _you_ tell me what o'clock it was?" "i can." '"xactly?" "yes, exactly, for it happened that i was a little later than i promised, and the skipper pointed to his watch, as i came up the side, and jocularly shook his head at me. it was exactly eleven p.m." "sure and sartin o' that?" enquired the captain, earnestly. "quite, and his watch must have been right, for the town-clock rung the hour at the same time." "is that skipper alive?" "yes." "would he swear to that?" "i think he would." "d'ye know where he is?" "i do. he's on a voyage to the west indies, and won't be home for two months, i believe." "humph!" said the captain, with a disappointed look. "however, it can't be helped; but i see my way now to get you out o' this fix. you know, i suppose, that they're buildin' a lighthouse on the bell rock just now; well, the workmen go off to it for a month at a time, i believe, if not longer, and don't come ashore, and it's such a dangerous place, and troublesome to get to, that nobody almost ever goes out to it from this place, except those who have to do with it. now, lad, you'll go down to the workyard the first thing in the mornin', before daylight, and engage to go off to work at the bell rock. you'll keep all snug and quiet, and nobody'll be a bit the wiser. you'll be earnin' good wages, and in the meantime i'll set about gettin' things in trim to put you all square." "but i see many difficulties ahead," objected ruby. "of course ye do," retorted the captain. "did ye ever hear or see anything on this earth that hadn't rocks ahead o' some sort? it's our business to steer past 'em, lad, not to 'bout ship and steer away. but state yer difficulties." "well, in the first place, i'm not a stonemason or a carpenter, and i suppose masons and carpenters are the men most wanted there." "not at all, blacksmiths are wanted there," said the captain, "and i know that you were trained to that work as a boy." "true, i can do somewhat with the hammer, but mayhap they won't engage me." "but they _will_ engage you, lad, for they are hard up for an assistant blacksmith just now, and i happen to be hand-and-glove with some o' the chief men of the yard, who'll be happy to take anyone recommended by me." "well, uncle, but suppose i do go off to the rock, what chance have you of making things appear better than they are at present?" "i'll explain that, lad. in the first place, major stewart is a gentleman, out-and-out, and will listen to the truth. he swears that the robbery took place at one o'clock in the mornin', for he looked at his watch and at the clock of the house, and heard it ring in the town, just as the thieves cleared off over the wall. now, if i can get your old skipper to take a run here on his return from the west indies, he'll swear that you was sailin' out to the north sea _before twelve_, and that'll prove that you _couldn't_ have had nothin' to do with it, d'ye see?" "it sounds well," said ruby dubiously, "but do you think the lawyers will see things in the light you do?" "hang the lawyers! d'ye think they will shut their eyes to _the truth?_" "perhaps they may, in which case they will hang _me_, and so prevent my taking your advice to hang _them_," said ruby. "well, well, but you agree to my plan?" asked the captain. "shall i agree, minnie? it will separate me from you again for some time." "yet it is necessary," answered minnie, sadly; "yes, i think you should agree to go." "very well, then, that's settled," said ruby, "and now let us drop the subject, because i have other things to speak of; and if i must start before daylight my time with you will be short----" "come here a bit, nephy, i want to have a private word with 'ee in my cabin," said the captain, interrupting him, and going into his own room. ruby rose and followed. "you haven't any----" the captain stopped, stroked his bald head, and looked perplexed. "well, uncle?" "well, nephy, you haven't--in short, have ye got any money about you, lad?" "money? yes, a _little_; but why do you ask?" "well, the fact is, that your poor mother is hard up just now," said the captain earnestly, "an' i've given her the last penny i have o' my own; but she's quite----" ruby interrupted his uncle at this point with a boisterous laugh. at the same time he flung open the door and dragged the old man with gentle violence back to the kitchen. "come here, uncle." "but, avast! nephy, i haven't told ye all yet." "oh! don't bother me with such trifles just now," cried ruby, thrusting his uncle into a chair and resuming his own seat at his mother's side; "we'll speak of that at some other time; meanwhile let me talk to mother. "minnie, dear," he continued, "who keeps the cash here; you or mother?" "well, we keep it between us," said minnie, smiling; "your mother keeps it in her drawer and gives me the key when i want any, and i keep an account of it." "ah! well, mother, i have a favour to ask of you before i go." "well, ruby?" "it is that you will take care of my cash for me. i have got a goodish lot of it, and find it rather heavy to carry in my pockets--so, hold your apron steady and i'll give it to you." saying this he began to empty handful after handful of coppers into the old woman's apron; then, remarking that "that was all the browns", he began to place handful after handful of shillings and sixpences on the top of the pile until the copper was hid by silver. the old lady, as usual when surprised, became speechless; the captain smiled and minnie laughed, but when ruby put his hand into another pocket and began to draw forth golden sovereigns, and pour them into his mother's lap, the captain became supremely amazed, the old woman laughed, and,--so strangely contradictory and unaccountable is human nature,--minnie began to cry. poor girl! the tax upon her strength had been heavier than anyone knew, heavier than she could bear, and the sorrow of knowing, as she had come to know, that it was all in vain, and that her utmost efforts had failed to "keep the wolf from the door", had almost broken her down. little wonder, then, that the sight of sudden and ample relief upset her altogether. but her tears, being tears of joy, were soon and easily dried--all the more easily that it was ruby who undertook to dry them. mrs. brand sat up late that night, for there was much to tell and much to hear. after she had retired to rest the other three continued to hold converse together until grey dawn began to appear through the chinks in the window-shutters. then the two men rose and went out, while minnie laid her pretty little head on the pillow beside mrs. brand, and sought, and found, repose. chapter viii the scene changes--ruby is vulcanized as captain ogilvy had predicted, ruby was at once engaged as an assistant blacksmith on the bell rock. in fact, they were only too glad to get such a powerful, active young fellow into their service; and he was shipped off with all speed in the sloop _smeaton_, with a few others who were going to replace some men who had become ill and were obliged to leave. a light westerly breeze was blowing when they cast off the moorings of the sloop. "goodbye, ruby," said the captain, as he was about to step on the pier. "remember your promise, lad, to keep quiet, and don't try to get ashore, or be hold communication with anyone till you hear from me." "all right, uncle, i won't forget, and i'll make my mind easy, for i know that my case is left in good hands." three hours elapsed ere the _smeaton_ drew near to the bell rock. during this time, ruby kept aloof from his fellow-workmen, feeling disposed to indulge the sad thoughts which filled his mind. he sat down on the bulwarks, close to the main shrouds, and gazed back at the town as it became gradually less and less visible in the faint light of morning. then he began to ponder his unfortunate circumstances, and tried to imagine how his uncle would set about clearing up his character and establishing his innocence; but, do what he would, ruby could not keep his mind fixed for any length of time on any subject or line of thought, because of a vision of sweetness which it is useless to attempt to describe, and which was always accompanied by, and surrounded with, a golden halo. at last the youth gave up the attempt to fix his thoughts, and allowed them to wander as they chose, seeing that they were resolved to do so whether he would or no. the moment these thoughts had the reins flung on their necks, and were allowed to go where they pleased, they refused, owing to some unaccountable species of perversity, to wander at all, but at once settled themselves comfortably down beside the vision with golden hair, and remained there. this agreeable state of things was rudely broken in upon by the hoarse voice of the mate shouting-- "stand by to let go the anchor." then ruby sprang on the deck and shook himself like a great mastiff, and resolved to devote himself, heart and soul, from that moment, to the work in which he was about to engage. the scene that presented itself to our hero when he woke up from his dreams would have interested and excited a much less enthusiastic temperament than his. the breeze had died away altogether, just as if, having wafted the _smeaton_ to her anchorage, there were no further occasion for its services. the sea was therefore quite calm, and as there had only been light westerly winds for some time past, there was little or none of the swell that usually undulates the sea. one result of this was, that, being high water when the smeaton arrived, there was no sign whatever of the presence of the famous bell rock. it lay sleeping nearly two fathoms below the sea, like a grim giant in repose, and not a ripple was there to tell of the presence of the mariner's enemy. the sun was rising, and its slanting beams fell on the hulls of the vessels engaged in the service, which lay at anchor at a short distance from each other. these vessels, as we have said, were four in number, including the smeaton. the others were the _sir joseph banks_, a small schooner-rigged vessel; the _patriot_, a little sloop; and the _pharos_ lightship, a large clumsy-looking dutch-built ship, fitted with three masts, at the top of which were the lanterns. it was intended that this vessel should do duty as a lightship until the lighthouse should be completed. besides these there were two large boats, used for landing stones and building materials on the rock. these vessels lay floating almost motionless on the calm sea, and at first there was scarcely any noise aboard of them to indicate that they were tenanted by human beings, but when the sound of the _smeaton's_ cable was heard there was a bustle aboard of each, and soon faces were seen looking inquisitively over the sides of the ships. the _smeaton's_ boat was lowered after the anchor was let go, and the new hands were transferred to the _pharos_, which was destined to be their home for some time to come. just as they reached her the bell rang for breakfast, and when ruby stepped upon the deck he found himself involved in all the bustle that ensues when men break off from work and make preparation for the morning meal. there were upwards of thirty artificers on board the lightship at this time. some of these, as they hurried to and fro, gave the new arrivals a hearty greeting, and asked, "what news from the shore?" others were apparently too much taken up with their own affairs to take notice of them. while ruby was observing the busy scene with absorbing interest, and utterly forgetful of the fact that he was in any way connected with it, an elderly gentleman, whose kind countenance and hearty manner gave indication of a genial spirit within, came up and accosted him: "you are our assistant blacksmith, i believe?" "yes, sir, i am," replied ruby, doffing his cap, as if he felt instinctively that he was in the presence of someone of note. "you have had considerable practice, i suppose, in your trade?" "a good deal, sir, but not much latterly, for i have been at sea for some time." "at sea? well, that won't be against you here," returned the gentleman, with a meaning smile. "it would be well if some of my men were a little more accustomed to the sea, for they suffer much from sea-sickness. you can go below, my man, and get breakfast. you'll find your future messmate busy at his, i doubt not. here, steward," (turning to one of the men who chanced to pass at the moment,) "take ruby brand--that is your name, i think?" "it is, sir." "take brand below, and introduce him to james dove as his assistant." the steward escorted ruby down the ladder that conducted to those dark and littered depths of the ship's hull that were assigned to the artificers as their place of abode. but amidst a good deal of unavoidable confusion, ruby's practised eye discerned order and arrangement everywhere. "this is your messmate, jamie dove," said the steward, pointing to a massive dark man, whose outward appearance was in keeping with his position as the vulcan of such an undertaking as he was then engaged in. "you'll find him not a bad feller if you only don't cross him." he added, with a wink, "his only fault is that he's given to spoilin' good victuals, being raither floored by sea-sickness if it comes on to blow ever so little." "hold your clapper, lad," said the smith, who was at the moment busily engaged with a mess of salt pork, and potatoes to match. "who's your friend?" "no friend of mine, though i hope he'll be one soon," answered the steward. "mr. stevenson told me to introduce him to you as your assistant." the smith looked up quickly, and scanned our hero with some interest; then, extending his great hard hand across the table, he said, "welcome, messmate; sit down, i've only just begun." ruby grasped the hand with his own, which, if not so large, was quite as powerful, and shook the smith's right arm in a way that called forth from that rough-looking individual a smile of approbation. "you've not had breakfast, lad?" "no, not yet," said ruby, sitting down opposite his comrade. "an' the smell here don't upset your stummick, i hope?" the smith said this rather anxiously. "not in the least," said ruby with a laugh, and beginning to eat in a way that proved the truth of his words; "for the matter o' that, there's little smell and no motion just now." "well, there isn't much," replied the smith, "but, woe's me! you'll get enough of it before long. all the new landsmen like you suffer horribly from sea-sickness when they first come off." "but i'm not a landsman," said ruby. "not a landsman!" echoed the other. "you're a blacksmith, aren't you?" "ay, but not a landsman. i learned the trade as a boy and lad; but i've been at sea for some time past." "then you won't get sick when it blows?" "certainly not; will _you_?" the smith groaned and shook his head, by which answer he evidently meant to assure his friend that he would, most emphatically. "but come, it's of no use groanin' over what can't be helped. i get as sick as a dog every time the wind rises, and the worst of it is i don't never seem to improve. howsever, i'm all right when i get on the rock, and that's the main thing." ruby and his friend now entered upon a long and earnest conversation as to their peculiar duties at the bell rock, with which we will not trouble the reader. after breakfast they went on deck, and here ruby had sufficient to occupy his attention and to amuse him for some hours. as the tide that day did not fall low enough to admit of landing on the rock till noon, the men were allowed to spend the time as they pleased. some therefore took to fishing, others to reading, while a few employed themselves in drying their clothes, which had got wet the previous day, and one or two entertained themselves and their comrades with the music of the violin and flute. all were busy with one thing or another, until the rock began to show its black crest above the smooth sea. then a bell was rung to summon the artificers to land. this being the signal for ruby to commence work, he joined his friend dove, and assisted him to lower the bellows of the forge into the boat. the men were soon in their places, with their various tools, and the boats pushed off--mr. stevenson, the engineer of the building, steering one boat, and the master of the _pharos_, who was also appointed to the post of landing-master, steering the other. they landed with ease on this occasion on the western side of the rock, and then each man addressed himself to his special duty with energy. the time during which they could work being short, they had to make the most of it. "now, lad," said the smith, "bring along the bellows and follow me. mind yer footin', for it's slippery walkin' on them tangle-covered rocks. i've seen some ugly falls here already." "have any bones been broken yet?" enquired ruby, as he shouldered the large pair of bellows, and followed the smith cautiously over the rocks. "not yet; but there's been an awful lot o' pipes smashed. if it goes on as it has been, we'll have to take to metal ones. here we are, ruby, this is the forge, and i'll be bound you never worked at such a queer one before. hallo! bremner!" he shouted to one of the men. "that's me," answered bremner. "bring your irons as soon as you like! i'm about ready for you." "ay, ay, here they are," said the man, advancing with an armful of picks, chisels, and other tools, which required sharpening. he slipped and fell as he spoke, sending all the tools into the bottom of a pool of water; but, being used to such mishaps, he arose, joined in the laugh raised against him, and soon fished up the tools. "what's wrong!" asked ruby, pausing in the work of fixing the bellows, on observing that the smith's face grew pale, and his general expression became one of horror. "not sea-sick, i hope?" "sea-sick," gasped the smith, slapping all his pockets hurriedly, "it's worse than that; i've forgot the matches!" ruby looked perplexed, but had no consolation to offer. "that's like you," cried bremner, who, being one of the principal masons, had to attend chiefly to the digging out of the foundation-pit of the building, and knew that his tools could not be sharpened unless the forge fire could be lighted. "suppose you hammer a nail red-hot," suggested one of the men, who was disposed to make game of the smith. "i'll hammer your nose red-hot," replied dove, with a most undovelike scowl, "i could swear that i put them matches in my pocket before i started." "no, you didn't," said george forsyth, one of the carpenters--a tall loose-jointed man, who was chiefly noted for his dislike to getting into and out of boats, and climbing up the sides of ships, because of his lengthy and unwieldy figure--"no, you didn't, you turtle-dove, you forgot to take them; but i remembered to do it for you; so there, get up your fire, and confess yourself indebted to me for life." "i'm indebted to 'ee for fire," said the smith, grasping the matches eagerly. "thank'ee, lad, you're a true briton." "a tall 'un, rather," suggested bremner. "wot never, never, never will be a slave," sang another of the men. "come, laddies, git up the fire. time an' tide waits for naebody," said john watt, one of the quarriers. "we'll want thae tools before lang." the men were proceeding with their work actively while those remarks were passing, and ere long the smoke of the forge fire arose in the still air, and the clang of the anvil was added to the other noises with which the busy spot resounded. the foundation of the bell rock lighthouse had been carefully selected by mr. stevenson; the exact spot being chosen not only with a view to elevation, but to the serrated ridges of rock, that might afford some protection to the building, by breaking the force of the easterly seas before they should reach it; but as the space available for the purpose of building was scarcely fifty yards in diameter, there was not much choice in the matter. the foundation-pit was forty-two feet in diameter, and sunk five feet into the solid rock. at the time when ruby landed, it was being hewn out by a large party of the men. others were boring holes in the rock near to it, for the purpose of fixing the great beams of a beacon, while others were cutting away the seaweed from the rock, and making preparations for the laying down of temporary rails to facilitate the conveying of the heavy stones from the boats to their ultimate destination. all were busy as bees. each man appeared to work as if for a wager, or to find out how much he could do within a given space of time. to the men on the rock itself the aspect of the spot was sufficiently striking and peculiar, but to those who viewed it from a boat at a short distance off it was singularly interesting, for the whole scene of operations appeared like a small black spot, scarcely above the level of the waves, on which a crowd of living creatures were moving about with great and incessant activity, while all around and beyond lay the mighty sea, sleeping in the grand tranquillity of a calm summer day, with nothing to bound it but the blue sky, save to the northward, where the distant cliffs of forfar rested like a faint cloud on the horizon. the sounds, too, which on the rock itself were harsh and loud and varied, came over the water to the distant observer in a united tone, which sounded almost as sweet as soft music. the smith's forge stood on a ledge of rock close to the foundation-pit, a little to the north of it. here vulcan dove had fixed a strong iron framework, which formed the hearth. the four legs which supported it were let into holes bored from six to twelve inches into the rock, according to the inequalities of the site. these were wedged first with wood and then with iron, for as this part of the forge and the anvil was doomed to be drowned every tide, or twice every day, besides being exposed to the fury of all the storms that might chance to blow, it behoved them to fix things down with unusual firmness. the block of timber for supporting the anvil was fixed in the same manner, but the anvil itself was left to depend on its own weight and the small stud fitted into the bottom of it. the bellows, however, were too delicate to be left exposed to such forces as the stormy winds and waves, they were therefore shipped and unshipped every tide, and conveyed to and from the rock in the boats with the men. dove and ruby wrought together like heroes. they were both so powerful that the heavy implements they wielded seemed to possess no weight when in their strong hands, and their bodies were so lithe and active as to give the impression of men rejoicing, revelling, in the enjoyment of their work. "that's your sort; hit him hard, he's got no friends," said dove, turning a mass of red-hot metal from side to side, while ruby pounded it with a mighty hammer, as if it were a piece of putty. "fire and steel for ever," observed ruby, as he made the sparks fly right and left. "hallo! the tide's rising." "ho! so it is," cried the smith, finishing off the piece of work with a small hammer, while ruby rested on the one he had used and wiped the perspiration from his brow. "it always serves me in this way, lad," continued the smith, without pausing for a moment in his work. "blow away, ruby, the sea is my greatest enemy. every day, a'most, it washes me away from my work. in calm weather, it creeps up my legs, and the legs o' the forge too, till it gradually puts out the fire, and in rough weather it sends up a wave sometimes that sweeps the whole concern black out at one shot. "it will _creep_ you out to-day, evidently," said ruby, as the water began to come about his toes. "never mind, lad, we'll have time to finish them picks this tide, if we work fast." thus they toiled and moiled, with their heads and shoulders in smoke and fire, and their feet in water. gradually the tide rose. "pump away, ruby! keep the pot bilin', my boy," said the smith. "the wind blowin', you mean. i say, dove, do the other men like the work here?" "like it, ay, they like it well. at first we were somewhat afraid o' the landin' in rough weather, but we've got used to that now. the only bad thing about it is in the rolling o' that horrible _pharos_. she's so bad in a gale that i sometimes think she'll roll right over like a cask. most of us get sick then, but i don't think any of 'em are as bad as me. they seem to be gettin' used to that too. i wish i could. another blow, ruby." "time's up," shouted one of the men. "hold on just for a minute or two," pleaded the smith, who, with his assistant, was by this time standing nearly knee-deep in water. the sea had filled the pit some time before, and driven the men out of it. these busied themselves in collecting the tools and seeing that nothing was left lying about, while the men who were engaged on those parts of the rocks that were a few inches higher, continued their labours until the water crept up to them. then they collected their tools, and went to the boats, which lay awaiting them at the western landing-place. "now, dove," cried the landing-master, "come along; the crabs will be attacking your toes if you don't." "it's a shame to gi'e ruby the chance o' a sair throat the very first day," cried john watt. "just half a minute more," said the smith, examining a pickaxe, which he was getting up to that delicate point of heat which is requisite to give it proper temper. while he gazed earnestly into the glowing coals a gentle hissing sound was heard below the frame of the forge, then a gurgle, and the fire became suddenly dark and went out! "i knowed it! always the way!" cried dove, with a look of disappointment. "come, lad, up with the bellows now, and don't forget the tongs." in a few minutes more the boats pushed off and returned to the pharos, three and a half hours of good work having been accomplished before the tide drove them away. soon afterwards the sea overflowed the whole of the rock, and obliterated the scene of those busy operations as completely as though it had never been! chapter ix storms and troubles a week of fine weather caused ruby brand to fall as deeply in love with the work at the bell rock as his comrades had done. there was an amount of vigour and excitement about it, with a dash of romance, which quite harmonized with his character. at first he had imagined it would be monotonous and dull, but in experience he found it to be quite the reverse. although there was uniformity in the general character of the work, there was constant variety in many of the details; and the spot on which it was carried on was so circumscribed, and so utterly cut off from all the world, that the minds of those employed became concentrated on it in a way that aroused strong interest in every trifling object. there was not a ledge or a point of rock that rose ever so little above the general level, that was not named after, and intimately associated with, some event or individual. every mass of seaweed became a familiar object. the various little pools and inlets, many of them not larger than a dining-room table, received high-sounding and dignified names--such as _port stevenson, port, erskine, taylor's track, neill's pool_, &c. of course the fish that frequented the pools, and the shell-fish that covered the rock, became subjects of much attention, and, in some cases, of earnest study. robinson crusoe himself did not pry into the secrets of his island-home with half the amount of assiduity that was displayed at this time by many of the men who built the bell rock lighthouse. the very fact that their time was limited acted as a spur, so that on landing each tide they rushed hastily to the work, and the amateur studies in natural history to which we have referred were prosecuted hurriedly during brief intervals of rest. afterwards, when the beacon house was erected, and the men dwelt upon the rock, these studies (if we may not call them amusements) were continued more leisurely, but with unabated ardour, and furnished no small amount of comparatively thrilling incident at times. one fine morning, just after the men had landed, and before they had commenced work, "long forsyth", as his comrades styled him, went to a pool to gather a little dulse, of which there was a great deal on the rock, and which was found to be exceedingly grateful to the palates of those who were afflicted with sea-sickness. he stooped over the pool to pluck a morsel, but paused on observing a beautiful fish, about a foot long, swimming in the clear water, as quietly as if it knew the man to be a friend, and were not in the least degree afraid of him. forsyth was an excitable man, and also studious in his character. he at once became agitated and desirous of possessing that fish, for it was extremely brilliant and variegated in colour. he looked round for something to throw at it, but there was nothing within reach. he sighed for a hook and line, but as sighs never yet produced hooks or lines he did not get one. just then the fish swam slowly to the side of the pool on which the man kneeled, as if it actually desired more intimate acquaintance. forsyth lay fiat down and reached out his hand toward it; but it appeared to think this rather too familiar, for it swam slowly beyond his reach, and the man drew back. again it came to the side, much nearer. once more forsyth lay down, reaching over the pool as far as he could, and insinuating his hand into the water. but the fish moved off a little. thus they coquetted with each other for some time, until the man's comrades began to observe that he was "after something". "wot's he a-doin' of?" said one. "reachin' over the pool, i think," replied another. "ye don't mean he's sick?" cried a third. the smile with which this was received was changed into a roar of laughter as poor forsyth's long legs were seen to tip up into the air, and the whole man to disappear beneath the water. he had overbalanced himself in his frantic efforts to reach the fish, and was now making its acquaintance in its native element! the pool, although small in extent, was so deep that forsyth, long though he was, did not find bottom. moreover, he could not swim, so that when he reached the surface he came up with his hands first and his ten fingers spread out helplessly; next appeared his shaggy head, with the eyes wide open, and the mouth tight shut. the moment the latter was uncovered, however, he uttered a tremendous yell, which was choked in the bud with a gurgle as he sank again. the men rushed to the rescue at once, and the next time forsyth rose he was seized by the hair of the head and dragged out of the pool. it has not been recorded what became of the fish that caused such an alarming accident, but we may reasonably conclude that it sought refuge in the ocean cavelets at the bottom of that miniature sea, for long forsyth was so very large, and created such a terrible disturbance therein, that no fish exposed to the full violence of the storm could have survived it! "wot a hobject!" exclaimed joe dumsby, a short, thickset, little englishman, who, having been born and partly bred in london, was rather addicted to what is styled chaffing. "was you arter a mermaid, shipmate?" "av coorse he was," observed ned o'connor, an irishman, who was afflicted with the belief that he was rather a witty fellow, "av coorse he was, an' a merry-maid she must have bin to see a human spider like him kickin' up such a dust in the say." "he's like a drooned rotten," observed john watt; "tak' aff yer claes, man, an' wring them dry." "let the poor fellow be, and get along with you," cried peter logan, the foreman of the works, who came up at that moment. with a few parting remarks and cautions, such as,--"you'd better bring a dry suit to the rock next time, lad," "take care the crabs don't make off with you, boy," "and don't be gettin' too fond o' the girls in the sea," &c., the men scattered themselves over the rock and began their work in earnest, while forsyth, who took the chaffing in good part, stripped himself and wrung the water out of his garments. episodes of this kind were not unfrequent, and they usually furnished food for conversation at the time, and for frequent allusion afterwards. but it was not all sunshine and play, by any means. not long after ruby joined, the fine weather broke up, and a succession of stiff breezes, with occasional storms, more or less violent, set in. landing on the rock became a matter of extreme difficulty, and the short period of work was often curtailed to little more than an hour each tide. the rolling of the _pharos_ lightship, too, became so great that sea-sickness prevailed to a large extent among the landsmen. one good arose out of this evil, however. landing on the bell rock invariably cured the sickness for a time, and the sea-sick men had such an intense longing to eat of the dulse that grew there, that they were always ready and anxious to get into the boats when there was the slightest possibility of landing. getting into the boats, by the way, in a heavy sea, when the lightship was rolling violently, was no easy matter. when the fine weather first broke up, it happened about midnight, and the change commenced with a stiff breeze from the eastward. the sea rose at once, and, long before daybreak, the pharos was rolling heavily in the swell, and straining violently at the strong cable which held her to her moorings. about dawn mr. stevenson came on deck. he could not sleep, because he felt that on his shoulders rested not only the responsibility of carrying this gigantic work to a satisfactory conclusion, but also, to a large extent, the responsibility of watching over and guarding the lives of the people employed in the service. "shall we be able to land to-day, mr. wilson?" he said, accosting the master of the _pharos_, who has been already introduced as the landing-master. "i think so; the barometer has not fallen much; and even although the wind should increase a little, we can effect a landing by the fair way, at hope's wharf." "very well, i leave it entirely in your hands; you understand the weather better than i do, but remember that i do not wish my men to run unnecessary or foolish risk." it may be as well to mention here that a small but exceedingly strong tramway of iron-grating had been fixed to the bell rock at an elevation varying from two to four feet above it, and encircling the site of the building. this tramway or railroad was narrow, not quite three feet in width; and small trucks were fitted to it, so that the heavy stones of the building might be easily run to the exact spot they were to occupy. from this circular rail several branch lines extended to the different creeks where the boats deposited the stones. these lines, although only a few yards in length, were dignified with names--as, _kennedy's reach, lagan's reach, watt's reach_, and _slights reach_. the ends of them, where they dipped into the sea, were named _hope's wharf, duff's wharf, rae's wharf, &c_.; and these wharves had been fixed on different sides of the rock, so that, whatever wind should blow, there would always be one of them on the lee-side available for the carrying on of the work. _hope's wharf_ was connected with _port erskine_, a pool about twenty yards long by three or four wide, and communicated with the side of the lighthouse by _watt's reach_, a distance of about thirty yards. about eight o'clock that morning the bell rang for breakfast. such of the men as were not already up began to get out of their berths and hammocks. to ruby the scene that followed was very amusing. hitherto all had been calm and sunshine. the work, although severe while they were engaged, had been of short duration, and the greater part of each day had been afterwards spent in light work, or in amusement. the summons to meals had always been a joyful one, and the appetites of the men were keenly set. now, all this was changed. the ruddy faces of the men were become green, blue, yellow, and purple, according to temperament, but few were flesh-coloured or red. when the bell rang there was a universal groan below, and half a dozen ghostlike individuals raised themselves on their elbows and looked up with expressions of the deepest woe at the dim skylight. most of them speedily fell back again, however, partly owing to a heavy lurch of the vessel, and partly owing to indescribable sensations within. "blowin'!" groaned one, as if that single word comprehended the essence of all the miseries that seafaring man is heir to. "o dear!" sighed another, "why did i ever come here?" "och! murder, i'm dyin', send for the praist an' me mother!" cried o'connor, as he fell flat down on his back and pressed both hands tightly over his mouth. the poor blacksmith lost control over himself at this point and--found partial relief! the act tended to relieve others. most of the men were much too miserable to make any remark at all, a few of them had not heart even to groan; but five or six sat up on the edge of their beds, with a weak intention of turning out they sat there swaying about with the motions of the ship in helpless indecision, until a tremendous roll sent them flying, with unexpected violence, against the starboard bulkheads. "come, lads," cried ruby, leaping out of his hammock, "there's nothing like a vigorous jump to put sea-sickness to flight." "humbug!" ejaculated bremner, who owned a little black dog, which lay at that time on the pillow gazing into his master's green face, with wondering sympathy. "ah, ruby," groaned the smith, "it's all very well for a sea-dog like you that's used to it, but----" james dove stopped short abruptly. it is not necessary to explain the cause of his abrupt silence. suffice it to say that he did not thereafter attempt to finish that sentence. "steward!" roared joe dumsby. "ay, ay, shipmate, what's up?" cried the steward, who chanced to pass the door of the men's sleeping-place, with a large dish of boiled salt pork, at the moment. "wot's up?" echoed dumsby. "everythink that ever went into me since i was a hinfant must be 'up' by this time. i say, is there any chance of gettin' on the rock to-day?" "o yes. i heard the cap'n say it would be quite easy, and they seem to be makin' ready now, so if any of 'ee want breakfast you'd better turn out." this speech acted like a shock of electricity on the wretched men. in a moment every bed was empty, and the place was in a bustle of confusion as they hurriedly threw on their clothes. some of them even began to think of the possibility of venturing on a hard biscuit and a cup of tea, but a gust of wind sent the fumes of the salt pork into the cabin at the moment, and the mere idea of food filled them with unutterable loathing. presently the bell rang again. this was the signal for the men to muster, the boats being ready alongside. the whole crew at once rushed on deck, some of them thrusting biscuits into their pockets as they passed the steward's quarters. not a man was absent on the roll being called. even the smith crawled on deck, and had spirit enough left to advise ruby not to forget the bellows; to which ruby replied by recommending his comrade not to forget the matches. then the operation of embarking began. the sea at the time was running pretty high, with little white flecks of foam tipping the crests of the deep blue waves. the eastern sky was dark and threatening. the black ridges of the bell rock were visible only at times in the midst of the sea of foam that surrounded them. anyone ignorant of their nature would have deemed a landing absolutely impossible. the _pharos_, as we have said, was rolling violently from side to side, insomuch that those who were in the boats had the greatest difficulty in preventing them from being stove in; and getting into these boats had much the appearance of an exceedingly difficult and dangerous feat, which active and reckless men might undertake for a wager. but custom reconciles one to almost anything. most of the men had had sufficient experience by that time to embark with comparative ease. nevertheless, there were a few whose physical conformation was such that they could do nothing neatly. poor forsyth was one of these. each man had to stand on the edge of the lightship, outside the bulwarks, holding on to a rope, ready to let go and drop into the boat when it rose up and met the vessel's roll. in order to facilitate the operation a boat went to either side of the ship, so that two men were always in the act of watching for an opportunity to spring. the active men usually got in at the first or second attempt, but others missed frequently, and were of course "chaffed" by their more fortunate comrades. the embarking of "long forsyth" was always a scene in rough weather, and many a narrow escape had he of a ducking. on the present occasion, being very sick, he was more awkward than usual. "now, longlegs," cried the men who held the boat on the starboard side, as forsyth got over the side and stood ready to spring, "let's see how good you'll be to-day." he was observed by joe dumsby, who had just succeeded in getting into the boat on the port side of the ship, and who always took a lively interest in his tall comrade's proceedings. "hallo! is that the spider?" he cried, as the ship rolled towards him, and the said spider appeared towering high on the opposite bulwark, sharply depicted against the grey sky. it was unfortunate for joe that he chanced to be on the opposite side from his friend, for at each roll the vessel necessarily intervened and hid him for a few seconds from view. next roll, forsyth did not dare to leap, although the gunwale of the boat came within a foot of him. he hesitated, the moment was lost, the boat sank into the hollow of the sea, and the man was swung high into the air, where he was again caught sight of by dumsby. "what! are you there yet?" he cried. "you must be fond of a swing----" before he could say more the ship rolled over to the other side, and forsyth was hid from view. "now, lad, now! now!" shouted the boat's crew, as the unhappy man once more neared the gunwale. forsyth hesitated. suddenly he became desperate and sprang, but the hesitation gave him a much higher fall than he would otherwise have had; it caused him also to leap wildly in a sprawling manner, so that he came down on the shoulders of his comrades "all of a lump". fortunately they were prepared for something of the sort, so that no damage was done. when the boats were at last filled they pushed off and rowed towards the rock. on approaching it the men were cautioned to pull steadily by mr. stevenson, who steered the leading boat. it was a standing order in the landing department that every man should use his greatest exertions in giving to the boats sufficient velocity to preserve their steerage way in entering the respective creeks at the rock, that the contending seas might not overpower them at places where the free use of the oars could not be had on account of the surrounding rocks or the masses of seaweed with which the water was everywhere encumbered at low tide. this order had been thoroughly impressed upon the men, as carelessness or inattention to it might have proved fatal to all on board. as the leading boat entered the fairway, its steersman saw that more than ordinary caution would be necessary; for the great green billows that thundered to windward of the rock came sweeping down on either side of it, and met on the lee side, where they swept onward with considerable, though much abated force. "mind your oars, lads; pull steady," said mr. stevenson, as they began to get amongst the seaweed. the caution was unnecessary as far as the old hands were concerned; but two of the men happened to be new hands, who had come off with ruby, and did not fully appreciate the necessity of strict obedience. one of these, sitting at the bow oar, looked over his shoulder, and saw a heavy sea rolling towards the boat, and inadvertently expressed some fear. the other man, on hearing this, glanced round, and in doing so missed a stroke of his oar. such a preponderance was thus given to the rowers on the opposite side, that when the wave struck the boat, it caught her on the side instead of the bow, and hurled her upon a ledge of shelving rocks, where the water left her. having been _kanted_ to seaward, the next billow completely filled her, and, of course, drenched the crew. instantly ruby brand and one or two of the most active men leaped out, and, putting forth all their strength, turned the boat round so as to meet the succeeding sea with its bow first. then, after making considerable efforts, they pushed her off into deep water, and finally made the landing-place. the other boat could render no assistance; but, indeed, the whole thing was the work of a few minutes. as the boats could not conveniently leave the rock till flood-tide, all hands set to work with unwonted energy in order to keep themselves warm, not, however, before they ate heartily of their favourite dulse--the blacksmith being conspicuous for the voracious manner in which he devoured it. soon the bellows were set up; the fire was kindled, and the ring of the anvil heard; but poor dove and ruby had little pleasure in their work that day; for the wind blew the smoke and sparks about their faces, and occasionally a higher wave than ordinary sent the spray flying round them, to the detriment of their fire. nevertheless they plied the hammer and bellows unceasingly. the other men went about their work with similar disregard of the fury of the elements and the wet condition of their garments. chapter x the rising of the tide--a narrow escape the portion of the work that mr. stevenson was now most anxious to get advanced was the beacon. the necessity of having an erection of this kind was very obvious, for, in the event of anything happening to the boats, there would be no refuge for the men to fly to; and the tide would probably sweep them all away before their danger could be known, or assistance sent from the attendant vessels. every man felt that his personal safety might depend on the beacon during some period of the work. the energies of all, therefore, were turned to the preliminary arrangements for its erection. as the beacon would require to withstand the utmost fury of the elements during all seasons of the year, it was necessary that it should be possessed of immense strength. in order to do this, six cuttings were made in the rock for the reception of the ends of the six great beams of the beacon. each beam was to be fixed to the solid rock by two strong and massive bats, or stanchions, of iron. these bats, for the fixing of the principal and diagonal beams and bracing chains, required fifty-four holes, each measuring a foot and a half deep, and two inches wide. the operation of boring such holes into the solid rock, was not an easy or a quick one, but by admirable arrangements on the part of the engineer, and steady perseverance on the part of the men, they progressed faster than had been anticipated. three men were attached to each jumper, or boring chisel; one placed himself in a sitting posture, to guide the instrument, and give it a turn at each blow of the hammer; he also sponged and cleaned out the hole, and supplied it occasionally with a little water, while the other two, with hammers of sixteen pounds weight, struck the jumper alternately, generally bringing the hammer with a swing round the shoulder, after the manner of blacksmith work. ruby, we may remark in passing, occupied himself at this work as often as he could get away from his duties at the forge, being particularly fond of it, as it enabled him to get rid of some of his superabundant energy, and afforded him a suitable exercise for his gigantic strength. it also tended to relieve his feelings when he happened to think of minnie being so near, and he so utterly and hopelessly cut off from all communication with her. but to return to the bat-holes. the three men relieved each other in the operations of wielding the hammers and guiding the jumpers, so that the work never flagged for a moment, and it was found that when the tools were of a very good temper, these holes could be sunk at the rate of one inch per minute, including stoppages. but the tools were not always of good temper; and severely was poor dove's temper tried by the frequency of the scolds which he received from the men, some of whom were clumsy enough, dove said, to spoil the best tempered tool in the world. but the most tedious part of the operation did not lie in the boring of these holes. in order that they should be of the required shape, two holes had to be bored a few inches apart from each other, and the rock cut away from between them. it was this latter part of the work that took up most time. those of the men who were not employed about the beacon were working at the foundation-pit. while the party were thus busily occupied on the bell rock, an event occurred which rendered the importance of the beacon, if possible, more obvious than ever, and which wellnigh put an end to the career of all those who were engaged on the rock at that time. the _pharos_ floating light lay at a distance of above two miles from the bell rock; but one of the smaller vessels, the sloop _smeaton_, lay much closer to it, and some of the artificers were berthed aboard of her, instead of the floating light. some time after the landing of the two boats from the _pharos_, the _smeaton's_ boat put off and landed eight men on the rock; soon after which the crew of the boat pushed off and returned to the _smeaton_ to examine her riding-ropes, and see that they were in good order, for the wind was beginning to increase, and the sea to rise. the boat had no sooner reached the vessel than the latter began to drift, carrying the boat along with her. instantly those on board endeavoured to hoist the mainsail of the smeaton, with the view of working her up to the buoy from which she had parted; but it blew so hard, that by the time she was got round to make a tack towards the rock, she had drifted at least three miles to leeward. the circumstance of the _smeaton_ and her boat having drifted was observed first by mr. stevenson, who prudently refrained from drawing attention to the fact, and walked slowly to the farther point of the rock to watch her. he was quickly followed by the landing-master, who touched him on the shoulder, and in perfect silence, but with a look of intense anxiety, pointed to the vessel. "i see it, wilson. god help us if she fails to make the rock within a very short time," said mr. stevenson. "she will _never_ reach us in time," said wilson, in a tone that convinced his companion he entertained no hope. "perhaps she may," he said hurriedly; "she is a good sailer." "good sailing," replied the other, "cannot avail against wind and tide together. no human power can bring that vessel to our aid until long after the tide has covered the bell rock." both remained silent for some time, watching with intense anxiety the ineffectual efforts of the little vessel to beat up to windward. in a few minutes the engineer turned to his companion and said, "they cannot save us, wilson. the two boats that are left--can they hold us all?" the landing-master shook his head. "the two boats," said he, "will be completely filled by their own crews. for ordinary rough weather they would be quite full enough. in a sea like that," he said, pointing to the angry waves that were being gradually lashed into foam by the increasing wind, "they will be overloaded." "come, i don't know that, wilson; we may devise something," said mr. stevenson, with a forced air of confidence, as he moved slowly towards the place where the men were still working, busy as bees and all unconscious of the perilous circumstances in which they were placed. as the engineer pondered the prospect of deliverance, his thoughts led him rather to despair than to hope. there were thirty-two persons in all upon the rock that day, with only two boats, which, even in good weather, could not unitedly accommodate more than twenty-four sitters. but to row to the floating light with so much wind and in so heavy a sea, a complement of eight men for each boat was as much as could with propriety be attempted, so that about half of their number was thus unprovided for. under these circumstances he felt that to despatch one of the boats in expectation of either working the smeaton sooner up to the rock, or in hopes of getting her boat brought to their assistance would, besides being useless, at once alarm the workmen, each of whom would probably insist upon taking to his own boat, and leaving the eight men of the smeaton to their chance. a scuffle might ensue, and he knew well that when men are contending for life the results may be very disastrous. for a considerable time the men remained in ignorance of terrible conflict that was going on in their commander's breast. as they wrought chiefly in sitting or kneeling postures, excavating the rock or boring with jumpers, their attention was naturally diverted from everything else around them. the dense volumes of smoke, too, that rose from the forge fire, so enveloped them as to render distant objects dim or altogether invisible. while this lasted,--while the numerous hammers were going and the anvil continued to sound, the situation of things did not appear so awful to the only two who were aware of what had occurred. but ere long the tide began to rise upon those who were at work on the lower parts of the beacon and lighthouse. from the run of the sea upon the rock, the forge fire was extinguished sooner than usual; the volumes of smoke cleared away, and objects became visible in every direction. after having had about three hours' work, the men began pretty generally to make towards their respective boats for their jackets and socks. then it was that they made the discovery that one boat was absent. only a few exclamations were uttered. a glance at the two boats and a hurried gaze to seaward were sufficient to acquaint them with their awful position. not a word was spoken by anyone. all appeared to be silently calculating their numbers, and looking at each other with evident marks of perplexity depicted in their countenances. the landing-master, conceiving that blame might attach to him for having allowed the boat to leave the rock, kept a little apart from the men. all eyes were turned, as if by instinct, to mr. stevenson. the men seemed to feel that the issue lay with him. the engineer was standing on an elevated part of the rock named smith's ledge, gazing in deep anxiety at the distant _smeaton_, in the hope that he might observe some effort being made, at least, to pull the boat to their rescue. slowly but surely the tide rose, overwhelming the lower parts of the rock; sending each successive wave nearer and nearer to the feet of those who were now crowded on the last ledge that could afford them standing-room. the deep silence that prevailed was awful! it proved that each mind saw clearly the impossibility of anything being devised, and that a deadly struggle for precedence was inevitable. mr. stevenson had all along been rapidly turning over in his mind various schemes which might be put in practice for the general safety, provided the men could be kept under command. he accordingly turned to address them on the perilous nature of their circumstances; intending to propose that all hands should strip off their upper clothing when the higher parts of the rock should be laid under water; that the seamen should remove every unnecessary weight and encumbrance from the boats; that a specified number of men should go into each boat; and that the remainder should hang by the gunwales, while the boats were to be rowed gently towards the _smeaton_, as the course to the floating light lay rather to windward of the rock. but when he attempted to give utterance to his thoughts the words refused to come. so powerful an effect had the awful nature of their position upon him, that his parched tongue could not articulate. he learned, from terrible experience, that saliva is as necessary to speech as the tongue itself. stooping hastily, he dipped his hand into a pool of salt water and moistened his mouth. this produced immediate relief and he was about to speak, when ruby brand, who had stood at his elbow all the time with compressed lips and a stern frown on his brow, suddenly took off his cap, and waving it above his head, shouted "a boat! a boat!" with all the power of his lungs. all eyes were at once turned in the direction to which he pointed, and there, sure enough, a large boat was seen through the haze, making towards the rock. doubtless many a heart there swelled with gratitude to god, who had thus opportunely and most unexpectedly sent them relief at the eleventh hour; but the only sound that escaped them was a cheer, such as men seldom give or hear save in eases of deliverance in times of dire extremity. the boat belonged to james spink, the bell rock pilot, who chanced to have come off express from arbroath that day with letters. we have said that spink came off _by chance_; but, when we consider all the circumstances of the case, and the fact that boats seldom visited the bell rock at any time, and never during bad weather, we are constrained to feel that god does in his mercy interfere sometimes in a peculiar and special manner in human affairs, and that there was something more and higher than mere chance in the deliverance of stevenson and his men upon this occasion. the pilot-boat, having taken on board as many as it could hold, set sail for the floating light; the other boats then put off from the rock with the rest of the men, but they did not reach the _pharos_ until after a long and weary pull of three hours, during which the waves broke over the boats so frequently as to necessitate constant baling. when the floating light was at last reached, a new difficulty met them, for the vessel rolled so much, and the men were so exhausted, that it proved to be a work of no little toil and danger to get them all on board. long forsyth, in particular, cost them all an infinite amount of labour, for he was so sick, poor fellow, that he could scarcely move. indeed, he did at one time beg them earnestly to drop him into the sea and be done with him altogether, a request with which they of course refused to comply. however, he was got up somehow, and the whole of them were comforted by a glass of rum and thereafter a cup of hot coffee. ruby had the good fortune to obtain the additional comfort of a letter from minnie, which, although it did not throw much light on the proceedings of captain ogilvy (for that sapient seaman's proceedings were usually involved in a species of obscurity which light could not penetrate), nevertheless assured him that something was being done in his behalf, and that, if he only kept quiet for a time, all would be well. the letter also assured him of the unalterable affection of the writer, an assurance which caused him to rejoice to such an extent that he became for a time perfectly regardless of all other sublunary things, and even came to look upon the bell rock as a species of paradise, watched over by the eye of an angel with golden hair, in which he could indulge his pleasant dreams to the utmost. that he had to indulge those dreams in the midst of storm and rain and smoke, surrounded by sea and seaweed, workmen and hammers, and forges and picks, and jumpers and seals, while his strong muscles and endurance were frequently tried to the uttermost, was a matter of no moment to ruby brand. all experience goes to prove that great joy will utterly overbear the adverse influence of physical troubles, especially if those troubles are without, and do not touch the seats of life within. minnie's love, expressed as it was in her own innocent, truthful, and straightforward way, rendered his body, big though it was, almost incapable of containing his soul. he pulled the oar, hammered the jumper, battered the anvil, tore at the bellows, and hewed the solid bell rock with a vehemence that aroused the admiration of his comrades, and induced jamie dove to pronounce him to be the best fellow the world ever produced. chapter xi a storm, and a dismal state of things on board the _pharos_ from what has been said at the close of the last chapter, it will not surprise the reader to be told that the storm which blew during that night had no further effect on ruby brand than to toss his hair about, and cause a ruddier glow than usual to deepen the tone of his bronzed countenance. it was otherwise with many of his hapless comrades, a few of whom had also received letters that day, but whose pleasure was marred to some extent by the qualms within. being saturday, a glass of rum was served out in the evening, according to custom, and the men proceeded to hold what is known by the name of "saturday night at sea". this being a night that was usually much enjoyed on board, owing to the home memories that were recalled, and the familiar songs that were sung; owing, also, to the limited supply of grog, which might indeed cheer, but could not by any possibility inebriate, the men endeavoured to shake off their fatigue, and to forget, if possible, the rolling of the vessel. the first effort was not difficult, but the second was not easy. at first, however, the gale was not severe, so they fought against circumstances bravely for a time. "come, lads," cried the smith, in a species of serio-comic desperation, when they had all assembled below, "let's drink to sweethearts and wives." "hear, hear! bless their hearts! sweethearts and wives!" responded the men. "hip, hip!" the cheer that followed was a genuine one. "now for a song, boys," cried one of the men, "and i think the last arrivals are bound to sing first." "hear, hear! ruby, lad, you're in for it," said the smith, who sat near his assistant. "what shall i sing?" enquired ruby. "oh! let me see," said joe dumsby, assuming the air of one who endeavoured to recall something. "could you come beet'oven's symphony on b flat?" "ah! howld yer tongue, joe," cried o'connor, "sure the young man can only sing on the sharp kays; ain't he always sharpin' the tools, not to speak of his appetite?" "you've a blunt way of speaking yourself, friend," said dumsby, in a tone of reproof. "hallo! stop your jokes," cried the smith; "if you treat us to any more o' that sort o' thing we'll have ye dipped over the side, and hung up to dry at the end o' the mainyard. fire away, ruby, my tulip!" "ay, that's hit," said john watt. "gie us the girl ye left behind ye." ruby flushed suddenly, and turned towards the speaker with a look of surprise. "what's wrang, freend? hae ye never heard o' that sang?" enquired watt. "o yes, i forgot," said ruby, recovering himself in some confusion. "i know the song--i--i was thinking of something--of----" "the girl ye left behind ye, av coorse," put in o'connor, with a wink. "come, strike up!" cried the men. ruby at once obeyed, and sang the desired song with a sweet, full voice, that had the effect of moistening some of the eyes present. the song was received enthusiastically. "your health and song, lad," said robert selkirk, the principal builder, who came down the ladder and joined them at that moment. "thank you, now it's my call," said ruby. "i call upon ned o'connor for a song." "or a speech," cried forsyth. "a spaitch is it?" said o'connor, with a look of deep modesty. "sure, i never made a spaitch in me life, except when i axed mrs. o'connor to marry me, an' i never finished that spaitch, for i only got the length of 'och! darlint', when she cut me short in the middle with 'sure, you may have me, ned, and welcome!'" "shame, shame!" said dove, "to say that of your wife." "shame to yersilf," cried o'connor indignantly. "ain't i payin' the good woman a compliment, when i say that she had pity on me bashfulness, and came to me help when i was in difficulty?" "quite right, o'connor; but let's have a song if you won't speak." "would ye thank a cracked tay-kittle for a song?" said ned. "certainly not," replied peter logan, who was apt to take things too literally. "then don't ax _me_ for wan," said the irishman, "but i'll do this for ye, messmates: i'll read ye the last letter i got from the mistress, just to show ye that her price is beyond all calkerlation." a round of applause followed this offer, as ned drew forth a much-soiled letter from the breast pocket of his coat, and carefully unfolding it, spread it on his knee. "it begins," said o'connor, in a slightly hesitating tone, "with some expressions of a--a--raither endearin' character, that perhaps i may as well pass." "no, no," shouted the men, "let's have them all. out with them, paddy!" "well, well, av ye _will_ have them, here they be. "'galway. "'my own purty darlin' as has bin my most luved sin' the day we wos marrit, you'll be grieved to larn that the pig's gone to its long home,'" here o'connor paused to make some parenthetical remarks, with which, indeed, he interlarded the whole letter. "the pig, you must know, lads, was an old sow as belonged to me wife's gran'-mother, an' besides bein' a sort o' pet o' the family, was an uncommon profitable crature. but to purceed. she goes on to say,-- "'we waked her' (that's the pig, boys) 'yisterday, and buried her this mornin'. big rory, the baist, was for aitin' her, but i wouldn't hear of it; so she's at rest, an' so is old molly mallone. she wint away just two minutes be the clock before the pig, and wos burried the day afther. there's no more news as i knows of in the parish, except that your old flame mary got married to teddy o'rook, an' they've been fightin' tooth an' nail ever since, as i towld ye they would long ago. no man could live wid that woman. but the schoolmaster, good man, has let me off the cow. ye see, darlin', i towld him ye wos buildin' a palace in the say, to put ships in afther they wos wrecked on the coast of ameriky, so ye couldn't be expected to send home much money at prisint. an' he just said, 'well, well, kathleen, you may just kaip the cow, and pay me whin ye can'. so put that off yer mind, my swait ned. "'i'm sorry to hear the faries rowls so bad, though what the faries mains is more nor i can tell.' (i spelled the word quite krect, lads, but my poor mistress hain't got the best of eyesight.) 'let me know in yer nixt, an' be sure to tell me if long forsyth has got the bitter o' say-sickness. i'm koorius about this, bekaise i've got a receipt for that same that's infallerable, as his riverence says. tell him, with my luv, to mix a spoonful o' pepper, an' two o' salt, an' wan o' mustard, an' a glass o' whisky in a taycup, with a sprinklin' o' ginger; fill it up with goat's milk, or ass's, av ye can't git goat's; hait it in a pan, an' drink it as hot as he can--hotter, if possible. i niver tried it meself, but they say it's a suverin' remidy; and if it don't do no good, it's not likely to do much harm, bein' but a waik mixture. me own belaif is, that the milk's a mistake, but i suppose the doctors know best. "'now, swaitest of men, i must stop, for neddy's just come in howlin' like a born turk for his tay; so no more at present from, yours till deth, "'kathleen o'connor.'" "has she any sisters?" enquired joe dumsby eagerly, as ned folded the letter and replaced it in his pocket. "six of 'em," replied ned; "every one purtier and better nor another." "is it a long way to galway?" continued joe. "not long; but it's a coorious thing that englishmen never come back from them parts whin they wance ventur' into them." joe was about to retort when the men called for another song. "come, jamie dove, let's have 'rule, britannia'." dove was by this time quite yellow in the face, and felt more inclined to go to bed than to sing; but he braced himself up, resolved to struggle manfully against the demon that oppressed him. it was in vain! poor dove had just reached that point in the chorus where britons stoutly affirm that they "never, never, never shall be slaves", when a tremendous roll of the vessel caused him to spring from the locker, on which he sat, and rush to his berth. there were several of the others whose self-restraint was demolished by this example; these likewise fled, amid the laughter of their companions, who broke up the meeting and went on deck. the prospect of things there proved, beyond all doubt, that britons never did, and never will, rule the waves. the storm, which had been brewing for some time past, was gathering fresh strength every moment, and it became abundantly evident that the floating light would have her anchors and cables tested pretty severely before the gale was over. about eight o'clock in the evening the wind shifted to east-south-east; and at ten it became what seamen term a hard gale, rendering it necessary to veer out about fifty additional fathoms of the hempen cable. the gale still increasing, the ship rolled and laboured excessively, and at midnight eighty fathoms more were veered out, while the sea continued to strike the vessel with a degree of force that no one had before experienced. that night there was little rest on board the _pharos_. everyone who has been "at sea" knows what it is to lie in one's berth on a stormy night, with the planks of the deck only a few inches from one's nose, and the water swashing past the little port that _always_ leaks; the seas striking against the ship; the heavy sprays falling on the decks; and the constant rattle and row of blocks, spars, and cordage overhead. but all this was as nothing compared with the state of things on board the floating light, for that vessel could not rise to the seas with the comparatively free motions of a ship, sailing either with or against the gale. she tugged and strained at her cable, as if with the fixed determination of breaking it, and she offered all the opposition of a fixed body to the seas. daylight, though ardently longed for, brought no relief. the gale continued with unabated violence. the sea struck so hard upon the vessel's bows that it rose in great quantities, or, as ruby expressed it, in "green seas", which completely swept the deck as far aft as the quarter-deck, and not unfrequently went completely over the stern of the ship. those "green seas" fell at last so heavily on the skylights that all the glass was driven in, and the water poured down into the cabins, producing dire consternation in the minds of those below, who thought that the vessel was sinking. "i'm drowned intirely," roared poor ned o'connor, as the first of those seas burst in and poured straight down on his hammock, which happened to be just beneath the skylight. ned sprang out on the deck, missed his footing, and was hurled with the next roll of the ship into the arms of the steward, who was passing through the place at the time. before any comments could be made the dead-lights were put on, and the cabins were involved in almost absolute darkness. "och! let me in beside ye," pleaded ned with the occupant of the nearest berth. "awa' wi' ye! na, na," cried john watt, pushing the unfortunate man away. "cheinge yer wat claes first, an' i'll maybe let ye in, if ye can find me again i' the dark." while the irishman was groping about in search of his chest, one of the officers of the ship passed him on his way to the companion ladder, intending to go on deck. ruby brand, feeling uncomfortable below, leaped out of his hammock and followed him. they had both got about halfway up the ladder when a tremendous sea struck the ship, causing it to tremble from stem to stern. at the same moment someone above opened the hatch, and putting his head down, shouted for the officer, who happened to be just ascending. "ay, ay," replied the individual in question. just as he spoke, another heavy sea fell on the deck, and, rushing aft like a river that has burst its banks, hurled the seaman into the arms of the officer, who fell back upon ruby, and all three came down with tons of water into the cabin. the scene that followed would have been ludicrous, had it not been serious. the still rising sea caused the vessel to roll with excessive violence, and the large quantity of water that had burst in swept the men, who had jumped out of their beds, and all movable things, from side to side in indescribable confusion. as the water dashed up into the lower tier of beds, it was found necessary to lift one of the scuttles in the floor, and let it flow into the limbers of the ship. fortunately no one was hurt, and ruby succeeded in gaining the deck before the hatch was reclosed and fastened down upon the scene of discomfort and misery below. this state of things continued the whole day. the seas followed in rapid succession, and each, as it struck the vessel, caused her to shake all over. at each blow from a wave the rolling and pitching ceased for a few seconds, giving the impression that the ship had broken adrift, and was running with the wind, or in the act of sinking; but when another sea came, she ranged up against it with great force. this latter effect at last became the regular intimation to the anxious men below that they were still riding safely at anchor. no fires could be lighted, therefore nothing could be cooked, so that the men were fain to eat hard biscuits--those of them at least who were able to eat at all--and lie in their wet blankets all day. at ten in the morning the wind had shifted to north-east, and blew, if possible, harder than before, accompanied by a much heavier swell of the sea; it was therefore judged advisable to pay out more cable, in order to lessen the danger of its giving way. during the course of the gale nearly the whole length of the hempen cable, of fathoms, was veered out, besides the chain-moorings, and, for its preservation, the cable was carefully "served", or wattled, with pieces of canvas round the windlass, and with leather well greased in the hawse-hole, where the chafing was most violent. as may readily be imagined, the gentleman on whom rested nearly all the responsibility connected with the work at the bell rock, passed an anxious and sleepless time in his darkened berth. during the morning he had made an attempt to reach the deck, but had been checked by the same sea that produced the disasters above described. about two o'clock in the afternoon great alarm was felt in consequence of a heavy sea that struck the ship, almost filling the waist, and pouring down into the berths below, through every chink and crevice of the hatches and skylights. from the motion being suddenly checked or deadened, and from the flowing in of the water above, every individual on board thought that the ship was foundering--at least all the landsmen were fully impressed with that idea. mr. stevenson could not remain below any longer. as soon as the ship again began to range up to the sea, he made another effort to get on deck. before going, however, he went through the various apartments, in order to ascertain the state of things below. groping his way in darkness from his own cabin, he came to that of the officers of the ship. here all was quiet, as well as dark. he next entered the galley and other compartments occupied by the artificers; here also all was dark, but not quiet, for several of the men were engaged in prayer, or repeating psalms in a full tone of voice, while others were protesting that if they should be fortunate enough to get once more ashore, no one should ever see them afloat again; but so loud was the creaking of the bulk-heads, the dashing of water, and the whistling noise of the wind, that it was hardly possible to distinguish words or voices. the master of the vessel accompanied mr. stevenson, and, in one or two instances, anxious and repeated enquiries were made by the workmen as to the state of things on deck, to all of which he returned one characteristic answer--"it can't blow long in this way, lads; we _must_ have better weather soon." the next compartment in succession, moving forward, was that allotted to the seamen of the ship. here there was a characteristic difference in the scene. having reached the middle of the darksome berth without the inmates being aware of the intrusion, the anxious engineer was somewhat reassured and comforted to find that, although they talked of bad weather and cross accidents of the sea, yet the conversation was carried on in that tone and manner which bespoke ease and composure of mind. "well, lads," said mr. stevenson, accosting the men, "what think you of this state of things? will the good ship weather it?" "nae fear o' her, sir," replied one confidently, "she's light and new; it'll tak' a heavy sea to sink her." "ay," observed another, "and she's got little hold o' the water, good ground-tackle, and no tophamper; she'll weather anything, sir." having satisfied himself that all was right below, mr. stevenson returned aft and went on deck, where a sublime and awful sight awaited him. the waves appeared to be what we hear sometimes termed "mountains high". in reality they were perhaps about thirty feet of unbroken water in height, their foaming crests being swept and torn by the furious gale. all beyond the immediate neighbourhood of the ship was black and chaotic. upon deck everything movable was out of sight, having either been stowed away below previous to the gale, or washed overboard. some parts of the quarter bulwarks were damaged by the breach of the sea, and one of the boats was broken, and half-full of water. there was only one solitary individual on deck, placed there to watch and give the alarm if the cable should give way, and this man was ruby brand, who, having become tired of having nothing to do, had gone on deck, as we have seen, and volunteered his services as watchman. ruby had no greatcoat on, no overall of any kind, but was simply dressed in his ordinary jacket and trousers. he had thrust his cap into his pocket in order to prevent it being blown away, and his brown locks were streaming in the wind. he stood just aft the foremast, to which he had lashed himself with a gasket or small rope round his waist, to prevent his falling on the deck or being washed overboard. he was as thoroughly wet as if he had been drawn through the sea, and this was one reason why he was so lightly clad, that he might wet as few clothes as possible, and have a dry change when he went below. there appeared to be a smile on his lips as he faced the angry gale and gazed steadily out upon the wild ocean. he seemed to be enjoying the sight of the grand elemental strife that was going on around him. perchance he was thinking of someone not very far away--with golden hair! mr. stevenson, coupling this smile on ruby's face with the remarks of the other seamen, felt that things were not so bad as they appeared to unaccustomed eyes, nevertheless he deemed it right to advise with the master and officers as to the probable result, in the event of the ship drifting from her moorings. "it is my opinion," said the master, on his being questioned as to this, "that we have every chance of riding out the gale, which cannot continue many hours longer with the same fury; and even if she should part from her anchor, the storm-sails have been laid ready to hand, and can be bent in a very short time. the direction of the wind being nor'-east, we could sail up the forth to leith roads; but if this should appear doubtful, after passing the may we can steer for tyningham sands, on the western side of dunbar, and there run the ship ashore. from the flatness of her bottom and the strength of her build, i should think there would be no danger in beaching her even in a very heavy sea." this was so far satisfactory, and for some time things continued in pretty much the state we have just described, but soon after there was a sudden cessation of the straining motion of the ship which surprised everyone. in another moment ruby shouted "all hands a-hoy! ship's adrift!" the consternation that followed may be conceived but not described. the windlass was instantly manned, and the men soon gave out that there was no strain on the cable. the mizzen-sail, which was occasionally bent for the purpose of making the ship ride easily, was at once set; the other sails were hoisted as quickly as possible, and they bore away about a mile to the south-westward, where, at a spot that was deemed suitable, the best-bower anchor was let go in twenty fathoms water. happily the storm had begun to abate before this accident happened. had it occurred during the height of the gale, the result might have been most disastrous to the undertaking at the bell rock. having made all fast, an attempt was made to kindle the galley fire and cook some food. "wot are we to 'ave, steward?" enquired joe dumsby, in a feeble voice. "plumduff, my boy, so cheer up," replied the steward, who was busy with the charming ingredients of a suet pudding, which was the only dish to be attempted, owing to the ease with which it could be both cooked and served up. accordingly, the suet pudding was made; the men began to cat; the gale began to "take off", as seaman express it; and, although things were still very far removed from a state of comfort, they began to be more endurable; health began to return to the sick, and hope to those who had previously given way to despair. chapter xii bell rock billows--an unexpected visit--a disaster and a rescue it is pleasant, it is profoundly enjoyable, to sit on the margin of the sea during the dead calm that not unfrequently succeeds a wild storm, and watch the gentle undulations of the glass-like surface, which the very gulls seem to be disinclined to ruffle with their wings as they descend to hover above their own reflected images. it is pleasant to watch this from the shore, where the waves fall in low murmuring ripples, or from the ship's deck, far out upon the sea, where there is no sound of water save the laving of the vessel's bow as she rises and sinks in the broad-backed swell; but there is something more than pleasant, there is something deeply and peculiarly interesting, in the same scene when viewed from such a position as the bell rock; for there, owing to the position of the rock and the depth of water around it, the observer beholds, at the same moment, the presence, as it were, of storm and calm. the largest waves there are seen immediately after a storm has passed away, not during its continuance, no matter how furious the gale may have been, for the rushing wind has a tendency to blow down the waves, so to speak, and prevent their rising to their utmost height. it is when the storm is over that the swell rises; but as this swell appears only like large undulations, it does not impress the beholder with its magnitude until it draws near to the rock and begins to feel the checking influence of the bottom of the sea. the upper part of the swell, having then greater velocity than the lower part, assumes more and more the form of a billow. as it comes on it towers up like a great green wall of glittering glass, moving with a grand, solemn motion, which does not at first give the idea of much force or impetus. as it nears the rock, however, its height (probably fifteen or twenty feet) becomes apparent; its velocity increases; the top, with what may be termed gentle rapidity, rushes in advance of the base; its dark green side becomes concave; the upper edge lips over, then curls majestically downwards, as if bowing to a superior power, and a gleam of light flashes for a moment on the curling top. as yet there is no sound; all has occurred in the profound silence of the calm, but another instant and there is a mighty crash--a deafening roar; the great wall of water has fallen, and a very sea of churning foam comes leaping, bursting, spouting over rocks and ledges, carrying all before it with a tremendous sweep that seems to be absolutely irresistible until it meets the higher ledges of rock, when it is hurled back, and retires with a watery hiss that suggests the idea of baffled rage. but it is not conquered. with the calm majesty of unalterable determination, wave after wave comes on, in slow, regular succession, like the inexhaustible battalions of an unconquerable foe, to meet with a similar repulse again and again. there is, however, this peculiar difference between the waves on the ordinary seashore and the billows on the bell rock, that the latter, unlike the former, are not always defeated. the spectator on shore plants his foot confidently at the very edge of the mighty sea, knowing that "thus far it may come, but no farther". on the bell rock the rising tide makes the conflict, for a time, more equal. now, the rock stands proudly above the sea: anon the sea sweeps furiously over the rock with a roar of "victory!" thus the war goes on, and thus the tide of battle daily and nightly ebbs and flows all the year round. but when the cunning hand of man began to interfere, the aspect of things was changed, the sea was forced to succumb, and the rock, once a dreaded enemy, became a servant of the human race. true, the former rages in rebellion still, and the latter, although compelled to uphold the light that warns against itself, continues its perpetual warfare with the sea; but both are effectually conquered by means of the wonderful intelligence that god has given to man, and the sea for more than half a century has vainly beat against the massive tower whose foundation is on the bell rock. but all this savours somewhat of anticipation. let us return to ruby brand, in whose interest we have gone into this long digression; for he it was who gazed intently at the mingled scene of storm and calm which we have attempted to describe, and it was he who thought out most of the ideas which we have endeavoured to convey. ruby had lent a hand to work the pump at the foundation-pit that morning. after a good spell at it he took his turn of rest, and, in order to enjoy it fully, went as far out as he could upon the seaward ledges, and sat down on a piece of rock to watch the waves. while seated there, robert selkirk came and sat down beside him. selkirk was the principal builder, and ultimately laid every stone of the lighthouse with his own hand. he was a sedate, quiet man, but full of energy and perseverance. when the stones were landed faster than they could be built into their places, he and bremner, as well as some of the other builders, used to work on until the rising tide reached their waists. "it's a grand sight, ruby," said selkirk, as a larger wave than usual fell, and came rushing in torrents of foam up to their feet, sending a little of the spray over their heads. "it is indeed a glorious sight," said ruby. "if i had nothing to do, i believe i could sit here all day just looking at the waves and thinking." "thinkin'!" repeated selkirk, in a musing tone of voice. "can ye tell, lad, what ye think about when you're lookin' at the waves?" ruby smiled at the oddness of the question. "well," said he, "i don't think i ever thought of that before." "ah, but _i_ have!" said the other, "an' i've come to the conclusion that for the most part we don't think, properly speakin', at all; that our thoughts, so to speak, think for us; that they just take the bit in their teeth and go rumblin' and tumblin' about anyhow or nohow!" ruby knitted his brows and pondered. he was one of those men who, when they don't understand a thing, hold their tongues and think. "and," continued selkirk, "it's curious to observe what a lot o' nonsense one thinks too when one is lookin' at the waves. many a time i have pulled myself up, thinkin' the most astonishin' stuff ye could imagine." "i would hardly have expected this of such a grave kind o' man as you," said ruby. "mayhap not. it is not always the gravest looking that have the gravest thoughts." "but you don't mean to say that you never think sense," continued ruby, "when you sit looking at the waves?" "by no means," returned his companion; "i'm only talking of the way in which one's thoughts will wander. sometimes i think seriously enough. sometimes i think it strange that men can look at such a scene as that, and scarcely bestow a thought upon him who made it." "speak for yourself, friend," said ruby, somewhat quickly; "how know you that other men don't think about their creator when they look at his works?" "because," returned selkirk, "i find that i so seldom do so myself, even although i wish to and often try to; and i hold that every man, no matter what he is or feels, is one of a class who think and feel as he does; also, because many people, especially christians, have told me that they have had the same experience to a large extent; also, and chiefly, because, as far as unbelieving man is concerned, the bible tells me that 'god is not in all his thoughts'. but, ruby, i did not make the remark as a slur upon men in general, i merely spoke of a fact,--an unfortunate fact,--that it is not natural to us, and not easy, to rise from nature to nature's god, and i thought you would agree with me." "i believe you are right," said ruby, half-ashamed of the petulance of his reply; "at any rate, i confess you are right as far as i am concerned." as selkirk and ruby were both fond of discussion, they continued this subject some time longer, and there is no saying how far they would have gone down into the abstruse depths of theology, had not their converse been interrupted by the appearance of a boat rowing towards the rock. "is yonder craft a fishing boat, think you?" said ruby, rising and pointing to it. "like enough, lad. mayhap it's the pilot's, only it's too soon for him to be off again with letters. maybe it's visitors to the rock, for i see something like a woman's bonnet." as there was only one woman in the world at that time as far as ruby was concerned (of course putting his mother out of the question!), it will not surprise the reader to be told that the youth started, that his cheek reddened a little, and his heart beat somewhat faster than usual. he immediately smiled, however, at the absurdity of supposing it possible that the woman in the boat could be minnie, and as the blacksmith shouted to him at that moment, he turned on his heel and leaped from ledge to ledge of rock until he gained his wonted place at the forge. soon he was busy wielding the fore-hammer, causing the sparks to fly about himself and his comrade in showers, while the anvil rang out its merry peal. meanwhile the boat drew near. it turned out to be a party of visitors, who had come off from arbroath to see the operations at the bell rock. they had been brought off by spink, the pilot, and numbered only three--namely, a tall soldierlike man, a stout sailor-like man, and a young woman with--yes,--with golden hair. poor ruby almost leaped over the forge when he raised his eyes from his work and caught sight of minnie's sweet face. minnie had recognized her lover before the boat reached the rock, for he stood on an elevated ledge, and the work in which he was engaged, swinging the large hammer round his shoulder, rendered him very conspicuous. she had studiously concealed her face from him until quite close, when, looking him straight in the eyes without the least sign of recognition, she turned away. we have said that the first glance ruby obtained caused him to leap nearly over the forge; the second created such a revulsion of feeling that he let the fore-hammer fall. "hallo! got a spark in yer eye?" enquired dove, looking up anxiously. it flashed across ruby at that instant that the look given him by minnie was meant to warn him not to take any notice of her, so he answered the smith's query with "no, no; i've only let the hammer fall, don't you see? get on, old boy, an' don't let the metal cool." the smith continued his work without further remark, and ruby assisted, resolving in his own mind to be a little more guarded as to the expression of his feelings. meanwhile mr. stevenson received the visitors, and showed them over the works, pointing out the peculiarities thereof, and the difficulties that stood in the way. presently he came towards the forge, and said, "brand, the stout gentleman there wishes to speak to you. he says he knew you in arbroath. you can spare him for a few minutes, i suppose, mr. dove?" "well, yes, but not for long," replied the smith. "the tide will soon be up, and i've enough to do to get through with all these." ruby flung down his hammer at the first word, and hastened to the ledge of rock where the visitors were standing, as far apart from the workmen as the space of the rock would admit of. the stout gentleman was no other than his uncle, captain ogilvy, who put his finger to his lips as his nephew approached, and gave him a look of mystery that was quite sufficient to put the latter on his guard. he therefore went forward, pulled off his cap, and bowed respectfully to minnie, who replied with a stiff curtsy, a slight smile, and a decided blush. although ruby now felt convinced that they were all acting a part, he could scarcely bear this cold reception. his impulse was to seize minnie in his arms; but he did not even get the comfort of a cold shake of the hand. "nephy," said the captain in a hoarse whisper, putting his face close to that of ruby, "mum's the word! silence, mystery, an' all that sort o' thing. don't appear to be an old friend, lad; and as to minnie here-- 'o no, we never mention her, her name it's never heard.' allow me to introduce you to major stewart, whose house you broke into, you know, ruby, when 'all in the downs the fleet was moored,' at least when the _termagant_ was waitin' for you to go aboard." here the captain winked and gave ruby a facetious poke in the ribs, which was not quite in harmony with the ignorance of each other he was endeavouring to inculcate. "young man," said the major quietly, "we have come off to tell you that everything is in a prosperous state as regards the investigation into your innocence--the private investigation i mean, for the authorities happily know nothing of your being here. captain ogilvy has made me his confidant in this matter, and from what he tells me i am convinced that you had nothing to do with this robbery. excuse me if i now add that the sight of your face deepens this conviction." ruby bowed to the compliment. "we were anxious to write at once to the captain of the vessel in which you sailed," continued the major, "but you omitted to leave his full name and address when you left. we were afraid to write to you, lest your name on the letter might attract attention, and induce a premature arrest. hence our visit to the rock to-day. please to write the address in this pocket-book." the major handed ruby a small green pocket-book as he spoke, in which the latter wrote the full name and address of his late skipper. "now, nephy," said the captain, "we must, i'm sorry to say, bid ye good day, and ask you to return to your work, for it won't do to rouse suspicion, lad. only keep quiet here, and do yer dooty--'england expects _every_ man to do his dooty'--and as sure as your name's ruby all will be shipshape in a few weeks." "i thank you sincerely," said ruby, addressing the major, but looking at minnie. captain ogilvy, observing this, and fearing some display of feeling that would be recognized by the workmen, who were becoming surprised at the length of the interview, placed himself between minnie and her lover. "no, no, ruby," said he, solemnly. "i'm sorry for ye, lad, but it won't do. patience is a virtue, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune." "my mother?" said ruby, wishing to prolong the interview. "is well," said the captain. "now, goodbye, lad, and be off." "goodbye, minnie," cried ruby, stepping forward suddenly and seizing the girl's hand; then, wheeling quickly round, he sprang over the rocks, and returned to his post. "ha! it's time," cried the smith. "i thought you would never be done makin' love to that there girl. come, blaze away!" ruby felt so nettled by the necessity that was laid upon him of taking no notice of minnie, that he seized the handle of the bellows passionately, and at the first puff blew nearly all the fire away. "hallo! messmate," cried the smith, clearing the dust from his eyes; "what on airth ails ye? you've blowed the whole consarn out!" ruby made no reply, but, scraping together the embers, heaped them up and blew more gently. in a short time the visitors re-entered their boat, and rowed out of the creek in which it had been lying. ruby became so exasperated at not being able even to watch the boat going away, that he showered terrific blows on the mass of metal the smith was turning rapidly on the anvil. "not so fast, lad; not so fast," cried dove hurriedly. ruby's chafing spirit blew up just at that point; he hit the iron a crack that knocked it as flat as a pancake, and then threw down the hammer and deliberately gazed in the direction of the boat. the sight that met his eyes appalled him. the boat had been lying in the inlet named port stevenson. it had to pass out to the open sea through _wilson's track_, and past a small outlying rock named _gray's rock_--known more familiarly among the men as _johnny gray_. the boat was nearing this point, when the sea, which had been rising for some time, burst completely over the seaward ledges, and swept the boat high against the rocks on the left. the men had scarcely got her again into the track when another tremendous billow, such as we have already described, swept over the rocks again and swamped the boat, which, being heavily ballasted, sank at once to the bottom of the pool. it was this sight that met the horrified eyes of ruby when he looked up. he vaulted over the bellows like an antelope, and, rushing over _smith's ledge_ and _trinity ledge_, sprang across _port boyle_, and dived head foremost into _neill's pool_ before any of the other men, who made a general rush, could reach the spot. a few powerful strokes brought ruby to the place where the major and the captain, neither of whom could swim, were struggling in the water. he dived at once below these unfortunates, and almost in a second, reappeared with minnie in his arms. a few seconds sufficed to bring him to _smith's ledge_, where several of his comrades hauled him and his burden beyond the reach of the next wave, and where, a moment or two later, the major and captain with the crew of the boat were landed in safety. to bear the light form of minnie in his strong arms to the highest and driest part of the rock was the work of a few moments to ruby. brief though those moments were, however, they were precious to the youth beyond all human powers of calculation, for minnie recovered partial consciousness, and fancying, doubtless, that she was still in danger, flung her arms round his neck, and grasped him convulsively. reader, we tell you in confidence that if ruby had at that moment been laid on the rack and torn limb from limb, he would have cheered out his life triumphantly. it was not only that he knew she loved him--_that_ be knew before,--but he had saved the life of the girl he loved, and a higher terrestrial happiness can scarcely be attained by man. laying her down as gently as a mother would her firstborn, ruby placed a coat under her head, and bade his comrades stand back and give her air. it was fortunate for him that one of the foremen, who understood what to do, came up at this moment, and ordered him to leave off chafing the girl's hand with his wet fists, and go get some water boiled at the forge if he wanted to do her good. second words were not needed. the bellows were soon blowing, and the fire glowed in a way that it had not done since the works at the bell rock began. before the water quite boiled some tea was put in, and, with a degree of speed that would have roused the jealousy of any living waiter, a cup of tea was presented to minnie, who had recovered almost at the moment ruby left her. she drank a little, and then closing her eyes, moved her lips silently for a few seconds. captain ogilvy, who had attended her with the utmost assiduity and tenderness as soon as he had wrung the water out of his own garments, here took an opportunity of hastily pouring something into the cup out of a small flask. when minnie looked up again and smiled, he presented her with the cup. she thanked him, and drank a mouthful or two before perceiving that it had been tampered with. "there's something in it," she said hurriedly. "so there is, my pet," said the captain, with a benignant smile, "a little nectar, that will do you more good than all the tea. come now, don't shake your head, but down with it all, like a good child." but minnie was proof against persuasion, and refused to taste any more. "who was it that saved me, uncle?" (she had got into the way of calling the captain "uncle".) "ruby brand did it, my darlin'," said the old man with a look of pride. "ah! you're better now; stay, don't attempt to rise." "yes, yes, uncle," she said, getting up and looking round, "it is time that we should go now; we have a long way to go, you know. where is the boat?" "the boat, my precious, is at the bottom of the sea." as he said this, he pointed to the mast, half of which was seen rising out of the pool where the boat had gone down. "but you don't need to mind," continued the captain, "for they're goin' to send us in one o' their own boats aboord the floatin' lightship, where we'll get a change o' clothes an' some-thin' to eat." as he spoke, one of the sailors came forward and announced that the boat was ready, so the captain and the major assisted minnie into the boat, which soon pushed off with part of the workmen from the rock. it was to be sent back for the remainder of the crew, by which time the tide would render it necessary that all should leave. ruby purposely kept away from the group while they were embarking, and after they were gone proceeded to resume work. "you took a smart dive that time, lad," observed joe dumsby as they went along. "not more than anyone would do for a girl," said ruby. "an' such a purty wan, too," said o'connor. "ah! av she's not irish, she should ha' bin." "ye're a lucky chap to hae sic a chance," observed john watt. "make up to her, lad," said forsyth; "i think she couldn't refuse ye after doin' her such service." "time enough to chaff after work is over," cried ruby with a laugh, as he turned up his sleeves, and, seizing the hammer, began, as his friend dove said, "to work himself dry". in a few minutes, work was resumed, and for another hour all continued busy as bees, cutting and pounding at the flinty surface of the bell rock. chapter xiii a sleepless but a pleasant night the evening which followed the day that has just been described was bright, calm, and beautiful, with the starry host unclouded and distinctly visible to the profoundest depths of space. as it was intended to send the _smeaton_ to arbroath next morning for a cargo of stones from the building-yard, the wrecked party were prevailed on to remain all night on board the _pharos_, instead of going ashore in one of the ship's boats, which could not well be spared at the time. this arrangement, we need hardly say, gave inexpressible pleasure to ruby, and was not altogether distasteful to minnie, although she felt anxious about mrs. brand, who would naturally be much alarmed at the prolonged absence of herself and the captain. however, "there was no help for it"; and it was wonderful the resignation which she displayed in the circumstances. it was not ruby's duty to watch on deck that night, yet, strange to say, ruby kept watch the whole night long! there was no occasion whatever for minnie to go on deck after it was dark, yet, strange to say, minnie kept coming on deck at intervals _nearly_ the whole night long! sometimes to "look at the stars", sometimes to "get a mouthful of fresh air", frequently to find out what "that strange noise could be that had alarmed her", and at last--especially towards the early hours of morning--for no reason whatever, except that "she could not sleep below". it was very natural that when minnie paced the quarterdeck between the stern and the mainmast, and ruby paced the forepart of the deck between the bows and the mainmast, the two should occasionally meet at the mainmast. it was also very natural that when they did meet, the girl who had been rescued should stop and address a few words of gratitude to the man who had saved her. but it was by no means natural--nay, it was altogether unnatural and unaccountable, that, when it became dark, the said man and the said girl should get into a close and confidential conversation, which lasted for hours, to the amusement of captain ogilvy and the major, who quite understood it, and to the amazement of many of the ship's crew, who couldn't understand it at all. at last minnie bade ruby a final good night and went below, and ruby, who could not persuade himself that it was final, continued to walk the deck until his eyes began to shut and open involuntarily like those of a sick owl. then he also went below, and, before he fell quite asleep (according to his own impression), was awakened by the bell that called the men to land on the rock and commence work. it was not only ruby who found it difficult to rouse himself that morning. the landing-bell was rung at four o'clock, as the tide suited at that early hour, but the men were so fatigued that they would gladly have slept some hours longer. this, however, the nature of the service would not admit of. the building of the bell rock lighthouse was a peculiar service. it may be said to have resembled duty in the trenches in military warfare. at times the work was light enough, but for the most part it was severe and irregular, as the men had to work in all kinds of weather, as long as possible, in the face of unusual difficulties and dangers, and were liable to be called out at all unseasonable hours. but they knew and expected this, and faced the work like men. after a growl or two, and a few heavy sighs, they all tumbled out of their berths, and, in a very short time, were mustered on deck, where a glass of rum and a biscuit were served to each, being the regular allowance when they had to begin work before breakfast. then they got into the boats and rowed away. ruby's troubles were peculiar on this occasion. he could not bear the thought of leaving the _pharos_ without saying goodbye to minnie; but as minnie knew nothing of such early rising, there was no reasonable hope that she would be awake. then he wished to put a few questions to his uncle which he had forgotten the day before, but his uncle was at that moment buried in profound repose, with his mouth wide open, and a trombone solo proceeding from his nose, which sadly troubled the unfortunates who lay near him. as there was no way of escape from these difficulties, ruby, like a wise man, made up his mind to cast them aside, so, after swallowing his allowance, he shouldered his big bellows, heaved a deep sigh, and took his place in one of the boats alongside. the lassitude which strong men feel when obliged to rise before they have had enough of rest soon wears off. the two boats had not left the _pharos_ twenty yards astern, when joe dumsby cried, "ho! boys, let's have a race." "hooray!" shouted o'connor, whose elastic spirits were always equal to anything, "an' sure ruby will sing us 'the girl we've left behind us'. och! an' there she is, av i'm not draymin'." at that moment a little hand was waved from one of the ports of the floating light. ruby at once waved his in reply, but as the attention of the men had been directed to the vessel by ned's remark, each saw the salutation, and, claiming it as a compliment to himself, uttered a loud cheer, which terminated in a burst of laughter, caused by the sight of ruby's half-angry, half-ashamed expression of face. as the other boat had shot ahead, however, at the first mention of the word "race", the men forgot this incident in their anxiety to overtake their comrades. in a few seconds both boats were going at full speed, and they kept it up all the way to the rock. while this was going on, the _smeaton's_ boat was getting ready to take the strangers on board the sloop, and just as the workmen landed on the rock, the _smeaton_ cast loose her sails, and proceeded to arbroath. there were a few seals basking on the bell rock this morning when the men landed. these at once made off, and were not again seen during the day. at first, seals were numerous on the rock. frequently from fifty to sixty of them were counted at one time, and they seemed for a good while unwilling to forsake their old quarters, but when the forge was set up they could stand it no longer. some of the boldest ventured to sun themselves there occasionally, but when the clatter of the anvil and the wreaths of smoke became matters of daily occurrence, they forsook the rock finally, and sought the peace and quiet which man denied them there in other regions of the deep. the building of the lighthouse was attended with difficulties at every step. as a short notice of some of these, and an account of the mode in which the great work was carried on, cannot fail to be interesting to all who admire those engineering works which exhibit prominently the triumph of mind over matter, we shall turn aside for a brief space to consider this subject. chapter xiv somewhat statistical it has been already said that the bell rock rises only a few feet out of the sea at low tide. the foundation of the tower, sunk into the solid rock, was just three feet three inches above low water of the lowest spring-tides, so that the lighthouse may be said with propriety to be founded beneath the waves. one great point that had to be determined at the commencement of the operations was the best method of landing the stones of the building, this being a delicate and difficult process, in consequence of the weight of the stones and their brittle nature, especially in those parts which were worked to a delicate edge or formed into angular points. as the loss of a single stone, too, would stop the progress of the work until another should be prepared at the workyard in arbroath and sent off to the rock, it may easily be imagined that this matter of the landing was of the utmost importance, and that much consultation was held in regard to it. it would seem that engineers, as well as doctors, are apt to differ. some suggested that each particular stone should be floated to the rock, with a cork buoy attached to it; while others proposed an air-tank, instead of the cork buoy. others, again, proposed to sail over the rock at high water in a flat-bottomed vessel, and drop the stones one after another when over the spot they were intended to occupy. a few, still more eccentric and daring in their views, suggested that a huge cofferdam or vessel should be built on shore, and as much of the lighthouse built in this as would suffice to raise the building above the level of the highest tides; that then it should be floated off to its station on the rock, which should be previously prepared for its reception; that the cofferdam should be scuttled, and the ponderous mass of masonry, weighing perhaps tons, allowed to sink at once into its place! all these plans, however, were rejected by mr. stevenson, who resolved to carry the stones to the rock in boats constructed for the purpose. these were named praam boats. the stones were therefore cut in conformity with exactly measured moulds in the workyard at arbroath, and conveyed thence in the sloops already mentioned to the rock, where the vessels were anchored at a distance sufficient to enable them to clear it in case of drifting. the cargoes were then unloaded at the moorings, and laid on the decks of the praam boats, which conveyed them to the rock, where they were laid on small trucks, run along the temporary rails, to their positions, and built in at once. each stone of this building was treated with as much care and solicitude as if it were a living creature. after being carefully cut and curiously formed, and conveyed to the neighbourhood of the rock, it was hoisted out of the hold and laid on the vessel's deck, when it was handed over to the landing-master, whose duty it became to transfer it, by means of a combination of ropes and blocks, to the deck of the praam boat, and then deliver it at the rock. as the sea was seldom calm during the building operations, and frequently in a state of great agitation, lowering the stones on the decks of the praam boats was a difficult matter. in the act of working the apparatus, one man was placed at each of the guy-tackles. this man assisted also at the purchase-tackles for raising the stones; and one of the ablest and most active of the crew was appointed to hold on the end of the fall-tackle, which often required all his strength and his utmost agility in letting go, for the purpose of lowering the stone at the instant the word "lower" was given. in a rolling sea, much depended on the promptitude with which this part of the operation was performed. for the purpose of securing this, the man who held the tackle placed himself before the mast in a sitting, more frequently in a lying posture, with his feet stretched under the winch and abutting against the mast, as by this means he was enabled to exert his greatest strength. the signal being given in the hold that the tackle was hooked to the stone and all ready, every man took his post, the stone was carefully, we might almost say tenderly raised, and gradually got into position over the praam boat; the right moment was intently watched, and the word "lower" given sternly and sharply. the order was obeyed with exact promptitude, and the stone rested on the deck of the praam boat. six blocks of granite having been thus placed on the boat's deck, she was rowed to a buoy, and moored near the rock until the proper time of the tide for taking her into one of the landing creeks. we are thus particular in describing the details of this part of the work, in order that the reader may be enabled to form a correct estimate of what may be termed the minor difficulties of the undertaking. the same care was bestowed upon the landing of every stone of the building; and it is worthy of record, that notwithstanding the difficulty of this process in such peculiar circumstances, not a single stone was lost, or even seriously damaged, during the whole course of the erection of the tower, which occupied four years in building, or rather, we should say, four seasons, for no work was or could be done during winter. a description of the first entire course of the lower part of the tower, which was built solid, will be sufficient to give an idea of the general nature of the whole work. this course or layer consisted of blocks of stone, those in the interior being sandstone, while the outer casing was of granite. each stone was fastened to its neighbour above, below, and around by means of dovetails, joggles, oaken trenails, and mortar. each course was thus built from its centre to its circumference, and as all the courses from the foundation to a height of thirty feet were built in this way, the tower, up to that height, became a mass of solid stone, as strong and immovable as the bell rock itself. above this, or thirty feet from the foundation, the entrance door was placed, and the hollow part of the tower began. thus much, then, as to the tower itself, the upper part of which will be found described in a future chapter. in regard to the subsidiary works, the erection of the beacon house was in itself a work of considerable difficulty, requiring no common effort of engineering skill. the principal beams of this having been towed to the rock by the _smeaton_, all the stanchions and other material for setting them up were landed, and the workmen set about erecting them as quickly as possible, for if a single day of bad weather should occur before the necessary fixtures could be made, the whole apparatus would be infallibly swept away. the operation being, perhaps, the most important of the season, and one requiring to be done with the utmost expedition, all hands were, on the day in which its erection was begun, gathered on the rock, besides ten additional men engaged for the purpose, and as many of the seamen from the pharos and other vessels as could be spared. they amounted altogether to fifty-two in number. about half-past eight o'clock in the morning a derrick, or mast, thirty feet high, was erected, and properly supported with guy-ropes for suspending the block for raising the first principal beam of the beacon, and a winch-machine was bolted down to the rock for working the purchase-tackle. the necessary blocks and tackle were likewise laid to hand and properly arranged. the men were severally allotted in squads to different stations; some were to bring the principal beams to hand, others were to work the tackles, while a third set had the charge of the iron stanchions, bolts, and wedges, so that the whole operation of raising the beams and fixing them to the rock might go forward in such a manner that some provision might be made, in any stage of the work, for securing what had been accomplished, in case of an adverse change of weather. the raising of the derrick was the signal for three hearty cheers, for this was a new era in the operations. even that single spar, could it be preserved, would have been sufficient to have saved the workmen on that day when the smeaton broke adrift and left them in such peril. this was all, however, that could be accomplished that tide. next day, the great beams, each fifty feet long, and about sixteen inches square, were towed to the rock about seven in the morning, and the work immediately commenced, although they had gone there so much too early in the tide that the men had to work a considerable time up to their middle in water. each beam was raised by the tackle affixed to the derrick, until the end of it could be placed or "stepped" into the hole which had been previously prepared for its reception; then two of the great iron stanchions or supports were set into their respective holes on each side of the beam, and a rope passed round them to keep it from slipping, until it could be more permanently fixed. this having been accomplished, the first beam became the means of raising the second, and when the first and second were fastened at the top, they formed a pair of shears by which the rest were more easily raised to their places. the heads of the beams were then fitted together and secured with ropes in a temporary manner, until the falling of the tide would permit the operations to be resumed. thus the work went on, each man labouring with all his might, until this important erection was completed. the raising of the first beams took place on a sunday. indeed, during the progress of the works at the bell rock, the men were accustomed to work regularly on sundays when possible; but it is right to say that it was not done in defiance of, or disregard to, god's command to cease from labour on the sabbath day, but because of the urgent need of a lighthouse on a rock which, unlighted, would be certain to wreck numerous vessels and destroy many lives in time to come, as it had done in time past. delay in this matter might cause death and disaster, therefore it was deemed right to carry on the work on sundays. [footnote] [footnote: it was always arranged, however, to have public worship on sundays when practicable. and this arrangement was held to during the continuance of the work. indeed, the manner in which mr. stevenson writes in regard to the conclusion of the day's work at the beacon, which we have described, shows clearly that he felt himself to be acting in this matter in accordance with the spirit of our saviour, who wrought many of his works of mercy on the sabbath day. mr. stevenson writes thus:-- "all hands having returned to their respective ships, they got a shift of dry clothes, and some refreshment. being sunday, they were afterwards convened by signal on board of the lighthouse yacht, when prayers were read, for every heart upon this occasion felt gladness, and every mind was disposed to be thankful for the happy and successful termination of the operations of this day." it is right to add that the men, although requested, were not constrained to work on sundays. they were at liberty to decline if they chose. a few conscientiously refused at first, but were afterwards convinced of the necessity of working on all opportunities that offered, and agreed to do so.] an accident happened during the raising of the last large beam of the beacon, which, although alarming, fortunately caused no damage. considering the nature of the work, it is amazing, and greatly to the credit of all engaged, that so few accidents occurred during the building of the lighthouse. when they were in the act of hoisting the sixth and last log, and just about to kant it into its place, the iron hook of the principal purchase-block gave way, and the great beam, measuring fifty feet in length, fell upon the rock with a terrible crash; but although there were fifty-two men around the beacon at the time, not one was touched, and the beam itself received no damage worth mentioning. soon after the beacon had been set up, and partially secured to the rock, a severe gale sprang up, as if ocean were impatient to test the handiwork of human engineers. gales set in from the eastward, compelling the attending sloops to slip from their moorings, and run for the shelter of arbroath and st. andrews, and raising a sea on the bell rock which was described as terrific, the spray rising more than thirty feet in the air above it. in the midst of all this turmoil the beacon stood securely, and after the weather moderated, permitting the workmen once more to land, it was found that no damage had been done by the tremendous breaches of the sea over the rock. that the power of the waves had indeed been very great, was evident from the effects observed on the rock itself, and on materials left there. masses of rock upwards of a ton in weight had been cast up by the sea, and then, in their passage over the bell rock, had made deep and indelible ruts. an anchor of a ton weight, which had been lost on one side of the rock, was found to have been washed up and over it to the other side. several large blocks of granite that had been landed and left on a ledge, were found to have been swept away like pebbles, and hurled into a hole at some distance; and the heavy hearth of the smith's forge, with the ponderous anvil, had been washed from their places of supposed security. from the time of the setting up of the beacon a new era in the work began. some of the men were now enabled to remain on the rock all day, working at the lighthouse when the tide was low, and betaking themselves to the beacon when it rose, and leaving it at night; for there was much to do before this beacon could be made the habitable abode which it finally became; but it required the strictest attention to the state of the weather, in case of their being overtaken with a gale, which might prevent the possibility of their being taken off the rock. at last the beacon was so far advanced and secured that it was deemed capable of withstanding any gale that might blow. as yet it was a great ungainly pile of logs, iron stanchions, and bracing-chains, without anything that could afford shelter to man from winds or waves, but with a platform laid from its cross-beams at a considerable height above high-water mark. the works on the rock were in this state, when two memorable circumstances occurred in the bell rock annals, to which we shall devote a separate chapter. chapter xv ruby has a rise in life, and a fall james dove, the blacksmith, had, for some time past, been watching the advancing of the beacon-works with some interest, and a good deal of impatience. he was tired of working so constantly up to the knees in water, and aspired to a drier and more elevated workshop. one morning he was told by the foreman that orders had been given for him to remove his forge to the beacon, and this removal, this "flitting", as he called it, was the first of the memorable events referred to in the last chapter. "hallo! ruby, my boy," cried the elated son of vulcan, as he descended the companion ladder, "we're goin' to flit, lad. we're about to rise in the world, so get up your bellows. it's the last time we shall have to be bothered with them in the boat, i hope." "that's well," said ruby, shouldering the unwieldy bellows; "they have worn my shoulders threadbare, and tried my patience almost beyond endurance." "well, it's all over now, lad," rejoined the smith. "in future you shall have to blow up in the beacon yonder; so come along." "come, ruby, that ought to comfort the cockles o' yer heart," said o'connor, who passed up the ladder as he spoke; "the smith won't need to blow you up any more, av you're to blow yourself up in the beacon in futur'. arrah! there's the bell again. sorrow wan o' me iver gits to slape, but i'm turned up immadiately to go an' poke away at that rock--faix, it's well named the bell rock, for it makes me like to _bellow_ me lungs out wid vexation." "that pun is _below_ contempt," said joe dumsby, who came up at the moment. "that's yer sort, laddies; ye're guid at ringing the changes on that head onyway," cried watt. "i say, we're gittin' a _belly_-full of it," observed forsyth, with a rueful look "i hope nobody's goin' to give us another!" "it'll create a _rebellion_," said bremner, "if ye go on like that" "it'll bring my _bellows_ down on the head o' the next man that speaks!" cried ruby, with indignation. "don't you hear the bell, there?" cried the foreman down the hatchway. there was a burst of laughter at this unconscious continuation of the joke, and the men sprang up the ladder,--down the side, and into the boats, which were soon racing towards the rock. the day, though not sunny, was calm and agreeable, nevertheless the landing at the rock was not easily accomplished, owing to the swell caused by a recent gale. after one or two narrow escapes of a ducking, however, the crews landed, and the bellows, instead of being conveyed to their usual place at the forge, were laid at the foot of the beacon. the carriage of these bellows to and fro almost daily had been a subject of great annoyance to the men, owing to their being so much in the way, and so unmanageably bulky, yet so essential to the progress of the works, that they did not dare to leave them on the rock, lest they should be washed away, and they had to handle them tenderly, lest they should get damaged. "now, boys, lend a hand with the forge," cried the smith, hurrying towards his anvil. those who were not busy eating dulse responded to the call, and in a short time the ponderous _matériel_ of the smithy was conveyed to the beacon, where, in process of time, it was hoisted by means of tackle to its place on the platform to which reference has already been made. when it was safely set up and the bellows placed in position, ruby went to the edge of the platform, and, looking down on his comrades below, took off his cap and shouted in the tone of a stentor, "now, lads, three cheers for the dovecot!" this was received with a roar of laughter and three tremendous cheers. "howld on, boys," cried o'connor, stretching out his hand as if to command silence; "you'll scare the dove from his cot altogether av ye roar like that!" "surely they're sendin' us a fire to warm us," observed one of the men, pointing to a boat which had put off from the _smeaton_, and was approaching the rock by way of _macurich's track_. "what can'd be, i wonder?" said watt; "i think i can smell somethin'." "i halways thought you 'ad somethink of an old dog in you," said dumsby. "ay, man!" said the scot with a leer, "i ken o' war beasts than auld dowgs." "do you? come let's 'ear wat they are," said the englishman. "young puppies," answered the other. "hurrah! dinner, as i'm a dutchman," cried forsyth. this was indeed the case. dinner had been cooked on board the _smeaton_ and sent hot to the men; and this,--the first dinner ever eaten on the bell rock,--was the second of the memorable events before referred to. the boat soon ran into the creek and landed the baskets containing the food on _hope's wharf_. the men at once made a rush at the viands, and bore them off exultingly to the flattest part of the rock they could find. "a regular picnic," cried dumsby in high glee, for unusual events, of even a trifling kind, had the effect of elating those men more than one might have expected. "here's the murphies," cried o'connor, staggering over the slippery weed with a large smoking tin dish. "mind you don't let 'em fall," cried one. "have a care," shouted the smith; "if you drop them i'll beat you red-hot, and hammer ye so flat that the biggest flatterer as ever walked won't be able to spread ye out another half-inch." "mutton! oh!" exclaimed forsyth, who had been some time trying to wrench the cover off the basket containing a roast leg, and at last succeeded. "here, spread them all out on this rock. you han't forgot the grog, i hope, steward?" "no fear of him: he's a good feller, is the steward, when he's asleep partiklerly. the grog's here all right." "dinna let dumsby git baud o't, then," cried watt. "what! hae ye begood a'ready? patience, man, patience. is there ony saut?" "lots of it, darlin', in the say. sure this shape must have lost his tail somehow. och, murther! if there isn't bobby selkirk gone an' tumbled into port hamilton wid the cabbage, av it's not the carrots!" "there now, don't talk so much, boys," cried peter logan. "let's drink success to the bell rock lighthouse." it need scarcely be said that this toast was drunk with enthusiasm, and that it was followed up with "three times three". "now for a song. come, joe dumsby, strike up," cried one of the men. o'connor, who was one of the most reckless of men in regard to duty and propriety, here shook his head gravely, and took upon himself to read his comrade a lesson. "ye shouldn't talk o' sitch things in workin' hours," said he. "av we wos all foolish, waake-hidded cratures like _you_, how d'ye think we'd iver git the lighthouse sot up! ate yer dinner, lad, and howld yer tongue." "o ned, i didn't think your jealousy would show out so strong," retorted his comrade. "now, then, dumsby, fire away, if it was only to aggravate him." thus pressed, joe dumsby took a deep draught of the small-beer with which the men were supplied, and began a song of his own composition. when the song was finished the meal was also concluded, and the men returned to their labours on the rock; some to continue their work with the picks at the hard stone of the foundation-pit, others to perform miscellaneous jobs about the rock, such as mixing the mortar and removing debris, while james dove and his fast friend ruby brand mounted to their airy "cot" on the beacon, from which in a short time began to proceed the volumes of smoke and the clanging sounds that had formerly arisen from "smith's ledge ". while they were all thus busily engaged, ruby observed a boat advancing towards the rock from the floating light. he was blowing the bellows at the time, after a spell at the fore-hammer. "we seem to be favoured with unusual events to-day, jamie," said he, wiping his forehead with the corner of his apron with one hand, while he worked the handle of the bellows with the other, "yonder comes another boat; what can it be, think you?" "surely it can't be tea!" said the smith with a smile, as he turned the end of a pickaxe in the fire, "it's too soon after dinner for that." "it looks like the boat of our friends the fishermen, big swankie and davy spink," said ruby, shading his eyes with his hand, and gazing earnestly at the boat as it advanced towards them. "friends!" repeated the smith, "rascally smugglers, both of them; they're no friends of mine." "well, i didn't mean bosom friends," replied ruby, "but after all, davy spink is not such a bad fellow, though i can't say that i'm fond of his comrade." the two men resumed their hammers at this point in the conversation, and became silent as long as the anvil sounded. the boat had reached the rock when they ceased, and its occupants were seen to be in earnest conversation with peter logan. there were only two men in the boat besides its owners, swankie and spink. "what can they want?" said dove, looking down on them as he turned to thrust the iron on which he was engaged into the fire. as he spoke the foreman looked up. "ho! ruby brand," he shouted, "come down here; you're wanted." "hallo! ruby," exclaimed the smith, "_more_ friends o' yours! your acquaintance is extensive, lad, but there's no girl in the case this time." ruby made no reply, for an indefinable feeling of anxiety filled his breast as he threw down the fore-hammer and prepared to descend. on reaching the rock he advanced towards the strangers, both of whom were stout, thickset men, with grave, stern countenances. one of them stepped forward and said, "your name is----" "ruby brand," said the youth promptly, at the same time somewhat proudly, for he knew that he was in the hands of the philistines. the man who first spoke hereupon drew a small instrument from his pocket, and tapping ruby on the shoulder, said-- "i arrest you, ruby brand, in the name of the king." the other man immediately stepped forward and produced a pair of handcuffs. at sight of these ruby sprang backward, and the blood rushed violently to his forehead, while his blue eyes glared with the ferocity of those of a tiger. "come, lad, it's of no use, you know," said the man, pausing; "if you won't come quietly we must find ways and means to compel you." "compel me!" cried ruby, drawing himself up with a look of defiance and a laugh of contempt, that caused the two men to shrink back in spite of themselves. "ruby," said the foreman, gently, stepping forward and laying his hand on the youth's shoulder, "you had better go quietly, for there's no chance of escape from these fellows. i have no doubt it's a mistake, and that you'll come off with flyin' colours, but it's best to go quietly whatever turns up." while logan was speaking, ruby dropped his head on his breast, the officer with the handcuffs advanced, and the youth held out his hands, while the flush of anger deepened into the crimson blush of shame. it was at this point that jamie dove, wondering at the prolonged absence of his friend and assistant, looked down from the platform of the beacon, and beheld what was taking place. the stentorian roar of amazement and rage that suddenly burst from him, attracted the attention of all the men on the rock, who dropped their tools and looked up in consternation, expecting, no doubt, to behold something terrible. their eyes at once followed those of the smith, and no sooner did they see ruby being led in irons to the boat, which lay in _port hamilton_, close to _sir ralph the rover's ledge_, than they uttered a yell of execration, and rushed with one accord to the rescue. the officers, who were just about to make their prisoner step into the boat, turned to face the foe,--one, who seemed to be the more courageous of the two, a little in advance of the other. ned o'connor, with that enthusiasm which seems to be inherent in irish blood, rushed with such irresistible force against this man that he drove him violently back against his comrade, and sent them both head over heels into port hamilton. nay, with such momentum was this act performed, that ned could not help but follow them, falling on them both as they came to the surface and sinking them a second time, amid screams and yells of laughter. o'connor was at once pulled out by his friends. the officers also were quickly landed. "i ax yer parding, gintlemen," said the former, with an expression of deep regret on his face, "but the say-weed _is_ so slippy on them rocks we're a'most for iver doin' that sort o' thing be the merest accident. but av yer as fond o' cowld wather as meself ye won't objec' to it, although it do come raither onexpected." the officers made no reply, but, collaring ruby, pushed him into the boat. again the men made a rush, but peter logan stood between them and the boat. "lads," said he, holding up his hand, "it's of no use resistin' the law. these are king's officers, and they are only doin' their duty. sure am i that ruby brand is guilty of no crime, so they've only to enquire into it and set him free." the men hesitated, but did not seem quite disposed to submit without another struggle. "it's a shame to let them take him," cried the smith. "so it is. i vote for a rescue," cried joe dumsby. "hooray! so does i," cried o'connor, stripping off his waistcoat, and for once in his life agreeing with joe. "na, na, lads," cried john watt, rolling up his sleeves, and baring his brawny arms as if about to engage in a fight, "it'll raver do to interfere wi' the law; but what d'ye say to gie them anither dook?" seeing that the men were about to act upon watt's suggestion, baby started up in the boat, and turning to his comrades, said: "boys, it's very kind of you to be so anxious to save me, but you can't----" "fail, but we can, darlin'," interrupted o'connor. "no, you can't," repeated ruby firmly, "because i won't let yon. i don't think i need say to you that i am innocent," he added, with a look in which truth evidently shone forth like a sunbeam, "but now that they have put these irons on me i will not consent that they shall be taken off except by the law which put them on." while he was speaking the boat had been pushed off, and in a few seconds it was beyond the reach of the men. "depend upon it, comrades," cried ruby, as they pulled away, "that i shall be back again to help you to finish the work on the bell rock." "so you will, lad, so you will," cried the foreman. "my blessin' on ye," shouted o'connor. "ach! ye dirty villains, ye low-minded spalpeens," he added, shaking his fist at the officers of justice. "don't be long away, ruby," cried one. "never say die," shouted another, earnestly. "three cheers for ruby brand!" exclaimed forsyth, "hip! hip! hip!----" the cheer was given with the most vociferous energy, and then the men stood in melancholy silence on _ralph the saver's ledge_, watching the boat that bore their comrade to the shore. chapter xvi new arrangements--the captain's philosophy in regard to pipeology that night our hero was lodged in the common jail of arbroath. soon after, he was tried, and, as captain ogilvy had prophesied, was acquitted. thereafter he went to reside for the winter with his mother, occupying the same room as his worthy uncle, as there was not another spare one in the cottage, and sleeping in a hammock, slung parallel with and close to that of the captain. on the night following his release from prison, ruby lay on his back in his hammock meditating intently on the future, and gazing at the ceiling, or rather at the place where he knew the ceiling to be, for it was a dark night, and there was no light in the room, the candle having just been extinguished. we are not strictly correct, however, in saying that there was _no_ light in the room, for there was a deep red glowing spot of fire near to captain ogilvy's head, which flashed and grew dim at each alternate second of time. it was, in fact, the captain's pipe, a luxury in which that worthy man indulged morning, noon, and night. he usually rested the bowl of the pipe on and a little over the edge of his hammock, and, lying on his back, passed the mouthpiece over the blankets into the corner of his mouth, where four of his teeth seemed to have agreed to form an exactly round hole suited to receive it. at each draw the fire in the bowl glowed so that the captain's nose was faintly illuminated; in the intervals the nose disappeared. the breaking or letting fall of this pipe was a common incident in the captain's nocturnal history, but he had got used to it, from long habit, and regarded the event each time it occurred with the philosophic composure of one who sees and makes up his mind to endure an inevitable and unavoidable evil. "ruby," said the captain, after the candle was extinguished. "well, uncle?" "i've bin thinkin', lad,----" here the captain drew a few whiffs to prevent the pipe from going out, in which operation he evidently forgot himself and went on thinking, for he said nothing more. "well, uncle, what have you been thinking?" "eh! ah, yes, i've bin thinkin', lad (puff), that you'll have to (puff)--there's somethin' wrong with the pipe to-night, it don't draw well (puff)--you'll have to do somethin' or other in the town, for it won't do to leave the old woman, lad, in her delicate state o' health. had she turned in when you left the kitchen?" "oh yes, an hour or more." "an' blue eyes, 'the tender bit flower that waves in the breeze, and scatters its fragrance all over the seas'-- has she turned in too?" "she was just going to when i left," replied ruby; "but what has that to do with the question?" "i didn't say as it had anything to do with it, lad. moreover, there ain't no question between us as i knows on (puff); but what have you to say to stoppin' here all water?" "impossible," said ruby, with a sigh. "no so, lad; what's to hinder?--ah! there she goes." the pipe fell with a crash to the floor, and burst with a bright shower of sparks, like a little bombshell. "that's the third, ruby, since i turned in," said the captain, getting slowly over the side of his hammock, and alighting on the floor heavily. "i won't git up again if it goes another time." after knocking off the chimney-piece five or six articles which appeared to be made of tin from the noise they made in falling, the captain succeeded in getting hold of another pipe and the tinder-box, for in those days flint and steel were the implements generally used in procuring a light. with much trouble he re-lit the pipe. "now, ruby, lad, hold it till i tumble in." "but i can't see the stem, uncle." "what a speech for a seaman to make! don't you see the fire in the bowl?" "yes, of course." "well, just make a grab two inches astarn of the bowl and you'll hook the stem." the captain was looking earnestly into the bowl while he spoke, stuffing down the burning tobacco with the end of his little finger. ruby, acting in rather too prompt obedience to the instructions, made a "grab" as directed, and caught his uncle by the nose. a yell and an apology followed of course, in the midst of which the fourth pipe was demolished. "oh! uncle, what a pity!" "ah! ruby, that comes o' inconsiderate youth, which philosophers tell us is the nat'ral consequence of unavoidable necessity, for you can't put a young head on old shoulders, d'ye see?" from the tone in which this was said ruby knew that the captain was shaking his head gravely, and from the noise of articles being kicked about and falling, he became aware that the unconquerable man was filling a fifth pipe. this one was more successfully managed, and the captain once more got into his hammock, and began to enjoy himself. "well, ruby, where was i? o ay; what's to hinder you goin' and gettin' employed in the bell rock workyard? there's plenty to do, and good wages there." it may be as well to inform the reader here, that although the operations at the bell rock had come to an end for the season about the beginning of october, the work of hewing the stones for the lighthouse was carried on briskly during the winter at the workyard on shore; and as the tools, &c., required constant sharpening and mending, a blacksmith could not be dispensed with. "do you think i can get in again?" enquired ruby. "no doubt of it, lad. but the question is, are ye willin' to go if they'll take you?" "quite willing, uncle." "good: then that's all square, an' i knows how to lay my course--up anchor to-morrow mornin', crowd all sail, bear down on the workyard, bring-to off the countin'-room, and open fire on the superintendent." the captain paused at this point, and opened fire with his pipe for some minutes. "now," he continued, "there's another thing i want to ax you. i'm goin' to-morrow afternoon to take a cruise along the cliffs to the east'ard in the preventive boat, just to keep up my sea legs. they've got scent o' some smugglin' business that's goin' on, an' my friend leftenant lindsay has asked me to go. now, ruby, if you want a short cruise of an hour or so you may come with me." baby smiled at the manner in which this offer was made, and replied: "with pleasure, uncle." "so, then, that's settled too. good night, nephy." the captain turned on his side, and dropped the pipe on the floor, where it was shivered to atoms. it must not be supposed that this was accidental. it was done on purpose. captain ogilvy had found from experience that it was not possible to stretch out his arm to its full extent and lay the pipe on the chimney-piece, without waking himself up just at that critical moment when sleep was consenting to be wooed. he also found that on the average he broke one in every four pipes that he thus attempted to deposit. being a philosophical and practical man, he came to the conclusion that it would be worth while to pay something for the comfort of being undisturbed at the minute of time that lay between the conclusion of smoking and the commence of repose. he therefore got a sheet of foolscap and a pencil, and spent a whole forenoon in abstruse calculations. he ascertained the exact value of three hundred and sixty-five clay pipes. from this he deducted a fourth for breakages that would have certainly occurred in the old system of laying the pipes down every night, and which, therefore, he felt, in a confused sort of way, ought not to be charged in the estimates of a new system. then he added a small sum to the result for probable extra breakages, such as had occurred that night, and found that the total was not too high a price for a man in his circumstances to pay for the blessing he wished to obtain. from that night forward he deliberately dropped his pipe every night over the side of his hammock before going to sleep. the captain, in commenting on this subject, was wont to observe that everything in life, no matter how small, afforded matter of thought to philosophical men. he had himself found a pleasing subject of study each morning in the fact that some of the pipes survived the fall of the previous night. this led him to consider the nature of clay pipes in general, and to test them in various ways. it is true he did not say that anything of importance resulted from his peculiar studies, but he argued that a true philosopher looks for facts, and leaves results alone. one discovery he undoubtedly did make, which was, that the pipes obtained from a certain maker in the town invariably broke, while those obtained from another maker broke only occasionally. hence he came to the conclusion that one maker was an honest man, the other a doubtful character, and wisely bestowed his custom in accordance with that opinion. about one minute after the falling of the pipe ruby brand fell asleep, and about two minutes after that captain ogilvy began to snore, both of which conditions were maintained respectively and uninterruptedly until the birds began to whistle and the sun began to shine. chapter xvii a meeting with old friends, and an excursion next morning the captain and his nephew "bore down", as the former expressed it, on the workyard, and ruby was readily accepted, his good qualities having already been well tested at the bell rock. "now, boy, we'll go and see about the little preventive craft," said the captain on quitting the office. "but first," said ruby, "let me go and tell my old comrade dove that i am to be with him again." there was no need to enquire the way to the forge, the sound of the anvil being distinctly heard above all the other sounds of that busy spot. the workyard at arbroath, where the stones for the lighthouse were collected and hewn into shape before being sent off to the rock, was an enclosed piece of ground, extending to about three-quarters of an acre, conveniently situated on the northern side of the lady lane, or street, leading from the western side of the harbour. here were built a row of barracks for the workmen, and several apartments connected with the engineer's office, mould-makers' department, stores, workshops for smiths and joiners, stables, &c., extending feet along the north side of the yard. all of these were fully occupied, there being upwards of forty men employed permanently. sheds of timber were also constructed to protect the workmen in wet weather; and a kiln was built for burning lime. in the centre of the yard stood a circular platform of masonry on which the stones were placed when dressed, so that each stone was tested and marked, and each "course" or layer of the lighthouse fitted up and tried, before being shipped to the rock. the platform measured feet in diameter. it was founded with large broad stones at a depth of about feet inches, and built to within inches of the surface with rubble work, on which a course of neatly dressed and well-jointed masonry was laid, of the red sandstone from the quarries to the eastward of arbroath, which brought the platform on a level with the surface of the ground. here the dressed part of the first entire course, or layer, of the lighthouse was lying, and the platform was so substantially built as to be capable of supporting any number of courses which it might be found convenient to lay upon it in the further progress of the work. passing this platform, the captain and ruby threaded their way through a mass of workyard _debris_ until they came to the building from which the sounds of the anvil proceeded. for a few minutes they stood looking at our old friend jamie dove, who, with bared arms, was causing the sparks to fly, and the glowing metal to yield, as vigorously as of old. presently he ceased hammering, and turning to the fire thrust the metal into it. then he wiped his brow, and glanced towards the door. "what! eh! ruby brand?" he shouted in surprise. "och! or his ghost!" cried ned o'connor, who had been appointed to ruby's vacant situation. "a pretty solid ghost you'll find me," said ruby with a laugh, as he stepped forward and seized the smith by the hand. "musha! but it's thrue," cried o'connor, quitting the bellows, and seizing ruby's disengaged hand, which he shook almost as vehemently as the smith did the other. "now, then, don't dislocate him altogether," cried the captain, who was much delighted with this warm reception; "he's goin' to jine you, boys, so have mercy on his old timbers." "jine us!" cried the smith. "ay, been appointed to the old berth," said ruby, "so i'll have to unship _you_, ned." "the sooner the better; faix, i niver had much notion o' this fiery style o' life; it's only fit for sallymanders and bottle-imps. but when d'ye begin work, lad?" "to-morrow, i believe. at least, i was told to call at the office to-morrow. to-day i have an engagement." "ay, an' it's time we was under weigh," said captain ogilvy, taking his nephew by the arm. "come along, lad, an' don't keep them waiting." so saying they bade the smith goodbye, and, leaving the forge, walked smartly towards that part of the harbour where the boats lay. "ruby," said the captain, as they went along, "it's lucky it's such a fine day, for minnie is going with us." ruby said nothing, but the deep flush of pleasure that overspread his countenance proved that he was not indifferent to the news. "you see she's bin out of sorts," continued the captain, "for some time back; and no wonder, poor thing, seein' that your mother has been so anxious about you, and required more than usual care, so i've prevailed on the leftenant to let her go. she'll get good by our afternoon's sail, and we won't be the worse of her company. what say ye to that, nephy?" ruby said that he was glad to hear it; but he thought a great deal more than he said, and among other things he thought that the lieutenant might perhaps be rather in the way; but as his presence was unavoidable, he made up his mind to try to believe that he, the lieutenant, would in all probability be an engaged man already. as to the possibility of his seeing minnie and being indifferent to her (in the event of his being a free man), he felt that such an idea was preposterous! suddenly a thought flashed across him and induced a question-- "is the lieutenant married, uncle?" "not as i know of, lad; why d'ye ask?" "because--because--married men are so much pleasanter than----" ruby stopped short, for he just then remembered that his uncle was a bachelor. "'pon my word, youngster! go on, why d'ye stop in your purlite remark?" "because," said ruby, laughing, "i meant to say that _young_ married men were so much more agreeable than _young_ bachelors." "humph!" ejaculated the captain, who did not see much force in the observation, "and how d'ye know the leftenant's a _young_ man? i didn't say he was young; mayhap he's old. but here he is, so you'll judge for yourself." at the moment a tall, deeply-bronzed man of about thirty years of age walked up and greeted captain ogilvy familiarly as his "buck", enquiring, at the same time, how his "old timbers" were, and where the "bit of baggage" was. "she's to be at the end o' the pier in five minutes," said the captain, drawing out and consulting a watch that was large enough to have been mistaken for a small eight-day clock. "this is my nephy, ruby. ruby brand--leftenant lindsay. true blues, both of ye-- 'when shall we three meet again? where the stormy winds do blow, do blow, do blow, and the thunder, lightenin', and the rain, riots up above, and also down below, below, below.' ah! here comes the pretty little craft." minnie appeared as he spoke, and walked towards them with a modest, yet decided air that was positively bewitching. she was dressed in homely garments, but that served to enhance the beauty of her figure, and she had on the plainest of little bonnets, but that only tended to make her face more lovely. ruby thought it was perfection. he glanced at lieutenant lindsay, and perceiving that he thought so too (as how could he think otherwise?) a pang of jealousy shot into his breast. but it passed away when the lieutenant, after politely assisting minnie into the boat, sat down beside the captain and began to talk earnestly to him, leaving minnie entirely to her lover. we may remark here, that the title of "leftenant", bestowed on lindsay by the captain was entirely complimentary. the crew of the boat rowed out of the harbour, and the lieutenant steered eastward, towards the cliffs that have been mentioned in an earlier part of our tale. the day turned out to be one of those magnificent and exceptional days which appear to have been cut out of summer and interpolated into autumn. it was bright, warm, and calm, so calm that the boat's sail was useless, and the crew had to row; but this was, in minnie's estimation, no disadvantage, for it gave her time to see the caves and picturesque inlets which abound all along that rocky coast. it also gave her time to--but no matter. "o how very much i should like to have a little boat," said minnie, with enthusiasm, "and spend a long day rowing in and out among these wild rocks, and exploring the caves! wouldn't it be delightful, ruby?" ruby admitted that it would, and added, "you shall have such a day, minnie, if we live long." "have you ever been in the _forbidden cave?_" enquired minnie. "i'll warrant you he has," cried the captain, who overheard the question; "you may be sure that wherever ruby is forbidden to go, there he'll be sure to go!" "ay, is he so self-willed?" asked the lieutenant, with a smile, and a glance at minnie. "a mule; a positive mule," said the captain. "come, uncle, you know that i don't deserve such a character, and it's too bad to give it to me to-day. did i not agree to come on this excursion at once, when you asked me?" "ay, but you wouldn't if i had _ordered_ you," returned the captain. "i rather think he would," observed the lieutenant, with another smile, and another glance at minnie. both smiles and glances were observed and noted by ruby, whose heart felt another pang shoot through it; but this, like the former, subsided when the lieutenant again addressed the captain, and devoted himself to him so exclusively, that ruby began to feel a touch of indignation at his want of appreciation of _such_ a girl as minnie. "he's a stupid ass," thought ruby to himself, and then, turning to minnie, directed her attention to a curious natural arch on the cliffs, and sought to forget all the rest of the world. in this effort he was successful, and had gradually worked himself into the firm belief that the world was paradise, and that he and minnie were its sole occupants--a second edition, as it were, of adam and eve--when the lieutenant rudely dispelled the sweet dream by saying sharply to the man at the bow-oar-- "is that the boat, baker? you ought to know it pretty well." "i think it is, sir," answered the man, resting on his oar a moment, and glancing over his shoulder; "but i can't be sure at this distance." "well, pull easy," said the lieutenant; "you see, it won't do to scare them, captain ogilvy, and they'll think we're a pleasure party when they see a woman in the boat." ruby thought they would not be far wrong in supposing them a pleasure party. he objected, mentally, however, to minnie being styled a "woman"--not that he would have had her called a man, but he thought that _girl_ would have been more suitable--angel, perhaps, the most appropriate term of all. "come, captain, i think i will join you in a pipe," said the lieutenant, pulling out a tin case, in which he kept the blackest of little cutty pipes. "in days of old our ancestors loved to fight--now we degenerate souls love to smoke the pipe of peace." "i did not know that your ancestors were enemies," said minnie to the captain. "enemies, lass! ay, that they were. what! have ye never heard tell o' the great fight between the ogilvys and lindsays?" "never," said minnie. "then, my girl, your education has been neglected, but i'll do what i can to remedy that defect." here the captain rekindled his pipe (which was in the habit of going out, and requiring to be relighted), and, clearing his throat with the emphasis of one who is about to communicate something of importance, held forth as follows. chapter xviii the battle of arbroath, and other warlike matters "it was in the year --that's not far short o' four hundred years ago--ah! _tempus fugit_, which is a latin quotation, my girl, from horace walpole, i believe, an' signifies time and tide waits for no man; that's what they calls a free translation, you must know; well, it was in the winter o' that a certain alexander ogilvy of inverquharity was chosen to act as chief justiciar in these parts--i suppose that means a kind of upper bailiff, a sort o' bo's'n's mate, to compare great things with small. he was set up in place of one o' the lindsay family, who, it seems, was rather extravagant, though whether his extravagance lay in wearin' a beard (for he was called earl beardie), or in spendin' too much cash, i can't take upon me for to say. anyhow, beardie refused to haul down his colours, so the ogilvys mustered their men and friends, and the lindsays did the same, and they went at it, hammer and tongs, and fowt what ye may call the battle of arbroath, for it was close to the old town where they fell to. "it was a most bloody affair. the two families were connected with many o' the richest and greatest people in the land, and these went to lend a hand when they beat to quarters, and there was no end o' barbed horses, as they call them--which means critters with steel spikes in their noses, i'm told--and lots of embroidered banners and flags, though i never heard that anyone hoisted the union jack; but, however that may be, they fowt like bluejackets, for five hundred men were left dead on the field, an' among them a lot o' the great folk. "but i'm sorry to say that the ogilvys were licked, though i say it that shouldn't," continued the captain, with a sigh, as he relighted his pipe. "howsever, 'never ventur', never win, blaze away an' don't give in," as milton remarks in his preface to the _pilgrim's progress_." "true, captain," said the lieutenant, "and you know that 'he who fights and runs away, shall live to fight another day'." "leftenant," said the captain gravely, "your quotation, besides bein' a kind o' desecration, is not applicable; 'cause the ogilvys did _not_ run away. they fowt on that occasion like born imps, an' they would ha' certainly won the day, if they hadn't been, every man jack of 'em, cut to pieces before the battle was finished." "well said, uncle," exclaimed ruby, with a laugh. "no doubt the ogilvys would lick the lindsays _now_ if they had a chance." "i believe they would," said the lieutenant, "for they have become a race of heroes since the great day of the battle of arbroath. no doubt, miss gray," continued the lieutenant, turning to minnie with an arch smile, "no doubt you have heard of that more recent event, the threatened attack on arbroath by the french fire-eater, captain fall, and the heroic part played on that occasion by an ogilvy--an uncle, i am told, of my good friend here?" "i have heard of captain fall, of course," replied minnie, "for it was not many years before i was born that his visit took place, and mrs. brand has often told me of the consternation into which the town was thrown by his doings; but i never heard of the deeds of the ogilvy to whom you refer." "no? now, that _is_ surprising! how comes it, captain, that you have kept so silent on this subject?" "'cause it ain't true," replied the captain stoutly, yet with a peculiar curl about the corners of his mouth, that implied something in the mind beyond what he expressed with the lips. "ah! i see--modesty," said lindsay. "your uncle is innately modest, miss gray, and never speaks of anything that bears the slightest resemblance to boasting. see, the grave solemnity with which he smokes while i say this proves the truth of my assertion. well, since he has never told you, i will tell you myself. you have no objection, captain?" the captain sent a volume of smoke from his lips, and followed it up with-- "fire away, shipmet." the lieutenant, having drawn a few whiffs in order to ensure the continued combustion of his pipe, related the following anecdote, which is now matter of history, as anyone may find by consulting the archives of arbroath. "in the year , on a fine evening of the month of may, the seamen of arbroath who chanced to be loitering about the harbour observed a strange vessel manoeuvring in the offing. they watched and commented on the motions of the stranger with considerable interest, for the wary skill displayed by her commander proved that he was unacquainted with the navigation of the coast, and from the cut of her jib they knew that the craft was a foreigner. after a time she took up a position, and cast anchor in the bay, directly opposite the town. "at that time we were, as we still are, and as it really appears likely to me we ever shall be, at war with france; but as the scene of the war was far removed from arbroath, it never occurred to the good people that the smell of powder could reach their peaceful town. that idea was somewhat rudely forced upon them when the french flag was run up to the mizzen-top, and a white puff of smoke burst from the vessel, which was followed by a shot, that went hissing over their heads, and plumped right into the middle of the town! "that shot knocked over fifteen chimney-pots and two weathercocks in market-gate, went slap through a house in the suburbs, and finally stuck in the carcass of an old horse belonging to the provost of the town, which didn't survive the shock--the horse, i mean, not the provost. "it is said that there was an old gentleman lying in bed in a room of the house that the shot went through. he was a sort of 'hipped' character, and believed that he could not walk, if he were to try ever so much. he was looking quietly at the face of a great dutch clock when the shot entered and knocked the clock inside out, sending its contents in a shower over the old gentleman, who jumped up and rushed out of the house like a maniac! he was cured completely from that hour. at least, so it's said, but i don't vouch for the truth of the story. "however, certain it is that the shot was fired, and was followed up by two or three more; after which the frenchman ceased firing, and a boat was seen to quit the side of the craft, bearing a flag of truce. "the consternation into which the town was thrown is said to have been tremendous." "that's false," interrupted the captain, removing his pipe while he spoke. "the word ain't appropriate. the men of arbroath doesn't know nothin' about no such word as 'consternation '. they was _surprised_, if ye choose, an' powerfully enraged mayhap, but they wasn't consternated by no means," "well, i don't insist on the point," said the lieutenant, "but chroniclers write so----" "chroniclers write lies sometimes," interrupted the captain curtly. "perhaps they do; but you will admit, i dare say, that the women and children were thrown into a great state of alarm." "i'm not so sure of that," interposed ruby. "in a town where the men were so bold, the women and children would be apt to feel very much at their ease. at all events, i am acquainted with some women who are not easily frightened." "really, i think it is not fair to interrupt the story in this way," said minnie, with a laugh. "right, lass, right," said the captain. "come, leftenant, spin away at yer yarn, and don't ventur' too much commentary thereon, 'cause it's apt to lead to error, an' ye know, as the poet says-- 'errors in the heart breed errors in the brain, an' these are apt to twist ye wrong again.' i'm not 'xactly sure o' the precise words in this case, but that's the sentiment, and everybody knows that sentiment is everything in poetry, whether ye understand it or not. fire away, leftenant, an' don't be long-winded if ye can help it." "well, to return to the point," resumed lindsay. "the town was certainly thrown into a tremendous state of _some_ sort, for the people had no arms of any kind wherewith to defend themselves. there were no regular soldiers, no militia, and no volunteers. everybody ran wildly about in every direction, not knowing what to do. there was no leader, and, in short, the town was very like a shoal of small fish in a pool when a boy wades in and makes a dash amongst them. "at last a little order was restored by the provost, who was a sensible old man, and an old soldier to boot, but too infirm to take as active a part in such an emergency as he would have done had he been a dozen years younger. he, with several of the principal men of the town, went down to the beach to receive the bearers of the flag of truce. "the boat was manned by a crew of five or six seamen, armed with cutlasses, and arquebusses. as soon as its keel grated on the sand a smart little officer leaped ashore, and presented to the provost a letter from captain fall, which ran somewhat in this fashion:-- "'at sea, _may twenty-third_. "'gentlemen,--i send these two words to inform you, that i will have you to bring-to the french colour in less than a quarter of an hour, or i set the town on fire directly. such is the order of my master, the king of france, i am sent by. send directly the mair and chiefs of the town to make some agreement with me, or i'll make my duty. it is the will of yours, g. fall. "'to monsieur maib of the town called arbrought, or in his absence to the chief man after him in scotland.' "on reading this the provost bowed respectfully to the officer, and begged of him to wait a few minutes while he should consult with his chief men. this was agreed to, and the provost said to his friends, as he walked to a neighbouring house-- "'ye see, freens, this whipper-snapper o' a tade-eater has gotten the whup hand o' us; but we'll be upsides wi' him. the main thing is to get delay, so cut away, tam cargill, and tak' horse to montrose for the sodgers. spare na the spur, lad, an' gar them to understan' that the case is urgent." "while tam cargill started away on his mission, the provost, whose chief aim was to gain time and cause delay, penned an epistle to the frenchman, in which he stated that he had neglected to name the terms on which he would consent to spare the town, and that he would consider it extremely obliging if he would, as speedily as possible, return an answer, stating them, in order that they might be laid before the chief men of the place. "when the provost, who was a grave, dignified old man, with a strong dash of humour in him, handed this note to the french officer, he did so with a humble obeisance that appeared to afford much gratification to the little man. as the latter jumped into the boat and ordered the men to push off, the provost turned slowly to his brother magistrates with a wink and a quiet smile that convulsed them with suppressed laughter, and did more to encourage any of the wavering or timid inhabitants than if he had harangued them heroically for an hour. "some time after the boat returned with a reply, which ran thus:-- "'at sea, _eight o'clock in the afternoon_, "'gentlemen,--i received just now your answer, by which you say i ask no terms. i thought it was useless, since i asked you to come aboard for agreement. but here are my terms:--i will have £ , sterling at least, and six of the chiefs men of the town for otage. be speedy, or i shot your town away directly, and i set fire to it. i am, gentlemen, your servant, g. fall. "'i sent some of my crew to you, but if some harm happens to them, you'll be sure we'll hang up the mainyard all the prisoners we have aboard. "'to monsieurs the chiefs men of arbrought in scotland.' "i'm not quite certain," continued the lieutenant, "what were the exact words of the provost's reply to this letter, but they conveyed a distinct and contemptuous refusal to accede to any terms, and, i believe, invited fall to come ashore, where, if he did not get precisely what he had asked, he would be certain to receive a great deal more than he wanted. "the enraged and disappointed frenchman at once began a, heavy fire upon the town, and continued it for a long time, but fortunately it did little or no harm, as the town lay in a somewhat low position, and fall's guns being too much elevated, the shot passed over it. "next day another letter was sent to the provost by some fishermen, who were captured while fishing off the bell rock. this letter was as tremendous as the two former. i can give it to you, word for word, from memory. "'at sea, _may th_. "'gentlemen,--see whether you will come to some terms with me, or i come in presently with my cutter into the arbour, and i will cast down the town all over. make haste, because i have no time to spare. i give you a quarter of an hour to your decision, and after i'll make my duty. i think it would he better for you, gentlemen, to come some of you aboard presently, to settle the affairs of your town. you'll sure no to be hurt. i give you my parole of honour. i am your, 'g. fall.' "when the provost received this he looked round and said, 'now, gentlemen all, we'll hae to fight. send me ogilvy.' "'here i am, provost,' cried a stout, active young fellow; something like what the captain must have been when he was young, i should think!" "ahem!" coughed the captain. "well," continued lindsay, "the provost said, 'now, ogilvy, you're a smart cheel, an' ken aboot war and strategy and the like: i charge ye to organize the men o' the toon without delay, and tak' what steps ye think adveesable. meanwhile, i'll away and ripe oot a' the airms and guns i can find. haste ye, lad, an' mak' as muckle noise aboot it as ye can.' '"trust me,' said ogilvy, who appeared to have been one of those men who regard a fight as a piece of good fun. "turning to the multitude, who had heard the commission given, and were ready for anything, he shouted, 'now, boys, ye heard the provost. i need not ask if you are all ready to fight----' "a deafening cheer interrupted the speaker, who, when it ceased, proceeded-- "'well, then, i've but one piece of advice to give ye: _obey orders at once_. when i tell ye to halt, stop dead like lampposts; when i say, "charge!" go at them like wild cats, and drive the frenchmen into the sea!' 'hurrah!' yelled the crowd, for they were wild with excitement and rage, and only wanted a leader to organize them and make them formidable. when the cheer ceased, ogilvy cried, 'now, then, every man who knows how to beat a kettledrum and blow a trumpet come here.' "about twenty men answered to the summons, and to these ogilvy said aloud, in order that all might hear, 'go, get you all the trumpets, drums, horns, bugles, and trombones in the town; beat the drums till they split, and blow the bugles till they burst, and don't give in till ye can't go on. the rest of you,' he added, turning to the crowd, 'go, get arms, guns, swords, pistols, scythes, pitchforks, pokers--anything, everything--and meet me at the head of market-gate--away!' "no king of necromancers ever dispersed his legions more rapidly than did ogilvy on that occasion. they gave one final cheer, and scattered like chaff before the wind, leaving their commander alone, with a select few, whom he kept by him as a sort of staff to consult with and despatch with orders. "the noise that instantly ensued in the town was something pandemoniacal. only three drums were found, but tin kettles and pans were not wanting, and these, superintended by hugh barr, the town drummer, did great execution. three key-bugles, an old french horn, and a tin trumpet of a mail-coach guard, were sounded at intervals in every quarter of the town, while the men were marshalled, and made to march hither and thither in detached bodies, as if all were busily engaged in making preparations for a formidable defence. "in one somewhat elevated position a number of men were set to work with spades, picks, and shovels, to throw up an earthwork. when it had assumed sufficiently large dimensions to attract the attention of the french, a body of men, with blue jackets, and caps with bits of red flannel hanging down the sides, were marched up behind it at the double, and posted there. "meanwhile ogilvy had prepared a dummy field piece, by dismounting a cart from its wheels and fixing on the axle a great old wooden pump, not unlike a big gun in shape; another cart was attached to this to represent a limber; four horses were harnessed to the affair; two men mounted these, and, amid a tremendous flourish of trumpets and beating of drums, the artillery went crashing along the streets and up the eminence crowned by the earthwork, where they wheeled the gun into position. "the artillerymen sprang at the old pump like true britons, and began to sponge it out as if they had been bred to gunnery from childhood, while the limber was detached and galloped to the rear. in this operation the cart was smashed to pieces, and the two hindmost horses were thrown; but this mattered little, as they had got round a corner, and the french did not see it. "fall and his brave men seem to have been upset altogether by these warlike demonstrations, for the moment the big gun made its appearance the sails were shaken loose, and the french privateer sheered off, capturing as he left the bay, however, several small vessels, which he carried off as prizes to france. and so," concluded the lieutenant, "captain fall sailed away, and never was heard of more." "well told; well told, leftenant," cried the captain, whose eyes sparkled at the concluding account of the defensive operations, "and true every word of it." "that's good testimony to my truthfulness, then," said lindsay, laughing, "for you were there yourself!" "there yourself, uncle?" repeated minnie, with a glance of surprise that quickly changed into a look of intelligence, as she exclaimed, with a merry laugh, "ah! i see. it was you, uncle, who did it all; who commanded on that occasion----" "my child," said the captain, resuming his pipe with an expression of mild reproof on his countenance, "don't go for to pry too deep into things o' the past. i _may_ have been a fire-eater once--i _may_ have been a gay young feller as could----; but no matter. avast musin'! as lord bacon says-- 'the light of other days is faded, an' all their glory 'a past; my boots no longer look as they did, but, like my coat, are goin' fast.' but i say, leftenant, how long do you mean to keep pullin' about here, without an enemy, or, as far as i can see, an object in view? don't you think we might land, and let minnie see some of the caves?" "with all my heart, captain, and here is a convenient bay to run the boat ashore." as he spoke the boat shot past one of those bold promontories of red sandstone which project along that coast in wild picturesque forms, terminating in some instances in detached headlands, elsewhere in natural arches. the cliffs were so close to the boat that they could have been touched by the oars, while the rocks, rising to a considerable height, almost overhung them. just beyond this a beautiful bay opened up to view, with a narrow strip of yellow shingle round the base of the cliffs, which here lost for a short distance their rugged character, though not their height, and were covered with herbage. a zigzag path led to the top, and the whole neighbourhood was full of ocean-worn coves and gullies, some of them dry, and many filled with water, while others were filled at high tide, and left empty when the tides fell. "o how beautiful! and what a place for smugglers!" was minnie's enthusiastic exclamation on first catching sight of the bay. "the smugglers and you would appear to be of one mind," said ruby, "for they are particularly fond of this place." "so fond of it," said the lieutenant, "that i mean to wait for them here in anticipation of a moonlight visit this night, if my fair passenger will consent to wander in such wild places at such late hours, guarded from the night air by my boat-cloak, and assured of the protection of my stout boatmen in case of any danger, although there is little prospect of our meeting with any greater danger than a breeze or a shower of rain." minnie said that she would like nothing better; that she did not mind the night air; and, as to danger from men, she felt that she should be well cared for in present circumstances. as she uttered the last words she naturally glanced at ruby, for minnie was of a dependent and trusting nature; but as ruby happened to be regarding her intently, though quite accidentally, at the moment, she dropped her eyes and blushed. it is wonderful the power of a little glance at times. the glance referred to made ruby perfectly happy. it conveyed to him the assurance that minnie regarded the protection of the entire boat's crew, including the lieutenant, as quite unnecessary, and that she deemed his single arm all that she required or wanted. the sun was just dipping behind the tall cliffs, and his parting rays were kissing the top of minnie's head as if they positively could not help it, and had recklessly made up their mind to do it, come what might! ruby looked at the golden light kissing the golden hair, and he felt---- oh! you know, reader; if you have ever been in similar circumstances, you _understand_ what he felt; if you have not, no words from me, or from any other man, can ever convey to you the most distant idea of _what_ ruby felt on that occasion! on reaching the shore they all went up to the green banks at the foot of the cliffs, and turned round to watch the men as they pulled the boat to a convenient point for re-embarking at a moment's notice. "you see," said the lieutenant, pursuing a conversation which he had been holding with the captain, "i have been told that big swankie, and his mate davy spink (who, it seems, is not over-friendly with him just now), mean to visit one of the luggers which is expected to come in to-night, before the moon rises, and bring off some kegs of auchmithie water, which, no doubt, they will try to hide in dickmont's den. i shall lie snugly here on the watch, and hope to nab them before they reach that celebrated old smuggler's abode." "well, i'll stay about here," said the captain, "and show minnie the caves. i would like to have taken her to see the gaylet pot, which is one o' the queerest hereabouts; but i'm too old for such rough work now." "but i am not too old for it," interposed ruby, "so if minnie would like to go----" "but i won't desert _you_, uncle," said minnie hastily. "nay, lass, call it not desertion. i can smoke my pipe here, an' contemplate. i'm fond of contemplation-- 'by the starry light of the summer night, on the banks of the blue moselle,' though, for the matter o' that, moonlight'll do, if there's no stars. i think it's good for the mind, minnie, and keeps all taut. contemplation is just like takin' an extra pull on the lee braces. so you may go with ruby, lass." thus advised, and being further urged by ruby himself, and being moreover exceedingly anxious to see this cave, minnie consented; so the two set off together, and, climbing to the summit of the cliffs, followed the narrow footpath that runs close to their giddy edge all along the coast. in less than half an hour they reached the giel or gaylet pot. chapter xix an adventure--secrets revealed, and a prize the giel or gaylet pot, down into which ruby, with great care and circumspection, led minnie, is one of the most curious of nature's freaks among the cliffs of arbroath. in some places there is a small scrap of pebbly beach at the base of those perpendicular cliffs; in most places there is none--the cliffs presenting to the sea almost a dead wall, where neither ship nor boat could find refuge from the storm. the country, inland, however, does not partake of the rugged nature of the cliffs. it slopes gradually towards them--so gradually that it may be termed flat, and if a stranger were to walk towards the sea over the fields in a dark night, the first intimation he would receive of his dangerous position would be when his foot descended into the terrible abyss that would receive his shattered frame a hundred feet below. in one of the fields there is a hole about a hundred yards across, and as deep as the cliffs in that part are high. it is about fifty or eighty yards from the edge of the cliffs, and resembles an old quarry; but it is cut so sharply out of the flat field that it shows no sign of its existence until the traveller is close upon it. the rocky sides, too, are so steep, that at first sight it seems as if no man could descend into it. but the most peculiar point about this hole is, that at the foot of it there is the opening of a cavern, through which the sea rolls into the hole, and breaks in wavelets on a miniature shore. the sea has forced its way inland and underground until it has burst into the bottom of this hole, which is not inaptly compared to a pot with water boiling at the bottom of it. when a spectator looks into the cave, standing at the bottom of the "pot", he sees the seaward opening at the other end--a bright spot of light in the dark interior. "you won't get nervous, minnie?" said ruby, pausing when about halfway down the steep declivity, where the track, or rather the place of descent, became still more steep and difficult; "a slip here would be dangerous." "i have no fear, ruby, as long as you keep by me." in a few minutes they reached the bottom, and, looking up, the sky appeared above them like a blue circular ceiling, with the edges of the gaylet pot sharply defined against it. proceeding over a mass of fallen rock, they reached the pebbly strand at the cave's inner mouth. "i can see the interior now, as my eyes become accustomed to the dim light," said minnie, gazing up wistfully into the vaulted roof, where the edges of projecting rocks seemed to peer out of darkness. "surely this must be a place for smugglers to come to!" "they don't often come here. the place is not so suitable as many of the other caves are." from the low, subdued tones in which they both spoke, it was evident that the place inspired them with feelings of awe. "come, minnie," said ruby, at length, in a more cheerful tone, "let us go into this cave and explore it." "but the water may be deep," objected minnie; "besides, i do not like to wade, even though it be shallow." "nay, sweet one; do you think i would ask you to wet your pretty feet? there is very little wading required. see, i have only to raise you in my arms and take two steps into the water, and a third step to the left round that projecting rock, where i can set you down on another beach inside the cave. your eyes will soon get used to the subdued light, and then you will see things much more clearly than you would think it possible viewed from this point." minnie did not require much pressing. she had perfect confidence in her lover, and was naturally fearless in disposition, so she was soon placed on the subterranean beach of the gaylet cave, and for some time wandered about in the dimly-lighted place, leaning on ruby's arm. gradually their eyes became accustomed to the place, and then its mysterious beauty and wildness began to have full effect on their minds, inducing them to remain for a long time silent, as they sat side by side on a piece of fallen rock. they sat looking in the direction of the seaward entrance to the cavern, where the light glowed brightly on the rocks, gradually losing its brilliancy as it penetrated the cave, until it became quite dim in the centre. no part of the main cave was quite dark, but the offshoot, in which the lovers sat, was almost dark. to anyone viewing it from the outer cave it would have appeared completely so. "is that a sea-gull at the outlet?" enquired minnie, after a long pause. ruby looked intently for a moment in the direction indicated. "minnie," he said quickly, and in a tone of surprise, "that is a large gull, if it be one at all, and uses oars instead of wings. who can it be? smugglers never come here that i am aware of, and lindsay is not a likely man to waste his time in pulling about when he has other work to do." "perhaps it may be some fishermen from auchmithie," suggested minnie, "who are fond of exploring, like you and me." "mayhap it is, but we shall soon see, for here they come. we must keep out of sight, my girl." ruby rose and led minnie into the recesses of the cavern, where they were speedily shrouded in profound darkness, and could not be seen by anyone, although they themselves could observe all that occurred in the space in front of them. the boat, which had entered the cavern by its seaward mouth, was a small one, manned by two fishermen, who were silent as they rowed under the arched roof; but it was evident that their silence did not proceed from caution, for they made no effort to prevent or check the noise of the oars. in a few seconds the keel grated on the peebles, and one of the men leaped out. "noo, davy," he said, in a voice that sounded deep and hollow under that vaulted roof, "oot wi' the kegs. haste ye, man." "tis big swankie," whispered ruby. "there's nae hurry," objected the other fisherman, who, we need scarcely inform the reader, was our friend, davy spink. "nae hurry!" repeated his comrade angrily. "that's aye yer cry. half 'o oor ventures hae failed because ye object to hurry." "hoot, man! that's enough o't," said spink, in the nettled tone of a man who has been a good deal worried. indeed, the tones of both showed that these few sentences were but the continuation of a quarrel which had begun elsewhere. "it's plain to me that we must pairt, freen'," said swankie in a dogged manner, as he lifted a keg out of the boat and placed it on the ground. "ay," exclaimed spink, with something of a sneer, "an" d'ye think i'll pairt without a diveesion o' the siller tea-pats and things that ye daurna sell for fear o' bein' fund out?" "i wonder ye dinna claim half o' the jewels and things as weel," retorted swankie; "ye hae mair right to _them_, seein' ye had a hand in findin' them." "_me_ a hand in findin' them," exclaimed spink, with sudden indignation. "was it _me_ that fand the deed body o' the auld man on the bell rock? na, na, freend. i hae naething to do wi' deed men's jewels." "have ye no?" retorted the other. "it's strange, then, that ye should entertain such sma' objections to deed men's siller." "weel-a-weel, swankie, the less we say on thae matters the better. here, tak' hand o' the tither keg." the conversation ceased at this stage abruptly. evidently each had touched on the other's weak point, so both tacitly agreed to drop the subject. presently big swankie took out a flint and steel, and proceeded to strike a light. it was some some time before the tinder would catch. at each stroke of the steel a shower of brilliant sparks lit up his countenance for an instant, and this momentary glance showed that its expression was not prepossessing by any means. ruby drew minnie farther into the recess which concealed them, and awaited the result with some anxiety, for he felt that the amount of knowledge with which he had become possessed thus unintentionally, small though it was, was sufficient to justify the smugglers in regarding him as a dangerous enemy. he had scarcely drawn himself quite within the shadow of the recess, when swankie succeeded in kindling a torch, which filled the cavern with a lurid light, and revealed its various forms, rendering it, if possible, more mysterious and unearthly than ever. "here, spink," cried swankie, who was gradually getting into better humour, "haud the light, and gie me the spade." "ye better put them behind the rock, far in," suggested spink. the other seemed to entertain this idea for a moment, for he raised the torch above his head, and, advancing into the cave, carefully examined the rocks at the inner end. step by step he drew near to the place where ruby and minnie were concealed, muttering to himself, as he looked at each spot that might possibly suit his purpose, "na, na, the waves wad wash the kegs oot o' that if it cam' on to blaw." he made another step forward, and the light fell almost on the head of ruby, who felt minnie's arm tremble. he clenched his hands with that feeling of resolve that comes over a man when he has made up his mind to fight. just then an exclamation of surprise escaped from his comrade. "losh! man, what have we here?" he cried, picking up a small object that glittered in the light. minnie's heart sank, for she could see that the thing was a small brooch which she was in the habit of wearing in her neckerchief, and which must have been detached when ruby carried her into the cave. she felt assured that this would lead to their discovery; but it had quite the opposite effect, for it caused swankie to turn round and examine the trinket with much curiosity. a long discussion as to how it could have come there immediately ensued between the smugglers, in the midst of which a wavelet washed against swankie's feet, reminding him that the tide was rising, and that he had no time to lose. "there's nae place behint the rocks," said he quickly, putting the brooch in his pocket, "so we'll just hide the kegs amang the stanes. lucky for us that we got the rest o' the cargo run ashore at auchmithie. this'll lie snugly here, and we'll pull past the leftenant, who thinks we havena seen him, with oor heeds up and oor tongues in oor cheeks." they both chuckled heartily at the idea of disappointing the preventive officer, and while one held the torch the other dug a hole in the beach deep enough to contain the two kegs. "in ye go, my beauties," said swankie, covering them up. "mony's the time i've buried ye." "ay, an' mony's the time ye've helped at their resurrection," added spink, with a laugh. "noo, we'll away an' have a look at the kegs in the forbidden cave," said swankie, "see that they're a' richt, an' then have our game wi' the land-sharks." next moment the torch was dashed against the stones and extinguished, and the two men, leaping into their boat, rowed away. as they passed through the outer cavern, ruby heard them arrange to go back to auchmithie. their voices were too indistinct to enable him to ascertain their object in doing so, but he knew enough of the smugglers to enable him to guess that it was for the purpose of warning some of their friends of the presence of the preventive boat, which their words proved that they had seen. "now, minnie," said he, starting up as soon as the boat had disappeared, "this is what i call good luck, for not only shall we be able to return with something to the boat, but we shall be able to intercept big swankie and his comrade, and offer them a glass of their own gin!" "yes, and i shall be able to boast of having had quite a little adventure," said minnie, who, now that her anxiety was over, began to feel elated. they did not waste time in conversation, however, for the digging up of two kegs from a gravelly beach with fingers instead of a spade was not a quick or easy thing to do; so ruby found as he went down on his knees in that dark place and began the work. "can i help you?" asked his fair companion after a time. "help me! what? chafe and tear your little hands with work that all but skins mine? nay, truly. but here comes one, and the other will soon follow. yo, heave, ho!" with the well-known nautical shout ruby put forth an herculean effort, and tore the kegs out of the earth. after a short pause he carried minnie out of the cavern, and led her to the field above by the same path by which they had descended. then he returned for the kegs of gin. they were very heavy, but not too heavy for the strength of the young giant, who was soon hastening with rapid strides towards the bay, where they had left their friends. he bore a keg under each arm, and minnie tripped lightly by his side,--and laughingly, too, for she enjoyed the thought of the discomfiture that was in store for the smugglers. chapter xx the smugglers are "treated" to gin and astonishment they found the lieutenant and captain ogilvy stretched on the grass, smoking their pipes together. the daylight had almost deepened into night, and a few stars were beginning to twinkle in the sky. "hey! what have we here--smugglers'!" cried the captain, springing up rather quickly, as ruby came unexpectedly on them. "just so, uncle," said minnie, with a laugh. "we have here some gin, smuggled all the way from holland, and have come to ask your opinion of it." "why, ruby, how came you by this?" enquired lindsay in amazement, as he examined the kegs with critical care. "suppose i should say that i have been taken into confidence by the smugglers and then betrayed them." "i should reply that the one idea was improbable, and the other impossible," returned the lieutenant. "well, i have at all events found out their secrets, and now i reveal them." in a few words ruby acquainted his friends with all that has just been narrated. the moment he had finished, the lieutenant ordered his men to launch the boat. the kegs were put into the stern-sheets, the party embarked, and, pushing off, they rowed gently out of the bay, and crept slowly along the shore, under the deep shadow of the cliffs. "how dark it is getting!" said minnie, after they had rowed for some time in silence. "the moon will soon be up," said the lieutenant. "meanwhile i'll cast a little light on the subject by having a pipe. will you join me, captain?" this was a temptation which the captain never resisted; indeed, he did not regard it as a temptation at all, and would have smiled at the idea of resistance. "minnie, lass," said he, as he complacently filled the blackened bowl, and calmly stuffed down the glowing tobacco with the end of that marvellously callous little finger, "it's a wonderful thing that baccy. i don't know what man would do without it." "quite as well as woman does, i should think," replied minnie. "i'm not so sure of that, lass. it's more nat'ral for man to smoke than for woman. ye see, woman, lovely woman, should be 'all my fancy painted her, both lovely and divine'. it would never do to have baccy perfumes hangin' about her rosy lips." "but, uncle, why should man have the disagreeable perfumes you speak of hanging about _his_ lips?" "i don't know, lass. it's all a matter o' feeling. 'twere vain to tell thee all i feel, how much my heart would wish to say;' but of this i'm certain sure, that i'd never git along without my pipe. it's like compass, helm, and ballast all in one. is that the moon, leftenant?" the captain pointed to a faint gleam of light on the horizon, which he knew well enough to be the moon; but he wished to change the subject. "ay is it, and there comes a boat. steady, men! lay on your oars a bit." this was said earnestly. in one instant all were silent, and the boat lay as motionless as the shadows of the cliffs among which it was involved. presently the sound of oars was heard. almost at the same moment, the upper edge of the moon rose above the horizon, and covered the sea with rippling silver. ere long a boat shot into this stream of light, and rowed swiftly in the direction of arbroath. "there are only two men in it," whispered the lieutenant. "ay, these are my good friends swankie and spink, who know a deal more about other improper callings besides smuggling, if i did not greatly mistake their words," cried ruby. "give way, lads!" cried the lieutenant. the boat sprang at the word from her position under the cliffs, and was soon out upon the sea in full chase of the smugglers, who bent to their oars more lustily, evidently intending to trust to their speed. "strange," said the lieutenant, as the distance between the two began sensibly to decrease, "if these be smugglers, with an empty boat, as you lead me to suppose they are, they would only be too glad to stop and let us see that they had nothing aboard that we could touch. it leads me to think that you are mistaken, ruby brand, and that these are not your friends." "nay, the same fact convinces me that they are the very men we seek; for they said they meant to have some game with you, and what more amusing than to give you a long, hard chase for nothing?" "true; you are right. well, we will turn the tables on them. take the helm for a minute, while i tap one of the kegs." the tapping was soon accomplished, and a quantity of the spirit was drawn off into the captain's pocket-flask. "taste it, captain, and let's have your opinion." captain ogilvy complied. he put the flask to his lips, and, on removing it, smacked them, and looked at the party with that extremely grave, almost solemn expression, which is usually assumed by a man when strong liquid is being put to the delicate test of his palate. "oh!" exclaimed the captain, opening his eyes very wide indeed. what "oh" meant, was rather doubtful at first; but when the captain put the flask again to his lips, and took another pull, a good deal longer than the first, much, if not all of the doubt was removed. "prime! nectar!" he murmured, in a species of subdued ecstasy, at the end of the second draught. "evidently the right stuff," said lindsay, laughing. "liquid streams--celestial nectar, darted through the ambient sky," said the captain; "liquid, ay, liquid is the word." he was about to test the liquid again:-- "stop! stop! fair play, captain; it's my turn now," cried the lieutenant, snatching the flask from his friend's grasp, and applying it to his own lips. both the lieutenant and ruby pronounced the gin perfect, and as minnie positively refused either to taste or to pronounce judgment, the flask was returned to its owner's pocket. they were now close on the smugglers, whom they hailed, and commanded to lay on their oars. the order was at once obeyed, and the boats were speedily rubbing sides together. "i should like to examine your boat, friends," said the lieutenant as he stepped across the gunwales. "oh! sir, i'm thankfu' to find you're not smugglers," said swankie, with an assumed air of mingled respect and alarm. "if we'd only know'd ye was preventives we'd ha' backed oars at once. there's nothin' here; ye may seek as long's ye please. the hypocritical rascal winked slyly to his comrade as he said this. meanwhile lindsay and one of the men examined the contents of the boat, and, finding nothing contraband, the former said-- "so, you're honest men, i find. fishermen, doubtless?" "ay, some o' yer crew ken us brawly," said davy spink with a grin. "well, i won't detain you," rejoined the lieutenant; "it's quite a pleasure to chase honest men on the high seas in these times of war and smuggling. but it's too bad to have given you such a fright, lads, for nothing. what say you to a glass of gin?" big swankie and his comrade glanced at each other in surprise. they evidently thought this an unaccountably polite government officer, and were puzzled. however, they could do no less than accept such a generous offer. "thank'ee, sir," said big swankie, spitting out his quid and significantly wiping his mouth. "i hae nae objection. doubtless it'll be the best that the like o' you carries in yer bottle." "the best, certainly," said the lieutenant, as he poured out a bumper, and handed it to the smuggler. "it was smuggled, of course, and you see his majesty is kind enough to give his servants a little of what they rescue from the rascals, to drink his health." "weel, i drink to the king," said swankie, "an' confusion to all his enemies, 'specially to smugglers." he tossed off the gin with infinite gusto, and handed back the cup with a smack of the lips and a look that plainly said, "more, if you please!" but the hint was not taken. another bumper was filled and handed to davy spink, who had been eyeing the crew of the boat with great suspicion. he accepted the cup, nodded curtly, and said-- "here's t' ye, gentlemen, no forgettin' the fair leddy in the stern-sheets." while he was drinking the gin the lieutenant turned to his men-- "get out the keg, lads, from which that came, and refill the flask. hold it well up in the moonlight, and see that ye don't spill a single drop, as you value your lives. hey! my man, what ails you? does the gin disagree with your stomach, or have you never seen a smuggled keg of spirits before, that you stare at it as if it were a keg of ghosts!" the latter part of this speech was addressed to swankie, who no sooner beheld the keg than his eyes opened up until they resembled two great oysters. his mouth slowly followed suit. davy spink's attention having been attracted, he became subject to similar alterations of visage. "hallo!" cried the captain, while the whole crew burst into a laugh, "you must have given them poison. have you a stomach-pump, doctor?" he said, turning hastily to ruby. "no, nothing but a penknife and a tobacco-stopper. if they're of any use to you----" he was interrupted by a loud laugh from big swankie, who quickly recovered his presence of mind, and declared that he had never tasted such capital stuff in his life. "have ye much o't, sir?" "o yes, a good deal. i have _two_ kegs of it," (the lieutenant grinned very hard at this point), "and we expect to get a little more to-night." "ha!" exclaimed davy spink, "there's no doot plenty o't in the coves hereaway, for they're an awfu' smugglin' set. whan did ye find the twa kegs, noo, if i may ask?" "oh, certainly. i got them not more than an hour ago." the smugglers glanced at each other and were struck dumb; but they were now too much on their guard to let any further evidence of surprise escape them. "weel, i wush ye success, sirs," said swankie, sitting down to his oar. "it's likely ye'll come across mair if ye try dickmont's den. there's usually somethin' hidden there-aboots." "thank you, friend, for the hint," said the lieutenant, as he took his place at the tiller-ropes, "but i shall have a look at the gaylet cove, i think, this evening." "what! the gaylet cove?" cried spink. "ye might as weel look for kegs at the bottom o' the deep sea." "perhaps so; nevertheless, i have taken a fancy to go there. if i find nothing, i will take a look into the forbidden cave." "the forbidden cave!" almost howled swankie. "wha iver heard o' smugglers hidin' onything there? the air in't wad pushen a rotten." "perhaps it would, yet i mean to try." "weel-a-weel, ye may try, but ye might as weel seek for kegs o' gin on the bell rock." "ha! it's not the first time that strange things have been found on the bell bock," said ruby suddenly. "i have heard of jewels, even, being discovered there." "give way, men; shove off," cried the lieutenant. "a pleasant pull to you, lads. good night." the two boats parted, and while the lieutenant and his friends made for the shore, the smugglers rowed towards arbroath in a state of mingled amazement and despair at what they had heard and seen. "it was ruby brand that spoke last, davy." "ay; he was i' the shadow o' captain ogilvy and i couldna see his face, but i thought it like his voice when he first spoke." "hoo _can_ he hae come to ken aboot the jewels?" "that's mair than i can tell." "i'll bury them," said swankie, "an' then it'll puzzle onybody to tell whaur they are." "ye'll please yoursell," said spink. swankie was too angry to make any reply, or to enter into further conversation with his comrade about the kegs of gin, so they continued their way in silence. meanwhile, as lieutenant lindsay and his men had a night of work before them, the captain suggested that minnie, ruby, and himself should be landed within a mile of the town, and left to find their way thither on foot. this was agreed to; and while the one party walked home by the romantic pathway at the top of the cliffs, the other rowed away to explore the dark recesses of the forbidden cave. chapter xxi the bell rock again--a dreary night in a strange habitation during that winter ruby brand wrought diligently in the workyard at the lighthouse materials, and, by living economically, began to save a small sum of money, which he laid carefully by with a view to his marriage with minnie gray. being an impulsive man, ruby would have married minnie, then and there, without looking too earnestly to the future. but his mother had advised him to wait till he should have laid by a little for a "rainy day". the captain had recommended patience, tobacco, and philosophy, and had enforced his recommendations with sundry apt quotations from dead and living novelists, dramatists, and poets. minnie herself, poor girl, felt that she ought not to run counter to the wishes of her best and dearest friends, so she too advised delay for a "little time"; and ruby was fain to content himself with bewailing his hard lot internally, and knocking jamie dove's bellows, anvils, and sledge-hammers about in a way that induced that son of vulcan to believe his assistant had gone mad! as for big swankie, he hid his ill-gotten gains under the floor of his tumble-down cottage, and went about his evil courses as usual in company with his comrade davy spink, who continued to fight and make it up with him as of yore. it must not be supposed that ruby forgot the conversation he had overheard in the gaylet cove. he and minnie and his uncle had frequent discussions in regard to it, but to little purpose; for although swankie and spink had discovered old mr. brand's body on the bell rock, it did not follow that any jewels or money they had found there were necessarily his. still ruby could not divest his mind of the feeling that there was some connexion between the two, and he was convinced, from what had fallen from davy spink about "silver teapots and things", that swankie was the man of whose bad deeds he himself had been suspected. as there seemed no possibility of bringing the matter home to him, however, he resolved to dismiss the whole affair from his mind in the meantime. things were very much in this state when, in the spring, the operations at the bell bock were resumed. jamie dove, ruby, robert selkirk, and several of the principal workmen, accompanied the engineers on their first visit to the rock, and they sailed towards the scene of their former labours with deep and peculiar interest, such as one might feel on renewing acquaintance with an old friend who had passed through many hard and trying struggles since the last time of meeting. the storms of winter had raged round the bell rock as usual--as they had done, in fact, since the world began; but that winter the handiwork of man had also been exposed to the fury of the elements there. it was known that the beacon had survived the storms, for it could be seen by telescope from the shore in clear weather--like a little speck on the seaward horizon. now they were about to revisit the old haunt, and have a close inspection of the damage that it was supposed must certainly have been done. to the credit of the able engineer who planned and carried out the whole works, the beacon was found to have resisted winds and waves successfully. it was on a bitterly cold morning about the end of march that the first visit of the season was paid to the bell rock. mr. stevenson and his party of engineers and artificers sailed in the lighthouse yacht; and, on coming within a proper distance of the rock, two boats were lowered and pushed off. the sea ran with such force upon the rock that it seemed doubtful whether a landing could be effected. about half-past eight, when the rock was fairly above water, several attempts were made to land, but the breach of the sea was still so great that they were driven back. on the eastern side the sea separated into two distinct waves, which came with a sweep round the western side, where they met, and rose in a burst of spray to a considerable height. watching, however, for what the sailors termed a smooth, and catching a favourable opportunity, they rowed between the two seas dexterously, and made a successful landing at the western creek. the sturdy beacon was then closely examined. it had been painted white at the end of the previous season, but the lower parts of the posts were found to have become green--the sea having clothed them with a soft garment of weed. the sea-birds had evidently imagined that it was put up expressly for their benefit; for a number of cormorants and large herring-gulls had taken up their quarters on it--finding it, no doubt, conveniently near to their fishing-grounds. a critical inspection of all its parts showed that everything about it was in a most satisfactory state. there was not the slightest indication of working or shifting in the great iron stanchions with which the beams were fixed, nor of any of the joints or places of connexion; and, excepting some of the bracing-chains which had been loosened, everything was found in the same entire state in which it had been left the previous season. only those who know what that beacon had been subjected to can form a correct estimate of the importance of this discovery, and the amount of satisfaction it afforded to those most interested in the works at the bell rock. to say that the party congratulated themselves would be far short of the reality. they hailed the event with cheers, and their looks seemed to indicate that some piece of immense and unexpected good fortune had befallen each individual. from that moment mr. stevenson saw the practicability and propriety of fitting up the beacon, not only as a place of refuge in case of accidents to the boats in landing, but as a residence for the men during the working months. from that moment, too, poor jamie dove began to see the dawn of happier days; for when the beacon should be fitted up as a residence he would bid farewell to the hated floating light, and take up his abode, as ho expressed it, "on land". "on land!" it is probable that this jamie dove was the first man, since the world began, who had entertained the till then absurdly preposterous notion that the fatal bell rock was "land", or that it could be made a place of even temporary residence. a hundred years ago men would have laughed at the bare idea. fifty years ago that idea was realized; for more than half a century that sunken reef has been, and still is, the safe and comfortable home of man! forgive, reader, our tendency to anticipate. let us proceed with our inspection. having ascertained that the foundations of the beacon were all right, the engineers next ascended to the upper parts, where they found the cross-beams and their fixtures in an equally satisfactory condition. on the top a strong chest had been fixed the preceding season, in which had been placed a quantity of sea-biscuits and several bottles of water, in case of accident to the boats, or in the event of shipwreck occurring on the rock. the biscuit, having been carefully placed in tin canisters, was found in good condition, but several of the water-bottles had burst, in consequence, it was supposed, of frost during the winter. twelve of the bottles, however, remained entire, so that the bell rock may be said to have been transformed, even at that date, from a point of destruction into a place of comparative safety. while the party were thus employed, the landing-master reminded them that the sea was running high, and that it would be necessary to set off while the rock afforded anything like shelter to the boats, which by that time had been made fast to the beacon and rode with much agitation, each requiring two men with boat-hooks to keep them from striking each other, or ranging up against the beacon. but under these circumstances the greatest confidence was felt by everyone, from the security afforded by that temporary erection; for, supposing that the wind had suddenly increased to a gale, and that it had been found inadvisable to go into the boats; or supposing they had drifted or sprung a leak from striking upon the rocks, in any of these possible, and not at all improbable, cases, they had now something to lay hold of, and, though occupying the dreary habitation of the gull and the cormorant, affording only bread and water, yet _life_ would be preserved, and, under the circumstances, they would have been supported by the hope of being ultimately relieved. soon after this the works at the bell rock were resumed, with, if possible, greater vigour than before, and ere long the "house" was fixed to the top of the beacon, and the engineer and his men took up their abode there. think of this, reader. six great wooden beams were fastened to a rock, over which the waves roared twice everyday, and on the top of these a pleasant little marine residence was nailed, as one might nail a dove-cot on the top of a pole! this residence was ultimately fitted up in such a way as to become a comparatively comfortable and commodious abode. it contained four storeys. the first was the mortar-gallery, where the mortar for the lighthouse was mixed as required; it also supported the forge. the second was the cook-room. the third the apartment of the engineer and his assistants; and the fourth was the artificer's barrack-room. this house was of course built of wood, but it was firmly put together, for it had to pass through many a terrific ordeal. in order to give some idea of the interior, we shall describe the cabin of mr. stevenson. it measured four feet three inches in breadth on the floor, and though, from the oblique direction of the beams of the beacon, it widened towards the top, yet it did not admit of the full extension of the occupant's arms when he stood on the floor. its length was little more than sufficient to admit of a cot-bed being suspended during the night. this cot was arranged so as to be triced up to the roof during the day, thus leaving free room for occasional visitors, and for comparatively free motion, a folding table was attached with hinges immediately under the small window of the apartment. the remainder of the space was fitted up with books, barometer, thermometer, portmanteau, and two or three camp-stools. the walls were covered with green cloth, formed into panels with red tape, a substance which, by the way, might have had an _accidental_ connexion with the bell rock lighthouse, but which could not, by any possibility, have influenced it as a _principle_, otherwise that building would probably never have been built, or, if built, would certainly not have stood until the present day! the bed was festooned with yellow cotton stuff, and the diet being plain, the paraphernalia of the table was proportionally simple. it would have been interesting to know the individual books required and used by the celebrated engineer in his singular abode, but his record leaves no detailed account of these. it does, however, contain a sentence in regard to one volume which we deem it just to his character to quote. he writes thus:-- "if, in speculating upon the abstract wants of man in such a state of exclusion, one were reduced to a single book, the sacred volume, whether considered for the striking diversity of its story, the morality of its doctrine, or the important truths of its gospel, would have proved by far the greatest treasure." it may be easily imagined that in a place where the accommodation of the principal engineer was so limited, that of the men was not extensive. accordingly, we find that the barrack-room contained beds for twenty-one men. but the completion of the beacon house, as we have described it, was not accomplished in one season. at first it was only used as a smith's workshop, and then as a temporary residence in fine weather. one of the first men who remained all night upon it was our friend bremner. he became so tired of the floating light that he earnestly solicited, and obtained, permission to remain on the beacon. at the time it was only in a partially sheltered state. the joiners had just completed the covering of the roof with a quantity of tarpaulin, which the seamen had laid over with successive coats of hot tar, and the sides of the erection had been painted with three coats of white lead. between the timber framing of the habitable part, the interstices were stuffed with moss, but the green baize cloth with which it was afterwards lined had not been put on when bremner took possession. it was a splendid summer evening when the bold man made his request, and obtained permission to remain. none of the others would join him. when the boats pushed off and left him the solitary occupant of the rock, he felt a sensation of uneasiness, but, having formed his resolution, he stuck by it, and bade his comrades good night cheerfully. "good night, and _goodbye_," cried forsyth, as he took his seat at the oar. "farewell, dear," cried o'connor, wiping his eyes with a _very_ ragged pocket handkerchief. "you won't forget me?" retorted bremner. "never," replied dumsby, with fervour. "av the beacon should be carried away, darlin'," cried o'connor, "howld tight to the provision-chest, p'raps ye'll be washed ashore." "i'll drink your health in water, paddy," replied bremner. "faix, i hope it won't be salt wather," retorted ned. they continued to shout good wishes, warnings, and advice to their comrade until out of hearing, and then waved adieu to him until he was lost to view. we have said that bremner was alone, yet he was not entirely so; he had a comrade with him, in the shape of his little black dog, to which reference has already been made. this creature was of that very thin and tight-skinned description of dog, that trembles at all times as if afflicted with chronic cold, summer and winter. its thin tail was always between its extremely thin legs, as though it lived in a perpetual condition of wrong-doing, and were in constant dread of deserved punishment. yet no dog ever belied its looks more than did this one, for it was a good dog, and a warmhearted dog, and never did a wicked thing, and never was punished, so that its excessive humility and apparent fear and trembling were quite unaccountable. like all dogs of its class it was passionately affectionate, and intensely grateful for the smallest favour. in fact, it seemed to be rather thankful than otherwise for a kick when it chanced to receive one, and a pat on the head, or a kind word made it all but jump out of its black skin for very joy. bremner called it "pup". it had no other name, and didn't seem to wish for one. on the present occasion it was evidently much perplexed, and very unhappy, for it looked at the boat, and then wistfully into its master's face, as if to say, "this is awful; have you resolved that we shall perish together?" "now, pup," said bremner, when the boat disappeared in the shades of evening, "you and i are left alone on the bell rock!" there was a touch of sad uncertainty in the wag of the tail with which pup received this remark. "but cheer up, pup," cried bremner with a sudden burst of animation that induced the creature to wriggle and dance on its hind legs for at least a minute, "you and i shall have a jolly night together on the beacon; so come along." like many a night that begins well, that particular night ended ill. even while the man spoke, a swell began to rise, and, as the tide had by that time risen a few feet, an occasional billow swept over the rocks and almost washed the feet of bremner as he made his way over the ledges. in five minutes the sea was rolling all round the foot of the beacon, and bremner and his friend were safely ensconced on the mortar-gallery. there was no storm that night, nevertheless there was one of those heavy ground swells that are of common occurrence in the german ocean. it is supposed that this swell is caused by distant westerly gales in the atlantic, which force an undue quantity of water into the north sea, and thus produce the apparent paradox of great rolling breakers in calm weather. on this night there was no wind at all, but there was a higher swell than usual, so that each great billow passed over the rock with a roar that was rendered more than usually terrible, in consequence of the utter absence of all other sounds. at first bremner watched the rising tide, and as he sat up there in the dark he felt himself dreadfully forsaken and desolate, and began to comment on things in general to his dog, by way of inducing a more sociable and cheery state of mind. "pup, this is a lugubrious state o' things. wot d'ye think o't?" pup did not say, but he expressed such violent joy at being noticed, that he nearly fell off the platform of the mortar-gallery in one of his extravagant gyrations. "that won't do, pup," said bremner, shaking his head at the creature, whose countenance expressed deep contrition. "don't go on like that, else you'll fall into the sea and be drownded, and then i shall be left alone. what a dark night it is, to be sure! i doubt if it was wise of me to stop here. suppose the beacon were to be washed away?" bremner paused, and pup wagged his tail interrogatively, as though to say, "what then?" "ah! it's of no use supposin'," continued the man slowly. "the beacon has stood it out all winter, and it ain't likely it's goin' to be washed away to-night. but suppose i was to be took bad?" again the dog seemed to demand, "what then?" "well, that's not very likely either, for i never was took bad in my life since i took the measles, and that's more than twenty years ago. come, pup, don't let us look at the black side o' things, let us try to be cheerful, my dog. hallo!" the exclamation was caused by the appearance of a green billow, which in the uncertain light seemed to advance in a threatening attitude towards the beacon as if to overwhelm it, but it fell at some distance, and only rolled in a churning sea of milky foam among the posts, and sprang up and licked the beams, as a serpent might do before swallowing them. "come, it was the light deceived me. if i go for to start at every wave like that i'll have a poor night of it, for the tide has a long way to rise yet. let's go and have a bit supper, lad." bremner rose from the anvil, on which he had seated himself, and went up the ladder into the cook-house above. here all was pitch dark, owing to the place being enclosed all round, which the mortar-gallery was not, but a light was soon struck, a lamp trimmed, and the fire in the stove kindled. bremner now busied himself in silently preparing a cup of tea, which, with a quantity of sea-biscuit, a little cold salt pork, and a hunch of stale bread, constituted his supper. pup watched his every movement with an expression of earnest solicitude, combined with goodwill, in his sharp intelligent eyes. when supper was ready pup had his share, then, feeling that the duties of the day were now satisfactorily accomplished, he coiled himself up at his master's feet, and went to sleep. his master rolled himself up in a rug, and lying down before the fire, also tried to sleep, but without success for a long time. as he lay there counting the number of seconds of awful silence that elapsed between the fall of each successive billow, and listening to the crash and the roar as wave after wave rushed underneath him, and caused his habitation to tremble, he could not avoid feeling alarmed in some degree. do what he would, the thought of the wrecks that had taken place there, the shrieks that must have often rung above these rocks, and the dead and mangled bodies that must have lain among them, _would_ obtrude upon him and banish sleep from his eyes. at last he became somewhat accustomed to the rush of waters and the tremulous motion of the beacon. his frame, too, exhausted by a day of hard toil, refused to support itself, and he sank into slumber. but it was not unbroken. a falling cinder from the sinking fire would awaken him with a start; a larger wave than usual would cause him to spring up and look round in alarm; or a shrieking sea-bird, as it swooped past, would induce a dream, in which the cries of drowning men arose, causing him to awake with a cry that set pup barking furiously. frequently during that night, after some such dream, bremner would get up and descend to the mortar-gallery to see that all was right there. he found the waves always hissing below, but the starry sky was calm and peaceful above, so he returned to his couch comforted a little, and fell again into a troubled sleep, to be again awakened by frightful dreams of dreadful sights, and scenes of death and danger on the sea. thus the hours wore slowly away. as the tide fell the noise of waves retired a little from the beacon, and the wearied man and dog sank gradually at last into deep, untroubled slumber. so deep was it, that they did not hear the increasing noise of the gulls as they wheeled round the beacon after having breakfasted near it; so deep, that they did not feel the sun as it streamed through an opening in the woodwork and glared on their respective faces; so deep, that they were ignorant of the arrival of the boats with the workmen, and were dead to the shouts of their companions, until one of them, jamie dove, put his head up the hatchway and uttered one of his loudest roars, close to their ears. then indeed bremner rose up and looked bewildered, and pup, starting up, barked as furiously as if its own little black body had miraculously become the concentrated essence of all the other noisy dogs in the wide world rolled into one! chapter xxii life in the beacon--story of the eddystone lighthouse some time after this a number of the men took up their permanent abode in the beacon house, and the work was carried on by night as well as by day, when the state of the tide and the weather permitted. immense numbers of fish called poddlies were discovered to be swimming about at high water. so numerous were they, that the rock was sometimes hidden by the shoals of them. fishing for these thenceforth became a pastime among the men, who not only supplied their own table with fresh fish, but at times sent presents of them to their friends in the vessels. all the men who dwelt on the beacon were volunteers, for mr. stevenson felt that it would be cruel to compel men to live at such a post of danger. those who chose, therefore, remained in the lightship or the tender, and those who preferred it went to the beacon. it is scarcely necessary to add, that among the latter were found all the "sea-sick men!" these bold artificers were not long of having their courage tested. soon after their removal to the beacon they experienced some very rough weather, which shook the posts violently, and caused them to twist in a most unpleasant way. but it was not until some time after that a storm arose, which caused the stoutest-hearted of them all to quail more than once. it began on the night of as fine a day as they had had the whole season. in order that the reader may form a just conception of what we are about to describe, it may not be amiss to note the state of things at the rock, and the employment of the men at the time. a second forge had been put up on the higher platform of the beacon, but the night before that of which we write, the lower platform had been burst up by a wave, and the mortar and forge thereon, with all the implements, were cast down. the damaged forge was therefore set up for the time on its old site, near the foundation-pit of the lighthouse, while the carpenters were busy repairing the mortar-gallery. the smiths were as usual busy sharpening picks and irons, and making bats and stanchions, and other iron work connected with the building operations. the landing-master's crew were occupied in assisting the millwrights to lay the railways to hand, and joiners were kept almost constantly employed in fitting picks to their handles, which latter were very frequently broken. nearly all the miscellaneous work was done by seamen. there was no such character on the bell rock as the common labourer. the sailors cheerfully undertook the work usually performed by such men, and they did it admirably. in consequence of the men being able to remain on the beacon, the work went on literally "by double tides"; and at night the rock was often ablaze with torches, while the artificers wrought until the waves drove them away. on the night in question there was a low spring-tide, so that a night-tide's work of five hours was secured. this was one of the longest spells they had had since the beginning of the operations. the stars shone brightly in a very dark sky. not a breath of air was felt. even the smoke of the forge fire rose perpendicularly a short way, until an imperceptible zephyr wafted it gently to the west. yet there was a heavy swell rolling in from the eastward, which caused enormous waves to thunder on ralph the rover's ledge, as if they would drive down the solid rock. mingled with this solemn, intermittent roar of the sea was the continuous clink of picks, chisels, and hammers, and the loud clang of the two forges; that on the beacon being distinctly different from the other, owing to the wooden erection on which it stood rendering it deep and thunderous. torches and forge fires cast a glare over all, rendering the foam pale green and the rocks deep red. some of the active figures at work stood out black and sharp against the light, while others shone in its blaze like red-hot fiends. above all sounded an occasional cry from the sea-gulls, as they swooped down into the magic circle of light, and then soared away shrieking into darkness. "hard work's not easy," observed james dove, pausing in the midst of his labours to wipe his brow. "true for ye; but as we've got to arn our brid be the sweat of our brows, we're in the fair way to fortin," said ned o'connor, blowing away energetically with the big bellows. ned had been reappointed to this duty since the erection of the second forge, which was in ruby's charge. it was our hero's hammer that created such a din up in the beacon, while dove wrought down on the rock. "we'll have a gale to-night," said the smith; "i know that by the feelin' of the air." "well, i can't boast o' much knowledge o' feelin'," said o'connor; "but i believe you're right, for the fish towld me the news this mornin'." this remark of ned had reference to a well-ascertained fact, that, when a storm was coming, the fish invariably left the neighbourhood of the rock; doubtless in order to seek the security of depths which are not affected by winds or waves. while dove and his comrade commented on this subject, two of the other men had retired to the south-eastern end of the rock to take a look at the weather. these were peter logan, the foreman, whose position required him to have a care for the safety of the men as well as for the progress of the work, and our friend bremner, who had just descended from the cooking-room, where he had been superintending the preparation of supper. "it will be a stiff breeze, i fear, to-night," said logan. "d'ye think so?" said bremner; "it seems to me so calm that i would think a storm a'most impossible. but the fish never tell lies." "true. you got no fish to-day, i believe?" said logan. "not a nibble," replied the other. as he spoke, he was obliged to rise from a rock on which he had seated himself, because of a large wave, which, breaking on the outer reefs, sent the foam a little closer to his toes than was agreeable. "that was a big one, but yonder is a bigger," cried logan. the wave to which he referred was indeed a majestic wall of water. it came on with such an awful appearance of power, that some of the men who perceived it could not repress a cry of astonishment. in another moment it fell, and, bursting over the rocks with a terrific roar, extinguished the forge fire, and compelled the men to take refuge in the beacon. jamie dove saved his bellows with difficulty. the other men, catching up their things as they best might, crowded up the ladder in a more or less draggled condition. the beacon house was gained by means of one of the main beams, which had been converted into a stair, by the simple process of nailing small battens thereon, about a foot apart from each other. the men could only go up one at a time, but as they were active and accustomed to the work, they were all speedily within their place of refuge. soon afterwards the sea covered the rock, and the place where they had been at work was a mass of seething foam. still there was no wind; but dark clouds had begun to rise on the seaward horizon. the sudden change in the appearance of the rock after the last torches were extinguished was very striking. for a few seconds there seemed to be no light at all. the darkness of a coal mine appeared to have settled down on the scene. but this soon passed away, as the men's eyes became accustomed to the change, and then the dark loom of the advancing billows, the pale light of the flashing foam, and occasional gleams of phosphorescence, and glimpses of black rocks in the midst of all, took the place of the warm, busy scene which the spot had presented a few minutes before. "supper, boys!" shouted bremner. peter bremner, we may remark in passing, was a particularly useful member of society. besides being small and corpulent, he was a capital cook. he had acted during his busy life both as a groom and a house-servant; he had been a soldier, a sutler, a writer's clerk, and an apothecary--in which latter profession he had acquired the art of writing and suggesting recipes, and a taste for making collections in natural history. he was very partial to the use of the lancet, and quite a terrible adept at tooth-drawing. in short, peter was the factotum of the beacon house, where, in addition to his other offices, he filled those of barber and steward to the admiration of all. but bremner came out in quite a new and valuable light after he went to reside in the beacon--namely, as a storyteller. during the long periods of inaction that ensued, when the men were imprisoned there by storms, he lightened many an hour that would have otherwise hung heavily on their hands, and he cheered the more timid among them by speaking lightly of the danger of their position. on the signal for supper being given, there was a general rush down the ladders into the kitchen, where as comfortable a meal as one could wish for was smoking in pot and pan and platter. as there were twenty-three to partake, it was impossible, of course, for all to sit down to table. they were obliged to stow themselves away on such articles of furniture as came most readily to hand, and eat as they best could. hungry men find no difficulty in doing this. for some time the conversation was restricted to a word or two. soon, however, as appetite began to be appeased, tongues began to loosen. the silence was first broken by a groan. "ochone!" exclaimed o'connor, as well as a mouthful of pork and potatoes would allow him; "was it _you_ that groaned like a dyin' pig?" the question was put to forsyth, who was holding his head between his hands, and swaying his body to and fro in agony. "hae ye the oolic, freen'?" enquired john watt, in a tone of sympathy. "no--n--o," groaned forsyth, "it's a--a--to--tooth!" "och! is that all?" "have it out, man, at once." "bam a red-hot skewer into it." "no, no; let it alone, and it'll go away." such was the advice tendered, and much more of a similar nature, to the suffering man. "there's nothink like 'ot water an' cold," said joe dumsby in the tones of an oracle. "just fill your mouth with bilin' 'ot water, an' dip your face in a basin o' cold, and it's sartain to cure." "or kill," suggested jamie dove. "it's better now," said forsyth, with a sigh of relief. "i scrunched a bit o' bone into it; that was all." "there's nothing like the string and the red-hot poker," suggested ruby brand. "tie the one end o' the string to a post and t'other end to the tooth, an' stick a red-hot poker to your nose. away it comes at once." "hoot! nonsense," said watt. "ye might as weel tie a string to his lug an' dip him into the sea. tak' my word for't, there's naethin' like pooin'." "d'you mean pooh pooin'?" enquired dumsby. watt's reply was interrupted by a loud gust of wind, which burst upon the beacon house at that moment and shook it violently. everyone started up, and all clustered round the door and windows to observe the appearance of things without. every object was shrouded in thick darkness, but a flash of lightning revealed the approach of the storm which had been predicted, and which had already commenced to blow. all tendency to jest instantly vanished, and for a time some of the men stood watching the scene outside, while others sat smoking their pipes by the fire in silence. "what think ye of things?" enquired one of the men, as ruby came up from the mortar-gallery, to which he had descended at the first gust of the storm. "i don't know what to think," said he gravely. "it's clear enough that we shall have a stiffish gale. i think little of that with a tight craft below me and plenty of sea-room; but i don't know what to think of a _beacon_ in a gale." as he spoke another furious burst of wind shook the place, and a flash of vivid lightning was speedily followed by a crash of thunder, that caused some hearts there to beat faster and harder than usual. "pooh!" cried bremner, as he proceeded coolly to wash up his dishes, "that's nothing, boys. has not this old timber house weathered all the gales o' last winter, and d'ye think it's goin' to come down before a summer breeze? why, there's a lighthouse in france, called the tour de cordouan, which rises right out o' the sea, an' i'm told it had some fearful gales to try its metal when it was buildin'. so don't go an' git narvous." "who's gittin' narvous?" exclaimed george forsyth, at whom bremner had looked when he made the last remark. "sure ye misjudge him," cried o'connor. "it's only another twist o' the toothick. but it's all very well in you to spake lightly o' gales in that fashion. wasn't the eddy-stone lighthouse cleared away wan stormy night, with the engineer and all the men, an' was niver more heard on?" "that's true," said ruby. "come, bremner, i have heard you say that you had read all about that business. let's hear the story; it will help to while away the time, for there's no chance of anyone gettin' to sleep with such a row outside." "i wish it may be no worse than a row outside," said forsyth in a doleful tone, as he shook his head and looked round on the party anxiously. "wot! another fit o' the toothick?" enquired o'connor ironically. "don't try to put us in the dismals," said jamie dove, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and refilling that solace of his leisure hours. "let us hear about the eddystone, bremner; it'll cheer up our spirits a bit." "will it though?" said bremner, with a look that john watt described as "awesome". "well, we shall see." "you must know, boys----" '"ere, light your pipe, my 'earty," said dumsby. "hold yer tongue, an' don't interrupt him," cried one of the men, flattening dumsby's cap over his eyes. "and don't drop yer aaitches," observed another, "'cause if ye do they'll fall into the sea an' be drownded, an' then yell have none left to put into their wrong places when ye wants 'em." "come, bremner, go on." "well, then, boys," began bremner, "you must know that it is more than a hundred years since the eddystone lighthouse was begun--in the year , if i remember rightly--that would be just a hundred and thirteen years to this date. up to that time these rocks were as great a terror to sailors as the bell rock is now, or, rather, as it was last year, for now that this here comfortable beacon has been put up, it's no longer a terror to nobody----" "except geordie forsyth," interposed o'connor. "silence," cried the men. "well," resumed bremner, "as you all know, the eddystone rocks lie in the british channel, fourteen miles from plymouth and ten from the ram head, an' open to a most tremendious sea from the bay o' biscay and the atlantic, as i knows well, for i've passed the place in a gale, close enough a'most to throw a biscuit on the rocks. "they are named the eddystone rocks because of the whirls and eddies that the tides make among them; but for the matter of that, the bell rock might be so named on the same ground. howsever, it's six o' one an' half a dozen o' t'other. only there's this difference, that the highest point o' the eddystone is barely covered at high water, while here the rock is twelve or fifteen feet below water at high tide. "well, it was settled by the trinity board in , that a lighthouse should be put up, and a mr. winstanley was engaged to do it. he was an uncommon clever an' ingenious man. he used to exhibit wonderful waterworks in london; and in his house, down in essex, he used to astonish his friends, and frighten them sometimes, with his queer contrivances. he had invented an easy chair which laid hold of anyone that sat down in it, and held him prisoner until mr. winstanley set him free. he made a slipper also, and laid it on his bedroom floor, and when anyone put his foot into it he touched a spring that caused a ghost to rise from the hearth. he made a summer house, too, at the foot of his garden, on the edge of a canal, and if anyone entered into it and sat down, he very soon found himself adrift on the canal. "such a man was thought to be the best for such a difficult work as the building of a lighthouse on the eddystone, so he was asked to undertake it, and agreed, and began it well. he finished it, too, in four years, his chief difficulty being the distance of the rock from land, and the danger of goin' backwards and forwards. the light was first shown on the th november, . before this the engineer had resolved to pass a night in the building, which he did with a party of men; but he was compelled to pass more than a night, for it came on to blow furiously, and they were kept prisoners for eleven days, drenched with spray all the time, and hard up for provisions. "it was said the sprays rose a hundred feet above the lantern of this first eddystone lighthouse. well, it stood till the year , when repairs became necessary, and mr. winstanley went down to plymouth to superintend. it had been prophesied that this lighthouse would certainly be carried away. but dismal prophecies are always made about unusual things. if men were to mind prophecies there would be precious little done in this world. howsever, the prophecies unfortunately came true. winstanley's friends advised him not to go to stay in it, but he was so confident of the strength of his work that he said he only wished to have the chance o' bein' there in the greatest storm that ever blew, that he might see what effect it would have on the buildin'. poor man! he had his wish. on the night of the th november a terrible storm arose, the worst that had been for many years, and swept the lighthouse entirely away. not a vestige of it or the people on it was ever seen afterwards. only a few bits of the iron fastenings were left fixed in the rocks." "that was terrible," said forsyth, whose uneasiness was evidently increasing with the rising storm. "ay, but the worst of it was," continued bremner, "that, owing to the absence of the light, a large east indiaman went on the rocks immediately after, and became a total wreck. this, however, set the trinity house on putting up another which was begun in , and the light shown in . this tower was ninety-two feet high, built partly of wood and partly of stone. it was a strong building, and stood for forty-nine years. mayhap it would have been standin' to this day but for an accident, which you shall hear of before i have done. while this lighthouse was building, a french privateer carried off all the workmen prisoners to france, but they were set at liberty by the king, because their work was of such great use to all nations. "the lighthouse, when finished, was put in charge of two keepers, with instructions to hoist a flag when anything was wanted from the shore. one of these men became suddenly ill, and died. of course his comrade hoisted the signal, but the weather was so bad that it was found impossible to send a boat off for four weeks. the poor keeper was so afraid that people might suppose he had murdered his companion that he kept the corpse beside him all that time. what his feelin's could have been i don't know, but they must have been awful; for, besides the horror of such a position in such a lonesome place, the body decayed to an extent----" "that'll do, lad; don't be too partickler," said jamie dove. the others gave a sigh of relief at the interruption, and bremner continued-- "there were always _three_ keepers in the eddystone after that. well, it was in the year , on the nd december, that one o' the keepers went to snuff the candles, for they only burned candles in the lighthouses at that time, and before that time great open grates with coal fires were the most common; but there were not many lights either of one kind or another in those days. on gettin' up to the lantern he found it was on fire. all the efforts they made failed to put it out,' and it was soon burned down. boats put off to them, but they only succeeded in saving the keepers; and of them, one went mad on reaching the shore, and ran off, and never was heard of again; and another, an old man, died from the effects of melted lead which had run down his throat from the roof of the burning lighthouse. they did not believe him when he said he had swallowed lead, but after he died it was found to be a fact. "the tower became red-hot, and burned for five days before it was utterly destroyed. this was the end o' the second eddystone. its builder was a mr. john rudyerd, a silk mercer of london. "the third eddystone, which has now stood for half a century as firm as the rock itself, and which bids fair to stand till the end of time, was begun in and completed in . it was lighted by means of twenty-four candles. of mr. smeaton, the engineer who built it, those who knew him best said that 'he had never undertaken anything without completing it to the satisfaction of his employers'. "d'ye know, lads," continued bremner in a half-musing tone, "i've sometimes been led to couple this character of smeaton with the text that he put round the top of the first room of the lighthouse--'except the lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it'; and also the words, 'praise god', which he cut in latin on the last stone, the lintel of the lantern door. i think these words had somethin' to do with the success of the last eddystone lighthouse." "i agree with you," said robert selkirk, with a nod of hearty approval; "and, moreover, i think the bell rock lighthouse stands a good chance of equal success, for whether he means to carve texts on the stones or not i don't know, but i feel assured that _our_ engineer is animated by the same spirit." when bremner's account of the eddystone came to a close, most of the men had finished their third or fourth pipes, yet no one proposed going to rest. the storm without raged so furiously that they felt a strong disinclination to separate. at last, however, peter logan rose, and said he would turn in for a little. two or three of the others also rose, and were about to ascend to their barrack, when a heavy sea struck the building, causing it to quiver to its foundation. chapter xxiii the storm "'tis a fearful night," said logan, pausing with his foot on the first step of the ladder. "perhaps we had better sit up." "what's the use?" said o'connor, who was by nature reckless. "av the beacon howlds on, we may as well slape as not; an' if it don't howld on, why, we'll be none the worse o' slapin' anyhow." "_i_ mean to sit up," said forsyth, whose alarm was aggravated by another fit of violent toothache. "so do i," exclaimed several of the men, as another wave dashed against the beacon, and a quantity of spray came pouring down from the rooms above. this latter incident put an end to further conversation. while some sprang up the ladder to see where the leak had occurred, ruby opened the door, which was on the lee side of the building, and descended to the mortar-gallery to look after his tools, which lay there. here he was exposed to the full violence of the gale, for, as we have said, this first floor of the beacon was not protected by sides. there was sufficient light to enable him to see all round for a considerable distance. the sight was not calculated to comfort him. the wind was whistling with what may be termed a vicious sound among the beams, to one of which ruby was obliged to cling to prevent his being carried away. the sea was bursting, leaping, and curling wildly over the rocks, which were now quite covered, and as he looked down through the chinks in the boards of the floor, he could see the foam whirling round the beams of his trembling abode, and leaping up as if to seize him. as the tide rose higher and higher, the waves roared straight through below the floor, their curling backs rising terribly near to where he stood, and the sprays drenching him and the whole edifice completely. as he gazed into the dark distance, where the turmoil of waters seemed to glimmer with ghostly light against a sky of the deepest black, he missed the light of the _smeaton_, which, up to that time, had been moored as near to the lee of the rock as was consistent with safety. he fancied she must have gone down, and it was not till next day that the people on the beacon knew that she had parted her cables, and had been obliged to make for the firth of forth for shelter from the storm. while he stood looking anxiously in the direction of the tender, a wave came so near to the platform that he almost involuntarily leaped up the ladder for safety. it broke before reaching the beacon, and the spray dashed right over it, carrying away several of the smith's tools. "ho, boys! lend a hand here, some of you," shouted ruby, as he leaped down on the mortar-gallery again. jamie dove, bremner, o'connor, and several others were at his side in a moment, and, in the midst of tremendous sprays, they toiled to secure the movable articles that lay there. these were passed up to the sheltered parts of the house; but not without great danger to all who stood on the exposed gallery below. presently two of the planks were torn up by a sea, and several bags of coal, a barrel of small beer, and a few casks containing lime and sand, were all swept away. the men would certainly have shared the fate of these, had they not clung to the beams until the sea had passed. as nothing remained after that which could be removed to the room above, they left the mortar-gallery to its fate, and returned to the kitchen, where they were met by the anxious glances and questions of their comrades. the fire, meanwhile, could scarcely be got to burn, and the whole place was full of smoke, besides being wet with the sprays that burst over the roof, and found out all the crevices that had not been sufficiently stopped up. attending to these leaks occupied most of the men at intervals during the night. ruby and his friend the smith spent much of the time in the doorway, contemplating the gradual destruction of their workshop. for some time the gale remained steady, and the anxiety of the men began to subside a little, as they became accustomed to the ugly twisting of the great beams, and found that no evil consequences followed. in the midst of this confusion, poor forsyth's anxiety of mind became as nothing compared with the agony of his toothache! bremner had already made several attempts to persuade the miserable man to have it drawn, but without success. "i could do it quite easy," said he, "only let me get a hold of it, an' before you could wink i'd have it out." "well, you may try," cried forsyth in desperation, with a face of ashy paleness. it was an awful situation truly. in danger of his life; suffering the agonies of toothache, and with the prospect of torments unbearable from an inexpert hand; for forsyth did not believe in bremner's boasted powers. "what'll you do it with?" he enquired meekly. "jamie dove's small pincers. here they are," said bremner, moving about actively in his preparations, as if he enjoyed such work uncommonly. by this time the men had assembled round the pair, and almost forgot the storm in the interest of the moment. "hold him, two of you," said bremner, when his victim was seated submissively on a cask. "you don't need to hold me," said forsyth, in a gentle tone. "don't we!" said bremner. "here, dove, ned, grip his arms, and some of you stand by to catch his legs; but you needn't touch them unless he kicks. ruby, you're a strong fellow; hold his head." the men obeyed. at that moment forsyth would have parted with his dearest hopes in life to have escaped, and the toothache, strange to say, left him entirely; but he was a plucky fellow at bottom; having agreed to have it done, he would not draw back. bremner introduced the pincers slowly, being anxious to get a good hold of the tooth. forsyth uttered a groan in anticipation! alarmed lest he should struggle too soon, bremner made a sudden grasp and caught the tooth. a wrench followed; a yell was the result, and the pincers slipped! this was fortunate, for he had caught the wrong tooth. "now be aisy, boy," said ned o'connor, whose sympathies were easily roused. "once more," said bremner, as the unhappy man opened his mouth. "be still, and it will be all the sooner over." again bremner inserted the instrument, and fortunately caught the right tooth. he gave a terrible tug, that produced its corresponding howl; but the tooth held on. again! again! again! and the beacon house resounded with the deadly yells of the unhappy man, who struggled violently, despite the strength of those who held him. "och! poor sowl!" ejaculated o'connor. bremner threw all his strength into a final wrench, which tore away the pincers and left the tooth as firm as ever! forsyth leaped up and dashed his comrades right and left. "that'll do," he roared, and darted up the ladder into the apartment above, through which he ascended to the barrack-room, and flung himself on his bed. at the same time a wave burst on the beacon with such force that every man there, except forsyth, thought it would be carried away. the wave not only sprang up against the house, but the spray, scarcely less solid than the wave, went quite over it, and sent down showers of water on the men below. little cared forsyth for that. he lay almost stunned on his couch, quite regardless of the storm. to his surprise, however, the toothache did not return. nay, to make a long story short, it never again returned to that tooth till the end of his days! the storm now blew its fiercest, and the men sat in silence in the kitchen listening to the turmoil, and to the thundering blows given by the sea to their wooden house. suddenly the beacon received a shock so awful, and so thoroughly different from any that it had previously received, that the men sprang to their feet in consternation. ruby and the smith were looking out at the doorway at the time, and both instinctively grasped the woodwork near them, expecting every instant that the whole structure would be carried away; but it stood fast. they speculated a good deal on the force of the blow they had received, but no one hit on the true cause; and it was not until some days later that they discovered that a huge rock of fully a ton weight had been washed against the beams that night. while they were gazing at the wild storm, a wave broke up the mortar-gallery altogether, and sent its remaining contents into the sea. all disappeared in a moment; nothing was left save the powerful beams to which the platform had been nailed. there was a small boat attached to the beacon. it hung from two davits, on a level with the kitchen, about thirty feet above the rock. this had got filled by the sprays, and the weight of water proving too much for the tackling, it gave way at the bow shortly after the destruction of the mortar-gallery, and the boat hung suspended by the stern-tackle. here it swung for a few minutes, and then was carried away by a sea. the same sea sent an eddy of foam round towards the door and drenched the kitchen, so that the door had to be shut, and as the fire had gone out, the men had to sit and await their fate by the light of a little oil-lamp. they sat in silence, for the noise was now so great that it was difficult to hear voices, unless when they were raised to a high pitch. thus passed that terrible night; and the looks of the men, the solemn glances, the closed eyes, the silently moving lips, showed that their thoughts were busy reviewing bygone days and deeds; perchance in making good resolutions for the future--"if spared!" morning brought a change. the rush of the sea was indeed still tremendous, but the force of the gale was broken and the danger was past. chapter xxiv a chapter of accidents time rolled on, and the lighthouse at length began to grow. it did not rise slowly, as does an ordinary building. the courses of masonry having been formed and fitted on shore during the winter, had only to be removed from the work-yard at arbroath to the rock, where they were laid, mortared, wedged, and trenailed, as fast as they could be landed. thus, foot by foot it grew, and soon began to tower above its foundation. from the foundation upwards for thirty feet it was built solid. from this point rose the spiral staircase leading to the rooms above. we cannot afford space to trace its erection step by step, neither is it desirable that we should do so. but it is proper to mention, that there were, as might be supposed, leading points in the process--eras, as it were, in the building operations. the first of these, of course, was the laying of the foundation stone, which was done ceremoniously, with all the honours. the next point was the occasion when the tower showed itself for the first time above water at full tide. this was a great event. it was proof positive that the sea had been conquered; for many a time before that event happened had the sea done its best to level the whole erection with the rock. three cheers announced and celebrated the fact, and a "glass" all round stamped it on the memories of the men. another noteworthy point was the connexion--the marriage, if the simile may be allowed--of the tower and the beacon. this occurred when the former rose to a few feet above high-water mark, and was effected by means of a rope-bridge, which was dignified by the sailors with the name of "jacob's ladder". heretofore the beacon and lighthouse had stood in close relation to each other. they were thenceforward united by a stronger tie; and it is worthy of record that their attachment lasted until the destruction of the beacon after the work was done. jacob's ladder was fastened a little below the doorway of the beacon. its other end rested on, and rose with, the wall of the tower. at first it sloped downward from beacon to tower; gradually it became horizontal; then it sloped upward. when this happened it was removed, and replaced by a regular wooden bridge, which extended from the doorway of the one structure to that of the other. along this way the men could pass to and fro at all tides, and during any time of the day or night. this was a matter of great importance, as the men were no longer so dependent on tides as they had been, and could often work as long as their strength held out. although the work was regular, and, as some might imagine, rather monotonous, there were not wanting accidents and incidents to enliven the routine of daily duty. the landing of the boats in rough weather with stones, &c., was a never-failing source of anxiety, alarm, and occasionally amusement. strangers sometimes visited the rock, too, but these visits were few and far between. accidents were much less frequent, however, than might have been expected in a work of the kind. it was quite an event, something to talk about for days afterwards, when poor john bonnyman, one of the masons, lost a finger. the balance crane was the cause of this accident. we may remark, in passing, that this balance crane was a very peculiar and clever contrivance, which deserves a little notice. it may not have occurred to readers who are unacquainted with mechanics that the raising of ponderous stones to a great height is not an easy matter. as long as the lighthouse was low, cranes were easily raised on the rock, but when it became too high for the cranes to reach their heads up to the top of the tower, what was to be done? block-tackles could not be fastened to the skies! scaffolding in such a situation would not have survived a moderate gale. in these circumstances mr. stevenson constructed a _balance_ crane, which was fixed in the centre of the tower, and so arranged that it could be raised along with the rising works. this crane resembled a cross in form. at one arm was hung a movable weight, which could be run out to its extremity, or fixed at any part of it. the other arm was the one by means of which the stones were hoisted. when a stone had to be raised; its weight was ascertained, and the movable weight was so fixed as _exactly_ to counterbalance it. by this simple contrivance all the cumbrous and troublesome machinery of long guys and bracing-chains extending from the crane to the rock below were avoided. well, bonnyman was attending to the working of the crane, and directing the lowering of a stone into its place, when he inadvertently laid his left hand on a part of the machinery where it was brought into contact with the chain, which passed over his forefinger, and cut it so nearly off that it was left hanging by a mere shred of skin. the poor man was at once sent off in a fast rowing boat to arbroath, where the finger was removed and properly dressed.[ ] [footnote : it is right to state that this man afterwards obtained a lightkeeper's situation from the board of commissioners of northern lights, who seem to hare taken a kindly interest in all their servants, especially those of them who had suffered in the service.] a much more serious accident occurred at another time, however, which resulted in the death of one of the seamen belonging to the _smeaton_. it happened thus. the _smeaton_ had been sent from arbroath with a cargo of stones one morning, and reached the rock about half-past six o'clock a.m. the mate and one of the men, james scott, a youth of eighteen years of age, got into the sloop's boat to make fast the hawser to the floating buoy of her moorings. the tides at the time were very strong, and the mooring-chain when sweeping the ground had caught hold of a rock or piece of wreck, by which the chain was so shortened, that when the tide flowed the buoy got almost under water, and little more than the ring appeared at the surface. when the mate and scott were in the act of making the hawser fast to the ring, the chain got suddenly disentangled at the bottom, and the large buoy, measuring about seven feet in length by three in diameter in the middle, vaulted upwards with such force that it upset the boat, which instantly filled with water. the mate with great difficulty succeeded in getting hold of the gunwale, but scott seemed to have been stunned by the buoy, for he lay motionless for a few minutes on the water, apparently unable to make any exertion to save himself, for he did not attempt to lay hold of the oars or thwarts which floated near him. a boat was at once sent to the rescue, and the mate was picked up, but scott sank before it reached the spot. this poor lad was a great favourite in the service, and for a time his melancholy end cast a gloom over the little community at the bell rock. the circumstances of the case were also peculiarly distressing in reference to the boy's mother, for her husband had been for three years past confined in a french prison, and her son had been the chief support of the family. in order in some measure to make up to the poor woman for the loss of the monthly aliment regularly allowed her by her lost son, it was suggested that a younger brother of the deceased might be taken into the service. this appeared to be a rather delicate proposition, but it was left to the landing-master to arrange according to circumstances. such was the resignation, and at the same time the spirit of the poor woman, that she readily accepted the proposal, and in a few days the younger scott was actually afloat in the place of his brother. on this distressing case being represented to the board, the commissioners granted an annuity of £ to the lad's mother. the painter who represents only the sunny side of nature portrays a one-sided, and therefore a false view of things, for, as everyone knows, nature is not all sunshine. so, if an author makes his pen-and-ink pictures represent only the amusing and picturesque view of things, he does injustice to his subject. we have no pleasure, good reader, in saddening you by accounts of "fatal accidents", but we have sought to convey to you a correct impression of things, and scenes, and incidents at the building of the bell rock lighthouse, as they actually were, and looked, and occurred. although there was much, _very_ much, of risk, exposure, danger, and trial connected with the erection of that building, there was, in the good providence of god, very little of severe accident or death. yet that little must be told,--at least touched upon,--else will our picture remain incomplete as well as untrue. now, do not imagine, with a shudder, that these remarks are the prelude to something that will harrow up your feelings. not so. they are merely the apology, if apology be needed, for the introduction of another "accident". well, then. one morning the artificers landed on the rock at a quarter-past six, and as all hands were required for a piece of special work that day, they breakfasted on the beacon, instead of returning to the tender, and spent the day on the rock. the special work referred to was the raising of the crane from the eighth to the ninth course--an operation which required all the strength that could be mustered for working the guy-tackles. this, be it remarked, was before the balance crane, already described, had been set up; and as the top of the crane stood at the time about thirty-five feet above the rock, it became much more unmanageable than heretofore. at the proper hour all hands were called, and detailed to their several posts on the tower, and about the rock. in order to give additional purchase or power in tightening the tackle, one of the blocks of stone was suspended at the end of the movable beam of the crane, which, by adding greatly to the weight, tended to slacken the guys or supporting-ropes in the direction to which the beam with the stone was pointed, and thereby enabled the men more easily to brace them one after another. while the beam was thus loaded, and in the act of swinging round from one guy to another, a great strain was suddenly brought upon the opposite tackle, with the end of which the men had very improperly neglected to take a turn round some stationary object, which would have given them the complete command of the tackle. owing to this simple omission, the crane, with the large stone at the end of the beam, got a preponderancy to one side, and, the tackle alluded to having rent, it fell upon the building with a terrible crash. the men fled right and left to get out of its way; but one of them, michael wishart, a mason, stumbled over an uncut trenail and rolled on his back, and the ponderous crane fell upon him. fortunately it fell so that his body lay between the great shaft and the movable beam, and thus he escaped with his life, but his feet were entangled with the wheel-work, and severely injured. wishart was a robust and spirited young fellow, and bore his sufferings with wonderful firmness while he was being removed. he was laid upon one of the narrow frame-beds of the beacon, and despatched in a boat to the tender. on seeing the boat approach with the poor man stretched on a bed covered with blankets, and his face overspread with that deadly pallor which is the usual consequence of excessive bleeding, the seamen's looks betrayed the presence of those well-known but indescribable sensations which one experiences when brought suddenly into contact with something horrible. relief was at once experienced, however, when wishart's voice was heard feebly accosting those who first stepped into the boat. he was immediately sent on shore, where the best surgical advice was obtained, and he began to recover steadily, though slowly. meanwhile, having been one of the principal masons, robert selkirk was appointed to his vacant post. and now let us wind up this chapter of accidents with an account of the manner in which a party of strangers, to use a slang but expressive phrase, came to grief during a visit to the bell rock. one morning, a trim little vessel was seen by the workmen making for the rock at low tide. from its build and size, ruby at once judged it to be a pleasure yacht. perchance some delicate shades in the seamanship, displayed in managing the little vessel, had influenced the sailor in forming his opinion. be this as it may, the vessel brought up under the lee of the rock and cast anchor. it turned out to be a party of gentlemen from leith, who had run down the firth to see the works. the weather was fine, and the sea calm, but these yachters had yet to learn that fine weather and a calm sea do not necessarily imply easy or safe landing at the bell rock! they did not know that the swell which had succeeded a recent gale was heavier than it appeared to be at a distance; and, worst of all, they did not know, or they did not care to remember, that "there is a time for all things", and that the time for landing at the bell rock is limited. seeing that the place was covered with workmen, the strangers lowered their little boat and rowed towards them. "they're mad," said logan, who, with a group of the men, watched the motions of their would-be visitors. "no," observed joe dumsby; "they are brave, but hignorant." "faix, they won't be ignorant long!" cried ned o'connor, as the little boat approached the rock, propelled by two active young rowers in guernsey shirts, white trousers, and straw hats. "you're stout, lads, both of ye, an' purty good hands at the oar, _for gintlemen_; but av ye wos as strong as samson it would puzzle ye to stem these breakers, so ye better go back." the yachters did not hear the advice, and they would not have taken it if they had heard it. they rowed straight up towards the landing-place, and, so far, showed themselves expert selectors of the right channel; but they soon came within the influence of the seas, which burst on the rock and sent up jets of spray to leeward. these jets had seemed very pretty and harmless when viewed from the deck of the yacht, but they were found on a nearer approach to be quite able, and, we might almost add, not unwilling, to toss up the boat like a ball, and throw it and its occupants head over heels into the air. but the rowers, like most men of their class, were not easily cowed. they watched their opportunity--allowed the waves to meet and rush on, and then pulled into the midst of the foam, in the hope of crossing to the shelter of the rock before the approach of the next wave. heedless of a warning cry from ned o'connor, whose anxiety began to make him very uneasy, the amateur sailors strained every nerve to pull through, while their companion who sat at the helm in the stern of the boat seemed to urge them on to redoubled exertions. of course their efforts were in vain. the next billow caught the boat on its foaming crest, and raised it high in the air. for one moment the wave rose between the boat and the men on the rock, and hid her from view, causing ned to exclaim, with a genuine groan, "'arrah! they's gone!" but they were not; the boat's head had been carefully kept to the sea, and, although she had been swept back a considerable way, and nearly half-filled with water, she was still afloat. the chief engineer now hailed the gentlemen, and advised them to return and remain on board their vessel until the state of the tide would permit him to send a proper boat for them. in the meantime, however, a large boat from the floating light, pretty deeply laden with lime, cement, and sand, approached, when the strangers, with a view to avoid giving trouble, took their passage in her to the rock. the accession of three passengers to a boat, already in a lumbered state, put her completely out of trim, and, as it unluckily happened, the man who steered her on this occasion was not in the habit of attending the rock, and was not sufficiently aware of the run of the sea at the entrance of the eastern creek. instead, therefore, of keeping close to the small rock called johnny gray, he gave it, as ruby expressed it, "a wide berth". a heavy sea struck the boat, drove her to leeward, and, the oars getting entangled among the rocks and seaweed, she became unmanageable. the next sea threw her on a ledge, and, instantly leaving her, she canted seaward upon her gunwale, throwing her crew and part of her cargo into the water. all this was the work of a few seconds. the men had scarce time to realize their danger ere they found themselves down under the water; and when they rose gasping to the surface, it was to behold the next wave towering over them, ready to fall on their heads. when it fell it scattered crew, cargo, and boat in all directions. some clung to the gunwale of the boat, others to the seaweed, and some to the thwarts and oars which floated about, and which quickly carried them out of the creek to a considerable distance from the spot where the accident happened. the instant the boat was overturned, ruby darted towards one of the rock boats which lay near to the spot where the party of workmen who manned it had landed that morning. wilson, the landing-master, was at his side in a moment. "shove off, lad, and jump in!" cried wilson. there was no need to shout for the crew of the boat. the men were already springing into her as she floated off. in a few minutes all the men in the water were rescued, with the exception of one of the strangers, named strachan. this gentleman had been swept out to a small insulated rock, where he clung to the seaweed with great resolution, although each returning sea laid him completely under water, and hid him for a second or two from the spectators on the rock. in this situation he remained for ten or twelve minutes; and those who know anything of the force of large waves will understand how severely his strength and courage must have been tried during that time. when the boat reached the rock the most difficult part was still to perform, as it required the greatest nicety of management to guide her in a rolling sea, so as to prevent her from being carried forcibly against the man whom they sought to save. "take the steering-oar, ruby; you are the best hand at this," said wilson. ruby seized the oar, and, notwithstanding the breach of the seas and the narrowness of the passage, steered the boat close to the rock at the proper moment. "starboard, noo, stiddy!" shouted john watt, who leant suddenly over the bow of the boat and seized poor strachan by the hair. in another moment he was pulled inboard with the aid of selkirk's stout arms, and the boat was backed out of danger. "now, a cheer, boys!" cried ruby. the men did not require urging to this. it burst from them with tremendous energy, and was echoed back by their comrades on the rock, in the midst of whose wild hurrah, ned o'connor's voice was distinctly heard to swell from a cheer into a yell of triumph! the little rock on which this incident occurred was called _strachan's ledge_, and it is known by that name at the present day. chapter xxv the bell rock in a fog--narrow escape of the _smeaton_ change of scene is necessary to the healthful working of the human mind; at least, so it is said. acting upon the assumption that the saying is true, we will do our best in this chapter for the human minds that condescend to peruse these pages, by leaping over a space of time, and by changing at least the character of the scene, if not the locality. we present the bell rock under a new aspect, that of a dense fog and a dead calm. this is by no means an unusual aspect of things at the bell rock, but as we have hitherto dwelt chiefly on storms, it may be regarded as new to the reader. it was a june morning. there had been few breezes and no storms for some weeks past, so that the usual swell of the ocean had gone down, and there were actually no breakers on the rock at low water, and no ruffling of the surface at all at high tide. the tide had about two hours before overflowed the rock, and driven the men into the beacon house, where, having breakfasted, they were at the time enjoying themselves with pipes and small talk. the lighthouse had grown considerably by this time. its unfinished top was more than eighty feet above the foundation; but the fog was so dense that only the lower part of the column could be seen from the beacon, the summit being lost, as it were, in the clouds. nevertheless that summit, high though it was, did not yet project beyond the reach of the sea. a proof of this had been given in a very striking manner, some weeks before the period about which we now write, to our friend george forsyth. george was a studious man, and fond of reading the bible critically. he was proof against laughter and ridicule, and was wont sometimes to urge the men into discussions. one of his favourite arguments was somewhat as follows-- "boys," he was wont to say, "you laugh at me for readin' the bible carefully. you would not laugh at a schoolboy for reading his books carefully, would you? yet the learnin' of the way of salvation is of far more consequence to me than book learnin' is to a schoolboy. an astronomer is never laughed at for readin' his books o' geometry an' suchlike day an' night--even to the injury of his health--but what is an astronomer's business to him compared with the concerns of my soul to _me_? ministers tell me there are certain things i must know and believe if i would be saved--such as the death and resurrection of our saviour jesus christ; and they also point out that the bible speaks of certain christians, who did well in refusin' to receive the gospel at the hands of the apostles, without first enquirin' into these things, to see if they were true. now, lads, _if_ these things that so many millions believe in, and that you all profess to believe in, are lies, then you may well laugh at me for enquirin' into them; but if they be true, why, i think the devils themselves must be laughing at _you_ for _not_ enquirin' into them!" of course, forsyth found among such a number of intelligent men, some who could argue with him, as well as some who could laugh at him. he also found one or two who sympathized openly, while there were a few who agreed in their hearts, although they did not speak. well, it was this tendency to study on the part of forsyth, that led him to cross the wooden bridge between the beacon and the lighthouse during his leisure hours, and sit reading at the top of the spiral stair, near one of the windows of the lowest room. forsyth was sitting at his usual window one afternoon at the end of a storm. it was a comfortless place, for neither sashes nor glass had at that time been put in, and the wind howled up and down the shaft dreadfully. the man was robust, however, and did not mind that. the height of the building was at that time fully eighty feet. while he was reading there a tremendous breaker struck the lighthouse with such force that it trembled distinctly. forsyth started up, for he had never felt this before, and fancied the structure was about to fall. for a moment or two he remained paralysed, for he heard the most terrible and inexplicable sounds going on overhead. in fact, the wave that shook the building had sent a huge volume of spray right over the top, part of which fell into the lighthouse, and what poor forsyth heard was about a ton of water coming down through story after story, carrying lime, mortar, buckets, trowels, and a host of other things, violently along with it. to plunge down the spiral stair, almost headforemost, was the work of a few seconds. forsyth accompanied the descent with a yell of terror, which reached the ears of his comrades in the beacon, and brought them to the door, just in time to see their comrade's long legs carry him across the bridge in two bounds. almost at the same instant the water and rubbish burst out of the doorway of the lighthouse, and flooded the bridge. but let us return from this digression, or rather, this series of digressions, to the point where we branched off: the aspect of the beacon in the fog, and the calm of that still morning in june. some of the men inside were playing draughts, others were finishing their breakfast; one was playing "auld lang syne", with many extempore flourishes and trills, on a flute, which was very much out of tune. a few were smoking, of course (where exists the band of britons who can get on without that?), and several were sitting astride on the cross-beams below, bobbing--not exactly for whales, but for any monster of the deep that chose to turn up. the men fishing, and the beacon itself, loomed large and mysterious in the half-luminous fog. perhaps this was the reason that the sea-gulls flew so near them, and gave forth an occasional and very melancholy cry, as if of complaint at the changed appearance of things. "there's naethin' to be got the day," said john watt, rather peevishly, as he pulled up his line and found the bait gone. baits are _always_ found gone when lines are pulled up! this would seem to be an angling law of nature. at all events, it would seem to have been a very aggravating law of nature on the present occasion, for john watt frowned and growled to himself as he put on another bait. "there's a bite!" exclaimed joe dumsby, with a look of doubt, at the same time feeling his line. "poo'd in then," said watt ironically. "no, 'e's hoff," observed joe. "hm! he never was on," muttered watt. "what are you two growling at?" said ruby, who sat on one of the beams at the other side. "at our luck, ruby," said joe. "ha! was that a nibble?" ("naethin' o' the kind," from watt.) "it was! as i live it's large; an 'addock, i think." "a naddock!" sneered watt; "mair like a bit o' tangle than----eh! losh me! it _is_ a fish----" "well done, joe!" cried bremner, from the doorway above, as a large rock-cod was drawn to the surface of the water. "stay, it's too large to pull up with the line. i'll run down and gaff it," cried ruby, fastening his own line to the beam, and descending to the water by the usual ladder, on one of the main beams. "now, draw him this way--gently, not too roughly--take time. ah! that was a miss--he's off; no! again; now then----" another moment, and a goodly cod of about ten pounds weight was wriggling on the iron hook which ruby handed up to dumsby, who mounted with his prize in triumph to the kitchen. from that moment the fish began to "take". while the men were thus busily engaged, a boat was rowing about in the fog, vainly endeavouring to find the rock. it was the boat of two fast friends, jock swankie and davy spink. these worthies were in a rather exhausted condition, having been rowing almost incessantly from daybreak. "i tell 'ee what it is," said swankie; "i'll be hanged if i poo another stroke." he threw his oar into the boat, and looked sulky. "it's my belief," said his companion, "that we ought to be near aboot denmark be this time." "denmark or rooshia, it's a' ane to me," rejoined swankie; "i'll hae a smoke." so saying, he pulled out his pipe and tobacco box, and began to cut the tobacco. davy did the same. suddenly both men paused, for they heard a sound. each looked enquiringly at the other, and then both gazed into the thick fog. "is that a ship?" said davy spink. they seized their oars hastily. "the beacon, as i'm a leevin' sinner!" exclaimed swankie. if spink had not backed his oar at that moment, there is some probability that swankie would have been a dead, instead of a living, sinner in a few minutes, for they had almost run upon the north-east end of the bell rock, and distinctly heard the sound of voices on the beacon. a shout settled the question at once, for it was replied to by a loud holloa from ruby. in a short time the boat was close to the beacon, and the water was so very calm that day, that they were able to venture to hand the packet of letters with which they had come off into the beacon, even although the tide was full. "letters," said swankie, as he reached out his hand with the packet. "hurrah!" cried the men, who were all assembled on the mortar-gallery, looking down at the fishermen, excepting ruby, watt, and dumsby, who were still on the cross-beams below. "mind the boat; keep her aff," said swankie, stretching out his hand with the packet to the utmost, while dumsby descended the ladder and held out his hand to receive it. "take care," cried the men in chorus, for news from shore was always a very exciting episode in their career, and the idea of the packet being lost filled them with sudden alarm. the shout and the anxiety together caused the very result that was dreaded. the packet fell into the sea and sank, amid a volley of yells. it went down slowly. before it had descended a fathom, ruby's head cleft the water, and in a moment he returned to the surface with the packet in his hand amid a wild cheer of joy; but this was turned into a cry of alarm, as ruby was carried away by the tide, despite his utmost efforts to regain the beacon. the boat was at once pushed off, but so strong was the current there, that ruby was carried past the rock, and a hundred yards away to sea, before the boat overtook him. the moment he was pulled into her he shook himself, and then tore off the outer covering of the packet in order to save the letters from being wetted. he had the great satisfaction of finding them almost uninjured. he had the greater satisfaction, thereafter, of feeling that he had done a deed which induced every man in the beacon that night to thank him half a dozen times over; and he had the greatest possible satisfaction in finding that among the rest he had saved two letters addressed to himself, one from minnie gray, and the other from his uncle. the scene in the beacon when the contents of the packet were delivered was interesting. those who had letters devoured them, and in many cases read them (unwittingly) half-aloud. those who had none read the newspapers, and those who had neither papers nor letters listened. ruby's letter ran as follows (we say his letter, because the other letter was regarded, comparatively, as nothing):-- "arbroath, &c. "darling ruby,--i have just time to tell you that we have made a discovery which will surprise you. let me detail it to you circumstantially. uncle ogilvy and i were walking on the pier a few days ago, when we overheard a conversation between two sailors, who did not see that we were approaching. we would not have stopped to listen, but the words we heard arrested our attention, so----o what a pity! there, big swankie has come for our letters. is it not strange that _he_ should be the man to take them off? i meant to have given you such an account of it, especially a description of the case. they won't wait. come ashore as soon as you can, dearest ruby." the letter broke off here abruptly. it was evident that the writer had been obliged to close it abruptly, for she had forgotten to sign her name. "'a description of the case'; _what_ case?" muttered ruby in vexation. "o minnie, minnie, in your anxiety to go into details you have omitted to give me the barest outline. well, well, darling, i'll just take the will for the deed, but i _wish_ you had----" here ruby ceased to mutter, for captain ogilvy's letter suddenly occurred to his mind. opening it hastily, he read as follows:-- "dear neffy,--i never was much of a hand at spellin', an' i'm not rightly sure o' that word, howsever, it reads all square, so ittle do. if i had been the inventer o' writin' i'd have had signs for a lot o' words. just think how much better it would ha' bin to have put a regular [square] like that instead o' writin' s-q-u-a-r-e. then _round_ would have bin far better o, like that. an' crooked thus ~~~~~; see how significant an' suggestive, if i may say so; no humbug--all fair an' above-board, as the pirate said, when he ran up the black flag to the peak. "but avast speckillatin' (shiver my timbers! but that last was a pen-splitter), that's not what i sat down to write about. my object in takin' up the pen, neffy, is two-fold, 'double, double, toil an' trouble', as macbeath said,--if it wasn't hamlet. "we want you to come home for a day or two, if you can git leave, lad, about this strange affair. minnie said she was goin' to give you a full, true, and partikler account of it, so it's of no use my goin' over the same course. there's that blackguard swankie come for the letters. ha! it makes me chuckle. no time for more------" this letter also concluded abruptly, and without a signature. "there's a pretty kettle o' fish!" exclaimed ruby aloud. "so 'tis, lad; so 'tis," said bremner, who at that moment had placed a superb pot of codlings on the fire; "though why ye should say it so positively when nobody's denyin' it, is more nor i can tell." ruby laughed, and retired to the mortar-gallery to work at the forge and ponder. he always found that he pondered best while employed in hammering, especially if his feelings were ruffled. seizing a mass of metal, he laid it on the anvil, and gave it five or six heavy blows to straighten it a little, before thrusting it into the fire. strange to say, these few blows of the hammer were the means, in all probability, of saving the sloop _smeaton_ from being wrecked on the bell rock! that vessel had been away with mr. stevenson at leith, and was returning, when she was overtaken by the calm and the fog. at the moment that ruby began to hammer, the _smeaton_ was within a stone's cast of the beacon, running gently before a light air which had sprung up. no one on board had the least idea that the tide had swept them so near the rock, and the ringing of the anvil was the first warning they got of their danger. the lookout on board instantly sang out, "starboard har-r-r-d! beacon ahead!" and ruby looked up in surprise, just as the _smeaton_ emerged like a phantom-ship out of the fog. her sails fluttered as she came up to the wind, and the crew were seen hurrying to and fro in much alarm. mr. stevenson himself stood on the quarter-deck of the little vessel, and waved his hand to assure those on the beacon that they had sheered off in time, and were safe. this incident tended to strengthen the engineer in his opinion that the two large bells which were being cast for the lighthouse, to be rung by the machinery of the revolving light, would be of great utility in foggy weather. while the _smeaton_ was turning away, as if with a graceful bow to the men on the rock, ruby shouted: "there are letters here for you, sir." the mate of the vessel called out at once, "send them off in the shore-boat; we'll lay-to." no time was to be lost, for if the _smeaton_ should get involved in the fog it might be very difficult to find her; so ruby at once ran for the letters, and, hailing the shore-boat which lay quite close at hand, jumped into it and pushed off. they boarded the _smeaton_ without difficulty and delivered the letters. instead of returning to the beacon, however, ruby was ordered to hold himself in readiness to go to arbroath in the shore-boat with a letter from mr. stevenson to the superintendent of the workyard. "you can go up and see your friends in the town, if you choose," said the engineer, "but be sure to return by tomorrow's forenoon tide. we cannot dispense with your services longer than a few hours, my lad, so i shall expect you to make no unnecessary delay." "you may depend upon me, sir," said ruby, touching his cap, as he turned away and leaped into the boat. a light breeze was now blowing, so that the sails could be used. in less than a quarter of an hour sloop and beacon were lost in the fog, and ruby steered for the harbour of arbroath, overjoyed at this unexpected and happy turn of events, which gave him an opportunity of solving the mystery of the letters, and of once more seeing the sweet face of minnie gray. but an incident occurred which delayed these desirable ends, and utterly changed the current of ruby's fortunes for a time. chapter xxvi a sudden and tremendous change in ruby's fortunes what a variety of appropriate aphorisms there are to express the great truths of human experience! "there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip" is one of them. undoubtedly there is. so is there "many a miss of a sweet little kiss". "the course of true love", also, "never did run smooth". certainly not. why should it? if it did we should doubt whether the love were true. our own private belief is that the course of true love is always uncommonly rough, but collective human wisdom has seen fit to put the idea in the negative form. so let it stand. ruby had occasion to reflect on these things that day, but the reflection afforded him no comfort whatever. the cause of his inconsolable state of mind is easily explained. the boat had proceeded about halfway to arbroath when they heard the sound of oars, and in a few seconds a ship's gig rowed out of the fog towards them. instead of passing them the gig was steered straight for the boat, and ruby saw that it was full of men-of-war's men. he sprang up at once and seized an oar. "out oars!" he cried. "boys, if ever you pulled hard in your lives, do so now. it's the press-gang!" before those few words were uttered the two men had seized the oars, for they knew well what the press-gang meant, and all three pulled with such vigour that the boat shot over the smooth sea with double speed. but they had no chance in a heavy fishing boat against the picked crew of the light gig. if the wind had been a little stronger they might have escaped, but the wind had decreased, and the small boat overhauled them yard by yard. seeing that they had no chance, ruby said, between his set teeth: "will ye fight, boys?" "_i_ will," cried davy spink sternly, for davy had a wife and little daughter on shore, who depended entirely on his exertions for their livelihood, so he had a strong objection to go and fight in the wars of his country. "what's the use?" muttered big swankie, with a savage scowl. he, too, had a strong disinclination to serve in the royal navy, being a lazy man, and not overburdened with courage. "they've got eight men of a crew, wi' pistols an' cutlashes." "well, it's all up with us," cried ruby, in a tone of sulky anger, as he tossed his oar overboard, and, folding his arms on his breast, sat sternly eyeing the gig as it approached. suddenly a beam of hope shot into his heart. a few words will explain the cause thereof. about the time the works at the bell rock were in progress, the war with france and the northern powers was at its height, and the demand for men was so great that orders were issued for the establishment of an impress service at dundee, arbroath, and aberdeen. it became therefore necessary to have some protection for the men engaged in the works. as the impress officers were extremely rigid in the execution of their duty, it was resolved to have the seamen carefully identified, and, therefore, besides being described in the usual manner in the protection-bills granted by the admiralty, each man had a ticket given to him descriptive of his person, to which was attached a silver medal emblematical of the lighthouse service. that very week ruby had received one of the protection-medals and tickets of the bell rock, a circumstance which he had forgotten at the moment. it was now in his pocket, and might perhaps save him. when the boat ranged up alongside, ruby recognized in the officer at the helm the youth who had already given him so much annoyance. the officer also recognized ruby, and, with a glance of surprise and pleasure, exclaimed: "what! have i bagged you at last, my slippery young lion?" ruby smiled as he replied, "not _quite_ yet, my persevering young jackall." (he was sorely tempted to transpose the word into jackass, but he wisely restrained himself.) "i'm not so easily caught as you think." "eh! how? what mean you?" exclaimed the officer, with an expression of surprise, for he knew that ruby was now in his power. "i have you safe, my lad, unless you have provided yourself with a pair of wings. of course, i shall leave one of you to take your boat into harbour, but you may be sure that i'll not devolve that pleasant duty upon you." "_i_ have not provided myself with wings exactly," returned ruby, pulling out his medal and ticket; "but here is something that will do quite as well" the officer's countenance fell, for he knew at once what it was. he inspected it, however, closely. "let me see," said he, reading the description on the ticket, which ran thus-- bell book workyard, arbboath, _" th june,_ . _"ruby brand, seaman and blacksmith, in the service of the honourable the commissioners of the northern lighthouses, aged years, feet inches high, very powerfully made, fair complexion, straight nose, dark-blue eyes, and curling auburn hair," this description was signed by the engineer of the works; and on the obverse was written, _"the bearer, ruby brand, is serving as a blacksmith in the erection of the bell rock lighthouse."_ "this is all very well, my fine fellow," said the officer, "but i have been deceived more than once with these medals and tickets. how am i to know that you have not stolen it from someone?" "by seeing whether the description agrees," replied ruby. "of course, i know that as well as you, and i don't find the description quite perfect. i would say that your hair is light-brown, now, not auburn, and your nose is a little roman, if anything; and there's no mention of whiskers, or that delicate moustache. why, look here," he added, turning abruptly to big swankie, "this might be the description of your comrade as well as, if not better than, yours. what's your name?" "swankie, sir," said that individual ruefully, yet with a gleam of hope that the advantages of the bell rock medal might possibly, in some unaccountable way, accrue to himself, for he was sharp enough to see that the officer would be only too glad to find any excuse for securing ruby. "well, swankie, stand up, and let's have a look at you," said the officer, glancing from the paper to the person of the fisherman, and commenting thereon. "here we have 'very powerfully made'--no mistake about that--strong as samson; 'fair complexion'--that's it exactly; 'auburn hair'--so it is. auburn is a very undecided colour; there's a great deal of red in it, and no one can deny that swankie has a good deal of red in _his_ hair." there was indeed no denying this, for it was altogether red, of an intense carroty hue. "you see, friend," continued the officer, turning to ruby, "that the description suits swankie very well." "true, as far as you have gone," said ruby, with a quiet smile; "but swankie is six feet two in his stockings, and his nose is turned up, and his hair don't curl, and his eyes are light-green, and his complexion is sallow, if i may not say yellow----" "fair, lad; fair," said the officer, laughing in spite of himself. "ah! ruby brand, you are jealous of him! well, i see that i'm fated not to capture you, so i'll bid you good day. meanwhile your companions will be so good as to step into my gig." the two men rose to obey. big swankie stepped over the gunwale, with the fling of a sulky, reckless man, who curses his fate and submits to it. davy spink had a very crestfallen, subdued look. he was about to follow, when a thought seemed to strike him. he turned hastily round, and ruby was surprised to see that his eyes were suffused with tears, and that his features worked with the convulsive twitching of one who struggles powerfully to restrain his feelings. "ruby brand," said he, in a deep husky voice, which trembled at first, but became strong as he went on; "ruby brand, i deserve nae good at your hands, yet i'll ask a favour o' ye. ye've seen the wife and the bairn, the wee ane wi' the fair curly pow. ye ken the auld hoose. it'll be mony a lang day afore i see them again, if iver i come back ava. there's naebody left to care for them. they'll be starvin' soon, lad. wull ye--wull ye look--doon?" poor davy spink stopped here, and covered his face with his big sunburnt hands. a sudden gush of sympathy filled ruby's heart. he started forward, and drawing from his pocket the letter with which he was charged, thrust it into spink's hand, and said hurriedly-- "don't fail to deliver it the first thing you do on landing. and hark'ee, spink, go to mrs. brand's cottage, and tell them there _why_ i went away. be sure you see them _all_, and explain _why_ it was. tell minnie gray that i will be _certain_ to return, if god spares me." without waiting for a reply he sprang into the gig, and gave the other boat a shove, that sent it several yards off. "give way, lads," cried the officer, who was delighted at this unexpected change in affairs, though he had only heard enough of the conversation to confuse him as to the cause of it. "stop! stop!" shouted spink, tossing up his arms. "i'd rather not," returned the officer. davy seized the oars, and, turning his boat in the direction of the gig, endeavoured to overtake it, as well might the, turkey-buzzard attempt to catch the swallow. he was left far behind, and when last seen faintly through the fog, he was standing up in the stern of the boat wringing his hands. ruby had seated himself in the bow of the gig, with his face turned steadily towards the sea, so that no one could see it. this position he maintained in silence until the boat ranged up to what appeared like the side of a great mountain, looming through the mist. then he turned round, and, whatever might have been the struggle within his breast, all traces of it had left his countenance, which presented its wonted appearance of good-humoured frankness. we need scarcely say that the mountain turned out to be a british man-of-war. ruby was quickly introduced to his future messmates, and warmly received by them. then he was left to his own free will during the remainder of that day, for the commander of the vessel was a kind man, and did not like to add to the grief of the impressed men by setting them to work at once. thus did our hero enter the royal navy; and many a long and weary day and month passed by before he again set foot in his native town. chapter xxvii other things besides murder "will out" meanwhile davy spink, with his heart full, returned slowly to the shore. he was long of reaching it, the boat being very heavy for one man to pull. on landing he hurried up to his poor little cottage, which was in a very low part of the town, and in a rather out-of-the-way corner of that part. "janet," said he, flinging himself into a rickety old armchair that stood by the fireplace, "the press-gang has catched us at last, and they've took big swankie away, and, worse than that----" "oh!" cried janet, unable to wait far more, "that's the best news i've heard for mony a day. ye're sure they have him safe?" "ay, sure enough," said spink dryly; "but ye needna be sae glad aboot it, for swankie was aye good to _you_." "ay, davy," cried janet, putting her arm round her husband's neck, and kissing him, "but he wasna good to _you_. he led ye into evil ways mony a time when ye would rather hae keepit oot o' them. na, na, davy, ye needna shake yer heed; i ken'd fine." "weel, weel, hae'd yer ain way, lass, but swankie's awa" to the wars, and so's ruby brand, for they've gotten him as weel." "ruby brand!" exclaimed the woman. "ay, ruby brand; and this is the way they did it." here spink detailed to his helpmate, who sat with folded hands and staring eyes opposite to her husband, all that had happened. when he had concluded, they discussed the subject together. presently the little girl came bouncing into the room, with rosy cheeks, sparkling eyes, a dirty face, and fair ringlets very much dishevelled, and with a pitcher of hot soup in her hands. davy caught her up, and kissing her, said abruptly, "maggie, big swankie's awa' to the wars." the child looked enquiringly in her father's face, and he had to repeat his words twice before she quite realized the import of them. "are ye jokin', daddy?" "no, maggie; it's true. the press-gang got him and took him awa', an' i doot we'll never see him again." the little girl's expression changed while he spoke, then her lip trembled, and she burst into tears. "see there, janet," said spink, pointing to maggie, and looking earnestly at his wife. "weel-a-weel," replied janet, somewhat softened, yet with much firmness, "i'll no deny that the man was fond o' the bairn, and it liked him weel enough; but, my certes! he wad hae made a bad man o' you if he could. but i'm real sorry for ruby brand; and what'll the puir lassie gray dot ye'll hae to gang up an' gie them the message." "so i will; but that's like somethin' to eat, i think?" spink pointed to the soup. "ay, it's a' we've got, so let's fa' to; and haste ye, lad. it's a sair heart she'll hae this night--wae's me!" while spink and his wife were thus employed, widow brand, minnie gray, and captain ogilvy were seated at tea, round the little table in the snug kitchen of the widow's cottage. it might have been observed that there were two teapots on the table, a large one and a small, and that the captain helped himself out of the small one, and did not take either milk or sugar. but the captain's teapot did not necessarily imply tea. in fact, since the death of the captain's mother, that small teapot had been accustomed to strong drink only. it never tasted tea. "i wonder if ruby will get leave of absence," said the captain, throwing himself back in his armchair, in order to be able to admire, with greater ease, the smoke, as it curled towards the ceiling from his mouth and pipe. "i do hope so," said mrs. brand, looking up from her knitting, with a little sigh. mrs. brand usually followed up all her remarks with a little sigh. sometimes the sigh was very little. it depended a good deal on the nature of her remark whether the sigh was of the little, less, or least description; but it never failed, in one or other degree, to close her every observation. "i _think_ he will," said minnie, as she poured a second cup of tea for the widow. "ay, that's right, lass," observed the captain; "there's nothin' like hope-- 'the pleasures of hope told a flatterin' tale regardin' the fleet when lord nelson get sail.' fill me out another cup of tea, hebe." it was a pleasant little fiction with the captain to call his beverage "tea". minnie filled out a small cupful of the contents of the little teapot, which did, indeed, resemble tea, but which smelt marvellously like hot rum and water. "enough, enough. come on, macduff! ah! minnie, this is prime jamaica; it's got such a--but i forgot; you don't understand nothin' about nectar of this sort." the captain smoked in silence for a few minutes, and then said, with a sudden chuckle-- "wasn't it odd, sister, that we should have found it all out in such an easy sort o' way? if criminals would always tell on themselves as plainly as big swankie did, there would be no use for lawyers." "swankie would not have spoken so freely," said minnie, with a laugh, "if he had known that we were listening." "that's true, girl," said the captain, with sudden gravity; "and i don't feel quite easy in my mind about that same eavesdropping. it's a dirty thing to do--especially for an old sailor, who likes everything to be fair and above-board; but then, you see, the natur' o' the words we couldn't help hearin' justified us in waitin' to hear more. yes, it was quite right, as it turned out a little more tea, minnie. thank'ee, lass. now go, get the case, and let us look over it again." the girl rose, and, going to a drawer, quickly returned with a small red leather case in her hand. it was the identical jewel case that swankie had found on the dead body at the bell rock! "ah! that's it; now, let us see; let us see." he laid aside his pipe, and for some time felt all his pockets, and looked round the room, as if in search of something. "what are you looking for, uncle?" "the specs, lass; these specs'll be the death o' me." minnie laughed. "they're on your brow, uncle!" "so they are! well, well----" the captain smiled deprecatingly, and, drawing his chair close to the table, began to examine the box. its contents were a strange mixture, and it was evident that the case had not been made to hold them. there was a lady's gold watch, of very small size, and beautifully formed; a set of ornaments, consisting of necklace, bracelets, ring, and ear-rings of turquoise and pearls set in gold, of the most delicate and exquisite chasing; also, an antique diamond cross of great beauty, besides a number of rings and bracelets of considerable value. as the captain took these out one by one, and commented on them, he made use of minnie's pretty hand and arm to try the effect of each, and truly the ornaments could not have found a more appropriate resting-place among the fairest ladies of the land. minnie submitted to be made use of in this, way with a pleased and amused expression; for, while she greatly admired the costly gems, she could not help smiling at the awkwardness of the captain in putting them on. "read the paper again," said minnie, after the contents of the box had been examined. the captain took up a small parcel covered with oiled cloth, which contained a letter. opening it, he began to read, but was interrupted by mrs. brand, who had paid little attention to the jewels. "read it out loud, brother," said she, "i don't hear you well. read it out; i love to hear of my darling's gallant deeds." the captain cleared his throat, raised his voice, and read slowly:-- "'lisbon, _ th march_, . "'dear captain brand,--i am about to quit this place for the east in a few days, and shall probably never see you again. pray accept the accompanying case of jewels as a small token of the love and esteem in which you are held by a heart-broken father. i feel assured that if it had been in the power of man to have saved my drowning child your gallant efforts would have been successful. it was ordained otherwise; and i now pray that i may be enabled to say "god's will be done". but i cannot bear the sight of these ornaments. i have no relatives--none at least who deserve them half so well as yourself. do not pain me by refusing them. they may be of use to you if you are ever in want of money, being worth, i believe, between three and four hundred pounds. of course, you cannot misunderstand my motive in mentioning this. no amount of money could in any measure represent the gratitude i owe to the man who risked his life to save my child. may god bless you, sir." the letter ended thus, without signature; and the captain ceased to read aloud. but there was an addition to the letter written in pencil, in the hand of the late captain brand, which neither he nor minnie had yet found courage to read to the poor widow. it ran thus:-- "our doom is sealed. my schooner is on the bell rock. it is blowing a gale from n.e., and she is going to pieces fast. we are all standing under the lee of a ledge of rock--six of us. in half an hour the tide will be roaring over the spot. god in christ help us! it is an awful end. if this letter and box is ever found, i ask the finder to send it, with my blessing, to mrs. brand, my beloved wife, in arbroath." the writing was tremulous, and the paper bore the marks of having been soiled with seaweed. it was unsigned. the writer had evidently been obliged to close it hastily. after reading this in silence the captain refolded the letter. "no wonder, minnie, that swankie did not dare to offer such things for sale. he would certainly have been found out. wasn't it lucky that we heard him tell spink the spot under his floor where he had hidden them?" at that moment there came a low knock to the door. minnie opened it, and admitted davy spink, who stood in the middle of the room twitching his cap nervously, and glancing uneasily from one to another of the party. "hallo, spink!" cried the captain, pushing his spectacles up on his forehead, and gazing at the fisherman in surprise, "you don't seem to be quite easy in your mind. hope your fortunes have not sprung a leak!" "weel, captain ogilvy, they just have; gone to the bottom, i might a'most say. i've come to tell ye--that--the fact is, that the press-gang have catched us at last, and ta'en awa' my mate, jock swankie, better kenn'd as big swankie." "hem--well, my lad, in so far as that does damage to you, i'm sorry for it; but as regards society at large, i rather think that swankie havin' tripped his anchor is a decided advantage. if you lose by this in one way, you gain much in another; for your mate's companionship did ye no good. birds of a feather should flock together. you're better apart, for i believe you to be an honest man, spink." davy looked at the captain in unfeigned astonishment. "weel, ye're the first man that iver said that, an' i thank 'ee, sir, but you're wrang, though i wush ye was right. but that's no' what i cam' to tell ye." here the fisherman's indecision of manner returned. "come, make a clean breast of it, lad. there are none here but friends." "weel, sir, ruby brand----" he paused, and minnie turned deadly pale, for she jumped at once to the right conclusion. the widow, on the other hand, listened for more with deep anxiety, but did not guess the truth. "the fact is, ruby's catched too, an' he's awa' to the wars, and he sent me to--ech, sirs! the auld wuman's fentit." poor widow brand had indeed fallen back in her chair in a state bordering on insensibility. minnie was able to restrain her feelings so as to attend to her. she and the captain raised her gently, and led her into her own room, from whence the captain returned, and shut the door behind him. "now, spink," said he, "tell me all about it, an' be partic'lar." davy at once complied, and related all that the reader already knows, in a deep, serious tone of voice, for he felt that in the captain he had a sympathetic listener. when he had concluded, captain ogilvy heaved a sigh so deep that it might have been almost considered a groan, then he sat down on his armchair, and, pointing to the chair from which the widow had recently risen, said, "sit down, lad." as he advanced to comply, spink's eyes for the first time fell on the case of jewels. he started, paused, and looked with a troubled air at the captain. "ha!" exclaimed the latter with a grin; "you seem to know these things; old acquaintances, eh!" "it wasna' me that stole them," said spink hastily. "i did not say that anyone stole them." "weel, i mean that--that----" he stopped abruptly, for he felt that in whatever way he might attempt to clear himself, he would unavoidably criminate, by implication, his absent mate. "i know what you mean, my lad; sit down." spink sat down on the edge of the chair, and looked at the other uneasily. "have a cup of tea?" said the captain abruptly, seizing the small pot and pouring out a cupful. "thank 'ee--i--i niver tak' tea." "take it to-night, then. it will do you good." spink put the cup to his lips, and a look of deep surprise overspread his rugged countenance as he sipped the contents. the captain nodded. spink's look of surprise changed into a confidential smile; he also nodded, winked, and drained the cup to the bottom. "yes," resumed the captain; "you mean that you did not take the case of jewels from old brand's pocket on that day when you found his body on the bell rock, though you were present, and saw your comrade pocket the booty. you see i know all about it, davy, an' your only fault lay in concealing the matter, and in keepin' company with that scoundrel." the gaze of surprise with which spink listened to the first part of this speech changed to a look of sadness towards the end of it. "captain ogilvy," said he, in a tone of solemnity that was a strong contrast to his usual easy, careless manner of speaking, "you ca'd me an honest man, an' ye think i'm clear o' guilt in this matter, but ye're mista'en. hoo ye cam' to find oot a' this i canna divine, but i can tell ye somethin' mair than ye ken. d'ye see that bag?" he pulled a small leather purse out of his coat pocket, and laid it with a little bang on the table. the captain nodded. "weel, sir, that was _my_ share o' the plunder, thretty goolden sovereigns. we tossed which o' us was to hae them, an' the siller fell to me. but i've niver spent a boddle o't. mony a time have i been tempit, an' mony a time wad i hae gi'en in to the temptation, but for a certain lass ca'd janet, that's been an angel, it's my belief, sent doon frae heeven to keep me frae gawin to the deevil a'thegither. but be that as it may, i've brought the siller to them that owns it by right, an' so my conscience is clear o't at lang last." the sigh of relief with which davy spink pushed the bag of gold towards his companion, showed that the poor man's mind was in truth released from a heavy load that had crushed it for years. the captain, who had lit his pipe, stared at the fisherman through the smoke for some time in silence; then he began to untie the purse, and said slowly, "spink, i said you were an honest man, an' i see no cause to alter my opinion." he counted out the thirty gold pieces, put them back into the bag, and the bag into his pocket. then he continued, "spink, if this gold was mine i would--but no matter, it's not mine, it belongs to widow brand, to whom i shall deliver it up. meantime, i'll bid you good night. all these things require reflection. call back here to-morrow, my fine fellow, and i'll have something to say to you. another cup of tea?" "weel, i'll no objec'." davy spink rose, swallowed the beverage, and left the cottage. the captain returned, and stood for some time irresolute with his hand on the handle of the door of his sister's room. as he listened, he heard a sob, and the tones of minnie's voice as if in prayer. changing his mind, he walked softly across the kitchen into his own room, where, having trimmed the candle, refilled and lit his pipe, he sat down at the table, and, resting his arms thereon, began to meditate. chapter xxviii the lighthouse completed--ruby's escape from trouble by a desperate venture there came a time at last when the great work of building the bell rock lighthouse drew to a close. four years after its commencement it was completed, and on the night of the st of february, , its bright beams were shed for the first time far and wide over the sea. it must not be supposed, however, that this lighthouse required four years to build it. on the contrary, the seasons in which work could be done were very short. during the whole of the first season of , the aggregate time of low-water work, caught by snatches of an hour or two at a tide, did not amount to fourteen days of ten hours! while in it fell short of four weeks. a great event is worthy of very special notice. we should fail in our duty to our readers if we were to make only passing reference to this important event in the history of our country. that st of february, , was the birthday of a new era, for the influence of the bell rock light on the shipping interests of the kingdom (not merely of scotland, by any means), was far greater than people generally suppose. here is a _fact_ that may well be weighed with attention; that might be not inappropriately inscribed in diamond letters over the lintel of the lighthouse door. up to the period of the building of the lighthouse, the known history of the bell rock was a black record of wreck, ruin, and death. its unknown history, in remote ages, who shall conceive, much less tell? _up_ to that period, seamen dreaded the rock and shunned it--ay, so earnestly as to meet destruction too often in their anxious efforts to avoid it. _from_ that period the bell rock has been a friendly point, a guiding star--hailed as such by storm-tossed mariners--marked as such on the charts of all nations. from that date not a single night for more than half a century has passed, without its wakeful eye beaming on the waters, or its fog-bells sounding on the air; and, best of all, _not a single wreck has occurred on that rock from that period down to the present day!_ say not, good reader, that much the same may be said of all lighthouses. in the first place, the history of many lighthouses is by no means so happy as that of this one. in the second place, all lighthouses are not of equal importance. few stand on an equal footing with the bell rock, either in regard to its national importance or its actual pedestal. in the last place, it is our subject of consideration at present, and we object to odious comparisons while we sing its praises! whatever may be said of the other lights that guard our shores, special gratitude is due to the bell rock--to those who projected it--to the engineer who planned and built it--to god, who inspired the will to dare, and bestowed the skill to accomplish, a work so difficult, so noble, so prolific of good to man! * * * * * the nature of our story requires that we should occasionally annihilate time and space. let us then leap over both, and return to our hero, ruby brand. his period of service in the navy was comparatively brief, much more so than either he or his friends anticipated. nevertheless, he spent a considerable time in his new profession, and, having been sent to foreign stations, he saw a good deal of what is called "service", in which he distinguished himself, as might have been expected, for coolness and courage. but we must omit all mention of his warlike deeds, and resume the record of his history at that point which bears more immediately on the subject of our tale. it was a wild, stormy night in november. ruby's ship had captured a french privateer in the german ocean, and, a prize crew having been put aboard, she was sent away to the nearest port, which happened to be the harbour of leith, in the firth of forth. ruby had not been appointed one of the prize crew; but he resolved not to miss the chance of again seeing his native town, if it should only be a distant view through a telescope. being a favourite with his commander, his plea was received favourably, and he was sent on board the frenchman. those who know what it is to meet with an unexpected piece of great good fortune, can imagine the delight with which ruby stood at the helm on the night in question, and steered for _home_! he was known by all on board to be the man who understood best the navigation of the forth, so that implicit trust was placed in him by the young officer who had charge of the prize. the man-of-war happened to be short-handed at the time the privateer was captured, owing to her boats having been sent in chase of a suspicious craft during a calm. some of the french crew were therefore left on board to assist in navigating the vessel. this was unfortunate, for the officer sent in charge turned out to be a careless man, and treated the frenchmen with contempt. he did not keep strict watch over them, and the result was, that, shortly after the storm began, they took the english crew by surprise, and overpowered them. ruby was the first to fall. as he stood at the wheel, indulging in pleasant dreams, a frenchman stole up behind him, and felled him with a handspike. when he recovered he found that he was firmly bound, along with his comrades, and that the vessel was lying-to. one of the frenchmen came forward at that moment, and addressed the prisoners in broken english. "now, me boys," said he, "you was see we have konker you again. you behold the sea?" pointing over the side; "well, that bees your bed to-night if you no behave. now, i wants to know, who is best man of you as onderstand dis cost? speak de trut', else you die." the english lieutenant at once turned to ruby. "well, cast him loose; de rest of you go b'low--good day, ver' moch indeed." here the frenchman made a low bow to the english, who were led below, with the exception of ruby. "now, my goot mans, you onderstand dis cost?" "yes. i know it well." "it is dangereoux?" "it is--very; but not so much so as it used to be before the bell rock light was shown." "have you see dat light?" "no; never. it was first lighted when i was at sea; but i have seen a description of it in the newspapers, and should know it well." "ver goot; you will try to come to dat light an' den you will steer out from dis place to de open sea. afterwards we will show you to france. if you try mischief--_voilà!_" the frenchman pointed to two of his comrades who stood, one on each side of the wheel, with pistols in their hands, ready to keep ruby in order. "now, cut him free. go, sare; do your dooty." ruby stepped to the wheel at once, and, glancing at the compass, directed the vessel's head in the direction of the bell rock. the gale was rapidly increasing, and the management of the helm required his undivided attention; nevertheless his mind was busy with anxious thoughts and plans of escape. he thought with horror of a french prison, for there were old shipmates of his who had been captured years before, and who were pining in exile still. the bare idea of being separated indefinitely, perhaps for ever, from minnie, was so terrible, that for a moment he meditated an attack, single-handed, on the crew; but the muzzle of a pistol on each side of him induced him to pause and reflect! reflection, however, only brought him again to the verge of despair. then he thought of running up to leith, and so take the frenchmen prisoners; but this idea was at once discarded, for it was impossible to pass up to leith roads without seeing the bell rock light, and the frenchmen kept a sharp lookout. then he resolved to run the vessel ashore and wreck her, but the thought of his comrades down below induced him to give that plan up. under the influence of these thoughts he became inattentive, and steered rather wildly once or twice. "stiddy. ha! you tink of how you escape?" "yes, i do," said ruby, doggedly. "good, and have you see how?" "no," replied ruby, "i tell you candidly that i can see no way of escape." "ver good, sare; mind your helm." at that moment a bright star of the first magnitude rose on the horizon, right ahead of them. "ha! dat is a star," said the frenchman, after a few moments' observation of it. "stars don't go out," replied ruby, as the light in question disappeared. "it is de light'ouse den?" "i don't know," said ruby, "but we shall soon see." just then a thought flashed into ruby's mind. his heart beat quick, his eye dilated, and his lip was tightly compressed as it came and went. almost at the same moment another star rose right ahead of them. it was of a deep red colour; and ruby's heart beat high again, for he was now certain that it was the revolving light of the bell rock, which shows a white and red light alternately every two minutes. "_voilà!_ that must be him now," exclaimed the frenchman, pointing to the light, and looking enquiringly at ruby. "i have told you," said the latter, "that i never saw the light before. i believe it to be the bell rock light; but it would be as well to run close and see. i think i could tell the very stones of the tower, even in a dark night. anyhow, i know the rock itself too well to mistake it." "be there plenty watter?" "ay; on the east side, close to the rock, there is enough water to float the biggest ship in your navy." "good; we shall go close." there was a slight lull in the gale at this time, and the clouds broke a little, allowing occasional glimpses of moonlight to break through and tinge the foaming crests of the waves. at last the light, that had at first looked like a bright star, soon increased, and appeared like a glorious sun in the stormy sky. for a few seconds it shone intensely white and strong, then it slowly died away and disappeared; but almost before one could have time to wonder what had become of it, it returned in the form of a brilliant red sun, which also shone for a few seconds, steadily, and then, like the former, slowly died out. thus, alternating, the red and white suns went round. in a few minutes the tall and graceful column itself became visible, looking pale and spectral against the black sky. at the same time the roar of the surf broke familiarly on ruby's ears. he steered close past the north end of the rock, so close that he could see the rocks, and knew that it was low water. a gleam of moonlight broke out at the time, as if to encourage him. "now," said ruby, "you had better go about, for if we carry on at this rate, in the course we are going, in about an hour you will either be a dead man on the rocks of forfar, or enjoying yourself in a scotch prison!" "ha! ha!" laughed the frenchman, who immediately gave the order to put the vessel about; "good, ver good; bot i was not wish to see the scottish prison, though i am told the mountains be ver superb." while he was speaking, the little vessel lay over on her new course, and ruby steered again past the north side of the rock. he shaved it so close that the frenchman shouted, "_prenez garde_", and put a pistol to ruby's ear. "do you think i wish to die?" asked ruby, with a quiet smile. "now, captain, i want to point out the course, so as to make you sure of it. bid one of your men take the wheel, and step up on the bulwarks with me, and i will show you." this was such a natural remark in the circumstances, and moreover so naturally expressed, that the frenchman at once agreed. he ordered a seaman to take the wheel, and then stepped with ruby upon the bulwarks at the stern of the vessel. "now, you see the position of the lighthouse," said ruby, "well, you must keep your course due east after passing it. if you steer to the nor-ard o' that, you'll run on the scotch coast; if you bear away to the south'ard of it, you'll run a chance, in this state o' the tide, of getting wrecked among the farne islands; so keep her head _due east_." ruby said this very impressively; so much so, that the frenchman looked at him in surprise. "why you so particulare?" he enquired, with a look of suspicion. "because i am going to leave you," said ruby, pointing to the bell rock, which at that moment was not much more than a hundred yards to leeward. indeed, it was scarcely so much, for the outlying rock at the northern end named _johnny gray_, lay close under their lee as the vessel passed. just then a great wave burst upon it, and, roaring in wild foam over the ledges, poured into the channels and pools on the other side. for one instant ruby's courage wavered, as he gazed at the flood of boiling foam. "what you say?" exclaimed the frenchman, laying his hand on the collar of ruby's jacket. the young sailor started, struck the frenchman a backhanded blow on the chest, which hurled him violently against the man at the wheel, and, bending down, sprang with a wild shout into the sea. so close had he steered to the rock, in order to lessen the danger of his reckless venture, that the privateer just weathered it. there was not, of course, the smallest chance of recapturing ruby. no ordinary boat could have lived in the sea that was running at the time, even in open water, much less among the breakers of the bell rock. indeed, the crew felt certain that the english sailor had allowed despair to overcome his judgment, and that he must infallibly be dashed to pieces on the rocks, so they did not check their onward course, being too glad to escape from the immediate neighbourhood of such a dangerous spot. meanwhile ruby buffeted the billows manfully. he was fully alive to the extreme danger of the attempt, but he knew exactly what he meant to do. he trusted to his intimate knowledge of every ledge and channel and current, and had calculated his motions to a nicety. he knew that at the particular state of the tide at the time, and with the wind blowing as it then did, there was a slight eddy at the point of _cunningham's ledge_. his life, he felt, depended on his gaining that eddy. if he should miss it, he would be dashed against _johnny gray's_ rock, or be carried beyond it and cast upon _strachan's ledge_ or _scoreby's point_, and no man, however powerful he might be, could have survived the shock of being launched on any of these rocks. on the other hand, if, in order to avoid these dangers, he should swim too much to windward, there was danger of his being carried on the crest of a billow and hurled upon the weather side of _cunningham's ledge_, instead of getting into the eddy under its lee. all this ruby had seen and calculated when he passed the north end of the rock the first time, and he had fixed the exact spot where he should take the plunge on repassing it. he acted so promptly that a few minutes sufficed to carry him towards the eddy, the tide being in his favour. but when he was about to swim into it, a wave burst completely over the ledge, and, pouring down on his head, thrust him back. he was almost stunned by the shock, but retained sufficient presence of mind to struggle on. for a few seconds he managed to bear up against wind and tide, for he put forth his giant strength with the energy of a desperate man, but gradually he was carried away from the rock, and for the first time his heart sank within him. just then one of those rushes or swirls of water, which are common among rocks in such a position, swept him again forward, right into the eddy which he had struggled in vain to reach, and thrust him violently against the rock. this back current was the precursor of a tremendous billow, which came towering on like a black moving wall. ruby saw it, and, twining his arm amongst the seaweed, held his breath. the billow fell! only those who have seen the bell rock in a storm can properly estimate the roar that followed. none but ruby himself could tell what it was to feel that world of water rushing overhead. had it fallen directly upon him, it would have torn him from his grasp and killed him, but its full force had been previously spent on _cunningham's ledge_. in another moment it passed, and ruby, quitting his hold, struck out wildly through the foam. a few strokes carried him through _sinclair's_ and _wilson's_ tracks into the little pool formerly mentioned as _port stevenson_.[ ] [footnote : the author has himself bathed in fort stevenson, so that the reader may rely on the fidelity of this description of it and the surrounding ledges.] here he was in comparative safety. true, the sprays burst over the ledge called _the last hope_ in heavy masses, but these could do him no serious harm, and it would take a quarter of an hour at least for the tide to sweep into the pool. ruby therefore swam quietly to _trinity ledge_, where he landed, and, stepping over it, sat down to rest, with a thankful heart, on _smith's ledge_, the old familiar spot where he and jamie dove had wrought so often and so hard at the forge in former days. he was now under the shadow of the bell rock lighthouse, which towered high above his head; and the impression of immovable solidity which its cold, grey, stately column conveyed to his mind, contrasted powerfully with the howling wind and the raging sea around. it seemed to him, as he sat there within three yards of its granite base, like the impersonation of repose in the midst of turmoil; of peace surrounded by war; of calm and solid self-possession in the midst of fretful and raging instability. no one was there to welcome ruby. the lightkeepers, high up in the apartments in their wild home, knew nothing and heard nothing of all that had passed so near them. the darkness of the night and the roaring of the storm was all they saw or heard of the world without, as they sat in their watch tower reading or trimming their lamps. but ruby was not sorry for this; he felt glad to be alone with god, to thank him for his recent deliverance. exhausting though the struggle had been, its duration was short, so that he soon recovered his wonted strength. then, rising, he got upon the iron railway, or "rails", as the men used to call it, and a few steps brought him to the foot of the metal ladder conducting to the entrance door. climbing up, he stood at last in a place of safety, and disappeared within the doorway of the lighthouse. chapter xxix the wreck meantime the french privateer sped onward to her doom. the force with which the french commander fell when ruby cast him off, had stunned him so severely that it was a considerable time before he recovered. the rest of the crew were therefore in absolute ignorance of how to steer. in this dilemma they lay-to for a short time, after getting away to a sufficient distance from the dangerous rock, and consulted what was to be done. some advised one course, and some another, but it was finally suggested that one of the english prisoners should be brought up and commanded to steer out to sea. this advice was acted on, and the sailor who was brought up chanced to be one who had a partial knowledge of the surrounding coasts. one of the frenchmen who could speak a few words of english, did his best to convey his wishes to the sailor, and wound up by producing a pistol, which he cocked significantly. "all right," said the sailor, "i knows the coast, and can run ye straight out to sea. that's the bell rock light on the weather-bow, i s'pose." "oui, dat is de bell roke." "wery good; our course is due nor'west." so saying, the man took the wheel and laid the ship's course accordingly. now, he knew quite well that this course would carry the vessel towards the harbour of arbroath, into which he resolved to run at all hazards, trusting to the harbour-lights to guide him when he should draw near. he knew that he ran the strongest possible risk of getting himself shot when the frenchmen should find out his faithlessness, but he hoped to prevail on them to believe the harbour-lights were only another lighthouse, which they should have to pass on their way out to sea, and then it would be too late to put the vessel about and attempt to escape. but all his calculations were useless, as it turned out, for in half an hour the men at the bow shouted that there were breakers ahead, and before the helm could be put down, they struck with such force that the topmasts went overboard at once, and the sails, bursting their sheets and tackling, were blown to ribbons. just then a gleam of moonlight struggled through the wrack of clouds, and revealed the dark cliffs of the forfar coast, towering high above them. the vessel had struck on the rocks at the entrance to one of those rugged bays with which that coast is everywhere indented. t the first glance, the steersman knew that the doom of all on board was fixed, for the bay was one of those which are surrounded by almost perpendicular cliffs; and although, during calm weather, there was a small space between the cliffs and the sea, which might be termed a beach, yet during a storm the waves lashed with terrific fury against the rocks, so that no human being might land there. it chanced at the time that captain ogilvy, who took great delight in visiting the cliffs in stormy weather, had gone out there for a midnight walk with a young friend, and when the privateer struck, he was standing on the top of the cliffs. he knew at once that the fate of the unfortunate people on board was almost certain, but, with his wonted energy, he did his best to prevent the catastrophe. "run, lad, and fetch men, and ropes, and ladders. alarm the whole town, and use your legs well. lives depend on your speed," said the captain, in great excitement. the lad required no second bidding. he turned and fled like a greyhound. the lieges of arbroath were not slow to answer the summons. there were neither lifeboats nor mortar-apparatus in those days, but there were the same willing hearts and stout arms then as now, and in a marvellously short space of time, hundreds of the able-bodied men of the town, gentle and semple, were assembled on these wild cliffs, with torches, rope, &c.; in short, with all the appliances for saving life that the philanthropy of the times had invented or discovered. but, alas! these appliances were of no avail. the vessel went to pieces on the outer point of rocks, and part of the wreck, with the crew clinging to it, drifted into the bay. the horrified people on the cliffs looked down into that dreadful abyss of churning water and foam, into which no one could descend. ropes were thrown again and again, but without avail. either it was too dark to see, or the wrecked men were paralysed. an occasional shriek was heard above the roar of the tempest, as, one after another, the exhausted men fell into the water, or were wrenched from their hold of the piece of wreck. at last one man succeeded in catching hold of a rope, and was carefully hauled up to the top of the cliff. it was found that this was one of the english sailors. he had taken the precaution to tie the rope under his arms, poor fellow, having no strength left to hold on to it; but he was so badly bruised as to be in a dying state when laid on the grass. "keep back and give him air," said captain ogilvy, who had taken a prominent part in the futile efforts to save the crew, and who now kneeled at the sailor's side, and moistened his lips with a little brandy. the poor man gave a confused and rambling account of the circumstances of the wreck, but it was sufficiently intelligible to make the captain acquainted with the leading particulars. "were there many of your comrades aboard?" he enquired. the dying man looked up with a vacant expression. it was evident that he did not quite understand the question, but he began again to mutter in a partly incoherent manner. "they're all gone," said he, "every man of 'em but me! all tied together in the hold. they cast us loose, though, after she struck. all gone! all gone!" after a moment he seemed to try to recollect something. "no," said he, "we weren't all together. they took ruby on deck, and i never saw _him_ again. i wonder what they did----" here he paused. "who, did you say?" enquired the captain with deep anxiety. "ruby--ruby brand," replied the man. "what became of him, said you?" "don't know." "was _he_ drowned?" "don't know," repeated the man. the captain could get no other answer from him, so he was compelled to rest content, for the poor man appeared to be sinking. a sort of couch had been prepared for him, on which he was carried into the town, but before he reached it he was dead. nothing more could be done that night, but next day, when the tide was out, men were lowered down the precipitous sides of the fatal bay, and the bodies of the unfortunate seamen were sent up to the top of the cliffs by means of ropes. these ropes cut deep grooves in the turf, as the bodies were hauled up one by one and laid upon the grass, after which they were conveyed to the town, and decently interred. the spot where this melancholy wreck occurred is now pointed out to the visitor as "the seamen's grave", and the young folk of the town have, from the time of the wreck, annually recut the grooves in the turf, above referred to, in commemoration of the event, so that these grooves may be seen there at the present day. it may easily be imagined that poor captain ogilvy returned to arbroath that night with dark forebodings in his breast. he could not, however, imagine how ruby came to be among the men on board of the french prize; and tried to comfort himself with the thought that the dying sailor had perhaps been a comrade of ruby's at some time or other, and was, in his wandering state of mind, mixing him up with the recent wreck. as, however, he could come to no certain conclusion on this point, he resolved not to tell what he had heard either to his sister or minnie, but to confine his anxieties, at least for the present, to his own breast. chapter xxx old friends in new circumstances let us now return to ruby brand; and in order that the reader may perfectly understand the proceedings of that bold youth, let us take a glance at the bell bock lighthouse in its completed condition. we have already said that the lower part, from the foundation to the height of thirty feet, was built of solid masonry, and that at the top of this solid part stood the entrance-door of the building--facing towards the south. the position of the door was fixed after the solid part had been exposed to a winter's storms. the effect on the building was such that the most sheltered or lee side was clearly indicated; the weather-side being thickly covered with limpets, barnacles, and short green seaweed, while the lee-side was comparatively free from such incrustations. the walls at the entrance-door are nearly seven feet thick, and the short passage that pierces them leads to the foot of a spiral staircase, which conducts to the lowest apartment in the tower, where the walls decrease in thickness to three feet. this room is the provision store. here are kept water-tanks and provisions of all kinds, including fresh vegetables which, with fresh water, are supplied once a fortnight to the rock all the year round. the provision store is the smallest apartment, for, as the walls of the tower decrease in thickness as they rise, the several apartments necessarily increase as they ascend. the second floor is reached by a wooden staircase or ladder, leading up through a "manhole" in the ceiling. here is the lightroom store, which contains large tanks of polished metal for the oil consumed by the lights. a whole year's stock of oil, or about gallons, is stored in these tanks. here also is a small carpenter's bench and tool-box, besides an endless variety of odds and ends,--such as paint-pots, brushes, flags, waste for cleaning the reflectors, &c. &c. another stair, similar to the first, leads to the third floor, which is the kitchen of the building. it stands about sixty-six feet above the foundation. we shall have occasion to describe it and the rooms above presently. meanwhile, let it suffice to say, that the fourth floor contains the men's sleeping berths, of which there are six, although three men is the usual complement on the rock. the fifth floor is the library, and above that is the lantern; the whole building, from base to summit, being feet high. at the time when ruby entered the door of the bell rock lighthouse, as already described, there were three keepers in the building, one of whom was on his watch in the lantern, while the other two were in the kitchen. these men were all old friends. the man in the lantern was george forsyth, who had been appointed one of the light-keepers in consideration of his good services and steadiness. he was seated reading at a small desk. close above him was the blazing series of lights, which revolved slowly and steadily by means of machinery, moved by a heavy weight. a small bell was struck slowly but regularly by the same machinery, in token that all was going on well. if that bell had ceased to sound, forsyth would at once have leaped up to ascertain what was wrong with the lights. so long as it continued to ring he knew that all was well, and that he might continue his studies peacefully--not quietly, however, for, besides the rush of wind against the thick plate glass of the lantern, there was the never-ceasing roar of the ventilator, in which the heated air from within and the cold air from without met and kept up a terrific war. keepers get used to that sound, however, and do not mind it. each keeper's duty was to watch for three successive hours in the lantern. not less familiar were the faces of the occupants of the kitchen. to this apartment ruby ascended without anyone hearing him approach, for one of the windows was open, and the roar of the storm effectually drowned his light footfall. on reaching the floor immediately below the kitchen he heard the tones of a violin, and when his head emerged through the manhole of the kitchen floor, he paused and listened with deep interest, for the air was familiar. peeping round the corner of the oaken partition that separated the manhole from the apartment, he beheld a sight which filled his heart with gladness, for there, seated on a camp stool, with his back leaning against the dresser, his face lighted up by the blaze of a splendid fire, which burned in a most comfortable-looking kitchen range, and his hands drawing forth most pathetic music from a violin, sat his old friend joe dumsby, while opposite to him on a similar camp stool, with his arm resting on a small table, and a familiar black pipe in his mouth, sat that worthy son of vulcan, jamie dove. the little apartment glowed with ruddy light, and to ruby, who had just escaped from a scene of such drear and dismal aspect, it appeared, what it really was, a place of the most luxurious comfort. dove was keeping time to the music with little puffs of smoke, and joe was in the middle of a prolonged shake, when ruby passed through the doorway and stood before them. dove's eyes opened to their widest, and his jaw dropt, so did his pipe, and the music ceased abruptly, while the faces of both men grew pale. "i'm not a ghost, boys," said ruby, with a laugh, which afforded immense relief to his old comrades. "come, have ye not a welcome for an old messmate who swims off to visit you on such a night as this?" dove was the first to recover. he gasped, and, holding out both arms, exclaimed, "ruby brand!" "and no mistake!" cried ruby, advancing and grasping his friend warmly by the hands. for at least half a minute the two men shook each other's hands lustily and in silence. then they burst into a loud laugh, while joe, suddenly recovering, went crashing into a scotch reel with energy so great that time and tune were both sacrificed. as if by mutual impulse, ruby and dove began to dance! but this was merely a spurt of feeling, more than half-involuntary. in the middle of a bar joe flung down the fiddle, and, springing up, seized ruby round the neck and hugged him, an act which made him aware of the fact that he was dripping wet. "did ye _swim_ hoff to the rock?" he enquired, stepping back, and gazing at his friend with a look of surprise, mingled with awe. "indeed i did." "but how? why? what mystery are ye rolled up in?" exclaimed the smith. "sit down, sit down, and quiet yourselves," said ruby, drawing a stool near to the fire, and seating himself. "i'll explain, if you'll only hold your tongues, and not look so scared like." "no, ruby; no, lad, you must change yer clothes first," said the smith, in a tone of authority; "why, the fire makes you steam like a washin' biler. come along with me, an' i'll rig you out." "ay, go hup with 'im, ruby. bless me, this is the most amazin' hincident as ever 'appened to me. never saw nothink like it." as dove and ruby ascended to the room above, joe went about the kitchen talking to himself, poking the fire violently, overturning the camp stools, knocking about the crockery on the dresser, and otherwise conducting himself like a lunatic. of course ruby told dove parts of his story by fits and starts as he was changing his garments; of course he had to be taken up to the lightroom and go through the same scene there with forsyth that had occurred in the kitchen; and, of course, it was not until all the men, himself included, had quite exhausted themselves, that he was able to sit down at the kitchen fire and give a full and connected account of himself, and of his recent doings. after he had concluded his narrative, which was interrupted by frequent question and comment, and after he had refreshed himself with a cup of tea, he rose and said-- "now, boys, it's not fair to be spending all the night with you here, while my old comrade forsyth sits up yonder all alone. i'll go up and see him for a little." "we'll go hup with 'ee, lad," said dumsby. "no ye won't," replied ruby; "i want him all to myself for a while; fair play and no favour, you know, used to be our watchword on the rock in old times. besides, his watch will be out in a little, so ye can come up and fetch him down." "well, go along with you," said the smith. "hallo! that must have been a big 'un." this last remark had reference to a distinct tremor in the building, caused by the falling of a great wave upon it. "does it often get raps like that?" enquired ruby, with a look of surprise. "not often," said dove, "once or twice durin' a gale, mayhap, when a bigger one than usual chances to fall on us at the right angle. but the lighthouse shakes worst just the gales begin to take off and when the swell rolls in heavy from the east'ard." "ay, that's the time," quoth joe. "w'y, i've 'eard all the cups and saucers on the dresser rattle with the blows o' them heavy seas, but the gale is gittin' to be too strong to-night to shake us much." "too strong!" exclaimed ruby. "ay. you see w'en it blows very hard, the breakers have not time to come down on us with a 'eavy tellin' blow, they goes tumblin' and swashin' round us and over us, hammerin' away wildly every how, or nohow, or anyhow, just like a hexcited man fightin' in a hurry. the after-swell, _that's_ wot does it. _that's_ wot comes on slow, and big, and easy, but powerful, like a great prize-fighter as knows what he can do, and means to do it." "a most uncomfortable sort of residence," said ruby, as he turned to quit the room. "not a bit, when ye git used to it," said the smith. "at first we was rather skeered, but we don't mind now. come, joe, give us 'rule, britannia'--'pity she don't rule the waves straighter', as somebody writes somewhere." so saying, dove resumed his pipe, and dumsby his fiddle, while ruby proceeded to the staircase that led to the rooms above. just as he was about to ascend, a furious gust of wind swept past, accompanied by a wild roar of the sea; at the same moment a mass of spray dashed against the small window at his side. he knew that this window was at least sixty feet above the rock, and he was suddenly filled with a strong desire to have a nearer view of the waves that had force to mount so high. instead, therefore, of ascending to the lantern, he descended to the doorway, which was open, for, as the storm blew from the eastward, the door was on the lee-side. there were two doors--one of metal, with thick plate-glass panels at the inner end of the passage; the other, at the outer end of it, was made of thick solid wood bound with metal, and hung so as to open outwards. when the two leaves of this heavy door were shut they were flush with the tower, so that nothing was presented for the waves to act upon. but this door was never closed except in cases of storm from the southward. the scene which presented itself to our hero when he stood in the entrance passage was such as neither pen nor pencil can adequately depict. the tide was full, or nearly so, and had the night been calm the water would have stood about twelve or fourteen feet on the sides of the tower, leaving a space of about the same height between its surface and the spot at the top of the copper ladder where ruby stood; but such was the wild commotion of the sea that this space was at one moment reduced to a few feet, as the waves sprang up towards the doorway, or nearly doubled, as they sank hissing down to the very rock. acres of white, leaping, seething foam covered the spot where the terrible bell rock lay. never for a moment did that boiling cauldron get time to show one spot of dark-coloured water. billow after billow came careering on from the open sea in quick succession, breaking with indescribable force and fury just a few yards to windward of the foundations of the lighthouse, where the outer ledges of the rock, although at the time deep down in the water, were sufficiently near the surface to break their first full force, and save the tower from destruction, though not from many a tremendous blow and overwhelming deluge of water. when the waves hit the rock they were so near that the lighthouse appeared to receive the shock. rushing round it on either side, the cleft billows met again to leeward, just opposite the door, where they burst upwards in a magnificent cloud of spray to a height of full thirty feet. at one time, while ruby held on by the man-ropes at the door and looked over the edge, he could see a dark abyss with the foam shimmering pale far below; another instant, and the solid building perceptibly trembled, as a green sea hit it fair on the weather-side. a continuous roar and hiss followed as the billow swept round, filled up the dark abyss, and sent the white water gleaming up almost into the doorway. at the same moment the sprays flew by on either side of the column, so high that a few drops were thrown on the lantern. to ruby's eye these sprays appeared to be clouds driving across the sky, so high were they above his head. a feeling of awe crept over him as his mind gradually began to realize the world of water which, as it were, overwhelmed him--water and foam roaring and flying everywhere--the heavy seas thundering on the column at his back--the sprays from behind arching almost over the lighthouse, and meeting those that burst up in front, while an eddy of wind sent a cloud swirling in at the doorway, and drenched him to the skin! it was an exhibition of the might of god in the storm such as he had never seen before, and a brief sudden exclamation of thanksgiving burst from the youth's lips, as he thought of how hopeless his case would have been had the french vessel passed the lighthouse an hour later than it did. the contrast between the scene outside and that inside the bell rock lighthouse at that time was indeed striking. outside there was madly raging conflict; inside there were peace, comfort, security: ruby, with his arms folded, standing calmly in the doorway; jamie dove and joe dumsby smoking and fiddling in the snug kitchen; george forsyth reading (the _pilgrim's progress_ mayhap, or _robinson crusoe_, for both works were in the bell rock library) by the bright blaze of the crimson and white lamps, high up in the crystal lantern. if a magician had divided the tower in two from top to bottom while some ship was staggering past before the gale, he would have presented to the amazed mariners the most astonishing picture of "war without and peace within" that the world ever saw! chapter xxxi midnight chat in a lantern "i'll have to borrow another shirt and pair of trousers from you, dove," said ruby with a laugh, as he returned to the kitchen. "what! been having another swim?" exclaimed the smith. "not exactly, but you see i'm fond o' water. come along, lad." in a few minutes the clothes were changed, and ruby was seated beside forsyth, asking him earnestly about his friends on shore. "ah! ruby," said forsyth, "i thought it would have killed your old mother when she was told of your bein' caught by them sea-sharks, and taken off to the wars. you must know i came to see a good deal of your friends, through--through--hoot! what's the name? the fair-haired lass that lives with----" "minnie?" suggested ruby, who could not but wonder that any man living should forget her name for a moment. "ay, minnie it is. she used to come to see my wife about some work they wanted her to do, and i was now and again sent up with a message to the cottage, and captain ogilvy always invited me in to take a glass out of his old teapot. your mother used to ask me ever so many questions about you, an' what you used to say and do on the rock when this lighthouse was buildin'. she looked so sad and pale, poor thing; i really thought it would be all up with her, an' i believe it would, but for minnie. it was quite wonderful the way that girl cheered your mother up, by readin' bits o' the bible to her, an' tellin' her that god would certainly send you back again. she looked and spoke always so brightly too." "did she do that?" exclaimed ruby, with emotion. forsyth looked for a moment earnestly at his friend. "i mean," continued ruby, in some confusion, "did she look bright when she spoke of my bein' away?" "no lad, it was when she spoke of you comin' back; but i could see that her good spirits was partly put on to keep up the old woman." for a moment or two the friends remained silent. suddenly forsyth kid his hand on the other's shoulder, and said impressively: "ruby brand, it's my belief that that girl is rather fond of you." ruby looked up with a bright smile, and said, "d'you think so? well, d'ye know, i believe she is." "upon my word, youngster," exclaimed the other, with a look of evident disgust, "your conceit is considerable. i had thought to be somewhat confidential with you in regard to this idea of mine, but you seem to swallow it so easy, and to look upon it as so natural a thing, that--that--do you suppose you've nothin' to do but ask the girl to marry you and she'll say 'yes' at once?" "i do," said ruby quietly; "nay, i am sure of it." forsyth's eyes opened very wide indeed at this. "young man," said he, "the sea must have washed all the modesty you once had out of you----" "i hope not," interrupted the other, "but the fact is that i put the question you have supposed to minnie long ago, and she _did_ say 'yes' to it then, so it's not likely she's goin' to draw back now." "whew! that alters the case," cried forsyth, seizing his friend's hand, and wringing it heartily. "hallo! you two seem to be on good terms, anyhow," observed jamie dove, whose head appeared at that moment through the hole in the floor by which the lantern communicated with the room below. "i came to see if anything had gone wrong, for your time of watch is up." "so it is," exclaimed forsyth, rising and crossing to the other side of the apartment, where he applied his lips to a small tube in the wall. "what are you doing?" enquired ruby. "whistling up joe," said forsyth. "this pipe runs down to the sleepin' berths, where there's a whistle close to joe's ear. he must be asleep. i'll try again." he blew down the tube a second time and listened for a reply, which came up a moment or two after in a sharp whistle through a similar tube reversed; that is, with the mouthpiece below and the whistle above. soon after, joe dumsby made his appearance at the trapdoor, looking very sleepy. "i feels as 'eavy as a lump o' lead," said he. "wot an 'orrible thing it is to be woke out o' a comf'r'able sleep." just as he spoke the lighthouse received a blow so tremendous that all the men started and looked at each other for a moment in surprise. "i say, is it warranted to stand _anything?_" enquired ruby seriously. "i hope it is," replied the smith, "else it'll be a blue lookout for _us_. but we don't often get such a rap as that. d'ye mind the first we ever felt o' that sort, forsyth? it happened last month. i was on watch at the time, forsyth was smokin' his pipe in the kitchen, and dumsby was in bed, when a sea struck us with such force that i thought we was done for. in a moment forsyth and joe came tumblin' up the ladder--joe in his shirt. 'it must have been a ship sailed right against us,' says forsyth, and with that we all jumped on the rail that runs round the lantern there and looked out, but no ship could be seen, though it was a moonlight night. you see there's plenty o' water at high tide to let a ship of two hundred tons, drawin' twelve feet, run slap into us, and we've sometimes feared this in foggy weather; but it was just a blow of the sea. we've had two or three like it since, and are gettin' used to it now." "well, we can't get used to do without sleep," said forsyth, stepping down through the trapdoor, "so i'll bid ye all good night." "'old on! tell ruby about junk before ye go," cried dumsby. "ah! well, i'll tell 'im myself. you must know, ruby, that we've got what they calls an hoccasional light-keeper ashore, who larns the work out 'ere in case any of us reg'lar keepers are took ill, so as 'e can supply our place on short notice. well, 'e was out 'ere larnin' the dooties one tremendous stormy night, an' the poor fellow was in a mortial fright for fear the lantern would be blowed right hoff the top o' the stone column, and 'imself along with it. you see, the door that covers the manhole there is usually shut when we're on watch, but junk (we called 'im junk 'cause 'e wos so like a lump o' fat pork), 'e kep the door open all the time an' sat close beside it, so as to be ready for a dive. well, it was my turn to watch, so i went up, an' just as i puts my fut on the first step o' the lantern-ladder there comes a sea like wot we had a minit ago; the wind at the same time roared in the wentilators like a thousand fiends, and the spray dashed agin the glass. junk gave a yell, and dived. he thought it wos all over with 'im, and wos in sich a funk that he came down 'ead foremost, and would sartinly 'ave broke 'is neck if 'e 'adn't come slap into my buzzum! i tell 'e it was no joke, for 'e wos fourteen stone if 'e wos an ounce, an'----" "come along, ruby," said dove, interrupting; "the sooner we dive too the better, for there's no end to that story when dumsby get off in full swing. good night!" "good night, lads, an' better manners t'ye!" said joe, as he sat down beside the little desk where the lightkeepers were wont during the lonely watch-hours of the night to read, or write, or meditate. chapter xxxii everyday life on the bell rock, and old memories recalled the sun shone brightly over the sea next morning; so brightly and powerfully that it seemed to break up and disperse by force the great storm-clouds which hung about the sky, like the fragments of an army of black bullies who had done their worst and been baffled. the storm was over; at least, the wind had moderated down to a fresh, invigorating breeze. the white crests of the billows were few and far between, and the wild turmoil of waters had given place to a grand procession of giant waves, that thundered on the bell rock lighthouse, at once with more dignity and more force than the raging seas of the previous night. it was the sun that awoke ruby, by shining in at one of the small windows of the library, in which he slept. of course it did not shine in his face, because of the relative positions of the library and the sun, the first being just below the lantern, and the second just above the horizon, so that the rays struck upwards, and shone with dazzling brilliancy on the dome-shaped ceiling. this was the second time of wakening for ruby that night, since he lay down to rest. the first wakening was occasioned by the winding up of the machinery which kept the lights in motion, and the chain of which, with a ponderous weight attached to it, passed through a wooden pilaster close to his ear, causing such a sudden and hideous din that the sleeper, not having been warned of it, sprang like a jack-in-the-box out of bed into the middle of the room, where he first stared vacantly around him like an unusually surprised owl, and then, guessing the cause of the noise, smiled pitifully, as though to say, "poor fellow, you're easily frightened," and tumbled back into bed, where he fell asleep again instantly. on the second time of wakening ruby rose to a sitting posture, yawned, looked about him, yawned again, wondered what o'clock it was, and then listened. no sound could be heard save the intermittent roar of the magnificent breakers that beat on the bell rock. his couch was too low to permit of his seeing anything but sky out of his windows, three of which, about two feet square, lighted the room. he therefore jumped up, and, while pulling on his garments, looked towards the east, where the sun greeted and almost blinded him. turning to the north window, a bright smile lit up his countenance, and "a blessing rest on you" escaped audibly from his lips, as he kissed his hand towards the cliffs of forfarshire, which were seen like a faint blue line on the far-off horizon, with the town of arbroath just rising above the morning mists. he gazed out at this north window, and thought over all the scenes that had passed between him and minnie from the time they first met, down to the day when they last parted. one of the sweetest of the mental pictures that he painted that morning with unwonted facility, was that of minnie sitting at his mother's feet, comforting her with the words of the bible. at length he turned with a sigh to resume his toilette. looking out at the southern window, he observed that the rocks were beginning to be uncovered, and that the "rails", or iron pathway that led to the foot of the entrance-door ladder, were high enough out of the water to be walked upon. he therefore hastened to descend. we know not what appearance the library presented at the time when ruby brand slept in it; but we can tell, from personal experience, that, at the present day, it is a most comfortable and elegant apartment. the other rooms of the lighthouse, although thoroughly substantial in their furniture and fittings, are quite plain and devoid of ornament, but the library, or "stranger's room", as it is sometimes called, being the guest-chamber, is fitted up in a style worthy of a lady's boudoir, with a turkey carpet, handsome chairs, and an elaborately carved oak table, supported appropriately by a centre stem of three twining dolphins. the dome of the ceiling is painted to represent stucco panelling, and the partition which cuts off the small segment of this circular room that is devoted to passage and staircase, is of panelled oak. the thickness of this partition is just sufficient to contain the bookcase; also a cleverly contrived bedstead, which can be folded up during the day out of sight. there is also a small cupboard of oak, which serves the double purpose of affording shelf accommodation and concealing the iron smoke-pipe which rises from the kitchen, and, passing through the several storeys, projects a few feet above the lantern. the centre window is ornamented with marble sides and top, and above it stands a marble bust of robert stevenson, the engineer of the building, with a marble slab below bearing testimony to the skill and energy with which he had planned and executed the work. if not precisely what we have described it to be at the present time, the library must have been somewhat similar on that morning when our hero issued from it and descended to the rock. the first stair landed him at the entrance to the sleeping-berths. he looked into one, and observed forsyth's head and arms lying in the bed, in that peculiarly negligent style that betokens deep and sweet repose. dumsby's rest was equally sound in the next berth. this fact did not require proof by ocular demonstration; his nose announced it sonorously over the whole building. passing to the kitchen, immediately below, ruby found his old messmate, jamie dove, busy in the preparation of breakfast. "ha! ruby, good mornin'; you keep up your early habits, i see. can't shake yer paw, lad, 'cause i'm up to the elbows in grease, not to speak o' sutt an' ashes." "when did you learn to cook, jamie?" said ruby, laughing. "when i came here. you see we've all got to take it turn and turn about, and it's wonderful how soon a feller gets used to it. i'm rather fond of it, d'ye know? we haven't overmuch to work on in the way o' variety, to be sure, but what we have there's lots of it, an' it gives us occasion to exercise our wits to invent somethin' new. it's wonderful what can be done with fresh beef, cabbage, carrots, potatoes, flour, tea, bread, mustard, sugar, pepper, an' the like, if ye've got a talent that way." "you've got it all off by heart, i see," said ruby. "true, boy, but it's not so easy to get it all off yer stomach sometimes. what with confinement and want of exercise we was troubled with indigestion at first, but we're used to it now, and i have acquired quite a fancy for cooking. no doubt you'll hear forsyth and joe say that i've half-pisoned them four or five times, but that's all envy; besides, a feller can't learn a trade without doin' a little damage to somebody or something at first. did you ever taste blackbird pie?" "no," replied ruby, "never." "then you shall taste one to-day, for we caught fifty birds last week." "caught fifty birds?" "ay, but i'll tell ye about it some other time. be off just now, and get as much exercise out o' the rock as ye can before breakfast." the smith resumed his work as he said this, and ruby descended. he found the sea still roaring over the rock, but the rails were so far uncovered that he could venture on them, yet he had to keep a sharp lookout, for, whenever a larger breaker than usual struck the rock, the gush of foaming water that flew over it was so great that a spurt or two would sometimes break up between the iron bars, and any one of these spurts would have sufficed to give him a thorough wetting. in a short time, however, the sea went back and left the rails free. soon after that ruby was joined by forsyth and dumsby, who had come down for their morning promenade. they had to walk in single file while taking exercise, as the tramway was not wide enough for two, and the rock, even when fully uncovered, did not afford sufficient level space for comfortable walking, although at low water (as the reader already knows) it afforded fully a hundred yards of scrambling ground, if not more. they had not walked more than a few minutes when they were joined by jamie dove, who announced breakfast, and proceeded to take two or three turns by way of cooling himself. thereafter the party returned to the kitchen, where they sat down to as good a meal as any reasonable man could desire. there was cold boiled beef--the remains of yesterday's dinner--and a bit of broiled cod, a native of the bell rock, caught from the doorway at high water the day before. there was tea also, and toast--buttered toast, hot out of the oven. dove was peculiarly good at what may be styled toast-cooking. indeed, all the lightkeepers were equally good. the bread was cut an inch thick, and butter was laid on as plasterers spread plaster with a trowel. there was no scraping off a bit here to put it on there; no digging out pieces from little caverns in the bread with the point of the knife; no repetition of the work to spread it thinner, and, above all, no omitting of corners or edges;--no, the smallest conceivable fly could not have found the minutest atom of dry footing on a bell rock slice of toast, from its centre to its circumference. dove had a liberal heart, and he laid on the butter with a liberal hand. fair play and no favour was his motto, quarter-inch thick was his gauge, railway speed his practice. the consequence was that the toast floated, as it were, down the throats of the men, and compensated to some extent for the want of milk in the tea. "now, boys, sit in," cried dove, seizing the teapot. "we have not much variety," observed dumsby to ruby, in an apologetic tone. "variety!" exclaimed forsyth, "what d'ye call that?" pointing to the fish. "well, that _is_ a hextra morsel, i admit," returned joe; "but we don't get that every day; 'owsever, wot there is is good, an' there's plenty of it, so let's fall to." forsyth said grace, and then they all "fell to", with appetites peculiar to that isolated and breezy spot, where the wind blows so fresh from the open sea that the nostrils inhale culinary odours, and the palates seize culinary products, with unusual relish. there was something singularly unfeminine in the manner in which the duties of the table were performed by these stalwart guardians of the rock. we are accustomed to see such duties performed by the tender hands of woman, or, it may be, by the expert fingers of trained landsmen; but in places where woman may not or can not act with propriety,--as on shipboard, or in sea-girt towers,--men go through such feminine work in a way that does credit to their versatility,--also to the strength of culinary materials and implements. the way in which jamie dove and his comrades knocked about the pans, teapots, cups and saucers, &c., without smashing them, would have astonished, as well as gratified, the hearts of the fraternity of tinsmiths and earthenware manufacturers. we have said that everything in the lighthouse was substantial and very strong. all the woodwork was oak, the floors and walls of solid stone,--hence, when dove, who had no nerves or physical feelings, proceeded with his cooking, the noise he caused was tremendous. a man used to woman's gentle ways would, on seeing him poke the fire, have expected that the poker would certainly penetrate not only the coals, but the back of the grate also, and perchance make its appearance at the outside of the building itself, through stones, joggles, dovetails, trenails, pozzolano mortar, and all the strong materials that have withstood the fury of winds and waves for the last half-century! dove treated the other furniture in like manner; not that he treated it ill,--we would not have the reader imagine this for a moment. he was not reckless of the household goods. he was merely indifferent as to the row he made in using them. but it was when the cooking was over, and the table had to be spread, that the thing culminated. under the impulse of lightheartedness, caused by the feeling that his labours for the time were nearly ended, and that his reward was about to be reaped, he went about with irresistible energy, like the proverbial bull in a china shop, without reaching that creature's destructive point. it was then that a beaming smile overspread his countenance, and he raged about the kitchen with vulcan-like joviality. he pulled out the table from the wall to the centre of the apartment, with a swing that produced a prolonged crash. up went its two leaves with two minor crashes. down went the four plates and the cups and saucers, with such violence and rapidity that they all seemed to be dancing on the board together. the beef all but went over the side of its dish by reason of the shock of its sudden stoppage on touching the table, and the pile of toast was only saved from scatteration by the strength of the material, so to speak, with which its successive layers were cemented. when the knives, forks, and spoons came to be laid down, the storm seemed to lull, because these were comparatively light implements, so that this period--which in shore-going life is usually found to be the exasperating one--was actually a season of relief. but it was always followed by a terrible squall of scraping wooden legs and clanking human feet when the camp stools were set, and the men came in and sat down to the meal. the pouring out of the tea, however, was the point that would have called forth the admiration of the world--had the world seen it. what a contrast between the miserable, sickly, slow-dribbling silver and other teapots of the land, and this great teapot of the sea! the bell rock teapot had no sham, no humbug about it. it was a big, bold-looking one, of true britannia metal, with vast internal capacity and a gaping mouth. dove seized it in his strong hand as he would have grasped his biggest fore-hammer. before you could wink, a sluice seemed to burst open; a torrent of rich brown tea spouted at your cup, and it was full--the saucer too, perhaps--in a moment. but why dwell on these luxurious scenes? reader, you can never know them from experience unless you go to visit the bell bock; we will therefore cease to tantalize you. during breakfast it was discussed whether or not the signal-ball should be hoisted. the signal-ball was fixed to a short staff on the summit of the lighthouse, and the rule was that it should be hoisted at a fixed hour every morning _when all was well_, and kept up until an answering signal should be made from a signal-tower in arbroath where the keepers' families dwelt, and where each keeper in succession spent a fortnight with his family, after a spell of six weeks on the rock. it was the duty of the keeper on shore to watch for the hoisting of the ball (the "all's well" signal) each morning on the lighthouse, and to reply to it with a similar ball on the signal-tower. if, on any occasion, the hour for signalling should pass without the ball on the lighthouse being shown, then it was understood that something was wrong, and the attending boat of the establishment was sent off at once to ascertain the cause, and afford relief if necessary. the keeping down of the ball was, however, an event of rare occurrence, so that when it did take place the poor wives of the men on the rock were usually thrown into a state of much perturbation and anxiety, each naturally supposing that her husband must be seriously ill, or have met with a bad accident. it was therefore natural that there should be some hesitation about keeping down the ball merely for the purpose of getting a boat off to send ruby ashore. "you see," said forsyth, "the day after to-morrow the 'relief boat' is due, and it may be as well just to wait for that, ruby, and then you can go ashore with your friend jamie dove, for it's his turn this time." "ay, lad, just make up your mind to stay another day," said the smith; "as they don't know you're here they can't be wearyin' for you, and i'll take ye an' introduce you to my little wife, that i fell in with on the cliffs of arbroath not long after ye was kidnapped. besides, ruby, it'll do ye good to feed like a fighting cock out here another day. have another cup o' tea?" "an' a junk o' beef?" said forsyth. "an' a slice o' toast?" said dumsby. ruby accepted all these offers, and soon afterwards the four friends descended to the rock, to take as much exercise as they could on its limited surface, during the brief period of low water that still remained to them. it may easily be imagined that this ramble was an interesting one, and was prolonged until the tide drove them into their tower of refuge. every rock, every hollow, called up endless reminiscences of the busy building seasons. ruby went over it all step by step with somewhat of the feelings that influence a man when he revisits the scene of his childhood. there was the spot where the forge had stood. "d'ye mind it, lad?" said dove. "there are the holes where the hearth was fixed, and there's the rock where you vaulted over the bellows when ye took that splendid dive after the fair-haired lassie into the pool yonder." "mind it? ay, i should think so!" then there were the holes where the great beams of the beacon had been fixed, and the iron bats, most of which latter were still left in the rock, and some of which may be seen there at the present day. there was also the pool into which poor selkirk had tumbled with the vegetables on the day of the first dinner on the rock, and that other pool into which forsyth had plunged after the mermaids; and, not least interesting among the spots of note, there was the ledge, now named the "last hope", on which mr. stevenson and his men had stood on the day when the boat had been carried away, and they had expected, but were mercifully preserved from, a terrible tragedy. after they had talked much on all these things, and long before they were tired of it, the sea drove them to the rails; gradually, as it rose higher, it drove them into the lighthouse, and then each man went to his work--jamie dove to his kitchen, in order to clean up and prepare dinner, and the other two to the lantern, to scour and polish the reflectors, refill and trim the lamps, and, generally, to put everything in order for the coming night. ruby divided his time between the kitchen and lantern, lending a hand in each, but, we fear, interrupting the work more than he advanced it. that day it fell calm, and the sun shone brightly. "we'll have fog to-night," observed dumsby to brand, pausing in the operation of polishing a reflector, in which his fat face was mirrored with the most indescribable and dreadful distortions. "d'ye think so?" "i'm sure of it." "you're right," remarked forsyth, looking from his elevated position to the seaward horizon. "i can see it coming now." "i say, what smell is that?" exclaimed ruby, sniffing. "somethink burnin'," said dumsby, also sniffing. "why, what can it be?" murmured forsyth, looking round and likewise sniffing. "hallo! joe, look out; you're on fire!" joe started, clapped his hand behind him, and grasped his inexpressibles, which were smouldering warmly. ruby assisted, and the fire was soon put out, amidst much laughter. "'ang them reflectors!" said joe, seating himself, and breathing hard after his alarm and exertions; "it's the third time they've set me ablaze." "the reflectors, joe?" said ruby. "ay, don't ye see? they've nat'rally got a focus, an' w'en i 'appen to be standin' on a sunny day in front of 'em, contemplatin' the face o' natur', as it wor, through the lantern panes, if i gits into the focus by haccident, d'ye see, it just acts like a burnin'-glass." ruby could scarcely believe this, but after testing the truth of the statement by actual experiment he could no longer doubt it. presently a light breeze sprang up, rolling the fog before it, and then dying away, leaving the lighthouse enshrouded. during fog there is more danger to shipping than at any other time. in the daytime, in ordinary weather, rocks and lighthouses can be seen. at nights lights can be seen, but during fog nothing can be seen until danger may be too near to be avoided. the two great fog-bells of the lighthouse were therefore set agoing, and they rang out their slow deep-toned peal all that day and all that night, as the bell of the abbot of aberbrothoc is said to have done in days of yore. that night ruby was astonished, and then he was stunned! first, as to his astonishment. while he was seated by the kitchen fire chatting with his friend the smith, sometime between nine o'clock and midnight, dumsby summoned him to the lantern to "help in catching to-morrow's dinner!" dove laughed at the summons, and they all went up. the first thing that caught ruby's eye at one of the window panes was the round visage of an owl, staring in with its two large eyes as if it had gone mad with amazement, and holding on to the iron frame with its claws. presently its claws lost hold, and it fell off into outer darkness. "what think ye o' that for a beauty?" said forsyth. ruby's eyes, being set free from the fascination of the owl's stare, now made him aware of the fact that hundreds of birds of all kinds--crows, magpies, sparrows, tomtits, owls, larks, mavises, blackbirds, &c. &c.--were fluttering round the lantern outside, apparently bent on ascertaining the nature of the wonderful light within. "ah! poor things," said forsyth, in answer to ruby's look of wonder, "they often visit us in foggy weather. i suppose they get out to sea in the fog and can't find their way back to land, and then some of them chance to cross our light and take refuge on it." "now i'll go out and get to-morrow's dinner," said dumsby. he went out accordingly, and, walking round the balcony that encircled the base of the lantern, was seen to put his hand up and quietly take down and wring the necks of such birds as he deemed suitable for his purpose. it seemed a cruel act to ruby, but when he came to think of it he felt that, as they were to be stewed at any rate, the more quickly they were killed the better! he observed that the birds kept fluttering about, alighting for a few moments and flying off again, all the time that dumsby was at work, yet dumsby never failed to seize his prey. presently the man came in with a small basket full of game. "now, ruby," said he, "i'll bet a sixpence that you don't catch a bird within five minutes." "i don't bet such large sums usually, but i'll try," said ruby, going out. he tried and failed. just as the five minutes were expiring, however, the owl happened to alight before his nose, so he "nabbed" it, and carried it in triumphantly. "_that_ ain't a bird," said dumsby. "it's not a fish," retorted ruby; "but how is it that you caught them so easily, and i found it so difficult?" "because, lad, you must do it at the right time. you watch w'en the focus of a revolvin' light is comin' full in a bird's face. the moment it does so 'e's dazzled, and you grab 'im. if you grab too soon or too late, 'e's away. that's 'ow it is, and they're capital heatin', as you'll find." thus much for ruby's astonishment. now for his being stunned. late that night the fog cleared away, and the bells were stopped. after a long chat with his friends, ruby mounted to the library and went to bed. later still the fog returned, and the bells were again set agoing. both of them being within a few feet of ruby's head, they awakened him with a bang that caused him to feel as if the room in which he lay were a bell and his own head the tongue thereof. at first the sound was solemnizing, then it was saddening. after a time it became exasperating, and then maddening. he tried to sleep, but he only tossed. he tried to meditate, but he only wandered--not "in dreams", however. he tried to laugh, but the laugh degenerated into a growl. then he sighed, and the sigh ended in a groan. finally, he got up and walked up and down the floor till his legs were cold, when he turned into bed again, very tired, and fell asleep, but not to rest--to dream. he dreamt that he was at the forge again, and that he and dove were trying to smash their anvils with the sledge-hammers--bang and bang about but the anvil would not break. at last he grew desperate, hit the horn off, and then, with another terrific blow, smashed the whole affair to atoms! this startled him a little, and he awoke sufficiently to become aware of the fog-bells. again he dreamed. minnie was his theme now, but, strange to say, he felt little or no tenderness towards her. she was beset by a hundred ruffians in pea-jackets and sou'westers. something stirred him to madness. he rushed at the foe, and began to hit out at them right and left. the hitting was slow, but sure--regular as clockwork. first the right, then the left, and at each blow a seaman's nose was driven into his head, and a seaman's body lay flat on the ground. at length they were all floored but one--the last and the biggest. ruby threw all his remaining strength into one crashing blow, drove his fist right through his antagonist's body, and awoke with a start to find his knuckles bleeding. "hang these bells!" he exclaimed, starting up and gazing round him in despair. then he fell back on his pillow in despair, and went to sleep in despair. once more he dreamed. he was going to church now, dressed in a suit of the finest broadcloth, with minnie on his arm, clothed in pure white, emblematic, it struck him, of her pure gentle spirit. friends were with him, all gaily attired, and very happy, but unaccountably silent. perhaps it was the noise of the wedding-bells that rendered their voices inaudible. he was struck by the solemnity as well as the pertinacity of these wedding-bells as he entered the church. he was puzzled too, being a presbyterian, why he was to be married in church, but being a man of liberal mind, he made no objection to it. they all assembled in front of the pulpit, into which the clergyman, a very reverend but determined man, mounted with a prayer book in his hand. ruby was puzzled again. he had not supposed that the pulpit was the proper place, but modestly attributed this to his ignorance. "stop those bells!" said the clergyman, with stern solemnity; but they went on. "stop them, i say!" he roared in a voice of thunder. the sexton, pulling the ropes in the middle of the church, paid no attention. exasperated beyond endurance, the clergyman hurled the prayer book at the sexton's head, and felled him! still the bells went on of their own accord. "stop! sto-o-o-o-p! i say," he yelled fiercely, and, hitting the pulpit with his fist, he split it from top to bottom. minnie cried "shame!" at this, and from that moment the bells ceased. whether it was that the fog-bells ceased at that time, or that minnie's voice charmed ruby's thoughts away, we cannot tell, but certain it is that the severely tried youth became entirely oblivious of everything. the marriage-party vanished with the bells; minnie, alas! faded away also; finally, the roar of the sea round the bell rock, the rock itself, its lighthouse and its inmates, and all connected with it, faded from the sleeper's mind, and "like the baseless fabric of a vision, left not a wrack behind." chapter xxxiii conclusion facts are facts; there is no denying that. they cannot be controverted; nothing can overturn them, or modify them, or set them aside. there they stand in naked simplicity: mildly contemptuous alike of sophists and theorists. immortal facts! bacon founded on you; newton found you out; dugald stewart and all his fraternity reasoned on you, and followed in your wake. what _would_ this world be without facts? rest assured, reader, that those who ignore facts and prefer fancies are fools. we say it respectfully. we have no intention of being personal, whoever you may be. on the morning after ruby was cast on the bell rock, our old friend ned o'connor (having been appointed one of the lighthouse-keepers, and having gone for his fortnight ashore in the order of his course) sat on the top of the signal-tower at arbroath with a telescope at his eye directed towards the lighthouse, and became aware of a fact,--a fact which seemed to be contradicted by those who ought to have known better. ned soliloquized that morning. his soliloquy will explain the circumstances to which we refer; we therefore record it here. "what's that? sure there's something wrong wid me eye intirely this mornin'. howld on" (he wiped it here, and applying it again to the telescope, proceeded); "wan, tshoo, three, _four_! no mistake about it. try agin. wan, tshoo, three, four! an' yet the ball's up there as cool as a cookumber, tellin' a big lie; ye know ye are," continued ned, apostrophizing the ball, and readjusting the glass. "there ye are, as bold as brass--av ye're not copper--tellin' me that everything goin' on as usual, whin i can see with me two eyes (wan after the other) that there's _four_ men on the rock, whin there should be only _three!_ well, well," continued ned, after a pause, and a careful examination of the bell rock, which being twelve miles out at sea could not be seen very distinctly in its lower parts, even through a good glass, "the day afther to-morrow 'll settle the question, misther ball, for then the relief goes off, and faix, if i don't guv' ye the lie direct i'm not an irishman." with this consolatory remark, ned o'connor descended to the rooms below, and told his wife, who immediately told all the other wives and the neighbours, so that ere long the whole town of arbroath became aware that there was a mysterious stranger, a _fourth_ party, on the bell rock! thus it came to pass that, when the relieving boat went off, numbers of fishermen and sailors and others watched it depart in the morning, and increased numbers of people of all sorts, among whom were many of the old hands who had wrought at the building of the lighthouse, crowded the pier to watch its return in the afternoon. as soon as the boat left the rock, those who had "glasses" announced that there was an "extra man in her". speculation remained on tiptoe for nearly three hours, at the end of which time the boat drew near. "it's a man, anyhow," observed captain ogilvie, who was one of those near the outer end of the pier. "i say," observed his friend the "leftenant", who was looking through a telescope, "if--that's--not--ruby--brand--i'll eat my hat without sauce!" "you don't mean--let me see," cried the captain, snatching the glass out of his friend's hand, and applying it to his eye. "i do believe!--yes! it is ruby, or his ghost!" by this time the boat was near enough for many of his old friends to recognize him, and ruby, seeing that some of the faces were familiar to him, rose in the stern of the boat, took off his hat and waved it. this was the signal for a tremendous cheer from those who knew our hero; and those who did not know him, but knew that there was something peculiar and romantic in his case, and in the manner of his arrival, began to cheer from sheer sympathy; while the little boys, who were numerous, and who love to cheer for cheering's sake alone, yelled at the full pitch of their lungs, and waved their ragged caps as joyfully as if the king of england were about to land upon their shores! the boat soon swept into the harbour, and ruby's friends, headed by captain ogilvy, pressed forward to receive and greet him. the captain embraced him, the friends surrounded him, and almost pulled him to pieces; finally, they lifted him on their shoulders, and bore him in triumphal procession to his mother's cottage. and where was minnie all this time? she had indeed heard the rumour that something had occurred at the bell rock; but, satisfied from what she heard that it could be nothing very serious, she was content to remain at home and wait for the news. to say truth, she was too much taken up with her own sorrows and anxieties to care as much for public matters as she had been wont to do. when the uproarious procession drew near, she was sitting at widow brand's feet, "comforting her" in her usual way. before the procession turned the corner of the street leading to his mother's cottage, ruby made a desperate effort to address the crowd, and succeeded in arresting their attention. "friends, friends!" he cried, "it's very good of you, very kind; but my mother is old and feeble; she might be hurt if we were to come on her in this fashion. we must go in quietly." "true, true," said those who bore him, letting him down, "so, good day, lad; good day. a shake o' your flipper; give us your hand; glad you're back, ruby; good luck to 'ee, boy!" such were the words, followed by three cheers, with which his friends parted from him, and left him alone with the captain. "we must break it to her, nephy," said the captain, as they moved towards the cottage. "'still so gently o'er me stealin", memory will bring back the feelin'.' it won't do to go slap into her, as a british frigate does into a french line-o'-battle ship. i'll go in an' do the breakin' business, and send out minnie to you." ruby was quite satisfied with the captain's arrangement, so, when the latter went in to perform his part of this delicate business, the former remained at the doorpost, expectant. "minnie, lass, i want to speak to my sister," said the captain, "leave us a bit--and there's somebody wants to see _you_ outside." "me, uncle!" "ay, _you_; look alive now." minnie went out in some surprise, and had barely crossed the threshold when she found herself pinioned in a strong man's arms! a cry escaped her as she struggled, for one instant, to free herself; but a glance was sufficient to tell who it was that held her. dropping her head on ruby's breast, the load of sorrow fell from her heart. ruby pressed his lips upon her forehead, and they both rested there. it was one of those pre-eminently sweet resting-places which are vouchsafed to some, though not to all, of the pilgrims of earth, in their toilsome journey through the wilderness towards that eternal rest, in the blessedness of which all minor resting-places shall be forgotten, whether missed or enjoyed by the way. their rest, however, was not of long duration, for in a few minutes the captain rushed out, and exclaiming "she's swounded, lad," grasped ruby by the coat and dragged him into the cottage, where he found his mother lying in a state of insensibility on the floor. seating himself by her side on the floor, he raised her gently, and placing her in a half-sitting, half-reclining position in his lap, laid her head tenderly on his breast. while in this position minnie administered restoratives, and the widow ere long opened her eyes and looked up. she did not speak at first, but, twining her arms round ruby's neck, gazed steadfastly into his face; then, drawing him closer to her heart, she fervently exclaimed "thank god!!" and laid her head down again with a deep sigh. she too had found a resting-place by the way on that day of her pilgrimage. * * * * * now, reader, we feel bound to tell you in confidence that there are few things more difficult than drawing a story to a close! our tale is done, for ruby is married to minnie, and the bell rock lighthouse is finished, and most of those who built it are scattered beyond the possibility of reunion. yet we are loath to shake hands with them and to bid you farewell. nevertheless, so it must be, for if we were to continue the narrative of the after-careers of our friends of the bell rock, the books that should be written would certainly suffice to build a new lighthouse. but we cannot make our bow without a parting word or two. ruby and minnie, as we have said, were married. they lived in the cottage with their mother, and managed to make it sufficiently large to hold them all by banishing the captain into the scullery. do not suppose that this was done heartlessly, and without the captain's consent. by no means. that worthy son of neptune assisted at his own banishment. in fact, he was himself the chief cause of it, for when a consultation was held after the honeymoon, as to "what was to be done now", he waved his hand, commanded silence, and delivered himself as follows:-- "now, shipmates all, give ear to me, an' don't ventur' to interrupt. it's nat'ral an' proper, ruby, that you an' minnie and your mother should wish to live together; as the old song says, 'birds of a feather flock together', an' the old song's right; and as the thing ought to be, an' you all want it to be, so it _shall_ be. there's only one little difficulty in the way, which is, that the ship's too small to hold us, by reason of the after-cabin bein' occupied by an old seaman of the name of ogilvy. now, then, not bein' pigs, the question is, what's to be done? i will answer that question: the seaman of the name of ogilvy shall change his quarters." observing at this point that both ruby and his bride opened their mouths to speak, the captain held up a threatening finger, and sternly said, "silence!" then he proceeded-- "i speak authoritatively on this point, havin' conversed with the seaman ogilvy, and diskivered his sentiments. that seaman intends to resign the cabin to the young couple, and to hoist his flag for the futur' in the fogs'l." he pointed, in explanation, to the scullery; a small, dirty-looking apartment off the kitchen, which was full of pots and pans and miscellaneous articles of household, chiefly kitchen, furniture. ruby and minnie laughed at this, and the widow looked perplexed, but perfectly happy and at her ease, for she knew that whatever arrangement the captain should make, it would be agreeable in the end to all parties. "the seaman ogilvy and i," continued the captain, "have gone over the fogs'l" (meaning the forecastle) "together, and we find that, by the use of mops, buckets, water, and swabs, the place can be made clean. by the use of paper, paint, and whitewash, it can be made respectable; and, by the use of furniture, pictures, books, and baccy, it can be made comfortable. now, the question that i've got to propound this day to the judge and jury is--why not?" upon mature consideration, the judge and jury could not answer "why not?" therefore the thing was fixed and carried out and the captain thereafter dwelt for years in the scullery, and the inmates of the cottage spent so much of their time in the scullery that it became, as it were, the parlour, or boudoir, or drawing-room of the place. when, in course of time, a number of small brands came to howl and tumble about the cottage, they naturally gravitated towards the scullery, which then virtually became the nursery, with a stout old seaman, of the name of ogilvy, usually acting the part of head nurse. his duties were onerous, by reason of the strength of constitution, lungs, and muscles of the young brands, whose ungovernable desire to play with that dangerous element from which heat is evolved, undoubtedly qualified them for the honorary title of fire-brands. with the proceeds of the jewel case ruby bought a little coasting vessel, with which he made frequent and successful voyages. "absence makes the heart grow fonder," no doubt, for minnie grew fonder of ruby every time he went away, and every time he came back. things prospered with our hero, and you may be sure that he did not forget his old friends of the lighthouse. on the contrary, he and his wife became frequent visitors at the signal-tower, and the families of the lighthouse-keepers felt almost as much at home in "the cottage" as they did in their own houses. and each keeper, on returning from his six weeks' spell on the rock to take his two weeks' spell at the signal-tower, invariably made it his first business, _after_ kissing his wife and children, to go up to the brands and smoke a pipe in the scullery with that eccentric old seafaring nursery-maid of the name of ogilvy. in time ruby found it convenient to build a top flat on the cottage, and above this a small turret, which overlooked the opposite houses, and commanded a view of the sea. this tower the captain converted into a point of lookout, and a summer smoking-room,--and many a time and oft, in the years that followed, did he and ruby climb up there about nightfall, to smoke the pipe of peace, with minnie beside them, and to watch the bright flashing of the red and white light on the bell rock, as it shone over the waters far and wide, like a star of the first magnitude, a star of hope and safety, guiding sailors to their desired haven; perchance reminding them of that star of bethlehem which guided the shepherds to him who is the light of the world and the rock of ages. printed in great britain _at the villafield press, glasgow, scotland_ penelope brandling by vernon lee a tale of the welsh coast in the eighteenth century london t. fisher unwin paternoster square m cm iii to augustine bulteau this story of northern wreckers, in return for a piece of parian marble picked up in the mediterranean surf at palo grandfey, near f., in switzerland. _may_ , . having reached an age when the morrow is more than uncertain, and knowing how soon all verbal tradition becomes blurred and distorted, i, sophia penelope, daughter of jacques de morat, a cadet of the counts of that name, sometime a captain in the service of king louis xv., and of sophia hamilton, his wife; and furthermore, widow of the late sir eustace brandling, ninth baronet, of st. salvat's castle, in the county of glamorgan, have yielded to the wishes of my dear surviving sons, and am preparing to consign to paper, for the benefit of their children and grandchildren, some account of those circumstances in my life which decided that the lot of this family should so long have been cast in foreign parts and remote colonies, instead of in its ancestral and legitimate home. i can the better fulfil this last duty to my dear ones, living and dead, that i have by me a journal which, as it chanced, i was in the habit of keeping at that period; and require to draw upon my memory only for such details as happen to be missing in that casual record of my daily life some fifty years ago. and first of all let me explain to my children's children that i began to keep this journal two years after my marriage with their grandfather, with the idea of sending it regularly to my dearest mother, from whom, for the first time in my young life, i was separated by my husband's unexpected succession and our removal from switzerland to his newly-inherited estates in wales. let me also explain that before this event, which took place in the spring of seventeen hundred and seventy-two, sir eustace brandling was merely a young englishman of handsome person, gentlemanly bearing, an uncommon knowledge of the liberal arts and sciences, and a most blameless and amiable temper, but with no expectations of fortune in the future, and only a modest competence in the present. so that it was regarded in our canton and among our relations as a proof of my dear mother's high-flown and romantic temper, and of the unpractical influence of the writings of rousseau and other philosophers, that she should have allowed her only child to contract such a marriage. and at the time of its celebration it did indeed appear improbable that we should ever cease residing with my dearest mother on her little domain of grandfey; still more that our existence of pastoral and philosophic happiness should ever be exchanged for the nightmare of dishonour and misery which followed it. the beginning of our calamities was, as i said, on the death of sir thomas brandling, my husband's only brother. i have preserved a most vivid recollection of the day which brought us that news, perhaps because, looked back upon ever after, it seemed the definite boundary of a whole part of our life, left so quickly and utterly behind, as the shore is left even with the first few strokes of the oars. my dear mother and i were in the laundry, where the maids were busy putting by the freshly ironed linen. my mother, who was ever more skilful with her hands, as she was nimbler in her thoughts, than i, had put aside all the most delicate pieces and the lace to dress and iron herself; while i, who had made a number of large bundles of lavender (our garden had never produced it in so great profusion), was standing on a chair and placing them in the shelves of the presses, between each bale of sheets and table linen which the maids had lifted up to me. when, looking through the open glass door, i saw vincent, the farm servant, hurrying along the lime walk, and across the kitchen garden, and waving a packet at us. he had been to the city to buy sugar, i remember, for the raspberry jam, which my mother, an excellent cook, had decided to sweeten a second time, for fear of its turning. "he seems very excited," said my mother, looking out. "i declare he has a book or packet, perhaps it is the _journal des savants_ for eustace, or that opera by monsieur gluck, which your uncle promised you. i hope he has not forgotten the nutmegs." i write down these childish details because i cherished them for years, as one might cherish a blade of grass or a leaf, carelessly put as a marker in a book, and belonging to a country one will never revisit. "it is a letter for eustace," said my mother, "and very heavy too. i am glad vincent had more money than necessary, for it must have cost a lot at the post." and going under my husband's laboratory window she asked whether he wanted the letter at once, or would wait to open it at dinner time. "i am only cleaning my instruments," he answered, "let me have the letter now." his voice, as i hear it through all those years, sounds so happy and boyish. it was altered, and it seemed at the time naturally enough, when he presently came down to the laundry and said very briefly, "my brother is dead ... it is supposed a stab from a drunken sailor at bristol. a shocking business. it is my uncle hubert who writes." he had sat down by the ironing table and spoke in short, dry sentences. there was something extraordinary about his voice, not grief, but agitation, which somehow made it utterly impossible for me to do what would have been natural under the circumstances, to put my arms round his neck and tell him i shared his trouble. instead of which every word he uttered seemed to ward me off as with the sword's point, and to cover himself, as a fencer covers his vitals. "get some brandy for him, penelope. he is feeling faint," said my mother, tossing me her keys. i obeyed, feeling that she understood and i did not, as often happened between us. i was a few minutes away, for i had to cross the yard to the dwelling house, and then i found that my mother had given me the wrong keys. i filled a glass from a jar of cherries we had just put up, and returned to the laundry. my husband was white, but did not look at all faint. he was leaning his elbow on the deal table covered with blanket, and nervously folding and stretching a ruffle which lay by the bowl of starch. when i came in he suddenly stopped speaking, and my mother saw that i noticed it. "eustace was saying, my dear," she said, "that he will have to go--almost immediately--to england, on account of the property. he wanted to go on alone, and fetch you later, when things should be a little to rights. but i was telling him, penelope, that i felt sure you would recognise it as your duty to go with him from the very first, and help him through any difficulties." my dear mother had resumed her ironing; and as she said these last words, her voice trembled a little, and she stooped very attentively over the cap she was smoothing. eustace was sitting there, so unlike himself suddenly, and muttered nervously, "i really can see no occasion, maman, for anything of the sort." i cannot say what possessed me; i verily think a presentiment of the future. but i put down the plate and glass, looked from my mother to my husband, and burst into a childish flood of tears. i heard my husband give a little peevish "ah!" rise, leave the room, and then bang the door of his laboratory upstairs behind him. and then i felt my dear mother's arms about me, and her kiss on my cheek. i mopped my eyes with my apron, but at first i could not see properly for the tears. when i was able to see again what struck me was the scene through the long window, open down to the ground. it was a lovely evening, and the air full of the sweetness of lime blossom. the low sunlight made the plaster of our big old house a pale golden, and the old woodwork of its wooden eaves, wide and shaped like an inverted boat, as is the swiss fashion, of a beautiful rosy purple. the dogs were lying on the house steps, by the great tubs of hydrangeas and flowering pomegranates; and beyond the sanded yard i could see the bent back of vincent stooping among the hives in the kitchen garden. the grass beyond was brilliant green, all powdered with hemlock flower; and the sun made a deep track in the avenue, along which the cows were trotting home to be milked. i felt my heart break, as once or twice i had foolishly done as a child, and in a manner in which i have never felt it again despite all my later miseries. i suppose it was that i was only then really ceasing to be a child, though i had been married two years. it was evidently in my mother's thoughts, for she followed my glance with hers, and then said very solemnly, and kissing me again (she had not let go of me all this while), "my poor little penelope! you must learn to be a woman. you will want all your strength and all your courage to help your husband." that was really the end, or the beginning. there were some weeks of plan-making and preparations, a bad dream which has faded away from my memory. and then, at the beginning of august of that year-- --my husband and i started from grandfey for st. salvat's. i _september_ , . this is my first night in what, henceforward, is going to be my home. the thought should be a happy and a solemn one; but it merely goes on and on in my head like the words of a song in some unknown language. eustace has gone below to his uncles; and i am alone in this great room, and also, i imagine, in the whole wing of this great house. the wax lights on the dressing-table, and the unsnuffed dip with which the old housekeeper lit us through endless passages, leave all the corners dark. but the moonlight pours in through the vast, cage-like window. the moon is shining on a strip of sea above the tree-tops, and the noise of the sea is quite close; a noise quite unlike that of any running water, and methinks very melancholy and hopeless in expression. i tried to enjoy it like a play, or a romance which one reads; and indeed, the whole impression of this castle is marvellously romantic. when eustace had unstrapped my packages, and in his tender manner placed all my little properties in order, he took me in his arms, meaning thereby to welcome me to my new home and the house of his fathers. we were standing by the window, and i tried, foolishly it seems, to hide my weakness of spirit (for i confess to having felt a great longing to cry) by pointing to that piece of moonlit sea, and repeating a line of ossian, at the beginning of the description of the pirates crossing the sea to the house of erved. foolishly, for although that passage is a favourite with eustace, indeed one we often read during our courtship, he was annoyed at my thinking of such matters, i suppose, at such a moment; and answered with that kind of irritated deprecation that is so new to me; embracing me indeed once more, but leaving me immediately to go to his uncles. foolish penelope! it is this no doubt which makes me feel lonely just now; and i can hear you, dearest mother, chiding me laughingly, for giving so much weight to such an incident. eustace will return presently, as gentle and sympathising as ever, and all will be right with me. meanwhile, i will note down the events of this day, so memorable in my life. we seemed to ride for innumerable hours, i in the hired chaise, and my husband on the horse he had bought at bristol. the road wound endlessly up and down, through a green country, with barely a pale patch of reaped field, and all veiled in mist and driving rain. there seemed no villages anywhere, only at distances of miles, a scant cottage or two of grey stone and thatch; and once or twice during all those hours, a desolate square tower among distant trees; and all along rough hedges and grey walls with stones projecting like battlements. inland mountain lines like cliffs, dim in the rain; and at last, over the pale green fields, the sea--quite pale, almost white. we had to ask our way more than once, losing it again in this vague country without landmarks, where everything appeared and disappeared in mist. i had begun to feel as if st. salvat's had no real existence, when eustace rode up to the chaise window and pointed out the top of a tower, and a piece of battlemented wall, emerging from the misty woods, and a minute after we were at a tall gate tower, with a broken escutcheon and a drawbridge, which clanked up behind us so soon as we were over. we stopped in a great castle yard, with paved paths across a kind of bowling green, and at the steps of the house, built unevenly all round, battlemented and turreted, with huge projecting windows made of little panes. there were a lot of men upon the steps, who surrounded the postchaise; they were roughly and variously dressed, some like fishermen and keepers, but none as i had hitherto seen the gentlemen of this country. but as we stopped, another came down the steps with a masterful air, pushed them aside, opened the chaise, lifted me out, and made me a very fine bow as i stood quite astonished at the suddenness of his ways. he was dressed entirely in black broadcloth, with a frizzled wig and bands, as clergymen are dressed here, and black cloth gaiters. "may it please the fair lady brandling," he said, with a fine gesture, "to accept the hearty welcome of her old uncle hubert, and of her other kinsmen." the others came trooping round awkwardly, with little show of manners. but the one called hubert, the clergyman, gave me his arm, waived them away, said something about my being tired from the long ride, and swept, nay, almost carried me up the great staircase and through the passages to the room where dinner was spread. of this he excused himself from partaking, alleging the lateness of the hour and his feeble digestion; but he sat over against my husband and me while we were eating, drank wine with me, and kept up a ceaseless flow of conversation, rather fulsomely affable methought and packed with needless witticisms; but which freed me from the embarrassment produced by the novelty of the situation, by my husband's almost utter silence, and also, i must add, by the man's own scrutinising examination of me. i was heartily glad when, the glasses being removed, he summoned the housekeeper, and with another very fine bow, committed me to her charge. eustace begged to be excused for accompanying me to my chamber, and promised to return and drink his wine presently with his kinsmen. and now, dear mother, i have told you of our arrival at st. salvat's; and i have confessed to you my childish fear of i know not what. "mere bodily fatigue!" i hear you briskly exclaiming, and chiding me for such childish feelings. but if you were here, dearest mother, you would take me also in your arms, and i should know that you knew it was not all foolishness and cowardice, that you would know what it is, for the first time in my little life, to be without you. _october_ , . it has stopped raining at last, and eustace, who is again the kindest and most considerate of men, has taken me all over the castle and the grounds, or at least a great part. st. salvat's is even more romantically situated than i had thought; and with its towers and battlements hidden in deep woods, it makes one think of castles, like that of otranto, which one reads of in novels; nay, i was the more reminded of the latter work of fiction (which eustace believes to be from the pen of the accomplished mr. walpole, whom we knew in paris), that there are, let into the stonework on either side of the porch, huge heads of warriors, filleted and crowned with laurel, which though purporting to be those of the emperors augustus and trajan, yet look as if they might fit into some gigantic helmet such as we read of in that admirable tale. from the house, which has been built at various times (eustace is of opinion mainly in the time of the famous cardinal wolsey, as the architecture, it appears, is similar to that of his majesty's palace at hampton court), into the old castle; from the house, as i say, the gardens descend in great terraces and steps into the woods and to the sea. the gardens are indeed very much neglected, and will require no doubt, a considerable expenditure of labour; but i am secretly charmed by their wild luxuriance: a great vine and a pear tree hang about the mullioned windows almost unpruned, and the box and bay trees have grown into thickets in the extraordinary kindliness of this warm, moist climate. there is in the middle of the terraces, a pond all overgrown with lilies, and with a broken leaden statue of a nymph. here, when he was a child, eustace was wont to watch for the transformation into a fairy of a great water snake which was said to have lived in that pond for centuries; but i well remember his awakening my compassion by telling me how, one day, his brother thomas, wishing to displease him, trapped the poor harmless creature and cruelly skinned it alive. "that is the place of my poor water snake," eustace said to-day; and it was the first time since our coming, that he has alluded to his own or his family's past. poor eustace! i am deeply touched by the evident painful memories awakened by return to st. salvat's, which have over-clouded his reserved and sensitive nature, in a manner i had not noticed (thank heaven) since our marriage. but to return to the castle, or rather its grounds. what chiefly delights my romantic temper are the woods in which it is hidden, and its singular position, on an utterly isolated little bay of this wild and dangerous coast. you go down the terraces into a narrow ravine, lined with every manner of fern, and full of venerable trees; past the little church of which our uncle hubert is the incumbent, alongside some ruined buildings, once the quarters of the brandlings' troopers, across a field full of yellow bog flowers, and on to a high wall. and on the other side of that wall, quite unexpected, is the white, misty sea, dashing against a bit of sand and low pale rocks, where our uncles' fishing boats are drawn up, and chafing, further off against the sunken reefs of this murderous coast. and to the right and the left, great clumps of wind-bent trees and sharp cliffs appear and disappear in the faint, misty sunshine. as we stood on the sea wall, listening to the rustle of the waves, a ship, with three masts and full sail, passed slowly at a great distance, to my very great pleasure. "where is she going, do you know?" i asked rather childishly. "to bristol," answered eustace curtly. "it is perhaps, some west indiaman, laden with sugar, and spirits, and coffee and cotton. all the vessels bound for bristol sail in front of st. salvat's." "and is not the coast very dangerous?" i asked, for the sight of that gallant ship had fascinated me. "are there not wrecks sometimes along those reefs we see there?" "sometimes!" exclaimed eustace sadly. "why at seasons, almost daily. all that wood which makes the blue flame you like so much, is the timber of wrecked vessels, picked up along this coast." my eye rested on the boats drawn up on the sand of the little cove: stout black boats, such as eustace had pointed out to me at bristol as pilchard boats. "and when there is a wreck?" i asked, "do your uncles go out to save the poor people with those boats?" "alas, dear lady brandling," answered an unexpected voice at my elbow, "it is not given to poor weak mortals like us to contend with the decrees of a just, though wrathful providence." i turned round and there stood, leaning on the sea wall, with his big liquorice-coloured eyes fixed on me, and a smile (methought) of polite acquiescence in shipwrecks, our uncle, the reverend hubert, in his fine black coat and frizzled white wig. _october_ , . we have been here over a fortnight now, and although it feels as if i never could grow accustomed to all this strangeness, it seems months; and those years at grandfey, all my life before my marriage, and before our journey, a vivid dream. where shall i begin? during the first week eustace and i had our meals, as seemed but natural, in the great hall with his uncles and his one cousin. for two days things went decently enough. the uncles--simon, edward, gwyn, david, and the cousin, evan, son of david, were evidently under considerable restraint, and fear (methought) of the reverend hubert, who seems somehow a creature from another planet. the latter sat by eustace and me, at the high end of the table; the others, and with them the bailiff lloyd, at the lower. the service was rough but clean, and the behaviour, although gloomily constrained, decent and gentlemanly. but little by little a spirit of rebellion seemed to arise. it began by young evan, a sandy-haired lad of seventeen, coming to dinner with hands unwashed and red from skinning, as he told us, an otter; and on the reverend hubert bidding him go wash before appearing in my presence, his father, david, taking his part, forcing the lad into his chair, and saying something in the unintelligible welsh language, which contained some rudeness towards me, for he plainly nodded in my direction and struck the table with his fist. at this the reverend hubert got up, took the boy evan by the shoulders and led him to the door, without one of the party demurring. "the lovely lady brandling," he said, turning to me as he resumed his place, "must forgive this young caliban, unaccustomed like the one of the play, to beautiful princesses." i notice he loves to lard his speech with literary reminiscences, and is indeed a better read person than one would expect to meet in such a place. this was, however, only the beginning. uncle david appeared next night undoubtedly in liquor, and was with difficulty constrained to decent behaviour. simon, a heavy, lubberly creature, arrived all covered with mud, in shirtsleeves, and smelling vilely of stale fish. then it was the turn of edward, a great black man, with a scar on his cheek, to light his pipe at table, and pinch the welsh serving wench as she passed, and whisper to her in welsh some jest which made the others roar. eustace and hubert, between whom i sat at the far end, pretended not to notice, though eustace reddened visibly, and hubert took an odd green colour, which seems to be the complexion of his anger. and then while our clergyman uncle and eustace busily fell to discussing literature, and even (in a manner which, under other circumstances, would have made me laugh) quoting the classics, the conversation at the lower end became loud and violent in welsh. "they are discussing the likelihood of a shoal of pilchards," said hubert to me with a faint uneasy smile. "my brothers, i grieve to say, dear lady brandling, are but country bred, and very rough diamonds; and the saxon, as they call our christian language, is a difficulty to their heathenishness." "so great a difficulty, apparently," i answered, suddenly rising from the table, for i felt indignant with the want of spirit of my two gentlemen, "that methinks i shall in future leave them to their familiar welsh, and order my meals in my parlour, where you two gentlemen may, if you choose, have them with me." eustace turned crimson, bit his lip; uncle hubert went very green; and i own i myself was astonished at my decision of tone and attitude: it was like an unknown _me_ speaking with my voice. contrary to my expectation, neither eustace nor hubert manifested any vexation with me. we went upstairs and sat down to cards as if nothing had happened. but the next day hubert brought me a long message of apology, which i confess sounded very much of his making up, from uncle david. but added that he quite agreed that it was better that eustace and i should have our meals above, "and leave the hogs to their wash." "only," he said, with that politeness which i like so little (though heaven knows politeness ought to be a welcome drug in this place), "i trust my dear young niece will not cast me out of the paradise i have, after so many years, tasted of; and allow her old rough uncle hubert occasionally to breathe the air of refinement she has brought to this castle." yet i notice he has but rarely eaten with eustace and me; coming up, however, to drink wine (or pretend, for he never empties his glass and complains he has but a weak head), or play cards, or hear me sing to the harpsichord, a performance of which he seems inordinately fond. i cannot help wondering what eustace and he discuss, besides literature, over their wine. for eustace must surely intend, sooner or later, to resume his position of master of st. salvat's, and dispose, some way, of the crew of caliban uncles. _october_ , . i ought to say something to my dear mother (though i am getting doubtful of distressing her with my small and temporary troubles) about the domestic economy of st. salvat's. this is odd enough, to my thinking. the greater part of the castle is unoccupied, and from what i have seen, quite out of repair; nor should i have deemed it possible that so many fine dwelling-rooms could ever have been filled and choked up, as is here the case, with lumber, and, indeed, litter, of all kinds. the uncles, all except hubert, are lodged in the great south wing, and i should guess in a manner more suitable to their looks than to their birth, while eustace and i occupy his mother's apartments, done up in the late reign, in the north wing looking on the sea. the centre of the castle is taken up by the great hall, going from ground to ceiling, so that the two halves are virtually isolated; certainly isolated so far as i am concerned, since the fear of eavesdropping on my uncles' brawling has already stopped my using the gallery which runs under the ceiling of the hall, and connects my apartments with the main staircase. the dairy, still-room, pantry, and even the kitchen are in outhouses, from which the serving men bring in the food often in pouring rain in an incredibly reckless manner. i say "serving men," because one of the peculiarities of st. salvat's (for i can scarce believe it to be an universal practice in england or even in wales) is the predominance of the male sex. but let not your fancy construe this as a sign of grandeur, or conjure up bevies of lacqueys in long coats and silver badges! like master, like man; the men at st. salvat's have the same unkempt, sea-wolfish look as the masters, are equally foul in their habits and possess even less english. by some strange freak the cook only is not of these parts, indeed, a mulatto, knowing only spanish. "all good sea-faring folk, able to man the boats on a stormy night," explained uncle gwyn, as if it were quite natural that the castle of st. salvat's should be a headquarters of pilchard fishing! i have only seen the mulatto at a distance, and at first believed him to be an invention of uncle simon's, the wag of the family, who informed me he had him off a notorious pirate ship, where he had learnt to grill d----d french frogs during the late war and serve them up with capers. the small number of women servants is scarce to be regretted, judging by the few there are. though whether, indeed, these sluts should be judged at all as serving women i feel inclined to doubt; for no secret is made of the dairymaid and the laundress being the sultanas of uncles simon and gwyn, with whom they often sit to meals; while the little waiting wench at first allotted to me was too obviously courted by the oaf evan to be kept in my service. uncle hubert had indeed thought it needful to explain to me that the gentry of these parts all live worse than heathens, and has attempted (but the subject gave me little satisfaction) to confirm this by the _chronique galante_ of the neighbourhood; 'tis wonderful how quick the man is at taking a hint, and adapting his views to his listeners', at least to mine. to come back to the maids, if such a name can be applied here, i find the only reputable woman in the castle (her age, and something in her manner give her a claim to such an adjective) is mrs. davies, the supposed housekeeper, who now attends on my (luckily very simple) wants. she was the foster-mother and nurse of my brother-in-law, the late baronet; and 'tis plain there was no love lost betwixt eustace and her. indeed, i seem to guess she may have helped to make his infancy the sad and solitary one it was. yet, for all this suspicion, and a confused impression (which i can't account for) that the woman is set over us to spy, i am bound to say that of all people here, not excepting uncle hubert here, mrs. davies is the one most to my taste. she has been notably beautiful, and despite considerable age, has an uncommon active and erect bearing; and there is about her harsh, dark face, and silent, abrupt manners, something which puts me at ease by its strength and straightforwardness. this seems curious after saying she has been _set to spy_; but 'tis my impression that in this heathenish country spying, aye, and i can fancy robbing and murdering, might be done with a clean conscience as a duty towards one's masters; and hubert, and the memory of sir thomas, are the real masters, and not eustace and i.... will it always be so? things look like it; and yet, at the bottom of my soul, i find a hope, almost an expectation, that with god's grace i shall clean out this augean stable, and burn out these wasp's nests.... _october_ . on my asking about prayers, a practice i had noticed in every family since my arrival in england, uncle hubert excused himself by explaining that most of the common folk about here had followed mr. wesley's sect, and for the rest few of the household understood english. the same reason methought prevented his fulfilling his clergyman's office in public; and when three sundays had passed, i got to think that the church in the glen was never opened at all. to my surprise last night, being saturday, the reverend hubert invited us very solemnly to divine service the following morning; invited, for his manner was very much that of a man requesting one's company at a concert or theatrical entertainment. i am just returned, and i confess my astonishment. uncle hubert, though in a style by no means to my taste, and with no kind of real religious spirit, is undoubtedly a preacher of uncommon genius, nor was there any possibility, methought, that his extempore sermon was learned by heart. the flowing rhetorical style, more like that of romish divines, was of a piece also with his conversation, and he had the look of enjoyment of one conscious of his own powers. i own the interest of the performance (for such i felt it) was so great that it was only on reflection i perceived the utter and almost indecent inappropriateness thereof. despite the lack of english, the entire household, save the mulatto, were present, mostly asleep in constrained attitudes; and the other uncles, all except david and gwyn, lay snoring in their pews. my own impression was oddly disagreeable; but on the service ending, i brought myself to compliment our uncle. "you should have been a bishop," i said, "at your age, uncle hubert." he sighed deeply, "a bishop? i ought to have--i might have been--everything, anything--save for this cursed place and my own weakness. but doubtless," he added, hypocritically, "it is a just decree of providence that has decided thus. but it is hard sometimes. there are two natures in us, occasionally, and the one vanquishes and overwhelms the other. in me," and here he began to laugh, "the fisherman for pilchards has got the better of the fisherman for souls." "fishing appears to have wondrous attractions," i answered negligently. he turned and looked at me scrutinisingly. "we have all had the passion, we brandlings," he said, "except that superfine gentleman yonder," nodding at eustace. and added, in a loud, emphatic voice, "and none of us has been a more devoted fisherman, you will admit, dear eustace, than your lamented father." eustace, i thought, turned pale, but it might have been the greenish light through the bottle-glass windows of the little church, on whose damp floor we three were standing before the tombs of the brandlings of former times, quaint pyramids of kneeling figures, sons and daughters tapering downwards from the kneeling father and mother; and recumbent knights, obliterated by centuries in the ruined roofless chapel, so that the dog at their feet, the sword by their side, let alone their poor washed features, were scarce distinguishable.... "they look like drowned people," i said, and indeed the green light through the trees and the bottle glass, and the greenish damp stains all round, made the church seem like a sea cave, with the sea moaning round it. "where have you seen drowned people, penelope?" asked eustace, and i felt a little reproved for the horridness of my imaginings. "nowhere," i hastily answered; "just a fancy that passed through my head. and you said there are so many wrecks on this coast, you know." "we are all wrecks on the ocean of time," remarked the reverend hubert, "overwhelmed by its flood." "you are the bishop now," i laughed, "not the pilchard fisher," and we went through the damp churchyard of huddled grassy mounds and crooked gravestones under the big trees of the glen. "eustace," i said that evening, "i wish i might not be buried down there," and then, considering that all his ancestors were, i felt sorry. but he clasped my arm very tenderly, and exclaimed with a look of deep pain, "for god's sake do not speak of such things, my love. even in jest the words make me feel faint and sick." poor eustace! i fear he is not well; and that what he has found at st. salvat's is eating into his spirits. _november_ , . i have been feeling doubtful, for some days past, whether to send my diary regularly to my mother, lest she should be distressed (at that great distance) by my account of this place and our life here. yet i felt as if something had suddenly happened, a window suddenly closed or a door slammed in my face, when eustace begged me to-day to be very reserved in anything i wrote in my letters. "these country postmasters," he said, not without hesitation, "are not to be trusted with any secrets; they are known to amuse their leisure and entertain their gossips with the letters which pass through their hands." he laughed, but not very naturally. "some day," he said, "i will be sending a special messenger to cardiff, and then your diary--for i know that you are keeping one--shall go to your mother. but for the present i would not say more than needful about ... about our surroundings, my dear penelope." i felt childishly vexed. "'tis that hateful uncle hubert;" i cried, "that reads our letters, eustace! i feel sure of it!" "nonsense," answered eustace. "i tell you that it is a well-known habit among postmasters and postmistresses in this country," and he went away a little displeased, as i thought. my poor journal! and yet i shall continue writing it, and perhaps even more frankly now it will be read only by me; for while i write i seem to be talking to my dearest mother, and to be a little less solitary.... ii _december_ , . winter has come on: a melancholy, wet and stormy winter, without the glitter of snow and ice; and with the sea moaning or roaring by turns. i think with longing (though i hope poor eustace does not guess how near i sometimes am to crying for homesickness) of our sledging parties with the dear cheerful neighbours at grandfey; of the skating on the ponds, and the long walks on the crisp frozen snow, when eustace and i would snowball or make long slides, laughing like children. at st. salvat's there are no neighbours; or if there are (but the nearest large house is ten miles off, and belongs to a noble lord who never leaves london) they do not show themselves. i do not even know what there is or is not in the country that lies inland; in fact, since our coming, i have never left the grounds and park of st. salvat's, nor gone beyond the old fortified walls which encircle them. my very curiosity has gradually faded. i have never pressed hubert for the saddle horse and the equipage (the coach-house contains only broken-down coaches of the days of king george i.) which he promised rather vaguely to procure for me on our first coming; i have no wish to pass beyond that drawbridge; like a caged bird, i have grown accustomed to my prison. since the bad weather i have even ceased my rambles in the shrubberies and on the grass-grown terraces: the path to the sea has been slippery with mud; besides i hate that melancholy winter sea, always threatening or complaining. i stay within doors for days together, without pleasure or profit, reading old plays and novels which i throw aside, or putting a few stitches into useless tambour work; i who could formerly not live a day within doors, nor do whatever i set to do without childish strenuousness! these two or three days past i have been trying to find diversion in reading the history of these parts, where the brandlings--kings of this part of wales in the time of king arthur, crusaders later, and great barons fighting at crecy and at agincourt--once played so great a part, and now they have dwindled into common smugglers, for 'tis my growing persuasion that such is the real trade hidden under the name of pilchard fishing--defrauders of the king's exchequer, and who knows? for all hubert's rank as magistrate, no better than thieves and outlawed ruffians. hubert has been showing me the family archives. he lays great store by all these deeds and papers, and one is surprised in a house so utterly given over to neglect, to find anything in such good order. he saved the archives himself he tells me, when (as i have always forgotten to note down) the library of the castle was burnt down on the occasion of my late brother-in-law's _wake_; a barbarous funereal feast habitual in these parts, and during which a drunken guest set fire to the draperies of the coffin. i did not ask whether the body of sir thomas, which had been brought by sea from bristol after his violent end there, had been destroyed in this extraordinary pyre; and i judge that it was from eustace's silence and hubert's evident avoidance of the point. perhaps he is conscious that his efforts were directed to a different object, for it is well nigh miraculous how he should have saved those shelves full of documents and all that number of valuable books bound with the brandling arms. "you must have risked your life in the flames!" i exclaimed with admiration at the man's heroism. he bid me look at his hands, which indeed bear traces of dreadful burning. "i care about my ancestors," he answered, "perhaps more, to say the truth, than for my living kinsfolk. besides," he added, "i ought to say that i had taken the precaution to remove the most valuable books before giving over the library to their drunken rites. as it was, they burnt my poor dead nephew to ashes like the phoenix of the poets, only that he, poor lad, will not arise from them till the day of judgment!" _january_ , . a horrid circumstance has just happened, and oddly enough in that same library which had been burnt, all but its ancient walls, at my brother-in-law's funeral, i had persuaded eustace to turn it into a laboratory, for i think a certain melancholy may be due to the restless idleness in which he has been living ever since we came here. in building one of the furnaces the masons had to make a deep cavity in the wall; and there, what should appear, but a number of skeletons, nine or ten, walled up erect in the thickness of the masonry. i was taking the air on the terrace outside, and hearing the men's exclamations, ran to the spot. it was a ghastly sight. but my uncle simon, who was smoking his pipe in the great empty room, burst into uncontrollable laughter over my horror; and going up to a little heap of mouldering bones which had fallen out with the plaster, picked up a green and spongy shin and brought it to me. "here's some material for eustace ready to hand!" he cried with a vile oath. "let him try whether he can bring these pretty fellows to life again in his devil's cooking pots," and he thrust the horrid object under my nose. at this moment hubert appeared, and, with his wolf's eyes, took in all at a glance. "fie, fie," he cried, striking that horrid relic out of his brother's hand, "are these fit sights for a lady, you hog, simon?" and taking me brusquely by the hand, leads me away, and, in the pantry, tries to make me swallow a dose of brandy, with much petting and cosseting. "our ancestors, dear lady brandling (for so he affects to call me), were but rough soldiers, though princes of these parts; and the relics of their games scarce fit for your pretty eyes. but have a sup of brandy, my dear, 'twill set you right." i loathed the mealy-mouthed black creature, methought, worse than drunken simon, and worse almost than those horrid dead men. "no, thank you, uncle," i said, "my stomach is stronger than you think. my ancestors also were soldiers--soldiers on the field of battle--though i never heard of their bricking up their enemies in the house wall." "nay, nay," he cried, "but that was an evil habit of those days, dear lady brandling, hundreds and thousands of years ago, when we were sovereign princes." "hundreds and thousands of years ago?" i answered, for i hated him at that moment, "ah well, i had thought it was scarce so far removed from us as all that." _january_ , . a curious feeling has been tormenting me of late, of self-reproach for i scarce know what, of lack of helpfulness, almost of disloyalty towards my husband. since we have been here, indeed i think ever since the first announcement of sir thomas's death, eustace has altered in his manner towards me; a whole side of his life has, i feel, been hidden from me. have i a right to it? this is what has been debating in my mind. a man may have concerns which it is no duty of his to share with a wife; not because she is only a wife, and he a husband, for my dear eustace's mind is too enlightened and generous, too thoroughly imbued with the noble doctrines of our days, to admit of such a difference. but there is one of my mother's sayings which has worked very deeply into my mind. it was on the eve of my wedding. "remember, dear little penelope," she said, "that no degree of love, however pure, noble, and perfect, can really make two souls into one soul. all appearance to the contrary is a mere delusion and dangerous. every human soul has its own nature, its necessary laws, and demands liberty and privacy to develop them; and were this not the case, no soul, however loving and courageous, could ever help another, for it would have no strength, no understanding, no life, with which to bring help. remember this, my child, till the moment come when you shall understand it, and, i hope, act in the light of its comprehension." well, methinks that ever since that day when the letter arrived which changed our destiny, i have not merely remembered, but learned to understand these words. so that i have fought against the soreness of feeling that, on some matters at least, i was excluded from my husband's confidence. after two years of such utter openness of heart as has existed between us three--our mother, eustace, and, younger and weaker though i felt, myself--such free discussion of all ideas and interests, of his scientific work, even to details which i could not grasp, after this there is undoubtedly something strange in the absolute reserve, indeed the utter silence, he maintains about everything concerning his family, his property, and our position and circumstances, the more so that, at the time of our marriage he often confided to me details connected with it. thus, in that past which seems already so remote, he has often described to me this very house, these very rooms, told me his childish solitude and terrors, and spoken quite freely of the unhappy life of his mother by the side of his cruel and violent father, and among his father's brutal besotted companions; he had told me of the horrid heartlessness with which his only brother played upon his sensitiveness and abused his weakness, and of the evil habits, the odious scenes of intemperance and violence from which he was screened by his poor mother, and finally saved by her generous decision to part with him and have him educated abroad. he had mentioned the continual brawls of his uncles. but since his succession to the property, never a word has alluded to any of these things, nor to the knowledge he had given me of them. once or twice, when i have mentioned, quite naturally, his dead brother, his mother (i am actually occupying her apartments, sleeping in her bed, and only yesterday eustace spent the afternoon mending and tuning her harpsichord for me), he has let the subject drop, or diverted the conversation in an unmistakable manner. nay, what is more significant, and more puzzling, eustace has never given me a clue to whether he knew of the arrangements, the life, we should find here; before our arrival, he had never mentioned that the castle was, to all intents and purposes, in the hands of his kinsmen; nor has he dropped a word in explanation of so extraordinary a circumstance. and i have never asked him whether he knew to what manner of life he was bringing me, whether he intends it to continue, what are his reasons and plans. i have respected his reserve. but have i been perfectly loyal in hiding my wonder, my disappointment, my sorrow? _february_ , . i cannot make up my mind about uncle hubert. is he our fellow-victim or the ringleader of this usurping gang of ruffians? the more i see, the more i hesitate upon the point. but, as time goes on, i hesitate less and less in my dislike of him, although i own it often seems unreasonable and ungrateful. the man not only tries to make himself agreeable to us, but i almost think he feels kindly. he has a real appreciation of eustace's genius; and, indeed, it is this, most likely, which sometimes causes me to think well, though i fear never _kindly_, of him. it is quite wonderful how he lights up whenever he can get eustace (no easy matter) to speak on philosophic subjects; it is a kind of transfiguration, and all the obliquity and fawningness about the creature vanishes. he has a good knowledge of mathematics, eustace tells me, is a skilful mechanic, and would evidently enjoy assisting my husband in his experiments if he would let him. towards myself he has, i do believe, a kind of sentiment, and what is worse, of paternal sentiment! _worse_ because my whole nature recoils from him. he is most passionately fond of music, plays fairly on the viol, and takes quite a childish pleasure in making me sing and play. i ought indeed to be grateful towards him, for his presence, although distasteful i think to both of us, is a boon, in so far as it relieves the strain of feeling that there is a secret--a something which has come between my husband and me. alas, alas! that the presence of a third person, of a person such as hubert, should ever have come to be a boon! but i dare not face this thought. it is worse than any of the bad realities and bad probabilities of this bad place. if only hubert would not make me presents, forcing me thus to feel how hugely i hate having to accept anything from him. it began (almost as a bribe, methought) in the shape of a fine gold watch and equipage the very day after uncle edward's misbehaviour. then, some time after, a cut of handsome lyons brocade, enough for a gown, though heaven knows there is no occasion for such finery at st. salvat's! and this evening, after listening to me through some songs of monsieur piccini, and teaching me some of the plaintive airs of the welsh peasantry, the man drew from his coat a fine shagreen case, which proved to contain a string of large and very regularly shaped and sorted pearls. i felt i could not bear it. "are they pearls of my mother-in-law's?" i asked without thanking him, and in a tone anything, i fear, but grateful. instead of being angry and turning green, as i expected, uncle hubert looked merely very much hurt and answered: "had they been heirlooms it would have been your husband, not your uncle, to hand them you. eustace is the head of the family, not i." "the less said about the family and its head," i answered hotly, "the better, uncle hubert," and i felt sorry the moment after. "i do not deny it," he replied very quietly, in a manner which cut me to the quick. "at any rate these pearls are _mine_, and i hope you will accept them from me as a token of admiration and regard--or," and he fell back into his cringing yet bantering manner which i hate so, "shall we say, as is written on the fairing cups and saucers, 'a present for a good girl from bristol.'" how i hate uncle hubert! i had left the pearls on the harpsichord. this morning i found the green shagreen case on the dressing table; hubert evidently refuses to let me off his present. but i doubt whether i shall ever muster up civility enough to wear them. 'tis a pity, for lack of wearing makes pearls tarnish. i have just opened the case to look at them. this is very curious. the case is new, has the smell of new leather; and the diamond clasp looks recently furbished, even to a little chalk about it. but--the man must be oddly ignorant in such matters--the pearls, seen by daylight, have evidently not come from a jeweller's. for they are yellow, tarnished, unworn for years; they have been lying in this house, and, heirlooms or not, there is something wrong about them. i have been glad of a pretext, however poor, of returning them. "uncle hubert," i said, handing him the case, "you must put these pearls in a box with holes in it, and put them back in the sea." i never saw so strange a look in a man's face. "back in the sea! what do you mean, dear lady brandling?" he cries. "why do you suspect these pearls of coming from the sea?" "all pearls _do_ come from the sea, i thought, and that's why sea water cures them when they have got tarnished from lack of wearing." he burst into an awkward laugh, "to think," he says, "that i had actually forgotten that pearls were not a kind of stone, that they came out of shell fish." _february_ , . god help me and forgive my ingratitude for the great, unspeakable blessing he has given me. but this also, it would seem, is to become a source of estrangement between me and eustace. ever since this great hope has arisen in my soul, there has come with it the belief also that this child, which he used so greatly to long for (vainly trying to hide his disappointment out of gentleness towards me) would bring us once more together. perhaps it was wicked graspingness to count upon two happinesses when one had been granted to me. be this as it may, my ingratitude has been horribly chastened. i told my husband this morning. he was surprised; taken aback; but gave no sign of joy. "are you quite sure?" he repeated anxiously. and on my reiterating my certainty, he merely ejaculated, "ah ... 'tis an unfortunate moment," and added, catching himself up, "the best will be that i send you, when the time approaches, to bristol or to bath. i shall be sure of your being well seen to there." i nearly burst into tears, not at this proposal, but at the evident manner in which the thought of our child suggested only small difficulties and worries to his mind. "to bristol! to bath!" i exclaimed, "and you speak as if you intended leaving me there alone! but eustace, why should not our child be born in your house and mine?" i felt my eyes blaze with long pent up impatience. "because, my dear little penelope," he answered coldly and sharply, "it is the custom of _your country and mine_ that ladies of your condition should have every advantage of medical skill and attendance, and therefore remove to town for such purpose." "would it not be worth while to break through such a habit," i asked, "to have a physician here at the proper time? besides," i added, "i promised, and in your presence, that should this event ever take place, i should send for my mother." "i shall be delighted," he answered, always in the same tone, "if my mother-in-law finds it worth while to make so great a journey as that from switzerland to bath--for bath is the more suitable place, upon consideration. but seeing that, as i have twice said before, you will have every care you may require, i really think the suggestion would be a mere indiscretion--to all parties." he was busy arranging the instruments in his laboratory. i should have left him; but i felt my heart swell and overflow, and remained standing by him in silence. "it is too cold for you here," he said very tenderly after a moment, "had you not better go back to your rooms?" i could not answer. but after a moment, "eustace, eustace!" i cried, "don't you care? aren't you glad? why do you talk only of plans and difficulties? why do you want to send me away, to leave me all alone when our child is born?" he gave a sigh, partly of impatience. "do not let us discuss this again, dear penelope," he said, "and oblige me by not talking nonsense. of course i am glad; it goes without saying. and if i send you away--if i deprive myself of the joy of being with you, believe me, it is because i cannot help it. my presence is required here. and now," he added, putting his arm round my waist, but with small genuine tenderness, methought, "now let us have done with this subject, my dear, and do me the kindness to return to your warm room." o god, o god, take pity on my loneliness! for with the dearest of mothers, and what was once the kindest of husbands, and the joy of this coming child, i am surely the loneliest of women! _february_ , . god forgive me, i say again, and with greater reason, for i now recognise that my sense of loneliness and of estrangement; all my selfish misery, has been the fruit of my own lack of courage and of loving kindness. this child, though yet unborn, has brought me strength and counsel; the certainty of its existence seems, in a way, to have changed me; and i look back upon myself such as i was but a few weeks ago, as upon some one different, an immature girl, without responsibilities or power to help. and now i feel as if i _could_ help, and as if i must. for i am the stronger of the two. what has befallen eustace? i can but vaguely guess; yet this i know, that without my help eustace is a lost man; his happiness, his courage, his honour, going or gone. my mother used to tell us, i remember, the legend of a clan in her own country, where the future chieftain, on coming of age, was put into possession of some secret so terrible that it turned him from a light-hearted boy into a serious and joyless man. st. salvat's has wrought on eustace in some similar manner. on arriving here, or, indeed, before arriving, he has learned something which has poisoned his life and sapped his manhood. what that something is, i can in a measure guess, and it seems to me as if i ought to help him either to struggle with or else to bear it, although _bearing it_ seems little to my taste. it is some time since i have seen through the silly fiction of the pilchard fishery of st. salvat's; and although i have not been out of my way to manifest this knowledge, i have not hidden it, methinks, from eustace or even from uncle hubert. the rooms and rooms crammed with apparent lumber, the going and coming of carriers' wagons (so that my husband's cases of instruments and my new _pianoforte_ arrived from bristol as by magic), the amount of money (the very maids gambling for gold in the laundry) in this beggarly house; and the nocturnal and mysterious nature of the fishing expeditions, would open the eyes even of one as foolish and inexperienced as i; nor is any care taken to deceive me. st. salvat's castle is simply the headquarters of the smuggling business, presided over by my uncles and doubtless constituting the chief resource of this poor untilled corner of the world. breaking his majesty's laws and defrauding his exchequer are certainly offences; but i confess that they seem to me pardonable ones, when one thinks of the deeds of violence by which our ancestors mostly made their fortunes, let alone the arts of intrigue by which so many of our polished equals increase theirs. perhaps it was being told the prowess of our alpine smugglers, carrying their packs through snow-fields and along hidden crevasses, and letting themselves down from immeasurable rocks; perhaps it was these stories told to me in my childhood by the farm servants which have left me thus lax in my notions. this much i know, that the certainty of the uncles being smugglers, even if smuggling involve, as it must, occasional acts of violence against the officers of the excise, does not increase the loathing which i feel towards the uncles. nor would this fact, taken in itself, suffice to explain eustace's melancholy. what preys upon his mind must rather be the disgust and disgrace of finding his house and property put to such uses by such men. for eustace is a man of thought, not of action; and i can understand that the problem how to change this order of things must weigh upon him in proportion as he feels himself so little fitted for its solution. with this is doubtless mingled a sense of responsibility towards me, and perhaps (for his dreamer's conscience is most tender) of exaggerated shame for bringing me here. if this be as i think, it is for me to help my husband to break the bad spell which st. salvat's has cast over him. and i will and can! the child will help me. for no child of mine shall ever be born into slavery and disgrace such as, i feel, is ours. iii _april_ , . the spring gales have begun, and with them the "fishing" as it is called, has become constant. rough weather, i suppose, is favourable to the smuggling operations, as it leaves this terrible coast in the hands of those who know every inch of its reefs and rocks and quicksands, and who possess the only safe landing-place for miles, the little cove beyond the churchyard in the glen. be this as it may, these expeditions have left the castle wonderfully peaceful; the sound of brawling no longer rises perpetually from the big hall and the courtyards. the uncles are away for days and nights at a time, taking with them every male creature about the place. even hubert, seized, as he says, by a fit of his master passion, has not appeared for days. the sluttish maids and the old rheumatic gardener are lodged in the outhouses, or are taking a holiday in the neighbouring villages; and the house has been, methinks, given over to ourselves and mrs. davies, who waits assiduously in her silent manner, and no doubt keeps the uncles informed of all our doings. it is three days that eustace and i have been alone together. but the knowledge of what he will not confess, and of what i have not the courage to ask, sits between us at meals, makes us constrained during our walks, even like the presence of a living stranger. _april_ , . the gales have been getting worse and worse; and the sound of the sea, the wind in the trees and chimneys, has been filling the castle with lamentation. this evening, at the harpsichord, i could no longer hear, or at least no longer listen to, my own voice. i shut the instrument and sat idle by the fire, while every beam and rafter strained and groaned like the timbers of a ship in the storm. my husband also was quite unstrung. he walked up and down, without a word. suddenly a thought entered my mind; it is extraordinary and inhuman that it should not have done so before. "i hope hubert and the uncles are not out to-night," i said. eustace stopped in his walking, straight before the fire and stared long into it. "perhaps they have returned already," he answered. "i hope so," and with the excuse of some notes to put in order in his study, he bid me good-night and hoped i should go to bed soon. but shall i be able to sleep on such a night! _april_ st. i understand now. but, good god, what new and frightful mysteries and doubts! it was late when i went to bed last night; and, against all expectation, i fell into a heavy sleep. i was awakened out of dreams of shipwreck by a great light in my eyes. the moon had risen, almost full, and dispelled the clouds. and the storm was over. indeed, i think it was the stillness, after so many days of raging noise, which had wakened me as much as the moonlight. i was alone; for eustace, these weeks past, has slept in the closet next door, as he reads deep into the night and says my condition requires unbroken rest. it was so beautiful and peaceful, i seemed drawn into the light. i rose and stood in the big uncurtained window, which, with its black mullions casting their shadows on the floor, looked more than ever like a great glass cage. it was so lovely and mild that i threw back a lattice and looked out: the salt smell and the sea breeze left by the storm rushed up and met me. beyond the trees the moonlight was striking upon the white of the breakers, for though the gale was over the sea was still pounding furiously upon the reefs. my eyes had sought at first the moon, the moonlit offing; to my amazement, they fell the next instant on a great ship quite close to shore. she seemed in rapid movement, pitching and rolling with all her might; but after a moment i noticed that she did not move forward, but remained stationary above the same tree tops. she seemed enchanted, or rather she looked like some captive creature struggling desperately to get free. i was too much taken up by the strangeness of the sight to reflect that no sane crew would have anchored in such a spot, and no anchorage have held in the turmoil of such a sea. moreover, i knew too little of such matters to guess that the ship must have run upon one of the reefs, and that every breaker must lift her up to crash and shiver herself upon its sawlike edge; indeed i had no notion of any danger; and when i saw lights on the ship, and others moving against her hull, my only thought was that i was watching the smugglers at their work. as i did so, a sudden doubt, of which i felt ashamed, leaped into my mind; and, feeling indignant with myself the while, i crept to the door of the dressing-room. was eustace there? i noiselessly turned the handle and pushed open the door. i cannot say what were my feelings, whether most of shame or of a kind of terror when, by the light of a lamp, i saw my husband kneeling by the side of his camp bed, with his head buried in the pillow, like a man in agony. he was completely dressed. on hearing the door open he started to his feet and cried in a terrible voice "what do you want with me?" i was overwhelmed with shame at my evil thoughts. "o eustace," i answered foolishly, and without thinking of the bearing of my words, "the ship! i only wanted to call you to look at the ship." he paid no attention to my presence. "the ship! the ship!" he cries--"is she gone?" and rushes to the window. the ship, sure enough, was gone. where she had been her three great masts still projected from the water. slowly they disappeared, and another sharp black point, which must have been her bowsprit as she heeled over, rose and sank in its turn. how long we stood, eustace and i, silently watching, i cannot tell. "there were lights alongside," i exclaimed, "the uncles' boats must have been there. there has been time to save the crew. o eustace, let us run down and help!" but eustace held me very tight. "do not be a fool, penelope. you will catch your death of cold and endanger the child. the people of the ship are saved or drowned by this time." _june_ , . but a few months ago i wrote in this diary that no child of mine should ever be born into slavery and dishonour. alas, poor foolish penelope! what ill-omened words were those! and yet i cannot believe that god would have visited their presumptuousness upon me with such horrid irony. may god, who knows all things, must know that those words were even more justified than i dreamed of at the time: the slavery and dishonour surpassing my most evil apprehensions. indeed, may it not be that in taking away our child while yet unborn he did so in his mercy to it and to its wretched parents? surely. and if my husband surprised me, some months back, by his indifference in the face of what we were about to gain, 'tis he, perhaps, who is surprised in his turn at the strange resignation with which i take my loss. for indeed, i am resigned, am acquiescent, and, below the regrets which come shuddering across me, i feel a marvellous peacefulness in the depths of my being. no! no child should ever be born in such a house, into such a life as this.... * * * * * i am still shattered in body (i understand that for days recovery was given up as hopeless), and my mind seems misty, and like what a ghost's might be, after so many hours of unconsciousness, and of what, had it endured, would have been called death. but little by little shreds of recollection are coming back to me, and i will write them down. some strangely sweet ones. the sense, even as life was slipping away, that all eustace's love and tenderness had returned; that it was he (for no physician could be got, or was allowed, in this dreadful place) he himself who wrestled for me with death, and brought me back to life. moments return to my memory of surpassing, unspeakable sweetness, which penetrated through all pain: being lifted in his arms, handled like a child; seeing his eyes, which seemed to hold and surround me like his arms; and hearing his words as when he thanked god, over and over again, and almost like one demented, for having caused him to study medicine. i felt i was re-entering life upon the strong, full tide of incomparable love. let me not seem ungrateful, for i am not. most strangely there has mingled in this great flood of life-giving tenderness the sense also of the affection of poor mrs. davies. i call her _poor_, because there is, i know not why, something oddly pathetic in her sudden devotion to me. when i met her wild eyes grown quite tender and heard her crooning exclamations in her unintelligible language, i had, even in the midst of my own weakness, the sort of half pitying gratitude which we feel for the love of an animal, of something strong and naturally savage, grown very gentle towards one. _july_ , . is that hideous thing true? did it ever happen? or is some shred of nightmare returning ever and again out of the black depths of my sickness? it comes and goes, and every time new doubts--hope it may be a dream, fear it may be reality--come with it. it was three days after the shipwreck; the weather had calmed, and for the first time i ventured abroad into the park. that much and a little more is real, and bears in my mind the indescribable quality of certainty. i had wandered down the glen and through the churchyard, and i remember pausing before the great stone cross, covered with curious basket work patterns, and wondering whether when it was made--a thousand years ago--women about to be mothers had felt as great perplexity and loneliness as i, and at the same time, as great joy. i crossed the piece of boggy meadow, vivid green in the fitful sunshine, and climbed upon the sea-wall and sat down. i was tired; and the solitude, the sunshine, the faint silken rustle of the sea on the reefs, the salt smell--all filled me with a languid happiness quite unspeakable. all this i know, i am certain of, as the scratching of my pen; in fact, those moments on the sea-wall are, in a manner, the latest thing of which i have vivid certainty; all that came later--my illness, the news of my miscarriage, my recovery, and even this present moment, seeming comparatively unreal. i do not know how long i may have sat there. i was listening to the sea, to the wind in my hair, and watching the foam running in little feathery balls along the sand, when i heard voices, and saw three men wading among the rocks a little way off, as if in search of something. my eyes followed them lazily, and then i saw close under me, what i had taken at first for a heap of seaweed and sea refuse cast upon the sand, but which, as my eyes fixed it, became--or methought it became--something hideous and terrible; so that for very horror i could not shriek. and then, while my eyes were fixed on it, methought (for as i write it seems a dream) the three men waded over in its direction, and one silently pointed it out to the other. they came round, one turned a moment, and instead of a human face, i saw under his looped-up hat a loosely fitting black mask. then they gathered round that thing the three of them, and touched it with a boat-hook, muttering to each other. then one stooped down and did i know not what, stuffing, as he did so, something into the pockets of his coat, and then put out a hand to one of his companions, receiving back something narrow, which caught a glint of sun. they all three stooped together; methought the water against the sands and the pale foam heaps suddenly changed colour, but that must surely be my nightmare. "better like that," a voice said in english. between them they raised the thing up and carried it through the shallow water to a boat moored by the rocks. and then my voice became loosened. i gave a cry, which seemed to echo all round, and i jumped down from the sea-wall, and flew across the meadow and tore up the glen, till i fell full length by the neglected pond with the broken leaden nymph. for as they took _it_ up, the thing had divided in two, and somehow i had known the one was a mother and the other a child; one was i, and the other i still carried within me. and the voice which had said "better like that" was hubert's. but as i write, i know it must have been a vision of my sickness. * * * * * "eustace," i asked, "how did it begin? did i dream--or did you find me lying by the fountain on the terrace--the fountain of your poor water snake?" "forget it, dearest," eustace said, very quietly and sweetly, and with the old gentle truthfulness in his eyes. "you must have over-walked that hot morning and got a sunstroke or fainted with fatigue. we did find you by the fountain--that is to say, our good mrs. davies did." and davies merely nodded. _july_ , . shall i ever know whether it really happened? methinks that had i certainty i could face, stand up to, it. but to go on sinking and weltering in this hideous doubt! _august_ , . the certainty has come; and god in heaven, what undreamed certainties besides! i did not really want it, though i told myself i did. for i felt that mrs. davies knew, that she was watching her opportunity to tell me; and i, a coward, evading what i must some day learn. at last it has come. it was this morning. this morning! it seems weeks and months ago--a whole lifetime passed since! she was brushing my hair, one of the many services required by my weakness, and which she performs with wonderful tenderness. we saw one another's face, but only reflected in the mirror; and i recognised when she was going to speak. "lady brandling," she said in her odd welsh way--"lady brandling fell ill because she saw some things from the sea-wall." i knew what she meant--for are not my own thoughts for ever going over that same ground? but the sense of being surrounded by enemies, the whole horrid mystery about this accursed place, have taught me caution and even cunning. davies has been as a mother to me in my illness; but i remembered my first impression of her unfriendliness towards eustace and me, and of her being put to spy upon us. so i affected not to understand; and indeed, her singular mixture of english and welsh, her outlandish modes of address, gave some countenance to the pretence. "what do you mean, davies?" i asked, but without looking up in the glass for fear of meeting her eyes there. "what has the sea-wall to do with my illness? it was not there you found me when i fainted. you told me it was by the fountain." the old woman took a paper from her stays, and out of it a muddy piece of linen which she spread out on the dressing-table in front of me. it was a handkerchief of mine; and i understood that she had found it, treasured it as a sign of what i had witnessed. the place, the moment, might mean my death-warrant; for what i thought i saw had been really seen. "it was on the sea-wall the morning that lady brandling fainted in the shrubbery," she answered. and i felt that her eyes were on my face, asking what i had seen that day. i made a prodigious effort over myself. "and why have you kept it in that state instead of washing it? did you--was it picked up then or only now? _i suppose some one else found it?"_ merciful god! how every word of that last sentence beat itself out in my heart and throat!--and yet i heard the words pronounced lightly, indifferently. "i picked it up myself, my lady," answered mrs. davies. "i went down to the sea-wall after i had put lady brandling to bed. i thought she might have left something there. i thought i should like to go there before the others came. i thought lady brandling had seen something. i want lady brandling to tell me truly if she saw something on the sea-wall." i felt it was a struggle, perhaps a struggle for life and death between her and me. i took a comb in my hand, to press it and steady me; and i looked up in the mirror and faced davies's eyes, ready, i knew, to fix themselves on mine. "perhaps i may answer your question later, davies," i said. "but first you must answer mine: am i right in thinking that you were set to spy upon my husband and me from the moment we first came to st. salvat's?" a great change came over davies's face. whatever her intentions, she had not expected this, and did not know how to meet it. i felt that, were her intentions evil, i now held her in my hands, powerless for the time being. but to my infinite surprise, and after only a short silence, she looked into my eyes quite simply and answered without hesitating. "lady brandling is right. i was set to spy on lady brandling at the beginning. i did not love lady brandling at the beginning; her husband was taking the place of sir thomas. but i love lady brandling now." i could have sworn that it was true, for she has shown it throughout my illness. but i kept my counsel and answered very coldly, "it is not a question whether you love me or not, davies. you acknowledge that you were the spy of mr. hubert and his brothers. and if you were not spying for their benefit, why were you watching me as i came up the glen the day i was taken ill? why did you go to the sea-wall to see in case i had left anything behind; and why did you treasure this handkerchief as a proof that i had been there?" mrs. davies hesitated; but only, i believe, because she found it difficult to make her situation clear. "lady brandling must try and understand," she answered. "i was not spying for mr. hubert. i have not spied for mr. hubert for a long while. i kept the handkerchief to show lady brandling that i knew what had made her faint that day. also to show her that others did not know. lady brandling is safe. she must know that they do not yet know. if they know what lady brandling perhaps shall have seen, lady brandling and her husband are dead people, like the people in the ship; dead like sir thomas." dead like sir thomas! i repeated to myself. but i still kept my eyes fixed on hers in the glass, where she stood behind me, brush in hand. "davies," i said, "you must explain if i am to understand. you tell me you love me now though you did not love me at first. you tell me you were placed to spy over me by mr. hubert, and you tell me that you were not spying for him when you went to see whether i had left anything on the sea-wall. you have been good and kind beyond words during my sickness, and i desire to believe in you. but i dare not. why should i believe that you have really changed so completely? why should i believe that you are with _me_, and against _them_?" mrs. davies's face changed strangely. it seemed to me to express deep perplexity and almost agonised helplessness. she twisted her fingers and raised her shoulders. she was wrestling with my unbelief. suddenly she leaned over the dressing table close to me. "listen," she said. "i have learned things since then. hubert told me lies, but i learned. i am against _them_ because i know they tried to kill my son." a look of incredulity must have passed over my face, for she added, "aye; they only tried to kill one of my sons, hugh, who i thought had gone overboard, whom they thought they had drowned, but who has come and told me. but--" and she fixed her eyes on mine, "they _did_ kill my other son; i know that now. my other son of the heart, not the belly. and that son, my lady, was your brother-in-law, sir thomas brandling." and then davies made a strange imperious gesture, and i must needs listen to her talk. i have since pieced it together out of her odd enigmatic sentences. my late brother-in-law, after years of passive connivance in _their_ doings, which paid for his debaucheries in foreign lands, became restive, or was suspected by his uncles, and condemned by them to death as a danger to their evil association. sir thomas was decoyed home, and, according to their habit in case of mutiny, taken out, a prisoner, to the deepest part of the channel, and drowned. the report was spread that he had been killed in a drunken brawl at bristol, a show of legal proceedings was instituted by his uncle in that city (naturally to no effect, there being no murderer there to discover), and a corpse brought back by them for solemn burial at st. salvat's. but instead of being interred in the family vault, the body of the false sir thomas was destroyed by the burning of the chapel during his wake. the suspicions of mrs. davies appeared to have been awakened by this fact, and by the additional one that she was not allowed to see the corpse of her beloved foster-son. her own son hugh, sir thomas's foster brother, disappeared about this time; and hubert appears to have made the distracted mother believe that her own boy was the murderer of sir thomas, and had met with death at his hands; the whole unlikely story being further garnished for the poor credulous woman with a doubt that the murder of her foster-son had been, in some manner, the result of a conspiracy to bring about the succession of my husband. all this she seems to have believed at the time of our coming, and for this reason to have lent herself most willingly to spy upon my husband and me, in hopes of getting the proofs of his guilt. but her suspicions gradually changed, and her whole attitude in the matter was utterly reversed when, a few days before the wreck of the great indiaman and my adventure on the sea-wall, her son, whom she believed dead, had stolen back in disguise and told her of an expedition in which the uncles had carried a man to the high seas, gagged and bound, and drowned him: a man who was not one of their crew and whose stature and the colour of whose hair answered to those of the nominal master of st. salvat's. her son, in an altercation over some booty, had let out his suspicion to my uncles, and had escaped death only by timely flight masked under accidental drowning from a fishing boat. since this revelation davies's devotion to the dead sir thomas had transferred itself to eustace and me, and her one thought had become revenge against the men who had killed her darling. davies told me all this, as i said, in short, enigmatic sentences; and i scarcely know whether her tale seemed to me more inevitably true or more utterly false in its hideous complication of unlikely horrors. when she had done: "davies," i ask her solemnly, "you have been a spy, you have, by your saying, been the accomplice of the most horrid criminals that ever disgraced the world. why should i believe one word of what you tell me?" davies hesitated as before, then looked me full in the face "if lady brandling cannot believe what it is needful that she should believe, let her ask her husband whether i am telling her a lie. lady brandling's husband knows, and he is afraid of telling _her_ because he is afraid of them." davies had been kneeling by the dressing-table, as if to make herself heard to me without speaking above a whisper. i mustered all my courage, for these last words touched me closer, filled me with a far more real and nearer horror than all her hideous tales. "davies," i said, "kindly finish brushing my hair. when it is brushed i can do it up myself; and you may go and wash that handkerchief." the old woman rose from her knees without a word, and finished brushing my hair very carefully. then she handed me the hairpins and combs ceremoniously. as she did so she murmured beneath her breath: "lady brandling is a courageous lady. i love lady brandling for her courage." she curtsied and withdrew. when the door was well closed on her i felt i could bear the strain no more; i leaned my head on the dressing table and burst into a flood of silent tears. at that moment eustace came in. "good god!" he said, "what is the matter?" taking my hand and trying to raise me up. but i hid my face. "oh, eustace," i answered, "when i think of our child!" but what i was saying, god help me, was not true. _october_ , . what frightful suspicions are these which i have allowed to creep insidiously into my mind! did he or did he not know? does he know yet? every time we meet i feel my eyes seeking his face, scanning his features, and furtively trying to read their meaning, alas! alas! as if he were a stranger. and i spend my days piecing together bits of the past, and every day they make a different and more perplexing pattern. i remember his change of manner on receiving the news of his brother's death, and the gloom which hung over him during our journey and after our arrival here. i thought then that it was the unexpected return to the scenes of his unhappy childhood; and that his constraint and silence with me were due to his difficulty in dealing with the shocking state of things he found awaiting him. it seemed natural enough that eustace, a thinker, a dreamer even, should feel harassed at his inability to clean out this den of iniquity. but why have remained here? good god, is my husband a mere pensioner of all this hideousness, as his wretched brother seems to have been? and even for that miserable debauched creature the day came when he turned against his masters, and faced death, perhaps like a gentleman. death.... how unjust i am grown to eustace! i ought to try and put myself in his place, and see things as he would see them, not with the horrified eyes of a stranger. like me, he may have believed at first that st. salvat's was merely a nest of smugglers.... or he may have had only vague fears of worse, haunting him like bad dreams of his childhood.... besides, this frightful trade in drowned men and their goods has, from what davies tells me, been for centuries the chief employment of this dreadful coast. whole villages, and several of the first families of the country, practised it turn about with smuggling. davies was ready with a string of names, she expressed no special horror and her conscience perhaps represents that of these people; an unlawful trade, but not without its side of peril, commending it to barbarous minds like highway robbery or the exploits of buccaneers, whom popular ballads treat as heroes. but why have i recourse to such explanations? men, even men as noble as my husband, are marvellously swayed by all manner of notions of honour, false and barbarous, often causing them to commit crimes in order to screen those of their blood or of their class. some words of hubert's keep recurring in my memory, to the effect that all the brandlings were given up to what the villain called pilchard fishing, and _none more devotedly than eustace's own father_. i remember and now understand the tone in which he added "all of us brandlings except this superfine gentleman here." those words meant that however great his horror of it all, eustace could not break loose from that complicity of silence. for to expose the matter would be condemning all his kinsmen to a shameful death, to the public gallows; it would be uncovering the dishonour of his dead brother, of his father, and all his race.... what right have i to ask my husband to do what no other man would do in his place? but perhaps he does not know, or is not certain yet.... to what a size have i allowed my horrid suspicions to grow! behold me finding excuses for an offence which very likely has never been committed; and while seemingly condoning, condemning my husband in my mind, without giving him a chance of self-defence! what a confusion of disloyalty and duplicity my fears have bred in my soul! anything is better than this; i owe it to eustace to tell him my suspicions, and i _will_ tell him. _november_ , . i have spoken. o marvellous, most unexpected reward of frankness and loyalty, however tardy! the nightmare has vanished, leaving paradise in my soul. for inconceivable as it seems, this day, on which i learned that we are prisoners, already condemned most likely, and at best doomed to die before very long, this day has been of unmixed, overflowing joy, such as i never knew or dreamed of. eustace, beloved, that ever i could have doubted you! and yet that very doubt, that sin against our love is what has brought me such blissful certainty. and even the shameful question, asked with burning cheeks, "did you know all?" has been redeemed, transfigured, and will remain for ever in my soul like the initial bars of some ineffably tender and triumphant piece of music. let me go over it once more, our conversation, love; feel it all over again, feel it for ever and ever. when i had spoken those words, eustace, you took my hand, and looked long into my face. "my poor penelope," you said, "what dreadful thoughts my cowardice and want of faith have brought upon you! why did i not recognise that your soul was strong enough to bear the truth? you ought to have learned it from me, as soon as i myself felt certain of it, instead of my running the risk of your discovering it all alone, you poor, poor little child!" were ever those small words spoken so greatly? has any man been such a man in his gentleness and humility? and then you went on, beloved, and i write down your words in order to feel them once more sinking into my heart. "but penelope," you said, "'twas not mere unmanly shirking, though there may have been some of that mixed with it. my fault lies chiefly in not having been able to do without you, dearest, not having left you safe with your mother while i came over to this accursed place; and in putting the suspicions i had behind me in order to bring you here. nothing can wipe out that, and i am paying the just price of my weakness, and seeing you pay it!... but once here, penelope, and once certain of the worst, it was impossible for me to tell you the truth. impossible, because i knew that if you knew what i had learned, it would be far more difficult for me to get you away, to get you to leave me behind in this hideous place. do you remember when i proposed sending you to bath for our child's birth? it seemed the last chance of saving you, and you resisted and thought me cruel and unloving! how could i say 'go! because your life may any day be forfeited like mine, and go alone! because--well--because i am a hostage, a man condemned to death if he stir, a prisoner as much as if i were chained to the walls of this house.' had i said that, you would have refused to go, penelope. but now, my dear...." and you bent down and kissed me very mournfully. "but now, eustace," i answered, and i heard that my voice was solemn, "but now i can stay with you, because i know as much as you do, and they will soon know that i do so, even if they do not know yet. i may stay with you, because i am a prisoner like you, and condemned like you. we can live, because we have to die--together." eustace, you folded me in your arms and i felt you sob. but i loosened your hands and kissed them one by one, and said, "nay, eustace, why should you grieve? do we not love each other? are we not together, quite together, and together for always?" we are standing by the big window in my room, and as we clasped one another, our eyes, following each other's, rested on the sea above the tree tops. it was a silvery band under a misty silver sunset; very sweet and solemn. our souls, methought, were sailing in its endless peacefulness. for the first time, i was aware of what love is; i seemed to understand what poetry is about and what music means; death, which hung over us, was shrunk to its true paltriness, and the eternity of life somehow revealed all in one moment. i have known happiness. i thank god, and beloved, i thank thee also. iv here ends the diary kept half a century ago by the woman of twenty-two, who was once myself. those of whom it treats, my mother, my husband, poor faithful davies and the wretched villains of st. salvat's, have long since ceased to live, and those for whose benefit i gather together these memories--my sons and daughters, were not yet born at the time this diary deals with. in order to complete my story i can, therefore, seek only in my own solitary memory; and, standing all alone, look into that far away past which only my own eyes and heart are left to descry. * * * * * after the scene with which my diary closes, and when we could compare all that each of us knew of our strange situation, it appeared to my husband and me that we had everything to gain, and at all events nothing to lose (since we knew our lives in jeopardy) by a desperate attempt to escape from what was virtually our prison. eustace had summed up our position when he had said that we were hostages in the hands of the uncles. for these villains, unconscious of any bonds of family honour, made sure that our escape would infallibly bring about the exposure of their infamous practices. it appears that after the murder of my brother-in-law, whom the most violent of the gang had put to death on a mere threat of betrayal, the uncles had taken for granted that eustace would accept some manner of pension as his brother had done, and like him, leave st. salvat's in their undisputed possession. and they had been considerably nonplussed when my husband declared his intention of returning to wales. the perception of the blunder they had committed in getting rid of my brother-in-law, made them follow the guidance of hubert, who had opposed the murder of sir thomas, if not from humanity, at all events from prudence. it was hubert's view that since eustace refused to stay away, no difficulties should be put in the way of his coming, but on the contrary, that he be taken, so to speak, in a trap, and once at st. salvat's, persuaded or compelled into becoming a passive, if not an active, accomplice. hubert had therefore written so pressingly about the need of putting the property to rights, of making a new start at st. salvat's, and of therefore bringing me and settling at once in the place, that eustace had judged the rumours concerning the real trade of his kinsmen, and his own childish suspicions, to have been mere exaggeration, and imagined that the uncles, brought to order by so superior a man as hubert, were perhaps even willing to abandon the dangerous business of smuggling which had been carried on almost avowedly during the lifetime of his father. such was the trap laid by hubert; and eustace, partly from guilelessness and partly from a sense of duty to st. salvat's, walked straight in, carrying me with him as an additional pledge to evil fortune. he was scarcely in, when the door, like the drawbridge which had risen after our entry into that frightful place, closed and showed him he was a prisoner. it was hubert's plan to make use of our presence (which, moreover, put an end to his own isolation among those besotted villains) in order to remove whatever suspicions might exist in the outside world. the presence of a studious and gentlemanly owner, of a young wife and possible children, was to make people believe that a new leaf had been turned over at st. salvat's, and that the old former pages of its history were not so shocking as evil reports had had it. so, during the first weeks after our arrival, and while the brothers were being coerced into an attempt at decent behaviour, eustace was being importuned with every kind of plan which should draw him into further complicity, and compromise him along with the rest of the band. hubert, being a clergyman, had since his elder brother's death, also been the chief magistrate of the district; and, shocking to relate, this wrecker and murderer had sat in judgment on poachers and footpads. having made use of this position to silence any inclination to blab about st. salvat's, he was apprehensive of this scandal getting to headquarters, and therefore desirous of putting in his place a man as clear of suspicion and as obviously just as eustace, yet whom he imagined he could always coerce in all vital matters. but eustace saw through this fine scheme at once, and resolutely refused to become a magistrate in hubert's place. this was the first hint hubert received that it was useless to seek an accomplice in his nephew; and this recognition speedily grew into a fear lest eustace might become a positive danger, particularly if he ever learned for certain that sir thomas had not been murdered at bristol, but at st. salvat's. the situation was made more critical by the fact that on discovering what manner of place the castle really was, eustace had declared with perfect simplicity, his intention of taking me back to my mother. it was then he had learned in as many words, that both he and i were prisoners, and that he, at all events, would never leave st. salvat's alive. thus the terrible months had been spent in gauging the depth of his miserable situation, in making and unmaking plans for my escape, for sending me away without letting me guess the real reason, all of which had been frustrated by my miscarriage and the long illness following upon it. and meanwhile, eustace had had to endure the constant company of his gaoler hubert, the wretch's occasional attempts to compromise him in the doings of the gang; and what was horridest of all, hubert's very sincere pleasure in our presence and conversation, and his ceaseless attempts to strike up some kind of friendship. now, the discovery that i was aware of the frightful mysteries of the place, had entirely altered our position: first, because it was probable that the uncles now considered me as much of a danger as my husband, and therefore as an equally indispensable hostage; and secondly, because it was evident that i could no longer be induced to leave st. salvat's by myself. our only remaining hope was flight. but how elude the vigilance of our gaolers and overcome the obstacles they had built up around us? day after day, and night after night, eustace and i went over and over our possibilities; but they seemed to diminish, and difficulties to increase, the more we discussed them. the house and grounds were guarded, and our actions spied upon. we were cut off from the outer world, for we had long since understood that our letters, even when despatched, were intercepted and read by hubert. but the worst difficulty almost was the lack of money. for some months past, hubert had taken to doling it out only in trifling sums and on our asking for it, and he supplied our needs and even fancies with such lavishness, forestalling them in many instances, that a request for any considerable sum would have been tantamount to an intimation of our intended flight. such were the external obstacles; i found, moreover, that there were other ones in the character and circumstances of my poor fellow prisoner. my husband's natural incapacity for planning active measures and taking sudden decisions, was not at all diminished, but the reverse, by his fear for my safety. and his indecision was aggravated by all manner of scruples; for he considered it cowardly to leave st. salvat's in the undisputed possession of the villains who usurped it; and he wavered between a wish to punish the murder of his brother and that prejudice (which i had rightly divined) against exposing his kinsmen and his dead father to public infamy, however well earned by them. this miserable state of doubt and fear was brought to a sudden close, as i vaguely expected it would, by a new move on the part of our adversaries. it was in the spring of , and we had been at st. salvat's about eighteen months, which felt much more like as many years. one evening after supper, as i sat in my room idly listening to the sound, now so terrible to me, of the sea on the rocks, i was suddenly aroused by the sound, no less frightful to my ears, of the brawling of the uncles below. i rose in alarm, for my apartments were completely isolated from the part of the house which they occupied, and for months past all the intermediate doors had been kept carefully closed by the tacit consent of both parties. the noise became greater; i could distinguish the drunken voices of simon and richard, and a sharp altercation between the other ones, and just as i had stepped, beyond my own door, i heard a horrid yell of curses, a scuffle, and the door opposite, which closed the main staircase, flew open, and what was my astonishment when my husband appeared, pushed forward, or rather hurled along by hubert. the latter shouted to me to go back, and having thrust eustace into my room, he disappeared as suddenly as he had come, slamming the doors after him. as he did so i heard the key click; he had locked us in. my husband was in a shocking condition, his clothes torn half off him, his hair in disorder, and the blood dripping from his arm. "do not be frightened," he cried, "'tis merely a comedy of those filthy villains," and he showed me that his wound was merely a long scratch. "they want to frighten us," he added, "the drunken brutes wanted to force me through some beastly form of initiation into their gang. faugh!" and he looked at his arm, which i was washing; "they did it with a broken bottle, the hogs! and as to hubert, and his fine saving me from their clutches, that, i take it, was mere play-acting too, the most sickening part of the business, and meant only to give you a scare." eustace had thrown himself gloomily into a chair, and i had never seen him before with such a look of disgust and indignation. i was by no means as certain as he that no serious mischief had been intended, or that hubert had not saved him from real danger. but that new look in him awoke a sudden hope in me, and i determined to strike while the iron was hot. "eustace," i said very gravely as i bound a handkerchief round his arm, "if your impression is correct, this is almost the worst of our misery. certainly no child of mine shall ever be born into such ignominy as this. it is high time we went. better to die like decent folk than allow ourselves to be hacked about by these drunken brutes and pushed through doors by a theatrical villain like hubert." "you are right, penelope," he answered, burying his face in his chair. "i have been a miserable coward." and, to my horror, i heard him sob like a child who has been struck for the first time. that decided me. but what to do? a desperate resolution came to me. as davies was brushing my hair that night, i looked at her once more in the mirror, and, assuming the most matter-of-fact tone i could muster, "davies," i said, "sir eustace and i have decided on leaving st. salvat's, and we are taking you with us on our travels; unless you should prefer to betray us to mr. hubert, which is the best thing you can do for yourself." what made me say those last words? was it a desire to threaten, a stupid, taunting spirit, or the reckless frankness of one who thought herself doomed? would it might have been the latter. but of all the things which i would give some of my life to cancel, those words are the foremost; and remorse and shame seize me as i write them. but instead of answering these, the faithful creature threw herself on her knees and covered my hand with kisses. "all is ready," she said after a moment, "and lady brandling will start on saturday." she had been watching and planning for weeks, and had already thought out and prepared every detail of our flight with extraordinary ingenuity. she placed the savings of her whole lifetime at our service, a considerable sum, and far beyond our need; and she had contrived to communicate with her son, the one who had every good reason to bear a grudge to the villains of st. salvat's. my husband and i were to walk on foot, and separately, out of the grounds; horses were to meet us at a given point of the road, and take us, not to swansea or bristol, as would be expected, but to milford, there to embark for ireland, a country where all trace of us would easily be lost, and whence we could easily re-enter england or take ship for the continent, as circumstances should dictate at the moment. the next saturday had been fixed upon for our flight, because davies knew that the uncles would be away on an important smuggling expedition in a distant part of the coast. the maids, very few in number, and any of the servants left behind, davies had undertaken to intoxicate or drug into harmlessness. only one evil chance remained, and that we none of us dared to mention: what if hubert, as is sometimes the case, should stay behind? i do not know how i contrived to live through the three days which separated us from saturday; there are, apparently, moments in our lives so strangely unlike all others, so unnatural to our whole being, that the memory refuses to register them or even bear their trace. all i know is that eustace spent all his time in his laboratory, constructing various appliances, an occupation which i explained as imposed upon himself in order to deaden any doubts or scruples, such as were natural to his character, for the only opposition he had made to our plan of escape was on the score that it meant leaving st. salvat's in the hands of the uncles. at last came friday night. friday, june , , davies had brought us word that the uncles had gone down to the boats, taking all the available men with them, save an old broken-down ship's carpenter, who lived with the keeper in the gate tower, and the husband of one of the sluttish women, who lay sick of the quinsy in the outhouse containing the offices. only, only, hubert remained! had his suspicion been awakened? was he detained on business? was he ailing? methought it was the first of these possibilities. for on friday morning he came to my apartments, which was not his wont, early in the day and offered to pay me a visit. but davies had the presence of mind to answer that i was sick, and lest he should doubt it, to force me to bed at once, and borrow certain medicines from him. after this he sought for eustace, and finding him busy among his chemical instruments, his suspicions, if he had any, were quieted; and, having dined, he went down to his own small boat, a very fast sailer, and which he managed alone, often outstripping the heavier boats of his brothers and nephew. the ground was now clear. my husband remained, i believe, in his laboratory; davies went down to supper with the maids, whom she had undertaken to drug; we were to meet again in my room at daybreak. i cannot say for sure, but i believe i spent that night trying to pray and waiting for daylight. the month was june and day came early;... a dull day, thin rain streamed down continuously, hushing everything, even the sea on the rocks becoming inaudible; only, i remember, a bird sang below my window, and the notes he sang long ran in my ears and tormented me. i had sewn some diamonds and some pieces of gold into my clothes, and those of my husband and of davies. i stuffed a few valuables, very childishly chosen, for i took my diary, some of eustace's love-letters, and the little cap i had knitted for the baby who was never born, into my pockets. and i waited. presently eustace came; he had a serviceable sword, a large knife, and a pair of pistols in his great coat; he handed me a smaller pistol, showed me that it was primed, and gave me at the same time a little folded white paper. "you are a brave woman, penelope," he said, kissing me, "and i know there is no likelihood of your using either of these things rashly or in a moment of panic. but our enterprise is uncertain; we may possibly be parted, and i have no right to let you fall alive into the hands of those villains." then, he sat down at my work-table and began drawing on a sheet of paper, while i looked out of the window and listened to the unvarying song of that bird. davies did not come, and it was broad daylight. but neither of us ventured to remark on this fact or to speak our fears. then, after about half an hour's fruitless waiting eustace declared that we must have misunderstood davies's instructions, and insisted, much against my wishes, upon going down to see whether she was not waiting for us below. a secret fear had seized my husband that the old woman, whom i had now got to trust quite absolutely, might after all have remained from first to last a spy of hubert's. as eustace left he turned round and said, "remember what you have in your pocket, penelope; and if i do not return within ten minutes, come down the main staircase and sing the first bars of '_phyllis plus avare que tendre_' i shall be on the watch for it." i hated his foolish obstinacy: far better, i thought, have awaited davies in the appointed place, and together. i thought so all the more when, after some ten minutes had elapsed, a light rap came on the wainscot door near my bed, the door leading to the back staircase, and opposite to the one by which eustace had taken his departure. "come in, davies," i said joyfully. "it is not davies, dear lady brandling," said a voice which made me feel suddenly sick; and in came hubert, bowing. he was dressed with uncommon neatness, not in his fisherman's clothes, but as a clergyman, and, what was by no means constantly the case with him, he was fresh shaven. in a flash i understood that he had returned overnight, or perhaps not gone away at all. "it is not davies," he repeated, "but i have come with her excuses to your ladyship; a sudden ailment, and one from which it is not usual to recover at her, or indeed, any age, prevents her waiting on you. i have been giving her some of the consolations of religion, and hearing her confession, a practice i by no means reject as popish," and the villain smiled suavely. "and now, as she can no longer benefit by my presence, i thought i would come and make her excuses, and offer myself, though unskilful, to pack your ladyship's portmanteau in her place." "you have killed davies!" i exclaimed, springing up from the sofa on which i was seated. hubert made a deprecatory gesture and forcing me down again seated himself insolently close to me. "fie, fie!" he said, "those are not words for a pretty young lady to use to her old uncle. have you not learned your catechism, my dear? it is said there, 'thou shalt not kill,' meaning thereby, kill anything save vermin. and, by the way," continues the villain, taking my arm and preventing my rising, "that's just what i want to talk about. i have a prejudice against killing members of my own family, a prejudice not shared by my brothers, worse luck to the sots, or else you would not be lady brandling as yet, and that poor, silly coxcomb of a thomas would still be enjoying his glass and his lass. i hate a scandal, and intend to avoid one; also, i am genuinely attached to you and to your husband, for though a milksop, he is a man of parts and education, and i relish his conversation. yes, my dear. i know what you are going to ask! the precious eustace is quite safe, without a scratch in any part of his gentlemanly white body; and no harm shall come to him--on one condition: that you, my pretty vixen, for you are a _virago_, a warlike lady, my dear niece, that you swear very solemnly that neither you nor he will ever again attempt to leave st. salvat's." he had taken my hand and was looking in my eyes with a villainous expression. "what do you say to that?" he went on. "i know you to be a woman of spirit and of honour, bound by an oath, and capable of making your husband respect it. you have nothing to gain by refusing. you are alone with me in this house. your faithful davies is as dead as a door-nail. your virtuous spouse is quite safe downstairs, for i have taken the precaution to relieve him of all those dangerous swords and pistols of his, which a learned man might hurt himself with. i give you five minutes to make up your mind. if you accept my terms, you and sir eustace brandling shall live honoured and happy at st. salvat's among your obliged kinsmen. if you refuse, i shall, very reluctantly, hand over your husband to my brothers' tender mercies when they return home presently; and, as they do not know how to behave to a lady, i shall myself make it a point to act as a man of refinement and a tender heart should act towards a very pretty little shrew," and the creature dared to touch me with his lips upon my neck. i shrank back upon the sofa half paralysed, and with not strength enough to grow hot and crimson. hubert rose, locked the doors, and, to my relief, sat down to the harpsichord, on which he began to pick out a tune. it was that very "_phyllis plus avare que tendre_," which i had sung to my husband and him some days before. was it a coincidence; or had he overheard us appoint it as a signal, and was he mocking and torturing eustace as well as me? "an elegant little air, egad," he says, "i wish i could remember the second part. don't let my strumming disturb you. you have still four minutes to think over your answer, dear lady brandling." the familiar notes aroused me from my stupor. i got up and walked slowly to the harpsichord, at which hubert was lolling and strumming. "well, my dear?" he asks insolently, and the notes seemed to ooze out from under his fingers, "have i got the tune right? is that it?" "the tune," i answered, "is this: mr. hubert brandling, in the name of god almighty, whose ministry you have defiled, and whose law you have placed yourself outside, i take it upon myself to judge and put you to death as a wrecker and a murderer." i drew eustace's pistol from my pocket, aimed steadily and fired. i was half stunned by the report; but through the smoke of my own weapon, i saw hubert reel and fall across the harpsichord, whose jangling mingled with his short, sharp cry. even after fifty years, i quite understand how i did _that_, and when i recall it all, i feel that, old as i am, i would do it over again. what i cannot explain is what i did afterwards, nor the amazing coolness and clearness of head which i enjoyed at that moment. for without losing a minute i went to the harpsichord, and despite the horrid, hot trickle all over my hands, i turned out his pockets and took his keys. then i left the room, locked it from the outside, and went downstairs singing that french shepherd's song at the top of my voice. the fearful stillness was beginning to frighten me, when, just as i felt my throat grow dry and my voice faint, the same tune answered me in a low whistle, from out of hubert's study. i knew my husband's whistle, and yet the fact of hubert's room, the fact that hubert had been strumming that tune, filled me, for the first time, with horror. but i found the key on the bunch, and unlocked the door. eustace was seated in an arm chair, unbound, but his clothes torn as after a scuffle. "eustace," i said, "i--i have killed hubert." but to my astonishment he barely gave me time to utter the words; and starting from the chair: "quick, quick!" he cries, "there is not a moment to lose. another ten minutes and we also are dead!" and seizing my arm he drags me away, down the remaining stairs, out by the main door and then at a run across the yard and up into the dripping shrubbery. "eustace, eustace!" i cried breathless, "this is not the way; we shall be seen from the stables." "no matter," he answered hoarsely, and dragging, almost carrying, me along, "run, penelope, for our lives." after about five minutes of desperate and, it seemed to me, random and mad climbing up through the wet bushes, he suddenly stopped and drew forth his watch. "where is davies? at the turn of the road? not in the house, at least, there is no one in the house? no one except--except that dead man?" i thought that fear had made him lose his wits, and i dared not tell him that besides that dead man, the house held also a dead woman, our poor, faithful davies. "she is out of danger," i answered. we had, by some miracle, found our way to a place where the wall, which fortified st. salvat's, was partly broken at the top, and overgrown by bushes. with a decision i should never have expected from him, and an extraordinary degree of strength and agility, my husband climbed on to the wall, pulled me up, let himself drop into the dry ditch beyond, and received me in his arms. then, seizing me again by the hand, we started off once more at a mad run through the wood, stumbling and tearing ourselves against the branches. "up the knoll!" he repeated. "i must see! i must see!" and he seemed to me quite mad. once at the top of the knoll, he stopped. it was wooded all the way up, but just here was an open space of grass burrowed by rabbits and set with stunted junipers. it was full in sight of st. salvat's, and if ever there could be a dangerous place to stop in, it was this. but eustace pointed to the wet grass, "sit down," he said, and sat down himself, after looking at his watch again. "there are five minutes more," he repeated, remaining, despite my entreaties, seated on the soft ground among the rabbit holes, his face turned to st. salvat's. "you are sure davies is safe?" he asked, again drawing out his watch. "davies is dead," i answered, counting on the effect it would have on him, "hubert had murdered her ... before ... i...." eustace's eye kindled strangely. "ah! is it so?" he cried, "then poor davies will have a splendid funeral! all i regret is that that villain should share in the honour." so saying, he started up on to his feet, and pulling out his watch, looked from it to the towers and battlements nestled in the trees of the hollow beneath us. "half past seven less a minute, less half a minute, less ... now!" he cried. as if he had shouted a word of command, an enormous sheet of flame leapt up into the air, like the flash at a cannon's mouth; the hill shook and the air bellowed, and we fell back half stunned. when i could see once more, my husband was standing at the brink of the knoll, his arms folded, and looking calmly before him. the outline of towers and battlements had entirely disappeared; and only the skeletons of the great trees, black and branchless, stood out like the broken masts of wrecked vessels against the distant pale and misty sea. "i have burnt out their nest. my house shall be polluted no more," said my husband very quietly. and then, kissing me as we stood on the brink of the green sward, with the rain falling gently upon us, "come, penelope," he added taking my hands, "we are outlaws and felons; but we have saved our liberty and our honour." and, hand in hand, we walked swiftly but quietly towards the high road to milford. * * * * * the foregoing pages are sufficient record for those of my children and grandchildren who have heard the tale from my lips, and sufficient explanation for the remoter posterity of eustace brandling and myself, of the mystery which overhung their family in the latter part of the eighteenth century. i have only a few legal details to add. by the explosion which my husband's skill in chemistry and mechanics had enabled him to procure and to time, all the main buildings of st. salvat's castle had been utterly destroyed; hiding in their ruins the fate alike of the faithful davies and of the atrocious hubert; and hiding, for anything, that was known to the contrary, two other presumable victims--my husband and myself. the gang of villains, deprived of its headquarters, and deprived of its master spirit, speedily fell to pieces. richard and gwyn appear to have come to a violent end in quarrelling over the booty of the last wicked expedition; simon and evan, and some of their followers ended in prison, on a charge of pillaging the ruins and digging for treasure while the property, in the absence of it master, was still in the hands of the law; but it is probable that this condemnation was intended to save them from a worse punishment, as the authorities gradually got wind of the real trade which had been carried on in the castle. from the villains of st. salvat's eustace and i were now safe. but we had taken the law into our own hands; and the justice which had been unable to defend us while innocent, was bound to punish our acts towards the guilty. my husband's words had been true: he and i were outlaws and felons. our case was privily placed before the king and his ministers, when we had left england and had rejoined my mother in her country. in consideration of the unusual circumstances it was decided that the baronetcy should not lapse, nor the lands be forfeited to the crown, but be held over for our possible heirs, while ourselves should be accounted as mysteriously disappeared, and forbidden to enter the kingdom. so we wandered for many years in the new world and the old; and it was far from st. salvat's that our children were successively born. and it was only on the death of my dear husband, which occurred in , that a brandling, our eldest son, reappeared and claimed his title and inheritance. it was the wish of my son piers that i should accompany him and his wife to england, and help to rebuild the home which i had helped to destroy. but the recollection of the place had only grown in terror, and i have ever adhered to my resolution not to set eyes on it again. i have spent the years of my widowhood at grandfey, my dear dead mother's little property in switzerland, where eustace and i had been so happy before he succeeded to st. salvat's. and it is at grandfey, among the meadows again white with hemlock and the lime avenues again in blossom, that i await, amid the sound of cowbells and of mountain streams, death, who had held me in his clutches fifty years ago in that castle hidden among the trees above the white wailing northern sea. the gun runners by ralph williams _george dolan had four immediate problems: the time-translator, a beautiful, out-of-this-world girl named moirta, the gun runners and his life. a situation in which he finally triumphed.... but what can you do with a victory that lies at the other end of a bridge , years long?_ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, december . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] the gun runners were professionals, and except for one minor detail the operation had been very well planned. the middle twentieth century was chosen as a source of supply after a careful survey of all factors pro and con. the gun runners did not want the mass weapons of their own day, they wanted selective weapons which could be used for private murder. in the mid-twentieth century, the level of technology was such that well-made and reliable weapons were available; and at the same time, social control was still sketchy enough to permit quiet procurement of such merchandise, if one knew how to go about it and was suitably financed. the gun runners, two men and a woman, knew how to go about it, and they were suitably financed. the profits in their business were commensurate with the risks--which were not small. in their world unauthorized time travel was highly illegal, because of certain possible undesirable effects on the total space-time continuum, and was severely punished. moreover, it was personally uncomfortable and dangerous. they came from an old ingrowing world which had never reached the stars, where there were only men and their works, no blade of grass or micro-organism or sparrow which did not directly serve men. in their time, hereditary traits which had meant untimely and certain death in earlier times had persisted and multiplied. immunities and instincts which had fitted men to live with tigers and streptococci, and seek their food in the wilderness, had atrophied. the twentieth century was a dangerous environment for these people, more so perhaps than the eocene would have been for _homo sapiens_. in preparation for their venture, it had been necessary for them to undergo a drastic and painful series of tests, inoculations, conditionings and plastic surgery. unfortunately, it had not occurred to them that their time machine might need similar protection. the equipment was basically electronic, and the power leads were encased in a new insulation, a synthetic protein which in very thin films afforded a near perfect dielectric. it was also, as it happened, an almost perfect culture medium for certain bacilli, non-existent in the sterile future, but healthy and thriving and full of appetite in the twentieth century. when the gun runners prepared to return to their own time with their cargo of contraband there were small flashes of fire, and smoke curled briefly from various parts of the equipment. their temporal environment remained unchanged. the gun runners were not technicians, they were specialists in other fields. they pulled and prodded uncertainly here and there, pushed the buttons again. nothing happened. the senior gun runner, a man who wore in this century the appearance of a quiet, gray-haired professional man, and who wore in any century the habit of command, came to a decision. he spoke in their own language, a language time had pruned to telegraphic brevity: "if tamper, make worse. electronics technicians this era. use." the second man raised an eyebrow. "knowledge adequate? time travel not simple." the older man shrugged. "theory not simple, machine simple. savages clever fingers. adequate stimulus, can solve." "and after? disposition?" "displacement effect. or--" the senior gun runner sketched a quick gesture of pulling a trigger. the younger man nodded slowly, still dubious--which was proper, it was his function to be suspicious and questioning, as it was the other's to command. "stimulus?" "profit. curiosity. and ... moirta." both men turned and looked appraisingly at the woman, who had not yet entered the discussion. she was a very narrow specialist, within the wider specialty of gun running and murder. now she moved her shoulders uneasily. "displacement effect," she suggested, "near limit. if caught--" she made an unpleasantly suggestive spastic gesture. the chief gun runner shrugged again. "if caught," he repeated the gesture she had made, "in any case. no choice. find technician now." * * * * * george dolan studied his visitors thoughtfully. "well, actually," he said, "our work is design, not repair. i suppose i could send a man out to look over your job and recommend a firm to handle it. is that what you want?" "mr. dolan," the gray-haired man said earnestly, "i am afraid you still misunderstand me. the work we wish done is small in scale, but very intricate and delicate, and highly confidential. we have investigated your qualifications, and you are the man we want to handle it, you personally. we do not want you to mention this work to any other person--not even your wife." "i don't have a wife," dolan said. "that's no problem." he hesitated. "do i need security clearance? that'll take time." "no security clearance. this is private work." dolan frowned. private work, money no object, very secret--there were implications to this offer which he did not like. on the other hand-- his eye strayed to the young woman who sat quietly beside the man, silently exercising her specialty. the plastic surgeons of her era had done a beautiful and nearly perfect job on her body; but bone-deep, in ways an observant man could sense, she was still not a twentieth century woman. in a city full of women who made a profession of being young and handsome, she too was young and handsome, but different. dolan was an observant man, and a curious one. he looked back at brown. "if you could just give me some idea--" he said tentatively. "the equipment, as i have said, is very intricate, and we are not technicians. we prefer that you make your own diagnosis." dolan pursed his lips uncertainly. he glanced again at the girl. "ok," he said at last, "i'll look at it. i can't promise anything." he punched a button on the desk intercom. "betty, i'm going out to look at a job with mr. brown and miss--uh--" he glanced at the girl. "jones," the gray-haired man said. "miss jones." "oh, yes, excuse me." dolan smiled at the girl and drew a brief quirk of the lips in response. "--with mr. brown and miss jones," he continued. "be back some time this afternoon." "ok," he said to his clients. "let's go see this intricate and delicate problem." * * * * * for reasons compatible with the profession of gun running and the nature of time travel, the time translator had been located outside of urban limits--the city was to be rather systematically bombed in the near future--on a secluded and stable granite dike, within the shell of a frame cottage. dolan observed all this without comment. they were met outside the cottage by a man about dolan's age. "this is my colleague, mr. smith," brown introduced him. mr. smith offered his hand. as he turned to lead them inside, dolan noticed that the light summer jacket smith wore did not drape well over the right hip pocket. he filed this fact also for future reference. "and here," brown said, "is the machine we wish repaired." in the center of the room was an orderly jumble of shiny black geometric solids, laced together with wires and bars of silver, the whole mounted on a polished ebony platform. it was handsome, in a bizarre sort of way; but certainly it did not look like any electronic gear dolan had ever seen, and he had seen almost all there was, at one time or another. he studied it carefully, turning it this way and that in his mind, trying to find some familiar feature to grasp it by. there was none. "well," he asked skeptically, "what is it? what does it do?" brown shook his head. "the purpose of the machine must remain secret," he said firmly. "we think the trouble may be superficial, some minor thing an expert could quickly repair; and we wish you to work on it from that viewpoint, without inquiring into its purpose." "i see," dolan said noncommittally. the whole business was screwy. for two cents, he thought-- he glanced at the girl. she sat quietly on a chair, hands folded demurely in her lap, watching him, practising her specialty. well, maybe, he thought, it wouldn't hurt to look, as long as he was here anyway. he walked over to the equipment and bent to examine it. the silver conductors seemed to be uninsulated, although in places they were closely paired. he frowned and scratched tentatively at one with his fingernail. the metal showed bright. there was a slight tarnish, that was all, no insulation. he noticed something else. back of the equipment, at an angle unnoticeable from the side he had first approached, were several cut and dangling wires, some of which had been partially replaced by quite ordinary high tension cable. spread about on the floor were lengths and coils of wire. "you've been working on it yourselves?" he asked brown. "no, no. as i told you, we are not technicians. before we contacted you, we had already tried another man. he proved unsatisfactory. we, uh, paid him off and sought a better qualified person." "unsatisfactory, eh? umm, i see." dolan's eyes moved thoughtfully to smith, who lounged carelessly just inside the door. the coat now hung smoothly, it was only when smith moved that the hint of a bulge showed. dolan was a curious man, but also a prudent and thoughtful one. he decided he did not want this job, it was time to get out. "i'll have to go back for some equipment," he said casually. "can you drive me in?" he knew immediately that it was not going over. brown frowned and sucked thoughtfully at his lower lip. "if you could make a list," brown offered, "i could get it for you. you could then be making a preliminary survey while i am gone. there is a question of time involved, we wish these repairs made as quickly as possible." "well ... i'm not sure ..." "miss jones," brown said persuasively, "is as well-versed as any of us in the operation of the equipment. she could answer any questions you might have." the girl smiled and nodded. smith, lounging by the door, casually moved his hand to his belt, sweeping back his unbuttoned jacket slightly. brown stood waiting. dolan studied them silently for a moment. they couldn't force him to take the job, he could simply turn them down and walk out. or could he? for some reason he did not quite understand, he was just a little reluctant to test the idea. "ok," he said shortly. he took his notebook and began to scribble a list of equipment on a blank page. a message, he wondered, like they do it in the movies? a request, maybe, for some outrageous piece of equipment that would tip off the boys in the shop? no good, they weren't that smart, and for that matter neither was he. besides, what did he really know? nothing, except that he just didn't want this job very much. he tore the page out of the notebook and handed it to brown. brown slipped it in his pocket and went out. dolan turned to the girl. "ok, miss jones," he said. "now let's see what we can figure out about this gear." he strolled completely around it, eyeing it from all sides. "well ..." he said dubiously. "first, i guess, control. how do you start it up, make it go?" "we push these buttons, in this sequence," the girl told him. she moved her fingers lightly over a series of studs set in a small cube. "ok, push 'em. let's see what happens." "nothing happens," the girl said. "the machine just doesn't work." "well, then, what's supposed to happen?" the girl looked unhappy. "i'm sorry," she said finally, "didn't mr. brown say you weren't to ask such questions?" "ok," dolan said resignedly, "we'll let that go then. how about this: what indications do you have when it _is_ operating normally? anything light up, move, buzz, hum, spin around?" the girl frowned thoughtfully and shook her head. "nothing lights up, moves, buzzes, hums, spins around. when the machine works, it ... well, it just works, and that's all." she studied him with troubled eyes. "you are an expert, it seems to me an expert should be able to look at a machine and see what parts are faulty, isn't that true? why must you know what the machine does?" dolan leaned back against the machine and lit a cigarette. he squinted thoughtfully at her through the smoke. well, what the hell, with looks like that, why should she need brains? "miss jones," he said patiently, "i gather that you aren't a technical person?" "not with machines, no." it was an odd sort of answer. did it imply that she had a technical knowledge of something other than machines? dolan considered it briefly and decided to pass it up for now. "i _am_ a technically trained person," he said, "an expert as you say; and i can tell you this: machinery, electronic gear, anything like that, is built to do a specific job. before you can design, build, or repair such equipment, the very first thing you have to know is: what do you want it to do? for all i know, this machine here may just be an overgrown coffee percolator. now, suppose i go ahead and fix it with that in mind, and when i get done it makes beautiful coffee, but it turn out you wanted all along for it to get television programs, you're going to be terribly disappointed. you see now why i have to know what it does?" the girl nodded seriously. "yes," she admitted, "i can see that; but i'm sorry, i still cannot tell you the purpose of the machine." she glanced uncertainly at smith. he shook his head minutely. "perhaps," she said, "when mr. brown returns--" * * * * * brown, however, did not convince easy. dolan puffed angrily at a cigarette, while brown and the girl watched him impassively. "damn it," he said, "it just won't work like this, that's all there is to it." he kicked savagely at the base of the machine. "all i'm doing is chasing my tail in circles. i know what part of the trouble is now, somehow you've lost the insulation on your conductors--burned up, evaporated, blew away, god knows what. anyway, it's gone. but i can't just spray some gunk back on and have it work like new, we just haven't got that kind of insulation. where'd you get that stuff, anyway. can't you get some more?" "it was specially made for us," brown told him. "we cannot get more at ... present." "i see." there had been a very slight accent on the "present". did it mean anything? and if so, what? "well, i can rewire it for you, use standard stuff, it won't look pretty but it might work, only what should i use? i don't know what it needs--high voltage cable, or bell wire; shielded or open. i've got to know what you've got in these black boxes here--" he pounded gently on one, "before i know what to feed them." he snapped his cigarette into a corner, gloomily watched the smoke curl up from it for a moment, then walked over and stepped heavily on it. "so that's it," he said definitely. "i've been fooling with this thing all day, and that's just exactly as far as i can go. it's up to you people, you can give me the dope, i can't promise anything even then, except just to try; or you might as well pay me off. i can hang around here and put in more time, but you won't be getting anything out of it." brown studied his fingernails absently. "perhaps you are right," he said slowly. "however, i cannot act without consulting with mr. smith, and he has gone into town to get some food for you, i am sure you must be hungry. when he returns, i will let you know our decision." "ok." dolan mopped at his face with his handkerchief. "god, it's hot as an oven in this shack," he said. miss jones smiled in sympathy, though she looked cool enough. "come on, miss jones, let's get outside and cool off a bit." "i think that would be nice," she agreed. it was just turning dusk outside, and there was an agreeable breeze coming up the valley. they walked over and sat down on a rocky ledge. "tell me, miss jones," he said suddenly, "do you like it here?" "it's very pretty," she said. she looked out toward the ridge with the sunset colors fading behind it. "much nicer than the city." "no, no," he said brusquely, "that's not what i mean. i mean, do you like it _here_, in our world?" "i don't think i understand you." "i mean here, now, on this planet, in this time. do you like it as well as your own ... place?" she stared up at him with wide puzzled eyes. "my own place? what other planet or time do you think i might know?" "i don't know, miss jones, i just...." he was not quite sure exactly what he had been driving at, himself. "forget it. just a stupid idea." he leaned back and let his eye follow the shadows up the valley. a faint whiff of perfume reached him. "miss jones," he said. "that's rather an awkward thing to call you. do you have a first name?" "jane jones, naturally," she said, and smiled. "what else?" "no good," he said firmly. "i might call you mary, that's a nice anonymous tag, and sounds better too ... or you could tell me your real name, just the first name, that wouldn't give much away." she considered silently. "moirta," she said finally. "my name is moirta." she accented the syllables evenly. "moirta," he repeated. "moirta." he rolled the "r" slightly, as she had done. "that's much better, it fits you now, moirta, and it fits the cool shades of evenin'." he looked down at her. "moirta," he said soberly. "it's a lovely name, truly." he leaned forward and kissed her. her lips met his, not coldly, and not demandingly or fiercely, but gently and firmly, in the exact measure he desired. he put his arms about her, and she came into them, supple but not limp, as a beautifully trained dancer follows a lead. for a very long moment they remained thus, lip to lip and breast to breast, the yearning and response in each rising in swift even balance. and then brown opened the door, casting a shaft of light past them in the dusk. "oh, moirta," he called. "are you there? could you come here a moment, please--" * * * * * the two male gun runners had stepped outside the cottage while moirta served dolan his dinner. they found the smells and sounds of summer night, the darkness itself--in their world there was no darkness except in closed rooms--disturbing, but preferable to watching and hearing dolan eat. "for primitive, natural," the senior gun runner said, "but--" he winced, "_teeth!_" "_gnawing!_" the other agreed. he clicked his own non-functional dentures experimentally, examined his fingers with fascinated revulsion. tender flesh, white teeth--ugh! "moirta," he said thoughtfully, "seems not to mind." the senior gun runner cringed as a bat fluttered by. "her specialty," he said absently, "not to mind." he strained his eyes to see into the darkness. was that a mouse rustling in the grass? or worse yet, a _snake_? "progress?" the younger man asked. "motivation set. next, focus on problem. pressure." it was _something_, something small and alive, coming toward him. "move nearer door," he said abruptly. "light." * * * * * "mr. smith and i have discussed the matter," brown said, "and we have decided to be completely frank with you." he paused, watching dolan. "the machine is a time translator," he said. dolan looked back at him, poker-faced. "so?" brown frowned slightly. perhaps he had expected more of a reaction. "we are from a time very far in your future," he continued. "the machine has the apparent effect of transferring our physical bodies to this age. i say 'apparent' effect, because the mechanism of this time translation is not fully understood. there are certain anomalies, the displacement effect for example--but that is immaterial, for all practical purposes we can move at will to and from any time in our past, though not into our future--when the machine is working. "naturally, such time travel must be kept secret, if it were not, several undesirable consequences might arise. it is very closely regulated, and may be used only for bona fide historical research by responsible persons." he looked inquiringly at dolan. "i am not really sure i can tell you much more about the machine, i am not a technician, as you know. does what i have told you help any?" "i don't know," dolan said. "let me think about it a minute." he was not really much surprised at the disclosure. in terms of the technology he knew, the machine was almost completely meaningless. from the beginning, there had only been two possibilities--either it was the product of an alien culture, or it was an elaborate hoax. he had already decided it was not a hoax. he had not, he realized, allowed himself to explore fully the implications of the other possibility. he did so now, and some of the implications were--intriguing. historical research, eh? well, maybe. he would reserve judgment on that. but a time machine? there was no such thing. and yet, if there were-- he looked at the jumble of equipment speculatively. "i still don't know how a time machine might work," he said finally. "do you have any sort of handbook, operating manual, anything like that? or do they have such things in your time?" "operating manual? i don't think so. there are some pictures--" brown stepped over to the machine and touched a large flattened sphere which grew out of the base. "this is the power unit. if you press these studs, various pictures--'schematics', i believe you would call them--are projected on the surface. is that what you want?" "that sounds like it," dolan said. "but i did press those studs. nothing happened." "that is because the power unit is not operating. it does not come on, as it should, when we press this button." he indicated a stud on the cubicle control unit. "that, i suppose, is one of the major things wrong with the machine." "ummm, yeah, i see," dolan said. he squatted and examined the power unit more closely. "one of these pairs now--" he traced them with his finger up to the control unit, "must be the control pair." he took a piece of chalk and began numbering the terminals rapidly. "now," he said, "if the control pair is shorted, the power should be on, but there must be overload protection of some kind, that's probably kicked out, so let's just cut all this junk loose and then short the possible control pairs one at a time, see what happens then." he reached for a pair of side-cutters. the three gun runners looked at each other. brown nodded slightly. they moved quickly back out of dolan's way. * * * * * "ok," dolan said half an hour later. "we've got the power unit perking, and we've got the pictures. now what do they mean? this block interwiring diagram now, it seems to be what i'm looking for, but i can't read the tags they've got on it. you know which block in the diagram corresponds to which piece of equipment?" brown studied the luminous white lines against the black polished background. he put a well-manicured finger on one square. "according to the lettering," he said, "this is the control unity, the small cube at the top with the buttons. this other, i do not know, it says: 'temporal re-integrator.' i do not know what that might be." dolan frowned doubtfully. "'temporal re-integrator'," he repeated. "could be anything. what do the others say?" among the litter the first electrician had left, there was a short length of lead-shielded two-conductor number wire. he picked it up and began to run it absently through his fingers, straightening it. someone had apparently amused themselves by clipping idly at it with a pair of side-cutters, it was irregularly nicked along its length. "this," brown continued, "is something called a 'selective resonator', and this, well, the term does not translate, it is a--" he pronounced carefully, as if unfamiliar with the word, "'bractor-quatic'--" there was something peculiar about the indentations in the wire, dolan realized, a pattern--he pulled it unobtrusively through his fingers again, letting his thumbnail run over the nicks. it was morse: k-i-t-t-e ... _kitten?_ ... no, it must be american morse ... k-i-l-l-e-r ... _killers hs end rvr rd_ killers in the house at the end of river road. this was the house at the end of river road. brown had stopped speaking and was looking at him questioningly. "uh, yeah," dolan said hastily. "well, that still doesn't tell me too much." he carefully rolled the length of wire and hung it on a projecting piece of the time translator. his hands were damp, and he was sure he was moving awkwardly and unnaturally. dolan was not an easily flustered person, but things were coming a little fast--mysterious aliens, time machines, and now--murder, or hint of it. he needed time to think. "it's getting pretty late," he said, hoping his voice sounded natural. "let's just knock off for now, i'll study it over, maybe i'll have something figured by tomorrow." historical research, huh? some professors all right, this bunch-- the thing to do was to stall, not let them know he suspected anything. "i tell you," he said casually, "do you have some place i could bed down here? save me a trip into town and back." was it his imagination, or did brown relax slightly? "why, yes, we do have a spare cot in mr. smith's room," brown said. "would that be good enough?" "sounds fine," dolan said. he snapped the lid of his tool-box shut. "let's go see what it looks like." * * * * * the two male gun runners held a council of war while dolan was eating his breakfast. "subject's attention diverted," the senior gun runner said. "unknown factor. annoying." smith clucked his tongue in sympathy. he thought for a moment. "raise threshold to override?" he suggested. "must. moirta." smith nodded and went out. he returned in a moment with the female gun runner. brown explained the problem to her in the same few words he had used to smith. she shrugged. she did not bother to practise her specialty on her colleagues--they were, for one thing, almost immune, they had grown up in a civilization where her specialty was over-crowded. for another, in the nature of her specialty, she found it hard to concentrate on more than one subject at a time. "doing best," she said indifferently. brown studied her shrewdly. "supplies short," he said mildly. "one-half larger than one-third. each must pay way." his voice was mild, but moirta understood the threat quite clearly. "suggestions?" she asked coldly. brown nodded equably--he was used to temperament in this member of his team--and told her what he wanted her to do. she would obey, he knew. she would also double-cross him, if the occasion offered; but he did not intend that the occasion _should_ offer. * * * * * there was a foot-path leading up the ridge back of the cabin. dolan did not ordinarily feel the need of an after-breakfast stroll, but today he was looking for something. he was not quite sure what it would be, but he thought he would recognize it if he saw it. he walked slowly up the foot-path, letting his eyes roam. perhaps fifty yards from the cottage, the grass was trampled and the brush bent where someone had left the path. this might be it. he followed the trampled trail off the path, searching carefully now. three or four steps along it, he found what he had been looking for--two empty . caliber cartridges lying in the grass. he picked them up and juggled them in his hand, looking speculatively about. angling off to the left was an opening in the undergrowth. he walked that way and found himself standing on the lip of a sharply eroded gully. someone or something had kicked the bank down recently, there was a great pile of new earth in the bottom of the gully. he kicked around in the leaves and mold at his feet. there was a dark crusted substance on the leaves. the door of the cottage slammed. he slipped the empty cartridges in his pocket and stepped hastily back to the path, listening. were those footsteps hurrying toward him? he began to stroll slowly back toward the cottage. around the first turn he met moirta. the girl now, he thought, where does she really fit? possible ally? enemy? or neutral? she came up to him a little breathless and took his hand. "were you going back to the house?" she asked. "not specially. just walking around." "let's not go back just yet, then," she said. they turned and walked slowly back up the path, hand-in-hand. after a while they came out on an open shoulder from which they could look down, catching glimpses of the path they had climbed here and there, and at its end the cottage. they sat down close together, leaning back against a large tree, not speaking at first. after a while the girl sighed. "i shall feel very sorry when we leave this time," she said. "me, too." he kissed her. after a moment she pulled away and looked at him searchingly. "there is something bothering you?" she asked. she flushed a little. "that was not very ... ardent." dolan looked away, feeling foolish. "i guess not," he said. she took his hand and squeezed it. "poor george. it must be very confusing for you. can i help?" perhaps she could, he thought. "look here," he said cautiously, "what happens when i get this thing fixed, if i do? you folks go on back to your own time, i suppose, but what happens to me?" she hesitated. "i don't think i understand," she said. "mr. brown pays you for your work, i suppose, and you stay here, that's all. should there be more?" dolan smiled grimly. "like the first technician, huh?" "what do you mean?" "i mean, brown pays me, and i stay here, like the first technician." he took his hand out of his pocket with the two empty cartridge cases in it and rolled them gently back and forth in his open palm. moirta stared at them fascinated. "oh," she said faintly, "i didn't know. i thought ... i didn't know...." "well, you know now," he said. "and your job is to keep me cheered up and plugging away at the job until payday comes. right?" "no," she said. "oh, no. please, george. they wouldn't do that ... that is, i don't think ... it's so unnecessary." "unnecessary?" "yes. you see--i shouldn't tell you this, but i can't have you thinking ... you see, after we are gone, you will forget all this. why should they kill you when there's no reason?" she did not seem very strongly convinced herself, dolan thought. "how do you mean, i'll forget it? you mean they'll hypnotize me, something like that?" she shook her head. "no, they won't have to do anything. it's the displacement effect. you see, we are not _really_ here, in a way, it is a sort of illusion, but more real for us than for you. when we return to our own time, we will remember all that happened, but you will remember nothing, since the translator does not really exist in your time. you will just forget, it will be as if none of this had ever happened, as if you had never met me, never heard of a 'time-translator'." it sounded plausible, in a way, but there was a flaw in the logic. "if everybody in this time forgets, why so much to-do about secrecy? won't anyone else i tell forget too?" "there is a limit to the possible displacement. if the limit is exceeded, according to the alwyn hypothesis the continuum itself may be altered, and one of the ways in which it might change would be to eliminate the irritant--in other words, all of us concerned directly." "i see. so they figured two of us put too much of a strain on the displacement, that's why they killed this other joker--what was his name, anyway?" "nelson. perhaps," she said uncertainly, "that might be it." "and maybe they figure even one is too much strain, better to be safe than sorry, huh?" "no, i don't think so. killing requires even more displacement than ... loss of memory. really, i don't understand it, you see, i am just a sort of employee, they don't confide in me. if they knew i had been talking to you about these things like this--" she shuddered and smiled wryly. "perhaps i too know too much, perhaps i should be worrying about the pros and cons of various types of displacement for myself." dolan looked at her thoughtfully. "this displacement thing," he said gently, "i'll forget you too?" she nodded. "you will forget me. but i will remember you--for a long time, i am afraid." he frowned and kicked at a tuft of sod. "i don't want to forget you. do you have to leave with the others? couldn't you stay? for a little while anyway? you haven't really had a good chance to see our world yet." "no. they would never trust me out of their control. if i refused to go ... well ..." she shrugged. "and i don't suppose i could go back with you to your world, spend some time there, either?" "no, that would be to travel into your own future, which cannot be done." "i see." dolan leaned back against the tree, thinking. "well, there's one thing sure," he said. "if the machine can't be fixed, it can't be fixed, there isn't much they can do about it. you may _all_ stay in this time yet." she shook her head gently. "not all. at least, not all alive. there would be no displacement, and the only hope they would have to avoid the alwyn action would be to preserve absolute secrecy. you have a saying, i believe: 'dead men--'" she hesitated. "even if you and i could find a way to escape, even if they _told_ me i might leave, i could not trust them. they are very dangerous men. as long as we and they are both in this time, there would be no safety for me, nor for you." "i suppose you're right," dolan said reluctantly. he looked down at her searchingly. "what do you _want_ to do?" he asked. "do you want to stay with me, or do you want me to forget you?" "i want to be with you," she said softly. "always." "and i, with you," he said. he bent his head toward hers. below, the door of the cottage opened. smith's figure appeared. he glanced around and then came plodding up the path. moirta pulled away and got to her feet. "we might as well start back, i suppose," she said unenthusiastically. "let's go back in the woods, he won't find us there." she hesitated and then shook her head. "no. we have both been very indiscreet today, and they are suspicious men. it is important in their trade to be suspicious. it would not be wise to let them think we are avoiding them." "ok, i suppose not," he acknowledged glumly. he rose and followed her down the path. * * * * * like all true artists, moirta tended to submerge herself completely in her role, a failing which the senior gun runner recognized and allowed for in his calculations. in the following days, dolan held her hand often, and kissed her sometimes, and talked with her frequently, and took her in his arms for short periods; but at the crucial moment smith or brown always casually appeared upon the scene. dolan suspected, accurately, that they were deliberately permitting him just enough contact with her to keep him constantly on edge, keep his mind off other matters. they made no overt threats, but he was constantly aware of the body in the gully, the bulge in smith's pocket, brown's cold eyes studying him. dolan was not a submissive person, and under the pressure a cold malevolence toward the two gun runners began to develop in him. he concealed it, as well as he could, under a shell of impassivity. his time would come. the sketch of a plan was beginning to form in his mind, it was not very solid yet, but if it worked out they would be laughing on the other side of their faces. what was it moirta had said? there would be danger "as long as we and they are both in this time." the answer to that was simple. eliminate "they" and eliminate the danger. in his work, dolan kept running into reminders of the first technician, and the matter bothered him. the man seemed to have been making progress, and surely he would not have been such a fool as simply to refuse to work, the message he had left showed he understood quite clearly his danger. he asked moirta about this, and got another shock. "that was a mistake," she said. "we did not fully understand your world then. in our time, medical science is very exact. there are no incomplete men or incomplete women. we assumed that because this man ... person ... looked like a man, and seemed to be a man, he was one. however, we have since discovered that this is not always true, and it was not in this case. we could not allow him to work on the machine, since we could not predict his reactions adequately." not predict his reactions? there was an obvious corollary-- dolan's lips tightened. "but you _can_ predict mine, is that it?" moirta ran her fingers lightly along the back of his hand, studying his knuckles with the tips of them. "of course," she said idly, "why not? there is nothing wrong with _your_ reactions, george dear." he flung her hand away violently. "why not? so you push the buttons, and i react as predicted, and you sit back and laugh at me while i fix your machine, and then you all go tootling off to find more suckers, while i hold the bag. that's it, isn't it? boy, i bet you've been getting a _big_ charge out of this. i thought it was mighty coincidental the way one of your boyfriends always pops up as soon as we're alone for five minutes. not taking any chances on the reaction getting out of hand, are you?" she stared up at him in shocked surprise. "no," she said, "no. oh, poor george. how stupid of me. you see, i am not really very wise, i know only one thing, how to be a woman. i keep forgetting that you do not think as we do. because we can predict a reaction, does that make it less real?" "but you _used_ me, you knew this would happen." there were tears in her eyes. "i used you," she admitted, "and i used myself, and brown used both you _and_ me. "and you used me, also. do you wish me to think that when you hold a woman's hand, and say certain things to her, and look at her in a certain way; you are entirely innocent, you do not guess what may happen?" "i didn't force you," he said stubbornly, "the choice was yours to make." "nor did i force you. but i knew what your choice would be, and further, i knew what _my_ choice would be. emotion is my trade, as electronics is yours. electrons, i have been told, have a certain freedom of choice, or appear to have. yet you know with quite high probability which choice they will make under the influence of certain physical fields. in the same way, i know what choice to expect of a man or a woman, under the influence of certain emotional fields." "you didn't want _me_, though, you just wanted a technician. the first man would have done just as well for you, if he had 'reacted.'" "that is true. and i am the first woman you have ever made love to?" "no, of course not. but i've never felt the same about them as i do about you." "i, the same. george, i think you still do not understand me. in your time there are women who get things from men by seeming to promise more than they intend to give, for simulating emotions they do not feel. you think i am one of those ... no, please don't interrupt ... i am not. in my time there are no such women, people understand each other too well, they are too hard to fool. "instead, there are women like me, women who are peculiarly attractive to men, and peculiarly susceptible to men--honestly so. believe me, it is not an easy way to make a living. a woman has only so much honest emotion to give. do you understand now?" she looked up at him appealingly. he did not understand, but he believed. he could not doubt that this was as important to her as to him, that regardless of the motives behind it, her feeling was deep and honest. and yet, it was impossible to understand, impossible for him to visualize a world in which people knew accurately the feeling others held for them; and yet still loved, disliked, or were indifferent. it was, he thought, a little like a caveman trying to understand the complexities and compulsions of polite urban society. he slumped back down beside her. "i don't know," he said glumly. "you're right, i suppose, it all sounds logical; but i still don't understand." she drew him to her. "poor george," she said with her mouth against his ear. "poor george, i know only one way to console you, and only one way to console myself." she sighed. "and it seems they will not permit that, i suppose the 'reaction,'" she smiled wryly, "would not fit with their plans." dolan straightened and looked at her sharply. her remark had reminded him of something else he needed to know. "how do they _know_ just when to break us up," he asked, "just when to drop in 'accidentally' on us? can they read my mind?" she shook her head. "no, they are not mind-readers. it is just that they know so much about what to expect of people--remember that for thousands of years there has been nothing so important to us as what other people do, in my time men of science no longer study physical things, all that is known, they study people. in any given situation, they can predict quite accurately what action a given individual will take." "you think they know what we're talking about now?" "not in detail. but in general, yes--and i suppose it must serve their purpose in some way for us to worry about these things, what will become of you and me, or they would not permit it. in a matter such as this, they do nothing without a purpose." "well, that's fair enough," dolan said grimly. "as long as they aren't actually mind-readers, they can guess all they want to." moirta shook her head. "it is not guessing, that is what i have been trying to tell you. whatever you plan, they will have foreseen it, perhaps not the exact thing you wish to do; but all the possible things you can do, and the most likely thing you will do. "really, it will not be so bad, you will finish the translator, and we will go, and you will forget us, and ... well, in time i suppose i will forget you also." "no." he squeezed her hard against him. "i don't intend to forget you, and i don't intend you to forget me." he grinned down at her. "in this time, the boy always gets the girl, and they live happily ever after. it's a natural law, like gravitation. "brown and smith aren't infallible. they may know people, but i know machines. don't forget, the time translator is the key, the big item in this mess. and that's in my bailiwick." * * * * * dolan went back to work. he left it to brown to satisfy the people at the shop, and apparently brown satisfied them, they sent along the equipment and supplies he requested without comment. he still had no idea _why_ the time translator worked, but he was beginning to know quite a bit about _how_ it worked, in the sense of functional operation, the input/output relations of the black boxes. a time came when he could have activated the machine by making a few minor connections. he did not do so. with the knowledge that he had the technical problem whipped, some of his urgency faded. he could take time to amplify and clarify his knowledge. quite probably the time translator could never be duplicated by twentieth century technology. at the same time, only a fool would pass up a chance to learn what he could, it was too big a thing, even with the limitations under which it seemed to operate. also, familiarity with the translator was a weapon, knowledge brown did not have--a weapon he was grimly intent on using. he kept testing and checking, varying inputs and measuring outputs. remembering what moirta had said about losing his memory--he did not think he would, if his plans worked out, but there was always the chance of something going wrong--he kept careful notes. brown watched this activity blandly. thinking it over, dolan saw that this was only logical. there were always fires for notes. so, as an extra precaution, he made copies of the most important data in secrecy and stored them in a glass jar under a rock back of the cottage. then it occurred to him that he might forget about the jar--or he might not be around to remember it, there was still the gully to keep in mind. well, what had worked once should work again. he nicked a code message in a piece of wire, showing the location of the notes, and left it in his tool-box. also, he made certain changes in the time-machine. finally, he told brown the machine was ready. "you want to test-hop it?" he asked. "i'm pretty sure it'll work now, but it's still a haywire job, i could be wrong." brown shook his head. "not necessary. if the machine works, we will be ... home. if not, well, you will just have to tinker with it some more." it was not sound reasoning, from dolan's viewpoint, but consistent with what he had come to expect from these people in technical matters. he had counted heavily on such a reaction. "ok," he said. "then she's ready to go." brown nodded and tossed a key to smith, speaking curtly in a language strange to dolan. dolan had noticed long before that the back bedroom door was always locked, and the windows securely boarded up. artifacts of historical interest, brown had told him. it seemed like rather extreme precaution to take for security of such material. brown turned back to dolan. "you had better move your equipment out of range of the machine now, if you wish to keep it," he said. dolan carried his equipment outside. when he returned the three aliens were carrying small heavy boxes out of the back room, stowing them in a tight circle about the machine. moirta was straining at a heavy case with neatly dove-tailed corners, marked "remington". so that was what it was all about. it suddenly occurred to him to wonder how, if the machine could not move a person into the future, if it had no real existence in this time, they expected to move guns and ammunition. did the laws of time operate differently for living organisms and inanimate things? what was it someone had once said about life--'islands of reverse entropy'? but that was only a figure of speech, men were still made up of the same elements as steel and brass-- well, it could wait, there were more important things right now. "you need a hand?" he asked moirta. she smiled and nodded breathlessly. as he stooped to help lift the box, their heads almost touched. "listen!" he whispered, "be on your toes, now. i'm going to try something. stay on this side of the machine, no matter what happens, and do just as i say." she looked startled, but nodded. with four of them working, it did not take long to pile the cargo in place. brown checked it over with his eye and then turned to study dolan. "well," he said slowly, "i suppose we are ready to go. no doubt you wish your payment now, eh, mr. dolan?" this was the critical point. dolan tensed as smith stepped clear and lifted an inquiring eyebrow at brown, his hand in his hip-pocket; but the senior gun runner shook his head. "don't be stupid," he said quietly. "i think we have a few negotiations to make now." he looked at dolan inquiringly. dolan hoped his relief did not show too clearly. he had been reasonably sure brown would be too acute to kill him off-hand, but it had been a tricky moment, just the same. now, he thought, play it cagey, make them lay it out on the table, get it moving-- "i'm no good at guessing games," he said. "you'll have to come down to my level on this." brown nodded. "of course. excuse me. i will be more explicit. mr. smith wants to kill you and get you out of the way immediately; he does not trust you. i do not trust you completely myself, i do not trust _anyone_ completely; and for that exact reason i feel it would be stupid and dangerous to kill you. i am quite sure you will have booby-trapped the machine against just such a contingency." "booby-trapped?" dolan asked blankly. "yes," brown said patiently. "i mean the machine will not work satisfactorily if you are killed. it will blow up, burn out, or some such thing. is that not true?" dolan considered the question for a moment. he was acutely aware that the most devious plot would probably seem simple and childish to a man like brown. "suppose it were?" he said cautiously. "then what?" "then we shall negotiate, like reasonable people. what do you need to convince you of our good faith. your money?" brown reached in his jacket pocket and brought out a slip of paper. "here," he said, "i think you will find this satisfactory." he handed it to dolan. dolan looked absently at the check. it was more than satisfactory--for a purely business transaction. but this was no longer just a business transaction. "it's not enough," he said flatly. brown raised an eyebrow. "the girl? no." he shook his head firmly. "we must have moirta for a hostage, a guarantee of your good faith. she goes with us. afterward, perhaps, if she wishes to return--" he shrugged. dolan studied him, trying to decide just how much brown's word was worth. just as much as it suited him to make it worth, probably. he glanced at moirta. she shook her head, a tiny almost imperceptible jerk, confirming his own thought. there was no particular reason to expect that brown would really let her return--moirta probably was not important to him, but the whereabouts of the time-translator was. he turned back to brown. "you'll promise not to stop her?" brown smiled indulgently. "i promise." dolan felt an almost uncontrollable urge to smash the smug smile with his fist. he bottled it up. this was no time to get excited. "ok," he said shortly. he stepped to the machine and carefully bent a wire just so, while brown watched alertly. "also," brown said, "the notes." "notes?" "exactly. the notes you kept on the operation of the machine. give them to me, please." dolan shrugged. he had not really expected to keep the notes. "they're out in my briefcase," he said. brown looked at smith, who went out and returned in a moment with the briefcase. dolan took out a folder and handed it to brown. brown riffled through the pages, nodded and tossed the folder on the pile of boxes. he studied dolan speculatively. "the other notes, too, please," he said. "the secret notes." the man was guessing, of course. dolan had not even mentioned the other notes to moirta. "you've got all the notes i made," he said. brown stepped forward and grasped his arm. "walk!" he commanded. dolan twisted to look at him, startled. "what--?" "the notes," brown said coldly. "walk." he gave a little shove, and dolan found himself walking, with brown holding his arm in a firm even grasp, a look of preoccupation on his face. "this way," brown said. they went out the door. "the notes," brown repeated insistently. "keep walking, keep walking." they zigzagged rapidly across the yard, brown still guiding dolan by the arm, smith coming behind with his hand in his pocket. brown paused. "here, i think," he said to smith. "look under that rock." dolan watched in helpless rage as smith dug the jar out and handed it to brown. _was_ brown a mind-reader, after all? how else--? well, of course, he thought, muscular tension, the old 'mind-reading' trick. he should have caught on sooner; but brown was good at it, no doubt about that. brown smashed the jar against the rock and stuffed the notes in his pocket. they went back in to the time machine. brown bent over the control box and studied it carefully. he examined the wire dolan had adjusted. for the first time, there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "well," he said absently. "i suppose--" he looked comprehensively around, checking the position of the cargo. "there is something--" he punched the power button, moved his hand to start the machine. dolan glanced at moirta. she sat on one of the boxes on the far side of the machine, watching him. this was the time, _now_-- he stepped forward and opened his mouth to shout. he never did. something went suddenly wrong. brown flicked a thumb, smith moved like lightning, and before dolan realized what was happening, he found himself flat on his back, wondering numbly what had happened. brown snapped a syllable at moirta. she answered with a shrug and a word. he frowned momentarily and then his face lightened. "ah," he said softly. "i think i see, now. you were going to shout to moirta to run out of range of the machine, while you jumped in and activated it, isn't that so? really, it would have done no good, we could still have returned, and besides moirta--" he frowned suddenly. "oh _could_ we have returned?" he bit delicately at his lower lip. "moirta," he said. "step a little closer to the machine, please." "now," he turned back to dolan, "i am going to push the buttons, with moirta quite close to the machine. are there any last-minute changes you wish to make?" dolan hesitated, studying both moirta's and the men's positions, and then nodded sullenly. "i thought there might be," brown said with satisfaction. "mr. smith, help mr. dolan up to the machine." dolan reached out unsteadily, leaning on smith, and reversed two connections. "that's it," he mumbled. "thank you, mr. dolan. now, mr. smith, if you will just carry mr. dolan over there into the corner, well away from the machine, and immobilize him--no, no, just temporarily. we may still need him again, mr. dolan is a very tricky sort of person." dolan felt smith's fingers touch his neck lightly, there was a sudden blazing pain, and that was all. he blanked out. * * * * * the first thing he knew after that was that fingers were working gently at his neck, massaging it. his head was resting on something soft. he opened his eyes and saw that he was lying with his head pillowed on moirta's lap. "george?" she said sharply. "are you all right, george?" "i'm all right," he said. he raised his head and looked around. the machine was gone, and smith and brown were gone, and half the boxes were gone. the end ones in the little semicircle were broken, and from them a pile of brass cartridges had spilled through the hole in the floor where the others had been. "wise jerks," he mumbled with grim satisfaction. "see how they like it now." moirta stared at him. "what happened, george? i don't understand what happened." "i gimmicked the machine. that's what happened. surprise, huh? i'll bet they were plenty surprised too." "but i thought--" dolan sat up and felt tenderly of his throat. he nodded. "i know," he said. "you thought they had me licked. so did they. that was just smoke-screen, a little diversion. i knew they could out-smart me if i tried to pull anything foxy, that's their trade. but they weren't really mind-readers, you told me that, and the business with the notes cinched it. "and they didn't think like technicians. they could see i might disable the machine, or booby-trap it; but they couldn't see i could fix it so it would work, only just a little different. "all i had to do was to keep their minds on their own specialty, let them wear out their suspicion on the little foxy tricks they expected, so they wouldn't notice what i was really doing. see?" she shook her head. "no," she said. "i do not see. i suppose i'm stupid, too--" "not stupid. just not technically minded. you understand, this machine works by setting up a field around itself, ordinarily that field's circular, it takes in everything in a certain radius. but it doesn't have to be, that's just because it's the easiest way, more convenient. so i just distorted the field a little, made it lopsided. then i went through all that other business to keep their minds on me, keep them off your position, and make sure they both stayed over on my side." he smiled at her. "i told you, remember, in this time the villains always get it in the neck, the boy gets the girl, and they live happily ever after." she shook her head. "no," she said gently. "i'm sorry, for you and me there will not be any ever after. you forget the displacement effect." "displacement effect?" "yes," she said. "i am afraid i did not explain that fully to you, i thought it would only hurt you to do so. you understand, the past is really immutable, we only seem to change it. for the time that the time-translator exists at any given time in the past, a sort of enclave, a self-supporting bubble, is established which permits apparent changes. when the time translator returns to its normal existence in my era, that bubble dissolves. i do not know, in terms of our present subjective time, just how long the displacement will hold, but when it vanishes we, you and i, will no longer exist." "but that would be a change in the past, in itself." "not exactly. what i told you about forgetting was true, it was just not the whole truth. there will be, in my time, a moirta who exists normally up to the time she is translated to the past. and there will be, in your time, a george dolan who never met mr. brown or miss jones. but you and i, as we exist at this moment, will not have been." "i see," dolan said. "it's too bad i didn't know about this sooner. i think we still may have a chance, though. you see, i had to worry about the possibility that smith and brown might think it worth while to come back after you. so i changed the switches, too. the time translator isn't going into the future, it's gone into the past, and then it's fixed to burn out again, a long way in the past, where there aren't any electronics technicians, no people at all. how about that?" "the past? i don't know," she said doubtfully. "i am not a temporal technician, i know only about the displacement effect as it operates in our usual translations. perhaps, in that case, the bubble might continue to exist, as a sort of permanent side-track. i really don't know." she laughed suddenly, as the full implications of what he had said struck her. "the past? oh, poor smith. and poor brown. a long way in the past, where there are no people at all, just dinosaurs and snakes--and they hate such things so." she laughed helplessly, tears rolling down her cheeks. "and poor george, and poor moirta. all with their clever little plans, their tricks to out-smart each other. everyone has outsmarted everyone else, and we all lose now, don't we?" dolan stared at her narrowly. "we _all_ lose?" she nodded-- * * * * * the senior gun runner had been quite confident of victory. it took him a rather long moment to assimilate the fact of defeat; but in that moment he did assimilate it, as fully and completely as he took in the implications of any other situation. he examined the wreckage of the time translator curiously, tried and failed to make sense of the erratic pattern in which their cargo had accompanied them, the absence of moirta. he straightened and looked about. there were no dinosaurs, the range of the time machine did not extend that far; but over on a ledge of rock a large cat with hyper-trophied eyeteeth squatted, switching its stub of a tail, startled by their sudden appearance. he sighed and turned toward the other gun runner. "old, old, time," he said. he nodded toward the cat. "bad for us. no chance rescue. supplies short." the other said nothing, watching him narrowly, hand in back pocket. down in the valley below, something trumpeted, a hoarse grunting roar. the senior gun runner started nervously. it was getting dark. he held out his hand. "older first," he said simply. the younger man laid the gun in his hand; and the senior gun runner, without hesitation or farewell, raised it to his head and pulled the trigger. * * * * * "--yes, everyone," moirta said. she wiped at her eyes. "i'm sorry, george. i will die very quickly in this time, whether the displacement operates or not." "but you said--!" "i know. i was so sure there was nothing you could do, and i said what i thought would make you happy. and i did want to stay with you, in a way, even though i knew it would kill me ... and in another way, i wanted to go back, to return to my own time, and you were my means to that ... oh, it's so mixed up, really, it is funny, everyone so sure of themselves, and now ... this...." dolan shook his head helplessly. "i never thought. you seemed so ... so...." "so human?" her lips curled wryly. "i was _made_ to seem human, twentieth-century human, it was part of my job. i'm not. and soon, i shall not even seem human, without the things i need--things that won't even be invented for ten thousand years--cancer inhibitors, blood clotting agents, insulin surrogate, vaccines, serums, antibiotics--why, i can't even eat your food!" she shook her head sadly. "you had better just leave me, it will not be nice, you will not like me at all." and yet, even with the game played out, she could not forget her trade, her specialty, for it was bred into her as deeply as the tendency to leukemia, the hemophilia, the diabetes, the congenital digestive deformity he had inherited from a hundred ancestors kept alive by a superb medical science to breed her. she laid her cheek against his, the smooth velvet human-seeming cheek, with no hint as yet of the lumps of wild tissue waiting to proliferate within. "please don't worry, george," she said softly. "it's not your fault, really." she smiled up at him. "i've lived a rough life, most of us do, in my time. remember, i've earned what i received, i came here knowing what i was doing. it's just caught up with me. it had to, some day." he caught her in his arms and pulled her tightly to him. "oh, god, honey," he said. "i didn't know, i didn't even think.... i'd give anything...." he turned his face up blindly. "please, lord, let the bubble break," he prayed. "let us not be, both together, now...." but the bubble did not break. rick dale _a story of the northwest coast_ by kirk munroe author of "snow-shoes and sledges" "the fur-seal's tooth" the "mates" series etc. illustrated by w. a. rogers new york and london harper & brothers publishers [illustration: the ice above gibraltar] contents i. a poor rich boy ii. the runaway iii. alaric takes a first lesson iv. the "empress" loses a passenger v. first mate bonny brooks vi. preparing to be a sailor vii. captain duff, of the sloop "fancy" viii. an unlucky smash ix. "chinks" and "dope" x. puget sound smugglers xi. a very trying experience xii. a lesson in kedging xiii. chasing a mysterious light xiv. bonny's invention, and how it worked xv. captured by a revenue-cutter xvi. escape of the first mate and crew xvii. saved by a little siwash kid xviii. life in skookum john's camp xix. a treacherous indian from neah bay xx. an exciting race for liberty xxi. a case of mistaken identity xxii. two short but exciting voyages xxiii. alaric todd's darkest hour xxiv. phil ryder pays a debt xxv. engaged to interpret for the french xxvi. preparing for an ascent xxvii. bonny commands the situation xxviii. on the edge of paradise valley xxix. mount rainier placed underfoot xxx. blown from the rim of a crater xxxi. a desperate situation xxxii. how a song saved alaric's life xxxiii. laid up for repairs xxxiv. chased by a madman xxxv. a gang of friendly loggers xxxvi. in a northwest logging camp xxxvii. what is a hump-durgin? xxxviii. alaric and bonny again take to flight xxxix. bonny discovers his friend the tramp xl. a flood of light illustrations the ice above gibraltar alaric makes his first decision "'vell, i tell you; i gifs t'venty-fife'" bonny's invention started the arrival at skookum john's bonny seized a truck, and alaric a mattress "bonny was jerked backward" "they were paralyzed with terror" rick dale chapter i a poor rich boy alaric dale todd was his name, and it was a great grief to him to be called "allie." allie todd was so insignificant and sounded so weak. besides, allie was a regular girl's name, as he had been so often told, and expected to be told by each stranger who heard it for the first time. there is so much in a name, after all. we either strive to live up to it, or else it exerts a constant disheartening pull backward. although alaric was tall for his age, which was nearly seventeen, he was thin, pale, and undeveloped. he did not look like a boy accustomed to play tennis or football, or engage in any of the splendid athletics that develop the muscle and self-reliance of those sturdy young fellows who contest interscholastic matches. nor was he one of these; so far from it, he had never played a game in his life except an occasional quiet game of croquet, or something equally soothing. he could not swim nor row nor sail a boat; he had never ridden horseback nor on a bicycle; he had never skated nor coasted nor hunted nor fished, and yet he was perfectly well formed and in good health. i fancy i hear my boy readers exclaim: "what a regular muff your alaric must have been! no wonder they called him 'allie'!" and the girls? well, they would probably say, "what a disagreeable prig!" for alaric knew a great deal more about places and people and books than most boys or girls of his age, and was rather fond of displaying this knowledge. and then he was always dressed with such faultless elegance. his patent-leather boots were so shiny, his neckwear, selected with perfect taste, was so daintily arranged, and while he never left the house without drawing on a pair of gloves, they were always so immaculate that it did not seem as though he ever wore the same pair twice. he was very particular, too, about his linen, and often sent his shirts back to the laundress unworn because they were not done up to suit him. as for his coats and trousers, of which he had so many that it actually seemed as though he might wear a different suit every day in the year, he spent so much time in selecting material, and then in being fitted, and insisted on so many alterations, that his tailors were often in despair, and wondered whether it paid to have so particular a customer, after all. they never had occasion, though, to complain about their bills, for no matter how large these were or how extortionate, they were always paid without question as soon as presented. from all this it may be gathered that our alaric was not a child of poverty. nor was he; for amos todd, his father, was so many times a millionaire that he was one of the richest men on the pacific coast. he owned or controlled a bank, railways, steamships, and mines, great ranches in the south, and vast tracts of timber lands in the north. his manifold interests extended from alaska to mexico, from the pacific to the atlantic; and while he made his home in san francisco his name was a power in the stock-exchanges of the world. years before he and his young wife had made their way to california from new england with just money enough to pay their passage to the golden state. here they had undergone poverty and hardships such as they determined their children should never know. of these margaret, the eldest, was now a leader of san francisco society, while john, who was eight years older than alaric, had shown such an aptitude for business that he had risen to be manager of his father's bank. there were other children, who had died, and when alaric came, last of all, he was such a puny infant that there was little hope of his ever growing up. because he was the youngest and a weakling, and demanded so much care, his mother devoted her life to him, and hovered about him with a loving anxiety that sought to shield him from all rude contact with the world. he was always under the especial care of some doctor, and when he was five or six years old one of these, for want of something more definite to say, announced that he feared the child was developing a weak heart, and advised that he be restrained from all violent exercise. from that moment poor little "allie," as he had been called from the day of his birth, was not only kept from all forms of violent exercise and excitement, but was forbidden to play any boyish games as well. in place of these his doting mother travelled with him over continental europe, going from one famous medical spring, bath, or health resort to another, and bringing up her boy in an atmosphere of luxury, invalids, and doctors. the last-named devoted themselves to trying to find out what was the matter with him, and as no two of them could agree upon any one ailment, mrs. todd came to regard him as a prodigy in the way of invalidism. of course alaric was never sent to a public school, but he was always accompanied by tutors as well as physicians, and spent nearly two years in a very select private school or _pension_ near paris. here no rude games were permitted, and the only exercise allowed the boys was a short daily walk, in which, under escort of masters, they marched in a dreary procession of twos. during all these years of travel and study and search after health alaric had never known what it was to wish in vain for anything that money could buy. whatever he fancied he obtained without knowing its cost, or where the money came from that procured it. but there were three of the chief things in the world to a boy that he did not have and that money could not give him. he had no boy friends, no boyish games, and no ambitions. he wanted to have all these things, and sometimes said so to his mother; but always he was met by the same reproachful answer, "my dear allie, remember your poor weak heart." at length it happened that while our lad was in that dreary _pension_, mrs. todd, worn out with anxieties, cares, and worries of her own devising, was stricken with a fatal malady, and died in the great château that she had rented not far from the school in which her life's treasure was so carefully guarded. a few days of bewilderment and heart-breaking sorrow followed for poor alaric. many cablegrams flashed to and fro beneath the ocean. there was a melancholy funeral, at which the boy was sole mourner, and then one phase of his life was ended. in another week he had left france, and, escorted by one of his french tutors, was crossing the atlantic on his way to the far-distant san francisco home of which he knew so little. he had now been at home for nearly three months, and of all his sad life they had proved the most unhappy period. his father, though always kind in his way, was too deeply immersed in business to pay much attention to the sensitive lad. he did not understand him, and regarded him as a weakling who could never amount to anything in the world of business or useful activity. he would be kind to the boy, of course, and any desire that he expressed should be promptly gratified; at the same time he could not help feeling that alaric was a great trial, and wishing him more like his brother john. this bustling, dashing elder brother had no sympathy with alaric, and rarely found time to give him more than a nod and a word of greeting in passing, while his sister margaret regarded him as still a little boy who was to be kept out of sight as much as possible. so the poor lad, left to himself, without friends and without occupation, found time hanging very heavily on his hands, and wondered why he had ever been born. once he ventured to ask his father for a saddle-horse, whereupon amos todd provided him with a pair of ponies, a cart, and a groom, which he said was an outfit better suited to an invalid. alaric accepted this gift without a protest, for he was well trained to bearing disappointments, but he used it so rarely that the business of giving the horses their daily airing devolved almost entirely upon the groom. it was not until esther dale, one of the new england cousins whom he had never seen, and a girl of his own age, made a flying visit to san francisco as one of a personally conducted party of tourists, that alaric found any real use for his ponies. esther was only to remain in the city three days, but she spent them in her uncle's house, which she refused to call anything but "the palace," and which she so pervaded with her cheery presence that amos todd declared it seemed full of singing birds and sunshine. both margaret and john were too busy to pay much attention to their young cousin, and so, to alaric's delight, the whole duty of entertaining her devolved on him. he felt much more at his ease with girls than with boys, for he had been thrown so much more into their society during his travels, and he thought he understood them thoroughly; but in esther dale he found a girl so different from any he had ever known that she seemed to belong to another order of beings. she was good-looking and perfectly well-bred, but she was also as full of life and frisky antics as a squirrel, and as tireless as a bird on the wing. on the first morning of her visit the cousins drove out to the cliff house to see the sea-lions; and almost before alaric knew how it was accomplished he found esther perched on the high right-hand cushion of the box-seat in full possession of reins and whip, while he occupied the lower seat on her left, as though he were the guest and she the hostess of the occasion. at the same time the ponys seemed filled with an unusual activity, and were clattering along at a pace more exhilarating than they had ever shown under his guidance. after that esther always drove; and alaric, sitting beside her, listened with wondering admiration to her words of wisdom and practical advice on all sorts of subjects. she had never been abroad, but she knew infinitely more of her own country than he, and was so enthusiastic concerning it that in three days' time she had made him feel prouder of being an american than he had believed it possible he ever would be. she knew so much concerning out-of-door life, too--about animals and birds and games. she criticised the play of the baseball nines, whom they saw one afternoon in golden gate park; and when they came to another place where some acquaintances of alaric's were playing tennis, she asked for an introduction to the best girl player on the ground, promptly challenged her to a trial of skill, and beat her three straight games. during the play she presented such a picture of glowing health and graceful activity that pale-faced alaric sat and watched her with envious admiration. "i would give anything i own in the world to be able to play tennis as you can, cousin esther," he said, earnestly, after it was all over and they were driving from the park. "why don't you learn, then?" asked the girl, in surprise. "because i have a weak heart, you know, and am forbidden any violent exercise." the boy hesitated, and even blushed, as he said this, though he had never done either of those things before when speaking of his weak heart. in fact, he had been rather proud of it, and considered that it was a very interesting thing to have. now, however, he felt almost certain that esther would laugh at him. and so she did. she laughed until alaric became red in the face from vexation; but when she noticed this she grew very sober, and said: "excuse me, cousin rick. i didn't mean to laugh; but you did look so woe-begone when you told me about your poor weak heart, and it seems so absurd for a big, well-looking boy like you to have such a thing, that i couldn't help it." "i've always had it," said alaric, stoutly; "and that is the reason they would never let me do things like other boys. it might kill me if i did, you know." "i should think it would kill you if you didn't, and i'm sure i would rather die of good times than just sit round and mope to death. now i don't believe your heart is any weaker than mine is. you don't look so, anyway, and if i were you i would just go in for everything, and have as good a time as i possibly could, without thinking any more about whether my heart was weak or strong." "but they won't let me," objected alaric. "who won't?" "father and margaret and john." "i don't see that the two last named have anything to do with it. as for uncle amos, i am sure he would rather have you a strong, brown, splendidly built fellow, such as you might become if you only would, than the white-faced, dudish miss nancy that you are. oh, cousin rick! what have i said? i'm awfully sorry and ashamed of myself. please forgive me." chapter ii the runaway for a moment it seemed to alaric that he could not forgive that thoughtlessly uttered speech. and yet the girl who made it had called him cousin "rick," a name he had always desired, but which no one had ever given him before. if she had called him "allie," he knew he would never have forgiven her. as it was he hesitated, and his pale face flushed again. what should he say? in her contrition and eagerness to atone for her cruel words esther leaned towards him and laid a beseeching hand on his arm. for the moment she forgot her responsibility as driver, and the reins, held loosely in her whip-hand, lay slack across the ponies' backs. just then a newspaper that had been carelessly dropped in the roadway was picked up by a sudden gust of wind and whirled directly into the faces of the spirited team. the next instant they were dashing madly down the street. at the outset the reins were jerked from esther's hand; but ere they could slip down beyond reach alaric had seized them. then, with the leathern bands wrapped about his wrists, he threw his whole weight back on them, and strove to check or at least to guide the terrified animals. the light cart bounded and swayed from side to side. men shouted and women screamed, and a clanging cable-car from a cross street was saved from collision only by the prompt efforts of its gripman. the roadway was becoming more and more crowded with teams and pedestrians. alaric's teeth were clinched, and he was bareheaded, having lost his hat as he caught the reins. esther sat beside him, motionless and silent, but with bloodless cheeks. they were on an avenue that led to the heart of the city. on one side was a hill, up which cross streets climbed steeply. to keep on as they were going meant certain destruction. all the strain that alaric could bring to bear on the reins did not serve to check the headlong speed of the hard-mouthed ponies. with each instant their blind terror seemed to increase. several side streets leading up the hill had already been passed, and another was close at hand. beyond it was a mass of teams and cable-cars. "hold on for your life!" panted alaric in the ear of the girl who sat beside him. as he spoke he dropped one rein, threw all his weight on the other, and at the same instant brought the whip down with a stinging cut on the right-hand side of the off horse. the frenzied animal instinctively sprang to the left, both yielded to the heavy tug of that rein, and the team was turned into the side street. the cart slewed across the smooth asphalt, lunged perilously to one side, came within a hair's-breadth of upsetting, and then righted. two seconds later the mad fright of the ponies was checked by pure exhaustion half-way up the steep hill-side. there they stood panting and trembling, while a crowd of excited spectators gathered about them with offers of assistance and advice. "do they seem to be all right?" asked alaric. "all right, sir, far as i can see," replied one of the men, who was examining the quivering animals and their harness. "then if you will kindly help me turn them around, and will lead them to the foot of the hill, i think they will be quiet enough to drive on without giving any more trouble," said the boy. when this was done, and alaric, after cordially thanking those who had aided him, had driven away, one of the men exclaimed, as he gazed after the vanishing carriage: "plucky young chap that!" "yes," replied another; "and doesn't seem to be a bit of a snob, like most of them wealthy fellows, either." meanwhile alaric was tendering the reins to the girl who had sat so quietly by his side without an outcry or a word of suggestion during the whole exciting episode. "won't you drive now, cousin esther?" "indeed i will not, alaric. i feel ashamed of myself for presuming to take the reins from you before, and you may be certain that i shall never attempt to do such a thing again. the way you managed the whole affair was simply splendid. and oh, cousin rick! to think that i should have called _you_ a miss nancy! just as you were about to save my life, too! i can never forgive myself--never." "oh yes you can," laughed alaric, "for it is true--that is, it was true; for i can see now that i have been a regular miss nancy sort of a fellow all my life. that is what made me feel so badly when you said it. nobody ever dared tell me before, and so it came as an unpleasant surprise. now, though, i am glad you said it." "and you will never give anybody in the whole world a chance to say such a thing again, will you?" asked the girl, eagerly. "and you will go right to work at learning how to do the things that other boys do, won't you?" "i don't know," answered alaric, doubtfully. "i'd like to well enough; but i don't know just how to begin. you see, i'm too old to learn from the little boys, and the big fellows won't have anything to do with such a duffer as i am. they've all heard too much about my weak heart." "then i'd go away to some place where nobody knows you, and make a fresh start. you might go out on one of your father's ranches and learn to be a cowboy, or up into those great endless forests that i saw on puget sound the other day and live in a logging camp. it is such a glorious, splendid life, and there is so much to be done up in that country. oh dear! if i were only a boy, and going to be a man, wouldn't i get there just as quickly as i could, and learn how to do things, so that when i grew up i could go right ahead and do them?" "all that sounds well," said alaric, dubiously, "but i know father will never let me go to any such places. he thinks such a life would kill me. besides, he says that as i shall never have to work, there is no need for me to learn how." "but you must work," responded esther, stoutly. "every one must, or else be very unhappy. papa says that the happiest people in the world are those who work the hardest when it is time for work and play the hardest in play-time. but where are you driving to? this isn't the way home." "i am going to get a new hat and gloves," answered the boy, "for i don't want any one at the house to know of our runaway. they'd never let me drive the ponies again if they found it out." "it would be a shame if they didn't, after the way you handled them just now," exclaimed esther, indignantly. just then they stopped before a fashionable hat-store on kearney street, and while alaric was debating whether he ought to leave the ponies long enough to step inside he was recognized, and a clerk hastened out to receive his order. "hat and gloves," said alaric. "you know the sizes." the clerk answered, "certainly, mr. todd," bowed, and disappeared in the store. "see those lovely gray 'tams' in the window, cousin rick!" said esther. "why don't you get one of them? it would be just the thing to wear in the woods." "all right," replied the boy; "i will." so when the clerk reappeared with a stylish derby hat and a dozen pair of gloves alaric put the former on, said he would keep the gloves, and at the same time requested that one of the gray tams might be done up for him. as this order was filled, and the ponies were headed towards home, esther said: "why, cousin rick, you didn't pay for your things!" "no," replied the boy, "i never do." "you didn't even ask the prices, either." "of course not," laughed the other. "why should i? they were things that i had to have anyway, and so what would be the use of asking the prices? besides, i don't think i ever did such a thing in my life." "well," sighed the girl, "it must be lovely to shop in that way. now i never bought anything without first finding out if i could afford it; and as for gloves, i know i never bought more than one pair at a time." "really?" said alaric, with genuine surprise. "i didn't know they sold less than a dozen pair at a time. i wish i had known it, for i only wanted one pair. i've got so many at home now that they are a bother." that very evening the lad spoke to his father about going on a ranch and learning to be a cowboy. unfortunately his brother john overheard him, and greeted the proposition with shouts of laughter. even amos todd, while mildly rebuking his eldest son, could not help smiling at the absurdity of the request. then, turning to the mortified lad, he said, kindly but decidedly: "you don't know what you are asking, allie, my boy, and i couldn't think for a moment of allowing you to attempt such a thing. the excitement of that kind of life would kill you in less than no time. ask anything in reason, and i shall be only too happy to gratify you; but don't make foolish requests." when alaric reported this failure to esther a little later, she said, very gravely: "then, cousin rick, there is only one thing left for you to do. you must run away." chapter iii alaric takes a first lesson on the day following that of the runaway, esther dale resumed her position as a personally conducted tourist, and departed from san francisco, leaving alaric to feel that he had lost the first real friend he had ever known. her influence remained with him, however, and as he thought of her words and example his determination to enter upon some different form of life became indelibly fixed. that very day he drove again to the park, this time with only his groom for company, and went directly to the place where the game of baseball had been in progress the afternoon before. as he hoped, another was about to begin, though there were not quite enough players to make two full nines. hearing one of the boys say this, and discovering an acquaintance among them, alaric jumped from his cart, and, going up to him, asked to be allowed to fill one of the vacant positions. reg barker was freckle-faced and red-headed, clad in flannels, with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and was adjusting a catcher's mask to his face when alaric approached. as the latter made known his desire, reg barker, who was extremely jealous of the other's wealth and fame as a traveller, regarded him for a moment with amazement, and then burst into a shout of laughter. "hi, fellows!" he called, "here is a good one--best i ever heard! here's allie todd, kid gloves and all, wants to play first base. what do you say--shall we give him a show?" "yes," shouted one; "no," cried another, as the boys crowded about the two, gazing at alaric curiously, as though he belonged to some different species. "we might make him captain of the nine," called out one boy, who had just gone to the bat. "no, he'd do better as umpire," suggested reg barker. "don't you see he's dressed for it? i don't know, though; i'm afraid that would come under the head of cruelty to children, and we'd have the society down on us." as alaric, with a crimson face and a choking in his throat, sought in vain for some outlet of escape from his tormentors who surrounded him, and at the same time longed with a bitter longing for the power to annihilate them, a lad somewhat older than the others forced his way through the throng and demanded to know what was the row. he was dave carncross, the pitcher, and one of the best amateur players of his age on the coast. "it's miss allie todd," explained reg barker, "and her ladyship is offering to show us how to play ball." "shut up, red top," commanded the new-comer, threateningly. "when i want any of your chaff i'll let you know." then turning to alaric, he said, pleasantly, "now, young un, tell me all about it yourself." "there isn't much to tell," replied the boy, in a low tone, and with an instinctive warming of his heart towards the sturdy lad who had come to his rescue. "i wanted to learn how to play ball, and knowing reg barker, asked him to teach me; that's all." "and he insulted you, like the young brute he is. i see. red top, if you won't learn manners any other way i shall have to thrash them into you. so look out for yourself. now, you new fellow, your name's todd, isn't it?" "yes." "and your father is amos todd, the millionaire?" alaric admitted that such was the case. "well, i know you, or, rather, my father knows your father. in fact, i think they have some business together; and after this whenever you choose to come out here if i'm around i'll see that you are treated decently. as for learning to play ball, the mere fact that you want to shows that you are made of good stuff, and i don't mind giving you a lesson right now. so, stand out here, and let's see if you can catch." thus saying, the stalwart young pitcher, who held a ball in his hand, ran back a few rods, and, with a seemingly careless swing of his arm, threw the ball straight and swift as an arrow directly at alaric, who instinctively held out his hands. had he undertaken to stop a spent cannon-ball the boy could hardly have been more amazed at the result. as the ball dropped to the ground he felt as though he had grasped a handful of red-hot coals. both his kid gloves were split right across the palms, and the smart of his hands was so great that, in spite of his efforts to restrain them, unbidden tears sprang to his eyes. a shout of laughter arose from the spectators of this practical lesson; but dave carncross, running up to him and recovering the dropped ball, said, cheerily: "never mind those duffers, young un. they couldn't do any better themselves once, and you'll do better than any of them some time. first lessons in experience always come high, and have to be paid for on the spot; but they are worth the price, and you'll know better next time than to stop a hot ball with stiff arms. what you want to do is to let 'em give with the ball. see, like this." here dave picked up a bat, struck the ball straight up in the air until it seemed to be going out of sight, and running under it as it descended, caught it as deftly and gently as though it had been a wad of feathers. "there," said he, "you have learned by experience the wrong way of catching a ball, and seen the right way. i can't stop to teach you any more now, for our game is waiting. what you want to do, though, is to go down town and get a ball--a 'regulation dead,' mind--take it home, and practise catching until you have learned the trick and covered your hands with blisters. then come back here, and i will show you something else. good-bye--so long!" with this the good-natured fellow ran off to take his place in the pitcher's box, leaving alaric filled with gratitude, and glowing with the first thrill of real boyish life that he had ever known. for a while he stood and watched the game, his still-tingling hands causing him to appreciate as never before the beauty of every successful catch that was made. he wondered if pitching a ball could be as difficult as catching one, or even any harder than it looked. it certainly appeared easy enough. he admired the reckless manner in which the players flung themselves at the bases, sliding along the ground as though bent on ploughing it with their noses; while the ability to hit one of those red-hot balls with a regulation bat seemed to him little short of marvellous. in fact, our lad was, for the first time in his life, viewing a game of baseball through his newly discovered loophole of experience, and finding it a vastly different affair from the same scene shrouded by an unrent veil of ignorance. after he had driven away from the fascinating game, his mind was still so full of it that when, in passing the children's playground, he was invited by miss sue barker, sister of red-headed reg, to join in a game of croquet, he declined, politely enough, but with such an unwonted tone of contempt in his voice as caused the girl to stare after him in amazement. he procured a regulation baseball before going home, and then practised with it in the court-yard behind the todd palace until his hands were red and swollen. their condition was so noticeable at dinnertime that his father inquired into the cause. when the boy confessed that he had been practising with a baseball, his brother john laughed loud and long, and asked him if he intended to become a professional. his sister only said, "oh, allie! how can you care to do anything so common? and where did you pick up the notion? i am sure you never saw anything of the kind in france." "no," replied the boy; "i only wish i had." his father said, "it's all right, my son, so long as you play gently; but you must be very careful not to over-exert yourself. remember your poor weak heart and the consequences of too violent exercise." "oh, bother my weak heart!" cried the boy, impatiently. "i don't believe my heart's any weaker than anybody else's heart, and the doctor who said so was an old muff." at this unheard-of outbreak on the part of the long-suffering youngest member of the family, john and margaret glanced significantly at each other, as though they suspected his mind was becoming affected as well as his body; while his father said, soothingly, as though to an ailing child: "well, well, allie, let it go. i am sorry that you should forget your manners; but if the subject is distasteful to you, we won't talk of it any more." "but i want to talk of it, father. i am sorry that i spoke as i did just now; but you can't know what an unhappy thing it is to be living on in the way i am, without doing anything that amounts to anything, or will ever lead to anything. won't you let me go on to a ranch, or somewhere where i can learn to be a man?" "of course, my boy," replied amos todd, still speaking as soothingly as he knew how. "i will let you go anywhere you please, and do what you please, just as quickly as i can find the right person to take care of you, and see that you do nothing injurious. how would you like to go to france with margaret and me this summer? i am thinking of making the trip." "i would rather go to china, or anywhere else in the world," replied the boy, vehemently. "i am tired to death of france and germany and switzerland and italy, and all the other wretched european places, with their _bads_ and _bains_ and _spas_ and herr doctors and _malades_. i want to go into a world of live people, and strong people, and people who don't know whether they have any hearts or not, and don't care." "well, well, son, i will try and arrange something for you, only don't get excited," said amos todd, at the same time burying himself in his evening paper so as to put an end to the uncomfortable interview. in spite of the unsatisfactory ending of this conversation, alaric felt greatly encouraged by it, and during the week that followed he devoted himself as assiduously to learning to catch a baseball as though that were the one preparation needful for plunging into a world of live people. morning, noon, and evening he kept his groom so busy passing ball with him that the exercising of the ponies was sadly neglected in consequence. with all this practice, and in spite of bruised hands and lame fingers, he at length became so expert that he began to think of hunting up his friend dave carncross, and presenting himself for an examination in the art of ball-catching. every now and then he asked his father if he had not thought of some plan for him, and the invariable answer was: "it's all right, allie; i've got a scheme on foot that's working so that i can tell you about it in a few days." in the meantime the date of amos todd's departure for europe with his daughter was fixed. shortly before its arrival the former called alaric aside, and, with a beaming face, announced that he had at length succeeded in making most satisfactory arrangements. "you said you wanted to go to china, you know," he continued; "so i have laid out a fine trip for you to china, and india, and egypt, and all sorts of places, and persuaded a most excellent couple, a gentleman and his wife, to go along and take care of you. he is a professor and she is a doctor, so you will be well looked after, and won't have the least bit of responsibility or worry." chapter iv the "empress" loses a passenger professor maximus sonntagg, a big man with a beard, and his wife, mrs. dr. ophelia sonntagg, who was thin and mysterious, had come out of the east to seek their fortunes in the golden city about a year before, but up to this time without any great amount of success. the former was a professor of almost everything in the shape of ancient and modern art, languages, history, and a lot of other things, concerning all of which he wrote articles for the papers, always signing his name to them in full. the mrs. doctor had learned the art of saying little, looking wise, and shaking her head as she felt the pulse of her patients. these people had managed to scrape an acquaintance with amos todd, whom the professor declared to be the only patron of art in san francisco worth knowing, and to whom he gave some really valuable advice concerning the purchase of certain paintings. thus it happened that when the busy millionaire, in seeking to provide a safe and congenial amusement for the son whom he firmly believed to be an invalid, conceived the idea of sending him around the world by way of china, he also thought of the sonntaggs as most suitable travelling companions for him. where else could he find such a combination of tutor and physician, a man of the world to take his place as father, and a cultivated woman to act as mother to his motherless boy? when he proposed the plan to the sonntaggs, they declared that they would not think of giving up the prosperous business they had established in san francisco, even for the sake of obliging their dear friend mr. amos todd. with this the millionaire made them an offer of such unheard-of munificence that, with pretended reluctance, they finally accepted it, and he went on his way rejoicing. the next evening the sonntaggs dined at amos todd's house for the purpose of making alaric's acquaintance. the professor patted him on the shoulder, and, in a patronizing manner, hoped they should learn much and enjoy much together. the mrs. doctor surveyed him critically, and held his hand until the boy wondered if she would ever let it go. finally she shook her head, sighed deeply, and, turning to his father, said: "i understand the dear boy's case thoroughly. what he needs is intelligent treatment and motherly care. i can give him both, and unhesitatingly promise to restore him to you at the end of a year, if nothing occurs to prevent, strong, well, and an ornament to the name of todd." alaric found no difficulty in forming an opinion of the sonntaggs, and wondered if going to france with his father and sister would not be preferable to travelling in their company. so occupied was he with this question that he hardly ate a mouthful of the sumptuous dinner served in honor of the guests--a fact that was noted with significant glances by all at the table. it was planned that very evening that the pacific should be crossed in one of the superb steamships sailing from vancouver, in british columbia, and a despatch was sent off at once to engage staterooms. the journey was to be begun two days later, for that was the date on which amos todd and his daughter were to start for france; and though the _empress_ would not sail from vancouver for a week after that, the house would be closed, and it was thought best for alaric to travel up the coast by easy stages. during those two days of grace the poor lad's mind was in a ferment. he had no desire to go to china or anywhere else outside of his own country. having travelled nearly all his life, he was so tired of it that travelling now seemed to him one of the most unpleasant things a boy could be compelled to undertake. he did not want to go to france, of course, and decided that even china in company with the sonntaggs would be better than europe. still, he tried to escape from going away at all, and asked his brother john to let him stay with him and go to work in the bank; but john todd answered that he was too busy a man to have the care of an invalid, and that their father's plan was by far the best. then, as a last resort, alaric went to the park, hoping to meet dave carncross, and determined, if he did, to lay the whole case before him, and ask his advice. even here fate seemed against him; for, from a strange boy of whom he made inquiry, he learned that carncross had left the city a day or two before, though where he had gone the boy did not know. so preparations for the impending journey went busily forward, and alaric, who felt very much like a helpless victim of misfortune, could find no excuse for delaying them. even in the preparations being made for his own comfort he was given no active part. everything that he was supposed to need and did not already possess was procured for him. his father presented him with a superb travelling-bag, fitted with all possible toilet accessories in silver and cut glass, but the boy would infinitely have preferred a baseball bat, and a chance to use it. at length the day for starting arrived, and, with as great reluctance as he had ever felt in his life, alaric entered the carriage that was to convey the todds to the oakland ferry. crossing the bay, they found the sonntaggs awaiting them on the other side, where the whole party entered amos todd's palatial private car that was attached to the overland express. in this way they travelled together as far as sacramento, where alaric bade his father and sister good-bye. then he and his newly appointed guardians boarded the special car provided for them, and in which they were to proceed by the famous shasta route to the far north. up to this point the sonntaggs had proved very attentive, and had striven by every means to make themselves agreeable to their fellow-travellers. from here on, however, the professor spent most of his time in smoking and sleeping, while his wife devoted herself to reading novels, a great stack of which had been provided for the journey. alaric, thus left to his own devices, gazed drearily from the car window, rebelling inwardly at the lonely grandeur with which he was surrounded, and wishing with all his heart that he were poor enough to be allowed to travel in one of the ordinary coaches, in which were several boys of his own age, who seemed to be having a tantalizingly good time. they were clad in flannels, knickerbockers, and heavy walking-shoes, and alaric noted with satisfaction that they wore gray tam o' shanter caps, such as he had procured at esther dale's suggestion, and was now wearing for the first time. they left the train at sisson, and alaric, standing on the platform of his car, gathered from their conversation that they were about to climb mount shasta, the superb rock-ribbed giant that lifted his snow-crowned head more than fourteen thousand feet in the air a few miles from that point. what wouldn't he give to be allowed to join the merry party and make the adventurous trip with them? he had been familiar with mountains by sight all his life, and had always longed to climb one, but had never been given the opportunity. it was small consolation to notice one of the boys draw the attention of the others to him, and overhear him say: "look at that chap travelling in a special car like a young millionaire. i say, fellows, that must be great fun, and i'd like to try it just for once, wouldn't you?" the others agreed that they would, and then the group passed out of hearing, while alaric said to himself: "i only wish they could try travelling all alone in a special car, just to find out how little fun there is in it." the following morning portland, oregon, was reached, and here the car was side-tracked that its occupants might spend a day or two in the city. the sonntaggs seemed to have many acquaintances here, for whom they held a reception in the car, gave a dinner at the hotel portland, and ordered carriages in which to drive about, all at amos todd's expense. in these diversions alaric was at liberty to join or not, as he pleased, and he generally preferred to remain behind or to wander about by himself. the same programme was repeated at tacoma and seattle, in the state of washington, and at vancouver, in british columbia. in the last-named place alaric's chief amusement lay in watching the lading of the great white ship that was to bear him away, and the busy life of the port, with its queer medley of yankees and britishers, indians and chinamen, tourists, sailors, and stevedores. the last-named especially excited his envious admiration--they were such big men, and so strong. [illustration: alaric makes his first decision] at length the morning of sailing arrived, and as the mighty steamship moved majestically out of the harbor, and, leaving the brown waters of burrard inlet behind, swept on into the open blue of the gulf of georgia, the boy was overwhelmed with a great wave of homesickness. standing alone at the extreme after end of the promenade-deck, he watched the fading land with strained eyes, and felt like an outcast and a wanderer on the face of the earth. after a while the ship began to thread a bewildering maze of islands, in which professor sonntagg made a slight effort to interest his moody young charge; but finding this a difficult task, he quickly gave it up, and joined some acquaintances in the smoking-room. alaric had not known that the _empress_ was to make one stop before taking her final departure from the coast. so when she was made fast to the outer wharf at victoria, on the island of vancouver, the largest city in british columbia, and its capital, he felt like one who receives an unexpected reprieve from an unpleasant fate. as it was announced that she would remain here two hours, the sonntaggs, according to their custom, at once engaged a carriage to take them to the most interesting places in the city. this plan had been suggested by amos todd himself, who had bidden them spare no expense or pains to show his son all that was worth seeing in the various cities they might visit; and that the boy generally declined to accompany them on these excursions was surely not their fault--at least, they did not regard it so. the truth was that alaric had taken a dislike to these pretentious people from the very first, and it had grown so much stronger on closer acquaintance that now he was willing to do almost anything to avoid their company. thus on this occasion he allowed them to drive off without him, while he strolled alone to the head of the wharf, tossing his beloved baseball, which he had carefully brought with him on this journey, from hand to hand as he walked. "hello! give us a catch," shouted a cheery voice; and, looking up, alaric saw a merry-faced, squarely built lad of his own age standing in an expectant attitude a short distance from him. although he was roughly dressed, he had a bright, self-reliant look that was particularly attractive to our young traveller, who without hesitation tossed him the ball. they passed it back and forth for a minute, and then the stranger lad, saying, "good-bye; i must be getting along; wish i could stop and get better acquainted, though," ran on with a laugh, and disappeared in the crowd. an hour later alaric was nearly half a mile from the wharf, when the steamer's hoarse whistle sounded a warning note that signified a speedy departure. he turned and began to walk slowly in that direction, and a few minutes later a carriage containing the sonntaggs dashed by without its occupants noticing him. at sight of them alaric paused. a queer look came into his face; it grew very pale, and then he deliberately sat down on a log by the way-side. there came another blast of the ship's whistle, and then the tall masts, which he could just see, began slowly to move. the _empress_, with the sonntaggs on board, had started for china, and one of her passengers was left behind. chapter v first mate bonny brooks alaric todd's sensations as he sat on that log and watched the ship, in which he was supposed to be a passenger, steam away without him were probably as curious as any ever experienced by a boy. he had deliberately abandoned a life of luxury, as well as a position that most people are striving with all their energies to obtain, and accepted in its place--what? he did not know, and for the moment he did not care. he only knew that the sonntaggs were gone beyond a chance of return at least for some weeks, and that during that time there was no possible way in which they could reach him or communicate with his family. he realized that he was in a strange city, not one of whose busy population either knew or cared to know a thing about him. but what of that? if they did not know him they could never call him by the hated name of "allie." if he succeeded in making friends, it would be because of himself, and not on account of his father's wealth. above all, those now about him did not know and should never know, if he could keep it, that he was thought to be possessed of a weak heart. certainly if excitement could injure his heart, it ought to be completely ruined at the present moment, for he had never been so excited in his life, and doubted if he ever should be again. with it all the lad was filled with such an exulting sense of liberty that he wanted to jump and shout and share with every passer-by the glorious news that at length he was free--free to be a boy among boys, and to learn how to become a man among men. he did not shout, nor did he confide his happiness to any of those who were coming up from the wharf, where they had just witnessed the departure of the great ship; but he did jump from the log on which he had been sitting and fling his baseball high in the air. as it descended and he caught it with practised skill, he was greeted by the approving remark: "good catch! couldn't do it better myself!" and looking round he saw the lad with whom he had passed ball a short time before. "it seems mighty good," continued the stranger, "to see a baseball again, and meet a fellow who knows how to catch one. these chaps over here don't know anything about it, and i've hardly seen a ball since i left massachusetts. you don't throw, though, half as well as you catch." "no," replied alaric, "i haven't learned that yet. you see, i've only just begun." "that so? wish i had a chance to show you something about it, then, for i used to play on the nine at home." "i wish you could, for i want awfully to learn. why can't you?" "because i don't live here, and, do you know, i didn't think you did, either. when i saw you awhile ago, i had a sort of idea that you belonged aboard the _empress_, and were going in her to china, and i've been more than half envying you ever since. funny, wasn't it?" "awfully!" responded alaric. "and i'm glad it isn't true, for i don't know of anything i should hate more than to be going to china in the _empress_. but i say, let's stop in here and get something to eat, for i'm hungry--aren't you?" "of course i am," laughed the other; and with this the two boys, who were already strolling towards the city together, turned into the little road-side bake-shop that had just attracted alaric's attention. here he ordered half a sheet of buns, two tarts, and two glasses of milk. these being served on a small table, alaric paid for them, and the newly made acquaintances sat down to enjoy their feast at leisure. "what i want to do," said alaric, continuing their interrupted conversation, "is to get back to the states as quickly as possible." "that's easy enough," replied the other, holding his tart in both hands and devouring it with infinite relish. "there's a steamer leaves here at eight o'clock this evening for seattle and tacoma. but you don't live here then, after all?" "no, i don't live here, nor do i know any one who does, and i want to get away as quickly as i can; for i am looking for work, and should think the chances for finding it were better in the states than here." "_you_ looking for work?" said the other, slowly, and as though doubting whether he had heard aright. at the same time he glanced curiously at alaric's white hands and neatly fitting coat. "you don't look like a fellow who is looking for work." "i am, though," laughed alaric; "and as i have just spent the last cent of money i had in the world, i must find something to do right away. that's the reason i want to get back to the states; but i don't know about that steamer. i suppose they'd charge something to take me, wouldn't they?" "well, rather," responded the other. "but i say, mister--by-the-way, what is your name?" "dale--rick dale," replied alaric, promptly, for he had anticipated this question, and was determined to drop the todd part of his name, at least for the present. "but there isn't any mister about it. it's just plain rick dale." "well, then, plain rick dale," said the other, "my name is bonny brooks--short for bonnicastle, you know; and i must say that you are the most cheerful-appearing fellow to be in the fix you say you are that i ever met. when i get strapped and out of a job i sometimes don't laugh for a whole day, especially if i don't have anything to eat in that time." "that's something i never tried, and i didn't know any one ever did for a whole day," remarked alaric. "how queer it must seem!" "lots of people try it; but they don't unless they have to, and it don't seem queer at all," replied bonny, soberly. "but what kind of work are you looking for, and what pay do you expect?" "i am looking for anything i can find to do, and will work for any pay that is offered." "it would seem as if a fellow ought to get plenty to do on those terms," said bonny, "though it isn't so easy as you might think, for i've tried it. how do you happen to be looking for work, anyway? where is your home, and where are your folks?" "my mother is dead," replied alaric, "and i suppose my father is in france, though just where he is i don't know. our home was in san francisco, and before he left he tried to fix things all right for me; but they turned out all wrong, and so i am here looking for something to do." "if that don't beat anything i ever heard of!" cried bonny brooks, in a tone of genuine amazement. "if i didn't know better, i should think you were telling my story, or that we were twins; for my mother is dead, and my father, when last heard from, was on his way to france. you see, he was a ship captain, and we lived in sandport, on cape cod, where, after my mother died, he fixed up a home for me with an aunt, and left money enough to keep me at school until he came back from a voyage to south america and france. we heard of his reaching brazil and leaving there, but never anything more; and when a year passed aunt nancy said she couldn't support me any longer. so she got me a berth as cabin-boy on a bark bound to san francisco, and then to the sound for lumber to china. i wanted to go to china fast enough, but the captain treated me so badly that i couldn't stand it any longer, and so skipped just before the ship sailed from port blakely. the meanest part of it all was that i had to forfeit my pay, leave my dunnage on board, and light out with only what i had on my back." "that's my fix exactly," cried alaric, delightedly. "i mean," he added, recollecting himself, "that my baggage got carried off, and as i haven't heard from it since, i don't own a thing in the world except the clothing i have on." "and a baseball," interposed bonny. "oh yes, a baseball, of course," replied alaric, soberly, as though that were a most matter-of-fact possession for a boy in search of employment. "but what did you do after your ship sailed away without you?" "starved for a couple of days, and then did odd jobs about the river for my grub, until i got a chance to ship as one of the crew of the sloop _fancy_, that runs freight and passengers between here and the sound. that was only about a month ago, and now i'm first mate." "you are?" cried alaric, at the same time regarding his young companion with a profound admiration and vastly increased respect. "seems to me that is the most rapid promotion i ever heard of. what a splendid sailor you must be!" although the speaker was so ignorant of nautical matters that he did not know a sloop from a schooner, or from a full-rigged ship, for that matter, he had read enough sea stories to realize that the first mate of any vessel was often the most important character on board. "yes," said bonny, modestly, "i do know a good deal about boats; for, you see, i was brought up in a boating town, and have handled them one way and another ever since i can remember. i haven't been first mate very long, though, because the man who was that only left to-day." "what made him?" asked alaric, who could not understand how any one, having once attained to such an enviable position, could willingly give it up. "oh, he had some trouble with the captain, and seemed to think it was time he got paid something on account of his wages, so that he could buy a shirt and a pair of boots." "why didn't the captain pay him?" "i suppose he didn't have the money." "then why didn't the man get the things he wanted, and have them charged?" "that's a good one," laughed bonny. "because the storekeeper wouldn't trust him, of course." "i never heard of such a thing," declared alaric, indignantly. "i thought people could always have things charged if they wanted to. i'm sure i never found any trouble in doing it." "didn't you?" said bonny. "well, i have, then," and he spoke so queerly that alaric realized in a moment that he had very nearly betrayed his secret. hastening to change the subject, he asked: "if you took the mate's place, who took yours?" "nobody has taken it yet, and that's what i'm after now--hunting for a new hand. the captain couldn't come himself, because he's got rheumatism so bad that it's all he can do to crawl out on deck and back again. besides, it's the first mate's place to ship the crew, anyhow." "then," asked alaric, excitedly, "why don't you take me? i'll work hard and do anything you say?" "you?" cried bonny, regarding his companion with amazement. "have you ever sailed a boat or helped work a vessel?" "no," replied alaric, humbly; "but i am sure i can learn, and i shouldn't expect any pay until i did." "i should say not," remarked the first mate of the _fancy_, "though most greenhorns do. still, that is one thing in your favor. another is that you can catch a ball as well as any fellow i ever knew, and a chap who can do that can learn to do most anything. so i really have a great mind to take you on trial." "do you think the captain will agree to it?" asked alaric, anxiously. "of course he will, if i say so," replied bonny brooks, confidently; "for, as i just told you, the first mate always hires the crew." chapter vi preparing to be a sailor during the conversation just recorded the boys by no means neglected their luncheon, for both of them had been very hungry, and by the time they arrived at an understanding in regard to alaric's engagement not a crumb of food nor a drop of milk was left before them. while to bonny brooks this had proved a most welcome and enjoyable repast, to alaric it marked a most important era of his life. to begin with, it was the first meal he had ever paid for out of his own pocket, and this alone was sufficient to give it a flavor that he had never discovered in the rich food by which his appetite had heretofore been tempted. then during this simple meal he had entered upon his first friendship with a boy of his own age, for the liking that he had already taken for bonny brooks was evidently returned. above all, during that brief lunch-hour he had conducted his first independent business operation, and now found himself engaged to fill a responsible position in active life. to be sure, he was only taken on trial, but if good intentions and a determination to do his very best could command success, then was his position assured. how fortunate he was, after all! an opening, a chance to prove what he could do, was all that he had wanted, and behold! it was his within the first hour of his independent life. how queer that it had come through his baseball too, and how strangely one thing seemed to lead to another! now alaric was impatient for a sight of the vessel that was to be the scene of his future labors, and anxious to begin them. he had so little idea of what a sloop was that he even wondered if it would be propelled by sails or steam. he was inclined to think that it must be the latter, for bonny had spoken of his craft as carrying passengers, and alaric had never known any passenger boats except such as were driven by steam. so he pictured the _fancy_ as a steamer, not so large as the _empress_, of course, but fairly good-sized, manned by engineers, stokers, stewards, and a crew of sailors. with this image in his mind, he regarded his companion as one who had indeed attained a lofty position. so busy was our hero with these thoughts that for a full minute after the lads left the bake-shop he did not utter a word. bonny brooks was also occupied with a line of thought that caused him to glance reflectively at his companion several times before he spoke. finally he broke out with: "i say, rick dale, i don't know about shipping you for a sailor, after all. you see, you are dressed altogether too fine. any one would take you for the captain or maybe the owner if you were to go aboard in those togs." "would they?" asked alaric, gazing dubiously down at his low-cut patent-leather shoes, black silk socks, and light trousers accurately creased and unbagged at the knees. besides these he wore a vest and sack-coat of fine black serge, an immaculate collar, about which was knotted a silk neck-scarf, and a narrow-striped cheviot shirt, the cuffs of which were fastened by gold sleeve-links. across the front of his vest, from pocket to pocket, extended a slender chain of twisted gold and platinum, at one end of which was his watch, and at the other a gold and platinum pencil-case. "yes, they would," answered bonny, with decision; "and you've got to make a change somehow, or else our bargain must be called off, for you could never become a sailor in that rig." here was a difficulty on which alaric had not counted, and it filled him with dismay. "couldn't i change suits with you?" he asked, anxiously. "i shouldn't think mine would be too fine for a first mate." "not if i know it," laughed bonny. "they'd fit me too much one way and not enough another. besides, they are shore togs any way you look at 'em, and not at all the things to go to sea in. the cap'n would have a fit if you should go aboard dressed as you are. so if you want to ship with us, i'm afraid you'll have to buy a new outfit." "but i haven't any money, and you say they won't charge things in this town." "of course they won't if they don't know you; but you might spout your ticker, and make a raise that way." "might what?" "shove up your watch. leave it with your uncle, you know, until you earned enough to buy it back." "do you mean sell it?" "no. they'd ask too many questions if you tried to sell it, and wouldn't give much more, anyway. i mean pawn it." "all right," replied alaric. "i'm willing, only i don't know how." "oh, i'll show you quick enough, if you really want to do it." as alaric insisted that he was willing to do almost anything to procure that coveted sailor's outfit, bonny led him to a mean-looking shop, above the door of which hung three golden balls. the dingy windows were filled with a dusty miscellany of watches, pistols, and all sorts of personal property, while the opening of the door set loose a musty odor of old clothing. as this came pouring forth alaric instinctively drew back in disgust; but with a sudden thought that he could not afford to be too fastidious in the new life he had chosen, he conquered his repugnance to the place and followed bonny inside. a gaunt old hebrew in a soiled dressing-gown stood behind a small counter. as alaric glanced at him hesitatingly, bonny opened their business by saying, briskly: "hello, uncle! how are you to-day? my friend here wants to make a raise on his watch." "let's see dot vatch," replied mr. isaacs, and alaric handed it to him, together with the chain and pencil-case. it was a fine swiss chronometer, with the monogram a.d.t. engraved on its back; and as the pawnbroker tested the quality of its case and peered at the works, alaric noted his deliberate movements with nervous anxiety. finally the man said: "i gifs you den tollars on dot vatch mit der chain und pencil trown in." alaric would have accepted this offer at once, but bonny knew better. "ten nothings!" he said. "you'll give us fifty dollars, uncle, or we'll take it down to levi's." "feefty tollar! so hellup me grashus! i vould be alretty bankrupted of i gif feefty tollars on effery vatch. vat you dake me for?" "take you for an old fraud," replied the unabashed first mate of the _fancy_. "of course you would be bankrupted, as you ought to have been long ago, if you gave fifty dollars on every turnip that is brought in; but you could well afford to advance a hundred on this watch, and you know it." "veil, i tell you; i gifs t'venty-fife." [illustration: "'vell, i tell you. i gifs you tventy-fife'"] "fifty," said bonny, firmly. "dirty, und nod von cend more, so hellup me." "fifty." "dirty-fife?" "we'll split the difference, and call it forty-five." "i gifs you fordy oud of charidy, seeing you is so hart up." "it's a bargain," cried bonny. "hand over your cash." "how could you talk to him that way?" asked alaric, admiringly, as the boys left the shop, he minus his watch and chain, but with forty dollars and a pawn-ticket in his pocket. "i couldn't once," laughed bonny; "but it's one of the things poor folks have to learn. if you are willing to let people impose on you they'll be mighty quick to do it, and the only way is to bluff 'em from the start." the next place they entered was a sailor's slop-shop, in which were kept all sorts of seafaring garments and accessories. here, advised by bonny, alaric invested fourteen dollars and seventy-five cents in a blue knit jersey, or sweater, a pair of stout woollen trousers, two flannel shirts, two suits of heavy underclothing, several pairs of cotton socks, and a pair of canvas shoes. expressing a desire to make a change of clothing at once, he was shown a retired corner where he might do so, and from which he emerged a few minutes later so altered in appearance that it is doubtful if his own father would have recognized him. "that's something like it!" cried bonny. "isn't it?" replied alaric, surveying himself with great satisfaction in a mirror, and fully convinced that he now looked so like a sailor that no one could possibly mistake him for anything else. "don't you think, though, that i ought to have the name of the sloop embroidered across the front of this sweater? all the sailors i have ever seen had theirs fixed that way." "i suppose it would be a good idea," replied bonny, soberly, though filled with inward laughter at the suggestion. "but perhaps you'd better wait until you see if the ship suits you, and whether you stay with us or not." "oh, i'll stay," asserted alaric. "there's no fear but what i will, if you'll only keep me." "going yachting, sir?" asked the shopkeeper, politely, as he carefully folded alaric's discarded suit of fine clothing. "no, indeed," replied the boy, scornfully; "i'm going to be a sailor on the sloop _fancy_, and i wish you would send those things down to her at once." ere the man could recover from his astonishment at this request sufficiently to make reply, bonny interrupted, hastily: "oh no, rick! we'll take them with us. there isn't time to have 'em sent." "i should guess not," remarked the shopkeeper, in a very different tone from the one he had used before. "but say, young feller, if you're going to be a sailor you'll want a bag, and i've got a second-hand one here almost as good as new that i'll sell cheap. it come to me with a lot of truck from the sale of a confiscated sealer; and seeing that it's got another chap's name painted on it, i'll let you have it for one bob tuppence-ha'penny, and that'll make even money between us." thus saying, the man produced a stout canvas bag, such as a sailor uses in place of a trunk. the name plainly painted across it, in black letters, was "philip ryder", but alaric said he didn't mind that, so he took the bag, thrust his belongings, including his cherished baseball, into it, and the two boys left the shop. "by-the-way," asked alaric, hesitatingly, "don't i need to get some brushes and things?" "what for?" "why, to brush my hair, and--" "oh no," interrupted the other. "there's a comb on board, and, besides, we can't stop for anything more. i've been gone so long now that i expect the old man is madder'n a wet hen by this time." so bonny led the way to the wharves, and to a narrow slip between two of them that just then was occupied by but a single craft. she was a small sloop, not over forty feet long, though of good beam, evidently very old, and so dingy that it was hard to believe she had ever been painted. her sails, hanging unfurled in lazy jacks, were patched and discolored; her running rigging was spliced, the standing rigging was sadly in need of setting up, her iron-work was rusted, and her spars were gray with age. "there's the old packet," said bonny, cheerfully. "where?" asked alaric, gazing vaguely down the slip and utterly ignoring the disreputable craft close at hand. "why, right here," answered the other, a trifle impatiently. "don't you see the name '_f-a-n-c-y_' on her stern? she isn't much to look at, i know, but she's a hummer to go, and a mighty good sea-boat. she's awfully comfortable, too. come aboard and i'll show you." with this the cheery young fellow, who had actually come to a belief that the shabby old craft was all he claimed for her, tossed his friend's recent purchase to the deck of the sloop, and began to clamber after it down a rickety ladder. with all his bright visions of a minute before rudely dispelled, and with a heart so heavy that he could find no words to express his feelings, alaric followed him. chapter vii captain duff, of the sloop "fancy" as the newly engaged crew of the sloop _fancy_ slowly and awkwardly descended the slippery ladder leading down to his ship, he experienced his first regrets at the decisive step he had taken, and doubts as to its wisdom. the real character of the sloop as shown by a single glance was so vastly different from his ideal, that for a moment it did not seem as though he could accept the disreputable old craft as even a temporary home. never before had he realized how he loathed dirt and disorder, and all things that offended his delicately trained senses. never before had he appreciated the cleanly and orderly forms of living to which he had always been accustomed. he could not imagine it possible to eat, sleep, or even exist on board such a craft as lay just beneath him, and his impulse was to fly to some remote place where he should never see nor hear of the _fancy_ again. but even as he was about to do this the sound of bonny's reassuring voice completely changed the current of his thoughts. was not the lad who had brought him to this place a very picture of cheerful health, and just such a strong, active, self-reliant boy as he longed to become? surely what bonny could endure he could! perhaps disagreeable things were necessary to the proper development of a boy. that thought had never come to him before, but now he remembered how much his hands had suffered before they were trained to catch a regulation ball. besides all this, had not bonny hesitated before consenting to give him a trial, and had he not insisted on coming? had he not also confidently asserted that all he wanted was a chance to show what he was good for, and that nothing save a dismissal should cause him to relinquish whatever position was given him? after all, no matter how bad things might prove on the sloop, there would always be plenty of fresh air and sunshine, besides an unlimited supply of clean water. he could remember catching glimpses, in foreign cities, of innumerable pestilential places in which human beings were compelled to spend whole lifetimes, where none of these things was to be had. yes, he would keep on and make the best of whatever presented itself, for perhaps things would not prove to be as bad as they seemed; and, after all, he was willing to endure a great deal for the sake of continuing the friendship just begun between himself and bonny brooks. he remembered now having once heard his father say that a friendship worth having was worth fighting for. if that were the case, what a coward he would be to even think of relinquishing his first real friendship without making an effort to retain it. by the time all these thoughts had flashed through the boy's mind he had gained the sloop's deck, where he was startled by an angry voice that sounded like the bellow of an enraged bull. turning quickly, he saw his friend bonny confronted by a big man with a red face and bristling beard. this individual, supported by a pair of rudely made crutches, was standing beside the after companion-way, and glaring at the bag containing his own effects that had been tossed down from the wharf. "ye've got a hand, have ye?" roared this man, whom alaric instinctively knew to be the captain. "is this his dunnage?" "yes, sir," replied the first mate. "and i think--" "never mind what you think," interrupted the captain, fiercely. "send him about his business, and pitch his dunnage back on the wharf or pitch it overboard, i don't care which. pitch it! d'ye hear?" "but captain duff, i think--" "who asked ye to think? i do the thinking on board this craft. don't ye suppose i know what i'm talking about? i tell ye i had this phil ryder with me on one cruise, and i'll never have him on another! an impudent young puppy as ever lived, and a desarter to boot. took off two of my best men with him, too. oh, i know him, and i'd phil him full of his own rifle-bullets ef i had the chance. i'd like to ryder him on a rail, too." "you are certainly mistaken, sir, this time, for--" "who, i? you dare say i'm mistaken, you tarry young swab you!" roared the man, his face turning purple with rage. "oh, ef i had the proper use of my feet for one minute i'd show ye! put him ashore, i tell ye, and do it in a hurry too, or you'll go with him without one cent of wages--not one cent, d'ye hear? i'll have no mutiny where i'm cap'n." poor alaric listened to this fierce outbreak with mingled fear and dismay. now that the situation he had deemed so surely his either to accept or reject was denied him, it again seemed very desirable. he was about to speak up in his own behalf when the angry man's last threat caused him to change his mind. he could not permit bonny to suffer on his account, and lose the position he had so recently attained. no, the very first law of friendship forbade that; and so, stepping forward to claim his bag, he said, in a low tone: "never mind me, bonny; i'll go." "no, you won't!" retorted the young mate, stoutly, "or, if you do, i'll go with you; and i'll have my wages too, captain duff, or know the reason why." without paying the slightest attention to this remark, the man was staring at alaric, whom he had not noticed until this moment. "who is that land-lubber togged out like a sporty salt?" he demanded. "he's the crew i hired, and the one you have just bounced," replied bonny. "what's his name?" "rick dale." "what made you say it was phil ryder, then?" "i didn't, sir. you--" "don't contradict me, you unlicked cub! can he shoot?" "no, sir," replied alaric, as bonny looked at him inquiringly. "all right. i wouldn't have him aboard if he could. why don't he take his thundering dunnage and go for'ard, where he belongs, and cook me some grub when he knows i haven't had anything to eat sence sunup? why don't he, i say?" with this captain duff turned and clumped heavily to the other side of the deck; while bonny, hastily picking up the bag that had been the innocent cause of all this uproar, said, in a low voice: "come on, rick; it's all right." as they went forward together he dropped the bag down a tiny forecastle hatch. then, after asking alaric to cut some kindlings and start a fire in the galley stove, which was housed on deck, he dove into the cabin to see what he could find that could be cooked for dinner. when he reappeared a minute later he found his crew struggling with an axe and a chunk of hard wood, from which he was vainly attempting to detach some slivers. he had already cut two deep gashes in the deck, and in another moment would probably have needed crutches as badly as the captain himself. "hold on, rick!" cried the young mate, catching the axe-helve just as the weapon was making another erratic descent. "i find those grocery chaps haven't sent down any stores. so do you just run up there. it's two doors this side of uncle isaac's, you know, and hurry them along. i'll 'tend to the fire while you are gone." gladly exchanging his unaccustomed, and what he considered to be very dangerous, task of wood-chopping for one that he felt sure he could accomplish creditably, alaric hastened away. he found the grocer's easily enough, and demanded of the first clerk he met why the stores for the sloop _fancy_ had not been sent down. "must have been the other clerk, sir, and i suppose he forgot all about 'em; but i'll attend to the order at once, sir," replied the man, who took in at a glance alaric's gentlemanly bearing and the newness of his nautical garb. "have 'em right down, sir. hard bread, salt junk, rice, and coffee, i believe. anything else, sir?" "i'm sure i don't know," replied alaric. "going to take a run on the _fancy_ yourself, sir?" "yes." "then of course you'll want some soft bread, a few tins of milk, half a dozen jars of marmalade, and a dozen or so of potted meats?" "i suppose so," assented the boy. "step this way, sir, and let me show you some of our fine goods," suggested the clerk, insinuatingly. in another part of the building he prattled glibly of pâté-de-foie-gras, and neufchâtel cheese, truffles, canned mushrooms, albert biscuit, anchovy paste, stuffed olives, wiesbaden prunes, and a variety of things--all of which were so familiar to the millionaire's son, and had appeared so naturally on all the tables at which he had ever sat, that he never for a moment doubted but what they must be necessities on the _fancy_ as well. of ten million boys he was perhaps the only one absolutely ignorant that these luxuries were not daily articles of food with all persons above the grade of paupers; and as he was equally without a knowledge of their cost, he allowed the clerk to add a dozen jars of this, and as many pots of that, to his list, until even that wily individual could think of nothing else with which to tempt this easy-going customer. so, promising that the supplies just ordered should be sent down directly, he bowed alaric out of the door, at the same time trusting that they should be honored with his future patronage. bethinking himself that he must have a toothbrush, and that it would also be just as well to have his own comb, in spite of bonny's assurance that the ship's comb would be at his service, the lad went in search of these articles. when he found them he was also tempted to invest in what he regarded as two other indispensables--namely, a cake of fine soap and a bottle of eau-de-cologne. he had gone quite a distance for these things, and occupied a full half-hour in getting them. as he retraced his steps towards the wharves he passed the slop-shop in which his first purchases of the day had been made, and was greeted by the proprietor with an inquiry as to whether old duff had taken aboard his cargo of "chinks and dope" yet. not understanding the question, alaric did not answer it; but as he passed on he wondered what sort of a cargo that could be. by the time he regained the wharf to which the _fancy_ was moored the flooding tide had raised her to a level with it, and on her deck alaric beheld a scene that filled him with amazement. the stores that he had ordered had arrived. the wagon in which they had come stood at one side, and they had all been taken aboard. one of the two men who had brought them was exchanging high words and even a shaking of fists with the young first mate of the sloop, while the other was presenting a bill to the captain and insisting upon its payment. captain duff, foaming at the mouth and purple in the face, was speechless with rage, and could only make futile passes with one of his crutches at the man with the bill, who dodged each blow with great agility. as alaric appeared this individual cried out: "here's the young gent as ordered the goods now!" "certainly," said alaric, advancing to the sloop's side. "i was told to order some stores, and i did so." "oh, you did, did ye! you thundering young blunderbuss?" roared captain duff, finding his voice at last. "then suppose you pay for 'em." "very well," replied the lad, quietly, thinking this an official command that must be obeyed. a minute later peace was restored, captain duff was gasping, and his first mate was staring with amazement. the bill had been paid, the wagon driven away, and alaric was again without a single cent in his pockets. chapter viii an unlucky smash captain duff's first order after peace was thus restored and he had recovered the use of his voice, temporarily lost through amazement at the spectacle of a sailor before the mast paying out of his own pocket for a ship's stores, and stores of such an extraordinary character as well, was that the goods thus acquired should be immediately transferred to his own cabin. so bonny, with alaric to assist, began to carry the things below. the cabin was very small, dirty, and stuffy. it contained two wide transom berths, one on each side, a table bearing the stains of innumerable meals and black with age, and two stools. there was a clock nailed to the forward bulkhead; beneath it was fastened a small, cheap mirror, and beside this, attached to a bit of tarred twine, hung the ship's comb. one of the two berths was overlaid with a mattress, several soiled blankets, and a tattered quilt. it formed the captain's bed, and it also served as a repository for a number of tobacco-boxes and an assortment of well-used pipes. in the other berth was a confusion of old clothing, hats, boots, and whatever else had been pitched there to get it out of the way. here the captain proposed to have stored the providential supply of food that had come to him as unexpectedly as that furnished by the ravens to the prophet elijah. the air of the place was so pervaded with a combination odor of stale tobacco smoke, mouldy leather, damp clothing, bilge-water, kerosene, onions, and other things of an equally obtrusive nature, that poor alaric gasped for breath on first descending the short but steep flight of steps leading to it. he deposited his burden and hurried out as quickly as possible, in spite of the fact that captain duff, who sat on his bunk, had begun to speak to him. on his next trip below the lad drew in a long breath of fresh air just before entering the evil-smelling cabin, and determined not to take another until he should emerge from it. in his haste to execute this plan he dropped his armful of cans, and, without waiting to stow them, had gained the steps before realizing that the captain was ordering him to come back. furious at hearing his command thus disregarded, the man reached out with one of his crutches, caught it around the boy's neck, and gave him a violent jerk backward. the startled lad, losing his foothold, came to the floor with a crash and a loud escaping "ah!" of pent-up breath. at the same moment the cabin began to be pervaded with a new and unaccustomed odor so strong that all the others temporarily withdrew in its favor. "oh murder! let me out," gasped captain duff, as he scrambled for the companion-way and a breath of outer air. "of all the smells i ever smelled that's the worst!" "what have you broken, rick?" asked bonny, anxiously, thrusting his head down the companion-way. he had been curiously reading the unfamiliar labels on the various jars, pots, and bottles, and now fancied that his crew had slipped down the steep steps with some of these in his arms. "whew! but it's strong!" he continued, as the penetrating fumes greeted his nostrils. "is it the truffles or the pate grass or the cheese?" "i'm afraid," replied alaric, sadly, as he slowly rose from the cabin floor and thrust a cautious hand into one of his hip-pockets, "that it is a bottle of eau-de-cologne." "cologne!" cried bonny, incredulously, as he caught the word. "if these foreign kinds of grub are put up in cologne, it's no wonder that i never heard of them before. why, it's poison, that's what it is, and nothing less. shall i heave the rest of the truck overboard, sir?" "hold on!" cried alaric, emerging with rueful face from the cabin in time to catch this suggestion. "it isn't in them. it was in my pocket all by itself." "i wish it had stayed there, and you'd gone to halifax with it afore ever ye brought the stuff aboard this ship!" thundered the captain. "avast, ye lubber! don't come anigh me. go out on the end of the dock and air yourself." so the unhappy lad, his clothing saturated with cologne, betook himself to the wharf, where, as he slowly walked up and down, filling the air with perfume, he carefully removed bits of broken glass from his moist pocket, and disgustedly flung them overboard. while he was thus engaged, the first mate, under the captain's personal supervision, was fumigating the cabin by burning in it a bunch of oakum over which was scattered a small quantity of tobacco. when the atmosphere of the place was thus so nearly restored to its normal condition that captain duff could again endure it, bonny finished stowing the supplies, and then turned his attention to preparing supper. meanwhile alaric had been joined in his lonely promenade by a stranger, who, with a curious expression on his face as he drew near the lad, changed his position so as to get on the windward side, and then began a conversation. "fine evening," he said. "is it?" asked alaric, moodily. "i think so. do you belong on that sloop?" "yes." "able looking craft, and seems to have good accommodations. where does she run to from here?" "the sound," answered alaric, shortly, for he was not in a humor to be questioned. "what does she carry?" "passengers and cargo." "indeed. and may i ask what sort of a cargo?" "you may." "well, then, what sort?" persisted the stranger. "chinks and dope," returned alaric, glancing up with the expectation of seeing a look of bewilderment on his questioner's face. but the latter only said: "um! about what i thought. good-paying business, isn't it?" "if it wasn't we wouldn't be in it," replied the boy. "no, i suppose not; and it must pay big since it enables even the cabin-boy to drench himself with perfumery. good-night; you're too sweet-scented for my company." ere alaric could reply the stranger was walking rapidly away, and bonny was calling him to supper. the first mate apologized for serving this meal on deck, saying that the sloop's company generally ate together in the cabin, but that captain duff objected to the crew's presence at his table on this occasion. "so," said bonny, "i told him he might eat alone, then, for i should come out and eat with you." "i hope he will always feel the same way," retorted alaric, "for it doesn't seem as though i could possibly stay in that cabin long enough to eat a meal." "oh, i guess you could," laughed bonny. "anyway, it will be all right by breakfast-time, for the smell is nearly gone now. but i say, rick dale, what an awfully funny fellow you are anyway! what in the world made you pay for all that truck? it must have taken every cent you had." "so it did," replied alaric. "but what of that? it was the easiest way to smooth things over that i knew of." "it wouldn't have been for me, then," rejoined bonny, "for i haven't handled a dollar in so long that it would scare me to find one in my pocket. but why didn't you let them take back the things we didn't need?" "because, having ordered them, we were bound to accept them, of course, and because i thought we needed them all. i'm awfully tired of such things myself, but i didn't know you were." "what! olives and mushrooms and truffles, and the rest of the things with queer names? i never tasted one of them in my life, and don't believe the captain did, either." "that seems odd," reflected alaric. "doesn't it?" responded bonny, quizzically. "and that cologne, too. what ever made you buy it?" "i don't know exactly. because i happened to see it, i suppose, and thought it would be a useful thing to have along. a little of it is nice in your bath, you know, or to put on your handkerchief when you have a headache." "my stars!" exclaimed bonny. "listen to that, will you! why, rick, to hear you talk, one would think you were a prince in disguise, or a bloated aristocrat of some kind!" "well, i'm not," answered alaric, shortly. "i'm only a sailor on board the sloop _fancy_, who has just eaten a fine supper and enjoyed it." "have you, really?" asked the other, dubiously. "it didn't seem to me that just coffee without any milk, hard bread, and fried salt pork were very fine, and i was afraid that perhaps you wouldn't like 'em." "i do, though," insisted alaric. "you see, i never tasted any of those things before, and they are first-class." "well," said bonny, "i don't think much of such grub, and i've had it for more than a year, too; but, then, every one to his liking. now, if you are all through, let's hustle and clear away these dishes, for we are going to sail to-night, you know, and i've got to notify our passengers. you may come with me and learn the ropes if you want to." "but we haven't any cargo aboard," objected alaric. "oh, that won't take long. a few minutes will fix the cargo all right." alaric wondered what sort of a cargo could be taken aboard in a few minutes, but wisely concluded to wait and see. so the dishes were hastily washed in a bucket of sea-water and put away. then, after a short consultation with captain duff in the cabin, bonny reappeared, and, beckoning alaric to follow him, both lads went ashore and walked up into the town. although it was now evening, bonny did not seek the well-lighted business streets, but made his way to what struck alaric as a peculiarly disreputable neighborhood. the houses were small and dingy, and their windows were so closely shuttered that no ray of light issued from them. at length they paused before a low door, on which bonny rapped in a peculiar manner. it was cautiously opened by a man who held a dim lamp over his head, and who evidently regarded them with suspicion. he was reassured by a few words from the young mate; the door was closed behind them, and, with the stranger leading the way, while alaric, filled with curiosity, brought up the rear, all three entered a narrow and very dark passage, the air of which was close and stifling. chapter ix "chinks" and "dope" the dark passage into which the lads had just been ushered was short, and was ended by a door of heavy planking before alaric found a chance to ask his companion why they had come to such a very queer and mysterious place. the opening of that second door admitted them to another passage equally narrow, but well-lighted, and lined with a number of tiny rooms, each containing two bunks arranged like berths one above the other. by the dim light in these rooms alaric could see that many of these berths were occupied by reclining figures, most of whom were chinamen, though a few were unmistakably white. some were smoking tiny metal-bowled pipes with long stems, while others lay in a motionless stupor. the air was heavy with a peculiarly sickening odor that alaric recognized at once. he had met it before during his travels among the health resorts of continental europe, in which are gathered human wrecks of every kind. of them all none had seemed to the lad so pitiable as the wretched victims of the opium or morphine habit, which is the most degrading and deadly form of intemperance. this boy, so ignorant of many of the commonest things of life, and yet wise far beyond his years concerning other phases, had often heard the opium habit discussed, and knew that the hateful drug was taken in many forms to banish pain, cause forgetfulness of sorrow, and produce a sleep filled with beautiful dreams. he knew, too, of the sad awakenings that followed--the dulled senses, the return, with redoubled force, of all the unhappiness that had only been driven away for a short time, and the cravings for other and yet larger doses of the deadly stuff. he had heard his father say that opium, more than any other one thing, was the curse of china, and that one of the principal reasons why the lower grades of chinese ought to be excluded from the united states was that they were introducing the habit of opium smoking, and spreading it abroad like a pestilence. knowing these things, alaric was filled with horror at finding himself in a chinese opium den, and wondered if bonny realized the true character of the place. in order to find out he gained his comrade's side, and asked, in a low tone: "do you know, bonny, what sort of a place this is?" "yes, of course. it is won lung's joint." "i mean, do you know what the men in those bunks are doing?" "certainly," replied bonny, cheerfully. "they're hitting the pipe." perplexed as he was by these answers, alaric still asked another question. "but do you know what they are smoking in those pipes?" "to be sure i do," answered the other, a trifle impatiently. "it's dope. most any one would know that. didn't you ever smell it before?" "dope!" once before had alaric heard the word during that eventful day, and he had even used it himself, without knowing its meaning. now it flashed across him. dope was opium, and that hateful drug was to form the sloop's cargo. the idea of such a thing was so repugnant to him that he might have entered a protest against it then and there, had not a sudden change of scene temporarily diverted his attention from the subject. the passage they had been traversing ended in an open court, so foreign in its every detail that it appeared like a bit from some chinese city lifted bodily and transported to the new world. the dingy buildings surrounding it were liberally provided with balconies, galleries, and odd little projecting windows, all of which were occupied by chinamen gazing with languid interest at the busy scene below. from most of the galleries hung rows of gayly colored paper lanterns, which gave the place a very quaint and festive aspect. on the pavement were dozens of other chinamen, with here and there a demure-looking little woman and a few children. heaps of queer-looking luggage, each piece done up in matting and fastened with narrow strips of rattan, were piled in the corners. at one side was an immense stove, or rather a huge affair of brick, containing a score or more of little charcoal stoves, each fitted for the cooking of a single kettle of rice or pot of tea. about this were gathered a number of men preparing their evening meal. many of the others were comparing certificates and photographs, a proceeding that puzzled alaric more than a little, for he was so ignorant of the affairs of his own country that he knew nothing of its chinese exclusion law. he began to learn something about it right there, however, and subsequently discovered that while chinese gentlemen, scholars, and merchants are as freely admitted to travel, study, or reside in the united states as are similar classes from any other nation, the lower grades of chinese, rated as laborers, are forbidden by law to set foot on american soil. this is because there are such swarming millions of them willing to work for very small wages, and live as no self-respecting white man could live; that, were they allowed to enter this country freely, they would quickly drive white laborers from the field and leave them to starve. then, too, they bring with them and introduce opium-smoking, gambling, lotteries, and other equally pernicious vices. besides all this, the chinese in the united states, with here and there an exception, have no desire to become citizens, or to remain longer than is necessary to scrape together the few hundreds of dollars with which they can return to their own land and live out the rest of their days in luxury. many thousands of chinese laborers had come to the united states before the exclusion law was passed, and these, by registering and allowing themselves to be photographed for future identification, obtain certificates which, while not permitting them to return if they once leave the country, allow them to remain here undisturbed. any chinaman found without such a protection is liable to be arrested and sent back to his own land. these certificates, therefore, are so valuable that chinamen going home with no intention of ever returning to this country find no difficulty in selling their papers to others, who propose to try and smuggle themselves into the united states from canada or mexico. there are always plenty who are anxious to make this attempt, for if they once get a foothold they can earn better wages here than anywhere else in the world. of course, the purchaser of a certificate must look something like the attached photograph, and correspond to the personal description contained in it. to do this a chinaman will scar his features with cuts or burns if necessary, and will make himself up to resemble any particular photograph as skilfully as a professional actor. this, then, is what many of those whom alaric and bonny now encountered were doing, for the place into which they had come was a chinese hotel in which all newly arrived chinamen found shelter while waiting for work or for a chance to smuggle themselves into the united states, which is what ninety-nine out of every one hundred of them propose to do if possible. as the lads stood together on the edge of this novel scene, while their guide went from group to group making to each a brief announcement, alaric, seizing this first opportunity for acquiring definite information, asked: "what on earth are we here for, bonny?" "to find out how many passengers are ticketed for to-night's boat and get them started," was the reply. "you don't mean that our passengers are to be chinamen?" "yes, of course. i thought i told you so first thing this morning when you asked me what the sloop carried." "no. you only said passengers and freight." "i ought to have said 'chinks.' but what's the odds? 'chinks' are passengers, aren't they?" "do you mean chinamen? are 'chinks' chinamen?" "that's right," replied bonny. "well," said alaric, who had been on the coast long enough to imbibe all a californian's contempt for natives of the flowery kingdom, "if i'd known that 'chinks' meant chinamen, and dope meant opium, i should have been too much ashamed of what the _fancy_ carried ever to tell any one about it." "i hope you won't," responded bonny. "there isn't any necessity for you to that i know of." "but i have already. there was a man on the wharf while i was getting aired who asked me what our cargo was. just to see what he would say i told him 'chinks and dope,' though i hadn't the slightest idea of what either of them meant." "my! but that's bad!" cried bonny, with an anxious look on his face. "i only hope he wasn't a beak. they've been watching us pretty sharp lately, and i know the old man is in a regular tizzy-wizzy for fear we'll get nabbed." before alaric could ask why they should be nabbed, won lung, the proprietor of the establishment, who also acted as interpreter, came to where they were standing, greeted bonny as an old acquaintance, looked curiously at alaric, and announced that thirty-six of his boarders had procured tickets for a passage to the sound on the _fancy_. "we can't take but twenty of 'em on this trip," said the young mate, decidedly. "and with their dunnage we'll have to stow 'em like sardines, anyway. the others must wait till next time." "mebbe you tlake some man in clabin, some mebbe in fo'c's'le," suggested won lung, blandly. "mebbe we don't do anything of the kind," replied bonny. "the trip may last several days, and i know i for one am not going to be crowded out of my sleeping-quarters. so, mr. lung, if you send down one man more than twenty he goes overboard. you savey that?" "yep, me sabby. allee same me no likee." "sorry, but i can't help it. and you want to hustle 'em along too, for we are going to sail in half an hour. got the stuff ready?" "yep, all leddy. two hun'l poun'." "good enough. send it right along with us." a few minutes later our lads had left won lung's queer hotel and were out in the quiet streets accompanied by two chinese coolies, who bore heavy burdens slung from the ends of stout bamboo poles carried across their shoulders. as bonny seemed disinclined to talk, alaric refrained from asking questions, and the little party proceeded in silence through unfrequented streets to the place where their sloop lay. here the burdens borne by the coolies were transferred to the cabin, where this part of the cargo was left with captain duff, and alaric had no knowledge of where it was stowed. while the captain was thus busy below, bonny was giving the crew his first lesson in seamanship by pointing out three ropes that he called jib, throat, and peak halyards, showing him how to make them fast about their respective belaying-pins, and impressing upon him the importance of remembering them. shortly after this the score of long-queued passengers arrived with their odd-looking packages of personal belongings, were taken aboard in silence, and stowed in the hold until alaric wondered if they were piled on top of one another like sticks of cord-wood. then the mooring-lines were cast off, and the _fancy_ drifted noiselessly out of the slip with the ebbing tide. once clear of it the jib was hoisted, and she began to glide out of the harbor before a gentle, off-shore breeze. chapter x puget sound smugglers the great landlocked body of salt water known as puget sound, penetrating for nearly one hundred miles the northwestern corner of washington, the northwest state, is justly termed a smuggler's paradise. it pierces the land in every direction with a perfect net-work of inlets, channels, and bays lined with endless miles of forest, frowning cliffs, and snuggly hidden harbors. the upper end of the sound, where its width entitles it to be called a gulf, is filled with an archipelago of rugged islands of all sizes and shapes, thinly settled, and offering innumerable secure hiding-places for small boats. here and there along the shores of the sound are indian reservations uncleared and unoccupied save by dwindling remnants of the once populous coast tribes. these indians, though retaining their tribal names among themselves, are all known to the whites under the one designation of "siwash," a corruption of the french _sauvage_. on the eastern side of the sound are the important american cities of seattle and tacoma; while at its extreme southern end stands olympia, washington's capital. on its western side, and just north of the strait of juan de fuca, that connects the sound with the ocean, is located the canadian city of victoria, from which all the smuggling operations of these waters are conducted. from victoria to the american island of san juan on the east, the largest of the archipelago already mentioned, the distance is only twelve miles, while it is but twenty miles across the strait of fuca to the american mainland on the south. these two points being so near at hand, it is easy enough to run a boat-load of opium or chinamen over to either of them in a night. for such a passage each chinaman is compelled to pay from fifteen to twenty dollars, while opium yields a profit of four or five dollars a pound. smuggling from victoria is thus such a lucrative business that many men of easy conscience are engaged in it. both the island route and that by way of the strait present the serious drawbacks of having their landing-places so remote from railroads and cities that, though the frontier has been passed, there is still a dangerous stretch of territory to be crossed before either of these can be reached. in view of this fact, it occurred to one of the more enterprising among the victoria smugglers to undertake a greater risk for the sake of greater profits, and run a boat nearly one hundred miles up the sound to some point in near vicinity to one of its large cities. he had just the craft for the purpose, and finally secured a captain who, having recently lost a schooner through seizure by the american authorities for unlawful sealing in bering sea, was reckless and desperate enough for the new venture. as this man undertook the run for a share of the profits, he was inclined to reduce all expenses to their very lowest limits, and had already made a number of highly successful trips. although the fare to each chinaman by this new line was twenty-five dollars, it offered such superior advantages as to be liberally patronized, and the boat was always crowded. in the meantime the american authorities had discovered that much illegal opium and many illegal chinamen were entering their country through a new channel that seemed to lead to the vicinity of tacoma. the recently appointed commander of a united states revenue-cutter determined to break up this route, and capture, if possible, these boldest of all the sound smugglers. for some weeks he watched in vain, overhauled and examined a number of innocent vessels, and with each failure became the more anxious to succeed. at length he sent his third lieutenant to victoria, of course out of uniform, to gain what information he could concerning any vessel that seemed likely to be engaged in smuggling. this officer, after spending several days in the city without learning anything definite, was beginning to feel discouraged, when one afternoon, as he was strolling near the docks, he noticed two lads walking ahead of him who looked something like sailors. one of them had evidently just purchased a new outfit of clothing, and carried a canvas bag on which his name was painted in black letters. making a mental note of this name, the officer followed the lads, out of curiosity to see what kind of a craft they would board. when he saw the _fancy_ he said to himself: "tough-looking old packet. i wonder if that young chap with the bag can be one of her crew?" without approaching the sloop so closely as to attract attention, he lingered in her vicinity until alaric went up-town to procure supplies, when the officer still kept him in sight. he even entered the store in which the lad was dealing, and here his curiosity was stimulated by the young sailor's varied and costly order. "that sloop must make an extraordinary amount of money somehow," he reflected. so interested had he now become that he even followed alaric while the lad made his subsequent purchases. finally he found himself again near the sloop just as the lad who had excited his curiosity was ordered to the wharf to air himself after his unfortunate experience with the bottle of cologne. at length the officer addressed him, and by dint of persistent questions became confirmed in his suspicions that the dingy old sloop cruised to the sound with chinamen and opium. having gained the information he wanted thus easily and unexpectedly, the officer returned to his hotel for supper and to write a despatch that should go by that night's boat. after delivering this on board the steamer, he determined to take one more look at the suspected sloop; and, strolling leisurely in that direction, reached the wharf just in time to see her glide out from the slip and head for the open sea. here was an emergency that called for prompt action; and, running back to the hotel, the young man paid his bill, secured his bag, and gained the steamer just as that fine american-built vessel was about to take her departure for ports of the upper sound. shortly afterwards, a little beyond the harbor mouth, the big, brilliantly lighted steamer swept past a small dimly outlined craft, on whose deck somebody was waving a lantern so that she might not be run down. of course it has been understood long ere this that the sloop _fancy_ was a smuggler. she was not only that, but was also the boldest, most successful, and most troublesome smuggler on puget sound. the one person at all acquainted with the shabby old craft and as yet unaware of her true character was alaric todd. his slight knowledge of smugglers having been gained through books, he thought of them as being only a sort of half pirates, either spanish or french, who flourished during the last century. thus, although he did not approve of either the sloop's passengers or cargo, it did not occur to him that they were being carried in defiance of law until about the time that the steamer's lights were disappearing in the distance. the boy's hands were still smarting from an unaccustomed hauling on ropes that had resulted in hoisting the big main-sail, and now he lay on deck well forward, where he had been told to keep a sharp lookout and report instantly any vessel coming within his range of vision. before a fresh beam wind the _fancy_ was slipping rapidly through the water, with captain duff steering, bonny doing odd jobs about deck, and the passengers confining themselves closely to the hold. after the young mate had waved his signal lantern to the steamer, he extinguished both it and the side lights that had been burning until now, leaving the binnacle lamp carefully shaded as the only light on board. with nothing more to do at present, he threw himself down beside alaric, and the boys began a low-voiced conversation. "what made you put out those lights?" asked the latter. "i thought all ships carried lights at night." "we don't," laughed bonny. "they'd give us away to the cutters, and we'd be picked up in less'n no time. i'm mighty glad that steamer isn't a revenue-boat." "why?" "because she's so fast. there's only one craft on the sound can beat her, and that's the _flyer_, running between tacoma and seattle. this _city of kingston_ is a good one, though. she used to be a crack hudson river boat, and came out here around the horn; or, rather, not exactly that, but through the strait of magellan. that's a tough place, i can tell you." "i suppose it is," replied alaric. "but, bonny, tell me something more about those cutters. why should they want to catch us?" "for running 'chinks' and 'dope.'" "what harm is there in that? is it against the law?" "i should rather say it was. there's a duty of ten dollars a pound on one, and the others aren't allowed in at any price." "then i don't see how we are any different from regular smugglers." "that's what some folks call us," replied bonny, with a grin. "they are mostly on the other side, though. in victoria they call us free-traders." "it doesn't make any difference what anybody calls us," retorted alaric, vehemently, "so long as we ourselves know what we are. it was a mean thing, bonny brooks, that you didn't tell me this before we started." "look here, rick dale! do you pretend you didn't know after seeing the 'chinks' and the 'dope' and all that was going on? oh, come, that's too thin!" "i don't care whether it's thin or thick," rejoined alaric, stoutly. "i didn't know that i was shipping to become a pirate, or you may be very certain i'd have sat on that log till i starved before going one step with you." "what do you mean by calling me a pirate?" demanded bonny, indignantly. "i'm no more a pirate than you are, for all your fine airs." in his excitement bonny had so raised his voice that it reached the ears of captain duff, who growled out, fiercely: "stow yer jaw, ye young swabs, and keep a sharp lookout for'ard--d'ye hear?" "aye, aye, sir," responded the young mate, rising as though to end the unpleasant conversation, and peering keenly into the gloom. but alaric was not inclined to let the subject drop; and, with an idea of continuing their talk in so low a tone that it could not possibly reach the captain's ears, he too started to rise. at that moment the sloop gave a quick lurch that caused him to plunge awkwardly forward. he was only saved from going overboard by striking squarely against bonny, who was balancing himself easily in the very eyes of the vessel, with one foot on the rail. the force of the blow was too great for him to withstand. with a gasping cry he pitched headlong over the bows and disappeared from his comrade's horrified gaze. chapter xi a very trying experience "stop her! stop the boat, quick! bonny is overboard" shouted alaric, frantically, as he realized the nature of the catastrophe that had just occurred through his awkwardness. as he shouted he sprang to the jib-halyard, and, casting it off, allowed the sail to come down by the run, his sole idea of checking the headway of a sailing craft being to reduce her canvas. he was about to let go both throat and peak halyards, and so bring down the big main-sail also, when, with a bellow of rage and a marvellous disregard of his lameness, captain duff rushed forward and snatched the ropes from the lad's hands. "you thundering blockhead!" he roared. "what d'ye mean by lowering a sail without orders? h'ist it again! h'ist it, d'ye hear?" "but bonny is overboard!" cried alaric. "and you want to leave him to drown, do ye? don't ye know that if he's alive he's drifted astarn by this time? ef you had any sense you'd be out in the dinghy looking fur him." alaric knew that the dinghy was the small boat towing behind the sloop, for he had heard the young mate call it by that name, and now he needed no further hint as to his duty. he had pushed bonny overboard, and he must save him if that might still be done. if not, he was careless of what happened to himself. nothing could be worse than, or so bad as, to go through life with the knowledge that he had caused the death of a fellow-being--one, too, whom he had already come to regard as a dear friend. thus thinking, he ran aft, cast loose the painter of the dinghy, drew the boat to the sloop's stern, and, dropping into it, drifted away in the darkness. he had never rowed a boat, nor even handled a pair of oars, but he had seen others do so, and imagined that it was easy enough. it is not often that a first lesson of this kind is taken alone, at midnight, amid the tossing waters of an open sea, and it could not have happened now but for our poor lad's pitiful ignorance of all forms of athletics, including those in which every boy should be instructed. without a thought for himself, nor even a comprehension of his own peril, alaric fitted the oars that he found in the bottom of the boat to their row-locks, and began to pull manfully in what he supposed was the proper direction. he pulled first with one oar and then with the other; then making a wild stroke with both oars that missed the water entirely, he tumbled over backwards. recovering himself, he prepared more cautiously for a new effort, and this time, instead of beating the air, thrust his oars almost straight down in the water. then one entered it, while the other, missing it by a foot or so, flew back and struck him a violent blow. up to this time the lad had kept up a constant shouting of "bonny! oh, bonny!" or "hello, bonny!" but that blow bereft him of so much breath that for a minute he had none left with which to shout. now, too, for the first time, he gained a vague idea of his own perilous situation. there was nothing in sight and nothing to be heard save the ceaseless dashing of waters and a melancholy moaning of wind. the sky was so overcast that not even a star could extend to him a cheery ray of light. the boy's heart sank, and he made another attempt at a shout, as much to raise his own spirits as with any hope of being heard. only a husky cry resulted, for his voice was choked, and he again strove to row, with the thought that any form of action would be better than idleness amid such surroundings. if his oars seemed vicious before, they were doubly so now that he was wearied, and they stubbornly resisted his efforts to make them work as he knew they could and ought. at length he let go of one of them for an instant, while he wiped the trickling perspiration from his eyes. the moment it was released, the provoking bit of wood, as though possessed of a malicious instinct, slid from its rowlock, dropped into the water, and floated away. alaric made a wild but ineffectual clutch after it that allowed a quantity of water to slop into the boat, and gave him the idea that it was sinking. with an access of terror the poor lad sprang to his feet, and, forgetful of the object that had brought him into his present situation, screamed: "bonny! oh, bonny! save me! don't leave me here to drown!" then a spiteful wave so buffeted the boat that he was toppled over and fell sprawling in the bottom. that was the blackest and most despairing moment of his life; but even as it came to him he fancied he heard a whispered answer to his call, and lifted his head to listen. yes, he heard it again, so faint and uncertain that it might be only the mocking scream of some sea-bird winging a swift flight through the blackness. still the idea filled him with hope, and he called again with a cry so shrill and long-drawn that its intensity almost frightened him. now the echoing hail was certain, and it came to him with the unmistakable accents of a human voice. again he shouted: "bonny! oh, bonny!" and again came the answer, this time much nearer: "hello, rick dale! hello!" "hello, bonny! hello!" how could it be that bonny had kept himself afloat so long? what wonderful powers of endurance he must possess! how should he reach him? there was but a single oar left, and surely no one could propel a boat with one oar. he tried awkwardly to paddle, but after a few seconds of fruitless labor gave this up in despair. what could he do? must he sit there idle, knowing that his friend was drowning within sound of his voice, and for want of the aid that he could give if he only knew how? it was horrible and yet inevitable. he was helpless. once more was his own peril forgotten, and his sole distress was for his friend. again he shouted, with the energy of despair: "bonny! oh, bonny! can't you get to me? i'm in a boat." then came something so startling and so astonishing that he was almost petrified with amazement. instead of a weak, despairing answer, coming from a long distance, there sounded a cheery hail from close at hand: "all right, old man! i'm coming. cheer up." what had happened? was his friend endowed with supernatural powers that enabled him to traverse the sea at will? alaric gazed about him on all sides, almost doubting the evidence of his senses. then, with a flutter of canvas and a rush of water from under her bows, the tall form of the sloop loomed out of the blackness almost beside him. "sing out, rick. where are you?" "here i am. oh, bonny, is it you?" "yes, of course. look out! catch this line." the end of a rope came whizzing over the boat, and alaric, catching it, held on tightly. he was seated on the middle thwart, and the moment a strain came on the line the boat turned broadside to it, heeled until water began to pour in over her gunwale, and alaric, unable to hold on an instant longer, let go his hold. he heard an exclamation of "thundering lubber!" in captain duff's voice, and then the sloop was again lost to sight. again alaric was in despair, though he could still hear the shouting of orders and a confused slatting of sails. after a little the sloop was put about, and a shouting to determine the locality of the drifting boat was recommenced. still it seemed to alaric a tedious while before she approached him for a second time, and bonny once more sung out to him to stand by and catch a line. "make it fast in the bow this time," he called, as he flung the coil of rope. again alaric succeeded in catching it, and, obeying instructions, he scrambled into the bow of the boat, where he knelt and clung to the line for dear life, not knowing how to make it fast. in a moment there came a jerk that very nearly pulled him overboard; and the boat, with its bow low in the water from his weight, while its stern was in the air, took a wild sheer to one side. again water poured in until she was nearly swamped, and again was the line torn from alaric's grasp. "you blamed idiot!" roared captain duff. "you don't desarve to be saved! i'll give ye just one more try, and ef you don't fetch the sloop that time we'll leave ye to navigate on your own hook." as the previous manoeuvres were repeated for a third time, poor alaric, sitting helplessly in his waterlogged dinghy, shivered with apprehension. how could he hold on to that cruel line that seemed only fitted to drag him to destruction? this time it took longer to find him, and he was hoarse with shouting before the _fancy_ again approached. "he don't know enough to do anything with a line, cap'n duff," said bonny. "so if you'll throw the sloop into the wind and heave her to, i'll bring the boat alongside." with this, and without waiting for an answer, the plucky young sailor, who had already divested himself of most of his clothing, sprang into the black waters and swam towards the vaguely discerned boat. in another minute he had gained her, clambered in, and was asking the amazed occupant for the other oar. "it's lost overboard," replied alaric, gloomily, feeling that the case was now more desperate than ever. "oh, bonny! why--?" "never mind," cried the other, cheerily. "i can scull, and that will answer just as well as rowing. perhaps better, for i can see where we are headed." alaric had deemed it impossible to propel a boat with a single oar; but now, to his amazement, bonny sculled the dinghy ahead almost as rapidly as he could have rowed. the sloop was out of sight, but the flapping of her sails could be plainly heard, and five minutes later the young mate laid his craft alongside. captain duff was too angry for words, and fortunately too busy in getting his vessel on her course to pay any attention just then to the lad whose awkwardness and ignorance had caused all this trouble and delay. "skip for'ard," said bonny, in a low tone, "and i'll come directly." as alaric, with a thankful heart, obeyed this injunction, he marvelled at the size and steadiness of the sloop, and wondered how he could ever have thought her small or unstable. a few minutes later bonny, only half dressed, joined him, and said, "if you'll lend me your trousers, old man, you can turn in for the rest of the night, and i'll stand your watch; mine are too wet to put on just yet, and i think you'll be safer below than on deck, anyway." like a person in a dream, and without asking one of the many questions suggesting themselves, alaric obeyed. earlier in that most eventful day he had regarded that dark and stuffy forecastle with disgust, and vowed he would never sleep in it. now, as he snuggled shivering between the blankets of the first mate's own bunk, it seemed to him one of the coziest, warmest, and most comfortable sleeping-apartments he had ever known. chapter xii a lesson in kedging for a long time alaric lay awake in his narrow bunk, listening to the gurgle of waters parted by the sloop's bow, but a few inches from his head, and reflecting upon the exciting incidents of the past hour. it had all been so terrible and yet so unreal. on one thing he determined. never again would he enter a boat alone without having first learned how to row, and to swim also. how splendidly bonny had come to his rescue, and yet how easily! what was it he had called making a boat go with only one oar? alaric could not remember; but at any rate it was a wonderful thing to do, and he determined to master that art as well. what a lot he had to learn, anyhow, and how important it all was! he had longed for the ability to do such things, but never until now had he realized their value. how well bonny did them, and what a fine fellow he was, and how the heart of the poor rich boy warmed towards this self-reliant young friend of a day! could it be but one day since their first meeting? it seemed as though he had known bonny always. but how had the young sailor regained the sloop after being knocked overboard? that was unaccountable, and one of the most mysterious things alaric had ever heard of. he longed for bonny to come below, that he might ask just that one question; but the mate was otherwise engaged, and the crew finally dropped asleep. through the remainder of the night the sloop sailed swiftly on her course; but she could not make up for that lost hour, and by dawn, though she had passed the light on admiralty head, and was well to the southward of port townsend, the very stronghold of her enemies, for it is the port of entry for the sound, she was still far from the hiding-place in which her captain had hoped to lie by for the day. however, he knew of another nearer at hand, though not so easy of access, and to this he directed the vessel's course. it did not seem to alaric that he had been asleep more than a few minutes when he was rudely awakened by being hauled out of his bunk and dropped on the forecastle floor. at the same time he became conscious of a voice, saying: "wake up! wake up, rick dale! i've been calling you for the last five minutes, and was beginning to think you were dead. here it is daylight, with lots of work waiting, and you snoozing away as though you were a young man of elegant leisure. so tumble out in a hurry, or else you'll have the cap'n down on you, and he's no light-weight when he's as mad as he is this morning." never before in all his luxurious life had alaric been subjected to such rough treatment, and for a moment he was inclined to resent it; but a single glance at bonny's smiling face, and a thought of how deeply he was indebted to this lad, caused him to change his mind and scramble to his feet. "here are your trousers," continued the young mate, "and the quicker you can jump into them the better, for we've a jolly bit of kedging to attend to, and need your assistance badly." filled with curiosity as to what a "jolly bit of kedging" might be, and also pleased with the idea that he was not considered utterly useless, alaric hastily dressed and hurried on deck. there the sight of a number of chinamen recalled with a shock the nature of the craft on which he was shipped, and for an instant he was tempted to refuse further service as a member of her crew. a moment's reflection, however, convinced him that the present was not the time for such action, as it could only result in disaster to himself and in extra work being thrown upon bonny. the sun had not yet risen, and on one side a broad expanse of water was overlaid with a light mist. on the other was a bold shore covered with forest to the water's edge, and penetrated by a narrow inlet, off the mouth of which the sloop lay becalmed. bonny was already in the dinghy, which held a coil of rope having a small anchor attached to one end. the other end was on board the sloop and made fast to the bitts. "when i reach the end of the line and heave the kedge overboard, you want to haul in on it," said the young mate, "and when the sloop is right over the kedge, let go your anchor. do you understand?" "yes, i think so." the tide had just turned ebb, and was beginning to run out from the inlet as bonny dropped the kedge-anchor overboard, and alaric, beginning to pull with a hearty will on that long, wet rope, experienced the first delights of kedging. captain duff, puffing at a short black pipe, sat by the tiller and steered, while the chinese passengers, squatted about the deck, watched the lad's efforts with a stolid interest. at length the end of the rope was reached, and alaric, with aching back and smarting hands, but beaming with the consciousness of a duty well performed, imagined his task to be ended. "let go your anchor," ordered captain duff. when this was done, and the cable made fast so that the sloop should not drift back when the kedge was lifted, bonny heaved up the latter and got it into the dinghy. then he sculled still farther into the inlet until the end of the long line was once more reached, when he again dropped the small anchor overboard, and poor alaric found, to his dismay, that the whole tedious operation was to be repeated. in addition to what he had done before, the heavy riding anchor was now to be lifted from the bottom. as the boy essayed to haul in its cable with his hands, captain duff, muttering something about a "lubberly swab," stumped forward, and showing him how to use the windlass for this purpose, condescended to hold the turn while the perspiring lad pumped away at the iron lever. when the anchor was lifted, he was directed to again lay hold of the kedge-line and warp her along handsomely. alaric made signs to the chinamen that they should help him; but they, being passengers who had paid for the privilege of idleness on this cruise, merely grinned and shook their heads. so the poor lad tugged at that heart-breaking line until his strength was so exhausted that the sloop ceased to make perceptible headway. at this captain duff, who was again nodding over the tiller, suddenly woke up, rushed among his passengers with brandished crutch, roaring an order in pidgin english that caused them to jump in terror, lay hold of the line, and haul it in hand over hand. three times more was the whole weary operation repeated, until at length the sloop was snugly anchored behind a tree-grown point that effectually concealed her from anything passing in the sound. "nice, healthy exercise, this kedging," remarked bonny, cheerfully, as he came on board. "you may call it that," responded alaric, gloomily, "but i call it the most killing kind of work i ever heard of, and if there is any more of it to be done, somebody else has got to do it. i simply won't, and that's all there is about it." "oh phsaw!" laughed the young mate, as he lighted a fire in the galley stove and began preparations for breakfast. "this morning's job was only child's play compared with some you'll have before you've been aboard here a month." "which i never will be," replied alaric, "for i'm going to resign this very day. i suppose this is the united states and the end of the voyage, isn't it?" "it's the states fast enough; but not the end of the run by a good bit. we've another night's sail ahead of us before we come to that. but you mustn't think of resigning, as you call it, just as you are beginning to get the hang of sailoring. think how lonely i should be without you to make things lively and interesting--as you did last night, for instance." "i shall, though," replied alaric, decidedly, "just as quick as we make a port; for if you think i'm going to remain in the smuggling business one minute longer than i can help, you're awfully mistaken. and what's more, you are going with me, and we'll hunt for another job--an honest one, i mean--together." "i am, am i?" remarked bonny. "after you calling me a pirate, too. i shouldn't think you'd care to associate with pirates." "but i do care to associate with you," responded alaric, earnestly, "for i know i couldn't get along at all without you. besides, after the splendid way you came to my rescue last night, i don't want to try. but i say, bonny, how did you ever manage to get back on board after tumbling--i mean, after i knocked you--into the water? it seems to me the most mysterious thing i ever heard of." "oh, that was easy enough!" laughed the young mate, lifting the lid of a big kettle of rice, that was boiling merrily, as he spoke. "you see, i didn't wholly fall overboard. that is, i caught on the bob-stay, and was climbing up again all right when you let the jib down on top of me, nearly knocking me into the water and smothering me at the same time. when i got out from under it you were gone, and a fine hunt we had for you, during which the old man got considerably excited. but all's well that ends well, as the japs said after the war was over; so now if you'll make a pot of coffee, i'll get the pork ready for frying." "but i don't know how to make coffee." "don't you? i thought everybody knew that. never mind, though; i'll make the coffee while you fry the meat." "i don't know how to do that, either." "don't you know how to cook anything?" "no. i don't believe i could even boil water without burning it." "well," said bonny, "you certainly have got more to learn than any fellow old enough to walk alone that i ever knew." the sloop remained in her snug hiding-place all that day, during which her captain and first mate devoted most of their time to sleeping. the chinamen spent the greater part of the day on shore, while alaric, following bonny's advice, made his first attempt at fishing. so long as he only got bites he had no trouble; but when he finally caught an enormous flounder his occupation was gone, for he had no second hook, and could not imagine how the fish was to be removed from the one to which it was attached. so he let it carefully down into the water again, and made the line fast until bonny should wake. when that happened, and he triumphantly hauled in his line, he found, to his dismay, that his hook was bare, and that the fish had solved his problem for him. in the meantime there was much activity that day on board a certain revenue-cutter stationed in the upper sound, and shortly after dark, about the time the smuggler _fancy_ was again getting under way, several well-manned boats left the government vessel to spend the night in patrolling certain channels. chapter xiii chasing a mysterious light the commander of the revenue-cutter had received from his lieutenant a detailed description of the sloop _fancy_, together with what other information that officer had gathered concerning her destination, lading, and crew. as a result of this interview it was determined to guard all passages leading to the upper sound; and during the hours of darkness the cutter's boats, under small sail, cruised back and forth across the channels on either side of vashon island, one of which the sloop must take. they showed no lights, and their occupants were not allowed to converse in tones louder than a whisper. while half of each crew got what sleep they might in the bottom of the boat, the others were on watch and keenly alert. in the stern-sheets of each boat sat an officer muffled in a heavy ulster as a protection against the chill dampness of the night. the night was nearly spent and dawn was at hand when the weary occupants of one of these patrol-boats were aroused into activity by two bright lights that flashed in quick succession for an instant well over on the western side of their channel, which was the one known as colvos passage. "it is a signal," said the officer, as he headed his boat in that direction. "silence, men! have your oars ready for a chase." shortly afterwards another light appeared on the water in the same general direction, but farther down the channel. it showed steadily for a minute, and was then lost to view, only to reappear a few moments later. after that its continued appearance and disappearance proved most puzzling, until the officer solved the problem to his own satisfaction by saying: "the careless rascals have come to anchor, and are sending their stuff ashore in a small boat. that light is the lantern they are working by; but i wouldn't have believed even they could be so reckless as to use it. douse that sail and unship the mast. so. now, out oars! give 'way!" as the boat sprang forward under this new impulse, its oars, being muffled in the row-locks, gave forth no sound save the rhythmic swish with which they left the water at the end of each stroke. the row was not a long one, and within five minutes the boat was close to the mysterious light. no sound came from its vicinity, nor was there any loom of masts or sails through the blackness. were they close to it, after all? might it not be brighter than they thought, and still at a distance from them? its nature was such that the officer could not determine even by standing up, and for a few moments he was greatly puzzled. he could now see that the land was at a greater distance than a smuggler would choose to cover with his small boats when he might just as well run his craft much closer. what could it mean? suddenly he gave the orders: "'way enough! in oars! look sharp there for'ard with your boat-hook!" the next moment the twinkling light was alongside, and its mystery was explained. it was an old lantern lashed to a bit of a board that was in turn fastened across an empty half-barrel. a screen formed of a shingle darkened one side of the lantern, so that, as the floating tub was turned by wind or wave, the light alternately showed and disappeared at irregular intervals. that the lieutenant who was the victim of this simple ruse was angry goes without saying. he was furious, and could he have captured its author just then, that ingenious person might have met with rough usage. but there seemed little chance of capturing him, for although the officer felt certain that this tub had been launched from the very smuggler he was after, he had no idea of where she now was, or of what direction she had taken. all he knew was that somebody had warned her of danger in that channel, and that she had cleverly given him the slip. he could also imagine the "chaff" he would receive from his brother officers on the cutter when they should learn of his mortifying experience. when, after cruising fruitlessly during the brief remainder of the night, he returned to his ship and reported what had taken place, he was chaffed, as he expected, but was enabled to bear this with equanimity, for he had made a discovery. on the shingle that had shaded the old lantern he found written in pencil as though for the passing of an idle half-hour, and apparently by some one who wished to see how his name would look if he were a foreigner: "philip ryder, mr. philip ryder, monsieur philippe ryder, signor filipo ryder, señor félipe ryder, and herr philip ryder." "it's the name of the young chap who led me such a chase in victoria, and finally gave me the information i wanted concerning the sloop _fancy_," said the lieutenant to his commanding officer, in reporting this discovery. "which would seem to settle the identity of the sloop we are after, and prove that she is now somewhere close at hand," replied the commander. "yes, sir; and it also discloses the identity of the young rascal who is responsible for this trick, though from his looks i wouldn't have believed him capable of it. he is the one i told you of who was so scented with cologne as to be offensive. i remember well seeing the name philip ryder on his dunnage-bag." the sun was just rising, and at this moment a report was brought to the cabin, from a masthead lookout, to the effect that a small sloop was disappearing behind a point a few miles to the southward. "it may be your boat, and it may be some other," said the commander to the third lieutenant. "at any rate, it is our duty to look him up. so you will please get under way again with the yawl, run down to that point, and see what you can find. if you meet with your young friend ryder either afloat or ashore, don't fail to arrest and detain him as a witness, for in any case his testimony will be most important." the _fancy_ had hauled out of her snug berth soon after sunset that same night, and fanned along by a light breeze, held her course to the southward. both our lads were stationed forward to keep a sharp lookout, though with a grim warning from captain duff that if either of them fell overboard this time, he might as well make up his mind to swim ashore, for the sloop would not be stopped to pick him up. "cheerful prospect for me," muttered alaric. "never mind, though, mr. captain, i'm going to desert, as did the phil ryder of whom you seem so fond. i am going to follow his example, too, in taking your first mate with me." as on the previous night, the lads found an opportunity to talk in low tones; and filled with the idea of inducing bonny to leave the sloop with him, alaric strove to convince him of the wickedness of smuggling. "it is breaking a law of your country," he argued; "and any one who breaks one law will be easily tempted to break another, until there's no saying where he will end." "if we didn't do it, some other fellows would," replied bonny. "the chinks are bound to travel, and folks are bound to have cheap dope." "so _you_ are breaking the law to save some other fellow's conscience?" "no, of course not. i'm doing it for the wages it pays." "which is as much as to say that you would break any law if you were paid enough." "i never saw such a fellow as you are for putting things in an unpleasant way," retorted the young mate, a little testily. "of course there are plenty of laws i couldn't be hired to break. i wouldn't steal, for instance, even if i were starving, nor commit a murder for all the money in the world. but i'd like to know what's the harm in running a cargo like ours? a few chinamen more or less will never be noticed in a big place like the united states. besides, i think the law that says they sha'n't come in is an unjust one, anyway. we haven't any more right to keep chinamen out of a free country than we have to keep out italians or anybody else." "so you claim to be wiser than the men who make our laws, do you?" asked alaric. without answering this question, bonny continued: "as for running in a few pounds of dope, we don't rob anybody by doing that." "how about robbing the government?" "oh, that don't count. what's a few dollars more or less to a government as rich as ours?" "which is saying that while you wouldn't steal from any one person, you don't consider it wicked to steal from sixty millions of people. also, that it is perfectly right to rob a government because it is rich. wouldn't it be just as right to rob mr. vanderbilt or mr. astor, or even my--i mean any other millionaire? they are rich, and wouldn't feel the loss." "i never looked at it in that way," replied bonny, thoughtfully. "i thought not," rejoined alaric. "and there are some other points about this business that i don't believe you ever looked at, either. did you ever stop to think that every chinaman you help over the line at once sets to work to throw one of your own countrymen out of a job, and so robs him of his living?" "no; i can't say i ever did." "or did it ever occur to you that every cargo of opium you help to bring into the country is going to carry sorrow and suffering, perhaps even ruin, to hundreds of your own people?" "i say, rick dale, it seems to me you know enough to be a lawyer. at any rate, you know too much to be a sailor, and ought to be in some other business." "no, bonny, i don't know half enough to be a sailor; but i do know too much to be a smuggler, and i am going to get into some other business as quick as i can. you are too, now that you have begun to think about it, for you are too honest a fellow to hold your present position any longer than you can help. by-the-way, what would happen if a cutter should get after us to-night?" "that depends," replied the first mate, sagely, glad to feel that there were some legal questions concerning which he was wiser than his companion. "they might fire on us, if we didn't stop quick enough to suit 'em, and blow us out of the water. they might capture us, clap us into irons, and put us into a dark lock-up on bread and water. the most likely thing is that we would all be sent to the government prison on mcneil's island. from there the chinks would be hustled back to victoria, and the old man would get out on bond; but you and i would be held as witnesses until a court was ready to condemn the vessel and cargo. that would probably take some months, perhaps a year. then the case would be appealed, and we'd be kept in prison for another year or so. "and i suppose if we ever got out we would always be watched and suspected," suggested alaric, who had listened to all this with almost as much dismay as though it were an actual sentence. "well, i'll never be caught, that's all. i'll drift away in the dinghy first." in saying this the boy threatened to do the very most desperate thing he could think of. "i believe i'd go with you," said bonny. "now, though, i must go and get ready our private signal, for we are getting close to the most dangerous place." chapter xiv bonny's invention, and how it worked bonny walked aft, exchanged a few words with captain duff, and then disappeared in the cabin, where he remained for some minutes. when he again came on deck he bore a box in which was a lighted lamp provided with a bright reflector. only one side of the box was open, and this space the lad carefully shielded with his hat. the sloop was just entering colvos passage, between vashon island and the mainland, and was nearer the western shore than the other. holding his box as far down as he could reach over the landward side of the vessel, bonny turned its opening towards the shore, and allowed the bright light to stream from it for a single second. then by quickly reversing the box the light was made to disappear. a moment later it was shown again, this time with a piece of red glass held in the front of the lamp. this red light, after appearing for a single second, was also made to vanish, and another quick flash of white light took its place. a minute or so later the whole operation was repeated, and the white, red, and white signal was again flashed to the wooded shore. at the fourth time of displaying the signal it was answered by two white flashes from the shore. there was a moment of suspense, and then bonny exclaimed, in a low tone, "great scott! they're after us!" extinguishing his light, he again dived below, this time into the forecastle. when he reappeared he bore the float and lighted lantern already described. alaric had noticed this queer contrivance the day before, and, while wondering at its object, had amused himself by idly scribbling on a smooth shingle that he found inside the tub. now this same shingle was hastily lashed to the lantern, and the whole affair was launched overboard. at the same time the sloop was put about, and leaving this decoy light floating and bobbing behind her as though it were in a boat, she sped away towards the eastern side of the channel. when bonny rejoined alaric at the lookout station he asked, with a chuckle: "what do you think of that for a scheme, rick? it's my own invention, and i've been longing for a chance to try it every trip; but this is the very first time we have needed anything of the kind. i only hope the light won't get blown out, or the whole business get capsized before the beaks capture it. my! how i'd like to see 'em creeping up to it, and hear their remarks when they find out what it really is!" "what does all this flashing of lights and setting lanterns adrift mean, anyway?" asked alaric, who was much puzzled by what had just taken place. "means there's a revenue-boat of some kind waiting for us in the channel, and that we are dodging him. the lights i showed made our private signal, and asked if the coast was clear. skookum john didn't get on to 'em at first, or maybe he wasn't in a safe place for answering. when he saw us and got the chance, though, he flashed two lights to warn us of trouble. three would have meant 'all right, come ahead'; but two was a startler. it was the first time we've had that signal; also it's the first chance i've had to test my invention." [illustration: "bonny's invention started on its journey"] "do you mean that you actually expect that floating lantern to attract the revenue people, so they will go to examine it, instead of coming after us?" "attract 'em! of course it will. they'll go for it the same as june bugs go for street electrics, and then they'll wish they had spent their time hunting for us instead." ever since leaving the dancing light bonny had not been able to take his eyes from it, so anxious was he to discover whether or not it served the purpose for which it was intended. it grew fainter and smaller as the sloop gained distance on her new course. then all at once it seemed to rise from the water, and an instant later disappeared. "they've got it, and lifted it aboard!" cried bonny, delightedly. and in his exultation he called out, "the beaks have doused the glim, cap'n duff!" "douse your tongue, ye swab, and keep your eyes p'inted for'ard!" was the ungracious reply muttered out of the after darkness. "what an old bear he is!" murmured alaric, indignantly. "yes; isn't he?--a regular old sea-bear? but i don't mind him any more than i would a rumble of imitation thunder. i say, though, rick, isn't this jolly exciting?" "yes," admitted the other, "it certainly is." "and you want me to quit it for some stupid shore work that'll make a fellow think he's got about as much life in him as a clam?" "no, i don't; for i am certain there are just as exciting things to be done on shore as at sea; and if you'll only promise to come with me i'll promise to find something for you to do as exciting as this, and lots honester." "i've a mind to take you up," said bonny, "and i would if i thought you had any idea how hard it is to find a job of any kind. you haven't, though, and because you got this berth dead easy you think you'll have the same luck every time. but we must look sharp now for another light from skookum john." by this time the sloop had again tacked, and was headed diagonally for the western shore. "who is skookum john?" asked alaric. "skookum? why, he's our siwash runner, who is always on the lookout for us, and keeps us posted." "what is a siwash?" "well, if you aren't ignorant! 'specially about languages. why, siwash is chinook for indian. there's his light now! see? one, two, three. good enough! we've given 'em the slip once more, and everything is working our way." by the time bonny had reported this bit of news to captain duff, and held the tiller while the old sea-dog cautiously lighted the pipe he had not dared smoke all night, dawn was breaking, and the skipper began to look anxiously for the harbor he had hoped to make by sunrise. as it grew lighter bonny pointed out the now distant masts of the cutter they had so successfully passed a short time before, and said, with a cheerful grin: "there's the old kettle that thought she could clip the _fancy's_ wings, and bring her to with a round turn. but she missed it this time, as she will many another if i'm not mistaken." captain duff also sighted the far-away cutter, and, nervous as an owl at being caught outside his hiding-place by daylight, laid all the blame of their late arrival on poor alaric. "if it hadn't been for your fool antics of two nights ago," he said, "we'd made this port a good hour afore sun this morning. you're as wuthless as ye look, and ye look to be the most wuthless young swab i ever had aboard ship, barring one. he was another just such white-faced, white-handed, mealy-mouthed specimen as you be. couldn't eat ship's victuals till i starved him to it, and finally got me into the wust scrape of my life. now i shouldn't be one mite surprised ef you'd put me into another hole mighty nigh as deep. so you want to quit your nonsense and 'tend strictly to business, or i'll make ye jump. d'ye hear? i'll make ye jump, i say." alaric acknowledged that he heard, and then walked forward to light the galley fire and set a kettle of water on to boil, for he was very hungry, and proposed to have some breakfast as quickly as possible. the sloop rounded a long point and came to anchor in a wooded cove, apparently as wild as though they were its discoverers. a couple of chinamen, who had evidently camped there all night, waited to greet their countrymen on the beach, to which bonny at once began to transfer his passengers, a few at a time, in the dinghy. as fast as they were landed they were led back into the woods and started towards tacoma, which was but a few miles distant. alaric, who was determined not to remain aboard the sloop longer than was necessary to get the breakfast to which he felt entitled after his night's work, managed to get his canvas bag on deck unseen by captain duff, and slip it into the dinghy as the boat was about to make its last trip. "hide it on shore for me, bonny," he said. "all right; i will if you'll promise not to skip until we've had another talk on the subject." "of course i promise; for i'm not going without you." "then perhaps you won't go at all," laughed bonny. so the bag was taken ashore and concealed in a thicket a little to one side, and bonny came back to prepare breakfast, for which alaric had the water already boiling. when this meal was nearly ready, and as the boys were sniffing hungrily at the odors of coffee and frying meat, captain duff suddenly appeared on deck. "go up on that point, you foremast hand--i can't remember your thundering name--and watch the cutter while me and the mate eats. after that one of us 'll relieve ye. ef she moves, or even shows black smoke, you let me know, d'ye hear?" wishing to rebel, but not daring to, and feeling that he should surely starve if kept from his breakfast many minutes longer, alaric obeyed this order. he managed to secure a couple of hard biscuit with which to comfort his lonely watch, and then bonny set him ashore. picking up his bag and carrying it with him, the boy clambered to the point, and, selecting a place from which he could plainly see the cutter, began his watch, at the same time munching his dry biscuit with infinite relish. much of the water intervening between him and the cutter was hidden from view by near-by undergrowth, and the necessity for scanning it never occurred to him. after a while bonny came to relieve him and allow him to go to breakfast. "have you really made up your mind to desert the ship?" asked the young mate, noticing that alaric had his bag with him. "yes, i really have," answered the other; "and you will come with me, won't you, bonny?" "i don't know," replied the latter, undecidedly. "somehow i can't make it seem right to desert captain duff and leave him in a fix. seems to me we ought to stay with him until he gets back to victoria, anyway. besides, i'd lose my wages, and there must be nearly thirty dollars due me by this time. but you go along to your breakfast, and after that we'll talk it all over. haven't seen anything, have you?" "no, not a sign, but--hello! what's that?" "caught, as sure as you're born!" cried bonny, in a tone of suppressed excitement. then, the two lads, peering through the bushes, watched a boat, flying the flag of the united states revenue marine and filled with sturdy bluejackets, enter the cove and dash alongside the smuggler _fancy_. chapter xv captured by a revenue-cutter the sight of that armed boat making fast to the sloop, and its agile occupants springing on board, was so startling to the two lads taking in its every detail from their point of vantage on shore, that if excitement could have affected alaric todd's heart it would certainly have done so at that moment. as it was, he did not even realize that his heart was beating unusually fast. his mind was too full of other thoughts just then for him to remember that he had a heart. he only realized that the vessel of which he had formed the crew had fallen into the clutches of outraged law, and that for the present at least her career as a smuggler was at an end. now that she was really captured, he was conscious of a regret that after successfully eluding her enemies so long she should, after all, fall into their hands. he even felt sorry for captain duff, surly old bear that he was. at the same time he was thankful not to be on board the captured craft, and rejoiced in the thought that this sudden change of affairs would sweep away all bonny's scruples, and leave him free to seek some occupation other than that of being a smuggler. as for that young sailor himself, his feelings were equally contradictory with those of his companion, though his sympathies leaned more decidedly towards the side of the law-breaker. "poor cap'n duff!" he exclaimed, in a low tone. "this is tough luck for him; and i must say, rick dale, that the whole thing is pretty much your fault, too. if you'd kept a half-way decent lookout you'd have seen that yawl when she was two miles off. then we could have got under way, and given her the slip as easy as you please. now you and i have lost our job, while cap'n duff will lose his and his boat besides. i'll never see my wages, either; and, worst of all, in spite of my invention working so smooth, these revenue fellows have got the laugh on us. i say it's too bad, though to be sure it does let us out of the smuggling business. i expect it will be a long time, though, before i get another job as first mate, or any other kind of a job that will be worth having." "but, bonny," interposed alaric, anxious to defend his own reputation, "i wasn't told to look out for boats, but only to watch the cutter, and i hardly took my eyes off of her until you came." "that's all right; only by the time you've knocked round the world as much as i have you'll find out that any fellow who expects to get promoted has got to do a heap of things besides those he's told to do. what he is told to do is generally only a hint of what he is expected to do. but just listen to the old man. isn't he laying down the law to those chaps, though?" the voices of those on the sloop came plainly to the ears of the hidden lads, and above them all roared and bellowed that of captain duff, as though he expected to overwhelm his enemies by sheer force of bluster. "chinamen!" he shouted--"chinamen! no, sir, you won't find no chinamen about this craft, nor nothing else onlawful. "smell 'em, do ye? smell 'em! so do i now, and hev ever sence you revenooers come aboard. seems like ye can't get the parfume out of your clothing. "going to seize the sloop anyway, be ye? wal, ye kin do it, seeing as i'm all alone and a cripple. there'll come a day of reckoning, though--a day of reckoning, d'ye hear? i'm a free-born american citizen, and i'll protest agin this outrage till they hear me clear to washington." "he's heard over a good part of washington this minute," whispered bonny. "but what are they talking about now?" "phil ryder!" the captain was shouting. "philip ryder! no, sir, there ain't no one of that name aboard this craft, nor hain't ever been as i know of. i did know a phil ryder once, but--what's that ye say? that'll do? wa'l, it won't do, ye gold-mounted swab, not so long as i choose to keep on talking. look out there, or i'll brain ye sure as guns! look out, i--" this last exclamation was directed to a couple of sturdy bluejackets, who, obeying a significant nod from their officer, seized the irate captain by either arm, hustled him down into his own cabin, and drew the slide. then leaving these two aboard the _fancy_, the others re-entered their boat and began to pull towards shore, with the evident intention of making a search for the missing members of the sloop's crew as well as for her recent passengers. "hello!" cried bonny, softly, "this thing is beginning to get rather too interesting for us, and the sooner we light out the better." so the lads started on a run, and had gone but a few rods when alaric, catching his toe on a projecting root, was tripped up and fell heavily. with such force was he flung to the ground that for several minutes he was too sick and dizzy to rise. when he finally regained his feet, and expressed a belief that he could again run, it was too late. the boat's crew were already scattering through the woods, and one man detailed to search the point was coming directly towards the place where the boys were concealed. it seemed inevitable that they should be discovered, and alaric, already giving himself up for lost, was beginning to see visions of the government prison on macneil's island, when bonny spied one avenue of escape that was still open to them. "scrooch low!" he whispered, "and follow me as softly as you can." alaric obeyed, and the young sailor began to move as rapidly as possible towards the beach. with inexcusable carelessness the lieutenant had left his boat hauled up on the shore without a man to guard her. bonny noticed this, and also that the sloop's dinghy still lay where he had left it. if they could only reach the dinghy unobserved they would stand a much better chance of making an escape by water than by land. so the boys crept cautiously through the undergrowth without attracting the attention of their only near-by pursuer, until they reached the beach, where a cleared space of about one hundred feet intervened between them and their coveted goal, and this they must cross, exposed to the full view of any who might be looking that way. they paused for an instant, drew long breaths, and then made a dash into the open. almost with the first sound of rattling pebbles beneath their feet came a yell from behind. the bluejacket had discovered them, and was leaping down the steep slope in hot pursuit. "run, rick! you've got to run!" panted bonny. "give me the bag." snatching the canvas bag from alaric's hand as he spoke, the active young fellow darted ahead and flung it into the dinghy. "now shove!" he cried. "shove, with all your might!" it was all they could do to move the boat, for the tide had fallen sufficiently to leave it hard aground, and with their first straining shove they only gained a couple of feet; the next put half her length in the water, and with a third effort she floated free. "tumble in!" shouted bonny, and alaric obeyed literally, pitching head foremost across the thwarts with such violence that but for his comrade's hold on the opposite side the boat would surely have been capsized. with the water above his knees, bonny gave a final shove that sent the boat a full rod from shore, and in turn tumbled aboard. he was none too soon; for at that moment the sailor reached the spot they had just left, and, rushing into the water, began to swim after them with splendid overhand strokes. bonny snatched up the dinghy's single oar, and, seeing that they would be overtaken before he could get the boat under way, brandished it like a club, threatening to bring it down on the man's head if he came within reach. a single glance at the lad's resolute face convinced the swimmer that he was in dead earnest, and realizing his own helplessness, he wisely turned back. then with a shout of derision bonny began to scull the dinghy towards open water, while the sailor strove with unavailing efforts to launch the heavy yawl. without troubling themselves any further about him, the lads turned their attention to the sloop, which they were now approaching. the two men left in charge had watched with great interest the scene just enacted so close to them, but in which, having no boat at their disposal, they were unable to participate. now one of them shouted: "come aboard here, you young villains! what do you mean by running off with government property?" "what do you mean by eating my breakfast?" replied alaric, hungrily, as he noticed the men making a hearty meal off the food they had discovered in the sloop's galley. "your breakfast, is it, son? so you belong to this craft, do you? come aboard and get it, then." "don't you wish we would?" retorted bonny, jeeringly, as he stopped sculling and allowed the dinghy to drift just beyond reach from the sloop. "i say, though, you might toss us a couple of hardtack." "what? feed you young pirates with rations that's just been seized by the government? not much. i'm in the service, i am." just then a bright object flashed from one of the little round cabin windows and fell in the dinghy. it was a box of sardines. tins of potted meat, mushrooms, and other delicacies followed in quick succession. one or two fell in the water and were lost; but most of them reached their destination, and were deftly caught by alaric, whose baseball experience was thus put to practical use. so before the bewildered guards fully realized what was taking place the dinghy was fairly well provisioned. at length one of them seemed to comprehend the situation, and sprang in front of the open port just in time to stop with his legs a flying tumbler of raspberry jam. as it broke and streamed down over his white duck trousers the boys in the dinghy shouted with laughter, and nearly rolled overboard in their irrepressible mirth. all at once there came a hoarse shout from the same cabin port. "look astarn, ye lubbers! look astarn!" so occupied had the lads been with the sloop that they had given no thought to what might be taking place on shore, but at this warning a startled glance in that direction filled them with dismay. another sailor, attracted by the shouts on the beach, had returned to the assistance of his mate, and together they had succeeded in launching the yawl. then, pulling very softly, they had slipped up on the unwary lads, until they were so close that one of them had quit rowing, and crept forward to the bow, where he crouched with an outstretched boat-hook, that in another second would be caught over the dinghy's sternboard. chapter xvi escape of the first mate and crew the situation certainly looked hopeless for our lads, and the men on the sloop were already shouting derisively at them. alaric caught another mental glimpse of the government prison, and even bonny's stout heart experienced an instant of despair. he was still standing and holding the oar that he had used in sculling. moved by a sudden impulse, and just as the extended boat-hook was dropping over the stern of the dinghy, he struck it a smart blow with his oar, and had the good fortune to send it whirling from the sailor's grasp. with a second quick motion the lad set his oar against the stem of the yawl, that was within four feet of him, and gave a vigorous shove. the slight headway of the heavy craft was checked, and the lighter dinghy forged ahead. "oh, you will, will you, you young rascal?" cried the sailor, angrily, as he leaped back to his thwart, and bent to his oar with furious energy. his companion followed his example, and under the impetus of their powerful strokes the yawl sprang forward. at the same time bonny, facing backward, and working his oar with both hands, was sculling so sturdily that the dinghy rocked from side to side until it seemed to alaric that she must certainly capsize. she was making such splendid headway, though, that the much heavier yawl could not gain an inch. its crew, unable to see the fugitive dinghy without turning their heads, and having no one to steer for them, were placed at a disadvantage that bonny was quick to detect. watching his opportunity, he caused his craft to swerve sharply to one side, and the yawl, holding her original course for some seconds before his manoeuvre was discovered, his lead was thus materially increased. although not a very swift race, this novel chase proved as close and exciting a contest as had ever been seen on the sound. the men on the sloop yelled with delight; and alaric, filled with renewed hopes of escape on seeing that the distance between dinghy and yawl was not diminished, thrilled with excitement and shouted encouraging words to his comrade. in spite of all this, bonny's strength and powers of endurance were so much less than those of the sturdy fellows in the yawl that he realized the impossibility of maintaining his position much longer. with strained muscles, and his breath coming in panting gasps, he glanced wildly about like a hunted animal in search of some avenue of escape. there was none other than that he was taking; and with a sinking heart he knew that, unless some miracle were interposed in their behalf, he and his companion must speedily be captured. but the miracle was interposed, and in the simplest possible manner; for just as bonny was ready to drop his oar from exhaustion a shrill, long-drawn whistle sounded from the now distant beach. its effect on the crew of the yawl was magical. they stopped rowing, looked at each other, and consulted. then they gazed at the retreating dinghy and hesitated. they felt it to be their duty to continue the pursuit, but they also knew the penalty for disobeying an order from a superior, and that whistle was an unmistakable order for them to go back. the cutter's third lieutenant had returned from his expedition into the woods with three wretched chinamen, whom, despite their eagerly produced certificates, he had seen fit to make prisoners. he was amazed to find the yawl gone from where he had left it, and the details of the chase in which it was engaged being hidden from him by the intervening sloop, he gave the whistle signal for its immediate return. as the crew of the yawl hesitated between duty and obedience, the peremptory whistle order was repeated louder and shriller than before. this decided the wavering sailors, and, reluctantly turning their boat, they began to pull towards shore, one of them shaking his fist at the boys as they went. as for the fugitives, they could hardly believe the evidence of their senses. was the chase indeed given over, and were they free to go where they pleased? it seemed incredible. just as they were on the point of being captured, too, for bonny now confided to alaric that he couldn't have held out at that pace one minute longer. as he said this the tired lad sat down for a short rest. almost immediately he again sprang to his feet, and, thrusting his oar overboard, began to scull with one hand. "it won't do for us to be loafing here," he explained, "for i expect those fellows have been called back so that the whole crowd can chase us in the sloop." "oh, i hope not," said alaric; "i'm awfully tired of running away." "so am i," laughed bonny--"tired in more ways than one; but if fellows bigger than we are will insist on chasing us, i don't see that there is anything for us to do but run. there! thank goodness we've rounded the point at last, and got out of sight of them for a while at any rate." "where are you going now, and what do you propose to do next?" asked alaric, who, fully realizing his own helplessness in this situation, was willing to leave the whole scheme of escape to his more experienced companion. "that's what i'm wondering. of course it won't do to stay out here very long, for in less than fifteen minutes the sloop will be shoving her nose around that point. nor it wouldn't be any use to try and get to tacoma--at least, not yet a while--for that's where they'll be most likely to hunt for us. so i think we'd better cross the channel, turn our boat adrift, and make our way overland to skookum john's camp. it isn't very sweet-smelling, and they don't feed you any too well--that is, not according to our ideas--but just because it is such a mean kind of a place no one will ever think of looking for us there. besides, skookum's a very decent sort of a chap, and he'll keep us posted on all that happens in the bay. so if you don't mind roughing it a bit--" "no, indeed," interrupted alaric, eagerly. "i don't mind it at all. in fact, that is just what i want to do most of anything, and i've always wished i could live in a real indian camp. the only indians i ever saw were in the wild west show, in paris." "have you been to paris?" asked bonny, wonderingly. "yes, of course, i was there for--i mean yes, i've been there. but, bonny, what makes you think of turning this boat adrift? wouldn't we find her useful?" "i suppose we might; but she isn't our boat, you know, and you wouldn't keep a boat that didn't belong to you just because it might prove useful, would you?" "no, certainly not," replied alaric, rather surprised to have his companion take this view of the question. "i would try to hand her over to the rightful owner." "so would i," agreed bonny, "if i knew who he was; but after what has just happened i don't know, and so i am going to turn her adrift in the hope that he will find her. besides, it wouldn't be safe to leave her on shore, because she would show anybody who happened to be looking for us just where we had landed." "that's a much better reason than the other," said alaric. during this conversation the dinghy had been urged steadily across the channel, and was now run up to a bold bank, where the boys disembarked. after removing alaric's bag and the several cans of provisions so thoughtfully furnished them by captain duff, bonny gave the boat a push out into the channel, down which the ebbing tide bore her, with many a twist and turn, towards the more open waters of the sound. "to be left in this way in an unknown wilderness makes me feel as cortez must have done when he burned his ships," reflected alaric, as he watched the receding craft. "i don't think i ever heard about that," said bonny, simply. "did he do it for the insurance?" "not exactly," laughed alaric; "and yet in a certain way he did, too. i'll tell you all about it some time. now, what are you going to do next?" "climb that bluff, lie down under those trees while you eat something, and watch for the sloop," answered bonny, as though his programme had all been arranged beforehand. they did this, and alaric was so hungry that he made away with a whole box of sardines and a tin of deviled ham. he wondered a little if they would not make him ill, but did not worry much, for he was rapidly learning that while leading an out-of-door life one may eat with impunity many things that would kill one under ordinary conditions. he had just finished his ham, and was casting thoughtful glances towards a bottle of olives, when bonny exclaimed, "there she is!" sure enough, the sloop, with the cutter's yawl in tow, was slowly beating out past the point on the opposite side of the channel. she stood well over towards the western shore, and the tide so carried her down that when she tacked she was close under the bluff on which the boys, stretched at full length and peering through a fringe of tall grasses, watched her. she came so near that alaric grew nervous, and was certain her crew were about to make a landing at that very spot. with a vision of macneil's island always before him, he wanted to run from so dangerous a vicinity and hide in the forest depths; but bonny assured him that the sloop would go about, and in another moment she did so, greatly to alaric's relief. they could see that captain duff was still confined below, and they even heard one of the men sing out to the officer in command: "there it is now, sir, about two miles down the channel. i can see it plain." "very good," answered the lieutenant; "keep your eye on it, and note if they make a landing. if they don't, we'll have them inside of half an hour." "yes, you will," said bonny, with a grin. as the sloop passed out of hearing the lads crept back from the edge of the bluff, gathered up their scanty belongings, and started through the forest towards the place where bonny believed skookum john's camp to be located. although it lay somewhere down the coast in the same direction as that taken by the sloop, it never occurred to either of them that her new commander might stop there to make inquiries concerning them. thus when, after an hour of hard travel, they came suddenly on the camp, located beside a tumbling stream in a rocky hollow that opened directly on the water, they were terrified at sight of the cutter's yawl lying in the mouth of the creek, and the revenue-officer standing on shore engaged in earnest conversation with skookum john himself. as they hastily drew back into the forest shadows they saw the former wave his arm comprehensively towards the country lying back of the camp. then he shook hands with the indian and stepped into his boat. just as it was about to shove off, a villanous cur, scenting the newcomers, darted towards their hiding-place, barking furiously. chapter xvii saved by a little siwash kid the attention of the departing revenue-officer being attracted by the barking dog, he paused, and glanced inquiringly in that direction. it was a critical moment for our lads, who knew not whether to run, which would be to reveal their presence at once, or to try and kill the dog, with probably the same result. fortunately they were spared the necessity of a decision, for a little girl, whom up to this moment they had not noticed, though she was quietly at play with a family of clam-shell dolls directly in front of them, took the matter into her own hands. she had just arranged her score or so of dolls in _potlatch_ order, with the most favored near at hand, when the dog, charging that way, threatened to upset the whole company. to avert such a catastrophe the child snatched up a stick, and springing forward in defence of her property, began to belabor him with such a hearty will, and scream at him so shrilly, as to entirely divert his attention from his original object. taking advantage of this diversion in their favor, the boys stole softly away, and after making a long détour through the forest, cautiously approached the coast a mile or more from skookum john's camp, but where they could command a wide view of the sound. here they had the satisfaction of seeing the yawl, under sail, standing off shore, and a full half-mile from it. the sloop was not visible, nor was the cutter. "how could he have known just where to look for us?" asked alaric, who had been greatly alarmed at the imminence of their recent danger. "he couldn't have known," replied bonny. "it was only a good guess. i suppose he overhauled our boat, and, finding her empty, made up his mind that we had landed somewhere. of course he couldn't tell on which shore to look, but, noticing john's camp, thought it would be a good idea to find out if the indians had seen anything of us. of course they hadn't, and now that he has left, it will be safe enough for us to go back." "do you really think so? isn't there any other place to which we can go?" asked alaric, whose dread of being captured by the revenue-officers was so great as to render him overcautious. "plenty of them, but no other that i know of within reach, where we could find food, fire to cook it, and a boat to carry us somewhere else; for there aren't any white settlers or any other indians that i know of within miles of here." in spite of this assurance alaric was so loath to venture that the boys spent several hours in discussing their situation and prospects before he finally consented to revisit skookum john's camp. by this time the day was drawing to its close, and the lengthening forest shadows, flung far out over the placid waters of the sound, were so suggestive of a night of darkness and hunger amid all sorts of possible terrors as to outweigh all other considerations. so the boys plunged into the twilight gloom of the thick-set trees, and began the uncertain task of retracing the way by which they had come. as neither of them was a woodsman, this soon proved more difficult than they had expected. the trees all looked alike, and they made so many turns to avoid prostrate trunks and masses of entangled branches that within half an hour they came to a halt, and each read in the troubled face of the other a confirmation of his own fears. they had certainly lost their way, and could not even tell in which direction lay the sea-shore they had so recently left. bonny thought it was in front, while alaric was equally certain that it still lay behind them. "if we could only make a fire," said the former, "i wouldn't mind so much staying right where we are till daylight; but i should hate to do so without one. haven't you any matches?" "not one," replied alaric; "but i thought you always carried them." "so i do; but i used them all on that old lantern last night. i almost wish now i'd never invented that thing, and that they had caught us. they wouldn't have starved us, at any rate, and perhaps the prison isn't so very bad, after all." "i don't know about that," rejoined alaric, stoutly. "to my mind a prison is the very worst thing, worse even than starving. after all, this doesn't seem to me so bad a fix as some from which i've already escaped. going to china, for instance, or drifting alone at night in a small boat." "what do you mean by going to china?" asked bonny, wonderingly. "hark!" exclaimed the other, without answering this question. "don't you hear something?" "nothing but the wind up aloft." "well, i do. i hear some sort of a moaning, and it sounds like a child." "maybe it's a bear or a wolf, or something of that kind," suggested bonny, whose notions concerning wild animals were rather vague. "of course it may be," admitted alaric; "but it sounds so human that we must go and find out, for if it is a child in distress we are bound to rescue it." "yes, i suppose we are; only if it proves to be a bear, i wonder who will rescue us." alaric had already set off in the direction of the moaning; and ere they had taken half a dozen steps bonny also heard it plainly. then they paused and shouted, hoping that if the sound came from a bear the animal would run away. as they could hear no evidences of a retreat, and as the moaning still continued, they again pushed on. it was now so dark that they could do little more than feel their way past trees, over logs, and through dense beds of ferns. all the while the sound by which they were guided grew more and more distinct, until it seemed to come from their very feet. at this moment the moaning ceased, as though the sufferer were listening. then it was succeeded by a plaintive cry that went straight to alaric's heart. he could dimly see the outline of a great log directly before him. stooping beside it and groping among the ferns, his hands came in contact with something soft and warm that he lifted carefully. it was a little child, who uttered a sharp cry of mingled pain and terror at being picked up by a stranger. "poor little thing!" exclaimed the boy. "i am afraid it is badly injured, and shouldn't be one bit surprised if it had broken a limb. i must try and find out so as not to hurt it unnecessarily." "well," said bonny, in a tragic tone, "they say troubles fly in flocks. i thought we were in a pretty bad fix before; but now we surely have run into difficulty. whatever are we to do with a baby?" "bonny!" cried alaric, without answering this question, "i do believe it's the little indian girl who drove away the dog, and something is the matter with one of her ankles." "skookum john's little siwash kid!" exclaimed bonny, joyfully. "then we can't be so very far from his camp. now if we only knew in which direction it lay." as if in answer to this wish there came a cry, far-reaching and long drawn: "nittitan! nittitan! ohee! ohee!" for several hours skookum john and his eldest son, bah-die, had been searching the woods for two white lads whom the third lieutenant of the cutter claimed to have lost. he had promised the indian a reward of twenty-five dollars if he would bring them to the cutter, and skookum john had at once set forth with the idea of earning this money as speedily as possible. little nittitan, his youngest daughter, whom he loved above all others, noted his going, and after a while decided to follow him. when darkness put an end to the indian's fruitless search and he returned to his camp, he found it in an uproar. nittitan was missing, and no one could imagine what had become of her. for a moment the bereaved father was stunned. then he prepared several torches, and, accompanied by bah-die, set forth to find her. at the edge of the forest he raised a mighty cry that he hoped would reach the little one's ears. to his amazement it was answered by a cheery "hello! hello there, skookum john!" "ohee! ohee!" shouted the indian. "here's your _tenas klootchman_" (little woman), came the voice from the forest, and the happy father knew that he who shouted had found the lost child and was bringing her to him. [illustration: the arrival at skookum john's] on the outskirts of his camp he stood and waited, with blazing torch uplifted above his head, and an expectant group of women and half-grown children huddled behind him. he was greatly perplexed when a few minutes later a tall white lad whom he had never before seen emerged from the forest bearing the lost child in his arms. there was another behind him, though, who was promptly recognized, for skookum john knew bonny brooks well, and instantly it came to him that these were the boys whom the revenue-man claimed to have lost. and they had found his little one. how glad he was that his own search for them had been unsuccessful! but this was not the time to be thinking of them. there was his own little nittitan. he must have her in his arms and hold her close before he could feel that she was really safe. he stepped forward to take her, but the strange lad drew back, and bonny cried out: "_kloshe nanitsh, skookum. tenas klootchman la pee, hyas sick_," by which he conveyed the idea that the little woman had hurt her foot quite badly. then he added, "it's all right, rick. he understands that he must handle her gently." so alaric relinquished his burden, and the swarthy father, rejoicing but anxious, bore the child to a rude hut of brush and cedar mats, the open front of which was faced by a brightly blazing fire. here he laid her gently down on a soft bear-skin and knelt beside her. alaric, who seemed to consider the child as still under his care, knelt on the opposite side and began to feel very carefully of one of the little ankles. he had not spent all his life in company with doctors without learning something of their trade, and after a brief examination he announced to bonny that there were no broken bones, but merely a dislocation of the ankle-joint. "i don't know anything about it," said bonny, "but i should think that would be just as bad." "no, indeed! a dislocation is not serious if promptly attended to. you explain to him that i am a sort of a doctor, and can make the child well in a few seconds if he will let me. then i want him to hold her while i pull the joint into place." so bonny explained that his friend was a _hyas doctin_ or great medicine-man who could make nittitan well _hyak_ (quick), and the anxious father, having implicit faith in the white man's skill, consented to allow alaric to make the attempt. the little one uttered a sharp cry, as, with a quick wrench, the dislocated bone was snapped into place, and alaric, with flushed face, but very proud of what he had done, regained his feet. "now," he said, "let them bathe the ankle in water as hot as the child can bear, and by to-morrow she'll be all right. and, bonny, if you know how to ask for anything to eat, for goodness' sake take pity on the starving poor, and say it quick." chapter xviii life in skookum john's camp skookum john, which in chinook means "strong john," was a makah, or neah bay, indian, whose home was at cape flattery, on the shore of the pacific, and at the southern side of the entrance to the superb strait of juan de fuca. he was a _tyhee_, or chief, among his people, for he was not only their biggest man, being a trifle over six feet tall, while very few of his tribe exceeded five feet nine inches in height, but he was the boldest and most successful hunter of whales among them. this alone would have given him high rank in the tribe, for to them the whales that frequent the warm waters of the coast are what buffalo were to the indians of the great plains. the makahs are fish-eaters, and while they catch and dry or smoke quantities of salmon, halibut, and cod, they esteem the whale more than all other denizens of the sea, because there is so much of him, because he is so good to eat, and because he furnishes them with the oil which they use on all their food, as we use butter, and which they trade for nearly every other necessity of their simple life. they hunt the whale in big open canoes hewn from logs of yellow-cedar, long-beaked and wonderfully carved, painted a dead black outside and bright red within. formerly they used sails of cedar matting, but now they are made of heavy drilling or light duck. eight men go in a whaling-canoe--one to steer, one to throw the slender harpoons, and six to wield the long paddles, the blades of which are wide at the upper end and gradually narrow to a point below, which is the very best way to make all paddles except those used for steering. in these canoes skookum john and his people chase whales far out to sea, sometimes following them for days without returning to land. every time they get near enough to one of the monsters they hurl into him a harpoon, to the head of which is attached, by a length of stout kelp, a float made of a whole seal-skin sewn up and inflated. the heavy drag of these floats eventually so tires the whale that he is at the mercy of his enemies, and they tow him ashore in triumph. the big siwash, being an expert whaleman, had much oil to trade, and made frequent visits to victoria for this purpose. here, being an intelligent man and keenly noticing all that he saw, he learned much concerning the whites and their ways, besides picking up a fair knowledge of their language. so it happened that when the smugglers who proposed to operate in the upper sound began to cast, about for some trustworthy person, who would also be free from suspicion, to look out for their interests in that section, and keep them posted as to the whereabouts of cutters, they very wisely selected skookum john, and offered him inducements that he could not afford to refuse. he, of course, knew nothing of the laws they proposed to violate, nor did he care, for political economy had never been included in skookum john's studies. so the makah tyhee closed his substantial house of hewn planks on neah bay, and, with all his wives and children--of whom bah-die was the eldest and little nittitan the youngest--and his dogs and canoes, and much whale oil, and many mats, he made the long journey to the place in which we find him. here he established a summer camp of brush huts, and ostensibly went into the business of fishing for the tacoma market. he had brought his big whaling-canoe, and the little paddling canoes in which his children were accustomed to brave the pacific breakers apparently for the fun of being rolled over and over in the surf. above all, he had brought a light sailing-canoe which was fashioned with such skill that its equal for speed and weatherly qualities had never been seen among canoes of its size on the coast. it was in this swift craft that he darted about the sound at night to discover the movements of revenue-men, watch for signals from incoming smugglers, and flash in return the lights that told of safety or danger. although not possessed of a high sense of honor, skookum john was loyal to his employers, because it paid him to be so, and because no one had ever tempted him to be otherwise. at the same time he was not above performing a service for the other side, provided it would also pay, and so he did not hesitate to promise the cutter's third lieutenant that in return for twenty-five dollars he would use every effort to find and return to him the lost boys. as the lieutenant had not seen fit to mention the capture of the smuggling sloop that morning, or to say that the boys in question formed part of her crew, he had no idea that one of them was the lad with whom he had arranged his entire system of night signals. when he did learn of the blow that threatened to retire him from business, and the reason why the revenue-men were so desirous of finding the lost boys, he began to wish that he saw his way clear to the winning of that reward, for twenty-five dollars is a large sum to be made so easily. but the revenue-men wanted _two_ boys, and the only other one besides bonny at present available, was the young medicine-man, the _hyas doctin_, who had not only found his dearly loved nittitan in the dark _hyas stick_ (forest), but had so marvellously mended what he firmly believed to have been a broken leg. the old siwash was not honorable, and he was very mercenary. at the same time, he was grateful, and would have suffered much to prevent harm from coming to the lad who had placed him under such obligations. he was also superstitious, and rather afraid of the powers of a _hyas doctin_. so he determined to make the boys as comfortable as possible, and keep them with him until he could communicate with the _tyhee_ of the _piah-ship_ (steamer). if two lost boys were worth twenty-five dollars, one lost boy must be worth at least half that sum; while it was just possible that he might obtain the whole reward for one boy. in that case, bonny must be handed over to those who were willing to pay for him; for business is business even among the siwash, and charity begins at home all over the world. of course, skookum john did not use these expressions, for he was not acquainted with them, but what he thought meant exactly the same thing. in consequence of these reflections, all of which passed the indian's mind in the space of a few seconds, bonny had no time to make a request for food before the very best that the camp afforded was placed before them. there were small square chunks of whale-skin, as black and tough as the heel of a rubber boot. it was expected that these would be chewed for a moment, until the impossibility of masticating them was discovered, and that they would then be swallowed whole. after them came boiled fishes heads, of which the eyes were considered the chief delicacy, and these were followed by several kinds of dried and smoked fish, including salmon and halibut, besides bits of smoked whale looking like so many pieces of dried citron. all of these were to be dipped in hot whale oil before being eaten. then came another course of fish--this time fresh and plain boiled--which the indians ate with a liberal supply of whale oil. then boiled potatoes which were also dipped in oil after each bite. the crowning glory of the feast was a small quantity of hard bread, which for a change was dipped in whale oil and eaten dripping, and with this was served a mixture of huckleberries and oil beaten to a paste. in regard to this liberal use of oil it must be said that skookum john's whale oil was universally acknowledged to be the sweetest and most skilfully prepared to prevent rancidity of any in the neah bay village, and his family regarded it with the same pride that the proprietors of the best orange county dairy do the finest products of their churn. it was therefore a great disappointment to them that alaric did not appreciate it, and after trying a small quantity on a bit of potato, refused a further supply. he even seemed to prefer pâté-de-foie-gras, of which the boys had a single jar. this he opened in honor of the occasion, and with it to spread over his bread and potatoes, a liberal helping of the boiled fish, and an innumerable number of smoked halibut strips boiled after a manner taught him by bonny, the millionaire's son made a supper that he declared was one of the very best he had ever eaten. in order that their new-found friends might not feel too badly over alaric's refusal to partake more liberally of their whale oil, bonny gave them to understand that it was not because he disliked it, but not being accustomed to rich food, he was afraid of making himself ill if he indulged in it too freely. at this meal the young sailor tasted both pâté-de-foie-gras and whale oil for the first time, and after carefully considering the merits of the two delicacies, declared that he could not tell which was the worse, and that as it would be just as difficult to learn to like one as the other, he thought he would devote his energies to the oil. after supper a rude shelter against the chill dampness of the night was constructed of small poles covered with a number of the useful bark mats, of which the indian women of that coast make enormous quantities. a few armfuls of spruce-tips were cut and spread beneath it, a couple of mats were laid over these, two more were provided for covering, and alaric's first camp bed was ready for him. both lads were so dead tired that they needed no second invitation to fling themselves down on their sweet-scented couch, and were asleep almost instantly. as skookum john and bah-die had also been out all the night before, they were not long in following the example of their guests, and so within an hour after supper the whole camp was buried in a profound slumber. by earliest daylight of the next morning the older indian was up and stirring about very softly so as not to awaken the strangers. he was about to make an effort to earn that twenty-five dollars, and believed that by careful management it might be his before noon. he planned to notify the commander of the cutter that while he could deliver one of the desired lads into his hands, the other had taken a canoe and gone to tacoma, where he would no doubt be readily found. if the _tyhee_ of the _piah-ship_ agreed to pay him the offered reward or even half of it for one lad, he would ask that a boat might be sent to the camp for him. in the meantime he would return first and invite both boys to go out fishing--bonny in a canoe with him, and the other in a second canoe with bah-die, who would be instructed to take his passenger out of sight somewhere up the coast. then the cutter's boat would be allowed to overtake his canoe, and bonny would be handed over to those who wanted him, without trouble. it was an admirably conceived plan, and the old siwash chuckled over it as he softly launched his lightest canoe, stepped into it, and paddled swiftly away. chapter xix a treacherous indian from neah bay to his great disappointment, skookum john could not find the cutter that he had heretofore so carefully avoided and was now so anxious to discover. she no longer lay where he had seen her the day before. he even went far enough into commencement bay to take a look at tacoma harbor and identify the several steamers lying at its wharves. the cutter was not among them, and he made the long trip back to his own camp in a very disgusted frame of mind. at the same time he was determined to redouble his efforts to gain that reward, for with the prospect of losing it it began to assume an increased value. with one source of income cut off, it was clearly his duty to provide another. and how could he do this better than by securing the good-will of those on board the white _piah-ship_? there was no danger of them being captured and driven out of business, and if he could only get them into the habit of paying him for doing things, he could see no reason why they should not continue to do so indefinitely. the old siwash had already persuaded himself that they would give him twenty-five dollars for one _tenas man_ (boy), and by the same course of reasoning he now wondered if they might not be induced to give him fifty dollars for two boys. it was possible, and certainly worth trying for. if they should consent, he could not see how, in justice to himself and his family, he could refuse to give up the _hyas doctin_ (alaric) along with the _tenas shipman_ (young sailor). after all, the former had not placed him under such a very great obligation, for he would have found nittitan himself in a very few minutes. as for curing her of her injury, the hurt could not have been anything serious or she would not have gone to sleep so quickly. yes, for fifty dollars he would certainly deliver both of his young guests to the _shipman tyhee_. he would be a fool to do otherwise, and skookum john had never yet been called a fool. besides, it was not likely that the boys would come to any harm on board the cutter, for the _boston men_ (whites) were very good to those of their own tribe, never treating them cruelly, as they did the poor siwash, whom they had even forbidden to kill and rob shipwrecked sailors found on their coast. yes, indeed, both boys must be given up, and that fifty dollars reward received as quickly as possible. it was all a very rational process of reasoning, and one that even white people sometimes employ to convince themselves that a thing they want to do is the right thing to do, even though their consciences may assure them to the contrary. so the cunning old indian, having persuaded himself that his meditated treachery was pure benevolence, reached his camp in good spirits in spite of his disappointment, and determined to make the stay of the boys so pleasant that they should offer no objection to remaining with him until the return of the cutter to those waters. it was a glorious morning, and the dimpled sound was flooded with unclouded sunlight that even shot long golden shafts into the depths of its bordering forest. myriads of fish were leaping from the sparkling water, cheerful voices sounded from the camp, and the smoke of burning cedar filled the air with its delicate perfume. the boys had been awake and out for an hour, and alaric was fairly intoxicated with the glorious freedom of that wild life, of which this was his first taste. already had he taken a swimming-lesson, and although in his ignorance he had recklessly plunged into water that would have drowned him had not bonny and bah-die pulled him out, he was confident that he had swum one stroke before going down. upon skookum john's return his guests sat down with him to a breakfast which their ravenous appetites enabled them to eat with a hearty enjoyment, though it consisted only of fish, fish, and yet more fish. "but it is such capital fish!" explained alaric. "isn't it?" replied bonny, tearing with teeth and fingers at a great strip of smoked salmon. "and the oil isn't half bad, either." after they had finished eating, and their host had lighted his pipe, he told bonny that his early morning trip had been taken out of his anxiety for their safety, and to discover the whereabouts of their enemies, the revenue-men. "_they mamook klatawa?_" (have they gone away?) inquired bonny. "_no; piah-ship mitlite tacoma illahie_" (no; steamer stay in tacoma). "_shipman tyhee cultus wau wau_" (the sailor chief made much worthless talk). "_mesika wau wau tyhee?_ (did you talk to the captain?) inquired bonny, anxiously. "_ah ah, me wau wau no klap tenas man. alta piah-ship kopet tacoma illahie. mesika mitlite skookum john house._" by this sentence he conveyed to bonny the idea that he had told the captain the boys were not to be found. at the same time he extended to them the hospitality of his camp for so long as the cutter should remain at tacoma. when bonny repeated this conversation to alaric, the latter exclaimed: "of course we would better stay here, where we are safe until the cutter goes away, even if it is a week from now. i hope it will be as long as that, for i think this camp is one of the jolliest places i ever struck." "all right," replied bonny. "if you can stand it, i can." so the boys settled quietly down and waited for something to happen, though it seemed to alaric as though something of interest and importance were happening nearly all the time. to begin with, they built themselves a brush hut under bah-die's instruction, the steep-pitched roof of which would shed rain. then they both took lessons from the same teacher in sailing and paddling a canoe. the supply of fish for the camp had to be replenished daily, and this duty devolved entirely upon the younger children, for bah-die went always with his father to draw the big seine net, in which they caught fish for market. as the lads were anxious to earn their board, they sometimes went in the big boat, and sometimes in the small canoes with the children, by which means they learned all the different ways known to the indians of catching fish. with all this, alaric's swimming-lessons were not neglected for a single day, and he often took baths both morning and evening, so fascinated was he with the novel sport. in return for what bah-die taught him, he undertook to train the young siwash in the art of catching a baseball. the latter having watched him and bonny pass the ball and catch it with perfect ease, one day held out his hands, as much as to say, "here you go; give us a catch." alaric, who held the ball at that moment, let drive a swift one straight at him. when bah-die dropped it, and clapped his smarting hands to his sides with an expression of pained astonishment on his face, the white lad knew just how he felt. he could plainly recall the sensations of his own experience on that not-very-long-ago day in golden gate park; and while he sympathized with bah-die, he could not help exulting in the fact that he had discovered one boy of his own age more ignorant than he concerning an athletic sport. then he set to work to show the young siwash how to catch a ball just as dave carncross had shown him, and in so doing he experienced a genuine pleasure. he was growing to be like other boys, and the knowledge that this was so filled him with delight. nearly every day skookum john sailed over to tacoma, ostensibly to carry his fish, but really to discover whether or not the cutter had returned, and each night he came back glum with disappointment. bonny often asked to be allowed to go to the city with him, as he was impatient to be again at work; but the indian invariably put him off on the plea that if the cutter-men discovered one whom they were so anxious to capture in his canoe, they would punish him for having afforded the fugitive a shelter. the young sailor could not understand why the cutter remained so long in one place, for he had never known her to do such a thing before, and many a talk did he and alaric have on the subject. "they must be waiting in the hope of catching us," alaric would say, "and the mere fact that they are so anxious to find us shows how important it is for us to keep out of the way." so time wore on until our lads had spent two full weeks in the siwash camp, and had become heartily sick of it. to be sure, alaric had grown brown and rugged, besides becoming almost an adept in the several arts he had undertaken to master. his hands were no longer white, and their palms were covered with calloused spots instead of blisters. he was now a fair swimmer, could paddle a canoe with some skill, and understood its management under sail. he knew not only how to catch fish, but how to detach them from the hook. he could catch a baseball nearly as well as dave carncross himself, besides being able to throw one with swiftness and precision. he was learning to cook certain things, mostly of a fishy nature, in a rude way, and had gone through several trying experiences in trying to wash his own underclothing. having broken his comb into half a dozen pieces by sitting down on it, he had allowed bonny to cut his hair as short as possible with a pair of scissors borrowed from one of the squaws. the result, while wholly satisfactory to alaric, who fortunately had no mirror in which to see himself, was so unique that bonny was impelled to frequent laughter without apparent cause. two things, however, distressed alaric greatly, and one was his clothing, which was not only ragged, but soiled beyond anything he had ever dreamed of wearing. his canvas shoes, from frequent soakings and much walking on rocks, were so broken that they nearly dropped from his feet. his woollen trousers were shrunken and bagged at the knees, while his blue sweater, besides being torn, had faded to a brownish red. with all this he was comforted by the reflection that he still had a good suit in reserve that he could wear whenever they should be free to go to the city. his other great trial was the food of that siwash camp. he had never been particularly fond of fish, and now, after eating it alone three times a day for two weeks, the very thought of fish made him ill. he loathed it so that it seemed to him he would almost rather go to prison, with a chance of getting something else to eat, than to remain any longer on a fish diet. from both these trials bonny suffered nearly as much as his companion. one day when the boys had just decided that they could not stand this sort of thing any longer, they were out fishing in the swift-sailing canoe with bah-die, skookum john having gone in the larger boat to tacoma. while they gloomily pursued their now distasteful employment a sail-boat containing two white men ran alongside to obtain bait. as these were the first of their own race with whom the boys had found an opportunity to talk since coming to that place, bonny began to ply them with questions. among others he asked: "what is the revenue-cutter doing at tacoma all this time? has she broken down?" "she isn't there," replied one of the men. "isn't there?" repeated bonny, incredulously. "no; nor hasn't been for upwards of two weeks. we are expecting her back every day, though." then the men sailed away, leaving our lads to stare at each other in speechless amazement. chapter xx an exciting race for liberty "what do you suppose it all means?" asked alaric, as the boat containing the two white men sailed away. "if it is true, it means that somebody has been fooling us, and you know who he is as well as i do," replied bonny, who did not care to mention names within bah-die's hearing. "if i'm not very much mistaken, it means also that he is trying to hold on to us until the cutter comes back. you know they offered him a reward to find us." "only twenty-five dollars," interposed alaric, who could not imagine anybody committing an act of treachery for so small a sum. "that would be a good deal to some people. i don't know but what it would be to me just now." "if i had once thought he was after the money," continued alaric, "i would have offered him twice as much to deal squarely with us." "would you?" asked bonny, with a queer little smile, for his comrade's remarks concerning money struck him as very absurd. "where would you have got it?" "i meant, of course, if i had it," replied the other, flushing, and wondering at his own stupidity. "but what do you think we ought to do now?" "sail over to tacoma as quick as we can, and see whether the cutter is there or not. when we find that out we'll see what is to be done next." "but we may meet john on the way." "i don't care. that's a good idea, though. i've been wondering how we should get our friend here to agree to the plan." then turning to bah-die, and speaking in chinook, bonny suggested that as the fishing was not very good and there was a fine breeze for sailing, they should run out into the sound and meet the big canoe on its way back from tacoma, to which plan the young siwash unsuspectingly agreed. half an hour later the swift canoe was dashing across the open sound before a rattling breeze that heeled her down until her lee gunwale was awash, though her three occupants were perched high on the weather side. the city was dimly visible in the distance ahead, and near at hand the big canoe which they were ostensibly going to meet was rapidly approaching. bonny was steering, and bah-die held the main-sheet, while the jib-sheets were intrusted to alaric. skookum john had already recognized them, and as they came abreast of him motioned to them to put about; but bonny, affecting not to understand, resolutely maintained his course. they were well past the other craft, which was coming about as though to follow them, before bah-die realized that anything was wrong. then obeying an angry order shouted to him by his father, he let go the main-sheet without warning, causing the canoe to right so violently as to very nearly fling her passengers overboard, and attempted to wrest the steering-oar from bonny's hand. seeing this, and with the desperate feeling of an escaped prisoner who sees himself about to be recaptured, alaric sprang aft, seized the young indian by the legs, and with a sudden output of all his recently acquired strength, pitched him headlong into the sea. then catching the main-sheet, he trimmed it in. down heeled the canoe until it seemed as though she certainly must capsize; but alaric, looking very pale and determined, held fast to the straining rope, and would not yield an inch. it was well that he had learned this lesson, and was possessed of the courage to apply it, for the canoe did not gather headway an instant too soon. bah-die, emerging from his plunge furious with rage, was swimming towards her, and made a frantic attempt to grasp the gunwale as she slipped away. his clutching fingers only missed it by the fraction of an inch, and before he could make another effort the quick-moving craft was beyond his reach. he was too wise to attempt a pursuit, and turned, instead, to meet the big canoe, which was approaching him. "that was a mighty fine thing to do, rick dale!" cried bonny, admiringly, "and but for you we should be on our way back to that hateful camp at this very moment. of course they may catch us yet with that big boat, but we've got a show and must make the most of it. so throw your weight as far as you can out to windward, and don't ease off that sheet unless you see solid water pouring in over the gunnel." "all right," replied alaric, shortly, almost too excited for words. both lads realized that after what had just taken place it would be nearly as unpleasant to fall into the hands of skookum john as into those of the revenue-men themselves, and both were determined that this should not happen if they could prevent it. but could they? fast as they were sailing, it seemed to alaric as though the big canoe rushing after them was sailing faster. bonny dared not take his attention from the steering long enough to even cast a glance behind. managing the canoe was now more difficult than before, because they had lost one hundred and fifty pounds of live ballast. when alaric looked at the water flashing by them it seemed as though he had never moved so fast in his life, while a glance at the big boat astern almost persuaded him that they were creeping at a snail's pace. it was certain that the long, wicked-looking beak of the pursuing craft was drawing nearer. finally it was so close at hand that he could distinguish the old indian's scowling features and the expression of triumph on bah-die's face. the lad's heart grew heavy within him, for the city wharves were still far away, and with things as they were the chase was certain to be ended before they could be reached. all at once an exclamation from bonny directed his attention to another craft coming up the sound and bearing down on them as though to take part in the race. it was a powerful sloop-yacht standing towards the city from the club-house on maury island, and its crew were greatly interested in the brush between the two canoes. either by design or accident, the yacht, which was to windward of the chase, stood so close to the big canoe as to completely blanket her, and so take the wind from her sails that she almost lost headway. then, as though to atone for her error, the yacht bore away so as to run between pursuer and pursued, and pass to leeward of the smaller canoe. as the beautiful craft swept by our lads with a flash of rushing waters, glinting copper, and snowy sails, a cheery voice rang out: "well done, plucky boys! stick to it, and you'll win yet!" alaric could not see the speaker, because of the sail between them, but the tones were so startlingly familiar that for a moment he imagined the voice to belong to the stranger who had talked with him on the wharf at victoria, and whom he now knew for a revenue-officer. if that were the case, they were indeed hopelessly surrounded by peril. he was about to confide his fears to bonny, when like a flash it came to him that the voice was that of dave carncross, whom he had not seen since that memorable day in golden gate park. although he had no desire to meet this friend of the ball-field under the present circumstances, he was greatly relieved to find his first suspicion groundless, and again directed his attention to the big canoe, which, although she had lost much distance, was again rushing after them. the boy now noticed for the first time, not more than half a mile astern of her, a white steamer with a dense column of smoke pouring from her yellow funnel, and evidently bound for the same port with themselves. soon afterwards they had passed the smeltery, saw-mills, and lumber-loading vessels of the old town, and were approaching the cluster of steamships lying at the wharves of the northern pacific railway, which here finds its western terminus. off these the yacht had already dropped her jib and come to anchor. the big canoe was again overhauling them, and looked as though she might overtake them, after all. a boat from the yacht was making towards the wharves, and bonny, believing that it would find a landing-place, slightly altered his course so as to follow the same direction. all at once alaric, who was again gazing nervously astern, cried out: "look at that steamer! i do believe it is going to run down the big canoe." bonny glanced hastily over his shoulder, and uttered an exclamation of dismay. "great scott! it's the cutter," he gasped. "and they are right on top of us. now we are in for it." "they are speaking to john, and he is pointing to us," said alaric. "never mind them now," said bonny. "ease off your sheet a bit, and 'tend strictly to business. we've still a chance, and can't afford to make any mistakes." a few minutes later, just as a yawl was putting off from the cutter's side, the small canoe rounded the end of a wharf and came upon a landing-stage. on it the yacht's boat had just deposited a couple of passengers, who, with bags in their hands, were hastening up a flight of steps. "here, you!" cried bonny to one of the yacht's crew who stood on the float, "look out for this canoe a minute. we've got to overtake those gentlemen. come on, rick." without waiting to see whether this order would be obeyed, the boys ran up the flight of steps and dashed away down the long wharf. they had no idea of where they should go, and were only intent on finding some hiding-place from the pursuers, whom they believed to be already on their trail. as they were passing a great ocean steamer whose decks were crowded with passengers, and which was evidently about to depart, a carriage drew up in front of them, so close that they narrowly escaped being run over. as its door was flung open a voice cried out: "here, boys! get these traps aboard the steamer. quick!" with this a gentleman sprang out and thrust a couple of bags, a travelling-rug, and a gun-case into their hands. a lady with a little boy followed him. he snatched up the child, and the whole party ran up the gang-plank of the steamer as it was about to be hauled ashore. our lads had accepted this chance to board the steamer without hesitation, and now ran ahead of the others. the clerk at the inner end of the gang-plank allowed them to pass, thinking, of course, that they would deposit their burdens on deck and immediately return to the wharf. with an instinct born of long familiarity with ocean steamers, alaric made his way through the throng of passengers to the main saloon, and bonny followed him closely. here they placed their burdens on a table, and, with alaric still in the lead, disappeared through a door on the opposite side. two minutes later the great ship began to move slowly from the wharf, and our lads, from a snug nook on the lower deck, watched with much perturbation a revenue-officer, who had evidently just landed from the cutter, come hurrying down the wharf. chapter xxi a case of mistaken identity the revenue-cutter whose appearance caused alaric and bonny so much anxiety had, indeed, been absent from tacoma for two weeks, as the man in the sail-boat told them. on their first night in the siwash camp she had gone to port townsend to turn over the captured smuggler _fancy_ to the collector at that place. knowing how important the testimony of her crew would be during the proceedings against her, the commander of the cutter intended to return to the upper sound and to institute a thorough search for them the very next day. before he could carry out this plan news was received that an american ship was ashore near cape flattery, one hundred miles away in the opposite direction, and the cutter was despatched to her assistance. although the task of saving the ship was successfully accomplished, and she was finally pulled off the reef on which she had struck, it was nearly two weeks before the cutter was again at liberty to devote her attention to smugglers. with only a slight hope of finding those whom he so greatly wanted as witnesses, but thinking he might possibly gain some information concerning them from skookum john, the commander of the cutter headed his vessel up the sound, steamed through colvos passage, and sent his third lieutenant ashore in the yawl to make inquiries at the siwash camp. this officer found only women and children at home, but learned that the owner of the camp had gone to tacoma. as he was about to depart without having discovered anything concerning those of whom he was in search, curiosity prompted him to glance into a hut that appeared newer and much neater than the others. here, to his amazement and great satisfaction, the first object that caught his eye was the well-remembered canvas dunnage-bag that he had seen in victoria, and which still bore the name "philip ryder" on its dingy surface. "ho, ho! master ryder! so we are on your trail at last, are we?" soliloquized the officer. "this is a clew of which we must not lose sight, and so i guess i'll just take it along and hold on to it until we can return it to you in person." thus it happened that alaric's bag was carried aboard the cutter, where its contents excited a great deal of curiosity, and that vessel was headed towards tacoma in the hope of finding the lads, who were supposed to be with skookum john. the big canoe was discovered when in the very act of going about and standing back towards the city, as though to escape from the approaching cutter, and a full head of steam was instantly crowded on in pursuit. great was the disappointment when, on overtaking her, she was found to contain only indians. these, however, eagerly directed attention to a smaller canoe ahead, in which could be distinguished two figures, apparently those of white men, and the cutter renewed her chase. before she could overtake this second craft it was lost to sight behind a wharf, and a lieutenant was hastily sent ashore in a boat to trace its occupants. he found the empty canoe in charge of a yacht sailor, who said that those who had come in her were somewhere up on the wharf, and without waiting for further particulars the officer followed after them. when he reached the group of spectators assembled to witness the departure of the great steamer that was just moving out, he asked one of them if he had seen two persons running that way within a minute. one of them, whom he mentioned as being the younger, he described as being a tall, gentlemanly appearing and neatly dressed lad, while the other, he said, was a sailor. it must be remembered that while the lieutenant had noted alaric's appearance very closely when in victoria, he had never seen bonny's face, and did not even discover whether he had belonged to the sloop or not. in fact, he afterwards had reason to believe that the youth whom he saw with alaric at that time could not have been mate of the _fancy_, for, to save their own credit, the sailors whom the lads eluded on the morning of the sloop's capture described him as a fellow of great size and unusual strength. now the gentleman of whom he made inquiries answered that he had seen a number of persons running just as the ship's moorings were cast off. "there were a couple of young chaps," he said, "very ragged and dirty-looking, who ran aboard the last thing, as if afraid of being left; but i didn't see them come off again, and i expect they belong to the ship. then there was another couple who seemed in a great hurry, and ran shouting after a carriage that was just starting up-town. they stopped it, got in, and drove off. one of them was, as you say, a very gentlemanly appearing lad, and the other was so evidently a sailor that i expect they're the two you are looking for." "i shouldn't wonder if they were," replied the officer, delighted at having thus quickly discovered the trail. "did you happen to hear them give the driver any directions?" "yes. the young chap said, 'hotel tacoma.'" thanking the gentleman for his information, the lieutenant hurried away, boarded an up-town trolley-car, and a few minutes later stood in the office of the great hotel scanning its register. a single glance was sufficient, for the two last names on the page, so recently entered that the ink was hardly dry, assured him that his search was successful. they were both in the same handwriting, and read---- philip ryder, _alaska_. jalap coombs, " "pretty smart dodge," chuckled the lieutenant, as he walked away, "to hail from such an indefinite place as alaska. this philip ryder is certainly a sharp chap. it is plain enough now that he left that bag in the siwash camp as a blind to throw us off the track. what a pile of money those smugglers must make, though. here is one of them, apparently a simple deck-hand, who buys the choicest groceries to be had in victoria, bathes in cologne-water, throws away a suit of clothes so handsome that i should be only too glad to wear them myself, and now puts up at the swellest hotel in the city. it certainly is a great business." while thinking these things the lieutenant was hurrying back towards the cutter, to make report of what he had discovered to his superior officer. after listening to all he had to say, that gentleman decided to continue the investigation himself; and an hour later he, with his third lieutenant, both out of uniform, appeared at the hotel, followed by a sailor bearing a canvas dunnage-bag. going into one of the small writing-rooms, which happened to be unoccupied, the commander wrote a name on a plain card and sent it up to mr. philip ryder, with a request that the gentleman would consent to see him on a matter of business. then, with the canvas bag on the floor beside him, he waited alone, having desired the lieutenant to keep out of sight until sent for. inside of three minutes a bell-boy ushered into the room a well-dressed, squarely built youth, with a resolute face and honest blue eyes that looked straight into those of the commander. "mr. ellery, i believe," he said, glancing at the card still held in his hand. the commander bowed slightly, and then asked, "is your name philip ryder?" "it is." "is this your property?" here the commander indicated the canvas bag that lay with its painted name uppermost. the youth stepped forward to get a better view of the article in question, started as though surprised, and then answered, "yes, sir, i believe it is; but i must confess a great curiosity as to how it came here." "why so?" "because when i last heard of it it was on board a vessel that had just been seized by a revenue-cutter." "exactly; and that vessel was seized for smuggling by a cutter under my command." "pardon me, sir, but i think you are mistaken," objected phil, "for i am intimately acquainted with the commander of the cutter in question, while you are a stranger to me." "i beg leave to say that i think i know what i am talking about," retorted the other, stiffly, "and i may as well inform you at once that i not only was, but am still, in command of the cutter that seized your smuggling craft some two weeks ago. i am here for the purpose of causing the arrest and detention of yourself and the mate of that vessel, both of whom will be wanted as witnesses for the government during the forthcoming proceedings to be instituted against captain duff." "and i, sir," replied phil, hotly, "beg leave to say that you don't know any more of what you are talking about than i do. although i have sailed with captain duff and know him well, i am not a smuggler, and never have been. moreover, i can summon witnesses this very minute who will identify me and testify as to my character." with this phil stepped to the bell, and rang it so violently that half a dozen bell-boys came tumbling into the room at once. "go to no. ," said the youth to one of these, "and ask the gentleman who is there to kindly step down here for a minute." "and you, boy!" thundered the commander to another, his face flushed with anger, "find the gentleman who came here with me, and inform him that i desire his presence immediately." the lieutenant was the first to arrive. "is this your philip ryder?" demanded the commander, at the same time pointing to the youth who stood opposite. "no, sir, he is not," replied the lieutenant, promptly. "who is he, then?" asked the other, staggered by this answer. "begging the gentleman's pardon, this _is_ mr. philip ryder, as i can swear," interrupted a fourth individual, who had just entered. "hello, carncross! you here? and you know this young man?" "certainly i do, sir. i met his father, mr. john ryder--the famous mining expert, you know--at my father's house in san francisco last winter, and came to call on him here as soon as i heard of his arrival in tacoma. he and his son arrived on to-day's steamer from alaska, where phil ryder has just completed a most notable exploration on snow-shoes and sledges of the yukon valley. by-the-way, he is also a friend of your old friend captain matthews." "what! not israel matthews, of the _phoca_? you don't say so! mr. ryder, allow me to shake hands with you, and offer my humble apologies for this absurd mistake." with a general hand-shaking and exchange of introductions, they all sat down for an hour of mutual explanations. during these it was discovered that phil and jalap coombs had remained at the wharf some time after the others of their party left, to look after their numerous pieces of baggage, and so did not come up to the hotel until just as the steamer that had brought them was departing for seattle. at the end of an hour the revenue-officers were as puzzled as ever over the disappearance of the present owner of the famous philip ryder bag and his companion. but suddenly carncross exclaimed: "i think i know what became of them! i remember now seeing the two chaps who came in that canoe run down the wharf and board the alaska steamer just as she was starting for seattle, and i'll warrant you that's where they are at this minute. tough-looking young customers they were, too." "in that case," said the commander, rising, "i must be getting under way for seattle as quickly as possible. i only wish that i might have you both down to dine with me this evening; but business before pleasure. and so, hoping for a future opportunity of extending the hospitality of the ship, i will wish you both a very good night." chapter xxii two short but exciting voyages as the alaska steamer on which alaric and bonny so unexpectedly took passage moved from the tacoma wharf, and they lost sight of the officer who had so nearly overtaken them, they congratulated each other over their escape. "i tell you, rick dale, that was a close shave," said bonny. "wasn't it, though! but it seems to me, bonny, that smuggling must be one of the worst crimes a person can commit, judging from the anxiety those fellows show to capture us. i knew it was bad, but i hadn't any idea it was so serious." "it does look as if we were wanted," admitted bonny; "but we've thrown 'em off the track this time, so they won't bother us any more. didn't we do it neatly?" "yes, we certainly did. but where do you suppose we are going now?" "haven't the least idea, and don't care. maybe to china, maybe to san francisco, and maybe to alaska. yes, i think this must be an alaska ship, for i remember now seeing a big eskimo dog taken ashore just as we came aboard, and alaska is where they come from. if she is bound for alaska, though, she'll stop at port townsend and victoria on the way, and we must lie low until after we pass the first. it would never do to be put off there, for that's headquarters for the whole revenue business, and they'd scoop us in quick enough. i wouldn't mind victoria so very much, though." "i should," objected alaric, who feared that the sonntaggs might have telegraphed from japan to have him apprehended and forwarded to them. "i don't like victoria, and neither do i want to go to any of the places you mentioned." "very well," laughed bonny, who, with a sense of freedom, had regained all his light-heartedness. "just send word to the captain where you want to go, and he'll probably be pleased to take you there." for an hour or so longer the boys discussed their plans and prospects. then, as it was growing dark and they were becoming very hungry, bonny proposed to skirmish around and see what the chances were for obtaining something to eat. bidding alaric remain in hiding until his return, the young sailor sallied forth. in a moment he reappeared with the news that the ship was putting in at seattle and was already close to the wharf. "that's good," said alaric. "seattle is much better for us than port townsend, or victoria, san francisco, china, or even alaska. so i move we go ashore and try our luck here." this was what they were obliged to do, whether or no, for the ship was hardly moored before they were discovered by one of the mates. berating them for a couple of rascally young stowaways, this man chased them down the gang-plank with terrific threats of what he would do if he ever caught them on the ship again. "whew-w!" gasped alaric, after they had run to a safe distance. "it seems to me that working your way through the world consists mainly in being chased by people who are bigger and stronger than you are." "yes," remarked bonny, philosophically. "i've noticed that. it's the same way with sparrows and dogs too; the strong ones are always picking or growling at those that are weaker. being chased, though, is better than being caught, and we haven't been that yet. now let's go up-town and see about a hotel." this mention of a hotel reminded alaric of his previous visit to seattle and the great "rainier," away up at the hill-side, in which he had spent the day. at that time he had not paid any more attention to it than to any other of the hundreds of hotels in which he had been a guest, but now a thought of the dinner being served in its brilliantly lighted dining-room caused him to realize how very hungry he was more than anything else could have done. but rainier dinners were not for poor boys, and with a regretful sigh he followed his comrade in another direction. it is hard to say how our lads expected to obtain the meal for which they longed; but whatever hopes they had were doomed to disappointment, for after wandering about the streets a couple of hours their hunger was as unsatisfied as ever. finally bonny asked a policeman if there was not some place in all that great city where a hungry boy without one cent in his pocket could get something to eat. "there's a free soup-kitchen on yessler avenue," answered the man, "but it's closed for the night now, and you can't get anything there before seven o'clock to-morrow morning. but what do strong young fellows like you want of soup-kitchens? why ain't ye at work, earning an honest living? tramps is no good, anyway, and if you don't chase yourselves out of this i'll run ye in. see?" seven o'clock to-morrow morning! how could they wait? and yet there seemed nothing else to be done. slowly and despondently the lads made their way back to the wharf on which they had landed, for even that seemed a better place in which to pass the long night hours than the unfriendly streets. they eluded the vigilance of a night watchman, and gained the shelter of a pile of hay bales, on which they stretched themselves wearily. "i'd almost rather be in china, or even a well-fed smuggler," announced alaric. "wouldn't i?" responded bonny; "and won't i if ever i get another chance? i don't believe anything would seem wrong to a fellow as hungry as i am, if it only brought him something to eat. even chewing hay is some comfort." at length they fell into an uneasy sleep, from which they were awakened a few hours later by the sound of voices close at hand. in one of these they instantly, and with sinking hearts, recognized that of their relentless pursuer, the revenue-cutter's third lieutenant. the other person was evidently answering a question, for he was saying: "yes, sir, i seen a couple of young rascals such as you describe chased off the alaska boat by the mate. they started up-town, but i make no doubt they'll be back here sooner or later. such as them is always hanging around the docks." "if they do come around, and you can catch them, just hold on to them, for they are wanted by the government, and there is a reward offered for them," said the officer. "aye, aye, sir. i'll nab 'em for ye if they comes this way again," was the answer; and then both speakers moved out of hearing towards the upper end of the wharf. the poor, hunted lads, trembling at the narrowness of their escape, peered after the retreating forms. then bonny's attention was attracted to the lights of a white side-wheel steamer lying at the outer end of the wharf that seemed on the point of departure. "look here, rick," he whispered, "this place is growing too hot for us, and we've got to get out of it. there's the _city of kingston_, and she is going to victoria or tacoma, i don't know which. either of them would be better for us than seattle just now, though, because in victoria the revenue folks couldn't touch us, and in tacoma they won't be looking for us. what do you say? shall we try for a passage on her?" "yes," replied alaric. "i suppose so, for it is certain that we must get away from here somehow. i hope she won't take us to victoria, though." so the young fugitives stole down the wharf in darkest shadows to where a force of men were busily at work by lantern-light, trucking freight up a broad gang-plank from the steamer's lower deck, and at the same time carrying aboard the small quantity that was to go somewhere else. among this was a lot of household goods. "now," whispered bonny, "we've got to be quick, for there isn't much more to be done. i'll run aboard with one of these trucks, while you grab a chair or something from that pile of stuff and follow after. each of us must hide on his own hook in the first place he comes to, and if we don't find a chance to get together on the trip, we'll meet on the wharf at the first place she stops. sabe?" "yes. go ahead." so bonny boldly picked up one of several idle trucks that lay near by, and rattled it down the gang-plank with every appearance of bustling activity. as he trundled it aft along the dimly lighted deck he was greeted by a gruff voice from the darkness with: "get that truck out of here. didn't you hear me say i didn't need any more of 'em?" "aye, aye, sir," answered the pretended stevedore, facing promptly about and wheeling his truck away. in a place where there seemed to be no one looking he set it gently down, and walked forward as boldly as though executing some order just received. away up in the bows of the steamer he found a great coil of rope, in which he snuggled down like a bird in a nest. alaric was not quite so fortunate. he watched bonny disappear with his truck in the dark interior of the boat, and then, taking a mattress from the pile of household goods, marched aboard with it in his arms. walking aft with his awkward burden, he stumbled across the truck that bonny had left in the passage and sprawled at full length. as luck would have it, the mattress, loosed from his grasp, struck the mate who was coming that way and nearly knocked him down. [illustration: "bonny seized a truck, and alaric a mattress"] springing furiously forward, the man aimed a kick at the prostrate lad, called him a clumsy lunkhead, ordered him to wheel the truck up on to the wharf, and threatened to discharge him on the spot without one cent of wages as a cure for his blooming awkwardness. there was nothing for it but to return to the wharf with the truck. then, to his dismay, alaric found that there was no freight left to be taken on board. the pile of household goods had disappeared. as he stood for a moment irresolute, another gruff voice sang out to him to cast off the breast line and get aboard in a hurry if he didn't want to get left. alaric had no more idea than the man in the moon of what a breast line was; but he knew what to cast off a line meant, and, making a blind guess, fortunately did the right thing. by this time the gang-plank was hauled in, and obeying the order "jump! you chuckle-head!" he took a flying leap that landed him on all fours on the deck, amid loud guffaws of laughter from those who happened to be near. as he regained his feet, the lad, still mistaken for one of several new hands who had been shipped the evening before, was ordered aft to help haul in the stern line by which the boat was now swinging. he went in the direction indicated, but managed to slip away before reaching the place of the stern line and hide among the very household goods he had helped bring aboard. here, after lying for a while pondering over the strange fortunes by which every step of his pathway into the world of active life seemed to be beset, he fell asleep. when he awoke it was broad daylight, the sun was shining, and a house seemed tumbling about his ears. it was only the goods among which he had hidden being pulled down by the crew, who were discharging cargo. as the lad scrambled from beneath the very mattress he had brought aboard, and which had now fallen on top of him, he was greeted by an angry roar from the gruff voice of the night before. "shirking, are ye, you lazy young hound? i'll teach ye!" picking up a bit of rope and whirling it about his head, the mate sprang towards the lad, who darted away in terror; nor did he stop until he found himself clear of the boat and running up a long wharf, without an idea of where he was or whither he was going. chapter xxiii alaric todd's darkest hour "hello, rick dale! hold on!" was the hail that caused alaric to halt in his flight from the most recent of the chasings that were becoming so common a feature of his life. it was bonny who called, and who now came running up to him. "where have you been all this time?" he asked. "i've waited and watched for you ever since we got in, a good two hours ago, and was getting mighty uneasy for fear you'd fallen overboard or got left at seattle, or something. you see, i feel in a way responsible for you, seeing that i got you into all this mess." "that's queer," said alaric, with a faint smile, and sitting down wearily on a huge anchor that lay beside one of the warehouses, "for i've been thinking that all your troubles were owing to me. i'm awfully sorry, though, i kept you waiting, but i suppose i must have been asleep." "you had better luck than i did, then," growled bonny, seating himself beside his friend, "for i haven't had a wink of sleep since we left seattle. i was just getting into a doze when a miserable deck-hand swashed a bucket of water over me. then they found me out, and set me to work cleaning decks and polishing brass. they kept me at it every minute until we got here, and then fired me ashore." "did they give you any breakfast?" inquired alaric, with an interest that betrayed the tendency of his thoughts. "not much, they didn't. have you had anything to eat?" "not a bite; and do you know, bonny, i think i am beginning to realize what starving means." "i know i am, and what being utterly worn out means as well. do you suppose it's just hunger that makes a fellow feel sick and light-headed and weak as a cat, the way i do now, or is it that he is really in for something serious, like a fever or whooping-cough or one of the things with big names?" "i expect it's hunger, and nothing else," replied alaric, "for i feel just that way myself, and i've been really ill times enough to know the difference." "then it must be starvation, and something has got to be done about it," exclaimed bonny, starting to his feet with a resolute air, "for i don't believe any two fellows are going to be allowed to starve to death in this city of tacoma. so i'm going to get something for us to eat, even if i have to steal." "oh no, bonny, don't steal. we haven't quite come to that," objected alaric. "did you say this was tacoma, though?" "yes, of course. didn't you recognize it?" "no, i didn't, for i wasn't given much chance to get acquainted with it last evening, you know. but if this is tacoma, i've an idea that i believe will bring us some money. so suppose we separate for a while? you can go one way looking for something to eat, and i'll go another in search of that which will mean the same thing. when the whistles blow for noon we'll both come back here and compare notes." "all right," agreed bonny. "i'll do it, and if i don't bring back something to eat, it will be because the whole city is starving, that's all." so the two set forth in opposite directions, bonny taking a course that would lead him among the shipping, and alaric walking up the long easy grade of pacific avenue towards the city proper. his pride, which no personal suffering nor discomfort could overthrow, had given way at last before the wretchedness of his friend. "it is i who am the cause of it," he said to himself, "and so i am bound to help him out by the only way i can think of. i hate to do it, for it will be owning up that i am not fit to care for myself or able to fight my own way in the world. i know, too, just how john and the others will laugh at me, but i've got to do something at once, and there doesn't seem to be anything else." the scheme that alaric so dreaded to undertake, and was yet determined to execute, was the telegraphing to his brother john for funds. of course john would report the matter to their father, who had probably been already notified of his younger son's disappearance, and our lad would be ordered to return home immediately. or perhaps john would come to fetch him back, like a runaway child. it would all be dreadfully humiliating, and on his own account he would have undergone much greater trials than those of the present rather than place himself in such a position. but for the sake of the boy who had befriended him and suffered with him, it must be done. the only telegraph-office in the city of which alaric knew was in the hotel tacoma, where he had passed a day on his northward journey, and thither he bent his steps. as he entered its open portal and crossed the spacious hall in which was located the telegraph-station, the well-dressed guests who paced leisurely to and fro or lounged in easy-chairs stared at him curiously. and well they might, for a more tattered, begrimed, unkempt, and generally woe-begone youth had never been seen in that place of luxurious entertainment. had alaric encountered a mirror, he would have stared at himself and passed by without recognition; but for the moment his mind was too busy with other thoughts to allow him to consider his appearance. the box-like telegraph-office was occupied by a fashionably attired young woman, who was just then absorbed in an exciting novel. after keeping alaric waiting for several minutes, or until after she had finished a chapter, she took the despatch he had written, and read it aloud: "_to mr. john todd, amos todd bank, san francisco_: "dear john,--please send me by wire one hundred dollars. will write and explain why i need it. alaric." "dollar and a half," said the young woman, tersely, and without looking up. although many telegrams had been forwarded at various times and from distant parts of the world in alaric todd's name, he had never before attempted to send one in person. now, therefore, although somewhat startled by the request for a dollar and a half, he replied, calmly: "send it collect, please. it will be paid for at the other end." "can't do it; 'gainst the rules," retorted the young woman, sharply, now glancing at the lad before her, and contemptuously scanning him from head to foot. "but," pleaded poor alaric, "this is so very important. the money that i ask for is sure to come, and then i will pay for it a dozen times over, if you like. it will certainly be paid for, though, in san francisco, at the amos todd bank, for my name is todd--alaric todd." "it wouldn't make any difference," remarked the young woman, "if your name were george washington or john jacob astor; you couldn't send a despatch through this office without paying for it. so if you haven't any money you might as well make up your mind not to waste any more of my time." with this she resumed the reading of her novel, while alaric moved slowly away, stunned and despairing. now was he indeed cut off from his home, his people, and from all hope of assistance. he hadn't even money enough to pay for a postage-stamp with which to send a letter. as he realized these things, the reaction from his confidence of a few moments before, that his present trouble would be speedily ended, was so great that he grew faint, and mechanically sank into a leather-cushioned chair that stood close at hand. he had hardly done so when an alert porter stepped up, touched him on the shoulder, and pointed significantly to the door. the boy understood, and obeyed the gesture without remonstrance. thus it came to pass that a son of amos todd, the richest man on the pacific coast, was driven from a hotel of which his father was one of the principal owners, and in spite of the fact that he had just acknowledged his own identity. once outside, alaric walked irresolutely, and as though unconscious of what he was doing, for a short distance, and then found himself seated on an iron bench at the edge of a broad asphalted driveway. here he tried to think, and could not. he closed his eyes and wondered vaguely if he were going to die, or, if not, how much longer he could live without food. it wasn't worth worrying about, though, one way or the other. he had made such a complete failure of life that no one would care if he did die. of course bonny might feel badly about it for a little while, but even he would get along much better alone. from such terrible thoughts as these the lad was aroused by the sound of cheery voices; and glancing listlessly in their direction, he saw a well-dressed young fellow, apparently not much older than himself, a little boy in his first suit of tiny knickerbockers, and a big dog. they had just come from the hotel and were playing with a ball. it was phil ryder with little nel-te, an orphan whom he had rescued from the yukon wilderness, and big amook, one of his eskimo sledge dogs that he was carrying back to new london as a curiosity. while alaric watched them, wondering how it must seem to be as free from both hunger and anxiety as that happy-looking chap evidently was, the ball tossed to nel-te escaped him and rolled under the iron bench. as the child came running up, the lad recovered it and handed it to him. "fank you, man," said the little chap, and then ran away. after a while the ball again came in the same direction, and, as the child did not follow it, alaric picked it up and tossed it to phil. "hello!" cried the latter. "it seems mighty good to be catching a baseball again. give us another, will you?" with this he threw the ball to alaric, who caught it deftly and flung it back. the ball was one that had been found in a certain canvas dunnage-bag the evening before, and begged by phil ryder as a souvenir of his experience as a smuggler. after a few passes back and forth alaric became so dizzy from weakness that, with a very pale face, he was again forced to sit down. "what's the matter?" asked phil, anxiously, coming up to the trembling lad. "not ill, i hope?" "no; i'm not ill. it's only a little faintness." "do you know," said phil, as he noted closely the lad's mean dress and hollow cheeks, "that you look to me as though you were hungry. tell me honestly if you have had any breakfast this morning." "no," replied alaric, in a low tone. "or any supper last night?" "no." "did you have any dinner yesterday?" "i can't exactly remember, but i don't think i did." "why, man," cried tender-hearted phil, horror-stricken at this revelation, "you are starving! and i've been keeping you here playing ball! what a heedless brute i am! never mind; just you wait until i can carry this little chap inside, and don't you stir from that seat until i come back." with this phil, picking up nel-te and bidding amook follow him, hurried away, leaving alaric still holding the baseball, and filled with a very queer mixture of conflicting emotions. chapter xxiv phil ryder pays a debt in a very few minutes phil ryder hastened back to where alaric awaited him. "now you come with me," he said, cheerily, "and we'll end this starvation business in a hurry. i won't take you to the hotel, for those swell waiters are too slow about serving things, and when a fellow is hungry he don't care so much about style as he does about prompt attention to his wants. i know, for i've been there myself. there's a little restaurant just around the corner on the avenue that looks as though it would exactly fill the bill. here we are." almost before he realized what was happening alaric found himself seated before the first regular breakfast-table that he had seen in weeks, while the young stranger facing him, who had so unexpectedly become his host, was ordering a meal that seemed to embrace pretty nearly the whole bill of fare. "bring the coffee and oatmeal first," he said to the waiter, "and see that there is plenty of cream. if they burn your fingers, so much the better, for you never saw any one in quite so much of a hurry as we are. after that you may rush along the other things as fast as you please." alaric attempted a feeble protest against the munificence of the order just given, but phil silenced him with: "now, my friend, don't you fret; i know what you need and what you can get away with better than you do, for i've experimented considerably with starving during the past year. as for obligation, there isn't any. i am only paying a debt that i've owed for a long time." "i don't remember ever meeting you before," said alaric, looking up in surprise from a dish of oatmeal and cream that seemed the very best thing he had ever tasted. "no, of course not, and i don't suppose we have ever been within a thousand miles of each other until now; but i have been in your debt, all the same. just about a year ago i was in victoria without a cent in my pocket, no friend or even acquaintance that i knew of in the whole city, and so hungry that it didn't seem as though i had ever eaten anything in my life. just as i was most desperate and things were looking their very blackest, an angel travelling under the name of serge belcofsky came along, and spent his last dollar in feeding me. i vowed then that i'd get even with him by feeding some other hungry fellow, and this is the first chance i've run across since. you needn't be afraid, though, that i am spending my last dollar on you, glad as i would be to do so if it were necessary. that it isn't is owing to one of the best fathers in the world, who hasn't had a chance to keep me in funds for so long a time that he is now trying to make up for lost opportunities." "you must be very fond of him," said alaric, who was now at work on beefsteak and fried potatoes. "well, rather," replied phil, earnestly, "though i never knew how much a good father was to a boy until i lost him, and had to fight my way alone through a whole year before i found him again. it's a wonder my hair didn't turn gray with anxiety while i was hunting him up in the interior of alaska; but it's all over now, and i have him safe at last right here in tacoma, along with my aunt ruth and little nel-te and jalap----" "is he the dog?" asked alaric, beginning an attack on the omelette. "who?" "jalap." "not much he isn't a dog," laughed phil. "he is one of the dearest of sailormen. he's one of the wisest, too, only he lays all of his wisdom to his old friend kite roberson. besides all that, he is one of the most comical chaps that ever lived, though he doesn't mean to be, and it's better than a circus to see him on snow-shoes driving a sledge team of dogs. i should have brought him over here to cheer you up, only he's off somewhere among the ships this morning. he says he's got the salt-water habit so badly that he can't keep away from them. are you ready now for the buckwheats? here are half a dozen hot ones to top off with, and maple-syrup too. don't they look good, though! i say, waiter, you may as well bring me a plate of those buckwheats. i forgot to have any at breakfast-time." so phil rattled on, talking of all sorts of things to keep his guest amused, and allow him ample opportunity to attend strictly to the business of eating, without feeling obliged to answer questions or sustain any part of the conversation. and how poor, heart-sick, hungry alaric was cheered by the thoughtful kindness of this strange lad who had so befriended him in his hour of sorest need! how grateful he was, and how, with each mouthful of food, strength and courage and hope came back to him, until, when the wonderful meal was finished, he was ready once more to face the world with a brave confidence that it should never again get the better of him! he tried to put some of his gratitude into words, but was promptly interrupted by his host, who said: "nonsense! you've nothing to thank me for. i told you i owed you this breakfast, and besides, though i haven't eaten very much myself, i have certainly enjoyed it as much as any meal of my life. now we have a few minutes left before i must go, and i want you to tell me something of yourself. what is your name? where is your home? and how did you happen to get into this fix?" "my name is rick dale," began alaric, who did not feel that he could disclose his real identity under the circumstances, "and my home is in san francisco; but it is closed now. my mother is dead. i don't know just where my father is, and i was left with some people whom i disliked so much that i just--" here he hesitated, and phil, noting his embarrassment, hastened to say: "never mind the particulars. i had no business to ask such questions, anyway." "well," continued alaric, "the result of it all is that i am here looking for work. i had a job, but it didn't pay anything, and i lost it about two weeks ago. now i am trying to find another." "what kind of a job do you want?" "anything, so long as it is honest work that will provide food, clothing, and a place to sleep." "in that case," said phil, thoughtfully, "i don't know but what i can put you in the way of one, though--" "it must be a job for two of us," interposed alaric, "for i have a friend who is in the same fix as myself." "i only wish i had known that in time to have him breakfast with us," said phil; "but the job i am thinking of, if it can be had at all, will serve for two of you as well as for one. you see, it is this way. there is a frenchman over at the hotel whose name is filbert, and who--" just here both lads started at the sound of a shrill whistle announcing the hour of noon. "i had no idea it was so late," explained phil, "and i must run; for we leave here on the one-o'clock train." "i must hurry too, for i promised to meet bonny at noon," said alaric. "who is bonny?" "the friend i told you of." "then i want you to give this to him from me, for fear he may not have found any breakfast." so saying, phil slipped something hard and round into alaric's hand. "now good-bye, rick dale," he said. "i hope we may meet again sometime. at any rate, be sure to call on monsieur filbert at the hotel this afternoon. i guess you can get a job from him; but even if you don't, always remember that, as my friend jalap coombs says, 'it's never so dark but what there's a light somewhere.'" then the lads parted, one filled with the happiness that results from an act of kindness, and the other cheered and encouraged to renewed effort. with grateful and loving glances alaric watched phil ryder until he disappeared in the direction of the hotel, and then hastened to keep his appointment with bonny. on the road leading to the wharves he passed a tall, lank figure, whose whole appearance was that of a sailor. his shrewd face was weather-beaten and wrinkled, but so kindly and smiling that alaric could not help but smile from sympathy as they met. he found bonny impatiently awaiting him, and in such cheerful spirits as to be hardly recognizable for the despondent, half-starved lad of two hours before. "hello, rick!" he shouted, as his friend approached. "i know you've had good luck, for i see it in your face." "indeed i have!" replied alaric; "and, what's more, i've had the best breakfast i ever ate in my life." "that's what i meant by luck; and i've had the same." "what's more," continued alaric, "i have brought something that was sent especially to you, for fear you hadn't found anything to eat." thus saying, he handed over a big bright silver dollar. "well, if that don't beat the owls!" exclaimed bonny at sight of the shining coin, "for here is his twin-brother that was handed me to give to you, or rather to the first fellow i met who needed it more than i did." "i must be the one, then," said alaric, joyously, "for i haven't a cent to my name, and as you now have two dollars, i'm willing to divide with you. but who gave it to you, and how did he happen to?" "the queerest and dearest old chap i ever saw. you know how badly i was feeling when we separated. well, that was nothing to what came afterwards. i set out to board every ship in port until i should find a cook or steward who would fill me up and let me have something extra to bring to you. on the first half-dozen or so i was treated worse than a dog, and fired ashore almost before i opened my mouth. it made me feel meaner than dirt, and but for thinking of how disappointed you would be if i came back as miserable as i went, i should have given up in despair. i must say, though, that all the fellows who treated me that way were dagoes, dutch, or chinamen. "at length i boarded a yankee bark that carried an irish steward, and the minute i said i was hungry he cried out: 'don't spake a wurrud, lad, for ye couldn't do yer looks justice. jist be aisy, and come wid me.' "with that he led me to a sort of a cuddy at the forward end of the after deck-house, and set me down to such a spread as i haven't seen since i left cape cod. there was cold roast beef, corned beef, potatoes, bread and butter, pie, pickles, coffee, and--well, it would be no use trying to tell all the things that steward gave me to eat, for you just wouldn't believe it. he laid 'em all out, told me to pitch in, and then went off, so, as he said, i'd be free to act according to nature. "i sat there and ate until i hadn't room for as much as a huckleberry. as i was looking at the last piece of squash pie, and thinking what a pity it was that it must be left, i heard a chuckle behind me, and turned around in a hurry. there stood one of the mates and the dear old chap i was just telling you about. "'why don't you eat it, son?' says the mate. "'reason enough,' says i, 'because i can't; but if you don't mind, sir, i'd like awfully to take it to my partner in starvation,' meaning you. "'who is he? and how does he happen to be starved?' says the dear old chap. then i up and told them the whole story of our experience on the _fancy_, being chased by the revenue-men, and all, and it tickled 'em most to death. "when i got through, the stranger, who was just down visiting the vessel, slipped a dollar into my hand, and told me to give it to the first chap i met who needed it more than i did. he said he used to know cap'n duff, and told me a lot of yarns about him as we walked back here together." "was his name jalap coombs?" asked alaric. "i expect it must have been, for he had a lot to say about somebody named kite roberson, who allus useter call him 'jal.' why? do you know him?" "yes. that is, i feel as if i did. but, bonny, i mustn't stop to tell you of my experiences now, for i have made an important business engagement for both of us up-town, and we must attend to it at once." chapter xxv engaged to interpret for the french "where did you get that baseball?" asked bonny brooks, referring to one that alaric was unconsciously tossing from hand to hand as they walked up-town together. at this the latter stopped short and looked at the ball in question, as though now seeing it for the first time. "do you know," he said, "i have been so excited and taken up with other things that i actually forgot i had this ball in my hands. it belongs to the fellow who gave me that breakfast and your dollar, besides telling me where to look for something to do. not only that, but i really believe if it hadn't been for this ball he would never have paid any attention to me. you see, we got to passing it; and when i became so dizzy that i had to sit down, he asked me what was the matter. so he found out somehow that i was hungry, though i don't remember telling him, and then insisted on giving me a breakfast." "who is he? i mean, what is his name?" "i don't know. i never thought to ask him. and he doesn't live here either, but has just come down from alaska, and was going off in the one-o'clock train. i do know, though, that he is the very finest chap i ever met, and i only hope i'll have a chance some time to pay back his kindness to me by helping some other poor boy." "it is funny," remarked bonny, meditatively, "that your friend and my friend should both have just come from alaska." "isn't it?" replied alaric; "but then they are travelling together, you know." "i didn't know it, though i ought to have suspected it, for they are the kind who naturally would travel together--the kind, i mean, that give a fellow an idea of how much real goodness there is in the world, after all--a sort of travelling sermon, only one that is acted instead of being preached." "that's just the way i feel about them," agreed alaric; "but i wish i hadn't been so careless about this ball. it may be one that he values for association's sake, just as i did the one we left in that siwash camp." "let me have it a moment," said bonny, who was looking curiously at the ball. alaric handed it to him, and he examined it closely. "i do believe it is the very one!" he exclaimed. "yes, i am sure it is. don't you remember, rick, the burned place on your ball that came when bah-die dropped it into the fire the first time you threw it at him, and how you laughed and called it a sure-enough red-hot ball? well, here's the place now, and this is certainly the very ball that introduced us to each other in victoria." "how can it be?" asked alaric, incredulously. "i don't know, but it surely is." "well," said alaric, finally convinced that his comrade was right, "that is the very most unexplainable thing i ever came across, for i don't see how it could possibly have come into his possession." while discussing this strange happening, the lads approached the hotel in which one of them had been made to suffer so keenly a few hours before. he dreaded the very thought of entering it again, but having made up his mind that he must, was about to do so, when his attention was attracted to a curious scene in front of the main entrance. a small, wiry-looking man, evidently a foreigner, was gesticulating, stamping, and shouting to a group of grinning porters and bell-boys who were gathered about him. as our lads drew near they saw that he held a small open book in his hand, from which he was quoting some sentence, while at the same time he was rapidly working himself into a fury. it was a french-english phrase-book, in which, under the head of instructions to servants, the sentence "_je désire un fiacre_" was rendered "call me a hansom," and it was this that the excited frenchman was demanding, greatly to the amusement and mystification of his hearers. "call me a hansom! call me a hansom! call me a hansom!" he repeated over and over, at the top of his voice. "_c'est un fiacre--fiacre--fiacre!_" he shouted. "_oh, là, là! mille tonnerres!_ call me a hansom!" "he must be crazy," said bonny; "for he certainly isn't handsome, and even if he were, he couldn't expect people to call him so. i wonder why they don't send for the police." instead of answering him, alaric stepped up to the laughing group and said, politely, "_pardon, monsieur. c'est monsieur filbert, n'est-ce pas?_" "_oui, oui. je suis filbert!_ call me a hansom." "he wants a carriage," explained alaric to the porters, who stared open-mouthed at hearing this young tramp talk to the foreigner in his own "lingo." "_vous voulez une voiture, n'est-ce pas?_" he added, turning to the stranger. "oh, my friend!" cried m. filbert, in his own language, flinging away the perplexing phrase-book as he spoke, and embracing alaric in his joy at finding himself once more comprehended. "it is as the voice of an angel from heaven to hear again my own language in this place of barbarians!" "have a care, monsieur," warned alaric, "how you speak of barbarians. there are many here who can understand perfectly your language." "i care not for them! i do not see them! they have not come to me! you are the first! can it be that i may engage you to remain and interpret for me this language of distraction?" here the speaker drew back, and scanned alaric's forlorn appearance hopefully. "that is what i came to see you about, monsieur," answered alaric. "i am looking for employment, and shall be happy----" "it is enough!" interrupted the other, vehemently. "you have found it. i engage you now, at once. come, the carriage is here. let us enter." "but," objected the lad, "i have a friend whom i cannot leave." "let him come! let all your friends come! bring your whole family if you will, but only stay with me yourself!" cried the frenchman, impetuously. "i am distracted by my troubles with this terrible language, and but for you i shall go crazy. you are my salvation. so enter the carriage, and your friend. _après vous, monsieur._ do you also speak the language of the beautiful france? no? it is a great pity." "does his royal highness take us for dukes?" questioned the bewildered bonny, who, not understanding one word of the foregoing conversation, had, of course, no idea why he now found himself rolling along the streets of tacoma in one of its most luxurious public carriages. "not exactly," laughed alaric; "but he takes us for interpreters--that is, he wants to engage us as such." "oh! is that it? well, i'm agreeable. i suppose you told him that i was pretty well up on chinook? but what language does he talk himself?" "french, of course," replied alaric, "seeing that he is a frenchman." "are you a frenchman too?" "certainly not." "well, i didn't know but what you were, seeing that you talk the same language he does, and just as well, for all that i can make out. really, rick dale, it is growing interesting to find out the things you know and can do." "and the things i still have to learn," laughed alaric. having thus satisfied his curiosity, and learned that he was an interpreter, the last position in the world for which he would have applied, bonny folded his arms, assumed what he considered a proper attitude for the occasion, and entered upon a calm enjoyment of the first regular carriage-ride of his life. nor did he allow the animated conversation taking place between m. filbert and alaric to disturb him in the least, though by it the whole future course of his life was to be changed. under alaric's direction the carriage first bore them to the railway-station, where a number of strange-looking boxes and packages, all belonging to m. filbert, were gathered in one place, and given in charge of a porter, who was instructed to receive and care for any others that might come marked with the same name. then the carriage was again headed up-town, and driven to shop after shop until it seemed as though the entire resources of the city were to be drawn upon to supply the multitudinous needs of the mysterious frenchman. among the things thus purchased and ordered sent down to the station were provisions, cooking utensils, axes, medicines, alcohol, tents, blankets, ammunition, and clothing. "i don't know what's up," reflected bonny, "and i don't care, so long as rick says everything is all right; but i should think we were either going to make war on the siwash or take a trip to the north pole." of course alaric accompanied m. filbert into each store, where his knowledge of languages was invaluable in conducting the various negotiations; but the chinook interpreter, as he called himself, finding that his services were not yet in demand, was content to remain luxuriously seated in the carriage. here he discussed the whole remarkable performance with the driver, who was certain that the frenchman was either going prospecting for gold, or for a new town-site on which to settle a colony of his countrymen. during the whole afternoon m. filbert talked incessantly with his new-found interpreter, and alaric seemed almost as excited as he. at length the former, casting a dubious glance at the lads, asked, with an apologetic manner, if they were well provided with clothing. "only what you see, monsieur," answered alaric. "everything else we have lost." "ah! is it so? then must you be provided with the habiliments necessary. if you will kindly give the instructions?" so the carriage was ordered to a shoe-shop and an outfitting establishment, where both lads, to bonny's further bewilderment, were provided with complete suits of rough but warm and serviceable clothing, including two pairs of walking-boots, one of which was very heavy and had hob-nailed soles. these last purchases were not concluded until after sunset, and with them the business of the day was ended. with many parting injunctions to alaric, and a polite _bon nuit_ to both lads, m. filbert was driven back to the hotel, leaving his newly engaged assistants to their own devices for the time being. "now," said bonny, "if you haven't forgotten how to talk united states, perhaps you will explain what all this means--what we are engaged to do, what our wages are to be, and where we are bound? are we to turn gold-hunters or indian-fighters, or is it something in the exploring line?" "i expect," laughed alaric, "it is to be more in the climbing line." "climbing?" "yes. do you see that mountain over there?" here alaric pointed to the lofty snow-capped peak of mount rainier, still rose-tinted with sunlight, and rising in awful grandeur high above all other summits of the cascade range, nearly fifty miles from where they stood. "certainly. i can't help seeing it." "do you think you could climb it?" "of course i could, if it came in my line of business." "would you undertake it for thirty dollars a month and all expenses?" "rick dale, i'd undertake to climb to the moon on those terms. but you are surely joking. the frenchman will never pay that just for the fun of seeing us climb." "yes he will, though, and i have agreed that we shall start with him for the top of that mountain to-morrow morning." chapter xxvi preparing for an ascent monsieur jean puvis filbert was a frenchman of wealth, a distinguished member of the alpine club, an enthusiastic mountain-climber, and had for an especial hobby the making of botanical collections from high altitudes. he was now on a leisurely tour around the world, and had recently arrived in tacoma on one of the northern pacific steamships from japan. this was his first visit to america, and he was filled with enthusiasm by the superb mountain scenery that greeted him on all sides as his ship steamed through the strait of juan de fuca and up the glorious waterways of puget sound. he gazed longingly at the snow-crowned olympics, and went into ecstasies over a distant view of mount baker, the most northerly peak of the cascade range. when grand old rainier, loftiest of all, appeared on the southeastern horizon, lifting its hoary head more than , feet above the level of the intervening plain, he became silent with adoration, and determined that his first achievement in america should be to gain that glorious summit. as his knowledge of english was very limited, our mountain-climber began his preparations for this arduous undertaking by engaging an interpreter. the only one whom he could find was a canadian, who spoke french nearly as badly as he did english, and whom his employer was quickly obliged to discharge for drunkenness and utter incompetence. then it seemed as though the expedition on which m. filbert had set his heart must be given up, and he was in despair. at this critical moment alaric todd appeared on the scene seeking employment, though never dreaming that it would come to him through his knowledge of french, and was received literally with open arms. of course he was engaged at once, and was able to secure a situation for bonny brooks as well, though the precise nature of the young sailor's duties were not defined. thus bonny was allowed to regard himself as also holding the rank of interpreter, whose services would be invaluable in the event of an encounter with indians, who, for all he knew, might contest every foot of their way up the great mountain. to this young man the climbing of a mountain seemed a very foolish and profitless undertaking, for, as he said, "the only thing we can do when we get up there is to turn around and come down again. but you mustn't think, rick, that i'm trying to back out. no, siree. just so long as i am paid to climb i'll climb, even if it comes to shinning up the north pole and interpreting the constitution to the polar bears." m. filbert wished the boys to spend the night with him at the hotel, but alaric was still so sore over his morning's experience that he begged to be excused. so when they were left to themselves they carried their recently acquired belongings down to the railway-station, and persuaded the agent to allow them to sleep in that corner of the baggage-room devoted to their employer's collection of chattels. here they put on their new suits, and then, feeling once more intensely respectable, and well content with their own appearance, each invited the other to dine with him. had they not two whole dollars between them, and was not that enough to make them independent of the world? they procured a bountiful dinner in the restaurant where alaric had breakfasted, and with it ate up one of their dollars. the place was so associated in their minds with the fine young fellow to whom they owed all their present good fortune that they thought and talked much of him during the meal. recalling what he had said concerning his father reminded alaric of his own parent, and caused him to wonder if he were yet aware that his younger son was not travelling around the world with the sonntaggs as he had planned. "if the dear old dad has heard of my disappearance," reflected the boy, "he must be a good deal worried, for he has no idea of how well i can take care of myself. i believe i would write to him if i only knew his address. he said to send all letters to the bank; but i can't do that, because john, who must have heard from the sonntaggs by this time, would be certain to recognize the handwriting and open it. i know what, though. i'll write to cousin esther, and ask her to tell dad all about me. she is sure to see him on his way home, for he always visits uncle dale's when he is in boston." so after supper, alaric, who was beginning to have a lively appreciation of the value of money, as well as of fathers, cautiously invested four cents in a sheet of paper, an envelope, and a stamp, all of which he was able to procure from the proprietor of the restaurant. the boy smiled, as he carefully pocketed his one cent of change, to think on what a different scale he would have made a similar purchase less than a month before. then he would have ordered a box of note-paper, another of envelopes, and a whole sheet of stamps. as for the change, why, there wouldn't have been any, for he would simply have said, "charge it, please," and it would have been charged to his father's account. when bonny saw that alaric was about to write a letter, he decided to write one to his aunt nancy at the same time. "for," said he, "she probably imagines that i am in china by now, and would never think of sending word to me here in case she got any news of father." so bonny also invested four cents in stationery; and the restaurant man good-naturedly allowing them to use a table, besides loaning them pens and a bottle of ink, they sat down to compose their respective epistles. when alaric's letter was finished it read as follows: "dear cousin esther,--i have taken your advice and run away--that is, i have done what amounts to the same thing, for i just sat still and let the other folks run away. by this time i expect they are in china, while i am here in the very place you said you would be if you were a boy. i wish you were one so you could be here with me now, for i think you would make a first-class boy. i am learning to be one as fast as i can, a real truly boy, i mean, and not a make-believe. i have already learned how to smuggle, and catch a baseball, besides a little batting, and to swim, sail a boat, paddle a canoe, talk some siwash, and have had a good deal of experience besides. "now i am an interpreter and engaged in the mountain-climbing business. we start to-morrow. "i have a partner who is a splendid chap, about my age, and named bonny brooks. i know you would like him, for he is such a regular boy, and knows just how to do things. "when you see my dear dad, please give him my warmest love, and tell him i think more of him now than i ever did. please make him understand that it was the sonntaggs who ran away, and not i. tell him that when i am through experimenting with my heart, and have become a genuine boy like bonny, i am coming back to him, to learn how to be a man--that is, i will if i can afford to pay my way to san francisco. but you have no idea how much money it takes to travel, especially when you have to earn it yourself, and so far i haven't earned any. still i have not starved--that is, not very often--so far, and am in hopes of having plenty to eat from this time on. now i must say good-bye because we are going to sleep in the station to-night, and it closes early. "ever your loving cousin, "rick." "p.s.--the principal reason i let the sonntaggs go was because they called me 'allie.' please tell this to dad." bonny's letter was not so long as alaric's, but it described the situation with equal vagueness. he wrote: "dear aunt nancy,--i am not in china, as you may suppose, having quit the sea after rising to be first mate. have also been a smuggler, but am not any more. am now engaged by the french as interpreter, and so far like the business very well. have also gone into the climbing trade. we are to do our first mountain to-morrow. have for a chum one of the cleverest chaps you ever saw. he can talk most any language except chinook, and is a daisy ball-catcher. his name is rick dale, and i am trying hard to be just like him. if you have any news from father, please let me know. you can send a letter in care of mr. p. bear, hotel tacoma, which is our headquarters. "ever your loving nephew, "b. brooks, interpreter." both these letters were sent to massachusetts, alaric's being addressed to boston, and bonny's to sandport. after they were posted, and our lads were on their way back to the railway station, they began for the first time to realize how very tired and sleepy they were. they were so utterly weary that as they snuggled down in their corner of the baggage-room, on a bed made of m. filbert's tents and blankets, alaric remarked: "this is what i call solid comfort." "yes," replied bonny, "we certainly have struck a big streak of luck. do you remember how we were feeling about this time last night?" "no," answered alaric, "i can't remember. it's too long ago. good-night." and in another minute both boys were fast asleep. they had taken "through tickets," as bonny would have said, and slept so soundly that they hardly stirred until the agent flung open the baggage-room door at six o'clock the following morning, and caused them to spring from their blankets in a hurry by shouting, "all aboard!" a dash of cold water from the hydrant outside drove all traces of sleep from their eyes, and so filled them with its fresh vigor that they raced all the way up-town to the restaurant. here, although their appetites were keen as ever, they managed to satisfy them with a ninety-cent breakfast, "and left the place with money still in their pockets," as alaric expressed it. "that's so," responded bonny. "we've just one cent apiece. let's toss up to see who will have them both." "no," said alaric, "for that would be gambling; and i promised my mother long ago at monte carlo never to gamble. she said more fortunes were lost and fewer won in that way than by any other." "but one cent isn't a fortune," objected bonny. "why not? a man's fortune is all that he has, and if you have but one cent, then that is your fortune." "i guess you are right, rick dale," laughed bonny. "i hate gambling as much as you do; but it never seemed to me before that tossing pennies was gambling. i expect it is, though, so i'll just keep my fortune in my pocket, and not risk it on any such foolishness." as the lads hastened back to the station, where they were to meet their employer, the glorious mountain that was now the goal of their ambition reared its mighty crest, radiant with sunlight, directly before them. so wonderfully clear was the atmosphere that it did not seem ten miles away, and bonny, shaking a fist at it, cried, cheerfully: "never you mind, old fellow, we'll soon have you under foot." chapter xxvii bonny commands the situation our lads had barely time to do up the tents and blankets they had used for bedding into compact bundles before m. filbert arrived, with his servant françois, and a carriage full of packages, including a bundle of iron-shod alpenstocks. he was clad in what appeared to bonny and the idlers about the station a very curious costume, though to alaric, who had often seen its like in switzerland, it did not seem at all out of the way. it consisted of a coat and knee-breeches of dark green velveteen, a waistcoat of scarlet cloth, stout yarn stockings patterned in green and scarlet and folded over at the knees, the heaviest of laced walking-boots with hob-nailed soles, and a soft tyrolese hat, in which was stuck a jaunty cock's feather. he was full of excited bustle, and the moment he caught sight of alaric began to shower questions and directions upon him with bewildering rapidity. at length, thanks to alaric's clear head and bonny's practical common-sense, confusion was reduced to order, and everything was got on board the train that was to carry the expedition to yelm prairie, a station about twenty miles south of tacoma, from which the real start was to be made. the arrival at yelm prairie produced an excitement equal to that of a circus, and our friends had hardly alighted from the train before they were surrounded by a clamorous throng of would-be guides, packers, teamsters, owners of saddle-animals or pack-ponies, and a score of others, who were loud in declaring that without their services the expedition would surely come to grief. in vain did the bewildered frenchman storm and rave, and stamp his feet and gesticulate. not one word that he said could be understood by the crowd, who, in their efforts to attract his attention, only shouted the louder and pressed about him more closely. finally the poor man, turning to alaric and saying, "do what you will. everything i leave to you," clapped his hands to his ears, broke through the uproarious throng, and started on a run for the open prairie. "he leaves everything to us," said alaric, who was almost as bewildered by the clamor and novelty of the situation as was m. filbert himself. "good enough!" cried bonny. "now we will be able to do something. i take it that on this cruise you are first mate and i am second. so if you'll just give the word to go ahead, i'll settle the business in a hurry." "i only wish you would," returned alaric, "for it looks as though we were going to be mobbed." armed with this authority, bonny sprang on a packing-case that lifted him well above his surroundings, and shouted: "fellow-citizens!" instantly there came a hush of curious expectancy. "i reckon all you men are looking for a job?" "that's about the size of it," answered several voices. "very well; i'll give you one that'll prove just about the biggest contract ever let out in yelm prairie. it is to shut your mouths and keep quiet." here the speaker was greeted by angry murmurs and cries of "none of yer chaff, young feller!" "what are you giving us?" and the like. nothing daunted, bonny continued: "i'm not fooling. i'm in dead earnest. what we are after is quiet, and the prince out there, whom you have scared away with your racket, is so bound to have it that he's willing to pay handsomely for it. he's got the money, too, and don't you forget it. he wants to hire several guides and packers, also a lot of saddle-horses and ponies, but a noisy, loud-talking chap he can't abide, and won't have round. he has left the whole business to my partner here and me to settle, seeing that we are his interpreters, and we are going to do it the way he pays us to do it and wants it done. so, according to the rule we've laid down in all our travellings and mountain-climbings up to date, the man who speaks last will be hired first, and the fellow who makes the most noise won't be given any show at all. sabe? as an example, we want a team to take our dunnage to the river, and i'm going to give the job to that fellow sitting in the wagon, who hasn't so far spoken a word." "good reason why! he's deaf and dumb!" shouted a voice. "all the better," replied bonny, in no wise abashed. "that's the kind we want. there are two more chaps who haven't said anything that i've heard, and i'm going to give them the job of pitching camp for us. i mean those two siwash at the end of the platform." "they are quiet because they can't speak any english," remonstrated some of those who stood near by. "we don't mind that, though we are french," replied bonny, cheerfully. "you see, the prince looked out for such things when he engaged us interpreters, and now we are ready to talk to every man in his own language, including chinook and united states. now the only other thing i've got to say is that we won't be ready to consider any further business proposals until two o'clock this afternoon, and anybody coming to our camp before that time will lose his chance. after that we shall be glad to see you all, and the fellows that make the least talk will stand the best show of getting a job." the effect of this bold proposition was surprising. instead of exciting wrath and causing hostile demonstrations, as alaric feared, its quieting influence was magical. times were hard in yelm prairie, and a well-paid trip up the mountain, or the chance to obtain a dollar a day for the hire of a pony, was not to be despised. so bonny was allowed to engage the deaf-and-dumb teamster by signs, and the two indians by a few words of chinook, without hinderance. all these worked with such intelligence and expedition that within an hour one of the neatest camps ever seen in that section was ready for occupancy beside the white waters of the glacier-fed nisqually. when m. filbert, who spied it from afar, came in soon afterwards, with hands and pockets full of floral specimens, he found a comfortably arranged tent and a bountiful camp dinner awaiting him. at sight of these things his peace of mind was fully restored, and he congratulated himself on having secured such skilful interpreters of both his words and wishes as the lads through whom they had been accomplished. promptly at the hour named by bonny a motley but orderly throng of men, mules, and ponies presented themselves at the camp, and the whole afternoon was spent in making a selection of animals and testing the skill of packers. both alaric and bonny were inexperienced riders, but neither of them hesitated when invited to mount and try the steeds offered for their use. a moment later bonny was sprawling on the ground, with his pony gazing at him demurely, while alaric was flying over the prairie at a speed that quickly carried him out of sight. it was nearly an hour before he returned, dishevelled and flushed with excitement, but triumphant, and with his pony cured of his desire for bolting--at least, for a time. by nightfall the selections and engagements had been made, and the expedition was strengthened by the addition of two white men to act as packers, two indians who were to serve as guides and hunters, five saddle-ponies, and as many pack-animals. that night our lads slept under canvas for the first time, and as they lay on their blankets discussing the novelty of the situation, bonny said: "i tell you what, rick, this mountain-climbing is a more serious business than some folks think. when you first told me what our job was to be i had a sort of an idea that we could get to the top of old rainier easy enough in one day and come back the next. so i couldn't imagine why mr. bear should want to engage us by the month. now, though, it begins to look as though we were in for something of a cruise." "i should say so," laughed alaric, who had learned a great deal about mountain-climbing in switzerland. "it would probably take the best part of a week to go from here straight to the summit and back again. but we shall be gone much longer than that, for we are to make a camp somewhere near the snow-line, and spend a fortnight or so up there collecting flowers and things." "flowers?" said bonny, inquiringly. "yes. m. filbert is a botanist, you know, and makes a specialty of mountain flora. but i say, bonny, what makes you call him 'mr. bear'?" "because i thought that was his name. i know you call him 'phil bear,' but i never was one to become familiar with a cap'n on short acquaintance." "ho! ho!" alaric laughed; "that's a good one. why, bonny, filbert is the surname. f-i-l-b-e-r-t--the same as the nut, you know, only the french pronounce things differently from what we do." "i should say they did if that's a specimen, and i'm glad i'm not expected to talk in any such language. plain chinook and every-day north american are good enough for me. i suppose he would say 'rainy' for rainier?" "something very like it. i see you are catching the accent. we'll make a frenchman of you yet before this trip is ended." "humph!" ejaculated bonny. "not if i know it, you won't." sunrise of the following morning found the horsemen of the expedition galloping over the brown sward of the park-like prairie towards the forest that for hundreds of miles covers the whole western slope of the cascade range like a vast green blanket. the road soon entered the timber and began a gradual ascent, winding among the trunks of stately firs and gigantic cedars that often shot upward for more than one hundred feet before a branch broke their column-like regularity. by noon they were at indian henry's, twenty miles on their way, and at the end of the wagon-road. that night camp was pitched in the dense timber, and our lads had their first taste of life in the forest. how snugly they were walled in by those close-crowding tree-trunks, and how they revelled in the roaring camp-fire, with its leaping flames, showers of dancing sparks, and perfume of burning cedar! what a delight it was to lie on their blankets just within its circle of light and warmth, listening to its crisp cracklings! mingled with these was the cheery voice of a tumbling stream that came from the blackness beyond, and the soft murmurings of night winds among the branches far above them. another day's journey through the same grand forest, only broken by the verdant length of succotash valley, and by the rocky beds of many streams, brought them to longmire's springs and the log cabins of the hardy settler who had given them his name. at this point, though they had been steadily ascending ever since leaving yelm prairie, they were still less than three thousand feet above the sea, and the real work of climbing was not yet begun. after an evening spent in listening to longmire's thrilling descriptions of the difficulties and dangers awaiting them, bonny admitted to alaric that he had never before entertained even a small idea of what a mountain really was. chapter xxviii on the edge of paradise valley from the springs a four-mile scramble through the woods and up the rocky beds of ancient waterways brought the party to a place where the nisqually river must be crossed. here a single giant tree had been felled so as to span the torrent, and its upper surface roughly hewn to a level. a short distance above the rude bridge rose the frowning front of a glacier. although its ice was mud-stained and honeycombed by countless rivulets that poured from its upper surface in tiny cascades, it still formed an inspiring spectacle, and one that filled bonny with wondering admiration, for it was his first glacier. from an arched ice cavern at its base poured the milk-white river, with a hollow roaring, and such force that fair-sized bowlders were swept down its channel as though they were so many sticks of wood. the whole scene was of such fascinating interest that it very nearly brought poor bonny to grief. he had dismounted, and was preparing to follow m. filbert and alaric, who had already led their ponies in safety across the narrow bridge. these animals had crossed so readily that he supposed his would do the same, and, as he stepped out on the great log, was paying far more attention to the glacier than to it. suddenly he was jerked violently backward, pitched headlong down the bank, and barely saved himself from the icy torrent by clutching at a friendly bush. at the same moment his pony, who had no confidence in mountain bridges, dashed into the roaring stream, was instantly swept from his footing, rolled over and over, and borne struggling away towards what seemed certain destruction. by the good fortune that attends all fools, animals as well as human, he managed to escape both drowning and broken bones, and finally regained his feet on a friendly reef that projected into the river a quarter of a mile below the bridge. there he stood trembling, bruised, and dripping when bonny and one of the indians, who had hastened down the bank to discover his fate, found him a few minutes later. from that time forth he was the meekest and most docile pony imaginable, suffering himself not only to be led over the log bridge without remonstrance, but wherever else his young master desired. [illustration: "bonny was jerked violently backward"] from the scene of this incident a hard scramble up a heavily timbered slope, so precipitous that it could only be overcome by a series of zigzags, lifted the expedition a thousand feet above the glacier, and carried them into a park-like meadow so carpeted and fringed with flowers as to throw m. filbert into an ecstasy of delight. the remainder of that day's ride led through many more of these exquisite, flower-decked mountain meadows separated by belts of timber, and rising one above the other, after the manner of terraces. largest and most beautiful of them all was paradise valley, a broad sweep of flower-painted sward dotted with graceful clumps of alpine firs and hemlocks, and nestled at the base of a mighty frowning cliff. it was bisected by a rippling stream that entered its upper end by a shimmering fall of nearly one thousand feet in height. high above this lovely valley, and close to the line where snow and timber met, m. filbert called a halt, and ordered the permanent camp to be pitched. although this point was less than half-way to the top of the mountain, or only feet above sea-level, the ponies could climb no higher, and, after being unladen, were sent back in charge of the packers into paradise valley, where they might fatten on its juicy grasses until needed for the return trip. from here, then, the rugged slope of ice, snow, and rock that stretched indefinitely upward towards the far-away shining summit must be traversed on foot or not at all. but this was not to be done now, nor for days to come, during which the camp just pitched was to be the base of a wide-spread series of explorations. a few straggling hemlocks, so bent by the ice-laden winds that swept down the mountain-side in winter that they looked like decrepit old men, furnished shelter, fuel, and bedding. an ice-cold stream supplied water, the indian hunters provided fresh meat, bringing in now a mountain-goat or a few brace of ptarmigan, and occasionally fetching up a deer from one of the flowery meadows a few thousand feet below. the supplies of other kinds of food, of warm clothing and bedding, were ample, and so, in spite of its lofty and solitary situation, that mountain-camp seemed to our lads one of the pleasantest and most comfortable places they had ever known. "it beats the sloop away out of sight," remarked bonny. "or skookum john's," said alaric. "yes, or being chased and starved." "the best of it all is that up here i seem to amount to something," added alaric. this was, after all, the true secret of our lads' content; for, in spite of its novelty, the present situation would quickly have grown wearisome had they not been constantly and happily occupied. every day that the weather would permit they tramped from early morning until dark over snow-fields and glaciers, scaled cliffs, scrambled down into valley-like meadows set like green jewels in the grim mountain-side, threaded their way amid the fantastic forms of stunted forests, toiled slowly up lofty heights, or slid with the speed of toboggans down gleaming slopes. each day they gained in agility and daring, and each night they returned to that cheery camp with its light, warmth, and abounding comforts, so healthfully tired and so ravenously hungry that it is no wonder they grew to look upon it as a home, and a very pleasant one. both lads developed specialties in which they became expert. alaric's was photography, an art that he had acquired in france, and had practised at intervals for more than a year. as soon as m. filbert discovered this knowledge on the part of his young interpreter, he intrusted him with the camera, and never had the lad devoted himself to anything with such enthusiasm as he now did to the capturing of views. his greatest triumph came through hours of tedious and noiseless creeping over a rough ice-field that finally placed him within twenty yards of a couple of mountain-goats. although the wind was blowing strongly from them to him, the timid creatures were already alarmed, and were sniffing the air suspiciously when a click of the camera's shutter sent them off like a flash. but the shot had been successful, as was shown by the development of a perfect plate that evening. m. filbert was jubilant over this feat, which he said had never before been accomplished, and complimented the lad in flattering terms upon the skilful patience that had led to it. bonny's specialty lay in the collecting of flowers, to which he had devoted himself assiduously ever since learning that they were what the little frenchman most desired. keen-eyed, nimble-footed, and tireless, he discovered and secured many a rare specimen that but for him would have been passed unnoticed. thus the leader of the expedition found reason to value the good qualities of his young assistants more highly with each day, and was already planning to have them accompany him on his entire american tour, during which he proposed to ascend at least a dozen more mountains. bonny was jubilant over the prospect of such a trip, and was now as eager to learn french, in order to qualify himself for it, as he had formerly been scornful of the language. with all this open-air life and splendid physical exercise, the one-time pale-faced and slender alaric was broadening and developing beyond belief. his cheeks were now a ruddy brown, his eyes were clear, his muscles hard, and his step as springy as that of a mountain-goat. above everything else in his own estimation he was learning to swing an axe with precision, and could now chop a log in two almost as neatly as bonny himself. for all that they were so constantly and agreeably occupied, the boys were possessed of a great and ever-increasing longing to stand on the lofty but still distant summit, with the general aspect of which they had become so familiar during their stay in the timber-line camp. thus, when one evening m. filbert decided to make a start towards it on the morrow, they hailed the announcement with joy. one of the indians was to accompany them as guide, while his fellow was to be left with françois to keep camp. the greater part of the following morning was devoted to making preparations for the climb and what was thought might prove a three days' absence from camp: the hobnails of their walking-boots, worn smooth by friction, were replaced by a fresh set; alpenstocks were tested until it was certain that each of those to be taken would bear the weight of the heaviest of the party; provisions were cooked and packs laid out. each was to carry a canvas-covered blanket sleeping-bag, inside of which would be rolled provisions for three days, a tin plate, and a cup. each was also provided with a sheath-knife and a supply of matches. besides these things m. filbert was to carry a barometer, a thermometer, a compass, and a collecting-case. alaric was intrusted with the camera and two dozen plates. bonny's extras were a hatchet and a fifty-foot coil of stout rope; while the indian was to carry an ice-axe and pack a burden of fire-wood. it was nearly noon when, fortified by a hearty lunch, they left their home-like camp, and, facing resolutely upward, began a tedious climb over the limitless expanse of snow that they struck within the first hundred yards. the sky was overcast, and they had hardly started ere a dense cloud-bank swept down and enveloped them in its chill vapors. an hour later they passed above it, though the clouds still rolled thick below them, and emerged into sunlight. glad as they were to see this, it was so distressingly bright that they were obliged to protect their eyes from its blinding glare with snow-goggles. wherever a ledge of rock projected above the snow they found blooming flowers and busy insects. even butterflies hovered about these spots of verdure, and seemed as much at home amid their arctic surroundings as in the warm valleys far below. the climb of that afternoon was hot, in spite of the snow that crunched beneath their feet, tedious, and only mildly exciting, for all the perils of the ascent were to come on the morrow. shortly before the sun sank into the sea of cloud that spread in fleecy undulations beneath them, they reached the base of the cleaver, a gigantic ridge that seemed to bar their further progress. here, on a small plat of nearly level ground from which they dug away the snow, they made a fire over which to boil water for a pot of tea, ate supper, and prepared to pass the night. they were four thousand feet above timber-line, and two miles higher than the waters of puget sound. as soon as supper was over the entire party crawled into their sleeping-bags for protection against the bitter cold of the night, and for a while the two boys, nestling together, talked in low tones. then bonny fell asleep; but for nearly an hour alaric lay awake, listening to the awful silence of that lofty solitude, or startled by the occasional thunderous rush of some plunging bowlder hurled from its bed by the resistless leverage of frost. chapter xxix mount rainier placed underfoot the summit of mount rainier has only been gained by way of its southern slope, the much steeper and more dangerous northern face having never been scaled. even over the comparatively easy slope of the south side but one practicable trail has been discovered, and it leads by way of the cleaver. this gigantic ridge of rock, like the backbone of some colossal monster, forms a divide between the upper nisqually and cowlitz glaciers. its sides are overlaid with confused masses of bowlders and treacherous gravel, through which appear at intervals sheer cliffs and bare ledges of solid rock. the cleaver leads to a mighty mass of granite, a mountain in itself, that is fittingly called the gibraltar of mount rainier. it bars a further passage to all save the strongest climbers, and to these it affords the only means of access to the lofty realms beyond. here is the most perilous part of the ascent, and, with gibraltar once passed, the summit is almost certain of attainment. it seemed to our weary lads that they had barely fallen asleep when they were wakened by a rude shaking and the voice of their siwash guide, exclaiming: "come, come, lazy boy! wake up! wake up! mos' _sitkum sun_ (noon). breakfus! breakfus!" "'most noon!" growled bonny, crawling reluctantly from his sleeping-bag, rubbing his eyes, and shivering in the bitter cold. "'most midnight, more likely." "alle same, _sitkum sun_ some place; don't he?" queried the indian; laughing at his own joke. by the time they had swallowed a cup of tepid tea, and lightened their packs by making a hearty meal of cold meat and hard bread, dawn was breaking, and there was light enough to pick their way up the treacherous slope of the cleaver. as they cautiously advanced, many a bowlder slipped from beneath their feet and bounded with mighty leapings into the depths behind them. dodging these, sliding in the loose gravels, lifting and pulling each other up rocky faces from one narrow ledge to another, and ever looking upward, they finally gained the summit of the mighty ridge. from here they could gaze down the opposite slope nearly a thousand feet to the gleaming surface of the great cowlitz glacier, with so much of its ruggedness smoothed away by distance that it looked a river of milk with a line of black drift in its centre, flowing swiftly through a rock-walled cañon and pouring into a sea of cloud. on the far southward horizon could be seen the glistening cone of mount hood, kissed by earliest sunbeams, and in the middle distance the volcanic peaks of st. helens and adams. near at hand, pinnacles of the tatoosh range were breaking through the clouds like rocky islets in a billowy sea. before them the rugged backbone of the cleaver, stripped of every particle of its earthy flesh, stretched away in quick ascent to the frowning mass of gibraltar. the cleaver carried them half-way up the sombre face of this mighty rock, and from that point a narrow ledge creeping diagonally up the precipice at a steep angle was the trail they must follow. not only was this rocky pathway steep and narrow, but it shelved away from the wall, and in many places afforded only a treacherous foothold. at any point along its length a slip, a misstep, or an attack of dizziness would mean almost certain destruction. foot by foot and yard by yard m. filbert's little party ascended this perilous way, here walking, and trusting to their alpenstocks for support; there crawling on hands and knees. sometimes one would go cautiously ahead over a place of peculiar danger, with an end of the rope firmly knotted beneath his arms, while his companions, with firm bracings, retained the other part, ready to haul him up if by chance he should plunge over the verge and dangle above the abyss at the end of his slender tether. at the terminus of the ledge they were confronted by a sloping wall of solid ice, in which they must cut steps and grip-holes for feet and hands. as they slowly and painfully worked their way up this precarious ladder, they were continually pelted by pebbles and good-sized stones loosened by the sun from an upper cliff of frozen gravel. at length the toilsome ascent was safely accomplished, and, with a panting shout from alaric and a hurrah from bonny, the whole party stood on the summit of that mountain gibraltar. here they rested and lunched; then, full of eager impatience, pushed on over the narrow causeway connecting the mighty rock with the vastly mightier snow-cap beyond. this snow, that had looked so faultlessly smooth from below, was found to be drifted and packed into high ridges, over which they slowly toiled, frequently pausing for breath and inhaling the rarefied air with quick gaspings. at length a bottomless crevasse yawned before them, spanned only by a narrow ledge of snow. with an end of the rope knotted beneath his arms, bonny, being the lightest, essayed to cross it. before he reached the farther side the treacherous support broke beneath him, and, with a frightened cry, alaric saw his comrade plunge out of sight in the yawning chasm. he brought up with a heavy jerk at the end of the rope, and they cautiously drew him back to where they stood. as he reappeared above the edge of the opening his face was very pale, but he called out, cheerfully: "it's all right, rick! don't fret!" after a long search they discovered another bridge, and it bore them across in safety, one at a time, but all securely roped together. finally, late in the afternoon, the longed-for summit was attained, and, though nearly toppled over by a furious wind, they stood triumphant on the rocky rim of its ancient crater. this was half a mile in diameter, and filled with snow, but its opposite or northern side was the highest. so to it they made their weary way, following the rocky path afforded by the rim, and barely able to hold their footing against the wind. when they at last attained the point of their ambition, a reading of the barometer showed them to be standing at a height of , feet above sea-level, and with exulting hearts they realized that, as bonny expressed it, they had put the highest peak of the cascade range beneath their feet. the view that greeted them from that lofty outlook was so wonderful and far-reaching that for a while they gazed in awed silence. mount baker, two hundred miles away, close to the british line, was clearly visible, as were the notable peaks to the southward, even beyond the distant columbia and over the oregon border. "_c'est grand! c'est magnifique! c'est terrible!_" exclaimed m. filbert, at length breaking the silence. as for alaric! to have achieved that summit was the greatest triumph of his life; but his heart was too full for utterance, and he could only gaze in speechless delight. the indian too gazed in silence as, leaning on his ice-axe, he contemplated the outspread empire that but a few years before had belonged solely to the people of his race. bonny was as deeply impressed as either of his companions, but found it necessary to express his feelings in words. "this must be the top of the world!" he cried; "and i do believe we can see it all. i tell you what it is, rick dale, i've learned something about mountains this day, and now i know that they are the grandest things in all creation." at their feet the rock wall dropped so sheer and smooth that no man might climb it, and then came the snow, sweeping steeply downward for miles apparently without a break. far beyond lay the vast sea of forest, seeming to cover the whole earth with its green mantle. the gleaming glaciers, looking like foaming cascades frozen into rigidity, were swallowed by it and hidden. it rolled in billows over the mighty mountain flanks that radiated from where they stood like the spokes of a colossal wheel, and dipped into the intervening valleys. nowhere was it broken, save by the few bald peaks that struggled above it and by the thread-like waters of puget sound. even on the west there was no ocean, for the volcanic, snow-crowned olympics, one of which was smoking, as though in eruption, hid it from view. our lads could have gazed entranced for hours on the crowding marvels outspread before them had they been warmed and fed and rested and sheltered from the fierce blasts of icy wind that threatened to hurl them from the parapet on which they stood. as it was, night was at hand, they were faint and trembling from weariness, and wellnigh perished with the stinging cold. it was high time to turn from gazing and seek shelter. inside the crater's rim numerous steam jets issued from fissures in the rocky wall, and these had carved out caverns from the adjacent ice. here there were roomy chambers, steam-heated and storm-proof, awaiting occupancy, and to one of these m. filbert led the way. in this place of welcome shelter numbed fingers were thawed to further usefulness by the grateful steam, a small fire was lighted, packs were opened, and in less than an hour a bountiful supper of hot tea, venison frizzled over the coals, toasted hard-bread, and prunes was being enjoyed by as hungry and jubilant a party as ever bivouacked on the summit of mount rainier. after supper the frenchman lighted a cigarette, the indian puffed, with an air of intense satisfaction, at an ancient pipe, our lads toasted their stockinged feet before the few remaining embers of the fire, and, in various languages, all four discussed the adventures of the day. although they had much to say, their conversation hour was soon ended by their weariness and by the ever-increasing cold, which even a jet of volcanic steam could not exclude from that chamber of ice. so they speedily slipped into their sleeping-bags, and, lying close together for greater warmth, prepared to spend a night under the very strangest conditions that alaric and bonny, at least, had ever encountered. some hours later the occupants of the ice-cave became conscious of the howlings of a storm that shrieked and roared above their heads with the fury of ten thousand demons; but, knowing that it could not penetrate their retreat, they gave it but slight heed, and quickly dropped again into the sleep of weariness. chapter xxx blown from the rim of a crater when our lads next awoke they were oppressed with a sense of suffocation and uncomfortable warmth. it was still dark, and m. filbert was striking a match in order to look at his watch. "seven o'clock!" he cried, incredulously. "how can it be?" "_cole snass!_" (snow) exclaimed the indian, to whom the flare of light had instantly disclosed the cause of both darkness and suffocation. the cave was much smaller than when they entered it, and was also full of steam. its walls were covered with moisture, and rivulets of water trickled over the floor. "_cultus snow!_ heap plenty! too much! _mamook ilahie_" (must dig), continued the indian, springing to his feet, and making an attack on the drifted snow that had completely choked the cavern's mouth. when he had excavated a burrow the length of his body, bonny took his place, while alaric and m. filbert removed the loosened snow to the back of the cave, where they packed it as closely as possible. although a faint light soon appeared in the tunnel, it was a full hour before it was dug to the surface of the tremendous drift and a rush of cold air was admitted. a glance outside showed that, while no snow was falling at that moment, the day was dark and gloomy, and the mountain was enveloped in clouds that were driven in swirling eddies by fierce gusts of wind. in spite of the threatening weather, m. filbert declared that they must begin their retreat at once, as they had but one day's supply of food left, while the storm might burst upon them again at any minute and continue indefinitely. so, after a hasty meal of biscuits and cold meat, the little party sallied forth. the indian, having no longer a burden of fire-wood, relieved alaric of his camera, and led the way. m. filbert followed, then came alaric; while bonny, with a coil of rope hung over his shoulder, brought up the rear. oh, how cold it was! and how awful! to be sure, the dangers surrounding them were hidden by impenetrable clouds, but they had already seen them, and knew of their presence. as they started to traverse the rocky crater rim that still rose slightly above the snow, the entire summit was visible; but a few minutes later a furious gust of wind again shrouded it in clouds so dense as to completely hide objects only a few feet away. just then alaric tripped on one of his boot-lacings that had become unfastened, and very nearly fell. that was no place for tripping, and such a thing must not happen again. so he paused to secure the loosened lacing, and, as he stooped over it, bonny cried impatiently from behind: "hurry up, rick! the others are already out of sight, and it will never do to lose them in this fog." the necessity for haste only caused the lad's numbed fingers to fumble the more awkwardly, and several precious minutes were thus wasted. with the task completed, alaric, full of nervous dread, started to run after his vanished companions, slipped on a bit of glare ice at a place where the narrow path slanted down and out, and pitched headlong. bonny saw his danger, sprang to his assistance, slipped on the same treacherous ice, and in another moment both lads had plunged over the outer verge of the sheer wall. there was a stifled cry, drowned by the roaring blast, and then, without leaving a trace behind them, they were lost to sight in the crowding mists. so complete was their disappearance that when, one minute later, m. filbert and the indian passed back over that very place in anxious search of their young companions, they could neither see nor hear aught to tell them of what had happened. neither alaric nor bonny could ever afterwards tell whether they fell twenty feet or two hundred in that terrible, breathless plunge. almost with the first knowledge of their situation they found themselves struggling in a drift of soft, fresh-fallen snow, and a moment afterwards rolling, bounding, and shooting with frightful velocity down an icy, roof-like slope of interminable length. breathless, battered, bruised, expecting with each instant to be dashed over some awful brink, as ignorant of their surroundings as though stricken with blindness, the poor lads still tried, with outstretched arms and clutching fingers, to check their wild flight. while they realized in a measure the desperate nature of the situation, its worst features were mercifully concealed from them by the clinging clouds. had these lifted ever so little, they would have seen that their perilous coast was down a ridge so narrow that the alpenstocks flung from them as they plunged over the rim of the crater had fallen on either side into yawning chasms. at length, after what seemed an eternity of this terrible experience, though in reality it lasted but a few minutes, they were flung into a narrow, snow-filled valley that cut their course at a sharp angle, and found themselves lying within a few feet of each other, dazed and sorely bruised, but apparently with unbroken bones, and certainly still alive. as they slowly gained a sitting posture and gazed curiously at each other, bonny said, impressively: "rick dale, before we go any farther, i want to take back all i ever said about the life of a sailor being exciting, for it isn't a circumstance to that of an interpreter." "oh, bonny, it is so good to hear your voice again! wasn't it awful? and how do you suppose we can ever get back?" "get back!" cried the other. "well, if we had wings we might fly back; but there's no other way that i know of. we must be a mile from our starting-point, and even to reach the foot of the place where we dove off we'd have to cut steps in the ice every inch of the way. that would probably take a couple of days, and when we got there we'd have to turn around and come down again, for nothing except a bird could ever scale that wall." "then what shall we do?" "keep on as we have begun, i suppose, only a little slower, i hope, until we reach the timber-line, and then try and follow it to camp." "i wonder if we can?" "of course we can, for we've got to." painfully the lads gained their feet, and with cautious steps began to explore their surroundings. they walked side by side for a few yards, and then each clutched the other as though to draw him back. they were on the brink of a precipice, over which another step would have carried them. while they hesitated, not knowing which way to turn nor what to do, the clouds below them rolled away, though above and back of them they remained as dense as ever, and a view of what lay before them was unfolded. rocks, ice, and snow; sheer walls rising on either side of them, and a precipitous slope forming an almost vertical descent of a thousand feet in front. there were but three things to do: go back the way they had come, which was so wellnigh impossible that they did not give it a second thought; remain where they were, which meant a certain and speedy death; or make their way down that rocky wall. they crept to its brink and looked over, anxiously scanning its every feature and calculating their chances. the first thirty feet were sheer and smooth. then came a narrow shelf, below which they could see others at irregular intervals. "there is only one way to do it," said bonny, "and that is by the rope. i will go first, and you must follow." "i'll try," replied alaric, with a very pale face but a brave voice. so bonny, with the knowledge of knots that he had learned on shipboard, made a noose that would not slip in one end of their rope, tied half a dozen knots along its length for hand-holds, and fastened its other end about his body. then he looped the noose over a jutting point of rock, and, slipping cautiously over the brink, allowed himself to slide slowly down. it made alaric so giddy to watch him that he closed his eyes, nor did he open them until a cheery "all right, rick!" assured him of his comrade's safety. now came his turn, and as he hung by that slender cord he was devoutly thankful for the strength that the past few weeks had put into his arms. he too reached the ledge in safety, and then, with great difficulty, on account of the narrowness of their foothold, they managed to slip the noose off its resting-place. now they _must_ go forward, for there was no longer a chance of going back. in vain, though, did they search that smooth ledge for a point that would hold their noose. there was none, and the next shelf was twenty feet below. "we must climb it, rick, and this time you must go first. put the loop under your arms, and i will do my best to hold you if you slip; but don't take any chances, or count too much on me being able to do it." there were little cracks and slight projections. bonny held the rope reassuringly taut, and at length the feat was accomplished. then alaric took in the slack of the rope as bonny, tied to its other end, made the same perilous descent. so, with strained arms, aching legs, and fingers worn to the quick from clutching the rough granite, they made their slow way from ledge to ledge, gaining courage and coolness as they successfully overcame each difficulty, until they estimated that they had descended fully five hundred feet. now came another smooth face absolutely without a crevice that they could discover, and the next ledge below was farther away than the length of their dangling rope. there was, however, a projection where they stood, over which they could loop the noose. "we've got to do it," said bonny, stoutly, "and i only hope the drop at the end isn't so long as it looks." thus saying, he slipped cautiously over the edge, let himself down to the end of the rope, dropped ten feet, staggered, and seemed about to fall, but saved himself by a violent effort. alaric followed, and also made the drop, but whirled half round in so doing, and but for bonny's quick clutch would have gone over the edge. there was now no way of recovering their useful rope; and fortunately, though they sorely needed it at times, they found no other place absolutely impossible without it. by noon, when they paused for rest and a scanty lunch of chocolate and prunes, they were down one thousand feet, and believed the worst of the descent to be accomplished. now came a rude granite stairway with steps fit for a giant, and then a long slope of loose bowlders, that rocked and rolled from beneath their feet as they sprang from one to another. they crossed the rugged ice of a glacier, whose innumerable crevasses intersected like the wrinkles on an old man's face, and had many hair-breadth escapes from slipping into their deadly depths of frozen blue. then came a vast snow-field, over which they tramped for miles with weary limbs but light hearts, for the terrors of the mountain were behind them and the timber-line was in sight. darkness had already overtaken them when they came to a steep, rock-strewn slope, down which they ran with reckless speed. they were near its bottom when a bowlder on which bonny had just leaped rolled from under him, and he fell heavily on a bed of jagged rocks. as he did not regain his feet, alaric sprang to his side. the poor lad who had so stoutly braved the countless perils of the day was moaning pitifully, and as his friend bent anxiously over him he said, in a feeble voice: "i'm afraid, old man, that i'm done for at last, for it feels as though every bone in my body was broken." chapter xxxi a desperate situation of the many trying experiences through which our lads had passed since their introduction to each other in victoria, none had presented so many hopeless features as the present. they were high up on a mighty mountain, whose terrible wilderness of rock and glacier, precipice and chasm, limitless snow-field and trackless forest, stretched for weary leagues in every direction; beyond hope of human aid; only a mouthful of food between them and starvation; with night so close at hand that near-by objects were already indistinct in its gathering gloom; without shelter; inexperienced in woodcraft; and one of them so seriously injured that he lay moaning on the cruel rocks that had wounded him, apparently incapable of moving. as all these details of the situation flashed into alaric's mind he became for a moment heart-sick and despairing at its utter hopelessness. he was so exhausted with the exertions of the day, so unnerved by the strain and anxiety of the perilous hours just passed, and so faint for want of nourishment, that it is no wonder his strength was turned into weakness, or that he could discover no ray of hope through the all-pervading gloom. suddenly and as clearly as though spoken by his side came the words: "always remember that, as my friend jalap coombs says, 'it is never so dark but what there is light somewhere.'" the memory of phil ryder's brave face as he uttered that sentence came to our poor lad like a tonic, and instantly he was resolved to find the light that was shining for him somewhere. with such marvellous quickness does the mind act in an emergency that all these thoughts came to alaric even as he bent anxiously over his injured friend and began examining tenderly into the nature of his hurts. as he lifted the left arm the sufferer uttered a cry of pain, and its hand hung limp. the other limbs were sound, but bonny said that every breath was like a stab. "one arm broken, and i'm afraid something gone wrong inside," announced alaric at length; "but it might be ever so much worse," he continued, in as cheerful a tone as he could command. "one of your legs might have been broken, you know, and then we should be in a fix, for i couldn't carry you, and we should have to stay right here. now, though, i am sure you can walk as far as the timber if you will only try. of course it will hurt terribly, but you must do it, for there is no other way." very slowly, and with many a stifled cry of acute pain, bonny gained his feet. then, with his right arm about alaric's neck, and with the latter stoutly supporting him, the injured lad managed to cross the few hundred feet intervening between that place and the longed-for shelter of the stunted hemlocks forming the timber-line. both bonny's weakness and the darkness, which was now that of night, prevented their penetrating deep into the timber; but before the sufferer sank to the ground, declaring that he could not take another step, they had gone far enough to escape the icy blast that, sweeping down from the upper snow-fields, had chilled them to the marrow. this alone was a notable achievement, and already alaric believed he could perceive a glimmer of the light he had set out to find. now for a fire, and how grateful they were for m. filbert's forethought that had provided each one of his party with matches! feeling about for twigs, and whittling a few shavings with his sheath-knife, alaric quickly started a tiny flame, and with its first cheery glow their situation seemed robbed of half its terrors. an armful of sticks produced a brave crackling blaze that drove the black forest shadows to a respectful distance. with bonny's hatchet alaric next lopped off the branches from the lower side of a thick-growing hemlock and wove them among those that were left, so as to form a wind-break. an armful of the same flat boughs, cut from other trees and strewn on the ground, formed a spring bed on which to unfold the sleeping-bags, that by rare good fortune had remained strapped to the lads' shoulders during all their terrible journey from the summit camp of the night before. after making his comrade as comfortable as possible, alaric hurried away into the darkness. he was gone so long that bonny, who did not know the reason of his absence, began to grow very uneasy before he returned. when he did reappear, he brought with him a quantity of snow that he had gone back a quarter of a mile up the dark mountain-side to obtain. he wanted water, and not hearing or finding any stream, had bethought himself of snow as a substitute. in each of the packs they had so fortunately brought with them was a handful of tea, for m. filbert had insisted that all the provisions should be divided among all the packs, as a precaution against just such an emergency as had arisen. therefore, alaric now had the materials for a longed-for and much-needed cup of the stimulating beverage. to make it, an amount of the precious leaves equal to a teaspoonful was put into one of their tin cups while snow was melted in the other. as soon as this came to a boil it was poured over the tea leaves in cup number one, which was allowed to stand for two minutes longer in a warm place to "draw." while bonny slowly sipped this, at the same time munching a handful of hard biscuit, which, broken into small bits, was all the food they had left, alaric boiled another cup of water for himself. from all this it will be seen that our one-time helpless and dependent "allie" todd was rapidly learning not only to care for himself under trying conditions, but for others as well. as soon as bonny had been thus strengthened and thoroughly warmed, alaric made a more thorough examination of his injuries than had been possible out in the cold and darkness where the accident occurred. he found that the left arm had sustained a simple fracture, fortunately but little splintered, and also that two ribs on the left side were broken. for these he could do nothing; but he managed to set the broken arm after a fashion, bandage it with handkerchiefs torn into strips, and finally to place it in a case formed of a trough-like section of hemlock-bark, which he hung from bonny's neck by straps. then he helped his patient into one of the sleeping-bags, encouraging him all the while with hopeful suggestions of what they would do on the morrow. after thus making his charge as comfortable as circumstances would permit, the lad busied himself for another hour in collecting such a quantity of wood as should insure a good fire until morning. then, utterly fagged out, he crept into his own bed, and lay down beside his friend. despite the painful nature of his injuries, bonny had already fallen asleep, but alaric lay awake from sheer weariness, and struggled against gloomy thoughts of their future. he knew that the home-like camp in which they had passed two weeks so happily, and which they had hoped to regain by following the timber-line, was on the opposite side of the mountain, many weary miles away. he knew also that between them and it lay a region so rugged as to be wellnigh impassable to the sturdiest of mountaineers, and absolutely so to one in bonny's condition. it would be a journey of two or more days under the most favorable circumstances; but alone and without food he realized that even he could not accomplish it. besides, he could not leave bonny in his present helpless condition. therefore, all thoughts of obtaining assistance from that direction must be abandoned. could they continue on down the mountain through the trackless forest that on the upward journey they had occupied two whole days in traversing on horseback, and with a clearly defined trail? certainly they could not, and to make the attempt would be worse than folly. what, then, could they do? this question was so unanswerable that the perplexed lad gave over struggling with it and fell asleep. he intended to replenish his fire several times during the night; but when he next awoke daylight was already some hours old, the place where the fire had burned was covered with dead ashes, and bonny lay patiently regarding him with wistful eyes. "i am thirsty, rick," was all he said, though he had lain for hours wide-awake and parched with fever, but heroically determined that his wearied comrade should sleep until he woke of his own accord. "you poor fellow!" cried alaric, remorsefully. "why didn't you wake me long ago?" "i couldn't bear to," replied bonny; "but now if you will please get me a drink." only pausing to light a fresh fire, alaric hastened away to the distant snow-bank, returning as speedily as possible with as much of it as their two tin plates would hold. a handful was given bonny to cool his parched tongue while the remainder was melting. so small a quantity of water could be procured at a time by this slow process that in a very few minutes alaric found he must go for more snow. as he went he realized how faint he was for want of food. "i wonder how much longer i shall be able to hold out?" he asked himself. "how many more times can i make this trip before my strength is exhausted?" a mental picture of bonny begging for water, and he too weak to fetch it, caused his eyes to fill with tears, and a black despair again enfolded him. at this moment the voice of the previous night came again to him: "it is never so dark but what there is light somewhere." "of course there is," he cried, "and as i found it last night, why shouldn't i to-day?" even as the lad spoke he caught its first gleam in the form of a rivulet of clear water that rippled merrily down from the snow only a few yards from where he stood. hastening to this, the lad drank long and deeply. on lifting his head from the delicious water, he could hardly believe his eyes as they rested on a solitary bird, that he knew to be a ptarmigan, crouching beside a bowlder. hoping against hope, and almost unnerved by anxiety, he flung a stone, and in another minute the bird was his. "hurrah for breakfast!" he shouted, as he ran back to bonny with his trophy proudly displayed at arm's-length. awkward as alaric was at the business, he had that heaven-sent bird stripped of its feathers, cleaned, and spitted over a bed of glowing coals within ten minutes of the time he had first spied it, and a little later only its cleanly picked bones remained to tell of its existence. bonny was disinclined to eat, but he drank two cups of hot tea, that threw him into a perspiration, greatly to alaric's satisfaction. as he also seemed drowsy, alaric encouraged him to sleep, while he should go in search of more food and assistance, with one or both of which he promised to return before noon. chapter xxxii how a song saved alaric's life when alaric made that promise he had no more idea of how it was to be kept than he had of what was to become of bonny and himself. he only knew that active exertion of some kind was necessary to keep him from utter despair. besides, it was just possible that he might discover and secure another bird, though not at all probable, as the one on which he had breakfasted was the first that he had encountered since coming to the mountain. by the time he emerged from the timber the morning clouds had rolled away, the sun was shining brightly, and the whole vast sweep of gleaming snow and tumultuous rock, from timber-line to distant summit, lay piled in steep ascent before him. it was a wonderful sight, but as terrible as it was grand, for in all its awful solitude there was no movement, no voice, and no sign of life. oppressed by the loneliness of his surroundings, and having no reason for choosing one direction rather than another, the lad mechanically turned to the right and began to make his way along a bowlder-strewn slope, where every now and then he came to the bleached skeletons of stunted trees, winter-killed, but still standing, and seeming to stretch imploring arms to their retreating brethren of the forest. he had not gone more than a mile when there came something to him that caused him to halt and glance inquiringly on all sides. at the same time he lifted his head and sniffed the air eagerly, like a hound on the scent of game. he was certain that he had smelled smoke. yes, there it came again; a whiff so faint as to be almost imperceptible, but the unmistakable odor of burning wood. facing squarely the breeze that brought it to him, the lad pushed forward, and a few minutes later stood on the verge of a little mountain meadow, sun-warmed and rock-walled on all sides, save the one by which he had approached. here the slope was so gentle that he started down on a run. he had thus gone but a short distance when he suddenly paused with his eyes fixed on the ground where he was standing. he had been unconsciously following a path, faintly marked and hardly to be distinguished, but nevertheless one that he felt certain had been trodden by human feet. the discovery filled him with excitement, and he bounded forward with redoubled speed. halfway down the slope, at a point commanding a lovely view of the flower-strewn valley, the trail ended at a crystal spring that bubbled from among the roots of a tall young hemlock. other trees were grouped near-by, and beneath them stood a rude hut built of poles and boughs, but having a rain-proof roof of thatch. before it smouldered a log fire, from which rose the thin column of smoke that had directed alaric's attention to the place. filled with exultation and wild with joy over his discovery, the lad gazed eagerly about for some sign of the proprietor or occupants of this lonely camp, and at length, seeing no one, he began to shout. receiving no response, he entered the hut, and was surprised at the absence of even the rude comforts common to such a place. there was a heap of white goat-skins in one corner, and a quantity of meat, either smoked or dried, hung from a rafter overhead. a kettle and a fry-pan lay outside near the fire, an axe was driven into the trunk of one of the trees, and, so far as alaric could see, there was nothing else. but even these things were enough to indicate that this was a place of at least temporary human abode, and wherever its proprietor might be, he would return to it sooner or later. then, too, alaric believed it to be the camp of a white man; for though his knowledge of indians was limited, it in no way resembled that of skookum john. "at any rate," he said to himself, "i will try and get bonny here as quickly as possible, for he will be a thousand times better off in this place than where i left him." so, with a lighter heart than he had known since his comrade's accident, alaric started back over the trail by which he had come. bonny was awake and sitting up when he reappeared, and the sufferer's face brightened wonderfully at the great news of at least one other human being, a camp, and an abundance of food so near at hand. "do you really think i can get there, though?" he asked, anxiously. "yes," replied alaric, "i know you can; for, as you said yesterday when we were looking at that precipice, it is something that must be done. we can't stay here without either food or shelter, and we don't dare wait for the owner of that camp to come back and help us move, because he may stay away several days. i know it is going to hurt you awfully to walk, but i know too that you'll do it if you only make up your mind to." "all right, i'll try it; but, rick, don't you forget that if i ever get down from this mountain alive, never again will i climb another. no, sir. level ground will be good enough for me after this." as alaric was doing up the sleeping-bags a familiar-looking baseball rolled from his, and caught bonny's eye. "if you aren't a queer chap!" he exclaimed. "whatever made you bring that ball along?" "because," answered the other, "it means so much to me that i hated to leave it behind, and then i thought perhaps it would be fun to have a game on the very top of the mountain. when we reached there, though, i forgot all about it." "yes," said bonny, grimly, "we did have something else to think of. ough, but that hurts!" this exclamation was called forth by the poor lad's effort to gain his feet, which he found he was unable to do without assistance. although alaric carried both packs, and lent bonny all possible support besides, that one-mile walk proved the most difficult either of the lads had ever undertaken. brave and stout-hearted as bonny was, he could not help groaning with every step, and they were obliged to rest so often that the little journey occupied several hours. at its end both lads were utterly exhausted, and bonny was suffering so intensely that he hardly noticed the place to which he had been brought. the moment he gained the hut he sank down on its pile of goat-skins with closed eyes, and so white a face that he seemed about to faint. when alaric was there before, he had mended the fire and set on a kettle of water, with a view to just such an emergency as the present. the water was still boiling, and so within three minutes he was able to give his patient a cup of strong tea that greatly revived him. food was the next thing to be thought of, and alaric did not hesitate to appropriate one of the strips of goat's flesh that hung overhead. not being quite sure of the best way to cook this, he cut one portion into small bits, put them into the kettle with a little water, and set the whole on the fire to simmer. another portion he sliced thin and laid in the fry-pan, which he also set on the fire. still a third bit he spitted on a long stick and held close to a bed of coals, where it frizzled with such an appetizing odor that he could not wait for it to be cooked before cutting off small bits to sample. they were so good that he went to offer some to bonny; but finding the latter still lying with closed eyes, thought best not to disturb him. so he sat alone and ate all the frizzled meat, and all that was in the fry-pan, and was still so hungry that he procured another strip of meat from the hut, and began all over again. they had been nearly two hours in the camp before his ravenous appetite was fully satisfied, and by that time the contents of the pot had simmered into a sort of thick broth. at a faint call from bonny, alaric carried some of this to him, and had the satisfaction of seeing him swallow a whole cupful. then, as night was again approaching, he helped his patient into one of the sleeping-bags, which he underlaid with several goat-skins, and sat by him until he fell into a doze. when this happened alaric went softly outside, and, to dispel the gathering gloom, piled logs on the fire until it was in a bright blaze. sitting a little to one side, half in light and half in shadow, and having no present occupation, the lad fell into a deep reverie. how was this strange adventure to end? who owned that camp, and why did he not return to it? what would he think on finding strangers in possession? had any boy ever stepped from one life into another so entirely different as suddenly and completely as he? one year ago at this time he was in france, surrounded by every luxury that money could procure, carefully guarded from every form of anxiety, and dependent upon others for everything. now he was thankful for the shelter of a hut, and a meal of half-cooked meat prepared by his own hands. he not only had everything to do for himself, but had another still more helpless dependent upon him for everything. was he any happier then than now? no. he could honestly say that he preferred his present position, with its health, strength, and glorious self-reliance, to the one he had resigned. still there had been happy times in that other life. two years ago, for instance, when his mother and he had travelled leisurely through germany, halting whenever they chose, and remaining as long as places interested them. thoughts of his mother recalled the plaintive little german folk-song of which she had been so fond. _muss i denn._ yes, that was it, and involuntarily alaric began to hum the air. then the words began to fit themselves to it, and before he realized what he was doing he was singing softly: "muss i denn, muss i denn zum städtele 'naus, städtele 'naus: und du, mein schatz, bleibst hier." so engrossed was the lad with his thoughts and with trying to recall the words of the song running in his head that he heard nothing of a soft footstep that for several minutes had been stealthily approaching the fire-lit place where he sat. he knew nothing of the wild eyes that, peering from a haggard face, were fixed upon him with the glare of madness. he had no suspicion of the brown rifle-barrel that was slowly raised until he was covered by its deadly aim. but now he had recalled all the words of his song, and they rang out strong and clear: "muss i denn, muss i denn zum städtele 'naus, städtele 'naus: und du--" at that moment there came a great cry behind him: "_ach, himmel! wer ist denn das?_" and the startled lad sprang to his feet in terror. chapter xxxiii laid up for repairs about the time when alaric was pleasantly travelling with his mother in germany, hans altman, with gretchen, his wife, and eittel, his little daughter, dwelt in a valley of the harz mountains. although hans was a poor man, he found plenty of work with which to support his family in comfort, but he could never forget that his father had been a burgomeister, and much better off in this world's goods than he. thinking of this made him discontented and unhappy, until finally he determined to sell what little they had and come to america, or, as he called it, "the land of gold," with the hope of bettering his fortunes. in vain did gretchen protest that nowhere in the world could they be so happy or so well off as in their own land and among their own people. even her tears failed to turn him from his purpose. so they came to this country, and at length drifted to the far-away shores of puget sound, where they stranded, wellnigh penniless, ignorant of the language and customs of those about them, helpless and forlorn. with the distress of mind caused by this state of affairs, hans grew melancholy and irritable, and when eittel died he declared that he himself had killed her. the faithful gretchen soon followed her little daughter, and with this terrible blow the poor man's mind gave way entirely. he not only fancied himself a murderer, but believed officers of the law to be in pursuit of him, and that if captured he would be hanged. filled with this idea, he fled on the very night of his wife's death, and having been born among mountains, now instinctively sought in them a place of refuge. he carried an axe with him, and somewhere procured a rifle with a plentiful supply of ammunition. through the vast forest he made his way far from the haunts of men, ever climbing higher and penetrating more deeply among the friendly mountains, until finally he reached a tiny valley, in which he believed himself safe from pursuit. here he built a rude hut, and became a hunter of mountain-goats. their flesh furnished him with food, their skins with bedding and clothing, while from their horns he carved many a rude utensil. in this way he had lived for nearly two months, when our lost and sorely perplexed lads stumbled upon his camp, and found in it a haven of safety. in the peaceful quiet of those mountain solitudes the poor man had become calmly content with his primitive mode of life, and was even happy as he recalled how skilfully he had eluded a fancied pursuit, and how impossible it had now become for those who sought his life to discover his retreat. it was in this frame of mind that, on returning from a long day's hunt with a body of a goat slung across his back, he saw, to his dismay, that his hiding-place had been found, and that his camp was occupied by strangers. of course they were enemies who were now waiting to kill him. he would fly so fast and so far that they could never follow. no; better than that, he would kill them before they were even aware of his presence. this was a grand idea, and the madman chuckled softly to himself as it came to him. laying his dead goat on the ground, and whispering to it not to be afraid, for he would soon return, the man crept stealthily forward towards the firelight. at length he spied the form of what he believed to be one of his pursuers, sitting half hid in the shadows and doubtless waiting for him. ha! ha! how disappointed that enemy would be when he found himself dead! and with a silent chuckle the madman lifted his rifle. at that terrible moment the notes of alaric's song were borne to him on the still night air, and then came the words: "muss i denn, muss i denn und du, mein schatz, bleibst hier." it was his gretchen's song, and those were the very words she had sung to him so often in their happy harz valley home. the uplifted arm dropped as though palsied, and, like one who hears a voice from the dead, the man uttered a mighty cry of mingled fear and longing; at the same moment he stepped into the full glare of firelight and confronted alaric, at whom he poured a torrent of questions in german. "who are you? how came you here? what do you want? have you seen my gretchen? where did you learn to sing '_muss i denn_'?" "in germany, of course, where everybody sings it," replied alaric, answering the last question first, and speaking in the man's own language. "and i didn't think you would mind if we took possession of your camp until your return; for, you see, we are in great trouble." "_ach_, no! all who are in trouble should come with me; for i, too, have many, many troubles," replied the man, his blue eyes losing their fierce look and filling with tears. "but i never meant to do it. _gott in himmel_ knows i never meant to do it." "of course not," said alaric, soothingly, anxious to quiet the man's agitation, and suspecting that his mind was not quite right. "nobody thinks you did." "yes, they do, the cruel men who would kill me; but you will stay and drive them away if they come, will you not? you will be my friend--you, to whom i can talk with the tongue of the fatherland?" "certainly i will stay and be your friend, if you will help me care for another friend who lies yonder very ill." "_ja! ja!_ i will help you if you will stay and talk to me of gretchen, and sing to me '_muss i denn_.'" "very good," agreed alaric. "it is, then, a contract between us." at the same time he said to himself: "he is a mighty queer-looking chap to have for a friend; but i suppose there are worse, and i guess i can manage him. it's a lucky thing i know a little german, though, for he looked fierce enough to kill me until i began to talk with him." the appearance of the man was certainly calculated to inspire uneasiness, especially when taken in connection with his incoherent words. he was an immense fellow, with shaggy hair and untrimmed beard. on his head was perched a ridiculous little cloth cap, while over his shoulders was flung a cloak of goat-skins, that added greatly to his appearance of size and general shagginess. his lower limbs were covered with leggings of the same hairy material. his ordinary expression was the fierce look of a hunted animal, but now it was softened by the rare pleasure of meeting one who could talk with him in his own language. from that first moment of strange introduction his eagerness to be with alaric and induce him to talk was pathetic. to him he poured out all his sorrows, together with daily protests that he had never meant to kill his gretchen and little eittel. for the sake of this companionship he was willing to do anything that might add to the comfort of his guests. he scoured forest and mountain-side in search of game, and rarely returned empty-handed. he fetched amazing loads of wood on his back, went on long expeditions after berries, set cunningly devised snares for ptarmigan, and found ample recompense for all his labor in lying at full length before the camp-fire at night and talking with alaric. bonny he mistrusted as being one who could speak no german, and only bore with him for the sake of his friend. nor was he greatly liked by the lad, whose injuries compelled a long acceptance of his hospitality. "i know he's good to us, and won't let you do any work that he can help, and all that," bonny would say; "but somehow i can't trust him nor like him. he'll play us some mean trick yet, see if he don't." "but he saved our lives; for if we hadn't found his camp we should certainly have starved to death." "that's just it! we found his camp. he didn't find us, and never would have. anyhow, he's as crazy as a loon, and will bear a heap of watching." for all this, bonny did not allow his anxiety to interfere with a speedy recovery from his injuries, and by the aid of youthful vigor, a splendid constitution, complete rest, plenty of food, and the glorious mountain air, his broken bones knit so rapidly that in one month's time he declared himself to be mended and as good as new. although alaric insisted that he should carry his arm in a sling for a while longer, they now began to plan eagerly for a continuance of their journey down the mountain and a return to civilization. by this time they were as heartily sick of goat-meat as they had ever been of fish in skookum john's camp, tired of the terrible loneliness of their situation, and, more than all, tired of their enforced idleness, with nothing to read and little to do. alaric had beguiled many long hours with his baseball, which he could now throw with astonishing precision and catch with either hand in almost any position. as this ball, bought in san francisco, was the sole connecting-link between his present and his former life, it always reminded him of his father, whom he now longed to see, that he might relieve the anxiety he felt certain amos todd must be suffering on his account. the boys often talked of m. filbert, and wondered what had become of him. at first alaric made an earnest effort to induce hans altman to go in search of the frenchman's camp and notify him of their safety; but the german became so excitedly angry at the mere mention of such a thing that he was forced to relinquish the idea. he would gladly have undertaken the trip himself, but could not leave bonny. their strange host became equally angry at any mention of their leaving him, and refused to give any information concerning their present locality or the nearest point at which other human beings might be found. nor did he ever evince the least curiosity as to where they had come from. it was enough for him that they were there. when the time for them to depart drew so near that the boys could talk of nothing else, alaric made another effort to gain some information from the german that would guide their movements, but in vain. he only succeeded in arousing the man's suspicions to such an extent that he grew morose, would not leave camp unless alaric went with him, and watched furtively every movement that the boys made. bonny realized this, and spoke of it to his comrade. "i believe this dutchman regards us as his prisoners, and has made up his mind not to allow us to escape him," he said. but alaric only laughed, and answered that he guessed they would get away easy enough whenever they were ready to go. the two lads slept at one end of the hut with their host at the other, and that very night something happened to confirm bonny's worst fears and fill him with such horror that he determined never again to sleep within miles of that vicinity. chapter xxxiv chased by a madman bonny's bed was nearest the side of the hut, while alaric lay beyond him towards its centre. morning was breaking when the former awoke from a troubled dream, so filled with a presentiment of impending evil that his forehead was bathed in a cold perspiration. for the space of a minute he lay motionless, striving to reassure himself that his terror was without foundation. all at once he became conscious that some one was talking in a low tone, and, glancing in that direction, saw the form of their host, magnified by the dim light into gigantic proportions, bending over alaric. the man held an uplifted knife, and was muttering to himself in german; but at bonny's cry of horror he leaped to his feet and disappeared through the doorway. "what is the matter?" asked alaric, sleepily, only half awakened by bonny's cry. "been having bad dreams?" "yes, and a worse reality," answered the other, huskily. "oh, rick! he was going to kill you, and if i hadn't waked when i did we should both have been dead by this time. he has made up his mind to murder us; i know he has." a minute later alaric had heard the whole story, and, as excited as bonny himself, was hurriedly slipping on his coat and boots. they knew not which way to go, nor what to do, but both were eager to escape from the hut into the open, where they might at least have a chance to run in case of an attack. as they emerged from the doorway, casting apprehensive glances in every direction, alaric's baseball, that had been left in one of his coat-pockets the evening before, slipped through a hole in the lining and fell to the ground. hardly conscious of what he was doing, the lad stooped to pick it up. at that same instant came the sharp crack of a rifle and the "ping" of a bullet that whistled just above his head. "he is shooting at us!" gasped bonny. "come, quick, before he can reload." without another word the lads dashed into the clump of trees sheltering the camp, and down the slope on which it stood. they would have preferred going the other way, but the rifle-shot had come from that direction, and so they had no choice. their movements being at first concealed by the timber, there was no sign of pursuit until they gained the open valley and started to cross it. then came a wild yell from behind, and they knew that their flight was discovered. breathlessly they sped through the dewy meadow, sadly impeded by its rank growth of grass and flowers, towards a narrow exit through the wall bounding its lower end that alaric had long ago discovered. through this a brawling stream made its way, and by means of its foaming channel the boys hoped to effect an escape. as they gained the rocky portal bonny glanced back and uttered a cry of dismay, for their late host was in plain view, leaping down the slope towards the meadow they had just crossed. he was then bent on overtaking them, and the pursuit had begun in earnest. as there was no pathway besides that offered by the bed of the stream, they were forced to plunge into its icy torrent and follow its tumultuous course over slippery rocks, through occasional still pools whose waters often reached to the waist, and down foaming cascades, with a reckless disregard for life or limb. in this manner they descended several hundred feet, and when from the bottom they looked up over the way they had come they felt that they must surely have been upborne by wings. but there was no time for contemplation, for at that moment a plunging bowlder from above warned them that their pursuer was already in the channel. now they were in a forest, not of the giant trees they would find at a lower altitude, but one of tall hemlocks and alpine-firs, growing with such density that the panting fugitives could with difficulty force a way between them. they stumbled over prostrate trunks, slipped on beds of damp mosses, were clutched by woody fingers, from whose hold their clothing was torn with many a grievous rent; and, with all their efforts, made such slow progress that they momentarily expected to be overtaken. nor were their fears groundless, for they had not gone half a mile ere a crashing behind them told that their pursuer was close at hand. as they exchanged a despairing glance, bonny said: "the only thing we can do is hide, for i can't run any farther." "where?" asked alaric. "here," replied bonny, diving as he spoke into a bed of ferns. alaric followed, and as they flattened themselves to the ground, barely concealed by the green tips nodding above their backs, the madman leaped into the space they had just vacated, and stood so close to them that they could have reached out and touched him. his cap had disappeared, his hair streamed over his shoulders like a tawny mane; his clothing was torn, a scratch had streaked his face with blood, and his deep-set eyes shone with the wild light of insanity. he had flung away his rifle, but his right hand clutched a knife, keen and long-bladed. the crouching lads held their breath as he paused for an instant beside them. then, uttering a snarling cry, he dashed on, and with cautiously lifted heads they watched him out of sight. "whew!" ejaculated bonny, "that was a close call. but i say, rick, this business of running away and being chased seems quite like old times, don't it?" "yes," answered alaric, with a shuddering sigh of mingled relief and apprehension, "it certainly does, and this is the worst of all. but what shall we do now?" "i don't know of anything else but to keep right on downhill after going far enough to one side to give his course a wide berth. i'd like awfully to have some breakfast, but i wouldn't go back to that camp for it if it were the only place in the world. i'd about as soon starve as eat another mouthful of goat, anyway. we are sure to come out somewhere, though, if we only stick to a downward course long enough." so the boys bore to the right, and within a few minutes had the satisfaction of noting certain gleamings through the trees that betokened some kind of an opening. guided by these, they soon came to a ridge of bowlders and gravel, forming one of the lateral moraines of a glacier that lay in glistening whiteness beyond. "we might as well follow along its edge," suggested bonny; "for all these glaciers seem to run downhill, and, bad as the walking is over mud and rocks, we can make better time here than through the woods." they had not gone more than a mile in this fashion, and, believing that they had successfully eluded their pursuer, were rapidly recovering from their recent fright, when they were startled by a cry like that of a wild beast close at hand. glancing up, they were nearly paralyzed with terror to see the madman grinning horribly with delight at having discovered them, and about to rush down the steep slope to where they stood. [illustration: "they were paralyzed with terror to see the madman grinning horribly"] there was but an instant of hesitation, and then both lads sprang out on the rugged surface of the glacier, and made a dash for its far-away opposite side. it was a dangerous path, slippery, rough beyond description, and beset with yawning crevasses; but they were willing to risk all its perils for a slender chance of escaping the certain death that was speeding towards the place they had just left. if they could only gain the opposite timber, they might possibly hide as before. it was a faint hope, but their only one. so they ran, slipped, stumbled, took flying leaps over the parted white lips of narrow crevasses, and made détours to avoid such as were too wide to be thus spanned. they had no time to look behind, nor any need. the fierce cries of the madman warned them that he was in hot pursuit and ever drawing nearer. at one place the ice rang hollow beneath their feet, and they even fancied that it gave an ominous crack; but they could not pause to speculate as to its condition. that it was behind them was enough. ere half the distance was passed they were drawing their breath with panting sobs, and bonny, not yet wholly recovered from his illness, began to lag behind. noting this, alaric also slackened his speed; but his comrade gasped: "no, rick. don't stop. save yourself. i'm done for. you can't help me. good-bye." thus saying, and too exhausted to run farther, the lad faced about to meet their terrible pursuer, and struggle with him for a delay that might aid the escape of his friend. to his amazement, there was no pursuer, nor in all that white expanse was there a human being to be seen save themselves. at his comrade's despairing words alaric too had turned, with the determination of sharing his fate; so they now stood side by side breathing heavily, and gazing about them in wondering silence. "what has become of him?" asked bonny at length, in an awed tone, but little above a whisper. "i don't know," replied alaric. "he can't have gone back, for there hasn't been time. he can't be in hiding, for there is no place in which he could conceal himself, nor have we passed any crevasse that he could not leap. but if he has slipped into one! oh, bonny! it is too awful to think of." "i heard him only a few seconds ago," said bonny, in the same awed tone, "and his voice sounded so close that with each instant i expected to be in his clutches." "bonny!" exclaimed alaric, "do you remember a place that sounded hollow?" "yes." "we must go back to it, for i believe he has broken through. if it is in our power to help him we must do it; if not, we must know what has happened." they had to retrace their steps but a few yards before coming to a fathomless opening with jagged sides and splintered edges, where the thin ice that had afforded them a safe passage had given way beneath the heavier weight of their pursuer. no sound save that of rushing waters came from the cruel depths, nor was there any sign. the boys lingered irresolutely about the place for a few minutes, and then fled from it as from an impending terror. for the remainder of that day, though no longer in dread of pursuit, they made what speed they might down the mountain-side, following rough river-beds, threading belts of mighty forest, climbing steep slopes, and descending others into narrow valleys. the sun was near his setting, and our lads were so nigh exhausted that they had seated themselves on a moss-covered log to rest, when they were startled by a heavy rending crash that echoed through the listening forest with a roar like distant thunder. the boys looked at each other, and then at what bits of sky they could see through the far-away tree-tops. it was of unclouded blue, and the sun was still shining. "rick!" cried bonny, starting to his feet, "i believe it was a falling tree." "well?" "i mean one that was made to fall by axe and saw." "oh, bonny!" was all that alaric could reply; but in another instant he was leading the way through tall ferns and along the stately forest aisles in the direction from which had come the mighty crash. chapter xxxv a gang of friendly loggers a perfect day of early september was drawing to its close, and the gang of loggers belonging to camp no. of the northwest lumber company, which operated in the vast timber belt clothing the northern flanks of mount rainier, were about to knock off work. from earliest morning the stately forest, sweet-scented with the odors of resin, freshly cut cedar, and crushed ferns, had resounded with their shouts and laughter, the ring of their axes, the steady swish of saws, and the crash of falling trees. to one familiar only with eastern logging, where summer is a time of idleness, and everything depends on the snows of winter, followed by the high waters of spring, the different methods of these northwestern woodsmen would be matters of constant surprise. their work goes on without a pause from year's end to year's end. there is no hauling on sleds, no vast accumulations of logs on the ice of rivers or lakes, no river driving, no mighty jams to be cleared at imminent risk of life and limb--nothing that is customary in the east. even the mode of cutting down trees is different. the choppers--or "fallers," as they are called in the northwest--do not work, as do their brethren of maine or wisconsin, from the ground, wielding their axes first on one side and then on the other until the tree falls. the girth of the mighty firs and cedars of that country is so great at ordinary chopping height that two men working in that way would not bring down more than two trees in a day, instead of the ten or a dozen required of them. so, by means of what are known as "spring-boards," they gain a height of eight or ten feet, and then begin operations. the ingenious contrivances that enable them to do this are narrow boards of tough vine maple, five or six feet long, and about one foot wide. each is armed at its inner end with a sharp steel spur affixed to its upper side. this end being thrust into a notch opened in the tree some four feet below where the cut is to be made, the weight of a man on its outer end causes the spur to bite deep into the wood, and to hold the board firmly in place. having determined the direction in which the tree shall fall, and fixed their spring-boards accordingly, two "fallers" mount them, and chop out a deep under cut on the side that is to lie undermost. they work with double-bitted or two-edged axes, and can so truly guide the fall by means of the under cut that they are willing to set a stake one hundred feet away and guarantee that the descending trunk shall drive it into the ground. with the under cut chopped out to their satisfaction, they remove their spring-boards to the opposite side, and finish the task with a long, two-handled, coarse-toothed saw. as the mighty tree yields up its life and comes to the ground with a grand, far-echoing crash, it is set upon by "buckers" (who saw its great trunk into thirty-foot lengths), barkers, rigging-slingers, hand-skidders, and teamsters, whose splendid horses, aided by tackle of iron blocks and length of wire-rope, drag it out to the "skid-road." this is a cleared and rudely graded track, set with heavy cross-ties, over which the logs may slide, and it is provided with wire cables, whose half-mile lengths are operated by stationary engines. by this means "turns" of five or six of the huge logs, chained one behind the other, are hauled down the winding skid-road through gulch and valley, to a distant railway landing. there they are loaded on a long train of heavy flat cars that departs every night for the mills on puget sound. here the sawed lumber is run aboard waiting ships, and sent in them to all ports on both shores of the pacific. so wastefully extravagant are the lumbermen of washington that only the finest trees are cut, and only that portion of the trunk which is free from limbs is made into logs. all the remainder, or nearly half of each tree, is left on the ground where it fell. here it slowly decays, or, turned into tinder, catches fire from some chance spark and leaps into a sea of flame that sweeps resistlessly through the forest, destroying in one day more timber than has been cut in a year. thus, while thoughtless and ignorant persons declare the timber supply of the northwest to be inexhaustible, others, who have carefully studied the subject, do not hesitate to say that within fifty years, at the present rate of reckless destruction, the magnificent forests of washington will have disappeared forever. such questions were far from troubling the light-hearted gang of loggers whom we have just discovered in the act of quitting work for the day. if any one of them were to be asked how long he thought the noble forests from which he earned a livelihood would last, he would answer: "oh, i don't know and don't care. they will last as long as i do, and that's long enough for me." they were laughing and joking, lighting their pipes, picking up tools, and beginning to straggle towards the road that led to camp, when suddenly big buck ranlet, the head "faller," who was keener of hearing than any of his mates, called out: "hush up, fellows, and listen! i thought i heard a yell off there in the timber." in the silence that followed they all heard a cry, faint and distant, but so filled with distress that there was no mistaking its import. "there's surely somebody in trouble!" cried ranlet. "lost like as not. anyway, they are calling to us for help, and we can't go back on 'em. so come on, men. you teamsters stay here with your horses, and give us a yell every now and then, so we can come straight back; for even we don't want to fool round much in these woods after dark. hello, you out there! locate yourselves!" "hello! help!" came back faintly but clearly. "all right! we're coming! cheer up!" so the calling and answering was continued for nearly ten minutes, while the rescuing party, full of curiosity and good-will, plunged through the gathering gloom, over logs and rocks, through beds of tall ferns and banks of moss, in which they sank above their ankles, until they came at length to those whom they were seeking--two lads, one standing and calling to them, the other lying silent and motionless, where he had fallen in a dead faint from utter exhaustion. "you see," explained alaric, apologetically, half sobbing with joy at finding himself once more surrounded by friendly faces, "he has been very ill, and we've had a hard day, with nothing to eat. so he gave out. i should have too, but just then i heard the sound of chopping, and knew the light was shining, and--and--" here the poor tired lad broke down, sobbing hysterically, and trying to laugh at the same time. "there! there, son!" exclaimed buck ranlet, soothingly, but with a suspicious huskiness in his voice. "brace up, and forget your troubles as quick as you can; for they're all over now, and you sha'n't go hungry much longer. but where did you say you came from?" "the top of the mountain." "not down the north side?" "yes." "great scott! you are the first ever did it, then. how long have you been on the way?" "i don't know exactly, but something over a month." "the poor chap's mind is wandering," said the big man to one of his companions; "for no one ever came down the north side alive, and no one could spend a whole month doing it, anyway. i've often heard, though, that folks went crazy when they got lost in the woods." the men took turns, two at a time, in carrying bonny, and buck ranlet himself assisted alaric, until, guided by the shouts of the teamsters, they reached the point from which they had started. by this time bonny had regained consciousness, and was wondering, in a dazed fashion, what had happened. "is it all right, rick?" he asked, as his comrade bent anxiously over him. "yes, old man, it's all right; and the light i told you of is shining bright and clear at last." "queer, isn't it, how the poor lad's mind wanders?" remarked ranlet to one of the men. "he thinks he sees a bright light, while i'll swear no one has so much as struck a match. we must hustle, now, and get 'em to camp. do you think you feel strong enough to set straddle of a horse, son?" he asked of alaric. "yes, indeed," answered the boy, cheerfully. "i feel strong enough for anything now." "good for you! that's the talk! give us a foot and let me h'ist you up. why, lad, you're mighty nigh barefooted! no wonder you didn't find the walking good. here, dick, you lead the horse, while i ride sal-lal and carry the little chap." thus saying, the big man vaulted to the back of the other horse, and, reaching down, lifted bonny up in front of him as though he had been a child. camp was a mile or more away, and as the brawny loggers escorted their unexpected guests to it down the winding skid-road, they eagerly discussed the strange event that had so suddenly broken the monotony of their lives, though, with a kind consideration, they refrained from asking alaric any more questions just then. "hurry on, some of you fellows," shouted ranlet, "and light up my shack, for these chaps are going to bunk in with me to-night. i claim 'em on account of being the first to hear 'em, you know. start a fire in the square, too, so's the place will look cheerful." no one will ever know how cheerful and home-like and altogether delightful that logging camp did look to our poor lads after their long and terrible experience of the wilderness, for they could never afterwards find words to express what they felt on coming out of the darkness into its glowing firelight and hearty welcome. "stand back, men, and give us a show!" shouted ranlet, as they drew up before his own little "shack," built of split cedar boards. "this isn't any funeral; same time it ain't no circus parade, and we want to get in out of the cold." the entire population of the camp, including the cook and his assistants, the blacksmith with his helper, and the stable-boys, as well as the logging gang, were gathered, full of curiosity to witness the strange arrival. besides these there were linton, the boss, with his wife, who was the only woman in that section of country. her pity was instantly aroused for bonny, and when he had been tenderly placed in buck ranlet's own bunk, she insisted on being allowed to feed and care for him. she would gladly have done the same for alaric, but he protested that he was perfectly well able to feed himself, and was only longing for the chance. "of course you are, lad!" cried the big "faller," heartily, "and you sha'n't go hungry a minute longer. so just you come on with me and the rest of the gang over to delmonico's." the place thus designated was a low but spacious building of logs, containing the camp kitchen and mess-room. ranlet sat at the head of the long table, built of hewn cedar slabs, and laden with smoking dishes. alaric was given the place of honor at his right hand, and the rest of the rough, hearty crowd ranged themselves on rude benches at either side. the plates and bowls were of tin; the knives, forks, and spoons were iron; but how luxurious it all seemed to the guest of the occasion! how wonderfully good everything tasted, and how the big man beside him heaped his plate with pork and beans, potatoes swimming in gravy, boiled cabbage, fresh bread cut in slices two inches thick, and actually butter to spread on it! after these came a huge pan of crullers and dozens of dried-apple pies. how anxiously the men watched him eat, how often they pushed the tin can of brown sugar towards him to make sure that his bowl of milkless tea should be sufficiently sweetened, and how pleased they were when he passed his plate for a second helping of pie! "you'll do, lad; you'll do!" shouted buck ranlet, delighted at this evidence that the camp cookery was appreciated. "you've been brought up right, and taught to know a good thing when you see it. i can tell by the way you eat." after supper alaric was conducted to a blanket-covered bench near the big fire outside, and allowed to relate the outline of his story to an audience that listened with intense interest, and then he was put to bed beside bonny, who was already fast asleep. when buck ranlet picked up his guest's coat, that had fallen to the floor, and a baseball rolled from one of its pockets, the big logger exclaimed, softly: "bless the lad! he's a genuine out-and-out boy, after all! to think of his travelling through the mountains with no outfit but a baseball! if that isn't boy all over, then i don't know!" chapter xxxvi in a northwest logging camp the next day being sunday, the camp lay abed so late that when alaric awoke from his long night of dreamless sleep the sun was more than an hour high, and streaming full into the open doorway of buck ranlet's shack. for nearly a minute the boy lay motionless, striving to recall what had happened and where he was. then, as it all came to him, and he realized that he had escaped from the mountain, with its terrors, its cold, and its hunger, and had reached a place of safety, good-will, and plenty, he heaved a deep sigh of content. his sigh was echoed by another close beside him, and then bonny's voice said: "i'm so glad you are awake, rick, for i want you to tell me all about it. i've been trying to puzzle it out for myself, but can't be really sure whether i know anything about last night or only dreamed it all. didn't somebody get us something to eat?" "i should say they did!" rejoined alaric. "and not only something to eat, but one of the finest suppers i ever sat down to. don't you remember the baked beans, and the apple-pie, and--oh no, i forgot; you weren't there; and, by-the-way, how do you feel this morning?" "fine as a fiddle," replied bonny, briskly; "and all ready for those baked beans and pie; for somehow i don't seem to remember having anything so good as those." "i don't believe you did," laughed alaric, springing from the bunk as he spoke; "for i'm afraid they only gave you gruel and soup, or tea and toast." "then no wonder i'm hungry," said bonny, indignantly, as he too began to dress, "and no wonder i want beans and things. but, i say, rick, what a tough-looking specimen you are, anyway!" "i hope i'm not so tough-looking as you," retorted the other, "for you'd scare a scarecrow." then the two boys scanned each other's appearance with dismay. how could they ever venture outside and among people in the tattered, soiled, and fluttering garments which were their sole possessions in the way of clothing? even their boots had worn away, until there was little left of them but the uppers. their hats had been lost during their flight through the forest, their hair was long and unkempt, while their coats and trousers were so rent and torn that the wonder was how they ever held together. as they realized how utterly disreputable they did look, both boys began to laugh; for they were too light-hearted that morning to remain long cast down over trifles like personal appearance. at this sound of merriment buck ranlet's good-humored face, covered with lather, appeared in the doorway, and at sight of the ragged lads he too joined in their laughter. "you are tramps, that's a fact!" he cried. "toughest kind, too; such as i'd never dared take in if i'd seen you by a good light. never mind, though," he added, consolingly; "looks are mighty easy altered, and after breakfast we'll fix you up in such style that you won't recognize yourselves." bonny had baked beans and pie that morning as well as alaric, for the fare at that logger's mess-table, bountiful as it was, never varied. after breakfast the boys found their first chance to take a good look at the camp, which consisted of nearly twenty buildings, set in the form of a square beside the skid-road, in a clearing filled with tall stumps of giant firs and mammoth cedars. the two largest buildings were the combined mess-hall and kitchen and the sleeping-quarters, containing tiers of bunks, one for each man employed. then came the store, which held a small stock of clothing, boots, tobacco, pipes, knives, and other miscellaneous articles. close beside it stood mr. linton's house, built of squared logs. in its windows both curtains and a few potted plants showed that here dwelt the only woman of the camp. the blacksmith-shop, engine-house, close beside the skid-road, and the stables beyond completed the list of the company's buildings. all the others were little single-room shacks, built in leisure moments by such of the men as preferred having something in the shape of a house to sleeping in the public dormitory. these tiny dwellings were constructed of sweet-smelling cedar boards, split from splendid great logs, absolutely straight-grained and free from knots. walls, roof, floor, and rude furniture were all made of the same beautiful wood. some of the shacks had stone chimneys roughly plastered with clay, others boasted small porches, and one or two had both. buck ranlet's had the largest porch of any, with the added adornment of climbing vines. this porch also contained seats, and was considered very elegant; but every one knew that the head "faller" was engaged to be married to a girl "back east," and said that was the reason he had built so fine a house. having little else to amuse them, the men who put up these shacks labored over them with as much pleasure as so many boys with their cubby-houses. many of the men were anxious to hear a more detailed account of our lads' recent adventures, but buck ranlet said: "call round this afternoon. we've got something else on hand just now." when they returned to his picturesque little dwelling the big man led the way inside, closed the door, and said: "now, lads, sit down, and let's talk business. what do you propose to do next?" "i don't think we know," responded alaric. "do you want to go to tacoma or seattle?" "i don't know why we should. we haven't any friends in either place, nor any money to live on while we look for work." "none at all?" "not one cent. there's a month's wages due us from the frenchman who hired us to go up the mountain, but i suppose he has left this part of the country long ago." "i suppose he has; and you certainly are playing to such hard luck that i don't see as you can do any better than stay right here. if you are willing to work at whatever offers, i shouldn't wonder if the boss could find something for you to do. at any rate, he might give you a chance to earn a suit of clothes, and feed you while you were doing it." "i think we'd be only too glad to stay here and work," replied alaric--"wouldn't we, bonny?" "yes, i think we would, only i hope we can earn some money. i've worked without wages so long now that it is growing very monotonous." "well, i'll tell you what," said ranlet: "you two stay right here while i go over and see the boss." a few minutes later the big man returned with beaming face, and announced that mr. linton had consented to take them both on trial, and had promised to find something for them to do in the morning. moreover, they were to go down to the store at once, pick out the things they needed, and have them charged to their account. all this buck ranlet told them; but he did not add that he had been obliged to pledge his own wages for whatever bill they should run up at the store, in case they should fail to work it out. the big-hearted "faller" was willing to do this, for he had taken a great fancy to the lads, and especially to alaric. "that chap may be poor," he said, "and i reckon he is; but he's honest--so are they both, for that matter; and when a boy is honest, he can't help showing it in his face." these preliminaries being happily settled, he said, "now let's get right down to business; and the first thing to be done is to let me cut your hair before you buy any hats." the boys agreeing that this was necessary, the operation was performed with neatness and despatch; for the big "faller" was equally expert at cutting hair or trees. then they went to the store, where alaric and bonny selected complete outfits of coarse but serviceable clothing, including hats and boots, to the amount of fifteen dollars each. "now for a scrub," suggested ranlet; "and i reckon i need one as much as you do." with this he led his _protégés_ to a quiet pool in the creek just back of camp. when at noon the boys presented themselves at the mess-room door, so magical was the transformation effected by shears, soap and water, and their new clothing, that not a man in the place recognized them, and they had to be reintroduced to the whole jovial crowd, greatly to buck ranlet's delight. by a very natural mistake he introduced alaric, whom he had only heard called "rick," as mr. richard dale, and the boy did not find an opportunity for correcting the error just then. later in the day, however, when most of the camp population were gathered in front of ranlet's shack listening with great interest to the lads' account of their recent experiences, one of them addressed him as "richard," whereupon he explained that his name was not richard, but alaric. "alaric?" quoth buck ranlet; "that's a queer name, and one i never heard before. it's a strong-sounding name too, and one that just fits such a hearty, active young fellow as you. i should pick out an alaric every time for the kind of a chap to come tumbling down a mountain-side where no one had ever been before. but where did your folks find the name, son?" "i'll tell you," replied alaric, flushing with pleasure at hearing that said of him for which he had secretly longed ever since he could remember; "but first i want to say that it was bonny brooks who showed me how to come down the mountain, and but for him i should certainly have perished up there in the snow." "hold on!" cried bonny. "gentlemen, i assure you that but for rick dale i should have had the perishing contract all in my own hands." "i expect you are a well-mated team," laughed ranlet, "and i am willing to admit that for whatever comes tumbling down a mountain there couldn't be a better name than bonny brooks. but now let's have the yarn." so alaric told them all he could remember of the mighty visigoth who invaded italy at the head of his barbarian host, became master of the world by conquering rome when the eternal city was at the height of its magnificence, and whose tomb was built in the bed of a river temporarily turned aside for the purpose. the rough audience grouped about him listened to the tale of a long-ago hero with flattering interest, and when it was ended declared it to be a rattling good yarn, at the same time begging for more of the same kind. alaric's head was crammed with such stories, for he had always delighted in them, and now he was only too glad of an opportunity to repay in some measure the kindly hospitality of the camp. so for an hour or more he related legends of old world history, and still older mythology, all of which were as new to his hearers as though now told for the first time. finally he paused, covered with confusion at finding mr. and mrs. linton standing among his auditors, and waiting for a chance to invite him and bonny to tea. from that time forth alaric's position as storyteller was established, and there was rarely an evening during his stay in the camp, where books were almost unknown, that he was not called upon to entertain an interested group gathered about its after-supper open-air fire. mr. linton questioned the boys closely as to their capacity for work while they were at tea with him, and finally said: "i think i can find places for both of you, if you are willing to work for one dollar a day. you, brooks, i shall let 'tend store and help me with my accounts until your arm gets stronger, while i think i shall place your friend in charge of one of the hump-durgins." "what is that, sir?" asked alaric. "what's what?" "a hump-durgin." "oh! don't you know? well, you'll find out to-morrow." chapter xxxvii what is a hump-durgin? when the boys returned to buck ranlet's shack, which he had insisted they should share with him until they could build one of their own, the first question alaric asked was in regard to his new employment. "what is a hump-durgin?" "ho, ho! with all your learning, don't you know what a hump-durgin is? well, i am surprised, for it's one of the commonest things. still, if you don't really know, i'll tell you. a genuine hump-durgin is a sort of a cross betwixt a boat and a mule." "a boat and a mule?" repeated alaric, more perplexed than ever. "that's what i said. you see, it is something like a boat. i might say a steamboat, or perhaps a canal-boat would be more like it, and it is always sailing back and forth. it often rolls and pitches like it was in a heavy sea; but at the same time it lives on dry land and never goes near the water. it also rears and bucks, and jumps from side to side, and tries its best to throw its rider, same as a mule does, and it wouldn't look unlike one if it only had legs, and a tail, and ears, and hair, and a bray." "humph!" interposed bonny, who had been an interested listener to this vague description of a hump-durgin. "a log of wood might look like a mule if it had all those things." "right you are, son! a log of wood might look like a mule, and then again it mightn't. same time i've often thought that some hump-durgins wasn't much better than logs of wood, after all. anyway, now that i've described the critter so that you know all about him, you can see why the boss has decided to put our young friend here in charge of one." "i'm sure i can't," said alaric, more puzzled than ever. "because of your experience with both mules and boats," laughed the big "faller" teasingly, and that was all the satisfaction the boys could get from him that night. the next morning, bright and early, the occupants of the camp scattered to their respective duties: the loggers trudging up the skid-road and deep into the forest, there to resume their work of converting trees into logs; the loading-gang going in the opposite direction, to the distant railway landing, where they would spend the day loading logs on to flat cars; the engineers with their firemen to their respective engines; the road-gang up to the head of a side gulch where they were constructing a branch skid-road; the blacksmiths to their ringing anvils; bonny to the store, where he was to take an account of stock; and alaric, in company with the man whose place he was to fill, after receiving from him half a day's instruction in his new duties, to make the acquaintance of his hump-durgin. they went a short distance down the skid-road to where one of the relay engines was winding in a half-mile length of wire cable over a big steel drum. this cable stretched its shining length up the gulch and out of sight around a bend. near the engine-house, and at one edge of the skid-road, was a little siding, or dock, protected by a heavy sheer-skid. in it lay what looked like a log canoe, sharp pointed at both ends, and having a flat bottom. "there," said alaric's guide, "is your hump-durgin." "that thing!" exclaimed the lad, gazing at the canoe-like object curiously. "but i thought a hump-durgin went by steam?" "so it does," laughed the man, "when it goes at all. just wait a minute, and you'll see." almost as he spoke there came a sound of bumping and sliding from up the skid-road, and directly afterwards the end of an enormous log came into sight around the bend, drawn by the cable the engine was winding in. as this log rounded the bend and came directly towards them, another was seen to be chained to it, then another, and another, until the "turn" was seen to contain five of the woody monsters. attached to the rear end of the last log came another hump-durgin, in which a man was seated, and to the after end of which was fastened a second wire cable that stretched away for half a mile to the next engine above. every log was made fast to the one ahead of it by two short chains, each of which was armed at either end with a heavy steel spur having a sharp point and a flat head. these are called "dogs," and, driven deep into the logs, bind them together. the hump-durgin was also attached to the rear log by a chain and "dog," and one of the principal duties of a hump-durgin man is to see that none of these dogs pulls out. as the "turn" of logs stopped just above the station, the man who had come with them knocked out his hump-durgin dog, while the man with alaric disconnected the cable that had drawn the logs down to that point, and hooked on the upper end of another that stretched away out of sight down the road. then he waved to the engineer, who telephoned to the next station down the line, and at the same time to the one above. in another minute the hump-durgin that had just arrived was being pulled back by its cable over the way it had come, and the "turn" of logs was drawn forward by the new cable just attached to them. when the rear end of the last log was passing alaric's hump-durgin, the man with him hammered its "dog" into the wood, the chain straightened with a jerk, and the novel craft was under way. as it started, both the man and alaric jumped in, and away they went, bumping and sliding down the skid-road, slewing around corners that were protected by sheer-skids, and dragging behind them a half-mile length of cable attached to the after end of their craft. in this way they were dragged half a mile down the gulch to a second engine station, where a new relay of cable with a third hump-durgin awaited the logs, and from which their own craft, laden with the chains and dogs just brought up from below, was dragged back uphill to the station from which they had started. every now and then on their downward trip the man jumped from the hump-durgin, and, maul in hand, ran along the whole length of the "turn," giving a tap here and there to the "dogs" to make sure that none of them was working loose. as the cables were only speeded to about four miles an hour, he could readily do this; but after he had thus examined one side he had to wait until the whole turn passed him, and then run ahead to examine the other. alaric asked why he did not run on the logs themselves, and, by thus examining both sides at the same time, save half his work. "because i ain't that kind of a fool," replied the man. "there is them as does it; but a chap has to be surer-footed and spryer than i be to ride the logs, 'specially when they're slewing round corners. i reckon, though, from all i hear of you, that you'll be jest one of the kind to try it on; and all i can say is, i hope you'll be let off light when it comes your time to be flung. some gets killed, and others only comes nigh it." the hump-durgin man at the lower relay station followed the first "turn" of logs to the railway landing, and then went back to the extreme upper end of the skid-road. with the second "turn" alaric and his instructor did the same thing. the next man above him followed the third "turn" to its destination, while the man farthest up of all travelled the whole length of the road with the fourth "turn," covering its two miles in four different hump-durgins; and at length alaric had a chance to do the same thing. thus each hump-durgin driver became familiar with every section of the road, and made six round trips a day. at noon of that first day alaric's instructor in the art of navigating a hump-durgin bade him "so long," and left him in sole command of the clumsy craft. the man had no sooner gone than his pupil began practising the science of log-riding, and before night he had triumphantly ridden the whole length of the road mounted on the backs of his unwieldy charges. to be sure, he sat down most of the way, and was thrown twice when attempting to walk the length of the "turn" while it was slewing around corners. fortunately he escaped each time with nothing more serious than a few bruises, and that night he drove a number of hobnails into the soles of his boots. these afforded him so good a hold on the rough bark that he was never again flung, and within a week had become so expert a log-rider that he could keep his feet over the worst "slews" on the road. the hump-durgins brought up many things from the railway landing besides chains and "dogs," for they were the sole conveyances by which supplies of any kind could reach the camp. it often happened that they carried passengers as well, and in this respect running a hump-durgin was, as alaric said, very much like driving a stage-coach--a thing that he had always longed to do. bonny was so envious of his comrade's job that on that very first day he made application for the next hump-durgin vacancy, and two weeks later was filled with delight at receiving the coveted appointment. by the time that both our lads became hump-durgin boys they were living in their own shack, which stood just beyond buck ranlet's, and which nearly every man in camp had helped them to build. so proud were they of this tiny dwelling that they nearly doubled their bill at the store in procuring bedding and other furnishings for it. although thus amply provided with rude comforts, or, as bonny expressed it, "surrounded with all the luxuries of life," alaric fully realized that it would soon be time to exchange this mode of living for another. he knew that he owed a duty to his father, as well as to the station of life into which he had been born; and, having proved to his own satisfaction that he was equally strong with other boys, and as well able to fight his way through the world, he was more than willing to return to his own home. now that he felt competent to hold his own, physically as well as mentally, with others of his age, he was filled with a desire to go to college. on talking the matter over with bonny he found that the latter cherished similar aspirations, the only difference being that the young sailor's longing was for a mechanical rather than a classical education. "though, of course," said bonny, with a sigh, "i shall always have to take it out in wishing, for i shall never have money enough to carry me through a school of any kind, or at least not until i am too old to go." at this alaric only smiled, and bade his comrade keep on hoping, for there was no telling when something might turn up. as he said this he made up his mind that if ever he went to college bonny should at the same time go to one of the best scientific schools of the country. chapter xxxviii alaric and bonny again take to flight for a full month had our hump-durgin boys occupied the little cedar-built shack, which now seemed to them so much a home that it was difficult to realize they had ever known any other. by this time, too, they were exercising a very decided influence upon the character of the camp into whose life they had been so unexpectedly thrown. light-hearted bonny, with his cheery face and abounding good-nature, was as full of amusing pranks as a young colt, and from every group that he joined shouts of merriment were certain to arise within a few minutes. thus bonny was very popular and always in demand. nor was alaric less so, for he could tell so much concerning strange foreign countries and relate so many curious old world tales, that there was rarely an evening that he was not called upon for something of the kind. he so often said that most of his stories could be found in certain books, related a thousand times better than he could tell them, that in the breasts of many of his hearers he aroused a real longing for books, and a wider knowledge than they could ever acquire without them. at the same time alaric was not only appreciated for what he knew, but for what he could do. no one in camp could ride a "turn" of logs, swaying, bumping, and sliding down the skid-road, with such perfect confidence and easy grace as he. only one of them all could outrun him, and none could catch or throw a baseball with the certainty and precision that he exhibited, although ever since buck ranlet discovered the ball in his young guest's coat-pocket the camp had practised with it during all odd moments of daylight. so our lads made friends with and knew the personal history of every occupant of the camp save one, and he was its boss. since the night on which they had taken tea in his house mr. linton had hardly spoken to either of them; nor did he ever join with the men in their evening gatherings to listen to bonny's jokes or alaric's tales. at first they noticed this, and wondered what reason he had for avoiding them; but they soon learned that it was only his way, and that he never talked with any of the men except on matters of business. buck ranlet said it was because he was a deputy united states marshal, and didn't know when he might be called on to arrest any one of them for some offence against the government. with all their present popularity the boys were growing weary of the monotonous life they were leading, of their good-natured but rough and narrow-minded associates, and of the deadly sameness of the food served three times a day in the dingy mess-room. they also dreaded the approaching winter, with its days and weeks of rain, during which the work of getting out logs for the insatiable mills down on the sound must keep on without a moment of interruption. they listened with dismay to tales of loggers who had not known the feeling of dry clothing for weeks at a time; of "turns" of logs rushing down skid-roads slippery with wet, like roaring avalanches of timber, threatening destruction to everything in their course; and of long, dreary winter evenings when the steady downpour forbade camp-fires and prevented all social out-of-door gatherings. in view of these things, alaric was determined that the end of another month, or such time as his wages should be paid, should see him on his way to san francisco and home. he did not anticipate any difficulty in persuading bonny to go with him, for that young man had already remarked that while hump-durgin riding was fun up to a certain point, he should hate to do it for the remainder of his life. oh yes, bonny would go, of course; and alaric's only fear was that his father might not take a fancy to the lad, or hold the same views regarding his future that he did. still, that was a matter which would arrange itself somehow, if they could only reach san francisco, and the "poor rich boy" now began to long as eagerly for the time to come when he might return to his home as he once had for an opportunity to leave it. one day, when matters stood thus, a stranger, past middle age, shabbily dressed, and wearing a peculiarly dilapidated hat, appeared at the railway log-landing, and asked bonny, whose hump-durgin happened to be there at the time, permission to ride with him to the end of the skid-road. with a sympathetic glance at the man's forlorn appearance, bonny answered: "certainly, sir; you may ride with me all day if you like, and i shall be glad of your company." thanking the lad, the stranger seated himself in the hump-durgin; and after he had been warned to hold on tight and watch out for "slews," the upward journey was begun. at one of the upper relay stations they waited for a descending "turn" of logs to pass them. here the stranger visited the engine-house, and while he was talking with the engineer they came in sight. alaric, who happened to be in charge, was at that moment walking easily forward along the backs of the swaying logs, presenting as fine a specimen of youthful agility, strength, and perfect health as one could wish to encounter. he was clad in jean trousers tucked into boot-legs and belted about his waist; a blue flannel shirt, with a black silk kerchief knotted at the throat, and a black slouch hat. "isn't that extremely dangerous?" asked the stranger, regarding the approaching lad with a curious interest. "not for him it isn't, though it might be for some; but dick dale is so level-headed and sure-footed that there isn't his equal for riding logs in this outfit, nor, i don't believe, in any other," answered the engineer. "what did you say his name was?" asked the stranger, with his gaze still fixed on alaric. "dale--richard dale," replied the engineer, who had never happened to hear the boy's real name. "why? do you think you know him?" "no. i don't know any one of that name; but the lad's resemblance to another whom i used to know is certainly very striking." "yes. it's funny how often people look alike who have never been within a thousand miles of each other," remarked the engineer, carelessly, as he stepped to the signal-box. in another minute alaric had passed out of sight, while bonny and the stranger had resumed their upward journey. that evening alaric remarked to his chum, "i noticed you had a passenger to-day." "yes," replied bonny. "seedy-looking chap, wasn't he; but one of the nicest old fellows i ever met. never saw any one take such an interest in everything. i suspected what he was after, though, and finally we got so friendly that i asked him right out if he wasn't looking for work." "was he?" "yes. he hesitated at first, and looked at me to see if i was joking, and then owned up that he was hunting for something to do. i felt mighty sorry for him, 'cause i know how it is myself; but i had to tell him there wasn't a living show in this camp just now. he seemed mightily taken with our shack here, and said he once had a house just like it, in which he passed the happiest time of his life, but he was afraid he'd never have another. i invited him to stay with us a few days if he wanted to--just while he was looking for a job, you know--but he said he guessed he'd better go on to some other camp. you'd been willing, wouldn't you?" "certainly," replied alaric. "i've already been in hard luck enough to be mighty glad of a chance to help any other fellow who's in the same fix, especially an old man; for they don't have half the show that young fellows do." "i told him you'd feel that way," exclaimed bonny, triumphantly; "and he said if there were more like us in the world it would be a happier place to live in, but that he guessed he'd manage to scrape along somehow a while longer without becoming a burden to others. i did insist on his taking a hat, though." "a hat?" "yes. we were down at the store, and he was asking the price of things, and looking around so wistful that i couldn't help getting him a new hat and having it charged; for the one he wore wasn't any good at all. he hated to take it, but i insisted, and finally he said he would if i'd keep his old one and let him redeem it some time. of course i said i would, just to satisfy him, and here it is." alaric looked carelessly at the dilapidated hat as he said: "it was a first-class thing to do, bonny, and i only wish i had been here to give him something at the same time. but, hello! this is a paris hat, and hasn't been worn very long, either. i wonder how he ever got hold of it? never mind, though; hang it up for luck, and to remind me to do something for the next poor chap who comes along. by-the-way, i heard to-day that the president of the company was in tacoma, on his way to make an inspection of all the camps." "yes," replied bonny. "they say he is an awful swell, too, and i heard that he was coming in his private car. i only hope he is, and that i can get a chance to look at it, for i have never seen a private car. have you?" "one or two," answered alaric, with a smile. at noon of the following day, while a fifteen-minute game of baseball was in progress after dinner, the boss of camp no. received a note from the president of the company, requesting him to report immediately in person at tacoma, and bring with him the two hump-durgin boys dale and brooks. mr. linton, being a man who kept his own business to himself as much as possible, merely called our lads and bade them follow him. of course this order broke up the game they were playing, and as they hastened after the boss, bonny, in whose hands the baseball happened to be, thrust it into one of his pockets. although curious to know why they were thus summoned, the boys learned nothing from mr. linton until they reached the railway log-landing, when he told them that they were wanted in tacoma, and that he was instructed to bring them there at once. from the landing they proceeded by hand-car to cascade junction, where they boarded a west-bound passenger train over the northern pacific. even now mr. linton was not communicative, and after sitting awhile in silence he went forward into the smoking-car, leaving the boys in the passenger coach next behind it. now they began to discuss their situation, and the more they considered it the more apprehensive they became that something unpleasant was in store for them. "he's a united states marshal, remember," said bonny. "yes," replied alaric; "i've been thinking of that. do you suppose it can have anything to do with that smuggling business?" "i'm awfully afraid so," replied bonny. "great scott! look there!" the train was just leaving meeker, where a passenger had boarded their car, and was now walking leisurely through it towards the smoker. it was he who had attracted bonny's attention, and at whom he now pointed a trembling finger. alaric instantly recognized the man as an officer of the revenue-cutter that had so persistently chased them in the early summer. without a word, he left his seat and followed the new-comer to the smoking-car, where a single glance through the open door confirmed his worst suspicions. the officer had seated himself beside mr. linton, and they were talking with great earnestness. "they are surely after us again," alaric said, in a whisper, as he regained his seat beside bonny; "but i don't intend to be captured if i can help it." "same here," replied bonny. thus it happened that when, a little later, the train reached tacoma, and mr. linton returned to look for his lads, they were nowhere to be found. chapter xxxix bonny discovers his friend the tramp it was late in the afternoon when the train reached tacoma, and the logging boss discovered that the lads whom he had been especially instructed to bring with him had disappeared. as he could not imagine any reason why they should do such a thing, he was thoroughly bewildered, and waited about the station for some minutes, expecting them to turn up. he inquired of the train hands and other employés if they had seen anything of such boys as he described, but could gain no information concerning them. the revenue-officer was merely an acquaintance whom he had met by chance on the train, and who now waited a few minutes to see how this affair would turn out. finally he said: "well, linton, i'm sorry i can't help you, but i really must be getting along. i hope, though, you won't have any such trouble with your missing lads as we had in trying to catch two young rascals of smugglers, whom we lost right here in tacoma last summer. we wanted them as witnesses, and thought we had our hands on them half a dozen times; but they finally gave us the slip, and the case in which they were expected to testify was dismissed for want of evidence. good-bye." thus left to his own devices, the boss could think of nothing better than to call upon the police to aid him in recovering the missing boys, and so powerful was the name of the president of the northwest lumber company, which he did not hesitate to use, that within an hour every policeman in tacoma was provided with their description, and instructed to capture them if possible. in the hope that they would speedily succeed in so doing, mr. linton delayed meeting the president, and telegraphed that he could not reach the hotel to which he had been directed to bring the boys before eight o'clock that evening. in the meantime alaric and bonny, without an idea of the stir their disappearance had created throughout the city, were snugly ensconced in an empty freight-car that stood within a hundred yards of the railway station. they had dropped from the rear end of their train when it began to slow down, and slipped into the freight-car as a place of temporary concealment while they discussed plans. "we've got to get out of this town in a hurry, that's certain," said alaric, "and i propose that we make a start for san francisco. you know, i told you that was my home, and i still have some friends there, who, i believe, will help us. the only thing is that i don't see how we can travel so far without any money." "that's easy enough," replied bonny, "and i would guarantee to land you there in good shape inside of a week. what worries me, though, is the idea of going off and leaving all the money that is due us here. just think! there's thirty dollars owing to me as a hump-durgin driver, thirty more as interpreter, and fully as much as that for being a smuggler--nearly one hundred dollars in all. that's a terrible lot of money, rick dale, and you know it as well as i do." "yes," replied alaric; "if we had it now, we'd be all right. but i'll tell you, bonny, what i'll do. if you will get me to san francisco inside of a week, i promise that you shall have one hundred dollars the day we arrive." "i'll do it!" cried bonny. "i know you are joking, of course, but i'll do it just to see how you'll manage to crawl out of your bargain when we get there. you mustn't expect to travel in a private car, though, with a french cook, and three square meals a day thrown in." "yes, i do," laughed alaric, "for i never travelled any other way." "no, i know you haven't, any more'n i have; but, just for a change, i think we'd better try freight-cars, riding on trucks, and perhaps once in a while in a caboose, for this trip, with meals whenever we can catch 'em. we'll get there, though; i promise you that. hello! i mustn't lose that ball. we may want to have a game on the road." this last remark was called forth by alaric's baseball which, becoming uncomfortably bulgy in bonny's pocket as he sat on the car floor, he had taken out, and had been tossing from hand to hand as he talked. at length it slipped from him, rolled across the car, and out of the open door. bonny sprang after it, tossed it in to alaric, and was about to clamber back into the car, when, through the gathering gloom, he spied a familiar figure standing in the glare of one of the station lights. "wait here a few minutes, rick," he said, "while i go and find out when our train starts." with this he darted up the track, and a moment later advanced, with a smile of recognition and extended hand, towards the stranger whom he had so pitied in the logging camp the day before. the man still wore a shabby suit and the hat bonny had given him. he started at sight of the lad, and exclaimed: "how came you here so soon? i thought you weren't due until eight o'clock." "how did you know we were coming at all?" asked bonny, in amazement. "oh, that's a secret," laughed the other, instantly recovering his self-possession, and assuming his manner of the day before. "we tramps have a way of finding out things, you know." "yes, i've always heard so," replied bonny, "and that's one reason why i'm so glad to meet you again. i thought maybe you could help us." "us?" repeated the stranger. "who is with you?" "only my chum, the other hump-durgin driver, you know." "you mean richard dale?" "yes--only his name isn't richard, but alaric. i say, though, would you mind stepping over in the shadow, where we won't be interrupted?" "certainly not," replied the other, with a quiet chuckle. "i expect it will be better, for i'm not anxious to be recognized myself just now." when they had reached what bonny considered a safe place, he continued: "you see, it's this way. my chum and i did a little business in the smuggling line last summer, and got chased for it by the 'beaks."' "just like 'em," growled the other. "yes," said bonny, wrathfully. "we hadn't really done anything wrong, you know; but they made us skip 'round lively, and came mighty near catching us, too. we gave 'em the slip, though, and thought the whole thing had blown over, till to-day, when they got after us again." "who did?" "the revenue fellows. you see, the boss up at camp is one of 'em, and we suspicioned something was wrong as soon as he told us we were wanted in tacoma. we were certain of it when we saw another revenue man, one of the cutter's officers, join him on the train, and so we just gave them the slip again, and have been hiding ever since over in that freight-car." "indeed!" remarked the stranger, interestedly. "and what do you propose to do next?" "that's what i'm coming to, and what we want you to help us about. you see, my chum's folks live in san francisco, and i rather think he ran away from 'em, though he hasn't ever said so. anyhow, he wants to get back there, and as we haven't any money, we've got to beat our way, so i thought maybe you could put us up to the racket, or, at any rate, tell us when the first south-bound freight would pull out. of course, you understand, we've got to start as quick as we can, for it isn't safe for us to be seen around here." "of course not," agreed the stranger, with another chuckle; for the whole affair seemed to amuse him greatly. "but what are you going to do for food? you'll be apt to get hungry before long." "i am already," acknowledged bonny, "and that was another thing i was going to ask you about. i thought maybe you wouldn't mind giving us some pointers from your own experience in picking up your three little square meals a day when you are on the road." at this point the stranger burst into what began like uncontrollable laughter, but which proved to be only a severe fit of coughing. when it was over, he said: "your name is bonny brooks, isn't it?" "yes; but don't speak so loud." "all right, i won't. but, bonny brooks, you were mighty kind to me yesterday--kinder than any one else has been for a long time. by-the-way, did you bring my old hat with you?" "no, of course not." "no matter. i said i would redeem it, and i am going to do so by putting you on to a mighty soft snap. i'm bound to the southward myself, and, as it happens, there is a sort of boarding-car going to pull out of here for somewhere down the line in about half an hour. it is in charge of the cook, and as he and i are on what you might call extra good terms, he is going to let me ride with him as far as he goes. there won't be a soul on board but him and me, unless i can persuade him to let you two boys come along with us. i am pretty sure i can, though, for he is under several obligations to me, and if you'll promise to stay quietly in this freight-car until i come for you, i'll go this minute and see him. what do you say?" "i say you are a trump, and if you'll only work that racket for us, i'll share half the money with you that i'm to get from rick as soon as we reach san francisco." "oh ho! he is to give you money, is he?" "yes; that is, he has promised me one hundred dollars to make up for the wages i leave behind, if i'll only get him there. of course that's all his joke, though, for he is just as poor as i am." so bonny clambered back into the car where he told rick of the fine arrangement he had just made; while for the next half-hour that shabbily attired stranger was the busiest man in tacoma, and kept a great many other people busy at the same time. finally, just as the boys were beginning to think he had forgotten them, he appeared at the door of the freight-car, and said, in a loud whisper: "come, quick. i think they are after you." as they scrambled out, he started on a run towards a single car that, with an engine attached, stood on a siding in the darkest corner of the railroad yard. here he hurriedly whispered to the boys to crouch low on its rear platform until it started, when the cook would open the door. then he disappeared. in another minute the car began to move, and directly afterwards its door was opened. there seemed to be no light in the interior, and, without seeing any one, the boys heard a strange voice, evidently that of a negro, bidding them come in out of the cold. they entered the car, alaric going first, and were led through a narrow passage into what was evidently a large compartment. they heard their guide retreating through the passage, and were beginning to feel rather uneasy, when suddenly they were surrounded and dazzled by a great flood of electric light. chapter xl a flood of light as the brilliant light flooded the place where the boys stood, they were for a minute blinded by its radiance. bonny was bewildered and frightened, and even alaric was greatly startled. gradually, as their eyes grew accustomed to the brightness, they became aware of a single figure standing before them, and regarding them curiously. alaric looked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. then he sprang forward with a great shout. "dad! you dear old dad! i never was so glad to see any one in my life!" "rick! you young rascal!" cried amos todd. "how could you play your old father such a trick? never mind, though; you've won your game, and at the same time made me the very happiest and proudest man on the coast this night. stand there, sir, and let me have a good look at you." with this the proud father held his stalwart son off at arm's-length and gazed at him with loving admiration. "the very neatest trick i ever heard of--the most impudent, and the most successful," he murmured. "but don't you ever be guilty of such a thing again, you young smuggler." "indeed i won't, dad, for i know i shall never have any reason or desire to repeat it," replied alaric, promptly, his voice trembling with joyful excitement. "but, dad, you mustn't forget bonny; for whatever i have gained or learned this past summer i owe to him." "god bless the lad! indeed i will never forget what he has done both for you and for me," cried amos todd, stepping forward and seizing bonny's hand in a grasp that made him wince. poor bewildered bonny, standing amid the glitter of silver and plate-glass, surrounded by furnishings of such luxurious character as he had never imagined could exist in real life, vaguely wondered whether he were under the spell of some beautiful enchantment or merely dreaming. there must be some reality to it all, though, for the stranger in the shabby garments, whom he had befriended only the day before, and still wearing the same hat he had given him, was surely holding his hand and saying very pleasant things. but who could he be? he certainly was not acting like a tramp, or one who was greatly in need of charity. alaric came to the puzzled lad's relief. "he is my father, mr. amos todd," he cried. "and, bonny, you will forgive me, won't you, for not telling you before? you see, i was afraid to let even you know that i was the son of a rich man, because i wanted you to like me for myself alone." "you know i do, rick dale! you know i do!" exclaimed bonny, impulsively, finding his voice at last. "but, rick," he added, almost in a whisper, "are you sure there isn't any mistake about it all? amos todd, you know, is president of the northwest company, and the richest man on the coast. they do say he's a millionaire." "it's all right, bonny. i expect he is a millionaire," answered alaric, joyously. "but we won't lay it up against him, will we? and we'll try not to think any the less of him for it. i didn't know he was president of the northwest company, though. are you, dad?" "i believe i am," laughed amos todd. "and i certainly have cause to be grateful that i hold the office, for it was while making my official inspection of the camps yesterday that i ran across you boys. i didn't know you, though, rick--'pon my word, i didn't. you bore a faint resemblance to my little 'allie' as you came riding those logs down the skid-road, but i knew you couldn't be he, for i was certain that he was on the other side of the world by this time. and so you shook the sonntaggs, and let them run away from you. it was wrong, rick, very wrong, but i don't blame you--not one bit, i don't. i'd have done the same thing myself." "but, dad, how did you come to find me out? i don't understand it at all." "by your own letter to esther, lad. she forwarded it to me in france; but i had gone when it reached there, and so it was sent to san francisco. i left margaret on the other side for the winter, and came back by way of montreal and the canadian pacific, intending to stop here and inspect the lumber camps on my way home. i telegraphed john to send this car and all my mail up here, and they came last night. as soon as i read your letter i felt pretty certain that it was you whom i had seen doing the circus act on those logs. i wasn't quite sure, though, and didn't want to make any mistake, so i just sent word to linton to fetch you in, that i might take a good look at you." "so it was you who sent for us?" "certainly. and you thought it was the revenue-officers, and so decided to give 'em the slip, and beat your way home to claim protection of your old dad--eh, you rascal? and bonny here took me for a fellow-tramp who could put him on to the racket. ha, ha, ha! ho, ho, ho! oh my! i shall die of laughing yet at thinking of it. it was all the hat, though, wasn't it, bonny? i hated to cut it up, for i only bought it in paris the other day, and hadn't another with me; but i wanted to inspect the camp without being known, and it was the only disguise i could think of. but, boys, what do you say to supper? if you are as hungry as i am you must be more than ready for it." indeed, they were ready for supper, and when they sat down to that daintily served meal, in the exquisitely appointed dining-room of president todd's own private car, bonny at last understood why alaric had ordered that strange lot of supplies for the sloop _fancy_. after supper they returned to the saloon, where amos todd lighted a cigar, and listened to the wonderful story of trial and triumph, privation and strange vicissitude, that had transformed his pale-faced weakling into the strong, handsome, self-reliant youth upon whom he now gazed so proudly. when the long story was ended, he asked, quietly: "how much have you earned by your summer's work, son; and what have you to show for it?" "if you mean in money, dad, not one cent; and all i have to show, besides what you've already noticed, is this." here alaric held out a dilapidated baseball, at which his father gazed curiously. "with that ball," continued alaric, "i took my first lesson in being a boy, and it has led me on from one thing to another ever since until, finally, this very evening, it brought me back to you. so, dad, i should say that it stood for my whole summer's work." "i am thankful, rick, that you haven't earned any money, and that through bitter want of it you have learned its value," said amos todd. "i am thankful, too, that there is still one thing for which you have to come to your old dad. more than all am i thankful for what you have gained without his help, or, rather, in spite of him; and had i known last spring what that baseball was to do for you, i would gladly have paid a million of dollars for it." "you may have it now, dad, for one hundred, which is just the amount i owe bonny." "done!" cried amos todd; and thus he came into possession of the well-worn baseball that, set in a plate of silver and enclosed in a superb frame, soon afterwards hung above his private desk in san francisco. here our story properly ends, but we cannot help telling of two or three things that happened soon after the disappearance of our hump-durgin boys from camp no. , and as a direct result of their having lived there. to begin with, mr. linton felt himself so insulted by the manner in which president todd made his inspection that he resigned his position, and, on the recommendation of alaric, buck ranlet was given his place. on the strength of this promotion the big "faller" went east to marry the girl of his choice, and both alaric and bonny were present at the wedding. through the liberality of amos todd, the ex-hump-durgin boys were enabled to present the camp with their shack, converted into a neat little library building and filled with carefully selected books, in which the occupants of the camp are greatly pleased to discover many of the tales already told them by rick dale. a certain famous and badly used-up hat, carefully removed from the camp, belongs to bonny brooks, and adorns a wall in one of a beautiful suite of rooms that he and alaric occupy together at harvard. here alaric is taking an academic course, while bonny, whom amos todd regards almost as an own son, is sturdily working his way through the mathematical and mechanical labyrinths of a manual training school. they went to cambridge just one year after completing their studies as hump-durgin boys; and while they were still freshmen, the splendid baseball-player, who, though only just entering his junior year, was captain of the 'varsity nine, happened to be badly in need of a catcher. "i can tell you of one who can't be beat this side of the rocky mountains," suggested his classmate and pitcher, dave carncross. "who is he?" "rick todd, a freshman." "son of amos todd, your san francisco millionaire?" "yes." "then i don't want him. millionaires' sons are no good." "this one is, though," insisted carncross; "and i ought to know, for i taught him to catch his first ball. you just come over to soldiers' field this afternoon and size him up." the captain needed a first-class man behind the bat so badly that, in spite of his prejudices, he consented to do as his pitcher desired. he was amazed, delighted, and enthusiastic. never had he seen such an exhibition of ball-catching as was given by that freshman. finally he could contain himself no longer, and rushing up to his classmate, he exclaimed: "carncross, he's a wonder! introduce me at once." "rick todd," said dave carncross, "permit me to present you to my friend phil ryder, captain of the 'varsity nine." as the two lads grasped each other's hands there came a flash of recognition into each face, and both remembered where they had met each other last. the end books by kirk munroe campmates. illustrated. dorymates. illustrated. canoemates. illustrated. raftmates. illustrated. wakulla. illustrated. the flamingo feather. illustrated. derrick sterling. illustrated. chrystal, jack & co. illustrated. the copper princess. illustrated. forward, march! illustrated. the blue dragon. illustrated. for the mikado. illustrated. under the great bear. illustrated. the fur-seal's tooth. illustrated. snow-shoes and sledges. illustrated. rick dale. illustrated. the painted desert. illustrated. transcriber's notes: . page scan source: https://books.google.com/books?id=k a aqaamaaj volume of mrs. wood's novels, (r. bentley, ) (the university of california). the master of greylands. a novel. by mrs. henry wood, author of "east lynne," "the channings," etc. london: richard bentley & son, new burlington street. publishers in ordinary to her majesty. . [all rights of translation and reproduction are reserved.] london: printed by j. ogden and co. , st. john street, e.c. contents. chap. i. in the bank parlour. ii. the grey ladies. iii. at the dolphin inn. iv. foreshadowings of evil. v. the ball. vi. anthony castlemaine on his search. vii. in the moonlight. viii. commotion at stilborough. ix. a curious story. x. just as she had seen it in her dream. xi. inside the nunnery. xii. madame guise. xiii. a storm of wind. xiv. plotting and planning. xv. getting in by deceit. xvi. at greylands' rest. xvii. opening the bureau. xviii. the grey monk. xix. jane hallet. xx. an unwelcome intruder. xxi. in the chapel ruins. xxii. miss hallet in the dust. xxiii. the secret passage. xxiv. going over in the two-horse van. xxv. mr. george north. xxvi. dining at greylands' rest. xxvii. in the vaults. xxviii. out to shoot a night-bird. xxix. one more interview. xxx. love's young dream. xxxi. calling in the blacksmith. xxxii. miss jane in trouble. xxxiii. a turbulent sea. xxxiv. changed to paradise. xxxv. the last cargo. xxxvi. gone. xxxvii. anthony. xxxviii. rebellion. xxxix. no turning back. conclusion. the master of greylands. chapter i. in the bank parlour. stilborough. an old-fashioned market-town of some importance in its district, but not the chief town of the county. it was market-day: thursday: and the streets wore an air of bustle, farmers and other country people passing and repassing from the corn-market to their respective inns, or perhaps from their visit, generally a weekly one, to the banker's. in the heart of the town, where the street was wide and the buildings were good, stood the bank. it was nearly contiguous to the town-hall on the one hand, and to the old church of st. mark on the other, and was opposite the new market-house, where the farmers' wives and daughters sat with their butter and poultry. for in those days--many a year ago now--people had not leaped up above their sphere; and the farmers' wives would have thought they were going to ruin outright had anybody but themselves kept market. a very large and handsome house, this bank, the residence of its owner and master, mr. peter castlemaine. no name stood higher than mr. peter castlemaine's. though of sufficiently good descent, he was, so to say, a self-made man. beginning in a small way in early life, he had risen by degrees to what he now was--to what he had long been--the chief banker in the county. people left the county-town to bank with him; in all his undertakings he was supposed to be flourishing; in realized funds a small millionaire. the afternoon drew to a close; the business of the day was over; the clerks were putting the last touches to their accounts previously to departing, and mr. peter castlemaine sat alone in his private room. it was a spacious apartment, comfortably and even luxuriously furnished for a room devoted solely to business purposes. but the banker had never been one of those who seem to think that a hard chair and a bare chamber are necessary to the labour that brings success. the rich crimson carpet with its soft thick rug threw a warmth of colouring on the room, the fire flashed and sparkled in the grate: for the month was february and the weather yet wintry. before his own desk, in a massive and luxurious arm-chair, sat mr. peter castlemaine. he was a tall, slender, and handsome man, fifty-one years of age this same month. his hair was dark, his eyes were brown, his good complexion was yet clear and bright. in manner he was a courteous man, but naturally a silent one; rather remarkably so; his private character and his habits were unexceptionable. no one had ever a moment's access to this desk at which he sat: even his confidential old clerk could not remember to have been sent to it for any paper or deed that might be wanted in the public rooms. the lid of the desk drew over and closed with a spring, so that in one instant its contents could be hidden from view and made safe and fast. the long table in the middle of the room was to-day more than usually covered with papers; a small marble slab between mr. peter castlemaine's left hand and the wall held sundry open ledgers piled one upon another, to which he kept referring. column after column of figures: the very sight of them enough to give an unfinancial man the nightmare: but the banker ran his fingers up and down the rows at railroad speed, for, to him, it was mere child's-play. seldom has there existed a clearer head for his work than that of peter castlemaine. but for that fact he might not have been seated where he was to-day, the greatest banker for miles round. and yet, as he sat there, surrounded by these marks and tokens of wealth and power, his face presented a sad contrast to them and to the ease and luxury of the room. sad, careworn, anxious, looked he; and, as he now and again paused in his work to pass his hand over his brow, a heavy sigh escaped him. the more he referred to his ledgers, and compared them with figures and papers on the desk before him, so much the more perplexed and harassed did his face become. in his eyes there was the look of a hunted animal, the look of a drowning man catching at a straw, the look that must have been in the eyes of poor louis dixhuit when they discovered him in his disguise and turned his horses' heads backwards. at last, throwing down his pen, he fell back in his chair, and hid his face in his hands. "no escape," he murmured, "no escape! unless a miracle should supervene, i am undone." he remained in this attitude, that told so unmistakably of despair, for some minutes, revolving many things: problems working themselves in and out of his brain confusedly, as a man works in and out of a labyrinth, to which he has lost the clue. a small clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour, five, and then chimed an air once popular in france. it was a costly trifle that the banker had bought years ago. paintings, articles of virtu, objets de luxe, had always possessed attractions for him. the chimes aroused him. "i must talk to hill," he muttered: "no use putting it off till another day." and he touched the spring of his small hand-bell. in answer, the door opened, and there entered a little elderly man with snow-white hair worn long behind, and a good-looking, fair, and intellectual face, its eyes beaming with benevolence. he wore a black tail coat, according to the custom of clerks of that day, and a white cambric frilled shirt like that of his master. it was thomas hill; for many years mr. peter castlemaine's confidential clerk and right hand. "come in, hill; come in," said the banker. "close the door--and lock it." "the clerks are gone, sir; the last has just left," was the reply. but the old man nevertheless turned the key of the door. mr. peter castlemaine pointed to a seat close to him; and his clerk, quiet in all his movements, as in the tones of his voice, took it in silence. for a full minute they looked at each other; thomas hill's face reflecting the uneasiness of his master's. he was the first to speak. "i know it, sir," he said, his manner betraying the deepest respect and sympathy. "i have seen it coming for a long while. so have you, sir. why have you not confided in me before?" "i could not," breathed mr. peter castlemaine. "i wanted to put it from me, hill, as a thing that could never really be. it has never come so near as it has come now, hill; it has never been so real as at this moment of outspoken words." "it was not my place to take the initiative, sir; but i was wishing always that you would speak to me. i could but place facts and figures before you and point to results, compare past balances with present ones, other years' speculations with last year's, and--and give you the opportunity of opening the subject with me. but you never would open it." "i have told you why, hill," said peter castlemaine. "i strove to throw the whole trouble from me. it was a weak, mistaken feeling; nine men out of every ten would have been actuated by it under similar circumstances. and yet," he continued, half in soliloquy, "i never was much like other men, and i never knew myself to be weak." "never weak; never weak," responded the faithful clerk, affectionately. "i don't know, hill; i feel so now. this has been to me long as a far-off monster, creeping onwards by degrees, advancing each day by stealthy steps more ominously near: and now it is close at hand, ready to crush me." "i seem not to understand it," said poor hill. "and there are times when i cannot," returned mr. peter castlemaine. "in the old days, sir, everything you handled turned to gold. you had but to take up a speculation, and it was sure to prove a grand success. why, sir, your name has become quite a proverb for luck. if castlemaine the banker's name is to it, say people of any new undertaking, it must succeed. but for some time past things have changed, and instead of success, it has been failure. sir, it is just as though your hand had lost its cunning." "right, hill," sighed his master, "my hand seems to have lost its cunning. it is--i have said it over and over again to myself--just as though some curse pursued me. ill-luck; nothing but ill-luck! if a scheme has looked fair and promising to-day, a blight has fallen on it to-morrow. and i, like a fool, as i see now, plunged into fresh ventures, hoping to redeem the last one. how few of us are there who know how to pull up in time! were all known the public would say that the mania of gambling must have taken hold of me----" "no, no," murmured the clerk. "----when it was but the recklessness of a drowning man. why, hill--if i could get in the money at present due to me, money that i think will come in, perhaps shortly, though it is locked up now, we should weather the storm." "i trust it will be weathered, sir, somehow. at the worst, it will not be a bad failure; there'll be twenty shillings in the pound if they will but wait. perhaps, if you called a private meeting and pointed things out, and showed them that it is only time you want, they'd consent to let you have it. matters would go on then, and there'd be no exposure." "it is the want of time that will crush me," said peter castlemaine. "but if they will allow you time, sir?" "all will not," was the significant answer, and mr. peter castlemaine lowered his voice as he spoke it, and looked full at his clerk. "you know those armannon bonds?" whether it was the tone, the look, or the question, certain it was that in that instant an awful dread, an instinct of evil, seized upon the old man. his face turned white. "i had to use those bonds, hill," whispered his master. "to mortgage them, you understand. but, as i am a living man, i believed when i did it that in less than a week they would be redeemed and replaced." "mortgaged the armannon bonds!" ejaculated thomas hill, utterly unable to take in the fact, and looking the picture of horror. "and they are not yet redeemed." the clerk wrung his hands. "my master! my friend and master! how could you? surely it was done in a moment of madness!" "of weakness, of wickedness, if you will, thomas, but not madness. i was as sane as i am now. you remember the large payment we had to make last august? it had to be made, you know, or things would have come to a crisis then. i used the bonds to raise the money." "but i--i cannot comprehend," returned the clerk slowly, after casting his recollection back. "i thought you borrowed that money from mr. castlemaine." "no. mr. castlemaine would not lend it me. i don't know whether he smelt a rat and got afraid for the rest i hold of his. what he said was, that he had not so large a sum at his disposal. or, it may be," added the banker in a dreamy kind of tone, "that james thought i was only going into some fresh speculation, and considers i am rich enough already. how little he knows!" "oh, but these deeds must be redeemed!" cried the old clerk, rising from his seat in excitement. "at all sacrifice they must be got back, sir. if you have to sell up all, houses, land, and everything, they must be returned to their safe resting-place. you must not longer run this dreadful risk, sir: the fear of it would bring me down in suspense and sorrow to my grave." "then, what do you suppose it has been doing for me?" rejoined mr. peter castlemaine. "many a time and oft since, i have said to myself, 'next week shall see those bonds replaced.' but the 'next week' has never come: for i have had to use all available cash to prop up the falling house and keep it from sinking. once down, hill, the truth about the bonds could no longer be concealed." "you must sell all, sir." "there's nothing left to sell, thomas," said his master. "at least, nothing immediately available. it is time that is wanted. given that, i could put things straight again." a trying silence. thomas hill's face was full of pain and dread. "i have a little accumulated money of my own, sir: some of it i've saved, some came to me when my brother died," he said. "it is about six thousand pounds, and i have neither chick nor child. every shilling of it shall be yours, sir, as soon as i can withdraw it from where it is invested." his master grasped his hands. "faithful man and friend!" he cried, the tears of emotion dimming his brown eyes. "do you think i would accept the sacrifice and bring you to ruin as i have brought myself? never that, hill." "the money shall be yours, sir," repeated the clerk firmly. "hush, hush!" cried mr. peter castlemaine. "though i were dying of shame and hunger, i would not take it. and, do you not see, my friend, that it would be a useless sacrifice? six thousand pounds would be swallowed up unheeded in the vortex: it would be but as a drop of water to the heaving ocean." it was even so. thomas hill saw it. they sat down together and went into the books: the banker showing him amounts and involvements that he had never suspected before. the ruin seemed to be close at hand; there seemed to be no possible way out of it. common ruin thomas hill might have got over in time; but this ruin, the ruin that threatened his master, would have turned his hair white in a night had time not already turned it. and crimes were more heavily punished in those days than they are in these. at a quarter to six o'clock, peter castlemaine was in his dining-room, dressed for dinner. he often had friends to dine with him on market-days, and was expecting some that night: a small social party of half a dozen, himself included. he stood with his back to the fire, his brow smoothed, his aspect that of complete ease; he could hear his butler coming up the stairs to show in the first guest. all the dwelling-rooms were on this first floor, the ground-floor being entirely appropriated to business. "mr. castlemaine." the two brothers met in the middle of the room and shook hands. mr. castlemaine was the elder by two years, but he did not look so, and there was a very great likeness between them. fine, upright, handsome men, both; with clear, fresh faces, well-cut features, and keen, flashing, dark eyes. very pleasant men to talk to; but silent men as to their own affairs. mr. castlemaine had just come in from his residence, greylands' rest: it was in contradistinction to him that the banker was invariably called mr. peter castlemaine. "all well at home, james?" "quite so, thank you." "you were not in at market, to-day." "no: i had nothing particular to call me in. are you expecting a large party this evening?" "only six of us. here comes another." the butler's step was again heard. but this time he came, not to announce a guest, but to bring a note, just delivered. peter castlemaine's hand shook slightly as he opened it. he dreaded all letters now. it proved, however, to be only an excuse from one of the expected guests: and a strange relief sat on his face as he turned to his brother. "lawrence can't come, james. so there'll be but five of us." "lawrence is not much loss," said mr. castlemaine, "you don't look quite yourself, peter," he added, to his brother; something in the latter's countenance having struck his observant eye. "i think you are working too hard; have thought so for some time. don't let the love of money take all pleasure out of life. surely you must have made enough, and might now take some rest." the banker laughed. "as to taking rest, that's easier recommended than done, james. i am too young to give up work yet: i should be like a fish out of water." "ah well--we are all, i expect, wedded to our work--whatever it may be: creatures of habit," admitted mr. castlemaine. "i will just go and see mary ursula. she in her room, i suppose. what a treasure you possess in that girl, peter!" "beyond the wealth of solomon; beyond all price," was the impulsive answer, and peter castlemaine's face glowed as he made it. "yes, you will find her in her room, james." mr. castlemaine went to the end of the wide and handsome passage,--its walls lined with paintings, its floor covered with a carpet, rich and soft as moss,--and knocked at a door there. a sweet voice bade him enter. the small, choice room was brilliantly lighted with wax tapers; the fire threw a warmth on its dainty furniture. a stately lady, tall, slight, and very beautiful, who had been working at a sketch, put down her pencil, and rose. it was miss castlemaine, the banker's only child: as fair a picture as could be found in the world. she wore a white muslin dress, made low in the fashion of the day. on her queen-like neck was a string of pearls; bracelets of pearls clasped her pretty arms. her face was indeed beautiful: it was like her father's face, but more delicately carved; the complexion was of a paler and fairer tint; the brown eyes, instead of flashing, as his did in his youth, had a subdued, almost a sad look in them. it was one of the sweetest faces ever seen, but altogether its pervading expression was that of sadness: an expression that in her childhood had led many an old woman to say, "she is too good to live." she had lived, however, in the best of strength and health, until now, when she was in her five-and-twentieth year. an accomplished lady, she, very much so for those days, and of great good sense; her conversational powers rare; a sound musician, and a fair linguist, fond of sketching and painting in watercolours. with it all, she was particularly gentle in manner, modest and retiring as a woman should be: there was at all times a repose upon her that seemed to exhale repose, and was most charming. her father loved her with an ardent love; he had lost his wife, and this child was all-in-all to him. but for her sake, he might not have dreaded the coming disgrace with the intense horror he did dread it. his happiest hours were spent with her. in the twilight he would sit in the music-room, listening to her playing on the piano, or on the sweet-toned organ he had had built for her--the tones not more sweet, though, than her own voice when raised in song. her gift of extemporising was of no mean order; and as the banker sat listening to the organ's sounds, its rise and fall, its swelling and dying away, he would forget his cares. she was engaged to william blake-gordon, the eldest son of sir richard blake-gordon; a poor, but very haughty baronet, unduly proud of his descent. but for the vast amount of money miss castlemaine was expected to inherit, sir richard had never condescended to give his consent to the match: but the young man loved her for her own sake. just now miss castlemaine was alone: the lady, mrs. webb, who resided with her as chaperon and companion, having been called away by the illness of a near relative. one word as to her name--mary ursula. a somewhat long name to pronounce, but it was rarely shortened by her relatives. the name had been old mrs. castlemaine's, her grandmother's, and was revered in the castlemaine family. "i knew it was you, uncle james," she said, meeting him with both hands extended. "i knew you would come in to see me." he took her hands into one of his and touched fondly her beautiful hair, that so well set-off the small and shapely head, and kissed her tenderly. mr. castlemaine was fond of his niece, and very proud of her. "your face is cold, uncle james." "fresh with the out-of-door cold, my dear. i walked in." "all the way from greylands!" he laughed at her "all the way." it was but three miles; scarcely that. "i felt inclined for the walk, mary ursula. the carriage will come in to take me home." "is ethel well, uncle james? and mrs. castlemaine?" "quite so, my dear. what are you doing here?" she had sat down to the table again, and he bent his head over her to look at her drawing. there was a moment's silence. "why it is--it is the friar's keep!" exclaimed mr. castlemaine. "yes," she answered. "i sketched its outlines when at your house last summer, and i have never filled it in until now." she sketched as she did everything else--almost perfectly. the resemblance was exact, and mr. castlemaine said so. "it seems to me already completed!" he observed. "all but the shading of the sky in the back-ground." "why have you made those two windows darker than the rest?" miss castlemaine smiled as she answered jestingly, "i thought there should be no opportunity given for the appearance of the grey friar in my drawing, uncle james." mr. castlemaine drew in his lips with a peculiar twist. the jest pleased him. "have you seen much of the grey sisters lately, uncle james?" this did not please him. and mary ursula, as she caught the involuntary frown that knitted his bold brow, felt vexed to have asked the question. not for the first time, as she well recalled, had mr. castlemaine shown displeasure at the mention of the "grey sisters." "why do you not like them, uncle james?" "i cannot help thinking that greylands might get on better if it were rid of them," was the short reply of mr. castlemaine. but he passed at once from the subject. "and we are not to have this fair young lady-hostess at the dinner-table's head to-night?" he cried, in a different and a warm tone, as he gazed affectionately at his niece. "mary ursula, it is a sin. i wish some customs were changed! and you will be all alone!" "'never less alone than when alone,'" quoted mary ursula: "and that is true of me, uncle mine. but to-night i shall not be alone in any sense, for agatha mountsorrel is coming to bear me company." "agatha mountsorrel! i don't care for her, mary ursula. she is desperately high and mighty." "all the mountsorrels are that--with their good descent and their wealth, i suppose they think they have cause for it--but i like her. and i fancy that is her carriage stopping now. there's six o'clock, uncle; and you will be keeping the soup waiting." six was striking from the room's silver-gilt timepiece. "i suppose i must go," said mr. castlemaine. "i'd rather stay and spend the evening with you." "oh, uncle james, think of the baked meats!" she laughed. "of the nectar-cup!" "what are baked meats and a nectar-cup to the brightness of thine eyes, to the sweet discourse of thy lips? there's not thy peer in this world, mary ursula." "uncle, uncle, you would spoil me. flattery is like a subtle poison, that in time destroys sound health." "fare you well, my dear. i will come and say goodnight to you before i leave." as mr. castlemaine trod the corridor, he met miss mountsorrel coming up: a handsome, haughty girl in a scarlet cloak and hood. she returned his salute with a sweeping bow, and passed on her way in silence. t tie dinner was one of those perfect little repasts that the banker was renowned for. the three other guests were sir richard blake-gordon; the reverend john marston, vicar of st. mark's and also of greylands, generally called by the public "parson mas'on;" and mr. knivett, family solicitor to the castlemaines. the wines were excellent; the reunion was altogether sociable and pleasant; and the banker's brow gave no indication of the strife within. it's true mr. marston took his full share of the wine--as many a parson then appeared to think it quite religious to do--and talked rather too much accordingly. but the guests enjoyed themselves and broke up before eleven. mr. castlemaine, who could drink his wine with any man, but took care never to take more than he could carry as a gentleman, proceeded to his niece's room to say goodnight to her; as he had promised to do. "i hope i have not kept you up, my dear," he began as he entered. "oh no, uncle james," was mary ursula's answer. "i never go to bed until i have sung the evening hymn to papa." "where's miss mountsorrel?" "the carriage came for her at ten o'clock." "and pray where's master william, that he has not been here this evening?" she blushed like a summer rose. "do you think he is here every evening, uncle james? mrs. webb warned him in time that it would not be etiquette, especially while she was away. and how have you enjoyed yourself?" "passably. the baked meats you spoke of were tempting; the nectar good. of which nectar, in the shape of a dinner port, the parson took slightly more than was necessary. what toast, do you suppose, he suddenly gave us?" "how can i tell, uncle james?" she rejoined, looking up. "we were talking of you at the moment, and the parson rose to his legs, his glass in his hand. 'here's to the fairest and sweetest maiden in the universe,' said he, 'and may she soon be lady blake-gordon!'" "oh, how could he!" exclaimed miss castlemaine, colouring painfully in her distress. "and sir richard present!" "as to sir richard, i thought he was going frantic. you know what he is. 'zounds! sir parson,' he cried, starting up in his turn, 'do you wish me dead? is it not enough that the young lady should first become mistress blake-gordon? am i so old and useless as to be wished out of the world for the sake of my son's aggrandisement?'--and so on. marston pacified him at last, protesting that he had only said mistress blake-gordon; or that, if he had not, he had meant to say it. and now, goodnight, my dear, for i don't care to keep my horses standing longer in the cold. when are you coming to stay at greylands' rest?" "whenever you like to invite me, uncle james. i wish you could get papa over for a week. it would give him rest: and he has not appeared to be well of late. he seems full of care." "of business, my dear; not care. though, of course, undertakings such as his must bring care with them. you propose it to him; and come with him: if he will come for anybody's asking, it is yours." "you will give my love to ethel; and----" castlemaine, stooping to kiss her, arrested the words with a whisper. "when is it to be, mary ursula? when shall we be called upon to congratulate mistress blake-gordon? soon?" "oh uncle, i don't know." and she laughed and blushed, and felt confused at the outspoken words: but in her inmost heart was as happy as a queen. chapter ii. the grey ladies. a romantic, picturesque fishing village was that of greylands, as secluded as any english village can well be. stilborough was an inland town; greylands was built on the sea-coast. the london coaches, on their way from stilborough to the great city, would traverse the nearly three miles of dreary road intervening between the town and the village, dash suddenly, as it were, upon the sea on entering the village, and then turn sharply off in its midst by the dolphin inn, and go on its inland road again. as to london, it was so far off, or seemed so in those quiet, non-travelling days, that the villagers would as soon have expected to undertake a journey to the moon. the first object to be seen on drawing near to greylands from stilborough, was the small church; an old stone building on the left hand, with its graveyard around it. on the opposite side of the road the cliffs rose high, and the sea could not be seen for them. the reverend john marston held the living of greylands in conjunction with st. mark's at stilborough: the two had always gone together, and the combined income was but poor. mr. marston was fond of fox-hunting in winter, and of good dinners at all seasons: as many other parsons were. greylands did not get much benefit from him. he was non-resident, as the parsons there had always been, for he lived at st. mark's. of course, with two churches and only one parson to serve both, the services could but clash, for nobody can be doing duty in two places at once. once a month, on the third sunday, mr. marston scuffled over to greylands to hold morning service, beginning at twelve, he having scuffled through the prayers (no sermon that day) at st. mark's first. on the three other sundays he held the greylands service at three in the afternoon. so that, except for this sunday service, held at somewhat uncertain hours--for the easy-going parson did not always keep his time, and on occasion had been known to fail altogether--greylands was absolutely without pastoral care. descending onwards--an abrupt descent--past the church, the cliffs on the right soon ended abruptly; and the whole village, lying in its hollow, seemed to burst upon you all at once. it was very open, very wide just there. the beach lay flat and bare to the sea, sundry fishing-boats being high and dry there: others would be out at sea, catching fish. huts and cottages were built on the side of the rocks; and some few on the beach. on the left stood the dolphin inn, looking straight across the wide road to the beach and the sea; past which inn the coach-road branched off inland again. the village street--if it could be called a street--continued to wind on, up the village, the dolphin inn making a corner, as it were, between the street and the inland coach-road. let us follow this street. it is steep and winding, and for a short distance solitary. halfway up the ascent, on the left, and built on the sea-coast, rises the pile of old buildings called the grey nunnery. this pile stands back from the road across a narrow strip of waste land on which grass grows. the cliff is low there, understand, and the grey nunnery's built right at the edge, so that the waves dash against its lower walls at high water. the back of the building is to the road, the front to the sea. a portion of it is in ruins; but this end is quite habitable, and in it live some ladies, twelve, who are called the grey sisters, or sometimes the grey ladies, and who devote themselves to charity and to doing good. in spite of the appellation, they are of the reformed faith; strict, sound protestants: a poor community as to funds, but rich in goodness. they keep a few beds for the sick among the villagers, or for accidents; and they have a day school for the village children. if they could get better children to educate, they would be glad; and some of the ladies are accomplished gentlewomen. mr. castlemaine, who is, so to say, head and chief of the village of greylands, looking down on it from his mansion, greylands' rest, does not countenance these sisters: he discountenances them, in fact, and has been heard to ridicule the ladies. the master of greylands, the title generally accorded him, is no unmeaning appellation, for in most things his will is law. beyond the part of the building thus inhabited, there is a portion that lies in complete ruin; it was the chapel in the days of the monks, but its walls are but breast-high now; and beyond it comes another portion, still in tolerable preservation, called the friar's keep. the friar's keep was said to have gained its appellation from the fact that the confessor to the convent lived in it, together with some holy men, his brethren. a vast pile of buildings it must have been in its prime; and some of the traditions said that this friar's keep was in fact a monastery, divided from the nunnery by the chapel. a wild, desolate, grand place it must have been, looking down on the turbulent sea. tales and stories were still told of those days: of the jolly monks, of the secluded nuns, some tales good, some bad--just as tales in the generations to come will be told of the present day. but, whatever scandal may have been whispered, whatever dark deeds of the dark and rude ages gone by, none could be raised of the building now. the only inhabited part of it, that occupied by the good sisters, who were blameless and self-denying in their lives, who lived but to do good, was revered by all. that portion of it was open, and fair, and above-board; but some mysterious notions existed in regard to the other portion--the friar's keep. it was said to be haunted. now, this report, attaching to a building of any kind, would be much laughed at in these later times. for one believer in the superstition (however well it may be authenticated), ten, ay twenty, would ridicule it. the simple villagers around believed it religiously: it was said that the castlemaines, who were educated gentlemen, and anything but simple, believed it too. the friar's keep was known to be entirely uninhabited, and part of it abandoned to the owls and bats. this was indisputable; nevertheless, now and again glimpses of a light would be seen within the rooms by some benighted passer-by, and people were not wanting to assert that a ghostly form, habited in a friar's light grey cowl and skirts, would appear at the casement windows, bearing a lamp. strange noises had also been heard--or were said to have been. there was not one single inhabitant of the village, man or woman, who would have dared to cross the chapel ruins and enter the friar's keep alone after nightfall, had it been to save their lives. it did not lack a foundation, this superstition. tales were whispered of a dreadful crime that had been committed by one of the monks: it transpired abroad; and, to avoid the consequences of being punished by his brethren--who of course only could punish him after public discovery, whatever they might have done without it--he had destroyed himself in a certain room, in the grey habit of his order, and was destined to "come abroad" for ever. so the story ran, and so it was credited. the good ladies at the nunnery were grieved and vexed when allusion was made to the superstition in their presence, and would have put it down entirely if they could. they did not see anything themselves, were never disturbed by sounds: but, as the credulous villagers would remark to one another in private, the sisters were the very last people who would be likely to see and hear. they were not near enough to the friar's keep for that, and the casements in the keep could not be seen from their casements. the narrow common, or strip of waste land, standing between the street and the grey nunnery is enclosed by somewhat high palings. they run along the entire length of the building, from end to end, and have two gates of ingress. the one gate is opposite the porch door of the grey nunnery; the other gate leads into the chapel ruins. it should be mentioned that there was no door or communication of any kind between the nunnery and the site of the chapel, and it did not appear that there ever had been: so that, if anyone required to pass from the nunnery to the ruins or to the friar's keep, they must go round by the road and enter in at the other gate. the chapel wall, breast-high still, extended down to the palings, cutting off the nunnery and its waste ground from the ruins. in their secluded home lived these blameless ladies, ever searching for good to do. in a degree they served to replace the loss of a resident pastor. many a sick and dying bed that ought to have been mr. marston's care, had they soothed; more than one frail infant, passing away almost as soon as it had been born, had sister mildred, the pious superioress, after a few moments spent on her bended knees in silent deprecatory prayer, taken upon herself to baptize, that it might be numbered as of the fold of christ. they regretted that the clergyman was not more among them, but there it ended: the clergy of those days were not the active pastors of these, neither were they expected to be. the grey ladies paid mr. marston the utmost respect, and encouraged others to do so; and they were strict attendants at his irregular services on sundays. the origin of the sisterhood was this. many years before, a miss mildred grant, being in poor health, had gone to greylands for change of air. as she made acquaintance with the fishermen and other poor families, she was quite struck with their benighted condition, both as to spiritual and temporal need. she resolved to do what she could to improve this; she thought it might be a solemn duty laid purposely in her path; and, she took up her abode for good at one of the cottages, and was joined by her sister, mary grant. in course of time other ladies, wishing to devote their lives to good works joined them; at length a regular sisterhood of twelve was formed, and they took possession of that abandoned place, the old grey nunnery. six of these ladies were gentlewomen by birth and breeding; and these six had brought some portion of means with them. six were of inferior degree. these were received without money, and in lieu thereof made themselves useful, taking it in turns to see to the housekeeping, to do the domestic work, go on errands, make and mend the clothes, and the like. all were treated alike, wearing the same dress, and taking their meals together--save the two who might be on domestic duty for the week. at first the sisterhood had attracted much attention and caused some public talk--for such societies were then almost entirely unknown; but greylands was a secluded place, and this soon died away. sister mildred remained its head, and she was getting in years now. she was a clever, practical woman, without having received much education, though a lady by birth. latterly she had been in very ill-health; and she had always laboured under a defect, that of partial deafness. her sister mary had died early. immediately beyond the friar's keep the rocks rose abruptly again, and the sight of the sea was there, and for some little way onwards, inaccessible to the eye. further on, the heights were tolerably flat, and there the preventive men were enabled to pace--which they did assiduously: for those were the days of real smuggling, when fortunes were made by it and sometimes lives marred. the coastguard had a small station just beyond the village, and the officers looked pretty sharply after the beach and the doings of the fishermen. just opposite the friar's keep, on the other side the road, was a lane, called chapel lane, flanking a good-sized clump of trees, almost a grove; and within these trees rose a small, low, thatched-roof building, styled the hutt. the gentleman inhabiting this dwelling, a slight, bronzed, upright, and active man, with black eyes and black hair, was named teague. formerly an officer on board a man-of-war, he had saved enough for a competency through prize money and else, and had also a pension. the village called him commodore: he would have honestly told you himself that he had no right to that exalted rank--but he did not in the least object to the appellation. he was a vast favourite with the village, from the coastguardsmen to the poor fishermen, fond of treating them in his hutt, or of giving them a sail in his boat, or a seat in his covered spring cart--both of which articles he kept for pleasure. in habits he was somewhat peculiar; living alone without a servant of any kind, male or female, and waiting entirely on himself. chapel lane--a narrow, pleasant lane, with trees meeting overhead, and wild flowers adorning its banks and hedges in summer--led into the open country, and went directly past greylands' rest, the residence of the castlemaines. this lane was not the chief approach to the house; that was by the high coach-road that branched off by the dolphin inn. and this brings us to speak of the castlemaines. greylands' rest, and the estate on which it stood, had been purchased and entered upon many years before by the then head and chief of the family, anthony castlemaine. his children grew up there. he had three sons--basil, james, and peter. basil was three or four years the elder, for a little girl had died between him and james; and if he were living at the present time, he would be drawing towards sixty years of age. it was not known whether he was living or not. anthony castlemaine had been a harsh and hasty man; and basil was wild and wilful. after a good deal of unpleasantness at home, and some bitter quarrelling between father and son, in which the two younger sons took part against their brother, basil quitted his home and went abroad. he was twenty-two then, and had come into possession of a very fair sum of money, which fell to him from his late mother. the two other sons came into the same on attaining their majority. besides this, mr. castlemaine handed over to basil his portion, so that he went away rich. he went to seek his fortune and to get rid of his unnatural relatives, he informed his friends in greylands and stilborough, and he hoped never to come back again until greylands' rest was his. he never had come back all those years, something like five-and-twenty now, and they had never heard from him directly, though once or twice incidentally. the last time was about four years ago, when chance news came that he was alive and well. james castlemaine had remained with his father at greylands' rest, managing the land on the estate. peter had taken his portion and set up as a banker at stilborough; we have seen with what success. james married, and took his wife home to greylands' rest; but she died soon, leaving him a little son. several years subsequently he married again: a widow lady; and she was the present mrs. castlemaine. old anthony castlemaine lived on, year after year at greylands' rest, wondering whether he should see his eldest son again. with all basil's faults, he had been his father's favourite: and the old man grew to long for him. it was more than either of basil's brothers did. basil had had his portion from both father and mother, and so they washed their hands of him, as the two were wont to observe, and they did not want him back again. they, at least, had their wish, though mr. castlemaine had not. the old man lived to the age of eighty-five and then died without seeing his eldest son; without, in fact, being sure that he was still alive. it was not so very long now since old anthony died: they had just put off the mourning for him. james had come into greylands' rest on his father's death: or, at any rate, he had remained in possession; but of the real facts nothing transpired. rumours and surmises went abroad freely: you cannot hinder people's tongues: and very frequently when nothing is known tongues flow all the faster. some thought it was left to james in trust for basil; but nobody knew, and the castlemaines were close men, who never talked of their own affairs. the estate of greylands' rest was supposed to be worth about twelve hundred a year. it was the only portion of old mr. castlemaine's property that there could be any doubt or surmise about: what money he had to dispose of, he had divided during his lifetime between james and peter; basil having had his at starting. james castlemaine was the only gentleman of importance living at greylands; he was looked up to as a sort of feudal lord by its inhabitants generally, and swayed them at will. following the coach-road that led off by the dolphin for about half a mile, you came to a long green avenue on the right hand, which was the chief approach to greylands' rest. it was an old house, built of grey stone; a straggling, in-and-out, spacious, comfortable mansion, only two stories high. before the old-fashioned porch entrance lay a fine green lawn, with seats under its trees, and beds of flowers. stables, barns, kitchen gardens, and more lawns and flower beds lay around. the rooms inside were many, but rather small; and most of them had to be approached by a narrow passage: as is sometimes the case in ancient houses that are substantially built. from the upper rooms at the side of the house could be seen, just opposite, the friar's keep, its casements and its broken upper walls; commodore teague's hutt lying exactly in a line between the two buildings: and beyond all might be caught glimpses of the glorious sea. it was a cold, bright day in february, the day following the dinner at the banker's. mr. castlemaine was busy in his study--a business-room, where he kept his farming accounts, and wrote his letters--which was on the upper floor of the house, looking towards the sea and the friar's keep, and was approached from the wide corridor by a short narrow passage having a door at either end. the inner door mr. castlemaine often kept locked. in a pretty room below, warm and comfortable, and called the red parlour from its prevailing colour, its ceiling low, its windows opening to the lawn, but closed to-day, sat the ladies of his family: mrs. castlemaine, her daughter flora, and ethel reene. it has been said that james castlemaine's second wife was a widow--she was a mrs. reene. her first marriage had also been to a widower, mr. reene, who had one daughter, ethel. mrs. reene never took to this stepchild; she was jealous of mr. reene's affection for her; and when, on mr. reene's death, which occurred shortly after the marriage, it was found that he had left considerably more money to his child than to his new wife, mrs. reene's dislike was complete. a year or two after her marriage with mr. castlemaine, a little girl was born to her--flora. on this child, her only one, she lavished all her love--but she had none for ethel. mr. castlemaine, on his part, gave the greater portion of his affection to his son, the child of his first wife, harry. a very fine young man now, of some five-and-twenty years, was harry castlemaine, and his father was wrapped up in him. ethel addressed mr. and mrs. castlemaine as "papa" and "mamma," but she was in point of fact not really related to either. she was five years old when she came to greylands' rest, had grown up there as a child of the house, and often got called, out of doors, "miss castlemaine." ethel seemed to stand alone without kith or kin, with no one to love her; and she felt it keenly. as much as a young lady can be put upon and snubbed in a gentleman's well-appointed family, ethel reene was. mr. castlemaine was always kind to her, though perhaps somewhat indifferent; mrs. castlemaine was unkind and tyrannical; flora--an indulged, selfish, ill-bred girl of twelve, forward enough in some things for one double her age--did her best to annoy her in all ways. and mrs. castlemaine permitted this: she could see no fault in flora, she hated ethel. ethel reene was nineteen now, growing fast into womanhood; but she was young for her years, and of a charming simplicity--not so rare in girls then as it is now. she was good, gentle, and beautiful; with a pale, quiet beauty that slowly takes hold of the heart, but as surely stays there. her large eyes, full of depth, sweetness, and feeling, gazed out at you with almost the straightforward innocence of a child: and no child's heart could have been more free from guile. her hair was dark, her pretty features were refined and delicate, her whole appearance ladylike and most attractive. ethel reene had much to put up with in her everyday life: for mrs. castlemaine's conduct was trying in the extreme; flora's worse than trying. she seldom retaliated: having learnt how useless retaliation from her was against them: and, besides, she loved peace. but she was not without spirit: and only herself knew what it had cost her to learn to keep that spirit under: sometimes when matters went too far, she would check her stepmother's angry torrent by a few firm words, and quietly leave the room to take refuge in the peace and solitude of her own chamber. or else she would put her bonnet on and wander away to the cliffs; where, seated on the extreme edge, she would remain for hours, looking out on the sea. she had once been fond of taking her place in the chapel ruins, and sitting there, for the expanse of ocean seen from thence was most grand and beautiful; sometimes, when the water was low, so that the strip of beach beneath could be gained, she would step down the short but dangerous rock to it--which strip of beach was only accessible from the chapel ruins and at low tide. but one day mr. castlemaine happened to see her do this; he was very angry, and absolutely forbade her, not only to descend the rocks, but to enter, under any pretence whatsoever, the site of the chapel ruins. ethel was not one to disobey. but to sit on the higher rocks farther up, by the coastguard station, was not denied her; mr. castlemaine only enjoining her to be cautious. it had grown to be her favourite spot, and she often sat or walked there on the cliff's edge. the ever-changing water seemed to bring consolation to her spirit; it spoke to her in strange, soothing whispers; it fed the romance and the dreams that lie in a young girl's heart. when the sea was rough and the waves dashed against the cliffs, flinging up their spray mountains high, and sprinkling her face as with a mist, she would stand, lost in the grandeur and awe of the scene, her hat off and held by its ribbons, her hair floating in the wind: the sky and the waves seemed to speak to her soul of immortality; to bring nearer to her the far-off gates of heaven. and so, for want of suitable companionship, ethel reene shared her secrets with the sea. the glass doors of the red parlour were closed to-day against the east wind; the lawn beyond, though bright with sunshine, lay cold under its bare and wintry trees. mrs. castlemaine sat by the fire working at a pair of slippers; a little woman, she, dressed in striped green silk, with light hair, and a cross look on what had once been a very pretty, though sharp-featured face. ethel sat near the window, drawing; she wore a bright ruby winter dress of fine merino, with some white lace at its throat and sleeves; a blue ribbon, to which was suspended some small gold ornament, encircled her delicate neck; drops of gold were in her ears; and her pretty cheeks were flushed to crimson, for mrs. castlemaine was hot in dispute and making her feel very angry. flora, a restless damsel, in a flounced brown frock and white pinafore, with a fair, pretty, saucy face, and her flaxen curls tied back with blue, was perched on the music-stool before ethel's piano, striking barbarous chords with one hand and abusing ethel alternately. the dispute to-day was this. miss oldham, flora's governess, had lately given warning precipitately, and left greylands' rest; tired out, as everybody but mrs. castlemaine knew, with her pupil's insolence. mrs. castlemaine had not yet found anyone willing, or whom she deemed eligible, to replace her--for it must be remembered that governesses then were somewhat rare. weary of waiting, mrs. castlemaine had come to a sudden determination, and was now announcing it, that ethel should have the honour of filling the post. "it is of no use, mamma," said ethel. "i could not teach; i am sure i am not fit for it. and, you know, flora would never obey me." "that i'd not," put in miss flora, wheeling herself half round on the stool. "i hate governesses; and they do me no good. i don't know half as much as i did when miss oldham came, twelve months ago. do i, mamma?" "i fear you do not, my darling," replied mrs. castlemaine. "miss oldham's system of teaching was quite a failure, and she sadly neglected her duty; but----" "oh, mamma," interrupted flora, peevishly, "don't put in that horrid 'but.' i tell you i hate governesses; i'm not going to have another. nothing but learning lessons, lessons, lessons, all day long, just as though you wanted me to be a governess!" "if you did not learn, flora, you would grow up a little heathen," ethel ventured to remark. "you would not like that." "now don't you put in your word," retorted the girl, passionately. "it's not your place to interfere with me: is it, mamma?" "certainly not, my sweet child." miss flora had changed her place. quitting the music-stool for the hearthrug, she took up the poker; and now stood brandishing it around, and looking daggers at ethel. ethel, her sweet face still flushed, went steadily on with her drawing. "she's as ill-natured as she can be! she'd like--mamma, she'd like--to see me toiling at geography and french grammar all night as well as all day. nasty thing!" "i can believe anything of ethel that is ill-natured," equably spoke mrs. castlemaine, turning her slipper. "but i have made up my mind that she shall teach you, flo, my love, under--of course, entirely under--my superintendence. miss oldham used to resent interference." "i do think, mamma, you must be joking!" cried ethel, turning her flushed face and her beautiful eyes on her stepmother. "when do i joke?" retorted mrs. castlemaine. "it will save the nuisance of a governess in the house: and you shall teach flora." "i'll give her all the trouble i can; she's a toad," cried miss flora, bringing the poker within an inch of her mother's nose. "and i'll learn just what i like, and let alone what i don't like. she's not going to be set up in authority over me, as miss oldham was. i'll kick you if you try it, ethel." "stop, stop," spoke ethel, firmness in her tone, decision on her pretty lips. "mamma, pray understand me; i cannot attempt to do this. my life is not very pleasant now; it would be unbearable then. you know--you see--what flora is: how can you ask me?" mrs. castlemaine half rose, in her angry spirit. it was something new for ethel to set her mandates at defiance. her voice turned to a scream; her small light eyes dilated. "do you beard me in my own house, ethel reene? i say that you shall do this. i am mistress here----" mistress she might be, but mr. castlemaine was master and at that moment the door opened, and he came in. disputes were not very unusual in his home, but this seemed to be a frantic one. "what is the meaning of this?" he inquired, halting in astonishment, and taking in the scene with his keen dark eyes. his wife unusually angry, her voice high; ethel in tears--for they had come unbidden; flora brandishing the poker towards ethel, and dancing to its movements. mrs. castlemaine sat down to resume her wool-work, her ruffled feathers subdued to smoothness. she never cared to give way to unseemly temper, no, nor to injustice, in the presence of her husband; for she had the grace to feel that he would be ashamed of it--ashamed for her; and that it would still further weaken the little influence she retained over him. "were you speaking of a governess for flora?" he asked, advancing and taking the poker from the young lady's hand. "what has ethel to do with that?" "i was observing that ethel has a vast deal of leisure time, and that she might, rather than be idle, fill it up by teaching flora," replied mrs. castlemaine, as softly as though her mouth were made of butter. "especially as ethel's french is so perfect. as a temporary thing, of course, if--if it did not answer." "i do not find ethel idle: she always seems to me to have some occupation on hand," observed mr. castlemaine. "as to her undertaking the teaching of flora--would you like it, ethel?" "no, papa," was the brave answer, as she strove to hide her tears. "i have, i am sure, no talent for teaching; i dislike it very much: and flora would never obey a word i said. it would make my life miserable--i was saying so when you came in." "then, my dear child, the task shall certainly not be put upon yon. why need you have feared it would be? we have no more right to force ethel to do what is distasteful to her, than we should have to force it on ourselves," he added, turning to his wife. "you must see that, sophia." "but----" began mrs. castlemaine. "no buts, as to this," he interrupted. "you are well able to pay and keep a governess--and, as ethel justly observes, she would not be able to do anything with flora. miss oldham could not do it. my opinion is, no governess ever will do it, so long as you spoil the child." "i don't spoil her, james." mr. castlemaine lifted his dark eyebrows: the assertion was too palpably untrue to be worthy a refutation. "the better plan to adopt with flora would be to send her to school, as harry says----" "that i will never do." "then look out for a successor to miss oldham. and, my strong advice to you, sophia, is--let the governess, when she comes, hold entire control over flora and be allowed to punish her when she deserves it. i shall not care to see her grow up the self-willed, unlovable child she seems to be now." mrs. castlemaine folded up her slipper quietly and left the room; she was boiling over with rage, in spite of her apparent calmness. flora, who stood in fear of her father, flew off to the kitchen, to demand bread and jam and worry the servants. ethel was going on with her drawing; and mr. castlemaine, who had a taste for sketching himself, went and looked over her. "thank you, papa," she softly said, lifting to him for a moment her loving eyes. "it would have been bad both for flora and for me." "of course it would," he replied: "flora ought to have a good tight rein over her. what's this you are doing, ethel? the friar's keep! why, what a curious coincidence! mary ursula was filling in just the same thing last night." "was she, papa? it makes a nice sketch." "you don't draw as well as mary ursula does, ethel." "i do nothing as well as she does, papa. i don't think anybody does." "what are those figures in the foreground?" "i meant them for two of the grey sisters. their cloaks are not finished yet." "oh," said mr. castlemaine, rather shortly. "and that's a group of fishermen, i see: much the more sensible people of the two." "what did mary ursula say last night, papa?" "say? nothing particular. she sent her love to ethel." "did she dine at table?" "why, of course not, child. miss mountsorrel spent the evening with her." "and, papa," whispered ethel, with a pretty little laugh and blush, "is it fixed yet?" "is what fixed?" "the wedding-day." "i don't think so--or you would have heard of it. i expect she will ask you to be her bridesmaid." chapter iii. at the dolphin inn. the dolphin inn, as already said, stood in the angle between the village street and the high road that branched off from the street to the open country. it faced the road, standing, like most of the dwellings in greylands, somewhat back from it. a substantial, low-roofed house, painted yellow, with a flaming sign-board in front, bearing a dolphin with various hues and colours, and two low bow-windows on either side the door. beyond lay a yard with out-houses and stables, and there was some good land behind. along the wall, underneath the parlour windows and on either side of the entrance door, ran a bench on which wayfarers might sit; at right angles with it, near the yard, was a pump with a horse-trough beside it. upon a pinch, the inn could supply a pair of post-horses: but they were seldom called for, as stilborough was so near. it was the only inn of any kind at greylands, and was frequented by the fishermen, as well as occasionally by more important guests. the landlord was john bent. the place was his own, and had been his father's before him. he was considered to be a "warm" man; to be able to live at his ease, irrespective of custom. john bent was independent in manner and speech, except to his wife. mrs. bent, a thrifty, bustling, talkative woman, had taken john's independence out of him at first setting off, so far as she was concerned; but they got on very well together. to mr. castlemaine especially john was given to show independence. they were civil to each other, but there was no love lost between them. mr. castlemaine would have liked to purchase the dolphin and the land pertaining to it: he had made more than one strong overture to do so, which john had resisted and resented. the landlord, too, had taken up an idea that mr. castlemaine did not encourage the sojourn of strangers at the inn; but had done his best in a quiet way to discourage it, as was observed in regard to the grey ladies. altogether john bent did not favour the master of greylands. on one of the days of this selfsame month of february, when the air was keen and frosty and the sea sparkled under the afternoon sunshine, john bent and his wife sat in the room they mostly occupied, which was called the best kitchen. called so in familiar parlance only, however, for it was really used as the sitting-room of the landlord and his wife, and not for cooking. the room was on the side of the house, its large, low, three-framed window and its door facing the beach. outside this window was another of those hospitable benches, for customers to sit down on to drink their ale when it pleased them. mrs. bent herself liked to sit there when work was over, and criticise the doings of the village. whatever might be the weather, this door, like the front one, stood open; and well-known guests, or neighbours stepping in for a gossip, would enter by it. but no customer attempted to call for pipe or drink in the room, unless specially permitted. mrs. bent stood at the table before the window, picking shrimps for potting. she was slim and active, with dark curls on either side of her thin and comely face. her cap had cherry-coloured ribbons in it, her favourite colour, and flying strings; her cotton gown, of a chintz pattern, was drawn through its pocket-hole, displaying a dark stuff petticoat, and neat shoes and stockings. john bent sat at the blazing fire, as near to it as he could get his wooden chair in, reading the "stilborough herald." "it's uncommon cold to-day!" he broke out presently, giving a twist to his back. "the wind comes in and cuts one like a knife. don't you think, dorothy, we might shut that door a bit these sharp days?" "no, i don't," said mrs. bent. "you'll get rheumatism yet before the winter's over, as sure as you're a living woman. or i shall." "shall i?" retorted mrs. bent, in her sharply decisive tones. "over forty years of age i am now, and i've been here nigh upon twenty, and never had a touch of it yet. i am not going to begin to shut up doors and windows, john bent, to please you or anybody else." thus put down, john resigned himself to his paper again. he was a spare, middle-sized man, some few years older than his wife, with a red healthy face and scanty grey hair. presently he laid the newspaper aside, and sat watching his wife's nimble fingers. "dorothy, woman, when those shrimps are done, you might send a pot of 'em over to poor sister mildred. she's uncommon weak, they say." the very idea that had been running through mrs. bent's own mind. but she did not receive the suggestion courteously. "suppose you attend to your own concerns, john. if i am to supply the parish with shrimps gratis, it's about time i left off potting." john picked up his paper again with composure: he was accustomed to all this: and just then a shadow fell across the room. a fisherman was standing at the open door with some fish for sale. "it's you, tim, is it?" cried mrs. bent, in her shrillest tones. "it's not often your lazy limbs bring me anything worth buying. what is it to-day?" "a splendid cod, mrs. bent," replied the man. "never was finer caught." "and a fine price, i dare be bound!" returned the landlady, stepping aside to inspect the fish. "what's the price?" tim named it; putting on a little to allow of what he knew would ensue--the beating down. mrs. bent spoke loudly in her wrath. "now look here, tim gleeson!--do you think i'm made of money; or do you think i'm soft? i'll give you just half the sum. if you don't like it you may take yourself off and your fish behind you." mrs. bent got the cod at her price. she had returned to her shrimps, when, after a gentle tap at the open door, there entered one of the grey sisters. sister ann--whose week it was to help in the domestic work and to go on errands--was a busy, cheerful, sensible woman, as fond of talking as mrs. bent herself. she was dressed entirely in grey. a grey stuff gown of a convenient length for walking, that is, just touching the ankles; a grey cloth cloak reaching down nearly as far; and a round grey straw bonnet with a white net border close to the face. when the ladies took possession of the grey nunnery, and constituted themselves a sisterhood, they had assumed this attire. it was neat, suitable, and becoming; and not of a nature to attract particular attention when only one or two of them were seen abroad together. from the dress, however, had arisen the appellation applied to them--the grey ladies. in summer weather the stuff used was of a lighter texture. the stockings worn by sister ann were grey, the shoes stout, and fastened with a steel buckle. the only difference made by the superior sisters was, that the material of their gowns and cloaks was finer and softer, and their stockings were white. "lack-a-day! these shrimps will never get done!" cried mrs. bent, under her breath. "how d'ye do, sister ann?" she said aloud, her tones less sharp, out of respect to the order. "you look as blue as bad news. i hope there's no fresh sickness or accident." "it's the east wind," replied sister ann. "coming round that beach corner, it does seize hold of one. i've such a pain here with it," touching her chest, "that i can hardly draw my breath." "cramps," said mrs. bent, shortly. "john," she added, turning sharply on her husband, "you'd better get sister ann a spoonful or two of that cordial, instead of sitting to roast your face at that fire till it's the colour of red pepper." "not for worlds," interposed sister ann, really meaning it. but john, at the hospitable suggestion, had moved away. "i have come over to ask you if you'll be good enough to let me have a small pot of currant jelly, mrs. bent," continued the grey sister. "it is for sister mildred, poor thing----" "is she no better?" interrupted mrs. bent. "not a bit. and her lips are so parched, poor lady, and her deafness is so worrying----" "oh, as to her deafness, that'll never be better," cried mrs. bent. "it will get worse as she grows older." "it can't be much worse than it is: it has always been bad," returned sister ann, who seemed slightly to resent the fact of the deafness. "we have had a good bit of sickness in the village, and our black currant jelly is all gone: not that we made much, being so poor. if you will let me buy a pot from you, mrs. bent, we shall be glad." for answer, mrs. bent left her shrimps, unlocked a corner cupboard, and put two small pots of jelly into the sister's hand. "i am not sure that i can afford both to-day," said sister ann, dubiously. "how much are they?" "nothing," returned mrs. bent. "not one farthing will i take from the ladies: i'm always glad to do the little i can for any of you. give them to sister mildred with my respects; and say, please, that when i've done my shrimps i'll bring her over a pot of them. i was intending to do it before you came in." the landlord returned with something in a wine-glass, and stopped the sister's thanks by making her drink it. putting the jelly in her basket, sister ann, who had no time to stay for a longer gossip that day, gratefully departed. "it's well the master of greylands didn't hear you promise the shrimps and give her them two pots of jelly, wife," cried john bent, with a queer kind of laugh. "he'd not have liked it." "the master of greylands may lump it." "it's my belief he'd like to drive the grey sisters away from the place, instead of having 'em helped with pots of jelly." "what i choose to do, i do do, thank goodness, without need to ask leave of anybody," returned independent mrs. bent. "i can't think what it is puts mr. castlemaine against 'em," debated john bent, thoughtfully. "unless he fancies that if they were less busy over religion, and that, we might get the parson here more as a regular thing." "we should be none the better for him," snapped mrs. bent. "for my part, i don't see much good in parsons," she candidly added. "they only get into people's way." the silence that ensued was broken by a sound of horses in the distance, followed by the blowing of a horn. john bent and his wife looked simultaneously at the eight-day clock, ticking in its mahogany case by the fire, and saw that it was on the stroke of four, which was the time the london coach came by. john passed through the house to the front door; his wife, after glancing at herself in the hanging glass and giving a twitch to her cap and her cherry ribbons, left her shrimps and followed him. it was not that they expected the coach to bring visitors to them. passengers from london and elsewhere were generally bound to stilborough. but they as regularly went to the door to be in readiness, in case any did alight; to see it pass, and to exchange salutations with the coachman and guard. it was an event in the dolphin's somewhat monotonous day's existence. "i do believe, wife, it's going to stop!" cried john. it was doing that already. the four horses were drawing up; the guard was descending from his seat behind. he opened the door to let out a gentleman, and took a portmanteau from the boot. before john bent, naturally slow of movement, had well bestirred himself, the gentleman, who seemed to be remarkably quick and active, had put some money into the guard's hand and caught up his portmanteau. "i beg your pardon, sir," said john, taking it from him. "you are welcome, sir: will you be pleased to enter?" the stranger was on the point of stepping indoors, when he halted and looked up at the signboard--at the dolphin depicted there in all the hues of the rainbow, its tail lashing up spouts of imaginary water. smiling to himself, almost as though the dolphin were an old acquaintance, he went in. mrs. bent courtesied low to him in the good old respectful fashion, and he returned it with a bow. a fire was blazing in one of the parlours, and to this room the guest was conducted by both landlord and landlady. taking off his upper coat, which was warmly slashed with dark fur, they saw a slight, active man of some eight-and-twenty years, under the middle height, with a fresh, pleasant, handsome face, and bright dark eyes. something in the face seemed to strike on a chord of the landlord's memory. "who the dickens is he like?" mentally questioned john. "anyway, i like his looks." "i can have a bedchamber, i suppose?" spoke the stranger; and they noticed that his english, though quite fluent as to words, had a foreign ring in it. "will you show me to one?" "at your service, sir; please step this way," said mrs. bent, in her most gracious tones, for she was habitually courteous to her guests, and was besides favourably impressed by this one's looks and manners. "hot water directly, molly," she called out in the direction of the kitchen; "and john, do you bring up the gentleman's luggage." "i can't think who it is his face puts me in mind of," began john, when he and his wife got back to their room again, and she set on to make hasty work of the shrimps. "rubbish to his face," spoke mrs. bent. "the face is nice enough, if you mean that. it's late to get anything of a dinner up; and he has not said what he'll have, though i asked him." "and look here, wife--that portmanteau is not an english one." "it may be dutch, for all it matters to us. now john bent, just you stir up that fire a bit, and put some coal on. i may have to bring a saucepan in here, for what i know." "tush!" said john, doing as he was bid, nevertheless. "a chop and a potato: that's as much as most of these chance travellers want." "not when they are from over the water. i don't forget the last foreign frenchman that put up here. fifteen dishes he wanted for his dinner, if he wanted one. and all of 'em dabs and messes." she had gone to carry away her shrimps when the stranger came down. he walked direct into the room, and looked from the open door. the landlord stood up. "you are thomas bent, i think," said the stranger, turning round. "john bent, sir. my father was thomas bent, and he has been dead many a year." "and this is your good wife?" he added, as the landlady came bustling in. "mistress of the inn." "and master too," muttered john, in an undertone. "i was about to order dinner, mr. bent----" "then you'd better order it of me, sir," put in the landlady. "his head's no better than a sieve if it has much to carry. ask for spinach and cauliflower, and you'd get served up carrots and turnips." "then i cannot do better than leave my dinner to you, madam," said the young man with a pleasant laugh. "i should like some fish out of that glorious sea; and the rest i leave to you. can i have an english plum-pudding? "an english plum-pudding! good gracious, sir, it could not be made and boiled!" "that will do for to-morrow, then." mrs. bent departed, calling to molly as she went. the inn kept but two servants; molly, and a man; the latter chiefly attending to out-of-door things: horses, pigs and such like. when further help was needed indoors, it could be had from the village. "this must be a healthy spot," remarked the stranger, taking a chair without ceremony at john bent's fire. "it is very open." "uncommon healthy, sir. a bit bleak in winter, when the wind's in the east; as it is to-day." "have you many good families residing about?" "only one, sir. the castlemaines?" "the castlemaines?" "an old family who have lived here for many a year. you'd pass their place, sir, not long before getting out here; a house of greystone on your left hand. it is called greylands' rest." "i have heard of greylands' rest--and also of the castlemaines. it belonged, i think, to old anthony castlemaine." "it did, sir. his son has it now." "i fancied he had more than one son." "he had three, sir. the eldest, mr. basil, went abroad and never was heard of after: leastways, nothing direct from him. the second, mr. james, has greylands' rest. he always lived there with his father, and he lives there still--master of all since the old gentleman died." "how did it come to him?" asked the stranger, hastily. "by will?" "ah, sir, that's what no soul can tell. all sorts of surmises went about; but nobody knows how it was." a pause. "and the third son? where is he?" "the third's mr. peter. he is a banker at stilborough." "is he rich?" john bent laughed at the question. "rich, sir? him? why, it's said he could almost buy up the world. he has one daughter; a beautiful young lady, who's going to be married to young mr. blake-gordon, a son of sir richard. many thought that mr. castlemaine--the present master of greylands--would have liked to get her for his own son. but----" in burst mrs. bent, a big cooking apron tied on over her gown. she looked slightly surprised at seeing the stranger-seated there; but said nothing. unlocking the corner cupboard, and throwing wide its doors, she began searching for something on the shelves. "here you are, mrs. bent! busy as usual." the sudden salutation came from a gentleman who had entered the house hastily. a tall, well-made, handsome, young fellow, with a ready tongue, and a frank expression in his dark brown eyes. he stood just inside the door, and did not observe the stranger. "is it you, mr. harry?" she said, glancing round. "it's nobody else," he answered. "what an array of jam pots! do you leave the key in the door? a few of those might be walked off and never be missed." "i should like to see anybody attempt it," cried mrs. bent, wrathfully. "you are always joking, mr. harry." he laughed cordially. "john," he said, turning to the landlord, "did the coach bring a parcel for me?" "no, sir. were you expecting one, mr. harry?" mrs. bent turned completely round from her cupboard. "it's not a trick you are thinking to play us, is it, sir? i have not forgotten that other parcel you had left here once." "other parcel? oh, that was ever so many years ago. i am expecting this from london, john, if you will take it in. it will come to-morrow, i suppose. mrs. bent thinks i am a boy still." "ah no, sir, that i don't," she said. "you've long grown beyond that, and out of my control." "out of everybody else's too," he laughed. "where i used to get cuffs i now get kisses, mrs. bent. and i am not sure but they are the more dangerous application of the two." "i am very sure they are," called out mrs. bent, as the young man went off laughing, after bowing slightly to the stranger, who was now standing up, and whose appearance bespoke him to be a gentleman. "who was that?" asked the stranger of john bent. "that was mr. harry castlemaine, sir. son of the master of greylands." with one leap, the stranger was outside the door, gazing after him. but harry castlemaine, quick and active, was already nearly beyond view. when the stranger came back to his place again, mrs. bent had locked up her cupboard and was gone. "a fine-looking young man," he remarked. "and a good-hearted one as ever lived--though he is a bit random," said john. "i like mr. harry; i don't like his father." "why not?" "well, sir, i hardly know why. one is apt to take dislikes sometimes." "you were speaking of greylands' rest--of the rumours that went abroad respecting it when old mr. castlemaine died. what were they?" "various rumours, sir; but all tending to one and the same point. and that was, whether greylands' rest had, or had not, legally come to mr. james castlemaine." "being the second son," quietly spoke the stranger. "there can be no question i should think, that the rightful heir was the eldest son, basil." "and it was known, too, that basil was his father's favourite; and that the old man during his last years was always looking and longing for him to come back," spoke john bent, warming with the subject: "and in short, sir, everybody expected it would be left to basil. on the other hand, james was close at hand, and the old man could leave it to him if he pleased." "one glance at the will would set all doubt at rest." "ay. but it was not known, sir, whether there was a will, or not." "not known?" "no, sir. some said there was a will, and that it left all to mr. basil; others said there was no will at all, but that old anthony castlemaine made mr. james a deed of gift of greylands' rest. and a great many said, and still say, that old mr. castlemaine only handed him over the estate in trust for mr. basil--or for any sons mr. basil might leave after him." the stranger sat in silence. on his little finger shone a magnificent diamond ring, evidently of great value; he twirled it about unconsciously. "what is your opinion, mr. bent?" he suddenly asked. "mine, sir? well, i can't help thinking that the whole was left to mr. basil, and that if he's alive the place is no more mr. james's than it is mine. i think it particularly for two reasons: one because the old man always said it would be basil's; and again if it was given to mr. james, whether by will or by deed of gift, he would have taken care to show abroad the will or the deed that gave it him, and so set the rumours at rest for good. not but what all the castlemaines are close and haughty-natured men, never choosing to volunteer information about themselves. so that----" "now then, john bent! it's about time you began to lay the cloth and see to the silver." no need to say from whom the interruption came. mrs. bent, her face flushed to the colour of the cherry ribbons, whisked in and whisked out again. john followed; and set about his cloth-laying. the stranger sat where he was, in a reverie, until called to dinner. it was a small, but most excellent repast, the wine taken with it some of the dolphin's choice burgundy, of which it had a little bin. john bent waited on his guest, who dined to his complete satisfaction. he was about to leave the bottle on the table after dinner, but the guest motioned it away. "no, no more; i do not drink after dinner. it is not our custom in france." "oh, very well, sir. i'll cork it up for to-morrow. i--i beg your pardon, sir," resumed the landlord, as he drew the cloth from the table, "what name shall i put down to you, sir?" the stranger rose and stood on the hearthrug, speaking distinctly when he gave his name. speaking distinctly. nevertheless john bent seemed not to hear it, for he stared like one in a dream. "what?" he gasped, in a startled tone of terror, as he staggered back against the sideboard; and some of the fresh colour left his face. "what name did you say, sir?" "anthony castlemaine." chapter iv. foreshadowings of evil. the stone walls of greylands' rest lay cold and still under the pale sunshine of the february day. the air was sharp and frosty; the sun, though bright to the eye, had little warmth in it; and the same cutting east wind that john bent had complained of to the traveller who had alighted at his house the previous afternoon, was prevailing still with an equal keenness. mr. castlemaine felt it in his study, where he had been busy all the morning. he fancied he must have caught a chill, for a slight shiver suddenly stirred his tall, fine frame, and he turned to the fire and gave it a vigorous poke. the fuel was wood and coal mixed, and the blaze went roaring up the chimney. the room was not large. standing with his back to the fire, the window was on his right hand; the door on his left; opposite to him, against the wall, stood a massive piece of mahogany furniture, called a bureau. it was a kind of closed-in desk, made somewhat in the fashion of the banker's desk at stilborough, but larger; the inside had pigeon-holes and deep drawers, and a slab for writing on. this inside was well filled with neatly arranged bundles of papers, with account books belonging to the farm business and else, and with some few old letters: and the master of greylands was as cautions to keep this desk closed and locked from the possibility of the view of those about him as his brother peter was to keep his. the castlemaines were proud, reticent, and careful men. for a good part of the morning mr. castlemaine had been busy at this desk. he had shut and locked it now, and was standing with his back to the fire, deep in thought. two letters of the large size in vogue before envelopes were used, and sealed with the castlemaine crest in red wax, lay on the side-table, ready to be posted. his left hand was inside his waistcoat, resting on the broad plaited shirt-frill of fine cambric; his bright dark eyes had rather a troubled look in them as they sought that old building over the fields opposite, the friar's keep, and the sparkling sea beyond. in reality, mr. castlemaine was looking neither at the friar's keep nor the sea, for he was deep in thought and saw nothing. the master of greylands was of a superstitious nature: it may as well be stated candidly: difficult though it was to believe such of so practical a man. not to the extent of giving credit to stories of ghosts and apparitions; the probability is, that in his heart he would have laughed at that; but he did believe in signs and warnings, in omens of ill-luck and good luck. on this selfsame morning he had awoke with an impression of discomfort, as if some impending evil were hanging over him; he could not account for it, for there was no conducing cause; and at the time he did not connect it with any superstitions feeling or fancy, but thought he must be either out of sorts, or had had some annoyance that he did not at the moment of waking recollect; something lying latent in his mind. three or four little hindrances, or mishaps, occurred when he was dressing. first of all, he could not find his slippers: he hunted here; he looked there; and then remembered that he had left them the previous night in his study--a most unusual thing for him to do--and he had to go and fetch them, or else dress in his stockings. next, in putting on his shirt, he tore the buttonhole at the neck, and was obliged to change it for another. and the last thing he did was to upset all his shaving water, and had to wait while fresh was brought. "nothing but impediments: it seems as though i were not to get dressed to-day," muttered the master of greylands. "can there be any ill-luck in store for me?" the intelligent reader will doubtless be much surprised to hear him ask so ridiculous a question. nevertheless, the same kind of thing--these marked hindrances--had occurred twice before in mr. castlemaine's life, and each time a great evil had followed in the day. not of the present time was he thinking, now as he stood, but of one of those past days, and of what it had brought forth. "poor maria!" he softly cried--alluding to his first wife, of whom he had been passionately fond. "well, and merry, and loving in the morning; and at night stretched before me in death. it was an awful accident! and i--i have never cared quite so much for the world since. maria was--what is it? come in." a knock at the door had disturbed the reflections. mr. castlemaine let fall his coat tails, which he had then caught up, and turned his head to it. a man servant appeared. "commodore teague wants to know, sir, whether he may get those two or three barrow-loads of wood moved to the hutt to-day. he'd like to, he says, if it's convenient." "yes, he can have it done. is he here, miles?" "yes, sir; he is waiting in the yard." "i'll come and speak to him." and the master of greylands, taking the two letters from the side-table, left the room to descend, shutting the door behind him. we must turn for a few minutes to the dolphin inn, and to the previous evening. nothing could well have exceeded john bent's consternation when his guest, the unknown stranger, had revealed his name. anthony castlemaine! not quite at first, but after a short interval, the landlord saw how it must be--that he was the son of the late basil castlemaine. and he was not the best pleased to hear it in the moment's annoyance. "you ought to have told me, sir," he stammered in his confusion. "it was unkind to take me at a disadvantage. here have i been using liberties with the family's name, supposing i was talking to an utter stranger!" the frank expression of the young man's face, the pleasant look in his fine brown eyes, tended to reassure the landlord, even better than words. "you have not said a syllable of my family that i could take exception to," he freely said. "you knew my father: will you shake hands with me, john bent, as his son?" "you are too good, sir; and i meant no harm by my gossip," said the landlord, meeting the offered hand. "you must be the son of mr. basil. it's a great many years since he went away, and i was but a youngster, but i remember him. your face is nearly the same as his was, sir. the likeness was puzzling me beyond everything. i hope mr. basil is well, sir." "no," said the young man, "he is dead. and i have come over here, as his son and heir, to claim greylands' rest." it was even so. the facts were as young anthony castlemaine stated. and a short summary of past events must be given here. when basil castlemaine went abroad so many years ago, in his hot-blooded youth, he spent some of the first years roaming about: seeing the world, he called it. later, circumstances brought him acquainted with a young english lady, whose friends lived in france, in the province of dauphiné: which, as the world knows, is close on the borders of italy. they had settled near a place called gap, and were in commerce there, owning some extensive silk-mills. basil castlemaine, tired probably of his wandering life, and of being a beau garçon, married this young lady, put all the money he had left (it was a very tolerably good sum) into the silk-mills, and became a partner. there he had remained. he liked the climate; he liked the french mode of life; he liked the business he had engaged in. not once had he re-visited england. he was by nature a most obstinate man, retaining anger for ever, and he would not give token of remembrance to the father and brothers who, in his opinion, had been too glad to get rid of him. no doubt they had. but, though he did not allow them to hear of him, he heard occasionally of them. an old acquaintance of his, who was the son of one squire dobie, living some few miles on the other side stilborough, wrote to him every two years, or so, and gave him news. but this correspondence (if letters written only on one side could be called such, for all tom dobie ever received back was a newspaper, sent in token that his letter had reached its destination) was carried on en cachette; and tom dobie never disclosed it to living mortal, having undertaken not to do so. some two years before the present period, tom dobie had died: his letters of course ceased, and it was by the merest accident that basil castlemaine heard of the death of his father. he was then himself too ill to return and put in his claim to greylands' rest; in fact, he was near to death; but he charged his son to go to england and claim the estate as soon as he should be no more; nay, as he said, to enter into possession of it. but he made use of a peculiar warning in giving this charge to his son; and these were the words: "take you care what you are about, anthony, and go to work cautiously. there may be treachery in store for you. the brothers--your uncles--who combined to drive me away from our homestead in days gone by, may combine again to keep you out of it. take care of yourself, i say; feel your way, as it were; and beware of treachery." whether, as is supposed sometimes to be the case, the dying man had some prevision of the future, and saw, as by instinct, what that future would bring forth, certain it was, that he made use of this warning to young anthony: and equally certain that the end bore out the necessity for the caution. so here was anthony castlemaine: arrived in the land of his family to put in his claim to what he deemed was his lawful inheritance, greylands' rest, the deep black band worn for his father yet fresh upon his hat. mrs. castlemaine sat in the red parlour, reading a letter. or, rather, re-reading it, for it was one that had arrived earlier in the morning. a lady at stilborough had applied for the vacant place of governess to miss flora castlemaine, and had enclosed her testimonials. "good music, singing, drawing; no french," read mrs. castlemaine aloud, partly for the benefit of miss flora, who stood on a stool at her elbow, not at all pleased that any such application should come; for, as we have already seen, the young lady would prefer to bring herself up without the aid of any governess. "good tempered, but an excellent disciplinarian, and very firm with her pupils----" "i'm not going to have her, mamma," came the interruption. "don't you think it!" "i do not suppose you will have her, flora. the want of french will be an insuperable objection. how tiresome it is! one seems unable to get everything. the last lady who applied was not a sufficient musician for advanced pupils, and therefore could not have undertaken ethel's music." "as if ethel needed to learn music still! why, she plays as well--as well," concluded the girl, at a loss for a simile. "catch me learning music when i'm as old as ethel!" "i consider, it nonsense myself, but ethel wishes it, and your papa so foolishly gives in to her whims in all things that of course she has to be studied in the matter as much as you. it may be months and months before we get a lady who combines all that's wanted here." mrs. castlemaine spoke resentfully. what with one thing and another, she generally was in a state of resentment against ethel. "i hope it may be years and years!" cried flora, leaning her arms on the table and kicking her legs about. "i hope we shall never get one at all." "it would be easy enough to get one, but for this trouble about ethel's music," grumbled mrs. castlemaine. "i have a great mind to send her to the grey nunnery for her lessons. sister charlotte, i know, is perfect on the piano; and she would be thankful for the employment." "papa would not let her go to the nunnery," said the sharp girl. "he does not like the grey ladies." "i suppose he'd not. i'm sure, what with this disqualification and that disqualification, a good governess is as difficult to fix upon as----get off the table, my sweet child," hastily broke off mrs. castlemaine: "here's your papa." the master of greylands entered the red parlour, after his short interview in the yard with commodore teague. miss flora slipped past him, and disappeared. he saw a good deal to find fault with in her rude, tomboy ways; and she avoided him when she could. taking the paper, he stirred the fire into a blaze, just as he had, not many minutes before, stirred his own fire upstairs. "it is a biting-cold day," he observed. "i think i must have caught a little chill, for i seem to feel cold in an unusual degree. what's that?" mrs. castlemaine held the letters still in her hand; and by the expression of her countenance, bent upon the contents, he could perceive there was some annoyance. "this governess does not do; it is as bad as the last. she lacked music; this one lacks french. is it not provoking, james?" mr. castlemaine took up the letters and read them. "i should say she is just the sort of governess for flora," he observed. "the testimonials are excellent." "but her want of french! did you not observe that?" "i don't know that french is of so much consequence for flora as the getting a suitable person to control her. one who will hold her under firm discipline. as it is, she is being ruined." "french not of consequence for flora!" repeated mrs. castlemaine. "what can you mean, james?" "i said it was not of so much consequence, relatively speaking. neither is it." "and while ethel's french is perfect!" "what has that to do with it?" "i will never submit to see flora inferior in accomplishments to ethel, james. french i hold especially by: i have felt the want of it myself. better, of the two, for her to fail in music than in speaking french. if it were not for ethel's senseless whim of continuing to take music lessons, there would be no trouble." "who's this, i wonder?" cried mr. castlemaine. he alluded to a visitor's ring at the hall bell. flora came dashing in. "it's a gentleman in a fur coat," she said. "i watched him come up the avenue." "a gentleman in a fur coat!" repeated her mother. "some one who has walked from stilborough this cold day, i suppose." miles entered. on his small silver waiter lay a card. he presented it to his master and spoke. "the gentleman says he wishes to see you, sir. i have shown him into the drawing-room." the master of greylands was gazing at the card with knitted brow and haughty lips. he did not understand the name on it. "what farce is this?" he exclaimed, tossing the card on the table in anger. and mrs. castlemaine bent to read it with aroused curiosity. "anthony castlemaine." "it must be an old card of your father's, james," she remarked, "given, most likely, year's ago, to some one to send in, should he ever require to present himself here--perhaps to crave a favour." this view, just at the moment it was spoken, seemed feasible enough to mr. castlemaine, and his brow lost its fierceness. another minute, and he saw how untenable it was. "my father never had such a card as this, sophia. plain 'anthony castlemaine,' without hold or handle. his cards had 'mr.' before the name. and look at the strokes and flourishes--it's not like an english card. what sort of a person is it, miles?" "a youngish gentleman sir. he has a lot of dark fur on his coat. he asked for mr. james castlemaine." "mr. james castlemaine!" echoed the master of greylands, sharply, as he stalked from the room, card in hand. the visitor was standing before a portrait in the drawing-room contemplating it earnestly. it was that of old anthony castlemaine, taken when he was about fifty years of age. at the opening of the door he turned round and advanced, his hand, extended and a pleasant smile on his face. "i have the gratification, i fancy, of seeing my uncle james!" mr. castlemaine kept his hands to himself. he looked haughtily at the intruder; he spoke frigidly. "i have not the honour of your acquaintance, sir." "but my card tells you who i am," rejoined the young man. "i am indeed your nephew, uncle; the son of your elder brother. he was basil, and you are james." "pardon me, sir, if i tell you what i think you are. an impostor." "ah no, do not be afraid, uncle. i am verily your nephew, anthony castlemaine. i have papers and legal documents with me to prove indisputably the fact; i bring you also a letter from my father, written on his death-bed. but i should have thought you might know me by my likeness to my father; and he--i could fancy that portrait had been taken for him"--pointing to the one he had been looking at. "he always said i greatly resembled my grandfather." there could be no dispute as to the likeness. the young man's face was the castlemaine face exactly: the well formed, handsome features, the clear and fresh complexion, the brilliant dark eyes. all the castlemaines had been alike, and this one was like them all; even like james, who stood there. taking a letter from his pocket-book, he handed it to mr. castlemaine. the latter broke the seal--basil's own seal; he saw that--and began to peruse it. while he did so, he reflected a little, and made up his mind. to acknowledge his nephew. for he had the sense to see that no other resource would be left him. he did it with a tolerably good grace, but in a reserved cold kind of manner. folding up the letter, he asked a few questions which young anthony freely answered, and gave a brief account of the past. "and basil--your father--is dead, you say! has been dead four weeks. this letter, i see, is dated christmas day." "it was on christmas day he wrote it, uncle. yes, nearly four weeks have elapsed since his death: it took place on the fourteenth of january; his wife, my dear mother, had died on the same day six years before. that was curious, was it not? i had meant to come over here immediately, as he charged me to do; but there were many matters of business to be settled, and i could not get away until now." "have you come over for any particular purpose?" coldly asked mr. castlemaine. "i have come to stay, uncle james. to take possession of my inheritance." "of your inheritance?" "the estate of greylands' rest." "greylands' rest is not yours," said mr. castlemaine. "my father informed me that it was. he brought me up to no profession: he always said that greylands' rest would be mine at his own death; that he should come into it himself at the death of his father, and thence it would descend to me. to make all sure, he left it to me in his will. and, as i have mentioned to you, we did not hear my grandfather was dead until close upon last christmas. had my father known it in the summer, he would have come over to put in his claim: he was in sufficiently good health then." "it is a pity you should have come so far on a fruitless errand, young man. listen. when your father, basil, abandoned his home here in his youth, he forfeited all claim to the inheritance. he asked for his portion, and had it; he took it away with him and stayed away; stayed away for nigh upon forty years. what claim does he suppose that sort of conduct gave him on my father's affection, that he should leave to him greylands' rest?" "he always said his father would leave it to no one but him: that he knew it and, was sure of it." "what my father might have done had basil come back during his lifetime, i cannot pretend to say: neither is it of any consequence to guess at it now. basil did not come back, and, therefore, you cannot be surprised that he missed greylands' rest; that the old father left it to his second son--myself--instead of to him." "but did he leave it to you, uncle?" "a superfluous question, young man. i succeeded to it, and am here in possession of it." "i am told that there are doubts upon the point abroad," returned anthony, speaking in the same pleasant tone, but with straightforward candour. "doubts upon what point?" haughtily demanded mr. castlemaine. "what i hear is this, uncle james. that it is not known to the public, and never has been known, how you came into greylands' rest. whether the estate was left to you by will, or handed over to you by deed of gift, or given to you in trust to hold for my father. nobody knows, i am told, anything about it, or even whether there was or was not a will. perhaps you will give me these particulars, uncle?" mr. castlemaine's face grew dark as night. "do you presume to doubt my word, young man? i tell you that greylands' rest is mine. let it content you." "if you will show me that greylands' rest is yours, uncle james, i will never say another word upon the subject, or give you the smallest trouble. prove this to me, and i will stay a few days in the neighbourhood, for the sake of cementing family ties--though i may never meet any of you again--and then go back to the place whence i came. but if you do not give me this proof, i must prosecute my claim, and maintain my rights." "rights!" scoffed mr. castlemaine, beginning to lose his temper. "how dare you presume to talk to me in this way? a needy adventurer--for that is what i conclude you are, left without means of your own--to come here, and----" "i beg your pardon," interrupted the young man; "i am not needy. though far from rich, i have a fair competency. enough to keep me in comfort." "it is all one to me," said mr. castlemaine. "you had better do as you say--go back to the place whence you came." "if the estate be truly and lawfully yours, i should be the last to attempt to disturb you in it; i should not wish to do so. but if it be not yours, uncle james, it must be mine; and, until i can be assured one way or the other, i shall remain here, though it be for ever." mr. castlemaine drew himself up to his full height. he was perfectly calm again; perhaps somewhat vexed that he had allowed himself to betray temper; and rejoined, coolly and prudently, "i cannot pretend to control your movements; to say you shall go, or you shall come; but i tell you, frankly, that your staying will not serve you in the least. were you to remain for ever--as you phrase it--not one tittle of proof would you get from me. things have come to a pretty pass if i am to be bearded in my own house, and have my word doubted." "well, uncle james," said the young man, still speaking pleasantly, "then nothing remains for me but to try and find out the truth for myself. i wish you had been more explicit with me, for i am sure i do not know how to set about it," he added, candidly. a faint, proud smile curled mr. castlemaine's decisive lips. it seemed to say, "do what you please; it is beneath my notice." his nephew took up his hat to depart. "may i offer to shake hands with you, uncle james? i hope we need not be enemies?" a moment's hesitation, and mr. castlemaine shook the offered hand. it was next to impossible to resist the frank geniality; just the same frank geniality that had characterized basil; and mr. castlemaine thawed a little. "it appears to be a very strange thing that basil should have remained stationary all those years in franco; never once to have come home!" "i have heard him say many a time, uncle james, that he should never return until he returned to take possession of greylands' rest. and during the time of the great war travelling was dangerous and difficult." "neither could i have believed that he would have settled down so quietly. and to engage in commerce!" "he grew to like the bustle of business. he had a vast capacity for business, uncle james." "no doubt; being a castlemaine," was the answer, delivered with conscious superiority. "the castlemaines lack capacity for nothing they may choose to undertake. good-morning; and i wish you a better errand next time." as anthony castlemaine, on departing, neared the gate leading to the avenue, he saw a young lady approaching it. a fisherman, to whom she was speaking, walked by her side. the latter's words, as he turned away, caught the ear of anthony. "you will tell the master then; please, miss castlemaine, and say a good word to him for me?" "yes, i will, gleeson; and i am very sorry for the misfortune," the young lady answered. "good-day." anthony gazed with unfeigned pleasure on the beautiful face presented to him in--as he supposed--his cousin. it was ethel reene. the cheeks had acquired a soft rose flush in the crisp air, the dark brown hair took a wonderfully bright tinge in the sunshine; and in the deep eyes glancing so straight and honestly through their long dark lashes into those of the stranger, there was a sweet candour that caused anthony castlemaine to think them the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. he advanced to her direct; said a few words indicative of his delight at meeting her; and, while ethel was lost in astonishment, he suddenly bent his face forward, and kissed her on either cheek. for a moment, ethel reene was speechless bewildered with confused indignation at the outrage; and then she burst into a flood of tears. what she said, she hardly knew; but all bespoke her shivering, sensitive sense of the insult. anthony castlemaine was overwhelmed. he had intended no insult, but only to give a cousinly greeting after the fashion of his adopted land; and he hastened to express his contrition. "i beg your pardon a million times. i am so grieved to have pained or offended you. i think you cannot have understood that i am your cousin?" "cousin, sir," she rejoined--and mr. castlemaine himself could not have spoken with a more haughty contempt. "how dare you presume? i have not a cousin or a relative in the wide world." the sweet eyes were flashing, the delicate face was flushed to crimson. it occurred to anthony castlemaine that he must have made some unfortunate mistake. "i know not how to beg your pardon sufficiently," he continued. "i thought indeed you were my cousin, miss castlemaine." "i am not miss castlemaine." "i--pardon me!--i assuredly heard the sailor address you as miss castlemaine." ethel was beginning to recover herself. she saw that he did not look at all like a young man who would gratuitously offer any lady an insult, but like a true gentleman. moreover there flashed upon her perception the strong likeness his face bore to the castlemaines; and she thought that what he had done he must have done in some error. "i am not miss castlemaine," she condescended to explain, her tone losing part of its anger, but not its pride. "mr. castlemaine's house is my home, and people often call me by the name. but--and if i were miss castlemaine, who are you, sir, that you should claim to be my cousin? the castlemaines have no strange cousins." "i am anthony castlemaine, young lady; son of the late basil castlemaine, the heir of greylands. i come from an interview with my uncle james; and i--i beg your pardon most heartily once more." "anthony castlemaine, the son of basil castlemaine!" she exclaimed, nearly every emotion forgotten in astonishment; but a conviction, nevertheless, seizing upon her that it was true. "the son of the lost basil!" "i am, in very truth, his son," replied anthony. "my father is dead, and i have come over to claim--and i hope, enter into--my patrimony, greylands' rest." chapter v. the ball. lights gleamed from the rooms of the banker's house in stilborough. a flood of light blazed from the hall, and was reflected on the pavement outside, and on the colours of the flowering plants just within the entrance. mr. peter castlemaine and miss castlemaine gave a dance that night; and it was the custom to open the door early, and keep it open, for the arrival of the expected guests. the reception-rooms were in readiness, and gay with their wax lights and flowers. they opened mostly into one another. the largest of them was appropriated to dancing. all its furniture and its carpet had been removed; benches occupied the walls under the innumerable sconces bearing lights; and the floor was chalked artistically, in a handsome pattern of flowers, after the fashion of the day. in the small apartment that was her own sitting-room stood mary ursula. in her rich robes of white silk and lace, and in the jewels which had been her mother's, and which it was her father's wish she should wear on grand occasions, she looked, with her stately form and her most lovely face, of almost regal beauty. excitement had flushed her cheeks to brightness; on her delicate and perfect features sat an animation not often seen there. whatever evil might be overhanging the house, at least no prevision of it rested on miss castlemaine; and perhaps few young ladies in all the kingdom could be found who were possessed of the requisites for happiness in a degree that could vie with the banker's daughter, or who had so entire a sense of it. beautiful, amiable, clever, rich; the darling of her father; sheltered from every care in her sumptuous home; loving and beloved by a young man worthy of her, and to whom she was soon to be united! in the days to come, mary ursula would look back on this time, and tell herself that the very intensity of its happiness might have warned her that it was too bright to last. he, her lover, was by her side now. he had come early, on purpose to be for a few minutes alone with her, before the arrival of the other guests. they stood together on the hearthrug. a quiet-looking young man of middle height, with dark hair, just the shade of hers, and rather a pensive and mild cast of face: a face, however, that did not seem to proclaim much moral strength. such was william blake-gordon. they were conversing of the future; the future that to both of them looked so bright; of the home and home life that ere long would be theirs in common. mr. blake-gordon had been for some little time searching for a house, and had not met with a suitable one. but he thought he had found it now. "it seems to me to be just the thing, mary," he was saying--for he never called her by her double name, but "mary" simply. "only four miles from stilborough on the loughton road; which will be within an easy distance of your father's home and of sir richard's. it was by the merest chance i heard this morning that the wests were going; and we can secure it at once if we will, before it goes into the market." miss castlemaine knew the house by sight; she had passed it many a time in her drives, and seen it nestling away amid the trees. it was called by rather a fanciful name--raven's priory. "it is not to be let, you say, william; only bought." "only bought. there will be, i presume, no difficulty made to that by the authorities." he spoke with a smile. she smiled too. difficulty!--with the loads of wealth that would be theirs some time! they might well laugh at the idea. "only that--that it is uncertain how long we may require to live in it," she said, with a slight hesitation. "i suppose that--some time----" "we shall have to leave it for my father's home. true. but that, i trust, may be a long while off. and then we could re-sell raven's priory." "yes, of course. it is a nice place, william?" "charming," he replied with enthusiasm. for, of course, all things, the proposed residence included, were to him the hue of couleur-de-rose. "i have never been inside it," she observed. "no. the wests are churlish people, keeping no company. report says that mrs. west is a hypochondriac. they let me go in this morning, and i went over all the house. it is the nicest place, love--and not too large or too small for us; and the wests have kept it in good condition. you will be charmed with the drawing-rooms, mary; and the conservatory is one of the best i ever saw. they want us to take to the plants." "are they nice?" "beautiful. the wests are moving to london, to be near good advice for her, and they do not expect to get anything of a conservatory there; at least, that is worth the name. i wonder what your papa will think about this house, mary? we might tell him of it now. where is he?" "he is out," she answered. "just as he was going up to dress, thomas hill sent for him downstairs, and they went out somewhere together. papa ran up to tell me he would be back as soon as he could, but that i must for once receive the people alone." "i wish i might stand by your side to help receive them!" he said, impulsively. "would any of them faint at it? do you think mrs. webb would, if she were here?" he continued, with a smile. "ah, well--a short while, my darling, and i shall have the right to stand by you." he stole his arm round her waist, and whispered to her a repetition of those love vows that had so often before charmed her ear and thrilled her heart. her cheek touched his shoulder; the faint perfume of her costly fan, that she swayed unconsciously as it hung from her wrist, was to him like an odour from paradise. he recounted to her all the features he remembered of the house that neither of them doubted would be their future home; and the minutes passed, in, to both, bliss unutterable. the crashing up of a carriage--of two carriages it seemed--warned them that this sweet pastime was at an end. sounds of bustle in the hall succeeded to it: the servants were receiving the first guests. "oh, william--i forgot--i meant to tell you," she hurriedly whispered. "i had the most ugly dream last night. and you know i very rarely do dream. i have not been able to get it out of my mind all day." "what is it, mary?" "i thought we were separated, you and i; separated for ever. we had quarrelled, i think; that point was not clear; but you turned off one way, and i another. it was in the gallery of this house, william, and we had been talking together. you went out at the other end, by the door near the dining-room, and i at this end; and we turned at the last and looked at one another. oh, the look was dreadful! i shall never forget it: so full of pain and sadness! and we knew, both of us knew, that it was the last farewell look; that we should never again meet in this world." "oh, my love! my love!" he murmured, bending his face on hers. "and you could let it trouble you!--knowing it was but a dream! nothing but the decree of god--death--shall ever separate us, mary. for weal or for woe, we will go through the life here together." he kissed away the tears that had gathered in her eyes at the remembrance; and miss castlemaine turned hastily into one of the larger rooms, and took up her standing there in expectation. for the feet of the gay world were already traversing the gallery. she welcomed her guests, soon coming in thick and threefold, with the gracious manner and the calm repose of bearing that always characterised her, apologising to all for the absence of her father; telling that he had been called out unexpectedly on some matter of business, but would soon return. amid others, came the party from greylands' rest, arriving rather late: mrs. castlemaine in black velvet, leaning on the arm of her stepson; ethel reene walking modestly behind, in a simple dress of white net, adorned with white ribbons. there was many a fine young man present, but never a finer or more attractive one than harry castlemaine; with the handsome castlemaine features, the easy, independent bearing, and the ready tongue. "is it of any use to ask whether you are at liberty to honour me with your hand for the first dance, mary ursula?" he inquired, after leaving mrs. castlemaine on a sofa. "not the least, harry," answered miss castlemaine, smiling. "i am engaged for that, and for the second as well." "of course. well, it is all as it should be, i suppose. given the presence of mr. blake-gordon, and no one else has so good a right as he to open the ball with you." "you will find a substitute for me by the asking, harry. see all those young ladies around; not one but is glancing towards you with the hope that you may seek her." he laughed rather consciously. he was perfectly well aware of the universal favour accorded by the ladies, young and old, to harry castlemaine. but this time, at any rate, he intended to disappoint them all. he turned to miss reene. "will you take compassion upon a rejected man, ethel? mary ursula won't have me for the first two dances, you hear; so i appeal to you in all humility to heal the smart. don't reject me." "nonsense, harry!" was the young lady's answer. "you must not ask me for the first dance; it would be like brother and sister dancing together; all the room would resent it in you, and call it bad manners. choose elsewhere. there's miss mountsorrel; she will not say you nay." "for the dances, no but she'll not condescend to speak three words to me while they are in process," returned mr. harry castlemaine. "if you do not dance them with me, ethel, i shall sit down until the two first dances are over." he spoke still in the same laughing, half joking manner; but, nevertheless, there was a ring of decision in the tone of the last words; and ethel knew he meant what he said. the castlemaines rarely broke through any decision they might announce, however lightly it was spoken; and harry possessed somewhat of the same persistent will. "if you make so great a point of it, i will dance with you," observed ethel. "but i must again say that you ought to take anyone rather than me." "i have not seen my uncle yet," remarked miss castlemaine to ethel, as harry strolled away to pay his devoirs to the room generally. "where can he be lingering?" "papa is not here, mary ursula." "not here! how is that?" "really i don't know," replied ethel. "when harry came running out to get into the carriage to-night--we had been sitting in it quite five minutes waiting for him but he had been away all day, and was late in dressing--miles shut the door. 'don't do that,' said harry to him, 'the master's not here.' upon that, mrs. castlemaine spoke, and said papa was not coming with us." "i suppose he will be coming in later," remarked mary ursula, as she moved away to meet fresh guests. the dancing began with a country dance; or, as would have been said then, the ball opened with one. miss castlemaine and her lover, mr. blake-gordon, took their places at its head; harry castlemaine and miss reene were next to them. for in those days, people stood much upon etiquette at these assemblies, and the young ladies of the family took precedence of all others in the opening dance. the dance chosen was called the triumph. harry castlemaine led mary ursula down between the line of admiring spectators; her partner, mr. blake-gordon, followed, and they brought the young lady back in triumph. such was the commencement of the figure. it was a sight to be remembered in after years; the singular good looks of at least two of the three; harry, the sole male heir of the castlemaines, with the tall fine form and the handsome face; and mary ursula, so stately and beautiful. ethel reene was standing alone, in her quiet loveliness, looking like a snowdrop, and waiting until her turn should come to be in like manner taken down. the faces of all sparkled with animation and happiness; the gala robes of the two young ladies added to the charm of the scene. many recalled it later; recalled it with a pang: for, of those four, ere a year had gone by, one was not, and another's life had been blighted. no prevision, however, rested on any of them this night of what the dark future held in store; and they revelled in the moment's enjoyment, gay at heart. heaven is too merciful to let fate cast its ominous shade on us before the needful time. the banker came in ere the first dance was over. moving about from room to room among his guests, glancing with approving smile at the young dancers, seeing that the card-tables were filled, he at length reached the sofa of mrs. castlemaine. she happened to be alone on it just then, and he sat down beside her. "i don't see james anywhere," he remarked. "where is he hiding himself?" "he has not come," replied mrs. castlemaine. "no! how's that? james enjoys a ball." "yes, i think he does still, nearly as much as his son harry." "then what has kept him away?" "i really do not know. i had thought nearly to the last that he meant to come. when i was all but ready myself, finding james had not begun to dress, i sent harriet to remind him of the lateness of the hour, and she brought word back that her master was not going." "did he say why?" asked mr. peter castlemaine. "no! i knocked at his study door afterwards and found him seated at his bureau. he seemed busy. all he said to me was, that he should remain at home; neither more nor less. you know, peter, james rarely troubles himself to give a reason for what he does." "well, i am sorry. sorry that he should miss a pleasant evening, and also because i wanted to speak to him. we may not have many more of these social meetings." "i suppose not," said mrs. castlemaine, assuming that her brother-in-law alluded in an indirect way to his daughter's approaching marriage. "when once you have lost mary ursula, there will be nobody to hold, festivities for." "no," said the banker, absently. "i suppose it will be very soon now." "what will be soon?" "the wedding. james thinks it will be after easter." "oh--ay--the wedding," spoke mr. peter castlemaine, with the air of a man who has just caught up some recollection that had slipped from him. "i don't know yet: we shall see: no time has been decided on." "close as his brother" thought mrs. castlemaine. "no likelihood, that he will disclose anything unless he chooses." "will james be coming in to stilborough to-morrow?" asked the banker. "i'm sure i cannot tell. he goes out and comes in, you know, without any reference to me. i should fancy he would not be coming in, unless he has anything to call him. he has not seemed well to-day; he thinks he has caught a cold." "ah, then i daresay that's the secret of his staying at home to-night," said mr. peter castlemaine. "yes, it may be. i did not think of that. and he has also been very much annoyed to-day: and you know, peter, if once james is thoroughly put out of temper, it takes some little time to put him in again." the banker nodded assent. "what has annoyed him?" "a very curious thing," replied mrs. castlemaine: "you will hardly believe it when i tell you. some young man----" breaking off suddenly, she glanced around to make sure that no one was within hearing. then drawing nearer to the banker, went on in a lowered voice: "some young man presented himself this morning at greylands' rest, pretending to want to put in a claim to the estate." abstracted though the banker had been throughout the brief interview, these words aroused him to the quick. in one moment he was the calm, shrewd, attentive business man, peter castlemaine, his head erect, his keen eyes observant. "i do not understand you, mrs. castlemaine." "neither do i understand," she rejoined. "james said just a word or two to me, and i gathered the rest." "who was the young man?" "flora described him as wearing a coat trimmed with fur; and miles thought he spoke with somewhat of a foreign accent," replied mrs. castlemaine, deviating unconsciously from the question, as ladies sometimes do deviate. "but don't you know who he was? did he give no account of himself?" "he calls himself anthony castlemaine." as the name left her lips a curious kind of change, as though he were startled, passed momentarily over the banker's countenance. but he neither stirred nor spoke. "when the card was brought in with that name upon it--james happened to be in the red parlour, talking with me about a new governess--i said it must be an old card of your father's that somebody had got hold of. but it turned out not to be that: and, indeed, it was not like the old cards. what he wants to make out is, that he is the son of basil castlemaine." "did james see him?" "oh dear yes, and their interview lasted more than an hour." "and he told james he was basil's son?--this young man." "i think so. at any rate, the young man told ethel he was. she happened to meet him as he was leaving the house and he introduced himself to her as anthony castlemaine, basil's son, and said he had come over to claim his inheritance--greylands' rest." "and where's basil?" asked the banker, after a pause. "dead." "dead?" "so the young man wishes to make appear. my opinion is he must be some impostor." "an impostor no doubt," assented the banker, slowly. "at least--he may be. i only wonder that we have not, under the circumstances, had people here before, claiming to be connected with basil." "and i am sure the matter has annoyed james very much," pursued mrs. castlemaine. "he betrayed it in his manner, and was not at all like himself all the afternoon. i should make short work of it if the man came again, were i james, and threaten him with the law." mr. peter castlemaine said no more, and presently rose to join other of his guests. but as he talked to one, laughed with another, listened to a third, his head bent in attention, his eyes looking straight into their eyes, none had an idea that these signs of interest were evinced mechanically, and that his mind was far away. he had enough perplexity and trouble of his own just then, as heaven knew; very much indeed on this particular evening; but this other complexity, that appeared to be arising for his brother james, added to it. to mrs. castlemaine's scornfully expressed opinion that the man was an impostor, he had assented just in the same way that he was now talking with his guests--mechanically. for some instinct, or prevision, call it what you will, lay on the banker's heart, that the man would turn out to be no impostor, but the veritable son of the exile, basil. peter castlemaine was much attached to his brother james, and for james's own sake he would have regretted that any annoyance or trouble should arise for him; but he had also a selfish motive for regretting it. in his dire strait as to money--for to that it had now come--he had been rapidly making up his mind that evening to appeal to james to let him have some. the appeal might not be successful under the most favourable auspices: he knew that: but with this trouble looming for the master of greylands, he foresaw that it must and would fail. greylands' rest might be james's in all legal security; but an impression had lain on the mind of peter castlemaine, since his father's death, that if basil ever returned he would set up a fight for it. supper over--the elaborate, heavy, sit-down supper of those days--and the two dances following upon it, most of the guests departed. mr. blake-gordon, seeking about for the banker to wish him goodnight, at length found him standing over the fire in the deserted card-room. absorbed though he was in his own happiness, the young man could but notice the flood-tide of care on the banker's brow. it cleared off, as though by magic, when the banker looked up and saw him. "is it you, william? i thought you had left." "i should hardly go, sir, without wishing you goodnight. what a delightful evening it has been!" "ay, i think you have all enjoyed yourselves." "oh, very, very much." "well, youth is the time for enjoyment," observed the banker. "we can never again find the zest in it, once youth is past." "you look tired, sir; otherwise i--i might have ventured to trespass on you for five minutes' conversation, late though it be," pursued mr. blake-gordon with some hesitation. "tired!--not at all. you may take five minutes; and five to that, william." "it is about our future residence, sir. raven's priory is in the market: and i think--and mary thinks--it will just suit us." "ay; i heard more than a week ago that the wests were leaving." the words took william blake-gordon by surprise. he looked at the banker. "did you, sir!--more than a week ago! and did it not strike you that it would be a very suitable place for us?" "i cannot say that i thought much about it," was the banker's answer; and he was twirling an ornament on the mantelpiece about with his hand as he spoke: a small, costly vase of old china from dresden. "but don't you think it would be, sir?" "i daresay it might be. the gardens and conservatories have been well kept up; and you and mary ursula have both a weakness for rare flowers." that was perfectly true. and the "weakness" showed itself then, for the young man went off into a rapturous description of the wealth of raven's priory in respect of floriculture. the ten minutes slipped away to twenty; and in his own enthusiasm mr. blake-gordon did not notice the absence of it in his hearer. "but i must not keep you longer, sir," he suddenly said, as his eyes caught the hands of the clock. "perhaps you will let me see you about it to-morrow. or allow my father to see you--that will be better." "not to-morrow," said mr. peter castlemaine. "i shall be particularly engaged all day. some other time." "whenever you please, sir. only--we must take care that we are not forestalled in the purchase. much delay might----" "we can obtain a promise of the first refusal," interrupted the banker, in a somewhat impatient tone. "that will not be difficult." "true. goodnight, sir. and thank you for giving us this most charming evening." "goodnight, william." but mr. blake-gordon had not yet said his last farewell to his betrothed wife; and lovers never think that can be spoken often enough. he found her in the music-room, seated before the organ. she was waiting for her father. "we shall have raven's priory, mary," he whispered, speaking in accordance with his thoughts, in his great hopefulness; and his voice was joyous, and his pale face had a glow on it not often seen there. "your papa himself says how beautiful the gardens and conservatories are." "yes," she softly answered, "we shall be sure to have it." "i may not stay, mary: i only came back to tell you this. and to wish you goodnight once again." her hand was within his arm, and they walked together to the end of the music-room. all the lights had been put out, save two. just within the door he halted and took his farewell. his arm was around her, his lips were upon hers. "may all good angels guard you this happy night--my love!--my promised wife!" he went down the corridor swiftly; she stole her blushing face to the opening of the door, to take a last look at him. at that moment a crash, as of some frail thing broken, was heard in the card-room. mr. blake-gordon turned into it mary ursula followed him. the beautiful dresden vase lay on the stone flags of the hearth, shivered into many atoms. it was one that mary ursula set great store by, for it had been a purchase of her mother's. "oh papa! how did it happen?" "my dear, i swept it off unwittingly with my elbow: i am very sorry for it," said mr. peter castlemaine. chapter vi. anthony castlemaine on his search. the hour of dinner with all business men in stilborough was half-past one o'clock in the day. perhaps mr. peter castlemaine was the only man who did not really dine then; but he took his luncheon; which came to the same thing. it was the recognized daily interregnum in the public doings of the town--this half hour between half-past one and two: consequently shops, banks, offices, all were virtually though not actually closed. the bank of mr. peter castlemaine made no exception. on all days, except thursday, market day, the bank was left to the care of one clerk during this half hour: the rest of the clerks and mr. hill would be out at their dinner. as a rule, not a single customer came in until two o'clock had struck. it was the day after the ball. the bank had been busy all the morning, and mr. peter castlemaine had been away the best part of it. he came back at half-past one, just as the clerks were filing out. "do you want me, sir?" asked thomas hill, standing back with his hat in his hand; and it was the dreadfully worn, perplexed look on his master's face that induced him to ask the question. "just for a few minutes," was the reply. "come into my room." once there, the door was closed upon them, and they sat in grievous tribulation. there was no dinner for poor thomas hill that day; there was no lunch for his master: the hour's perplexities were all in all. on the previous evening some stranger had arrived at stilborough, had put up at the chief inn there, the turk's head; and then, after enquiring the private address of mr. peter castlemaine's head clerk, had betaken himself to the clerk's lodgings. thomas hill was seated at tea when the gentleman was shown in. it proved to be a mr. fosbrook, from london: and the moment the clerk heard the name, fosbrook, and realized the fact that the owner of it was in actual person before him, he turned as cold as a stone. for of all the men who could bring most danger on mr. peter castlemaine, and whom the banker had most cause to dread, it was this very one, fosbrook. that he had come down to seek explanations in person which might no longer be put off, the clerk felt sure of: and the fact of his seeking out him instead of his master, proved that he suspected something was more than wrong. he had had a little passing, private acquaintance with mr. fosbrook in the years gone by, and perhaps that induced the step. thomas hill did what he could. he dared not afford explanation or information himself, for he knew not what it would be safe to say, what not. he induced mr. fosbrook to return to his inn, undertaking to bring his master to wait on him there. to the banker's house he would not take the stranger; for the gaiety of which it was that night the scene was not altogether a pleasant thing to show to a creditor. leaving mr. fosbrook at the turk's head on his way, he came on to apprise mr. peter castlemaine. mr. peter castlemaine went at once to the inn. he had no resource but to go: he did not dare do otherwise: and this it was that caused his absence during the arrival of the guests. the interview was not a long one; for the banker, pleading the fact of having friends at home, postponed it until the morning. it was with this gentleman that his morning had been spent; that he had now, half-after one o'clock, just come home from. come home with the weary look in his face, and the more than weary pain at his heart. "and what is the result, sir?" asked thomas hill as they sat down together. "the result is, that fosbrook will wait a few days, hill three or four, he says. perhaps that may be made five or six: i don't know. after that--if he is not satisfied by tangible proofs that things are right and not wrong, so far as he is concerned--there will be no further waiting." "and the storm must burst." "the storm must burst," echoed peter castlemaine. "oh but, sir, my dear master, what can be done in those few poor days?" cried thomas hill, in agitation. "nothing. you must have more time allowed you." "i had much ado to get that much, hill. i had to lie for it," he added, in a low tone. "do you see a chance yourself, sir?" "only one. there is a chance; but it is a very remote one. that last venture of mine has turned up trumps: i had the news by the mail this morning: and if i can realize the funds in time, the present danger may be averted." "and the future trouble also," spoke thomas hill, catching eagerly at the straw of hope. "why, sir, that will bring you in a mine of wealth." "yes. the only real want now is time. time! time! i have said it before perhaps too sanguinely; i can say it in all truth now." "and, sir--did you not show this to be the case to mr. fosbrook?" "i did. but alas, i had to deny to him my other pressing liabilities--and he questioned sharply. nevertheless, i shall tide it over, all of it, if i can only secure the time. that account of merrit's--we may as well go over it together now, thomas. it will not take long." they drew their chairs to the table side by side. a thought was running through thomas hill's mind, and he spoke it as he opened the ledgers. "with this good news in store, sir, making repayment certain--for if time be given you, you will now have plenty--don't you think mr. castlemaine would advance you funds?" "i don't know," said the banker. "james seems to be growing cautious. he has no notion of my real position--i shrink from telling him--and i am sure he thinks that i am quite rich enough without borrowing money from anybody for fresh speculations. and, in truth, i don't see how he can have much money at command. this new trouble, that may be looming upon him, will make him extra cautious." "what trouble?" asked thomas hill. "some man, i hear, has made his appearance at greylands, calling himself anthony castlemaine, and saying that he is a son of my brother basil," replied the banker, confidentially. "never!" cried the old man. "but, sir, if he be, how should that bring trouble on mr. castlemaine?" "because the stranger says he wants to claim greylands' rest." "he must be out of his mind," said thomas hill. "greylands' rest is mr. castlemaine's; safe enough too, i presume." "but a man such as this may give trouble, don't you see." "no, sir, i don't see it--with all deference to your opinion. mr. castlemaine has only to show him it is his, and send him to the right about----" a knock at the room door interrupted the sentence. the clerk rose to open it, and received a card and a message, which he carried to his master. the banker looked rather startled as he read the name on it: "anthony castlemaine." somewhere about an hour before this, young anthony castlemaine, after a late breakfast a la fourchette, had turned out of the dolphin inn to walk to stilborough. repulsed by his uncle james on the previous day, and not exactly seeing what his course should be, he had come to the resolution of laying his case before his other uncle, the banker. making enquiries of john bent as to the position of the banker's residence, he left the inn. halting for a few seconds to gaze across beyond the beach, for he thought the sea the most beautiful object in nature and believed he should never tire of looking at it, he went on up the hill, past the church, and was fairly on his road to stilborough. it was a lonely road enough, never a dwelling to be seen all the way, save a farm homestead or two lying away amid their buildings; but anthony castlemaine walked slowly, taking in all the points and features of his native land, that were so strange to his foreign eye. he stood to read the milestones; he leaned on the fences; he admired the tall fine trees, leafless though they were; he critically surveyed the two or three carts and waggons that passed. the sky was blue, the sun bright, he enjoyed the walk and did not hurry himself: but nevertheless he at length reached stilborough, and found out the house of the banker. he rang at the private door. the servant who opened it saw a young man dressed in a rather uncommon kind of overcoat, faced with fur. the face was that of a stranger; but the servant fancied it was a face he had seen before. "is my uncle peter at home?" "sir!" returned the servant, staring at him. for the only nephew the banker possessed, so far as he knew, was the son of the master of greylands. "what name did you please to ask for, sir?" "mr. peter castlemaine. this is his residence i am told." "yes, sir, it is." "can i see him? is he at home?" "he is at home, in his private room, sir; i fancy he is busy. i'll ask if you can see him. what name shall i say, sir?" "you can take my card in. and please say to your master that if he is busy, i can wait." the man glanced at the card as he knocked at the door of the private room, and read the name: "anthony castlemaine." "it must be a nephew from over the sea," he shrewdly thought: "he looks foreign. perhaps a son of that lost basil." we have seen that thomas hill took in the card and the message to his master. he came back, saying the gentleman was to wait; mr. peter castlemaine would see him in a quarter of an hour. so the servant, beguiled by the family name, thought he should do right to conduct the stranger upstairs to the presence of miss castlemaine, and said so, while helping him to take off his overcoat. "shall i say any name, sir?" asked the man, as he laid his hand on the handle of the drawing-room door. "mr. anthony castlemaine." mary ursula was alone. she sat near the fire doing nothing, and very happy in her idleness, for her thoughts were buried in the pleasures of the past gay night; a smile was on her face. when the announcement was made, she rose in great surprise to confront the visitor. the servant shut the door, and anthony came forward. he did not commit a similar breach of good manners to the one of the previous day; the results of that had shown him that fair stranger cousins may not be indiscriminately saluted with kisses in england. he bowed, and held out his hand with a frank smile. mary ursula did not take it: she was utterly puzzled, and stood gazing at him. the likeness in his face to her father's family struck her forcibly. it must be premised that she did not yet know anything about anthony, or that any such person had made his appearance in england. anthony waited for her to speak. "if i understood the name aright--anthony castlemaine--you must be, i presume, some relative of my late grandfather's, sir?" she said at length. he introduced himself fully then; who he was, and all about it. mary ursula met his hand cordially. she never doubted him or his identity for a moment. she had the gift of reading countenances; and she took to the pleasant, honest face at once, so like the castlemaines in features, but with a more open expression. "i am sure you are my cousin," she said, in cordial welcome. "i think i should have known you for a castlemaine had i seen your face in a crowd." "i see, myself, how like i am to the castlemaines, especially to my father and grandfather: though unfortunately i have not inherited their height and strength," he added, with a slight laugh. "my mother was small and slight: i take after her." "and my poor uncle basil is dead!" "alas, yes! only a few weeks ago. these black clothes that i wear are in memorial of him." "i never saw him," said miss castlemaine, gazing at the familiar--for indeed it seemed familiar--face before her, and tracing out its features. "but i have heard say my uncle basil was just the image of his father." "and he was," said anthony. "when i saw the picture of my grandfather yesterday at greylands' rest, i thought it was my father's hanging there." it was a long while since miss castlemaine had met with anyone she liked so well at a first interview as this young man; and the quarter of an hour passed quickly. at its end the servant again appeared, saying his master would see him in his private room. so he took leave of mary ursula, and was conducted to it. but, as it seemed, mr. peter castlemaine did not wait to receive him: for almost immediately he presented himself before his daughter. "this person has been with you, i find, mary ursula! very wrong of stephen to have brought him up here! i wonder what possessed him to do it?" "i am glad he did bring him, papa," was her impulsive answer. "you have no idea what a sensible, pleasant young man he is. i could almost wish he were more even than a cousin--a brother." "why, my dear, you must be dreaming!" cried the banker, after a pause of astonishment. "cousin!--brother! it does not do to take strange people on trust in this way. the man may be, and i dare say is, an adventurer," he continued, testily: "no more related to the castlemaines than i am related to the king of england." she laughed. "you may take him upon trust, papa, without doubt or fear. he is a castlemaine all over, save in the height. the likeness to grandpapa is wonderful; it is so even to you and to uncle james. but he says he has all needful credential proofs with him." the banker, who was then looking from the window, stood fingering the bunch of seals that hung from his long and massive watch-chain, his habit sometimes when in deep thought. self-interest sways us all. the young man was no doubt the individual he purported to be: but if he were going to put in a vexatious claim to greylands' rest, and so upset james, the banker might get no loan from him. he turned to his daughter. "you believe, then, my dear, that he is really what he makes himself out to be--basil's son?" "papa, i think there is no question of it. i feel sure there can be none. rely upon it, the young man is not one who would lay himself out to deceive, or to countenance deception: he is evidently honest and open as the day. i scarcely ever saw so true a face." "well, i am very sorry," returned the banker. "it may bring a great deal of trouble upon james." "in what way can it bring him trouble, papa?" questioned mary ursula, in surprise. "this young man--as i am informed--has come over to put in a claim to greylands' rest." "to greylands' rest!" she repeated. "but that is my uncle james's! how can anyone else claim it?" "people may put in a claim to it; there's no law against that; as i fear this young man means to do," replied the banker, taking thought and time over his answer. "he may cost james no end of bother and expense." "but, papa--i think indeed you must be misinformed. i feel sure this young man is not one who would attempt to claim anything that is not his own." "but if he supposes it to be his own?" "what, greylands' rest his? how can that be?" "my dear child, as yet i know almost nothing. nothing but a few words that mrs. castlemaine said to me last night." "but why should he take up such a notion, papa?" she asked, in surprise. "from his father, i suppose. i know basil as much believed greylands' rest would descend to him as he believed in his bible. however, i must go down and see this young man." as soon as peter castlemaine entered his private room, and let his eyes rest on the face of the young man who met him so frankly, he saw the great likeness to the castlemaines. that it was really his nephew, basil's son, he had entertained little doubt of from the first; none, since the recent short interview with his daughter. with this conviction on his mind, it never would have occurred to him to deny or cast doubts on the young man's identity, and he accepted it at once. but though he called him "anthony," or "anthony castlemaine"--and now and then by mistake "basil"--he did not show any mark of gratification or affection, but was distant and cold; and thought it very inconvenient and ill-judged of basil's son to be bringing trouble on james. taking his place in his handsome chair, turned sideways to the closed desk, he faced the young man seated before him. a few minutes were naturally spent in questions and answers, chiefly as to basil's career abroad. young anthony gave every information freely--just as he had done to his uncle james on the previous day. after that, at the first pause, he passed on to the subject of the inheritance. "perhaps, uncle peter, you will not refuse to give me some information about my grandfather's estate, greylands' rest," he began. "my father always assured me it would be mine. he said it would come to him at his father's death, and then to me afterwards----" "he must have spoken without justifiable warranty," interrupted the banker. "it did not necessarily lapse to basil, or to anyone else. your grandfather could leave it to whom he would." "of course: we never understood otherwise. but my father always said that it would never be left away from him." "then i say, that he spoke without sufficient warranty," repeated the banker. "am i to understand that you have come over to this country to put in a claim to greylands' rest, on this sole justification?" "my father, on his dying bed, charged me to come and claim it, uncle peter. he had bequeathed it to me in his will. it was only quite at the last that he learnt his father was dead, and he made a fresh will at once, and gave me the charge to come over without delay. when i presented myself to my uncle james yesterday, he seemed much to resent the fact that i should put in any claim to the estate. he told me i had no right to do so; he said it was his." "well?" said the banker; for the young man had paused. "uncle peter, i am not unreasonable. i come home to find my uncle james in possession of the estate, and quite ready, as i gather, to oppose my claim to it; or, i should better say, to treat me and my claim with contempt. now i do not forget that my grandfather might have left it to uncle james; that he had the power to do so----" "most undoubtedly he had," again interrupted the banker. "and i can tell you that he never, to the very last, allowed anybody to interfere with his wish and will." "well, i say i am not unreasonable, uncle peter. though i have come over to claim the estate, i should not attempt to lay claim to it in the teeth of facts. i told my uncle james so. once let me be convinced that the estate was really and fairly bequeathed to him, and i would not, for the world, wish to disturb him in its possession. i am not a rogue." "but he is in possession, anthony; and it appears that you do wish to disturb him," remonstrated mr. peter castlemaine. "i beg your pardon; i think you have not quite caught my meaning. what i want is, to be assured that greylands' rest was left away from my father: that he was passed over for my uncle james. if uncle james came into it by will, or by legal deed, of any kind, let him just show me the deed or the will, and that will suffice." "you doubt his word then!" young anthony hesitated, before replying; and then spoke out with ingenuous candour. "the fact is, uncle peter, i deem it right to assure myself by proof, of how the matter is; for my father warned me that there might be treachery----" "treachery!" came the quick, echoing interposition of the banker; his dark eyes flashing fire. "my father thought it possible," quietly continued the young man; "he feared that, even though greylands' rest was legally mine, my claim to it might be opposed. that is one reason why i press for proof; i should press for it if there existed no other. but i find that doubts already are circulating abroad as to how mr. james castlemaine came into the estate, and whether it became lawfully his on my grandfather's death." "doubts existing abroad! doubts where?" "amid the neighbours, the people of greyland's. i have heard one and another talk of it." "oh, indeed!" was the cold rejoinder. "pray where are you staying?" "at the dolphin inn, uncle peter. when i descended at it, and saw the flaming dolphin on the signboard, splashing up the water, i could not help smiling; for my father had described it to me so accurately, that it seemed like an old acquaintance." mr. peter castlemaine made no rejoinder, and there ensued a silence. in truth, his own difficulties were so weighty that they had been pressing on his mind throughout, an undercurrent of trouble, and for the moment he was lost in them. "will you, uncle peter, give me some information of the true state of the case?" resumed the young man. "i came here purposely, intending to ask you. you see, i want to be placed at a certainty, one way or the other. i again repeat that i am not unreasonable; i only ask to be dealt with fairly and honourably. if greylands' rest is not mine, show me that it is not; if it is mine, i ought to have it. perhaps you will tell me, uncle peter, how it was left." the banker suddenly let drop his seals, with which he had been playing during the last appeal, and turned his full attention to the speaker, answering in a more frank tone than he had yet spoken. "when your father, basil, went away, he took his full portion of money with him--a third of the money we should conjointly inherit. i received my portion later; james received his. nothing remained but greylands' rest and the annuity--a large one--which your grandfather enjoyed from his wife's family: which annuity had nothing to do with us, for it would go back again at his death. greylands' rest could be disposed of as he should please. does it strike you as any strange thing, anthony, that he should prefer its passing to the son who was always with him, rather than to the son who had abandoned him and his home, and whom he did not even know to be alive?" "uncle peter, i have said that i see reasons why my grandfather might make his second son his heir, rather than his eldest. if he did so, i am quite ready and willing to accept the fact, but i must first of all be convinced that it is fact. it is true, is it not, that my grandfather always intended to leave the estate to his eldest son basil?" "that is true," assented the banker, readily. "such no doubt was his intention at one time. but basil crossed him, and went, besides, out of sight and out of mind, and james remained with him and was always a dutiful son. it was much more natural that he should bequeath it to james than to basil." "well, will you give me the particulars of the bequest, uncle peter? was the estate devised by will, or by deed of gift?" "i decline to give you more particulars than i have already given," was the prompt reply of the banker. "the affair is not mine; it is my brother james's. you find him in secure possession of the estate; you are told that it is his; and that ought to suffice. it is a very presumptuous proceeding on the part of basil's son, to come over in this extraordinary manner, without warning of any kind, and attempt to question the existing state of things. that is my opinion, anthony." "is this your final resolve, uncle peter?--not to help me?" "my final, irrevocable resolve. i have enough to do in attending to my own affairs, without interfering with my brother's!" anthony castlemaine took up his hat, and put forth his hand. "i am very sorry, uncle peter. it might have saved so much trouble. perhaps i shall have to go to law." the banker shook hands with him in a sufficiently friendly spirit: but he did not ask him to remain, or to call again. "one hint i will give you, anthony," he said, as the young man turned to the door; and he spoke apparently upon impulse. "were you to expend your best years and your best energies upon this search, you would be no wiser than you are now. the castlemaines do not brook interference; neither are their affairs conducted in that loose manner that can afford a possibility of their being inquired into; and so long as mr. castlemaine refuses to allow you ocular proof, rely upon it you will never get to have it. the castlemaines know how to hold their own." "i am a castlemaine, too, uncle, and can hold my own with the best of them. nothing will turn me from my course in this matter, save the proofs i have asked for." "good-morning, anthony." "good-day, uncle peter." anthony put on his coat in the hall, and went forth into the street. there he halted; looking this way and that way, as though uncertain of his route. "a few doors on the right hand, on the other side the market-house, john bent said," he repeated to himself. "then i must cross the street, and so onwards." he crossed over, went on past the market-house, and looked attentively at the doors on the other side it. on one of those doors was a brass plate: "mr. knivett, attorney-at-law." anthony castlemaine rang the bell, asked if the lawyer was at home, and sent in one of his cards. he was shown into a small back room. at a table strewn with papers and pens, sat an elderly man with a bald head, who was evidently regarding the card with the utmost astonishment. he turned his spectacles on anthony. "do i see mr. knivett, the avoué?" he asked, substituting for once a french term for an english one, perhaps unconsciously. "i am mr. knivett, sir, attorney-at-law." in the frank, free way that seemed so especially to characterise him, anthony castlemaine put out his hand as to a friend. "you knew my father well, sir. will you receive his son for old memories' sake?" "your father?" asked mr. knivett, questioningly: but nevertheless meeting the hand with his own, and glancing again at the card. "basil castlemaine. he who went away so long ago from greylands' rest." "bless my heart!" cried mr. knivett, snatching off his glasses in his surprise. "basil castlemaine! i never thought to hear of him again. why, it must be--ay--since he left, it mast be hard upon five-and-thirty years." "about that, i suppose, sir." "and--is he come back?" anthony had again to go over the old story. his father's doings abroad and his father's death, and his father's charge to him to come home and claim his paternal inheritance: he rehearsed it all. mr. knivett, who was very considerably past sixty, and had put his spectacles on again, never ceased gazing at the relator, as they sat nearly knee to knee. not for a moment did any doubt occur to him that the young man was other than he represented himself to be: the face was the face of a castlemaine, and of a truthful gentleman. "but i have come to you, not only to show myself to a friend of my poor father's in his youth, but also as a client," proceeded anthony, after a short while. "i have need of a lawyer's advice, sir; which i am prepared to pay for according to the charges of the english country. will you advise me?" "to be sure," replied mr. knivett. "what advice is it that you want?" "first of all, sir--in the days when my father was at home, you were the solicitor to my grandfather, old anthony castlemaine. did you continue to be so until his death?" "i did." "then you can, i hope, give me some particulars that i desire to know. to whom was greylands' rest bequeathed--and in what manner was it devised?" mr. knivett shook his head. "i cannot give you any information upon the point," he said. "i must refer you to mr. castlemaine." "i have applied to mr. castlemaine, and to mr. peter castlemaine also: neither of them will tell me anything. they met me with a point blank refusal to do so." "ah--i daresay. the castlemaines never choose to be questioned." "why will not you afford me the information, mr. knivett?" "for two reasons. firstly, because the probability is that--pray understand me, young sir; note what i say--the probability is that i do not possess the information to give you. secondly, if i did possess it, my relations with the family would preclude my imparting it. i am the attorney to the castlemaines." "their confidential attorney?" "some of the business i transact for them is confidential." "but see here, mr. knivett--what am i to do? i come over at the solemn command of my father, delivered to me on his death-bed, to put in my claim to the estate. i find my uncle james in possession of it. he says it is his. well and good: i do not say it is quite unlikely to be so. but when i say to him, 'show me the vouchers for it, the deed or the will that you hold it by,' he shuts himself metaphorically up, and says he will not show me anything--that i must be satisfied with his word. now, is that satisfactory?" "i daresay it does not appear so to you." "if there was a will made, let them allow me to see the will; if it was bequeathed by a deed of gift, let me read the deed of gift. can there be anything more fair than what i ask? if greylands' rest is legally my uncle james's, i should not be so foolish or so unjust as to wish to deprive him of it." mr. knivett sat back in his chair, pressing the tips of his fingers together, and politely listening. but comment made he none. "to go back home, without prosecuting my claim, is what i shall never do, unless i am convinced that i have no claim to prosecute," continued anthony. "well, sir, i shall want a legal gentleman to advise me how to set about the investigation of the affair; and hence i come to you." "i have shown you why i cannot advise you," said mr. knivett--and his manner was ever so many shades colder than it had been at first. "i am the attorney to mr. castlemaine." "you cannot help me at all, then?" "not at all; in this." it sounded rather hard to the young man as he rose from his seat to depart. all he wanted was fair play, open dealing; and it seemed that he could not get it. "my uncle peter, with whom i have just been, said a thing that i did not like," he stayed to remark; "it rather startled me. i presume--i should think--that he is a man of strict veracity?" "mr. peter castlemaine? undoubtedly." "well, sir, what he said was this. that were i to spend my best years and energies in the search after information, i should be no wiser at the end than i am now." "that i believe to be extremely probable," cordially assented the lawyer. "but do you see the position in which it would leave me? years and years!--and i am not to be satisfied one way or the other?" the attorney froze again. "ah, yes; true." "well, sir, i will say good-day to you, for it seems that i can do no good by staying, and i must not take up your time for nothing. i only wish you had been at liberty to advise me." mr. knivett made some civil rejoinder about wishing that he had been. so they parted, and the young man found himself in the street again. until now it had been one of the brightest of days; but during this short interview at the lawyer's, the weather seemed to have changed. the skies, as anthony castlemaine looked up, were now dull and threatening. the clouds had lowered. he buttoned his warm coat about him, and began his walk back to greylands. "je crois que nous aurons de la neige," he said, in the familiar language to which he was most accustomed, "et je n'ai pas de parapluie. n'importe; je marcherai vite." walk fast! and to greylands! could poor anthony castlemaine have foreseen the black pall of fate, already closing upon him like a dreadful shadow, he had turned his steps away from greylands for ever. chapter vii. in the moonlight. white clouds were passing over the face of the blue sky, casting their light and their shade on the glorious sea. not for a minute together did the sea present the same surface; its hue, its motions, and its ripples were for ever changing. now it would be blue and clear almost as crystal; anon, green and still; next, sparkling like diamonds under the sunlight: and each aspect seemed more beautiful than that which it had displaced. to anthony castlemaine, gazing at it from his bedroom at the dolphin inn, no object in nature had ever seemed so beautiful. not the vineyards of his native land; not the sunny plains of italy; not the grand picturesque mountains of switzerland: all these he had been accustomed to from his youth, and they were fair to look upon: but to him they were as nothing, compared with this wide, wondrous, ever-changing sea. some days, a very few, had elapsed since his visit to stilborough, told of in the last chapter. another week had come in, and this was the tuesday in it: destined to be a most fatal day for more than one person connected with our story. the snow-storm he had anticipated, in his homeward walk that afternoon, had passed off without falling; the cold itself seemed on the next day to have taken its departure. with that variable caprice that distinguishes our insular climate, the biting frost, the keen east wind, that had almost cut people through, had given, place to the warm, cheering weather of a balmy spring. anthony castlemaine had opened the casement window to admit the genial air, the fresh sea-breeze, and stood there in profound thought. on the table lay a letter he had just written. its seal of black wax was stamped with the castlemaine crest, and it was addressed to his native place, gap, dauphiné. some shouting arose on the beach, drawing his attention. a fishing-boat was preparing to put out; one of her men had not come down, and the two others and the shrill boy were raising their voices to make tie laggard hear. he went dashing out of the dolphin inn, just under the view of anthony. anthony castlemaine was in perplexity. he did not see his way any clearer before him than he had seen it when he first came. that greylands' rest was legally his he entertained no doubt of; but to prove it was another matter. he and mr. castlemaine had met one day near the dolphin; they had talked for a few minutes, but anthony could make out nothing. twice since then he had presented himself at greylands rest, and mr. castlemaine had been denied to him. it was quite evident he meant to have nothing more to do with anthony. the waves of the sea sparkled and rippled; the sun came out from behind a fleecy cloud, and shone with renewed strength; a beautiful vessel in the distance was passing with all her sails set. "it is very strange behaviour," mused anthony. "if the estate belongs in truth to my uncle james, why can he not show me that it does? his not showing it almost proves of itself that it is mine. i must get to see him: i cannot stay in the dark like this." taking up the letter, he descended the stairs, went across to the little general shop near the beach, and dropped it into the letter-box. he was quite at home in greylands now, had made acquaintance with its inhabitants, and was known and recognised as the grandson of old anthony castlemaine. in returning he met one of the grey sisters. lifting his hat, he bowed to her with deep respect; for he regarded the grey ladies as a religious order, and in his native land these female communities are held in reverence. little sister phoeby--she was very short and stout, and nearly middle-aged, and only one of the working sisters--bobbed down her grey head in return, giving him a kindly good-morrow. "and john bent thinks that mr. castlemaine derides these good ladies!" thought anthony. "it must be fancy. john has fancies. he---- dear me! here's that charming demoiselle again!" she was advancing swiftly, seemingly wishing to catch sister phoeby, her pretty figure attired becomingly in a light silk dress and short scarlet cloak with silken tassels; her strangely-beautiful eyes were cast on the sea with the same look of loving admiration that anthony's own sometimes wore when gazing at it. he could have wished that this young lady was his sister, or really his cousin: for anthony had not seen many faces in his life that he so believed in for truth and goodness and beauty as ethel reene's. they had nearly met before she observed him. he stopped and addressed some words to her in deprecation of his former fault, keeping his hat off while he spoke. ethel answered him frankly, and held out her hand. since the previous encounter, she had had time to digest the offence, to understand how it had arisen and that he had not the least intention of insulting her; she had also been favourably impressed with what she had heard abroad of anthony castlemaine. "let us forget it," said ethel, with her sweet smile. "i understand now how it happened; i know you did not intend any offence. are you going to make a long stay at the dolphin?" "that must depend partly on mr. castlemaine," replied anthony. "he will not give me an interview, and for myself i can scarcely see a step before my face. i must ask him once more to listen to me; i hope he will. i had some thought of going to him this afternoon." "he is at home," said ethel, innocently, who only very imperfectly understood the trouble looming between the young man before her and mr. castlemaine. "at home now? then i will go to him at once," said he, acting on the impulse of the moment: and he again offered his hand to ethel. "adieu. i hope you have quite forgiven me, miss castlemaine." "i have quite forgiven you, indeed: but i am not miss castlemaine, you know," she said, laughing, as she let her hand rest in his. "you will know my name better soon--ethel reene. good-bye." and during her after-life ethel was wont to look back often on this little meeting, and to feel thankful that it had taken place, and that it was a pleasant one. for she never again saw the ill-fated young man in this world. recrossing the road, and passing the inn corner, anthony got into the fields on his way to greylands' rest. they were pleasanter than the road that sunshiny afternoon. he walked along in deep thought, deliberating on what he should say. ah, if he could but have seen behind him! a double shadow followed him--as the poet hood wrote of miss kilmansegg going upstairs to her doom. his own natural shadow and another. nearer and nearer it had been gradually drawing as the days went on; and now on this day it lay ready to close on him--as it would close ere the clock had told many more hours: the dark, dreadful, ominous shadow of death. of a death done in darkness and secret. in the last field, side by side with the avenue that led to greylands' rest, while anthony was wondering whether he should be permitted to see his uncle or not, his uncle suddenly stood in front of him, coming through the little gateway that led into the field. the master of greylands, erect, well dressed, handsome, would have passed him with a slight nod, but anthony put himself in his way. "uncle james, i beg your pardon; i would not wish to be rude; but will you allow me to speak a few little words to you?" "i am in a hurry," said mr. castlemaine. "will you give me then a short interview at your house this evening? or to-morrow morning, if that will suit you better." "no," replied mr. castlemaine. "twice i have been to greylands' rest, asking to see you, uncle james; and twice have i been denied. though the last time i think you were at home, and that you saw me from the window." "you cannot have anything to say to me that i wish to hear, or that would be profitable to yourself," returned the master of greylands "for that reason i was denied to you. our first interview was not so satisfactory that we need wish for another." "but it is necessary that we should converse," returned the young man. "i am waiting to have this question settled as to greylands' rest." "what question?" demanded mr. castlemaine, with haughty indifference--just as though he had quite forgotten that anything had ever arisen in regard to it. "greylands' rest is yours, uncle james, or it is mine: i must ascertain which of us it belongs to. you decline to tell me----" "decline to tell you," interrupted mr. castlemaine. "cannot you use your own eyes and your judgment, and see that it is mine." "i see that you are in possession of it, uncle james; i see no farther. you decline to show me anything of the facts: my uncle peter declines; knivett, the attorney-at-law, declines." "have you applied to knivett?" "yes, last week." the eyes of mr. castlemaine flashed fire. "how dare you do such a thing, sir, as attempt to interfere in my affairs? tamper with my man of business! by heaven, i have a great mind to give you into custody!" "do not let us quarrel, uncle james; suffer me to say what little i have to say quietly. i did not go to mr. knivett otherwise than openly. he said he could tell me nothing; and i recognized the weight of his objection--that he is your attorney. being so, he of course cannot act for me." "perhaps you tried to bribe him to act for you," scoffed mr. castlemaine, who was foolishly beginning to lose his temper. "i would not do any mean or dishonourable thing, uncle james; i am a castlemaine, and my father's son. but what i have to say to you is this, that matters cannot rest as they are: and i wish you fully to understand what my course will be if you do not give me the satisfaction i require, as to who is the true owner of greylands' rest. only show me that it is yours, and i make my bow of departure from greylands." "you are pretty insolent for a young man!" retorted mr. castlemaine, looking down on him with scorn. "do you suppose such an application was ever made to a gentleman before? you speak of your father, my brother basil: had some impudent stranger presented himself before him, and demanded to see title-deeds of his, what would his answer have been, think you?" "circumstances alter cases, uncle james. my case is different from the imaginary one that you put. only satisfy me that the place is yours, and i ask no more. i have a right to know so much." "you never shall know it: for your insolence, you shall never know more than you know now. do your best and worst." "then you will leave me no resource but to proceed," returned the young man, who maintained his temper and his courtesy in a notable degree. "i shall employ the best lawyer i can call to my aid, and act on his advice." "tush!" was the contemptuous answer. "go and put in a claim to parson marston's church--to the dolphin inn,--to the beach itself! claim all, and see how far a lawyer will advance you in it." "i wish you had met me temperately, uncle james. i only ask what's fair--to be satisfied. it is the talk of the neighbours now: they say you ought to satisfy me; they think you would do it if it were in your power." "what?" roared mr. castlemaine. had anthony seen the storm he was provoking, he had surely not continued. he did not wish to irritate mr. castlemaine: all he wanted was to show him the reasons of his proposed attempted investigation--to prove to him that he was justified in what he meant to do. the truth was, the young man, who was by nature just, honourable, and kindly, who had never in his life attempted to take a mean advantage of friend or enemy, felt half ashamed and deeply grieved to be thus thrown into adverse contact with his newly-found relatives; and he sought to show that he had justifiable excuse for it. "it is not my fault, uncle, if the people thus give their opinion: i did not ask for it, or provoke them to it. what they say has reason in it, as it seems to me. when the popular belief prevailed that my grandfather would not leave his estate away from his eldest son, basil, and when it was never known how he did leave it, or to whom, or anything about it, save that his second son remained in possession, why, they talked. that is what i am told. it would be a satisfaction to the public as well as to me, uncle james, if you would suffer the truth to be known." it was not often that the master of greylands allowed anger to overpower him. in his younger days he had been subject to fits of intemperate passion, but time and self-control had well-nigh stamped the failing out. perhaps until this moment he had believed it had left him for ever. his passion rose now: his face was scarlet; his clenched hands were kept by force down to his side, lest they should deal a blow at anthony. them, so far, he controlled, but not his tongue: and he poured forth a torrent of abuse. "go back to where you came from, insolent, upstart braggart!" were the words he finished up with. "you are no true son of my brother basil. ill-doing though he was, he was not a fire-brand, striving to spread malignant dissension amid a peaceable community." "uncle james, i shall never go back until i have come to the bottom of this matter," spoke the young man, firmly: and it may be that his unruffled temper, his very calmness of bearing, only served to irritate all the more mr. castlemaine. "the best man of law that london will afford i shall summon to my aid: he must force you to show the title by which you hold possession of the estate; and we shall then see which has the most right to it, you or i." the words inflamed mr. castlemaine almost to madness. with a fierce oath--and bad language, though common enough then, was what he was rarely, if ever, betrayed to use--he lifted his hand to strike. anthony, startled, got away. "what have i done to merit this treatment, uncle james?" he remonstrated. "is it because i am a relative? you would not, for shame, so treat a stranger." but the master of greylands, flinging back a word and look of utter contempt, went striding on his way, leaving his nephew alone. now it happened that this contest was witnessed by the superintendent of the coastguard, mr. nettleby, who was walking along the path of the neighbouring field behind the far-off intervening hedge, bare at that season. he could not hear the words that passed--the whole field was between--but he saw they were angry ones, and that the master of greylands was in a foaming passion. calling in at the dolphin inn, he related before one or two people what he had seen: and anthony, when he returned soon after, gave the history of the interview. "i'm sure i thought mr. castlemaine struck you, sir," resumed the officer. "no, but he would have liked to strike me," said anthony. "i stepped back from his hand. it is very foolish of him." "i think he would like to kill mr. anthony, for my part, by the way he treats him," said john bent. but the words were only spoken in the heat of partisanship, without actual meaning: just as we are all given to hasty assertions on occasion. however, they were destined to be remembered afterwards by greylands. somewhat later john bent and his guest were standing at the front door, talking together of the general perplexity of things. the sun was setting in the west in beautiful clouds of rose-colour and amber, showing the advance of evening john began to think he had better be laying the cloth for the parlour dinner, unless he wanted his wife about him. and--here she was! her cherry-coloured ribbons right over his shoulder. at that moment, careering down the road from greylands' rest, came harry castlemaine on his spirited horse. his overcoat was rolled up and strapped on the saddle, and he looked as though mounted for a journey. on the road he was bent the chapel lane would have been the nearest way; but when on horseback harry always took the front way from his house, though it might involve a round through the village. "going out a pleasuring, mr. harry?" cried the landlady, as he reined-in. "going out a businessing," corrected the young man, in his free and careless manner, as he nodded and smiled at anthony--for he did not share in his father's discourteous behaviour to their new relative, though he had not yet made advances to any intimacy. "a beautiful sunset, is it not?" "quite very beautiful," replied anthony. "i am bound for newerton, mrs. bent," resumed harry. "can i do anything for you there?" "nothing, thank you, sir." "what, not even choose you some cap ribbons? newerton ribbons, you know, take the conceit out of those at stilborough." "you must always have your joke, mr. harry! as if a fine young gentleman like you would trouble himself to choose an old woman's ribbons!" "see if i don't bring you some! meanwhile, john, suppose you give me a glass of ale, to speed me on my journey." the landlord brought the ale, handing it up on a waiter; somewhat to his own discomfort, for the horse was prancing and rearing. harry castlemaine drank it; and with a general nod, an intimation that he should return on the morrow, and a wave of the hand to his cousin, he rode away. anthony went round the corner of the house to look after him. not being anything great in horsemanship himself, he admired those who were. he admired also the tall, fine form, the handsome face, and the free, frank bearing of harry castlemaine; and a hope in that moment arose in his heart that they might become good friends if he remained in england. he stood and watched him up the road until its bending hid him from view. harry's route lay past the grey nunnery, past the coastguard station higher up, and so onwards. newerton was a town of some importance, at about ten miles distance. the remaining events of the evening, so far as they concerned anthony castlemaine, were destined to assume importance and to be discussed for days and weeks afterwards. he took his dinner at six, john bent waiting on him as usual; afterwards, he sat alone for an hour or two in deep thought. at least, mrs. bent, coming in to take away his coffee-cup, assumed him to be deep in thought as he did not speak to her, an unusual thing. he sat between the table and the fire, his elbow resting on the former and his fingers pressing his right temple. the landlady had never seen him so still, or look so solemn; there was a cloud as of some dread care upon his face--she declared so to the world afterwards. could it have been that in those, the last few hours of his life on earth, a foreshadowing of the dreadful fate about to overtake him was presented in some vague manner to his mind? it might have been so. about nine o'clock he suddenly asked the landlord to fetch down his inkstand and paper-case, which he had left in his bedroom; and then he wrote a letter, sealed it as he had the one in the afternoon, and put on it the same address. by-and-by, john bent came in again to look to the fire. "i have made up my mind to get another interview with mr. castlemaine before i apply for legal advice," spoke anthony. "bless me!" exclaimed john bent, for the words surprised him. "yes. i have been thinking it well over from beginning to end; and i see that i ought to give my uncle james one more opportunity to settle it amicably, before bringing the dispute openly before the world, and causing a scandal. he was in a passion this afternoon and perhaps did not quite understand me: when he shall have had time to reflect he may be more reasonable." john bent shook his head. in his own mind he did not believe that fifty fresh appeals would have any effect on mr. castlemaine. "i say this to myself," went on anthony: "whether greylands' rest is his by right or not, he is in possession of it. nobody can deny that. and i have tried to put myself in imagination in his place, and i see how cruel a blow it would seem if a stranger came to seek to deprive me of it. i might be as angry as he is." "then, sir, do you intend to leave him in possession of it?" returned the landlord. "no, no; you do not comprehend. i must enforce my claim; if the estate is mine, i will never yield it--to him, or to anyone. but it may be his: and i think it is only just to offer him one more opportunity of privately satisfying me, before i take any proceedings. i shall do so. if i cannot see him to-morrow, i will write to him fully." "the meeting might only lead to another quarrel, mr. anthony." "well--yes--i have thought of that. and i fear he would injure me if he could," added the young man, in a dreamy manner, and speaking to himself instead of to his landlord. "there: don't put more coal, please: it is too warm." john bent went away with his coal-scuttle. he remarked to his wife that their inmate did not seem in his usual good spirits. mrs. bent, trimming one of her smart caps at the round table by the fire, answered that she knew as much as that without being told; and that he (john) had better see that molly was properly attending to the company in the public-room. it was considerably past ten, and the company--as mrs. bent called them, which consisted principally of fishermen--were singing a jovial song, when anthony castlemaine came out of his parlour, the letter in his hand. just as he had posted the one written in the afternoon, so he went over to the box now and posted this. after that, he took a turn up and down the beach, listening to the low murmuring of the sea, watching the moonbeams as they played on the water. it was a most beautiful night; the air still and warm, the moon rather remarkably bright. that greylands' rest was his own legally now, and would soon be his own practically, he entertained no doubt, and he lost himself in visions of the pleasant life he might lead there. thus the time slipped unconsciously on, and when he got back to the dolphin the clock had struck eleven. john bent's company were taking their departure--for the house closed at the sober hour of eleven--john's man was shutting the shutters, and john himself stood outside his door, his hat on his head and a pipe in his mouth. "a lovely night, sir, isn't it?" he began. "a'most like summer. i've been finishing my pipe outside on the bench here." "lovely indeed," replied anthony. "i could never tire of looking at the sea yonder." they paced about together before the bench, talking, and presently extending their stroll up the hill. mr. nettleby's residence, a fair-sized, pretty cottage, stood aback from the road in its garden, just opposite the grey nunnery; and mr. nettleby, smoking his pipe, was at the outer gate. when that fatal night was gone and past, and people began to recall its events, they said how chance trifles seemed to have worked together to bring about the ill. had anthony castlemaine not written that letter, the probability was that he would never have gone out at all; on returning from the post and the beach, had the landlord not been outside the inn, he would at once have entered: and finally, had the superintendent of the coastguard not been at his gate, they would not have stayed abroad. mr. nettleby invited them in, hospitably offering them a pipe and glass. he had business abroad that night, and therefore had not retired to rest. they consented to enter, "just for a minute." the minute extended itself to the best part of an hour. once seated there by the fire, and plunged into a sea of talk, they were in no hurry to move again. anthony castlemaine accepted a pipe, john bent refilled his. the former took a glass of sugar and water--at which mr. nettleby made a wry face; john bent had a glass of weak hollands, which lasted him during the visit: he was no drinker. the conversation turned on various matters. on the claims of anthony to greylands' rest, which had become quite a popular topic; on the social politics of greylands, and on other subjects. under a strong injunction of secrecy, mr. nettleby imparted certain suspicions that he was entertaining of a small hamlet called beeton, a mile or two higher up the coast. he believed some extensive smuggling was carried on there, and he purposed paying a visit to the place that very night, to look out for anything there might be to see. anthony inquired whether he was extensively troubled by smugglers, and the superintendent said no; very little indeed, considering that the coast lay so convenient for holland and other suspicious countries: but he had his doubts. they all went out together. it was twelve o'clock, or close upon it. mr. nettleby's road lay to the left; theirs to the right. however, they turned to accompany him a short distance, seduced to it by the beauty of the night. "in for a penny, in for a pound," thought john bent. "the missis can't go on more if i stay out for another hour than she'll go on now." but they did not walk far: just to the top of the hill, and a short way beyond it. they then wished the officer goodnight, and turned back again. the friar's keep looked ghastly enough in the moonlight. anthony castlemaine glanced up at its roof, dilapidated in places, at its dark casement windows. "let us watch a minute," said he, jestingly, "perhaps the grey monk will appear." john bent smiled. they had passed the entrance to chapel lane, and were standing within the thick privet hedge and the grove of trees which overshadowed it. not that the trees gave much shadow at that season, for their branches were bare. "tell me again the legend of the grey monk," said anthony. "i partly forget it." john bent proceeded to do as he was bid, lowering his voice as befitted the time and subject. but he had scarcely begun the narrative when the sound of approaching footsteps struck on their ears, and his voice involuntarily died away into silence. at the first moment, they thought the superintendent was returning. but no. the footsteps came from chapel lane. they drew more closely within the cover of the hedge, and waited. a gentleman, walking fast and firmly, emerged from the lane, crossed the road, went in at the gate of the chapel ruins, seemed to take a hasty glance out over the sea, and then passed into the friar's keep. very much to the astonishment of john bent, and somewhat to that of anthony, they recognized mr. castlemaine. "he was taking a look at the sea by moonlight," whispered anthony. "i'll go after him. i will. and we'll have it out under the moonbeams. what's he doing now, i wonder, in that friar's keep?" before john bent could stop him--and, as the landlord said later, an impulse prompted him to attempt it--the young man was off like a shot; entered the gate in the wake of his uncle, and disappeared amid the cloisters of the friar's keep. the master of greylands must have emerged safely enough from those ghostly cloisters: since he was abroad and well the next day as usual: but the ill-fated anthony castlemaine was never again seen in this life. chapter viii. commotion at stilborough. on that same fatal tuesday--and fatal it might well be called, so much of evil did it bring in its train--there was commotion at stilborough. disagreeable rumours of some kind had got abroad, touching the solvency of the bank. whence they arose, who had originated them, and what they precisely meant, nobody knew, nobody could tell: but they were being whispered about from one man to another, and the bank's creditors rose up in astonishment and fear. "is it true? it cannot be." "what is it?--what's amiss? not possible for peter castlemaine to be shaky. where did you hear it? i'd trust the bank with my life, let alone my money." "but it's said that some gigantic speculation has failed?" "nonsense the bank would stand twenty failures: don't believe a syllable of it." "well, rumour says the bank will stop to-morrow." "stop to-morrow! what shall we do for our money?" "don't know. i shall get mine out to-day." the above sentences, and others similar to them, might be heard from different people in the streets of stilborough. those who were ultra-cautious went into the bank and asked for their money. at first thomas hill paid: he thought the demands were only in the regular course of business: but in a short while he saw what it was--that a run upon the bank was setting in; and he went into mr. peter castlemaine's private room to consult his master. fortunately the rumours had only got afloat late in the afternoon, and it was now within a few minutes of the usual time of closing. not that, earlier or later, it could have made much difference in the calamity; but it saved some annoyance to the bank's inmates. had the bank been solvent, it would of course have kept its doors open, irrespective of hours and customs; being insolvent, it closed them to the minute, and the shutters too. had mr. peter castlemaine been able to meet the demands for money, he would have been in the public room with a clear face, reassuring the applicants: as it was, he bolted himself in his parlour. the clerks drew down the shutters and shut the doors against the public: two or three of the young men, who had to go out with letters or messages, got away through the private entrance. back went thomas hill to his master, knocking at the door when he found it fastened. "it is only me, sir. all's safe." peter castlemaine opened it. a change, that the faithful old clerk did not like to see, was in his face. hill's own face was scared and white enough just then, as he well knew; but it could not wear the peculiar, sickly, shrunken look he saw on his master's. "where are they, thomas? is it really a run?" "really and truly, sir. what an unfortunate circumstance! a few days, and you would have tided it over." "but where are they all?" "outside, sir, in the street, kicking and thumping at the doors and windows; a great crowd of them by this time, and growing a bigger one every minute. we managed to get the doors shut as tie clock struck, and then put down the shutters." mr. castlemaine drew his hand across his aching brow. "i think this must have been caused by fosbrook," he remarked. "he may have let an incautious word drop." "he'd not do it, sir." "not intentionally: for his own sake. i knew it boded no good when i found he meant to stay on at the turk's head. alas! alas!" "there has not been a regular stoppage," said thomas hill. "and if we can manage to get assistance, and open again to-morrow morning----" "don't, hill," interrupted the banker, in a tone of painful wailing. "don't speak of hope! there's no hope left." "but, sir, when the remittance, which we expect, comes----" "hush! look here." mr. peter castlemaine pushed an open letter towards his clerk. the old man's hands trembled as he held it; his face grew whiter as he mastered the contents. hope was indeed gone. the worst had come. an embargo, or lien, had been laid in london upon the expected remittances. "did you get this letter this morning, sir? why did you not tell me? it would have been better to have stopped then." "i got it ten minutes ago, thomas. it was sent from town by a special messenger in a post-chaise and four which, of course, the estate will be charged with. he came, by mistake, i suppose, to the private door; or perhaps he saw the crowd round the public one: and he gave the letter into my own hands, saying he would take my instructions back to town to-morrow morning, if i had any. all's over." too truly did thomas hill feel the force of the words. all was over. but for this last great misfortune, this lien upon the money that ought to have come, they might have weathered the storm. the few past days had gone on pretty quietly; and every day, passed without exposure, was so much gained. the master of greylands, when applied to by his brother for a loan, had listened, and placed at the bank's disposal a fairly good sum: not enough, not half enough, for what it was wanted to stop, but still a great help. "even now," began thomas hill, breaking the depressing silence, "even now, sir, if a meeting were called, and a statement of facts properly laid before the creditors, they might consent to allow time. "time!" echoed mr. peter castlemaine. "what, with this yelling crowd clamouring at the doors!--and with fosbrook in the place!--and with a lien on all the forthcoming remittances! and," he added, the shrunken grey look on his countenance becoming more perceptible, as his voice dropped to a whisper--"and with the discovery at hand of the use i made of the armannon bonds! the last closing hour has come, thomas, and nothing can save me!" thomas hill took off his spectacles to wipe the mist away. the failure of the bank, and the disgrace attaching to these pecuniary misfortunes, seemed as nothing, compared with the guilty shame that must fall on his master. "they may prosecute me criminally," breathed mr. peter castlemaine, from between his dry and ashy lips. "no, no," burst forth thomas hill. "they'll never do that, sir. think how you have been respected! and besides--so far as i can understand the complication--there will be money to pay everybody." "every man will be paid in full to the uttermost farthing," spoke the banker emphatically. "but that's another thing. i sat up over my books nearly all last night, making my calculations, and i find that there will be funds to meet all claims. only there's the waiting! not any over perhaps; but there will be so much as that." "and to think that this miserable trouble should intervene!" cried thomas hill, wringing his hands. "there will be my six thousand pounds to help you, sir, with the expenses, and that." peter castlemaine shook his head to the last sentence, but he made no denial in words. he seemed to have neither words nor spirit left, and sat leaning his brow upon his hand. the once fine fresh colour that was natural to his cheeks had faded away, though its traces might be seen still. one might have fancied that a thin veil of grey had been flung over the healthy bloom. in all his long experience thomas hill had never, to his recollection, seen a man change like this. "you look ill, sir," he said. "let me get you something to take." "i feel ill," was the answer. "i ought to have confronted those people just now in the other room, and should have done so, but that i felt physically incapable. while i was reading the letter brought by the london messenger, a sharp, curious pain seized me here," touching his left side. "for some minutes i could not move." "is the heart all right?" hesitated the clerk--as if he were afraid to breathe the question. "i do not know. during the past twelve months, since these troubles set in, i have had a good deal of fluttering there: pain, too, at times." "you should consult a doctor, sir. don't, pray, delay it." "ay," sighed the unfortunate man. "i suppose i should. when i get a little out of this fret and turmoil--if i ever do get out of it--i'll see one. lock the desk for me, will you, hill? there's nothing to keep it open for: no use to pore over ledgers now." he held out the key, sitting as he was, and thomas hill locked the desk and returned the key to him. strength and health seemed suddenly to have gone out of peter castlemaine. "i'll go and get you a little warm brandy and water, sir. i'm sure you ought to take it." his master did not say do, or don't; and the clerk went for it. getting it mixed by stephen--who looked frightened out of his senses by the commotion in the street--he carried in the glass of hot liquor, and the banker sipped it. it seemed to do him a little good; he looked less entirely depressed. "there's one thing i wanted to say, thomas," he began. "that young man who came here last week--my brother basil's son, you know." "i've heard he is at greylands, sir. young anthony, they say." "ay. basil named him after the father. i should have done the same, had a son been born to me. he came here that day, you know, asking me to tell him the particulars of how greylands' rest was left; and i fear i was a little short with him. i did not wish to be, i'm sure; but this--this trouble was lying on me heavily. the young fellow spoke fairly enough; and, i daresay, i appeared cross. he wanted me to interfere between him and james; which was a thing i should not think of doing. i've thought about it since, lying awake at night; and i want you to tell anthony for me that i meant nothing, should you ever see him." "but surely you will be seeing him for yourself, sir!" cried the clerk, thinking this a little strange. "i don't know that i shall. should james show him that he has no claim, he may be going off to france again: and as to me, why, how do i know where i shall be, or how things will go with me? you'll tell him, thomas, that greylands' rest, so far as i know, is legally my brother's; if i thought my father had given it to basil, i should not deem it right in james to hold it. but it's not likely james would, were it not his." "did you not know, then, how the estate was left?" asked thomas hill, in surprise. "no; i did not trouble myself about it," was the banker's answer: and all this while he seemed to be speaking as his faithful clerk had never before heard him speak. instead of the shrewd, observant, intellectual man of business, whose every sense was keenly awake, he seemed weary and passive as a tired child. "i knew greylands' rest would not be mine; that if it was not left to basil it would be james's. james stayed in possession of it, and i supposed it was his: i took that for granted, and did not question him. i believe surely it is his: that my father left it to him: and, thomas, you tell the young man, this young anthony, that such is my opinion. i don't think there can be a doubt of it. james ought to show him the vouchers for it: basil's son has a right to so much. only, don't say that: i do not want, i say, to interfere with james." "it would be the easiest way of settling the matter, sir, if mr. castlemaine would do that." "of course it would. but then, you see, james never chooses to be questioned: he resents any attempt at it; always did. as a boy, i remember, nothing ever offended him like doubting his word." at that moment there was a ring heard at the house door. the banker looked startled, and then seemed to shrink within himself. "it is that fosbrook!" he exclaimed. "i thought he'd be coming. i cannot see him. you go, and battle it out with him, thomas he won't browbeat you. go! don't let him come in here for the world." but it was not mr. fosbrook. it was only one of the clerks, returning from his errand. thomas hill, seeing the state of nervous depression that his master was in, proposed to proceed at once to the turk's head, and hold there an interview with the dreaded creditor: and the banker seized upon it eagerly. "do, do!" he said. "there's no one i dread as i dread him." as the clerk went out, he saw that many angry people lingered yet around the house and doors. he went among them: he begged them to be still for that evening, to leave matters in quiet until the morning, for that mr. peter castlemaine was very ill and quite unable to see anyone. the baffled creditors showered down questions on the unfortunate clerk--who certainly felt the trouble as keenly as did his master. thomas hill answered them to the best of his ability: and at length one by one the malcontents took their departure, leaving the street clear and the house quiet. and no sooner was this accomplished, than the banker's handsome barouche drove to the door, containing miss castlemaine and her chaperone, mrs. webb, who had returned to her post the previous day. opposite to them sat the young lady's lover, william blake-gordon. all were in the highest spirits, talking and laughing as though no such thing as care existed in the world, and utterly unconscious of the trouble that had fallen on the house and the commotion that had reigned outside it. they had, been to look over raven's priory, and mary ursula was enchanted with it. "you will stay to dinner, william," she said, as he handed her out of the carriage. "papa will be vexed if you do not." he was only too ready to accept an invitation that would give him a few more hours of her sweet companionship. it was close upon the dinner-hour--six. stephen was holding the hall-door open, with a long, grave face: they passed him, noticing nothing. "i will not be long, william," she whispered, running up to her chamber. a few minutes later, and she came forth again, attired for the evening. her dress was of rich blue silk; her cheeks had more colour in them than usual, the effect of pleasurable excitement; her bright hair was disposed so as to set off the exceeding beauty of her face. mr. blake-gordon stood in the gallery, looking at a new picture that some friend had recently made a present of to the banker. as she joined him, he drew her arm within his. "it is a fine painting, mary." "and it is hung well for night," she observed, "for the rays of the chandelier just fall on it. by day its place is a little dark. have you seen papa yet?" "not yet. there goes six o'clock." mrs. webb, an elderly lady in black satin and point-lace cap, came downstairs and turned into the drawing-room. though a very dragon of a chaperone when necessary, she knew quite well when to join the lovers, and when to leave them alone. they began pacing the gallery, arm in arm, looking at this picture, criticising that. from paintings, their conversation turned to what just then held a deeper interest for them--the future residence they expected so soon to enter upon, raven's priory. this room should be the favourite morning room, and that the favourite evening room; and the beautiful conservatory should have their best care; and there should always be a blazing fire in the hall, not a cold, bare, comfortless grate, as they had seen that day; and the gravel drive should be widened, and some rocks and ferns put on the right hand in that bare space--and so the dreams went on. the clocks went on also. mrs. webb, reminded probably by her appetite, looked out once or twice; the butler and stephen, aware that the dinner was waiting, and the cook angrily demanding whether it was to be served to-day or to-morrow, passed and repassed out of the drawing-room. as to the lovers themselves, they were unconscious of clocks and reminding appetites; for love, as we all know, lives upon air. it was the custom of the house not to serve the dinner until the banker appeared in the drawing-room: on rare occasions business detained him beyond the hour. so they paced on, those two, in their dream of happiness. and once, at the darkest end of the gallery, when there was neither step nor sound near, mr. blake-gordon stole a kiss from that blushing face, so soon, as he fondly hoped, to be all his. "my dear, is your papa out, do you know?" questioned; mrs. webb, appearing at the drawing-room door, as they again neared it. "it is half-past six." "half-past six!" repeated mary, in surprise. "so late as that! no, i do not know whether papa is out or in. perhaps he is busy in his parlour? there's stephen: he may know. stephen," she added, quitting the arm of mr. blake-gordon, and advancing towards the man, "is papa below in his parlour?" "there's no one in the parlour, ma'am, for i've been to look," was the answer. "i saw my master go up to his chamber some time ago, but i don't think he can be in it all this while." "how long ago?" "just before you came home, ma'am." "oh, of course, your master cannot be there still," interposed mrs. webb, much interested in the colloquy, for she wanted her dinner frightfully. "he must have come down and gone out, stephen." "very likely, ma'am." "i am sure that mr. castlemaine has not come downstairs since we came in," observed mr. blake-gordon. "if he had, i must have seen him. i have been here all the time." mary ursula laughed. "i will tell you what it is," she said: "papa has dropped asleep on the sofa in his room. twice lately he has done it when he has had a very tiring day." she ran lightly up the stairs as she spoke, and knocked at the chamber door. the lamp that hung in the corridor threw its light upon the oaken panels, and upon her gleaming blue dress. "papa!" there was no response, and mary gently turned the handle, intending to open the door about an inch, and call again. that her father was lying on the sofa in a sound sleep, she felt as sure of as though she had seen him. but the door would not open. "papa! papa!" no: he did not awake, though she called very loudly. hardly knowing what to do, she ran downstairs again. "papa must be in a very sound sleep, for i cannot make him hear, and the door is fastened inside," she said, chiefly addressing stephen, who was nearest to her. "i daresay he has had a fatiguing day." "yes, ma'am, it have been fatiguing; leastways the latter part of it," replied the man, with an emphasis that they failed to catch. "some rude people have been knocking here, and making a fine uproar." "rude people knocking here!" exclaimed mrs. webb, taking him up sharply. "what do you mean? what did they want?" "i don't know what they wanted, ma'am: something they couldn't get, i suppose," returned the man, who had no suspicion of the real state of the case, for he believed the house to be simply a mine of wealth that could have no limit, just as children believe in the wondrous riches told of in a fairy tale. "i know i should like to have had the driving of 'em off! master did well not to see 'em." "but--did papa not see them?" questioned mary ursula, surprised into asking the question by this extraordinary story. "no, ma'am; and that's what i fancy they made the noise over. my master was not well, either, this afternoon, for mr. hill came running out for hot brandy and water for him." what more would have been said, what doubt created, was stopped by the appearance of thomas hill. he had just returned from his mission to the turk's head. apparently it had not been a pleasant mission: for his face was pale with what looked like fear, and he, waiving ceremony, had come straight up the stairs, asking for his master. "i must see him; i must see him instantly. i beg your pardon, dear miss castlemaine, but it is of the last importance." had thomas hill only waited a moment before speaking, he would have heard that the banker was fastened in his room. they told him now. he gave one scared look around while taking in the words, and then bounded to the stairs. "follow me," he cried, turning his livid face on the men. "we must burst open the door. i know he is ill." mr. blake-gordon, the butler and stephen were up almost as soon as he. mrs. webb laid her detaining arm on the young lady. "you must stay here, my dear: you must. they will do better without you." "but what can it be, save sleep?" asked mary ursula, arresting her steps and not knowing whether there was cause for alarm or not. "when papa is very tired he sleeps heavily. on sunday night he dropped asleep when i was at the organ, and i could not at first awaken him." "of course; i make no doubt he has fallen into a sound sleep; nothing else: but it will not be seemly for you to go up with them, my dear," replied mrs. webb, always the very essence of propriety. "hark! the door has given way." sleep? yes, at first they did think the banker was asleep. he lay on the sofa at full length, his head on the low pillow, his feet hanging down over the other end. a candle, which he must have carried up with him, stood on the drawers, and the wax candles in the dressing-glass had been previously lighted by the servants. altogether there was a good deal of light. they looked at the banker's face by it: and saw--that the sleep was the sleep of death. a gasping sob burst from thomas hill. he fell on his knees, the tears rolling down his face. "my master! my dear master! oh, my master, my master!" he saw what it was; perhaps felt somewhat prepared for it by the previous events of the afternoon. the others were for the moment somewhat stunned: but they did not think it could be death. "run for a doctor!" cried the butler to stephen. "he's in a faint. run for your life!" the butler himself did not attempt to run; he was too stout. mr. blake-gordon and stephen, both slender and light of limb, sped away without their hats. the butler raised his master's head. "please to ring the bell, sir, for some brandy," he said to mr. hill. "the maids must bring up some hot flannels, too." "is it possible that you can be deceived?" sobbed the clerk--"that you do not see that it is death? oh, my poor master?" "death! come now, don't talk in that uncomfortable way," retorted the butler; not, however, feeling very comfortable as he said it. "what should bring death to the house in this sudden way? he is warm, too. do please ring the bell, sir." the doctors came without delay, two of them; for mr. blake-gordon brought one, and stephen another. but nothing could be done: it was indeed death: and the medical men thought it had taken place the best part of an hour before. the great banker of stilborough, peter castlemaine, had ceased to exist. but there was one momentous, dreadful question to be solved--what had caused the death? had it come by god's hand and will?--or had peter castlemaine himself wrought it? the surgeons expressed no opinion at present; they talked in an undertone, but did not let the world share their counsels. thomas hill overheard one word, and it nearly sent him frantic. "how dare you say it gentlemen? suicide! mr. peter castlemaine would no more lift his hand against himself than you would lift it. i would stake all the poor bit of life i've got left--which won't be much now--that it is his heart that has killed him. this very afternoon he complained of a sharp pain there; a strange fluttering, he called it, and he looked white enough for a ghost. he told me he had felt the same pain and fluttering at times before. there cannot be a doubt, gentlemen, that it was his heart." the doctors nodded seemingly in assent. one thing appeared to be indisputable--that if the death was natural, no other cause than the heart could be assigned for it. the face of the dead man was calm and unruffled as that of an infant. but the elder of the doctors whispered something about an "odour." mary ursula came into the room when the medical men had gone. no tears were in her eyes; she was as one stunned, paralyzed: unable in her shock of bewilderment to take in the whole truth. she had deemed the room empty: but thomas hill turned round from the sofa at her entrance. "he has had a good deal of trouble lately, my poor dear master, and it has been too much for him, and broken his heart," he whispered in a piteous tone, the tears running down his cheeks. "god knows i'd have saved him from it if i could, my dear young lady: i'd willingly have died for him." "what kind of trouble has it been?" asked mary ursula, letting the old man take her hands, and gazing at him with a terrified and imploring countenance. "money trouble, money trouble," answered the clerk. "he was not used to it, and it has broken his heart. oh, my dear, don't grieve more than you can help!--and don't think about the future, for all i have shall be yours." "you--think--it was heart disease?" questioned mary, in a dread, imploring whisper. "do you really think it, mr. hill?" "my dear, i am sure of it. quite sure. and i only wonder now he did not die in my arms this afternoon in the back parlour when the pain and fluttering were upon him," added thomas hill, half choked with his emotion. "there was a great clamour with the creditors, and it terrified him more than i thought. the fright must have struck to his heart, and killed him." she sighed deeply. the same appalled look of terror clung to her face: the reassurance did not seem to bring her the comfort that it ought. for mary castlemaine had overheard that one covert word of suspicion breathed by the medical men: and she had, and always would have, the awful doubt lying upon her heart. it was a dreadful night for her, poor bankrupt girl--bankrupt in happiness from that hour. mrs. webb persuaded her to go to bed at last; and there she lay getting through the hours as the unhappy do get through them. but, miserable though it was, it would have been far more so could she have seen, as in a mirror, what had taken place that night at greylands in the friar's keep--the disappearance of anthony castlemaine, and its cause. chapter ix. a curious story. a bright and cheery morning with a soft westerly breeze. the flowing sea sparkled in the sunlight; the little boats danced upon its waves; the birds on the land sang merry songs to one another, cheated into a belief that spring had come in. there had been commotion in the streets of stilborough on the previous day, and especially around the banker's door, as we have already seen; but that commotion was open and above board, as compared with the stir that was this morning agitating greylands. for, report was running wildly about that some mysterious and unaccountable disaster had happened to anthony castlemaine. anthony castlemaine had disappeared. there was no other word, save that, applicable to the event: he had disappeared. and as greylands had taken a warm fancy to the young man, it rose up in great agitation. almost with morning light the village was being searched for him and inquiry made. people turned out of their cottages, fishermen left their boats, some of the grey sisters even came forth from the nunnery: all eagerly asking what and how much was true. the originator of the rumour was john bent. he did not seem to know a great deal more than other people; but nobody, save him, knew anything at all. the dolphin inn was besieged; work was at a standstill; mrs. bent allowed even her servant, molly, to stand listening, with her arms akimbo, unreproved. the story told by john bent was a curious one. and, it should be intimated, that, but for the fears stirring within the landlord's own breast, the disappearance would not have been thought so much of at this early stage. but john bent had caught up the fear that some fatal harm had chanced to the young man in fact, that he had been murdered! the landlord could not account for this strong impression; he acknowledged that: but it was there, and he freely spoke it out. the substance of the tale he told was as follows. after anthony castlemaine had darted across the road and through the gate in the wake of his uncle the master of greylands, as previously related, john bent stood still, watching for a minute or two, but could not see or hear anything of either of them. he then, finding the night air somewhat cold, stamped up and down the path, not losing sight of the opposite gate, and waiting for anthony to come out of it. close upon this there rang out the report of a pistol. it was accompanied, almost simultaneously, by an awful cry; the cry of a man in agony. john bent wondered where the cry came from and what it meant, but he never thought to connect either cry or pistol with anthony castlemaine. the time passed: john bent began to find this waiting wearisome; he thought what a long confab his guest was enjoying with mr. castlemaine, and hoped they were settling matters amicably: and he wondered somewhat at their remaining in that dark, ghostly keep, instead of choosing the open moonlight. by-and-by a sailor staggered past--for he had been taking more grog than was good for him--towards his home in the village. he was smoking; and john bent took his own pipe from his pocket, filled it, and lighted it by the sailor's. the pipe consoled john bent, and the minutes passed somewhat less tediously: but when one o'clock rang out and there were no signs of the young man, he began to think it very strange. "surely they'd not stay all this while in that haunted friar's keep!--and not a place to sit down on, and nothing but cold pillared cloisters to walk or stand in, and them dark!" cried john to himself--and he deliberated what he should do. the prospect of marching into the friar's keep in search of his guest was not altogether congenial to his taste, for john bent did not like the chance of meeting ghosts more than greylands did: neither did he care to proceed home himself and leave anthony castlemaine to follow at leisure. another quarter of an hour elapsed; and then--finding there was no help for it and quite tired out--he put on a bold spirit, and crossed over to enter the gate. but the gate was locked. the gate was locked. and, had john bent seen the whole row of high, substantial palings suddenly lifted into the air, or thrown down to the earth, he would not have stood more transfixed with astonishment. for that gate had never been known to be locked, within his remembrance. there certainly was a lock to it, but it had always lacked a key. the latch was good, and that was all the fastening used, or needed. john bent stood with open mouth, gasping out his surprise to the air. "what on earth does this mean?" he shook the gate. at least, he would have shaken it, had it been less substantially firm: but it scarcely moved under his hand. and then he set on and shouted at the top of his voice, hoping his guest would hear. "mr. anthony castlemaine! shall you be much longer, mr. anthony castlemaine?" the light breeze took his voice over the chapel ruins and carried its echoes out to sea; but there came back no answer of any kind. "well, this is a rum go," cried john, looking up, and down, and round about, in his bewilderment. "surely mr. anthony can't have come out and gone home!" he added, the unlikely notion flashing on him; for, when thoroughly puzzled we are all apt to catch at straws of improbability. "he couldn't have come out without my seeing him, and me never beyond view of the gate: unless it was in the minute that i was lighting my pipe by jack tuff's, when i had my back turned. but yet--how was it mr. anthony did not see me?" unable to solve these doubts, but still thinking that was how it must have been, the landlord went home with a rapid step. before he gained it, he had quite made his mind up that it was so; he fully believed his guest was by this time sound asleep in his bed, and called himself a donkey for waiting out all that while. john bent put his hand on the handle of his door to enter softly, and found it fastened. fastened just as firmly as the gate had been. "where's ned, i wonder?" he cried aloud, alluding to his man; and he knocked with his hand pretty sharply. there was no more response to this knock than there had been to the shouts he had been lately sending forth. he knocked again and shook the door. the moonbeams still played upon the sea; a white sail or two of the night fishing boats gleamed out; he put his back against the door and gazed on the scene while he waited. no good, as he knew, to go round to the front entrance; that was sure to be closed. john knocked the third time. the window above his head was flung open at this juncture, and mrs. bent's nightcapped head came out. "oh, it's you, is it!" she tartly cried. "i thought, for my part, you had taken up your abode in the road for the night." "ned's sitting up, i suppose, dorothy. why does he not open the door?" "ned will not open the door till he has my orders. there! a pretty decent thing, this is, for a respectable householder of your age to come home between one and two in the morning! if you are so fond of prancing up and down the road in the moonlight, filling a fresh pipe at every trick and turn, why don't you stay there till the house is opened to-morrow?" "jack tuff must have told you that!" "yes, jack tuff did tell it me," retorted mrs. bent. "i stayed at the door looking for you till half after twelve. and a tidy state he was in!" added the good lady in additional wrath. "his nose touching the ground, a'most every step he took!" "just let me come in, dorothy. i've not stayed out all this while for pleasure--as you may be sure." "you've stayed for aggravation perhaps; to keep people up. where's mr. anthony castlemaine?" "he's come home, isn't he?" "i dare say you know very well whether he is or not!" returned mrs. bent from her window. "but dorothy, woman, it is for him i've been waiting. he went into the friar's keep, and he's never come out again--unless he came when i did not see him." "the friar's keep!" repeated the landlady, in the most mocking tone she could use. "what excuse will you invent next?" "it's no excuse: it's true. we saw mr. castlemaine go in there, and mr. anthony ran over and followed him, saying he'd have out the quarrel under the moonlight. and i stood cooling my heels outside, waiting for him all that while; till at last i began to think he must have come out and passed me unseen. he has come home, has he not?" "he is not come home," said mrs. bent. "well, let the door be opened." as the story sounded a mysterious one, and mrs. bent had her curiosity, and as her husband moreover was a staid man, not at all given to this kind of offence in general, she allowed him to come in, herself opening the door. he gave her a summary of the story, she wrapped in a warm shawl while she stood to listen to it and to make her comments. anthony castlemaine had not come home; she had seen nothing at all of him; or of anybody else, tipsy jack tuff excepted. a kind of scared feeling, a presentiment of evil, crept over john bent. for the first time, he began to wonder whether the pistol-shot he had heard had struck the young man, whether the agonised cry was his. he went into anthony's bedroom, and saw with his own eyes that it was empty. it was not that he questioned his wife's word; but he felt confused and doubtful altogether--as though it were not possible that anthony could be absent in this unaccountable manner. "i must go back and look for him, dorothy woman." "you'll take the key with you, then," said mrs. bent; who, for a wonder, did not oppose the proposition: in fact, she thought it right that he should go. and back went john bent to the friar's keep. he did not at all like this solitary walking, lovely though the night was; he would rather have been asleep in bed. the grey nunnery lay steeped in silence and gloom; not a single light shone from any of its windows; a sure sign that just now there could be no sick inmates there. john bent reached the gate again, and the first thing he did was to try it. it yielded instantly. it opened at his touch. and the man stood not much less amazed than he had before been to find it fastened. at that moment the sound of approaching footsteps in the road struck on his ear; he turned swiftly, his heart beating with eager hope: for he thought they might prove to be the steps of anthony castlemaine. but they were those of mr. nettleby. the officer was returning from his mission of night supervision, whatever it might especially be. john bent met him, and told his tale. "nonsense!" cried the superintendent, after he had listened. "they would not be likely to stay in those deserted cloisters of the friar's keep. are you sure it was mr. castlemaine you saw go in?" "quite sure. but i can't think what he could want there." "you don't think you were dreaming?" asked mr. nettleby, who by this time evidently fancied the tale was altogether more like a dream than a reality. "i don't believe the gate has a key, or that it ever had one." he was examining the gate as he spoke. the lock was there as usual; but of any sign that a key had been in it that night there was none. crossing the ruins, they stood looking out over the sea; at the line of glittering moonlight, at the distant boats catching their fish. from that they went into the friar's keep. its moss-eaten gothic door lay open to the chapel ruins. pillars of stone supported the floor--the floor which the spirit of the dead-and-gone grey friar was supposed to haunt. it was rather a ghostly-looking place altogether; the intersecting pillars and the arches above, and some open arches facing the sea, where a little light streamed through. they could not see the sea from this place, for the outer wall was nearly as high as they were; but not so high as the arches; and the light and the salt fresh smell of the sea came wafting in. there they stood on the stone floor of those cloisters--as people had fallen into the way of calling them--and shouted out the name of anthony castlemaine. neither sight nor sound came back in answer: all was quiet and lonely as the grave; there was not the slightest sign that any one had been there. "if they did come in here, as you say," observed mr. nettleby, with that same ring of disbelief in his voice, "i'll tell you what it is, bent. they must have come out again at once, and gone home together to greylands' rest." this view of the case had not presented itself to the mind of john bent. he revolved it for an instant, and then saw that it was the most feasible solution of the problem. but he did not feel quite satisfied; for it was difficult to fancy anthony castlemaine would so go off without telling him. still he accepted it; and he and the officer quitted the keep, and turned their steps homeward. in his own mind the superintendent fully believed john bent had been asleep and dreaming; it was so impossible to fancy any sane man promenading in the chapel ruins or the keep at night. and the master of greylands, of all people! "did you get upon the trail of any smugglers at beeton asked john bent. "no," said mr. nettleby, rather savagely, for he had had his night's work for nothing. "couldn't see any traces of them. i do suspect that beeton, though. i believe it contains a nest of the lawless wretches!" he turned in at his own gate as he spoke. the landlord went on and was speedily at home again. anthony castlemaine had not come in. before eight o'clock in the morning, john bent, feeling doubtful and uneasy, went up to greylands' rest. he noticed that all the blinds were down, and some of the shutters closed. miles, the servant man, was outside the back-entrance door, shaking mats. "i thought none of you could be up yet," began the landlord, "with all the blinds down! i'm sure the house looks as though somebody had died in it." "and somebody has died, more's the pity; though not in the house," replied miles, turning his face, full of grave concern, on the speaker. "a messenger was here soon after six this morning to fetch the master to stilborough. mr. peter castlemaine died suddenly last night." the landlord was shocked. he could hardly believe it. "mr. peter castlemaine dead!" he exclaimed. "it can't be true, miles." "it's too true," returned miles. "but he was so strong and healthy! he had not a trace of illness about him!" "ay. but they say it was the heart." "well, it's sad news any way, and i'm sorry for him," said john bent. "is young mr. castlemaine here?" "not just now. he'll be home some time this afternoon. he went off to newerton yesterday on business." "i don't mean him--mr. harry. i mean mr. anthony castlemaine." "what should bring that young man here?" loftily retorted miles, who made a point of sharing in all the prejudices of his master. john bent told his tale. it was listened to with disbelieving and resentful ears. "my master in at that there blessed scared place, the friar's keep, at twelve o'clock at night! well, i wonder what next you'll say, mr. bent?" "but i saw him go in," returned john bent. "it couldn't have been him. it's not likely. what should he want there? when us servants went to bed at ten, the master was in the red parlour. as to that other young man you speak of, that he has not been anigh the house i can answer for." john bent felt as if he were in the midst of a fog, through which no light could be seen. "you say mr. castlemaine is at stilborough, miles?" "he went off there soon after six o'clock. and wasn't he cut up when he heard the news about his brother!" added miles. "his lips and face had no more red in them than that"--pointing to a snowdrop under the wall. "he looked just like a man who had got a shock." it was of no use for john bent to linger. anthony castlemaine was not to be heard of at greylands' rest. he took his departure; and, in the absence of any other clue to follow, went making inquiries in the village. before long, not a single inhabitant, from one end of it to the other, but had heard and was making comments on his tale. the dolphin inn was a crowded place that day, and its landlord the centre of attraction. people were in and out incessantly, listening to the singular history. numbers flocked to the friar's keep, and to every other spot in greylands likely or unlikely for a man to be hidden in, dead or living; but there was no trace anywhere of the presence of anthony castlemaine. setting aside the disappearance, the tale itself excited wonder; and that part of it relating to the entrance into the chapel ruins of mr. castlemaine, and the subsequent sound of a shot and cry, and of the locked gate, was received by some with incredulity. opinions were hazarded that the landlord's eyes might have deceived him, his ears and his fingers played him false; that mr. castlemaine must have been altogether a myth; the supposed locked gate been only his awkwardness, and the shot and cry nothing but the scream of a sea bird. in this one latter point, however, john bent's account was established by other testimony, coming, singular to say, from the grey ladies. it appeared that sister mildred was very ill that night, and two of the others sat up with her, sisters mona and ann. the room of the superioress faced the sea, and was the last room at the end next the chapel ruins. as the sisters sat there watching in the stillness of the night, they were suddenly startled by the sound of a shot, and by a scream as from some one wounded. so, in regard to the truth of this part of john bent's account, there could no longer be a doubt. in the afternoon mr. castlemaine returned from stilborough. the commotion greylands was in rendered it impossible for him to remain long ignorant of what had taken place, and of the manner in which his name was mixed up with it. being a man of quick perception, of penetrating judgment, he could not fail to see that some suspicion must attach to himself in the public mind; that the alleged story, taken in conjunction with previous facts: the pretentions of his nephew to greylands' rest, and their hostile meeting in the fields earlier in the day: must inevitably excite doubt and comment. proud, haughty, and self-contained though the master of greylands was, this matter was of too grave a nature, and might bring too many unpleasant consequences in its train, for him to ignore it. he deemed it well to throw himself forthwith into the battle; and he went out to the dolphin. on his way he encountered commodore teague. the latter had been at sea since early morning in his cutter--as he was apt to call that sailing boat of his--and had but now, on landing, had his ears assailed with the story. a few exchanged sentences between mr. castlemaine and the commodore, and they parted; mr. castlemaine proceeding to the inn. "what is this absurd story?" he demanded of john bent, lifting his hat as he entered the best kitchen to the knot of people assembled there. "i cannot make head or tail of it." for the fiftieth time at least, the landlord recounted the history. it was listened to with breathless interest, even by those who had done nothing but listen to it for many previous hours. "and do you expect sensible people to believe this, john bent?" were the first answering words of the master of greylands. "it's true, whether they believe it or not," said john. "it was yourself, sir, was it not, that we saw pass through the gate into the chapel ruins?" "i!" scornfully repeated mr. castlemaine. "what do you suppose should take me to such a place as that, at midnight? if all your points are as correct as that, mr. bent, your story will not hold much water." "i said it was not likely to be mr. castlemaine," spoke up the superintendent of the coastguard. "i told mr. bent so at the time." "i put it to you all, generally, whether it was likely," pursued mr. castlemaine, glancing defiantly about him. "all i can say is this," said john bent: "that if it was not mr. castlemaine, my eyes must have strangely deceived me, and young mr. anthony's must have deceived him. why, the night was as light as day." "eyes do deceive sometimes," remarked mr. castlemaine. "i know that mine have on occasion deceived me at night, good though their sight is. and of all deceptive lights, the moon's light is the worst." "sir, if it was not you it must have been your wraith," said john bent, evidently not inclined to give in. "you passed close by us sideways, coming out of the chapel lane, and crossed the road in front of us. had you just turned your head sharp to the right, you must have seen us under the hedge." "was it the grey friar, think you?" asked mr. castlemaine. and john bent did not like the bantering tone, or the suppressed laugh that went around. "that some one crossed from the chapel lane may be true: for i do not see how you could purely imagine it," conceded mr. castlemaine, after a pause. "but it was not i. neither can i understand nor conceive what anybody should want in the chapel ruins at that time of night. we are most of us rather given to shun the place." "true, true," murmured the room. "and the locked gate," proceeded mr. castlemaine, "how do you account for that? where did the key come from to lock it? according to what you say, john bent, it would appear that mr. anthony castlemaine must have locked it; since you maintain that no one went in or came out subsequently to himself. if he locked it, he must have unlocked it. at least, that is the inference naturally to be drawn." "i say that the gate never was locked," put in superintendent nettleby. "the latch might have caught at the minute, and caused mr. bent to fancy it was locked." "you may as well tell me i don't know when a place is open and when it's shut," retorted john bent. "and the pistol, again!--or gun?" remonstrated mr. castlemaine. "it does not stand to reason that people should be firing off guns and pistols at midnight. i fancy that must be altogether a mistake----" "the grey ladies can speak to that much, sir," interrupted mrs. bent. "as sister ann, here, can tell you." mr. castlemaine turned on his heel and brought his eyes to bear on sister ann. she was sitting in the corner near the clock, her basket as usual in her hand. for she had come out to do errands, and been seduced by curiosity into the dolphin, to take her share in the gossip. "yes, sir, we heard the pistol, or gun, whichever it was, and the human cry that came with it," she said to mr. castlemaine. "sister mona and i were watching in sister mildred's room--for the fever was very bad upon her last night, and she was restless and wandering, poor lady! it was all quite still. i was knitting and sister mona was reading; you might have heard a pin drop indoors or out; when there burst upon our ears a loud shot, followed by a human cry. a thrilling scream, it was, making me and sister mona start up in terror." "it was like a death scream," said john bent. "and i cannot," he added, looking at mr. castlemaine, "get it out of my head that it was his scream--young mr. anthony's." "from what direction did it come?" asked mr. castlemaine of the landlord. "i can't tell, sir. i was walking about on the opposite side of the road, and at first i thought it came from seaward; but it sounded very near." "it sounded to us as though it came from the chapel rains, or from the strip of beach below it," said sister aim. "we did not hear anything more." "and i did not think at the time to connect that shot and scream with mr. anthony castlemaine," pursued john bent. "it never came anigh my mind to do it, never. it do now." "well, it is altogether a most extraordinary and unaccountable affair," remarked mr. castlemaine. "strange to say, i was abroad last night myself and near the spot, but not as late as you describe this to have been. between ten and eleven i went down the lane as far as the hutt. teague was, i had heard, purposing to go out in his boat for a few hours to-day; and i, not having been very well, lately, thought i should like to go with him, and went down to say so. i stayed and had a pipe with him, and i think it must have been half-past eleven when i left." "and did you go straight home from the hutt, sir?" asked john bent, eagerly. "i went straight home from the hutt's door to my door," emphatically replied mr. castlemaine. "and did not go anigh the other end of the lane at all?--nor the friar's keep?" "certainly not. i tell you i went straight home. i went direct from teague's house to mine." that mr. castlemaine was candid in stating this matter spontaneously, when he might have concealed it, his hearers mentally saw, and it told in his favour. but it did not lessen the perplexity, or the mist that the affair was shrouded in. he turned to depart. "i shall at once institute a thorough search; and, if necessary, summon the law to my aid," said he. "not that i fear any real harm has befallen my nephew anthony; but it will be satisfactory to ascertain where he is. i fancy he must have gone off somewhere, perhaps on some sudden and uncontemplated impulse. it may be, that he is given to take these impromptu flights; as was his father before him, my brother basil." mr. castlemaine passed out as he spoke, with a bend of the head to the company. he was looking pale and ill; they could but notice it throughout the entire interview; and his face had a worn, sad cast of sorrow on it, never before seen there. "he has brought that look back from stilborough," remarked john bent. "there are bad fears, it's whispered, about his brother's death: we have not got the particulars yet. but as to mr. anthony's having walked off in any promiscuous manner, it's the silliest thought that ever was spoken." commodore teague, in his blue sailor's costume, came looming in, his hands in his pockets. he had made haste down from the hutt (having been obliged to go there on landing, to carry his gun and sundry other articles from his boat, and to light his fires) to hear the details of the mysterious story or, as he chose to express it, the wrongs and the rights on't. so john bent once more recounted the particulars, assisted by the tongues of all the company--for they did not stand in awe of this listener as they did of mr. castlemaine. the commodore listened with incredulity: not to say ridicule. "look here, john bent, you may tell that tale to the marines. i can explain away some of it myself. bless my heart! to think you folk should be running your head again all them marvels, when there's none to run 'em against. that gun that went off was mine," concluded the commodore; who liked to put on a free-and-easy grammar when in familiar intercourse with greylands, though he could be a gentleman when with such people as the castlemaines. "your gun!" "it was. and as to mr. castlemaine, you no more saw him go into the friar's keep than you saw me go. last night, i was smoking my pipe and cleaning my gun--for i meant to shoot a few birds out at sea to-day--when who should come knocking at the hutt door but mr. castlemaine. he'd been feeling out of sorts, he said, and thought a sail would do him good, and would like to go with me to-day--for it seems the whole parish had heard i was going. with all my heart, i answered; i'd be proud of his company. he sat down and took a pipe; smoking's contagious, you know: and we talked about this and that. when he left i saw him to the door, and watched him turn up the lane towards his house. it don't stand to reason he'd come down again." "he told us all this himself, commodore." "did he!--what, mr. castlemaine? well, it's true. after he was gone, i got to my gun again, which i had laid aside when he entered. it struck twelve before i finished it. after that, i loaded it, took it to the door, and fired it off into the air. that was the shot you heard, landlord." "and the cry?" "never was any cry to hear. 'twas fancy. i made none, and i know i heard none." "what time was it when your gun went off?" "past twelve; i don't rightly know how much. i went to bed and to sleep without looking at the clock. this morning word was brought me that mr. castlemaine had been fetched to stilborough; and i took out ben little in the boat instead." but this explanation did not go for so much as it might have done. the commodore was in the habit of telling the most incredible sea yarns; and faith, in that respect, was wanting in him. moreover, the strong impression on john bent's mind was, that it was a pistol-shot he had heard, not a gun. above all, there remained the one broad fact of the disappearance: anthony castlemaine had been alive and well and amidst them the previous night, and to-day he was not. altogether the commotion, the dread, and the sense of some mysterious evil increased: and lying upon many a heart, more or less, was a suspicion of the part played in it by mr. castlemaine. dusk was approaching when a horseman rode past the dolphin: mr. harry castlemaine on his return from newerton. seeing what looked like an unusual bustle round the inn doors, he pulled up. molly ran out. "what's agate?" asked mr. harry. "you seem to have got all the world and his wife here." "it's feared as it's murder, sir," returned simple molly. "murder!" "well, sir, mr. anthony castlemaine went into the friar's keep last night, and have never come out again. it's thought he was shot there. a dreadful cry was heard." "shot! who shot him?" "'tain't known, sir. some says it was mr. castlemaine that was in there along of him." harry castlemaine drew up his haughty head; a dark frown knitted his brow. but that she was a woman, ignorant and stupid, and evidently unconscious of all the word's might imply, he might have struck her as she stood. "and there's dreadful news in from stilborough, mr. harry, sir," resumed the girl. "mr. peter castlemaine was found dead in his chamber last night." "what?" shouted harry, thinking she must be playing upon him with all these horrors. "it's true, sir. the master of greylands have not long got back from seeing him. he died quite sudden, poor gentleman, shut up in his room, and not a soul anigh him to watch his last breath." it was almost too much. his uncle dead, his cousin disappeared, his father suspected he knew not yet of what. never a more cruel moment, than that had dawned for harry castlemaine. chapter x. just as she had seen it in her dream. evils do not always come alone. it sometimes happens that before one astounding ill is barely glanced at, another has fallen. this was the case at stilborough. the town awoke one morning to find that the bank had stopped payment, and that the banker was dead. never before in the memory of man had the like consternation been known. it can be better imagined than written. at once the worst was anticipated. no one had ever been so confided in as was mr. peter castlemaine. his capacity for business, his honour and integrity, his immense wealth, had passed into a proverb. people not only trusted him, but forced upon him that trust. many and many a man had placed in his hands all they possessed: the savings perhaps of half a lifetime; and now they saw themselves ruined and undone. never had the like excitement been known in the quiet town; never so much talking and gesticulating; metaphorically speaking, so much sighing and sobbing. and indeed it is to be doubted if this last was all metaphor. thomas hill had never been so sought after; so questioned and worried; so raved at and abused as now. all he could implore of them was to have a little patience until accounts could be gone into. things might not, he represented, turn out as badly as people supposed. nobody listened to him; and he felt that if all days were to be as this day, he should soon follow his master to the grave. indeed, it seemed to him now, in the shock of this dreadful blow--his master's ruin and his master's untimely end--that his own existence henceforth would be little better than a death in life. in the very midst of the commotion, there was brought to stilborough news of that other calamity--the mysterious disappearance of young anthony castlemaine. he had been seen to enter the friar's keep the previous night, and had never come out again. the name of the master of greylands appeared to be mixed up in the affair; but in what manner was not yet understood. verily misfortunes seemed to be falling heavily just now upon the castlemaines. this last event, however, after exciting due comment and wonder, was lost sight of in the other evil: for the first nearly concerned the interests of stilborough, and the latter did not concern them at all. their ruin, their ruin! that was the all-absorbing topic in the minds of the bewildered citizens. in inquiry into the death of peter castlemaine ended in a decision that he had died from heart disease. this was arrived at chiefly by the testimony and the urgent representation of thomas hill. one of the medical men was supposed to hold a contrary opinion; and the dreadful doubt, previously spoken of, would always lie on miss castlemaine's mind; but the other was the accepted view. he was buried in the neighbouring churchyard, st. mark's: parson marston, who had so often and so recently sat at his dinner-table, performing the service. gradually the first excitement diminished. brains and tempers calmed down. for, added to that natural depression that succeeds to undue emotion, there arose a report that things would be well, after all, and everybody paid to the full. in fact, it was so. the money that had been so long waited for--the speculation that had at last turned up trumps--was pouring in its returns. and there arose another source of means to be added to it. one morning the great nyndyll mine company, that had been looked upon as being as good as dead, took a turn for the better; received, so to say, a new lease of life. a fresh vein of surprising richness and unbounded extent, had been struck: the smallest shareholder might immediately reckon that his fortune was an accomplished fact: and those lucky enough to be largely interested might cease speculation for ever, and pass the time in building themselves castles and palaces--with more solid foundations than the air will furnish--to live in. the shares went up in the market like rockets: everyone was securing them as eagerly as we should pick up diamonds if we got the chance. in a very short time, the shares held by the house of mr. peter castlemaine might have been resold for fifteen times the original amount paid for them. "is this true, hill?" asked mr. castlemaine, who had come bounding over on horseback from greylands' rest at the first rumour of the news, and found the old clerk at his post as usual, before the private desk that had been his master's. "can it be true?" repeated mr. castlemaine. he was changed since his brother's death. that death, or something else, had told upon him strangely. he and peter had been fond of each other. james had been proud of his brother's position in the country; his influence and good name. the shock had come upon him unexpectedly, as upon every one else: and, in a manner, affected him far more. then, his interests were largely bound up with those of his brother; and though if he had lost all he had lent him he would still be a rich man, yet the thought was not to be indulged with indifference or contemplated pleasantly. but to do him justice, these considerations sank into insignificance, before the solemn fact of his brother's death, and the mystery and uncertainty enshrouding it. "is it true, hill?" he reiterated before the clerk had time to speak. "or is it all as a miserable delusion of satan." "it is true enough, sir," answered thomas hill. "the shares have gone suddenly up like nothing i ever knew. alas, that it should be so!" "alas!" echoed mr. castlemaine. "what mean you, hill? has trouble turned your brain?" "i was thinking of my poor dear master," said the old man. "it was this very mine that helped to kill him. you see now, mr. castlemaine, how good his speculations were, how sound his judgment! had he lived to see this turn of affairs, all would have been well." "too late to speak of that," said mr. castlemaine, with a deep sigh. "he is dead; and we must now give our attention to the living. this slice of luck will enable you to pay all demands. the shares must be realized at once. "enable us to pay every one, as i believe," assented thomas hill. "and otherwise we should not." "what a strange chance it seems to be!" musingly observed mr. castlemaine. "a chance that rarely occurs in life. well, as i say, it must be seized upon." "and without delay, sir. the shares that have gone up so unexpectedly, may fall as suddenly. i'll write to-day." mr. castlemaine rose to depart. the clerk, who was settling to his papers, again looked off to ask a question. "have any tidings turned up, sir, of poor mr. anthony?" "not that i have heard of. good-day, hill." the expected money was realized; other expected money was realized; and in an incredibly short space of time, for poor thomas hill worked with a will, the affairs of the bank were in a way of settlement, every creditor to be fully satisfied, and the late unfortunate banker's name to be saved. anything that had been underhanded in his dealing, thomas hill and mr. castlemaine had contrived to keep from the public. but one creditor, whose name did not appear on the books, and who had put in no demand to be satisfied, was passed over in silence. mary ursula's fortune had been hopelessly sacrificed; and it was already known that little, if anything, would be left for her. she knew how and why her fortune had gone: mr. hill had explained it all to her; it had helped to save her father's honour and good name; and had it been ten times the amount, she would freely have given it for such a purpose, and been thankful that she had it to give. seeing what it had done, she did not as far as she herself was concerned, look upon it with one moment's regret. true she was now poor; very poor compared with the past: she would have at most but about a hundred and fifty pounds a year; but she was in too much trouble to think much of money now. one heavy weight had been lifted--the sickening dread that the creditors would lose part or all. on that one point she was now at rest. but there were other things. there was the underlying current of fear that her father had not died of heart disease; there was the mysterious perplexity attending the disappearance of her cousin anthony; and there was her own engagement to mr. blake-gordon. her position was now so different from what it had been when he proposed to her, and the severity, the pride, the arrogance of sir richard so indisputable, that she feared the worst. moreover, she knew, from the present conduct of both father and son, that she had cause to fear it. twice, and twice only, had william blake-gordon come to her since her father's death, and he might so easily have come to her every day in her desolation! each time he had been kind and loving as ever; not a suspicion, not a hint of separation had appeared in look or tone; but in his manner there had been something never seen before: a reticence; a keeping back, as it were, of words that ought to come out: and instinct told her that all was not as it used to be. "how does your father take the news?--what does he say to it, and to my loss of fortune?--is he still willing to receive me?" she had asked on each occasion; and as often he had contrived to put aside the questions without satisfactory answer. days went on; her position, as to lack of fortune, was known abroad; and the suspense she endured was making her ill. one morning at the breakfast table, as she finished reading some letters that had been delivered for her, mrs. webb, who had scanned the letters outside from the opposite side of the table, put a question that she often did put. "is any one of them from mr. blake-gordon, my dear?" "no," replied mary. and no one but herself knew what it cost her to have to say it; or how trying to her was the usual silence that followed the answer. "i will end the suspense," she said to herself, shutting herself in her own sitting-room when the meal was over. "it is sir richard, i know; not william: but at least they shall not find me willing to enter the family on bare sufferance. i will give them the opportunity of retiring from the engagement--if that be what they wish for." drawing her desk towards her, she paused with the pen in her hand, deliberating how to write. whether in a cold formal strain, or affectionately and confidently as of yore: and she decided on the latter. "my dearest william, "my circumstances have so changed since the early days of our engagement, that i feel i am now, in writing to you, adopting the only course left open to me, both in fairness to you and for the sake of my own future happiness and peace of mind. "when you proposed to me and i accepted you, i was in a very different position from that of to-day. then i was supposed to be--nay, i supposed myself--a very rich woman. i was the daughter of a man beloved, honoured, and respected; a member of a house which, if not equal to your own in the past annals of the country, might at least mix with it on equality and hold its own amongst gentlemen. all this is now changed. my dear father is no more, my large fortune is gone, and i am left with next to nothing. "that you have asked me to become your wife for myself alone, i feel sure of. i am certain that no thought of riches influenced you in your choice: that you would take me now as willingly as in the old days. but instinct--or presentiment tells me that others will step in to interfere between us, and to enjoin a separation. should this be the case--should your father's consent, once given, now be withdrawn--then all must be at an end between us, and i will restore you your liberty. without the fall approval of sir richard, you cannot attempt to marry me; neither should i, without it, consent to become your wife. "if, on the other hand, that approval is still held out to us both as freely as of yore, i have only to add what you know so well--that i am yours, now as ever. "mary ursula castlemaine." the letter written, she hesitated no longer about the necessity or wisdom of the step. sealing it, she despatched it by a trusty messenger to sir richard's house just beyond the town. the news of the failure of the bank and death of its master, had reached sir richard blake-gordon when he was at a dinner party. it fell upon him with startling effect. for a moment he felt half paralyzed: and then the blood once more took its free course through his veins as he remembered that his son's marriage was yet a thing of the future. "never," he said to himself with energy. "never, as long as i live. i may have a battle with william; but i could always twist him round my fingers. in that respect he is his poor mother all over. no such weakness about me. failed for millions! good heavens, what an escape! we shall be quite justified in breaking with the daughter; and she and william have both sense enough to see it." he was not of those who put off disagreeable things until they will be put off no longer. that very night, meeting his son when he got home, he began, after expressing regret for the banker's sudden death. "a sad affair about the bank! who would have expected it?" "who, indeed!" returned william blake-gordon. "everyone thought the bank as safe as the bank of england. safer, if anything." "it only shows how subject, more or less, all private concerns are to fluctuations--changes--failures--and what not," continued sir richard. "whatever this may be--failure or not--it will at least be open and straightforward," said william. "mr. peter castlemaine was the soul of honour. the embarrassments must have arisen from other quarters, and thomas hill says the trouble and anxiety have killed him." "poor man! people are expecting it to be an awful failure. not five shillings in the pound for the creditors, and all the castlemaine family ruined. this must terminate your engagement." the sudden mandate fell on the young man's ears with a shock. he thought at the first moment his father must be jesting. "it must terminate my engagement?" he retorted, catching sight of the dark stern countenance. "what, give up mary castlemaine? never, father! never will i do it so long as i shall live." "yes, you will," said sir richard, quietly. "i cannot allow you to sacrifice your prospects in life." "to give her up would be to sacrifice all the prospects i care for." "tush, william!" "think what it is you would advise, sir!" spoke the son with ill-suppressed emotion. "putting aside my own feelings, think of the dishonour to my name! i should be shunned by all good and true men; i should shun myself. why, i would not live through such dishonour." sir richard took a pinch of snuff. "these misfortunes only render it the more urgent for me to carry out the engagement, sir. is it possible that you do not see it? mary castlemaine's happiness is, i believe, bound up in me; and mine, i freely avow it, is in hers. surely, father, you would not part us!" "listen, william," spoke sir richard, in the calm, stern tones he could assume at will, more telling, more penetrating than the loudest passion. "should miss castlemaine become portionless--as i believe it will turn out she has become--you cannot marry her. or, if you do, it would be with my curse. i would not advise you, for your own sake, to invoke that. you can look elsewhere for a wife: there are numbers of young women as eligible as ever was miss castlemaine." long they talked together, far on into the night, the stern tones on the one hand becoming persuasive ones; the opposition sinking into silence. when they separated, sir richard felt that he had three parts gained his point. "it is all right," said he mentally, as he stalked up to bed with his candle. "william was always ultra dutiful." sir richard interdicted his son's visits to miss castlemaine; and the one or two scant calls the young man made on her, were made in disobedience. but this state of things could not last. william blake-gordon, with his yielding nature, had ever possessed a rather exaggerated idea of the duty a son owes his father: moreover, he knew instinctively that mary would never consent to marry in opposition to sir richard, even though he brought himself to do it. it soon became known abroad that miss castlemaine's fortune had certainly been sacrificed. sir richard was cold and distant to his son, the young man miserable. one day the baronet returned to the charge; intending his mandate to be final. they were in the library. william's attitude was one of utter dejection as he leaned against the side of the window, looking forth on the spring sunshine: sunshine that brought no gladness for him. he saw too clearly what the end would be: that his own weakness, or his sense of filial duty, call it which you may, must give way before the stronger will, the commanding nature. "your conduct is now simply cruel to miss castlemaine," sir richard was saying. "you are keeping her all this time in suspense. or, perhaps--worse still--allowing her to cherish the hope that her altered circumstances will not cause the engagement to terminate." "i can't help it," replied william. "the engagement has no business to terminate. it was sacredly entered into: and, without adequate reason, it ought to be as sacredly kept." "you are a living representation of folly," cried sir richard. "adequate reason! there's reason enough for breaking off fifty engagements. can you not see the matter in its proper light?" "that is what i do see," replied william, sadly. "i see that the engagement ought to be maintained. for my own part, i never can go to mary and tell her that i am to give her up." "coward," said sir richard, with a great frown. "then i must." "i fear you are right," returned william: "a coward i am, little better. it is a cowardly thing to break off this alliance--the world will call it by a very different name. father," he added, appealingly, "is my happiness nothing to you? can you sacrifice us both to your pride and vainglory." "you will see it very differently some day," returned sir richard. "when you have lived in the world as long as i have, you will laugh at yourself for these ridiculously romantic ideas. instead of marring your happiness, i am making it. substantially, too." "i think, sir," said mr. blake-gordon, not liking the tone, "that you might leave me to be the judge of what is best for my own happiness." "there you are mistaken, my dear william. you have but a young head on your shoulders: you see things de tort et de travers, as the french have it. the engagement with peter castlemaine's daughter would never have received my sanction but for her great wealth. we are poor, and it is essential that you should marry a large fortune if you marry at all. that wealth of hers has now melted, and consequently the contract is at an end. this is the common-sense view of the circumstances which the world will take. done, it must be, william. shall i see the young lady for you? or will you be a man and see her for yourself?" but before mr. blake-gordon had time to reply, a note was brought in. it was the one written by miss castlemaine; and it could not have arrived more seasonably for sir richard's views. the young man opened it; read it to the end: and passed it to his father in silence. "a very sensible girl, upon my word," exclaimed sir richard, when he had mastered the contents by the aid of a double eye-glass. "she sees things in their right light. castlemaine was, after all, an extremely honourable man, and put proper notions into her. this greatly facilitates matters, william. our path is now quite smoothed out for us. i will myself write to her. you can do the same, if you are so disposed. had this only come before, what arguments it might have saved!" upon which the baronet sat down, and indited the following epistle:-- "my dear young lady, "your note--which my son has handed to me--has given me in one sense a degree of pleasure; for i perceive in it traces of good sense and judgment, such as women do not always possess. "you are right in supposing that under the present aspect of affairs a marriage between yourself and mr. blake-gordon would be unadvisable." (she had supposed nothing of the sort, but it suited him to assume it.) "and therefore i concur with you in your opinion that the engagement should terminate. "deeply though i regret this personally, i have yet felt it my duty to insist upon it to my son: not only for his sake, but for your own. the very small means i am able to spare to him render it impossible for him to take a portionless wife, and i could never sanction a step that would drag him down to poverty and embarrassment. i was about to write to you, or to see you, to tell you this, for william shrank from the task, and your note has agreeably simplified what had to be done. we cordially, though reluctantly, agree to what you have had the good feeling to propose. "at all times i shall be delighted to hear of your welfare and happiness; and, believe me, my dear miss castlemaine, you have not a more sincere well-wisher than your devoted friend and servant, "richard blake-gordon." with much inward satisfaction the baronet folded the letter. he was wise enough not to show it to his son; who, honourable in thought and feeling as he was weak in nature, might have been prompted to tear it into shreds, and declare that come good, come ill, he would stand true to his plighted word. "there!" said sir richard, with a grunt of relief, as he affixed his seal, "i have accomplished that task for you, william. as i said before, write to her yourself if you will, but be quick about it. in half an hour i shall send back my answer." "give me that time to myself," said william, rising to leave the room. "if i have anything to say i will write it." at the end of the half-hour he had written the following words; and the note was despatched with his father's:-- "my darling, i suppose we must separate; but all happiness for me is over in this world. you will, however, accord me a final interview; a moment for explanation; i cannot part without that. i will be with you this afternoon at four o'clock. "in spite of all, "i am for ever yours--and yours only, "william." unlike his father's letter, there was no hypocrisy in this, no stupid form of words. when he wrote that all happiness for him was over, he meant it; and he wrote truly. perhaps he deserved no less: but, if he merited blame, judgment might accord him some pity with it. when mary received the letters, she felt certain of their contents before a word was seen. sir richard would not himself have written but to break off the engagement. he had not even called upon her in all these long weary days of desolation and misery: and there could be but one motive for this unkind neglect. his note would now explain it. but when she came to read its contents: its hollow hypocrisy, its plausible, specious argument, its profession of friendship and devotion; the pang of the death-blow gave place to the highest anger and indignation. at that moment of bitterness the letter sounded to her desperately hollow and cruel, worse perhaps than it even was. the pain was more than her wounded spirit--so tried in the past few weeks--could bear; and with a brief but violent storm of sobs, with which no tears came, she tore the letter in two and threw it into the fire. "at least he might have done it differently," she said to herself in her anguish. "he might have written in a manner that would have made me feel it less." it was one of her first lessons in the world's harshness, in the selfish nature of man. happy for her if in her altered circumstances she had not many such to learn! presently, when she had grown a little calm, she opened the other note, almost wondering whether it would be a repetition of the cool falsity of sir richard's. ah no, no! "i will see him," she said, when she read the few words. "but the interview shall be brief. of what use to prolong the agony?" so when william blake-gordon, true to his appointment, reached the bank at four o'clock, he was admitted. how different an aspect the house presented from the bustle and the sociality of the days gone by! a stillness, as of a dead city, reigned. rooms that had re-echoed with merry voices and light footsteps above, with the ring of gold and the tones of busy men below, were now silent and deserted. no change of any kind had yet been made in the household arrangements, but that was soon to come. the servants would be discharged, the costly furniture was already marked for the hammer; mrs. webb must leave, and--what was to be the course of miss castlemaine? she had not even asked herself the question, while the engagement with mr. blake-gordon remained officially unbroken. the butler opened the door to him and ushered him into the drawing-room. mary came forward to greet him with her pale, sad face--a face that startled her lover. he clasped her to him, and she burst into sobs and tears. there are moments of anguish when pride gives way. "oh, my darling!" he cried, scarcely less agitated than herself, "you are feeling this cruel decision almost unto death! why did you write that letter?--why did you not remain firm?--and thereby tacitly insist on our engagement being fulfilled?" never had his weakness of nature been more betrayed than then. "why did not she insist?"--as if conscious that he was powerless to do it! she felt it keenly: she felt that in this, at least, a gulf lay between them. "what i have done is for the best," she said, gently disengaging herself, and suppressing the signs of her emotion, as she motioned him to a seat. "in my altered circumstances i felt--at least i feared--that no happiness could await our marriage. your father, in the first place, would never have given his consent." "there are times when duty to a father should give place to duty to one's self," he returned, forgetting how singularly this argument was contradicted by his own conduct. "all my happiness in life is over." "as you wrote to me," she said. "but by-and-by, when you shall have forgotten all this, william, and time has brought things round, you will meet with some one who will be able to make you happy: perhaps as much so as i should have done: and you will look back on these days as a dream." "mary!" "and it will be better so." "and you?" he asked, with a stifled groan of remorse. "i?" she returned, with a smile half sad, half derisive. "i am nobody now. you have a place to fill in the world; i shall soon be heard of no more." "but where are you going to live, mary? you have nothing left out of the wreck." "i have a little. enough for my future wants. at present i shall go on a visit to greylands' rest. my uncle urges it, and he is the nearest representative of my father. depend upon it, i shall meet with some occupation in life that will make me contented if not happy." "until you marry," he said. "marry some man more noble than i; more worthy of you." for a moment she looked steadily at him, and then her face flushed hot with pain. but she would not contradict it. she began to think that she had never quite understood the nature of mr. blake-gordon. "in the future, you and i will probably not meet often, william; if at all," she resumed. "but you will carry with you my best wishes, and i shall always rejoice to hear of your happiness and prosperity. the past we must, both of us, try to forget." "i shall never forget it," was the impulsive answer. "do you remember my dream?" she sadly asked. "the one i told you of that ball night. how strangely it is being fulfilled! and, do you know, i think that beautiful dresden vase, that papa broke, must have been an omen of the evil in store for the house." he stood up now, feeling how miserable it all was, feeling his own littleness. for a short while longer they talked together: but mary wished the interview over. when it came to the actual parting she nearly broke down. it was very hard and bitter. her life had not so long ago promised to be so bright! now all was at an end. as to marriage--never for her: of that kind of happiness the future contained none. calmness, patience in suffering, resignation, and in time even contentment, she might find in some path of duty; but beyond that, nothing. they stood close together, her hands held in his, their hearts aching with pain and yearning, each to each, with that sad yearning that is born of utter hopelessness. a parting like this seems to be more cruel than the parting of death. "come what may, mary, i shall love you, and you alone, to the end. you tell me i shall marry: it may be so; i know not: but if so, my wife, whomsoever she may be, will never have my love; never, never. we do not love twice in a lifetime. and, if those who have loved on earth are permitted to meet in heaven, you and i, my best and dearest, shall assuredly find together in eternity the happiness denied us here." she was but mortal, after all; and the words sent a strange thrill of pleasure through her heart. ah, no! he would never love another as he had loved her; she knew it: and it might be--it might be--that they should recognise each other in the bliss of a never-ending hereafter! and so they parted, each casting upon the other a long, last, lingering look, just as mary had already imagined in her foreboding dream. that evening, as miss castlemaine was sitting alone, musing on the past, the present, and the future, nursing her misery and her desolation, the door opened and thomas hill was shown in. she had seen more of him than of any one else, save mrs. webb, since the ruin. "miss mary," said he, when they had shaken hands, "i've come to ask you whether the report can be true?" "what report?" inquired mary: but a suspicion of what he must mean rushed over her, ere the words had well passed her lips. "perhaps it is hardly a report," said the clerk, correcting himself; "for i doubt if any one else knows of it. i met sir richard to-day, my dear young lady," he continued, advancing and taking her hands, his tone full of indignant commiseration; "and in answer to some remark i made about your marriage, he said the marriage was not to take place; it was at an end. i did not believe him." "it is quite true," replied mary, with difficulty controlling her voice. "i am glad that it is at an end." "glad?" he repeated, looking into her face with his kindly old eyes. "yes. it is much better so. sir richard, in the altered state of my fortunes, would never think me a sufficiently good match for his son." "but the honour, miss mary! or rather the dishonour of their breaking it off! and your happiness? is that not to be thought of?" "all things that are wrong will right themselves," she replied with a quiet smile. "at least, sir richard thinks so. "and mr. blake-gordon, is he willing to submit to the separation quietly? pardon me, miss mary. if your father were alive, i should know my place too well to say a word on the subject: but--but i seem to have been drawn very close to you since that time of desolation, and my heart resents all slight on you as he would have resented it. i could not rest until i knew the truth." "say no more about it," breathed mary. "let the topic be between us as one that had never had existence. it will be for my happiness." "but can nothing be done?" persisted thomas hill. "should not your uncle go and expostulate with them and expose their villainy--for i can call it by no other name?" "not for worlds," she said, hastily. "it is i who have broken the engagement, mr. hill; not they. i wrote this morning and restored mr. blake-gordon his freedom: this afternoon i bade him farewell for ever. it is all over and done with: never mention it again to me." "and you--what are your plans for the future?--and, oh, forgive me for being anxious, my dear young lady! i had you on my knee often as a little one, and in my heart you have been as dear to me and seemed to grow up as my own daughter. where shall you live?" "i cannot yet tell where. i am poor, you know," she added, with one of her sweet, sad smiles. "for the present i am going on a visit to my uncle james." "greylands' rest would be your most suitable home now," spoke thomas hill slowly and dubiously. "but--i don't know that you would like it. mrs. castlemaine----" he stopped, hardly liking to say what was in his mind--that mrs. castlemaine was not the most desirable of women to live with. mary understood him. "only on a visit," she said. "while there, i shall have leisure to think of the future. my hundred and fifty pounds a year--and that much you all say will be secured to me----" "and the whole of what i possess, miss mary." "my hundred and fifty pounds a year will seem as a sufficient income to me, once i have brought my mind down from its heights," she continued, with another faint smile, as though unmindful of the interruption. "trust me, my dear old friend, the future shall not be as gloomy as, by the expression of your face, you seem to anticipate. i am not weak enough to throw away my life in repining, and in wishing for what heaven sees fit to deny me." "heaven?" he repeated in an accent of reproof. "let us say circumstances, then. but in the very worst fate, it may be, that heaven's hand may be working--overruling all for our eventual good. my future life can be a useful one; and i, if not happy, at least contented." but that night, in the solitude of her chamber, she opened a small box, containing nothing but a few faded white rose-leaves. it was the first trembling offering william blake-gordon had given her, long before he dared to tell of his love. before they were again put away out of sight, tears, bitter as any shed in her whole life, had fallen upon them. chapter xi. inside the nunnery. the time had gone on at greylands; and its great theme of excitement, the disappearance of anthony castlemaine, was an event of the past. not an iota of evidence had arisen to tell how he disappeared: but an uneasy suspicion of mr. castlemaine lurked in corners. john bent had been the chief instigator in this. as truly as he believed the sun shone in the heavens, so did he believe that anthony castlemaine had been put out of the way by his uncle; sent out of the world, in fact, that the young man might not imperil his possession of greylands' rest. he did not say to the public, in so many words, mr. castlemaine has killed his nephew; that might not have been prudent; but the bent of his conviction could not be mistaken; and when alone with his wife he scrupled not to talk freely. all greylands did not share in the opinion. the superstitious villagers attributed the disappearance to be due in some unconjectural manner to the dreaded spirit of the grey monk, haunting the friar's keep. the fears of the place were augmented tenfold. not one would go at night in sight of it, save on the greatest compulsion; and commodore teague (a brave, fearless man, as was proved by his living so near the grim building alone) had whispered that the grey friar was abroad again with his lamp, for he had twice seen him glide past the casements. what with one fear and another, greylands was not altogether in a state of calmness. mary ursula had come to greylands' rest. the once happy home at stilborough was given up, the furniture sold: and the affairs of the bank were virtually settled. a sufficient sum had been saved from the wreck to bring her in about a hundred and fifty pounds per annum; that income was secured to her for life and would be at her disposal at death. all claims were being paid to the uttermost shilling; liberal presents were given to the clerks and servants thrown suddenly out of employment; and not a reproach, or shadow of it, could be cast on the house of castlemaine. before mary had been a week at greylands' rest, she was mentally forming her plans for leaving it. mr. castlemaine would fain have kept her there always: he was loud and proud of her; he thought there was no other woman like her in the world. not so mrs. castlemaine. she resented her husband's love and reverence for his niece; and she, little-minded, fall of spite, was actually jealous of her. she had always felt a jealousy of the banker's daughter, living in her luxurious home at stilborough, keeping the high society that mrs. castlemaine did not keep; she had a shrewd idea that she herself, with her little tempers, and her petty frivolities, was sometimes compared unfavourably with mary ursula by her husband, wife though she was; and she had far rather some disagreeable animal had taken up its abode at greylands' rest for good, than this grand, noble, beautiful girl. now and again even in those first few days, she contrived to betray this feeling: and it may be that this served to hasten mary's plans. flora, too, was a perpetual source of annoyance to everybody but her mother; and the young lady was as rude to miss castlemaine as to other people. since her parting with mr. blake-gordon, an idea had dawned upon and been growing in mary ursula's mind. it was, that she should join the sisterhood of the grey ladies. the more she dwelt upon it, the greater grew her conviction that it would be just the life now suited to her. unlike mr. castlemaine, she had always held the sisters in reverence and respect. they were self-denying; they led a useful life before heaven; they were of no account in the world: what better career could she propose, or wish, for herself, now that near and dear social ties were denied her? and she formed her resolution: though she almost dreaded to impart it to her uncle. mr. castlemaine stood one morning at the window of his study, looking out on the whitened landscape, for snow covered the ground. the genial weather that came in so early had given place to winter again: not often is spring so changeable as they had it that year. the sad, worn look that might be seen lately on the master of greylands' face, though rarely when in company, sat on it now. he pushed his dark hair from his brow with a hasty hand, as some thought, worse than the rest, disturbed him, and a heavy groan escaped his lips. drowning it with a cough, for at that moment somebody knocked at the study door, he held his breath but did not answer. the knock came again, and he did not know the knock: certainly it was not miles's. he strode to open the door with a frown. it was an understood thing in the house that this room was sacred to its master. there stood mary, in her deep mourning. "i have ventured to come to you here, uncle james," she said, "as i wish to speak with you alone. can you spare me some minutes?" "any number to you, mary. and remember, my dear, that you are always welcome here." he gave her a chair, shut down his bureau and locked it, and took a seat himself. for a moment she paused, and then began in some hesitation. "uncle james, i have been forming my plans." "plans?" he echoed. "and i have come to tell them to you before i tell any one else." "well?" said mr. castlemaine, wondering what was coming. "i should like--i must have some occupation in life, you know?" "occupation? well?" "and i have not been long in making up my mind what it shall be. i shall join the sisterhood." "join the what?" "the sisters at the grey nunnery, uncle." mr. castlemaine pushed back his chair in angry astonishment when the sense of the words fully reached him. "the sisters at the grey nunnery!" he indignantly cried. "join those grey women who lead such an idle, gossiping, meddling life, that i have no patience when i think of them! never shall you do that, mary ursula!" "it seems to me that you have always mistaken them, uncle," she said; "have done them wrong in your heart; they are noble women, and they are leading a noble life----" "a petty, obscure life," he interrupted. "it is obscure; but in its usefulness and self-sacrifice it must be noble. what would greylands be without their care?" "a great deal better than with it." "they help the poor, they tend the sick, they teach the young ones; they try to make the fishermen think a little of god. who would do it if they were not here, uncle? do you know, i have thought so much of it in the past few days that i long to join them." "this is utter folly!" cried mr. castlemaine; and he had never felt so inclined to be angry with his niece. "to join this meddling sisterhood would be to sacrifice all your future prospects in life." "i have no prospects left to sacrifice," returned mary. "you know that, uncle james." "no prospects? nonsense! because that dishonourable rascal, william blake-gordon, has chosen to forfeit his engagement, and make himself a by-word in the mouths of men, are you to renounce the world? many a better gentleman than he, my dear, will be seeking you before a few months have gone by." "i shall never marry," was her firm answer. "never, never. whether i joined the sisters, or not; whether i retired from the world, or mixed to my dying day in all its pomps and gaieties; still i should never marry. so you see, uncle james, i have now to make my future, and to create for myself an object in life." "well, we'll leave the question of marrying. meanwhile your present home must be with me, mary ursula. i cannot spare you. i should like you to make up your mind to stay in it always, unless other and nearer ties shall call you forth." "you are very kind, uncle james; you always have been kind. but i--i must be independent," she added with a smile and a slight flush. "forgive the seeming ingratitude, uncle dear." "very independent you would be, if you joined those living-by-rule women!" "in one sense i should be thoroughly independent, uncle. my income will be most welcome to them, for they are, as you know, very poor----" "your income!" he interrupted, half scoffingly. "i wish--i wish, mary--you would allow me to augment it!" "and i shall be close to greylands' rest," she continued, with a slight shake of the head, for this proposal to settle money upon her had become quite a vexations question. "i shall be able to come here to see you often." "mary ursula, i will hear no more of this," he cried, quite passionately. "you shall never do it with my consent." she rose and laid her pleading hands upon his. "uncle, pardon me, but my mind is made up. i have not decided hastily, or without due consideration. by day and by night i have dwelt upon it--i--i have prayed over it, uncle--and i plainly see it is the best thing for me. i would sooner spend my days there than anywhere, because i shall be near you." "and i want you to be near me. but not in a nunnery." "it is not a nunnery now you know, uncle james, though the building happens still to bear the name. if i take up my abode there, i take no vows, remember. i do not renounce the world. should any necessity arise--though i think it will not--for me to resume my place in society, i am at full liberty to put off my grey gown and bonnet and do so." "what do you think your father would have said to this, mary ursula?" "were my father alive, uncle james, the question never could have arisen; my place would have been with him. but i think--if he could see me now under all these altered circumstances--i think he would say to me go." there was no turning her. james castlemaine saw it: and when she quitted the room he felt that the step, unless some special hindrance intervened, would be carried out. "the result of being clever enough to have opinions of one's own!" muttered mr. castlemaine, in reference to the, to him, most unwelcome project. turning to the window again, he stood there, looking out. looking out, but seeing nothing. the friar's keep opposite, rising dark and grim from contrast with the intervening white landscape; the sparkling blue sea beyond, glittering in the frosty sunshine: he saw none of it. the snow must be blinding his sight, or some deep trouble his perceptive senses. mr. castlemaine had other motives than the world knew of for wishing to keep his niece out of the grey nunnery: but he did not see how it was to be done. mary ursula had passed into her own chamber: the best room in the house, and luxuriously furnished. it was generally kept for distinguished guests; and mrs. castlemaine had thought a plainer one might have served the young lady, their relative; but, as she muttered resentfully to the empty air, if mr. castlemaine could load the banker's daughter with gold and precious stones, he'd go out of his way to do it. drawing her chair to the fire, mary sat down and thought out her plan. and the longer she dwelt upon it, the more did she feel convinced that she was right in its adoption. a few short weeks before, and had any nunnery and become one of the grey sisters, she had started back in aversion. but ideas change with circumstances. then she had a happy home of splendour, an indulgent father, riches that seemed unbounded at command, the smiles of the gay world, and a lover to whom she was shortly to be united. now she had none of these: all had been wrested from her at one fell swoop. to the outward world she had seemed to take her misfortunes calmly: but none knew how they had wrung her very soul. it had seemed to her that her heart was broken: it seemed to her as though some retired and quiet place to rest in were absolutely needful while she recovered, if she ever did recover, the effects of these calamities. but she did not want to sit down under her grief and nourish it: she had prayed earnestly, and did still pray, that it would please heaven to enable her to find consolation in her future life, and that it might be one of usefulness to others, as it could not be one of happiness to herself. but a latent prevision sometimes made itself apparent, that happiness would eventually come; that in persevering in her laid-out path, she should find it. "the sooner i enter upon it, the better," she said, rising from her chair and shaking out the crape folds of her black silk dress. "and there's nothing to wait for, now that i have broken it to my uncle." glancing at her own face as she passed a mirror, she halted to look at the change that trouble had made in it. others might not notice it, but to herself it was very perceptible. the beautiful features were thinner than of yore, the cheeks bore a fainter rose-colour; her stately form had lost somewhat of its roundness. ah, it was not her own sorrow that had mostly told upon mary castlemaine; it was the sudden death of her father, and the agonizing doubt attending on it. "if i could but know that it was god's will that he should die!" she exclaimed, raising her hands in an attitude of supplication. "and there's that other dreadful trouble--that awful doubt--about poor anthony!" descending the stairs, she opened the door of the red parlour, and entered on a scene of turbulence. miss flora was in one of her most spiteful and provoking humours. she was trying to kick ethel, who held her at arms' length. her pretty face was inflamed, her pretty hair hung wild--and flora's face and hair were both as pretty as they could well be. "flora!" said miss castlemaine, advancing to the rescue. "flora, for shame! unless i had seen you in this passion, i had not believed it." "i will kick her, then! it's through her i did not go with mamma in the carriage to stilborough ." "it was mamma who would not take you," said ethel. "she said she had some private business there, and did not want you with her." "she would have taken me: you know she would; but for your telling her i had not done my french exercise, you ugly, spiteful thing." "mamma asked me whether you had done it, and i said no." "and you ought to have said yes! you ill-natured, wicked, interfering dromedary!" "be still, flora," interposed miss castlemaine. "unless you are, i will call your papa. how can you so forget yourself?" "you have no business to interfere, mary ursula! the house is not yours; you are only staying in it." "true," said miss castlemaine, calmly. "and i shall not be very much longer in it, flora. i am going away soon." "i shall be glad of that," retorted the rude child; "and i am sure mamma will be. she says it is a shame that you should be let take up the best bedroom." "oh, flora!" interposed ethel. "and she says----" what further revelations the damsel might be contemplating, in regard to her mother, were summarily cut short. harry castlemaine had entered in time to hear what she was saying, and he quietly lifted her from the room. outside, he treated her to what she dreaded, though it was not often she got it from him--a severe shaking--and she ran away howling. "she is being ruined," said harry. "mrs. castlemaine never corrects her, or allows her to be corrected. i wish my father would take it seriously in hand! she ought to be at school." peace restored, mary told them what she had just been telling mr. castlemaine. she was about to become a grey sister. harry laughed: he did not believe a syllable of it; ethel, more clear-sighted, burst into tears. "don't, don't leave us!" she whispered, clinging to mary, in her astonishment and distress. "you see what my life is here! i am without love, without sympathy. i have only my books and my music and my drawings and the sea! but for them my heart would starve. oh, mary; it has been so different since you came: i have had you to love." mary ursula put her arm round ethel. she herself standing in so much need of love, had felt the tender affection of this fresh young girl, already entwining itself around her heart, as the grateful tree feels the tendrils of the clinging vine. "you will be what i shall most regret in leaving greylands' rest, ethel. but, my dear, we can meet constantly. you can see me at the nunnery when you will; and i shall come here sometimes." "look here, mary ursula," said harry, all his lightness checked. "sooner than you should go to that old nunnery, i'll burn it down." "no, you will not, harry." "i will. the crazy old building won't be much loss to the place, and the ruins would be picturesque." he was so speaking only to cover his real concern. the project was no less displeasing to him than to his father. "you do not mean this, mary ursula!" but the grave look of her earnest face effectually answered him. "it is i who shall miss you," bewailed ethel. "oh, can nothing be done?" "nothing," said mary, smiling. "our paths, ethel, will probably lie far apart in life. you will marry, and social ties will form about you. i----" she broke off suddenly. "i intend to marry ethel myself," said harry, kicking hack a large live coal that flew far out into the hearth. "be quiet, harry," said ethel, a shade of annoyance in her tone. "why, you know it's true," he returned, without looking at her. "true! when we are like brother and sister!" miss castlemaine glanced from one to the other. she did not know how to take this. that harry liked ethel and was in the habit of paying her attention, told nothing; for he did the same by many other young ladies. "it was only last week i asked her to fix the day," said harry. "and i told you to go and talk nonsense elsewhere; not to me," retorted ethel, her tone betraying her real vexation. "if you won't have me, ethel, you'll drive me to desperation. i might go off and marry one of the grey sisters in revenge. it should be sister ann. she is a charming picture; one to take a young man's heart by storm." mary ursula looked keenly at him. in all this there was a semblance of something not real. it struck her that he was wanting to make it appear he wished for ethel, when in fact he did not. "harry," she cried, speaking upon impulse, "you have not, i hope, been falling in love with anybody undesirable?" "but i have," said harry, his face flushing. "don't i tell you who it is?--sister ann. mark you though, cousin mine, you shall never be allowed to make one of those grey sisters." "you are very random, you know, harry," said miss castlemaine, slowly. "you talk to young ladies without meaning anything--but they may not detect that. take care you do not go too far some day, and find yourself in a mesh." harry castlemaine turned his bright face on his cousin. "i never talk seriously but to one person, mary ursula. and that's ethel." "harry," cried the young girl, with flashing eyes, "you are not fair to me." "and now, have you any commands for the commodore?" went on harry lightly, and taking no notice of ethel's rebuke. "i am going to the hutt." they said they had none; and he left the room. mary turned to ethel. "my dear--if you have no objection to confide in me--is there anything between you and harry?" "nothing, mary," was the answer, and ethel blushed the soft blush of girlish modesty as she said it. "last year he teased me very much, making me often angry; but latterly he has been better. the idea of my marrying him!--when we have grown up together like brother and sister! it would seem hardly proper. i like harry very much indeed as a brother; but as to marrying him, why, i'd rather never be married at all. here's the carriage coming back! mamma must have forgotten something." mrs. castlemaine's carriage was seen winding round the drive. they heard her get out at the door and hold a colloquy with flora. she came to the red parlour looking angry. "where's harry?" she demanded, in the sharp, unkindly tones that so often grated on the ear of those offending her, as she threw her eyes round the room. "harry is not here, mamma," replied ethel. "i understood he was here," suspiciously spoke mrs. castlemaine. "he went out a minute or two ago," said ethel. "i think he is gone to commodore teague's." "he is like an eel," was the pettish rejoinder. "you never know when you have him. as to that vulgar, gossiping old teague, that they make so much of and are always running after, i can't think what they see in him." "perhaps it is his gossip that they like," suggested ethel. "well, i want harry. he has been beating flora." "i don't think he beat her, mamma." "oh, you great story-teller!" exclaimed flora, putting in her head. "he shook me till all my bones rattled." mrs. castlemaine shut the door with a click. and the next that they saw, was miss flora dressed in her best and going off with her mamma in the carriage. "with this injudicious treatment the child has hardly a chance to become better," murmured mary ursula. "ethel, have you a mind for a walk?" "yes: with you." they dressed themselves and started for the village, walking lightly over the crisp snow, under the clear blue sky. miss castlemaine was bound for the grey nunnery; ethel protesting she would do no act or part towards helping her to enter it, went off to see some of the fishermen's wives on the cliff. passing through the outer gate, mary ursula rang at the bell, and was admitted by sister phoeby. a narrow passage took her into the hall. opening from it on the left hand was a moderate-sized room, plain and comfortable. it was called the reception parlour, but was the one usually sat in by the grey ladies: in fact, they had no other sitting room that could be called furnished. dinner was taken in a bare, bleak room, looking to the sea; it was used also as the schoolroom, and contained chiefly a large table and some forms. miss castlemaine was shown into the reception parlour. two of the ladies were in it: sister margaret writing, sister betsey making lint. an indication of miss castlemaine's wish to join the sisters had already reached the nunnery, and they knew not how to make enough of her. it had caused quite a commotion of delight. to number a castlemaine amidst them, especially one so much esteemed, so high, and grand, and good as the banker's daughter, was an honour hardly to be believed in; the small fortune she would bring seemed, like riches in itself, and they coveted the companionship of the sweet and gentle lady for their own sakes. her joining them would swell the number of the community to thirteen; but no reason existed against that. sister margaret put down her pen, sister betsey her linen, as their visitor entered. they gave her the one arm-chair by the fire--sister mildred's own place--and mary put back her crape veil as she sat down. calm, quiet, good, looked the ladies in their simple grey gowns, their hair smoothly braided under the white cap of worked muslin; and mary ursula seemed to feel a foretaste of peace in the time when the like dress, the like serene life, would be hers. the superior sisters came flocking in on hearing she was there; all were present save sister mildred: margaret, charlotte, betsey, grizzel, and mona. the working sisters were phoeby, ann, rachel, caroline, lettice, and ruth. the ladies hastened to tell miss castlemaine of a hope, or rather project, they had been entertaining--namely, that when she joined the community, she should become its head. sister mildred, incapacitated by her tedious illness, had long wished to resign control; and would have done so before, but that sister margaret, on whom it ought to descend, declined to take it. miss castlemaine sat in doubt: the proposal came upon her by surprise. "i do all the writing that has to be done, and keep the accounts; and you see that's all i'm good for," said sister margaret to miss castlemaine, in a tone of confidence. "if i were put in sister mildred's place, and had to order this and decide that, i should be lost. why, if they came and asked me whether the dinner for the day should consist of fresh herrings, or pork and pease-pudding, i should never know which to say." "sister mildred may regain her health," observed miss castlemaine. "but she'll never regain her hearing," put in sister grizzel, a little quick, fresh-coloured, talkative woman. "and that tells very much against her as superioress. in fact, her continuing as such is like a farce." "besides, she herself wants to give it up," said sister charlotte. "oh, miss castlemaine, if you would but accept it in her place! you would make us happy." mary ursula said she must take time for consideration. she was invited to go up to sister mildred, who would be sure to think it a slight if she did not. so she was conducted upstairs by the ladies, charlotte and mona, and found herself in a long, dark, narrow corridor, which had doors on either side--the nuns' cells of old. the head sister's room was at the extreme end--a neat little chamber, whose casement looked out on to the sea with a small bed in a corner. sister mildred was dressed and sat by the fire. she was a fair-complexioned, pleasant-looking, talkative woman, slightly deformed, and past fifty, but still very light and active. of her own accord, she introduced the subject of resigning her post to miss castlemaine, and pressed her urgently to take it. "the holding it has become a trouble to me, my dear," she said. "instead of lying here at peace with nothing to think of--and some days i can't get up at all--i am being referred to perpetually. sister margaret refuses to take it; she says she's of more good for writing and account keeping. as to sister charlotte, she is always amid the little ones in the school; she likes teaching--and so there it is. your taking it, my dear, would solve a difficulty; and we could hardly let one, bearing the honoured name of castlemaine, be among us, and not be placed at our head." "you may get better; you may regain your health," said mary. "and, please god, i shall," cheerfully returned sister mildred, when she could be made to comprehend the remark. "mr. parker tells me so. but i shall be none the more competent for my post. my deafness has become so much worse since health failed that that of itself unfits me for it. the sisters will tell you so. why, my dear, you don't know the mistakes it leads to. i hear just the opposite of what's really said, and give orders accordingly. sister margaret wrote a letter and transacted some business all wrong through this, and it has caused ever so much trouble to set it to rights. it is mortifying to her and to me." "to all of us," put in sister charlotte. "why, my dear miss castlemaine, just look at my facility for misapprehension! only the other day," continued the superioress, who dearly loved a gossip when she could get it, "sister ann came running up here in a flurry, her eyes sparkling, saying parson marston was below. 'what, below then?' i asked. 'yes,' she said, 'below then,' and ran off again. i wondered what could have brought the parson here, for we don't see him at the nunnery from year's end to year's end, but was grateful to him for thinking of us, and felt that i ought to get down, if possible, to receive and thank him. so i turned out of bed and scuffled into my petticoats, slipping on my best gown and a new cap, and down stairs i went. would you believe it, my dear young lady, that it was not parson marston at all, but a fine sucking pig!" mary could not avoid a laugh. "a beautiful sucking-pig, that lasted us two days when cooked. it came, a present, from farmer watson, a good, grateful man, whose little boy sister mona went to nurse through a fever. i had mistaken what she said, you see, and got up for nothing. but that's the way it is with me; and the sooner i am superseded by somebody who can hear, the better." "i have said lately that you ought to change your room," cried sister margaret to her. "in this one you are sometimes exposed to a sharp breeze." "cheese?" returned the deaf lady, mistaking the word. "bread and cheese! by all means order it into the parlour if miss castlemaine would like some. dear me, i am very remiss!" "no, no," returned sister margaret, laughing at the mistake, and speaking in her ear, "i only suggested it might be better for your deafness if you exchanged this room for a warmer one: one on the other side." "is that all! then why did you mention cheese? no, no; i am not going to change my room. i like this one, this aspect; the sea is as good to me as a friend. and what does miss castlemaine say?" mary stood at the casement window. the grand, expansive sea lay below and around. she could see nothing else. an indiaman was sailing majestically in the distance; on the sails of one of the fishing boats, dotting the surface nearer, some frosted snow had gathered and was sparkling in the sunshine. there she stood, reflecting. "for the sake of constantly enjoying this scene of wondrous beauty, it would be almost worth while to come, let alone other inducements!" she exclaimed mentally in her enthusiasm. "as to acceding to their wish of taking the lead, i believe it is what i should like, what i am fitted for." and when she quitted sister mildred's room she left her promise of acceptation within it. meanwhile an unpleasant adventure had just happened to ethel. her visits to the wives of the fishermen on the cliff concluded, and seeing no sign yet of mary ursala's leaving the nunnery, she thought she would make a call on mrs. bent, and wait there: which, in truth, she was rather fond of doing. but to-day she arrived at an inopportune moment. mr. and mrs. bent were enjoying a dispute. it appeared that a letter had been delivered at the inn that morning, addressed to anthony castlemaine: the third letter that had come for him since his disappearance. the two first bore the postmark of gap, this one the london postmark, and all were addressed in the same handwriting. mrs. bent had urged her husband to hand over the others to the master of greylands: she was now urging the like as to this one. john bent, though in most matters under his wife's finger and thumb, had wholly refused to listen to her in this: he should keep the letters in his own safe custody, he said, until the writer, or some one of mr. anthony's connections from over the water, appeared to claim them. mrs. bent was unable to stir his decision: since the fatal night connected with the friar's keep, she could but notice that john had altered. he was more silent than of yore; yielded to her less, and maintained his own will better: which was, of course, not an agreeable change to mrs. bent. they were in their ordinary room, facing the sea. the door stood open as usual, but a screen of two folds now intervened between the fire-place and the draught. john sat in his carved elbow-chair; mrs. bent stood by, folding clothes at the table; which was drawn near the fire from its place under the window. "i tell you, then, john bent, you might be taken up and prosecuted for it," she said, sprinkling the linen so vigorously that some splashes went on his face. "keeping other people's letters!" "the letters are directed here, to my house, dorothy woman; and i shall keep them till some proper person turns up to receive them," was john's answer, delivered without irritation as he wiped his face with his pocket-handkerchief. "the proper person is mr. castlemaine. just take your elbow away: you'll be upsetting the basin. he is the young man's uncle." "now look here, wife. you've said that before, and once for all i tell you i'll not do it. mr. castlemaine is the last person in the world i'd hand the letters to. what would he do with them!--put 'em in the fire, i dare be bound. if, as i believe; i believe it to my very heart; mr. castlemaine took his nephew's life that night in the friar's keep----" "hist!" said mrs. bent, the rosy colour on her face fading as a sound caught her ear; "hist, man!" and, for once, more alarmed than angry, she looked behind the screen, and found herself face to face with ethel reene. "mercy be good to us!" she exclaimed, seeing by the young lady's white face that they had been overheard. and, scarcely knowing what she did, she dragged the horror-stricken girl round to the hearth, before john. "now you've done it!" she cried, turning upon him. "you'd better pack up and be off to jail: for if miss ethel tells the master of greylands what she has heard, he'll put you there." "no, he won't," said john, full of contrition for the mischief he had done, but nevertheless determined not to eat his words, and believing the suspicion must have reached the young lady sooner or later. "you cannot think this of papa!" said ethel, sinking into a chair. "well, miss ethel, it is a great mystery, as you must know," said the landlord, who had risen. "i think the master of greylands could solve it if he liked." "but--but, mr. bent, what you said is most dreadful!" "i'm heartily sorry you chanced to overhear it, miss ethel." "there's no cause to wink at me like that, wife. the words are said, and i cannot unsay them." "but--do--you---believe it?" gasped ethel. "yes, he does believe it," burst forth mrs. bent, losing sight of prudence in her anger against her husband. "if he does not get into some awful trouble one of these days through his tongue, his name's not john bent--and there's miss castlemaine of stilborough crossing over the road!" not less overcome by terror and dismay than mrs. bent had been by anger, ethel rushed out of the house and burst into a storm of hysterical sobs. mary ursula, wondering much and full of concern, drew her arm within her own and went over to the little solitary bench that stood by the sea. "now, my dear, tell me what this means," she said, as they sat down. but ethel hesitated: it was not a thing to be told to miss; castlemaine. she stammered an incoherent word or two between her sobs, and at the best was indistinct. "i understand, ethel. be calm. john bent has been making a terrible charge against my uncle james." ethel clung to her. she admitted that it was so: telling how she had unintentionally overheard the private conversation between the landlord and his wife. she said it had frightened and confused her, though she did not believe it. "neither do i believe it," returned miss castlemaine calmly. "i heard this some time ago--i mean the suspicion that is rife in greylands--but i am sorry that you should have been startled with it. that my uncle is incapable of anything of the kind--and only to have to say as much in refutation seems a cruel insult on him--i am perfectly sure of; and i am content to wait the elucidation that no doubt time will bring." "bat how wicked of john bent!" cried ethel. "ethel, dear, i have gone through so much misery of late that it has subdued me, and i think i have learnt the great precept not to judge another," said mary ursula sadly. "i do not blame john bent. i respect him. that a strange mystery does encompass the doings of that february night--so fatal for me as well as for poor anthony--i cannot ignore: and i speak not now of the disappearance only. there's reason in what john bent says--that mr. castlemaine is not open about it, that it might be fancied he knows more than he will say. it is so. perhaps he will not speak because it might implicate some one--not himself, ethel; never himself; i do not fear that." "no, no," murmured ethel. "it is mr. castlemaine's pride, i think, that prevents his speaking. he must have heard these rumours, and naturally resents them----" "do you think anthony is really dead?" interrupted ethel. "i have never had any hope from the first that he is not. now and then my imagination runs away with me and suggests he may be here, he may be there, he may have done this or done that--but of real hope, that he is alive, i have none. next to the death of my dear father, it has been the greatest weight i have had to bear. i saw him but once, ethel, but i seemed to take to him as to a brother. i am sure he was honourable and generous, a good man and a gentleman." "you know what they are foolish enough to say here?" breathed ethel. "that the ghost of the grey friar, angry at his precincts being invaded----" "hush!" reproved miss castlemaine. chapter xii. madame guise. it was the afternoon of this same day. the stage-coach, delayed by the snow, was very late when it was heard approaching. it's four well-fed horses drew lip at the dolphin lim, to set down mr. nettleby. the superintendent of the coastguard, who had been on some business a mile or two inland, had availed himself of the coach for returning. john bent and his wife came running to the door. the guard, hoping, perhaps, for sixpence or a shilling gratuity, descended from his seat, and was extending a hand to help the officer down from the roof, when he found himself called to by a lady inside, who had been reconnoitring the inn, and the flaming dolphin on its signboard. "what place is this, guard?" "greylands, ma'am." "that seems a good hotel." "it is a nice comfortable inn, ma'am." "i will get out here. please see to my luggage." the guard was surprised. he thought the lady must have made a mistake. "this is not stilborough, ma'am. you are booked to stilborough." "but i will not go on to stilborough: i will descend here instead. see my poor child"--showing the hot face of a little girl who lay half asleep upon her knee. "she has, i fear, the fever coming on, and she is so fatigued. this must be a healthy place; it has the sea, i perceive; and i think she shall rest here for a day or two before going on." the landlord and his wife had heard this colloquy, for the lady spoke at the open window. they advanced, and the guard threw wide the door. "will you carry my little one?" said the lady to mrs. bent. "i fear she is going to be ill, and i do not care to take her on farther. can i be accommodated with a good apartment here?" "the best rooms we have, ma'am, are at your service; and you will find them excellent, though i say it myself," returned mrs. bent, receiving the child into her arms. "marie fatiguée," plaintively called out the little thing, who seemed about three years old. "marie ne peut marcher." the lady reassured her in the same language, and alighted. she was a tall, ladylike young woman of apparently some six-and-twenty years, with soft, fair hair, and a pleasing face that wore signs of care, or weariness: or perhaps both. mrs. bent carried the child into the parlour; john followed with a large hand-reticule made of plaited black-and-white straw, and the guard put two trunks in the passage, a large one and a small one. "i am en voyage," said the lady, addressing mrs. bent--and it may be remarked that, though speaking english with fluency, and with very little foreign accent, she now and then substituted a french word, or a whole sentence as though the latter were more familiar to her in everyday life--and of which john bent and his wife did not understand a syllable. "but we have voyaged far, and the sea-crossing was frightfully rough, and i fear i have brought my little one on too quickly: so it may be well to halt here for a short time, and keep her quiet. i hope your hotel is not crowded with company?" "there's nobody at all staying in it just now, ma'am," said mrs. bent. "we don't have many indoor visitors at the winter season." "and this snow is not good," said the stranger; "i mean not good for voyagers. i might have put off my journey had i thought it would come. when i left my home, the warm spring sun was shining, and the trees were budding." "we have had fine warm weather here, too," said mrs. bent; "it changed again a week ago to winter: not but what we had the sun out bright to-day. this dear little thing seems delicate, ma'am." "not generally. but she is fatigued, you see, and has a touch of fever. we must make her some tisane." "we'll soon get her right again," said mrs. bent, gently; for with children, of whom she was very fond, she lost all her sharpness. "poor little lamb! and so you've come from over the water, ma'am!--and the sea was rough!--and did this little one suffer?" "oh, pray do not talk of that terrible sea! i thought i must have died. to look at, nothing more beautiful; but to be on it--ah, ciel!" she shuddered and shrugged her shoulders with the recollection. there was something peculiarly soft and winning in the quiet tones of her voice; something attractive altogether in her features and their sad expression. "i never was on the sea, thank goodness," said mrs. bent; "i have heard it's very bad. we get plenty of it as far as the looks go: and that's enough for us, ma'am. many an invitation i've had in my life to go off sailing in people's boats--but no, not for me. one knows one's safe on land." she had sat down, the child on her lap, and was taking off its blue woollen hood and warm woollen pelisse of fleecy grey cloth. the frock underneath was of fine black french merino. the lady wore the same kind of black dress under her cloak: it was evident that both were in mourning. happening to look up from the semi-sleeping child, mrs. bent caught the traveller's eyes fixed attentively upon her, as if studying her face. "how do you call this village, i was about to ask. grey----" "greylands, ma'am. stilborough is about three miles off. are you going there?" "not to stay," said the lady, hastily. "i am come to england to see a relative, but my progress is not in any hurry. i must think first of my child: and this air seems good." "none so good for miles and miles," returned mrs. bent. "a week of it will make this little lady quite another child. pretty thing! what beautiful eyes!" the child had woke up again in her restlessness; she was gazing up at her strange nurse with wide-open, dark brown eyes. they were not her mother's eyes, for those were blue. the hot little face was becoming paler. "i mist make her some tisane" repeated the lady; "or show you how to make it. you have herbs, i presume. we had better get her to bed. nothing will do her so much good as rest and sleep. will marie go to bed?" she said, addressing the little girl. "oui," replied the child, who appeared to understand english, but would not speak it. "marie sommeil," she added in her childish patois. "marie soif. maman, donne marie a boire." "will you take her, ma'am, for a few moments?" said mrs. bent, placing her in the mother's arms. "i will see after your room and make it ready." the landlady left the parlour. the child, feverish and weary, soon began to cry. her mother hushed her; and presently, not waiting for the reappearance of the landlady, carried her upstairs. which was the chamber? she wondered, on reaching the landing: but the half-open door of one, and some stir within, guided her thoughts to it, as the right. mrs. bent was bustling about it; and the landlord, who appeared to have been taking up the trunks, stood just inside the door. some kind of dispute seemed to be going on, for mrs. bent's tones were shrill. the lady halted, not liking to intrude, and sat down on a short bench against the wall; the child, dozing again, was heavy for her. "as if there was not another room in the house, but you must make ready this one!" john was saying in a voice of vexed remonstrance. "i told you, dorothy, i'd never have this chamber used again until we had not space left elsewhere. what are you going to do with the things?" "now don't you fret yourself to fiddle-strings," retorted mrs. bent. "i am putting all the things into this linen-basket; his clothes and his little desk and all, even the square of scented soap he used, for he brought it with him in his portmanteau. they shall go into the small chest in our bedroom, and be locked up. and you may put a seal upon the top of it for safety." "but i did not wish to have the things disturbed at all," urged john. "the lady might have had another room." "the tap-room is your concern, the care of the chambers is mine, and i choose her to have this one," said independent mrs. bent. "as to keeping the best chamber out of use just because these things have remained in it unclaimed, is about as daft a notion as ever i heard of. if you don't take care, john, you'll go crazy over anthony castlemaine." the mother outside, waiting, and hushing her child to her, had not been paying much attention: but at the last words she started, and gazed at the door. her lips parted; her face turned white. "peace, wife," said the landlord. "what i say is right." "yes, crazy," persisted mrs. bent, who rarely dropped an argument of her own accord. "look at what happened with miss ethel reene to-day! i'm sure you are not in your senses on the subject, john bent, or you'd never be so imprudent. you may believe mr. anthony was murdered by his uncle, but it does not do to turn yourself into a town-crier, and proclaim it." oh, more deadly white than before did these words turn the poor lady who was listening. her face was as the face of one stricken with terror; her breath came in gasps; she clutched at her child, lest her trembling hands should let it fall. john bent and his wife came forth, bearing between them the piled-up clothes-basket, a small mahogany desk on its top. she let her face drop upon her child's and kept it there, as though she too had fallen asleep. "dear me, there's the lady!" whispered john. "and it's unbeknown what she has overheard," muttered mrs. bent. "i beg your pardon, ma'am; you'll be cold sitting there. had you dropped asleep?" the lady lifted her white face: fortunately the passage was in twilight: she passed a pocket-handkerchief over her brow as she spoke. "my little child got so restless that i came up. is the room ready?" letting fall her handle of the basket and leaving her husband to convey it into their chamber as he best could, mrs. bent took the child from the speaker's arms and preceded her into the room. a spacious, comfortable chamber, with a fine view over the sea, and a good fire burning up in the grate. "we were as quick as we could be," said mrs. bent, in apology for having kept her guest waiting; "but i had to empty the chamber first of some articles that were in it. i might have given you another room at once, ma'am, for we always keep them in readiness, you see; but this is the largest and has the pleasantest look-out; and i thought if the little girl was to be ill, you'd like it best." "articles belonging to a former traveller?" asked the lady, who was kneeling then before her trunk to get out her child's night-things. "yes, ma'am. a gentleman we had here a few short weeks ago." "and he has left?" "oh yes," replied mrs. bent, gently combing back the child's soft brown hair, before she passed the sponge of warm water over her face. "but why did he not take his things with him?" "well, ma'am, he--he left unexpectedly; and so they remained here." now, in making this somewhat evasive answer, mrs. bent had no particular wish to deceive. but, what with the work she had before her, and what with the fretful child on her knee, it was not exactly the moment for entering on gossip. the disappearance of anthony castlemaine was too public and popular a theme in the neighbourhood for any idea of concealment to be connected with it. the lady, however, thought she meant to evade the subject, and said no more. indeed the child claimed all their attention. "marie soif," said the little one, as they put her into bed. "maman, marie soif." "thirsty, always thirsty!" repeated the mother in english. "i don't much like it; it bespeaks fever." "i'll get some milk and water," said mrs. bent. "no, no, not milk," interposed the lady. "oui, ma chérie! a spoonful or two of sugar and water while maman makes the tisane. madame has herbs, no doubt," she added, turning to the landlady. "i could make it soon myself at this good fire if i had a little casserole: a--what you call it?--saucepan." mrs. bent promised the herbs, for she had a store-room fall of different kinds, and the saucepan. a little sugared water was given to the child, who lay quiet after drinking it, and closed her eyes. moving noiselessly about the room, the lady happened to go near the window, and her eye caught the moving sea in the distance, on which some bright light yet lingered. opening the casement window for a moment, she put her head out, and gazed around. "the sea is very nice to see, but i don't like to think of being on it," she said as she shut the window. "what is that great building over yonder to the left?" "it's the grey nunnery, ma'am." "the grey nunnery! what, have you a nunnery here in this little place? i had no idea." "it's not a real nunnery," said mrs. bent, as she proceeded to explain what it was, in the intervals of folding the child's clothes, and how good the ladies were who inhabited it. "we heard a bit of news about it this afternoon," she added, her propensity for talking creeping out. "sister ann ran over here to borrow a baking-dish--for their own came in two in the oven with all the baked apples in it--and she said she believed miss castlemaine was going to join them as the lady superior." "miss--who?" cried the stranger quickly. "miss castlemaine. perhaps, ma'am, you may have heard of the castlemaines of greylands' rest. it is close by." "i do not know them," said the traveller. "is, then, a miss castlemaine, of greylands' rest, the lady superior of the nunnery?" "miss castlemaine of stilborough, ma'am. there is no miss castlemaine of greylands' rest; save a tiresome little chit of twelve. she has not joined them yet; it is only in contemplation. sister ann was all cock-a-hoop about it: but i told her the young lady was too beautiful to hide her head under a muslin cap in a nunnery." "it is a grand old building," said the traveller, "and must stand out well and nobly on the edge of the cliff. and what a length! i cannot see the other end." "the other end is nearly in ruins--part of it, at least. the chapel quite so. that lies between the nunnery and the friar's keep." "the friar's keep!" repeated the lady. "you have odd names here. but i like this village. it is quiet: nobody seems to pass." "there's hardly anybody in it to pass, for that matter," cried mrs. bent, with disparagement. "just the fishermen and the grey sisters. but here i am, talking when i ought to be doing! what would you like to have prepared for dinner, ma'am?" "i could not eat--i feel feverish, too," was the answer given, in an accent that had a ring of piteous wail. "i will take but some tea and a tartine when i have made the tisane." mrs. bent opened her eyes. "tea and a tart, did you say, ma'am?" "i said--i mean bread and butter," explained the stranger, translating her french word. "and--what name--if i may ask, ma'am?" continued mrs. bent, as a final question. "i am madame guise." "tea's best, after all, upon a day's travelling," were the landlady's final words as she descended the stairs. there she told her husband that the lady had rather a curious name, sounding like madame geese. the small saucepan and the herbs were taken up immediately by molly, who said she was to stay and help make the stuff, if the lady required her. the lady seemed to be glad of her help, and showed her how to pick the dried leaves from the thicker stalks. "do you have travellers staying here often?" asked madame guise, standing by molly after she had asked her name, and doing her own portion of the work. "a'most never in winter time," replied molly--a round-eyed, red-cheeked, strong-looking damsel, attired in a blue linsey skirt and a cotton handkerchief crossed on her neck. "we had a gentleman for a week or two just at the turn o' january. he had this here same bedroom." "they were his things, doubtless, that your mistress said she was removing to make space for me." "in course they were," replied molly. "master said he'd not have this room used--that the coats and things should stay in it: but missis likes to take her own way. this here stalk, mum--is he too big to go in?" "that is: we must have only the little ones. what was the gentleman's name, mollee?" "he was young mr. castlemaine: a foreign gentleman, so to say: nephew to the one at greylands' rest. he came over here to put in his claim to the money and lands." "and where did he go?--where is he now?" questioned madame guise, with an eagerness that might have betrayed her painful interest, had the servant's suspicions been on the alert. "it's what my master would just give his head to know," was the answer. "he went into the friar's keep one moon light night, and never came out on't again." "never came out of it again!" echoed madame guise "what do you mean?--how was that?" bit by bit molly revealed the whole story, together with sundry items of the superstition attaching to the friar's keep. very much gratified was she at the opportunity of doing it. the tale was encompassed by so many marvels, both of reality and imagination, by so much mystery, by so wide a field of wonder altogether, that others in greylands, as well as molly, thought it a red-letter day when they could find strange ears to impart it to. madame guise sat down in a chair, her hands clasped before her, and forgetting the herbs. molly saw how pale she looked; and felt prouder than any peacock at her own powers of narration. "but what became of him, mollee?" questioned the poor lady. "well, mum, that lies in doubt, you see. some say he was spirited away by the grey monk." madame guise shook her head. "that could not be," she said slowly, and somewhat in hesitation. "i don't like revenants myself--but that could not be." "and others think," added molly, dropping her voice, "that he was done away with by his uncle, mr. castlemaine. master do, for one." "done away with! how?" "murdered," said the girl, plunging the herbs into the saucepan of water. a shudder took madame guise from head to foot. molly looked round at her: she was like one seized with ague. "i am cold and fatigued with my long journey," she murmured, seeking to afford some plausible excuse to the round-eyed girl. "and it always startles one to hear talk of murder." "so it do, mum," acquiesced molly. "i dun'no which is worst to hear tell on; that or ghosts." "but--this friar's keep that you talk of, mollee--it may be that he fell from it by accident into the sea." "couldn't," shortly corrected molly. "there ain't no way to fall--no opening. they be biling up beautiful, mum." "and--was he never--never seen again since that night?" pursued madame guise, casting mechanically a glance on the steaming saucepan. "never seen nor heard on," protested molly emphatically. "his clothes and his portmanteau and all his other things have stayed on here; but he has never come back to claim 'em." madame guise put her hands on her pallid face, as if to hide the terror there. molly, her work done, and about to depart, was sweeping the bits of stalks and herbs from the table into her clean check apron. "does the voisinage know all this?" asked madame guise, looking up. "is it talked of openly? may i speak of it to monsieur and madame en bas--to the host and hostess, i would say?" "why bless you, mum, yes! there have been nothing else talked of in the place since. nobody hardly comes in here but what begins upon it." molly left with the last words. madame guise sat on, she knew not how long, her face buried in her hands, and the tisane was boiled too much. the little girl, soothed perhaps by the murmur of voices, had fallen fast asleep. by-and-by mrs. bent came up, to know when her guest would be ready for tea. "i am ready now," was the lady's answer, after attending to the tisane. "and i wish that you and your husband, madame, would allow me to take the meal with you this one evening," added madame guise, with a slight shiver, as they descended the dark staircase. "i feel lonely and fatigued, and in want of companionship." mrs. bent was gratified, rather than otherwise at the request. they descended; and she caused the tea-tray, already laid in their room, to be carried into the parlour. the same parlour, as the room above was the same bedroom, that had been occupied by the ill-fated anthony castlemaine. "i hope you are a little less tired than you were when you arrived, madam," said john bent, bowing, as he with deprecation took his seat at last, and stirred his tea. "thank you, i have been forgetting my fatigue in listening to the story of one mr. anthony castlemaine's disappearance," replied madams guise, striving to speak with indifference. "the account is curious, and has interested me. mollee thought you would give me the particulars." "oh, he'll do that, madam," put in mrs. bent sharply. "there's nothing he likes better than talking of that. tell it, john." john did as he was bid. but his account was in substance the same as molly's. he could tell neither more nor less: some few additional small details perhaps, some trifling particulars; but of real information he could give none. the poor lady, hungering after a word of enlightenment that might tend to lessen her dread and horror, listened for it in vain. "but what explanation can be given of it?" she urged, biting her dry lips to hide their trembling. "people cannot disappear without cause. are you sure it was mr. castlemaine you saw go in at the gate, and thence into the friar's keep?" "i am as sure of it, ma'am, as i am that this is a tea-cup before me. mr. castlemaine denies it, though." "and you suspect--you suspect that he murdered him! that is a frightful word; i cannot bear to say it. meurte!" she repeated in her own tongue, with a passing shiver. "quelle chose affreuse! you suspect mr. castlemaine, sir, i say?" john bent shook his head. the encounter with ethel had taught him caution. "i don't know, ma'am," he answered; "i can't say. that the young man was killed in some way, i have no doubt of--and i think mr. castlemaine must know something about it." "are there any places in this--what you call it?--friar's keep?--that he could be concealed in? any dungeons?" "he's not there, ma'am. the place is open enough for anybody to go in that likes. mr. castlemaine had a man over from stilborough to help him search, and they went all about it together. i and superintendent nettleby also went over it one day, and some others with us. there wasn't a trace to be seen of young mr. anthony; nothing to show that he had been there." "so it resolves itself into this much," said madame guise--"that you saw this mr. anthony castlemaine go into the dark place, on that february night; and, so far as can be ascertained, he never came out again." "just that," said john bent. "i'd give this right hand of mine"--lifting it--"to know what his fate has been. something tells me that it will be brought to light." madame guise went up to her room, and sat down there with her heavy burthen of terror and sorrow, wondering what would be the next scene in this strange mystery, and what she herself could best do towards unravelling it. mrs. bent, coming in by-and-by, found her weeping hysterically. marie woke up at the moment, and they gave her some of the tisane. "it is the reaction of the cold and long journey, ma'am," pronounced mrs. bent, in regard to the tears she had seen. "and perhaps the talking about this unaccountable business has startled you. you will be better after a night's rest." "yes, the coach was very cold. i will say goodnight to you and go to bed." as mrs. bent retired, the lady sank on her knees by the side of her child, and buried her face in the white counterpane. there she prayed; prayed earnestly; for help from above, for strength to bear. "the good god grant that the enlightenment may be less terrible than are these my fears," she implored, with lifted hands and streaming eyes. back came mrs. bent, a wine-glass in one hand, and a hot-water bottle for the bed in the other. the glass contained some of her famous cordial--in her opinion a remedy for half the ills under the sun. madame guise was then quietly seated by the fire, gazing into it with a far-away look, her hands folded on her lap. she drank the glass of cordial with thanks: though it seemed of no moment what she drank or what she did not drink just then. and little marie, her cheeks flushed, her rosy lips open sufficiently to show her pretty white teeth, had dropped off to sleep again. chapter xiii. a storm of wind. the wind was rising. coming in gusts from across the sea, it swept round the dolphin inn with a force that seemed to shake the old walls and stir the windowpanes--for the corner that made the site of the inn was always an exposed one. madame guise, undressing slowly by the expiring fire in her chamber, shivered as she listened to it. the wind did not howl in this fashion around her own sheltered home in the sunny dauphine. there was no grand sea there for it to whirl and play over, and come off with a shrieking moan. not often there did they get cold weather like this; or white snow covering the plains; or ice in the water-jugs. and never yet before in her uneventful life, had it fallen to her lot to travel all across france from south to north with a little child to take care of, and then to encounter the many hours' passage in a stifling ship on a rough and raging sea: and after a night's rest in london to come off again in the cold english stage-coach for how many miles she hew not. all this might have served to take the colour from her face and to give the shiverings to her frame--for land travelling in those days was not the easy pastime it is made now. but there was worse behind it. not the cold, not the want of rest, was it that was so trying to her, but the frightful whispers of a supposed tragedy that had (so to say) greeted her arrival at the dolphin. but a few hours yet within its walls, and she had been told that him of whom she had come in secret search, her husband, had disappeared out of life. for this poor young lady, charlotte guise, was in truth the wife of anthony castlemaine. his wife if he were still living; his widow if he were dead. that he was dead, hearing all she had heard, no doubt could exist in her mind; no hope of the contrary, not the faintest shadow of it, could enter her heart. she had come all this long journey in search of her husband, fearing some vague treachery; she had arrived to find that treachery of the deepest dye had only too probably put him out of sight for ever. when the father, basil castlemaine, was on his death-bed, she had heard the charge he gave to anthony, to come over to england and put in the claim to his right inheritance; she had heard the warning of possible treachery that had accompanied it. basil died. and when anthony, in obedience to his father's last injunctions, was making ready for the journey to england, his wife recalled the warning to him. he laughed at her. he answered jokingly saying that if he never returned to gap, she might come off to see the reason, and whether he was still in the land of the living. ah, how many a word spoken in jest would, if we might read the future, bear a solemn meaning! that was one. anthony castlemaine departed on his mission to england, leaving his wife and little child in their home at gap. the first letter charlotte received from her husband told her of his arrival at greylands, and that he had put up at the dolphin inn. it intimated that he might not find his course a very smooth one, and that his uncle james was in possession of greylands' rest. some days further on she received a second letter from him; and following closely upon it, by the next post in fact, a third. both these letters bore the same date. the first of them stated that he was not advancing at all; that all kinds of impediments were being placed in his way by his uncles; they appeared resolved to keep him out of the estate, refusing even to show him how it was left and it ended with an expressed conviction that his uncle james was usurping it. the last letter told her that since posting the other letter earlier in the day, he had seen his uncle james; that the interview, which had taken place in a meadow, was an unpleasant one, his uncle even having tried to strike him that he (anthony) really did not know what to be at, but had resolved to try for one more conference with his uncle before proceeding to take legal measures, and that he should certainly write to her again in the course of a day or two to tell her whether matters progressed or whether they did not. in this last letter there ran a vein of sadness, very perceptible to the wife. she thought her husband must have been in very bad spirits when he wrote it: and she anxiously looked for the further news promised. it never came. no subsequent letter ever reached her. after waiting some days, she wrote to her husband at the dolphin inn, but she got no answer. she wrote again, and with the like result. then, feeling strangely uneasy, not knowing how to get tidings of him, or to whom to apply, she began to think that she would have to put in practice the suggestion he had but spoken in jest, and go over to england to look after him. a short period of vacillation--for it looked like a frightfully formidable step to the untravelled young lady--and she resolved upon it. arranging the affairs of her petit menage, as she expressed it, she started off with her child; and in due time reached london. there she stayed one night, after sending off a note to greylands, directed to her husband at the dolphin inn, to tell of her intended arrival on the following day; and in the morning she took her seat in the stilborough coach. these three letters, the two from gap and the one from london, were those that led to the dispute between mr. and mrs. bent, which ethel reene had disturbed. the landlord had them safely locked up in his private archives. forewarned, forearmed, is an old saying. anthony castlemaine's wife had been warned, and she strove to be armed. she would not present herself openly and in her own name at greylands. if the castlemaine family were dealing hardly with her husband, it would be more prudent for her to go to work warily and appear there at first as a stranger. the worst she had feared was, that mr. james castlemaine might be holding her husband somewhere at bay; perhaps even had put him in a prison--she did not understand the english laws--and she must seek him out and release him. so she called herself guise as soon as she landed in england. her name had been guise before her marriage, and she assumed it now. not much of an assumption: in accordance with the french customs of her native place, she retained her maiden name as an affix to her husband's, and her cards were printed madame castlemaine-guise. had her assertion of the name wanted confirmation, there it was on the small trunk; which had guise studded on it in brass nails, for it had belonged to her father. her intention had been to proceed to stilborough, put up there, and come over to greylands the following day. but when she found the coach passed through greylands--which she had not known, and she first recognised the place by the sign of the famous dolphin, about which anthony had written to her in his first letter--she resolved to alight there, the little girl's symptoms of feverish illness affording a pretext for it. and so, here she was, at the often-heard-of dolphin inn, inhabiting the very chamber that her ill-fated husband had occupied, and with the dread story she had listened to beating its terrors in her brain. a gust of wind shook the white dimity curtain, drawn before the casement, and she turned to it with a shiver. what did this angry storm of wind mean? why should it have arisen suddenly without apparent warning? charlotte guise was rather superstitious, and asked herself the question. when she got out of the coach at the inn door, the air and sea were calm. could the angry disturbance have come to show her that the very elements were rising at the wrong dealt out to her husband? some such an idea took hold of her. "every second minute i ask whether it can be true," she murmured in her native language; "or whether i have but dropped asleep in my own house, and am dreaming it all. it is not like reality. it is not like any story i ever heard before. anthony comes over here, all those hundreds of weary miles, over that miserable sea, and finds himself amid his family; his family whom he had never seen. 'greylands' rest is mine, i think,' he says to them; 'will you give it to me?' and they deny that it is his. 'then,' says he, 'what you say may be so; but you should just show me the deeds--the proofs that it is not mine.' and they decline to show them; and his uncle, james castlemaine, at an interview in the field, seeks to strike him. anthony comes home to the hotel here, and writes that last letter to me, and puts it in the post late at night. then he and the landlord go walking out together in the moonlight, and by-and-by they see mr. james castlemaine go into a lonely place of cloisters called the friar's keep, and he, nay poor husband, runs in after him; and he never comes out of it again. the host, waiting for him outside, hears a shot and an awful cry, but he does not connect it with the cloisters; and so he promenades about till he's weary, thinking the uncle and nephew are talking together, and--and anthony never at all comes out again! yes, it is very plain: it is too plain to me: that shot took my dear husband's life. james castlemaine, fearing he would make good his claim to the estate and turn him out of it, has murdered him." the wind shrieked, as if it were singing a solemn requiem; the small panes of the casement seemed to crack, and the white curtain fluttered. charlotte guise hid her shrinking face for a moment, and then turned it on the shaking curtain, her white lips parting with some scarcely breathed words. "if the spirits of the dead are permitted to hover in the air, as some people believe perhaps his spirit is here now, at this very window! seeking to hold commune with mine; calling upon me to avenge him. oh, anthony, yes! i will never rest until i have found out the mystery of your fate. i will devote my days to doing it!" as if to encourage the singular fancy, that the whispered story and the surroundings of the hour had called up in her over-strung nerves and brain, a gust wilder than any that had gone before swept past the house at the moment with a rushing moan. the casement shook; its fastenings seemed to strain: and the poor young lady, in some irrepressible freak of courage, born of desperation, drew aside the curtain and looked forth. no, no; nothing was there but the wind. the white snow lay on the ground, and covered the cliff that skirted the beach on the right. the night was light, disclosing the foam of the waves as they rose and fell; clouds were sweeping madly across the face of the sky. the little girl stirred in bed and threw out her arms. her mother let fall the window curtain and softly approached her. the hot face wore its fever-crimson; the large brown eyes, so like her father's, opened the red lips parted with a cry. "maman! marie soif; marie veut boire." "oh, is she fatherless?" mentally cried the poor mother, as she took up the glass of tisane. "oui, ma petite! ma chérie! bois donc, marie; bois!" the child seized the glass with her hot and trembling little hands, and drank from it. she seemed very thirsty. before her mother had replaced it within the fender and come back to her, her pretty face was on the pillow again, her eyes were closing. madame guise--as we must continue to call her--went to bed: but not to sleep. the wind raged, the child by her side was restless, her own mind was in a chaos of horror and trouble. the words of the prophet isaiah in holy writ might indeed have been applied to her: the whole head was sick and the whole heart faint. towards morning she dropped into a disturbed sleep, during which a dream visited her. and the dream was certainly a singular one. she thought she was alone in a strange, dark garden: gloomy trees clustered about her, ugly looking mountains rose above. she seemed to be searching for something; to be obliged to search, but she did not know for what; a great dread, or terror, lay upon her, and but for being impelled she would not have dared to put one foot before the other in the dark path. suddenly, as she was pushing through the impeding trees, her husband stood before her. she put out her hand to greet him; but he did not respond to it, but remained where he had halted, a few paces off, gazing at her fixedly. it was not the husband who had parted from her in the sunny south; a happy man full of glad anticipations, with a bright fresh face and joyous words on his lips: but her husband with a sad, stern countenance, pale, cold, and still. her heart seemed to sink within her, and before she could ask him what was amiss she saw that he was holding his waistcoat aside with his left hand, to display a shot in the region of the heart. a most dreadful sensation of terror, far more dreadful than any she could ever know in this life, seized upon her at the sight; she screamed aloud and awoke. awoke with the drops of moisture on her face, and trembling in every limb. now, as will be clear to every practical mind, this dream, remarkable though it was, must have been only the result of her own imaginative thoughts, of the tale she had heard, of the fears and doubts she had been indulging before going to sleep. but she, poor distressed, lonely lady, looked upon it as a revelation. from that moment she never doubted that her husband had been shot as described; shot in the heart and killed: and that the hand that did it was mr. castlemaine's. "i knew his spirit might be hovering about me," she murmured, trying to still her trembling, as she sat up in bed. "he has been permitted to appear to me to show me the truth--to enjoin on me the task of bringing the deed to light. by heaven's help i will do it! i will never quit this spot, this greylands, until i have accomplished it. yes, anthony!--can you hear me, my husband?--i vow to devote myself to the discovery; i will bring this dark wickedness into the broad glare of noonday. country, kindred, home, friends!--i will forget them all, anthony, in my search for you. "where have they hidden him?" she resumed after a little pause. "had mr. castlemaine an accomplice?--or did he act alone. oh, alone; of a certainty, alone," she continued, answering her own question. "he would not have dared it had others been present; and the landlord below says mr. castlemaine was by himself when he went into the cloisters. did he fling him into the sea after he was dead?--or did he conceal him somewhere in that place--that keep? perhaps he buried him in it? if so, his body is lying in unconsecrated ground, and it will never rest.--marie, then, my little one, what is it? are you better this morning?" the child was awaking with a moan. she had been baptised and registered in her native place as mary ursula. her grandfather, basil, never called her anything else; her father would sometimes shorten it to "marie ursule:" but her mother, not so well accustomed to the english tongue as they were, generally used but the one name, marie. she looked up and put out her little hands to her mother: her eyes were heavy, her cheeks flushed and feverish. that the child was worse than she had been the previous night, there could be little question of, and madame guise felt some alarm. when breakfast was over--of which meal the child refused to partake, but still complained of thirst--she inquired whether there was a doctor in the place. she asked for him as she would have asked in her own land. is there a medecin here? and mrs. bent interpreted it as medicine, comprehended that medicine was requested, and rejoiced accordingly. mrs. bent privately put down the non-improvement to the tisane. had a good wholesome powder been administered over night, the child, she believed, would have been all right this morning. the doctor, mr. parker, came in answer to the summons: a grey-haired, pleasant-speaking man. he had formerly been in large practice at stilborough; but after a dangerous illness which attacked him there and lasted more than a year, he took the advice of his friends and retired from the fatigues of his profession. his means were sufficient to live without it. removing to greylands, for change of air, and for the benefit of the salt sea-breezes, he grew to like the quietude of the place, and determined to make it his home for good. learning that a small, pretty villa was for sale, he purchased it. it lay back from the coach road beyond the dolphin inn, nearly opposite the avenue that led to greylands' rest. the house belonged to mr. blackett of the grange--the grange being the chief residence at a small hamlet about two miles off; and mr. castlemaine had always intended to purchase it should it be in the market, but mr. blackett had hitherto refused to sell. his deciding to do so at length was quite a sudden whim; mr. parker heard of it, and secured the little property--which was anything but agreeable at the time to the master of greylands. there mr. parker had since resided, and had become strong and healthy again. he had so far resumed his calling as to attend when a doctor was wanted in greylands, for there was none nearer than stilborough. at first mr. parker took to respond for humanity's sake when appealed to, and he continued it from love of his profession. not for one visit in ten did he get paid, nor did he want to: the fishermen were poor, and he was large-hearted. after examining the little lady traveller, he pronounced her to be suffering from a slight attack of inflammation of the chest, induced, no doubt, by the cold to which she had been exposed when travelling. madame guise informed him that they had journeyed from paris (it was no untruth, for they had passed through the french capital and stayed a night in it), and the weather had become very sharp as they neared the coast--which coast it had taken them two days and a night in the diligence to reach; and the sea voyage had been fearfully hard, and had tried the little one. yes, yes, the doctor answered, the inclement cold had attacked the little j girl, and she must stay in bed and be taken care of. madame guise took occasion to observe that she had been going farther on, but, on perceiving her child's symptoms of illness, had halted at this small village, called greylands, which looked open and healthy--but the wind had got up at night. got up very much and very suddenly, assented the doctor, got up to a gale, and it was all the better for the little one that she had not gone on. he thought he might have to put a small blister on in the afternoon, but he should see. a blister?--what was that? returned madame, not familiar with the english word. oh, she remembered, she added a moment after--a vésicatoire. "yes, yes, i see it all: heaven is helping me," mentally spoke poor charlotte guise, as she took up her post by marie after the doctor's departure, and revolved matters in her mind. "this illness has been sent on purpose: a token to me that i have done right to come to greylands, and that i am to stay in it. and by the good help of heaven i will stay, until i shall have tracked home the fate of my husband to mr. castlemaine." chapter xiv. plotting and planning. the illness of little marie guise lasted several days. sitting by her bed--as she did for hours together--madame guise had time, and to spare, to lay out her plans. that is, as far as she could lay them out. her sole object in life now--save and except the child--was to search out the mystery of her husband's fate; her one hope to bring home the crime to mr. castlemaine. how to set about it she knew not. she would have to account in some plausible manner for her prolonged stay at greylands, and to conceal her real identity. above all, she must take care never to betray interest in the fate of anthony castlemaine. to stay in greylands, or in england at all, might be rather difficult, unless she could get some employment to eke out her means. she knew perfectly well that without her husband's signature, the cautious french bankers and men of business who held his property in their hands, would not advance much, if any, of it to her, unless proofs were forthcoming of his death. she possessed a little income of her own: it was available, and she must concert ways and means of its being transmitted to her in secret, without greylands learning who she was, and what she was. this might be done: but the money would not be enough to support her and her child comfortably as gentlewomen. "i think i should like to make a sojourn here in greylands," she observed to m. bent, cautiously opening the subject, on the first day that marie could be pronounced convalescent, and was taken down in the parlour for a change. "why! should you, ma'am!" returned the landlady briskly. "well, it's a nice place." "i like the sea--and i should wish my little one to remain quiet now. i have suffered too much anxiety on her account to take her travelling again just yet." "sweet little thing!" aspirated mrs. bent. "her pretty rosy colour is beginning to come back to her cheeks again. i've never seen a child with a brighter." "it is like her--like that of some of our relatives: they have a bright colour," said madame guise, who only just saved herself from saying--like her father's. "for her sake i will remain here for some two or three months. do you think i could get an apartment?" "an apartment!" repeated mrs. bent, who took the word literally, and was somewhat puzzled at it. "did you mean one single room, ma'am." "i mean two or three rooms--as might be enough. or a small house--what you call a cottage." "oh, i see, ma'am," said the landlady. "i think you might do that. some of the larger cottages let rooms in the summer to people coming over here from stilborough for the sea air. and there's one pretty furnished cottage empty on the cliff." "would the rent of it be much?" asked madame guise, timorously, for a whole furnished cottage seemed a large enterprise. "next to nothing at this season," spoke mrs. bent, confidentially. "here, john bent--where are you?" she cried, flinging open the door. "what's the rent of that place----" "master's out," interrupted molly, coming from the back kitchen to speak. "just like him!" retorted mrs. bent. "he is out when he's wanted, and at home when he's not. it's always the way with the men. any way it's a nice little place, ma'am, and i know it would be reasonable." the cottage she alluded to had a sitting-room, a kitchen, and two bedchambers, and was situated in the most picturesque part of all the cliff, close to the neatly kept cottage that had so long been inhabited by miss hallet and her very pretty niece. it was plainly furnished, and might be let at this season, including steel knives and forks, for fifteen shillings a week, mrs. bent thought. in summer the rent would be twenty-five: and the tenant had to find linen. madame guise made a silent computation. fifteen shillings a week! with the rent, and the cost of a servant, and housekeeping, and various little extras that are somehow never computed beforehand, but that rise up inevitably afterwards, she saw that the sum total would be more than she could command. and she hesitated to take the cottage. nevertheless, she went with mrs. bent to see it, and found it just what she would have liked. it was not quite so nice as miss hallet's a few yards off: but miss hallet took so much care that hers should be perfection. "if i could but earn a little money!" repeated charlotte to herself. "i wonder whether those good ladies at the grey nunnery could help me! i have a great mind to ask them." after some deliberation, she went over to do so. it was a warm, pleasant day; for the capricious weather had once more changed; the snow and frost given place to soft west winds and genial sunshine--and madame guise was shown into the reception parlour. sisters margaret and grizzel sat in it, and rose at her entrance. they had heard of this lady traveller, who had been detained on her journey by the illness of her little girl, and was staying at the dolphin; but they had not seen her. it was with some curiosity, therefore, that the ladies gazed to see what she was like. a slender, ladylike, nice-looking, young woman, with blue eyes and fair hair, and who seemed to carry some care on her countenance. madame guise introduced herself; apologising for her intrusion, and telling them at once its object. she wished to make some stay at greylands, for she thought the pure air and sea-breezes would strengthen her child--could the ladies help her to some employment by which she might earn a trifle. she had a little income, but not quite sufficient. she could teach music and french, or do fine needlework; embroidery and the like. the ladies answered her very kindly--they were both taken with the gentle stranger--but shook their heads to her petition: they had no help to give. "the children we bring up here are of poor parentage and do not need accomplishments," said sister margaret. "if they did, we should teach them in the nunnery: indeed we should be thankful to get pupils of a better class ourselves, for we are but poor. sister mona is a good french scholar; and sister charlotte's music is perfect. as to fine work, we do not know anyone who requires it to be done." "not but that we should have been glad to help you, if we could," put in sister grizzel, with a pleasant smile. madame guise rose, stifling a sigh. she saw exactly how it was--that the grey nunnery was about the last place able to assist her. in leaving the parlour, she met a lady, young and stately, who was entering it; one of wondrous beauty, tall, majestic, of gracious manner and presence. "our superior, sister mary ursula," said sister grizzel. and madame guise knew that it was her husband's cousin--for miss castlemaine had joined the sisterhood some days past. she wore the clear muslin cap over her luxuriant hair, but not the grey habit, for she had not put aside the mourning for her father. in the magnificent dark eyes, in the bright complexion and in the beautiful features, madame guise saw the likeness to her husband and to the rest of the castlemaines. sister mary ursula bowed and said a few gracious words: madame guise responded with one of her elaborate french curtseys, and passed onwards through the gate. "so that hope has failed!" she thought, as she crossed over to the inn. "i might have known it would: with so many accomplished ladies among themselves, the sisters cannot want other people's aid." buried in thought, perplexed as to what her future course should be, madame guise did not go at once indoors, but sat down on the bench outside the house. the window of the sitting-room, occupied by john bent and his wife, stood open--for mrs. bent liked plenty of fresh air--and people were talking inside. on that same bench had sat more than once her unfortunate husband, looking at the water as she was looking, at the fishermen collected on the beach, at the boats out at sea, their white sails at rest in the calm of the sunshiny day. she was mentally questioning what else she could try, now that her mission to the grey sisters had failed, and wondering how little she and marie could live upon, if she got nothing to do. gradually the talking became clearer to her ear. she heard the landlady's voice and another voice: not john bent's, but the young, free, ready voice of a gentleman. it was in truth harry castlemaine's; who, passing the inn, had turned in for a gossip. "it seems to me like a great sacrifice, mr. harry," were the first distinct words that fell on madame guise's ear. "the grey ladies are very good and noble; next door to angels, i'm sure, when folks are sick; but it is not the right life for miss castlemaine to take to." "we told her so until we were tired of telling it," returned harry castlemaine. "it has cut up my father grievously. we will drop the subject, mrs. bent: i cannot speak of it with patience yet. how is the sick child getting on?" "as well as can be, sir. she is just now upstairs in her midday sleep. talking of children, though," broke off mrs. bent, "what is this mishap that has happened to miss flora? we hear she met with some accident yesterday." "mounted to the top of the gardener's ladder and fell off it," said harry, with equanimity. "she is always in mischief." "and was she hurt, sir?" "not much. grazed her face in a few places and put her wrist out. she will come to greater grief unless they get somebody to take care of her. having been so long without a governess, the young damsel is like a wild colt." "the last time mrs. castlemaine passed by here on foot, mr. harry, she told me she had just engaged a governess. it must be a fortnight ago." "and so she had engaged one; but the lady was taken ill and threw up the situation. mrs. castlemaine is hard to please in the matter of governesses. she must have perfect french and perfect music: and the two, united with other requisite qualifications, seem difficult to find. mrs. castlemaine was talking this morning of advertising." "dear me! to think that such a fine post as that should be going a begging!" cried the landlady. "a gentleman's home and a plenty of comfort in it, and--and however much pay is it a year, mr. harry?" "fifty guineas, i think," said the young man carelessly, as though fifty-guinea salaries were an every day trifle. mrs. bent lifted her hands and eyes. "fifty guineas!--and her bed and board. and only one little lady to teach; and gentlefolks to live with! my goodness! mr. harry, one would think half the ladies in england would jump at it." one lady at least was ready to "jump" at it: she who sat outside, overhearing the tale. the lips of charlotte guise parted as she listened; her cheeks flushed red with excitement. oh, if she herself could obtain this place!--become an inmate of the house where dwelt her husband's enemy, james castlemaine! how seemingly clear and straightforward would be her path of discovery then, compared with what it would be in that cottage on the cliff, or with any other position she could hope to be placed in! she could daily, hourly watch mr. castlemaine; and it must surely be her fault if she did not track home the deed to him! as to her fitness for the post, why french was her native language, and in music she was a finished artiste: and she could certainly undertake general instruction! while the red flush was yet on her face, the light of excitement in her eyes, harry castlemaine came out. seeing her sitting there, he guessed who she was, took off his hat and politely accosted her, saying he was glad to hear the little girl was improving. madame guise rose. it was the first time she had spoken to him. "i thank you, sir, for your good wishes: yes, she is getting well now. and i--i beg your pardon, sir--i think i heard you just now say to madame bent (the window is open) that you found it difficult to get a governess for your house." "my people find it so. why?--do you know of one?" he added, smiling. "i think i do, sir." "mrs. castlemaine is very difficult to please, especially as regards french," he said still smiling; "and the french of some of the ladies who have applied has turned out to be very english french, so they would not suit her. should you chance to know of any one really eligible, madam, you would be conferring a favour in introducing the lady to the notice of mrs. castlemaine." "sir, i will think of it." he lifted his hat again as he wished her good-day. and madame guise, gazing after him, thought again that heaven was surely working for her, in thus opening a prospect of entrance to the house of mr. castlemaine. chapter xv. getting in by deceit. turning out of the dolphin inn, by its front entrance, went charlotte guise, in her morning attire. it was a bright afternoon, and the fields were green again. they lay on either side her road--the inland coach road that the stage was wont to traverse. leaving mr. parker's house on her left--for it was in this spot that the doctor's residence was situated--she presently came to the turning to greylands' rest, and passed on up the avenue. it was a wide avenue, and not far short of half a mile in length, with trees on either side; oak, elm, birch, larch, poplar, lime, and others. at its end was the gate admitting to the domain of greylands' rest. the house lay still and quiet in the sunshine. madame guise looked at it with yearning eyes, for it was the place that had probably cost her poor husband his life. but for putting in his claim to it, he might be living yet: and whether that claim was a right or a wrong one, she hoped with her whole heart would be proved before she herself should die. opening the gate, and passing round the fine green lawn, among the seats, the trees, the shrubs and the flower-beds, she gained the porch entrance. miles answered her ring at the bell. "can i see mrs. castlemaine?" "mrs. castlemaine is out in the carriage, ma'am. mr. castlemaine is at home." hesitating a moment, for the very name of the master of greylands carried to the heart of charlotte guise a shrinking dread, and yet fearful lest delay might cause her application to be too late, she said she would be glad to speak with mr. castlemaine. miles admitted her into the hall--a good, old-fashioned room, with a wood fire blazing in it. along a passage to the right lay the drawing-room, and into this room miles ushered the lady. mrs. castlemaine generally went out for a drive once a day. this afternoon she had taken flora; whose face was adorned with sundry patches of sticking-plaster, the result of the fall off the ladder. in the red parlour sat ethel reene, painting flowers on cardboard for a hand-screen: and the master of greylands stood with his back to the fire, talking with her. they were speaking of miss castlemaine. "papa, i do not think we must hope it," ethel was saying. "rely upon it, mary will not come out again." mr. castlemaine's face darkened at the words. though holding the same conviction himself, the step his niece had taken in entering the nunnery was so unpalatable to him that he could not bear to hear the opinion confirmed or alluded to. he hated the grey sisters. he would have rid greylands of their presence, had it been in his power. "it is a sin, so to waste her life!" he said, his deep tones betraying his mortification. "ethel, i think we cannot have made her happy here. "it was nothing of that, papa. she told me she had been cherishing the idea before she came to greylands." "a meddling, tattling, tabby-cat set of women! mary ursula ought to----well, what now, miles?" for the man had entered the room and was waiting to speak. "a lady has come here, sir, asking to see mrs. castlemaine. when i said the mistress was out, she said she would be glad to speak a few words to you. she is in the drawing-room, sir." "what lady is it?" returned the master of greylands. "well, sir, i'm not altogether sure, but i fancy it is the one staying at the dolphin; her with the sick child. anyway, she's a very nice, pleasant-looking young lady, sir, whoever it is." "i'm sure i don't know what she can want with me," remarked mr. castlemaine, as he walked off to the drawing-room, and laid his hand on the door. but thought is quick: and a fancy of what might have brought her here came across his mind ere he turned the handle. she was seated near the fire in the handsome but low-ceilinged room; her face studiously turned from the one conspicuous portrait that hung opposite the chimney-glass, for its likeness to her husband had struck on her with a chill. she rose at mr. castlemaine's entrance and curtseyed as only a frenchwoman can curtsey. he saw an elegant looking young woman with a pleasing countenance and somewhat shrinking manner. mr. castlemaine took her to be timid; probably unused to society: for in these, the opening minutes of the interview, she trembled visibly. he, of course, had heard with the rest of greylands, of the lady traveller who had cut short her journey at the dolphin inn an consequence of the illness of her child, and who was supposed to be going on again as soon as she could. mr. castlemaine had thought no more about it than that. but the idea that crossed him now was, that this lady, having to encounter the detention at the inn, might be finding herself short of funds to pursue her journey, and had come to apply to him in the difficulty. readily, would he have responded; for he had a generous hand, an open heart. to hear, therefore, what the real object of her visit was--that of soliciting the situation of governess, vacant in his household, surprised him not a little. the tale she told was plausible. mr. castlemaine, utterly unsuspicious in regard to her, doubted nothing of its truth. the lady made a favourable impression on him, and he was very courteous to her. she was a widow, she said: and she had come over from paris to this country for two objects. one was to seek out a relative that she believed was somewhere in it, though she did not know for certain whether he was dead or alive; the other was to obtain employment as a governess--for she had been given to understand that good french governesses were at a premium in the english country, and her own means were but slender, not adequate to the support of herself and little girl. journeying along by coach, she had found her child attacked with fever, which compelled her to halt at greylands. liking the place, perceiving that it was open and healthy, she had been thinking that she should do well to keep her child in it for a time, and therefore was hoping to make her arrangements to do so. should she be so fortunate as to obtain the post in mr. castlemaine's household, the thing would be easy. very plausibly did she tell the tale; turning, however, hot and cold alternately all the while, and detesting herself for the abhorred deceit. "but--pardon me, madam--what, in that case, would you do with the child?" asked mr. castlemaine. "i would place her at nurse with some good woman, sir. that would not be difficult. and the little thing would enjoy all the benefit of the sea-air. in my country, children are more frequently brought up at nurse than at home." "i have heard so," observed mr. castlemaine. "you speak english remarkably well, madam, for a frenchwoman. have you been much in this country?" "never before, sir. my mother was english, and she always talked to me in her own tongue. i was reared in her faith--the protestant. my father was french, and a catholic. upon their marriage it was agreed that, of the children to be born, the boys should be brought up in his faith and the girls in hers. there came no boy, however; and only one girl--me." all this was true. madame guise did not add, for it was unnecessary, that towards the close of her father's life he entered into large speculations, and became a ruined man. he and her mother were both dead now. she said just what she was obliged to say, and no more. "and it is. i presume, to see your mother's relatives that you have come to england?" pursued mr. castlemaine. "yes, sir," she answered after a moment of hesitation; for it came indeed hard to charlotte guise to tell a deliberate untruth, although necessity might justify it. "my mother used to talk much of one relative that she had here--a brother. he may not be living now: i do not know." "in what part of england did he live?" "i think he must have been a traveller, sir, for he seemed to move about. we would hear of him, now in the south of england, now in the north, and now in the west. mostly he seemed to be in what my mother called remote countries--cumberland and westmoreland." "cumberland and westmoreland!" echoed mr. castlemaine. "dear me! and have you no better clue to him than that?" "no better, sir; no other. i do not, i say, know whether he is dead or alive." "well, it seems--pardon me--to be a somewhat wild-goose chase that you have entered on, this search for him. what is his name?" "my mother's maiden name was williams. he was her brother." mr. castlemaine shook his head. "a not at all uncommon name," he said, "and i fear, madam, you might find some difficulty in tracing him out." "yes, i fear so. i find those places are very far off. at any rate, i will not think more of it for the present. my little child, i see it now, is too young to travel." in all this account, madame guise had spoken the simple truth. the facts were as she stated. the only falsehood in it was, the representation that it was this relative, this never-yet-met uncle, she had come over to search out. during her long journey, through france, she had said to herself that after she had found her husband, they might perhaps go together to seek her uncle: but that was all. "yes, the little one is too young and delicate to travel," pursued madame guise, "and i dare not take her on. this illness of hers has frightened me, and i shall, if possible, remain here by the sea." "i presume, madam--pardon me--that you were hoping to obtain help from this uncle." "yes," was the answer, given falteringly. "should you admit me into your house, sir, i will do my best to help on the studies of your daughter." "but--will you reconcile yourself to fill a situation of this kind in a stranger's house after having ruled in a home of your own?" questioned mr. castlemaine, considerately, as he remembered his wife's domineering and difficult temper. "ah, sir, the beggars, you know, must not be the choosers. i must do something to keep me, and i would like to do this." "the salary mrs. castlemaine offers is fifty guineas." "it seems a large sum to me, sir," was the truthful and candid answer. "appointments in france, a very few excepted, are not so highly paid as in england. i should of course be permitted to go out to see my child?" "dear me, yes: whenever you pleased, madam. you would be quite at liberty here--be as one of ourselves entirely. mrs. castlemaine--but here she is; returning home." the master of greylands had heard the carriage drawing up. he quitted the room, and said a few hasty words to his wife of what had occurred. mrs. castlemaine, much taken with the project, came in, in her black satin pelisse, coated with crape. she sat down and put a few questions as to the applicant's acquirements. "i am a brilliant pianist, madam, as i know you sometimes phrase it in your country," said madame guise. "my french is of course pure; and i could teach dancing. not drawing; i do not understand it." "drawing is quite a minor consideration," replied mrs. castlemaine. "could you undertake the english?" "why not, madam? i am nearly as well read in english as in french. and i am clever at embroidery, and other kinds of fine and fancy needlework." "do you fully understand that you would have to undertake miss reene's music also? she is my stepdaughter." "it would be a pleasure to me, madam. i am fond of music." mr. castlemaine came into the room again at this juncture. "what part of france have you lived in?" he asked. "did i understand you to say in paris?" another necessary lie, or next door to one, for charlotte guise! were she to say, "my native province is that of the dauphiné, and i have lived near gap," it might open their eyes to suspicion at once. she swallowed down a cough that rose, partly choking her. "not quite in paris, sir. a little beyond it." "and--pardon me--could you give references?" madame guise looked up helplessly. the colour rose in her face; for the fear of losing the appointment became very present to her. "i know not how. i never was a governess before; and in that respect no one could speak for me. i am of respectable family: my father was a rentier, and much considered. for myself, i am of discreet conduct and manners,--surely you cannot doubt it," she added, the tears of emotion rising to her eyes, as she looked at them. they looked back in return: mr. castlemaine thinking what a nice, ladylike, earnest woman she was, one he could take on trust; mrs. castlemaine, entirely seduced by the prospect of the pure french for flora, eagerly wanting to ratify the bargain. madame guise mistook the silence, supposing they were hesitating. "i could have a letter written to you from paris," she said. "i possess a friend there, who will, i am sure, satisfy you that i am of good conduct and family. would there be more than this required?" "not any more, it would be quite sufficient," mrs. castlemaine hastened to say with emphasis. and, without waiting for the promised letter--which, as she observed could come later--she engaged the governess on the spot. mr. castlemaine attended madame guise to the door: and never a suspicion crossed him that she was--who she was. how should it? how was he likely to connect this lady-traveller--detained at the place by accident, so shy in manner, so evidently distressed for her child--with the unfortunate anthony, lost since that fatal february night? madame guise went out from the interview. in some respects it had not been satisfactory: or, rather, not in accordance with her ante-impressions. she had gone to it picturing mr. castlemaine as some great monster of iniquity, some crafty, cruel, sinister man, from whom the world might shrink. she found him a very good-looking, pleasing, and polished gentleman, with a high-bred air, a kind and apparently sincere manner, and with the wonderful face-resemblance to his brother basil and to her own poor husband. how had it been possible, she asked herself, for so apparently correct a man to commit that most dreadful crime, and still be what he was? how wickedly deceitful some great criminals were! mrs. bent, when consulted, made strong objection to the nursing scheme, expressing a most decided opinion against it. "put the sweet little child to any one of those old women! why, the next news we got would be that she had been let roll down the cliff, or had fell into the sea! i should not like to risk it for a child of mine, ma'am." "i must do something with her," said madame guise, setting her lips tightly. give up her plan, she would not; she believed heaven itself had aided her in it; but no one knew how much it cost her to part with this great treasure, her child. from the hour of its birth, it had never been away from her. the devotion of some french women to their children seems as remarkable as is the neglect of others. "there's one thing you might do with her, ma'am, if you chose--and a far better thing too than consigning her to any old nurse-woman." "what is that?" "well, i'll take the liberty of suggesting it," cried mrs. bent. "put her to the grey sisters." "the grey sisters!" echoed madame guise, struck with the suggestion. "but would they take one so young, think you? a little child who can scarcely speak!" "i think they'd take her and be glad of it. why, ma'am, children are like playthings to them. they have the fishermen's children there by day to teach and train; and they keep 'em by night too when the little ones are sick." no suggestion could have been more welcome to madame guise. the wonder was, that she had not herself thought of it: she no doubt would have done so had marie been older. to put the matter at rest, she went over at once to the nunnery. sister charlotte received her, and heard her proposal joyfully. admit a dear little child as boarder amongst them! yes, that they would; and take the most loving care; and train her, they hoped, to find the road to heaven. they would be glad to have two or three little ones of the better class, no matter what the age; the bit of money paid for them would be an assistance, for the sisterhood was but poor. though, indeed, now that the new sister, mary ursula--miss castlemaine--had joined them, they were better off. "i am so glad to hear you say she may come," said madame guise. "i had feared my little one was too young. she must have everything done for her, and she cannot speak plainly. english she does not speak at all, though she understands it." "she will soon speak it with us: and we will try and make her quite happy. but i must summon our superior," added sister charlotte, "for i may not take upon myself to decide this, though i know how welcome it will be." the superior came in, in the person of miss castlemaine. alas, no longer to be called so--but sister mary ursula. she swept in, in her silk mourning dress, and with the muslin cap shading her beautiful hair, and greeted madame guise with all her winning and gracious manner, holding out her hand in welcome. in some turn of the face, or in some glance of the eye--it was hard to define what--so strong a likeness to the lost and ill-fated anthony momentarily shone out from miss castlemaine's countenance, that poor madame guise felt faint. but she had to control all feeling now; she had passed into another character and left herself out of sight behind. seated opposite to her, giving to her her best attention, her fine head gently bent, her soft, but brilliant eyes thrown upon her, sister mary ursula listened to the story madame guise told. she had engaged herself as governess at greylands' rest, and wished to be allowed to place her child with the grey ladies. "is the situation at greylands' rest one that you think will suit you?--do you feel that it is what you will like to undertake?" miss castlemaine inquired when the speaker paused: for at the first moment she had thought that it was only her opinion that was being asked. "yes, i do. i am very much pleased to have obtained it." "then i can only say that i hope you will be happy in it, and find it all you can wish. i am sure you will like my uncle. your pupil, miss flora castlemaine, is self-willed, and has been much indulged by her mother. you will be able, i trust, to bring her to better ways." "and you will take my little girl, madam?" "certainly. it is very good of you to confide her to us." "it is very good of you to agree to take her, madam. i am so glad! and how much shall i pay you for her? say by the trimestre--the three months?" miss castlemaine shook her head with a smile. "i have not been here long enough to act on my own judgment," she said: "upon all knotty points i consult sister mildred. we will let you know in the course of the day." madame guise rose. but for the dreadful suspicion that lay upon her, the crime she was going out of her own character to track, she would have liked to throw herself into the arms of this gracious lady, and say with tears, "you are my husband's cousin. oh, pity me, for i was anthony's wife!" but it might not be. she had entered on her task, and must go through with it. and when a dainty little note in sister margaret's writing was brought over to the dolphin in the evening by sister ann, madame guise found that the ladies had fixed a very small sum as payment for her child--four pounds the quarter: or, sixteen pounds the year. "cent francs par trimestre," commented madame guise in her own language. "it is quite moderate: but marie is but a little one." the child went over on the following day. she was entered as mademoiselle marie guise. very much astonished would those good ladies have been had they known her true name to be that of their superior--mary ursula castlemaine! there was no fear of the child betraying secrets. she was a very backward child, not only in speech; she seemed to have forgotten all about her father, and she could not have told the name of her native place, where it was, or anything about it, if questioned over so. trouble was expected with her at the parting. her mother was advised not to attempt to see her for some three or four days after she went over to the nunnery: but rather to give her time to get reconciled to the change, and to this new abode. it was cruel penance to the mother, this parting; worse than it could have been to the child. those who understand the affection of some french mothers for their children, and who remember that the little ones never leave their side, will know what this must have been for charlotte guise. she saw marie at a distance on the following day, sunday--for it happened to be saturday that the child went in. the little church was filled at the three o'clock afternoon service, when parson marston gabbled through the prayers and the sermon to the edification of his flock. little marie sat in the large pew with the grey ladies, between sister mary ursula in her black attire, and sister betsey in her grey. the latter who had a special love for children, had taken the little one under her particular charge. marie was in black also: and a keen observer might have fancied there was some sort of likeness between her and the stately head sister beside her. the child looked happy and contented. to the scandal of the surrounders, no doubt far more to them than to that of the parson himself, whose mouth widened with a laugh, she, happening to espy out her mother when they were standing up to say the belief, extended her hands, called out "maman! maman!" and began to nod incessantly. sister betsey succeeded in restoring decorum. madame guise sat with mr. and mrs. bent, occupying the post of honour at the top of the pew. after that, she strove to hide herself from marie. in the square, crimson-curtained pew pertaining to greylands' rest, the only pew in the church with any pretensions to grandeur, sat the master of greylands and his family: his wife with a pinched face, for she had contrived to take cold; harry, tall as himself, free and fascinating; flora staring about with the plaster patches on her face; and ethel reene, devout, modest, lovely. they were all in black: the mourning worn for mr. peter castlemaine. their servants, also in mourning, occupied a pew behind that of the grey ladies. it might have been noticed that mr. castlemaine never once turned his head towards these ladies: he had never favoured them, and the step taken by his niece in joining their society had vexed him more materially than he would have liked to say. he had his private reasons for it: he had cause to wish those ladies backs turned on greylands; but he had no power to urge their departure openly, or to send them by force away. very dull was poor charlotte guise all that sunday evening. she would not meet the little one on coming out of church, but mixed with the people to avoid it. her heart yearned to give a fond word, a tender kiss; but so anxiously bent was she upon entering greylands' rest, that she shrank from anything that might impede it, or imperil the child's stay at the nunnery. after taking tea in her parlour, she sat awhile in her own room above stairs indulging her sadness. it was sometimes worse than she knew how to bear. she might not give way to grief, distress, anguish in the presence of the world; that might have betrayed her to suspicion; but there were moments, when alone, that she yielded to it in all its bitterness. the fathomless sea, calm to-night, was spread out before her, grey and dull, for the rays of the setting sun had left it: did that sea cover the body of him whom she had loved more than life? to her left rose the friar's keep--she could almost catch a glimpse of its dark walls if she stretched her head well out at the casement; at any rate, she could see this end of the grey nunnery, and that was something. did that friar's keep, with its dark tales, its superstitions stories--did that keep contain the mystery? she fully believed it did. from the very first, the description of the building had seized on her mind, and left its dread there. it was there she must look for the traces of her husband's fate; perhaps even for himself. yes, she believed that the grim walls covered him, not the heaving sea. "oh anthony! my ill-fated, wronged husband!" she cried, raising her clasped hands upwards in her distress and speaking through her blinding tears, "may the good god help me to bring your fate to light!" the shades of twilight were deepening. fishermen, with their wives and children, were wending their way homewards after the sunday evening's walk--the one walk taken together of the seven days. two of the grey ladies came down from the cliff and went towards the nunnery: madame guise, who by this time had made acquaintance with some of the inhabitants, wondered whether anybody was ill in the cottages there. a good many dwellings were scattered on this side of the cliff: some of them pretty, commodious homes, others mere huts. once more, as she stood there at the casement window, charlotte guise asked herself whether she was justified in thus entering greylands' rest under a false aspect--justified even by the circumstances. she had revolved the question in her mind many times during the past few days, and the answer had always been, as it was now, in the affirmative. and she was of a straightforward, honourable nature; although the reader may be disposed to judge the contrary. that mr. castlemaine had taken her husband's life; taken it in wilful malice and wickedness, that he might retain his usurpation of greylands' rest, she did not entertain a shade of doubt of: she believed, religiously believed, that the mission of tracking out this crime was laid upon her by heaven: and she did consider herself justified in taking any steps that might forward her in it; any steps in the world, overhanded or underhanded, short of doing injury to any innocent person. her original resolve had been, merely to stay in the village, seek out what information she could, and wait; but the opportunity having been offered her in so singularly marked a manner (as she looked upon it) of becoming an inmate of mr. castlemaine's home, she could not hesitate in embracing it. and yet, though she never faltered in her course, though an angel from heaven would hardly have stopped her entrance, believing, as she did, that the entrance had been specially opened for her, every now and again qualms of conscience pricked her sharply, and she hated the whole proceeding. "but i cannot leave anthony alone in the unknown grave," she would piteously tell herself at these moments. "and i can see no other way to discovery; and i have no help from any one to aid me in it. if i entered upon the investigation openly, declaring who i am, that might be worse than fruitless: it would put mr. castlemaine on his guard; he is more clever than i, he has all power here, while i have none; and anthony might remain where he is, unavenged, for ever. no, no, i must go on in my planned-out course." the sea became more grey; the evening star grew bright in the sky; people had gone within their homes and the doors were shut. madame guise, tired with the wearily-passing hours, sick and sad at her own reflections, put on her bonnet and warm mantle to take a bit of a stroll over to the beach. mrs. bent happened to meet her as she gained the passage below. the landlady was looking so unusually cross that madame guise noticed it. "i have been giving a word of a sort to mr. harry castlemaine," she explained, as they entered her sitting-room. "you be quiet, john bent: what i see right to do, i shall do. mr. harry will go too far in that quarter if he does not mind." "young men like to talk to pretty girls all the world over; they did in my time, i know, and they do in this," was john's peaceful answer, as he rose from his fire-side chair at his guest's entrance. "bat i don't see, wife, that it's any good reason for your pouncing upon mr. harry as he was going by to his home and saying what you did." "prevention's better than cure," observed mrs. bent, in a short tone. "as to young men liking to talk to pretty girls, that's all very well when they are equals in life; but when it comes to a common sailor's daughter and a gentleman, it's a different thing." "jane hallet's father was not a common sailor!" "he was not over much above it," retorted mrs. bent. "because the grey sisters educated her and made much of her, would you exalt her into a lady? you never had proper sense, john bent, and never will have. "i call miss hallet a lady," said john. "you might call the moon a lantern if you chose, but you couldn't make other folks do it. as to jane, she is too pretty to be followed by mr. harry castlemaine. why, he must have been walking with her nearly ever since tea!" "he intends no harm, dorothy, i'll answer for it." "harm comes sometimes without intention, john bent. mr. harry's as thoughtless and random as a march hare. i've seen what i have seen: and jane hallet had better keep herself in future out of his company." "well, your speaking to him did no good, wife. and it was not respectful." "good! it's not likely it would do good with him," conceded mrs. bent. "he turns everything into laughter. did you hear how he began about my sunday cap, asking for the pattern of it, and setting molly off in a grin! she nearly dropped the scuttle of coals she was bringing in--good evening then, ma'am, for the present, if you are going for your little stroll." madame guise, leaving her host and hostess to settle their difference touching mr. harry castlemaine, went over to the beach and walked about there. the shades grew deeper; the stars came out brightly: night was upon the earth when she retraced her steps. thinking of her little one, she did not go into the inn, but walked past the grey nunnery: she knew she should not see the child, but it was a satisfaction only to look at the window of the room that contained her. soon madame guise came to the gate of the chapel ruins; and some impulse prompted her to open it and enter. but she first of all looked cautiously around to make sure she was not being watched: once let it be known that she held any particular interest in this place, and her connection with him who had been lost within it might be suspected! when we hold a dangerous secret, the conscience is more than sensitive: and madame guise was no exception to the rule. she crossed the ruins, and stood looking out on the sea, so grand from thence. it was low water; she saw the rude steps by which the little beach below might be gained, but would not have liked to venture down. the steps were hazardous for even a strong man, and perhaps were not used from one month's end to another: the slime and sea-weed made them slippery. after she had gazed her fill, she turned to the friar's keep, and made her way into it by the gothic door between the once firm walls. oh, but it was dark here! by what she could make out, when her sight got used to the gloom, she seemed to be amidst the arches of some pillared cloisters. while looking on this side and that side, striving to pierce the mysteries, taking a step this way and a step that, and trembling all the while lest she should see the revenant, said to haunt the place, a dreadful sound, like the huge fluttering of large wings, arose above in the arches. poor charlotte guise, superstitious by nature and education, and but young in years yet, was seized with a perfect acme of terror; of terror too great to scream. was it the spirit of her husband, striving to communicate with her, she wondered--and oh blame her not too greatly. she had been reared in the fear of "revenants;" she earnestly believed that the dead were sometimes permitted to revisit the earth. silence supervened, and her terror grew somewhat less intense. "is your grave here, anthony?" she murmured; "are you buried in some corner of this lonesome place, away from the eye of man? oh, hear me while i repeat my vow to search out this dreadful mystery! to the utmost of the power that circumstances and secrecy leave me, will i strive to find you, anthony; and bring home to mr. castlemaine----" a worse noise than before; an awful fluttering and flapping right above her head. she screamed out now, terrified nearly to death. the echoes repeated her scream; and the rushing wings, with another kind of scream, not half so shrill as hers, went out through the broken wall and flew across the sea. she felt just as though she were dropping into her grave. was it the revenant of the place?--or was it the revenant of her husband?--what was it? cowering there, her face prone against a column, charlotte asked herself these dread questions: and never once, until her alarm was somewhat subsiding, did she think of what her reason might have shown her at first--that it was an owl. an owl, angry at its precincts being invaded: or perhaps some large sea-bird. with her face as white as death, and her limbs shaking as though in an ague fit, she made her way to the entrance gate again; passed through it, and so got away from the friar's keep. chapter xvi. at greylands' rest. "now, mademoiselle, je n'eh veux pas." "because ethel understands french as well as you do, that's no reason why i should. if you tell me in french what i have to do, of course i can't do it, for i don't know a word you say." it was the first morning of the studies, tuesday, madame guise having entered the previous day. she, ethel, and flora were seated round the table in the schoolroom, a small apartment looking to the kitchen-garden, with an old carpet on its floor, painted segged chairs, and a square piano against the wall opposite the fire. ethel was copying music. madame guise was endeavouring to ascertain the advancement of miss flora in her studies, with a view to arranging their course in future, speaking in french, and requiring the replies to be in french. but the young lady obstinately persisted in making them in english. "whatever you do, madame guise, please speak always to flora in french," had been mrs. castlemaine's first charge to the new governess. "above all things, i wish her to be a good french scholar, and to speak it as fluently as miss reene does." but here, at the very outset, miss flora was demurring to the french, and protesting she could not understand it. madame guise hesitated. she did not choose to be met by wilful disobedience; on the other hand, to issue her mandates in an unknown language would be simply waste of time. she turned her eyes questioningly on ethel. "i am not quite sure, madame, one way or the other," said ethel, replying in french. "flora ought to be able to understand it; and to speak it a little too; but she has always been inattentive. miss oldham and the governesses who preceded her did not speak french as you do: perhaps they were not particular that flora should speak it." "how is it that you speak it so well?" asked madame. "i? oh, i had a french nurse when i was a child, and then a french governess; and to finish my education i went to paris for two years." "all the three governesses i have had here did not speak french to me," interrupted flora, resentfully. "not one of them." "have you had three governesses? that is a great many, considering you are yet young," observed madame, in english. "they were all bad ones," said the girl. "or was it that you were a bad pupil you must be a better one with me." ethers shapely head, with its bright dark hair, was bent over her copying again: she said nothing. madame guise determined to speak in english to the child for at least this morning, until the studies should be put in train. "we will begin with your english grammar"--taking up the dog-eared, untidy book. "how far have you advanced in it, miss flora?" "i don't like grammar." "how far have you advanced in it?" equably pursued madame. "i don't recollect." "to begin english grammar again," spoke madame, addressing herself, and making a note on paper with a pencil. "i shan't begin it again." "you will not say to me i shall or i shan't; you will do what i please," quietly corrected madame. "this is your english history. what reign are you in?" miss flora had her elbows on the table, her hands under her chin, and her pretty face pushed out defiantly opposite madame. the patches of plaster were nearly all gone; her light curls tied back with a black ribbon, hang low behind. she wore a black frock and white pinafore. "which of the king's reigns are you in?" pursued madame. "not in any. i know them all. charles the second was beheaded; and henry the eighth had ten wives: and guy faux blew up the gunpowder plot; and elizabeth boxed people's ears." "oh," said madame, "i think we shall have to begin that again. are you good at spelling?" "i can't spell at all. i hate it. mamma says i need not learn to spell." "i fancy that cannot be true. how will you write letters if you cannot spell?" "who wants to write letters?--i don't." "flora!" put in ethel in a warning tone. the girl turned angrily on ethel. "nobody asked you to speak: mind your copying." "mind your manners, said ethel nodding to her. "not for you, or for anybody else in this room." "it is very unpleasant to hear young ladies say these rude things," interposed madame. "as your governess, miss flora, i shall not permit it." "that's what my other governesses would say," retorted flora. "it made no difference to me." "if the other governesses did not do their duty by you, it is no reason why i should not do mine," said madame. "your papa has charged me with forming your manners; if i have trouble in doing it i am to appeal to him." flora was silent. the one only authority she feared, in the house or out of it, was her father's. he would not be trifled with, however her mother might be. "i hate governesses, madame guise. i'd like to know what they were invented for?" "to teach ignorant and refractory children to become good young ladies," spoke madame, who did not seem in the least to lose her temper. flora did not like the calmness: it augured badly for the future. it was so totally unlike her experience of former governesses. they were either driven wild, or had subsided into a state of apathy. "i drove those other governesses away, and i'll drive you. i'll never do anything you tell me. i won't learn and i won't practise." "the less you learn, the more persistently i will stay on to make you," said madame, quite unruffled. "a lesson that you do not get by heart to-day, you will have to get to-morrow: the studies broken off this week, must be completed next. as to your trying to drive me away, it will be labour lost; i simply tell you i am not to be driven. if there is anything i like, and for which i think i have an especial fitness, it is the ruling of refractory children. we shall see which will be strongest, miss flora, you or i." "once, when one of my governesses wanted to make me learn, i had a fever. mamma said it was all her fault." "very good," said madame. "we will risk the fever. if you get one i will nurse you through it. i am a capital nurse." ethel burst out laughing. "the fever was a headache, flora; you brought it on with crying." "you ugly story-teller! i did have a fever. i lay in bed and had broth." "yes, for a day. why, you have never had a fever in your life. mr. parker saw you and brought some medicine; you would not take it and got up." "ugh! you old tell-tale!" "come to my side, miss flora," spoke madame. "you will stand here and read a little of french and of english that i may see how you read. and i must tell you that if we have not got through this morning what we want to get through and put the studies en train, i shall not allow you to go out this afternoon, and i shall request that you have no dinner. instead of that, you will stay in this room with me. mind! i never break my word." after a few moments' delay, the young lady moved round. probably she saw that her new mistress was not one to break her word. and, thus, a beginning made, the morning wore away rather better than its commencement had promised. never was there a child with better abilities than flora castlemaine: it was only the will to use them that was lacking. she had been brought up to exercise her own will and disobey that of others. bad training! bad training for a child. putting aside the difficulties attending the instruction and management of miss flora, madame guise found the residence at greylands' rest not at all an unpleasant one. the routine of the day was this. breakfast--which meal was taken all together in the red parlour--at eight o'clock. flora until dinner-time; half-past one. ethel's music lesson of an hour, was given during the afternoon: flora being generally out with her mamma or racing about the premises and grounds on her own account. tea at five; one hour given to flora afterwards, to help her to prepare her lessons or exercises for the following day: and then madame's duties were over. little did mr. castlemaine imagine that the pleasant, though always sad young lady, who was so efficient an instructress for the young plague of the house, was his ill-fated nephew's widow. he was somewhat taken aback when he heard that madame guise had placed her child at the grey nunnery, and knitted his brow in displeasure. however, the child's being there, so long as the ladies were, could make no difference to him; it was the sisterhood he wanted away, not the child. charlotte guise never went out during the day--except on sundays to church. ethel would try to coax her abroad in the afternoons, but hitherto she had not succeeded. in the evening, after flora was done with, madame would put her bonnet on and stroll alone: sometimes to the nunnery to see her child, whose enforced absence only made her the dearer to her mother's heart. "why will you not go out with me?" asked ethel one afternoon, when she and madame guise rose from the piano in the red parlour--for the old square piano in the schoolroom was for the benefit of the unskilled fingers of miss flora only. "see how pleasant everything looks! it is quite spring weather now." "yes, it is spring weather, but i feel a little cold always, and i don't care to go," answered madame guise. "i will go when summer comes." they sat down before the french window, ethel opening it to the pleasant air. madame guise had been wishing ever since she was in the house to put a question to this fair young girl, whom she had already learned to love. but she had not yet dared to do it: conscience was always suggesting fears of her true identity being discovered: and now that she did speak it was abruptly. "have any tidings been heard yet of the young man said to have been lost in the friar's keep?" "no, not any," replied ethel. "is it true, think you, that he was killed?" ethel reene flushed painfully: she could not forget what she had overheard john bent say. "oh, i hope not. of course, his disappearance is very strange; more than strange. but if--if anything did happen to him that night, it might have been by accident." "i heard about the matter when i was at the dolphin," observed madame guise, as if wishing to account for speaking of it. "it took much hold upon my interest; it seemed so strange and sad. did you ever see that mr. anthony, ethel?" "yes, i saw him twice. i was prejudiced against him at first, but i grew to like him. i should have liked him very much had he lived; i am sure of it: quite as a brother. miss castlemaine of stilborough liked him: and i think the mystery of his loss has lain heavily upon her." "what prejudiced you against him?" asked charlotte. ethel smiled, and told the tale. she gave the history of their two meetings; gave it in detail. the tongue is ready when it has a sympathetic hearer: never a more rapt one than she who listened now. ethel rose as she concluded it. the disappearance was a subject she did not care to speak of, or dwell upon. unable to believe mr. castlemaine otherwise than innocent, she yet saw that a prejudice had arisen against him. "then you will not come out with me, madame?" "many thanks, but no." "what will you do with yourself all day to-morrow?" asked ethel. "i shall take holiday," replied madame guise, with a flush of colour. for on the morrow the whole of the family were going from home, having promised to spend the day with some friends who lived near newerton. the flush had been caused by charlotte guise's self-consciousness. true, she would take holiday on the morrow from her duties; that went as a matter of course; but she was purposing to use the day, or part of it, in endeavouring to make some discovery. these twelve days had she been in the house now, and she was no farther advanced than when she entered it. she had seen mr. castlemaine daily; she had conversed with him, dined and taken other meals in his company; but for all the enlightenment she had obtained, or the new ideas she had gathered of the doings of that ill-fated february night, he and she might as well have been far apart as are the two poles. it was not by going on in this tame way that she could hope to obtain any clue to the past: the past to which she had made a vow to devote herself. the morning rose brightly, and the family went off after breakfast in the carriage, harry sitting on the box with the coachman. madame guise was left alone. a feverish desire had been upon her to enter mr. castlemaine's room upstairs; the study where he kept the accounts pertaining to the estate, and wrote his letters. in this room he passed many hours daily, sitting in it sometimes late into the night. charlotte guise held an impression that if she could find tokens or records of her lost husband, it would be there. but she had never yet obtained so much as a glimpse of its interior: the room was considered sacred to mr. castlemaine, and the family did not approach it. two or three of the women servants had obtained permission to absent themselves that day to visit their friends; and the house was comparatively deserted. madame guise, looking forth from her chamber, found all silent and still: the upstairs work was over; the servants, those who remained at home, were shut up in the remote kitchens. now was her time; now, if ever. the corridor was spacious. it ran along two sides of the house, and most of the bed chambers opened from it. mr. castlemaine's study was the middle room in the side corridor; madame's bedroom was nearly opposite the room; the one beyond hers being harry castlemaine's. standing outside her door, in the still silence, with a flushed face and panting breath, not liking the work she was about to do, but believing it a necessity thrown upon her, she at length softly crossed the corridor and opened the outer door leading to the study. a short, dark, narrow passage not much more than a yard in length, and there was another door. this was locked, but the key was in it; she turned the key, and entered the room. entered it with some undefined feeling of disappointment, for it was bare and empty. we are all apt to form ideas of places and things as yet unseen. the picture of mr. castlemaine's study, in the mind of charlotte guise, had been of a spacious apartment filled with furniture, and littered with papers. what she saw was a small square room, and no earthly thing in it, papers or else, but two tables, some chairs, and a bureau against the wall: or what would have been called in her own land a large secretaire, or office desk. she gazed around her with a blank face. the tables and chairs were bare: no opportunity there for anything concealed. the bureau was locked. she tried it; palled it, pushed it: but the closed-down lid was firm as adamant. "if there exists any record of him, it is in here," she said, half aloud. "i must contrive means of opening it." she could not do that to-day. it would have to be done with a false key, she supposed; and, that, she had not in her possession. before quitting the room, she approached the window, and looked forth cautiously. at the sea rolling in the distance; at the friars' keep opposite; at the fair green lands lying between that and greylands' rest. charlotte guise shuddered at a thought that crossed her. "if he did indeed kill my poor husband and has laid him to rest in the friars' keep, how can he bear to be in this room, with that building in front of him to remind him of the deed?" the day was before her: it was not yet twelve o'clock. blankly disappointed with her failure, she put on her things to go abroad: there was nothing to stay in for. at the last moment a thought struck her that she would go to stilborough. she wanted to make some purchases; for the wardrobe brought over from france had not been extensive, either for herself or child. hastily attiring herself, she told miles she should not be in to dinner, and started. and so, just as anthony castlemaine had once, and but once, set off to walk to the market-town, did his poor young wife--nay, his widow--set off now. she was a good walker, and, so far, enjoyed the journey and the sweet spring day. she saw the same objects of interest (or of non-interest, as people might estimate them) that he had seen: the tall, fine trees, now budding into life: the country carts and waggons; the clumsy milestones; the two or three farm houses lying back amid their barns and orchards. thus she reached stilborough, and did her commissions. it was late when she got back to greylands; five o'clock, and she was dead tired. by the time she reached the dolphin, she could hardly drag one foot before the other. to walk three miles on a fine day is not much; but to go about afterwards from shop to shop, and then to walk back again is something more. mrs. bent, standing at the inn door, saw her, brought her in, and set her down to a substantial tea-table. she told the landlady she had been to stilborough to make purchases--which would come by the van for her on the morrow, and to be left at the dolphin, if the dolphin would kindly take them in. "with pleasure," said mrs. bent. "ned shall take the parcels up to greylands' rest." what with the welcome rest to her tired limbs, and what with mrs. bent's hospitable tea and gossip, madame guise sat longer than she had intended. it was nearly dark when she went over to the nunnery--for she had brought a toy and some bonbons for marie. the grey sisters received her as kindly as usual; but they told her the little one did not seem very well; and madame guise went upstairs to look at her. marie was in her little bed, by the side of sister betsey's. she seemed restless and feverish. poor charlotte guise began to think that perhaps this climate did not agree with her so well as their own. taking off her things, she sat down to stay with the child. "mrs. castlemaine said it would be quite midnight before they got home, as they were to make a very long day, so i am in no hurry for an hour or two," she observed. "miles will think i am lost; but i will tell him how it is." "has your little one ever had the measles?" asked sister mona. "the measles?" repeated madame guise, puzzled for the moment. "oh, lea rougeoles--pardon my forgetfulness--no she has not. she has never had anything." "then i think, but i am not sure, that she is sickening for the measles now." "mon dieu!" cried the mother in consternation. "it is nothing," said the sister. "we have nursed dozens of children, and brought them well through it. in a week little marie will be about again." but madame guise, unused to these light ailments, and terribly anxious for her only child, whom she could but look upon, as separated from herself, in the light of a martyr, was not easily reassured. she stayed with the child as long as she dared, and begged that mr. parker might be sent for in the morning should marie be no better. it was late to go home; after eleven; but nevertheless charlotte guise took the lonely road past the friars' keep and up chapel lane. the way had a fascination for her. since she had been at greylands' rest, in going home from the nunnery in the evening she had always chosen it. what she expected to see or hear, that could bear upon her husband's fate, she knew not; but the vague idea ever lay upon her that she might light upon something. could she have done it without suspicion, three parts of her time would have been spent pacing about before the chapel ruins, just as john bent had paced the night he was waiting for his guest. it was very lonely. all the village had long ago been in bed. the stars were bright; the night was light and clear. looking over the chapel ruins, she could see the lights of a distant vessel out at sea. under the hedge, in the very selfsame spot where her husband and john bent had halted that fatal night, did she now halt, and gaze across at the keep, chapel lane being close upon her left hand. "no, they could not have been mistaken," ran her thoughts. "if mr. castlemaine came down the lane now and crossed over, i should know him unmistakably--and that night was lighter than this, almost like day, for the moon, they say, was never brighter. then why, unless he were guilty, should mr. castlemaine deny that he was there?" glancing up at the windows with a shudder, almost fearing she might see the revenant of the grey monk pass them with his lamp, or some other revenant, madame guise turned up chapel lane. at such moments, trifles serve to unstring the nerves of a timorous woman. sounds struck on madame guise's ear, and she drew back, trembling and shaking, amid the thick grove of shrubs and trees skirting one side of the lane. "gently, now; gently, bess," cried a voice not far from her. "you shall go your own pace in less than five minutes, old girl. gently now." and to charlotte guise's astonishment, she saw commodore teague's spring-cart turn out of the dark turning that led from the hutt, the commodore driving. its cover looked white in the starlight; bess, the mare he thought so much of, had her best harness on. when nearly abreast of madame guise, the commodore pulled up with an exclamation. "the devil take it! i've forgot to lock the shed door. stand still, old girl; stand still, bess." he got down and ran back. the well-trained animal stood perfectly still. in a few moments' time he was back again, had mounted, and was driving slowly away in the direction of newerton. "what can be taking him abroad at this night hour?" madame said to herself in wonder. but the encounter, though it had been a silent one, and on the man's part unsuspected, had served to restore somewhat of her courage: the proximity of a human being is so reassuring in the dark and lonely night, when superstitions fancies are running riot. and with a swift step, charlotte guise proceeded on her way up chapel lane. chapter xvii. opening the bureau. greylands' cliff was a high cliff: and the huts of the fishermen, nestling in nooks on its side, rendered it very picturesque. many a lover of art and nature, seeking a subject for his pencil, had sketched this cliff; some few had made it into a grand painting and sent it forth to charm the world. the two highest cottages on it were of a superior order. even they were not built on the top; but close under it. they stood nearly side by side; a jutting of rock stretching out between them. the walls were white: and to the side of one of these dwellings--the one nearest the sea--there was a small square piece of sunk level that served now for a little garden. miss hallet, to whom the cottage belonged, had caused some loads of good earth to be brought up; she planted a few flowers, a few shrubs, a few sweet herbs, and so nursed the little spot into a miniature garden. miss hallet herself was seated just within the open door of the dwelling, darning a rent in a pillow-case. the door opened straight upon this room; a pretty parlour, very well furnished. the kitchen was behind; and two good bedchambers and a smaller room were above. not a large house, thinks the reader. no: but it was regarded as large by the poorer dwellers on the cliff, and miss hallet was looked up to by them as a lady. having a small but sufficient income, she lived quietly and peaceably, mixing but little with other people. through family misfortunes she had been deprived of a home in early life, and she took a situation, half companion, half lady's-maid. the lady she served bequeathed her by will enough money to live upon. miss hallet had then saved money of her own; she came to greylands, her native place, bought the cottage on the cliff, and settled herself in it. her brother, like herself, had had to turn to and support himself. he went to sea in the merchant service, passed in time the examinations before the board of trade, and rose to command a vessel trading to the coast of spain. but he never got beyond that: and one stormy night the unfortunate vessel sunk with himself and all hands. he left two orphan children, a son and daughter, not provided for; miss hallet adopted them, and they came home to her at greylands. the boy, george, she sent to a good school at stilborough; he had to walk to and fro night and morning: jane went to the grey sisters. george took to the sea; in spite of all his aunt could say or do. perhaps the liking for it was innate, and he was always about in boats and on the beach when at greylands. he at length put himself on board tom dance's boat, and said he would be a fisherman, and nothing else. in vain miss hallet pointed out to him that he was superior to anything of the kind, and ought to look out for a higher calling in life. george would not listen. quitting his aunt's roof--for he grew tired of the continual contentions she provoked--he went to lodge in the village, and made apparently a good living. but the treacherous sea took him, just as it had in like manner taken his father. one night during a storm, a ship was sighted in distress: tom dance, who was as good-hearted as he was reckless, put off in his boat with george hallet to the rescue, and george never came back again. handsome, light-hearted, well-mannered george hallet was drowned. that was nearly two years ago. he was just twenty years of age; and was said to have already been given a share in tom dance's earnings. tom dance owned his own substantial boat; and his hauls of fish were good; no doubt profitable also, for he was always flush of money. his son, a silent kind of young man, was his partner now, and went out in the boat with him as george hallet used to do. they lived in one of the cottages on the beach. old mrs. dance, tom's mother, had her dwelling in a solitary place underneath the perpendicular cliff: not on the village side of it, as the other dwellings were, but facing the sea. it was a lonely spot, inaccessible at times when the tides were high. tom dance, who was generous to his mother, and kept her well, would have had her quit it for a more sociably situated habitation: but the old woman was attached to her many-years homestead, and would not listen to him. when we have grown old in a home, we like it better than any other, no matter what may be its drawbacks. miss hallet finished the darn, and turned the pillow-case about to look for another. she was a tall, fair, angular lady of fifty, with a cold, hard countenance; three or four prim flat curls of grey hair peeped out on her forehead from beneath her cap; tortoiseshell spectacles were stretched across her well-shaped nose. she had a fawn-coloured woollen shawl crossed about her for warmth--for, though a nice spring day, it was hardly the weather yet for one of her age to sit exposed to the open air. "why, this must have been cut!" the spectacles had rested upon an almost imperceptible fray, whose edges were so keen and close as to impart a suspicion that it had never come by natural wear and tear. miss hallet drew in her thin lips grimly. "and since the wash too!" she continued, when the gaze was over. "jane must know something of this: she helped the woman to fold. jane is frightfully heedless." threading a fresh needleful of the soft, fine darning cotton, she was applying herself to repair the damage, when footsteps were heard ascending the narrow zigzag path. another minute, and tom dance's son loomed into view; a short, sturdy, well-meaning, but shy and silent youth of twenty. "father's duty, miss hallet, and he has sent up this fish, if you'd be pleased to accept him," said the young man, showing a good-sized fish with large scales, resting on a wicker-tray. miss hallet was charmed. her hard face relaxed into as much of a smile as it could relax. "dear me, what a beautiful fish! how good your father is, wally! always thinking of somebody! give him my best thanks back again. you have just got in, i suppose?" "just ten minutes ago," responded wally. "been out two tides." "well, i wonder your father does not begin to think more of his ease--and so well off as he must be! the night seems the same to him for work as the day." "one catches the best fish under the moon," shortly remarked the young man, as he handed over the wicker-tray. miss hallet took it into the house, and brought it back to him without the fish. mr. walter dance caught the tray with a silent nod, and sped down the steep path at a rate, that, to unaccustomed eyes, might have seemed to put his neck in peril. barely had miss hallet taken up her sewing again, when another visitor appeared. this one's footsteps were lighter and softer than the young man's, and she was seen almost as soon as heard. a dark-haired, quick-speaking young woman in black. it was harriet, waiting-maid to mrs. castlemaine. "is your niece at home, miss hallet?" "no. she's gone to stilborough. how are you, harriet?" "oh, i'm all right, thank you. what a cliff this is to climb up!--a'most takes one's breath away. gone to stilborough, is she? well, that's a bother!" "what did you want with her?" "has she done any of them han'kerchers, do you know?" returned the young woman, without replying to the direct question. "i can't say. i know she has begun them. would you like to come in and sit down?" "i've no time for sitting down. my missis has sent me off here on the spur of the moment: and when she sends one out on an errand for herself one had best not linger, you know. besides, i must get back to dress my ladies." "oh, must you," indifferently remarked miss hallet; who rarely evinced curiosity as to her neighbours' doings, or encouraged gossip upon trifles. "they are all going off to a dinner party at stilborough; and missis took it into her head just now that she'd use one of her new fine cambric han'kerchers," continued harriet. "so she sent me off here to get one." "but mrs. castlemaine is surely not short of fine handkerchiefs!" cried miss hallet. "short of fine han'kerchers!--why, she's got a drawer fall. it was just a freak for a new thing; that's all." "well, i do not know whether one is done, harriet. jane has been working at one; she was at it last night; but i did not notice whether she finished it." "can't you look, please, miss hallet?" miss hallet rose from her chair and went upstairs. she came back empty-handed. "i don't see the handkerchiefs anywhere in jane's room, harriet. i daresay she has locked them up in her work-drawer: she has taken to lock up the drawer lately, i've noticed. if you could wait a few minutes she might be in: she'll not be long now." "but i can't wait; they start off at five," was the girl's answer: "and the missis and miss ethel have both got to be dressed. so i'll say good afternoon, ma'am." "good afternoon," repeated miss hallet. "should jane return in time, if she happens to have finished one of the handkerchiefs, she shall bring it up." the young woman turned away with a brisk step, but not at the speed walter dance had used. by-and-by, quite an hour later, jane hallet came in. a slender, ladylike, nice-looking girl of nineteen; with a fair, soft, gentle face, mild blue eyes, hair light and bright, and almost child-like features. jane's good looks, of which she was no doubt conscious, and jane's propensity to dress too much were a source of continual vexation to miss hallet: so to say, a stumbling-block in her path. jane wore a dark blue merino dress, a very pretty grey cloak, with a hood and tassels, and a straw bonnet trimmed with blue. miss hallet groaned. "and you must walk off in all those best things to-day, jane! just to go to the wool shop at stilborough! i wonder what will become of you!" "it was so fine a day, aunt," came the cheerful, apologetic answer. "i have not hurt them. "you've not done them good. are any of those handkerchiefs of mrs. castlemaine's finished?" resumed the aunt, after a pause. "one is." "then you must go up at once with it to greylands' rest. don't take your cloak off--unless, indeed, you'd like to change it for your old one which would be the right thing to do," added miss hallet, snappishly. "and your bonnet, too!" jane stood still for a moment, and something like a cloud passed over her face. she did not particularly care to go to greylands' rest. "i am tired with my walk, aunt." "that can't be helped: you must take the handkerchief all the same," said miss hallet. and she explained the reason, and that she had promised to send one if it were done. "you will be in time, jane: it is hardly half-past four. the maid said the family were to start at five." jane went up to her chamber; a room that she took care to make look as pretty as she could. a chest of drawers stood by the bed. taking a key from her pocket, she opened the top long drawer, the only one that was locked, and lifted out the paper of handkerchiefs. half-a-dozen handkerchiefs of the finest and softest cambric, almost like a spider's web, that mrs. castlemaine had given to her to hem-stitch. any little job of this kind jane hallet was glad to undertake. the money helped to buy her clothes. otherwise she was entirely dependent upon her aunt. the grey ladies had taught her all kinds of fine needlework. when she had none of that to do--and she did not have it often--she filled up her leisure time in knitting lambs' wool socks for a shop at stilborough. there was no necessity for her to do this, and miss hallet did not cordially approve of it; but it gave jane a feeling of independency. snatching a moment to look into the glass and put her hair in order, jane went down with the handkerchief, neatly folded in thin white paper. all the girls instincts were nice: she was in fact too much of a lady for her position. "i thought you might be changing those smart things for your everyday ones," crossly spoke miss hallet, as jane went through the sitting-room. "mrs. castlemaine wall look askance at your finery." "there was no time for it, aunt," replied jane, a sudden blush dyeing her face, as she hastened out. she ran down the cliff, went past the grey nunnery, and so up chapel lane--which was the back way to greylands' rest, and not the front. it was not her wish or intention to see mrs. castlemaine, if she could avoid it; or any of the family. presenting herself at the back door, she asked for harriet. one of the other servants took her into a small parlour, and said she would tell the lady's maid. five o'clock had struck before harriet bustled in. "the han'kercher, is it? mrs. castlemaine'll be glad. when she sets her mind on a thing, she do set it. come along, jane hallet, she wants to see you." no opportunity was afforded to jane of saying no, and she followed harriet along the passages. mrs. castlemaine, her rich black silk dinner dress covered by a large warm shawl, stood in the hall. ethel reene, in black net and white ribbons, and wearing her scarlet cloak, was also there. the carriage waited outside. jane went forward shrinkingly, her face turning pale and red alternately. "i just want to see it before i take it," said mrs. castlemaine, holding out her hand for the handkerchief. "is it tumbled much? oh, i see; it is very nice, quite smooth. how well you have kept it, jane hallet! here, harriet, i don't want this one now." she tossed back an embroidered handkerchief to the maid, and swept out to the carriage. ethel smiled at jane, as she followed her stepmother. "i'm sure it is very good of you, jane, to come up with it for mamma," she said, feeling in her sensitive heart that mrs. castlemaine had not given one word of thanks to the girl. mr. castlemaine came downstairs, an overcoat on his arm. he nodded kindly to jane as he passed, and inquired after miss hallet. miles and harriet stood in the porch, watching the carriage away. jane was a little behind, just within the hall. "i thought mr. harry was going," observed harriet. "what has took him not to go?" "don't know," said miles. "one never can be certain of mr. harry--whether he goes to a place or whether he doesn't go." "perhaps he has walked on," remarked harriet carelessly, as she turned round. "i say, jane hallet, you'll stay and take a dish o' tea, now you are here. we are just going to have it." but jane hastily declined. no persuasion, apparently, would induce her to accept the invitation; and she departed at once. half an hour later madame guise and her pupil came home: they had been out for a long walk. "have they all gone?" inquired madame of one of the housemaids. "oh, dear, yes, ma'am. half an hour ago." now, this answer deceived charlotte guise. she knew the dinner engagement had been accepted by mr. and mrs. castlemaine, their son, and ethel. she had no thought or idea but what they could collectively keep it: and in saying to the servant "have they all gone," she comprised the four, and understood that she was answered accordingly. she and flora took tea together. the child was growing somewhat more tractable than she used to be. not much as yet; it was just a little shade of improvement. flora was always better when her mamma was away; and madame guise had no trouble with her on this night. she even went to bed at the appointed hour, eight o'clock, without rebellion, after a regalement of what she was particularly fond of--bread and jam. "i will take a slice of this bread and butter and jam also," remarked madame to miles; "and then i shall not trouble you to bring in supper for me. it will be a nice change. we like this confiture much in my country." so madame took her light supper that evening with flora, and afterwards wrote a letter. at nine o'clock she rang the bell to say she was going up to her room for the night, feeling tired, and should require nothing more. miles, who had answered the bell, saw her go up with her candle. he put out the sitting-room lights for safety, and went back to the kitchen. his master and mistress were not expected home before hall-past eleven. in her room stood charlotte guise, white as a sheet. she was contemplating a deed that night, from which, in spite of what she deemed her justification for it, she shrank in horror. it was no less a step than the opening with a false key the private bureau of mr. castlemaine. some little time the best part of a fortnight, had elapsed since that walk of hers to stilborough and marie had had the measles--"very kindly," as mr. parker and the grey sisters expressed it--and was well again. telling a plausible story of the loss of her keys to a stilborough locksmith that day, madame had obtained from him--a key that would undo, if necessary, half the locks in mr. castlemaine's house. no opportunity had presented itself for using it until now. such an occasion as this, when the house was deserted by all, save the servants, might not speedily occur again. she stood in her chamber, trembling and nervous, the light from the candle reflected on her face. the staircase clock struck the quarter past nine, and her heart beat faster as she heard it. it was the signal she had been waiting for. for the servants would now be settled at their supper, and were not likely soon to get up from it. nine o'clock was the nominal hour for the meal: but, as she chanced to know, they rarely sat down to it much before a quarter past. with the house free and nothing to do, they would not hurry themselves over it to-night. half an hour--nay, an hour, she knew she might freely reckon upon while they were shut up at table in the comfortable kitchen, talking and eating. charlotte guise opened the door and stood to listen. not a sound save the ticking of the clock broke the stillness. she was quite alone. flora was fast asleep in her room in the front corridor, next to mrs. castlemaine's chamber, for she had been in to see, and she had taken the precaution of turning the key on the child for safety: it would not do to be interrupted by her. yet another minute she stood listening, candle in hand. then, swiftly crossing the corridor, she stole into the study through the double doors. a fear had been upon her that she might find the second door a stumbling block, as mr. castlemaine sometimes locked it when he went abroad. it was open to-night, and she whisked through it. the same orderly, unlittered room that she had seen before. no papers lay about, no deeds were left out that could be of use to her. three books were stacked upon the side table; a newspaper lay on a chair; and that was positively all. the fire had long ago gone out; on the mantelpiece was a box of matches. putting down the candle, charlotte guise took out her key, and tried the bureau. it opened at once. she swung back the heavy lid and waited a moment to recover herself: her lips were white, her breath came in gasps. oh, apart from the baseness, the dishonour of the act, which was very present to her mind, what if she were to be caught at it? papers were there en masse. the drawers and pigeon-holes seemed to be full of them. so far as she could judge from a short examination--and she did not dare to give a long one--these papers had reference to business transactions, to sales of goods and commercial matters--which she rather wondered at, but did not understand. but of deeds she could see none. what did charlotte guise expect to find? what did she promise herself by this secret search? in truth, she could not have told. she wanted to get some record of her husband's fate, some proof that should compromise the master of greylands. she would also have been glad to find some will, or deed of gift, that should show to her how greyland's rest had been really left by old anthony castlemaine: whether to his son basil or to james. if to basil, why there would be a proof--as she, poor thing, deemed it--of the manner in which james castlemaine had dealt with his nephew, and its urging motive. no, there was nothing. opening this bundle of papers, rapidly glancing into that, turning over the other, she could find absolutely nothing to help her: and in the revulsion of feeling which the disappointment caused, she said to herself how worse than foolish she had been to expect to find anything: how utterly devoid of reason she must be, to suppose mr. castlemaine would preserve mementos of an affair so dangerous. and where he kept his law papers, or parchments relating to his estate, she could not tell, but certainly they were not in the bureau, unless there were secret receptacles to which she knew not how to penetrate. not daring to stay longer, for near upon half an hour must have elapsed, she replaced the things as she had found them, so far as she could remember. all was done save one drawer; a small drawer, at the foot, next the slab. it had but a few receipted bills in it: there was one from a saddler, one from a coach maker, and such like. the drawer was very shallow; and, in closing it, the bills were forced out again. charlotte guise, in her trepidation and hurry, pulled the drawer forwards too forcibly, and pulled it out of its frame. had it chanced by accident--this little contretemps? ah, no. when do these strange trifles pregnant with events of moment, occur by chance? at the top of the drawer, itself in the drawer, appeared a narrow, closed compartment, opening with a slide. charlotte drew the slide back, and saw within it a folded letter and some small article wrapped in paper. the letter, which she opened and read, proved to be the one written by basil castlemaine on his death-bed--the same letter that had been brought over by young anthony, and given to his uncle. there was nothing much to note in it--save that basil assumed throughout it that the estate was his, and would be his son's after him. folding it again, she opened the bit of paper: and there shone out a diamond ring that flashed in the candle's rays. charlotte guise took it up and let it fall again. let it fall in a kind of sick horror, and staggered to a chair and sat down half fainting. for it was her husband's ring. the ring that anthony had worn always on his left-hand little finger: the ring that he had on when he quitted gap. it was the same ring that john bent and his wife had often noticed and admired; the ring that was undoubtedly on his hand when he followed mr. castlemaine that ill-fated night into the friar's keep. his poor wife recognized it instantly: she knew it by its peculiar setting. to her mind it was proof indisputable that he had indeed been put out out of the way for ever. mr. castlemaine must have possessed himself of the ring, unwilling that so valuable a jewel should be lost: perhaps had drawn it from anthony's finger after death. she shuddered at the thought. but, in the midst of her distress, reason told her that this was only a negative proof, after all; not sufficient for her to act upon, to charge mr. castlemaine with the murder. when somewhat recovered, she kissed the ring, and put it back into the small compartment with the letter. pushing in the slide, she shut the drawer, and closed and locked the bureau; thus leaving all things as she had found them. not very much result had been gained, it is true, but enough to spur her onwards on her future search. with her mind in a chaos of tumult,--with her brain in a whirl of pain,--with every vein throbbing and fevered, she left the candle on the ground where she had now lodged it, and went to the window, gasping for air. the night was bright with stars; opposite to her, and seemingly at no distance at all, rose that dark building, the friar's keep. as she stood with her eyes strained upon it, though in reality not seeing it, but deep in inward thought, there suddenly shone a faint light at one of its casements. her attention was awakened now; her heart began to throb. the faint light grew brighter: and she distinctly saw a form in a monk's habit, the cowl drawn over his head, slowly pass the window; the light seeming to come from a lamp in his outstretched hand. all the superstitions tales she had heard of the place rushed into her mind: this must be the apparition of the grey friar. charlotte guise had an awful dread of revenants, and she turned sick and faint. with a cry, only half suppressed, bursting from her parted lips, she caught up the candle, afraid to stay, and flew through the door into the narrow passage. the outer door was opening to her hand, when the voice of harry castlemaine was heard in the corridor, almost close to the door. ah, far more sick and faint did she turn now! discovery seemed inevitable. instinct led her to blow out the light and to push the door as close as she could push it. she dared not shut it: he might have heard the click of the latch. had the others come home? was mr. castlemaine ascending to his study to catch her there? trembling, shaking, panting, the unhappy lady stood in this acme of terror, the ghost of the friar's keep behind her, the dread of detection before her. and the candle was making a dreadful smell! that alone might betray her: harry castlemaine might push back the door to ascertain where the smell came from. could the floor have opened and disclosed a yawning pit, the unhappy lady would thankfully have disappeared within it. the minute seemed like an hour. harry did not come on. he appeared to have halted close by to listen to something. miles was speaking below. "thought i had gone with them to the dinner, and so put out the lights!" retorted harry, in his, free, clear, good-natured tones. "you saw the carriage drive away, i suppose, without me. well, light up again, and bring in some supper." he came on now, and went into his chamber at the end of the corridor. staying there a minute or two, as though changing his coat, he passed back, and down stairs again. charlotte guise, shaking, in every limb, stole out as the echo of his footsteps died away, closed the door and took refuge in her own room. there she went into hysterics: hysterics that she was totally unable to suppress, and muffled her head in a blanket to deaden the cry. the next morning there was commotion in the house: miss flora castlemaine had found herself locked in her bedroom. given to take impromptu excursions in a morning en robe de nuit, after books, or the kitten, or into somebody's bedroom who was sure not to want her, the young lady for once found herself caged. mrs. castlemaine made an angry stir about it; locked doors were so dangerous in case of fire, she said. she accused the maid, eliza, who attended on miss flora, and threatened her with dismissal. "i can be upon my bible oath that i never locked the door," cried the girl. "why should i wish to lock it last night, more than any other night? i never touched the key. for the matter of that, i could not tell whether the key was outside or inside. you may send me away this hour, ma'am, but i am innocent, and i can't say more than that." poor madame guise, who was complaining of migrane this morning, and whose eyes were red and heavy, took the blame upon herself, to exculpate the wrongfully accused servant. in her terror of the previous night, she had totally forgotten to unlock flora's door. she hastened now to say that she had looked in on the sleeping child when she herself went to bed: in coming out, it was possible she had turned the key. many of the chamber doors in france shut and opened with the key only, she might have turned the key unthinkingly, meaning but to shut the door. so the matter ended. but charlotte guise could not help feeling how painfully one deceit one wrong act, leads to another. and mr. harry, she found, had never been to the dinner at all. some matter of business, or perhaps some whim, had led him to break his engagement, and to give due notice of it the day beforehand to the entertainers. as miles had observed, one never could be certain of harry castlemaine. chapter xviii. the grey monk. that the grey monk was haunting the friar's keep that night, and for a longer period than could be quite agreeable to any chance passer-by, appeared to be indisputable. some of the grey sisters were up that evening at the coastguard station. the wife of one of the men was very ill, her infant being only three days old: and sister rachel had been with her for the day. at eight o'clock sister rachel was relieved by sister mona, who would remain for the night. sister ann walked up from the nunnery with sister mona for company, and would walk back again with sister rachel. it was about half past eight that they left the station to return home, the sisters ann and rachel. the night was starlight, the air somewhat frosty. talking of the poor woman, just quitted, sister rachel saying the fever was getting higher, they approached the friar's keep. they were on the opposite side of the road, and had nearly reached chapel lane when something strange--some kind of glimmer or faint flash--struck on sister rachel's vision, and caused her to turn her eyes on the upper casements of the keep. with a spring and a cry, she seized hold of sister ann and clung to her. "have you trod upon a stone?" asked practical sister ann. but the very fact of turning to her companion, who was outside, brought the windows of the keep before her, and she saw the grey monk slowly gliding along, with his cowl covering his head, and his lamp in his hand. a shadowy kind of form, suggestive of terrible ideas that don't pertain to earth. the blood of the two unfortunate sisters seemed to turn; they nearly sank away in evaporation. they clung to each other, arm in arm, hand to hand, pushing, staggering, pressing onwards, and in a minute, as it seemed, gained the grey nunnery. the door was opened by sister caroline, and they burst into the reception parlour. the superior sat there, mary ursula; and most of the sisters with her who were not out on charitable missions. to have stopped the tongues of the two terrified grey women would have been about as feasible as to stem a rushing torrent in its overwhelming coarse. they had seen the apparition of the grey monk gliding past the window with their own eyes; had seen his lamp; had nearly fainted at him altogether. "tut, tut, tut!" reproved sister mildred, who was better this evening and down stairs. "i think you must have been deceived by your fears. i never saw it in my life." but they only told their tale the more persistently, and sister mildred wavered. in vain mary ursula represented to them that there were no such things as ghosts: that people in believing in them, were misled by their fears and fancies. to this the two scared women only reiterated that they saw. they were walking quietly along, talking of the poor sick wife of the coastguardsman; nothing could have been further from their thoughts than any fears or fancies, when the figure suddenly appeared, plainly and unmistakably, before their astonished eyes. "sister rachel saw it first," urged sister ann, anxious to defend herself against the imputation of having taken alarm unnecessarily, as though she were a foolish, timid child. "when she called out and caught hold of my arm, i thought she had trod upon a stone, or twisted her foot, or something; and, in turning to her there i saw the pale light in the window, and the figure of the grey monk. we stood rooted to the spot, holding on to one another, just too frightened to move, our poor eyes staring at the keep. he glided past that window, and then past the other, his lighted lamp stretched out in his hand; just as sister lettice once saw him glide a year or so ago--and she knows it." sister lattice, a simple woman, great in pudding-making, who had stood listening with round, frightened eyes, murmured her confirmation. one night, when she was belated, having been to a farm-house where sickness reigned, she had seen it exactly as the two sisters were describing it now; and had come home and fainted. "i was beginning to forget my fright," said sister lettice, looking pleadingly at the two superiors. "but since the late talk there has been about that poor mr. anthony castlemaine, i've not dared to go out of doors at night alone. for the ghost has been seen more frequently since he disappeared: in fact, as the ladies know, it's said by some that it is the young man's spirit that comes now, not the grey friar's." "it was the grey friar we saw to-night, let people say what they will," rejoined sister ann. the talking continued. this was a great event in the monotonous existence of the grey ladies: and the two unfortunate sisters were shaking still. mary ursula withdrew quietly from the room, and put on the grey cloak and bonnet of the order, and came down again, and let herself out at the front door. there was something in all this gossip that disturbed and distressed mary ursula. anthony's fate and the uncertainty connected with it, was more often in her mind than she would have cared to tell. like charlotte guise, she--what with dwelling on it and listening to the superstitions surmises in greylands--had grown to think that the friar's keep did contain some mystery not yet unsolved. as to "ghosts," mary castlemaine's sound good sense utterly repudiated all belief in such. what, then, she naturally asked herself, was this figure, that took the appearance of the traditional grey monk, and showed itself at the windows of the keep, lamp in hand? had it anything to do with the disappearance of anthony? obeying an irresistible impulse, she was going forth to-night to look at this said apparition herself--if, indeed, it would appear again and so allow itself to be looked at. it was perhaps a foolish thing to do; but she wanted to see with her own unprejudiced eyes what and whom it was like. with her whole heart she wished the occurrences of that past february night and the mysteries of the friar's keep--did it in truth contain any--were thrown open to the light of day: it might tend to clear what was dark--to clear her uncle from the silent suspicions attaching to him. it was of course his place to institute this search, but he did not do it. encasing himself in his pride, his haughty indifference, mary supposed he was content to let the matter alone until it righted itself. but she loved her uncle and was painfully jealous for his good name. turning swiftly out of the gate of the nunnery, she went up the hill, passed the chapel ruins, crossed the road, and stood still to gaze at the friars' keep. the church clock was striking nine. taking up her position under the hedge, in almost the selfsame spot where john bent and anthony castlemaine had taken theirs that unlucky night, she fixed her eyes on the windows, and waited. the old building, partly in ruins, looked grey and grim enough. sometimes the moon lighted it up; but there was no moon to night. the stars were bright, the atmosphere was clear. the minutes, as they went by, seemed like hours. mary ursula had not much more patience than other people, and it was exhausting itself rapidly. not a shadow of a sign was there of the grey monk or of any other appearance. to judge by its silence and its lonely look, one might have said the keep had not been entered since the grey monk was alive. "it is hardly to be supposed it would show itself twice in one night," breathed mary, in a spirit that was somewhat of a mocking one. but in that she was mistaken: and she went away too soon. at the end of a quarter of an hour--which had seemed to her like two quarters--she gave it up. crossing the road to the chapel gate, she went in, traversed the ruins to the opposite corner to the friar's keep, and stood looking out to sea. mary had another vexation on her mind that night: earlier in the day a report had reached her in a letter that her recreant lover, william blake-gordon, was engaged again: so soon!--so soon! whether it was true, she knew not: it could not, either way, make much difference to the pain that filled her heart: but the report wrung it cruelly. the other name, mentioned in connection with his, was agatha mountsorrel's; her own close friend of former days. she knew that she ought not to feel this bitter pain, this wild jealousy; that, once he was lost to her, she should have put him out of her mind for good. ah, it is all very well for the wise to lay down laws, to say this is wrong and the other is right and you must act accordingly! human nature is but frail, and the heart must be true to itself. some slight movement caught her attention below. it was low water, and the strip of beach underneath was free. mary leaned over to look. but she could not see: the shelving-out rocks hid the path as she stood. in the deep silence of the night, she thought she could distinguish whispering voices, and she waited until their owners should have passed a little farther on, where a bend inward of the rocks allowed a view to be obtained. it brought the greatest vexation of all! a tall fine form came into sight too tall, too fine, to be any but harry castlemaine's. his arm was around the waist of some young girl; his head was turned to her, and they were conversing eagerly. she wore a dark cloak, its hood drawn up over her head: mary could not see her face, for their backs were towards her, but she fancied it was jane hallet. they passed away under the nunnery, as if returning to the village, and were lost to sight and hearing. only at quite low water was that narrow strip passable. the heaving sea stretched itself out before her eyes; the dead of the past ages were mouldering away beneath her feet; the canopy of sky, studded with stars in its vast expanse, lay above her head. but for all these signs, and the thoughts they involved, mary ursula castlemaine might in that moment have lost heart and courage. the by-ways of life seemed very crooked just then; its troubles pregnant with perplexity and pain. but god was over all. the turbulent waves were held in check by his hand; the long-ago dead had been called by him; the sky and the stars were but emblems of his power. yes, he was over all. from his throne in heaven he looked down on the world; on its cares, its trials, its weaknesses, its temptations and sins; overruling all according to his will. he could set things straight; he was full of compassion, long-suffering, and mercy. the dark troubles here would be merged in a bright hereafter: in a place where there should be no cankering heart-break, where sorrow and suffering should flee away. a few more years, and---- "dear me, ma'am! i beg your pardon." mary ursula, buried in her far-off thoughts in the solitary place, was startled at the address, and turned round with a slight cry. close at her elbow stood john bent; a small basket in his band, covered with a white cloth. "i'm sure i frightened you, ma'am!" "just for the moment you did," she said, with her sweet smile, interrupting his farther apologies. "i was standing to take a look at the sea. how grand it is from this spot!" john bent agreed that it was grand, and proceeded to explain his presence. his wife had dispatched him with some broth and other trifles that might be acceptable to the sick woman up at the coastguard station. in passing the chapel ruins on his way thither, he had caught sight of some one standing at the edge of the cliff, and turned in at once to see who it was. "no wonder you did not hear me, ma'am, for i crept up on tiptoe," he acknowledged. "since the disappearance of mr. anthony castlemaine, this place is just as though it haunted me, for it is never out of my mind. to see somebody standing here in the shade of the corner wall gave me a turn. i could not imagine who it was, and meant to pounce upon 'em." "the place lies on my mind also," said mary ursula. "i wish the doings of that night could be brought to light." the landlord shook his head, she could not wish it as he wished it. "i don't think now it ever will be," he said. "at least, i often fear it will not. there is only one person, as i believe, who could throw light upon it; and it does not seem to be his pleasure to speak." she knew that he alluded to her uncle; and she seized on the moment for speaking a few words that she had long wished to speak to john bent. in spite of the opinion he held, and that she knew he held, in regard to that past night, she respected the man greatly: she remembered how much her father had respected him. "i cannot be ignorant, mr. bent, of the stigma you would cast on mr. castlemaine: the suspicion, i would rather say, lying in your mind against him. i believe that nothing can be more unjust: nothing more inconsistent with the true facts, could they be disclosed." john bent was silent. she stood close in the corner, within the shade cast by the slanting bit of stone wall, the blank side wall of the grey nunnery towering close above her. john was so near as almost to touch her. the sea was before them, a light twinkling on it here and there in the distance from some fishing vessel; the grass-grown square, once the site of the chapel, with its dottings of low crumbling walls, lay to their left, and beyond it was the friars' keep, its gothic door pushed to as usual. a lonely spot altogether it was to stand in, in the silence of the spring night. "why should you cherish this suspicion?" she asked. john bent tilted his hat slightly up on one side, and slowly rubbed his head. he was a very honest-minded, straightforward man; and though he might on occasion find it inexpedient to avow the truth, he yet would not, even by implication, speak an untruth; or tacitly let one be inferred. "it is a subject, ma'am, on which my mouth ought to be closed to you." "not at all," she answered. "were i mr. castlemaine's wife or daughter you might urge that. i am his niece, it is true; but i have now in a manner withdrawn myself from the world, and----but i will leave that argument and go to another. for my own sake, i wish you to speak openly with me. these troubles lie on my mind; sometimes i cannot sleep for thinking of them." "i am sure i cannot sleep for them," said john. "and i think that steps should be taken to put the doubts to flight--if we only knew what steps they could be." john stooped to lodge the basket on the low top of the grass-grown cliff, jutting upwards before him. but he did not answer. "believe me when i say that no thought of reproach on you for entertaining these opinions rests on my mind," proceeded miss castlemaine. "i am sure that you conscientiously hold them; that you cannot divest yourself of them; and----" "i wish i didn't," interposed john. "i only wish i had no cause to." "there is no cause," she said in a low tone; "no true one. i am as sure of it as that i stand here. even had it been mr. castlemaine whom you saw come in here that night, i feel sure his presence could have been explained away. but i think you must have been mistaken. you have no confirmation that it was he: nay, the confirmation lies rather the other way--that he was not here. considering all this, i think you ought not to persist in your opinion, mr. bent; or to let the world believe you persist in it." "as i have said before, madam, this is a matter that i don't care to talk to you upon." "but i wish you to talk to me. i ask you to talk to me. you may see that i speak to you confidentially--do you so speak to me. there is no one else i would thus talk with about it, save you." "madam, it's just this--not but what i feel the honour you do me, and thank you for it; and goodness knows what honour i hold and have always held you in, miss castlemaine--but it's this, ma'am: your opinion lies one way and mine the other: and while i would not insist to you that mr. castlemaine was guilty, i yet can't let myself say he was not." "i am as fully persuaded he was not as that those stars are above us," she said. but john made no reply. "mr. anthony was made away with, madam. i----" "no, no," she interrupted with a shiver. "i don't accuse mr. castlemaine of having done it," proceeded john. "what i say, and hold to, is this, ma'am: that mr. castlemaine must know something of what became of him. but he does not avow it; he keeps silence: and it is that silence that strengthens the suspicions against him. i saw him come in here that night just as surely as i see you here now, miss castlemaine. it's true i did not see him so clearly go into the friar's keep; these mouldering walls, sticking up here and there a foot or two from the earth, dodge one's eyesight: still i saw the shade of him, like, go in: and in less than a minute my attention was called off mr. castlemaine by mr. anthony's own movements. i saw him go into the keep: he made for it straight." "but i say that the person you saw may not have been mr. castlemaine," she urged again, after having quietly heard him to the end. "what other man is there in greylands, ma'am, of the height and bearing of mr. castlemaine--one with the bold, free, upright walk and the gentleman's dress?" returned the landlord. "only mr. harry: and mr. harry is too young and slender to be mistaken for his father even in the moonlight. mr. harry happened to be away that night at newerton." "i think you are cruelly, persistently obstinate. forgive me, mr. bent; i do not wish or intend to hurt your feelings," she added in a gentle, even kind tone. "it seems to me that you must have some animus against mr. castlemaine." "the poor young gentleman was living under my roof, madam. i went forth with him that night, halted with him opposite this very gate, and watched him in. it has sat on my mind always since that i am in a manner accountable for him--that it lies with me to find out what became of him." "i can understand the feeling and appreciate it," she answered quickly. "in itself it is a good and right feeling; but i think that it's very intensity tends to mislead you, and to cause this very animosity against mr. castlemaine. the person you saw come in here may have been a stranger: you have had no confirmation of any kind that it was mr. castlemaine: and the eyesight at night is so deceptive." "yes i have," said john, dropping his voice to a whisper, and speaking with evident reluctance. "i have had confirmation. madam, you make me speak against my better will." "you allude to anthony," she rejoined somewhat impatiently. "you have said, i know, that he likewise thought it was his uncle--as indeed seems proved by the fact of his following him in. but, it may be that he was only led to think so by some exclamation of yours; that he did not see it with his own eyes. he is not here to prove it, one way or the other. in thus pressing my view of the case, i am only anxious that the fair truth should be established," she resumed after an instant's pause, as though she would explain her own persistency. "i am not wishing to mislead or bias you." "we both saw him, ma'am, we both saw plainly that it was mr. castlemaine; but i did not allude to mr. anthony," spoke john, in the same subdued tone. "it has been confirmed by another." "by whom?" she asked, drawing her cloak together with a sharp movement as though she were cold. "do not hesitate; tell me all. i have said that i regard this as a confidential interview." and perhaps john bent, after what had passed, could find no plea of refusal. he was a very persuadable man when either his good sense or his good feeling was appealed to. as mrs. bent was wont to tell him, he had a soft place in his heart. "up to last night that ever was, ma'am, i had no idea that mr. castlemaine had been seen by any but us. but i find he was. i'll tell you what i've heard. you will perhaps think the evidence not worth much, miss castlemaine, for the man who saw him was three parts tipsy at the time: but he must have had his wits about him, for all that." to make clear to the reader what the landlord was about to relate we must go back to the previous evening. on that evening at twilight, john bent sauntered over to the beach, and sat down on the bench to smoke his pipe. it was a fine, still evening, favourable for the fishing-boats. while he was smoking peaceably, and gazing at the stars, beginning to show themselves in the sky, jack tuff, the sailor, strolled up, gave the landlord the good evening, and took his seat on the same bench. he produced his pipe, evidently wanting to smoke; but he just as evidently had no tobacco. john handed him some, and allowed him to light the pipe by his own. talking of this and that, they somehow got upon the subject of anthony castlemaine's disappearance: and mr. tuff, perhaps out of gratitude for the good tobacco, avowed to his astonished companion that he could have confirmed his evidence, had he chosen, as to it having been mr. castlemaine who had crossed the road to the chapel ruins that fatal february night. according to mr. jack tuff's account, his own movements that night had been as follows. he had walked over to the little fishing hamlet, beeton and taken a glass with a comrade there. it might have been two glasses. at any rate, it was enough to make jack wish to pay another social visit as he went back to greylands, instead of going straight home. in one of the three cottages situate at the back of greylands' rest, there lodged a sailor friend of jack's: and accordingly jack turned up chapel lane--the nearest way from where he then was--to make the call. there he stayed until late, taking other glasses, very late indeed for the quiet village; and he turned out considerably after eleven o'clock with unsteady legs. he staggered down chapel lane pretty safely until he neared the other end of it. when opposite the turning to the hutt, who should emerge from that turning but some tall man. at the moment, jack tuff happened to be holding on with one arm to a tree trunk, to steady himself: but he made it out to be mr. castlemaine, and attempted to pull his old round hat off in token of respect. he did not know whether mr. castlemaine saw him; but fancied he did not see him. mr. castlemaine went up the lane towards his home, and jack tuff went on down it. so far, that might be regarded as a corroboration of the master of greylands' statement at the time--namely, that he had left the hutt about half-past eleven after smoking a pipe with the commodore: and the probability seemed to be that mr. castlemaine had not seen jack tuff, or he might have called on him to confirm his testimony as to the hour. jack tuff continued his progress down the small remaining portion of the lane, trying all the while to put on his hat: which he had succeeded in getting off at last. something was undoubtedly the matter with either the head or the hat; for the hat would not go on the head, or the head into the hat. a branch of a tree, or something, caught jack's elbow, and the hat dropped; jack, in stooping for it, dropped also; and there he was, sitting amid the trunks of trees on the side of the lane, his back propped against one of them and his hat nowhere. how long jack remained there he did not pretend to say. his impression was that he fell asleep; but whether that was so, or not, jack could not have told had he been bribed with a golden sovereign. at any rate, the next thing he heard or remembered, was, that some steps were coming down the lane. jack looked up, and saw they were those of the master of greylands. "are you sure it was him?" interrupted john bent, at this point of the narration, edging a little bit nearer to jack on the bench. "in course i'm sure," replied jack tuff. "the moonlight shone full upon him through the leafless branches of the trees, and i saw him plain. he didn't see me that time, for sure. i was in the dark, back amid the clump o' trees; and he went along with his head and eyes straight afore him to the end o' the lane." "and where did he go then?" "don't know. he didn't come back again. suppose he was crossing over to the keep." "well, go on," said john. there was not much more to tell. after this incident, the passing of the master of greylands, mr. tuff bethought himself that he might as well be getting homewards. to make a start, however, was not easy of accomplishment. first he had to find his hat, which took up some considerable tune: it was only when he had given it up for lost that he became conscious it was doubled up under him as he sat. next he had to pull out his match-box and light his pipe: and that also took time. lastly he had to get upon his legs, a work requiring skill, but accomplished by the friendly aid of the trees. altogether from a quarter to half an hour must have been used in the process. once fairly started and clear of the lane, he came upon mr. bent, pacing about opposite the ruins and waiting for mr. anthony castlemaine. "did you hear the pistol-shot?" asked john bent when the recital was over. "never heard it at all," said jack tuff. "i must have been feeling for my hat." "and why did you not say at the time that you saw the master of greylands--and so have borne out my story?" demanded john bent as a final question. "i dare say!" retorted jack tuff: "and he laughed at for an imbecile who was drunk and saw double! nobody 'ud believe me. i'm not a going to say it now, mr. bent, except to you. i'm not a going to draw down mr. castlemaine upon me, and perhaps get put away in gaol." and this was all john bent got from him. that the man spoke the strict truth according to his belief--namely, that it was mr. castlemaine he saw both times that night--john could have staked his life upon. but that the man was equally determined not to say so much to the world, fearing the displeasure of mr. castlemaine: nay, that he probably would deny it in toto if the world questioned him, the landlord was equally sure of. miss castlemaine heard the narrative in silence. it did not shake her belief in the innocence of her uncle; but it made it more difficult to confute john bent, and she was now sorry to have spoken to him at all. with a deep sigh she turned to depart. "we can only wait the elucidation that time will bring," she said to the landlord. "rely upon it that if any ill deed was done that night, mr. castlemaine had no hand in it." john bent maintained a respectful silence. they crossed the ruins, and he held open the gate for her to pass through. just then she remembered another topic, and spoke of it. "what is it that appears at the casements here, in the guise of a grey friar? two of the sisters have been alarmed by it to-night." "something like a dozen people have been scared by it lately," said john. "as to what it is, ma'am, i don't know. senseless idiots, to be frightened! as if a ghost could harm us! i should like to see it appear to me!" with this answer, betraying not only his superiority to the greylands world in general, but his inward bravery, and a mutual goodnight, they parted. john going up the hill with his basket; miss castlemaine turning towards the nunnery, and pondering deeply. strange, perhaps, to say, considering the state jack tuff was avowedly in that eventful night, a conviction that his sight had not deceived him, had taken hold of her. that some mystery did attach to that night, independent of the disappearance of anthony, she had always fancied: and this evidence only served to confirm it. many a time the thought had arisen in her mind, but only to be driven back again, that her uncle was not as open in regard to that night's doings as he ought to be. had it been possible that such an accusation, such a suspicion, whether openly made or only implied, had been brought against herself, she should have stood boldly forth to confront her accusers and assert her innocence, have taken heaven to witness to it, if needs were. he had not done this; he had never spoken of it voluntarily, good or bad; in short, he shunned the subject--and it left an unsatisfactory impression. what should mr. castlemaine want in the chapel ruins at that midnight hour?--what could he want? but if it was he who went in why did he deny it? put it that it was really mr. castlemaine, why then the inference was that he must know what became of anthony. it seemed very strange altogether; a curious, unaccountable, mysterious affair. mary felt it to be so. not that she lost an iota of faith in her uncle; she seemed to trust him as she would have trusted her father; but her mind was troubled, her brain was in a chaos of confusion. in some such confusion as she stepped bodily into a minute later. at the gate of the nunnery she found herself in the midst of a small crowd, a small excited number of people who were running up and jostled her. women were crying and panting, girls were pushing: a man with some object covered up in his arms, was in the midst. when the garb of miss castlemaine was recognized in the gloom as that of the grey sisters, all fell respectfully back. "what is amiss, good people!" asked sister mary ursula. and a faint moan of sympathy escaped her as she heard the answer. polly gleeson, one of tim gleeson's numerous little ones, had set her night-gown on fire and was terribly burnt. tim was somewhere abroad, as usual: but another man had offered to bring the child to the grey ladies--the usual refuge for accidents and sickness. admitted to the nunnery, the little sufferer was carried up to one of the small beds always kept in readiness. sister mildred herself, who was great in burns, came to her at once, directing two of the sisters what was to be done. the sobbing mother, nancy gleeson, who was a great simpleton but had a hard life of it on the whole, asked whether she might not stay and watch by polly for the night: but the ladies recommended her to go home to her other children and to leave polly to them in all confidence. sister mildred pronounced the burns, though bad to look at and very painful, not to be attended with danger: should the latter arise, she promised nancy gleeson to send for her at once. so nancy went away pacified, the crowd attending her; and the good ladies were left to their charge and to the night-watch it entailed. but sister mary ursula had recognized, among the women and girls pressing round the gate, the face of jane hallet. she recognized the dress also, as the one she had seen before that night. meanwhile john bent reached the coastguard station. after chatting with the sick woman's husband, henry mann, who happened to be off duty and at home, john departed again with his empty basket. he chanced to be on the side opposite the friar's keep; for that path led direct from the preventive station--just as the two sisters, ann and rachel, had taken it rather more than an hour earlier. john bent, quite unconscious of what had happened to them, walked along leisurely, his mind full of the interview just held with miss castlemaine. in passing the friar's keep he cast his eyes up to it. few people passed it at night without casting up their eyes--for the fascination that superstition has for most of us is irresistible. were we told that a ghost was in the next lane, a large percentage of us would run off to see it. even as john looked, a faint light dawned on the casement from within: and there came into view the figure, bearing its lamp. it was probably just at that selfsame moment that the eyes of madame guise, gazing stealthily from the window of mr. castlemaine's study, were regaled with the same sight. john bent did not like it any more than madame did; any more than the sisters did. he took to his heels, and arrived at the dolphin in a state of cold chill indescribable. chapter xix. jane hallet. greylands lay, calm and monotonous, basking under the morning sun. there were no signs of any of the commotion that had stirred it the previous night: no crowding people surrounding a sad little burden; no women's cries; and john bent's propriety had come back to him. greylands had heard the news from one end to the other--the grey monk had been abroad again. it had appeared to two of the sisters and to the landlord of the dolphin. the burnt child, an intelligent girl of five years old, lay in the little bed, sister phoebe sitting with her. the window of the room faced the road; it had upright iron bars before it: originally placed there, perhaps, to prevent the nuns putting their heads out to take a sly peep at the world. polly gleeson was in less pain, and lay quietly. mr. parker had looked in, and confirmed sister mildred's opinion that she would do well. the door opened gently, and there entered sister mary ursula and miss reene. ethel, hearing of the accident, had come down from greylands' rest. sister phoeby rose, smiling and nodding, and they approached the bed. "she is ever so much better," said the watching sister. "see, she does not cry at all." polly was a pretty little girl. her brown hair lay around her on the bolster; her dark eyes smiled at the ladies. the face was not touched, and nothing could be seen of the injuries as she lay: the worst of them were about the chest and shoulders. tears stood in ethel's eyes. "poor little polly!" she said, stooping gently to kiss her. "how did it happen, little one?" "billy took the candle to look for a marble on the floor, and i looked too; and then there come a great light and mother screeched out." "but were you not in bed before that time, folly? it was past nine o'clock." "mother was undressing of us then: she'd been a busy washing." "poor little darling! well, polly, you will be well soon; and you must take great care of candles after this." polly gave as emphatic a nod as the bolster allowed her; as much as to say she would never go within wide range of a candle again. miss castlemaine took sister phoeby's place, and the latter went away. that the child was now at ease, appeared evident; for presently her eyelids, heavy with sleep, gradually closed. she had had no sleep all night. mary ursula took some work from her pocket. the sisters were making garments for this child: all she had--and a poor "all" it was--had been from the floor by the terrified mother, and caught up rolled round her to put the fire out. "how peaceful it seems here," said ethel in a low tone. "i think i should like to come and be a sister with you, mary." miss castlemaine smiled one of her sad smiles. "that would never do, ethel." "it is so useful a life." "you will find usefulness in another sphere. it would not be right that you should bury yourself here." "we all told you that, mary, you know, at greylands' rest. but you have done it." "my dear, the cases are essentially different. my hopes of happiness, my prospects in the world were over: yours, ethel, are not even yet in the bud. when some good man shall woo and win you, you will find where your proper sphere of usefulness lies." "i don't want to be won," spoke ethel: just as young girls are given to say. "i'm sure i would ten times be a grey sister than marry harry castlemaine." mary looked up with unusual quickness. the words brought to her mind one of the incidents of the past night. "harry does not continue to tease you, does he, ethel?" "yes he does. i thought he had left it off: but this morning he brought the subject up again--and he let everybody hear him!" "what did he say?" "not very much. it was when he was going out of the room after breakfast. he turned his head to me and said he hoped i should soon be ready with my answer to the question he had put to me more than once. papa and mamma must have understood what he meant. i could have thrown the loaf after him." "i think he must be only doing it in joke, ethel," was the slow, thoughtful rejoinder. "i don't know whether he is or not. sometimes i think he is; at others i think he is in earnest: whichever it may he, i dislike it very much. not for the whole world would i marry harry castlemaine." "ethel, i fancy--i am not sure, but i fancy--you have no real cause to fear he will press it, or to let it trouble you. harry is hardly staid enough yet to settle down. he does many random things." "we have had quite a commotion at home this morning," resumed ethel, passing to another topic. "somebody locked flora in her bedroom last night--when she wanted to run out this morning as usual, the door was fast. mamma has been so angry: and when the news of polly gleeson's accident came up just now, she began again, saying flora might just as well have been burnt also as not, burnt to death." "who locked her in?" "i don't know--unless it was madame guise. papa and mamma and i were at dinner at stilborough--at the barclays', mary. harry would not go. it was a nice party. we had singing in the evening." "but about the door?" "well, madame guise thought she might have unintentionally done it. she said she went in last night to look at flora. i can scarcely think she did it, for she had gone in many a time and never turned the key before. or the keys of other doors, either." "at least, it does not seem to have been of any consequence. "no; only mamma made it so. i tell you every little trifle that i can, mary," she added, laughing quietly. "shut up here, it seems to me that you must like to hear news from the outer world." "and so i do," was the answer. "i have not lost all interest in my fellow pilgrims, i assure you, ethel." "i wore my black net trimmed with white satin ribbons: you can't think how nice it looked, mary," said miss ethel, some of her vanity creeping to the fore. "and a silver flower in my hair." "i have no doubt the dress and the flower did look well, considering what a pretty girl it was adorning," was mary's reply. and ethel blushed slightly. she knew how nice-looking she was. "does madame guise continue to suit?" "oh, quite well. mrs. castlemaine thinks there's nobody to equal her. i like her also; but at times she puzzles me." "how does she puzzle you?" "well, i can hardly explain it. she seems strange at times. but i must be going," added ethel, rising. "you are in a hurry, ethel." "i have to go up the cliff to miss hallet's. jane is hem-stitching some handkerchiefs for mamma. mamma had one of them with her last night: mrs. barclay saw the work, and said she would like some done for herself. so i am to tell jane to call at mrs. barclay's the next time she goes to stilborough. the work is really beautiful: it is the broad hem-stitch, you know, mary: four or five rows of it." a few more words spoken in the same low tone, lest the sleeping child should be disturbed, and ethel took her departure. opposite the beach she encountered mrs. bent: who was crossing back home in her cherry-ribboned cap from a purchase at pike's tea and general shop. "a nice day again, miss ethel!" "it is a lovely day," said ethel, stopping; for she and mrs. bent were great friends. "i have been in to see poor polly gleeson. how badly she is burnt!" "the only wonder is that it never happened before, with that imbecile of a mother," was mrs. bent's tart rejoinder. "of all incapable women, nancy gleeson's about the worst. fancy her letting the children play with a candle in their night-gowns! where could her senses have been?" "well, it is a sad thing for polly. but the sisters say she will do well. oh, by the way, mrs. bent," continued ethel, turning as she was going onward, "will you let mamma have your receipt for stewed eels again? the new cook does not do them to her mind and mamma cannot tell where the fault lies." "it's the best receipt for eels in the three kingdoms," spoke mrs. bent with pride. "it was my mother's before me." "will you step across for it now, miss ethel?" "not now: as i come back. i am going up the cliff." "to that nancy gleeson's, i suppose," cried mrs. bent in her free manner. "she does not deserve it. if i had twenty children about me, i'll be bound not one of 'em should ever set itself alight in my presence." "not there," said ethel slightly laughing at mrs. bent's tartness. "i am taking a message from mamma to jane hallet." "i hope it is to warn her not to make herself so free with mr. harry," cried mrs. bent, speaking on the moment's impulse. had she taken time for thought she would not have said it. "warn her not to make herself so free with mr. harry!" repeated ethel, somewhat haughtily. "why, mrs. bent what can you mean?" "well, i have seen them walking together after nightfall," said mrs. bent, unable to eat her words. "they may have met accidentally," returned ethel after a pause. "oh, of course, they may," assented mrs. bent in a significant tone. "since when have you seen them?" pursued ethel, feeling surprised and rather scandalized. "ah, well, i can't tell that. since last autumn, though. no harm may be meant, miss ethel; i don't say it is; and none may come of it: but young girls in jane hallet's position ought to take better care of themselves than to give rise to talk." ethel continued her way to the cliff in some annoyance. while mr. harry castlemaine made a pretence of addressing herself, it was not agreeable to hear that he was flirting with the village girls. it's true ethel did not intend to listen to his suit: she absolutely rejected it; but that made little difference. neither in itself was this walking with jane hallet the right thing. what if he made ana fond of him? many a possibility was more unlikely than that. as to any "harm" arising, as mrs. bent had just phrased it, ethel did not fear that--did not, in fact, cast a thought to it. jane hallet was far superior to the general run of girls at greylands. she had been well educated by the grey ladies, morally and else, having gone to school to them daily for years; she was modest and reticent in manner; and ethel would as soon believe a breath of scandal could tarnish herself as jane. her brother, george hallet, who was drowned, had been made a sort of companion of by harry castlemaine during the last year or two of his life, as greylands well remembered: and ethel came to the conclusion that the intimacy mrs. bent talked of must be a sort of remnant of that friendship, meaning nothing: and so she dismissed it from her mind. mrs. bent, as ethel knew, was rather given to find fault with her neighbours' doings. now it happened that as ethel was ascending the cliff, jane hallet, within the pretty cottage near the top of it, was being taken to task by her aunt for the same fault that mrs. bent had spoken of--the staying abroad after nightfall. miss hallet had latterly found much occasion to speak on this score; but jane was invariably ready with some plausible excuse; so that miss hallet, naturally unsuspicious, and trusting jane as she would have trusted herself, never made much by the argument. after taking the cambric handkerchief to greylands' rest the previous evening, jane had gone home, swallowed her tea hastily, put off the best things that her aunt grumbled at her for having put on and then sat down to work. some article was wanted in the house; and at dusk jane ran down in her dark cloak to get it. from which expedition she did not get back until half-past nine was turned: and she seemed to have come up like one running for a wager. miss hallet was then ill with an attack of spasms, and jane remained unreproved. this morning when the housework was done, and they had begun their sewing, miss hallet had leisure to recur to it. jane sat by the window, busy at one of the handkerchiefs. the sun shone on her bright flaxen hair; the light print dress she wore was neat and nice--as jane's dresses always were. "how long does it take to get from here to pike's shop and back again, jane?" "from here to pike's shop and back again, aunt?--i could do it in a short ten minutes," said unsuspicious jane, fancying her aunt might be wanting to send her there. "it would take you longer, of course." "how did it happen then last night that it took you two hours and ten minutes?" demanded miss hallet. "you left here soon after half past seven, and you did not get back till close upon ten." the soft colour in jane's face grew bright on a sudden. she held her work to the window, as though some difficulty had occurred in the cambric. "after buying the sugar, i went into the parlour to say good evening to susan pike, aunt. and then there came that dreadful outcry about nancy gleeson's poor burnt child." the truth, but not the whole truth. miss jane had stayed three minutes with susan pike; and the commotion about the child had occurred some two hours later. the intervening time she did not allude to, or account for. miss hallet, never thinking to inquire minutely into time, so far accepted the explanation. "if nancy gleeson's children had all been burnt, that's no reason why you should stay out all that while." "nearly everybody was out, aunt. it was like a fair around the nunnery gate." "you go off here; you go off there; pretty nigh every evening you dance out somewhere. i'm sure i never did so when i was a girl." "when it is too dusk to see to work and too soon to light the candle, a run down the cliff does no harm," returned jane. "yes, but you stay when once you are down. it comes of that propensity of yours for gossip, jane. once you get into the company of susan pike or that idle patty nettleby, you take as much thought of time as you might if all the clocks stopped still for you." jane bent to bite off a needleful of cotton--by which her flushed face was hidden. "there you are! how often have i told you not to bite your thread! many a set of teeth as good as yours has been ruined by it. i had the habit once; but my lady broke me of it. use your scissors, and--dear me! here's miss reene." ethel came in. jane stood up to receive her and to hear her message. the girl's face was shy, and her manner was very retiring. ethel thought of what she had just heard; certainly jane looked pretty enough to attract mr. harry castlemaine. but the blue eyes, raised to hers, were honest and good; and ethel believed jane was good also. "thank you: yes, i shall be glad to do the handkerchiefs for mrs. barclay," said jane. "but i shall not be going into stilborough for a week or so: i was there yesterday. and of course i should not begin them until i have finished mrs. castlemaine's." "very well; i suppose mrs. barclay is in no particular hurry," said ethel. "jane might get through more work if she chose," remarked miss hallet. "not that i wish her to do any: it is her own will entirely. on the other hand, i have no objection to it: and as she is fond of finer clothes than i should purchase for her, she has to get them for herself. just before you came in, miss reene, i was telling her how she fritters away her time. once dusk has set in, down she goes to her acquaintances in the village, and there she stays with one and another of them, never heeding anything else. it is a great waste of time." of all the hot faces, jane's at that moment was the hottest. she was standing before miss reene, going on with her work as she stood. ethel wondered why she coloured so. "to-night she stays at susan pike's; to-morrow night it's at martha nettleby's; the next night it's at old. mother dance's, under the cliff!" went on miss hallet. "chattering with one gossip and another, and dancing after burnt children, and what not, jane never lacks an excuse for idling away her evenings." "mrs. castlemaine said something about having her initials worked on these handkerchiefs: do you know whether she wishes it done, miss reene?" interposed jane, who seemed to be flurried by the lecture. "i did not like to ask about it yesterday afternoon." "i don't know at all," said ethel "you had better see mrs. castlemaine." "very well, ma'am." ethel went down the cliff again, tripping along the zigzag path. other paths branched off to other cottages. she took one that brought her to the door of tim gleeson's hut: a poor place of two rooms, with a low roof. tim, a very idle, improvident, easy, and in general good-tempered man, sat on a stone at the door, his blue cloth legs stretched out, his rough face gloomy. "you are not in the boat to-day, tim," remarked ethel. "not to-day, miss castlemaine," said the man, slowly rising. "i'm a going out with the next tide. this accident have took all strength out of me! when a lot of 'em come fizzing into the dolphin last night, a saying our polly was afire, you might ha' knocked me down with a feather. mrs. bent she went on at me like anything, she did--as if it was my fault! telling me she'd like to shut the inn doors again' me, for i went there when i ought to be elsewhere, and that i warn't good for my salt. i'd rather it had been any of 'em nor polly: she's such a nice little thing, she is." "is your wife indoors?" "no; she's off to the nunnery. i've vowed to her that if she ever gets another end o' candle in the house, i'll make her eat it," concluded tim, savagely. "but she must have a candle to see with." "i don't care: i won't have the young 'uns burnt like this. thanks to you, miss, for turning out o' your way to think on us. the brats be a squalling indoors. i've just give 'em a licking all round." ethel ran on, and gained the dolphin, entering it by the more familiar door that stood open opposite the beach. mr. and mrs. bent were both in the room: he, reading his favourite weekly newspaper by the fire, the stilborough herald: she, sitting at the table under the window, stoning a plate of raisins. the receipt ethel had asked for lay ready. "you'll please tell mrs. castlemaine, miss ethel, that more or less pounded mace can be put according to taste," observed the landlady, as she handed ethel the paper. "there's no particular quantity specified. it's strong: and a little of it goes a great way." ethel sat down by the table, putting a raisin into her mouth. john, who had risen to greet her, resumed his seat again. to say the truth, miss ethel liked running into the dolphin: it made an agreeable interlude to the general dulness of greylands' rest. the screen introduced into the room during the late wintry weather, had been taken away again. mrs. bent had a great mind to break it up, and burn it; but for that screen ethel reene would not have overheard those dangerous words. but no allusion had been made to the affair since, by any one of them: all three seemed content to ignore it. "you must excuse my going on with my work, miss ethel," said mrs. bent. "we've got a dinner on to-night, and i had no notice of it till a few minutes ago. some grand inspector-general of the coastguard stations is here to-day; and he and two or three more gentlemen are going to dine here this evening. mr. castlemaine, i fancy, is to be one of them." "mr. castlemaine is!" cried ethel. "either him or mr. harry. i b'lieve it's him. and me with not a raisin in the house stoned for plum-pudding! i must make haste if i am to get it boiled. it's not often i'm taken unawares like this." "if you will give me an apron to put on, i'll help you to stone them," said ethel, taking off her black gloves. "now, miss ethel! as if i'd let you do anything of the kind! but that's just like you--always ready to do anybody a good turn." "you give me the apron, please." "i couldn't. if any of them from greylands' rest happened to look in, they'd be fit to snap at me; and at you, too, miss ethel. seeing you stoning plums, indeed! there's no need, either: i am three parts through them." ethel began to do a few without the apron, in a desultory kind of way, and eat two or three more. john bent came to some paragraph in the newspaper that excited his ire. "hear this!" he cried in anger. "hear it, miss ethel! what a shame!" "we have been given to understand that the rumour so freely circulated during this past week, of a matrimonial engagement having been made between mr. blake-gordon and the heiress of mountsorrel, has had no foundation in fact." "the villain!" cried mrs. bent, momentarily forgetting her work. "he can hardly be bad enough to think of another yet." ethel's work was arrested too. she gazed at john bent, a raisin in one hand, a stone in the other. that any man could be so fickle-hearted as this, she had not believed. "i knew the tale was going about," said the landlord; "i heard it talked of in stilborough last market day, miss ethel. any way, true or untrue, they say he is a good deal over at the mountsorrels, and----" john bent brought his words to a standstill; rose, and laid down his newspaper. there had entered a rather peculiar looking elderly gentleman, tall and upright yet, with a stout walking stick in his hand. he wore a long blue coat with wide skirts and brass buttons, drab breeches and top boots. his hair was long and snow white, his dark eyes were fiery. taking off his broad-brimmed hat with old fashioned courtesy, he looked round the room, particularly at mrs. bent and ethel stoning the raisins. it is just possible he mistook the latter for a daughter of the house, dressed in her sunday best. "this is the dolphin, i think!" he cried dubiously. "at your service, sir," said john. "ay, i thought so. but the door seems altered. its a good many years since i was here. oh--ay,--i see. front door on the other side. and you are its landlord--john bent." "well, sir, i used to be." "just so. we shall do. i have walked over from stilborough to see you. i want to know the truth of this dreadful report--that has but now reached my ears." "the report, sir?" returned john--and it was perhaps natural that he should have his head filled at the moment with mr. blake-gordon and the report touching him. "i believe i don't know anything about it." "not know anything about it! but i am told that you know all about it. come!" ethel was rubbing her hands on mrs. bent's cloth preparatory to drawing on her gloves to depart. to help stone raisins in private at the inn was one thing; to help when visitors came in was a different thing altogether. john bent, looked back at the stranger. "perhaps we are at cross-purposes, sir. if you will tell me what you mean, i may be able to answer you." "him that i would ask about is the son of the friend of my early days, basil the careless. young anthony castlemaine." the change of ideas from mr. blake-gordon to the unfortunate anthony was sudden: john bent gave a groan, and coughed it down. the gentleman resumed, after turning to look at ethel as she went out. "is it true that he, basil castlemaine's son, came over the seas to this place a month or two ago?--and took up his abode at this inn?--and put in a claim to his grandfather's estate, greylands' rest? is that true?" "yes, sir." "and where is he, this young anthony?" "i don't know, sir. i wish i did know." "is it true that he disappeared in some singular way one night--and that he has never since been seen or heard of?" "that's true, sir--more's the pity." the questioner took a step nearer john bent, and dropped his voice to a low, solemn key. "i am told that foul play has been at work." "foul play?" stammered john, not knowing whether this strange old man might be friend or foe--whether he might have come there to call him to account for his random words. the stranger paused to notice his changing face, and then resumed. "that the young man has been put out of the way by his uncle--james castlemaine." chapter xx. an unwelcome intruder. the usual dinner hour at greylands' rest was half past one o'clock. mr. castlemaine would have preferred a late dinner--but circumstances are sometimes stronger than we are. however, he never failed to put it off until evening upon the very slightest plea of excuse. some years before the close of old anthony castlemaine's life, his health failed. it was not so much a serious illness as a long and general ailing. his medical attendant insisted upon his dining early; and the dinner hour was altered from six o'clock to half past one. he recovered, and lived on: some years: but the early dinner hour was adhered to. james had never liked this early dining: and after his father's death he wished to return to the later hour. his wife, however, opposed it. she preferred the early dinner and the social supper; and she insisted upon it to mr. castlemaine that the interests of ethel and flora required that they should continue to dine early. mr. castlemaine said he did not see that: ethel was old enough to dine late, and flora might make her dinner at lunch time. yes, poor child, and have cold meat three days out of the seven, urged mrs. castlemaine. the master of greylands yielded the point as a general rule: but on special occasion--and he made special occasions out of nothing--his edict was issued for the later dinner. the dinner was just over to-day, and the servants had withdrawn, leaving wine and dessert on the table. mr. castlemaine's sitting down had been partly a matter of courtesy, though he did eat a small portion of meat: he was going to dine in the evening at the dolphin. the early afternoon sun streamed into the dining-room: a long, comfortable room with a low ceiling, its windows on the side opposite the fire, its handsome sideboard, surmounted with plate glass, at one end; some open book-shelves, well filled with good and attractive volumes at the other. mr. and mrs. castlemaine, ethel, flora, and madame guise, sat at the table. harry castlemaine had retired, and his chair stood vacant. as a rule, madame guise never sat a minute longer at any meal then she could help: as soon as she could get up without an absolute breach of good manners, she did get up. mrs. castlemaine called it a peculiarity. she estimated madame guise highly as an instructress, but she admitted to her more intimate friends that she did not understand her. to-day, as it chanced (chanced! do these things ever occur by chance?) she had stayed: and she sat in her place at mr. castlemaine's left hand in her perfectly-fitting black dress, with its white cuffs and collar, and her wealth of auburn hair shading her pale and quiet face. mr. castlemaine was in a sociable mood: latterly he had been often too silent and abstracted. his back was to the sideboard as he sat; handsome, upright, well-dressed as usual. ethel was on his right hand, the windows behind her, harry's empty chair between her and mrs. castlemaine; and miss flora, eating almonds and raisins as fast as she could eat them, sat on the other side of her mother with her back to the fire, and next to madame. mrs. castlemaine had introduced the subject that was very much in her thoughts just now--a visit to paris. the master of greylands was purposing to make a trip thither this spring; and his wife, to her great delight, had obtained permission to accompany him. she had never been across the water in her life: the days of universal travelling had not then set in: and there were moments when she felt a jealousy of ethel. ethel had finished her education in the french capital; and was, so far, that much wiser than herself. "i long to see versailles;--and st. cloud;--and the palais royal," spoke mrs. castlemaine in a glow of enthusiasm. "i want to walk about amid the orange-trees in pots; and in the champs elysées; and at père la chaise. and i particularly wish to see the gobelins tapestry, and the people working at it. you must be quite familiar with all these sights, madame guise." "i have seen scarcely any of them," said madame guise in her gentle way. then, perceiving the surprised look on mrs. castlemaine's face, she resumed hurriedly. "we did not live very near paris, madam,--as i think i have said. and we french girls are kept so strictly:--and my mother was an invalid." "and the bonbon shops!" pursued mrs. castlemaine. "i do count much on seeing the bonbon shops: they must be a sight in themselves. and the lovely bonnets!--and the jewellery! what is it that paris has been called?--the paradise of women?" "may i go too?" asked ethel with animation, these attractive allusions calling up reminiscences of her own sojourn in paris. "no," curtly replied mrs. castlemaine. "oh, mamma! why, you will be glad of me to take you about and to speak french for you!" "i shall go, mamma," quickly spoke up flora, her mouth full of cake. "you told me i should, you know." "we will see, my darling," said mrs. castlemaine, not daring to be too self-asserting just then; though her full intention was to take flora if she could contrive it by hook or by crook. "a trip to paris would be an excellent thing for you," she added for the benefit of mr. castlemaine: "it would improve your french accent and form your manners. i'll see, my dear one." mr. castlemaine gave a quiet nod and smile to ethel, as much as to say, "i will see for you." in fact he had all along meant ethel to be of the party; though he would certainly do his best to leave miss flora at home. at this moment flora ought to be practising, instead of greedily eating of every dessert dish within her reach: but oughts did not go for much with miss flora castlemaine. they might have gone for nothing but for madame guise. that lady, rising now from her chair, with a deprecatory bow to mrs. castlemaine for permission, reminded her pupil that she and the piano were both waiting her pleasure. "i don't want to have a music lesson this afternoon; i don't want to practise," grumbled flora. "as you did not get your studies over this morning in sufficient time to take your lesson or to practise before dinner, you must do both now," spoke madame in her steady way. and mr. castlemaine gave the young lady a nod of authority, from which she knew there might be no appeal. "in a minute, papa. please let me finish my orange." she was pushing the quarters of an orange into her month with the silver fork. just then miles came into the room and addressed his master. "you are wanted, sir, if you please." "who is it?" asked mr. castlemaine. "i don't know, sir. some oldish gentleman; a stranger. he asked----" the man's explanation was cut short by the appearance of the visitor himself; who had followed, without permission, from the room to which he had been shown: a tall, erect, elderly man, attired in an ample blue coat and top-boots. his white hair was long, his dark eyes were keen. the latter seemed to take in the room and its inmates; his glance passing rapidly from each to each, as he stood holding his broad-brimmed hat and his stout walking-stick. ethel knew him. instantly for the stranger who had entered the dolphin inn while she was helping mrs. bent with the raisins an hour, or so, ago: and the probability was that he recognized her, for his eyes rested on her for a few seconds. mr. castlemaine had risen. he went a step or two forward as if about to speak, but seemed to be uncertain. the stranger abruptly forestalled him. "do you know me, james castlemaine?" "why--yes--is it not squire dobie?" replied mr. castlemaine, holding out his hand. "just so," replied the stranger, keeping his hands down. "perhaps you won't care to take my hand when you know that i have come here as a foe." "as a foe?" repeated mr. castlemaine. "at present. until i get an answer to the question i have come to put. what have you done with basil's son?" a change passed over the face of mr. castlemaine: it was evident to anybody who might be looking at him; a dark look, succeeded by a flush. squire dobie broke the momentary silence. "my old friend basil's son; basil the careless: young anthony castlemaine." the master of greylands was himself again. "i do not understand you," he said, with slow distinctness. "i have done nothing with the young man." "then rumour belies you, james castlemaine." "i assure you, squire dobie, that i know no more whither young anthony castlemaine went, or where he is now than you know. it has been a mystery to myself, as to every one else at greylands." "i got home to dobie hall last week," continued the stranger; "mean to stay at it, now; have only made flying visits to it since it became mine through poor tom's death. drove into stilborough yesterday for the first time; put up at the turk's head. landlord, old will heyton, waited on me himself this morning at breakfast, talking of the changes and what not, that years have brought, since i and poor tom, and basil the reckless, and other rollicking blades used to torment the inn in the years gone by. we got to speak of basil; 'twas only natural; and he told me that basil had died abroad about last christmas tune; and that his son, named anthony, had come over soon after to put in his claim to his patrimony, greylands' rest. he said that anthony had suddenly disappeared one night; and was thought to have been made away with." during this short explanation, they had not moved. the speaker stood just within the door, which miles had closed, mr. castlemaine facing him a few paces distant. madame guise, waiting for flora, had turned to the stranger, her face changing to the pallor of the grave. the master of greylands caught sight of the pallor, and it angered him: angered him that one should dare to speak of this remarkably unsatisfactory topic in the presence of the ladies of his family, startling and puzzling them. but he controlled his voice and manner to a kind of indifferent courtesy. "if you will take a seat--and a glass of wine with me, squire dobie, i will give you all the information i possess on the subject of young anthony's disappearance. it is not much; it does not really amount to anything: but such as it is, you shall hear it.--my wife, mrs. castlemaine. sophia," turning to her as he made the introduction, "you had finished, i know: be so good as to leave us to ourselves." they filed out of the room: flora first, with madame guise; ethel and her stepmother following. the latter, who knew something of the dobie family, at least by reputation, halted to exchange a few words with the representative of it as she passed him. to judge by her manner, it seemed that she had put no offensive construction on his address to her husband: and the probability was that she did not. mrs. castlemaine might have been less aware than anybody of the disagreeable rumours whispered in greylands, tacitly if not openly connecting her husband with the doings of that ill-fated night: for who would be likely to speak of them to her? squire dobie, remarking that he did not like to sit with his back to the fire passed round the table and took the chair vacated by ethel. he was the second son of the old squire dobie, of dobie hall, a fine old place and property nearly on the confines of the county. in the years gone by, as he had phrased it, he and his elder brother, tom the heir, had been very intimate with basil castlemaine. separation soon came. basil went off on his impromptu travels abroad--from which, as the reader knows, he never returned; tom dobie, the heir, remained with his father at the hall, never marrying: alfred, this younger son, married a yorkshire heiress, and took up his abode on her broad acres. it has been mentioned that tom dobie kept up a private occasional correspondence with basil castlemaine, and knew where he was settled, but that has nothing to do with the present moment. some two years ago tom died. his father, the old squire, survived him by a year: and at his death the hall fell to alfred, who became squire in his turn: he who had now intruded on mr. castlemaine. "no thank you; no wine," he said, as mr. castlemaine was putting the decanter towards him. "i never drink between my meals; and i've ordered my dinner for six o'clock at the turk's head. i await your explanation, james castlemaine. what did you do with young anthony?" "may i ask whether will heyton told you i had done anything with him?" returned mr. castlemaine, in as sarcastic a tone as the very extreme limit of civility allowed him to use. "no. will heyton simply said the young man had disappeared; that he had been seen to enter that queer place, the friar's keep, at midnight, with, or closely following upon the master of greylands. when i inquired whether the whether the master of greylands was supposed to have caused him to disappear, old will simply shrugged his shoulders, and looked more innocent than a baby. the story affected me, james castlemaine; i went out from the breakfast-table, calling here, calling there, upon the people i had formerly known in the town. i got talking of it with them all, and heard the same tale over and over again. none accused you, mind; but i gather what their thoughts were: that you must have had a personal hand in the disappearance of anthony; or, at least, a personal knowledge of what became of him." mr. castlemaine had listened in silence; perfectly unmoved. squire dobie regarded him keenly with his dark and searching eyes. "i know but little of the matter; less, apparently, than you know," he quietly said. "i am ready to tell you what that little is--but it will not help you, squire dobie. "what do you mean in saying less than i know?" "because i never was near the friar's keep at all on that night. your informants, i presume, must have been, by their assuming to know so much." "they know nothing. it is all conjecture." "oh, all conjecture," returned mr. castlemaine, with the air of one suddenly enlightened. "and you come here and accuse me on conjecture? i ought to feel supremely indebted to you, alfred dobie." "what they do say--that is not conjecture--is, that it was you who preceded basil's son into the keep." "who says it?" "basil's son said it, and thought it: it was only that that took him in, poor fellow. the landlord of the inn here, john bent, saw it and says it." "but john bent was mistaken. and you have only his word, remember, for asserting what basil's son saw or said." squire dobie paused, looking full at his host, as if he could gather by looks whether he was deceiving him or not. "was it, or was it not you, who went into the keep, james castlemaine?" "it was not. i have said from the first, i repeat it to you now, that i was not near the keep that night: unless you call teague's hutt near it. as a matter of fact, the hutt is near it, of course; but we estimate distances relatively----" "i know how near it is," interrupted squire dobie. "i came round that way just now, up the lane; and took sounding of the places." "good. i went down to teague's that night--you have no doubt heard all about the why and the wherefore. i smoked a pipe with teague while making the arrangements to go for a sail with him on the morrow; and i came straight back again from the hutt here, getting home at half-past eleven. i hear that teague says he watched me up the lane: which i am sure i was not conscious of." "you were at home here by half-past eleven?" spoke squire dobie. "it had not gone the half hour." "and did not go down the lane again?" "certainly not. i had nothing to go for. on the following morning, before it was light, i was roused from my bed by tidings of the death of my brother peter, and i went off at once to stilborough." "poor peter!" exclaimed the squire. "what a nice steady young fellow he was!--just the opposite of basil. and what a name he afterwards made for himself!" "when i returned to greylands in the afternoon," quietly went on mr. castlemaine, "and found that anthony was said to have disappeared unaccountably, and that my name was being bandied about in connection with it, you may imagine my astonishment." "yes, if you were really ignorant." the master of greylands half rose from his chair, and then resumed it. his spirit, subdued hitherto, was quickening. "forbearance has its limits, squire dobie; so has courtesy. will you inform me by what right you come into my house and persist in these most offensive and aspersive questions?" "by the right of my former friendship for your brother basil. i have no children of my own: never had any; and when i heard this tale, my heart warmed to poor basil's son: i resolved to take up his cause, and try to discover what had become of him." "pardon me, that does not give you the right to intrude here with these outspoken suspicions." "i think it does. the suspicions are abroad, james castlemaine; ignore the fact to yourself as you may. your name is cautiously used: people must be cautious, you know: not used at all perhaps in any way that could be laid hold of. one old fellow, indeed, whispered a pretty broad word; but caught it up again when half said." "who was he?" asked the master of greylands. "i'll be shot if i tell you. john bent? no, that it was not: john bent seems as prudent as the rest of them. look here, james castlemaine: if an impression exists against you, you must not blame people, but circumstances. look at the facts. young anthony comes over to claim his property which you hold, believing it to be his. you tell him it is not his, that it is yours; but you simply tell him this; you do not, in spite of his earnest request, prove it to him. there's bad blood between you: at any rate, there is on your side; and you have an open encounter in a field, where you abuse him and try to strike him. that same night he and john bent, being abroad together, see you cross the road from this chapel lane, that leads direct from your house, you know, and enter the friar's keep; young anthony runs over in your wake, and enters it also: and from that blessed moment he is never seen by mortal eyes again. people outside hear a shot and a scream--and that's all. look dispassionately at the circumstances for yourself, and see if they do not afford grounds for suspicion." "if all the facts were true--yes. the most essential link in them is without foundation--that it was i who went into the friar's keep. let me put a question to you--what object can you possibly suppose i should have in quitting my house at midnight to pay a visit to that ghostly place?" "i don't know. it puzzles everybody." "if john bent is really correct in his assertions, that some one did cross from the lane to the friar's keep, i can only assume it to have been a stranger. no inhabitant of greylands, as i believe and now assure you squire dobie, would voluntarily enter that place in the middle of the night. it has an ill reputation for superstition: all kinds of ghostly fancies attach to it. i should about as soon think of quitting my house at night to pay a visit to the moon as to the friar's keep." squire dobie sat in thought. all this was more than plausible; difficult to discredit. he began to wonder whether he had not been hard upon james castlemaine. "what is your opinion upon the disappearance?" he asked. "you must have formed one." mr. castlemaine lifted his dark eyebrows. "i can't form one," he said. "sometimes i have thought anthony must have attempted to run down the rocks by the uncertain path from the chapel ruins, and have perished in the sea; at others i think he may have left greylands voluntarily that night, and will some day or other reappear again as unexpectedly. his father basil was given to these impromptu flights, you know." "but this is all supposition?" "undoubtedly it is. who was it, then, they watched into the keep, you ask?--that is the least-to-be-accounted-for statement of all. my opinion is that no one entered it; that john bent's eyesight deceived him." "and now one more question, james," resumed the squire, insensibly returning to the more familiar appellation of former days: "is greylands' rest yours, or was it left to basil?" "it is mine." "did it come to you by will?" for a moment mr. castlemaine hesitated before giving an answer. the persistent questioning annoyed him; and yet he did not know how to escape it. "it became mine by deed of gift." "why did you not show the deed to anthony?" "i might have done so had he waited. he was too impatient. i should have done it:" and the emphasis here was marked. "to no one save yourself have i acknowledged so much, squire dobie. i recognize in none the right to question me." squire dobie rose, taking his hat and stick from the side-table where he had laid them, and held out his hand to mr. castlemaine. "if you are an innocent man, james, and i have said what cannot be justified, i heartily beg your pardon. perhaps time will clear up the mystery. meanwhile, if you will come over to dobie hall, and bring your family to stay a few days, i shall be glad to welcome you. who was that nice-looking, delicate featured woman with the light hair?" "with the light hair?--oh, my little daughter's governess. madame guise; a french lady." "and the very pretty girl who was sitting by you?" "miss reene. she is my wife's stepdaughter." squire dobie took his departure, mr. castlemaine walking with him to the hall-door. when outside, the squire stood for an instant as if deliberating which way to choose--the avenue, or the obscure by-way of chapel lane. he took the latter. "i'll see this commodore teague and hear his version of it," he said to himself as he went on. "james castlemaine speaks fairly, but doubts of him still linger on my mind: though why they should i know not." walking briskly up the lane, as he turned into it, came a tall, handsome young fellow, who bore a great resemblance to the castlemaines. squire dobie accosted him. "you should be james castlemaine's son, young man." harry stopped. "i am the son of the master of greylands." "ay. can't mistake a castlemaine. i am squire dobie. you've heard of the dobies?" "oh dear, yes. i knew mr. tom dobie and the old squire." "to be sure. well, there's only me left of them. i have been to pay a visit to your father." "i hope you found him at home, sir." "yes, and have been talking with him. well you are a fine young fellow: over six feet, i suppose. i wish i had a son like you! was that poor cousin of yours, young anthony--who seems to have vanished more mysteriously than anybody ever vanished yet--was he a castlemaine?" "not in height: he was rather short. but he had a regular castlemaine face; as nice-looking as they say my uncle basil used to be." "what has become of him?" "i don't know. i wish i did know!" harry added earnestly. they parted. that this young fellow had borne no share in the business, and would be glad to find its elucidation, squire dobie saw. turning down the little path, when he came to it, that led to the hutt, he knocked at the door. commodore teague was at dinner: taking it in the kitchen to save trouble. but he had the free and easy manners of a sailor, and ushered his unknown guest in without ceremony, and gave him the best seat, while the squire introduced himself and his object in calling. squire dobie?--come to know about that there business of young mr. castlemaine's, and how he got lost and where he went to: well, in his opinion it was all just moonshine. yes, moonshine; and perhaps it might be also squire dobie's opinion that it was moonshine, if he could get to the top and bottom of it. couldn't be a doubt that the young man had come out o' the keep after going into it--'twarn't likely he'd stay long in that there ghostly place--and went off somewhere of his own accord. that's what he, jack teague, thought: though he'd not answer for it, neither, that the young fellow might not have made a false step on the slippery rock path, and gone head foremost down to davy jones's locker. the shot and scream? didn't believe there ever was a scream that night; thought john bent dreamt it; and the shot came from him, teague; after cleaning his gun he loaded it and fired it off. the most foolish thing in it all was to suspect the master of greylands of marching into the keep. as if he'd want to go there at midnight! or at any other time, for the matter of that. mr. castlemaine went away from his place between eleven and half-after; and he, jack teague, saw him go up the lane towards his house with his own eyes: 'twarn't likely he'd come down it again for the purpose of waylaying young anthony, or what not. now, this was the substance of all that the anxious old friend of basil castlemaine could obtain from commodore teague. the commodore seemed to be a rough, honest, jovial-speaking man, incapable of deceit, or of double dealing: and, indeed, as squire dobie asked himself, why should he be guilty of it in this matter? he went away fair puzzled, not knowing what to think; and leaving the savoury smell, proceeding from the commodore's stew getting cold on the table. but why it should have pleased the commodore to favour squire dobie with the rough and ready manners, the loose grammar, he used to the common people of greylands, instead of being the gentleman that he could be when he chose, was best known to himself. crossing the road, as he emerged from the lane, the squire entered the chapel ruins, and went to the edge of the land there. he saw the narrow, tortuous, and certainly, for those who had not a steady foot and head, dangerous path that led down to the strip of beach below: which beach was not discernible now, for it was high water. the path was rarely trodden by man: the ill reputation of the friar's keep kept the village away from it: and, otherwise, there was no possible inducement to tempt men down it. neither, as some instinct taught squire dobie, had it been taken that night by young anthony castlemaine. chapter xxi. in the chapel ruins. madam guise sat buried in a reverie. ethel was reading a french book aloud; flora was practising: but madame, supposed to be listening to both, heard neither the one nor the other. every minute of the hours that had passed since she saw the diamond ring of her unfortunate husband concealed in mr. castlemaine's bureau had been one of agony. the fright and horror she had experienced in the search was also telling upon her: her head ached, her pulses throbbed, her brain was fevered: and but for the dread of drawing attention to herself, that, in her nervousness, she feared might lead to suspicion, she would have pleaded illness and asked permission to remain that day in her chamber. no one but herself knew how she shrunk from mr. castlemaine: she could not be in the same room with him without feeling faint; to sit next to him at the dinner-table, to be inadvertently touched by him, was nothing less than torture. the finding of the ring was a proof to her that her husband had in truth met with the awful fate suspected; the concealment of the ring in the bureau, a sure and certain sign that mr. castlemaine was its author. when they were intruded upon at table by squire dobie with his accusing words, charlotte guise had been scarcely able to suppress her emotion. mr. castlemaine, in catching sight of the pallor of her face, had attributed it simply to the abrupt mention of the disagreeable subject: could he have suspected its true cause he had been far more put out than even by squire dobie's words. an idea had crossed charlotte guise--what if she were to declare herself to this good old gentleman, and beseech him to take up her cause. but she did not dare. it was this she was thinking of now, when she ought to have been attending to miss flora's imperfect fingering. there were reasons why she might not; why, as she clearly saw, it might do her harm instead of good. with the one sole exception of the ring, there was no shadow of proof against mr. castlemaine: and upon the first slight breathing of hostilities, how quickly might he not do away with the ring for ever! and, once let it be declared that she was anthony's wife, that her chief business in the house was to endeavour to track out the past, she would be expelled from it summarily and the door closed against her. how could she pursue her search then? no, she must not risk it; she must bury the ring in silence, and stay at her post. "i should think i've practised long enough, for one afternoon, madame!" flora gave a final dash at the keys as she spoke--enough to set a stoic's teeth on edge. madame looked up languidly. "yes, you may shut the piano. my headache is painful and i cannot properly attend to you." no need of further permission. flora shut down the lid with a bang, and disappeared. ethel closed her book. "i beg your pardon for my thoughtlessness, madame guise. i ought not to have read to you: i forgot your headache. can i get you anything for it?" "your reading has not hurt me at all, my dear. no, nothing: only time will cure me." ethel, who had moved to the window, and was standing at it suddenly burst into a laugh. "i was thinking of that old gentleman's surprise," she said, "when he saw me here. his looks expressed it. where do you think he had seen me to-day before, madame guise?" the mention of the old gentleman--squire dobie--aroused madame's interest. she lifted her languid head quickly. "i do not know." "in mrs. bent's best kitchen, stoning raisins. i went into the dolphin to get something for mamma, and began to help mrs. bent to do them, for she said she should be late with her pudding. old squire dobie came in and saw me at them. when he found me at home here at dinner, i know he was puzzled." "what a--strange manner he had;--what curious things he said to mr. castlemaine!" spoke madame, seizing upon the opportunity. "yes," said ethel, flushing scarlet. "i thought him very rude." "he seemed to think that--that the young mr. anthony i have heard tell of was really killed in secret." "you cannot help people thinking things." "and by mr. castlemaine." "it was very wrong of him; it must be very foolish. i wonder papa took it so calmly." "you do not think it could be so then?" "i! is it likely, madame guise?" "but suppose--my dear miss ethel, suppose some one were to tell you that it was so: that they had proof of it?" "proof of what?" "proof that mr. castlemaine did know what became of an--of the mr. anthony: proof that harm came to him?" "i should laugh at them," said ethel. "and not believe it?" "no, never." ethel left the room with the last words: perhaps to avoid the topic. madame thought so, and sighed as she looked after her. it was only natural she thought: when we are fond of people we neither care to hear ill spoken of them, nor believe the ill; and ethel was very fond of mr. castlemaine. charlotte guise did not wonder: but for this dreadful suspicion, she would have liked him herself. in fact she had insensibly began to like him, in spite of her prejudices, until this new and most convincing proof of his guilt was discovered in his bureau: the search for which had cost her conscience so much to set about, had taxed her fears so cruelly in the act, and was giving her so intense a torment now. "i wonder what will come of it all in the end?" she cried with a slight shiver. "qui vivre, verra." one of the grey sisters appeared at greylands' rest by-and-by, bringing up little marie guise. it was sister ruth. mrs. castlemaine had graciously invited the child to take tea with her mother. but mrs. castlemaine was one who rarely did a kindness without some inward motive--generally a selfish one. marie was beginning to speak a little english now; but never willingly; never when her french could be by any possibility understood. to her mother she invariably spoke in french; and mrs. castlemaine had made the private discovery that, to hear the child and her mother speak together, might improve flora's accent. so madame guise was quite at liberty to have maxie up to tea as often as she liked. "do you remember your papa, dear?" asked mrs. castlemaine in english, as they sat round the tea-table; mr. castlemaine having gone to dine at the dolphin. "sais pas, responded marie shyly, hanging her head at the question. "do you like england better than france, marie?" went on mrs. castlemaine. "sais pas," repeated the child unwillingly, as if she meant to cry. "how is the little burnt girl? better?" "sais pas, moi." evidently it was profitless work, the examining of miss marie guise. ethel laughed, and began talking to her in french. at best, she was but a timid little thing. madame guise started at the dusk hour to take her home; proceeding to the front, open way, down the wide avenue and the high road. at the door of the dolphin stood mrs. bent, a large cooking apron tied round her waist. she was wiping a cut-glass jug with a soft cloth, and apparently had stepped to the door while giving some directions to ned, the man: who stood ready to run off somewhere without his hat. "mind, ned; the very best mocha. and unless it is the best, don't bring it. i'd sooner use what i've got in the house." ned started off across the road in the direction of the beach: no doubt to pike, the grocer's. mrs. bent was whisking in again, when she caught sight of madame guise and the little marie. "you are busy this evening," said madame. "we've got a dinner on," replied mrs. bent stooping to kiss marie, of whom she had grown very fond during the child's sojourn and illness at the inn. "and i had no notice of it till midday--which of course makes one all the busier. i like to get things forward the day beforehand, and not leave 'em to the last minute: but if you don't know of it you can't do that." "a dinner?--yes, i think i heard it said at home that mr. castlemaine was dining at the dolphin." "he is here, for one. there are five of them altogether. captain scott--some grand man he is, they say, who goes about to look up the coastguard in places; and superintendent nettleby; and mr. blackett of the grange. lawyer knivett of stilborough makes the fifth, a friend of captain scott's. and i must run in, ma'am, for i'm wanted ten ways at once this evening." madame guise passed on to the nunnery, and entered it with the child. sister betsey shook her head, intimating that it was late for the little one to come in, considering that she had not long recovered from an illness: and she took her away at once. this left madame guise alone with miss castlemaine. mary ursula sat away from the light, doing nothing: an unusual thing, for the sisters made it a point to be always employed. the muslin cap was on her bright hair; her mourning dress, all crape, handsomer than was strictly consistent with the plain ideas of the community, fell in soft folds around her. these costly robes of sister mary ursula's had been somewhat of a stumbling block in her change of existence: but, as all the sisters said, it would be a sin against thrift to do away with them before they were worn out. "you are thinking me very idle," she said to madame guise in a light tone of half apology for being caught with her hands before her. "but the truth is, i am feeling very tired this evening; unequal to work. i had a sleepless night, and got up with headache this morning." "i too, had a sleepless night," said madame guise, forgetting caution in the sympathy of the moment. "troubles were tormenting me." "what troubles have you?" asked mary ursula in a kind, gentle tone. "you are satisfied with the care the sisters give your little one?" "oh quite; quite. i am sure she is happy here." "and you have told me that she and you are alone in the world." madame guise untied her bonnet, and laid it on the chair beside her, before replying. "most of us have our troubles in one shape or another, i expect; sometimes they are of a nature that we do not care to speak of. it is that thing that the english call a skeleton in a closet. but--pardon me, miss castlemaine--you and i are both young to have already found the skeleton." "true," said mary ursula: and for a moment she was silent from delicacy, intending to drop the subject. but her considerate goodness of heart induced her to speak at again. "you are a lonely exile here, madame: the land and its people are alike strange to you. if you have any source of trouble or care that it would be a comfort to you to share with another, or that i could in any way help to alleviate, impart it to me. you shall find me a true friend." just for one delusive instant, the impulse to take this grand and sweet and kindly lady into her confidence; to say to her i am trying to trace out my poor husband's fate; swayed charlotte guise. the next, she remembered that it must not be; that she was miss castlemaine, the niece of that great enemy. "you are only too good and kind," she rejoined in a sad, faint tone. "i wish i could; i should ask nothing better: but there are some of our burthens we must bear alone." "are you quite comfortable at greylands' rest?" asked mary ursula, unable to repress the suspicion that mrs. castlemaine's temper or her young daughter's insolence might be rendering the governess's place a trying one. "yes--pretty well. that is, i should be," she hastily added, speaking on the impulse of the moment, "if i were quite sure the house was an honest one." "the house an honest one!" echoed mary ursula in undisguised astonishment, a haughty flush dying her face. "what do you mean?" "ah, pardon me, madam!--it may be that i mistake terms--i am not english. i did not mean to say it was a thief's house." "but what do you mean?" madame guise looked full at the questioner. she spoke after a short consideration, dropping her voice to a half whisper. "i would like to know--to feel sure--that mr. castlemaine did not do anything with that poor young man, his nephew." mary ursula sat half confounded--the rejoinder was so very unexpected, the subject so entirely disagreeable. "at least, madame guise, that cannot be any affair of yours." "you are angry with me, madam; your words are cold, your tones resentful. the first evening that i arrived at greylands i chanced to hear about that young man. mollee, the servant at the inn, came up to help me make the tisane for my little child, and she talked. she told of the young man's strange disappearance, saying he was supposed to have been murdered: and that mr. castlemaine knew of it. ah, it had a great effect upon me, that history; i was cold and miserable, and my little one was ill: i could not get it away from my mind." "i think you might have done so by this time," frigidly remarked mary ursula. "but it comes up now and again," she rejoined, "and that keeps alive the remembrance. events bring it up. only to-day, when we had not left the dinner-table, some stranger came pushing his way into the room behind miles, asking mr. castlemaine what he had done with basil's son, young anthony. it put mr. castlemaine out; i saw his face change; and he sent us all from the room." mary ursula forgot her coldness. it was this very subject that had deprived her past night of sleep: though she could no more confess it to madame guise than the latter could confess. the two were playing unconsciously at hide-and-seek with one another. "who was the stranger, madame guise?" "mr. castlemaine called him squire dobie. they were together ever so long. mr. castlemaine, i say, did not like it; one might see that. oh, when i think of what might have happened that night to the young anthony, it makes me shudder." "the best thing you can do is not to think of it, madame guise. it is nothing to you, one way or the other. and it is scarcely in good taste for you to be suspicious of mr. castlemaine while you are eating his bread. rely upon it, when this matter shall have been cleared up--if it ever be cleared--mr. castlemaine will be found as good and honest as you are." the bell for the sisters' supper rang clanging out. madame guise put her bonnet on, and rose. "do forgive me," she whispered with deprecation. "i might not to have mentioned it to you; i did not wish to offend, or to hurt your feelings. but i am very lonely here; i have but my own heart to commune with." "and thoughts are free," reflected mary ursula. "it was only natural that the mysterious story should lay hold of her." and in heart she excused the stranger. "be at ease," she said, taking madame's hand. "dismiss it from your mind. it is not a thing that need trouble you." "not trouble me!" repeated madame guise to herself as she went through the gate. "it is me alone that it ought to trouble, of all in the wide world." she turned to the right, intending to go home by chapel lane, instead of crossing to the broad open front road; but to pass the friar's keep at any period of the day, and especially at night, had for charlotte guise an irresistible fascination. some instinct within her, whether false or true, was always whispering that it was there she must seek for traces of her husband. she reached the gate of the chapel ruins, hesitated, and then entered it. the same fascination that drew her to pass the friar's keep on her road home, caused her to enter the ruins that led to the place. a shiver, induced by nervousness, took her as she closed the gate behind her; and she did not pass into the keep, but crossed over to the edge of the cliff. the sea and the boats on it seemed like so much company. not that many boats could be seen. just two or three, fishing lower down beyond the village, rather far off, in fact; but their lights proved that they were there, and it made her feel less lonely. it was not a very light night: no moon, and the stars did not shine over brightly; but the atmosphere was clear, and the moss-covered wall of the friar's keep with its gothic door might be seen very distinctly. "if i only dared go in and search about!--with a lantern or something of that!" she said to herself, glancing sideways at it. "i might come upon some token, some bit of his dress, perhaps, that had been torn away in the struggle. for a struggle there must have been. anthony was brave, and he would not let them take his life without having a fight for it. unless they shot him without warning!" burying her face in her hands, she shudderingly rehearsed over to herself what that struggle had probably been. it was foolish of her to do this, for it gave her unnecessary pain: but she had got into the habit of indulging these thoughts instead of checking them; and perhaps they came unbidden. you must not cherish your sorrow, we say to some friend who is overwhelmed with grief and despair. no, answers the poor sufferer: but how can i help it? just so was it with charlotte guise. day by day, night by night, she saw only her husband and his unhappy fate; she was as a sick person in some fever dream, whose poor brain has seized hold of one idea and rambles upon it for ever. "there's the ring in mr. castlemaine's bureau!--and if i could find some other token of his person here, elucidation might come of it," she resumed, lifting her head. "a button; a glove; a torn bit of cloth?--i should know them all. it is pénible to continue to lead this false life! as i am, unknown, i can do nothing. i may not even ask john bent to let me take just one look at his dear effects, or as much as open the lid of his small desk. while i am madame guise, it is no affair of mine, i should be told; i must not concern myself with it: but if i might show to the world that i am charlotte castlemaine, the right would be all mine. it is awkward; because i may not show it to them: and i can only search out traces in secret; that friar's keep may hold proofs of what his fate has been, if i could but go in and look for them." she turned her head towards the old building, but not very courageously: at the best, it was but a ghostly-looking place at night: and then turned it back and gazed out to sea again. "no. i should not have the bravery to go in alone; even if i could secure a lantern. there's that revenant that comes; and it might appear to me. i saw it as distinctly last night from mr. castlemaine's window as i ever saw anything in my life. and if i were in the place, and it appeared to me, i should die of fear.--i think i half died of fear last night when i heard the voice of mr. harry," she went on, after a pause: "there was he, before me, and there was the revenant, over here, behind me; and----" some sound behind her at this moment nearly made charlotte guise start out of her skin. when buried in ghostly visions--say, for instance, in reading a frightful tale alone at night--we all know how a sudden noise will shake the nerves. the gate was opening behind charlotte, and the fright sent her bang against the wall. there she cowered in the corner, her black clothes drawn round her, suppressing the cry that would have risen to her lips, and, praying to escape detection. she did escape it. thanks to the shade cast by the angle of projecting wall, and to her dark clothes, she remained unseen. it was harry castlemaine who had entered. he advanced to the edge of the cliff, but not near to her, and stood there for a few moments, apparently looking out to sea. then he pushed open the gothic door, and passed into the friar's keep. what was charlotte guise to do? should she make a dart for the gate, to get away, running the risk of his coming out again and pouncing upon her; or should she stay where she was until he had gone again? she decided for the former, for her present situation was intolerable. after all, if he did see her, she must make the excuse that she had crossed the ruins to take a look at the beautiful sea: he could not surely suspect anything from that! but this was not to be accomplished. she was just about to glide away from her hiding place, when the gate again opened, and some other figure, after looking cautiously about, came gliding into the ruins. a woman's light figure, enveloped in a dark cloak, its hood concealing the head and partly the face. it crossed the ruins cautiously, with a side look steadily directed to the keep door, as if to guard against surprise, and then stood at the edge, under cover of the keep, gazing attentively out to sea. madame guise was at the opposite corner close to the wall of the nunnery, and watched all this. by the glimpse of the profile turned sideways to her, she thought it was the young girl they called jane hallet. slowly turning away from the sea, the girl was apparently about to steal back again, when she suddenly drew herself flat against the old moss-eaten wall of the friar's keep, and crouched down there. at the same moment, harry castlemaine came out of the keep, strode with a quick step to the gate, and passed through it. the girl had evidently heard him coming out, and wished to avoid him. he crossed the road to chapel lane; and she, after taking another steady look across the sea, quitted the ruins also, and went scuttering down the hill in the direction of her home. charlotte guise breathed again. apart from her husband's disappearance and the tales of the revenant she so dreaded, charlotte could not help thinking that things connected with the friar's keep looked romantic and mysterious. giving ample time for harry castlemaine to have got half way up the lane on his road home, she entered the lane herself, after glancing up at the two windows, behind which the grey friar was wont to appear. all was dark and silent there to-night. she had not gone ten paces up the lane, when quick, firm footsteps were heard behind her: those of the master of greylands. not caring to encounter him, still less that he should know she chose that lonely road for returning home at night, she drew aside among the trees while he passed. he turned down to the hutt, and madame guise went hastening onwards. mr. castlemaine was on his way homewards from the dinner at the dolphin. when the party broke up, he had given his arm to nettleby the superintendent; who had decidedly taken as much as he could conveniently carry. it pleased the master of greylands, in spite of his social superiority, to make much of the superintendent as a general rule; he was always cordial with him. captain scott had taken the same--for in those days hard drinking was thought less ill of than it is in these--and had fallen fast asleep in one of john bent's good old-fashioned chairs. as mr. castlemaine came out of the superintendent's gate after seeing him safely indoors, he found lawyer knivett there. "why, knivett, is it you?" he exclaimed. "i thought you and the captain were already on your road to stilborough." "time enough," replied the lawyer. "will you take a stroll on the beach? it's a nice night." mr. castlemaine put his arm within the speaker's, and they crossed over in that direction. both of them were sober as judges. it was hardly light enough to see much of the beauty of the sea; but mr. knivett professed to enjoy it, saying he did not get the chance of its sight or its breezes at stilborough. in point of fact, he had something to say to the master of greylands, and did not care to enter upon the subject abruptly. "weary work, it must be, for those night fishermen!" remarked the lawyer, pointing to two or three stationary lights in the distance. "they are used to it, knivett." "i suppose so. use goes a great way in this life. by the way, mr. castlemaine--it has just occurred to me--i wish you'd let me give you a word of advice, and receive it in good part." "what is it? speak out." "could you not manage to show the deed of tenure by which you own greylands' rest?" pursued the lawyer, insensibly dropping his voice. "i suppose i could if i chose," replied mr. castlemaine, after a scarcely perceptible pause. "then i should recommend you to do so. i have wanted to say this to you for some little time; but the truth is, i did not know how you would take it." "why have you wanted to say it to me?" "well--the fact is, people are talking. people will talk, you know--great idiots! if you could contrive to let somebody see the deed--of course you'd not seem to show it purposely--by which you hold the property, the world would be convinced that you had no cause to--to wish young anthony out of the way, and would stop its blatant tongue. do so, mr. castlemaine." "i conclude you mean to insinuate that the world is saying i put anthony out of the way." "something of that. oh, people are foolish simpletons at the best. of course, there's nothing in it; they are sure of that; but, don't you perceive, once let them know that young anthony's pretensions had not a leg to stand upon, and they'd see there was no mo----in fact, they'd shut up at once," broke off the lawyer, feeling that he might be treading on dangerous ground. "if you have the deed at hand, let it be seen one of these first fine days by some worthy man whose word can be taken." "and that would stop the tongues you say?" "undoubtedly it would. it would be a proof that you, at least, could have no motive for wishing anthony elsewhere," added the lawyer more boldly. "then, listen to my answer, knivett: no. i will never show it for any such purpose; never as long as i live. if the world likes to talk, let it talk." "it does talk," urged the lawyer ruefully. "it is quite welcome to talk, for me. i am astonished at you, knivett; you might have known me better than to suggest such a thing. but that you were so valued by my father, and respected by me, i should have knocked you down." the haughty spirit of the master of greylands had been aroused by the insinuation: he spoke coldly, proudly, and resentfully. mr. knivett knitted his brow: but he had partly expected this. "the suggestion was made in friendliness," he said. "of course. but it was a mistake. we will forget it, knivett." they shook hands in silence. mr. knivett crossed over to the inn, where the fly waited to convey himself and captain scott to stilborough; and the master of greylands had then commenced his walk homewards, taking the road that would lead him through chapel lane. chapter xxii. miss hallet in the dust. miss hallet stood in the parlour of her pretty cottage on the cliff. for a wonder, she was doing nothing--being usually a most industrious body. as she stood upright in deep thought, her spare, straight, up-and-down figure motionless, her pale face still, it might be seen that some matter was troubling her mind. the matter was this: jane (as she phrased it to herself) was getting beyond her. a week or more had elapsed since the night jane had made the accident to polly gleeson an excuse for staying out late. children could not be burnt every night,--and yet the fault continued. each night, since then, had she been out, and stayed later than she ought to stay: a great deal later than her aunt considered was at all proper or expedient. on the previous night, miss hallet had essayed to stop it. when jane put on her cloak to take what she called her run down the cliff, miss hallet in her stern, quiet way, had said, "you are not going this evening, jane." jane's answer had been, "i must go, aunt; i have something to do"--and went. "what's to be done if she won't mind me?" deliberated miss hallet. "i can't lock her up: she's too old for it. what she can possibly want, flying down the cliff night after night, passes my comprehension. as to sitting with goody dance or any other old fish-wife, as jane sometimes tells me she has been doing, i don't believe a word of it. its not in the nature of young girls to shut themselves up so much with the aged. why, i have heard jane call me old behind my back--and i want a good twenty or thirty years of old dame dance's age." miss hand stopped a minute, to listen to sounds overhead. jane was up there making the beds. she soon resumed her reflections. "no, it's not mother dance, or any other old mother. it's her love of tattle and gossip. when young girls can get together, they'd talk of the moon if there was no other subject at hand--chattering geese! but that there's not a young chap in all the village that jane would condescend to look at, i might think she had picked up a sweetheart. she holds herself too high for any of them. and quite right too: she is above them. they are but a parcel of poor fishers: and as to that young pike, who serves in his father's shop, he has no more sense in him, and jane knows it, than a kite's tail. no, it's not sweethearts! it's dawdling and gossip along with susan pike and the rest of the foolish girls. but oh, how things have changed!--to think that jane hallet should consort with such!" miss hallet lifted her eyes to the ceiling, as though she could see through it what jane was about. by the sound it seemed that she was sweeping the carpet. "she is a good girl on the whole; i own that," went on miss hallet. "up betimes in a morning, and keeping steady to whatever she has to do, whether it may be housework or sewing: and never gadding in the day-time. the run in the evening does her good, she says: perhaps so: but the staying late doesn't. i don't like to be harsh with her," continued miss hallet, after a pause. "she stands alone, save for me, now her brother's gone--and she grieves after him still. moreover, i am not sure that jane would stand any harsh authority, if i did put it forth. poor george would not--though i am sure i only wanted to control him for his good: he went off and made a home for himself down in the village: and jane has a touch of her brother's spirit. there's the difficulty." at this moment jane ran down the stairs with a broom and dust-pan, and went into the kitchen. presently she came forth in her bonnet and shawl, a small basket in her hand. "where are you off to?" asked miss hallet snappishly. for if she did acknowledge to herself that jane was a good girl, there was no necessity to let jane know it. and miss hallet was one of those rigid, well-meaning people who can hardly ever speak to friend or foe without appearing cross. all for their good, of course: as this tart tone was for jane's. "to buy the eggs, aunt. you told me i was to go for them when i had done the rooms." "i'll go for the eggs myself," said miss hallet, "i'll not be beholden to you to do my errands. take your bonnet off and get to your work. those handkerchiefs of mrs. castlemaine's don't seem to progress very quickly." "they are all finished but one, aunt. there have been the initial letters to work--which mrs. castlemaine decided afterwards to have done; and the letters take time." "put off your things, i say." jane went away with her bonnet and shawl, came back, and sat down to her sewing. she did not say, why are you so angry with me? she knew quite well why it was, and preferred to avoid unsatisfactory topics. miss hallet deliberately attired herself, and went out for the eggs. they kept no servant: the ordinary work of the house was light: and when rougher labour was required, washing and cleaning, a woman came in from the village to do it. the hallets were originally of fairly good descent. miss hallet had been well reared, and her instincts were undoubtedly those of a gentlewoman: but when in early life she found that she would have to turn out in the world and work for her living, it was a blow that she never could get over. a feeling of blight took possession of her even now when she looked back at that time. in the course of years she retired on the money bequeathed to her, and on some savings of her own. her brother (who had never risen higher than to be the captain of a small schooner) had then become a widower with two children. he died: and these children were left to the mercy of the world, very much as he and his sister had been left some twenty years before. miss hallet took to them. george was drowned: it has been already stated: jane was with her still; and, as the reader sees, was not altogether giving satisfaction. in miss hallet's opinion, jane's destiny was already fixed: she would lead a single life, and grow gradually into an old maid, as she herself had done. miss hallet considered it the best destiny jane could invoke: whether it was or not, there seemed to be no help for it. men whom she would have deemed jane's equals, were above them in position: and she believed jane would not look at an inferior. so miss hallet had continued to live on in her somewhat isolated life; civil to the people around her but associating with none; and always conscious that her fortunes and her just merits were at variance. she attired herself in a rather handsome shawl and close straw bonnet, and went down the cliff after the required eggs. jane sat at the open parlour window, busy over the last of mrs. castlemaine's handkerchiefs. she wore her neat morning print gown, with its small white collar and bow of fresh lilac ribbon, and looked cool and pretty. miss hallet grumbled frightfully at anything like extravagance in dress; but at the same time would have rated jane soundly had she seen her untidy or anything but nice in any one particular. when the echo of her aunt's footsteps had fully died away, jane laid the handkerchief on the table, and took from her pocket some other material, which she began to work at stealthily. that's the right word for it--stealthily. for she glanced cautiously around as if the very moss on the cliff side would take note of it, and she kept her ears well on the alert, to guard against surprise. miss hallet had told her she did not get on very quickly with the handkerchiefs: but miss hallet did not know, or suspect, that when times were propitious--namely, when she herself was away from observation, or jane safely shut up in her own room--the handkerchiefs were discarded for this other work. and yet, the work regarded casually, presented no private or ugly features. it looked like a strip of fine lawn, and was just as nice-looking and snowy as the cambric on the table. jane's fingers plied quickly their needle and thread. presently she slipped a pattern of thin paper out of her pocket, unfolded it, and began to cut the lawn according to its fashion. while thus occupied, her attentive ear caught the sound of approaching footsteps: in a trice, pattern and work were in her pocket again out of sight, and she was diligently pursuing the hem-stitching of the handkerchief. a tall, plain girl, with straggling curls of a deep red darkened the window: miss susan pike, daughter of pike, the well-to-do grocer and general dealer. deep down in jane hallet's heart there had always lain an instinctive consciousness, warning her that she was superior to this girl, as well as to matty nettleby, of quite a different order altogether: but the young crave companionship, and will have it, suitable or unsuitable, where it is to be had. the only young lady in the place was ethel reene, and jane hallet's good sense told her that that companionship would be just as unsuitable the other way: she might as well aspire to covet an intimacy with a duchess's daughter as with miss reene. "weil, you are hard at work this morning, jane!" was miss susan pike's unceremonious and somewhat resentful salutation, as she put her hands upon the window-sill and, her head inside. for she did not at all favour work herself. "will you come in, susan?" returned jane, rising and unslipping the bolt of the door: which she had slipped after the departure of her aunt. "them are mrs. castlemaine's handkerchiefs, i suppose," observed susan, responding to the invitation and taking a chair. "grand fine cambric, ain't it! well, jane, you do hem-stitch well, i must say." "i have to work her initials on them also," remarked jane. "s.c." "s.c.," repeated miss pike. "what do the s. stand for? what's her chris'en name?" "sophia." "sophia!--that is a smart name. do you work the letters in satin stitch?" "yes. with the dots on each side it." "you learnt all that fine hem-stitching and braider-work at the nunnery, jane--and your aunt knows how to do it too, i suppose. i shouldn't have patience for it. i'd rather lade out treacle all day: and of all precious disagreeable articles our shop serves, treacle's the worst. i hate it--sticking one's hands, and messing the scales. i broke a basin yesterday morning, lading it out," continued miss susan: "let it slip through my fingers. sister phoebe came in for a pound of it, to make the ladies a pudding for dinner, she said; and i let her basin drop. didn't mother rate me!" "did sister phoebe say how the child was getting on?--polly gleeson." "polly's three parts well, i think. old parker does not go across there any more. i say, jane, i came up to ask if you'd come along with me to stilborough this afternoon." "i can't," said jane. "my aunt has been very angry with me this morning. i should no more dare to ask her to let me go to stilborough to-day than i should dare to fly." "what has she been angry about?" "oh, about my not getting on with my work, and one thing or other," replied jane carelessly. "she would not let me fetch some eggs just now; she's gone herself. and she knows that in a few days' time i shall have to go to stilborough on my own account." "she's a nice article for an aunt!" grumbled miss susan. "i've got to order in some things for the shop, and i thought it would be pleasant for us two to walk there together. you are sure you can't come jane?" "quite sure. it is of no use talking of it." "i must ask matty nettleby, then. but i'd rather have had you." miss susan, who was somewhat younger than jane, and wore dirty pink bonnet strings, which did not contrast well with the red curls, and a tumbled, untidy frock (but who would no doubt go off on her expedition to stilborough finer than an african queen) fingered discontentedly, one by one, the scissors, cotton, and other articles in jane's work-box. she was not of good temper. "well, it's a bother! i can't think what right aunts have to domineer over folks! and i must be off to keep shop, or i shall have mother about me. father's got one of his liver bouts, and is lying abed till dinner-time." "i wish you'd bring me a pound of wool from stilborough, susan? you know where i buy it." "let's have the number, then." jane gave her a skein of the size and colour wanted, and the money for the purchase. "i'll come down for it this evening," she said. "you'll be back then." "all right. good-bye, jane." "good-bye," returned jane. and as the damsel's fleet steps betook her down the cliff, jane bolted the door again, put the cambric handkerchief aside, and took the private work out of her pocket. meanwhile miss hallet had reached the village. not very speedily. when she went out--which was but seldom--she liked to take her leisure over it. she turned aside to tim gleeson's cottage, to inquire after polly; she halted at the door of two or three more poor fishermen's huts to give the good morrow, or ask after the little ones. miss hallet's face was cold, her manner harsh: but she could feel for the troubles of the world, and she gave what help she could to the poor folks around her. the old woman from whom she bought her eggs, lived in a small cottage past the dolphin inn. miss hallet got her basket filled--she and jane often had eggs and bread and butter for dinner to save cooking--paid, and talked a bit with the woman. in returning, mrs. bent was at the inn door, in her chintz gown and cherry cap ribbons. "is it you, miss hallet! how are you this morning?" "quite well, thank you," replied miss hallet in her prim way. "been getting some eggs, i see," ran on mrs. bent, unceremoniously. "it's not often you come down to do your own errands. where's jane?" "i left her at work," was the answer. "jane does not get through her sewing as quickly as she might, and i have been telling her of it." "you can't put old heads upon young shoulders," cried mrs. bent. "girls like to be idle; and that's the truth. what do you suppose i caught that molly of mine at, last night? stuck down at the kitchen table, writing a love-letter." miss hallet had her eyes bent on her eggs, as though she were counting them. "writing a letter, if you'll believe me! and, a fine thing of a letter it was! smudged with ink and the writing like nothing on earth but spiders' legs in a fit. i ordered it put on the fire. she's not going to waste her time in scribbling to sweethearts while she stays with me." "did she rebel?" quickly asked miss hallet. "rebel! molly! i should like to see her attempt it. she was just as sheepish as a calf at being found out, and sent the paper into the fire quicker than i could order it in." gossip about mrs. bent's molly, or any other molly, was never satisfactory to miss hallet. she broke the subject by inquiring after john bent's health, preparatory to pursuing her way. "oh, he's well enough," was mrs. bent's answer. "it's not often men get anything the matter with them. if they were possessed of as much common sense as they are of health, i'd say it was a blessing. that weak-souled husband of mine, seeing molly piping and sniffing last night, told me privately that he saw no harm in love-letters. he'd see no harm in a score of donkeys prancing over his young plants and other garden stuff next, leave him alone." "i am glad mr. bent is well," said miss hallet, taking a step onwards. "jane told me last week he was ill." "he had a bilious attack. jane came in the same night and saw him with his head on a cushion. by the way--look here, miss hallet--talking about jane--i'd not let her be out quite so much after dark, if i were you." no words could have been more unwelcome to miss hallet than these. she was a very proud woman, never brooking advice of any kind. in her heart she regarded jane as being so infinitely superior to all greylands, the greylands' rest family and the doctor's excepted, that any reproach cast on her seemed nothing less than a presumption. it might please herself to reflect upon her niece for gadding about, but it did not please her that others should. "young girls like their fling; i know that," went on mrs. bent, who never stayed her tongue for anybody. "to coop 'em up in a pen, like a parcel of old hens, doesn't do. but there's reason in all things: and it seems to me that jane's out night after night.' "my niece comes down the cliff for a run at dusk, when it is too dark for her to see to sew," stiffly responded miss hallet. "i have yet to learn, mrs. bent, what harm the run can do to her or to you." "none to me, for certain; i hope none to her. i see her in mr. harry castlemaine's company a little oftener than i should choose a girl of mine to be in it. i do not say it is for any harm; don't take up that notion, miss hallet; but mr. harry's not the right sort of man, being a gentleman, for jane to make a companion of." "and who says jane does make him her companion?" "i do. she is with him more than's suitable. and--look here, miss hallet, if i'm saying this to you, it is with a good motive and because i have a true regard for jane, so i hope you will take it in the friendly spirit it's meant. if they walked together by daylight, i'd not think so much of it, though in my opinion that would not be the proper thing, considering the difference between them, who he is and who she is: but it is not by daylight, it is after dark." miss hallet felt a sudden chill--as though somebody were pouring cold water down her back. but she was bitterly resentful, and very hard of belief. mrs. bent saw the proud lines of the cold face. "look here, miss hallet. i don't say there's any harm come of it, or likely to come: if i'd thought that, i'd have told you before. girls are more heedless than the wind, and when they are as pretty as jane is young men like to talk to them. mr. harry is in and about the village at night--he often says to me how dull his own home is--and he and jane chance to meet somewhere or other, and they talk and laugh together, roaming about while they do it. that's the worst of it, i hope: but it is not a prudent thing for jane to do." "jane stays down here with her friends; she is never at a loss for companions," resentfully spoke miss hallet. "she sits with old goody dance: and she is a good deal with miss nettleby and with pike's daughter; sometimes staying in one place, sometimes in another. why, one evening last week--thursday was it? yes, thursday--she said she was here, helping you." "so she was here. we had a party in the best room that night. jane ran in; and, seeing how busy i was, she helped me to wash up the glass: she's always good-natured and ready to forward a body. she stayed here till half-past eight o'clock." miss hallet's face looked doubly grim. it was nearer half-past ten than half-past eight when miss jane made her appearance at home--as she well remembered. "and now don't you go blowing up jane through what i've said," enjoined mrs. bent. "we were young ourselves once, and liked our liberty. she's thoughtless; that's all; if she were a few years older, she would have the sense to know that folks might get talking about her. just give her a caution, miss hallet: and remind her that mr. harry castlemaine is just about as far above her and us, as the moon's higher than that old weather-cock a-top of the nunnery." miss hallet went homewards with her eggs. she had perfect confidence in jane, in her conduct and principles. jane, as she believed, would never make a habit of walking with mr. harry castlemaine, or he with her: they had both too much common sense. unless--and a flush illumined miss hallet's face at the sudden thought--unless they had fallen into some foolish, fancied love affair with one another. "such things have happened before now, of course," reasoned miss hallet to herself as she began her ascent of the cliff but her tone was dubious, almost as though she would have liked to be able to tell herself that they never had happened. "but they would know better; both of them; remembering that nothing could come of it. as to the walking together--i believe that's three parts mrs. bent's imagination. it is not likely to be true. good morning, darke!" a fisherman in a red cap, jolting down the cliff, had saluted miss hallet in passing. she went on with her thoughts. "suppose i watch jane a bit? there's nothing i should so much hate as to speak to her upon a topic such as this, and then find i had spoken without cause. it would be derogatory to her and to me. yes," added miss hallet with decision, "that will be the best plan. the next time jane goes out at dusk, i'll follow her." the next time happened to be that same evening. miss hallet gave not a word of scolding to jane all day: and the latter kept diligently to her work at mrs. castlemaine's handkerchief. at dusk jane put her warm dark cloak on, and the soft quilted bonnet. "where are you going to-night?" questioned miss hallet then, with a stress of emphasis on the to-night. "just down the cliff, aunt. i want to get the wool susan pike was to buy for me at stilborough." "always an excuse for gadding out!" exclaimed miss hallet. "well, aunt, i must have the wool. i may be wanting it to-morrow." "you'll toast me two thin bits of toast before you go," said the aunt snappishly. jane put off her cloak and proceeded to cut the slices of bread and toast them. but the fire was very low, and they took some considerable time to brown properly. "do you wish the toast buttered, aunt?" "no. cut it in strips. and now go and draw me my ale." "it is early for supper, aunt." "you do as you are bid, jane. if i feel cold, i suppose i am at liberty to drink my ale a trifle earlier than usual, to warm me." jane drew the ale in a china mug that held exactly half-a-pint, and brought it in. it was miss hallet's evening allowance: one she never exceeded. her supper frequently consisted of what she was about to take now: the strips of toast soaked in the ale, and eaten. it was much favoured by elderly people in those days, and was called toast-and-ale. jane resumed her cloak, and was allowed to depart without farther hindrance. but during the detention, the dusk of the evening had become nearly dark. perhaps miss hallet had intended this. she ate a small portion of the toast very quickly, drank some of the ale, leaving the rest for her return, and had her own bonnet and dark shawl on in no time. then, locking her house door for safety, she followed in the wake of jane. she saw jane before she reached the foot of the cliff: for the latter's light steps had been detained by encountering tim and nancy gleeson, who could not be immediately got rid of. miss hallet halted as a matter of precaution: it would not answer to overtake her. jane went onwards, and darted across the road to pike's shop. miss hallet stood in a shady angle underneath the cliff, and waited. waited for a good half hour. at the end of that time jane came out again, a paper parcel in her hand. "the wool," thought miss hallet, moving her feet about, for they were getting cramped. "and now where's she going? on to the beach, i shouldn't wonder!" not to the beach. jane came back by the side of the shops, the butcher's and the baker's and the little humble draper's, and turned the corner that led to the grey nunnery. miss hallet cautiously crossed the road to follow her. when miss hallet had her in view again, jane had halted, and seemed to be doing something to her cloak. the aunt managed to make out that jane was drawing its hood over her quilted bonnet, so as to shade her face. with the loose cloak hiding her figure, and the hood the best part of her face, jane's worst enemy would not have known her speedily. away she sped again with a swift foot; not running, but walking lightly and quickly. the stars were very bright: night reigned. miss hallet, spare of form, could walk almost as quickly as jane and she kept her in view. onwards, past the gate of the nunnery, went jane to the exceeding surprise of miss hallet. what could her business be, in that lonely road?--a road that she herself, who had more than double the years and courage of jane, would not have especially chosen as a promenade at night. could jane be going dancing up to the coastguard station, to inquire after henry mann's sick wife? what simpletons young girls were! they had no sense at all: and thought no more of appearances than---- a shrill noise, right over miss hallet's head, cut her reflections suddenly short, and sent her with a start against the nunnery palings. it was a bird flying across, from seaward, which had chosen to make known his presence. the incident did not divert her attention from the pursuit for more than an instant: but in that instant she lost sight of jane. what an extraordinary thing! where was she? how had she vanished? miss hallet strained her eyes as she asked the questions. when the bird suddenly diverted her attention, jane had nearly gained the gate that led into the chapel ruins; might perhaps have been quite abreast of it. that jane would not go in there, miss hallet felt quite convinced of; nobody would go in. she had not crossed the road to chapel lane or miss hallet could not have failed to see her cross it: it was equally certain that she was not anywhere in the road now. miss hallet turned herself about like a bewildered woman. it was an occurrence so strangely mysterious as to savour of unreality. the highway had no trap-doors in it: jane could not have been caught up into the air. miss hallet walked slowly onwards, marvelling, and gazing about in all directions. when opposite the chapel gate, she took courage to look through the palings at that ghost-reputed place: but all there seemed lonely and silent as the grave. she raised her voice in call--just as john bent had once raised his voice in the silent night after the ill-fated anthony castlemaine. "jane! jane hallet!" "what on earth can have become of her?" debated miss hallet, as no response was made to the call. "she can't have gone up chapel lane!" with a view to see (in spite of her conviction) whether jane was in the lane, miss hallet betook herself to cross over towards it. she went slowly; glancing around and about her; and had got to the middle of the road when a faint light appeared in one of the windows of the friar's keep. miss hallet had heard that this same kind of faint light generally heralded the apparition of the grey monk; and she stood transfixed with horror. sure enough! a moment later, and the figure in his grey cowl and habit glided slowly past the window, lamp in hand. the unhappy lady gave one terror-stricken, piercing scream, and dropped down flat in the dusty highway. chapter xxiii. the secret passage. the kitchen at the grey nunnery was flagged with slate-coloured stone. a spacious apartment: though, it must be confessed, very barely furnished. a dresser, with its shelves, holding plates and dishes; a few pots and pans; some wooden chairs; and a large deal table in the centre of the room, were the principal features that caught the eye. the time was evening. three of the sisters were ironing. or, to be quite correct, two of them were ironing, and the other, sister ann, was attending to the irons at the fire, and to the horse full of fresh ironed clothes, that stood near it. the fire threw its ruddy glow around: upon the plates, of the old common willow pattern, ranged on the dresser-shelves, on the tin dish-covers, hanging against the wall, on the ironing blanket, spread on the large table. one candle only was on the board, for the sisters were economical, and moreover possessed good eyesight; it was but a common dip in an upright iron candlestick, and required to be snuffed often. each of the two sisters, standing side by side, had her ironing stand on her right hand, down on which she clapped the iron continually. they wore their muslin caps, and had on ample brown-holland aprons that completely shielded their grey gowns, with over-sleeves of the same material that reached up nearly to the elbow. the sisters were enjoying a little friendly dispute: for such things (and sometimes not altogether friendly) will take place in the best regulated communities. some pea-soup, that had formed a portion of the dinner that day, was not good: each of the three sisters held her own opinion as to the cause of its defects. "i tell you it was the fault of the peas," said sister caroline, who was cook that week and had made the soup. "you can't make good soup with bad peas. it's not the first time they have sent us bad peas from that place." "there's nothing the matter with the peas," dissented fat little sister phoeby, who had to stand in her pattens to obtain proper command of the board whenever it was her turn to iron. "i know peas when i look at them, i hope, and i say these are good." "why, they would not boil at all," retorted sister caroline. "that's because you did not soak them long enough." "soaking or not soaking does not seem to make much difference," said the aspersed sister, shaking out a muslin kerchief violently before spreading it on the blanket. "the last time it was my week for cooking we had pea-soup twice. i soaked the peas for four-and-twenty hours; and yet the soup was grumbled at! give me a fresh iron, please, sister ann." sister ann, in taking one of the irons from between the bars of the grate, let it fall with a crash on the purgatory. it made a fine clatter, and both the ironers looked round. sister ann picked it up; rubbed it on the ironing cloth to see that it was the right heat, put it on sister caroline's stand, and took away the cool one. "the fact is this," she said, putting the latter to the fire, "you can't make pea-soup, sister caroline. now, it's of no use to fly out: you can't. you don't go the right way to make it. you just put on the liquor that the beef or pork has been boiled in, or from bones stewed down, as may be, and you boil the peas in that, and serve it up as pea-soup. fine soup it is! no flavour, no goodness, no anything. the stock is good enough: we can't afford better; and nobody need have better: but if you want your pea-soup to be nice, you must stew plenty of vegetables in it--carrots especially, and the outside leaves of celery. that gives it a delicious flavour: and you need not use half the quantity of peas if you pass the pulp of the vegetables with them through the calender." "oh, yes!" returned sister caroline in a sarcastic tone. "your pea-soup is always good: we all know that!" "and so it is good," was easy-tempered sister ann's cheery answer: and she knew that she spoke the truth. "the soup i make is not a tasteless stodge that you may almost cut with the spoon, as the soup was to-day; but a delicious, palatable soup that anybody may enjoy, fit for the company-table of the master of greylands. just look how your candle wants snuffing!" sister caroline snuffed the candle with a fling, and put down the snuffers. she did not like to be found fault with. sister phoeby, who wanted a fresh iron, went clanking to the fire in her pattens, and got it for herself, leaving her own in the bars. sister ann was busy just then, turning the clothes on the horse. "what i should do with that cold pea-soup is this--for i'm sure it can never be eaten as it is," suggested sister ann to the cook. "you've got the liquor from that boiled knuckle of ham in the larder; put it on early to-morrow with plenty of water and fresh vegetables; half an hour before dinner strain the vegetables off, and turn the pea-soup into it. it will thin it by the one half, and make it palatable." "what's the time?" demanded sister caroline, making no answering comment to the advice. "does anybody know?" "it must have struck half-past eight." "was not sister margaret to have some arrowroot taken up?" "yes, i'll make it," said sister ann. "you two keep on, with the ironing." sister margaret was temporarily indisposed; the result, mr. parker thought, of a chill; and was confined to her bed. taking a small saucepan from its place, sister ann was reaching in the cupboard for the tin of arrowroot, when a most tremendous ringing came to the house bell. whether it was one prolonged ring, or a succession of rings, they could not tell; but it never ceased, and it alarmed the sisters. cries and shrieks were also heard outside. "it must be fire!" ejaculated the startled women. all three rushed out of the kitchen and made for the front door, sister phoeby kicking off her pattens that she might ran the quicker. old sister mildred, who had become so much better of late that she was about again just as the other ladies were, appeared at the door of the parlour with sister mary ursula. "make haste, children! make haste!" she cried, as the three were fumbling at the entrance-door, and impeding one another; for "the more haste the less speed," as says the old proverb, held good here. when it was flung open, some prostrate body in a shawl and bonnet was discovered there, uttering cries and dismal moans. the sisters hastened to raise her, and found it was miss hallet. miss hallet covered from head to foot in dust. she staggered in, clinging to them all. jane followed more sedately, but looking white and scared. "dear, dear!" exclaimed compassionating sister mildred, whose deafness was somewhat better with her improved health, so that she did not always need her new ear-trumpet. "have you had an accident, miss hallet? pray come into the parlour." seated there in sister mildred's own easy-chair, her shawl unfastened by sympathising hands, her bonnet removed, miss. hallet's gasps culminated in a fit of hysterics. between her cries she managed to disclose the truth--the grey monk had appeared to her. some of the sisters gave a shiver and drew closer together. the grey monk again! "but all the dust that is upon you?" asked sister phoeby. "did the grey friar do that?" in one sense yes, for he had caused it, was the substance of miss hallet's answer. the terror he gave her was so great that she had fallen flat down in the dusty road. in half a minute after miss hallet's shriek and fall, as related in the last chapter, jane had run up to her. the impression upon miss hallet's mind was that jane had come up from behind her, not from before her; but jane seemed to intimate that she had come back from chapel lane; and miss hallet's perceptions were not in a state to be trusted just then. "what brings you here, aunt?--what are you doing up here?--what's the matter?" asked jane, essaying to raise her. "nay," said miss hallet, when she could get some words out for fright, "the question is, what brings you here?" "i," said jane; "why i was only running to the hutt, to give commodore teague the muffetees i have been knitting for him," and out of jane's pocket came the said muffetees, of a bright plum-colour, in proof of the assertion; though it might be true or it might not. "has it gone?" faintly asked miss hallet. "has what gone, aunt?" "the grey friar. it appeared to me at that window, and down i fell: my limbs failed me." "there--there is a faint light," said jane, looking up for the first time. "oh, aunt!" jane's teeth began to chatter. miss hallet, in the extreme sense of terror, and not daring to get up, took a roll or two down the hill in the dust: anything to get away from that dreadful keep. but it bumped and bruised her: she was no longer young; not to speak of the damage to her clothes, of which she was always careful. so with jane's help she managed to get upon her feet, and reach the nunnery somehow; where, shrieking in very nervousness, she seized upon the bell, and pulled it incessantly until admitted, as though her arm were worked by steam. "my legs failed me," gasped miss hallet, explaining now to the sisters: "i dropped like a stone in the road, and rolled there in the dust. it was an awful sight," she added, drawing unconsciously on the terrors of her imagination: "a bluish, greenish kind of light at first; and then a most dreadful, ghostly apparition with a lamp, or soft flame of some kind, in its outstretched arm. i wonder i did not die." sister mildred unlocked a cupboard, and produced a bottle of cordial, a recent present from mrs. bent: a little of which she administered to the terrified nervous woman. miss hallet swallowed it in gulps. there was no end of confused chattering: a ghost is so exciting a subject to discuss, especially when it has been just seen. sister ann compared the present description of the grey friar with that which she and sister rachel had witnessed, not so long before, and declared the two to tally in every particular. trembling sister judith added her personal testimony. altogether there had not been so much noise and bustle within the peaceful walls of the nunnery since that same eventful night, whose doings had been crowned by the arrival of poor little polly gleeson with her burns. in the midst of it an idea occurred to sister mildred. "but what brought you up by the friar's keep at night, miss hallet?" she asked. "it is a lonely road: nobody takes it by choice." miss hallet made no answer. she was gasping again. "i dare say she was going to see the coastguardsman's wife, sick emma mann," spoke sister phoeby heartily. "don't tease her." and miss hallet, catching at the suggestion in her extremity, gave sister phoeby a nod of acquiescence. it went against the grain to do so, for she was integrity itself, but she would not have these ladies know the truth for the world. "and jane had ran on to take the mittens to the commodore, so that you were alone," said sister mildred, following out probabilities in her own mind, and nodding pleasantly to miss hallet. "i see. dear me! what a dreadful thing this apparition is!--what will become of us all? i used not to believe in it much." "well, you see people have gone past the keep at night lately more than they used to: i'm sure one or another seems always to be passing by it," remarked sister ann sensibly. "we should hear nothing about it now but for that." when somewhat recovered, miss hallet asked for her bonnet and shawl: which had been taken away to be shaken and brushed. leaving her thanks with the sisters, she departed with jane, and walked home in humility. now than the actual, present fear had subsided, she felt ashamed of herself for having given way to it, and particularly for having disturbed the nunnery in the frantic manner described. but hers had been real, genuine terror; and she could no more have helped its laying complete hold of her at the time than she could have taken wings and flown away from the spot, as an arrow flies through the air. a staid, sober-aged, well-reared woman like herself, to have made a commotion as though she had been some poor ignorant fish girl! miss hallet walked dumbly along, keeping her diminished head down as she toiled up the cliff. after supper and prayers were over that night at the nunnery, and most of the grey ladies had retired to their rooms--which they generally did at an early hour when there was nothing, sickness or else, to keep them up--sisters mildred and mary ursula remained alone in the parlour. that they should be conversing upon what had taken place was only natural. mary ursula had not, herself, the slightest faith in the supernatural adjunct of the grey friar; who or what it was she knew not, or why it should haunt the place and show itself as it did, lamp in hand; but she believed it would turn out to be a real presence, not a ghostly one. sister mildred prudently shook her head at this heterodoxy, confessing that she could not join in it; but she readily agreed that the friar's keep was a most mysterious place; and, in the ardour of conversation, she disclosed a secret which very much astonished mary ursula. there was an underground passage leading direct from the vaults of the nunnery to the vaults of the keep. "i have known of it for many years," mildred said, "and never spoken of it to any one. my sister mary discovered it: you have heard, i think, that she was one of us in early days: but she died young. after we took possession of this building, mary, who was lively and active, used to go about, above ground and under it, exploring, as she called it. one day she came upon a secret door below, that disclosed a dark, narrow passage: she penetrated some distance into it, but did not cate to go on alone. at night, when the rest of the ladies had retired, she and i stayed up together--just as you and i have stayed up to-night, my dear, for it was in this very parlour--and she got me to go and explore it with her. we took a lantern to light our steps, and went. the passage was narrow, as i have said, and apparently built in a long straight line, without turnings, angles, or outlets. not to fatigue you, i will shortly say, that after going a very long way, as it seemed to us, poor timid creatures that we were, we passed through another door, and found ourselves in a pillared place that looked not unlike cloisters, and at length made it out to be vaults under the friar's keep." "what a strange thing!" exclaimed mary ursula, speaking into the instrument she had recently made the good sister a present of--a small ear-trumpet, for they were talking almost in a whisper. "not so strange when you remember what the place was originally," dissented sister mildred. "tradition says, you know, that these old religions buildings abounded in secret passages. i did not speak of the discovery, and enjoined silence on mary; the sisters might have been uncomfortable; and it was not a nice thing, you see, to let the public know there was a secret passage into our abode." "did you never enter it again?" "yes, once. mary would go; and of course i could not let her go alone. it was not long before the illness came on that terminated in her death. ah, my dear, we were young then, and such an expedition bore for us a kind of pleasurable romance." mary ursula sat in thought. "it strikes me as not being a pleasant idea," she said--"the knowledge that we may be invaded at any hour by some ill-disposed or curious straggler, who chooses to frequent the friar's keep." "not a bit of it, my dear," said sister mildred, briskly. "don't fear. we can go to the keep at will, but the keep cannot come to us. the two doors are firmly locked, and i hold the keys." "i should like to see this passage!" exclaimed mary ursula. "are you--dear sister mildred, do you think you are well enough to show it to me?" "i'll make myself well enough," returned the good-natured lady: "and i think i am really so. my dear, i have always meant from, the time you joined as to tell you of this secret passage: and for two reasons. the one because the head of our community ought not to be in ignorance that there is such a place; the other because it was your cousin who recently has disappeared so unaccountably in the keep--though i suppose the passage could not have had anything to do with that. but for my illness, i should have spoken before. we will go to-night, if you will." mary ursula eagerly embraced the proposal on the spot. attiring themselves in their warmest grey cloaks, the hoods well muffled about their heads, for sister mildred said the passage would strike cold as an ice-house, they descended to the vaults below; the elder lady carrying the keys and mary ursula the lighted horn lantern, which had slides to its four sides to make it lighter or darker at will. "see, here's the door," whispered sister mildred, advancing to an obscure corner. "no one would ever find it; unless they had a special talent for exploring as my poor mary had. do you see this little nail in the wall? well the keys were hanging up there: and it was in consequence of the keys catching her eye that mary looked for the door." it required the efforts of both ladies to turn the key in the rusty lock. as the small gothic door was pushed open, a rash of cold damp air blew on their faces. the passage was hardly wide enough to admit two abreast; at least without brushing against the walls on either side. the ladies held one another; mary ursula keeping a little in advance, her hand stretched upwards with the lantern so that its light might guide their steps. a very long passage: no diversion in it, no turnings or angles or outlets, as sister mildred had described; nothing but the damp and monotonous stone walls on either hand or overhead. while mary ursula was wondering whether they were going on for ever, the glimmer of the lantern suddenly played on a gothic door in front, of the same size and shape as the one they had passed through. "this is the other door, and this is the key," whispered sister mildred. they put it in the lock. it turned with some difficulty and a grating sound, and the door slowly opened towards them. another minute, and they had passed into the vaults beneath the friar's keep. very damp and cold and mouldy and unearthly. as far as mary ursula could judge, in the dim and confined light emitted by the small lantern, they appeared to be quite like the cloisters above: the same massive upright pillars of division forming arches against the roof, the same damp stone flooring. there was no outlet to be seen in any part; no staircase upwards or downwards. mary ursula carried her lantern and waved it about but could find none: none save the door they had come through. "is there any outlet to this place, except the passage?" she asked of sister mildred. "very, my dear; very damp indeed," was the sister's answer. "i think we had better not stay; i am shivering with the cold air; and there's nothing, as you perceive, to see." the ear-trumpet had been left behind, and mary ursula did not dare raise her voice to a loud key. she was inwardly shivering herself; not with the chilly, mildewy air, but with her own involuntary thoughts. thoughts that she would have willingly forbidden entrance to, but could not. with these secret vaults and places under the keep, secret because they were not generally known abroad, what facilities existed for dealing ill with anthony castlemaine; for putting him out of sight for ever! "can he be concealed here still, alive or dead?" she murmured to herself. "surely not alive: for how----" a sound! a sound close at hand. it was on the opposite side of the vault, and was like the striking of some metal against the wall: or it might have been the banging of a door. instinctively mary ursula hid the lantern under her cloak, caught hold of sister mildred, and crouched down with her behind the remotest pillar. the sister had heard nothing, of course; but she comprehended that there was some cause for alarm. "oh, my dear, what will become of us!" she breathed. "whatever is it?" mary dared not speak. she put her hand on the sister's lips to enjoin silence, and kept it there. sister mildred had gone down in a most uncomfortable position, one leg bent under her; and but for grasping the pillar for support with both hands she must have tumbled backwards. mary ursula, was kneeling in very close contact, which helped to prop the poor lady up behind. as to the pillar, it was nothing like wide enough to conceal them both had the place been light. but it was pitch dark. a darkness that might almost be felt. in the midst of it; in the midst of their painful suspense, not knowing what to expect or fear, there arose a faint, distant glimmering of light over in the direction where mary had heard the sound. a minute afterwards some indistinct, shadowy form appeared, dressed in a monk's habit and cowl. it was the apparition of the grey friar. a low, unearthly moan broke from sister mildred. mary ursula, herself faint with terror, as must be confessed, but keenly alive to the necessity for their keeping still and silent, pressed the sister's mouth more closely, and strove to reassure her by clasping her waist with the other hand. the figure, holding its lamp before it, glided swiftly across the vault amid the pillars, and vanished. it all seemed to pass in a single moment. the unfortunate ladies--"distilled almost to jelly with the effect of fear," as horatio says--cowered together, not knowing what was next to happen to them, or what other sight might appear. sister mildred went into an ague-fit. nothing more came; neither sight nor sound. the vaulted cloisters remained silent and inky-dark. presently mary ursula ventured to show her light cautiously to guide their footsteps to the door, towards which she supported sister mildred: who once in the passage and the door locked behind her, gave vent to her suppressed terror in low cries and moans and groans. the light of the lantern, thrown on her face, showed it to be as damp as the wall on either side her, and ghastly white. thus they trod the passage back to their own domains, sister mildred requiring substantial help. "take the keys," she said to mary ursula, when they were once more in the warm and lighted parlour, safe and sound, save for the fright. "they belong to your custody of right now; and i'm sure a saint out of heaven would never induce me to use them again. i'd rather have seen a corpse walk about in its grave-clothes." "but, dear sister mildred--it was very terrifying, i admit; but it could not have been supernatural. there cannot be such things as ghosts." "my child, we saw it," was the all-convincing answer "perhaps if they were to get a parson into the place and let him say some prayers, the poor wandering spirit might be laid to rest." that there was something strangely unaccountable connected with the friar's keep and some strange mystery attaching to it, mary ursula felt to her heart's core. she carried the two keys to her chamber, and locked them up in a place of safety. her room adjoined sister mildred's; and she stood for some time looking out to sea before undressing. partly to recover her equanimity; which had unquestionably been considerably shaken during the expedition; partly to indulge her thoughts and fancies, there she stood. an idea of the possibility of anthony castlemaine's being alive still, and kept a prisoner in some of these vaults underneath the keep, had dawned upon her. that there were other and more secret vaults besides these cloisters they had seen, was more than probable: vaults in which men might be secretly confined for a lifetime--ay, and no doubt had been in the old days; confined until claimed by a lingering death. she did not think it likely that anthony was there, alive: the conviction, that he was dead, had lain upon her from the first; it was upon her still: but the other idea had crept in and was making itself just sufficiently heard to render her uncomfortable. her chamber was rather a nice one and much larger than sister mildred's. certain articles suggestive of comfort, that had belonged to her room at stilborough, had been placed in it: a light sofa and sofa table; a pretty stand for books; a handsome reading lamp; a small cabinet with glass doors, within which were deposited some cherished ornaments and mementoes that it would have given her pain to part with; and such like. if miss castlemaine had renounced the world, she had not renounced some of its little vanities, its home-refinements neither did the community she had joined require anything of the kind to be done. the window, with its most beautiful view of the sea, was kept free; curtains and draperies had been put up, no less for warmth than look: on one side it stood the cabinet, on the other the dressing-table and glass; the bed and the articles of furniture pertaining to it, drawers, washhand-stand, and such like, occupied the other end of the room. it was, in fact, a sitting-room and bedroom combined. and there, at its window, stood mary ursula, shivering almost as much as she had shivered in the cloisters, and full of inward discomfort. in the course of the following morning, she was sitting with sick sister margaret, when word came to her that a gentleman had called. proceeding to the reception parlour, she found the faithful old friend and clerk, thomas hill. he was much altered, that good old man: the unhappy death of his master and the anxiety connected with the bank affairs had told upon him perhaps also the cessation from the close routine of daily business was bearing for him its almost inevitable effect: at least, when mary ursula tenderly asked what it was that ailed him, he answered, weariness, induced by having nothing to do. the tears rushed to his eyes when he inquired after her life--whether it satisfied her, whether she was not already sick to death of it, whether repentance for the step had yet set in. and mary assured him that the contrary was the fact; that she was getting to like the seclusion better day by day. "can you have comforts here, my dear miss mary?" he inquired, not at all satisfied. "oh, yes, any that i please," she replied. "you should see my room above, dear old friend: it is nearly as luxurious and quite as comfortable as my chamber was at home." "will they let you have a fire in it, miss mary?" she laughed; partly at the thought, partly to reassure him. "of course i could if i wished for it; but the weather is coming in warm now. sister mildred has had a fire in her room all the winter. i am head of all, you know, and can order what i please." "and you'll not forget, miss mary, that what i have is yours," he returned in a low, eager tone. "draw upon it when you like: be sure to take care of your comforts. i should like to leave you a cheque-book: i have brought it over with its cheques signed----" she stopped him with hasty, loving words of thanks. assuring him that her income was enough, and more than enough, for everything she could possibly want, whether individually or for her share in the expenses of the community. thomas hill, much disappointed, returned the new cheque-book to his pocket again. "i wish to ask you one question," she resumed, after a pause, and in a tone as low as his own. "can you tell me how the estate of greylands' rest was left by my grandfather?" "no, i cannot, miss mary; i have never known. your father did not know." "my father did not know?" she said in some surprise. "he did not. on the very last day of his life, when he was just as ill as he could be, my dear good master, he spoke of it to me: it was while he was giving me a message to deliver to his nephew, the young man anthony, mr. basil's son. he said that he had never cared to inquire the particulars, and fully believed that it became james's by legal right; he felt sure that had it been left to basil, james would not have retained possession. miss mary, i say the same." "and--what is your opinion as to what became of anthony?" she continued after a short pause. "i think, my dear, that young mr. anthony must somehow have fallen into the sea. he'd not be the first man, poor fellow, by a good many, who has met with death through taking an uncertain step in the deceptive moonlight." mary ursula said no more. this was but conjecture, just as all the rest of it had been. when the visit was over, she put on her bonnet to stroll out with him. he had walked from stilborough, intending to dine at the dolphin, and go back afterwards at his leisure. mary went with him on the beach, and then parted with him at the door of the inn. "you are sure you are tolerably happy, my dear?" he urged, as though needing to be assured of it again and again, holding both her hands in his. "ah, my dear young lady, it is all very well for you to say you are; but i cannot get reconciled to it. i wish you could have found your happiness in a different sphere." she knew what he meant--found it as william blake-gordon's wife--and something like a faintness stole over her spirit. "circumstances worked against it," she meekly breathed. "i am content to believe that the life i have embraced is the best for me; the one appointed by god." how little did she think that almost close upon that minute, she should encounter him--her whilom lover! not feeling inclined to return at once to the nunnery, and knowing that there was yet a small space of time before dinner, she continued her way alone up the secluded road towards the church. when just abreast of the sacred edifice a lady and gentleman approached on horseback, having apparently ridden from stilborough. she recognized them too late to turn or retreat: it was william blake-gordon and miss mountsorrel. miss mountsorrel checked her horse impulsively; he could but do the same. the young lady spoke. "mary! is it you? how strange that we should meet you! i thought you never came beyond the convent walls." "did you? i go out where and when i please. are you well, agatha?" "are you well?--that is the chief question," returned miss mountsorrel, with a great deal of concern and sympathy in her tone. "you do not look so." just then mary undoubtedly did not. emotion had turned her as pale as death. happening to catch sight of the countenance of mr. blake-gordon, she saw that his face was, if possible, whiter than her own. a strangely yearning, imploring look went out to her from his eyes--but what it meant, she knew not. "i shall come and see you some day, mary, if i may," said miss mountsorrel. "certainly you may." they prepared to ride on: mr. blake-gordon's horse was restive. the young ladies wished each other good morning he bowed and lifted his hat. he had not spoken a word to her, or she to him. they had simply stood there face to face, he on horseback, she on foot, with the tale-telling emotion welling up from their hearts. mary opened the churchyard gate, went in, and sat down under a remote tree near the tomb of the castlemaines, hiding her face in her hands. she felt sick and faint; and trembled as the young green leaves about her were trembling in the gentle wind. so! this was the manner of their meeting again: when he was riding by the side of another! the noise of horses, passing by, caused her to raise her head and glance to the road again. young mountsorrel was riding swiftly past to catch his sister, having apparently lingered temporarily behind: and the groom clattered closely after him at a sharp trot. chapter xxiv. going over in the two-horse van. august weather. for some few months had elapsed since the time of the last chapter. stilborough lay hot and dusty under the summer sun: the pavements shone white and glistening, the roads were parched. before the frontage of the turk's head on the sunny side of cross street, was spread a thick layer of straw to deaden the sound of horses and vehicles. a gentleman, driving into the town a few days before, was taken ill there, and lay at the hotel in a dangerous state: his doctor expressed it as "between life and death." it was squire dobie, of dobie hall. the turk's head was one of those good, old-fashioned, quiet inns, not much frequented by the general public, especially by the commercial public. its custom was chiefly confined to the county families, and to that class of people called gentlefolk. it was, therefore, very rarely in a bustle, showing but little signs of life except on thursdays, market-day, and it would sometimes be so empty that stilborough might well wonder how will heyton, its many years landlord, contrived to pay his expenses. but will heyton had, in point of fact, made a very nice nest-egg at it, and did not much care now whether the inn was empty or full. in the coffee-room on this hot august morning, at a small table by the right-hand window, sat a gentleman breakfasting. a tall, slender, well-dressed young man in slight mourning, of perhaps some six-and-twenty years. he was good-looking; with a pleasing, fair, and attractive face, blue eyes, and light wavy hair that took a tinge of gold in the sunlight. this gentleman had arrived at stilborough the previous evening by a cross-country coach, had inquired for the best hotel, and been directed to the turk's head. it was late for breakfast, nearly eleven o'clock: and when the gentleman--whose name was inscribed on the hotel visitors' list as mr. george north--came down he had said something in a particularly winning way about the goodness of the bed causing him to oversleep himself. save for him, the coffee-room was void of guests. "is this a large town?" he inquired of the portly head waiter, who was partly attending on him, partly rubbing up the glasses and decanters that were ranged on the mahogany stand by the wall. "pretty well, sir. it's next in size to the chief county town, and is quite as much frequented." "what are the names of the places near to it?" "we have no places of note near to us, sir: only a few small villages that count for nothing." "well, what are their names?" "there's hamley, sir; and eastwick; and greylands; and----" "are any of these places on the sea?" interrupted the stranger, as he helped himself to a mutton chop. "greylands is, sir. it's a poor little place in itself, nothing hardly but fishermen's huts in it; but the sea is beautiful there.--bangalore sauce, sir?" "well, i don't know," said the young man, looking first at the bottle of sauce, being handed to him, and then up at the waiter, a laughing doubt in his blue eyes. "is it good?" "it's very good indeed, sir, as sauce; and rare too; you'd not find it in any other inn at stilborough. not but what some tastes prefer mutton chops plain." "i think i do," said the stranger, declining the sauce. "thank you; it may be better to let well alone." his breakfast over, mr. george north sat back in his chair, and glanced through the sunbeams at the dusty road and the white pavement. the waiter placed on the table the last number of the stilborough herald; and nearly at the same moment there dashed up to the inn door a phaeton and pair. the gentleman who was driving handed the reins to the groom sitting beside him, alighted, and entered the hotel. the sun, shining right in mr. george north's eyes, had somewhat obscured his view outwards; but as the gentleman came in and stood upright in the coffee-room, he saw a tall stately man with a remarkably handsome face. while gazing at the face, a slight emotion came suddenly into his own. "what a likeness!" he inwardly murmured. "can it be one of them?" "how is squire dobie, hobbs?" demanded mr. castlemaine of the old waiter--for the new-comer was the master of greylands. "any better to-day?" "yes, sir; the doctor thinks there's a slight improvement. he has had a fairly good night." "that's well. is mr. atherly expected in to-day, do you know?" "no, i don't, sir. perhaps master knows. i'll inquire." while the waiter was gone on this errand, mr. castlemaine strolled to the unoccupied window, and looked out on his waiting horses. fine animals, somewhat restive this morning, and the pride of mr. castlemaine's stables. he glanced at the stranger, sitting at the not yet cleared breakfast table, and was taken at once with his bright face and looks. mr. george north was then reading the newspaper. hobbs did not return, and mr. castlemaine stamped a little with one foot as though he were impatient. a sudden thought struck the young man: he rose, and held out the newspaper. "i beg your pardon, sir; i am perhaps, keeping this from you." "not at all, thank you," said mr. castlemaine. "i am a stranger; therefore this local news cannot interest me," persisted mr. george north, fancying courtesy alone might have prompted the refusal. "it is of no moment whether i read the gazette or not." "i have already seen it: i am obliged to you all the same," replied mr. castlemaine in his pleasantest manner, with not a shade of hauteur about it. "are you staying here?" "at present i am. it may be that i shall stay but for a short while. i cannot say yet. we artists travel about from village to village, from country to country, finding subjects for our pencil. i have lately been in the channel islands." "master says he is not particularly expecting mr. atherly to-day, sir," interposed hobbs, returning; "but he thinks it likely he may be coming in. he'll get here about one o'clock if he does come." the master of greylands nodded in reply. "i suppose, hobbs, squire dobie is not allowed to see anyone?" "not yet, sir." mr. castlemaine left the room, saluting the stranger at the breakfast table. hobbs followed, to attend him to the door. "what's the name of the young man in the coffee-room?" he asked, standing for a moment on the steps. "he seems to be a nice young fellow." "north, sir. mr. george north. he came in last night by the swallow coach." "he says he is an artist." "oh, does he, sir!" returned the waiter in an accent of mingled surprise and disappointment. "i'm sure i took him to be a gentleman." mr. castlemaine smiled to himself at the words. hobbs' ideas, he thought, were probably running on the artists who went about painting signboards. "that accounts for his wanting to know the names of the parts about here," spoke the waiter. "he has been asking me. them artists, sir, are rare ones for tramping about after bits of scenery." the master of greylands went out to his carriage and took his seat. as he turned the horses' heads round to go back the way they came, mr. george north, looking on from within, had for a moment the back of the phaeton pointed right towards him, with its distinguishing crest. "the crest!" he exclaimed, under his breath. "then it must be one of them! and i nearly knew it by the face. shall i ask here which of them it is?--no, better not. suppose i go out and take a look at the town?" he continued a few minutes later, waking up from a reverie. putting on his straw hat, which had a bit of black ribbon tied round it, and a good-sized brim, he went strolling hither and thither. it was not market day: but few people were abroad, and the streets looked almost deserted. people did not care to come abroad in the blazing sun, unless obliged. altogether, there was not much for mr. george north to see. before an inn-door stood a kind of small yellow van, or omnibus--it was in fact something between the two--which was being laden to start. it made its journeys three times a week, and was called the two-horse van. for want of something better to look at, mr. george north stood watching the putting-to of the horses. on the sides of the van were inscribed the names of the places it called at; amidst them was greylands. his eyes rested on the name and a sudden thought arose to him: suppose i go over to greylands by this yellow omnibus! "do you call at all these places to-day?" he asked of a man, who was evidently the driver. "at every one of 'em, sir. and come back here through 'em again to-morrow." "have i time to go as far as the turk's head and back before you start?" "plenty of time, sir. we are not particular to a few minutes either way." mr. george north proceeded to the turk's head; not in the rather lazy fashion to which his movements seemed by nature inclined, but as fast as the sun allowed him. he there told the head waiter that he was going to make a little excursion into the country for the purpose of looking about him, and might not be back until evening, or even before the morrow. "inside or outside, sir?" questioned the driver when he got back. "oh, outside to-day. can't i sit by you?" he was welcome, the driver said, the seat not being taken; and mr. george north mounted to the seat and put up his umbrella, which he had brought with him as a shelter against the sun. two or three more passengers got up behind, and placed themselves amid the luggage; and there were several inside. the two-horse van sped along very fairly; and in a short time reached the first village. after descending a hill, the glorious sea burst into view. "what place do you call this?" asked the stranger. "this is greylands, sir." "greylands, is it? i think i'll get down here. dear me, what a beautiful sea! how much do i pay you?" "a shilling fare, sir. anything you please for the driver. thank you, sir; thank you," concluded the man pocketing the eighteen-pence given to him. "we shall stop in a minute, sir, at the dolphin inn." on this hot day, which really seemed too hot for work, mrs. bent was stealing a few moments' idleness on the bench outside her window. john had been sitting there all the morning. the landlady was making free comments, after her wont, upon the doings, good and bad, of her neighbours; john gave an answering remark now and again, but she did not seem to wait for it. there is not much to tell the reader of this short space of time that has elapsed without record. no very striking event had taken place in it; greylands was much in the same condition as when we parted from it last. poor miss hallet had been ill for some weeks, possibly the result of the fright, and was quite unable to look personally after the vagaries of miss jane: the friar's keep and its mysteries remained where they had been; sister mildred was ill again, and mary ursula had not plucked up courage since to penetrate anew the secret passage. squire dobie, red-hot at first to unravel the mystery of the disappearance of basil's son, had finally given up the inquiry as hopeless; neither had madame guise advanced one jot in her discoveries touching the suspected iniquity of the master of greylands. "here comes the two-horse van," remarked mrs. bent. the two-horse van drew up before the bench and close to mr. and mrs. bent. its way did not lie by that of the ordinary coach road, but straight on up the hill past the nunnery. whether it had parcels or passengers to descend, or whether it had not, it always halted at the dolphin, to "give the horses a minute's breathing," as the driver said: and to give himself a minute's gossip with the landlord and landlady. the gossip to-day lay chiefly on the score of the unusual heat, and on some refractory wheel of the van, which had persisted the previous day in dropping its spokes out. and the driver had mounted to his seat again, and the van was rattling off, before mr. and mrs. bent remarked that the gentlemanly-looking man in the straw hat, who had got down, as they supposed, merely to stretch his legs, had not gone on with it. he was standing with his back to them to look about him. at the pile of buildings rising on his left, the grey nunnery; at the cliff towards the right, with its nestling houses; at the dark-blue sea opposite, lying calm and lovely under its stagnant fishing boats. a long, lingering look of admiration at the latter, and he turned round to mr. and mrs. bent, standing by the bench now, but not sitting, and lifted his straw bat as he addressed them. "i beg your pardon. this seems to be a very nice place. what an expanse of sea!" "it's a very nice place indeed--for its size, sir," said john. "and you'd not get a better sea than that anywhere." "the place is called greylands, i am told." "yes, sir: greylands." "i am an artist," continued the stranger in his pleasing, open manner, a manner that was quite fascinating both mr. and mrs. bent. "i should fancy there must be choice bits of landscape about here well worth my taking." "and so there is, sir. many of 'em." "will you give me lodging for a few hours?--allow me to call your inn my head-quarters, while i look about for myself a little?" he continued with a most winning smile. "and glad to receive you, sir," put in mrs. bent before her husband had time to reply. "oar house is open to all, and especially to one as pleasant-speaking as you, sir." "by the way," he said, stopping to pause when stepping before them indoors, as though he were trying to recall something--"greylands? greylands? yes, that must be the name. do you chance to know if a french lady is living anywhere in this neighbourhood? a madame guise?" "to be sure she is, sir. she is governess at greylands rest. within a stone's throw--as may almost be said--of this house." "ah, indeed. i knew her and her husband, monsieur guise, in france. he was my very good friend. dear me! how thirsty i am." "would you like to take anything, sir?" "yes, i should; but not beer, or any strong drink of that sort. have you any lemonade?" john bent had; and went to fetch it. the stranger sat down near the open-window, and gazed across at the sea. mrs. bent was gazing at him; at his very nice-looking face, so fair and bright, and at the wavy hair, light and fine as silken threads of gold. "are you english, sir?" demanded free and curious mrs. bent. "why do you ask the question?" he returned with a smile, as he threw full on her the light of his laughing blue eyes. "well, sir--though i'm sure you are an englishman person--and a rare good-looking one too--there's a tone in your voice that sounds foreign to me." "i am english," he replied: "but i have lived very much abroad, in france and italy and other countries: have roamed about from place to place. no doubt my accent has suffered. we can't be a vagabond, you see, madam, without betraying it." mrs. bent shook her head at the epithet, which he spoke-with a laugh: few persons, to judge by looks, were less of a vagabond than he. john came in with the lemonade sparkling in a glass. "ah, that's good," said the traveller drinking it at a draught. "if your viands and wines generally are as good as that, mr. bent, your guests must be fortunate. i should like to call and see madame guise," he added rising. "i suppose i may venture to do so?" "why not, sir?" "are the people she is with dragons?" he asked, in his half laughing and wholly fascinating way. "will they eat me up, think you? some families do not admit visitors to their governess." "you may call, and welcome, sir," said mrs. bent. "the family are of note hereabout, great gentlefolks--the castlemaines. madame guise is made as comfortable there as if it were her own house and home." "i'll venture then," said the stranger, taking his hat and umbrella. "perhaps you will be good enough to direct the road to me." john bent took him out at the front door, and pointed out to him the way over the fields--which were far pleasanter and somewhat nearer than the road way: and mr. north was soon at the gate of greylands' rest. mrs. castlemaine was seated under a shady clump of trees, doing some wool work. he raised his hat and bowed to her as he passed, but continued his way to the door. miles opened it and asked his pleasure. "i am told that madame guise lives here. may i be permitted to see her?" "yes, sir," replied the man, admitting him to the hall. "what name?" "mr. george north. i have not my cards with me." "mr. george north!" repeated mrs. castlemaine to herself, for she had been near enough to hear distinctly the conversation in the stillness of the summer's day. "what an exceedingly handsome young man! quite a saxon face. i wonder who he is!" miles conducted mr. george north to the red parlour, where madame guise was sitting with ethel. "a gentleman to see you, ma'am," was his mode of introduction: "mr. george north." "mr. ---- who!" cried madame, her manner hurried and startled. "mr. george north," repeated miles; and ushered the gentleman in. she turned her back upon the door, striving for courage and calmness in the one brief moment of preparation that she might dare to snatch. but that ethel's attention was given to the stranger, she had not failed to see the agitation. madame's pocket-handkerchief was clutched almost through in her nervous hand. "how do you do, madame guise?" she turned round then, meeting him in the middle of the room. her face was white as death as she put out her hand to him. his own manner was unembarrassed, but his countenance at the moment looked strangely grave. "being in the neighbourhood i have ventured to call upon you, madame guise. i hope you have been well." "quite well, thank you," she said in a low tone, pointing to a chair, and sitting down herself. "i am so much surprised to see you." "no doubt you are. how is the little girl?" "she is at school with some good ladies, and she is quite happy there," replied madame guise, speaking rather more freely. "i thought you were in italy, mr. north." "i left italy some weeks ago. since then i have been wandering onwards, from place to place, sketching this, sketching that, in my usual rather vagabond fashion, and have at length turned up in england." the laughing light was coming back to his eyes again: he momentarily turned them on ethel as he spoke. madame guise seemed to consider she might be under an obligation to introduce him. "mr. george north, my dear. miss ethel reene, sir; one of my pupils." mr. george north rose from his chair and bowed elaborately: ethel bowed slightly, smiled, and blushed. she was very much taken with the young man: and perhaps, if the truth were known, he was with her. certain it was, that she was looking very pretty in her summer dress of white muslin, with the silver-grey ribbons in her hair. "did you come straight to england from italy?" asked madame guise. "my fashion of coming was not straight but very crooked," he answered. "i took the channel islands in my way." "the channel islands!" "jersey and guernsey and sark. though i am not quite sure how i got there," he added in his very charming manner, and with another glance and half smile at ethel; who blushed again vividly as she met it, and for no earthly reason. "but you could not fly over to them in your sleep," debated madame guise, taking his words literally. "i suppose not. i was at st. malo one day, and i presume i must have gone from thence in a boat. one of these days, when my fortune's made, i intend to take up my abode for a few months at sark. the climate is lovely; the scenery beautiful." "how did you know i was here?" asked madame guise. "i saw--i saw madame de rhone in france," he replied, making a slight break, as put. "she told me you had come to england and were living with an english family at a place called greylands," he continued. "finding myself to-day at greylands, i could but try to find you out." "you are very good," murmured madame, whose hands were again beginning to show signs of trembling. ethel rose to leave the room. it occurred to her that madame might like to be alone with her friend, and she had stayed long enough for good manners. at that same moment, however, mrs. castlemaine came in by the open glassdoors, so ethel's considerate thought was foiled. mrs. castlemaine bowed slightly as she looked at the stranger. "mr. north, madam; a friend of my late husband's," spoke madame guise, quite unable to prevent her voice from betraying agitation. "he was at greylands to-day and has found me out." "we are very pleased to see mr. north," said mrs. castlemaine, turning to him with her most gracious tones, for the good looks and easy manners of the stranger had favourably impressed her. "are you staying at greylands?" ".i am travelling about, madam, from place to place, taking sketches. i have recently come from hampshire previous to that, i was in the channel islands. last night i slept at stilborough, and came to greylands this morning by a conveyance that i heard called the 'two-horse van' in search of objects for my pencil." he mentioned the "two-horse van" so quaintly that mrs. castlemaine burst into a laugh. "i think you must have been jolted," she said, and mr. north bowed. "remembering to have been told that madame guise, the wife of my late dear friend, monsieur guise was residing with a family at a place called greylands, i made inquiries for the address at the inn here, and presumed to call." he bowed again slightly with somewhat of deprecation to mrs. castlemaine as he spoke. she assured him he was quite welcome; that it was no presumption. "are you an artist by profession, mr. north?--or do you take sketches for pleasure?" she asked presently, as the conversation proceeded. "something of both, madam. i cannot say that i am dependent on my pencil. i once painted what my friends were pleased to call a good picture, and it was exhibited and bought--in paris." "a watercolour?" "yes, a watercolour." "i hope you got a good price for it." "five thousand francs." "how much is that in english money?" asked mrs. castlemaine, after an electrified pause, for at the first moment her ideas had run to five thousand pounds. "two hundred pounds. it was a scene taken in the alpes-maritimes." "you have been much abroad, mr. north?" "oh, very much. i have latterly been staying for more than a year in italy." "how you must have enjoyed it?" "for the time of sojourn i did. but it will always lay on my mind in a heavy weight of repentance." "but why?" exclaimed mrs. castlemaine. "because----" and there he made a pause. "in my unpardonable thoughtlessness, madam, i, roving about from spot to spot, omitted sometimes to give any family any address where news from them might find me." "and you had cause to repent not doing it?" "bitter cause," he answered, a wrung expression resting for an instant on his face. "my father died during that time; and--there were other matters wanting me. my life, so far as that past portion of it goes, will be one of unavailing repentance." it almost seemed--at least the fancy struck ethel--that mr. north gave this little bit of unusual confidence--unusual in a stranger--for the benefit of madame guise. certain it was, that he looked at her two or three times as he spoke; and on her face there shone a strangely sad and regretful light. in about half an hour he rose to depart. mrs. castlemaine offered luncheon, but he declined it. he had been a lazy lie-abed that morning, he said with a laughing smile, and it seemed but now almost that he had taken his breakfast at the turk's head. the impression he left behind him was not so much of a stranger, as of an acquaintance they had known, so pleasant and easy had been the intercourse during the interview; and an acquaintance they were sorry to part with. madame guise went with him across the lawn. mrs. castlemaine would have gone too, but that ethel stopped her. "mamma, don't," she whispered: "they may be glad to have a few moments alone. i fancy madame guise cannot have seen him since before her husband died: she seemed quite agitated when he came in." "true," said mrs. castlemaine, for once recognising reason in words of ethel's. "what a gentlemanly young fellow he seems--in spite of that wide straw hat." he had put the straw hat on, and seemed to be looking at the different flower beds in his progress; madame guise pointing to one and another with her finger. had mrs. castlemaine caught but a word of the private conversation being carried on under the semblance of admiring the flowers, she might have stolen out to listen in the gratification of her curiosity. which would not have served her, for they spoke in french. "how you startled me, george!" cried madame guise, as their heads were both bent over a rose-tree. "i thought i should have fainted. it might have made me discover all. let us walk on!" "well, i suppose i ought to have written first. but i thought i should be introduced to you alone--your being here as the governess." "how are they all at gap?--look at these carnations.--how is emma? did you get my letter through her?" "i got it when i reached gap. they are all well. she gave me your letter and what news she could. i cannot understand it, charlotte. where is anthony?" "dead. murdered. as i truly and fully believe." mr. north lifted his hat and passed his white handkerchief across his brow, very perplexed and stern just then. "when can i see you alone, charlotte?" "this evening. as soon as dusk sets in, i will meet you in chapel lane:" and she directed him where to find it. "you stay at the lower end near that great building almost in ruins, the friar's keep, and i will come to you. are you here at last to help me unravel the treachery, george?" "i will try to do it." "but why have you been so tardy?--why did you go to--what did you say--those channel islands?" "i had an artist friend with me who would go over there. i did not care to show too much eagerness to come on to england--he might have suspected i had a motive. and it seems to me, charlotte, that this investigation will be a most delicate business; one that a breath of suspicion, as to who i am, might defeat." "and oh, why did you linger so long in italy, george?" she asked in a low tone of painful wailing. "and to have neglected for months to let us get an address that would certainly find you! had you been at gap when the father died, the probability is that anthony and you would have made the journey here in company. surely mr. james castlemaine had not dared to kill him then!" "hush!" he answered in a voice more bitterly painful than her own. "you heard what i said just now in the salon: the regret, the self-reproach will only cease with my life. until this evening then, charlotte!" "until this evening." "who is that charming demoiselle?" he asked, as they shook hands in parting. "what relation is she to the house?" "no real relation of it at all. she is miss reene; mrs. castlemaine's stepdaughter. mrs. castlemaine was a widow when she married into the family." mr. george north closed the gate behind him; took off his hat to madame with the peculiar action of a frenchman, and walked away. chapter xxv. mr. george north. if there existed one man eminently open by nature, more truthful, devoid of guile, and less capable of deceit than his fellows, it was certainly george north. and yet he was acting a deceitful part now; inasmuch as that he had made his appearance in england and introduced himself at greylands' rest, under what might be called a partially false name. for the name "george north" had but been given him in baptism: the other, the chief one, was castlemaine. he was the son of basil castlemaine, and the younger brother of the most unfortunate anthony. four children had been born to basil castlemaine and his wife. they were named as follows: anthony, mary ursula, george north, and emma. the elder daughter died young: the wife died just as her other children had grown up. anthony married charlotte guise; emma married monsieur de rhone, a gentleman who was now the chief partner in the silk mills, with which basil castlemaine had been connected. the two young castlemaines, anthony and george, had both declined to engage in commerce. their father pointed to them that a share in the silk mills was open to each, and no doubt a good fortune at the end of a few years' connection with the business; beyond that, he did not particularly urge the step on either of them. his sons would both inherit a modest competency under his will. anthony would also succeed (as basil fully believed) to his forefather's patrimony in england, greylands' rest, which would necessitate his residence there; and george, at the age of twenty-four, came into a fairly good fortune left to him by his uncle and godfather, mr. north. therefore, both of them were considered by the father to be provided for, and if they preferred to eschew commerce, they were welcome to do so. george had shown very considerable talent for drawing and painting; it had been well cultivated; and though he did not intend to make it exactly his profession, for he needed it not, he did hope to become famous as a watercolour painter. some time after attaining the age of twenty-four, and taking possession of his bequeathed fortune, he had resolved on making a lengthened sojourn in italy; not to stay in one part of it, but to move about as inclination dictated. and this he did. from time to time he wrote home, saying where he then was; but rarely where he would be later, simply because he did not know himself. two or three letters reached him in return, containing the information that all was well. all being well seems to the young to mean always to be well; as it did to george castlemaine: his mind was at rest, and for several months there ensued a gap of silence. it is true he wrote home; but, as to tidings from home reaching him in return, he did not afford a chance for it. he crossed to sicily, to corsica; he went to the ionian isles: it is hard to say where he did not go. when tidings from home at length reached him, he found that his family, whom he had been picturing as unchanged and happy, was totally dispersed. his father was dead. anthony had gone over to england to see after his patrimony; and, not returning as he ought to have done, his wife and child had followed him. emma de rhone, who conveyed all this in writing, to her brother, confessed she did not understand what could have become of anthony; but that she did not think he could have lost himself, though of course england was a large place, and he, being strange, might have a difficulty in making his way about it. to this portion of the letter george gave no heed; at a happier time he would have laughed at the notion of anthony's being lost; his whole heart was absorbed in the grief for his father and in self-reproach for his own supine carelessness. he did not hurry home: there was nothing to go for now: and it was summer weather when george once more re-entered gap. to his intense astonishment, his concern, his perplexity, he found that anthony really was lost: at least, that his wife seemed nimble to discover traces of him. emma de rhone handed him a thick letter of several sheets, which had come enclosed to her for him from charlotte many weeks before, and had been waiting for him. when george castlemaine broke the seal, he found it to contain a detailed account of anthony's disappearance and the circumstances connected with it, together with her suspicions of james castlemaine, and her residence in that gentleman's house. in short, she told him all; and she begged him to come over and see into it for himself; but to come as a stranger, en cachette, and not to declare himself to be connected with her, or as a castlemaine. she also warned him not to tell emma or m. de rhone of her worst fears about anthony, lest they should be undertaking the investigation themselves: which might ruin all hopes of discovery, for mr. castlemaine was not one to be approached in that way. and the result of this was that george castlemaine was now here as george north. he had deemed it well to obey charlotte's behest, and come; at the same time he did not put great faith in the tale. it puzzled him extremely: and he could but recall that his brother's wife was given to be a little fanciful--romantic, in short. not a breath of air was stirring. the summer night seemed well-nigh as hot as the day had been. there lay a mist on the fields behind the hedge on either side chapel lane as charlotte guise hastened lightly down it. in her impatience she had come out full early to keep the appointment, and when she reached the end of the lane, george north--as for convenience' sake we must continue to call him--was but then approaching it. "you found it readily, george?" she whispered. "quite so. it is in a straight line from the inn." "are you going back to stilborough to-night?" "no. i shall sleep at the dolphin, and go back to-morrow." he offered his sister-in-law his arm. she took it; but the next moment relinquished it again. "it may be better not, george," she said. "it is not very likely that we shall meet people, but it's not impossible: and, to see me walking thus familiarly with a stranger would excite comment." they turned to go up the hill. it was safer than chapel lane, as charlotte observed; for there was no knowing but mr. harry castlemaine might be going through the lane to the commodore's, whose company both father and son seemed to favour. mr. castlemaine was at stilborough: had driven over in the morning, and was no doubt staying there to dine. "this seems to be a lonely road," remarked mr. north, as they went on side by side. "it is very lonely. we rarely meet any one but the preventive-men: and not often even one of them." almost in silence they continued their way until opposite the coastguard-station: a short line of white dwellings lying at right angles with the road on the left hand. turning off to the right, across the waste land on the other side the road, they soon were on the edge of the cliff, with the sea lying below. "we may walk and talk here in safety," said charlotte. "there is never more than one man on duty: his beat is a long one, all down there"--pointing along the line of coast in the opposite direction to that of greylands--"and we shall see him, should he approach, long before he could reach us. besides, they are harmless and unsuspicious, these coastguardsmen; they only look out for ships and smugglers." "we do not get a very good view of the sea from here: that high cliff on the right is an impediment," remarked mr. north. "what a height it is!" "it shoots up suddenly, close on this side the friar's keep, and shoots down nearly as suddenly to where we are now. ethel reene climbs it occasionally, and sits there; but i think nobody else does." "not the preventive-men?" "by day sometimes. never by night; it would be too dangerous. their beat commences here." "and now, charlotte, about this most unhappy business?" said mr. north, as they began to pace backwards and forwards on the green brow of the coast, level there. "where are we to look for anthony? it cannot be that he is lost." "but he is lost, george. he went into the friar's keep that unhappy night in february; and he was never seen to come out again. he never did come out again, as most people here believe; i, for one. what other word is there for it but lost?" "it sounds like a fable," said george north. "like a tale out of those romance books you used to read, charlotte." "i thought so when i came here first and heard it." "did that account you sent me contain all the details? "i think it did. one cannot give quite so elaborate a history in writing a letter as by word of mouth. little particulars are apt to be dropped out." "you had better go over it to me now, charlotte: all you know from the beginning. omit not the smallest detail." madame guise obeyed at once. the opening her mouth to impart this dreadful story, dreadful and more dreadful to her day by day, was something like the relief afforded to a parched traveller in an african desert, when he comes upon the well of water he has been fainting for, and slakes his thirst. not to one single human being had charlotte guise been able to pour forth by word of mouth this strange story all through these months since she heard it: the need to do it, the pain, the yearning for sympathy and counsel, had been consuming her all the while as with a fever heat. she told the whole. the arrival of anthony at the dolphin inn, and his presenting himself to his family--as heard from john bent. the ill-reception of him by mr. castlemaine when he spoke of a claim to greylands' rest; the refusal of mr. castlemaine to see him subsequently, and their hostile encounter in the field; the strolling out by moonlight that same night of anthony and the landlord; their watching (quite by chance) the entrance of mr. castlemaine into the friar's keep, and the hasty following in of anthony, to have it out, as he impulsively said, under the moonbeams; and the total disappearance of anthony from that hour. she told all in detail, george north listening without interruption. "and it is supposed that the cry, following on the shot that was almost immediately heard, was my poor brother's cry?" spoke george, the first words with which he broke the silence. "i feel sure it was his cry, george." "and mr. james castlemaine denies that he was there?" "he denies it entirely. he says he was at home at the time and in bed." "suppose that it was anthony who cried; that he was killed by the shot: would it be easy to throw him into the sea out of sight?" "not from the keep. they say there is no opening to the sea. mr. castlemaine may have dragged him across the chapel ruins and filing him from thence." "but could he have done that without being seen? john bent, you say, was outside the gates, waiting for anthony." "but john bent was not there all the time. when he got tired of waiting he went home, thinking anthony might have come out without his seeing him--but not in his heart believing it possible that he had. finding anthony had not returned to the inn, john bent went again and searched the keep with mr. nettleby, the superintendent of these coastguardsmen." "and they did not find any trace of him?" "not any." "or of any struggle, or other ill work?" "i believe not. oh, it is most strange!" "who locked the gate--as you describe: and then opened it again?" questioned mr. north after a moment's pause. "ah, i know not. nobody can conjecture." "have you searched well in this keep yourself?" "oh, george, i have not dared to do it! it has a revenant." "a what!" exclaimed mr. north. "a revenant. i have seen it, and was nearly frightened to death." "charlotte!" "i know you strong men ridicule such things," said poor madame guise, meekly. "anthony would have laughed just as you do. it's true, though. the friar's keep is haunted by a dead monk: he appears dressed in his cowl and grey habit, the same that he used to wear in life. he passes the window sometimes with a lamp in his hand." "since when has this revenant taken to appear?" inquired george north, after a short period of reflection. "since anthony's disappearance?" "oh, for a long, long while before it. i believe the monk died something like two hundred years ago. why? were you thinking, george, that it might be the revenant of poor anthony?" mr. george north drew in his disbelieving lips. at a moment like the present he would not increase her pain by showing his mockery of revenants. "what i was thinking was this, charlotte. whether, if poor anthony be really no more, his destroyers may have cause to wish the friar's keep to remain unexplored, lest traces of him might be found, and so have improvised a revenant, as you call it, to scare people away." "the revenant has haunted the place for years and years, george. it has been often seen." "then that puts an end to my theory." "i might have had courage to search the keep by day for the dead, as we all believe, do not come abroad then--but that i have not dared to risk being seen there," resumed madame guise. "were i to be seen going into the friar's keep, a place that every one shuns, it might be suspected that i had a motive, and mr. castlemaine would question me. besides, my young pupil is mostly with me by day: it is only in the evening that i have unquestioned liberty." "i wonder you reconciled yourself to go into the house as governess, charlotte." "for anthony's sake," she said imploringly. "what would i not do for his sake? and then, you see, george, while anthony does not come forward to give orders at gap, and there is no proof that he is dead, i cannot draw money. my own income is but small." "why, my dear charlotte, what are you talking of? you could have had any amount of money you pleased from me. i----" "you forget, george: you were travelling, and could not be written to." "well, there was emma," returned mr. george, half confounded when thus confuted by his own sins. "i did not want to give too much confidence to emma and her husband: i have told you why. and i would have gone into mr. castlemaine's house, george, the opportunity offering, though i had been the richest woman in the world. but for being there, i should not have known that mr. castlemaine holds secret possession of anthony's diamond ring. you remember that ring, george." "i remember i used jokingly to say i would steal it from him--it was so beautiful. the possession of the ring is the most damaging proof of all against my uncle james. and yet not a certain proof." "not a certain proof!" "no: for it is possible that he may have picked it up in the friar's keep." "then why should he not have shown the ring? an innocent man would have done so at once, and--here comes the preventive-man," broke off madame guise, her quick sight detecting the officer at some distance. "let us go down the bill again, george." they crossed the waste land to the road, and went towards the hill. george north was lost in thought. "there is something about it almost incomprehensible," he said aloud: "and for my own part, charlotte, i must avow that i cannot yet believe the uncle james to be guilty. the castlemaines are recognised in their own land here as mirrors of honour. i have heard my father say so many a time. and this is so dreadful a crime to suspect anybody of! i think i saw the uncle to-day." "where?" she asked. and mr. north explained the appearance of the gentleman that morning at the turk's head, whose carriage bore the castlemaine crest. "oh, yes, that was mr. castlemaine," she said, recognising him by the description. "well, he does not look like a man who would do a dreadful deed, charlotte. he has a very attractive, handsome face: and i think a good face. shall i tell you why i have more particularly faith in his innocence?--because he is so like my father." "and i have never doubted his guilt. you must admit, george, that appearances are strongly against him." "undoubtedly they are. and a sad thing it is to have to say it of one of the family. do you see much of the younger brother--the uncle peter?" "but he is dead," returned charlotte. "the uncle peter dead!" "he died the very night that anthony was lost: the mourning you saw mrs. castlemaine wearing was for him; ethel and the little girl have gone into slighter mourning. and madame guise proceeded to give a brief history of mr. peter castlemaine's death and the circumstances surrounding it, with the entrance of mary ursula to the grey nunnery. he listened in silence; just remarking that he had wondered in the morning which of his two uncles it was that he saw, and had felt half inclined to inquire of the waiter, but prudence kept him from it. "this is the friar's keep," she said as they came to it, and her voice instinctively took a tone of awe. "do you see those two middle windows, george? it is within them that people see the revenant of the grey monk." "i wish he would show himself now!" heartily spoke george, throwing his eyes on the windows. at which wish his sister-in-law drew close enough to touch him. "here's the gate," she said, halting as they came to it. "was it not a strange thing, george, that it should be locked that night!" "if it really was locked; and is never locked at other times," replied george north, who quite seemed, what with one implied doubt and another, to be going in for some of the scepticism of his uncle, the master of greylands. opening the gate, he walked in. charlotte followed. they looked inside the gothic door to the dark still cloisters of the keep; they stood for some moments gazing out over the sea, so expansive to the eye from this place: but charlotte did not care to linger there with him, lest they should be seen. "and it was to this place of ruins anthony came, and passed into those unearthly-looking cloisters!" he exclaimed as they were going out. "that dark, still enceinte put me in mind of nothing so much as a dead-house." charlotte shivered. "it is there," she said, "that we must search for traces of anthony----" "i suppose there is a staircase, or something of that kind, that leads to the upper rooms of the keep?" he interrupted. "oh, yes: a stone staircase." "have you been up to the rooms?" "i!" she exclaimed, as if he might have spared the question. "why, it is in those upper rooms that the revenant is seen. part of them are in ruins. mr. castlemaine and some men of the law he called to his aid from stilborough went over it all after anthony's loss, and found no traces of him. but what i think is this, george: that a search conducted by mr. castlemaine would not be a minute or true one: the master of greylands' will is law in the place: he is bowed down to like a king. how shall you manage to account plausibly for taking up your abode at greylands, so that no suspicion may attach to you?" "i shall be here for the purpose of sketching, you understand. an obscure travelling artist excites neither notice nor suspicion, charlotte," he added in a half-laughing tone. "by the way--there's no danger, i hope, that the little one, marie greylands, will remember uncle george?" "not the least; not the slightest. you left her too long ago for that. but, take you notice, george, that here she is only marie. it would not do to let her other name, greylands, slip out." "i will take care," replied george north. "i think you will. i think you have altered, george. you are more thoughtful in mood, more sober in manner than you used to be." "ay," he answered. "that carelessness and its sad fruits altered me, charlotte. it left me a lesson that will last me my lifetime." they were opposite the entrance of the grey nunnery: and, in the selfsame moment, its doors opened and ethel reene came forth, attended by sister ann. the sight seemed to startle madame guise. "dear me!--but it is i who am careless to-night," she said, below her breath. "talking with you, george, has made me forget all; even time." in fact, madame was to have called at the nunnery quite an hour ago for ethel: who had been to spend the evening there with miss castlemaine. madame went forward with her apologies: saying that she had met her husband's old friend, mr. north, and had stayed talking with him of by-gone days, forgetful of the passing moments. "i will take charge of miss reene now, sister ann; i am so sorry you should have to put your things on," she added. "nay, but i am not sorry," returned sister ann candidly. "it is pleasant to us to get the change of a walk. your little one has been very happy this evening, madame guise; playing at bo-peep and eating the grapes miss reene brought her." sister ann retired indoors. madame guise and ethel took the front way round by the dolphin to greylands' rest, mr. george north attending them. the shortest way was across the field path; though it involved a stile, madame took it. mr. north talked to ethel, and made himself very agreeable--as none could do better than he: and miss ethel rejoiced that it was night instead of day, for she found herself blushing repeatedly at nothing, just as she had done during his visit in the morning. what could have come to her? she mentally asked; she had never been absurd before: and she felt quite angry with herself. the conversation was held in french, madame having unconsciously resumed that language with mr. north when they left sister ann. "there are many delightful bits of scenery in this little place," said mr. north: "i have been looking about me this afternoon. perhaps i may bring myself and my pencils here for a short sojourn: i should much like to take some sketches." "yes, they are very nice views," said ethel, blushing again. she was walking arm in arm with the governess, and mr. north strolled along at ethel's elbow. "how very well you speak french!" he exclaimed. "almost as well as we french people ourselves. there's but a slight accent." a deeper and quite unnecessary blush at this. "but i thought you were english, monsieur." "well, so i am, mademoiselle. but when you come to sojourn a long while in a country, you get to identify yourself with its inhabitants,--that is to say, with their nationality." "and you have been for a long time in france?" "yes." they had come to the stile now. mr. north got over it and assisted madame guise. ethel mounted instantly, and was jumping down alone: but he turned and caught her. in the hurry she tripped, and somewhat crushed her hat against his shoulder. he made fifty thousand apologies, just as though it had been his fault; and there was much laughing. mr. north quite forgot to release her hand until they had gone on some paces; and ethel's blush at this was as hot as the summer's night. at the entrance gate, where he had taken leave of madame guise in the morning, he took leave of them now; shaking the hand of madame and asking whether he might be permitted to shake ethel's, as it was the mode in england. the blushes were worst of all then: and ethel's private conviction was that the whole world had never contained so attractive an individual as mr. george north. mr. george north had all but regained the door of the dolphin inn, where he had dined and would lodge for the night, when a carriage and pair, with its bright lamps lighted, came spanking round the corner at a quick pace, the groom driving. george north, drawing aside as it passed him, recognized the handsome phaeton he had seen in the morning at the turk's head. the master of greylands was returning from stilborough. chapter xxvi. dining at greylands' rest. it was yet early morning. the sky was darkly blue, the sea indolent and calm, the air intensely hot. mr. george north, sitting on the bench outside the dolphin inn, his straw hat tilted over his brows, gazed at the placid sea before him, and felt as lazy as was the atmosphere. he had slept well, and breakfasted to his perfect content. young, sanguine, healthy, the mystery encompassing his brother anthony's fate had not sufficed to break his rest. the more than hinted-at doubts of charlotte guise--that anthony had been vat out of the world for ever by mr. castlemaine--failed to find their response in george north's mind. the mere thought of it appeared to him to be absurd: the suspicion far-fetched and impossible; the implied doubt of the master of greylands little less than a libel on the name of castlemaine. men of the world are inclined to be practical in their views, rather than imaginative: and the young and hopeful look ever on the bright side of all things. that anthony's disappearance was most unaccountable, george north felt; his continued absence, if indeed he still lived, was more strange still. there was very much to be unravelled in connection with that past february night, and george north intended to do his best to bring its doings to light: but that his brother had been destroyed in the dreadful manner implied, he could not and would not believe. without giving credit to anything so terrible, there existed ground enough, ay and more than enough, for distrust and uncertainty. and, just as his sister-in-law, poor bereaved charlotte, had taken up her abode at greylands under false colours, to devote herself to search out the mystery of that disappearance within the friar's keep, so did george north resolve to take up his. nothing loth, was he, to make a sojourn there. had anthony presented himself before him at that moment, safe and well, george would still have felt inclined to stay; for the charms of ethel reene had made anything but a transient impression on him. the world was his own, too; he had no particular home in it; greylands was as welcome to him as an abode as any other resting-place. john bent came forth from the open door to join his guest. landlords and their ways in those days were different folks from what they are in these. he wore no waistcoat under his loose linen coat, and his head was bare. "a nice stretch of water, that, sir," he said, respectfully, indicating the wide sea, shining out in the distance. "it is indeed," replied george north. "i think the place is a nice place altogether. that sea, and the cliff, rising up there, would be worth sketching. and there must be other pretty spots also." "true enough, sir." "i feel inclined to bring over my pencils and take up my quarters with you for a bit, and sketch these places. what do you say to it, mr. bent?" "there's nothing i could say, sir, but that it would give me and my wife pleasure if you did. we'd try and make you comfortable." "ay; i don't fear but you'd do that. well, i think i shall go to stilborough and bring back my rattletraps. i saw a charming bit of scenery yesterday when i went to call on the french lady. it is an archway covered with ivy: looking through the opening, you catch a view of a cottage with a back-ground of trees. there was a small rustic bridge also not far off, lying amid trees, and a stream of water running under it, the whole dark and sheltered. these spots would make admirable sketches." "no doubt, sir," returned john bent by way of answer. "but you'd have to crave the leave of the master of greylands before making them. and that leave might not be easy to get." "why not?" "they be on his land, sir." "what of that? surely he would not deny it! the great creator has not been churlish in making this world beautiful--should one man wish to keep any part of it for the enjoyment of his own sole eyesight?" john bent gave his head a shake. "i don't think it is that mr. castlemaine would do that, sir; he is not so selfish as that comes to; but he does not like to see strangers about the place. he'd keep all strange folks out of greylands if he could: that's my belief." "why should he?" "it's just his pride and his exclusive temper, sir." "but i thought i had heard mr. castlemaine described as a generous man; a pleasant-tempered man," remarked mr. north. "well, and so he is, sir, when he chooses to be," confessed the landlord; "i don't say to the contrary. in many things he is as easy and liberal as a man can be. but in regard to having strangers about his land, or in the place either, he is just a despot. and i think the chances are ten to one, sir, against your getting leave to sketch any spot of his." "i can bat ask. if he refuses me, well and good. of course i should not attempt to defy him--though i am by no means sure that he, or any one else, has the legal power to deny our copying nature's works, in man's possession though they may be. never mind. enough free objects will be left for me: such as that cliff, for example, and that glorious sea." mr. north rose as he spoke. at that same moment two of the grey ladies were crossing over from the nunnery. only one of them wore the dress of the community, sister margaret. the other was miss castlemaine, in her flowing mourning robes. each of the ladies smiled kindly and gave the good-morrow to john bent. george north lifted his straw hat with reverence, and kept it off until they should have passed. possibly the action, so uncharacteristic of most englishmen, attracted particularly the attention of mary ursula. bending slightly her head to acknowledge the courtesy, her eyes rested on the young man's face. whether it was his action, whether it was anything she saw in the face that struck on her, certain it was that she half stopped to gaze upon him. she said nothing, however, but passed on. "what a magnificent young woman!" cried mr. north, when the ladies were out of hearing. "she is beautiful. i mean the lady in mourning: not the sister." "she is that, sir. it is miss castlemaine." "miss castlemaine! which miss castlemaine?" "the late banker's daughter, sir. niece to the master of greylands." an hour later, the ladies went by again on their way homeward. john was outside his door still, but alone, with a white cap on his head. miss castlemaine accosted him. "who was that gentleman we saw here just now, mr. bent?" "his name's north, madam: he is an artist." "thank you," said miss castlemaine. "why did you inquire?" asked sister margaret as they went on. "because something in the stranger's face seemed to be familiar to me--as though i had seen it before," replied mary ursula. meanwhile, mr. george north, who seemed to do things rather upon impulse--or, at least, not to lose time in putting in practice any resolution he might make--had proceeded to greylands' rest to get the permission for sketching any particular bits of scenery he fancied, which might be owned by mr. castlemaine. he took the field way; the same way that he and the ladies had taken the previous night, and he was nearly at the end of his journey when he encountered mr. castlemaine who was coming forth from his house with ethel reene. mr. north lifted his hat, and approached to accost them. "i beg your pardon," he said to mr. castlemaine, bowing at the same time to ethel, "i believe i have the honour of speaking to the master of greylands." mr. castlemaine recognised him at once, as the young travelling artist whom he had seen the previous day at the turk's head; the same who had just been talked of at his breakfast-table. this mr. george north, it turned out, was a friend of madame guise, or, as madame especially put it, of her late husband's. a gentleman artist, madame had said, for he was not dependent on his profession; he had a good patrimony, and was of good family: and mr. castlemaine had taken all in unsuspiciously. apart from anything trenching on the mysteries of that certain february night and of the friar's keep, whatever they might be, he was the least suspicious man in the world: and it no more occurred to him to connect this young man and his appearance at greylands with that unhappy affair, than he had connected madame with it. mr. castlemaine had taken rather fancy to this young artist when at the turk's head: he liked the look of his bright face now, as he came up smiling: he warmed to the open, attractive manners. george north preferred his request. he had come to greylands the previous day in the two-horse van from stilborough for the purpose of calling on madame guise; he had been struck with the pretty place and with the many charming bits of scenery it presented, fit for the pencil: some of these spots he found belonged to the master of greylands; would the master of greylands give him permission to sketch them? and taken, it must be repeated, by the applicant's looks and words; by his winning face, his pleasing voice, his gentlemanly bearing altogether, mr. castlemaine gave the permission off-hand, never staying to count the cost of any after suggestions that might arise against it. artists had come to the place before; they had stayed a week or two and departed again, leaving no traces behind: that the same would be the case with this present one, he never thought to doubt. mr. north was somewhat different from the others, though; inasmuch as that he was known to madame guise (who vouched, so to say, for his being a gentleman) and also that he had gained the liking of mr. castlemaine. mr. north warmly expressed his thanks for the readily-accorded permission. ethel had not spoken, but was blushing perpetually as she stood listening to him--and for no cause whatever, she angrily told herself. mr. north turned to retrace his steps, and they all walked on together. "you have been acquainted with madame guise and her family some time, i find," observed the master of greylands. "knew them abroad." "oh yes. her husband was a dear friend of mine. we were like--" mr. north hesitated, but brought the suggestive word out, as he had led to it--"like brothers." "was there anything peculiar in his death?" asked mr. castlemaine. "madame guise seems to shrink so much from all mention of the subject that we can hardly help fancying there was: and it is a topic that we cannot question her upon. he died suddenly, she said one day, when some allusion was made to him, and that is all we know. mrs. castlemaine observed that she shivered perceptibly as she said it. "that is what i heard--that he died suddenly," assented mr. north. "i was roaming about italy at the time, and did not know of it for some months afterwards. madame guise had left for england then. i procured her address; and, being so near, called to see her yesterday." mr. castlemaine slightly nodded--as if this part scarcely needed explanation. "then you do not know what monsieur guise died of, mr. north? she has not told you?" "no, she has not. i do not know what he died of. they were very much attached to one another, and her avoidance of the subject may be perhaps natural. he was an estimable young man, and my very good and dear friend." thus talking, the fields were traversed and they gained the road. here their routes lay in opposite directions: that of the master of greylands and ethel to the right, mr. north's to the left. he was returning to the dolphin before starting on his walk to stilborough. "you are staying at the inn, i presume," observed mr. castlemaine to him. "yes, i am comfortable there, and the charges are very moderate. i called for my bill this morning." "called for your bill! are you going away?" "only to come back again this afternoon. i left my portmanteau and pencils at stilborough." "well, we shall be happy to welcome you at greylands' rest whenever you feel inclined to call on madame guise," spoke mr. castlemaine in parting. "will you dine with us this evening?" "thank you. with very much pleasure." mr. castlemaine cordially shook hands, and turned away. it was rare indeed that the master of greylands condescended to be so free with a stranger--or, in fact, with any one. any previous visiting-artists to the place might have looked in vain for a hand-shake. but his heart warmed to this young man; he knew not why: and there was something in mr. north's bearing, though it was perfectly respectful to the master of greylands, which seemed to testify that he was, and knew himself to be, of the same social standing in society; at least, that gentleman's equal. but that the propensity, which we all have, to take likes and dislikes seems to obey no rule or law, and is never to be accounted for, it might be noticed as a curious circumstance here. when mr. castlemaine first saw the unfortunate anthony, he had taken a dislike to him. how far the avowed errand of that young man--the putting in a claim to greylands' rest--may have conduced to this, cannot be told: mr. castlemaine would have said that it had nothing to do with it; that he disliked him by instinct. most people had seen nothing in anthony but what was to be liked; ay, and much liked; mr. castlemaine was an exception. and yet, here was anthony's brother (though mr. castlemaine knew it not) to whom his heart was going out as it had never yet before gone out to a stranger! truly these instincts are more capricious than a woman's will! george north ran into the dolphin, caught up his umbrella to shield himself from the sun, and started on his hot walk to stilborough. in the course of the afternoon he was back again with what he was pleased to call his rattletraps--a portmanteau and a sketching-case--having chartered a fly to greylands. there was no two-horse van at his disposal that afternoon. "do you get much of this fiery weather?" he asked, throwing himself down by mrs. bent in her sitting-room and his hat on the table, while the landlord saw to his luggage. "well, we have our share of it, sir, when it's a hot summer. and this is a very hot one. just see the sea yonder: even that looks hot." "i shall take a dip presently and try it," returned mr. north. "that must be the best of living at the sea-side you get glorious baths." "you have not told me what you'd like for dinner yet, sir," resumed mrs. bent, who was stripping currants into a pan, her face and the currants and the cherry cap-ribbons all one and the same colour. "dinner! why, i am going to dine at greylands' rest. its master asked me." "did he!" cried mrs. bent in surprise. "well, that's a great thing for him to do. he don't favour new-comers, sir." "he has so far favoured me. i say, mrs. bent," added the artist, a laughing look in his bright eyes, "what a pretty girl that is, up there!" mrs. bent raised her own eyes from the stripping, and shot forth an inquiring glance. he was helping himself to the ripest bunches. "miss ethel reene! well, so she is, sir, and as good as she is pretty. there's no love lost--as it is said--between her and her stepmother. at any rate, on mrs. castlemaine's part. the servants say miss ethel gets snubbed and put upon above a bit. she has to give way finely to the little one." "who is the little one?--just look at this large bunch! twenty on it, i know." "you'll get a surfeit, sir, if you eat at these sharp currants like that when you are so hot. "not i. i never tasted any so good." "i shall charge you for then, sir," she went on, laughing. "all right. charge away. i have heard my father tell a tale of going into a cherry-orchard once when he was a lad, he and three more boys. they paid sixpence each, and eat what they liked. i fancy all four had a surfeit, or something, after that." "i dare be bound. boys in a cherry-orchard! do you get fine currants in france, sir?" "we get everything that's fine there," responded mr. north, as well as he could speak for the currants. "but what little one were you talking of, mrs. bent?" "of miss flora, sir: mrs. castlemaine's daughter. a troublesome, ill-behaved little chit, she is: always in mischief. the last time we were brewing; it's only a few days ago; my young lady was passing the door and ran in: she went rushing to the brewhouse, and fell backwards into the mash-tub. fortunately the liquor had been drawn off; but there she was, squealing in the wet grains." mr. north laughed, and rose. abandoning the currants, he put on his hat and went leisurely out to take his plunge in the sea. by-and-by, when mrs. bent and john were seated at tea, he came running back in a commotion, his wet towels in his hand. "can you tell me at what time they dine at greylands' rest?" "at six o'clock, sir, when they dine late," replied john "mostly, though, it's in the middle of the day." "and as often five o'clock as six," put in mrs. bent. "the earlier mrs. castlemaine dines, the better she likes it. you have not half dried your hair, sir." "i had no time for superfluous drying," he replied. "it suddenly struck me that i did not know the hour for dinner, and i came off as i could. is that the right time?" looking at the clock. "a quarter past five?" "right to a minute, sir. this clock never fails." "and you say, mrs. bent, that they sometimes dine at five. what will they think of me?" he went leaping up the stairs, saying something about the thoughtless ways of wandering arabs--by which the landlord and his wife understood him to mean artists. an incredibly short time, and he was down again, dressed, and striding off to greylands' rest. the first thing mr. north noticed, on entering the gate of the garden, was the flutter of a white dress amid a nest of trees. it was enough to assure him that the dinner had not begun. he penetrated these trees, attracted by the voices within, and found himself in sight of ethel reene, and the young damsel recently spoken of--miss flora. the white dress he had seen was ethel's. it was an indian sprigged muslin, set off with black ribbons. her rich brown hair, so bright in the flicker of sunshine, had nothing to adorn it: her delicate face wore one of its sweetest blushes as he approached. she sat in a kind of grotto formed by the trees, a book resting in her lap while she talked to flora. that young lady, unmindful of her holiday attire--a costly and very pretty frock of grey silken gauze--for mrs. castlemaine had said she might dine at table--was astride on one of the branches. ethel had in vain told her not to get up there. she jumped down at the sight of mr. north: the frock was caught, and the result was a woful rent. "there!" exclaimed ethel in an undertone, for mr. north had not quite reached them. "your beautiful new frock! what a pity! if i were mamma i should never buy you anything but stuff and cotton." flora, even, looked down ruefully at the damage: the frock was new, as ethel said, costly, and beautiful. "pin it up, ethel." "i have no pins here. besides, pinning would not hold it. it can only be mended. you had better show it to eliza." the spoilt child ran past mr. north on her way indoors. he came up to ethel, bowed, and then held his hand out. with another bright and deeper blush she put hers into it. "i shall get quite the english manners soon," he said, "we do not shake hands much in my country: especially with young ladies. they do not let us." "do you call france your country?" "well, i am apt to do so, having lived there so much. i have been making great haste here, miss reene, not knowing the hour for dinner." "we dine at six," replied ethel. "mamma has but just returned from her drive, and is dressing," she added, as if in apology for being the only one to receive him. "papa has been out all the afternoon." "is madame guise well to-day?" "not very. she has one of her bad headaches, i am sorry to say, and is in her room. she will be here shortly." he sat down by ethel, and took up the book she had been reading; a very old and attractive book indeed--the "vicar of wakefield." "what an excellent story it is!" he exclaimed. "have you read it?" asked ethel, rising to proceed to the house. "indeed i have. twenty times, i should think. my mother had a small store of these old english works, and and my brother revelled in them." "you have brothers and sisters?" "only one sister now. she is married and lives in france." "ah, then i can understand why you like to go thither so much," said ethel, all unconscious that it was his native land; that he had never before been in england. "is her husband french?" "yes," replied mr. north. "oh, what a lovely rose!" he cried, halting at a tree they were passing, perhaps to change the conversation. it was in truth one of rare beauty: small, bright, delicate, and of exquisite fragrance. ethel, in her impulsive good nature, in her innocent thoughtlessness, plucked it and offered it to him. as he took it from her, their eyes met: in his own shone a strangely-earnest look of gratitude for the gift, mingled with admiration. poor ethel became crimson at the thought of what she had done, and would have regained the flower had it been possible. she went on quickly to the glassdoors of the drawing-room; mr. north followed, placing the rose in his buttonhole. madame guise was entering the room by the inner door at the same moment. mr. and mrs. castlemaine soon, appeared; lastly, miss flora, in her mended frock. harry castlemaine was not at home; some errand, either of business or pleasure, had taken him to stilborough. harry had been out a great deal of late: there seemed to be a restlessness upon him, and his father was beginning to notice it. mr. north was received (as he heard later from madame guise) quite en famille--which pleased him much. no alteration was made in the usual style of dinner: but the dinners at greylands' rest were always sufficiently good for chance company. as george north sat at table, watching the master at the head board, he could not bring himself to believe that charlotte's suspicions were correct. good-looking, refined, courtly, pleasing, mr. castlemaine appeared to be the very last man capable of committing a secret crime. every other moment some gesture of his, or glance, or tone in the voice, put george north in mind of his father, basil castlemaine: and--no, he could not, he could not join in the doubts of poor anthony's wife. but he noticed one thing. that ever and anon mr. castlemaine would seem to forget where he was, forget his position as host, and fall into a fit of silent abstraction, during which, a curiously-sad expression lay on his face, and his brow was knit as with some painful care. he would rouse himself as soon as he perceived he was mentally absent, and be in an instant the grand, courtly, self-possessed master of greylands again. but the fits of gloom did occur, and george north observed them. nevertheless, he could not entertain the dread suspicions of his sister-in-law.. that a vast deal of mystery attached to his brother's disappearance, and that mr. castlemaine was in some degree and manner connected with it, or cognizant of it, he readily saw cause, to recognize: but, of the darker accusation, he believed him to be innocent. and it went with george north very much against the grain to sit at mr. castlemaine's hospitable table under false colours, and not to declare the fact that he was his brother basil's son. something of this he said to madame guise. dinner over, the party strolled into the garden, grateful for the little breath of air it brought. mr. north found himself momentarily alone with madame, near the grand sweeping elm tree. "are you mad, george?" she hastily cried in french and in the deepest alarm, in response to the word or two he whispered. "wish to declare yourself! not like to be here only as mr. north! for the love of heaven, recall your senses." "it is terrible deceit, charlotte." "do you no longer care for your unfortunate brother? have you lost all remembrance of your love for him?--of the ties of kindred?--of the time when you played together at your mother's knee! do you think it cost me nothing to come here under a wrong name--that it costs me no self reproaches to be here under sham pretences, i who have as keen a sense of honour as you? but i do it for anthony's sake; i bear all the feeling of disgrace for him." "that is just it," said george, "as it seems to me. disgrace." "it must be borne--for my sake, and for anthony's. were you to say, 'i am george, anthony's brother,' mr. castlemaine would take, alarm; he would turn you out of the house, and me after you: and, rely upon it, we should never, discover more of poor anthony than we know now. it would still all be uncertain. no, mon ami, go you away from greylands if you like, and leave me to seek on alone; but, declare yourself you must not. anthony would rise from his grave at your unnatural conduct." "charlotte, you are exciting yourself for nothing," he hastily whispered, for mrs. castlemaine was approaching. "i did not say i was going to declare myself; i only said how unpalatable to me is the acting of this deceit. but for anthony's sake and yours, i would not bear it for a moment; as circumstances are, i must go on with it, and be george north perhaps to the end of the chapter." "not to the end," she murmured, "not to the end. anthony's fate will be discovered before very long time has elapsed--or my prayers and tears will have found no pity in heaven." only at dusk did they go in to tea. afterwards, ethel was bade to sing some of her songs. george north--no mean musician himself, and with a soft, pleasant voice of his own--sat by the piano, listening to their melody, gazing through the twilight at her sweet face, and thinking that he had never been so nearly in an earthly paradise. when he took his departure, they accompanied him to the gate. the stars were out, the night was clear and still, the heat yet excessive. it chanced that he and ethel walked side by side; it chanced that he held her hand, ay, and pressed it too, longer than he had need have done when he said goodnight. that moment's parting would remain in ethel's memory for life; the heavy perfume of the flowers lay around them, her heart and pulses were alike beating. if she and george north had not fallen in love with one another, they were at least on the highroad towards it. chapter xxvii. in the vaults. time had again gone on. it was autumn weather. mr. george north was making a tolerably long sojourn in the place, and seemed to be passing his days agreeably. sketching, boating, gossiping; one would have said he had no earthly care. perhaps he had not--save the one sweet care of making himself acceptable to ethel reene. the fate of each was over and done with long ago, so far as that grand master-passion of the heart went--love. ethel was helplessly in love with him for all time. "ma caprice est faite," she might have said to madame guise in that lady's native language; and madame would have opened her eyes to hear it. for in regard to the affection that had sprung up between those two young people, madame was entirely in the dark. not very observant by nature, her whole thoughts occupied with the one great trouble of her life, she remained wholly unsuspicious of what was passing in the inner life of those around her. george north's love for ethel made his very existence. the purest, truest affection man can feel, beat in his heart for ethel reene. to meet, was with both of them the one great event of the day; the hope to be looked forward to when they rose in the morning, the remembrance that glowed within their breasts at night. on the solitary cliffs up by the coastguard station: or down on the sheltered beach of the seashore, towards the limpets; or amid the lovely scenery where he carried his pencils--in one place or another they were sure to meet. the soft wind seemed to whisper love-songs, the varying tints of the autumn foliage were as the brilliant colours of the trees on the everlasting shores, the very air was fraught with a heavenly perfume; and the world for each was as the garden of eden. mrs. castlemaine was no more wise than madame. she had discerned nothing. perhaps their first intimacy grew during a few days that she was absent from home. disappointed of the promised excursion to paris--for mr. castlemaine had allowed the months to go on and on, and did not attempt to enter on it--mrs. castlemaine set off on a ten days' visit to some friends in the adjoining county, taking flora with her. this was close upon the appearance of george north at greylands. ethel, left at home under the chaperonage of madame, saw a good deal of mr. george north: and the mutual liking, already rising in either heart, perfected itself into love. long before mrs. castlemaine's ten days of absence had come to an end, they were secretly conscious that they were all in all to each other. mrs. castlemaine returned, and neither saw nor suspected anything. perhaps she was not likely to suspect. people don't go about betraying the most secretive passion man can feel, or write the words, i love, in brazen letters on their foreheads. true love is essentially reticent, hiding itself away from the eye of man within the remotest folds of the shrinking heart. neither had mr. north breathed a word to ethel. he was not prepared to do it. before he could speak, he must be able to declare his own true name to her and to her step-parents, to say "i am george castlemaine." and circumstances would not let him do that yet. he had learned absolutely nothing in regard to his brother's fate: to unravel aught of the mystery attending it seemed to be beyond his power. he had explored, as he believed, every nook and portion of the friar's keep; but without success of any kind. it appeared to be a lonely, deserted, and in places a dilapidated building, affording no spots for concealment. there existed not a trace of anthony; there was nothing to show that he had ever entered it. george north stayed on at the dolphin, waiting patiently for the elucidation that might or might not come; listening, whenever they met, to his sister-in-law's most persistent belief that it would come: and perfectly contented so to stay on while he could see ethel and feed his heart's love for her, though the stay had been for ever. midnight was striking from the old turret-clock of the grey nunnery. standing at the open window of her bedchamber, was miss castlemaine. she had put off the mourning for her father now, and assumed the grey dress of the sisterhood. a warm black shawl was wrapped about her shoulders, for the night air was somewhat cold, and the breeze from the sea brought a chillness with it. it was late for any of the grey sisters to be up; unless detained by sickness, they went to rest early: but miss castlemaine had come in rather late from spending the evening at greylands' rest, and had afterwards sat up writing a long letter. she had now been in her room some little time, and had not yet begun to undress. to use an old saying, she had no sleep in her eyes. putting the warm shawl on, she opened the window, and stood leaning on its sill, deep in thought as she gazed out at the wide expanse of the sea. hardly a night had passed of the past summer but she had thus stood as she was standing now. to look thus over the still sea in its calmness during this silent hour, or at its heaving waves, flashing white under the moon or starlight, and lost in thought and care, was a positive luxury to miss castlemaine. but these autumn nights were getting somewhat cold for it. it was not her own proper chamber that she was in, but sister mildred's. sister mildred was away. her health was much better; but mr. parker, the doctor, had said most positively that a change of a month or two was necessary to complete her cure: and sister mildred departed to stay with some relatives whom she had not seen for many years. she would be returning shortly now, and mary ursula's occupancy of her room was only temporary. the approach of cold weather had caused some necessary alterations in mary ursula's chamber--the old grate was being replaced by a new one, and the chimney repaired: and during its process, she occupied the chamber of sister mildred. the lapse of months had not diminished the uneasiness of mary ursula's mind, in regard to the disappearance of her unfortunate cousin anthony in the friar's keep. that keep still wore for her an atmosphere of uncertainty and mystery. she never thought of it--and it was more often in her thoughts than she would have liked to say--but with one of those unpleasant thrills of renewed pain that arise at times with us all, when some heavy sorrow or suspense lies latent in the heart. over and over again, since the night when sister mildred had discovered to her the secret passage, and she had explored with that lady its subterranean depth and length, had the wish--nay, the resolve--made itself heard within her to go again through the same passage, and look a little about the friar's keep. she knew not how, she knew not why, but the fear that anthony had been treacherously dealt with grew of stronger conviction day by day. not by mr. castlemaine: she could never fear that: and she resented the doubt cast upon him by the world--which he in his haughty pride would not condescend to resent--and believed that the discovery of the truth, if it could be made, would be doing her uncle the best of services. by exploring, herself, the friar's keep, she might be able to trace out nothing: but at least the strong desire to try lay upon her. is it not so with all of us? in any search or complexity, do we not always mistrust others, and the capability of others, and think in our secret hearts that we could succeed where they fail? the figure mary had seen with her own eyes, bearing its lamp, and which was religiously believed by the small community of greylands to be the ghost of the wicked monk, long dead and gone, possessed no supernatural terrors for her. that it was some living personage, personating the dead monk for a purpose, she felt sure of; and she could not help fancying that in some unimaginable manner it must have to do with the concealment of the fate of anthony. circumstances had brought all these matters more especially to her mind to-night. an old friend of hers, a mrs. hunter of stilborough, had been also a visitor, though a chance one, that evening at greylands' rest. mrs. hunter was very fond of mr. castlemaine. she scouted the doubt thrown upon him in connection with his vanished nephew, regarding it as the height of absurdity; and to show this opinion of hers, rather liked talking of the affair. she had introduced it that evening at greylands' rest, asking all sorts of questions about the keep, and about the ghost that sometimes appeared there, and about anthony. during this conversation, mary ursula noticed that her uncle was remarkably silent; and once she caught a look of strangely painful uneasiness on his face. as they were walking home--for it was mr. castlemaine himself who had brought her back to the grey nunnery--she ventured to speak of it to him. "you have never heard in any way of anthony, i suppose, uncle james?" "never," was mr. castlemaine's reply. "is it not strange that some of his friends in france do not inquire after him? he must have had friends there." "i'm sure i don't know," was the curt answer. "what do you think became of him, uncle?" "my dear, the affair has altogether so annoyed me that i don't care to think. we will drop it, mary ursula." now, this was not satisfactory--and mary felt that it was not. of course it closed her lips upon the subject of anthony; but she put another question not much less hazardous. "who is that figure that shows himself sometimes as the ghost of the grey monk?" "i do not understand you." the answer caused her to pause: the tone of it was, certainly resentful. "he walks about with his lamp, uncle." "well?" "surely you do not believe in it--that it is really a ghost?" she exclaimed in astonishment. "i am content not to be wiser than my neighbours," replied mr. castlemaine. "i suppose i have some elements of superstition within me. we are none of us responsible for our own nature, you know, mary ursula." she said no more. in fact, they reached the nunnery gate just then. mr. castlemaine saw her indoors, and went back again. mary sat late, writing her letter, and then came up to her room. she was thinking over it all now, as she stood at the window, the fresh sea air blowing upon her somewhat heated brow. there was no moon, but the night was passably light. gentle waves stirred the surface of the water; a faint ripple might be heard from the incoming tide. it had turned some three hours since, and now covered, as mary knew, the narrow path underneath the nunnery, but not the strip of beach at the friar's keep: that beach, however, would be inaccessible for some hours, except by sea. some night boats were out beyond greylands, fishing as usual: she could discover their lights in the distance. almost immediately opposite to her, and not far off, stood a two-masted vessel at anchor. she wondered why it should have stayed in that solitary spot, so close in-shore, instead of the more customary place off the beach. it may be almost said that she saw and thought these things unconsciously in her mind's preoccupation. nothing surprised her more--nay, half as much--as mr. castlemaine's implied admission of his belief in the supernatural appearance of the grey friar. an impression was abroad among the fishermen that the castlemaines believed in the ghost as fully as they themselves did: but until to-night mary had smiled at this. look on what side she would, it seemed to be mystery upon mystery. more food, than this subject, and quite as unpleasant, though of a different nature, had been given to mary that night by mrs. hunter. one of mary's chief friends in stilborough had been a mrs. ord; she and mary had been girls together. the husband, colonel ord, was in india: the young wife, who was delicate, remained at home. sad news had now arrived from india. colonel ord was dead. he had died suddenly; it was supposed in consequence of excitement at the failure of an indian bank, in which all his property was placed. mrs. hunter had imparted this news at greylands' rest: and she had moreover whispered an announcement that had just been made public--the engagement of william blake-gordon to the heiress of mountsorrel. little marvel that mary's eyes had no sleep in them! her reflections--and they were very painful--were interrupted by some stir that appeared to be taking place on board the two-masted vessel. suddenly, as it seemed to her, two boats shot out from it, one after the other. the men, rowing them, seemed to be steering right for this end of the nunnery; and mary watched with surprise. no: they were making, it was quite evident now, for the friar's keep higher up. stretching out at the casement window as far as she dared stretch, mary saw them go straight on for the little beach there; she thought she heard a bustle; she fancied she distinguished whispers. wild ideas, devoid of reason, arose within her: in the broad matter-of-fact daylight, she might have felt ashamed of their improbability; but the imagination, when excited, soars away on curious wings. were these boats bringing back anthony? the night went on. she saw other boats come: she saw boats go back; she saw them come again. surely she was not dreaming all this! and yet it seemed an impossible pageantry. at length a powerful impulse took possession of her--she would go through the secret passage and try and solve the mystery: go then and there. fastening her warm black shawl more securely round her, and tying on a dark silk hood, she unlocked her drawers to get the keys of the passage, and descended softly the stairs. in descending them it had not seemed very lonely--though a sense of loneliness does strike upon one when making a solitary pilgrimage about even an inhabited house at the dead of night, when everybody else is abed and asleep. but when she came to go down the stone steps to the damp vaults below, lighted only by the solitary lantern she held, then mary's courage deserted her. brave and good woman though she was, she halted in a kind of terror, and asked herself whether she could go on alone. alone she must go if she went at all: not for a great deal would she disclose the fact of this existing passage to any of the sisters, or let them know of her errand in it. sister mildred was the only one who shared the secret, and sister mildred was not there. taking a few minutes to recover herself; to strive, ay, and to pray for returning courage; mary at length went on. arrived at the door, she unlocked it with great trouble: the lock was no less rusty than before, and now there was only one pair of hands to it; and she went swiftly along the passage in a sort of desperate perseverance. the door at the other end unlocked, but with just as much difficulty, she once more, for the second time in her life, found herself in the cloistered vaults underneath the keep. pausing again to gather what bravery would come to her, her hand pressed on her beating heart, she then proceeded about the place with her lantern; throwing its light here, throwing it there. at first she could see no trace of anyone, living or dead; could hear no sound. soon she halted abruptly; a thought had come across her, bringing a sick fear--suppose she should not be able to find her way back to the passage door, but must remain where she was until daylight? daylight! what light of day could penetrate those unearthly vaults?--they must be always, by day and by night, as dark as the grave. as she stood undecided whether to search further or to go back at once, she became conscious of a whiff of fresh air, that brought with it a smell of the sea. stepping gently in its direction, she found herself at an opening. a door, it seemed: whatever it was, it was open to the strip of beach under the friar's keep, and to the sea beyond it. all seemed perfectly still: there was neither sight nor sound of human being; but as she stood in the stillness she caught the distant regular dip of the oars in the water, belonging no doubt to the retreating boats. what could it mean?--what could it all be? even this opening, in the hitherto-supposed-to-be impregnable walls--was it a new opening, or did it exist always? mary stood wondering, listening, looking; or, rather, peering: peering into the darkness of the night, for it was not light enough to look. these vaults, how much farther did they extend? she could not conjecture, and dared not attempt to discover, lest she lost her way back again: all the interstices of these pillared cloisters seemed one so like another that she might not risk it. turning away from the fresh breeze and the welcome smell of the sea, she began to retrace her steps. to retrace her steps, as she imagined, her thoughts very full. the question had been mooted, by people unacquainted with the place--were there any means by which the unfortunate anthony castlemaine could be effectually disposed of, if the worst had happened to him: say, any facility for throwing him into the sea? the answer had always been no, not from the friar's keep, for the keep had no communication of any kind with the sea, its walls were thick and impervious. but, it seemed that there was a communication with the sea--as mary had now just seen. her thoughts and her breath alike came unpleasantly quick, and she groped along, and laid her disengaged hand on her bosom to still its pain. but where was the door? where? she thought she had been going in its direction, but she had come far enough, and to spare, and here was no sign of it. was she indeed lost in this ghostly place? her heart beat ten times more wildly at the thought. she was very cautious in the use of the lantern, lest it might betray her, should anyone chance to be there: carrying it close before her, and keeping three of its sides dark. she moved it here, she moved it there: but no trace of the door did it shine upon; and in her desperation, she pushed down the three dark slides, and flung the light aloft. nothing was to be seen but the dark stone floor of the vaults, their intersected pillars and arches above, and the openings between them. one spot, one division, was ever just like another. lost! lost! her hand fell with the lantern: the drops of fear broke out on her face. at that moment a sound, as of the banging of a door, echoed among the pillars, and she hastily hid the glaring lantern under her shawl. other sounds came. some door had evidently been shut, for now it was being barred and bolted. it was not very near, and mary ursula waited. then, turning on the full light of her lantern again, and keeping her back to the sounds, she went swiftly, blindly about, in search of the passage door. ah, what a blessing! there it was, now, before her. perhaps in all her life she had never experienced a moment of relief like that. a sound of joy faintly escaped her; an aspiration of thankfulness went up from her heart. she had brought the keys inside with her, as a precaution, in case the door should close; they were tied together with string, and she had lodged the key belonging to this door in the lock on this side: sister mildred had done the same on the occasion of their first expedition. but now, as she stood there, mary found she could not easily draw the key out: it might have got turned in the lock, and the lock was hard and unmanageable: so she had to put down the lantern, first of all closing its three sides, and take both hands to the key. she had just got it out and pushed the door open, and was gliding softly and swiftly through, when a great bright light was thrown upon her, and a rough hand grasped her shoulder. with a cry of awful terror, mary turned, and saw a pistol held close to her face. "o don't!" she cried--"spare me! spare me! i am sister mary ursula--i am miss castlemaine." the man, who looked young, and was short and sturdy, turned in the doorway, with his dark lantern, never speaking a word. at that unlucky moment, the door swung against his elbow, and the pistol went off. down he dropped with a hoarse scream. whether mary ursula retained her senses for the instant, she never afterwards knew. fear, and the instinct of self-preservation, would have caused her to fly: but how could she leave the wounded man to his fate? the whole place seemed to be reeling around her; her head swam, and she stood back against the wall for support. "are you here alone?" she asked, bending down, when she could get her breath and some little strength into her shrinking spirit. "i be, ma'am. the rest are all gone." why! surely she knew that voice! taking her lantern, she threw its light upon his face, and recognized walter dance, dance the fisherman's son: a young fellow with whom she had had a friendly chat only yesterday: and to whom she had given many a little present when he was a lad. "is it you, walter!" she exclaimed, with the utmost astonishment--and to find that it was he seemed to chase away as by magic her worst fears. "what were you doing here?" no answer--except some dismal groans. "are you much hurt?" "i am just killed," he moaned. "oh, ma'am! who is to help me?" who indeed! mary ursula had an innate dread of such calamities as this; she had a true woman's sensitive heart, shrinking terribly from the very thought of contact with these woes of life. "i do not know that i can help you, walter," she said faintly. "where are you hurt? do you think you could get up?" he began to try, and she helped him to his feet. one arm, the left, was powerless; and the young man said his left side was also. he leaned upon her, begging pardon for the liberty, and looked about him in dismay. "where does this here passage lead to, ma'am?" "to the grey nunnery. could you manage to walk to it?" "i must get somewhere, lady, where i can be aided. i feel the blood a-dripping down me. if the bullet is not inside of me, it must have bedded itself in the wall." the blood came from the arm. beginning to feel faint again, feeling also very much as though she had been the cause of this, perhaps had cost the young man his life, mary ursula bound up the arm as well as she could, with her hankerchief and with his. "will you go on with me to the nunnery, walter?" "yes, ma'am, an' i can get there. i never knew of this here passage." she locked the door, took the keys and the two lanterns herself, giving him the pistol, and bade walter lean upon her. the walking seemed to hurt him very much, and he moaned frequently. in spite of his hardy fisherman's life, he was a very bad one to bear pain. when they came to the vaults of the nunnery and, had to ascend the stairs, his face turned livid, and he clutched miss castlemaine tightly to save himself from falling. the pistol dropped from his hand once. she got him into a small room off the kitchen, where accidents had been attended to before--for, indeed, the grey nunnery was somewhat of a hospital, and the good sisters were its tender nurses. a wide, hard, capacious sofa was there, and down he sank upon it. mary stayed to light a candle, and then hastened away to get help. "you shall have a little brandy directly, walter," she said. "i am going now to call assistance: we must get mr. parker here." he only moaned in answer: the agony in his side seemed dreadful: but as miss castlemaine was leaving the room, he called her back again. "lady," he cried with feverish earnestness, and there was a wildly eager look in his eyes as they sought hers, "don't tell how it was done; don't tell where you saw me, or aught about it. i shall say my pistol went off in the chapel ruins, and that i crawled here to your door to get succour. i've got a reason for it." "very well: be it so," assented miss castlemaine, after a pause of reflection. it would be at least as inconvenient for her, were the truth confessed, as for him. he looked frightfully pale: and, to miss castlemaine's horror, she saw some drops of blood dripping from his clothes, which must proceed from the wound in his side. flying up the stairs, she entered the first chamber, where sisters ann and phoeby slept; aroused them with a word or two of explanation, and was back again almost instantly with some water and the flask of brandy kept for emergencies. the sisters were down almost as soon as she was; they were both capable women in a case such as this, almost as good themselves as a doctor. they saw to his side and bound it up, just as mary ursula had bound his arm. sister ann then ran off for mr. parker, and sister phoeby went to the kitchen to light the fire and prepare hot water, leaving miss castlemaine alone with the patient. chapter xviii. out to shoot a night-bird. walter dance's situation appeared to be critical. miss castlemaine (entirely unused to accidents) feared it was so, and he himself fully believed it. he thought that great common conqueror of us all, who is called the king of terrors, was upon him, death, and it brought to him indeed a terror belonging not to this world. "i am dying," he moaned; "i am dying." and his frame shook as with an awful ague, and his teeth chattered, and great beads of water stood on his livid face. "lord, pardon me! oh, ma'am, pray for me." the young man had been all his life so especially undemonstrative that his agitation was the more notable now from the very contrast. mary, full of fear herself and little less agitated than he, could only strive to appear calm, as she bent over him and took his hands. "nay, walter, it may not be as serious as you fear; i think it is not," she gently said. "mr. parker will be here presently. don't excite yourself, my good lad; don't." "i am dying," he reiterated; "i shall never get over this. oh, ma'am, you ladies be like parsons for goodness: couldn't you say a prayer?" she knelt down and put up her hands to say a few words of earnest prayer; just what she thought might best comfort him. one of his hands lay still, but he stretched the other up, suffering it to touch hers. these ladies of the nunnery were looked upon by the fishermen as being very near to heaven nearer (let it be said under the breath) than was parson marston. "i've done a many wicked things, lady," he began when her voice ceased, apparently saying it in the light of a confession. "i've often angered father and grandmother beyond bearing: and this night work, i've never liked it. i suppose it's a wrong thing in god's sight: but father, he brought me in to't, as 'twere, and what was i to do?" "what night work?" she asked. but there came no answer. mary would not repeat the question. he was lying in extreme agitation, shaking painfully. she put the brandy-and-water to his lips. "i must tell it afore i go," he resumed, as if in response to some battle with himself. "ma'am you'll promise me never to repeat it again?" "i never will," she replied earnestly, remembering that death-bed confessions, made under the seal of secrecy, should, of all things, be held sacred. "if you have aught to confess, walter, that it may comfort you to speak, tell it me with every confidence, for i promise you that it shall never pass my lips." "it's not for my sake, you see, that it must be kept, but for their sakes: the castlemaines." "the what?" she cried, not catching the words. "and for father's and the commodore's, and all the rest of 'em. it would spoil all, you see, ma'am, for the future--and they'd never forgive me as i lay in my grave." she wondered whether he was wandering. "i do not understand you, walter." "it all belongs to mr. castlemaine, father thinks, though the commodore manages it, and makes believe it's his. sometimes he comes down, the master, and sometimes mr. harry; but it's teague and us that does it all." "what is it that you are talking of?" she reiterated. "the smuggling work," he whispered. "the smuggling work?" "yes, the smuggling work. oh, ma'am, don't ever tell of it! it would just be the ruin of father and the men, and anger mr. castlemaine beyond bearing." her thoughts ran off to mr. superintendent nettleby, and to the poor fishermen, whom it was that officer's mission to suspect of possessing drams of unlawful brandy and pouches of contraband tobacco. she certainly believed the sick brain had lost its balance. "we've run a cargo to-night," he whispered; "a good one too. the rest had cleared off, and there was only me left to lock the doors. when i see the glimmer of your light, ma'am, and somebody moving, i thought it was one of the men left behind, but when i got up and found it was a woman's garments, i feared it was a spy of the preventive officers come to betray us." "what cargo did you run?" she inquired, putting the one question from amid her mind's general chaos. "i fancy 'twas lace. it generally is lace, father thinks. nothing pays like that." curious ideas were crowding on her, as she remembered the boats putting backwards and forwards that night from the two-masted vessel, lying at anchor. of what strange secret was she being made cognisant? could it be that some of the mystery attaching to the friar's keep was about to be thus strangely and most unexpectedly cleared to her? "walter, let me understand. do you mean to say that smuggling is carried on in connection with the friar's keep?" "yes, it is. it have been for years. once a month, or so, there's a cargo run: sometimes it's oftener. an underground passage leads from the keep to the hutt, and the goods are stowed away in the cellar there till the commodore can take 'em away to the receivers in his spring cart." "and who knows of all this?" she asked, after a pause. "i mean in greylands." "only father and me," he faintly said, for he was getting exhausted. "they've not dared to trust anybody else. that's quite enough to know it--us. the sailors bring in the goods, and we wheel 'em up the passage: teague, and me, and father. i've seen mr. harry put his hand to the barrow afore now. george hallet--jane's brother--he knew of it, and helped too. we had to be trusted with it, him and me, being on father's boat." in the midst of her compassion and pity for this young man, a feeling of resentment at his words arose in mary's heart. there might be truth in the tale he told in regard to the smuggling--nay, the manoeuvres of the boats that night and the unsuspected door she had seen open to the narrow beach, seemed to confirm it: but that this nefarious work was countenanced by, or even known to, the master of greylands, she rejected utterly. if there was, in her belief, one man more honourable than any other on the face of the earth, more proudly conscious of his own rectitude, it was her uncle james. pride had always been his failing. walter dance must be either partially wandering in mind to say it; or else must have taken up a fallacious fancy: perhaps been imposed upon by his father from some private motive. the work must be teague's, and his only. "walter, you are not in a condition to be contradicted," she said gently, "but i know you are mistaken as to mr. castlemaine. he could not hold any cognisance of such an affair of cheating as this--or his son either." "why, the business is theirs, ma'am; their very own: father don't feel a doubt of it. the commodore only manages it for 'em." "you may have been led to suppose that: but it is not, cannot be true. my uncle james is the soul of honour. can you suppose it likely that a gentleman like mr. castlemaine would lend himself to a long continued system of fraud?" "i've always thought 'twas his," groaned walter. "i've seen him there standing to look on." "you must have been mistaken. did you see him there to-night?" "no, ma'am." "nor any other night, my poor lad, as i will venture to answer for." "he might have been there to-night, though, without my seeing him," returned the young man, who seemed scarcely conscious of her words. "how should you have left the vaults, but for this accident?" she asked, the question striking her. "i had locked the door on the sea, and was going straight up the passage to the hutt," he groaned, the pain in his side getting intolerable. "one question, walter, and then i will not trouble you with more," she breathed, and her voice took a trembling sound as she spoke. "carry your thoughts back to that night, last february, when young mr. anthony was said to disappear within the friar's keep----" "i know," he interrupted. "was any cargo run that night?" "i can't tell," he answered, lifting his eyes for a moment to hers. "i was ill abed with a touch of the ague; i get it sometimes. i don't think father was abroad that night, either." "have you ever known, ever heard any hint, or rumour, from your father or the commodore or the sailors who run these cargoes, that could throw light on mr. anthony's fate?" "never. never a word." "who are the sailors that come?" "mostly foreigners. is it very sinful?" he added in an access of agony, more bodily than mental, putting out his one hand to touch hers. "very sinful to have helped at this, though father did lead me? will god forgive it?" "oh yes, yes," she answered. "god is so merciful that he forgives every sin repented of--sins that are a vast deal blacker than this. besides, you have not acted from your own will, it seems, but in obedience to authority." "i think i'm dying," he murmured. "i can't bear this pain long." she wiped the dew from his face, and again held the brandy-and-water to his lips. walter dance had always been in the highest degree sensitive, it may be said excruciatingly sensitive, to physical pain. many another man, lying as he was now with these same injuries, would not have uttered a moan. brave tom dance, his father, was wont to tell him that if ever he met with a sharpish hurt he'd turn out a very woman. "if doctor parker would but come!" he cried restlessly. "lady, you are sure he is sent for?" as if to answer the doubt, the gate-bell rang out, and mr. parker's voice was heard, as he entered the nunnery. sister ann had brought not only him, but john bent also. miss castlemaine felt vexed and much surprised to see the latter: some faint idea, or hope, had been lying within her of keeping this untoward affair secret, at least for a few hours; and nobody had a longer tongue in a quiet way than the landlord of the dolphin. she cast a look of reproach on the sister. "it was not my fault, madam," whispered sister ann, interpreting the glance. "mr. bent came over with us without as much as asking." "bless my heart, walter dance, here's a pretty kettle o' fish," began the surgeon, looking down on the patient. "you have shot yourself, sister ann says. and now, how did that come to happen?" "pistol went off unawares," groaned walter. "i think i'm dying." "not just yet, let us hope," said the doctor cheerily, as he began to take off his coat and turn up his shirt-sleeves. sending miss castlemaine from the room, the doctor called for sister ann, who had helped him before in attending to accidents, and had as good a nerve as he. mary, glad enough to be dismissed, went into the kitchen to sister phoeby, and there indulged in a sudden burst of tears. the events of the night had strangely unnerved her. if sister ann exercised any speculation as to the cause of the displeasure visible in the superior's face at the sight of john bent, she set it down solely to the score of possible excitement to the patient. as she hastened to whisper, it was not her fault. upon returning back from fetching mr. parker, he and she were bending their hasty steps across the road from the corner of the inn, when, to the astonishment of both, the voice of john bent accosted them, sounding loud and clear in the silence of the night. turning their heads, they saw the landlord standing at his open door. "keeping watch to see the sun rise, john?" asked the doctor jestingly. "i am keeping watch for my lodger," replied the landlord in a grumbling tone, for he was feeling the want of his bed and, resented the being kept out of it. "mr. north went off this afternoon to a distance with his sketch-book and things, ordering some supper to be ready at nine o'clock, as he should miss his dinner, and he has never come back again. it is to be hoped he will come; that we are not to have a second edition of the disappearance of young anthony castlemaine." "pooh!" quoth the doctor. "mr. north has only lost his way." "i hope it may prove so!" replied the landlord grimly: for his fears were at work, though at present they took no definite shape. "what sickness is calling you abroad at this hour, doctor?" "young walter dance has shot himself," interposed sister ann, who had been bursting with the strange news, and felt supremely elated at having somebody to tell it to. "walter dance shot himself!" echoed the landlord, following them, upon impulse, to hear more. "how?--where? how did he do it?" "goodness knows!" returned sister ann. "he must have done it somewhere--and come to the nunnery somehow. sister mary ursula was still sitting up, we conclude--which was fortunate, as no time was lost. when we went to bed after prayers, she remained in the parlour to write letters." in the astonishment created by the tidings, john bent went with them to the nunnery, leaving his own open door uncared for--but at that dead hour of the morning there was little fear of strangers finding it so. that was the explanation of his appearance. and there they were, the doctor and sister ann, busy with the wounded man, and john bent satisfying his curiosity by listening to the few unconnected words of enlightenment that walter chose to give as to the cause of the accident, and by fingering the pistol, which lay on the table. "will the injuries prove fatal?" asked miss castlemaine of the surgeon, when the latter at length came forth. "dear me, no!" was the reply, as he entered the parlour, at the door of which she stood. "don't distress yourself by thinking of such a thing, my dear young lady. blood makes a great show, you know; and no doubt the pain in the side is acute. there's no real cause for fear; not much damage, in fact: and he feels all reassured, now i have put him to rights." "the ball was not in him?" "nothing of the kind. the side was torn a little and burnt, and of course was, for one who feels pain as he does, intolerably painful. when i tell you that the longest job will be the broken arm, and that it is the worse of the two, you may judge for yourself how slight it all is. slight, of course, in comparison with what might have been, and with graver injuries." "did the ball go through the arm?" "only through the flesh. the bone no doubt snapped in falling: the arm must have got awkwardly doubled wader him somehow. we shall soon have him well again." mary gave vent to a little sob of thankfulness. it would have been an awful thing for her had his life been sacrificed. she felt somewhat faint herself, and sat down on the nearest chair. "this has been too much for you," said the doctor; "you are not used to such things. and you must have been sitting up very late, my dear young lady--which is not at all right. surely you could write your letters in the day-time!" "i do things sometimes upon impulse; without reason," she answered with a faint smile. "hearing sad news of an old friend of mine from mrs. hunter, whom i met at greylands' rest last evening, i sat down to write to her soon after my return." "and spun your letter out unconsciously--it is always the case. for my part, i think there's a fascination in night work. sit down when the house is still to pen a few minutes' letter to a friend, and ten to one but you find yourself still at it at the small hours of the morning. well, it was lucky for young dance that you were up. you heard him at the door at once, he says, and hastened to him." a deep blush suffused her face. she could only tacitly uphold the deceit. "his is rather a lame tale, though, by the way--what i can understand of it," resumed mr. parker. "however, it did not do to question him closely, and the lad was no doubt confused besides. we shall come to the bottom of it to-morrow." "you are going home?" she asked. "there's no necessity whatever for me to stay. we have made him comfortable for the rest of the night with pillows and blankets. sister ann means to sit up with him: not that she need do it. to-morrow we will move him to his own home." "will he be well enough for that?" "quite. he might have been carried there now had means been at hand. and do you go up to your bed at once, and get some rest," concluded the doctor, as he shook hands and took his departure. john bent had already gone home. to his great relief, the first object he saw was mr. north, who arrived at the inn door, just as he himself did. the surgeon's supposition, spoken carelessly though it was proved to be correct. george north had missed his way in returning; had gone miles and miles out of the road, and then had to retrace his steps. "i'm dead beat," he said to the landlord, with a half laugh. "fearfully hungry, but too tired to eat. it all comes of my not knowing the country; and there was nobody up to enquire the way of. by daylight, i should not have made so stupid a mistake." "well, i have been worrying myself with all sorts of fancies, sir," said john. "it seemed just as though you had gone off for good in the wake of young mr. anthony castlemaine." "i wish to goodness i had!" was the impulsive, thoughtless rejoinder, spoken with ringing earnestness. "sir!" mr. north recollected himself, and did what he could to repair the slip. "i should at least have had the pleasure of learning where this mr. anthony castlemaine had gone--and that would have been a satisfaction to you all generally," he said carelessly. "you are making a joke of it, sir," said the landlord, in a tone of reproach. "with some of us it is a matter all too solemn: i fear it was so with him. what will you take, sir?" "a glass of ale--and then i will go up to bed. i am, as i say, too tired to eat. and i am very sorry indeed, mr. bent, to have kept you up." "that's nothing, now you've come back in safety," was the hearty reply. "besides, i'm not sorry it has happened so, sir, for i've had an adventure. that young walter dance has gone and shot himself to-night; he is lying at the grey nunnery, and i have but now been over there with mr. parker. "why, how did he manage to do that?" cried mr. north, who knew young dance very well. "i hardly know, sir. we couldn't make top or tail of what he said: and the doctor wouldn't have him bothered. it was something about shooting a night-bird with a pistol, and he shot himself instead." "where?" "in the chapel ruins." "in the chapel ruins!" echoed mr. north--and he had it on the tip of his tongue to say that walter dance would not go to the chapel ruins at night for untold gold: but the landlord went on and interrupted the words. "he seemed to say it was the chapel ruins, sir; but we might have misunderstood him. any way, it sounds a bit mysterious. he was in a fine tremor of pain when the doctor got in, thinking he was dying." "poor fellow! it was only yesterday morning i went for a sail with him. is he seriously injured?" "no, sir; the damages turn out to be nothing much, now they are looked into." "i am glad of that," said mr. north; "i like young dance. goodnight to you, landlord. or, rather, good-morning," he called back, as he went up the staircase. miss castlemaine also went to her bed. the first thing she did on reaching her room was to look out for the two-masted vessel. not a trace of it remained. it must have heaved its anchor and sailed away in the silence of the night. mr. parker was over betimes at the grey nunnery in the morning. his patient was going on quite satisfactorily. reassured upon the point of there being no danger, and in considerably less pain than at first, walter dance's spirits had gone up in a proportionate ratio. he said he felt quite well enough to be removed home--which would be done after breakfast. "passato il pericolo, gabbato il santo," says the italian proverb. we have ours somewhat to the same effect, beginning "when the devil was sick"--which being well known to the reader, need not be quoted. young mr. walter dance presented an apt illustration of the same. on the previous night, when he believed himself to be dying, he was ready and eager to tell every secret pressing on his soul: this morning, finding he was going to live, his mood had changed, and he could have bitten out his unfortunate tongue for its folly. he was well disposed, as young men go, truthful, conscientious. it would have gone against the grain with him to do an injury to any living man. he lay dwelling on the injury he might now have done, by this disclosure, to many people--and they were just those people whom, of all the world, he would most care to cherish and respect. well, there was but one thing to do now, he thought truthful though he was by nature, he must eat his words, and so try and repair the mischief. mary ursula rose rather late. walter dance had had his breakfast when she got down, and she was told of the doctor's good report. much commotion had been excited in the nunnery when the grey ladies heard what had happened. they had their curiosity, just as other people have theirs; and sister ann gave them the version of the story which she had gathered. the young man had been up at the chapel ruins to shoot a night-bird, the pistol had gone off, wounding him in the arm and side, and he came crawling on all fours to the grey nunnery. the superior, sister mary ursula, sitting up late at her letters, heard him at the door, helped him in, and called for assistance. well, it was a strange affair, the ladies decided; stranger than anything that had happened at the grey nunnery before: but they trusted he would get over it. and did not all events happen for the best! to think that it should be just that night, of all others, that sister mary ursula should have remained below! mary ursula went into the sick-room, and was surprised at the improved looks of the patient. his face had lost its great anxiety and was bright again. he looked up at her gratefully, and smiled. "they are so kind to me, lady!--and i owe it all to you." mary ursula sat down by the couch. late though it was when she went to rest, she had been unable to sleep, and had got up with one of the bad headaches to which she was occasionally subject. the strange disclosure made to her by walter dance, added to other matters, had troubled her brain and kept her awake. while saying to herself that so disgraceful an aspersion on the castlemaines was worse than unjustifiable, outrageously improbable, some latent fear in her heart kept suggesting the idea--what if it should be true! with the broad light of day, she had intended to throw it quite to the winds--but she found that she could not. the anxiety was tormenting her. "walter," she began in a low tone, after cheerily talking a little with him about his injuries, "i want to speak to you of what you disclosed to me last night. when i got up this morning i thought in truth i had dreamt it--that it could not be true." "dreamt what?" he asked. "about the smuggling," she whispered. "and about what you said, reflecting on my uncle. you are more collected this morning; tell me what is truth and what is not." "i must have talked a deal of nonsense last night, ma'am," spoke the young man after a pause, as he turned his uneasy face to the wall--for uneasy it was growing. "i'm sure i can't remember it a bit." she told him what he did say. "what a fool i must have been! 'twas the pain, lady, made me fancy it. smugglers in the friar's keep! well, that is good!" "do you mean to say it is not true?" she cried eagerly. "not a word on't, ma'am. i had a fever once, when i was a little 'un--i talked a rare lot o' nonsense then. enough to set the place afire, grandmother said." "and there is no smuggling carried on?--and what you said to implicate mr. castlemaine has no foundation save in your brain?" she reiterated, half bewildered with this new aspect. "if i said such outrageous things, my wits must have gone clean out of me," asserted walter. "mr. castlemaine would be fit to hang me, ma'am, if it came to his ears." "but--if there is nothing of the kind carried on, what of the boats last night?" asked mary ursula, collecting her senses a little. "what were they doing?" "boats, lady!" returned walter, showing the most supreme unconsciousness. "what boats?" "some boats that put off from an anchored vessel, and kept passing to and fro between it and the keep." "if there was boats, they must have come off for some purpose of their own," asserted the young man, looking as puzzled as you please. "and what did i do, down where you found me, you ask, ma'am? well, i did go there to shoot a bird; that little strip o' beach is the quietest place for 'em." was he wandering now?--or had he been wandering then? miss castlemaine really could not decide the question. but for having seen and heard the boats herself, she would have believed the whole to be a disordered dream, induced by the weakness arising from loss of blood. "but how did you get there, walter?" "down that there slippery zigzag from the chapel ruins. the tide was partly up, you say, ma'am? oh, i don't mind wet legs, i don't. the door? well, i've always known about that there door, and i pushed it open: it don't do to talk of it, and so we don't talk of it: it mightn't be liked, you see, ma'am. 'twas hearing a stir inside it made me go in: i said to myself, had a bird got there? and when i saw your light, ma'am, i was nigh frightened to death. as to boats--i'm sure there was none." and that was all mary could get from mr. walter dance this morning. press him as she might now--though she did not dare to press him too much for fear of exciting fever--she could get no other answer, no confirmatory admission of any kind. and he earnestly begged her, for the love of heaven, never to repeat a word of his "tattle" to his father, or elsewhere. in the course of the morning, tom dance and two or three fishermen-friends of his came to the grey nunnery to convey walter home. the rumour of what had happened had caused the greatest commotion abroad, and all the village, men and women, turned out to look for the removal. fishermen, for that tide, abandoned their boats, women their homes and their household cares. no such excitement had arisen for greylands since the vanishing of anthony castlemaine as this. the crowd attended him to tom dance's door with much hubbub; and after his disappearance within it, stayed to make their comments: giving praises to those good grey ladies who had received and succoured him. "now then," cried the doctor to his patient, when he had placed him comfortably in bed at his father's house and seen him take some refreshment, no one being present but themselves, "what is the true history of this matter, walter? i did not care to question you much before." "the true history?" faltered walter; who was not the best hand at deception that the world could produce. "what brought you in the chapel ruins with a loaded pistol at that untoward time of night?" "i wanted to shoot a sea-bird: them that come abroad at night," was the uneasy answer. "a gentleman at stilborough gave me an order for one. he's a-going to get him stuffed." mr. parker looked at the speaker keenly. he detected the uneasiness at being questioned. "and you thought that hour of the morning and that particular spot the best to shoot the bird?" he asked. "them birds are always hovering about the ruins there," spoke walter, shifting his eyes in all directions. "always a'most. one can only get at 'em at pitch dark, when things are dead still." "i thought, too, that birds were generally shot with guns, not pistols," said the surgeon; and the young man only; groaned in answer to this: in explanation of which groan he volunteered the information that his "arm gave him a twitch." "where did you get the pistol?" "father lent it to me," said walter, apparently in much torment, "to shoot the bird." "and how came the pistol to go off as it did?" "i was raising it to shoot one, a big fellow he was, and my elbow knocked again that there piece of sticking-out wall in the corner. oh, doctor! i'm feeling rare and faint again." mr. parker desisted from his investigation and went away whistling, taking in just as much as he liked of the story, and no more. there was evidently some mystery in the matter that he could not fathom. chapter xxix. one more interview. mr. and mrs. bent were in their sitting-room, facing the sea, as many guests around them as the room could conveniently accommodate. much excitement prevailed: every tongue was going. upon the occasion of any unusual commotion at greylands, the dolphin, being the only inn in the place, was naturally made the centre point of the public, where expressions of marvel were freely given vent to and opinions exchanged. since the disappearance of anthony castlemaine, no event had occurred to excite the people like unto this--the shooting himself of young walter dance. to the primitive community this affair seemed nearly as unaccountable as that. the bare fact of the pistol's having gone off through the young man's inadvertently knocking his elbow against that bit of projecting wall, sticking itself out in the corner of the chapel ruins, was nothing extraordinary; it might have happened to anybody; but the wonder manifested lay in the attendant circumstances. after the stir and bustle of seeing walter dance conveyed from the grey nunnery to his home had somewhat subsided, and the litter with its bearers, and the patient, and the doctor had fairly disappeared within doors, and they were barred out, the attendant spectators stayed a few minutes to digest the sight, and then moved off slowly by twos and threes to the dolphin. the privileged among them went into mr. and mrs. bent's room: the rest stayed outside. marvel the first was, that young dance should have gone out to shoot a bird at that uncanny hour of the morning; marvel the second was, that he should have chosen that haunted place, the chapel ruins, for nobody had evinced more fear in a silent way of the superstitions attending the keep and the ghost that walked there than walter dance; marvel the third was, that he should have taken a pistol to shoot at the sea-bird, instead of a gun. "why couldn't he have got the bird at eight or nine o'clock at night?" debated ben little, quite an old oracle in the village and the father of young ben. "that's the best hour for them sea-birds: nobody in their senses would wait till a'most the dawn." "and look here," cried out mrs. bent shrilly: but she was obliged to be shrill to get a general hearing. "why did he have a pistol with him? tom dance keeps a gun: he takes it out in his boat sometimes; but he keeps no pistol." "young walter said in the night, to me and the doctor, that it was his father's pistol when we asked him about it," interposed john bent. "rubbish!" returned the landlady. "i know better. tom dance never owned a pistol yet: how should he, and me not see it there's not a man in the whole place that keeps a pistol." "except mr. superintendent nettleby," put in old ben. "nobody was bringing him in," retorted the landlady, "it's his business to keep a pistol. my husband, as you all know, thought it was a pistol he heard go off the night that young mr. castlemaine was missed, though the commodore stood to it that it was his gun--and, as we said then, if it was a pistol, where did the pistol come from? pistols here, pistols there: i should like to ask what we are all coming to! we sha'n't be able to step out of our door after dark next, if pistols jump into fashion." "at any rate, it seems it was a pistol last night, wherever he might have got it from," said ben little. "and downright careless it must have been of him to let it go off in the way he says it did--just for knocking his elbow again' the wall. its to be known yet whether that there's not a lame tale; invented to excuse hisself." several faces were turned on old ben little at this. his drift was scarcely understood. "excuse himself from what?" demanded mrs. bent sharply. "do you suppose the young fellow would shoot himself purposely, ben little?" "what i think," said ben, with calmness, "if one could come to the bottom of it, is this: that there young fellow got a fright last night--see the grey friar most probable; and his hand shook so that the pistol went off of itself." this was so entirely new a view of probabilities, that the room sunk into temporary silence to revolve it. and not altogether an agreeable one. the grey friar did enough mischief as it was, in the matter of terrifying timid spirits: if it came to causing dreadful personal injuries with pistols and what not, greylands was at a pretty pass! "now i shouldn't wonder but that was it," cried john bent, bringing down his hand on the table emphatically. "he saw the grey friar, or thought he did: and it put him into more fright than mortal man could stand. you should just have seen him last night, and the terror he was in, when me and the doctor got to him--shaking the very board he lay upon." "i'm sure he caused us fright enough," meekly interposed sister ann, who had been drawn into the inn (nothing loth) with the crowd. "when the lady superior, sister mary ursula, came up to awake me and sister phoeby, and we saw her trembling white face, and heard that walter dance had taken refuge at the nunnery, all shot about, neither of us knew how we flung our things on, to get down to him." "walter dance don't like going anigh the friar's keep any more nor the rest of us likes it; and i can't think what should have took him there last night," spoke up young mr. pike from the general shop. "i was talking to him yesterday evening for a good half hour if i was talking a minute; 'twas when i was shutting up: he said nothing then about going out to shoot a bird." "but he must have went to shoot one," insisted ben little. "why say he did it if he didn't? what else took him to the ruins at all?" a fresh comer appeared upon the scene at this juncture in the person of mr. harry castlemaine. in passing the inn, he saw signs of the commotion going on, inside and outside, and turned in to see and hear. the various doubts and surmises, agitating the assembly, were poured freely into his ear. "oh, it's all right--that's what young dance went up for," said he, speaking lightly. "a day or two ago i chanced to hear him say he wanted to shoot a sea-bird for stuffing." "well, sir that may be it; no doubt it is, else why should he say it--as i've just asked," replied ben little. "but what we'd like to know is--why he should ha' stayed to the little hours of morning before he went out. why not have went just after dark?" "he may have been busy," said mr. harry carelessly. "or out in the boat." "he wasn't out in the boat last night, sir, for i was talking to him as late as nine o'clock at our door," said young pike. "the boat couldn't have went out after that and come back again." "well, i don't think it can concern us whether he went out after this bird a little later or a little earlier; or in fact that it signifies at all which it was, to the matter in question," returned the master of greylands' son: and it might have been noticed that his tone bore a smattering of the haughty reserve that sometimes characterised his father's. "the poor fellow has met with the accident; and that's quite enough for him without being worried with queries as to the precise half hour it happened.' "what he says is this here, mr. harry: that a great big sea-bird came flying off the sea, flapping its wings above the ruins; dance cocked his pistol and raised it to take aim, when his elbow struck again' the corner wall there, and the charge went off." "just so, ben; that's what tom dance tells me," responded mr. harry to old little, for he had been the speaker. "it will be a lesson to him, i dare say, not to go out shooting birds in the dark again." "not to shoot 'em there, at any rate," rejoined ben. "the conclusion we've just been and drawed is this here, mr. harry, sir: that the grey friar's shade appeared to him and set him trembling, and the dratted pistol went off of itself." mr. harry's face grew long at once. "poor fellow! it may have been so," he said: "and that alone would make his account confused. well, my friends, the least we can do, as it seems to me, is to leave walter dance alone and not bother him," he continued in conclusion: and out he went as grave as a judge. evidently the grey friar was not sneered at by mr. harry castlemaine. sitting in a quiet corner of the room, obscured by the people and by the hubbub, was the dolphin's guest, george north. not a word, spoken, had escaped him. to every suggestive supposition, to every remark, reasonable and unreasonable, he had listened attentively. for this affair had made more impression on him than the facts might seem to warrant: and in his own mind he could not help connecting this shot and this mysterious pistol--that seemed to have come into walter dance's possession unaccountably--with the shot of that past february night, that had been so fatal to his brother. fatal, at least, in the conviction of many a one at greylands. from john bent to mr. george north's sister-in-law, charlotte guise, and with sundry intermediate persons the impression existed and could not be shaken off. mr. north had never given in to the belief: he had put faith in mr. castlemaine: he had persistently hoped that anthony might not be dead; that he would reappear some time and clear up the mystery: but an idea had now taken sudden hold of him that this second edition of a shot, or rather the cause of it, would be found to hold some connection with the other shot: and that the two might proceed from the grey friar. not the ghost of a grey friar, but a living and substantial one, who might wish to keep his precincts uninvaded. we, who are in the secret of this later shot, can see how unfounded the idea was: but mr. north was not in the secret, and it had taken (he knew not why) firm hold of him. first of all, he had no more faith in the lame account of mr. walter dance than the doctor had. it may be remembered that when the landlord was telling him of the accident the previous night, mr. north remarked that he had been with dance for a sail only that same morning. during this sail, which had lasted about two hours, the conversation had turned on the friar's keep--mr. north frequently, in an apparently indirect manner, did turn his converse on it--and walter dance had expressed the most unequivocal faith in the grey monk that haunted it, and protested, with a shake of superstitions terror, that he would not go "anigh them parts" after dark for all the world. therefore mr. north did not take in the report that he had voluntarily gone to the chapel ruins to shoot a bird in the dead of the night. the talkers around mr. north all agreed, receiving their version of the affair from sister ann and john bent, that walter dance's account was imperfect, confused, and not clearly to be understood; and that he was three parts beside himself with nervous fear when he gave it. all food for mr. george north: but he listened on, saying nothing. when harry castlemaine quitted the dolphin, he turned in the direction of stilborough; he was going to walk thither--which was nothing for his long legs. in ascending the hill past the church, which was a narrow and exceedingly lonely part of the road, the yew-trees overshadowing the gloomy churchyard on one side, the dark towering cliff on the other, he encountered jane hallet. she had been to stilborough on some errand connected with her knitting-work, and was now coming back again. they met just abreast of the churchyard gate, and simultaneously stopped: as if to stop was with both of them a matter of course. "where have you been, jane?" asked mr. harry. "to stilborough," she answered. "you must have gone early." "yes, i went for wool"--indicating a brown-paper parcel in her hand. "for wool!" he repeated, in a somewhat annoyed tone. "i have told you not to worry yourself with more of that needless work, jane." "and make my aunt more displeased than she is with me!" returned jane sadly. "i must keep on with it as long as i can, while in her sight." "well, i think you must have enough to do without that," he answered, dropping the point. "how pale you are, jane." "i am tired. it is a long walk, there and back, without rest. i sat down on one of the shop stools while they weighed the wool, but it was not much rest." "there again! i have told you the walk is too far. why don't you attend to me, jane?" "i wish i could: but it is so difficult. you know what my aunt is." "i am not sure, jane, but it will be better to--to--" he stopped, seemingly intent on treading a stone into the path--"to make the change now," he went on, "and get the bother over. it must come, you know." "not yet; no need to do it yet," she quickly answered. "let it be put off as long as it can be. i dread it frightfully." "yes, that's it: you are tormenting yourself into fiddle-strings. don't be foolish, jane. it is i who shall have to bear the storm, not you: and my back's broad enough, i hope." she sighed deeply: her pale, thoughtful, pretty face cast up in sad apprehension towards the blue autumn sky. a change came over its expression: some remembrance seemed suddenly to occur to her. "have you heard any news about walter dance?" she asked with animation. "as i came down the cliff this morning, mrs. bent was leaving the baker's with some hot rolls in her apron, and she crossed over to tell me that walter had shot himself accidentally at the chapel ruins in the middle of the night. is it true?" "shot himself instead of a sea-bird," slightingly responded mr. harry. "and in the chapel ruins?" "i hear he says so." "but--that is not likely to be the truth, is it?" "how should i know, jane?" she lodged the paper parcel on the top of the gate, holding it with one hand, and looked wistfully across the graveyard. harry castlemaine whistled to a sparrow that was chirping on a branch of the nearest yew-tree. "was it mr. nettleby who did it?" she inquired, in a low, hesitating whisper. "mr. nettleby!" repeated harry castlemaine in astonishment, breaking of his whistle to the bird. "what in the world makes you ask that jane?" a faint colour passed over her thin face, and she paused before answering. "mrs. bent said she thought nobody in the place possessed a pistol except superintendent nettleby." he looked keenly at jane: at her evident uneasiness. she was growing pale again; paler than before; with what looked like an unnatural pallor. mr. harry castlemaine's brow knitted itself into lines, with the effort to make jane out. "i don't like the chapel ruins: or the friar's keep," she went on, in the same low tone. "i wish nobody ever went near them. i wish you would not go!" "wish i would not go!" he exclaimed. "what do you mean, jane?" "it may be your turn next to be shot," she said with rising emotion, so much so that the words came out jerkingly. "i cannot tell what it is that you are driving at," he answered, regarding searchingly the evidently tired frame, the unmistakable agitation and anxiety of the thin, white face. "what have i to do with the chapel ruins? i don't go roaming about at night with a pistol to shoot sea-birds." "if you would but make a confidante of me!" she sighed. "what have i to confide? if you will tell me what it is, perhaps i may. i don't know." she glanced up at him, flushing again slightly. his countenance was unembarrassed, open, and kind in its expression; but the decisive lips were set firmly. whether he knew what she meant, or whether he did not, it was evident that he would not meet her in the slightest degree. "please do not be angry with me," faltered jane. "when am i angry with you? simply, though, i do not understand you this morning, jane. i think you must have tired yourself too much." "i am tired," she replied; "and i shall be glad to get home to rest. my aunt, too, will be thinking it is time i was back." she moved her parcel of wool off the gate, and, after another word or two, they parted: jane going down hill, harry castlemaine up. before he was quite beyond view, he stood to look back at her, and saw she had turned to look after him. a bright smile illumined his handsome face, and he waved his hand to her gaily. few, very few, were there, so attractive as harry castlemaine. jane's lips parted with a farewell word, though he could not hear it, and her pretty dimples were all smiles as she went onwards. at the foot of the cliff she came upon little bessy gleeson in trouble. the child had fallen, goodness knew from what height, had cut both her knees, and was sobbing finely. jane took the little thing up tenderly, kissed and soothed her, and then carried her up the cliff to the gleesons' cottage. what with bessy and what with the parcel, she could not breathe when she got there. down she dropped on the stone by the door, her face whiter than ever. "where's mother?" she asked, as some of the little ones, polly included, came running out. but nancy gleeson had seen the ascent from the side window, and came forward, her hands all soap-suds. she was struck with jane's exhausted look. "bessy has fallen down, mrs. gleeson. her knees are bleeding." "and how could you think of lugging her all up the cliff, miss jane! i declare you be as white as a sheet. a fat, heavy child like her! fell down on your knees, have you, you tiresome little grub. there's one or another on you always a-doing of it." "it is a warm morning, and i have been walking to and from stilborough," remarked jane, as she rose to go on, and not choosing to be told she looked white without accounting for it. "wash her knees with some hot water please, mrs. gleeson: i dare say she is in pain, poor little thing." "lawk a me, miss jane," the woman called after her, "if you had half-a-dozen of 'em about you always you'd know better nor to take notice o' such trifles as knees." but jane was already nearly out of hearing. harry was not the only one of the castlemaine family who went that day to stilborough. in the full brightness of the afternoon, the close carriage of the master of greylands, attended by its liveried servants, might have been seen bowling on its way thither, and one lady, attired in the dress of the grey sisters, seated inside it. a lady who was grand, and noble, and beautiful, in spite of the simple attire--mary ursula. she was about to pay a visit to that friend of hers on whom misfortune had fallen--mrs. ord. the double calamity--loss of husband and loss of fortune--reaching mrs. ord by the same mail, had thrown her upon a sick-bed; and she was at all times delicate. the letter that mary had sat up to write was despatched by a messenger early in the morning: and she had craved the loan of her uncle's close carriage to convey her on a personal visit. the close carriage: mary shrunk (perhaps from the novelty of it) from showing herself this first time in her changed dress among her native townspeople. the carriage left her at mrs. ord's house, and was directed to return for her in an hour; and mary was shown up to the sick-chamber. it was a sad interview: this poor mrs. ord--whose woes, however, need not be entered upon here in detail, as she has nothing to do with the story--was but a year or two older than mary ursula. they had been girls together. she was very ill now: and mary felt that at this early stage little or no consolation could be offered. she herself had had her sorrows since they last met, and it was a trying hour to both of them. before the hour had expired, mary took her leave and went down to the drawing-room to wait for the carriage. she had closed the door, and was halfway across the richly-carpeted floor, before she became aware that any one was in the room. it was a gentleman--who rose from the depths of a lounging-chair at her approach. every drop of blood in mary's veins seemed to stand still, and then rush wildly on: her sight momentarily failed her, her senses were confused: and but that she had shut the door behind her, and come so far, she might have retreated again. for it was william blake-gordon. they stood facing each other for an instant in silence, both painfully agitated. mary's grey bonnet was in her hand; she had taken it off in the sick-chamber; he held an open letter, that he had been apparently reading to pass away the time, while the servants should carry his message to their sick mistress and bring back an answer. mary saw the writing of the letter and recognized it for agatha mountsorrel's. in his confusion, as he hastily attempted to refold the letter, it escaped his hand, and fluttered to the ground. the other hand he was holding out to her. she met it, scarcely perhaps conscious of what she did. he felt the trembling of the fingers he saw the agitation of the wan white face. not a word did either of them speak. mary sat down on a sofa, he took a chair near, after picking up his letter. "what a terrible calamity this is that has fallen on mrs. ord!" he exclaimed, seizing upon it as something to say. "two calamities," answered mary. "yes indeed.. her husband dead, and her fortune gone! my father sent me here to inquire personally after her; to see her if possible. he and colonel ord were good friends." "i do not think she can see you. she said that i was the only one friend who would have been admitted to her." "i did not expect she would: but sir richard made me come. you know his way." mary slightly nodded assent. she raised her hand and gently pushed from her temple the braid of her thick brown hair; as though conscious of the whiteness of her face, she would fain cover it until the colour returned. mr. blake-gordon, a very bad hand at deception at all times, suffered his feelings to get the better of conventionality now, and burst forth into truth. "oh, mary! how like this is to the old days! to have you by me alone!--to be sitting once more together." "like unto them?" she returned sadly. "no. that can never be." "would to heaven it could!" he aspirated. "a strange wish, that, to hear from you now." "and, perhaps you think, one i should not have spoken. it is always in my heart, mary." "then it ought not to be." "i see," he said. "you have been hearing tales about me." "i have heard one tale. i presume it to be a true one. and i--i--" her lips were trembling grievously--"i wish you both happiness with all my heart." mr. blake-gordon pushed his chair back and began to pace the room restlessly. at that moment a servant came in with a message to him from her mistress. he merely nodded a reply, and the girl went away again. "do you know what it has all been for me, mary?" he asked, halting before her, his brow flushed, his lips just as much agitated as hers. "do you guess what it is? every ray of sunshine went out of my life with you." "at the time you--you may have thought that," she tremblingly answered. "but why recall it? the sun has surely begun to shine for you again." "never in this world. never will it shine as it did then." "nay, but that, in the face of facts, is scarcely credible," she rejoined, striving to get up as much calmness, and to speak as quietly, as though mr. blake-gordon had never been more to her than an acquaintance or friend; nerving herself to answer him now as such. "you are, i believe, about to"--a cough took her just there, and she suddenly put her hand to her throat--"marry agatha." "it is true. at least, partially true." "partially?" "for heaven's sake, mary, don't speak to me in that coldly indifferent tone!" he passionately broke in. "i cannot bear it from you." "how would you have me speak?" she asked, rapidly regaining her self-possession; and her tone was certainly kind, rather than cold, though her words were redolent of calm reasoning. "the past is past, you know, and circumstances have entirely changed. it will be better to meet them as such: to regard them as they are." "yes, they are changed," he answered bitterly. "you have made yourself into a lay-nun----" "nay, not that," she interrupted with a smile. "a sister of charity, then"--pointing to her grey dress. "and i, as the world says, am to espouse agatha mountsorrel." "but surely that is true." "it is true in so far as that i have asked her to be my wife: that i should live to say that to you of another woman, mary! she has accepted me. but, as to the marriage, i hope it will not take place yet awhile. i do not press for it." "you shall both have my best and truest prayers for your happiness," rejoined mary, her voice again slightly trembling. "agatha will make you a good wife. the world calls her haughty; but she will not be haughty to her husband." "how coolly you can contemplate it!" he cried, in reproach and pain. just for one single moment, in her heart's lively anguish, the temptation assailed her to tell him what it really was to her, and how deeply she loved him still. she threw it behind her, a faint smile parting her lips. "william, you know well that what i say is all i can say. i am wedded to the life i have chosen; you will soon be wedded actually to another than me. nothing remains for us in common: save the satisfaction of experiencing good wishes for the welfare of the other." "it is not love, or any feeling akin to it, that has caused me to address agatha mountsorrel----" he was beginning; but she interrupted him with decision. "i would rather not hear this. it is not right of you to say it." "i will say it. mary, be still. it is but a word or two; and i will have my way in this. it is in obedience to my father that i have addressed miss mountsorrel. since the moment when you and i parted, he has never ceased to urge her upon me, to throw us together in every possible way. i resisted for a long while; but my nature is weakly yielding--as you have cause to know--and at length i was badgered into it. forgive the word, mary. badgered by sir richard, until i went to her and said, will you be my wife? the world had set the rumour running long before that; but the world was in haste. and now that i have told you so much, i am thankful. i meant to make the opportunity of telling you had one not offered: for the worst pain of all, to me, would be, that you should fancy i could love another. the hearing that i have engaged myself again in this indecent haste--your hearing it--is enough shame for me." the handsome chariot of the master of greylands, its fine horses prancing and curvetting, passed the window and drew up at the house. mary rose. "i hope with all my heart that you will love her as you once loved. me," she said to him in a half whisper, as she rang the bell and caught up her bonnet. "to know that, william, will make my own life somewhat less lonely." "did you ever care for me?" broke from him. "yes. but the past is past." he stood in silence while she tied on her grey bonnet, watching her slender fingers as they trembled with the silk strings. a servant appeared in answer to the ring. mary was drawing on her gloves. "the door," said mr. blake-gordon. "good-bye," she said to him, holding out her hand. he wrung it almost to pain. "you will allow me to see you to your carriage?" she took the arm he held out to her and they went through the hall and down the steps together. the footman had the carriage door open, and he, her ex-lover, placed her in. not another word was spoken. the man sprang up to his place behind, and the chariot rolled away. for a full minute after its departure, william blake-gordon was still standing looking after it, forgetting to put his hat on: forgetting, as it seemed, all created things. chapter xxx. love's young dream. combined with mr. walter dance's remorse for having betrayed to miss castlemaine what he did betray, in that paroxysm of fear when he thought the world was closing for him, was a wholesome dread of the consequences to himself. what his father's anger would be and what mr. castlemaine's punishment of him might be, when they should learn all that his foolish tongue had said, walter did not care to contemplate. as he lay that night in the grey nunnery after the surgeon's visit, sister ann watching by his pallet, he went through nearly as much agony of fear from this source as he had just gone through from the other. while he believed his life was in peril, that that mysterious part of him, the soul, was about to be summoned to render up its account, earth and earth's interests were as nothing: utterly lost, indeed, beside that momentous hour which he thought was at hand. but, after reassurance had set in, and the doctor had quietly convinced him there was no danger, that he would shortly be well again, then the worldly fear rose to the surface. sister ann assumed that his starts and turns in the bed arose from bodily pain or restlessness: in point of fact it was his mind that was tormenting him and would not let him be still. of course it was no fault of his that miss castlemaine had found him in the cloistered vaults,--or that he had found her, whichever it might be called--or that there was a door that he never knew of opening into them, or a passage between them and the grey nunnery, or that the pistol had gone off and shot him. for all this he could not be blamed. but what he could, and would be blamed for was, that he had committed the astounding folly of betraying the secret relating to the friar's keep; for it might, so to say, destroy all connected with it. hence his resolve to undo, so far as he could, the mischief with miss castlemaine, by denying to her that his disclosure had reason or foundation in it: and by asserting that it must have been the effect of his disordered brain. believing that he had done this, when his morning interview with sister mary ursula was over: believing that he had convinced her his words had been but the result of his sick fancies, he began next to ask himself why he need tell the truth at all, even to his father. the only thing to be accounted for was the shot to himself and his turning up at the grey nunnery: but he might just as well stand to the tale that he had told the doctor, to his father, as well as to the world: namely, that he had met with the injury in the chapel ruins, and had crawled to the grey nunnery for succour. this happy thought he carried out; and tom dance was no wiser than other people. when once deception is entered upon, the course is comparatively easy: "ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute," say the french: and mr. walter dance, truthful and honest though he loved to be, found himself quite an adept at farce-relating before the first day was over. not that tom dance, wise in his nearly fifty years, took it all in unquestioningly. there was something about the story, and about wally's voice and face and shifting eyes when he told it, that rather puzzled him: in short, that created somewhat of a doubt: but the very impossibility (as he looked upon it) of the injuries having occurred in any other way served to dispel suspicion. the idea that there was a secret passage from the friar's keep to the grey nunnery could no more have entered into tom dance's imagination, than that there was a passage to the moon. when the indoor hubbub and bustle of the removal of walter home from the grey nunnery was over, and the numerous friends, admitted one at a time to see him, had gone again, and walter had had some refreshing sleep towards sunset, then tom dance thought the time and opportunity had come to have a talk with him. the old grandmother, dame dance--who lived in her solitary abode under the cliff at some distance, and whose house at high water was not accessible except by boat--had come up to nurse and tend him, bringing her white apron and a nightcap. but tom dance sent his mother home again. he was a good son, and he told her that she should not have the trouble: he and sarah could attend to wally without further help. sarah was his daughter, walter's sister, and several years older than the young man. she was a cripple, poor thing, but very useful in the house; a shy, silent young woman, who could only walk with crutches; so that greylands scarcely saw her out of doors from year's end to year's end. now and then, on some fine sunday she would contrive to get to church, but that was all. tom dance's house was the last in the village and next the beach, its side windows facing the sea. it was twilight, but there was no candle in walter's room yet, and as tom dance sat down at the window, he saw the stars coming out over the grey waters, one by one, and heard the murmuring of the waves. "d'ye feel that ye could peck a bit, wally?" asked he, turning his head sideways towards the bed. "sarah's gone to make me some arrowroot, father." "that's poor stuff, lad." "it's what dr. parker said i was to have." "look here, wally," continued tom, after a pease, during which he had seemed to be looking out to sea again, "i can't make out what should have taken you up on to the chapel ruins. why didn't you follow us to the hutt?" to account feasibly for this one particular item in the tale, was walter's chief difficulty. he knew that: and while his father was entering upon it in the morning, had felt truly thankful that they were interrupted. "i don't know what took me," replied walter, with a sort of semi-wonder in his own voice, as though the fact were just as much of a puzzle to himself as it could be to his father. "i stayed behind to lock up: and the rest of you had all gone on to the hutt ever so long: and--and so i went up and out by the chapel ruins." "one would think you must ha' been in a dream, lad." "it's rare and lonely up that other long passage by oneself," hazarded walter. "you are up at the chapel ruins and out that way in no time." "rare and lonely!" sharply retorted the elder man, as though the words offended him. "are you turning coward, lad?" "not i, father," warmly rejoined walter, perceiving that plea would not find favour. "any way, i don't know what it was took me to go up to the chapel ruins. i went; and that seems to be all about it." "it was an unpardonable hazardous thing to do. suppose you had been seen coming out o' the keep at that time? and with a pistol!" "i wish the pistol had been at the bottom o' the sea, i do!" groaned the invalid. "what did you take the pistol up for?--why didn't you leave it in the usual place with the other pistols?" walter groaned again, "i don't know." "tell ye what, lad: but that i know you b'ain't given to drink, i should say you'd got a drop of the crew's old hollands into you." "janson did offer me some," said young walter, from under the bedclothes. "and you took it! well you must ha' been a fool. why, your grandmother 'ud be fit to----" "i wasn't drunk: don't think that father," interrupted walter, after a rapid mental controversy as to whether, of the two evils, it might not be better to confess to the hollands--though, in point of fact, he had not touched a drop. "see here: it's no good talking about it, now it's done and over." "and--if you did get out by wary of the chapel ruins, what on earth made you go letting off the pistol there?" "well, it was an accident, that was: i didn't go to let it off. that there wall in the corner knocked again' my elbow." "what took you to the corner?" "i thought i'd just give a look after the boats that were getting off," said walter, who had spent that day as well as the night, rehearsing difficult items in his mind. "the beastly pistol went off somehow, and down i dropped." "and of all things," continued the fisherman, "to think you should ha' knocked up the grey sisters! it must have been hollands." "i was bleeding to death, father. the grey nunnery is the nearest place." "no, it's not. nettleby's is the nearest." "as if i should go there!" cried walter, opening his eyes at the bare suggestion. "and as near as any is the hutt. that's where you ought to have come on to. why did you not? come!" "i--i--never thought of the hutt," said poor walter, wondering when this ordeal would be over. "you hadn't got your head upon you: that's what it was. wally, lad, i'd a'most rather see you drownded in the sea some rough day afore my eyes, nor see you take to drink." "'twasn't drink, 'twas the sight of the blood," deprecatingly returned walter. "the grey ladies were rare and good to me, father." "that don't excuse your having went there. in two or three minutes more you'd have reached your home here--and we might ha' kept it all quiet. as it is, every tongue in the place is a wagging over it." "let 'em wag," suggested walter. "they can't know nothing." "how do you know what they'll find out, with their prying and their marvelling?" demanded the angry man. "let 'em wag, indeed!" "i could hardly get to the nunnery," pleaded walter. "i thought i was dying." "there'll be a rare fuss about it with the castlemaines! i know that. every knock that has come to the door this blessed day i've took to be the master o' greylands and shook in my shoes. a fine market you'll bring your pigs to, if you be to go on like this, a getting yourself and everybody else into trouble! george hallet, poor fellow, would never have been such a fool." reproached on all sides, self-convicted of worse folly than his father had a notion of, weak in body, fainting in spirit, and at his very wits' end to ward off the home questions, walter ended by bursting into a flood of tears. that disarmed tom dance; and he let the matter drop. sarah limped in with the arrowroot, and close upon that mr. parker arrived. the bright moon, wanting yet some days to its full, shone down on the chapel ruins. seated against the high, blank wall of the grey nunnery, his sketch-book before him, his pencil in hand, was mr. north. he had come there to take the friar's keep by moonlight: at least, the side portion of it that looked that way. the chapel ruins with its broken walls made the foreground: the half-ruined keep, with its gothic door of entrance, the back; to the right the sketch took in a bit of the sea. no doubt it would make an attractive picture when done in watercolours, and one that must bear its own painful interest for george north. he worked attentively and rapidly, his thoughts meanwhile as busy as his hands. the moon gave him almost as much light as he would have had by day: though it cast dark shades as well as brightness; and that would make the chief beauty of the completed painting. somewhere about a week had passed since the accident to walter dance, and the young man was three parts well again. the occurrence had rarely been out of mr. north's mind since. he had taken the opportunity in an easy and natural manner of calling in at dance's to pay a visit to the invalid, to inquire after his progress and condole with him; and he that been struck during that interview with the same idea that had come to him before--namely, that the story told was not real. putting a searching question or two, his eyes intently fixed upon the wounded man's countenance, he was surprised--or, perhaps not surprised--to see the face flush, the eyes turn away, the answering words become hesitating. nothing, however, came of it, save this impression. walter parried every question, telling the same tale that he had told others; but the eyes of the speaker, i say, could not look mr. north in the face, the ring of the voice was not true. mr.. north asked this and that; but he could not ask too pointedly or persistently, his apparent motive being concern for the accident, slightly tempered with curiosity. "it was not the ghost of the grey friar that shot you, was it?" he questioned at last with a joking smile. walter evidently took it in earnest, and shook his head gravely. "i never saw the ghost at all, sir, that night: nor thought of it, either. i was only thinking of the bird." "you did not get the bird, after all." "no; he flew away when the pistol went off. it startled him, i know: you should have heard his wings a-flapping. father says he'll shoot one the first opportunity he gets." how much was false, and how much true, mr. north could not discern. so far as the bird went, he was inclined to believe in it--walter must have had some motive for going to the ruins, and, he fancied, a very strong one. it was the shot itself and the hour of its occurrence that puzzled him. but mr. north came away from the interview no wiser than he had entered on it: except that his doubts were strengthened. as if to give colouring to, and confirm his son's story, a day or two subsequent to the accident, tom dance, being in the company of some other fishermen at the time, and having his gun with him, aimed at a large grey sea-gull that came screeching over their heads, as they stood on the beach, and brought him down. the next morning, in the face and eyes of all greylands, he went marching off with the dead bird to stilborough, and left it with a naturalist to be stuffed: and pedestrians passing the naturalist's shop, were regaled with a sight of le great bird exhibited there, its wings stretched out to the uttermost. but it turned out upon inquiry--far people, swayed by their curiosity, made very close inquiries, and seemed never to tire of doing it--that the bird had not been ordered by the gentleman at stilborough, as walter dance was at first understood to say. dance and his son had intended to make a present of one to him. as they would now do. all these matters, with the various speculations they brought in their train, were swaying mr. north's mind, as he worked on this evening by moonlight. the occurrence had certainly spurred up his intention to discover anthony's fate, rendering him more earnest in the pursuit. it could not be said that he was not earnest in it before; but there was nothing he could lay hold of, nothing tangible. in point of fact, there was not anything now. "do you belong to me?" he apostrophised, casting his eyes towards the distant chimneys of greylands' rest, his thoughts having turned on the master of greylands. "failing poor anthony to inherit, is the property mine? i would give much to know. my uncle james seems too honourable a man to keep what is not his own: and yet--why did he not show to anthony the tenure by which he holds the estate?--why does he not show it now?--for he must know how people talk, and the doubts that are cast on him. i cannot tell what to think. personally, i like him very much; and he is so like----" a sudden shade fell on mr. north's book, and made him look up abruptly. it was caused by a cloud passing over the face of the moon. a succession of light clouds, this cloud the vanguard of them, came sailing quickly up from beyond the sea, obscuring, until they should have dispersed, the silvery brightness of the queen of night. mr. north's sketch was, however, nearly done; and a few quick strokes completed it. putting it into his portfolio, he rose, took a look out over the sea, and passed into the friar's keep. many a time, by night or by day, since his first arrival at greylands, had he gone stealthily into that place; but never had found aught to reward him by sight or sound. thrice he had explored it with a light: but he had seen only the monotonous space of pillared cloisters that all the world might explore at will. silent and deserted as ever, were they now: and george north was on the point of turning out again, when the sound of light footsteps smote on his ear, and he drew back between the wall and the first pillar near the entrance. he had left the door wide open--which was, perhaps, an incautious thing to do--and some rays of moonlight came streaming in. he was in the dark: all the darker, perhaps, the nook where he stood, from the contrast presented by these shining rays of light. george north held his breath while he looked and listened. darkening the shining moonlight at the entrance came a woman's figure, entering far more stealthily and softly than mr. north had entered. she stole along amid the pillars, and then stopped suddenly, as though intent on listening. she was not quite beyond the vision of mr. north: his eyes were accustomed to the darkness, and the rays at the open door threw a semi-light beyond: and he saw her push back her hood and bend her ear to listen. quite two minutes passed thus they seemed like five to george north, he standing still and motionless as the grave. then she turned, retraced her steps, and went out again. mr. north stole to the door in her wake, and looked after her. yes, he thought so! it was jane hallet. she had gone to the edge now, and was gazing straight out to seaward, her hands raised over her eyes to steady their sight. mr. north knew her only by the outline of her figure, for the hood of her cloak was well on; but he could not be mistaken. being about himself of an evening, he had seen her about; had seen her more than once come to these ruins and stand as she was standing now: once only before had she entered the keep. the precise purport of these manoeuvres he could not fathom, but felt sure that she was tracking, and yet hiding herself from, harry castlemaine. another minute, and then she turned. "not to-night," mr. north heard her say aloud to herself as she passed the door of the keep. and she went through the gate and walked rapidly away towards greylands. mr. north took out his watch to see the time, holding it to the moonlight. half-past nine. not too late, he decided, to go to greylands' rest and pay a short visit to madame guise. the family were out that evening, dining at stilborough--which information he had picked up from mrs. bent: had they been at home, he would not have thought of presenting himself so late. it might be a good opportunity to get a few minutes alone with his sister-in-law, and he wanted to tell her that he had heard from gap. crossing the road, he went striding quickly up the lane, and was nearly run over by commodore teague's spring cart, which came with a bolt unexpectedly out of the turning. the commodore, who was driving, did not see him: he had his head bent down nearly to the off shaft, doing something to the harness. the cart clattered on its way, and mr. north pursued his. turning in at the gate of greylands' rest, and passing round to the broad path, he heard a voice singing; a voice that he knew and loved too well. ethel was not gone to the dinner, then! she sat alone at the piano in the red parlour, its glass doors being thrown wide open, singing a love ditty to herself in the moonlight. mr. north, every pulse of his heart beating with its sense of bliss, drew himself up against the wall beside the window to listen. it was a very absurdly-foolish song as to words, just as three parts of the songs mostly are; but its theme was love, and that was enough for ethel and for him; to both the words were no doubt nothing short of sublime. a kind of refrain followed every verse: the reader shall at least have the benefit of that. "and if my love prove faithless, what will be left for me?-- i'll let him think me scathless, and lay me down and dee." there were five or six verses in the ballad, and these lines came in after every verse. ethel had a sweet voice and sang well. mr. george north stood against the wall outside, his ears and his heart alike taking in the song, the words being as distinct as though they were spoken. the final refrain had two more lines added to it: "but i know that he is not faithless: he'll be true to me for aye." ethel left the piano with the last word and came to the window, her bright face, raised to look at the moon, glowing with a sweet, hopeful expression that seemed to tell of love. "but i know that he is not faithless: he'll be true to me for aye." these words were repeated over to herself as she stood; not sung but spoken; repeated as though she were making the romance her own; as though the words were a fact, an assurance to herself that somebody would be true to her. george north went forward, and ethel was startled. "oh, mr. north!" she exclaimed. "how you frightened me!" he took her hand--both hands--in his contrition, begging pardon for his thoughtlessness, and explaining that he waited there until she finished her song, not to enter and disturb it. it was one of the sweetest moments in the life of either, this unexpected meeting, all around so redolent of poetry and romance. mr. north had to release her hands, but their pulses were thrilling with the contact. "i thought you were gone out to dinner," he said. "no, i was not invited. only papa and mamma and harry." "or of course i should not have attempted to intrude so late as this. i thought, believing madame guise alone, it would be a good opportunity to see her. i suppose she is at home." "oh yes; she will be glad to see you," replied ethel, her heart beating so wildly with its love and his presence that she hardly knew what she did say. "flora is very troublesome to-night, and madame has had to go up to her. she will soon be back again." very troublesome indeed. the young lady, taking the advantage of mr. and mrs. castlemaine's absence, had chosen to go into one of her wildest moods and promenade the house en robe de =it. at this present moment she was setting madame at defiance from various turns in the staircases, executing a kind of bo-peep dance. george north had stepped into the room, and they were standing side by side at the open window in the moonlight, each perfectly conscious of what the companionship was to the other. he began telling her where he had been and what doing; and opened the sketch-book to show her the drawing. "sitting in the chapel ruins all that while alone by moonlight!" exclaimed ethel. "it is plain you are not a native of greylands, mr. north. i question whether any other man in the place would do it." "i am not a poor simple fisherman, ethel," he laughed. he had called her "ethel" some time now, led to it by the example of others at greylands' rest. "i was not thinking altogether of the fishermen. i don't fancy even harry castlemaine would do it." "no?" said mr. north, an amused smile lingering on his "at least, i have heard him, more than once, express a dislike of the place; that is, of going to it--had he to do such a thing--after dark. did you see anything?" "only----" mr. north suddenly arrested his words. he had been about to say, only jane hallet. various reasons prompted him to close his lips on the point to miss reene. "only shadows," he continued, amending the phrase. "the moon went under a cloud now and then. it is a most beautiful night out at sea." her slender fingers were trembling as she held one side of the sketch-book, he holding the other; trembling with sweet emotion. not a word of his love had mr. north said to her; not a word could he say to her under present circumstances; but ethel felt that it was hers, hers for all time. fate might part them in this life; each, it was possible, might marry apart; but he would never love another as he loved her. "how exact it is!" she cried, looking at the page, which the bright clear moonlight fell upon. "i should know it anywhere. you have even got that one little dark stone in the middle of the wall that seems to have been put in after the other stones and is so unlike them." "i made it darker that i may know which it is for the painting," he answered. "it will make a nice picture." "oh, very. when shall you paint it?" "that i don't know. some of these odd days." "you are not painting at all now." "no. i don't feel settled enough at the dolphin for that." a pause of silence. in changing the position of his hand, still holding the book, mr. north somehow let it touch hers. ethel's voice trembled slightly when next she spoke. "shall you be going over to france again?" "undoubtedly. in a letter i received this morning from some of my friends there, they inquire when it is to be. i am lingering here long, they think. it was to tell madame guise i had heard, for she knows them, that brought me here so late." "you--you said one day, i remember, that you might probably settle in france," resumed ethel, inwardly shivering as she spoke it. "shall you do so?" "it is quite uncertain, ethel. if things turn out as--as they ought to turn, i should then settle in england. probably somewhere in this neighbourhood." their eyes met: ethel looking up, he down. with the yearning love, that sat in each gaze, was mingled an expression of deep sadness. "circumstances at present are so very doubtful," resumed mr. north. "they may turn out well; or very ill----" "very ill!" involuntarily interrupted ethel. "yes, they may." the answer was given in a marked, decisive tone. for the doubt that ran through his mind--that had run through it much lately--was this: if it should indeed prove that the master of greylands had dealt ill with anthony, george north could scarcely bring himself to marry one so closely connected with greylands' rest as ethel. "and--in that case?" she continued after a pause, during which he seemed to have been lost in thought. "in that case? oh, i should become a wandering arab again roaming the world at large." "and settle eventually in france?" "very likely--if i settled anywhere. it is all so uncertain, ethel, that i scarcely like to glance at it. i may hold property in england some time: and that might necessitate my living on it." "do you mean an estate? such as this?" "yes, such as this," he answered with a passing, curious smile. "meanwhile i am so happy in the present time, in my idle life--transferring some of the beauties of your country to enrich my portfolio, with the hospitable dolphin roof over my head, and the grand, ever-moving sea before me like a glorious panorama--that i fear i am too willing to forget the future care which may come." not another word did either speak: the silence, with its pleasure and its pain, was all too eloquent. the sketch-book was held between them still: and, in turning over its pages to look at former sketches, their hands could not help--or, rather, did not help--coming in contact. what bliss it was! "why, you are quite in the dark, my dear! why--dear me! who is it?" they turned at the voice--that of madame guise. she had just left miss flora. "not in the dark, but in the moonlight," said mr. north, holding out his hand. "i did not know that you were here," she answered. "it is late." "very late: i hope you will forgive me. but i have been here some little time. i was taking a sketch by moonlight not far off, and came on, madame guise, to say bon jour, thinking you were alone." "it is bon soir, i think," returned madame, with a pleasant laugh, as she rang for lights. "will you take a chair?" "thank you no," he replied, putting the sketch-book into the portfolio. "i will take my departure instead, and call again to-morrow at a more seasonable hour. goodnight to you miss ethel." ethel put her hand into his and returned the goodnight in a low tone. when he should have left, the sunshine of the evening would have left with him. madame guise, as she often did, stepped across the threshold to walk to the gate with him. "did you want anything particular with me, george?" she asked in french, waiting until they were beyond hearing--lest the walls of the house should possess ears. "only to tell you that i had a letter from emma this morning. i should not have come up so late but for believing the family were all out." "what does emma say?" "not much. emma never does, you know. she sends some kind messages to you and a kiss to marie: and she asks how much longer i mean to linger at greylands. that is about all." "but does she ask nothing about anthony?" "she asks in a general way, whether we know more yet. which of course we do not." "have you made anything out of that young dance, george?" "nothing. there's nothing to be made out of him. except that i feel convinced the tale he tells is not all true. i was in the friar's keep to-night----" "and saw nothing?" she eagerly interrupted. "and saw nothing. it was dark and silent and lonely as usual. sometimes i ask myself what it is that i can reasonably expect to see." "yes, i know; you have thought that from the first," she said reproachfully. "my brain is at work always i have no rest by night or by day." "which is very bad for you, charlotte: it is wearing you out. this living, restless anxiety will not bring elucidation any the surer or quicker." "not bring it! but it will. will my prayers and my anguish not be heard, think you? god is good." they parted with the last words. charlotte guise, leaning on the side-gate as she looked after him, raised her eyes to the blue canopy of heaven: and there and then, in her simple faith, poured forth a few words of prayer. chapter xxxi. calling in the blacksmith. things were swiftly coming to a crisis in miss hallet's house, though that lady was very far from suspecting it. time had again gone on since the last chapter, and walter dance was about again. after the evening that witnessed miss hallet's fright at the vision of the grey friar, she had been very ill. whether it was the terror itself, or her mortification at having betrayed it, or the fall in the road that affected her, certain it was that she had a somewhat long illness, and was attended by mr. parker. no one could be more attentive to her than jane was; and miss hallet was willing to forget that the girl had given cause for complaint. but miss hallet found, now that she was well, that the same cause was still in existence: at all times of unseasonably late hours jane would be abroad. scarcely an evening passed but jane would make an excuse to go out; or go out without excuse if none could be framed. she had taken lately to go more to stilborough, often without assigning any reason for it. the hour at which she would come in was uncertain; sometimes it was after ten--a very unhallowed hour in the sober estimation of her aunt. one night she had stayed out till one o'clock in the morning, sending miss hallet into a perfect fever of suspense and anger. she ran in, panting with the haste she had made up the cliff, and she looked worn, haggard, almost wild. miss hallet attacked her with some harsh words: jane responded by a burst of tears, and declared in a tone of truth that her aunt could scarcely disbelieve, that she had only been "looking at the sea" and looking at it alone. from that evening, miss hallet had taken to watch jane as a subject of curiosity. jane was getting nervous. more than once when miss hallet had gone upstairs and surprised, unintentionally, jane in her bedroom--for that lady, since her illness, had walked about in perfectly noiseless list shoes, for comfort only, not to come upon people unawares--she had found jane standing over a certain open drawer. jane would shut it hastily and lock it with shaking fingers, and sometimes shake all over besides. jane had never been nervous in her life, mentally reasoned miss hallet: why should she be becoming so now? her eyes had habitually a strangely-sad look in them, something like those of a hunted hare; her face was worn and thin. the sudden appearance of anyone at the door or window would make jane start and turn pale: she could eat nothing, and would often be so absorbed in thought as to give contrary answers. "what is the time by the clock, jane?" her aunt might say, for instance: "no, aunt, i forgot it," might be the answer. altogether, taking one thing with another, miss hallet came to the conclusion that there was some mystery about jane, just as certain other personages of our story decided there was mystery in the friar's keep. the matter troubled miss hallet. she knew not what to do, to whom to speak, or of whom to ask advice. speaking to jane herself went for nothing: for the girl invariably denied, with all the unconcern she could put on, that anything was amiss or that she was different from what she used to be. it was now that miss hallet felt her isolated position, and the reserve with which she had treated the village. her own illness had left her somewhat less strong-minded than before, or she would never have spoken of it. one day, however, when mrs. bent came up to pay a social visit, and jane had gone down the cliff on some necessary errand, miss hallet, who had been "tried" that morning by jane's having an hysterical fit, condescended to speak of harry castlemaine in connection with her niece, and to ask mrs. bent whether she ever saw them together now. "pretty nearly every other evening," was the plain and most unwelcome answer. miss hallet coughed, to cover a groan of censure. "where do they walk to?" she asked. "mostly under the high cliff towards the limpets. it's lonely there at night--nobody to be met with, ever." "do you walk there--that you should see them?" asked keen miss hallet. "to tell you the truth, i have gone there on purpose to see," was the landlady's unblushing answer. "i don't approve of it. it's very foolish of jane." "foolish; yes, very: but jane would never behave lightly!" returned miss hallet, a blush of resentment on her thin cheeks. "i don't say she would: jane ought to have better sense than that. but it is pretty nigh as bad to give rise to talk," added candid mrs. bent: "many a good name has been tarnished without worse cause. it's not nice news, either, to be carried up to greylands' rest." "is it carried there, mrs. bent?" "net yet, that i know of. but it will be one of these days. i should put a summary stop to it, miss hallet." "yes, yes," said the unfortunate lady, smoothing her mittened hands together nervously, as she inwardly wondered how that was to be done, with jane in her present temper. and, perplexed with her many difficulties, she began enlarging upon jane's new and strange moods, even mentioning the locked drawer she had surprised jane at, and openly wondering what she kept in it. "love-letters," curtly observed discerning mrs. bent. "love-letters!" ejaculated miss hallet, who had never had a love-letter in her life, and looked upon them as no better than slow poison. "there's not a doubt of it. his. i dare say he has got a lot of jane's. i gave her a bit of my mind the day before yesterday, when she came to the inn to bring back the newspaper," added mrs. bent. "gave it plainly, too." "and--how did jane receive it?" "as meek as any lamb. 'i am not the imprudent girl you appear to think me, mrs. bent,' says she, with her cheeks as red as our cock's comb when he has been fighting. 'mr. harry castlemaine would not like to hear you say this,' she went on. 'mr. harry castlemaine might lump it,' i answered her. 'it wouldn't affect him much any way, i expect, jane hallet. mr. harry castlemaine might set the sea afire with a trolley-load of burning tar-barrels if he so minded, and folks would just wink at him; while you would have the place about your ears if you dropped in but half a thimbleful.' jane wished me good morning at that, and betook herself away." mrs. bent's visit ended with this. upon her departure, miss hallet put on her shawl and bonnet and proceeded to take her daily walk outside the door in the sun, pacing the narrow path from end to end. after mrs. bent's information, she could no longer doubt that jane's changed mood must be owing to this acquaintanceship with mr. harry castlemaine. a love affair, of course;--girls were so idiotic!--and jane's trouble must arise from the knowledge that it could end in nothing. so impossible had it seemed to miss hallet that jane, with her good sense, could really have anything to say, in this way, to the son of the master of greylands, that since the night of the expedition when she had gone after jane to watch her, and received her fright as the result, she had suffered the idea by degrees to drop from her mind: and this revelation of mrs. bent's was as much a shock to her as though she had never had a former hint of it. "jane mast have lost her head!" soliloquised the angry lady, her face very stern. "she must know it cannot come to anything. they stand as far apart as the two poles. our family was good in the old days; as good perhaps as that of the castlemaines; but things altered with us. and i went out as lady's-maid, for it was that, not companion, and they know it, and i dare say put me, in their thoughts, on a level with their own servants. mr. castlemaine is polite when he meets me, and takes his hat off, and sometimes stays to chat for a minute: but he would no more think my niece a fit wife for his son than he would think the poorest fisherman's girl in the place fit. jane must have lost her senses!" miss hallet stopped to draw her shawl more closely round her, for the wind was brisk to-day; and then resumed her promenade and her reflections. "rather than the folly should continue, i would go direct to the master of greylands, and tell him. he would pretty soon stop it. and i will do it, if i can make no impression on jane. i should like to know, though, before speaking to her, what footing they are upon: whether it is but a foolish fancy for each other, meaning nothing, or whether she considers it to be more serious. he cannot have been so dishonourable as to say anything about marriage! at least, i--i hope not. he might as well offer her the stars: and jane ought to know there's as much chance of the one as the other. i wonder what is in the love-letters?" miss hallet took a turn or two revolving this one point. a wish crossed her that she could read the letters. she wished it not for curiosity's sake: in truth, she would not have touched them willingly with a pair of tongs: but that their contents might guide her own conduct. if the letters really contained nothing but nonsense--boyish nonsense, miss hallet termed it--she might deal with the matter with jane alone: but if mr. harry had been so absurd as to fill her up with notions of marriage, why then she would carry the affair up to greylands' rest, and leave it to be dealt with by greylands' master. entering the house, she went upstairs. it was not likely that jane had left the drawer unlocked; still it might have happened so, from inadvertence or else. but no. miss hallet stood in jane's room and pulled at the drawer in question, which was the first long drawer in the chest. it resisted her efforts. taking her own keys from her pocket, she tried every likely one, but none would fit. nevertheless, she determined to get those letters on the first opportunity, believing it to lie in her duty. not a shade of doubt arose in her mind, as to mrs. bent's clever theory: she was as sure the drawer contained harry castlemaine's love-letters, as though she had it open and saw them lying before her. love-letters, and nothing else. what else, was there, that jane should care to conceal? "jane's instincts are those of a lady," thought miss hallet, looking round the neat room approvingly at the pretty taste displayed, at the little ornamental things on the muslin-draped dressing-table. "yes, they are. and there's her bible and prayer-book on their own stand; and there's--but--dear me! where on earth did these spring from?" she had come to a glass of hot-house flowers. not many. half a dozen or so; but they were fresh, and of rare excellence. "jane must have brought them in last night. smuggled them in, i should say, for i saw none in her hand. it is easy to know where they came from; there's only one hot-house in the whole place, and that's at greylands' rest." miss hallet went down more vexed than she had come up. she was very precise and strait-laced: no one could deny that: but here was surely enough food to disturb her. just after she had resumed her walk outside, her mind running upon how she could best contrive to have the drawer opened, and so get at the love-letters, jane appeared. slowly and wearily was she ascending the cliff, as if she could hardly put one foot before the other. miss hallet could but notice it. her face was pale; the one unoccupied arm hung down heavily, the head was bent. "you look tired to death, jane! what have you been doing to fatigue yourself like that?" jane started at the salutation, lifted her head, and saw her aunt. as if by magic, her listless manner changed, and she ran up the short bit of remaining path briskly. her pale face had taken quite a glow of colour when she reached miss. hallet. "i am not tired, aunt. i was only thinking." "thinking of what?" returned miss hallett. "you looked and walked as though you were tired: that's all i know." "of something susan pike has just told me," laughed jane. "it might have turned out to be no laughing matter, though. jack tuff has taken a drop too much this morning and fallen out of a little boat he got into. susan says he came up the beach like a drowned rat." jane went into the house while talking, and put down the basket she had carried. miss hallet followed her. "i could only get the scrag end this morning, aunt: the best end was sold. so it must be boiled. and there's the newspaper, aunt: mrs. bent ran across to me with it." "put it on at once, then, with a sliced carrot or two," said miss hallet, alluding to the meat. "and bacon," resumed jane, "is a halfpenny a pound dearer. i think, aunt, it would be well to buy a good-sized piece of bacon at stilborough. i am sure we give pike a penny a pound more than we should pay there." "well--yes--it might be," acknowledged miss hallet for once: who very rarely listened to offered suggestions. "i could bring it back this afternoon," observed jane. "what should take you to stilborough this afternoon, pray?" "i want to take the socks in. and you know, aunt--i told you--that mrs. pugh asked me to go to tea there one day this week: i may as well stay with her to-day." jane had expected no end of opposition; but miss hallet made none. she went out to walk again without further remark, leaving jane to the household duties. it turned out that susan pike was going to stilborough, being also invited to mrs. pugh's. jane mentioned it to her aunt at dinner, but miss hallet answered nothing. about four o'clock, that damsel, attired in all the colours of the rainbow and as gay as a harlequin, came running up the cliff to call for jane. jane, dressed neatly, and looking very nice as usual, was ready for her; and they started together, jane carrying her paper of socks and an umbrella. "well i never, jane! you are not a-going to lug along that there big umbrella, are you?" cried miss susan, halting at the threshold, and putting up a striped parasol the size of a dinner-plate. "i am not sure about the weather," returned jane, looking at the sky. "i should not like to get wet. what do you think of it, aunt?" "i think it likely to rain before you are back again: and you will either take the umbrella, jane or you will put off that best bonnet for your old one. what is the matter with the umbrella, susan pike?--it will not throw discredit upon anybody." it was, in fact, a handsome, though very large umbrella of green silk, a present to jane from miss hallet. susan shrugged her shoulders when they were out of sight; and miss hallet wondered for the hundredth time at jane's making a companion of that common, illiterate girl. she sat down to read the newspaper after they were gone, took her tea, and at dusk put on her things to go down the cliff. it was a very dull evening, dark before its time: heavy clouds of lead colour covered the sky. in a rather remote angle of the village lived the blacksmith, one joe brown; a small, silent, sooty kind of man in a leather apron, who might be seen at his forge from early morning to late night. he was there now, hammering at a piece of iron, as miss hallet entered. "good-evening, brown." brown looked up at the address, and discerned who the speaker was by the red glare of his fire--miss hallet. he touched his hair in answer, and gave her back the good-evening. she told him at once what she wanted, putting her veil aside to speak. the key of a drawer had been mislaid in her house, and she wished brown to come and open it. "unlock him, or pick him, mum?" asked brown. "only to unlock it." "won't the morrow do, mum? i be over busy to-night." "no, to-morrow will not do," replied miss hallet, in one of those decisive tones that carry weight. "i want it opened to-night, and you must come at once. i shall pay you well." so the man yielded: saying that in five minutes he would leave his forge, and be up the cliff almost as soon as she was. he kept his word: and miss hallet had but just got her things off when he arrived, carrying a huge bunch of keys of various sizes. it was beginning to rain. not unfrequently was he called out on a similar errand, and would take with him either these keys, or instruments for picking a lock, as might be required. she led the way upstairs to jane's room, and pointed out the drawer. brown stooped to look at the lock, holding the candle close, and at the second trial, put in a key that turned easily. he drew the drawer a little open to show that the work was done. nothing was to be seen but a large sheet of white paper, covering the drawer half way up. the contents whatever they might be, were under it. "thank you," said miss hallet, closing the drawer again, while he took the key off the bunch at her request, to lend her until the morning. "don't mention this little matter, brown, will you be so good," she added, handing the man a shilling. "i do not care that my niece or the neighbours should believe me careless with my keys." and he readily promised. the rain was now pouring down in torrents. miss hallet stood at the front door with the man, really sorry that he should have to go through such rain. "it ain't nothing, mum," he said. and, taking his leather apron off to throw over his shoulders, brown went swinging away. as the echo of his footsteps, descending the cliff, died away on her ear, miss hallet slipped the bolt of the house-door, and went upstairs again. putting the candle down on the white covering; for miss hallet and jane had toilette covers in their rooms as well as their betters; she opened the drawer again. if the sheet of white paper covered only love-letters, there must be an astonishing heap of them: the colour flew into miss hallet's cheeks as an idea dawned upon her that there might be presents besides. she pulled a chair forward, and drew the candle close to the edge of the drawers, preparing herself for a long sitting. not a single letter would she leave unread: no, nor a single word in any one of them. she was safe for two good hours, for jane was not likely to be in before nine: it might not be so soon as that, if the two girls waited at stilborough for the storm to cease. setting her spectacles on her nose, miss hallet lifted the white paper off the contents of the drawer; and then sat gazing in surprise. there were no love-letters; no letters of any kind. the bottom of the drawer was lined with some delicate looking articles, that she took to be dolls' clothes. pretty little cambric caps, their borders crimped with a silver knife by jane's deft fingers; miniature frocks; small bed-gowns--and such like. "why, what on earth!"--began miss hallet, after a prolonged perplexity: and in her bewildered astonishment, she gingerly took up one of the little caps and turned it about close to her spectacles. all in a moment, with a rush and a whirl; a rush of dread in her heart, a whirl of dreadful confusion in her brain; the truth came to the unfortunate lady. she staggered a step or two back to the waiting chair, and fell down on it, faint and sick. the appearance of the grey friar had brought most grievous terror to her; but it had not brought the awful dismay of this. for the dainty wardrobe was not a doll's wardrobe but a baby's. chapter xxxii. miss jane in trouble. the grey ladies held fête sometimes, as well as the outside world; and it was gay this evening in the grey nunnery. the sisters were en soirée: no guests, however, were present; only themselves. the occasion prompting it was the return of sister mildred: sister mildred grown young again, as she laughingly told them, so sprightly did she feel in her renewed health and strength. she had brought some treasures back with her: contributed by the kind relatives with whom she had been staying. a basket of luscious hot-house grapes; a large, rich, home-made plum-cake; and two bottles of cowslip wine. these good things had been set out on the table of the parlour, and the whole of the ladies sat round, listening to sister mildred's glowing accounts of her visit and of its pleasant doings. "why, my dears, they would fain have kept me till next year," she rejoined in answer to a remark: and her hearing was for the time so much improved that the small ear-trumpet, hanging by a ribbon from her waist, was scarcely ever taken up. "i had a battle, i assure you, to get away. my cousin has two charming little girls with her, her grandchildren, and the little mites hid the key of my box, so that it should not be packed; and they cried bitterly when i was ready to start." "you will be sorry, now, that you have resigned the superiorship to me," whispered mary ursula, taking up the trumpet to speak. "i will give it back to you." "ah, my dear, no. i would not be head again for the world. i am better, as you see, thanks to our merciful father in heaven; so much better that i can hardly believe it to be myself; but to keep well i must have no care or trouble. i shall be of less use here now than any of you." "you will be of every use, dear sister mildred, if only to help me with counsel," returned mary. "oh, it is pleasant to be at home again," resumed the elder lady, her face beaming from under its crisp muslin cap. "the sojourn with my relatives has been delightful; but, after all, there's no place like home. and you must give me an account, dear sisters of all that has occurred during my absence. see to the thief in the candle!" "there's not very-much to relate, i think," observed sister betsey, as she attended to the thief. "we had an adventure here, though, one night. tom dance's son went on to the chapel ruins to shoot a sea-bird for somebody at stilborough, and his pistol exploded, and wounded him dreadfully. he came crawling here to be taken in." "what do you say, dear?" asked sister mildred, her hand to her ear. "tom dance brought a sea-bird here?" "no. his son, young dance----" but sister betsey's explanation was cut short by a loud, peremptory ring at the house-bell. rings at that time of the evening, for it was close upon nine o'clock, generally betokened notice of illness or accident. sister ann hastened to the door, and the others held their breath. "who is ill? is any case of calamity brought in?" quickly demanded sister mildred on her return. "no ill case of any kind," replied sister aim, as she approached mary ursula. "it is a visitor for you, madam." "for me!" exclaimed mary, feeling surprised. "is it my uncle--mr. castlemaine?" "it is lawyer knivett, from stilborough," said sister ann. "his business is very particular, he says." mary ursula glanced around as she rose. it would scarcely be convenient for him to come in amid all the ladies; and she desired sister ann to take him to the dining-room. a cold, bare room it looked, its solitary candle standing at one end of the dinner-table as she entered. mr. knivett came forward and held out his hand. "will you forgive my disturbing you at this time, my dear miss castlemaine?" he asked. "i should have been here an hour or two ago; but first of all i waited for the violence of the storm to pass; and then, just as i was getting into my gig, a client came up from a distance, and insisted on an interview. had i put off coming until to-morrow morning, if might have been midday before i got here." they were sitting down as he spoke: mary by the end of the table where the candle stood: he drew a chair so close in front of her that his knees nearly touched hers. mary was inwardly wondering what his visit could relate to. a curious thought, bringing its latent unpleasantness, crossed her--that it might have to do with anthony. "my dear lady, i am the bearer of some sad news for you," he began. "people have said, you know, that a lawyer is like a magpie, a bird of ill-omen." she caught up her breath with a sigh of pain. what was it that he had to tell her? "it concerns your father's old friend and clerk, thomas hill," went on mr. knivett. "he was your friend too." "is he ill?" gasped mary. "he was ill, my dear miss castlemaine." the stress on the one word was so peculiar that the inference seemed all too plain. mary rose in agitation. "surely--surely he is not dead?" "sit down, my dear young lady. i know how grieved you will be; but agitation will not do any good. he died this afternoon at five o'clock." there ensued a silence. mary's breath was rising in gasps. "and--i--was not sent for to him," she cried, greatly agitated. "there was no time to send," replied mr. knivett. "he had been ailing for several days past, but the doctor--it was tillotson--said it was nothing; poor hill himself thought it was not. this afternoon a change for the worse occurred, and i was sent for. there was no time for anything." she pushed back the brown hair, braided so simply under the muslin cap. pale memories were crowding upon her, mixing themselves up with present pain. the last time she had seen the surgeon, tillotson, was the night when her father was found dead on his sofa, and poor thomas hill was mourning over him. "hill said more than once to me that he should not last long now his master was gone," resumed the lawyer: "but i thought it was but an old man's talk, grieving after his many years' master and friend. he was right, however." regrets were stealing upon mary. she had not, she thought, taken as much notice of this faithful old man as she ought. why, oh, why, in that one sole visit she had made to stilborough, to mrs. ord, did she not call to see him? these reproaches strike on us all when a friend passes away. the tears were trickling down her cheeks. "and i should not have hastened over here to tell you this of itself, miss castlemaine; you'd have heard it soon without that; ill news travels fast. but nothing can be done without your sanction; hardly the first coffin ordered. you are left sole executor." "i am! executor!" "executrix, i should have said; but the other word comes more ready. his will does not contain ten lines, i think, for i made it; and there's not a name mentioned in it but yours. every stick and stone is left to you; and sole, full power in all ways." "but what shall i do, mr. knivett? to leave me executor!" "my dear young lady, i knew you would be distressed at the first blush of the thing. i was surprised when he gave me the directions; but he would have it so. he had a notion, i fancy, that it might serve to take you abroad a bit out of this place: he did not like your being here." "i know he did not. i strove to convince him i was happy when he came over here in the summer; but he could not think it." "just so. his money is well and safely invested, and will bring you in about three hundred and fifty pounds a year. there's some silver, too, and other knicknacks. it is all yours." "what a good, kind, faithful man he was!" she said, her eyes streaming. "good always, in every relation of life. he has gone to his reward." "ay, ay," nodded mr. knivett. "hill was better than some of his neighbours, and that's a fact." "but i can never act," she exclaimed. "i should not know what to do or how to do it." "my dear miss mary, you need not trouble yourself on that score. give me power, and i will make it all as easy for you as an old shoe. in fact, i will act instead of you. not for gain," he added impressively: "i must do this little matter for you for friendship's sake. nay, my dear, you must meet this as it is meant: remember my long friendship with your father." "you are very kind," she faltered. "have you a pen and ink at hand?" she brought one, and he caused her to assign to him the necessary power. then he asked her wishes as to temporary matters and they consulted for a few minutes together: but she was glad to leave all to mr. knivett that she could leave. "there has been another death at stilborough to-day: at least, not more than a mile or two from it," observed the lawyer, as he rose to leave. "you have not heard of it, i suppose?" he had his back to her as he spoke, having turned to take up his overcoat which lay on the children's form. mary replied that she had not heard anything. "sir richard blake-gordon's dead." a great thump seemed to strike her heart. it stood still, and then went bounding on again. "his death was very sudden," continued the lawyer, still occupied with his coat. "he fell down in a fit and never spoke again. never recovered consciousness at all, sir william tells me." mary lifted her eyes. mr. knivett had turned back to her then. "sir--william?" she stammered, feeling confused in all ways. the title was spoken too suddenly: it sounded strange to her; unnatural. "it was he who came in and detained me: he had to see me upon an urgent matter. he is sadly cut up." hardly giving himself time to shake her hand, mr. knivett, bustled away. in passing the parlour-door, sister mildred was coming out of it. she and the lawyer were great friends, though they very rarely saw each other. he could not stay longer then, he said; and she and mary went with him to the door, and walked with him across the waste ground to the gate. the storm had entirely passed: it was the same evening, told of in the last chapter, when miss hallet took a trip to the blacksmith's: the sky was clear again and bright with a few stars. the storm had been one of those violent ones when the rain seems to descend in pitiless torrents. a great gutter of water was streaming along in front of the grey nunnery on the other side the low bank that divided the path from the road. mr. knivett's horse and gig waited in the road just out of the running water. the night was warm and still, balmy almost as in summer, though it was getting late in the year. ten o'clock was striking from the nunnery clock. "i shall be over again in a day or two," said mr. knivett to the ladies, as he took a leap from the bank over the gutter, and the groom held the apron aside for him to get up. the two ladies stood at the gate and watched him drive off. it was, indeed, a lovely night now, all around quiet and tranquil. mary, with a sobbing sigh, said a word to sister mildred of the cause that had brought the lawyer over; but the good sister heard, as the french say, à tort et à travers. now, of all queer items of news, what should the ladies have been pouring into the ex-superior's ear during miss castlemaine's absence from the parlour, but the unsatisfactory rumours just now beginning to circulate through the village to the detriment of jane hallet. her mind full of this, no wonder sister mildred was more deaf than need have been to mary's words. "it is a very extraordinary thing, my dear," she responded to mary; "and i think she must have lost her senses." at that same moment, sounds, as of fleet footsteps, dawned on mary's ear in the stillness of the night. a minute before, a figure might have been seen flying down the cliffs from the direction of miss hallet's dwelling; a panting, sobbing, crying woman: or rather, girl. she darted across the road, nobody being about, and made for the path that would take her by the grey nunnery. the ladies turned to her as she came into view. it looked like jane hallet. jane, in her best things, too. she was weeping aloud; she seemed in desperate distress: and not until she was flying past the gate did she see the ladies standing there. sister mildred, her head running on what she had heard, glided out of the gateway to arrest and question her. "jane, what is amiss?" startled at the sight of the ladies, startled at their accosting her, jane, to avoid them, made a spring off the pathway into the road. the bank was slippery with the rain, and she tried moreover to clear the running stream below it, just as mr. knivett had done. but her foot slipped, and she fell heavily. sister mildred stooped over the bank, and held out her hand. was jane stunned? no: but just for the minute or two she could not stir. she put one hand to her side as sister mildred helped her on to the path. of no use to try to escape now. "are you hurt, child?" "i--i think i am, ma'am," panted jane. "i fell on my side." and she burst into the sobs again. "and now tell me what the matter is, and where you were going to." "anywhere," sobbed the girl. "my aunt has turned me out of doors?" "dear me!" cried sister mildred. "when did she turn you out of doors?" "now. when i got in from stilborough. she--she--met me with reproach and passion. oh, she is so very violent! she frightened me. i have never seen her so before." "but where were you running to now?" persisted sister mildred. "there, don't sob in that way." "anywhere," repeated jane, hysterically. "i can sit under a hedge till morning, and, then go to stilborough. i am too tired to go back to stilborough now." sister mildred, who had held her firmly by the arm all this time, considered before she spoke again. fearing there might be too much cause to condemn the girl, she yet could not in humanity suffer her to go "anywhere." jane was an especial favourite with all the sisters. at least, she used to be. "come in, child," she said. "we will take care of you until the morning. and then--why we must see what is to be done. your aunt, so, self-contained and calm a woman, must have had some great cause, i fear, for turning you out." crying, wailing, sobbing, and in a state altogether of strange agitation, jane suffered the sister to lead her indoors, resisting not. mary ursula spoke a kind word or two to encourage her. it was no time for reproach: even if the grey ladies had deemed it their province to administer it. jane was shown to a room. one or two beds were always kept made up in the grey nunnery. sister betsey, invariably cheerful and pleasant with all the world, whether they were good or bad, poor or rich, went in with jane and stayed to help her undress, chatting while she did it. and so the evening came to an end, and the house was at length steeped in quietness. but in the middle of the night an alarm arose. jane hallet was ill. her room was next to that of sisters ann and phoeby they heard her moaning, and hastened to her. "mercy be good to us!" exclaimed the former, startled out of all equanimity by what she saw and heard. "we must call the lady superior. "no, no; not her," corrected the calmer sister phoeby. "it is sister mildred who must deal with this." so the very unusual expedient was resorted to of disturbing the ex-superior in her bed, who was so much older than any of them. sister mildred dressed herself, and proceeded to jane's room; and then lost not a minute in despatching a summons for mr. parker. he came at once. at the early dawn of morning the wail of a feeble infant was heard within the chamber. a small, sickly infant that could not possibly live. the three sisters mentioned were alone present. none of the others had been disturbed. "the baptismal basin," whispered the elder lady to sister ann. "make haste." a china basin of great value that had been an heirloom in the grant family, was brought in, half-filled with water. sister mildred rose--she had bent for a minute or two in silent prayer--took the infant in her arms, sprinkled it with the water, and named it "jane." laying it down gently, those in the room knelt again. even mr. parker, turning from the bed, put his one knee on a chair. by the time the grey ladies generally rose, all signs and symptoms of bustle were over. nothing remained to tell of what the night had brought forth, save the sick-bed of jane hallet, and a dead infant (ushered into the world all too soon), covered reverently over with a sheet in the corner. breakfast done with, sister mildred betook herself up the cliff to miss hallet's, her ear-trumpet hanging from her waist-band. it was a painful interview. never had the good sister witnessed more pitiable distress. miss hallet's share in the pomp and pride of life had not been much, perhaps: but such as it was, it had now passed away from her for ever. "i had far rather have died," moaned the poor lady, in her bitter feeling, her wounded pride. "could i have died yesterday morning before this dreadful thing was revealed, i should have been comparatively happy. heaven hears me say it." "it is a sad world," sighed sister mildred, fixing the trumpet to her ear: "and it is a dreadful thing for jane to have been drawn into its wickedness. but we must judge her charitably, miss hallet; she is but young." miss hallet led the sister upstairs, undid jane's locked drawer with the blacksmith's borrowed key, and exhibited its contents as an additional aggravation in her cup of bitterness. sister mildred, a lover of fine work, could not avoid expressing admiration, as she took up the things one by one. "why, they are beautiful!" she cried. "look at the quality of the lace and cambric! no gentleman's child could have better things provided than these. poor jane! she must have known well, then, what was coming. and such sewing! she learnt that from us!" "never, so long as she lives, shall she darken my doors again," was the severe answer. "you must fancy what an awful shock it was to me, sister mildred, when i opened this drawer last evening; and what i said to jane on her entrance, i really cannot recall. i was out of my mind. our family has been reduced lower and lower by ill-fortune; but never yet by disgrace." "i'm sure i can't understand it," returned the puzzled sister. "jane was the very last girl i could have feared for. well, well, it cannot be mended now. we will keep her until she is about again, miss hallet." "i should put her outside the nunnery gate to-day!" came the stern reply. "that would kill her," said sister mildred, shaking her head in compassion. "and the destroying of her body would not save her soul. the greater the sin, the greater, remember, was the mercy of our lord and master." "she can never hold up her head in this world again. and for myself, as i say, i would far rather be dead than live." "she won't hold it up as she has held it: it is not to be expected," assented sister mildred with an emphatic nod. "but--well--we must see what can be done with her when she's better. will you come to see her, miss hallet?" "i come to see her!" repeated the indignant relative, feeling the proposal as nothing less than an outrage. "i would not come to see her if she lay dying. unless it were to reproach her with her shame." "you are all hardness now," said indulgent sister mildred, "and perhaps i should be in your place: i know what a bitter blow it is. but the anguish will subside. time heals the worst sores: and, the more we are weaned from this world, the nearer we draw to heaven." she dropped her trumpet, held miss hallet's hand in hers, and turned to depart. that ruffled lady, after escorting her to the door, turned the key and shot the bolt, as if she wanted to have no more to do with the outer world, and would fain deny it entrance. "oh ma'am, what a sight o' news is this!" broke forth staring nancy gleason, meeting the grey lady face to face at a sudden turning of the cliff path, and lifting her two hands in reprobation. it was the first instalment of the public unpleasantness: an unpleasantness that must perforce arise, and could only be met. of no use for sister mildred to say "what do you mean?" or "jane hallet is nothing to you." the miserable news had gone flying about the village from end to end: it could neither be arrested nor the comments on it checked. "i can't stay talking this morning, nancy gleeson," replied the deaf lady; who guessed, more than heard, what the theme must be. "you had better go home to your little ones; they may be setting themselves on fire again." "'twarn't so over long ago she was a lugging our bessy up the path, and she looked fit to drop over it; all her breath gone, and her face the colour o' chalk," continued nancy, disregarding the injunction. "seemed to me, ma'am, then as if 'twas odd. well, who'd ever ha' thought it o' miss jane hallet?" sister mildred was yards away, and nancy gleeson's words were wasted on the air. at the foot of the cliff, as she was crossing the road, mrs. bent saw her from the inn door, and came over with a solemn face. "how is she doing?" asked the landlady, speaking close to sister mildred's ear. "pretty well." "i shall never be surprised at anything after this, ma'am; never: when molly, all agape, brought the news in this morning, i could have sent a plate at her head, for repeating what i thought was nothing but impossible scandal. miss hallet must be fit to hang herself." "it is a sad, grievous thing for all parties, mrs. bent," spoke sister mildred. "especially for jane herself." "one can't help pitying her, poor young thing. to have blighted her life at her age! and anything that's wanted for her while she's sick, that the nunnery may be out of, please send over to me for. she's heartily welcome to it, sister mildred." the sister nodded her thanks, and walked on. mr. parker overtook her at the nunnery door, and they went up together to the sick-room. jane lay, white and wan, on the pillow, sister mona standing by her side. she looked so still and colourless that for the moment it might have been thought she was dead. their entrance, however, caused her eyes to open; and then a faint shade of pink tinged her face. mr. parker ordered some refreshment to be administered; and sister mona left to get it. "see that she has it at once," he said, speaking into the trumpet. "i am in a hurry just now, and cannot stay." "is anyone ill?" asked sister mildred. "a child up at the coastguard station is in convulsions, and they have sent for me in haste. good-morning, madam, for the present. i'll call in on my return." "only one moment, doctor," cried sister mildred, following him out to the corridor, and speaking in a whisper. "is jane in danger?" "no, i think not. she must be kept quiet." infinitely to the astonishment of sister mildred, somewhat to her scandal, mr. harry castlemaine appeared on the staircase, close upon the descent of the doctor. he must have come into the nunnery as the latter let himself out. taking off his hat, he advanced straight to sister mildred, the open door at which she was standing no doubt indicating to him the sick-room. "by your leave, sister mildred," he said, with a grave and pleasant smile--and passed in. she was too utterly astonished to stop him. but she followed him in, and laid her arresting hand on his arm. "mr. harry--harry castlemaine, what do you mean by this? do you think, sir, i can allow it?" "i must speak a word or two to jane," he whispered in her ear, catching up the trumpet of his own accord. "dear lady, be charitable, and leave me with her just for a minute, on my honour, my stay shall not much exceed that." and, partly through his persuasive voice, and smile, and hands, for he gently forced her to the door, partly in her own anxiety to obey the doctor's injunction of keeping jane quiet, and wholly because she felt bewildered and helpless, sister mildred found herself outside in the corridor again, the door shut behind her. "my goodness!" cried the perplexed lady to herself. "it's well it's me that's here, and not the younger sisters." in two minutes, or little more, he came out again; his hand held forth. "thank you, dear sister mildred. i thank you from my heart." "no, i cannot take it," she said, turning pointedly away from his proffered hand. "are you so offended that i should have come in!" "not at that: though it is wrong. you know why i cannot touch your hand in friendship, harry castlemaine." he stood a moment as though about to reply; but closed his lips without making any. "god bless you, dear lady; you are all very good: i don't know what greylands would do without you. and--please"--he added, turning back again a step or two. "please what?" demanded sister mildred. "do not blame her. she does not deserve it. i do." he went softly down the stairs and let himself out. john bent was standing at his door as harry came in view of the dolphin, and the young man crossed over. but, when he got up, john had disappeared indoors. there was no mistaking that the movement was intentional, or the feeling that caused the landlord to shun him. harry castlemaine stood still by the bench, evidently very much annoyed. presently he began to whistle, slowly and softly, a habit of his when in deep thought, and looked up and down the road, as if uncertain which way he should take. a knot of fishermen had gathered round the small boats on the beach, and were talking together less lazily than usual: possibly, and indeed probably, their exciting theme was the morning's news. one of them detached himself from the rest and came up towards the dolphin, remarking that he was going to "wet his whistle." mr. tim gleeson in a blue nightcap. to judge by his flushed face and his not altogether steady gait, the whistle had been wetted already. when he saw mr. harry castlemaine standing there, he came straight up to him, touching his cap. that trifling mark of respect he did observe: but when he had got a glass within him, there was no such hail-fellow-well-met in all greylands as tim gleeson. he would have accosted mr. castlemaine himself. "in with the tide, gleeson?" remarked harry--who was always pleasant with the men. "her's just gone out, sir," returned gleeson, alluding to the boat. "i didn't go in her." "missed her, eh?" a misfortune mr. gleeson often met with. "well, i did miss of her, as might be said. i was a-talking over the news, mr. harry, with tuff and one or two on 'em, and her went and put off without me." harry wondered he was not turned off the boat altogether. but he said nothing: he ceased to take notice of the man, and resumed his whistling. gleeson, however, chose to enter upon the subject of the "news," and applied a hard word to jane. harry's eagle glance was turned on the man like lightning. "what is that, gleeson?" he asked, in a quiet but imperious tone. and mr. tim gleeson, owing no doubt to the wetting of the whistle, was so imprudent as to repeat it. the next moment he seemed to have pins and needles in his eyes, and found himself flat on the ground. struck to it by the stern hand of mr. harry castlemaine. chapter xxxiii. a turbulent sea. boisterous weather. ethel reene, her scarlet cloak on, and her hat tied securely over her ears, was making her way to the top of the cliff opposite the coastguard station. a somewhat adventurous expedition in such a wind; but ethel was well used to the path. she sat down when she reached the top: dropped down, laughing heartily. for the blast seized rudely on her petticoats, and sent the silken cords and tassels of her cloak flying in the air. a glorious sea. a sea to look at to-day: to excite awe; to impress the mind with the marvellous works of the great creator. "hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther. and here shall thy proud waves be stayed." the waves were leaping mountains high; the foam and spray dashed aloft; the sound of the roar was like prolonged thunder. ethel sat with clasped hands and sobered face and heart, lost in contemplation of the majesty seen and unseen. it was not the time for silent thought to-day, or for telling her secrets to the sea: wonder, praise, awe, they could alone fill the mind. "what a grand scene!" the words were spoken close to her ear, and she turned her head quickly, holding her hat. the fastenings of her hair had blown away, and it fell around her in a wave of curls. mr. north was the speaker. he had made his way up the rocks to watch this wondrous sea from that elevated place, not suspecting any one was there. "i do not think i ever saw it so rough as this," said ethel, as he took her hand in greeting, and then sat down beside her. "i never saw it half as rough; never: but it has not been my privilege to live near the sea," he answered. "are you sure it is safe for you to sit here, ethel?" "oh yes. i am ever so far from the edge, you see." "i do not know," he doubtingly answered; "the blast is strong. mr. and mrs. castlemaine might warn you away, did they see you here." as if to impart weight to his words, a furious gust came sweeping along and over them. ethel caught involuntarily to the hard ground, and bent her head down. mr. north hastily put his arm round her for protection. "you see, ethel!" he spoke when the rush had subsided. "it is dangerous for you. had i not been here, you might have been blown away." "no, no; but--perhaps--i should not have remained after that. i do not think it was ever so fiercely rough." as he was there, however, and holding her securely, she made no movement to go. ah, how could she! was it not all too delicious!--bliss unutterable!--and the wind was such an excuse. in after years, whether for her they might be long or short, ethel would never lose the remembrance of this hour. the panorama of that turbulent sea would be one of her mind's standing pictures; the clasp of his arm never cease, when recalled, to cause her heart to thrill. they sat on, close together, speaking but a stray word now and then, for it was nearly as difficult to hear anything said as it would have been for deaf sister mildred. by-and-by, as if the wind wanted a temporary rest, its worst fury seemed abated. "i wonder if i could sketch the sea?" cried mr. north. "perhaps i could: if you will help me to hold the book, ethel." he had his small sketch-book in his pocket: indeed he rarely went out without it: and he drew it forth. ethel held the leaves down on one side the opened page, and he on the other: with his other hand he rapidly took the lines of the horizon before him, and depicted the mountainous billows of the raging sea. just a few bold strokes--and: he left the rest to be filled in at a calmer season. "thank you that is enough," he said to ethel. but it took both their efforts to close the book again securely. the wind had all but torn its pages out; a lawful prey. "there are people existing who hate never seen the sea," remarked ethel. "i wonder if they can form even a faint conception of the scene it presents on such a day as this?" "thousands and thousands have never seen it," said mr. north. "perhaps millions, taking the world from pole to pole." ethel laughed at a thought that came to her. "do you know, mr. north, there is an old woman at stilborough who has never seen it. she has never in her life been as far as greylands--only three miles." "it is scarcely believable." "no: but it is true. it is old mrs. fordham. her two daughters kept a cotton and tape shop in new street. they sell fishing-tackle, too, and writing-paper, and many other things. if you choose to go and ask mrs. fordham, for yourself, she would tell you she has never had the curiosity to come as far as as this to see the sea." "but why?" "for no reason, she says, except that she has always been a great stay-at-home. she had a good many children for one thing, and they took up all the time of her best years." "i should like to charter a gig and bring the old lady to see it to-day," exclaimed mr. north. "i wonder whether she would be astonished?" "she would run away frightened," said ethel, laughing. "will you please to tell me what the time is?" he took out his watch. it was past twelve o'clock; and ethel had to go. mr. north drew her hand within his arm, seemingly as a matter of course, remarking that he must pilot her down the cliff. ethel's face was covered with blushes. she was too timid to withdraw her hand: but she thought what would become of her should mr. or mrs. castlemaine meet them. or even madame! so they went on arm-in-arm. "should i make anything of this sketch," said mr. north, touching his pocket that contained the book; "anything of a watercolour i mean, it shall be yours, if you accept it. a memento of this morning." "thank you," murmured ethel, her lovely face all blushes again. "you will think of me perhaps when you look at it--once in a way. i may be far away: divided from you by sea and land." "are you going so soon?" she stammered. "i fear i shall have to go eventually. the--the business that is keeping me here does not advance at all; neither does it seem likely to." "is business keeping you here?" "yes." "i had no idea of that. of what nature?" "it is partly connected with property." "the property that you told me might come to you by inheritance?" "yes. the coming seems very far off, though; farther than ever: and i--i am doing myself no good by staying." "no good!" exclaimed ethel, in surprise. "in one sense i am not: individually, i am not. for, each day that i stay will only serve to render the pain of departing more intolerable." their eyes met. ethel was at no loss to understand. whether he meant her to or not he could scarcely have decided. but for exercising some self-control, he must have spoken out plainly. and yet, to what end? this fair girl might never become more to him than she was now, and their mutual love would be flung away to die on the shoals of adverse fate; as three parts of first love is in this world. he released her when they were on level ground, and walked side by side with her as far as chapel lane, ethel's way home to-day. there they stood to shake hands. "i wonder if we shall ever again sit together watching a sea such as this has been!" he said, retaining her hand, and gazing down at her conscious face. "we do not get a sea like this above once or twice a year." "no. and when you get it next, nothing may be left of me here but the memory. good-bye, ethel." she made her way homewards as swiftly as the wind would allow. mr. north, somewhat sheltered under the lee of the grey nunnery, once he had passed the open chapel ruins, gave his mind up to thought. the little school-children, protected by the walls of the high building, were playing on the waste ground at "you can't catch me." his position had begun to cause him very serious reflection: in fact, to worry him. nothing could be more uncertain than it was, nothing more unsatisfactory. should it turn out that mr. castlemaine had had any hand in injuring anthony--in killing him, in short--why, then george north must give up all hope of ethel. ethel was to mr. castlemaine as a daughter, and that would be a sufficient bar to george north's making her his wife. long and long ago would he have declared himself to the master of greylands but for charlotte guise; he would go to him that very day, but for her, and say, "i am your nephew, sir, george castlemaine:" and ask him candidly what he had done with anthony. but only the bare mention of this presupposed line of conduct would upset poor madame guise utterly: she had implored, entreated, commanded him to be silent. he might go away from greylands, she said, and leave all the investigation to her; she did not want him to stay; but to spoil every chance of tracing out anthony's fate--and, as she believed, that would spoil it--was not to be heard of. this chafed mr. north's spirit somewhat: but he felt that he could not act in defiance of his brother's widow. the morning's interview on the cliff with ethel had not tended to lessen the uneasiness and embarrassments of his position, but rather to bring them more clearly before him. "it would be something gained if i could only ascertain how the estate was really left," he said to himself as he glanced mechanically at the shouting children; just as so many others, including his unfortunate brother, had said before him. "if it be, de facto, my uncle james's, why he could have had no motive for wishing anthony out of the way: if it was left to my father, why then it was absolutely anthony's, and the uncle james was but a usurper. in that case--but it is very hard to think so ill of him. i wonder whether--" mr. north made a pause to revolve the question--"whether i could get anything out of knivett?" deep in, thought, the nunnery passed, he unguardedly approached the open part by the beach. whirr!--whew! his hat went one way, the skirts of his coat another. the latter, not being detached, had to return to their places; but the hat was nowhere. harry castlemaine, chancing to pass, ran and caught it, and brought it, laughing, to mr. north. the young men liked each other and were cordial when they met; but they had not advanced to intimacy. each had his reasons for avoiding it: harry castlemaine never chose to become to friendly with any stranger sojourning at greylands; george north, under his present pseudo aspect, rather shunned the castlemaines. "it is well heads are not loose, as well as hats, or they'd be gone to-day," said harry, giving up the hat. "where's your ribbon?" "it had come unfastened from my buttonhole. thank you. what a grand sea it is!" "wonderful. a rare sea, even for greylands. good-day." like a great many more of us, mr. north sometimes did things upon impulse. as he crossed to the dolphin, holding ins hat on his head, the two-horse van came lumbering down the hill by the nunnery on its way to stilborough. impulse--it certainly was not reason--induced george north to get inside and go off with it. in due course of time it conveyed him to stilborough. "can you tell me where mr. knivett, the advocate, lives?" he asked of the driver when he was paying his fare. "lawyer knivett, is it, sir, that you want? he lives close to the market-house, in the centre of the town." "which is my way to it?" "go to the end of the street, sir: take the first turning on the left, new street, and that will bring you into the street where the marketplace is. anybody will tell you which is lawyer knivett's." just as in the days, some months gone by, poor anthony had been directed to the lawyer's house, and readily found it, so did the younger brother find it now. the brass-plate on the door, "mr. knivett, attorney-at-law," stared him in the face as he halted there. during the dinner-hour, between half-past one and two, this outer door was always shut; an intimation that clients were not wanted to call just then: at other times it was generally, though not invariably, open: impatient clients would often give it a bang behind them in escaping. mr. north rang the bell, and was admitted to the clerk's room, where a young man, with curled black hair and a nose like a parrot's, sat behind a desk near the window, writing. "can i see mr. knivett?" asked george. the young man stretched his neck forward to take a look at the applicant. "it's not office-hours," said he in answer, his tone superlatively distant. "when will it be office-hours?" "after two o'clock." "can i see him then--if i wait?" "well, yes, i suppose you can. there's a chair"--extending the feather-end of his pen to point it out: which caused the diamond ring he wore on his finger to flash in the sunlight. "a vain young dandy," thought george, as he sat down, regarding the ring, and the curled hair, and the unexceptionable white linen. the gentleman was, in fact, a distant relative of squire dobie's, holding himself to be far above all the fraternity of men of the law, and deeming it an extremely hard case that his friends should have put him into it. the silence broken only by the scratching of the pen, was interrupted by the sudden stopping before the house of a horse and gig. an active little gentleman of middle-age leaped out, came in, and opened the door of the room. "where's mr. knivett, dobie? at his dinner?" "yes." away went the little gentleman somewhere further on in the house. almost immediately he was back again, and mr. knivett with him. the latter opened the door. "i am going out, mr. dobie. don't know how long i may be detained. old mr. seaton's taken ill." and, with that, he followed the little gentleman out, mounted the gig with him, and was gone. it had all passed so quickly that george north had not space to get in a word. he supposed his chance of seeing the lawyer for that day was at an end. scarcely had the gig driven off, and mr. dobie brought back his head from gazing after it over the window blind, when there entered a gentleman in deep mourning: a good-looking man with a somewhat sad countenance. mr. dobie got off his stool with alacrity, and came forward. "how are you, sir william?" sir william blake-gordon--for it was he--returned the greeting: the two young men met occasionally in society. "can i see mr. knivett?" asked sir william. "no, that you can't," returned the gentleman-clerk. "charles seaton of the hill has just fetched him out in a desperate hurry. knivett, going out to the gig, put in his head to tell me old seaton was taken ill. wants his will altered, i suppose." sir william considered. "tell mr. knivett, then, that i will be here at about eleven o'clock to-morrow. i wish to see him particularly." "all right," said mr. dobie. sir william was turning away, when his eyes fell on george north, who had then risen preparatory to departure. he held out his hand cordially, and george north met it. a week or two previously, just before sir richard's death, it chanced that they had met at a country inn, and were detained there part of a day by a prolonged storm of rain and thunder. each had liked the other, and quick acquaintanceship had been formed. "are you still at greylands, mr. north?" "yes." "well, do not forget that i shall be very glad to see you. come over at any time." "thank you," replied george. the new baronet went out. mr. dobie, witnessing all this, began to fancy that the gentleman might be somebody worth being civil to. "i am sorry knivett should have started off in this sudden way," he observed, his tone changed to ease, "but i suppose there was no help for it. is there anything i can do for you?" "no," returned george, "i fear not. i merely wanted to ask mr. knivett a question about a family in the neighbourhood." "i dare say i could answer it," said mr. dobie. "i know all the best families as well as knivett does, or better: been brought up among them." "do you know the castlemaines?" "well, i ought to. my relatives, the dobies of dobie hall, and the greylands' rest people used to be as thick as inkleweavers. harry castlemaine is one of my friends." george north paused. an idea struck him that perhaps this young man might be able to give him some information: and, to tell the truth, though he had come to ask mr. knivett to do it, he had very little hope that the lawyer would. at least there would be no harm in his putting the question. "i am a stranger here," he said. "until some weeks back i never was in this part of the world or knew a soul that inhabited it. but i have become acquainted with a few people; and, amidst them, with the castlemaines. did you know the old grandfather, anthony?" "just as well as i know my own grandfather." "greylands' rest was his, i fancy?" "of course it was." "to whom did he leave it?" "ah, that's a question," said mr. dobie, taking his penknife out to trim the top of one of his filbert nails. "there was a nephew made his unexpected appearance on the estate last winter--a son of the elder brother----" "i have heard," interrupted george north: "anthony castlemaine." "just so. well, he thought greylands' rest was his; wanted to put in a claim to it; but mr. castlemaine wouldn't allow it at any price. the claimant disappeared in some queer manner--you have no doubt heard of it--and james castlemaine retains undisturbed possession. which is said to be nine points of the law, you know." "then, you do not know how it was left? whether it is legally his?" mr. dobie shook his head. "i'd not like to bet upon it, either way. if forced to do so, i'd lay it against him." "you think it was left to anthony castlemaine," said george north quickly. "that is, to anthony's father; basil, the eldest brother." "what i think is, that if mr. castlemaine could show he had any right to it, he would show it, and put an end to the bother," spoke mr. dobie. "but he should be made to do this." the clerk lifted his eyes from his nails, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "who is to make him?" "i'm sure i don't know. could not the law?" "the law must get a leg to stand upon before it can act. it has no right to interfere with mr. castlemaine. that young anthony--if he's not dead--might come back and enter a process against him for restitution, and all that: in that case james castlemaine would have to show by what tenure he holds it. but it might be an awfully long and expensive affair; and perhaps end in nothing." "end in nothing?" "why, you see, if old anthony castlemaine simply made a present, while he was yet living, of greylands' rest to james, the latter would have to swear to it, and the thing would be done with. some people think it was so. others, and i for one, don't fancy it was his at all, but that poor young anthony's." "the castlemaines have always been held to be men of honour, i believe?" "and we should never have doubted james to be one--but for his refusal to satisfy his nephew and the public. nothing but that raised a doubt against him. it is blowing over now." "you do not know, then, how greylands' rest was left, or to whom?" "no. i don't believe anybody does know, save mr. castlemaine himself. unless it's knivett. he may." "but i dare say knivett would not tell--even if he were pumped." mr. dobie burst into a laugh at the idea. "knivett tell the affairs of any of his clients!" said he. "you might as well set on and pump this high-backed chair as pump him." the clerks, two of them, came in from dinner, and no more was said. george north walked back to greylands, having taken nothing by his journey: just as the unfortunate anthony had walked back to it many months before. the wind was blowing worse than ever. several people, chiefly women, had gathered on the beach to look at the sea; but the spray and the roar nearly blinded and deafened them. amidst others stood mrs. castlemaine, ethel, and flora: talking to them was the landlady of the dolphin, a huge shawl tied over her head. george north approached. "it is surely worse than it was this morning!" said george, after speaking to the ladies. "and what'll it be when the tide is full up again!" cried mrs. bent, whose tongue was ever of the readiest. "twenty years i've lived in this place, and never saw it like this. look at that wave!--my patience!" almost as the words left her lips, there arose a cry of alarm. the wave, rearing itself to a towering height, came dashing in on the beach nearer than was bargained for, and engulfed miss flora castlemaine. that young damsel, in defiance of commands, had been amusing herself by running forward to meet the waves and running back again before the water could catch her. this time she had not been quite so successful. the force of the water threw her down; and even as they looked, in the first moment of alarm, they saw her drifting rapidly out to sea with the returning tide. mrs. castlemaine shrieked wildly. nearly everybody shrieked. some ran here, some yonder; some laid hold of one another in the nervousness induced by terror: and the child was being washed further out all the while. but the cries suddenly ceased; breaths were held in suspense: for one was going out to the rescue. it was george north. flinging off his coat and hat, he dashed through the waves, keeping his footing as long as he could, battling with the incoming tide. but for the boisterous state of the sea, the rescue would have been mere child's play; as it was, it cost him some work to reach and save her. he bore her back, out of the cruel water. she was quite insensible. ethel burst into tears. in the moment's agitation, she was not sure but she clasped his arm, wet as he was, when striving to pour forth her thanks. "oh, how brave you are! how shall we ever repay you!" he snatched a moment to look back into her eyes, to give her a smile that perhaps said all too much, and went on with his dripping burden. "to my house!" cried mrs. bent, rushing forward to lead the way. "there's a furnace of hot water there, for we've got a wash on to-day. and, mr. north, sir, you'll just get yourself between the blankets, if you please, and i'll bring you up a dose of hot brandy-and-water." to see them all scampering over to the dolphin, with the picked-up coat and hat, the wind taking their petticoats behind, the two wet figures in their midst, and mrs. castlemaine wringing her hands in despair, was a sight for greylands. but, at least, george north had saved the child. the next event that happened to excite the village was the disappearance of jane hallet from the nunnery. she disappeared, so to speak. in fact she ran away from it. something like a fortnight had elapsed since her illness, or from that to three weeks, and she was able to walk about her room and do, at her own request, some sewing for the sisters. mr. harry castlemaine had not intruded on the nunnery again. it was getting time to think of what was to be done with her: where she was to go, how she was to live. jane had been so meek, so humble throughout this illness, so thankful for the care and kindness shown her, and for the non-reproach, that the grey ladies, in spite of their inward condemnation, could not help liking her in their hearts almost as much as they had liked her before, and they felt an anxious interest in her future. sister mildred especially, more reflective than the others by reason of her years, often wondered what that future was to be, what it could be. miss hallet--shut up in her home, her cheeks pink with shame whenever she had to go abroad: which she took care should be on sundays only; but divine service, such as it was in greylands, she would not miss--had never been to the nunnery to see jane, or taken the slightest notice of her. sister mildred had paid another visit to the cliff, and held a second conference with miss hallet, but it resulted in no good for jane. "she has blighted her own life and embittered mine," said miss hallet. "never more can i hold up my head among my neighbours. i will not willingly see her again; i hope i never shall see her." "the worst of it is, that all this reprobation will not undo the past," returned sister mildred. "if it would, if it could have served to prevent it, i'd say punish jane to the last extreme of harshness. but it won't." "she deserves to be punished always." "the evil has come upon her, and everybody knows it. your receiving her again in your home will not add to it or take from it. she has nowhere else to go." "i pray you cease, sister mildred," said miss hallet; and it was plain to be seen that she spoke with utter pain. "you cannot--pardon me--you cannot understand my feelings in this." "what shall you do without jane? she was very useful to you; she was a companion." "could i ever make a companion of her again? for the rest, i have taken a little servant--brown the blacksmith's eldest girl--and i find her handy." "if i could but induce you to be lenient, for jane's sake!" urged the pleading sister, desperately at issue between her own respect for miss hallet's outraged feelings and her compassion for jane. "i never can be," was the answer, spoken stiffly: but miss hallet's fingers were trembling as she smoothed back her black silk mitten. "as to receiving her under my roof again, why, if i were ever brought to do that, i should be regarded as no better than herself. i should be no better--as i look upon it. madam, you think it right to ask me this, i know: but to entertain it is an impossibility." sister mildred dropped her ear-trumpet with a click. the hardness vexed her. and yet she could but acknowledge that it was in a degree excusable. but for the difficulties lying in jane's path, she had never urged it. so there the matter rested. miss hallet had despatched her new servant to the nunnery with a portion of jane's wardrobe: and what on earth was to become of jane the sisters were unable to conjecture. they could not keep her: the nunnery was not a reformatory, or meant to be one. consulting together, they at last thought of a plan. sister mildred went one morning into jane's room. jane was seated at the window in a shawl, busy at her work--some pinafores for the poor little school-children. her face was prettier than ever and very delicate, her manner deprecating, as she rose and courtesied to the late superior. "how are you getting on, jane?" "i have nearly finished this one, madam," she answered, holding out the pinafore. "i don't mean as to work. i mean yourself." "oh, i feel nearly quite well now, thank you, madam," replied jane. "i get stronger every day." "i was talking about you with some of the ladies last night, jane. we wonder what you are about to do. have you any plan, or idea of your own?" poor jane's face took a shade of crimson. she did not answer. "not that we wish to hurry you away from us, jane. you are welcome to stay, and we intend you to do so, for at least two weeks yet. only it will not do to leave considerations off to the last: this is why i speak to you in time." sister mildred had sat down close by jane; by bending her ear, she could do without the trumpet. jane's hands, slender always, and weak yet, shook as she held the pinafore. "have you formed any plans, jane?" "oh no, ma'am." "i thought so," returned sister mildred, for indeed she did not see what plans jane, so lonely and friendless, could form. "when we cannot do what we would, we must do what we can--that used to be one of your copies in small-hand, i remember, jane." "yes, ma'am." "well, my dear, i don't want to speak harshly, but i think you must apply it to yourself. you can no longer do what you would: you will have to do what you can. i am sorry to say that your aunt continues inexorable: she will not shelter you again." jane turned to the table for her handkerchief. the tears were trickling down her face. "we--the sisters and myself--think it will be the best for you to take an easy place as servant----" "as servant!" echoed jane, looking startled. "as servant for light work in a good family far away from here. sister margaret thinks she can manage this--her connections are very good, you know. of course the truth must be told to them; but you will be taken care of, and made happy--we would not else place you--and have the opportunity afforded you of redeeming the past, so far as it may be redeemed. you don't like this, i'm afraid, jane; but what else is there that's open to you?" jane was sobbing bitterly. she suddenly stooped and kissed the sister's hand; but she made no answer. "i will talk with you again to-morrow," said sister mildred, rising. "think it over, jane--and don't sob like that, child. if you can suggest anything better, why we'll listen to it. we only want to help you, and to keep you out of harm for the future." jane was very sad and silent all that day. in the evening, after dark, sister caroline, who had been out on an errand, came in with rounded eyes, declaring she had seen jane hallet out of doors. the ladies reproved her. sister caroline often had fancies. "if it was not jane hallet it was her ghost," cried sister caroline, lightly. "she was under the cliff by the sea. i never saw anybody so much like jane in my life." "have you been down under the cliff?" questioned sister charlotte. "i went there for a minute or two with poor old dame tuff," explained the sister. "she was looking after jack, who had been missing since morning: she thought he might be lying under the cliff after too much ale. while we were peering into all the holes and shady places, somebody ran by exactly like jane." "ran by where?" "close along, between us and the sea. towards the limpets." "but nobody could want anything that way. they might be drowned." "well, it looked like jane." "hush!" said one of the graver ladies. "you know it could not be jane hallet. did you find jack tuff?" "no: his poor mother's gone home crying. what a trouble sons are! but--may i go and see if jane is in her room?" it was really very obstinate of sister caroline: but she was allowed to go. down she came with a rush. jane was not in her room. several of the sisters, excited by the news, trooped up in a body to see. very true. the room had been made neat by jane, but there was no trace of herself. on the table lay some lines in pencil addressed to sister mildred. a few lines of grateful, heartfelt thanks for the kindness shown to her, and an imploring hope that the ladies would think of her with as little harshness as they could. but not a single word to tell of whither she had gone. "pray heaven she has not done anything rash!" mentally cried sister mildred with pale cheeks, as she thought of the dangers of the path that led to that part of the coast called the limpets. chapter xxxvi. changed to paradise. the winter season was coming in, but not yet winter weather, for it was mild and balmy: more like a fine september than the close of november. the glass doors of the red parlour at greylands' rest were thrown open to the garden, and to the very few autumn flowers that yet lingered around the window. dinner was over, and the ladies were back in the parlour again. little marie guise was spending the day there, and was now playing at cat's-cradle with flora: her mother was talking with mrs. castlemaine. ethel sat drawing. "dear me! i think this is miss castlemaine." the words were madame's, and they all looked up. yes; advancing round from the wide garden-path in her grey dress and with her stately step, came mary ursula. seeing them sitting there, and the doors open, she had turned aside on her way to the front entrance. ethel ran out. "how good of you, mary! have you come to stay the afternoon?" "no, ethel, dear. i want to see my uncle. is he at home?" "i think so. we left him at table. come in." mrs. castlemaine made much of the visitor. disliking mary ursula at heart, thankful that she had joined the grey sisterhood for good and was out of the way of greylands' rest, mrs. castlemaine made a great show of welcome at these chance visits. "and why can you not stay now you are here?" asked mrs. castlemaine, purring upon mary as she sat down. "do take your bonnet off." "i would stay if i could," said mary, "but i must be back again by four o'clock. mr. knivett sent me a note this morning to say he should be over at that hour with some papers that require my signature." "then, mary, why did you not come some afternoon when you were not expecting mr. knivett?" sensibly asked ethel. "because i had to come to-day, ethel. i wish to see my uncle." "i suppose you have been busy with your money and your executorship," spoke mrs. castlemaine. "you must feel quite rich." "i do," said mary, with earnest truth. looking back, she had not thought herself so rich in her anticipated many, many thousands a year then, as she felt now with these two or three bequeathed hundreds of additional income. "we are rich or poor by comparison, you know," she said, smiling. "and what is marie doing?--learning to play at cat's cradle?" marie snatched the thread from flora, and ran up to her: she could speak a little english now. "lady play wi' marie! "why, my dear little child, i think i have forgotten how to play," returned mary. "flora can play better than i can. flora is none the worse for that accident, i hope?" she added to mrs. castlemaine. "but how serious it might have been!" "oh, don't, don't talk of it," cried mrs. castlemaine, putting her hands before her eyes to shut out the mental vision. "i shall never see a furious sea again without shuddering." "it is beautifully calm to-day," said mary, rising to go into the dining-room to her uncle. "like a mill-pond." mr. castlemaine was no longer in the dining-room. miles putting the wine and dessert away, said his master had gone up to his room to write letters. so mary went after him. several days had passed now since the departure of jane hallet from the nunnery. and the longer the time elapsed without news of her, the greater grew the marvel of greylands. the neighbours asked one another whether jane had mysteriously disappeared for good, after the fashion of anthony castlemaine. it was rumoured that the affair altogether, connected with jane, had much annoyed the master of greylands. he was supposed to have talked sharply to his son on the subject; but how harry received it, or what he replied, was not known. harry rather shunned home just then, and made pretext for excursions to distant places, which kept him out for a day or two at a time. but a worse doubt than any was gaining ground: the same doubt that had crossed sister mildred the night of the disappearance. had jane committed any rash act? in short, to speak out boldly, for it is what greylands did, people thought that jane must have flung herself into the sea. the way to the limpet rocks--once old dame dance's cottage was passed--led to nowhere but the rocks: and nobody in their senses would seek them at night if they wanted to come away alive. clearly there was but one inference to be drawn: jane was under the water. of course, it was entirely inconsistent with greylands' neighbourly outspokenness that this dismal conviction should long be concealed from miss hallet. perhaps it was considered a matter of conscience to make it known to her. mrs. pike at the shop was the first to run up, and undertake the communication. miss hallet received it in cold silence: for all the world as if she had been a stock or a stone, as mrs. pike related afterwards: and for a day or two she held on in her course of high-mightiness. but it could not last. she had human feelings, as well as other people: it might have been that they were all the keener from her outward shell of impassive coldness; and they made themselves heard in spite of her injured pride. the news shocked her; the more she tried to drive it from her mind, the more persistently it came back to take up its abode there: and at length a whole flood-tide of remorse and repentance set in: for she asked herself whether she--she--had helped to drive jane to her dreadful fate. it is one thing to browbeat our friends to within an inch of their lives: but quite another thing to shut them into their coffins. on the second evening, when twilight was sufficiently dim to enfold her within its shade, miss hallet went down to seek an interview with sister mildred at the nunnery; and was admitted to her. mary ursula castlemaine was also in the room, writing at a table apart: but she did not interfere in any way, or take part in the conversation. "i have come to know the truth of this," gasped miss hallet, whose every effort to suppress her agitation and to appear cold as usual, served to impede her breath. "at least, madam, so far as you can tell it me." "but, my dear, good woman, i can't tell you anything," briskly returned sister mildred, speaking with her trumpet to her ear. "we don't know what to think ourselves. i wish we did." they were sitting side by side on the well-worn horsehair sofa, which was drawn close to the fire. mary was in the further corner behind them, a shade on the candle by which she wrote. miss hallet untied the strings of her bonnet, as if in need of air. "jane cannot have put an end to her life!" spoke miss hallet, her trembling lips betokening that she felt less assured of the fact than the words implied. "she was too religious a girl for anything so desperately wicked; too well-principled." "that is what i tell myself ten times a day," returned sister mildred. "or try to." "try to!" echoed miss hallet. "well, you see--you see--" sister mildred spoke with hesitation, between wishing to tell just the truth and dislike to say what must inflict pain--"you see, the thought that keeps intruding on me is this: having been deceived in my estimation of jane's good principles on one point, one is obliged to feel less sure of them on another." a groan broke from miss hallet; she coughed to cover it. but in another moment her misery got the better of her, and all reticence was thrown away. "oh, if you can help me to find her--if you can give me a hope that she is still living, do so, dear lady, for heaven's sake," she implored, placing her hands, in her irrepressible agitation, on the arm of sister mildred. "let me not have her death upon my conscience!" the good sister took both the hands and held them in hers. "for my own sake, i would do it if i could," she gently said. "to find jane, i would forfeit a good deal that is precious to me." "it is killing me," said miss hallet. "it will kill me speedily unless this incertitude can be ended. for the past two days, i have not had one moment's peace. night and day, night and day, the one dreadful doubt is upon me with a harrowing torment. where is jane?" "we cannot think where she can be," said sister mildred, shaking her head. "nobody seems to know." a moment's silence, and then the sound of hysterics burst upon the room: cries, and sobs, and catchings of the breath. miss hallet had not given way like this even when her nephew died. but, alas, they could give her no satisfaction, no comfort. sister mildred, shaking hands with her before departure, spoke cheerfully of hope, of "looking on the bright side of things," but it was very negative consolation. "my dear, did you take note of what passed?" questioned sister mildred of mary ursula, when they were alone. "how distressing this is!" mary rose from her desk and came forward. "my heart was aching for her all the time," she said. "miss hallet may have acted somewhat harshly; but she has my greatest pity. i wish i could relieve her!" "if anyone in this world knows where jane is, it must be mr. harry castlemaine," observed sister mildred in a cold, subdued whisper. "that is, if she be still alive. i wonder, my dear, whether we might ask him." "whether he would give any information, you mean," replied mary ursula. "he ought to; and i think he would. though, perhaps, it might be better got at through his father." "through his father!" echoed sister mildred, quickly. "oh, my dear, we should never dare to question the master of greylands." "i would: and will," concluded mary ursula. it was in pursuance of this resolve that mary had come up this afternoon to greylands' rest. harry had gone to newerton for a day or two, this time really upon business. mary went upstairs and knocked at her uncle's door. the master of greylands was doing nothing. he had apparently been writing at his bureau, for the flap was down, one drawer stood out and some papers were lying open. he had quitted it, and sat back in a chair near the window; his eyes resting on the calm sea stretched out in the distance. which sea, however, he never saw; his thoughts were far away. "nothing has gone right since that fatal night," he said to himself, his brow knitted into lines of pain. "teague has said all the summer that suspicions are abroad--though i think he must be wrong; and now there's this miserable trouble about harry and that girl! for myself, i seem to be treading on a volcano. the stir after anthony is not at an end yet: i am sure of it; instinct warns me that it is not: and should a comprehensive search be instituted, who can tell where it would end, or what might come to light?" a log of blazing wood fell on the hearth with a splutter and crash. mr. castlemaine looked round mechanically: but all was safe. the room was just as lonely and bare as usual: no signs of life or occupation in it, save the master himself and the papers in the open bureau. "when men look askance at me," ran on his thoughts, "it makes my blood boil. i am living it down; i shall live it down; but i have not dared to openly resent it and that has told against me. and if the stir should arise again, and unpleasant facts come out--why then it would be all over with the good name of the master of greylands. the world calls me proud: and i am proud. heaven knows, though, that i have had enough this year to take pride out of me." a deep sigh, telling of the inward trouble, escaped him. men whose minds are at ease cannot sigh like that. "it has been an unlucky year for the castlemaines: a fatal year. after a long tide of prosperity such years do come, i suppose, to a family. peter's trouble first, and his uncertain death:--and what a near shave it was, the staving off disgrace from his name! anthony's intrusion and the trouble he gave me, and then his death: that, unfortunately, had nothing uncertain about it. the cloud that fell upon me, and that lasts still; and now, teague's doubts; and now again, harry! better for me, perhaps, to get out of it all, while the opportunity remains." a heavy sigh broke from him, coming apparently from the very depth of his heart. he put his elbow on the arm of his chair, and leaned his brow upon his hand. "poor anthony," he moaned, after a pause. "oh, if the doings of that night could but be recalled! i would give the best years of my remaining life to undo its fatal work. just one moment of mad, impetuous passion, and it was all over! what can his friends be about, i wonder, that they have not come to see after him? i thought he said he had a brother, at that first interview; but i have never been sure, for i was feeling resentful, half checkmated, and i would not listen to him. i am certain he said he had a sister--married, i think, to a frenchman. they have not come; they do not write: french people don't care for their relatives, perhaps--and they must be french rather than english. if anthony----" a gentle knock at the door had been unheard by mr. castlemaine: a second knock was followed by the entrance of mary ursula in her sister's dress. so entirely was mr. castlemaine buried in these unpleasant, far away scenes, that just for a moment he stared at the intruder, his mind completely absent. mary could not help noticing his haggard look and the pain that sat in his eyes. "why, mary ursula, is it you?" he cried, starting up. "come in, my dear." with a rapid movement, as he advanced to meet her, he swept the papers back and closed the bureau. taking her hands in his he kissed her, and put a chair for her near the fire. but mary would not sit down. she had not time, she said: and she went and stood by the window. it was not a pleasant matter for her to enter upon, and she spoke very slightly and briefly. just saying that if he, her uncle, had learnt anything through his son of jane hallet, it would be a relief to the grey ladies if he would impart it, and especially to the aunt, who was in a distressing state of suspense; fears, that jane had made away with herself, existing in greylands. "my dear, i know nothing whatever of her," said mr. castlemaine, standing at the window by the side of his niece. "the whole of the affair has been most grievous to me, most annoying--as you may well conceive. i had some words with harry at the time; sharp ones; and it has created a sort of coolness between us. since then, we have mutually avoided the subject." mary sighed. "i cannot help being sorry for jane," she said, "whatever may be the end. she is too good to have lost herself. you do not know, uncle james, how nice she is." "'sorry' is not the word for it," emphatically spoke the master of greylands, his stern tone meant for his absent son. "i always held the hallets in respect." mary turned from the window to depart. other things were perplexing her as well as this unfortunate business. it struck her more and more how ill her uncle looked; ill, and full of care. lines had begun to indent themselves on his once smooth brow. "are you well, uncle james?" she stayed to say. "why do you ask?" "you do not look well. there is something in your face now that--that----" "that what, child?" "that reminds me of papa. as he looked the last month or two of his life." "ay. i have had some worry lately, from more sources than one. and that tries a man's looks, mary, worse than all." he attended her downstairs. she said farewell to the red parlour, and commenced her walk back to the nunnery. somewhat later, before the dusk of the november evening came on, madame guise attired herself to take home marie. the little girl was showing symptoms of a delicate chest, and the sisters had begged her mother to let her be in betimes. to please the child they went on through the back buildings, which were at some distance from the house, that she might see the ducks, and cocks and hens. quitting the fold-yard to cross the meadow, which would bring them round to the avenue, they came upon mr. north. he sat on the stump of a tree, sketching a bit of the old barn. "are you here, george!" spoke madame. "what are you doing?" he held out the sketch to show her: pulling little marie to him at the same time, to give her a kiss. "why you not come to see me?" asked the child in french. for she had taken a great fancy to this pleasant gentleman, who sometimes had bonbons in his pocket for her, calling him, at the nunnery, little incipient coquette, le joli monsieur. "ah, i think i must come and see miss marie one of these fine days. does marie like dolls?" "i like four, five dolls," said marie. "four, five!" laughed george. "why it would be an army. we shall have to dismantle a shop. "i must be going, marie," said her mother. "and you will have to make haste with that drawing, george. you will not see very much longer." "oh, i shall finish it." "have you heard anything, george--gathered anything--that can throw light on poor anthony?" she looked back, to ask in a whisper. "never a word," he answered. "nor i. i begin almost to despair. au revoir." meanwhile, indoors, mr. castlemaine had gone up to his room again, and flora in the red parlour was making herself disagreeable as usual. the young lady's insistence that marie should stay to tea had met with no response, and she was sulky in consequence. for some little time she relieved herself by kicking her feet about, throwing down the fire-irons, and giving shakes to the table to disturb ethel. by-and-by, when it grew dusk, and mrs. castlemaine had to hold her book very close to her eyes and ethel to put up her drawing, the young lady saw a larger field for annoyance. advancing to the piano, she brought both her hands down on the keys with her whole might. the result was a crash that might have aroused the seven sleepers. "how dare you, flora?" exclaimed ethel. "don't you know the piano was tuned this week?" a derisive laugh: and another crash. "mamma, will you speak to her?" crash the third. mrs. castlemaine, absorbed by her book of romance, took no notice whatever. "do you think i will have my piano served in that way and the wires broken?" cried ethel, starting up. "what a dreadful child you are!" a tussle--for the young lass was strong, and was leaning with her whole weight and her two arms on the keys--and then ethel succeeded in shutting and locking it. it was ethel's own piano: a present to her from mr. castlemaine, and a beautiful instrument. mademoiselle la méchante turned to the table, took up ethel's drawing-book and began rumpling the leaves. "oh, mamma, mamma, why do you not speak to her?" cried ethel, in distress, as she tried to get possession of the book, and failed. "mamma!" "how tiresome you are, ethel!" exclaimed mrs. castlemaine explosively: for her story was at a most interesting part, and she could not be disturbed during these last few moments of daylight. "sit down and be quiet. the dear child would do no harm, if you only let her alone." the dear child had retreated to the open part of the room beyond the table, and was dancing there like a little maniac, flirting over the leaves at ethel in derision. these petty annoyances are hard to bear. injustice is hard to bear, even where the temper is naturally as sweet as ethel's. "give me that book," said ethel, going up to flora. "i shan't." "i tell you, flora, to give it to me." flora was holding the book open above her head, a cover stretched in each hand, and laughing an ugly, mocking laugh. suddenly, without warning, she dashed it full in ethel's face: a pretty sharp blow. smarting, angry, ethel seized the tiresome child by the arms. flora shrieked, and called out in a rage that ethel was pinching her. very likely it might be so, for the grasp was a tight one. flora dropped the book, and struck ethel in the face with all the force of her wrathful hand. her pale face tingling with the smart, agitated, indignant, but the book secured, ethel stood before mrs. castlemaine. "am i to bear this, mamma?--and you look on and say nothing!" "you should let her alone: it is your own fault," contemptuously retorted mrs. castlemaine. justice in that house for her!--unless mr. castlemaine was at hand!--ethel had long ceased to hope for it. but the present moment was unusually bitter; it tried her terribly. she quitted the room; and, seeing the hall-door open, ran out in a storm of tears and sobs, and dashed along the path. it was dusk but not dark; the bared trees, the wintry shrubs, the cold beds telling of the departed flowers, all spoke of loneliness. but not more lonely, they, than ethel. she stood when she came to the outer gate and flung her arms upon it, sobbing bitterly; gazing down the avenue, as if longing to go forth into the world for ever. alas, there was no chance of that; she was tied to this home, so oftentimes made miserable. had ethel been poor she might have gone out as governess: but that plea could not be raised. bending her face upon her hands, which rested still upon the gate, she gave way to all the minute's gloomy anguish, weeping aloud. not a living being was in sight or hearing; she believed herself as much alone as though it had been some unpeopled desert and could indulge her passionate grief at will. "oh ethel, what is this?" it was a soft, low, pained voice that spoke the words in her ear; a fond hand was laid upon her head; the only voice, the only hand that could have thrilled her heart. mr. north, passing into the avenue on his way home from sketching the piece of the old barn, his portfolio being under his arm, had come upon her thus. opening the gate, he drew her on to the bench under the high laurel trees and sat down by her. "now, tell me what it is?" beguiled by the seduction of the moment, smarting still under the treatment she had received, contrasting his loving, gentle kindness with the cruel indifference of the only mother she had ever known, ethel sobbed out a brief account of what had passed. his breast heaved with angry passion. "is it often so, ethel?" "oh yes, very. it has been so for years. i have never had any one to really love me since my father died; i have never known what it is to have a securely happy home: only this one of frequent turbulence. i wish i could run away from it!" he was no more prudent than she. he forgot wisdom, circumstances, reason: all. his breath short, his words unchosen, he poured forth the tale of his love, and asked her if she would be his wife. ethel bent her face on his coat-sleeve, and cried silent, happy tears. "you know, you must know, how i have loved you, ethel. i should have spoken long ago, but that circumstances held me back. even now i fear that i cannot speak openly to mr. castlemaine: it may be some little time first. but oh, my darling, you have not, you cannot have mistaken my love." not a word. it was early yet for confession from her. but her face was still on his arm. "for one thing, i am not rich, ethel. i have quite enough for comfort, but not that which would give you a home like this. and mr. castlemaine----" "i would rather be in a cottage with bread, than here," she interrupted, all her candour rising to the surface. "and mr. castlemaine may not choose that you shall pit this house for one less well set-up, i was about to say, my love," he went on. "what we might find sufficient competence, he might deem poverty." "i have plenty of money of my own," said ethel simply. "have you?" cried mr. north, in a surprised and anything but a gratified tone. he had certainly never known or suspected that she had money; and he foresaw that the fact might be only an additional reason for mr. castlemaine's rejection of him. "it may be so much the worse for us, ethel. i may come into money myself; quite sufficient to satisfy even mr. castlemaine; or i may not. it is this uncertainty that has helped to keep me silent. but come what will now, we cannot part." no, they could never part. heart beating against heart, knew and ratified it. he gathered her face to his, whispering his sweet love-vows as he kissed off its tears. and, for ethel, the lonely surroundings, the dreary paths, the bare beds, the wintry trees, seemed suddenly to have changed into the garden of paradise. chapter xxxv. the last cargo. at the window of her bedroom in the grey nunnery, steadily gazing out to sea, stood mary ursula castlemaine. the night was almost as light as though the moon were shining: for a sort of light haze, partially covering the skies, seemed to illumine the earth and make things visible. december had come in, but the weather was still balmy: people said to one another that they were going to have no winter. it had been one of those exceptional years when england seems to have borrowed some more genial climate: since the changeable spring there had been only smiles and sunshine. as the days and weeks had gone on since that communication made to miss castlemaine by walter dance the night of his accident (to be retracted by him in the morning), the doubt in her mind and the uneasiness it caused rarely gave her rest. she had not dared to speak of it to mr. castlemaine: had she been perfectly sure that he was in ignorance in regard to it--in short, to speak out plainly, that he was not implicated, she would have told him all; but the uncertainty withheld her. the evidence of her own senses she could not question, therefore she did believe, that the wholesale smuggling, confessed to by young dance in his fear of death, was an actual fact--that cargoes of lace, and what not, were periodically run. the question agitating her was--had, or had not, this treason the complicity of the master of greylands? if it had, she must be silent on the subject for ever; if it had not, why then she would like to communicate with himself upon it. for an idea had taken firm hold of her, arising she knew not from what instinct, that the ill-fate of anthony--had any ill-fate in truth overtaken him--must have arisen through the doings of one of these disturbed nights when the friar's keep was invaded by lawless bands of sailors. it was for this reason she could not rest; it was this never-forgotten thought that disturbed her peace by day and her sleep by night. the smuggling and the smugglers she would only have been too glad to forget; but the mysterious fate of anthony lay on her mind like a chronic nightmare. another thing, too, added to her disquietude. the grey monk, about which nothing had been heard for some weeks past, was now, according to public rumour, appearing again. in her heart she suspected that this grey monk and all the rest of the mystery had to do with the smuggling and with that only. reason told her, or strove to tell her, that commodore teague was the principal in it all, the cunning man, for whom the goods were run; and she tried to put down that latent doubt of mr. castlemaine that would rise up unbidden. if she could but set that little doubt at rest! she was ever saying to herself. if she could but once ascertain that her uncle had nothing to do with the unlawful practices, why then she would disclose to him what she knew, and leave him to search out this clue to the disappearance of anthony. many a night had she stood at her casement window as she was standing now; though not always, perhaps oftener than not. but not until to-night had she seen the same two-masted vessel--or what she took to be the same. it had certainly not been visible at sunset: but there it lay now, its masts tapering upwards, and its shape distinctly visible in the white haze, just in the same spot that it had been that other night. mary wrapped herself up, and put her casement window open, and sat down and watched. watched and waited. as the clocks told midnight, some stir was discernible on board; and presently the small boats, as before, came shooting out from the ship through the water. there could be no mistake: another of those nefarious cargoes was about to be run. with a pale face but resolute heart, mary ursula castlemaine rose up. she would go forth again through the secret passage, and look on at these men. not to denounce them; not to betray her presence or her knowledge of what they were about; but simply to endeavour to ascertain whether her uncle made one at the work. procuring the keys and the dark lantern, mary started. there was some delay at setting out, in consequence of her being unable to open the first door. try with all her force, though she would and did, she could not turn the key in the lock. and she was on the point of giving it up as hopeless, when the key yielded. at least a quarter of an hour must have been hindered over this. it was colder by far in the passage than it had been those other nights, for the time of the year was later: cold, and damp, and wofully dreary. mary's courage oozed out at every step. once she paused, questioning whether she could go on with this, but she reasoned herself into it. she reached the other end, set her light on the floor, and put the key into this second door. meanwhile the boats had come in, been hauled up on the beach, and the goods were being landed. the men worked with a will. they wore sea-boots and waded through the water with the bales on their shoulders. much jabbering was carried on, for some of the sailors were foreigners; but all spoke in covert tones. no one could be near enough to hear them, by land or by sea; they felt well assured of that; but it was always best to be prudent. the sailors were working as they worked on board ship, open and undisguised; commodore teague was undisguised; but the other three men--for there were three others--wore capes and had huge caps tied on over their ears and brows; and in the uncertain light their best friends might not have known them. two of these, it is as well to say it, were tom dance and his son; the other was a tall, slender, fine-figured young man, who seemed to look on, rather than to work, and who had not the heavy sea-boots on. but there was no sign of the master of greylands. the bales were carried up and put down in the dry, close to the walls of the keep. when all the goods that were to come out of the ship should be landed, then the sailors would help to carry them through the passage to the cellars of the hutt, before finally returning on board. "where you lay de pistols?" asked a sailor in imperfect english, as he slung down a huge bale from his shoulder. "down there as usual, jansen," replied another, pointing to some raised stone-work projecting from the walls of the keep. "and the cutlasses too. where should they be!" "what do jansen ask that for, bill?" questioned one, of the last speaker. "i get a bad dream last night," said jansen, answering for himself. "i dream we all fighting, head, tail, wi' dem skulking coastguard. 'jack,' he says to me in dream, 'where de knives, where de pistols?'--and we search about and we not find no knives, no pistols, and dey overpower us, and i call out, an' den i wake." "i don't like them dreams," cried one of the ship's crew. "dreams be hanged; there's nothing in 'em," struck in tom dance. "i dreamed one night, years ago, as my old mother was lying dead afore me: stead o' that, she told me next day she'd get married again if i didn't behave myself." "bear a hand here, dance," said the commodore. at this moment, there was heard the sounds of a boat, clashing up through the waters. before the men could well look out, or discover what it meant, she was close in, and upon them. a boat that had stolen silently out from under the walls of the grey nunnery, where she had been lying concealed, waiting to pounce upon her prey. it was a boat belonging to the preventive service, and it contained mr. superintendent nettleby and his coastguardsmen. after years of immunity the smugglers were discovered at last. "in the king's name!" shouted the superintendent, as he sprung into the shallow water. m. jansen's dream had not told him true; inasmuch as the pistols and cutlasses lay ready to hand, and were at once snatched up by their owners. a desperate fight ensued; a hand-to-hand struggle: pistols were fired, oaths were hissed out, knives were put to work. but though the struggle was fierce it was very short: all the efforts of the smugglers, both sailors and landsmen, were directed to securing their own safety by escaping to the ship. and just as mary ursula appeared upon the scene, they succeeded in pushing the boats off, and scrambling into them. mary was horror-struck. she had bargained for seeing rough men running packages of goods; but she had never thought of fighting and cries and murder. once within the vaults of the friar's keep the noise had guided her to the open door she had seen before, open again now; and she stood there sick and trembling. they did not see her; she took care of that: hiding behind a pillar, her lantern darkened, she peeped out, shivering, on the scene. in the confusion she understood very little; she saw very little; though the cause of it all was plain enough to her mind--the smugglers had been surprised by the preventive men. in the preventive-service boat lay a bound and wounded sailor-prisoner, and also one of the customs' men who had been shot through the leg: not to speak of minor wounds and contusions on both sides. of all that, however, mary knew nothing until later. there she stood close to the scene of turmoil, hearing the harsh voices, the rough words, glancing out at the pile of goods, and at the dusky figures before her, moving about in the night. it was like a panoramic picture dimly seen. almost as by sleight of hand, for mary did not see how or where they went, the men and the commotion disappeared together. the ship's boats, unfollowed, were hastening away to the ship; but what became of mr. nettleby and his staff? a moment ago, the small portion of the beach close before her, that was not under water, had been alive with the preventive men; mary had recognised the superintendent's voice as he shouted out some order, and now not a soul was visible. no doubt they were exploring the inner corners of this bit of beach, never suspected of fraud, never visited by his majesty's servants until now. she cautiously advanced a step or two and looked out. there lay, hauled up on the beach halfway, the waiting boat, which she supposed to be unoccupied: the two wounded men, one of them having fainted from loss of blood, were lying down flat in it, invisible to her. a short while, and the officers reappeared. mary drew back and went behind a pillar. some of them got into the boat, and it was pushed off; three of them remained, either from want of space in the boat, or to keep guard over the goods; one of them was mr. nettleby. of what use for mary to stay? none. she could not solve the doubt touching her uncle. oh, that she had never come! she kept thinking to herself; that she had not had this most dreadful scene portrayed to her! never again, she felt all too certain of it, should she attempt to enter the keep by the subterranean passage. pushing up the slide of one side of the lantern to guide her steps, she was retracing her way through the vaults, when a ray of the light flashed upon a figure. a moving figure in woman's clothes, that seemed to be endeavouring to hide itself. mary lifted her lantern, and saw the face of jane hallet. of jane hallet! just for a moment or two a sickness as of some supernatural fear seized upon miss castlemaine. for jane had never been heard of yet in greylands, and very little doubt existed that she had found her bed at the bottom of the sea. the dark hood she was in the habit of wearing at night had fallen back from her face: her eyes wore a strange, terrified, appealing look in the sudden and startling light. recovering her better reason, mary laid her detaining hand upon her before she could escape. which of the two faces was the whiter, it were hard to say. "it is you, jane hallet!" "yes, madam, it is me," gasped jane in answer. "where have you been all this while, and whence do you come? and what brings you in this place now?" the explanation was given in a few brief sentences. jane, alarmed at the idea presented to her by the grey ladies of going out to service, against which step there existed private reasons, had taken straight refuge in dame dance's cottage under the cliff; she had been there ever since and was there still. old mrs. dance was like a mother to her, she added; and had been in her entire confidence for a long while. as to what brought her in that place to-night, why--she was watching,--she told miss castlemaine with much emotion--watching for the dreadful evil that had to-night occurred. "i have been dreading it always, madam," she said, her breath short in its agitation. "i knew, through my brother, of the work that was sometimes done here--though he betrayed it to me by accident, not intentionally. i have come to the chapel ruins of a night to see if there were preparations being made for running a cargo, and to look whether the vessel, whose shape i knew, was standing out at sea. one night in the autumn i saw them run the goods: i was watching all the while. it was one o'clock when i got home, and my aunt was fit to strike me: for i could not tell her why i stayed out." "watching for what?" imperiously spoke miss castlemaine. "oh, madam, don't you see?--for the preventive men. i was ever fearing that they would discover the work some night, and surprise it--as they have now done. i thought if i were on the watch for this (which nobody else, so far as i could guess, seemed to fear or think of) i might be in time to warn--to warn those who were doing it. but the officers were too cunning for me, too quick: as i stood just now looking over the low brink in the chapel ruins, i saw a boat shoot past from underneath the walls of the nunnery, and i knew what it was. before i got down here the fight had begun." jane had gone into a fit of trembling. somehow miss castlemaine's heart was hardening to her. "at nine o'clock this evening i thought i saw the vessel standing off in the far distance," resumed jane: "so i came out later and watched her move up to her usual place, and have been watching since in the chapel ruins." "may i inquire who knew of this watching of yours?" asked mary ursula, her tone full of resentment. "not any one, madam. not any one in the world." "not mr. harry castlemaine?" "oh, no. i should not dare to speak of the subject to him, unless he first spoke of it to me. i have wished he would." "as there is nothing more that can be done here to-night, of watching or else, i think you had better return home, jane hallet," spoke miss castlemaine in the same proud, cold tone: though she inwardly wondered which way of egress jane would take. "i was just going," spoke the trembling girl. "there--there is not--oh! forgive me, madam!--any one lying wounded on the beach, i hope?" "i presume not," replied miss castlemaine. "the superintendent and his men are there." jane hallet turned meekly, and disappeared amid the pillars. miss castlemaine rightly conjectured that there must be some stairs leading from these lower cloisters to the cloisters above that opened on the chapel ruins. by these jane had no doubt descended, and would now ascend. in point of fact, it was so. george hallet had eventually made a clean breast of all the secret to jane, including the openings and passages. but the underground passage to the grey nunnery neither he nor any one else had known of. miss castlemaine turned to it now. she was crossing towards it, her dim lantern held aloft to steer her between the pillars, when her foot stumbled against something. pacing slowly, she did not fall, and recovered herself at once. bringing the light to bear, she stooped down and saw a man lying there on his back. he looked immensely tall, and wore a big cape, and had a cap muffled over his forehead and eyes, and lay still as one dead. with another faint sickness of heart, mary pulled the cap upwards, for she thought she recognised the handsome features. alas, yes! they were those of harry castlemaine: and they were set in what looked like the rigidness of death. with a shrill cry--for her feelings got the better of her--mary called him by name, and shook him gently. no, there was no response: he was surely dead! she tore the cape and cap off, flinging them aside; she put her hand to his heart, and could feel no pulse; she lifted one of his hands, and it fell again like a heavy weight. there could be little doubt that he must have been wounded during the fight, had run into the vaults, intending to make his escape by the chapel ruins, and had fallen down exhausted. panting with fear and emotion, all considerations lost sight of in this one great shock, mary went back to the beach crying for aid, and supremely astonishing mr. superintendent nettleby. mr. harry castlemaine! mr. harry castlemaine lying inside there as one dead! why, how did that come about? what had brought him down there? unless, indeed, he had heard the row and the fighting? but then--how did he get down? mr. nettleby spoke these problems aloud, as he proceeded by miss castlemaine's side to the spot, guided by her lantern, and followed by his two men. he assumed that the grey nunnery must have been aroused by the noise, and that the lady superior had come forth to see what it meant: and he politely apologised for having been the cause of disturbance to the sisters. mary allowed him to think this: and made no answer to his further expressed wonder of how she found her way down. when they reached the spot where lay harry castlemaine, the first object the rays of the lantern flashed on was jane hallet. aroused by miss castlemaine's cry, she had hastened back again and was now kneeling beside him, her trembling hands chafing his lifeless ones, her face a distressing picture of mute agony. "move away," spoke miss castlemaine. jane rose instantly, with a catching of the breath, and obeyed. mr. superintendent nettleby, asking for the lantern to be held by one of his men, and to have its full light turned on, knelt down and proceeded to make what examination he could. "i don't think he is dead, madam," he said to mary ursula, "but i do fear he is desperately wounded. how the dickens can it have come about?" he added, in a lower tone, meant for himself, and rising from his knees. "could one of the fools have fired off a shot in here, and caught him as he was coming on to us? well, we must get him up to land somehow--and my boat's gone off!" "he had better be brought to the grey nunnery: it is the nearest place," spoke mary. "true," said the officer. "but which on earth is the way to it out of here?" "up these stairs. i will show you," said jane hallet, stepping forward again. "please let me go on with the lantern." she caught it up: she seemed nearly beside herself with grief and distress; and the officer and men raised harry castlemaine. mary remembered the cape she had thrown aside, and could not see it, or the cap either. it was just as well, she thought, for the things had looked to her like garments worn for disguise, and they might have told tales. even then an idea was crossing her that the worst--the complicity of the castlemaines with the smuggling--might be kept from the world. yes, it was just as well: that cape and cap might have been recognised by the superintendent and his men as being the same sort that were worn by the iniquitous offenders they had surprised. no such sinners in the whole decalogue of the world's crimes, according to the estimation of mr. nettleby, as those who defrauded his majesty's revenues. "he must have come out without his hat, or else lost it," spoke the superintendent, looking down at the head he supported. "take care, my men, that's--blood." the stairs were soon reached: some winding steps cut in stone. jane hallet held the lantern to show the way; miss castlemaine, saying never a word of the secret passage, followed her; the men with their burden bringing up the rear. it was a difficult job to bring him up, for the staircase was very narrow. they came out by a concealed door at the end of the upper cloisters, and had to walk through them to the chapel ruins. mr. nettleby never supposed but that the two women, as well as harry castlemaine, had come down by this route. "to think that i should never have suspected any stairs were there! or that there was another set of cloisters under these!" he exclaimed in self-humiliation, as he walked on through with the rest, avoiding the pillars. "had i known it, and that there was a door opening to that strip of beach below, it would have been enough to tell me what might be going on. but how the deuce do they contrive to get rid of the goods after they are run?" for mr. superintendent nettleby was still ignorant of on thing--the secret passage to commodore teague's house. he would not be likely to discover or suspect that until the official search took place that would be made on the morrow. once more the nunnery was about to be disturbed to admit a wounded man at midnight: this second man, alas! wounded unto death. tom dance's son had gone forth to the world again, little the worse for his wounds; for the son and heir of the master of greylands, earth was closing. the clanging night-bell aroused the inmates; and sister rachel, who was that week portress, went down accompanied by sister caroline. to describe their astonishment when they saw the line of those waiting to enter, would be impossible. harry castlemaine, whom the motion and air had revived, borne by mr. nettleby and two of the coastguardsmen; the superior, mary ursula; and the resuscitated jane hallet! jane the erring, with the nunnery lantern! "business called me abroad to-night: i did not disturb you," quietly observed sister mary ursula to the round-eyed sisters; and it was all the explanation she gave, then or later. harry was taken into the same room that walter dance had been, and laid upon the same flat, wide sofa. one of the men ran off for mr. parker. the other went back with the superintendent to the scene of the struggle. the captured goods, so many of them as had been landed, had to be zealously guarded: mr. superintendent nettleby had never gained such a feather in his official cap as this. harry castlemaine lay where he had been placed, his once fresh face bereft of its fine colour, his eyes open to the movements around. a patient like this was altogether different from young dance the fisherman, and the sisters had gone to awaken and amaze the nunnery with the news. only mary ursula was with him. "mr. parker will soon be here, harry," she said gently, bending over him. a faint smile crossed his lips. "he can do nothing for me, mary." "nay, you must not think that. you feel ill, faint; i know it; but----" some slight stir behind her had caught mary's senses, and caused her to turn. there was jane hallet, standing half in, half out at the door, a mute, deprecatory appeal for permission to enter, shining unmistakably on her sad white face. "back!" said mary with calm authority, advancing to the door with her most stately step, her hand raised to repel the intruder. "i told you to go home, jane hallet: it is the only thing you can do. you have no right to intrude yourself into the nunnery. go." and she quietly closed the door, shutting jane out, and returned to the bedside. harry's hand was feebly stretched out: it fell on her arm. "let her come in, mary: she is my wife." "your wife!" "yes; my wife. she has been my wife all along." "i do not understand," faltered mary ursula, feeling she hardly knew how. "we were married at the beginning of last winter. fear of my father's displeasure has prevented my declaring it." mary was silent. her heart throbbed unpleasantly. "jane is too good a girl for aught else," he resumed, the subject seeming to impart to him some fictitious strength. "she has borne all the obloquy in patience and silence for my sake. did you suppose, mary, that the favourite pupil of the grey ladies, trained by them, could have turned out unworthily?" "you should, at least, have confided this to miss hallet, harry." "no; to her the least of all. miss hallet has her pride and her notions, and would have proclaimed it in the marketplace." "i seem not to comprehend yet," replied mary, many remembrances crowding upon her. in point of fact, she scarcely knew whether to believe him. "last winter--yes, and since then, harry--you appeared to be seeking ethel reene for your wife." "i once had an idea of ethel. i knew not that the warm affection i felt for her was but that of a brother: when i fell in love with jane i learnt the truth. my teasings of ethel have been but jest, mary: pursued to divert attention from my intimacy with my real love, my wife." mary ursula sighed. harry had always been random and blamable in some way or other. what a blow this would be for the master of greylands! "you will let her come in, mary! are you doubting still?" he resumed, noting her perplexed countenance. "why, mary ursula, had my relations with jane been what the world assumed, can you imagine i should have had the hardihood to intrude my brazen face here amid the sisters when she was taken ill? i have my share of impudence, i am told; but i have certainly not enough for that. i sought that minute's interview with jane to bid her be firm--to bear all reproaches, spoken and unspoken, for my sake and my father's peace. the only wonder to me and to jane also, has been that nobody ever suspected the truth." mary ursula left the room. jane was leaning against the wall outside in the semi-darkness, a picture of quiet tribulation. too conscious of the estimation in which she was held, she did not dare assert herself. the lantern, which nobody had put out, stood on the passage slab: there was no other light. mary drew her into the parlour--which was wholly dark, save for the reflected light that came in from the lantern. so much the better. jealous for the honour of her family, mary ursula was feeling the moment bitterly, and her face would have shown that she was. "mr. harry castlemaine has been making a strange communication to me," she began. "he says he has married you." "oh, madam, it is true," returned jane hysterically, the sudden revulsion of feeling at finding it was known, the relief from her miserable concealment, taking vent in a flood of tears. "we were married last november." "by whom?" "parson marston," sobbed jane. "he married us in his church at stilborough." surprise, resentment, condemnation of parson marston, overpowered miss castlemaine and kept her silent. thinking of this inferior girl--very inferior as compared with the castlemaines--as they had all been thinking lately, it was not in human nature that mary should not feel it strongly. she had her share of the castlemaine pride; though she had perhaps thought that it was laid down within her when she came out of her home at stilborough to enter the grey nunnery. "it was very strange of mr. marston; very wrong." jane's sobs did not allow her to make any rejoinder. of course it was wrong: nobody felt more assured of that than jane. she did not dare to tell how harry castlemaine's masterful will had carried all with him, including herself and the parson. jane had perhaps been quite willing to be carried; and the parson yielded to "you must," and was besides reprehensibly indifferent. "he would only have taken the girl off to a distance and got tied up by a strange parson," was mr. marston's excuse later, when speaking of it. "i am not to blame; i didn't set afloat the marriage." "how long should you have kept it secret?" asked miss castlemaine, looking at jane in her distress. "as long as my husband had wished me to keep it, madam," was the sobbing answer. "he was always hoping some occasion might arise for declaring it; but he did not like to vex mr. castlemaine. it was my aunt's not knowing it that grieved me most." "i almost wonder you did not tell sister mildred when you were here," observed mary, musing on the past. "oh if i had been able to tell her!" returned the girl, impulsively clasping her hands. "it was very hard to bear, madam, all that blame; but i tried to be patient. and many might have thought nearly as ill of me for letting one so much above me make me his wife." "has no one at all known it?" asked mary. "only old mrs. dance. she has known it from the first. we used to meet at her cottage." "well, jane, what is done cannot be undone. you are his wife, it seems, and have been undeserving of the reproach of light conduct passed upon you. so far i am, for your sake, glad. he has asked to see you. you can go in." so jane hallet--no longer hallet, however,--crept into the chamber, where her husband lay dying, and stood by his side, her heart breaking. "don't grieve, jane, more than you can help," he said, clasping her hand. "this will answer one good end: you will be cleared." she fell on her knees, weeping silent tears. "to save your life i would remain under the cloud for ever," she sighed. "oh, is there no hope?--is there no hope?" "well, we shall see: the doctor will be here soon," said harry evasively. "there! dry your tears, jane; take heart, my dear." and the doctor came without much further delay, and examined his patient, and found that a bullet had lodged itself within him. "there must be an operation," said he, smoothing over his grave face. and he hastened to despatch a messenger on a fleet horse for surgeon croft, the most clever operating surgeon in stilborough. but mr. parker knew quite well that there remained no hope in this world for harry castlemaine. chapter xxxvi. gone! morning dawned. the grey nunnery was like a fair. what with the doctors and their gigs, for two surgeons came from stilborough, and the sisters passing in and out on various errands, and the excited people who assembled in numbers round the gates, a stranger might have wondered at the commotion. more than once had greylands been excited during the year now swiftly approaching its close, but never as much as now. a dreadful encounter between smugglers and the preventive men! and harry castlemaine shot down by one of their stray bullets! and jane hallet come to life again! the master of greylands sat by the dying couch, giving vent now and again to his dire distress. there was no hope for his son; he knew it from the medical men: and his son had been the one only thing he had much cared for in life. of all the blows that had fallen on james castlemaine, none had been like unto this. the shock alone was terrible. it reached him first through one of those grey sisters against whom he had been so prejudiced. sister ann had gone running over to knock up the dolphin, lest cordials, or else, which the nunnery lacked, might be required for the wounded man. after arousing john bent and telling the news, she sped onwards under the night stars, to apprise the master of greylands. greylands' rest lay still and quiet; its doors and windows closed, the blinds drawn down. sister ann rang, and was immediately answered inside by the bark of a dog. "cesar, cesar!" she called out at the top of her voice, to assure the dog that it was a friend; and cesar, recognising the tones, ceased his bark, which was impolitic on sister ann's part, for if he had kept on barking it would have aroused the inmates. sister ann waited and rang again; and then, terrified at the thought that the master of greylands might be too late to see his son, she retreated a few steps and shouted up to the windows. the master heard it, and appeared looking out. "who is it?--what is it?" he asked, leaning from the window he had thrown up, and recognising with astonishment the dress of a grey sister. "oh, sir, it's bad news!" replied sister ann, "but i'm thankful to have awoke you. it's ill news about mr. harry, sir: and i've run all the way here, and am out of breath." "what ill news about mr. harry?" "he has been brought to the nunnery wounded dreadfully. i've come up to ask you to make haste, sir, if you'd see him; for he may be bleeding to death." "wounded?--how?" gasped the master, feeling as bewildered as a woman, and perhaps hard of belief. "there has been a frightful fight to-night, they say, with smugglers, sir. mr. nettleby and two of the coastguardsmen brought him in. we don't know what to believe or think." with a muttered word to the effect that he would go to the nunnery directly, the master of greylands shut the window. dressing in haste, he went forth on his errand. of the two ways to the nunnery, the chapel lane was somewhat the nearer one; and he took it. he bared his aching head to the night-air as he traversed it with fleet strides, wondering what extent of misery he might be entering upon. no very long space of time had elapsed since he sat in his room dwelling on the misfortunes and the deaths that the year had brought forth. was there to be yet further misfortune?--another death? a death to him more cruel than any that had gone before it? as he neared the turning to the hutt, he dashed down the opening and tried the house-door and shouted--just as sister ann had tried and shouted at the door of greylands' rest some minutes before. the door was fast, and no response came: and the master knocked at the little window that belonged to teague's bedchamber. "not back yet," he murmured to himself, after waiting barely a moment, and dashed back again and on towards the nunnery. and there he fennel his worst fears as to harry realised, and learnt from mr. parker that there was no hope of saving him. the bleeding had been then stopped by mr. parker, but harry had fainted. before he revived and was collected enough to speak, or perhaps strong enough, the other surgeons came, and not one private word had been exchanged between father and son. with the morning harry was better. better in so far as that he lay at tolerable ease and could converse at will. the surgeons had done for him what little could be done; but his life was only a question of hours. in a distress, the like of which he had never before experienced, sat the master of greylands. his handsome, noble, attractive son, of whom he had been so proud, whom he had so beloved in his heart, was passing away from his sight for ever. his chair was drawn close to the couch, his hand lay on harry's, his aching eyes rested on the pale, changed face. the whole world combined could not have wrought for him a trial such as this: his own death would have been as nothing to it: and the blow unnerved him. they were alone together: none intruded unnecessarily on these closing hours. harry gave briefly the history of the scene of the past night, thanking heaven aloud that his father was not present at it. "the two first boats had not long been in, and not half their packages were landed, when another boat glided quietly up," said harry. "i thought it was from the vessel with more goods, till i heard a shout in nettleby's tones 'in the king's name,' and found the revenue men were leaping out of her. i ran to close the passage to teague's, and was coming back again when i found myself struck here," touching his side. "the pain was horrible: i knew what it meant--that i was shot, and useless--and i slipped into the vaults, intending to get up to the chapel ruins, and so away. i must have fainted there, and fallen; for i remember nothing more until nettleby and the rest were bringing me here." "they found you lying there?" "not they. mary ursula." "mary ursula!" "it seems so. she was there with a lantern, i gather. father, you will, doubtless, learn all the explanation you wish; i cannot give it. you know what this shot has done for me?" the master did not answer. "it is my death. i forced croft to tell me. by to-night all will be over." mr. castlemaine, striving and struggling to maintain composure, broke down helplessly at the last words, and sobbed aloud with an emotion never before betrayed by him to man. the distress to harry was all too great; he had been truly attached to his indulgent father. "for my sake, father!--for the little time i have to stay!" he said, imploringly. and the master smothered his grief as he best might. with his hand held between his father's, and his sad eyes beseeching pardon for the offence which in strong life he had dreaded to tell, harry castlemaine made his confession: jane hallet was his wife. it was somewhat of a shock, no doubt, to the master of greylands, but it fell with comparative lightness on his ear: beside the one vast trouble close at hand, others seemed as nothing. jane might be his son's wife; but his son would not live to own her as such to the world. "do you forgive me, father? that it was wrong, i am aware; but only myself know how dearly i grew to love her. the place has been heaping scorn upon her, but she bore it all for my sake, knowing she would be cleared when i could declare it to you." "she has not deserved the scorn, then?" "never. i would not have sought to hurt a hair of her head. say you forgive me, father!--the moments are passing." "yes, yes, i forgive you; i forgive you. oh, my boy, i forgive all. i wish i could die instead of you." "and--will you set her right with the world?" continued harry, holding his father's hand against his cheek caressingly. "it is only you who can effectually do it, i think. and allow her a little income to maintain her in comfort?" "harry, i will do all." "she is my wife, you see, father, and it is what should be. your promise will ease my soul in dying. had i lived, she would have shared my state and fortune. "all, all; i will do all," said the master of greylands. "for the past, it is not she who is to blame," continued harry, anxious that there should be no misapprehension of jane's conduct. "she would have held out against the marriage on account of my family, always begging of me to wait. but i would have my way. do not visit the blame upon her, father, for she does not deserve it." "i understand: she shall have all justice, harry. be at peace." but, in spite of this one absorbing grief for his son, there was another care that kept intruding itself in no minor degree on the master of greylands: and that was the business connected with the smugglers. how much of that was known?--how much had good fortune been enabled to keep concealed? while the doctors were again with harry towards midday, mr. castlemaine snatched a moment to go out of doors. how strange the broad glare of day appeared to him! coming out of the darkened room with its hushed atmosphere, its overlying sadness, into the light of the sun, high in the heavens, the hum of the crowding people, the stir of health and busy life, the master of greylands seemed to have passed into another world. the room he had left was as the grave, where his son would soon be; this moving scene as some passing pageantry, very redolent of mundane earth. which greylands was making the most of,--the strange accident to harry castlemaine (every whit as strange as the self-shooting that had temporarily disabled young dance; nay, stranger); or the astounding news touching the smugglers, or the reappearance of jane hallet--it was hard to say. all kinds of reports were afloat; some true, some untrue, as usual. mr. superintendent, nettleby, it appeared, had for a considerable time suspected that smuggling to an extraordinary extent was carried on somewhere along this line of coast. from information supplied to him, he had little doubt that valuable goods found their contraband entrance, somewhere; within, say, the length of a dozen miles. the difficulty was--how to hit upon the spot. surmises were chiefly directed to the little place called beeton, a mile or two higher up. it presented unusual facilities for running contraband goods; slight incidents occurred from time to time that seemed to bear out the superintendent's suspicions of it; and his chief attention was directed to that place. it was directed to any spot rather than greylands. greylands, in the estimation of the revenue-men, was exempt from suspicion, or nearly exempt. save the open beach, there was no spot at greylands where a cargo could be run--and the superintendent took care that the beach should be protected. not an idea existed that the little strip of beach under the old friar's keep could be made available for anything of the kind, or that it had a passage of communication with commodore teague's hutt, or with any other place in the world. counting on his ten fingers, mr. nettleby could number up fifteen months during which he had beset beeton like a watchdog, and nothing at all had come of it. the unsuspected greylands had been left at ease, as usual, to do what it would. upon greylands the news fell like a thunderbolt. had one of those cloud-electric missives suddenly fallen and shattered the rocks to pieces, it would not have caused more intense astonishment. the friar's keep been used as a place of smuggling for untold years!--and commodore teague was the head smuggler!--who used to stow away the goods in his big cellar till he could take them away in his spring cart! greylands knew not how to believe this: and on the commodore's score somewhat resented it, for he was an immense favourite. one fact seemed indisputable--the commodore was not to be seen this morning, and his place was shut up. the version generally believed was this. mr. superintendent nettleby, observing, after dark had fallen, a suspicious-looking vessel lying nearly close in shore, and having had his attention directed to this same vessel once or twice before, had collected his men and taken up his place in the revenue-boat, under cover of the walls of the grey nunnery, and there waited until it was time to drop upon the smugglers: which he did, catching them in the act. most of the men he surprised were sailors; he knew it by their attire and language; but there was at least one other man (if not two men) who was muffled up for disguise; and there was, without any disguise, working openly, commodore teague. the commodore and these other men--take them at two--had escaped to the ship, and neither the superintendent nor his subordinates knew who they were. the wounded sailor-prisoner was a foreigner, who could speak but a few words of english. he gave his name as jacob blum, and appeared to know little about the affair, declaring solemnly that he had joined the vessel in holland only a month before, and was not apprised that she was in the contraband trade. but harry castlemaine--what caused him to be so fatally mixed up with the fight? lacking an authorised version, the following sprung up; and, spreading from one to another, was soon accepted as truth. mr. harry, promenading about late in the night with his sweetheart, jane hallet (and sly enough she must have been, to have stayed all this while at old goody dance's, and never shown herself!), had his ears saluted with the noise and shots going on below. he rushed into the keep and down the staircase to the vaults beneath (instinct having discovered the stairs to him at the right moment, as was supposed), where he was met and struck down by a stray shot, the fighters not even knowing that he was there. jane hallet must have followed him. sister mary ursula's appearance on the scene, as mentioned by the two coastguardsmen, was accounted for in the same natural manner. she had heard the disturbance from her chamber-window--for of course the noise penetrated as far as the grey nunnery--and had gone forth, like a brave, good woman, to ascertain its meaning and see if succour was needed. all these several reports--which running from one to another, grew into assured facts, as just said, in men's minds--were listened to by mr. castlemaine. he found that, as yet, not a shade of suspicion was directed to him or his house: he fervently hoped that it might not be. that would be one sup taken out of his cup of bitterness. commodore teague was regarded as the sole offender, so far as greylands was concerned. "to think that we should have been so deceived in any man!" exclaimed the landlord of the dolphin, standing outside his door with his wife, and addressing mr. castlemaine and the crowd together. "i'd have believed anybody in the place to be a cheat, sir, rather than teague." "we have not had teague's defence yet," spoke the master of greylands. "it is not right to entirely condemn a man unheard." "but the coastguardsmen saw him there at work, sir," retorted ready-tongued mrs. bent. "henry mann says he was hard at it with his shirt sleeves stripped up. he'd not be helping for love: he must have had his own interest there." the master of greylands was wisely silent. to defend teague too much might have turned suspicion on himself: at least, he fancied so in his self-consciousness: and the probability was that the commodore would never return to ascertain how he stood with greylands. in the course of the morning, making rather more commotion with its sail than usual, tom dance's fishing-boat came sailing in. tom and his son were on board her, and a fair haul of fish. the various items of strange news were shouted out to it by half a dozen tongues as soon as it was within hailing distance. tom gave vent to sundry surprised ejaculations in return, as he found the cable and made the boat fast, and landed with a face of astonishment. the one item that seemed most to stagger him was the state of mr. harry castlemaine. "it can't be true!" he cried, standing still, while a change passed over his countenance. "shot by smugglers!--dying! mr. harry castlemaine!" "well, you see, tom, it might ha' been them preventive-men,--'twarn't obliged to ha' been they smugglers," said jack tuff. "both sides was firing off, by all account, as thick as thieves. which ever 'twas, mr. harry have got his death-shot. how wet your jersey is!" tom dance turned in at his own door, threw off the "jersey" and other articles of his fishing toggery, flung on dry things, and went up towards the throng round the dolphin. mr. castlemaine was just crossing back to the nunnery, and looked at him, some involuntary surprise in his eyes. "is it you, dance?" "it's me, sir: just got in with the tide. i be struck stupid, pretty nigh, hearing what they've been telling me, down there," added tom, indicating the beach. "ay, no doubt," said the master of greylands, in a subdued tone. but he walked on, saying no more. tom dance's confrères in the fishing trade had no idea but that he had sailed out in the ordinary way with the night tide. the reader knows that at midnight he was at least otherwise occupied. tom had done a somewhat daring act. he and his son, alike uninjured in the fray, had escaped in the ship's boats; and tom, flinging off his disguising cape and cap, his sea boots, and in fact most of his other attire, leaped into the water to swim to his fishing-boat, lying on the open beach. it was his one chance of non-discovery. he felt sure that neither he nor walter had been recognized by nettleby and his men; but, if they were to go off to holland in the ship and so absent themselves from greylands, it would at once be known that they were the two who had been seen taking part. no man in greylands was so good a swimmer as dance; and----he resolved to risk it. he succeeded. after somewhat of a battle, and the water was frightfully cold, he gained his boat. it had just floated with the incoming tide. by means of one of the ropes, of which there were several hanging over the side, he climbed on board, put on some of his sea-toggery that was there, and slipped the cable. the anchor was small, not at all difficult for one man to lift; but tom dance wanted to save both time and noise, and it was easiest to slip the cable. the moderate breeze was in his favour blowing off the land. he hoisted the staysail, and was soon nearing the ship, which was already spreading her canvas for flight. from the ship dance took his son on board. they stayed out all night, fishing: it was necessary, to give a colouring to things and avert suspicion; and they had now, close upon midday, come in with a tolerable haul of fish. walter had orders to stay on board, occupy himself there, and be still, while tom landed to gather news and to see which way the wind lay. but he had never thought to hear these sad tidings about harry castlemaine. "it has a'most done me up," he said, returning on board again and speaking to his son. "he was the finest young fellow in the country, and the freest in heart and hand. and to be struck like this!" "how much is known, father?" asked walter, stopping in his employment of sorting the fish. "nothing's known that i can hear," growled tom dance, for he was feeling the crossness of affairs just then. "it's all laid on teague's back--as teague always good-naturedly said it would be, if a blow-up came." "can teague ever come back, father?" "teague don't want to. teague has said oftentimes that he'd as soon, or sooner, be over among the dutch than here. he was always ready for the start, i expect. he'll be writing for us to go over and see him next summer." "i know he liked them foreign towns: he's often been in 'em," observed walter. "and he mist have feathered his nest pretty well." "yes; he won't need to look about him for his pipe and chop of a day. our chief nest-egg is smashed though, lad. no more secret night-work for us ever again." "well, you must have feathered the nest too, father," returned walter, privately glad that the said night-work was over, for he had never liked it in his heart. "you just hold your tongue about the feathering of nests," sharply reprimanded tom. "once let folks fancy i've got more than fishing would bring in, and they might set on to ask where it come from. your nest won't be feathered by me, i can tell ye, young man, unless you keep a still tongue in your head." "there's no fear of me, father." "and there'd better not be," concluded tom dance. "i'd ship ye off after teague, short and quick, if i thought there was." the afternoon was drawing to its close. on the rude couch, more exhausted than he had been in the morning, getting every minute now nearer to death, lay harry castlemaine. his stepmother, flora, ethel, good old sister mildred, and mary ursula, all had taken their last farewell of him. mrs. bent had contrived to get in, and had taken hers with some bitter tears. mr. parker had just gone out again: the sister in attendance, perceiving what was at hand, had soon followed him. the poor wife, jane, only acknowledged to be left, had gone through her last interview with her husband and said her last adieu. nearly paralysed with grief, suffering from undue excitement which had been repressed so long, she had relapsed into a state of alarming prostration, that seemed worse than faintness. mr. parker administered an opiate, and she was now lying on her old bed above, cared for by sister mildred. and the sole watcher by the dying bed was mr. castlemaine. oh, what sorrow was his! the only living being he had greatly cared for in the world dying before his aching eyes. it was for him he had lived, had schemed, had planned and hoped. that nefarious smuggling had been only carried on in reference to harry's prospective wealth. but for harry's future position, that mr. castlemaine had so longed to establish on a high footing, he had thrown it up long before. it was all over now; the secret work, the hope, and the one cherished life. "father, don't!" panted harry, as mr. castlemaine sat catching up ever and anon his breath in sobs, though his eyes were dry. "it may be better for me to go. i used to look forward, i've often done it, to being a good son to you in your old age: but it may be best as it is." mr. castlemaine could not trust himself to answer. "and you'll forgive me for all the trouble i've cost you! as i trust god has forgiven me. i have been thinking of him all day, father." a terrible sob now. mr. castlemaine knew not how to keep down his emotion. oh, how bitter it was to him, this closing hour, his heart aching with its pain! "it won't be so very long, father; you'll be coming, you know: and it is a journey that we must all take. what's the matter?--it's getting dark!" mr. castlemaine raised his eyes to the window. the light was certainly fading on the panes; the dusk was stealing over the winter afternoon. harry could only speak at intervals, and the words came out with long pauses between them. mr. castlemaine fancied he was beginning slightly to wander: but a great many of us are apt to fancy that when watching the dying. "and you'll take care of jane, father? just a little help, you know, to keep her from being thrown on the world. it's not much she'll want i don't ask it." the damp hand, lying in mr. castlemaine's was, pressed almost to pain; but there was no other answer. the aching heart was well-nigh unmanned. "and don't be angry with marston, father: he only did what i made him do. he is a better man than we have thought him. he was very good to me when he was here to-day, and left me comfort." mr. castlemaine lodged his elbow on his knee, and bent his brow upon his hand. for some time there was silence. harry, who had none of the restlessness sometimes characteristic of the final scene, lay quite still, his eyes closed. a very long, deep breath disturbed the silence. it startled mr. castlemaine. he looked up, and for a moment loosed the hand he held. "harry!" harry castlemaine, his eyes wide open now, raised his head from the pillow. he seemed to be staring at the windowpanes with a fixed look, as though he could see the sea that lay beyond, and found something strange in it. "father, dear father, it is she!" he burst out in his natural tones, and with a deep, exulting joy in them. "it is my mother: i know her well. oh, yes, mother, i am coming!" the master of greylands was startled. harry had never seen his mother to remember her; he knew her only by her picture, which hung in one of the rooms, and was a speaking likeness of her. harry had fallen back again, and lay with a smile upon his face. one more deep respiration came slowly forth from his lips: it was the last he had to take in this world. the bereaved father saw what it was, and all his bitter sorrow rose up within him in one long overwhelming agony. he fell upon the unconscious face lying there; his trial seeming greater than he could bear. "oh, harry, my son! my son harry! would god i could have died for thee, my son, my son!" chapter xxxvii. anthony. little explanation need be afforded in regard to the smuggling practices, so long carried on with impunity. some ten or fifteen years before, commodore teague (commodore by courtesy) had taken the hutt of old mr. castlemaine, on whose land it stood. whether the commodore had fixed on his abode there with the pre-intention to set up in the contraband trade, so much favoured then and so profitable, or whether the facilities which the situation presented for it, arising from the subterranean passage to the beach, which teague himself discovered, and which had been unknown to the castlemaines, first induced the thought, cannot be told. certain it is, that teague did organize and embark in it; and was joined in it by james castlemaine. james castlemaine was a young and active man then, ever about; and teague probably thought that it would not do to run the risk of being found out by the castlemaines. he made a merit of necessity; and by some means induced james castlemaine to join him in the work--to be his partner in it, in fact. half a loaf is better than no bread, runs the proverb, and the commodore was of that opinion. his proposal was a handsome one. james castlemaine was to take half the gross profits; he himself would take the risk, the cost, and the residue of the profits. perhaps james castlemaine required little urging: daring, careless, loving adventure, the prospect presented charms for him that nothing else could have brought. and the compact was made. it was never disclosed to his father, old anthony castlemaine, or to peter, the banker, or to any other of his kith and kin, his son harry excepted. as harry grew to manhood and settled down at greylands' rest, after his education was completed, the same cause that induced the commodore to confide in james castlemaine induced the latter to confide in his son--namely, that harry might, one of these fine nights, be finding it out for himself. harry delighted in it just as much as his father had, and took an active part in the fun a great deal oftener than his father did. harry rarely allowed a cargo to be run without him; mr. castlemaine, especially of late years, was only occasionally present. few men plotting against his majesty's revenues had ever enjoyed so complete an immunity from exposure. james castlemaine and the commodore had, to use young dance's expression, pretty well feathered their nests: and tom dance--who had been taken into confidence from the first, for the help of a strong man was needed by teague to stow away the cargoes after they were run--had not done amiss in his small way. it was over now. the fever and the excitement, the hidden peril and the golden harvest, all had come to an end, and harry castlemaine's life bad ended with them. striding over the field path that led to greylands' rest, his heart softened almost like a little child's, his tears running slowly down his cheeks unchecked, went the master of greylands from his son's death-bed. "is it retribution?" he murmured, lifting his face in the gloom of the evening. "harry's death following upon anthony's ere the year is out!" and he struck his forehead as he walked on. "i beg your pardon, sir, for speaking at this moment. may i say how truly i feel for you? i would not like you to think me indifferent to this great sorrow." the speaker was george north. they had met in the most lonely part of the road, just before the turning into the avenue close to the house gates. george north did not know that the death had actually taken place; only that it was expected ere long. all his sympathies were with mr. castlemaine: he had been feeling truly for him and for harry during the day; and in the impulse of the moment, meeting thus unexpectedly, he stopped to express it. "thank you," said mr. castlemaine, quite humbly, drawing his hand across his face. "yes, it is a bitter blow. the world's sunshine has gone out for me with it." a rapid thought came to george north. what if, in this softened mood, he were to ask for a word of anthony? if ever the master of greylands could be induced to afford information of his fate, it would be now: no other moment might ever occur so favourable as this. yes, he would; be the result what it might. "forgive me mr. castlemaine. there is a matter that i have long wished to mention to you; a question i would ask: the present, now that we are alone here, and both softened by sorrow--for believe me i do sorrow for your son more than you may suspect--seems to me to be an appropriate time. may i dare to ask it?" "ask anything," said the unconscious mourner. "can you tell me what became of young anthony castlemaine?" even in the midst of his anguish, the question gave the master of greylands a sharp sting. "what do you know about anthony castlemaine?" he rejoined. "he was my--dear friend," spoke george in agitation. "if you would but tell me, sir, what became of him! is he really dead?" "oh that he were not dead!" cried mr. castlemaine, unmanned by the past remembrances, the present pain. "he would have been some one to care for; i could have learnt to love him as my nephew. i have no one left now." "you have still a nephew, sir!" returned george, deeply agitated, a sure conviction seating itself within him at the last words, that whatever might have been the adverse fate of anthony, the sorrowing man before him had not helped to induce it. "a nephew who will ask nothing better than to serve you in all affection and duty--if you will but suffer him." mr. castlemaine looked keenly at the speaker in the evening's gloaming. "where is this nephew?" he inquired after a pause. "i am he, sir. i am george castlemaine." "you?" "yes, uncle james--if i may dare so to address you. i am poor anthony's brother." "and my brother basil's son?" "his younger son, uncle james. they named me george north." "george north castlemaine," repeated mr. castlemaine, as if wishing to familiarise himself with the name. "and you have been staying here with a view of tracing out anthony's fate?" he added, quickly arriving at the conclusion, and feeling by rapid instinct that this young man was in good truth his nephew. "yes, i have, sir and i had begun to despair of doing it. is he still living?" "no, lie is dead. he died that fatal february night that you have heard of. you have heard talk of the shot: that shot killed him." in spite of his effort for composure, george allowed a groan to escape his lips. the master of greylands echoed it. "george, my nephew, it has been an unlucky year with the castlemaines," he said in a wailing tone. "death has claimed three of us; two of the deaths, at least, have been violent, and all of them have been that sudden death we pray against sunday by sunday in the litany. my brother peter; my nephew anthony; and now my son!" the suspicion, that had been looming in george's mind since the morning, rose to the surface: a suspicion of more curious things than one. "i think i understand it," he said; "i see it all. in some such affray with the smugglers as occurred last night, anthony met his death. a shot killed him; as it has now killed another? a smuggler's shot?" "a smuggler's shot--true. but there was no affray." "tell me all, uncle james," said the young man, his beseeching tone amounting to pain. "let me share all--the trouble and doings of the past. it shall be hidden in my breast for ever." "what is it that you suspect?" "that the smuggling trade was yours: and that the fact accounts for your having been in the keep that night--for harry's being there yesterday. trust me as you have trusted your son, uncle james: it shall be ever sacred. i will sympathise with you as he has done: am i not a castlemaine?" one rapid debate in his mind, and then the master of greylands pointed to his garden and led the way to the nearest bench there: the selfsame bench that george had sat on to whisper his love-vows to ethel. he was about to disclose all to his new-found nephew, to whom his esteem and admiration had before been drawn as george north; whom he already liked, nay loved, by one of those subtle instincts rarely to be accounted for. unless he made a clean breast of all things, the fate of anthony must in some particulars still remain dark. he first of all satisfied george upon the one point which has already been declared to the reader: they were the smugglers, the castlemaines, in conjunction with the originator and active man, teague: explaining to him how it was that he had been induced to join himself to the practices. and then he went on to other matters. george castlemaine sat by his side in the dusky night, and listened to the tale. to more than he had dared to ask, or hope for, or even to think of that eventful evening. for mr. castlemaine entered upon the question of the estate: speaking at first abruptly. "greylands' rest is anthony's," said he. "anthony's!" "yes. or rather yours, now anthony is gone; but it was his when he came over. it is necessary for me to tell you this at first: one part of the story involves another. my father knew nothing of the smuggling; never had an idea of it; and the money that i gained by it i had to invest quietly from time to time through a london agent; so that he, and others, should not know i possessed it. a few weeks before my father died, he called me to him one morning to talk about the property----" "did he make a will?----i beg your pardon for my interruption, uncle james," hastily added the young man in apology for what now struck him for rudeness. "no, he did not make a will. he never made one. your grandfather was one of those men who shrink from making a will--there are many such in the world. it was less necessary in his case to make one than it is in some cases--at least he deemed it so. of his available means, basil had received his share, i had received mine, peter had had his; all, years before. nothing, save the estate, was left to will away. i see what you are wondering at, george--that out of twelve or thirteen hundred a year--for that is about what the estate brings in--your grandfather should have been able to live here so liberally and make the show we did: but during his lifetime he enjoyed nearly as much more from a relative of my mother's, which source of income went back at his death. perhaps you know this. my father began that morning to talk to me--'when do you expect basil, james?' he asked abruptly: and the question unutterably astonished me, for we had not heard from basil at all, and did not expect him. 'he will come,' said my father; 'he will come. basil will know that i must be drawing near my end, and he will come over to be ready to take possession here.' 'leave greylands' rest for me, father,' i burst out--for i had been hoping all along that it would be mine after him: i presume you see for why?" but george did not see: and said so. "on account of what went on in the friar's keep," explained mr. castlemaine. "it would not do, unless i gave up that, for me to quit this place, or for a stranger to live at it. i knew basil of old: he would just as soon have denounced it to the world as not. and, as i was not then inclined to give up anything so profitable, i wished to have greylands' rest. there is no other residence within miles of the place that would have been suitable for me and my family." "and would my grandfather not leave it to you, uncle james?" "he refused absolutely. he would not listen to me. greylands' rest must descend to basil after him, he said, and to basil's son--if basil had a son--after him. i begged him to let me purchase greylands' rest at a fair valuation, and pay over the money to him or invest it for basil. i said i was attached to the place, having lived in it all my life; whereas basil had been away from it years and years. i offered to add on to the purchase money any premium that might be named; but the old man laughed, and asked where i was to get all the money from. of course he did not know of my private resources, and i did not dare to allude to them. i brought up peter's name, saying he would assist me. peter was rolling in riches then. but it was all of no use: basil was the eldest, my father said, the rightful heir, and the estate should never pass over him for one of us. he drew up, himself, a sort of deed of gift, not a will, giving the estate to basil then; then, during his own lifetime; and he charged me, should basil not have appeared at the time of his demise, to remain in possession and keep it up for him. but he never charged me--mark you, george, he never charged me to seek basil out. and, for the matter of that, we did not know where to seek him." mr. castlemaine paused to take his hat off and wipe his brow. this confession must be costing him some pain. but for the greater pain at his heart, the hopeless despair that seemed to have fallen on the future, it had never been made. "my father died. i, according to his pleasure, remained on, the master of greylands' rest. people took it for granted it was left to me; i never gave a hint to the contrary, even to my brother peter. peter was getting into embarrassment then with his undertakings of magnitude, and came to me for money to help him. the time went on; each month as it passed and brought no sign of basil, no tidings of him, seeming to confirm me more securely in possession of the property. my father had said to me, 'should basil never reappear to claim it, nor any son of basil's, then it will be yours, james.' before the first year came to an end, i thought it was mine; as the second year advanced, it seemed so securely my own that i never gave a thought or a fear to its being taken from me. you may judge, then, what i felt when some young fellow presented himself one day at greylands' rest, without warning of any kind, saying basil was dead, that he was basil's son, and had come to claim the property." again the master of greylands paused. but this time he remained quite still. george did not interrupt him. "when i recall the shame connected with that period, and would fain plead an excuse for myself, i feel tempted to say that the excuse lay in the suddenness of the blow. you must not think me covetous, george castlemaine: love of money had nothing whatever to do with the assertion to anthony that greylands' rest was mine. i dreaded to be turned from it. i wanted, at any cost (that of honour you will say), to stay in it. at one of the interviews i had with your brother, i hinted to him that compensation might be made to him for his disappointment, even to the value of the estate, for i was rich and did not heed money. but anthony was a true castlemaine, i found, basil's own son: for he at once replied that he required only justice: if the estate was his, he must have it; if not his, he did not want to be recompensed for what he had no claim to. i was angry, mortified, vexed: he kept asking me to show the deed, or the will, by which i held it: i could not do that, for it would have been seen at once that the property was his, not mine." "perhaps you have destroyed the deed," said george. "no, i kept it. i have it still. it was always my intention to make restitution some time, and i kept the deed. my poor son would never have succeeded to greylands' rest." "who would then?" exclaimed george involuntarily. "anthony. i am speaking just now of what my thoughts and intentions were during that brief period of anthony's sojourn at greylands. but now listen, george. you must have heard that on the last day of your brother's life we had an encounter in yonder field." "oh yes, i have heard of it." "something indoors had put me frightfully out of temper, and i was in a haughty and angry mood. but, as heaven is my judge, i resolved, later on in that afternoon, to make him restitution: to give up to him the estate. after leaving him, i went on; i was, i believe, in a foaming passion, and walked fast to throw it of. in passing the churchyard, i saw that some one had been flinging some dead sticks on my father's tombstone: you know it, of course: it is the large one of white marble with the iron rails round: and i went in to clear them off. how it was i know not: i suppose heaven sends such messages to all of us: but as i stood there to read the inscription, 'anthony castlemaine, of greylands' rest,' all the folly and iniquity of my conduct rose up vividly to confront me. i saw his fine old face before me again, i seemed to hear his voice, enjoining me to hold the estate in trust for basil, or basil's son, and relying with the utmost implicit trust on my honour that i would do this. a revulsion of feeling came over me, my face flushed with its sense of shame. 'father, i will obey you,' i said aloud; 'before another day shall close, greylands' rest shall have passed to young anthony.' and it should so have passed. heaven hears me say it, and knows that i would have carried it out." "i am sure of it," said george, trustingly. it was impossible to doubt the fervent accent, the earnest tone, so replete with pain. "i am now approaching that fatal point, the death of anthony. when i went back home, i sat down to consider of the future. two plans suggested themselves to me. the one was, to take anthony into confidence as to the business transacted at the friar's keep; the other was to give the business up altogether, so far as i and harry were concerned, and to make no disclosure of it to anthony. i rather inclined to the latter course: i had realized a vast deal of money, and did not require more, and i thought it might be as well to get out of the risk while we were undiscovered. teague, who had made money also, might give it up, or continue it on his sole score and at his own risk, as he pleased. i thought of this all the evening, and between ten and eleven o'clock, after the household had gone to bed, i went down to teague's to speak to him about it. i had no particular motive, you understand, for going to teague at that late hour, the morning would have been soon enough; but i had thought myself into an impatient, restless mood, and so started off upon impulse. i stayed with teague, talking, until near half-past eleven, perhaps quite that: no decision was come to, either by me or him, as to our respective course in regard to the trade; but that made no difference to my intended communication to anthony as to the estate; and meant to send for him to greylands' rest as soon as breakfast was over on the following morning. do you believe me?" "fully, uncle james. i believe every word you say." "i am telling it before heaven," was the solemn rejoinder. "as in the presence of my dead son." and that was the first intimation george received that harry was no more. "it was, i say, about half-past eleven when i left the hutt. in turning into chapel lane i saw a man standing there, holding on by one of the trees. it was jack tuff, one of our working fishermen. he might have noticed me, though i hoped he had not; for you will readily understand that i did not care for the village to know of any night visits i might pay teague. upon reaching home i went upstairs to my bureau, and sat for a few minutes, though i really can't say how many, looking over some private papers connected with the trade. mrs. castlemaine and the household had, i say, gone to rest. i began to feel tired; i had not been well for some days; and shut the papers up until morning. chancing to look from the window before quitting the room, i saw a vessel at anchor, just in a line with the chapel ruins. it was a remarkably bright, moonlight night. the vessel looked like our vessel; the one engaged in the contraband trade; and i knew that if it was so, she had come over unexpectedly, without notice, to teague. such an occurrence was very unusual, though it had happened once or twice before. i left the house again, passed down chapel lane, and went straight over to the chapel ruins to take a nearer look at the vessel. yes, i see what you are thinking of, george--your brother and john bent did see me. bent's assertion that they stood there and watched me across is true; though i did not see them, and had no idea anyone was there. one glance was sufficient to show me that it was in truth our vessel. i hastened through the friar's keep to the secret door, and ran down the staircase. the cargo was already being run: the boats were up on the beach, and the men were wading through the water with the goods. teague was not there, nor was dance or his son: in fact, the sailors had taken us by surprise. without the delay of a moment, i ran up the subterranean passage to summon teague, and met him at the other end: he had just seen the anchored vessel. not many minutes was i away from the beach, george castlemaine, but when i got back, the mischief had been done. anthony was killed." "murdered?" "you may call it murder, if you like. his own imprudence, poor fellow, induced it. it would appear--but we shall never know the exact truth--that he must have discovered the staircase pretty quickly, and followed me down. in my haste i had no doubt left the door open. at once he was in the midst of the scene. the boats hauled up there, the goods already landed, the sailors at their hasty work speaking together in covert whispers, must have told him what it meant. in his honest impulse, but most fatal imprudence, he dashed forward amid the sailor-smugglers. 'i have caught you, you illicit villains!' he shouted, or words to that effect. 'i see what nefarious work you are engaged in: cheating his majesty's revenue. what, ho! coastguard!' before the words had well left his lips, one of the men caught up a pistol, presented it at him, and shot him dead." mr. castlemaine paused. his nephew, george, was silent from agitation. "the man who shot him was the mate of the vessel, a dutchman by birth. when teague and i reached the beach, we saw them all standing over anthony. he----" "he was dead, you say?" gasped george. "stone dead. the bullet had gone through his heart. i cannot attempt to tell you what my sensations were; but i would freely have given all i possessed, in addition to greylands' rest, to recall the act. there was a short consultation as to what was to be done with him; and, during this, one of the men drew a diamond ring from poor anthony's finger, on which the moonlight had flashed, and put it into my hand. i have it still, shut up in my bureau." george thought of this very ring--that charlotte guise had discovered and told him of. she had been deeming it the one conclusive proof against mr. castlemaine. "i spoke of christian burial for anthony: but insuperable difficulties stood in the way. it might have led to the discovery of the trade that was carried on; and van stan, the man who killed him, insisted on his being thrown at once into the sea." george groaned. "was it done?" "it was. van stan, a huge, angular fellow, he was, with the strength of ten ordinary men, cleared out one of the boats. they lifted anthony into it; he was rowed out to sea, and dropped into its midst. i can assure you, george, that for many a day i looked for the sea to cast the body ashore: but it never has cast it." "where is that van stan?" "van stan has died now in his turn. big and strong giant though he was to look at, he died in holland not long after of nothing but a neglected cold. i ought to have told you," added mr. castlemaine, "that teague went up nearly at once to lock the gate of the chapel ruins: and there he saw john bent pacing about: which made us all the more cautions below to be as silent as might be. it was our custom to lock that gate when cargoes were being run, both to guard against surprise and against anyone coming into the ruins to look out to sea. we had three keys to the gate: teague kept one; harry another; dance a third." "i wonder you could get three keys made to it without suspicion," spoke george, amid his deeper thoughts. "we got a fresh lock and its keys from over the water, and had it put on the gate without greylands being the wiser. that was many a year ago." "and--you were not present!" remarked george, his bewildered thoughts recurring to the one fatal act of the night, and speaking like a man in a dream. "no. it was exactly as i have told you. my son was also away that night: he had gone to newerton. had he or i been there, i don't know that we could have hindered it: van stan gave no more warning of what he was about to do than does a flash of lightning. poor anthony's own imprudence was in fault. he no doubt supposed that he had suddenly come upon a nest of lawless wretches; and never thought to connect them in any way with the castlemaines." "teague said that the shot that was heard by john bent and others proceeded from his gun. that was not true?" "it was not true. that he had been cleaning his gun that night, was so; for when i reached the hutt, i found him occupied at it. it was also true that he was going out for a sail next day in his yacht----" "and were you going with him as they said?" "no, i was not. but if i am to tell you all, i must proceed in my own way. i went home that night, when the work was over, with anthony's fate lying heavily upon me. after a perfectly sleepless night i was disturbed in the early morning by the news that my brother peter was dead; and i started for stilborough. in the afternoon, when i came back, i found greylands in a commotion. miles, my servant man, told me of the disappearance of anthony, and he alluded indignantly to the rumours connecting me with it. i had to meet these rumours; prudence necessitated it; and i went to the dolphin inn, where the people had mostly assembled, taking the hutt on my way. the hutt was shut up; teague was not in yet. on my way onwards i met him, just landed from his boat, and we stayed to exchange opinions. 'don't let it be known that you were out at all last night, sir,' he said. 'your man miles sticks to it that you were not, and so must you.' i should have taken this advice but for one circumstance--in for one lie in for fifty, you know; and lies i was obliged to tell, to turn all scent from the illicit trade. i told teague that in quitting the hutt the previous night at half-past eleven, i had seen tuff in the lane, and he might have recognised me. so my visit to teague had to be acknowledged and accounted for; it was the safer plan; and in a word or two we settled what the plea should be--that i had gone down to arrange about going for a sail with him the next morning in his yacht. this i spoke of at the dolphin; but other facts and rumours suggested against me i ignored. it was a terrible time," passionately added mr. castlemaine. "i never recall it without pain." "it must have been," said george in his sympathy. "teague went to the dolphin later, but i had then left the inn. he said that when he heard the people commenting on the shot, instinct prompted him to take it on himself, and he there and then avowed that the report came from his own gun. the scream he denied in toto, insisting upon it that it was all fancy. would it had been!" "would it had been!" echoed george with a groan. "it was like a fate!" burst forth the master of greylands, breaking the distressing pause. "like a fate, that i should have gone into the keep that night by way of the chapel ruins. we always avoided that way of entrance and egress, to keep observation from it. harry, i know, had used it more than he ought: it was so much more ready a way than going into teague's and passing through the long passage: but i was always cautioning him. the young are careless." "the ghost of the grey monk?" asked george. "who personated him? of course i can understand that the farce was kept up to scare the world from the friar's keep." "just so. the superstition already existed in the village, and we turned it to account. i recollect when i was a boy sundry old people testified to having been at odd times scared by the apparition at the windows of the keep when they were passing it at night. we re-organised the ghost and caused him to show himself occasionally, procuring for the purpose a monk's dress, and a lamp emitting a pale blue flame by means of spirit and salt. teague and harry were the actors; sometimes one, sometimes the other. it was an element of fun in my poor boy's life." mr. castlemaine rose with the last words. he had need of repose. "i will see you again in the morning, george. come to me at what hour you please, and i will introduce you to my wife by your true name. greylands' rest is yours, you know, now." "i--but i do not wish you to go out of it, uncle james," said george in his impulse of generosity. "i shall be only too glad to get out of it as soon as may be," was the impressive answer. "do you think i could bear to live in it now? would to heaven i had gone out of it before this fatal year! george," he added, with a gasp of agitation, "as i was walking home just now i asked myself whether the finger of god had not been at work. these illicit practices of mine caused the death of anthony; i denied that death, concealed it, have attempted to ridicule it to the world: and now my own and only son has died the same miserable death; been shot down, perhaps, by the very selfsame pistol. it is retribution, lad." "i wish i could comfort you!" whispered george. a moment's silence and mr. castlemaine recovered himself; his tone changed. "the revenues of the estate have been put by since nay father's death: left for such a moment as this: i told you i did not mean to keep possession always. they shall be paid over to you." "they are not mine, uncle james. up to last february they were anthony's." "anthony is dead." "but he left a wife and child." "a wife and child! anthony! was it a boy? perhaps i have spoken too fast." "it is a girl," said george, not deeming it well to enter on the subject of madame guise before the morrow. mr. castlemaine had been tried enough for one day. "oh, a girl. then you take greylands' rest. at least--i suppose so," added mr. castlemaine doubtfully. "my brother basil made a will?" "oh, yes. he made a fresh will as soon as he heard of his father's death. he bequeathed greylands' rest (assuming that it was then his) to anthony and to his sons, should he have any, in succession after him: failing sons, he left it to me after anthony." "that is all legal then. until to-morrow morning, george." with a pressure of the hand, the master of greylands went down the path to his house, and let himself in with his latchkey. the doors were closed, the blinds were down; for tidings of harry's death were already carried there. he went straight up to that solitary room, and shut himself in with his bitter trouble. he was not a cruel man, or a vindictive man, or a covetous man. no, nor a false man, save in that one unhappy business relating to his nephew anthony. all his efforts for many a year had been directed to ward off suspicion from the doings of the friar's keep: and when anthony so unexpectedly appeared, his rejection of his claims had not been for the sake of retaining the revenues that were not his, but because he would not, if he could help it, quit the house. the one short sentence just spoken to george, "i have put by the revenues since my father's death," conveyed a true fact. mr. castlemaine did not wish for the revenues or intend to appropriate them, unless he was assured that his brother basil and basil's heirs had alike failed. he would have liked to send anthony back to france, pay him what was due, and buy the estate from him. to have had the fraudulent doings discovered and brought home to him would have been to the master of greylands worse than death. it was to keep them secret that he discouraged the sojourn of strangers at greylands; that he did not allow harry to enter on an intimacy with any visitors who might be staying there: and of late he had shown an impatience, in spite of his liking for him, for the departure of the gentleman-artist, george north. his dislike of the grey sisters had its sole origin in this. he always dreaded that their attention might be attracted some night to the boats, putting off from the contraband vessel; and he would have shut up the grey nunnery had it been in his power. that mary ursula, with her certain income, small though it was, should have joined the sisterhood, tried him sorely; both from this secret reason and for her own sake. nearly as good, he thought, that she had been buried alive. it was all over now, and the end had come. the last cargo had now been run, the lucrative trade and its dash of lawless excitement had been stopped for ever. this would not have troubled him: he was getting tired of it, he was getting afraid of it: but it had left its dreadful consequences in its train; dealt, as may be said, a final death-blow at parting. harry castlemaine had passed away, and with him the heart's life of the master of greylands. chapter xxxviii. rebellion. "it is the most ridiculously sentimental piece of business that i ever heard of in my life!" spoke mrs. castlemaine, in a tone between a sob and a shriek. "nevertheless, it is what must be," said her husband. "it is decided upon." the morrow had come. george north--but we must put aside that name now--was at greylands' rest, and had held his further private conference with mr. castlemaine. the latter knew who madame guise was now, and all about it, and the motive of her residence in his house. he did not know of her having visited his bureau and seen the ring. he never would know it. partial reticence was necessary on both sides, and each had somewhat to be ashamed of that the other did not suspect or dream of. george castlemaine, lying awake that night at the dolphin inn--his whole heart aching for his uncle, his saddest regrets, past and present, given to his brother and his cousin--had been, to use a familiar saying, turning matters about in his mind, to see what was the best that might be made of them. greylands' rest was his: there was no question of that; and he must and should take possession of it, and make it his abode for the future. but he hated to be the means of throwing discredit on his uncle: and this step would naturally throw on him discredit in men's minds. if greylands' rest was the younger brother george's now, it must have been the elder brother anthony's before him: and all the deceit, suspected of the master of greylands earlier in the year, would be confirmed. was there any way of preventing this? george thought there was. and he lay dwelling on this and other difficulties until morning, and found his way. "the world need never know that it was anthony's, uncle james," he said, wringing his uncle's hand to give force to his argument. "let it be supposed that the estate was only to lapse to him after harry--that harry came in first by my grandfather's will. none can dispute it. and you can make a merit, you know, of giving it up at once to me, not caring to remain here now harry is gone." a gleam of light, like a bit of blue sky suddenly shining out of leaden clouds, dawned on mr. castlemaine's face. the prospect of tacitly confessing himself a traitor before his fellow men had made a large ingredient in his cup of bitterness. "nothing need ever be specially proclaimed," resumed george. "nobody in the world has a right to inquire into our affairs, to say to us, how is this? or, how is that? it can be understood that this is the case. even to your own--your own family"--(the word on george's tongue had been "wife," but he changed it)--"you need not give other explanation. let this be so, uncle james. it is for the honour of the castlemaines." "yes, yes; it would take a load from me--if--if it may be done," said the master of greylands dreamily. "i see no reason why it should not be," he added, after consideration. "it lies, george, with you. you alone know the truth." "then that is settled. be assured, uncle james, that i shall never betray it. i shall accustom myself to think that it is so; that i only came in after harry; in time i daresay i shall quite believe it." and so, as george said, it was a settled thing. that version of the affair went abroad, and james castlemaine's credit was saved. his credit had also to be saved on another score: the death of anthony. the fact, that he was dead, could no longer be kept from the curious neighbourhood: at least, it would have been in the highest degree inexpedient not to clear it up: but the master of greylands' knowledge of it might still be denied and concealed. the exact truth in regard to his death, the true particulars of it, might be made known: anthony had found his way down to the lower vaults of the friar's keep, that night; had pounced upon the smugglers, then running a cargo; they had shot him dead, and then flung him into the sea. the smugglers were doing their work alone that night, commodore teague not being with them, and they were the sole authors of the calamity. every word of this was correct, and george would enlighten the world with this, and no more. if questions were put to him as to how he came into possession of the facts, he would avow that the smugglers had confessed it to him, now that their visits to the coast were at an end for ever. he would say that the man who shot him had taken anthony to be a coastguardsman: and this was fact also: for van stan said afterwards that in the surprise and confusion he had thought this; had thought that the preventive-men were on them. the master of greylands would hold his own as to his ignorance and innocence: and mr. john bent must go on working out the puzzle, of having fancied he saw him that night, to the end. neither need madame guise be quite entirely enlightened. george, a castlemaine himself and jealous of the family's good name, would not, even to her, throw more discredit than need be on his father's brother. he would not tell her that mr. castlemaine had been one with the smugglers; but he would tell her that he knew of the practices and kept silence out of regard to commodore teague. he would disclose to her the full details of that night, as they occurred, but not that mr. castlemaine had been at all upon the beach, before anthony or after him; he would say that when anthony's fate was disclosed to him, and the ring handed over, the most lively regret and sorrow for him took possession of his uncle, but to proclaim that he had been made cognisant of it would have done no good whatever, and ruined the commodore. well, so far, that was all true, and charlotte guise must make the best of it. mr. castlemaine intimated that he should settle a sum of money upon the little child, marie; and the revenues of greylands' rest for the period intervening between his father's death and anthony's death would, of course, be paid over to charlotte. george, while this was being spoken of, privately resolved to take on himself the educational expenses of the child. it was in mr. castlemaine's room that this conference with george took place. mr. castlemaine unlocked the bureau, produced the ring, and placed it on george's finger. george took it off. "i think his wife should have this, uncle james. she may like to keep it." "who gave it to anthony?" asked mr. castlemaine. "my mother. it had belonged to her father, and to his father before him. she gave it to anthony before she died, telling him it was an heirloom and charging him ever to wear it in remembrance of her." "then i think it should now be worn by you, george; but settle it with madame guise as you will. who was your mother? an englishwoman?" "oh yes. miss north. it was her brother, mr. george north, who stood godfather to me, and who left me all his private fortune. he was in the silk mills, and died quite a young man and a bachelor." "ay," said mr. castlemaine, rather dreamily, his thoughts back with his brother basil, "you have money, george, i know. is it much?" "it is altogether nearly a thousand pounds a year. some of it came to me from my father." "and ethel has about seven hundred a year," remarked mr. castlemaine. "and there will be the revenues of greylands' rest: twelve hundred, or thereabouts. you will be a rich man, george, and can keep up as much state as you please here." it will be seen by this that george castlemaine had asked his uncle for ethel. mr. castlemaine was surprised: he had not entertained the remotest suspicion of any attachment between them: but he gave a hearty consent. he had liked george; he was fond of ethel; and the match for her was excellent. "i would just as soon not take her away with us when we leave, except as a temporary arrangement," was his candid avowal. "mrs. castlemaine does not make her home too pleasant; she will be happier with you." "oh, i hope so!" was the hasty, fervent answer. the conference, which had been a long one, broke up. george went away to his interview of explanation with madame guise, who as yet knew nothing; and the master of greylands summoned his wife to the room. he informed her briefly of the state of things generally: telling her who george north was, and of anthony's death: using the version that george had suggested, and keeping himself, as to the past, on neutral ground altogether. she was not to know even as much as madame guise, but to understand, as the world would, that her husband only learnt the truth now. now that poor harry was gone, he said, george came next in the succession to greylands' rest, and he (mr. castlemaine) had resolved to give it up to him at once. mrs. castlemaine, who did not feel at all inclined to quit greylands' rest, went into a state of rebellions indignation forthwith, and retorted with the remark already given. "why 'must' it be?" she asked. "where lies the obligation?" "nothing would induce me to remain in this house now harry is gone," he answered. "i wish i was away from it already: the reminiscences connected with it are so painful that i can bear to stay in it for the short while that we must stay. when a blight like this falls upon a family, sophia, it frequently brings changes in its train." mrs. castlemaine, biting her lips in temper, was not ready with a rejoinder. in the face of this plea, her stepson's death, it would not be decent to say too much. moreover, though her husband was an excellent man in regard to allowing her full sway in trifles, she knew by experience that when it came to momentous affairs, she might as well attempt to turn the sea as to interfere with his will. "i like greylands' rest," she said. "i have lived in it since you brought me home. flora was born here. it is very hard to have to hear of leaving it." mr. castlemaine had his back to her, tearing up some papers that were in a drawer of his bureau. it looked exactly as though he were already making preparations for the exit. "and i expected that this would have been my home for life," she added more angrily, his silence increasing her feelings of rebellion. "no, you did not expect it," said he, turning round. "i heard my father inform you, the very day after you came here, that greylands' rest would descend to his eldest son; not to me." "it did descend to you," was all she said. "but it is mine no longer. harry is gone, and i resign it to my eldest brother's only remaining son." "it is absurd chivalry even to think of such a thing," she retorted, her lip quivering, her throat swelling. "one would fancy you had taken leave of your senses, james." "the less said about the matter the better," he answered, turning to his papers again. "at greylands' rest, now my son is gone, i cannot and will not stay: and george north--george castlemaine--comes into possession of it." "do you resign to him the income of the estate as well as the house?" inquired mrs. castlemaine, as much mockery in her tone as she dared to use. "the arrangements i choose to make with him are my own, sophia, and are private between himself and me. whithersoever i may go, i shall take as good an income with me as you have enjoyed here." "and where shall you go?" "i think at first we will travel for a bit. you have often expressed a wish for that. afterwards we shall see. perhaps you would like to settle in london, and for myself i care very little where it is." a vision of the seductions of london--its shops, its shows, its theatres, its gay life generally--rose attractively, as in a vision, before mrs. castlemaine. she had never been to the metropolis in her life, and quite believed its streets were paved with gold. "one thing i am surprised at, james," she resumed quitting that bone of contention for another. "that you should give consent off hand, as you tell me you have done, to ethel's marriage with a stranger." "a stranger! we have seen a good deal of him in the past few months; and he is my nephew." "but a very disreputable kind of nephew. really i must say it! he has concealed his name from us, and has aided and abetted that governess in concealing hers! it is not reputable." "but i have explained the cause to you. the poor woman came to the place to seek out her husband, and thought she should have a better chance of success if she dropped his name and appeared as a stranger. george came over in his turn, and at her request dropped his. remember one thing, sophia, the concealment has not injured us; and madame guise has at least been an efficient governess for flora, and done her duty well." "i should certainly think twice before i gave him ethel. such haste! i don't see" (and here a little bit of the true animus peeped out) "why ethel should have the pleasure of staying on at greylands' rest for good, while i and flora are to be forced to leave it!" no answer. "all the pleasant places of the dear child!--that have been hers from childhood--that she has grown up attached to! her very swing in the garden!--the doll's house in the nursery! everything." "she can take her swing and her doll's house with her." "and for that ethel to stay, and come in for all the benefit! if she must marry george north i should at least make her wait a twelvemonth." "they shall be married as soon as they please," said mr. castlemaine. "he will make her a good husband; i am sure of it: and his means are large. her home with him will be happier than you have allowed it to be with us: i did not forget that in my decision." the lips of mrs. castlemaine were being bitten to nothing. whatever she said seemed to get twisted and turned against her. but she fully intended at some more auspicious moment, when her husband should be in a less uncompromising mood, to have another trial at retaining greylands' rest. if she had but known the real truth!--that it was george castlemaine's by inheritance, and had been his since that past february night! meanwhile george himself was with madame guise, making known to her the elucidation of many things and of the manner of anthony's death. poor charlotte guise, demonstrative as are most french women sobbed and exclaimed as she listened, and found that what she had feared was indeed a certainty. it was the shot of that fatal february night that had killed her husband: the scream heard had been his death-scream. she was in truth a widow and her child fatherless. but, when the first shock lifted itself--and it was perhaps less keenly felt in consequence of what may be called these many long months of preparation for it--her thoughts turned to mr. castlemaine. the certainty that he was innocent--for she implicitly believed her brother-in-law's version of the past--brought to her unspeakable relief. prejudice apart, she had always liked mr. castlemaine: and she now felt ashamed for having doubted him. "if i had but taken the courage to declare myself to him at first, and what my mission was in england, i might have been spared all this dreadful suspicion and torment!" she cried, her tears dropping softly. "and it has been a torment, i assure you, george, to live in the same house with mr. castlemaine, believing him guilty. and oh! to think that i should have opened that bureau! will he ever forgive me?" "you must not tell him of that," said george gravely. "i speak in your interest alone, charlotte. it would answer no good end to declare it; and, as it happened, no harm was done." "no harm but to me," she moaned. "since i saw that ring, my fears of mr. castlemaine and my own trouble have increased tenfold." george held out the ring, saying that mr. castlemaine had just handed it to him. "he says," continued george, "that the one problem throughout it all which he could not solve, was why anthony's friends never came over to institute a search for him, or made inquiry by letter." "ah, yes," said madame guise, "there have been problems on all sides, no doubt--and the looking back at them seems quite to bewilder me." she had been slipping the sparkling diamond ring on and off her slender finger that wore the wedding-ring. "take it, george," she said, giving it back to him. "nay, it is yours, charlotte: not mine." "but no," she answered in some surprise. "this is your family's ring, bequeathed to you by your mother. anthony would have worn it always had he lived; you must wear it now. let me put it on for you." "it might be a consolation to you to keep it." "i have other relics of anthony's. there is his watch, and the chain; and there must be some little treasures in his desk. mr. bent will hand them over to me when he knows who i am. but as to this ring, george, i have no claim to it: nor would i keep it while you and emma live." "were his watch and chain saved?" exclaimed george. "why yes. did you never hear that? mr. bent keeps them locked up with the other things. anthony had been writing in his parlour that night at the dolphin, you know; it was supposed that he put off his watch to look how the time went: at any rate it was found on the table the next morning by the side of his desk." george sighed deeply. all these trifles connected with his brother's last day on earth were so intensely painful. never, as he fully believed, should he look at the glittering ring, now on his finger, without recalling anthony to memory. charlotte sat down and burst into renewed tears. "where is ethel?" he asked. "she was in the schoolroom just now, crying. ah, george, she feels mr. harry's death very much: she liked him as a brother." george proceeded to the schoolroom. as he was entering, flora darted out, her eyes swollen, her cheeks enflamed. she, too, had loved her half-brother, for all her careless ways and his restraining hand. george would have detained her to speak a kind word, but she suddenly dipped her head and flew past, under his arm. ethel was not crying now. she stood by the fire, leaning her pretty head against the mantelpiece. her back was towards the door, and she was not aware that it was george who entered. "my darling, i fear this is a sad trial to you," he said, advancing. his voice brought to her a start of surprise; his words caused the tears to flow again. george drew her to him, and she sobbed on his breast. "you don't know what it is," she said quite hysterically. "i used to be at times cross and angry with him. and now i find there was no cause for it, that he was married all the while. oh if i had but known!--he should never have heard from me an unkind word." "be assured of one thing, ethel--that he appreciated your words at their proper due only, and laughed at them in his heart. he knew you loved him as a brother: and i am sure he was truly attached to you." "yes, i do know all that. but--i wish i had been always kind to him," she added, as she drew away and stood as before. "i come from a long talk with mr. castlemaine," said george, after a minute's pause, putting his elbow on the opposite end of the mantel piece to face her while he spoke "i have been asking him for you, ethel." "ye--s?" she faltered, her eyes glancing up for a moment, and then falling again. "asking him to-day?" "you are thinking that it is not the most appropriate day i could have chosen: and that's true. but, in one sense, i did not choose it. we had future plans of different kinds to discuss, and this one had to come in with them. i come to make a confession to you, ethel, to crave your pardon. the name under which i have won you, george north, is not my true name. at least, not all my name. i am a castlemaine. mr. castlemaine's nephew, and that poor lost anthony's brother." ethel looked bewildered. "a castlemaine!" she repeated. "how can that be?" "my dear, it is easy to understand. mr. basil castlemaine, he who settled abroad, was the eldest brother of this house, you know, years ago. anthony was basil's elder son, i his younger. i came over to discover what i could of anthony's fate, and i dropped temporarily the name of castlemaine, lest my being recognised as one of the family might impede my search. my uncle james condones it all; and i believe he thinks that i was justified. i have now resumed my name--george north castlemaine." ethel drew a deep breath. she was trying to recover her astonishment. "would it pain you very much, ethel, to know that you would make no change in your residence?--that you would spend your life at greylands' rest?" "i--do not understand you," she faintly said, a vision of remaining under mrs. castlemaine's capricious control for ever, and of being separated from him, rushing over her like an ugly nightmare. "greylands' rest is to be my home in future, ethel. mr. and mrs. castlemaine leave it----" "yours!--your own?" she interrupted in excitement. "this house! greylands' rest?" "yes; my own. it is mine now. i come in after harry," he added very hurriedly, to cover the last sentence, which had slipped out inadvertently: "and my uncle resigns it to, me at once." "oh dear," said ethel, more and more bewildered. "but it would cost so much to live here." "not more than i can afford to spend," he answered with a smile. "i told you, ethel, if you remember, that i expected to come into some property, though i was not sure of it. i have come into it. what would have been poor anthony's had he lived, is now mine." "but--is anthony really dead?" "ay. i will tell you about it later. the present question is, ethel, whether you will share my home here at greylands' rest." he spoke with a smile, crossed over, and stood before her on the shabby old hearthrug. just one moment of maiden hesitation, of a sweet rising blush, and she bent forward to the arms that were opened to encircle her. "one home together here," he fondly murmured, bending his face on hers. "one heaven hereafter." chapter xxxix. no turning back. once more the whole population of greylands turned out in commotion. a sad and silent commotion, however, this time, as befitted the cause. voices were hushed to a low tone, faces showed sadness, the church bell was tolling. people had donned their best attire; the fishermen were in their churchgoing clothes, their boats, hauled up on the beach or lying at anchor, had rest to-day. all who could muster a scrap of mourning had put it on, though it was but an old crape hatband, or a bit of black bonnet-ribbon. mr. harry castlemaine was about to be buried; and he had been a favourite with high and low. they made their comments as they stood waiting for the funeral. the december day was raw and dull, the grey skies seeming to threaten a fall of some kind; but mrs. bent pronounced it not cold enough for snow. she stood at her front door, wearing a black gown, and black strings to her cap; and was condescendingly exchanging remarks with some of her inferior neighbours, and with mrs. and miss pike, who had run over from the shop. "we shall never have such a week o' surprises as this have been," pronounced mrs. pike, a little red-faced woman, who was this morning in what she called "the thick of a wash," and consequently had come out en déshabille, a shawl thrown over her cap, underneath which peeped out some black straggling curls. "first of all, about them smugglers and poor mr. harry's wound and death, and that good-hearted commodore having to decamp himself off, through them ferreting coastguards. and now to hear that the gentleman staying here so long is one o' the castlemaines theirselves, and heir to greylands' rest after mr. harry! it beats the news column in the stilborough paper holla." "'twere a sad thing, though, about that young mr. anthony," exclaimed old ben little. "the smugglers shot him dead, ye see, and that scream mr. bent said he heard were his. full o' life one moment, and shot down the next! them wretches ought to have swung for it." "it be a pack o' surprises, all on't, but the greatest on 'em be jane hallet," quoth nancy gleeson. "when it come out that mr. harry had married her, you might ha' sent me down head for'ard with a feather--just as mr. harry sent down our tim one day, when he said a word again' her." "it was very sly of jane," struck in miss susan pike, tossing her curls. "never saying a word to a body, and making believe as it was just talk about her and mr. harry, and nothing else. i'd like to know how she wheedled him over." "it's not for you to speak against her, susan pike," cried mrs. bent in her sharpest tone. "you didn't wheedle him, and wasn't likely to. she is mr. harry's wife--widow, worse luck!--and by all accounts no blame's due to her. mr. castlemaine gives none: and we heard yesterday he was going to settle two hundred a year on her for life." "my! won't she set up for a lady!" enviously returned miss pike, ignoring the reprimand. "don't you be jealous, and show it, susan pike," retorted mrs. bent. "everybody liked jane: and we are all glad--but you--that she's cleared from the scandal. i did think it odd that she should go wrong." "her aunt have got her home now, and have took up all her proud airs again," said mrs. pike, not pleased that her daughter should be put down. "that miss hallet have always thought none of us was good enough for her." "hist!" said ben little, in a hushed voice. "here it comes." on the evening of the day following the death, the remains of harry castlemaine, then in their first coffin, had been conveyed to his home. it was from greylands' rest, therefore, that the funeral procession was now advancing. the curious spectators stretched their necks aloft to watch its onward progress; but as it came near they retreated into the hedges, so to say, and compressed themselves into as small a space as possible; the men, with one accord, taking off their hats. it was a perfectly simple funeral. the state rather loved by the castlemaines, and hitherto maintained by the master of greylands, it had not pleased him to extend to the obsequies of his son. two mutes with their batons of sable plumes were in advance; parson marston followed in his surplice and black hood, walking at the head of the coffin, which was covered by its pall, and carried by carriers. close to the coffin came mr. castlemaine; his nephew, george, accompanying him. squire dobie, long recovered from his illness, and mr. knivett walked next; two gentlemen from stilborough, and the doctors, parker and croft, brought up the rear. these comprised all the ostensible mourners: they wore crape scarfs and hat-bands that nearly swept the ground, and had white handkerchiefs in their hands; but behind them were many followers: john bent, superintendent nettleby, and others, who had fallen in as the procession left the house; and miles and the other men-servants closed it. whether any suspicion penetrated to mr. superintendent nettleby, then or later, that it was not mere accident which had taken harry to the secret vaults of the keep that night, cannot be known. he never gave utterance to it, then or later. the people came out of the hedges after it had passed, and followed it slowly to the churchyard. mr. marston had turned and was waiting at the gate to receive the coffin, reading his solemn words. and for once in his life parson marston was solemn too. "i am the resurrection and the life, saith the lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die." a sob of pain, telling what this calamity was to him, rose in the throat of the master of greylands. few men could control themselves better than he: and he struggled for calmness. if he gave way at this, the commencement of the service, how should he hold out to the end? so his face took its pale impassive look again, as he followed on through the churchyard. it was not the custom at that time for women to attend the obsequies of those in the better ranks of life. women followed the poor, but never the rich. neither did any, save those bidden to a funeral, attempt to enter the church as spectators: or at least, it was done but in very rare cases. the crowd who had gathered by the dolphin inn, to watch it pass, took up their standing in the churchyard. from time to time the voice of mr. marston was heard, and that of the clerk in the amens; and soon the procession was out again. the grave--or rather the vault--of old anthony castlemaine, had been opened in the churchyard, and harry was laid there in it. his own mother was there: the coffins lay two abreast. the master of greylands saw his wife's as he looked in. the inscription was as plain as though she had been buried yesterday: "maria castlemaine. aged twenty-six." another sob shook his throat as harry's was lowered on it, and for a minute or two he broke down. it was all soon over, and they filed out of the churchyard on their way back to greylands' rest. leaving the curious and sympathising crowd to watch the grave-diggers, and lament one to another that the fine, open-hearted young man had been taken away so summarily, and to elbow one another as they pushed round to see the last of his coffin, and to read its name: "henry castlemaine. aged twenty-six." so he had died at just the same age as his mother! miss castlemaine sat in the parlour at the grey nunnery, the little marie on her knee. since she knew who this child was--a mary ursula, like herself, and a castlemaine--a new interest had arisen for her in her heart. she was holding the little one to her, looking into her face, and tracing the resemblance to the family. a great resemblance there undoubtedly was: the features were the clearly-cut castlemaine features, the eyes were the same dark lustrous eyes; and mary most wondered that the resemblance had never previously struck her. once more mary had put aside the simple grey dress of the sisterhood for robes of mourning: flowing robes, they were, of silk and crape, worn for poor harry. the cap was on her head still, shading her soft brown hair. it was the week subsequent to the funeral. on the following day madame guise (as well retain the name to the last) was about to return to her own land with her child, escorted thither by george castlemaine. it was not to be a perpetual separation, for charlotte had faithfully promised to come over at least once in three years to stay with george and ethel at greylands' rest, so as to give her child the privilege of keeping up relations with the castlemaine family. a slab was to be placed in the church to the memory of anthony, and that, madame guise said, would of itself bring her. she must afford herself the mournful satisfaction of reading it from time to time. after her departure mary ursula was to go to greylands' rest on a short farewell visit to her uncle. it would be christmastide, and she would spend the christmas there. mr. and mrs. castlemaine were losing no time in their departure from greylands' rest; they would be gone, with ethel and flora, before the new year came in. mr. castlemaine would not stay in it to see the dawning of another year: the last one, he said, had been too ill-fated. george would return as soon as might be to take up his abode there--but travelling on the continent was somewhat uncertain at that season. during the winter mr. and mrs. castlemaine would remain in london; and in the spring george was to go up there for his marriage, and bring ethel home. "marie must not forget her english," said mary ursula, pressing a kiss on the child's face. "marie not fordet it, lady." "and marie is to come sometimes and see her dear old friends here; mamma says so; and uncle george will----" "a gentleman to see you, madam." little sister phoeby had opened the parlour door with the announcement, and was showing the visitor in. mary thought it must be mr. knivett, and wondered that she had not heard the gate-bell. the fact was, sister phoeby had had the front door open, to let out the school children. it was not mr. knivett who entered, but a much younger man: one whom, of all the world, mary would have least expected to see--sir william blake-gordon. he came forward, holding out his hand with trepidation, his utterly colourless face betraying his inward emotion. mary rose, putting down the child, and mechanically suffered her hand to meet his. sister phoeby beckoned out the little girl, and shut the door. "will you pardon my unauthorised intrusion?" he asked, putting his hat on the table and taking a chair near her. "i feared to write and ask permission to call, lest you should deny it to me." "i should not have denied it--no; my friends are welcome here," replied mary, feeling just as agitated as he, but successfully repressing its signs. "you have, no doubt, some good reason for seeking me." she spoke with one of her sweetest smiles: the smile that she was wont to give to her best friends. how well he remembered it! "you have heard--at least i fancy you must have heard--some news of me," resumed sir william, speaking with considerable embarrassment and hesitation. "it has been made very public." mary coloured now. about a fortnight before, mr. knivett had told her that the projected marriage of sir william with miss mountsorrel was at an end. the two lovers had quarrelled and parted. sir william sat looking at mary, either waiting for her answer, or because he hesitated to go on. "i heard that something had occurred to interrupt your plans," said mary. "it is only a temporary interruption, i trust." "it is a lasting one," he said; "and i do not wish it to be otherwise. oh, mary!" he added, rising in agitation, "you know, you must know, how hateful it was to me! i entered into it to please my father; i never had an iota of love for her. love! the very word is desecrated in connection with what i felt for miss mountsorrel. i really and truly had not even friendship for her; i could not feel it. when we parted, i felt like a man who has been relieved from some heavy weight of dull despair; it was as though i had shaken off a felon's chains." "what caused it?" questioned mary, feeling that she must say something. "coolness caused it. for the very life of me i was unable to behave to her as i ought--as i suppose she had a right to expect me to behave. since my father's death i had been more distant than ever, for i could not help remembering the fact that, had i held out against his will until then, i should have been free: and i resented it bitterly in my heart. resented it on her, i fear. she reproached me with my coolness one day--some two or three weeks ago, it is. one word led to another; we had a quarrel and she threw me up." "i am sorry to hear it," said mary. "can you say that from your heart?" he put the subdued question so pointedly, and there was so wistful an expression of reproach in his face that she felt confused. sir william came up close, and took her hands. "you know what i have come for," he cried, his voice hoarse with agitation. "i should have come a week ago but that it was the period of your deep mourning. oh, mary! let it be with us as it used to be! there can be no happiness for me in this world apart from you. since the day of my father's death i have never ceased to--to--i had almost said to curse the separation that he forced upon us; or, rather to curse my weakness in yielding to it. oh, my darling, forgive me!--my early and only love, forgive me i come to me mary, and be my dear wife!" the tears were running down her face. utterly unnerved, feeling how entirely the old love was holding sway in her heart, she let her hands lie in his. "i am not rich, as you know, mary; but we shall have enough for comfort. your position at least, as lady blake gordon, will be assured, and neither of us cares for riches. our tastes are alike simple. do you remember how we both used to laugh at undue parade and show?" "hush, william! don't tempt me." "not tempt you! my dear one, you must be mine. it was a sin to separate us: it would be a worse sin to prolong the separation now that impediments are removed." "i cannot turn back," she said.. "i have cast my lot in here, and must abide by it. i--i--seem to see--to see more surely and clearly day by day as the days go on"--she could scarcely speak for agitation--"that god himself has led me to this life; that he is showing me hour by hour how to be more useful in it. i may not quit it now." "do you recall the fact, mary, that your father gave you to me? it was his will that we should be man and wife. you cannot refuse to hear my prayer." none knew, or ever would know, what that moment was to mary ursula: how strong was the temptation that assailed her; how cruelly painful to resist it. but, while seductive love showed her the future, as his wife, in glowing colours, reason forbade her yielding to it. argument after argument against it crowded into her mind. she had cast in her lot with these good ladies; she had made the poor patient community, struggling before with need and privation, happy with her means. how could she withdraw those means from them? she had, in her own heart, and doing it secretly as to christ, taken up her cross and her work in this life that she had entered upon. when she embraced it, she embraced it for ever: to turn away from it now would be like a mockery of heaven. involuntarily there arose in her mind a warning verse of holy writ, strangely applicable. she thought it might almost have been written for her; and a breathed word of silent prayer went up from her heart that she might be helped and strengthened. "you know, mary, that mr. peter castlemaine----" "just a moment, william," she interrupted, lifting her hand pleadingly. "let me think it out." there were worldly reasons also why she should not yield, she went on to think: ay, and perhaps social ones. what would the public say if, during this temporary estrangement from agatha mountsorrel, this trumpery quarrel, she were to seize upon him again with indecent haste, and make him her own? what would her own sense of right say to it?--her maidenly propriety?--her untarnished spirit of honour? no, it could not be: the world might cry shame on her, and she should cry it on herself. sir william blake-gordon interrupted her with his impassioned words. this moment, as it should be decided, seemed to be to him as one of life or death. "william, hush!" she said, gazing at him through her blinding tears, and clasping his hands, in which hers still rested, almost to pain in her mind's anguish. "it may not be." "sit you down, my love, and be calm. i am sure you are hardly conscious of what you say. oh, mary, reflect! it is our whole life's happiness that is at stake: yours and mine." they sat down side by side; and when her emotion had subsided she told him why it might not, giving all the reasons for her decision, and speaking quietly and firmly. he pleaded as though he were pleading for life itself, as well as its happiness: but he pleaded in vain. all the while she was repeating to herself that verse of warning, as if she dreaded letting it go from her for a moment. "we will be as dear brother and sister, william, esteeming each other unto our lives' end, and meeting occasionally. you will still marry agatha----" "mary!" "yes, i think it will be so; and i hope and trust you will be happy together. i am sure you will be." "our time together is short enough to-day, mary. do not waste it in these idle words. if you knew how they grate on me!" "well, i will leave that. but you must not waste your life in impossible thoughts of me and of what might have been. it would render impracticable our intercourse as friends. thank you for what you have come this day to say: it will make my heart happier when its tumult and agitation shall be over." once more, by every argument in his power to call up, by the deep love and despair at his heart, he renewed his pleading. but it did not answer. the interview was prolonged to quite an unusual period, and was painful on both sides, but it terminated at length; and when william blake-gordon left her presence he left it as her lover for ever. conclusion. winter had passed: summer had come round again. greylands basked in the light and heat of the june sun; the sea lay sleeping under the fishing boats. there's not much to tell. greylands' rest had its new inmates: george castlemaine and his wife. ethel told her secrets to her husband now instead of to the sea: but they both were fond of sitting on the high cliffs together and watching its waves. mr. and mrs. castlemaine were somewhere abroad, intending to stay there until autumn: and miss flora was where poor harry always said she ought to be--at a good school. mr. castlemaine had carried his point, in spite of the opposition of his wife. it must be one of two things, he said: either that mrs. castlemaine stayed in england herself, or else that she disposed in some way of flora; for flora he was fully determined not to have abroad with him. so, being bent upon the foreign travel, mrs. castlemaine had to yield. jane hallet--old names stand by us--had taken up her abode again with her aunt, in the pretty home on the cliff. it would probably be her dwelling-place for life. unless, indeed, she carried out the project she had been heard once to mention--that, whenever her aunt should be called away, she hoped to join the community of the grey sisters. very sad and gentle and subdued did jane look in her widow's cap. there was a little stone now in the churchyard to the memory of "jane, infant child of harry castlemaine:" it had been placed there, unasked, by the master of greylands; and just as jane used to steal down the cliff in the dusk of evening to meet her husband, so did she now often steal down at the same silent hour to weep over the graves of her child and its father, lying side by side. not yet did greylands, as a rule, give her her true name: old names, it has been just observed, stand by us: and hallet, as applied to jane, was more familiar to the tongue than castlemaine. the income settled on jane was ample for every comfort: she and her aunt now lived as quiet gentle-people, keeping a good servant. jane had dropped her intimacy with miss susan pike, though she would stay and speak cordially to her when by chance they met. which implied distance, or reserve, or whatever it might be, was not at all agreeable to that damsel, and she consoled herself by telling greylands that jane was "stuck-up." little cared poor jane. her young life had always been a sad one: and now, before she was twenty years of age, its happiness had been blighted out of it. george castlemaine and his wife, at greylands' rest, were becoming fond of jane: ethel had always liked her. jane visited them now sometimes; and greylands was shown that they respected and regarded her. "it is as it should be: jane's manners and ways were always too high for her pocket--as are miss hallet's, too, for that matter," remarked mrs. bent to her husband, one day that they sat sunning themselves on the bench outside the inn, and saw jane pass with ethel. john only nodded in reply. with the elucidation of the fate of anthony castlemaine, and the delivering over of his effects to his widow, charlotte guise, john's mind was at rest, and he had returned to his old easy apathy. by dint of much battling with strong impressions, john had come to the conclusion that the tall man he saw cross from the chapel lane to the ruins, that february night, might have been one of the smugglers on his way from the hutt, who bore an extraordinary resemblance to the master of greylands. jack tuff held out still that it was he; but jack tuff was told his eyesight that night could not be trusted. news came from commodore teague pretty often. he appeared to be flourishing in his new abode over the water, and had set up a pleasure-boat on the scheldt. he sent pressing messages for greylands to visit him and tom dance and his son intended to avail themselves of the invitation. the commodore inquired after old friends, even to the ghost of the grey monk, whether it "walked" as much as it used to walk, or whether it didn't. the hutt remained without a tenant. not a soul would take it. events had severely shaken the bravery of greylands; the ghost had shown itself much in the last year, and the hutt was too near its haunting place, the friar's keep, to render it a comfortable residence. so it remained untenanted, and was likely to remain so. greylands would almost as soon have parted with its faith in the bible as in the grey monk. and the participation of the master of greylands in those illicit practices was not disclosed or suspected, and the name and reputation of the castlemaines had never a tarnish on it. it was believed that he had behaved in a remarkably handsome and liberal manner to his nephew george, in giving up to him greylands' rest during his own lifetime: george himself spoke feelingly of it: and what with that, and what with the sympathy felt for the loss of his son, and what with regret for the suspicions cast on him in regard to anthony, mr. castlemaine stood higher in men's estimation than ever he had stood originally. and that was saying a great deal. and she--mary ursula! some further good fortune had come to her in the shape of money. a heavy debt due to her father since long years, which had been looked upon as a total loss, was suddenly repaid. it amounted, with the interest, to many thousands of pounds. as mr. peter castlemaine had himself not a creditor in the world, all his obligations having been paid in full, it lapsed of course to his daughter. so, even on the score of fortune, she might not have been so unequal a match for sir william blake-gordon. sir william, knowing how utterly at an end was all hope of mary, had, after some tardy delay, renewed his engagement with miss mountsorrel: and this month, june, they had been married. mary sent them a loving letter of good wishes, and a costly present: and she told them that she and they should always be the best of friends. she was too rich now, she was wont to say, laughingly, to the sisters: and she introduced some changes for comfort into the nunnery. one of the rooms hitherto shut up, a spacious apartment with the lovely sea view, she had caused to be renovated and furnished for the ladies, leaving the parlour still as the reception-room. a smaller apartment with the same sea aspect was fitted up for herself, and her own fine piano placed in it: the superior's private sitting-room. sister mildred had neither the means nor had she been educated with the tastes of mary ursula. the door leading from the nunnery into the secret passage was bricked-up for ever. a grand, stately superior-mistress made miss castlemaine; and the grey ladies, under her wise and gracious sway, enlarged their sphere of benevolence. using her means, they sought out their fellow-pilgrims, entangled amid the thorns of this world, and helped them on the road to a better. for herself, though anxiously fulfilling all the social obligations of her sphere here, she kept her feet and her heart set ever towards the eternal shore. and if--for she was but human--a regret came over her for the position she had persisted in resigning, or a vision rose of the earthly bliss that would have been hers as william blake-gordon's wife, that one verse of the loving master's, delivered to his people during his sojourn on earth, was sure to suggest itself for her consolation. as it had come into her mind, uncalled for and unbidden, during that hour of her temptation, so would it return to cheer and comfort her now. "no man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit to enter the kingdom of god." the end. -------------------------------------------- j. ogden and co., printers, , st. john street, e.c. http://www.freeliterature.org (images generously made available by the internet archive, scanned by google books project) the smuggler chief a novel by gustave aimard author of "stronghand," "buccaneer chief," etc. london ward and lock, , fleet street mdccclxiv preface the present is the most powerful story which gustave aimard has yet written. while there is enough of startling incident and hairbreadth escapes to satisfy the greatest craver after sensation, the plot is carefully elaborated, and great attention is paid to developing the character of the heroines. if there has been any fault in the author's previous works, it is that the ladies introduced are too subordinate; but in the present tale, the primary interest hinges upon them, and they are the most prominent characters. for this reason i am inclined to believe that the "smuggler chief" will become a greater favourite with readers than any of its predecessors. lascelles wraxall, bart. contents. i. the procession ii. the country house iii. the convent of the purÍsima concepciÓn iv. the smugglers v. the inca of the nineteenth century vi. the banian's house vii. the novice viii. a visit to the convent ix. on the sierra x. inside the tent xi. the sons of the tortoise xii. a human sacrifice xiii. the balas ruby xiv. the rupture xv. a first loss xvi. the parumo de san juan bautista xvii. the abduction xviii. after the combat xix. the manhunt xx. the redskins xxi. the indian city xxii. the jagouas of the huiliches xxiii. a miraculous cure xxiv. the ruins of the hacienda xxv. the arrest xxvi. the scalp xxvii. the capture of the convent xxviii. an indian vengeance xxix. the green room xxx. the confession xxxi. the camp of the moluchos xxxii. the sack of santiago chapter i. the procession. america, a land not yet thoroughly explored, and whose immense savannahs and gloomy virgin forests conceal so many mysterious secrets and unknown dramas, sees at this moment all eyes fixed upon her, for everyone is eager to know the strange customs of the semi-civilized indians and the semi-savage europeans who people the vast solitudes of that continent; for in the age of transformation in which we live, they alone have remained stationary, contending inch by inch against the civilization which invades and drives them back on all sides, and guarding with a religious obstinacy the faith, manners, and customs of their fathers--curious manners, full of interest, which require to be studied carefully and closely to be understood. it is to america, then, that we invite the reader to accompany us. but he need not feel alarmed at the length of the voyage, for he can make it while comfortably seated in his easy chair by the fireside. the story we propose to tell has its scene laid at valparaíso--a chilian city as regards the soil on which it is built, but english and french, european or american, through the strange composite of its population, which, is formed of people from all countries, who have introduced every possible language and brought with them every variety of trade. valparaíso! the name echoes in the ear like the soft sweet notes of a love strain! valparaíso! the city of paradise--the vast depôt of the whole world. a coquettish, smiling, and frolicsome city, slothfully reclining, like a thoughtless indian maid, at the base of three mountains and at the end of a glorious bay, dipping the tips of her roseate feet in the azure waters of the pacific, and hiding her broad brilliant forehead in the tempest-swollen clouds which float along from the crests of the cordilleras to make her a splendid diadem. this city, the advanced sentinel of transatlantic civilization, is the first land which the traveller discovers after doubling cape horn, of melancholy and ill-omened memory. when at sunrise of a fine spring morning a vessel sails round the lighthouse point situated at the extremity of the playa-aucha, this charming oasis is perceived, half veiled by a transparent mist, only allowing the white houses and lofty edifices to be distinguished in a vague and fantastic way that conduces to reverie. the atmosphere, impregnated with the sharp scents from the beach and the sweet emanations of the trees and flowers, deliciously expands the chest, and in a second causes the mariner, who comes back to life and hope, to forget the three months of suffering and incessant danger whose long hours have passed for him minute by minute, ere he reached this long-desired haven. on august th, , two men were seated in a posada situated in the calle san agostino, and kept by a frenchman of the name of crevel, long established in the country, at a table on which stood two glasses and a nearly empty bottle of aguardiente of pisco, and were eagerly conversing in a low voice about a matter which seemed to interest them in the highest degree. one of these men, about twenty-five years of age, wore a characteristic costume of the guasos, a name by which the inhabitants of the interior are designated; a wide poncho of llama wool, striped with different brilliant colours, covered his shoulders and surrounded his bare neck with an elegant and strangely-designed indian embroidery. long boots of dyed wool were fastened above his knees by silk cords, and armed at the heels with enormous silver spurs, whose wheels, large as saucers, compelled him to walk on tiptoe whenever he felt an inclination to leave his saddle for a moment--which, however, very rarely happened, for the life of a guaso consists in perpetual horse exercise. he wore under his poncho a belt containing a pair of pistols, whose heavy butts could be distinguished under the folds each time that a hurried movement on the part of the young man evidenced the fire which he introduced into the conversation. between his legs rested a rifle richly damascened with silver, and the carved boss of a knife handle peeping out of the top of his right boot. lastly, to complete this accoutrement, a splendid guayaquil straw hat, adorned with an eagle's plume, was lying on a table near the one which he occupied. in spite of the young man's swarthy face, his long black hair falling in disorder on his shoulders, and the haughtiness of his features, it was easy to recognise by an examination of his features the type of the european under the exterior of the american; his eyes full of vivacity which announced boldness and intelligence, his frank and limpid glance, and his sarcastic lips, surmounted by a fine and coquettishly turned up black moustache, revealed a french origin. in truth, this individual, who was no other than leon delbès, the most daring smuggler on the chilian coast, was born at bayonne, which city he left after the loss of an enormous fortune which he inherited from his father, and settled in south america, where in a short time he acquired an immense reputation for skill and courage, which extended from talcahueno to copiapó. his comrade, who appeared to be a man of five-and-thirty years of age, formed the most perfect contrast with him. he wore the same costume as delbès, but there the resemblance ended. he was tall and well built, and his thin, muscular limbs displayed a far from ordinary strength. he had a wide, receding forehead, and his black eyes, close to his long, bent nose, gave him a vague resemblance to a bird of prey. his projecting cheek bones, his large mouth, lined with white, sharp teeth, and his thin pinched-up lips, imparted to his face an indescribable expression of cruelty; a forest of greasy hair was imprisoned in a red and yellow silk handkerchief which covered his head, and whose points fell upon his back. he had an olive complexion, peculiar to individuals of the indian race to which he belonged. this man was well known to the inhabitants of valparaíso, who experienced for him a hatred thoroughly justified by the acts of ferocity of which he had been guilty under various circumstances; and as no one knew his real name, it had grown into a custom to designate him by the name of the vaquero, owing to his great skill in lassoing wild bulls on the pampas. "the fiend twist the necks of those accursed english captains!" the frenchman exclaimed, as he passionately smote the table: "it is easy to see that they are heretics." "yes," the other replied; "they are thieves--a whole cargo of raw silver, which we had such difficulty in passing, and which cost us the lives of two men." "it is my fault," leon continued, with an oath. "i am an ass. we have made a long voyage for nothing, and i ought to have expected it, for with the english it is impossible to gain one's livelihood. i am sure that we should have done our business famously at copiapó, and we were only eight leagues from there." "that's true," said the half-breed; "and i cannot think how the mad idea occurred to us of coming, with thirty loaded mules, from chanoccillo to valparaíso." "well, what is done is done, my friend; but we lose one thousand piastres." "_vaya pués_. captain, i promise you that i will make the first englishman i catch on the sierra pay dearly for our misadventure. i would not give an ochavo for the life of the man who comes within range of my rifle." "another glass," said leon, as he seized the bottle, and poured the last of the spirit into the glasses. "here's your health," said the half-breed, and raising his glass, he emptied it at a draught, and then put it back on the table, heaving a deep sigh. "now, diego of my soul, let us be off, as nothing keeps us here any longer." "_caray_, captain, i am ready. i am anxious to reach the mountains, for my health fails me in these poisoned holes which are called towns." "where are our lads?" "near the rio claro, and so well hidden that the fiend himself could not discover them." "very good," leon answered. "hilloh, crevel!" he shouted, raising his voice, "come hither." at this summons the posadero, who was standing at the end of the room, and had not lost a syllable of the conversation between the two smugglers while pretending to be busy with his household duties, advanced with a servile bow. he was a fellow of about forty years of age, sturdy built, and with a red face. his carbuncled nose did not speak at all in favour of his temperance, and his crafty and hypocritical manners and his foxy eyes rendered him a complete specimen of one of those men branded in the french colonies by the name of banians, utter scoundrels, who swarm in america, and who, in the shadow of an almost honest trade, carry on a dozen others which expose them to the scaffold. true fishers in troubled waters, who take with both hands, and are ready for anything if they are well paid. this worthy landlord was an old acquaintance of the smugglers, who had for a long time been able to appreciate him at his full value, and had employed him successfully in many ugly affairs; hence he came up to them with that low and meaning smile which is always found stereotyped on the ignoble face of these low class traffickers. "what do you desire, señores?" he asked, as he respectfully doffed the cotton nightcap of equivocal whiteness which covered his greasy poll. "to pay you, master rogue," his countryman replied, as he tapped him amicably on the shoulder; "how much do i owe you?" "fourteen reals, captain." "the deuce! you sell your adulterated pisco rather high." "well," said the other, assuming a pious look and raising his eyes to heaven, "the excise dues are so heavy." "that is true," said leon; "but you do not pay them." "do you think so?" the landlord continued. "why, hang it! it was i who sold you the pisco we have just been drinking, and i remember that you would only pay me--" "unnecessary, unnecessary, captain," crevel exclaimed, quickly; "i will not bargain with a customer like you; give me ten reals and say no more about it." "stay; here are six, and that's more than it is worth," the young man said as he felt in a long purse which he drew from his belt, and took out several lumps of silver marked with a punch which gave them a monetary value. "the deuce take the fancy they have in this country of making such money," he continued, after paying the posadero; "a man feels as if he had pebbles in his belt. come, gossip, our horses." "what, are you off, señores?" "do you suppose we are going to sleep here?" "it would not be the first time." "that is possible, but today you will have to do without us. i have already asked whether our horses are ready." "they are at the door, saddled and bridled." "you have given them something to eat, at least?" "two trusses of alfalfa." "in that case, good-bye." and, after taking their rifles on their arms, the smugglers left the room. at the door of the inn, two richly-harnessed and valuable horses were waiting for them; they lightly leaped into the saddle, and after giving the landlord a parting wave of the hand, went off at a trot in the direction of the almendral.[ ] while riding side by side, leon and diego continued to converse about the ill success of their last operation, so unluckily interrupted by the sudden appearance of custom-house officers, who opposed the passage of a string of mules conveying a heavy load of raw silver, which it was intended to smuggle, on account of certain merchants of santiago, on board english vessels. a fight began between the officers and the smugglers, and two of the latter fell, to the great annoyance of leon delbès, who lost in them the two bravest men of his band. it was a vexatious check; still, as it was certain that regretting would not find a remedy, leon soon resolved to endure it manfully. "on my word," he said, all at once, as he threw away the end of his cigarette, which was beginning to burn his fingers, "i am not sorry, after all, that i came to valparaíso, for it is a pretty town, which deserves a visit every now and then." "bah!" the half-breed growled, thrusting out his lips disdainfully. "i prefer the mountains, where at any rate you have elbow room." "the mountain has certainly its charm, but--" "look out, animal!" diego interrupted, addressing a fat genovevan monk who was bird gazing in the middle of the street. before the monk had time to obey this sharp injunction, diego's horse had hit him so violent a blow in the chest that he fell on his nose five or six paces farther on, amid the laughter of a group of sailors, who, however, we must do them the justice of saying, hastened to pick him up and place him again on his waddling legs. "what is the matter here?" leon asked, as he looked around him. "the streets seem to me to be crowded; i never saw such animation before. can it be a festival, do you think?" "it is possible!" diego answered. "these people of towns are so indolent, that, in order to have an excuse to dispense them from working, they have invented a saint for every day in the year." "it is true that the spaniards are religious," leon muttered, with a smile. "a beastly race," the half-breed added, between his teeth. we must observe to the reader that not only did diego, like all the indians, cordially detest the spaniards, the descendants of the old conquerors, but he, moreover, seemed to have vowed, in addition to this old hereditary rancour, a private hatred through motives he alone knew; and this hatred he did not attempt to conceal, and its effect was displayed whenever he found the opportunity. the remark made by leon was well founded--a compact crowd occupied the entire length of the street in which they were, and they only advanced with great difficulty; but when they entered the governor's square it was impossible for them to take another step, for a countless multitude of people on horseback and foot pressed upon all sides, and a line of troops stationed at regular distances made superhuman efforts to keep back the people, and leave a space of a few yards free in the centre of the square. at all the windows, richly adorned with carpets and garlands of flowers, were grouped blooming female heads, anxiously gazing in the direction of the cathedral. leon and diego, annoyed at being unable to advance, attempted to turn back, but it was too late; and they were forced to remain, whether they liked it or no, spectators of what was going to take place. they had not long to wait however; and few minutes had scarce passed after their arrival ere two cannon shots were heard. at the same time the bells of all the churches sent their silvery peals into the air, the gates of the cathedral were noisily opened, and a religious chant began, joined in by the whole crowd, who immediately fell on their knees, excepting the horsemen, who contented themselves with taking off their hats. ere long a procession marched along majestically in the sight of all. there was something at once affecting and imposing in the magnificent appearance which the governor's square offered at this moment. beneath a dazzling sky illumined by a burning sun, whose beams glistened and sparkled like a shower of diamonds, and through the crowd kneeling and praying devoutly, the army of christ moved onwards, marching with a firm and measured step, and singing the exquisite psalms of the roman litany, accompanied by the thousand voices of the faithful. then came the dais, the crosses and banners embroidered with gold, silver, and precious stones, and statues of male and female saints larger than life, some carved in marble and wood, others sculptured in massive gold or silver, and shining so brightly that it was impossible to keep the eyes fixed on them. then came long files of franciscan, benedictine, recollet, genovevan, and other monks, with their arms folded on their chest, and the cowl pulled over their eyes, singing in a falsetto voice. then marched at regular intervals detachments of troops, with their bands at their head, playing military marches. and after the monasteries came the convents, after the monks the nuns, with their white veils and contemplative demeanour. the procession had been marching past thus for nearly an hour, and the end could not be seen, when leon's horse, startled by the movement of several persons who fell back and touched its head, reared, and in spite of the efforts made by its rider to restrain it, broke into formidable leaps; and then, maddened by the shouts of the persons that surrounded it, rushed impetuously forward, driving back the human wall opposed to it, and dashing down everything in its passage. a frightful tumult broke out in the crowd. everybody, overcome by terror, tried to fly; and the cries of the females, closely pressed in by all these people, who had only one thought--that of avoiding the mad course of the horse--could be heard all around. suddenly the horse reached the middle of the procession, at the moment when the nuns of the purísima concepción were defiling past; and the ladies, forgetting all decorum, fled in every direction, while busily crossing themselves. one alone, doubtless, more timid than her companions, or perhaps more terrified, had remained motionless, looking around her, and not knowing what resolution to form. the horse advanced upon her with furious leaps. the nun felt herself lost; her legs gave way, and she fell on her knees, bending her head as if to receive the mortal stroke. leon, despairing of being able to change his horse's direction, or stop it soon enough not to trample the maiden under foot, had a sudden inspiration: driving in both spurs, he lifted the animal with such dexterity that it bounded from the ground, and passed like lightning over the nun without even grazing her. a universal shout escaped from every throat on seeing the horse, after this exploit, touch the ground, stop suddenly, and tremble in all its limbs. the crisis was spent, and there was nothing more to fear. leon left the horse in the hands of diego, who had joined him with great difficulty, and leaping out of his saddle, ran to raise the fainting maiden. before anyone had time to approach her, he took her in his arms, and lifted the veil which concealed her face. the poor girl had been unable to resist the terrible emotion she had undergone; her eyes were closed, and a deadly pallor covered her features. she was a delicious creature, scarce fifteen years of age, and her face was ravishing in its elegance and delicacy, through its exquisite purity of outline. her complexion, of a dazzling whiteness, had that gilded reflection which the sun of america produces; long black and silky lashes fringed her downcast eyelids, and admirably designed eyebrows relieved by their dark hue the ivory features of her virgin forehead. her lips, which were parted, displayed a double row of small white teeth. deprived of consciousness as she was, it seemed as if life had entirely withdrawn from this body. leon stood motionless with admiration. on feeling the maiden's waist yield upon his arm, an unknown emotion made his heart tremble, and heavy drops of perspiration beaded on his temples. "what can be the matter with me?" he asked himself, with amazement. the nun opened her eyes again; a sudden flush suffused her cheek, and quickly liberating herself from the young man's arms with a gesture full of modesty, she gave him a glance of indefinable meaning. "thanks, signor caballero," she said, in a soft and tremulous voice; "i should have been dead without you." leon felt troubled by the melodious accents of this voice, and could not find any answer. the maiden smiled sadly, and raising her hand to her bosom, she quickly pulled out a small bag, which she wore on a ribbon, and offering it to the young man, said-- "farewell! farewell for ever!" "oh no!" leon answered, looking around him, as if defying the other nuns, who, now that the danger was past, hurried up to resume their place in the procession; "not farewell, for we shall meet again." and, kissing the maiden's hand, he took the scapulary. the procession had already set out again, and the hymns were resounding once more in the air, as leon perceived that the nun had returned to her place among her companions, and was going away singing the praises of the lord. a hand was heavily laid on the smuggler's shoulder, and he raised his head. "well," the half-breed asked him, "what are you doing here?" "oh!" leon answered; "i love that woman, brother. i love her!" "come," diego said; "the procession has passed, and we can move now. to horse, and let us be off!" a few minutes later the two men were galloping along the road to rio claro. [footnote : a part of valparaíso situated at the end of the bay, and so called from the great number of almond trees that grew there.] chapter ii. the country house. between valparaíso and rio claro, halfway to santiago, stood a delicious country house, belonging to don juan de dios-souza y soto-mayor, a descendant of one of the noblest and richest families in chili: several of its members have played an important part in the spanish monarchy. the soto-mayors are counted among the number of the bravest and proudest comrades of fernando cortez, pizarro, and all those heroic adventurers who, confiding in their sword, conquered for spain those vast and rich countries, the possession of which allowed philip ii. to say at a later date, with truth, that the sun never set on his states. the soto-mayors have spread over the whole of south america; in peru, chili, and mexico, branches of this powerful family are found, who, after the conquest, settled in these countries, which they have not quitted since. this has not prevented them, however, from keeping up relations which have ever enabled them to assist each other, and retain under all circumstances their power and their wealth. a soto-mayor was for ten years a viceroy of peru, and in our time we have seen a member of this family prime minister and chief of the cabinet at the court of spain. when the american colonies raised the standard of revolt against the peninsula, don juan de dios, although already aged and father of a family, was one of the first who responded to the appeal of their new country, and ranged themselves under its banner at the head of all the forces and all the servants they could collect. he had fought the war of independence as a brave soldier, and had endured courageously, and, before all, philosophically, the numerous privations which he had been compelled to accept. appointed a general when spain, at length constrained to recognise the nationality of her old colonies, gave up the struggle, he retired to one of his estates, a few leagues from valparaíso, and there he lived in the midst of his family, who loved and respected him, like a country gentlemen, resting from his fatigues and awaiting his last hours with the calmness of mind of a man convinced that he has done his duty, and for whom death is a reward rather than a punishment. laying aside all political anxieties, devoid of ambition, and possessing an immense fortune, he had devoted himself to the education of his three children, inez, maria, and juanito. inez and maria were two maidens whose beauty promised to equal that of their mother, doña isabel de costafuentes. maria, the younger, according to the custom prevalent in chilian families, was forced into a convent in order to augment the dowry of her sister inez, who was nearly sixteen, and only awaited maria's taking the veil to solemnize her own marriage. juanito, the eldest of the three, was five-and-twenty; he was a handsome and worthy young man, who, following his father's example, entered the army, and was serving with the rank of major. it was eight in the evening, and the whole family, assembled in the garden, were quietly conversing, while enjoying the fresh air after a stifling day. the weather seemed inclined to be stormy, heavy black clouds coursed athwart the sky, and the hollow moaning of the wind could be heard amid the distant mountains; the moon, half veiled, only spread a vague and uncertain light, and at times a splendid flash tore the horizon, illumining the space with a fantastic reflection. "holy virgin!" inez said, addressing the general, "only see, father, how quickly the flashes succeed each other." "my dear child," the old gentleman answered affectionately, "if i may believe certain wounds, which are a barometer for me, we shall have a terrible storm tonight, for they cause me intense suffering." and the general passed his hand along his leg, while the conversation was continued by the rest. don juan de soto-mayor was at this period sixty-two years of age; he was a man of tall stature, rather thin, whose irreproachable demeanour evidenced dignity and nobility; his grey hair, abundantly on the temples, formed a crown round the top of his head, which was bald. "oh! i do not like storms," the young lady continued. "you must say an orison for travellers, inez." "am i to be counted among the number of travellers, señorita?" interrupted a dashing cavalier, dressed in a splendid military uniform, and who, carelessly leaning against an orange tree, was gazing at inez with eyes full of love. "you, don pedro; why so?" the latter said eagerly, as she gave a pout of adorable meaning. "you are not travelling." "that is true, señorita; at least, not at this moment, but--" "what colonel!" don juan said, "are you returning to santiago?" "shortly, sir. ah! you served at a good time, general; you fought, at any rate, while we parade soldiers are fit for nothing now." "do not complain, my friend; you have your good moments too, and the war which you wage is at times more cruel than ours." "oh!" inez exclaimed, with a tremor in her voice, "do not feel annoyed, don pedro, at your inaction; i fear lest those wicked indians may begin again at any moment." "reassure yourself, niña, the araucanos are quiet, and we shall not hear anything of them for a long time; the last lesson they received will render them prudent, i hope." "may heaven grant it!" the young lady remarked, as she crossed herself and raised her eyes to heaven; "but i doubt it." "come, come," the general exclaimed, gaily, "hold your tongue, little girl, and instead of talking about such serious things, try to be more amiable to the poor colonel, whom you take a pleasure in tormenting." inez pretended not to hear the words which her father had just said to her, and turning to her mother, who, seated by her side, was talking to her son in a low voice. "mamita," she said, coaxingly, "do you know that i am jealous of you?" "why so, inez?" the good lady asked. "because, ever since dinner you have confiscated juanito, and kept him so closely to you that it has been impossible for me to tease him once the whole evening." "have patience, my pet," the young man said, as he rose and leaned over the back of her chair; "you will make up for lost time; besides, we were talking about you." "about me! oh, brother, make haste and tell me what you were saying." and the girl clapped her little childish hands together, while her eyes were lighted up by curiosity. "yes," said don juanito, maliciously; "we were talking about your approaching marriage with my friend, colonel don pedro sallazar." "fie! you naughty fellow," inez said, with a mocking smile; "you always try to cause me pain." while saying these words, the coquette shot a killing glance in the direction of the colonel. "what! cause you pain!" her brother answered: "is not the marriage arranged?" "i do not say no." "must it not be concluded when our sister maria has pronounced her vows?" "poor maria!" inez said, with a sigh, but quickly resumed her usual good spirits. "that is true; but they are not yet pronounced, as my dear maria will be with us shortly." "they will be so within three months at the most." "ah!" she exclaimed lightly, "before then the donkey and its driver will die, as the proverb says." "my daughter," the general remarked, gravely, "the colonel holds your word, and what you have just said is wrong." the girl blushed: two transparent tears sparkled on her long lashes; she rose quickly, and ran to embrace her father. "forgive me, father; i am a madcap." then she turned to the colonel, and offered him her hand. "and do you also forgive me, don pedro? for i did not think of what i was saying." "that is right," the general exclaimed; "peace is made, and i trust that nothing will disturb it in future." "thanks for the kind wish," said the colonel, as he covered with kisses the hand which inez abandoned to him. "oh, oh!" don juan remarked, "here is the storm; let us be off." in fact, the lightning flashed uninterruptedly, and heavy drops of rain began beating on the foliage which the gusts continued to agitate. all began running toward the house, and were soon collected in the drawing room. in europe it is difficult to form an idea of the magnificence and wealth which american houses contain; for gold and silver, so precious and so rare with us, are profusely employed in chili, peru, and the entire southern region. the description of the room in which the soto-mayor family sought refuge will give a sketch of what is called comfort in these countries, with which it is impossible for us to contend, as concerns everything that relates to splendour and veritable luxury. it was a large octagonal room, containing rosewood furniture inlaid with ebony; the floor was covered with mats of guayaquil straw of a fabulous price; the locks of the doors and window fastenings were of massive silver; mirrors of the height of the room reflected the light of pink wax candles, arranged in gold candelabra enriched with precious stones; and on the white and gold damask, covering the space below the looking glass, hung masterpieces of art signed by the leaders of the spanish and italian schools. on the credence tables and whatnots, so deliciously carved that they seemed made of lacework, were arranged china ornaments of exquisite workmanship--trifles created to excite for a moment the pleasure of the eye, and whose manufacture had been a prodigy of patience, perfection, and invention. these thousand nothings,--on which glistened oriental gems, mother-o'-pearl, ivory, enamel, jasper, and all the products of the mineral kingdom, combined and mingled with fragrant woods; feathers, &c.,--would of themselves have absorbed a european fortune, owing to their inestimable value. the lustre of the crystal girandoles, casting multicoloured fires, and the rarest flowers which grew down over enormous japanese vases, gave a fairy like aspect to the apartment; and yet, of all those who had come there to seek shelter from the bad weather, there was not one who did not consider it quite usual. the conversation interrupted in the garden had just been recommenced indoors, when a ring of the visitor's bell was heard. "who can arrive so late?" the general asked; "i am not expecting anybody." the door opened, and a servant appeared. "mi amo," he said, after bowing respectfully; "two travellers, surprised by the storm, ask leave to take shelter in the house." at the same time a vivid flash rendered the candles pale, and a tremendous peal of thunder burst forth. the ladies uttered a cry of alarm, and crossed themselves. "santa virgin!" señora soto-mayor exclaimed, "do not receive them, for these strangers might bring us some misfortune." "silence, madam," the old gentleman answered; "the house of a spanish noble must ever be open to the unfortunate." and he left the room, followed by the domestic. the señora hung her head at her husband's reproach, but being enthralled by superstition, she kept her eyes anxiously fixed on the door through which the strangers would enter. in a few minutes the general re-appeared, conducting delbès and diego el vaquero. "this house is yours, gentlemen; enter, in heaven's name;" he said to them, affably. leon bowed gracefully to the ladies, then to the two officers, and thanked the general for his cordial reception. "so long as you deign to honour my poor house with your presence, gentlemen," the latter replied, courteously, "we are entirely at your service; and if it please you to drink maté with us, we shall feel flattered." "i accept your proposal, sir, with thanks." diego contented himself with nodding his head in the affirmative; the general rang, and ordered the maté. a minute later, a butler came in, carrying a massive gold salver, on which were arranged exquisitely carved maté cups, each supplied with an amber tube. in the midst of the cups were a silver coffeepot full of water, and a sandalwood box containing the leaves. on golden saucers were piled regalias, and husk and paper cigarettes. the butler placed the salver on a table to which the company sat down, and he then retired. after this, señora soto-mayor prepared the decoction, poured the burning liquid into the cups, and placed them before the guests. each took the one within reach, and was soon drawing up the maté, while observing deep silence and sitting in a contemplative attitude. the chilians are very fond of this beverage, which they have borrowed from the indians, and they display some degree of solemnity when they proceed to drink it. when the first mouthfuls had been swallowed, the conversation began again. leon took a husk cigarette from one of the saucers, unrolled it, rubbed the tobacco for a moment in the palm of his hand, then remade it with the consummate skill of the inhabitants of the country, lit it at the flame of a small gold lamp prepared for the purpose, and, after taking two or three whiffs, politely offered the cigarette to doña inez, who accepted it with a gracious smile, and placed it between her rosy lips. colonel don pedro had not seen the frenchman's action without a certain twinge of jealousy; but at the moment when he was about to light the cigarette which he held in his hand, inez offered him the one leon had given her, and which she had half smoked, saying-- "shall we change, don pedro?" the colonel gladly accepted the exchange proffered to him, gave his cigarette to the young lady, and took hers, which he smoked with rapture. diego, even since his arrival at the house, had not once opened his lips; his face had grown clouded, and he sat with his eyes fixed on the general, whom he observed askance with an indefinable expression of hatred and passion. leon knew not to what he should attribute this silence, and felt alarmed at his comrade's strange behaviour, which might be noticed by the company, and produce an unpleasant effect in their minds. inez laughed and prattled merrily, and several times in listening to her voice leon was struck by a vague resemblance to another voice he had heard, though he was unable to call to mind under what circumstances he had done so. then on scrutinizing señora soto-mayor's features, he thought he could detect a resemblance with someone he knew, but he could not remember who it was. believing himself the dupe of an illusion, he had to get rid of the notion of explaining to himself a resemblance which probably only existed in his imagination; then, all at once, on hearing a remark that fell from inez's lips, he turned to recognise an intonation familiar to his ears, which plunged his mind once more into the same perplexity. "madre," said inez to her mother, "don pedro informs me that his sister rosita will take the veil at the convent of the purísima concepción on the same day as my beloved maria." "they are, indeed, of the same age," the señora replied. leon started, and could not repress an exclamation. "what is the matter, caballero?" the general asked. "nothing, general; merely a spark from my cigarette that fell in my poncho," leon replied, with visible embarrassment. "the storm is lulling," diego said, at length emerging from his silence; "and i believe that we can set out again." "can you think of such a thing, my guests? certainly not; the roads are too bad for me to let you depart. besides, your room is prepared, and your horses are resting in the corral." diego was about to refuse, but leon did not allow him the time. "since you wish it, general, we will pass the night beneath your roof." diego was obliged to accept. moreover, in spite of what he stated, the storm, instead of lulling, redoubled its intensity; but it could be seen that the vaquero obeyed against his will the necessity in which he found himself of remaining, and that he experienced an invincible repugnance in submitting to it. the evening passed without any further incident, and about ten o'clock, after prayers had been read, at which all the servants were present, they separated. the general had the two smugglers conducted to their bedroom by a peon, after kindly wishing them good night, and making them promise not to leave his house the next morning without wishing him good-bye, leon and diego thanked him for the last time, and so soon as they reached their apartment, dismissed the servant, for they were eager to cross-question each other. chapter iii. the convent of the purÍsima concepciÓn. whatever may be asserted to the contrary, a religion frequently undergoes, unconsciously, the atmospheric influences of the country in which it is professed; and while remaining the same fundamentally, the forms vary infinitely, and make it change its aspect according as it penetrates into countries where climates are different. this may at the first glance appear a paradox; and yet, if our readers will take the trouble to reflect, we doubt not but they will recognise the justice and truth of our assertion. in some countries, like germany and england, where thick fogs brood over the earth at certain periods of the year, the character of the inhabitants is tinged by the state of the gloomy nature that surrounds them. their ideas assume a morose and mystical hue perfectly in harmony with what they see and feel. they are serious, sad, and severe, positive and material, because fog and cold remind them at every moment that they must think of themselves, take care, and wrestle, so to speak, with the abrupt and implacable nature which allows them no respite. hence come the egotism and personality, which destroy all the poetry of religion which is so marvellously developed in southern nations. if we look further back, we shall find the difference even more marked. for this purpose it is only necessary to compare greek mythology--paganism, with its smiling images which deified vices and passions, with the gloomy and terrible worship of odin in scandinavia, or with that even more sanguinary paid to the god teutates in the gaul of olden times, and in the sombre forests of germany. can we deny the influence of the northern ice over the disciples of odin? is not the savage majesty of the immense forests which sheltered the priests of teutates the principal cause of the mysteries which they celebrated? and, lastly, is not the benignity of the greek mythology explained by the beauty of the sky in which it sprang up, the mildness of the climate, the freshness of the shadows, and the ever renewing charm of its magnificent landscapes? the catholic religion, which substitutes itself for all the rest, has been, and still is, subjected to the action of the temperature of those countries into which it has penetrated, and which it has fecundated. in chili it is, so to speak, entirely external. its worship is composed of numerous festivals pompously celebrated in churches glittering with light, gold, silver, and precious stones, of interminable processions performed under a reign of flowers, and clouds of incense which burn uninterruptedly. in this country, beloved of the sun, religion is full of love; the ardent hearts that populate it do not trouble themselves at all about theological discussions. they love god, the virgin, and the saints with the adoration, self-denial and impulse which they display in all their actions. catholicism is changed with them, though they do not at all suspect it, into a sort of paganism, which does not account for its existence, although that existence cannot be contested. thus they tacitly accord the same power to any saint as to deity; and when the majority of them address their prayer to the virgin, they do not pray to mary the mother of our saviour, but to nuestra señora de los dolores, nuestra señora del carmen, nuestra señora de guadalupe, nuestra señora de la soledad, nuestra señora del pilar, nuestra señora de guatananga, and ten thousand other our ladies. a chilian woman will not hesitate to say, with perfect conviction, that she is devoted to nuestra señora de la sierra, because she is far more powerful than nuestra señora del carmen, and so on with the rest. we remember hearing one day in the church of nuestra señora de la merced, at pilar, a worthy hacendero praying to god the father to intercede for him with nuestra señora del pilar, so as to obtain for him a good harvest! novenas are kept and masses ordered for the slightest pretext. if a chilian lady be deserted by her lover, quick a mass to bring him back to her side; if a man wish to avenge himself on one of his fellow men, quick a mass that his revenge may be carried out! there is also another way of insuring the protection of any saint, and that is by making a vow. a young man who wishes his beloved lady to give him a meeting, never fails to pledge himself by a vow addressed to san francisco or san antonio to perform some pious deed, if the saint will consent to advise the lady in his favour. and these practices must not be taken for juggling; the people who accomplish them do so in perfect good faith. such is the way in which the catholic religion is understood in south america. in all the ex-spanish colonies members of the clergy swarm, and we are not afraid of being taxed with exaggeration when we assert that in chili they form at least one-fourth of the population. now, the clergy are composed of an infinite number of monks and nuns of every possible form, species, and colour, franciscans, benedictines, genovevans, barefooted carmelites, brothers of mercy, augustines, and many others whose names have escaped us. as will be easily understood, these religious communities, owing to their considerable number, are not paid by the government, whose resources would not nearly suffice for their support. hence they are compelled to create a thousand trades, each more ingenious than the other, in order to be able to exist. in these countries--and there will be no difficulty in understanding this--the clergy are excessively tolerant, for the very simple reason that they have need of everybody, and if they committed the mistake of alienating the inhabitants they would die of hunger in a fortnight. it is worth while seeing in chili the extension given to the trade in indulgences. _agnus deis_, scapularies, blessed crosses, and miraculous images; everything has its price, everything is sold. so much for a prayer--so much for a confession--so much for a mass. a chilian sets out on a journey, and in order that no accident may happen to him on the road, he has a mass said. if, in spite of this precaution, he is plundered on the high road by the salteadores, he does not fail on his return to go to the monk of whom he ordered the mass, and bitterly complain of his want of efficacy. the monk is accustomed to such recriminations, and knows what to answer. "that does not surprise me, my son," the franciscan, or the benedictine, or whoever he may be, as the answer is always the same, replies; "what the deuce did you expect to have for a peso? ah, if you had been willing to pay a half ounce, we should have had the beadle, the cross, the banner, two choristers, and eight candles, and then most assuredly nothing would have happened to you; but how could you expect the virgin to put herself out of the way for a peso?" the chilian withdraws, convinced that he is in the wrong, and promising not to be niggardly on the next opportunity. with the exception of the minor trades to which we have alluded, the monks are jolly fellows, smoking, drinking, swearing, and making love as well as a man of the world. it is not uncommon to see in a wine shop a fat monk with a red face and a cigarette in his mouth, merrily playing the vihuela as dance accompaniment to a loving couple whom he will confess next morning. most of the monks carry their knife in their sleeve, and in a quarrel, which is a frequent thing in chili, use it as well, and with as little remorse as the first comer. with them religion is a trade by which they make the largest profit possible, and does not at all compel them to live without the pale of the common existence. let us add, too, in concluding this rather lengthy sketch, but which it was necessary to give the reader, in order that by knowing chilian manners, he might be able to account for the strangest of the incidents which we are about to record, that, in spite of the reproaches which the light conduct of the monks at times deserves--regard being had to the sanctity of the gown they wear--they are not the less an object of respect to all, who, taking compassion on human weakness, excuse the man in the priest, and repay tolerance for tolerance. the convent of the purísima concepción stands at the extremity of the almendral. it is a vast edifice, entirely built of carved stone, nearly two hundred years old, and was founded by the spaniards a short time after their arrival in chili. the whole building is imposing and majestic, like all the spanish convents; it is almost a small town, for it contains everything which may be useful and agreeable for life--a church, a hospital, a washhouse, a large kitchen garden, a shady and well-laid out park, reserved for the promenades of the nuns, and large cloisters lined with frescoes, representing scenes from the life of the virgin, to whom the convent is consecrated. these cloisters, bordered by circular galleries, out of which, open the nuns' cells, enclose a sandy courtyard, containing a piece of water and a fountain, whose jet refreshes the air in the midday heat. the cells are charming retreats, in which nothing that promotes comfort is wanting--a bed, two chairs covered with cordovan leather, a prie-dieu, a small toilet table, in the drawer of which you may be certain of finding a looking glass, and a few sacred pictures, occupy the principal space destined for necessary articles. in one corner of the room is visible, between a guitar and a scourge, a statue of the virgin, with a wreath of roses on her head and a constantly-burning lamp before her. such is the furniture which will be found, with but few exceptions, in the cells of the nuns. the convent of the concepción contains about one hundred and fifty nuns of the order of mount carmel, and some sixty novices. in this country of toleration, strict nunneries are rare; the sisters are allowed to go into town and pay or receive visits; the rule is extremely gentle, and with the exception of the offices which they are expected to attend with great punctuality, the nuns, when they have once entered their cells, are almost free to do what they think proper, no one apparently paying any attention to them. after the incident which we recorded in our first chapter, the procession, momentarily interrupted by the furious attack of leon's horses, was reorganized as well as it could be; all the persons comprising it returned to their places so soon as the first alarm was over, and two hours after the gates of the purísima concepción closed again upon the long file of nuns engulfed in its walls. so soon as the crosses, banners, and statues of saints had been deposited with all proper ceremony in their usual places, after a short prayer repeated in community, the ranks were broken, and the nuns began chattering about the strange event which had suddenly interrupted them as they left the cathedral. several of them were not tired of praising the bold rider who had so cleverly guided his runaway horse, and saved a great misfortune by the skill which he had displayed under the circumstances. from the midst of a group of about a dozen sisters conversing together, there came forth two maidens, dressed in the white garb of novices, who, taking each other's arm, walked gently toward the most deserted part of the garden. they must have eagerly desired not to be disturbed in their private conversation, for, selecting the most shaded walk, they took great care to hide themselves from their companions' observation behind the shrubs that formed the borders. they soon reached a marble seat hidden behind a clump of trees, in front of a basin filled with transparent water, whose completely motionless surface was as smooth as that of a mirror. no better place could have been selected for a confidential conversation; so they sat down, and raised the veil that covered their face. they were two charming girls, who did not count thirty years between them, and whose delicate profile was gracefully designed under their pure and exquisitely white wimple. the first was doña maria de souza y soto-mayor; the other was doña rosita sallazar, sister of the dashing don pedro, of whom we have already got a glimpse as affianced husband of inez. doña maria's face displayed visible traces of emotion. was it the result of the terror she had felt on seeing herself almost trampled on by the smuggler's horse, or did a cause, of which we are ignorant, produce the effect which we have just indicated? the conversation of the young ladies will tell us. "well, sister," rosita asked, "have you recovered from the terror which this morning's event caused you?" doña maria, who seemed absorbed in secret thoughts, started, and hurriedly answered-- "oh! i am well now; quite well, thank you." "in what a way you say that, maria! what is the matter? you are quite pale." a short silence followed this appeal. the young ladies took each other's hand, and waited to see which would be the first to speak. maria and rosita, who were nearly of the same age, loved each other like sisters. both novices, and destined to take the veil at the same date, the identity of their position had produced between them an affectionate sympathy which never failed them. they placed in a common stock, with the simple confidence of youth, their hopes and sorrows, their plans and dreams--brilliant winged dreams, which the convent walls would pitilessly break. they had no secret from each other, and hence rosita was grieved by the accent with which maria had answered her when she asked her how she was. the latter evidently concealed something from her for the first time since she had entered the convent. "maria," she said to her, gently, "forgive me if i acted indiscreetly in asking after your dear health; but i feared, on noticing the pallor of your face--" "dear rosita, how kind you are!" maria interrupted, embracing her companion tenderly; "and how wrong i am! yes, i am suffering, really; but i know not from what, and it only began just now." "oh! accursed be the wicked man, cause of so much terror!" rosita continued, alluding to leon the smuggler. "oh, silence, rosita! speak not so of that cavalier, for he has on his face such a noble expression of courage and goodness that--" "so you looked at him, sister?" rosita exclaimed. "yes, when i regained my senses and opened my eyes, his were fixed on me." "what! he dared to raise your veil? but it is a great sin to let a man see your face, and you must confess it to dear mother superior; the convent rule demands it." "i know it, and will conform." "after all," rosita continued, with volubility, "as you had fainted, you could not prevent him raising your veil; hence it is not your fault, but that young man's." "he saved my life!" maria murmured. "that is true, and you are bound to feel grateful to him instead of hating him." "do you think i can remember him without sinning?" "certainly: is it not natural to remember those who have done us a great service?" "yes, yes; you are right," maria exclaimed, joyfully. "thanks, sister--thanks, sister: your words do me good, for i was afraid it would be wrong to think of him who saved me." "on the contrary, sister," rosita said, with a little doctorial tone which rendered her ravishing, "you know that mother abbess daily repeats to us that ingratitude is one of the most odious vices." "oh, in that case, i did right in giving him my scapulary as a pledge of remembrance." "what! did you give him that holy object?" "oh, poor young man! he seemed so affected, his glance was so full of sorrow and grief--" while maria was speaking, rosita was examining her, and after the last words, entertained no doubt as to the feelings which animated her friend. "maria," she said to her, bending down to her ear and speaking so low that no other but the one for whom it was meant could hear it--"maria, you love him, do you not?" "alas!" maria exclaimed, all trembling--"do i know? oh, silence, for mercy's sake!" she continued, impetuously. "i love him! but who would have taught me to love? a poor creature, hurled within the walls of this convent at the tenderest age, i have up to this day known nought but the slavery in which my entire life must be spent. excepting you, my kind rosita, is there a creature in the world that takes an interest in my fate, is happy at my smile or grieved at my tears? have i ever known since the day when reason began to enlighten my heart, the ineffable sweetness of maternal caresses--those caresses which are said to warm the heart, make the sky look blue, the water more limpid, and the sun more brilliant? no; i have ever been alone. my mother, whom i could have loved so dearly--my sister, whom i sought without knowing her, and whose kisses my childish lips yearned for--both shun me and abandon me. i am in their way; they are anxious to get rid of me; and as all the world repulses me, i am given to god!" a torrent of tears prevented the young lady from continuing. rosita was terrified by this so true grief, and tried to restore her friend's calmness, while unable to check the tears that stood in her own eyes. "maria! why speak thus? it is an offence to god to complain so bitterly of the destiny which he has imposed on us." "it is because i am suffering extraordinary torture! i know not what i feel, but i fancy that during the last hour the bandage which covered my eyes has suddenly fallen, and allowed them to catch a glimpse of an unknown light. up to this day i have lived as the birds of the air live, without care for the morrow and remembrance of yesterday; and in my ignorance of the things which are accomplished outside these walls i could not regret them. i was told: you will be a nun; and i accepted, thinking that it would be easy for me to find happiness wherever my life passed gently and calmly; but now it is no longer possible." and the maiden's eyes flashed with such a brilliancy that rosita dared not interrupt her, and listened, checking with difficulty the beating of her own heart. "listen, sister!" maria continued, "i hear an undefinable music in my ears; it is the intoxicating promises which the joys of the world wake in me, which i am forbidden to know, and which my soul has divined. look! for i saw strange visions pass before my dazzled eyes. they are laughing pictures of an existence of pleasures and joys which flash and revolve around me in an infernal whirlwind. take care; for i feel within me sensations which horrify me; shudders that traverse my whole being and cause me impossible suffering and pleasure. oh, when that young man's hand touched mine this morning, i trembled as if i had seized a red-hot iron; when i regained my senses, and felt his breath on my face, i fancied that life was going to abandon me; and when i was obliged to leave him, it seemed to me as if there were an utter darkness around me; i saw nothing more, and was annihilated. his fiery glance cast eternal trouble and desolation into my soul. yes, i love him: if loving be suffering, i love him! for, on hearing the convent gates close after the procession, a terrible agony contracted my heart, an icy coldness seized upon me, and i felt as if the cold tombstone were falling again on my head." overcome by the extreme emotion which held possession of her, the maiden had risen; her face was flushed with a feverish tinge; her eyes flashed fire; her voice had assumed a strange accent of terror and passion; her bosom heaved wildly, and she appeared to be transfigured! suddenly she burst into sobs, and hiding her face in her hands, yielded to her despair. "poor maria!" said rosita, affected by this so simply poignant desolation, and seeking in vain by her caresses to restore calmness, "how she suffers!" for a long time the two maidens remained seated at the same spot, mingling their tears and sighs. still a complete prostration eventually succeeded the frenzy which had seized on maria; and she was preparing, on her companion's entreaties, to return to her cell, when several voices, repeating her name, were heard at a short distance from the thicket where she had sought refuge. "they are seeking us, i think," said rosita. "they are calling me," maria continued; "what can they want with me?" "well, beloved sister, we will go and learn." the two maidens rose, and soon found themselves in the presence of two or three sisters, who were looking for them. "ah, there you are!" the latter exclaimed; "holy mother superior is asking after you, maria; and we have been seeking you for the last ten minutes." "thanks, sisters," maria answered; "i will obey the summons of our good mother." "be calm," rosita whispered to her, with some amount of anxiety. "fear nothing; i will manage to hide my feelings." and all returned in the direction of the convent. chapter iv. the smugglers. three years prior to the events which we have just recorded, that is to say, about the month of may, , diego the vaquero, who at that period was one of the bravest gauchos on the pampas of buenos aires, was returning to his rancho one evening after a day's hunting, when suddenly, before he could notice it, a magnificent panther, probably pursuing him in the tall grass, leaped, with an enormous bound, on his horse's neck. the animal, startled by this attack, which it was far from expecting, neighed with pain, and reared so violently that it fell back on its master, who had not had time to leap on the ground, but was held down by the weight of his steed. it was, doubtless, all over with man and horse when diego, who, in his desperation, was commending his soul to all the saints in paradise, and reciting, in a choking voice, all the scraps of prayers which he could call to mind, saw a long knife pass between his face and the head of the foetid brute, whose breath he could feel on his forehead. the panther burst into a frightful howl, writhed, vomited a stream of black blood, and after a terrible convulsion, which set all the muscles of his body in action, fell dead by his side. at the same moment the horse was restored to its trembling feet, and a man helped the vaquero to rise, while saying, good-humouredly-- "come, tell me, comrade, do you think of sleeping here, eh?" diego rose, and, with an anxious glance around him, felt all his limbs to make sure they were intact; then, when he was quite certain that he was perfectly sound and free from any wound, he gave a sigh of satisfaction, devoutly crossed himself, and said to his defender, who, with folded arms and a smile on his lips, had followed all his movements with the utmost interest-- "thanks, man. tell me your name, that i may retain it in my heart along with my father's." "leon," the other answered. "leon," the gaucho repeated, "it is well; my name is diego; you have saved my life; at present we are brothers, and do with me as you will." "thanks," said leon, affectionately pressing the hard, rugged hand which the half-breed offered him. "brother, where is your rancho?" "i have none," leon answered, with a cloud of sorrow over his face. "you have none? what were you doing all alone, then, in the middle of the pampas at this hour of the night?" the young man hesitated for a moment, and then, regaining his good spirits, replied-- "well, if i must confess to you, comrade, i was dying of hunger in the most philosophical way in the world: i have eaten nothing for two days." "caray," diego exclaimed; "die of hunger! come with me, brother; we will not part again; i have some charqui in my rancho. i repeat to you, you have saved my life, and henceforth all must be in common between us. you look like a daring fellow, so remain with me." from this day leon and diego never parted again; and the friendship of these two men grew with time so great that they could not live without one another; but however great was the intimacy existing between them, never had a word been exchanged concerning their past life; and this mutual secret, mutually respected, was the only one that existed between them. diego certainly knew that leon was a frenchman, and had also noticed his great aptitude in bodily exercises, his skill as an excellent horseman, and, above all, the depth of his ideas and far from ordinary conceptions. recognising of what great use the young man's intellect had been to him in critical moments to get out of a difficulty, diego regarded him with a species of veneration, and endured his moral superiority without even perceiving it. with the sublime self-denial of virgin natures whom the narrow civilization of towns has not degraded, he had grown to regard leon as a being placed on his path by providence, in order that he might have someone to love; and finding in leon a perfect reciprocity of friendship, he felt ready to sacrifice to leon the life which he owed him. on his side, leon, captivated by the frank advances which the vaquero had made him, had gradually come to feel for him a sincere affection, which was evidenced by a deep and unbounded devotion. a short time after their meeting, diego communicated to leon the plan he had of going to chili, and proposed to him to accompany him. the idle life on the pampas could not suit leon, who had dreamed of an active and brilliant existence when he set foot on american soil. gifted with an adventurous and enterprising character, he had left his native land to tempt fortune, and hitherto chance had not favoured his hopes. as nothing, therefore, prevented him from trying whether chili might not be more lucky, he accepted. one morning, therefore, the pair, mounted on indian horses, crossed the pampas, and then, after resting for some days at san luis de mendoza, they entered the passes of the cordilleras, which they got through with great difficulties and dangers of every description, and at length reached their journey's end. on arriving at chili, leon, powerfully supported by diego, organized the contraband trade on a vast scale, and a few months later fifty men obeyed his orders and those of diego, whom he made his lieutenant. from this moment captain leon delbès found the mode of life which suited his tastes. now that we have explained the nature of the ties which bound the two principal characters of our story, we will resume our narrative at the moment when we left our smugglers in the room which don juan y soto-mayor ordered to be got ready for them. scarce had the peon left the room ere leon, after assuring himself that no one could hear his words, walked up to diego, who was sitting gloomy and silent on a folding chair, and said-- "what is the matter with you tonight? why did you remain so silent? is it that general soto-mayor--" "there is nothing the matter with me," the half-breed sharply interrupted; "but by the way," he added, looking leon in the face, "you appear yourself to be suffering from extraordinary agitation." "you are right; but if you wish to learn the cause, confidence for confidence, and tell me what you have on your mind." "leon, do not question me on this subject. you are not mistaken; i allow i have been thoughtful and silent ever since i have crossed the threshold of this house; but do not try to penetrate the motive. it is not the time yet to tell you the things which you must know some day. thanks for the interest you take in my annoyances and my sorrows; but once again i implore you, in the name of our friendship, do not press me." "since such is the case, brother, i will refrain from any questions," leon answered. "and now, if you please, tell me why i saw you turn pale and tremble when a word that fell from the lips of the señora inez, and which i did not catch, struck your ear." "brother, do you remember that this morning, after saving from a certain death the novice of the convent of the purísima concepción, i told you that my heart knew love for the first time in my life?" "but what is there in common between that girl and señora inez?" "do you remember also," leon continued, without answering the vaquero's observation, "that i swore to see the maiden again, even if i were obliged to lay down my life in satisfying my desire?" "but again i say--" "well, know then, brother, that i have learned her name, and it is doña maria y soto-mayor." "what are you saying?" "and that she is the daughter of our host, don juan de dios-souza y soto-mayor." "and you love her?" diego exclaimed. "must i repeat it again?" leon remarked impetuously. "malediction!" said the half-breed. "yes, malediction, is it not? for maria is eternally lost to me; she will take the veil shortly, and the hopes i entertained of being able to drag her out of the walls of that convent are blighted." "to marry her?" diego remarked, mockingly. "nonsense, leon, my friend: you are mad. what, you, the smuggler, marry a señora, the daughter of a gentleman! no, you cannot suppose such a thing." "silence, diego, silence! for the more that i feel the impossibility of possessing the girl, the more i feel that i love her." and the young man, crushed by sorrow, fell into a seat by diego's side. "and do you believe," the latter continued, after a moment's silence, "that there is no hope of delaying her in taking the veil?" "how do i know? besides, of what good is it, as you said just now--can i think of the daughter of general soto-mayor? no, all is lost!" "remember the spanish proverb--'nothing is certain but death and the tax gatherer.'" for a moment past, the half-breed's face had become animated with a singular expression, which would not have escaped leon, had not the latter been entirely absorbed in the thought of losing her whom he loved. "what do you mean?" he asked diego. "listen patiently, for the question i am going to ask you is intended to fix an important determination in my mind." "i am listening," the young man said. "do you really love doña maria?" at this question, which might seem, at the least, inopportune after what leon had just stated, the latter frowned angrily; but on noticing the half-breed's serious face, he understood that it was not for the purpose of making a jest of his despair that diego had revived the fire which was burning in his bosom. "if i do not see her again, i shall die," the young man replied, simply. "you shall not die, brother, for within a fortnight she will be at your knees." leon knew the half-breed, and that he was a man who never promised in vain: hence he did not dare doubt, and merely raised his eyes and questioned him with a look. "within a fortnight she will be at your knees," the half-breed slowly repeated; "but till then, not a word, not a sign of recollection, reproach, impatience, or amazement, but passive obedience." "thanks, brother," leon contented himself with answering, as he held out his hand to diego, who pressed it in his. "and now let us sleep, so that tomorrow our foreheads may be less burning, and we may be able to set to work." then, putting out the candles, the two men threw themselves on their beds, without exchanging another word, for each was anxious to reflect upon the course he should pursue. neither slept: leon thought of maria and the means diego might employ to fulfil the pledge he had made; while diego had in his head a ready-traced plan, whose success appeared to him certain, as it was connected with a far more dangerous affair. at daybreak they rose, and kneeling down in the middle of the room, took each other by the hand, and devoutly said their prayers. anyone would have been astonished who had overheard what these two men asked of god--the god of mercy and goodness! their prayer ended, they went down into the garden; the night storm had entirely passed away, the sun was rising in a flood of transparent vapour, and everything announced a magnificent day. shortly after their arrival, they perceived the general, who came to meet them with a regular step and a joyous face. "well, gentlemen," he shouted to them, so soon as he saw them, "how did you pass the night?" "excellently, general," leon replied; "and my friend and myself both thank you sincerely for your kind hospitality." "at your age a man can sleep anywhere," the general continued, with a pleasant smile. "oh, youth!" he added, with a sigh of regret, "happy time, which flies, alas! too quickly." then becoming serious; "as for the slight service which i have had the pleasure of rendering you, you will disoblige me by thanking me for so simple a thing." after a few more words from him, dictated by politeness, the three men walked round the garden several times, and, to leon's great surprise, diego did not allude to their departure; but as the young man did not know the vaquero's line of conduct as to the prospects which he nursed, he waited. don juan was the first to break the silence. "gentlemen," he said, stopping at the corner of a shady walk, "be good enough, i pray, not to take in ill part what i am about to say--you are smugglers, i believe?" "yes, sir," replied diego, amazed at the old gentleman's perspicuity. "this discovery does not injure you at all in my opinion," continued the general, who had noticed the look of surprise exchanged by the two friends. "i have frequently had dealings with gentlemen of your profession, and have had always cause to be pleased with them; and i trust that the relations which may be established between us will prove advantageous to both parties." "speak, sir." the vaquero was all ears, and examined the general with a distrust which the latter did not notice, or feigned not to notice. "this is the matter, gentlemen. i am obliged, owing to certain family reasons, to undertake a journey to valdivia, where my brother don louis resides; now, your arrival at my house has made me think of making the journey under your escort, and i wish to propose to you, as i shall take señora y soto-mayor and my whole family with me, that you and your men should escort us, leaving it to you to fix the price as you think right." "general," leon answered, "you have guessed correctly in regarding us as smugglers; i have the honour of being the captain of a band of fifty men, who know how to put down the customs' dues when they are too high; but you are mistaken in supposing that we can accompany you." "why so?" the vaquero eagerly interrupted, on whose features a strange gleam of satisfaction had appeared. "it is true that it is not our habit to undertake business of that nature; but the general has shown himself too hospitable to us to refuse him our assistance. captain, remember, too, that we have something to do within a few days in the neighbourhood of valdivia, and hence we shall merely make our journey the sooner, which is a trifle." "that is true," muttered the captain, whom a glance of diego's had told that he must accept. "i fancied that i must return to valparaíso; but what my friend has just said is perfectly correct, so you can dispose of us as you please." "in that case, gentlemen," said the general, who had only seen in this opposition on the part of the captain a mode of demanding a large sum, "be good enough to step into my study, and while drinking a glass of alicante, we will settle money matters." "we are at your orders." and all three proceeded to the general's apartments. it was arranged that, instead of bargaining with an arriero, the captain was to supply a dozen mules to carry the baggage, and that they should start the following morning. when this arrangement was made, leon and diego asked the general's permission to go and join their men, and give orders for the departure; but he would not consent until they had breakfasted. they therefore waited, and soon found themselves again in the company of the members of the soto-mayor family, as well as of don pedro sallazar, who had decided on spending the night at the country house before setting out for santiago. leon was dying to turn the conversation to the convent of the purísima concepción, and could have most easily done so by telling the event of the previous day; but he remembered the promise made to diego, and fearing lest he might commit some folly injurious to his interests, he held his tongue; still he learned, on hearing the talk, that the general's major-domo had started that morning for valparaíso entrusted with a message for the señora doña maria. when breakfast was over, the two friends took leave of their hosts, and, after finally arranging the hour for starting, they left the house, and found in the courtyard their horses ready saddled and held by a peon. at the moment of starting, don pedro de sallazar waved his hand to them, and disappeared in the direction of santiago, accompanied by the general's son. the two smugglers arrived before midday at the spot where their men, somewhat alarmed at their prolonged absence, were encamped. it was a narrow gorge between two lofty mountains, and at a sufficient distance from the beaten road for the band to be safe from any surprise, of which there was not much apprehension, by the way, as in this country smugglers enjoy almost complete immunity, and have only to fear the excessively rare cases of being caught in the act. the horses were browsing at liberty, and the men, seated on a hearth made of two lumps of stone, were finishing their breakfast of charqui and tortillas. they were mostly men in the prime of life, whose resolute air sufficiently evidenced the carelessness they felt for every species of danger. belonging to all nations, they formed a whole which was not without originality, but each of them, whether he were german or portuguese, sicilian or dutchman, as he found in the existence which he led the charm of an adventurous life studded with perils, pleasures, and emotions, had completely forgotten the name of his country, only to remember the memorable days on which, indulging in his dangerous profession, he had put the custom house officers to flight, and passed under their very noses bales of merchandize. enemies of a yoke and servitude, under whatever form they might appear, they obeyed with rigorous exactness the discipline which leon delbès had imposed on them--a discipline which, by the way, allowed them to do whatever they pleased when not actually engaged with their smuggling duties. some were drunkards, others gamblers, and others libertines; but all ransomed their faults, which they regarded almost as qualities, by a well-tried courage, and a perfect devotion to leon and diego. their dress varied but slightly from that of their chief; all wore a poncho, which covered their weapons, and the boots of wood rangers, which, while protecting their legs from the stings of reptiles, left them perfect liberty of motion. their hats alone might be regarded as the distinctive mark either of their nationality or the difference of their tastes. there were broad-brimmed, pointed, and round hats; every shape came into strange contact there, from the worn silk hat of europe to that of the american bolivar. they uttered a shout of joy on perceiving their chiefs, and, eagerly rising, ran to meet them. "good day, gentlemen," leon said, as he leaped from his horse. "i am rather behind my time, but you must blame the night storm, which compelled us to halt on the road. is there any news?" "none, captain," they answered. "in that case listen to me. ten of you will stay here, and at four o'clock tomorrow morning proceed with twelve mules to the house of don juan y soto-mayor, and place yourselves at the orders of that gentleman, whom you will accompany to valdivia." diego set about selecting the men whom he thought the best fitted for the expedition; and after he had done so, leon addressed the others. "you will start for valparaíso and await my orders there; you will lodge at crevel's, in the calle san agostino, and at dominique the italian's, at the almendral. above all," he added, "be prudent, and do not attract attention; amuse yourselves like good fellows, but do not quarrel with the señores, or have any fights with the sailors. you understand me, i suppose?" "yes, captain," they all answered. "very well. now i will give each of you five ounces to cover your expenses, and do not forget that i may want you at any moment, and you must be ever ready to obey my summons." he gave them the money, and after repeating his recommendations, he retired, leaving it to diego to give the men who were proceeding to valparaíso the final instructions which they might need. the smugglers removed all traces of their meal, and each of them hurried to saddle his horse. a few minutes later, forty men of the band set out under the guidance of the oldest among them. diego watched them start, and then returned to leon, who was resting from his fatigue on a small turf mound, overshadowed by a magnificent clump of trees. the vaquero held in his hand the alforjas which he had taken off his horse; he examined the place where leon was seated, and finding it as he wished, he sat down by his side; then taking out of the bag a clumsy carved earthern pipe, into which he fitted a long stem, he began to strike a light over a small horn box filled with burnt rags, which soon caught fire. when his pipe was lighted, he began smoking silently. leon, on seeing these preparations, understood that something important was about to take place between him and diego, and waited. at the expiration of five minutes, the latter passed him his pipe; leon drew several puffs and then returned it to him. these preliminaries completed, diego began to speak. "leon, three years have passed since heaven brought us together on the pampas of buenos aires; since that moment--and i shall never forget it, brother--everything has been in common between us--pleasure and pain, joy and sorrow." leon bowed his head in the affirmative, and the half-breed continued: "still, there is one point upon which our mouths have ever remained silent, and it is the one which refers to the life of each of us before that which we now lead together." leon looked at him in amazement. "it is not a want of confidence," diego hastily added, "but the slight interest we felt in cross-questioning each other, which alone is the cause. of what use is it to know the past life of a man, if from the day when you first saw him he has not ceased to be honest and loyal? besides, the hours are too short in the pampas for men to dream of asking such questions." "what are you coming to?" leon at length asked. "listen, brother. i will not question you about what i care little to know, but i wish to tell you something you must know. the moment has arrived to speak; and though the story i have to tell you is gloomy and terrible, i am accomplishing a duty." "speak, then," said leon. the half-breed passed his hand over his forehead, and for a moment collected his recollections. leon waited in silence. chapter v. the inca of the nineteenth century. "long ago, very long ago," diego, the vaquero, began, "all the lands bordering the bay of valparaíso belonged to the indians, whose vast hunting grounds extended on one side from the lofty peaks of the cordilleras down to the sea, and on the other covered the pampas of buenos aires, of paraguay--in a word, all the splendid countries from which they have eternally disappeared, and it is impossible to find a trace of the moccasins which trod them during centuries." "the indians were at that day free, happy, powerful, and more numerous than the grains of sand in the bed of the sea. but one day strange news spread among them: it was said that white men, who had come no one knew whence, and mounted on immense winged horses, had suddenly appeared in peru." "i need not remind you of all that occurred in consequence of this news, which was only too true, or describe to you the hideous massacres committed by the spaniards, in order to reduce the unhappy indians to slavery, for it is a story which everybody knows. but what you are possibly ignorant of is, that during one of the dark and stormy nights which followed this invasion, a dozen men of majestic demeanour, with haughty though care-laden brows, were seen to land from a canoe half broken by the waves and jagged rocks." "they were indians who had miraculously escaped from the sack of quito, and had come to present themselves as suppliants to the elders of the araucano nation. among them was a man whom they respectfully obeyed. he was the son of the sister of the valiant atahualpa, king of quito, and his name was tahi-mari. when in the presence of the elders, tahi-mari gave them a narration of the misfortunes which had struck him." "he had a daughter, mikaa, the purest and loveliest of the daughters of the sun. when conquered by the spaniards, who, after killing two of his sons, set fire to his palace, tahi-mari, followed by his three sons left home, rushed toward the palace of the sun, in order to save his daughter, if there were still time." "it was night: the volcano was roaring hoarsely, and hurling into the air long jets of fire, whose lurid and sinister gleams combined with the flames of the fire kindled by the conquerors of this unhappy city. the squares and streets were encumbered with a terrified multitude, who fled in all directions with terrible cries from the pursuit of the spanish soldiers, who, intoxicated with blood and carnage, massacred mercilessly old men, women, and children, in order to tear from their quivering bodies the gold collars and ornaments which they wore. neither tears, prayers, nor entreaties succeeded in moving their ferocious executioners, who with yells and shrill whistles excited their dogs to help them in this horrible manhunt." "when tahi-mari reached the temple of the sun, that magnificent edifice, which contained such riches, had become a prey to the flames; a girdle of fire surrounded it on all sides, and from the interior could be heard the groans of the hapless virgins who were expiring in the tortures of a horrible death. without calculating the imminency of the peril, the poor father mad with grief and despair, rushed into the burning furnace which opened its yawning mouth before him." "'my daughter! my daughter!' he cried. in vain did the flames singe his clothing; in vain did frightful burns devour his hands and face: he felt nothing, saw nothing; from his panting chest constantly issued the piercing cry--" "'my daughter! my daughter!'" "suddenly a half-naked virgin, with dishevelled hair, and her features frightfully contracted, escaped from the flames; it was mikaa. tahi-mari, forgetting all that he had suffered, weepingly opened his arms to the maiden, when a spaniard, dressed in a brilliant garb, and holding a sword in his hand, rushed upon mikaa, and ere her father had time to make a gesture thrust his weapon into her chest!" "oh, it is frightful!" leon, who had hitherto listened to his comrade's story in silence, could not refrain from exclaiming. diego made no reply, but a sinister smile played round his livid lips. "the maiden fell bathed in her blood, and tahi-mari was about to avenge her, when the spaniard dealt him such a fierce blow that he lost his consciousness. when he regained his senses the officer had disappeared." "it is infamous," leon said again. "and that officer's name was don ruíz de soto-mayor," diego said, in a hollow voice. "oh!" leon muttered. "wait a moment, brother; let us continue, for i have not finished yet." "though tracked like a wild beast, and incessantly hunted by the spaniards, tahi-mari, accompanied by his three sons and some faithful friends, succeeded in getting away from quito and reaching the country of the araucanos." "after the inca had recounted his misfortunes to the great indian chief, the latter welcomed the fugitives with hearty marks of affection; one of them, the venerable kouni-hous-koui (he who is respected), a descendant of one of the oldest families of the sagamores of the nation, exchanging his calumet with tahi-mari, declared to him, in the name of the araucanos, that the council of elders adopted him as one of their caciques." "from this day tahi-mari, owing to his courage and wisdom, acquired the esteem of those who had given him a new country to love and defend." "several years passed thus, and no sign led the araucanos to suspect that the spaniards would ever dare to attack them; they lived in a perfect state of security, when suddenly and without any justification for the aggression, a spanish fleet consisting of more than thirty brigantines sailed into the bay of valparaíso. they had no sooner disembarked than they built a city, which soon saw the flag of conquest floating from its walls." "still the araucanos, although driven back by their terrible enemies, were aroused by the voice of tahi-mari, and resolved to keep the spaniards constantly on their defence, by carrying on against them a war of snares and ambushes, in which the enemy, owing to their ignorance of the places where they fought, did not always get the best of it." "in the course of time, this perpetual war made them lose a great number of soldiers, and feeling desperate at seeing several of their men fall daily under the blows of invisible enemies, who seemed to inhabit hollow trees, the tops of mountains, or the entrails of the earth, they turned all their rage against tahi-mari, whose influence over all the men who surrounded him they were aware of, and resolved to get hold of him." "but it was no easy matter, for the inca was on his guard against every attack, and was too well versed in the tactics of his enemy to let himself be caught by cunning or treachery. and yet this was destined to happen. there was among the indian prisoners--alas! it is disgraceful to say it, but it was so--a man who, given to habits of intoxication and brought to peru by the spaniards, did not recoil before the offer made him to betray his brothers, on condition that they should give him as much aguardiente as he could drink." "the spanish captain, fertile in expedients, who had proposed this cowardly bargain to the indian, induced the latter to go to tahi-mari, give himself out as an escaped prisoner, and, after inquiring into his plans, urge him to surprise the spaniards, of whose numbers, position, and plan of campaign he was to give a false account. once that tahi-mari was in the power of the spaniards, firewater would amply compensate the traitor." "all was carried out in the way the officer suggested; for could tahi-mari suspect that an araucano would betray him? he received him on his arrival among his brothers with transports of joy, and then questioned him as to the enemy's strength and means of defence. this was what the indian was waiting for: he answered the questions asked him by adroitly dissimulating the truth, and ended by asserting that nothing was easier than to take the spanish troops prisoners, and he offered to guide the expedition in person." "the hope of a certain victory animated the araucanos, who joyfully greeted this proposition, and all was soon arranged for the start. during the night following the traitor's arrival, five hundred men picked from the bravest, and led by tahi-mari, descended the mountain under the guidance of the treacherous indian, and marched silently upon a spanish redoubt, in which they expected to find the principal chiefs of the enemy and surprise them." "but as they advanced they perceived a dark line which was almost blended with the darkness, but which could not escape the piercing glances of the indians. this line formed an immense circle, which surrounded them and became more contracted every moment. it was the spanish horse coming to meet them and preparing to attack them." "all at once tahi-mari uttered a yell of fury, and the head of the traitor who had drawn them into the snare rolled at his feet; but ere the araucanos had time to retire, a number of horsemen, holding in leash twenty of those ferocious dogs trained for man hunting, rushed upon them. they were compelled to fight, and a terrible massacre began, which lasted all night. tahi-mari performed prodigies of valour. in the height of the action his eyes were injected with blood and a lurid pallor covered his face; he had recognised among those who were fighting the spanish officer who killed his daughter mikaa on the threshold of the temple of the sun in so dastardly a way. on his side the spaniard rushed with incredible fury upon the inca." "it was a sublime moment! the two men attacked each other with equal fury, and the blood that flowed from their wounds stained their weapons. the axe which the inca held was already whirling above the head of the spaniard to deal him the final blow, when tahi-mari fell back, uttering a yell of pain: an enormous hound coming to the officer's assistance, had ripped open the inca's stomach. taking advantage of tahi-mari's defenceless state, don ruíz de soto-mayor despatched him by passing his sword right through his body." "the next day the inca's body, frightfully mutilated, was burnt on the public square of valdivia, in the presence of a few indians, who had only escaped the sword of their murderers to die at a later date in the punishment of a horrible captivity." "oh!" leon exclaimed, who had felt his heart quiver; "it is frightful!" "what shall i say, then?" diego asked in his turn; "i who am the last of the descendants of tahi-mari!" at this unexpected revelation leon started; he looked at diego, and understood that there was in this man's heart a hatred so deeply rooted, and, above all, so long repressed, that on the day when it broke out no power in the world would be strong enough to check the terrible effects of its explosion. he hung his head, for he knew not what to reply to this man who had to avenge such blood-stained recollections. diego took his friend's hand, and remarking the emotion he had produced, added-- "i have told you, brother, what the ancestors of don juan de souza y soto-mayor made mine suffer, and your heart has bounded with indignation, because you are loyal and brave; but what you do not yet know is that the descendants of that family have faithfully followed the conduct of the murderers of tahi-mari. oh! there are strange fatalities in a man's life! one day--and that day is close at hand--you shall know the details of the existence which i have led, and the sufferings which i have endured without a murmur; but at the present day i will only speak of those of my race; afterwards i will speak of myself." while uttering the last words, a flash of joy like that which a tiger feels when it holds a quivering prey under its claws passed into the half-breed's eyes. he continued-- "my father died a victim to the cruelty of the spaniards, who put him to death because he dreamed of the independence of his country; his brother followed him to the tomb, weeping for his loss." "diego! god has cruelly tried thee." "i had a mother," diego went on, with a slight tremor in his voice; "she was the object of my father's dearest affections, and was young and lovely. one day when she left the mountain to visit my father, who was expiating within the walls of valparaíso prison his participation in a movement which had broken out among the araucanos, she met on the road a brilliant spanish cavalier who wore a lieutenant's epaulettes." "the spaniard fixed upon her an impassioned glance; she was alarmed, and tried to fly, but the horseman prevented her, and in spite of her prayers and supplications, she could not liberate herself from the villain's arms. on the morrow lieutenant don juan de soto-mayor was able to boast among his friends, the noble chiefs of the spanish army, that he had possessed the chaste wife of tahi-mari the indian." "yes, it was again a soto-mayor. this accursed name has ever hovered over the head of each member of my family, to crush it under punishment, sorrow, shame, or humiliation. each time that one of us has reddened american soil with his blood, it was a soto-mayor that shed it. each time that a member of this family met a member of mine, one was the executioner, the other the victim." "and now, brother, you will ask me why, knowing that general don juan de souza y soto-mayor is the man who dishonoured my mother, i did not choose among the weapons which hung from my girdle the one which should pierce his heart?--why i have not some night, when all were sleeping at the hacienda, carried within its walls the all-devouring fire, and taken, according to indian custom, eye for eye and tooth for tooth?" "yes, i confess it; i should have quivered with pleasure had i seen all the soto-mayors, who live calm and happy a few leagues from us, writhing in the agonies of death. but i am the son of tahi-mari, and i have another cause to defend beside my own--that of my nation. and on the day when my arm falls on those whom i execrate, it will not be the soto-mayors alone who perish, but all the spaniards who inhabit these countries." "ah! is it not strange to dream of enfranchisement after three hundred years of slavery? well, brother, the supreme moment is close at hand; the blood of the spaniard will again inundate the soil of peru, and the nineteenth century will avenge the sixteenth." "that is the reason why you saw me so silent at the general's house; that is why i agreed to escort him and his family to valdivia, for my plans are marvellously served by this journey. as for the girl you love, as i told you, you shall see her again, and it will be the beginning of the punishment which is destined to fall on this family." diego had risen, but a moment later he resumed his ordinary stoicism. "i have told you what you ought to know, in order to understand and excuse what you may see me undertake against the spaniards; but before going further it is right that i should know if i can count on your help, and if i shall find in you the faithful and devoted friend who never failed me up to this day." a violent contest was going on in leon's heart. he asked himself whether he, who had no cause of complaint against the spaniards, had any right to join those who were meditating their ruin. on the other hand, the sincere friendship which he felt for the vaquero, whose life he had shared during the last four years, rendered it a duty to assist him, and did not permit him to abandon him in the moment of danger. still he hesitated, for a secret anxiety kept him undecided, and prevented him forming a resolution. "diego," he asked the vaquero in his turn, "before answering you, let me ask you one question?" "speak, brother!" diego answered. "what do you mean to do with doña maria?" "i have promised you to bring her to your knees. if she love you, she will be my sister; if she refuse your love, i shall have the right to dispose of her." "and she will have nothing to fear till i have seen her again?" leon asked further. "nothing! i swear to you." "in that case," said leon, "i will take part in your enterprise. your success shall be mine, and whatever be the road you follow, or the means you employ to gain the object of your designs, i will do all that you do." "thanks, brother; i was well aware that you would support me in the struggle, for it is in the cause of justice. now i will set out." "do you go alone?" "yes, i must." "when shall i see you again?" "tomorrow morning, at don juan's, unless i am compelled to remain at the place where i am going longer than i think; in that case i will join you on the talca road. besides, you do not require me to escort the general: our men will be at their post tomorrow, and you can say something about my going on ahead." "that is true; but doña maria?" "you will see her again soon. but start alone tomorrow for the country house, and i will meet you this day week, whatever may happen, in the del solar wood, at the san francisco solano quarry, where you will order a halt." "agreed, and i leave you to act as you think proper. next wednesday at the del solar wood, and if you wish to join us before then, we shall follow the ordinary road." "very good; now i am off." ten minutes after this long interview, diego was galloping away from his comrade, who watched him depart, while striving to conjecture in what direction he was going. profoundly affected by the varied events of the preceding day, and the story which diego had told him, leon reflected deeply as he walked toward the smugglers remaining with him, and who were engaged in getting their weapons in order. although nothing in his exterior announced the preoccupation from which the was suffering, it could be guessed that he was in a state of lively anxiety. the image of doña maria floated before his eyes; he saw her pale and trembling after he had saved her from his horse's rush, and then, carrying himself mentally within the walls of the convent of the purísima concepción, he thought of the barrier which separated them. then suddenly the half-breed's words returned to his ear--"if she refuse your love," he had said, "i shall have the right to dispose of her!" an involuntary terror seized on the young man at this recollection. in fact, was it presumable that doña maria loved him? and would not the vaquero be compelled to employ violence in carrying out his promise of bringing him into the presence of the novice? in that case, how could he hope to make himself loved? these reflections painfully agitated leon delbès, who, obeying that spontaneity of action peculiar to his quick and impetuous character, resolved to fix his uncertainty by assuring himself of the impression which he had produced on the heart of the maiden, whom he loved with all the strength and energy of a real passion. such a sudden birth of love would appear strange in northern countries, where this exquisite feeling is only developed in conformity with the claims of the laws of civilization; but in chili, as in the whole of south america, love, ardent as the fires of the sun which illumines it, bursts forth suddenly and displays itself in its full power. the look of a chilian girl is the flush which enkindles hearts of fire which beat in breasts of iron. leon was a frenchman, but several years' residence in these parts, and his complete adoption of american manners, customs, and usages had so metamorphosed him, that gradually his tastes, habits, and wants had become identified with those of the inhabitants of chili, whom he regarded as his brothers and countrymen. without further delay, then, leon prepared to return to valparaíso, and make inquiries about doña maria. "it is two o'clock," he said to himself, after consulting his watch; "i have time to ride to ciudad, set crevel to work, and be at the general's by the appointed hour." and leaping on his horse, he galloped off in the direction of the port, after bidding the ten men of the escort to start with or without him the next morning for the country house. chapter vi. the banian's house. valparaíso, like nearly all the commercial centres of south america, is a collection of shapeless huts and magnificent palaces, standing side by side and hanging in long clusters from the sided of the three mountains which command the town. the streets are narrow, dirty, and almost deprived of air, for the houses, as in all american towns, have a tendency to approach each other, and at a certain height form a projection of four, or even six feet over the street. paving is perfectly unknown; and the consequence is, that in winter, when the deluging rains, which fall for three months almost without leaving off, have saturated the ground, these streets become veritable sewers, in which pedestrians sink up to the knee. this renders the use of a horse indispensable. putrid and pestilential miasmas exhale from these gutters, which are filled with rubbish of every description, resulting from the daily sweepings of the houses. on the other hand, the squares are large, square, perfectly airy, and lined with wide verandahs, which at midday offer a healthy protection from the sun. these verandahs contain handsome shops, in which the dealers have collected, at great cost, all that can tempt purchasers. it is a medley of the most discordant shops and booths, grouped side by side. a magnificent jeweller displays behind his window diamond necklaces, silver spurs, weighing from fifteen to twenty marcs, rings, bracelets, &c.; between a modest grocer quarrelling with his customers about the weight, and the seller of massamorra broth, who, with sleeves tucked up to the elbow, is selling his stuff by spoonfuls to every scamp who has an ochavo to regale himself with. the smuggler captain passed gloomily and thoughtfully through the joyous population, whose bursts of laughter echoed far and wide, and whose merry songs escaped in gay zambacuecas from all the spirit shops which are so frequent at valparaíso. in this way he reached señor crevel's inn, who uttered a cry of joy on perceiving the captain, and ran out to hold his horse. "are my men here?" leon asked civilly, as he dismounted. "they arrived nearly two hours back," crevel answered, respectfully. "it is well. is the green chamber empty?" every landlord, in whatever country he may hang out his sign, possesses a separate room adorned with the names of blue, red, or green, and which he lets at a fabulous price, under the excuse that it is far superior to all the others in the house. señor crevel knew his trade too well not to have adopted this habit common to all his brethren; but he had given the name of the green room to a charming little quiet nook, which only his regular customers entered. now, as we have said, the smugglers were very old friends of crevel. the door of the green room, perfectly concealed in the wall, did not allow its existence to be suspected; and it was in this room that the bold plans of the landlord's mysterious trade, whose profits were far greater than those which he drew from his avowed trade, were elaborated. on hearing leon's question, the banian's face assumed an expression even more joyous than that with which he had greeted the young man's arrival, for he scented, in the simple question asked him, a meeting of smugglers and the settlement of some affairs in which he would have his share as usual. hence he replied by an intelligent nod, and added aloud, "yes, señor; it is ready for your reception." after handing the traveller's horse to a greasy waiter, whom he ordered to take the greatest care of it, he led leon into the interior of the inn. we are bound to confess that if the architect who undertook to build this house had been more than saving in the distribution of ornamentation, it was admirably adapted for its owner's trade. it was a cottage built of pebbles and beams, which it had in common with the greater portion of the houses in valparaíso. its front looked, as we know, upon the calle san agostino, while the opposite side faced the sea, over which it jutted out on piles for some distance. an enormous advantage for the worthy landlord, who frequently profited by dark or stormy nights to avoid payment of customs dues, by receiving through the windows the goods which the smugglers sold him; and it also favoured the expeditions of the latter, by serving as a depôt for the bales which they undertook to bring in on account of people who dealt with them. this vicinity of the sea also enabled the frenchman, whose customers were a strange medley of all sorts of men, not to trouble himself about the result of the frequent quarrels which took place at his house, and which might have caused an unpleasantness with the police, who at valparaíso, as in other places where this estimable institution is in vogue, sometimes found it necessary to make an example. hence, so soon as the squadron of lanceros was signalled in the distance, señor crevel at once warned his guests; so that when the soldiers arrived, and fancied they were about to make a good haul, they found that the birds had flown. we need scarce say that they had simply escaped through the back window into a boat always kept fastened in case of need to a ring in the wooden platform, which served as a landing stage to the house. the lanceros did not understand this sudden disappearance, and went off with a hangdog air. differing from european houses, which fall back in proportion to their elevation from the ground, señor crevel's establishment bulged outwards, so that the top was spacious and well lighted, while the ground floor rooms were narrow and dark. the landlord had always taken advantage of this architectural arrangement by having a room made on the second floor, which was reached by a turning staircase, and a perfect ear of dionysius, as all external sounds reached the inmates, while the noise they made either in fighting or talking was deadened. the result of this was that a man might be most easily killed in the green room without a soul suspecting it. it was into this room, then, witness of so many secret councils, that the landlord introduced, with the greatest ceremony, the captain of the smugglers, who walked behind him. on regarding the interior of the room, nothing indicated the origin of its name; for it was entirely hung with red damask. had this succeeded a green hanging? this seems to be a more probable explanation. it received light from above, by means of a large skylight. the walls were hung with pictures in equivocal taste, representing subjects passably erotic and even slightly obscene. a large four-post bed, adorned with its tester, occupied all one side of the room, and a mahogany chest of drawers stood facing it: in a corner was a small table covered with the indispensable toilette articles--combs, brushes, &c. a small looking glass over the table, chairs surrounding a large round table, and, lastly, an alabaster clock, which for the last ten years had invariably marked the same hour between its two flower vases, completed the furniture of this famous green room. we must also mention a bell, whose string hung behind the landlord's bar, and was useful to give an alarm under the circumstances to which we have referred. leon paid no attention to these objects, which had long been familiar to him. "now, then," he said, as he took off his hat and poncho, and threw himself into an easy chair, "bring me some dinner at once." "what would you like, captain?" "the first thing ready: some puchero, some pepperpot--in short, whatever you please, provided it be at once, as i am in a hurry." "what will you drink?" "wine, confound it! and try to find some that is good." "all right." "decamp then, and make haste to bring me all i require." "directly, captain." and señor crevel withdrew to attend to the preparation of the young man's dinner. during this time leon walked up and down the room, and seemed to be arranging in his head the details of some plan he was meditating. crevel soon returned to lay the table, which he performed without opening his lips for fear of attracting some disagreeable remark from the captain, who, for his part, did not appear at all disposed for conversation. in an instant all was arranged with that coquettish symmetry which belongs to the french alone. "dinner is ready, captain," said crevel, when he re-entered the room. "very well. leave me; when i want you i will call you." the landlord went out. leon sat down to the table, and drawing the knife which he wore in his boot, vigorously attacked the appetizing dishes placed before him. it is a fact worthy of remark, that with great and energetic natures, moral sufferings have scarce any influence over physical wants. it might be said that they understand the necessity of renewing or redoubling their strength, in order to resist more easily and more victoriously the griefs which oppress them, and they require all their vigour to contend worthily against them. chilian meals in no way resemble ours. among us people drink while eating, in order to facilitate the absorption and digestion of the food; but in america it is quite different--there people eat without drinking. it is only when the pastry and sweets have been eaten that they drink a large glass of water for digestion; then comes the wines and liqueurs, always in small quantities, for the inhabitants of hot countries are generally very sober, and not addicted to the interminable sittings round a table covered with bottles, in an atmosphere impregnated with the steam of dishes. when the meal was ended, leon took his tobacco pouch from his pocket and rolled a cigarette, after wiping his fingers on the cloth. as this action may appear improper to the reader, it is as well that he should know that all americans do so without scruple, as the use of the napkin is entirely unknown. another custom worth mentioning is that of employing the fingers in lieu of a fork. this is the process among the americans. they cut a piece of bread crumb, which they hold in their hand, and pick up with it the articles on their plate with great rapidity and cleanliness. nor must it be thought that they act in this way through ignorance of the fork; they are perfectly well acquainted with that utensil, and can manage it as well as we do when required; but though it is present on every table, both rich and poor regard it as an object of luxury, and say that it is far more convenient to do without it, and remark that the food has considerably more flavour when eaten in this fashion. leon lit his cigarette, and fell again into his reflections. all at once he rose and rang the bell, and crevel at once appeared. "take all this away," said leon, pointing to the table. the landlord removed all traces of the meal. "and now bring me the articles to make a glass of punch." crevel gazed for a moment in amazement at the man who had given this order. the sobriety of the smuggler was proverbial at valparaíso; he had never been seen to drink more than one or two glasses of pisco, and then it was only on great occasions, or to please his friend diego, whom he knew to be very fond of strong liquors, like all the indians. when a bottle of aguardiente was served to the two men, the indian finished it alone, for leon scarce wet his lips. hence the landlord was almost knocked off his feet on receiving his guest's unusual order. "well, did you not hear me?" leon resumed, impatiently. "yes, yes, sir," crevel replied; "but--" "but it surprises you, i suppose?" "i confess it." "it is true," leon said, with a mocking smile, "that it is not my habit to drink." "that it is not," said crevel. "well, i am going to take to it, that's all. and what do you find surprising in that?" "nothing, of course." "then bring me what i asked for." "directly, directly, captain." "on my soul, something extraordinary is taking place," crevel said to himself as he descended to his bar. "the captain never had a very agreeable way with him, but, on the word of crevel, i never saw him as he is tonight; it would be dangerous to touch him with a pair of tongs. what can have happened to him? ah, stuff, it concerns him, after all: and then, who knows; perhaps he is on the point of becoming a drunkard." after this aside, the worthy landlord manufactured a splendid bowl of punch, which he carried up to leon so soon as it was ready. "there," he said, as he placed the bowl on the table; "i think that will please you, captain." "thanks! but what is this?" leon said, as he looked at what crevel had brought--"there is only one glass." "why, you are alone." "that is true; but i trust you will do me the pleasure of drinking with me." "i should be most unwilling, captain, to deprive myself of the honour of drinking with you, but--" crevel, through his stupefaction, was unable to complete his sentence, for the invitation which the captain gave him surprised him beyond all expression. let us add that it was the first time such an honour had been done him. "in that case bring a glass for yourself." crevel, without further hesitation, fetched the glass, and seated himself facing the captain. "now, my dear crevel," leon said, as he dipped into the bowl and filled the glasses to the brim, "here's to your health, and let us talk." the landlord was all ears. "do you know the convent of the purísima concepción?" at this question crevel opened his eyes to their fullest extent. "what the deuce can the captain have to do with the nuns of the purísima concepción?" he asked himself, and then replied, "certainly, captain." "very good; and could you contrive to get in there under some pretext?" the landlord appeared to reflect for a moment. "i have it," he said; "i will get in whenever you like." "in that case get ready, for i want to send you there this very moment." "what to do?" "a trifle. i want you to see the señora maria," leon said to him, after describing the accident of which he had been the involuntary cause, "and deliver her a message from me." "the deuce! that is more difficult," crevel muttered. "did you not tell me that you could get into the convent?" "yes; but seeing a novice is very different." "still you must do so, unless you refuse to undertake the task. i thought of you, because i believed you to be a clever and resolute fellow; if i am mistaken, i will apply to someone else, and i feel certain that i shall find more than one ingenious man who will not be sorry to earn four ounces." "four ounces, did you say?" and the parisian's eyes sparkled with a flash of covetousness. "tell me if that suits you?" "i accept." "in that case, make haste. have my horse saddled for i shall accompany you." "we will start within a quarter of an hour; but in order that i may take my precautions, tell me what i have to do when i see the señora?" "you will hand her this scapulary, and say to her that the cavalier who wore it is lying at your house in danger of death. pay careful attention to the expression which her face assumes, and manage to describe it to me. that is all i want." "i understand." and the landlord went down to make his preparations. "in that way, i shall know whether she loves me," leon exclaimed, so soon as he was alone. then, taking up his poncho and montera, he rolled a cigarette in his fingers, and went to join crevel in the ground floor room. "do not be impatient, captain; i shall be with you in a moment," the banian said on perceiving him; "i only ask of you the time to run to my cellar." "make haste, for time is slipping away." "do not be alarmed; i shall be at the convent within half an hour." on returning from the cellar the landlord brought with him three bottles covered with a thick coating of mould, bearing witness to the long stay they had made in the shadow of the sun, and adorned with a skullcap of pitch, whose colour time had changed. "what is that?" leon asked. "the keys of the convent of the purísima concepción," crevel replied, with a crafty smile. "we can start now." in a moment leon, on horseback, was going down the calle san agostino a few paces a head of crevel, who was on foot. chapter vii. the novice. we left doña maria in the garden of the convent, preparing to obey the summons of the venerable abbess, doña madeline aguirre frías, in religion, sister santa marta de los dolores, the mother superior of the community, not doubting but that she was summoned to give a detailed account of the morning's events. doña maria expected to receive some reproof for the involuntary fault she had committed by letting her face be seen by the cavalier who raised her when in a fainting state. but, in her present state of mind, far from upbraiding herself for not having quickly lowered her veil so soon as she regained possession of her senses, she was quite prepared to confess the impression which the sight of the young man had produced on her, and the present she had made him of her scapulary, for she had only one thought, one desire, one wish, and that was, to see again the man whom she loved. still, in consequence of the remonstrances which her companion, rosita, made to her, and in order not to give anybody the opportunity of reading in her eyes what was passing in her soul, she removed all traces of her tears, overcame the feeling of sorrow which had invaded her whole being, and proceeded with a firm step toward the cell of the mother superior, while rosita regained her own. we have described the interior of the cells of the nuns or novices dwelling in the convent of the purísima concepción, which, with but rare exceptions, are all alike, but that of the mother superior deserves a special description, owing to the difference that exists between it and those of the other nuns. nothing could be more religious, more worldly, and more luxurious than its whole appearance. it was an immense square room, with two large pointed windows, with small panes set in lead, on which were painted holy subjects with an admirable delicacy and surety of touch. the walls were covered with long gilt and embossed cordovan leather tapestry; and valuable pictures, representing the chief events in the life of the patron saint of the convent, were grouped with that symmetry and taste which are only found among ecclesiastics. between the two windows was a magnificent virgin by raphael, before which was an altar; a silver lamp, full of odoriferous oil, hung from the ceiling and burnt night and day in front of the altar, which could be concealed by thick damask curtains when required. the furniture consisted of a large chinese screen, behind which was concealed the abbess's bed, a simple couch of carved oak, surrounded by a mosquito net of white gauze. a square table, also in oak, supporting a few books and a desk, was in the centre of the room; and in one corner a large library filled with books relating to religious matters, allowed the rich gilding of scarce tomes to be seen through the glass doors. a few chairs with twisted legs were arranged against the wall. lastly, a brasero of brilliant brass, filled with olive kernels, faced a superb press, whose fine carving was a work of art. the sunshine, subdued by the coloured glass of the windows, spread a soft and mystical light, which made the visitor undergo a feeling of respect and contemplation, by giving this large room a stern and almost lugubrious aspect. at the moment when the maiden was introduced to the abbess, the latter was seated in a large, straight-backed chair, surmounted by the abbatial crown, and whose seat, covered with gilt leather, was adorned with a double fringe of gold and silk. she held an open book in her hand and seemed plunged in profound meditation. doña maria waited till the abbess raised her eyes to her. "ah, you are here, my child," the abbess at length said, on perceiving the presence of the novice. "come hither." maria advanced towards her. "you were nearly the victim of an accident which cast trouble and confusion upon the progress of the procession, and it is slightly your own fault; you ought to have got out of the way of the horse as your dear sister did; but, after all, though the fear exposed your life to danger, i see with satisfaction that you have, thanks to the omnipotent protection of nuestra señora de la purísima concepción, escaped from the peril, and hence i order you to thank her by reciting an orison morning and night for eight days." "i will do so, buena madre," maria replied. "and now, chica, in order to efface every trace of the emotion which the event must have caused you, i recommend you to drink a few spoonfuls of my miraculous water; it is, as you are aware, a sovereign remedy against every sort of attack. worthy don francisco solano, the reverend pater-guardian of los carmelitos descalzos, gave me the receipt for it, and on many occasions we have recognised the truly surprising qualities of this water." "i will not fail to do so," the young lady replied, with the firm intention of doing nothing of the sort, as she knew the perfect inefficiency of the good lady's panacea. "good! you must take care of your health, maria, for you know that my great object is to watch over the welfare of all our sisters, and to render their abode in this peaceful retreat in which we live in the peace of the lord, full of attractions and sweetness." maria looked at the abbess; she had expected some sort of reprimand, and the honeyed words of the worthy mother superior had a tinge of benignity which was not habitual to them. emboldened by the abbess's kind manner, maria felt a great desire to tell her of the deep aversion she felt for a monastic life, but fearing lest she might be mistaken as to the purport of the words which fell from the unctuous lips of the holy person, she awaited the end of her discourse, and contented herself with saying, with all the appearance of a submission full of humility-- "i know, buena madre, how great your anxiety is for all of us; but i do not yet merit such kindness, and--" "it is true that you are but a novice, and the solemn vows have not eternally consecrated you to the pious destination which heaven has reserved for you, but the blessed day is approaching, and soon--" "madre!" maria impetuously interrupted, about to speak and display the wound in her heart which was painfully bleeding at the thought of taking the veil. "what is the matter, my child? you are impatient. i understand the lively desire which animates you, and am delighted at it, for it would be painful for me to employ with you, whom i love so dearly, any other means than those of persuasion to oblige you to take the gown which is destined for you." on hearing the abbess speak thus, maria understood that her fate was settled, and that no supplication would produce any change in what was resolved. moreover, the air of hypocritical satisfaction spread over the face of the mother superior sufficiently proved that the conversation which she had begun had no other object than to adroitly sound the young lady as to her feelings about taking the veil, and that, if necessary, she would employ her right and power to force her into submission.-- maria, consequently, bowed her head and made no reply. either the abbess took this silence for a sign of obedience, or regarded it as a manifestation of utter indifference, for a faint smile played round her lips, and she continued the conversation. "while congratulating you on the good sentiments which have taken root in your mind, it is my duty to inform you of the orders which i received this morning from your father, general soto-mayor." maria raised her head, trying to read in the abbess's looks what these orders might signify. "you are not ignorant, chica, that the rule of our convent grants novices who are preparing to take the veil, permission to spend a month with their family before beginning the retreat which must precede the ceremony of their vows." here maria, who was anxiously listening, felt her heart beat as if it would burst her bosom. the abbess continued-- "in obedience to this custom, your father, before affiancing you to god, informed me this morning that he wished to have you near him, and employ the month which you will spend out of the convent in taking you to valdivia to see his brother, that worthy servant of the lord, don luis." a cry of joy, restrained by the fear of letting what was taking place in her mind be seen, was on the point of bursting from her bosom. "dear father!" she said, clasping her hands. "you will set out tomorrow," the abbess continued; "a servant of your family will come to fetch you in the morning." "oh, thanks, madam," maria could not refrain from exclaiming, as she was intoxicated with joy at the thought of leaving the convent. assuredly, under any other circumstances, the announcement of this holiday would have been received by the maiden, if not with coldness, at the least with indifference; but her meeting with leon had so changed her ideas, that she fancied she saw in this departure a means which providence gave her to escape from a cloistered life. the poor child fancied that her parents were thinking of restoring her to the world; then, reflecting on the slight probability which this hypothesis seemed to possess, she said to herself that, at any rate, she might see again within the month _him_ whose memory excited so great an influence over her mind. there was still hope for her, and hope is nearly happiness. the abbess had not failed to notice the look of pleasure which had suddenly illumined the maiden's features. "you are very happy, then, at the thought of leaving us, maria," she said, with an attempt at a smile. "oh, do not think that, mamita," maria said, as she threw herself on her neck. "you are so kind and so indulgent that i should be ungrateful did i not love you." at this moment the maiden's heart, inundated with delight, overflowed with love. the aversion which she had felt an hour previously for all that surrounded her had faded away and made room for a warm expression of joy. a sunbeam on high had sufficed to dissipate the dark cloud which had formed on the blue sky. in spite of the lively desire which maria had to bear the good news to rosita, she was obliged to listen to the perusal of general soto-mayor's letter, which the abbess gave her, as well as a long exhortation which the latter thought it her duty to address to her about the conduct she should assume when she found herself in the bosom of her family. nothing was forgotten, neither the recommendation to perform her religious vows exactly, nor that of preparing to return to the convent worthily at the close of the month, animated with the pious desire of devoting herself to it joyfully, as the trial of the world would serve to show her the slight happiness which those forced to live in it found there. maria promised all that the superior wished; she only saw through the pompous phrases of the holy woman the temporary liberty offered to her, and this sufficed her to listen patiently to the rest of the peroration. at length the harangue was finished, and maria rushed towards rosita's cell; on seeing her companion with a radiant brow and a smile on her lip, the latter remained stupefied. amid the transports of joy, maria informed her of the happy event which had occurred so opportunely to calm her anguish, and embraced her affectionately. "how happy you seem!" rosita could not refrain from saying to her. "oh! i really am so. do you understand, rosita, a whole month out of the convent, and who knows whether i may not see during the month the man who so boldly saved me from peril." "can you think of it?" "yes; i confess to you that it is my dearest wish to see him again and tell him that i love him." "maria!" "forgive me, dear rosita, for, selfish that i am, i only think of myself, and forget that you, too, might perhaps like to leave these convent walls in order to embrace your brother." "you are mistaken, sister; i am happy here; and though my brother loves me as much as i love him, he will not call me to his side, for he would be alone to protect me, and what should i do in the world when he was compelled to remain with his soldiers? ah! i have no father or mother!" "poor rosita!" "hence," the latter said, gaily, "speak no more of me, but let me rejoice at finding you smiling after having left you so sad." the maidens soon after separated, and maria went to make the necessary preparations for her departure. on entering her cell, her first care was to throw herself on her knees before the image of the virgin and thank her. then the rest of the day passed as usual. but anyone who had seen the novice before her interview with the mother superior, and met her after the latter had made the general's letter known to her, would have noticed a singular change in her. a lovely flush had driven the pallor from her lips, her eyes had regained their expression of vivacity, and her lips, red as the pomegranate flower, parted to let her heaving breath pass through. the morrow maria was up at daybreak, still under the impression of the sweet dreams which had lulled her slumbers. the whole night leon's image had been before her, flashing in her ravished eye the dazzling prism of a new existence. it was striking ten by the convent clock when general soto-mayor's major-domo presented himself at the door of the house of god. chapter viii. a visit to the convent. it was about five in the evening when leon delbès left the posada in the company of crevel. the great heat of midday had been succeeded by a refreshing sea breeze, which was beginning to rise and blow softly, producing an exquisite temperature, of which all took advantage to rush from their houses, and join the numerous promenaders crowding the streets, squares, and the shore of the ocean, whose calm and smooth surface was tinged by the ardent beams of the sun, which had spent two-thirds of its course. it was a saint's day, and the people, dressed in their best clothes, whose varied colours offer the eye such a piquant effect, hurried along with shouts, song, and laughter, of which no idea can be formed in europe. in south america a holiday is the occasion for all the pleasures which it is given to man to enjoy, and the americans do not neglect it. marvellously endowed by nature, which has given them strength, vigour, and unalterable health, their powerful organization allows them to do anything. born for love and pleasure, the south americans make of their life one long enjoyment: it is the ideal of refined sensualism. the two frenchmen, with their hats pulled over their eyes, and carefully wrapped in their ponchos, so as not to be recognised and delayed, mingled with the crowd, and elbowing and elbowed, pushing and pushed, they advanced as quickly as they could, moving with great difficulty through the mob that surrounded them. the reader will be doubtless astonished to see, in a country so hot as chili, leon delbès and crevel enveloped, as we have just said, in heavy cloaks. in chili, peru, and generally in all the ex-spanish colonies, the cloak is constantly in use, and almost indispensable! it is worn everywhere and always in all weathers and all places, at every hour of the night and of the day. there is a spanish proverb which says that the cloak protects from heat and cold, from rain and sun. this is true to a certain extent, but is not the sole reason why it has become obligatory. the south americans, as well as the descendants of the spaniards, have retained the two chief vices which distinguished their ancestors, that is to say, a mad pride and invincible indolence. the american never works save when driven into his last entrenchments, when hunger forces him to lay aside his careless and contemplative habits in order to earn means to support himself. hence it follows very naturally, that it is impossible for him to obtain the fine clothes which he covets, and whose price is so heavy, that he despairs of ever possessing them. in order to remedy this misfortune, and save, at the same time, his pride, which prohibits him from appearing badly dressed, he works just long enough to save the money to buy himself a panama hat, a pair of trousers, and a cloak. when he has succeeded in obtaining these objects of permanent necessity, he is all right and his honour is saved, for thanks to the exceptional talent which he possesses of draping himself elegantly and majestically in a piece of cloth, he can boldly present himself anywhere, and no one will ever suspect what hideous rags and frightful misery are covered by the splendid cloak which he bears on his shoulders. in addition to the motive which we have just explained, it is fair to state that, owing to the excessive heat of the climate, the advantage of the cloak is felt in the fact that it is ample and wide, leaves the limbs liberty of movement, and does not scorch the body, as well-fitting clothes do when heated by the sunbeams. hence rich and poor have all adopted it. after a ride interrupted at every moment by the people who encumbered the streets, the two frenchmen reached their destination, and stopped before the church adjoining the convent. there they separated: crevel proceeded toward the gate of the community, and leon, after dismounting and fastening his horse to an iron ring fixed in the wall, entered the church, and leant against a pillar to wait. the church of nuestra señora del carmo, belonging to the convent of the purísima concepción, is one of the finest and richest of those existing in valparaíso. it was built a short time after the conquest of chili, in the renaissance style. it is lofty, large, and well lighted by a number of arched windows, whose coloured glass is among the finest specimens of the art. a double row of columns delicately carved, supports a circular gallery, with a balcony in open work, made with that patience which the spaniards appear to have inherited from the arabs, and which produced the marvellous details of the great mosque of cordova. the choir is separated from the nave by a massive silver grating, modelled by some rival of benvenuto cellini. the high altar is of lapis lazuli, and sixteen silver columns support a dome painted blue, and studded! with gold stars, above the splendid table covered with a rich pall of english point, on which stand the magnificent golden reliquary containing the holy sacrament. in the aisles, eight chapels, placed under the protection of different saints, and adorned with, extraordinary wealth, each contains a confessional which closes hermetically, and in which it is impossible to catch a glimpse of the male or female penitent asking remission of sins. nothing can be imagined more aërial or coquettish than the ebony pulpit, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, used by the preacher. this pulpit is a masterpiece, and it is said that a spanish workman, finding himself in great danger, made a vow to nuestra señora del carmen that he would give her a pulpit if he escaped. having escaped the danger, he devoted hourly years of his life to the accomplishment of the work he had promised, and which he only completed a few months prior to his death. if we may judge of the danger this man incurred by the finish of the execution and the merit of the work, it must have been immense. lastly, there are at regular distances large holy water vessels of carved marble, covered with plates of silver. when leon entered the church it was full of faithful people. upwards of two thousand candles spread a dazzling light, and a cloud of incense brooded over the congregation, who were plunged into a profound contemplation. in american churches that impudent traffic in chairs, which goes on so shamelessly elsewhere during the holiest or more sorrowful ceremonies, is unknown. there are no seats, but the men stand, and the women bring with them small square carpets on which they kneel. this custom may perhaps injure the symmetry, but it certainly imparts to the assembly of the faithful a more religious appearance. we do not see, as in france, individuals stretching themselves, taking their ease, throwing themselves back, or sleeping in their chairs, and we are not at each movement disturbed by the rattling of wood upon the slabs. on hearing the chants of the nuns, which rose in gentle and melodious notes, accompanied by the grave sound of the organ, leon delbès felt himself involuntarily assailed by a melancholy feeling. gradually forgetting the motive of his presence at this sacred spot, he let his head fall upon his chest, and yielded entirely to the ecstasy into which the mighty harmony that filled his ears plunged him. in the meanwhile crevel, after leaving the captain of the smugglers, took a half turn and proceeded, as we said, toward the gate of the convent, on which he knocked thrice, after looking around him rather through habit than distrust, in order to make certain that he was not followed. the door was not opened, but a trap in the niche of the upper panel was pulled back, and an old woman's face appeared in the aperture. crevel assumed his most sanctimonious look, and giving a mighty bow, he said, as he doffed his broad-brimmed straw hat-- "ave maria purísima, sister." "sin pecado concebida, brother," the old woman replied, who was no other than the sister porter, "what can i do for you?" "i am ill, sister, very ill," crevel repeated in a moaning voice. "good gracious, brother, what is the matter with you? but i am not mistaken," she added, after looking at the newcomer more attentively, "you are the worthy frenchman established in the calle san agostino, who brings from time to time a few bottles of old french wine to the abbess for her cramp." "alas! yes, sister, it is myself; and i have brought two under my cloak, which i beg her to accept." crevel, like a good many of his fellow traders, had the praiseworthy habit of giving alms to the rich, in order to rob the poor with greater facility. "they are welcome," said the sister porter, whose small eyes glistened with covetousness; "wait a minute, brother, and i will open the gate for you." "do so, sister, and i will wait as long as you please." crevel soon heard the formidable sound of bolts being drawn and locks turned, and at the end of a quarter of an hour the door was opened just wide enough to leave passage for a man. the landlord glided like a snake through the opening offered him, and the door closed again at once. "sit down, brother," said the sister porter; "it is a long way from your house to the convent." "thanks, sister," said crevel, taking advantage of the invitation; "i am really extremely tired." he then took from under his poncho the two bottles, which he placed on the table. "be good enough, sister," he said, "to give these bottles to your mother superior, begging her not to forget me in her prayers." "i will not fail, brother, i assure you." "i am certain of it, sister; and stay," he added, drawing out a third bottle, "take this, which i brought for you, and which will do you good, for it is justly said in france that wine is the milk of aged people." "that is true, brother, and i thank you; but tell me the nature of the illness you are suffering from." "for some time past, sister, i have been subject to a sudden dizziness, and as your convent possesses a miraculous water which cures all diseases, i have come to buy a phial." "with the greatest pleasure, brother," the sister porter replied. "i am sorry that i cannot make you a present of it; but this water is deposited in my hands, and is the property of the poor, to whom we must render an account of it." we will remark parenthetically that the convents of valparaíso willingly accept anything offered them, but never give anything away. crevel was perfectly aware of this fact; hence, without offering the slightest observation, he drew four piastres from his pocket, which he placed in the sister's hand. the latter put them out of sight with a vivacity which astonished the banian himself: then running to a chest of drawers, the sole article of furniture which adorned the room, she opened it and took a small white glass bottle, carefully corked and sealed, which lay there along with some sixty others, and brought it to crevel. the landlord received it with marks of profound gratitude. "i hope that this water will do me good," he said, striving to prolong the interview. "do not doubt it, brother." and the sister porter looked at crevel in a way which made him comprehend that nothing need detain him now that he had what he came to seek. the banian understood it and prepared to rise. "now, sister, i will ask your permission to retire, in spite of the charm which your conversation has for me; but business before everything." "that is true," the sister porter replied; "hence i will not keep you; you know that you will always be welcome to the convent." "thanks, sister, thanks. and now i am off." "farewell, my brother." he walked a few steps toward the door, but then hurriedly turned back. "by the bye," he said, as if remembering something which he had forgotten, "i trust that the accident which happened to one of your sisters during the procession had no serious consequences." "no, thanks to heaven, brother." "ah, all the better; then she has quite recovered." "so perfectly," said the sister porter, "that she is travelling at this moment." "what! the señora maria de soto-mayor travelling?" "you know her name?" "of course; for i was formerly butler to the general her father." "well, then, it was through an order of the general that sister maria left this morning for the country house which he possesses a few leagues from here." "well, then, sister, good-bye, and i hope we shall meet again soon," crevel exclaimed, hurrying this time to reach the gate. "¡anda ve con dios!" said the sister, surprised at this hurried movement. "thanks, thanks." crevel was already in the street. now, while he was conscientiously performing the commission which leon had entrusted to him, the latter was still waiting for crevel to rejoin him. after remaining a quarter of an hour in the church, he left it, and was beginning to grow impatient, when the landlord's shadow was thrown on the convent wall. in a second he was by his side. "well?" he asked, on approaching him. "come, come," said crevel, with satisfaction, "i fancy i bring good news." "speak at once." "in the first place, doña maria is perfectly well, and feels no effects from the terror which your horse caused her." "next?" "that is something, surely." "go on, go on! scoundrel," the smuggler cried, as he shook crevel's arm. "good heavens! a little calmness, señor caballero; you will never correct yourself of your vivacity." leon's brows were contracted, and he stamped his foot passionately, so crevel hastened to obey. "learn, then, that this morning the young lady left the convent to rejoin her family." "what do you say?" leon asked, utterly astounded. "the truth; for the sister porter assures me of the fact." "in that case, i am off, too." "why?" "what would you have me do here?" and, not troubling himself further about his companion, the captain unfastened his horse and leaped on its back. then, throwing his purse to the landlord, he said that he should see him again soon, and started at a gallop. "hum!" crevel said, quite confounded; "the devil's certainly in that fellow, or he has a slate loose. what a pace he rides at!" and, after giving a last glance at the rider, who was disappearing round the corner of the square, the worthy landlord quietly bent his steps in the direction of his posada. "for all that, he is a good customer." chapter ix. on the sierra. the traveller who, proceeding south, leaves one fine morning the city of santiago, that magnificent capital of chili which is destined ere long (if it be not destroyed by an earthquake, as has already happened twice), to become the finest city of south america, experiences--according as he belongs to one of the two classes of travellers called by sterne positive or enthusiastic travellers--a sudden disillusion or a complete charm at the sight of the landscape spread out before him. in fact, for a radius of fifty or sixty leagues round the capital, the country offers, with but few differences, the same appearance as we meet with when we traverse the smiling plains of beauce, or the delicious province of touraine, so poetically named the garden of france. on either side of wide and well-kept roads, lined with lofty trees, whose tufted crests meet and form a natural arch, which affords a shelter against the heat of the day, extend for an enormous distance vast fields covered with crops of wheat, barley, rice, and alfalfa, and orchards filled with apple, pear, and peach trees, and all the other fruit trees which grow prolifically in these superb countries. on the horizon, upon hills exposed to the rising sun, countless patches of that vine which chili alone has succeeded in cultivating, and which produces a wine highly esteemed by connoisseurs, rejoice the eye which contemplates to satiety these enormous masses of gilded grapes destined to supply the whole of south america with wine. in the distance are seen on the prairies horses, mules, vicunas, viscachas, and llamas, which raise their head on the passage of the caravans, and regard the travellers with their large eyes full of gentleness and intelligence. an infinite number of small streams wind with capricious turns through this country, which they fertilize, and their limpid and silvery track is covered with formidable bands of majestic, black-headed swans. but, after a journey of four days, when you leave the province of santiago to enter that of colchagua, the country assumes a more abrupt appearance. you can already begin to feel the rising of the ground which gradually reaches, with undulation upon undulation, the cordilleras of the andes. the soil, ruder to the eye and more rebellious to cultivation, although it has not yet completely acquired those sublime, savage beauties which, a few leagues further on, will cause the blessings of civilization to be forgotten, holds a mid place between that nature of which man has made a conquest, which he changes and modifies according to his caprices, and that invincible nature against which all his efforts are impotent, and which victoriously retains the independence of its diversified, wild, and imposing scenery. it was the sixth day after that fixed for the journey projected by general don juan, and on the road that runs from currio to talca, that at about midday, a large party of travellers composed of fifteen men, both masters and peons, and three ladies whose features it was impossible to distinguish, as they were careful to conceal them so thoroughly under their rebozos, was advancing with difficulty, trying in vain to shelter themselves against the burning sunbeams which fell vertically. no shadow allowed the men or beasts to breathe for a moment; there was not a single tree whose foliage might offer a little refreshment. ahead of the horsemen a dozen mules, trotting one after the other, and each loaded with two heavy bales, followed with a firm step the bell of the yegua madrina, which alone had the privilege of marching at liberty, and with no burthen, at the head of the caravan. all our travellers, armed to the teeth, rode in groups behind the mules, and were mounted on those capital chilian horses which have no equals for speed, and of which we might almost say that they are indefatigable. the heat was stifling, and with the exception of the _area mula!_ uttered from time to time by the muleteers, in order to stimulate the vigour of the poor brutes, no one said a word. nothing was audible save the sharp footfall of the animals echoing on the stones, and the clang of the heavy spurs which each rider had on his heels. the road wound round a vast quebrada along the brink of which it ran, growing narrower every moment, which soon compelled the travellers to ride one by one, having on their right a precipice of more than twelve hundred yards in depth, down which the slightest slip on the part of their steeds might hurl them, and on their left a wall of granite rising perpendicularly to an incalculable height. still this precarious situation, far from causing a feeling of terror among the persons of whom we are speaking, seemed, on the contrary, to give them a sensation of undefinable comfort. this resulted from the fact that on this gorge the sun did not reach them, and they were able to refresh their lungs by inhaling a little fresh air, which it had been impossible for them to do during the last three hours. hence, without troubling themselves about the spot which they had reached, any more than if they had been in a forest glade, they threw off the folds in which they had wrapped themselves, in order to avoid the heat, and prepared to enjoy for a few minutes the truce which the sun had granted them. gaiety had returned, the muleteers were beginning to strike up those interminable complaints with which, if we may be allowed to use the expression, they seem to keep the mules in step, and the masters lit their paper cigarettes. they rode on thus for about half an hour, and then, after having followed the thousand windings of the mountains, the caravan came out upon an immense plain covered with a tall close grass, of a dark green hue, in which the horses disappeared up to the chest, and on which clumps of trees grew at intervals. the mountains opened on the right and left like a fan, and displayed on the horizon their denuded and desolate crests. "baya pius, gentlemen," one of the horsemen said, as he spurred his horse and wiped his forehead; "we shall halt within two hours." "i hope so, captain; for i frankly confess to you that i am exhausted with fatigue." "stay, don juan," the first of the two men continued, as he stretched out his hand in the direction they were following; "do you perceive a little to the left that larch tree wood stretching out at the foot of the mound, down which a torrent rushes?" "yes, yes, i see it, señor leon," the general, whom our readers have doubtless recognized, answered the captain of the smugglers. "well, general, that is where we shall camp tonight." "heaven be praised!" a sweet maiden voice exclaimed, mingling in the conversation; "but are you not mistaken, señor captain, in saying that we shall not reach that spot before two hours?" leon eagerly turned his head, and replied, while accompanying his words with a look in which the love he felt was seen-- "i have been about the mountains too long, doña maria, to be mistaken as to a thing so simple for us sons of the sierra as a calculation of distance; but if you feel too fatigued, señorita, speak, and we will camp here." "oh, no," the maiden quickly replied, "on the contrary, let us go on; for the great heat has now passed, and the rising breeze is so agreeable, that i feel as if i could canter thus all night." leon bent to his saddle-bow, and after courteously saluting doña maria and the ladies with her, he hurried on and joined diego, who was marching ahead, with his eye on the watch and a frown on his brow, in the attitude of a man who seems afraid he shall not find the traces which he is in search of. he had rejoined the caravan two days before, and as yet not a syllable had been exchanged between him and leon: still the latter had noticed in the half-breed's countenance, since his arrival, an air of satisfaction, which proved that he had succeeded in his plans. and yet, though doña maria was riding a few yards from him, had diego brought the two young people together according to his promises? evidently not; since at the hour when the vaquero left leon, the young lady arrived under the safeguard of one of her father's servants. hence the half-breed's satisfaction must be attributed to some other motive. while leon was striving to divine it--while curiously examining his friend's slightest gesture, let us relate, in a few words, what had taken place between the captain and the soto-mayor family during the six days which had elapsed since his visit to the convent of the purísima concepción. returning at full speed, leon reached the rio claro during the night, and after two or three hours' repose among the smugglers, he started at the head of his men for the general's country house, where the persons whom he had engaged to escort as far as valdivia were awaiting him. at the moment when leon entered the drawing room to announce that the mules and the horses were ready to start, a loud exclamation burst from a young lady whom the captain's eyes had been greedily seeking ever since his entrance into the house. it was maria, who recognised her saviour. not one of the persons present, who were engaged with the final preparations for the start, noticed the cry of surprise uttered by the maiden. leon at once felt it echo to his heart, and a flash of joy escaping from his glance illuminated maria's soul. in the space of a second they both understood that they were loved. the journey they were about to undertake appeared to them a more splendid festival than their imagination could conceive. they had scarce hoped to see each other again, and they were about to live side by side for a week. was not this such perfect happiness that it seemed a miracle? an hour later, the young couple were riding along together. although the captain was obliged to remain pretty constantly at the head of the small party which he commanded, he seized the slightest excuse to get near maria, who, forgetting everything else in this world, kept her eyes incessantly fixed on this man, the mere sight of whom caused her heart to beat. and there was no lack of excuses: at one moment he must encourage by a shout or a signal the young lady's horse which was checking its speed; at another he must recommend her to guard herself against a whirlwind of dust, or remove a stone from her horse's hoof. and maria ever thanked him with a smile of indescribable meaning. as he was obliged, in order not to excite suspicion, to pay similar attention to the señora soto-mayor and her other daughter, the smuggler's manner delighted the general, who applauded himself with all his heart for having laid his hand on such a polite and attentive man. during the first night's bivouac, leon managed for a few moments to leave the rest of the party and approach maria, who was admiring the magnificent spectacle which the moonlight offered, by casting its opaline rays over the lofty trees which surrounded the spot where they had halted. "señorita," he said to her, in a voice trembling with emotion, "do you not fear lest the fresh night breeze may injure your health?" "thanks, señor leon," the maiden replied; "i am about to return to camp, but the night is so long that i cannot weary of admiring this superb landscape. i am so happy in contemplating all that i see around me." "then you do not regret your abode in the convent, señorita?" "regret it! when i feel as if god had wished to inundate my heart with all the joy which it can feel! oh, caballero, you do not think so. but why do you say it to me?" "forgive me," leon continued, noticing the expression of sorrow which had suddenly overclouded the maiden's features; "the fact is, that my thoughts ever revert to the moment when i saw you, pale and dumb with terror, leave the ranks of the nuns of the purísima concepción." "oh, speak not so; and since heaven has permitted that i should leave those convent walls to see you again, do not remind me that i must soon return to them, to remain there till death liberates me from them." "what!" leon exclaimed, "see you again and then lose you! oh; forgive me, señorita; forgive my speaking to you thus; but i am mad, and sorrow renders me distracted." "what do you say?" "nothing! nothing! señorita: forget what i may have said to you, but believe that if i were called on to sacrifice my life to save you any pain, however slight in its nature, i would do so at a moment," said leon. maria replied, raising her eyes to heaven, "god is my witness that the words which you have just uttered will never pass from my mind: but as i told you, i am happy now, and when the convent gate has again closed on me, i shall have neither pain nor sorrow to endure, for i shall die." a dull cry burst from leon's breast; he looked at the maiden, who was smiling calmly and tranquilly. "and now," she said to leon, "i will join my sister again, for i fancy i am beginning to be chilled." and hurriedly proceeding to the tent, under which the principal members of her family were assembled, she left leon to his thoughts. from this moment, leon abandoned himself with delight to the irresistible charm of the love which he felt for maria. this man, with the nerves of steel, who had witnessed the most terrible scenes without turning pale, who with a smile on his lips had braved the greatest dangers, found himself without the strength to combat the strange feeling which had unconsciously settled in his heart. hitherto squandering his youth's energy in wild saturnalia, leon felt for the first time in his life that he loved, and he did not question the future, reserved for a passion whose issue could not be favourable. still, and although illusion was almost impossible, the young man, with that want of logic of love which seems to grow in proportion to the insurmountable obstacles opposed to it, yielded to the torrent which bore him away, confiding to chance, which may at any moment effect a miracle. in addition to the numberless obstacles which leon might expect to find on the road, diego's plans of vengeance alarmed him more than all the rest. he knew that the half-breed's will did not recoil before any excess; that if he had resolved to avenge himself on the soto-mayor family, no power would be strong enough to prevent him. hence a shudder passed through leon's veins when he was rejoined by diego, and the latter, on perceiving leon, had said to him-- "the girl you love is near you without any interference on my part; all the better, brother, it is your duty to watch over her henceforth, and i will take charge of the others." leon was about to open his mouth to reply, but a look from the half-breed caused the words to expire on his lips. the reader now knows why the captain, after saluting the ladies, started to place himself at the head of the band and watch diego. the sun was on the point of disappearing upon the horizon when the party reached the wood which leon had indicated to don juan as the spot where they would pass the night. all halted, and the preparations for camping were made. in chili, and generally throughout south america, you do not find on the roads that infinite number of inns and hostelries which encumber ours, and where travellers are so pitilessly plundered. in these countries, which are almost deserted, owing to the tyrannical rule of the spaniards and the philanthropy of the english, this is how people behave in order to obtain rest after a long day's journey. the travellers choose the spot which appears to them most suitable, generally on the banks of a river, the mules are unloaded, and they are left for the night to their own instincts, which never deceive them, and enable them to find pasture. the bales are placed upon one another in a circle of sixty or eighty feet; in the middle of this enclosure a large fire is lit and carefully kept up in order to keep wild beasts at bay, and each man placing his weapons by his side arranges himself to pass the night as comfortably as he can. our travellers installed themselves in the way we have described, with this distinction, that as general soto-mayor had a tent among his baggage, the peons put it up in the centre of the camp, and as it was divided into two parts, it formed sleeping rooms for don juan, his wife, and his daughters. after a supper of jerked beef and ham, the muleteers, wearied with their day's journey, took a glance around to see that all was in order, and then lay down, with the exception of one who remained up as sentry. diego, leon, and the soto-mayor family were sitting round the fire and talking of the distance they still had to go before reaching their destination. in these countries there is no twilight, and the supper was hardly over before it became pitch dark. "miguel!" the general said to a peon standing close behind him, "give me the bota." the peon fetched a large goatskin, which might contain some fifteen quarts, and was full of rum. "gentlemen!" the general continued, addressing the smugglers, "be kind enough to taste this rum; it is a present made me by general saint martin, in memory of the battle of maypa, in which i was wounded while charging a spanish square." the bota passed from hand to hand, while the ladies, seated on carpets, were sipping water and smoking their cigarettes. "it is excellent," said leon, after swallowing a mouthful; "it is real jamaica." "i am delighted that it pleases you," don juan continued, kindly; "for in that case, you will not refuse to accept this bota, which will remind you of our journey when we have separated." "oh!" leon exclaimed, casting a fiery look at maria, whose cheeks turned purple, "i shall remember it, believe me, and i thank you sincerely for this present." "say no more about it, pray, my dear captain; and tell me whether you think we are still far from talca." "by starting early tomorrow we shall be by ten in the forenoon at the mountain of amehisto, and two hours later at talca." "so soon?" maria murmured. leon looked at the maiden, and there was a silence; the general calculated the distance that separated talca from valdivia, the ladies smoked, and diego was deep in thought. suddenly the sound of galloping horses could be heard, the sound soon grew louder, and the sentry shouted, "who goes there?" in a second everybody was up, the men leaped to their weapons, and the ladies, by leon's orders, went into the tent to lie down on the ground and remain perfectly motionless. no one had answered the sentry's challenge. "who goes there?" he repeated, as he cocked his piece. "amigos!" a powerful voice answered, which re-echoed in the silence of the night. every heart beat anxiously; a dozen horsemen could be noticed moving in the darkness about thirty yards off; but the gloom was so dense that it was impossible to recognise them, or know with whom they had to deal. "say what you want or i fire," the sentry shouted for the third time, as he levelled his piece. "down with your arms, friends," the same voice, still perfectly calm, repeated; "i am don pedro sallazar." "yes! yes!" the general exclaimed, joyfully, as he threw down his gun, "i recognise him: let don pedro enter, my friends." four men hastily removed some bales to make a passage for the officer who entered the camp, while his escort remained outside. the general stepped forward to meet the newcomer. "how is it you are here?" he asked him. "i fancied you were at santiago." "you will soon learn," pedro replied, "for i have important communications to make to you. but first permit me to give some instructions to the men who accompany me." then turning to his soldiers, he said, "cabo lopez, take care that no one leaves the camp, and post yourself here, and try to be on good terms with the worthy persons here present." "yes, general," the corporal answered, with a bow. "what? general!" don juan asked, with surprise. "are you really a general, my dear don pedro?" "i will explain all that to you," don pedro replied, with a smile; "in the meanwhile, however, lead me to your tent, for what i have to communicate to you does not require any witnesses." "certainly; and make haste, that i may present you to these ladies, who will be agreeably surprised at seeing you." don pedro bowed, and followed the general, who led him into the tent where the ladies had taken refuge in apprehension of an attack. during this time the smugglers did the honours of the camp to the soldiers with all the courtesy they were capable of displaying under such circumstances. at the end of a quarter of an hour they fraternized in the most cordial way, thanks to the aguardiente of pisco, with which the lanceros were abundantly provided. chapter x. inside the tent. when the alarm was given by the sentry, diego, usually so prompt to go and meet danger, rose cautiously, and without making a single gesture which could reveal any anxiety, stood leaning on his rifle with a smile on his lips. so soon as the spaniards had disappeared in the tent, leon turned to him with an inquiring glance, which the latter only replied to by a very careless nod. "did you know, then, that we should meet don pedro?" "i presumed so," diego replied, laconically. "in truth, for some days past, brother," said leon, "things have occurred of which you keep the secret to yourself." "what are they?" "in the first place, this journey which you consented to make with the soto-mayor family as far as valdivia." "what, you complain of it, and your beauty is with you?" "certainly not; but after all, we have nothing to do at valdivia." "you are right, if you are referring to our commercial trips; but as regards my personal interests," the half-breed added, his large eyes flashing in the darkness, "the case is very different." "what do you mean?" "that we must go there because we are expected there. however, if you wish to know more, come, and you will see that the two days i spent in valparaíso were put to good purpose." and leading his friend, and warning him to be silent, he cautiously passed to the other side of the tent. on reaching that point, diego lay down on the ground, invited leon to imitate him, and gently raising a corner of the tent, he listened to what was being said inside. "we are doing wrong," said leon. "silence," the other replied, "and listen." the captain obeyed, and looked at the persons who were conversing, while not losing one of the words which they interchanged. "i cannot imagine," said don juan, "how it is that you, whom i fancied at santiago, are now only a few leagues from talca." "it is because a good many strange things have happened since my arrival in that city." "what are they?" asked inez, whose curiosity was aroused. "speak, don pedro, i implore you," said don juan in his turn. "i will do so, general. the chilian government, which, as you are aware, is unable to cope with the incessant invasions of the araucano indians, reluctantly agreed to treat with them, and supply them annually with necessaries, such as corn, tools, and weapons which they might have need of. at various times, however, it attempted to shake off this disgraceful yoke; and the indians, beaten and dispersed in various encounters, appeared to comprehend how ridiculous these claims were, and have refrained, during the last two years, from claiming the tribute, and making incursions into the territory of the republic. hence, what was our astonishment when, four days ago, we saw arrive at santiago a dozen indian bravos in their war paint, who marched haughtily in indian file, and proceeded with the silence that characterizes them toward the government palace." "'what do you want?' the officer of the guard asked them at the moment when they passed through the gates." "'art thou a chief?' one of the indians replied, who appeared to exercise a certain authority over the rest." "'yes,' the officer replied, without hesitation." "'maitai,' said the indian, 'tell our great white father that his indian sons of the pere mapou have held a great deliberation round the council fire, at the end of which they resolved to send him a deputation of twelve warriors, chosen from the twelve great molucho nations, in order that the dissensions which have, up to this day, reigned between our great white father and his indian sons may be eternally extinguished, and the war hatchet buried so deeply in the earth that it can never be found again.'" "the officer then informed the president of the republic of the strange visitors who had arrived; and, as the senate was assembled, orders were at once given to introduce the indians with all the respect due to their ambassadorial quality, and the lofty mission with which they were entrusted." "when the twelve envoys entered the senate hall, which was splendidly decorated and filled with officers dressed in magnificent uniforms, they did not appear at all dazzled by the sight of this unexpected pomp; they slowly advanced towards the foot of the dais on which the president of the republic was standing to receive them, and after bowing they folded their arms on their chests and waited." "'my indian sons are welcome,' the president said, in a soft and insinuating voice." "'my father is a great chief,' the indian who had hitherto spoken replied. 'guatechu will protect him because he is good.'" "the president bowed his thanks." "'what do my indian sons desire?'" he asked. "'the ulmens,' the orator resumed, 'assembled in the seventh moon of this year round the council fire and asked themselves the following questions:--'" "'why are not our white fathers satisfied with the possession of the lands which we left to them on the seashore?'" "'why do they refuse to pay us the tribute they consented to, as they have done up to this day?'" "'why, instead of kindly treating the indians whom they capture, do they use them cruelly?'" "'why, lastly, do they wish to compel the sons of bheman to renounce the faith of their fathers?'" "you can understand," don pedro continued, "the amazement produced in the minds of the senate by the indian's speech, which demanded the establishment of the chilian frontiers, the payment of the impost, and the liberation of the plundering and vagabond indians. only one reply was possible, a pure and simple refusal. this was given; but then the indian, whose stoicism had not failed him for a single instant, drew, without a word, a packet from under his poncho, and laid it on the dais at the president's feet. it was a bundle of arrows, whose points were dipped in blood, and which were fastened together by a cascabel's skin." "then, taking advantage of the general stupor, the ambassadors withdrew, and when, a quarter of an hour later, the president ordered them to be pursued, it was too late; they appeared to have become suddenly invisible." "why, it is war," the old general suddenly interrupted, who had been listening with sustained attention to don pedro's narrative; "war with the indians." "yes; a war such as they carry on, without truce or mercy, and which, incredible to relate, has already begun." "what?" said don juan. "alas! yes; two hours after the strange disappearance of the indians, a courier reached santiago at full gallop, announcing that the araucanos, more than fifty thousand in number, had crossed the bio bio, and were firing and destroying all the villages up to the gates of valdivia, while another band had arrived under the very walls of ports araucos and incapel." "on hearing this news, the president of the republic offered me the command of the province of valdivia, while ordering me at the same time to explore the neighbourhood of talca. i eagerly accepted, and set out with the rank of general, following at only a few hours' interval your son don juan, who has received orders to defend incapel." "what, don juan!" the señorita soto-mayor interrupted. "yes, your son, madam, or, if you prefer it, lieutenant-colonel don juan, for lie, too, has received the reward due to his merit; but, now that i think of it, he must have passed in the vicinity, and i am surprised that you have not seen him, for as he was aware of your departure for valdivia, he hoped like myself, to meet you on the road." "it is probable," the old gentleman remarked, "that he passed at a distance during one of your night halts; and yet we have not left the usual road." "oh," said inez, "i am very sorry that my brother was unable to embrace us before proceeding to his post." "i regret it, too, my child; but he did well in avoiding a meeting with us, if the time he might have given us could be employed in making speed. the duty of a soldier is superior to family joys. as for you, don pedro, though the news you have brought us is afflicting to the heart of a chilian, i thank you for having come to inform me, and i implore you to continue your journey, while we make sincere vows for the success of your arms." "i thank you, general, but i can remain with you without any inconvenience. as i told you, i am marching at easy stages, in order to assure myself of the state of the roads as far as valdivia, and if you intend to continue your journey as far as that town, i will ask your permission to join your party with my men." "most willingly. my plan is most assuredly to go to valdivia, and as we are close to talca, it would be folly to turn back." "pardon me, general, if i insist, but it is because i have not yet told you all you ought to know." and don pedro seemed to hesitate before proceeding. "speak, speak," the general and his wife said in chorus; "what is it?" "if the reports which have reached santiago are correct, the indians have plundered and burnt your fine haciendas between the bio bio and the valdivia." "it is the fortune of war," don juan answered in a hollow voice; "and if i have only that misfortune to deplore, i shall console myself." "it is also stated," don pedro continued, anxious to finish the sad story he was telling, "that your brother don luis has been utterly ruined by a band of indian bravos, who suddenly attacked his estates with fire and sword, and devastated them." general soto-mayor had remained motionless on hearing of the misfortune which personally affected him, but on learning that which had assailed his brother, he could not restrain the indignation which he felt against those of whom he was the victim. "oh, these villains! these villains!" he exclaimed, stamping his foot passionately; "will they never be weary of persecuting my unhappy family? oh, you know not, my children, what this accursed race is, these indians! oh, why cannot i crush to the last of these impious cowards who have done me so much injury? don pedro, fight them, make them perish in the most cruel tortures, and bid my son remember that the soto-mayors have ever been the implacable foes of these obstinate demons; let him avenge his family, since the sword of his father is now in his hands." the old man was suffering from an agitation impossible to describe, his face was covered with a sallow pallor, and a nervous tremor agitated his limbs. the remembrance of all the hatreds of former days was rekindled in his heart. the ladies, terrified at the state in which he was, strove to calm him. "oh, you are right," don juan said, a moment later; "i did wrong to break out thus in empty words, for throughout the wide republic of chili there will be no want of arms to crush my enemies under their blows, and since a soto-mayor is fighting, i ought rather to bless heaven for not allowing me to die ere i had seen the triumph of my race. my brother has recovered, you say, don pedro; hence it is more than ever my duty to go to him and console him, and offer him one half of what is left to me. i am still rich enough to relieve one of my family." * * * * * "come," diego said at this moment to leon, making him a sign to rise; "you have heard enough." "oh!" the young man exclaimed, sorrowfully, "all this is frightful." "why so?" the half-breed said. "as the old man remarked, it is the fortune of war." "oh, ill-fated family!" "to which do you allude?--to mine or that man's? yes;" he added, with a terrible accent, "unhappy is the family which, born to command millions of men, finds itself reduced to wander about without shelter or friend among his enemies. is that what you are pitying, brother?" "forgive me, diego. i swore to help your vengeance because it is just, so dispose of me." "good!" "but why stoop so low as to wish to torture women?" leon continued; "would the noble lion murder timid hares? avenge yourselves on men, face to face, chest to chest, but not on women." "leon, the woman who loves my brother is my sister, and she shall be happy and respected, because in exchange my brother has left me at liberty to dispose of the others. remember that a tahi-mari was the brother of mikaa, and that the mistress of don ruíz de soto-mayor, was the wife of a tahi-mari." "enough, brother; i remember it." the two men had returned to the middle of the camp, and were now walking side by side; a deep silence had followed the last words of the smuggler captain. it was hardly nine in the evening; the night was calm; thousands of stars glittered in the azure of the celestial vault, spreading over the peaks of the mountains which bordered the horizon a vaporous light; the moon shone brilliantly, and a light breeze made the leaves of the large palm trees that surrounded the camp rustle. suddenly a shrill whistle traversed the air: diego startled, stretched out his head, and with his eyes fixed on the distance, listened attentively. "it is a coral snake!" leon exclaimed, as he looked round him with instinctive terror. a few seconds passed and another whistle was heard in the same direction, but nearer. "it is a coral snake, i tell you," leon repeated. "silence!" said diego, seizing his arm. and taking from his lips the cigarette which he was smoking, the half-breed shook off the ash, and threw it in the air, where it described a luminous parabola; then he turned to his friend. "come with me," he said to him. "where to?" "there," diego replied, pointing to the wood, in front of which the camp was pitched. "what to do?" "you will learn." "but they?" leon said, hesitatingly, as he pointed to the tent in which the soto-mayor family was assembled. "be at rest." "but really--" "the moment has arrived, brother," diego said, fixing his flashing eyes on the young man; "i have need of you." "in that case i am ready." "thanks, brother." and the two smugglers, forcing a passage through the trunks and bales which formed the outer wall of the camp, disappeared unseen by the sentry, and buried themselves in the tall grass. chapter xi. the sons of the tortoise. after walking for about ten minutes the two smugglers stopped; then diego, looking around him inquiringly, imitated the whistle which had served as a signal to him, with such perfection that leon at the first moment could not refrain from starting, although he knew it was his friend who had uttered it. almost at the same instant, an indian in full war paint rose before them: with his motionless body carelessly leaning on his rifle, he contemplated them silently, doubtless waiting to be addressed. he was a man of about thirty years of age, of a height exceeding six feet, perfectly proportioned in all his limbs, and who offered the true type of indian beauty--strength united to elegance of figure: his solidly attached and muscular limbs seemed to possess incredible elasticity and suppleness; his forehead was lofty and open; his eyes covered by thick brows and fringed with long lashes, were black, piercing, and restless; his bent nose, and his handsomely chiselled mouth, lined with teeth of dazzling whiteness, produced an _ensemble_ really stamped with grandeur, but slightly obscured by the expression of pride, disdain, and cunning, which animated his countenance. no tattooing disfigured his face, which was of a dark copper colour. his dress was extremely simple; his long black hair, drawn up and fastened on the top of his head by a thong made of a snakeskin, fell in large curls on his shoulders, while an eagle's feather placed on the side indicated his rank as chief. he was wrapped up in a poncho, and through the girdle which served to hold up the wide drawers, which fell to his knees, were passed an axe, a machete, an ox horn, which served as a powder flask, and a bullet bag of llama skin. his legs were covered with boots of oxhide, unassailable by the bites of the reptiles so dangerous in these countries, round which he wore human scalp locks as garters. a second poncho, much wider and larger than the other, fell carelessly from his right shoulder to the ground, and was employed as a mantle. on seeing the indian, diego waved his hand, and said to him--"my brother is welcome." the indian bowed without replying. "what does my brother desire?" diego continued. "iskarre is growing on the holy inapere and the hour has arrived; all the molucho warriors are assembled; is the descendant of the great tahi-mari ready to answer his brothers?" "my brother will guide me," diego replied, without any further remark. "matai! my brother can come, then, and he will see the great molucho chiefs." while uttering these words the indian looked at leon with marked suspicion, but whether that he did not dare question diego about him, or expected an explanation from the latter, he resolved to show the road to the two men. the further he advanced the thicker the wood became, but the indian marched lightly, without any hesitation, and like a man perfectly acquainted with the locality. turning his head repeatedly to the right and left, he examined the thickets and clumps of trees, and after half an hour of this rapid and silent march he halted. they had reached the entrance of a vast clearing, in the centre of which some forty men were assembled; the indian made the smugglers a sign not to advance, and went off with the straightness of an arrow in the direction of the indians. a strange spectacle was then offered to leon. the indians were smoking round a large fire, whose reddish glare illumined them, and a dozen huts of boughs hastily constructed, proved that this temporary encampment was not a mere night halt. a few indians walked up and down before these huts, while others, rifle in hand, seemed to be guarding two european prisoners, whose features the distance and scene prevented the smugglers from distinguishing, and who were lying at the foot of a tree with their limbs bound. the indian who had guided diego and leon went up to those of his brothers who seemed to be the oldest, and spoke to them with great animation. they soon rose and entered a hut, and then came out again almost immediately, addressing a few words to the men who were guarding the prisoners. the latter raised the europeans from the ground and carried them into the hut. "all this is inexplicable," leon said to his companion; "what mean these comings and goings?--who are the two men being dragged away?" and he made a movement as if to rush forward. "do not stir," diego exclaimed, as he held him back: "no imprudence, for the slightest movement would ruin us; do you not know that we are surrounded by invisible watchers? know that behind every one of the trees that surround us is hidden a man, whose eye is fixed upon us." leon made no reply, but continued to observe, till their indian guide reappeared. "my brothers will follow me," he said, so soon as he was a few steps from the smugglers. they bowed and obeyed; and longscalp led them right down the clearing, and introduced them into the most spacious hut. it to some extent resembled a beehive, except that its base was square, and might be thirty feet in depth, by the same in width. the narrow, low door only allowed passage for one man at a time, and he was obliged to stoop. in the roof a hole was made for the smoke which escaped from a fire of dried branches that occupied the centre of the hut. twelve or fourteen indians, gravely squatting on their heels, smoked while listening in the most religious silence to a sayotkatta, who could be easily recognised by his pacific costume, which consisted of a long white dress of llama hair, fastened round his hips by a blue and red girdle. his hair, parted on his forehead, fell on his neck, and he wore on his head a species of diadem composed of a gold fillet surmounted by an image representing a tortoise supporting the sun. his features, though grave and stern, had something gentle and majestic about them which inspired respect. it was he who pointed out to diego and leon a place at the lire, and without appearing to pay any further attention to the newcomers, he began speaking, all raising their eyes to him. "at the beginning of ages," he said, in a guttural and marked voice, "when guatechu only reigned over the chaos of the worlds, there existed but six men, who, tossed about by the winds, wandered on the backs of clouds, which allowed them to soar over the immensity of space. these men were sad, because they understood that their race was accursed and could not be perpetuated." "one day, when they met, they all passed onto the same cloud, and held a council, in order to arrange a plan for avoiding such a misfortune. for a long time they had been talking together and proposing measures one more impracticable than the other, when suddenly mayoba appeared in the midst of them. he gazed at them for a moment in silence, then an ironical smile curled his upper lip, and he said to them, in a voice that resembled the hoarse howling of a distant storm--" "what you are seeking exists; choose the bravest and handsomest from among you, for he alone can attempt the adventure: let him go to paradise, where he will find ataentsic, the woman; it is she who will prevent your race from perishing, and that is the reason why guatechu keeps her far from you, in order that you may perish, for he repents having made you." "after uttering these words mayoba disappeared with a burst of savage and shrill laughter, which caused the men to shudder with terror. our first fathers held another council, and pointed out one among them, the handsomest and whitest among them, of the name of hoquaho, to go and conquer ataentsic." "hoquaho accepted the mission entrusted to him, and aided by his five companions, he piled up the clouds on each other in order to scale paradise: but, in spite of all their efforts, the distance seemed ever to remain the same, and they began to despair of succeeding in this bold enterprise on seeing the inutility of their efforts, when the birds of heaven that had followed their movements anxiously had pity on them, and forming into a compact flock, made a convenient seat for hoquaho, whom they bore away on their wings." "on reaching paradise, hoquaho concealed himself behind a tree opposite the wigwam in which ataentsic was, and he waited till she came out, as she was accustomed to do every morning, to go and draw water at the spring. as soon as she appeared, he went up to her and offered her some grizzly bear's grease to eat, of which he had laid in a stock." "the woman, surprised and charmed by the appearance of hoquaho, easily let herself be seduced, and they soon came to a perfect understanding; but guatechu soon perceived what had happened, and furious at seeing his plans overthrown by the fault of a woman, he expelled the two unhappy beings from paradise, and hurled them into space." "they fell thus for nine days and nine nights, imploring, but in vain, the mercy of guatechu, for he had stopped up his ears with wax, and did not hear. at length a tortoise took pity on the wretched couple, and placed itself under their feet to stop the fearful fall. then the otters, cayonans, and sea fish went to the bottom of the waters to fetch clay, which they brought up and fixed all round the shell of the tortoise, and thus they formed a small island, which gradually increased through their incessant labour, and ended by forming the earth such as you see it at present." "thus, sons of hoquaho, the first man, you come," said the sayotkatta, in conclusion, "to respect and adore chemiin, who is the soul of the world, and the centre of the universe, which his shell alone supports and enables to float in immensity." "matai!" cried the indians, inflamed by their priest's narrative, "chemiin aulon (the tortoise-sun) is the master of the world." the sayotkatta hung his head on his breast, and throwing over his eyes the corner of the ample poncho which floated from his shoulders, he remained plunged in deep meditation. after this a gloomy silence fell upon this strange assembly. then an indian, whose great age was indicated by his noble but worn features, and his long grey hair, took up a calumet full of tobacco, lit it at the fire, took a few whiffs, and passed it to his right hand neighbour, who did the same. the calumet thus went round the circle till it returned to the old indian, who seemed to preside over the meeting. he finished the tobacco, and when the last grain was consumed, shook the ash out on his hand, and threw it in the fire, saying-- "this is the supreme council at which the great molucho chiefs are present. may agrikoué come to our assistance, for the war hatchet is dug up, and the sons of the tortoise are about to recapture their territory, unjustly invaded by the palefaces." "may agrikoué aid us!" the indians repeated. "which are the nations," the old man continued, "ready to take part in the struggle?" then one of the indians spoke in reply, "the tecuitles of the curuhi, whose hunting ground extends from the town of valparaíso to the gulf of guapatika, has raised the war cry, and six thousand fighting men have answered his appeal. i have spoken." another spoke as follows-- "the tecuitles of the huiliches has assembled seven thousand warriors." then another said in his turn-- "four thousand oumas are awaiting the signal." "ten thousand puelches are ready to utter the war cry," said a fourth. "eight thousand tehuels are under arms," continued another. after the chief who had last spoken rose a man whose features had a singular blending of the european and indian tribe. in fact, his tribe was descended from the crews of three spanish ships, who, having mutinied, abandoned their officers, and landed on the american coast, where they settled. by degrees they became allied with the indians, whose religion and customs they adopted, and multiplied to such an extent as to form a tribe. "the aigueles," he said, "have five thousand warriors round the war stake." "my brothers the ulmens have done well," the president replied, "and the great confederation will be complete; nearly all the nations have risen, and guatechu will give us the victory. the moluchos count thirty thousand warriors, who, with twenty-five thousand of the sacred tribe of the great toltoru, have passed the bio bio, and are encamped on the banks of the valdivia: one nation, however, has not sent a deputy to the great council, and the valiant jaos alone are not represented here." "my father is mistaken," replied a young indian of martial aspect, whose face, bathed in perspiration and clothes covered with dust, indicated the speed he had displayed in covering the ground which separated his territory from the place of council. "it is a long distance from the country of the jaos to that of the moluchos, but twelve thousand men are following me." a quiver of enthusiasm ran round, the assembly. "my son is welcome," replied the aged man. "the jaos honour us by sending us a chief so celebrated as tcharanguii, the invincible ulmen." a flush of satisfaction passed over the features of the young chief of the jaos. "you see," the old indian continued, "that one hundred thousand warriors will march along the war trail, resolved at length to take back the territory which the spaniards have so long unjustly held. everything is at length ready. the great confederation which has enveloped them for the last twenty years in its thousand folds is about to draw closer and crush them. war to the death upon the cruel invaders, and let us drive them into the sea which vomited them up. no truce, no pity, and to the courage of the lion let us add the prudence of the serpent." then, turning to diego, who, during the whole period that this scene had lasted, remained motionless by the side of leon, whose anxiety was increasing, he said-- "the hour has arrived for my son tahi-mari to rise and give us a report of the manner in which he has carried out the mission entrusted to him twenty years ago by the assembled chiefs of the great molucho nations. our ears are open, and all my sons will listen, for it is a great chief who is about to speak!" for the first time since leon had known diego, the face of the latter grew animated, and a smile of triumph had taken the place of the cold expression of indifference which seemed stereotyped on his lips. he bowed to the chief, whose eyes were fixed on him, and leaning on his long rifle, he raised his head and answered in a firm voice-- "i am ready to reply to my father, unacha cuayac, and to the great chiefs of the twelve nations. i am the son of the tortoise, and my race supports the world. let them question and i will answer." "my brother will speak, for, as he has said, he is the son of the chemiin which supports the world," the indian remarked, "and the words that fall from his lips rejoice our heart." diego began-- "twenty years ago the great chiefs, fatigued with the continued vexations of the spaniards, formed a vast confederation, and assembled, as on the present day, in a supreme council to consider the means to be employed in order to end the struggle which they had supported so long, and finally free themselves from those sanguinary and perfidious strangers, who had in one day stolen from us our gods, our hunting grounds, and our wealth. as at the present day, more than one hundred thousand warriors dug up the war hatchet, assembled to invoke guatechu at the foot of the war post, and took an oath to live free or die. the signal was about to be given, and okikiouasa was already waving his fatal torch ready to bear fire and death among our ferocious enemies, when a chief rose in the council and asked permission to speak. this chief was my father, tahi-mari, a warrior renowned for his valour in combat, and an old man revered for his wisdom at the council fire; he alone, when all loudly demanded war, dared to speak in favour of peace; but tahi-mari was so respected by the other chiefs, that far from bursting into fury against the man who tried to overthrow their projects, they listened to him in silence. what he said you all know, and hence i need not repeat it; the chiefs accepted his advice, and it was resolved that a young molucho warrior, chosen among the most worthy, should leave his tribe and go among the spaniards, whose manners and religion he should pretend to adopt; that he should pass five years among them, trying to surprise all the secrets which rendered them invincible, and after that period should come and give an account of his mission to the great council of the nations." "this mission was delicate and difficult to carry out; continual dissimulation was imposed on the man who undertook it; an hourly torture, by forcing him to live with his most cruel enemies, and feign for them friendship and attachment. the choice fell upon me, not because i was the most worthy, but because i was the son of tahi-mari, the great beloved inca chief of the moluchos. i joyfully accepted the painful though honourable distinction offered me; i at that time counted eighteen summers; life appeared to me happy and smiling: i had a bride to whom i was to be married at the next melting of the snow, but i was compelled to abandon this sweet dream, renounce the happiness which i had promised myself, and devote myself to the service of my country. i left everything without regret, for the chiefs had spoken, and i ought to feel jealous of the honour they had done me. the five years passed, then five others, but the hour for deliverance did not strike; for twenty years, in fine, i wandered about all the countries subjected to the spaniards, listening at each step that i took to the maledictions which fell upon those of my race. my father died, and i was unable to close his eyes and sing the tabouré at his interment; my betrothed has left the earth, summoning me, but i was unable to reply to her voice; my whole family is extinct, and has gone to join garonhea in the paradise of the blest. i have remained alone and abandoned, but my courage has not weakened; hesitation has not entered my heart, and i have continued to walk in the path which i traced for myself, because tahi-mari had made a sacrifice of his life and his happiness to his brothers. today my mission is accomplished; i know in what the strength of the spaniards resides and how they may be laid low; all their towns and fortresses are known to me; i can give the numbers of their soldiers, indicate their hopes and projects, and i have infallible means to break every one of the springs which set their government in motion. in a word, nothing has been omitted or forgotten by me, and i can answer beforehand for the success of our cause. i have spoken." diego ceased speaking and waited, and a solemn silence followed on the narration which he had just made. the indians were profoundly affected by the sublime self-denial and perfect devotion of the man, whose heroic will had not failed him for a single moment during the long trial which he had undergone. leon shared the general enthusiasm. the great character of his friend was perfectly revealed to him, and, measuring the importance of the sacrifice the indian had made of the twenty fairest years of his life with that of his own love for maria, which he had been unable to make up his mind to relinquish, he confessed to himself that there was in diego's heart a paternal devotion far superior to any that he was capable of feeling. at length the sayotkatta rose and walked towards the inca with a slow and majestic step: on coming in front of him, he stopped and gazed at him with pride, and then said-- "the piaies are right, you are really a descendant of the race of the tortoise. son of tahi-mari," he added, as he took off his gold diadem and placed it on diego's brow, "be our chief." "yes, yes," the indians exclaimed, eagerly rising; "tahi-mari! tahi-mari! he alone ought to command us; he alone is worthy to be the toqui of the twelve nations." chapter xii. a human sacrifice. when the first moment of effervescence was over, and tranquillity was beginning to be restored, diego made a sign that he wished to speak, and all were silent. "i thank," he said, "the chiefs of the twelve nations for the honour which they do me, and i accept, because i believe myself worthy of it: but the war we are about to undertake is decisive, and must only terminate with the utter extermination of our enemies. we shall have terrible contests to endure and extraordinary difficulties to overcome. now, one man, whatever his genius may be, and however great his knowledge, cannot satisfy such claims." "my son speaks like a sage; let him tell us what to do, and we will approve it," huachacuyac answered. "we must continue," diego went on, "in the track which has been followed up to this day; a man must remain among the spaniards, as in the past, in order to know the secret of their operations. let me remain this man, and i will transmit to the chiefs whom you select to take my place the orders they will have to carry out, and the information which i may think useful for them, up to the time when i resume the command of the great army." universal assent was testified by the great assembly, and diego continued-- "perhaps i shall return among you soon, if circumstances decree it, but i propose for the present to attach to myself three chiefs renowned for their wisdom." "speak," the indians replied, "for you are our sole master." "in that case appoint as my assistants our venerable sayotkatta, vitzetpulzli, and huachacuyac, if the choice suit my brothers." "matai," said the indians, "tahi-mari is a great chief." then diego turned to leon and invited him to rise, and the latter obeyed, without knowing what his friend wanted of him. diego, or rather tahi-mari, laid his hand on the young man's head and addressed the indians, who gazed at him curiously. "chiefs," he said, "i have still one request to make to you; this is my brother; he has saved my life and his heart belongs to me. he is a frenchman, and his nation has frequently fought against our enemies. i ask that he may be regarded as a son of the twelve molucho nations, and beloved by you as i love him." the chiefs bowed to leon, whose heart beat violently: then huachacuyac taking him by the hand, said to him in a voice full of gentleness and gravity, after kissing him on both cheeks: "my brother, thou art no longer a stranger among us. i adopt thee as my son." then, addressing the indians: "molucho warriors! let this man be for ever sacred to you, for he is the son of the twelve nations." and taking off the gold necklace he wore, he threw it over the young man's shoulders, adding: "here is my turbo, do you consent to receive the adoption of the moluchos and march with them?" "i do, brother," leon answered, with some emotion. "be it so, then, and may guatechu protect thee!" then each of the indians came to kiss the young man on the face, make him the present of adoption, and change with him a portion of their weapons. diego followed with interest the details of this scene, which profoundly affected leon, who was sensible of the new mark of friendship which the half-breed gave him: and when his turn came to give him the embrace, a tear of joy sparkled in his black eye. this ceremony terminated, the sayotkatta advanced into the centre of the assembly. "ikarri is in the middle of his course," he exclaimed, "the piaies are waiting; let us make the war sacrifice in order to keep the evil spirits at bay and appease them, so that guatechu may grant us the victory." all the indians present seemed to be anxiously awaiting these words: hence, so soon as they were pronounced they hastened from the hut, and proceeded to a much larger spot, in the centre of which was a pedestal, a colossal statue of the sun, called in indian areskoui, and which was supported by a tortoise. in front of this statue was a sort of stone table sustained by four blocks of rock. the table, slightly hollowed in the centre, was provided with a trough intended for the blood to flow into; and a few paces from it was a figure, formed of resinous wood. six piaies surrounded the table: they were dressed in long white robes, and all wore a golden fillet resembling the one which surrounded the sayotkatta's head, but of smaller dimensions. the hut was also guarded by forty armed indians, who preserved a religious silence. during the short walk from the council hut to the one we have just described, diego took aside leon, and said as he pressed his hand fiercely: "brother, in the name of all that you hold dearest in the world, shut up in your heart any trace of emotion: i should have liked to spare you the horrible spectacle you are about to witness, but it was impossible: not a word, not a gesture of disapprobation, or you will destroy us both." "what is going to happen?" leon asked, in terror. "something frightful, brother; but take courage, remain by my side, and whatever may happen, be calm." "i will try," said leon. "you must," diego repeated; "swear to me to check your emotion." "i swear it," the smuggler repeated, more and more surprised. "it is well: now we can enter;" and both went into the hut and mingled with the crowd of spectators. one of those awful dramas which seem impossible in the nineteenth century, and which unfortunately are still in vogue in remote regions, was about to begin. the sayotkatta, with his head bowed on his chest, was standing at the base of the statue of the sun, with six piaies on the right, and six on the left. two young indians held a torch, whose red and flickering glare cast light and shadow with sinister reflections. the sayotkatta at length spoke: "the hatchet is dug up, the toqui has just been proclaimed, and the hour has arrived to stain the hatchet. ikarri demands blood." "let us give blood to ikarri," the indians shouted, "so that he may give us victory." the sayotkatta made a sign, and two piaies left the hut; then all present fell on their knees, and began a chorus to a slow and monotonous rhythm. a moment after the piaies returned, bringing a man between them. the indians rose, and there was a deep silence, during which every man waited with feverish impatience. the individual whom the piaies brought into the hut wore the uniform of the chilian lanceros. he was a young man of twenty-four or twenty-six years of age, with an open face and elegant and bold features. all about him revealed the mocking carelessness peculiar to soldiers of every country. "asses!" he said, laughing at his guardians, who pushed him on before them, "could you not wait till tomorrow to perform all your mummeries? caray! i was so sound asleep! the devil take you!" the piaies contented themselves with shaking him rather roughly. "miserable bandits," he added, "if i had my sabre, i would show you certain cuts which would make you sink six feet into the ground. but all right; what i cannot do, my comrades will do, and you will lose nothing by waiting." "the papagay is a chattering bird, that speaks without knowing what it says," a piaie interrupted in a hollow voice: "the eagle of the andes is dumb in the hour of danger." "in truth," the lancero continued, with a laugh, "this old rogue is right; let us show these indian brutes how a spanish hidalgo dies. hum!" he added, taking a curious look around him, "these fellows are very ugly, and i should almost thank them for killing me, for they will do me a real service by freeing me from their villainous society." after this last sally, the soldier haughtily raised his head and remained silent and calm in the presence of the danger which he had before his eyes. leon had not lost one of the words uttered by the young man; and he felt moved with compassion, and thinking of the sorrowful fate which was reserved for the hapless prisoner. leaning against one of the walls of the hut, he admired with a sort of irresistible fascination the bright glance of the soldier, so haughty and careless, and asked himself with tears to what punishment he was going to be condemned. he had not long to wait; the sayotkatta gave a signal, and two piaies began stripping off the lancero's uniform; after which they removed his shirt, and only left him his trousers. the young man did not attempt to make any resistance, and the muscles of his face remained motionless; but when one of his assassins tried to remove the scapulary, which, like all spaniards, he wore round his neck suspended from a black ribbon, he frowned, his eyes sparkled, and he cried in so terrible a voice that the indian recoiled in terror-- "brigand! leave me my scapulary!" the indian hesitated for a moment, and then returned to his victim. "nonsense, no weakness!" the prisoner added, and held his tongue. the indian seized the string, and without taking the trouble to remove it from his neck, pulled so violently that a red mark was produced on the soldier's skin. suddenly a sudden pallor discoloured the prisoner's cheeks; the sayotkatta advanced upon him, holding up in his hand a long-bladed, thin, and sharp knife. then came a moment of indescribable agony for leon, who felt his hair bathed in a cold perspiration, while his temples were contracted by pain. he saw the man with the knife attentively seeking on the victim's chest the position of the heart, and a smile of satisfaction passed over his lips when he had found it; then pressing very lightly the sharp point of the knife on the flesh, he drove it inch by inch, and as slowly as was possible, into the soldier's chest. the latter kept his enormously dilated eyes fixed on those of the sayotkatta, all whose movements he watched; ere long the pallor that covered his features became now livid, his lips blanched, and he threw himself back, stammering-- "santa maria, ora pro nobis!" the sayotkatta was pressing the hilt of the knife against the body, and the indians struck up a mournful hymn. the knife was drawn out--a jet of blood came from the wound--a convulsion agitated the body, which the piaies supported in their arms, and all was over. the lancero was dead! leon bit his poncho to prevent his crying out. a hundred times had the captain of the smugglers' band braved death in his encounters with the custom's officers and lanceros, and his arm had never failed him when he was obliged to cleave a man's head with a sabre cut, or level him by the help of his rifle, but at the sight of the cowardly and cruel assassination being performed he stood as if petrified by disgust and horror. he gave a start when the lancero drew his last breath; but diego, who was watching him, went up to him. "silence! or you are a dead man," he said. leon restrained himself, but he had not reached the end of his amazement yet. the piaies raised the corpse, laid it on the stone table, after removing the rest of the clothes, and the sayotkatta pronounced a few mysterious words, to which the indians replied by chanting. then the latter, taking his knife up again, cut the victim's chest down the whole length, and examined with scrupulous attention the liver, heart, and lungs, which he pulled out to lay on the prepared pyre. all at once he turned round and addressed the spectators with an inspired accent-- "sons of chemiin, guatechu protects you. everything is favourable, and our cruel enemies will at length fall under our blows." then one of the piaies collected in a vessel the blood which dripped from the table, and carefully placed it outside. it was not enough to have mutilated the corpse. this horrible butchery was succeeded by an operation which completely froze leon's blood, and he could hardly restrain the feeling of repulsion which the hideous spectacle aroused in him. one of the indians brandished a cutlass with a gesture of furious joy over the cold head of the assassinated lancero; and while with the left hand he seized the pendant hair, with the other adroitly scalped him. the sight of this despoiled head produced a lively movement of satisfaction among all the spectators, who resumed their chanting. at length the other four piaies seized the bleeding body, and carried it, quivering as it was, to the centre of the camp, followed by all the other indians, who sang, accompanying themselves with furious gestures and yells. as we stated, it was in the middle of the nineteenth century that this scene--which our readers might be inclined to fancy borrowed from the history of barbarous times, but of which we were an eye-witness--occurred. on the command of the sayotkatta, the piaies stopped near a young tree, which he stripped of its branches by the help of an axe. all the indians halted, and formed a sort of thick hedge several rows in depth. chanting sacred prayers, the piaies deposited the corpse at the foot of the tree, from which they stripped the bark. then the indians who held the vessel of human blood poured it over the stem, after which the one who had scalped the lancero attached the scalp to it. the strange songs recommenced with fresh energy, and ere long the piaies, bringing piece by piece the wood employed to construct the pyre in the hut of sacrifice, built it up again at the foot of the tree, and laid the corpse upon it, carefully placing near it the heart, liver, and lungs. when all these preparations were ended, the indians formed a circle round the tree, and the sayotkatta ascended the pyre. the scene then assumed a character at once savage, majestic, and imposing. in fact, it was something striking to see on this magnificent night, by the light of the torches which illumined with fantastic flashes the dark foliage of the trees, all these indians, with their harsh and stern faces, arrayed round a pyre on which stood an old man dressed in a long white robe, who with inspired eye and superb gestures contemptuously trampled underfoot a blood-stained corpse. the sayotkatta took a scrutinizing glance around him, and then said in a loud and solemn voice-- "the victim is immolated, and ikarri is satisfied. guatechu protects us. the victory will be faithful to the right, and our enemies will fall never to rise again. sons of the tortoise, this is the war stake!" he continued, as he pointed to the tree; "it is for me to strike the first blow in the name of guatechu and ikarri." and, raising the axe, which he held in his right hand, the old man dealt the tree a blow, and descended. this was the signal for a frenzied assault; each indian, drunk with fury, advanced with horrible yells to the tree, which he struck, and each blow that re-echoed seemed to arouse such ardour among those who were waiting their turn, that they soon all rushed with deafening noise upon the tree, which could not endure such an attack for any length of time. long after it had fallen, furious men were assailing a few inches of the trunk which stood out of the ground. the kindling of the pyre by the sayotkatta by means of a torch could alone interrupt these attacks on the tree, which they treated as if they were dealing with a real enemy. a few minutes later, the flames whirled up, the snapping of wood and the cracking of bones which were being calcined in the midst of the fire became audible. a dense smoke escaped from the furnace, and driven by the wind, suffocated the birds sleeping in the aspens and larch trees that surrounded the clearing. it was the finale of the festival, and, like most indian festivals, was accompanied by a dance, if such a name can be given to the mad round which the indians performed. taking each other by the hand, without distinction of rank or dignity, they began whirling round the pyre, forcing leon, who did not dare decline, to share in this horror. ere long, overexcited by the sound of the molucho war song, which they struck up in chorus, they went round so hurriedly and quickly, that at the end of ten minutes it would have been impossible for any human being to distinguish a single ring of the chain, which seemed to be moved by a spring. imagine an immense wheel turning on its axle with the speed of a railway carriage wheel, and you will have an idea of the exercise which the bravest and most brilliant warriors of the twelve molucho tribes indulged in with gaiety of heart. they did not stop till the pyre had become a pile of ashes. carefully collecting these ashes the piaies went with great pomp to throw them into a torrent which leaped no great distance from the camp. a portion of the indians, that is to say, those among them still able to use their limbs, accompanied them with a new dance and fresh songs. as for leon, utterly exhausted, he had fallen almost in a fainting state near a hut. "come, brother," diego said to him, as he helped him to rise, and pointed to the dawn which was beginning to whiten the horizon, "let us depart; it is late, and we must be back in camp before daylight." "let us go--let us go," said leon, "for my head is turning. the smell of blood chokes me, and the atmosphere here is poisoned." diego looked at him without replying; then, after exchanging a few words with the great chief huachacuyac and the sayotkatta, he took the arm of the smuggler captain, and went with him toward the camp where the soto-mayor family were resting. chapter xiii. the balas ruby. the sun was rising radiantly when señor don juan de soto-mayor, with pale face and features worn by the unhappy news which don pedro de sallazar brought him on the previous evening, raised the canvass of the tent in which he had spent the night, and stepped forth. general don pedro accompanied him. the morning was superb, and the arrieros were engaged in loading the mules and saddling of horses; leon, seated apart on a fallen tree, seemed plunged in deep and bitter thoughts. the old gentleman approached, and he did not seem to notice his presence. "good morning, señor captain," he said to him, lightly touching his shoulder. the young man started at the sound of this voice; then rising, he slightly raised his hat off his head, and bowed to the old general, while replying, mechanically-- "may heaven grant it be good to you, caballero." "what is the matter, my friend?" the speaker asked him, kindly; "has anything unpleasant occurred during your sleep?" "nothing, sir," leon said, hastily; "i trust that the ladies have slept well." "yes, yes; at least, i suppose so, for i have not seen them yet." "here are the señoras," don pedro, who had remained a little behind, said to the general: "and what is more, all ready to mount." the two gentlemen advanced to meet them. "ah! ah!" said diego, good humouredly, "everybody is up; all the better, for the sooner we start, the sooner we shall reach our journey's end." "gentlemen, one word with you, if you please," general don juan said to the two smuggler chiefs, after inquiring the health of his wife and daughters. "we are at your orders, general," leon and diego said. and they followed don juan, who led them apart from the muleteers. "gentlemen," he said to them, when he fancied himself out of earshot, "i received strange news last night; it seems that the indians have risen, and are disturbing the province of valdivia; hence we must try to reach the city as speedily as possible." diego affected surprise. "really," he said, "that is extraordinary." then, after appearing to reflect for a moment, he added-- "must you absolutely pass through talca?" "no; but why that question?" "because," diego answered, "i know a road across the mountain which shortens the journey twenty leagues." "that is true," said leon; "by crossing the mountain we shall save a day's march." "in that case, gentlemen, let us do so, for when a man is in a hurry to arrive, he must choose the shortest road. ah! bye-the-bye," he added, "before forming a determination, i must consult with general don pedro, in order to know if he consents to accompany us without stopping at talca." don pedro did not consider it advisable to oppose the plan; on the contrary, his plan of inspecting the vicinity of talca was served by the measure, which would allow him to reconnoitre whether the indians had as yet entered the wood skirting the forest. for a moment the fear of some surprise seemed to occupy his mind; but reflecting that his escort, joined to that of don juan, would be sufficient to protect the caravan, he saw no inconvenience in adopting the change of route proposed by diego. the latter had not seen, without some displeasure, the caravan swelled by don pedro and his soldiers; but, too clever to let it be seen, he pretended to be extremely pleased by this increase of men, who, in the event of an attack, would serve as a reinforcement. however this may be, don pedro ordered four of his lanceros to march about a hundred paces ahead of the column, and then they started. each horseman, fully armed, advanced with his eye on the watch, and in profound silence, while two other lanceros, forming the rearguard, rode fifty yards behind. the small troop was composed altogether of five-and-thirty persons. leon scarce dared to raise his eyes to maria, who rode by her mother's side. each time that the maiden's glance met his, a sort of confusion or remorse was depicted on his features, in spite of the efforts which he made to recover his usual coolness. doña maria knew not to what to attribute this change in the young man's manner, and seemed to be striving to discover the cause. "can it be the arrival of don pedro that thus brings a cloud to his brow?" she asked herself; "perhaps he is jealous of that cavalier. oh! if that be the case, it is because he loves me." and turning her face once again toward the smuggler, she smiled on him in a way that must remove his error; but he, far from deriving from the marks of love which the maiden gave him, the joy which the heart feels on knowing itself beloved, he found in it a motive for secret grief. the scene he had witnessed during the previous night in the indian camp had produced so deep an impression upon him, that he could not refrain from thinking of the mournful consequences it must have for the soto-mayor family, which was, doubtless, devoted to death. although doña maria's life had been guaranteed by diego, he trembled at the grief which must assail her, when struck in her dearest and tenderest affections; and, while recognising the apparent justice in the name of which diego had condemned the general, his wife, and his other children, he was horrified by the terrible position in which the half-breed had placed him by making him swear to aid his revenge. "what!" he said, "i love doña maria, and not only must i allow the death of her family to be carried out without opposition, but if the contest breaks out between them and the indians, my duty orders me to join the latter. oh, no! for i feel that i shall never commit such an unworthy action, and i would sooner let myself be killed than array myself against those whom i am pledged to serve, or those whom i have sworn to defend." and the young man's cheeks were flushed by the action of the internal fever which devoured him; his burning forehead, and his sharp, quick gestures announced the agitation which the combat going on in his mind produced. the caravan had entered the wood where the indians had assembled on the past night, and they soon reached the middle of the clearing where they had camped. the sons of the tortoise had disappeared, but the huts built by them, though half destroyed, still stood, as well as the trace of the ashes of the pyre on which the body of the ill-fated lancero had been burnt. leon could not see the spot again without feeling a shudder of awe and terror. diego looked around him carelessly, and whistled a sambacueca between his teeth. "oh, oh!" said don pedro, looking all around; "what have we here?" and with the experience which he had acquired in wars in which he had taken part against the indians, he began to rummage all the huts, after giving leon a sign to follow him, and the rest orders to go on ahead. leon acceded to his wishes, and both remained behind; and at the moment when they entered one of the huts, leon saw something glistening on the ground, which he fancied was a precious stone. he suddenly stooped, and eagerly picking up the article, examined it; it was a gold ring, set with a balas ruby of inestimable value. the young man thrust it into his belt with a vague feeling of alarm. he asked himself to whom this ring could belong, for it was not probable that an indian had lost it: moreover, he fancied that he had already seen one like it, though he could not remember on whose finger. "on the lancero's, perhaps?" he said to himself, thinking of the soldier who had been assassinated in his presence; but this latter supposition was speedily abandoned, for it was impossible that a simple private could be the possessor of such a jewel. then he thought of the other prisoner, and a terrible presentiment was rising in his mind, when don pedro called him. the latter had completed his inspection, and was preparing to rejoin the travellers, apparently knowing all that he desired to know. leon was soon at his side. "i have two words to say to you, sir," don pedro remarked to him. "speak, sir," the smuggler answered, affected by the tone in which the general had uttered these words. "i do not know you, sir," the general continued, "nor do i know your usual mode of conduct with the travellers whom you may escort." "do you wish to insult me, general?" leon interrupted, as he drew himself up and fixed his firm and haughty glance on the speaker. "not the least in the world; still, as i do not share the friendship which the soto-mayor family--whether rightly or wrongly--displays for you, i wish to inform you of the reflections i have made on your score, and give you a piece of advice." "speak, sir," said leon, disdainfully; "but in the first place, you know that i do not care for your reflections, and shall not accept your advice." "perhaps so, señor captain. at any rate, you shall have them," don pedro continued, not deigning to notice the arrogance which the smuggler placed on his remarks. "the place where we are at this moment is an indian camp; if i doubted the fact, this," he added, as he knocked over a broken pipe, "would afford me a certainty. this camp was but a few hours ago still occupied by indians, and here is the proof," he said, stooping down; "the ashes are quite warm." "sir," said leon in his turn, who felt a cold perspiration beading on his temples, "what you are saying appears to me highly probable, but i do not see how that can personally interest me, or form any motive for what you said to me just now. be good enough to explain yourself more clearly." "i will do so, sir, and frankly," the general replied; "for i am a soldier, and do not like any prefacing." "nor i, sir; so to facts." "they are these. last night, after a lengthened conversation with general don juan, i had a fancy to go and smoke my cigar in the open air; the night was magnificent and invited a walk. now, at the moment when i raised the tent curtain to go out, i saw two men glide between the bales and leave camp without warning the sentry." "what next, sir?" "next? good gracious! that is very simple. i asked myself what these two men could have to do outside the camp at that hour, when duty imposed on them the obligation of remaining at their post; but as i could learn nothing at that moment, i resolved to satisfy my curiosity by awaiting their return. i waited a long time, captain; but that did not cause me much annoyance, for i am naturally very patient, as you will say, when i tell you that i saw these two men go out and also saw them return, although they did not do so till a few minutes before daybreak. now, i conclude by begging you to tell me where they went, for one of the two men was yourself." "it is true, sir, i left the camp, and only returned at daybreak." "but what important reason urged you to do so?" "that i cannot tell you, sir," leon said with firmness. "suffice it for you to know that i allow nobody, not even you, general, the right to inquire into my conduct, and that, moreover, the step which i took in no way compromised the safety of the persons confided to my charge." "very good! that answer does not surprise me; but bear this in mind--at the first mysterious sortie you make in future--at the first action which appears to me suspicious--i will simply have you seized by my lanceros and give them orders to shoot you within an hour. you have understood me, i suppose?" "perfectly, general; and whenever you please, you will find me at your orders," the smuggler replied, with a tinge of irony; "but, in the meanwhile, i think it would be more useful to rejoin the caravan." "you are warned, sir," the general continued, "and will only have yourself to blame if anything unpleasant happen to you. now let us start." "very good, general." and the two men, leaping into the saddle, galloped in the direction of the small party, which they soon, rejoined. don pedro placed himself at the head, and rode by the side of diego, still silently, while leon, who had remained a few paces in the rear, drew from the belt the ring which he had found, and regarded it afresh with sustained attention. "i have certainly seen this ring before," he said, after turning it over and over in all directions; "but on whose finger, in heaven's name?" then, thrusting it on to his finger and pulling it off again, he continued in vain to rack his brains in recalling his recollections, but could not succeed in fixing his doubts. then pressing his horse's flank, he rode up to the travellers, and soon found himself by doña maria's side. "señor captain," the latter said to him, "shall we go through this wood for any length of time?" "for about two hours, señora." "oh, all the better, for there is an exquisite freshness in it. i am delighted that we have left the road which we were following yesterday; here it is so picturesque, that i am never weary of admiring the scenery." "and then it will shorten our journey by a day," leon said, sadly. "that is true," the maiden answered, each of whose words was overheard by her mother and sister. but at the same moment she gave the smuggler a glance which signified how much she regretted to see him so badly interpret the words to which she was far from giving the meaning which he attributed to them. the journey ended, what hope would remain to the maiden of seeing again the man whom she loved. leon understood the reproach, and bending down his head, he concealed his trouble by spurring his mustang, which soon carried him up to general don juan, who was engaged in a conversation with don pedro. "for all that, general," the latter was saying to don juan, "i am astonished that your son did not meet you when you were following the talca road, for i do not know any other which he could have taken in order to arrive sooner." "did he command any detachment of troops?" the general asked. "no; he started for tulcapel, merely accompanied by two lanceros." leon did not hear the close of the conversation, for a sudden revelation had been made to him. suddenly his blood was frozen and his teeth were clenched. he remembered that young don juan de soto-mayor wore on his right hand, on the night which he spent at the general's country house, a ring resembling the one which he had in his belt. he perfectly remembered having noticed the sparkling of the ruby, whose exceptional size had attracted his attention. but in proportion as his thoughts, becoming more lucid, rendered the truth more distinct, he saw with horror the dark drama of which he scarce dared to seek the meaning, so afraid was he of finding the reality in it. he had picked up the ring in the tent into which he had seen the prisoners carried on the previous evening; one was a lancero, and he was dead; but the other. was not the other don juan, the son of the old general in front of him? and if, as he feared he was certain, this prisoner was don juan, what had become of him? perhaps, at that very hour, he might be expiring under the frightful sufferings which the indians were making him undergo. leon wished at once to question diego on the point, for he must know the truth, but the fear of not being able to master his emotion in the presence of the two generals prevented him from doing so, and he resolved to await the first halt to satisfy his anxious curiosity. but, agitated by a thousand conflicting emotions, he did not dare look at maria, for he was already afraid lest the maiden should ask him, with tears in her voice, what he had done with her brother's blood, as he was the accomplice of those who had assassinated him. the caravan still advanced, and soon left the wood to debouch upon a plain intersected by numerous rivulets, which wound through a hard and rocky soil. at the moment when the last man left the edge of the forest, the dense shrubs that bordered the road noiselessly parted and made room for the head of an indian, who looked out cautiously, after having, so to speak, smelt the air around him. his eyes settled on the little troop, which they followed until it had bent to the left and entirely disappeared; then carefully removing the twigs, the indian thrust forward the rest of his body and crawled out. he soon found himself in the middle of the road, and began looking around him again in all directions, after which his face assumed a marked expression of satisfaction. "matai," he said, smiling so as to show his long white teeth. and then he began running with the lightness of a llama in the traces of the caravan. on reaching the spot where the road formed a bend, he thrust out his head, and then hurriedly withdrawing it, climbed up the side of a wood-clad height and disappeared. this man was tcharanguii, the feared and formidable chief of the jaos, one of the most powerful tribes of the twelve molucho nations. for some minutes the rustling of parted branches might be heard, then all became silent again, the sole interruption being the imposing sounds of the desert. chapter xiv. the rupture. they travelled the whole day without any incidents: the heat which had so incommoded them all during the first few days, had been succeeded by a temperature which hourly became colder. the foliage of the trees assumed a deeper tinge of green; the singing birds of the llanos, whose sweet notes ravished the ear, had been succeeded by the eagles, vultures, and other birds of prey, which formed immense circles in space while uttering the hoarse and strange cries peculiar to them. the sky, which had hitherto been of such a pure blue, was beginning here and there to assume greyish tones and coppery reflections, which formed a contrast with the dull whiteness of the water of the torrents which fell in cascades from the snowy peaks of the mountains, down whose flanks they dragged with a dull roar masses of rock and enormous firs which they uprooted in their passage. a wild llama or vicuna might be seen balanced on a point of granite, and at times in the openings of the thick wood which bordered the road, the flashing eyes of a puma, or the black muzzle of a bee hunting bear, could be seen stretched out over a branch. all, in a word, announced the vicinity of the cordillera of the andes. when night set in, the caravan had reached a narrow plateau, situated in what is called the temperate region, the last station of travellers before entering the vast and gloomy solitudes of the andes, which are as yet very little known or explored, owing to the difficulty of means of transport, and the absence of a sedentary population. the camp was made by the side of the road, under an immense natural arch, formed by means of rock, which overhung the road for more than two hundred yards, and formed a shelter for travellers by being hollowed out at its base. the fires were lighted, one in the centre of the camp, and the other at each corner, in order to keep off the wild beasts whose attacks were beginning to be apprehended with reason. when supper was ended, sentries were posted, and each prepared his couch in order to spend his night in the enjoyment of that sleep which restores the strength. if the expression we have just used, that each prepared his couch, were to be taken literally, it would be a great mistake, if this performance were at all supposed to be like what is done in europe in similar cases. in fact, with a european a bed generally consists of at least one mattress, or something analogous to take its place, a bolster, a pillow, sheets, blankets, &c.; but in chili things are very different. although luxury and comfort are things well known in towns, beds at all like ours are only found in the houses of rich people, and then, great heavens! what beds. as for the one which the chilians employ when travelling, it is most convenient and ingenious, since it serves them as a saddle by day, as we shall proceed to show. the horse's equipment consists, in the first place, of three ponchos, folded square, and laid one upon the other on the back of the horse; in these ponchos are laid four sheepskins with the wool on, and on these again is placed a wooden seat, representing a saddle, which supports a pair of heavy wooden stirrups, hollowed out in a triangular form. a surcingle, fastened under the horse's belly, keep these various articles in their places, and four more ponchos and four more skins are laid on them. lastly, another poncho is thrown over the whole, and serves as chabraque, a second strap holding this edifice in its place. we can see from the description of what enters into the formation of chilian horse accoutrement that it can advantageously take the place of our scanty english saddle, and that the rider is able to find the materials for a very soft bed. when the latter arrives at his sleeping place, he unsaddles his horse, which he leaves at liberty to find its food where it thinks proper, and then makes the aforesaid bed in the following way. he first lays the saddle on the ground to act as pillow, then spreads his first sheepskins, over a space six feet in length, and two or three in width; he covers these with three ponchos, on which he lies down, and then pulls over him the four other skins and the remaining ponchos, and eventually disappears under this pile of stuff so entirely that it is impossible to perceive him, for even his head is hidden. it happens at times that when a man is passing the night on the cordilleras, under the protection of this formidable rampart of skins and blankets, a few feet of snow literally bury the sleeper, who, on awaking, is compelled to throw his legs and arms about for some minutes, in order to liberate himself and see daylight again. diego was preparing his bed in the manner which we have just described, and displaying all the attention of a man who feels the need of a sound sleep, when he saw leon delbès coming towards him, who since the morning had not spoken to him, and seemed to avoid him. we must suppose that the smuggler's face betrayed a lively emotion, for diego on looking up to him, felt ill at ease, and saw that something extraordinary had taken place in his friend's mind. from the way in which the young man looked at him, it was certain that he was preparing to ask of him an explanation about some fact, and understanding that it could only refer to the soto-mayor family, he could not suppress a start of impatience which did not escape leon. the latter, on his side, was asking himself how he should manage the conversation as to lead diego to tell him what he wanted to learn, and not knowing how to begin, he waited till the latter should address him. both were afraid of reverting to the past, and yet each felt that the moment had arrived to behave frankly and expose the nature of his grievances. when we speak of grievances, we know perfectly that neither had to reproach the other for any deed of a reprehensible nature in what concerned their mutual pledge to help each other; but if leon involuntarily revolted against the implacable revenge which the half-breed had begun to exercise against the soto-mayors, while confessing to himself that, in spite of the friendship which united him to diego, he could never lend a hand to excesses like the one which he had seen committed on the previous night by the indians, diego had not failed to comprehend that the love which leon entertained for maria would be an invincible obstacle to the support which the latter had sworn to give him. without accusing him of treachery, he still taxed him with softness of heart and irresolution, or rather pitied him for having surrendered himself, bound hand and foot, to a wild passion which paralyzed all the goodwill which he might under other circumstances have expected from him. as we see, the respective position of the two men toward each other had been too false for them not to feel in their hearts a lively desire to put an end to it; the difficulty was to manage it without injuring their self-esteem and interests. leon had hoped that diego would at length inquire the motive which had brought him to his friend, but on seeing that the latter affected not to address a syllable to him, he resolved to break the silence. "you are going to sleep, brother," he said to him. "yes," diego replied: "i am tired." "you tired!" leon remarked, with a smile of incredulity, "tired by a ten leagues' ride, when i have seen you hunt on the pampas for eight or ten days in succession without dreaming of resting for a moment; nonsense!" "tired or no, i wish to sleep: besides, what is there extraordinary in that? has not everybody in camp lain down?" "that is true." "then i invite you to do the same, unless love keeps you awake," he added, laconically. "in that case, the best thing you can do is to spend the night in walking round the hut in which your fair one is reposing, that her sleep may not be disturbed; and much good may it do you." "diego," leon answered, sorrowfully, "what you are saying to me is not right. what have i done to you that you should address me so roughly?" "nothing," the half-breed said, with a regretful tone. "but come," he said, kicking the bed over which he had taken so much pains in preparing, "you really seem so anxious to speak to me that i might fancy that you had important business." "what makes you suppose that i want to speak to you?" "oh, good heaven! leon, we have lived together long enough for us to be able to read on one another's faces what our thoughts are. confess that you are suffering, that you are anxious, and that you have come to ask some explanation of me. come, if it be so, tell me frankly what you want of me, and i will answer. for on my side i also have to speak with you about the grief and sorrow which seem to have assailed you since yesterday. speak; is it the engagement you made to support me in the struggle i am preparing, for that seems to you too heavy to carry out? only say one word: there is still time, and i will give you back your word; but speak, for i am anxious to come to a decision." "brother," said leon, without replying directly to diego's injunction, "i notice bitterness in your words and mocking on your lips: still, in order to remove from the discussion anything that might resemble passion or annoyance, i have let the whole day pass over the event about which i wish to speak to you, for it is the friend i am addressing, and not tahi-mari." "well, what do you want?" "i will tell you." leon drew from his belt the ring which he had found, and handed it to diego. "do you know this?" he asked him. "what is it?" said the half-breed, taking it and turning it over in his fingers, while giving the young man an inquiring glance. "a ring." "hang it, i can see that, and a very handsome ring too; but i ask you what meaning it has in your hands?" "do you not know?" "how would you have me know?" "is it true that you do not know to whom it belongs?" "certain." "then you did not notice it on anybody's hand?" "no; and i assure you that if i had seen it twenty times i should not recognise it now, for i pay no attention to such futilities." "well, since you do not know to whom it belongs, i will tell you." "if you insist on my knowing, very good. but," he added, with a smile, "if i could have thought that you wished to speak to me so anxiously in order to talk about a pearl, i should have begged you to let me sleep." "a little patience, for this ring is more important than you seem to fancy." "in that case tell me for what reason, and how it comes in your hands." leon looked at diego's face, which indicated his entire good faith, and continued: "you remember that when we reached the indians' camp together, two spanish prisoners were in their power." "yes, certainly." "now, this morning, when passing again through that camp with the caravan, don pedro sallazar, after examining the sign, divined an indian sojourn, and invited me to enter the huts with him. i found this ring in the one to which i saw the prisoners transported." "in that case," said diego, "it must have belonged to one of them, that is incontestable. but how do those prisoners concern us?" "our second, as victim of the barbarous sacrifice which i saw accomplished before my eyes, and he was a lancero. i allow that i saw that hapless man for the first time in my life. but the other." "the other!" diego interrupted, who was curiously listening to leon's narrative. "the other we both know, for he was don juan de soto-mayor, the general's son, and this ring is the same which he wore on the day when his father sheltered us under his roof." "don juan!" diego said, with a start, while a flash of savage joy illuminated his eyes. "what! it was he?" "did you not know it?" "no, on my soul! it is probable that he was following the same road as ourselves; and the indians, who were ahead of us, seized him." "and what has become of him? what have they done to him?" "how do i know? a soto-mayor!" diego repeated, on whom the announcement of this news produced unequivocal satisfaction. "thanks, leon, for having been the first to inform me of the fact." "what do you mean? i came to you to ask you whether this man has not found among the indians the horrible death that smote the lancero who accompanied him!" "no; and i thank heaven for it, for i gave orders that all prisoners should be kept in a place of safety, with the exception of the one selected for sacrifice, and i shall soon be able to find don juan, who belongs to me, and whose blood shall be shed by me in expiation of the great tahi-mari, my father. at length," the half-breed exclaimed, growing animated, "you are about to be avenged, my glorious ancestors! and may every head which my hand causes to fall, rejoice your irritated manes!" at this moment, diego's attitude had something so imposing about it that leon felt himself gradually overcome by its terrible expression; because he resolved to oppose to the force of hatred which burned in the half-breed's heart that of love which consumed his own, by striking a grand blow. "brother," he said, "you are strangely in error if you fancy that i told you the name of the wearer of this ring in order to satisfy your vengeance." "what do you mean?" diego replied. "that in the name of the friendship which unites us, in the name of the love which i have for doña maria, i have come to ask you to restore to liberty the brother of her whom i love." and leon ceased speaking. the man who, walking along a road bordered by flowers and turf, suddenly saw the ground open under his feet, and a bottomless precipice present itself, would not feel a greater commotion of surprise than that which assailed the descendant of tahi-mari: his lips were clenched, his cheeks turned livid, and he fell crushed on the ponchos which remained on the ground. "have i rightly understood? leon, it is at the moment when after waiting twenty years for the solemn hour of victory i at length hear it strike, that you ask me to surrender my enemy to you! what i should have broken all the obstacles which opposed the success of the holy cause which i am defending; i should have sacrificed without pity for myself all that attached me to life, after tearing from my heart all the illusions of my youth, in order only to leave my hatred, and all that in order to renounce the hope of attaining the object which i was pursuing! oh, no, that is not possible; and it is not you, leon, my friend, my brother, who would ask such a sacrifice of me. no!" "brother, forgive me!" leon exclaimed; "but i love this woman." "yes, you love her; and if i give you the life of the brother, you will ask me tomorrow for that of the father; and each day, implored by you, i must, i suppose, abandoning one by one the victims i have marked, efface from my memory every recollection of the past, and allow the assassins of tahi-mari to live amid the joys which power and wealth produce. no, no! i pity you, brother, for you must have left all your reason at the bottom of that love to which you refer when you dare to make me such a proposal." "enough, diego; enough! i implored you in the name of our friendship, and i was wrong, since you believe that you are committing an act of justice in killing those for whom i implore your mercy. pardon me; and now farewell, brother, i will leave you." "where are you going, madman?" diego asked, as he held him back. "i do not know, but i wish to fly far from here." "what! leave me! thus break a friendship like ours! you cannot think of such a thing." "do you not know that i love maria with all the strength of my soul: as i told you it is an impossibility to give up that love, and yet i do not wish to betray your cause; so let me go and seek far from her, if not oblivion, at least death." "grief leads you astray, leon. come, listen to me." "what!--your justification! i do not accuse you; but once again i say we must separate, for if maria were to ask me for her brother and i should not give him to her, she would curse me, do you hear? because she would refuse to believe that i love her, as i did not know how to die to save him whom your hatred has condemned! you see plainly that i must depart." "well, then," said diego, with some amount of emotion, "an insurmountable barrier is raised between us." "yes, brother; but though we are parted the memory of our friendship will survive our separation." a silence of some minutes' duration followed these words, and nothing could be heard but the hurried breathing of the two men. diego was the first to speak. "leon," he suddenly exclaimed, making a violent effort over himself; "you have spoken the truth; one of us must depart, as we are both following a different road; but it shall be i, for my place is at the head of the indians, my brothers. as for you, remain with those whom you are protecting, and ere i go to resume the life of the proscript, and continue in broad daylight the struggle which i have been carrying on for so many years in the darkness, give me your hand, that i may press it in mine for the last time; and then, to the mercy of god!" "oh!" leon replied, eagerly, "most gladly so, or rather let us embrace, for we are still worthy of each other." and the two smugglers fell into each other's arms. "be happy, diego," said leon. "god grant that you may find happiness in the love of doña maria," said diego. then the latter, taking his lasso, whistled to his colt, which came up at the appeal, and, after saddling it, he leaped lightly on its back. he remained motionless for a moment, taking a sorrowful glance at the men sleeping a short distance from him; and then, after breathing a deep sigh, he addressed leon once again. "farewell!" he said to him: "remember that you are an adopted son of the araucanos, and that if you please one day to come among your brothers to seek a supporter or a defender, you will find one and the other." "farewell!" murmured leon, whose eyes were moist. ere long the half-breed's mustang, sharply spurred, leaped at one bound over the bales which formed the enclosure of the camp, and darted across the plain with the rapidity of an arrow. chapter xv. a first loss. after diego's departure, leon remained for a long time leaning on the baggage which he had before him; the last words of his departing friend rang in his ear like the sound of a knell; a deep sorrow, a deadly discouragement had seized upon him, and a state of undefinable morbidness preyed on his whole being. a friendship like that which united him to the vaquero is not broken so suddenly without the heart suffering from it, and in spite of the exceptional circumstances which had caused the separation of the two men, leon could not refrain from a species of remorse. turning over in his mind the different phases of his past existence and those of the four last years of his life, spent in the midst of llanos and pampas, he asked himself whether he had not consciously exchanged the quietude of an unclouded present for the painful agitation of a future big with tempests. with his eye fixed on the dark and bold outline of diego, which was vaguely designed on the horizon, and was gradually disappearing in space, twenty times he was on the point of dashing forward and begging him to return, while swearing to give up the ardent passion which mastered him; but an invincible force nailed him to the ground, his choking voice died away on his lips, and his courage failed him. ere long an impenetrable mist spread between the eyes of the young man and his friend, who entirely disappeared. then leon began cursing the fatal love which had come to torture his heart, and the hours of the night passed away unnoticed by him, so greatly were his thoughts concentrated in his soul. the sky was gloomy; heavy black clouds strangely edged, and driven from the south-west by a cold wind, coursed through the air with extreme velocity. when, at rare intervals, the moon appeared during the short period which separated a cloud on the horizon from the advent of another which dashed after it, its pale and sickly rays hardly lit up the objects on which they cast their vague light. the scenery, plunged in darkness at each new obscuration of the moon, was mournful and silent, and nothing could be heard but the regular footfall of the sentry echoing on the hardened soil. all were asleep in the camp, save the sentry and leon, and the latter, not afraid of being seen, gave a free course to his grief, and heavy tears fell from his eyes. what secret and acrid sorrows are contained in each of these drops of burning water which trickle down a man's face. tears! the supreme expression of impotence and despair. tears! the height of weakness and despondency which brutally restore man to his place, by showing him the vanity of his pride, and the nullity of his pretended strength. the captain of the smugglers was still weeping when a hand was laid on, or rather slightly touched, his shoulder. he quickly raised his head, and with difficulty restrained a cry of surprise. doña maria was standing before him, with her finger laid on her lip, in order to recommend silence. half hidden by the white lace which surrounded her face, and fell in long streamers on her shoulders, the maiden presented herself to leon's astonished gaze, like a celestial apparition which had come from on high to restore him hope and courage. "you!" he murmured, with a tenderness of expression impossible to render. "speak lower," the maiden replied, and she pointed to the sentry, who had stopped, and seemed to be spying her movements. leon looked for a moment at the man to whom the guard of the camp was temporarily confided. "reassure yourself," he said to her; "he is the bravest and most devoted man in my band. stop here for a moment." then walking a few paces, leon made a signal to the sentry to come to him. "wilhelm," he said to him, "stop as sentry till i give you orders myself to call one of your comrades, and look out." "yes, captain," the man replied, with a marked german accent; "i understand." "very good," leon replied; "begone." the sentry retired, and leon returned to the maiden, whose bosom was hurriedly heaving. the captain knew wilhelm, and that at the slightest movement which took place in the soto-mayor's tent, he should be warned. hence he was enabled to talk freely with her whom he loved, without fear of being surprised. "you here so close to me!" leon went on, seizing one of the maiden's hands. "oh, doña maria, how kind you are!" "you are suffering," she said, as she bent on the young man a glance in which the signs of a sympathising interest were visible; "you are suffering, and seem to avoid and shun me, and that is why i have resolved on asking you the cause of your sorrow." "oh, no! i am no longer suffering since i see you; since i hear fall from your lips sweet words which dilate my heart with hope and joy." "oh, be silent!" maria replied; "for i only wish to know the cause of the sorrow which i have remarked, since this morning, on your countenance." "what! has your attention been so directed to me as to make you feel anxious on seeing me sad and despondent?" "do you not know that i love you?" maria said, with an accent of such sublime simplicity, that leon fancied himself the sport of a dream. there was a moment of supreme silence, which the maiden was the first to break. "i know," she said, "how strange and unusual is the step which i am now taking, and how dangerous it would be with a man whose heart was not so noble or so great as yours; but, alas! we are at this moment in a situation so different from all the ordinary laws of life, that i thought i must frankly come and find you." "you were right, señorita," muttered leon, with his eyes ardently fixed upon her. "let me," she continued, "express to you all the gratitude i feel to you for your conduct, so full of self-denial and so loyal." "oh!" he said. "i know all; i was an invisible hearer of your conversation; and nothing said by you or your friend escaped my ear. i thank you from the bottom of my heart for your devotion to our family. alas!" she said, as if speaking to herself, "perhaps it would have been better for you and for us had you abandoned us." "i will carry out, whatever may happen, the oath which i took to you, señorita, to lead you in safety to your destination." "but," she said, with a movement of fear, "that man, your friend, that gloomy and stern individual, i tremble lest he may try to make us fall into some horrible trap. i have a dark foreboding that a danger menaces us." "whatever may be the danger, señorita," the young man exclaimed passionately, "be convinced that my friend will have no share in it; his word is sacred, and i place the most perfect confidence in him." "heaven grant that you are not mistaken!" she said, with a stifled sigh. "moreover," he continued, "whatever may happen, i shall be there, and no one will reach you without passing over my body. i have sworn to escort you and your family safe and sound to the end of this long journey, and that oath i will keep, whatever may happen." "thanks," she murmured, with emotion, as she offered him her white and delicate hand; "thanks, leon--i love you!" and she disappeared light as a shadow, leaving the young man plunged into indescribable ecstasy. the rest of the night passed without further incident, and at daybreak leon, who had not slept for an instant, gave the signal for starting. in spite of himself, the young man felt a vague terror for which he could not account. the maiden's parting words echoed in his ear and the presentiment which she stated that she felt, caused him a preoccupation which he sought in vain to dissipate, by proving to himself that no possible danger could threaten the persons whom he was escorting. still, before reaching the districts where any fear would become chimerical owing to the distance from the country frequented by the indians, the caravan would be obliged to pass through a passage called the parumo de san juan bautista, a very difficult pass to cross, and which, as it served as the extreme limit of the indian border, was the more favourable for the preparation of an ambush. the captain wished to arrive before nightfall at this pass, in order to reconnoitre the approaches carefully, and guard against any surprise. but to do this speed was required. gene soto-mayor asked the young man why he raised the camp at so early an hour, but the latter without telling him all his thoughts, managed to give him reasons which, without being good, closed his mouth, and the caravan started. the three ladies, carefully wrapped up in their ponchos and rebozos in order to protect themselves from the cold, rode side by side, preceded by general soto-mayor and don pedro sallazar. leon was a few paces ahead plunged into serious reflections. "eh, caballero!" don pedro shouted to him, "i should like, with your permission, to ask you a question." the captain stopped. "a question, señor," he said; "what is it, if you please?" "well, i fancy it very simple; still if, unconsciously, i am guilty of any indiscretion, i beg you beforehand to excuse me, and i authorize your not answering me." the young man bowed. "let me hear the question," he said. "since we have started," don pedro continued, "i have sought your friend in vain, but could not find him; can he have left us, or has he gone ahead to reconnoitre?" "my friend, señor," the young man answered, somewhat drily, "has left us not to return. he went away last night while you were asleep, but i have remained, and shall not abandon you. does this explanation suit you, señor? or have you any other questions to ask me?" "hum!" don pedro replied, internally offended by the way in which the young man had answered him, and checking his horse, so as to let the others pass. the caravan continued its journey, and not one of those who composed it--numbed by the cold which gradually grew more intense, and which they had great difficulty in guarding themselves against--attempted to stripe up even the most frivolous conversation. the nearer the travellers came to the parumo de san juan bautista, the more nervous did the captain grow, though he could not guess the reason; at length this anxiety became so great, that, after temporarily entrusting the command of the troop to wilhelm, he made a signal to four of his adventurers to follow him; and, putting himself at their head, he dashed his horse at the flanks of the mountain which the travellers were ascending at the moment. as he passed doña maria, the latter slightly pulled aside the rebozo that covered her face, and bent down to him. "are you leaving us in that way, leon?" she murmured, in a voice faint as a sigh. the young man started at the sound of the beloved voice. "no!" he answered; "on the contrary, i am going to watch over your safety." and dashing off, he at once disappeared among the trees. "heaven grant," the maiden said as she crossed herself, "that my fears are chimerical, and that the danger which i apprehend may only exist in my imagination." and wrapping herself once more in her rebozo, the maiden rode pensively on by the side of her mother and sister, who seemed not to have paid any attention to the few words she had exchanged with the captain. chapter xvi. the parumo de san juan bautista. the cordilleras of the andes are strange mountains, with which no others in the world could be compared, and they form, so to speak, the backbone of the new world, the entire length of which they traverse. it is in chili, whose natural frontier they form, that they assume the sternest and most gloomy proportions; raising to the clouds their snow-covered heads, it seems as if it were under the pressure of an omnipotent will, as ervilla, the poet of araucania, says, that they allow at certain periods daring travellers to enter their dark gorges and cross their denuded peaks. the cordilleras cannot at any season be everywhere crossed, and it is only during four months at the most that at certain spots caravans are enabled to make their way through the snow, escalade the crests of these inhospitable mountains, and descend the opposite sides. these spots, called passages, are very few in number: they are only three in chili, and they are quebradas, or gaps, the dried beds of torrents, or streams, through which men, horses, and mules pass with great difficulty, at the expense of extraordinary cost and privations. the most frequented of these passages is the parumo of san juan bautista, a narrow gorge between two lofty mountains, which can only be reached by a track a yard in width, bordered on the right by a forest, which rises in an amphitheatrical shape, and on the left by a precipice of immense depth, at the bottom of which an invisible stream may be heard murmuring. this was the road which the caravan was following. about four in the evening, at the moment when night was beginning to brood over these elevated regions, the travellers came out on a plateau of about forty yards in circumference; before them, nearly at their feet, and half bathed in the early mist of night, were vaguely designed the plains to which they would descend on the morrow, while around them were dark, inextricable forests, which seemed to enfold them. wilhelm, in obedience to the orders which he had received from his captain, commanded a halt, and all preparations to be made for the night encampment, as going any further would have been committing great imprudence, especially during the darkness. no one raised any objection, but all dismounted, and began actively unloading the mules and pitching the tent set apart for the soto-mayor family. while some were piling up the bales, and others unsaddling the horses and draught animals, several adventurers, selected by the leader, entered the forest, in order to seek for dry wood necessary to keep up the watch fires. the duties were thus allotted, in order that they might be completed as speedily as possible, when suddenly a terrible yell was heard, and a band of indians burst forth from the forest, and rushed at the travellers with brandished weapons. there was a moment of disorder which it is impossible to describe. the travellers, so suddenly surprised, and for the most part unarmed, offered but a feeble resistance to their assailants; but, speedily obeying the voice of wilhelm, and excited by the shouts of general soto-mayor, and of don pedro sallazar, they collected round the tent in which the three ladies had sought shelter, and arming themselves with any weapon they came across, they bravely resisted the indians; not hoping, it is true, to emerge as victors from the contest they were sustaining, but resolved to sell their lives dearly, and only yield to death. the combat then assumed gigantic proportions; the white men knew that they had no quarter to expect from their ferocious enemies, while the latter, whose great number heightened their boldness, and who counted on an easy victory, exasperated by the resistance offered them, redoubled their efforts to finish with the white men, whom they execrated. the fight became with each instant more terrible; chilians and indians were engaged in a hand-to-hand fight, rending each other like wild beasts, and howling like tigers when a combatant fell on either side. the issue of this frightful butchery was impossible to foresee, when suddenly several shots were fired, and a band of horsemen rushed desperately into the thickest of the fight. they were leon, and his adventurers, who, after a futile search, when returning to join their friends, heard the sound of the battle, and hurried up to take their part in the danger, and claim the right of dying with their comrades. it was time that this succour arrived, for the chilians who, crushed by numbers, did not feel their courage give way, but the moment approaching when they would fall not to rise again in front of the tent which they had undertaken to defend with the last drop of their blood. hence the unforeseen and almost providential arrival of the captain changed the aspect of the fight. the indians, astonished at this unforeseen attack, and not knowing what enemy they had to combat, hesitated for an instant, which leon took advantage of to redouble his blows. a ray of hope animated the spaniards, who regained their courage, and their resistance threatened to become fatal to the indians; but this triumph, alas! was of short duration. all at once a redskin of colossal height rushed to meet the smuggler captain, with the evident intention of fighting him. when the two adversaries faced, they looked at each other with attention, each in his heart doing justice to the elegant form and muscular appearance of his opponent. as frequently happens under such circumstances, indians and spaniards suspended the blows they were dealing one another, in order to be spectators of the combat in which leon was about to engage with the indian, who appeared to be one of the chiefs of the band. on the issue of this struggle the fate of the combatants on either side might depend. by a common agreement, the redskin threw his axe on the ground and leon his gun. then after drawing their machetes, the two men looked at each other attentively, and suddenly making a bound forward, seized each other round the body, but neither could make use of his knife, as each had seized his enemy's right arm with his left hand. activity and skill could alone triumph. for some minutes they could be seen intertwined like serpents, with frowning brows, haggard eyes, and set teeth; they writhed in a hundred ways, and tried, to throw each other, but in vain. the panting breath of both combatants could be heard escaping from their heaving chests like a whistle. the perspiration poured down their faces, and a whitish foam gathered at the corners of their mouths. at length the indian chief uttered a savage yell, and, collecting all his strength in a supreme effort, threw leon, who dragged him down with him. both rolled on the hardened snow. a long cry of joy burst from the indians, and a cry of despair from the spaniards; and, as if they had only expected this denouement to renew the combat, they rushed upon each other with fresh strength. in the midst of this dark forest, which was plunged into a sort of demi-obscurity, these scenes had something awful and sinister. the groans of the ladies, and the cries of agony from the men, who fell before the bullets and the blade, echoed mournfully far and wide; add to these lugubrious sounds the plaintive howling raised by the animals at the sight of the fire which was devouring the rest of the baggage, and the reader will have an idea of the sad picture which we are drawing. in the meanwhile the indian who had thrown leon had set his knee on his chest with ferocious delight, and was brandishing his knife; but all was not yet over for leon; by a movement rapid as thought he hurled away his foe, who fell, letting his knife slip from his grasp. it was now the indian's turn to tremble. leon seized him by the throat, and throttled him by the pressure of his left hand, while in his right he raised his machete to kill him. "die, scoundrel!" he shouted. he had not finished the sentence when a blow from the butt end of a gun fell on his head, and the smuggler captain fell senseless, while his enemy was dragged away by the man who had thus saved him from a certain death. when leon recovered his senses, the indians had disappeared; of his twenty-five companions, ten still lived, while the others, scalped and horribly mutilated, were stretched out on the ground. don pedro sallazar was stanching, as well as he could, a wound which he had received in the chest; while general soto-mayor was on his knees, and holding in his arms the body of his wife, who had been killed by a bullet through the temples. the old man looked at the wound with a lacklustre eye, and seemed to be no longer conscious of what was going on around him; still the heavy tears that coursed down his pallid cheeks fell one by one on the face of the dead woman. "and the young ladies?" leon anxiously asked, as he rose with great difficulty; "i do not see them." "they have been carried off by the indians," don pedro replied, in a hollow, sullen voice. "oh!" said leon, mad with despair, "i am accursed!" and, overcome by grief, he fell as if stunned to the ground. at this moment a horseman entered the clearing; it was major don juan, the son of general soto-mayor. chapter xvii. the abduction. after the infernal dance performed by the indians round the tree of war, tcharanguii, one of them, exhausted by fatigue, fell at the foot of the tree, in order to rest, and whether voluntarily or through excessive weariness, fell asleep. when he awoke, he found himself alone; his comrades had abandoned the camp. without loss of time, he set off to join a party of his friends, whom he knew had gone in the direction of the cordilleras. he came up with the caravan, as we described in a previous chapter, at the moment when it was continuing its journey towards valdivia, and the sudden impression produced on him by the sight of the two young ladies aroused in him an eager desire to seize them. in all probability, the indian had instantly followed the trail of the travellers, and so soon as they had established their bivouac in the wood, tcharanguii had hastened off to warn his companions, exhorting them not to lose the magnificent opportunity that presented itself of massacring some thirty spaniards--that is to say, deadly enemies. as for the maidens, he had been very careful not to allude to them, through fear of arousing in the others the feelings which he experienced. besides, it was far more simple that the rape should become the result of the fight, than the fight the result of the rape. the indians greeted tcharanguii's project with great demonstrations of joy, and swore by common agreement the destruction of the caravan. we have seen what the consequences of the attack on the travellers' camp were for the indians, who did not give up the struggle till they had made numerous victims, and their chief tcharanguii had seized doña inez and doña maria de soto-mayor; that is to say, the redskin had succeeded in obtaining what he desired. a thrill of extraordinary pleasure coursed through the indian's veins so soon as he had rendered it impossible for the two maidens to escape, by himself escorting the horses on which he had compelled them to mount. his eyes, sparkling with pleasure, turned from maria to inez, and could not dwell with greater complacency on one than on the other. he considered them both so lovely, that he was never weary of contemplating them with the frenzied admiration that indians feel at the sight of spanish women, whom they infinitely prefer to those of their tribe. now, in drawing our readers' attention to this peculiarity, we must add that, for their part, the spaniards eagerly seek the good graces of the indian squaws, in whom they find irresistible attractions. is this one of the effects of a wise combination of providence, desiring to accomplish the fusion of the two races in a complete fashion? no one knows; but what cannot be denied is, that there are few spaniards in south america who have not indian blood in their veins. on this subject we may perhaps be allowed to leave for a moment the framework of this romance, in order to establish the enormous difference which exists at the present time between the situation of the aborigines of south america to the spaniards, their conquerors, and that of the north american indians toward the yankees, their masters. it is a difference that is destined to weigh heavily in the balance of the destinies of the new world. the spaniards who rushed upon south america sword and fire in hand, who conquered those ill-fated countries amid the glare of arson and the despairing shrieks of the unhappy inhabitants, whom they killed with horrible sufferings, ended, however, though without suspecting it, in gradually becoming blended with them, by contracting marriages with indian girls, while the natives chose squaws among the spanish women. then, still following the incline down which they were gliding, they eventually recognised the intelligence and political influence of the various tribes they have conquered, but which they respect by dealing and trafficking with them. let us now see what has been the conduct of the english in north america. disembarking on this portion of the new world, under the guidance of william penn, they purchased the territories which they possess, and continually treated the indians on equal terms, while having always words of peace on their lips. they succeeded in this way, and under the deceitful appearances of an entire good faith and perfect loyalty, in gradually becoming aggrandized, though they were not willing to regard the men whom they plundered as their equals, or lower the pride of their race so far as to mingle their blood with that of the indians. even more. the english, impelled by that philanthropic spirit that distinguishes them, and to which we have already had occasion to refer, were too humane to shoot down the men whose wealth they coveted, and found it far more simple to inoculate them with all the vices of old europe; above all, that of drunkenness, which brutalizes and decimates them. what are the results of the opposite systems adopted by the two nations? north america is losing its aborigines with frightful rapidity, while south america, on the contrary, is covered with innumerable indian tribes. after the organic law of the world, which wishes that the old and exhausted blood of the ancient races should be renewed and regenerated by a young and vigorous blood, it is easy to foresee that, in spite of the present state of the great republic of the united states, which strives to invade everything, and behaves with that shorthanded system peculiar to the english character, it is only a colossus with feet of clay, which has not and cannot find in itself the necessary vital strength to accomplish the task laid down for itself by this youthful republic, formed of heterogeneous elements which come into collision and thwart each other at every step. its blood, vitiated by a long servitude in europe, would require to be completely rejuvenated. this bastard nation, without father or country, whose ancestors do not exist, and which has a pretension to be regenerating, will suddenly and eternally collapse, when, in its fury for possession, it has devoured all the so-called spanish republics on the seaboard, and dashes against the wide chests of those men of bronze who are called the moluchos. in order to regenerate peoples, a nation must itself possess the regenerating virtues; but it has been said for a long time, with great truth, that the republicans of north america possessed all the vices of the old world without one of its virtues. besides, the puerile debates, insensate utopias, and absurd follies of these honourable citizens gave us, many years ago, the measure of their strength. the future will decide the question and say whether we are deceived in the severe but impartial judgment which we pass on them. but to return to tcharanguii, from whom this long digression has carried us away. the young indian chief, on getting possession of his two captives, had at the outset the idea of conveying them among his tribe, and afterwards decide which of the two he would select as his squaw; but on reflecting upon the distance which separated the cordillera from the territory of the jaos, and not wishing to confide such a precious booty to the warriors who had fought with him, he resolved to get ahead of his comrades, who were proceeding to the north, and conduct general soto-mayor's two daughters to schymi-tou, the sayotkatta of garakouaïti, who in his quality of high priest of the sun, would be enabled to conceal them from all eyes up to the day when tcharanguii came to ask for an account of the deposit he had made with him. it was, therefore, towards garakouaïti that the ravisher was proceeding. the two unhappy girls, violently separated from their parents and friends, whom they never hoped to see again, had fallen into a state of prostration which almost deprived them of a consciousness of the frightful position in which the fatal issue of the fight had placed them. surrendered without defence to the will of a savage, who might at any moment display the utmost violence toward them, they had no human succour to await. they were, therefore, compelled to leave their fate to god, and resign themselves in a christian spirit to the harsh trials which he inflicted on them. employing our privilege of narrator, we will precede the indian chief, and sketch the character of the country he had to pass through before reaching the city which was his destination. we will at the same time give a description which will enable the reader to form an idea of the manners and customs of the inhabitants, while tcharanguii is hurrying to arrive, and displaying a certain respect to his prisoners, and lavishing on them attentions which might seem surprising on the part of a man like the formidable chief of the jaos. what were the reasons that induced tcharanguii to act in this way?--we may probably know hereafter. the cordillera of the andes, that immense backbone of the american continent, which it traverses through its whole length from north to south, has several peaks forming immense llanos on which tribes reside at an elevation where in europe all vegetation ceases. after passing through the parumo of san juan bautista and entering the templada region, which extends for about sixty leagues, the traveller finds himself in face of a virgin forest which is no less than eighty leagues in depth, and some twenty odd in width. the most practised pen is powerless to describe the unnumbered marvels to be found in that inextricable vegetation called a virgin forest, which is at once strange and fascinating, majestic, and imposing. the most fanciful imagination recoils before this prodigious fecundity of an elementary nature, which is necessarily born again from its own destruction with every new strength and vigour. lianas running from tree to tree and from branch to branch, plunge here and there into the soil to rise again further on skywards, and form by crossing and interlacing an almost impassable barrier, as if jealous nature wished to conceal from profane eyes the secret mysteries of these forests, in whose shadows the footsteps of men have only echoed at rare intervals and never with impunity. trees of all ages and species grow without order or symmetry, as if they had been sown haphazard like grains of wheat in a furrow. some, slight and tall, count but a few years, and the ends of their branches are covered by the wide and grand foliage of others whose haughty crowns have seen centuries pass. beneath the foliage sweetly murmur pure and limpid streams, which escape from fissures in the rocks, and after a thousand windings are lost in some lake or unknown river, whose free waters have as yet only reflected on their calm mirror the arcana of the solitude. here are found, pell-mell and in a picturesque disorder, all the magnificent products of tropical regions--the mahogany, the ebony, the satinwood, the oak, the maple, the mimosa, with its silvery frondage, and the tamarind, thrusting out in all directions its branches covered with flowers, fruit, and leaves, which form a dome impenetrable by the sunbeams. from the vast and unexplored depths of these forests issue at times inexplicable sounds--ferocious howls, mocking cries, mingled with shrill whistles, joyous strains full of harmony, or expressions of fury, rage and terror from the formidable guests that people them. after resolutely entering this chaos, and struggling hand to hand with this untended and savage nature, the traveller succeeds, axe in hand, in cutting step by step a path impossible of description. at one moment he crawls like a reptile on the detritus of leaves, dead wood, and birds' deposits, piled up for centuries; at another, he leaps from branch to branch at the top of the trees, and travels, so to speak, in the air. but woe to the man who neglects to have his eye constantly open to all that surrounds him, and his ear strained, for he has to fear, in addition to the obstacles of the vegetation, the venomous bites of snakes disturbed in their retreat, and the no less dangerous teeth of ferocious animals. he must also carefully watch the course of the rivers and streams which he comes across, and settle the position of the sun by day, and guide himself at night by the southern cross; for once lost in a virgin forest it is impossible to get out of it; it is a labyrinth of which ariadne's thread would be powerless to find the issue. at last when the traveller has succeeded in surmounting the dangers we have described and a thousand others no less terrible which we have passed over in silence, he finds himself in front of an indian city. that is to say, he is before one of those mysterious cities into which no european has ever penetrated, whose exact position is ever unknown, and which since the conquest have served as the refuge of the araucanian civilization. the fabulous tales told by some travellers about the incalculable riches contained in these cities have inflamed the greed and avarice of a great number of adventurers, who, at various periods, have attempted to find the lost road to these queens of the llanos and pampas of the cordillera. others merely impelled by the irresistible attractions which extraordinary enterprises offer to, vagabond imaginations, have also started, during the last fifty years, in search of the indian cities, but, up to the present day, success has not crowned a single one of these expeditions. some of the travellers have returned disenchanted and half killed by this journey toward the unknown; a certain number left their bodies at the base of precipices or in the quebradas to serve as food for birds of prey; and, lastly, others, more unhappy still, have disappeared without leaving a trace, and no one has ever known what became of them. we, in consequence of circumstances too lengthy to repeat here, but which we may possibly narrate some day, have involuntarily inhabited one of these impenetrable cities, and, more fortunate than our predecessors, we succeeded in escaping through a thousand perils, all miraculously avoided. the description we are about to give is therefore scrupulously exact, and will not admit of doubt, since we speak from personal knowledge. garakouaïti, the city which appears before us, when we have at last crossed the virgin forest, extends from north to south in the form of a rectangle. a wide stream, over which are thrown several stone bridges of incredible lightness and elegance, passes through its entire length. at each corner of the square an enormous block of rock, cut perpendicularly on the side facing the country, serves as an almost impregnable fortification. these four citadels are also connected together by a wall, twenty feet thick at the top, and forty high, which inside the town forms an incline whose base is sixty feet in width. this wall is built of the bricks of the country, which are about a yard long, and called adobes, and surrounds the town. a wide deep ditch doubles the height of the walls. two gates alone offer entrance to the city: they are flanked by turrets, exactly like a mediæval castle; and what supports our comparison is, that an extremely narrow and light bridge of planks, which can be removed upon the slightest alarm, is the sole communication between the gate and the exterior. the houses are low, and have terraced roofs connected with each other: they are light, and built of reeds and canaverales covered with cement, owing to the earthquakes so frequent in these countries; but they are large, airy, and have numerous windows. they are all one storey high, and their front is covered with a varnish of dazzling whiteness. the narrow streets, which intersect each other at right angles, converge upon an immense square, situated in the centre of the city, and bearing the name of ikarepantou (the square of the sun). it is probable that it was in honour of the sun that the indians designed this square, whence all the streets of the city radiate, for it is impossible to imagine a more correct representation of the planet which they venerate, than this symmetrical arrangement. four magnificent palaces stand in the direction of the four cardinal points, and on the western side is the great temple of chemiin-sona, surrounded by an infinite number of carved gold and silver columns. the appearance, of this building is most beautiful: it is reached by a flight of twenty steps, each made of a single marble slab ten yards long; the walls are excessively lofty, and the roof, like that of the other buildings, is terraced, for the indians, who are well versed in the art of constructing subterranean vaults, are ignorant of the formation of domes. the interior of the temple is relatively most simple. long pieces of tapestry, worked with feathers of a thousand hues, and representing the entire history of the indian religion, cover the walls. in the centre stands an isolated altar surmounted by a sun glistening with gold and precious stones, and supported by the sacred tortoise. by an ingenious artifice, the first beams of the rising sun fall on this splendid idol, and make it flash with the most brilliant colours, so that it appears to become animated, and really illumines all surrounding objects. in front of this altar stands the sacrificing table, which resembles the one we described when relating the ceremony which leon delbès witnessed in the indian camp. we will state at once that human sacrifices are daily becoming rarer, and now only take place under entirely exceptional circumstances. the victims are selected from persons condemned to death, or prisoners of war. at the end of the temple is a space closed by heavy curtains, to which the public are refused admission. these curtains conceal the entrance of a flight of steps leading to vast vaults that run underneath the temple, and to which the priests alone have the right to descend. the ground is covered with leaves and flowers, which are daily renewed. on the south side of the square stands the ulmen faré, or palace of the chief. it is merely a succession of reception rooms, in which everybody has a right to appear, and of immense courtyards which serve for the martial exercises of the nation. a separate building, to which visitors are not admitted, is occupied by the chief's family, and the building serves as an arsenal and contains all the weapons of the nations, from indian bows and arrows, sagaies, lances and shields, up to european sabres, swords, and muskets, which the indians, after fearing them so greatly, have now learned to employ as well as ourselves, if not better. on the same square is the famous jouimion faré, or palace of the vestals, where the virgins of the sun live and die. no man, the high priest excepted, is allowed to enter the interior of this building, which is reserved for the maidens devoted to the sun: a terrible death would immediately punish the daring man who attempted to transgress this law. the life of the indian virgins has many points of resemblance with that of the nuns who people european convents. they are immured, take an oath of perpetual chastity, and pledge themselves never to speak to a man, unless he be their father or brother, and in that case, are only allowed to converse with him through a paling in the presence of a third person, and must carefully hide their faces. when they appear in public and are present at the religious festivals in the temple, they are veiled from head to foot. a vestal convicted of having allowed a man to see her face is condemned to death. in the interior of their abode, they occupy themselves with feminine tasks, and fervently perform the rites of their religion. the vows are voluntary: a maiden cannot be admitted among the virgins of the sun until the high priest has acquired the certainty that no one has forced her to take this determination, and that she is really following her vocation. lastly, the fourth palace, situate on the east side of the square, is the most splendid and at the same time most gloomy of all. it is the houdaskon faré, or palace of the genii, and serves as the residence of the sayotkatta and piaies. it is impossible to express the mysterious, sad, and cold air of this residence, whose windows are covered with a trelliswork of osiers, so closely interwoven that it almost entirely obstructs the light of day. a gloomy silence perpetually prevails in this enclosure, but at times, in the middle of the night, sleeping indians are aroused in terror by strange clamours, which seem to issue from the interior of the houdaskon faré. what is the life of the men who inhabit it?--in what do they pass their time? no one knows. woe to the imprudent man who, desirous of information on this point, might try to detect secrets of which he ought to be ignorant. if the vow of chastity is imposed on the vestals it does not exist for the piaies; still few of these marry, and all abstain from any ostensible connexion with the other sex. the novitiate of the priests lasts ten years, and it is only at the expiration of that period, and after undergoing numberless trials, that the novices assume the title of piaies. till then they can recall their determination, and embrace another profession; but such cases are extremely rare. it is true that, if they took advantage of the permission, they would be infallibly assassinated by the priests, through a fear of a part of their secrets being revealed to laymen. however, they are greatly respected by the indians, by whom they continue to make themselves loved; and we may say that next to the ulmen, the sayotkatta is the most powerful man in the tribe. among peoples where religion is so formidable a lever, it is remarkable that the spiritual and temporal powers never clash; each knows how far his attributes extend, and follows the line traced for him without trying to encroach on the rights of the other. thanks to this intelligent diplomacy, priests and chiefs work amicably together, and double each other's strength. now that we have made our readers acquainted with garakouaïti, let us end this chapter by saying that tcharanguii, according to his desires, found in the sayotkatta schymi-tou a complacent ally, who promised him on his head to watch with scrupulous attention over the prisoners whom he undertook to hold in trust. it is as well to add that tcharanguii told the sayotkatta that they were the daughters of one of the most powerful gentlemen in chili, and that, in order to force him to make common cause with the chief of the jaos, he had decided on taking one of them for his wife. and lastly, he added, that a magnificent present would amply reward him for the watch which he begged him to keep. chapter xviii. after the combat. we left the unhappy relics of the caravan suffering from the impression which the fatal result of their struggle with the indians produced on them. at the moment when young don juan made his appearance in the camp a triple exclamation of joy, interest, and surprise greeted him. "my son! my juan!" the general exclaimed, sobs choking his voice. "my dear colonel," said don pedro, "heaven be praised that you are safe!" "ah!" muttered leon, whom the arrival of the young man aroused from the despondency into which the disappearance of the maidens had plunged him. the colonel rushed weeping into his father's arms, who showed him the body of his murdered wife. "you arrive too late, my son! this is the work of the indians." "my mother!" the young man said, as he fell on his knees before the corpse. "yes, your mother! who died beneath their blows, while your sisters have been torn from me for ever." "what do you say, father?" "the truth," don pedro remarked. "your sisters have been carried off, in spite of all the efforts we made to oppose it." "oh, father! father!" was all that don juan could answer, as he gave the old gentleman a look of painful regret. the old general's features were frightfully contracted by the crushing grief that oppressed his heart as a husband and father, and yet, overcoming it by the strength of his will, he seized his son's hand: "don juan, thirty years of happiness have passed since the day when the wife whom i lament for the first time laid her hand in mine, and now heaven has taken her from me again! two children, whom i love as i love you, juan, were, with you, the fruits of that union, and heaven has allowed them to be torn from my side! still, i bow before his omnipotent will, because i am a christian, and in the midst of my profound affliction, you are left to me, my son, to punish the cowards who attack women when they have men to face them. don juan, will you avenge your mother and sisters?" the spectacle offered by this scene was very painful. old don juan, bareheaded, was striving to appear calm, but the heavy tears that fell on his grey moustache were a flagrant contradiction of the resignation which he affected. behind the old man's studied countenance could be discerned an immense grief, which was betrayed by the very violence of the stoicism which he displayed. choked by sobs, the colonel remained dumb to his father's exhortations. "have you understood what i demand of you?" don juan again said to his son. "yes, father," the latter at length replied. "oh!" he added, "why was i not here to defend them? but the scoundrels kept me back." "who did?" don pedro asked; "have you not come from santiago?" "no, general; and it was within an ace that i never saw the light of day again." "what has happened, then?" "in the environs of talca, while i was travelling post haste in the hope of joining you on the road, i was made prisoner by an indian party, whose presence i was far from suspecting. my lancero was put to death after one of their barbarous ceremonies, and i was preparing to undergo the same fate, when this night i was suddenly set at liberty by the order of an indian chief of the name of tahi-mari, whom i did not see." "tahi-mari!" the old general immediately interrupted him. "what! there is still a man bearing that name, and you owe your liberty to him? oh! he must, in that case, be meditating some treachery, for a tahi-mari would have killed you, in order to enjoy the sight of your agony." "my father, calm yourself," don juan remarked. "general," leon said at length, who had paid great attention to the young man's words, "whatever may be the motive which caused the man who liberated the colonel to act so, we must take advantage of the help which he is able to give us, in order to escape from the wood." "my daughters! my daughters!" the old gentleman exclaimed, "must i then give up all hope of seeing them again?" "oh!" said don pedro, "we must follow up the track of these accursed indians, or--no, we will hasten to valdivia, and once arrived there, i will organize an expedition." "that is not the way to find them again," leon remarked, anxiously. "what do you mean?" don pedro asked. "nothing--except that you will lose your time in sending an army against the indians: the two señoras are at this moment secure among some tribe that will sedulously keep them at a distance from the spot where your troops are fighting." "in that case they are lost!" general soto-mayor exclaimed, wildly. "perhaps not," leon answered, struck by a sudden inspiration. "oh, sir!" the old gentleman continued, "if you suspect the spot where they are, speak--fix yourself the sum i am to pay you for such a service, and i will pay it. stay, sir; yesterday i was rich, powerful, and honoured; today i am only a poor old man, whose heart is broken; but i swear to you on my honour as a gentleman, that if you restore me my daughters, i will love you as a son, and will bless you with tears of joy and gratitude." on seeing the old general so crushed by despair, leon felt himself moved by a pity and compassion which he did not attempt to check. "i only ask your esteem, general, if i succeed." "speak, then, sir," don juan de soto-mayor and don pedro said together; "do you really think that you can place us on the track of the ravishers?" a ray of hope had illumined the old man's heart on hearing leon speak in such a way as to suggest a possibility of finding the maidens again, and he awaited with feverish anxiety the captain's answer, who kept silence, and seemed plunged in deep reflection. still, as leon seemed to be reflecting on the weight of the words which he was going to utter, and whose meaning might cause those who listened to him either an immense consolation or a bitter deception, neither of the two gentlemen dared to interrupt him. the fact was that leon was asking himself whether he could undertake the liberation of the maidens. he had but one resource, that of going to find tahi-mari, and threatening to kill himself in his presence, unless he restored to the father the daughters whom he was bewailing. assuredly, after the conversation which had caused the separation between the captain and diego, it was at least a bold step to think of imploring the inca's clemency again; but since the latter had voluntarily broken the bonds which held young don juan captive, it was but reasonable to assume that diego was animated by a different purpose. perhaps he had renounced, if not his vengeance, still that which he had selected in vowing the death of all the soto-mayors. and then, again, if he thirsted for victims, had not the general's beloved wife been killed by indians under his orders? leon, while revolving all these arguments, did not doubt but that the maidens were in the power of tahi-mari, and either that he considered them sufficient to feel certain of entire success, or more probably that the desire he had of saving maria made him mentally smooth down all difficulties, and he resolved to attempt the adventure with a firm determination to die if he failed. "i cannot put you on the track of the indians who have carried off the señoras," he at length answered the generals; "but i pledge myself to restore them to you." "how?" don pedro sallazar asked. don juan contented himself with raising his hand to heaven, and calling down blessings on the young man. "by starting alone in search of them," leon said, "while the few men left me continue to escort you to valdivia." "alone! but why cannot we accompany you?" don pedro resumed, in whom the feeling of distrust which he had already displayed to the captain was again aroused. "that is true," don juan said, in his turn. "guide us to these villains, since you know where to find them, and although i am old, i will follow you with all the ardour of youth, for i feel within me the strength to overcome all dangers for the sake of tearing my poor children from the hands of these cowardly ravishers." "do you think, sir," said the young colonel, who had just kissed his mother's icy forehead, "that we would leave to others the duty of avenging us?" "in that case, sir, it is impossible; your duty calls you, don pedro, to valdivia, and you would not have time to carry out the expedition which i hope to bring to a successful result. you," the young man continued, addressing general soto-mayor, "although your heart may bleed at it, must give up all thought of accompanying me, for ere we had reached the spot where i believe the señoras to be, fatigue would exhaust your strength, and you would find it impossible to follow me." "but, sir--" the colonel remarked. "pray do not insist, sir," said leon; "for once again i repeat that, if you wish me to succeed, you must let me act as i think proper." "what do you propose doing, leon, that you are afraid of letting us be witnesses of it?" don pedro observed haughtily. "the same as i did when the indians attacked us," the captain answered, who felt anger flush his face on remarking the insolent expression which the speaker's countenance had assumed--"risk my life in the service of those to whom i have promised assistance and succour." "sir!" "yes," leon continued; "for the rude task i am about to undertake demands utter self-denial; manhunting on the llanos and pampas requires more than courage, for cunning and craft are needed, and if i refuse your help in this expedition, it is because your presence would impede my progress. alone, i am certain of joining tahi-mari, but with you we should all be lost." a feverish excitement had seized on the young man, who seemed most anxious to efface the suspicions of which he was the object. "i have lived among the indians who attacked us, and know their strange manners and customs. at this very moment, the forests are full of invisible eyes that watch and spy us; if we advance in a body toward the spot where they are, we may be certain of being all massacred. believe me, in order to enter their encampment, i must glide like a snake through the lianas that grow in the forest. such is the reason, gentlemen, why i refuse to let you accompany me, for you are ignorant of their infernal skill. and now i am at your disposal: if you absolutely insist on following me, i am at your orders; but, in that case, i answer for nothing, for we shall have every unfavourable chance against us." these few words, uttered with an accent of conviction and frankness which could not be suspected, produced on the mind of the three men a favourable impression; no further objection was raised, and leon was left at liberty to act as he pleased. once the four gentlemen were agreed on this point, they had to turn their attention to the burial of the dead, and collecting the mules and horses, which the cries of the indians and the gleam of the flames had terrified and driven from the camp. all set to work: while don pedro gave orders to his lanceros to restore a little order among the bales and other articles, leon gave a signal to two of his men, who began digging a grave at the foot of a pine tree with their machetes. it was intended to receive the mortal remains of the señora soto-mayor. another, somewhat larger, was dug a few paces off in which to bury pell-mell the bodies of the spaniards and indians killed during the fight. after this melancholy task was completed, leon went up to the señora's corpse, and prepared to wrap it in a poncho before laying it in the earth. "no one must touch that body," old don juan exclaimed as he dashed upon it with incredible speed, "for it is mine." and, thrusting leon away, he called his son, and both, their faces inundated with tears, commenced the melancholy duty. the old man's chest heaved under the pressure of the sobs which he tried in vain to stifle. long after the body had disappeared under the woollen poncho that covered it, the general was unable to depart from the spot where lay the remains of her who had been dearest to him in the world. at length leon made an effort, and breaking off the affecting scene, he with the help of don pedro, raised the corpse, which he placed in the grave in spite of the final convulsions of grief on the part of don juan, who clung to the body from which he was unable to separate. then came the turn of the dead friends and foes who encumbered the ground. a deep silence had presided over this mournful ceremony; two branches of trees formed into a cross were placed over either tomb, and all was ended. during this time wilhelm the smuggler, whom we have already introduced to the reader, and who had started with one of his comrades in search of the mustangs and mules, returned to the camp, bringing back the intelligent animals, which had come up of their own accord on his signal. all was soon ready for a start, but one thing still troubled leon--the difficulty of transporting the wounded. one of the smugglers had his arm broken by a bullet, and was suffering atrocious pain; a lancero had a contusion on the head, and two peons were wounded in the legs. the fatigue of the journey might prove most injurious to them. don pedro himself, in spite of the firmness he displayed, was suffering severely from the gunshot wound in his chest; and although, thanks to the medical knowledge of leon, who, accustomed to see blood flow in the frequent fights which he and his men carried on against the custom-house officers, was enabled to dress a wound, each of the men injured by the indians had received the first necessary attention, they could not venture to travel for any length of time without danger. still it was absolutely necessary to get out of the difficulty, and after selecting the horses whose pace was the easiest, a sort of litter made of thongs, skins, and ponchos was laid on their backs, and the wounded were hoisted on them, with exhortations to remain patient till they reached valdivia, where they would find repose and attention. once these arrangements were made, leon counted the hearty men left of his comrades, and ordered three to escort the two generals and colonel don juan, along with don pedro's lanceros; then turning to the other five, he said to them-- "my friends, i shall require you to second me in what i am going to undertake; we are going to rescue from the indians general soto-mayor's two daughters." "what are we to do?" the smugglers asked; "we are ready." "wilhelm," said leon, addressing one of them, "and you, harrison, will come with me." "very good, captain." "you others," he continued, pointing to the other men who were awaiting his instructions, "will return at once to valparaíso; the road is a long one, but you must cover it with the greatest promptitude, and i reckon on your punctuality." "you can." "in eight days we shall be at valparaíso." "very good. so soon as you arrive, you will collect the band, and if crevel has at his disposal twenty resolute fellows, you will enrol them, and i will give you the money for the purpose; but be very careful only to take bold companions like yourselves, and wood rangers accustomed to a life on the pampas. you understand me?" "yes, captain," said hernandez, a tall fellow, with a hangdog face and of herculean stature, "you can feel perfectly assured." "and where is the band to go?" his comrade joaquin asked, as he twisted his black moustache. "you will return here at full speed." "very good, captain," hernandez again said; "but are you going to encamp here till we come?" "no. harrison alone will be here, and lead you to the spot which i shall inform him of." "all right." hernandez, joaquin, and enrique took leave of the party, and soon found themselves on the road that led to valparaíso, while the three men told off to serve as an escort to the generals only awaited an order from the latter to place themselves at their disposal. all at once general soto-mayor addressed leon, who was watching all that went on. "we are going," the old gentleman said, as he took a parting glance at his wife's tomb; "and i bear with me the assurance which you have given me that you will start at once in search of my daughters." "you can reckon on it, general; all that it is humanly possible to do i will do, and i hope to have succeeded within two months." "may heaven hear you! for my part, so soon as i arrive at valdivia, i will obtain, with the help of general don pedro, all the information that may serve to discover the spot where they are; for i suspect that the indians are concentrated in the vicinity of that town, the capture of which would be of such great utility to them." "i told you, general, that i not only have the means to learn where they are, but also to bring them back." "but, in that case, and if heaven permit you to find them, how shall i be informed of it, and whither will you take them?" "war is declared," leon answered, "and possibly within a week the communications with valdivia will be interrupted. it would, therefore, be the height of imprudence to try and join you in that town." "that is true, great heavens! but in that case what is to be done?" "a very simple thing; so soon as i have succeeded in rescuing them from the indians, i will take them both to the convent of the purísima concepción at valparaíso." "yes, you are right; that is the best place for them." "in two months, then, they will be there, or i shall be dead." "thanks," said the old gentleman, as he held out his hand to the young man, who pressed it in his. a quarter of an hour later, the little party was proceeding toward valdivia, and the only persons left in camp were leon, harrison, wilhelm, and giacomo. chapter xix. the manhunt. so soon as the party had quite disappeared in the forest, leon turned to his men, who were carelessly seated round the fire and smoking their cigarettes. "comrades," he said, "our expedition is about to change its course. we have no longer to escort travellers, but must go manhunting." "all the better," remarked wilhelm, "i prefer that; it is a lazy trade to act as guide to spaniards." "it is a trade which is sometimes dangerous, and our brave comrades who sleep there," leon said, pointing to one of the tombs, "are a proof of it." "that is true," giacomo remarked; "but no matter; it is better to die while smuggling a few bottles of aguardiente under the very noses of the officers." "however that may be," the captain resumed, "they are dead, and they were brave fellows. as for you, listen carefully to this;--while i, wilhelm, and giacomo go into the mountains to seek indian sign, harrison will remain here, and await the arrival of the band under joaquin's orders." "the deuce!" harrison exclaimed; "i would sooner go about the country with you." "yes, but i require that a courageous and resolute man should remain at the meeting place i have fixed, and i could not apply to a better one than yourself." leon was acquainted with the character of his comrades, and could always manage, by the clever employment of a bit of flattery, to make himself obeyed not only punctually but enthusiastically. harrison, on hearing the homage rendered by the captain to his martial virtues, drew up his head proudly, and manifested by a certain movement of the muscles, how flattered he felt at the good opinion leon had of him. "and you have done well, captain," he replied, proudly. "you must not stir from here. as we know not what road we shall have to follow, we will leave you our horses, which you will take care of. build a hut; hunt; do all that you think proper, but remember that you must not leave the parumo of san juan bautista without my orders." "that is settled, captain; and you can start when you please. you may remain absent six months, and be certain of finding me here on your return." leon rose. "very good," he said; "i reckon on you." then he whistled to his mustang, which ran up at his call, and laid its intelligent head on its master's shoulder to be petted. it was a noble animal, of considerable height, with a small head, but its eyes sparkled with animation, while its broad chest and fine nervous legs denoted a blood horse. leon seized the lasso which hung from the horse's saddle, and knotted it round his body; then, lightly tapping the croup of the animal, he watched it retire. wilhelm and giacomo were provided with their weapons and provisions, such as charqui, queso, and dried beans. "come let us be off," said leon, as he laid his long rifle on his shoulder. "we are ready," the two men said. "good luck!" harrison shouted to them, though unable to prevent a sigh accompanying these words, which proved how vexed he was at not being allowed to join them. "thanks!" his comrades replied. on leaving the clearing they began marching in indian file, that is to say, one after the other, the second placing his feet exactly in the footsteps of the first, and the third in those of the second. the last one took the additional precaution of effacing as well as he could the traces left by his predecessors. harrison, after looking after them for some time, sat down again by the fireside. "no matter," he said, talking to himself. "i shall not have much fun here, but what must be must." and after this philosophic reflection he lit a cigarette, and began quietly smoking, while eagerly following the wreaths which the smoke produced, and inhaling its fragrance with the methodical phlegm of a true indian sagamore. in america, when a man is travelling through the indian regions in war time, and does not wish to be tracked by the araucanos, he must go north if he has business in the south, and vice versa, and behave like a vessel which, when surprised by a contrary wind, is obliged to make constant tacks, which gradually bring it to the desired point. leon delbès was too well acquainted with the intelligence and skill of the indians not to act in the same way. assuredly, his adoption by the araucanos, which the captain had received in the council of the chief of the twelve molucho tribes, rendered him sacred to the latter; but not knowing what indian party he might fall in with, he judged it more prudent to avoid any encounter. moreover, he had fought the men who had attacked the caravan, and it would have been ill grace to claim the benefit of his adoption after the active part which he had taken in the struggle. hence he had a twofold reason to act on the defensive, and only advance with the most extreme prudence. fenimore cooper, the immortal historian of the indians of north america, has initiated us in his excellent works into the tricks employed by the mohicans and hurons, when they wish to foil the search of their enemies; but without offence to those persons who have so greatly admired the sagacity of young uncas, that magnificent type of the delaware nation, of which he was the last hero, the indians of the north are mere children when compared with the moluchos, who may be regarded as their masters in every respect. the reason for this is very simple and easy to understand. the northern tribes never really existed as a political power; each of them exercise a separate government; the indians composing them rarely intermarry with their neighbours, and constantly lead a nomadic life. hence they have never possessed more than the instincts, highly developed we allow, of men who incessantly inhabit the woods,--that is to say, a marvellous agility, a great fineness of hearing, and a miraculous length of sight, qualities, however, which are found to the same extent among the arabs, and generally with all wandering nations, no matter what corner of the earth they dwell in. as for artfulness and craft, they learned these from the wild beasts, and merely imitated them. the south american indians join to these advantages the remains of an advanced civilization--a civilization which, since the conquest, has sought a refuge in inaccessible lurking places, but for all that does not the less exist. the tribes or families regard themselves as parts of the same whole--the nation. now the aborigines, continually on terms of hostility with the spaniards, have felt the necessity of doubling their strength in order to triumph, and their descendants have gradually modified whatever might be injurious in their manners, to appropriate those of their oppressors, and fight them with their own weapons. they have carried these tactics--which, by the way, have saved them from the yoke up to the present day--so far that they are thorough masters in roguery and trickery; their ideas have been enlarged, their intellect is developed, and they have succeeded in surpassing their enemies in astuteness and diplomacy, if we may be allowed to employ that expression. this is so true, that not only have the spaniards been unable to subjugate them during the past three hundred years, but have been actually obliged to pay them, with more or less goodwill, an annual tribute. can we really regard as savages these men who, formerly driven back by their terror of firearms and dogs--animals of whose existence they were ignorant--to the heart of the cordilleras, have defended their territory inch by inch, and in some regions have reconquered a portion of their native soil? we know better than anybody that savages exist in america--savages in the full meaning of the term; but these are daily disappearing from the surface of the globe, as they have neither the necessary intellect to understand nor the energy to defend themselves. these are the indians who, before being subjected to the spaniards, were so to the mexicans or moluchos, owing to their intellectual organization, which scarce raises them above the brute. these tribes which are but exceptions in the species, must not be confounded, then, with the great molucho nations of which we are speaking, and whose manners we are describing--manners which are necessarily being modified; for, in spite of the efforts they make to escape from it, the european civilization, which they despise more through hereditary hatred of their conquerors than for any other motive, crushes and invades them on all sides. within a hundred years of this time the emancipated indians, who smile with pity at the paltry struggles carried on by the phantom republics that surround them, will take their place in the world again and carry their heads high. and this will be just, for they are heroic men with richly endowed characters, and capable of undertaking and successfully carrying out great things. we will quote in support of this statement one fact which will speak better than words:--the best history of south america which has been published in spanish up to this day was written by an inca. is not this conclusive? let us return to leon and his two comrades wilhelm and giacomo. they were three determined men. our readers know leon, so we will say no more of him; but we will sketch in a few outlines the appearance of wilhelm and his comrade giacomo. these worthy gentlemen, who were bound together by a hearty friendship, formed the most singular contrast imaginable. giacomo, a native of naples, whence he escaped one morning under the excuse that the house he lived in was too near vesuvius, but in reality on account of the visits paid him repeatedly by the sbirri, whom he was not particularly anxious to see, was the real type of a lazzarone, careless, slothful, thievish, and yet capable of extraordinary bravery, and bursts of energy and devotion. well built, with an intelligent and crafty face, and endowed with far from common muscular strength, he seemed to be born for the smuggler's trade. wilhelm, on the contrary, was one of those cold and systematic germans who do nothing save by weights and measures. only speaking when he was compelled, he seemed ever to be dreaming though he thought of nothing, and concealed, under an apparent simplicity and proverbial phlegm, an excellent disposition, and a certain amount of intelligence. he was tall, smoke-dried, thin, and angular, and his flat face, disfigured by the smallpox, was rendered still uglier by gimlet eyes deep set in their orbits. his hair, of a flaxen hue, fell in flat curls on his enormous ears, and gave him one of those countenances which provoke hilarity. his magnificent teeth, however, and a mouth which had a remarkably clever expression, formed a happy diversion with the grotesqueness of his features. he had been a member of the cuadrilla for two years, and had entered it, as he said, in consequence of a violent love disappointment. on leaving the clearing, the three smugglers took the road to talca, which they followed the whole day; at nightfall they encamped in the neighbourhood, and then next morning, after a hasty breakfast on a piece of queso saturated with pimento, they went down to the bottom of the quebrada, by clinging with hands and feet to the asperities of the ground. here they found themselves in a species of canyon, and were obliged to march on the bed of a half-dried torrent, where their footsteps left no imprint. after two days' journeying which offered no incident worthy of mention, our adventurers reached the beginning of the llanos of the templada region, situated on the other watershed of the cordilleras, which they had just crossed. the verdure came back, and the heat began to be felt again. our men were perfectly revived by this gentle and balmy atmosphere, the azure sky and dazzling sun, which took the place of the grey sullen sky of the cordilleras, and the narrow horizon covered by mist and fog. on the third day leon perceived in the distance the green crest of a forest, toward which he had directed his march, and gave vent to a cry of satisfaction. "courage, my friends," he said to his comrades, "we shall soon have the shadow and freshness which we want for here." "in truth, captain, i confess that i should infinitely prefer the slightest tree, provided that its branches afforded us means to rest for a moment in their shadow, to a forced march with this great rogue of a sun who burns our bones." it was giacomo who spoke; the poor lad seemed to be troubled by the heat, and could scarce succeed in mopping up the perspiration which poured down his face. it was midday, the time for the siesta, and the ex-lazzarone, who every day of his life never failed to sacrifice an hour to this pleasant habit, said to himself with reason, that it was more than ever advisable to enjoy it now, because, in addition to the hour which invited them, they were also strongly impelled by the ardent heat which they could not guard against, and their fatigue. "and where the deuce do you mean to take your siesta?" leon asked. "don't you see, on the contrary, that we must push on in order to gain some shelter?" "alas!" said giacomo. and patiently enduring his woes, the smuggler continued his march without uttering a word. "hallo!" wilhelm suddenly exclaimed, as he stooped down, "what is this?" and rising, he showed leon a small gold cross hanging from a narrow velvet ribbon. "maria's cross!" leon exclaimed; "yes, i recognise it! we are on the traces of the ravishers!" "in that case," said wilhelm, "we must move ahead." leon kissed the precious relic, and carefully hid it in his bosom. "my lads, we must now learn where the moluchos have sought refuge; we are on the right track, and the forest which we perceive ahead of us serves as a retreat for some tribe, i imagine." then examining with scrupulous attention the ground they trod on, they continued to advance, seeking, but in vain, signs corroborating that of the cross which they had found. at the end of two hours they at length reached a spot suitable for a halt. four magnificent royal palms, whose branches were intertwined and formed a dome of foliage, appeared a smiling oasis on this denuded prairie, which was burnt up by the beams of a fiery sun. wilhelm and giacomo fell asleep, but leon remained awake, and while inhaling the smoke of his papelito, sought to determine the direction in which the indians had proceeded. suddenly a fresh idea germinated in his brain. he remembered that, on several occasions, when conversing with diego, the latter had spoken of an indian town which the araucanos regarded as sacred, and which no european could enter. this town was called garakouaïti, and was about sixty leagues from the parumo of san juan bautista, hidden in a virgin forest. it was there, diego had also told him, that the moluchos hid all their most precious articles, as they felt sure that no one would come to find them. a secret presentiment made leon suppose that the indians, after carrying off the two young ladies, must have conveyed them to garakouaïti as an inaccessible spot. it was to that city, then, that he must proceed. but he remembered that, as the entrance to the city was interdicted to europeans, he could not hope to obtain admission, and he sought for an excuse for introducing himself by imagining some stratagem. as the advice of his companions might be useful to him, he woke them, and consulted as to the way he should contrive to enter garakouaïti, supposing that he discovered that city. the means were not so easy to find, and as the most pressing thing at present was to march toward the city, the three smugglers set out again, while reflecting on the plan of conduct which they should follow. all the rest of the day was passed in this way, and night surprised them on the banks of a rather wide stream, whose proximity the branches had hidden from them, though they had heard the murmurs of its waters for some time past. as it was quite dark, leon resolved to wait till the morrow, to look for a ford by which to cross it. they therefore halted, but through prudence lit no fire, and the three men were soon lying on the ground, wrapped in their ponchos. the moon was descending on the horizon, the stars were glistening in the heavens, and leon, whose eyes were closed by fatigue, was on the point of falling asleep, when a strange and unexpected sound made him start. he listened. a slight tremor agitated the leaves bordering the stream, whose calm waters looked like a long silver ribbon. there was not a breath of wind in the air. leon nudged his comrades, who opened their eyes. "the indians!" the captain whispered to them. "silence." then, crawling on his hands and knees, he went down the bank and entered the water. he looked round him and saw nothing; all was calm, and he waited with fixed eye and expanded ear. half an hour passed thus, and the sound which had attracted his attention was not repeated. it was in vain that he tried to pierce the obscurity; the night was so dark, that at ten yards off he could distinguish nothing; and though he listened attentively, no sound troubled the silence of the night. plunged as he was up to the waist in the water, an icy coldness gradually spread over his whole body. at length, feeling worn out and fancying himself mistaken, he was preparing to remount the bank, when, just at the moment when he was about to beat a retreat, a hard log slightly grazed his chest. he looked down and instinctively thrust out his hand. it was the gunwale of a canoe, which was gliding noiselessly through the reeds, which it parted in its passage. this canoe, like nearly all indian vessels, was simply the stem of a tree hollowed out by the help of fire. leon regarded this mysterious canoe, which seemed to be advancing without the help of any human being, and rather drifting with the current, than being guided in a straight line. still, what astonished him was, that it went straight on without any oscillation. evidently some invisible being, an indian probably, was directing it; but where was he stationed, and was he alone? these facts it was impossible to know. the captain's anxiety was extreme; he dared not make the slightest movement through fear of being surprised, and yet the canoe was still there. desirous, however, of knowing how matters really stood, leon softly drew his knife from his boot, and, holding his breath, crouched down in the river, only leaving his face above water. all at once he gave a start; he had seen flashing in the dark, like two live coals, the eyes of a savage, who, swimming behind the canoe, was pushing it forward with his arm. the indian held his head above water, and was looking about him inquiringly. suddenly leon, on whom the eyes had first been fixed, leaped forward with the activity of a panther, seized the indian by the throat, and before he was able to defend himself or utter a cry of alarm, plunged his knife into his heart. the indian's face became black; his eyes were enormously dilated; he beat the water with his legs and arms, then his limbs stiffened and he sank, carried away by the current, and leaving behind him a slight reddish track. he was dead. leon, without the loss of a moment, got into the canoe, and holding by the reeds, looked in the direction where he had left his comrades. both had followed him, bringing with them the rifle which leon had laid on the ground, and which they were careful to keep above water, as well as their own. then the three men, making as little noise as possible, disengaged the canoe from the reeds which had barred its progress, and lay down in the bottom, after placing it in mid-stream, and making it feel the current. they went on thus for some time, believing themselves already safe from the invisible enemies who surrounded them, when all at once a terrible clamour broke out, and awoke the echoes. chapter xx. the redskins. the body of the indian killed by leon had followed for some minutes the course of the river, then had become entangled in the reeds, and eventually stopped exactly in the centre of the indian camp, in whose proximity leon and his comrades halted that night without suspecting it. at the sight of their brother's corpse, the redskins had uttered the formidable yell which the smugglers heard, and rushed tumultuously to the bank, pointing to the canoe. leon seized the paddles, which were in the boat, and, aided by wilhelm, was soon out of reach. the disconcerted indians, who did not know with whom they had to deal, gesticulated and bespattered the fugitives with all the insults which the indian language could supply them with, calling them dogs, asses, ducks, and other epithets borrowed from the nomenclature of the animals which they hate and despise. leon troubled himself but little about their insults, and continued to paddle, which re-established the circulation of the blood, which the cold had interrupted. a few bullets, meant for the fugitives, were sent after them, but they merely dashed up the water. the night passed thus: the smugglers paddled eagerly, for they had noticed that the stream, owing to repeated windings, was sensibly approaching the forest which was their destination. still, having nothing more to fear from their enemies, they drew in the paddles for a few minutes' rest, and each feeling in his alforjas, drew out some provisions, which he hurriedly devoured. as day had arrived, there was no harm in their letting the canoe drift for awhile, though they kept a sharp lookout. leon and giacomo had lit their cigarettes, and wilhelm his magnificent porcelain pipe, from which he never separated, when the latter, who was beginning to inhale with gentle satisfaction the enormous jets of smoke which he drew from the stem, let his pipe fall in the bottom of the canoe, while exclaiming with an expression of terror and surprise-- "der teufel!" "what is it?" leon at once said, who understood that wilhelm had seen something extraordinary. "look!" the german replied, as he stretched out his arm in the direction whence they had come. "sacrebleu!" leon shouted; "two canoes in pursuit of us! we must look out." "sangre de cristo!" giacomo said, with a start which nearly upset the canoe. "what now?" leon asked. "look!" "a thousand fiends!" leon exclaimed, "we are surrounded!" two canoes were really coming up rapidly behind the smugglers, while two others, which had started from the opposite banks, were arriving with the manifest intention of barring their passage and cutting off their retreat. "these gentlemen," said giacomo, "wish to make us dance a funny sambacueca; what do you say to it, captain?" "we will pay for their music, my fine fellows. in the meanwhile, paddle firmly, and look out for the attack." and seizing the paddles again, wilhelm and giacomo gave such an impulse to the canoe that it seemed to fly through the water. leon, who was standing up, was calculating the chances of the encounter. he was not afraid of the boats that were following them, for they were still at too great a distance to hope to catch him, but all his anxiety was directed to those coming toward them, and between which they must infallibly pass. each paddle stroke brought them nearer to the hostile canoes, which seemed overloaded with men, and to move with considerable difficulty. leon formed a bold resolution, the only one that could save him and his. instead of trying to pass between the canoes, in which he ran a risk of being sunk, he kept to the left, and advanced in a straight line on the canoe nearest to him. on seeing this manoeuvre, the indians broke out in shouts of joy and triumph. the smugglers made no reply, but continued to advance. a smile played round leon's lips. as he steered the canoe toward the indians, he noticed that the left bank of the stream formed an inlet, behind an island, which, though very near the land, left a passage sufficiently wide for his boat, which thus would avoid a detour, and at the same time gain ground on their pursuers. the great thing was, to reach the point of the island before the indians in the first canoe. the latter, who suspected their enemy's intentions, had changed their tactics, and, instead of coming up to meet the europeans, tacked and paddled actively for the island. leon understood that he must delay their progress at all risks. not a shot had as yet been fired on either side; the redskins felt themselves so sure of seizing the smugglers that they had thought it unnecessary, to proceed to such extremities, while the smugglers, who felt the need of saving their powder in a hostile country, where it would be impossible for them to renew their stock, had imitated their prudence, however desirous they might feel to attack. the indian canoe was only fifty yards from the island, when leon stooped down to his comrades and whispered a few words. the latter shipped their paddies, and seizing their rifles, knelt down, and rested the barrels on the gunwale of the canoe, after driving home a second bullet. leon had done the same. "are you ready?" he asked a moment after. "yes," the two men replied. "fire, then, and aim low." the three discharges were blended in one. we have said that the two canoes were excessively close. "now to your paddles--quick!" the captain said. four arms seized them, and the light canoe recommenced its rapid course. leon alone reloaded his rifle and knelt down in readiness to fire. the effect of the firing was soon visible; the three bullets, striking at the same spot, had formed an enormous breach in the side of the canoe, just at the line of floatation. cries of terror were raised by the indians, who leaped into the water one after the other, and swam in different directions. as for the canoe, left to itself, it drifted for a little while, gradually filled, and sank. fancying themselves freed from their enemies, the smugglers relaxed their efforts; but all at once wilhelm raised his paddle, while leon seized his rifle by the barrel. two indians, with athletic limbs and savage looks, were trying to catch hold of the canoe and upset it, but they soon fell back with cloven skulls and drifted down the stream. a few moments later the smugglers reached the passage. the indians who had left the water pursued them by running along the bank, and threw stones at them, as they were unable to use their muskets, which had been wetted by the plunge into the water. leon again recommended his men to redouble their vigour, in order to escape as soon as possible from the enormous projectiles which fell around the canoe from every tuft of grass; for the indians, according to their habit, were careful not to show themselves in the open through fear of bullets. the captain saw, a few paces from him, a thicket of aquatic plants shaking, so he aimed at it and fired on the chance. a terrible yell burst from the tangled mass of canaverales and lianas, and an indian rushed forth to seek shelter behind the tree that grew on the bank. leon, who had reloaded his piece in all haste, pointed it in the direction of the fugitive, but raised it again directly. the man had just fallen, and was writhing in the last convulsions of death. several redskins rushed upon him, carried him away and disappeared. a suddenly calm and extraordinary tranquillity succeeded the extreme agitation and cries which had aroused the echoes a few minutes before. "there!" said leon as he laid the gun in the bottom of the boat, and seizing a pair of paddles to help giacomo--"they have enough; now that they know the range of my rifle, they will leave us at peace." in fact, the indians gave no further sign of life; but this must not surprise the reader. the redskins are accustomed never to expose themselves unnecessarily. with them success alone can justify their actions, and when they do not consider themselves the stronger, they give up with the greatest facility any plans which they have formed, for the most inveterate pursuit. at this moment the smugglers doubled the point of the island. the second canoe was already far behind them; as for those which they had first perceived, they were mere specks on the horizon. when the indians in the second canoe perceived that the smugglers were escaping from them, and had got ahead of them, they gave a general discharge which wounded nobody, and turned back to join their companions on land. leon and his men were saved. after paddling for about an hour in order to put a great distance between themselves and their enemies, they took a moment's rest to recover from this warm alarm, and wash the contusions which they had received, for some of the stones had struck them. in the heat of the action they had not noticed this, but now that the danger was passed, they began to feel them. the forest, which in the morning had been so distant from them, was now excessively close, and they had hopes of reaching it before night. they therefore took up the paddles again with fresh ardour and continued their route. at sunset the canoe disappeared beneath the immense dome of foliage of the virgin forest which the stream intersected obliquely. at nightfall the yells of wild beasts were heard hoarsely in the depths of the forest. leon did not consider it prudent to venture at this hour into unknown regions, which contained dangers of every description. consequently after tacking about for some time, the captain gave orders to pull for a rocky point which jutted out into the water, and which they could approach without any difficulty. after they had landed, leon walked round the rock in order to reconnoitre the neighbourhood, and find out in what part of the forest they were. chance served him better than he could have hoped for. after parting with great difficulty and extraordinary precautions the creepers and shrubs which obstructed his progress, he suddenly found himself at the entrance of a natural grotto formed by one of the volcanic convulsions so frequent in these regions. on seeing this he stopped, and lopping with his machete a branch of the resinous tree, which the indians call the candle tree, and which grows profusely in that part of america, he struck a light, lit the torch, and then boldly entered the grotto, followed by wilhelm and giacomo. the smuggler's sudden appearance startled a swarm of night birds and bats, which began flying heavily in all directions and attempting to escape. leon continued his march without troubling himself about these gloomy denizens, whose sports he so unexpectedly interrupted. all at once a hoarse and prolonged growl was audible in a remote corner of the grotto. the three men remained nailed to the ground. they found themselves face to face with a magnificent bear, of which the cavern was doubtless the usual abode, and which, standing on its hind legs with widely-opened mouth, showed the troublesome visitors, who had disturbed it in its retreat, a tongue red as blood, and glistening claws of a remarkable length. its round and staring eyes were fixed on the smugglers in a way that caused them to reflect. luckily the latter were not the men to let themselves be intimidated for long. "there's a fellow who seems inclined to sup with us," said giacomo, looking at the animal. "silence! my piece will make us, on the contrary, sup with him. here, giacomo, take my torch, lad." "take care, captain," the latter observed. "a shot fired at this spot will make a frightful din, and bring a band of red devils on our back." "you are right, by heaven!" the captain replied; "we must run no risk." then, laying his rifle along the side of the grotto, he undid the lasso which he rolled round his body. "get behind me," he said to his comrades, "and be in readiness to help me." then, after carefully preparing the lasso, he whirled it round his head, while whistling in a peculiar manner. at this unexpected apparition the bear shambled two or three paces toward him, and that was its ruin. the running knot fell on its shoulders, and the three smugglers, laying hold of the end of the lasso, began running backwards, while pulling with all their strength. the poor animal thus strangled and putting out a tongue of a foot long, tottered about, while trying in vain to free itself with its heavy paws from the necklace which squeezed its throat. the smugglers did not relax their efforts till the bear had heaved its last sigh. "now," said leon, when he was certain that the bear was really dead, "for the canoe." the three men returned to the boat, drew it out of the water, and taking it on their shoulders, carried it to the end of the grotto. then, with a patience of which indians and wood rangers are alone capable, they effaced every trace which might have led to a discovery of their landing, and the retreat which they had chosen. the smallest bent blade of grass was straightened; the lianas and shrubs which they had parted were brought together again, and after this operation was completed, no one could have suspected that human beings had passed that way. after this, making an ample provision of dead wood and torches, they re-entered the grotto with the manifest intention of at length taking the rest which they so greatly needed. all this had required time; hence, so soon as they were free from anxiety, giacomo, who was a mighty hunter, began flaying the bear, while wilhelm lit a colossal fire. the queso and charque remained in the alforjas, thanks to the succulent steaks which giacomo adroitly cut off the animal, and which, being roasted on the embers, procured them a delicious supper. when quite satisfied, the three men crowned this feast with a few drops of rum which leon had about him, and after smoking for some ten minutes, they wrapped themselves in their ponchos, with their feet to the fire and their hands on their weapons. nothing disturbed their rest, which lasted till long after the first sunbeams had purpled the horizon, and it was leon who awoke his comrades. "up!" he shouted to them, "the sun has risen and we must think of business." "ah!" said wilhelm, as he rubbed his eyes, "what a pity! i was dreaming that we were carrying a cargo of pisco past the custom-house officers, who presented arms to us." "i was not dreaming," said giacomo, "but i was having a glorious snooze." in a minute he was on his legs, while leon was reflecting on his best course. "giacomo," he said to the italian, who was making arrangements for a start, "we have arrived at the spot where our search will really begin. it is impossible for all three of us to dream of entering the city, which must be in the heart of this forest. on the other hand, i may have occasion to require men here in whom i can trust; you will therefore go back to the parumo of san juan bautista. so soon as the band arrives you will take the command and lead it to the spot where we now are." "what! i am to leave you!" "it must be. take careful note of the road we have followed, so as to make no mistake." "all right, captain." "however, when you return with our comrades, you will try to find a shorter and more direct route." "yes, captain." "this grotto is large enough to shelter you all; you will remain in it with your horses, and not quit it, save on an order from me--you hear?" "and understand--all right." "one last recommendation. i have told you that it was important for the success of the enterprise i am undertaking that i should find all my men here in case of need. remember, then, that i expressly forbid you letting yourselves be trapped by the redskins, and you must show them that they are but asses when compared with a clever smuggler." "we will prove it to them, captain, and i will take it on myself." "in that case, you will set out directly, while we proceed through this forest, which seems the most entangled that i ever saw." "one moment--hang it!" wilhelm exclaimed; "do you not see, captain, that breakfast is ready?" in fact, wilhelm, as a man who did not care to run after adventures on an empty stomach, had blown up the fire smouldering in the ashes, and roasted some superb slices of bear meat. "wilhelm, you are growing greedy," said leon, affecting a tone of reproach. "captain, when a man has his stomach full he can march a long distance without feeling fatigued," the german answered sententiously; "besides, the morning air sharpens the appetite." "very good, then, but we must make haste," leon resumed, amazed at this long sentence. "there, captain, it is first-rate." wilhelm had spoken the truth in asserting that the morning air sharpened the appetite, for, in spite of the toughness of the meat which composed the staple of their meal, it was disposed of in a twinkling, which leads to the supposition that the idea which the german had was not inopportune. "giacomo," leon said again, "wilhelm and i have provisions enough for a few days, and the forest will not let us want for game, if we require it; so you had better take the rest of the bear with you." "thanks, captain. at my first halt i will cut up all the best meat left." "take it while we put the canoe in the water." the three men then left the grotto, though not till they had looked all around to see whether any danger existed for them. giacomo had thrown the bear's hide over his shoulders, and walked in front, leon and wilhelm following, and bearing on their shoulders the canoe, in the bottom of which they had deposited the remaining bear meat. the skiff was soon balancing lightly on the water; giacomo leaped in, seized the paddles and went off. "good-bye, captain--good-bye, wilhelm, till we meet again," he said for the last time. "good-bye and good luck," the latter replied, and the smuggler proceeded in the direction of the parumo of san juan bautista. leon looked after him for a moment, and then addressed wilhelm, who was awaiting his orders. "my friend," he said to him, "i fear that we may have many difficulties to face if we cross the forest together. suppose i left you in the grotto to await giacomo's return? once i have arrived at garakouaïti, i could easily find means to warn you." "what are you thinking of, captain? suppose you were to be taken prisoner, or wounded, in that case there would be no chance of helping you if you were alone. at any rate, if anything happen on the road while we are travelling together, i will return at full speed to warn my comrades." "still, you will be forced to leave me after we have crossed the forest; for, as i told you, admission to the city is interdicted to all those who are not indians, and the means which i imagine i have discovered to enter can only be used by myself." "well, then, captain, let me accompany you to the vicinity of the city, and then i will turn back." "very good; that is settled." the two men re-entered the grotto, fetched their travelling utensils, and came out again, rifle on shoulders, and axe in hand. they then buried themselves in the virgin forest which lay expanded before them. chapter xxi. the indian city. tcharanguii, the chief of the jaos, had rejoined his warriors, after entrusting inez and maria de soto-mayor to the care of the sayotkatta of garakouaïti. immediately after he had departed, the young ladies were imprisoned in the jouimion faré, inhabited by the virgins of the sun. although prisoners, they were treated with the greatest respect, according to the orders which tcharanguii had given, and might perhaps have endured the weariness of their captivity with patience, had not a profound anxiety as to the fate reserved for them and an invincible sadness resulting from their brutal separation from those whom they loved, and the terrible circumstances under which they had left them, seized upon them. it was then that the difference of character in the two sisters was displayed. inez, accustomed to the eager attentions of the brilliant gentlemen who frequented her father's house, and to the enjoyment of the slothful and luxurious life which is that of all rich spanish families, suffered on finding herself deprived of the delights and caresses by which her childhood had been surrounded, and, being incapable to resist the grief that devoured her, she fell into a state of discouragement and torpor, which she made no attempt to combat. maria, on the contrary, who found in her present condition but little change from her novitiate, while deploring the blow that struck her, endured it with courage and resignation. her powerful mind accepted the misfortune as a chastisement for the fervent affection which she had devoted to leon; but, confiding in the purity of that love, she had drawn from it the hope that she would one day emerge from the trial by the help of the man whom she loved, and who had rendered her aid and protection. when the two sisters conversed together about the probabilities of deliverance, inez trusted to the power of her father's name and fortune, while maria contented herself with confiding in the bravery and intrepidity of the young smuggler chief who had escorted them up to the moment when they were carried off by the indians. inez did not understand what relations could exist between this captain and the future, and cross-questioned maria; but the latter either did not answer the question or evaded it. "in truth, sister," inez said to her, "you incessantly speak about captain leon. do you think then, that our father, don juan, and don pedro, who loves me and is going to marry me, cannot succeed without leon in delivering us from the hands of the wicked redskins who keep us prisoners here?" "sister inez," maria answered her, "i hope for the help of the smuggler, because he engaged to escort us to valdivia, where we should arrive safely; and he is too honourable and brave a man not to set everything in motion to remedy the fatal event which has prevented him from keeping his word." this last sentence was uttered by the maiden with so much conviction that inez was surprised at it, and raised her eyes to her sister, who blushed beneath this searching glance. inez said no more, but asked herself what could be the nature of the feeling which thus compelled her sister to defend a man whom she did not know, and whose relations with the family were of so low a nature. from that day no further allusion was made to leon. it is a strange fact, but one that is incontestably true, that priests, no matter to what country or religion they belong, are continually devoured by the desire of making proselytes. the sayotkatta of garakouaïti had not let the opportunity slip which appeared to offer itself in the persons of inez and her sister. endowed with a great mind, thoroughly convinced of the excellence of the religious principles which he professed; and, in addition, an obstinate enemy of the spaniards, he conceived the plan of making the young ladies priestesses of the sun, so soon as they were entrusted to him by tcharanguii. in america there is no lack of such conversions; and though they may appear monstrous to us, they are perfectly natural in that country. he therefore prepared his batteries very artfully. the young ladies did not speak indian; and he, on his side, did not know a word of spanish; but this difficulty, apparently enormous, was speedily got over by schymi-tou. he was related to a renowned warrior of the name of meli-antou (the four suns), whose wife, reared not far from valdivia, spoke spanish well enough to make herself comprehended. in spite of the law which interdicted the introduction of strangers into the jouimion faré, the high priest took it on himself to let mahiaa (my eyes), meli-antou's wife, visit the young ladies. we can imagine the satisfaction which the latter must have felt on receiving the visit of someone who could talk with them, and help them to overcome the ennui in which they passed their whole time. the indian squaw was welcomed as a friend, and her presence as a most agreeable distraction. but in the second interview they saw for what an interested object these visits were permitted, and a real tyranny succeeded the short conversations of the first days. this was a permanent punishment for the maidens. as spanish girls, and attached to the religion of their fathers, they could not at any price respond to the sayotkatta's hopes, and still the squaw had not concealed from them, that in spite of the honeyed words and insinuating manners of schymi-tou, they must expect to suffer the most frightful torture if they refused to devote themselves to the worship of the sun. the prospect was far from being reassuring; hence, while pledging themselves in their hearts to remain faithful to the catholic faith, the young girls experienced a deadly anxiety. time slipped away, and the sayotkatta was beginning to grow impatient at the slowness of the conversion; and the slight hopes which the maidens had retained of being able to escape the sacrifice demanded of them gradually abandoned them. this painful situation, which was further aggravated by the absence of any news from outside, eventually produced an illness, whose progress was so rapid, that the sayotkatta considered it prudent to suspend the execution of his ardent wish. let us leave the unhappy prisoners almost congratulating themselves on the alteration which had taken place in their health, and which freed them from the annoyance to which they were subjected, and take up the thread of the events which happened to other persons who figure in this history. a month after the arrival of maria and inez within the walls of garakouaïti--that is to say, on a fine october evening--two men, whose features or dress it would have been impossible to distinguish owing to the obscurity, debouched from the forest which we previously described, and stopped for a moment with marked indecision upon the extreme verge of the wood. before them rose a mound, whose summit, though of no great elevation, cut the horizon in a straight line. after exchanging a few whispered words, the two travellers laid down on their stomach, and crawling on their hands and feet, advanced through the giant grass, which they caused to undulate, and which entirely concealed their bodies. on reaching the top of the mount, they looked down, and were struck with amazement. the eminence on which they found themselves was quite perpendicular, as was the whole of the ridge that extended on their right and left. a magnificent plain stretched out a hundred feet beneath them, and in the centre of this plain--that is to say, at a distance of about a thousand yards--stood an indian city, haughty and imposing, defended by a hundred massive towers and its stout walls. the sight of this vast city produced a lively feeling of pleasure on the mind of the two men, for one of them turned to his comrade and said to him with an accent of indescribable satisfaction-- "that must be the city which diego told me of: it is garakouaïti! at last we have arrived." "and it was not without trouble, captain," the other remarked, who was no other than wilhelm; "we may compliment ourselves on it." "what matter, since we have arrived?" "before the city, yes: but inside it, no." leon smiled. "don't be alarmed, comrade; i shall be inside tomorrow." "i hope so, captain; but in the meanwhile i do not think it advisable to spend the night here in contemplating what there is at the base of this species of precipice, and i think we should not do wrong in returning to the forest, or seeking the road that leads to the place that lies before us." "it is too late to dream of getting any nearer the city today. as for the road, we shall find it by bearing a little to the right, for the ground seems to trend in that direction." "in that case, captain, we must put off the affair till tomorrow." "yes; and now let us return to the llama." and joining action to words, leon turned back, and exactly following the track which his body had left in the grass, he soon found himself--as did wilhelm, who followed all his movements--once again on the skirt of the forest. the silence which reigns at midday beneath these gloomy arches of foliage and branches had been succeeded by the hoarse sounds of a savage concert composed of the shrill cries of the nocturnal birds, which awoke, and prepared to dash at the loritos and hummingbirds belated far from their nests; of the yells of the pumas, and the hypocritical and plaintive miaulings of the tigers and panthers, whose echoes were hurled back in mournful notes by the roofs of the inaccessible caverns and the yawning pits which served as the lurking places of these dangerous guests. going back along the road which they had traced with the axe, the smugglers soon afterwards found themselves close to a fire of dead leaves and branches burning in the centre of a clearing. some fifteen yards from them a magnificent llama, carelessly lying at the foot of a tree, watched them approach, and fixed on them its large eyes as melancholy and intelligent as those of a stag, though it did not appear at all astonished or startled by their presence. "well, jemmy, my boy, you were not tired of waiting for us?" wilhelm said, as he went up to the animal and patted it on the neck. leon threw a few branches on the fire, which was beginning to decay. "on my honour, captain, i am not curious," the german continued, "but i should like to know what you intend doing with this llama which we have dragged after us for the last fortnight? now that we have reached our journey's end, do you not think it time to kill and roast it?" "for heaven's sake, no, my friend; for if i have spared this llama, it is simply that it may serve me as a passport to enter the city which we saw just now." "how so?" "i will explain that to you tomorrow, till then let us keep up a good fire, as the wild beasts seem out of temper tonight, and sleep." "done for sleep!" the german answered, phlegmatically. and without farther ceremony he prepared to obey his captain's orders. the latter, who felt that the hopes which he had conceived were on the point of being realized, was, as frequently happens in such cases, overcome by the fear that he had deceived himself in the supposition he had formed of the young ladies' captivity in the city of garakouaïti. in vain did he recall the details which diego had furnished him with about the customs of the indians, and the art among others which they had of conveying to, and concealing in, the holy city everything they took from their enemies; the fear of being mistaken constantly reverted to his mind. "oh, no!" he said to himself, "i cannot have deceived myself; it is love which guides my footsteps, and i feel here," he continued, as he laid his hand on his chest, "something which tells me that i am going to see her again. oh! see her, and then save her! it would be too great happiness, and i would give ten years of my life to be sure of success." then, following the current of his thoughts, leon saw himself leading maria back to the general, and receiving her hand as a recompense for the service which he had rendered him. then, a moment after, he asked himself whether he could endure life hence-forward were he to fail in his plans; and, looking at the rifle he held, he vowed that it should help him not to survive his sorrow. "come," he said to himself, suddenly, "this is not the moment for doubt. besides, if maria is not in garakouaïti, diego will be there, or someone who can tell me where to find him; and in that case he must restore me her whom i love, for he swore that she should be sacred to him." after the young man had to some extent regained the courage which had momentarily failed him, he removed from his brow the anxiety which had overshadowed it, and asked of sleep the calmness necessary for his thoughts and forgetfulness of his anxious cares. he therefore lay down by the side of wilhelm, whose irregular snores added an additional note to the melody which the wild denizens of the forest were performing with a full orchestra. the first beams of dawn had just begun to tinge the sky with a whitish reflection, when the smuggler captain opened his eyes and shook his comrade's arm. the latter turned--turned again--and at last awoke, suppressing an enormous yawn, which almost cleft his face to the ears-- "hilloh, skulk!" leon shouted to him, "make haste and get on your legs; for we have no time to lose. the red devils are still asleep, but they will soon spread over the plain, and they must not find us here." "let us decamp," wilhelm replied, who had been quite restored by his long sleep; "i shall not be sorry to have a peep at an indian city. it must be funny." "my poor wilhelm, in spite of all the desire i might have to procure you this satisfaction, i am compelled to beg you to abstain from it, because i have already told, i must go on alone." "der teufel! but in that case what am i to do while waiting for you? for i do not suppose that you intend remaining any length of time in that confounded capital?" "i will tell you. in the first place, help me to dress." "dress?" "yes; hang it all! do you fancy i shall present myself at the city gates in spanish costume?" "what! are you going to disguise yourself?" "exactly." "but as what?" "as an indian, you donkey." "oh! famous--famous!" wilhelm exclaimed, bursting into a hearty laugh. "i'm your man." "in that case make haste." "i am ready, captain; i am ready." the travestissement did not take long to effect; in a few minutes leon took from his alforjas a razor, with which he removed his whiskers and moustache; and during this wilhelm went to pluck a plant that grew abundantly in the forest. after extracting the juice, leon, who had stripped off all his clothes, dyed his face and body with it. then wilhelm drew on his chest, as well as he could, a tortoise, accompanied by some fantastic ornaments which had no warlike character about them, and which he reproduced on the face. he gave his magnificent black hair a whitish tinge, intended to make him look older than he really was, knotted it upon his head in the indian fashion, and thrust into the knob the feather of an aras, which leon had picked up some days previously in the forest, being careful to place it on the left side, in order to show that it adorned the head of a peaceful man, since the warriors are accustomed to fix their plumes in the centre of their top-knot. when these preparations were completed, leon asked wilhelm whether he could present himself among the indians without risk? "you are so like a redskin, captain, that, if i had not helped to transform you, i should not be able to recognise you, for you are really frightful." "in that case, i have nothing to fear." leon, feeling once again in his alforjas, brought out his travelling case, and a small box of medicaments, which he always carried with him, a precious article to which he and his men had had recourse on many occasions; joining to these articles his pistols, he made the whole into a small packet, which he wrapped up in his poncho and fastened on the back of the llama, whose taming had so greatly excited wilhelm's curiosity. "now," he said, addressing the german, "pay careful attention to what i am about to say to you." "i am listening, captain." "you will collect my clothes, and as soon as i have left the forest, start at once for the grotto, where i left giacomo; our comrades must have reached it some days back. you have only twenty leagues to go, and the road is ready traced, since it cost us three weeks' labour; by travelling day and night, you can arrive soon." "i will not lose an hour, captain." "good: you will tell harrison where i am, and return here with all the men who have been enlisted at valparaíso to reinforce our troops. do you thoroughly understand?" "yes, captain." "you will bring the horses with you, for they can pass. when you have all assembled at this spot, harrison will place sentries in the environs day and night, while careful to hide them so that they cannot be noticed, and so soon as you hear the cry of the eagle of the cordilleras, which i shall imitate, you will answer me, so that i may know your exact position; and if i repeat it twice, you will hold yourselves in readiness to help, for in that case i shall be attacked. you will remember all these instructions?" "perfectly, captain; and i will repeat them to you word for word." "good!" leon resumed, after wilhelm had repeated his orders word by word. "one thing more. it is possible that when i return i may bring two or three persons with me; do not be troubled by that, nor stir till you hear the agreed on signal." "yes, captain." "keep watch before all at night, for i shall probably leave the city after sunset." "all right--a good guard shall be kept." "and if i have not given the signal within a week, it will be because i am dead; and, in that case, you can be off and choose another chief, as you cannot hope to see leon again." "oh! captain, do not say that." "we must foresee everything, my worthy fellow; but i have hopes that, with the help of heaven, nothing disagreeable will happen to me. here is the day, and it is time to set out; so let us separate. good-bye, my excellent wilhelm, my trust is in you." "good-bye, captain, and distrust those scamps of indians, for they are as treacherous as they are cowardly." the two men shook hands, and leon made his llama get up from the ground, while wilhelm, after making a bundle of the clothes which his captain had bidden him remove, threw it on his shoulder with a desperate air, opened his enormous compasses of legs, and went off into the forest with long strides, and a melancholy shake of the head. leon looked after him for a moment. "it is, perhaps, the last friendly face that i shall ever see," he said to himself, with a sigh. a moment after he resolutely raised his head. "the die is cast, and i will go on." then, assuming the quiet, careless slouch of an indian, he went slowly toward the plain, followed by his llama, though continually looking searchingly around him. chapter xxii. the jagouas of the huiliches. in the sparkling beams of the sun which had risen radiant, the great landscape which leon was passing through assumed a really enchanting appearance. nature was, so to speak, animated, and a varied spectacle had taken the place of the gloomy and solitary aspect which it had offered on the previous evening to the captain and his comrade. from the gates of the city, which were now open, poured forth groups of indians, mounted and on foot, who scattered in all directions with shouts of joy and bursts of noisy laughter. numerous canoes dashed about the river, and the fields were peopled with flocks of llamas and vicunas, guided by indians armed with long wands, who were proceeding to the city from their neighbouring farms. strangely-attired women, sturdily bearing on their heads long wicker baskets filled with meat, fruit, or vegetables, walked along conversing together and accompanying each sentence with that continued sharp metallic laugh of which the indian tribes have the secret, and whose sound bears a near resemblance to that which the fall of a number of pebbles on a copper dish would produce. leon, who, by the aid of his new exterior, could examine at his leisure all that was taking place around him, looked curiously at the animated picture which he had before his eyes; but what most fixed his attention was a troop of horsemen in their war paint, armed with the enormous molucho lances, which they wield with such great dexterity, and whose wounds are so dangerous. all, also, carried a slung rifle, a lasso at their girdle, and advanced at a trot in the direction of the city; they seemed to have come from the opposite direction to the one by which leon was arriving. the numerous persons scattered over the plain stopped to gaze at them; and leon, taking advantage of this circumstance, hurried on so as to be mixed up with the curious crowd. the horsemen still advanced at the same pace, not noticing the attention which they excited, and arrived within fifty yards of the principal gate, where they halted. at the same moment three men quitted the city at a gallop, crossed in two bounds the bridge thrown across the moat, and came to join them. three warriors came out of the ranks of the troop to which we have alluded, and approached them. after a short conversation all six horsemen rejoined the squadron, which started once again, and entered the town with it. leon, who followed them, reached the gate at the moment when the last men of the detachment disappeared within the city. assuming the most careless air he could, although his heart beat as if to break his chest, he presented himself in his turn to enter. after crossing the wooden bridge with a firm step, he entered the gateway, where a lance was levelled at his breast and barred his passage. an indian of lofty stature, to whom his grey hair and the numerous wrinkles on his face imparted a certain character of gentleness, cleverness, and majesty, advanced with measured steps, and looked attentively at him. "my brother is welcome at garakouaïti," he said to leon. "what does my brother desire?" "yourana," answered leon, who, thanks to the life he had led in the pampas, talked indian with as much facility as his mother tongue--"is my father a chief?" "i am a chief," the indian answered. "my father can question me," leon said. "my brother seems to have come a long distance?" the other went on, looking at the smuggler's worn boots. "i left my tribe four moons back." "which is my brother's tribe?" "i am a son of the huiliches." "matai. my brother is not a warrior. i can see." "my father is right; i am a jagouas." "good! my brother is beloved by chemiin." leon bowed, but said nothing. "and where are the hunting grounds of my brother's tribe situated?" "on the banks of the great salt lake." "and why has my brother left his tribe?" "to come to garakouaïti to exercise the skill with which chemiin has endowed me, and to adore agriskoui in the magnificent temple which the piety of the indians has raised to him in the city of the sun." "very good! my brother is a wise man." leon bowed a second time to this compliment, although his anxiety was extreme, and he knew not how the examination he was undergoing would terminate. "what is my brother's name?" the indian asked. "cari-lemon," leon at once answered. "my brother is truly a man of peace," the other remarked, with a smile. "i," he added, drawing himself up haughtily, "am called meli-antou." "my father is a great chief." it was meli-antou's turn to bow with superb modesty on receiving this flattering qualification. "my skill supports the world: i am a son of the sacred tribe of the great chemiin." "my father is blessed in his race." "my brother will follow me, and my house will be his during the period that he sojourns in garakouaïti." "i am not worthy to shake the dust of my moccasins off on the threshold of his door," leon replied, modestly. "chemiin blesses those who practise hospitality. my brother cari-lemon is the guest of a chief; he will therefore follow me." "i will follow my father, since such is his wish." and he began walking behind the old indian, delighted in his heart at having escaped so well from the first trial. before starting, meli-antou entrusted to another indian the post which he occupied at the city gate, and then turned to leon. "arami!" he said to him. both, without further remark, proceeded toward the house inhabited by the chief, which was at the other extremity of garakouaïti. the european, accustomed to the tumult, bustle, and confusion of the streets of the old world, which are constantly encumbered with vehicles of every description and busy passers-by, who run against each other and jostle at every step, would be strangely surprised at the sight of the interior of an indian city. there are no noisy thoroughfares bordered by magnificent shops, offering to the curiosity and covetousness of buyers or rogues, superb and dazzling specimens of european trade. there are no carriages--not even carts; the silence is only troubled by the footfall of a few passers-by who are anxious to reach their homes, and walk with the gravity of savants or of magistrates in all countries. the houses, which are all hermetically closed, do not allow any sound from within to be heard outside. indian life is concentrated. the manners are patriarchal, and the public way is never, as among us, the scene of disputes, quarrels, or fights. the dealers assemble in immense bazaars until midday, and sell their wares--that is to say, their fruit, vegetables, and quarters of meat, for any other trade is unknown among the indians, as every family weaves and manufactures its own clothing and the objects which it requires. when the sun has attained one-half of its course, the bazaars are closed, and the indian traders, who all live in the country, quit the city only to return on the morrow. everybody has by that time laid in the provisions for the day. among the indians the men never work: the women undertake the purchases, the household duties, and the preparation for everything that is indispensable for existence. the men hunt or make war. the payment for what is bought and sold is not effected as among us, by means of coins, which are only accepted by the indians on the seaboard who traffic with europeans, but by means of a free exchange, which is carried on by all the tribes residing in the interior of the country. this system is exceedingly simple: the buyer exchanges some object for the one which he wishes to acquire: and nothing more is said. the two men, after walking right through garakouaïti, at length reached the lodge of meli-antou, in which happened to be mahiaa, his squaw, whom our readers know as the indian woman whom the sayotkatta had placed with general soto-mayor's daughters, in order to aid in their conversion to the worship of the sun. since the illness of the young ladies she had suspended her visits to the jouimion faré, but intended to renew them so soon as she received instructions to that effect. she was a woman of about thirty years of age, though she looked at least fifty. in these regions, where growth is so rapid, a woman is generally married when she is twelve or thirteen. continually forced to undertake rude tasks, which in other countries fall to the men, their freshness soon disappears, and on reaching the age of thirty, they are attacked by a precocious decrepitude which, twenty years later, makes hideous and repulsive beings of women who, in their youth, were generally endowed with great beauty and exquisite grace, of which many european ladies might be fairly jealous. mahiaa, seated cross-legged on a mat of indian corn straw, was grinding wheat between two stones. by her side stood two female slaves, belonging to that bastard race to which we have already referred, and to whom the title of savage is applicable. at the moment when leon entered the lodge, mahiaa and her women looked up curiously at him. "mahiaa," said meli-antou to his squaw, as he laid his hand on the captain's shoulder, "this is my brother cari-lemon, the great jagouas of the huiliches; he will dwell with us." "my brother cari-lemon is welcome to the lodge of meli-antou," the squaw replied, with a rather sweet smile. "mahiaa is his slave." "will my mother permit me to kiss her feet?" said leon. "my brother will kiss my face!" the chiefs wife replied, as she offered her cheek to leon, who respectfully touched it with his lips. "will my son take maté?" mahiaa continued. "maté relieves the traveller's parched throat." the introduction was over. meli-antou sat down, while his wife ordered her slaves to unload the llama and lead it to the corral, after which the maté was served. leon, while imbibing the favourite beverage of the spaniards and indians, looked at the house in which he now was. it was a rather spacious square room, whose whitewashed walls were adorned with human scalps, and a rack of weapons, kept remarkably clean. folded up puma skins and ponchos were piled up in a corner, until they were arranged as beds. wooden chairs, excessively low and carved with some degree of art, furnished this room, in the centre of which stood a table, only some fifteen inches above the ground. this interior, which is very simple, as we see, is reproduced in all the indian lodges; which are composed of six rooms. the first of these is the one which we have just described, and the one in which the family generally keep. the second is set aside for the children. the third is used as a bedroom. the fourth contains the looms, which are made of bamboo, and display an admirable simplicity of mechanism. the fifth contains provisions of every description; and lastly, the sixth is set apart for the slaves. as for the kitchen there is none, for the food is prepared in the corral, that is to say, in the open air. chimneys are equally unknown, and each room is warmed by means of an earthenware brasero. the household duties are entrusted to the slaves, who work under the inspection of the mistress of the house. these slaves are not all savages; many of them are unhappy spaniards made prisoners of war, or who have fallen into the ambushes which the indians incessantly set for them. the lot of the latter is even more sad than that of their companions in slavery, for they have not the prospect of being free some day, and must expect to perish sooner or later as victims to the spite of their cruel masters, who avenge themselves on them for the numberless vexations which they suffer at the hands of the spaniards. it is truly in this harsh captivity that a man can apply to himself the words which dante inscribed over the gates of the inferno, "lasciate ogni speranza." meli-antou, to whom accident had led leon, was one of the most respected chiefs among the warriors of garakouaïti: he had lived among europeans, and the experience which he had acquired by passing through countries remote from his home, had rendered him more polite and sociable than the majority of his countrymen. he informed leon that he was the father of four sons, who had joined the great moluchos army, and were fighting against the spaniards: he told him of the journeys he had made, and seemed anxious to prove to the medicine man, cari-lemon, that his great courage as a warrior, and his military virtues, did not prevent him recognising all that there was noble and respectable in science. the captain seemed deeply touched by the consideration which meli-antou paid to the character he was invested with, and resolved to profit by his host's good temper to sound him cleverly as to what he desired to know as to the presence of diego, tahi-mari, and the young ladies in the city. still, in the fear of arousing the indian's suspicions, he waited till the latter furnished him with the opportunity to question him. an hour about had elapsed, and leon had not yet been able to approach the question without danger, when an indian presented himself in the doorway. "agriskoui rejoices," said the newcomer. "my brother is welcome," said meli-antou; "my ears are open." "the great council of the ulmens is assembled," the indian said, "and awaits my brother meli-antou." "what is there new then?" "tcharanguii has just arrived with his warriors, his heart is full of bitterness, and he wishes to speak to the council." "tcharanguii returned!" exclaimed meli-antou, in surprise; "that is strange." "he has just arrived in the city." "was he in command of the warriors who arrived about an hour ago?" "himself. my brother did not look in his face when he passed before him? what answer shall i give the chief?" "that i am coming to the council." the indian bowed and departed, and the old chief rose, and, after courteously taking leave of leon, went to the council. the captain took advantage of the freedom granted him to take a turn round the city, and try to pick up the topographical information of which he stood in need. not knowing how his stay in the city would terminate, or how he should get out of it, he studied most carefully the formation of the streets and the situation of the buildings, in the event of an attack or an escape. when he returned to meli-antou's lodge, the latter had got back and was awaiting him with a certain amount of impatience. on remarking the animation depicted on the indian's features, leon thought that he had, perhaps, discovered something concerning him, and advanced with a considerable amount of suspicion. "my brother is really a great jagouas?" meli-antou asked, as he looked searchingly at him. "did i not tell my father so?" leon answered, who began to believe himself seriously menaced. "my brother will come with me, then, and bring the implements of his art." it would not have been prudent to refuse; besides, nothing as yet proved that meli-antou had any evil intentions; hence leon accepted. "my father can go on, and i will follow him," he contented himself with answering. "does my brother speak the language of the spanish barbarians?" "i have lived for a long time on the banks of the salt lake, and i understand the idiom which they employ." "all the better." "have i to cure a spaniard?" leon asked, who wished to make sure of what was expected of him. "no," said meli-antou, "one of the great moluchos chiefs brought here some time back two paleface women; it is they who are ill; the evil spirit has seized on them, and they are at this moment in danger of death." leon started at this unexpected revelation; his heart all but stopped beating, and an involuntary shudder agitated all his limbs. he was compelled to make a superhuman effort to drive back the profound emotion which he experienced, and to answer meli-antou in a calm voice: "i am at my father's orders." "let us go, then," the indian answered. leon took up his box of medicaments, followed the old man, and both, leaving the lodge, proceeded towards the palace of the vestals. chapter xxiii. a miraculous cure. tcharanguii had returned to garakouaïti, with orders to fetch reinforcements for the molucho army, which, under tahi-mari's orders, had seized by surprise valdivia and concepción, and was advancing on talca. the young chief had been delighted at this mission, which gave him an opportunity for seeing again his two captives, with whom he was so struck. hence, after explaining to the council the motive of his presence in the city, he hastened to seek the sayotkatta to whom he had entrusted them. but the latter, on learning the return of the young indian chief, proceeded to mahiaa to warn her and recommend her silence about the active part which she had taken in the attempted conversion of the young ladies. mahiaa promised to remain dumb, and informed the old man of the arrival of cari-lemon the jagouas, whose knowledge might be useful in re-establishing the health of the prisoners. the sayotkatta thanked the indian squaw for her devotion, and begged her to send the jagouas of the huiliches to him. meli-antou himself promised to bring him to the palace as soon as he came in again. after this the sayotkatta, henceforth at rest, awaited the visit of tcharanguii, for which he had nerved himself. at the first words which the chief uttered as to the lively desire he felt to see his prisoners, the old man replied that, for the sake of guarding them more effectually, he had removed them to the palace of the vestals until they were restored to their legitimate owner. "my father will promptly deliver them into my hands, then," tcharanguii said, "for they belong to me alone." "my son," the high priest continued, "my heart is filled with affliction, but i cannot satisfy my son's just demand, for the maidens whom he confided to my charge have been sorely tried by chemiin, who has sent on them the scourge of illness." "is their life menaced?" the young chief exclaimed. "gualichu alone holds in his hand the existence of his creatures; but still i believe that the danger may be avoided. i am awaiting an illustrious jagouas, belonging to the huiliche tribe, who, by the help of his knowledge, may restore strength and health to the slaves whom my son won from the barbarous spaniards." tcharanguii, on hearing this bad news, had not been able to repress a movement of annoyance, which seemed to show that he was not entirely the sayotkatta's dupe, and suspected what had really happened. still, either through respect or a fear of being mistaken in his suppositions, he constrained himself, and contented himself with begging the old man to neglect nothing to save his captives, adding that he would know how to display his gratitude to him for the attention which he might pay them. at this very moment leon entered, accompanied by meli-antou. the sayotkatta looked at him with close scrutiny, and made him undergo a cross-examination precisely like meli-antou's. his answers satisfied the high priest, for a few minutes after he led him away to the jouimion faré, to examine into the illness of the señoras, while meli-antou and tcharanguii followed them. leon's heart was beating with the most violent emotion, and heavy drops of perspiration stood on his forehead. the critical position in which he found himself was, indeed, of a nature to cause him lively anxiety. he was not at all afraid about retaining his own coolness and stoicism in the presence of the young ladies, for he had too great an interest in not betraying himself to lack the strength of remaining his own master; whatever might happen. but what he feared above all was the effect which his presence might produce on the señoras if they recognised him at the first glance, or when he made himself known, for it was indispensable for the success of the stratagem which he wished to employ that the young ladies should know with whom they had to deal. in the meanwhile they had arrived; the four men saw the palace gates open before them; but so soon as they had entered a large room, which, through the absence of all furniture, might be compared to a vestibule, tcharanguii received orders to remain there with meli-antou, while the sayotkatta and leon proceeded to visit the captives. as we said, all the indians, except the sayotkatta, were interdicted from entering the residence of the virgins of the sun; still one person--the medicine man--was of course an exception to the rule. following the sayotkatta, then, leon crossed a long courtyard, entirely paved with brick, and going up a few steps, found himself in a small building entirely separate from the main building in which were the virgins of the sun. in a hammock of cocoa fibre, suspended from two golden rings at about eighteen inches from the ground, a maiden was lying, whose excessively pale face bore the stamp of great sorrow. it was doña inez de soto-mayor. by her side stood her sister maria, with her arms folded on her chest, and her eyes, full of her state of despondency, proved that she had for a long time abandoned all hopes of emerging from the prison in which she was confined, and that the illness had also assailed her. this room, which received no light from without, was merely illumined by a torch fixed in a bracket in the wall, and whose vacillating flame cast a sickly reflection over the persons present. at the sight of the two men, maria gave a start of terror. leon turned to his guide. "chemiin alone is powerful, for his skill supports the world," he said. "ghialichu inspires me; but i must be alone in order to read on the face of the sufferers the nature of their malady." the sayotkatta hesitated for a moment, and then left the room. leon rushed to the door, fastened it on the inside, and returned to maria, who, more and more terrified, was crouching in a corner. "maria! it is i--i, leon, who has come to save you--" a cry escaped from the maiden's breast. "silence," said the smuggler; "perhaps he is listening." inez was awake, and looking at this scene, whose meaning escaped her. "you, leon?" maria at length said, as she cast her arms round the young man's neck. "oh, thank heaven! thanks!" "for mercy's sake, listen to me! the moments are precious." "oh! take me away, if you love me! take me away at once!" "soon." "oh, sir," inez said, in her turn, "save me, and my father will reward you." leon smiled, and looked at maria, who raised to him her lovely eyes, radiant with joy and love. "my father--where is he?" she asked him. "my sister reminds me that we left him in the midst of the contest." "he is in safety, so calm yourself." footsteps were heard approaching the room in which the young people were assembled. "someone is coming," said leon; "take care." "but what must we do?" maria asked. "wait, and have confidence." "what! you are going away?" "i shall return. once again, hope and patience." "leon, if you do not save us, we shall die." "oh yes, señor captain, have pity on us," inez added. maria's curls grazed leon's lips, who felt his soul pass away in the kiss which he gave them. "whatever happens, whatever you may hear, trust in me, for i am watching." "thanks." the footsteps had stopped after drawing nearer still; leon opened the door, and without uttering a syllable, passed before the sayotkatta, displaying marks of the greatest agitation, and ran toward the vestibule, making incomprehensible gestures. the maidens asked themselves whether they were not the sport of a dream, while the sayotkatta was dumb with surprise. closing the door again, he followed leon, but as if he did not dare approach him. at the moment when he entered the room in which meli-antou and tcharanguii were waiting, leon had rejoined the latter, and still seemed possessed by thought which absorbed him. "well, brother?" the two indians said. "speak," the sayotkatta added; "what is the matter with you?" "the sons of chemiin must arm themselves with courage," leon slowly answered. "what does my son mean?" the old man resumed. "mayoba has seized on these women, and from this night the evil spirit will smite all those who approach them; for the learning which gualichu has given me has enabled me to assure myself of the malign influences which they can exert." the three indians, credulous like all of their race, fell back a step; and leon still continued apparently to wrestle against the influence of mayoba. "what must be done to deliver them?" tcharanguii asked. "all strength and wisdom come from gualichu," said leon. "i ask my father, the sayotkatta, to let me pass this night in prayer in the chemiin sona." the indians exchanged a glance of admiration. "be it as my son desires," the sayotkatta answered. "until tomorrow, let no one approach the spanish women, and gualichu will grant my prayer by indicating to me the remedy to be applied." the men bowed their assent, and left the palace with leon. on arriving in front of the temple of the sun, tcharanguii and meli-antou parted, and the sayotkatta led leon into the interior. "tomorrow, after morning prayer, i will let my father know the will of gualichu." "i will wait, my son," the old man said; and, leaving leon alone, he retired. in order to make our readers properly understand the confidence with which the indians accepted leon's statements, it is necessary to add that, in these countries, soothsayers are regarded as the favourites of the deity, and enjoying an unlimited supernatural power. and it must not be supposed that the lower classes are alone imbued with this opinion: the chief of the warriors, and the priests themselves, though they do not grant them such an absolute power, recognise a marked superiority over themselves. leon passed the whole night in arranging in his mind the details of the plan which he had formed to rescue the two maidens. the next morning he paid a visit in the company of the sayotkatta to them, in which he acquired the certainty that inez could without danger support the fatigue of being removed from the palace of the vestals. in fact, the niña, who had suddenly recovered the hope which had abandoned her, found the illness which was undermining her health dissipated as if by enchantment. as for maria, the captain's presence had given her more than hope, in the unlimited confidence resulting from reciprocated love. as on the previous day, leon was careful to remain alone with the young ladies, and begged them to hold themselves in readiness to quit the jouimion faré. as on the previous day, too, tcharanguii and meli-antou anxiously awaited in the first room the result of the visit, where leon found them, and the young chief questioned him as to the state of the patients. he pretended to reflect for a moment, and then replied-- "my brother tcharanguii is a great chief, and the palefaces tremble at his appearance; his heart can rejoice, for his captives will soon be delivered from the wicked spirit." "is my son speaking the truth?" the sayotkatta asked, as he tried to read in the countenance of the false medicine man the degree of confidence that he could place in his words. "i am a simple man, whose strength resides in the protection which gualichu grants me, and it is he who has revealed to me the means of restoring health to those who are suffering." the sayotkatta bowed submissively, and invited leon to let him know what he ought to do. "matai!" leon answered; "on the coming of the third day following the present one, so soon as iskarre spreads abroad his beneficent light, my brother, the young chief of the jaos, will take the skin of a llama, which my father, the venerated sayotkatta of the moluchos, will kill in the interval, and bless in the name of chemiin. he will spread out this skin on a mound which i will show him, and which must exist in the vicinity of the city, so that mayoba, on leaving the maidens, cannot enter any person belonging to garakouaïti; after which he will lead the two captives to the spot where the skin is stretched out." "but," the sayotkatta interrupted, "one of them is unable to leave the hammock in which her body reposes." "the wisdom of my father dwells in each of his words; but gualichu has given the strength to her whom he wishes to save to leave her bed." for a second time the sayotkatta yielded to the subtlety of these unanswerable arguments. "that done," leon continued, "he will select four of his bravest warriors to help him to guard the captives through the night; and then, after i have given my brother, as well as the men who accompany him, a drink to protect them against all evil influences, i will expel mayoba, who is torturing the paleface squaws." meli-antou and tcharanguii listened in silence, while the sayotkatta seemed to reflect; leon noticed this, and hastened to add-- "although gualichu assists me, and allows me to triumph over the wicked spirit, it is necessary that my brother and the four warriors whom he selects should pass the night preceding the cure in the chemiin sona, and deliver to the wise sayotkatta twenty brood mares which have not yet foaled, that they may be sacrificed to gualichu. will my brother do this?" "if i do it, will my prisoners be restored to me?" tcharanguii objected, with a certain hesitation. "the spanish girls will not only be restored to my brother, but they will also feel the most lively gratitude to him. if he refuse, they will die." "i will do it," tcharanguii said, quickly. "my son is a wise man," remarked the sayotkatta, whose forehead grew clearer when leon mentioned the gift of the mares; "gualichu protects him." "my father is too kind," leon contented himself with answering with a feigned humility, while rejoicing in his heart at seeing the plan he had conceived so facilely accepted by the indian. nothing could be more simple than this plan, which consisted in carrying off the maidens when they were on the hillock whence, a few days previously, he and wilhelm had seen for the first time the walls of garakouaïti. it was the sole chance of success possible, for he could not dream of carrying them off from the jouimion faré, and even admitting that tahi-mari had been willing to use his authority over the chief of the jaos, by forcing him to restore his prisoners to liberty, leon could not have recourse to him, as he was fighting far away from the holy city. the delay of three days fixed by leon before attempting his plan was necessary to give wilhelm time to find giacomo and return with him and the band commanded by harrison to the spot where the captain had metamorphosed himself into an indian. these three days were employed in visits to the young ladies and prayers in the temple of the sun. still the time seemed long to the captain and the daughters of general soto-mayor, who continually trembled lest some fortuitous circumstances might derange their plan. on the last day, leon, as usual, was conversing with maria, recommending her passive obedience, when he heard a peculiar rustling at the door of the room in which the young ladies were. immediately reassuming his borrowed face, he opened the door, and found himself face to face with the sayotkatta, who recoiled with the promptness of a man caught in the act of spying. had he heard what they had been saying in spanish? leon did not think so, still he considered it prudent to keep on his guard. the night at length arrived. the young ladies, each carried in a hammock borne on the shoulders of powerful indians, were taken to the hillock, which leon had pointed out on the previous day to tcharanguii, and deposited on the llama skin stretched out upon it. leon made tcharanguii a sign to post as sentries the four men who had carried the maidens. then, after uttering a few mysterious sentences, and burning a handful of odoriferous herbs, he ordered the indians and their chief to kneel down and implore agriskoui. during this time he looked down into the city, striving to see if anything extraordinary were happening in it. so soon as he was assured that all was calm, and that the deepest silence prevailed in the city, he rose to his feet. "let my brother listen to me," he said; "i am going to compel mayoba to retire from the bodies of the palefaced squaws." at this moment maria and inez gave a start of terror, but leon did not appear to notice it. "my brothers will come hither!" he commanded. the four sentries advanced with a hesitation which threatened to degenerate into terror at the slightest movement on the part of the smuggler. "i am going to pray; but in order to prevent mayoba from assailing you when he quits the maidens, drink this firewater which gualichu has endowed with the virtue of causing those who drink it to resist the assaults of the evil spirit, and then return each of you to your place." at the words "firewater," the indians quivered, and their eyes sparkled with greed. leon poured them out, as well as tcharanguii, half a calabash of spirits, amply doctored with opium, which they swallowed at a draught. "now, on your knees, all of you!" said leon. the indians obeyed. he alone remained on his feet, holding out his right hand in the direction of the east, and with the other making a gesture commanding mayoba to obey his authority. a minute after he changed his posture, and began turning round, while making an evocation. half an hour had passed, and during this time one of the indians had fallen with his face on the ground, as if prostrating himself through humility. another followed his example, and tcharanguii imitated him. in a word, the five men were soon all in the same position. then leon slightly touched with his foot the man nearest to him, and rolled him over on his side. the opium had thrown him into such a lethargy, that he could have been stripped without waking him. he did the same with the other four, who were equally stupefied by the opium. then, suddenly turning to the young ladies, who were awaiting the close of this scene with ever-growing anxiety, "let us go," he said. "collect all your strength and follow me, for it is a matter of life or death." taking a pistol in either hand, he went down the hillock, preceding inez and maria, and ran with them in the direction of the forest. on reaching its skirt they stopped, for the young ladies, exhausted with fatigue, felt that they could go no farther. leon did not press them, but making them a signal to listen, he imitated with rare perfection the cry of an eagle of the cordilleras, which he repeated twice. within a minute, which seemed an hour to the smuggler, the same cry answered him. a quarter of an hour did not elapse ere sixty riders, having wilhelm and harrison at their head, debouched from the forest and surrounded the captain and the young ladies, whom they lifted on their saddles. "saved! great heavens!" leon exclaimed; "they are saved!" at the same moment a flash crossed the horizon, a whistling was heard, and a bullet broke the branch of a tree a couple of feet from the captain. "the indians!" leon exclaimed; "we must gallop, my lads." chapter xxiv. the ruins of the hacienda. it was indeed the indians, who guided by meli-antou, were pursuing the smugglers with terrible imprecations. this is what had occurred. we said that on the day of the escape leon surprised the sayotkatta in the act of listening at the door. he had not deceived himself; still, as schymi-tou was ignorant of spanish, he had been unable to understand the young people's conversation, but he had noticed a certain animation which appeared to him suspicious. he did not dare, however, oppose the ceremony of exorcism which was about to take place, and contented himself with imparting his suspicions to meli-antou, who was astonished at the sayotkatta's doubts, and treated them as chimeras. but, as the old man seemed strongly inclined to suppose some machination, or, at least, some jugglery, on the part of the pretended conjuror, he resolved to watch what took place on the eminence, and hold himself in readiness to march with twenty men, to the help of tcharanguii, if he were the dupe of the medicine man's trickery. a little while, then, after the young ladies started for the hillock, he followed on their track, accompanied by his warriors; and, on reaching the hill, he crawled up through the tall grass, and listened. he first heard the prayers of the five men, and was on the point of regretting that he had followed the sayotkatta's advice, when leon suddenly ceased speaking. he thought, however, that whispered prayers had succeeded the former ones. still, as this silence was prolonged, he went a little higher, and was staggered at only seeing tcharanguii and his four warriors, lying on the ground. thinking them dead, he rushed toward them, and shouted to his men, whom he had left at the foot of the mound. they were soon with him, and shook the five sleepers, who at last woke up with a very confused idea of what had happened to them. meli-antou guessed a portion of the truth, and, not doubting but that the fugitives had gone into the forest, he gave orders to pursue them. at the moment when they were setting out, they heard the eagle cries which had served as a signal to the smugglers, and dashed toward the spot whence they came. meli-antou was the first to perceive the fugitives, and fired at them, and, though he missed his mark, he hoped very soon to recapture them. before the smugglers had time to select the route which they must follow, the indians were upon them. the young ladies were in the middle of the little band and in safety. leon, therefore, gave orders to accept the fight and charge the enemy. seizing a mace which had just fallen from the grasp of a wounded indian, leon rushed into the centre of the medley with the bounds of a tiger. the combatants, who were too close together to employ their firearms, fought with their knives, and dealt furious blows with their clubbed rifles or maces. this frightful carnage lasted for more than half an hour, animated by the yells of the indians and the shouts of the smugglers, who killed them to the last man--thanks to their numerical superiority--by a determined charge, which decided the victory. the victory, however, cost the smugglers eight of their party. the next great point was to get away from the vicinity of the indians before the news of the fight spread in garakouaïti; for if it did so they would not have to contend only against twenty men, but against an entire army of redskins, animated with the desire to avenge their brothers. leon assembled all his men, and they started for the forest, along the path which he and wilhelm had cut, and which the smugglers were well acquainted with, through having come along it. at sunrise they had got through the forest, and found themselves on the banks of the river where the captain, wilhelm, and giacomo had been so hotly pursued. leon gave orders to halt--and it was high time, for the horses were panting with fatigue. besides, whatever diligence the indians might display to catch up the smugglers, the latter had a whole night's start of them; hence they could rest in perfect security. while the men, in various groups, were preparing the meal or dressing their wounds, and the young ladies were sleeping on a pile of ponchos and sheepskins, leon went to bathe, in order to remove the indian paint that disfigured him; and, after resuming his european dress, he stationed himself near the spot where the ladies were reposing. the first words of the latter, on awaking, were a torrent of thanks, which amply rewarded the captain for all that he had done to save them. maria could not find expressions sufficiently strong to testify to leon the joy which she felt at being restored to liberty by his assistance; and inez, herself, gradually felt her heart expanding to a feeling more lively than that of gratitude. betrothed to don pedro sallazar by her father's wish, she had accepted this alliance with perfect indifference, only seeing in this marriage greater liberty of action, and the pleasure of being the wife of a rich and brilliant gentlemen, who would devote his entire attention to satisfying her slightest caprices. but her heart had never beaten more violently than usual in the presence of the husband destined for her. such was the state of her heart, when the attack of the indians at the parumo of san juan bautista had suddenly modified her ideas by causing her to reflect on the conduct of the captain, who had not hesitated to risk his life to save her, while her betrothed husband had not even followed her track. thus she guessed the grandeur and nobility of the smuggler's character, and at the same time conceived a love for him, which was the more violent because the man who was the object of it did not seem to notice it. it was only at this moment that she understood why her sister had so often praised the young man's courageous qualities, and that she recognised the passion which they entertained for each other. a cruel grief gnawed at her heart, and it was in vain that she struggled against the horrible torture of a frenzied jealousy. she felt that she had no chance of being loved by leon, who only lived for maria; and yet, in spite of herself, she could not dispel the charm with which he inspired her. as for leon, intoxicated with happiness, he revelled in the felicity with which the presence of maria, who was seated by his side, inundated him. after a few hours halt, they set out again, and on the morning of the fourth day reached the parumo of san juan bautista, without having been molested in any way. here they halted, and so soon as the camp was pitched, leon went up to the maidens, and taking them by the hand, led them to the grave in which the señora soto-mayor was interred. "kneel down," he said to them in a grave voice, "and pray, for here rests the body of your mother, whose soul is in heaven." maria and inez mingled their prayers and sobs over the tomb of her who had taken care of their childhood, and both remained absorbed in profound grief. leon had discreetly withdrawn, leaving the maidens to weep without witnesses: but at the expiration of an hour he went up to them, and by gentle words recalled them to a sense of the things of this world by speaking to them of their father, to whom he had pledged himself to restore them. on hearing their father's name, the sisters wiped their tears and went back to join the smugglers, who were conversing about the combat which they had waged five weeks previously at that very spot. the men whom hernandez and joaquin had enlisted at valparaíso listened to the narration with the greatest interest, and resolved, on the first opportunity, to avenge those whose places they had taken in leon's band. the way in which they had behaved before garakouaïti was, however, a sufficient guarantee of their good disposition. from the parumo of san juan bautista, the party proceeded to talca; and after two days' march, the lofty peaks of the cordilleras had gradually sunk behind the smugglers, who found themselves in the hot regions of the llanos, uninhabited by the chilians. leon, who for more than a month had been unable to receive any news about the political events which had occurred during the period, and who desired to obtain some information about general soto-mayor, and whether on his return from valdivia he had passed through talca, gave orders to march straight on the latter town, where he intended to let the young ladies rest for two or three days. the nearer they drew to it the darker the captain's brow became; he frowned anxiously, and the glances which he cast in all directions revealed a profound preoccupation. a great change had, indeed, taken place in these parts during the last month; the country had no longer that rich appearance which it formerly offered to the eye. fields trampled by horses, the remains of burnt haciendas, and the ashes heaped up at places where flour mills had stood a few weeks previously--all these signs indicated that war had passed that way. two or three leagues farther, however, the houses of talca could be seen on the horizon glistening in the sun. all was perfectly calm in the vicinity; no human being showed himself: no flocks grazed on the devastated prairies; on all sides, a leaden silence and a lugubrious tranquillity brooded over the landscape, and imparted a heart-breaking effect to the cheerful sunbeams. all at once wilhelm, who was riding a few paces ahead of the troop, stopped his horse with a start of terror, and anxiously leaned over his saddle. leon dashed his spurs into his horse's flanks, and joined the smuggler. a hideous spectacle was presented to the two men; in a ditch bordering the road lay, pell-mell, a pile of spanish corpses horridly disfigured, and all deprived of their scalps. leon commanded a halt, while asking himself what he had better do. should he turn back, or advance on the town, which was evidently in the hands of the indians? hesitation was permissible. still the captain understood that a determination, no matter what its nature, must be formed at once, and looking around him, he noticed a ruined hacienda about a league distant. it was a shelter, and it was better to seek refuge there, than remain on the open plain. twenty minutes had not elapsed before leon leaped from his horse and rushed into the farm. the house bore traces of fire and devastation. the cracked walls were blackened with smoke, the windows broken, and amid the ruins that encumbered the patios lay the bodies of several men and women, assassinated and partly burnt. leon conducted the trembling ladies to a room which was cleared of the rubbish that obstructed the entrance; then, after recommending them not to leave it, he rejoined his comrades, who were establishing themselves as well as they could among the ruins. "caballeros," he said to them, "we are going to entrench ourselves here while four of you go out to reconnoitre; for we should commit a grave imprudence by entering the town before knowing in whose hands it is. who are the four men who will undertake the duty?" "i!--i!" all the smugglers replied, in chorus. "very good," leon remarked, with a smile; "i shall be obliged to choose." they were all silent. "giacomo, hernandez, joaquin, and harrison, leave the ranks!" the four advanced. "you will go out," leon said to them, "in four different directions as scouts. do not stay away more than two hours, and find out what is going on. above all, do not let yourselves be caught. begone!" the smugglers rushed to their horses, and set out at a gallop. "now," said leon, addressing wilhelm, "how many are there of us?" "fifty-four," a voice answered. leon felt himself strong. with fifty-four men he thought a good, deal could be done. his first care was to fortify the house in the best way he could; it was surrounded by a breast-high wall, like all the chilian haciendas; he had the gateway blocked up, and then, returning to the house, he had loopholes pierced, and placed sentries near the wall and on the terrace. then summoning wilhelm, he gave him the command of twenty-five resolute men, and ordered him to ambuscade with this band behind a hillock, which was about two hundred yards from the house. all these precautions taken, he waited. the scouts soon after returned, and their report was not reassuring:--the grand molucho army, commanded by tahi-mari, had seized on talca by surprise; the town was given over to pillage; and the chilians, defeated in several engagements, were flying in the direction of santiago. parties of indians were beating up the country on all sides; and it appeared evident that the smugglers could not go a league beyond the hacienda without falling into an ambuscade. hernandez, who was the last to arrive, brought with him some thirty chilian soldiers and guasos, who had been wandering about for two days at the risk of being caught at any moment by the indians, who pitilessly massacred all the white men that fell into their hands. leon gladly welcomed the newcomers, for a reinforcement of thirty men was not to be despised. they were well armed, and could render him a great service. after distributing his men at the spots most exposed to attack, the captain went up on the terrace, and after lying down, carefully examined the country in the direction of talca. nothing had altered, and the country was still deserted. this calmness appeared to him to be of evil augury. the sun set in a reddish mist, the light suddenly decreased, and night arrived with its darkness and mysteries. leon went down, and proceeded to the room serving as refuge to the two sisters, in order to reassure them, and give them hopes which he was far from feeling. the maidens were sitting on the ground silently. "niñas," leon said to them, "regain your courage. we are numerous, and shall be able to start again tomorrow morning without any fear of being disquieted by the indians." "captain," maria answered him, "it is vain for you to try and tranquillize us; we have heard what the soldiers are saying to one another, and they are prepared for an attack which appears to them inevitable." "señor captain," inez said, in her turn, "we are the daughters and sisters of soldiers, so you can tell us frankly to what we are exposed." "good heavens! do i know it myself?" leon remarked. "i have taken all the precautions necessary to defend the hacienda dearly, but still i hope that we shall not be discovered." "you are deceiving us again," maria said with a smile, which was sorrowful, though full of grace and charms. "besides," leon continued, without replying to the young lady's interruption, "be assured that, in the event of an attack, both i and my men will be dead ere an indian crosses the threshold of this door." "the indians!" the young ladies could not help exclaiming, for they had before them the recollection of their captivity at garakouaïti, and trembled at the mere thought of falling into their hands again. still, this terror was but momentary. maria's face soon reassumed the delicious expression which was habitual to it, and it was with the softest inflexion of her voice that she addressed him. "captain," she said to him, "my sister and i wish to ask a favour of you--will you promise to grant it to us?" "what is it, señora? speak, for you know that i am only too happy to obey the slightest wish of yours." "then you swear to grant it me, whatever it may be?" "without doubt," leon answered; "but what is it?" "give me the pistols hanging from your girdle." "pistols! great heaven! what would you do with them?" "kill ourselves," maria said, simply, "sooner than return to the indian city." "oh! am i not here to defend you?" "we know it," inez added, "and know, too, that you are the noblest and bravest of all your comrades: but i join my entreaty to that of my sister, and beg you not to refuse us." "if you were killed, leon," maria at length said, "must not i die too?" inez looked at her sister, and was silent. leon started, and drew the pistols from his girdle. "here they are," he said, as he handed them to the ladies. and, without adding a word, he left the room, with his face buried in his hands. maria and inez threw themselves into each other's arms, and passionately embraced. at the moment when leon re-entered the patio, harrison walked up to him, and said, as he pointed to several rows of black dots, which seemed crawling at no great distance from the hacienda-- "look there, captain." "they are indians," leon answered; "every man to his post." an hour passed in horrible anxiety. all at once, the hideous head of a redskin appeared above the enclosing wall, and took a ferocious glance into the patio. leon raised his axe, and the indian's body fell back outside, while the head rolled at the captain's feet. several attempts of the same nature, made at different points of the wall, were repulsed with equal success. then the indians, who had expected to surprise a few sleepy guasos, on seeing themselves so unpleasantly received, raised their war yell, and rising tumultuously from the ground on which they had hitherto been crawling, bounded upon the wall, which they tried to escalade on all sides at once. a belt of flame then flashed forth round the hacienda, and a shower of bullets greeted them. several fell, but their impetuosity was not checked, and a fresh discharge, almost in their faces, which caused them enormous loss, was unable to repulse them. ere long, assailants and assailed were contending hand to hand. it was a fearful combat, in which men only loosed their hold to die, and in which the conquered, frequently dragging down the conqueror in his fall, strangled him in a last convulsion. for nearly half an hour it was impossible to judge how matters went; the shots and the blows of axes and sabres followed each other with marvellous rapidity. at length the indians fell back: the wall had not been scaled. but the truce was not long; the indians returned to the charge, and the struggle recommenced with new obstinacy. this time, in spite of the prodigies of valour, the smugglers, surrounded by the mass of enemies who attacked them on all sides simultaneously, were compelled to fall back on the house, defending every inch of ground; their resistance could not last much longer. at this moment shouts were heard in the rear of the indians, and wilhelm rushed upon them like a hurricane at the head of his band. the redskins, surprised at this unexpected attack, fell back in disorder, and dispersed over the country. leon, taking advantage of the opportunity, dashed forward at the head of twenty men to support his ambuscading party and complete the defeat of his enemies. the pursuit did not last long, however, and the smugglers returned to the hacienda, for the indians had vanished like shadows. two hours passed without any incident. leon gave orders to repair the damage done by the enemy, and then went to the young ladies, in order to learn how they had endured this fearful assault. on entering the room, he stumbled over the body of an indian. the captain recoiled; a cold perspiration bathed his face; a convulsive tremor seized upon him, and he was on the point of losing his senses. a terrible thought crossed his mind; he feared he should see the young ladies killed. looking sharply about the room, he saw them crouching in a corner, and a cry of delight burst from him. "oh!" he exclaimed, "what has happened here?" maria, without answering, took the torch, which was burning in a ring against the wall, and illumined the indian's countenance. "tcharanguii!" he exclaimed. "yes," she said, "and it was this that killed him." she displayed with savage energy the pistol that she held in her hand. "oh!" said leon, falling on his knees, "heaven be thanked!" "captain, captain!" wilhelm shouted, as he rushed into the room, "here are the indians!" leon hurried out. the fight had recommenced between his men and the indians. day was beginning to break, and discovered an entire army of indians forming a circle round the hacienda. "comrades!" leon said, in a thundering voice, addressing the smugglers, "we cannot hope to conquer, but we must die like brave men." "we will!" they replied, with an accent of sublime resignation. they were only twenty-nine in all, for sixty had been killed in the first two attacks. "do not let us waste our powder," leon added; "but make sure of our aim." the horizon was gradually growing clearer, and friend and foe could perfectly distinguish each other. there was something painful in this spectacle of twenty-nine calm and stoical men, who had all made a sacrifice of their life, and were preparing with heroic carelessness to support the onrush of thousands of implacable enemies. all at once leon uttered a cry of surprise; he had just recognised the grand chief of the moluchos, who was advancing at the head of a portion of the army to carry the hacienda by storm. "diego!" he shouted. "leon!" tahi-mari replied. and then turning to the fighting indians, he commanded them to stop. then, rushing towards the man who had been his friend, he said-- "you here! why, unhappy man, you must wish for death!" "yes," leon replied. "oh! i will save you!" "thanks, diego. but will you also save those who are with me?" "those who are with you have killed five hundred of my men during the night. oh! the incarnate demons! yes, i ought to have suspected it; you alone were able to withstand an army for a whole night in a dismantled ruin. save them," he added--"no, it is impossible." "in that case, good-bye," leon said, as he prepared to turn away. "where are you going, brother?" "to die with them, since their death is resolved." "oh, you will not do that?" "why should i not do it? why have you forgotten, that you were for a long time their leader, but will now sacrifice them to your blind fury?" "oh! i cannot let the soto-mayor family escape thus!" "that family left me at the parumo of san bautista, after the indian bullets had killed the general's wife." "are you speaking the truth?" "i have only two ladies with me." "wait!" said the chief of the redskins, and returned to his band. leon said a few words to wilhelm, who dashed into the house to inform the young ladies that they were out of danger, but only on condition that they wrapped themselves so carefully in their rebozos that their features could not be recognised. leon saw tahi-mari talking with great animation for about ten minutes among the molucho chiefs: at length they separated, and diego returned to him. "brother," he said to him, "you are an adopted son of the moluchos; you can retire withersoever you please with the men whom you command, without fear of being disquieted." "thanks, brother," leon said; "i recognise you in that." "where will you go?" diego asked again. "to valparaíso." "good-bye." "why good-bye; do you never wish to see me again?" "how?" "listen; in a week i shall be free from any engagement. where will you give me a meeting?" "at the rio claro," said the indian chief. "i will be there." the two friends parted as in the happy days of their friendship, and then the captain joined his men, while the indian put himself at the head of his army again. "to horse!" leon then said. the smugglers obeyed; and then forming a close squadron, they left the hacienda at a canter, having the two veiled ladies in their midst. the indian army made way for them to pass; and the twenty-nine men rode with head erect through the dense ranks of the moluchos, who watched them pass without evincing the slightest impression. six days after, maria and inez de soto-mayor were in safety behind the walls of the convent of the purísima concepción. chapter xxv. the arrest. the appearance of valparaíso had greatly changed. it was no longer the careless, laughing town which we have described, echoing from morning to night with gay love songs, and whirling round with a wild sambacueca. no! its gaiety had faded away to make room for sombre anxieties. although its sky was still as pure, its sun as hot, and its women as lovely, a veil of sadness had spread over the forehead of the inhabitants, and chilled the smile on every lip. the streets, usually so full of promenaders and so noisy, were gloomy and silent. the shops--nearly all deserted and closed--no longer displayed to purchasers from all countries those thousand charming trifles of which the creoles are so fond. numerous troops of soldiers were encamped in all the squares; strong patrols marched through each district, and the ships anchored in the bay, with nettings triced up and ports opened, were awaiting the moment for action; while at intervals the beating of the drums or the dull ringing of the tocsin, terrified the timid citizens in their houses, where they hid themselves under triple bolts and locks. what was occurring, however, was sufficient to excuse the terror of the alarmed population. tahi-mari, the great molucho chief, at the head of the twelve allied araucano nations, after seizing the forts of araucas and tulcapel, and massacring their garrisons, had taken valdivia, which he plundered, and continuing his march with more than two hundred thousand indians, had subjugated talcahueno, concepción, maule, and talca. in spite of the desperate efforts and courage of general don pedro sallazar, who at the head of six thousand men had vainly attempted to arrest the invader, the spanish army, conquered in five successive actions, was dispersed, leaving tahi-mari at liberty to march upon santiago, the capital of chili. only one resource was left don pedro sallazar, that of collecting the relics of his defeated army, and entrenching himself on the banks of the massucho, in order to dispute its passage with the indians, who were preparing to cross the river. this he did with the help; of four thousand men, whom don juan brought to him, though not without difficulty. the president of the republic had called under arms all the youth of chili, and in the towns, pueblos, and villages, the citizens had eagerly placed themselves at the disposal of the military authorities, who had armed and sent them off to valparaíso, which was selected as headquarters, owing to the proximity of that town and santiago. on the eighth day after the arrival of general soto-mayor's daughters at the convent of the purísima concepción, at about midday, three or four thousand men, forming the volunteer contingent, were piously kneeling in the plaza del gobernador and attending the divine service, which the bishop of valparaíso was celebrating in the cathedral for the success of their arms. in all the towns of the republic, novenas and public prayers had been ordered, to implore heaven to save the country from the immense danger which menaced it. when mass was ended, the soldiers rose to their feet and closed up in line. then a brilliant staff, composed of general officers, at the head of whom was the commandant of valparaíso, came out of the cathedral and stood on the last step of the peristyle. the governor stretched out his arm as a signal that he wished to speak, and the drums beat a prolonged roll. when silence was re-established, he said:-- "chilians! the hand of god presses heavily upon us: the ferocious indians have rushed upon our territory like wild beasts; they are firing our towns, and plundering, burning, massacring, and violating on their passage. soldiers, you are about to fight for your homes; you are the last hope of your country, who is looking at you and counting on your courage; will you deceive its expectations?" "no!" the volunteers shouted, brandishing their weapons frenziedly. "lead us against the indians!" "very good," the general continued; "i am happy to see the noble ardour which animates you, and i know that i can trust to your promise. the president of the republic, in his solicitude for you, has chosen as your commander one of the noblest veterans of our war of independence, who has claimed the honour of marching at your head--general don juan de soto-mayor." "long live general soto-mayor," the soldiers cried. the general, upon this, stationed himself by the side of the governor, and all were silent for the sake of listening to him. "soldiers!" he exclaimed, in a fierce voice, and with a glance sparkling with enthusiasm, "i have sworn to the president of the republic that the enemy should only reach santiago by passing over our corpses." "yes, yes, we will all die. long live general soto-mayor!" at this moment the doors of the cathedral, which had been shut, were noisily opened; a religious band could be heard; the bells rang out loudly; a cloud of incense obscured the air; and an imposing procession, with the bishop at its head, came out under the portico, and ranged itself there while singing pious hymns. on seeing this, soldiers and generals knelt down. "christians!" said the bishop, a venerable, white-haired old man, whom two vicars held under the arms, "go whither duty summons you. save your country, or die for it. i give you my pastoral blessing." then, seizing a magnificent standard, on which sparkled a figure of the virgin, embroidered in gold, he said-- "take this consecrated flag. i place it in the hands of your general, and nuestra señora de la merced will give you the victory!" at these words, pronounced by the worthy bishop, a perfect delirium seized upon his hearers, and they swore with many imprecations and with tears in their eyes to defend the flag which general soto-mayor waved over their heads with a martial air, and to conquer or die in following him. the volunteers then marched past the staff and the clergy, and returned to their cantonments at the almendral. the general had already taken leave of the governor, as the troops had completely evacuated the square, and was preparing to return to the mansion which he had inhabited since his arrival from valdivia, when he heard his name pronounced behind him just as he was on the point of mounting his horse. he turned his head quickly, and uttered a cry of joy on recognising captain leon delbès. "you here!" he said. "heaven be praised, i have found you, general!" "where are my girls?" the old gentleman asked, anxiously. "saved." the general opened his arms to the young man, who rushed into them. "oh, my friend, what do i not owe you! my poor children! for mercy's sake take me at once to them. where have you left them?" "at the convent of the purísima concepción, general, as i pledged myself to do." "thanks! come then with me; while we are going we will talk together, and you will tell me how i can recompense the eminent service which you have done me." "general, i beg you do not revert to this subject. when i started to seek the two young ladies who had been torn from you i accomplished a duty, and i cannot and will not accept any reward." the general looked at leon, seeking to read his thoughts in his face, but he could not divine anything. "ah!" he answered, "we shall see. caramba! you are a man of heart, but i have a desire to be a man of my word. let us hasten at once to the convent, for i am longing to embrace my poor girls." "but, general, my presence may perhaps be inopportune--i am only a stranger, and--" "sir! the man who devoted himself to save my children cannot be regarded as a stranger either by them or me." the captain bowed. "let us start," don juan continued. "you are on foot, so i will send my horse home." "pray do not do so, general, for my horse is waiting a few yards off." leon whistled in a peculiar manner, and almost immediately the general saw a horseman, leading another horse by the bridle, turn out of the calle san agostino. it was our old acquaintance, wilhelm. "here it is," said leon. wilhelm had come up, and after saluting the general, said to the smuggler, in a low voice: "captain, here is a letter which has arrived for you, and which master crevel bade me to give you, adding that it was very pressing." "very good," said leon, taking it and putting it in his pocket, without even looking at the handwriting. and he leapt on his horse. "follow us," he shouted to wilhelm. "all right, captain." the two gentlemen rode off in the direction of the convent, escorted by wilhelm, and followed by the general's servant. on the road the general overwhelmed leon with questions as to the way in which he had contrived to find his daughters; and the captain described his expedition to him. when he came to the rescue which he accomplished by pretending to deliver inez and maria from the possession of the fiend, the general could not restrain a burst of laughter. "on my word, captain, what you did there denotes on your part great boldness and profound skill. i knew that you were a courageous fellow, but i now see that you are a man of genius." leon tried to defend himself against such a flattering qualification, but the general insisted, while repeating the expression of his gratitude. in this way they reached the convent gates, and the general and leon went in. here again the young man was obliged to repeat to the curious abbess the details of his odyssey. the general yielded to all the transports of a real joy, and never tired of lavishing the tenderest caresses on those whom he had thought eternally lost. it was then that the memory of the beloved wife who no longer lived returned to him with all the greater force. heavy tears poured from his eyes, and were mingled with those of his daughters. "my children," he said to them, "heaven has recalled your mother from my side, and your brother, don juan, is at this moment exposed to all the horrors of civil war. hence i should only have you to cherish if my son succumbed beneath the blows of our cruel enemies. remain here, then, my children, in this holy house, until the re-establishment of peace restores us better days." "what! are you going away again, father?" inez asked. "i must. i have been intrusted with the command of a division, and i owe the little blood left me to the defence of my country." "oh, heaven!" the young ladies exclaimed. "reassure yourselves: i hope to see you again soon: the walls of this convent will preserve you from external dangers. i leave you here without anxiety, until i return to be present at your taking the veil, my good maria, and your marriage with don pedro sallazar, my dear inez." the young ladies made no reply, but simultaneously glanced at the smuggler, whose face was extremely pale. "it is to you that i confide them, my sister," the general continued, addressing the abbess. "watch carefully over them, and whatever may happen, only act on my orders, or those of my son, if i am killed, as regards maria's taking the veil or inez's departure, for the war may--produce great changes and unforeseen catastrophes." "you shall be obeyed, general," the abbess replied. the general embraced his daughters for the last time, and prepared to depart; but at the moment of separating from their father they appeared visibly affected. maria looked at leon, striving to read in his face an encouragement to confess to the general the slight inclination she felt for a conventual life. the captain understood the maiden's desire, but his face did not speak, and hence maria's lips did not move. on her side inez appeared to have formed some violent resolution, for with purpled cheeks she addressed the general, while repressing the beating of her heart. "father," she said to him, with an effort, "before you leave us, i wish to say a few words to you without witnesses." the tone in which these words were uttered produced a certain impression on the general. "what have you to tell me, my child?" "you shall know directly, father." "allow me to withdraw, general," said leon; "besides," he added, "i have some business to settle, and--" "señor, inez has secrets to reveal to me," the old gentleman said, with a smile. "i will let you go; but only on condition that you come and see me tonight before i set out for santiago." "i shall not fail, general." "good-bye then, for the present, captain." leon bowed, and after exchanging a few compliments with the persons present, left the room. the abbess also retired, though somewhat reluctantly, followed by maria, and the general found himself alone with inez. let us leave him and his daughter together for a moment, and accompany leon, who found wilhelm waiting at the gate. "what is the matter with you?" he asked him, as he mounted his horse; "you have a very singular look today." "well," the german replied, "it is because i see some fellows i do not like prowling about here." "what do you mean?" "nothing, except that we had better be on our guard." "nonsense, you are mad!" "we shall see." "in the meanwhile, let us make haste, for diego is waiting for us at the rio claro, and time is slipping away." the two smugglers rode off in the direction of the spot fixed by diego for the meeting he had given the captain. leon was thinking of the scene which he had just witnessed at the convent, and was asking himself what inez could have to say to her father. wilhelm was looking around him suspiciously. they rode on thus for about ten minutes, when just as they were turning the corner of the great almendral street and preparing to leave valparaíso, a dozen alguaciles barred their passage. "in the name of the law i arrest you, señor delbès!" one of them said, addressing leon. "i beg your pardon," the smuggler said, laying his hands on his pistols, and raising his head. wilhelm followed his example. "shall we drop them?" he asked, eagerly, in a whisper. "we two could certainly kill eight!" leon replied; "but i fancy that would do us no good, as we are beset." in fact, the first two men were joined by other ten, and a large band of serenos speedily surrounded them. "surrender!" said the man who had before spoken. "i must do so," leon replied; "but tell me why you arrest me?" then he bent down to wilhelm and whispered--"you know where we were going; proceed there alone, and tell diego what has happened to me." "all right; trust to me." "gentlemen," leon continued, "i have asked you for what motive you arrest me; will you be good enough to tell me?" "we do not know," the head of the serenos answered. "i have orders to make certain of your body and the rest does not concern me. for the third time, are you willing to follow us peaceably?" leon reflected for a few seconds, and answered in the affirmative. "in that case, uncock your pistols." he raised his arms and discharged his pistols in the air. "why, what are you about?" the sereno exclaimed; "you will give an alarm!" "you told me to uncock my pistols, and i did more, i unloaded them. what more would you have?" "enough argument; march!" said the man. "march!" the captain repeated. and surrounded by a strong squad of police, leon was carried off to the governor's house. this arrest, and the two shots heard in this part of the town, had brought to the spot a large number of curious persons. wilhelm mingled among them, and joined the mob that was awaiting the prisoner coming out. ten minutes passed, and at the expiration of that time leon reappeared, escorted by twenty serenos, who led him to the calabozo, situated on the almendral, at no great distance from the convent of the purísima concepción, where he was safely placed under lock and key. wilhelm understood that he would have no hope of seeing his captain again by waiting longer. "good!" he said to himself, "i know where to find him now: let us make haste to go and warn diego or tahi-mari, for i really do not know what to think of our friend and foe, the captain's lieutenant." whereupon the worthy german buried his wide spurs in his horse's flanks, which started at a gallop in the direction of the rio claro. "no matter; all this does not appear to me clear," the smuggler muttered. "well, we shall see." night was beginning to fall. as he left the town, the angelus was ringing in all the churches, and the tattoo sounding in all the streets of valparaíso. chapter xxvi. the scalp. it was about ten o'clock at night. it was cold and foggy; the wind whistled violently, and heavy black clouds coming from the south dropped heavy rain upon the ground. between valparaíso and rio claro --that is to say, in the gorge which had many times served as a refuge for the smugglers, and which our readers are already acquainted with--tahi-mari indolently lying at the foot of a tree, was rolling a papelito in his fingers, while lending an attentive ear to the slightest sounds which the gust conveyed to him and at times darting glances around him which seemed trying to pierce the obscurity. "ten o'clock already," he said, "and leon not yet arrived: what can detain him? it is not possible that he can have forgotten the hour of our meeting. i will wait longer," he added, as he drew his mechero from his pocket and lit his cigarette, "for leon must come back to me--he must absolutely." suddenly a sound so light that only an indian's ear could seize it, crossed the space. "what is that?" diego asked himself. he rose cautiously, and after concealing his horse in a dense thicket, hid himself behind the trunk of an enormous tree close by. the sound gradually drew nearer, and it was soon easy to recognise the gallop of a horse at full speed. a few minutes later a rider turned into the clearing; but he had not gone a few yards when his horse stumbled against a stone, tottered, and in spite of the efforts of the man on its back, slipped with all four feet, and fell. "der teufel! carajo! sacrebleu!" wilhelm shouted, as he fell, borrowing from all the languages he spoke the expressions best adapted to render the lively annoyance which he felt at the accident which had happened to him. but the german was a good horseman, and the fall of the horse did not at all take him unawares. he freed his feet from the stirrups and found himself on his legs. still, on looking around him, he noticed that the clearing which was deserted on his arrival, had become peopled, as if by enchantment, by some fifty indians, who seemed to have sprung out of the ground. "the deuce!" thought wilhelm; "i fancy there will be a row, and i am afraid that i shall come off second best." at this moment a shrill whistle was heard, and the indians disappeared so rapidly that the german rubbed his eyes to see whether he was awake. "hilloh!" he asked himself, "is this an apparition, and are they demons or men?" then, seeing that he was really alone, he busied himself with raising his horse. "there," he continued, when the animal was on its legs again, "i will wait till señor diego arrives. plague take the spot; it does not appear to me so sure as formerly, and our ex-lieutenant might have chosen another." "here i am, wilhelm!" diego said, suddenly, as he stood before the smuggler. "well, i am not sorry for it, lieutenant," the german answered, phlegmatically. "what do you want here?" the other asked him, sharply. "i have come because the captain ordered me to do so, that is all." "why did leon send you in his place? i was expecting him here." "ah, that is another matter, and you must not be angry with him." "but," diego continued, biting his moustache savagely, "what does he expect me to do with you?" "hang it all--whatever you like." "but where is he?" "he is arrested." "how!--arrested?" "yes; and it was before being imprisoned in the calabozo, that he ordered me to go in all haste and warn you." "arrested!" the half-breed said, stamping his foot; "that scoundrel of a crevel has betrayed me, and shall pay dearly for it." "crevel, do you say, lieutenant? well, it is possible; and yet i do not think so." "i am sure of it." "why so?" "i sent him a letter which he was to deliver to leon, and in which i warned the latter of the danger that menaced him." "a letter, you say; and when did you send it?" "this morning early." "ah!" said wilhelm, "i have it." and he told diego how--as leon had gone out when the letter arrived at crevel's--the latter asked him to deliver it to the captain, and that when he received it, he put it in his pocket without reading, absorbed as he was in his conversation with general soto-mayor. "what! is the general at valparaíso?" diego asked, interrupting the smuggler. "yes, lieutenant; but he will not be so for long." "why not?" "because the governor had just given him command of the new body of volunteers, who are going to reinforce the chilian army at santiago." "that is well." tahi-mari whistled in a peculiar way, and an indian appeared. the chief of the molucho army said a few words to him in a low voice. the indian bowed as a sign of obedience, and, gliding through the herbage, disappeared. wilhelm looked on at the scene, whistling to give himself a careless air. when the indian had gone, tahi-mari turned to him, and laid his hand on his shoulder. "wilhelm," he said to him, "you love your captain, do you not, my lad?" while uttering these words his searching glance was plunged into the smuggler's eyes, as if questioning his thoughts. "i love the captain? der teufel! do you doubt it, lieutenant?" "no! that will do; you are an honest fellow." "all right." "but listen to me. will you save him?" "certainly. what am i to do for that?" "i will tell you. where is leon's band?" "at valparaíso." "how many men does it consist of at this moment?" "forty." "would they all die for their captain?" "i should think so." "in that case, you will assemble them tomorrow at crevel's." "at what hour?" "eleven o'clock at night." "settled." "pay attention that crevel does not open the door to any persons who do not rap thrice, and say diego and leon." "i will open it myself." "that will be better still." "after that, what are we to do?" "nothing; the rest is my business: remember my instructions, and be off." "enough, lieutenant." wilhelm remounted his horse and set out on his return. at about a league from valparaíso he met the column of volunteers marching to santiago, and gaily advancing while singing patriotic airs. wilhelm who was not at all desirous of being arrested as a suspicious person for travelling at this hour of the night, drew up by the wayside, and allowed the men to defile past him. when the last had disappeared in the distance, the german returned to the high road, and half an hour later re-entered valparaíso, puzzling over the remarks of tahi-mari, whose plans he could not divine. in the meanwhile, the volunteers continued to advance, filling the air with their martial strains. they formed a body of about four thousand men; but of this number only one-half were armed with muskets--the rest had pikes, lances, or forks; but their enthusiasm--powerfully inflamed by the copious libations of aguardiente which the inhabitants of valparaíso had furnished to them--knew no limits, and made them discount beforehand a victory which they regarded as certain. these soldiers of the moment had been selected from the lowest classes of society, and retained a turbulence and want of discipline which nothing could conquer. the citizens of valparaíso, who feared them almost as much as if they had been indians, were delighted at their departure, for, during their short stay in the town, they had, so to speak, organized plunder, and made robbery their vocation. general soto-mayor did not at all deceive himself as to the qualities of the men whom he commanded, and perceived at the first glance that it would be impossible to obtain from them the obedience which he had a right to demand. in spite of the repeated orders which he gave them at starting to observe, the greatest silence on the march, through fear of being surprised by the indians, he found himself constrained to let them act as they pleased, and he resolved to let the army bivouac on the road, while he proceeded to his country house, whence he could dispatch a courier to santiago, requesting officers to be sent him who could aid him in restoring some degree of order among the men he commanded. it was evident that such a disorderly and noisy march exposed them to be murdered to a man in the first ambuscade which the araucanos prepared for him. it was about one in the morning when the volunteers arrived at the general's country house. it was plunged in profound obscurity; all the shutters were closed, and the watch dogs barked mournfully in the deserted courtyards. after ordering a halt for some hours the general proceeded towards his residence. at the sound of the bell a heavy footfall was heard inside, and a grumbling voice asked who was knocking at such an hour, and what he wanted. when the general had made himself known, the gate turned heavily on its hinges, and señor soto-mayor entered, not without a painful contraction of the heart, the house which recalled to him such affecting recollections. alas! long past were the happy days which he had spent in this charming retreat, surrounded by all those to whom he was attached, and resting from the fatigues of a gloriously occupied life. the old gentleman's first care was to send off the courier, and then, after taking out of the manservant's hand the candle which he held, he entered the apartments. this splendid residence, which he had left so brilliant and so animated, was now solitary and deserted. the rooms he passed through, on whose floor his foot echoed dully, were cold; the atmosphere which he breathed was impregnated with a close and unhealthy odour, which testified the little care the guardians of the house had displayed in removing it; on all sides were abandonment and sadness. at times the general's eyes fell upon an object which had belonged to his wife, and then they filled with tears, while a deep sigh issued from his oppressed chest. at length, after visiting in turn all the apartments in the house with that painful pleasure which persons feel in evoking a past which cannot return, the general opened the door of the room which had served as his bedroom. he could not restrain a start of terror. a man, seated in an easy chair, with his arms folded on his chest, seemed to be awaiting somebody. it was diego. "come in, my dear general," he said, as he rose and bowed courteously. "señor!" said the general. "yes; i understand. it astonishes you to see me here: but what would you have? circumstances allowed me no choice; and i am sure that you will pardon me this slight infraction of etiquette." the general was dumb with surprise at the sight of such audacity. still, when the first flush of indignation had passed, feeling curious to know the object of the person who behaved to him so strangely, he restrained his anger and awaited the result of this singular interview. "sit down, general, pray," diego continued, keeping up his tone of assurance. "i thank, you, sir, for your politeness in doing the honours of my house; but before aught else, i should wish to know the reason which has procured me this visit." "i beg your pardon, general," the other replied, with a slight tremor in his voice; "but perhaps you do not recognize me, and so i will--" "it is unnecessary, sir. i remember you perfectly well; you are a smuggler, called diego the vaquero, who abandoned us after engaging to escort us, as did captain leon delbès, in whose service i believe you were." "that is perfectly correct, general; still the name of diego is not the only one which i have the right to bear." "that concerns me but slightly." "perhaps not." "explain yourself." "if the spaniards call me diego, the indians call me tahi-mari." this name produced the same effect on the general as an electric shock. "tahi-mari!" he exclaimed. "you!" "myself!" a flash of hatred animated the eyes of the two men, who seemed measuring each other like two tigers brought face to face. after a moment's silence, the general continued: "can you be ignorant that i have round the house in which we now are four thousand men ready to hurry up at my first summons?" "no, general; but you do not seem to know that i, too, have in this house two hundred indians, who are watching each of your movements, and who would rush on you at the slightest signal i gave." the general's lips blanched. "ah! i understand," he said. "you have come to assassinate me after killing my wife, for now i no longer doubt but that it was you who had us surprised in such a cowardly fashion in the parumo of san juan bautista." "you are mistaken, general: it was not i who made you a widower; and it was in order that none of my men should tear from me the prey i covet, that i have come myself to fetch it." "but what impels you to be so furious against those of my race, so that the name of tahi-mari may be equivalent to that of the murderer of the soto-mayors." "because the soto-mayors are all cowards and infamous." "villain!" "yes, infamous! and it is because i have sworn to exterminate the last of the accursed family that i have come to take your life!" "assassin!" "nonsense; a tahi-mari fights, but he does so honourably--face to face. here are two swords," diego continued, pointing to the weapons lying on a cheffonier, "choose the one you please; or if you like, you have your sabre, and here is mine. on guard! and may heaven protect the last of the tahi-maris, while destroying the last of the soto-mayors!" "i have a son who will avenge me," the general exclaimed. "perhaps not, señor don juan, for you know not whether he is dead or alive." "my son!--oh!" and the general, overpowered by a feverish excitement, furiously drew the pistol which he had in his belt and discharged it point-blank at diego. but the latter was following his movements, and at the moment when the general's hand was lowered at him, he cut through his wrist with a sabre-stroke. the general uttered a cry of pain, and the bullet broke a mirror. "oh, oh!" diego exclaimed, "ever treacherous; but we are too old enemies not to know each other, and hence i was on my guard, general." the old man, without replying, drew another pistol with his left hand and fired. but the badly aimed shot only grazed slightly the indian's chest; and the bullet, after making a scratch along one of his ribs, entered the panel of a door. diego bounded like a lion on the old man, who had fallen to the ground, and whose blood was streaming from the frightful wound he had on his arm. then he seized his long white hair, pulled up his head violently, and compelled him to look him in the face. "at last, soto-mayor, you are conquered!" he shouted. the old man collected the little strength left him in a supreme effort; his eyes sparkled with fury, his countenance was contracted with disgust, and he spat in his enemy's face. at this supreme insult diego uttered a frightful howl, and then drew his knife with a demoniacal grin. in the meanwhile the sound of the pistol shots had spread an alarm among the volunteers, and a party of them rushed tumultuously into the house. when the soldiers entered the general's bedroom, after breaking in the door, they found the window open and the old man stretched out on the floor, bathed in blood. in addition to the horrible mutilation of his arm, he had a hideous wound on his head, from which the blood streamed down his face. diego had scalped the unfortunate don juan de soto-mayor. a cry of horror burst from every mouth, and they hastily gave the wounded man all the care which his wretched condition required. chapter xxvii. the capture of the convent. since the invasion of the araucanos, crevel's hostelry had lost much of its old splendour. no longer was heard the clink of glasses or the smashing of window panes which the noisy customers broke while discussing their affairs. the bottles remained methodically arranged on the shelves that lined the shop, and the time when crevel earned a few piastres a month, merely by counting as new the cracked ones which his customers threw at his head in the guise of a peroration, had passed away. the most utter vacuum had taken the place of the overflow. at the most, not more than one or two passers-by came in during the course of the day to drink a glass of pisco, which they paid for, and went off again directly in spite of all the efforts and cajolery of the banian, who tried to keep them in order to talk of public affairs and cheer his solitude. on the day after leon delbès' arrest, however, the house offered, at about ten in the evening, a lively appearance, which formed a strange contrast with the calmness and tranquillity which the state of war had imposed on it. the shop was literally encumbered with customers, who smoked without saying a word. the silence was so religiously observed by them that it was easy to distinguish the sound of the rain falling outside, and the hoofs of the police horses which echoed dully on the pebbles or in the muddy pools which covered the soil. at nightfall the worthy landlord, who had not seen his threshold crossed since the morning by a single customer, was preparing to shut up, with sundry execrations, when an individual suddenly entered, then three, then four, then ten--in a word, so large a number that he found it impossible to count them. all were wrapped in large cloaks, and had their broad-brimmed hats pulled down over their eyes so as to render their features unrecognisable. crevel, agreeably surprised, prepared to serve his guests, with the assistance of his lads; but though the proverb says that it is impossible to have too much of a good thing, the extraordinary number of persons who seemed to have given each other the meeting at his house assumed such proportions, that our landlord eventually became alarmed, as he did not know where to house the newcomers. the crowd, after invading the ground floor room, had, like a constantly-rising tide overflowed into the adjoining one, and then ascended the stairs and taken possession of the upper floors. when ten o'clock struck, forty customers peopled the posada, and, as we said, not a single syllable was exchanged between them. crevel comprehended that something extraordinary was taking place in his house; and he sought for means to get rid of these silent guests by affecting preparations for closing his inn, but no one appeared to catch his meaning. at this moment a sereno offered him the pretext which he was awaiting by shouting outside-- "ave maria purísima las diez han dado y llueve." the stereotyped phrase of the night watchman, though accompanied by modulations which would make a cat cry, produced no impression on the company. hence crevel resolved to speak. "gentlemen," he said aloud, as he stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips, "it is ten o'clock, you hear, and i must absolutely close my establishment." "drink here!" the customers replied, in chorus--accompanying the sentence by dealing vigorous blows on the table with their pewter measures. crevel started back. "really, gentlemen," he tried to continue, "i would observe to you that--" "drink here!" the topers observed, in a voice of thunder. "ah! that is the game, is it?" the exasperated landlord cried, who felt all his courage return with his passion. "well, we will see whether i am master of my own house." he rushed towards the door, but had not taken a step in the street, when a newcomer seized him by the arm and unceremoniously thrust him back into the room, saying, with a mocking air-- "what imprudence, master crevel, to go out bareheaded in such weather! you will catch an awful cold." then, while the banian, confused and terrified by this rude shock, was trying to restore a little order in his ideas, his addresser, behaving just as if he were at home, and assisted by two customers, to whom he gave a signal, fastened the window shutters, bolted and locked the door as well as crevel's lads could have done it. "now let us talk," said the newcomer, as he turned to the stupefied landlord. "do you not recognise me?" he added, as he doffed his hat. "monsieur wilhelm!" crevel exclaimed. "silence!" the other remarked. and he led the master of the posada into a retired corner of the room. "have you any strange lodgers here?" he asked him, in a low voice. "no! if you know this legion of big demons who have collected in my house during the last hour--" "well! i am not alluding to them. i ask you whether you have any strangers lodging here. as for these gentlemen, you must know them as well as i do." "from the cellar to the garret there is not a soul beside these gentlemen; but as i have not yet been able to see so much as the end of their noses, it was impossible for me to recognise them." "these are all men belonging to the captain's band, you humbug!" "nonsense! in that case, why do they hide their faces?" "probably, master crevel, because they do not wish them to be seen; and now send your lads to bed, being careful to lock them carefully into their attic, and after that we will see." "then, something is going to be done?" "when you are told you will know. in the meanwhile, execute my orders." "all right! all right!" and crevel, without any further urging, went off to carry out the order he had received, with the promptitude of a man who knows how to obey when he hopes to makes a profit by his obedience. when he had left the room, wilhelm turned to his comrades, who, during the conversation, had remained motionless and apparently indifferent to what was going on. "up, gentlemen!" he said to them. they all rose. "call down your companions from upstairs," wilhelm said again. one of the men went upstairs, and two minutes after the whole of the smugglers were collected round the german. "are you all here?" he asked. "yes," they replied. "armed?" "yes." "you know that we have assembled to deliver the captain?" "yes; we are ready." at this moment three knocks were heard on the outside shutter. "wait," said wilhelm. "silence!" he walked to the door. "what do you want?" he said. "diego and leon," a voice replied. "very good." the door was opened, and tahi-mari entered. "diego!" the smugglers exclaimed, joyfully. "myself, lads," the half-breed answered, as he cordially pressed the hands offered him. "i have come to help you to deliver leon." "bravo! long live diego!" "silence, my friends! we must be prudent if we wish to succeed, for we have two expeditions to attempt: hence we must arrange our plans carefully in order to make no mistake. the first is against the convent of the purísima concepción." the smugglers made a face. "the second," diego continued, without appearing to notice the effect which the word convent had produced on the smugglers, "is against the calabozo, where the captain is locked up." "good!" the smugglers said; "we are listening." he then explained to them all the details of his plan, and when everything was settled, they prepared to set out. "hilloh, though," diego suddenly exclaimed, "what has become of crevel?" "he has gone to lock up his lads," wilhelm replied. "a good precaution; but he is a long time over it." "here he is," a smuggler remarked. "señor don diego!" crevel said with amazement, on perceiving the ex-lieutenant of the band. "good evening, crevel. i am delighted to find you in such good health." "thanks, caballero, but you are too obliging." "come, make haste, take off your apron, put on your cloak, and come with us." "i?" the landlord said, with a start of terror. "yes, you." "but how can i be of any service to you?" "i will tell you. captain leon informed me that you stood well with the sisters of the convent of the purísima concepción." "oh, oh! up to a certain point," crevel answered. "no false modesty. i know you possess the power to have the gates opened whenever you think proper, and hence i invite you to accompany us for that purpose." "oh, lord! what can you be thinking of?" the startled banian remarked. "no remarks; make haste, or by nuestra señora de la buena esperanza, i will set fire to your hovel." a heavy groan escaped from crevel's breast as he prepared to obey. it was striking half-past ten by the cathedral dock. a second later the voice of the sereno croaked close to the posada. "ave maria purísima, las diez y media han dado y señora," he cried. "it seems that it has left off raining?" said wilhelm. "all the better." "come, make haste," said diego, with a sign to the german. "i understand, lieutenant." wilhelm crept out of the posada, whose door was only on the jar. a moment later, a fall, a stifled groan, and a whistle were heard. "let us be off," diego went on, pointing to the door, through which crevel passed meekly. all the smugglers glided out of the inn, and walked a few yards behind each other, careful to remain in the shadow, and preserving the deepest silence. a few minutes after, they came up to wilhelm, who was bearing on his shoulders a bundle, whose shape it was at the first glance impossible to recognise. "here is the sereno," he said; "what shall i do with him?" and the german pointed to the bundle on his shoulders, which was nothing else, in fact, but the hapless watchman. "take him with us," diego answered. "a passer-by might liberate him, and that would be enough to raise an alarm." "very good," said wilhelm, and he followed the party. the smuggler had simply waited for the sereno at the corner of a house, and when he saw him at a convenient distance, lassoed, gagged, and bound him, and threw him across his wide shoulders, no more or less than if he had been a bale of goods. the band proceeded toward the almendral. all the serenos they met underwent the same fate as the first; like him, they were prevented from stirring or shouting, and taken on a smuggler's back. thanks to this clever manoeuvre, they reached the walls of the convent without obstacle. eight serenos had been captured during the walk, and when they reached their destination diego ordered his men to lay them at the foot of the wall which surrounded the convent. then he turned to crevel and said-- "now, compadre, we have reached our destination; we are in front of the convent; and it is your business to get us inside." "but, in heaven's name, how do you expect me to do that? you do not reflect that i have no means to--" "listen," diego said, imperiously. "you understand that i have no leisure to discuss the point with you. you will either introduce us into the convent--in which case this purse, containing two hundred and fifty gold onzas, is yours--or you refuse, and then," he added, as he coldly drew a pistol from his pocket, "i blow out your brains with this." a cold perspiration broke out on crevel's forehead, who knew diego too well to insult him by doubting his intentions. "well?" the other asked, as he cocked the pistol. "do not play with that thing, lieutenant; i will try my best." "to give you a better chance of success, here is the purse," the half-breed said, throwing it to him. crevel seized it with a start of delight which it would be impossible to describe; then he walked toward the convent gate, while racking his brains as to how he should contrive to earn the money and run the least possible risk. a luminous thought crossed his brain, and it was with a smile on his lips that he raised the hammer to knock. all at once the half-breed stopped his arm. "what is it?" crevel asked. "it has struck eleven long since; everybody is asleep in the convent, and so it would perhaps be better to try some other method." "you are mistaken," the banian replied; "the portress is awake." "are you sure of that?" "hang it all!" the other replied, who had his plan, and was afraid that he must restore the money if diego drew back from his resolution; "the convent of the concepción is open day and night to people who come in search of medicines; so leave me alone." "in that case, go on," said the leader of the party as he let go his arm. crevel did not allow the permission to be repeated, and, through fear of a fresh objection, hastened to let the knocker fall, which echoed noisily on the copper boss. diego and his men were standing in the shadow of the wall. a moment after, the trapdoor was pulled back, and the wrinkled face of the sister porter appeared in the opening. "who are you, my brother?" she asked, in a sleepy voice; "and why have you knocked at our gate at such an hour?" "ave maria purísima!" crevel said, in his most sanctified voice. "sin pecado concebida. brother, are you ill?" "i am a poor sinner whom you know, sister, and my soul is plunged in affliction." "who may you be, brother? i fancy i recognize your voice, but the night is so dark that i cannot see your face." "and i sincerely hope that you will not see it," crevel mentally remarked; and added aloud--"oh, sister, you know me perfectly well. i am signor dominique, the italian, and keep a locanda on the port." "oh yes, i remember you now, brother." "i fancy she is nibbling," crevel muttered. "what do you want, brother? hasten to inform me, in our saviour's name; for the air is very cold, and i must continue my orisons." "my wife and two children are ill, sister, and the reverend pater guardian of the carmelites recommended me to come and ask you for three bottles of your miraculous water." "good gracious!" the old woman exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with delight; "three bottles!" "yes, sister; and i will ask your permission to rest myself a moment, for i am so fatigued that i can scarce stand." "poor man!" the sister porter said, pityingly. "oh! it would really be an act of charity, sister." "señor dominique, pray be good enough to look about and see that there is no one in the street, for we are living in such bad times that it is impossible to take sufficient precautions." "there is nobody, sister," the banian answered, as he made his comrades a signal to hold themselves in readiness. "in that case, i will open." "heaven will reward you for it, sister." the creaking of a key in a lock could be heard, and the door opened. "come in quickly, brother," the nun said. but crevel had prudently withdrawn, and made way for diego. the latter seized the portress by the throat, and pressing her neck in both his hands like a vice, whispered in her ear-- "one word, wretch, and i kill you!" horror-struck by this sudden attack, the old woman fell back unconscious. "deuce take the old devil!" diego said, angrily; "who can guide us now?" he tried to recall the sister to her senses, but seeing that it was impossible to do so, he made a sign to his men, who had rushed into the convent after him, to gag her and bind her securely. then, after leaving two smugglers as sentries at the gate, he took the bunch of keys with which the portress was entrusted, and prepared to enter the building occupied by the nuns. it was no easy task to discover in this immense thebaïs the cell occupied by doña maria--for our readers will have understood that the object of the expedition attempted by diego, was to carry off that young lady. it remains for us now to explain what the half-breed intended to do with her, and by what reasons he had been urged to commit such a deed. we must say in the first place, that diego had the most lively desire to attach to his cause, leon, whom he knew to be a man of bravery and energy, and was urged to do so not only because he intended to give him a command in the araucano army, but also because he had no sooner parted with leon after the altercation which they had while escorting the family of general soto-mayor, than he regretted the rupture, now sought every means in his power to effect a reconciliation with leon, the only person in the world he loved. the first thing he did for this object was to grant leon what the latter had demanded so pressingly, the liberation of don juan, the old general's son. he knew that he must not dream of thwarting his friend's love for maria, and awaited the end of this love in order to act, thinking that the captain, at the moment when he saw himself on the point of being separated from her whom he loved, would not recoil from the idea of carrying her off. when he afterwards came across him in the half-burned hacienda, and delivered him from the false position in which he was placed, diego did not at all suspect that one of the females with him was no other than maria; and great was his surprise when the result of his enquiries told him that leon had himself conducted the young lady back to the convent of the purísima concepción. certain that delbès had only acted thus in obedience to the chivalrous promptings of his heart, and not wishing him to be the dupe of the honourable feelings which had dictated his conduct by losing maria for ever, the half-breed resolved to restore her to him in spite of himself by simply carrying her off; and he calculated that the rumours and scandal produced by such an event, would prevent the soto-mayor family from offering any opposition to the marriage. we see that although this reasoning was brutal, it was to a certain extent logical. now, in order to carry off maria, she must be found, and it was this that embarrassed diego and his men, once that they had entered the convent by stratagem. at the moment, however, when they were beginning to lose all hope, an incident produced by their inopportune presence came to their assistance. the smugglers had spread through the courtyards and cloisters, careless of the consequences which their invasion might produce, and with shouts and oaths seemed desirous of searching the convent from cellar to garret. the nuns, habituated to silence and calmness, were soon aroused to this disturbance, and believing that the fiend was the author of it, they hurriedly leaped from their beds, and, scarce clothed, ran to seek shelter in the cell of the abbess, while uttering heart-rending cries of terror. the latter lady, sharing the error of her sisters, had hurriedly dressed herself, and assembling her flock around her, advanced resolutely toward the spot whence the noise proceeded, holding in the one hand a holy water brush, and in the other her pastoral staff, with the intention of exorcising the demon. suddenly she perceived the smugglers, but ere she could utter a cry diego rushed toward her. "silence!" he said; "we do not intend you any harm; leave us alone." dumb with terror at the sight of so many armed men, the women stood as if petrified. all at once, diego noticed a novice who was clinging convulsively to her companions. "that is the girl!" he said to his men; "it is she whom i want!" and joining actions to words, he seized maria, while the other smugglers kept back the abbess and the other sisters, who were more dead than alive. two men gagged the young lady, and prepared to carry her off. "let us begone!" said diego. "villain!" the abbess at length exclaimed, thinking of the terrible account which she would have to render to general soto-mayor, "if you have the slightest fear of heaven, restore me that young lady!" "silence!" diego replied. and pointing a cocked pistol at the abbess, he forced her to be a spectatress of what was going on. at this moment, another young lady, with agitated features and garments in disorder, rushed toward the half-breed, and, clinging to him, shrieked despairingly-- "my sister!--give me back my sister!" diego turned, his eyes sparkled, and his face assumed an expression of hatred which made the nuns turn pale. "oh, oh!" he said, with a ferocious joy; "inez here?" "yes, i am inez de soto-mayor, and this is my sister; for mercy's sake, restore her to me." "your sister? yes, i will restore her to you, but not yet;" and seizing the poor girl in his powerful arms, he raised her in his arms, and threw her over his shoulder. "now, let us be off, my men," he shouted to the smugglers, who stood round him gloomy and silent, as if ashamed of their cowardly conduct. ten minutes later, no one remained in the convent but its peaceable inmates. once outside, diego ordered wilhelm and crevel to carry maria to the posada kept by the latter, with instructions to deposit her in the green room. then wrapping inez in a poncho, he entrusted her to two other smugglers, whom he led into a little lane, where a man on horseback was waiting. this done, he rejoined his band, who advanced prudently towards the calabozo, keeping in the shadow of the walls, and redoubling their precautions. this time they would not have to deal with harmless women, but with soldiers. and let us say it in praise of the men whom diego commanded, they were desirous of fighting with enemies capable of defending themselves, in order to expiate the disgraceful part which they had played in the affair of the convent. a sentry was walking up and down in front of the prison, and a cavalry picket was stationed a short distance off. the smugglers had dispersed, and anxiously waited till diego should form a decision. the latter was cursing the presence of the cavalry, and knew not what he had best do. all at once the prison gate opened: two torches gleamed in the obscurity, and diego saw the governor of valparaíso come out, and, at his side, captain leon delbès, with whom he was conversing. the half-breed made a sign to his men to conceal themselves in the doorways, and walked alone toward the two gentlemen, while feigning the movements of a belated passer-by. the torch bearers had re-entered the prison, and the governor was mounting his horse, and taking leave of leon. "i thank you, general," the latter said, "for the eagerness you have displayed in setting me at liberty." "on learning your arrest, captain, general soto-mayor hurried to tell me that he would be answerable for you, and to beg me to release you from prison, which i should have done sooner had i not been compelled to be absent from valparaíso the whole day, for an affair of the highest importance." "pray believe, general, in my deep gratitude." "do not forget, if any misadventure were again to happen to you, to apply to me, and i will hasten to come to your aid." leon bowed his thanks for the last time, and the two gentlemen parted. the general, followed by his escort, returned to the palace, and leon walked toward the calle san agostino. he had not gone twenty yards when he came face to face with diego, who had turned back to meet him. "good evening, leon," he said to him. "diego! you here! what do you want here, imprudent man?" "i came to save you, but i see that you do not require my assistance, and i congratulate you on it." "thanks, brother!" leon answered, with emotion. "as you see, i am free." "in that case, i have only to withdraw with the men who joined me for this enterprise." the smugglers had left their lurking places, and thronged round their captain. "thanks, my friends, thanks for what you intended to do. i shall not forget it." "now," diego continued, "i have nothing more to do here, and so i am off. good-bye, leon; you will soon hear from me." "what! are you going?" "to join my friends. and you?" "i intend to remain at valparaíso." "good! i need not repeat that, whenever you like to join us, you have only to come." "thanks, brother! i have not forgotten it." "once again, good-bye." "let me at least accompany you." "no; do you go to crevel's, for your presence may be necessary there." "what do you mean by that?" "you will soon learn." and, without further explanation, diego proceeded to the spot where the smugglers who guarded inez were waiting for him. the man on horseback dismounted. diego took his place, and, throwing inez across the saddle, he dashed off at full speed along the santiago road, shouting-- "each his share! i have mine!" the two smugglers rejoined their comrades, and then the band divided in two parts: one moiety returned to dominique, the italian's, where they were lodged, while careful to hide from their landlord the compromising part which crevel had thought proper to make him play in the drama at the convent. the other smugglers scattered about the obscure hostelries of which there were such a large number on the almendral. chapter xxviii. an indian vengeance. it was a frightful thing to see diego's headlong gallop along the road from valparaíso to santiago. in the shadows of the night, the shapeless group of the horse, and the two human beings it bore, made the sparks fly out of the pebbles on the road. the animal's powerful hoofs bounded along, pounding everything that they settled on, while its outstretched head cleft the air. its ears were erect, and from its open nostrils issued jets of steam which traced long white tracks in the darkness. the horse dashed along, uttering snorts of pain, and biting between its clenched teeth the bit which was covered with foam, while blood and perspiration poured from its flanks, which were torn by the spurs of its impatient rider. and the greater its speed grew, the more diego tortured it, and tried to make it go faster. the trees, the houses, and rocks disappeared with an extraordinary rapidity on either side of the road. inez, half dead at the moment when the half-breed dragged her from the convent, felt herself recalled to life by the movement which the horse imparted to her body. her long hair trailed in the dust, and her eyes, raised to heaven, were bathed in tears of despair, grief, and powerlessness. at the risk of dashing out her brains against the stones, she made extraordinary efforts to escape from her ravisher's arms. but the latter, fixing on her a glance whose expression revealed ferocious joy and lubricity, did not appear to notice the horror which he caused the maiden; or rather, he appeared to derive from it a source of indescribable pleasure. his contracted lips remained dumb, and only at intervals allowed a shrill whistle to pass, destined to redouble the ardour of his steed, which, exasperated by the pressure of its rider, hardly touched the ground, as it were, and devoured the space like the fantastic courser in the german ballad. "stay, child," diego said, suddenly, as he raised inez on his horse's neck, and compelled her to look at a country house which they were passing; "here is your father's house, the haughty general soto-mayor, call him to your assistance." and a savage grin succeeded these words. "father!" the maiden cried, whom he had freed from her gag--"father!--father!" this cry died away in hollow echoes, and the house disappeared again in the dizziness of this mad ride and the horse still galloped on. suddenly inez, collecting all her strength, leaped forward with such vivacity that her feet were already touching the ground, but diego was on his guard, and ere she had regained her balance, he stooped down without checking his horse, and seizing the maiden by her long hair, he raised her, and placed her again before him. a sob burst from inez' chest, and she fainted. "oh! you will not escape me," the half-breed shouted; "i have you, and no one in the world will be able to tear you from my hands!" in the meanwhile, day had succeeded darkness; the sun rose in all its splendour, and myriads of birds saluted the return of the light by their joyous carols. nature was awakening gaily, and the sky of a transparent azure, promised one of those lovely days which the blessed climate of south america has alone the privilege of offering. a fertile and deliciously diversified landscape stretched out on either side of the road, and became blended with the horizon. the maiden's lifeless body hung on either side of the horse, following all the joltings which it imparted; with her head thrown back, and covered with a livid pallor, eyes closed, lips blanched and parted, teeth clenched, neck bare, and bosom heaving, she palpitated under the large hand of the vaquero, which pressed heavily upon her. at length they reached a devastated hacienda, in which a hundred indians, painted for war, were encamped. tahi-mari gave a signal, and a horse was brought him. it was high time, for the one which had borne him from valparaíso hardly halted ere it fell, pouring from mouth, nostrils, and ears a flood of black thick blood. diego got into the saddle again, caught up the maiden in his arms, and prepared to continue his journey. the indians, who doubtless only awaited the coming of their chief, imitated his example, after throwing a few flaming logs upon the roof of the hacienda, in order to leave a trace of their passage. ere long the whole band, at the head of which diego placed himself, dashed forward, surrounded by the cloud of dust which they raised. after a few hours' ride, whose rapidity surpasses all description, the indians saw the lofty steeples of the capital of chili standing out on the horizon, beneath a cloud of smoke and fog which hung over the city. the araucanos turned slightly to the left, galloping through the fields, and trampling down the rich crops that covered them. in about half an hour they reached the first indian sentries, and they soon found themselves within the camp of the twelve molucho tribes. let us examine for a moment the state in which the war was. as we have already said, after several sanguinary combats, the chilians, suddenly attacked by the araucanos, who had invaded their territories on all sides at once, to the number of , , had been, in spite of prodigies of valour, completely defeated and compelled to retreat. the moluchos had surprised their enemies without giving them time to assemble. the population of chili was only composed, at that time, of two million and a half, scattered over a territory of vast extent, nearly as large as germany. the towns are very remote from each other, and the means of transport are almost unknown. we can therefore understand the difficult position in which the besieged found themselves. the chilian army, which should be composed of , men, never consists of more than , , scattered through distant garrisons; and for that very reason it is very difficult to assemble it under pressing circumstances. the soldiers, usually recruited by force, are, as a rule, thorough scamps, whom peaceful people fear as much as the indians, for they know that when they pass into a province they plunder, burn, and violate absolutely as if they were in a conquered country. hence the government only quarters a very small number in the great centres of population, removes them as far as possible, and subdivides them so as to be able to keep them under more easily, and never allows a whole regiment to remain in the same province at once. what became of this organization when the araucanos declared war? the chilian government, attacked simultaneously on all sides, was unable, in spite of all its efforts, to collect a force sufficiently imposing to boldly face the indians and drive them back. hence, the only chance was to check their advance by harassing them and having outpost fights, by means of which it was hoped that they might be discouraged, and induced to return to their forest fastnesses. these tactics were certainly good, and had often been employed successfully. this time again they would have, in all probability, succeeded, through the military science and discipline of the spaniards, if they had not had to contend against this countless mass of indians, and above all, if the latter had not been commanded by tahi-mari. the molucho chief had not indulged in idle boasting when he told the ulmens of the twelve nations that he was acquainted with all the resources of the spaniards, and was certain of conquering them. in fact, after dashing on valdivia like a starving tiger on the prey it covets, his road as far as santiago had been one triumphant progress, in which he overthrew, destroyed, and plundered everything, and left behind him a long sanguinary track, marked at intervals by numerous horribly mutilated spanish corpses. advancing with a sword in one hand and a torch in the other, this modern attila wished to reconquer the chilian territory by wading up to his knees in spanish blood. nothing was sacred to him, neither age nor sex; old people, women and children, were pitilessly tortured. the twenty years which he had spent in traversing the various countries of america had proved of service to him, by familiarizing him with strategic ideas and the mode of employing military forces, through watching the manoeuvres and exercises of the spanish armies, whose entire strength consisted in skilful tactics. tahi-mari's first care, therefore, was to employ the ideas which he had acquired in introducing a species of discipline in the ranks of the moluchos. the chilians no longer understood the method of fighting the indians. they no longer had the skirmishes to which they were accustomed, but real battles, fought according to all the rules of warfare, whose observance on the part of araucanos beyond measure surprised them. in this way victors and vanquished had arrived beneath the walls of santiago. the indians, after pushing on a reconnoisance even in the suburbs of the city, had boldly halted a short distance from its gates, and were bravely preparing for a storm. a frightful terror had seized on the inhabitants of santiago. the richer emigrated in crowds, while the rest prepared, like the troops, to offer a vigorous resistance. the president of the republic had smiled disdainfully, when he saw from the ramparts the enemy getting ready for a serious attack; but when he had distinguished the perfect concord with which this multitude acted--with what skill the posts were established--taking advantage of the slightest accident of ground, and only operating with the most consummate prudence; selecting with discernment the weakest spots of the fortress, and holding the river mapucho above and below the city, so as to let no succour or provisions reach it--his forehead became wrinkled with anxiety, and a deadly fear seized upon him; for he understood that his enemies were guided by an experienced chief, whose military genius would easily overcome the obstacles opposed to him, if time were granted him to take his measures and establish himself securely in the position which he occupied. it was then that the president of the republic, no longer doubting the imminence of the danger which the country was incurring, made an energetic appeal to the patriotism of the chilians; an appeal to which they responded enthusiastically by hurrying up from all sides to range themselves under his banner. but time was needed for this succour to arrive, and to come the enormous distances that separated it from the capital. in order to gain this time, the president feigned a desire to treat with the indians, and pave the way for negotiations. the redskins had established their camp in the smoking ruins of the charming country houses which surrounded the city, and whose magnificent gardens, now, alas! devastated, seemed to make santiago stand out from a basket of flowers. nothing could be conceived so filthy, repulsive, and frightful as the appearance of this camp, forming a girdle round the city. it was hopeless to look for parallels or covered ways; not even a sentry could be seen watching over the common safety. the camp was open on both sides, and at first sight it might have been supposed deserted, had not the dense smoke rising from the wigwams, made of branches and erected without any apparent order, proved that it was inhabited. a gloomy silence prevailed day and night in this strange camp, and no human being was visible there. the chilians, though thoroughly acquainted with the crafty character of their enemies, had allowed themselves to be trapped by this semblance of neglect and carelessness. two days after the moluchos sat down before the city, a strong chilian patrol, consisting of two hundred resolute men, left the city about midnight; and, deadening the sound of their footsteps as far as possible, advanced into the very centre of the camp without being disquieted. everybody seemed asleep, and no sentinel had given the alarm. the leader of the expedition, satisfied with the result which he fancied he had obtained, was preparing to return to santiago to report the result of his reconnoisance to the besieged, when, on turning back, he found every line of retreat interrupted, and a countless swarm of indians surrounding him. the officer who had fallen into the trap did the only thing that was left him: he fell bravely at the head of the men whom he commanded. on the next morning, at sunrise, two hundred heads, scalped and horribly disfigured, were thrown by the moluchos over the walls of santiago. the chilian spaniards took the hint, and did not repeat the experiment. when tahi-mari entered the camp with his band, the indians flocked up tumultuously, and received him with loud yells of delight. he made them a sign of thanks, and without checking his pace, went toward his lodge, in the doorway of which shounon-kouiretzi, crouching on his heels, was gravely smoking. on seeing the commander he said-- "tahi-mari is a great chief; is he contented with his journey?" "yes," diego replied, laconically. "my brother will watch at my door, and allow no one to enter." "my brother can trust to me; no one shall enter." and the indian began smoking again, impassively. diego went in, carrying inez, wrapped up in a poncho. after removing her bonds, he laid her on some sheepskins, thrown in a corner of the hut, which served him as a bed. then he fetched a calabash of water and dashed the contents in her face, but inez still remained motionless. on seeing this, diego bent down and devoted to her the greatest attention, in order to recall her to her senses; anxiously consulting her pulse, raising her in his arms, tapping her hands, and employing, in a word, all the means usual for restoring a fainting person. for a long time his efforts were sterile, and life seemed to have abandoned the poor girl for ever. "can she be dead?" diego muttered. and he began attending to her again. at length a sigh burst from inez's bosom, she languishingly opened her eyes and uttered a few broken words in a faint voice. all at once she rose. "where am i?" she screamed. diego, without answering, fell back into a dark corner of the lodge, and fixed a serpent glance upon her. "where am i?" she repeated. "maria! sister! how i am suffering! oh, heaven!" her memory gradually returned, and everything flooded back to her mind. then a shudder of terror agitated all her limbs, her haggard eyes wandered around, and she perceived diego. "oh, that man!" she said, as she hid her face in her hands. "i am lost! great god, i am lost!" diego issued from his corner, and with his eyes fixed on her, slowly advanced toward her. fascinated by the half-breed's sparkling glance, she fell back step by step, with her arms stretched out, and displaying signs of the most violent terror. "leave me, leave me!" she murmured. she thus reached the walls of the hut, clung to the intertwined branches, and stood motionless, while still looking at her persecutor, who walked toward her with an ironical smile. "leave me!" she repeated, unable to offer diego any other resistance but her tears and her despair. but he was not the man to be affected. "leave you!" he answered; "do you fancy that i brought you all this distance to restore you innocent and pure to those who are dear to you? undeceive yourself; henceforth you belong to me, and you will not leave this spot till you have nothing left to refuse me." "oh, mother, mother!" "your mother is dead, and no one can come to your assistance--do you hear; no one?" "in that case, kill me," inez cried, as she threw herself at the half-breed's feet. "no! it is your honour, not your life, that i must have." "but what have i done to you? great heaven, i am only a poor girl, and you cannot be so cruel to me without a motive." "no, you have done nothing to me, and i feel for you neither hatred nor love; but you are the daughter of general soto-mayor. your family dishonoured mine, and you will be dishonoured to expiate the crimes of your relatives." "oh, that is frightful; you will not act thus, because you know very well that i am innocent." "your ancestor dishonoured the wife of my grandfather, and she has still to be avenged." "mercy, mercy!" "no! eye for eye, and tooth for tooth!--for you the shame, for me the vengeance!" "in your mother's name, pity!" "my mother!" this word produced such an impression on the half-breed that he bounded with rage, and his face assumed a fresh expression of rage and fury. "ah, you speak to me of my mother! mad girl! you do not know, then, that she found herself one day in the path of a soto-mayor, and that he brutally and cowardly plunged her into ignominy in order to satisfy a moment of brutal desire?" "oh, heavens!" inez sobbed. "you do not know that while the poor woman was grovelling in despair at his feet, and imploring him, in the name of her god, to spare her, the villain laughed and caught her in his arms. do you now understand why i forbid you invoking my mother's name?" "oh, i am lost!" inez said, broken-hearted. "for the man who avenges himself on the child of his enemy has no heart." "yes, you are lost! but if you fancy that my revenge, in seizing you, has spared your father, you are mistaken, for he died by my hand." "woe! woe!" the girl shrieked, mad with grief. "yes, crushed by my blows, as i will crush all those of your race! no, you will not escape me! it is now your turn to cry and groan--your turn to implore in vain." and, with the howl of a wild beast, the indian, whose eyes were bloodshot, and his mouth foaming, rushed frenziedly at inez and hurled her back on the sheepskins. then ensued a horrible and nameless struggle, in which the groans of the victim were mingled with the wild panting of the savage. inez resisted with the violence of despair, but soon, crushed by the half-breed's grasp, she lay helpless, left to the mercy of the man who had sworn her dishonour. * * * * "brother," said long-scalp, appearing in the doorway, "two spanish chiefs, followed by several lanceros have come to offer propositions of peace to the toqui of the twelve nations." "who are the chiefs?" diego asked. "general don pedro and colonel don juan de soto-mayor," the indian replied. a smile of triumph played round the half-breed's lips. "let them come! let them come!" he said. "does my brother, tahi-mari, consent to receive them?" "yes," diego continued, assuming his indian stoicism. "my brother will assemble the great chiefs around the council-fire, and i will come thither." shounon-kouiretzi bowed and retired. "the betrothed and the brother. they have arrived too late," diego said, so soon as he was alone. and he left the hut, in order to preside at the council. inez was motionless on the couch of tahi-mari, the great chief of the araucanos. chapter xxix. the green room. after wrapping himself carefully in his cloak, leon pensively went along the streets leading to crevel's inn. diego's last words incessantly reverted to his mind, and he asked himself why the indian had recommended him so eagerly to proceed to the posada. another peculiarity, also, kept his mind on the rack; he had seen diego take from the hands of the people waiting for him a large parcel which had all the appearance of a human body. he had also fancied that he heard a dull and plaintive groan from this bundle. "what could it be?" leon asked himself in vain. at length he reached the calle san agostino. the door of crevel's inn was ajar, and a bright light illumined the interior. leon went in. crevel, seated at his bar, was talking in a low voice with wilhelm, who, with his arms leaning on the chimney, was probably telling him some improper anecdotes, for the two men were laughing most heartily. the unforeseen arrival of the captain alone arrested the flow of their hilarity, and they exchanged a meaning glance which did not escape leon. "still up!" the latter said. "we were waiting for you, captain," crevel answered. "thanks; but i would advise you to extinguish your lights, for people might be surprised at seeing them so late." "that is quite true," said the landlord. "give me the key of the green room," leon continued. "i need rest, and i will throw myself on the bed for an hour." crevel and wilhelm looked at each other again, and winked in a most peculiar way. "did you hear me?" leon resumed. "oh, perfectly, captain," the landlord replied. "you can go up, the key is in the door." "very good; in that case give me a light." "you do not require it, for there is one in the room." "ah! now i see that you really did expect me." "eh, eh, i am not the only one." "what do you mean?" "i? nothing, captain. go up and you will see." "see what?" "i beg your pardon, captain, i forgot that it did not concern me, and that--" "come, master crevel, will you have finished soon or not? of whom and of what are you speaking? make haste and explain yourself." "why of the little señorita up there--by the gods!" "a woman in my room! tell me, wilhelm, do you know what crevel is talking about?" "well, captain, you must know that--well--since--" "ah! i really believe that it would have been wiser to go upstairs and look for myself, you scoundrels." and he prepared to ascend the stairs. "ah!" he said turning round and addressing wilhelm; "do not stir from here without my orders, my boy, for i may want you." "that is sufficient, captain." leon went out of the room, and, as he did so, heard the landlord, who was fastening his door, say to the german-- "the captain is a lucky fellow." "that comes of being good-looking, señor crevel," the other replied. more and more puzzled, the captain continued to ascend, and soon stood before the door of the green room. crevel had told the truth, the key was in it, and a light could be seen gleaming through the cracks. the greatest silence, however, prevailed inside. after a moment's hesitation, the young man turned the key and entered, but at the first step he took he stopped and uttered a cry of surprise. a young lady, seated in a chair, and dressed in the white garb of the novices of the purísima concepción, was sobbing and hiding her face in her hands. at the captain's cry, the girl started and quickly raised her head--it was maria de soto-mayor. leon dared not believe his eyes. maria in the green room! how did she happen to be here in the middle of the night? what could have happened? by what concourse of extraordinary events could she expect his coming? wild with delight at this sudden apparition, the captain fell on his knees, murmuring-- "oh, niña! bless you for being here." and he tried to seize her hand and press it to his burning lips. maria leaped out of the chair in which she was seated, and flashed at him a glance of supreme disdain. "whence, sir," she said, "do you derive the audacity to present yourself thus to me?" "señorita!" leon said, surprised and discountenanced by maria's hurried movement. "leave the room, sir," she continued, "and spare me at least the shame of listening to your remarks." "good heaven!" leon exclaimed, who began to suspect some infamous machination; "what have i done that you should treat me in this way?" "you ask me what you have done? in truth, i do not know whether i am dreaming? would you learn it from me, then, and pretend not to know?" "oh, maria! i am ignorant of the meaning of this: but on my mother's soul, i swear that a thought of insulting you never crossed my mind." "in that case, sir, how do you explain your unworthy conduct?" "i do not know to what you are alluding." "your presence here, sir, is a sufficient proof that you expected to find me here, even if you thought proper to deny your share in the abominable scandal which you have caused. ah, leon! could i suppose that you would offer me this outrage by publicly dishonouring me?" "oh!" leon exclaimed, "there is some infernal mystery in all this. maria, once again i swear to you that your every word is an enigma, and i ask you how it comes that i find you in this inn room when i believed you at the convent of the conception?" maria felt her convictions shaken by the accent of truth with which these words were imprinted: still, being unable to believe in the smuggler's innocence--so long as it seemed to her impossible that any other than he should have dreamed of tearing her from the convent--she resumed, though in certainly a milder tone-- "listen, leon. up to this day i believed you a man full of honour and loyalty. now the action which you have committed is infamous; but tell me that it was suggested to you by some wicked creatures. tell me that you have obeyed an evil inspiration, and though i could not forgive you, for you have ruined me, i would try to forget and pray heaven to efface your image from my heart. for mercy's sake let us leave this den as quickly as possible, and do not prolong a captivity which covers me with infamy." "do you want to drive me mad? good heaven! what can have happened during the hour since i left prison?" "prison!" "yes, señorita, the day before yesterday, after the visit which i paid you in the general's company, i was arrested and taken to the calabozo, whence i was released scarce an hour ago." "can that be true?" "yes, on my honour." "but, in that case, on whose authority did the man act who entered the convent at the head of his bandits and carried me off by main force?" "oh, heavens!" said leon, "that man! oh, i understand it all now. tell me, maria, did you recognise his features?" "stay--yes, yes, it was certainly he." "who?" "your friend, who accompanied us on the journey to valdivia." "diego!" leon exclaimed. "yes, diego." "oh, woe upon him, then!" and seizing the bell rope he rang violently. in about a quarter of an hour, crevel thrust a startled face through the half-open door. "do you want anything, captain?" "yes; send up wilhelm at once." the banian disappeared. leon, suffering from a furious agitation, walked up and down the room displaying all the signs of a passion on the point of exploding. his face was pale; his muscles were contracted, and his eyes flashed fire. wilhelm came in. at the sight of him maria gave a start of terror, but leon reassured her. "fear nothing, señorita; you are under my protection." the german understood that he had committed some folly. "wilhelm," leon said to him, fixing on him a scrutinizing glance, "listen carefully to what i am going to say to you, and answer me." "very good, captain." "where did you go the day before yesterday, after my arrest?" "to rio claro, to find the lieutenant." "what did he say to you?" "he told me that he wished to deliver you, and gave me the meeting for last night at ten o'clock." "he came here? what next?" "next, captain," the german said, twisting his hat between his fingers. "well, it was--" "speak the truth; i insist on it." "well, the whole band was assembled." "and what did you do?" "lieutenant diego told us that you loved a novice in the convent of the purísima concepción, that he had sworn to make her yours, and we must carry her off." "and then?" "then he led us thither, and by his orders we carried off the señora and brought her here to crevel's, while diego went off with another girl." "another, do you say?" "oh, heaven!" maria exclaimed. "but who was it? will you answer?" leon commanded him, with a rough shake. "on my word, captain, it was doña inez, the sister of doña maria." "malediction!" leon said, furiously. "oh, my sister!--my poor sister!" "the infamous fellow!" the young man continued; "what frightful treachery! henceforth all ties are broken between us. this, then, was the vengeance he coveted!" then, addressing the german, who was looking at him anxiously, he said-- "wilhelm, there is not a moment to lose; assemble our men, and let them all be here within an hour." "all right, captain." and the german dashed down the stairs at a tremendous pace. leon then turned to maria, who was sobbing. "courage, señora. i cannot take you back to the convent, where you would no longer be in safety; but will you join your father at santiago?" "do not abandon me, leon, i implore you," she answered. "you alone can protect me. oh, my poor sister!" "if i cannot save her, i will avenge her in an exemplary manner." the maiden no longer heard him. absorbed in her grief, she dreamed of the fatality which had weighed on her ever since the day when her eyes first met leon, and derived from them the love which was destined to change the calm life which she led at the convent into such terrible trials. still, on seeing near her leon--whose eagerness in lavishing attentions on her was incessant--she gave him a look of ineffable sweetness, while asking his forgiveness for having suspected him of complicity in the outrage of which she had been the victim. "maria," leon said in reply, as he covered her hand with kisses, "do you not know that i would joyfully sacrifice my life at a sign from you?" "forgive me, leon, for i should die if your love ceased to be as noble and pure as your heart." "my love, maria, is submissive to your wishes; it is the most fervent worship--the purifying flame." "leon, my sister is perhaps at this time abandoned defencelessly to the insults of her cowardly ravisher." "let me first restore you to your father, and then i will do all in my power to save your sister." "what do i not owe you for so much devotion?" "have you not told me that you loved me?" "yes, leon, i love you, and am proud of it." "oh, thanks!--thanks, maria! god will bless our love, and i soon hope to tell your father of it. may he but approve of it." "does he not owe to you the life of his children? oh, when i tell him how i love you, and how generous your conduct has been, be assured that he, too, will love you." while the two young people were indulging in dreams of happiness and the future, wilhelm was executing the captain's orders, and crevel's posada was again filled by the members of the band. an hour had not elapsed when he came to tell leon that everything was ready for departure. "in that case," leon said to him, "all you have to do is to select the best horse you can find in the landlord's corral, and get it ready for señorita maria." "all right, captain," wilhelm answered, who knew no phrase better fitted to display his obedience than the one which he habitually used. "all along the road to santiago you and joaquin will keep constantly by her side, and watch her carefully so that no accident may happen to her. do you understand?" "yes, captain." "in that case make haste, and here is something to hasten your movements," leon continued, taking from his pocket some onzas and handing them to the german. "thanks, captain. you can come down with the niña whenever you like, for we shall be ready in a moment." very shortly after, in truth, wilhelm was standing before the inn door, holding two horses--one for leon, the other for maria. when left alone with the latter, the captain took from under his cloak a large black manta, which he threw over the young lady's shoulders, and pulled the hood over her face. "now," he said to her, "let us go." "i follow you," maria answered. leaning on the young man's arm, she cautiously descended the stairs, and found herself in the midst of the smugglers who had invaded the convent. but, knowing that she was in perfect safety by leon's side, she manifested neither surprise nor fear. assisted by him, she mounted her horse, seized the reins, and placed herself resolutely in the first rank between wilhelm and joaquin. the captain, after giving a final glance at his band, to assure himself that everything was in order, leapt upon the back of his mustang, and gave the order to start. the smugglers then proceeded at a sharp trot across the almendral in order to reach the santiago road. chapter xxx. the confession. general soto-mayor had been hurriedly raised by the volunteers, whom the report of the two pistol shots had attracted to his room, a surgeon attached to the reinforcing column was summoned, and hastened to dress the old gentleman's frightful wounds. the terrible pain which the scalping caused him, and the immense quantity of blood he had lost, had plunged him into a profound fainting fit, from which it seemed impossible for him to recover. upwards of three hours passed before he gave any signs of life. at length a faint sigh issued from his oppressed chest: he made a slight movement, his eyes opened slightly, and he muttered in a low and broken voice-- "something to drink." a servant brought him a bowl filled with a potion prepared by the doctor. "oh!" he said, a moment after, "my head is burning; what frightful pain!" the surgeon begged him to be silent, administered a second potion, and a few minutes after the patient's eyes closed. he had fallen asleep. "that is what i wanted," the surgeon said, as he felt his pulse and looked at him attentively. "well, doctor," an officer asked, "what do you think of the general's state?" "i cannot say anything about it yet, gentlemen," he answered, addressing the persons who surrounded the old gentleman's bed; "his wounds are very serious, and yet i do not believe them mortal. we have numerous examples of scalped persons who have been perfectly cured. hence it is not the wound on the head that alarms me the most, although it is the most painful. tomorrow, as soon as i have removed the bandages, i shall be able to tell you what we have to fear or hope. now, be kind enough to withdraw; thanks to the potion, the general is enjoying a calm sleep, but the slightest noise might disturb him. i will instal myself at his bedside, and not stir till he is either dead or saved." upon this the doctor dismissed all the persons who filled the room, drew an armchair up to the bed, sat down in it in the most comfortable posture, took a book from his pocket, and prepared to spend the night as well as he could in reading. the peons accompanying the general, on seeing their master in so pitiable a state, unloaded the baggage and carried it into the casa. then each resumed possession of his lodging, while congratulating himself in his heart at being no longer compelled to expose himself to the dangers of war. after the misfortune which occurred to the general, the officer who took the command of the volunteers in his place sent out heavy patrols in all directions in pursuit of the indians; but their search had no result, and they returned one after the other without discovering the slightest sign which could put them on the track of the assassins. they were, therefore, obliged to give up for the present all thoughts of taking vengeance for the odious attack which had been committed on the person of general soto-mayor. still this affair exerted a salutary influence over the mind of the volunteers. at the sight of so terrible a fact as the one which had just occurred, they understood how necessary prudence was when engaged with enemies so invisible and formidable as the indians. they, therefore, began subjecting themselves to the claims of discipline. in consequence, they ceased their cries and songs, and fulfilled their military duties much more seriously than they had hitherto done. the rest of the night passed away calmly and peaceably, and with the exception of two or three false alarms which the sentries in their inexperience gave, nothing happened to disturb the tranquillity of the volunteers encamped under the walls of the casa de campos. at sunrise, when the country illumined by the hot beams had lost the sinister and gloomy aspect which darkness imparted to it, the chilians, who, without confessing it, had been in a state of real terror, gradually regained courage and recommenced their gasconade, though it was moderated by the recollections of the night. at about eight in the morning the general woke up, and though he was very low and his weakness was extreme, the long sleep which he had enjoyed seemed to have greatly relieved his sufferings. the doctor, after carefully counting his pulse, began removing the bandages which he had placed. the appearance of the wounds was excellent; the flesh offered no extraordinary signs of inflammation--in a word, the patient was going on as well as could be expected. the wounds were washed, fresh bandages put on, and another potion made the general fall back almost immediately into the lethargic sleep from which he had roused himself. when midday came, the suppurating fever set in with great intensity. the old man uttered inarticulate cries, made fearful efforts to leap out of bed, and talked with extraordinary vivacity, making unconnected remarks, whose meaning it was impossible to understand. the names of diego, of tahi-mari, and of the different members of his family incessantly returned. the general was evidently suffering from some horrible delirium aroused by the terrible scene of which he had been the victim on the previous evening. four powerful men were scarce sufficient to keep him down in his bed. from three to four o'clock in the afternoon an improvement took place; the fever relaxed, the sick man's eyes lost that frightful stare and expression of wildness which terrified his attendants. he recognised his domestics, the doctor waiting on him, and even the officers who surrounded him. everything led to the hope that the general would be saved; such at least was the opinion of the surgeon, who expressed it loudly. at about six o'clock, the officers whom the general had dispatched to santiago, returned to the country house, bearing the instructions of the president of the republic. the officer who commanded the expedition in the general's place, opened and read them. they were formal. the president gave orders to general soto-mayor to proceed by forced marches on the capital, which was in the greatest peril: he added that he could send him no officers, in spite of his urgent request, and concluded by requesting the general to read the despatch to the soldiers, in order to make them understand how much he reckoned on their patriotism in answering the appeal of the menaced country. the officer intrusted with the interim command obeyed the orders which he received. he assembled the troops, read to them in a loud voice the contents of the despatch, and made them a short speech, in which, while exalting the powerful help which they might afford to the inhabitants of santiago, he asked whether he could really reckon on them. a universal and enthusiastic outburst was the response to the general's speech, and immediate preparations were made for the departure. the commandant--who did not wish to abandon general soto-mayor defencelessly in his house, which was open to all comers, and might at any moment be invaded by the indians--chose from among his volunteers fifty men, to whom he entrusted the defence of the casa, after exhorting them to behave properly, and placing them under the command of an alférez. then, this duty fulfilled, he took leave of the surgeon, after recommending him to neglect nothing in restoring the general's health, and took the road to santiago at the head of his volunteers. the night passed without any incidents worthy of record. the men left in charge of the house had closed the gates and had entrenched themselves in the interior. toward morning they heard the sound of a horse galloping at full speed. they had scarce time to notice the rider, who departed rapidly, after halting for an instant before the house. some inarticulate sounds reached the ears of the sentries, but before the latter could think of challenging, horse and rider were a long distance off. it was diego returning to santiago with his victim. the general's state was satisfactory; the fever had considerably decreased, the wounds continued to offer the most favourable aspect, and with the exception of the atrocious sufferings he felt in his head, the old gentleman had regained a little calmness. suddenly a loud sound of horses was heard on the road, and a servant hastened into the sick man's chamber, announcing that captain leon delbès had just arrived, and had important news to communicate to the general. the surgeon tried to oppose the interview which leon requested, alleging that his patient needed absolute repose; but, on the repeated entreaties of the latter, he was obliged to consent, though resolved to put a stop to it whenever he thought it advisable. the captain, as we know, had left valparaíso in the company of maria, with the intention of proceeding under the escort of his band to santiago, where he expected to find the general. but, while passing in front of the country house, he was astonished at seeing; the gates open, and a picket of lanceros in the courtyard. not knowing to what to attribute the warlike appearance which this peaceful mansion had assumed, he halted his band and went up to the gate for the purpose of enquiring. the old manservant, who had been left as guardian, and had admitted his master two days previously, was at this very moment occupied in front of the house, and leon questioned him. the worthy man then told him in the fullest details the assassination attempted on the person of his master, and the hopeless efforts which had been made to discover the perpetrators. on listening to the narrative, the captain trembled and guessed at once that diego must have passed that way. in truth he was the only man he knew capable of committing a similar crime and surrounding it with such mystery. moreover, the project of vengeance which diego nourished against the soto-mayor family, sufficiently indicated him to leon for the latter to entertain no doubt as to his guilt. locking up in his bosom the feeling of horror which the half-breed's deed inspired him with, the captain returned to maria to announce to her that her father, rather seriously wounded, was at the moment at the casa de campos, and hence it was unnecessary to go farther, and if she saw no inconvenience, he would at once place her in his hands. the young lady who, in following leon, had no other object but to join her father and place herself under his protection, begged to be at once led to him. but, on leon remarking that her unexpected presence might be fatal to the general, by causing him too lively an emotion, she consented that leon should warn him first. the captain led his band into the courtyard, and then sent a footman to the old gentleman to request an interview. when he entered the general's bedroom, and found him lying on a bed of pain, with his head wrapped up and his face more livid than that of a dying man, he felt affected by the deepest compassion. it was in fact a melancholy sight to see this old man, who had but a few days previously been so strong and robust, now broken by suffering and lying there horribly mutilated. "señor don juan, it is i, leon delbès," he said, addressing the wounded man. the general offered him his left hand, and a smile played round his bloodless lips. "have you any new misfortune to announce to me, captain?" the old man said, in an almost unintelligible voice. "speak--speak." leon started at the sound of this faint voice, and held his tongue, not daring to tell an unhappy man who was on the brink of the grave of the new misfortune which had fallen on him without his knowledge. the general noticed the young man's agitation, and felt that he had guessed aright. "it concerns my daughters, does it not?" "yes, general," leon replied, hanging his head sadly. "are they dead?" the old man asked, with a tremor in his voice. the surgeon read in his face the nature of the feelings he was undergoing, and seemed to fear the captain's answer, but the latter hastened to speak. "no, general, they are alive, and one of them accompanies me." "but the other?" "is no longer in valparaíso." "what has happened, then, at the convent of the conception?--speak." "it has been attacked, general." "i understand," the old man said, "one of my daughters has fallen again into the hands of the indians--the name of her who is left me?" "doña maria, general!" "and it is again you who restore her to me, my friend. thank you, and heaven grant that i may soon be able to reward you in the way you deserve." leon gave a gesture of refusal. "oh! i know how a noble heart like yours should be rewarded." leon bowed and made no answer. "but, for mercy's sake, tell me what you know with reference to inez, and do not be afraid of grieving me, for i am resigned to undergo all the misfortunes which god may send me as an expiation for my sins." the young man then told him of the rape of maria's sister, while carefully holding his tongue as to the circumstances under which he had recovered the other young lady. then he told him of his intention of going to santiago to find diego, in whose power inez was. on hearing that it was tahi-mari, who had robbed him of his child, the general, in spite of his courage, felt tears of grief bedew his eyes. "o god!" he exclaimed, "punish me if i have offended you, and i will bow my head beneath the punishment but will you allow this man, this villain, to heap up crime upon crime, to strip me of what i hold the dearest?" there was a moment's silence, which the old gentleman was the first to interrupt. "my friend," he said to leon, "you told me that maria had been saved by you, and yet i do not see her." "she awaits your permission to present herself to you, general." "let her come--let her come!" a peon was ordered to go and fetch maria, who was kneeling in her mother's room, and soon after, the maiden was standing before her father; but on seeing the condition in which the murderer had left him, she could only sob. the old man made a sign that he wished to embrace her. "my daughter," he said, after pressing his lips on the novice's virgin forehead, "since the walls of a convent have not protected you from the fury of my enemies, and i know not whether i shall ever see my other children again, you will henceforth remain with me, if," he added, "heaven grant me the strength to live." "oh, thanks, father--thanks! for the convent is death, and i wish to live to love and cherish you." "what do you say?" "forgive me, father, but i suffered so deeply at being separated from those whom i love." "this is strange! and yet your sister inez asked three days ago to speak to me in private, and asked my permission to take the veil in the convent of the conception, as she was determined not to marry don sallazar, who loves her. i believed that it was you, child, who had persuaded her to this." "oh, no!" maria murmured. the doctor, who had hitherto contented himself with displaying the dissatisfaction which he felt on seeing the general fatigue himself with talking, thought it prudent not to allow the interview to go on, and made an observation to that effect. "thanks, doctor," said the general, "for the interest you take in my cure." "general," said leon, "the doctor is right; my presence is no longer necessary here. i will hasten to santiago, and ere long i hope you shall hear from me. señora doña maria does not require my services further, and so i will retire." "oh, father!" maria could not refrain from saying, "if you only knew how brave and generous he is!" the general made no reply, and seemed to be reflecting. "doctor," he said, suddenly addressing the surgeon, "you must arrange some plan for transporting me to santiago." "what are you thinking of, general?" the other exclaimed, falling back a couple of steps, so great was his surprise; "it is impossible." "and yet it must be," the old man remarked calmly. "if my son is still alive, he is at santiago with general don sallazar; i wish to see them." "what?" said leon. "once again, it is impossible," remarked the doctor, who was grieved to see the obstinacy with which his patient supported his resolve. "you, captain leon," don juan continued, "will go on ahead, since you still offer me your assistance, which has been so precious to me; we shall meet at my cousin's, senator don henriquez de castago." "but, general?" "but, doctor, you will do whatever you like; have a litter made, or invent any mode of transport that you please, for i intend to go to santiago with my daughter maria, even if i die on arriving." "at least, wait a week." "it is your opinion that i cannot be removed today?" "most certainly." "well, i will wait till the day after tomorrow; between this and then prepare all that you want, and do not trouble yourself about the rest. if an accident happens to me, the blame will rest on myself alone." "general!" "i have spoken, and i warn you that, if you do not consent, i shall blow out my brains, or rather tear off my bandages, and die here." and the old gentleman prepared to suit the action to the word. "stay!" exclaimed the surgeon, who found himself compelled to yield, "i will act in accordance with your wishes." "very good," the general replied; "and now i will try to take some rest, for my strength is exhausted, i feel." leon prepared to bid farewell to the general, and leave the country house. "good-bye, my friend," the patient murmured; "in two days we shall meet again, or, if not, it is to you--you alone--i confine the care of guarding maria. go, and may heaven aid you to find inez." leon bent his knee before the old man. "sir," he said to him, with profound emotion, "my life and heart belong to you; take one and break the other if you like, for i can no longer conceal from you the secret that devours me--i love your daughter, doña maria." "father, father!" maria also exclaimed, as she fell on her knees by the side of the general's bed; "forgive me, for i love him in return." as his sole answer, don juan de soto-mayor held out his hand to the young people, who covered it with kisses and burning tears. a glance of ineffable happiness was exchanged between the smuggler and the novice. "now i am strong," leon exclaimed, as he rose. "you shall be avenged, don juan." and he rushed out of the house. in a second, all his men were ready to start. "companions!" he shouted, as he leaped on the back of his mustang, "to santiago at full gallop!" a whirlwind of dust rose, enveloping men and horses, who disappeared on the horizon. two days later, a young lady on horseback was riding by the side of a litter carried by two mules, in which lay an old man, and a military surgeon and fifty lanceros escorted them. they were maria de soto-mayor, the general her father, and the doctor, who were proceeding to santiago. chapter xxxi. the camp of the moluchos when tahi-mari reached the council lodge, the great molucho chiefs were already assembled. a compact crowd of indian warriors silently surrounded the approaches of the lodge, and pressed forward to hear the resolutions which were going to be formed by the ulmens. on perceiving the formidable toqui of the moluchos, the warriors respectfully fell back to let him pass, and tahi-mari entered the hut. his face was haughty and frowning, and everything about him indicated pride and resolution. he sat down on the trunk of a tree reserved for him, and which enabled him to survey the assembly. after looking round him for a moment, he began to speak-- "for what purpose have my brothers, the ulmens of the twelve nations, assembled?" he asked. "the pale-faces," huachacuyac replied, "have sent two great chiefs to discuss peace with us." "the spaniards," tahi-mari continued, "have two tongues and two faces. my brothers must be on their guard, for they wish to deceive them by false promises, while they are preparing the means to destroy them." "matai," said the ulmens, "our brother is learned: he is a great warrior; he will judge." "what is the opinion of my brothers? we cannot refuse to receive the messengers of peace," huachacuyac remarked. "my brothers speak wisely: let the spanish chiefs be brought in, and we will hear them." a movement took place among the indians; shounon-kouiretzi went in for a moment, and returned almost immediately, conducting general don pedro sallazar and colonel don juan de soto-mayor. they were unarmed, but their bold bearing and haughty brow showed that they did not experience the slightest fear at finding themselves at the mercy of their barbarous enemies. a dozen lanceros, unarmed like them, halted at the lodge-door. shounon-kouiretzi motioned the two officers to sit down on trunks of trees not so high as the one employed by the chief, then after lighting a calumet, he handed it to tahi-mari, who smoked it for an instant and restored it to him. the latter then presented it to don pedro sallazar, who passed it to don juan. the calumet soon went the round of the assembly and returned to tahi-mari, who finished it. after this the toqui threw the ashes towards the strangers, saying, in a loud voice-- "these chiefs and the soldiers who accompany them are the guests of the ulmens of the twelve molucho nations: the warriors will respect them till sunset." this ceremony performed, there was a profound silence. "what do the spanish warriors desire?" tahi-mari at length said; "the white chiefs can speak, for the ears of my brothers the ulmens are open." don pedro sallazar rose and said in indian, a language which he spoke with considerable facility-- "grand ulmens of the twelve nations, you, oh formidable toqui, and all you red warriors who are listening to me, your great white father sends me to you; his heart bleeds at seeing the numberless misfortunes which war has caused; his ears are filled with the complaints of mothers reduced to despair and of children who are weeping for their fathers killed in action. the country is devastated, the towns are only piles of ashes, and the rivers and streams whose waters were so limpid are now corrupted and fetid with the number of corpses they bear along. his mind being saddened by these terrible calamities, and wishing at length to restore tranquillity and abundance to this unhappy land, your great white father asks of you through my voice that the axe should be buried between us, peace be re-established among us, and the redskins and palefaces henceforth form one united nation. let my red brothers reflect: i have spoken." don pedro sallazar sat down again, and tahi-mari immediately replied-- "the ulmens of the twelve great nations have never desired war; they have avoided it as long as they could, and now endure it. it is not the molucho nation that dug up the hatchet. it is now three hundred years since the spaniards landed in our country. our tribes had no liberty upon the seashore, but the palefaces pursued them as if they had been like wild beasts, and compelled them to take refuge in the deserts of the andes. why, after tearing from the poor indians the fertile and sunlit lands which they possessed, are they now trying to rob them of the uncultivated plains and reduce them to slavery? why do they wish to destroy their religion, and their laws, and drive them into the eternal snows? are not the indians and spaniards sons of the same father? do not the priests of the palefaces themselves say so? let my brother the spanish chief answer." "yes," said don pedro, rising, "the great chief of the moluchos is right; but why renew old quarrels and revive ancient animosities? is not the country vast enough to support us all? why should we not live in peace together, each following our laws and professing our religion? we are ready to grant our indian brothers all they ask that is just and equitable. i have come here to listen to the propositions of the ulmens, and the great spanish chief will ratify them if they are reasonable." "it is too late," tahi-mari replied, rising in his turn; "the moluchos are resolved to regain their liberty, which was unjustly torn from them; they are tired of living like wretched vagabonds on the snow-covered mountains; now that they have descended into the plains warmed by the sunshine they do not wish to leave them." "the ulmens will reflect," don pedro resumed. "they must not let themselves be led astray by a slight success; the spaniards are powerful, and victory has ever been on their side up to this day." "and then, too," said don juan, rising in his turn, "what do you hope to obtain? do you fancy yourselves sufficiently strong, even if you succeed in capturing santiago, to contend against the immense forces which will come to crush you from the other side of the great salt lake? no; the war you are waging is a senseless war, without any possible object or result. commenced under the persuasion of an ambitious chief, who employs you to carry out schemes of which you are ignorant, you are only instruments in his hands. believe my words and those of general sallazar; accept the frank and loyal peace which we propose to you. this man, whom you have appointed your toqui, is abusing you and deceiving you, and driving you towards an abyss into which you will fall if you do not listen to the voice of reason, which addresses you through our lips." a lengthened tumult and menacing effervescence followed these remarks of the young man. the chiefs anxiously questioned each other in a low voice. don juan's bold language had produced a certain impression on them, and some of them recognised its correctness. tahi-mari alone remained impassive; not a muscle of his face had moved, and the trace of any emotion might be sought in vain upon his countenance. when the effect produced by don juan's speech was slightly calmed, he rose, and giving his foe an ironical glance, he said-- "the young spanish chief has spoken well, and if he does not count many years he has a great deal of wisdom. peace is good when loyally offered." "and we do offer it loyally," don juan remarked eagerly. "ah! my brother must pardon me," tahi-mari said, with a sarcastic smile. "that demon is meditating some roguery," don pedro said, in a low voice, to his companion; "we must be on our guard." "my brothers the ulmens," diego continued, "have heard the words pronounced by the two spanish chiefs, and if they were really the expression of their thoughts i would join my voice to theirs in urging you to accept the peace they offer; but unfortunately here is a proof of the bad faith which regulates their conduct." tahi-mari drew from under his poncho a paper, which he slowly unfolded, while a quiver of curiosity ran along the ranks of the indians, and the two spanish officers exchanged glances in which anxiety was visible. "this despatch, my brothers, was found this very day upon a spanish soldier, who was the bearer of it. my brothers, the ulmens, will listen to me as i read it; and then see the amount of confidence which they ought to place in the sincerity of our enemies." "we are listening;" the ulmens said. "this is it," diego remarked, and read: "'my dear general,--the indians are pressing us closely, and have placed us in a most precarious position; still i hope to gain a few days by making them proposals of peace, which will have no result, as you can easily imagine; but will give the reinforcements you announce to me time to come up. do not delay, for i am anxious to deal a decisive blow, and drive the rebels for ever from these parts.'" "this letter, signed by the president of the republic, is addressed to the general commanding the province of coquimbo. my brother can consult: i have spoken," and tahi-mari resumed his seat. a movement of fury seized the ulmens, who rushed on the spanish officers with the intention of tearing them to pieces. "back, all of you," tahi-mari shouted in a thundering voice, "these men are inviolable!" the indian stopped as if by enchantment. "the word of an ulmen is sacred," the half-breed continued. "let these chiefs return to the lodges of their white brothers; my brothers will show these perfidious spaniards that the great chiefs of the twelve molucho nations are as merciful as they are powerful." don pedro and don juan, after escaping the peril that menaced them, prepared to depart. "a moment," said tahi-mari; "you will not leave the camp alone; follow me." and leaving the council lodge, he pointed towards his wigwam, in front of the two officers and their escort of lanceros, who had awaited them at the door. on reaching the door of his abode, diego went in, but came out again almost immediately, holding by the hand a veiled female. "there," he said, addressing don juan, "take away this girl, who wearies me, and whose verses no longer possess any charms for me; perhaps she will succeed in pleasing some of the soldiers, for she is spanish." then with a rapid movement he tore off the veil that concealed the prisoner's features, and pushed her towards the officers. "inez!" the latter exclaimed, in horror. it was indeed inez; though not to be recognized by others but them, as her face had assumed so strange an expression, and her eyes were wandering. she turned her head in all directions, looking stupidly around her, and then suddenly folding her arms on her chest, she sang with an accent of ineffable sadness the following lines from an old dance song:-- "from the corner, from the corner of the carmen to the rock, to the golden rock, i have seen a, i have seen a girl descend, singing, singing the sambacueca." "oh!" don juan murmured in despair; "great heaven, she is mad." "and i have not even a sword," don pedro exclaimed, wringing his hands furiously. "ah, don juan de soto-mayor, you did not expect i fancy, to find your sister in tahi-mari's lodge? take her back, while awaiting the end of my vengeance; for, as i told you, i do not wish to have anything more to do with her; and you, señor don pedro, are you not her assumed husband?" "wretch! why did i not listen to the feeling of aversion, with which you inspired me, when i saw you at the house of general soto-mayor? i ought to have killed you before you made me fall into the trap which you and your gang laid for us in offering to escort us." "coward!" don juan said in his turn, his eyes full of tears; "kill the brother after dishonouring the sister, for i hate you and defy you." and, raising his hand, he sprang forward to strike diego on the face; but the latter at once guessing the young man's intention, seized his arm and held him as in a vice. "i need but to give a signal, and your head and that of your companion roll at your feet; but i will not give it." and with a sudden push he threw don juan far from him. "begone," he said coldly, "for no one will touch your person, which is sacred to all in this camp, our two families no longer reckon insults and wrongs, don juan, and this one will be requited with the rest." during this time poor inez, apparently not noticing what was going on, was crouching in a corner, and with her head in her hands and her long hair covering her face, was humming in a low voice a hymn to the virgin. without making any reply to diego the young men walked up to inez and made her rise. she offered no resistance, but continued to sing-- "'the birds in the sky, the fishes of the sea, the wild beasts of the forests, celebrate her glory.'" "what is the matter, señor caballero?" she suddenly asked, as she broke off her chant and looked at her brother, "you appear sad. would you like me to sing you a pretty sequidilla?" "'señorita, señorita, raise your little foot.'" "oh," said don juan, "what madness! inez, my sister, recognise me. i am juanito, your brother, whom you love so dearly." a flash of intelligence passed into the maiden's eyes, and a smile played round her lips. "juanito!" she said. "yes, yes," she exclaimed clapping her hands, "listen--" "'juanito is a brave, a brave whom i love, a handsome fellow dressed, all in cloth--" a hoarse burst of laughter interrupted the song. "why try to arouse her memory?" tahi-mari said, with a shrug of the shoulders. "oh!" don juan exclaimed, turning to him, "all your blood will not suffice to avenge us." "as you please, caballero: but in the meanwhile be off, or i cannot answer for your safety." "not yet," said a thundering voice, which vibrated through the air. a great disturbance broke out in camp, and a man covered with perspiration and dust proceeded towards tahi-mari's hut. it was captain leon delbès, on seeing whom diego turned pale, but remained motionless. leon advanced toward him thrusting aside every obstacle that barred his progress. "what have you done with general soto-mayor's daughter?" he asked, fixing his eyes on the half-breed's. the smuggler's entrance had been so unexpected, his action so extraordinarily rash, that all the indians who witnessed the scene stood as if petrified with admiration and amazement. on hearing leon's question diego looked down, but made no reply. "what have you done with her, i ask you?" the captain repeated with a passionate stamp of his foot. at this moment the young lady, to whom nobody paid attention, leant on his shoulder, and with a charming smile began singing again in a sweet and melancholy voice-- "seated at the corner of a street, they tell me that my chuca sells, they tell me that she sells flowers." "oh!" leon exclaimed, "i understand it all now. unhappy child! unhappy father!" and quick as thought, he drew a pistol from his girdle, and placed the muzzle against the half-breed's chest. the latter, calm and haughty, raised his eyes and looked at leon, without making the slightest motion to escape death. the young man trembled, and let his weapon sink again. "and yet i cannot kill him!" he said, the first feeling of surprise over. the indians rushed furiously on him to make him pay dearly for this insensate attempt. "stay," diego said, "this man is an adopted son of the moluchos, and i forbid you touching him." the indians fell back. "is this the way in which you avenge yourself?" leon exclaimed. "what! instead of attacking your enemy face to face, you cowardly carry off a child to make her your victim! oh! i curse the day when my hand clasped yours for the first time: i believed you to be a man of heart, and you are a ferocious brute. i no longer hate you, i despise you." "leon, your heart is no longer your own; it belongs to a spanish girl, and a cloud covers your mind; one day you will render me justice." "never!" leon replied, "never! i curse you, and i swear by the ashes of my mother, that if you let me leave this place, my vengeance shall pursue you; you will ever find me on your road ready to fight you and overthrow your plans." "your will be done, brother: my hand will never be laid upon you to ask an account of your outrages. but woe to the spaniards who have broken our friendship!" "speak no more of friendship, since you have crushed my life and destroyed my happiness for ever." "are you saying the truth?" diego asked, feeling doubt glide into his mind. but already the captain, followed by don pedro, don juan, and inez was crossing the camp, through a triple row of molucho warriors, who watched without daring to attack them, though their desire so to do was great. they soon reached the spot where their horses were waiting, and half an hour later were all four at the house of senator don henriquez de castago. while all proper care was being given to the unhappy inez, leon delbès told the two officers--in what state he had left general soto-mayor, and of; his speedy arrival at santiago accompanied by maria. when he had finished this painful narrative, don pedro and don juan, struck by the same misfortunes, displayed toward leon the most lively feelings of esteem and friendship, while complimenting him on the attachment which he had not ceased to display toward the soto-mayor family. "sir," don pedro said to him, "if during the course of our unhappy journey to valdivia, i for a moment misunderstood your noble qualities, forgive me, for today i declare to you it is a friend who sincerely offers you his hand." leon pressed the general's hand warmly. "don juan and i are going to inform the senate of the result of our mission; you remain in this house till the general arrives." the smuggler bowed, and the three men separated, respectively enlightened as to the feelings of esteem which they professed for each other. chapter xxxii. the sack of santiago. leon's first care on reaching santiago had been to inquire after the residence of don henriquez de castago, and to inform him of the visit which general soto-mayor intended to pay him. at the same time he told him of the purpose of his own journey. don henriquez eagerly placed his house at the smuggler's disposal, and told him of the perilous mission which was being attempted at that very moment by general don pedro, and his cousin, colonel don juan, in going to the toqui of the araucanos to make him proposals of peace. it was then that leon, after quartering his men, set out in all haste for the camp, in order to obtain news of inez, and at the same time help the two officers if they were in danger. we know what occurred in consequence of this exploit. two days after these events, general don juan de soto-mayor and his daughter maria arrived at the capital of chili. thanks to the numerous precautions which the surgeon had taken, the old gentleman had suffered but little through the journey, and the state of his health was more satisfactory than might have been supposed. so soon as he reached the house of senator don castago, he was put to bed, and leon took upon himself to inform him of the release of inez, the outrages of which the poor girl had been the victim, and the madness which had resulted from them. the general begged her to be brought to him, and when she was in his presence he embraced her, and covered her with tears. inez could not at all understand her father's grief, whom she did not at all recognise; but struck by the old man's suffering appearance, she at once installed herself by his bedside, and would not quit it again. her madness was gentle and melancholy; she spent long hours without breathing a syllable, or sang to strange tunes snatches of songs which she had formerly known. on her side, maria, attentive and devoted even to self-denial, lavished on don juan the most affectionate care, and the old man discovered at each moment in his daughter the germs of the noblest qualities of the heart. leon's name was never pronounced by the general without arousing in her thoughts of joy and happiness; but, understanding what kindness and gentleness her father had displayed in not spurning the smuggler's love for her, she silently awaited the moment when she would be able to yield entirely to the happiness of belonging to the man whom her heart had selected. the general, as we may suppose, had been beyond all expression surprised on hearing the community of feeling between the captain and maria; but penetrated with gratitude for the eminent services which the young man had rendered him, he heartily desired that an opportunity might offer itself to fill up the distance that separated leon's rank from his. but it was no easy matter. in the meanwhile, the position of the chilians shut up in santiago was beginning to grow serious. the indian lines were being gradually drawn closer round the town, intercepting the communications with the exterior, and preventing news from being received. the provisions would soon run short; want was already being felt in the poorer districts, and wretched people, with worn and haggard faces, might be seen wandering about the streets and loudly demanding bread. general sallazar had succeeded, it is true, in crossing the masincho after a glorious battle with the indians, and entered santiago; but it was far more difficult to drive away the besiegers who surrounded the city. situated in the heart of the chilian republic, the capital is at a great distance from the frontier; and as it had no reason to apprehend foreign attacks, owing to the impassable deserts that separate the states, it had not been fortified. attempts had been made hastily to throw up a few breastworks, but workmen were wanting. discouragement seized on the population, and the inhabitants, terrified at the sight of the indians, filled the churches with their lamentations, and offered up vows and novenas, instead of combating their enemies energetically, and dying courageously in defence of their homes. eight days passed thus, and during this period leon distinguished himself greatly by making daring sorties at the head of his men, in which he captured herds of cattle or flocks of sheep, which revictualled the town and restored a little courage to the population. one evening, after carefully visiting all the posts with don juan, general sallazar, leon was preparing to take a few hours of indispensable rest after a fatiguing day, when suddenly the bells of all the churches began pealing, shrieks were heard, and soldiers galloped through the town, shouting, "to arms! to arms!" the indians were beginning the assault by attacking the town on all sides simultaneously. the danger was imminent, and there was no time for hesitation. the salvation of the whole population was at stake. the three gentlemen shook hands silently, and rushed in different directions. the night was dark and rainy; the west wind howled furiously in the hills near the town, and from time to time a dazzling flash rent the horizon, and preluded the rolling of the thunder which was blended with the sharp sinister crash of the musketry fire. the drums beat, and bugles brayed; the churches were crowded with women and children, who, piously kneeling on the slabs, prayed god, the virgin, and the saints to come to their assistance. the tumult was frightful. the cries of the wounded, the hurrahs of the combatants, and above all, the war yells of the indians, who bounded like panthers upon the last defenders of the town. all this formed a din rendered more horrible still by the sight of the fire which was beginning to tinge the sky with a red and ill-omened glare. tahi-mari, naked to the waist, his hair in disorder, and his features contrasted by the thirst for carnage and destruction, held an axe in one hand and a torch in the other. he was seen rushing at the head of a band of veteran redskins into the thickest of the spanish battalions, cleaving a bloody track for himself--felling and pitilessly massacring all those who dared to oppose his fury. santiago was one immense crater--the fire embraced the whole city; its devouring flames had dissipated the darkness, and spread around a light which allowed the dark outlines of the combatants to be seen as they struggled with the sublime energy of despair. a countless swarm of indians had invaded the town, and fighting was going on on all sides. the spaniards disputed the ground inch by inch, and the streets, the squares, and the houses were the scene of a horrible massacre. tahi-mari, ever in the first rank of the indians, excited his soldiers by his shouts and example. all was lost, and the chilian capital had at length fallen into the power of the araucanos. the burning buildings fell in with a crash, burying beneath their ruins assailants and assailed. the churches were given up to pillage, while the women and girls, torn half naked from their houses or from the foot of the altar, endured the last violence which their cruel victors inflicted upon them. all hope of flight or rescue seemed annihilated; the redskins, drunk with carnage and spirits, rushed furiously upon the relics of the despairing population. it was at this moment that the president of the republic, followed by a few devoted soldiers, formed a hollow square on the plaza de la merced, in the centre of which he placed all the aged persons, women, and children, who had escaped the fury of the indians. suddenly loud shouts were heard, and three heavy bodies of men, commanded by don juan, general pedro sallazar, and leon delbès, debouched from three different streets. in the centre of the one commanded by leon, was old don juan carried on a litter, with maria and inez by her side. leon placed the persons whom he had saved in the centre of the square formed by the president, and called on don juan and don pedro's detachments. "now," he cried to the president of the republic, "fall back, while we support you." "do so," he answered. and the square fell back with all those whom it contained. "forward!" leon shouted, "kill! kill!" and the three bands, facing the startled indians, threw themselves upon them and commenced a frightful butchery. the square de la merced was literally encumbered with combatants. the moluchos, incessantly pushed forward by their comrades, who arrived to their help, fell impassively beneath the lances and sabres of the spaniards, who protected the flight of the president as he retired and took in his charge all those persons incapable of bearing, arms. the fugitives soon reached the city gates. the contest had lasted more than an hour. a countless number of corpses covered the ground and formed a rampart for the spaniards, who redoubled their energy. at this moment tahi-mari appeared in the square. at a glance he judged the position, and rushed upon the spaniards. the shock was terrible. don pedro and don juan recognised their common enemy, and cutting their way through the dead and wounded, both attacked him at once. "ah!" diego shouted, "we meet at last, then." "yes," don pedro retorted, as he aimed a sabre cut at him, "and for the last time, i hope." "you have told the truth," said diego, as he parried with the handle of his axe the blow aimed at him; "die, then!" and he cleft his head open. the unfortunate don pedro stretched out his arms, rolled his eyes wildly, and fell from his horse, murmuring the name of inez. the spaniards uttered a cry of grief, to which the indians responded by a shout of triumph. "it is now our turn," tahi-mari exclaimed, as he dashed towards don juan. "yes," the young man replied, "our long standing quarrel will be at length decided." the two enemies rushed upon each other with clenched lips and bloodshot eyes, fighting furiously, caring little about dying, provided that one killed the other. but at each instant a crowd of indians or spaniards, drawn by the moving incidents of the fight, came between them and separated them. when this happened they made extraordinary efforts to come together again, overthrowing the obstacles that were in their way, and constantly seeking each other, only one thought occupied them--that of satiating their vengeance; every other consideration was effaced from their minds, and forgetting the sacred interests which they had to defend, they only thought of their personal hatred. ere long those who separated them fell back, and they found themselves once more face to face. "defend yourself, tahi-mari," don juan shouted, as he dashed at the indian chief. "here i am," the latter shouted, "and you are about to die." suddenly leaping from his horse, he cut the sinews of the colonel's horse with a blow of his axe. but don juan probably expected this attack, for when his horse fell uttering a long snort of pain, he was standing with his feet freed from the stirrups. then began, between these two men, a combat impossible to describe, in which rage and fury took the place of skill. tahi-mari wielded his terrible axe with unparalleled dexterity; don juan had his sabre welded to his wrist, and followed the slightest movements of the other. each observed the other, and calculated the value of his blows. eye on eye, chest against chest, panting, with foreheads streaming with perspiration, and their features violently contracted by hatred, they watched for the decisive moment. don juan was bleeding from two deep wounds; he felt his strength becoming exhausted, and felt as if he could no longer hold his sword. tahi-mari had also received several wounds, not dangerous, it is true, but which were, for all that, visible on his face and movements. all at once, the half-breed, profiting by the fact that his enemy, who had constantly been on guard, left himself uncovered, aimed a blow at him with his axe. don juan raised his sword, but only parried imperfectly, and the axe was buried deeply in his shoulder. collecting all his strength, he had to keep his feet; but tottering involuntarily, he fell to the ground, heaving a deep sigh. diego burst into a yell of triumph, and rushed upon the young man. "at last," he said. at the same moment he received a violent blow, and he fell back blaspheming. he rose with lightning speed, and saw leon delbès before him, who had rolled him in the dust by dashing his horse's chest at him. "oh!" the indian exclaimed, as he let his axe fall, "always he between this family and me!" "yes, i! tahi-mari--i, whom you must kill before you can reach your enemies--i, who have sworn to tear your victims from you: attack me. what are you waiting for?" a combat seemed to be going on in diego's mind, and then he remarked, as if speaking to himself:-- "no, no; not he, not he! the only man who ever loved me on this earth. now, for the other," he added, as he looked furiously around him, "he can never have enough of spanish blood." and slipping on one side, he rushed back into the thick of the fight. "what!" cried wilhelm, who had just stationed himself by leon's side, "will you let that hyena escape, captain?" "yes!" leon answered, as he shook his head sadly, "my hands shall not be dyed with that man's blood; his life is sacred to me." "that is possible," the german grunted, "but it is not so to me! and then, again, the opportunity is too fine, and it is doing a service to humanity." and before leon could prevent his design, he raised his rifle to his shoulder, and fired. diego made an enormous leap, turned half round, stretched out his arms, and fell with his face on the ground. the captain rushed towards him and had to raise him; the indian looked at him for a moment, his eyes were fixed on his with an expression of ineffable tenderness, and pressing his hand forcibly, he said in a low voice-- "thanks, thanks, brother, but it is useless; i feel that i am going to die." suddenly, by a supreme effort of will, and aided by the smuggler, he succeeded in gaining his feet again. then, his black eyes flashed with pride and triumph. "look!" he exclaimed, "they are flying, those cowardly spaniards are flying! i die; but i am the victor, and almost avenged." and he found sufficient strength within him to utter his terrible war cry. suddenly, a jet of black blood rose to his lips; his body stiffened with a horrible convulsion, and he fell dead. still, his eyes were open, and his lips, curled by a smile of bitter irony, seemed to defy his conquered foes, even after he had drawn his last breath. "back, der teufel! back, or we are lost!" wilhelm exclaimed, as he seized the bridle of leon's horse and pulled it back. "oh!" the smuggler said, as he wiped away a tear, "that man was made of iron." "stuff, why pity him?" wilhelm said, carelessly; "he died like a soldier." the fall of tahi-mari, which was not known to the indians for some minutes, did not at once check the order of the battle. leon's band, which had advanced too far, had extraordinary difficulties in effecting a retreat, and joining the debris of the army marching on valparaíso. * * * * * the moluchos, deprived of the man of genius, who had conceived the plan of this daring campaign, and who was alone capable of bringing it to a satisfactory conclusion, henceforth were a body without a soul. dissensions broke out among them, each chief claiming to succeed the great tahi-mari, and they could not come to any understanding. the league of the twelve nations was; broken; the ulmens no longer acted harmoniously, and soon undertook isolated expeditions, which had disastrous results. the indians were for nine days masters of santiago; at the end of that time, the spaniards, who had vigorously assumed the offensive, expelled them from the capital, and pursued them even beyond their frontier line. of the , men who had invaded the chilian territory, , at the most succeeded in regaining the inaccessible llanos which serve as their retreat. the others found death in the land which they had for a moment hoped to conquer. such was, through the imbecility of the chiefs, the result of this enterprise, which, if better conducted, might have changed the fate of south america. six months after these events leon delbès was married at the church of la merced to doña maria de soto-mayor. the old general and his son, don juan, who had both recovered from their wounds, were present at the ceremony, offering up vows for the happiness of the young couple. inez lived for a year without regaining her reason, but her madness had become a sort of gloomy and taciturn melancholy, which nothing in the world could remove. she expired one day without pain, for her death-agony was a pallid smile, in the midst of which her soul fled away. as for the secondary characters of the story, we will mention their fate in a few words. the band of smugglers was broken so soon as leon left to go and live with the general. wilhelm, for his splendid conduct on the night of the capture of santiago, was given a commission as lieutenant in the chilian army. the worthy abbess of the convent of the purísima concepción continued to sell her aqua milagrosa at the fairest price. and one fine day, master crevel, tired of the annoyance the police inflicted on him, placed the ocean between them and him by returning to france. the end. [transcriber's note: the spelling inconsistencies of the original have been retained in this etext. in some cases, they have been denoted by [sic].] peter simple and the three cutters by captain marryat vol i london j.m. dent and co boston: little, brown and co. mdcccxcv contents volume i list of marryat's works, etc ix biographical introduction xi prefatory note to peter simple and the three cutters xxxiv _peter simple_ chapter i chapter ii chapter iii chapter iv chapter v chapter vi chapter vii chapter viii chapter ix chapter x chapter xi chapter xii chapter xiii chapter xiv chapter xv chapter xvi chapter xvii chapter xviii chapter xix chapter xx chapter xxi chapter xxii chapter xxiii chapter xxiv chapter xxv chapter xxvi chapter xxvii chapter xxviii chapter xxix chapter xxx list of marryat's works. in the order of publication. by frederick marryat. _born_, july . _died_, aug. . *suggestions for the abolition of the present system of impressment in the naval service adventures of a naval officer, or frank mildmay the king's own newton forster peter simple jacob faithful pacha of many tales mr midshipman easy japhet in search of a father the pirate and the three cutters *a code of signals for the use of vessels employed in the merchant service snarley-yow, or the dog fiend the phantom ship *diary in america olla podrida poor jack masterman ready joseph rushbrook, or the poacher percival keene narrative of the travels and adventures of monsieur violet settlers in canada the mission, or scenes in africa the privateer's man the children of the new forest the little savage - valerie this edition will include all the novels and tales, only omitting the three items marked in the above list with an asterisk. the text will be, for the most part, that of the first editions, except for the correction of a few obvious errors and some modernisation of spelling. _rattlin the reefer,_ so frequently attributed to marryat, will not be reprinted here. it was written by edward howard, subeditor, under marryat, of the _the metropolitan magazine,_ and author of _outward bound,_ etc. on the title-page it is described simply as _edited_ by marryat and, according to his daughter, the captain did no more than stand literary sponsor to the production. in , saunders and otley published:--_the floral telegraph, or, affections signals_ by the late captain marryat, r.n., but mrs lean knows nothing of the book, and it is probably not marryat's work. _the life and letters of captain marryat: by florence marryat (mrs lean), in vols.: richard bentley_ , are the only biographical record of the novelist extant. in some matters they are very detailed and personal, in others reticent. the story has been spiritedly retold, with reflections and criticisms, by mr david hannay in the "great writers" series, . the frontispiece is from a print, published by henry colburn in , after the portrait by simpson, the favourite pupil of sir thomas lawrence, which was "considered more like him than any other." count d'orsay took a portrait of marryat, in coloured crayons, about , but it was not a success. a portrait, in water colours, by behnes, was engraved as a frontispiece to _the pirate and the three cutters._ his bust was taken by carew. r.b.j. frederick marryat without yielding implicit credence to the handsome pedigree of the marryats supplied by mrs lean, the novelist's daughter, we may give a glance in passing to the first-fruits of this family tree. they-- naturally--came over with the conqueror, and emerged from obscurity under stephen as the proud "possessors of much lands at the village of meryat, ashton meryat, and elsewhere in somersetshire ... one nicotas de maryet is deputed to collect the ransom of richard coeur de leon through the county of somerset ... in the reign of edward i., sir john de maryet is called to attend the great parliament; in that of edward ii., his son is excommunicated for embowelling his deceased wife; 'a fancy,' says the county historian, 'peculiar to the knightly family of meryat.'" mrs lean quotes records of other meryat "hearts" to which an honourable burial has been accorded. the house of meryat finally lost its property on the fall of lady jane grey, to whom it had descended through the female line. captain marryat belonged to the suffolk branch of the family, of whom "one john de maryat had the honour of dancing in a masque before the virgin queen at trinity college, cambridge ... was sent to aid the huguenots in their wars in france ... escaped the massacre of st bartholemew and, in , returned to england." here he married "mary, the daughter and heiress of daniel luke, of the covent garden (a rank puritan family in _hudibras_), and again settled in his paternal county of suffolk." less partial biographers neglect to trace the marryats beyond this huguenot officer, who is described by them as a refugee. whatever may be the truth of these matters, it is certain that during the th and th centuries the maryats were a respectable, middle-class puritan family--ministers, doctors, and business men. in the days of the merry monarch a john marryat became distinguished as a "painful preacher," and was twice expelled from his livings for non-conformity. captain marryat's grandfather was a good doctor, and his father, joseph marryat of wimbledon house, was an m.p., chairman for the committee of lloyd's, and colonial agent for the island of grenada--a substantial man, who refused a baronetcy, and was honoured by an elegy from campbell. he married charlotte geyer, or von geyer, a hessian of good descent. frederick, born july , , was one of fifteen sons and daughters, "of whom ten attained maturity, and several have entered the lists of literature." his eldest brother, joseph, was a famous collector of china, and author of _pottery and porcelain_; the youngest, horace, wrote _one year in sweden, jutland and the danish isles_; and his sister, mrs bury palliser, was the author of _nature and art_ (not to be confounded with mrs inchbald's novel of that name), _the history of lace_, and _historic devices, badges and war cries_. his father and grandfather published political and medical works, respectively, while the generation below was equally prolific. marryat's youngest son, frank, described his travels in _borneo and the eastern archipelago_ and _mountains and molehills_, or _recollections of a burnt journal_; and his daughter florence, mrs lean, the author of his _life and letters_, has written a great many popular novels. we can record little of marryat's boyhood beyond a general impression of his discontent with school-masters and parents. mr hannay is probably right in regarding his hard pictures of home and school life as reflections of his own experience. it is said that on one occasion he was found to be engaged in the pursuit of knowledge while standing on his head; and that he accounted for the circumstance with a humorous philosophy almost worthy of jack easy--"well! i've been trying for three hours to learn it on my feet, but i couldn't, so i thought i would try whether it would be easier to learn it on my head." another anecdote, of a contest with his school-fellow babbage, is interesting and characteristic. it appears that the inventor of the calculating machine, unlike marryat, was a very diligent lad; and that he accordingly arranged, with some kindred spirits, to begin work at three in the morning. the restless marryat wished to join the party, but his motives were suspected and the conspirators adopted the simple expedient of not waking him. marryat rolled his bed across the door, and babbage pushed it away. marryat tied a string from his wrist to the door handle, and babbage unfastened it. a thicker string was cut, a chain was unlinked by pliers, but at last the future captain forged a chain that was too stout for the future mathematician. babbage, however, secured his revenge; as soon as his comrade was safely asleep he slipped a piece of pack thread through the chain and, carrying the other end to his own bed, was enabled by a few rapid jerks to waken marryat whenever he chose. apparently satisfied with his victory in the gentle art of tormenting, babbage yielded voluntarily upon the original point of dispute. marryat and others joined the reading party, transformed it to a scene of carnival, and were discovered by the authorities. meanwhile marryat was constantly running away--to sea; according to his own account because he was obliged to wear his elder brother's old clothes. on one occasion his father injudiciously sent him back in a carriage with some money in his pocket. the wise youth slipped out, and finding his way home by some quiet approach, carried off his younger brothers to the theatre. he finally ran away from a private tutor, and mr marryat recognised the wisdom of compliance. being then fourteen, that is of age to hold a commission, frederick was allowed to enter the navy, and on the rd of september , he started on his first voyage on board h.m.s. _impérieuse_, captain lord cochrane, for the mediterranean. he could scarcely have entered upon his career under better auspices. in a line-of-battle ship he would have had no chance of service at this stage of the war, when the most daring of the french could not be decoyed out of port; but the frigates had always more exciting work on hand than mere patrolling. there were cruisers to be captured, privateers to be cut off, convoys to be taken, and work to be done on the coast among the forts. and lord cochrane, earl of dundonald, was not the man to neglect his opportunities. his daring gallantry and cool judgment are accredited to most of marryat's captains, particularly in _frank mildmay_, where the cruise of the _impérieuse_ along the spanish coast is most graphically and literally described. cochrane's _autobiography_ betrays the strong, stern individuality of the man, invaluable in action, somewhat disturbing in civil life. as a reformer in season and out of season, at the admiralty or in the house of commons, his zeal became a bye-word, but marryat knew him only on board his frigate, as an inspiring leader of men. he never passed an opportunity of serving his country and winning renown, but his daring was not reckless. "i must here remark," says marryat in his private log, "that i never knew any one so careful of the lives of his ship's company as lord cochrane, or any one who calculated so closely the risks attending any expedition. many of the most brilliant achievements were performed without loss of a single life, so well did he calculate the chances; and one half the merit which he deserves for what he did accomplish has never been awarded him, merely because, in the official despatches, there has not been a long list of killed and wounded to please the appetite of the english public." marryat has left us a graphic account of his first day at sea:-- "the _impérieuse_ sailed; the admiral of the port was one who _would_ be obeyed, but _would not_ listen always to reason or common sense. the signal for sailing was enforced by gun after gun; the anchor was hove up, and, with all her stores on deck, her guns not even mounted, in a state of confusion unparalleled from her being obliged to hoist in faster than it was possible she could stow away, she was driven out of harbour to encounter a heavy gale. a few hours more would have enabled her to proceed to sea with security, but they were denied; the consequences were appalling, they might have been fatal. in the general confusion some iron too near the binnacles had attracted the needle of the compasses; the ship was steered out of her course. at midnight, in a heavy gale at the close of november, so dark that you could not distinguish any object, however close, the _impérieuse_ dashed upon the rocks between ushant and the main. the cry of terror which ran through the lower decks; the grating of the keel as she was forced in; the violence of the shocks which convulsed the frame of the vessel; the hurrying up of the ship's company without their clothes; and then the enormous wave which again bore her up, and carried her clean over the reef, will never be effaced from my memory." this, after all, was not an inappropriate introduction to the stormy three years which followed it. the story is written in the novels, particularly _frank mildmay[ ]_ where every item of his varied and exciting experience is reproduced with dramatic effect. it would be impossible to rival marryat's narrative of episodes, and we shall gain no sense of reality by adjusting the materials of fiction to an exact accordance with fact. he says that these books, except _frank mildmay,_ are "wholly fictitious in characters, in plot, and in events," but they are none the less truthful pictures of his life at sea. cochrane's _autobiography_ contains a history of the _impérieuse_; it is from _peter simple_ and his companions that we must learn what marryat thought and suffered while on board. under cochrane he cruised along the coast of france from ushant to the mouth of the gironde, saw some active service in the mediterranean, and, after a return to the ocean, was finally engaged in the basque roads. a page of his private log contains a lively _resumé_ of the whole experience:-- "the cruises of the _impérieuse_ were periods of continual excitement, from the hour in which she hove up her anchor till she dropped it again in port; the day that passed without a shot being fired in anger, was to us a blank day: the boats were hardly secured on the booms than they were cast loose and out again; the yard and stay tackles were forever hoisting up and lowering down. the expedition with which parties were formed for service; the rapidity of the frigate's movements night and day; the hasty sleep snatched at all hours; the waking up at the report of the guns, which seemed the only keynote to the hearts of those on board, the beautiful precision of our fire, obtained by constant practice; the coolness and courage of our captain, inoculating the whole of the ship's company; the suddenness of our attacks, the gathering after the combat, the killed lamented, the wounded almost envied; the powder so burnt into our face that years could not remove it; the proved character of every man and officer on board, the implicit trust and adoration we felt for our commander; the ludicrous situations which would occur in the extremest danger and create mirth when death was staring you in the face, the hair-breadth escapes, and the indifference to life shown by all--when memory sweeps along these years of excitement even now, my pulse beats more quickly with the reminiscence." after some comparatively colourless service in other frigates, during which he gained the personal familiarity with west indian life of which his novels show many traces, he completed his time as a midshipman, and in , returned home to pass. as a lieutenant his cruises were uneventful and, after being several times invalided, he was promoted commander in , just as the great war was closing. he was now only twenty-three, and had certainly received an admirable training for the work with which he was soon to enchant the public. though never present at a great battle, and many good officers were in the same position, he had seen much smart service and knew from others what lay beyond his own experience. he evidently took copious notes of all he saw and heard. he had sailed in the north sea, in the channel, in the mediterranean, and along the eastern coast of america from nova scotia to surinam. he had been rapidly promoted. it is tolerably obvious that, both as midshipman and lieutenant, he evinced the cool daring and manly independence that characterises his heroes, with a dash perhaps of jack easy's philosophy. it was a rough life and he was not naturally amenable to discipline, but probably his superiors made a favourite of the dashing handsome lad. the habit, which helps to redeem frank mildmay and even graces peter simple, of saving others from drowning, was always his own. his daughter records, with pardonable pride, that he was presented while in the navy with twenty-seven certificates, recommendations, and votes of thanks for having saved the lives of others at the risk of his own, besides receiving a gold medal from the humane society. during the peace of he "occupied himself in acquiring a perfect knowledge of such branches of science as might prove useful should the lords of the admiralty think fit to employ him in a voyage of discovery or survey." a vaguely projected expedition to africa was, however, relinquished on account of his marriage with "catherine, second daughter of sir stephen shairp, knt., of houston, co. linlithgow (for many years her britannic majesty's consul-general, and twice _chargé d'affaires_ at the court of russia);" which took place in january . in this same year he was elected a fellow of the royal society, according to tradition on account of his skill in drawing caricatures. he was at sea again soon after his marriage as commander of the _beaver_ sloop, in which commission he was sent to mount guard over napoleon at st helena until his death. he took a sketch of the dead emperor in full profile, which was engraved in england and france, and considered a striking likeness. he was meanwhile no doubt perfecting the code of signals for the use of merchant vessels of all nations, including the cipher for secret correspondence, which was immediately adopted, and secured to its inventor the cross of the legion of honour from louis philippe. it was not actually published in book form till , from which date its sale produced an appreciable income. after returning in the _rosario_ with the despatches concerning napoleon's death, he was sent to escort the body of queen caroline to cuxhaven. he was then told off for revenue duty in the channel, and had some smart cruising for smugglers until the _rosario_ was pronounced unseaworthy and paid off on the nd of february . as a result of this experience he wrote a long despatch to the admiralty, in which he freely criticised the working of the preventive service, and made some practical suggestions for its improvement. in he also published _suggestions for the abolition of the present system of impressment in the naval service_, a pamphlet which is said to have made him unpopular with royalty. he frequently in his novels urges the same reform, which he very earnestly desired. he was appointed to the _larne_ in march , and saw some hard service against the burmese, for which he received the thanks of the general and the indian government, the companionship of the bath, and the command of the _ariadne_. two years later, in november , he resigned his ship, and quitted active service, according to mrs lean, because of his appointment as equerry to his royal highness the duke of sussex. he was probably influenced, however, by a distaste for routine duties in time of peace, the claims of a growing family, and literary ambitions. he had already published _frank mildmay_, and received for it the handsome sum of £ , and negotiations were very possibly on foot concerning _the king's own_, of which the composition had been completed. there is considerable difficulty in following the remainder of marryat's life, owing to the silence of our only authority, mrs lean. no reasons can be assigned for the sudden flittings in which he constantly indulged, or for his hasty journeys to america and to the continent. he was clearly impulsive in all things, and, though occasionally shrewd, betrayed a mania for speculation. moreover, he was naturally addicted to the bohemian pleasures of life, being somewhat promiscuous in hospitality, and absolutely prodigal in the art of making presents. to satisfy these various demands on his pocket, he was often driven to spells of desperate work, in spite of the really handsome sums he received from the publishers and editors with whom he was always at variance. his first regular establishment was sussex house, hampstead, which he soon "swapped," after dinner and champagne, for a small estate of acres at langham, norfolk; though he did not finally settle in the country till . his original occupation of langham, which realised him a steady annual deficit, was followed by a return to london, a visit to brighton and, in , a journey on the continent to brussels and lausanne. he had, meanwhile, been contributing to _the metropolitan magazine,_ which he edited from to , finally selling his proprietary rights to saunders and otley for £ . his editorial work was arduous, and many of his own compositions were first published in _the metropolitan._ here appeared _newton forster,_ , _peter simple,_ , _jacob faithful, midshipman easy,_ and _japhet in search of a father_(!) , besides a comedy in three acts, entitled _the gipsy,_ a tragedy called _the cavalier of seville,_ and the miscellaneous papers afterwards collected under the title, _olla podrida._ in he stood, as a reformer, for tower hamlets, but his methods of canvassing were imprudent. he dwelt upon his own hobbies, and disregarded those of the electors. he apparently expected to carry the day by opposing the pressgang in a time of peace, and even permitted himself to repudiate philanthropy towards the african negro. the gallantry with which, on one occasion, he saved the lives of his audience when the floor of the room had fallen in, was not permitted to cover the rash energy of his reply to a persistent questioner:--"if ever you, or one of your sons, should come under my command at sea and deserve punishment, if there be no other effectual mode of conferring it, _i shall flog you."_ it is hardly necessary to add that he lost the election. he afterwards failed in a plan for the establishment of brevet rank in the army, but gave some valuable assistance in the preparation of the merchant shipping bill of . it was about this time that marryat is currently reported to have challenged f.d. maurice to a duel. the latter had published an anonymous novel, called _eustace conway,_ in which "a prominent character, represented in no amiable colours, bore the name of captain marryat." the truth of the story seems to be that the captain went in hot wrath to bentley, and demanded an apology or a statement that the coincidence was unintentional. maurice replied, through his publisher, that he had never heard of captain marryat. it may be questioned whether the apology was not more galling than the original offence. in some legal difficulties arose in connection with his father's memory, which marryat accepted with admirable philosophy:-- "as for the chancellor's judgment," he told his mother, "i cannot say that i thought anything about it, on the contrary, it appears to me that he might have been much more severe if he had thought proper. it is easy to impute motives, and difficult to disprove them. i thought, considering his enmity, that he let us off cheap; as there is no _punishing a chancellor,_ and he might say what he pleased with impunity. i did not therefore _roar_, i only _smiled_. the effect will be nugatory. not one in a thousand will read it; those who do, know it refers to a person not in this world; and of those, those who knew my father will not believe it, those who did not will care little about it, and forget the name in a week. had he given the decision in our favour, i should have been better pleased, _but it's no use crying; what's done can't be helped."_ this letter was written from brighton, and the following year found marryat on the continent, at home in a circle of gay spirits who might almost be called the outcasts of english society. they were pleasure-seekers, by no means necessarily depraved but, by narrow incomes or other causes, driven into a cheerful exile. the captain was always ready to give and take in the matter of entertainment, and he was invited everywhere though, on one occasion at least, it is recorded that he proved an uncongenial guest. having dined, as a recognised lion among lions, he "didn't make a single joke during the whole evening." his host remarked on his silence the next morning, and marryat replied:-- "oh, if that's what you wanted you should have asked me when you were alone. why, did you imagine i was going to let out any of my jokes for those fellows to put in their next books? no, that is not _my_ plan. when i find myself in such company _as that_ i open my ears and hold my tongue, glean all i can, and give them nothing in return." he did not always, however, play the professional author so offensively, and we hear of his taking part in private theatricals and dances, preparing a christmas tree for the children, and cleverly packing his friends' portmanteaux. meanwhile, he was writing _the pirate and three cutters,_ for which he received £ , as well as _snarley-yow_ and the _pacha of many tales._ he had been contributing to the _metropolitan_ at guineas a sheet, until he paid a flying visit to england in in order to transfer his allegiance to the _new monthly magazine,_ from which he secured guineas. mrs lean states that her father received £ each for _peter simple, jacob faithful, japhet,_ and _the pacha of many tales;_ £ for _midshipman easy,_ £ for _snarley-yow,_ and £ for the _diary in america._ yet "although captain marryat and his publishers mutually benefited by their transactions with each other, one would have imagined, from the letters exchanged between them, that they had been natural enemies." she relates how one of the fraternity told marryat he was "somewhat eccentric--an odd creature," and added, "i am somewhat warm-tempered myself, and therefore make allowance for yours, which is certainly warm enough." marryat justified the charge by replying:-- "there was no occasion for you to make the admission that you are somewhat warm-tempered; your letter establishes that fact. considering your age, you are a little volcano, and if the insurance were aware of your frequent visits at the royal exchange, they would demand double premium for the building. indeed, i have my surmises _now_ as to the last conflagration. * * * * * your remark as to the money i have received may sound well, mentioned as an isolated fact; but how does it sound when it is put in juxtaposition with the sums you have received? i, who have found everything, receiving a pittance, while you, who have found nothing but the shop to sell in, receiving such a lion's share. i assert again that it is slavery. i am sinbad the sailor, and you are the old man of the mountain, clinging on my back, and you must not be surprised at my wishing to throw you off the first convenient opportunity. the fact is, you have the vice of old age very strong upon you, and you are blinded by it; but put the question to your sons, and ask them whether they consider the present agreement fair. let them arrange with me, and do you go and read your bible. we all have our ideas of paradise, and if other authors think like me, the most pleasurable portion of anticipated bliss is that there will be no publishers there. that idea often supports me after an interview with one of your fraternity." marryat only returned to england a few months before hurrying off to america in april . the reasons for this move it is impossible to conjecture, as we can scarcely accept the apparent significance of his comments on switzerland in the _diary on the continent:--_ "do the faults of these people arise from the peculiarity of their constitutions, or from the nature of their government? to ascertain this, one must compare them with those who live under similar institutions. _i must go to america--that is decided_." he was received by the americans with a curious mixture of suspicion and enthusiasm. english men and women of letters in late years had been visiting the republic and criticising its institutions to the mother country--with a certain forgetfulness of hospitalities received that was not, to say the least of it, in good taste. marryat was also an author, and it seemed only too probable that he had come to spy out the land. on the other hand, his books were immensely popular over the water and, but for dread of possible consequences, jonathan was delighted to see him. his arrival at saratoga springs produced an outburst in the local papers of the most pronounced journalese:-- "this distinguished writer is at present a sojourner in our city. before we knew the gallant captain was respiring our balmy air, we really did wonder what laughing gas had imbued our atmosphere--every one we met in the streets appeared to be in such a state of jollification; but when we heard that the author of _peter simple_ was actually puffing a cigar amongst us we no longer marvelled at the pleasant countenances of our citizens. he has often made them laugh when he was thousands of miles away. surely now it is but natural that they ought to be tickled to death at the idea of having him present." the bostonians were proud to claim him as a compatriot through his mother, and a nautical drama from his pen--_the ocean wolf, or the channel outlaw_--was performed at new york with acclamation. he had some squabbles with american publishers concerning copyright, and was clever enough to secure two thousand two hundred and fifty dollars from messrs carey & hart for his forthcoming _diary in america_ and _the phantom ship,_ which latter first appeared in the _new monthly,_ and . he evidently pleased the americans on the whole, and was not unfavourably impressed by what he saw, but the six volumes which he produced on his return are only respectable specimens of bookmaking, and do not repay perusal. it was, indeed, his own opinion that he had already written enough. "if i were not rather in want of money," he says in a letter to his mother, "i certainly would not write any more, for i am rather tired of it. i should like to disengage myself from the fraternity of authors, and be known in future only in my profession as a good officer and seaman." he had hoped to see some service in canada, but the opportunity never came. in england, to which he returned in , the want of money soon came to be felt more seriously. his father's fortune had been invested in the west indies, and began to show diminishing returns. for this and other reasons he led a very wandering existence, for another four or five years, until . a year at duke street, st james, was followed by a short stay with his mother at wimbledon house, from which he took chambers at piccadilly, and then again moved to spanish place, manchester square. apparently at this time he made an unsuccessful attempt to return to active service. he was meanwhile working hard at _poor jack, masterman ready, the poacher, percival keene,_ etc., and living hard in the merry circle of a literary bohemia, with clarkson stanfield, rogers, dickens, and forster; to whom were sometimes added lady blessington, ainsworth, cruickshank, and lytton. the rival interests served to sour his spirits and weaken his constitution. the publication of _the poacher_ in the _era_ newspaper involved its author in a very pretty controversy. a foolish contributor to _fraser's magazine_ got into a rage with harrison ainsworth for _condescending_ to write in the weekly papers, and expressed himself as follows:-- "if writing monthly fragments threatened to deteriorate mr ainsworth's productions, what must be the result of this _hebdomadal_ habit? captain marryat, we are sorry to say, has taken to the same line. both these popular authors may rely upon our warning, that they will live to see their laurels fade unless they more carefully cultivate a spirit of _self-respect._ that which was venial in a miserable starveling of grub street is _perfectly disgusting_ in the extravagantly paid novelists of these days--the _caressed_, of generous booksellers. mr ainsworth and captain marryat ought to disdain such _pitiful peddling._ let them eschew it without delay." marryat's reply was, spirited and manly. after ridiculing _fraser's_ attempt "to set up a standard of _precedency_ and _rank_ in literature," and humorously proving that an author's works were not to be esteemed in proportion to the length of time elapsing between their production, he turned to the more serious and entirely honest defence that, like dickens, he was supplying the lower classes with wholesome recreation:-- "i would rather write for the instruction, or even the amusement of the poor than for the amusement of the rich; and i would sooner raise a smile or create an interest in the honest mechanic or agricultural labourer who requires relaxation, than i would contribute to dispel the _ennui_ of those who loll on their couches and wonder in their idleness what they shall do next. is the rich man only to be amused? are mirth and laughter to be made a luxury, confined to the upper classes, and denied to the honest and hard-working artisan?... in a moral point of view, i hold that i am right. we are educating the lower classes; generations have sprung up who can read and write; and may i enquire what it is that they have to read, in the way of amusement?--for i speak not of the bible, which is for private examination. they have scarcely anything but the weekly newspapers, and, as they cannot command amusement, they prefer those which create the most excitement; and this i believe to be the cause of the great circulation of the _weekly dispatch,_ which has but too well succeeded in demoralising the public, in creating disaffection and ill-will towards the government, and assisting the nefarious views of demagogues and chartists. it is certain that men would rather laugh than cry--would rather be amused than rendered gloomy and discontented--would sooner dwell upon the joys or sorrows of others in a tale of fiction than brood over their own supposed wrongs. if i put good and wholesome food (and, as i trust, sound moral) before the lower classes, they will eventually eschew that which is coarse and disgusting, which is only resorted to because no better is supplied. our weekly newspapers are at present little better than records of immorality and crime, and the effect which arises from having no other matter to read and comment upon, is of serious injury to the morality of the country ... i consider, therefore, that in writing for the amusement and instruction of the poor man, i am doing that which has but been too much neglected--that i am serving my country, and you surely will agree with me that to do so in not _infra. dig._ in the proudest englishman; and, as a conservative, you should commend rather than stigmatise my endeavours in the manner which you have so hastily done." it has been said that marryat's wandering ceased in , and it was in that year that he settled down at langham to look after his own estate. langham is in the northern division of norfolk, half way between wells-next-the-sea and holt. the manor house, says mrs lean, "without having any great architectural pretensions, had a certain unconventional prettiness of its own. it was a cottage in the elizabethan style, built after the model of one at virginia water belonging to his late majesty, george iv., with latticed windows opening on to flights of stone steps ornamented with vases of flowers, and leading down from the long narrow dining-room, where (surrounded by clarkson stanfield's illustrations of _poor jack_, with which the walls were clothed) marryat composed his later works, to the lawn behind. the house was thatched and gabled, and its pinkish white walls and round porch were covered with roses and ivy, which in some parts climbed as high as the roof itself." in the unpublished fragment of his _life of lord napier_ marryat had declared that retired sailors naturally turned to agriculture, and frequently made good farmers. a sailor on land, he rather quaintly remarks, is "but a sort of adam--a new creature, starting into existence as it were in his prime;" and "the greatest pleasures of man consist in imitating the deity in his _creative_ power." the anticipated _pleasure_ in farming he did to a great extent realise, but the _profits_ were still to seek. it can only be said that his losses were rather smaller that they had been in his absence. thus:-- . total receipts, £ " expenditure, . total receipts, " expenditure, his former tenant had indeed shown but little respect for the property. besides taking all he could out of the land without putting anything into it, he fitted up the drawing-room of the manor (which in its brightest days had been known in the village as the "room of thousand columns," from an effect produced by mirrors set in the panels of folding doors, reflecting trellised pillars,) with rows of beds, which he let out to tramps at twopence a night! of these latter years on the farm we can gather some distinctly pleasant impressions. marryat was evidently a good master at all times. he delighted to arrange for festivities in the servants' hall, but he was also very tolerant to poachers, and considered it his first duty to find work for his men when times were bad. his model pigsties and cottages were unpopular, but he loved his animals and understood them. the chief merit of his lazy and somewhat asinine pony dumpling consisted in his talent for standing still. upon this patient beast the captain would occasionally sally forth to shoot, assisting his natural short-sightedness by a curious "invention of his own;"--a plain piece of crystal surrounded by a strip of whalebone, hanging in front of his right eye from the brim of his "shocking bad hat." he was a careless dresser, but scrupulously clean; no smoker, but very fond of snuff. he had a fancy for pure white china which had to be procured from the continent. cordial invitations from friends seldom drew him from his self-imposed labours, and it appears that, in spite of his son's debts and other domestic troubles, he led a fairly contented existence among his dogs and his children. to the latter, though occasionally passionate, he was "a most indulgent father and friend." he never locked anything away from them, or shut them out of any room in the house. though severe on falsehood and cowardice, he was indifferent to mischief, and one is certainly driven to pity for the governess who was summoned to look after them. his methods in this connection were original. "he kept a quantity of small articles for presents in his secretary; and at the termination of each week the children and governess, armed with a report of their general behaviour, were ushered with much solemnity into the library to render up an account. those who had behaved well during the preceding seven days received a prize, because they had been so good; and those who had behaved ill also received one, in hopes that they would never be naughty again: the governess was also presented with a gift, that her criticism on the justice of the transaction might be disarmed." the father was not a strict disciplinarian, and it is related that when a little one had made "a large rent in a new frock," for which she expected punishment from her governess, and ran to him for advice, he "took hold of the rent and tore off the whole lower part of the skirt," saying, "tell her i did it." the sons were seldom at home, but in spite of a certain constitutional wildness and lack of prudence, they were evidently a gallant couple, delighting their father's heart. frederick, the eldest, became a distinguished officer, after conquering a strong propensity to practical joking, and was much regretted in the service when wrecked at the age of twenty-seven. he was last seen "upbraiding, in his jocular manner, some people who were frightened, when a sea swept over the ship and took him with it." frank was entered upon the roll of the navy at the tender age of three, and presented to the port admiral of plymouth in full costume. the officer patted him on the head, saying "well, you're a fine little fellow," to which the youngster replied, "and you're a fine old cock, too." he became a cultivated and bold traveller, beloved by his friends, and not unknown to fame. he only survived his father a few years, and died at the age of twenty-eight. marryat now began his charming series of stories for children, a work to which he turned for a practical reason that sounds strangely from his impulsive lips:-- "i have lately taken to a different style of writing, that is, for young people. my former productions, like all novels, have had their day, and for the present, at least, will sell no more; but it is not so with the _juveniles_; they have an annual demand, and become _a little income_ to me; which i infinitely prefer to receiving any sum in a mass, which very soon disappears somehow or other." save for a little tendency to preachment, these volumes, particularly _masterman ready_, and _the children of the new forest_, are admirably suited to their purpose from the genuine childlikeness of their conception and treatment. meanwhile marryat's health was rapidly giving way, and almost his last appearance before the public was in , when he addressed a pathetic, but fairly dignified letter to the first lord of the admiralty, as a protest against some affront, which he suspected, to his professional career. the exact circumstances of the case cannot be now discovered, but it may be readily conjectured that the formalism of official courtesy did not match with the captain's taste, and that the necessity for self-control on his own part had irritated his resentment. the first lord expressed his regret at having wounded a distinguished officer, and bestowed on him a good service pension. it may be said that the pension came too late, if indeed it would at any time have been particularly serviceable. marryat was now engaged in that melancholy chase for health which generally augurs the beginning of the end. he had ruptured two blood vessels, and was in great danger from the constitutional weakness which had first attacked him as a young lieutenant in the west indies. he moved to his mother's house in order to consult the london doctors. a mild climate was recommended, and he went down to hastings, where the news of his son's death destroyed his own chances of recovery. after about a month's trial of brighton, he came back to the london doctors who told him that "in six months he would be numbered with his forefathers." he went home to langham to die. through the summer of he lingered on, "in the 'room of a thousand columns,' with the mimic sky, and birds, and flowers, above and around him, where he chose to lie upon a mattress, placed on the ground, and there, almost in darkness, often in pain, and without occupation, he lay--cheerful and uncomplaining, and at times even humorous." his daughters frequently read aloud to him, and he always asked for fresh flowers. at the last he became delirious, though continuing to dictate pages of talk and reflection. on the morning of august th, , he expired in perfect quiet. "although not handsome," says mrs lean, "captain marryat's personal appearance was very prepossessing. in figure he was upright and broad-shouldered for his height, which measured ft. in. his hands, without being undersized, were remarkably perfect in form, and modelled by a sculptor at rome on account of their symmetry. the character of his mind was borne out by his features, the most salient expression of which was the frankness of an open heart. the firm decisive mouth, and massive thoughtful forehead were redeemed from heaviness by the humorous light that twinkled in his deep-set grey eyes, which, bright as diamonds, positively flashed out their fun, or their reciprocation of the fun of others. as a young man, dark crisp curls covered his head; but later in life, when, having exchanged the sword for the pen and the plougshare [sic], he affected a soberer and more patriarchal style of dress and manner, he wore his grey hair long, and almost down to his shoulder. his eyebrows were not alike, one being higher up and more arched than the other, which peculiarity gave his face a look of enquiry, even in repose. in the upper lip was a deep cleft, and in the chin as deep a dimple." christopher north describes captain marryat as "a captain in the navy, and an honour to it--an admirable sailor, and an admirable writer--and would that he were with us on the leads, my lads, for a pleasanter fellow, _to those who know him,_ never enlivened the social board." it is evident, indeed, that an intimate knowledge of his character was necessary to its appreciation, for his daughter declares that "like most warm-hearted people he was quick to take offence, and no one could have decided, after an absence of six months, with whom he was friends, and with whom he was not." one of the said friends wrote truly:-- "his faults proceeded from an _over-active_ mind, which could never be quiet--morning, noon, or night. if he had no one to love, he quarrelled for want of something better to do; he planned for himself and for everybody, and changed his mind ten times a-day." "many people have asked," says mrs lean "whether captain marryat, when at home, was not 'very funny.' no, decidedly not. in society, with new topics to discuss, and other wits about him on which to sharpen his own --or, like flint and steel, to emit sparks by friction--he was as gay and humorous as the best of them; but at home he was always a thoughtful, and, at times, a very grave man; for he was not exempt from those ills that all flesh is heir to, and had his sorrows and his difficulties and moments of depression, like the rest of us. at such times it was dangerous to thwart and disturb him, for he was a man of strong passions and indomitable determination." it is not difficult to conceive the character in outline--"wise english-hearted captain marryat," kingsley calls him. he was incapable of any mean low vices, but his zest for pleasure was keen, and never restrained by motives of prudence or consideration for others. his strong passions at times made him disagreeably selfish and overbearing, qualities forgiven by acquaintances for his social brilliancy, and by friends for his frank affection. with some business talents and practical shrewdness, he was quite incapable of wisely conducting his affairs, by reason of a mania for speculation and originality. there was considerable waste of good material in his fiery composition. his books reveal the higher standard of his true nature. their merits and faults are alike on the surface. lockhart declared that "he stood second in merit to no living novelist but miss edgeworth. his happy delineations and contrasts of character, and easy play of native fun, redeem a thousand faults of verbosity, clumsiness, and coarseness. his strong sense, and utter superiority to affectation of all sorts, command respect, and in his quiet effectiveness of circumstantial narrative he sometimes approaches old defoe." it is easy to criticise marryat, for his grammar is reckless, he could not construct a plot, he wrote too much and too rapidly in order to earn money. but then he was an altogether admirable _raconteur_, and for the purposes of narration his style was peculiarly appropriate--simple, rapid, lucid, and vigorous. he does not tax our powers of belief beyond endurance, or weary us with wonder. his crises are the more effective from the absence of any studied introduction or thunderous comment; and he carries his readers through stirring adventures of storm and battle with a business-like precision that silences doubt. he breathes the spirit of the sea, himself a genuine sailor, almost as childlike and simple as one of his own creations. his books are real voyages, in which a day of bustle and danger is followed by peace and quiet, yarns on the quarter-deck, and some practical joking among the middies. he delights in the exhibition of oddities, and the telling of tall stories outside the regular course of the narrative, which bubbles over with somewhat boisterous fun. and his humour is genuine and spontaneous; it is farcical without descending to buffoonery. his comic types are built up on character, and, if not subtle, are undeniably human and living. they are drawn, moreover, with sympathy. the whole tone of marryat's work is singularly fresh, wholesome, and manly. his heroes endure rough handling, but they fight their way, for the most part, to the essential qualities of gentlemen. they are no saints; but excellent comrades, honest lovers, and brave tars. r. brimley johnson. footnotes: [ ] in dwelling upon the autobiographical nature of the _incident_, in _frank mildmay,_ it is necessary to guard against the supposition that marryat's _character_ in any way resembled his hero's. see further preface to _f m._ prefatory note to peter simple and the three cutters from _nodes ambrosianæ_:-- _shepherd_ [hogg]. did marry yacht write _peter simple_? peter simple in his ain way's as gude's parson adams ... he that invented peter simple's a sea-fieldin'. * * * * * _peter simple_ is printed from the first edition, in three volumes. saunders and otley, . _the three cutters_ is printed from the first edition. longman, rees, orme, brown, green, and longman, . _the three cutters_ was first published in one volume with _the pirate_, containing a portrait of marryat--drawn by w. behnes, engraved by h. cook; and "illustrated with twenty splendid engravings from drawings by clarkson stanfield, esq., r.a." peter simple chapter i the great advantage of being the fool of the family--my destiny is decided, and i am consigned to a stockbroker as part of his majesty's sea stock--unfortunately for me mr handycock is a bear, and i get very little dinner. if i cannot narrate a life of adventurous and daring exploits, fortunately i have no heavy crimes to confess; and, if i do not rise in the estimation of the reader for acts of gallantry and devotion in my country's cause, at least i may claim the merit of zealous and persevering continuance in my vocation. we are all of us variously gifted from above, and he who is content to walk, instead of to run, on his allotted path through life, although he may not so rapidly attain the goal, has the advantage of not being out of breath upon his arrival. not that i mean to infer that my life has not been one of adventure. i only mean to say that, in all which has occurred, i have been a passive, rather than an active, personage; and, if events of interest are to be recorded, they certainly have not been sought by me. as well as i can recollect and analyze my early propensities, i think that, had i been permitted to select my own profession, i should in all probability have bound myself apprentice to a tailor; for i always envied the comfortable seat which they appeared to enjoy upon the shopboard, and their elevated position, which enabled them to look down upon the constant succession of the idle or the busy, who passed in review before them in the main street of the country town, near to which i passed the first fourteen years of my existence. but my father, who was a clergyman of the church of england, and the youngest brother of a noble family, had a lucrative living, and a "soul above buttons," if his son had not. it has been from time immemorial the heathenish custom to sacrifice the greatest fool of the family to the prosperity and naval superiority of the country, and, at the age of fourteen, i was selected as the victim. if the custom be judicious, i had no reason to complain. there was not one dissentient voice, when it was proposed before all the varieties of my aunts and cousins, invited to partake of our new-year's festival. i was selected by general acclamation. flattered by such an unanimous acknowledgment of my qualification, and a stroke of my father's hand down my head which accompanied it, i felt as proud, and, alas! as unconscious as the calf with gilded horns, who plays and mumbles with the flowers of the garland which designates his fate to every one but himself. i even felt, or thought i felt, a slight degree of military ardour, and a sort of vision of future grandeur passed before me, in the distant vista of which i perceived a coach with four horses and a service of plate. it was, however, driven away before i could decipher it, by positive bodily pain, occasioned by my elder brother tom, who, having been directed by my father to snuff the candles, took the opportunity of my abstraction to insert a piece of the still ignited cotton into my left ear. but as my story is not a very short one, i must not dwell too long on its commencement. i shall therefore inform the reader, that my father, who lived in the north of england, did not think it right to fit me out at the country town, near to which we resided; but about a fortnight after the decision which i have referred to, he forwarded me to london, on the outside of the coach, with my best suit of bottle-green and six shirts. to prevent mistakes, i was booked in the way-bill "to be delivered to mr thomas handycock, no. , saint clement's lane--carriage paid." my parting with the family was very affecting; my mother cried bitterly, for, like all mothers, she liked the greatest fool which she had presented to my father, better than all the rest; my sisters cried because my mother cried; tom roared for a short time more loudly than all the rest, having been chastised by my father for breaking his fourth window in that week;--during all which my father walked up and down the room with impatience, because he was kept from his dinner, and, like all orthodox divines, he was tenacious of the only sensual enjoyment permitted to his cloth. at last i tore myself away. i had blubbered till my eyes were so red and swollen, that the pupils were scarcely to be distinguished, and tears and dirt had veined my cheeks like the marble of the chimney-piece. my handkerchief was soaked through with wiping my eyes and blowing my nose, before the scene was over. my brother tom, with a kindness which did honour to his heart, exchanged his for mine, saying, with fraternal regard, "here, peter, take mine, it's as dry as a bone." but my father would not wait for a second handkerchief to perform its duty. he led me away through the hall, when, having shaken hands with all the men and kissed all the maids, who stood in a row with their aprons to their eyes, i quitted my paternal roof. the coachman accompanied me to the place from whence the stage was to start. having seen me securely wedged between two fat old women, and having put my parcel inside, he took his leave, and in a few minutes i was on my road to london. i was too much depressed to take notice of anything during my journey. when we arrived in london, they drove to the blue boar (in a street, the name of which i have forgotten). i had never seen or heard of such an animal, and certainly it did appear very formidable; its mouth was open and teeth very large. what surprised me still more was to observe that its teeth and hoofs were of pure gold. who knows, thought i, that in some of the strange countries which i am doomed to visit, but that i may fall in with, and shoot one of these terrific monsters? with what haste shall i select those precious parts, and with what joy should i, on my return, pour them as an offering of filial affection into my mother's lap!--and then, as i thought of my mother, the tears again gushed into my eyes. the coachman threw his whip to the ostler, and the reins upon the horses' backs; he then dismounted, and calling to me, "now, young gentleman, i'se a-waiting," he put a ladder up for me to get down by; then turning to a porter, he said to him, "bill, you must take this here young gem'man and that ere parcel to this here direction.--please to remember the coachman, sir." i replied that i certainly would, if he wished it, and walked off with the porter; the coachman observing, as i went away, "well, he is a fool--that's sartain." i arrived quite safe at st clement's-lane, when the porter received a shilling for his trouble from the maid who let me in, and i was shown up into a parlour, where i found myself in company with mrs handycock. mrs handycock was a little meagre woman, who did not speak very good english, and who appeared to me to employ the major part of her time in bawling out from the top of the stairs to the servants below. i never saw her either read a book or occupy herself with needlework, during the whole time i was in the house. she had a large grey parrot, and i really cannot tell which screamed the worse of the two--but she was very civil and kind to me, and asked me ten times a day when i had last heard of my grandfather, lord privilege. i observed that she always did so if any company happened to call in during my stay at her house. before i had been there ten minutes, she told me that she "hadored sailors--they were the defendiours and preserviours of their kings and countries," and that "mr handycock would be home by four o'clock, and then we should go to dinner." then she jumped off her chair to bawl to the cook from the head of the stairs--"jemima, jemima!--ve'll ha'e the viting biled instead of fried." "can't, marm," replied jemima, "they be all begged and crumbed, with their tails in their mouths." "vell, then, never mind, jemima," replied the lady.--"don't put your finger into the parrot's cage, my love--he's apt to be cross with strangers. mr handycock will be home at four o'clock, and then we shall have our dinner. are you fond of viting?" as i was very anxious to see mr handycock, and very anxious to have my dinner, i was not sorry to hear the clock on the stairs strike four, when mrs handycock again jumped up, and put her head over the banisters, "jemima, jemima, it's four o'clock!" "i hear it, marm," replied the cook; and she gave the frying-pan a twist, which made the hissing and the smell come flying up into the parlour, and made me more hungry than ever. rap, tap, tap! "there's your master, jemima," screamed the lady. "i hear him, marm," replied the cook. "run down, my dear, and let mr handycock in," said his wife. "he'll be so surprised at seeing you open the door." i ran down, as mrs handycock desired me, and opened the street-door. "who the devil are you?" in a gruff voice, cried mr handycock; a man about six feet high, dressed in blue cotton-net pantaloons and hessian boots, with a black coat and waistcoat. i was a little rebuffed, i must own, but i replied that i was mr simple. "and pray, mr simple, what would your grandfather say if he saw you now? i have servants in plenty to open my door, and the parlour is the proper place for young gentlemen." "law, mr handycock," said his wife, from the top of the stairs, "how can you be so cross? i told him to open the door to surprise you." "and you have surprised me," replied he, "with your cursed folly." while mr handycock was rubbing his boots on the mat, i went upstairs rather mortified, i must own, as my father had told me that mr handycock was his stockbroker, and would do all he could to make me comfortable: indeed, he had written to that effect in a letter, which my father showed to me before i left home. when i returned to the parlour, mrs handycock whispered to me, "never mind, my dear, it's only because there's something wrong on 'change. mr handycock is a _bear_ just now." i thought so too, but i made no answer, for mr handycock came upstairs, and walking with two strides from the door of the parlour to the fire-place, turned his back to it, and lifting up his coat-tails, began to whistle. "are you ready for your dinner, my dear?" said the lady, almost trembling. "if the dinner is ready for me. i believe we usually dine at four," answered her husband, gruffly. "jemima, jemima, dish up! do you hear, jemima?" "yes, marm," replied the cook, "directly i've thickened the butter;" and mrs handycock resumed her seat, with, "well, mr simple, and how is your grandfather, lord privilege?" "he is quite well, ma'am," answered i, for the fifteenth time at least. but dinner put an end to the silence which followed this remark. mr handycock lowered his coat-tails and walked downstairs, leaving his wife and me to follow at our leisure. "pray, ma'am," inquired i, as soon as he was out of hearing, "what is the matter with mr handycock, that he is so cross to you?" "vy, my dear, it is one of the misfortunes of mater-mony, that ven the husband's put out, the vife is sure to have her share of it. mr handycock must have lost money on 'change, and then he always comes home cross. ven he vins, then he is as merry as a cricket." "are you people coming down to dinner?" roared mr handycock from below. "yes, my dear," replied the lady, "i thought that you were washing your hands." we descended into the dining-room, where we found that mr handycock had already devoured two of the whitings, leaving only one on the dish for his wife and me. "vould you like a little bit of viting, my dear?" said the lady to me. "it's not worth halving," observed the gentleman, in a surly tone, taking up the fish with his own knife and fork, and putting it on his plate. "well, i'm so glad you like them, my dear," replied the lady meekly; then turning to me, "there's some nice roast _weal_ coming, my dear." the veal made its appearance, and fortunately for us, mr handycock could not devour it all. he took the lion's share, nevertheless, cutting off all the brown, and then shoving the dish over to his wife to help herself and me. i had not put two pieces in my mouth before mr handycock desired me to get up and hand him the porter-pot, which stood on the sideboard. i thought that if it was not right for me to open a door, neither was it for me to wait at table--but i obeyed him without making a remark. after dinner, mr handycock went down to the cellar for a bottle of wine. "o deary me!" exclaimed his wife, "he must have lost a mint of money--we had better go up stairs and leave him alone; he'll be better after a bottle of port, perhaps." i was very glad to go away, and being very tired, i went to bed without any tea, for mrs handycock dared not venture to make it before her husband came up stairs. chapter ii fitting out on the shortest notice--fortunately for me, this day mr handycock is a bear, and i fare very well--i set off for portsmouth-- behind the coach i meet a man before the mast--he is disguised with liquor, but is not the only disguise i fall in with in my journey. the next morning mr handycock appeared to be in somewhat better humour. one of the linendrapers who fitted out cadets, &c, "on the shortest notice," was sent for, and orders given for my equipment, which mr handycock insisted should be ready on the day afterwards, or the articles would be left on his hands; adding, that my place was already taken in the portsmouth coach. "really, sir," observed the man, "i'm afraid--on such very short notice--" "your card says, 'the shortest notice,'" rejoined mr handycock, with the confidence and authority of a man who is enabled to correct another by his own assertions. "if you do not choose to undertake the work, another will." this silenced the man, who made his promise, took my measure, and departed; and soon afterwards mr handycock also quitted the house. what with my grandfather and the parrot, and mrs handycock wondering how much money her husband had lost, running to the head of the stairs and talking to the cook, the day passed away pretty well till four o'clock; when, as before, mrs handycock screamed, the cook screamed, the parrot screamed, and mr handycock rapped at the door, and was let in--but not by me. he ascended the stair swith [sic] three bounds, and coming into the parlour, cried, "well, nancy, my love, how are you?" then stooping over her, "give me a kiss, old girl. i'm as hungry as a hunter. mr simple, how do you do? i hope you have passed the morning agreeably. i must wash my hands and change my boots, my love; i am not fit to sit down to table with you in this pickle. well, polly, how are you?" "i'm glad you're hungry, my dear, i've such a nice dinner for you," replied the wife, all smiles. "jemima, be quick and dish up--mr handycock is so hungry." "yes, marm," replied the cook; and mrs handycock followed her husband into his bedroom on the same floor, to assist him at his toilet. "by jove, nancy, the _bulls_ have been nicely taken in," said mr handycock, as we sat down to dinner. "o, i am so glad!" replied his wife, giggling; and so i believe she was, but why i did not understand. "mr simple," said he, "will you allow me to offer you a little fish?" "if you do not want it all yourself, sir," replied i politely. mrs handycock frowned and shook her head at me, while her husband helped me. "my dove, a bit of fish?" we both had our share to-day, and i never saw a man more polite than mr handycock. he joked with his wife, asked me to drink wine with him two or three times, talked about my grandfather; and, in short, we had a very pleasant evening. the next morning all my clothes came home, but mr handycock, who still continued in good humour, said that he would not allow me to travel by night, that i should sleep there and set off the next morning; which i did at six o'clock, and before eight i had arrived at the elephant and castle, where we stopped for a quarter of an hour. i was looking at the painting representing this animal with a castle on its back; and assuming that of alnwick, which i had seen, as a fair estimate of the size and weight of that which he carried, was attempting to enlarge my ideas so as to comprehend the stupendous bulk of the elephant, when i observed a crowd assembled at the corner; and asking a gentleman who sat by me in a plaid cloak, whether there was not something very uncommon to attract so many people, he replied, "not very, for it is only a drunken sailor." i rose from my seat, which was on the hinder part of the coach, that i might see him, for it was a new sight to me, and excited my curiosity, when to my astonishment, he staggered from the crowd, and swore that he'd go to portsmouth. he climbed up by the wheel of the coach, and sat down by me. i believe that i stared at him very much, for he said to me, "what are you gaping at, you young sculping? do you want to catch flies? or did you never see a chap half-seas-over before?" i replied, "that i had never been at sea in my life, but that i was going." "well, then, you're like a young bear, all your sorrows to come--that's all, my hearty," replied he. "when you get on board, you'll find monkey's allowance--more kicks than half-pence. i say, you pewter-carrier, bring us another pint of ale." the waiter of the inn, who was attending the coach, brought out the ale, half of which the sailor drank, and the other half threw into the waiter's face, telling him that was his "allowance: and now," said he, "what's to pay?" the waiter, who looked very angry, but appeared too much afraid of the sailor to say anything, answered fourpence; and the sailor pulled out a handful of banknotes, mixed up with gold, silver, and coppers, and was picking out the money to pay for his beer, when the coachman, who was impatient, drove off. "there's cut and run," cried the sailor, thrusting all the money into his breeches pocket. "that's what you'll learn to do, my joker, before you've been two cruises to sea." in the meantime the gentleman in the plaid cloak, who was seated by me, smoked his cigar without saying a word. i commenced a conversation with him relative to my profession, and asked him whether it was not very difficult to learn. "larn," cried the sailor, interrupting us, "no; it may be difficult for such chaps as me before the mast to larn; but you, i presume, is a reefer, and they an't got much to larn, 'cause why, they pipe-clays their weekly accounts, and walks up and down with their hands in their pockets. you must larn to chaw baccy, drink grog, and call the cat a beggar, and then you knows all a midshipman's expected to know nowadays. ar'n't i right, sir?" said the sailor, appealing to the gentleman in a plaid cloak. "i axes you, because i see you're a sailor by the cut of your jib. beg pardon, sir," continued he, touching his hat, "hope no offence." "i am afraid that you have nearly hit the mark, my good fellow," replied the gentleman. the drunken fellow then entered into conversation with him, stating that he had been paid off from the _audacious_ at portsmouth, and had come up to london to spend his money with his messmates, but that yesterday he had discovered that a jew at portsmouth had sold him a seal as gold, for fifteen shillings, which proved to be copper, and that he was going back to portsmouth to give the jew a couple of black eyes for his rascality, and that when he had done that he was to return to his messmates, who had promised to drink success to the expedition at the cock and bottle, st martin's lane, until he should return. the gentleman in the plaid cloak commended him very much for his resolution; for he said, "that although the journey to and from portsmouth would cost twice the value of a gold seal, yet, that in the end it might be worth a _jew's eye_." what he meant i did not comprehend. whenever the coach stopped, the sailor called for more ale, and always threw the remainder which he could not drink into the face of the man who brought it out for him, just as the coach was starting off, and then tossed the pewter pot on the ground for him to pick up. he became more tipsy every stage, and the last from portsmouth, when he pulled out his money, he could find no silver, so he handed down a note, and desired the waiter to change it. the waiter crumpled it up and put it into his pocket, and then returned the sailor the change for a one-pound note; but the gentleman in the plaid had observed that it was a five-pound note which the sailor had given, and insisted upon the waiter producing it, and giving the proper change. the sailor took his money, which the waiter handed to him, begging pardon for the mistake, although he coloured up very much at being detected. "i really beg your pardon," said he again, "it was quite a mistake;" whereupon the sailor threw the pewter pot at the waiter, saying, "i really beg your pardon, too,"--and with such force, that it flattened upon the man's head, who fell senseless on the road. the coachman drove off, and i never heard whether the man was killed or not. after the coach had driven off, the sailor eyed the gentleman in the plaid cloak for a minute or two, and then said, "when i first looked at you i took you for some officer in mufti; but now that i see you look so sharp after the rhino, it's my idea that you're some poor devil of a scotchman, mayhap second mate of a marchant vessel--there's half a crown for your services--i'd give you more if i thought you would spend it." the gentleman laughed, and took the half-crown, which i afterwards observed that he gave to a grey-headed beggar at the bottom of portsdown hill. i inquired of him how soon we should be at portsmouth; he answered that we were passing the lines; but i saw no lines, and i was ashamed to show my ignorance. he asked me what ship i was going to join. i could not recollect her name, but i told him it was painted on the outside of my chest, which was coming down by the waggon; all that i could recollect was that it was a french name. "have you no letter of introduction to the captain?" said he. "yes i have," replied i; and i pulled out my pocket-book in which the letter was. "captain savage, h.m. ship _diomede_," continued i, reading to him. to my surprise he very coolly proceeded to open the letter, which, when i perceived what he was doing, occasioned me immediately to snatch the letter from him, stating my opinion at the same time that it was a breach of honour, and that in my opinion he was no gentleman. "just as you please, youngster," replied he. "recollect, you have told me i am no gentleman." he wrapped his plaid around him, and said no more; and i was not a little pleased at having silenced him by my resolute behaviour. chapter iii i am made to look very blue at the blue posts--find wild spirits around, and, soon after, hot spirits within me; at length my spirits overcome me call to pay my respects to the captain, and find that i had had the pleasure of meeting him before--no sooner out of one scrape than into another. when we stopped, i inquired of the coachman which was the best inn. he answered "that it was the blue postesses, where the midshipmen leave their chestesses, call for tea and toastesses, and sometimes forget to pay for their breakfastesses." he laughed when he said it, and i thought that he was joking with me; but he pointed out two large blue posts at the door next the coach-office, and told me that all the midshipmen resorted to that hotel. he then asked me to remember the coachman, which, by this time i had found out implied that i was not to forget to give him a shilling, which i did, and then went into the inn. the coffee-room was full of midshipmen, and, as i was anxious about my chest, i inquired of one of them if he knew when the waggon would come in. "do you expect your mother by it?" replied he. "oh no! but i expect my uniforms--i only wear these bottle-greens until they come." "and pray what ship are you going to join?" "the _die-a-maid_--captain thomas kirkwall savage." "the _diomede_--i say, robinson, a'n't that the frigate in which the midshipmen had four dozen apiece for not having pipe-clayed their weekly accounts on the saturday?" "to be sure it is," replied the other; "why the captain gave a youngster five dozen the other day for wearing a scarlet watch-riband." "he's the greatest tartar in the service," continued the other; "he flogged the whole starboard watch the last time that he was on a cruise, because the ship would only sail nine knots upon a bowline." "oh dear," said i, "then i'm very sorry that i am going to join him." "'pon my soul i pity you: you'll be fagged to death: for there's only three midshipmen in the ship now--all the rest ran away. didn't they, robinson?" "there's only two left now; for poor matthews died of fatigue. he was worked all day, and kept watch all night for six weeks, and one morning he was found dead upon his chest." "god bless my soul!" cried i; "and yet, on shore, they say he is such a kind man to his midshipmen." "yes," replied robinson, "he spreads that report every where. now, observe, when you first call upon him, and report your having come to join his ship, he'll tell you that he is very happy to see you, and that he hopes your family are well--then he'll recommend you to go on board and learn your duty. after that, stand clear. now, recollect what i have said, and see if it does not prove true. come, sit down with us and take a glass of grog; it will keep your spirits up." these midshipmen told me so much about my captain, and the horrid cruelties which he had practised, that i had some doubts whether i had not better set off home again. when i asked their opinion, they said, that if i did, i should be taken up as a deserter and hanged; that my best plan was to beg his acceptance of a few gallons of rum, for he was very fond of grog, and that then i might perhaps be in his good graces, as long as the rum might last. i am sorry to state that the midshipmen made me very tipsy that evening. i don't recollect being put to bed, but i found myself there the next morning, with a dreadful headache, and a very confused recollection of what had passed. i was very much shocked at my having so soon forgotten the injunctions of my parents, and was making vows never to be so foolish again, when in came the midshipman who had been so kind to me the night before. "come, mr bottlegreen," he bawled out, alluding, i suppose, to the colour of my clothes, "rouse and bitt. there's the captain's coxswain waiting for you below. by the powers, you're in a pretty scrape for what you did last night!" "did last night!" replied i, astonished. "why, does the captain know that i was tipsy?" "i think you took devilish good care to let him know it when you were at the theatre." "at the theatre! was i at the theatre?" "to be sure you were. you would go, do all we could to prevent you, though you were as drunk as david's sow. your captain was there with the admiral's daughters. you called him a tyrant and snapped your fingers at him. why, don't you recollect? you told him that you did not care a fig for him." "oh dear! oh dear! what shall i do? what shall i do?" cried i: "my mother cautioned me so about drinking and bad company." "bad company, you whelp--what do you mean by that?" "o, i did not particularly refer to you." "i should hope not! however, i recommend you, as a friend, to go to the george inn as fast as you can, and see your captain, for the longer you stay away, the worse it will be for you. at all events, it will be decided whether he receives you or not. it is fortunate for you that you are not on the ship's books. come, be quick, the coxswain is gone back." "not on the ship's books," replied i sorrowfully. "now i recollect there was a letter from the captain to my father, stating that he had put me on the books." "upon my honour, i'm sorry--very sorry indeed," replied the midshipman; --and he quitted the room, looking as grave as if the misfortune had happened to himself. i got up with a heavy head, and heavier heart, and as soon as i was dressed, i asked the way to the george inn. i took my letter of introduction with me, although i was afraid it would be of little service. when i arrived, i asked, with a trembling voice, whether captain thomas kirkwall savage, of h.m. ship _diomede_, was staying there. the waiter replied, that he was at breakfast with captain courtney, but that he would take up my name. i gave it him, and in a minute the waiter returned, and desired that i would walk up. o how my heart beat!--i never was so frightened--i thought i should have dropped on the stairs. twice i attempted to walk into the room, and each time my legs failed me; at last i wiped the perspiration from my forehead, and with a desperate effort i went into the room. "mr simple, i am glad to see you," said a voice. i had held my head down, for i was afraid to look at him, but the voice was so kind that i mustered up courage; and, when i did look up, there sat with his uniform and epaulets, and his sword by his side, the passenger in the plaid cloak, who wanted to open my letter, and whom i had told to his face, that he was _no gentleman_. i thought i should have died as the other midshipman did upon his chest. i was just sinking down upon my knees to beg for mercy, when the captain perceiving my confusion, burst out into a laugh, and said, "so you know me again, mr simple? well, don't be alarmed, you did your duty in not permitting me to open the letter, supposing me, as you did, to be some other person, and you were perfectly right, under that supposition, to tell me that i was not a gentleman. i give you credit for your conduct. now sit down and take some breakfast." "captain courtney," said he to the other captain, who was at the table, "this is one of my youngsters just entering the service. we were passengers yesterday by the same coach." he then told him the circumstance which occurred, at which they laughed heartily. i now recovered my spirits a little--but still there was the affair at the theatre, and i thought that perhaps he did not recognize me. i was, however, soon relieved from my anxiety by the other captain inquiring, "were you at the theatre last night, savage?" "no; i dined at the admiral's; there's no getting away from those girls, they are so pleasant." "i rather think you are a little--_taken_ in that quarter." "no, on my word! i might be if i had time to discover which i liked best; but my ship is at present my wife, and the only wife i intend to have until i am laid on the shelf." well, thought i, if he was not at the theatre, it could not have been him that i insulted. now if i can only give him the rum, and make friends with him. "pray, mr simple, how are your father and mother?" said the captain. "very well, i thank you, sir, and desire me to present their compliments." "i am obliged to them. now i think the sooner you go on board and learn your duty the better." (just what the midshipman told me--the very words, thought i--then it's all true--and i began to tremble again.) "i have a little advice to offer you," continued the captain. "in the first place, obey your superior officers without hesitation; it is for me, not you, to decide whether an order is unjust or not. in the next place, never swear or drink spirits. the first is immoral and ungentleman-like, the second is a vile habit which will grow upon you. i never touch spirit myself, and i expect that my young gentlemen will refrain from it also. now you may go, and as soon as your uniforms arrive, you will repair on board. in the meantime, as i had some little insight into your character when we travelled together, let me recommend you not to be too intimate at first sight with those you meet, or you may be led into indiscretions. good morning." i quitted the room with a low bow, glad to have surmounted so easily what appeared to be a chaos of difficulty; but my mind was confused with the testimony of the midshipman, so much at variance with the language and behaviour of the captain. when i arrived at the blue posts, i found all the midshipmen in the coffee-room, and i repeated to them all that had passed. when i had finished, they burst out laughing, and said that they had only been joking with me. "well," said i to the one who had called me up in the morning, "you may call it joking, but i call it lying." "pray, mr bottlegreen, do you refer to me?" "yes, i do," replied i. "then, sir, as a gentleman, i demand satisfaction. slugs in a saw-pit. death before dishonour, d----e!" "i shall not refuse you," replied i, "although i had rather not fight a duel; my father cautioned me on the subject, desiring me, if possible, to avoid it, as it was flying in the face of my creator; but aware that i must uphold my character as an officer, he left me to my own discretion, should i ever be so unfortunate as to be in such a dilemma." "well, we don't want one of your father's sermons at second-hand," replied the midshipman, (for i had told them that my father was a clergyman); "the plain question is, will you fight, or will you not?" "could not the affair be arranged otherwise?" interrupted another. "will not mr bottlegreen retract?" "my name is simple, sir, and not bottlegreen," replied i; "and as he did tell a falsehood, i will not retract." "then the affair must go on," said the midshipman. "robinson, will you oblige me by acting as my second?" "it's an unpleasant business," replied the other; "you are so good a shot; but as you request it, i shall not refuse. mr simple is not, i believe, provided with a friend." "yes, he is," replied another of the midshipmen. "he is a spunky fellow, and i'll be his second." it was then arranged that we should meet the next morning, with pistols. i considered that as an officer and a gentleman, i could not well refuse; but i was very unhappy. not three days left to my own guidance, and i had become intoxicated, and was now to fight a duel. i went up into my room and wrote a long letter to my mother, enclosing a lock of my hair; and having shed a few tears at the idea of how sorry she would be if i were killed, i borrowed a bible from the waiter, and read it during the remainder of the day. chapter iv i am taught on a cold morning, before breakfast, how to stand fire, and thus prove my courage--after breakfast i also prove my gallantry--my proof meets reproof--woman at the bottom of all mischief--by one i lose my liberty, and, by another, my money. when i began to wake the next morning i could not think what it was that felt like a weight upon my chest, but as i roused and recalled my scattered thoughts, i remembered that in an hour or two it would be decided whether i were to exist another day. i prayed fervently, and made a resolution in my own mind that i would not have the blood of another upon my conscience, and would fire my pistol up in the air. and after i had made that resolution, i no longer felt the alarm which i did before. before i was dressed, the midshipman who had volunteered to be my second, came into my room, and informed me that the affair was to be decided in the garden behind the inn; that my adversary was a very good shot, and that i must expect to be winged if not drilled. "and what is winged and drilled?" inquired i. "i have not only never fought a duel, but i have not even fired a pistol in my life." he explained what he meant, which was, that being winged implied being shot through the arm or leg, whereas being drilled was to be shot through the body. "but," continued he, "is it possible that you have never fought a duel?" "no," replied i; "i am not yet fifteen years old." "not fifteen! why i thought you were eighteen at the least." (but i was very tall and stout for my age, and people generally thought me older than i actually was.) i dressed myself and followed my second into the garden, where i found all the midshipmen and some of the waiters of the inn. they all seemed very merry, as if the life of a fellow-creature was of no consequence. the seconds talked apart for a little while, and then measured the ground, which was twelve paces; we then took our stations. i believe that i turned pale, for my second came to my side and whispered that i must not be frightened. i replied, that i was not frightened, but that i considered that it was an awful moment. the second to my adversary then came up and asked me whether i would make an apology, which i refused to do as before: they handed a pistol to each of us, and my second showed me how i was to pull the trigger. it was arranged that at the word given, we were to fire at the same time. i made sure that i should be wounded, if not killed, and i shut my eyes as i fired my pistol in the air. i felt my head swim, and thought i was hurt, but fortunately i was not. the pistols were loaded again, and we fired a second time. the seconds then interfered, and it was proposed that we should shake hands, which i was very glad to do, for i considered my life to have been saved by a miracle. we all went back to the coffee-room, and sat down to breakfast. they then told me that they all belonged to the same ship that i did, and that they were glad to see that i could stand fire, for the captain was a terrible fellow for cutting-out and running under the enemy's batteries. the next day my chest arrived by the waggon, and i threw off my "bottle-greens" and put on my uniform. i had no cocked hat, or dirk, as the warehouse people employed by mr handycock did not supply those articles, and it was arranged that i should procure them at portsmouth. when i inquired the price, i found that they cost more money than i had in my pocket, so i tore up the letter i had written to my mother before the duel, and wrote another asking for a remittance, to purchase my dirk and cocked hat. i then walked out in my uniform, not a little proud, i must confess. i was now an officer in his majesty's service, not very high in rank, certainly, but still an officer and a gentleman, and i made a vow that i would support the character, although i was considered the greatest fool of the family. i had arrived opposite a place called sally port, when a young lady, very nicely dressed, looked at me very hard and said, "well, reefer, how are you off for soap?" i was astonished at the question, and more so at the interest which she seemed to take in my affairs. i answered, "thank you, i am very well off; i have four cakes of windsor, and two bars of yellow for washing." she laughed at my reply, and asked me whether i would walk home and take a bit of dinner with her. i was astonished at this polite offer, which my modesty induced me to ascribe more to my uniform than to my own merits, and, as i felt no inclination to refuse the compliment, i said that i should be most happy. i thought i might venture to offer my arm, which she accepted, and we proceeded up high street on our way to her home. just as we passed the admiral's house, i perceived my captain walking with two of the admiral's daughters. i was not a little proud to let him see that i had female acquaintances as well as he had, and, as i passed him with the young lady under my protection, i took off my hat, and made him a low bow. to my surprise, not only did he not return the salute, but he looked at me with a very stern countenance. i concluded that he was a very proud man, and did not wish the admiral's daughters to suppose that he knew midshipmen by sight; but i had not exactly made up my mind on the subject, when the captain, having seen the ladies into the admiral's house, sent one of the messengers after me to desire that i would immediately come to him at the george inn, which was nearly opposite. i apologised to the young lady, and promised to return immediately if she would wait for me; but she replied, if that was my captain, it was her idea that i should have a confounded wigging and be sent on board. so, wishing me good-bye, she left me and continued her way home. i could as little comprehend all this as why the captain looked so black when i passed him; but it was soon explained when i went up to him in the parlour at the george inn. "i am sorry, mr simple," said the captain, when i entered, "that a lad like you should show such early symptoms of depravity; still more so, that he should not have the grace which even the most hardened are not wholly destitute of--i mean to practise immorality in secret, and not degrade themselves and insult their captain by unblushingly avowing (i may say glorying in) their iniquity, by exposing it in broad day, and in the most frequented street of the town." "sir," replied i with astonishment, "o dear! o dear! what have i done?" the captain fixed his keen eyes upon me, so that they appeared to pierce me through, and nail me to the wall. "do you pretend to say, sir, that you were not aware of the character of the person with whom you were walking just now?" "no, sir," replied i; "except that she was very kind and good-natured;" and then i told him how she had addressed me, and what subsequently took place. "and is it possible, mr simple, that you are so great a fool?" i replied that i certainly was considered the greatest fool of our family. "i should think you were," replied he, drily. he then explained to me who the person was with whom i was in company, and how any association with her would inevitably lead to my ruin and disgrace. i cried very much, for i was shocked at the narrow escape which i had had, and mortified at having fallen in his good opinion. he asked me how i had employed my time since i had been at portsmouth, and i made an acknowledgment of having been made tipsy, related all that the midshipmen had told me, and how i had that morning fought a duel. he listened to my whole story very attentively, and i thought that occasionally there was a smile upon his face, although he bit his lips to prevent it. when i had finished, he said, "mr simple, i can no longer trust you on shore until you are more experienced in the world. i shall desire my coxswain not to lose sight of you until you are safe on board of the frigate. when you have sailed a few months with me, you will then be able to decide whether i deserve the character which the young gentlemen have painted, with, i must say, i believe, the sole intention of practising upon your inexperience." altogether i did not feel sorry when it was over. i saw that the captain believed what i had stated, and that he was disposed to be kind to me, although he thought me very silly. the coxswain, in obedience to his orders, accompanied me to the blue posts. i packed up my clothes, paid my bill, and the porter wheeled my chest down to the sally port, where the boat was waiting. "come, heave a-head, my lads, be smart. the captain says we are to take the young gentleman on board directly. his liberty's stopped for getting drunk and running after the dolly mops!" "i should thank you to be more respectful in your remarks, mr coxswain," said i with displeasure. "mister coxswain! thanky, sir, for giving me a handle to my name," replied he. "come, be smart with your oars, my lads!" "la, bill freeman," said a young woman on the beach, "what a nice young gentleman you have there! he looks like a sucking nelson. i say, my pretty young officer, could you lend me a shilling?" i was so pleased at the woman calling me a young nelson, that i immediately complied with her request. "i have not a shilling in my pocket," said i, "but here is half-a-crown, and you can change it and bring me back the eighteen pence." "well, you are a nice young man," replied she, taking the half-crown; "i'll be back directly, my dear." the men in the boat laughed, and the coxswain desired them to shove off. "no," observed i, "you must wait for my eighteen pence." "we shall wait a devilish long while then, i suspect. i know that girl, and she has a very bad memory." "she cannot be so dishonest or ungrateful," replied i. "coxswain, i order you to stay--i am an officer." "i know you are, sir, about six hours old: well, then, i must go up and tell the captain that you have another girl in tow, and that you won't go on board." "oh no, mr coxswain, pray don't; shove off as soon as you please, and never mind the eighteen pence." the boat then shoved off, and pulled towards the ship, which lay at spithead. chapter v i am introduced to the quarter-deck and first lieutenant, who pronounces me very clever--trotted below to mrs trotter--connubial bliss in a cock-pit--mr trotter takes me in as a mess-mate--feel very much surprised that so many people know that i am the son of--my father. on our arrival on board, the coxswain gave a note from the captain to the first lieutenant, who happened to be on deck. he read the note, looked at me earnestly, and then i overheard him say to another lieutenant, "the service is going to the devil. as long as it was not popular, if we had not much education, we at least had the chance that natural abilities gave us; but now that great people send their sons for a provision into the navy, we have all the refuse of their families, as if anything was good enough to make a captain of a man-of-war, who has occasionally more responsibility on his shoulders, and is placed in situations requiring more judgment, than any other people in existence. here's another of the fools of a family made a present of to the country--another cub for me to lick into shape. well, i never saw the one yet i did not make something of. where's mr simple?" "i am mr simple, sir," replied i, very much frightened at what i had overheard. "now, mr simple," said the first lieutenant, "observe, and pay particular attention to what i say. the captain tells me in this note that you have been shamming stupid. now, sir, i am not to be taken in that way. you're something like the monkeys, who won't speak because they are afraid they will be made to work. i have looked attentively at your face, and i see at once that you are _very clever_, and if you do not prove so in a very short time, why--you had better jump overboard, that's all. perfectly understand me. i know that you are a very clever fellow, and having told you so, don't you pretend to impose upon me, for it won't do." i was very much terrified at this speech, but at the same time i was pleased to hear that he thought me clever, and i determined to do all in my power to keep up such an unexpected reputation. "quarter-master," said the first lieutenant, "tell mr trotter to come on deck." the quarter-master brought up mr trotter, who apologized for being so dirty, as he was breaking casks out of the hold. he was a short, thick-set man, about thirty years of age, with a nose which had a red club to it, very dirty teeth, and large black whiskers. "mr trotter," said the first lieutenant, "here is a young gentleman who has joined the ship. introduce him into the berth, and see his hammock slung. you must look after him a little." "i really have very little time to look after any of them, sir," replied mr trotter; "but i will do what i can. follow me, youngster." accordingly, i descended the ladder after him; then i went down another, and then to my surprise i was desired by him to go down a third, which when i had done, he informed me that i was in the cock-pit. "now, youngster," said mr trotter, seating himself upon a large chest, "you may do as you please. the midshipmen's mess is on the deck above this, and if you like to join, why you can; but this i will tell you as a friend, that you will be thrashed all day long, and fare very badly; the weakest always goes to the wall there, but perhaps you do not mind that. now that we are in harbour, i mess here, because mrs trotter is on board. she is a very charming woman, i can assure you, and will be here directly; she has just gone up into the galley to look after a net of potatoes in the copper. if you like it better, i will ask her permission for you to mess with us. you will then be away from the midshipmen, who are a sad set, and will teach you nothing but what is immoral and improper, and you will have the advantage of being in good society, for mrs trotter has kept the very best in england. i make you this offer because i want to oblige the first lieutenant, who appears to take an interest about you, otherwise i am not very fond of having any intrusion upon my domestic happiness." i replied that i was much obliged to him for his kindness, and that if it would not put mrs trotter to an inconvenience, i should be happy to accept of his offer; indeed, i thought myself very fortunate in having met with such a friend. i had scarcely time to reply, when i perceived a pair of legs, cased in black cotton stockings, on the ladder above us, and it proved that they belonged to mrs trotter, who came down the ladder with a net full of smoking potatoes. "upon my word, mrs trotter, you must be conscious of having a very pretty ankle, or you would not venture to display it, as you have to mr simple, a young gentleman whom i beg to introduce to you, and who, with your permission, will join our mess." "my dear trotter, how cruel of you not to give me warning; i thought that nobody was below. i declare i'm so ashamed," continued the lady, simpering, and covering her face with the hand which was unemployed. "it can't be helped now, my love, neither was there anything to be ashamed of. i trust mr simple and you will be very good friends. i believe i mentioned his desire to join our mess." "i am sure i shall be very happy in his company. this is a strange place for me to live in, mr simple, after the society to which i have been accustomed; but affection can make any sacrifice; and rather than lose the company of my dear trotter, who has been unfortunate in pecuniary matters--" "say no more about it, my love. domestic happiness is everything, and will enliven even the gloom of a cock-pit." "and yet," continued mrs trotter, "when i think of the time when we used to live in london, and keep our carriage. have you ever been in london, mr simple?" i answered that i had. "then, probably, you may have been acquainted with, or have heard of, the smiths?" i replied that the only people that i knew there were a mr and mrs handycock. "well, if i had known that you were in london, i should have been very glad to have given you a letter of introduction to the smiths. they are quite the topping people of the place." "but, my dear," interrupted mr trotter, "is it not time to look after our dinner?" "yes; i am going forward for it now. we have skewer pieces to-day. mr simple, will you excuse me?" and then, with a great deal of flirtation and laughing about her ankles, and requesting me, as a favour, to turn my face away, mrs trotter ascended the ladder. as the reader may wish to know what sort of looking personage she was, i will take this opportunity to describe her. her figure was very good, and at one period of her life i thought her face must have been very handsome; at the time i was introduced to her, it showed the ravages of time or hardship very distinctly; in short, she might be termed a faded beauty, flaunting in her dress, and not very clean in her person. "charming woman, mrs trotter, is she not, mr simple?" said the master's mate; to which, of course, i immediately acquiesced. "now, mr simple," continued he, "there are a few arrangements which i had better mention while mrs trotter is away, for she would be shocked at our talking about such things. of course, the style of living which we indulge in is rather expensive. mrs trotter cannot dispense with her tea and her other little comforts; at the same time i must put you to no extra expense--i had rather be out of pocket myself. i propose that during the time you mess with us you shall only pay one guinea per week; and as for entrance money, why i think i must not charge you more than a couple of guineas. have you any money?" "yes," i replied, "i have three guineas and a half left." "well, then, give me the three guineas, and the half-guinea you can reserve for pocket-money. you must write to your friends immediately for a further supply." i handed him the money, which he put in his pocket. "your chest," continued he, "you shall bring down here, for mrs trotter will, i am sure, if i request it, not only keep it in order for you, but see that your clothes are properly mended. she is a charming woman, mrs trotter, and very fond of young gentlemen. how old are you?" i replied that i was fifteen. "no more! well, i am glad of that, for mrs trotter is very particular after a certain age. i should recommend you on no account to associate with the other midshipmen. they are very angry with me, because i would not permit mrs trotter to join their mess, and they are sad story-tellers." "that they certainly are," replied i; but here we were interrupted by mrs trotter coming down with a piece of stick in her hand upon which were skewered about a dozen small pieces of beef and pork, which she first laid on a plate, and then began to lay the cloth and prepare for dinner. "mr simple is only fifteen, my dear," observed mr trotter. "dear me!" replied mrs trotter, "why, how tall he is! he is quite as tall for his age as young lord foutretown, whom you used to take out with you in the _chay_. do you know lord foutretown, mr simple?" "no, i do not, ma'am," replied i; but wishing to let them know that i was well connected, i continued, "but i dare say that my grandfather, lord privilege, does." "god bless me! is lord privilege your grandfather? well, i thought i saw a likeness somewhere. don't you recollect lord privilege, my dear trotter, that we met at lady scamp's--an elderly person? it's very ungrateful of you not to recollect him, for he sent you a very fine haunch of venison." "privilege--bless me, yes. oh, yes! an old gentleman, is he not?" said mr trotter, appealing to me. "yes, sir," replied i, quite delighted to find myself among those who were acquainted with my family. "well, then, mr simple," said mrs trotter, "since we have the pleasure of being acquainted with your family, i shall now take you under my own charge, and i shall be so fond of you that trotter shall become quite jealous," added she, laughing. "we have but a poor dinner to-day, for the bumboat woman disappointed me. i particularly requested her to bring me off a leg of lamb, but she says that there was none in the market. it is rather early for it, that's true; but trotter is very nice in his eating. now, let us sit down to dinner." i felt very sick, indeed, and could eat nothing. our dinner consisted of the pieces of beef and pork, the potatoes, and a baked pudding in a tin dish. mr trotter went up to serve the spirits out to the ship's company, and returned with a bottle of rum. "have you got mr simple's allowance, my love?" inquired mrs trotter. "yes; he is victualled to-day, as he came on board before twelve o'clock. do you drink spirits, mr simple?" "no, i thank you," replied i; for i remembered the captain's injunction. "taking, as i do, such an interest in your welfare, i must earnestly recommend you to abstain from them," said mr trotter. "it is a very bad habit, and once acquired, not easy to be left off. i am obliged to drink them, that i may not check the perspiration after working in the hold; i have, nevertheless, a natural abhorrence of them; but my champagne and claret days are gone by, and i must submit to circumstances." "my poor trotter!" said the lady. "well," continued he, "it's a poor heart that never rejoiceth." he then poured out half a tumbler of rum, and filled the glass up with water. "my love, will you taste it?" "now, trotter, you know that i never touch it, except when the water is so bad that i must have the taste taken away. how is the water to-day?" "as usual, my dear, not drinkable." after much persuasion mrs trotter agreed to sip a little out of his glass. i thought that she took it pretty often, considering that she did not like it, but i felt so unwell that i was obliged to go on the main-deck. there i was met by a midshipman whom i had not seen before. he looked very earnestly in my face, and then asked my name. "simple," said he. "what, are you the son of old simple?" "yes, sir," replied i, astonished that so many should know my family. "well, i thought so by the likeness. and how is your father?" "very well, i thank you, sir." "when you write to him, make my compliments, and tell him that i desired to be particularly remembered to him;" and he walked forward, but as he forgot to mention his own name, i could not do it. i went to bed very tired; mr trotter had my hammock hung up in the cock-pit, separated by a canvas-screen from the cot in which he slept with his wife. i thought this very odd, but they told me it was the general custom on board ship, although mrs trotter's delicacy was very much shocked by it. i was very sick, but mrs trotter was very kind. when i was in bed she kissed me, and wished me good night, and very soon afterwards i fell fast asleep. chapter vi puzzled with very common words--mrs trotter takes care of my wardrobe--a matrimonial duet, ending _con strepito_. i awoke the next morning at daylight with a noise over my head which sounded like thunder; i found it proceeded from holystoning and washing down the main-deck. i was very much refreshed nevertheless, and did not feel the least sick or giddy. mr trotter, who had been up at four o'clock, came down, and directed one of the marines to fetch me some water. i washed myself on my chest, and then went on the main-deck, which they were swabbing dry. standing by the sentry at the cabin-door, i met one of the midshipmen with whom i had been in company at the blue posts. "so, master simple, old trotter and his faggot of a wife have got hold of you--have they?" said he. i replied, that i did not know the meaning of faggot, but that i considered mrs trotter a very charming woman. at which he burst into a loud laugh. "well," said he, "i'll just give you a caution. take care, or they'll make a clean sweep. has mrs trotter shown you her ankle yet?" "yes," i replied, "and a very pretty one it is." "ah! she's at her old tricks. you had much better have joined our mess at once. you're not the first greenhorn that they have plucked. well," said he, as he walked away, "keep the key of your own chest--that's all." but as mr trotter had warned me that the midshipmen would abuse them, i paid very little attention to what he said. when he left me i went on the quarter-deck. all the sailors were busy at work, and the first lieutenant cried out to the gunner, "now, mr dispart, if you are ready, we'll breech these guns." "now, my lads," said the first lieutenant, "we must slue (the part that breeches cover) more forward." as i never heard of a gun having breeches, i was very anxious to see what was going on, and went up close to the first lieutenant, who said to me, "youngster, hand me that _monkey's tail_." i saw nothing like a _monkeys tail_, but i was so frightened that i snatched up the first thing that i saw, which was a short bar of iron, and it so happened that it was the very article which he wanted. when i gave it to him, the first lieutenant looked at me, and said, "so you know what a monkey's tail is already, do you? now don't you ever sham stupid after that." thought i to myself, i'm very lucky, but if that's a monkey's tail it's a very stiff one! i resolved to learn the names of everything as fast as i could, that i might be prepared; so i listened attentively to what was said; but i soon became quite confused, and despaired of remembering anything. "how is this to be finished off, sir?" inquired a sailor of the boatswain. "why, i beg leave to hint to you, sir, in the most delicate manner in the world," replied the boatswain, "that it must be with a _double-wall_--and be d----d to you--don't you know that yet? captain of the foretop," said he, "up on your _horses_, and take your _stirrups_ up three inches."--"ay, ay, sir." (i looked and looked, but i could see no horses.) "mr chucks," said the first lieutenant to the boatswain, "what blocks have we below--not on charge?" "let me see, sir, i've one _sister_, t'other we split in half the other day, and i think i have a couple of _monkeys_ down in the store-room.--i say, you smith, pass that brace through the _bull's eye,_ and take the _sheepshank_ out before you come down." and then he asked the first lieutenant whether something should not be fitted with a _mouse_ or only a _turk's head_--told him the _goose-neck_ must be spread out by the armourer as soon as the forge was up. in short, what with _dead eyes_ and _shrouds, cats_ and _cat-blocks, dolphins_ and _dolphin-strikers, whips_ and _puddings_, i was so puzzled with what i heard, that i was about to leave the deck in absolute despair. "and, mr chucks, recollect this afternoon that you _bleed_ all the _buoys_." bleed the boys, thought i, what can that be for? at all events, the surgeon appears to be the proper person to perform that operation. this last incomprehensible remark drove me off the deck, and i retreated to the cock-pit, where i found mrs trotter. "oh, my dear!" said she, "i am glad you are come, as i wish to put your clothes in order. have you a list of them--where is your key?" i replied that i had not a list, and i handed her the key, although i did not forget the caution of the midshipman; yet i considered that there could be no harm in her looking over my clothes when i was present. she unlocked my chest, and pulled everything out, and then commenced telling me what were likely to be useful and what were not. "now these worsted stockings," she said, "will be very comfortable in cold weather, and in the summer time these brown cotton socks will be delightfully cool, and you have enough of each to last you till you outgrow them; but as for these fine cotton stockings, they are of no use--only catch the dirt when the decks are swept, and always look untidy. i wonder how they could be so foolish as to send them; nobody wears them on board ship nowadays. they are only fit for women--i wonder if they would fit me." she turned her chair away, and put on one of my stockings, laughing the whole of the time. then she turned round to me and showed me how nicely they fitted her. "bless you, mr simple, it's well that trotter is in the hold, he'd be so jealous--do you know what these stockings cost? they are of no use to you, and they fit me. i will speak to trotter, and take them off your hands." i replied, that i could not think of selling them, and as they were of no use to me and fitted her, i begged that she would accept of the dozen pairs. at first she positively refused, but as i pressed her, she at last consented, and i was very happy to give them to her as she was very kind to me, and i thought, with her husband, that she was a very charming woman. we had beef-steaks and onions for dinner that day, but i could not bear the smell of the onions. mr trotter came down very cross, because the first lieutenant had found fault with him. he swore that he would cut the service--that he had only remained to oblige the captain, who said that he would sooner part with his right arm, and that he would demand satisfaction of the first lieutenant as soon as he could obtain his discharge. mrs trotter did all she could to pacify him, reminded him that he had the protection of lord this and sir thomas that, who would see him righted; but in vain. the first lieutenant had told him, he said, that he was not worth his salt, and blood only could wipe away the insult. he drank glass of grog after glass of grog, and at each glass became more violent, and mrs trotter drank also, i observed, a great deal more than i thought she ought to have done; but she whispered to me, that she drank it that trotter might not, as he would certainly be tipsy. i thought this very devoted on her part; but they sat so late that i went to bed and left them--he still drinking and vowing vengeance against the first lieutenant. i had not been asleep above two or three hours when i was awakened by a great noise and quarrelling, and i discovered that mr trotter was drunk and beating his wife. very much shocked that such a charming woman should be beaten and ill-used, i scrambled out of my hammock to see if i could be of any assistance, but it was dark, although they scuffled as much as before. i asked the marine, who was sentry at the gun-room door above, to bring his lantern, and was very much shocked at his replying that i had better go to bed and let them fight it out. shortly afterwards mrs trotter, who had not taken off her clothes, came from behind the screen. i perceived at once that the poor woman could hardly stand; she reeled to my chest, where she sat down and cried. i pulled on my clothes as fast as i could, and then went up to her to console her, but she could not speak intelligibly. after attempting in vain to comfort her, she made me no answer, but staggered to my hammock, and, after several attempts, succeeded in getting into it. i cannot say that i much liked that, but what could i do? so i finished dressing myself, and went up on the quarter-deck. the midshipman who had the watch was the one who had cautioned me against the trotters; he was very friendly to me. "well, simple," said he, "what brings you on deck?" i told him how ill mr trotter had behaved to his wife, and how she had turned into my hammock. "the cursed drunken old catamaran," cried he; "i'll go and cut her down by the head;" but i requested he would not, as she was a lady. "a lady!" replied he; "yes, there's plenty of ladies of her description;" and then he informed me that she had many years ago been the mistress of a man of fortune who kept a carriage for her; but that he grew tired of her, and had given trotter £ to marry her, and that now they did nothing but get drunk together and fight with each other. i was very much annoyed to hear all this; but as i perceived that mrs trotter was not sober, i began to think that what the midshipman said was true. "i hope," added he, "that she has not had time to wheedle you out of any of your clothes." i told him that i had given her a dozen pairs of stockings, and had paid mr trotter three guineas for my mess. "this must be looked to," replied he; "i shall speak to the first lieutenant to-morrow. in the mean time, i shall get your hammock for you. quarter-master, keep a good look-out." he then went below, and i followed him, to see what he would do. he went to my hammock and lowered it down at one end, so that mrs trotter lay with her head on the deck in a very uncomfortable position. to my astonishment, she swore at him in a dreadful manner, but refused to turn out. he was abusing her, and shaking her in the hammock, when mr trotter, who had been roused at the noise, rushed from behind the screen. "you villain! what are you doing with my wife?" cried he, pommelling at him as well as he could, for he was so tipsy that he could hardly stand. i thought the midshipman able to take care of himself, and did not wish to interfere; so i remained above, looking on--the sentry standing by me with his lantern over the coombings of the hatchway to give light to the midshipman, and to witness the fray. mr trotter was soon knocked down, when all of a sudden mrs trotter jumped up from the hammock, and caught the midshipman by the hair, and pulled at him. then the sentry thought right to interfere; he called out for the master-at-arms, and went down himself to help the midshipman, who was faring badly between the two. but mrs trotter snatched the lantern out of his hand and smashed it all to pieces, and then we were all left in darkness, and i could not see what took place, although the scuffling continued. such was the posture of affairs when the master-at-arms came up with his light. the midshipman and sentry went up the ladder, and mr and mrs trotter continued beating each other. to this, none of them paid any attention, saying, as the sentry had said before, "let them fight it out." after they had fought some time, they retired behind the screen, and i followed the advice of the midshipman, and got into my hammock, which the master-at-arms hung up again for me. i heard mr and mrs trotter both crying and kissing each other. "cruel, cruel, mr trotter," said she, blubbering. "my life, my love, i was so jealous!" replied he. "d--n and blast your jealousy," replied the lady; "i've two nice black eyes for the galley to-morrow." after about an hour of kissing and scolding, they both fell asleep again. the next morning before breakfast, the midshipman reported to the first lieutenant the conduct of mr trotter and his wife. i was sent for and obliged to acknowledge that it was all true. he sent for mr trotter, who replied that he was not well, and could not come on deck. upon which the first lieutenant ordered the sergeant of marines to bring him up directly. mr trotter made his appearance, with one eye closed, and his face very much scratched. "did not i desire you, sir," said the first lieutenant, "to introduce this young gentleman into the midshipmen's berth? instead of which you have introduced him to that disgraceful wife of yours, and have swindled him out of his property. i order you immediately to return the three guineas which you received as mess-money, and also that your wife give back the stockings which she cajoled him out of." but then i interposed, and told the first lieutenant that the stockings had been a free gift on my part and that, although i had been very foolish, yet that i considered that i could not in honour demand them back again. "well, youngster," replied the first lieutenant, "perhaps your ideas are correct, and if you wish it, i will not enforce that part of my order; but," continued he to mr trotter, "i desire, sir, that your wife leave the ship immediately; and i trust that when i have reported your conduct to the captain, he will serve you in the same manner. in the meantime, you will consider yourself under an arrest for drunkenness." chapter vii scandalum magnatum clearly proved--i prove to the captain that i consider him a gentleman, although i had told him the contrary, and i prove to the midshipmen that i am a gentleman myself--they prove their gratitude by practising upon me, because practice makes perfect. the captain came on board about twelve o'clock, and ordered the discharge of mr trotter to be made out, as soon as the first lieutenant had reported what had occurred. he then sent for all the midshipmen on the quarter-deck. "gentlemen," said the captain to them, with a stern countenance, "i feel very much indebted to some of you for the character which you have been pleased to give of me to mr simple. i must now request that you will answer a few questions which i am about to put in his presence. did i ever flog the whole starboard watch because the ship would only sail nine knots on a bowline?" "no, sir, no!" replied they all, very much frightened. "did i ever give a midshipman four dozen for not having his weekly accounts pipe-clayed; or another five dozen for wearing a scarlet watch ribbon?" "no, sir," replied they all together. "did any midshipman ever die on his chest from fatigue?" they again replied in the negative. "then, gentlemen, you will oblige me by stating which of you thought proper to assert these falsehoods in a public coffee-room; and further, which of you obliged this youngster to risk his life in a duel?" they were all silent. "will you answer me, gentlemen?" "with respect to the duel, sir," replied the midshipman who had fought me, "i _heard_ say, that the pistols were only charged with powder. it was a joke." "well, sir, we'll allow that the duel was only a joke, (and i hope and trust that your report is correct); is the reputation of your captain only a joke, allow me to ask? i request to know who of you dared to propagate such injurious slander?" (here there was a dead pause.) "well, then, gentlemen, since you will not confess yourselves, i must refer to my authority. mr simple, have the goodness to point out the person or persons who gave you the information." but i thought this would not be fair; and as they had all treated me very kindly after the duel, i resolved not to tell; so i answered, "if you please, sir, i consider that i told you all that in confidence." "confidence, sir!" replied the captain; "who ever heard of confidence between a post-captain and a midshipman?" "no, sir," replied i, "not between a post-captain and a midshipman, but between two gentlemen." the first lieutenant, who stood by the captain, put his hand before his face to hide a laugh. "he may be a fool, sir," observed he to the captain, aside; "but i can assure you he is a very straight, forward one." the captain bit his lip, and then turning to the midshipmen, said, "you may thank mr simple, gentlemen, that i do not press this matter further. i do believe that you were not serious when you calumniated me; but recollect, that what is said in joke is too often repeated in earnest. i trust that mr simple's conduct will have its effect, and that you leave off practising upon him, who has saved you from a very severe punishment." when the midshipmen went down below, they all shook hands with me, and said that i was a good fellow for not peaching; but, as for the advice of the captain that they should not practise upon me, as he termed it, they forgot that, for they commenced again immediately, and never left off until they found that i was not to be deceived any longer. i had not been ten minutes in the berth, before they began their remarks upon me. one said that i looked like a hardy fellow, and asked me whether i could not bear a great deal of sleep. i replied that i could, i dare say, if it was necessary for the good of the service; at which they laughed, and i supposed that i had said a good thing. "why here's tomkins," said the midshipman; "he'll show you how to perform that part of your duty. he inherits it from his father, who was a marine officer. he can snore for fourteen hours on a stretch without once turning round in his hammock, and finish his nap on the chest during the whole of the day, except meal-times." but tomkins defended himself, by saying, that "some people were very quick in doing things, and others were very slow; that he was one of the slow ones, and that he did not in reality obtain more refreshment from his long naps than other people did in short ones, because he slept much slower than they did." this ingenious argument was, however, overruled _nem. con._, as it was proved that he ate pudding faster than any one in the mess. the postman came on board with the letters, and put his head into the midshipman's berth. i was very anxious to have one from home, but i was disappointed. some had letters and some had not. those who had not, declared that their parents were very undutiful, and that they would cut them off with a shilling; and those who had letters, after they had read them, offered them for sale to the others, usually at half-price. i could not imagine why they sold, or why the others bought them; but they did do so; and one that was full of good advice was sold three times, from which circumstance i was inclined to form a better opinion of the morals of my companions. the lowest-priced letters sold, were those written by sisters. i was offered one for a penny, but i declined buying, as i had plenty of sisters of my own. directly i made that observation, they immediately inquired all their names and ages, and whether they were pretty or not. when i had informed them, they quarrelled to whom they should belong. one would have lucy, and another took mary; but there was a great dispute about ellen, as i had said that she was the prettiest of the whole. at last they agreed to put her up to auction, and she was knocked down to a master's mate of the name of o'brien, who bid seventeen shillings and a bottle of rum. they requested that i would write home to give their love to my sisters, and tell them how they had been disposed of, which i thought very strange; but i ought to have been flattered at the price bid for ellen, as i repeatedly have since been witness to a very pretty sister being sold for a glass of grog. i mentioned the reason why i was so anxious for a letter, viz., because i wanted to buy my dirk and cocked hat; upon which they told me that there was no occasion for my spending my money, as, by the regulations of the service, the purser's steward served them out to all the officers who applied for them. as i knew where the purser's steward's room was, having seen it when down in the cock-pit with the trotters, i went down immediately. "mr purser's steward," said i, "let me have a cocked hat and a dirk immediately." "very good, sir," replied he, and he wrote an order upon a slip of paper, which he handed to me. "there is the order for it, sir; but the cocked hats are kept in the chest up in the main-top; and as for the dirk, you must apply to the butcher, who has them under his charge." i went up with the order, and thought i would first apply for the dirk; so i inquired for the butcher, whom i found sitting in the sheep-pen with the sheep, mending his trousers. in reply to my demand, he told me that he had not the key of the store-room, which was under the charge of one of the corporals of marines. i inquired who, and he said, "cheeks [ ] the marine." i went everywhere about the ship, inquiring for cheeks the marine, but could not find him. some said that they believed he was in the fore-top, standing sentry over the wind, that it might not change; others, that he was in the galley, to prevent the midshipmen from soaking their biscuit in the captain's dripping-pan. at last, i inquired of some of the women who were standing between the guns on the main-deck, and one of them answered that it was no use looking for him among them, as they all had husbands, and cheeks was a _widows man._[ ] as i could not find the marine, i thought i might as well go for my cocked hat, and get my dirk afterwards. i did not much like going up the rigging, because i was afraid of turning giddy, and if i fell overboard i could not swim; but one of the midshipmen offered to accompany me, stating that i need not be afraid, if i fell overboard, of sinking to the bottom, as if i was giddy, my head, at all events, _would swim_; so i determined to venture. i climbed up very near to the main-top, but not without missing the little ropes very often, and grazing the skin of my shins. then i came to large ropes stretched out from the mast, so that you must climb them with your head backwards. the midshipman told me these were called the cat-harpings, because they were so difficult to climb, that a cat would expostulate if ordered to go out by them. i was afraid to venture, and then he proposed that i should go through lubber's hole, which he said had been made for people like me. i agreed to attempt it, as it appeared more easy, and at last arrived, quite out of breath, and very happy to find myself in the main-top. the captain of the main-top was there with two other sailors. the midshipman introduced me very politely:--"mr jenkins--mr simple, midshipman,--mr simple, mr jenkins, captain of the main-top. mr jenkins, mr simple has come up with an order for a cocked hat." the captain of the top replied that he was very sorry that he had not one in store, but the last had been served out to the captain's monkey. this was very provoking. the captain of the top then asked me if i was ready with my _footing_. i replied, "not very, for i had lost it two or three times when coming up." he laughed and replied, that i should lose it altogether before i went down; and that i must _hand_ it out. "_hand_ out my _footing_!" said i, puzzled, and appealing to the midshipman; "what does he mean?" "he means that you must fork out a seven-shilling bit." i was just as wise as ever, and stared very much; when mr jenkins desired the other men to get half a dozen _foxes_ and make a _spread eagle_ of me, unless he had his parkisite. i never should have found out what it all meant, had not the midshipman, who laughed till he cried, at last informed me that it was the custom to give the men something to drink the first time that i came aloft, and that if i did not, they would tie me up to the rigging. having no money in my pocket, i promised to pay them as soon as i went below; but mr jenkins would not trust me. i then became very angry, and inquired of him "if he doubted my honour." he replied, "not in the least, but that he must have the seven shillings before i went below." "why, sir," said i, "do you know whom you are speaking to? i am an officer and a gentleman. do you know who my grandfather is?" "o yes," replied he, "very well." "then, who is he, sir?" replied i very angrily. "who is he! why he's the _lord knows who_." "no," replied i, "that's not his name; he is lord privilege." (i was very much surprised that he knew that my grandfather was a lord.) "and do you suppose," continued i, "that i would forfeit the honour of my family for a paltry seven shillings?" this observation of mine, and a promise on the part of the midshipman, who said he would be bail for me, satisfied mr jenkins, and he allowed me to go down the rigging. i went to my chest, and paid the seven shillings to one of the top-men who followed me, and then went up on the main-deck, to learn as much as i could of my profession. i asked a great many questions of the midshipmen relative to the guns, and they crowded round me to answer them. one told me they were called the frigate's _teeth_, because they stopped the frenchman's _jaw._ another midshipman said that he had been so often in action, that he was called the _fire-eater_. i asked him how it was that he escaped being killed. he replied that he always made it a rule, upon the first cannon-ball coming through the ship's side, to put his head into the hole which it had made; as, by a calculation made by professor innman, the odds were , , and some decimals to boot, that another ball would not come in at the same hole. that's what i never should have thought of. footnotes: [ ] this celebrated personage is the prototype of mr nobody on board of a man-of-war. [b] widows' men are imaginary sailors, borne on the books, and receiving pay and prize-money, which is appropriated to greenwich hospital. chapter viii my messmates show me the folly of running in debt--duty carried on politely--i become acquainted with some gentlemen of the home department--the episode of sholto m'foy. now that i have been on board about a month, i find that my life is not disagreeable. i don't smell the pitch and tar, and i can get into my hammock without tumbling out on the other side. my messmates are good-tempered, although they laugh at me very much; but i must say that they are not very nice in their ideas of honour they appear to consider that to take you in is a capital joke; and that because they laugh at the time that they are cheating you, it then becomes no cheating at all. now i cannot think otherwise than that cheating is cheating, and that a person is not a bit more honest, because he laughs at you in the bargain. a few days after i came on board, i purchased some tarts of the bumboat woman, as she is called; i wished to pay for them, but she had no change, and very civilly told me she would trust me. she produced a narrow book, and said that she would open an account with me, and i could pay her when i thought proper. to this arrangement i had no objection, and i sent up for different things until i thought that my account must have amounted to eleven or twelve shillings. as i promised my father that i never would run in debt, i considered that it was then time that it should be settled. when i asked for it, what was my surprise to find that it amounted to £ s. d. i declared that it was impossible, and requested that she would allow me to look at the items, when i found that i was booked for at least three or four dozen tarts every day, ordered by the young gentlemen, "to be put down to mr simple's account." i was very much shocked, not only at the sum of money which i had to pay, but also at the want of honesty on the part of my messmates; but when i complained of it in the berth, they all laughed at me. at last one of them said, "peter, tell the truth; did not your father caution you not to run in debt?" "yes, he did," replied i. "i know that very well," replied he; "all fathers do the same when their sons leave them; it's a matter of course. now observe, peter; it is out of regard to you, that your messmates have been eating tarts at your expense you disobeyed your father's injunctions before you had been a month from home; and it is to give you a lesson that may be useful in after-life, that they have considered it their duty to order the tarts. i trust that it will not be thrown away upon you. go to the woman, pay your bill, and never run up another." "that i certainly shall not," replied i; but as i could not prove who ordered the tarts, and did not think it fair that the woman should lose her money, i went up and paid the bill with a determination never to open an account with anybody again. but this left my pockets quite empty, so i wrote to my father, stating the whole transaction, and the consequent state of my finances. my father, in his answer, observed that whatever might have been their motives, my messmates had done me a friendly act; and that as i had lost my money by my own carelessness, i must not expect that he would allow me any more pocket-money. but my mother, who added a postscript to his letter, slipped in a five-pound note, and i do believe that it was with my father's sanction, although he pretended to be very angry at my forgetting his injunctions. this timely relief made me quite comfortable again. what a pleasure it is to receive a letter from one's friends when far away, especially when there is same money in it! a few days before this, mr falcon, the first lieutenant, ordered me to put on my side-arms to go away on duty. i replied that i had neither dirk nor cocked hat, although i had applied for them. he laughed at my story, and sent me on shore with the master, who bought them, and the first lieutenant sent up the bill to my father, who paid it, and wrote to thank him for his trouble. that morning, the first lieutenant said to me, "now, mr simple, we'll take the shine off that cocked hat and dirk of yours. you will go in the boat with mr o'brien, and take care that none of the men slip away from it, and get drunk at the tap." this was the first time that i had ever been sent away on duty, and i was very proud of being an officer in charge. i put on my full uniform, and was ready at the gangway a quarter of an hour before the men were piped away. we were ordered to the dockyard to draw sea stores. when we arrived there, i was quite astonished at the piles of timber, the ranges of storehouses, and the immense anchors which lay on the wharf. there was such a bustle, every body appeared to be so busy, that i wanted to look every way at once. close to where the boat landed, they were hauling a large frigate out of what they called the basin; and i was so interested with the sight, that i am sorry to say i quite forgot all about the boat's crew, and my orders to look after them. what surprised me most was, that although the men employed appeared to be sailors, their language was very different from what i had been lately accustomed to on board of the frigate. instead of damning and swearing, everybody was so polite. "oblige me with a pull of the starboard bow hawser, mr jones."--"ease off the larboard hawser, mr jenkins, if you please."-- "side her over, gentlemen, side her over."--"my compliments to mr tompkins, and request that he will cast off the quarter-check."--"side her over, gentlemen, side her over, if you please."--"in the boat there, pull to mr simmons, and beg he'll do me the favour to check her as she swings. what's the matter, mr johnson?"--"vy, there's one of them ere midshipmites has thrown a red hot tater out of the stern-port, and hit our officer in the eye."--"report him to the commissioner, mr wiggins; and oblige me by under-running the guess-warp. tell mr simkins, with my compliments, to coil away upon the jetty. side her over, side her over, gentlemen, if you please." i asked of a bystander who these people were, and he told me that they were dockyard mateys. i certainly thought that it appeared to be quite as easy to say "if you please," as "d----n your eyes," and that it sounded much more agreeable. during the time that i was looking at the frigate being hauled out, two of the men belonging to the boat slipped away, and on my return they were not to be seen. i was very much frightened, for i knew that i had neglected my duty, and that on the first occasion on which i had been intrusted with a responsible service. what to do i did not know i ran up and down every part of the dockyard until i was quite out of breath, asking everybody i met whether they had seen my two men. many of them said that they had seen plenty of men, but did not exactly know mine; some laughed, and called me a greenhorn. at last i met a midshipman, who told me that he had seen two men answering to my description on the roof of the coach starting for london, and that i must be quick if i wished to catch them; but he would not stop to answer any more questions. i continued walking about the yard until i met twenty or thirty men with grey jackets and breeches, to whom i applied for information: they told me that they had seen two sailors skulking behind the piles of timber. they crowded round me, and appeared very anxious to assist me, when they were summoned away to carry down a cable. i observed that they all had numbers on their jackets, and either one or two bright iron rings on their legs. i could not help inquiring, although i was in such a hurry, why the rings were worn. one of them replied that they were orders of merit, given to them for their good behaviour. i was proceeding on very disconsolately, when, as i turned a corner, to my great delight, i met my two men, who touched their hats and said that they had been looking for me. i did not believe that they told the truth, but i was so glad to recover them that i did not scold, but went with them down to the boat, which had been waiting some time for us. o'brien, the master's mate, called me a young sculping,[ ] a word i never heard before. when we arrived on board, the first lieutenant asked o'brien why he had remained so long. he answered that two of the men had left the boat, but that i had found them. the first lieutenant appeared to be pleased with me, observing, as he had said before, that i was no fool, and i went down below, overjoyed at my good fortune, and very much obliged to o'brien for not telling the whole truth. after i had taken off my dirk and cocked hat, i felt for my pocket-handkerchief, and found that it was not in my pocket, having in all probability been taken out by the men in grey jackets, whom, in conversation with my messmates, i discovered to be convicts condemned to hard labour for stealing and picking pockets. a day or two afterwards, we had a new messmate of the name of m'foy. i was on the quarter-deck when he came on board and presented a letter to the captain, inquiring first if his name was "captain sauvage." he was a florid young man, nearly six feet high, with sandy hair, yet very good-looking. as his career in the service was very short, i will tell at once, what i did not find out till some time afterwards. the captain had agreed to receive him to oblige a brother officer, who had retired from the service, and lived in the highlands of scotland. the first notice which the captain had of the arrival of mr m'foy, was from a letter written to him by the young man's uncle. this amused him so much, that he gave it to the first lieutenant to read: it ran as follows:-- "glasgow, april , --- "sir,--our much esteemed and mutual friend, captain m'alpine, having communicated by letter, dated the th inst., your kind intentions relative to my nephew sholto m'foy, (for which you will be pleased to accept my best thanks), i write to acquaint you that he is now on his way to join your ship, the _diomede_, and will arrive, god willing, twenty-six hours after the receipt of this letter. "as i have been given to understand by those who have some acquaintance with the service of the king, that his equipment as an officer will be somewhat expensive, i have considered it but fair to ease your mind as to any responsibility on that score, and have therefore enclosed the half of a bank of england note for ten pounds sterling, no. , the other half of which will be duly forwarded in a frank promised to me the day after to-morrow. i beg you will make the necessary purchases, and apply the balance, should there be any, to his mess account, or any other expenses which you may consider warrantable or justifiable. "it is at the same time proper to inform you, that sholto had ten shillings in his pocket at the time of his leaving glasgow; the satisfactory expenditure of which i have no doubt you will inquire into, as it is a large sum to be placed at the discretion of a youth only fourteen years and five months old. i mention his age, as sholto is so tall that you might be deceived by his appearance, and be induced to trust to his prudence in affairs of this serious nature. should he at any time require further assistance beyond his pay, which i am told is extremely handsome to all king's officers, i beg you to consider that any draught of yours, at ten days' sight, to the amount of five pounds sterling english, will be duly honoured by the firm of monteith, m'killop, and company, of glasgow. sir, with many thanks for your kindness and consideration, "i remain, your most obedient, "walter monteith." the letter brought on board by m'foy was to prove his identity. while the captain read it, m'foy stared about him like a wild stag. the captain welcomed him to the ship, asked him one or two questions, introduced him to the first lieutenant, and then went on shore. the first lieutenant had asked me to dine in the gun-room; i supposed that he was pleased with me because i had found the men; and when the captain pulled on shore, he also invited mr m'foy, when the following conversation took place. "well, mr m'foy, you have had a long journey; i presume it is the first that you have ever made." "indeed it is, sir," replied m'foy; "and sorely i've been pestered. had i minded all they whispered in my lug as i came along, i had need been made of money--sax-pence here, sax-pence there, sax-pence every where. sich extortion i ne'er dreamt of." "how did you come from glasgow?" "by the wheelboat, or steamboat, as they ca'd it, to lunnon: where they charged me sax-pence for taking my baggage on shore--a wee boxy nae bigger than yon cocked-up hat. i would fain carry it mysel', but they wadna let me." "well, where did you go to when you arrived in london?" "i went to a place ca'd chichester rents, to the house of storm and mainwaring, warehousemen, and they must have another sax-pence for showing me the way. there i waited half-an-hour in the counting-house, till they took me to a place ca'd bull and mouth, and put me into a coach, paying my whole fare: nevertheless they must din me for money the whole of the way down. there was first the guard, and then the coachman, and another guard, and another coachman; but i wudna listen to them, and so they growled and abused me." "and when did you arrive?" "i came here last night; and i only had a bed and a breakfast at the twa blue pillars' house, for which they extortioned me three shillings and sax-pence, as i sit here. and then there was the chambermaid hussy and waiter loon axed me to remember them, and wanted more siller; but i told them as i told the guard and coachman, that i had none for them." "how much of your ten shillings have you left?" inquired the first lieutenant, smiling. "hoot, sir lieutenant, how came you for to ken that? eh! it's my uncle monteith at glasgow. why, as i sit here, i've but three shillings and a penny of it lift. but there's a smell here that's no canny; so i'll just go up again into the fresh air." when mr m'foy quitted the gun-room they all laughed very much. after he had been a short time on deck he went down into the midshipmen's berth; but he made himself very unpleasant, quarrelling and wrangling with everybody. it did not, however, last very long; for he would not obey any orders that were given to him. on the third day, he quitted the ship without asking the permission of the first lieutenant; when he returned on board the following day, the first lieutenant put him under an arrest, and in charge of the sentry at the cabin door. during the afternoon i was under the half-deck, and perceived that he was sharpening a long clasp-knife upon the after-truck of the gun. i went up to him, and asked him why he was doing so, and he replied, as his eyes flashed fire, that it was to revenge the insult offered to the bluid of m'foy. his look told me that he was in earnest. "but what do you mean?" inquired i. "i mean," said he, drawing the edge and feeling the point of his weapon, "to put it into the weam of that man with the gold podge on his shoulder, who has dared to place me here." i was very much alarmed, and thought it my duty to state his murderous intentions, or worse might happen; so i walked up on deck and told the first lieutenant what m'foy was intending to do, and how his life was in danger. mr falcon laughed, and shortly afterwards went down on the main-deck. m'foy's eyes glistened, and he walked forward to where the first lieutenant was standing; but the sentry, who had been cautioned by me, kept him back with his bayonet. the first lieutenant turned round, and perceiving what was going on, desired the sentry to see if mr m'foy had a knife in his hand; and he had it sure enough, open, and held behind his back. he was disarmed, and the first lieutenant, perceiving that the lad meant mischief, reported his conduct to the captain, on his arrival on board. the captain sent for m'foy, who was very obstinate, and when taxed with his intention would not deny it, or even say that he would not again attempt it; so he was sent on shore immediately, and returned to his friends in the highlands. we never saw any more of him; but i heard that he obtained a commission in the army, and three months after he had joined his regiment, was killed in a duel, resenting some fancied affront offered to the bluid of m'foy. [footnote : peter's memory is short, p. .--ed.] chapter ix we post up to portsdown fair--consequence of disturbing a lady at supper --natural affection of the pelican, proved at my expense--spontaneous combustion at ranelagh gardens--pastry _versus_ piety--many are bid to the feast; but not the halt, the lame, or the blind. a few days after m'foy quitted the ship, we all had leave from the first lieutenant to go to portsdown fair, but he would only allow the oldsters to sleep on shore. we anticipated so much pleasure from our excursion, that some of us were up early enough to go away in the boat sent for fresh beef. this was very foolish. there were no carriages to take us to the fair, nor indeed any fair so early in the morning; the shops were all shut, and the blue posts, where we always rendezvoused, was hardly opened. we waited there in the coffee-room, until we were driven out by the maid sweeping away the dirt, and were forced to walk about until she had finished, and lighted the fire, when we ordered our breakfast; but how much better would it have been to have taken our breakfast comfortably on board, and then to have come on shore, especially as we had no money to spare. next to being too late, being too soon is the worst plan in the world. however, we had our breakfast, and paid the bill; then we sallied forth, and went up george-street, where we found all sorts of vehicles ready to take us to the fair. we got into one which they called a dilly. i asked the man who drove it why it was so called, and he replied, because he only charged a shilling. o'brien, who had joined us after breakfasting on board, said that this answer reminded him of one given to him by a man who attended the hackney-coach stands in london. "pray," said he, "why are you called waterman?" "waterman," replied the man, "vy, sir, 'cause we opens the hackney-coach doors." at last, with plenty of whipping, and plenty of swearing, and a great deal of laughing, the old horse, whose back curved upwards like a bow, from the difficulty of dragging so many, arrived at the bottom of portsdown hill, where we got out, and walked up to the fair. it really was a most beautiful sight. the bright blue sky, and the coloured flags flapping about in all directions, the grass so green, and the white tents and booths, the sun shining so bright, and the shining gilt gingerbread, the variety of toys and the variety of noise, the quantity of people and the quantity of sweetmeats; little boys so happy, and shop-people so polite, the music at the booths, and the bustle and eagerness of the people outside, made my heart quite jump. there was richardson, with a clown and harlequin, and such beautiful women, dressed in clothes all over gold spangles, dancing reels and waltzes, and looking so happy! there was flint and gyngell, with fellows tumbling over head and heels, playing such tricks--eating fire, and drawing yards of tape out of their mouths. then there was the royal circus, all the horses standing in a line, with men and women standing on their backs, waving flags, while the trumpeters blew their trumpets. and the largest giant in the world, and mr paap, the smallest dwarf in the world, and a female dwarf, who was smaller still, and miss biffin, who did everything without legs or arms. there was also the learned pig, and the herefordshire ox, and a hundred other sights which i cannot now remember. we walked about for an hour or two seeing the outside of every thing: we determined to go and see the inside. first we went into richardson's, where we saw a bloody tragedy, with a ghost and thunder, and afterwards a pantomime, full of tricks, and tumbling over one another. then we saw one or two other things, i forget what; but this i know, that, generally speaking, the outside was better, than the inside. after this, feeling very hungry, we agreed to go into a booth and have something to eat. the tables were ranged all round, and in the centre there was a boarded platform for dancing. the ladies were there all ready dressed for partners; and the music was so lively, that i felt very much inclined to dance, but we had agreed to go and see the wild beasts fed at mr polito's menagerie, and as it was now almost eight o'clock, we paid our bill and set off. it was a very curious sight, and better worth seeing than any thing in the fair; i never had an idea that there were so many strange animals in existence. they were all secured in iron cages, and a large chandelier with twenty lights, hung in the centre of the booth, and lighted them up, while the keeper went round and stirred them up with his long pole; at the same time he gave us their histories, which were very interesting. i recollect a few of them. there was the tapir, a great pig with a long nose, a variety of the hiptostamass, which the keeper said was an amphibilious animal, as couldn't live on land, and _dies_ in the water--however, it seemed to live very well in a cage. then there was the kangaroo with its young ones peeping out of it--a most astonishing animal. the keeper said that it brought forth two young ones at a birth, and then took them into its stomach again, until they arrived at years of discretion. then there was the pelican of the wilderness, (i shall not forget him), with a large bag under his throat, which the man put on his head as a night-cap: this bird feeds its young with its own blood--when fish are scarce. and there was the laughing hyæna, who cries in the wood like a human being in distress, and devours those who come to his assistance--a sad instance of the depravity of human nature, as the keeper observed. there was a beautiful creature, the royal bengal tiger, only three years old, what growed ten inches every year, and never arrived at its full growth. the one we saw, measured, as the keeper told us, sixteen feet from the snout to the tail, and seventeen from the tail to the snout: but there must have been some mistake there. there was a young elephant and three lions, and several other animals which i forget now, so i shall go on to describe the tragical scene which occurred. the keeper had poked up all the animals, and had commenced feeding them. the great lion was growling and snarling over the shin-bone of an ox, cracking it like a nut, when, by some mismanagement, one end of the pole upon which the chandelier was suspended fell down, striking the door of the cage in which the lioness was at supper, and bursting it open. it was all done in a second; the chandelier fell, the cage opened, and the lioness sprang out. i remember to this moment seeing the body of the lioness in the air, and then all was dark as pitch. what a change! not a moment before all of us staring with delight and curiosity, and then to be left in darkness, horror, and dismay! there was such screaming and shrieking, such crying, and fighting, and pushing, and fainting, nobody knew where to go, or how to find their way out. the people crowded first on one side, and then on the other, as their fears instigated them. i was very soon jammed up with my back against the bars of one of the cages, and feeling some beast lay hold of me behind, made a desperate effort, and succeeded in climbing up to the cage above, not however without losing the seat of my trowsers, which the laughing hyæna would not let go. i hardly knew where i was when i climbed up; but i knew the birds were mostly stationed above. however, that i might not have the front of my trowsers torn as well as the behind, as soon as i gained my footing i turned round, with my back to the bars of the cage, but i had not been there a minute before i was attacked by something which digged into me like a pickaxe, and as the hyæna had torn my clothes, i had no defence against it. to turn round would have been worse still; so, after having received above a dozen stabs, i contrived by degrees to shift my position until i was opposite to another cage, but not until the pelican, for it was that brute, had drawn as much blood from me as would have fed his young for a week. i was surmising what danger i should next encounter, when to my joy i discovered that i had gained the open door from which the lioness had escaped. i crawled in, and pulled the door to after me, thinking myself very fortunate: and there i sat very quietly in a corner during the remainder of the noise and confusion. i had been there but a few minutes, when the beef-eaters, as they were called, who played the music outside, came in with torches and loaded muskets. the sight which presented itself was truly shocking, twenty or thirty men, women, and children, lay on the ground, and i thought at first the lioness had killed them all, but they were only in fits, or had been trampled down by the crowd. no one was seriously hurt. as for the lioness, she was not to be found: and as soon as it was ascertained that she had escaped, there was as much terror and scampering away outside as there had been in the menagerie. it appeared afterwards, that the animal had been as much frightened as we had been, and had secreted herself under one of the waggons. it was some time before she could be found. at last o'brien, who was a very brave fellow, went a-head of the beef-eaters, and saw her eyes glaring. they borrowed a net or two from the carts which had brought calves to the fair, and threw them over her. when she was fairly entangled, they dragged her by the tail into the menagerie. all this while i had remained very quietly in the den, but when i perceived that its lawful owner had come back to retake possession, i thought it was time to come out; so i called to my messmates, who, with o'brien were assisting the beef-eaters. they had not discovered me, and laughed very much when they saw where i was. one of the midshipmen shot the bolt of the door, so that i could not jump out, and then stirred me up with a long pole. at last i contrived to unbolt it again, and got out, when they laughed still more, at the seat of my trowsers being torn off. it was not exactly a laughing matter to me, although i had to congratulate myself upon a very lucky escape; and so did my messmates think, when i narrated my adventures. the pelican was the worst part of the business. o'brien lent me a dark silk handkerchief, which i tied round my waist, and let drop behind, so that my misfortunes might not attract any notice, and then we quitted the menagerie; but i was so stiff that i could scarcely walk. we then went to what they called the ranelagh gardens, to see the fireworks, which were to be let off at ten o'clock. it was exactly ten when we paid for our admission, and we waited very patiently for a quarter of an hour, but there were no signs of the fireworks being displayed. the fact was, that the man to whom the gardens belonged waited until more company should arrive, although the place was already very full of people. now the first lieutenant had ordered the boat to wait for us until twelve o'clock, and then return on board; and, as we were seven miles from portsmouth, we had not much time to spare. we waited another quarter of an hour, and then it was agreed that as the fireworks were stated in the handbill to commence precisely at ten o'clock, we were fully justified in letting them off ourselves. o'brien went out, and returned with a dozen penny rattans, which he notched in the end. the fireworks were on the posts and stages, all ready, and it was agreed that we should light them all at once, and then mix with the crowd. the oldsters lighted cigars, and fixing them in the notched end of the canes, continued to puff them until they were all well lighted. they handed one to each of us, and at a signal we all applied them to the match papers, and as soon as the fire communicated we threw down our canes and ran in among the crowd. in about half a minute, off they all went, in a most beautiful confusion; there were silver stars and golden stars, blue lights and catherine-wheels, mines and bombs, grecian-fires and roman-candles, chinese-trees, rockets and illuminated mottoes, all firing away, cracking, popping, and fizzing, at the same time. it was unanimously agreed that it was a great improvement upon the intended show. the man to whom the gardens belonged ran out of a booth, where he had been drinking beer at his ease, while his company were waiting, swearing vengeance against the perpetrators; indeed, the next day he offered fifty pounds reward for the discovery of the offenders. but i think that he was treated very properly. he was, in his situation, a servant of the public, and he had behaved as if he was their master. we all escaped very cleverly, and taking another dilly, arrived at portsmouth, and were down to the boat in good time. the next day i was so stiff and in such pain, that i was obliged to go to the doctor, who put me on the list, where i remained a week before i could return to my duty. so much for portsdown fair. it was on a saturday that i returned to my duty, and sunday being a fine day, we all went on shore to church with mr falcon, the first lieutenant. we liked going to church very much, not, i am sorry to say, from religious feelings, but for the following reason:--the first lieutenant sat in a pew below, and we were placed in the gallery above, where he could not see us, nor indeed could we see him. we all remained very quiet, and i may say very devout, during the time of the service; but the clergyman who delivered the sermon was so tedious, and had such a bad voice, that we generally slipped out as soon as he went up into the pulpit, and adjourned to a pastry-cook's opposite, to eat cakes and tarts and drink cherry-brandy, which we infinitely preferred to hearing a sermon. somehow or other, the first lieutenant had scent of our proceedings: we believed that the marine officer informed against us, and this sunday he served us a pretty trick. we had been at the pastry-cook's as usual, and as soon as we perceived the people coming out of church, we put all our tarts and sweetmeats into our hats, which we then slipped on our heads, and took our station at the church-door, as if we had just come down from the gallery, and had been waiting for him. instead, however, of appearing at the church-door, he walked up the street, and desired us to follow him to the boat. the fact was, he had been in the back-room at the pastry-cook's watching our motions through the green blinds. we had no suspicion, but thought that he had come out of church a little sooner than usual. when we arrived on board and followed him up the side, he said to us as we came on deck,--"walk aft, young gentlemen." we did; and he desired us to "toe a line," which means to stand in a row. "now, mr dixon," said he, "what was the text to-day?" as he very often asked us that question, we always left one in the church until the text was given out, who brought it to us in the pastry-cook's shop, when we all marked it in our bibles, to be ready if he asked us. dixon immediately pulled out his bible where he had marked down the leaf, and read it. "o! that was it," said mr falcon; "you must have remarkably good ears, mr dixon, to have heard the clergyman from the pastry-cook's shop. now, gentlemen, hats off, if you please." we all slided off our hats, which, as he expected, were full of pastry. "really, gentlemen," said he, feeling the different papers of pastry and sweetmeats, "i am quite delighted to perceive that you have not been to church for nothing. few come away with so many good things pressed upon their seat of memory. master-at-arms, send all the ship's boys aft." the boys all came tumbling up the ladders, and the first lieutenant desired each of them to take a seat upon the carronade slides. when they were all stationed, he ordered us to go round with our hats, and request of each his acceptance of a tart, which we were obliged to do, handing first to one and then to another, until the hats were all empty. what annoyed me more than all, was the grinning of the boys at their being served by us like foot-men, as well as the ridicule and laughter of the whole ship's company, who had assembled at the gangways. when all the pastry was devoured, the first lieutenant said, "there, gentlemen, now that you have had your lesson for the day, you may go below." we could not help laughing ourselves, when we went down into the berth; mr falcon always punished us good-humouredly, and, in some way or other, his punishments were severally connected with the description of the offence. he always had a remedy for every thing that he disapproved of, and the ship's company used to call him "remedy jack." i ought to observe that some of my messmates were very severe upon the ship's boys after that circumstance, always giving them a kick or a cuff on the head whenever they could, telling them at the same time, "there's another tart for you, you whelp." i believe, if the boys had known what was in reserve for them, they would much rather have left the pastry alone. chapter x a pressgang; beaten off by one woman--dangers at spithead and point--a treat for both parties, of _pulled chicken_, at my expense--also gin for twenty--i am made a prisoner: escape and rejoin my ship. i must now relate what occurred to me a few days before the ship sailed, which will prove that it is not necessary to encounter the winds and waves, or the cannon of the enemy, to be in danger, when you have entered his majesty's service: on the contrary, i have been in action since, and i declare, without hesitation, that i did not feel so much alarm on that occasion, as i did on the one of which i am about to give the history. we were reported ready for sea, and the admiralty was anxious that we should proceed. the only obstacle to our sailing was, that we had not yet completed our complement of men. the captain applied to the port-admiral, and obtained permission to send parties on shore to impress seamen. the second and third lieutenants, and the oldest midshipman, were despatched on shore every night, with some of the most trustworthy men, and generally brought on board in the morning about half a dozen men, whom they had picked up in the different alehouses, or grog-shops, as the sailors call them. some of them were retained, but most of them sent on shore as unserviceable; for it is the custom, when a man either enters or is impressed, to send him down to the surgeon in the cockpit, where he is stripped and examined all over, to see if he be sound and fit for his majesty's service; and if not, he is sent on shore again. impressing appeared to be rather serious work, as far as i could judge from the accounts which i heard, and from the way in which our sailors, who were employed on the service, were occasionally beaten and wounded; the seamen who were impressed appearing to fight as hard not to be forced into the service, as they did for the honour of the country, after they were fairly embarked in it. i had a great wish to be one of the party before the ship sailed, and asked o'brien, who was very kind to me in general, and allowed nobody to thrash me but himself, if he would take me with him, which he did on the night after i had made the request. i put on my dirk, that they might know i was an officer, as well as for my protection. about dusk we rowed on shore, and landed on the gosport side: the men were all armed with cutlasses, and wore pea jackets, which are very short great-coats made of what they call flushing. we did not stop to look at any of the grog-shops in the town, as it was too early, but walked out about three miles in the suburbs, and went to a house, the door of which was locked, but we forced it open in a minute, and hastened to enter the passage, where we found the landlady standing to defend the entrance. the passage was long and narrow, and she was a very tall corpulent woman, so that her body nearly filled it up, and in her hands she held a long spit pointed at us, with which she kept us at bay. the officers, who were the foremost, did not like to attack a woman, and she made such drives at them with her spit, that had they not retreated, some of them would soon have been ready for roasting. the sailors laughed and stood outside, leaving the officers to settle the business how they could. at last, the landlady called out to her husband, "be they all out, jem?" "yes," replied the husband, "they be all safe gone." "well, then," replied she, "i'll soon have all these gone too;" and with these words she made such a rush forward upon us with her spit, that had we not fallen back and tumbled one over another, she certainly would have run it through the second lieutenant, who commanded the party. the passage was cleared in an instant, and as soon as we were all in the street she bolted us out: so there we were, three officers and fifteen armed men, fairly beat off by a fat old woman; the sailors who had been drinking in the house having made their escape to some other place. but i do not well see how it could be otherwise; either we must have killed or wounded the woman, or she would have run us through, she was so resolute. had her husband been in the passage, he would have been settled in a very short time; but what can you do with a woman who fights like a devil, and yet claims all the rights and immunities of the softer sex? we all walked away, looking very foolish; and o'brien observed that the next time he called at that house he would weather the old cat, for he would take her ladyship in the rear. we then called at other houses, where we picked up one or two men, but most of them escaped, by getting out at the windows or the back doors, as we entered the front. now there was a grog-shop which was a very favourite rendezvous of the seamen belonging to the merchant vessels, and to which they were accustomed to retreat when they heard that the pressgangs were out. our officers were aware of this, and were therefore indifferent as to the escape of the men, as they knew that they would all go to that place, and confide in their numbers for beating us off. as it was then one o'clock, they thought it time to go there; we proceeded without any noise, but they had people on the look-out, and as soon as we turned the corner of the lane the alarm was given. i was afraid that they would all run away, and we should lose them; but, on the contrary, they mustered very strong on that night, and had resolved to "give fight." the men remained in the house, but an advanced guard of about thirty of their wives saluted us with a shower of stones and mud. some of our sailors were hurt, but they did not appear to mind what the women did. they rushed on, and then they were attacked by the women with their fists and nails. notwithstanding this, the sailors only laughed, pushing the women on one side, and saying, "be quiet, poll;"--"don't be foolish, molly;"--"out of the way, sukey; we a'n't come to take away your fancy man;" with expressions of that sort, although the blood trickled down many of their faces, from the way in which they had been clawed. thus we attempted to force our way through them, but i had a very narrow escape even in this instance. a woman seized me by the arm, and pulled me towards her; had it not been for one of the quarter-masters i should have been separated from my party; but, just as they dragged me away, she caught hold of me by the leg, and stopped them. "clap on here, peg," cried the woman to another, "and let's have this little midshipmite; i wants a baby to dry nurse." two more women came to her assistance, catching hold of my other arm, and they would have dragged me out of the grasp of the quarter-master, had he not called out for more help on his side, upon which two of the seamen laid hold of my other leg, and there was such a tussle (all at my expense), such pulling and hauling; sometimes the women gained an inch or two of me, then the sailors got it back again. at one moment i thought it was all over with me, and in the next i was with my own men. "pull devil; pull baker!" cried the women, and then they laughed, although i did not, i can assure you, for i really think that i was pulled out an inch taller, and my knees and shoulders pained me very much indeed. at last the women laughed so much that they could not hold on, so i was dragged into the middle of our own sailors, where i took care to remain; and, after a little more squeezing and fighting, was carried by the crowd into the house. the seamen of the merchant ships had armed themselves with bludgeons and other weapons, and had taken a position on the tables. they were more than two to one against us, and there was a dreadful fight, as their resistance was very desperate. our sailors were obliged to use their cutlasses, and for a few minutes i was quite bewildered with the shouting and swearing, pushing and scuffling, collaring and fighting, together with the dust raised up, which not only blinded, but nearly choked me. by the time that my breath was nearly squeezed out of my body, our sailors got the best of it, which the landlady and women of the house perceiving, they put out all the lights, so that i could not tell where i was; but our sailors had every one seized his man, and contrived to haul him out of the street door, where they were collected together, and secured. now again i was in great difficulty; i had been knocked down and trod upon, and when i did contrive to get up again, i did not know the direction in which the door lay. i felt about by the wall, and at last came to a door, for the room was at that time nearly empty, the women having followed the men out of the house. i opened it, and found that it was not the right one, but led into a little side parlour, where there was a fire, but no lights. i had just discovered my mistake, and was about to retreat, when i was shoved in from behind, and the key turned upon me: there i was all alone, and, i must acknowledge, very much frightened, as i thought that the vengeance of the women would be wreaked upon me. i considered that my death was certain, and that, like the man orpheus i had read of in my books, i should be torn to pieces by these bacchanals. however, i reflected that i was an officer in his majesty's service, and that it was my duty, if necessary, to sacrifice my life for my king and country. i thought of my poor mother; but as it made me unhappy, i tried to forget her, and call to my memory all i had read of the fortitude and courage of various brave men, when death stared them in the face. i peeped through the key-hole, and perceived that the candles were re-lighted, and that there were only women in the room, who were talking all at once, and not thinking about me. but in a minute or two, a woman came in from the street, with her long black hair hanging about her shoulders, and her cap in her hand. "well," cried she, "they've nabbed my husband; but i'll be dished if i hav'n't boxed up the midshipmite in that parlour, and he shall take his place." i thought i should have died when i looked at the woman, and perceived her coming up to the door, followed by some others, to unlock it. as the door opened, i drew my dirk, resolving to die like an officer, and as they advanced i retreated to a corner, brandishing my dirk, without saying a word. "vell," cried the woman who had made me a prisoner, "i do declare i likes to see a puddle in a storm--only look at the little biscuit-nibbler showing fight! come, my lovey, you belongs to me." "never!" exclaimed i with indignation. "keep off, i shall do you mischief" (and i raised my dirk in advance); "i am an officer and a gentleman." "sall," cried the odious woman, "fetch a mop and a pail of dirty water, and i'll trundle that dirk out of his fist." "no, no," replied another rather good-looking young woman, "leave him to me--don't hurt him--he really is a very nice little man. what's your name, my dear?" "peter simple is my name," replied i; "and i am a king's officer, so be careful what you are about." "don't be afraid, peter, nobody shall hurt you; but you must not draw your dirk before ladies, that's not like an officer and a gentleman--so put up your dirk, that's a good boy." "i will not," replied i, "unless you promise me that i shall go away unmolested." "i do promise you that you shall, upon my word, peter--upon my honour-- will that content you?" "yes," replied i, "if every one else will promise the same." "upon our honours," they all cried together; upon which i was satisfied, and putting my dirk into its sheath, was about to quit the room. "stop, peter," said the young woman who had taken my part; "i must have a kiss before you go." "and so must i; and so must we all," cried the other women. i was very much shocked, and attempted to draw my dirk again, but they had closed in with me, and prevented me. "recollect your honour," cried i to the young woman, as i struggled. "my honour!--lord bless you, peter, the less we say about that the better." "but you promised that i should go away quietly," said i, appealing to them. "well, and so you shall; but recollect, peter, that you are an officer and a gentleman--you surely would not be so shabby as to go away without treating us. what money have you got in your pocket?" and, without giving me time to answer, she felt in my pocket, and pulled out my purse, which she opened. "why, peter, you are as rich as a jew," said she, as they counted thirty shillings on the table. "now, what shall we have?" "anything you please," said i, "provided that you will let me go." "well, then, it shall be a gallon of gin. sall, call mrs flanagan. mrs flanagan, we want a gallon of gin, and clean glasses." mrs flanagan received the major part of my money, and in a minute returned with the gin and wine-glasses. "now, peter, my cove, let's all draw round the table, and make ourselves cosy." "o no," replied i, "take my money, drink the gin, but pray let me go;" but they wouldn't listen to me. then i was obliged to sit down with them, the gin was poured out, and they made me drink a glass, which nearly choked me. it had, however, one good effect, it gave me courage, and in a minute or two, i felt as if i could fight them all. the door of the room was on the same side as the fire-place, and i perceived that the poker was between the bars, and red hot. i complained that i was cold, although i was in a burning fever; and they allowed me to get up to warm my hands. as soon as i reached the fire-place, i snatched out the red-hot poker, and, brandishing it over my head, made for the door. they all jumped up to detain me, but i made a poke at the foremost, which made her run back with a shriek, (i do believe that i burnt her nose.) i seized my opportunity, and escaped into the street, whirling the poker round my head, while all the women followed, hooting and shouting after me. i never stopped running and whirling my poker until i was reeking with perspiration, and the poker was quite cold. then i looked back, and found that i was alone. it was very dark; every house was shut up, and not a light to be seen anywhere. i stopped at the corner, not knowing where i was, or what i was to do. i felt very miserable indeed, and was reflecting on my wisest plan, when who should turn the corner, but one of the quarter-masters who had been left on shore by accident. i knew him by his pea-jacket and straw hat to be one of our men, and i was delighted to see him. i told him what had happened, and he replied that he was going to a house where the people knew him and would let him in. when we arrived there, the people of the house were very civil; the landlady made us some purl, which the quarter-master ordered, and which i thought very good indeed. after we had finished the jug, we both fell asleep in our chairs. i did not awaken until i was roused by the quarter-master, at past seven o'clock, when we took a wherry, and went off to the ship. chapter xi o'brien takes me under his protection--the ship's company are paid, so are the bumboat-women, the jews, and the emancipationist after a fashion--we go to sea--_doctor_ o'brien's cure for sea-sickness--one pill of the doctor's more than a dose. when we arrived, i reported myself to the first lieutenant, and told him the whole story of the manner in which i had been treated, showing him the poker, which i brought on board with me. he heard me very patiently, and then said, "well, mr simple, you may be the greatest fool of your family for all i know to the contrary, but never pretend to be a fool with me. that poker proves the contrary: and if your wit can serve you upon your own emergency, i expect that it will be employed for the benefit of the service." he then sent for o'brien, and gave him a lecture for allowing me to go with the pressgang, pointing out, what was very true, that i could have been of no service, and might have met with a serious accident. i went down on the main deck, and o'brien came to me. "peter," said he, "i have been jawed for letting you go, so it is but fair that you should be thrashed for having asked me." i wished to argue the point, but he cut all argument short, by kicking me down the hatchway; and thus ended my zealous attempt to procure seamen for his majesty's service. at last the frigate was full manned; and, as we had received drafts of men from other ships, we were ordered to be paid previously to our going to sea. the people on shore always find out when a ship is to be paid, and very early in the morning we were surrounded with wherries, laden with jews and other people, some requesting admittance to sell their goods, others to get paid for what they had allowed the sailors to take up upon credit. but the first lieutenant would not allow any of them to come on board until after the ship was paid; although they were so urgent that he was forced to place sentries in the chains with cold shot, to stave the boats if they came alongside. i was standing at the gangway, looking at the crowd of boats, when a black-looking fellow in one of the wherries said to me, "i say, sir, let me slip in at the port, and i have a very nice present to make you;" and he displayed a gold seal, which he held up to me. i immediately ordered the sentry to keep him further off, for i was very much affronted at his supposing me capable of being bribed to disobey my orders. about eleven o'clock the dockyard boat, with all the pay-clerks, and the cashier, with his chest of money, came on board, and was shown into the fore-cabin, where the captain attended the pay-table. the men were called in, one by one, and, as the amount of the wages due had been previously calculated, they were paid; very fast. the money was always received in their hats, after it had been counted out in the presence of the officers and captain. outside the cabin door there stood a tall man in black, with hair straight combed, who had obtained an order from the port admiral to be permitted to come on board. he attacked every sailor as he came out; with his money in his hat, for a subscription to emancipate the slaves in the west indies; but the sailors would not give him anything, swearing that the niggers were better off than they were; for they did not work harder by day, and had no watch and watch to keep during the night. "sarvitude is sarvitude all over the world, my old psalmsinger," replied one. "they sarve their masters, as in duty bound; we sarve the king, 'cause he can't do without us--and he never axes our leave, but helps himself." "yes," replied the straight-haired gentleman; "but slavery is a very different thing." "can't say that i see any difference; do you, bill?" "not i: and i suppose as if they didn't like it they'd run away." "run away! poor creatures," said the black gentleman. "why, if they did, they would be flogged." "flogged--heh; well, and if we run away we are to be hanged. the nigger's better off nor we: ar'n't he, tom?" then the purser's steward came out: he was what they call a bit of a lawyer,--that is, had received more education than the seamen in general. "i trust, sir," said the man in black, "that you will contribute something." "not i, my hearty: i owe every farthing of my money, and more too, i'm afraid." "still, sir, a small trifle." "why, what an infernal rascal you must be, to ask a man to give away what is not his own property! did i not tell you that i owed it all? there's an old proverb--be just before you're generous. now, it's my opinion that, you are a methodistical, good-for-nothing blackguard; and if any one is such a fool as to give you money, you will keep it for yourself." when the man found that he could obtain nothing at the door, he went down on the lower deck, in which he did not act very wisely; for now that the men were paid, the boats were permitted to come alongside, and so much spirits were smuggled in, that most of the seamen were more or less intoxicated. as soon as he went below, he commenced distributing prints of a black man kneeling in chains, and saying, "am not i your brother?" some of the men laughed, and swore that they would paste their brother up in the mess, to say prayers for the ship's company; but others were very angry, and abused him. at last, one man, who was tipsy, came up to him. "do you pretend for to insinivate that this crying black thief is my brother?" "to be sure i do," replied the methodist. "then take that for your infernal lie," said the sailor, hitting him in the face right and left, and knocking the man down into the cable tier, from whence he climbed up, and made his escape out of the frigate as soon as he was able. the ship was now in a state of confusion and uproar; there were jews trying to sell clothes, or to obtain money for clothes which they had sold; bumboat-men and bumboat-women showing their long bills, and demanding or coaxing for payment; other people from the shore, with hundreds of small debts; and the sailors' wives, sticking close to them, and disputing every bill presented, as an extortion or a robbery. there was such bawling and threatening, laughing and crying--for the women were all to quit the ship before sunset--at one moment a jew was upset, and all his hamper of clothes tossed into the hold; at another, a sailor was seen hunting everywhere for a jew who had cheated him,--all squabbling or skylarking, and many of them very drunk. it appeared to me that the sailors had rather a difficult point to settle. they had three claimants upon them, the jew for clothes, the bumboat-men for their mess in harbour, and their wives for their support during their absence; and the money which they received was, generally speaking, not more than sufficient to meet one of the demands. as it may be supposed, the women had the best of it; the others were paid a trifle, and promised the remainder when they came back from their cruise; and although, as the case stood then, it might appear that two of the parties were ill-used, yet in the long run they were more than indemnified, for their charges were so extravagant, that if one-third of their bills were paid, there would still remain a profit. about five o'clock the orders were given for the ship to be cleared. all disputed points were settled by the sergeant of marines with a party, who divided their antagonists from the jews; and every description of persons not belonging to the ship, whether male or female, was dismissed over the side. the hammocks were piped down, those who were intoxicated were put to bed, and the ship was once more quiet. nobody was punished for having been tipsy, as pay-day is considered, on board a man-of-war, as the winding-up of all incorrect behaviour, and from that day the sailors turn over a new leaf; for, although some latitude is permitted, and the seamen are seldom flogged in harbour, yet the moment that the anchor is at the bows, strict discipline is exacted, and intoxication must no longer hope to be forgiven. the next day everything was prepared for sea, and no leave was permitted to the officers. stock of every kind was brought on board, and the large boats hoisted and secured. on the morning after, at daylight, a signal from the flag-ship in harbour was made for us to unmoor; our orders had come down to cruise in the bay of biscay. the captain came on board, the anchor weighed, and we ran through the needles with a fine n.e. breeze. i admired the scenery of the isle of wight, looked with admiration at alum bay, was astonished at the needle rocks, and then felt so very ill that i went down below. what occurred for the next six days i cannot tell. i thought that i should die every moment, and lay in my hammock or on the chests for the whole of that time, incapable of eating, drinking, or walking about. o'brien came to me on the seventh morning, and said, that if i did not exert myself i never should get well; that he was very fond of me and had taken me under his protection, and, to prove his regard, he would do for me what he would not take the trouble to do for any other youngster in the ship, which was, to give me a good basting, which was a sovereign remedy for sea-sickness. he suited the action to the word, and drubbed me on the ribs without mercy, until i thought the breath was out of my body, and then he took out a rope's end and thrashed me until i obeyed his orders to go on deck immediately. before he came to me, i could never have believed it possible that i could have obeyed him; but somehow or other i did contrive to crawl up the ladder to the main-deck, where i sat down on the shot-racks and cried bitterly. what would i have given to have been at home again! it was not my fault that i was the greatest fool in the family, yet how was i punished for it! if this was kindness from o'brien, what had i to expect from those who were not partial to me? but, by degrees, i recovered myself, and certainly felt a great deal better, and that night i slept very soundly. the next morning o'brien came to me again. "it's a nasty slow fever, that sea-sickness, my peter, and we must drive it out of you;" and then he commenced a repetition of yesterday's remedy until i was almost a jelly. whether the fear of being thrashed drove away my sea-sickness, or whatever might be the real cause of it, i do not know, but this is certain, that i felt no more of it after the second beating, and the next morning when i awoke i was very hungry. i hastened to dress myself before o'brien came to me, and did not see him until we met at breakfast. "pater," said he, "let me feel your pulse." "oh no!" replied i, "indeed i'm quite well." "quite well! can you eat biscuit and salt butter?" "yes, i can." "and a piece of fat pork?" "yes, that i can." "it's thanks to me then, pater," replied he; "so you'll have no more of my medicine until you fall sick again." "i hope not," replied i, "for it was not very pleasant." "pleasant! you simple simple, when did you ever hear of physic being pleasant, unless a man prescribe for himself? i suppose you'd be after lollipops for the yellow fever. live and larn, boy, and thank heaven that you've found somebody who loves you well enough to baste you when it's good for your health." i replied, "that i certainly hoped that much as i felt obliged to him, i should not require any more proofs of his regard." "any more such _striking_ proofs, you mean, pater; but let me tell you that they were sincere proofs, for since you've been ill i've been eating your pork and drinking your grog, which latter can't be too plentiful in the bay of biscay. and now that i've cured you, you'll be tucking all that into your own little breadbasket, so that i'm no gainer, and i think that you may be convinced that you never had or will have two more disinterested thumpings in all your born days. however, you're very welcome, so say no more about it." i held my tongue and ate a very hearty breakfast. from that day i returned to my duty, and was put into the same watch with o'brien, who spoke to the first lieutenant, and told him that he had taken me under his charge. chapter xii new theory of mr muddle remarkable for having no end to it--novel practice of mr chucks--o'brien commences his history--there were giants in those days--i bring up the master's _night-glass_. as i have already mentioned sufficient of the captain and the first lieutenant to enable the reader to gain an insight into their characters, i shall now mention two very odd personages who were my shipmates, the carpenter and the boatswain. the carpenter, whose name was muddle, used to go by the appellation of philosopher chips, not that he followed any particular school, but had formed a theory of his own, from which he was not to be dissuaded. this was, that the universe had its cycle of events turned round, so that in a certain period of time everything was to happen over again. i never could make him explain upon what data his calculations were founded; he said, that if he explained it, i was too young to comprehend it; but the fact was this, "that in , years everything that was going on now would be going on again, with the same people as were existing at this present time." he very seldom ventured to make the remark to captain savage, but to the first lieutenant he did very often. "i've been as close to it as possible, sir, i do assure you, although you find fault; but , years ago you were first lieutenant of this ship, and i was carpenter, although we recollect nothing about it; and , years hence we shall both be standing by this boat, talking about the repairs, as we are now." "i do not doubt it, mr muddle," replied the first lieutenant; "i dare say that it is all very true, but the repairs must be finished this night, and , years hence you will have the order just as positive as you have it now, so let it be done." this theory made him very indifferent as to danger, or indeed as to anything. it was of no consequence, the affair took its station in the course of time. it had happened at the above period, and would happen again. fate was fate. but the boatswain was a more amusing personage. he was considered to be the _taughtest_ (that is, the most active and severe) boatswain in the service. he went by the name of "gentleman chucks"--the latter was his surname. he appeared to have received half an education; sometimes his language was for a few sentences remarkably well chosen, but, all of a sudden, he would break down at a hard word; but i shall be able to let the reader into more of his history as i go on with my adventures. he had a very handsome person, inclined to be stout, keen eyes, and hair curling in ringlets. he held his head up, and strutted as he walked. he declared "that an officer should look like an officer, and _comport_ himself accordingly." in his person he was very clean, wore rings on his great fingers, and a large frill to his bosom, which stuck out like the back fin of a perch, and the collar of his shirt was always pulled up to a level with his cheek-bones. he never appeared on deck without his "persuader," which was three rattans twisted into one, like a cable; sometimes he called it his order of the bath, or his tri_o_ junct_o_ in uno; and this persuader was seldom idle. he attempted to be very polite, even when addressing the common seamen, and, certainly, he always commenced his observations to them in a very gracious manner, but, as he continued, he became less choice in his phraseology. o'brien said that his speeches were like the sin of the poet, very fair at the upper part of them, but shocking at the lower extremities. as a specimen of them, he would say to the man on the forecastle, "allow me to observe, my dear man, in the most delicate way in the world, that you are spilling that tar upon the deck--a deck, sir, if i may venture to make the observation, i had the duty of seeing holystoned this morning. you understand me, sir, you have defiled his majesty's forecastle. i must do my duty, sir, if you neglect yours; so take that--and that--and that--(thrashing the man with his rattan)--you d--d hay-making son of a sea-cook. do it again, d--n your eyes, and i'll cut your liver out." i remember one of the ship's boys going forward with a kid of dirty water to empty in the head, without putting his hand up to his hat as he passed the boatswain. "stop, my little friend," said the boatswain, pulling out his frill, and raising up both sides of his shirt-collar. "are you aware, sir, of my rank and station in society?" "yes, sir," replied the boy, trembling, and eyeing the rattan. "oh, you are!" replied mr chucks. "had you not been aware of it, i should have considered a gentle correction necessary, that you might have avoided such an error in future; but, as you _were_ aware of it, why then, d--n you, you have no excuse, so take that--and that--you yelping, half-starved abortion. i really beg your pardon, mr simple," said he to me, as the boy went howling forward, for i was walking with him at the time; "but really the service makes brutes of us all. it is hard to sacrifice our health, our night's rest, and our comforts; but still more so, that in my responsible situation, i am obliged too often to sacrifice my gentility." the master was the officer who had charge of the watch to which i was stationed; he was a very rough sailor, who had been brought up in the merchant service, not much of a gentleman in his appearance, very good-tempered, and very fond of grog. he always quarrelled with the boatswain, and declared that the service was going to the devil, now that warrant officers put on white shirts, and wore frills to them. but the boatswain did not care for him; he knew his duty, he did his duty, and if the captain was satisfied, he said, that the whole ship's company might grumble. as for the master, he said, the man was very well, but having been brought up in a collier, he could not be expected to be very refined; in fact, he observed, pulling up his shirt-collar--"it was impossible to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear." the master was very kind to me, and used to send me down to my hammock before my watch was half over. until that time, i walked the deck with o'brien, who was a very pleasant companion, and taught me everything that he could, connected with my profession. one night, when he had the middle watch, i told him i should like very much if he would give me the history of his life. "that i will, my honey," replied he, "all that i can remember of it, though i have no doubt but that i've forgotten the best part of it. it's now within five minutes of two bells, so we'll heave the log and mark the board, and then i'll spin you a yarn, which will keep us both from going to sleep." o'brien reported the rate of sailing to the master, marked it down on the log-board, and then returned. "so now, my boy, i'll come to an anchor on the topsail halyard rack, and you may squeeze your thread-paper little carcass under my lee, and then i'll tell you all about it. first and foremost, you must know that i am descended from the great o'brien borru, who was king in his time, as the great fingal was before him. of course you've heard of fingal?" "i can't say that i ever did," replied i. "never heard of fingal!--murder! where must you have been all your life? well, then, to give you some notion of fingal, i will first tell you how fingal bothered the great scotch giant, and then i'll go on with my own story. fingal, you must know, was a giant himself, and no fool of one, and any one that affronted him was as sure of a bating, as i am to keep the middle watch to-night. but there was a giant in scotland as tall as the mainmast, more or less, as we say when we a'n't quite sure, as it saves telling more lies than there's occasion for. well, this scotch giant heard of fingal, and how he had beaten everybody, and he said, 'who is this fingal? by jasus,' says he in scotch, 'i'll just walk over and see what he's made of.' so he walked across the irish channel, and landed within half-a-mile of belfast, but whether he was out of his depth or not i can't tell, although i suspect that he was not dry-footed. when fingal heard that this great chap was coming over, he was in a devil of a fright, for they told him that the scotchman was taller by a few feet or so. giants, you know, measure by feet, and don't bother themselves about the inches, as we little devils are obliged to do. so fingal kept a sharp look-out for the scotchman, and one fine morning, there he was, sure enough, coming up the hill to fingal's house. if fingal was afraid before, he had more reason to be afraid when he saw the fellow, for he looked for all the world like the monument upon a voyage of discovery. so fingal ran into his house, and called to his wife shaya, 'my vourneen,' says he, 'be quick now; there's that big bully of a scotchman coming up the hill. kiver me up with the blankets, and if he asks who is in bed, tell him it's the child.' so fingal laid down on the bed, and his wife had just time to cover him up, when in comes the scotchman, and though he stooped low, he broke his head against the portal. 'where's that baste fingal?' says he, rubbing his forehead; 'show him to me, that i may give him a bating.' 'whisht, whisht!' cries shaya, 'you'll wake the babby, and then him that you talk of bating will be the death of you, if he comes in.' 'is that the babby?' cried the scotchman with surprise, looking at the great carcass muffled up in the blankets. 'sure it is,' replied shaya, 'and fingal's babby too; so don't you wake him, or fingal will twist your neck in a minute.' 'by the cross of st andrew,' replied the giant, 'then it's time for me to be off; for if that's his babby, i'll be but a mouthful to the fellow himself. good morning to ye.' so the scotch giant ran out of the house, and never stopped to eat or drink until he got back to his own hills, foreby he was nearly drowned in having mistaken his passage across the channel in his great hurry. then fingal got up and laughed, as well he might, at his own 'cuteness; and so ends my story about fingal. and now i'll begin about myself. as i said before, i am descended from the great o'brien, who was a king in his time, but that time's past. i suppose, as the world turns round, my children's children's posterity may be kings again, although there seems but little chance of it just now; but there's ups and downs on a grand scale, as well as in a man's own history, and the wheel of fortune keeps turning for the comfort of those who are at the lowest spoke, as i may be just now. to cut the story a little shorter, i skip down to my great-grandfather, who lived like a real gentleman, as he was, upon his ten thousand a year. at last he died, and eight thousand of the ten was buried with him. my grandfather followed his father all in good course of time, and only left my father about one hundred acres of bog, to keep up the dignity of the family. i am the youngest of ten, and devil a copper have i but my pay, or am i likely to have. you may talk about _descent_, but a more _descending_ family than mine was never in existence, for here am i with twenty-five pounds a-year, and a half-pay of 'nothing a day, and find myself,' when my great ancestor did just what he pleased with all ireland, and everybody in it. but this is all nothing, except to prove satisfactorily that i am not worth a skillagalee, and that is the reason which induces me to condescend to serve his majesty. father m'grath, the priest, who lived with my father, taught me the elements, as they call them. i thought i had enough of the elements then, but i've seen a deal more of them since. 'terence,' says my father to me one day, 'what do you mane to do?' 'to get my dinner, sure,' replied i, for i was not a little hungry. 'and so you shall to-day, my vourneen,' replied my father, 'but in future you must do something to get your own dinner: there's not praties enow for the whole of ye. will you go to the _say_?' 'i'll just step down and look at it,' says i, for we lived but sixteen irish miles from the coast; so when i had finished my meal, which did not take long, for want of ammunition, i trotted down to the cove to see what a ship might be like, and i happened upon a large one sure enough, for there lay a three-decker with an admiral's flag at the fore. 'may be you'll be so civil as to tell me what ship that is,' said i to a sailor on the pier. 'it's the queen charlotte,' replied he, 'of one hundred and twenty guns.' now when i looked at her size, and compared her with all the little smacks and hoys lying about her, i very naturally asked how old she was; he replied, that she was no more than three years old. 'but three years old!' thought i to myself, 'it's a fine vessel you'll be when you'll come of age, if you grow at that rate: you'll be as tall as the top of bencrow,'(that's a mountain we have in our parts). you see, peter, i was a fool at that time, just as you are now; but by-and-by, when you've had as many thrashings as i have had, you may chance to be as clever. i went back to my father, and told him all i had seen, and he replied, that if i liked it i might be a midshipman on board of her, with nine hundred men under my command. he forgot to say how many i should have over me, but i found that out afterwards. i agreed, and my father ordered his pony and went to the lord-lieutenant, for he had interest enough for that. the lord-lieutenant spoke to the admiral, who was staying at the palace, and i was ordered on board as midshipman. my father fitted me out pretty handsomely, telling all the tradesmen that their bills should be paid with my first prize-money, and thus, by promises and blarney, he got credit for all i wanted. at last all was ready: father m'grath gave me his blessing, and told me that if i died like an o'brien, he would say a power of masses for the good of my soul. 'may you never have the trouble, sir,' said i. 'och, trouble! a pleasure, my dear boy,' replied he, for he was a very polite man; so off i went with my big chest, not quite so full as it ought to have been, for my mother cribbed one half of my stock for my brothers and sisters. 'i hope to be back again soon, father,' said i as i took my leave. 'i hope not, my dear boy,' replied he: 'a'n't you provided for, and what more would you have?' so, after a deal of bother, i was fairly on board, and i parted company with my chest, for i stayed on deck, and that went down below. i stared about with all my eyes for some time, when who should be coming off but the captain, and the officers were ordered on deck to receive him. i wanted to have a quiet survey of him, so i took up my station on one of the guns, that i might examine him at my leisure. the boatswain whistled, the marines presented arms, and the officers all took off their hats as the captain came on the deck, and then the guard was dismissed, and they all walked about the deck as before; but i found it very pleasant to be astride on the gun, so i remained where i was. 'what do you mane by that, you big young scoundrel?' says he, when he saw me. 'it's nothing at all i mane,' replied i; 'but what do you mane by calling an o'brien a scoundrel?' 'who is he?' said the captain to the first lieutenant. 'mr o'brien, who joined the ship about an hour since.' 'don't you know better than to sit upon a gun?' said the captain. 'to be sure i do,' replied i, 'when there's anything better to sit upon.' 'he knows no better, sir,' observed the first lieutenant. 'then he must be taught,' replied the captain. 'mr o'brien, since you have perched yourself on that gun to please yourself, you will now continue there for two hours to please me. do you understand, sir?--you'll ride on that gun for two hours.' 'i understand, sir,' replied i; 'but i am afraid that he won't move without spurs, although there's plenty of _metal_ in him.' the captain turned away and laughed as he went into his cabin, and all the officers laughed, and i laughed too, for i perceived no great hardship in sitting down an hour or two, any more than i do now. well, i soon found that, like a young bear, all my troubles were to come. the first month was nothing but fighting and squabbling with my messmates; they called me a _raw_ irishman, and _raw_ i was, sure enough, from the constant thrashings and coltings i received from those who were bigger and stronger than myself; but nothing lasts for ever--as they discovered that whenever they found blows i could find back, they got tired of it, and left me and my brogue alone. we sailed for the toolong fleet." "what fleet?" inquired i. "why, the toolong fleet, so called, i thought, because they remained too long in harbour, bad luck to them; and then we were off cape see-see (devil a bit could we see of them except their mast-heads) for i don't know how many months. but i forgot to say that i got into another scrape just before we left harbour. it was my watch when they piped to dinner, and i took the liberty to run below, as my messmates had a knack of forgetting absent friends. well, the captain came on board, and there were no side boys, no side ropes, and no officers to receive him. he came on deck foaming with rage, for his dignity was hurt, and he inquired who was the midshipman of the watch. 'mr o'brien,' said they all. 'devil a bit,' replied i, 'it was my forenoon watch.' 'who relieved you, sir?' said the first lieutenant. 'devil a soul, sir,' replied i; 'for they were all too busy with their pork and beef.' 'then why did you leave the deck without relief?' 'because, sir, my stomach would have had but little relief if i had remained.' the captain, who stood by, said, 'do you see those cross-trees, sir?' 'is it those little bits of wood that you mane, on the top there, captain?' 'yes, sir; now just go up there, and stay until i call you down. you must be brought to your senses, young man, or you'll have but little prospect in the service.' 'i've an idea that i'll have plenty of prospect when i get up there,' replied i, 'but it's all to please you.' so up i went, as i have many a time since, and as you often will, peter, just to enjoy the fresh air and your own pleasant thoughts, all at one and the same time. "at last i became much more used to the manners and customs of _say_-going people, and by the time that i had been fourteen months off cape see-see, i was considered a very genteel young midshipman, and my messmates (that is, all that i could thrash, which didn't leave out many) had a very great respect for me. "the first time that i put my foot on shore was at minorca, and then i put my foot into it (as we say), for i was nearly killed for a heretic, and only saved by proving myself a true catholic, which proves that religion is a great comfort in distress, as father m'grath used to say. several of us went on shore, and having dined upon a roast turkey, stuffed with plum-pudding (for everything else was cooked in oil, and we could not eat it), and having drunk as much wine as would float a jolly-boat, we ordered donkeys, to take a little equestrian exercise. some went off tail on end, some with their hind-quarters uppermost, and then the riders went off instead of the donkeys; some wouldn't go off at all; as for mine he would go--and where the devil do you think he went? why, into the church where all the people were at mass; the poor brute was dying with thirst, and smelt water. as soon as he was in, notwithstanding all my tugging and hauling, he ran his nose into the holy-water font, and drank it all up. although i thought, that seeing how few christians have any religion, you could not expect much from a donkey, yet i was very much shocked at the sacrilege, and fearful of the consequences. nor was it without reason, for the people in the church were quite horrified, as well they might be, for the brute drank as much holy-water as would have purified the whole town of port mahon, suburbs and all to boot. they rose up from their knees and seized me, calling upon all the saints in the calendar. although i knew what they meant, not a word of their lingo could i speak, to plead for my life, and i was almost torn to pieces before the priest came up. perceiving the danger i was in, i wiped my finger across the wet nose of the donkey, crossed myself, and then went down on my knees to the priests, crying out _culpa mea_, as all good catholics do--though 'twas no fault of mine, as i said before, for i tried all i could, and tugged at the brute till my strength was gone. the priests perceived by the manner in which i crossed myself that i was a good catholic, and guessed that it was all a mistake of the donkey's. they ordered the crowd to be quiet, and sent for an interpreter, when i explained the whole story. they gave me absolution for what the donkey had done, and after that, as it was very rare to meet an english officer who was a good christian, i was in great favour during my stay at minorca, and was living in plenty, paying for nothing, and as happy as a cricket. so the jackass proved a very good friend, and, to reward him, i hired him every day, and galloped him all over the island. but, at last, it occurred to me that i had broken my leave, for i was so happy on shore that i quite forgot that i had only permission for twenty-four hours, and i should not have remembered it so soon, had it not been for a party of marines, headed by a sergeant, who took me by the collar, and dragged me off my donkey. i was taken on board, and put under an arrest for my misconduct. now, peter, i don't know anything more agreeable than being put under an arrest. nothing to do all day but eat and drink, and please yourself, only forbid to appear on the quarter-deck, the only place that a midshipman wishes to avoid. whether it was to punish me more severely, or whether he forgot all about me, i can't tell, but it was nearly two months before i was sent for to the cabin; and the captain, with a most terrible frown, said, that he trusted that my punishment would be a warning to me, and that now i might return to my duty. 'plase your honour,' said i, 'i don't think that i've been punished enough yet.' 'i am glad to find that you are so penitent, but you are forgiven, so take care that you do not oblige me to put you again in confinement.' so, as there was no persuading him, i was obliged to return to my duty again; but i made a resolution that i would get into another scrape again as soon as i dared--" "sail on the starboard bow!" cried the look-out man. "very well," replied the master; "mr o'brien--where's mr o'brien?" "is it me you mane, sir?" said o'brien, walking up to the master, for he had sat down so long in the topsail-halyard rack, that he was wedged in and could not get out immediately. "yes, sir; go forward, and see what that vessel is." "aye, aye, sir," said o'brien. "and mr simple," continued the master, "go down and bring me up my night-glass." "yes, sir," replied i. i had no idea of a night-glass; and as i observed that about this time his servant brought him up a glass of grog, i thought it very lucky that i knew what he meant. "take care that you don't break it, mr simple." "oh, then, i'm all right," thought i; "he means the tumbler." so down i went, called up the gunroom steward, and desired him to give me a glass of grog for mr doball. the steward tumbled out in his shirt, mixed the grog, and gave it to me, and i carried it up very carefully to the quarter-deck. during my absence, the master had called the captain, and in pursuance of his orders, o'brien had called the first lieutenant, and when i came up the ladder, they were both on deck. as i was ascending, i heard the master say, "i have sent young simple down for my night-glass, but he is so long, that i suppose he has made some mistake. he's but half a fool." "that i deny," replied mr falcon, the first lieutenant, just as i put my foot on the quarter-deck; "he's no fool." "perhaps not," replied the master. "oh, here he is. what made you so long, mr simple--where is my night-glass?" "here it is, sir," replied i, handing him the tumbler of grog; "i told the steward to make it stiff." the captain and the first lieutenant burst out into a laugh for mr doball was known to be very fond of grog; the former walked aft to conceal his mirth; but the latter remained. mr doball was in a great rage. "did not i say that the boy was half a fool?" cried he to the first lieutenant. "at all events, i'll not allow that he has proved himself so in this instance," replied mr falcon, "for he has hit the right nail on the head." then the first lieutenant joined the captain, and they both went off laughing. "put it on the capstan, sir," said mr doball to me, in an angry voice. "i'll punish you by-and-by." i was very much astonished; i hardly knew whether i had done right or wrong; at all events, thought i to myself, i did for the best; so i put it on the capstan and walked to my own side of the deck. the captain and first lieutenant then went below, and o'brien came aft. "what vessel is it?" said i. "to the best of my belief, it's one of your bathing-machines going home with despatches," replied he. "a bathing machine," said i; "why i thought that they were hauled up on the beach." "that's the brighton sort; but these are made not to go up at all." "what then?" "why, to _go down_, to be sure; and remarkably well they answer their purpose. i won't puzzle you any more, my peter--i'm spaking helligorically, which i believe means telling a hell of a lie. it's one of your ten-gun brigs, to the best of my knowledge." i then told o'brien what had occurred, and how the master was angry with me. o'brien laughed very heartily, and told me never to mind, but to keep in the lee-scuppers and watch him. "a glass of grog is a bait that he'll play round till he gorges. when you see it to his lips, go up to him boldly, and ask his pardon, if you have offended him, and then, if he's a good christian, as i believe him to be, he'll not refuse it." i thought this was very good advice, and i waited under the bulwark on the lee-side. i observed that the master made shorter and shorter turns every time, till at last he stopped at the capstan and looked at the grog. he waited about half a minute, and then he took up the tumbler, and drank about half of it. it was very strong, and he stopped to take breath. i thought this was the right time, and i went up to him. the tumbler was again to his lips, and before he saw me, i said, "i hope, sir, you'll forgive me; i never heard of a night telescope, and knowing that you had walked so long, i thought you were tired, and wanted something to drink to refresh you." "well, mr simple," said he, after he had finished the glass, with a deep sigh of pleasure, "as you meant kindly, i shall let you off this time; but recollect, that whenever you bring me a glass of grog again, it must not be in the presence of the captain or first lieutenant." i promised him very faithfully, and went away quite delighted with my having made my peace with him, and more so, that the first lieutenant had said that i was no fool for what i had done. at last our watch was over, and about two bells i was relieved by the midshipmen of the next watch. it is very unfair not to relieve in time, but if i said a word i was certain to be thrashed the next day upon some pretence or other. on the other hand, the midshipman whom i relieved was also much bigger than i was, and if i was not up before one bell, i was cut down and thrashed by him: so that between the two i kept much more than my share of the watch, except when the master sent me to bed before it was over. chapter xiii the first lieutenant prescribes for one of his patients, his prescriptions consisting of _draughts_ only--o'brien finishes the history of his life, in which the proverb of "the more the merrier" is sadly disproved--_shipping_ a new pair of boots causes the _unshipping_ of their owner--walking home after a ball, o'brien meets with an accident. the next morning i was on deck at seven bells, to see the hammocks stowed, when i was witness to mr falcon, the first lieutenant, having recourse to one of his remedies to cure a mizen-top-boy of smoking, a practice to which he had a great aversion. he never interfered with the men smoking in the galley, or chewing tobacco; but he prevented the boys, that is, lads under twenty or there-abouts, from indulging in the habit too early. the first lieutenant smelt the tobacco as the boy passed him on the quarter-deck. "why, neill, you have been smoking," said the first lieutenant. "i thought you were aware that i did not permit such lads as you to use tobacco." "if you please, sir," replied the mizen-top-man, touching his hat, "i'se got worms, and they say that smoking be good for them." "good for them!" said the first lieutenant; "yes, very good for them, but very bad for you. why, my good fellow, they'll thrive upon tobacco until they grow as large as conger eels. heat is what the worms are fond of; but cold--cold will kill them. now i'll cure you. quarter-master, come here. walk this boy up and down the weather-gangway, and every time you get forward abreast of the main-tack block, put his mouth to windward, squeeze him sharp by the nape of the neck until he opens his mouth wide, and there keep him and let the cold air blow down his throat, while you count ten; then walk him aft, and when you are forward again, proceed as before.--cold kills worms, my poor boy, not tobacco--i wonder that you are not dead by this time." the quarter-master, who liked the joke, as did all the seamen, seized hold of the lad, and as soon as they arrived forward, gave him such a squeeze of the neck as to force him to open his mouth, if it were only to cry with pain. the wind was very fresh, and blew into his mouth so strong, that it actually whistled while he was forced to keep it open; and thus, he was obliged to walk up and down, cooling his inside, for nearly two hours, when the first lieutenant sent for him, and told him, that he thought all the worms must be dead by that time; but if they were not, the lad was not to apply his own remedies, but come to him for another dose. however, the boy was of the same opinion as the first lieutenant, and never complained of worms again. a few nights afterwards, when we had the middle watch, o'brien proceeded with his story. "where was it that i left off?" "you left off at the time that you were taken out of confinement." "so i did, sure enough; and it was with no good-will that i went to my duty. however, as there was no help for it, i walked up and down the deck as before, with my hands in my pockets, thinking of old ireland, and my great ancestor, brien borru. and so i went on behaving myself like a real gentleman, and getting into no more scrapes, until the fleet put into the cove of cork, and i found myself within a few miles of my father's house. you may suppose that the anchor had hardly kissed the mud, before i went to the first lieutenant, and asked leave to go on shore. now the first lieutenant was not in the sweetest of tempers, seeing as how the captain had been hauling him over the coals for not carrying on the duty according to his satisfaction. so he answered me very gruffly, that i should not leave the ship. 'oh, bother!' said i to myself, 'this will never do.' so up i walked to the captain, and touching my hat, reminded him that 'i had a father and mother, and a pretty sprinkling of brothers and sisters, who were dying to see me, and that i hoped that he would give me leave.' 'ax the first lieutenant,' said he, turning away. 'i have, sir,' replied i, 'and he says that the devil a bit shall i put my foot on shore.' 'then you have misbehaved yourself,' said the captain. 'not a bit of it, captain willis,' replied i; 'it's the first lieutenant who has misbehaved.' 'how, sir?' answered he, in an angry tone. 'why, sir, didn't he misbehave just now in not carrying on the duty according to your will and pleasure? and didn't you serve him out just as he deserved--and isn't he sulky because you did-- and arn't that the reason why i am not to go on shore? you see, your honour, it's all true as i said; and the first lieutenant has misbehaved and not i. i hope you will allow me to go on shore, captain, god bless you! and make some allowance for my parental feelings towards the arthers of my existence.' 'have you any fault to find with mr o'brien?' said the captain to the first lieutenant, as he came aft. 'no more than i have with midshipmen in general; but i believe it is not the custom for officers to ask leave to go on shore before the sails are furled and the yards squared.' 'very true,' replied the captain; 'therefore, mr o'brien, you must wait until the watch is called, and then, if you ask the first lieutenant, i have no doubt but you will have leave granted to you to go and see your friends.' 'thank'e kindly, sir,' replied i; and i hoped that the yards and sails would be finished off as soon as possible, for my heart was in my mouth, and i felt that if i had been kept much longer, it would have flown on shore before me. "i thought myself very clever in this business, but i was never a greater fool in my life; for there was no such hurry to have gone on shore, and the first lieutenant never forgave me for appealing to the captain--but of that by-and-by, and all in good time. at last i obtained a grumbling assent to my going on shore, and off i went like a sky-rocket. being in a desperate hurry, i hired a jaunting-car to take me to my father's house. 'is it the o'brien of ballyhinch that you mane?' inquired the spalpeen who drove the horse. 'sure it is,' replied i; 'and how is he, and all the noble family of the o'briens?" 'all well enough, bating the boy tim, who caught a bit of confusion in his head the other night at the fair, and now lies at home in bed quite insensible to mate or drink; but the doctors give hopes of his recovery, as all the o'briens are known to have such thick heads.' 'what do you mane by that, bad manners to you?' said i, 'but poor tim--how did it happen--was there a fight?' 'not much of a fight--only a bit of a skrummage--three crowners' inquests, no more.' 'but you are not going the straight road, you thief,' said i, seeing that he had turned off to the left. 'i've my reasons for that, your honour,' replied he; 'i always turn away from the castle out of principle--i lost a friend there, and it makes me melancholy.' 'how came that for to happen?' 'all by accident, your honour; they hung my poor brother patrick there, because he was a bad hand at arithmetic.' 'he should have gone to a better school then,' said i. 'i've an idea that it was a bad school that he was brought up in,' replied he, with a sigh. 'he was a cattle-dealer, your honour, and one day, somehow or another, he'd a cow too much--all for not knowing how to count, your honour,--bad luck to his school-master.' 'all that may be very true,' said i, 'and pace be to his soul; but i don't see why you are to drag me, that's in such a hurry, two miles out of my way, out of principle.' 'is your honour in a hurry to get home? then i'll be thinking they'll not be in such a hurry to see you.' 'and who told you that my name was o'brien, you baste?--and do you dare to say that my friends won't be glad to see me?' 'plase your honour, it's all an idea of mine--so say no more about it. only this i know: father m'grath, who gives me absolution, tould me the other day that i ought to pay him, and not run in debt, and then run away like terence o'brien, who went to say without paying for his shirts, and his shoes, and his stockings, nor anything else, and who would live to be hanged as sure as st patrick swam over the liffey with his head under his arm.' 'bad luck to that father mcgrath,' cried i; 'devil burn me, but i'll be revenged upon him!' "by that time we had arrived at the door of my father's house. i paid the rapparee, and in i popped. there was my father and mother, and all my brothers and sisters (bating tim, who was in bed sure enough, and died next day), and that baste father mcgrath to boot. when my mother saw me she ran to me and hugged me as she wept on my neck, and then she wiped her eyes and sat down again; but nobody else said 'how d'ye do?' or opened their mouths to me. i said to myself, 'sure there's some trifling mistake here,' but i held my tongue. at last they all opened their mouths with a vengeance. my father commenced--'ar'n't you ashamed on yourself, terence o'brien?' 'ar'n't you ashamed on yourself, terence o'brien?' cried father m'grath. 'ar'n't you ashamed on yourself?' cried out all my brothers and sisters in full chorus, whilst my poor mother put her apron to her eyes and said nothing. 'the devil a bit for myself, but very much ashamed for you all,' replied i, 'to treat me in this manner. what's the meaning of all this?' 'haven't they seized my two cows to pay for your toggery, you spalpeen?' cried my father. 'haven't they taken the hay to pay for your shoes and stockings?' cried father m'grath. 'haven't they taken the pig to pay for that ugly hat of yours?' cried my eldest sister. 'and haven't they taken my hens to pay for that dirk of yours?' cried another. 'and all our best furniture to pay for your white shirts and black cravats?' cried murdock, my brother. 'and haven't we been starved to death ever since?' cried they all. 'och hone!' said my mother. 'the devil they have!' said i, when they'd all done. 'sure i'm sorry enough, but it's no fault of mine. father, didn't you send me to say?' 'yes, you rapparee; but didn't you promise--or didn't i promise for you, which is all one and the same thing--that you'd pay it all back with your prize-money--and where is it? answer that, terence o'brien.' 'where is it, father? i'll tell you; it's where next christmas is--coming, but not come yet.' 'spake to him, father m'grath,' said my father. 'is not that a lie of yours, terence o'brien, that you're after telling now?' said father mcgrath; 'give me the money.' 'it's no lie, father mcgrath; if it pleased you to die to-morrow, the devil of a shilling have i to jingle on your tombstone for good luck, bating those three or four, which you may divide between you, and i threw them on the floor. "'terence o'brien,' said father mcgrath, 'its absolution that you'll be wanting to-morrow, after all your sins and enormities; and the devil a bit shall you have--take that now.' "'father m'grath,' replied i very angrily, 'it's no absolution that i'll want from you, any how--take that now.' "'then you have had your share of heaven; for i'll keep you out of it, you wicked monster,' said father m'grath--'take that now.' "'if it's no better than a midshipman's berth,' replied i, 'i'd just as soon stay out; but i'll creep in in spite of you--take that now, father m'grath.' "'and who's to save your soul, and send you to heaven, if i don't, you wicked wretch? but i'll see you d--d first--so take that now, terence o'brien.' "'then i'll turn protestant, and damn the pope--take that now, father m'grath.' "at this last broadside of mine, my father and all my brothers and sisters raised a cry of horror, and my mother burst into tears. father m'grath seized hold of the pot of holy water, and dipping in the little whisk, began to sprinkle the room, saying a latin prayer, while they all went on squalling at me. at last, my father seized the stool, which he had been seated upon, and threw it at my head. i dodged, and it knocked down father m'grath, who had just walked behind me in full song. i knew that it was all over after that, so i sprang over his carcass, and gained the door. 'good morning to ye all, and better manners to you next time we meet,' cried i, and off i set as fast as i could for the ship. "i was melancholy enough as i walked back, and thought of what had passed. 'i need not have been in such a confounded hurry,' said i to myself, 'to ask leave, thereby affronting the first lieutenant;' and i was very sorry for what i had said to the priest, for my conscience thumped me very hard at having even pretended that i'd turn protestant, which i never intended to do, nor never will, but live and die a good catholic, as all my posterity have done before me, and, as i trust, all my ancestors will for generations to come. well, i arrived on board, and the first lieutenant was very savage. i hoped he would get over it, but he never did; and he continued to treat me so ill that i determined to quit the ship, which i did as soon as we arrived in cawsand bay. the captain allowed me to go, for i told him the whole truth of the matter, and he saw that it was true; so he recommended me to the captain of a jackass frigate, who was in want of midshipmen." "what do you mean by a jackass frigate?" inquired i. "i mean one of your twenty-eight gun-ships, so called, because there is as much difference between them and a real frigate, like the one we are sailing in, as there is between a donkey and a racehorse. well, the ship was no sooner brought down to the dock-yard to have her ballast taken in, than our captain came down to her--a little, thin, spare man, but a man of weight nevertheless, for he brought a great pair of scales with him, and weighed everything that was put on board. i forget his real name, but the sailors christened him captain avoirdupois. he had a large book, and in it he inserted the weight of the ballast, and of the shot, water, provisions, coals, standing and running rigging, cables, and everything else. then he weighed all the men, and all the midshipmen, and all the midshipmen's chests, and all the officers, with everything belonging to them: lastly, he weighed himself, which did not add much to the sum total. i don't exactly know what this was for; but he was always talking about centres of gravity, displacement of fluid, and lord knows what. i believe it was to find out the longitude, somehow or other, but i didn't remain long enough in her to know the end of it, for one day i brought on board a pair of new boots, which i forgot to report that they might be put into the scales, which swang on the gangway; and whether the captain thought that they would sink his ship, or for what i can not tell, but he ordered me to quit her immediately--so, there i was adrift again. i packed up my traps and went on shore, putting on my new boots out of spite, and trod into all the mud and mire i could meet, and walked up and down from plymouth to dock until i was tired, as a punishment to them, until i wore the scoundrels out in a fortnight. "one day i was in the dockyard, looking at a two-decker in the basin, just brought forward for service, and i inquired who was to be the captain. they told me that his name was o'connor. then's he's a countryman of mine, thought i, and i'll try my luck. so i called at goud's hotel, where he was lodging, and requested to speak with him. i was admitted, and i told him, with my best bow, that i had come as a volunteer for his ship, and that my name was o'brien. as it happened, he had some vacancies, and liking my brogue, he asked me in what ships i had served. i told him, and also my reason for quitting my last--which was, because i was turned out of it. i explained the story of the boots, and he made inquiries, and found that it was all true; and then he gave me a vacancy as master's mate. we were ordered to south america, and the trade winds took us there in a jiffey. i liked my captain and officers very much; and what was better, we took some good prizes. but somehow or other, i never had the luck to remain long in one ship, and that by no fault of mine; at least, not in this instance. all went on as smooth as possible, until one day the captain took us on shore to a ball, at one of the peaceable districts. we had a very merry night of it; but as luck would have it, i had the morning watch to keep, and see the decks cleaned, and as i never neglected my duty, i set off about three o'clock in the morning, just at break of day, to go on board of the ship. i was walking along the sands, thinking of the pretty girl that i'd been dancing with, and had got about half way to the ship, when three rapparees of spanish soldiers came from behind a rock and attacked me with their swords and bayonets. i had only my dirk, but i was not to be run through for nothing, so i fought them as long as i could. i finished one fellow, but at last they finished me; for a bayonet passed through my body, and i forgot all about it. well, it appears--for i can only say to the best of my knowledge and belief--that after they had killed me, they stripped me naked and buried me in the sand, carrying away with them the body of their comrade. so there i was--dead and buried." "but, o'brien," said i "whist--hold your tongue--you've not heard the end of it. well, i had been buried about an hour--but not very deep it appears, for they were in too great a hurry--when a fisherman and his daughter came along the beach, on their way to the boat; and the daughter, god bless her! did me the favour to tread upon my nose. it was clear that she had never trod upon an irishman's nose before, for it surprised her, and she looked down to see what was there, and not seeing anything, she tried it again with her foot, and then she scraped off the sand, and discovered my pretty face. i was quite warm and still breathing, for the sand had stopped the blood, and prevented my bleeding to death. the fisherman pulled me out, and took me on his back to the house where the captain and officers were still dancing. when he brought me in, there was a great cry from the ladies, not because i was murdered, for they are used to it in those countries, but because i was naked, which they considered a much more serious affair. i was put to bed and a boat despatched on board for our doctor; and in a few hours i was able to speak, and tell them how it happened. but i was too ill to move when the ship sailed, which she was obliged to do in a day or two afterwards, so the captain made out my discharge, and left me there. the family were french, and i remained with them for six months before i could obtain a passage home, during which i learnt their language, and a very fair allowance of spanish to boot. when i arrived in england, i found that the prizes had been sold, and that the money was ready for distribution. i produced my certificate, and received £ for my share. so it's come at last, thought i. "i never had such a handful of money in my life; but i hope i shall again very soon. i spread it out on the table as soon as i got home, and looked at it, and then i said to myself, 'now, terence o'brien, will you keep this money to yourself, or send it home?' then i thought of father m'grath, and the stool that was thrown at my head, and i was very near sweeping it all back into my pocket. but then i thought of my mother, and of the cows, and the pig, and the furniture, all gone; and of my brothers and sisters wanting praties, and i made a vow that i'd send every farthing of it to them, after which father m'grath would no longer think of not giving me absolution. so i sent them every doit, only reserving for myself the pay which i had received, amounting to about £ : and i never felt more happy in my life than when it was safe in the post-office, and fairly out of my hands. i wrote a bit of a letter to my father at the time, which was to this purpose:-- "'honoured father,-- since our last pleasant meeting, at which you threw the stool at my head, missing the pigeon and hitting the crow, i have been dead and buried, but am now quite well, thank god, and want no absolution from father m'grath, bad luck to him. and what's more to the point, i have just received a batch of prize-money, the first i have handled since i have served his majesty, and every farthing of which i now send to you, that you may get back your old cows, and the pig, and all the rest of the articles seized to pay for my fitting out; so never again ask me whether i am not ashamed of myself; more shame to you for abusing a dutiful son like myself, who went to sea at your bidding, and has never had a real good potato down his throat ever since. i'm a true o'brien, tell my mother, and don't mane to turn protestant, but uphold the religion of my country; although the devil may take father m'grath and his holy water to boot. i sha'n't come and see you, as perhaps you may have another stool ready for my head, and may take better aim next time. so no more at present from your affectionate son, 'terence o'brien.'" "about three weeks afterwards i received a letter from my father, telling me that i was a real o'brien, and that if any one dared hint to the contrary, he would break every bone in his body; that they had received the money, and thanked me for a real gentleman as i was; that i should have the best stool in the house next time i came, not for my head, but for my tail; that father m'grath sent me his blessing, and had given me absolution for all i had done, or should do for the next ten years to come; that my mother had cried with joy at my dutiful behaviour; and that all my brothers and sisters (bating tim, who had died the day after i left them) wished me good luck, and plenty more prize-money to send home to them. "this was all very pleasant; and i had nothing left on my mind but to get another ship; so i went to the port-admiral, and told him how it was that i left my last: and he said, 'that being dead and buried was quite sufficient reason for any one leaving his ship, and that he would procure me another, now that i had come to life again.' i was sent on board of the guard-ship, where i remained about ten days, and then was sent round to join this frigate--and so my story's ended; and there's eight bells striking--so the watch is ended too; jump down, peter, and call robinson, and tell him that i'll trouble him to forget to go to sleep again as he did last time, and leave me here kicking my heels, contrary to the rules and regulations of the service." chapter xiv the first lieutenant has more patients--mr chucks the boatswain, lets me into the secret of his gentility. before i proceed with my narrative, i wish to explain to the reader that my history was not written in after-life, when i had obtained a greater knowledge of the world. when i first went to sea, i promised my mother that i would keep a journal of what passed, with my reflections upon it. to this promise i rigidly adhered, and since i have been my own master, these journals have remained in my possession. in writing, therefore, the early part of my adventures, everything is stated as it was impressed on my mind at the time. upon many points i have since had reason to form a different opinion from that which is recorded, and upon many others i have since laughed heartily at my folly and simplicity; but still, i have thought it advisable to let the ideas of the period remain, rather than correct them by those of dear-bought experience. a boy of fifteen, brought up in a secluded country town, cannot be expected to reason and judge as a young man who has seen much of life, and passed through a variety of adventures. the reader must therefore remember, that i have referred to my journal for the opinions and feelings which guided me between each distinct anniversary of my existence. we had now been cruising for six weeks, and i found that my profession was much more agreeable than i had anticipated. my desire to please was taken for the deed; and, although i occasionally made a blunder, yet the captain and first lieutenant seemed to think that i was attentive to my duty to the best of my ability, and only smiled at my mistakes. i also discovered, that, however my natural capacity may have been estimated by my family, that it was not so depreciated here; and every day i felt more confidence in myself, and hoped, by attention and diligence, to make up for a want of natural endowment. there certainly is something in the life of a sailor which enlarges the mind. when i was at home six months before, i allowed other people to think for me, and acted wholly on the leading-strings of their suggestions; on board, to the best of my ability, i thought for myself. i became happy with my messmates--those who were harsh upon me left off, because i never resented their conduct, and those who were kind to me were even kinder than before. the time flew away quickly, i suppose, because i knew exactly what i had to do, and each day was the forerunner of the ensuing. the first lieutenant was one of the most amusing men i ever knew, yet he never relaxed from the discipline of the service, or took the least liberty with either his superiors or inferiors. his humour was principally shown in his various modes of punishment; and, however severe the punishment was to the party, the manner of inflicting it was invariably a source of amusement to the remainder of the ship's company. i often thought, that although no individual liked being punished, yet, that all the ship's company were quite pleased when a punishment took place. he was very particular about his decks; they were always as white as snow, and nothing displeased him so much as their being soiled. it was for that reason that he had such an objection to the use of tobacco. there were spitting-pans placed in different parts of the decks for the use of the men, that they might not dirty the planks with the tobacco-juice. sometimes a man in his hurry forgot to use these pans, but, as the mess to which the stain might be opposite had their grog stopped if the party were not found out, they took good care not only to keep a look-out, but to inform against the offender. now the punishment for the offence was as follows--the man's hands were tied behind his back, and a large tin spitting-box fixed to his chest by a strap over the shoulders. all the other boxes on the lower deck were taken away, and he was obliged to walk there, ready to attend the summons of any man who might wish to empty his mouth of the tobacco-juice. the other men were so pleased at the fancy, that they spat twice as much as before, for the pleasure of making him run about. mr chucks, the boatswain, called it "the first lieutenant's _perambulating_ spitting-pan." he observed to me one day, "that really mr falcon was such an _epicure_ about his decks, that he was afraid to pudding an anchor on the forecastle." i was much amused one morning watch that i kept. we were stowing the hammocks in the quarter-deck nettings, when one of the boys came up with his hammock on his shoulder, and as he passed the first lieutenant, the latter perceived that he had a quid of tobacco in his cheek. "what have you got there, my good lad--a gum-boil?--your cheek is very much swelled." "no, sir," replied the boy, "there's nothing at all the matter." "o there must be; it is a bad tooth, then. open your mouth, and let me see." very reluctantly the boy opened his mouth, and discovered a large roll of tobacco-leaf. "i see, i see," said the first lieutenant, "your mouth wants overhauling, and your teeth cleaning. i wish we had a dentist on board; but as we have not, i will operate as well as i can. send the armourer up here with his tongs." when the armourer made his appearance, the boy was made to open his mouth, while the chaw of tobacco was extracted with his rough instrument. "there now," said the first lieutenant, "i'm sure that you must feel better already; you never could have had any appetite. now, captain of the afterguard, bring a piece of old canvas and some sand here, and clean his teeth nicely." the captain of the afterguard came forward, and putting the boy's head between his knees, scrubbed his teeth well with the sand and canvas for two or three minutes. "there, that will do," said the first lieutenant. "now, my little fellow, your mouth is nice and clean, and you'll enjoy your breakfast. it was impossible for you to have eaten anything with your mouth in such a nasty state. when it's dirty again, come to me, and i'll be your dentist." one day i was on the forecastle with mr chucks, the boatswain, who was very kind to me. he had been showing me how to make the various knots and bends of rope which are used in our service. i am afraid that i was very stupid, but he showed me over and over again, until i learnt how to make them. amongst others, he taught me a fisherman's bend, which he pronounced to be the _king_ of all knots; "and, mr simple," continued he, "there is a moral in that knot. you observe, that when the parts are drawn the right way, and together, the more you pull the faster they hold, and the more impossible to untie them; but see, by hauling them apart, how a little difference, a pull the other way, immediately disunites them, and then how easy they cast off in a moment. that points out the necessity of pulling together in this world, mr simple, when we wish to hold on, and that's a piece of philosophy worth all the twenty-six thousand and odd years of my friend the carpenter, which leads to nothing but a brown study, when he ought to be attending to his duty." "very true, mr chucks, you are the better philosopher of the two." "i am the better educated, mr simple, and i trust, more of a gentleman. i consider a gentleman to be, to a certain degree, a philosopher, for very often he is obliged, to support his character as such, to put up with what another person may very properly fly in a passion about. i think coolness is the great character-stick of a gentleman. in the service, mr simple, one is obliged to appear angry without indulging the sentiment. i can assure you, that i never lose my temper, even when i use my rattan." "why, then, mr chucks, do you swear so much at the men? surely that is not gentlemanly?" "most certainly not, sir. but i must defend myself by observing the very artificial state in which we live on board of a man-of-war. necessity, my dear mr simple, has no law. you must observe how gently i always commence when i have to find fault. i do that to prove my gentility; but, sir, my zeal for the service obliges me to alter my language, to prove in the end that i am in earnest. nothing would afford me more pleasure than to be able to carry on the duty as a gentleman, but that's impossible." "i really cannot see why." "perhaps, then, mr simple, you will explain to me why the captain and first lieutenant swear." "that i do not pretend to answer, but they only do so upon an emergency." "exactly so; but, sir, their 'mergency is my daily and hourly duty. in the continual working of the ship i am answerable for all that goes amiss. the life of a boatswain is a life of 'mergency, and therefore i swear." "i still cannot allow it to be requisite, and certainly it is sinful." "excuse me, my dear sir; it is absolutely requisite, and not at all sinful. there is one language for the pulpit, and another for on board ship, and, in either situation, a man must make use of those terms most likely to produce the necessary effect upon his listeners. whether it is from long custom of the service, or from the indifference of a sailor to all common things and language (i can't exactly explain myself, mr simple, but i know what i mean), perhaps constant excitement may do, and therefore he requires more 'stimilis,' as they call it, to make him move. certain it is, that common parlancy won't do with a common seaman. it is not here as in the scriptures, 'do this, and he doeth it' (by the bye, that chap must have had his soldiers in tight order); but it is, 'do this, d--n your eyes,' and then it is done directly. the order to _do_ just carries the weight of a cannon-shot, but it wants the perpelling power--the d--n is the gunpowder which sets it flying in the execution of its duty. do you comprehend me, mr simple?" "i perfectly understand you, mr chucks, and i cannot help remarking, and that without flattery, that you are very different from the rest of the warrant officers. where did you receive your education?" "mr simple, i am here a boatswain with a clean shirt, and, i say it myself, and no one dare gainsay it, also with a thorough knowledge of my duty. but although i do not say that i ever was better off, i can say this, that i've been in the best society, in the company of lords and ladies. i once dined with your grandfather." "that's more than ever i did, for he never asked me, nor took the least notice of me," replied i. "what i state is true. i did not know that he was your grandfather until yesterday, when i was talking with mr o'brien; but i perfectly recollect him, although i was very young at that time. now, mr simple, if you will promise me as a gentleman (and i know you are one), that you will not repeat what i tell you, then i'll let you into the history of my life." "mr chucks, as i am a gentleman i never will divulge it until you are dead and buried, and not then if you do not wish it." "when i am dead and buried, you may do as you please; it may then be of service to other people, although my story is not a very long one." mr chucks then sat down upon the fore-end of the booms by the funnel, and i took my place by his side, when he commenced as follows:-- "my father was a boatswain before me--one of the old school, rough as a bear, and drunken as a gosport fiddler. my mother was--my mother, and i shall say no more. my father was invalided for harbour duty after a life of intoxication, and died shortly afterwards. in the meantime i had been, by the kindness of the port-admiral's wife, educated at a foundation school. i was thirteen when my father died, and my mother, not knowing what to do with me, wished to bind me apprentice to a merchant vessel; but this i refused, and, after six months' quarrelling on the subject, i decided the point by volunteering in the _narcissus_ frigate. i believe that my gentlemanly ideas were innate, mr simple; i never, as a child, could bear the idea of the merchant service. after i had been a week on board, i was appointed servant to the purser, where i gave such satisfaction by my alertness and dexterity, that the first lieutenant took me away from the purser to attend upon himself, so that in two months i was a person of such consequence as to create a disturbance in the gunroom, for the purser was very angry, and many of the officers took his part. it was whispered that i was the son of the first lieutenant, and that he was aware of it. how far that may be true i know not, but there was a likeness between us; and my mother, who was a very pretty woman, attended his ship many years before as a bumboat girl. i can't pretend to say anything about it, but this i do say, mr simple--and many will blame me for it, but i can't help my natural feelings--that i had rather be the bye-blow of a gentleman, than the 'gitimate offspring of a boatswain and his wife. there's no chance of good blood in your veins in the latter instance, whereas, in the former you may have stolen a drop or two. it so happened, that after i had served the first lieutenant for about a year, a young lord (i must not mention his name, mr simple) was sent to sea by his friends, or by his own choice, i don't know which, but i was told that his uncle, who was 'zeckative, and had an interest in his death, persuaded him to go. a lord at that period, some twenty-five years ago, was a rarity in the service, and they used to salute him when he came on board. the consequence was, that the young lord must have a servant to himself, although all the rest of the midshipmen had but one servant between them. the captain inquired who was the best boy in the ship, and the purser, to whom he appealed, recommended me. accordingly, much to the annoyance of the first lieutenant (for first lieutenants in those days did not assume as they do now, not that i refer to mr falcon, who is a gentleman), i was immediately surrendered to his lordship. i had a very easy, comfortable life of it--i did little or nothing; if inquired for when all hands were turned up, i was cleaning his lordship's boots, or brushing his lordship's clothes, and there was nothing to be said when his lordship's name was mentioned. we went to the mediterranean (because his lordship's mamma wished it), and we had been there about a year, when his lordship ate so many grapes that he was seized with a dysentery. he was ill for three weeks, and then he requested to be sent to malta in a transport going to gibraltar, or rather to the barbary coast, for bullocks. he became worse every day, and made his will, leaving me all his effects on board, which i certainly deserved for the kindness with which i had nursed him. off malta we fell in with a xebeque, bound to civita vecchia, and the captain of the transport, anxious to proceed, advised our going on board of her, as the wind was light and contrary, and these mediterranean vessels sailed better on a wind than the transport. my master, who was now sinking fast, consented, and we changed our ships. the next day he died, and a gale of wind came on, which prevented us from gaining the port for several days, and the body of his lordship not only became so offensive, but affected the superstition of the catholic sailors so much, that it was hove overboard. none of the people could speak english, nor could i speak maltese; they had no idea who we were, and i had plenty of time for cogitation. i had often thought what a fine thing it was to be a lord, and as often wished that i had been born one. the wind was still against us, when a merchant vessel ran down to us, that had left civita vecchia for gibraltar. i desired the captain of the xebeque to make a signal of distress, or rather i did myself, and the vessel, which proved to be english, bore down to us. "i manned the boat to go on board, and the idea came into my head, that, although they might refuse to take me, they would not refuse a lord. i put on the midshipman's uniform belonging to his lordship (but then certainly belonging to me), and went alongside of the merchant vessel; i told them that i had left my ship for the benefit of my health, and wanted a passage to gibraltar, on my way home. my title, and immediate acceptance of the terms demanded for my passage, was sufficient. my property was brought from the xebeque; and, of course, as they could not speak english, they could not contradict, even if they suspected. here, mr simple, i must acknowledge a slight flaw in my early history, which i impart to you in confidence; or otherwise i should not have been able to prove that i was correct in asserting that i had dined with your grandfather. but the temptation was too strong, and i could not resist. think yourself, mr simple, after having served as a ship's boy clouted here, kicked there, damned by one, and sent to hell by another--to find myself treated with such respect and deference, and my lorded this and my lorded that, every minute of the day. during my passage to gibraltar, i had plenty of time for arranging my plans. i hardly need say that my lord's _kit_ was valuable; and what was better, they exactly fitted me. i also had his watches and trinkets, and many other things, besides a bag of dollars. however, they were honestly mine; the only thing that i took was his name, which he had no further occasion for, poor fellow! but it's no use defending what was wrong--it was dishonest, and there's an end of it. "now observe, mr simple, how one thing leads to another. i declare to you, that my first idea of making use of his lordship's name, was to procure a passage to gibraltar. i then was undecided how to act; but, as i had charge of his papers and letters to his mother and guardian, i think--indeed i am almost sure--that i should have laid aside my dignity and midshipman's dress, and applied for a passage home to the commissioner of the yard. but it was fated to be otherwise; for the master of the transport went on shore to report and obtain pratique, and he told them everywhere that young lord a---- was a passenger with him, going to england for the benefit of his health. in less than half-an-hour, off came the commissioner's boat, and another boat from the governor, requesting the honour of my company, and that i would take a bed at their houses during my stay. what could i do? i began to be frightened; but i was more afraid to confess that i was an impostor, for i am sure the master of the transport alone would have kicked me overboard, if i had let him know that he had been so confounded polite to a ship's boy. so i blushed half from modesty and half from guilt, and accepted the invitation of the governor; sending a polite verbal refusal to the commissioner, upon the plea of there being no paper or pens on board. i had so often accompanied my late master, that i knew very well how to conduct myself, and had borrowed a good deal of his air and appearance--indeed, i had a natural taste for gentility. i could write and read; not perhaps so well as i ought to have done, considering the education i had received, but still quite well enough for a lord, and indeed much better than my late master. i knew his signature well enough, although the very idea of being forced to use it made me tremble. however, the die was cast. i ought to observe, that in one point we were not unlike--both had curly light hair and blue eyes; in other points there was no resemblance. i was by far the better-looking chap of the two; and as we had been up the mediterranean for two years, i had no fear of any doubt as to my identity until i arrived in england. well, mr simple, i dressed myself very carefully, put on my chains and rings, and a little perfume on my handkerchief, and accompanied the aide-de-camp to the governor's, where i was asked after my mother, lady ----, and my uncle, my guardian, and a hundred other questions. at first i was much confused, which was attributed to bashfulness; and so it was, but not of the right sort. but before the day was over, i had become so accustomed to be called 'my lord,' and to my situation, that i was quite at my ease, and began to watch the motions and behaviour of the company, that i might regulate my comportment by that of good society. i remained at gibraltar for a fortnight, and then was offered a passage in a transport ordered to portsmouth. being an officer, of course it was free to a certain extent. on my passage to england, i again made up my mind that i would put off my dress and title as soon as i could escape from observation; but i was prevented as before. the port-admiral sent off to request the pleasure of my company to dinner. i dared not refuse; and there i was, my lord, as before, courted and feasted by everybody. tradesmen called to request the honour of my lordship's custom; my table at the hotel was covered with cards of all descriptions; and, to confess the truth, i liked my situation so much, and had been so accustomed to it, that i now began to dislike the idea that one day or other i must resign it, which i determined to do as soon as i quitted the place. my bill at the hotel was very extravagant, and more than i could pay: but the master said it was not of the least consequence; that of course his lordship had not provided himself with cash, just coming from foreign parts, and offered to supply me with money if i required it. this, i will say, i was honest enough to refuse. i left my cards, p.p.c., as they do, mr simple, in all well-regulated society, and set off in the mail for london, where i fully resolved to drop my title, and to proceed to scotland to his lordship's mother, with the mournful intelligence of his death--for you see, mr simple, no one knew that his lordship was dead. the captain of the transport had put him into the xebeque alive, and the vessel bound to gibraltar had received him, as they imagined. the captain of the frigate had very soon afterwards advices from gibraltar, stating his lordship's recovery and return to england. well, i had not been in the coach more than five minutes, when who should get in but a gentleman whom i had met at the port-admiral's; besides which the coachman and others knew me very well. when i arrived in london (i still wore my midshipman's uniform), i went to an hotel recommended to me, as i afterwards found out, the most fashionable in town, my title still following me. i now determined to put off my uniform, and dress in plain clothes--my farce was over. i went to bed that night, and the next morning made my appearance in a suit of mufti, making inquiry of the waiter which was the best conveyance to scotland. "'post chay and four, my lord. at what time shall i order it?' "'o,' replied i, 'i am not sure that i shall go tomorrow.' "just at this moment in came the master of the hotel, with the _morning post_ in his hand, making me a low bow, and pointing to the insertion of my arrival at his hotel among the fashionables. this annoyed me; and now that i found how difficult it was to get rid of my title, i became particularly anxious to be william chucks, as before. before twelve o'clock, three or four gentlemen were ushered into my sitting-room, who observing my arrival in that damn'd _morning post_, came to pay their respects; and before the day was over i was invited and re-invited by a dozen people. i found that i could not retreat, and i went away with the stream, as i did before at gibraltar and portsmouth. for three weeks i was everywhere; and if i found it agreeable at portsmouth, how much more so in london! but i was not happy, mr simple, because i was a cheat, every moment expecting to be found out. but it really was a nice thing to be a lord. "at last the play was over. i had been enticed by some young men into a gambling-house, where they intended to fleece me; but, for the first night, they allowed me to win, i think, about £ . i was quite delighted with my success, and had agreed to meet them the next evening; but when i was at breakfast, with my legs crossed, reading the _morning post_, who should come to see me but my guardian uncle. he knew his nephew's features too well to be deceived; and my not recognising him proved at once that i was an impostor. you must allow me to hasten over the scene which took place--the wrath of the uncle, the confusion in the hotel, the abuse of the waiters, the police officer, and being dragged into a hackney coach to bow-street. there i was examined and confessed all. the uncle was so glad to find that his nephew was really dead, that he felt no resentment towards me; and as, after all, i had only assumed a name, but had cheated nobody, except the landlord at portsmouth, i was sent on board the tender off the tower, to be drafted into a man-of-war. as for my £ , my clothes, &c., i never heard any more of them; they were seized, i presume, by the landlord of the hotel for my bill, and very handsomely he must have paid himself. i had two rings on my fingers, and a watch in my pocket, when i was sent on board the tender, and i stowed them away very carefully. i had also a few pounds in my purse. i was sent round to plymouth, where i was drafted into a frigate. after i had been there some time, i turned the watch and rings into money, and bought myself a good kit of clothes; for i could not bear to be dirty. i was put into the mizen-top, and no one knew that i had been a lord." "you found some difference, i should think, in your situation?" "yes, i did, mr simple; but i was much happier. i could not forget the ladies, and the dinners, and the opera, and all the delights of london, beside the respect paid to my title, and i often sighed for them; but the police officer and bow-street also came to my recollection, and i shuddered at the remembrance. it had, however, one good effect; i determined to be an officer if i could, and learnt my duty, and worked my way up to quarter-master, and thence to boatswain--and i know my duty, mr simple. but i've been punished for my folly ever since. i formed ideas above my station in life, and cannot help longing to be a gentleman. it's a bad thing for a man to have ideas above his station." "you certainly must find some difference between the company in london and that of the warrant officers." "it's many years back now, sir; but i can't get over the feeling. i can't 'sociate with them at all. a man may have the feelings of a gentleman, although in a humble capacity; but how can i be intimate with such people as mr dispart or mr muddle, the carpenter? all very well in their way, mr simple, but what can you expect from officers who boil their 'tators in a cabbage-net hanging in the ship's coppers, when they know that there is one-third of a stove allowed them to cook their victuals on?" chapter xv i go on service and am made prisoner by an old lady, who, not able to obtain my hand, takes part of my finger as a token--o'brien rescues me-- a lee shore and narrow escape. two or three days after this conversation with mr chucks, the captain ran the frigate in shore, and when within five miles we discovered two vessels under the land. we made all sail in chase, and cut them off from escaping round a sandy point which they attempted to weather. finding that they could not effect their purpose, they ran on shore under a small battery of two guns, which commenced firing upon us. the first shot which whizzed between the masts had to me a most terrific sound, but the officers and men laughed at it, so of course i pretended to do the same, but in reality i could see nothing to laugh at. the captain ordered the starboard watch to be piped to quarters, and the boats to be cleared, ready for hoisting out; we then anchored within a mile of the battery, and returned the fire. in the meantime, the remainder of the ship's company hoisted out and lowered down four boats, which were manned and armed to storm the battery. i was very anxious to go on service, and o'brien, who had command of the first cutter, allowed me to go with him, on condition that i stowed myself away under the foresheets, that the captain might not see me before the boats had shoved off. this i did, and was not discovered. we pulled in abreast towards the battery, and in less than ten minutes the boats were run on the beach, and we jumped out. the frenchmen fired a gun at us as we pulled close to the shore, and then ran away, so that we took possession without any fighting, which, to confess the truth, i was not sorry for, as i did not think that i was old or strong enough to cope hand to hand with a grown-up man. there were a few fishermen's huts close to the battery, and while two of the boats went on board of the vessels, to see if they could be got off, and others were spiking the guns and destroying the carriages, i went with o'brien to examine them: they were deserted by the people, as might have been supposed, but there was a great quantity of fish in them, apparently caught that morning. o'brien pointed to a very large skate--"murder in irish!" cried he, "it's the very ghost of my grandmother! we'll have her if it's only for the family likeness. peter, put your finger into the gills, and drag her down to the boat." i could not force my finger into the gills, and as the animal appeared quite dead, i hooked my finger into its mouth; but i made a sad mistake, for the animal was alive, and immediately closed its jaws, nipping my finger to the bone, and holding it so tight that i could not withdraw it, and the pain was too great to allow me to pull it away by main force, and tear my finger, which it held so fast. there i was, caught in a trap, and made a prisoner by a flat-fish. fortunately, i hallooed loud enough to make o'brien, who was close down to the boats, with a large codfish under each arm, turn round and come to my assistance. at first he could not help me, from laughing so much; but at last he forced open the jaw of the fish with his cutlass, and i got my finger out, but very badly torn indeed. i then took off my garter, tied it round the tail of the skate, and dragged it to the boat, which was all ready to shove off. the other boats had found it impossible to get the vessels off without unloading--so, in pursuance of the captain's orders, they were set on fire, and before we lost sight of them, had burnt down to the water's edge. my finger was very bad for three weeks, and the officers laughed at me very much, saying that i narrowly escaped being made a prisoner of by an "old maid." we continued our cruise along the coast, until we had run down into the bay of arcason, where we captured two or three vessels, and obliged many more to run on shore. and here we had an instance showing, how very important it is that a captain of a man-of-war should be a good sailor, and have his ship in such discipline as to be strictly obeyed by his ship's company. i heard the officers unanimously assert, after the danger was over, that nothing but the presence of mind which was shown by captain savage could have saved the ship and her crew. we had chased a convoy of vessels to the bottom of the bay: the wind was very fresh when we hauled off, after running them on shore, and the surf on the beach even at that time was so great, that they were certain to go to pieces before they could be got afloat again. we were obliged to double-reef the topsails as soon as we hauled to the wind, and the weather looked very threatening. in an hour afterwards, the whole sky was covered with one black cloud, which sank so low as nearly to touch our mast-heads, and a tremendous sea, which appeared to have risen up almost by magic, rolled in upon us, setting the vessel on a dead lee shore. as the night closed in, it blew a dreadful gale, and the ship was nearly buried with the press of canvas which she was obliged to carry; for had we sea-room, we should have been lying-to under storm staysails; but we were forced to carry on at all risks, that we might claw off shore. the sea broke over as we lay in the trough, deluging us with water from the forecastle, aft to the binnacles; and very often as the ship descended with a plunge, it was with such force that i really thought she would divide in half with the violence of the shock. double breechings were rove on the guns, and they were further secured with tackles, and strong cleats nailed behind the trunnions, for we heeled over so much when we lurched, that the guns were wholly supported by the breechings and tackles, and had one of them broken loose, it must have burst right through the lee side of the ship, and she must have foundered. the captain, first lieutenant, and most of the officers, remained on deck during the whole of the night; and really, what with the howling of the wind, the violence of the rain, the washing of the water about the decks, the working of the chain-pumps, and the creaking and groaning of the timbers, i thought that we must inevitably have been lost; and i said my prayers at least a dozen times during the night, for i felt it impossible to go to bed. i had often wished, out of curiosity, that i might be in a gale of wind, but i little thought it was to have been a scene of this description, or anything half so dreadful. what made it more appalling was, that we were on a lee shore, and the consultations of the captain and officers, and the eagerness with which they looked out for daylight, told us that we had other dangers to encounter besides the storm. at last the morning broke, and the look-out man upon the gangway called out, "land on the lee beam." i perceived the master dash his fist against the hammock-rails, as if with vexation, and walk away without saying a word, and looking very grave. "up, there, mr wilson," said the captain, to the second lieutenant, "and see how far the land trends forward, and whether you can distinguish the point." the second lieutenant went up the main-rigging, and pointed with his hand to about two points before the beam. "do you see two hillocks inland?" "yes, sir," replied the second lieutenant. "then it is so," observed the captain to the master, "and if we weather it, we shall have more sea-room. keep her full, and let her go through the water; do you hear, quarter-master?" "ay, ay, sir." "thus, and no nearer, my man. ease her with a spoke or two when she sends; but be careful, or she'll take the wheel out of your hands." it really was a very awful sight. when the ship was in the trough of the sea, you could distinguish nothing but a waste of tumultuous water; but when she was borne up on the summit of the enormous waves, you then looked down, as it were, upon a low, sandy coast, close to you, and covered with foam and breakers. "she behaves nobly," observed the captain, stepping aft to the binnacle, and looking at the compass; "if the wind does not baffle us, we shall weather." the captain had scarcely time to make the observation, when the sails shivered and flapped like thunder. "up with the helm; what are you about, quarter-master?" "the wind has headed us, sir," replied the quarter-master, coolly. the captain and master remained at the binnacle watching the compass, and when the sails were again full, she had broken off two points, and the point of land was only a little on the lee bow. "we must wear her round, mr falcon. hands, wear ship--ready, oh, ready." "she has come up again," cried the master, who was at the binnacle. "hold fast there a minute. how's her head now?" "n.n.e., as she was before she broke off, sir." "pipe belay," said the captain. "falcon," continued he, "if she breaks off again we may have no room to wear; indeed there is so little room now, that i must run the risk. which cable was ranged last night--the best bower?" "yes, sir." "jump down, then, and see it double-bitted and stoppered at thirty fathoms. see it well done--our lives may depend upon it." the ship continued to hold her course good; and we were within half a mile of the point, and fully expected to weather it, when again the wet and heavy sails flapped in the wind, and the ship broke off two points as before. the officers and seamen were aghast, for the ship's head was right on to the breakers. "luff now, all you can, quarter-master," cried the captain. "send the men aft directly. my lads, there is no time for words--i am going to _club-haul_ the ship, for there is no room to wear. the only chance you have of safety is to be cool, watch my eye, and execute my orders with precision. away to your stations for tacking ship. hands by the best bower anchor. mr wilson, attend below with the carpenter and his mates, ready to cut away the cable at the moment that i give the order. silence, there, fore and aft. quarter-master, keep her full again for stays. mind you ease the helm down when i tell you." about a minute passed before the captain gave any further orders. the ship had closed--to within a quarter of a mile of the beach, and the waves curled and topped around us, bearing us down upon the shore, which presented one continued surface of foam, extending to within half a cable's length of our position. the captain waved his hand in silence to the quarter-master at the wheel, and the helm was put down. the ship turned slowly to the wind, pitching and chopping as the sails were spilling. when she had lost her way, the captain gave the order, "let go the anchor. we will haul all at once, mr falcon," said the captain. not a word was spoken, the men went to the fore brace, which had not been manned; most of them knew, although i did not, that if the ship's head did not go round the other way, we should be on shore, and among the breakers in half a minute. i thought at the time that the captain had said that he would haul all the yards at once, there appeared to be doubt or dissent on the countenance of mr falcon; and i was afterwards told that he had not agreed with the captain, but he was too good an officer, and knew that there was no time for discussion, to make any remark; and the event proved that the captain was right. at last the ship was head to wind, and the captain gave the signal. the yards flew round with such a creaking noise, that i thought the masts had gone over the side, and the next moment the wind had caught the sails, and the ship, which for a moment or two had been on an even keel, careened over to her gunnel with its force. the captain, who stood upon the weather-hammock rails, holding by the main-rigging, ordered the helm amidships, looked full at the sails, and then at the cable, which grew broad upon the weather bow, and held the ship from nearing the shore. at last he cried, "cut away the cable!" a few strokes of the axes were heard, and then the cable flew out of the hawsehole in a blaze of fire, from the violence of the friction, and disappeared under a huge wave, which struck us on the chess-tree, and deluged us with water fore and aft. but we were now on the other tack, and the ship regained her way and we had evidently increased our distance from the land. "my lads," said the captain to the ship's company, "you have behaved well, and i thank you; but i must tell you honestly that we have more difficulties to get through. we have to weather a point of the bay on this tack. mr falcon, splice the main-brace, and call the watch. how's her head, quarter-master?" "s.w. by s. southerly, sir." "very well; let her go through the water;" and the captain, beckoning to the master to follow him, went down into the cabin. as our immediate danger was over, i went down into the berth to see if i could get anything for breakfast, where i found o'brien and two or three more. "by the powers, it was as nate a thing as ever i saw done," observed o'brien: "the slightest mistake as to time or management, and at this moment the flatfish would have been dubbing at our ugly carcases. peter, you're not fond of flatfish, are you, my boy? we may thank heaven and the captain, i can tell you that, my lads; but now, where's the chart, robinson? hand me down the parallel rules and compasses, peter; they are in the corner of the shelf. here we are now, a devilish sight too near this infernal point. who knows how her head is?" "i do, o'brien: i heard the quarter-master tell the captain s.w. by s. southerly." "let me see," continued o'brien, "variation / lee way--rather too large an allowance of that, i'm afraid; but, however, we'll give her / points; the _diomede_ would blush to make any more, under any circumstances. here--the compass--now we'll see;" and o'brien advanced the parallel rule from the compass to the spot where the ship was placed on the chart. "bother! you see it's as much as she'll do to weather the other point now, on this tack, and that's what the captain meant, when he told us we had more difficulty. i could have taken my bible oath that we were clear of everything, if the wind held." "see what the distance is, o'brien," said robinson. it was measured, and proved to be thirteen miles. "only thirteen miles; and if we do weather, we shall do very well, for the bay is deep beyond. it's a rocky point, you see, just by way of variety. well, my lads, i've a piece of comfort for you, anyhow. it's not long that you'll be kept in suspense, for by one o'clock this day, you'll either be congratulating each other upon your good luck, or you'll be past praying for. come, put up the chart, for i hate to look at melancholy prospects; and, steward, see what you can find in the way of comfort." some bread and cheese, with the remains of yesterday's boiled pork, were put on the table, with a bottle of rum, procured at the time they "spliced the mainbrace;" but we were all too anxious to eat much, and one by one returned on deck to see how the weather was, and if the wind at all favoured us. on deck the superior officers were in conversation with the captain, who had expressed the same fear that o'brien had in our berth. the men, who knew what they had to expect--for this sort of intelligence is soon communicated through a ship--were assembled in knots, looking very grave, but at the same time not wanting in confidence. they knew that they could trust to the captain, as far as skill or courage could avail them, and sailors are too sanguine to despair, even at the last moment. as for myself, i felt such admiration for the captain, after what i had witnessed that morning, that, whenever the idea came over me, that in all probability i should be lost in a few hours, i could not help acknowledging how much more serious it was that such a man should be lost to his country. i do not intend to say that it consoled me; but it certainly made me still more regret the chances with which we were threatened. before twelve o'clock, the rocky point which we so much dreaded was in sight, broad on the lee-bow; and if the low sandy coast appeared terrible, how much more did this, even at a distance: the black masses of rock, covered with foam, which each minute dashed up in the air, higher than our lower mast-heads. the captain eyed it for some minutes in silence, as if in calculation. "mr falcon," said he at last, "we must put the mainsail on her." "she never can bear it, sir." "she _must_ bear it," was the reply. "send the men aft to the mainsheet. see that careful men attend the buntlines." the mainsail was set, and the effect of it upon the ship was tremendous. she careened over so that her lee channels were under the water, and when pressed by a sea, the lee-side of the quarter-deck and gangway were afloat. she now reminded me of a goaded and fiery horse, mad with the stimulus applied; not rising as before, but forcing herself through whole seas, and dividing the waves, which poured in one continual torrent from the forecastle down upon the decks below. four men were secured to the wheel--the sailors were obliged to cling, to prevent being washed away--the ropes were thrown in confusion to leeward, the shot rolled out of the lockers, and every eye was fixed aloft, watching the masts, which were expected every moment to go over the side. a heavy sea struck us on the broadside, and it was some moments before the ship appeared to recover herself; she reeled, trembled, and stopped her way, as if it had stupefied her. the first lieutenant looked at the captain, as if to say, "this will not do." "it is our only chance," answered the captain to the appeal. that the ship went faster through the water, and held a better wind, was certain; but just before we arrived at the point the gale increased in force. "if anything starts, we are lost, sir," observed the first lieutenant again. "i am perfectly aware of it," replied the captain, in a calm tone; "but, as i said before, and you must now be aware, it is our only chance. the consequence of any carelessness or neglect in the fitting and securing of the rigging, will be felt now; and this danger, if we escape it, ought to remind us how much we have to answer for if we neglect our duty. the lives of a whole ship's company may be sacrificed by the neglect or incompetence of an officer when in harbour. i will pay you the compliment, falcon, to say, that i feel convinced that the masts of the ship are as secure as knowledge and attention can make them." the first lieutenant thanked the captain for his good opinion, and hoped it would not be the last compliment which he paid him. "i hope not too; but a few minutes will decide the point." the ship was now within two cables' lengths of the rocky point; some few of the men i observed to clasp their hands, but most of them were silently taking off their jackets, and kicking off their shoes, that they might not lose a chance of escape provided the ship struck. "'twill be touch and go indeed, falcon," observed the captain (for i had clung to the belaying-pins, close to them, for the last half-hour that the mainsail had been set). "come aft, you and i must take the helm. we shall want _nerve_ there, and only there, now." the captain and first lieutenant went aft, and took the forespokes of the wheel, and o'brien, at a sign made by the captain, laid hold of the spokes behind him. an old quarter-master kept his station at the fourth. the roaring of the seas on the rocks, with the howling of the wind, were dreadful; but the sight was more dreadful than the noise. for a few moments i shut my eyes, but anxiety forced me to open them again. as near as i could judge, we were not twenty yards from the rocks, at the time that the ship passed abreast of them. we were in the midst of the foam, which boiled around us; and as the ship was driven nearer to them, and careened with the wave, i thought that our main-yard-arm would have touched the rock; and at this moment a gust of wind came on, which laid the ship on her beam-ends, and checked her progress through the water, while the accumulated noise was deafening. a few moments more the ship dragged on, another wave dashed over her and spent itself upon the rocks, while the spray was dashed back from them, and returned upon the decks. the main rock was within ten yards of her counter, when another gust of wind laid us on our beam-ends, the foresail and mainsail split, and were blown clean out of the bolt-ropes--the ship righted, trembling fore and aft. i looked astern: the rocks were to windward on our quarter, and we were safe. i thought at the time, that the ship, relieved of her courses, and again lifting over the waves, was not a bad similitude of the relief felt by us all at that moment; and, like her, we trembled as we panted with the sudden reaction, and felt the removal of the intense anxiety which oppressed our breasts. the captain resigned the helm, and walked aft to look at the point, which was now broad on the weather quarter. in a minute or two, he desired mr falcon to get new sails up and bend them, and then went below to his cabin. i am sure it was to thank god for our deliverance: i did most fervently, not only then, but when i went to my hammock at night. we were now comparatively safe--in a few hours completely so; for strange to say, immediately after we had weathered the rocks, the gale abated, and before morning we had a reef out of the topsails. it was my afternoon watch, and perceiving mr chucks on the forecastle, i went forward to him, and asked him what he thought of it. "thought of it, sir!" replied he; "why, i always think bad of it when the elements won't allow my whistle to be heard; and i consider it hardly fair play. i never care if we are left to our own exertions; but how is it possible for a ship's company to do their best, when they cannot hear the boatswain's pipe? however, god be thanked, nevertheless, and make better christians of us all! as for that carpenter, he is mad. just before we weathered the point, he told me that it was just the same , and odd years ago. i do believe that on his death-bed (and he was not far from a very hard one yesterday), he will tell us how he died so many thousand years ago, of the same complaint. and that gunner of ours is a fool. would you believe it, mr simple, he went crying about the decks, 'o my poor guns, what will become of them if they break loose?' he appeared to consider it of no consequence if the ship and ship's company were all lost, provided that his guns were safely landed on the beach. "'mr dispart,' said i, at last, 'allow me to observe, in the most delicate way in the world, that you're a d----d old fool.' you see, mr simple, it's the duty of an officer to generalise, and be attentive to parts, only in consideration of the safety of the whole. i look after my anchors and cables, as i do after the rigging; not that i care for any of them in particular, but because the safety of a ship depends upon her being well found. i might just as well cry because we sacrificed an anchor and cable yesterday morning, to save the ship from going on shore." "very true, mr chucks," replied i. "private feelings," continued he, "must always be sacrificed for the public service. as you know, the lower deck was full of water, and all our cabins and chests were afloat; but i did not think then about my shirts, and look at them now, all blowing out in the forerigging, without a particle of starch left in the collars or the frills. i shall not be able to appear as an officer ought to do for the whole of the cruise." as he said this, the cooper, going forward, passed by him, and jostled him in passing. "beg pardon, sir," said the man, "but the ship lurched." "the ship lurched, did it?" replied the boatswain, who, i am afraid, was not in the best of humours about his wardrobe. "and pray, mr cooper, why has heaven granted you two legs, with joints at the knees, except to enable you to counteract the horizontal deviation? do you suppose they were meant for nothing but to work round a cask with? hark, sir, did you take me for a post to scrub your pig's hide against? allow me just to observe, mr cooper--just to insinuate, that when you pass an officer, it is your duty to keep at a respectable distance, and not to soil his clothes with your rusty iron jacket. do you comprehend me, sir; or will this make you recollect in future?" the rattan was raised, and descended in a shower of blows, until the cooper made his escape into the head. "there, take that, you contaminating, stave-dubbing, gimlet-carrying, quintessence of a bung-hole! i beg your pardon, mr simple, for interrupting the conversation, but when duty calls, we must obey." "very true, mr chucks. it's now striking seven bells, and i must call the master--so good-by." chapter xvi news from home--a _fatigue_ party employed at gibraltar--more particulars in the life of mr chucks--a brush with the enemy--a court-martial and a lasting impression. a few days afterwards, a cutter joined us from plymouth, with orders for the frigate to proceed forthwith to gibraltar, where we should learn our destination. we were all very glad of this: for we had had quite enough of cruising in the bay of biscay; and, as we understood that we were to be stationed in the mediterranean, we hoped to exchange gales of wind and severe weather, for fine breezes and a bright sky. the cutter brought out our letters and newspapers. i never felt more happy than i did when i found one put into my hands. it is necessary to be far from home and friends, to feel the real delight of receiving a letter. i went down into the most solitary place in the steerage, that i might enjoy it without interruption. i cried with pleasure before i opened it, but i cried a great deal more with grief, after i had read the contents--for my eldest brother tom was dead of a typhus fever. poor tom! when i called to mind what tricks he used to play me--how he used to borrow my money and never pay me--and how he used to thrash me and make me obey him, because he was my eldest brother--i shed a torrent of tears at his loss; and then i reflected how miserable my poor mother must be, and i cried still more. "what's the matter, spooney?" said o'brien, coming up to me. "who has been licking you now?" "o, nobody," replied i; "but my eldest brother tom is dead, and i have no other." "well, peter, i dare say that your brother was a very good brother; but i'll tell you a secret. when you've lived long enough to have a beard to scrape at, you'll know better than to make a fuss about an elder brother. but you're a good, innocent boy just now, so i won't thrash you for it. come, dry your eyes, peter, and never mind it. we'll drink his health and long life to him, after supper, and then never think any more about it." i was very melancholy for a few days; but it was so delightful running down the portuguese and spanish coasts, the weather was so warm, and the sea so smooth, that i am afraid i forgot my brother's death sooner than i ought to have done; but my spirits were cheered up, and the novelty of the scene prevented me from thinking. every one, too, was so gay and happy, that i could not well be otherwise. in a fortnight, we anchored in gibraltar bay, and the ship was stripped to refit. there was so much duty to be done, that i did not like to go on shore. indeed, mr falcon had refused some of my messmates, and i thought it better not to ask, although i was very anxious to see a place which was considered so extraordinary. one afternoon, i was looking over the gangway as the people were at supper, and mr falcon came up to me and said, "well, mr simple, what are you thinking of?" i replied, touching my hat, that i was wondering how they had cut out the solid rock into galleries, and that they must be very curious. "that is to say, that you are very curious to see them. well, then, since you have been very attentive to your duty, and have not asked to go on shore, i will give you leave to go to-morrow morning and stay till gun-fire." i was very much pleased at this, as the officers had a general invitation to dine with the mess, and all who could obtain leave being requested to come, i was enabled to join the party. the first lieutenant had excused himself on the plea of there being so much to attend to on board; but most of the gun-room officers and some of the midshipmen obtained leave. we walked about the town and fortifications until dinner-time, and then we proceeded to the barracks. the dinner was very good, and we were all very merry; but after the dessert had been brought in, i slipped away with a young ensign, who took me all over the galleries, and explained everything to me, which was a much better way of employing my time than doing as the others did, which the reader will acknowledge. i was at the sally-port before gun-fire--the boat was there, but no officers made their appearance. the gun fired, the drawbridge was hauled up, and i was afraid that i should be blamed; but the boat was not ordered to shove off, as it was waiting for commissioned officers. about an hour afterwards, when it was quite dark, the sentry pointed his arms and challenged a person advancing with, "who comes there?"--"naval officer, drunk on a wheelbarrow," was the reply, in a loud singing voice. upon which, the sentry recovered his arms, singing in return, "pass naval officer, drunk on a wheelbarrow--and all's well!" and then appeared a soldier in his fatigue dress, wheeling down the third lieutenant in a wheelbarrow, so tipsy that he could not stand or speak. then the sentry challenged again, and the answer was, "another naval officer, drunk on a wheelbarrow;" upon which the sentry replied as before, "pass, another naval officer, drunk on a wheelbarrow --and all's well." this was my friend o'brien, almost as bad as the third lieutenant; and so they continued for ten minutes, challenging and passing, until they wheeled down the remainder of the party, with the exception of the second lieutenant, who walked arm and arm with the officer who brought down the order for lowering the drawbridge. i was much shocked, for i considered it very disgraceful; but i afterwards was told, which certainly admitted of some excuse, that the mess were notorious for never permitting any of their guests to leave the table sober. they were all safely put into the boat, and i am glad to say, the first lieutenant was in bed and did not see them; but i could not help acknowledging the truth of an observation made by one of the men as the officers were handed into the boat, "i say, bill, if _them_ were _we_, what a precious twisting we should get to-morrow at six bells!" the ship remained in gibraltar bay about three weeks, during which time we had refitted the rigging fore and aft, restowed and cleaned the hold, and painted outside. she never looked more beautiful than she did when, in obedience to our orders, we made sail to join the admiral. we passed europa point with a fair wind, and at sunset we were sixty miles from the rock, yet it was distinctly to be seen, like a blue cloud, but the outline perfectly correct. i mention this, as perhaps my reader would not have believed that it was possible to see land at such a distance. we steered for cape de gatte, and we were next day close in shore. i was very much delighted with the spanish coast, mountain upon mountain, hill upon hill, covered with vines nearly to their summits. we might have gone on shore at some places, for at that time we were friendly with the spaniards, but the captain was in too great a hurry to join the admiral. we had very light winds, and a day or two afterwards we were off valencia, nearly becalmed. i was on the gangway, looking through a telescope at the houses and gardens round the city, when mr chucks, the boatswain, came up to me. "mr simple, oblige me with that glass a moment; i wish to see if a building remains there, which i have some reason to remember." "what, were you ever on shore there?" "yes i was, mr simple, and nearly _stranded_, but i got off again without much damage." "how do you mean--were you wrecked, then?" "not my ship, mr simple, but my peace of mind was for some time; but it's many years ago, when i was first made boatswain of a corvette (during this conversation he was looking through the telescope); yes, there it is," said he; "i have it in the field. look, mr simple, do you see a small church, with a spire of glazed tiles, shining like a needle?" "yes, i do." "well, then, just above it, a little to the right, there is a long white house, with four small windows--below the grove of orange-trees." "i see it," replied i; "but what about that house, mr chucks?" "why, thereby hangs a tale," replied he, giving a sigh, which raised and then lowered the frill of his shirt at least six inches. "why, what is the mystery, mr chucks?" "i'll tell you, mr simple. with one who lived in that house, i was for the first, and for the last time, in love." "indeed! i should like very much to hear the story." "so you shall, mr simple, but i must beg that you will not mention it, as young gentlemen are apt to quiz; and i think that being quizzed hurts my authority with the men. it is now about sixteen years back--we were then on good terms with the spaniards, as we are now. i was then little more than thirty years old, and had just received my warrant as boatswain. i was considered a well-looking young man at that time, although lately i have, to a certain degree, got the better of that." "well, i consider you a remarkably good-looking man now, mr chucks." "thank you, mr simple, but nothing improves by age, that i know of, except rum. i used to dress very smart, and 'cut the boatswain' when i was on shore: and perhaps i had not lost so much of the polish i had picked up in good society. one evening, i was walking in the plaza, when i saw a female ahead, who appeared to be the prettiest moulded little vessel that i ever cast my eyes on. i followed in her wake, and examined her: such a clean run i never beheld--so neat, too, in all her rigging-- everything so nicely stowed under hatches. and then, she sailed along in such a style, at one moment lifting so lightly, just like a frigate, with her topsails on the caps, that can't help going along. at another time, as she turned a corner sharp up in the wind--wake as straight as an arrow--no leeway--i made all sail to sheer alongside of her, and, when under quarter, examined her close. never saw such a fine swell in the counter, and all so trim--no ropes towing overboard. well, mr simple, i said to myself, 'd--n it, if her figurehead and bows be finished off by the same builder, she's perfect.' so i shot ahead, and yawed a little--caught a peep at her through her veil, and saw two black eyes--as bright as beads, and as large as damsons. i saw quite enough, and not wishing to frighten her, i dropped astern. shortly afterwards she altered her course, steering for that white house. just as she was abreast of it, and i playing about her weather quarter, the priests came by in procession, taking the _host_ to somebody who was dying. my little frigate lowered her top-gallant sails out of respect, as other nations used to do, and ought now, and be d----d to them, whenever they pass the flag of old england--" "how do you mean?" inquired i. "i mean that she spread her white handkerchief, which fluttered in her hand as she went along, and knelt down upon it on one knee. i did the same, because i was obliged to heave-to to keep my station, and i thought, that if she saw me, it would please her. when she got up, i was on my legs also; but in my hurry i had not chosen a very clean place, and i found out, when i got up again, that my white jean trousers were in a shocking mess. the young lady turned round, and seeing my misfortune, laughed, and then went into the white house, while i stood there like a fool, first looking at the door of the house, and then at my trousers. however, i thought that i might make it the means of being acquainted with her, so i went to the door and knocked. an old gentleman in a large cloak, who was her father, came out; i pointed to my trousers, and requested him in spanish to allow me a little water to clean them. the daughter then came from within, and told her father how the accident had happened. the old gentleman was surprised that an english officer was so good a christian, and appeared to be pleased. he asked me very politely to come in, and sent an old woman for some water. i observed that he was smoking a bit of paper, and having very fortunately about a couple of dozen of real havannahs in my pocket (for i never smoke anything else, mr simple, it being my opinion that no gentleman can), i took them out, and begged his acceptance of them. his eyes glistened at the sight of them, but he refused to take more than one; however, i insisted upon his taking the whole bundle, telling him that i had plenty more on board, reserving one for myself, that i might smoke it with him. he then requested me to sit down, and the old woman brought some sour wine, which i declared was very good, although it made me quite ill afterwards. he inquired of me whether i was a good christian. i replied that i was. i knew that he meant a catholic, for they call us heretics, mr simple. the daughter then came in without her veil, and she was perfection; but i did not look at her, or pay her any attention after the first salutation, i was so afraid of making the old gentleman suspicious. he then asked what i was--what sort of officer-- was i captain? i replied that i was not. was i 'tenente? which means lieutenant; i answered that i was not, again, but with an air of contempt, as if i was something better. what was i, then? i did not know the spanish for boatswain, and, to tell the truth, i was ashamed of my condition. i knew that there was an officer in spain called corregidor, which means a corrector in english, or one who punishes. now i thought that quite near enough for my purpose, and i replied that i was the corregidor. now, mr simple, a corregidor in spain is a person of rank and consequence, so they imagined that i must be the same, and they appeared to be pleased. the young lady then inquired if i was of good family--whether i was a gentleman or not. i replied that i hoped so. i remained with them for half-an-hour more, when my segar was finished; i then rose, and thanking the old gentleman for his civility, begged that i might be allowed to bring him a few more segars, and took my leave. the daughter opened the street door, and i could not refrain from taking her hand and kissing it--" "where's mr chucks? call the boatswain there forward," hallooed out the lieutenant. "here i am, sir," replied mr chucks, hastening aft, and leaving me and his story. "the captain of the maintop reports the breast backstay much chafed in the serving. go up and examine it," said the first lieutenant. "yes, sir," replied the boatswain, who immediately went up the rigging. "and, mr simple, attend to the men scraping the spots off the quarter-deck." "yes, sir," replied i; and thus our conversation was broken up. the weather changed that night, and we had a succession of rain and baffling winds for six or seven days, during which i had no opportunity of hearing the remainder of the boatswain's history. we joined the fleet off toulon, closed the admiral's ship, and the captain went on board to pay his respects. when he returned, we found out, through the first lieutenant, that we were to remain with the fleet until the arrival of another frigate, expected in about a fortnight, and then the admiral had promised that we should have a cruise. the second day after we had joined, we were ordered to form part of the in-shore squadron, consisting of two line-of-battle ships and four frigates. the french fleet used to come out and manoeuvre within range of their batteries, or, if they proceeded further from the shore, they took good care that they had a leading wind to return again into port. we had been in-shore about a week, every day running close in, and counting the french fleet in the harbour, to see that they were all safe, and reporting it to the admiral by signal, when one fine morning, the whole of the french vessels were perceived to hoist their topsails, and in less than an hour they were under weigh, and came out of the harbour. we were always prepared for action, night and day, and, indeed, often exchanged a shot or two with the batteries when we reconnoitred; the in-shore squadron could not, of course, cope with the whole french fleet, and our own was about twelve miles in the offing, but the captain of the line-of-battle ship who commanded us, hove-to, as if in defiance, hoping to entice them further out. this was not very easy to do, as the french knew that a shift of wind might put it out of their power to refuse an action, which was what they would avoid, and what we were so anxious to bring about. i say we, speaking of the english, not of myself, for to tell the truth, i was not so very anxious. i was not exactly afraid, but i had an unpleasant sensation at the noise of a cannon-ball, which i had not as yet got over. however, four of the french frigates made sail towards us, and hove-to, when within four miles, three or four line-of-battle ships following them as if to support them. our captain made signal for permission to close the enemy, which was granted, with our pennants, and those of another frigate. we immediately made all sail, beat to quarters, put out the fires, and opened the magazines. the french line-of-battle ships perceiving that only two of our frigates were sent against their four, hove-to at about the same distance from their frigates, as our line-of-battle ships and other frigates were from us. in the meantime our main fleet continued to work in shore under a press of sail, and the french main fleet also gradually approached the detached ships. the whole scene reminded me of the tournaments i had read of; it was a challenge in the lists, only that the enemy were two to one; a fair acknowledgment on their parts of our superiority. in about an hour we closed so near, that the french frigates made sail and commenced firing. we reserved our fire until within a quarter of a mile, when we poured our broadside into the headmost frigate, exchanging with her on opposite tacks. the _sea-horse_, who followed, also gave her a broadside. in this way we exchanged broadsides with the whole four, and we had the best of it, for they could not load so fast as we could. we were both ready again for the frigates as they passed us, but they were not ready with their broadside for the _sea-horse_, who followed us very closely, so that they had two broadsides each, and we had only four in the _diomede_, the _sea-horse_ not having one. our rigging was cut up a great deal, and we had six or seven men wounded, but none killed. the french frigates suffered more, and their admiral perceiving that they were cut up a good deal, made a signal of recall. in the meantime we had both tacked, and were ranging up on the weather quarter of the sternmost frigate: the line-of-battle ships perceiving this, ran down with the wind, two points free, to support their frigates, and our in-shore squadron made all sail to support us, nearly laying up for where we were. but the wind was what is called at sea a soldier's wind, that is, blowing so that the ships could lie either way, so as to run out or into the harbour, and the french frigates, in obedience to their orders, made sail for their fleet in-shore, the line-of-battle ships coming out to support them. but our captain would not give it up, although we all continued to near the french line-of-battle ships every minute--we ran in with the frigates, exchanging broadsides with them as fast as we could. one of them lost her foretopmast, and dropped astern, and we hoped to cut her off, but the others shortened sail to support her. this continued for about twenty minutes, when the french line-of-battle ships were not more than a mile from us, and our own commodore had made the signal of our recall, for he thought that we should be overpowered and taken. but the _sea-horse_, who saw the recall up, did not repeat it, and our captain was determined not to see it, and ordered the signal-man not to look that way. the action continued, two of the french frigates were cut to pieces, and complete wrecks, when the french line-of-battle ships commenced firing. it was then high time to be off. we each of us poured in another broadside, and then wore round for our own squadron, which was about four miles off, and rather to leeward, standing in to our assistance. as we wore round, our main-topmast, which had been badly wounded, fell over the side, and the french perceiving this, made all sail, with the hope of capturing us; but the _sea-horse_ remained with us, and we threw up in the wind, and raked them until they were within two cables' lengths of us. then we stood on for our own ships; at last one of the line-of-battle ships, which sailed as well as the frigates, came abreast of us, and poured in a broadside, which brought everything about our ears, and i thought we must be taken; but on the contrary, although we lost several men, the captain said to the first lieutenant, "now, if they only wait a little longer, they are nabbed, as sure as fate." just at this moment, our own line-of-battle ships opened their fire, and then the tables were turned. the french tacked, and stood in as fast as they could, followed by the in-shore squadron, with the exception of our ship, which was too much crippled to chase them. one of their frigates had taken in tow the other, who had lost her top-mast, and our squadron came up with her very fast. the english fleet were also within three miles, standing in, and the french fleet standing out, to the assistance of the other ships which had been engaged. i thought, and so did everybody, that there would be a general action, but we were disappointed; the frigate which towed the other, finding that she could not escape, cast her off, and left her to her fate, which was to haul down her colours to the commodore of the in-shore squadron. the chase was continued until the whole of the french vessels were close under their batteries, and then our fleet returned to its station with the prize, which proved to be the _narcisse_, of thirty-six guns, captain le pelleteon. our captain obtained a great deal of credit for his gallant behaviour. we had three men killed, and robinson, the midshipman, and ten men wounded, some of them severely. i think this action cured me of my fear of a cannon-ball, for during the few days we remained with the fleet, we often were fired at when we reconnoitred, but i did not care anything for them. about the time she was expected, the frigate joined, and we had permission to part company. but before i proceed with the history of our cruise, i shall mention the circumstances attending a court-martial, which took place during the time that we were with the fleet, our captain having been recalled from the in-shore squadron to sit as one of the members. i was the midshipman appointed to the captain's gig, and remained on board of the admiral's ship during the whole of the time that the court was sitting. two seamen, one an englishman, and the other a frenchman, were tried for desertion from one of our frigates. they had left their ship about three months, when the frigate captured a french privateer, and found them on board as part of her crew. for the englishman, of course, there was no defence; he merited the punishment of death, to which he was immediately sentenced. there may be some excuse for desertion, when we consider that the seamen are taken into the service by force, but there could be none for fighting against his country. but the case of the frenchman was different. he was born and bred in france, had been one of the crew of the french gunboats at cadiz, where he had been made a prisoner by the spaniards, and expecting his throat to be cut every day, had contrived to escape on board of the frigate lying in the harbour, and entered into our service, i really believe to save his life. he was nearly two years in the frigate before he could find an opportunity of deserting from her, and returning to france, when he joined the french privateer. during the time that he was in the frigate, he bore an excellent character. the greatest point against him was, that on his arrival at gibraltar he had been offered, and had received the bounty. when the englishman was asked what he had to say in his defence, he replied that he had been pressed out of an american ship, that he was an american born, and that he had never taken the bounty. but this was not true. the defence of the frenchman was considered so very good for a person in his station of life, that i obtained a copy of it, which ran as follows:-- "mr president, and officers of the honourable court;--it is with the greatest humility that i venture to address you. i shall be very brief, nor shall i attempt to disprove the charges which have been made against me, but confine myself to a few facts, the consideration of which will, i trust, operate upon your feelings in mitigation of the punishment to which i may be sentenced for my fault--a fault which proceeded, not from any evil motive, but from an ardent love for my country. i am by birth a frenchman; my life has been spent in the service of france until a few months after the revolution in spain, when i, together with those who composed the french squadron at cadiz, was made a prisoner. the hardships and cruel usage which i endured became insupportable. i effected my escape, and after wandering about the town for two or three days, in hourly expectation of being assassinated, the fate of too many of my unfortunate countrymen; desperate from famine, and perceiving no other chance of escaping from the town, i was reduced to the necessity of offering myself as a volunteer on board of an english frigate. i dared not, as i ought to have done, acknowledge myself to have been a prisoner, from the dread of being delivered up to the spaniards. during the period that i served on board of your frigate, i confidently rely upon the captain and the officers for my character. "the love of our country, although dormant for a time, will ultimately be roused, and peculiar circumstances occurred which rendered the feeling irresistible. i returned to my duty, and for having so done, am i to be debarred from again returning to that country so dear to me-- from again beholding my aged parents, who bless me in my absence--from again embracing my brothers and sisters--to end my days upon a scaffold; not for the crime which i did commit in entering into your service, but for an act of duty and repentance--that of returning to my own? allow me to observe, that the charge against me is not for entering your service, but for having deserted from it. for the former, not even my misery can be brought forward but in extenuation; for the latter i have a proud consciousness, which will, i trust, be my support in my extremity. "gentlemen, i earnestly entreat you to consider my situation, and i am sure that your generous hearts will pity me. let that love of your country, which now animates your breasts, and induces you to risk your lives and your all, now plead for me. already has british humanity saved thousands of my countrymen from the rage of the spaniards; let that same humanity be extended now, and induce my judges to add one more to the list of those who, although our nations are at war, if they are endowed with feeling, can have but one sentiment towards their generous enemy--a sentiment overpowering all other, that of a deep-felt gratitude."[ ] whatever may have been the effect of the address upon the court individually, it appeared at the time to have none upon them as a body. both the men were condemned to death, and the day after the morrow was fixed for their execution. i watched the two prisoners as they went down the side, to be conducted on board of their own ship. the englishman threw himself down in the stern sheets of the boat, every minor consideration apparently swallowed up in the thought of his approaching end; but the frenchman, before he sat down, observing that the seat was a little dirty, took out his silk handkerchief, and spread it on the seat, that he might not soil his nankeen trowsers. i was ordered to attend the punishment on the day appointed. the sun shone so brightly, and the sky was so clear, the wind so gentle and mild, that it appeared hardly possible that it was to be a day of such awe and misery to the two poor men, or of such melancholy to the fleet in general. i pulled up my boat with the others belonging to the ships of the fleet, in obedience to the orders of the officer superintending, close to the fore-chains of the ship. in about half-an-hour afterwards, the prisoners made their appearance on the scaffold, the caps were pulled over their eyes, and the gun fired underneath them. when the smoke rolled away, the englishman was swinging at the yard-arm, but the frenchman was not; he had made a spring when the gun fired, hoping to break his neck at once, and put an end to his misery; but he fell on the edge of the scaffold, where he lay. we thought that his rope had given way, and it appeared that he did the same, for he made an enquiry, but they returned him no answer. he was kept on the scaffold during the whole hour that the englishman remained suspended; his cap had been removed, and he looked occasionally at his fellow-sufferer. when the body was lowered down, he considered that his time was come, and attempted to leap overboard. he was restrained and led aft, where his reprieve was read to him and his arms were unbound. but the effect of the shock was too much for his mind; he fell down in a swoon, and when he recovered, his senses had left him, and i heard that he never recovered them, but was sent home to be confined as a maniac. i thought, and the result proved, that it was carried too far. it is not the custom, when a man is reprieved, to tell him so, until after he is on the scaffold, with the intention that his awful situation at the time may make a lasting impression upon him during the remainder of his life; but, as a foreigner, he was not aware of our customs, and the hour of intense feeling which he underwent was too much for his reason. i must say, that this circumstance was always a source of deep regret in the whole fleet, and that his being a frenchman, instead of an englishman, increased the feeling of commiseration. [footnote : this is fact.--author.] chapter xvii mr chucks's opinion on proper names--he finishes his spanish tale--march of intellect among the warrant officers. we were all delighted when our signal was hoisted to "part company," as we anticipated plenty of prize-money under such an enterprising captain. we steered for the french coast, near to its junction with spain, the captain having orders to intercept any convoys sent to supply the french army with stores and provisions. the day after we parted company with the fleet, mr chucks finished his story. "where was i, mr simple, when i left off?" said he, as we took a seat upon the long eighteen. "you had just left the house after having told them that you were a corregidor, and had kissed the lady's hand." "very true. well, mr simple, i did not call there for two or three days afterwards; i did not like to go too soon, especially as i saw the young lady every day in the plaza. she would not speak to me, but, to make use of their expression, 'she gave me her eyes,' and sometimes a sweet smile. i recollect i was so busy looking at her one day, that i tripped over my sword, and nearly fell on my nose, at which she burst out a laughing." "your sword, mr chucks? i thought boatswains never wore swords." "mr simple, a boatswain is an officer, and is entitled to a sword as well as the captain, although we have been laughed out of it by a set of midshipman monkeys. i always wore my sword at that time; but now-a-days, a boatswain is counted as nobody, unless there is hard work to do, and then it's mr chucks this, and mr chucks that. but i'll explain to you how it is, mr simple, that we boatswains have lost so much of consequence and dignity. the first lieutenants are made to do the boatswain's duty now-a-days, and if they could only wind the call, they might scratch the boatswain's name off half the ships' books in his majesty's service. but to go on with my yarn. on the fourth day, i called with my handkerchief full of segars for the father, but he was at siesta, as they called it. the old serving-woman would not let me in at first; but i shoved a dollar between her skinny old fingers, and that altered her note. she put her old head out, and looked round to see if there was anybody in the street to watch us, and then she let me in and shut the door. i walked into the room, and found myself alone with seraphina." "seraphina!--what a fine name!" "no name can be too fine for a pretty girl, or a good frigate, mr simple; for my part, i'm very fond of these hard names. your bess, and poll, and sue, do very well for the point, or castle rag; but in my opinion, they degrade a lady. don't you observe, mr simple, that all our gun-brigs, a sort of vessel that will certainly d----n the inventor to all eternity, have nothing but low common names, such as pincher, thrasher, boxer, badger, and all that sort, which are quite good enough for them; whereas all our dashing saucy frigates have names as long as the main-top bowling, and hard enough to break your jaw--such as melpomeny, terpsichory, arethusy, bacchanty--fine flourishers, as long as their pennants which dip alongside in a calm." "very true," replied i; "but do you think, then, it is the same with family names?" "most certainly, mr simple. when i was in good society, i rarely fell in with such names as potts or bell, or smith or hodges; it was always mr fortescue, or mr fitzgerald, or mr fitzherbert--seldom bowed, sir, to anything under _three_ syllables." "then i presume, mr chucks, you are not fond of your own name?" "there you touch me, mr simple; but it is quite good enough for a boatswain," replied mr chucks, with a sigh. "i certainly did very wrong to impose upon people as i did, but i've been severely punished for it-- it has made me discontented and unhappy ever since. dearly have i paid for my spree; for there is nothing so miserable as to have ideas above your station in life, mr simple. but i must make sail again. i was three hours with seraphina before her father came home, and during that time i never was quietly at an anchor for above a minute. i was on my knees, vowing and swearing, kissing her feet and kissing her hand, till at last i got to her lips, working my way up as regularly as one who gets in at the hawsehole and crawls aft to the cabin windows. she was very kind, and she smiled, and sighed, and pushed me off, and squeezed my hand, and was angry--frowning till i was in despair, and then making me happy again with her melting dark eyes beaming kindly, till at last she said that she would try to love me, and asked me whether i would marry her and live in spain. i replied that i would; and, indeed, i felt as if i could, only at the time the thought occurred to me where the rhino was to come from, for i could not live, as her father did, upon a paper segar and a piece of melon per day. at all events, as far as words went, it was a settled thing. when her father came home, the old servant told him that i had just at that moment arrived, and that, his daughter was in her own room; so she was, for she ran away as soon as she heard her father knock. i made my bow to the old gentleman, and gave him the segars. he was serious at first, but the sight of them put him into good humour, and in a few minutes donna seraphina (they call a lady a donna in spain) came in, saluting me ceremoniously, as if we had not been kissing for the hour together. i did not remain long, as it was getting late, so i took a glass of the old gentleman's sour wine, and walked off, with a request from him to call again, the young lady paying me little or no attention during the time that i remained, or at my departure." "well, mr chucks," observed i, "it appears to me that she was a very deceitful young person." "so she was, mr simple; but a man in love can't see, and i'll tell you why. if he wins the lady, he is as much in love with himself as with her, because he is so proud of his conquest. that was my case. if i had had my eyes, i might have seen that she who could cheat her old father for a mere stranger, would certainly deceive him in his turn. but if love makes a man blind, vanity, mr simple, makes him blinder. in short, i was an ass." "never mind, mr chucks, there was a good excuse for it." "well, mr simple, i met her again and again, until i was madly in love, and the father appeared to be aware of what was going on, and to have no objection. however, he sent for a priest to talk with me, and i again said that i was a good catholic. i told him that i was in love with the young lady, and would marry her. the father made no objection on my promising to remain in spain, for he would not part with his only daughter. and there again i was guilty of deceit, first, in making a promise i did not intend to keep, and then in pretending that i was a catholic. honesty is the best policy, mr simple, in the long run, you may depend upon it." "so my father has always told me, and i have believed him," replied i. "well, sir, i am ashamed to say that i did worse; for the priest, after the thing was settled, asked me whether i had confessed lately. i knew what he meant, and answered that i had not. he motioned me down on my knees; but, as i could not speak spanish enough for that, i mumbled-jumbled something or another, half spanish and half english, and ended with putting four dollars in his hand for _carita_, which means charity. he was satisfied at the end of my confession, whatever he might have been at the beginning, and gave me absolution, although he could not have understood what my crimes were; but four dollars, mr simple, will pay for a deal of crime in that country. and now, sir, comes the winding up of this business. seraphina told me that she was going to the opera with some of her relations, and asked me if i would be there; that the captain of the frigate, and all the other officers were going, and that she wished me to go with her. you see, mr simple, although seraphina's father was so poor, that a mouse would have starved in his house, still he was of good family, and connected with those who were much better off. he was a don himself, and had fourteen or fifteen long names, which i forget now. i refused to go with her, as i knew that the service would not permit a boatswain to sit in an opera-box, when the captain and first lieutenant were there. i told her that i had promised to go on board and look after the men while the captain went on shore; thus, as you'll see, mr simple, making myself a man of consequence, only to be more mortified in the end. after she had gone to the opera, i was very uncomfortable: i was afraid that the captain would see her, and take a fancy to her. i walked up and down, outside, until i was so full of love and jealousy that i determined to go into the pit and see what she was about. i soon discovered her in a box, with some other ladies, and with them were my captain and first lieutenant. the captain, who spoke the language well, was leaning over her, talking and laughing, and she was smiling at what he said. i resolved to leave immediately, lest she should see me and discover that i had told her a falsehood; but they appeared so intimate that i became so jealous i could not quit the theatre. at last she perceived me, and beckoned her hand; i looked very angry, and left the theatre cursing like a madman. it appeared that she pointed me out to the captain, and asked him who i was; he told her my real situation on board, and spoke of me with contempt. she asked whether i was not a man of family; at this the captain and first lieutenant both burst out laughing, and said that i was a common sailor who had been promoted to a higher rank for good behaviour--not exactly an officer, and anything but a gentleman. in short, mr simple, i was _blown upon_, and, although the captain said more than was correct, as i learnt afterwards through the officers, still i deserved it. determined to know the worst, i remained outside till the opera was over, when i saw her come out, the captain and first lieutenant walking with the party--so that i could not speak with her. i walked to a posada (that's an inn), and drank seven bottles of rosolio to keep myself quiet; then i went on board, and the second lieutenant, who was commanding officer, put me under arrest for being intoxicated. it was a week before i was released; and you can't imagine what i suffered, mr simple. at last, i obtained leave to go on shore, and i went to the house to decide my fate. the old woman opened the door, and then calling me a thief, slammed it in my face; as i retreated, donna seraphina came to the window, and, waving her hand with a contemptuous look, said, 'go, and god be with you, mr gentleman.' i returned on board in such a rage, that if i could have persuaded the gunner to have given me a ball cartridge, i should have shot myself through the head. what made the matter worse, i was laughed at by everybody in the ship, for the captain and first lieutenant had made the story public." "well, mr chucks," replied i, "i cannot help being sorry for you, although you certainly deserved to be punished for your dishonesty. was that the end of the affair?" "as far as i was concerned it was, mr simple; but not as respected others. the captain took my place, but without the knowledge of the father. after all, they neither had great reason to rejoice at the exchange." "how so, mr chucks--what do you mean?" "why, mr simple, the captain did not make an honest woman of her, as i would have done; and the father discovered what was going on, and one night the captain was brought on board run through the body. we sailed immediately for gibraltar, and it was a long while before he got round again: and then he had another misfortune." "what was that?" "why he lost his boatswain, mr simple; for i could not bear the sight of him--and then he lost (as you must know, not from your own knowledge, but from that of others) a boatswain who knows his duty." "every one says so, mr chucks. i'm sure that our captain would be very sorry to part with you." "i trust that every captain has been with whom i've sailed, mr simple. but that was not all he lost, mr simple; for the next cruise he lost his masts; and the loss of his masts occasioned the loss of his ship, since which he has never been trusted with another, but is laid on the shelf. now he never carried away a spar of any consequence during the whole time that i was with him. a mast itself is nothing, mr simple--only a piece of wood--but fit your rigging properly, and then a mast is strong as a rock. only ask mr faulkner, and he'll tell you the same; and i never met an officer who knew better how to support a mast." "did you ever hear any more of the young lady?" "yes; about a year afterwards i returned there in another ship. she had been shut up in a convent, and forced to take the veil. oh, mr simple! if you knew how i loved that girl! i have never been more than polite to a woman since, and shall die a bachelor. you can't think how i was capsized the other day, when i looked at the house; i have hardly touched beef or pork since, and am in debt two quarts of rum more than my allowance. but, mr simple, i have told you this in confidence, and i trust you are too much of a gentleman to repeat it; for i cannot bear quizzing from young midshipmen." i promised that i would not mention it, and i kept my word; but circumstances which the reader will learn in the sequel have freed me from the condition. nobody can quiz him now. we gained our station off the coast of perpignan; and as soon as we made the land, we were most provokingly driven off by a severe gale. i am not about to make any remarks about the gale, for one storm is so like another; but i mention it, to account for a conversation which took place, and with which i was very much amused. i was near to the captain when he sent for mr muddle, the carpenter, who had been up to examine the main-topsail yard, which had been reported as sprung. "well, mr muddle," said the captain. "sprung, sir, most decidedly; but i think we'll be able to _mitigate_ it." "will you be able to secure it for the present, mr muddle?" replied the captain, rather sharply. "we'll _mitigate_ it, sir, in half an hour." "i wish that you would use common phrases when you speak to me, mr muddle. i presume, by mitigate, you mean to say that you can secure it. do you mean so, sir, or do you not?" "yes, sir, that is what i mean, most decidedly. i hope no offence, captain savage; but i did not intend to displease you by my language." "very good, mr muddle," replied the captain; "it's the first time that i have spoken to you on the subject, recollect that it will be the last." "the first time!" replied the carpenter, who could not forget his philosophy; "i beg your pardon, captain savage, you found just the same fault with me on this quarter-deck , years ago, and--" "if i did, mr muddle," interrupted the captain, very angrily, "depend upon it that at the same time i ordered you to go aloft, and attend to your duty, instead of talking nonsense on the quarter-deck; and, although, as you say, you and i cannot recollect it, if you did not obey that order instantaneously, i also put you in confinement, and obliged you to leave the ship as soon as she returned to port. do you understand me, sir?" "i rather think, sir," replied the carpenter, humbly touching his hat, and walking to the main rigging, "that no such thing took place, for i went up immediately, as i do now; and," continued the carpenter, who was incurable, as he ascended the rigging, "as i shall again in another , years." "that man is incorrigible with his confounded nonsense," observed the captain to the first lieutenant. "every mast in the ship would go over the side, provided he could get any one to listen to his ridiculous theory." "he is not a bad carpenter, sir," replied the first lieutenant. "he is not," rejoined the captain; "but there is a time for all things." just at this moment, the boatswain came down the rigging. "well, mr chucks, what do you think of the yard? must we shift it?" inquired the captain. "at present, captain savage," replied the boatswain, "i consider it to be in a state which may be called precarious, and not at all permanent; but, with a little human exertion, four fathom of three-inch, and half-a-dozen tenpenny nails, it may last, for all i know, until it is time for it to be sprung again." "i do not understand you, mr chucks. i know no time when a yard ought to be sprung." "i did not refer to our time, sir," replied the boatswain, "but to the , years of mr muddle, when--" "go forward immediately, sir, and attend to your duty," cried the captain, in a very angry voice; and then he said to the first lieutenant, "i believe the warrant officers are going mad. who ever heard a boatswain use such language--'precarious and not at all permanent?' his stay in the ship will become so, if he does not mind what he is about." "he is a very odd character, sir," replied the first lieutenant; "but i have no hesitation in saying that he is the best boatswain in his majesty's service." "i believe so too," replied the captain; "but--well, every one has his faults. mr simple, what are you about sir?" "i was listening to what you said," replied i, touching my hat. "i admire your candour, sir," replied he, "but advise you to discontinue the practice. walk over to leeward, sir, and attend to your duty." when i was on the other side of the deck, i looked round, and saw the captain and first lieutenant both laughing. chapter xviii i go away on service, am wounded and taken prisoner with o'brien-- diamond cut diamond between the o'briens--get into comfortable quarters --my first interview with celeste. and now i have to relate an event, which, young as i was at the time, will be found to have seriously affected me in after life. how little do we know what to-morrow may bring forth! we had regained our station, and for some days had been standing off and on the coast, when one morning at daybreak, we found ourselves about four miles from the town of cette, and a large convoy of vessels coming round a point. we made all sail in chase, and they anchored close in shore, under a battery, which we did not discover until it opened fire upon us. the shot struck the frigate two or three times, for the water was smooth, and the battery nearly level with it. the captain tacked the ship, and stood out again, until the boats were hoisted out, and all ready to pull on shore and storm the battery. o'brien, who was the officer commanding the first cutter on service, was in his boat, and i again obtained permission from him to smuggle myself into it. "now, peter, let's see what kind of a fish you'll bring on board this time," said he, after we had shoved off: "or may be, the fish will not let you off quite so easy." the men in the boat all laughed at this, and i replied, "that i must be more seriously wounded than i was last time, to be made a prisoner." we ran on shore, amidst the fire of the gunboats, who protected the convoy, by which we lost three men, and made for the battery, which we took without opposition, the french artillery-men running out as we ran in. the directions of the captain were very positive, not to remain in the battery a minute after it was taken, but to board the gunboats, leaving only one of the small boats, with the armourer to spike the guns, for the captain was aware that there were troops stationed along the coast, who might come down upon us and beat us off. the first lieutenant, who commanded, desired o'brien to remain with the first cutter, and after the armourer had spiked the guns, as officer of the boat he was to shove off immediately. o'brien and i remained in the battery with the armourer, the boat's crew being ordered down to the boat, to keep her afloat, and ready to shove off at a moment's warning. we had spiked all the guns but one, when all of a sudden a volley of musketry was poured upon us, which killed the armourer, and wounded me in the leg above the knee. i fell down by o'brien, who cried out, "by the powers! here they are, and one gun not spiked." he jumped down, wrenched the hammer from the armourer's hand, and seizing a nail from the bag, in a few moments he had spiked the gun. at this time i heard the tramping of the french soldiers advancing, when o'brien threw away the hammer, and lifting me upon his shoulders, cried, "come along, peter, my boy," and made for the boat as fast as he could; but he was too late; he had not got half way to the boat, before he was collared by two french soldiers, and dragged back into the battery. the french troops then advanced, and kept up a smart fire: our cutter escaped, and joined the other boat, who had captured the gun-boats and convoy with little opposition. our large boats had carronades mounted in their bows, and soon returned the fire with round and grape, which drove the french troops back into the battery, where they remained, popping at our men under cover, until most of the vessels were taken out; those which they could not man were burnt. in the meantime, o'brien had been taken into the battery, with me on his back; but as soon as he was there, he laid me gently down, saying, "peter, my boy, as long as you were under my charge, i'd carry you through thick and thin; but now that you are under the charge of these french beggars, why let them carry you. every man his own bundle, peter, that's fair play, so if they think you're worth the carrying, let them bear the weight of ye." "and suppose they do not, o'brien, will you leave me here?" "will i lave you, peter! not if i can help it, my boy; but they won't leave you, never fear them; prisoners are so scarce with them, that they would not leave the captain's monkey, if he were taken." as soon as our boats were clear of their musketry, the commanding officer of the french troops examined the guns in the battery, with the hope of reaching them, and was very much annoyed to find that every one of them was spiked. "he'll look sharper than a magpie before he finds a clear touch-hole, i expect," said o'brien, as he watched the officer. and here i must observe, that o'brien showed great presence of mind in spiking the last gun; for had they had one gun to fire at our boats towing out the prizes, they must have done a great deal of mischief to them, and we should have lost a great many men; but in so doing, and in the attempt to save me, he sacrificed himself, and was taken prisoner. when the troops ceased firing, the commanding officer came up to o'brien, and looking at him, said, "officer?" to which o'brien nodded his head. he then pointed to me--"officer?" o'brien nodded his head again, at which the french troops laughed, as o'brien told me afterwards, because i was what they called an _enfant_, which means an infant. i was very stiff, and faint, and could not walk. the officer who commanded the troops left a detachment in the battery, and prepared to return to cette, from whence they came. o'brien walked, and i was carried on three muskets by six of the french soldiers--not a very pleasant conveyance at any time, but in my state excessively painful. however, i must say, that they were very kind to me, and put a great coat or something under my wounded leg, for i was in an agony, and fainted several times. at last they brought me some water to drink. o how delicious it was! i have often thought since, when i have been in company, where people fond of good living have smacked their lips at their claret, that if they could only be wounded, and taste a cup of water, they would then know what it was to feel a beverage grateful. in about an hour and a half, which appeared to me to be five days at the least, we arrived at the town of cette, and i was taken up to the house of the officer who commanded the troops, and who had often looked at me as i was carried there from the battery, saying, "_pauvre enfant_!" i was put on a bed, where i again fainted away. when i came to my senses, i found a surgeon had bandaged my leg, and that i had been undressed. o'brien was standing by me, and i believe that he had been crying, for he thought that i was dead. when i looked him in the face, he said, "pater, you baste, how you frightened me: bad luck to me if ever i take charge of another youngster. what did you sham dead for?" "i am better now, o'brien," replied i, "how much i am indebted to you: you have been made prisoner in trying to save me." "i have been made prisoner in doing my duty, in one shape or another. if that fool of an armourer hadn't held his hammer so tight, after he was dead, and it was of no use to him, i should have been clear enough, and so would you have been! but, however, all this is nothing at all, peter; as far as i can see, the life of a man consists in getting into scrapes, and getting out of them. by the blessing of god, we've managed the first, and by the blessing of god we'll manage the second also; so be smart, my honey, and get well, for although a man may escape by running away on two legs, i never heard of a boy who hopped out of a french prison upon one." i squeezed the offered hand of o'brien, and looked round me; the surgeon stood at one side of the bed, and the officer who commanded the troops at the other. at the head of the bed was a little girl about twelve years old, who held a cup in her hand, out of which something had been poured down my throat. i looked at her, and she had such pity in her face, which was remarkably handsome, that she appeared to me as an angel, and i turned round as well as i could, that i might look at her alone. she offered me the cup, which i should have refused from any one but her, and i drank a little. another person then came into the room, and a conversation took place in french. "i wonder what they mean to do with us," said i to o'brien. "whist, hold your tongue," replied he; and then he leaned over me, and said in a whisper, "i understand all they say; don't you recollect, i told you that i learnt the language after i was kilt and buried in the sand, in south america?" after a little more conversation, the officer and the others retired, leaving nobody but the little girl and o'brien in the room. "it's a message from the governor," said o'brien, as soon as they were gone, "wishing the prisoners to be sent to the gaol in the citadel, to be examined; and the officer says (and he's a real gentleman, as far as i can judge) that you're but a baby, and badly wounded in the bargain, and that it would be a shame not to leave you to die in peace; so i presume that i'll part company from you very soon." "i hope not, o'brien," replied i; "if you go to prison, i will go also, for i will not leave you, who are my best friend, to remain with strangers; i should not be half so happy, although i might have more comforts in my present situation." "pater, my boy, i am glad to see that your heart is in the right place, as i always thought it was, or i wouldn't have taken you under my protection. we'll go together to prison, my jewel, and i'll fish at the bars with a bag and a long string, just by way of recreation, and to pick up a little money to buy you all manner of nice things; and when you get well, you shall do it yourself, mayhap you'll have better luck, as peter your namesake had, who was a fisherman before you. there's twice as much room in one of the cells as there is in a midshipman's berth, my boy; and the prison yards, where you are allowed to walk, will make a dozen quarter-decks, and no need of touching your hat out of respect when you go into it. when a man has been cramped up on board of a man-of-war, where midshipmen are stowed away like pilchards in a cask, he finds himself quite at liberty in a prison, peter. but somehow or another, i think we mayn't be parted yet, for i heard the officer (who appears to be a real gentleman, and worthy to have been an irishman born) say to the other, that he'd ask the governor for me to stay with you on parole, until you are well again." the little girl handed me the lemonade, of which i drank a little, and then i felt very faint again. i laid my head on the pillow, and o'brien having left off talking, i was soon in a comfortable sleep. in an hour i was awakened by the return of the officer, who was accompanied by the surgeon. the officer addressed o'brien in french who shook his head as before. "why don't you answer, o'brien," said i, "since you understand him?" "peter, recollect that i cannot speak a word of their lingo; then i shall know what they say before us, and they won't mind what they say, supposing i do not understand them." "but is that honest, o'brien?" "is it honest you mean? if i had a five-pound note in my pocket, and don't choose to show it to every fellow that i meet--is that dishonest?" "to be sure it's not." "and a'n't that what the lawyers call a case in pint?" "well," replied i, "if you wish it, i shall of course say nothing; but i think that i should tell them, especially as they are so kind to us." during this conversation, the officer occasionally spoke to the surgeon, at the same time eyeing us, i thought, very hard. two other persons then came into the room; one of them addressed o'brien in very bad english, saying, that he was interpreter, and would beg him to answer a few questions. he then inquired the name of our ship, number of guns, and how long we had been cruising. after that, the force of the english fleet, and a great many other questions relative to them; all of which were put in french by the person who came with him, and the answer translated, and taken down in a book. some of the questions o'brien answered correctly, to others he pleaded ignorance; and to some, he asserted what was not true. but i did not blame him for that, as it was his duty not to give information to the enemy. at last they asked my name, and rank, which o'brien told them. "was i noble?" "yes," replied o'brien. "don't say so, o'brien," interrupted i. "peter, you know nothing about it, you are grandson to a lord." "i know that, but still i am not noble myself, although descended from him; therefore pray don't say so." "bother! pater, i have said it, and i won't unsay it; besides, pater, recollect it's a french question, and in france you would be considered noble. at all events, it can do no harm." "i feel too ill to talk, o'brien; but i wish you had not said so." they then inquired o'brien's name, which he told them; his rank in the service, and also, whether he was noble. "i am an o'brien," replied he; "and pray what's the meaning of the o before my name, if i'm not noble? however, mr interpreter, you may add, that we have dropped our title because it's not convanient." the french officer burst out into a loud laugh, which surprised us very much. the interpreter had great difficulty in explaining what o'brien said; but as o'brien told me afterwards, the answer was put down _doubtful_. they all left the room except the officer, who then, to our astonishment, addressed us in good english. "gentlemen, i have obtained permission from the governor for you to remain in my house, until mr simple is recovered. mr o'brien, it is necessary that i should receive your parole of honour that you will not attempt to escape. are you willing to give it?" o'brien was quite amazed; "murder an' irish," cried he; "so you speak english, colonel. it was not very genteel of you not to say so, considering how we've been talking our little secrets together." "certainly, mr o'brien, not more necessary," replied the officer, smiling, "than for you to tell me that you understood french." "o, bother!" cried o'brien, "how nicely i'm caught in my own trap! you're an irishman, sure?" "i'm of irish descent," replied the officer, "and my name, as well as yours, is o'brien. i was brought up in this country, not being permitted to serve my own, and retain the religion of my forefathers. i may now be considered as a frenchman, retaining nothing of my original country, except the language, which my mother taught me, and a warm feeling towards the english wherever i meet them. but to the question, mr o'brien, will you give your parole?" "the word of an irishman, and the hand to boot," replied o'brien, shaking the colonel by the hand; "and you're more than doubly sure, for i'll never go away and leave little peter here; and as for carrying him on my back, i've had enough of that already." "it is sufficient," replied the colonel. "mr o'brien, i will make you as comfortable as i can; and when you are tired of attending your friend, my little daughter shall take your place. you'll find her a kind little nurse, mr simple." i could not refrain from tears at the colonel's kindness: he shook me by the hand; and telling o'brien that dinner was ready, he called up his daughter, the little girl who had attended me before; and desired her to remain in the room. "celeste," said he, "you understand a little english; quite enough to find out what he is in want of. go and fetch your work, to amuse yourself when he is asleep." celeste went out, and returning with her embroidery, sat down by the head of the bed: the colonel and o'brien then quitted the room. celeste then commenced her embroidery, and as her eyes were cast down upon her work, i was able to look at her without her observing it. as i said before, she was a very beautiful little girl; her hair was light brown, eyes very large, and eyebrows drawn as with a pair of compasses; her nose and mouth were also very pretty; but it was not so much her features as the expression of her countenance, which was so beautiful, so modest, so sweet, and so intelligent. when she smiled, which she almost always did when she spoke, her teeth were like two rows of little pearls. i had not looked at her long, before she raised her eyes from her work, and perceiving that i was looking at her, said, "you want--something-- want drink--i speak very little english." "nothing, i thank ye," replied i; "i only want to go to sleep." "then--shut--your--eye," replied she smiling; and she went to the window, and drew down the blinds to darken the room. but i could not sleep; the remembrance of what had occurred--in a few hours wounded, and a prisoner--the thought of my father and mother's anxiety; with the prospect of going to a prison and close confinement, as soon as i was recovered, passed in succession in my mind, and, together with the actual pain of my wound, prevented me from obtaining any rest. the little girl several times opened the curtain to ascertain whether i slept or wanted anything, and then as softly retired. in the evening, the surgeon called again; he felt my pulse, and directing cold applications to my leg, which had swelled considerably, and was becoming very painful, told colonel o'brien, that, although i had considerable fever, i was doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. but i shall not dwell upon my severe sufferings for a fortnight, after which the ball was extracted; nor upon how carefully i was watched by o'brien, the colonel, and little celeste, during my peevishness and irritation, arising from pain and fever. i feel grateful to them, but partiqularly [sic] to celeste, who seldom quitted me for more than half-an-hour, and, as i gradually recovered, tried all she could to amuse me. chapter xix we remove to very unpleasant quarters--birds of a feather won't always flock together--o'brien cuts a cutter midshipman, and gets a taste of french steel--altogether _flat_ work--a walk into the interior. as soon as i was well enough to attend to my little nurse, we became very intimate, as might be expected. our chief employment was teaching each other french and english. having the advantage of me in knowing a little before we met, and also being much quicker of apprehension, she very soon began to speak english fluently, long before i could make out a short sentence in french. however, as it was our chief employment, and both were anxious to communicate with each other, i learnt it very fast. in five weeks i was out of bed, and could limp about the room; and before two months were over, i was quite recovered. the colonel, however, would not report me to the governor; i remained on a sofa during the day, but at dusk i stole out of the house, and walked about with celeste. i never passed such a happy time as the last fortnight; the only drawback was the remembrance that i should soon have to exchange it for a prison. i was more easy about my father and mother, as o'brien had written to them, assuring them that i was doing well; and besides, a few days after our capture, the frigate had run in, and sent a flag of truce to inquire if we were alive or made prisoners; at the same time captain savage sent on shore all our clothes, and two hundred dollars in cash for our use. i knew that even if o'brien's letter did not reach them, they were sure to hear from captain savage that i was doing well. but the idea of parting with celeste, towards whom i felt such gratitude and affection, was most painful; and when i talked about it, poor celeste would cry so much, that i could not help joining her, although i kissed away her tears. at the end of twelve weeks, the surgeon could no longer withhold his report, and we were ordered to be ready in two days to march to toulon, where we were to join another party of prisoners, to proceed with them into the interior. i must pass over our parting, which the reader may imagine was very painful. i promised to write to celeste, and she promised that she would answer my letters, if it were permitted. we shook hands with colonel o'brien, thanking him for his kindness, and, much to his regret, we were taken in charge by two french cuirassiers, who were waiting at the door. as we preferred being continued on parole until our arrival at toulon, the soldiers were not at all particular about watching us; and we set off on horseback, o'brien and i going first, and the french cuirassiers following us in the rear. we trotted or walked along the road very comfortably. the weather was delightful: we were in high spirits, and almost forgot that we were prisoners. the cuirassiers followed us at a distance of twenty yards, conversing with each other, and o'brien observed that it was amazingly genteel of the french governor to provide us with two servants in such handsome liveries. the evening of the second day we arrived at toulon, and as soon as we entered the gates, we were delivered into the custody of an officer with a very sinister cast of countenance, who, after some conversation with the cuirassiers, told us in a surly tone that our parole was at an end, and gave us in charge of a corporal's guard, with directions to conduct us to the prison near the arsenal. we presented the cuirassiers with four dollars each, for their civility, and were then hurried away to our place of captivity. i observed to o'brien, that i was afraid that we must now bid farewell to anything like pleasure. "you're right there, peter," replied he: "but there's a certain jewel called hope, that somebody found at the bottom of his chest, when it was clean empty, and so we must not lose sight of it, but try and escape as soon as we can; but the less we talk about it the better." in a few minutes we arrived at our destination: the door was opened, ourselves and our bundles (for we had only selected a few things for our march, the colonel promising to forward the remainder as soon as we wrote to inform him to which depot we were consigned), were rudely shoved in; and as the doors again closed, and the heavy bolts were shot, i felt a creeping, chilly sensation pass through my whole body. as soon as we could see--for although the prison was not very dark, yet so suddenly thrown in, after the glare of a bright sunshiny day, at first we could distinguish nothing--we found ourselves in company with about thirty english sailors. most of them were sitting down on the pavement, or on boxes, or bundles containing their clothes that they had secured, conversing with each other, or playing at cards or draughts. our entrance appeared to excite little attention; after having raised their eyes to indulge their curiosity, they continued their pursuits. i have often thought what a feeling of selfishness appeared to pervade the whole of them. at the time i was shocked, as i expected immediate sympathy and commiseration; but afterwards i was not surprised. many of these poor fellows had been months in the prison, and a short confinement will produce that indifference to the misfortunes of others, which i then observed. indeed, one man, who was playing at cards, looked up for a moment as we came in, and cried out, "hurrah, my lads! the more the merrier," as if he really was pleased to find that there were others who were as unfortunate as himself. we stood looking at the groups for about ten minutes, when o'brien observed, "that we might as well come to an anchor, foul ground being better than no bottom;" so we sat down in a corner, upon our bundles, where we remained for more than an hour, surveying the scene, without speaking a word to each other. i could not speak--i felt so very miserable. i thought of my father and mother in england, of my captain and my messmates, who were sailing about so happily in the frigate, of the kind colonel o'brien, and dear little celeste, and the tears trickled down my cheeks as these scenes of former happiness passed through my mind in quick succession. o'brien did not speak but once, and then he only said, "this is dull work, peter." we had been in the prison about two hours, when a lad in a very greasy, ragged jacket, with a pale emaciated face, came up to us, and said, "i perceive by your uniforms that you are both officers, as well as myself." o'brien stared at him for a little while, and then answered, "upon my soul and honour, then, you've the advantage of us, for it's more than i could perceive in you; but i'll take your word for it. pray what ship may have had the misfortune of losing such a credit to the service?" "why, i belonged to the _snapper_ cutter," replied the young lad; "i was taken in a prize, which the commanding officer had given in my charge to take to gibraltar: but they won't believe that i'm an officer. i have applied for officer's allowance and rations, and they won't give them to me." "well, but they know that we are officers," replied o'brien; "why do they shove us in here, with the common seamen?" "i suppose you are only put in here for the present," replied the cutter's midshipman; "but why i cannot tell." nor could we, until afterwards, when we found out, as our narrative will show, that the officer who received us from the cuirassiers had once quarrelled with colonel o'brien, who first pulled his nose, and afterwards ran him through the body. being told by the cuirassiers that we were much esteemed by colonel o'brien, he resolved to annoy us as much as he could; and when he sent up the document announcing our arrival, he left out the word "officers," and put us in confinement with the common seamen. "it's very hard upon me not to have my regular allowance as an officer," continued the midshipman. "they only give me a black loaf and three sous a day. if i had had my best uniform on, they never would have disputed my being an officer; but the scoundrels who retook the prize stole all my traps, and i have nothing but this old jacket." "why, then," replied o'brien, "you'll know the value of dress for the future. you cutter and gun-brig midshipmen go about in such a dirty state, that you are hardly acknowledged by us who belong to frigates to be officers, much less gentlemen. you look so dirty, and so slovenly when we pass you in the dockyard, that we give you a wide berth; how then can you suppose strangers to believe that you are either officers or gentlemen? upon my conscience, i absolve the frenchmen from all prejudice, for, as to, your being an officer, we, as englishmen have nothing but your bare word for it." "well, it's very hard," replied the lad, "to be attacked this way by a brother officer; your coat will be as shabby as mine, before you have been here long." "that's very true, my darling," returned o'brien: "but at least i shall have the pleasant reflection that i came in as a gentleman, although i may not exactly go out under the same appearance. good night, and pleasant dreams to you!" i thought o'brien rather cross in speaking in such a way, but he was himself always as remarkably neat and well dressed, as he was handsome and well made. fortunately we were not destined to remain long in this detestable hole. after a night of misery, during which we remained sitting on our bundles, and sleeping how we could, leaning with our backs against the damp wall, we were roused, at daybreak by the unbarring of the prison doors, followed up with an order to go into the prison yard. we were huddled out like a flock of sheep, by a file of soldiers with loaded muskets; and, as we went into the yard, were ranged two and two. the same officer who ordered us into prison, commanded the detachment of soldiers who had us in charge. o'brien stepped out of the ranks, and, addressing them, stated that we were officers, and had no right to be treated like common sailors. the french officer replied, that he had better information, and that we wore coats which did not belong to us; upon which o'brien was in a great rage, calling the officer a liar, and demanding satisfaction for the insult, appealing to the french soldiers, and stating, that colonel o'brien, who was at cette, was his countryman, and had received him for two months into his house upon parole, which was quite sufficient to establish his being an officer. the french soldiers appeared to side with o'brien after they had heard this explanation, stating that no common english sailor could speak such good french, and that they were present when we were sent in on parole, and they asked the officer whether he intended to give satisfaction. the officer stormed, and drawing his sword out of the scabbard, struck o'brien with the flat of the blade, looking at him with contempt, and ordering him into the ranks. i could not help observing that, during this scene, the men-of-war sailors who were among the prisoners, were very indignant, while, on the contrary, those captured in merchant vessels appeared to be pleased with the insult offered to o'brien. one of the french soldiers then made a sarcastic remark, that the french officer did not much like the name of o'brien. this so enraged the officer, that he flew at o'brien, pushed him back into the ranks, and taking out a pistol, threatened to shoot him through the head. i must do the justice to the french soldiers, that they all cried out "shame!" they did not appear to have the same discipline, or the same respect for an officer, as the soldiers have in our service, or they would not have been so free in their language; yet, at the same time, they obeyed all his orders on service very implicitly. when o'brien returned to the ranks, he looked defiance at the officer, telling him, "that he would pocket the affront very carefully, as he intended to bring it out again upon a future and more suitable occasion." we were then marched out in ranks, two and two, being met at the street by two drummers, and a crowd of people, who had gathered to witness our departure. the drums beat, and away we went. the officer who had charge of us mounted a small horse, galloping up and down from one end of the ranks to the other, with his sword drawn, bullying, swearing, and striking with the flat of the blade at any one of the prisoners who was not in his proper place. when we were close to the gates, we were joined by another detachment of prisoners: we were then ordered to halt, and were informed, through an interpreter, that any one attempting to escape would immediately be shot, after which information we once more proceeded on our route. nothing remarkable occurred during our first day's march, except perhaps a curious conversation between o'brien and one of the french soldiers, in which they disputed about the comparative bravery of the two nations. o'brien, in his argument, told the frenchman that his countrymen could not stand a charge of english bayonets. the frenchman replied that there was no doubt but the french were quite as brave as the english--even more so; and that, as for not standing the charge of bayonets, it was not because they were less brave; but the fact was, that they were most excessively _ticklish_. we had black bread and sour wine served out to us this day, when we halted to refresh. o'brien persuaded a soldier to purchase something for us more eatable; but the french officer heard of it, and was very angry, ordering the soldier to the rear. chapter xx o'brien fights a duel with a french officer, and proves that the great art of fencing is knowing nothing about it--we arrive at our new quarters, which we find very secure. at night we arrived at a small town, the name of which i forget. here we were all put into an old church for the night, and a very bad night we passed. they did not even give us a little straw to lie down upon: the roof of the church had partly fallen in, and the moon shone through very brightly. this was some comfort; for to have been shut up in the dark, seventy-five in number, would have been very miserable. we were afraid to lie down anywhere, as, like all ruined buildings in france, the ground was covered with filth, and the smell was shocking. o'brien was very thoughtful, and would hardly answer any question that i put to him; it was evident that he was brooding over the affront which he had received from the french officer. at daybreak, the door of the church was again opened by the french soldiers, and we were conducted to the square of the town, where we found the troops quartered, drawn up with their officers, to receive us from the detachment who had escorted us from toulon. we were very much pleased with this, as we knew that we should be forwarded by another detachment, and thus be rid of the brutal officer who had hitherto had charge of the prisoners. but we were rid of him in another way. as the french officers walked along our ranks to look at us, i perceived among them a captain, whom we had known very intimately when we were living at cette with colonel o'brien. i cried out his name immediately; he turned round, and seeing o'brien and me, he came up to us, shaking us by the hand, and expressing his surprise at finding us in such a situation. o'brien explained to him how we had been treated, at which he expressed his indignation, as did the other officers who had collected round us. the major who commanded the troops in the town turned to the french officer (he was only a lieutenant) who had conducted us from toulon, and demanded of him his reason for behaving to us in such an unworthy manner. he denied having treated us ill, and said that he had been informed that we had put on officers' dresses which did not belong to us. at this o'brien declared that he was a liar, and a cowardly _foutre_, that he had struck him with the back of his sabre, which he would not have dared do if he had not been a prisoner; adding, that all he requested was satisfaction for the insult offered to him, and appealed to the officers whether, if it were refused, the lieutenant's epaulets ought not to be cut off his shoulders. the major commandant and the officers retired to consult, and, after a few minutes, they agreed that the lieutenant was bound to give the satisfaction required. the lieutenant replied that he was ready; but, at the same time, did not appear to be very willing. the prisoners were left in charge of the soldiers, under a junior officer, while the others, accompanied by o'brien, myself, and the lieutenant, walked to a short distance outside the town. as we proceeded there, i asked o'brien with what weapons they would fight. "i take it for granted," replied he, "that it will be with the small sword." "but," said i, "do you know anything about fencing?" "devil a bit, peter; but that's all in my favour." "how can that be?" replied i. "i'll tell you, peter. if one man fences well, and another is but an indifferent hand at it, it is clear that the first will run the other through the body; but, if the other knows nothing at all about it, why then, peter, the case is not quite so clear: because the good fencer is almost as much puzzled by your ignorance as you are by his skill, and you become on more equal terms. now, peter, i've made up my mind that i'll run that fellow through the body, and so i will, as sure as i am an o'brien." "well, i hope you will; but pray do not be too sure." "it's feeling sure that will make me able to do it, peter. by the blood of the o'briens! didn't he slap me with his sword, as if i were a clown in the pantomime. peter, i'll kill the harlequin scoundrel, and my word's as good as my bond!" by this time we had arrived at the ground. the french lieutenant stripped to his shirt and trousers; o'brien did the same, kicking his boots off, and standing upon the wet grass in his stockings. the swords were measured, and handed to them; they took their distance, and set to. i must say, that i was breathless with anxiety; the idea of losing o'brien struck me with grief and terror. i then felt the value of all his kindness to me, and would have taken his place, and have been run through the body, rather than he should have been hurt. at first, o'brien put himself in the correct attitude of defence, in imitation of the lieutenant, but this was for a very few seconds; he suddenly made a spring, and rushed on to his adversary, stabbing at him with a velocity quite astonishing, the lieutenant parrying in his defence, until at last he had an opportunity of lungeing at o'brien. o'brien, who no longer kept his left arm raised in equipoise, caught the sword of the lieutenant at within six inches of the point, and directing it under his left arm, as he rushed in, passed his own through the lieutenant's body. it was all over in less than a minute--the lieutenant did not live half an hour afterwards. the french officers were very much surprised at the result, for they perceived at once that o'brien knew nothing of fencing. o'brien gathered a tuft of grass, wiped the sword, which he presented to the officer to whom it belonged, and thanking the major and the whole of them for their impartiality and gentlemanlike conduct, led the way to the square, where he again took his station in the ranks of the prisoners. shortly after, the major commandant came up to us, and asked whether we would accept of our parole, as, in that case, we might travel as we pleased. we consented, with many thanks for his civility and kindness; but i could not help thinking at the time, that the french officers were a little mortified at o'brien's success, although they were too honourable to express the feeling. o'brien told me, after we had quitted the town, that had it not been for the handsome conduct of the officers, he would not have accepted our parole, as he felt convinced that we could have easily made our escape. we talked over the matter a long while, and at last agreed that there would be a better chance of success by and by, when more closely guarded, than there would be now, under consideration of all circumstances, as it required previously concerted arrangements to get out of the country. i had almost forgotten to say, that on our return after the duel the cutter's midshipman called out to o'brien, requesting him to state to the commandant that he was also an officer; but o'brien replied, that there was no evidence for it but his bare word. if he was an officer he must prove it himself, as everything in his appearance flatly contradicted his assertion. "it's very hard," replied the midshipman, "that because my jacket's a little tarry or so i must lose my rank." "my dear fellow," replied o'brien, "it's not because your jacket's a little tarry; it is because what the frenchmen call your _tout ensemble_ is quite disgraceful in an officer. look at your face in the first puddle, and you'll find that it would dirty the water you look into. look at your shoulders above your ears, and your back with a bow like a _kink_ in a cable. your trowsers, sir, you have pulled your legs too far through, showing a foot and a half of worsted stockings. in short, look at yourself altogether, and then tell me, provided you be an officer, whether, from respect to the service, it would not be my duty to contradict it. it goes against my conscience, my dear fellow; but recollect that when we arrive at the depot, you will be able to prove it, so it's only waiting a little while, until the captains will pass their word for you, which is more than i will." "well, it's very hard," replied the midshipman, "that i must go on eating this black rye bread; and very unkind of you." "it's very kind of me, you spalpeen of the snapper. prison will be a paradise to you, when you get into good commons. how you'll relish your grub by-and-by! so now shut your pan, or by the tail of jonah's whale, i'll swear you're a spaniard." i could not help thinking that o'brien was very severe upon the poor lad, and i expostulated with him afterwards. he replied, "peter, if, as a cutter's midshipman, he is a bit of an officer, the devil a bit is he of a gentleman, either born or bred: and i'm not bound to bail every blackguard-looking chap that i meet. by the head of st peter, i would blush to be seen in his company, if i were in the wildest bog in ireland, with nothing but an old crow as spectator." we were now again permitted to be on our parole, and received every attention and kindness from the different officers who commanded the detachments which passed the prisoners from one town to another. in a few days we arrived at montpelier, where we had orders to remain a short time until directions were received from government as to the depots for prisoners to which we were to be sent. at this delightful town, we had unlimited parole, not even a gendarme accompanying us. we lived at the table d'hote, were permitted to walk about where we pleased, and amused ourselves every evening at the theatre. during our stay there we wrote to colonel o'brien at cette, thanking him for his kindness, and narrating what had occurred since we parted. i also wrote to celeste, inclosing my letter unsealed in the one to colonel o'brien. i told her the history of o'brien's duel, and all i could think would interest her; how sorry i was to have parted from her; that i never would forget her; and trusted that some day, as she was only half a frenchwoman, we should meet again. before we left montpelier, we had the pleasure of receiving answers to our letters: the colonel's letters were very kind, particularly the one to me, in which he called me his dear boy, and hoped that i should soon rejoin my friends, and prove an ornament to my country. in his letter to o'brien, he requested him not to run me into useless danger--to recollect that i was not so well able to undergo extreme hardship. i have no doubt but that this caution referred to o'brien's intention to escape from prison, which he had not concealed from the colonel, and the probability that i would be a partner in the attempt. the answer from celeste was written in english; but she must have had assistance from her father, or she could not have succeeded so well. it was like herself, very kind and affectionate; and also ended with wishing me a speedy return to my friends, who must (she said) be so fond of me, that she despaired of ever seeing me more, but that she consoled herself as well as she could with the assurance that i should be happy. i forgot to say, that colonel o'brien, in his letter to me, stated that he expected immediate orders to leave cette, and take the command of some military post in the interior, or join the army, but which, he could not tell; that they had packed up everything, and he was afraid that our correspondence must cease, as he could not state to what place we should direct our letters. i could not help thinking at the time, that it was a delicate way of pointing out to us that it was not right that he should correspond with us in our relative situations; but still, i was sure that he was about to leave cette, for he never would have made use of a subterfuge. i must here acquaint the reader with a circumstance which i forgot to mention, which was that when captain savage sent in a flag of truce with our clothes and money, i thought that it was but justice to o'brien that they should know on board of the frigate the gallant manner in which he had behaved. i knew that he would never tell himself, so, ill as i was at the time, i sent for colonel o'brien, and requested him to write down my statement of the affair, in which i mentioned how o'brien had spiked the last gun, and had been taken prisoner by so doing, together with his attempting to save me. when the colonel had written all down, i requested that he would send for the major, who first entered the fort with the troops, and translate it to him in french. this he did in my presence, and the major declared every word to be true. "will he attest it, colonel, as it may be of great service to o'brien?" the major immediately assented. colonel o'brien then enclosed my letter, with a short note from himself, to captain savage, paying him a compliment, and assuring him that his gallant young officers should be treated with every attention, and all the kindness which the rules of war would admit of. o'brien never knew that i had sent that letter, as the colonel, at my request, kept the secret. in ten days we received an order to march on the following morning. the sailors, among whom was our poor friend the midshipman of the snapper cutter, were ordered to verdun; o'brien and i, with eight masters of merchant vessels, who joined us at montpelier, were directed by the government to be sent to givet, a fortified town in the department of ardennes. but, at the same time, orders arrived from government to treat the prisoners with great strictness, and not to allow any parole; the reason of this, we were informed, was that accounts had been sent to government of the death of the french officer in the duel with o'brien, and they had expressed their dissatisfaction at its having been permitted. indeed, i very much doubt whether it would have been permitted in our country, but the french officers are almost romantically chivalrous in their ideas of honour; in fact, as enemies, i have always considered them as worthy antagonists to the english, and they appear more respectable in themselves, and more demanding our goodwill in that situation, than they do when we meet them as friends, and are acquainted with the other points of their character, which lessen them in our estimation. i shall not dwell upon a march of three weeks, during which we alternately received kind or unhandsome treatment, according to the dispositions of those who had us in charge; but i must observe, that it was invariably the case, that officers who were gentlemen by birth treated us with consideration, while those who had sprung from nothing during the revolution, were harsh, and sometimes even brutal. it was exactly four months from the time of our capture that we arrived at our destined prison at givet. "peter," said o'brien, as he looked hastily at the fortifications, and the river which divided the two towns, "i see no reason, either english or french, that we should not eat our christmas dinner in england. i've a bird's eye view of the outside, and now, have only to find out where-abouts we may be in the inside." i must say that, when i looked at the ditches and high ramparts, i had a different opinion; so had a gendarme who was walking by our side, and who had observed o'brien's scrutiny, and who quietly said to him in french, "_vous le croyez possible!_" "everything is possible to a brave man--the french armies have proved that," answered o'brien. "you are right," replied the gendarme, pleased with the compliment to his nation; "i wish you success, you will deserve it; but--" and he shook his head. "if i could but obtain a plan of the fortress," said o'brien, "i would give five napoleons for one," and he looked at the gendarme. "i cannot see any objection to an officer, although a prisoner, studying fortification," replied the gendarme. "in two hours you will be within the walls; and now i recollect, in the map of the two towns, the fortress is laid down sufficiently accurately to give you an idea of it. but we have conversed too long." so saying, the gendarme dropped into the rear. in a quarter of an hour, we arrived at the place d'armes, where we were met, as usual, by another detachment of troops, and drummers, who paraded us through the town previous to our being drawn up before the governor's house. this, i ought to have observed, was, by order of government, done at every town we passed through; it was very contemptible, but prisoners were so scarce, that they made all the display of us that they could. as we stopped at the governor's house, the gendarme, who had left us in the square, made a sign to o'brien, as much as to say, i have it. o'brien took out five napoleons, which he wrapped in paper, and held in his hand. in a minute or two, the gendarme came up and presented o'brien with an old silk handkerchief, saying, "_votre mouchoir, monsieur_." "_merci,"_ replied o'brien, putting the handkerchief which contained the map into his pocket, "_voici à boire, mon ami_;" and he slipped the paper with the five napoleons into the hand of the gendarme, who immediately retreated. this was very fortunate for us, as we afterwards discovered that a mark had been put against o'brien's and my name, not to allow parole or permission to leave the fortress, even under surveillance. indeed, even if it had not been so, we never should have obtained it, as the lieutenant killed by o'brien was nearly related to the commandant of the fortress, who was as much a _mauvais sujet_ as his kinsman. having waited the usual hour before the governor's house, to answer to our muster-roll, and to be stared at, we were dismissed; and in a few minutes, found ourselves shut up in one of the strongest fortresses in france. chapter xxi o'brien receives his commission as lieutenant, and then we take french leave of givet. if i doubted the practicability of escape when i examined the exterior, when we were ushered into the interior of the fortress, i felt that it was impossible, and i stated my opinion to o'brien. we were conducted into a yard surrounded by a high wall; the buildings appropriated for the prisoners were built with _lean-to_ roofs on one side, and at each side of the square was a sentry looking down upon us. it was very much like the dens which they now build for bears, only so much larger. o'brien answered me with a "pish! peter, it's the very security of the place which will enable us to get out of it. but don't talk, as there are always spies about who understand english." we were shown into a room allotted to six of us; our baggage was examined, and then delivered over to us. "better and better, peter," observed o'brien, "they've not found it out!" "what?" inquired i. "oh, only a little selection of articles, which might be useful to us by-and-by." he then showed me what i never before was aware of: that he had a false bottom to his trunk; but it was papered over like the rest, and very ingeniously concealed. "and what is there, o'brien?" inquired i. "never mind; i had them made at montpelier. you'll see by-and-by." the others, who were lodged in the same room, then came in, and after staying a quarter of an hour, went away at the sound of the dinner-bell. "now, peter," said o'brien, "i must get rid of my load. turn the key." o'brien then undressed himself, and when he threw off his shirt and drawers, showed me a rope of silk, with a knot at every two feet, about half-an-inch in size, wound round and round his body. there were about sixty feet of it altogether. as i unwound it, he, turning round and round, observed, "peter, i've worn this rope ever since i left montpelier, and you've no idea of the pain i have suffered; but we must go to england, that's decided upon." when i looked at o'brien, as the rope was wound off, i could easily imagine that he had really been in great pain; in several places his flesh was quite raw from the continual friction, and after it was all unwound, and he had put on his clothes, he fainted away. i was very much alarmed, but i recollected to put the rope into the trunk, and take out the key, before i called for assistance. he soon came to, and on being asked what was the matter, said that he was subject to fits from his infancy. he looked earnestly at me, and i showed him the key, which was sufficient. for some days o'brien, who really was not very well, kept to his room. during this time, he often examined the map given him by the gendarme. one day he said to me, "peter, can you swim?" "no," replied i; "but never mind that." "but i must mind it, peter; for observe, we shall have to cross the river meuse, and boats are not always to be had. you observe, that this fortress is washed by the river on one side: and as it is the strongest side, it is the least guarded--we must escape by it. i can see my way clear enough till we get to the second rampart on the river, but when we drop into the river, if you cannot swim, i must contrive to hold you up, somehow or another." "are you then determined to escape, o'brien? i cannot perceive how we are even to get up this wall, with four sentries staring us in the face." "never do you mind that, peter, mind your own business; and first tell me, do you intend to try your luck with me?" "yes," replied i, "most certainly; if you have sufficient confidence in me to take me as your companion." "to tell you the truth, peter, i would not give a farthing to escape without you. we were taken together, and, please god, we'll take ourselves off together; but that must not be for this month; our greatest help will be the dark nights and foul weather." the prison was by all accounts very different from verdun and some others. we had no parole, and but little communication with the townspeople. some were permitted to come in and supply us with various articles; but their baskets were searched to see that they contained nothing that might lead to an escape on the part of the prisoners. without the precautions that o'brien had taken, any attempt would have been useless. still, o'brien, as soon as he left his room, did obtain several little articles--especially balls of twine--for one of the amusements of the prisoners was flying kites. this, however, was put a stop to, in consequence of one of the strings, whether purposely or not, i cannot say, catching the lock of the musket carried by one of the sentries who looked down upon us, and twitching it out of his hand; after which an order was given by the commandant for no kites to be permitted. this was fortunate for us, as o'brien, by degrees, purchased all the twine belonging to the other prisoners; and, as we were more than three hundred in number, it amounted to sufficient to enable him, by stealth, to lay it up into very strong cord, or rather, into a sort of square plait, known only to sailors. "now, peter," said he one day, "i want nothing more than an umbrella for you." "why an umbrella for me?" "to keep you from being drowned with too much water, that's all." "rain won't drown me." "no, no, peter; but buy a new one as soon as you can." i did so. o'brien boiled up a quantity of bees' wax and oil, and gave it several coats of this preparation. he then put it carefully away in the ticking of his bed. i asked him whether he intended to make known his plan to any of the other prisoners; he replied in the negative, saying, that there were so many of them who could not be trusted, that he would trust no one. we had been now about two months in givet, when a steel's list was sent to a lieutenant, who was confined there. the lieutenant came up to o'brien, and asked him his christian name. "terence, to be sure," replied o'brien. "then," answered the lieutenant, "i may congratulate you on your promotion, for here you are upon the list of august." "sure there must be some trifling mistake; let me look at it. terence o'brien, sure enough; but now the question is, has any other fellow robbed me of my name and promotion at the same time? bother, what can it mane? i won't belave it--not a word of it. i've no more interest than a dog who drags cats'-meat." "really, o'brien," observed i, "i cannot see why you should not be made; i am sure you deserve your promotion for your conduct when you were taken prisoner." "and what did i do then, you simple peter, but put you on my back as the men do their hammocks when they are piped down; but, barring all claim, how could any one know what took place in the battery, except you, and i, and the armourer, who lay dead? so explain that, peter, if you can." "i think i can," replied i, after the lieutenant had left us. and i then told o'brien how i had written to captain savage, and had had the fact attested by the major who had made us prisoners. "well, peter," said o'brien, after a pause, "there's a fable about a lion and a mouse. if, by your means, i have obtained my promotion, why then the mouse is a finer baste than the lion; but instead of being happy, i shall now be miserable until the truth is ascertained one way or the other, and that's another reason why i must set off to england as fast as i can." for a few days after this o'brien was very uneasy; but fortunately letters arrived by that time; one to me from my father, in which he requested me to draw for whatever money i might require, saying that the whole family would retrench in every way to give me all the comfort which might be obtained in my unfortunate situation. i wept at his kindness, and more than ever longed to throw myself in his arms, and thank him. he also told me that my uncle william was dead, and that there was only one between him and the title, but that my grandfather was in good health, and had been very kind to him lately. my mother was much afflicted at my having been made a prisoner, and requested i would write as often as i could. o'brien's letter was from captain savage; the frigate had been sent home with despatches, and o'brien's conduct represented to the admiralty, which had, in consequence, promoted him to the rank of lieutenant. o'brien came to me with the letter, his countenance radiant with joy as he put it into my hands. in return i put mine into his, and he read it over. "peter, my boy, i'm under great obligations to you. when you were wounded and feverish, you thought of me at a time when you had quite enough to think of yourself; but i never thank in words. i see your uncle william is dead. how many more uncles have you?" "my uncle john, who is married, and has already two daughters." "blessings on him; may he stick to the female line of business! peter, my boy, you shall be a lord before you die." "nonsense, o'brien; i have no chance. don't put such foolish ideas in my head." "what chance had i of being a lieutenant, and am i not one? well, peter, you've helped to make a lieutenant of me, but i'll make a _man_ of you, and that's better. peter, i perceive, with all your simplicity, that you're not over and above simple, and that, with all your asking for advice, you can think and act for yourself on an emergency. now, peter, these are talents that must not be thrown away in this cursed hole, and therefore, my boy, prepare yourself to quit this place in a week, wind and weather permitting; that is to say, not fair wind and weather, but the fouler the better. will you be ready at any hour of any night that i call you up?" "yes, o'brien, i will, and do my best." "no man can do much more that ever i heard of. but, peter, do me one favour, as i am really a lieutenant, just touch your hat to me only once, that's all; but i wish the compliment, just to see how it looks." "lieutenant o'brien," said i, touching my hat, "have you any further orders?" "yes, sir," replied he; "that you never presume to touch your hat to me again, unless we sail together, and then that's a different sort of thing." about a week afterwards, o'brien came to me, and said, "the new moon's quartered in with foul weather; if it holds, prepare for a start. i have put what is necessary in your little haversack; it may be to-night. go to bed now, and sleep for a week if you can, for you'll get but little sleep, if we succeed, for the week to come." this was about eight o'clock. i went to bed, and about twelve i was roused by o'brien, who told me to dress myself carefully, and come down to him in the yard. i did so without disturbing any body, and found the night as dark as pitch (it was then november), and raining in torrents; the wind was high, howling round the yard, and sweeping in the rain in every direction as it eddied to and fro. it was some time before i could find o'brien, who was hard at work; and, as i had already been made acquainted with all his plans, i will now explain them. at montpelier he had procured six large pieces of iron, about eighteen inches long, with a gimlet at one end of each, and a square at the other, which fitted to a handle which unshipped. for precaution he had a spare handle, but each handle fitted to all the irons. o'brien had screwed one of these pieces of iron between the interstices of the stones of which the wall was built, and sitting astride on that, was fixing another about three feet above. when he had accomplished this, he stood upon the lower iron, and supporting himself by the second, which about met his hip, he screwed in a third, always fixing them about six inches on one side of the other, and not one above the other. when he had screwed in his six irons, he was about half up the wall, and then he fastened his rope, which he had carried round his neck, to the upper iron, and lowering himself down, unscrewed the four lower irons: then ascending by the rope, he stood upon the fifth iron, and supporting himself by the upper iron, recommenced his task. by these means he arrived in the course of an hour and a half to the top of the wall, where he fixed his last iron, and making his rope fast, he came down again. "now, peter," said he, "there is no fear of the sentries seeing us; if they had the eyes of cats, they could not until we were on the top of the wall; but then we arrive at the glacis, and we must creep to the ramparts on our bellies. i am going up with all the materials. give me your haversack--you will go up lighter; and recollect, should any accident happen to me, you run to bed again. if, on the contrary, i pull the rope up and down three or four times, you may sheer up it as fast as you can." o'brien then loaded himself with the other rope, the two knapsacks, iron crows, and other implements he had procured; and, last of all, with the umbrella. "peter, if the rope bears me with all this, it is clear it will bear such a creature as you are, therefore don't be afraid." so whispering, he commenced his ascent; in about three minutes he was up, and the rope pulled. i immediately followed him, and found the rope very easy to climb, from the knots at every two feet, which gave me a hold for my feet, and i was up in as short a time as he was. he caught me by the collar, putting his wet hand on my mouth, and i lay down beside him while he pulled up the rope. we then crawled on our stomachs across the glacis till we arrived at the rampart. the wind blew tremendously, and the rain pattered down so fast, that the sentries did not perceive us; indeed, it was no fault of theirs, for it was impossible to have made us out. it was some time before o'brien could find out the point exactly above the drawbridge of the first ditch; at last he did--he fixed his crow-bar in, and lowered down the rope. "now, peter, i had better go first again; when i shake the rope from below, all's right." o'brien descended, and in a few minutes the rope again shook; i followed him, and found myself received in his arms upon the meeting of the drawbridge; but the drawbridge itself was up. o'brien led the way across the chains, and i followed him. when we had crossed the moat, we found a barrier gate locked; this puzzled us. o'brien pulled out his picklocks to pick it, but without success; here we were fast. "we must undermine the gate, o'brien; we must pull up the pavement until we can creep under." "peter, you are a fine fellow; i never thought of that." we worked very hard until the hole was large enough, using the crow-bar which was left, and a little wrench which o'brien had with him. by these means we got under the gate in the course of an hour or more. this gate led to the lower rampart, but we had a covered way to pass through before we arrived at it. we proceeded very cautiously, when we heard a noise: we stopped, and found that it was a sentry, who was fast asleep, and snoring. little expecting to find one here, we were puzzled; pass him we could not well, as he was stationed on the very spot where we required to place our crow-bar to descend the lower rampart into the river. o'brien thought for a moment. "peter," said he, "now is the time for you to prove yourself a man. he is fast asleep, but his noise must be stopped. i will stop his mouth, but at the very moment that i do so you must throw open the pan of his musket, and then he cannot fire it." "i will, o'brien; don't fear me." we crept cautiously up to him, and o'brien motioning to me to put my thumb upon the pan, i did so, and the moment that o'brien put his hand upon the soldier's mouth, i threw open the pan. the fellow struggled, and snapped his lock as a signal, but of course without discharging his musket, and in a minute he was not only gagged but bound by o'brien, with my assistance. leaving him there, we proceeded to the rampart, and fixing the crow-bar again, o'brien descended; i followed him, and found him in the river, hanging on to the rope; the umbrella was opened and turned upwards; the preparation made it resist the water, and, as previously explained to me by o'brien, i had only to hold on at arm's length to two beckets which he had affixed to the point of the umbrella, which was under water. to the same part o'brien had a tow-line, which taking in his teeth, he towed me down with the stream to about a hundred yards clear of the fortress, where we landed. o'brien was so exhausted that for a few minutes he remained quite motionless; i also was benumbed with the cold. "peter," said he, "thank god we have succeeded so far; now must we push on as far as we can, for we shall have daylight in two hours." o'brien took out his flask of spirits, and we both drank a half tumbler at least, but we should not in our state have been affected with a bottle. we now walked along the river-side till we fell in with a small craft, with a boat towing astern: o'brien swam to it, and cutting the painter without getting in, towed it on shore. the oars were fortunately in the boat. i got in, we shoved off, and rowed away down the stream till the dawn of day. "all's right, peter; now we'll land. this is the forest of ardennes." we landed, replaced the oars in the boat, and pushed her off into the stream, to induce people to suppose that she had broken adrift, and then hastened into the thickest of the wood. it still rained hard; i shivered, and my teeth chattered with the cold, but there was no help for it. we again took a dram of spirits, and, worn out with fatigue and excitement, soon fell fast asleep upon a bed of leaves which we had collected together. chapter xxii grave consequences of gravitation--o'brien enlists himself as a gendarme, and takes charge of me--we are discovered, and obliged to run for it--the pleasures of a winter bivouac. it was not until noon that i awoke, when i found that o'brien had covered me more than a foot deep with leaves to protect me from the weather. i felt quite warm and comfortable; my clothes had dried on me, but without giving me cold. "how very kind of you, o'brien!" said i. "not a bit, peter: you have hard work to go through yet, and i must take care of you. you're but a bud, and i'm a full-blown rose." so saying, he put the spirit-flask to his mouth, and then handed it to me. "now, peter, we must make a start, for depend upon it they will scour the country for us; but this is a large wood, and they may as well attempt to find a needle in a bundle of hay, if we once get into the heart of it." "i think," said i, "that this forest is mentioned by shakespeare, in one of his plays." "very likely, peter," replied o'brien; "but we are at no playwork now; and what reads amazing prettily, is no joke in reality. i've often observed, that your writers never take the weather into consideration." "i beg your pardon, o'brien; in king lear the weather was tremendous." "very likely; but who was the king that went out in such weather?" "king lear did, when he was mad." "so he was, that's certain, peter; but runaway prisoners have some excuse; so now for a start." we set off, forcing our way through the thicket, for about three hours, o'brien looking occasionally at his pocket compass; it then was again nearly dark, and o'brien proposed a halt. we made up a bed of leaves for the night, and slept much more comfortably than we had the night before. all our bread was wet, but as we had no water, it was rather a relief; the meat we had with us was sufficient for a week. once more we laid down and fell fast asleep. about five o'clock in the morning i was roused by o'brien, who at the same time put his hand gently over my mouth. i sat up, and perceived a large fire not far from us. "the philistines are upon us, peter," said he; "i have reconnoitred, and they are the gendarmes. i'm fearful of going away, as we may stumble upon some more of them. i've been thinking what's best before i waked you; and it appears to me, that we had better get up the tree, and lie there." at that time we were hidden in a copse of underwood, with a large oak in the centre, covered with ivy. "i think so too, o'brien; shall we go up now, or wait a little?" "now, to be sure, that they're eating their prog. mount you, peter, and i'll help you." o'brien shoved me up the tree, and then waiting a little while to bury our haversacks among the leaves, he followed me. he desired me to remain in a very snug position, on the first fork of the tree, while he took another, amongst a bunch of ivy, on the largest bough. there we remained for about an hour, when day dawned. we observed the gendarmes mustered at the break of day, by the corporal, and then they all separated in different directions, to scour the wood. we were delighted to perceive this, as we hoped soon to be able to get away; but there was one gendarme who remained. he walked to and fro, looking everywhere, until he came directly under the tree in which we were concealed. he poked about, until at last he came to the bed of leaves upon which we had slept; these he turned over and over with his bayonet, until he routed out our haversacks. "pardi!" exclaimed he, "where the nest and eggs are, the birds are near." he then walked round the tree, looking up into every part, but we were well concealed, and he did not discover us for some time. at last he saw me, and ordered me to come down. i paid no attention to him, as i had no signal from o'brien. he walked round a little farther, until he was directly under the branch on which o'brien lay. taking up this position, he had a fairer aim at me, and levelled his musket, saying, "_descendez, ou je tire_." still i continued immoveable, for i knew not what to do. i shut my eyes, however; the musket shortly afterwards was discharged, and, whether from fear or not i can hardly tell, i lost my hold of a sudden, and down i came. i was stunned with the fall, and thought that i must have been wounded, and was very much surprised, when, instead of the gendarme, o'brien came up to me, and asked whether i was hurt. i answered, i believed not, and got upon my legs, when i found the gendarme lying on the ground, breathing heavily, but insensible. when o'brien perceived the gendarme level his musket at me, he immediately dropped from the bough, right upon his head; this occasioned the musket to go off, without hitting me, and at the same time, the weight of o'brien's body from such a height killed the gendarme, for he expired before we left him. "now, peter," said o'brien, "this is the most fortunate thing in the world, and will take us half through the country; but we have no time to lose." he then stripped the gendarme, who still breathed heavily, and dragging him to our bed of leaves, covered him up, threw off his own clothes, which he tied in a bundle, and gave to me to carry, and put on those of the gendarme. i could not help laughing at the metamorphosis, and asked o'brien what he intended. "sure, i'm a gendarme, bringing with me a prisoner, who has escaped." he then tied my hands with a cord, shouldered his musket, and off we set. we now quitted the wood as soon as we could; for o'brien said that he had no fear for the next ten days; and so it proved. we had one difficulty, which was, that we were going the wrong way; but that was obviated by travelling mostly at night, when no questions were asked, except at the cabarets, where we lodged, and they did not know which way we came. when we stopped at night, my youth excited a great deal of commiseration, especially from the females; and in one instance i was offered assistance to escape. i consented to it, but at the same time informed o'brien of the plan proposed. o'brien kept watch--i dressed myself, and was at the open window, when he rushed in, seizing me, and declaring that he would inform the government of the conduct of the parties. their confusion and distress were very great. they offered o'brien twenty, thirty, forty napoleons, if he would hush it up, for they were aware of the penalty and imprisonment. o'brien replied that he would not accept of any money in compromise of his duty; that after he had given me into the charge of the gendarme of the next post, his business was at an end, and he must return to flushing, where he was stationed. "i have a sister there," replied the hostess, "who keeps an inn. you'll want good quarters, and a friendly cup; do not denounce us, and i'll give you a letter to her, which, if it does not prove of service, you can then return and give the information." o'brien consented; the letter was delivered, and read to him, in which the sister was requested, by the love she bore to the writer, to do all she could for the bearer, who had the power of making the whole family miserable, but had refused so to do. o'brien pocketed the letter, filled his brandy-flask, and saluting all the women, left the cabaret, dragging me after him with a cord. the only difference, as o'brien observed after he went out, was, that he (o'brien) kissed all the women, and all the women kissed me. in this way, we had proceeded by charleroy and louvain, and were within a few miles of malines, when a circumstance occurred which embarrassed us not a little. we were following our route, avoiding malines, which was a fortified town, and at the time were in a narrow lane, with wide ditches, full of water, on each side. at the turning of a sharp corner, we met the gendarme who had supplied o'brien with a map of the town of givet. "good morning, comrade," said he to o'brien, looking earnestly at him, "whom have we here?" "a young englishman, whom i picked up close by, escaped from prison." "where from?" "he will not say; but i suspect from givet." "there are two who have escaped from givet," replied he: "how they escaped no one can imagine; but," continued he, again looking at o'brien, "_avec les braves, il n'y a rien d'impossible_." "that is true," replied o'brien; "i have taken one, the other cannot be far off. you had better look for him." "i should like to find him," replied the gendarme, "for you know that to retake a runaway prisoner is certain promotion. you will be made a corporal." "so much the better," replied o'brien; "_adieu, mon ami_." "nay, i merely came for a walk, and will return with you to malines, where of course you are bound." "we shall not get there to-night," said o'brien, "my prisoner is too much fatigued." "well, then, we will go as far as we can; and i will assist you. perhaps we may find the second, who, i understand, obtained a map of the fortress by some means or other." we at once perceived that we were discovered. he afterwards told us that the body of a gendarme had been found in the wood, no doubt murdered by the prisoners, and that the body was stripped naked. "i wonder," continued he, "whether one of the prisoners put on his clothes, and passed as a gendarme." "peter," said o'brien, "are we to murder this man or not?" "i should say not: pretend to trust him, and then we may give him the slip." this was said during the time that the gendarme stopped a moment behind us. "well, we'll try; but first i'll put him off his guard." when the gendarme came up with us, o'brien observed, that the english prisoners were very liberal; that he knew that a hundred napoleons were often paid for assistance, and he thought that no corporal's rank was equal to a sum that would in france make a man happy and independent for life. "very true," replied the gendarme; "and let me only look upon that sum, and i will guarantee a positive safety out of france." "then we understand each other," replied o'brien; "this boy will give two hundred--one half shall be yours, if you will assist." "i will think of it," replied the gendarme, who then talked about indifferent subjects, until we arrived at a small town, called acarchot, where we proceeded to a cabaret. the usual curiosity passed over we were left alone, o'brien telling the gendarme that he would expect his reply that night or to-morrow morning. the gendarme said, to-morrow morning. o'brien requesting him to take charge of me, he called the woman of the cabaret to show him a room; she showed him one or two, which he refused, as not sufficiently safe for the prisoner. the woman laughed at the idea, observing, "what had he to fear from a _pauvre enfant_ like me?" "yet this _pauvre enfant_ escaped from givet," replied o'brien; "these englishmen are devils from their birth." the last room showed to o'brien suited him, and he chose it--the woman not presuming to contradict a gendarme. as soon as they came down again, o'brien ordered me to bed, and went up-stairs with me. he bolted the door, and pulling me to the large chimney, we put our heads up, and whispered, that our conversation should not be heard. "this man is not to be trusted," said o'brien, "and we must give him the slip. i know my way out of the inn, and we must return the way we came, and then strike off in another direction." "but will he permit us?" "not if he can help it; but i shall soon find out his manoeuvres." o'brien then went and stopped the key-hole, by hanging his handkerchief across it, and stripping himself of his gendarme uniform, put on his own clothes; then he stuffed the blankets and pillow into the gendarme's dress, and laid it down on the outside of the bed, as if it were a man sleeping in his clothes--indeed, it was an admirable deception. he laid his musket by the side of the image, and then did the same to my bed, making it appear as if there was a person asleep in it, of my size, and putting my cap on the pillow. "now, peter, we'll see if he is watching us. he will wait till he thinks we are asleep." the light still remained in the room, and about an hour afterwards we heard a noise of one treading on the stairs, upon which, as agreed, we crept under the bed. the latch of our door was tried, and finding it open, which he did not expect, the gendarme entered, and looking at both beds, went away. "now," said i, after the gendarme had gone down-stairs, "o'brien, ought we not to escape?" "i've been thinking of it, peter, and i have come to a resolution that we can manage it better. he is certain to come again in an hour or two. it is only eleven. now i'll play him a trick." o'brien then took one of the blankets, make it fast to the window, which he left wide open, and at the same time disarranged the images he had made up, so as to let the gendarme perceive that they were counterfeit. we again crept under the bed, and as o'brien foretold, in about an hour more the gendarme returned; our lamp was still burning, but he had a light of his own. he looked at the beds, perceived at once that he had been duped, went to the open window, and then exclaimed, "_sacre dieu! ils m'ont echappés et je ne suis plus caporal. f----tre! à la chasse_!" he rushed out of the room, and in a minute afterwards we heard him open the street door, and go away. "that will do, peter," said o'brien, laughing; "now we'll be off also, although there's no great hurry." o'brien then resumed his dress of a gendarme; and about an hour afterwards we went down, and wishing the hostess all happiness, quitted the cabaret, returning the same road by which we had come. "now, peter," said o'brien, "we're in a bit of a puzzle. this dress won't do any more, still there's a respectability about it, which will not allow me to put it off till the last moment." we walked on till daylight, when we hid ourselves in a copse of trees. at night we again started for the forest of ardennes, for o'brien said our best chance was to return, until they supposed that we had had time to effect our escape; but we never reached the forest, for on the next day a violent snowstorm came on; it continued without intermission for four days, during which we suffered much. our money was not exhausted, as i had drawn upon my father for £ , which, with the disadvantageous exchange, had given me fifty napoleons. occasionally o'brien crept into a cabaret, and obtained provisions; but, as we dared not be seen together as before, we were always obliged to sleep in the open air, the ground being covered more than three feet with snow. on the fifth day, being then six days from the forest of ardennes, we hid ourselves in a small wood, about a quarter of a mile from the road. i remained there while o'brien, as a gendarme, went to obtain provisions. as usual, i looked out for the best shelter during his absence, and what was my horror at falling in with a man and woman who lay dead in the snow, having evidently perished from the weather. just as i discovered them, o'brien returned, and i told him; he went with me to view the bodies. they were dressed in a strange attire, ribands pinned upon their clothes, and two pairs of very high stilts lying by their sides. o'brien surveyed them, and then said, "peter, this is the very best thing that could have happened to us. we may now walk through france without soiling our feet with the cursed country." "how do you mean?" "i mean," said he, "that these are the people that we met near montpelier, who come from the landes, walking about on their stilts for the amusement of others, to obtain money. in their own country they are obliged to walk so. now, peter, it appears to me that the man's clothes will fit me, and the girl's (poor creature, how pretty she looks, cold in death!) will fit you. all we have to do is to practise a little, and then away we start." o'brien then, with some difficulty, pulled off the man's jacket and trowsers, and having so done, buried him in the snow. the poor girl was despoiled of her gown and upper petticoat, with every decency, and also buried. we collected the clothes and stilts, and removed to another quarter of the wood, where we found a well-sheltered spot, and took our meal. as we did not travel that night as usual, we had to prepare our own bed. we scraped away the snow, and made ourselves as comfortable as we could without a fire, but the weather was dreadful. "peter," said o'brien, "i'm melancholy. here, drink plenty;" and he handed me the flask of spirits, which had never been empty. "drink more, peter." "i cannot, o'brien, without being tipsy." "never mind that, drink more; see how these two poor devils lost their lives by falling asleep in the snow. peter," said o'brien, starting up, "you sha'n't sleep here--follow me." i expostulated in vain. it was almost dark, and he led me to the village, near which he pitched upon a hovel (a sort of out-house). "peter, here is shelter; lie down and sleep, and i'll keep the watch. not a word, i will have it--down at once." i did so, and in a very few minutes was fast asleep, for i was worn out with cold and fatigue. for several days we had walked all night, and the rest we gained by day was trifling. oh how i longed for a warm bed with four or five blankets! just as the day broke, o'brien roused me; he had stood sentry all night, and looked very haggard. "o'brien, you are ill," said i. "not a bit; but i've emptied the brandy-flask; and that's a bad job. however, it is to be remedied." we then returned to the wood in a mizzling rain and fog, for the weather had changed, and the frost had broken up. the thaw was even worse than the frost, and we felt the cold more. o'brien again insisted upon my sleeping in the out-house, but this time i positively refused without he would also sleep there, pointing out to him, that we ran no more risk, and perhaps not so much, as if he stayed outside. finding i was positive, he at last consented, and we both gained it unperceived. we lay down, but i did not go to sleep for some time, i was so anxious to see o'brien fast asleep. he went in and out several times, during which i pretended to be fast asleep; at last it rained in torrents, and then he lay down again, and in a few minutes, overpowered by nature, he fell fast asleep, snoring so loudly, that i was afraid some one would hear us. i then got up and watched, occasionally lying down and slumbering awhile, and then going to the door. chapter xxiii exalted with our success, we march through france without touching the ground--i become feminine--we are voluntary conscripts. at day-break i called o'brien, who jumped up in a great hurry. "sure i've been asleep, peter." "yes, you have," replied i, "and i thank heaven that you have, for no one could stand such fatigue as you have, much longer; and if you fall ill, what would become of me?" this was touching him on the right point. "well, peter, since there's no harm come of it, there's no harm done. i've had sleep enough for the next week, that's certain." we returned to the wood; the snow had disappeared, and the rain ceased; the sun shone out from between the clouds, and we felt warm. "don't pass so near that way," said o'brien, "we shall see the poor creatures, now that the snow is gone. peter, we must shift our quarters to-night, for i have been to every cabaret in the village, and i cannot go there any more without suspicion, although i am a gendarme." we remained there till the evening, and then set off, still returning towards givet. about an hour before daylight we arrived at a copse of trees, close to the road-side, and surrounded by a ditch, not above a quarter of a mile from a village. "it appears to me," said o'brien, "that this will do: i will now put you there, and then go boldly to the village and see what i can get, for here we must stay at least a week." we walked to the copse, and the ditch being rather too wide for me to leap, o'brien laid the four stilts together so as to form a bridge, over which i contrived to walk. tossing to me all the bundles, and desiring me to leave the stilts as a bridge for him on his return, he set off to the village with his musket on his shoulder. he was away two hours, when he returned with a large supply of provisions, the best we had ever had. french saucissons, seasoned with garlic, which i thought delightful; four bottles of brandy, besides his flask; a piece of hung beef and six loaves of bread, besides half a baked goose and part of a large pie. "there," said he, "we have enough for a good week; and look here, peter, this is better than all." and he showed me two large horse-rugs. "excellent," replied i; "now we shall be comfortable." "i paid honestly for all but these rugs," observed o'brien; "but i was afraid to buy them, so i stole them. however, we'll leave them here for those they belong to--it's only borrowing, after all." we now prepared a very comfortable shelter with branches, which we wove together, and laying the leaves in the sun to dry, soon obtained a soft bed to put one horse-rug on, while we covered ourselves up with the other. our bridge of stilts we had removed, so that we felt ourselves quite secure from surprise. that evening we did nothing but carouse--the goose, the pie, the saucissons as big as my arm, were alternately attacked, and we went to the ditch to drink water, and then ate again. this was quite happiness to what we had suffered, especially with the prospect of a good bed. at dark, to bed we went, and slept soundly; i never felt more refreshed during our wanderings. at daylight o'brien got up. "now, peter, a little practice before breakfast." "what practice do you mean?" "mean! why on the stilts. i expect in a week that you'll be able to dance a gavotte at least; for mind me, peter, you travel out of france upon these stilts, depend upon it." o'brien then took the stilts belonging to the man, giving, me those of the woman. we strapped them to our thighs, and by fixing our backs to a tree, contrived to get upright upon them; but, at the first attempt to walk, o'brien fell to the right, and i fell to the left. o'brien fell against a tree, but i fell on my nose, and made it bleed very much; however, we laughed and got up again, and although we had several falls, at last we made a better hand of them. we then had some difficulty in getting down again, but we found out how, by again resorting to a tree. after breakfast we strapped them on again, and practised, and so we continued to do for the whole day, when we again attacked our provisions, and fell asleep under our horse-rug. this continued for five days, by which time, being constantly on the stilts, we became very expert; and although i could not dance a gavotte--for i did not know what that was--i could hop about with them with the greatest ease. "one day's more practice," said o'brien, "for our provisions will last one day more, and then we start; but this time we must rehearse in costume." o'brien then dressed me in the poor girl's clothes, and himself in the man's; they fitted very well, and the last day we practised as man and woman. "peter, you make a very pretty girl," said o'brien. "now, don't you allow the men to take liberties." "never fear," replied i. "but, o'brien, as these petticoats are not very warm, i mean to cut off my trowsers up to my knees, and wear them underneath." "that's all right," said o'brien, "for you may have a tumble, and then they may find out that you're not a lady." the next morning we made use of our stilts to cross the ditch, and carrying them in our hands we boldly set off on the high road to malines. we met several people, gens-d'armes and others, but with the exception of some remarks upon my good looks, we passed unnoticed. towards the evening we arrived at the village where we had slept in the outhouse, and as soon as we entered it we put on our stilts, and commenced a march. when the crowd had gathered we held out our caps, and receiving nine or ten sous, we entered a cabaret. many questions were asked us, as to where we came from, and o'brien answered, telling lies innumerable. i played the modest girl, and o'brien, who stated i was his sister, appeared very careful and jealous of any attention. we slept well, and the next morning continued our route to malines. we very often put on our stilts for practice on the road, which detained us very much, and it was not until the eighth day, without any variety or any interruption, that we arrived at malines. as we entered the barriers we put on our stilts, and marched boldly on. the guard at the gate stopped us, not from suspicion, but to amuse themselves, and i was forced to submit to several kisses from their garlic lips, before we were allowed to enter the town. we again mounted on our stilts, for the guard had forced us to dismount, or they could not have kissed me, every now and then imitating a dance, until we arrived at the _grande place_, where we stopped opposite the hotel, and commenced a sort of waltz which we had practised. the people in the hotel looked out of the window to see our exhibition, and when we had finished i went up to the windows with o'brien's cap to collect money. what was my surprise to perceive colonel o'brien looking full in my face, and staring very hard at me;--what was my greater astonishment at seeing celeste, who immediately recognised me, and ran back to the sofa in the room, putting her hands up to her eyes, and crying out "_c'est lui, c'est lui_!" fortunately o'brien was close to me, or i should have fallen, but he supported me. "peter, ask the crowd for money, or you are lost." i did so, and collecting some pence, then asked him what i should do. "go back to the window--you can then judge of what will happen." i returned to the window; colonel o'brien had disappeared, but celeste was there, as if waiting for me. i held out the cap to her, and she thrust her hand into it. the cap sank with the weight. i took out a purse, which i kept closed in my hand, and put it into my bosom. celeste then retired from the window, and when she had gone to the back of the room kissed her hand to me, and went out at the door. i remained stupefied for a moment, but o'brien roused me, and we quitted the _grande place_, taking up our quarters at a little cabaret. on examining the purse, i found fifty napoleons in it: these must have been, obtained from her father. i cried over them with delight. o'brien was also much affected at the kindness of the colonel. "he's a real o'brien, every inch of him," said he: "even this cursed country can't spoil the breed." at the cabaret where we stopped, we were informed, that the officer who was at the hotel had been appointed to the command of the strong fort of bergen-op-zoom, and was proceeding thither. "we must not chance to meet him again, if possible," said o'brien; "it would be treading too close upon the heels of his duty. neither will it do to appear on stilts among the dikes; so, peter, we'll just jump on clear of this town and then we'll trust to our wits." we walked out of the town early in the morning, after o'brien had made purchases of some of the clothes usually worn by the peasantry. when within a few miles of st nicholas, we threw away our stilts and the clothes which we had on, and dressed ourselves in those o'brien had purchased. o'brien had not forgotten to provide us with two large brown-coloured blankets, which we strapped on to our shoulders, as the soldiers do their coats. "but what are we to pass for now, o'brien?" "peter, i will settle that point before night. my wits are working, but i like to trust to chance for a stray idea or so; we must walk fast, or we shall be smothered with the snow." it was bitter cold weather, and the snow had fallen heavily during the whole day; but although nearly dusk, there was a bright moon ready for us. we walked very fast, and soon observed persons ahead of us. "let us overtake them, we may obtain some information." as we came up with them, one of them (they were both lads of seventeen to eighteen) said to o'brien, "i thought we were the last, but i was mistaken. how far is it now to st nicholas?" "how should i know?" replied o'brien, "i am a stranger in these parts as well as yourself." "from what part of france do you come?" demanded the other, his teeth chattering with the cold, for he was badly clothed, and with little defence from the inclement weather. "from montpelier," replied o'brien. "and i from toulouse. a sad change, comrade, from olives and vines to such a climate as this. curse the conscription: i intended to have taken a little wife next year." o'brien gave me a push, as if to say, "here's something that will do," and then continued,-- "and curse the conscription i say too, for i had just married, and now my wife is left to be annoyed by the attention of the _fermier général_. but it can't be helped. _c'est pour la france et pour la gloire_." "we shall be too late to get a billet," replied the other, "and not a sou have i in my pocket. i doubt if i get up with the main body till they are at flushing. by our route, they are at axel to-day." "if we arrive at st nicholas, we shall do well," replied o'brien; "but i have a little money left, and i'll not see a comrade want a supper or a bed who is going to serve his country. you can repay me when we meet at flushing." "that i will with thanks," replied the frenchman; "and so will jacques here, if you will trust him." "with pleasure," replied o'brien, who then entered into a long conversation, by which he drew out from the frenchmen that a party of conscripts had been ordered to flushing, and that they had dropped behind the main body. o'brien passed himself off as a conscript belonging to the party, and me as his brother, who had resolved to join the army as a drummer, rather than part with him. in about an hour we arrived at st nicholas, and after some difficulty obtained entrance into a cabaret. "_vive la france_!" said o'brien, going up to the fire, and throwing the snow off his hat. in a short time we were seated to a good supper and very tolerable wine, the hostess sitting down by us, and listening to the true narratives of the real conscripts, and the false one of o'brien. after supper the conscript who first addressed us pulled out his printed paper, with the route laid down, and observed that we were two days behind the others. o'brien read it over, and laid it on the table, at the same time calling for more wine, having already pushed it round very freely. we did not drink much ourselves, but plied them hard, and at last the conscript commenced the whole history of his intended marriage and his disappointment, tearing his hair, and crying now and then. "never mind," interrupted o'brien, every two or three minutes, "_buvons un autre coup pour la gloire_!" and thus he continued to make them both drink until they reeled away to bed, forgetting their printed paper, which o'brien had some time before slipped away from the table. we also retired to our room, when o'brien observed to me. "peter, this description is as much like me as i am to old nick; but that's of no consequence, as nobody goes willingly as a conscript, and therefore they will never have a doubt but that it is all right. we must be off early to-morrow, while these good people are in bed, and steal a long march upon them. i consider that we are now safe as far as flushing." chapter xxiv what occurred at flushing, and what occurred when we got out of flushing. an hour before daybreak we started; the snow was thick on the ground, but the sky was clear, and without any difficulty or interruption we passed through the towns of axel and halst, arrived at terneuse on the fourth day, and went over to flushing in company with about a dozen more stragglers from the main body. as we landed, the guard asked us whether we were conscripts. o'brien replied that he was, and held out his paper. they took his name, or rather that of the person it belonged to, down in a book, and told him that he must apply to the _état major_ before three o'clock. we passed on delighted with our success, and then o'brien pulled out the letter which had been given to him by the woman of the cabaret, who had offered to assist me to escape, when o'brien passed off as a gendarme, and reading the address, demanded his way to the street. we soon found out the house, and entered. "conscripts!" said the woman of the house, looking at o'brien; "i am billeted full already. it must be a mistake. where is your order?" "read," said o'brien, handing her the letter. she read the letter, and putting it into her neckerchief, desired him to follow her. o'brien beckoned me to come, and we went into a small room. "what can i do for you?" said the woman; "i will do all in my power: but, alas! you will march from here in two or three days." "never mind," replied o'brien, "we will talk the matter over by-and-by, but at present only oblige us by letting us remain in this little room; we do not wish to be seen." "_comment done_!--you a conscript, and not wish to be seen! are you, then, intending to desert?" "answer me one question; you have read that letter, do you intend to act up to its purport, as your sister requests?" "as i hope for mercy i will, if i suffer everything. she is a dear sister, and would not write so earnestly if she had not strong reason. my house and everything you command are yours--can i say more?" "but," continued o'brien, "suppose i did intend to desert, would you then assist me?" "at my peril," replied the woman: "have you not assisted my family when in difficulty?" "well, then, i will not at present detain you from your business; i have heard you called several times. let us have dinner when convenient, and we will remain here." "if i have any knowledge of phiz--_what d'ye call it_," observed o'brien, after she left us, "there is honesty in that woman, and i must trust her, but not yet; we must wait till the conscripts have gone." i agreed with o'brien, and we remained talking until an hour afterwards, when the woman brought us our dinner. "what is your name?" inquired o'brien. "louise eustache; you might have read it on the letter." "are you married?" "oh yes, these six years. my husband is seldom at home; he is a flushing pilot. a hard life, harder even than that of a soldier. who is this lad?" "he is my brother, who, if i go as a soldier, intends to volunteer as a drummer." "_pauvre enfant! c'est dommage_." the cabaret was full of conscripts and other people, so that the hostess had enough to do. at night, we were shown by her into a small bed-room, adjoining the room we occupied. "you are quite alone here; the conscripts are to muster to-morrow, i find, in the _place d'armes_, at two o'clock; do you intend to go?" "no," replied o'brien: "they will think that i am behind. it is of no consequence." "well," replied the woman, "do as you please, you may trust me: but i am so busy, without any one to assist me, that until they leave the town, i can hardly find time to speak to you." "that will be soon enough, my good hostess," replied o'brien: "_au revoir_." the next evening, the woman came in, in some alarm, stating that a conscript had arrived whose name had been given in before, and that the person who had given it in, had not mustered at the place. that the conscript had declared, that his pass had been stolen from him by a person with whom he had stopped at st nicholas, and that there were orders for a strict search to be made through the town, as it was known that some english officers had escaped, and it was supposed that one of them had obtained the pass. "surely you're not english?" inquired the woman, looking earnestly at o'brien. "indeed, but i am, my dear," replied o'brien: "and so is this lad with me: and the favour which your sister requires is, that you help us over the water, for which service there are one hundred louis ready to be paid upon delivery of us." "_oh, mon dieu! mais c'est impossible_." "impossible!" replied o'brien; "was that the answer i gave your sister in her trouble?" "_au moins c'est fort difficile_." "that's quite another concern; but with your husband a pilot, i should think a great part of the difficulty removed." "my husband! i've no power over him," replied the woman, putting the apron up to her eyes. "but one hundred louis may have," replied o'brien. "there is truth in that," observed the woman, after a pause, "but what am i to do, if they come to search the house?" "send us out of it, until you can find an opportunity to send us to england. i leave it all to you--your sister expects it from you." "and she shall not be disappointed, if god helps us," replied the woman, after a short pause: "but i fear you must leave this house and the town also to-night." "how are we to leave the town?" "i will arrange that; be ready at four o'clock, for the gates are shut at dusk. i must go now, for there is no time to be lost." "we are in a nice mess now, o'brien," observed i, after the woman had quitted the room. "devil a bit, peter; i feel no anxiety whatever, except at leaving such good quarters." we packed up all our effects, not forgetting our two blankets, and waited the return of the hostess. in about an hour she entered the room. "i have spoken to my husband's sister, who lives about two miles on the road to middelburg. she is in town now, for it is market-day, and you will be safe where she hides you. i told her, it was by my husband's request, or she would not have consented. here, boy, put on these clothes; i will assist you." once more i was dressed as a girl, and when my clothes were on, o'brien burst out into laughter at my blue stockings and short petticoats. "_il n'est pas mal_," observed the hostess, as she fixed a small cap on my head, and then tied a kerchief under my chin, which partly hid my face. o'brien put on a greatcoat, which the woman handed to him, with a wide-brimmed hat. "now follow me!" she led us into the street, which was thronged, till we arrived at the market-place, when she met another woman, who joined her. at the end of the market-place stood a small horse and cart, into which the strange woman and i mounted, while o'brien, by the directions of the landlady, led the horse through the crowd until we arrived at the barriers, when she wished us good day in a loud voice before the guard. the guard took no notice of us, and we passed safely through, and found ourselves upon a neatly-paved road, as straight as an arrow, and lined on each side with high trees and a ditch. in about an hour, we stopped near to the farmhouse of the woman who was in charge of us. "do you observe that wood?" said she to o'brien, pointing to one about half a mile from the road. "i dare not take you into the house, my husband is so violent against the english, who captured his schuyt, and made him a poor man, that he would inform against you immediately; but go you there, make yourselves as comfortable as you can to-night, and to-morrow i will send you what you want. _adieu! je vous plains, pauvre enfant_." said she, looking at me, as she drove off in the cart towards her own house. "peter," said o'brien, "i think that her kicking us out of her house is a proof of her sincerity, and therefore i say no more about it; we have the brandy-flask to keep up our spirits. now then for the wood, though, by the powers, i shall have no relish for any of your pic-nic parties, as they call them, for the next twelve years." "but, o'brien, how can i get over this ditch in petticoats? i could hardly leap it in my own clothes." "you must tie your petticoats round your waist and make a good run; get over as far as you can, and i will drag you through the rest." "but you forget that we are to sleep in the wood, and that it's no laughing matter to get wet through, freezing so hard as it does now." "very true, peter; but as the snow lies so deep upon the ditch, perhaps the ice may bear. i'll try; if it bears me, it will not condescend to bend at your shrimp of a carcass." o'brien tried the ice, which was firm, and we both walked over, and making all the haste we could, arrived at the wood, as the woman called it, but which was not more than a clump of trees of about half an acre. we cleared away the snow for about six feet round a very hollow part, and then o'brien cut stakes and fixed them in the earth, to which we stretched one blanket. the snow being about two feet deep, there was plenty of room to creep underneath the blanket. we then collected all the leaves we could, beating the snow off them, and laid them at the bottom of the hole; over the leaves we spread the other blanket, and taking our bundles in, we then stopped up with snow every side of the upper blanket, except the hole to creep in at. it was quite astonishing what a warm place this became in a short time after we had remained in it. it was almost too warm, although the weather outside was piercingly cold. after a good meal and a dose of brandy, we both fell fast asleep, but not until i had taken off my woman's attire and resumed my own clothes. we never slept better or more warmly than we did in this hole which we had made on the ground, covered with ice and snow. chapter xxv o'brien parts company to hunt for provisions, and i have other company in consequence of another hunt--o'brien pathetically mourns my death and finds me alive--we escape. the ensuing morning we looked out anxiously for the promised assistance, for we were not very rich in provisions, although what we had were of a very good quality. it was not until three o'clock in the afternoon that we perceived a little girl coming towards us, escorted by a large mastiff. when she arrived at the copse of trees where we lay concealed, she cried out to the dog in dutch, who immediately scoured the wood until he came to our hiding-place, when he crouched down at the entrance, barking furiously, and putting us in no small dread, lest he should attack us; but the little girl spoke to him again, and he remained in the same position, looking at us, wagging his tail, with his under jaw lying on the snow. she soon came up, and looking underneath, put a basket in, and nodded her head. we emptied the basket. o'brien took out a napoleon and offered it to her; she refused it, but o'brien forced it into her hand, upon which she again spoke to the dog, who commenced barking so furiously at us, that we expected every moment he would fly upon us. the girl at the same time presented the napoleon, and pointing to the dog, i went forward and took the napoleon from her, at which she immediately silenced the enormous brute, and laughing at us, hastened away. "by the powers, that's a fine little girl!" said o'brien; "i'll back her and her dog against any man. well, i never had a dog set at me for giving money before, but we live and learn, peter; now let's see what she brought in the basket." we found hard-boiled eggs, bread, and a smoked mutton ham, with a large bottle of gin. "what a nice little girl! i hope she will often favour us with her company. i've been thinking, peter, that we're quite as well off here, as in a midshipman's berth." "you forget you are a lieutenant." "well, so i did, peter, and that's the truth, but it's the force of habit. now let's make our dinner. it's a new-fashioned way though, of making a meal, lying down; but however, it's economical, for it must take longer to swallow the victuals." "the romans used to eat their meals lying down, so i have read, o'brien." "i can't say that i ever heard it mentioned in ireland, but that don't prove that it was not the case; so, peter, i'll take your word for it. murder! how fast it snows again! i wonder what my father's thinking on just at this moment." this observation of o'brien induced us to talk about our friends and relations in england, and after much conversation we fell fast asleep. the next morning we found the snow had fallen about eight inches, and weighed down our upper blanket so much, that we were obliged to go out and cut stakes to support it up from the inside. while we were thus employed, we heard a loud noise and shouting, and perceived several men, apparently armed and accompanied with dogs, running straight in the direction of the wood where we were encamped. we were much alarmed, thinking that they were in search of us, but on a sudden they turned off in another direction, continuing with the same speed as before. "what could it be?" said i, to o'brien. "i can't exactly say, peter; but i should think that they were hunting something, and the only game that i think likely to be in such a place as this are otters." i was of the same opinion. we expected the little girl, but she did not come, and after looking out for her till dark, we crawled into our hole and supped upon the remainder of our provisions. the next day, as may be supposed, we were very anxious for her arrival, but she did not appear at the time expected. night again came on, and we went to bed without having any sustenance, except a small piece of bread that was left, and some gin which was remaining in the flask. "peter," said o'brien, "if she don't come again to-morrow, i'll try what i can do; for i've no idea of our dying of hunger here, like the two babes in the wood, and being found covered up with dead leaves. if she does not appear at three o'clock, i'm off for provisions, and i don't see much danger, for in this dress i look as much of a boor as any man in holland." we passed an uneasy night, as we felt convinced, either that the danger was so great that they dared not venture to assist us, or, that being over-ruled, they had betrayed us, and left us to manage how we could. the next morning i climbed up the only large tree in the copse and looked round, especially in the direction of the farm-house belonging to the woman who had pointed out to us our place of concealment; but nothing was to be seen but one vast tract of flat country covered with snow, and now and then a vehicle passing at a distance on the middelburg road. i descended, and found o'brien preparing for a start. he was very melancholy, and said to me, "peter, if i am taken, you must, at all risks, put on your girl's clothes and go to flushing to the cabaret. the women there, i am sure, will protect you, and send you back to england. i only want two napoleons; take all the rest, you will require them. if i am not back by to-night, set off for flushing to-morrow morning." o'brien waited some time longer, talking with me, and it then being past four o'clock, he shook me by the hand, and, without speaking, left the wood. i never felt more miserable during the whole time since we were first put into prison at toulon, till that moment, and, when he was a hundred yards off, i knelt down and prayed. he had been absent two hours, and it was quite dusk, when i heard a noise at a distance: it advanced every moment nearer and nearer. on a sudden, i heard a rustling of the bushes, and hastened under the blanket, which was covered with snow, in hopes that they might not perceive the entrance; but i was hardly there before in dashed after me an enormous wolf. i cried out, expecting to be torn to pieces every moment, but the creature lay on his belly, his mouth wide open, his eyes glaring, and his long tongue hanging out of his mouth, and although he touched me, he was so exhausted that he did not attack me. the noise increased, and i immediately perceived that it was the hunters in pursuit of him. i had crawled in feet first, the wolf ran in head foremost, so that we lay head and tail. i crept out as fast as i could, and perceived men and dogs not two hundred yards off in full chase. i hastened to the large tree, and had not ascended six feet when they came up; the dogs flew to the hole, and in a very short time the wolf was killed. the hunters being too busy to observe me, i had in the meantime climbed up the trunk of the tree, and hidden myself as well as i could. being not fifteen yards from them, i heard their expressions of surprise as they lifted up the blanket and dragged out the dead wolf, which they carried away with them; their conversation being in dutch, i could not understand it, but i was certain that they made use of the word "_english_." the hunters and dogs quitted the copse, and i was about to descend, when one of them returned, and pulling up the blankets, rolled them together and walked away with them. fortunately he did not perceive our bundles by the little light given by the moon. i waited a short time and then came down. what to do i knew not. if i did not remain and o'brien returned, what would he think? if i did, i should be dead with cold before the morning. i looked for our bundles, and found that in the conflict between the dogs and the wolf, they had been buried among the leaves. i recollected o'brien's advice, and dressed myself in the girl's clothes, but i could not make up my mind to go to flushing. so i resolved to walk towards the farmhouse, which, being close to the road, would give me a chance of meeting with o'brien. i soon arrived there and prowled round it for some time, but the doors and windows were all fast, and i dared not knock, after what the woman had said about her husband's inveteracy to the english. at last, as i looked round and round, quite at a loss what to do, i thought i saw a figure at a distance proceeding in the direction of the copse. i hastened after it and saw it enter. i then advanced very cautiously, for although i thought it might be o'brien, yet it was possible that it was one of the men who chased the wolf in search of more plunder. but i soon heard o'brien's voice, and i hastened towards him. i was close to him without his perceiving me, and found him sitting down with his face covered up in his two hands. at last he cried, "o pater! my poor pater! are you taken at last? could i not leave you for one hour in safety? ochone! why did i leave you? my poor, poor pater! simple you were, sure enough, and that's why i loved you; but, pater, i would have made a man of you, for you'd all the materials, that's the truth--and a fine man, too. where am i to look for you, pater? where am i to find you, pater? you're fast locked up by this time, and all my trouble's gone for nothing. but i'll be locked up too, pater. where you are, will i be; and if we can't go to england together, why then we'll go back to that blackguard hole at givet together. ochone! ochone!" o'brien spoke no more, but burst into tears. i was much affected with this proof of o'brien's sincere regard, and i came to his side and clasped him in my arms. o'brien stared at me, "who are you, you ugly dutch frow?" (for he had quite forgotten the woman's dress at the moment), but recollecting himself, he hugged me in his arms. "pater, you come as near to an angel's shape as you can, for you come in that of a woman, to comfort me; for, to tell the truth, i was very much distressed at not finding you here; and all the blankets gone to boot. what has been the matter?" i explained in as few words as i could. "well, peter, i'm happy to find you all safe, and much happier to find that you can be trusted when i leave you, for you could not have behaved more prudently; now i'll tell you what i did, which was not much, as it happened. i knew that there was no cabaret between us and flushing, for i took particular notice as i came along; so i took the road to middelburg, and found but one, which was full of soldiers. i passed it, and found no other. as i came back past the same cabaret, one of the soldiers came out to me, but i walked along the road. he quickened his pace, and so did i mine, for i expected mischief. at last he came up to me, and spoke to me in dutch, to which i gave him no answer. he collared me, and then i thought it convenient to pretend that i was deaf and dumb. i pointed to my mouth with an au--au--and then to my ears, and shook my head; but he would not be convinced, and i heard him say something about english. i then knew that there was no time to be lost, so i first burst out into a loud laugh and stopped; and on his attempting to force me, i kicked up his heels, and he fell on the ice with such a rap on the pate, that i doubt if he has recovered it by this time. there i left him, and have run back as hard as i could, without anything for peter to fill his little hungry inside with. now, peter, what's your opinion? for they say that out of the mouth of babes there is wisdom; and although i never saw anything come out of their mouths but sour milk, yet perhaps i may be more fortunate this time, for, peter, you're but a baby." "not a small one, o'brien, although not quite so large as fingal's _babby_ that you told me the story of. my idea is this.--let us, at all hazards, go to the farmhouse. they have assisted us, and may be inclined to do so again; if they refuse, we must push on to flushing and take our chance." "well," observed o'brien, after a pause, "i think we can do no better, so let's be off." we went to the farmhouse, and, as we approached the door, were met by the great mastiff. i started back, o'brien boldly advanced. "he's a clever dog, and may know us again. i'll go up," said o'brien, not stopping while he spoke, "and pat his head: if he flies at me, i shall be no worse than i was before, for depend upon it he will not allow us to go back again." o'brien by this time had advanced to the dog, who looked earnestly and angrily at him. he patted his head, the dog growled, but o'brien put his arm round his neck, and patting him again, whistled to him, and went to the door of the farmhouse. the dog followed him silently but closely. o'brien knocked, and the door was opened by the little girl: the mastiff advanced to the girl, and then turned round, facing o'brien, as much as to say, "is he to come in?" the girl spoke to the dog, and went indoors. during her absence the mastiff lay down at the threshold. in a few seconds the woman who had brought us from flushing, came out, and desired us to enter. she spoke very good french, and told us that fortunately her husband was absent; that the reason why we had not been supplied was, that a wolf had met her little girl returning the other day, but had been beaten off by the mastiff, and that she was afraid to allow her to go again; that she heard the wolf had been killed this evening, and had intended her girl to have gone to us early to-morrow morning; that wolves were hardly known in that country, but that the severe winter had brought them down to the lowlands, a very rare circumstance, occurring perhaps not once in twenty years. "but how did you pass the mastiff?" said she; "that has surprised my daughter and me." o'brien told her, upon which she said "that the english were really '_des braves_.' no other man had ever done the same." so i thought, for nothing would have induced me to do it. o'brien then told the history of the death of the wolf, with all particulars, and our intention, if we could not do better, of returning to flushing. "i heard that pierre eustache came home yesterday," replied the woman; "and i do think that you will be safer there than here, for they will never think of looking for you among the _casernes_, which join their cabaret." "will you lend us your assistance to get in?" "i will see what i can do. but are you not hungry?" "about as hungry as men who have eaten nothing for two days." "_mon dieu! c'est vrai._ i never thought it was so long, but those whose stomachs are filled forget those who are empty. god make us better and more charitable!" she spoke to the little girl in dutch, who hastened to load the table, which we hastened to empty. the little girl stared at our voracity; but at last she laughed out, and clapped her hands at every fresh mouthful which we took, and pressed us to eat more. she allowed me to kiss her, until her mother told her that i was not a woman, when she pouted at me, and beat me off. before midnight we were fast asleep upon the benches before the kitchen fire, and at daybreak were roused up by the woman, who offered us some bread and spirits, and then we went out to the door, where we found the horse and cart all ready, and loaded with vegetables for the market. the woman, the little girl, and myself got in, o'brien leading as before, and the mastiff following. we had learnt the dog's name, which was "_achille_," and he seemed to be quite fond of us. we passed the dreaded barriers without interruption, and in ten minutes entered the cabaret of eustache; and immediately walked into the little room through a crowd of soldiers, two of whom chucked me under the chin. whom should we find there but eustache, the pilot himself, in conversation with his wife, and it appeared that they were talking about us, she insisting, and he unwilling to have any hand in the business. "well, here they are themselves, eustache; the soldiers who have seen them come in will never believe that this is their first entry if you give them up. i leave them to make their own bargain; but mark me, eustache, i have slaved night and day in this cabaret for your profit; if you do not oblige me and my family, i no longer keep a cabaret for you." madame eustache then quitted the room with her husband's sister and little girl, and o'brien immediately accosted him. "i promise you," said he to eustache, "one hundred louis if you put us on shore at any part of england, or on board of any english man-of-war; and if you do it within a week, i will make it twenty louis more." o'brien then pulled out the fifty napoleons given us by celeste, for our own were not yet expended, and laid them on the table. "here is this in advance, to prove my sincerity. say, is it a bargain or not?" "i never yet heard of a poor man who could withstand his wife's arguments, backed with one hundred and twenty louis," said eustache smiling, and sweeping the money off the table. "i presume you have no objection to start to-night? that will be ten louis more in your favour," replied o'brien. "i shall earn them," replied eustache. "the sooner i am off the better, for i could not long conceal you here. the young frow with you is, i suppose, your companion that my wife mentioned. he has begun to suffer hardships early. come, now, sit down and talk, for nothing can be done till dark." o'brien narrated the adventures attending our escape, at which eustache laughed heartily; the more so, at the mistake which his wife was under, as to the obligations of the family. "if i did not feel inclined to assist you before, i do now, just for the laugh i shall have at her when i come back, and if she wants any more assistance for the sake of her relations, i shall remind her of this anecdote; but she's a good woman and a good wife to boot, only too fond of her sisters." at dusk he equipped us both in sailor's jackets and trowsers, and desired us to follow him boldly. he passed the guard, who knew him well. "what, to sea already?" said one. "you have quarrelled with your wife." at which they all laughed, and we joined. we gained the beach, jumped into his little boat, pulled off to his vessel, and, in a few minutes, were under weigh. with a strong tide and a fair wind we were soon clear of the scheldt, and the next morning a cutter hove in sight. we steered for her, ran under her lee, o'brien hailed for a boat, and eustache, receiving my bill for the remainder of his money, wished us success; we shook hands, and in a few minutes found ourselves once more under the british pennant. chapter xxvi adventures at home--i am introduced to my grandfather--he obtains employment for o'brien and myself, and we join a frigate. as soon as we were on the deck of the cutter, the lieutenant commanding her inquired of us, in a consequential manner, who we were. o'brien replied that we were english prisoners who had escaped. "oh, midshipmen, i presume," replied the lieutenant; "i heard that some had contrived to get away." "my name, sir," said o'brien, "is lieutenant o'brien; and if you'll send for a 'steel's list,' i will have the honour of pointing it out to you. this young gentleman is mr peter simple, midshipman, and grandson to the right honourable lord viscount privilege." the lieutenant, who was a little snub-nosed man, with a pimply face, then altered his manner towards us, and begged we would step down into the cabin, where he offered, what perhaps was the greatest of all luxuries to us, some english cheese and bottled porter. "pray," said he, "did you see anything of one of my officers, who was taken prisoner when i was sent with despatches to the mediterranean fleet?" "may i first ask the name of your lively little craft?" said o'brien. "'the snapper,'" replied the lieutenant. "och, murder; sure enough we met him. he was sent to verdun, but we had the pleasure of his company _en route_ as far as montpelier. a remarkably genteel, well-dressed young man, was he not?" "why, i can't say much about his gentility; indeed, i am not much of a judge. as for his dress, he ought to have dressed well, but he never did when on board of me. his father is my tailor, and i took him as midshipman, just to square an account between us." "that's exactly what i thought," replied o'brien. he did not say any more, which i was glad of, as the lieutenant might not have been pleased at what had occurred. "when do you expect to run into port?" demanded o'brien; for we were rather anxious to put our feet ashore again in old england. the lieutenant replied that his cruise was nearly up; and he considered our arrival quite sufficient reason for him to run in directly, and that he intended to put his helm up after the people had had their dinner. we were much delighted with this intelligence, and still more to see the intention put into execution half an hour afterwards. in three days we anchored at spithead, and went on shore with the lieutenant to report ourselves to the admiral. oh! with what joy did i first put my foot on the shingle beach at sallyport, and then hasten to the post-office to put in a long letter which i had written to my mother. we did not go to the admiral's, but merely reported ourselves at the admiral's office; for we had no clothes fit to appear in. but we called at meredith's the tailor, and he promised that, by the next morning, we should be fitted complete. we then ordered new hats, and everything we required, and went to the fountain inn. o'brien refused to go to the blue posts, as being only a receptacle for midshipmen. by eleven o'clock the next morning, we were fit to appear before the admiral, who received us very kindly, and requested our company to dinner. as i did not intend setting off for home until i had received an answer from my mother, we, of course, accepted the invitation. there was a large party of naval officers and ladies, and o'brien amused them very much during dinner. when the ladies left the room, the admiral's wife told me to come up with them; and when we arrived at the drawing-room, the ladies all gathered round me, and i had to narrate the whole of my adventures, which very much entertained and interested them. the next morning i received a letter from my mother--such a kind one! entreating me to come home as fast as i could, and bring my _preserver_ o'brien with me. i showed it to o'brien, and asked him whether he would accompany me. "why, peter, my boy, i have a little business of some importance to transact; which is, to obtain my arrears of pay, and some prize-money which i find due. when i have settled that point, i will go to town to pay my respects to the first lord of the admiralty, and then i think i will go and see your father and mother: for, until i know how matters stand, and whether i shall be able to go with spare cash in my pocket, i do not wish to see my own family; so write down your address here, and you'll be sure i'll come, if it is only to square my accounts with you, for i am not a little in your debt." i cashed a cheque sent by my father, and set off in the mail that night; the next evening i arrived safe home. but i shall leave the reader to imagine the scene: to my mother i was always dear, and circumstances had rendered me of some importance to my father; for i was now an only son, and his prospects were very different from what they were when i left home. about a week afterwards, o'brien joined us, having got through all his business. his first act was to account with my father for his share of the expenses; and he even insisted upon paying his half of the fifty napoleons given me by celeste, which had been remitted to a banker at paris before o'brien's arrival, with a guarded letter of thanks from my father to colonel o'brien, and another from me to dear little celeste. when o'brien had remained with us about a week, he told me that he had about one hundred and sixty pounds in his pocket, and that he intended to go and see his friends, as he was sure that he would be welcome even to father m'grath. "i mean to stay with them about a fortnight, and shall then return and apply for employment. now, peter, will you like to be again under my protection?" "o'brien, i will never quit you or your ship, if i can help it." "spoken like a sensible peter. well, then, i was promised immediate employment, and i will let you know as soon as the promise is performed." o'brien took his leave of my family, who were already very partial to him, and left that afternoon for holyhead. my father no longer treated me as a child; indeed, it would have been an injustice if he had. i do not mean to say that i was a clever boy; but i had seen much of the world in a short time, and could act and think for myself. he often talked to me about his prospects, which were very different from what they were when i left him. my two uncles, his elder brothers, had died, the third was married and had two daughters. if he had no son, my father would succeed to the title. the death of my elder brother tom had brought me next in succession. my grandfather, lord privilege, who had taken no more notice of my father than occasionally sending him a basket of game, had latterly often invited him to the house, and had even requested, _some day or another_, to see his wife and family. he had also made a handsome addition to my father's income, which the death of my two uncles had enabled him to do. against all this, my uncle's wife was reported to be again in the family way. i cannot say that i was pleased when my father used to speculate upon these chances so often as he did. i thought, not only as a man, but more particularly as a clergyman, he was much to blame; but i did not know then so much of the world. we had not heard from o'brien for two months, when a letter arrived, stating that he had seen his family, and bought a few acres of land, which had made them all quite happy, and had quitted with father m'grath's double blessing, with unlimited absolution; that he had now been a month in town trying for employment, but found that he could not obtain it, although one promise was backed up by another. a few days after this, my father received a note from lord privilege, requesting he would come and spend a few days with him, and bring his son peter who had escaped from the french prison. of course this was an invitation not to be neglected, and we accepted it forthwith. i must say, i felt rather in awe of my grandfather; he had kept the family at such a distance, that i had always heard his name mentioned more with reverence than with any feeling of kindred, but i was a little wiser now. we arrived at eagle park, a splendid estate, where he resided, and were received by a dozen servants in and out of livery, and ushered into his presence. he was in his library, a large room, surrounded with handsome bookcases, sitting on an easy chair. a more venerable, placid old gentleman i never beheld; his grey hairs hung down on each side of his temples, and were collected in a small _queue_ behind. he rose and bowed, as we were announced; to my father he held out _two_ fingers in salutation, to me only _one_, but there was an elegance in the manner in which it was done which was indescribable. he waved his hand to chairs, placed by the _gentleman_ out of livery, and requested we would be seated. i could not, at the time, help thinking of mr chucks, the boatswain, and his remarks upon high breeding, which were so true: and i laughed to myself when i recollected that mr chucks had once dined with him. as soon as the servants had quitted the room, the distance on the part of my grandfather appeared to wear off. he interrogated me on several points, and seemed pleased with my replies; but he always called me "child." after a conversation of half an hour, my father rose, saying that his lordship must be busy, and that we would go over the grounds till dinner-time. my grandfather rose, and we took a sort of formal leave; but it was not a formal leave, after all, it was high breeding, respecting yourself and respecting others. for my part, i was pleased with the first interview, and so i told my father after we had left the room. "my dear peter," replied he, "your grandfather has one idea which absorbs most others--the peerage, the estate, and the descent of it in the right line. as long as your uncles were alive, we were not thought of, as not being in the line of descent; nor should we now, but that your uncle william has only daughters. still we are not looked upon as actual, but only contingent, inheritors of the title. were your uncle to die to-morrow, the difference in his behaviour would be manifested immediately." "that is to say, instead of _two fingers_ you would receive the _whole_ hand, and instead of _one_ finger, i should obtain promotion to _two_." at this my father laughed heartily, saying, "peter, you have exactly hit the mark. i cannot imagine how we ever could have been so blind as to call you the fool of the family." to this i made no reply, for it was difficult so to do without depreciating others or depreciating myself; but i changed the subject by commenting on the beauties of the park, and the splendid timber with which it was adorned. "yes, peter," replied my father, with a sigh, "thirty-five thousand a year in land, money in the funds, and timber worth at least forty thousand more, are not to be despised. but god wills everything." after this remark, my father appeared to be in deep thought, and i did not interrupt him. we stayed ten days with my grandfather, during which he would often detain me for two hours after breakfast, listening to my adventures, and i really believe was very partial to me. the day before i went away he said, "child, you are going to-morrow; now tell me what you would like, as i wish to give you a token of regard. don't be afraid; what shall it be--a watch and seals, or--anything you most fancy?" "my lord," replied i, "if you wish to do me a favour, it is, that you will apply to the first lord of the admiralty to appoint lieutenant o'brien to a fine frigate, and, at the same time, ask for a vacancy as midshipman for me." "o'brien!" replied his lordship; "i recollect it was he who accompanied you from france, and appears, by your account, to have been a true friend. i am pleased with your request, my child, and it shall be granted." his lordship then desired me to hand him the paper and ink-standish, wrote by my directions, sealed the letter, and told me he would send me the answer. the next day we quitted eagle park, his lordship wishing my father good-bye with _two_ fingers, and to me extending _one_, as before; but he said, "i am pleased with you, child; you may write occasionally." when we were on our route home, my father observed that "i had made more progress with my grandfather than he had known anyone to do, since he could recollect. his saying that you might write to him is at least ten thousand pounds to you in his will, for he never deceives any one, or changes his mind." my reply was, that i should like to see the ten thousand pounds, but that i was not so sanguine. a few days after our return home, i received a letter and enclosure from lord privilege, the contents of which were as follow:-- "my dear child,--i send you lord----'s answer, which i trust will prove satisfactory. my compliments to your family.--yours, &c., privilege." the inclosure was a handsome letter from the first lord, stating that he had appointed o'brien to the _sanglier_ frigate, and had ordered me to be received on board as midshipman. i was delighted to forward this letter to o'brien's address, who, in a few days sent me an answer, thanking me, and stating that he had received his 'appointment, and that i need not join for a month, which was quite time enough, as the ship was refitting; but, that if my family were tired of me, which was sometimes the case in the best regulated families, why, then i should learn something of my duty by coming to portsmouth. he concluded by sending his kind regards to all the family, and his _love_ to my grandfather, which last i certainly did not forward in my letter of thanks. about a month afterwards i received a letter from o'brien, stating that the ship was ready to go out of harbour, and would be anchored off spithead in a few days. chapter xxvii captain and mrs to--pork--we go to plymouth, and fall in with our old captain. i immediately took leave of my family, and set off for portsmouth, and in two days arrived at the fountain inn, where o'brien was waiting to receive me. "peter, my boy, i feel so much obliged to you, that if your uncle won't go out of the world by fair means, i'll pick a quarrel with him, and shoot him, on purpose that you may be a lord, as i am determined you shall be. now come up into my room, where we'll be all alone, and i'll tell you all about the ship and our new captain. in the first place, we'll begin with the ship, as the most important personage of the two: she's a beauty, i forget her name before she was taken, but the french know how to build ships better than keep them. she's now called the _sanglier_, which means a wild pig, and, by the powers! a _pig_ ship she is, as you will hear directly. the captain's name is a very short one, and wouldn't please mr chucks, consisting only of two letters, t and o, which makes to; his whole title is captain john to. it would almost appear as if somebody had broken off the better half of his name, and only left him the commencement of it; but, however, it's a handy name to sign when he pays off his ship. and now i'll tell you what sort of a looking craft he is. he's built like a dutch schuyt, great breadth of beam, and very square tuck. he applied to have the quarter galleries enlarged in the two last ships he commanded. he weighs about eighteen stone, rather more than less. he is a good-natured sort of a chap, amazingly ungenteel, not much of an officer, not much of a sailor, but a devilish good hand at the trencher. but he's only part of the concern; he has his wife on board, who is a red-herring sort of a lady, and very troublesome to boot. what makes her still more annoying is, that she has a _piano_ on board, very much out of _tune_, on which she plays very much out of _time_. holystoning is music compared with her playing: even the captain's spaniel howls when she comes to the high notes; but she affects the fine lady, and always treats the officers with music when they dine in the cabin, which makes them very glad to get out of it." "but, o'brien, i thought wives were not permitted on board." "very true, but there's the worst part in the man's character: he knows that he is not allowed to take his wife to sea, and, in consequence, he never says she _is_ his wife, or presents her on shore to anybody. if any of the other captains ask how mrs to is to-day? 'why,' he replies, 'pretty well, i thank you;' but at the same time he gives a kind of smirk, as if to say, 'she is not my wife;' and although everybody knows that she is, yet he prefers that they should think otherwise, rather than be at the expense of keeping her on shore; for you know, peter, that although there are regulations about wives, there are none with regard to other women." "but does his wife know this?" inquired i. "i believe, from my heart, she is a party to the whole transaction, for report says, that she would skin a flint if she could. she's always trying for presents from the officers, and, in fact, she commands the ship." "really, o'brien, this is not a very pleasant prospect." "whist! wait a little; now i come to the wind-up. this captain to is very partial to pig's _mate_, and we have as many live pigs on board as we have pigs of ballast. the first lieutenant is right mad about them. at the same time he allows no pigs but his own on board, that there may be no confusion. the manger is full of pigs; there are two cow-pens between the main-deck guns, drawn from the dock-yard, and converted into pig-pens. the two sheep-pens amidships are full of pigs, and the geese and turkey-coops are divided off into apartments for four _sows_ in the _family way_. now, peter, you see there's little or no expense in keeping pigs on board of a large frigate, with so much _pay_-soup and whole peas for them to eat, and this is the reason why he keeps them, for the devil a bit of any other stock has he on board. i presume he means to _milk_ one of the _old sows_ for breakfast when the ship sails. the first thing that he does in the morning, is to go round to his pigs with the butcher, feeling one, scratching the dirty ears of another, and then he classes them--his _bacon_ pigs, his _porkers_, his _breeding_ sows, and so on. the old boar is still at the stables of this inn, but i hear he is to come on board with the sailing orders: but he is very savage, and is therefore left on shore to the very last moment. now really, peter, what with the squealing of the pigs and his wife's piano, we are almost driven mad. i don't know which is the worse of the two; if you go aft you hear the one, if you go forward you hear the other, by way of variety, and that, they say, is charming. but, is it not shocking that such a beautiful frigate should be turned into a pig-sty, and that her main-deck should smell worse than a muckheap?" "but how does his wife like the idea of living only upon hog's flesh?" "she! lord bless you, peter! why, she looks as spare as a shark, and she has just the appetite of one, for she'll _bolt_ a four-pound piece of pork before it's well put on her plate." "have you any more such pleasant intelligence to communicate, o'brien?" "no, peter; you have the worst of it. the lieutenants are good officers and pleasant messmates: the doctor is a little queer, and the purser thinks himself a wag; the master, an old north-countryman, who knows his duty, and takes his glass of grog. the midshipmen are a very genteel set of young men, and full of fun and frolic. i'll bet a wager there'll be a bobbery in the pig-sty before long, for they are ripe for mischief. now, peter, i hardly need say that my cabin and everything i have is at your service; and i think if we could only have a devil of a gale of wind, or a hard-fought action, to send the _pigs_ overboard and smash the _piano_, we should do very well." the next day i went on board, and was shown down into the cabin, to report my having joined. mrs to, a tall thin woman, was at her piano; she rose, and asked me several questions--who my friends were--how much they allowed me a year, and many other questions, which i thought impertinent: but a captain's wife is allowed to take liberties. she then asked me if i was fond of music? that was a difficult question, as, if i said that i was, i should in all probability be obliged to hear it: if i said that i was not, i might have created a dislike in her. so i replied, that i was very fond of music on shore, when it was not interrupted by other noise. "ah! then i perceive you are a real amateur, mr simple," replied the lady. captain to then came out of the after-cabin, half-dressed. "well, youngster, so you've joined us at last. come and dine with us to-day? and, as you go down to your berth, desire the sentry to pass the word for the butcher; i want to speak with him." i bowed and retired. i was met in the most friendly manner by the officers and by my own messmates, who had been prepossessed in my favour by o'brien, previous to my arrival. in our service you always find young men of the best families on board large frigates, they being considered the most eligible class of vessels; i found my messmates to be gentlemen, with one or two exceptions, but i never met so many wild young lads together. i sat down and ate some dinner with them, although i was to dine in the cabin, for the sea air made me hungry. "don't you dine in the cabin, simple?" said the caterer. "yes," replied i. "then don't eat any pork, my boy, now, for you'll have plenty there. come, gentlemen, fill your glasses; we'll drink happiness to our new messmate, and pledging him, we pledge ourselves to try to promote it." "i'll just join you in that toast," said o'brien, walking into the midshipmen's berth. "what is it you're drinking it in?" "some of collier's port, sir. boy, bring a glass for mr o'brien." "here's your health, peter, and wishing you may keep out of a french prison this cruise. mr montague, as caterer, i will beg you will order another candle, that i may see what's on the table, and then perhaps i may find something i should like to pick a bit off." "here's the fag end of a leg of mutton, mr o'brien, and there's a piece of boiled pork." "then i'll just trouble you for a bit close to the knuckle. peter, you dine in the cabin, so do i--the doctor refused." "have you heard when we sail, mr o'brien?" inquired one of my messmates. "i heard at the admiral's office, that we were expected to be ordered round to plymouth, and receive our orders there, either for the east or west indies, they thought; and, indeed, the stores we have taken on board indicate that we are going foreign, but the captain's signal is just made, and probably the admiral has intelligence to communicate." in about an hour afterwards, the captain returned, looking very red and hot. he called the first lieutenant aside from the rest of the officers, who were on deck to receive him, and told him, that we were to start for plymouth next morning; and the admiral had told him confidentially, that we were to proceed to the west indies with a convoy, which was then collecting. he appeared to be very much alarmed at the idea of going to make a feast for the land crabs; and certainly, his gross habit of body rendered him very unfit for the climate. this news was soon spread through the ship, and there was of course no little bustle and preparation. the doctor, who had refused to dine in the cabin upon plea of being unwell, sent up to say, that he felt himself so much better, that he should have great pleasure to attend the summons, and he joined the first lieutenant, o'brien, and me, as we walked in. we sat down to table; the covers were removed, and as the midshipmen prophesied, there was plenty of _pork_--mock-turtle soup, made out of a pig's head--a boiled leg of pork and peas-pudding--a roast spare-rib, with the crackling on--sausages and potatoes, and pig's pettitoes. i cannot say that i disliked my dinner, and i ate very heartily; but a roast sucking-pig came on as a second course, which rather surprised me; but what surprised me more, was the quantity devoured by mrs to. she handed her plate from the boiled pork to the roast, asked for some pettitoes, tried the sausages, and finished with a whole plateful of sucking-pig and stuffing. we had an apple pie at the end, but as we had already eaten apple sauce with the roast pork, we did not care for it. the doctor, who abominated pork, ate pretty well, and was excessively attentive to mrs to. "will you not take a piece of the roast pig, doctor?" said the captain. "why, really captain to, as we are bound, by all reports, to a station where we must not venture upon pork, i think i will not refuse to take a piece, for i am very fond of it." "how do you mean?" inquired the captain and his lady, both in a breath. "perhaps i may be wrongly informed," replied the doctor, "but i have heard that we were ordered to the west indies; now, if so, everyone knows, that although you may eat salt pork there occasionally without danger, in all tropical climates, and especially the west indies, two or three days' living upon this meat will immediately produce dysentery, which is always fatal in that climate." "indeed!" exclaimed the captain. "you don't say so!" rejoined the lady. "i do indeed: and have always avoided the west indies for that very reason--i am so fond of pork." the doctor then proceeded to give nearly one hundred instances of messmates and shipmen who had been attacked with dysentery, from the eating of fresh pork in the west indies; and o'brien, perceiving the doctor's drift, joined him, telling some most astonishing accounts of the dreadful effects of pork in a hot country. i think he said, that when the french were blockaded, previous to the surrender of martinique, that, having nothing but pigs to eat, thirteen hundred out of seventeen hundred soldiers and officers died in the course of three weeks, and the others were so reduced by disease, that they were obliged to capitulate. the doctor then changed the subject, and talked about the yellow fever, and other diseases of the climate, so that, by his account, the west india islands were but hospitals to die in. those most likely to be attacked, were men in full strong health. the spare men stood a better chance. this conversation was carried on until it was time to leave--mrs to at last quite silent, and the captain gulping down his wine with a sigh. when we rose from the table, mrs to did not ask us, as usual, to stay and hear a little music; she was, like her piano, not a little out of tune. "by the powers, doctor, you did that nately," said o'brien, as we left the cabin. "o'brien," said the doctor, "oblige me, and you, mr simple, oblige me also, by not saying a word in the ship about what i have said; if it once gets wind, i shall have done no good, but if you both hold your tongues for a short time, i think i may promise you to get rid of captain to, his wife, and his pigs." we perceived the justice of his observation, and promised secrecy. the next morning the ship sailed for plymouth, and mrs to sent for the doctor, not being very well. the doctor prescribed for her, and i believe, on my conscience, made her worse on purpose. the illness of his wife, and his own fears, brought captain to more than usual in contact with the doctor, of whom he frequently asked his candid opinion, as to his own chance in a hot country. "captain to," said the doctor, "_i_ never would have given my opinion, if you had not asked it, for i am aware, that, as an officer, you would never flinch from your duty, to whatever quarter of the globe you may be ordered; but, as you have asked the question, i must say, with your full habit of body, i think you would not stand a chance of living for more than two months. at the same time, sir, i may be mistaken; but, at all events, i must point out that mrs to is of a very bilious habit, and i trust you will not do such an injustice to an amiable woman, as to permit her to accompany you." "thanky, doctor, i'm much obliged to you," replied the captain, turning round and going down the ladder to his cabin. we were then beating down the channel; for, although we ran through the needles with a fair wind, it fell calm, and shifted to the westward, when we were abreast of portland. the next day the captain gave an order for a very fine pig to be killed, for he was out of provisions. mrs to still kept her bed, and he therefore directed that a part should be salted, as he could have no company. i was in the midshipman's berth, when some of them proposed that we should get possession of the pig; and the plan they agreed upon was as follows:--they were to go to the pen that night, and with a needle stuck in a piece of wood, to prick the pig all over, and then rub gunpowder into the parts wounded. this was done, and although the butcher was up a dozen times during the night to ascertain what made the pigs so uneasy, the midshipmen passed the needle from watch to watch, until the pig was well tattooed in all parts. in the morning watch it was killed, and when it had been scalded in the tub, and the hair taken off, it appeared covered with blue spots. the midshipman of the morning watch, who was on the main-deck, took care to point out to the butcher, that the pork was _measly_, to which the man unwillingly assented, stating, at the same time, that he could not imagine how it could be, for a finer pig he had never put a knife into. the circumstance was reported to the captain, who was much astonished. the doctor came in to visit mrs to, and the captain requested the doctor to examine the pig, and give his opinion. although this was not the doctor's province, yet, as he had great reason for keeping intimate with the captain, he immediately consented. going forward, he met me, and i told him the secret. "that will do," replied he; "it all tends to what we wish." the doctor returned to the captain, and said, "that there was no doubt but that the pig was measly, which was a complaint very frequent on board ships, particularly in hot climates, where all pork became _measly_--one great reason for its there proving so unwholesome." the captain sent for the first lieutenant, and, with a deep sigh, ordered him to throw the pig overboard; but the first lieutenant, who knew what had been done from o'brien, ordered the _master's mate_ to throw it overboard: the master's mate, touching his hat, said, "ay, ay, sir," and took it down into the berth, where we cut it up, salted one half, and the other we finished before we arrived at plymouth, which was six days from the time we left portsmouth. on our arrival, we found part of the convoy lying there, but no orders for us; and, to my great delight, on the following day the _diomede_ arrived, from a cruise off the western islands. i obtained permission to go on board with o'brien, and we once more greeted our messmates. mr falcon, the first lieutenant, went down to captain savage, to say we were on board, and he requested us to come into the cabin. he greeted us warmly, and gave us great credit for the manner in which we had effected our escape. when we left the cabin, i found mr chucks, the boatswain, waiting outside. "my dear mr simple, extend your flapper to me, for i'm delighted to see you. i long to have a long talk with you." "and i should like it also, mr chucks, but i'm afraid we have not time; i dine with captain savage to-day, and it only wants an hour of dinner-time." "well, mr simple, i've been looking at your frigate, and she's a beauty --much larger than the _diomede_." "and she behaves quite as well," replied i. "i think we are two hundred tons larger. you've no idea of her size until you are on her decks." "i should like to be boatswain of her, mr simple; that is, with captain savage, for i will not part with him." i had some more conversation with mr chucks, but i was obliged to attend to others, who interrupted us. we had a very pleasant dinner with our old captain, to whom we gave a history of our adventures, and then we returned on board. chapter xxviii we get rid of the pigs and piano-forte--the last boat on shore before sailing--the first lieutenant too hasty, and the consequences to me. we waited three days, at the expiration of which, we heard that captain to was about to exchange with captain savage. we could not believe such good news to be true, and we could not ascertain the truth of the report, as the captain had gone on shore with mrs to, who recovered fast after she was out of our doctor's hands; so fast, indeed, that a week afterwards, on questioning the steward, upon his return on board, how mrs to was, he replied, "o charming well again, sir, she has eaten a _whole pig_, since she left the ship." but the report was true: captain to, afraid to go to the west indies, had effected an exchange with captain savage. captain savage was permitted, as was the custom of the service, to bring his first lieutenant, his boatswain, and his barge's crew with him. he joined a day or two before we sailed, and never was there more joy on board: the only people miserable were the first lieutenant, and those belonging to the _sanglier_ who were obliged to follow captain to; who, with his wife, his pigs, and her piano, were all got rid of in the course of one forenoon. i have already described pay-day on board of a man-of-war, but i think that the two days before sailing are even more unpleasant; although, generally speaking, all our money being spent, we are not sorry when we once are fairly out of harbour, and find ourselves in _blue water_. the men never work well on those days: they are thinking of their wives and sweethearts, of the pleasure they had when at liberty on shore, where they might get drunk without punishment; and many of them are either half drunk at the time, or suffering from the effects of previous intoxication. the ship is in disorder, and crowded with the variety of stock and spare stores which are obliged to be taken on board in a hurry, and have not yet been properly secured in their places. the first lieutenant is cross, the officers are grave, and the poor midshipmen, with all their own little comforts to attend to, are harassed and driven about like post-horses. "mr simple," inquired the first lieutenant, "where do you come from?" "from the gun wharf, sir, with the gunner's spare blocks, and breechings." "very well--send the marines aft to clear the boat, and pipe away the first putter. mr simple, jump into the first cutter, and go to mount wise for the officers. be careful that none of your men leave the boat. come, be smart." now, i had been away the whole morning, and it was then half-past one, and i had had no dinner: but i said nothing, and went into the boat. as soon as i was off, o'brien, who stood by mr falcon, said, "peter was thinking of his dinner, poor fellow!" "i really quite forgot it," replied the first lieutenant, "there is so much to do. he is a willing boy, and he shall dine in the gun-room when he comes back." and so i did--so i lost nothing by not expostulating, and gained more of the favour of the first lieutenant, who never forgot what he called _zeal_. but the hardest trial of the whole, is to the midshipman who is sent with the boat to purchase the supplies for the cabin and gun-room on the day before the ship's sailing. it was my misfortune to be ordered upon that service this time, and that very unexpectedly. i had been ordered to dress myself to take the gig on shore for the captain's orders, and was walking the deck with my very best uniform and side arms, when the marine officer, who was the gun-room caterer, came up to the first lieutenant, and asked him for a boat. the boat was manned, and a midshipman ordered to take charge of it; but when he came up, the first lieutenant recollecting that he had come off two days before with only half his boat's crew, would not trust him, and called out to me, "here, mr simple, i must send you in this boat; mind you are careful that none of the men leave it; and bring off the sergeant of marines, who is on shore looking for the men who have broken their liberty." although i could not but feel proud of the compliment, yet i did not much like going in my very best uniform, and would have run down and changed it, but the marine officer and all the people were in the boat, and i could not keep it waiting, so down the side i went, and we shoved off. we had, besides the boat's crew, the marine officer, the purser, the gun-room steward, the captain's steward, and the purser's steward; so that we were pretty full. it blew hard from the s.e., and there was a sea running, but as the tide was flowing into the harbour there was not much bubble. we hoisted the foresail, flew before the wind and tide, and in a quarter of an hour we were at mutton cove, when the marine officer expressed his wish to land. the landing-place was crowded with boats, and it was not without sundry exchanges of foul words and oaths, and the bow-men dashing the point of their boat-hooks into the shore-boats, to make them keep clear of us, that we forced our way to the beach. the marine officer and all the stewards then left the boat, and i had to look after the men. i had not been there three minutes before the bow-man said that his wife was on the wharf with his clothes from the wash, and begged leave to go and fetch them. i refused, telling him that she could bring them to him. "vy now, mr simple," said the woman, "ar'n't you a nice lady's man, to go for to ax me to muddle my way through all the dead dogs, cabbage-stalks, and stinking hakes' heads, with my bran new shoes and clean stockings?" i looked at her, and sure enough she was, as they say in france, _bien chaussée_. "come, mr simple, let him out to come for his clothes, and you'll see that he's back in a moment." i did not like to refuse her, as it was very dirty and wet, and the shingle was strewed with all that she had mentioned. the bow-man made a spring out with his boat-hook, threw it back, went up to his wife, and commenced talking with her, while i watched him. "if you please, sir, there's my young woman come down, mayn't i speak to her?" said another of the men. i turned round, and refused him. he expostulated, and begged very hard, but i was resolute; however, when i again turned my eyes to watch the bow-man, he and his wife were gone. "there," says i to the coxswain, "i knew it would be so; you see hickman is off." "only gone to take a parting glass, sir," replied the coxswain; "he'll be here directly." "i hope so; but i'm afraid not." after this, i refused all the solicitations of the men to be allowed to leave the boat, but i permitted them to have some beer brought down to them. the gun-room steward then came back with a basket of _soft-tack_, _i.e._ loaves of bread, and told me that the marine officer requested i would allow two of the men to go up with him to glencross's shop, to bring down some of the stores. of course, i sent two of the men, and told the steward if he saw hickman, to bring him down to the boat. by this time many of the women belonging to the ship had assembled, and commenced a noisy conversation with the boat's crew. one brought an article for jim, another some clothes for bill; some of them climbed into the boat, and sat with the men; others came and went, bringing beer and tobacco, which the men desired them to purchase. the crowd, the noise, and confusion were so great, that it was with the utmost difficulty that i could keep my eyes on all my men, who, one after another, made an attempt to leave the boat. just at that time came down the sergeant of the marines, with three of our men whom he had picked up, _roaring drunk_. they were tumbled into the boat, and increased the difficulty, as in looking after those who were riotous, and would try to leave the boat by force, i was not so well able to keep my eyes on those who were sober. the sergeant then went up after another man, and i told him also about hickman. about half an hour afterwards the steward came down with the two men, loaded with cabbages, baskets of eggs, strings of onions, crockery of all descriptions, paper parcels of groceries, legs and shoulders of mutton, which were crowded in, until not only the stern-sheets, but all under the thwarts of the boat were also crammed full. they told me that they had a few more things to bring down, and that the marine officer had gone to stonehouse to see his wife, so that they should be down long before him. in half an hour more, during which i had the greatest difficulty to manage the boat's crew, they returned with a dozen geese and two ducks, tied by the legs, but without the two men, who had given them the slip, so that there were now three men gone, and i knew mr falcon would be very angry, for they were three of the smartest men in the ship. i was now determined not to run the risk of losing more men, and i ordered the boat's crew to shove off, that i might lie at the wharf, where they could not climb up. they were very mutinous, grumbled very much, and would hardly obey me; the fact is, they had drunk a great deal, and some of them were more than half tipsy. however, at last i was obeyed, but not without being saluted with a shower of invectives from the women, and the execrations of the men belonging to the wherries and _shore_ boats which were washed against our sides by the swell. the weather had become much worse, and looked very threatening. i waited an hour more, when the sergeant of marines came down with two more men, one of whom, to my great joy, was hickman. this made me more comfortable, as i was not answerable for the other two; still i was in great trouble from the riotous and insolent behaviour of the boat's crew, and the other men brought down by the sergeant of marines. one of them fell back into a basket of eggs, and smashed them all to atoms; still the marine officer did not come down, and it was getting late. the tide being now at the ebb, running out against the wind, there was a heavy sea, and i had to go off to the ship with a boat deeply laden, and most of the people in her in a state of intoxication. the coxswain, who was the only one who was sober, recommended our shoving off, as it would soon be dark, and some accident would happen. i reflected a minute, and agreeing with him, i ordered the oars to be got out, and we shoved off, the sergeant of marines and the gun-room steward perched up in the bows--drunken men, ducks and geese, lying together at the bottom of the boat--the stern sheets loaded up to the gunwale, and the other passengers and myself sitting how we could among the crockery and a variety of other articles with which the boat was crowded. it was a scene of much confusion--the half-drunken boat's crew _catching crabs_, and falling forward upon the others--those who were quite drunk swearing they _would_ pull. "lay on your oar, sullivan; you are doing more harm than good. you drunken rascal, i'll report you as soon as we get on board." "how the divil can i pull, your honour, when there's that fellow jones breaking the very back o' me with his oar, and he never touching the water all the while?" "you lie," cried jones; "i'm pulling the boat by myself against the whole of the larbard oars." "he's rowing _dry_, your honour--only making bilave." "do you call this rowing dry?" cried another, as a sea swept over the boat, fore and aft, wetting everybody to the skin. "now, your honour, just look and see if i ain't pulling the very arms off me?" cried sullivan. "is there water enough to cross the bridge, swinburne?" said i to the coxswain. "plenty, mr simple; it is but quarter ebb, and the sooner we are on board the better." we were now past devil's point, and the sea was very heavy: the boat plunged in the trough, so that i was afraid that she would break her back. she was soon half full of water, and the two after-oars were laid in for the men to bale. "plase your honour, hadn't i better cut free the legs of them ducks and geese, and allow them to swim for their lives?" cried sullivan, resting on his oar; "the poor birds will be drowned else in their own _iliment_." "no, no--pull away as hard as you can." by this time the drunken men in the bottom of the boat began to be very uneasy, from the quantity of water which washed about them, and made several staggering attempts to get on their legs. they fell down again upon the ducks and geese, the major part of which were saved from being drowned by being suffocated. the sea on the bridge was very heavy; and although the tide swept us out, we were nearly swamped. soft bread was washing about the bottom of the boat; the parcels of sugar, pepper, and salt, were wet through with the salt water, and a sudden jerk threw the captain's steward, who was seated upon the gunwale close to the after-oar, right upon the whole of the crockery and eggs, which added to the mass of destruction. a few more seas shipped completed the job, and the gun-room steward was in despair. "that's a darling," cried sullivan: "the politest boat in the whole fleet. she makes more bows and curtseys than the finest couple in the land. give way, my lads, and work the crater stuff out of your elbows, and the first lieutenant will see us all so sober, and so wet in the bargain, and think we're all so dry, that perhaps he'll be after giving us a raw nip when we get on board." in a quarter of an hour we were nearly alongside, but the men pulled so badly, and the sea was so great, that we missed the ship and went astern. they veered out a buoy with a line, which we got hold of, and were hauled up by the marines and after-guard, the boat plunging bows under, and drenching us through and through. at last we got under the counter, and i climbed up by the stern ladder. mr falcon was on deck, and very angry at the boat not coming alongside properly. "i thought, mr simple, that you knew by this time how to bring a boat alongside." "so i do, sir, i hope," replied i; "but the boat was so full of water, and the men would not give way." "what men has the sergeant brought on board?" "three, sir," replied i, shivering with the cold, and unhappy at my very best uniform being spoiled. "are all your boat's crew with you, sir?" "no sir; there are two left on shore; they--" "not a word, sir. up to the mast-head, and stay there till i call you down. if it were not so late, i would send you on shore, and not receive you on board again without the men. up, sir, immediately." i did not venture to explain, but up i went. it was very cold, blowing hard from the s.e., with heavy squalls; i was so wet that the wind appeared to blow through me, and it was now nearly dark. i reached the cross-trees, and when i was seated there, i felt that i had done my duty, and had not been fairly treated. during this time, the boat had been hauled up alongside to clear, and a pretty clearance there was. all the ducks and geese were dead, the eggs and crockery all broke, the grocery almost all washed away; in short, as o'brien observed, there was "a very pretty general average." mr falcon was still very angry. "who are the men missing?" inquired he, of swinburne, the coxswain, as he came up the side. "williams and sweetman, sir." "two of the smartest topmen, i am told. it really is too provoking; there is not a midshipman in the ship i can trust. i must work all day, and get no assistance. the service is really going to the devil now, with the young men who are sent on board to be brought up as officers, and who are above doing their duty. what made you so late, swinburne?" "waiting for the marine officer, who went to stonehouse to see his wife; but mr simple would not wait any longer, as it was getting dark, and we had so many drunken men in the boat." "mr simple did right. i wish mr harrison would stay on shore with his wife altogether--it's really trifling with the service. pray, mr swinburne, why had you not your eyes about you if mr simple was so careless? how came you to allow these men to leave the boat?" "the men were ordered up by the marine officer to bring down your stores, sir, and they gave the steward the slip. it was no fault of mr simple's, nor of mine either. we lay off at the wharf for two hours before we started, or we should have lost more; for what can a poor lad do, when he has charge of drunken men who _will not_ obey orders?" and the coxswain looked up at the mast-head, as much as to say, why is he sent there? "i'll take my oath, sir," continued swinburne, "that mr simple never put his foot out of the boat, from the time that he went over the side until he came on board, and that no young gentleman could have done his duty more strictly." mr falcon looked very angry at first at the coxswain speaking so freely, but he said nothing. he took one or two turns on the deck, and then hailing the mast-head, desired me to come down. but i _could not_; my limbs were so cramped with the wind blowing upon my wet clothes, that i could not move. he hailed again; i heard him, but was not able to answer. one of the topmen then came up, and perceiving my condition, hailed the deck, and said he believed i was dying, for i could not move, and that he dared not leave me for fear i should fall. o'brien, who had been on deck all the while, jumped up the rigging, and was soon at the cross-trees where i was. he sent the topman down into the top for a tail-block and the studding-sail haulyards, made a whip, and lowered me on deck. i was immediately put into my hammock; and the surgeon ordering me some hot brandy-and-water, and plenty of blankets, in a few hours i was quite restored. o'brien, who was at my bedside, said, "never mind, peter, and don't be angry with mr falcon, for he is very sorry." "i am not angry, o'brien; for mr falcon has been too kind to me not to make me forgive him for being once hasty." the surgeon came to my hammock, gave me some more hot drink, desired me to go to sleep, and i woke the next morning quite well. when i came into the berth, my messmates asked me how i was, and many of them railed against the tyranny of mr falcon; but i took his part, saying, that he was hasty in this instance, perhaps, but that, generally speaking, he was an excellent and very just officer. some agreed with me, but others did not. one of them, who was always in disgrace, sneered at me, and said, "peter reads the bible, and knows that if you smite one cheek, he must offer the other. now, i'll answer for it, if i pull his right ear he will offer me his left." so saying, he lugged me by the ear, upon which i knocked him down for his trouble. the berth was then cleared away for a fight, and in a quarter of an hour my opponent gave in; but i suffered a little, and had a very black eye. i had hardly time to wash myself and change my shirt, which was bloody, when i was summoned on the quarter-deck. when i arrived, i found mr falcon walking up and down. he looked very hard at me, but did not ask me any questions as to the cause of my unusual appearance. "mr simple," said he, "i sent for you to beg your pardon for my behaviour to you last night, which was not only very hasty but very unjust. i find that you were not to blame for the loss of the men." i felt very sorry for him when i heard him speak so handsomely; and, to make his mind more easy, i told him that, although i certainly was not to blame for the loss of those two men, still i had done wrong in permitting hickman to leave the boat; and that had not the sergeant picked him up, i should have come off without him, and therefore i _did_ deserve the punishment which i had received. "mr simple," replied mr falcon, "i respect you, and admire your feelings; still, i was to blame, and it is my duty to apologise. now go down below. i would have requested the pleasure of your company to dinner, but i perceive that something else has occurred, which, under any other circumstances, i would have inquired into, but at present i shall not." i touched my hat and went below. in the meantime, o'brien had been made acquainted with the occasion of the quarrel, which he did not fail to explain to mr falcon, who, o'brien declared, "was not the least bit in the world angry with me for what had occurred." indeed, after that, mr falcon always treated me with the greatest kindness, and employed me on every duty which he considered of consequence. he was a sincere friend; for he did not allow me to neglect my duty, but, at the same time, treated me with consideration and confidence. the marine officer came on board very angry at being left behind, and talked about a court-martial on me for disrespect, and neglect of stores entrusted to my charge; but o'brien told me not to mind him, or what he said. "it's my opinion, peter, that the gentleman has eaten no small quantity of _flap-doodle_ in his lifetime." "what's that, o'brien?" replied i; "i never heard of it." "why, peter," rejoined he, "it's the stuff they _feed fools on_." chapter xxix a long conversation with mr chucks--the advantage of having a prayer-book in your pocket--we run down the trades--swinburne, the quartermaster, and his yarns--the captain falls sick. the next day the captain came on board with sealed orders, with directions not to open them until off ushant. in the afternoon, we weighed and made sail. it was a fine northerly wind, and the bay of biscay was smooth. we bore up, set all the studding-sails, and ran along at the rate of eleven miles an hour. as i could not appear on the quarter-deck, i was put down on the sick-list. captain savage, who was very particular, asked what was the matter with me. the surgeon replied, "an inflamed eye." the captain asked no more questions; and i took care to keep out of his way. i walked in the evening on the forecastle, when i renewed my intimacy with mr chucks, the boatswain, to whom i gave a full narrative of all my adventures in france. "i have been ruminating, mr simple," said he, "how such a stripling as you could have gone through so much fatigue, and now i know how it is. it is _blood_, mr simple--all blood--you are descended from good blood; and there's as much difference between nobility and the lower classes, as there is between a racer and a cart-horse." "i cannot agree with you, mr chucks. common people are quite as brave as those who are well-born. you do not mean to say that you are not brave-- that the seamen on board this ship are not brave?" "no, no, mr simple; but as i observed about myself, my mother was a woman who could not be trusted, and there is no saying who was my father; and she was a very pretty woman to boot, which levels all distinctions for the moment. as for the seamen, god knows, i should do them an injustice if i did not acknowledge that they were as brave as lions. but there are two kinds of bravery, mr simple--the bravery of the moment, and the courage of bearing up for a long while. do you understand me?" "i think i do; but still do not agree with you. who will bear more fatigue than our sailors?" "yes, yes, mr simple, that is because they are _endured_ to it from their hard life: but if the common sailors were all such little thread-papers as you, and had been brought up so carefully, they would not have gone through all you have. that's my opinion, mr simple-- there's nothing like _blood_." "i think, mr chucks, you carry your ideas on that subject too far." "i do not, mr simple; and i think, moreover, that he who has more to lose than another will always strive more. now a common man only fights for his own credit; but when a man is descended from a long line of people famous in history, and has a coat _in_ arms, criss-crossed, and stuck all over with lions and unicorns to support the dignity of--why, has he not to fight for the credit of all his ancestors, whose names would be disgraced if he didn't behave well?" "i agree with you, mr chucks, in the latter remark, to a certain extent." "ah! mr simple, we never know the value of good descent when we have it, but it's when we cannot get it that we can _'preciate_ it. i wish i had been born a nobleman--i do, by heavens!" and mr chucks slapped his fist against the funnel, so as to make it ring again. "well, mr simple," continued he, after a pause, "it is, however, a great comfort to me that i have parted company with that fool, mr muddle, with his twenty-six thousand and odd years, and that old woman, dispart, the gunner. you don't know how those two men used to fret me; it was very silly, but i couldn't help it. now the warrant officers of this ship appear to be very respectable, quiet men, who know their duty and attend to it, and are not too familiar, which i hate and detest. you went home to your friends, of course, when you arrived in england?" "i did, mr chucks, and spent some days with my grandfather, lord privilege, whom you say you once met at dinner." "well, and how was the old gentleman?" inquired the boatswain, with a sigh. "very well, considering his age." "now do, pray, mr simple, tell me all about it; from the time that the servants met you at the door until you went away. describe to me the house and all the rooms, for i like to hear of all these things, although i can never see them again." to please mr chucks, i entered into a full detail, which he listened to very attentively, until it was late, and then with difficulty would he permit me to leave off, and go down to my hammock. the next day, rather a singular circumstance occurred. one of the midshipmen was mast-headed by the second lieutenant, for not waiting on deck until he was relieved. he was down below when he was sent for, and expecting to be punished from what the quarter-master told him, he thrust the first book into his jacket-pocket which he could lay his hand on, to amuse himself at the mast-head, and then ran on deck. as he surmised, he was immediately ordered aloft. he had not been there more than five minutes, when a sudden squall carried away the main-top-gallant mast, and away he went flying over to leeward (for the wind had shifted, and the yards were now braced up). had he gone overboard, as he could not swim, he would, in all probability, have been drowned; but the book in his pocket brought him up in the jaws of the fore-brace block, where he hung until taken out by the main-topmen. now it so happened that it was a prayer-book which he had laid hold of in his hurry, and those who were superstitious declared it was all owing to his having taken a religious book with him. i did not think so, as any other book would have answered the purpose quite as well: still the midshipman himself thought so, and it was productive of good, as he was a sad scamp, and behaved much better afterwards. but i had nearly forgotten to mention a circumstance which occurred on the day of our sailing, which will be eventually found to have had a great influence upon my after life. it was this. i received a letter from my father, evidently written in great vexation and annoyance, informing me that my uncle, whose wife i have already mentioned had two daughters, and was again expected to be confined, had suddenly broken up his housekeeping, discharged every servant, and proceeded to ireland under an assumed name. no reason had been given for this unaccountable proceeding; and not even my grandfather, or any of the members of the family, had had notice of his intention. indeed, it was by mere accident that his departure was discovered, about a fortnight after it had taken place. my father had taken a great deal of pains to find out where he was residing; but although my uncle was traced to cork, from that town all clue was lost, but still it was supposed, from inquiries, that he was not very far from thence. "now," observed my father, in his letter, "i cannot help surmising, that my brother, in his anxiety to retain the advantages of the title to his own family, has resolved to produce to the world a spurious child as his own, by some contrivance or other. his wife's health is very bad, and she is not likely to have a large family. should the one now expected prove a daughter, there is little chance of his ever having another; and i have no hesitation in declaring my conviction that the measure has been taken with a view of defrauding you of your chance of eventually being called to the house of lords." i showed this letter to o'brien, who, after reading it over two or three times, gave his opinion that my father was right in his conjectures "depend upon it, peter, there's foul play intended, that is, if foul play is rendered necessary." "but, o'brien, i cannot imagine why, if my uncle has no son of his own, he should prefer acknowledging a son of any other person's, instead of his own nephew." "but i can, peter: your uncle is not a man likely to live very long, as you know. the doctors say that, with his short neck, his life is not worth two years' purchase. now if he had a son, consider that his daughters would be much better off, and much more likely to get married; besides, there are many reasons which i won't talk about now, because it's no use making you think your uncle to be a scoundrel. but i'll tell you what i'll do. i'll go down to my cabin directly, and write to father m'grath, telling him the whole affair, and desiring him to ferret him out, and watch him narrowly, and i'll bet you a dozen of claret, that in less than a week he'll find him out, and will dog him to the last. he'll get hold of his irish servants, and you little know the power that a priest has in our country. now give the description as well as you can of your uncle's appearance, also of that of his wife, and the number of their family, and their ages. father m'grath must have all particulars, and then let him alone for doing what is needful." i complied with o'brien's directions as well as i could, and he wrote a very long letter to father m'grath, which was sent on shore by a careful hand. i answered my father's letter, and then thought no more about the matter. our sealed orders were opened, and proved our destination to be the west indies, as we expected. we touched at madeira to take in some wine for the ship's company; but as we only remained one day, we were not permitted to go on shore. fortunate indeed would it have been if we had never gone there; for the day after, our captain, who had dined with the consul, was taken alarmingly ill. from the symptoms, the surgeon dreaded that he had been poisoned by something which he had eaten, and which most probably had been cooked in a copper vessel not properly tinned. we were all very anxious that he should recover; but, on the contrary, he appeared to grow worse and worse every day, wasting away, and dying, as they say, by inches. at last he was put into his cot, and never rose from it again. this melancholy circumstance, added to the knowledge that we were proceeding to an unhealthy climate, caused a gloom throughout the ship; and, although the trade wind carried us along bounding over the bright blue sea--although the weather was now warm, yet not too warm--although the sun rose in splendour, and all was beautiful and cheering, the state of the captain's health was a check to all mirth. every one trod the deck softly, and spoke in a low voice, that he might not be disturbed; all were anxious to have the morning report of the surgeon, and our conversation was generally upon the sickly climate, the yellow fever, of death, and the palisades where they buried us. swinburne, the quarter-master, was in my watch, and as he had been long in the west indies, i used to obtain all the information from him that i could. the old fellow had a secret pleasure in frightening me as much as he could. "really, mr simple, you ax so many questions," he would say, as i accosted him while he was at his station at the _conn_, "i wish you wouldn't ax so many questions, and make yourself uncomfortable --'steady so'--'steady it is;'--with regard to yellow jack, as we calls the yellow fever, it's a devil incarnate, that's sartain--you're well and able to take your allowance in the morning, and dead as a herring 'fore night. first comes a bit of a head-ache--you goes to the doctor, who bleeds you like a pig--then you go out of your senses--then up comes the black vomit, and then it's all over with you, and you go to the land crabs, who pick your bones as clean and as white as a sea elephant's tooth. but there be one thing to be said in favour of yellow jack, a'ter all. you dies _straight,_ like a gentleman--not cribbled up like a snow-fish, chucked out on the ice of the river st lawrence, with your knees up to your nose, or your toes stuck into your arm-pits, as does take place in some of your foreign complaints; but straight, quite straight, and limber, like a _gentleman_. still jack is a little mischievous, that's sartain. in the euridiscy we had as fine a ship's company as was ever piped aloft--'steady, starboard, my man, you're half-a-pint off your course;'--we dropped our anchor in port royal, and we thought that there was mischief brewing, for thirty-eight sharks followed the ship into the harbour, and played about us day and night. i used to watch them during the night watch, as their fins, above water, skimmed along, leaving a trail of light behind them; and the second night i said to the sentry abaft, as i was looking at them smelling under the counter--'soldier,' says i, 'them sharks are mustering under the orders of yellow jack,' and i no sooner mentioned yellow jack, than the sharks gave a frisky plunge, every one of them, as much as to say, 'yes, so we are, d----n your eyes.' the soldier was so frightened that he would have fallen overboard, if i hadn't caught him by the scruff of the neck, for he was standing on the top of the taffrail. as it was, he dropped his musket over the stern, which the sharks dashed at from every quarter, making the sea look like fire--and he had it charged to his wages, £ s. i think. however, the fate of his musket gave him an idea of what would have happened to him if he had fallen in instead of it-- and he never got on the taffrail again. 'steady, port--mind your helm, smith--you can listen to my yarn all the same.' well, mr simple, yellow jack came, sure enough. first the purser was called to account for all his roguery. we didn't care much about the land crabs eating him, who had made so many poor dead men chew tobacco, cheating their wives and relations, or greenwich hospital, as it might happen. then went two of the middies, just about your age, mr simple: they, poor fellows, went off in a sad hurry; then went the master--and so it went on, till at last we had no more nor sixty men left in the ship. the captain died last, and then yellow jack had filled his maw, and left the rest of us alone. as soon as the captain died, all the sharks left the ship, and we never saw any more of them." such were the yarns told to me and the other midshipmen during the night watches; and i can assure the reader, that they gave us no small alarm. every day that we worked our day's work, and found ourselves so much nearer to the islands, did we feel as if we were so much nearer to our graves. i once spoke to o'brien about it, and he laughed. "peter," says he, "fear kills more people than the yellow fever, or any other complaint, in the west indies. swinburne is an old rogue, and only laughing at you. the devil's not half so black as he's painted--nor the yellow fever half so yellow, i presume." we were now fast nearing the island of barbadoes, the weather was beautiful, the wind always fair; the flying fish rose in shoals, startled by the foaming seas, which rolled away, and roared from the bows as our swift frigate cleaved through the water; the porpoises played about us in thousands--the bonetas and dolphins at one time chased the flying fish, and at others, appeared to be delighted in keeping company with the rapid vessel. everything was beautiful, and we all should have been happy, had it not been for the state of captain savage, in the first place, who daily became worse and worse, and from the dread of the hell, which we were about to enter through such a watery paradise. mr falcon, who was in command, was grave and thoughtful; he appeared indeed to be quite miserable at the chance which would insure his own promotion. in every attention, and every care that could be taken to insure quiet and afford relief to the captain, he was unremitting; the offence of making a noise was now, with him, a greater crime than drunkenness, or even mutiny. when within three days' sail of barbadoes, it fell almost calm, and the captain became much worse; and now for the first time did we behold the great white shark of the atlantic. there are several kinds of sharks, but the most dangerous are the great white shark and the ground shark. the former grows to an enormous length--the latter is seldom very long, not more than twelve feet, but spreads to a great breadth. we could not hook the sharks as they played around us, for mr falcon would not permit it, lest the noise of hauling them on board should disturb the captain. a breeze again sprang up. in two days we were close to the island, and the men were desired to look out for the land. chapter xxx death of captain savage--his funeral--specimen of true barbadian born-- sucking the monkey--effects of a hurricane. the next morning, having hove-to part of the night, land was discovered on the bow, and was reported by the mast-head man at the same moment that the surgeon came up and announced the death of our noble captain. although it had been expected for the last two or three days, the intelligence created a heavy gloom throughout the ship; the men worked in silence, and spoke to one another in whispers. mr falcon was deeply affected, and so were we all. in the course of the morning, we ran in to the island, and unhappy as i was, i never can forget the sensation of admiration which i felt on closing with needham point to enter carlisle bay. the beach of such a pure dazzling white, backed by the tall, green cocoa-nut trees, waving their spreading heads to the fresh breeze, the dark blue of the sky, and the deeper blue of the transparent sea, occasionally varied into green as we passed by the coral rocks which threw their branches out from the bottom--the town opening to our view by degrees, houses after houses, so neat, with their green jalousies, dotting the landscape, the fort with the colours flying, troops of officers riding down, a busy population of all colours, relieved by the whiteness of their dress. altogether the scene realised my first ideas of fairyland, for i thought i had never witnessed anything so beautiful. "and can this be such a dreadful place as it is described?" thought i. the sails were clewed up, the anchor was dropped to the bottom, and a salute from the ship, answered by the forts, added to the effect of the scene. the sails were furled, the boats lowered down, the boatswain squared the yards from the jolly-boat ahead. mr falcon dressed, and his boat being manned, went on shore with the despatches. then, as soon as the work was over, a new scene of delight presented itself to the sight of midshipmen who had been so long upon his majesty's allowance. these were the boats, which crowded round the ship, loaded with baskets of bananas, oranges, shaddocks, soursops, and every other kind of tropical fruit, fried flying fish, eggs, fowls, milk, and everything which could tempt a poor boy after a long sea voyage. the watch being called, down we all hastened into the boats, and returned loaded with treasures, which we soon contrived to make disappear. after stowing away as much fruit as would have sufficed for a dessert to a dinner given to twenty people in england, i returned on deck. there was no other man-of-war in the bay; but my attention was directed to a beautiful little vessel, a schooner, whose fairy form contrasted strongly with a west india trader which lay close to her. all of a sudden, as i was looking at her beautiful outline, a yell rose from her which quite startled me, and immediately afterwards her deck was covered with nearly two hundred naked figures with woolly heads, chattering and grinning at each other. she was a spanish slaver, which had been captured, and had arrived the evening before. the slaves were still on board, waiting the orders of the governor. they had been on deck about ten minutes, when three or four men, with large panama straw hats on their heads, and long rattans in their hands, jumped upon the gunnel, and in a few seconds drove them all down below. i then turned round, and observed a black woman who had just climbed up the side of the frigate. o'brien was on deck, and she walked up to him in the most consequential manner. "how do you do, sar? very happy you com back again," said she to o'brien. "i'm very well, i thank you, ma'am," replied o'brien, "and i hope to go back the same; but never having put my foot into this bay before, you have the advantage of me." "nebber here before, so help me gad! me tink i know you--me tink i recollect your handsome face--i lady rodney, sar. ah, piccaninny buccra! how you do?" said she, turning round to me. "me hope to hab the honour to wash for you, sar," courtesying to o'brien. "what do you charge in this place?" "all the same price, one bit a piece." "what do you call a bit?" inquired i. "a bit, lilly massa?--what you call um _bit_? dem four _sharp shins_ to a pictareen." our deck was now enlivened by several army officers, besides gentlemen residents, who came off to hear the news. invitations to the mess and to the houses of the gentlemen followed, and as they departed mr falcon returned on board. he told o'brien and the other officers, that the admiral and squadron were expected in a few days, and that we were to remain in carlisle bay and refit immediately. but although the fright about the yellow fever had considerably subsided in our breasts, the remembrance that our poor captain was lying dead in the cabin was constantly obtruding. all that night the carpenters were up making up his coffin, for he was to be buried the next day. the body is never allowed to remain many hours unburied in the tropical climates, where putrefaction is so rapid. the following morning the men were up at daylight, washing the decks and putting the ship in order; they worked willingly, and yet with a silent decorum which showed what their feelings were. never were the decks better cleaned, never were the ropes more carefully _flemished_ down; the hammocks were stowed in their white cloths, the yards carefully squared, and the ropes hauled taut. at eight o'clock, the colours and pennant were hoisted half-mast high. the men were then ordered down to breakfast, and to clean themselves. during the time that the men were at breakfast, all the officers went into the cabin to take a last farewell look at our gallant captain. he appeared to have died without pain, and there was a beautiful tranquillity in his face; but even already a change had taken place, and we perceived the necessity of his being buried so soon. we saw him placed in his coffin, and then quitted the cabin without speaking to each other. when the coffin was nailed down, it was brought up by the barge's crew to the quarter-deck, and laid upon the gratings amidships, covered over with the union jack. the men came up from below without waiting for the pipe, and a solemnity appeared to pervade every motion. order and quiet were universal, out of respect to the deceased. when the boats were ordered to be manned, the men almost appeared to steal into them. the barge received the coffin, which was placed in the stern sheets. the other boats then hauled up, and received the officers, marines, and sailors, who were to follow the procession. when all was ready, the barge was shoved off by the bow-men, the crew dropped their oars into the water without a splash and pulled the _minute stroke:_ the other boats followed, and as soon as they were clear of the ship, the minute guns boomed along the smooth surface of the bay from the opposite side of the ship, while the yards were topped to starboard and to port, the ropes were slackened and hung in bights, so as to give the idea of distress and neglect. at the same time, a dozen or more of the men who had been ready, dropped over the sides of the ship in differents [sic] parts, and with their cans of paint and brushes in a few minutes effaced the whole of the broad white riband which marked the beautiful run of the frigate, and left her all black and in deep mourning. the guns from the forts now responded to our own. the merchant ships lowered their colours, and the men stood up respectfully with their hats off, as the procession moved slowly to the landing-place. the coffin was borne to the burial-ground by the crew of the barge, followed by mr falcon as chief mourner, all the officers of the ship who could be spared, one hundred of the seamen walking two and two, and the marines with their arms reversed. the _cortege_ was joined by the army officers, while the troops lined the streets, and the bands played the dead march. the service was read, the volleys were fired over the grave, and with oppressed feelings we returned to the boats, and pulled on board. it then appeared to me, and to a certain degree i was correct, that as soon as we had paid our last respect to his remains, we had also forgotten our grief. the yards were again squared, the ropes hauled taut, working dresses resumed, and all was activity and bustle. the fact is, that sailors and soldiers have no time for lamentation, and running as they do from clime to clime, so does scene follow scene in the same variety and quickness. in a day or two, the captain appeared to be, although he was not, forgotten. our first business was to _water_ the ship by rafting and towing off the casks. i was in charge of the boat again, with swinburne as coxswain. as we pulled in, there were a number of negroes bathing in the surf, bobbing their woolly heads under it, as it rolled into the beach. "now, mr simple," said swinburne, "see how i'll make them _niggers_ scamper." he then stood up in the stern sheets, and pointing with his finger, roared out, "a shark! a shark!" away started all the bathers for the beach, puffing and blowing, from their dreaded enemy; nor did they stop to look for him until they were high and dry out of his reach. then, when we all laughed, they called us "_all the hangman tiefs_," and every other opprobrious name which they could select from their vocabulary. i was very much amused with this scene, and as much afterwards with the negroes who crowded round us when we landed. they appeared such merry fellows, always laughing, chattering, singing, and showing their white teeth. one fellow danced round us, snapping his fingers, and singing songs without beginning or end. "eh, massa, what you say now? me no slave--true barbadian born, sir. eh! "nebba see de day dat rodney run away, nebba see um night dat rodney cannot fight. massa me free man, sar. suppose you give me pictareen, drink massa health. "nebba see de day, boy, pompey lickum de caesar. eh! and you nebba see de day dat de grasshopper run on de warrington." "out of the way, you nigger," cried one of the men who was rolling down a cask. "eh! who you call nigger? me free man, and true barbadian born. go along you man-of-war man. "man-of-war, buccra, man-of-war, buccra, he de boy for me; sodger, buccra, sodger, buccra, nebba, nebba do, nebba, nebba do for me; sodger give me one shilling, sailor give me two. massa, now suppose you give me only one pictareen now. you really handsome young gentleman." "now, just walk off," said swinburne, lifting up a stick he found on the beach. "eh! walk off. "nebba see de day, boy, 'badian run away, boy. go, do your work, sar. why you talk to me? go, work, sar. i free man, and real barbadian born. "negro on de shore see de ship come in, de buccra come on shore, wid de hand up to the chin; man-of-war buccra, man-of-war buccra, he de boy for me, man-of-war, buccra, man-of-war, buccra, gib pictareen to me." at this moment my attention was directed to another negro, who lay on the beach rolling and foaming at the mouth, apparently in a fit. "what's the matter with that fellow?" said i to the same negro who continued close to me, notwithstanding swinburne's stick. "eh! call him sam slack, massa. he ab um _tic tic_ fit." and such was apparently the case. "stop, me cure him;" and he snatched the stick out of swinburne's hand, and running up to the man, who continued to roll on the beach, commenced belabouring him without mercy. "eh, sambo!" cried he at last, quite out of breath, "you no better yet--try again." he recommenced, until at last the man got up and ran away as fast as he could. now, whether the man was shamming, or whether it was real _tic tic_, or epileptic fit, i know not; but i never heard of such a cure for it before. i threw the fellow half a pictareen, as much for the amusement he had afforded me as to get rid of him. "tanky, massa; now man-of-war man, here de tick for you again to keep off all the dam niggers." so saying, he handed the stick to swinburne, made a polite bow, and departed. we were, however, soon surrounded by others, particularly some dingy ladies with baskets of fruit, and who, as they said, "sell ebery ting." i perceived that my sailors were very fond of cocoa-nut milk, which, being a harmless beverage, i did not object to their purchasing from these ladies, who had chiefly cocoa-nuts in their baskets. as i had never tasted it, i asked them what it was, and bought a cocoa-nut. i selected the largest. "no, massa, dat not good for you. better one for buccra officer." i then selected another, but the same objection was made. "no, massa, dis very fine milk. very good for de tomac." i drank off the milk from the holes on the top of the cocoa-nut, and found it very refreshing. as for the sailors, they appeared very fond of it indeed. but i very soon found that if good for de tomac, it was not very good for the head, as my men, instead of rolling the casks, began to roll themselves in all directions, and when it was time to go off to dinner, most of them were dead drunk at the bottom of the boat. they insisted that it was the _sun_ which affected them. very hot it certainly was, and i believed them at first, when they were only giddy; but i was convinced to the contrary when i found that they became insensible; yet how they had procured the liquor was to me a mystery. when i came on board, mr falcon, who, although acting captain, continued his duties as first lieutenant almost as punctually as before, asked how it was that i had allowed my men to get so tipsy. i assured him that i could not tell, that i had never allowed one to leave the watering-place, or to buy any liquor: the only thing that they had to drink was a little cocoa-nut milk, which, as it was so very hot, i thought there could be no objection to. mr falcon smiled and said, "mr simple, i'm an old stager in the west indies, and i'll let you into a secret. do you know what '_sucking the monkey_' means?" "no, sir." "well, then, i'll tell you; it is a term used among seamen for drinking _rum_ out of _cocoa-nuts,_ the milk having been poured out, and the liquor substituted. now do you comprehend why your men are tipsy?" i stared with all my eyes, for it never would have entered into my head; and i then perceived why it was that the black woman would not give me the first cocoa-nuts which i selected. i told mr falcon of this circumstance, who replied, "well, it was not your fault, only you must not forget it another time." it was my first watch that night, and swinburne was quarter-master on deck. "swinburne," said i, "you have often been in the west indies before, why did you not tell me that the men were '_sucking the monkey_' when i thought that they were only drinking cocoa-nut milk?" swinburne chuckled, and answered, "why, mr simple, d'ye see, it didn't become me as a ship-mate to peach. it's but seldom that a poor fellow has an opportunity of making himself a 'little happy,' and it would not be fair to take away the chance. i suppose you'll never let them have cocoa-nut milk again?" "no, that i will not; but i cannot imagine what pleasure they can find in getting so tipsy." "it's merely because they are not allowed to be so, sir. that's the whole story in few words." "well, i think i could cure them if i were permitted to try." "i should like to hear how you'd manage that, mr simple." "why, i would oblige a man to drink off a half pint of liquor, and then put him by himself. i would not allow him companions to make merry with so as to make a pleasure of intoxication. i would then wait until next morning when he was sober, and leave him alone with a racking headache until the evening, when i would give him another dose, and so on, forcing him to get drunk until he hated the smell of liquor." "well, mr simple, it might do with some, but many of our chaps would require the dose you mention to be repeated pretty often before it would effect a cure; and what's more, they'd be very willing patients, and make no wry faces at their physic." "well, that might be, but it would cure them at last. but tell me, swinburne, were you ever in a hurricane?" "i've been in everything, mr simple, i believe, except at school, and i never had no time to go there. do you see that battery at needham point? well, in the hurricane of ' , them same guns were whirled away by the wind, right over to this point here on the opposite side, the sentries in their sentry-boxes after them. some of the soldiers who faced the wind had their teeth blown down their throats like broken 'baccy-pipes, others had their heads turned round like dog vanes, 'cause they waited for orders to the '_right about face_,' and the whole air was full of young _niggers_ blowing about like peelings of _ingons_." "you don't suppose i believe all this, swinburne?" "that's as may be, mr simple, but i've told the story so often, that i believe it myself." "what ship were you in?" "in the _blanche_, captain faulkner, who was as fine a fellow as poor captain savage, whom we buried yesterday; there could not be a finer than either of them. i was at the taking of the pique, and carried him down below after he had received his mortal wound. we did a pretty thing out here when we took fort royal by a coup-de-_main_, which means, boarding from the _main_-yard of the frigate, and dropping from it into the fort. but what's that under the moon?--there's a sail in the offing." swinburne fetched the glass and directed it to the spot. "one, two, three, four. it's the admiral, sir, and the squadron hove-to for the night. one's a line-of-battle ship, i'll swear." i examined the vessels, and agreeing with swinburne, reported them to mr falcon. my watch was then over, and as soon as i was released i went to my hammock. end of vol. i. turnbull and spears, printers, edinburgh. peter simple and the three cutters by captain marryat vol. ii. london j.m. dent and co. boston: little, brown and co. mdcccxcv contents volume ii peter simple chapter xxxi chapter xxxii chapter xxxiii chapter xxxiv chapter xxxv chapter xxxvi chapter xxxvii chapter xxxviii chapter xxxix chapter xl chapter xli chapter xlii chapter xliii chapter xliv chapter xlv chapter xlvi chapter xlvii chapter xlviii chapter xlix chapter l chapter li chapter lii chapter liii chapter liv chapter lv chapter lvi chapter lvii chapter lviii chapter lix chapter lx chapter lxi chapter lxii chapter lxiii chapter lxiv chapter lxv _the three cutters_ chapter i chapter ii chapter iii chapter iv chapter v chapter vi chapter vii peter simple chapter xxxi captain kearney--the dignity ball. the next morning at daylight we exchanged numbers, and saluted the flag, and by eight o'clock they all anchored. mr falcon went on board the admiral's ship with despatches, and to report the death of captain savage. in about half an hour he returned, and we were glad to perceive, with a smile upon his face, from which we argued that he would receive his acting order as commander, which was a question of some doubt, as the admiral had the power to give the vacancy to whom he pleased, although it would not have been fair if he had not given it to mr falcon; not that mr falcon would not have received his commission, as captain savage dying when the ship was under no admiral's command, he _made himself_; but still the admiral might have sent him home, and not have given him a ship. but this he did, the captain of the _minerve_ being appointed to the _sanglier_, the captain of the _opossum_ to the _minerve_, and captain falcon taking command of the _opossum_. he received his commission that evening, and the next day the exchanges were made. captain falcon would have taken me with him, and offered so to do; but i could not leave o'brien, so i preferred remaining in the _sanglier_. we were all anxious to know what sort of a person our new captain was, whose name was kearney; but we had no time to ask the midshipmen, except when they came in charge of the boats which brought his luggage; they replied generally, that he was a very good sort of fellow, and there was no harm in him. but when i had the night watch with swinburne, he came up to me, and said, "well, mr simple, so we have a new captain. i sailed with him for two years in a brig." "and pray, swinburne, what sort of a person is he?" "why, i'll tell you, mr simple: he's a good-tempered, kind fellow enough, but--" "but what?" "such a _bouncer_!!" "how do you mean? he's not a very stout man." "bless you, mr simple, why you don't understand english. i mean that he's the greatest liar that ever walked a deck. now, mr simple, you know i can spin a yarn occasionally." "yes, that you can, witness the hurricane the other night." "well, mr simple, i cannot _hold a candle_ to him. it a'n't that i might not stretch now and then, just for fun, as far as he can, but, d----n it, he's always on the stretch. in fact, mr simple, he never tells the truth except _by mistake_. he's as poor as a rat, and has nothing but his pay; yet to believe him, he is worth at least as much as greenwich hospital. but you'll soon find him out, and he'll sarve to laugh at behind his back, you know, mr simple, for that's _no go_ before his face." captain kearney made his appearance on board the next day. the men were mustered to receive him, and all the officers were on the quarter-deck. "you've a fine set of marines here, captain falcon," observed he; "those i left on board of the _minerve_ were only fit to be _hung_; and you have a good show of reefers too--those i left in the _minerve_ were not _worth hanging_. if you please, i'll read my commission, if you'll order the men aft." his commission was read, all hands with their hats off from respect to the authority from which it proceeded. "now, my lads," said captain kearney, addressing the ship's company, "i've but few words to say to you. i am appointed to command this ship, and you appear to have a very good character from your late first lieutenant. all i request of you is this: be smart, keep sober, and always _tell the truth_--that's enough. pipe down. gentlemen," continued he, addressing the officers, "i trust that we shall be good friends; and i see no reason that it should be otherwise." he then turned away with a bow, and called his coxswain--"williams, you'll go on board, and tell my steward that i have promised to dine with the governor to-day, and that he must come to dress me; and, coxswain, recollect to put the sheepskin mat on the stern gratings of my gig--not the one i used to have when i was on shore in my _carriage_, but the blue one which was used for the _chariot_--you know which i mean." i happened to look swinburne in the face, who cocked his eye at me, as much as to say--"there he goes." we afterwards met the officers of the _minerve_, who corroborated all that swinburne had said, although it was quite unnecessary, as we had the captain's own words every minute to satisfy us of the fact. dinner parties were now very numerous, and the hospitality of the island is but too well known. the invitations extended to the midshipmen, and many was the good dinner and kind reception which i had during my stay. there was, however, one thing i had heard so much of, that i was anxious to witness it, which was a _dignity ball_. but i must enter a little into explanation, or my readers will not understand me. the coloured people of barbadoes, for reasons best known to themselves, are immoderately proud, and look upon all the negroes who are born on other islands as _niggers_; they have also an extraordinary idea of their own bravery, although i never heard that it has ever been put to the proof. the free barbadians are, most of them, very rich, and hold up their heads as they walk with an air quite ridiculous. they ape the manners of the europeans, at the same time that they appear to consider them as almost their inferiors. now, a _dignity_ ball is a ball given by the most consequential of their coloured people, and from the amusement and various other reasons, is generally well attended by the officers both on shore and afloat. the price of the tickets of admission was high--i think they were half a joe, or eight dollars each. the governor sent out cards for a grand ball and supper for the ensuing week, and miss betsy austin, a quadroon woman, ascertaining the fact, sent out her cards for the same evening. this was not altogether in _rivalry_, but for another reason, which was, that she was aware that most of the officers and midshipmen of the ships would obtain permission to go to the governor's ball, and, preferring hers, would slip away and join the party, by which means she ensured a full attendance. on the day of invitation our captain came on board, and told our new first lieutenant (of whom i shall say more hereafter) that the governor insisted that all _his_ officers should go--that he would take no denial, and, therefore, he presumed, go they must; that the fact was, that the governor was a _relation_ of his wife, and under some trifling obligations to him in obtaining for him his present command. he certainly had spoken to the _prime minister_, and he thought it not impossible, considering the intimate terms which the minister and he had been on from childhood, that his solicitation might have had some effect; at all events, it was pleasant to find that there was some little gratitude left in this world. after this, of course, every officer went, with the exception of the master, who said that he'd as soon have two round turns in his hawse as go to see people kick their legs about like fools, and that he'd take care of the ship. the governor's ball was very splendid, but the ladies were rather sallow, from the effects of the climate. however, there were exceptions, and on the whole it was a very gay affair; but we were all anxious to go to the _dignity_ ball of miss betsy austin. i slipped away with three other midshipmen, and we soon arrived there. a crowd of negroes were outside of the house; but the ball had not yet commenced, from the want of gentlemen, the ball being very correct, nothing under mulatto in colour being admitted. perhaps i ought to say here, that the progeny of a white and a negro is a mulatto, or half and half--of a white and mulatto, a _quadroon_, or one-quarter black, and of this class the company were chiefly composed. i believe a quadroon and white make the _mustee_ or one-eighth black, and the mustee and white the mustafina, or one-sixteenth black. after that, they are _whitewashed_, and considered as europeans. the pride of colour is very great in the west indies, and they have as many quarterings as a german prince in his coat of arms; a quadroon looks down upon a mulatto, while a mulatto looks down upon a _sambo_, that is, half mulatto half negro, while a sambo in his turn looks down upon a _nigger_. the quadroons are certainly the handsomest race of the whole, some of the women are really beautiful; their hair is long and perfectly straight, their eyes large and black, their figures perfection, and you can see the colour mantle in their cheeks quite as plainly, and with as much effect, as in those of a european. we found the door of miss austin's house open, and ornamented with orange branches, and on our presenting ourselves were accosted by a mulatto gentleman, who was, we presumed, "usher of the black rod." his head was well powdered, he was dressed in white jean trousers, a waistcoat not six inches long, and a half-worn post-captain's coat on, as a livery, with a low bow, he "took de liberty to trouble de gentlemen for de card for de ball," which being produced, we were ushered on by him to the ball-room, at the door of which miss austin was waiting to receive her company. she made us a low courtesy, observing, "she really happy to see de _gentlemen_ of de ship, but hoped to see de _officers_ also at her _dignity_." this remark touched our _dignity_, and one of my companions replied, "that we midshipmen considered ourselves officers, and no _small_ ones either, and that if she waited for the lieutenants she must wait until they were tired of the governor's ball, we having given the preference to hers." this remark set all to rights; sangaree was handed about, and i looked around at the company. i must acknowledge, at the risk of losing the good opinion of my fair countrywomen, that i never saw before so many pretty figures and faces. the _officers_ not having yet arrived, we received all the attention, and i was successively presented to miss eurydice, miss minerva, miss sylvia, miss aspasia, miss euterpe, and many others, evidently borrowed from the different men-of-war which had been on the station. all these young ladies gave themselves all the airs of almack's. their dresses i cannot pretend to describe--jewels of value were not wanting, but their drapery was slight; they appeared neither to wear nor to require stays, and on the whole, their figures were so perfect that they could only be ill dressed by having on too much dress. a few more midshipmen and some lieutenants (o'brien among the number) having made their appearance, miss austin directed that the ball should commence. i requested the honour of miss eurydice's hand in a cotillon, which was to open the ball. at this moment stepped forth the premier violin, master of the ceremonies and ballet-master, massa johnson, really a very smart man, who gave lessons in dancing to all the "'badian ladies." he was a dark quadroon, his hair slightly powdered, dressed in a light blue coat thrown well back, to show his lily-white waistcoat, only one button of which he could afford to button to make full room for the pride of his heart, the frill of his shirt, which really was _un jabot superb_, four inches wide, and extending from his collar to the waistband of his nankeen tights, which were finished off at his knees with huge bunches of ribbon; his legs were encased in silk stockings, which, however, was not very good taste on his part, as they showed the manifest advantage which an european has over a coloured man in the formation of the leg: instead of being straight, his shins curved like a cheese-knife, and, moreover, his leg was planted into his foot like the handle into a broom or scrubbing-brush, there being quite as much of the foot on the heel side as on the toe side. such was the appearance of mr apollo johnson, whom the ladies considered as the _ne plus ultra_ of fashion, and the _arbiter elegantiarum_. his _bow-tick_, or fiddle-stick, was his wand, whose magic rap on the fiddle produced immediate obedience to his mandates. "ladies and gentle, take your seats." all started up. "miss eurydice, you open de ball." miss eurydice had but a sorry partner, but she undertook to instruct me. o'brien was our _vis-à-vis_ with miss euterpe. the other gentlemen were officers from the ships, and we stood up twelve, checkered brown and white, like a chess-board. all eyes were fixed upon mr apollo johnson, who first looked at the couples, then at his fiddle, and lastly, at the other musicians, to see if all was right, and then with a wave of his _bow-tick_ the music began. "massa lieutenant," cried apollo to o'brien, "cross over to opposite lady, right hand and left, den figure to miss eurydice--dat right; now four hand round. you lilly midshipman, set your partner, sir; den twist her round; dat do; now stop. first figure all over." at this time i thought i might venture to talk a little with my partner, and i ventured a remark; to my surprise she answered very sharply, "i come here for dance, sar, and not for chatter; look, massa johnson, he tap um bow-tick." the second figure commenced, and i made a sad bungle; so i did of the third, and fourth, and fifth, for i never had danced a cotillon. when i handed my partner to her place, who certainly was the prettiest girl in the room, she looked rather contemptuously at me, and observed to a neighbour, "i really pity de gentleman as come from england dat no know how to dance nor nothing at all, until em hab instruction at barbadoes." a country dance was now called for, which was more acceptable to all parties, as none of mr apollo johnson's pupils were very perfect in their cotillon, and none of the officers, except o'brien, knew anything about them. o'brien's superior education on this point, added to his lieutenant's epaulet and handsome person, made him much courted; but he took up with miss eurydice after i had left her, and remained with her the whole evening; thereby exciting the jealousy of mr apollo johnson, who, it appears, was amorous in that direction. our party increased every minute; all the officers of the garrison, and, finally, as soon as they could get away, the governor's aid-de-camps, all dressed in _mufti_ (i.e., plain clothes). the dancing continued until three o'clock in the morning, when it was quite a squeeze, from the constant arrival of fresh recruits from all the houses of barbadoes. i must say, that a few bottles of eau de cologne thrown about the room would have improved the atmosphere. by this time the heat was terrible, and the _mopping_ of the ladies' faces everlasting. i would recommend a dignity ball to all stout gentlemen who wish to be reduced a stone or two. supper was now announced, and having danced the last country dance with miss minerva, i of course had the pleasure of handing her into the supper-room. it was my fate to sit opposite to a fine turkey, and i asked my partner if i should have the pleasure of helping her to a piece of the breast. she looked at me very indignantly, and said, "curse your impudence, sar, i wonder where you larn manners. sar, i take a lilly turkey _bosom_, if you please. talk of _breast_ to a lady, sar;--really quite _horrid_." i made two or three more barbarous mistakes before the supper was finished. at last the eating was over, and i must say a better supper i never sat down to. "silence, gentlemen and ladies," cried mr apollo johnson. "wid the permission of our amiable hostess, i will propose a toast. gentlemen and ladies--you all know, and if be so you don't, i say that there no place in the world like barbadoes. all de world fight against england, but england nebber fear; king george nebber fear, while _barbadoes 'tand 'tiff_. 'badian fight for king george to last drop of him blood. nebber see the day 'badian run away; you all know dem frenchmans at san lucee, give up morne fortunee, when he hear de 'badian volunteer come against him. i hope no 'fence present company, but um sorry to say english come here too jealous of 'badians. gentlemen and lady--barbadian born ab only one fault--he _really too brave_. i propose health of 'island of barbadoes.'" acclamations from all quarters followed this truly modest speech, and the toast was drunk with rapture; the ladies were delighted with mr apollo's eloquence, and the lead which he took in the company. o'brien then rose and addressed the company as follows:-- "ladies and gentlemen--mr poll has spoken better than the best parrot i ever met with in this country, but as he has thought proper to drink the 'island of barbadoes,' i mean to be a little more particular. i wish, with him, all good health to the island; but there is a charm without which the island would be a desert--that is, the society of the lovely girls which now surround us, and take our hearts by storm--" (here o'brien put his arm gently round miss eurydice's waist, and mr apollo ground his teeth so as to be heard at the furthest end of the room)"-- therefore, gentlemen, with your permission, i will propose the health of the ''badian ladies.'" this speech of o'brien's was declared, by the females at least, to be infinitely superior to mr apollo johnson's. miss eurydice was even more gracious, and the other ladies were more envious. many other toasts and much more wine was drunk, until the male part of the company appeared to be rather riotous. mr apollo, however, had to regain his superiority, and after some hems and hahs, begged permission to give a sentiment. "gentlemen and ladies, i beg then to say-- "here's to de cock who make lub to de hen, crow till he hoarse and make lub again." this _sentiment_ was received with rapture; and after silence was obtained, miss betsy austin rose and said--"unaccustomed as she was to public 'peaking, she must not sit 'till and not tank de gentleman for his very fine toast, and in de name of de ladies she begged to propose another sentimen', which was-- "here to de hen what nebber refuses, let cock pay compliment whenebber he chooses." if the first toast was received with applause, this was with enthusiasm; but we received a damper after it was subsided, by the lady of the house getting up and saying--"now, gentlemen and ladies, me tink it right to say dat it time to go home; i nebber allow people get drunk or kick up bobbery in my house, so now i tink we better take parting-glass, and very much obliged to you for your company." as o'brien said, this was a broad hint to be off, so we all now took our parting-glass, in compliance with her request, and our own wishes, and proceeded to escort our partners on their way home. while i was assisting miss minerva to her red crape shawl, a storm was brewing in another quarter, to wit, between mr apollo johnson and o'brien. o'brien was assiduously attending to miss eurydice, whispering what he called soft blarney in her ear, when mr apollo, who was above spirit-boiling heat with jealousy, came up, and told miss eurydice that he would have the honour of escorting her home. "you may save yourself the trouble, you dingy gut-scraper," replied o'brien; "the lady is under my protection, so take your ugly black face out of the way, or i'll show you how i treat a ''badian who is really too brave.'" "so 'elp me gad, massa lieutenant, 'pose you put finger on me, i show you what 'badian can do." apollo then attempted to insert himself between o'brien and his lady, upon which o'brien shoved him back with great violence, and continued his course towards the door. they were in the passage when i came up, for hearing o'brien's voice in anger, i left miss minerva to shift for herself. miss eurydice had now left o'brien's arm, at his request, and he and mr apollo were standing in the passage, o'brien close to the door, which was shut, and apollo swaggering up to him. o'brien, who knew the tender part of a black, saluted apollo with a kick on the shins which would have broken my leg. massa johnson roared with pain, and recoiled two or three paces, parting the crowd away behind him. the blacks never fight with fists, but butt with their heads like rams, and with quite as much force. when mr apollo had retreated, he gave his shin one more rub, uttered a loud yell, and started at o'brien, with his head aimed at o'brien's chest, like a battering-ram. o'brien, who was aware of this plan of fighting, stepped dexterously on one side, and allowed mr apollo to pass by him, which he did with such force, that his head went clean through the panel of the door behind o'brien, and there he stuck as fast as if in a pillory, squeaking like a pig for assistance, and foaming with rage. after some difficulty he was released, and presented a very melancholy figure. his face was much cut, and his superb _jabot_ all in tatters; he appeared, however, to have had quite enough of it, as he retreated to the supper-room, followed by some of his admirers, without asking or looking after o'brien. but if mr apollo had had enough of it, his friends were too indignant to allow us to go off scot free. a large mob was collected in the street, vowing vengeance on us for our treatment of their flash man, and a row was to be expected. miss eurydice had escaped, so that o'brien had his hands free. "cam out, you hangman tiefs, cam out; only wish had rock stones, to mash your heads with," cried the mob of negroes. the officers now sallied out in a body, and were saluted with every variety of missile, such as rotten oranges, cabbage-stalks, mud, and cocoa-nut shells. we fought our way manfully, but as we neared the beach the mob increased to hundreds, and at last we could proceed no further, being completely jammed up by the niggers, upon whose heads we could make no more impression than upon blocks of marble. "we must draw our swords," observed an officer. "no, no," replied o'brien, "that will not do; if once we shed blood, they will never let us get on board with our lives. the boat's crew by this time must be aware that there is a row." o'brien was right. he had hardly spoken, before a lane was observed to be made through the crowd in the distance, which in two minutes was open to us. swinburne appeared in the middle of it, followed by the rest of the boat's crew, armed with the boat's stretchers, which they did not aim at the _heads_ of the blacks, but swept them like scythes against their _shins_. this they continued to do, right and left of us, as we walked through and went down to the boats, the seamen closing up the rear with their stretchers, with which they ever and anon made a sweep at the black fellows if they approached too near. it was now broad daylight, and in a few minutes we were again safely on board the frigate. thus ended the first and last dignity ball that i attended. chapter xxxii i am claimed by captain kearney as a relation--trial of skill between first lieutenant and captain with the long bow--the shark, the pug-dog, and the will--a quarter-deck picture. as the admiral was not one who would permit the ships under his command to lie idle in port, in a very few days after the dignity ball which i have described, all the squadron sailed on their various destinations. i was not sorry to leave the bay, for one soon becomes tired of profusion, and cared nothing for either oranges, bananas, or shaddocks, nor even for, the good dinners and claret at the tables of the army mess and gentlemen of the island. the sea breeze soon became more precious to us than anything else, and if we could have bathed without the fear of a shark, we should have equally appreciated that most refreshing of all luxuries under the torrid zone. it was therefore with pleasure that we received the information that we were to sail the next day to cruise off the french island of martinique. captain kearney had been so much on shore that we saw but little of him, and the ship was entirely under the control of the first lieutenant, of whom i have hitherto not spoken. he was a very short, pock-marked man, with red hair and whiskers, a good sailor, and not a bad officer; that is, he was a practical sailor, and could show any foremast man his duty in any department--and this seamen very much appreciate, as it is not very common; but i never yet knew an officer who prided himself upon his practical knowledge, who was at the same time a good navigator, and too often, by assuming the jack tar, they lower the respect due to them, and become coarse and vulgar in their manners and language. this was the case with mr phillott, who prided himself upon his slang, and who was at one time "hail fellow well met" with the seamen, talking to them, and being answered as familiarly as if they were equals, and at another, knocking the very same men down with a handspike if he was displeased. he was not bad-tempered, but very hasty; and his language to the officers was occasionally very incorrect; to the midshipmen invariably so. however, on the whole, he was not disliked, although he was certainly not respected as a first lieutenant should have been. it is but fair to say, that he was the same to his superiors as he was to his inferiors, and the bluntness with which he used to contradict and assert his disbelief of captain kearney's narratives often produced a coolness between them for some days. the day after we sailed from carlisle bay i was asked to dine in the cabin. the dinner was served upon plated dishes, which looked very grand, but there was not much in them. "this plate," observed the captain, "was presented to me by some merchants for my exertions in saving their property from the danes when i was cruising off heligoland." "why, that lying steward of yours told me that you bought it at portsmouth," replied the first lieutenant: "i asked him in the galley this morning." "how came you to assert such a confounded falsehood, sir?" said the captain to the man who stood behind his chair. "i only said that i thought so," replied the steward. "why, didn't you say that the bill had been sent in, through you, seven or eight times, and that the captain had paid it with a flowing sheet?" "did you dare say that, sir?" interrogated the captain, very angrily. "mr phillott mistook me, sir?" replied the steward. "he was so busy damning the sweepers, that he did not hear me right. i said, the midshipmen had paid their crockery bill with the fore-topsail." "ay! ay!" replied the captain, "that's much more likely." "well, mr steward," replied mr phillott, "i'll be d----d if you ar'n't as big a liar as your--" (master, he was going to plump out, but fortunately the first lieutenant checked himself, and added)--"as your father was before you." the captain changed the conversation by asking me whether i would take a slice of ham. "it's real westphalia, mr simple; i have them sent me direct by count troningsken, an intimate friend of mine, who kills his own wild boars in the hartz mountains." "how the devil do you get them over, captain kearney?" "there are ways and means of doing everything, mr phillott, and the first consul is not quite so bad as he is represented. the first batch was sent over with a very handsome letter to me, written in his own hand, which i will show you some of these days. i wrote to him in return, and sent to him two cheshire cheeses by a smuggler, and since that they came regularly. did you ever eat westphalia ham, mr simple?" "yes," replied i; "once i partook of one at lord privilege's." "lord privilege! why he's a distant relation of mine, a sort of fifth cousin," replied captain kearney. "indeed, sir!" replied i. "then you must allow me to introduce you to a relation, captain kearney," said the first lieutenant; "for mr simple is his grandson." "is it possible? i can only say, mr simple, that i shall be most happy to show you every attention, and am very glad that i have you as one of my officers." now although this was all false, for captain kearney was not in the remotest manner connected with my family, yet having once asserted it, he could not retract, and the consequence was, that i was much the gainer by his falsehood, as he treated me very kindly afterwards, always calling me _cousin_. the first lieutenant smiled and gave me a wink, when the captain had finished his speech to me, as much as to say, "you're in luck," and then the conversation changed. captain kearney certainly dealt in the marvellous to admiration, and really told his stories with such earnestness, that i actually believe that he thought he was telling the truth. never was there such an instance of confirmed habit. telling a story of a cutting-out expedition, he said, "the french captain would have fallen by my hand, but just as i levelled my musket, a ball came, and cut off the cock of the lock as clean as if it was done with a knife--a very remarkable instance," observed he. "not equal to what occurred in a ship i was in," replied the first lieutenant, "when the second lieutenant was grazed by a grape-shot, which cut off one of his whiskers, and turning round his head to ascertain what was the matter, another grape-shot came and took off the other. now that's what i call a _close shave_." "yes," replied captain kearney, "very close, indeed, if it were true; but you'll excuse me, mr phillott, but you sometimes tell strange stories. i do not mind it myself, but the example is not good to my young relation here, mr simple." "captain kearney," replied the first lieutenant, laughing very immoderately, "do you know what the pot called the kettle?" "no, sir, i do not," retorted the captain, with offended dignity. "mr simple, will you take a glass of wine?" i thought that this little _brouillerie_ would have checked the captain; it did so, but only for a few minutes, when he again commenced. the first lieutenant observed that it would be necessary to let water into the ship every morning, and pump it out, to avoid the smell of the bilge-water. "there are worse smells than bilge-water," replied the captain. "what do you think of a whole ship's company being nearly poisoned with otto of roses? yet that occurred to me when in the mediterranean. i was off smyrna, cruising for a french ship, that was to sail to france, with a pasha on board, as an ambassador. i knew she would be a good prize, and was looking sharp out, when one morning we discovered her on the lee bow. we made all sail, but she walked away from us, bearing away gradually till we were both before the wind, and at night we lost sight of her. as i knew that she was bound to marseilles, i made all sail to fall in with her again. the wind was light and variable; but five days afterwards, as i lay in my cot, just before daylight, i smelt a very strong smell, blowing in at the weather port, and coming down the skylight, which was open; and after sniffing at it two or three times, i knew it to be otto of roses. i sent for the officer of the watch, and asked him if there was anything in sight. he replied 'that there was not;' and i ordered him to sweep the horizon with his glass, and look well out to windward. as the wind freshened, the smell became more powerful. i ordered him to get the royal yards across, and all ready to make sail, for i knew that the turk must be near us. at daylight there he was, just three miles ahead in the wind's eye. but although he beat us going free, he was no match for us, on a wind, and before noon we had possession of him and all his harem. by-the-by, i could tell you a good story about the ladies. she was a very valuable prize, and among other things, she had a _puncheon_ of otto of roses on board--." "whew!" cried the first lieutenant. "what! a whole puncheon?" "yes," replied the captain, "a turkish puncheon--not quite so large, perhaps, as ours on board; their weights and measures are different. i took out most of the valuables into the brig i commanded--about , sequins--carpets--and among the rest, this cask of otto of roses, which we had smelt three miles off. we had it safe on board, when the mate of the hold, not slinging it properly, it fell into the spirit-room with a run, and was stove to pieces. never was such a scene; my first lieutenant and several men on deck fainted; and the men in the hold were brought up lifeless; it was some time before they were recovered. we let the water into the brig, and pumped it out, but nothing would take away the smell, which was so overpowering, that before i could get to malta i had forty men on the sick list. when i arrived there, i turned the mate out of the service for his carelessness. it was not until after having smoked the brig, and finding that of little use, after having sunk her for three weeks, that the smell was at all bearable; but even then it could never be eradicated, and the admiral sent the brig home, and she was sold out of the service. they could do nothing with her at the dockyards. she was broken up, and bought by the people at brighton and tunbridge wells, who used her timbers for turning fancy articles, which, smelling as they did, so strongly of otto of roses, proved very profitable. were you ever at brighton, mr simple?" "never, sir." just at this moment, the officer of the watch came down to say that there was a very large shark under the counter, and wished to know if the captain had any objection to the officers attempting to catch it. "by no means," replied captain kearney; "i hate sharks as i do the devil. i nearly lost £ , by one, when i was in the mediterranean." "may i inquire how, captain kearney?" said the first lieutenant, with a demure face; "i'm very anxious to know." "why the story is simply this," replied the captain. "i had an old relation at malta, whom i found out by accident--an old maid of sixty, who had lived all her life on the island. it was by mere accident that i knew of her existence. i was walking upon strada reale, when i saw a large baboon that was kept there, who had a little fat pug-dog by the tail, which he was pulling away with him, while an old lady was screaming out for help: for whenever she ran to assist her dog, the baboon made at her as if he would have ravished her, and caught her by the petticoats with one hand, while he held the pug-dog fast by the other. i owed that brute a spite for having attacked me one night when i passed him, and perceiving what was going on, i drew my sword and gave mr jacko such a clip as sent him away howling, and bleeding like a pig, leaving me in possession of the little pug, which i took up and handed to his mistress. the old lady trembled very much, and begged me to see her safe home. she had a very fine house, and after she was seated on the sofa, thanked me very much for my gallant assistance, as she termed it, and told me her name was kearney: upon this i very soon proved my relationship with her, at which she was much delighted, requesting me to consider her house as my home. i was for two years afterwards on that station, and played my cards very well; and the old lady gave me a hint that i should be her heir, as she had no other relations that she knew anything of. at last i was ordered home, and not wishing to leave her, i begged her to accompany me, offering her my cabin. she was taken very ill a fortnight before we sailed, and made a will, leaving me her sole heir; but she recovered, and got as fat as ever. mr simple, the wine stands with you. i doubt if lord privilege gave you better claret than there is in that bottle; i imported it myself ten years ago, when i commanded the _coquette_." "very odd," observed the first lieutenant--"we bought some at barbadoes with the same mark on the bottles and cork." "that may be," replied the captain; "old-established houses all keep up the same marks; but i doubt if your wine can be compared to this." as mr phillott wished to hear the end of the captain's story, he would not contradict him this time, by stating what he knew to be the case, that the captain had sent it on board at barbadoes; and the captain proceeded. "well, i gave up my cabin to the old lady, and hung up my cot in the gun-room during the passage home. "we were becalmed abreast of ceuta for two days. the old lady was very particular about her pug-dog, and i superintended the washing of the little brute twice a week; but at last i was tired of it, and gave him to my coxswain to bathe. my coxswain, who was a lazy fellow, without my knowledge, used to put the little beast into the bight of a rope, and tow him overboard for a minute or so. it was during this calm that he had him overboard in this way, when a confounded shark rose from under the counter, and took in the pug-dog at one mouthful. the coxswain reported the loss as a thing of no consequence; but i knew better, and put the fellow in irons. i then went down and broke the melancholy fact to miss kearney, stating that i had put the man in irons, and would flog him well. the old lady broke out into a most violent passion at the intelligence, declared that it was my fault, that i was jealous of the dog, and had done it on purpose. the more i protested, the more she raved; and at last i was obliged to go on deck to avoid her abuse and keep my temper. i had not been on deck five minutes before she came up-- that is, was shoved up--for she was so heavy that she could not get up without assistance. you know how elephants in india push the cannon through a morass with their heads from behind; well, my steward used to shove her up the companion-ladder just in the same way, with his head completely buried in her petticoats. as soon as she was up, he used to pull his head out, looking as red and hot as a fresh-boiled lobster. well, up she came, with her will in her hand, and, looking at me very fiercely, she said, 'since the shark has taken my dear dog, he may have my will also,' and, throwing it overboard, she plumped down on the carronade slide. 'it's very well, madam,' said i, 'but you'll be cool by-and-by, and then you'll make another will.' 'i swear by all the hopes that i have of going to heaven that i never will!' she replied. 'yes, you will, madam,' replied i. 'never, so help me god! captain kearney; my money may now go to my next heir, and that, you know, will not be you.' now, as i knew very well that the old lady was very positive and as good as her word, my object was to recover the will, which was floating about fifty yards astern, without her knowledge. i thought a moment, and then i called the boatswain's mate to _pipe all hands to bathe_. 'you'll excuse me, miss kearney,' said i, 'but the men are going to bathe, and i do not think you would like to see them all naked. if you would, you can stay on deck.' she looked daggers at me, and, rising from the carronade slide, hobbled to the ladder, saying, 'that the insult was another proof of how little i deserved any kindness from her.' as soon as she was below, the quarter-boats were lowered down, and i went in one of them and picked up the will, which still floated. brigs having no stern-windows, of course she could not see my manoeuvre, but thought that the will was lost for ever. we had very bad weather after that, owing to which, with the loss of her favourite pug, and constant quarrelling with me--for i did all i could to annoy her afterwards--she fell ill, and was buried a fortnight after she was landed at plymouth. the old lady kept her word; she never made another will. i proved the one i had recovered at doctors' commons, and touched the whole of her money." as neither the first lieutenant nor i could prove whether the story was true or not, of course we expressed our congratulations at his good fortune, and soon afterwards left the cabin to report his marvellous story to our messmates. when i went on deck, i found that the shark had just been hooked, and was hauling on board. mr phillott had also come on deck. the officers were all eager about the shark, and were looking over the side, calling to each other, and giving directions to the men. now, although certainly there was a want of decorum on the quarter-deck, still, the captain having given permission, it was to be excused; but mr phillott thought otherwise, and commenced in his usual style, beginning with the marine officer. "mr westley, i'll trouble you not to be getting upon the hammocks. you'll get off directly, sir. if one of your fellows were to do so, i'd stop his grog for a month, and i don't see why you are to set a bad example; you've been too long in barracks, sir, by half. who is that? mr williams and mr moore--both on the hammocks, too. up to the foretopmast head, both of you, directly. mr thomas, up to the main; and i say, you youngster, stealing off, perch yourself upon the spanker-boom, and let me know when you've rode to london. by god! the service is going to hell! i don't know what officers are made of now-a-days. i'll marry some of you young gentlemen to the gunner's daughter before long. quarter-deck's no better than a bear-garden. no wonder, when lieutenants set the example." this latter remark could only be applied to o'brien, who stood in the quarter-boat giving directions, before the tirade of mr phillott stopped the amusement of the party. o'brien immediately stepped out of the boat, and going up to mr phillott, touched his hat, and said, "mr phillott, we had the captain's permission to catch the shark, and a shark is not to be got on board by walking up and down on the quarter-deck. as regards myself, as long as the captain is on board, i hold myself responsible to him alone for my conduct; and if you think i have done wrong, forward your complaint; but if you pretend to use such language to me, as you have to others, i shall hold you responsible. i am here, sir, as an officer and a gentleman, and will be treated as such; and allow me to observe, that i consider the quarter-deck more disgraced by foul and ungentlemanly language, than i do by an officer accidentally standing upon the hammocks. however, as you have thought proper to interfere, you may now get the shark on board yourself." mr phillott turned very red, for he never had come in contact in this way with o'brien. all the other officers had submitted quietly to his unpleasant manner of speaking to them. "very well, mr o'brien; i shall hold you answerable for this language," replied he, "and shall most certainly report your conduct to the captain." "i will save you the trouble; captain kearney is now coming up, and i will report it myself." this o'brien did, upon the captain's putting his foot on the quarter-deck. "well," observed the captain to mr phillott, "what is it you complain of?" "mr o'brien's language, sir. am i to be addressed on the quarter-deck in that manner?" "i really must say, mr phillott," replied captain kearney, "that i do not perceive anything in what mr o'brien said, but what is correct. i command here; and if an officer so nearly equal in rank to yourself has committed himself, you are not to take the law into your own hands. the fact is, mr phillott, your language is not quite so correct as i could wish it. i overheard every word that passed, and i consider that _you_ have treated _your superior_ officer with disrespect--that is, _me_. i gave permission that the shark should be caught, and with that permission, i consequently allowed those little deviations from the discipline of the service which must inevitably take place. yet you have thought proper to interfere with my permission, which is tantamount to an order, and have made use of harsh language, and punished the young gentlemen for obeying my injunctions. you will oblige me, sir, by calling them all down, and in restraining your petulance for the future. i will always support your authority when you are correct; but i regret that in this instance you have necessitated me to weaken it." this was a most severe check to mr phillott, who immediately went below, after hailing the mastheads and calling down the midshipmen. as soon as he was gone we were all on the hammocks again; the shark was hauled forward, hoisted on board, and every frying-pan in the ship was in requisition. we were all much pleased with captain kearney's conduct on this occasion; and, as o'brien observed to me, "he really is a good fellow and clever officer. what a thousand pities it is, that he is such a confounded liar!" i must do mr phillott the justice to say that he bore no malice on this occasion, but treated us as before, which is saying a great deal in his favour, when it is considered what power a first lieutenant has of annoying and punishing his inferiors. chapter xxxiii another set-to between the captain and first lieutenant--cutting-out expedition--mr chucks mistaken--he dies like a gentleman--swinburne begins his account of the battle off st vincent. we had not been more than a week under the danish island of st thomas when we discovered a brig close in-shore. we made all sail in chase, and soon came within a mile and a half of the shore, when she anchored under a battery, which opened its fire upon us. their elevation was too great, and several shots passed over us and between our masts. "i once met with a very remarkable circumstance," observed captain kearney. "three guns were fired at a frigate i was on board of from a battery, all at the same time. the three shots cut away the three topsail ties, and down came all our topsail yards upon the cap at the same time. that the frenchmen might not suppose that they had taken such good aim, we turned up our hands to reef topsails; and by the time that the men were off the yards the ties were spliced and the topsails run up again." mr phillott could not stand this most enormous fib, and he replied, "very odd, indeed, captain kearney; but i have known a stranger circumstance. we had put in the powder to the four guns on the main deck when we were fighting the danish gun-boats in a frigate i was in, and, as the men withdrew the rammer, a shot from the enemy entered the muzzle, and completed the loading of each gun. we fired their own shot back upon them, and this occurred three times running." "upon my word," replied captain kearney, who had his glass upon the battery, "i think you must have dreamt that circumstance, mr phillott." "not more than you did about the topsail ties, captain kearney." captain kearney at that time had the long glass in his hand, holding it up over his shoulder. a shot from the battery whizzed over his head, and took the glass out of his hand, shivering it to pieces. "that's once," said captain kearney, very coolly; "but will you pretend that that could ever happen three times running? they might take my head off, or my arm, next time, but not another glass; whereas the topsail ties might be cut by three different shot. but give me another glass, mr simple: i am certain that this vessel is a privateer. what think you, mr o'brien?" "i am every bit of your opinion, captain kearney," replied o'brien; "and i think it would be a very pretty bit of practice to the ship's company to take her out from under that footy battery." "starboard the helm, mr phillott; keep away four points, and then we will think of it to-night." the frigate was now kept away, and ran out of the fire of the battery. it was then about an hour before sunset, and in the west indies the sun does not set as it does in the northern latitudes. there is no twilight: he descends in glory, surrounded with clouds of gold and rubies in their gorgeous tints; and once below the horizon, all is dark. as soon as it was dark, we hauled our wind off shore; and a consultation being held between the captain, mr phillott, and o'brien, the captain at last decided that the attempt should be made. indeed, although cutting-out is a very serious affair, as you combat under every disadvantage, still the mischief done to our trade by the fast-sailing privateers was so great in the west indies, that almost every sacrifice was warrantable for the interests of the country. still, captain kearney, although a brave and prudent officer--one who calculated chances, and who would not risk his men without he deemed that necessity imperiously demanded that such should be done--was averse to this attack, from his knowledge of the bay in which the brig was anchored; and although mr phillott and o'brien both were of opinion that it should be a night attack, captain kearney decided otherwise. he considered, that although the risk might be greater, yet the force employed would be more consolidated, and that those who would hold back in the night dare not do so during the day. moreover, that the people on shore in the battery, as well as those in the privateer, would be on the alert all night, and not expecting an attack during the day, would be taken off their guard. it was therefore directed that everything should be in preparation during the night, and that the boats should shove off before daylight, and row in-shore, concealing themselves behind some rocks under the cliffs which formed the cape upon one side of the harbour; and, if not discovered, remain there till noon, at which time it was probable that the privateer's men would be on shore, and the vessel might be captured without difficulty. it is always a scene of much interest on board a man-of-war when preparations are made for an expedition of this description; and, as the reader may not have been witness to them, it may perhaps be interesting to describe them. the boats of men-of-war have generally two crews; the common boats' crews, which are selected so as not to take away the most useful men from the ship; and the service, or fighting boats' crews, which are selected from the very best men on board. the coxswains of the boats are the most trustworthy men in the ship, and, on this occasion, have to see that their boats are properly equipped. the launch, yawl, first and second cutters, were the boats appointed for the expedition. they all carried guns mounted upon slides, which ran fore and aft between the men. after the boats were hoisted out, the guns were lowered down into them and shipped in the bows of the boats. the arm-chests were next handed in, which contain the cartridges and ammunition. the shot were put into the bottom of the boats; and so far they were all ready. the oars of the boats were fitted to pull with grummets upon iron thole-pins, that they might make little noise, and might swing fore and aft without falling overboard when the boats pulled alongside the privateer. a breaker or two (that is, small casks holding about seven gallons each) of water was put into each boat, and also the men's allowance of spirits, in case they should be detained by any unforeseen circumstances. the men belonging to the boats were fully employed in looking after their arms; some fitting their flints to their pistols, others, and the major part of them, sharpening their cutlasses at the grindstone, or with a file borrowed from the armourer,--all were busy and all merry. the very idea of going into action is a source of joy to an english sailor, and more jokes are made, more merriment excited, at that time than at any other. then, as it often happens that one or two of the service boats' crews may be on the sick list, urgent solicitations are made by others that they may supply their places. the only parties who appear at all grave are those who are to remain in the frigate, and not share in the expedition. there is no occasion to order the boats to be manned, for the men are generally in long before they are piped away. indeed, one would think that it was a party of pleasure, instead of danger and of death, upon which they were about to proceed. captain kearney selected the officers who were to have the charge of the boats. he would not trust any of the midshipmen on so dangerous a service. he said that he had known so many occasions in which their rashness and foolhardiness had spoilt an expedition; he therefore appointed mr phillott, the first lieutenant, to the launch; o'brien to the yawl; the master to the first, and mr chucks, the boatswain, to the second cutter. mr chucks was much pleased with the idea of having the command of a boat, and asked me to come with him, to which i consented, although i had intended, as usual, to have gone with o'brien. about an hour before daylight we ran the frigate to within a mile and a half of the shore, and the boats shoved off; the frigate then wore round, and stood out in the offing, that she might at daylight be at such a distance as not to excite any suspicion that our boats were sent away, while we in the boats pulled quietly in-shore. we were not a quarter of an hour before we arrived at the cape forming one side of the bay, and were well secreted among the cluster of rocks which were underneath. our oars were laid in; the boats' painters made fast; and orders given for the strictest silence. the rocks were very high, and the boats were not to be seen without any one should come to the edge of the precipice; and even then they would, in all probability, have been supposed to have been rocks. the water was as smooth as glass, and when it was broad daylight, the men hung listlessly over the sides of the boats, looking at the corals below, and watching the fish as they glided between. "i can't say, mr simple," said mr chucks to me in an under tone, "that i think well of this expedition; and i have an idea that some of us will lose the number of our mess. after a calm comes a storm; and how quiet is everything now! but i'll take off my great coat, for the sun is hot already. coxswain, give me my jacket." mr chucks had put on his great coat, but not his jacket underneath, which he had left on one of the guns on the main deck, all ready to change as soon as the heavy dew had gone off. the coxswain handed him the jacket, and mr chucks threw off his great coat to put it on; but when it was opened it proved, that by mistake he had taken away the jacket, surmounted by two small epaulettes, belonging to captain kearney, which the captain's steward, who had taken it out to brush, had also laid upon the same gun. "by all the nobility of england!" cried mr chucks, "i have taken away the captain's jacket by mistake. here's a pretty mess! if i put on my great coat i shall be dead with sweating; if i put on no jacket i shall be roasted brown; but if i put on the captain's jacket i shall be considered disrespectful." the men in the boats tittered; and mr phillott, who was in the launch next to us, turned round to see what was the matter; o'brien was sitting in the stern-sheets of the launch with the first lieutenant, and i leaned over and told them. "by the powers! i don't see why the captain's jacket will be at all hurt by mr chucks putting it on," replied o'brien; "unless, indeed, a bullet were to go through it, and then it won't be any fault of mr chucks." "no," replied the first lieutenant; "and if one did, the captain might keep the jacket, and swear that the bullet went round his body without wounding him. he'll have a good yarn to spin. so put it on, mr chucks; you'll make a good mark for the enemy." "that i will stand the risk of with pleasure," observed the boatswain to me, "for the sake of being considered a gentleman. so here's on with it." there was a general laugh when mr chucks pulled on the captain's jacket, and sank down in the stern-sheets of the cutter, with great complacency of countenance. one of the men in the boat that we were in thought proper, however, to continue his laugh a little longer than mr chucks considered necessary, who, leaning forward, thus addressed him: "i say, mr webber, i beg leave to observe to you, in the most delicate manner in the world--just to hint to you--that it is not the custom to laugh at your superior officer. i mean just to insinuate, that you are a d----d impudent son of a sea cook; and if we both live and do well, i will prove to you, that if i am to be laughed at in a boat with the captain's jacket on, that i am not to be laughed at on board the frigate with the boatswain's rattan in my fist; and so look out, my hearty, for squalls, when you come on the forecastle; for i'll be d----d if i don't make you see more stars than god almighty ever made, and cut more capers than all the dancing-masters in france. mark my words, you burgoo-eating, pea-soup-swilling, trowsers-scrubbing son of a bitch." mr chucks, having at the end of this oration raised his voice above the pitch required by the exigency of the service, was called to order by the first lieutenant, and again sank back into the stern-sheets with all the importance and authoritative show peculiarly appertaining to a pair of epaulettes. we waited behind the rocks until noonday, without being discovered by the enemy; so well were we concealed. we had already sent an officer, who, carefully hiding himself by lying down on the rocks, had several times reconnoitred the enemy. boats were passing and repassing continually from the privateer to the shore; and it appeared that they went on shore full of men, and returned with only one or two; so that we were in great hopes that we should find but few men to defend the vessel. mr phillott looked at his watch, held it up to o'brien, to prove that he had complied exactly with the orders he had received from the captain, and then gave the word to get the boats under weigh. the painters were cast off by the bowmen, the guns were loaded and primed, the men seized their oars, and in two minutes we were clear of the rocks, and drawn up in a line within a quarter of a mile from the harbour's mouth, and not half a mile from the privateer brig. we rowed as quickly as possible, but we did not cheer until the enemy fired the first gun; which he did from a quarter unexpected, as we entered the mouth of the harbour, with our union jack trailing in the water over our stern, for it was a dead calm. it appeared, that at the low point under the cliffs, at each side of the little bay, they had raised a water battery of two guns each. one of these guns, laden with grape shot, was now fired at the boats, but the elevation was too low, and although the water was ploughed up to within five yards of the launch, no injury was received. we were equally fortunate in the discharge of the other three guns; two of which we passed so quickly, that they were not aimed sufficiently forward, so that their shot fell astern; and the other, although the shot fell among us, did no further injury than cutting in half two of the oars of the first cutter. in the meantime, we had observed that the boats had shoved off from the privateer as soon as they had perceived us, and had returned to her laden with men; the boats had been despatched a second time, but had not yet returned. they were now about the same distance from the privateer as were our boats, and it was quite undecided which of us would be first on board. o'brien perceiving this, painted out to mr phillott that we should first attack the boats, and afterwards board on the side to which they pulled; as, in all probability, there would be an opening left in the boarding nettings, which were tied up to the yard-arms, and presented a formidable obstacle to our success. mr phillott agreed with o'brien: he ordered the bowmen to lay in their oars and keep the guns pointed ready to fire at the word given, and desiring the other men to pull their best. every nerve, every muscle was brought into play by our anxious and intrepid seamen. when within about twenty yards of the vessel, and also of the boats, the orders were given to fire--the carronade of the launch poured out round and grape so well directed, that one of the french boats sunk immediately; and the musket balls with which our other smaller guns were loaded, did great execution among their men. in one minute more, with three cheers from our sailors, we were all alongside together, english and french boats pell-mell, and a most determined close conflict took place. the french fought desperately, and as they were overpowered, they were reinforced by those from the privateer, who could not look on and behold their companions requiring their assistance, without coming to their aid. some jumped down into our boats from the chains, into the midst of our men; others darted cold shot at us, either to kill us or to sink our boats; and thus did one of the most desperate hand-to-hand conflicts take place that ever was witnessed. but it was soon decided in our favour, for we were the stronger party and the better armed; and when all opposition was over, we jumped into the privateer, and found not a man left on board, only a large dog, who flew at o'brien's throat as he entered the port. "don't kill him," said o'brien, as the sailors hastened to his assistance; "only take away his gripe." the sailors disengaged the dog, and o'brien led him up to a gun, saying, "by jasus, my boy, you are my prisoner." but although we had possession of the privateer, our difficulties, as it will prove, were by no means over. we were now exposed not only to the fire of the two batteries at the harbour-mouth which we had to pass, but also to that of the battery at the bottom of the bay, which had fired at the frigate. in the meantime, we were very busy in cutting the cable, lowering the topsails, and taking the wounded men on board the privateer, from out of the boats. all this was, however, but the work of a few minutes. most of the frenchmen were killed; our own wounded amounted to only nine seamen and mr chucks, the boatswain, who was shot through the body, apparently with little chance of surviving. as mr phillott observed, the captain's epaulettes had made him a mark for the enemy, and he had fallen in his borrowed plumes. as soon as they were all on board, and laid on the deck--for there were, as near as i can recollect, about fourteen wounded frenchmen as well as our own--tow-ropes were got out forwards, the boats were manned, and we proceeded to tow the brig out of the harbour. it was a dead calm, and we made but little way, but our boat's crew, flushed with victory, cheered, and rallied, and pulled with all their strength. the enemy perceiving that the privateer was taken, and the french boats drifting empty up the harbour, now opened their fire upon us, and with great effect. before we had towed abreast of the two water batteries, we had received three-shots between wind and water from the other batteries, and the sea was pouring fast into the vessel. i had been attending to poor mr chucks, who lay on the starboard side, near the wheel, the blood flowing from his wound, and tracing its course down the planks of the deck, to a distance of some feet from where he lay. he appeared very faint, and i tied my handkerchief round his body, so as to stop the effusion of blood, and brought him some water, with which i bathed his face, and poured some into his mouth. he opened his eyes wide, and looked at me. "ah, mr simple," said he, faintly, "is it you? it's all over with me; but it could not be better--could it?" "how do you mean?" inquired i. "why, have i not fallen dressed like an officer and a gentleman?" said he, referring to the captain's jacket and epaulettes. "i'd sooner die now with this dress on, than recover to put on the boatswain's uniform. i feel quite happy." he pressed my hand, and then closed his eyes again, from weakness. we were now nearly abreast of the two batteries on the points, the guns of which had been trained so as to bear upon our boats that were towing out the brig. the first shot went through the bottom of the launch, and sank her; fortunately, all the men were saved; but as she was the boat that towed next to the brig, great delay occurred in getting the others clear of her, and taking the brig again in tow. the shot now poured in thick, and the grape became very annoying. still our men gave way, cheering at every shot fired, and we had nearly passed the batteries, with trifling loss, when we perceived that the brig was so full of water that she could not swim many minutes longer, and that it would be impossible to tow her alongside of the frigate. mr phillott, under these circumstances, decided that it would be useless to risk more lives, and that the wounded should be taken out of the brig, and the boats should pull away for the ship. he desired me to get the wounded men into the cutter, which he sent alongside, and then to follow the other boats. i made all the haste i could, not wishing to be left behind; and as soon as all our wounded men were in the boats, i went to mr chucks, to remove him. he appeared somewhat revived, but would not allow us to remove him. "my dear mr simple," said he, "it is of no use; i never can recover it, and i prefer dying here. i entreat you not to move me. if the enemy take possession of the brig before she sinks, i shall be buried with military honours; if they do not, i shall at least die in the dress of a gentleman. hasten away as fast as you can, before you lose more men. here i stay--that's decided." i expostulated with him, but at that time two boats full of men appeared, pulling out of the harbour to the brig. the enemy had perceived that our boats had deserted her, and were coming to take possession. i had therefore no time to urge mr chucks to change his resolution, and not wishing to force a dying man, i shook his hand and left him. it was with some difficulty i escaped, for the boats had come up close to the brig; they chased me a little while, but the yawl and the cutter turning back to my assistance, they gave up the pursuit. on the whole, this was a very well arranged and well conducted expedition. the only man lost was mr chucks, for the wounds of the others were none of them mortal. captain kearney was quite satisfied with our conduct, and so was the admiral, when it was reported to him. captain kearney did indeed grumble a little about his jacket, and sent for me to inquire why i had not taken it off mr chucks, and brought it on board. as i did not choose to tell him the exact truth, i replied, "that i could not disturb a dying man, and that the jacket was so saturated with blood, that he never could have worn it again," which was the case. "at all events, you might have brought away my epaulettes," replied he; "but you youngsters think of nothing but gormandizing." i had the first watch that night, when swinburne, the quarter-master, came up to me, and asked me all the particulars of the affair, for he was not in the boats. "well," said he, "that mr chucks appeared to be a very good boatswain in his way, if he could only have kept his rattan a little quiet. he was a smart fellow, and knew his duty. we had just such another killed in our ship, in the action off cape st vincent." "what! were you in that action?" replied i. "yes, i was, and belonged to the _captain_, lord nelson's ship." "well, then, suppose you tell me all about it." "why, mr simple, d'ye see, i've no objection to spin you a yarn, now and then," replied swinburne, "but, as mr chucks used to say, allow me to observe, in the most delicate manner in the world, that i perceive that the man who has charge of your hammock, and slings you a clean one now and then, has very often a good glass of grog for his _yarns_, and i do not see but that mine are as well worth a glass of grog as his." "so they are, swinburne, and better too, and i promise you a good stiff one to-morrow evening." "that will do, sir: now then, i'll tell you all about it, and more about it too than most can, for i know how the action was brought about." i have the log, marked the board, and then sat down abaft on the signal chest with swinburne, who commenced his narrative as follows:-- "you must know, mr simple, that when the english fleet came down the mediterranean, after the 'vackyation of corsica, they did not muster more than seventeen sail of the line, while the spanish fleet from ferrol and carthagena had joined company at cadiz, and 'mounted to near thirty. sir john jervis had the command of our fleet at the time, but as the dons did not seem at all inclined to come out and have a brush with us, almost two to one, sir john left sir hyde parker, with six sail of the line, to watch the spanish beggars, while he went in to lisbon with the remainder of the fleet, to water and refit. now, you see, mr simple, portugal was at that time what they calls neutral, that is to say, she didn't meddle at all in the affair, being friends with both parties, and just as willing to supply fresh beef and water to the spaniards as to the english, if so be the spaniards had come out to ax for it, which they dar'n't. the portuguese and the english have always been the best of friends, because we can't get no port wine anywhere else, and they can't get nobody else to buy it of them; so the portuguese gave up their arsenal at lisbon, for the use of the english, and there we kept all our stores, under the charge of that old dare-devil, sir isaac coffin. now it so happened, that one of the clerks in old sir isaac's _office_, a portuguese chap, had been some time before that in the office of the spanish ambassador; he was a very smart sort of a chap, and sarved as interpreter, and the old commissioner put great faith in him." "but how did you learn all this, swinburne?" "why, i'll tell you, mr simple. i steered the yawl as coxswain, and when admirals and captains talk in the stern-sheets, they very often forget that the coxswain is close behind them. i only learnt half of it that way; the rest i put together when i compared logs with the admiral's steward, who, of course, heard a great deal now and then. the first i heard of it was when old sir john called out to sir isaac, after the second bottle, 'i say, sir isaac, who killed the spanish messenger?' 'not i, by god!' replied sir isaac; 'i only left him for dead;' and then they both laughed, and so did nelson, who was sitting with them. well, mr simple, it was reported to sir isaac that his clerk was often seen taking memorandums of the different orders given to the fleet, particularly those as to there being no wasteful expenditure of his majesty's stores. upon which, sir isaac goes to the admiral, and requests that the man might be discharged. now, old sir john was a sly old fox, and he answered, 'not so, commissioner; perhaps we may catch them in their own trap.' so the admiral sits down, and calls for pen and ink, and he flourishes out a long letter to the commissioner, stating that all the stores of the fleet were expended, representing as how it would be impossible to go to sea without a supply, and wishing to know when the commissioner expected more transports from england. he also said that if the spanish fleet were now to come out from cadiz, it would be impossible for him to protect sir h. parker with his six sail of the line, who was watching the spanish fleet, as he could not quit the port in his present condition. to this letter the commissioner answered that, from the last accounts, he thought that in the course of six weeks or two months they might receive supplies from england, but that sooner than that was impossible. these letters were put in the way of the d----d portuguese spy-clerk, who copied them, and was seen that evening to go into the house of the spanish ambassador. sir john then sent a message to ferro--that's a small town on the portuguese coast to the southward--with a despatch to sir hyde parker, desiring him to run away to cape st vincent, and decoy the spanish fleet there, in case they should come out after him. well, mr simple, so far d'ye see the train was well laid. the next thing to do was to watch the spanish ambassador's house, and see if he sent away any despatches. two days after the letters had been taken to him by this rascal of a clerk, the spanish ambassador sent away two messengers--one for cadiz and the other for madrid, which is the town where the king of spain lives. the one to cadiz was permitted to go, but the one to madrid was stopped by the directions of the admiral, and this job was confided to the commissioner, sir isaac, who settled it somehow or another; and this was the reason why the admiral called out to him, 'i say, sir isaac, who killed the messenger?' they brought back his despatches, by which they found out that advice had been sent to the spanish admiral--i forget his name, something like _magazine_--informing him of the supposed crippled state of our squadron. sir john, taking it for granted that the spaniards would not lose an opportunity of taking six sail of the line-- more english ships than they have ever taken in their lives--waited a few days to give them time, and then sailed from lisbon for cape st vincent, where he joined sir hyde parker, and fell in with the spaniards sure enough, and a pretty drubbing we gave them. now, it's not everybody that could tell you all that, mr simple." "well, but now for the action, swinburne." "lord bless you, mr simple! it's now past seven bells, and i can't fight the battle of st vincent in half an hour; besides which, it's well worth another glass of grog to hear all about that battle." "well, you shall have one, swinburne; only don't forget to tell it to me." swinburne and i then separated, and in less than an hour afterwards i was dreaming of despatches--sir john jervis--sir isaac coffin--and spanish messengers. chapter xxxiv o'brien's good advice--captain kearney again deals in the marvellous. i do not remember any circumstance in my life which, at that time, lay so heavily on my mind as the loss of poor mr chucks, the boatswain, who, of course, i took it for granted i should never see again. i believe that the chief cause was that at the time i entered the service, and every one considered me to be the fool of the family, mr chucks and o'brien were the only two who thought of and treated me differently; and it was their conduct which induced me to apply myself and encouraged me to exertion. i believe that many a boy, who, if properly patronized, would turn out well, is, by the injudicious system of browbeating and ridicule, forced into the wrong path, and, in his despair, throws away all self-confidence, and allows himself to be carried away by the stream to perdition. o'brien was not very partial to reading himself. he played the german flute remarkably well, and had a very good voice. his chief amusement was practising, or rather playing, which is a very different thing; but although he did not study himself, he always made me come into his cabin for an hour or two every day, and, after i had read, repeat to him the contents of the book. by this method he not only instructed me, but gained a great deal of information himself; for he made so many remarks upon what i had read, that it was impressed upon both our memories. "well, peter," he would say, as he came into the cabin, "what have you to tell me this morning? sure it's you that's the schoolmaster, and not me--for i learn from you every day." "i have not read much, o'brien, to-day, for i have been thinking of poor mr chucks." "very right for you so to do, peter. never forget your friends in a hurry. you'll not find too many of them as you trot along the highway of life." "i wonder whether he is dead?" "why, that's a question i cannot answer. a bullet through the chest don't lengthen a man's days, that's certain; but this i know, that he'll not die if he can help it, now that he's got the captain's jacket on." "yes; he always aspired to be a gentleman, which was absurd enough in a boatswain." "not at all absurd, peter, but very absurd of you to talk without thinking. when did any one of his shipmates ever know mr chucks to do an unhandsome or mean action? never; and why? because he aspired to be a gentleman, and that feeling kept him above it. vanity's a confounded donkey, very apt to put his head between his legs, and chuck us over; but pride's a fine horse, who will carry us over the ground, and enable us to distance our fellow-travellers. mr chucks has pride, and that's always commendable, even in a boatswain. how often have you read of people rising from nothing, and becoming great men? this was from talent, sure enough; but it was talent with pride to force it onward, not talent with vanity to check it." "you are very right, o'brien; i spoke foolishly." "never mind, peter, nobody heard you but me; so it's of no consequence. don't you dine in the cabin to-day?" "yes." "so do i. the captain is in a most marvellous humour this morning. he told me one or two yarns that quite staggered my politeness and my respect for him on the quarter-deck. what a pity it is that a man should have gained such a bad habit!" "he's quite incurable, i'm afraid," replied i; "but, certainly, his fibs do no harm; they are what they call white lies. i do not think he would really tell a lie--that is, a lie which would be considered to disgrace a gentleman." "peter, _all_ lies disgrace a gentleman, white or black, although i grant there is a difference. to say the least of it, it is a dangerous habit; for white lies are but the gentlemen ushers to black ones. i know but of one point on which a lie is excusable, and that is, when you wish to deceive the enemy. then your duty to your country warrants your lying till you're black in the face; and, for the very reason that it goes against your grain, it becomes, as it were, a sort of virtue." "what was the difference between the marine officer and mr phillott that occurred this morning?" "nothing at all in itself. the marine officer is a bit of a gaby, and takes offence where none is meant. mr phillott has a foul tongue; but he has a good heart." "what a pity it is!" "it is a pity, for he's a smart officer; but the fact is, peter, that junior officers are too apt to copy their superiors, and that makes it very important that a young gentleman should sail with a captain who is a gentleman. now, phillott served the best of his time with captain ballover, who is notorious in the service for foul and abusive language. what is the consequence? that phillott and many others who have served under him have learnt his bad habit." "i should think, o'brien, that the very circumstance of having had your feelings so often wounded by such language when you were a junior officer, would make you doubly careful not to make use of it to others, when you had advanced in the service." "peter, that's just the _first_ feeling, which wears away after a time; but at last, your own sense of indignation becomes blunted, and becoming indifferent to it, you forget also that you wound the feelings of others, and carry the habit with you, to the great injury and disgrace of the service. but it's time to dress for dinner, so you'd better make yourself scarce, peter, while i tidivate myself off a little, according to the rules and regulations of his majesty's service, when you are asked to dine with the skipper." we met at the captain's table, where we found, as usual, a great display of plate, but very little else, except the ship's allowance. we certainly had now been cruising some time, and there was some excuse for it; but still, few captains would have been so unprovided. "i'm afraid, gentlemen, you will not have a very grand dinner," observed the captain, as the steward removed the plated covers of the dishes; "but when on service we must rough it out how we can. mr o'brien, pea-soup? i recollect faring harder than this through one cruise in a flush vessel. we were thirteen weeks up to our knees in water, and living the whole time upon raw pork--not being able to light a fire during the cruise." "pray, captain kearney, may i ask where this happened?" "to be sure. it was off bermudas: we cruised for seven weeks before we could find the islands, and began verily to think that the bermudas were themselves on a cruise." "i presume, sir, you were not so sorry to have a fire to cook your provisions when you came to an anchor?" said o'brien. "i beg your pardon," replied captain kearney; "we had become so accustomed to raw provisions and wet feet, that we could not eat our meals cooked, or help dipping our legs over the side, for a long while afterwards. i saw one of the boat-keepers astern catch a large barracouta and eat it alive--indeed, if i had not given the strictest orders, and flogged half-a-dozen of them, i doubt whether they would not have eaten their victuals raw to this day. the force of habit is tremendous." "it is, indeed," observed mr phillott, drily, and winking to us, referring to the captain's incredible stories. "it is, indeed," repeated o'brien; "we see the ditch in our neighbour's eye, and cannot observe the log of wood in our own;" and o'brien winked at me, referring to phillott's habit of bad language. "i once knew a married man," observed the captain, "who had been always accustomed to go to sleep with his hand upon his wife's head, and would not allow her to wear a nightcap in consequence. well, she caught cold and died, and he never could sleep at night until he took a clothes-brush to bed with him, and laid his hand upon that, which answered the purpose--such was the force of habit." "i once saw a dead body galvanized," observed mr phillott: "it was the body of a man who had taken a great deal of snuff during his lifetime, and as soon as the battery was applied to his spine, the body very gently raised its arm, and put its fingers to its nose, as if it was taking a pinch." "you saw that yourself, mr phillott?" observed the captain, looking at the first lieutenant earnestly in the face. "yes, sir," replied mr phillott, coolly. "have you told that story often?" "very often, sir." "because i know that some people, by constantly telling a story, at last believe it to be true; not that i refer to you, mr phillott; but still, i should recommend you not to tell that story where you are not well known, or people may doubt your credibility." "i make it a rule to believe everything myself," observed mr phillott, "out of politeness, and i expect the same courtesy from others." "then, upon my soul! when you tell that story, you trespass very much upon our good manners. talking of courtesy, you must meet a friend of mine, who has been a courtier all his life; he cannot help bowing, i have seen him bow to his horse and thank him after he had dismounted-- beg pardon of a puppy for treading on his tail; and one day, when he fell over a scraper, he took his hat off, and made it a thousand apologies for his inattention." "force of habit again," said o'brien. "exactly so. mr simple, will you take a slice of this pork? and perhaps you'll do me the honour to take a glass of wine? lord privilege would not much admire our dinner to-day, would he, mr simple?" "as a variety he might, sir, but not for a continuance." "very truly said. variety is charming. the negroes here get so tired of salt fish and occra broth, that they eat dirt by way of a relish. mr o'brien, how remarkably well you played that sonata of pleydel's this morning." "i am happy that i did not annoy you, captain kearney, at all events," replied o'brien. "on the contrary, i am very partial to good music. my mother was a great performer. i recollect once, she was performing a piece on the piano in which she had to imitate a _thunderstorm_. so admirably did she hit it off, that when we went to tea all the cream was _turned sour_, as well as three casks of _beer_ in the cellar." at this assertion mr phillott could contain himself no longer; he burst out into a loud laugh, and having a glass of wine to his lips, spattered it all over the table, and over me, who unfortunately was opposite to him. "i really beg pardon, captain kearney, but the idea of such an expensive talent was too amusing. will you permit me to ask you a question? as there could not have been thunder without lightning, were any people killed at the same time by the electric fluid of the piano?" "no sir," replied captain kearney, very angrily; "but her performance _electrified_ us, which was something like it. perhaps, mr phillott, as you lost your last glass of wine, you will allow me to take another with you?" "with great pleasure," replied the first lieutenant, who perceived that he had gone far enough. "well, gentlemen," said the captain, "we shall soon be in the land of plenty. i shall cruise a fortnight more, and then join the admiral at jamaica. we must make out our despatch relative to the cutting out of the _sylvia_ (that was the name of the privateer brig), and i am happy to say that i shall feel it my duty to make honourable mention of all the party present. steward, coffee." the first lieutenant, o'brien, and i, bowed to this flattering avowal on the part of the captain; as for me, i felt delighted. the idea of my name being mentioned in the "gazette," and the pleasure that it would give to my father and mother, mantled the blood in my cheeks till i was as red as a turkey-cock. "_cousin_ simple," said the captain, good-naturedly, "you have no occasion to blush; your conduct deserves it; and you are indebted to mr phillott for having made me acquainted with your gallantry." coffee was soon over, and i was glad to leave the cabin, and be alone, that i might compose my perturbed mind. i felt too happy. i did not, however, say a word to my messmates, as it might have created feelings of envy or ill-will. o'brien gave me a caution not to do so, when i met him afterwards, so that i was very glad that i had been so circumspect. chapter xxxv swinburne continues his narrative of the battle off cape st vincent. the second night after this, we had the middle watch, and i claimed swinburne's promise that he would spin his yarn, relative to the battle of st vincent. "well, mr simple, so i will; but i require a little priming, or i shall never go off." "will you have your glass of grog before or after?" "before, by all means, if you please, sir. run down and get it, and i'll heave the log for you in the meantime, when we shall have a good hour without interruption, for the sea-breeze will be steady, and we are under easy sail." i brought up a stiff glass of grog, which swinburne tossed off, and as he finished it, sighed deeply as if in sorrow that there was no more. having stowed away the tumbler in one of the capstern holes for the present, we sat down upon a coil of ropes under the weather bulwarks, and swinburne, replacing his quid of tobacco, commenced as follows-- "well, mr simple, as i told you before, old jervis started with all his fleet for cape st vincent. we lost one of our fleet--and a three-decker too--the _st george_; she took the ground, and was obliged to go back to lisbon; but we soon afterwards were joined by five sail of the line, sent out from england, so that we mustered fifteen sail in all. we had like to lose another of our mess, for d'ye see, the old _culloden_ and _colossus_ fell foul of each other, and the _culloden_ had the worst on it; but troubridge, who commanded her, was not a man to shy his work, and ax to go in to refit, when there was a chance of meeting the enemy-- so he patched her up somehow or another, and reported himself ready for action the very next day. ready for action he always was, that's sure enough, but whether his ship was in a fit state to go into action is quite another thing. but as the sailors used to say in joking, he was a _true bridge_, and you might trust to him; which meant as much as to say, that he knew how to take his ship into action, and how to fight her when he was fairly in it. i think it was the next day that cockburn joined us in the _minerve_, and he brought nelson along with him with the intelligence that the dons had chased him, and that the whole spanish fleet was out in pursuit of us. well, mr simple, you may guess we were not a little happy in the _captain_, when nelson joined us, as we knew that if he fell in with the spaniards our ship would cut a figure--and so she did sure enough. that was on the morning of the th, and old jervis made the signal to prepare for action, and keep close order, which means, to have your flying jib-boom in at the starn windows of the ship ahead of you; and we did keep close order, for a man might have walked right round from one ship to the other, either lee or weather line of the fleet. i sha'n't forget that night, mr simple, as long as i live and breathe. every now and then we heard the signal guns of the spanish fleet booming at a distance to windward of us, and you may guess how our hearts leaped at the sound, and how we watched with all our ears for the next gun that was fired, trying to make out their bearings and distance, as we assembled in little knots upon the booms and weather-gangway. it was my middle watch, and i was signalman at the time, so of course i had no time to take a caulk if i was inclined. when my watch was over i could not go down to my hammock, so i kept the morning watch too, as did most of the men on board: as for nelson, he walked the deck the whole night, quite in a fever. at daylight it was thick and hazy weather, and we could not make them out; but, about five bells, the old _culloden_, who, if she had broke her nose, had not lost the use of her eyes, made the signal for a part of the spanish fleet in sight. old jervis repeated the signal to prepare for action, but he might have saved the wear and tear of the bunting, for we were all ready, bulk-heads down, screens up, guns shotted, tackles rove, yards slung, powder filled, shot on deck, and fire out--and what's more, mr simple, i'll be d----d if we weren't all willing too. about six bells in the forenoon, the fog and haze all cleared away at once, just like the raising of the foresail that they lower down at the portsmouth theatre, and discovered the whole of the spanish fleet. i counted them all. 'how many, swinburne?' cries nelson. 'twenty-six sail, sir,' answered i. nelson walked the quarter-deck backwards and forwards, rubbing his hands, and laughing to himself, and then he called for his glass, and went to the gangway with captain miller. 'swinburne, keep a good look upon the admiral,' says he. 'ay, ay, sir,' says i. now you see, mr simple, twenty-six sail against fifteen were great odds upon paper; but we didn't think so, because we know'd the difference between the two fleets. there was our fifteen sail of the line, all in apple-pie order, packed up as close as dominoes, and every man on board of them longing to come to the scratch; while there was their twenty-six, all _somehow nohow_, two lines here and _no lines_ there, with a great gap of water in the middle of them. for this gap between their ships we all steered, with all the sail we could carry because, d'ye see, mr simple, by getting them on both sides of us, we had the advantage of fighting both broadsides, which is just as easy as fighting one, and makes shorter work of it. just as it struck seven bells, troubridge opened the ball _setting_ to half a dozen of the spaniards, and making them _reel_ 'tom collins' whether or no. bang--bang--bang, bang! oh, mr simple, it's a beautiful sight to see the first guns fired that are to bring on a general action. he's the luckiest dog, that troubridge,' said nelson, stamping with impatience. our ships were soon hard at it, hammer and tongs (my eyes, how they did pelt it in!), and old sir john, in the _victory_, smashed the cabin windows of the spanish admiral, with such a hell of a raking broadside, that the fellow bore up as if the devil kicked him. lord a mercy, you might have drove a portsmouth waggon into his starn--the broadside of the _victory_ had made room enough. however, they were soon all smothered up in smoke, and we could not make out how things were going on--but we made a pretty good guess. well, mr simple, as they say at the play, that was act the first, scene the first; and now we had to make our appearance, and i'll leave you to judge, after i've told my tale, whether the old _captain_ wasn't principal performer, and _top sawyer_ over them all. but stop a moment, i'll just look at the binnacle, for that young topman's nodding at the wheel.--i say, mr smith, are you shutting your eyes to keep them warm, and letting the ship run half a point out of her course? take care i don't send for another helmsman, that's all, and give the reason why. you'll make a wry face upon six-water grog to-morrow, at seven bells. d----n your eyes, keep them open--can't you?" swinburne, after this genteel admonition to the man at the wheel, reseated himself and continued his narrative. "all this while, mr simple, we in the _captain_ had not fired a gun; but were ranging up as fast as we could to where the enemy lay in a heap. there were plenty to pick and choose from; and nelson looked out sharp for a big one, as little boys do when they have to choose an apple; and, by the piper that played before moses! it was a big one that he ordered the master to put him alongside of. she was a four-decker, called the _santissima trinidad_. we had to pass some whoppers, which would have satisfied any reasonable man; for there was the _san josef_, and _salvador del mondo_ and _san nicolas_: but nothing would suit nelson but this four-decked ship; so we crossed the hawse of about six of them, and as soon as we were abreast of her, and at the word 'fire!' every gun went off at once, slap into her, and the old _captain_ reeled at the discharge, as if she was drunk. i wish you'd only seen how we pitched it into this _holy trinity_; she was _holy_ enough before we had done with her, riddled like a sieve, several of her ports knocked into one, and every scupper of her running blood and water. not but what she stood to it as bold as brass, and gave us nearly gun for gun, and made a very pretty general average in our ship's company. many of the old captains went to kingdom-come in that business, and many more were obliged to bear up for greenwich hospital. "'fire away, my lads--steady aim!' cries nelson. 'jump down there, mr thomas; pass the word to reduce the cartridges, the shot go clean through her. double shot the guns there, fore and aft.' "so we were at it for about half an hour, when our guns became so hot from quick firing, that they bounced up to the beams overhead, tearing away their ringbolts, and snapping their breechings like rope-yarns. by this time we were almost as much unrigged as if we had been two days paying off in portsmouth harbour. the four-decker forged ahead, and troubridge, in the jolly old _culloden_, came between us and two other spanish ships, who were playing into us. she was as fresh as a daisy, and gave them a dose which quite astonished them. they shook their ears, and fell astern, when the _blenheim_ laid hold of them, and mauled them so that they went astern again. but it was out of the frying-pan into, the fire: for the _orion, prince george_, and one or two others, were coming up, and knocked the very guts out of them. i'll be d----d if they forget the th of april, and sarve them right, too. wasn't a four-decker enough for any two-decker, without any more coming on us? and couldn't the beggars have matched themselves like gentlemen? well, mr simple, this gave us a minute or two to fetch, our breath, let the guns cool, and repair damages, and swab the blood from the decks; but we lost our four-decker, for we could not get near her again." "what odd names the spaniards give to their ships, swinburne?" "why yes, they do; it would almost appear wicked to belabour the _holy trinity_ as we did. but why they should call a four-decked ship the _holy trinity_, seeing as how there's only three of them, father, son, and holy ghost, i can't tell. bill saunders said that the fourth deck was for the pope, who was as great a personage as the others; but i can't understand how that can be. well, mr simple, as i was head signalman, i was perched on the poop, and didn't serve at a gun. i had to report all i could see, which was not much, the smoke was so thick; but now and then i could get a peep, as it were through the holes in the blanket. of course i was obliged to keep my eye as much as possible upon the admiral, not to make out his signals, for commodore nelson wouldn't thank me for that; i knew he hated a signal when in action, so i never took no notice of the bunting, but just watched to see what he was about. so while we are repairing damages, i'll just tell you what i saw of the rest of the fleet. as soon as old jervis had done for the spanish admiral, he hauled his wind on the larboard tack, and followed by four or five other ships, weathered the spanish line, and joined collingwood in the _excellent_. then they all dashed through the line; the _excellent_ was the leading ship, and she first took the shine out of the _salvador del mondo_, and then left her to be picked up by the other ships, while she attacked a two-decker, who hauled down her colours--i forget her name just now. as soon as the _victory_ ran alongside of the _salvador del mondo_, down went her colours, and _excellent_ reasons had she for striking her flag. and now, mr simple. the old _captain_ comes into play again. having parted company with the four-decker, we had recommenced action with the _san nicolas_, a spanish eighty, and while we were hard at it, old collingwood comes up in the _excellent_. the _san nicolas_, knowing that the _excellent's_ broadside would send her to old nick, put her helm up to avoid being raked: in so doing, she fell foul of the _san josef_, a spanish three-decker, and we being all cut to pieces and unmanageable--all of us indeed reeling about like drunken men--nelson ordered his helm a-starboard, and in a jiffy there we were, all three hugging each other, running in one another's guns, smashing our chain-plates, and poking our yard-arms through each other's canvas. "'all hands to board!' roared nelson, leaping on the hammocks and waving his sword. "'hurrah! hurrah!' echoed through the decks, and up flew the men, like as many angry bees out of a bee-hive. in a moment pikes, tomahawks, cutlasses, and pistols were seized (for it was quite unexpected, mr simple), and our men poured into the eighty-gun ship, and in two minutes the decks were cleared and all the dons pitched below. i joined the boarders and was on the main deck when captain miller came down, and cried out 'on deck again immediately.' up we went, and what do you think it was for, mr simple? why to board a second time; for nelson having taken the two-decker, swore that he'd have the three-decker as well. so away we went again, clambering up her lofty sides how we could, and dropping down on her decks like hailstones. we all made for the quarter-deck, beat down every spanish beggar that showed fight, and in five minutes more we had hauled down the colours of two of the finest ships in the spanish navy. if that wasn't taking the shine out of the dons, i should like to know what is. and didn't the old captains cheer and shake hands, as commodore nelson stood on the deck of the _san josef_, and received the swords of the spanish officers! there was enough of them to go right round the capstern, and plenty to spare. now, mr simple, what do you think of that for a spree?" "why, swinburne, i can only say that i wish i had been there." "so did every man in the fleet, mr simple, i can tell you." "but what became of the _santissima trinidad_? "upon my word, she behaved one _deck_ better than all the others. she held out against four of our ships for a long while, and then hauled down her colours, and no disgrace to her, considering what a precious hammering she had taken first. but the lee division of the spanish weather fleet, if i may so call it, consisting of eleven sail of the line, came up to her assistance, and surrounded her, so that they got her off. our ships were too much cut up to commence a new action, and the admiral made the signal to secure the prizes. the spanish fleet then did what they should have done before--got into line; and we lost no time in doing the same. but we both had had fighting enough." "but do you think, swinburne, that the spaniards fought well?" "they'd have fought better, if they'd only have known how. there's no want of courage in the dons, mr simple, but they did not support each other. only observe how troubridge supported us. by god, mr simple, he was the _real fellow_, and nelson knew it well. he was nelson's right-hand man; but you know, there wasn't room for _two_ nelsons. their ships engaged held out well, it must be acknowledged, but why weren't they all in their proper berths? had they kept close order of sailing, and had all fought as well as those who were captured, it would not have been a very easy matter for fifteen ships to gain a victory over twenty-six. that's long odds, even when backed with british seamen." "well, how did you separate?" "why, the next morning the spaniards had the weathergage, so they had the option whether to fight or not. at one time they had half a mind, for they bore down to us; upon which we hauled our wind to show them we were all ready to meet them, and then they thought better of it, and rounded-to again. so as they wouldn't fight, and we didn't wish it, we parted company in the night; and two days afterwards we anchored, with our four prizes, in lagos bay. so now you have the whole of it, mr simple, and i've talked till i'm quite hoarse. you haven't by chance another drop of the stuff left to clear my throat? it would be quite a charity." "i think i have, swinburne; and as you deserve it, i will go and fetch it." chapter xxxvi a letter from father m'grath, who diplomatizes--when priest meets priest, then comes the tug of war--father o'toole not to be made a tool of. we continued our cruise for a fortnight, and then made sail for jamaica, where we found the admiral at anchor at port royal, but our signal was made to keep under weigh, and captain kearney, having paid his respects to the admiral, received orders to carry despatches to halifax. water and provisions were sent on board by the boats of the admiral's ships, and, to our great disappointment, as the evening closed in, we were again standing out to sea, instead of, as we had anticipated, enjoying ourselves on shore; but the fact was, that orders had arrived from england to send a frigate immediately up to the admiral at halifax, to be at his disposal. i had, however, the satisfaction to know that captain kearney had been true to his word in making mention of my name in the despatch, for the clerk showed me a copy of it. nothing occurred worth mentioning during our passage, except that captain kearney was very unwell nearly the whole of the time, and seldom quitted his cabin. it was in october that we anchored in halifax harbour, and the admiralty, expecting our arrival there, had forwarded our letters. there were none for me, but there was one for o'brien, from father m'grath, the contents of which were as follows:-- "my dear son,--and a good son you are, and that's the truth on it, or devil a bit should you be a son of mine. you've made your family quite contented and peaceable, and they never fight for the _praties_ now-- good reason why they shouldn't, seeing that there's a plenty for all of them, and the pig craturs into the bargain. your father and your mother, and your brother, and your three sisters, send their duty to you, and their blessings too--and you may add my blessing, terence, which is worth them all; for won't i get you out of purgatory in the twinkling of a bed-post? make yourself quite aisy on that score, and lave it all to me; only just say a _pater_ now and then, that when st peter lets you in, he mayn't throw it in your teeth, that you've saved your soul by contract, which is the only way by which emperors and kings ever get to heaven. your letter from plymouth came safe to hand: barney, the post-boy, having dropped it under foot, close to our door, the big pig took it into his mouth and ran away with it; but i caught sight of him, and _speaking_ to him, he let it go, knowing (the 'cute cratur!) that i could read it better than him. as soon as i had digested the contents, which it was lucky the pig did not instead of me, i just took my meal and my big stick, and then set off for ballycleuch. "now you know, terence, if you haven't forgot--and if you have, i'll just remind you--that there's a flaunty sort of young woman at the poteen shop there, who calls herself mrs o'rourke, wife to a corporal o'rourke, who was kilt or died one day, i don't know which, but that's not of much consequence. the devil a bit do i think the priest ever gave the marriage-blessing to that same; although she swears that she was married on the rock of gibraltar--it may be a strong rock fore i know, but it's not the rock of salvation like the seven sacraments, of which marriage is one. _benedicite_! mrs o'rourke is a little too apt to fleer and jeer at the priests; and if it were not that she softens down her pertinent remarks with a glass or two of the real poteen, which proves some respect for the church, i'd excommunicate her body and soul, and every body and every soul that put their lips to the cratur at her door. but she must leave that off, as i tell her, when she gets old and ugly, for then all the whisky in the world sha'n't save her. but she's a fine woman now, and it goes agin my conscience to help the devil to a fine woman. now this mrs o'rourke knows everybody and everything that's going on in the country about; and she has a tongue which has never had a holiday since it was let loose. "'good morning to ye, mrs o'rourke,' says i. "'an' the top of the morning to you, father m'grath,' says she, with a smile; 'what brings you here? is it a journey that you're taking to buy the true wood of the cross? or is it a purty girl that you wish to confess, father m'grath? or is it only that you're come for a drop of poteen, and a little bit of chat with mrs o'rourke?' "'sure it's i who'd be glad to find the same true wood of the cross, mrs o'rourke, but it's not grown, i suspect, at your town of ballycleuch; and it's no objection i'd have to confess a purty girl like yourself, mrs o'rourke, who'll only tell me half her sins, and give me no trouble; but it's the truth, that i'm here for nothing else but to have a bit of chat with yourself, dainty dear, and taste your poteen, just by way of keeping my mouth nate and clane.' "so mrs o'rourke poured out the real stuff, which i drank to her health; and then says i, putting down the bit of a glass, 'so you've a stranger come, i find, in your parts, mrs o'rourke.' "'i've heard the same,' replied she. so you observe, terence, i came to the fact all at once by a guess. "'i am tould,' says i, 'that he's a scotchman, and spakes what nobody can understand.' "'devil a bit,' says she, 'he's an englishman, and speaks plain enough.' "'but what can a man mane, to come here and sit down all alone?' says i. "'all alone, father m'grath!' replied she; 'is a man all alone when he's got his wife and childer, and more coming, with the blessing of god?' "'but those boys are not his own childer, i believe,' says i. "'there again you're all in a mistake, father m'grath,' rejoins she. 'the childer are all his own, and all girls to boot. it appears that it's just as well that you come down, now and then, for information, to our town of ballycleuch.' "'very true, mrs o'rourke,' says i; 'and who is it that knows everything so well as yourself?' you observe, terence, that i just said everything contrary and _arce versa_, as they call it, to the contents of your letter; for always recollect, my son, that if you would worm a secret out of a woman, you'll do more by contradiction than you ever will by coaxing--so i went on: 'anyhow, i think it's a burning shame, mrs o'rourke, for a gentleman to bring over with him here from england a parcel of lazy english servants, when there's so many nice boys and girls here to attind upon them.' "'now there you're all wrong again, father m'grath,' says she. 'devil a soul has he brought from the other country, but has hired them all here. arn't there ella flanagan for one maid, and terence driscol for a footman? and it's well that he looks in his new uniform, when he comes down for the newspapers; and arn't moggy cala there to cook the dinner, and pretty mary sullivan for a nurse for the babby as soon as it comes into the world?' "'is it mary sullivan you mane?' says i; 'she that was married about three months back, and is so quick in child-getting, that she's all but ready to fall to pieces in this same time?' "'it's exactly she,' says mrs o'rourke; 'and do you know the reason?' "'devil a bit,' says i; 'how should i?' "'then it's just that she may send her own child away, and give her milk to the english babby that's coming; because the lady is too much of a lady to have a child hanging to her breast.' "'but suppose mary sullivan's child ar'n't born till afterwards, how then?" says i. 'speak, mrs o'rourke, for you're a sensible woman.' "'how then?' says she. 'och! that's all arranged; for mary says that she'll be in bed a week before the lady, so that's all right, you'll perceive, father m'grath.' "'but don't you perceive, sensible woman as you are, that a young woman, who is so much out of her reckoning as to have a child three months after her marriage, may make a little mistake in her lying-in arithmetic, mrs o'rourke.' "'never fear, father m'grath, mary sullivan will keep her word; and sooner than disappoint the lady, and lose her place, she'll just tumble down-stairs, and won't that put her to bed fast enough?' "'well, that's what i call a faithful good servant that earns her wages,' says i; 'so now i'll just take another glass, mrs o'rourke, and thank you too. sure you're the woman that knows everything, and a mighty pretty woman into the bargain.' "'let me alone now, father m'grath, and don't be pinching me that way, anyhow.' "'it was only a big flea that i perceived hopping on your gown, my darling, devil anything else.' "'many thanks to you, father, for that same; but the next time you'd kill my fleas, just wait until they're in a _more dacent_ situation.' "'fleas are fleas, mrs o'rourke, and we must catch 'em when we can, and how we can, and as we can, so no offence. a good night's rest to you, mrs o'rourke--when do you mean to confess?' "'i've an idea that i've too many fleas about me to confess to you just now, father m'grath, and that's the truth on it. so a pleasant walk back to you.' "so you'll perceive, my son, that having got all the information from mrs o'rourke, it's back i went to ballyhinch, till i heard it whispered that there were doings down at the old house at ballycleuch. off i set, and went to the house itself, as priests always ought to be welcomed at births, and marriages, and deaths, being, as you know, of great use on such occasions--when who should open the door but father o'toole, the biggest rapparee of a priest in the whole of ireland. didn't he steal a horse, and only save his neck by benefit of clergy? and did he ever give absolution to a young woman without making her sin over again? 'what may be your pleasure here, father m'grath?' says he, holding the door with his hand. "'only just to call and hear what's going on.' "'for the matter of that,' says he, 'i'll just tell you that we're all going on very well; but ar'n't you ashamed of yourself, father m'grath, to come here to interfere with my flock, knowing that i confess the house altogether?' "'that's as may be,' says i; 'but i only wanted to know what the lady had brought into the world.' "'it's a _child_' says he. "'indeed!' says i; 'many thanks for the information; and pray what is it that mary sullivan has brought into the world?' "'that's a _child_ too,' says he; 'and now that you know all about it, good evening to you, father m'grath.' and the ugly brute slammed the door right in my face. "'who stole a horse?' cries i; but he didn't hear me--more's the pity. "so you'll perceive, my dear boy, that i have found out something, at all events, but not so much as i intended; for i'll prove to father o'toole that he's no match for father m'grath. but what i find out must be reserved for another letter, seeing that it's not possible to tell it to you in this same. praties look well, but somehow or another, _clothes_ don't grow upon trees in ould ireland; and one of your half-quarterly bills, or a little prize-money, if it found its way here, would add not a little to the respectability of the family appearance. even my cassock is becoming too _holy_ for a parish priest; not that i care about it so much, only father o'toole, the baste! had on a bran new one--not that i believe that he ever came honestly by it, as i have by mine--but, get it how you may, a new gown always looks better than an old one, that's certain. so no more at present from your loving friend and confessor, "urtagh m'grath." "now, you'll observe, peter," said o'brien, after i had read the letter, "that, as i supposed, your uncle meant mischief when he went over to ireland. whether the children are both boys or both girls, or your uncle's is a boy, and the other is a girl, there is no knowing at present. if an exchange was required, it's made, that's certain; but i will write again to father m'grath, and insist upon his finding out the truth, if possible. have you any letter from your father?" "none, i am sorry to say. i wish i had, for he would not have failed to speak on the subject." "well, never mind, it's no use dreaming over the matter; we must do our best when we get to england ourselves, and in the meantime trust to father m'grath. i'll go and write to him while my mind's full of it." o'brien wrote his letter, and the subject was not started again. chapter xxxvii captain kearney's illness--he makes his will, and devises sundry châteaux en espagne for the benefit of those concerned--the legacy duty in this instance not ruinous--he signs, seals, and dies. the captain, as was his custom, went on shore, and took up his quarters at a friend's house; that is to say, the house of an acquaintance, or any polite gentleman who would ask him to take a dinner and a bed. this was quite sufficient for captain kearney, who would fill his portmanteau, and take up his quarters, without thinking of leaving them until the ship sailed, or some more advantageous invitation was given. this conduct in england would have very much trespassed on our ideas of hospitality; but in our foreign settlements and colonies, where the society is confined and novelty is desirable, a person who could amuse like captain kearney was generally welcome, let him stay as long as he pleased. all sailors agree in asserting that halifax is one of the most delightful ports in which a ship can anchor. everybody is hospitable, cheerful, and willing to amuse and be amused. it is, therefore, a very bad place to send a ship to if you wish her to refit in a hurry; unless, indeed, the admiral is there to watch over your daily progress, and a sharp commissioner to expedite your motions in the dockyard. the admiral was there when we arrived, and we should not have lain there long, had not the health of captain kearney, by the time that we were ready for sea, been so seriously affected, that the doctor was of opinion that he could not sail. another frigate was sent to our intended cruising-ground, and we lay idle in port. but we consoled ourselves: if we did not make prize-money, at all events, we were very happy, and the major part of the officers very much in love. we had remained in halifax harbour about three weeks, when a very great change for the worse took place in captain kearney's disease. disease, indeed, it could hardly be called. he had been long suffering from the insidious attacks of a hot climate, and though repeatedly advised to invalid, he never would consent. his constitution appeared now to be breaking up. in a few days he was so ill, that, at the request of the naval surgeons, he consented to be removed to the hospital, where he could command more comforts than in any private house. he had not been at the hospital more than two days, when he sent for me, and stated his wish that i should remain with him. "you know, peter, that you are a cousin of mine, and one likes to have one's relations near one when we are sick, so bring your traps on shore. the doctor has promised me a nice little room for yourself, and you shall come and sit with me all day." i certainly had no objection to remain with him, because i considered it my duty so to do, and i must say that there was no occasion for me to make any effort to entertain him, as he always entertained me; but i could not help seriously reflecting, and feeling much shocked, at a man, lying in so dangerous a state--for the doctors had pronounced his recovery to be impossible--still continuing a system of falsehood during the whole day, without intermission. but it really appeared in him to be innate; and, as swinburne said, "if he told truth, it was entirely by mistake." "peter," said he, one day, "there's a great draught. shut the door, and put on some more coals." "the fire does not draw well, sir," replied i, "without the door is open." "it's astonishing how little people understand the nature of these things. when i built my house, called walcot abbey, there was not a chimney would draw; i sent for the architect and abused him, but he could not manage it: i was obliged to do it myself." "did you manage it, sir?" "manage it--i think i did. the first time i lighted the fire, i opened the door, and the draught was so great, that my little boy, william, who was standing in the current of air, would have gone right up the chimney, if i had not caught him by the petticoats; as it was, his frock was on fire." "why sir, it must have been as bad as a hurricane!" "no, no, not quite so bad--but it showed what a little knowledge of philosophical arrangement could effect. we have no hurricanes in england, peter; but i have seen a very pretty whirlwind when i was at walcot abbey." "indeed, sir." "yes; it cut four square haystacks quite round, and i lost twenty tons of hay; it twisted the iron lamp-post at the entrance just as a porpoise twists a harpoon, and took up a sow and her litter of pigs, that were about a hundred yards from the back of the house, and landed them safe over the house to the front, with the exception of the old sow putting her shoulder out." "indeed, sir." "yes, but what was strange, there were a great many rats in the hayrick, and up they went with the hay. now, peter, by the laws of gravitation, they naturally come down before the hay, and i was walking with my greyhound, or rather terrier, and after one coming down close to her, which she killed, it was quite ridiculous to witness her looking up in the air, and watching for the others." "a greyhound did you say, sir, or a terrier?" "both, peter; the fact is, she had been a greyhound, but breaking her foreleg against a stump, when coursing, i had the other three amputated as well, and then she made a capital terrier. she was a great favourite of mine." "well," observed i, "i have read something like that in baron munchausen." "mr simple," said the captain, turning on his elbow and looking me severely in the face, "what do you mean to imply?" "oh, nothing, sir, but i have read a story of that kind." "most probably; the great art of invention is to found it upon facts. there are some people who out of a mole-hill will make a mountain; and facts and fiction become so blended nowadays, that even truth becomes a matter of doubt." "very true, sir," replied i; and as he did not speak for some minutes, i ventured to bring my bible to his bedside, as if i was reading it to myself. "what are you reading, peter?" said he. "only a chapter in the bible, sir," said i. "would you like that i should read aloud?" "yes, i'm very fond of the bible--it's the book of _truth_. peter, read me about jacob, and his weathering esau with a mess of pottage, and obtaining his father's blessing." i could not help thinking it singular that he should select a portion in which, for divine reasons, a lie was crowned with success and reward. when i had finished it, he asked me to read something more; i turned over to the acts of the apostles, and commenced the chapter in which ananias and sapphira were struck dead. when i had finished, he observed very seriously, "that is a very good lesson for young people, peter, and points out that you never should swerve from the truth. recollect, as your motto, peter, to 'tell truth and shame the devil.'" after this observation i laid down the book, as it appeared to me that he was quite unaware of his propensity; and without a sense of your fault, how can repentance and amendment be expected? he became more feeble and exhausted every day, and, at last, was so weak that he could scarcely raise himself in his bed. one afternoon he said, "peter, i shall make my will, not that i am going to kick the bucket just yet; but still it is every man's duty to set his house in order, and it will amuse me; so fetch pen and paper, and come and sit down by me." i did as he requested. "write, peter, that i, anthony george william charles huskisson kearney (my father's name was anthony, peter; i was christened george, after the present regent, william and charles after mr pitt and mr fox, who were my sponsors; huskisson is the name of my great uncle, whose property devolves to me; he's eighty-three now, so he can't last long)--have you written down that?" "yes, sir." "being in sound mind, do hereby make my last will and testament, revoking all former wills." "yes, sir." "i bequeath to my dearly beloved wife, augusta charlotte kearney (she was named after the queen and princess augusta, who held her at the baptismal font), all my household furniture, books, pictures, plate, and houses, for her own free use and will, and to dispose of at her pleasure upon her demise. is that down?" "yes, sir." "also, the interest of all my money in the three percents, reduced, and in the long annuities, and the balance in my agent's hands, for her natural life. at her death to be divided into equal portions between my two children, william mohamed potemkin kearney, and caroline anastasia kearney. is that down?" "yes, sir." "well, then, peter, now for my real property. my estate in kent (let me see, what is the name of it?)--walcot abbey, my three farms in the vale of aylesbury, and the marsh lands in norfolk, i bequeath to my two children aforenamed, the proceeds of the same to be laid up, deducting all necessary expenses for their education, for their sole use and benefit. is that down?" "not yet, sir--'use and benefit.' now it is, sir." "until they come to the age of twenty-one years; or in case of my daughter, until she marries with the consent of my executors, then to be equally and fairly valued and divided between them. you observe, peter, i never make any difference between girls and boys--a good father will leave one child as much as another. now, i'll take my breath a little." i was really astonished. it was well known that captain kearney had nothing but his pay, and that it was the hopes of prize-money to support his family, which had induced him to stay out so long in the west indies. it was laughable; yet i could not laugh: there was a melancholy feeling at such a specimen of insanity, which prevented me. "now, peter, we'll go on," said captain kearney, after a pause of a few minutes. "i have a few legacies to bequeath. first, to all my servants £ each, and two suits of mourning; to my nephew, thomas kearney, of kearney hall, yorkshire, i bequeath the sword presented me by the grand sultan. i promised it to him, and although we have quarrelled, and not spoken for years, i always keep my word. the plate presented me by the merchants and underwriters of lloyd's, i leave to my worthy friend, the duke of newcastle. is that down?" "yes, sir." "well; my snuff-box, presented me by prince potemkin, i bequeath to admiral sir isaac coffin; and, also, i release him from the mortgage which i hold over his property of the madeline islands, in north america. by-the-bye, say, and further, i bequeath to him the bag of snuff presented to me by the dey of algiers; he may as well have the snuff as he has the snuff-box. is that down?" "yes, sir." "well then, now, peter, i must leave you something." "oh, never mind me," replied i. "no, no, peter, i must not forget my cousin. let me see; you shall have my fighting sword. a real good one, i can tell you. i once fought a duel with it at palermo, and ran a sicilian prince so clean through the body, and it held so tight, that we were obliged to send for a pair of post-horses to pull it out again. put that down as a legacy for my cousin, peter simple. i believe that is all. now for my executors; and i request my particular friends, the earl of londonderry, the marquis of chandos, and mr john lubbock, banker, to be my executors, and leave each of them the sum of one thousand pounds for their trouble, and in token of regard. that will do, peter. now, as i have left so much real property, it is necessary that there should be three witnesses; so call in two more, and let me sign in your presence." this order was obeyed, and this strange will duly attested, for i hardly need say, that even the presents he had pretended to receive were purchased by himself at different times; but such was the force of his ruling passion even to the last. mr phillott and o'brien used to come and see him, as did occasionally some of the other officers, and he was always cheerful and merry, and seemed to be quite indifferent about his situation, although fully aware of it. his stories, if anything, became more marvellous, as no one ventured to express a doubt as to their credibility. i had remained in the hospital about a week, when captain kearney was evidently dying: the doctor came, felt his pulse, and gave it as his opinion that he could not outlive the day. this was on a friday, and there certainly was every symptom of dissolution. he was so exhausted that he could scarcely articulate; his feet were cold, and his eyes appeared glazed, and turned upwards. the doctor remained an hour, felt his pulse again, shook his head, and said to me, in a low voice, "he is quite gone." as soon as the doctor quitted the room, captain kearney opened his eyes, and beckoned me to him. "he's a confounded fool, peter," said he: "he thinks i am slipping my wind now--but i know better; going i am, 'tis true--but i shan't die till next thursday." strange to say, from that moment he rallied; and although it was reported that he was dead, and the admiral had signed the acting order for his successor, the next morning, to the astonishment of everybody, captain kearney was still alive. he continued in this state, between life and death, until the thursday next, the day on which he asserted that he would die--and, on that morning, he was evidently sinking fast. towards noon, his breathing became much oppressed and irregular, and he was evidently dying; the rattle in his throat commenced; and i watched at his bedside, waiting for his last gasp, when he again opened his eyes, and beckoning me, with an effort, to put my head close to him to hear what he had to say, he contrived, in a sort of gurgling whisper, and with much difficulty, to utter--"peter, i'm going now--not that the rattle--in my throat--is a sign of death: for i once knew a man--to _live_ with--_the rattle in his throat_--for _six weeks_." he fell back and expired, having, perhaps, at his last gasp, told the greatest lie of his whole life. thus died this most extraordinary character, who, in most other points, commanded respect: he was a kind man and a good officer; but from the idiosyncrasy of his disposition, whether from habit or from nature, could not speak the truth. i say from _nature_, because i have witnessed the vice of stealing equally strong, and never to be eradicated. it was in a young messmate of good family, and who was supplied with money to almost any extent: he was one of the most generous, open-hearted lads that i ever knew; he would offer his purse, or the contents of his chest, to any of his messmates, and, at the same time, would steal everything that he could lay his hands upon. i have known him watch for hours, to steal what could be of no use to him, as, for instance, an _odd_ shoe, and that much too small for his foot. what he stole he would give away the very next day; but to check it was impossible. it was so well known, that if anything was missed, we used first to apply to his chest to see if it was there, and usually found the article in question. he appeared to be wholly insensible to shame upon this subject, though in every other he showed no want of feeling or of honour; and, strange to say, he never covered his theft with a lie. after vain attempts to cure him of this propensity, he was dismissed the service as incorrigible. captain kearney was buried in the churchyard with the usual military honours. in his desk we found directions, in his own hand, relative to his funeral, and the engraving on his tombstone. in these, he stated his aged to be thirty-one years. if this was correct, captain kearney, from the time that he had been in the service of his country, must have entered the navy just _four months before_ he was born. it was unfortunate that he commenced the inscription with "here lies captain kearney," &c. &c. his tombstone had not been set up twenty-four hours before somebody, who knew his character, put a dash under one word, as emphatic as it was true of the living man, "here _lies_ captain." chapter xxxviii captain horton--gloomy news from home--get over head and ears in the water, and find myself afterwards growing one way, and my clothes another--though neither as rich as a jew, nor as large as a camel, i pass through my examination, which my brother candidates think passing strange. the day after captain kearney's decease, his acting successor made his appearance on board. the character of captain horton was well known to us from the complaints made by the officers belonging to his ship, of his apathy and indolence; indeed, he went by the _soubriquet_ of "the sloth." it certainly was very annoying to his officers to witness so many opportunities of prize-money and distinction thrown away through the indolence of his disposition. captain horton was a young man of family who had advanced rapidly in the service from interest, and from occasionally distinguishing himself. in the several cutting-out expeditions, on which he had not volunteered but had been ordered, he had shown, not only courage, but a remarkable degree of coolness in danger and difficulty, which had gained him much approbation: but it was said that this coolness arose from his very fault--an unaccountable laziness. he would walk away, as it were, from the enemy's fire, when others would hasten, merely because he was so apathetic that he would not exert himself to run. in one cutting-out expedition in which he distinguished himself, it is said that having to board a very high vessel, and that in a shower of grape and musketry, when the boat dashed alongside, and the men were springing up, he looked up at the height of the vessel's sides, and exclaimed, with a look of despair, "my god! must we really climb up that vessel's decks?" when he had gained the deck, and became excited, he then proved how little fear had to do with the remark, the captain of the ship falling by his hand, as he fought in advance on his own men. but this peculiarity, which in a junior officer was of little consequence, and a subject of mirth, in a captain became of a very serious nature. the admiral was aware how often he had neglected to annoy or capture the enemy when he might have done it; and, by such neglect, captain horton infringed one of the articles of war, the punishment awarded to which infringement is _death_. his appointment, therefore, to the _sanglier_ was as annoying to us as his quitting his former ship was agreeable to those on board of her. as it happened, it proved of little consequence: the admiral had instructions from home to advance captain horton to the first vacancy, which of course he was obliged to comply with; but not wishing to keep on the station an officer who would not exert himself, he resolved to send her to england with despatches and retain the other frigate which had been ordered home, and which we had been sent up to replace. we therefore heard it announced with feelings of joy, mingled with regret, that we were immediately to proceed to england. for my part, i was glad of it. i had now served my time as midshipman, to within five months, and i thought that i had a better chance of being made in england than abroad. i was also very anxious to go home, for family reasons, which i have already explained. in a fortnight we sailed with several vessels, and directions to take charge of a large convoy from quebec, which was to meet us off the island of st john's. in a few days we joined our convoy, and with a fair wind bore up for england. the weather soon became very bad, and we were scudding before a heavy gale, under bare poles. our captain seldom quitted the cabin, but remained there on a sofa, stretched at his length, reading a novel, or dozing, as he found most agreeable. i recollect a circumstance which occurred, which will prove the apathy of his disposition, and how unfit he was to command so fine a frigate. we had been scudding three days, when the weather became much worse. o'brien, who had the middle watch, went down to report that "it blew very hard." "very well," said the captain; "let me know if it blows harder." in about an hour more the gale increased, and o'brien went down again. "it blows much harder, captain horton." "very well," answered captain horton, turning in his cot; "you may call me again when it _blows harder_." at about six bells the gale was at its height, and the wind roared in its fury. down went o'brien again. "it blows tremendous hard now, captain horton." "well, well, if the weather becomes worse--" "it can't be worse," interrupted o'brien; "it's impossible to blow harder." "indeed! well, then," replied the captain, "let me know when _it lulls_." in the morning watch a similar circumstance took place. mr phillott went down, and said that several of the convoy were out of sight astern. "shall we heave-to, captain horton?" "oh, no," replied he, "she will be so uneasy. let me know if you lose sight of any more." in another hour the first lieutenant reported that "there were very few to be seen." "very well, mr phillott," replied the captain, turning round to sleep; "let me know if you lose any more." some time elapsed, and the first lieutenant reported "that they were all out of sight." "very well, then," said the captain; "call me when you see them again." this was not very likely to take place, as we were going twelve knots an hour, and running away from them as fast as we could; so the captain remained undisturbed until he thought proper to get up to breakfast. indeed, we never saw any more of our convoy, but taking the gale with us, in fifteen days anchored in plymouth sound. the orders came down for the frigate to be paid off, all standing, and recommissioned. i received letters from my father, in which he congratulated me at my name being mentioned in captain kearney's despatches, and requested me to come home as soon as i could. the admiral allowed my name to be put down on the books of the guard-ship, that i might not lose my time, and then gave me two months' leave of absence. i bade farewell to my shipmates, shook hands with o'brien, who proposed to go over to ireland previous to his applying for another ship, and, with my pay in my pocket, set off in the plymouth mail, and in three days was once more in the arms of my affectionate mother, and warmly greeted by my father and the remainder of my family. once more with my family, i must acquaint the reader with what had occurred since my departure. my eldest sister, lucy, had married an officer in the army, a captain fielding, and his regiment having been ordered out to india, had accompanied her husband, and letters had been received, just before my return announcing their safe arrival at ceylon. my second sister, mary, had also been engaged to be married, and from her infancy was of extremely delicate health. she was very handsome, and much admired. her intended husband was a baronet of good family; but unfortunately, she caught a cold at the assize ball and went off in a decline. she died about two months before my arrival, and the family were in deep mourning. my third sister, ellen, was still unmarried; she also was a very beautiful girl, and now seventeen. my mother's constitution was much shaken by the loss of my sister mary, and the separation from her eldest child. as for my father, even the loss of his daughter appeared to be wholly forgotten in the unwelcome intelligence which he had received, that my uncle's wife had been safely delivered of a _son_, which threw him out of the anticipated titles and estates of my grandfather. it was indeed a house of mourning. my mother's grief i respected, and tried all i could to console her; that of my father was so evidently worldly, and so at variance with his clerical profession, that i must acknowledge i felt more of anger at it than sorrow. he had become morose and sullen, harsh to those around him, and not so kind to my mother as her state of mind and health made it his duty to be, even if inclination were wanted. he seldom passed any portion of the day with her, and in the evening she went to bed very early, so that there was little communication between them. my sister was a great consolation to her, and so i hope was i; she often said so as she embraced me, and the tears rolled down her cheeks, and i could not help surmising that those tears were doubled from the coolness and indifference, if not unkindness, with which my father behaved to her. as for my sister, she was an angel; and as i witnessed her considerate attentions to my mother, and the total forgetfulness of self which she displayed (so different from my father, who was all self), i often thought what a treasure she would prove to any man who was fortunate enough to win her love. such was the state of my family when i returned to it. i had been at home about a week, when one evening, after dinner, i submitted to my father the propriety of trying to obtain my promotion. "i can do nothing for you, peter; i have no interest whatever," replied he, moodily. "i do not think that much is required, sir," replied i; "my time will be served on the th of next month. if i pass, which i trust i shall be able to do, my name having been mentioned in the public despatches will render it a point of no very great difficulty to obtain my commission at the request of my grandfather." "yes, your grandfather might succeed, i have no doubt; but i think you have little chance now in that quarter. my brother has a son, and we are thrown out. you are not aware, peter, how selfish people are, and how little they will exert themselves for their relations. your grandfather has never invited me since the announcement of my brother's increase to his family. indeed, i have never been near him, for i know that it is of no use." "i must think otherwise of lord privilege, my dear father, until your opinion is confirmed by his own conduct. that i am not so much an object of interest, i grant; but still he was very kind, and appeared to be partial to me." "well, well, you can try all you can, but you'll soon see of what stuff this world is made; i am sure i hope it will be so, for what is to become of you children if i die, i do not know;--i have saved little or nothing. and now all my prospects are blasted by this--" and my father dashed his fist upon the table in a manner by no means clerical, and with a look very unworthy of an apostle. i am sorry that i must thus speak of my father, but i must not disguise the truth. still, i must say, there was much in extenuation of his conduct. he had always a dislike to the profession of the church: his ambition, as a young man, had been to enter the army, for which service he was much better qualified; but, as it has been the custom for centuries to entail all the property of the aristocracy upon the eldest son, and leave the other brothers to be supported by the state, or rather by the people, who are taxed for their provision, my father was not permitted to follow the bent of his own inclination. an elder brother had already selected the army as his profession, and it was therefore decided that my father should enter the church; and thus it is that we have had, and still have, so many people in that profession, who are not only totally unfit for, but who actually disgrace, their calling. the law of primogeniture is beset with evils and injustice; yet without it, the aristocracy of a country must sink into insignificance. it appears to me, that as long as the people of a country are content to support the younger sons of the nobility, it is well that the aristocracy should be held up as a third estate, and a link between the sovereign and the people; but that if the people are either too poor, or are unwilling to be so taxed, they have a right to refuse taxation for such purposes, and to demand that the law of primogeniture should be abolished. i remained at home until my time was complete, and then set off for plymouth to undergo my examination. the passing-day had been fixed by the admiral for the friday, and, as i arrived on wednesday, i amused myself during the day, walking about the dockyard, and trying all i could to obtain further information in my profession. on the thursday, a party of soldiers from the depot were embarking at the landing-place in men-of-war boats, and, as i understood, were about to proceed to india. i witnessed the embarkation, and waited till they shoved off, and then walked to the anchor wharf to ascertain the weights of the respective anchors of the different classes of vessels in the king's service. i had not been there long, when i was attracted by the squabbling created by a soldier, who, it appeared, had quitted the ranks to run up to the tap in the dockyard to obtain liquor. he was very drunk, and was followed by a young woman with a child in her arms, who was endeavouring to pacify him. "now be quiet, patrick, jewel," said she, clinging to him; "sure it's enough that you've left the ranks, and will come to disgrace when you get on board. now be quiet, patrick, and let us ask for a boat, and then perhaps the officer will think it was all a mistake, and let you off aisy; and sure i'll speak to mr o'rourke, and he's a kind man." "out wid you, you cratur, it is mr o'rourke you'd be having a conversation wid, and he be chucking you under that chin of yours. out wid you, mary, and lave me to find my way on board. is it a boat i want, when i can swim like st patrick, wid my head under my arm, if it wasn't on my shoulders? at all events, i can wid my nappersack and musket to boot." the young woman cried, and tried to restrain him, but he broke from her, and running down to the wharf, dashed off into the water. the young woman ran to the edge of the wharf, perceived him sinking, and shrieking with despair, threw up her arms in her agony. the child fell, struck on the edge of the piles, turned over, and before i could catch hold of it, sank into the sea. "the child! the child!" burst forth in another wild scream, and the poor creature lay at my feet in violent fits. i looked over, the child had disappeared; but the soldier was still struggling with his head above water. he sank and rose again--a boat was pulling towards him, but he was quite exhausted. he threw back his arms as if in despair, and was about disappearing under a wave, when, no longer able to restrain myself, i leaped off the high wharf, and swam to his assistance, just in time to lay hold of him as he was sinking for the last time. i had not been in the water a quarter of a minute before the boat came up to us, and dragged us on board. the soldier was exhausted and speechless. i, of course, was only very wet. the boat rowed to the landing-place at my request, and we were both put on shore. the knapsack which was fixed on the soldier's back, and his regimentals, indicated that he belonged to the regiment just embarked; and i stated my opinion that, as soon as he was a little recovered, he had better be taken on board. as the boat which picked us up was one of the men-of-war boats, the officer who had been embarking the troops, and had been sent on shore again to know if there were any yet left behind, consented. in a few minutes the soldier recovered, and was able to sit up and speak, and i only waited to ascertain the state of the poor young woman whom i had left on the wharf. in a few minutes she was led to us by the warder, and the scene between her and her husband was most affecting. when she had become a little composed, she turned round to me, where i stood dripping wet, and, intermingled with lamentation for the child, showering down emphatic blessings on my head, inquired my name. "give it to me!" she cried; "give it to me on paper, in writing, that i may wear it next my heart, read and kiss it every day of my life, and never forget to pray for you, and to bless you!" "i'll tell it you. my name--" "nay, write it down for me--write it down. sure you'll not refuse me. all the saints bless you, dear young man, for saving a poor woman from despair!" the officer commanding the boat handed me a pencil and a card; i wrote my name and gave it to the poor woman; she took my hand as i gave it, kissed the card repeatedly, and put it into her bosom. the officer, impatient to shove off, ordered her husband into the boat--she followed, clinging to him, wet as he was--the boat shoved off, and i hastened up to the inn to dry my clothes. i could not help observing, at the time, how the fear of a greater evil will absorb all consideration for a minor. satisfied that her husband had not perished, she had hardly once appeared to remember that she had lost her child. i had only brought one suit of clothes with me: they were in very good condition when i arrived, but salt water plays the devil with a uniform. i laid in bed until they were dry; but when i put them on again, not being before too large for me, for i grew very fast, they were now shrunk and shrivelled up, so as to be much too small. my wrists appeared below the sleeves of my coat--my trousers had shrunk half way up to my knees--the buttons were all tarnished, and altogether i certainly did not wear the appearance of a gentlemanly, smart midshipman. i would have ordered another suit, but the examination was to take place at ten o'clock the next morning, and there was no time. i was therefore obliged to appear as i was, on the quarter-deck of the line-of-battle ship, on board of which the passing was to take place. many others were there to undergo the same ordeal, all strangers to me, and as i perceived by their nods and winks to each other, as they walked up and down in their smart clothes, not at all inclined to make my acquaintance. there were many before me on the list, and our hearts beat every time that a name was called, and the owner of it walked aft into the cabin. some returned with jocund faces, and our hopes mounted with the anticipation of similar good fortune; others came out melancholy and crest-fallen, and then the expression of their countenances was communicated to our own, and we quailed with fear and apprehension. i have no hesitation in asserting, that although "passing" may be a proof of being qualified, "not passing" is certainly no proof to the contrary. i have known many of the cleverest young men turned back (while others of inferior abilities have succeeded), merely from the feeling of awe occasioned by the peculiarity of the situation: and it is not to be wondered at, when it is considered that all the labour and exertion of six years are at stake at this appalling moment. at last my name was called, and almost breathless from anxiety, i entered the cabin, where i found myself in presence of the three captains who were to decide whether i were fit to hold a commission in his majesty's service. my logs and certificates were examined and approved; my time calculated and allowed to be correct. the questions in navigation which were put to me were very few, for the best of all possible reasons, that most captains in his majesty's service know little or nothing of navigation. during their servitude as midshipmen, they learn it by _rote_, without being aware of the principles upon which the calculations they use are founded. as lieutenants, their services as to navigation are seldom required, and they rapidly forget all about it. as captains, their whole remnant of mathematical knowledge consists in being able to set down the ship's position on the chart. as for navigating the ship, the master is answerable; and the captains not being responsible themselves, they trust entirely to his reckoning. of course there are exceptions, but what i state is the fact; and if an order from the admiralty was given, that all captains should pass again, although they might acquit themselves very well in seamanship, nineteen out of twenty would be turned back when they were questioned in navigation. it is from the knowledge of this fact that i think the service is injured by the present system, and the captain should be held _wholly_ responsible for the navigation of his ship. it has been long known that the officers of every other maritime state are more scientific than our own, which is easily explained, from the responsibility not being invested in our captains. the origin of masters in our service is singular. when england first became a maritime power, ships for the king's service were found by the cinque ports and other parties--the fighting part of the crew was composed of soldiers sent on board. all the vessels at that time had a crew of sailors, with a master to navigate the vessel. during our bloody naval engagements with the dutch, the same system was acted upon. i think it was the earl of sandwich, of whom it is stated, that his ship being in a sinking state, he took a boat to hoist his flag on board of another vessel in the fleet, but a shot cutting the boat in two, and the _weight of his armour_ bearing him down, the earl of sandwich perished. but to proceed. as soon as i had answered several questions satisfactorily, i was desired to stand up. the captain who had interrogated me on navigation, was very grave in his demeanour towards me, but at the same time not uncivil. during his examination, he was not interfered with by the other two, who only undertook the examination in "seamanship." the captain, who now desired me to stand up, spoke in a very harsh tone, and quite frightened me. i stood up pale and trembling, for i augured no good from this commencement. several questions in seamanship were put to me, which i have no doubt i answered in a very lame way, for i cannot even now recollect what i said. "i thought so," observed the captain; "i judged as much from your appearance. an officer who is so careless of his dress, as not even to put on a decent coat when he appears at his examination, generally turns out an idle fellow, and no seaman. one would think you had served all your time in a cutter, or a ten-gun brig, instead of dashing frigates. come, sir, i'll give you one more chance." i was so hurt at what the captain said, that i could not control my feelings. i replied, with a quivering lip, "that i had had no time to order another uniform,"--and i burst into tears. "indeed, burrows, you are rather too harsh," said the third captain; "the lad is frightened. let him sit down and compose himself for a little while. sit down, mr simple, and we will try you again directly." i sat down, checking my grief and trying to recall my scattered senses. the captains, in the meantime, turning over the logs to pass away the time; the one who had questioned me in navigation reading the plymouth newspaper, which had a few minutes before been brought on board and sent into the cabin. "heh! what's this? i say burrows--keats, look here," and he pointed to a paragraph. "mr simple, may i ask whether it was you who saved the soldier who leaped off the wharf yesterday?" "yes, sir," replied i; "and that's the reason why my uniforms are so shabby. i spoilt them then, and had no time to order others. i did not like to say why they were spoilt." i saw a change in the countenances of all the three, and it gave me courage. indeed, now that my feelings had found vent, i was no longer under any apprehension. "come, mr simple, stand up again," said the captain, kindly, "that is, if you feel sufficiently composed; if not, we will wait a little longer. don't be afraid, we _wish_ to pass you." i was not afraid, and stood up immediately. i answered every question satisfactorily; and finding that i did so, they put more difficult ones. "very good, very good indeed, mr simple; now let me ask you one more; it's seldom done in the service, and perhaps you may not be able to answer it. do you know how to _club-haul_ a ship?" "yes, sir," replied i, having, as the reader may recollect, witnessed the manoeuvre when serving under poor captain savage, and i immediately stated how it was to be done. "that is sufficient, mr simple. i wish to ask you no more questions. i thought at first you were a careless officer and no seaman: i now find that you are a good seaman and a gallant young man. do you wish to ask any more questions?" continued he, turning to the two others. they replied in the negative; my passing certificate was signed, and the captains did me the honour to shake hands with me, and wish me speedy promotion. thus ended happily this severe trial to my poor nerves; and, as i came out of the cabin, no one could have imagined that i had been in such distress within, when they beheld the joy that irradiated my countenance. chapter xxxix is a chapter of plots--catholic casuistry in a new cassock--plotting promotes promotion--a peasant's love and a peer's peevishness--prospects of prosperity. as soon as i arrived at the hotel, i sent for a plymouth paper, and cut out the paragraph which had been of such importance to me in my emergency, and the next morning returned home to receive the congratulations of my family. i found a letter from o'brien, which had arrived the day before. it was as follows:-- "my dear peter,--some people, they say, are lucky to 'have a father born before them,' because they are helped on in the world--upon which principle, mine was born _after_ me, that's certain; however, that can't be helped. i found all my family well and hearty; but they all shook a cloth in the wind with respect to toggery. as for father m'grath's cassock, he didn't complain of it without reason. it was the ghost of a garment; but, however, with the blessing of god, my last quarterly bill, and the help of a tailor, we have had a regular refit, and the ancient family of the o'briens of ballyhinch are now rigged from stem to starn. my two sisters are both to be spliced to young squireens in the neighbourhood; it appears that they only wanted for a dacent town gown to go to the church in. they will be turned off next friday, and i only wish, peter, you were here to dance at the weddings. never mind, i'll dance for you and for myself too. in the meantime, i'll just tell you what father m'grath and i have been doing, all about and consarning that thief of an uncle of yours. "it's very little or nothing at all that father m'grath did before i came back, seeing as how father o'toole had a new cassock, and father m'grath's was so shabby that he couldn't face him under such a disadvantage; but still father m'grath spied about him, and had several hints from here and from there, all of which, when i came to add them up, amounted to just nothing at all. "but since i came home, we have been busy. father m'grath went down to ballycleuch, as bold as a lion in his new clothing, swearing that he'd lead father o'toole by the nose for slamming the door in his face, and so he would have done, if he could have found him; but as he wasn't to be found, father m'grath came back again just as wise, and quite as brave, as he went out. "so, peter, i just took a walk that way myself, and, as i surrounded the old house where your uncle had taken up his quarters, who should i meet but the little girl, ella flanagan, who was in his service; and i said to myself, 'there's two ways of obtaining things in this world, one is for love, and the other is for money.' the o'briens are better off in the first article than in the last, as most of their countrymen are, so i've been spending it very freely in your service, peter. "'sure,' says i, 'you are the little girl that my eyes were ever looking upon when last i was in this way.' "'and who are you?' says she. "'lieutenant o'brien, of his majesty's service, just come home for a minute to look out for a wife,' says i; 'and it's one about your make, and shape, and discretion that would please my fancy.' "and then i praised her eyes, and her nose, and her forehead, and so downwards, until i came to the soles of her feet; and asked her leave to see her again, and when she would meet me in the wood and tell me her mind. at first, she thought (sure enough) that i couldn't be in earnest, but i swore by all the saints that she was the prettiest girl in the parts--and so she is altogether--and then she listened to my blarney. the devil a word did i say about your uncle, or your aunt, or father m'grath, that she might not suspect for i've an idea that they're all in the story. i only talked about my love for her pretty self, and that blinded her, as it will all women, 'cute as they may be. "and now, peter, it's three weeks last sunday, that i've been bespeaking this poor girl for your sake, and my conscience tells me that it's not right to make the poor crature fond of me, seeing as how that i don't care a fig for her in the way of a wife, and in any other way it would be the ruin of the poor thing. i have spoken to father m'grath on the subject, who says, 'that we may do evil that good may come, and that, if she has been a party to the deceit, it's nothing but proper that she should be punished in this world, and that will, perhaps, save her in the next;' still i don't like it, peter, and it's only for you among the living that i'd do such a thing; for the poor creature now hangs upon me so fondly, and talks about the wedding-day; and tells me long stories about the connections which have taken place between the o'flanagans and the o'briens, times bygone, when they were all in their glory. yesterday, as we sat in the wood, with her arm round my waist, 'ella, dear,' says i, 'who are these people that you stay with?' and then she told me all she knew about their history, and how mary sullivan was a nurse to the baby. "'and what is the baby?' says i. "'a boy, sure,' says she. "'and sullivan's baby?' "'that's a girl.' "'and is mary sullivan there now?' "'no' says she; 'it's yestreen she left with her husband and baby, to join the regiment that's going out to ingy.' "'yesterday she left?' says i, starting up. "'yes,' replies she, 'and what do you care about them?' "'it's very much i care,' replied i, 'for a little bird has whispered a secret to me.' "'and what may that be?' says she. "'only that the childer were changed, and you know it as well as i do.' but she swore that she knew nothing about it, and that she was not there when either of the children was born, and i believe that she told the truth. 'well,' says i, 'who tended the lady?' "'my own mother,' says ella. 'and if it was so, who can know but she?' "then,' says i, 'ella, jewel, i've made a vow that i'll never marry till i find out the truth of this matter; so the sooner you get it out of your mother the better.' then she cried very much, and i was almost ready to cry too, to see how the poor thing was vexed at the idea of not being married. after a while, she swabbed up her cheeks, and kissing me, wished me good-by, swearing by all the saints that the truth should come out, somehow or another. "it's this morning that i saw her again, as agreed upon yesterday, and red her eyes were with weeping, poor thing; and she clung to me, and begged me to forgive her, and not to leave her; and then she told me that her mother was startled when she put the question to her, and chewed it, and cursed her when she insisted upon the truth; and how she had fallen on her knees, and begged her mother not to stand in the way of her happiness, as she would die if she did (i leave you to guess if my heart didn't smite me when she said that, peter, but the mischief was done), and how her mother had talked about her oath and father o'toole, and said that she would speak to him. "now, peter, i'm sure that the childer have been changed, and that the nurse has been sent to the indies to be out of the way. they say they were to go to plymouth. the husband's name is, of course, o'sullivan; so i'd recommend you to take a coach and see what you can do in that quarter; in the meantime i'll try all i can for the truth in this, and will write again as soon as i can find out anything more. all i want to do is to get father m'grath to go to the old devil of a mother, and i'll answer for it, he'll frighten her into swearing anything. god bless you, peter, and give my love to all the family. "yours ever, "terence o'brien." this letter of o'brien was the subject of much meditation. the advice to go to plymouth was too late, the troops having sailed some time; and i had no doubt but that mary sullivan and her husband were among those who had embarked at the time that i was at that port to pass my examination. show the letter to my father i would not, as it would only have put him in a fever, and his interference would, in all probability, have done more harm than good. i therefore waited quietly for more intelligence, and resolved to apply to my grandfather to obtain my promotion. a few days afterwards i set off for eagle park, and arrived about eleven o'clock in the morning. i sent in my name, and was admitted into the library, where i found lord privilege in his easy chair as usual. "well, child," said he, remaining on his chair, and not offering even _one_ finger to me, "what do you want, that you come here without an invitation?" "only, my lord, to inquire after your health, and to thank you for your kindness to me in procuring me and mr o'brien the appointment to a fine frigate." "yes," replied his lordship, "i recollect--i think i did so, at your request, and i think i heard some one say that you have behaved well, and had been mentioned in the despatches." "yes, my lord," replied i, "and i have since passed my examination for lieutenant." "well, child, i'm glad to hear it. remember me to your father and family." and his lordship cast his eyes down upon the book which he had been reading. my father's observations appeared to be well grounded, but i would not leave the room until i had made some further attempt. "has your lordship heard from my uncle?" "yes," replied he, "i had a letter from him yesterday. the child is quite well. i expect them all here in a fortnight or three weeks, to live with me altogether. i am old--getting very old, and i shall have much to arrange with your uncle before i die." "if i might request a favour of your lordship, it would be to beg that you would interest yourself a little in obtaining my promotion. a letter from your lordship to the first lord--only a few lines--" "well, child, i see no objection--only--i am very old, too old to write now." and his lordship again commenced reading. i must do lord privilege the justice to state that he evidently was fast verging to a state of second childhood. he was much bowed down since i had last seen him, and appeared infirm in body as well as mind. i waited at least a quarter of an hour before his lordship looked up. "what, not gone yet, child? i thought you had gone home." "your lordship was kind enough to say that you had no objection to write a few lines to the first lord in my behalf. i trust your lordship will not refuse me." "well," replied he, peevishly, "so i did--but i am too old, too old to write--i cannot see--i can hardly hold a pen." "will your lordship allow me the honour of writing the letter for your lordship's signature?" "well, child--yes--i've no objection. write as follows--no--write anything you please--and i'll sign it. i wish your uncle william were come." this was more than i did. i had a great mind to show him o'brien's letter, but i thought it would be cruel to raise doubts, and harass the mind of a person so close to the brink of the grave. the truth would never be ascertained during his life, i thought, and why, therefore, should i give him pain? at all events, although i had the letter in my pocket, i resolved not to make use of it except as a _dernier_ resort. i went to another table, and sat down to write the letter. as his lordship had said that i might write what i pleased, it occurred to me that i might assist o'brien, and i felt sure that his lordship would not take the trouble to read the letter. i therefore wrote as follows, while lord privilege continued to read his book:-- "my lord,--you will confer a very great favour upon me, if you will hasten the commission which, i have no doubt, is in preparation for my nephew, mr simple, who has passed his examination, and has been mentioned in the public despatches, and also that you will not lose sight of lieutenant o'brien, who has so distinguished himself by his gallantry in the various cutting-out expeditions in the west indies. trusting that your lordship will not fail to comply with my earnest request, i have the honour to be, your lordship's very obedient humble servant." i brought this letter, with a pen full of ink, and the noise of my approach induced his lordship to look up. he stared at first, as having forgotten the whole circumstance--then said--"oh yes! i recollect, so i did--give me the pen." with a trembling hand he signed his name, and gave me back the letter without reading it, as i expected. "there, child, don't tease me any more. good-bye; remember me to your father." i wished his lordship a good morning, and went away well satisfied with the result of my expedition. on my arrival i showed the letter to my father, who was much surprised at my success, and he assured me that my grandfather's interest was so great with the administration, that i might consider my promotion as certain. that no accident might happen, i immediately set off for london, and delivered the letter at the door of the first lord with my own hands, leaving my address with the porter. chapter xl o'brien and myself take a step each, _pari passu_--a family reunion productive of anything but unity--my uncle not always the best friend. a few days afterwards i left my card with my address with the first lord, and the next day received a letter from his secretary, which, to my delight, informed me that my commission had been made out some days before. i hardly need say that i hastened to take it up, and when paying my fee to the clerk, i ventured, at a hazard, to inquire whether he knew the address of lieutenant o'brien. "no," replied he, "i wish to find it out, for he has this day been promoted to the rank of commander." i almost leaped with joy when i heard this good news. i gave o'brien's address to the clerk, hastened away with my invaluable piece of parchment in my hand, and set off immediately for my father's house. but i was met with sorrow. my mother had been taken severely ill, and i found the house in commotion--doctors, and apothecaries, and nurses, running to and fro, my father in a state of excitement, and my dear sister in tears. spasm succeeded spasm; and although every remedy was applied, the next evening she breathed her last. i will not attempt to describe the grief of my father, who appeared to feel remorse at his late unkind treatment of her, my sister, and myself. these scenes must be imagined by those who have suffered under similar bereavements. i exerted myself to console my poor sister, who appeared to cling to me as to her only support, and, after the funeral was over, we recovered our tranquillity, although the mourning was still deeper in our hearts than in our outward dress. i had written to o'brien to announce the mournful intelligence, and, like a true friend, he immediately made his appearance to console me. o'brien had received the letter from the admiralty, acquainting him with his promotion; and, two days after he arrived, went to take up his commission. i told him frankly by what means he had obtained it, and he again concluded his thanks by a reference to the mistake of the former supposition, that of my being "the fool of the family." "by the powers, it would be well for any man if he had a few of such foolish friends about him," continued he; "but i won't blarney you, peter; you know what my opinion always has been, so we'll say no more about it." when he came back, we had a long consultation as to the best method of proceeding to obtain employment, for o'brien was anxious to be again afloat, and so was i. i regretted parting with my sister, but my father was so morose and ill-tempered, that i had no pleasure at home, except in her company. indeed, my sister was of opinion, that it would be better if i were away, as my father's misanthropy, now unchecked by my mother, appeared to have increased, and he seemed to view me with positive dislike. it was, therefore, agreed unanimously between my sister, and me, and o'brien, who was always of our councils, that it would be advisable that i should be again afloat. "i can manage him much better when alone, peter; i shall have nothing to occupy me, and take me away from him, as your presence does now; and, painful as it is to part with you, my duty to my father, and my wish for your advancement, induce me to request that you will, if possible, find some means of obtaining employment." "spoken like a hero, as ye are, miss ellen, notwithstanding your pretty face and soft eyes," said o'brien. "and now, peter, for the means to bring it about. if i can get a ship, there is no fear for you, as i shall choose you for my lieutenant; but how is that to be managed? do you think that you can come over the old gentleman at eagle park?" "at all events, i'll try," replied i; "i can but be floored, o'brien." accordingly, the next day i set off for my grandfather's, and was put down at the lodge, at the usual hour, about eleven o'clock. i walked up the avenue, and knocked at the door: when it was opened, i perceived a hesitation among the servants, and a constrained air, which i did not like. i inquired after lord privilege--the answer was, that he was pretty well, but did not see _any_ body. "is my uncle here?" said i. "yes, sir," replied the servant, with a significant look, "and all his family are here too." "are you sure that i cannot see my _grandfather_" said i, laying a stress upon the word. "i will tell him that you are here, sir," replied the man, "but even that is against orders." i had never seen my uncle since i was a child, and could not even recollect him--my cousins, or my aunt, i had never met with. in a minute an answer was brought, requesting that i would walk into the library. when i was ushered in, i found myself in the presence of lord privilege, who sat in his usual place, and a tall gentleman, whom i knew at once to be my uncle, from his likeness to my father. "here is the young gentleman, my lord," said my uncle, looking at me sternly. "heh! what--oh? i recollect. well, child, so you've been behaving very ill--sorry to hear it. good-bye." "behaving ill, my lord!" replied i. "i am not aware of having so done." "reports are certainly very much against you, nephew," observed my uncle, drily. "some one has told your grandfather what has much displeased him. i know nothing about it myself." "then some rascal has slandered me, sir," replied i. my uncle started at the word rascal; and then recovering himself, replied, "well, nephew, what is it that you require of lord privilege, for i presume this visit is not without a cause?" "sir," replied i, "my visit to lord privilege was, first to thank him for having procured me my commission as lieutenant, and to request the favour that he would obtain me active employment, which a line from him will effect immediately." "i was not aware, nephew, that you had been made lieutenant; but i agree with you, that the more you are at sea the better. his lordship shall sign the letter. sit down." "shall i write it, sir?" said i to my uncle: "i know what to say." "yes; and bring it to me when it is written." i felt convinced that the only reason which induced my uncle to obtain me employment was the idea that i should be better out of the way, and that there was more risk at sea than on shore. i took a sheet of paper, and wrote as follows:-- "my lord,--may i request that your lordship will be pleased to appoint the bearer of this to a ship, as soon as convenient, as i wish him to be actively employed. "i am, my lord, &c, &c." "why not mention your name?" "it is of no consequence," replied i, "as it will be delivered in person, and that will insure my speedy appointment." the letter was placed before his lordship for signature. it was with some difficulty that he was made to understand that he was to sign it. the old gentleman appeared much more imbecile than when i last saw him. i thanked him, folded up the letter, and put it in my pocket. at last he looked at me, and a sudden flash of recollection appeared to come across his mind. "well child so you escaped from the french prison--heh! and how's your friend--what is his name, heh?" "o'brien, my lord." "o'brien!" cried my uncle, "he is _your_ friend; then, sir, i presume it is to you that i am indebted for all the inquiries and reports which are so industriously circulated in ireland--the tampering with my servants-- and other impertinences?" i did not choose to deny the truth, although i was a little fluttered by the sudden manner in which it came to light. i replied, "i never tamper with any people's servants, sir." "no," said he, "but you employ others so to do. i discovered the whole of your proceedings after the scoundrel left for england." "if you apply the word scoundrel _to_ captain o'brien, sir, in his name i contradict it." "as you please, sir," replied my uncle, in a passion; "but you will oblige me by quitting this house immediately, and expect nothing more, either from the present or the future lord privilege, except that retaliation which your infamous conduct has deserved." i felt much irritated, and replied very sharply, "from the present lord privilege i certainly expect nothing more, neither do i from his successor; but after your death, uncle, i expect that the person who succeeds to the title will do all he can for your humble servant. i wish you a good morning, uncle." my uncle's eyes flashed fire as i finished my speech, which indeed was a very bold, and a very foolish one too, as it afterwards proved. i hastened out of the room, not only from the fear of being turned out of the house before all the servants, but also from the dread that my letter to the first lord might be taken from me by force; but i shall never forget the scowl of vengeance which crossed my uncle's brows, as i turned round and looked at him as i shut the door. i found my way out without the assistance of the servants, and hastened home as fast as i could. "o'brien," said i, on my return, "there is no time to be lost; the sooner you hasten to town with this letter of introduction, the better it will be, for depend upon it my uncle will do me all the harm that he can." i then repeated to him all that had passed, and it was agreed that o'brien should take the letter, which, having reference to the bearer, would do as well for him as for me; and, if o'brien obtained an appointment, i was sure not only of being one of his lieutenants, but also of sailing with a dear friend. the next morning o'brien set off for london, and fortunately saw the first lord the day after his arrival, which was a levee day. the first lord received the letter from o'brien, and requested him to sit down. he then read it, inquired after his lordship, asked whether his health was good, &c. o'brien replied, "that with the blessing of god, his lordship might live many years: that he had never heard him complain of ill health." all which was not false, if not true. i could not help observing to o'brien, when he returned home and told me what had passed, "that i thought, considering what he had expressed with respect to white lies and black lies, that he had not latterly adhered to his own creed." "that's very true, peter; and i've thought of it myself, but it is my creed nevertheless. we all know what's right, but we don't always follow it. the fact is, i begin to think that it is absolutely necessary to fight the world with its own weapons. i spoke to father m'grath on the subject, and he replied--'that if anyone, by doing wrong, necessitated another to do wrong to circumvent him, that the first party was answerable, not only for his own sin, but also for the sin committed in self-defence." "but, o'brien, i do not fix my faith so implicitly upon father m'grath; and i do not much admire many of his directions." "no more do i, peter, when i think upon them; but how am i to puzzle my head upon these points? all i know is, that when you are divided between your inclination and your duty, it's mighty convenient to have a priest like father m'grath to decide for you, and to look after your soul into the bargain." it occurred to me that i myself, when finding fault with o'brien, had, in the instance of both the letters from lord privilege, been also guilty of deceit. i was therefore blaming him for the same fault committed by myself; and i am afraid that i was too ready in consoling myself with father m'grath's maxim, "that one might do evil that good might come." but to return to o'brien's interview. after some little conversation, the first lord said, "captain o'brien, i am always very ready to oblige lord privilege, and the more so as his recommendation is of an officer of your merit. in a day or two, if you call at the admiralty, you will hear further." o'brien wrote to us immediately, and we waited with impatience for his next letter: but, instead of the letter, he made his appearance on the third day, and first hugged me in his arms, he then came to my sister, embraced her, and skipped and danced about the room. "what is the matter, o'brien?" said i, while ellen retreated in confusion. o'brien pulled a parchment out of his pocket. "here, peter, my dear peter; now for honour and glory. an eighteen-gun brig, peter. the _rattlesnake_--captain o'brien--west india station. by the holy father! my heart's bursting with joy!" and down he sank into an easy chair. "a'n't i almost beside myself?" inquired he, after a short pause. "ellen thinks so, i dare say," replied i, looking at my sister, who stood in the corner of the room, thinking o'brien was really out of his senses, and still red with confusion. o'brien, who then called to mind what a slip of decorum he had been guilty of, immediately rose, and resuming his usual unsophisticated politeness, as he walked up to my sister, took her hand, and said, "excuse me, my dear miss ellen; i must apologize for my rudeness; but my delight was so great, and my gratitude to your brother so intense, that i am afraid that in my warmth i allowed the expression of my feelings to extend to one so dear to him, and so like him in person and in mind. will you only consider that you received the overflowings of a grateful heart towards your brother, and for his sake pardon my indiscretion?" ellen smiled, and held out her hand to o'brien, who led her to the sofa, where we all three sat down: and he then commenced a more intelligible narrative of what had passed. he had called on the day appointed, and sent up his card. the first lord could not see him, but referred him to the private secretary, who presented him with his commission to the _rattlesnake_, eighteen-gun brig. the secretary smiled most graciously, and told o'brien in confidence that he would proceed to the west india station as soon as his vessel was manned and ready for sea. he inquired of o'brien whom he wished as his first lieutenant. o'brien replied that he wished for me; but as, in all probability, i should not be of sufficient standing to be first lieutenant, that the admiralty might appoint any other to the duty, provided i joined the ship. the secretary made a minute of o'brien's wish, and requested him, if he had a vacancy to spare as midshipman, to allow him to send one on board; to which o'brien willingly acceded, shook hands with him, and o'brien quitted the admiralty to hasten down to us with the pleasing intelligence. "and now," said o'brien, "i have made up my mind how to proceed. i shall first run down to plymouth and hoist my pennant; then i shall ask for a fortnight's leave, and go to ireland to see how they get on, and what father m'grath may be about. so, peter, let's pass this evening as happily as we can; for though you and i shall soon meet again, yet it may be years, or perhaps never, that we three shall sit down on the same sofa as we do now." ellen, who was still nervous, from the late death of my mother, looked down, and i perceived the tears start in her eyes at the remark of o'brien, that perhaps we should never meet again. and i did pass a happy evening. i had a dear sister on one side of me, and a sincere friend on the other. how few situations more enviable! o'brien left us early the next morning; and at breakfast-time a letter was handed to my father. it was from my uncle, coldly communicating to him that lord privilege had died the night before, very suddenly, and informing him that the burial would take place on that day week, and that the will would be opened immediately after the funeral. my father handed the letter over to me without saying a word, and sipped his tea with his tea-spoon. i cannot say that i felt very much on the occasion; but i did feel, because he had been kind to me at one time: as for my father's feelings, i could not--or rather i should say, i did not wish to analyze them. as soon as he had finished his cup of tea, he left the breakfast-table, and went into his study. i then communicated the intelligence to my sister ellen. "my god!" said she, after a pause, putting her hand up to her eyes; "what a strange unnatural state of society must we have arrived at, when my father can thus receive the intelligence of a parent's death! is it not dreadful?" "it is, my dearest girl," replied i; "but every feeling has been sacrificed to worldly considerations and an empty name. the younger sons have been neglected, if not deserted. virtue, talent, everything set at naught--intrinsic value despised--and the only claim to consideration admitted, that of being the heir entail. when all the ties of nature are cast loose by the parents, can you be surprised if the children are no longer bound by them? most truly do you observe, that it is a detestable state of society." "i did not say detestable, brother; i said strange and unnatural." "had you said what i said, ellen, you would not have been wrong. i would not for the title and wealth which it brings, be the heartless, isolated, i may say neglected being that my grandfather was; were it offered now, i would not barter for it ellen's love." ellen threw herself in my arms; we then walked into the garden, where we had a long conversation relative to our future wishes, hopes, and prospects. chapter xli pompous obsequies--the reading of the will, not exactly after wilkie--i am left a legacy--what becomes of it--my father, very warm, writes a sermon to cool himself--i join o'brien's brig, and fall in with swinburne. on that day week i accompanied my father to eagle park, to assist at the burial of lord privilege. we were ushered into the room where the body had laid in state for three days. the black hangings, the lofty plumes, the rich ornaments on the coffin, and the number of wax candles with which the room was lighted, produced a solemn and grand effect. i could not help, as i leaned against the balustrade before the coffin and thought of its contents, calling to mind when my poor grandfather's feelings seemed, as it were, inclined to thaw in my favour, when he called me "his child," and, in all probability, had not my uncle had a son, would have died in my arms, fond and attached to me for my own sake, independently of worldly considerations. i felt that had i known him longer, i could have loved him, and that he would have loved me; and i thought to myself, how little all these empty honours, after his decease, could compensate for the loss of those reciprocal feelings, which would have so added to his happiness during his existence. but he had lived for pomp and vanity; and pomp and vanity attended him to his grave. i thought of my sister ellen, and of o'brien, and walked away with the conviction that peter simple might have been an object of envy to the late right honourable lord viscount privilege, baron corston, lord lieutenant of the county, and one of his majesty's most honourable privy councillors. when the funeral, which was very tedious and very splendid, was over, we all returned in the carriages to eagle park, when my uncle, who had of course assumed the title, and who had attended as chief mourner, was in waiting to receive us. we were shown into the library, and in the chair so lately and constantly occupied by my grandfather, sat the new lord. near to him were the lawyers, with parchments lying before them. as we severally entered, he waved his hand to unoccupied chairs, intimating to us to sit down; but no words were exchanged, except an occasional whisper between him and the lawyers. when all the branches of the family were present, down to the fourth and fifth cousins, the lawyer on the right of my uncle put on his spectacles, and unrolling the parchment commenced reading the will. i paid attention to it at first; but the legal technicalities puzzled me, and i was soon thinking of other matters, until after half an hour's reading, i was startled at the sound of my own name. it was a bequest by codicil to me, of the sum of ten thousand pounds. my father who sat by me, gave me a slight push, to attract my attention; and i perceived that his face was not quite so mournful as before. i was rejoicing at this unexpected intelligence. i called to mind what my father had said to me when we were returning from eagle park, "that my grandfather's attentions to me were as good as ten thousand pounds in his will," and was reflecting how strange it was that he had hit upon the exact sum. i also thought of what my father had said of his own affairs, and his not having saved anything for his children, and congratulated myself that i should now be able to support my dear sister ellen, in case of any accident happening to my father, when i was roused by another mention of my name. it was a codicil dated about a week back, in which my grandfather, not pleased at my conduct, revoked the former codicil, and left me nothing. i knew where the blow came from, and i looked my uncle in the face; a gleam of malignant pleasure was in his eyes, which had been fixed on me, waiting to receive my glance. i returned it with a smile expressive of scorn and contempt, and then looked at my father, who appeared to be in a state of misery. his head had fallen upon his breast, and his hands were clasped. although i was shocked at the blow, for i knew how much the money was required, i felt too proud to show it; indeed, i felt that i would not for worlds have exchanged situations with my uncle, much less feelings; for when those who remain meet to ascertain the disposition made, by one who is summoned away to the tribunal of his maker, of those worldly and perishable things which he must leave behind him, feelings of rancour and ill-will might, for the time, be permitted to subside, and the memory of a "departed brother" be productive of charity and good-will. after a little reflection, i felt that i could forgive my uncle. not so my father; the codicil which deprived me of my inheritance, was the last of the will, and the lawyer rolled up the parchment and took off his spectacles. everybody rose; my father seized his hat, and telling me in a harsh voice to follow him, tore off the crape weepers, and then threw them on the floor as he walked away. i also took off mine, and laid them on the table, and followed him. my father called his carriage, waited in the hall till it was driven up, and jumped into it. i followed him; he drew up the blind, and desired them to drive home. "not a sixpence! by the god of heaven, not a sixpence! my name not even mentioned, except for a paltry mourning ring! and yours--pray sir, what have you been about, after having such a sum left you, to forfeit your grandfather's good opinion? heh! sir--tell me directly," continued he, turning round to me in a rage. "nothing, my dear father, that i'm aware of. my uncle is evidently my enemy." "and why should he be particularly your enemy? peter, there must be some reason for his having induced your grandfather to alter his bequest in your favour. i insist upon it, sir, that you tell me immediately." "my dear father, when you are more calm, i will talk this matter over with you. i hope i shall not be considered wanting in respect, when i say, that as a clergyman of the church of england--" "d--n the church of england, and those that put me into it!" replied my father, maddened with rage. i was shocked, and held my tongue. my father appeared also to be confused at his hasty expressions. he sank back in his carriage, and preserved a gloomy silence until we arrived at our own door. as soon as we entered, my father hastened to his own room, and i went up to my sister ellen, who was in her bed room. i revealed to her all that had passed, and advised with her on the propriety of my communicating to my father the reasons which had occasioned my uncle's extreme aversion towards me. after much argument, she agreed with me, that the disclosure had now become necessary. after the dinner-cloth had been removed, i then communicated to my father the circumstances which had come to our knowledge relative to my uncle's establishment in ireland. he heard me very attentively, took out tablets, and made notes. "well, peter," said he, after a few minutes' silence, when i had finished, "i see clearly through this whole business. i have no doubt but that a child has been substituted to defraud you and me of our just inheritance of the title and estates; but i will now set to work and try if i cannot find out the secret; and, with the help of captain o'brien and father m'grath, i think it is not at all impossible." "o'brien will do all that he can, sir," replied i; "and i expect soon to hear from him. he must have now been a week in ireland." "i shall go there myself," replied my father; "and there are no means that i will not resort to, to discover this infamous plot. no," exclaimed he, striking his fist on the table, so as to shiver two of the wine-glasses into fragments--"no means but i will resort to." "that is," replied i, "my dear father, no means which may be legitimately employed by one of your profession." "i tell you, no means that can be used by _man_ to recover his defrauded rights! tell me not of legitimate means, when i am to lose a title and property by a spurious and illegitimate substitution! by the god of heaven, i will meet them with fraud for fraud, with false swearing for false swearing, and with blood for blood, if it should be necessary! my brother has dissolved all ties, and i will have my right, even if i demand it with a pistol at his ear." "for heaven's sake, my dear father, do not be so violent--recollect your profession." "i do," replied he, bitterly; "and how i was forced into it against my will. i recollect my father's words, the solemn coolness with which he told me, 'i had my choice of the church, or--to starve.'--but i have my sermon to prepare for to-morrow, and i can sit here no longer. tell ellen to send me in some tea." i did not think my father was in a very fit state of mind to write a sermon, but i held my tongue. my sister joined me, and we saw no more of him till breakfast the next day. before we met, i received a letter from o'brien. "my dear peter,--i ran down to plymouth, hoisted my pennant, drew my jollies from the dockyard, and set my first lieutenant to work getting in the ballast and water-tanks. i then set off for ireland, and was very well received as captain o'brien by my family, who were all flourishing. "now that my two sisters are so well married off, my father and mother are very comfortable, but rather lonely; for i believe i told you long before, that it had pleased heaven to take all the rest of my brothers and sisters, except the two now married, and one who bore up for a nunnery, dedicating her service to god, after she was scarred with the small-pox, and no man would look at her. ever since the family have been grown up, my father and mother have been lamenting and sorrowing that none of them would go off; and now that they're all gone off one way or another, they cry all day because they are left all alone with no one to keep company with them, except father m'grath and the pigs. we never are to be contented in this world, that's sartain; and now that they are comfortable in every respect, they find that they are very uncomfortable, and having obtained all their wishes, they wish everything back again; but as old maddocks used to say, 'a good growl is better than a bad dinner' with some people; and the greatest pleasure that they now have is to grumble; and if that makes them happy, they must be happy all day long--for the devil a bit do they leave off from morning till night. "the first thing that i did was to send for father m'grath, who had been more away from home than usual--i presume, not finding things quite so comfortable as they used to be. he told me that he had met with father o'toole, and had a bit of a dialogue with him, which had ended in a bit of a row, and that he had cudgelled father o'toole well, and tore his gown off his back, and then tore it into shivers,-- that father o'toole had referred the case to the bishop, and that was how the matter stood just then. 'but,' says he, 'the spalpeen has left this part of the country, and, what is more, has taken ella and her mother with him; and what is still worse, no one could find out where they were gone; but it was believed that they had all been sent over the water.' so you see, peter, that this is a bad job in one point, which is, that we have no chance of getting the truth out of the old woman; for now that we have war with france, who is to follow them? on the other hand, it is good news; for it prevents me from decoying that poor young girl, and making her believe what will never come to pass; and i am not a little glad on that score, for father m'grath was told by those who were about her, that she did nothing but weep and moan for two days before she went away, scolded as she was by her mother, and threatened by that blackguard o'toole. it appears to me, that all our hopes now are in finding out the soldier, and his wife the wet-nurse, who were sent to india--no doubt with the hope that the climate and the fevers may carry them off. that uncle of yours is a great blackguard, every bit of him. i shall leave here in three days, and you must join me at plymouth. make my compliments to your father, and my regards to your sister, whom may all the saints preserve! god bless her, for ever and ever. amen. "yours ever, "terence o'brien." i put this letter into my father's hands when he came out of his room. "this is a deep-laid plot," said he, "and i think we must immediately do as o'brien states--look after the nurse who was sent to india. do you know the regiment to which her husband belongs?" "yes, sir," replied i; "it is the rd, and she sailed for india about three months back." "the name, you say, i think, is o'sullivan," said he, pulling out his tablets. "well, i will write immediately to captain fielding, and beg him to make the minutest inquiries. i will also write to your sister lucy, for women are much keener than men in affairs of this sort. if the regiment is ordered to ceylon, all the better: if not, he must obtain furlough to prosecute his inquiries. when that is done, i will go myself to ireland, and try if we cannot trace the other parties." my father then left the room, and i retired with ellen to make preparations for joining my ship at plymouth. a letter announcing my appointment had come down, and i had written to request my commission to be forwarded to the clerk of the cheque at plymouth, that i might save a useless journey to london. on the following day i parted with my father and my dear sister, and, without any adventure, arrived at plymouth dock, where i met with o'brien. the same day i reported myself to the admiral, and joined my brig, which was lying alongside the hulk with her topmasts pointed through. returning from the brig, as i was walking up fore-street, i observed a fine stout sailor, whose back was turned to me, reading the handbill which had been posted up everywhere announcing that the _rattlesnake_, captain o'brien (about to proceed to the west india station, where _doubloons_ were so plentiful that dollars were only used for ballast), was in want of a _few_ stout hands. it might have been said, of a great many: for we had not entered six men, and were doing all the work with the marines and riggers of the dockyard; but it is not the custom to show your poverty in this world either with regard to men or money. i stopped, and overheard him say, "ay, as for the doubloons, that cock won't fight. i've served long enough in the west indies not to be humbugged; but i wonder whether captain o'brien was the second lieutenant of the _sanglier_. if so, i shouldn't mind trying a cruise with him." i thought that i recollected the voice, and touching him on the shoulder, he turned round, and it proved to be swinburne. "what, swinburne!" said i, shaking him by the hand, for i was delighted to see him, "is it you?" "why, mr simple! well, then, i expect that i'm right, and that mr o'brien is made, and commands this craft. when you meet the pilot-fish, the shark arn't far off, you know." "you're very right, swinburne," said i, "in all except calling captain o'brien a shark. he's no shark." "no, that he arn't, except in one way; that is, that i expect he'll soon show his teeth to the frenchmen. but i beg your pardon, sir;" and swinburne took off his hat. "oh! i understand; you did not perceive before that i had shipped the swab. yes, i'm lieutenant of the _rattlesnake_, swinburne, and hope you'll join us." "there's my hand upon it, mr simple," said he, smacking his great fist into mine so as to make it tingle. "i'm content if i know that the captain's a good officer; but when there's two, i think myself lucky. i'll just take a boat, and put my name on the books, and then i'll be on shore again to spend the rest of my money, and try if i can't pick up a few hands as volunteers, for i know where they all be stowed away. i was looking at the craft this morning, and rather took a fancy to her. she has a d--d pretty run; but i hope captain o'brien will take off her fiddle-head, and get one carved: i never knew a vessel do much with a _fiddle_-head." "i rather think that captain o'brien has already applied to the commissioner on the subject," replied i; "at all events, it won't be very difficult to make the alteration ourselves." "to be sure not," replied swinburne; "a coil of four-inch will make the body of the snake; i can carve out the head; and as for a _rattle_, i be blessed if i don't rob one of those beggars of watchmen this very night. so good-bye, mr simple, till we meet again." swinburne kept his word; he joined the ship that afternoon, and the next day came off with six good hands, who had been induced from his representations to join the brig. "tell captain o'brien," said he to me, "not to be in too great a hurry to man his ship. i know where there are plenty to be had; but i'll try fair means first." this he did, and every day, almost, he brought off a man, and all he did bring off were good able seamen. others volunteered, and we were now more than half-manned, and ready for sea. the admiral then gave us permission to send pressgangs on shore. "mr simple," said swinburne, "i've tried all i can to persuade a lot of fine chaps to enter, but they won't. now i'm resolved that my brig shall be well manned; and if they don't know what's good for them, i do, and i'm sure that they will thank me for it afterwards; so i'm determined to take every mother's son of them." the same night we mustered all swinburne's men and went on shore to a crimp's house which they knew, surrounded it with our marines in blue jackets, and took out of it twenty-three fine able seamen, which nearly filled up our complement. the remainder we obtained by a draft from the admiral's ship; and i do not believe that there was a vessel that left plymouth harbour and anchored in the sound, better manned than the _rattlesnake_. so much for good character, which is never lost upon seamen o'brien was universally liked by those who had sailed with him, and swinburne, who knew him well persuaded many, and forced the others, to enter with him, whether they liked it or not. this they in the event did, and, with the exception of those drafted from the flag-ship, we had no desertions. indeed, none deserted whom we would have wished to retain, and their vacancies were soon filled up with better men. chapter xlii we sail for the west indies--a volunteer for the ship refused and set on shore again, for reasons which the chapter will satisfactorily explain to the reader. we were very glad when the master-attendant came on board to take us into the sound; and still more glad to perceive that the brig, which had just been launched before o'brien was appointed to her, appeared to sail very fast as she ran out. so it proved after we went to sea; she sailed wonderfully well, beating every vessel that she met, and overhauling in a very short time everything that we chased; turning to windward like magic, and tacking in a moment. three days after we anchored in the sound the ship's company were paid, and our sailing orders came down to proceed with despatches, by next evening's post, to the island of jamaica. we started with a fair wind, and were soon clear of the channel. our whole time was now occupied in training our new ship's company at the guns, and learning them _to pull together;_ and by the time that we had run down the trades, we were in a very fair state of discipline. the first lieutenant was rather an odd character; his brother was a sporting man of large property, and he had contracted, from his example, a great partiality for such pursuits. he knew the winning horses of the derby and the oaks for twenty years back, was an adept at all athletic exercises, a capital shot, and had his pointer on board. in other respects, he was a great dandy in his person, always wore gloves, even on service, very gentlemanlike and handsome, and not a very bad sailor; that is, he knew enough to carry on his duty very creditably, and evidently, now that he was the first lieutenant, and obliged to work, learnt more of his duty every day. i never met a more pleasant messmate or a more honourable young man. a brig is only allowed two lieutenants. the master was a rough, kind-hearted, intelligent young man, always in good humour. the surgeon and purser completed our mess; they were men of no character at all, except, perhaps, that the surgeon was too much of a courtier, and the purser too much of a skin-flint; but pursers are, generally speaking, more sinned against than sinning. but i have been led away, while talking of the brig and the officers, and had almost forgotten to narrate a circumstance which occurred two days before we sailed. i was with o'brien in the cabin, when mr osbaldistone, the first lieutenant, came in, and reported that a boy had come on board to volunteer for the ship. "what sort of a lad is he?" said o'brien. "a very nice lad--very slight, sir," replied the first lieutenant. "we have two vacancies." "well, see what you make of him; and if you think he will do, you may put him on the books." "i have tried him, sir. he says that he has been a short time at sea. i made him mount the main-rigging, but he did not much like it." "well, do as you please, osbaldistone," replied o'brien; and the first lieutenant quitted the cabin. in about a quarter of an hour he returned. "if you please, sir," said he, laughing, "i sent the boy down to the surgeon to be examined, and he refused to strip. the surgeon says that he thinks she is a woman. i have had her up on the quarter-deck, and she refuses to answer any questions, and requires to speak with you." "with me!" said o'brien, with surprise. "oh! one of the men's wives, i suppose, trying to steal a march upon us. well, send her down here, osbaldistone, and i'll prove to her the moral impossibility of her sailing in his majesty's brig _rattlesnake_." in a few minutes the first lieutenant sent her down to the cabin door, and i was about to retire as she entered; but o'brien stopped me. "stay, peter: my reputation will be at stake if i'm left all alone," said he, laughing. the sentry opened the door, and whether boy or girl, a more interesting face i never beheld; the hair was cut close, and i could not tell whether the surgeon's suspicions were correct. "you wish to speak--holy st patrick!" cried o'brien, looking earnestly at her features; and o'brien covered his face and bent over the table, exclaiming, "my god, my god!" in the meantime the colour of the young person fled from her countenance, and then rushed into it again, alternately leaving it pale and suffused with blushes. i perceived a trembling over the frame, the knees shook and knocked together, and had i not hastened, she--for a female it was--would have fallen on the deck. i perceived that she had fainted; i therefore laid her down on the deck, and hastened to obtain some water. o'brien ran up and went to her. "my poor, poor girl!" said he, sorrowfully. "oh! peter, this is all your fault." "all my fault! how could she have come here?" "by all the saints who pray for us--dearly as i prize them, i would give up my ship and my commission, that this could be undone." as o'brien hung over her, the tears from his eyes fell upon her face, while i bathed it with the water i had brought from the dressing-room. i knew who it must be, although i had never seen her. it was the girl to whom o'brien had professed love, to worm out the secret of the exchange of my uncle's child; and as i beheld the scene i could not help saying to myself, "who now will assert that evil may be done that good may come?" the poor girl showed symptoms of recovering, and o'brien waved his hand to me, saying, "leave us, peter, and see that no one comes in." i remained nearly an hour at the cabin-door, by the sentry, and prevented many from entering, when o'brien opened the door, and requested me to order his gig to be manned and then to come in. the poor girl had evidently been weeping bitterly, and o'brien was much affected. "all is arranged, peter; you must go on shore with her, and not leave her till you see her safe off by the night coach. do me that favour, peter--you ought indeed," continued he, in a low voice, "for you have been partly the occasion of this." i shook o'brien's hand and made no answer--the boat was reported ready, and the girl followed me with a firm step. i pulled on shore, saw her safe in the coach without asking her any question, and then returned on board. "come on board, sir," said i, entering the cabin with my hat in my hand, and reporting myself according to the regulations of the service. "thank you," replied o'brien: "shut the door, peter. tell me, how did she behave? what did she say?" "she never spoke, and i never asked her a question. she seemed to be willing to do as you had arranged." "sit down, peter. i never felt more unhappy, or more disgusted with myself in all my life. i feel as if i never could be happy again. a sailor's life mixes him up with the worst part of the female sex, and we do not know the real value of the better. i little thought when i was talking nonsense to that poor girl, that i was breaking one of the kindest hearts in the world, and sacrificing the happiness of one who would lay down her existence for me, peter. since you have been gone, it's twenty times that i've looked in the glass just to see whether i don't look like a villain. but, by the blood of st patrick! i thought woman's _love_ was just like our own, and that a three months' cruise would set all to rights again." "i thought she had gone over to france." "so did i; but now she has told me all about it. father m'dermot[ ] and her mother brought her down to the coast near here to embark in a smuggling boat for dieppe. when the boat pulled in-shore in the night to take them in, the mother and the rascally priest got in, but she felt as if it was leaving the whole world to leave the country i was in, and she held back. the officers came down, one or two pistols were fired, and the boat shoved off without her, and she, with their luggage, was left on the beach. she went back to the next town with the officers, where she told the truth of the story, and they let her go. in father m'dermot's luggage she found letters, which she read, and found out that she and her mother were to have been placed in a convent at dieppe; and, as the convent was named in the letters,--which she says are very important, but i have not had courage to read them yet,--she went to the people from whose house they had embarked, requesting them to forward the luggage and a letter to her mother--sending everything but the letters, which she reserved for me. she has since received a letter from her mother, telling her that she is safe and well in the convent, and begging her to come over to her as soon as possible. the mother took the vows a week after she arrived there, so we know where to find her, peter." "and where is the poor girl going to stay now, o'brien?" "that's all the worst part of it. it appears that she hoped not to be found out till after we had sailed, and then to have, as she said, poor thing! to have laid at my feet and watched over me in the storms; but i pointed out to her that it was not permitted, and that i would not be allowed to marry her. o peter! this is a very sad business," continued o'brien, passing his hand across his eyes. "well, but, o'brien, what is to become of the poor girl?" "she is going home to be with my father and mother, hoping one day that i shall come back and marry her. i have written to father m'grath, to see what he can do." "have you then not undeceived her?" "father m'grath must do that, i could not. it would have been the death of her. it would have stabbed her to the heart, and it's not for me to give that blow. i'd sooner have died--sooner have married her, than have done it, peter. perhaps when i'm far away she'll bear it better. father m'grath will manage it." "o'brien, i don't like that father m'grath." "well, peter, you may be right; i don't exactly like all he says myself; but what is a man to do?--either he is a catholic, and believes as a catholic, or he is not one. will i abandon my religion, now that it is persecuted? never, peter: i hope not, without i find a much better, at all events. still i do not like to feel that this advice of my confessor is at variance with my own conscience. father m'grath is a worldly man; but that only proves that he is wrong, not that our religion is--and i don't mind speaking to you on this subject. no one knows that i'm a catholic except yourself: and at the admiralty they never asked me to take that oath which i never would have taken, although father m'grath says i may take any oath i please with what he calls heretics, and he will grant me absolution. peter, my dear fellow, say no more about it." i did not; but i may as well end the history of poor ella flanagan at once, as she will not appear again. about three months afterwards, we received a letter from father m'grath, stating that the girl had arrived safe, and had been a great comfort to o'brien's father and mother, who wished her to remain with them altogether; that father m'grath, had told her that when a man took his commission as captain it was all the same as going into a monastery as a monk, for he never could marry. the poor girl believed him, and thinking that o'brien was lost to her for ever, with the advice of father m'grath, had entered as a nun in one of the religious houses in ireland, that, as she said, she might pray for him night and day. many years afterwards, we heard of her--she was well, and not unhappy; but o'brien never forgot his behaviour to this poor girl. it was a source of continual regret; and i believe, until the last day of his existence, his heart smote him for his inconsiderate conduct towards her. but i must leave this distressing topic, and return to the _rattlesnake_, which had now arrived at the west indies, and joined the admiral at jamaica. [footnote : the worthy priest formerly called father o'toole.--ed.] chapter xliii description of the coast of martinique--popped at for peeping--no heroism in making oneself a target--board a miniature noah's ark, under yankee colours--capture a french slaver--parrot soup in lieu of mock turtle. we found orders at barbadoes to cruise off martinique, to prevent supplies being furnished to the garrison of the island, and we proceeded there immediately. i do not know anything more picturesque than running down the east side of this beautiful island--the ridges of hill spreading down to the water's edge, covered with the freshest verdure, divided at the base by small bays, with the beach of dazzling white sand, and where the little coasting vessels employed to bring the sugar from the neighbouring estates were riding at anchor. each hill, at its adjutment towards the sea, crowned with a fort, on which waved the tri-colour--certainly, in appearance, one of the most war-like flags in the world. on the third morning we had rounded the diamond rock, and were scudding along the lee-side of the island just opening fort royal bay, when hauling rather too close round its eastern entrance, formed by a promontory called solomon's point, which was covered with brush-wood, we found ourselves nearer than agreeable to a newly constructed battery. a column of smoke was poured along the blue water, and it was followed by the whizzing of a shot, which passed through our boom main sail, first cutting away the dog-vane, which was close to old swinburne's head, as he stood on the carronade, conning the brig. i was at dinner in the cabin with o'brien and the first lieutenant. "where the devil have they got the brig now?" said o'brien, rising from his chair, and going on deck. we both followed; but before we were on deck, three or four more shot passed between the masts. "if you please, sir," said the master's mate in charge of the deck, whose name was o'farrell, "the battery has opened upon us." "thank you very much for your information, mr o'farrell," replied o'brien; "but the french have reported it before you. may i ask if you've any particular fancy to be made a target of, or if you think that his majesty's brig _rattlesnake_ was sent here to be riddled for nothing at all? starboard the helm, quartermaster." the helm was put up, and the brig was soon run out of the fire; not, however, until a few more shot were pitched close to us, and one carried away the foretopmast backstay. "now, mr o'farrell," replied o'brien, "i only wish to point out to you that i trust neither i nor any one in this ship cares a fig about the whizzing of a shot or two about our ears when there is anything to be gained for it, either for ourselves or for our country; but i do care a great deal about losing even the leg or the arm, much more the life of any of my men, when there's no occasion for it; so, in future, recollect it's no disgrace to keep out of the way of a battery when all the advantage is on their side. i've always observed that chance shots pick out the best men. lower down the mainsail, and send the sailmakers aft to repair it." when o'brien returned to the cabin i remained on deck, for it was my afternoon watch; and although o'farrell had permission to look out for me, i did not choose to go down again. the bay of fort royal was now opened, and the view was extremely beautiful. swinburne was still on the carronade; and as i knew he had been there before, i applied to him for information as to the _locale_. he told me the names of the batteries above the town, pointed out fort edward and negro point, and particularly pigeon island, the battery at the top of which wore the appearance of a mural crown. "it's well i remember that place, mr simple," said he. "it was in ' when i was last here. the sodgers had 'sieged it for a whole month, and were about to give it up, 'cause they couldn't get a gun up on that 'ere hill you see there. so poor captain faulkner says, 'there's many a clear head under a tarpaulin hat, and i'll give any chap five doubloons that will hitch up a twenty-four pounder to the top of that hill.' not quite so easy a matter, as you may perceive from here, mr simple." "it certainly appears to me to have been almost impossible, swinburne," replied i. "and so it did to most of us, mr simple; but there was one dick smith, mate of a transport, who had come on shore, and he steps out, saying, 'i've been looking at your men handling that gun, and my opinion is, that if you gets a butt, crams in a carronade, well woulded up, and fill it with old junk and rope yarns, you might parbuckle it up to the very top.' so captain faulkner pulls out five doubloons, and gives them to him, saying, 'you deserve the money for the hint, even if it don't succeed.' but it did succeed, mr simple; and the next day, to their surprise, we opened fire on the french beggars, and soon brought their boasting down. one of the french officers, after he was taken prisoner, axed me how we had managed to get the gun up there; but i wasn't going to blow the gaff, so i told him, as a great secret, that we got it up with a kite, upon which he opened all his eyes, and crying '_sacre bleu!_' walked away, believing all i said was true; but a'n't that a sail we have opened with the point, mr simple?" it was so, and i reported it to o'brien, who came up and gave chase. in half an hour we were alongside of her, when she hoisted american colours, and proved to be a brigantine laden up to her gunwale, which was not above a foot out of the water. her cargo consisted of what the americans called _notions_; that is, in english, an assorted cargo. half-way up her masts down to the deck were hung up baskets containing apples, potatoes, onions, and nuts of various kinds. her deck was crowded with cattle, sheep, pigs, and donkeys. below was full of shingle, lumber, and a variety of different articles too numerous to mention. i boarded her, and asked the master whither he was bound? "why," replied he, "i am bound for a market--nowise particular; and i guess you won't stop me." "not if all's right," replied i; "but i must look at your log." "well, i've a notion there's no great objection to that," replied he; and he brought it up on deck. i had no great time to examine it, but i could not help being amused at the little i did read, such as--"horse latitudes--water very short-- killed white-faced bullock--caught a dolphin, and ate him for dinner-- broached molasses cask no. i, letter a. fine night--saw little round things floating on the water--took up a bucket full--guessed they were pearls--judge i guessed wrong, only little portuguese men-of-war--threw them overboard again--heard a scream, guessed it was a mermaid--looked out, saw nothing. witnessed a very strange rippling ahead--calculated it might be the sea-serpent--stood on to see him plain, and nearly ran on barbuda. hauled off again--met a britisher--treated _politely_." having overhauled his log, i then begged to overhaul his men to ascertain if there were any englishmen among his crew. this was not pleasing, and he grumbled very much; but they were ordered aft. one man i was satisfied was an englishman, and told him so; but the man as well as the master persisted to the contrary. nevertheless, i resolved to take him on board for o'brien to decide, and ordered him into the boat. "well, if you will use force, i can't help it. my decks an't clear as you see, or else--i tell you what, mr lieutenant, your vessel there will be another _hermione_, i've a notion, if you presses true-blooded yankees; and, what's more, the states will take it up, as sure as there's snakes in virginny." notwithstanding this remonstrance, i took them on board to o'brien, who had a long conversation with the american in the cabin. when they returned on deck he was allowed to depart with his man, and we again made sail. i had the first watch that night, and as we ran along the coast i perceived a vessel under the high land in what the sailors called the _doldrums_; that is, almost becalmed, or her sails flapping about in every direction with the eddying winds. we steered for her, and were very soon in the same situation, not more than a quarter of a mile from her. the quarter-boat was lowered down, and i proceeded to board her; but as she was large and rakish, o'brien desired me to be careful, and if there was the least show of resistance to return. as i pulled up to her bows they hailed me in french, and desired me to keep off, or they would fire. this was quite sufficient; and, in obedience to my orders, i returned to the brig and reported to o'brien. we lowered down all the quarter-boats, and towed round the brig's broadside to her, and then gave her half a dozen carronades of round and grape. hearing great noise and confusion on board after we had ceased firing, o'brien again sent me to know if they had surrendered. they replied in the affirmative, and i boarded her. she proved to be the _commerce de bordeaux_, with three hundred and thirty slaves on board, out of five hundred embarked from the coast, bound to martinique. the crew were very sickly, and were most of them in their hammocks. latterly, they had been killing parrots to make soup for them; a few that were left, of the grey species, spoke remarkably well. when they left the coast they had nearly one thousand parrots on board. o'brien perceiving that i had taken possession, sent another boat to know what the vessel was. i desired the surgeon to be sent on board, as some of the men and many of the poor slaves were wounded by our shot. of all the miserable objects, i know of none to be compared to the poor devils of slaves on board of a slave vessel: the state of suffocation between decks--the dreadful stench arising from their filth, which is hardly ever cleared away--the sick lying without help, and looked upon by those who are stronger with the utmost indifference--men, women, and children, all huddled and crowded together in a state of nudity, worn to skin and bone from stench, starvation, and living in an atmosphere that none but a negro could exist in. if all that occurs in a slave-ship were really known, i think it would be acknowledged that to make the slave-trade piracy would be nothing more than a just retribution; and this is certain, that unless it be made piracy, it never will be discontinued. by daylight the vessel was ready, and o'brien determined to take her to dominica, so that the poor devils might be immediately sent on shore. we anchored with her, in a few days, in prince rupert's bay, where we only had twenty-four hours to obtain some refreshments and arrange about our prize, which i hardly need say was of some value. during the short time that i was on shore, purchasing some fowls and vegetables for o'brien and our own mess, i was amused at witnessing a black serjeant drilling some of his regiment of free negroes and mulattoes. he appeared resolved to make the best appearance that he could, for he began by saying, "you hab shoe and 'tocking, stand in front--you hab shoe no 'tocking, stand in centre--you hab no shoe no 'tocking, stand in um rear. face to mountain--back to sea-beach. why you no 'tep out, sar?--you hangman!" i was curious to count the numbers qualified for the front rank: there were only two mulattoes. in the second rank there were also only two. no shoe and no 'tocking appeared to be the fashion. as usual, we were surrounded by the negroes; and although we had been there but a few hours, they had a song composed for us, which they constantly repeated:-- "don't you see the _rattlesnake_ coming under sail? don't you see the _rattlesnake_ with prizes at um tail?--' _rattlesnake_ hab all the money--ding, ding-- she shall have all that's funny, ding, ding!" chapter xliv money can purchase anything in the new country--american information not always to be depended upon--a night attack; we are beaten off--it proves a _cut up_, instead of a _cut out_--after all, we save something out of the fire. the next morning we weighed anchor, and returned to our station off martinique. we had run within three miles of st pierre's when we discovered a vessel coming out under jury-masts. she steered directly for us, and we made her out to be the american brigantine which we had boarded some time before. o'brien sent a boat to bring the master of her on board. "well, captain," said he, "so you met with a squall?" "i calculate not," replied he. "why, then, what the devil have you been about?" "why, i guess i sold all my cargo, and, what's more, i've sold my masts." "sold your masts! who did you sell them to?" "to an almighty pretty french privateer lying in st pierre's, which had lost her spars when she was chased by one of your brass-bottomed sarpents; and i've a notion they paid pretty handsomely too." "but how do you mean to get home again?" "i calculate to get into the _stream_, and then i'll do very well. if i meet a nor-wester, why then i'll make a signal of distress, and some one will tow me in, i guess." "well," replied o'brien, "but step down into the cabin and take something, captain." "with particular pleasure," replied this strange mortal; and down they went. in about half an hour they returned on deck, and the boat took the american on board. soon afterwards, o'brien desired osbaldistone and myself to step down into the cabin. the chart of the harbour of st pierre's lay on the table, and o'brien said, "i have had a long conversation with the american, and he states that the privateer is at anchor in this spot" (pointing to a pencil-mark on the chart). "if so, she is well out; and i see no difficulty in capturing her. you see that she lays in four fathoms water, and so close under the outer battery, that the guns could not be pointed down upon the boats. i have also inquired if they keep a good look-out, and the american says that they feel so secure that they keep no look-out at all; that the captain and officers belonging to her are on shore all night, drinking, smoking, and boasting of what they will do. now the question is, whether this report be correct. the american has been well-treated by us, and i see no reason to doubt him; indeed, he gave the information voluntarily, as if he wished to serve us." i allowed osbaldistone to speak first: he coincided with o'brien. i did not: the very circumstance of her requiring new masts made me doubt the truth of his assertion as to where she lay; and if one part of his story was false, why not the whole? o'brien appeared struck with my argument, and it was agreed that if the boats did go away, it should be for a reconnoissance, and that the attempt should only be made, provided it was found that the privateer laid in the same spot pointed out by the american master. it was, however, decided that the reconnoissance should take place that very night, as, allowing the privateer to be anchored on the spot supposed, there was every probability that she would not remain there, but haul further in, to take in her new masts. the news that an expedition was at hand was soon circulated through the ship, and all the men had taken their cutlasses from the capstern to get them ready for action. the lighting boats' crews, without orders, were busy with their boats, some cutting up old blankets to muffle the oars, other making new grummets. the ship's company were as busy as bees, bustling and buzzing about the decks, and reminding you of the agitation which takes place in a hive previous to a swarm. at last, osbaldistone came on deck, and ordered the boats' crews to be piped away, and prepare for service. he was to have the command of the expedition in the launch--i had charge of the first cutter--o'farrell of the second, and swinburne had the charge of the jolly-boat. at dusk, the head of the brig was again turned towards st pierre's, and we ran slowly in. at ten we hove-to, and about eleven the boats were ordered to haul up, o'brien repeating his orders to mr osbaldistone, not to make the attempt if the privateer were found to be anchored close to the town. the men were all mustered on the quarter-deck, to ascertain if they had the distinguishing mark on their jackets, that is, square patches of canvas sewed on the left arm, so that we might recognize friend from foe--a very necessary precaution in a night expedition; and then they were manned, and ordered to shove off. the oars were dropped in the water, throwing out a phosphorescent light, so common in that climate, and away we went. after an hour's pulling, osbaldistone lay on his oars in the launch, and we closed with him. "we are now at the mouth of the harbour," said he, "and the most perfect silence must be observed." "at the mouth of the harbour, sir!" said swinburne; "i reckon we are more than half way in; we passed the point at least ten minutes ago, and this is the second battery we are now abreast of." to this osbaldistone did not agree, nor indeed did i think that swinburne was right; but he persisted in it, and pointed out to us the lights in the town, which were now all open to us, and which would not be the case if we were only at the mouth of the harbour. still we were of a different opinion, and swinburne, out of respect to his officers, said no more. we resumed our oars, pulling with the greatest caution; the night was intensely dark, and we could distinguish nothing. after pulling ten minutes more, we appeared to be close to the lights in the town; still we could see no privateer or any other vessel. again we lay upon our oars, and held a consultation. swinburne declared that if the privateer laid where we supposed, we had passed her long ago; but while we were debating, o'farrell cried out, "i see her," and he was right--she was not more than a cable's length from us. without waiting for orders, o'farrell desired his men to give way, and dashed alongside of the privateer. before he was half-way on board of her, lights flew about in every direction, and a dozen muskets were discharged. we had nothing to do but to follow him, and in a few seconds we were all alongside of her; but she was well prepared, and on the alert. boarding nettings were triced up all round, every gun had been depressed as much as possible, and she appeared to be full of men. a scene of confusion and slaughter now occurred, which i trust never again to witness. all our attempts to get on board were unavailing; if we tried at a port, a dozen pikes thrust us back; if we attempted the boarding nettings, we were thrown down, killed or wounded, into the boats. from every port, and from the decks of the privateer, the discharge of musketry was incessant. pistols were protruded and fired in our faces, while occasionally her carronades went off, stunning us with their deafening noise, and rocking the boats in the disturbed water, if they had no other effect. for ten minutes our exertions never ceased; at last, with half our numbers lying killed and wounded in the bottom of the boats, the men, worn out and dispirited at their unavailing attempts, sat down most of them on the boats' thwarts, loading their muskets, and discharging them into the ports. osbaldistone was among the wounded; and perceiving that he was not in the launch, of whose crew not six remained, i called to swinburne, who was alongside of me, and desired him to tell the other boats to make the best of their way out of the harbour. this was soon communicated to the survivors, who would have continued the unequal contest to the last man, if i had not given the order. the launch and second cutter shoved off--o'farrell also having fallen; and, as soon as they were clear of the privateer, and had got their oars to pass, i proceeded to do the same, amidst the shouts and yells of the frenchmen, who now jumped on their gunwale and pelted us with their musketry, cheering, and mocking us. "stop, sir," cried swinburne, "we'll have a bit of revenge;" so saying, he hauled-to the launch, and wending her bow to the privateer, directed her carronade--which they had no idea that we had on board, as we had not fired it--to where the frenchmen were crowded the thickest. "stop one moment, swinburne; put another dose of canister in." we did so, and then discharged the gun, which had the most murderous effect, bringing the major part of them down upon the deck. i feel convinced, from the cries and groans which followed, that if we had had a few more men, we might have returned and captured the privateer; but it was too late. the batteries were all lighted up, and although they could not see the boats, fired in the direction where they supposed us to be; for they were aware, from the shouting on board the vessel, that we had been beaten off. the launch had but six hands capable of taking an oar; the first cutter had but four. in my own boat i had five. swinburne had two besides himself in the jolly-boat. "this is a sorry business, sir," said swinburne; "now, what's best to be done? my idea is, that we had better put all the wounded men into the launch, man the two cutters and jolly-boat, and tow her off. and, mr simple, instead of keeping on this side, as they will expect in the batteries, let us keep close in-shore, upon the near side, and their shot will pass over us." this advice was too good not to be followed. it was now two o'clock, and we had a long pull before us, and no time to lose: we lifted the dead bodies and the wounded men out of the two cutters and jolly-boat into the launch. i had no time for examination, but i perceived that o'farrell was quite dead, and also a youngster of the name of pepper, who must have smuggled himself into the boats. i did, however, look for osbaldistone, and found him in the stern sheets of the launch. he had received a deep wound in the breast, apparently with a pike. he was sensible, and asked me for a little water, which i procured from the breaker which was in the launch, and gave it to him. at the word water, and hearing it poured out from the breaker, many of the wounded men faintly called out for some. having no time to spare, i left two men in the launch, one to steer and the other to give them water, and then taking her in tow, pulled directly in for the batteries, as advised by swinburne, who now sat alongside of me. as soon as we were well in-shore, i pulled out of the harbour, with feelings not by any means enviable. swinburne said to me in a low voice, "this will be a hard blow for the captain, mr simple. i've always been told, that a young captain losing his men without bringing any dollars to his admiral, is not very well received." "i am more sorry for him than i can well express, swinburne," replied i; "but--what is that a-head--a vessel under weigh?" swinburne stood up in the stern of the cutter, and looked for a few seconds. "yes, a large ship standing in under royals--she must be a frenchman. now's our time, sir; so long as we don't go out empty-handed, all will be well. oars, all of you. shall we cast off the launch, sir?" "yes," replied i; "and now, my lads, let us only have the vessel, and we shall do. she is a merchantman, that's clear (not that i was sure of it). swinburne, i think it will be better to let her pass us in-shore; they will all be looking out of the other side, for they must have seen the firing." "well thought of, sir," replied swinburne. we laid on our oars, and let her pass us, which she did, creeping in at the rate of two miles an hour. we then pulled for her quarter in the three boats, leaving the launch behind us, and boarded. as we premised, the crew were on deck, and all on the other side of the vessel, so anxiously looking at the batteries, which were still firing occasional random shot, that they did not perceive us until we were close to them, and then they had no time to seize their arms. there were several ladies on board; some of the people protected them, others ran below. in two minutes we had possession of her, and had put her head the other way. to our surprise we found that she mounted fourteen guns. one hatch we left open for the ladies, some of whom had fainted, to be taken down below; the others were fastened down by swinburne. as soon as we had the deck to ourselves, we manned one of the cutters, and sent it for the launch; and as soon as she was made fast alongside, we had time to look about us. the breeze freshened, and, in half an hour, we were out of gun-shot of all the batteries. i then had the wounded men taken out of the launch, and swinburne and the other men bound up their wounds, and made them as comfortable as they could. chapter xlv some remarkable occurrences take place in the letter of marque--old friends with improved faces--the captor a captive; but not carried away, though the captive is, by the ship's boat--the whole chapter a mixture of love, war, and merchandise. we had had possession of the vessel about an hour, when the man who was sentry over the hatchway told me that one or the prisoners wished to speak with the english commanding officer, and asked leave to come on deck. i gave permission, and a gentleman came up, stating that he was a passenger; that the ship was a letter of marque, from bordeaux; that there were seven lady passengers on board, who had come out to join their husbands and families; and that he trusted i would have no objection to put them on shore, as women could hardly be considered as objects of warfare. as i knew that o'brien would have done so, and that he would be glad to get rid of both women and prisoners if he could, i replied "most certainly;" that i would heave-to, that they might not have so far to pull on shore, and that i would permit the ladies and other passengers to go on shore. i begged that they would be as quick as possible in getting their packages ready, and that i would give them two of the boats belonging to the ship, with a sufficient number of french seamen belonging to her to man the boats. the frenchman was very grateful, thanked me in the name of the ladies, and went down below to impart the intelligence. i then hove-to, lowered down the boats from the quarters, and waited for them to come up. it was daylight before they were ready, but that i did not care about; i saw the brig in the offing about seven miles off, and i was well clear of the batteries. at last they made their appearance, one by one coming up the ladder, escorted by french gentlemen. they had to wait while the packages and bundles were put into the boats. the first sight which struck them with horror was the many dead and wounded englishmen lying on the decks. expressing their commiseration, i told them that we had attempted to take the privateer, and had been repulsed, and that it was coming out of the harbour that i had fallen in with their ship and captured it. all the ladies had severally thanked me for my kindness in giving them their liberty, except one, whose eyes were fixed upon the wounded men, when the french gentleman went up to her, and reminded her that she had not expressed her thanks to the commanding officer. she turned round to me--i started back. i certainly had seen that face before--i could not be mistaken; yet she had now grown up into a beautiful young woman. "celeste," said i, trembling. "are you not celeste?" "yes," replied she, looking earnestly at me, as if she would discover who i was, but which it was not very easy to do, begrimed as my face was with dust and gunpowder. "have you forgotten peter simple?" "oh! no--no--never forgot you!" cried celeste, bursting into tears, and holding out her hands. this scene occasioned no small astonishment to the parties on deck, who could not comprehend it. she smiled through her tears, as i told her how happy i was to have the means of being of service to her. "and where is the colonel?" said i. "there," replied she, pointing to the island; "he is now general, and commands the force in the garrison. and where is mr o'brien?" interrogated celeste. "there," replied i; "he commands that man-of-war, of which i am the second lieutenant." a rapid exchange of inquiries took place, and the boats were stopped while we were in conversation. swinburne reported that the brig was standing in for us, and i felt that in justice to the wounded i could no longer delay. still i found time to press her hand, to thank her for the purse she had given me when i was on the stilts, and to tell her that i had never forgotten her, and never would. with many remembrances to her father, i was handing her into the boat, when she said, "i don't know whether i am right to ask it, but you could do me such a favour." "what is it, celeste?" "you have allowed more than one-half of the men to pull us on shore; some must remain, and they are so miserable--indeed it is hardly yet decided which of them are to go. could you let them all go?" "that i will, for your sake, celeste. as soon as your two boats have shoved off, i will lower down the boat astern, and send the rest after you; but i must make sail now--god bless you!" the boats then shoved off, the passengers waving their handkerchiefs to us, and i made sail for the brig. as soon as the stern-boat was alongside, the rest of the crew were called up and put into her, and followed their companions. i felt that o'brien would not be angry with me for letting them all go: and especially when i told him who begged for them. the vessel's name was the _victorine_, mounting fourteen guns, and twenty-four men, with eleven passengers. she was chiefly laden with silks and wine, and was a very valuable prize. celeste had time to tell me that her father had been four years in martinique, and had left her at home for her education; and that she was then coming out to join him. the other ladies were all wives or daughters of officers of the french garrison on the island, and the gentlemen passengers were some of them french officers; but as this was told me in secrecy, of course i was not bound to know it, as they were not in uniform. as soon as we had closed with the brig, i hastened on board to o'brien; and as soon as a fresh supply of hands to man the boats, and the surgeon had been despatched on board of the prize, to superintend the removal of the wounded, i went down with him into the cabin, and narrated what had occurred. "well," said o'brien, "all's well that ends well; but this is not the luckiest hit in the world. your taking the ship has saved me, peter; and i must make as flourishing a despatch as i can. by the powers but it's very lucky that she has fourteen guns--it sounds grand. i must muddle it all up together, so that the admiral must think we intended to cut them both out--and so we did, sure enough, if we had known she had been there. but i am most anxious to hear the surgeon's report, and whether poor osbaldistone will do well. peter, oblige me by going on board, and put two marines sentry over the hatchway, so that no one goes down and pulls the traps about; for i'll send on shore everything belonging to the passengers, for colonel o'brien's sake." the surgeon's report was made--six killed and sixteen wounded. the killed were, o'farren and pepper, midshipmen, two seamen and two marines. the first lieutenant, osbaldistone, was severely wounded in three places, but likely to do well; five other men were dangerously wounded: the other ten would, in all probability, return to their duty in less than a month. as soon as the wounded were on board, o'brien returned with me to the prize, and we went down into the cabin. all the passengers' effects were collected; the trunks which had been left open were nailed down: and o'brien wrote a handsome letter to general o'brien, containing a list of the packages sent on shore. we sent the launch with a flag of truce to the nearest battery; after some demur it was accepted, and effects landed. we did not wait for an answer, but made all sail to join the admiral at barbadoes. the next morning we buried those who had fallen. o'farrell was a fine young man, brave as a lion, but very hot in his temper. he would have made a good officer had he been spared. poor little pepper was also much regretted. he was but twelve years old. he had bribed the bowman of the second cutter to allow him to conceal himself under the fore-sheets of the boat. his day's allowance of spirits had purchased him this object of his ambition, which ended so fatally. but as soon as the bodies had disappeared under the wave, and the service was over, we all felt happier. there is something very unpleasant, particularly to sailors, in having a corpse on board. we now sailed merrily along, the prize keeping company with us; and, before we reached barbadoes, most of the men were convalescent. osbaldistone's wounds, were, however, very severe; and he was recommended to return home, which he did, and obtained his promotion as soon as he arrived. he was a pleasant messmate, and i was sorry to lose him; although, the lieutenant appointed in his room being junior to me, i was promoted to be first lieutenant of the brig. soon after osbaldistone went home, his brother broke his neck when hunting, and osbaldistone came into the property. he then quitted the service. we found the admiral at barbadoes, who received o'brien and his despatch very well. o'brien had taken two good prizes, and that was sufficient to cover a multitude of sins, even if he had committed any; but the despatch was admirably written, and the admiral, in his letter to the admiralty, commented upon captain o'brien's successful and daring attack; whereas, if the truth had been known, it was swinburne's advice of pulling up the weather shore, which was the occasion of our capturing the _victorine_; but it is very hard to come at the real truth of these sort of things, as i found out during the time that i was in his majesty's service. chapter xlvi o'brien tells his crew that one englishman is as good as three frenchmen on salt water--they prove it--we fall in with an old acquaintance, although she could not be considered as a friend. our next cruise was on the coast of guinea and gulf of mexico, where we were running up and down for three months, without falling in with anything but west indiamen bound to demerara, berbice, and surinam, and occasionally chasing a privateer; but in the light winds they were too fast for us. still we were useful in protecting the trade, and o'brien had a letter of thanks from the merchants, and a handsome piece of plate upon his quitting the station. we had made sail for barbadoes two days, and were within sight of the island of trinidad, when we perceived six sail on the lee-bow. we soon made them out to be three large ships and three schooners; and immediately guessed, which afterwards proved to be correct, that they were three privateers, with west india ships which they had captured. we made all sail, and at first the three privateers did the same; but afterwards, having made out our force, and not liking to abandon their prizes, they resolved to fight. the west indiamen hauled to the wind on the other tack, and the three privateers shortened sail and awaited our coming. we beat to quarters, and when everything was ready, and we were within a mile of the enemy, who had now thrown out the tri-coloured flag, o'brien ordered all the men aft on the quarter-deck, and addressed them: "now, my men, you see that there are three privateers, and you also see that there are three west indiamen, which they have captured. as for the privateers, it's just a fair match for you one englishman can always beat three frenchmen. we must lick the privateers for honour and glory, and we must re-capture the ships for profit, because you'll all want some money when you get on shore again. so you've just half-a-dozen things to do, and then we'll pipe to dinner." this harangue suited the sailors very well, and they returned to their guns. "now, peter," said o'brien, "just call away the sail-trimmers from the guns, for i mean to fight these fellows under sail, and out-manoeuvre them, if i can. tell mr webster i want to speak with him." mr webster was the second lieutenant, a very steady, quiet young man, and a good officer. "mr webster," said o'brien, "remember that all the foremost guns must be very much depressed. i prefer that the shot should strike the water before it reaches them, rather than it should go over them. see that your screws are run up at once, and i will take care that no broadside is thrown away. starboard, swinburne." "starboard it is, sir." "steady; so--that's right for the stern of the leeward vessel." we were within two cable lengths of the privateers, who still remained hove-to within half a cable's length of each other. they were very large schooners, full of men, with their boarding netting triced up, and showing a very good set of teeth: as it afterwards proved, one mounted sixteen, and the other two fourteen, guns. "now, my lads, over to the lee guns, and fire as they bear, when we round to. hands by the lee head-braces, and jib-sheet, stretch along the weather braces. quarter-master abaft, tend the boom-sheet. port hard, swinburne." "port it is, sir," replied swinburne; and the brig rounded up on the wind, shooting up under the sterns of the two weathermost schooners, and discharging the broadsides into them as the guns bore. "be smart and load, my lads, and stand by the same guns. round in the weather head-braces. peter, i don't want her to go about. stand by to haul over the boom-sheet, when she pays off. swinburne, helm amidships." by this time another broadside was poured into the schooner, who had not yet returned our fire, which, having foolishly remained hove to the wind, they could not do. the brig had now stern way, and o'brien then executed a very skilful manoeuvre: he shifted the helm, and made a stern board, so as to back in between the two weather schooners and the one to leeward, bracing round at the same time on the other tack. "man both sides, my lads, and give them your broadsides as we pass." the men stationed at the starboard guns flew over, and the other side being again loaded, we exchanged broadsides with the leeward and one of the windward schooners, the brig continuing her stern way until we passed ahead of them. by the time that we had re-loaded, the brig had gathered headway, and again passed between the same two schooners, exchanging broadsides, and then passing astern of them. "capital, my lads--capital!" said o'brien; "this is what i call good fighting." and so it was; for o'brien had given two raking broadsides, and four others, receiving only two in return, for the schooners were not ready for us when we passed between them the last time. the smoke had now rolled away to leeward, and we were able to see the effect of our broadsides. the middle schooner had lost her main-boom, and appeared very much cut up in the hull. the schooner to leeward did not appear to have suffered much; but they now perceived their error, and made sail. they had expected that we should have run in between them, and fought broadside to broadside, by which means the weathermost schooner would have taken a raking position, while the others engaged us to windward and to leeward. our own damages were trifling--two men slightly wounded, and one main shroud cut away. we ran about half a mile astern from them; then with both broadsides ready, we tacked, and found that, as we expected, we could weather the whole of them. this we did; o'brien running the brig within biscuit-throw of the weather schooner, engaging him broadside to broadside, with the advantage that the other two could not fire a shot into us without standing a chance of striking their consort. if he made more sail, so did we; if he shortened, so did we; so as to keep our position with little variation. the schooner fought well; but her metal was not to be compared with our thirty-two pound carronades, which ploughed up her sides at so short a distance, driving two ports into one. at last her foremast went by the board, and she dropped astern. in the meantime the other schooners had both tacked, and were coming up under our stern to rake us, but the accident which happened to the one we had engaged left us at liberty. we knew that she could not escape, so we tacked and engaged the other two, nearing them as fast as we could. the breeze now sprang up fast, and o'brien put up the helm and passed between them, giving them both a raking broadside of grape and cannister, which brought the sticks about their ears. this sickened them; the smallest schooner, which had been the leewardmost at the commencement of the action, made all sail on a wind. we clapped on the royals to follow her, when we perceived that the other schooner, which had been in the middle, and whose main-boom we had shot away, had put her helm up, and was crowding all sail before the wind. o'brien then said, "must not try for too much, or we shall lose all. put her about, peter, we must be content with the one that is left us." we went about, and ranged up to the schooner which had lost her foremast; but she, finding that her consort had deserted her, hauled down her colours just as we were about to pour in our broadside. our men gave three cheers; and it was pleasant to see them all shaking hands with each other, congratulating and laughing at the successful result of our action. "now, my lads, be smart;--we've done enough for honour, now for profit. peter, take the two cutters full of men, and go on board of the schooner, while i get hold of the three west indiamen. rig something jury forward, and follow me." in a minute the cutters were down and full of men. i took possession of the schooner, while the brig again tacked, and crowding all sail stood after the captured vessels. the schooner, which was the largest of the three, was called the _jean d' arc_, mounting sixteen guns, and had fifty-three men on board, the remainder being away in the prizes. the captain was wounded very badly, and one officer killed. out of her ship's company, she had but eight killed and five wounded. they informed me, that they had sailed three months ago from st pierre's, martinique, and had fallen in with the other two privateers, and cruised in company, having taken nine west indiamen since they had come out. "pray," said i to the officer who gave the information, "were you ever attacked by boats when you laid at st pierre's?" he replied, yes; and that they had beaten them off. "did you purchase these masts of an american?" he replied in the affirmative; so that we had captured the very vessel, in attempting to cut out which, we had lost so many men. we were all very glad of this, and swinburne said, "well, hang me if i didn't think that i had seen that port-hole before; there it was that i wrenched a pike out of one of the rascal's hands, who tried to stab me, and into that port-hole i fired at least a dozen muskets. well, i'm d----d glad we've got hold of the beggar at last." we secured the prisoners below, and commenced putting the schooner in order. in half an hour, we had completed our knotting and splicing, and having two of the carpenters with us, in an hour we had got up a small jury mast forward, sufficient for the present. we lowered the mainsail, put try-sails on her, and stood after the brig, which was now close to the prizes; but they separated, and it was not till dark that she had possession of two. the third was then hull down on the other tack, with the brig in chase. we followed the brig, as did the two re-captured vessels, and even with our jury up, we found that we could sail as fast as they. the next morning, we saw the brig hove-to, and about three miles a-head, with the three vessels in her possession. we closed, and i went on board. webster was put in charge of the privateer; and, after lying-to for that day to send our prize-masters and men on board to remove the prisoners, we got up a proper jury-mast, and all made sail together for barbadoes. on my return on board, i found that we had but one man and one boy killed and six wounded, which i was not aware of. i forgot to say that the names of the other two privateers were _l'etoile_ and _la madeleine_. in a fortnight we arrived with all our prizes safe in carlisle bay, where we found the admiral, who had anchored but two days before. i hardly need say that o'brien was well received, and gained a great deal of credit for the action. i found several letters from my sister, the contents of which gave me much pain. my father had been some months in ireland, and returned without gaining any information. my sister said that he was very unhappy, paid no attention to his clerical duties, and would sit for days without speaking. that he was very much altered in his appearance, and had grown thin and care-worn. "in short," said she "my dear peter, i am afraid that he is fretting himself to death. of course, i am very lonely and melancholy. i cannot help reflecting upon what will be my situation if any accident should happen to my father. accept my uncle's protection i will not; yet, how am i to live, for my father has saved nothing? i have been very busy lately, trying to qualify myself for a governess, and practise the harp and piano for several hours every day. i shall be very, very glad when you come home again." i showed the letters to o'brien, who read them with much attention. i perceived the colour mount into his cheeks, when he read those parts of her letters in which she mentioned his name, and expressed her gratitude for his kindness towards me. "never mind, peter," said o'brien, returning me the letters; "to whom is it that i am indebted for my promotion, and this brig, but to you--and for all the prize-money which i have made, and which, by the head of st patrick, comes to a very dacent sum, but to you? make yourself quite easy about your dear little sister. we'll club your prize-money and mine together, and she shall marry a duke, if there is one in england deserving her; and it's the french that shall furnish her dowry, as sure as the _rattlesnake_ carries a tail." chapter xlvii i am sent away after prizes, and meet with a hurricane--am driven on shore, with the loss of more than half my men--where is the _rattlesnake?_ in three weeks we were again ready for sea, and the admiral ordered us to our old station off martinique. we had cruised about a fortnight off st pierre's, and, as i walked the deck at night, often did i look at the lights in the town, and wonder whether any of them were in the presence of celeste, when, one evening, being about six miles off shore, we observed two vessels rounding negro point, close in-shore. it was quite calm, and the boats were towing ahead. "it will be dark in half-an-hour, peter," said o'brien, "and i think we might get them before they anchor, or, if they do anchor, it will be well outside. what do you think?" i agreed with him, for in fact, i always seemed to be happier when the brig was close in-shore, as i felt as if i was nearer to celeste, and the further we were off, the more melancholy i became. continually thinking of her, and the sight of her after so many years' separation, had changed my youthful attachment into strong affection. i may say that i was deeply in love. the very idea of going into the harbour, therefore, gave me pleasure, and there was no mad or foolish thing that i would not have done, only to gaze upon the walls which contained the constant object of my thoughts. these were wild and visionary notions, and with little chance of ever arriving to any successful issue; but at one or two-and-twenty we are fond of building castles, and very apt to fall in love, without considering our prospect of success. i replied, that i thought it very possible, and wished he would permit me to make the attempt, as, if i found there was much risk, i would return. "i know that i can trust you, peter," replied o'brien, "and it's a great pleasure to know that you have an officer you can trust: but haven't i brought you up myself, and made a man of you, as i promised i would, when you were a little spalpeen, with a sniffling nose, and legs in the shape of two carrots? so hoist out the launch, and get the boats ready-- the sooner the better. what a hot day this has been--not a cat's-paw on the water, and the sky all of a mist. only look at the sun, how he goes down, puffed out to three times his size, as if he were in a terrible passion. i suspect we shall have the land breeze off strong." in half an hour i shoved off with the boats. it was now quite dark, and i pulled towards the harbour of st pierre. the heat was excessive and unaccountable; not the slightest breath of wind moved in the heavens or below; no clouds to be seen, and the stars were obscured by a sort of mist: there appeared a total stagnation in the elements. the men in the boats pulled off their jackets, for, after a few moments' pulling, they could bear them no longer. as we pulled in, the atmosphere became more opaque, and the darkness more intense. we supposed ourselves to be at the mouth of the harbour, but could see nothing--not three yards ahead of the boat. swinburne, who always went with me, was steering the boat, and i observed to him the unusual appearance of the night. "i've been watching it, sir," replied swinburne, "and i tell you, mr simple, that if we only know how to find the brig, that i would advise you to get on board of her immediately. she'll want all her hands this night, or i'm much mistaken." "why do you say so?" replied i. "because i think, nay, i may say that i'm sartin, we'll have a hurricane afore morning. it's not the first time i've cruised in these latitudes. i recollect in ' --" but i interrupted him: "swinburne, i believe that you are right. at all events, i'll turn back: perhaps we may reach the brig before it comes on. she carries a light, and we can find her out." i then turned the boat round, and steered, as near as i could guess, for where the brig was lying. but we had not pulled out more than two minutes before a low moaning was heard in the atmosphere--now here, now there--and we appeared to be pulling through solid darkness, if i may use the expression. swinburne looked around him and pointed out on the starboard bow. "it's a-coming, mr simple, sure enough; many's the living being that will not rise on its legs to-morrow. see, sir." i looked, and dark as it was, it appeared as if a sort of black wall was sweeping along the water right towards us. the moaning gradually increased to a stunning roar, and then at once it broke upon us with a noise to which no thunder can bear a comparison. the oars were caught by the wind with such force that the men were dashed forward under the thwarts, many of them severely hurt. fortunately we pulled with tholes and pins, or the gunwale and planks of the boat would have been wrenched off, and we should have foundered. the wind soon caught the boat on her broadside, and, had there been the least sea, would have inevitably thrown her over; but swinburne put the helm down, and she fell off before the hurricane, darting through the boiling water at the rate of ten miles an hour. all hands were aghast; they had recovered their seats, but were obliged to relinquish them and sit down at the bottom, holding on by the thwarts. the terrific roaring of the hurricane prevented any communication, except by gesture. the other boats had disappeared; lighter than ours, they had flown away faster before the sweeping element; but we had not been a minute before the wind before the sea rose in a most unaccountable manner--it appeared to be by magic. of all the horrors that ever i witnessed, nothing could be compared to the scene of this night. we could see nothing, and heard only the wind, before which we were darting like an arrow--to where we knew not, unless it was to certain death. swinburne steered the boat, every now and then looking back as the waves increased. in a few minutes we were in a heavy swell, that at one minute bore us all aloft, and at the next almost sheltered us from the hurricane; and now the atmosphere was charged with showers of spray, the wind cutting off the summits of the waves, as if with a knife, and carrying them along with it, as it were, in its arms. the boat was filling with water, and appeared to settle down fast. the men baled with their hats in silence, when a large wave culminated over the stern, filling us up to our thwarts. the next moment we all received a shock so violent, that we were jerked from our seats. swinburne was thrown over my head. every timber of the boat separated at once, and she appeared to crumble from under us, leaving us floating on the raging waters. we all struck out for our lives, but with little hope of preserving them; but the next wave dashed us on the rocks, against which the boat had already been hurled. that wave gave life to some and death to others. me, in heaven's mercy, it preserved: i was thrown so high up that i merely scraped against the top of the rock, breaking two of my ribs. swinburne, and eight more, escaped with me, but not unhurt: two had their legs broken, three had broken arms, and the others were more or less contused. swinburne miraculously received no injury. we had been eighteen in the boat, of which ten escaped: the others were hurled up at our feet; and the next morning we found them dreadfully mangled. one or two had their skulls literally shattered to pieces against the rocks. i felt that i was saved, and was grateful; but still the hurricane howled --still the waves were washing over us. i crawled further up upon the beach, and found swinburne sitting down with his eyes directed seaward. he knew me, took my hand, squeezed it, and then held it in his. for some moments we remained in this position, when the waves, which every moment increased in volume, washed up to us, and obliged us to crawl further up. i then looked around me; the hurricane continued in its fury, but the atmosphere was not so dark. i could trace, for some distance, the line of the harbour, from the ridge of foam upon the shore; and, for the first time, i thought of o'brien and the brig. i put my mouth close to swinburne's ear, and cried out, "o'brien!" swinburne shook his head, and looked up again at the offing. i thought whether there was any chance of the brig's escape. she was certainly six, if not seven miles off, and the hurricane was not direct on the shore. she might have a drift of ten miles, perhaps; but what was that against such tremendous power? i prayed for those on board of the brig, and returned thanks for my own preservation. i was, or soon should be, a prisoner, no doubt; but what was that? i thought of celeste, and felt almost happy. in about three hours the force of the wind subsided. it still blew a heavy gale, but the sky cleared up, the stars again twinkled in the heavens, and we could see to a considerable distance. "it's breaking now, sir," said swinburne, at last; "satisfied with the injury it has done--and that's no little. this is worse than ' ." "now, i'd give all my pay and prize-money if it were only daylight, and i could know the fate of the poor _rattlesnake_. what do you think, swinburne?" "all depends upon whether they were taken unprepared, sir. captain o'brien is as good a seaman as ever trod a plank; but he never has been in a hurricane, and may not have known, the signs and warnings which god in his mercy has vouchsafed to us. your flush vessels fill easily--but we must hope for the best." most anxiously did we look out for the day, which appeared to us as if it never would break. at last the dawn appeared, and we stretched our eyes to every part of the offing as it was lighted up, but we could not see the brig. the sun rose, and all was bright and clear; but we looked not around us, our eyes were directed to where we had left the brig. the sea was still running high, but the wind abated fast. "thank god!" ejaculated swinburne, when he had directed his eyes along the coast, "she is above water, at all events!" and looking in the direction where he pointed, i perceived the brig within two miles of the shore, dismantled, and tossing in the waves. "i see her," replied i, catching my breath with joy; "but--still--i think she must go on shore." "all depends upon whether she can get a little bit of sail up to weather the point," replied swinburne; "and depend upon it, captain o'brien knows that as well as we do." we were now joined by the other men who were saved. we all shook hands. they pointed out to me the bodies of our shipmates who had perished. i directed them to haul them further up, and put them all together; and continued, with swinburne, to watch the brig. in about half an hour we perceived a triangle raised, and in ten minutes afterwards a jury-mast abaft--a try-sail was hoisted and set. then the shears were seen forward, and in as short a time another try-sail and a storm-jib were expanded to the wind. "that's all he can do now, mr simple," observed swinburne; "he must trust to them and providence. they are not more than a mile from the beach--it will be touch and go." anxiously did we watch for more than half an hour; the other men returned to us, and joined in our speculations. at one time we thought it impossible--at another, we were certain that she would weather the point. at last, as she neared us, she warped ahead: my anxiety became almost insupportable. i stood first on one leg, and then on the other, breathless with suspense. she appeared to be on the point--actually touching the rocks--"god! she's struck!" said i. "no!" replied swinburne;--and then we saw her pass on the other side of the outermost rock and disappear. "safe, mr simple!--weathered, by god!" cried swinburne, waving his hat with joy. "god be thanked!" replied i, overcome with delight. chapter xlviii the devastation of the hurricane--peter makes friends--at destroying or saving, nothing like british seamen--peter meets with general o'brien, much to his satisfaction--has another meeting still more so--a great deal of pressing of hands, "and all that," as pope says. now that the brig was safe, we thought of ourselves. my first attention was directed to the dead bodies, and as i looked at their mangled limbs, i felt grateful to heaven that i had been so miraculously spared. we then cast our eyes along the beach to see if we could trace any remnants of the other boats, but in vain. we were about three miles from the town, which we could perceive had received considerable damage, and the beach below it was strewed with wrecks and fragments. i told the men that we might as well walk into the town and deliver ourselves up as prisoners; to which they agreed, and we set forward, promising to send for the poor fellows who were too much hurt to accompany us. as soon as we climbed up the rocks, and gained the inland, what a sight presented itself to us! trees torn up by the roots in every direction-- cattle lying dead--here and there the remains of a house, of which the other parts had been swept away for miles. everything not built of solid masonry had disappeared. we passed what had been a range of negro huts, but they were levelled to the ground. the negroes were busily searching for their property among the ruins, while the women held their infants in their arms, and the other children by their sides. here and there was the mother wailing over the dead body of some poor little thing which had been crushed to death. they took no notice of us. about half a mile further on, to our great delight, we fell in with the crews of the other boats, who were sitting by the side of the road. they had all escaped unhurt; their boats, being so much more buoyant than ours, had been thrown up high and dry. they joined us, and we proceeded on our way. on our road we fell in with a cart blown over, under the wheel of which was the leg of the negro who conducted it. we released the poor fellow; his leg was fractured. we laid him by the side of the road in the shade, and continued our march. our whole route was one scene of desolation and distress; but when we arrived at the town, we found that there it was indeed accumulated. there was not one house in three standing entire-- the beach was covered with remnants of bodies and fragments of vessels, whose masts lay forced several feet into the sand, and broken into four or five pieces. parties of soldiers were busy taking away the bodies, and removing what few valuables had been saved. we turned up into the town, for no one accosted us or even noticed us; and here the scene was even more dreadful. in some streets they were digging out those who were still alive, and whose cries were heard among the ruins; in others they were carrying away the dead bodies. the lamentations of the relatives-- the howling of the negroes--the cries of the wounded--the cursing and swearing of the french soldiers, and the orders delivered continually by officers on horseback, with all the confusion arising from crowds of spectators, mingling their voices together, formed a scene as dreadful as it was novel. after surveying it for a few minutes, i went up to an officer on horseback, and told him in french, that i wished to surrender myself as a prisoner. "we have no time to take prisoners now," replied he; "hundreds are buried in the ruins, and we must try to save them. we must now attend to the claims of humanity." "will you allow my men to assist you, sir?" replied i. "they are active and strong fellows." "sir," said he, taking off his hat, "i thank you in the name of my unfortunate countrymen." "show us, then, where we may be most useful." he turned and pointed to a house higher up, the offices of which were blown down. "there are living beings under those ruins." "come, my lads," said i; and sore as they were, my men hastened with alacrity to perform their task. i could not help them myself, my side was so painful; but i stood by giving them directions. in half an hour we had cleared away, so as to arrive at a poor negro girl, whose cries we had distinctly heard. we released her and laid her down in the street, but she fainted. her left hand was dreadfully shattered. i was giving what assistance i could, and the men were busy clearing away, throwing on one side the beams and rafters, when an officer on horseback rode up. he stood and asked me who we were. i told him that we belonged to the brig, and had been wrecked; and that we were giving what assistance we could until they were at leisure to send us to prison. "you english are fine brave fellows," replied he, and he rode on. another unfortunate object had been recovered by our men, an old white-headed negro, but he was too much mangled to live. we brought him out, and were laying him beside the negro girl, when several officers on horseback rode down the street. the one who was foremost, in a general's uniform, i immediately recognized as my former friend, then colonel o'brien. they all stopped and looked at us. i told who we were. general o'brien took off his hat to the sailors, and thanked them. he did not recognize me, and he was passing on, when i said to him in english, "general o'brien, you have forgotten me, but i shall never forget your kindness." "my god!" said he, "is it you, my dear fellow?" and he sprang from his horse and shook me warmly by the hand. "no wonder that i did not know you; you are a very different person from little peter simple, who dressed up as a girl and danced on stilts. but i have to thank you, and so has celeste for your kindness to her. i will not ask you to leave your work of charity and kindness, but when you have done what you can, come up to my house. anyone will show it to you; and if you do not find me you will find celeste, as you must be aware cannot leave this melancholy employment. god bless you!" he then rode off, followed by his staff. "come, my lads," said i, "depend upon it we shall not be very cruelly treated. let us work hard, and do all the good we can, and the frenchmen won't forget it." we had cleared that house, and went back to where the other people were working under the orders of the officer on horseback. i went up to him, and told him we had saved two, and if he had no objection, would assist his party. he thankfully accepted our services. "and now, my lads," said swinburne, "let us forget all our bruises, and show these french fellows how to work." and they did so: they tossed away the beams and rafters right and left with a quickness and dexterity which quite astonished the officer and other inhabitants who were looking on, and in half an hour had done more work than could have been possibly expected. several lives were saved, and the french expressed their admiration at our sailors' conduct, and brought them something to drink, which they stood much in need of, poor fellows. after that they worked double tides, as we say, and certainly were the means of saving many lives which otherwise would have been sacrificed. the disasters occasioned by this hurricane were very great, owing to its having taken place at night, when the chief of the inhabitants were in bed and asleep. i was told that most of the wood houses were down five minutes after the hurricane burst upon them. about noon there was no more work for us to do, and i was not sorry that it was over. my side was very painful, and the burning heat of the sun made me feel giddy and sick at the stomach. i inquired of a respectable looking old frenchman which was the general's house. he directed me to it, and i proceeded there, followed by my men. when i arrived, i found the orderly leading away the horse of general o'brien, who had just returned. i desired a sergeant, who was in attendance at the door, to acquaint the general that i was below. he returned, and desired me to follow him. i was conducted into a large room, where i found him in company with several officers. he again greeted me warmly, and introduced me to the company as the officer who had permitted the ladies who had been taken prisoners to come on shore. "i have to thank you, then, for my wife," said an officer, coming up, and offering his hand. another came up, and told me that i had also released his. we then entered into a conversation, in which i stated, the occasion of my having been wrecked, and all the particulars; also, that i had seen the brig in the morning dismasted, but that she had weathered the point, and was safe. "that brig of yours, i must pay you the compliment to say, has been very troublesome; and my namesake keeps the batteries more upon the alert than ever i could have done," said general o'brien. "i don't believe there is a negro five years old upon the island who does not know your brig." we then talked over the attack of the privateer, in which we were beaten off. "ah!" replied the aide-de-camp, "you made a mess of that. he has been gone these four months. captain carnot swears that he'll fight you if he falls in with you." "he has kept his word," replied i; and then i narrated our action with the three french privateers, and the capture of the vessel; which surprised and, i think, annoyed them very much. "well, my friend," said general o'brien, "you must stay with me while you are on the island; if you want anything, let me know." "i am afraid that i want a surgeon," replied i; "for my side is so painful that i can scarcely breathe." "are you hurt then?" said general o'brien, with an anxious look. "not dangerously, i believe," said i, "but rather painfully." "let me see," said an officer, who stepped forward; "i am surgeon to the forces here, and perhaps you will trust yourself in my hands. take off your coat." i did so with difficulty. "you have two ribs broken," said he, "and a very severe contusion. you must go to bed, or lie on a sofa, for a few days. in a quarter of an hour i will come and dress you, and promise you to make you all well in ten days, in return for your having given me my daughter, who was on board of the _victorine_ with the other ladies." the officers now made their bows, and left me alone with general o'brien. "recollect," said he, "that i tell it you once for all, that my purse, and everything, is at your command. if you do not accept them freely, i shall think you do not love us. it is not the first time, peter, and you repaid me honourably. however, of course, i was no party to that affair; it was celeste's doing," continued he, laughing. "of course, i could not imagine that it was you who was dressed up as a woman, and so impudently danced through france on stilts. but i must hear all your adventures by-and-by, celeste is most anxious to see you. will you go now, or wait till after the surgeon comes?" "oh, now, if you please, general. may i first beg that some care may be taken of my poor men; they have had nothing to eat since yesterday, are very much bruised, and have worked hard; and that a cart may be sent for those who lie maimed on the beach?" "i should have thought of them before," replied he: "and i will also order the same party to bury the other poor fellows who are lying on the beach. come, now--will take you to celeste." chapter xlix broken ribs not likely to produce broken hearts--o'brien makes something very like a declaration of peace--peter simple actually makes a declaration of love--rash proceedings on all sides. i followed the general into a handsomely furnished apartment, where i found celeste waiting to receive me. she ran to me as soon as i entered; and with what pleasure did i take her hand, and look on her beautiful expressive countenance! i could not say a word--neither did celeste. for a minute i held her hand in mine, looking at her; the general stood by regarding us alternately. he then turned round, and walked to the window. i lifted the hand to my lips, and then released it. "it appears to be a dream, almost," said celeste. i could not make any reply, but continued to gaze upon her--she had grown up into such a beautiful creature. her figure was perfect, and the expression of her countenance was so varied--so full of intellect and feeling--it was angelic. her eyes, suffused with tears, beamed so softly, so kindly on me, i could have fallen down and worshipped her. "come," said general o'brien; "come, my dear friend, now that you have seen celeste, the surgeon must see you." "the surgeon," cried celeste, with alarm. "yes, my love; it is of no consequence--only a couple of ribs broken." i followed general o'brien out of the room, and as i came to the door i turned round to look at celeste. she had retreated to the sofa, and her handkerchief was up to her eyes. the surgeon was waiting for me; he bandaged me, and applied some cooling lotion to my side, which made me feel quite comfortable. "i must now leave you," said general o'brien; "you had better lie down for an hour or two, and then, if i am not back, you know your way to celeste." i lay down as he requested; but as soon as i heard the clatter of the horse's hoofs, as he rode off, i left the room, and hurried to the drawing-room. celeste was there, and hastened to inquire if i was much hurt. i replied in the negative, and told her that i had come down to prove it to her; and we then sat down on the sofa together. "i have the misfortune never to appear before you, celeste, except in a very unprepossessing state. when you first saw me i was wounded; at our next meeting i was in woman's clothes; the last time we met i was covered with dirt and gunpowder; and now i return to you wounded and in rags. i wonder whether i shall ever appear before you as a gentleman?" "it is not the clothes which make the gentleman, peter. i am too happy to see you to think of how you are dressed. i have never yet thanked you for your kindness to us when we last met. my father will never forget it." "nor have i thanked you, celeste, for your kindness in dropping the purse into the hat, when you met me, trying to escape from france. i have never forgotten you, and since we met the last time, you have hardly ever been out of my thoughts. you don't know how thankful i am to the hurricane for having blown me into your presence. when we cruised in the brig, i have often examined the town with my glass, trying to fancy that i had my eye upon the house you were in; and have felt so happy when we were close in shore, because i knew that i was nearer to you." "and, peter, i have often watched the brig, and have been so glad to see it come nearer, and then so afraid that the batteries would fire at you. what a pity it is that my father and you should be opposed to each other--we might be so happy!" "and may be yet, celeste," replied i. we conversed for two hours, which appeared to be but ten minutes. i felt that i was in love, but i do not think that celeste had any idea at the time that she was--but i leave the reader to judge from the little conversation i have quoted, whether she was not, or something very much approaching to it. the next morning i went out early to look for the brig, and, to my great delight, saw her about six miles off the harbour's mouth, standing in for the land. she had now got up very respectable jury-masts, with topgallants for topsails, and appeared to be well under command. when she was within three miles of the harbour she lowered the jolly-boat, the only one she had left, and it pulled in-shore with a flag of truce hoisted at the bows. i immediately returned to my room, and wrote a detailed account of what had taken place, ready to send to o'brien when the boat returned, and i, of course, requested him to send me my effects, as i had nothing but what i stood in. i had just completed my letter when general o'brien came in. "my dear friend," said he, "i have just received a flag of truce from captain o'brien, requesting to know the fate of his boats' crews, and permission to send in return the clothes and effects of the survivors." "i have written down the whole circumstances for him, and made the same request to him," replied i; and i handed him my letter. he read it over and returned it. "but, my dear lad, you must think very poorly of us frenchmen, if you imagine that we intend to detain you here as a prisoner. in the first place, your liberation of so many french subjects, when you captured the _victorine_, would entitle you to a similar act of kindness; and, in the next place, you have not been fairly captured, but by a visitation of providence, which, by the means of the late storm, must destroy all national antipathies, and promote that universal philanthropy between all men, which your brave fellows proved that they possess. you are, therefore, free to depart with all your men, and we shall still hold ourselves your debtors. how is your side to-day?" "oh, very bad, indeed," replied i; for i could not bear the idea of returning to the brig so soon, for i had been obliged to quit celeste very soon after dinner the day before, and go to bed. i had not yet had much conversation with her, nor had i told general o'brien how it was that we escaped from france. "i don't think i can possibly go on board to-day, but i feel very grateful to you for your kindness." "well, well," replied the general, who observed my feelings, "i do not think it is necessary that you should go on board to-day. i will send the men and your letter, and i will write to captain o'brien, to say that you are in bed, and will not bear moving until the day after tomorrow. will that do?" i thought it but a very short time, but i saw that the general looked as if he expected me to consent; so i did. "the boat can come and return again with some of your clothes," continued the general, "and i will tell captain o'brien that if he comes off the mouth of the harbour the day after to-morrow, i will send you on board in one of our boats." he then took my letter and quitted the room. as soon as he was gone i found myself quite well enough to go to celeste, who waited for me, and i told her what had passed. that morning i sat with her and the general, and narrated all my adventures, which amused the general very much. i did not conceal the conduct of my uncle, and the hopes which i faintly entertained of being able, some day or another, to discover the fraud which had been practised, or how very unfavourable were my future prospects if i did not succeed. at this portion of my narrative the general appeared very thoughtful and grave. when i had finished, it was near dinner time, and i found that my clothes had arrived with a letter from o'brien, who stated how miserable he had been at the supposition of my loss, and his delight at my escape. he stated that on going down into the cabin, after i had shoved off, he, by chance, cast his eyes on the barometer, and, to his surprise, found that it had fallen two inches, which he had been told was the case previous to a hurricane. this, combined with the peculiar state of the atmosphere, had induced him to make every preparation, and that they had just completed their work when it came on. the brig was thrown on her beam ends, and lay there for half an hour, when they were forced to cut away the masts to right her. that they did not weather the point the next morning by more than half a cable's length; and concluded by saying, that the idea of my death had made him so unhappy that, if it had not been for the sake of the men, it was almost a matter of indifference to him whether he had been lost or not. he had written to general o'brien, thanking him for his kindness; and that, if fifty vessels should pass the brig, he would not capture one of them, until i was on board again, even if he were dismissed the service for neglect of duty. he said, that the brig sailed almost as fast under jury-masts as she did before, and that, as soon as i came on board, he should go back to barbadoes. "as for your ribs being so bad, peter, that's all bother," continued he; "i know that you are making arrangements for another sort of _rib_, as soon as you can manage it; but you must stop a little, my boy. you shall be a lord yet, as i always promised you that you should. it's a long lane that has no turning--so good-bye." when i was alone with celeste, i showed her o'brien's letter. i had read the part of it relative to his not intending to make any capture while i was on shore to general o'brien, who replied, "that under such circumstances he thought' he should do right to detain me a little longer but," said he, "o'brien is a man of honour, and worthy of his name." when celeste came to that part of the letter in which o'brien stated that i was looking after another rib, and which i had quite forgotten, she asked me to explain it; for, although she could read and speak english very well, she had not been sufficiently accustomed to it to comprehend the play upon words. i translated, and then said, "indeed, celeste, i had forgotten that observation of o'brien's, or i should not have shown you the letter; but he has stated the truth. after all your kindness to me, how can i help being in love with you? and need i add, that i should consider it the greatest blessing which heaven could grant me, if you could feel so much regard for me as one day to become my wife! don't be angry with me for telling you the truth," continued i, for celeste coloured up as i spoke to her. "oh, no! i am not angry with you, peter; far from it. it is very complimentary to me--what you have just said." "i am aware," continued i, "that at present i have little to offer you-- indeed, nothing. i am not even such a match as your father might approve of; but you know my whole history, and what my desires are." "my dear father loves me, peter, and he loves you too, very much--he always did, from the hour he saw you--he was so pleased with your candour and honesty of character. he has often told me so, and very often talked of you." "well, celeste, tell me,--may i when far away, be permitted to think of you, and indulge a hope, that some day we may meet never to part again?" and i took celeste by the hand, and put my arm round her waist. "i don't know what to say," replied she; "i will speak to my father, or perhaps you will; but i will never marry anybody else, if i can help it." i drew her close to me, and kissed her. celeste burst into tears, and laid her head upon my shoulder. when general o'brien came i did not attempt to move, nor did celeste. "general," said i, "you may think me to blame, but i have not been able to conceal what i feel for celeste. you may think that i am imprudent, and that i am wrong in thus divulging what i ought to have concealed, until i was in a situation to warrant my aspiring to your daughter's hand; but the short time allowed me to be in her company, the fear of losing her, and my devoted attachment, will, i trust, plead my excuse." the general took one or two turns up and down the room, and then replied, "what says celeste?" "celeste will never do anything to make her father unhappy," replied she, going up to him and hiding her face in his breast, with her arm round his neck. the general kissed his daughter, and then said, "i will be frank with you, mr simple. i do not know any man whom i would prefer to you as a son-in-law; but there are many considerations which young people are very apt to forget. i do not interfere in your attachment, which appears to be mutual; but, at the same time, i will have no promise and no engagement, you may never meet again. however, celeste is very young, and i shall not put any constraint upon her; and at the same time you are equally free, if time and circumstances should alter your present feelings." "i can ask no more, my dear sir," replied i, taking the general by the hand; "it is candid--more than i had any reason to expect. i shall now leave you with a contented mind, and the hopes of one day claiming celeste shall spur me to exertion." "now, if you please, we will drop the subject," said the general. "celeste, my dear, we have a large party to dinner, as you know. you had better retire to your room and get ready. i have asked all the ladies that you liberated, peter, and all their husbands and fathers; so you will have the pleasure of witnessing how many people you made happy by your gallantry. now that celeste has left the room, peter, i must beg that, as a man of honour, you do not exact from her any more promises, or induce her to tie herself down to you by oaths. her attachment to you has grown up with her unaccountably, and she is already too fond of you for her peace of mind, should accident or circumstances part you for ever. let us hope for the best, and depend upon it that it shall be no trifling obstacle which will hinder me from seeing you one day united." i thanked the general with tears; he shook me warmly by the hand as i gave my promise, and we separated. how happy did i feel when i went into my room, and sat down to compose my mind and think over what had happened. true, at one moment the thought of my dependent situation threw a damp over my joy; but in the next i was building castles, inventing a discovery of my uncle's plot, fancying myself in possession of the title and property, and laying it at the feet of my dear celeste. hope sustained my spirits, and i felt satisfied for the present with the consideration that celeste returned my love. i decked myself carefully, and went down, where i found all the company assembled. we had a very pleasant, happy party, and the ladies entreated general o'brien to detain me as a prisoner--very kind of them --and i felt very much disposed to join in their request. chapter l peter simple first takes a command, then three west indiamen, and twenty prisoners--one good turn deserves another--the prisoners endeavour to take him, but are themselves taken in. the next day i was very unhappy. the brig was in the offing waiting for me to come on hoard. i pointed her out to celeste as we were at the window, and her eyes met mine. an hour's conversation could not have said more. general o'brien showed that he had perfect confidence in me for he left us together. "celeste," said i, "i have promised your father--" "i know what has passed," interrupted she; "he told me everything." "how kind he is! but i did not say that i would not bind myself, celeste." "no! but my father made me promise that you should not--that if you attempted, i was immediately to prevent you--and so i shall." "then you shall keep your word, celeste. imagine everything that can be said in this--" and i kissed her. "don't think me forward, peter, but i wish you to go away happy," said celeste; "and therefore, in return, imagine all i could say in this" and she returned my salute. after this we had a conversation of two hours; but what lovers say is very silly, except to themselves, and the reader need not be troubled with it. general o'brien came in and told me the boat was ready. i rose up--i was satisfied with what had passed, and with a firm voice i said, "good-bye, celeste; god bless you!" and followed the general, who, with some of his officers, walked down with me to the beach. i thanked the general, who embraced me, paid my adieus to the officers, and stepped into the boat. in half an hour i was on board of the brig, and in o'brien's arms. we put the helm up, and in a short time the town of st pierre was shut out from my longing sight, and we were on our way to barbadoes. that day was passed in the cabin with o'brien, giving him a minute detail of all that had passed. when we anchored once more in carlisle bay, we found that the hurricane had been much more extensive in the windward islands than we had imagined. several men of war were lying there, having lost one or more of their masts, and there was great difficulty in supplying the wants of so many. as we arrived the last, of course we were last served; and, there being no boats left in store, there was no chance of our being ready for sea under two or three months. the _joan d' arc_ schooner privateer was still lying there, but had not been fitted out for want of men; and the admiral proposed to o'brien that he should man her with a part of his ship's company, and send one of his lieutenants out to cruise in her. this was gladly assented to by o'brien, who came on board and asked me whether i should like to have her, which i agreed to, as i was quite tired of barbadoes and fried flying fish. i selected two midshipmen, swinburne, and twenty men, and having taken on board provisions and water for three months, i received my written instructions from o'brien, and made sail. we soon discovered that the masts which the american had sold to the schooner, were much too large for her; she was considerably overmasted, and we were obliged to be very careful. i stood for trinidad, off which island was to be my cruising ground, and in three weeks had recaptured three west indiamen, when i found myself so short of hands, that i was obliged to return to barbadoes. i had put four hands into the first vessel, which, with the englishmen, prisoners, were sufficient, and, three hands into the two others; but i was very much embarrassed with my prisoners, who amounted to nearly double my ship's company remaining on board. both the midshipmen i had sent away, and i consulted with swinburne as to what was best to be done. "why, the fact is, mr simple, captain o'brien ought to have given us more hands; twenty men are little enough for a vessel with a boom mainsail like the one we have here; and now we have only ten left; but i suppose he did not expect us to be so lucky, and it's true enough that he has plenty of work for the ship's company, now that he has to turn everything in afresh. as for the prisoners, i think we had better run close in, and give them two of our boats to take them on shore. at all events, we must be rid of them, and not be obliged to have one eye aloft, and the other down the hatchway, as we must now." this advice corresponded with my own ideas, and i ran in-shore, gave them the stern boat, and one of the larger ones, which held them all, and sent them away, leaving only one boat for the schooner, which we hoisted up in the star-board chess-tree. it fell a dead calm as we sent away the prisoners; we saw them land and disappear over the rocks, and thought ourselves well rid of them, as they were twenty-two in number, most of them spaniards, and very stout ferocious-looking fellows. it continued calm during the whole day, much to our annoyance, as i was very anxious to get away as soon as i could; still i could not help admiring the beauty of the scenery--the lofty mountains rising abruptly from the ocean, and towering in the clouds, reflected on the smooth water, as clear as in a looking-glass, every colour, every tint, beautifully distinct. the schooner gradually drifted close in-shore, and we could perceive the rocks at the bottom, many fathoms deep. not a breath of wind was to be seen on the surface of the water for several miles round, although the horizon in the offing showed that there was a smart breeze outside. night came on, and we still lay becalmed. i gave my orders to swinburne, who had the first watch, and retired to my standing bed-place in the cabin. i was dreaming, and i hardly need say who was the object of my visions. i thought i was in eagle park, sitting down with her under one of the large chestnut trees, which formed the avenue, when i felt my shoulder roughly pushed. i started up--"what is the matter? who's that-- swinburne?" "yes, sir. on with your clothes immediately, as we have work on hand, i expect." and swinburne left the cabin, and i heard him calling the other men who were below. i knew that swinburne would not give a false alarm. in a minute i was on deck, and was looking at the stern of the schooner. "what is that, swinburne?" said i. "silence, sir. hark! don't you hear them?" "yes," replied i; "the sound of oars." "exactly, sir; depend upon it, those spaniards have got more help, and are coming back to take the vessel; they know we have only ten hands on board." by this time the men were all on deck. i directed swinburne to see all the muskets loaded, and ran down for my own sword and pistols. the water was so smooth, and the silence so profound, that swinburne had heard the sound of the oars at a considerable distance. fortunate it was, that i had such a trusty follower. another might have slumbered, and the schooner have been boarded and captured without our being prepared. when i came on deck again, i spoke to the men, exhorted them to do their duty, and pointed out to them that these cut-throat villains would certainly murder us all if we were taken, which i firmly believe would have been the case. the men declared that they would sell their lives as dearly as they could. we had twenty muskets, and the same number of pistols, all of which were now loaded. our guns were also ready, but of no use, now that the schooner had not steerage-way. the boats were in sight, about a quarter of a mile astern, when swinburne said, "there's a cat's-paw flying along the water, mr simple; if we could only have a little wind, how we would laugh at them; but i'm afraid there's no such luck. shall we let them know that we are ready?" "let every one of us take two muskets," said i: "when the first boat is under the counter, take good aim, and discharge into one of the boats; then seize the other musket, and discharge it at the other boat. after that we must trust to our cutlasses and pistols; for if they come on, there will be no time to load again. keep silence, all of you." the boats now came up full of men; but as we remained perfectly quiet, they pulled up gently, hoping to surprise us. fortunately, one was a little in advance of the other; upon which i altered my directions, and desired my men to fire their second musket into the first boat, as, if we could disable her, we were an equal match for those in the other. when the boat was within six yards of the schooner's counter, "now!" said i, and all the muskets were discharged at once, and my men cheered. several of the oars dropped, and i was sure we had done great execution; but they were laid hold of by the other men, who had not been pulling, and again the boat advanced to the counter. "good aim, my lads, this time," cried swinburne; "the other boat will be alongside as soon as you have fired. mr simple, the schooner has headway, and there's a strong breeze coming up." again we discharged our ten muskets into the boat, but this time we waited until the bow-man had hooked on the planeshear with his boat-hook, and our fire was very effective. i was surprised to find that the other boat was not on board of us; but a light breeze had come up, and the schooner glided through the water. still she was close under our counter, and would have been aboard in a minute. in the meantime, the spaniards who were in the first boat were climbing up the side, and were repulsed by my men with great success. the breeze freshened, and swinburne ran to the helm. i perceived the schooner was going fast through the water, and the second boat could hardly hold her course. i ran to where the boat-hook was fixed on the planeshear, and unhooked it; the boat fell astern, leaving two spaniards clinging to the side, who were cut down, and they fell into the water. "hurrah! all safe!" cried swinburne; "and now to punish them." the schooner was now darting along at the rate of five miles, with an increasing breeze. we stood in for two minutes, then tacked, and ran for the boats. swinburne steered, and i continued standing in the bows, surrounded by the rest of the men. "starboard a little, swinburne."-- "starboard it is." "steady--steady: i see the first boat, she is close under our bows. steady--port--port--port a little--port. look out, my lads, and cut down all who climb up." crash went the schooner on to the boat, the men in her in vain endeavouring to escape us. for a second or two she appeared to right, until her further gunwale was borne down under the water; she turned up, and the schooner went over her, sending every soul in her to their account. one man clung on to a rope, and was towed for a few seconds, but a cutlass divided the rope at the gunwale, and with a faint shriek he disappeared. the other boat was close to us, and perceived what had been done. they remained with their oars poised, all ready to pull so as to evade the schooner. we steered for her, and the schooner was now running at the rate of seven miles an hour. when close under our bows, by very dexterously pulling short round with their starboard oars, we only struck her with our bow; and before she went down many of the spaniards had gained the deck, or were clinging to the side of the vessel. they fought with desperation, but we were too strong for them. it was only those who had gained the deck which we had to contend with. the others clung for a time, and, unable to get up the sides, one by one dropped into the water and went astern. in a minute, those on deck were lying at our feet, and in a minute more they were tossed overboard after their companions; not, however, until one of them struck me through the calf of the leg with his knife as we were lifting him over the gunwale. i do not mean to say that the spaniards were not justified in attempting to take the schooner; but still, as we had liberated them but a few hours before, we felt that it was unhandsome and treacherous on their part, and therefore showed them no quarter. there were two of my men wounded as well as myself, but not severely, which was fortunate, as we had no surgeon on board, and only about half a yard of a diachylum plaster in the vessel. "well out of that, sir," said swinburne, as i limped aft. "by the lord harry! it might have been a _pretty go_." having shaped our course for barbadoes, i dressed my leg and went down to sleep. this time i did not dream of celeste, but fought the spaniards over again, thought i was wounded, and awoke with the pain of my leg. chapter li peter turned out of his command by his vessel turning bottom up--a cruise on a main-boom, with sharks _en attendant_--self and crew, with several flying fish, taken on board a negro boat--peter regenerates by putting on a new outward man. we made barbadoes without any further adventure, and were about ten miles off the bay, steering with a very light breeze, and i went down into the cabin, expecting to be at anchor before breakfast the next morning. it was just daylight, when i found myself thrown out of my bed-place on the deck, on the other side of the cabin, and heard the rushing of water. i sprang up, i knew the schooner was on her beam ends, and gained the deck. i was correct in my supposition: she had been upset by what is called a white squall, and in two minutes would be down. all the men were up on deck, some dressed, others, like myself, in their shirts. swinburne was aft; he had an axe in his hand, cutting away the rigging of the main-boom. i saw what he was about; i seized another, and disengaged the jaw-rope and small gear about the mast. we had no other chance; our boat was under the water, being hoisted up on the side to leeward. all this, however, was but the work of two minutes; and i could not help observing by what trifles lives are lost or saved. had the axe not been fortunately at the capstern, i should not have been able to cut the jaw-rope, swinburne would not have had time, and the main-boom would have gone down with the schooner. fortunately we had cleared it; the schooner filled, righted a little, and then sank, dragging us and the main-boom for a few seconds down in its vortex, and then we rose to the surface. the squall still continued, but the water was smooth. it soon passed over, and again it was nearly calm. i counted the men clinging to the boom, and found that they were all there. swinburne was next to me. he was holding with one hand, while with the other he felt in his pocket for a quid of tobacco, which he thrust into his cheek. "i wasn't on deck at the time, mr simple," said he, "or this wouldn't have happened. i had just been relieved, and i told collins to look out sharp for squalls. i only mention it, that if you are saved, and i am not, you mayn't think i was neglectful of my duty. we arn't far from the land, but still we are more likely to fall in with a shark than a friend, i'm thinking." these, indeed, had been my thoughts, but i had concealed them; but after swinburne had mentioned the shark, i very often looked along the water for their fins, and down below to see if they were coming up to tear us to pieces. it was a dreadful feeling. "it was not your fault, swinburne, i am sure. i ought to have relieved you myself, but i kept the first watch, and was tired. we must put our trust in god; perhaps, we may yet be spared." it was now almost calm, and the sun had mounted in the heavens: the scorching rays were intolerable upon our heads, for we had not the defence of hats. i felt my brain on fire, and was inclined to drop into the water, to screen myself from the intolerable heat. as the day advanced so did our sufferings increase. it was a dead calm, the sun perpendicular over us, actually burning that part of our bodies which rose clear of the water. i could have welcomed even a shark to relieve me of my torment; but i thought of celeste, and i clung to life. towards the afternoon i felt sick and dizzy; my resolution failed me; my vision was imperfect; but i was roused by swinburne, who cried out, "a boat, by all that's gracious! hang on a little longer, my men, and you are saved." it was a boat full of negroes, who had come out to catch flying-fish. they had perceived the spar on the water, and hastened to secure the prize. they dragged us all in, gave us water, which appeared like nectar, and restored us to our fleeting senses. they made fast the boom, and towed it in-shore. we had not been ten minutes on our way, when swinburne pointed to the fin of a large shark above the water. "look there, mr simple." i shuddered, and made no answer; but i thanked god in my heart. in two hours we were landed, but were too ill to walk. we were carried up to the hospital, bled, and put into cots. i had a brain fever, which lasted six or seven days, during which o'brien never left my bedside. my head was shaved, all the skin came off my face like a mask, as well as off my back and shoulders. we were put into baths of brandy and water, and in three weeks were all recovered. "that was but an unlucky schooner from beginning to end," observed o'brien, after i had narrated the events of my cruise. "we had a bad beginning with her, and we had a bad ending. she's gone to the bottom, and the devil go with her; however, all's well that ends well, and, peter, you're worth a dozen dead men yet; but you occasion me a great deal of trouble and anxiety, that's the truth of it, and i doubt if i shall ever rear you, after all." i returned to my duty on board of the brig, which was now nearly ready for sea. one morning o'brien came on board and said, "peter, i've a piece of news for you. our gunner is appointed to the _araxes_, and the admiral has given me a gunner's warrant for old swinburne. send for him on deck." swinburne was summoned, and came rolling up the hatchway. "swinburne," said o'brien, "you have done your duty well, and you are now gunner of the _rattlesnake_. here is your warrant, and i've great pleasure in getting it for you." swinburne turned the quid in his cheek, and then replied, "may i be so bold as to ax, captain o'brien, whether i must wear one of them long tog, swallow-tailed coats--because, if so, i'd prefer being a quarter-master?" "a gunner may wear a jacket, swinburne, if he likes; when you go on shore you may bend the swallow-tail, if you please." "well, sir, then if that's the case, i'll take the warrant, because i know it will please the old woman." so saying, swinburne hitched up his trousers, and went down below. i may here observe that swinburne kept his round jacket until our arrival in england, when the "old woman," his wife, who thought her dignity at stake, soon made him ship the swallow-tail; and, after it was once on, swinburne took a fancy to it, and always wore it, except when he was at sea. the same evening, as i was coming with o'brien from the governor's house, where i had dined, we passed a building, lighted up. "what can that be?" observed o'brien; "not a dignity ball--there is no music." our curiosity induced us to enter, and we found it to be fitted up as a temporary chapel, filled with black and coloured people, who were ranged on the forms, and waiting for the preacher. "it is a methodist meeting," said i to o'brien. "never mind," said he, "let us hear what is going on." in a moment afterwards the pulpit was filled, not by a white man, as we had anticipated, but by a tall negro. he was dressed in black, and his hair, which it was impossible to comb down straight, was plaited into fifty little tails, well tied at the end of them, like you sometimes see the mane of a horse; this produced a somewhat more clerical appearance. his throat was open and collar laid back; the wristbands of his shirt very large and white, and he flourished a white cambric handkerchief. "what a dandy he is!" whispered o'brien. i thought it almost too absurd when he said he would take the liberty to praise god in the th hymn, and beg all the company to join chorus. he then gave out the stanzas in the most strange pronunciation. "gentle jesus, god um lub," &c. when the hymn was finished, which was sung by the whole congregation, in the most delightful discord,--everyone chose his own key--he gave an extempore prayer, which was most unfortunately incomprehensible, and then commenced his discourse, which was on _faith_. i shall omit the head and front of his offending, which would, perhaps, hardly be gratifying although ludicrous. he reminded me of a monkey imitating a man; but what amused me most was his finale, in which he told his audience that there could be no faith without charity. for a little while he descanted upon this generally, and at last became personal. his words were, as well as i can recollect, nearly as follows:-- "and now you see, my dear bredren, how unpossible to go to heaven, with all the faith in the world, without charity. charity mean, give away. suppose you no give--you no ab charity; suppose you no ab charity--you no ab faith; suppose you no ab faith--you all go to hell and be damned. now den, let me see if you ab charity. here, you see, i come to save all your soul from hell-fire; and hell-fire dam hot, i can tell you. dere you all burn like coal, till you turn white powder, and den burn on till you come black again; and so you go on, burn, burn, sometime white, sometime black, for ebber and ebber. the debil never allow sangoree to cool tongue. no, no cocoa-nut milk,--not a lilly drap of water; debil see you damned first. suppose you ask, he poke um fire, and laugh. well, den, ab you charity? no, you ab not. you, quashee, how you dare look me in the face? you keep shop--you sell egg--you sell yam--you sell pepper hot--but when you give to me? eh! nebber, so help me god. suppose you no send--you no ab charity, and you go to hell. you black sambo," continued he, pointing to a man in the corner, "ab very fine boat, go out all day, catch fly-fish, bring um back, fry um, and sell for money; but when you send to me? not one little fish ebber find way to my mouth. what i tell you 'bout peter and 'postles--all fishermen; good men, give 'way to poor. sambo, you no ab charity; and 'spose you no repent this week, and send one very fine fish in plantain leaf, you go to hell, and burn for ebber and ebber. eh! so you will run away, massa johnson," cried he out to another, who was edging to the door; "but you no run away from hell-fire: when debil catch you, he hold dam tight. you know you kill sheep and goat ebery day. you send bell ring all 'bout town for people to come buy; but when you send to me? nebber, 'cept once, you gave me lilly bit of libber. that not do, massa johnson; you no ab charity; and suppose you no send me sheep's head to-morrow morning, dam you libber, that's all. i see many more, but i see um all very sorry, and dat they mean to sin no more, so dis time i let um off, and say noting about it, because i know plenty of plantain and banana (pointing to one) and oranges and shaddock (pointing to another), and salt fish (pointing to a fourth), and ginger-pop and spruce beer (pointing to a fifth), and a straw hat (pointing to a sixth), and eberything else, come to my house to-morrow. so i say no more 'bout it; i see you all very sorry--you only forget. you all ab charity, and all ab faith; so now, my dear bredren, we go down on our knees, and thank god for all this, and more especially that i save all your souls from going to the debil, who run about barbadoes like one roaring lion, seeking what he may lay hold of, and cram into his dam fiery jaw." "that will do, peter," said o'brien; "we have the cream of it, i think." we left the house, and walked down to the boat. "surely, o'brien," said i, "this should not be permitted?" "he's no worse than his neighbours," replied o'brien, "and perhaps does less harm. i admire the rascal's ingenuity; he gave his flock what, in ireland, we should call a pretty broad hint." "yes, there was no mistaking him: but is he a licensed preacher?" "very little licence in his preaching, i take it; no, i suppose he has had a _call_." "a call!--what do you mean?" "i mean that he wants to fill his belly. hunger is a call of nature, peter." "he seems to want a good many things, if we were to judge by his catalogue; what a pity it is that these poor people are not better instructed." "that they never will be, peter, while there is what may be called free trade in religion." "you speak like a catholic, o'brien." "i am one," replied he. and here our conversation ended, for we were close to the boat, which was waiting for us on the beach. the next day a man-of-war brig arrived from england, bringing letters for the squadron on the station. i had two from my sister ellen which made me very uncomfortable. she stated that my father had seen my uncle, lord privilege, and had had high words with him; indeed, as far as she could ascertain of the facts, my father had struck my uncle, and had been turned out of the house by the servants; that he had returned in a state of great excitement, and was very ill ever since; that there was a great deal of talk in the neighbourhood on the subject, people generally highly blaming my father's conduct, thinking that he was deranged in his intellect--a supposition very much encouraged by my uncle. she again expressed her hopes of my speedy return. i had now been absent nearly three years, and she had been so uncomfortable that she felt as if it had been at least ten. o'brien also received a letter from father m'grath, which i shall lay before the reader:-- "my dear son,--long life, and all the blessings of all the saints be upon you now and for evermore! amen. and may you live to be married, and may i dance at your wedding, and may you never want children, and may they grow up as handsome as their father and their mother (whoever she may hereafter be), and may you die of a good old age, and in the true faith, and be waked handsomely, as your own father was last friday s'ennight, seeing as how he took it into his head to leave this world for a better. it was a very dacent funeral-procession, my dear terence, and your father must have been delighted to see himself so well attinded. no man ever made a more handsome corpse, considering how old, and thin, and haggard he had grown of late, and how gray his hair had turned. he held the nosegay between his fingers, across his breast as natural as life, and reminded us all of the blessed saint, pope gregory, who was called to glory some hundred years before either you or i was born. "your mother's quite comfortable; and there she sits in her ould chair, rocking to and fro all day long, and never speaking a word to nobody, thinking about heaven, i dare to say; which is just what she ought to do, seeing that she stands a very pretty chance of going there in the course of a month or so. divil a word has she ever said since your father's departure, but then she screamed and yelled enough to last for seven years at the least. she screamed away all her senses anyhow, for she has done nothing since but cough, cough, and fumble at her pater-nosters--a very blessed way to pass the remainder of her days, seeing that i expect her to drop every minute like an over-ripe sleepy pear. so don't think any more about her, my son, for without you are back in a jiffy, her body will be laid in consecrated ground, and her happy, blessed soul in purgatory. _pax vobiscum._ amen! amen! "and now having disposed of your father and your mother so much to your satisfaction, i'll just tell you that ella's mother died in the convent at dieppe, but whether she kept her secret or not i do not know; but this i do know, that if she didn't relieve her soul by confession, she's damned to all eternity. thanks be to god for all his mercies. amen! ella flanagan is still alive, and, for a nun, is as well as can be expected. i find that she knows nothing at all about the matter of the exchanging the genders of the babbies--only that her mother was on oath to father m'dermot, who ought to be hanged, drawn, and quartered instead of those poor fellows whom the government called rebels, but who were no more rebels than father m'grath himself, who'll uphold the pretender, as they call our true catholic king, as long as there's life in his body or a drop of whiskey left in ould ireland to drink his health wid.-- "talking about father m'dermot puts me in mind that the bishop has not yet decided our little bit of a dispute, saying that he must take time to think about it. now, considering that it's just three years since the row took place, the old gentleman must be a very slow thinker not to have found out by this time that i was in the right, and that father m'dermot, the baste, is not good enough to be hanged. "your two married sisters are steady and diligent young women, having each made three children since you last saw them. fine boys, every mother's son of them, with elegant spacious features, and famous mouths for taking in whole potatoes. by the powers, but the offsets of the tree of the o'briens begin to make a noise in the land, anyhow, as you would say if you only heard them roaring for their bit of suppers. "and now, my dear son terence, the real purport of this letter, which is just to put to your soul's conscience, as a dutiful son, whether you ought not to send me a small matter of money to save your poor father's soul from pain and anguish--for it's no joke that being in purgatory, i can tell you; and you wouldn't care how soon you were tripped out of it yourself. i only wish you had but your little toe in it, and then you'd burn with impatience to have it out again. but you're a dutiful son, so i'll say no more about it--a nod's as good as a wink to a blind horse. "when your mother goes, which, with the blessing of god, will be in a very little while, seeing that she has only to follow her senses, which are gone already, i'll take upon myself to sell everything, as worldly goods and chattels are of no use to dead people; and i have no doubt but that, what with the furniture and the two cows, and the pigs, and the crops in the ground, there will be enough to save her soul from the flames, and bury her dacently into the bargain. however, as you are the heir-at-law, seeing that the property is all your own, i'll keep a debtor and creditor account of the whole; and should there be any over, i'll use it all out in masses, so as to send her up to heaven by express; and if there's not sufficient, she must remain where she is till you come back and make up the deficiency. in the meanwhile i am your loving father in the faith, "urtagh m'grath." chapter lii good sense in swinburne--no man a hero to his valet de chambre, or a prophet in his own country--o'brien takes a step by strategy--o'brien parts with his friend, and peter's star no longer in the ascendant. o'brien was sorry for the death of his father, but he could not feel as most people would have done, as his father had certainly never been a father to him. he was sent to sea to be got rid of, and ever since he had been there, had been the chief support of his family; his father was very fond of whiskey, and not very fond of exertion. he was too proud of the true milesian blood in his veins to do anything to support himself, but not too proud to live upon his son's hard-earned gains. for his mother o'brien felt very much; she had always been kind and affectionate, and was very fond of him. sailors, however, are so estranged from their families when they have been long in their profession and so accustomed to vicissitudes, that no grief for the loss of a relation lasts very long, and in a week o'brien had recovered his usual spirits, when a vessel brought us the intelligence that a french squadron had been seen off st domingo. this put us all on the _qui vive_. o'brien was sent for by the admiral, and ordered to hasten his brig for sea with all possible despatch, as he was to proceed with despatches to england forthwith. in three days we were reported ready, received our orders, and at eight o'clock in the evening made sail from carlisle bay. "well, mr swinburne," said i, "how do you like your new situation?" "why, mr simple, i like it well enough; and it's not disagreeable to be an officer, and sit in your own cabin; but still i feel that i should get on better if i were in another ship. i've been hail-fellow well met with the ship's company so long, that i can't top the officer over them, and we can't get the duty done as smart as i could wish: and then at night i find it very lonely stuck up in my cabin like a parson's clerk, and nobody to talk to; for the other warrants are particular, and say that i'm only acting, and may not be confirmed, so they hold aloof. i don't much like being answerable for all that lot of gunpowder--it's queer stuff to handle." "very true, swinburne; but still, if there were no responsibility, we should require no officers. you recollect that you are now provided for life, and will have half-pay." "that's what made me bite, mr simple. i thought of the old woman, and how comfortable it would make her in her old age; and so, d'ye see, i sacrificed myself." "how long have you been married, swinburne?" "ever since christmas ' . i wasn't going to be hooked carelessly, so i nibbled afore i took the bait. had four years' trial of her first, and, finding that she had plenty of ballast, i sailed her as my own." "how do you mean by plenty of ballast?" "i don't mean, mr simple, a broad bow and square hulk. you know very well that if a vessel has not ballast, she's bottom up in no time. now, what keeps a woman stiff under her canvas is her modesty." "very true; but it's a rare commodity on the beach." "and why, mr simple? because liquor is more valued. many a good man has found it to be his bane; and as for a woman, when once she takes to it, she's like a ship without a rudder, and goes right before the wind to the devil. not that i think a man ought not to take a nor-wester or two, when he can get them. rum was not given by god almighty only to make the niggers dance, but to make all our hearts glad; neither do i see why a woman is to stand out neither; what's good for jack can't hurt poll; only there is a medium, as they say, in all things, and half-an-half is quite strong enough." "i should think it was," replied i, laughing. "but don't be letting me prevent you from keeping a look-out, mr simple.--you, hoskins, you're half a point off the wind. luff you may.-- i think, mr simple, that captain o'brien didn't pick out the best man, when he made tom alsop a quarter-master in my place." "why, he is a very steady, good man, swinburne." "yes, so he is; but he has natural defects, which shouldn't be overlooked. i doubt if he can see so far as the head of the mainsail." "i was not aware of that." "no, but i was. alsop wants to sarve out his time for his pension, and when he has sarved, you see if, when the surgeons examine him, they don't invalid him, as blind as a bat. i should like to have him as gunner's mate, and that's just what he's fit for. but, mr simple, i think we shall have some bad weather. the moon looks greasy, and the stars want snuffing. you'll have two reefs in the topsails afore morning. there's five bells striking. now i'll turn in; if i didn't keep half the first, and half the morning watch, i shouldn't sleep all the night. i miss my regular watch very much, mr simple--habit's everything --and i don't much fancy a standing bed-place, it's so large, and i feel so cold of my sides. nothing like a hammock, after all. good-night, mr simple." our orders were to proceed with all _possible_ despatch; and o'brien carried on day and night, generally remaining up himself till one or two o'clock in the morning. we had very favourable weather, and in a little more than a month we passed the lizard. the wind being fair, we passed plymouth, ran up channel, and anchored at spithead. after calling upon the admiral, o'brien set off for town with his despatches, and left me in command of the ship. in three days i received a letter from him, informing me that he had seen the first lord, who had asked him a great many questions concerning the station he had quitted; that he had also complimented o'brien on his services. "on that hint i spake," continued o'brien; "i ventured to insinuate to his lordship, that i had hoped i had earned my promotion; and as there is nothing like _quartering on the enemy_, i observed that i had not applied to lord privilege, as i considered my services would have been sufficient, without any application on his part. his lordship returned a very gracious answer: said that my lord privilege was a great ally of his, and very friendly to the government; and inquired when i was going to see him. i replied, that i certainly should not pay my respects to his lordship at present, unless there was occasion for it, as i must take a more favourable opportunity. so i hope that good may come from the great lord's error, which, of course, i shall not correct, as i feel i deserve my promotion--and you know, peter, if you can't gain it by _hook_, you must by _crook_." he then concluded his letter; but there was a postscript as follows: "wish me joy, my dear peter. i have this moment received a letter from the private secretary, to say that i am _posted_, and appointed to the _semiramis_ frigate, about to set sail for the east indies. she is all ready to start; and now i must try to get you with me, of which i have no doubt; as, although her officers have been long appointed there will be little difficulty of success, when i mention your relationship to lord privilege, and while they remain in error as to his taking an interest in my behalf." i rejoiced at o'brien's good fortune. his promotion i had considered certain, as his services had entitled him to it; but the command of so fine a frigate must have been given upon the supposition that it would be agreeable to my uncle, who was not only a prime supporter, but a very useful member, of the tory government. i could not help laughing to myself, at the idea of o'brien obtaining his wishes from the influence of a person who probably detested him as much as one man could detest another; and i impatiently waited for o'brien's next letter, by which i hoped to find myself appointed to the _semiramis_; but a sad _contretemps_ took place. o'brien did not write; but came down two days afterwards, hastened on board the _semiramis_, read his commission, and assumed the command before even he had seen me; he then sent his gig on board of the _rattlesnake_ to desire me to come to him directly. i did so, and we went down into the cabin of the frigate. "peter," said he, "i was obliged to hasten down and read myself captain of this ship, as i am in fear that things are not going on well. i had called to pay my respects at the admiralty, previous to joining, and was kicking my heels in the waiting-room, when who should walk up the passage, as if he were a captain on his own quarter-deck, but your uncle, lord privilege. his eye met mine--he recognised me immediately--and, if it did not flash fire, it did something very like it. he asked a few questions of one of the porters, and was giving his card, when my name was called for. i passed him, and up i went to the first lord, thanked him for the frigate; and having received a great many compliments upon my exertions in the west india station, made my bow and retired. i had intended to have requested your appointment, but i knew that your name would bring up lord privilege's; and, moreover, your uncle's card was brought up and laid upon the table while i was sitting there. the first lord, i presume, thought that his lordship was come to thank him for his kindness to me, which only made him more civil. i made my bow and went down, when i met the eye of lord privilege; who looked daggers at me as he walked up stairs--for, of course, he was admitted immediately after my audience was finished. instead of waiting to hear the result of the explanation, i took a post-chaise, and have come down here as fast as four horses can bring me, and have read myself in--for, peter, i feel sure, that if not on board, my commission will be cancelled; and i know that if once in command, as i am now, i can call for a court-martial, to clear my character if i am superseded. i know that the admiralty _can_ do anything, but still they will be cautious in departing from the rules of the service, to please even lord privilege. i looked up at the sky as soon as i left the admiralty portico, and was glad to see that the weather was so thick, and the telegraph not at work, or i might have been too late. now i'll go on shore, and report myself to the admiral, as having taken the command of the _semiramis_." o'brien went on shore to report himself, was well received by the admiral, who informed him, that if he had any arrangements to make, he could not be too soon, as he should not be surprised if his sailing orders came down the next morning. this was very annoying, as i could not see how i should be able to join o'brien's ship, even if i could effect an exchange, in so short a time. i therefore hastened on board of the _semiramis_, and applied to the officers to know if any of them were willing to exchange into the _rattlesnake_; but, although they did not much like going to the east indies, they would not exchange into a brig, and i returned disappointed. the next morning, the admiral sent for o'brien, and told him confidentially, for he was the same admiral who had received o'brien when he had escaped from prison with me, and was very kind to him, that there was some _hitch_ about his having the _semiramis_, and that orders had come down to pay her off, all standing, and examine her bottom, if captain o'brien had not joined her. "do you understand what this means?" said the admiral, who was anxious to know the reason. o'brien answered frankly, that lord privilege, by whose interest he had obtained his former command, was displeased with him; and that, as he saw him go up to the first lord, he had no doubt but that his lordship had said something to his disadvantage, as he was a very vindictive man. "well," said the admiral, "it's lucky that you have taken the command, as they cannot well displace you, or send her into dock without a survey, and upon your representation." and so it proved; the first lord, when he found that o'brien had joined, took no further steps, but allowed the frigate to proceed to her intended destination. but all chance of my sailing with him was done away, and now, for the first time, i had to part with o'brien. i remained with him the whole time that i could be spared from my duties. o'brien was very much annoyed, but there was no help. "never mind, peter," said he, "i've been thinking that perhaps it's all for the best. you will see more of the world, and be no longer in leading-strings. you are now a fine man grown up, big enough and ugly enough, as they say, to take care of yourself. we shall meet again; and if we don't, why then, god bless you, my boy, and don't forget o'brien." three days afterwards, o'brien's orders came down. i accompanied him on board; and it was not until the ship was under weigh, and running towards the needles with a fair wind, that i shook hands with him, and shoved off. parting with o'brien was a heavy blow to me; but i little knew how much i was to suffer before i saw him again. chapter liii i am pleased with my new captain--obtain leave to go home--find my father afflicted with a very strange disease, and prove myself a very good doctor, although the disorder always breaks out in a fresh place. the day after o'brien had sailed for the east indies, the dockyard men came on board to survey the brig, and she was found so defective as to be ordered into dock. i had received letters from my sister, who was overjoyed at the intelligence of my safe return, and the anticipation of seeing me. the accounts of my father were, however, very unsatisfactory. my sister wrote, that disappointment and anxiety had had such an effect upon him, that he was deranged in his intellects. our new captain came down to join us. he was a very young man, and had never before commanded a ship. his character as lieutenant was well known, and not very satisfactory, being that of a harsh, unpleasant officer; but, as he had never been first lieutenant, it was impossible to say what he might prove when in command of a ship. still we were a little anxious about it, and severely regretted the loss of o'brien. he came on board the hulk to which the ship's company's had been turned over, and read his commission. he proved to be all affability, condescension, and good-nature. to me, he was particularly polite, stating that he should not interfere with me in carrying on the duty, as i must be so well acquainted with the ship's company. we thought that those who gave us the information must have been prejudiced or mistaken in his character. during the half hour that he remained on board, i stated, that now that the brig was in dock, i should like very much to have an opportunity of seeing my friends, if he would sanction my asking for leave. to this he cheerfully consented, adding, that he would extend it upon his own responsibility. my letter to the admiralty was therefore forwarded through him, and was answered in the affirmative. the day afterwards, i set off by the coach, and once more embraced my dear sister. after the first congratulations were over, i inquired about my father; she replied, that he was so wild that nobody could manage him. that he was melancholy and irritable at the same time, and was certainly deranged, fancying himself to be made of various substances, or to be in a certain trade or capacity. that he generally remained in this way four or five days, when he went to bed, and slept for twenty-four hours, or more, and awoke with some new strange imagination in his head. his language was violent, but that, in other respects, he seemed to be more afraid of other people, than inclined to be mischievous, and that every day he was getting more strange and ridiculous. he had now just risen from one of his long naps, and was in his study; that before he had fallen asleep he had fancied himself to be a carpenter, and had sawed and chopped up several articles of furniture in the house. i quitted my sister to see my father, whom i found in his easy-chair. i was much shocked at his appearance. he was thin and haggard, his eye was wild, and he remained with his mouth constantly open. a sick-nurse, who had been hired by my sister, was standing by him. "pish, pish, pish, pish!" cried my father; "what can you, a stupid old woman, know about my inside? i tell you the gas is generating fast, and even now i can hardly keep on my chair. i'm lifting--lifting now; and if you don't tie me down with cords, i shall go up like a balloon." "indeed, sir," replied the woman, "it's only the wind in your stomach. you'll break it off directly." "it's inflammable gas, you old hecate!--i know it is. tell me, will you get a cord, or will you not? hah! who's that--peter? why you've dropped from the clouds, just in time to see me mount up to them." "i hope you feel yourself better, sir," said i. "i feel myself a great deal lighter every minute. get a cord, peter, and tie me to the leg of the table." i tried to persuade him that he was under a mistake; but it was useless. he became excessively violent, and said i wished him in heaven. as i had heard that it was better to humour people afflicted with hypochondriacism, which was evidently the disease under which my father laboured, i tried that method. "it appears to me, sir," said i, "that if we could remove the gas every ten minutes, it would be a good plan." "yes--but how?" replied he, shaking his head mournfully. "why, with a syringe, sir," said i; "which will, if empty, of course draw out the gas, when inserted into your mouth." "my dear peter, you have saved my life: be quick, though, or i shall go up, right through the ceiling." fortunately, there was an instrument of that description in the house. i applied it to his mouth, drew up the piston, and then ejected the air, and re-applied it. in two minutes he pronounced himself better, and i left the old nurse hard at work, and my father very considerably pacified. i returned to my sister, to whom i recounted what had passed; but it was no source of mirth to us, although, had it happened to an indifferent person, i might have been amused. the idea of leaving her, as i must soon do--having only a fortnight's leave--to be worried by my father's unfortunate malady, was very distressing. but we entered into a long conversation, in which i recounted the adventures that had taken place since i had left her, and for the time forgot our source of annoyance and regret. for three days my father insisted upon the old woman pumping the gas out of his body; after that, he again fell into one of his sleeps, which lasted nearly thirty hours. when he arose, i went again to see him. it was eight o'clock in the evening, and i entered with a candle. "take it away--quick, take it away; put it out carefully." "why, what's the matter, sir?" "don't come near me, if you love me; don't come near me. put it out, i say--put it out." i obeyed his orders, and then asked him the reason. "reason!" said he, now that we were in the dark; "can't you see?" "no, father; i can see nothing in the dark." "well, then, peter, i'm a magazine, full of gunpowder; the least spark in the world, and i am blown up. consider the danger. you surely would not be the destruction of your father, peter?" and the poor old gentleman burst into tears, and wept like a child. i knew that it was in vain to reason with him. "my dear father," said i, "on board ship, when there is any danger of this kind, we always _float_ the magazine. now, if you were to drink a good deal of water, the powder would be spoiled, and there would be no danger." my father was satisfied with my proposal, and drank a tumbler of water every half-hour, which the old nurse was obliged to supply as fast as he called for it; and this satisfied him for three or four days, and i was again left to the company of my dear ellen, when my father again fell into his stupor, and we wondered what would be his next fancy. i was hastily summoned by the nurse, and found my poor father lying in bed, and breathing in a very strange manner. "what is the matter, my dear sir?" inquired i. "why don't you see what is the matter? how is a poor little infant, just born, to live, unless its mother is near to suckle it, and take care of it?" "indeed, sir, do you mean to say that you are just born?" "to be sure i do. i'm dying for the breast." this was almost too absurd; but i gravely observed, "that it was all very true, but unfortunately his mother had died in childbirth, and the only remedy was to bring him up by hand." he agreed with me. i desired the nurse to make some gruel with brandy, and feed him; which she did, and he took the gruel just as if he were a baby. i was about to wish him goodnight, when he beckoned to me, and said, "peter, she hasn't changed my napkin." this was too much, and i could not help laughing. i told the nurse what he said, and she replied, "lord bless you, sir, what matter? if the old gentleman takes a fancy, why not indulge him? i'll fetch the kitchen table-cloth." this fit lasted about six days; for he went to sleep, because a baby always slept much: and i was in hopes it would last much longer: but he again went off into his lethargic fit, and, after a long sleep, awoke with a new fancy. my time had nearly expired, and i had written to my new captain, requesting an extension of leave, but i received an answer stating that it could not be granted, and requesting me to join the brig immediately. i was rather surprised at this, but of course was compelled to obey; and, embracing my dear sister once more, set off for portsmouth. i advised her to humour my father, and this advice she followed; but his fancies were such, occasionally, as would have puzzled the most inventive genius to combat, or to find the remedy which he might acknowledge to be requisite. his health became certainly worse and worse, and his constitution was evidently destroyed by a slow, undermining, bodily and mental fever. the situation of my poor sister was very distressing; and i quitted her with melancholy forebodings. i ought here to observe that i received all my prize-money, amounting to £ , a large sum for a lieutenant. i put it into the funds, and gave a power of attorney to ellen, requesting her to use it as her own. we consulted as to what she should do if my father should die, and agreed that all his debts, which we knew to amount to three or four hundred pounds, should be paid, and that she should manage how she could upon what was left of my father's property, and the interest of my prize-money. chapter liv we receive our sailing orders, and orders of every description--a quarter-deck conversation--listeners never hear any good of themselves. when i arrived at portsmouth, i reported myself to the captain, who lived at the hotel. i was ushered into his room to wait for him, as he was dressing to dine with the admiral. my eyes naturally turned to what lay on the table, merely from the feeling which one has to pass away the time, not from curiosity; and i was much surprised to see a pile of letters, the uppermost of which was franked by lord privilege. this, however, might be merely accidental; but my curiosity was excited, and i lifted up the letter, and found that the second, the third, and indeed at least ten of these were franked by my uncle. i could not imagine how there could be any intimacy between him and my uncle, and was reflecting upon it when captain hawkins, for that was his name, entered the room. he was very kind and civil, apologized for not being able to extend my leave, which, he said, was because he had consulted the admiral, who would not sanction the absence of the first lieutenant, and had very peremptorily desired he would recall me immediately. i was satisfied: he shook my hand, and we parted. on my arrival on board the hulk, for the brig was still in dock, i was warmly received by my messmates. they told me that the captain had, generally speaking, been very civil, but that, occasionally, the marks of the cloven foot appeared. "webster," said i, to the second lieutenant, "do you know anything about his family or connections?" "it is a question i have asked of those who have sailed with him, and they all say that he never speaks of his own family, but very often boasts of his intimacy with the nobility. some say that he is a _bye-blow_ of some great man." i reflected very much upon this, and connecting it with the numerous franks of lord privilege, which i saw on the table, had my misgivings; but then i knew that i could do my duty, and had no reason to fear any man. i resolved, in my own mind, to be very correct, and put it out of the power of any one to lay hold of me, and then dismissed the subject. the brig was repaired and out of dock, and for some days i was very busy getting her ready for sea. i never quitted her; in fact, i had no wish. i never had any taste for bad company and midnight orgies, and i had no acquaintance with the respectable portion of the inhabitants of portsmouth. at last the ship's company were removed into the brig: we went out of harbour, and anchored at spithead. captain hawkins came on board and gave me an order-book, saying, "mr simple, i have a great objection to written orders, as i consider that the articles of war are quite sufficient to regulate any ship. still, a captain is in a very responsible situation, and if any accident occurs he is held amenable. i therefore have framed a few orders of my own for the interior discipline of the vessel, which may probably save me harmless, in case of being _hauled over the coals_; but not with any wish that they should interfere with the comforts of the officers, only to guard against any mischance, of which the _onus_ may fall upon myself." i received the order-book, and the captain went ashore. when i went down into the gun-room, to look through it, i at once perceived that if rigidly conformed to, every officer in the ship would be rendered uncomfortable; and if not conformed to, i should be the party that was answerable. i showed it to webster, who agreed with me, and gave it as his opinion that the captain's good nature and amiability were all a blind, and that he was intending to lay hold of us as soon as it was in his power. i therefore called all the officers together, and told them my opinion. webster supported me, and it was unanimously agreed that the orders should be obeyed, although not without remonstrance. the major part of the orders, however, only referred to the time that the brig was in harbour; and, as we were about to proceed to sea, it was hardly worth while saying anything at present. the orders for the sailing of the brig came down, and by the same post i received a letter from my sister ellen, stating that they had heard from captain fielding, who had immediately written to bombay, where the regiment was stationed, and had received an answer, informing him that there was no married man in the regiment of the name of sullivan, and no woman who had followed that regiment of that name. this at once put an end to all our researches after the wet-nurse, who had been confined in my uncle's house. where she had been sent, it was of course impossible to say; but i gave up all chance of discovering my uncle's treachery; and, as i thought of celeste, sighed at the little hope i had of ever being united to her. i wrote a long letter to o'brien, and the next day we sailed for our station in the north sea. the captain added a night order-book to the other, and sent it up every evening, to be returned in the morning, with the signature of every officer of the night watches. he also required all our signatures to his general order-book, that we might not say we had not read them. i had the first watch, when swinburne came up to me. "well, mr simple, i do not think we have made much by our exchange of captains; and i have a shrewd suspicion we shall have squalls ere long." "we must not judge too hastily, swinburne," replied i. "no, no--i don't say that we should; but still, one must go a little by looks in the world, and i'm sure his looks wouldn't help him much. he's just like a winter's day, short and dirty; and he walks the deck as if planks were not good enough for his feet. mr williams says, he looks as if he were 'big with the fate of cato and of rome:' what that means, i don't know--some joke, i suppose, for the youngsters are always joking. were you ever up the baltic, mr simple? now i think of it, i know you never were. i've seen some tight work up there with the gun-boats; and so we should now with captain o'brien; but as for this little man, i've an idea 'twill be more talk than work." "you appear to have taken a great dislike to the captain, swinburne. i do not know whether, as first lieutenant, i ought to listen to you." "it's because you're first lieutenant that i tell it you, mr simple. i never was mistaken, in the main, of an officer's character, when i could look him in the face, and hear him talk for half an hour; and i came up on purpose to put you on your guard: for i feel convinced, that towards you he means mischief. what does he mean by having the greasy-faced serjeant of marines in his cabin for half an hour every morning? his reports as master of arms ought to come through you, as first lieutenant; but he means him as a spy upon all, and upon you in particular. the fellow has begun to give himself airs already, and speaks to the young gentlemen as if they were beneath him. i thought you might not know it, mr simple, so i thought it right to tell you." "i am much obliged to you, swinburne, for your good wishes; but i can do my duty, and why should i fear anything?" "a man may do his duty, mr simple; but if a captain is determined to ruin him, he has the power. i have been longer in the service than you have, and have been wide awake: only be careful of one thing, mr simple; i beg your pardon for being so free, but in no case lose your temper." "no fear of that, swinburne," replied i. "it's very easy to say 'no fear of that,' mr simple; but recollect, you have not yet had your temper tried as some officers have. you have always been treated like a gentleman; but should you find yourself treated otherwise, you have too good blood in your veins not to speak--i am sure of that. i've seen officers insulted and irritated, till no angel could put up with the treatment--and then for an unguarded word, which they would have been _swabs_ not to have made use of, sent out of the service to the devil." "but you forget, swinburne, that the articles of war are made for the captain as well as for everybody else in the ship." "i know that; but still, at court-martials captains make a great distinction between what a superior says to an inferior, and what an inferior says to a superior." "true," replied i, quoting shakespeare: "'that's in the captain but a choleric word, which in the soldier is rank blasphemy.'" "exactly my meaning--i rather think," said swinburne, "if a captain calls you no gentleman, you mus'n't say the same to him." "certainly not, but i can demand a court-martial." "yes; and it will be granted: but what do you gain by that? it's like beating against a heavy gale and a lee tide--thousand to one if you fetch your port; and if you do, your vessel is strained to pieces, sails worn as thin as a newspaper, and rigging chafed half through, wanting fresh serving: no orders for a re-fit, and laid up in ordinary for the rest of your life. no, no, mr simple, the best plan is to grin and bear it, and keep a sharp look-out; for depend upon it, mr simple, in the best ship's company in the world, a spy captain will always find spy followers." "do you refer that observation to me, mr swinburne?" said a voice from under the bulwark. i started round, and found the captain, who had crept upon deck, unperceived by us, during our conversation. swinburne made no reply; but touched his hat and walked over to leeward. "i presume, mr simple," said the captain, turning to me, "that you consider yourself justified in finding fault, and abusing your captain, to an inferior officer, on his majesty's quarter-deck." "if you heard the previous conversation, sir," replied i, "you must be aware that we were speaking generally about court-martials. i do not imagine that i have been guilty of any impropriety in conversing with an officer upon points connected with the service." "you mean then to assert, sir, that the gunner did not refer to me when he said the words, 'spy captain.'" "i acknowledge, sir, that as you were listening unperceived, the term might appear to refer to you; but the gunner had no idea, at the time, that you were listening. his observation was, that a spy captain would always find spy followers. this i take to be a general observation; and i am sorry that you think otherwise." "very well, mr simple," said captain hawkins--and he walked down the companion ladder into his cabin. "now a'n't it odd, mr simple, that i should come up with the intention of being of service to you, and yet get you into such a scrape? however, perhaps it is all for the best; open war is preferable to watching in the dark, and stabbing in the back. he never meant to have shown his colours; but i hit him so hard, that he forgot himself." "i suspect that to be the case, swinburne; but i think that you had better not talk any more with me to-night." "wish i hadn't talked quite so much, as things have turned out," replied swinburne. "good-night, sir." i reflected upon what had passed, and felt convinced that swinburne was right in saying that it was better this had occurred than otherwise. i now knew the ground which i stood upon; and forewarned was being forearmed. chapter lv we encounter a dutch brig of war--captain hawkins very contemplative near the capstan--hard knocks, and no thanks for it--who's afraid?--men will talk--the brig goes about on the wrong tack. at daylight the next morning we were off the texel, and could see the low sand-hills; but we had scarcely made them out, when the fog in the offing cleared up, and we made a strange vessel. the hands were turned up, and all sail made in chase. we made her out to be a brig of war; and as she altered her course considerably, we had an idea that she was an enemy. we made the private signal, which was unanswered, and we cleared for action; the brig making all sail on the starboard tack, and we following her--she bearing about two miles on our weather bow. the breeze was not steady; at one time the brig was staggering under her top-gallant sails, while we had our royals set; at another we would have hands by the top-gallant sheets and topsail halyards, while she expanded every stitch of canvas. on the whole, however, in an hour we had neared about half a mile. our men were all at their quarters, happy to be so soon at their old work. their jackets and hats were thrown off, a bandana handkerchief tied round their heads, and another, or else their black silk handkerchiefs, tied round their waists. every gun was ready, everything was in its place, and every soul, i was going to say, was anxious for the set-to; but i rather think i must not include the captain, who from the commencement, showed no signs of pleasure, and anything but presence of mind. when we first chased the vessel, it was reported that it was a merchantman; and it was not until we had broad daylight, that we discovered her to be a man-of-war. there was one thing to be said in his favour--he had never been in action in his life. the breeze now fell light, and we were both with our sails set, when a thick fog obscured her from our sight. the fog rolled on till we met it, and then we could not see ten yards from the brig. this was a source of great mortification, as we had every chance of losing her. fortunately, the wind was settling down fast into a calm, and about twelve o'clock the sails flapped against the mast. i reported twelve o'clock, and asked the captain whether we should pipe to dinner. "not yet," replied he; "we will put her head about." "go about, sir?" replied i, with surprise. "yes;" said he, "i'm convinced that the chase is on the other tack at this moment; and if we do not, we shall lose her." "if she goes about, sir," said i, "she must get among the sands, and we shall be sure of her." "sir," replied he, "when i ask your advice, you will be pleased to give it. i command this vessel." i touched my hat, and turned the hands up about ship, convinced that the captain wished to avoid the action, as the only chance of escape for the brig was her keeping her wind in the tack she was on. "'bout ship--'bout ship!" cried the men. "what the hell are we going about for?" inquired they of one another, as they came up the ladder. "silence there, fore and aft!" cried i. "captain hawkins, i do not think we can get her round, unless we wear--the wind is very light." "then wear ship, mr simple." there are times when grumbling and discontent among the seamen is so participated by the officers, although they do not show it, that the expressions made use of are passed unheeded. such was the case at present. the officers looked at each other, and said nothing; but the men were unguarded in their expressions. the brig wore gradually round; and when the men were bracing up the yards, sharp on the other tack, instead of the "hurrah!" and "down with the mark!" they fell back with a groan. "brace up those yards in silence, there," said i to the men. the ropes were coiled down, and we piped to dinner. the captain, who continued on deck, could not fail to hear the discontented expressions which occasionally were made use of on the lower deck. he made no observation, but occasionally looked over the side, to see whether the brig went through the water. this she did slowly for about ten minutes, when it fell a perfect calm--so that, to use a common sea phrase, he gained little by his motion. about half-past one, a slight breeze from the opposite quarter sprung up--we turned round to it--it increased--the fog blew away, and, in a quarter of an hour, the chase was again visible, now upon our lee beam. the men gave three cheers. "silence there, fore and aft," cried the captain, angrily. "mr simple, is this the way that the ship's company have been disciplined under their late commander, to halloo and bawl whenever they think proper?" i was irritated at any reflection upon o'brien, and i replied, "yes, sir; they have been always accustomed to express their joy at the prospect of engaging the enemy." "very well, mr simple," replied he. "how are we to shift her head?" inquired the master, touching his hat: "for the chase?" "of course," replied the captain, who then descended into his cabin. "come, my lads," said swinburne, as soon as the captain was below, "i have been going round, and i find that your _pets_ are all in good fighting order. i promise ye, you sha'n't wait for powder. they'll find that the _rattlesnake_ can bite devilish hard yet, i expect."--"aye, and without its _head_, too," replied one of the men, who was the joe miller of the brig. the chase, perceiving that she could not escape--for we were coming up with her, hand over hand, now shortened sail for action, hoisting dutch colours. captain hawkins again made his appearance on the quarter-deck, when we were within half a mile of her. "are we to run alongside of her or how?" inquired i. "mr simple, i command her," replied he, "and want no interference whatever." "very well, sir," replied i, and i walked to the gangway. "mr thompson," cried the captain, who appeared to have screwed up his courage to the right pitch, and had now taken his position for a moment on one of the carronades; "you will lay the brig right--" bang, bang--whiz, whiz--bang--whiz, came three shots from the enemy, cleaving the air between our masts. the captain jumped down from the carronade, and hastened to the capstern, without finishing his sentence. "shall we fire when we are ready, sir?" said i; for i perceived that he was not capable of giving correct orders. "yes--yes, to be sure," replied he, remaining where he was. "thompson," said i to the master, "i think we can manage, in our present commanding position, to get foul of him, so as to knock away his jib-boom and fore topmast, and then she can't escape. we have good way on her." "i'll manage it, simple, or my name's not thompson," replied the master, jumping into the quarter-boat, conning the vessel in that exposed situation, as we received the enemy's fire. "look out, my lads, and pour it into her now, just as you please," said i to the men. the seamen were, however, too well disciplined to take immediate advantage of my permission; they waited until we passed her, and just as the master put up his helm, so as to catch her jib-boom between our masts, the whole broadside was poured into his bow and chess-tree. her jib-boom and fore-topgallant went down, and she had so much way through the water, that we tore clear from her, and rounding to the wind shot a-head. the enemy, although in confusion from the effects of our broadside, put up his helm to rake us; we perceived his manoeuvre, and did the same, and then, squaring our sails, we ran with him before the wind, engaging broadside to broadside. this continued about half an hour, and we soon found that we had no fool to play with. the brig was well fought, and her guns well directed. we had several men taken down below, and i thought it would be better to engage her even closer. there was about a cable's length between both vessels, as we ran before the wind, at about six miles an hour, with a slight rolling motion. "thompson," said i, "let us see if we cannot beat them from their guns. let's port the helm and close her, till we can shy a biscuit on board." "just my opinion, simple; we'll see if they won't make another sort of running fight of it." in a few minutes we were so close on board of her, that the men who loaded the guns could touch each other with their rammers and sponges. the men cheered; it was gallantly returned by the enemy, and havoc was now commenced by the musketry on both sides. the french captain, who appeared as brave a fellow as ever stepped, stood for some minutes on the hammocks; i was also holding on by the swifter of the main rigging, when he took off his hat and politely saluted me. i returned the compliment; but the fire became too hot, and i wished to get under the shelter of the bulwark. still i would not go down first, and the french captain appeared determined not to be the first either to quit the post of honour. at last one of our marines hit him in the right arm: he clapped his hand to the part, as if to point it out to me, nodded, and was assisted down from the hammocks. i immediately quitted my post, for i thought it foolish to stand as a mark for forty or fifty soldiers. i had already received a bullet through the small of my leg. but the effects of such close fire now became apparent: our guns were only half manned, our sides terribly cut up, and our sails and rigging in tatters. the enemy was even worse off, and two broadsides more brought her mainmast by the board. our men cheered, and threw in another broadside. the enemy dropped astern; we rounded to rake her; she also attempted to round to, but could not until she had cleared away her wreck, and taken in her foresail, and lowered her topsail. she then continued the action with as much spirit as ever. "he's a fine fellow, by god!" exclaimed thompson; "i never saw a man fight his ship better: but we have him. webster's down, poor fellow!" "i'm sorry for it," replied i; "but i'm afraid that there are many poor fellows who have lost the number of their mess. i think it useless throwing away the advantage which we now have. he can't escape, and he'll fight this way for ever. we had better run a-head, repair damages, and then he must surrender, in his crippled state, when we attack him again." "i agree with you," said thompson; "the only point is, that it will soon be dark." "i'll not lose sight of him, and he cannot get away. if he puts before the wind, then we will be at him again." we gave him the loaded guns as we forged a-head, and when we were about half a mile from him, hove-to to repair damages. the reader may now ask, "but where was the captain all this time?" my answer is, that he was at the capstern, where he stood in silence, not once interfering during the whole action, which was fought by thompson, the master, and myself. how he looked, or how he behaved in other points during the engagement, i cannot pretend to say, for i had no time to observe him. even now i was busy knotting the rigging, rousing up new sails to bend, and getting everything in order, and i should not have observed him, had he not come up to me; for as soon as we had ceased firing he appeared to recover himself. he did not, however, first address me; he commenced speaking to the men. "come, be smart, my lads; send a hand here to swab up the blood. here, youngster, run down to the surgeon, and let him know that i wish a report of the killed and wounded." by degrees he talked more, and at last came up to me, "this has been rather smartish, mr simple." "very smart indeed, sir," replied i, and then turned away to give directions. "maintop there, send down the hauling line on the starboard side." "ay, ay, sir." "now then, my lads, clap on, and run it up at once." "maintop, there," hailed the captain, "be a little smarter, or by g----d, i'll call you down for something." this did not come with a good grace from one who had done nothing, to those who were working with all their energy. "mr simple," said the captain, "i wish you would carry on duty with less noise." "at all events, he set us that example during the action," muttered the joe miller; and the other men laughed heartily at the implication. in two hours, during which we had carefully watched the enemy, who still lay where we left him, we were again ready for action. "shall i give the men their grog now, sir?" said i to the captain; "they must want it." "no, no," replied the captain; "no, no, mr simple, i don't like what you call _dutch_ courage." "i don't think he much does; and this fellow has shown plenty of it," said the joe miller, softly; and the men about him laughed heartily. "i think, sir," observed i, "that it is an injustice to this fine ship's company to hint at their requiring dutch courage." (dutch courage is a term for courage screwed up by drinking freely.) "and i most respectfully beg leave to observe, that the men have not had their afternoon's allowance; and, after the fatigues they have undergone, really require it." "i command this ship, sir," replied he. "certainly, sir, i am aware of it," rejoined i. "she is now all ready for action again, and i wait your orders. the enemy is two miles on the lee quarter." the surgeon here came up with his report. "good heavens!" said the captain, "forty-seven men killed and wounded, mr webster dangerously. why, the brig is crippled. we can do no more-- positively, we can do no more." "_we can take that brig, anyhow_," cried one of the seamen from a dozen of the men who were to leeward, expecting orders to renew the attack. "what man was that?" cried the captain. no one answered. "by g----d! this ship is in a state of mutiny, mr simple." "will _soon_ be, i think," said a voice from the crowd, which i knew very well; but the captain, having been but a short time with us, did not know it. "do you hear that, mr simple?" cried the captain. "i regret to say that i did hear it, sir; i little thought that ever such an expression would have been made use of on board of the _rattlesnake_." then, fearing he would ask me the man's name, and to pretend not to have recognised it, i said, "who was that who made use of that expression?" but no one answered; and it was so dark, that it was impossible to distinguish the men. "after such mutinous expressions," observed the captain, "i certainly will not risk his majesty's brig under my command, as i should have wished to have done, even in her crippled state, by again engaging the enemy. i can only regret that the officers appear as insolent as the men." "perhaps, captain hawkins, you will state in what, and when, i have proved myself insolent. i cannot accuse myself." "i hope the expression was not applied to me, sir," said thompson, the master, touching his hat. "silence, gentlemen, if you please. mr simple, wear round the ship." whether the captain intended to attack the enemy or not, we could not tell, but we were soon undeceived; for when we were round, he ordered her to be kept away until the dutch brig was on our lee quarter: then ordering the master to shape his course for yarmouth, he went down into the cabin, and sent up word that i might pipe to supper and serve out the spirits. the rage and indignation of the men could not be withheld. after they went down to supper they gave three heavy groans in concert; indeed, during the whole of that night, the officers who kept the watches had great difficulty in keeping the men from venting their feeling, in what might be almost termed justifiable mutiny. as for myself, i could hardly control my vexation. the brig was our certain prize; and this was proved, for the next day she hauled down her colours immediately to a much smaller man-of-war, which fell in with her, still lying in the same crippled state; the captain and first lieutenant killed, and nearly two-thirds of her ship's company either killed or wounded. had we attacked her, she would have hauled down her colours immediately, for it was our last broadside which had killed the captain. as first lieutenant, i should have received my promotion, which was now lost. i cried for vexation when i thought of it as i lay in bed. that his conduct was severely commented upon by the officers in the gun-room, as well as by the whole ship's company, i hardly need say. thompson was for bringing him to a court-martial, which i would most gladly have done, if it only were to get rid of him; but i had a long conversation with old swinburne on the subject, and he proved to me that i had better not attempt it. "for, d'ye see, mr simple, you have no proof. he did not run down below; he stood his ground on deck, although he did nothing. you can't _prove_ cowardice, then, although there can be no great doubt of it. again, with regard to his not renewing the attack, why, is not a captain at liberty to decide what is the best for his majesty's service? and if he thought, in the crippled state of the brig, so close to the enemy's coast, that it wasn't advisable, why, it could only be brought in as an error in judgment. then there's another thing which must be remembered, mr simple, which is, that no captains sitting on a court-martial will, if it be possible to extricate him, ever prove _cowardice_ against a brother captain, because they feel that it's a disgrace to the whole cloth." swinburne's advice was good, and i gave up all thoughts of proceeding; still it appeared to me, that the captain was very much afraid that i would, he was so extremely amiable and polite during our run home. he said, that he had watched how well i had behaved in the action, and would not fail to notice it. this was something, but he did not keep his word: for his despatch was published before we quitted the roadstead, and not the name of one officer mentioned, only generally saying, that they conducted themselves to his satisfaction. he called the enemy a corvette, not specifying whether she was a brig or ship corvette; and the whole was written in such a bombastic style, that any one would have imagined that he had fought a vessel of superior force. he stated, at the end, that as soon as he repaired damages, he wore round, but that the enemy declined further action. so she did--certainly--for the best of all possible reasons, that she was too disabled to come down to us. all this might have been contested; but the enormous list of killed and wounded proved that we had had a hard fight, and the capture of the brig afterwards, that we had really overpowered her. so that, on the whole, captain hawkins gained a great deal of credit with some; although whispers were afloat which came to the ears of the admiralty, and prevented him from being posted--the more so, as he had the modesty not to apply for it. chapter lvi consequences of the action--a ship without a fighting captain is like a thing without a head--so do the sailors think--a mutiny, and the loss of our famous ship's company. during our stay at yarmouth, we were not allowed to put our foot on shore, upon the plea that we must repair damages, and proceed immediately to our station; but the real fact was, that captain hawkins was very anxious that we should not be able to talk about the action. finding no charges preferred against him, he re-commenced his system of annoyance. his apartments had windows which looked out upon where the brig lay at anchor, and he constantly watched all our motions with his spy-glass, noting down if i did not hoist up boats, &c., exactly at the hour prescribed in his book of orders, so as to gather a list of charges against me if he could. this we did not find out until afterwards. i mentioned before, that when swinburne joined us at plymouth, he had recommended a figure-head being put on the brig. this had been done at o'brien's expense--not in the cheap way recommended by swinburne, but in a very handsome manner. it was a large snake coiled up in folds, with its head darting out in a menacing attitude, and the tail, with its rattle appeared below. the whole was gilded, and had a very good effect; but after the dock-yard men had completed the repairs, and the brig was painted, one night the head of the rattlesnake disappeared. it had been sawed off by some malicious and evil disposed persons, and no traces of it were to be found. i was obliged to report this to the captain, who was very indignant, and offered twenty pounds for the discovery of the offender; but had he offered twenty thousand he never would have found out the delinquent. it was, however, never forgotten; for he understood what was implied by these manoeuvres. a new head was carved, but disappeared the night after it was fixed on. the rage of the captain was without bounds: he turned the hands up, and declared that if the offender was not given up, he would flog every hand on board. he gave the ship's company ten minutes, and then prepared to execute his threat. "mr paul, turn the hands up for punishment," said the captain, in a rage, and descended to his cabin for the articles of war. when he was down below, the officers talked over the matter. to flog every man for the crime of one was the height of injustice, but it was not for us to oppose him; still the ship's company must have seen, in our countenances, that we shared their feelings. the men were talking with each other in groups, until they all appeared to have communicated their ideas on the subject. the carpenters, who had been slowly bringing aft the gratings, left off the job; the boatswain's mates, who had came aft, rolled the tails of their cats round the red handles; and every man walked down below. no one was left on the quarter-deck but the marines under arms, and the officers. perceiving this, i desired mr paul, the boatswain, to send the men up to rig the gratings, and the quarter-masters with their seizings. he came up, and said that he had called them, but that they did not answer. perceiving that the ship's company would break out into open mutiny, if the captain persisted in his intention, i went down into the cabin, and told the captain the state of things, and wished for his orders or presence on deck. the captain, whose wrath appeared incapable of reflection, immediately proceeded on deck, and ordered the marines to load with ball-cartridge. this was done; but, as i was afterwards told by thompson, who was standing aft, the marines loaded with powder, and put the balls into their pockets. they wished to keep up the character of their corps for fidelity, and at the same time not fire upon men whom they loved as brothers, and with whom they coincided in opinion. indeed, we afterwards discovered that it was a _marine_ who had taken off the _head_ of the snake a second time. the captain then ordered the boatswain to turn the hands up. the boatswain made his appearance with his right arm in a sling.--"what's the matter with your arm, mr paul?" said i, as he passed me. "tumbled down the hatchway just now--can't move my arm; i must go to the surgeon as soon as this is over." the hands were piped up again, but no one obeyed the order. thus was the brig in a state of mutiny. "mr simple, go forward to the main hatchway with the marines, and fire on the lower deck," cried the captain. "sir," said i, "there are two frigates within a cable's length of us; and would it not be better to send for assistance, without shedding blood? besides, sir, you have not yet tried the effect of calling up the carpenter's and boatswain's mates by name. will you allow me to go down first, and bring them to a sense of their duty?" "yes, i presume you know your power; but of this hereafter." i went down below and called the men by name. "sir," said one of the boatswain's mates, "the ship's company say that they will not submit to be flogged." "i do not speak to the ship's company generally, collins," replied i; "but you are now ordered to rig the gratings, and come on deck. it is an order that you cannot refuse. go up directly, and obey it. quarter-masters, go on deck with your seizings. when all is ready, you can then expostulate." the men obeyed my orders; they crawled on deck, rigged the gratings, and stood by. "all is ready, sir," said i, touching my hat to the captain. "send the ship's company aft, mr paul." "aft, then, all of you, for punishment," cried the boatswain. "yes, it is _all of us for punishment_," cried one voice. "we're all to flog one another, and then pay off the _jollies_."[ ] this time the men obeyed the order; they all appeared on the quarter-deck. "the men are all aft, sir," reported the boatswain. "and now, my lads," said the captain, "i'll teach you what mutiny is. you see the two frigates alongside of us. you had forgotten them, i suppose, but i hadn't. here, you scoundrel, mr jones"--(this was the joe miller)--"strip, sir. if ever there was mischief in a ship, you are at the head." "head, sir," said the man, assuming a vacant look; "what head, sir? do you mean the snake's head? i don't know anything about it, sir."-- "strip, sir!" cried the captain in a rage; "i'll soon bring you to your senses." "if you please, your honour, what have i done to be tied up?" said the man. "strip, you scoundrel!"--"well, sir, if you please, it's hard to be flogged for nothing." the man pulled off his clothes, and walked up to the grating. the quarter-masters seized him up. "seized up, sir," reported the scoundrel of a sergeant of marines who acted as the captain's spy. the captain looked for the articles of war to read, as is necessary previous to punishing a man, and was a little puzzled to find one, where no positive offence had been committed. at last, he pitched upon the one which refers to combination and conspiracy, and creating discontent. we all took off our hats as he read it, and he then called mr paul, the boatswain, and ordered him to give the man a dozen. "please, sir," said the boatswain, pointing to his arm in a sling, "i can't flog--i can't lift up my arm."--"your arm was well enough when i came on board, sir," cried the captain. "yes, sir; but in hurrying the men up, i slipped down the ladder, and i'm afraid i've put my shoulder out." the captain bit his lips; he fully believed it was a sham on the part of the boatswain (which indeed it was) to get off flogging the men. "well, then, where is the chief boatswain's mate, miller?" "here, sir," said miller, coming forward: a stout, muscular man, nearly six feet high, with a pig-tail nearly four feet long, and his open breast covered with black, shaggy hair. "give that man a dozen, sir," said the captain. the man looked at the captain, then at the ship's company, and then at the man seized up, but did not commence the punishment. "do you hear me, sir?" roared the captain. "if you please, your honour, i'd rather take my disrating--i--don't wish to be chief boatswain's mate in this here business." "obey your orders, immediately, sir," cried the captain; "or, by god, i'll try you for mutiny." "well, sir, i beg your pardon; but what must be, must be. i mean no disrespect, captain hawkins, but i cannot flog that man--my conscience won't let me." "your _conscience_, sir!" "beg your pardon, captain hawkins, i've always done my duty, foul weather or fair; and i've been eighteen years in his majesty's service, without ever being brought to punishment; but if i am to be hung now, saving your pleasure, and with all respect, i can't help it." "i give you but one moment more, sir," cried the captain; "do your duty." the man looked at the captain, and then eyed the yard-arm. "captain hawkins, i will _do my duty_, although i must swing for it." so saying he threw his cat down on the quarter-deck, and fell back among the ship's company. the captain was now confounded, and hardly knew how to act: to persevere appeared useless--to fall back was almost as impossible. a dead silence of a minute ensued. every one was breathless with impatience, to know what would be done next. the silence was, however, first broken by jones, the joe miller, who was seized up. "beg your honour's pardon, sir," said he, turning his head round; "but if i am to be flogged, will you be pleased to let me have it over? i shall catch my death a-cold, naked here all day." this was decided mockery, on the part of the man, and roused the captain. "sergeant of marines, put miller and that man collins, both legs in irons, for mutiny. my men, i perceive that there is a conspiracy in the ship, but i shall very soon put an end to it: i know the men, and, by god, they shall repent it. mr paul, pipe down. mr simple, man my gig; and recollect, it's my positive orders that no boat goes on shore." the captain left the brig, looking daggers at me as he went over the side; but i had done my duty, and cared little for that; indeed, i was now watching his conduct as carefully as he did mine. "the captain wishes to tell his own story first," said thompson, coming up to me. "now, if i were you, simple, i would take care that the real facts should be known." "how's that to be done," replied i; "he has ordered no communication with the shore." "simply by sending an officer on board of each of the frigates to state that the brig is in a state of mutiny, and request that they will keep a look-out upon her. this is no more than your duty as commanding officer; you only send the message, leave me to state the facts of my own accord. recollect that the captains of these frigates will be summoned, if there is a court of inquiry, which i expect will take place." i considered a little, and thought the advice good. i despatched thompson first to one frigate, and then to the other. the next day the captain came on board. as soon as he stepped on the quarter-deck he inquired how i dare disobey his orders in sending the boats away. my reply was that his orders were, not to communicate with the shore, but that, as commanding officer, i considered it my duty to make known to the other ships that the men were in a state of insubordination, that they might keep their eyes upon us. he _kept his eyes_ upon me for some time, and then turned away without reply. as we expected, a court of inquiry was called, upon his representations to the admiral. about twenty of the men were examined, but so much came out as to the _reason why_ the head of the snake had been removed--for the sailors spoke boldly--that the admiral and officers who were appointed strongly recommended captain hawkins not to proceed further than to state that there were some disaffected characters in the ship, and move the admiral to have them exchanged into others. this was done, and the captains of the frigates, who immediately gave their advice, divided all our best men between them. they spoke very freely to me, and asked me who were the best men, which i told them honestly, for i was glad to be able to get them out of the power of captain hawkins; these they marked as disaffected, and exchanged them for all the worst they had on board. the few that were left ran away, and thus, from having one of the finest and best organised ship's companies in the service, we were now one of the very worst. miller was sent on board of the frigate, and under surveillance: he soon proved that his character was as good as i stated it to be, and two years afterwards was promoted to the rank of boatswain. webster, the second lieutenant, would not rejoin us, and another was appointed. i must here remark, that there is hardly any degree of severity which a captain may not exert towards his seamen, provided they are confident of, or he has proved to them, his courage; but if there be a doubt, or a confirmation to the contrary, all discipline is destroyed by contempt, and the ship's company mutiny, either directly or indirectly. there is an old saying, that all tyrants are cowards; that tyranny is in itself a species of meanness, i acknowledge: but still the saying ought to be modified. if it is asserted that all mean tyrants are cowards, i agree; but i have known in the service most special tyrants, who were not cowards: their tyranny was excessive, but there was no meanness in their dispositions. on the contrary, they were generous, open-hearted, and, occasionally, when not influenced by anger, proved that their hearts, if not quite right, were not very much out of their places. yet they were tyrants; but, although tyrants, the men forgave them, and one kind act, when they were not led away by the impetuosity of their feelings, obliterated a hundred acts of tyranny. but such is not the case in our service with men who, in their tyranny, are mean; the seamen show no quarter to them, and will undergo all the risk which the severity of the articles of war renders them liable to, rather than not express their opinion of a man whom they despise. i do not like to mention names, but i could point out specimens of brave tyrants, and of cowardly tyrants who have existed, and do even now exist in our service. the present regulations have limited tyranny to a certain degree, but it cannot check the _mean_ tyrant; for it is not in points of consequence, likely to be brought before the notice of his superiors, that he effects his purpose. he resorts to paltry measures--he smiles that he may betray--he confines himself within the limit that may protect him; and he is never exposed, unless by his courage being called in question, which but rarely occurs; and when it does occur it is most difficult, as well as most dangerous, to attempt to prove it. it may be asked why i did not quit the ship, after having been aware of the character of the captain, and the enmity which he bore to me. in reply, i can only say that i did often think of it, talked over the subject with my messmates, but they persuaded me to remain, and, as i was a first lieutenant, and knew that any successful action would, in all probability, insure my promotion, i determined, to use a nautical expression, to rough it out, and not throw away the only chance which i now had of obtaining my rank as commander. [footnote : marines.] chapter lvii news from home not very agreeable, although the reader may laugh--we arrive at portsmouth, where i fall in with my old acquaintance, mrs trotter--we sail with a convoy for the baltic. i had written to my sister ellen, giving her an account of all that had passed, and mentioning the character of the captain, and his apparent intimacy with my uncle. i received an answer from her, telling me that she had discovered, from a very communicative old maiden lady, that captain hawkins was an illegitimate son of my uncle, by a lady with whom he had been acquainted about the time that he was in the army. i immediately conceived the truth, that my uncle had pointed me out to him as an object of his vengeance, and that captain hawkins was too dutiful and too dependent a son not to obey him. the state of my father was more distressing than ever, but there was something very ludicrous in his fancies. he had fancied himself a jackass, and had brayed for a week, kicking the old nurse in the stomach, so as to double her up like a hedgehog. he had taken it into his head that he was a pump; and, with one arm held out as a spout, he had obliged the poor old nurse to work the other up and down for hours together. at another time, he had an idea that he was a woman in labour, and they were obliged to give him a strong dose of calomel, and borrow a child of six years old from a neighbour, to make him believe that he was delivered. he was perfectly satisfied, although the child was born to him in cloth trousers, and a jacket with three rows of sugar-loaf buttons. aye, said he, it was those buttons which hurt my side so much. in fact, there was a string of strange conceptions of this kind that had accumulated, so as to drive my poor sister almost mad; and sometimes his ideas would be attended with a very heavy expense, as he would send for architects, make contracts, &c., for building, supposing himself to have come to the title and property of his brother. this, being the basis of his disease, occurred frequently. i wrote to poor ellen, giving her my best advice, and by this time the brig was again ready for sea, and we expected to sail immediately. i did not forget to write to o'brien, but the distance between us was so great that i knew i could not obtain his answer probably for a year, and i felt a melancholy foreboding how much i required his advice. our orders were to proceed to portsmouth, and join a convoy collected there, bound up the baltic, under the charge of the _acasta_ frigate, and two other vessels. we did not sail with any pleasure, or hopes of gaining much in the way of prize-money. our captain was enough to make any ship a hell; and our ship's company were composed of a mutinous and incorrigible set of scoundrels, with, of course, a few exceptions. how different did the officers find the brig after losing such a captain as o'brien, and so fine a ship's company! but there was no help for it, and all we had to do was to make the best of it, and hope for better times. the cat was at work nearly every day, and i must acknowledge that, generally speaking, it was deserved; although sometimes a report from the sergeant of marines of any good man favoured by me, was certain to be attended to. this system of receiving reports direct from an inferior officer, instead of through me, as first lieutenant, became so annoying, that i resolved, at all risk, to expostulate. i soon had an opportunity, for one morning the captain said to me, "mr simple, i understand that you had a fire in the galley last night after hours." "it is very true, sir, that i did order a stove to be lighted; but may i inquire whether the first lieutenant has not a discretionary power in that point? and further, how it is that i am reported to you by other people? the discipline of this ship is carried on by me, under your directions, and all reports ought to come through me; and i cannot understand upon what grounds you permit them through any other channel." "i command my own ship, sir, and shall do as i please in that respect. when i have officers i can confide in, i shall, in all probability, allow them to report to me." "if there is anything in my conduct which has proved to you that i am incapable, or not trustworthy, i would feel obliged to you, sir, if you would, in the first place, point it out;--and, in the next, bring me to a court-martial if i do not correct it." "i am no court-martial man, sir," replied he, "but i am not to be dictated to by an inferior officer, so you'll oblige me by holding your tongue. the sergeant of marines, as master-at-arms, is bound to report to me any deviation from the regulations i have laid down for the discipline of the ship." "granted, sir; but that report, according to the custom of the service, should come through the first lieutenant." "i prefer it coming direct, sir;--it stands less chance of being garbled." "thank you, captain hawkins, for the compliment." the captain walked away without further reply, and shortly after went down below. swinburne ranged up alongside of me as soon as the captain disappeared. "well, mr simple, so i hear we are bound to the baltic. why couldn't they have ordered us to pick up the convoy off yarmouth, instead of coming all the way to portsmouth? we shall be in to-morrow with this slant of wind." "i suppose the convoy are not yet collected, swinburne; and you recollect there's no want of french privateers in the channel." "very true, sir." "when were you up the baltic, swinburne?" "i was in the old _st george_, a regular old ninety-eight; she sailed just like a hay-stack, one mile ahead and three to leeward. lord bless you, mr simple, the cattegat wasn't wide enough for her; but she was a comfortable sort of vessel after all, excepting on a lee-shore, so we used always to give the land a wide berth, i recollect. by the bye, mr simple, do you recollect how angry you were because i didn't peach at barbadoes, when the men _sucked the monkey?_" "to be sure i do." "well, then, i didn't think it fair then, as i was one of them. but now that i'm a bit of an officer, i just tell you that when we get to carlscrona there's a method of _sucking the monkey_ there, which, as first lieutenant, with such a queer sort of captain, it is just as well that you should be up to. in the old _st george_ we had seventy men drunk one afternoon, and the first lieutenant couldn't find it out nohow." "indeed, swinburne, you must let me into that secret." "so i will, mr simple. don't you know there's a famous stuff for cuts and wounds, called balsam?" "what, riga balsam?" "yes, that's it; well, all the boats will bring that for sale, as they did to us in the old _st george_. devilish good stuff it is for wounds, i believe; but it's not bad to drink, and it's very strong. we used to take it _inwardly_, mr simple, and the first lieutenant never guessed it." "what! you all got tipsy upon riga balsam?" "all that could; so i just give you a hint." "i'm much obliged to you, swinburne; i certainly never should have suspected it. i believe seamen would get drunk upon anything." the next morning we anchored at spithead, and found the convoy ready for sea. the captain went on shore to report himself to the admiral, and, as usual, the brig was surrounded with bumboats and wherries, with people who wished to come on board. as we were not known on the portsmouth station, and had no acquaintance with the people, all the bumboats were very anxious to supply the ship: and, as this is at the option of the first lieutenant, he is very much persecuted until he has made his decision. certificates of good conduct from other officers were handed up the side from all of them; and i looked over the books at the capstern. in the second book the name struck me; it was that of mrs trotter, and i walked to the gangway out of curiosity, to ascertain whether it was the same personage who, when i was a youngster, had taken such care of my shirts. as i looked at the boats, a voice cried out, "o, mr simple, have you forgot your old friend? don't you recollect mrs trotter?" i certainly did not recollect her; she had grown very fat, and, although more advanced in years, was a better-looking woman than when i had first seen her, for she looked healthy and fresh. "indeed, i hardly did recollect you, mrs trotter." "i've so much to tell you, mr simple," replied she, ordering the boat to pull alongside; and, as she was coming up, desired the man to get the things in, as if permission was quite unnecessary. i did not counter-order it, as i knew none of the others, and, as far as honesty was concerned, believed them all to be much on a par. on the strength, then, of old acquaintance, mrs trotter was admitted. "well, i'm sure, mr simple," cried mrs trotter, out of breath with climbing up the brig's side; "what a man you've grown,--and such a handsome man, too! dear, dear, it makes me feel quite old to look at you, when i call to mind the little boy whom i had charge of in the cockpit. don't you think i look very old and ugly, mr simple?" continued she, smiling and smirking. "indeed, mrs trotter, i think you wear very well. pray, how is your husband?" "ah, mr simple, poor dear mr trotter--he's gone. poor fellow! no wonder; what with his drinking, and his love for me--and his jealousy--(do you recollect how jealous he was, mr simple?)--he wore himself out at last. no wonder, considering what he had been accustomed to, after keeping his carriage and dogs with everybody, to be reduced to see his wife go a _bumming_. it broke his heart, poor fellow! and, mr simple, i've been much happier ever since, for i could not bear to see him fretting. lord, how jealous he was--and all about nothing! don't you want some fresh meat for the gun-room? i've a nice leg of mutton in the boat, and some milk for tea." "recollect, mrs trotter, i shall not overlook your bringing spirits on board." "lord, mr simple, how could you think of such a thing? it's very true that these common people do it, but the company i have kept, the society i have been in, mr simple! besides, you must recollect that i never drank anything but water." i could not exactly coincide with her, but i did not contradict her. "would you like the portsmouth paper, mr simple?" taking one out of her pocket; "i know gentlemen are fond of the news. poor trotter used never to stir from the breakfast table until he had finished the daily paper-- but that was when we lived in very different style. have you any clothes to wash, mr simple,--or have any of the gentlemen?" "i fear we have no time, we sail too soon," replied i; "we go with the convoy." "indeed!" cried mrs trotter, who walked to the main hatchway and called to her man bill. i heard her give him directions to sell nothing upon trust, in consequence of the intelligence of our immediate sailing. "i beg your pardon, mr simple, i was only desiring my head man to send for your steward, that he might be supplied with the best, and to save some milk for the gun-room." "and i must beg your pardon, mrs trotter, for i must attend to my duty." mrs trotter made her courtesy and walked down the main ladder to attend to _her duty_, and we separated. i was informed that she had a great deal of custom, as she understood how to manage the officers, and made herself generally useful to them. she had been a bumboat woman for six years, and had made a great deal of money. indeed, it was reported, that if a _first lieutenant_ wanted forty or fifty pounds, mrs trotter would always lend it to him, without requiring his promissory note. the captain came on board in the evening, having dined with the admiral, and left directions for having all ready for unmooring and heaving short at daylight. the signal was made from the frigate at sunrise, and before twelve o'clock we were all under weigh, and running past st helen's with a favourable wind. our force consisted of the _acasta_ frigate, the _isis_ ship, sloop, mounting twenty guns, the _reindeer_, eighteen, and our own brig. the convoy amounted to nearly two hundred. although the wind was fair, and the water smooth, we were more than a week before we made anholt light, owing _to_ the bad sailing and inattention of many of the vessels belonging to the convoy. we were constantly employed repeating signals, firing guns, and often sent back to tow up the sternmost vessels. at last we passed the anholt light, with a light breeze; and the next morning the main land was to be distinguished on both bows. chapter lviii how we passed the sound, and what passed in the sound the captain overhears again a conversation between swinburne and me. i was on the signal-chest abaft, counting the convoy, when swinburne came up to me. "there's a little difference between this part of the world and the west indies, mr simple," observed he. "black rocks and fir woods don't remind us of the blue mountains of jamaica, or the cocoa-nut waving to the sea-breeze." "indeed not, swinburne," replied i. "we shall have plenty of calms here, without panting with the heat, although we may find the gun-boats a little too warm for us; for, depend upon it, the very moment the wind goes down, they will come out from every nook and corner, and annoy us not a little." "have you been here before, with a convoy, swinburne?" "to be sure i have; and it's sharp work that i've seen here, mr simple-- work that i've an idea our captain won't have much stomach for." "swinburne, i beg you will keep your thoughts relative to the captain to yourself; recollect the last time. it is my duty not to listen to them." "and i should rather think to report them also, mr simple," said captain hawkins, who had crept up to us, and overheard our conversation. "in this instance there is no occasion for my reporting them, sir," replied i, "for you have heard what has passed." "i have, sir," replied he; "and i shall not forget the conversation." i turned forward. swinburne had made his retreat the moment that he heard the voice of the captain. "how many sails are there in sight, sir?" inquired the captain. "one hundred and sixty-three, sir," replied i. "signal for convoy to close from the _acasta_" reported the midshipman of the watch. we repeated it, and the captain descended to his cabin. we were then running about four miles an hour, the water very smooth, and anholt lighthouse hardly visible on deck, bearing n.n.w. about twenty miles. in fact, we were near the entrance of the sound, which, the reader may be aware, is a narrow passage leading into the baltic sea. we ran on, followed by the convoy, some of which were eight or ten miles astern of us, and we were well into the sound, when the wind gradually died away, until it fell quite calm, and the heads of the vessels were laid round the compass. my watch was nearly out, when the midshipman, who was looking round with his glass on the copenhagen side, reported three gun-boats, sweeping out from behind a point. i examined them and went down to report them to the captain. when i came on deck, more were reported, until we counted ten, two of them large vessels, called praams. the captain now came on deck, and i reported them. we made the signal of enemy in sight, to the _acasta_, which was answered. they divided--six of them pulling along shore towards the convoy in the rear, and four coming out right for the brig. the _acasta_ now made the signal for "boats manned and armed to be held in readiness." we hoisted out our pinnace, and lowered down our cutters--the other men-of-war doing the same. in about a quarter of an hour the gun-boats opened their fire with their long thirty-two pounders, and their first shot went right through the hull of the brig, just abaft the fore-bits; fortunately, no one was hurt. i turned round to look at the captain; he was as white as a sheet. he caught my eye, and turned aft, when he was met by swinburne's eye, steadily fixed upon him. he then walked to the other side of the deck. another shot ploughed up the water close to us, rose, and came through the hammock-netting, tearing out two of the hammocks, and throwing them on the quarter-deck, when the _acasta_ hoisted out pennants, and made the signal to send our pinnace and cutter to the assistance of vessels astern. the signal was also made to the _isis_ and _reindeer_. i reported the signal, and inquired who was to take the command. "you, mr simple, will take the pinnace, and order mr swinburne into the cutter." "mr swinburne, sir!" replied i; "the brig will, in all probability, be in action soon, and his services as a gunner will be required." "well, then, mr hilton may go. beat to quarters. where is mr webster?"[ ] the second lieutenant was close to us, and he was ordered to take the duty during my absence. i jumped into the pinnace, and shoved off; ten other boats from the _acasta_ and the other men-of-war were pulling in the same direction, and i joined them. the gun-boats had now opened fire upon the convoy astern, and were sweeping out to capture them, dividing themselves into two parts, and pulling towards different portions of the convoy. in half an hour we were within gunshot of the nearest, which directed its fire at us; but the lieutenant of the _acasta_, who commanded the detachment, ordered us to lie on our oars for a minute, while he divided his force in three divisions, of four boats each, with instructions that we should each oppose a division of two gun-boats, by pulling to the outermost vessel of the convoy, and securing ourselves as much as possible from the fire, by remaining under her lee, and be in readiness to take them by boarding, if they approached to capture any of our vessels. this was well arranged. i had the command of one division, for the first lieutenants had not been sent away from the _isis_ and _reindeer_, and having inquired which of the divisions of gun-boats i was to oppose, i pulled for them. in the meantime, we observed that the two praams, and two gun-boats, which had remained behind us, and had been firing at the _racehorse_, had also divided--one praam attacking the _acasta_, the two gun-boats playing upon the _isis_, and the other praam engaging the _rattlesnake_ and _reindeer_; the latter vessel being in a line with us, and about half a mile further out, so that she could not return any effectual fire, or, indeed, receive much damage. the _rattlesnake_ had the worst of it, the fire of the praam being chiefly directed to her. at the distance chosen by the enemy, the frigate's guns reached, but the other men-of-war, having only two long guns, were not able to return the fire but with their two, the carronades being useless. one of the praams mounted ten guns, and the other eight. the last was opposed to the _rattlesnake_, and the fire was kept up very smartly, particularly by the _acasta_ and the enemy. in about a quarter of an hour i arrived with my division close to the vessel which was nearest to the enemy. it was a large sunderland-built ship. the gun-boats, which were within a quarter of a mile of her, sweeping to her as fast as they could, as soon as they perceived our approach, directed their fire upon us, but without success, except the last discharge, in which, we being near enough, they had loaded with grape. the shot fell a little short, but one piece of grape struck one of the bowmen of the pinnace, taking off three fingers of his right hand as he was pulling his oar. before they could fire again, we were sheltered by the vessel, pulling close to her side, hid from the enemy. my boat was the only one in the division which carried a gun, and i now loaded, waiting for the discharge of the gun-boats, and then, pulling a little ahead of the ship, fired at them, and then returned under cover to load. this continued for some time, the enemy not advancing nearer, but now firing into the sunderland ship, which protected us. at last the master of the ship looked over the side, and said to me, "i say, my joker, do you call this _giving me assistance?_ i think i was better off before you came. then i had only my share of the enemy's fire, but now that you have come, i have it all. i'm riddled like a sieve, and have lost four men already. suppose you give me a spell now--pull behind the vessel ahead of us. i'll take my chance." i thought this request very reasonable, and as i should be really nearer to the enemy if i pulled to the next vessel, and all ready to support him if attacked, i complied with his wish. i had positive orders not to board with so small a force (the four boats containing but forty men, and each gun-boat having at least seventy), unless they advanced to capture, and then i was to run all risks. i pulled up to the other vessel, a large brig, and the captain, as soon as we came alongside, said, "i see what you're about, and i'll just leave you my vessel to take care of. no use losing my men, or being knocked on the head." "all's right--you can't do better, and we can't do better either." his boat was lowered down, and getting in with his men, he pulled to another vessel, and lay behind it, all ready to pull back if a breeze sprang up. as was to be expected, the gun-boats shifted their fire to the deserted vessel, which our boat lay behind; and thus did the action in our quarter continue until it was dark, the gun-boats not choosing to advance, and we restricted from pulling out to attack them. there was no moon, and, as daylight disappeared, the effect was very beautiful. in the distance, the cannonading of the frigate, and other men-of-war, answered by the praams and gunboats, reinforced by six more, as we afterwards found out--the vivid flashing of the guns, reflected by the water, as smooth as glass--the dark outlines of the numerous convoy, with their sails hanging down the masts, one portion of the convoy appearing for a moment, as the guns were discharged in that direction, and then disappearing, while others were momentarily seen--the roar of the heavy guns opposed to us--the crashing of the timbers of the brig, which was struck at every discharge, and very often perforated--with the whizzing of the shot as it passed by;--all this in a dark yet clear night, with every star in the heavens twinkling, and, as it were, looking down upon us, was interesting as well as awful. but i soon perceived that the gun-boats were nearing us every time that they fired, and i now discharged grape alone, waiting for the flash of the fire to ascertain their direction. at last i could perceive their long, low hulls, not two cables' length from us, and their sweeps lifting from the water. it was plain that they were advancing to board, and i resolved to anticipate them if possible. i had fired ahead of the brig, and i now pulled with all my boats astern, giving my orders to the officers, and laying on our oars in readiness. the gun-boats were about half a cable's length from each other, pulling up abreast, and passing us at about the same distance, when i directed the men to give way. i had determined to throw all my force upon the nearest boat, and in half a minute our bows were forced between their sweeps, which we caught hold of to force our way alongside. the resistance of the danes was very determined. three times did i obtain a footing on the deck, and three times was i thrown back into the boats. at last we had fairly obtained our ground, and were driving them gradually forward, when, as i ran on the gunwale to obtain a position more in advance of my men, i received a blow with the butt end of a musket--i believe on the shoulder--which knocked me overboard, and i fell between the sweeps, and sunk under the vessel's bottom. i rose under her stern; but i was so shook with the violence of the blow, that i was for some time confused; still i had strength to keep myself above water, and paddled, as it appeared, away from the vessel, until i hit against a sweep which had fallen overboard. this supported me, and i gradually recovered myself. the loud report of a gun close to me startled me, and i perceived that it was from the gun-boat which i had boarded, and that her head was turned in the direction of the other gun-boat. from this, with the noise of the sweeps pulling, i knew that my men had succeeded in capturing her. i hallooed, but they did not hear me, and i soon lost sight of her. another gun was now fired; it was from the other gun-boat retreating, and i perceived her pulling in-shore, for she passed me not twenty yards off. i now held the sweep with my hands, and struck out off the shore, in the direction of the convoy. a light breeze rippled the water, and i knew that i had no time to lose. in about five minutes i heard the sound of oars, and perceived a boat crossing me. i hailed as loud as i could--they heard me, laid on their oars--and i hailed again--they pulled to me, and took me in. it was the master of the brig, who, aware of the capture of one gun-boat, and the retreat of the other, was looking for his vessel; or, as he told me, for what was left of her. in a short time we found her, and, although very much cut up, she had received no shot under water. in an hour the breeze was strong, the cannonading had ceased in every direction, and we had repaired her damages, so as to be able to make sail, and continue our course through the sound. here i may as well relate the events of the action. one of the other divisions of gun-boats had retreated when attacked by the boats. the other had beaten off the boats, and killed many of the men, but had suffered so much themselves, as to retreat without making any capture. the _acasta_ lost four men killed, and seven wounded; the _isis_, three men wounded; the _reindeer_ had nobody hurt; the _rattlesnake_ had six men killed, and two wounded, including the captain; but of that i shall speak hereafter. i found that i was by no means seriously hurt by the blow i had received: my shoulder was stiff for a week, and very much discoloured, but nothing more. when i fell overboard i had struck against a sweep, which had cut my ear half off. the captain of the brig gave me dry clothes, and in a few hours i was very comfortably asleep, hoping to join my ship the next day; but in this i was disappointed. the breeze was favourable and fresh, and we were clear of the sound, but a long way astern of the convoy, and none of the headmost men-of-war to be seen. i dressed and went on deck, and immediately perceived that i had little chance of joining my ship until we arrived at carlscrona, which proved to be the case. about ten o'clock, the wind died away, and we had from that time such baffling light winds, that it was six days before we dropped our anchor, every vessel of the convoy having arrived before us. [footnote : webster, however, had left the ship at yarmouth. see p. .--ed.] chapter lix the dead man attends at the auction of his own effects, and bids the sale to stop--one more than was wanted--peter steps into his shoes again--captain hawkins takes a friendly interest in peter's papers-- riga balsam sternly refused to be admitted for the relief of the ship's company. as soon as the sails were furled, i thanked the master of the vessel for his kindness, and requested the boat. he ordered it to be manned, saying, "how glad your captain will be to see you!" i doubted that. we shook hands, and i pulled to the _rattlesnake_, which lay about two cables' length astern of us. i had put on a jacket, when i left the brig on service, and coming in a merchantman's boat, no attention was paid to me; indeed, owing to circumstances, no one was on the look-out, and i ascended the side unperceived. the men and officers were on the quarter-deck, attending the sale of dead men's effects before the mast; and every eye was fixed upon six pair of nankeen trousers exposed by the purser's steward which i recognized as my own. "nine shillings for six pair of nankeen trousers," cried the purser's steward. "come, my men, they're worth more than that," observed the captain, who appeared to be very facetious. "it's better to be in his trousers than in his shoes." this brutal remark created a silence for a moment. "well, then, steward, let them go. one would think that pulling on his trousers would make you as afraid as he was," continued the captain, laughing. "shame!" was cried out by one or two of the officers, and i recognised swinburne's voice as one. "more likely if they put on yours," cried i, in a loud, indignant tone. everybody started, and turned round; captain hawkins staggered to a carronade: "i beg to report myself as having rejoined my ship, sir," continued i. "hurrah, my lads! three cheers for mr simple!" said swinburne. the men gave them with emphasis. the captain looked at me, and without saying a word, hastily retreated to his cabin. i perceived, as he went down, that he had his arm in a sling. i thanked the men for their kind feeling towards me, shook hands with thompson and webster, who warmly congratulated me, and then with old swinburne, (who nearly wrung my arm off, and gave my shoulder such pain as to make me cry out,) and with the others who extended theirs. i desired the sale of my effects to be stopped; fortunately for me, it had but just begun, and the articles were all returned. thompson had informed the captain that he knew my father's address, and would take charge of my clothes, and send them home, but the captain would not allow him. in a few minutes, i received a letter from the captain, desiring me to acquaint him in writing, for the information of the senior officer, in what manner i had escaped. i went down below, when i found one very melancholy face, that of the passed midshipman of the _acasta_, who had received an acting order in my place. when i went to my desk, i found two important articles missing; one, my private letter-book, and the other, the journal which i kept of what passed, and from which this narrative has been compiled. i inquired of my messmates, who stated that the desk had not been looked into by any one but the captain, who, of course, must have possessed himself of those important documents. i wrote a letter containing a short narrative of what had happened, and, at the same time, another on service to the captain, requesting that he would deliver up my property, the private journal, and letter-book in his possession. the captain, as soon as he received my letters, sent up word for his boat to be manned. as soon as it was manned, i reported it, and then begged to know whether he intended to comply with my request. he answered that he should not, and then went on deck, and quitted the brig to pull on board of the senior officer. i therefore determined immediately to write to the captain of the _acasta_, acquainting him with the conduct of captain hawkins, and requesting his interference. this i did immediately, and the boat that had brought me on board not having left the brig, i sent the letter by it, requesting them to put it into the hands of one of the officers. the letter was received previous to captain hawkins' visit being over, and the captain of the _acasta_ put it into his hands, inquiring if the statement were correct. captain hawkins replied that it was true that he had detained these papers, as there was so much mutiny and disaffection in them, and that he should not return them to me. "that i cannot permit," replied the captain of the _acasta_, who was aware of the character of captain hawkins; "if, by mistake, you have been put in possession of any of mr simple's secrets, you are bound in honour not to make use of them; neither can you retain property not your own." but captain hawkins was determined, and refused to give them to me. "well, then, captain hawkins," replied the captain of the _acasta_, "you will oblige me by remaining on my quarter-deck till i come out of the cabin." the captain of the _acasta_ then wrote an order, directing captain hawkins immediately to deliver up _to him_ the papers of mine in his possession; and coming out of the cabin, put it into captain hawkins' hands, saying, "now, sir, here is a written order from your superior officer. disobey it, if you dare. if you do, i will put you under arrest, and try you by a court-martial. i can only regret, that any captain in his majesty's service should be forced in this way to do his duty as a gentleman and a man of honour." captain hawkins bit his lip at the order, and the cutting remarks accompanying it. "your boat is manned, sir," said the captain of the _acasta_, in a severe tone. captain hawkins came on board, sealed up the books, and sent them to the captain of the _acasta_, who re-directed them to me, on his majesty's service, and returned them by the same boat. the public may therefore thank the captain of the _acasta_ for the memoirs which they are now reading. from my messmates i gained the following intelligence of what had passed after i had quitted the brig. the fire of the praam had cut them up severely, and captain hawkins had been struck in the arm with a piece of the hammock-rail, which had been shot away shortly after i left. although the skin only was razed, he thought proper to consider himself badly wounded; and giving up the command to mr webster, the second lieutenant, had retreated below, where he remained until the action was over. when mr webster reported the return of the boats, with the capture of the gun-boat, and my supposed death, he was so delighted, that he quite forgot his wound, and ran on deck, rubbing his hands as he walked up and down. at last, he recollected himself, went down into his cabin, and came up again with his arm in a sling. the next morning he went on board of the _acasta_, and made his report to the senior officer, bringing back with him the disappointed passed-midshipman as my successor. he had also stated on the quarter-deck, that if i had not been killed, he intended to have tried me by a court-martial, and have turned me out of the service; that he had quite enough charges to ruin me, for he had been collecting them ever since i had been under his command; and that now he would make that old scoundrel of a gunner repent his intimacy with me. all this was confided to the surgeon, who, as i before observed, was very much of a courtier; but the surgeon had repeated it to thompson, the master, who now gave me the information. there was one advantage in all this, which was that i knew exactly the position in which i stood, and what i had to expect. during the short time that we remained in port, i took care that _riga balsam_ should not be allowed to come alongside, and the men were all sober. we received orders from the captain of the _acasta_ to join the admiral, who was off the texel in pursuance of directions he had received from the admiralty to despatch one of the squadron, and we were selected, from the dislike which he had taken to captain hawkins. chapter lx an old friend in a new case--heart of oak in swedish fur--a man's a man all the world over, and something more in many parts of it--peter gets reprimanded for being dilatory, but proves a title to a defence-- allowed. when we were about forty miles off the harbour, a frigate hove in sight. we made the private signal: she hoisted swedish colours, and kept away a couple of points to close with us. we were within two miles of her when she up courses and took in her topgallant sails. as we closed to within two cables' lengths, she hove-to. we did the same; and the captain desired me to lower down the boat, and board her, ask her name, by whom she was commanded, and offer any assistance if the captain required it. this was the usual custom of the service, and i went on board in obedience to my orders. when i arrived on the quarter-deck, i asked in french, whether there was any one who spoke it. the first lieutenant came forward, and took off his hat: i stated that i was requested to ask the name of the vessel and the commanding officer, to insert it in our log, and to offer any service that we could command. he replied that the captain was on deck, and turned round, but the captain had gone down below. "i will inform him of your message--i had no idea that he had quitted the deck;" and the first lieutenant left me. i exchanged a few compliments and a little news with the officers on deck, who appeared to be very gentlemanlike fellows, when the first lieutenant requested my presence in the cabin. i descended--the door was opened--i was announced by the first lieutenant, and he quitted the cabin. i looked at the captain, who was sitting at the table: he was a fine, stout man, with two or three ribands at his button-hole, and a large pair of moustachios. i thought that i had seen him before, but i could not recollect when: his face was certainly familiar to me, but, as i had been informed by the officers on deck, that the captain was a count shucksen, a person i had never heard of, i thought that i must be mistaken. i therefore addressed him in french, paying him a long compliment, with all the necessary _et ceteras_. the captain turned round to me, took his hand away from his forehead, which it had shaded, and looking me full in the face, replied, "mr simple, i don't understand but very little french. spin your yarn in plain english." i started--"i thought that i knew your face," replied i; "am i mistaken?--no, it must be--mr chucks!" "you are right, my dear mr simple: it is your old friend, chucks, the boatswain, whom you now see. i knew you as soon as you came up the side, and i was afraid that you would immediately recognize me, and i slipped down into the cabin (for which apparent rudeness allow me to apologise), that you might not explain before the officers." we shook hands heartily, and then he requested me to sit down. "but," said i, "they told me on deck that the frigate was commanded by a count shucksen." "that is my present rank, my dear peter," said he; "but as you have no time to lose, i will explain all. i know i can trust to your honour. you remember that you left me, as you and i supposed, dying in the privateer, with the captain's jacket and epaulettes on my shoulders. when the boats came out, and you left the vessel, they boarded and found me. i was still breathing; and judging of my rank by the coat, they put me into the boat, and pushed on shore. the privateer sank very shortly after. i was not expected to live, but in a few days a change took place, and i was better. they asked me my name, and i gave my own, which they lengthened into shucksen, somehow or another. i recovered by a miracle, and am now as well as ever i was in my life. they were not a little proud of having captured a captain in the british service, as they supposed, for they never questioned me as to my real rank. after some weeks i was sent home to denmark in a running vessel; but it so happened, that we met with a gale, and were wrecked on the swedish coast, close to carlscrona. the danes were at that time at war, having joined the russians; and they were made prisoners, while i was of course liberated, and treated with great distinction; but as i could not speak either french or their own language, i could not get on very well. however, i had a handsome allowance, and permission to go to england as soon as i pleased. the swedes were then at war with the russians, and were fitting out their fleet; but, lord bless them! they didn't know much about it. i amused myself walking in the dockyard, and looking at their motions; but they had not thirty men in the fleet who knew what they were about, and, as for a man to set them going, there wasn't one. well, peter, you know i could not be idle, and so by degrees i told one, and then told another--until they went the right way to work; and the captains and officers were very much obliged to me. at last, they all came to me, and if they did not understand me entirely, i showed them how to do it with my own hands; and the fleet began to make a show with their rigging. the admiral who commanded was very much obliged, and i seemed to come as regularly to my work as if i was paid for it. at last, the admiral came with an english interpreter, and asked me whether i was anxious to go back to england, or would i like to join their service. i saw what they wanted, and i replied that i had neither wife nor child in england, and that i liked their country very much; but i must take time to consider of it, and must also know what they had to propose. i went home to my lodgings, and, to make them more anxious, i did not make my appearance at the dockyard for three or four days, when a letter came from the admiral, offering me the command of a frigate if i would join their service. i replied, (for i knew how much they wanted me,) that i would prefer an english frigate to a swedish one, and that i would not consent unless they offered something more; and then, with the express stipulation that i should not take arms against my own country. they then waited for a week, when they offered to make me a _count_, and give me the command of a frigate. this suited me, as you may suppose, peter; it was the darling wish of my heart--i was to be made a gentleman. i consented, and was made count shucksen, and had a fine large frigate under my command. i then set to work with a will, superintended the fitting out of the whole fleet, and showed them what an englishman could do. we sailed, and you of course know the brush we had with the russians, which, i must say, did us no discredit. i was fortunate to distinguish myself, for i exchanged several broadsides with a russian two-deck ship, and came off with honour. when we went into port i got this riband. i was out afterwards, and fell in with a russian frigate, and captured her, for which i received this other riband. since that i have been in high favour, and now that i speak the languages, i like the people very much. i am often at court when i am in harbour; and, peter, i am _married_." "i wish you joy, count, with all my heart." "yes, and well married too--to a swedish countess of very high family, and i expect that i have a little boy or girl by this time. so you observe, peter, that i am at last a gentleman, and, what is more, my children will be noble by two descents. who would have thought that this would have been occasioned by my throwing the captain's jacket into the boat instead of my own? and now, my dear mr simple, that i have made you my confidant, i need not say, do not say a word about it to anybody. they certainly could not do me much harm, but still, they might do me some; and although i am not likely to meet any one who may recognize me in this uniform and these moustachios, it's just as well to keep the secret, which to you and o'brien only would i have confided." "my dear count," replied i, "your secret is safe with me. you have come to your title before me, at all events; and i sincerely wish you joy, for you have obtained it honourably; but, although i would like to talk with you for days, i must return on board, for i am now sailing with a very unpleasant captain." i then, in a few words, stated where o'brien was; and when we parted, i went with him on deck, count shucksen taking my arm, and introducing me as an old shipmate to his officers. "i hope we may meet again," said i, "but i am afraid there is little chance." "who knows?" replied he; "see what chance has done for me. my dear peter, god bless you! you are one of the very few whom i always loved. god bless you, my boy! and never forget that all i have is at your command if you come my way." i thanked him, and saluting the officers, went down the side. as i expected, when i came on board, the captain demanded, in an angry tone, why i had stayed so long. i replied, that i was shown down into count shucksen's cabin, and he conversed so long, that i could not get away sooner, as it would not have been polite to have left him before he had finished his questions. i then gave a very civil message, and the captain said no more; the very name of a great man always silenced him. chapter lxi bad news from home, and worse on board--notwithstanding his previous trials, peter forced to prepare for another--mrs trotter again; improves as she grows old--captain hawkins and his twelve charges. no other event of consequence occurred until we joined the admiral, who only detained us three hours with the fleet, and then sent us home with his despatches. we arrived, after a quiet passage, at portsmouth, where i wrote immediately to my sister ellen, requesting to know the state of my father's health. i waited impatiently for an answer, and by return of post received one with a black seal. my father had died the day before from a brain fever; and ellen conjured me to obtain leave of absence, to come to her in her state of distress. the captain came on board the next morning, and i had a letter ready written on service to the admiral, stating the circumstances, and requesting leave of absence. i presented it to him, and entreated him to forward it. at any other time i would not have condescended, but the thoughts of my poor sister, unprotected and alone, with my father lying dead in the house, made me humble and submissive. captain hawkins read the letter, and very coolly replied, "that it was very easy to say that my father was dead, but he required proofs." even this insult did not affect me; i put my sister's letter into his hand--he read it, and as he returned it to me, he smiled maliciously. "it is impossible for me to forward your letter, mr simple, as i have one to deliver to you." he put a large folio packet into my hand, and went below. i opened it: it was a copy of a letter demanding a court-martial upon me, with a long list of the charges preferred by him. i was stupefied, not so much at his asking for a court-martial, but at the conviction of the impossibility of my now being able to go to the assistance of my poor sister. i went down into the gunroom and threw myself on a chair, at the same time tossing the letter to thompson, the master. he read it over carefully, and folded it up. "upon my word, simple, i do not see that you have much to fear. these charges are very frivolous." "no, no--that i care little about; but it is my poor sister. i had written for leave of absence, and now she is left, god knows how long, in such distressing circumstances." thompson looked grave. "i had forgotten your father's death, simple: it is indeed cruel. i would offer to go myself, but you will want my evidence at the court-martial. it can't be helped. write to your sister, and keep up her spirits. tell her why you cannot come, and that it will all end well." i did so, and went early to bed, for i was really ill. the next morning, the official letter from the port-admiral came off, acquainting me that a court-martial had been ordered upon me, and that it would take place that day week. i immediately resigned the command to the second lieutenant, and commenced an examination into the charges preferred. they were very numerous, and dated back almost to the very day that he had joined the ship. there were twelve in all. i shall not trouble the reader with the whole of them, as many were very frivolous. the principal charges were-- . for mutinous and disrespectful conduct to captain hawkins, on such a date, having, in a conversation with an inferior officer on the quarter-deck, stated that captain hawkins was a spy, and had spies in the ship. . for neglect of duty, in disobeying the orders of captain hawkins on the night of the ---- of ----. . for having, on the ---- of ----, sent away two boats from the ship, in direct opposition to the orders of captain hawkins. . for having again, on the morning of the ---- of ----, held mutinous and disrespectful conversation relative to captain hawkins with the gunner of the ship, allowing the latter to accuse captain hawkins of cowardice, without reporting the same. . for insulting expressions on the quarter-deck to captain hawkins on his rejoining the brig on the morning of the ---- of ----. . for not causing the orders of captain hawkins to be put in force on several occasions, &c. &c. &c. and further, as captain hawkins' testimony was necessary in two of the charges, the king, on _those charges,_ was the prosecutor. although most of these charges were frivolous, yet i at once perceived my danger. some were dated back many months, to the time before our ship's company had been changed: and i could not find the necessary witnesses. indeed, in all but the recent charges, not expecting to be called to a court-martial, i had serious difficulties to contend with. but the most serious was the first charge, which i knew not how to get over. swinburne had most decidedly referred to the captain when he talked of spy captains. however, with the assistance of thompson, i made the best defence i could, ready for my trial. two days before my court-martial i received a letter from ellen, who appeared in a state of distraction from this accumulation of misfortune. she told me that my father was to be buried the next day, and that the new rector had written to her, to know when it would be convenient for the vicarage to be given up. that my father's bills had been sent in, and amounted to twelve hundred pounds already; and that she knew not the extent of the whole claims. there appeared to be nothing left but the furniture of the house; and she wanted to know whether the debts were to be paid with the money i had left in the funds for her use. i wrote immediately, requesting her to liquidate every claim, as far as my money went, sending her an order upon my agent to draw for the whole amount, and a power of attorney to him to sell out the stock. i had just sealed the letter, when mrs trotter, who had attended the ship since our return to portsmouth, begged to speak with me, and walked in after her message, without waiting for an answer. "my dear mr simple," said she, "i know all that is going on, and i find that you have no lawyer to assist you. now i know that it is necessary, and will very probably be of great service in your defence--for when people are in distress and anxiety, they have not their wits about them; so i have brought a friend of mine from portsea, a very clever man, who, for my sake, will undertake your cause, and i hope you will not refuse him. you recollect giving me a dozen pair of stockings. i did not refuse them, nor shall you refuse me now. i always said to mr trotter, 'go to a lawyer;' and if he had taken my advice he would have done well. i recollect, when a hackney-coachman smashed the panel of our carriage-- 'trotter,' says i, 'go to a lawyer;' and he very politely answered, 'go to the devil!' but what was the consequence!--he's dead and i'm bumming. now, mr simple, will you oblige me?--it's all free gratis for nothing--not for nothing, for it's for my sake. you see, mr simple, i have admirers yet," concluded she, smiling. mrs trotter's advice was good; and although i would not listen to receiving his services gratuitously, i agreed to employ him; and very useful did he prove against such charges, and such a man as captain hawkins. he came on board that afternoon, carefully examined into all the documents and the witnesses whom i could bring forward, showed me the weak side of my defence, and took the papers on shore with him. every day he came on board to collect fresh evidence and examine into my case. at last the day arrived. i dressed myself in my best uniform. the gun fired from the admiral's ship, with the signal for a court-martial at nine o'clock; and i went on board in a boat, with all the witnesses. on my arrival, i was put under the custody of the provost-marshal. the captains ordered to attend pulled alongside one after another, and were received by a party of marines, presenting their arms. at half-past nine the court was all assembled, and i was ushered in. courts-martial are open courts, although no one is permitted to print the evidence. at the head of the long table was the admiral, as president; on his right hand, standing, was captain hawkins, as prosecutor. on each side of the table were six captains, sitting near to the admiral, according to their seniority. at the bottom, facing the admiral, was the judge-advocate, on whose left hand i stood, as prisoner. the witnesses called in to be examined were stationed on his right; and behind him, by the indulgence of the court, was a small table, at which sat my legal adviser, so close as to be able to communicate with me. the court were all sworn, and then took their seats. stauncheons, with ropes covered with green baize, passed along, were behind the chairs of the captains who composed the court, so that they might not be crowded upon by those who came in to listen to what passed. the charges were then read, as well as the letters to and from the admiral, by which the court-martial was demanded and granted: and then captain hawkins was desired to open his prosecution. he commenced with observing his great regret that he had been forced to a measure so repugnant to his feelings; his frequent cautions to me, and the indifference with which i treated them; and, after a preamble composed of every falsity that could be devised, he commenced with the first charge, and stating himself to be the witness, gave his evidence. when it was finished, i was asked if i had any questions to put. by the advice of my lawyer, i replied, "no." the president then asked the captains composing the court-martial, commencing according to their seniority, whether they wished to ask any questions. "i wish," said the second captain who was addressed, "to ask captain hawkins whether, when he came on deck, he came up in the usual way in which a captain of a man-of-war comes on his quarter-deck, or whether he slipped up without noise?" captain hawkins declared that he came up as he _usually did._ this was true enough, for he invariably came up by stealth. "pray, captain hawkins, as you have repeated a good deal of conversation which passed between the first lieutenant and the gunner, may i ask you how long you were by their side without their perceiving you?" "a very short time," was the answer. "but, captain hawkins, do you not think, allowing that you came up on deck in your _usual_ way, as you term it, that you would have done better to have hemmed or hawed, so as to let your officers know that you were present? i should be very sorry to hear all that might be said of me in my supposed absence." to this observation captain hawkins replied, that he was so astonished at the conversation, that he was quite breathless, having, till then, had the highest opinion of me. no more questions were asked, and they proceeded to the second charge. this was a very trifling one--for lighting a stove, contrary to orders; the evidence brought forward was the sergeant of marines. when his evidence in favour of the charge had been given, i was asked by the president if i had any questions to put to the witness. i put the following:-- "did you repeat to captain hawkins that i had ordered the stove to be lighted?"--"i did." "are you not in the custom of reporting, direct to the captain, any negligence, or disobedience of orders, you may witness in the ship?"--"i am." "did you ever report anything of the sort to me, as first lieutenant, or do you always report direct to the captain?" "i always report direct to the captain." "by the captain's orders?"--"yes." the following questions were then put by some of the members of the court:-- "you have served in other ships before?"--"yes." "did you ever, sailing with other captains, receive an order from them to report direct to them, and not through the first lieutenant?" the witness here prevaricated. "answer directly, yes or no."--"no." the third charge was then brought forward--for sending away boats contrary to express orders. this was substantiated by captain hawkins' own evidence, the order having been verbal. by the advice of my counsel, i put no questions to captain hawkins, neither did the court. the fourth charge--that of holding mutinous conversation with the gunner, and allowing him to accuse the captain of unwillingness to engage the enemy--was then again substantiated by captain hawkins, as the only witness. i again left my reply for my defence; and only one question was put by one of the members, which was, to inquire of captain hawkins, as he appeared peculiarly unfortunate in overhearing conversations, whether he walked up as usual to the taffrail, or whether he _crept up._ captain hawkins gave the same answer as before. the fifth charge--for insulting expressions to captain hawkins, on my rejoining the brig at carlscrona--was then brought forward, and the sergeant of marines and one of the seamen appeared as witnesses. this charge excited a great deal of amusement. in the cross-examination by the members of the court, captain hawkins was asked what he meant by the expression, when disposing of the clothes of an officer who was killed in action, that the men appeared to think that his trousers would instil fear. "nothing more, upon my honour, sir," replied captain hawkins, "than an implication that they were alarmed lest they should be haunted by his ghost." "then, of course, mr simple meant the same in his reply," observed the captain sarcastically. the remainder of the charges were then brought forward, but they were of little consequence. the witnesses were chiefly the sergeant of marines, and the spy-glass of captain hawkins, who had been watching me from the shore. it was late in the afternoon before they were all gone through; and the president then adjourned the court, that i might bring forward my own witnesses, in my defence, on the following day, and i returned on board the _rattlesnake_. chapter lxii a good defence not always good against a bad accusation--peter wins the heart of his judges, yet loses his cause, and is dismissed his ship. the next day i commenced my defence, and i preferred calling my own witnesses first, and, by the advice of my counsel, and at the request of swinburne, i called him. i put the following questions:--"when we were talking on the quarter-deck, was it fine weather?"--"yes, it was." "do you think that you might have heard any one coming on deck, in the usual way, up the companion ladder?" "sure of it." "do you mean, then, to imply that captain hawkins came up stealthily?" "i have an idea he pounced upon us as a cat does on a mouse." "what were the expressions made use of?" "i said that a spy captain would always find spy followers." "in that remark were you and mr simple referring to your own captain?"-- "the remark was mine. what mr simple was thinking of, i can't tell; but i _did_ refer to the captain, and he has proved that i was right." this bold answer of swinburne's rather astonished the court, who commenced cross-questioning him; but he kept to his original assertion--that i had only answered generally. to repel the second charge i produced no witnesses; but to the third charge i brought forward three witnesses to prove that captain hawkins's orders were that i should send no boats on shore, not that i should not send them on board of the men-of-war close to us. in answer to the fourth charge, i called swinburne, who stated that if i did not, he would come forward. swinburne acknowledged that he accused the captain of being shy, and that i reprimanded him for so doing. "did he say that he would report you?" inquired one of the captains. "no, sir," replied swinburne, "'cause he never meant to do it." this was an unfortunate answer. to the fifth charge, i brought several witnesses to prove the words of captain hawkins, and the sense in which they were taken by the ship's company, and the men calling out "shame!" when he used the expression. to refute the other charges i called one or two witnesses, and the court then adjourned, inquiring of me when i would be ready to commence my defence. i requested a day to prepare, which was readily granted; and the ensuing day the court did not sit. i hardly need say that i was busily employed, arranging my defence with my counsel. at last all was done, and i went to bed tired and unhappy; but i slept soundly, which could not be said of my counsel, for he went on shore at eleven o'clock, and sat up all night making a fair copy. after all, the fairest court of justice is a naval court-martial--no brow-beating of witnesses, an evident inclination towards the prisoner--every allowance and every favour granted him, and no legal quibbles attended to. it is a court of equity, with very few exceptions; and the humbler the individual, the greater the chance in his favour. i was awoke the following morning by my counsel, who had not gone to bed the previous night, and who had come off at seven o'clock to read over with me my defence. at nine o'clock i again proceeded on board, and in a short time the court was sitting. i came in, handed my defence to the judge-advocate, who read it aloud to the court. i have a copy still by me, and will give the whole of it to the reader. "mr president and gentlemen,--after nearly fourteen years' service in his majesty's navy, during which i have been twice made prisoner, twice wounded, and once wrecked; and, as i trust i shall prove to you, by certificates and the public despatches, i have done my duty with zeal and honour; i now find myself in a situation in which i never expected to be placed--that of being arraigned before and brought to a court-martial for charges of mutiny, disaffection, and disrespect towards my superior officer. if the honourable court will examine the certificates i am about to produce, they will find that, until i sailed with captain hawkins, my conduct has always been supposed to have been diametrically opposite to that which is now imputed to me. i have always been diligent and obedient to command; and i have only to regret that the captains with whom i have had the honour to sail are not now present to corroborate by their oral evidence the truth of these documents. allow me, in the first place, to point out to the court, that the charges against me are spread over a large space of time, amounting to nearly eighteen months, during the whole of which period captain hawkins never stated to me that it was his intention to try me by a court-martial; and, although repeatedly in the presence of a senior officer, has never preferred any charge against me. the articles of war state expressly that if any officer, soldier, or marine has any complaint to make he is to do so upon his arrival at any port or fleet where he may fall in with a superior officer. i admit that this article of war refers to complaints to be made by inferiors against superiors; but, at the same time, i venture to submit to the honourable court that a superior is equally bound to prefer a charge, or to give notice that the charge will be preferred, on the first seasonable opportunity, instead of lulling the offender into security, and disarming him in his defence, by allowing the time to run on so long as to render him incapable of bringing forward his witnesses. i take the liberty of calling this to your attention, and shall now proceed to answer the charges which have been brought against me. "i am accused of having held a conversation with an inferior officer on the quarter-deck of his majesty's brig _rattlesnake_, in which my captain was treated with contempt. that it may not be supposed that mr swinburne was a new acquaintance, made upon my joining the brig, i must observe that he was an old shipmate, with whom i had served many years, and with whose worth i was well acquainted. he was my instructor in my more youthful days, and has been rewarded for his merit, with the warrant which he now holds as gunner of his majesty's brig _rattlesnake_. the offensive observation, in the first place, was not mine; and, in the second, it was couched in general terms. here mr swinburne has pointedly confessed that _he_ did refer to the captain, although the observation was in the plural; but that does not prove the charge against me--on the contrary, adds weight to the assertion of mr swinburne, that i was guiltless of the present charge. that captain hawkins has acted as a spy, his own evidence on this charge, as well as that brought forward by other witnesses, will decidedly prove; but as the truth of the observation does not warrant the utterance, i am glad that no such expression escaped my lips. "upon the second charge i shall dwell but a short time. it is true that there is a general order that no stoves shall be alight after a certain hour; but i will appeal to the honourable court, whether a first lieutenant is not considered to have a degree of licence of judgment in all that concerns the interior discipline of the ship. the surgeon sent to say that a stove was required for one of the sick. i was in bed at the time, and replied immediately in the affirmative. does captain hawkins mean to assert to the honourable court, that he would have refused the request of the surgeon? most certainly not. the only error i committed, if it were an error, was not going through the form of awaking captain hawkins, to ask the permission, which, as first lieutenant, i thought myself authorized to give. "the charge against me, of having sent away two boats, contrary to his order, i have already disproved by witnesses. the order of captain hawkins was, not to communicate with the shore. my reasons for sending away the boats"--(here captain hawkins interposed, and stated to the president that my reasons were not necessary to be received. the court was cleared, and, on our return, the court had decided, that my reasons ought to be given, and i continued.) "my reasons for sending away these boats, or rather it was one boat which was despatched to the two frigates, if i remember well, were, that the brig was in a state of mutiny. the captain had tied up one of the men, and the ship's company refused to be flogged. captain hawkins then went on shore to the admiral, to report the situation of his ship, and i conceived it my duty to make it known to the men-of-war anchored close to us. i shall not enter into further particulars, as they will only detain the honourable court; and i am aware that this court-martial is held upon my conduct, and not upon that of captain hawkins. to the charge of again holding disrespectful language on the quarter-deck, as overheard by captain. hawkins, i must refer the honourable court to the evidence, in which it is plainly proved that the remarks upon him were not mine, but those of mr swinburne, and that i remonstrated with mr swinburne for using such unguarded expressions. the only point of difficulty is, whether it was not my duty to have reported such language. i reply, that there is no proof that i did not intend to report it; but the presence of captain hawkins, who heard what was said, rendered such report unnecessary. "on the fifth charge, i must beg that the court will be pleased to consider that some allowance ought to be made for a moment of irritation. my character was traduced by captain hawkins, supposing that i was dead; so much so, that even the ship's company cried out _shame._ i am aware, that no language of a superior officer can warrant a retort from an inferior; but, as what i intended to imply by that language is not yet known, although captain hawkins has given an explanation to his, i shall merely say, that i meant no more by my insinuations, than captain hawkins did at the time, by those which he made use of with respect to me. "upon the other trifling charges brought forward, i lay no stress, as i consider them fully refuted by the evidence which has been already adduced; and i shall merely observe, that, for reasons best known to himself, i have been met with a most decided hostility on the part of captain hawkins, from the time that he first joined the ship; that, on every occasion, he has used all his efforts to render me uncomfortable, and embroil me with others; that, not content with narrowly watching my conduct on board, he has resorted to his spy-glass from the shore; and, instead of assisting me in the execution of a duty sufficiently arduous, he has thrown every obstacle in my way, placed inferior officers as spies over my conduct, and made me feel so humiliated in the presence of the ship's company, over which i have had to superintend, and in the disciplining of which i had a right to look to him for support, that, were it not that some odium would necessarily be attached to the sentence, i should feel it as one of the happiest events of my life that i were dismissed from the situation which i now hold under his command. i now beg that the honourable court will allow the documents i lay upon the table to be read in support of my character." when this was over, the court was cleared, that they might decide upon the sentence. i waited about half an hour in the greatest anxiety, when i was again summoned to attend. the usual forms of reading the papers were gone through, and then came the sentence, which was read by the president, he and the whole court standing up with their cocked hats on their heads. after the preamble, it concluded with saying, "that it was the opinion of that court that the charges had been _partly_ proved, and therefore, that lieutenant peter simple was dismissed his ship; but, in consideration of his good character and services, his case was strongly recommended to the consideration of the lords commissioners of the admiralty." chapter lxiii peter looks upon his loss as something gained--goes on board the _rattlesnake_ to pack up, and is ordered to pack off--polite leave-taking between relations. mrs trotter better and better--goes to london, and afterwards falls into all manner of misfortunes by the hands of robbers, and of his own uncle. i hardly knew whether i felt glad or sorry at this sentence. on the one hand, it was almost a deathblow to my future advancement or employment in the service; on the other, the recommendation very much softened down the sentence, and i was quite happy to be quit of captain hawkins, and free to hasten to my poor sister. i bowed respectfully to the court, which immediately adjourned. captain hawkins followed the captains on the quarter-deck, but none of them would speak to him--so much to his disadvantage had come out during the trial. about ten minutes afterwards, one of the elder captains composing the court called me into the cabin. "mr simple," said he, "we are all very sorry for you. our sentence could not be more lenient, under the circumstances: it was that conversation with the gunner at the taffrail which floored you. it must be a warning to you to be more careful in future, how you permit any one to speak of the conduct of your superiors on the quarter-deck. i am desired by the president to let you know that it is our intention to express ourselves very strongly to the admiral in your behalf; so much so, that if another captain applies for you, you will have no difficulty in being appointed to a ship; and as for leaving your present ship, under any other circumstances i should consider it a matter of congratulation." i returned my sincere thanks, and soon afterwards quitted the guard-ship, and went on board of the brig to pack up my clothes, and take leave of my messmates. on my arrival, i found that captain hawkins had preceded me, and he was on deck when i came up the side. i hastened down into the gun-room, where i received the condolements of my messmates. "simple, i wish you joy," cried thompson, loud enough for the captain to hear on deck. "i wish i had your luck; i wish somebody would try me by a court-martial." "as it has turned out," replied i, in a loud voice, "and after the communication made to me by the captains composing the court, of what they intend to say to the admiralty, i agree with you, thompson, that it is a very kind act on the part of captain hawkins, and i feel quite grateful to them." "steward, come--glasses," cried thompson, "and let us drink success to mr simple." all this was very annoying to captain hawkins, who overheard every word. when our glasses were filled--"simple, your good health, and may i meet with as good a messmate," said thompson. at this moment, the sergeant of marines put his head in at the gun-room door, and said, in a most insolent tone, that i was to leave the ship immediately. i was so irritated, that i threw my glass of grog in his face, and he ran up to the captain to make the complaint; but i did not belong to the ship, and even if i had, i would have resented such impertinence. captain hawkins was in a great rage, and i believe would have written for another court-martial, but he had had enough of them. he inquired very particularly of the sergeant whether he had told me that i was to leave the ship directly, or whether, that captain hawkins desired that i should leave the ship immediately; and finding that he had not given the latter message (which i was aware of, for had he given it, i dare not have acted as i did); he then sent down again by one of the midshipmen, desiring me to leave the ship immediately. my reply was, that i should certainly obey his orders with the greatest pleasure. i hastened to pack up my clothes, reported myself ready to the second lieutenant, who went up for permission to man a boat, which was refused by captain hawkins, who said i might go on shore in a shore-boat. i called one alongside, shook hands with all my messmates, and when i arrived on the quarter-deck, with swinburne, and some of the best men, who came forward; captain hawkins stood by the binnacle, bursting with rage. as i went over the planeshear, i took my hat off to him, and wished him good-morning very respectfully, adding, "if you have any commands for my _uncle_, captain hawkins, i shall be glad to execute them." this observation, which showed him that i knew the connection and correspondence between them, made him gasp with emotion. "leave the ship, sir, or by god i'll put you in irons for mutiny," cried he. i again took off my hat, and went down the side, and shoved off. as soon as i was a few yards distant, the men jumped on the carronades and cheered, and i perceived captain hawkins order them down, and before i was a cable's length from her, the pipe "all hands to punishment;" so i presume some of the poor fellows suffered for their insubordination in showing their good will. i acknowledge that i might have left the ship in a more dignified manner, and that my conduct was not altogether correct; but still, i state what i really did do, and some allowance must be made for my feelings. this is certain, that my conduct after the court-martial, was more deserving of punishment, than that for which i had been tried. but i was in a state of feverish excitement, and hardly knew what i did. when i arrived at sally port, i had my effects wheeled up to the blue posts, and packing up those which i most required, i threw off my uniform, and was once more a gentleman at large. i took my place in the mail for that evening, sent a letter of thanks, with a few bank notes, to my counsel, and then sat down and wrote a long letter to o'brien, acquainting him with the events which had taken place. i had just finished, and sealed it up, when in came mrs trotter. "oh my dear mr simple! i'm so sorry, and i have come to console you. there's nothing like women when men are in affliction, as poor trotter used to say, as he laid his head in my lap. when do you go to town?" "this evening, mrs trotter." "i hope i am to continue to attend the ship?" "i hope so too, mrs trotter, i have no doubt but you will." "now, mr simple, how are you off for money? do you want a little? you can pay me by-and-by. don't be afraid. i'm not quite so poor as i was when you came down to mess with trotter and me, and when you gave me the dozen pair of stockings. i know what it is to want money, and what it is to want friends." "many thanks to you, mrs trotter," replied i; "but i have sufficient to take me home, and then i can obtain more." "well, i'm glad of it, but it was offered in earnest. good-bye, god bless you! come, mr simple, give me a kiss; it won't be the first time." i kissed her, for i felt grateful for her kindness; and with a little smirking and ogling she quitted the room. i could not help thinking, after she was gone, how little we know the hearts of others. if i had been asked if mrs trotter was a person to have done a generous action, from what i had seen of her in adversity, i should have decidedly said, no. yet in this offer she was disinterested, for she knew the service well enough to be aware that i had little chance of being a first lieutenant again, and of being of service to her. and how often does it also occur, that those who ought, from gratitude or long friendship, to do all they can to assist you, turn from you in your necessity, and prove false and treacherous! it is god alone who knows our hearts. i sent my letter to o'brien to the admiral's office, sat down to a dinner which i could not taste, and at seven o'clock got into the mail. when i arrived in town i was much worse, but i did not wait more than an hour. i took my place in a coach which did not go to the town near which we resided; for i had inquired and found that coach was full, and i did not choose to wait another day. the coach in which i took my place went within forty miles of the vicarage, and i intended to post across the country. the next evening i arrived at the point of separation, and taking out my portmanteau, ordered a chaise, and set off for what had once been my home. i could hardly hold my head up, i was so ill, and i lay in a corner of the chaise in a sort of dream, kept from sleeping from intense pain in the forehead and temples. it was about nine o'clock at night, when we were in a dreadful jolting road, the shocks proceeding from which gave me agonizing pain, that the chaise was stopped by two men, who dragged me out on the grass. one stood over me, while the other rifled the chaise. the post-boy, who appeared a party to the transaction, remained quietly on his horse, and as soon as they had taken my effects, turned round and drove off. they then rifled my person, taking away everything that i had, leaving me nothing but my trousers and shirt. after a short consultation, they ordered me to walk on in the direction in which we had been proceeding in the chaise, and to hasten as fast as i could, or they would blow my brains out. i complied with their request, thinking myself fortunate to have escaped so well. i knew that i was still thirty miles at least from the vicarage; but ill as i was, i hoped to be able to reach it on foot. i walked during the remainder of the night, but i got on but slowly. i reeled from one side of the road to the other, and occasionally sat down to rest. morning dawned, and i perceived habitations not far from me. i staggered on in my course. the fever now raged in me, my head was splitting with agony, and i tottered to a bank near a small neat cottage, on the side of the road. i have a faint recollection of some one coming to me and taking my hand, but nothing further; and it was not till many months afterwards, that i became acquainted with the circumstances which i now relate. it appears that the owner of the cottage was a half-pay lieutenant in the army, who had sold-out on account of his wounds. i was humanely taken into his house, laid on a bed, and a surgeon requested to come to me immediately. i had now lost all recollection, and who i was they could not ascertain. my pockets were empty, and it was only by the mark on my linen that they found that my name was simple. for three weeks i remained in a state of alternate stupor and delirium. when the latter came on, i raved of lord privilege, o'brien, and celeste. mr selwin, the officer who had so kindly assisted me, knew that simple was the patronymic name of lord privilege, and he immediately wrote to his lordship, stating that a young man of the name of simple, who, in his delirium called upon him and captain o'brien, was lying in a most dangerous state in his house, and, that as he presumed i was a relative of his lordship's he had deemed it right to apprise him of the fact. my uncle, who knew that it must be me, thought this too favourable an opportunity, provided i should live, not to have me in his power. he wrote to say that he would be there in a day or two; at the same time thanking mr selwin for his kind attention to his poor nephew, and requesting that no expense might be spared. when my uncle arrived, which he did in his own chariot, the crisis of the fever was over, but i was still in a state of stupor, arising from extreme debility. he thanked mr selwin for his attention, which he said he was afraid was of little avail, as i was every year becoming more deranged; and he expressed his fears that it would terminate in chronic lunacy. "his poor father died in the same state," continued my uncle, passing his hand across his eyes, as if much affected. "i have brought my physician with me, to see if he can be moved. i shall not be satisfied unless i am with him night and day." the physician (who was my uncle's valet) took me by the hand, felt my pulse, examined my eyes, and pronounced that it would be very easy to move me, and that i should recover sooner in a more airy room. of course, mr selwin raised no objections, putting down all to my uncle's regard for me; and my clothes were put on me, as i lay in a state of insensibility, and i was lifted into the chariot. it is most wonderful that i did not die from being thus taken out of my bed in such a state, but it pleased heaven that it should be otherwise. had such an event taken place, it would probably have pleased my uncle much better than my surviving. when i was in the carriage, supported by the pseudo-physician, my uncle again thanked mr selwin, begged that he would command his interest, wrote a handsome cheque for the surgeon who had attended me, and getting into the carriage, drove off with me still in a state of insensibility--that is, i was not so insensible, but i think i felt i had been removed, and i heard the rattling of the wheels; but my mind was so uncollected, and i was in a state of such weakness, that i could not feel assured of it for a minute. for some days afterwards, for i recollect nothing about the journey, i found myself in bed in a dark room and my arms confined. i recalled my senses, and by degrees was able to recollect all that had occurred, until i laid down by the roadside. where was i? the room was dark, i could distinguish nothing; that i had attempted to do myself some injury, i took for granted, or my arms would not have been secured. i had been in a fever and delirious, i supposed, and had now recovered. i had been in a reverie for more than an hour, wondering why i was left alone, when the door of the apartment opened. "who is there?" inquired i. "oh! you've come to yourself again," said a gruff voice; "then i'll give you a little daylight." he took down a shutter which covered the whole of the window, and a flood of light poured in, which blinded me. i shut my eyes, and by degrees admitted the light until i could bear it. i looked at the apartment: the walls were bare and whitewashed. i was on a truckle-bed. i looked at the window--it was closed up with iron bars.--"why, where am i?" inquired i of the man, with alarm. "where are you?" replied he; "why, in bedlam!" chapter lxiv as o'brien said; it's a long lane that has no turning--i am rescued, and happiness pours in upon me as fast as misery before overwhelmed me. the shock was too great--i fell back on my pillow insensible. how long i laid, i know not, but when i recovered the keeper was gone, and i found a jug of water and some bread by the side of the bed, i drank the water, and the effect it had upon me was surprising. i felt that i could get up, and i rose: my arms had been unpinioned during my swoon. i got on my feet, and staggered to the window. i looked out, saw the bright sun, the passers-by, the houses opposite--all looked cheerful and gay, but i was a prisoner in a madhouse. had i been mad? i reflected, and supposed that i had been, and had been confined by those who knew nothing of me. it never came into my head that my uncle had been a party to it. i threw myself on the bed, and relieved myself with tears. it was about noon that the medical people, attended by the keepers and others, came into my apartment. "is he quite quiet?" "o lord! yes, sir, as quiet as a lamb," replied the man who had before entered. i then spoke to the medical gentleman, begging him to tell why, and how, i had been brought here. he answered mildly and soothingly, saying that i was there at the wish of my friends, and that every care would be taken of me; that he was aware that my paroxysms were only occasional, and that, during the time i was quiet, i should have every indulgence that could be granted, and that he hoped that i soon should be perfectly well, and be permitted to leave the hospital. i replied by stating who i was, and how i had been taken ill. the doctor shook his head, advised me to lie down as much as possible, and then quitted me to visit the other patients. as i afterwards discovered, my uncle had had me confined upon the plea that i was a young man who was deranged with an idea that his name was simple, and that he was the heir to the title and estates; that i was very troublesome at times, forcing my way into his house and insulting the servants, but in every other respect was harmless; that my paroxysms generally ended in a violent fever, and it was more from the fear of my coming to some harm, than from any ill-will towards the poor young man, that he wished me to remain in the hospital, and be taken care of. the reader may at once perceive the art of this communication: i, having no idea why i was confined, would of course continue to style myself by my true name; and as long as i did this, so long would i be considered in a deranged state. the reader must not therefore be surprised when i tell him that i remained in bedlam for one year and eight months. the doctor called upon me for two or three days, and finding me quiet, ordered me to be allowed books, paper, and ink, to amuse myself; but every attempt at explanation was certain to be the signal for him to leave my apartment. i found, therefore, not only by him, but from the keeper, who paid no attention to anything i said, that i had no chance of being listened to, or of obtaining my release. after the first month, the doctor came to me no more: i was a quiet patient, and he received the report of the keeper. i was sent there with every necessary document to prove that i was mad; and, although a very little may establish a case of lunacy, it requires something very strong indeed to prove that you are in your right senses. in bedlam i found it impossible. at the same time i was well treated, was allowed all necessary comforts, and such amusement as could be obtained from books, &c. i had no reason to complain of the keeper--except that he was too much employed to waste his time in listening to what he did not believe. i wrote several letters to my sister and to o'brien, during the first two or three months, and requested the keeper to put them in the post. this he promised to do, never refusing to take the letters; but, as i afterwards found out, they were invariably destroyed. yet i still bore up with the hopes of release for some time; but the anxiety relative to my sister, when i thought of her situation, my thoughts of celeste and of o'brien, sometimes quite overcame me; then, indeed, i would almost become frantic, and the keeper would report that i had had a paroxysm. after six months i became melancholy, and i wasted away. i no longer attempted to amuse myself, but sat all day with my eyes fixed upon vacancy. i no longer attended to my person; i allowed my beard to grow-- my face was never washed, unless mechanically, when ordered by the keeper; and if i was not mad, there was every prospect of my soon becoming so. life passed away as a blank--i had become indifferent to everything--i noted time no more--the change of seasons was unperceived --even the day and the night followed without my regarding them. i was in this unfortunate situation, when one day the door was opened, and, as had been often the custom during my imprisonment, visitors were going round the establishment, to indulge their curiosity, in witnessing the degradation of their fellow-creatures, or to offer their commiseration. i paid no heed to them, not even casting up my eyes. "this young man," said the medical gentleman who accompanied the party, "has entertained the strange idea that his name is simple, and that he is the rightful heir to the title and property of lord privilege." one of the visitors came up to me, and looked me in the face. "and so he is," cried he to the doctor, who looked with astonishment. "peter, don't you know me?" i started up. it was general o'brien. i flew into his arms, and burst into tears. "sir," said general o'brien, leading me to the chair, and seating me upon it, "i tell you that _is_ mr simple, the nephew of lord privilege; and i believe, the heir to the title. if, therefore, his assertion of such being the case is the only proof of his insanity, he is illegally confined. i am here, a foreigner, and a prisoner on parole; but i am not without friends. my lord belmore," said he, turning to another of the visitors who had accompanied him, "i pledge you my honour that what i state is true; and i request that you will immediately demand the release of this poor young man." "i assure you, sir, that i have lord privilege's letter," observed the doctor. "lord privilege is a scoundrel," replied general o'brien. "but there is justice to be obtained in this country, and he shall pay dearly for his _lettre de cachet_. my dear peter, how fortunate was my visit to this horrid place! i had heard so much of the excellent arrangements of this establishment, that i agreed to walk round with lord belmore; but i find that it is abused." "indeed, general o'brien, i have been treated with kindness," replied i; "and particularly by this gentleman. it was not his fault." general o'brien and lord belmore then inquired of the doctor if he had any objection to my release. "none whatever, my lord, even if he were insane; although i now see how i have been imposed upon. we allow the friends of any patient to remove him, if they think that they can pay him more attention. he may leave with you this moment." i now did feel my brain turn with the revulsion from despair to hope, and i fell back in my seat. the doctor, perceiving my condition, bled me copiously, and laid me on the bed, where i remained more than an hour, watched by general o'brien. i then got up, calm and thankful. i was shaved by the barber of the establishment, washed and dressed myself, and, leaning on the general's arm, was let out. i cast my eyes upon the two celebrated stone figures of melancholy and raving madness, as i passed them; i trembled, and clung more tightly to the general's arm, was assisted into the carriage, and bade farewell to madness and misery. the general said nothing until we approached the hotel where he resided, in dover-street, and then he inquired, in a low voice, whether i could bear more excitement. "it is celeste you mean, general?" "it is, my dear boy; she is here;" and he squeezed my hand. "alas!" cried i, "what hopes have i now of celeste?" "more than you had before," replied the general. "she lives but for you; and if you are a beggar, i have a competence to make you sufficiently comfortable." i returned the general's pressure of the hand, but could not speak. we descended, and in a minute i was led by the father into the arms of the astonished daughter. i must pass over a few days, during which i had almost recovered my health and spirits, and had narrated my adventures to general o'brien and celeste. my first object was to discover my sister. what had become of poor ellen, in the destitute condition in which she had been left i knew not; and i resolved to go down to the vicarage, and make inquiries. i did not, however, set off until a legal adviser had been sent for by general o'brien, and due notice given to lord privilege of an action to be immediately brought against him for false imprisonment. i set off in the mail, and the next evening arrived at the town of----. i hastened to the parsonage, and the tears stood in my eyes as i thought of my mother, my poor father, and the peculiar and doubtful situation of my dear sister. i was answered by a boy in livery, and found the present incumbent at home. he received me politely, listened to my story, and then replied that my sister had set off for london on the day of his arrival, and that she had not communicated her intentions to any one. here, then, was all clue lost, and i was in despair. i walked to the town in time to throw myself into the mail, and the next evening joined celeste and the general, to whom i communicated the intelligence, and requested advice how to proceed. lord belmore called the next morning, and the general consulted him. his lordship took great interest in my concerns, and, previous to any further steps, advised me to step into his carriage, and allow him to relate my case to the first lord of the admiralty. this was done immediately; and, as i had now an opportunity of speaking freely to his lordship, i explained to him the conduct of captain hawkins, and his connection with my uncle; also the reason of my uncle's persecution. his lordship, finding me under such powerful protection as lord belmore's, and having an eye to my future claims, which my uncle's conduct gave him reason to suppose were well founded, was extremely gracious, and said that i should hear from him in a day or two. he kept his word, and, on the third day after my interview, i received a note, announcing my promotion to the rank of commander. i was delighted with this good fortune, as was general o'brien and celeste. when at the admiralty, i inquired about o'brien, and found that he was expected home every day. he had gained great reputation in the east indies, was chief in command at the taking of some of the islands, and, it was said, was to be created a baronet for his services. everything wore a favourable aspect, excepting the disappearance of my sister. this was a weight on my mind i could not remove. but i have forgotten to inform the reader by what means general o'brien and celeste arrived so opportunely in england. martinique had been captured by our forces about six months before, and the whole of the garrison surrendered as prisoners of war. general o'brien was sent home, and allowed to be on parole; although born a frenchman, he had very high connections in ireland, of whom lord belmore was one. when they arrived, they had made every inquiry for me without success; they knew that i had been tried by a court-martial, and dismissed my ship, but after that, no clue could be found for my discovery. celeste, who was fearful that some dreadful accident had occurred to me, had suffered very much in health; and general o'brien, perceiving how much his daughter's happiness depended upon her attachment for me, had made up his mind that if i were found we should be united. i hardly need say how delighted he was when he discovered me, though in a situation so little to be envied. the story of my incarceration, of the action to be brought against my uncle, and the reports of foul play relative to the succession, had in the meantime been widely circulated among the nobility; and i found that every attention was paid me, and i was repeatedly invited out as an object of curiosity and speculation. the loss of my sister also was a subject of much interest, and many people, from goodwill, made every inquiry to discover her. i had returned one day from the solicitor's, who had advertised for her in the newspapers without success, when i found a letter for me on the table, in an admiralty enclosure. i opened it--the enclosure was one from o'brien, who had just cast anchor at spithead, and who had requested that the letter should be forwarded to me, if any one could tell my address. i tore it open. "my dear peter,--where are, and what has become of, you? i have received no letters for these two years, and i have fretted myself to death. i received your letter about the rascally court-martial; but perhaps you have not heard that the little scoundrel is dead. yes, peter; he brought your letter out in his own ship, and that was his death-warrant. i met him at a private party. he brought up your name-- i allowed him to abuse you, and then told him he was a liar and a scoundrel; upon which he challenged me, very much against his will; but the affront was so public, that he couldn't help himself. upon which i shot him, with all the good-will in the world, and could he have jumped up again twenty times, like jack-in-the-box, i would have shot him every time. the dirty scoundrel! but there's an end of him. nobody pitied him, for every one hated him; and the admiral only looked grave, and then was very much obliged to me for giving him a vacancy for his nephew. by-the-bye, from some unknown hand, but i presume from the officers of his ship, i received a packet of correspondence between him and your worthy uncle, which is about as elegant a piece of rascality as ever was carried on between two scoundrels; but that's not all, peter. i've got a young woman for you who will make your heart glad--not mademoiselle celeste, for i don't know where she is--but the wet-nurse who went out to india. her husband was sent home as an invalid, and she was allowed her passage home with him in my frigate. finding that he belonged to the regiment, i talked to him about one o'sullivan, who married in ireland, and mentioned the girl's name, and when he discovered that he was a countryman of mine he told me that his real name was o'sullivan, sure enough, but that he had always served as o'connell, and that his wife on board was the young woman in question. upon which i sent to speak to her, and telling her that i knew all about it, and mentioning the names of ella flanagan and her mother, who had given me the information, she was quite astonished; and when i asked her what had become of the child which she took in place of her own, she told me that it had been drowned at plymouth, and that her husband was saved at the same time by a young officer, 'whose name i have here,' says she; and then she pulled out of her neck your card, with peter simple on it. 'now,' says i, 'do you know, good woman, that in helping on the rascally exchange of children, you ruin that very young man who saved your husband, for you deprive him of his title and property?" she stared like a stuck pig, when i said so, and then cursed and blamed herself, and declared she'd right you as soon as we came home; and most anxious she is still to do so, for she loves the very name of you; so you see, peter, a good action has its reward sometimes in this world, and a bad action also, seeing as how i've shot that confounded villain who dared to ill-use you. i have plenty more to say to you, peter; but i don't like writing what, perhaps, may never be read, so i'll wait till i hear from you; and then, as soon as i get through my business, we will set to and trounce that scoundrel of an uncle. i have twenty thousand pounds jammed together in the consolidated, besides the spice islands, which will be a pretty penny; and every farthing of it shall go to right you, peter, and make a lord of you, as i promised you often that you should be; and if you win you shall pay, and if you don't then d--n the luck and d--n the money too. i beg you will offer my best regards to miss ellen, and say how happy i shall be to hear that she is well; but it has always been on my mind, peter, that your father did not leave too much behind him, and i wish to know how you both get on. i left you a _carte blanche_ at my agent's, and i only hope that you have taken advantage of it, if required; if not, you're not the peter that i left behind me. so now, farewell, and don't forget to answer my letter in no time. ever yours, "terence o'brien." this was indeed joyful intelligence. i handed the letter to general o'brien, who read it, celeste hanging over his shoulder, and perusing it at the same time. "this is well," said the general. "peter, i wish you joy, and celeste, i ought to wish you joy also at your future prospects. it will indeed be a gratification if ever i hail you as lady privilege." "celeste," said i, "you did not reject me when i was pennyless, and in disgrace. o my poor sister ellen! if i could but find you, how happy should i be!" i sat down to write to o'brien, acquainting him with all that had occurred, and the loss of my dear sister. the day after the receipt of my letter, o'brien burst into the room. after the first moments of congratulation were past, he said, "my heart's broke, peter, about your sister ellen: find her i must. i shall give up my ship, for i'll never give up the search as long as i live. i must find her." "do, pray, my dear o'brien, and i only wish--" "wish what, peter? shall i tell you what i wish?--that if i find her, you'll give her to me for my trouble." "as far as i am concerned, o'brien, nothing would give me greater pleasure; but god knows to what wretchedness and want may have compelled her." "shame on you, peter, to think so of your sister. i pledge my honour for her. poor, miserable, and unhappy she may be--but no--no, peter. you don't know--you don't love her as i do, if you can allow such thoughts to enter your mind." this conversation took place at the window: we then turned round to general o'brien and celeste. "captain o'brien," said the general. "sir terence o'brien, if you please, general. his majesty has given me a handle to my name." "i congratulate you, sir terence," said the general, shaking him by the hand: "what i was about to say is, that i hope you will take up your quarters at this hotel, and we will all live together. i trust that we shall soon find ellen: in the meanwhile we have no time to lose, in our exposure of lord privilege. is the woman in town?" "yes, and under lock and key; but the devil a fear of her. millions would not bribe her to wrong him who risked his life for her husband. she's irish, general, to the back bone. nevertheless, peter, we must go to our solicitor, to give the intelligence, that he may take the necessary steps." for three weeks, o'brien was diligent in his search for ellen, employing every description of emissary without success. in the meanwhile, the general and i were prosecuting our cause against lord privilege. one morning, lord belmore called upon us, and asked the general if we would accompany him to the theatre, to see two celebrated pieces performed. in the latter, which was a musical farce, a new performer was to come out, of whom report spoke highly. celeste consented, and after an early dinner, we joined his lordship in his private box, which was above the stage, on the first tier. the first piece was played, and celeste, who had never seen the performance of young, was delighted. the curtain then drew up for the second piece. in the second act, the new performer, a miss henderson, was led by the manager on the stage; she was apparently much frightened and excited, but three rounds of applause gave her courage, and she proceeded. at the very first notes of her voice i was startled, and o'brien, who was behind, threw himself forward to look at her; but as we were almost directly above, and her head was turned the other way, we could not distinguish her features. as she proceeded in her song, she gained courage, and her face was turned towards us, and she cast her eyes up--saw me--the recognition was mutual--i held out my arm, but could not speak--she staggered, and fell down in a swoon. "'tis ellen!" cried o'brien, rushing past me; and making one spring down on the stage, he carried her off, before any other person could come to her assistance. i followed him, and found him with ellen still in his arms, and the actresses assisting in her recovery. the manager came forward to apologize, stating that the young lady was too ill to proceed, and the audience, who had witnessed the behaviour of o'brien and myself, were satisfied with the romance in real life which had been exhibited. her part was read by another, but the piece was little attended to, every one trying to find out the occasion of this uncommon occurrence. in the meantime, ellen was put into a hackney-coach by o'brien and me, and we drove to the hotel, where we were soon joined by the general and celeste. chapter lxv it never rains but it pours, whether it be good or bad news--i succeed in everything, and to everything, my wife, my title, and estate--and "all's well that ends well." i shall pass over the scenes which followed, and give my sister's history in her own words. "i wrote to you, my dear peter, to tell you that i considered it my duty to pay all my father's debts with your money, and that there were but sixty pounds left when every claim had been satisfied; and i requested you to come to me as soon as you could, that i might have your counsel and assistance as to my future arrangements." "i received your letter, ellen, and was hastening to you, when--but no matter, i will tell my story afterwards." "day after day i waited with anxiety for a letter, and then wrote to the officers of the ship to know if any accident had occurred. i received an answer from the surgeon, informing me that you had quitted portsmouth to join me, and had not since been heard of. you may imagine my distress at this communication, as i did not doubt but that something dreadful had occurred, as i knew, too well, that nothing would have detained you from me at such a time. the new vicar appointed had come down to look over the house, and to make arrangements for bringing in his family. the furniture he had previously agreed to take at a valuation, and the sum had been appropriated in liquidation of your father's debts. i had already been permitted to remain longer than was usual, and had no alternative but to quit, which i did not do until the last moment. i could not leave my address, for i knew not where i was to go. i took my place in the coach, and arrived in london. my first object was to secure the means of livelihood, by offering myself as a governess; but i found great difficulties from not being able to procure a good reference, and from not having already served in that capacity. at last i was taken into a family to bring up three little girls; but i soon found out how little chance i had of comfort. the lady had objected to me as too good-looking--for this same reason the gentleman insisted upon my being engaged. "thus was i a source of disunion; the lady treated me with harshness, and the gentleman with too much attention. at last her ill-treatment and his persecution, were both so intolerable, that i gave notice that i should leave my situation." "i beg pardon, miss ellen, but you will oblige me with the name and residence of that gentleman?" said o'brien. "indeed, ellen, do no such thing," replied i; "continue your story." "i could not obtain another situation as governess; for, as i always stated where i had been, and did not choose to give the precise reason for quitting, merely stating that i was not comfortable, whenever the lady was called upon for my character, she invariably spoke of me so as to prevent my obtaining a situation. at last i was engaged as teacher to a school. i had better have taken a situation as housemaid. i was expected to be everywhere, to do everything; was up at daylight, and never in bed till past midnight; fared very badly, and was equally ill paid; but still it was honest employment, and i remained there for more than a year; but, though as economical as possible, my salary would not maintain me in clothes and washing, which was all i required. there was a master of elocution, who came every week, and whose wife was the teacher of music. they took a great liking to me, and pointed out how much better i should be off if i could succeed on the stage, of which they had no doubt. for months i refused, hoping still to have some tidings of you; but at last my drudgery became so insupportable, and my means so decreased, that i unwillingly consented. it was then nineteen months since i had heard of you, and i mourned you as dead. i had no relations except my uncle, and i was unknown even to him. i quitted the situation, and took up my abode with the teacher of elocution and his wife, who treated me with every kindness, and prepared me for my new career. neither at the school, which was three miles from london, nor at my new residence, which was over westminster-bridge, did i ever see a newspaper. it was no wonder, therefore, that i did not know of your advertisements. after three months' preparation i was recommended and introduced to the manager by my kind friends, and accepted. you know the rest." "well, miss ellen, if any one ever tells you that you were on the stage, at all events you may reply that you wasn't there long." "i trust not long enough to be recognised," replied she. "i recollect how often i have expressed my disgust at those who would thus consent to exhibit themselves; but circumstances strangely alter our feelings. i do, however, trust that i should have been respectable, even as an actress." "that you would, miss ellen," replied o'brien. "what did i tell you, peter?" "you pledged your honour that nothing would induce ellen to disgrace her family, i recollect, o'brien." "thank you, sir terence, for your good opinion," replied ellen. my sister had been with us about three days, during which i had informed her of all that had taken place, when, one evening, finding myself alone with her, i candidly stated to her what were o'brien's feelings towards her, and pleaded his cause with all the earnestness in my power. "my dear brother," she replied, "i have always admired captain o'brien's character, and always have felt grateful to him for his kindness and attachment to you; but i cannot say that i love him. i have never thought about him except as one to whom we are both much indebted." "but do you mean to say that you could not love him?" "no, i do not; and i will do all i can, peter--i will try. i never will, if possible, make him unhappy who has been so kind to you." "depend upon it, ellen, that with your knowledge of o'brien, and with feelings of gratitude to him, you will soon love him, if once you accept him as a suitor. may i tell him--" "you may tell him that he may plead his own cause, my dear brother; and, at all events, i will listen to no other until he has had fair play; but recollect that at present i only _like_ him--like him _very much,_ it is true; but still i only _like_ him." i was quite satisfied with my success, and so was o'brien, when i told him. "by the powers, peter, she's an angel, and i can't expect her to love an inferior being like myself; but if she'll only like me well enough to marry me, i'll trust to after-marriage for the rest. love comes with the children, peter. well, but you need not say that to her-- divil a bit--they shall come upon her like old age, without her perceiving it." o'brien having thus obtained permission, certainly lost no time in taking advantage of it. celeste and i were more fondly attached every day. the solicitor declared my case so good, that he could raise fifty thousand pounds upon it. in short, all our causes were prosperous, when an event occurred, the details of which, of course, i did not obtain until some time afterwards, but which i shall narrate here. my uncle was very much alarmed when he discovered that i had been released from bedlam--still more so, when he had notice given him of a suit, relative to the succession to the title. his emissaries had discovered that the wet-nurse had been brought home in o'brien's frigate, and was kept so close that they could not communicate with her. he now felt that all his schemes would prove abortive. his legal adviser was with him, and they had been walking in the garden, talking over the contingencies, when they stopped close to the drawing-room windows of the mansion at eagle park. "but, sir," observed the lawyer, "if you will not confide in me, i cannot act for your benefit. you still assert that nothing of the kind has taken place?" "i do," replied his lordship. "it is a foul invention." "then, my lord, may i ask you why you considered it advisable to imprison mr simple in bedlam?" "because i hate him," retorted his lordship,--"detest him." "and for what reason, my lord? his character is unimpeached, and he is your near relative." "i tell you, sir, that i hate him--would that he were now lying dead at my feet!" hardly were the words out of my uncle's mouth, when a whizzing was heard for a second, and then something fell down within a foot of where they stood, with a heavy crash. they started--turned round--the adopted heir lay lifeless at their feet, and their legs were bespattered with his blood and his brains. the poor boy, seeing his lordship below, had leaned out of one of the upper windows to call to him, but lost his balance, and had fallen head foremost upon the wide stone pavement which surrounded the mansion. for a few seconds the lawyer and my uncle looked upon each other with horror. "a judgment!--a judgment!" cried the lawyer, looking at his client. my uncle covered his face with his hands, and fell. assistance now came out, but there was more than one to help up. the violence of his emotion had brought on an apoplectic fit, and my uncle, although he breathed, never spoke again. it was in consequence of this tragical event, of which we did not know the particulars until afterwards, that the next morning my solicitor called upon me, and put a letter into my hand, saying, "allow me to congratulate your lordship." we were all at breakfast at the time, and the general, o'brien, and myself jumped up, all in such astonishment at this unexpected title being so soon conferred upon me, that we had a heavy bill for damages to pay; and had not ellen caught the tea-urn, as it was tipping over, there would, in all probability, have been a doctor's bill into the bargain. the letter was eagerly read--it was from my uncle's legal adviser, who had witnessed the catastrophe, informing me, that all dispute as to the succession was at an end by the tragical event that had taken place, and that he had put seals upon everything, awaiting my arrival or instructions. the solicitor, as he presented the letter, said that he would take his leave, and call again in an hour or two, when i was more composed. my first movement, when i had read the letter aloud, was to throw my arms round celeste, and embrace her--and o'brien, taking the hint, did the same to ellen, and was excused in consideration of circumstances; but, as soon as she could disengage herself, her arms were entwined round my neck, while celeste was hanging on her father's. having disposed of the ladies, the gentlemen now shook hands, and though we had not all appetites to finish our breakfasts, never was there a happier quintette. in about an hour my solicitor returned, and congratulated me, and immediately set about the necessary preparations. i desired him to go down immediately to eagle park, attend to the funeral of my uncle, and the poor little boy who had paid so dearly for his intended advancement, and take charge from my uncle's legal adviser, who remained in the house. the "dreadful accident in high life" found its way into the papers of the day, and before dinner time a pile of visiting cards was poured in, which covered the table. the next day a letter arrived from the first lord, announcing that he had made out my commission as post-captain, and trusted that i would allow him the pleasure of presenting it himself at his dinner hour, at half-past seven. very much obliged to him, the "fool of the family" might have waited a long while for it. while i was reading this letter, the waiter came up to say that a young woman below wanted to speak to me. i desired her to be shown up. as soon as she came in, she burst into tears, knelt down, and kissed my hand. "sure, it's you--oh! yes--it's you that saved my poor husband when i was assisting to your ruin. and an't i punished for my wicked doings--an't my poor boy dead?" she said no more, but remained on her knees, sobbing bitterly. of course, the reader recognises in her the wet-nurse who had exchanged her child. i raised her up, and desired her to apply to my solicitor to pay her expenses, and leave her address. "but do you forgive me, mr simple? it's not that i have forgiven myself." "i do forgive you with all my heart, my good woman. you have been punished enough." "i have, indeed," replied she, sobbing; "but don't i deserve it all, and more too? god's blessing, and all the saints' too, upon your head, for your kind forgiveness, anyhow. my heart is lighter." and she quitted the room. she had scarcely quitted the hotel, when the waiter came up again. "another lady, my lord, wishes to speak with you, but she won't give her name." "really, my lord, you seem to have an extensive female acquaintance," said the general. "at all events, i am not aware of any that i need be ashamed of. show the lady up, waiter." in a moment entered a fat, unwieldly little mortal, very warm from walking; she sat down in a chair, threw back her tippet, and then exclaimed, "lord bless you, how you have grown! gemini, if i can hardly believe my eyes; and i declare he don't know me." "i really cannot exactly recollect where i had the pleasure of seeing you before, madam." "well, that's what i said to jemima, when i went down in the kitchen. 'jemima,' says i, 'i wonder if little peter simple will know me.' and jemima says, 'i think he would the parrot, marm.'" "mrs handycock, i believe," said i, recollecting jemima and the parrot, although, from a little thin woman, she had grown so fat as not to be recognisable. "oh! so you've found me out, mr simple--my lord, i ought to say. well, i need not ask after your grandfather now, for i know he's dead; but as i was coming this way for orders, i thought i would just step in and see how you looked." "i trust mr handycock is well, ma'am. pray is he a bull or a bear?" "lord bless you, mr simple, my lord, i should say, he's been neither bull nor bear for this three years. he was obliged to _waddle_. if i didn't know much about bulls and bears, i know very well what a _lame duck_ is, to my cost. we're off the stock exchange, and mr handycock is set up as a coal merchant." "indeed!" "yes; that is, we have no coals, but we take orders, and have half-a-crown a chaldron for our trouble. as mr handycock says, it's a very good business, if you only had enough of it. perhaps your lordship may be able to give us an order. it's nothing out of your pocket, and something into ours." "i shall be very happy, when i return again to town, mrs handycock. i hope the parrot is quite well." "oh! my lord, that's a sore subject; only think of mr handycock, when we retired from the 'change, taking my parrot one day and selling it for five guineas, saying, five guineas were better than a nasty squalling bird. to be sure, there was nothing for dinner that day; but, as jemima agreed with me, we'd rather have gone without a dinner for a month, than have parted with poll. since we've looked up a little in the world, i saved up five guineas, by hook or by crook, and tried to get poll back again, but the lady said she wouldn't take fifty guineas for him." mrs handycock then jumped from her chair, saying, "good morning, my lord; i'll leave one of mr handycock's cards. jemima would be so glad to see you." as she left the room, celeste laughingly asked me whether i had any more such acquaintances. i replied, that i believed not; but i must acknowledge that mrs trotter was brought to my recollection, and i was under some alarm, lest she should also come and pay me her respects. the next day i had another unexpected visit. we had just sat down to dinner, when we heard a disturbance below; and, shortly after, the general's french servant came up in great haste, saying that there was a foreigner below, who wished to see me: and that he had been caning one of the waiters of the hotel, for not paying him proper respect. "who can that be?" thought i: and i went out of the door, and looked over the banisters, as the noise continued. "you must not come here to beat englishmen, i can tell you," roared one of the waiters. "what do we care for your foreign counts?" "sacre, canaille?" cried the other party, in a contemptuous voice, which i well knew. "ay, canal!--we'll duck you in the canal, if you don't mind." "you will!" said the stranger, who had hitherto spoken french. "allow me to observe--in the most delicate manner in the world--just to hint, that you are a d----d trencher-scraping, napkin-carrying, shilling-seeking, up-and-down-stairs son of a bitch--and take this for your impudence!" the noise of the cane was again heard; and i hastened downstairs, where i found count shucksen thrashing two or three of the waiters without mercy. at my appearance, the waiters, who were showing fight, retreated to a short distance, out of reach of the cane. "my dear count," exclaimed i, "is it you?" "my dear lord privilege, will you excuse me? but these fellows are saucy." "then i'll have them discharged," replied i. "if a friend of mine, and an officer of your rank and distinction, cannot come to see me without insult, i will seek another hotel." this threat of mine, and the reception i gave the count, put all to rights. the waiters sneaked off, and the master of the hotel apologised. it appeared that they had desired him to wait in the coffee-room until they could announce him, which had hurt the count's dignity. "we are just sitting down to dinner, count; will you join us?" "as soon as i have improved my toilet, my dear lord," replied he; "you must perceive that i am off a journey." the master of the hotel bowed, and proceeded to show the count to a dressing-room. when i returned upstairs--"what was the matter?" inquired o'brien. "oh, nothing!--a little disturbance in consequence of a foreigner not understanding english." in about five minutes the waiter opened the door, and announced count shucksen. "now, o'brien, you'll be puzzled," said i; and in came the count. "my dear lord privilege," said he, coming up and taking me by the hand, "let me not be the last to congratulate you upon your accession. i was running up the channel in my frigate when a pilot-boat gave me a newspaper, in which i saw your unexpected change of circumstances. i made an excuse for dropping my anchor at spithead this morning, and i have come up post, to express how sincerely i participate in your good fortune." count shucksen then politely saluted the ladies and the general, and turned round to o'brien, who had been staring at him with astonishment. "count shucksen, allow me to introduce sir terence o'brien." "by the piper that played before moses, but it's a puzzle," said o'brien. "blood and thunder! if it a'n't chucks!--my dear fellow, when did you rise from your grave?" "fortunately," replied the count, as they shook each other's hands for some time, "i never went into it, sir terence. but now, with your permission, my lord, i'll take some food, as i really am not a little hungry. after dinner, captain o'brien, you shall hear my history." his secret was confided to the whole party, upon my pledging myself for their keeping it locked up in their own breasts, which was a bold thing on my part, considering that two of them were ladies. the count stayed with us for some time, and was introduced everywhere. it was impossible to discover that he had not been bred up in a court, his manners were so good. he was a great favourite with the ladies; and his moustachios, bad french, and waltzing--an accomplishment he had picked up in sweden--were quite the vogue. all the ladies were sorry when the swedish count announced his departure by a p.p.c. before i left town i called upon the first lord of the admiralty, and procured for swinburne a first-rate building--that is to say, ordered to be built. this he had often said he wished, as he was tired of the sea, after a service of forty-five years. subsequently i obtained leave of absence for him every year, and he used to make himself very happy at eagle park. most of his time was, however, passed on the lake, either fishing or rowing about; telling long stories to all who would join him in his water excursions. a fortnight after my assuming my title, we set off for eagle park, and celeste consented to my entreaties that the wedding should take place that day month. upon this hint o'brien spake; and, to oblige _me_, ellen consented that we should be united on the same day. o'brien wrote to father m'grath; but the letter was returned by post, with "_dead_" marked upon the outside. o'brien then wrote to one of his sisters, who informed him that father m'grath would cross the bog one evening when he had taken a very large proportion of whisky; and that he was seen out of the right path, and had never been heard of afterwards. on the day appointed we were all united, and both unions have been attended with as much happiness as this world can afford. both o'brien and i are blessed with children, which, as o'brien observed, have come upon us like old age, until we now can muster a large christmas party in the two families. the general's head is white, and he sits and smiles, happy in his daughter's happiness, and in the gambols of his grandchildren. such, reader, is the history of peter simple, viscount privilege, no longer the fool, but the head of the family, who now bids you farewell. the end. the three cutters chapter i cutter the first reader, have you ever been at plymouth? if you have, your eye must have dwelt with ecstasy upon the beautiful property of the earl of mount edgcumbe: if you have not been at plymouth, the sooner that you go there, the better. at mount edgcumbe you will behold the finest timber in existence, towering up to the summits of the hills, and feathering down to the shingle on the beach. and from this lovely spot you will witness one of the most splendid panoramas in the world. you will see--i hardly know what you will not see--you will see ram head, and cawsand bay; and then you will see the breakwater, and drake's island, and the devil's bridge below you; and the town of plymouth and its fortifications, and the hoe; and then you will come to the devil's point, round which the tide runs devilish strong; and then you will see the new victualling office,--about which sir james gordon used to stump all day, and take a pinch of snuff from every man who carried a box, which all were delighted to give, and he was delighted to receive, proving how much pleasure may be communicated merely by a pinch of snuff--and then you will see mount wise and mutton cove; the town of devonport, with its magnificent dockyard and arsenals, north corner, and the way which leads to saltash. and you will see ships building and ships in ordinary; and ships repairing and ships fitting; and hulks and convict ships, and the guardship; ships ready to sail and ships under sail; besides lighters, men-of-war's boats, dockyard-boats, bumboats, and shore-boats. in short, there is a great deal to see at plymouth besides the sea itself: but what i particularly wish now, is, that you will stand at the battery of mount edgecumbe and look into barn pool below you, and there you will see, lying at single anchor, a cutter; and you may also see, by her pendant and ensign, that she is a yacht. of all the amusements entered into by the nobility and gentry of our island there is not one so manly, so exciting, so patriotic, or so national, as yacht-sailing. it is peculiar to england, not only from our insular position and our fine harbours, but because it requires a certain degree of energy and a certain amount of income rarely to be found elsewhere. it has been wisely fostered by our sovereigns, who have felt that the security of the kingdom is increased by every man being more or less a sailor, or connected with the nautical profession. it is an amusement of the greatest importance to the country; as it has much improved our ship-building and our ship-fitting, while it affords employment to our seamen and shipwrights. but if i were to say all that i could say in praise of yachts, i should never advance with my narrative. i shall therefore drink a bumper to the health of admiral lord yarborough and the yacht club, and proceed. you observe that this yacht is cutter-rigged, and that she sits gracefully on the smooth water. she is just heaving up her anchor; her foresail is loose, all ready to cast her--in a few minutes she will be under weigh. you see that there are some ladies sitting at the taffrail; and there are five haunches of venison hanging over the stern. of all amusements, give me yachting. but we must go on board. the deck, you observe, is of narrow deal planks as white as snow; the guns are of polished brass; the bitts and binnacles of mahogany; she is painted with taste; and all the mouldings are gilded. there is nothing wanting; and yet how clear and unencumbered are her decks! let us go below. this is the ladies' cabin: can anything be more tasteful or elegant? is it not luxurious? and, although so small, does not its very confined space astonish you, when you view so many comforts so beautifully arranged? this is the dining-room, and where the gentlemen repair. what can be more complete or _recherché_? and just peep into their state-rooms and bed-places. here is the steward's room and the beaufet: the steward is squeezing lemons for the punch, and there is the champagne in ice; and by the side of the pail the long-corks are ranged up, all ready. now, let us go forwards: here are the men's berths, not confined as in a man-of-war. no! luxury starts from abaft, and is not wholly lost, even at the fore-peak. this is the kitchen: is it not admirably arranged? what a _multum in parvo_! and how delightful are the fumes of the turtle-soup! at sea we do meet with rough weather at times; but, for roughing it out, give me a _yacht_. now that i have shown you round the vessel, i must introduce the parties on board. you observe that florid, handsome man in white trousers and blue jacket, who has a telescope in one hand, and is sipping a glass of brandy and water which he has just taken off the skylight. that is the owner of the vessel, and a member of the yacht club. it is lord b--: he looks like a sailor, and he does not much belie his looks; yet i have seen him in his robes of state at the opening of the house of lords. the one near to him is mr stewart, a lieutenant in the navy. he holds on by the rigging with one hand, because, having been actively employed all his life, he does not know what to do with hands which have nothing in them. he is _protégé_ of lord b., and is now on board as sailing-master of the yacht. that handsome, well-built man who is standing by the binnacle, is a mr hautaine. he served six years as midshipman in the navy, and did not like it. he then served six years in a cavalry regiment, and did not like it. he then married, and in a much shorter probation, found that he did not like that. but he is very fond of yachts and other men's wives, if he does not like his own; and wherever he goes, he is welcome. that young man with an embroidered silk waistcoat and white gloves, bending to talk to one of the ladies, is a mr vaughan. he is to be seen at almack's, at crockford's, and everywhere else. everybody knows him, and he knows everybody. he is a little in debt, and yachting is convenient. the one who sits by the lady is a relation of lord b.; you see at once what he is. he apes the sailor; he has not shaved, because sailors have no time to shave every day; he has not changed his linen, because sailors cannot change every day. he has a cigar in his mouth, which makes him half sick and annoys his company. he talks of the pleasure of a rough sea, which will drive all the ladies below--and then they will not perceive that he is more sick than themselves. he has the misfortune to be born to a large estate, and to be a _fool_. his name is ossulton. the last of the gentlemen on board whom i have to introduce, is mr seagrove. he is slightly made, with marked features full of intelligence. he has been brought up to the bar; and has every qualification but application. he has never had a brief, nor has he a chance of one. he is the fiddler of the company, and he has locked up his chambers, and come, by invitation of his lordship, to play on board of his yacht. i have yet to describe the ladies--perhaps i should have commenced with them--i must excuse myself upon the principle of reserving the best to the last. all puppet-showmen do so: and what is this but the first scene in my puppet-show? we will describe them according to seniority. that tall, thin, cross-looking lady of forty-five is a spinster, and sister to lord b. she has been persuaded very much against her will to come on board; but her notions of propriety would not permit her niece to embark under the protection of _only_ her father. she is frightened at everything: if a rope is thrown down on the deck, up she starts, and cries, "oh!" if on the deck, she thinks the water is rushing in below; if down below, and there is a noise, she is convinced there is danger; and, if it be perfectly still, she is sure there is something wrong. she fidgets herself and everybody, and is quite a nuisance with her pride and ill-humour; but she has strict notions of propriety, and sacrifices herself as a martyr. she is the hon. miss ossulton. the lady who, when she smiles, shows so many dimples in her pretty oval face, is a young widow of the name of lascelles. she married an old man to please her father and mother, which was very dutiful on her part. she was rewarded by finding herself a widow with a large fortune. having married the first time to please her parents, she intends now to marry to please herself; but she is very young, and is in no hurry. the young lady with such a sweet expression of countenance is the hon. miss cecilia ossulton. she is lively, witty, and has no fear in her composition; but she is very young yet, not more than seventeen--and nobody knows what she really is--she does not know herself. these are the parties who meet in the cabin of the yacht. the crew consists of ten fine seamen, the steward, and the cook. there is also lord b.'s valet, mr ossulton's gentleman, and the lady's maid of miss ossulton. there not being accommodation for them, the other servants have been left on shore. the yacht is now under weigh, and her sails are all set. she is running between drake's island and the main. dinner has been announced. as the reader has learnt something about the preparations, i leave him to judge whether it be not very pleasant to sit down to dinner in a yacht. the air has given everybody an appetite; and it was not until the cloth was removed that the conversation became general. "mr seagrove," said his lordship, "you very nearly lost your passage; i expected you last thursday." "i am sorry, my lord, that business prevented my sooner attending to your lordship's kind summons." "come, seagrove, don't be nonsensical," said hautaine; "you told me yourself, the other evening, when you were talkative, that you had never had a brief in your life." "and a very fortunate circumstance," replied seagrove; "for if i had had a brief i should not have known what to have done with it. it is not my fault; i am fit for nothing but a commissioner. but still i had business, and very important business, too; i was summoned by ponsonby to go with him to tattersall's, to give my opinion about a horse he wishes to purchase, and then to attend him to forest wild to plead his cause with his uncle." "it appears, then, that you were retained," replied lord b.; "may i ask you whether your friend gained his cause?" "no, my lord, he lost his cause, but he gained a suit." "expound your riddle, sir," said cecilia ossulton. "the fact is, that old ponsonby is very anxious that william should marry miss percival, whose estates join on to forest wild. now, my friend william is about as fond of marriage as i am of law, and thereby issue was joined." "but why were you to be called in?" inquired mrs lascelles. "because, madam, as ponsonby never buys a horse without consulting me--" "i cannot see the analogy, sir," observed miss ossulton, senior, bridling up. "pardon me, madam: the fact is," continued seagrove, "that, as i always have to back ponsonby's horses, he thought it right that, in this instance, i should back him: he required special pleading, but his uncle tried him for the capital offence, and he was not allowed counsel. as soon as we arrived, and i had bowed myself into the room, mr ponsonby bowed me out again--which would have been infinitely more jarring to my feelings, had not the door been left a-jar." "do anything but pun, seagrove," interrupted hautaine. "well, then, i will take a glass of wine." "do so," said his lordship; "but, recollect, the whole company are impatient for your story." "i can assure you, my lord, that it was equal to any scene in a comedy." now be it observed that mr seagrove had a great deal of comic talent; he was an excellent mimic, and could alter his voice almost as he pleased. it was a custom of his to act a scene as between other people, and he performed it remarkably well. whenever he said that anything he was going to narrate was "as good as a comedy," it was generally understood by those who were acquainted with him, that he was to be asked so to do. cecilia ossulton therefore immediately said, "pray act it, mr seagrove." upon which, mr seagrove--premising that he had not only heard, but also seen all that passed--changing his voice, and suiting the action to the word, commenced. "it may," said he, "be called "five thousand acres in a ring-fence." we shall not describe mr seagrove's motions; they must be inferred from his words. "'it will, then, william,' observed mr ponsonby, stopping, and turning to his nephew, after a rapid walk up and down the room with his hands behind him under his coat, so as to allow the tails to drop their perpendicular about three inches clear of his body, 'i may say, without contradiction, be the finest property in the county--five thousand acres in a ring-fence.' "'i dare say it will, uncle,' replied william, tapping his foot as he lounged in a green morocco easy-chair; 'and so, because you have set your fancy upon having these two estates enclosed together in a ring-fence, you wish that i should also be enclosed in a _ring_-fence.' "'and a beautiful property it will be,' replied mr ponsonby. "'which, uncle?--the estate, or the wife?' "'both, nephew, both; and i expect your consent.' "'uncle, i am not avaricious. your present property is sufficient for me. with your permission, instead of doubling the property, and doubling myself, i will remain your sole heir, and single.' "'observe, william, such an opportunity may not occur again for centuries. we shall restore forest wild to its ancient boundaries. you know it has been divided nearly two hundred years. we now have a glorious, golden opportunity of re-uniting the two properties; and when joined, the estate will be exactly what it was when granted to our ancestors by henry the eighth, at the period of the reformation. this house must be pulled down, and the monastery left standing. then we shall have our own again, and the property without encumbrance.' "'without encumbrance, uncle! you forget that there will be a wife.' "'and you forget that there will be five thousand acres in a ring-fence.' "'indeed, uncle, you ring it too often in my ears that i should forget it; but much as i should like to be the happy possessor of such a property, i do not feel inclined to be the happy possessor of miss percival; and the more so, as i have never seen the property.' "'we will ride over it to-morrow, william." "'ride over miss percival, uncle! that will not be very gallant. i will, however, one of these days, ride over the property with you, which, as well as miss percival, i have not as yet seen.' "'then i can tell you, she is a very pretty property.' "'if she were not in a ring-fence.' "'in good heart, william. that is, i mean an excellent disposition.' "'valuable in matrimony.' "'and well tilled--i should say well-educated, by her thee maiden aunts, who are the patterns of propriety.' "'does any one follow the fashion?' "'in a high state of cultivation; that is, her mind highly cultivated, and according to the last new system--what is it?' "'a four-course shift, i presume,' replied william, laughing; 'that is, dancing, singing, music, and drawing.' "'and only seventeen! capital soil, promising good crops. what would you have more?' "'a very pretty estate, uncle, if it were not the estate of matrimony. i am sorry, very sorry, to disappoint you; but i must decline taking a lease of it for life.' "'then, sir, allow me to hint to you that in my testament you are only tenant-at-will. i consider it a duty that i owe to the family, that the estate should be re-united. that can only be done by one of our family marrying miss percival; and, as you will not, i shall now write to your cousin james, and if he accept my proposal, shall make _him_ my heir. probably he will more fully appreciate the advantages of five thousand acres in a ring-fence.' "and mr ponsonby directed his steps towards the door. "'stop, my dear uncle,' cried william, rising up from his easy-chair; 'we do not quite understand one another. it is very true that i would prefer half the property and remaining single to the two estates and the estate of marriage; but, at the same time i did not tell you that i would prefer beggary to a wife and five thousand acres in a ring-fence. i know you to be a man of your word;--i accept your proposal, and you need not put my cousin james to the expense of postage.' "'very good, william; i require no more: and as i know you to be a man of your word, i shall consider this match as settled. it was on this account only that i sent for you, and now you may go back again as soon as you please. i will let you know when all is ready.' "'i must be at tattersall's on monday, uncle; there is a horse i must have for next season. pray, uncle, may i ask when you are likely to want me?' "'let me see--this is may--about july, i should think.' "'july, uncle! spare me--i cannot marry in the dog-days. no, hang it, not july.' "'well, william, perhaps, as you must come down once or twice to see the property--miss percival, i should say--it may be too soon--suppose we put it off till october.' "'october--i shall be down at melton.' "'pray, sir, may i then inquire what portion of the year is not, with you, _dog_-days?' "'why, uncle, next april, now--i think that would do.' "'next april. eleven months, and a winter between. suppose miss percival was to take a cold, and die.' "'i should be excessively obliged to her,' thought william. "'no! no!' continued mr ponsonby: 'there is nothing certain in this world, william.' "'well, then, uncle, suppose we arrange it for the first _hard frost_.' "'we have had no hard frosts lately, william.--we may wait for years.-- the sooner it is over the better.--go back to town, buy your horse, and then come down here--my dear william, to oblige your uncle--never mind the dog-days.' "'well, sir, if i am to make a sacrifice, it shall not be done by halves; out of respect for you i will even marry in july, without any regard to the thermometer.' "'you are a good boy, william.--do you want a cheque?' "'i have had one to-day,' thought william, and was almost at fault. 'i shall be most thankful, sir--they sell horse-flesh by the ounce now-a-days.' "'and you pay in pounds.--there, william.' "'thank you, sir, i'm all obedience; and i'll keep my word, even if there should be a comet. i'll go and buy the horse, and then i shall be ready to take the ring-fence as soon as you please.' "'yes, and you'll get over it cleverly, i've no doubt.--five thousand acres, william, and--a pretty wife!' "'have you any further commands, uncle?' said william, depositing the cheque in his pocket-book. "'now, my dear boy, are you going?' "'yes, sir; i dine at the clarendon.' "'well, then, good-bye.--make my compliments and excuses to your friend seagrove.--you will come on tuesday or wednesday.' "thus was concluded the marriage between william ponsonby and emily percival, and the junction of the two estates, which formed together the great desideratum,--_five thousand acres in a ring-fence_." mr seagrove finished, and he looked round for approbation. "very good, indeed, seagrove," said his lordship, "you must take a glass of wine after that." "i would not give much for miss percival's chance of happiness," observed the elder miss ossulton. "of two evils choose the least, they say," observed mr hautaine. "poor ponsonby could not help himself." "that's a very polite observation of yours, mr hautaine--i thank you in the name of the sex," replied cecilia ossulton. "nay, miss ossulton; would you like to marry a person whom you never saw?" "most certainly not; but when you mentioned the two evils, mr hautaine, i appeal to your honour, did you not refer to marriage or beggary?" "i must confess it, miss ossulton; but it is hardly fair to call on my honour to get me into a scrape." "i only wish that the offer had been made to me," observed vaughan; "i should not have hesitated as ponsonby did." "then i beg you will not think of proposing for me," said mrs lascelles, laughing;--for mr vaughan had been excessively attentive. "it appears to me, vaughan," observed seagrove, "that you have slightly committed yourself by that remark." vaughan, who thought so too, replied: "mrs lascelles must be aware that i was only joking." "fie! mr vaughan," cried cecilia ossulton; "you know it came from your heart." "my dear cecilia," said the elder miss ossulton, "you forget yourself-- what can you possibly know about gentlemen's hearts?" "the bible says, 'that they are deceitful and desperately wicked,' aunt." "and cannot we also quote the bible against your sex, miss ossulton?" replied seagrove. "yes, you could, perhaps, if any of you had ever read it," replied miss ossulton, carelessly. "upon my word, cissy, you are throwing the gauntlet down to the gentlemen," observed lord b.; "but i shall throw my warder down, and not permit this combat _à l'outrance_.--i perceive you drink no more wine, gentlemen, we will take our coffee on deck." "we were just about to retire, my lord," observed the elder miss ossulton, with great asperity: "i have been trying to catch the eye of mrs lascelles for some time, but--" "i was looking another way, i presume," interrupted mrs lascelles, smiling. "i am afraid that i am the unfortunate culprit," said mr seagrove. "i was telling a little anecdote to mrs lascelles--" "which, of course, from its being communicated in an undertone, was not proper for all the company to hear," replied the elder miss ossulton; "but if mrs lascelles is now ready--" continued she, bridling up, as she rose from her chair. "at all events, i can hear the remainder of it on deck," replied mrs lascelles. the ladies rose, and went into the cabin, cecilia and mrs lascelles exchanging very significant smiles, as they followed the precise spinster, who did not choose that mrs lascelles should take the lead, merely because she had once happened to have been married.--the gentlemen also broke up, and went on deck. "we have a nice breeze now, my lord," observed mr stewart, who had remained on deck, "and we lie right up channel." "so much the better," replied his lordship; "we ought to have been anchored at cowes a week ago. they will all be there before us." "tell mr simpson to bring me a light for my cigar," said mr ossulton to one of the men. mr stewart went down to his dinner; the ladies and the coffee came on deck; the breeze was fine, the weather (it was april) almost warm; and the yacht, whose name was the _arrow_, assisted by the tide, soon left the mewstone far astern. chapter ii cutter the second reader, have you ever been at portsmouth? if you have, you must have been delighted with the view from the saluting battery; and, if you have not, you had better go there as soon as you can. from the saluting battery you may look up the harbour, and see much of what i have described at plymouth; the scenery is different; but similar arsenals and dockyards, and an equal portion of our stupendous navy, are to be found there.--and you will see gosport on the other side of the harbour, and sally port close to you; besides a great many other places, which, from the saluting battery, you cannot see. and then there is southsea beach to your left. before you, spithead, with the men-of-war, and the motherbank, crowded with merchant vessels;--and there is the buoy where the _royal george_ was wrecked, and where she still lies, the fish swimming in and out of her cabin windows; but that is not all; you can also see the isle of wight,--ryde, with its long wooden pier, and cowes, where the yachts lie. in fact, there is a great deal to be seen at portsmouth as well as at plymouth; but what i wish you particularly to see, just now, is a vessel holding fast to the buoy, just off the saluting battery. she is a cutter; and you may know that she belongs to the preventive service by the number of gigs and galleys which she has hoisted up all round her. she looks like a vessel that was about to sail with a cargo of boats. two on deck, one astern, one on each side of her. you observe that she is painted black, and all her boats are white. she is not such an elegant vessel as the yacht, and she is much more lumbered up. she has no haunches of venison over the stern; but i think there is a leg of mutton, and some cabbages hanging by their stalks. but revenue-cutters are not yachts.--you will find no turtle or champagne; but, nevertheless, you will, perhaps, find a joint to carve at, a good glass of grog, and a hearty welcome. let us go on board.--you observe the guns are iron, and painted black, and her bulwarks are painted red; it is not a very becoming colour; but then it lasts a long while, and the dock-yard is not very generous on the score of paint--or lieutenants of the navy troubled with much spare cash. she has plenty of men, and fine men they are; all dressed in red flannel shirts, and blue trousers; some of them have not taken off their canvas or tarpaulin petticoats, which are very useful to them, as they are in the boats night and day, and in all weathers. but we will at once go down into the cabin, where we shall find the lieutenant who commands her, a master's mate, and a midshipman. they have each their tumbler before them, and are drinking gin-toddy, hot, with sugar--capital gin, too, 'bove proof; it is from that small anker, standing under the table. it was one that they forgot to return to the custom-house when they made their last seizure. we must introduce them. the elderly personage, with grizzly hair and whiskers, a round pale face, and a somewhat red nose (being too much in the wind will make the nose red, and this old officer is very often "in the wind," of course, from the very nature of his profession), is a lieutenant appleboy. he has served in every class of vessel in the service, and done the duty of first lieutenant for twenty years; he is now on promotion--that is to say, after he has taken a certain number of tubs of gin, he will be rewarded with his rank as commander. it is a pity that what he takes inside of him does not count, for he takes it morning, noon, and night. --he is just filling his fourteenth glass: he always keeps a regular account, as he never exceeds his limited number, which is seventeen; then he is exactly down to his bearings. the master's mate's name is tomkins; he has served his six years three times over, and has now outgrown his ambition; which is fortunate for him, as his chances of promotion are small. he prefers a small vessel to a large one, because he is not obliged to be so particular in his dress --and looks for his lieutenancy whenever there shall be another charity promotion. he is fond of soft bread, for his teeth are all absent without leave; he prefers porter to any other liquor, but he can drink his glass of grog, whether it be based upon rum, brandy, or the liquor now before him. mr smith is the name of that young gentleman, whose jacket is so out at the elbows; he has been intending to mend it these last two months, but is too lazy to go to his chest for another. he has been turned out of half the ships in the service for laziness; but he was born so--and therefore it is not his fault.--a revenue-cutter suits him, she is half her time hove to; and he has no objection to boat-service, as he sits down always in the stern-sheets, which is not fatiguing. creeping for tubs is his delight, as he gets over so little ground. he is fond of grog, but there is some trouble in carrying the tumbler so often to his mouth; so he looks at it, and lets it stand. he says little, because he is too lazy to speak. he has served more than _eight years;_ but as for passing--it has never come into his head. such are the three persons who are now sitting in the cabin of the revenue-cutter, drinking hot gin-toddy. "let me see, it was, i think, in ninety-three or ninety-four. before you were in the service, tomkins.--" "maybe, sir; it's so long ago since i entered, that i can't recollect dates,--but this i know, that my aunt died three days before." "then the question is, when did your aunt die?" "oh! she died about a year after my uncle." "and when did your uncle die?" "i'll be hanged if i know!" "then, d'ye see, you've no departure to work from. however, i think you cannot have been in the service at that time. we were not quite so particular about uniform as we are now." "then i think the service was all the better for it. now-a-days, in your crack ships, a mate has to go down in the hold or spirit-room, and after whipping up fifty empty casks, and breaking out twenty full ones, he is expected to come on quarter-deck as clean as if he was just come out of a band-box." "well, there's plenty of water alongside, as far as the outward man goes, and iron dust is soon brushed off. however, as you say, perhaps a little too much is expected; at least, in five of the ships in which i was first-lieutenant, the captain was always hauling me over the coals about the midshipmen not dressing properly, as if i was their dry-nurse. i wonder what captain prigg would have said, if he had seen such a turn-out as you, mr smith, on his quarter-deck." "i should have had one turn-out more," drawled smith. "with your out-at-elbows jacket, there, heh!" continued mr appleboy. smith turned up his elbows, looked at one and then at the other: after so fatiguing an operation, he was silent. "well, where was i? oh! it was about ninety-three or ninety-four, as i said, that it happened--tomkins, fill your glass, and hand me the sugar --how do i get on? this is no. ," said appleboy, counting some white lines on the table by him; and taking up a piece of chalk, he marked one more line on his tally. "i don't think this is so good a tub as the last, tomkins, there's a twang about it--a want of juniper--however, i hope we shall have better luck this time. of course, you know we sail to-morrow?" "i presume so, by the leg of mutton coming on board." "true--true--i'm regular--as clock-work.--after being twenty years a first-lieutenant, one gets a little method--i like regularity. now the admiral has never omitted asking me to dinner once, every time i have come into harbour, except this time--i was so certain of it, that i never expected to sail; and i have but two shirts clean in consequence." "that's odd, isn't it? and the more so, because he has had such great people down here, and has been giving large parties every day." "and yet i made three seizures, besides sweeping up those thirty-seven tubs." "i swept them up," observed smith. "that's all the same thing, _younker_.--when you've been a little longer in the service, you'll find out that the commanding officer has the merit of all that is done--but you're _green_ yet. let me see, where was i? oh!--it was about ninety-three or ninety-four, as i said. at that time i was in the channel fleet--tomkins, i'll trouble you for the hot water; this water's cold.--mr smith, do me the favour to ring the bell. --jem, some more hot water." "please, sir," said jem, who was barefooted as well as bare-headed, touching the lock of hair on his forehead, "the cook has capsized the kettle--but he has put more on." "capsized the kettle! ha!--very well--we'll talk about that to-morrow. mr tomkins, do me the favour to put him in the report, i may forget it. and pray, sir, how long is it since he has put more on?" "just this moment, sir, as i came aft." "very well, we'll see to that to-morrow:--you bring the kettle aft as soon as it is ready. i say, mr jem, is that fellow sober?" "yees, sir, he be sober as you be." "it's quite astonishing what a propensity the common sailors have to liquor. forty odd years have i been in the service, and i've never found any difference: i only wish i had a guinea for every time that i have given a fellow seven-water grog during my servitude as first-lieutenant, i wouldn't call the king my cousin. well, if there's no hot water, we must take lukewarm--it won't do to heave to. by the lord harry! who would have thought it?--i'm at number sixteen! let me count--yes!-- surely i must have made a mistake. a fact, by heaven!" continued mr appleboy, throwing the chalk down on the table. "only one more glass, after this--that is, if i have counted right--i may have seen double." "yes," drawled smith. "well, never mind--let's go on with my story.--it was either in the year ninety-three or ninety-four, that i was in the channel fleet--we were then abreast of torbay--" "here be the hot water, sir," cried jem, putting the kettle down on the deck. "very well, boy--by-the-bye, has the jar of butter come on board?" "yes, but it broke all down the middle; i tied him up with a ropeyarn." "who broke it, sir?" "coxswain says as how he didn't." "but who did, sir?" "coxswain handed it up to bill jones, and he says as how he didn't." "but who did, sir?" "bill jones gave it to me, and i'm sure as how i didn't." "then who did, sir, i ask you?" "i think it be bill jones, sir, 'cause he's fond of butter, i know, and there be very little left in the jar." "very _well_, we'll see to that to-morrow morning. mr tomkins, you'll oblige me by putting the butter-jar down in the report, in case it should slip my memory. bill jones, indeed, looks as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth--never mind. well, it was, as i said before--it was in the year ninety-three or ninety-four, when i was in the channel fleet; we were then off torbay, and had just: taken two reefs in the top-sails. stop, before i go on with my story, i'll take my last glass--i think it's the last: let me count--yes, by heavens i make out sixteen, well told. never mind, it shall be a stiff one. boy, bring the kettle, and mind you don't pour the hot water into my shoes, as you did the other night. there, that will do. now, tomkins, fill up yours; and you, mr smith: let us all start fair, and then you shall have my story--and a very curious one it is, i can tell you; i wouldn't have believed it myself if i hadn't seen it. hilloa! what's this? confound it! what's the matter with the toddy? heh, mr tomkins?" mr tomkins tasted, but, like the lieutenant, he had made it very stiff; and, as he had also taken largely before, he was, like him, not quite so clear in his discrimination: "it has a queer _twang_, sir: smith, what is it?" smith took up his glass, tasted the contents. "_salt water"_ drawled the midshipman. "salt water! so it is, by heavens!" cried mr appleboy. "salt as lot's wife!--by all that's infamous!" cried the master's mate. "salt water, sir!" cried jem in a fright, expecting a _salt_ eel for supper. "yes, sir," replied mr appleboy, tossing the contents of the tumbler in the boy's face, "salt water. very well, sir,--very well!" "it warn't me, sir," replied the boy, making up a piteous look. "no, sir, but you said the cook was sober." "he was not so _very_ much disguised, sir," replied jem. "oh! very well--never mind. mr tomkins, in case i should forget it, do me the favour to put the kettle of salt water down in the report. the scoundrel! i'm very sorry, gentlemen, but there's no means of having any more gin-toddy,--but never mind, we'll see to this to-morrow. two can play at this; and if i don't salt-water their grog, and make them drink it, too, i have been twenty years a first-lieutenant for nothing--that's all. good night, gentlemen; and," continued the lieutenant, in a severe tone, "you'll keep a sharp look-out, mr smith--do you hear, sir?" "yes," drawled smith, "but it's not my watch; it was my first watch, and, just now, it struck one bell." "you'll keep the middle watch, then, mr smith," said mr appleboy, who was not a little put out; "and, mr tomkins, let me know as soon as it's daylight. boy, get my bed made. salt water, by all that's blue! however, we'll see to that to-morrow morning." mr appleboy then turned in; so did mr tomkins; and so did mr smith, who had no idea of keeping the middle watch because the cook was drunk and had filled up the kettle with salt water. as for what happened in ninety-three or ninety-four, i really would inform the reader if i knew, but i am afraid that that most curious story is never to be handed down to posterity. the next morning, mr tomkins, as usual, forgot to report the cook, the jar of butter, and the kettle of salt water; and mr appleboy's wrath had long been appeased before he remembered them. at daylight the lieutenant came on deck, having only slept away half of the sixteen, and a taste of the seventeenth salt-water glass of gin-toddy. he rubbed his grey eyes, that he might peer through the grey of the morning; the fresh breeze blew about his grizzly locks, and cooled his rubicund nose. the revenue-cutter, whose name was the _active_, cast off from the buoy; and, with a fresh breeze, steered her course for the needles' passage. chapter iii cutter the third reader! have you been to st maloes? if you have, you were glad enough to leave the hole; and, if you have not, take my advice, and do not give yourself the trouble to go and see that, or any other french port in the channel. there is not one worth looking at. they have made one or two artificial ports, and they are no great things; there is no getting out, or getting in. in fact, they have no harbours in the channel, while we have the finest in the world; a peculiar dispensation of providence, because it knew that we should want them, and france would not. in france, what are called ports are all alike, nasty narrow holes, only to be entered at certain times of tide and certain winds; made up of basins and back-waters, custom-houses, and cabarets; just fit for smugglers to run into, and nothing more; and, therefore, they are used for very little else. now, in the dog-hole called st maloes there is some pretty land, although a great deficiency of marine scenery. but never mind that: stay at home, and don't go abroad to drink sour wine, because they call it bordeaux, and eat villanous trash, so disguised by cooking that you cannot possibly tell which of the birds of the air, or beasts of the field, or fishes of the sea, you are cramming down your throat. "if all is right, there is no occasion for disguise," is an old saying; so depend upon it, that there is something wrong, and that you are eating offal, under a grand french name. they eat everything in france, and would serve you up the head of a monkey who has died of the smallpox, as _singe au petite vérole_--that is, if you did not understand french; if you did, they would call it, _tête d'amour a l'ethiopique,_ and then you would be even more puzzled. as for their wine, there is no disguise in that--it's half vinegar. no, no! stay at home; you can live just as cheaply, if you choose; and then you will have good meat, good vegetables, good ale, good beer, and a good glass of grog--and what is of more importance, you will be in good company. live with your friends, and don't make a fool of yourself. i would not have condescended to have noticed this place, had it not been that i wish you to observe a vessel which is lying along the pier-wharf, with a plank from the shore to her gunnel. it is low water, and she is aground, and the plank dips down at such an angle that it is a work of danger to go either in or out of her. you observe that there is nothing very remarkable in her. she is a cutter, and a good sea-boat, and sails well before the wind. she is short for her breadth of beam, and is not armed. smugglers do not arm now--the service is too dangerous; they effect their purpose by cunning, not by force. nevertheless, it requires that smugglers should be good seamen, smart, active fellows, and keen-witted, or they can do nothing. this vessel has not a large cargo in her, but it is valuable. she has some thousand yards of lace, a few hundred pounds of tea, a few bales of silk, and about forty ankers of brandy--just as much as they can land in one boat. all they ask is a heavy gale or a thick fog, and they trust to themselves for success. there is nobody on board except a boy; the crew are all up at the cabaret, settling their little accounts of every description--for they smuggle both ways, and every man has his own private venture. there they are all, fifteen of them, and fine-looking fellows, too, sitting at that long table. they are very merry, but quite sober, as they are to sail to-night. the captain of the vessel (whose name, by-the-bye is the "_happy-go-lucky_,"--the captain christened her himself) is that fine-looking young man, with dark whiskers, meeting under his throat. his name is jack pickersgill. you perceive, at once, that he is much above a common sailor in appearance. his manners are good, he is remarkably handsome, very clean, and rather a dandy in his dress. observe, how very politely he takes off his hat to that frenchman, with whom he has just settled accounts; he beats johnny crapeau at his own weapons. and then there is an air of command, a feeling of conscious superiority about jack; see how he treats the landlord, _de haut en bas_, at the same time that he is very civil. the fact is, that jack is of a very good, old family, and received a very excellent education; but he was an orphan, his friends were poor, and could do but little for him: he went out to india as a cadet, ran away, and served in a schooner which smuggled opium into china, and then came home. he took a liking to the employment, and is now laying up a very pretty little sum: not that he intends to stop: no, as soon as he has enough to fit out a vessel for himself, he intends to start again for india, and with two cargoes of opium, he will return, he trusts, with a handsome fortune, and re-assume his family name. such are jack's intentions; and, as he eventually means to reappear as a gentleman, he preserves his gentlemanly habits: he neither drinks, nor chews, nor smokes. he keeps his hands clean, wears rings, and sports a gold snuff-box; notwithstanding which, jack is one of the boldest and best of sailors, and the men know it. he is full of fun, and as keen as a razor. jack has a very heavy venture this time-- all the lace is his own speculation, and if he gets it in safe, he will clear some thousands of pounds. a certain fashionable shop in london has already agreed to take the whole off his hands. that short, neatly-made young man is the second in command, and the companion of the captain. he is clever, and always has a remedy to propose when there is a difficulty, which is a great quality in a second in command. his name is corbett. he is always merry--half-sailor, half-tradesman; knows the markets, runs up to london, and does business as well as a chapman--lives for the day, and laughs at to-morrow. that little punchy old man, with long gray hair and fat face, with a nose like a note of interrogation, is the next personage of importance. he ought to be called the sailing-master, for, although he goes on shore in france, off the english coast he never quits the vessel. when they leave her with the goods, he remains on board; he is always to be found off any part of the coast where he may be ordered; holding his position in defiance of gales, and tides, and fogs: as for the revenue-vessels, they all know him well enough, but they cannot touch a vessel in ballast, if she has no more men on board than allowed by her tonnage. he knows every creek, and hole, and corner, of the coast; how the tide runs in--tide, half-tide, eddy, or current. that is his value. his name is morrison. you observe that jack pickersgill has two excellent supporters in corbett and morrison; his other men are good seamen, active, and obedient, which is all that he requires. i shall not particularly introduce them. "now you may call for another _litre_, my lads, and that must be the last; the tide is flowing fast, and we shall be afloat in half an hour, and we have just the breeze we want. what d'ye think, morrison, shall we have dirt?" "i've been looking just now, and if it were any other month in the year i should say, yes; but there's no trusting april, captain. howsomever, if it does blow off, i'll promise you a fog in three hours afterwards." "that will do as well. corbett, have you settled with duval?" "yes, after more noise and _charivari_ than a panic in the stock exchange would make in england. he fought and squabbled for an hour, and i found that, without some abatement, i never should have settled the affair." "what did you let him off?" "seventeen sous," replied corbett, laughing. "and that satisfied him?" inquired pickersgill. "yes--it was all he could prove to be a _surfaire_: two of the knives were a little rusty. but he will always have something off; he could not be happy without it. i really think he would commit suicide, if he had to pay a bill without a deduction." "let him live," replied pickersgill. "jeannette, a bottle of volnay, of , and three glasses." jeannette, who was the _fille de cabaret_, soon appeared with a bottle of wine, seldom called for, except by the captain of the _happy-go-lucky_. "you sail to-night?" said she, as she placed the bottle before him. pickersgill nodded his head. "i had a strange dream," said jeannette; "i thought you were all taken by a revenue cutter, and put in a _cachot_. i went to see you, and i did not know one of you again--you were all changed." "very likely, jeannette--you would not be the first who did not know their friends again when in misfortune. there was nothing strange in your dream." "_mais, mon dieu! je ne suis pas comme ça moi_." "no, that you are not, jeannette; you are a good girl, and some of these fine days i'll marry you," said corbett. "_doit être bien beau ce jour là, par exemple_," replied jeannette, laughing; "you have promised to marry me every time you have come in, these last three years." "well, that proves i keep to my promise, any how." "yes; but you never go any further." "i can't spare him, jeannette, that is the real truth," said the captain: "but wait a little--in the meantime, here is a five-franc piece to add to your _petite fortune_." "_merci bien, monsieur le capitaine; bon voyage!_" jeannette held her finger up to corbett, saying, with a smile, "_méchant!_" and then quitted the room. "come, morrison, help us to empty this bottle, and then we will all go on board." "i wish that girl wouldn't come here with her nonsensical dreams," said morrison, taking his seat; "i don't like it. when she said that we should be taken by a revenue cutter, i was looking at a blue and a white pigeon sitting on the wall opposite; and i said to myself, now, if that be a warning, i will see: if the _blue_ pigeon flies away first, i shall be in jail in a week; if the _white,_ i shall be back here." "well?" said pickersgill, laughing. "it wasn't well," answered morrison, tossing off his wine, and putting the glass down with a deep sigh; "for the cursed _blue_ pigeon flew away immediately." "why, morrison, you must have a chicken-heart to be frightened at a blue pigeon," said corbett, laughing, and looking out of the window; "at all events, he has come back again, and there he is sitting by the white one." "it's the first time that ever i was called chicken-hearted," replied morrison, in wrath. "nor do you deserve it, morrison," replied pickersgill; "but corbett is only joking." "well, at all events, i'll try my luck in the same way, and see whether i am to be in jail: i shall take the blue pigeon as my bad omen, as you did." the sailors and captain pickersgill all rose and went to the window, to ascertain corbett's fortune by this new species of augury. the blue pigeon flapped his wings, and then he sidled up to the white one; at last, the white pigeon flew off the wall and settled on the roof of the adjacent house. "bravo, white pigeon!" said corbett; "i shall be here again in a week." the whole party, laughing, then resumed their seats; and morrison's countenance brightened up. as he took the glass of wine poured out by pickersgill, he said, "here's your health, corbett; it was all nonsense, after all--for, d'ye see, i can't be put in jail without you are. we all sail in the same boat, and when you leave me, you take with you everything that can condemn the vessel--so here's success to our trip." "we will all drink that toast, my lads, and then on board," said the captain; "here's success to our trip." the captain rose, as did the mates and men, drank the toast, turned down the drinking-vessels on the table, hastened to the wharf, and, in half an hour, the _happy-go-lucky_ was clear of the port of st maloes. chapter iv portland bill the _happy-go-lucky_ sailed with a fresh breeze and a flowing sheet from st maloes, the evening before the _arrow_ sailed from barn pool. the _active_ sailed from portsmouth the morning after. the yacht, as we before observed, was bound to cowes, in the isle of wight. the _active_ had orders to cruise wherever she pleased within the limits of the admiral's station; and she ran for west bay, on the other side of the bill of portland. the _happy-go-lucky_ was also bound for that bay to land her cargo. the wind was light, and there was every appearance of fine weather, when the _happy-go-lucky_, at ten o'clock on the tuesday night, made the portland lights; as it was impossible to run her cargo that night, she hove to. at eleven o'clock, the portland lights were made by the revenue cutter _active_. mr appleboy went up to have a look at them, ordered the cutter to be hove to, and then went down to finish his allowance of gin-toddy. at twelve o'clock, the yacht _arrow_ made the portland lights, and continued her course, hardly stemming the ebb tide. day broke, and the horizon was clear. the first on the look-out were, of course, the smugglers; they, and those on board the revenue cutter, were the only two interested parties--the yacht was neuter. "there are two cutters in sight, sir," said corbett, who had the watch; for pickersgill, having been up the whole night, had thrown himself down on the bed with his clothes on. "what do they look like?" said pickersgill, who was up in a moment. "one is a yacht, and the other may be; but i rather think, as far as i can judge in the gray, that it is our old friend off here." "what! old appleboy?" "yes, it looks like him; but the day has scarcely broke yet." "well, he can do nothing in a light wind like this; and before the wind we can show him our heels; but are you sure the other is a yacht?" said pickersgill, coming on deck. "yes; the king is more careful of his canvas." "you're right," said pickersgill, "that is a yacht; and you're right there again in your guess--that is the stupid old _active_, which creeps about creeping for tubs. well, i see nothing to alarm us at present, provided it don't fall a dead calm, and then we must take to our boat as soon as he takes to his; we are four miles from him at least. watch his motions, corbett, and see if he lowers a boat. what does she go now? four knots?--that will soon tire their men." the positions of the three cutters were as follows:-- the _happy-go-lucky_ was about four miles off portland head, and well into west bay. the revenue cutter was close to the head. the yacht was outside of the smuggler, about two miles to the westward, and about five or six miles from the revenue cutter. "two vessels in sight, sir," said mr smith, coming down into the cabin to mr appleboy. "very well," replied the lieutenant, who was _lying_ down in his _standing_ bed-place. "the people say one is the _happy-go-lucky,_ sir," drawled smith. "heh? what! _happy-go-lucky?_ yes, i recollect; i've boarded her twenty times--always empty. how's she standing?" "she stands to the westward now, sir; but she was hove to, they say, when they first saw her." "then she has a cargo in her;" and mr appleboy shaved himself, dressed, and went on deck. "yes," said the lieutenant, rubbing his eyes again and again, and then looking through the glass, "it is her sure enough. let draw the fore sheet--hands make sail. what vessel's the other?" "don't know, sir,--she's a cutter." "a cutter? yes; may be a yacht, or may be the new cutter ordered on the station. make all sail, mr tomkins; hoist our pendant, and fire a gun-- they will understand what we mean then; they don't know the _happy-go-lucky_ as well as we do." in a few minutes the _active_ was under a press of sail; she hoisted her pendant, and fired a gun. the smuggler perceived that the _active_ had recognised her, and she also threw out more canvas, and ran off more to the westward. "there's a gun, sir," reported one of the men to mr stewart, on board of the yacht. "yes; give me the glass--a revenue cutter; then this vessel in shore, running towards us, must be a smuggler." "she has just now made all sail, sir." "yes, there's no doubt of it; i will go down to his lordship--keep her as she goes." mr stewart then went down to inform lord b. of the circumstance. not only lord b., but most of the gentlemen came on deck; as did soon afterwards the ladies, who had received the intelligence from lord b., who spoke to them through the door of the cabin. but the smuggler had more wind than the revenue cutter, and increased her distance. "if we were to wear round now, my lord," observed mr stewart, "she is just abreast of us and in shore, we could prevent her escape." "round with her, mr stewart," said lord b.; "we must do our duty, and protect the laws." "that will not be fair, papa," said cecilia ossulton; "we have no quarrel with the smugglers: i'm sure the ladies have not, for they bring us beautiful things." "miss ossulton," observed her aunt, "it is not proper for you to offer an opinion." the yacht wore round, and, sailing so fast, the smuggler had little chance of escaping her; but to chase is one thing--to capture, another. "let us give her a gun," said lord b., "that will frighten her; and he dare not cross our hawse." the gun was loaded, and not being more than a mile from the smuggler, actually threw the ball almost a quarter of the way. the gentlemen, as well as lord b., were equally excited by the ardour of pursuit; but the wind died away, and at last it was nearly calm. the revenue cutter's boats were out, and coming up fast. "let us get our boat out, stewart," said his lordship; "and help them; it is quite calm now." the boat was soon out: it was a very large one, usually stowed on, and occupied a large portion of, the deck. it pulled six oars; and when it was manned, mr stewart jumped in, and lord b. followed him. "but you have no arms," said mr hautaine. "the smugglers never resist now," observed stewart. "then you are going on a very gallant expedition, indeed," observed cecilia ossulton; "i wish you joy." but lord b. was too much excited to pay attention. they shoved off, and pulled towards the smuggler. at this time, the revenue boats were about five miles astern of the _happy-go-lucky_, and the yacht about three-quarters of a mile from her in the offing. pickersgill had, of course, observed the motions of the yacht; had seen her wear on chase, hoist her ensign and pendant, and fire her gun. "well," said he, "this is the blackest ingratitude; to be attacked by the very people whom we smuggle for. i only wish she may come up with us; and, let her attempt to interfere, she shall rue the day: i don't much like this, though." as we before observed, it fell nearly calm, and the revenue boats were in chase. pickersgill watched them as they came up. "what shall we do," said corbett,--"get the boat out?" "yes," replied pickersgill, "we will get the boat out, and have the goods in her all ready; but we can pull faster than they do, in the first place; and, in the next, they will be pretty well tired before they come up to us. we are fresh, and shall soon walk away from them; so i shall not leave the vessel till they are within half a mile. we must sink the ankers, that they may not seize the vessel, for it is not worth while taking them with us. pass them along ready to run them over the bows, that they may not see us and swear to it. but we have a good half hour, and more." "ay, and you may hold all fast if you choose," said morrison, "although it's better to be on the right side and get ready; otherwise, before half an hour, i'll swear that we are out of their sight. look there," said he, pointing to the eastward at a heavy bank, "it's coming right down upon us, as i said it would." "true enough; but still there is no saying which will come first, morrison; the boats or the fog, so we must be prepared." "hilloa! what's this? why, there's a boat coming from the yacht!" pickersgill took out his glass. "yes, and the yacht's own boat, with the name painted on her bows. well, let them come--we will have no ceremony in resisting them; they are not in the act of parliament, and must take the consequences. we have nought to fear. get stretchers, my lads, and hand-spikes; they row six oars, and are three in the stern sheets--they must be good men if they take us." in a few minutes lord b. was close to the smuggler. "boat, ahoy! what do you want?" "surrender in the king's name." "to what, and to whom, and what are we to surrender? we are an english vessel coasting along shore." "pull on board, my lads," cried stewart; "i am a king's officer--we know her." the boat darted alongside, and stewart and lord b., followed by the men, jumped on the deck. "well, gentlemen, what do you want?" said pickersgill. "we seize you--you are a smuggler; there's no denying it: look at the casks of spirits stretched along the deck." "we never said that we were not smugglers," replied pickersgill; "but what is that to you? you are not a king's ship, or employed by the revenue." "no, but we carry a pendant, and it is our duty to protect the laws." "and who are you?" said pickersgill. "i am lord b." "then, my lord, allow me to say that you would do much better to attend to the framing of laws, and leave people of less consequence, like those astern of me, to execute them. 'mind your own business,' is an old adage. we shall not hurt you, my lord, as you have only employed words, but we shall put it out of your power to hurt us. come aft, my lads. now, my lord, resistance is useless; we are double your numbers, and you have caught a tartar." lord b. and mr stewart perceived that they were in an awkward predicament. "you may do what you please," observed mr stewart, "but the revenue boats are coming up, recollect." "look you, sir, do you see the revenue cutter?" said pickersgill. stewart looked in that direction, and saw that she was hidden in the fog. "in five minutes, sir, the boats will be out of sight also, and so will your vessel; we have nothing to fear from them." "indeed, my lord, we had better return," said mr stewart, who perceived that pickersgill was right. "i beg your pardon, you will not go on board your yacht so soon as you expect. take the oars out of the boat, my lads, two or three of you, and throw in a couple of our paddles for them to reach the shore with. the rest of you knock down the first man who offers to resist. you are not aware, perhaps, my lord, that you have attempted _piracy_ on the high seas?" stewart looked at lord b. it was true enough. the men of the yacht could offer no resistance; the oars were taken out of the boat, and the men put in again. "my lord," said pickersgill, "your boat is manned--do me the favour to step into it; and you, sir, do the same. i should be sorry to lay my hands upon a peer of the realm, or a king's officer even on half pay." remonstrance was vain; his lordship was led to the boat by two of the smugglers, and stewart followed. "i will leave your oars, my lord, at the weymouth custom-house; and i trust this will be a lesson to you in future to 'mind your own business.'" the boat was shoved off from the sloop by the smugglers, and was soon lost sight of in the fog, which had now covered the revenue boats as well as the yacht; at the same time, it brought down a breeze from the eastward. "haul to the wind, morrison," said pickersgill, "we will stand out to get rid of the boats; if they pull on, they will take it for granted that we shall run into the bay, as will the revenue cutter." pickersgill and corbett were in conversation abaft for a short time, when the former desired the course to be altered two points. "keep silence all of you, my lads, and let me know if you hear a gun or a bell from the yacht," said pickersgill. "there is a gun, sir, close to us," said one of the men; "the sound was right ahead." "that will do, keep her as she goes. aft here, my lads; we cannot run our cargo in the bay, for the cutter has been seen to chase us, and they will all be on the look-out at the preventive stations for us on shore. now, my lads, i have made up my mind that, as these yacht gentlemen have thought proper to interfere, i will take possession of the yacht for a few days. we shall then out-sail everything, go where we like unsuspected, and land our cargo with ease. i shall run alongside of her --she can have but few hands on board; and mind, do not hurt anybody, but be civil and obey my orders. morrison, you and your four men and the boy will remain on board as before, and take the vessel to cherbourg, where we will join you." in a short time another gun was fired from the yacht. those on board, particularly the ladies, were alarmed; the fog was very thick, and they could not distinguish the length of the vessel. they had seen the boat board, but had not seen her turned adrift without oars, as the fog came on just at that time. the yacht was left with only three seamen on board, and, should it come on bad weather, they were in an awkward predicament. mr hautaine had taken the command, and ordered the guns to be fired that the boat might be enabled to find them. the fourth gun was loading, when they perceived the smuggler's cutter close to them looming through the fog. "here they are," cried the seamen; "and they have brought the prize along with them! three cheers for the _arrow_!" "hilloa! you'll be on board of us?" cried hautaine. "that's exactly what i intended to be, sir," replied pickersgill, jumping on the quarter-deck, followed by his men. "who the devil are you?" "that's exactly the same question that i asked lord b. when he boarded us," replied pickersgill, taking off his hat to the ladies. "well, but what business have you here?" "exactly the same question which i put to lord b.," replied pickersgill. "where is lord b., sir?" said cecilia ossulton, going up to the smuggler; "is he safe?" "yes, madam, he is safe; at least he is in his boat with all his men, and unhurt: but you must excuse me if i request you and the other ladies to go down below while i speak to these gentlemen. be under no alarm, miss; you will receive neither insult nor ill-treatment--i have only taken possession of this vessel for the present." "take possession," cried hautaine, "of a yacht." "yes, sir, since the owner of the yacht thought proper to attempt to take possession of me. i always thought that yachts were pleasure-vessels, sailing about for amusement, respected themselves, and not interfering with others; but it appears that such is not the case. the owner of this yacht has thought proper to break through the neutrality, and commence aggression, and under such circumstances i have now, in retaliation, taken possession of her." "and, pray, what do you mean to do, sir?" "simply for a few days to make an exchange. i shall send you on board of my vessel as smugglers, while i remain here with the ladies and amuse myself with yachting." "why, sir, you cannot mean--" "i have said, gentlemen, and that is enough; i should be sorry to resort to violence, but i must be obeyed. you have, i perceive, three seamen only left: they are not sufficient to take charge of the vessel, and lord b. and the others you will not meet for several days. my regard for the ladies, even common humanity, points out to me that i cannot leave the vessel in this crippled condition. at the same time, as i must have hands on board of my own, you will oblige me by going on board and taking her safely into port. it is the least return you can make for my kindness. in those dresses, gentlemen, you will not be able to do your duty; oblige me by shifting, and putting on these." corbett handed a flannel shirt, a rough jacket and trousers, to messrs hautaine, ossulton, vaughan, and seagrove. after some useless resistance they were stripped, and having put on the smugglers' attire, they were handed on board of the _happy-go-lucky_. the three english seamen were also sent on board and confined below, as well as ossulton's servant, who was also equipped like his master, and confined below with the seamen. corbett and the men then handed up all the smuggled goods into the yacht, dropped the boat, and made it fast astern; and, morrison having received his directions, the vessels separated--morrison running for cherbourg, and pickersgill steering the yacht along shore to the westward. about an hour after this exchange had been effected, the fog cleared up, and showed the revenue cutter hove to for her boats, which had pulled back and were close on board of her; and the _happy-go-lucky_, about three miles in the offing. lord b. and his boat's crew were about four miles in shore, paddling and drifting with the tide towards portland. as soon as the boats were on board, the revenue cutter made all sail after the smuggler, paying no attention to the yacht, and either not seeing or not caring about the boat which was drifting about in west bay. chapter v the travestie "here we are, corbett, and now i only wish my venture had been double," observed pickersgill; "but i shall not allow business to absorb me wholly--we must add a little amusement. it appears to me, corbett, that the gentleman's clothes which lie there will fit you, and those of the good-looking fellow who was spokesman will, i am sure, suit me well. now, let us dress ourselves, and then for breakfast." pickersgill then exchanged his clothes for those of mr hautaine, and corbett fitted on those of mr ossulton. the steward was summoned up, and he dared not disobey; he appeared on deck, trembling. "steward--you will take these clothes below," said pickersgill, "and, observe, i now command this yacht; and, during the time that i am on board, you will pay me the same respect as you did lord b.: nay, more, you will always address me as lord b. you will prepare dinner and breakfast, and do your duty just as if his lordship was on board, and take care that you feed us well, for i will not allow the ladies to be entertained in a less sumptuous manner than before.--you will tell the cook what i say,--and now that you have heard me, take care that you obey; if not, recollect that i have my own men here, and if i but point with my finger, _overboard you go_.--do you perfectly comprehend me?" "yes,--sir," stammered the steward. "yes, _sir_!--what did i tell you, sirrah?--yes, my lord.--do you understand me?" "yes--my lord." "pray, steward, whose clothes has this gentleman put on?" "mr--mr ossulton's, i think--sir--my lord, i mean." "very well, steward; then recollect, in future you always address that gentleman as _mr ossulton_." "yes, my lord," and the steward went down below, and was obliged to take a couple of glasses of brandy, to keep himself from fainting. "who are they, and what are they! mr maddox?" cried the lady's-maid, who had been weeping. "pirates!--_bloody, murderous, stick-at-nothing_ pirates!" replied the steward. "oh!" screamed the lady's-maid, "what will become of us, poor unprotected females?" and she hastened into the cabin, to impart this dreadful intelligence. the ladies in the cabin were not in a very enviable situation. as for the elder miss ossulton (but, perhaps, it will be better in future to distinguish the two ladies, by calling the elder simply miss ossulton, and her niece, cecilia), she was sitting with her salts to her nose, agonised with a mixture of trepidation and wounded pride. mrs lascelles was weeping, but weeping gently. cecilia was sad, and her heart was beating with anxiety and suspense--when the maid rushed in. "o madam! o miss! o mrs lascelles! i have found it all out!--they are murderous, bloody, do-everything pirates!!!" "mercy on us!" exclaimed miss ossulton; "surely they will never dare--?" "oh, ma'am, they dare anything!--they just now were throwing the steward overboard--and they have rummaged all the portmanteaus, and dressed themselves in the gentlemen's best clothes--the captain of them told the steward that he was lord b.--and that if he dared to call him anything else, he would cut his throat from ear to ear--and if the cook don't give them a good dinner, they swear that they'll chop his right hand off, and make him eat it, without pepper or salt!" miss ossulton screamed, and went off into hysterics. mrs lascelles and cecilia went to her assistance; but the latter had not forgotten the very different behaviour of jack pickersgill, and his polite manners, when he boarded the vessel. she did not, therefore, believe what the maid had reported, but still her anxiety and suspense were great, especially about her father. after having restored her aunt, she put on her bonnet, which was lying on the sofa. "where are you going, dear?" said mrs lascelles. "on deck," replied cecilia. "i must and will speak to these men." "gracious heaven, miss ossulton going on deck! have you heard what phoebe says?" "yes, aunt, i have; but i can wait here no longer." "stop her! stop her!--she will be murdered!--she will be--she is mad!" screamed miss ossulton; but no one attempted to stop cecilia, and on deck she went. on her arrival, she found jack pickersgill and corbett walking the deck; one of the smugglers at the helm, and the rest forward, and as quiet as the crew of the yacht. as soon as she made her appearance, jack took off his hat, and made her a bow. "i do not know whom i have the honour of addressing, young lady! but i am flattered with this mark of confidence. you feel, and i assure you, you feel correctly, that you are not exactly in lawless hands." cecilia looked with more surprise than fear at pickersgill; mr hautaine's dress became him, he was a handsome, fine-looking man, and had nothing of the ruffian in his appearance; unless, like byron's corsair, he was _half savage, half soft_. she could not help thinking that she had met many with less pretensions, as far as appearance went, to the claims of a gentleman, at almack's, and other fashionable circles. "i have ventured on deck, sir," said cecilia, with a little tremulousness in her voice, "to request, as a favour, that you will inform me what your intentions may be, with regard to the vessel, and with regard to the ladies!" "and i feel much obliged to you, for so doing, and i assure you, i will, as far as i have made up my own mind, answer you candidly: but you tremble--allow me to conduct you to a seat. in few words, then, to remove your present alarm, i intend that the vessel shall be returned to its owner, with every article in it, as religiously respected as if they were church property. with respect to you, and the other ladies on board, i pledge you my honour, that you have nothing to fear; that you shall be treated with every respect; your privacy never invaded; and that, in a few days, you will be restored to your friends. young lady, i pledge my hopes of future salvation to the truth of this; but, at the same time, i must make a few conditions, which, however, will not be very severe." "but, sir," replied cecilia, much relieved, for pickersgill had stood by her in the most respectful manner, "you are, i presume, the captain of the smuggler? pray, answer me one question more--what became of the boat, with lord b.,--he is my father?" "i left him in his boat, without a hair of his head touched, young lady; but i took away the oars." "then he will perish!" cried cecilia, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. "no, young lady, he is on shore probably by this time; although i took away his means of assisting to capture us, i left him the means of gaining the land. it is not every one who would have done that, after his conduct to us." "i begged him not to go," said cecilia; "i told him that it was not fair, and that he had no quarrel with the smugglers." "i thank you even for that," replied pickersgill. "and now, miss--i have not the pleasure of recollecting his lordship's family name--" "ossulton, sir," said cecilia, looking at pickersgill with surprise. "then, with your permission, miss ossulton, i will now make you my confidant: excuse my using so free a term, but it is because i wish to relieve your fears; at the same time, i cannot permit you to divulge all my intentions to the whole party on board; i feel that i may trust you, for you have courage, and where there is courage, there generally is truth; but you must first tell me whether you will condescend to accept these terms?" cecilia demurred a moment--the idea of being the confidant of a smuggler rather startled her; but still, her knowledge of what his intentions were, if she might not reveal them, might be important; as, perhaps, she might dissuade him. she could be in no worse position than she was now, and she might be in a much better. the conduct of pickersgill had been such, up to the present, as to inspire confidence; and, although he defied the laws, he appeared to regard the courtesies of life. cecilia was a courageous girl, and at length she replied:-- "provided what you desire me to keep secret will not be injurious to any one, or compromise me, in my peculiar situation, i consent." "i would not hurt a fly, miss ossulton, but in self-defence, and i have too much respect for you, from your conduct during our short meeting, to compromise you. allow me now to be very candid; and then, perhaps, you will acknowledge that, in my situation, others would do the same; and, perhaps, not show half so much forbearance. your father, without any right whatever, interferes with me, and my calling: he attempts to make me a prisoner, to have me thrown in jail; heavily fined, and, perhaps, sent out of the country. i will not enter into any defence of smuggling, it is sufficient to say, that there are pains and penalties attached to the infraction of certain laws, and that i choose to risk them--but lord b. was not empowered by government to attack me; it was a gratuitous act--and had i thrown him, and all his crew into the sea, i should have been justified, for it was in short, an act of piracy on their part. now, as your father has thought to turn a yacht into a revenue cutter, you cannot be surprised at my retaliating, in turning her into a smuggler; and as he has mixed up looking after the revenue with yachting, he cannot be surprised if i retaliate, by mixing up a little yachting with smuggling. i have dressed your male companions as smugglers, and have sent them in the smuggling vessel to cherbourg, where they will be safely landed; and i have dressed myself, and the only person whom i could join with me in this frolic, as gentlemen, in their places. my object is twofold: one is, to land my cargo, which i have now on board, and which is very valuable; the other is, to retaliate upon your father and his companions, for their attempt upon me, by stepping into their shoes, and enjoying, for a day or two, their luxuries. it is my intention to make free with nothing, but his lordship's wine and eatables,--that you may be assured of; but i shall have no pleasure, if the ladies do not sit down to the dinner-table with us, as they did before with your father and his friends." "you can hardly expect that, sir," said cecilia. "yes, i do; and that will be not only the price of the early release of the yacht and themselves, but it will also be the only means by which they will obtain anything to eat. you observe, miss ossulton, the sins of the fathers are visited on the children. i have now told you what i mean to do, and what i wish. i leave you to think of it, and decide whether it will not be the best for all parties to consent. you have my permission to tell the other ladies, that whatever may be their conduct, they are as secure from ill-treatment or rudeness, as if they were in grosvenor square; but i cannot answer that they will not be hungry, if, after such forbearance in every point, they show so little gratitude, as not to honour me with their company." "then i am to understand that we are to be starved into submission?" "no, not starved, miss ossulton; but recollect that you will be on bread and water, and detained until you do consent, and your detention will increase the anxiety of your father." "you know how to persuade, sir," said cecilia. "as far as i am concerned, i trust i shall ever be ready to sacrifice any feelings of pride, to spare my father so much uneasiness. with your permission, i will now go down into the cabin, and relieve my companions from the worst of their fears. as for obtaining what you wish, i can only say, that, as a young person, i am not likely to have much influence with those older than myself, and must inevitably be overruled, as i have not permission to point out to them reasons which might avail. would you so far allow me to be relieved from my promise, as to communicate all you have said to me, to the only married woman on board? i think i then might obtain your wishes, which, i must candidly tell you, i shall attempt to effect, _only_ because i am most anxious to rejoin my friends." "and be relieved of my company," replied pickersgill, smiling, ironically,--"of course you are; but i must and will have my petty revenge: and although you may, and probably will detest me, at all events you shall not have any very formidable charge to make against me before you go below, miss ossulton, i give you my permission to add the married lady to the number of my confidants; and you must permit me to introduce my friend, mr ossulton;" and pickersgill waved his hand in the direction of corbett, who took off his hat, and made a low obeisance. it was impossible for cecilia ossulton to help smiling. "and," continued pickersgill, "having taking the command of this yacht, instead of his lordship, it is absolutely necessary that i also take his lordship's name. while on board i am lord b.; and allow me to introduce myself under that name--i cannot be addressed otherwise. depend upon it, miss ossulton, that i shall have a most paternal solicitude to make you happy and comfortable." had cecilia ossulton dared to have given vent to her real feelings at that time, she would have burst into a fit of laughter, it was too ludicrous. at the same time, the very burlesque reassured her still more. she went into the cabin with a heavy weight removed from her heart. in the meantime, miss ossulton and mrs lascelles remained below, in the greatest anxiety at cecilia's prolonged stay; they knew not what to think, and dared not go on deck. mrs lascelles had once determined at all risks to go up; but miss ossulton and phoebe had screamed, and implored her so fervently not to leave them, that she unwillingly consented to remain. cecilia's countenance, when she entered the cabin, reassured mrs lascelles, but not her aunt, who ran to her, crying and sobbing, and clinging to her, saying, "what have they done to you, my poor, poor cecilia?" "nothing at all, aunt," replied cecilia, "the captain speaks very fairly, and says he shall respect us in every possible way, provided that we obey his orders, but if not--" "if not--what, cecilia?" said miss ossulton, grasping her niece's arm. "he will starve us, and not let us go!" "god have mercy on us!"--cried miss ossulton, renewing her sobs. cecilia then went to mrs lascelles, and communicated to her, apart, all that had passed. mrs lascelles agreed with cecilia, that they were in no danger of insult; and as they talked over the matter, they at last began to laugh; there was a novelty in it, and there was something so ridiculous in all the gentlemen being turned into smugglers. cecilia was glad that she could not tell her aunt, as she wished her to be so frightened, as never to have her company on board of the yacht again; and mrs lascelles was too glad to annoy her for many and various insults received. the matter was, therefore, canvassed over very satisfactorily, and mrs lascelles felt a natural curiosity to see this new lord b. and the second mr ossulton. but they had had no breakfast and were feeling very hungry, now that their alarm was over. they desired phoebe to ask the steward for some tea or coffee. the reply was, that, "breakfast was laid in the cabin, and lord b. trusted that the ladies would come to partake of it." "no, no," replied mrs lascelles, "i never can, without being introduced to them first." "nor will i go," replied cecilia, "but i will write a note, and we will have our breakfast here." cecilia wrote a note in pencil as follows:-- "miss ossulton's compliments to lord b., and, as the ladies feel rather indisposed after the alarm of this morning, they trust that his lordship will excuse their coming to breakfast; but hope to meet his lordship at dinner, if not before that time, on deck." the answer was propitious, and the steward soon appeared with the breakfast in the ladies' cabin. "well maddox," said cecilia, "how do you get on with your new master?" the steward looked at the door to see if it was closed, shook his head, and then said with a look of despair, "he has ordered a haunch of venison for dinner, miss, and he has twice threatened to toss me overboard." "you must obey him, maddox, or he certainly will. these pirates are dreadful fellows; be attentive, and serve him just as if he was my father." "yes, yes, ma'am, i will, but our time may come; it's _burglary_ on the high seas, and i'll go fifty miles to see him hanged." "steward!" cried pickersgill, from the cabin. "o lord! he can't have heard me--d'ye-think he did, miss?" "the partitions are very thin, and you spoke very loud," said mrs lascelles; "at all events, go to him quickly." "good-bye, miss; good-bye, ma'am; if i shouldn't see you any more," said maddox, trembling with fear, as he obeyed the awful summons--which was to demand a tooth-pick. miss ossulton would not touch the breakfast; not so mrs lascelles and cecilia, who ate very heartily. "it's very dull to be shut up in this cabin," said mrs lascelles; "come, cecilia, let's go on deck." "and leave me," cried miss ossulton. "there is phoebe here, aunt; we are going up to persuade the pirates to put us all on shore." mrs lascelles and cecilia put on their bonnets and went up. lord b. took off his hat, and begged the honour of being introduced to the pretty widow. he handed the ladies to a seat, and then commenced conversing upon various subjects, which, at the same time, possessed great novelty. his lordship talked about france, and described its ports; told now and then a good anecdote; pointed out the different headlands, bays, towns, and villages, which they were passing rapidly, and always had some little story connected with each. before the ladies had been two hours on deck, they found themselves, to their infinite surprise, not only interested, but in conversation with the captain of the smuggler, and more than once they laughed outright. but the _soi-disant_ lord b. had inspired them with confidence; they fully believed that what he had told them was true, and that he had taken possession of the yacht to smuggle his goods, to be revenged, and to have a laugh. now none of these three offences are capital in the eyes of the fair sex; and jack was a handsome, fine-looking fellow, of excellent manners, and very agreeable conversation, at the same time, neither he nor his friend were in their general deportment and behaviour otherwise than most respectful. "ladies, as you are not afraid of me, which is a greater happiness than i had reason to expect, i think you may be amused to witness the fear of those who accuse your sex of cowardice. with your permission, i will send for the cook and steward, and inquire about the dinner." "i should like to know what there is for dinner," observed mrs lascelles demurely; "wouldn't you, cecilia?" cecilia put her handkerchief to her mouth. "tell the steward and the cook both to come aft immediately," cried pickersgill. in a few seconds they both made their appearance. "steward!" cried pickersgill, with a loud voice. "yes, my lord," replied maddox, with his hat in his hand. "what wines have you put out for dinner?" "champagne, my lord; and claret, my lord; and madeira and sherry, my lord." "no burgundy, sir?" "no, my lord; there is no burgundy on board." "no burgundy, sir! do you dare to tell me that?" "upon my soul, my lord," cried maddox, dropping on his knees, "there is no burgundy on board--ask the ladies." "very well, sir; you may go." "cook, what have you got for dinner?" "sir, a haunch of mutt--of venison, my lord," replied the cook, with his white night-cap in his hand. "what else, sirrah?" "a boiled calf's head, my lord." "a boiled calf's head! let it be roasted, or i'll roast you, sir!" cried pickersgill in an angry tone. "yes, my lord; i'll roast it." "and what else, sir?" "maintenon cutlets, my lord." "maintenon cutlets! i hate them--i won't have them, sir. let them be dressed _à l'ombre chinoise_." "i don't know what that is, my lord." "i don't care for that, sirrah; if you don't find out by dinner-time, you're food for fishes--that's all; you may go." the cook walked off wringing his hands and his night-cap as well--for he still held it in his right hand--and disappeared down the fore-hatchway. "i have done this to pay you a deserved compliment, ladies; you have more courage than the other sex." "recollect that we have had confidence given to us in consequence of your pledging your word, my lord." "you do me, then, the honour of believing me?" "i did not until i saw you," replied mrs lascelles; "but now i am convinced that you will perform your promise." "you do, indeed, encourage me, madam, to pursue what is right," said pickersgill, bowing; "for your approbation i should be most sorry to lose, still more sorry to prove myself unworthy of it." as the reader will observe, everything was going on remarkably well. chapter vi the smuggling yacht cecilia returned to the cabin, to ascertain whether her aunt was more composed; but mrs lascelles remained on deck. she was much pleased with pickersgill; and they continued their conversation. pickersgill entered into a defence of his conduct to lord b.; and mrs lascelles could not but admit the provocation. after a long conversation, she hinted at his profession, and how superior he appeared to be to such a lawless life. "you may be incredulous, madam," replied pickersgill, "if i tell you that i have as good a right to quarter my arms as lord b. himself; and that i am not under my real name. smuggling is, at all events, no crime; and i infinitely prefer the wild life i lead at the head of my men, to being spurned by society because i am poor. the greatest crime in this country is poverty. i may, if i am fortunate, some day resume my name. you may, perhaps, meet me, and, if you please, you may expose me." "that i should not be likely to do," replied the widow; "but still i regret to see a person, evidently intended for better things, employed in so disreputable a profession." "i hardly know, madam, what is and what is not disreputable in this conventional world. it is not considered disreputable to cringe to the vices of a court, or to accept a pension wrung from the industry of the nation, in return for base servility. it is not considered disreputable to take tithes, intended for the service of god, and lavish them away at watering-places or elsewhere, seeking pleasure instead of doing god service. it is not considered disreputable to take fee after fee to uphold injustice, to plead against innocence, to pervert truth, and to aid the devil. it is not considered disreputable to gamble on the stock exchange, or to corrupt the honesty of electors by bribes, to doing which the penalty attached is equal to that decreed to the offence of which i am guilty. all these, and much more, are not considered disreputable; yet, by all these are the moral bonds of society loosened, while in mine we cause no guilt in others--" "but still it is a crime." "a violation of the revenue laws, and no more. observe, madam, the english government encourage the smuggling of our manufactures to the continent, at the same time that they take every step to prevent articles being smuggled into this country. now, madam, can that be a _crime_, when the head of the vessel is turned north, which becomes _no crime_ when she steers the opposite way?" "there is a stigma attached to it, you must allow." "that i grant you, madam; and as soon as i can quit the profession i shall. no captive ever sighed more to be released from his chains; but i will not leave it, till i find that i am in a situation not to be spurned and neglected by those with whom i have a right to associate." at this moment, the steward was seen forward making signs to mrs lascelles, who excused herself, and went to him. "for the love of god, madam," said maddox, "as he appears to be friendly with you, do pray find out how these cutlets are to be dressed; the cook is tearing his hair, and we shall never have any dinner; and then it will all fall upon me, and i--shall be tossed overboard." mrs lascelles desired poor maddox to wait there while she obtained the desired information. in a few minutes she returned to him. "i have found it out. they are first to be boiled in vinegar; then fried in batter, and served up with a sauce of anchovy and malaga raisins!" "first fried in vinegar; then boiled in batter, and served up with almonds and raisins!" "no--no!" mrs lascelles repeated the injunction to the frightened steward; and then returned aft, and re-entered into a conversation with pickersgill, in which for the first time, corbett now joined. corbett had sense enough to feel, that the less he came forward until his superior had established himself in the good graces of the ladies, the more favourable would be the result. in the mean time cecilia had gone down to her aunt, who still continued to wail and lament. the young lady tried all she could to console her, and to persuade her that if they were civil and obedient they had nothing to fear. "civil and obedient, indeed!" cried miss ossulton, "to a fellow who is a smuggler and a pirate! i, the sister of lord b.! never! the presumption of the wretch!" "that is all very well, aunt; but recollect, we must submit to circumstances. these men insist upon our dining with them; and we must go, or we shall have no dinner." "i sit down with a pirate! never! i'll have no dinner--i'll starve--i'll die!" "but, my dear aunt, it's the only chance we have of obtaining our release; and if you do not do it mrs lascelles will think that you wish to remain with them." "mrs lascelles judges of other people by herself." "the captain is certainly a very well-behaved, handsome man. he looks like a nobleman in disguise. what an odd thing it would be, aunt, if this should be all a hoax!" "a hoax, child?" replied miss ossulton, sitting up on the sofa. cecilia found that she had hit the right nail, as the saying is; and she brought forward so many arguments to prove that she thought it was a hoax to frighten them, and that the gentleman above was a man of consequence, that her aunt began to listen to reason, and at last consented to join the dinner-party. mrs lascelles now came down below; and when dinner was announced they repaired to the large cabin, where they found pickersgill and corbett waiting for them. miss ossulton did not venture to look up, until she heard pickersgill say to mrs lascelles, "perhaps, madam, you will do me the favour to introduce me to that lady, whom i have not had the honour of seeing before?" "certainly, my lord," replied mrs lascelles. "miss ossulton, the aunt of this young lady." mrs lascelles purposely did not introduce _his lordship_ in return, that she might mystify the old spinster. "i feel highly honoured in finding myself in the company of miss ossulton," said pickersgill. "ladies, we wait but for you to sit down. ossulton, take the head of the table and serve the soup." miss ossulton was astonished; she looked at the smugglers, and perceived two well-dressed gentlemanly men, one of whom was apparently a lord, and the other having the same family name. "it must be all a hoax," thought she; and she very quietly took to her soup. the dinner passed off very pleasantly; pickersgill was agreeable, corbett funny, and miss ossulton so far recovered herself as to drink wine with his lordship, and to ask corbett what branch of their family he belonged to. "i presume it's the irish branch," said mrs lascelles, prompting him. "exactly, madam," replied corbett. "have you ever been to torquay, ladies?" inquired pickersgill. "no, my lord," answered mrs lascelles. "we shall anchor there in the course of an hour, and probably remain there till to-morrow. steward, bring coffee. tell the cook these cutlets were remarkably well dressed." the ladies retired to the cabin. miss ossulton was now convinced that it was all a hoax; but said she, "i shall tell lord b. my opinion of their practical jokes when he returns. what is his lordship's name who is on board?" "he won't tell us," replied mrs lascelles; "but i think i know; it is lord blarney." "lord blaney you mean, i presume," said miss ossulton; "however, the thing is carried too far. cecilia, we will go on shore at torquay, and wait till the yacht returns with lord b. i don't like these jokes; they may do very well for widows, and people of no rank." now, mrs lascelles was sorry to find miss ossulton so much at her ease. she owed her no little spite, and wished for revenge. ladies will go very far to obtain this. how far mrs lascelles would have gone, i will not pretend to say; but this is certain, that the last innuendo of miss ossulton very much added to her determination. she took her bonnet and went on deck, at once told pickersgill that he could not please her or cecilia more than by frightening miss ossulton, who, under the idea that it was all a hoax, had quite recovered her spirits; talked of her pride and ill-nature, and wished her to receive a useful lesson. thus, to follow up her revenge, did mrs lascelles commit herself so far, as to be confidential with the smuggler in return. "mrs lascelles, i shall be able to obey you, and, at the same time, to combine business with pleasure." after a short conversation, the yacht dropped her anchor at torquay. it was then about two hours before sunset. as soon as the sails were furled, one or two gentlemen, who resided there, came on board to pay their respects to lord b.; and, as pickersgill had found out from cecilia that her father was acquainted with no one there, he received them in person; asked them down in the cabin; called for wine; and desired them to send their boat away, as his own was going on shore. the smugglers took great care, that the steward, cook, and lady's maid, should have no communication with the guests; one of them, by corbett's direction, being a sentinel over each individual. the gentlemen remained about half-an-hour on board, during which corbett and the smugglers had filled the portmanteaus found in the cabin with the lace, and they were put in the boat. corbett then landed the gentlemen in the same boat, and went up to the hotel, the smugglers following him with the portmanteaus, without any suspicion or interruption. as soon as he was there, he ordered post-horses, and set off for a town close by, where he had correspondents; and thus the major part of the cargo was secured. corbett then returned in the night, bringing with him people to receive the goods; and the smugglers landed the silks, teas, &c., with the same good fortune. everything was out of the yacht except a portion of the lace, which the portmanteaus would not hold. pickersgill might easily have sent this on shore; but, to please mrs lascelles, he arranged otherwise. the next morning, about an hour after breakfast was finished, mrs lascelles entered the cabin pretending to be in the greatest consternation, and fell on the sofa as if she were going to faint. "good heavens! what is the matter?" exclaimed cecilia, who knew very well what was coming. "oh, the wretch! he has made such proposals!" "proposals! what proposals? what! lord blaney?" cried miss ossulton. "oh, he's no lord! he's a villain and a smuggler! and he insists that we shall both fill our pockets full of lace, and go on shore with him." "mercy on me! then it is no hoax after all; and i've been sitting down to dinner with a smuggler!" "sitting down, madam!--if it were to be no more than that--but we are to take his arm up to the hotel. oh, dear! cecilia, i am ordered on deck, pray come with me!" miss ossulton rolled on the sofa, and rang for phoebe; she was in a state of great alarm. a knock at the door. "come in," said miss ossulton, thinking it was phoebe; when pickersgill made his appearance. "what do you want, sir? go out, sir! go out directly, or i'll scream!" "it is no use screaming, madam; recollect that all on board are at my service. you will oblige me by listening to me, miss ossulton. i am, as you know, a smuggler, and i must send this lace on shore. you will oblige me by putting it into your pockets, or about your person, and prepare to go on shore with me. as soon as we arrive at the hotel, you will deliver it to me, and i then shall reconduct you on board of the yacht. you are not the first lady who has gone on shore with contraband articles about her person." "me, sir! go on shore in that way? no, sir, never! what will the world say? the hon. miss ossulton walking with a smuggler! no, sir, never!" "yes, madam, walking arm-in-arm with a smuggler: i shall have you on one arm, and mrs lascelles on the other; and i would advise you to take it very quietly; for, in the first place, it will be you who smuggle, as the goods will be found on your person, and you will certainly be put in prison, for, at the least appearance of insubordination, we run and inform against you; and, further, your niece will remain on board as a hostage for your good behaviour, and if you have any regard for her liberty, you will consent immediately." pickersgill left the cabin, and shortly afterwards cecilia and mrs lascelles entered, apparently much distressed. they had been informed of all, and mrs lascelles declared, that, for her part, sooner than leave her poor cecilia to the mercy of such people, she had made up her mind to submit to the smuggler's demands. cecilia also begged so earnestly, that miss ossulton, who had no idea that it was a trick, with much sobbing and blubbering, consented. when all was ready, cecilia left the cabin; pickersgill came down, handed up the two ladies, who had not exchanged a word with each other during cecilia's absence; the boat was ready alongside--they went in, and pulled on shore. everything succeeded to the smuggler's satisfaction. miss ossulton, frightened out of her wits, took his arm; and, with mrs lascelles on the other, they went up to the hotel, followed by four of his boat's crew. as soon as they were shown into a room, corbett, who was already on shore, asked for lord b., and joined them. the ladies retired to another apartment, divested themselves of their contraband goods, and, after calling for some sandwiches and wine, pickersgill waited an hour, and then returned on board. mrs lascelles was triumphant; and she rewarded her new ally, the smuggler, with one of her sweetest smiles. community of interest will sometimes make strange friendships. chapter vii conclusion we must now return to the other parties who have assisted in the acts of this little drama. lord b., after paddling and paddling, the men relieving each other in order to make head against the wind which was off shore, arrived about midnight at a small town in west bay, from whence he took a chaise on to portsmouth, taking it for granted that his yacht would arrive as soon as, if not before himself, little imagining that it was in possession of the smugglers. there he remained three or four days, when, becoming impatient, he applied to one of his friends who had a yacht at cowes, and sailed with him to look after his own. we left the _happy-go-lucky_ chased by the revenue cutter. at first the smuggler had the advantage before the wind; but, by degrees, the wind went round with the sun, and brought the revenue cutter to leeward: it was then a chase on a wind, and the revenue cutter came fast up with her. morrison, perceiving that he had no chance of escape, let run the ankers of brandy that he might not be condemned; but still he was in an awkward situation, as he had more men on board than allowed by act of parliament. he therefore stood on, notwithstanding the shot of the cutter went over and over him, hoping that a fog or night might enable him to escape; but he had no such good fortune,--one of the shot carried away the head of his mast, and the _happy-go-lucky's_ luck was all over. he was boarded and taken possession of; he asserted that the extra men were only passengers; but, in the first place, they were dressed in seamen's clothes; and, in the second, as soon as the boat was aboard of her, appleboy had gone down to his gin-toddy, and was not to be disturbed. the gentlemen smugglers therefore passed an uncomfortable night; and the cutter going to portland by daylight before appleboy was out of bed, they were taken on shore to the magistrate. hautaine explained the whole affair, and they were immediately released and treated with respect; but they were not permitted to depart until they were bound over to appear against the smugglers, and prove the brandy having been on board. they then set off for portsmouth in the seamen's clothes, having had quite enough of yachting for that season, mr ossulton declaring that he only wanted to get his luggage, and then he would take care how he put himself again in the way of the shot of a revenue cruiser, or of sleeping a night on her decks. in the mean time morrison and his men were locked up in the jail, the old man, as the key was turned on him, exclaiming, as he raised his foot in vexation, "that cursed blue pigeon!" we will now return to the yacht. about an hour after pickersgill had come on board, corbett had made all his arrangements and followed him. it was not advisable to remain at torquay any longer, through fear of discovery; he, therefore, weighed the anchor before dinner, and made sail. "what do you intend to do now, my lord?" said mrs lascelles. "i intend to run down to cowes, anchor the yacht in the night; and an hour before daylight have you in my boat with all my men. i will take care that you are in perfect safety, depend upon it, even if i run a risk. i should, indeed, be miserable, if, through my wild freaks, any accident should happen to mrs lascelles or miss ossulton." "i am very anxious about my father," observed cecilia. "i trust that you will keep your promise." "i always have hitherto, miss ossulton; have i not?" "ours is but a short and strange acquaintance." "i grant it; but it will serve for you to talk about long after. i shall disappear as suddenly as i have come--you will neither of you, in all probability, ever see me again." the dinner was announced, and they sat down to table as before; but the elderly spinster refused to make her appearance; and mrs lascelles and cecilia, who thought she had been frightened enough, did not attempt to force her. pickersgill immediately yielded to these remonstrances, and, from that time she remained undisturbed in the ladies' cabin, meditating over the indignity of having sat down to table, having drank wine, and been obliged to walk on shore, taking the arm of a smuggler, and appear in such a humiliating situation. the wind was light, and they made but little progress, and were not abreast of portland till the second day, when another yacht appeared in sight, and the two vessels slowly neared until in the afternoon they were within four miles of each other. it then fell a dead calm--signals were thrown out by the other yacht, but could not be distinguished, and, for the last time, they sat down to dinner. three days' companionship on board of a vessel, cooped up together, and having no one else to converse with, will produce intimacy; and pickersgill was a young man of so much originality and information, that he was listened to with pleasure. he never attempted to advance beyond the line of strict decorum and politeness; and his companion was equally unpresuming. situated as they were, and feeling what must have been the case had they fallen into other hands, both cecilia and mrs lascelles felt some degree of gratitude towards him; and, although anxious to be relieved from so strange a position, they had gradually acquired a perfect confidence in him, and this had produced a degree of familiarity, on their parts, although never ventured upon by the smuggler. as corbett was at the table, one of the men came down and made a sign. corbett shortly after quitted the table and went on deck. "i wish, my lord, you would come up a moment, and see if you can make this flag out," said corbett, giving a significant nod to pickersgill. "excuse me, ladies, one moment," said pickersgill, who went on deck. "it is the boat of the yacht coming on board," said corbett; "and lord b. is in the stern-sheets with the gentleman who was with him." "and how many men in the boat?--let me see--only four. well, let his lordship and his friend come: when they are on the deck, have the men ready in case of accident; but if you can manage to tell the boat's crew that they are to go on board again, and get rid of them that way, so much the better. arrange this with adams, and then come down again--his lordship must see us all at dinner." pickersgill then descended, and corbett had hardly time to give his directions and to resume his seat, before his lordship and mr stewart pulled up alongside and jumped on deck. there was no one to receive them but the seamen, and those whom they did not know. they looked round in amazement; at last his lordship said to adams, who stood forward, "what men are you?" "belong to the yacht, ye'r honour." lord b. heard laughing in the cabin; he would not wait to interrogate the men; he walked aft, followed by mr stewart, looked down the skylight, and perceived his daughter and mrs lascelles with, as he supposed, hautaine and ossulton. pickersgill had heard the boat rub the side, and the sound of the feet on deck, and he talked the more loudly, that the ladies might be caught by lord b. as they were. he heard their feet at the skylight, and knew that they could hear what passed; and at that moment he proposed to the ladies that as this was their last meeting at table they should all take a glass of champagne to drink to "their happy meeting with lord b." this was a toast which they did not refuse. maddox poured out the wine, and they were all bowing to each other, when his lordship, who had come down the ladder, walked into the cabin, followed by mr stewart. cecilia perceived her father; the champagne-glass dropped from her hand--she flew into his arms, and burst into tears. "who would not be a father, mrs lascelles?" said pickersgill, quietly seating himself, after having first risen to receive lord b. "and pray, whom may i have the honour of finding established here?" said lord b., in an angry tone, speaking over his daughter's head, who still lay in his arms. "by heavens, yes?--stewart, it is the smuggling captain dressed out." "even so, my lord," replied pickersgill. "you abandoned your yacht to capture me; you left these ladies in a vessel crippled for want of men; they might have been lost. i have returned good for evil by coming on board with my own people, and taking charge of them. this night, i expected to have anchored your vessel in cowes, and have left them in safety." "by the--" cried stewart. "stop, sir, if you please!" cried pickersgill; "recollect you have once already attacked one who never offended. oblige me by refraining from intemperate language; for i tell you i will not put up with it. recollect, sir, that i have refrained from that, and also from taking advantage of you when you were in my power. recollect, sir, also, that the yacht is still in possession of the smugglers, and that you are in no condition to insult with impunity. my lord, allow me to observe, that we men are too hot of temperament to argue, or listen coolly. with your permission, your friend, and my friend, and i, will repair on deck, leaving you to hear from your daughter and that lady all that has passed. after that, my lord, i shall be most happy to hear anything which your lordship may please to say." "upon my word--" commenced mr stewart. "mr stewart," interrupted cecilia ossulton, "i request your silence; nay, more, if ever we are again to sail in the same vessel together, i _insist_ upon it." "your lordship will oblige me by enforcing miss ossulton's request," said mrs lascelles. mr stewart was dumbfounded, no wonder, to find the ladies siding with the smuggler. "i am obliged to you ladies for your interference," said pickersgill; "for, although i have the means of enforcing conditions, i should be sorry to avail myself of them. i wait for his lordship's reply." lord b. was very much surprised. he wished for an explanation; he bowed with _hauteur_. everybody appeared to be in a false position; even he, lord b., somehow or another had bowed to a smuggler. pickersgill and stewart went on deck, walking up and down, crossing each other without speaking, but reminding you of two dogs who both are anxious to fight, but have been restrained by the voice of their masters. corbett followed, and talked in a low tone to pickersgill; stewart went over to leeward to see if the boat was still alongside, but it had long before returned to the yacht. miss ossulton had heard her brother's voice, but did not come out of the after-cabin; she wished to be magnificent and, at the same time, she was not sure whether all was right, phoebe having informed her that there was nobody with her brother and mr stewart, and that the smugglers still had the command of the vessel. after a while, pickersgill and corbett went down forward, and returned dressed in the smuggler's clothes, when they resumed their walk on the deck. in the mean time, it was dark; the cutter flew along the coast; and the needles' lights were on the larboard bow. the conversation between cecilia, mrs lascelles, and her father, was long. when all had been detailed, and the conduct of pickersgill duly represented, lord b. acknowledged that, by attacking the smuggler, he had laid himself open to retaliation; that pickersgill had shown a great deal of forbearance in every instance; and, after all, had he not gone on board the yacht she might have been lost, with only three seamen on board. he was amused with the smuggling and the fright of his sister; still more with the gentlemen being sent to cherbourg, and much consoled that he was not the only one to be laughed at. he was also much pleased with pickersgill's intention of leaving the yacht safe in cowes harbour, his respect to the property on board, and his conduct to the ladies. on the whole, he felt grateful to pickersgill; and where there is gratitude there is always good will. "but who can he be?" said mrs lascelles; "his name he acknowledges not to be pickersgill; and he told me confidentially that he was of good family." "confidentially, my dear mrs lascelles!" said lord b. "oh, yes! we are both his confidants. are we not, cecilia?" "upon my honour, mrs lascelles, this smuggler appears to have made an impression which many have attempted in vain." mrs lascelles did not reply to that remark, but said, "now, my lord, you must decide--and i trust you will to oblige us--treat him as he has treated us, with the greatest respect and kindness." "why should you suppose otherwise?" replied lord b.; "it is not only my wish but my interest so to do. he may take us over to france to-night, or anywhere else. has he not possession of the vessel?" "yes," replied cecilia; "but we flatter ourselves that we have _the command_. shall we call him down, papa?" "ring for maddox. maddox, tell mr pickersgill, who is on deck, that i wish to speak with him, and shall be obliged by his stepping down into the cabin." "who, my lord? what? _him_?" "yes, _him_," replied cecilia, laughing. "must i call him, my lord, now, miss?" "you may do as you please, maddox; but recollect, he is still in possession of the vessel," replied cecilia. "then, with your lordship's permission, i will; it's the safest way." the smuggler entered the cabin; the ladies started as he appeared in his rough costume, with his throat open, and his loose black handkerchief. he was the _beau idéal_ of a handsome sailor. "your lordship wishes to communicate with me?" "mr pickersgill, i feel that you have had cause of enmity against me, and that you have behaved with forbearance. i thank you for your considerate treatment of the ladies; and i assure you, that i feel no resentment for what has passed." "my lord, i am quite satisfied with what you have said; and i only hope that, in future, you will not interfere with a poor smuggler, who may be striving, by a life of danger and privation, to procure subsistence for himself and, perhaps, his family. i stated to these ladies my intention of anchoring the yacht this night at cowes, and leaving her as soon as she was in safety. your unexpected presence will only make this difference, which is, that i must previously obtain your lordship's assurance that those with you will allow me and my men to quit her without molestation, after we have performed this service." "i pledge you my word, mr pickersgill, and i thank you into the bargain. i trust you will allow me to offer some remuneration." "most certainly not, my lord." "at all events, mr pickersgill, if, at any other time, i can be of service, you may command me." pickersgill made no reply. "surely, mr pickersgill,--" "pickersgill! how i hate that name!" said the smuggler, musing. "i beg your lordship's pardon--if i may require your assistance for any of my unfortunate companions--" "not for yourself, mr pickersgill?" said mrs lascelles. "madam, i smuggle no more." "for the pleasure i feel in hearing that resolution, mr pickersgill," said cecilia, "take my hand and thanks." "and mine," said mrs lascelles, half crying. "and mine, too," said lord b., rising up. pickersgill passed the back of his hand across his eyes, turned round, and left the cabin. "i'm so happy!" said mrs lascelles, bursting into tears. "he's a magnificent fellow," observed lord b. "come, let us all go on deck." "you have not seen my aunt, papa." "true; i'll go in to her, and then follow you." the ladies went upon deck. cecilia entered into conversation with mr stewart, giving him a narrative of what had happened. mrs lascelles sat abaft at the taffrail, with her pretty hand supporting her cheek, looking very much _à la juliette_. "mrs lascelles," said pickersgill, "before we part, allow me to observe, that it is _you_ who have induced me to give up my profession--" "why me, mr pickersgill?" "you said that you did not like it." mrs lascelles felt the force of the compliment. "you said, just now, that you hated the name of pickersgill: why do you call yourself so?" "it was my smuggling name, mrs lascelles." "and now, that you have left off smuggling, pray what may be the name we are to call you by?" "i cannot resume it till i have not only left this vessel, but shaken hands with, and bid farewell to, my companions; and by that time, mrs lascelles, i shall be away from you." "but i've a great curiosity to know it, and a lady's curiosity must be gratified. you must call upon me some day, and tell it me. here is my address." pickersgill received the card with a low bow: and lord b. coming on deck, mrs lascelles hastened to meet him. the vessel was now passing the bridge at the needles, and the smuggler piloted her on. as soon as they were clear and well inside, the whole party went down into the cabin, lord b. requesting pickersgill and corbett to join him in a parting glass. mr stewart, who had received the account of what had passed from cecilia, was very attentive to pickersgill, and took an opportunity of saying, that he was sorry that he had said or done anything to annoy him. every one recovered his spirits; and all was good humour and mirth, because miss ossulton adhered to her resolution of not quitting the cabin till she could quit the yacht. at ten o'clock the yacht was anchored. pickersgill took his leave of the honourable company, and went in his boat with his men; and lord b. was again in possession of his vessel, although he had not a ship's company. maddox recovered his usual tone; and the cook flourished his knife, swearing that he should like to see the smuggler who would again order him to dress cutlets _à l'ombre chinoise_. the yacht had remained three days at cowes, when lord b. received a letter from pickersgill, stating that the men of his vessel had been captured, and would be condemned, in consequence of their having the gentlemen on board, who were bound to appear against them, to prove that they had sunk the brandy. lord b. paid all the recognisances, and the men were liberated for want of evidence. it was about two years after this that cecilia ossulton, who was sitting at her work-table in deep mourning for her aunt, was presented with a letter by the butler. it was from her friend mrs lascelles, informing her that she was married again to a mr davenant, and intended to pay her a short visit on her way to the continent. mr and mrs davenant arrived the next day; and when the latter introduced her husband, she said to miss ossulton, "look, cecilia, dear, and tell me if you have ever seen davenant before." cecilia looked earnestly: "i have, indeed," cried she at last, extending her hand with warmth; "and happy am i to meet with him again." for in mr davenant she recognised her old acquaintance, the captain of the _happy-go-lucky_, jack pickersgill, the smuggler. the end. dumbwaiter by james stamers illustrated by dillon [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from galaxy magazine february . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] antimony ix divers can't be seen, of course ... but don't have anything in mind when one of them is around you! the man ahead of me had a dragon in his baggage. so the lamavic boys confiscated it. lamavic--livestock, animal, mineral and vegetable, international customs--does not like to find dragons curled up in a thermos. and since this antipathy was a two-way exchange, the lamavic inspectors at philadelphia international were singed and heated all ways by the time they got to me. i knew them well. "mr. sol jones?" "that's right," i said, watching the would-be dragon smuggler being marched away. a very amateur job. i could have told him. there are only two ways to smuggle a dragon nowadays. "any livestock to declare, mr. jones?" "i have no livestock on my person or in my baggage, nor am i accompanied by any material prohibited article," i said carefully, for i saw they were recording. the little pink, bald inspector with a charred collar looked at his colleague. "anything known?" his colleague looked down at me from six feet of splendid physique, smiled unpleasantly, and flipped the big black record book. "'sol jones,'" he read, "'lamavic four-star offender. galactic registration: six to tenth power: . five foot ten inches, earth scale. blue eyes, hair variable and usually nondescript brown, ear lobes and cranial....' you're not disputing identity, mr. jones?" "oh, no. that's me." "i see. 'irrevocable galactic citizenship for services to family of supreme president xgol in matter of asteroid fungus, subsequent senatorial amnesty confirmed, previous sentences therefore omitted. lamavic offenses thereafter include no indictable evidence but total twenty-four minor fines for introducing prohibited livestock onto various planets. suspected complicity in lamavic cases one through seventy-six as follows: mobile sands, crystal thinkers, recording turtle, operatic fish, giant mastodon.' mr. jones, you seem to have given us trouble before." "before what?" "before this--er--" "that," i said, "is an unconstitutional remark. i am giving no trouble. i have made a full declaration. i demand the rights of a galactic citizen." he apologized, as he had to. this merely made both inspectors angry, but they were going to search me anyway. i knew that. certainly i am a smuggler, and i had in fact a little present for my girl florence--a wedding present, i hoped--but they would never find it. this time i really had them fooled, and i intended to extract maximum pleasure from watching their labors. * * * * * i saw the lamavic records once. the next leading offender has only two stars and he's out on ceres in the penal colony. my four stars denote that i disapprove of all these rules prohibiting the carrying of livestock from one planet to another. other people extend the galactic empire; i extend my galactic credit. you want an amusing extraterrestrial pet to while away the two-hour work week, i can provide one. of course, this pet business was overdone in the early days when any space-hopper could bring little foreign monsters back to the wife and kiddies. any weird thing could come in and did. "you are aware, mr. jones, that you have declared that you are not trying to bring in any prohibited life-form, whether animal, mineral, vegetable, or any or all of these?" "i am," i said. "you are further aware of the penalties for a false declaration?" "in my case, i believe i could count on thirty years' invigorating work on a penal planet." "you could, mr. jones. you certainly could." "well, i've made my declaration." "will you step this way?" very polite in philadelphia spaceport. i followed the inspectors into the screening cubicles. there was a nasty looking device in the corner. "i thought those things were illegal," i said. "unfortunately, mr. jones, you are, as you know, quite right. we may not employ a telepath instrument on any unconvicted person." they looked sorry, but i wasn't. a telepath would have told them immediately where i had florence's pet, and all about it. i smiled at them. they paid no attention, took my passport and began turning up the lamavic manual on antimony ix, livestock of, prohibited forms. i had just come from there and so had florence's little diver, which i had brought as a happy surprise. i sat down. the two inspectors looked as if they were going to say something, then continued flipping pages of their manual. "here it is--antimony ix." one of them read out the prohibitions and the other tried to watch me and the reflex counter behind me at the same time--a crude instrument which should be used, in my professional view, only to determine a person's capacities for playing poker with success. "ants-water, babblers, bunces, candelabra plants, catchem-fellers, cythia majoris, divers, dunces, dimple-images, drakes, dunking dogs, dogs-savage, dogs-water, dogs-not-otherwise-provided-for, unspec., elephants-miniature, fish-any...." they went on. antimony ix is teeming with life and almost every specimen is prohibited on other planets. we had passed the divers, anyway. i smiled and gave the reflex counter a strong jerk just as the smaller inspector was saying "mammoths." they looked at me in silence. "funny man," one said, and they went on reading. "okay," the large inspector said at last. "we'll examine him for everything." * * * * * for the next three hours, they took blood specimens to see if i had microscopic livestock hidden there, they x-rayed me and my baggage, fluoroscoped everything again, put the baggage through an irritator life-indexer, investigated my orifices in detail with a variety of instruments, took skin scrapings in case i was wearing a false layer, and the only thing they found was my dark glasses. "why don't you wear modern contact lenses?" "it's none of your business," i said, "but these old-style spectacles have liquid lenses." there was a flurry and they sent away for analysis a small drop from one of the lenses. there were no signs of prohibited life in the liquid. "i could have told you that," i said. "it's dicyanin, a vegetable extract. diminishes the glare." i put the glasses on my nose and hooked on the earpieces. the effect was medieval, but i could see the little diver now. i could also see disturbing evidence of the inspectors' mental condition. a useful little device invented by dr. w. j. kilner ( - ) for the study of the human aura in sickness and health. after a little practice, which i was not going to allow the lamavic inspectors, the retina became sufficiently sensitive to see the micro-wave aura when you looked through the dicyanin screen. as was true of most of these psi pioneers at that time, nothing was done to further kilner's work when he died. i noticed, without surprise, that the inspectors had a mental field of very limited extent and that the little diver had survived the journey nicely. "can i go now?" i asked. "this time, mr. jones." when i left, the repair staff was building a new inspection barrier to replace the parts the dragon had got. such an amateur performance! leave smuggling to professionals and we'd have lamavic disbanded from boredom in ten years. i nearly slipped on the fine silica dioxide which had fused in the air when the dragon got annoyed. nasty, dangerous pets. the one for florence was the only contraband i was carrying this trip, which was purely pleasure. she was waiting for me in her apartment, tall, golden, luscious, and all mine. she thought i was in import-export, which in a sense was true. "i've missed you so much, sol," she said, twining herself on me and the couch like a venusian water-nymph. "did you bring me a present?" i lay back and let her kiss me. "of course i did. a small but very valuable present." i let her kiss me again. "not--a jupiter diamond, sol?" "much rarer than that, and more useful." "oh. useful." "something to help you in the house when we're married, honey. now, don't pout so prettily, or i'll never get around to showing you." my homecoming was not developing quite as i planned, but i put this down to womanly, if not exactly maidenly, quirks. when she found out what i had brought her, i was sure she would be all over me again. i put on my dark glasses so that i could see where the diver was. "would you like a drink, honey?" i asked. "i don't mind," she said sulkily. * * * * * i looked at the diver, concentrated hard on the thought of a bottle from the cabinet, two glasses and a pitcher of ice from the kitchen. he went revolving through the air obediently and the items came floating out neatly. florence nearly shattered the windows with her screams. "now calm down, honey," i said, catching her. "calm down. it's just a little present i brought you." the bottle, glasses and pitcher dropped gently onto the table beside us. "see?" i said. "service at a thought. remote control. the end of housework. kiss me." she didn't. "you mean you did that, sol?" "not me, exactly. i've brought you a little baby diver, honey, all the way from antimony ix, just for you. there isn't another one on earth. in fact, i doubt if there's another one outside antimony ix. i had a lot of trouble securing this rare and valuable present for you." "i don't like it. it gives me the creeps." "honey," i said carefully, "this is a little baby. it couldn't hurt a mouse. it's about six inches in diameter, and all it is doing is to teleport what you want it to teleport." "then why can't i see it?" "if you could see it, i wouldn't have been allowed to bring it for you, honey, because a whole row of nasty-minded solar civil servants would have seen it too, and they would have taken it from your own sweet sol." "they can have it." "honey, this is a _rare_ and _valuable_ pet! it will _do_ things for you." "so you think i need something done for me. well! i'm glad you came right out and said this before we were married!" the following series of "but--but--" from me and irrelevance from florence occupied an hour, but hardly mentioned the diver. eventually i got her back into my arms. my urges for florence were strictly biological, though intense. there were little chances for intellectual exchanges between us, but i was more interested in the broad probabilities of her as a woman. i could go commune with wild and exotic intelligences on foreign planets any time i had the fare. as a woman, florence was what i wanted. "back on antimony ix," i explained carefully, "life is fierce and rugged. so, to keep from being eaten, these little divers evolved themselves into little minds with no bodies at all, and they feed off solar radiation. now, honey, minds are not made of the same stuff brains are made of, good solid tissue and gray matter and neural cortex--" "don't be dirty, sol." "there is nothing dirty about the body, honey. minds are invisible but detectable in the micro-wavelengths on any sensitive counter, and look like little glass eggs when you can see them--as i can, by using these glasses. in fact, your diver is over by the window now. but, having evolved this far, they came across a little difficulty and couldn't evolve any further. so there they are, handy little minds for teleporting whatever you want moved, and reading other people's thoughts." * * * * * she gasped. "did you say reading other people's thoughts? "certainly," i said. "as a matter of fact, that's what stopped the divers from evolving further. if they brush against any thinking creature, they pick up whatever thought is in the creature's conscious mind. but they also pick up the subliminal activity, if you follow me--and down at that level of a mind such as man's, his thoughts are not only the present unconscious thoughts but also a good slice of what is to him still the future. it's one of those space-time differences. the divers are not really on the same space-time reference as the physical world, but that makes them all the more useful, because our minds aren't either." "did you say reading other people's thoughts, like a telepath?" she persisted. "exactly like a telepath, or any other class of psi. we're really living on a much wider scale than we're conscious of, but our mind only tracks down one point in time-space in a straight line, which happens to fit our bodies. our subliminal mind is way out in every direction, including time--and when you pick up fragments of this consciously, you're a psi, that's all. so the divers got thoroughly confused--that's what it amounts to--and never evolved any further. so you see, honey, it's all perfectly natural." "i think you're just dirty." "eh?" "everyone _hates_ telepaths. you know that." "i don't." "oh, you go wandering all over the galaxy--but my friends--what could i say to my friends if they learned i had something like a telepath in the apartment?" "it's only a baby diver, i keep telling you, honey. and anyway, you'll be able to tell what they're really thinking about you." florence looked thoughtful. "and what they've been doing?" "sometimes they will do what they think they'll do. and sometimes they don't make it. but it's what their subliminal plans to have happen, yes." she kissed me. "i think it's a lovely present, sol." she snuggled up to me and i concentrated on bringing the diver over to her. i thought i'd read her, just for a joke, and see what she had in mind. i took a close look. "what's the matter, sol?" "oh, honey! you beautiful creature!" "this is nice--but what made you say that?" "i just got the diver to show me your mind, and bits of the next two weeks you have in mind. it's going to be a lovely, lovely vacation." she blushed very violently and got angry. "you had no right to look at what i was thinking, sol!" "it wasn't what you were thinking so much as what you will be thinking, honey. i figure in it quite well." "i won't have it, sol! do you hear me? i think spying on people is detestable!" "i thought you liked the idea of tagging your friends?" "that's different. either we go somewhere without that whatever-it-is, or you can marry someone else. i don't mind having it around after we're married, but not before, sol. do you understand?" i was already reaching for the video yellow pages. * * * * * i turned on the television-wall in the apartment before we left and instructed the diver to stay around and watch it. they are very curious creatures, inquisitive, always chasing new ideas, and i thought that should hold the diver happily for several days. meanwhile, i had booked adjoining rooms at the asteroid-central. the asteroid-central advertised in the video yellow pages that it practiced the most rigid discrimination--meaning no telepaths, clairvoyants, clairaudients or psychometrists. life was hard on a psi outside government circles. but life was much harder on the rest of the world seeking secluded privacy and discretion. the asteroid-central was so discreet, you could hardly see where you were going. dim lights, elegant figures passing in the gloom, singing perfumes of the gentlest kind, and "guaranteed psi-free" on every bedroom door. i was humming idly in my room, with one eye on the communicating door through which, were she but true to her own mind, florence would shortly come, and i turned on the television-wall only to see how less fortunate people were spending their leisure. an idle and most regrettable gesture. there was a quiz-game on international channel , dull and just finishing. all the contestants seemed to know all the answers. in fact, the man who won the trip around the rings of saturn, did so by answering the question before the martian quiz-master had really finished reading it out. when the winner turned sharply on the other contestants and knocked them down, yelling, "so that's what you think of my mother, is it?" the wall was blacked out and we were taken straight to the solar party convention. the nominee this decade was human. he seemed to be speaking on his aims, his pure record and altruistic intentions. the stereo cameras looked over the heads of the delegates. starting in the row by the main aisle, each delegate shot to his feet and started booing and jeering. it rippled down the rows like a falling pack of cards, each delegate in turn after the man in front of him, and each row picking up where the back of the previous row left off. it was as if someone were passing a galvanizing brush along the heads of the delegates, row by row. or as if a diver were refreshing the delegates with a clear picture of their nominee's mind. i groaned and called florence. "look," i said when she came. "that damned pet has followed the program back to the cameras from your apartment, and there he is lousing up the convention." "i vote earth," she told me indifferently. "that isn't the point, honey. i'll have to bring the diver here, and quickly." "you do that, sol. i'll be at home when you get rid of it." by the time the diver picked up my thoughts and came flickering into the room through the walls, florence had left. i felt the diver off the back of my head, made my thoughts as kindly as possible, and went downstairs to the largest, longest bar. * * * * * the evening passed profitably because i was invited to join a threesome of crooks at cards. with the aid of the little diver, i was able to shorten the odds to a pleasant margin in my favor. but this was doing nothing about florence. a not altogether funny remark about teleporting the cards did, however, suggest the answer. after the transaction was over, i sent the diver off to a friend on the faculty of luke university, where they had a long history of psi investigation and where the diver could be guaranteed to be kept busy rolling dice and such. this was easy to fix by a video call. there had been times in the past when certain services to the extra-terrestrial zoology and botanical tanks had made me discreetly popular with the faculty, and anyway they thought i was doing them a favor. they promised to keep the little diver busy for an indefinite period. i reported to florence, and after a certain amount of feminine shall-i-shan't-i, she came back to the asteroid-central. this time i did not turn on the television-wall. i lay still. i said nothing. i hardly thought at all. and after several years compressed themselves into every minute, my own true honey, florence, slid open the communicating door and came into the room. she walked shyly toward me, hiding modestly within a floating nightgown as opaque as a very clear soap bubble. i stood up, held out my arms and she came toward me, smiling--and stopped to pick up something on the carpet. "ooo, sol! look! a jupiter diamond!" she held up the largest and most expensive diamond i have ever seen. i was just going to claim credit for this little gift when another appeared, and another, and a long line marching over the carpet like an ant trail. they came floating in under the door. now love is for vacations, and between my own sweet florence and a diamond mine there is no comparison. i put on my dicyanin glasses and saw the baby diver was back and at work teleporting. i said so, but this time there were no hysterics from florence. "i was just thinking of him," she said, "and wishing you had brought me a jupiter diamond instead." "well, honey, it looks as if you've got both." i watched her scrambling on the carpet, gathering handfuls of diamonds and not in the least interested in me. on antimony ix, the little divers switched from one space-time point to another simultaneously, and the baby diver had come back from the solar party convention the same way. i thought of it and it came; florence had just thought of it and here it was. but now it seemed to be flitting lightly from earth to jupiter and back with diamonds, so perhaps there was no interplanetary distance to a mind. this had a future. i could see myself with a winter and a summer planet of my own, even happily paying earth, solar and galactic taxes. "well, honey, don't you worry," i said. "you don't like divers, so i'll take it back and give you something else. just leave it to sol." "take your foot off that diamond, sol jones! you gave me this dear little diver and he's mine!" * * * * * she sat back on her heels and thought. the evidence of her thinking immediately came trickling through the door--venusian opals set in a gold bracelet half a pound heavy, martian sleeze furs, spider-web stockings, platinum belts. the room was beginning to look like a video fashion center, a galactic merchandise mart. and after florence put on a coat and opened the door, her ideas began to get bigger. "this is fun!" she cried, teleporting like mad. "why, i can have anything in the galaxy just by thinking about it!" "now, honey, think of the benefits to humanity! this is too big to be used for personal gain. this should be dedicated--" "this is dedicated to me, sol jones, so just you keep your fingers off it. why, the cute little thing--look, he's been out to saturn for me!" i made a decision. think wide and grand, sol jones, i said. sacrifice yourself for the greater good. "florence, honey, you know i love you. will you marry me?" that stopped her. "you mean it, sol?" "of course." "it's not just because of this diver?" "why, honey, how could you think such a thing? if i'd never brought it in for you, i'd still want to marry you." "you never said so before," she said. "but okay. if you do it now. right now, sol jones." so the merchandise stopped coming in while we plugged into the video and participated in a moving and legal ceremony. the marriage service was expensive, but after all we could teleport in a few thousand credit blanks from the solar treasury. immediately after we had switched off, we did so. "are you sure you married me for myself, sol?" "i swear it, honey. no other thought entered my head. just you." i made a few notes while florence planned the house we would have, furnished with rare materials from anywhere. i thought one of the medium asteroids would do for a base for sol jones intragalactic transport. i could see it all, vast warehouses and immediate delivery of anything from anywhere. i wondered if there was a limit to the diver's capacity, so florence desired an encyclopedia and in it came, floating through the doorway. "it says," she read, "not much is known about antimony ix divers because none have ever been known to leave their planet." "they probably need the stimulus of an educated mind," i said. "anyway, this one can get diamonds from jupiter and so on, and that's what matters." * * * * * i kissed the wife of the president of sol jones intragalactic and was interrupted by discreet tapping on the door. the manager of the asteroid-central beamed at us. "excuse," he said. "but we understand you have just been married, mr. and mrs. jones." "irrevocably," i said. "felicitations. the asteroid-central will be sending up complimentary euphorics. there is just a small point, mr. jones. we notice you have a large selection of valuable gifts for the bride." he looked round the room and smiled at the piles of stuff florence had thought of. "of course," he went on, "we trust your stay will be pleasant and perhaps you will let us know if you will be wanting anything else." "i expect we will, but we'll let you know," i said. "thank you, mr. jones. it is merely that we noticed you had emptied every showcase on the ground floor and, a few moments ago, teleported the credit contents of the bar up here. not of importance, really; it is all charged on your bill." "you saw it and didn't stop it?" i yelled. "oh, no, mr. jones. we always make an exception for antimony ix divers. limited creatures, really, but good for our business. we get about one a month--smuggled in, you know. but the upkeep proves too expensive. some women do shop without more than a passing thought, don't they?" i saw what he meant, but mrs. sol jones took it very philosophically. "never mind, sol--you have me." "or vice versa, honey," i said.